Oikawa awoke the next morning with a faceful of fur. He groaned in protest, groggily pushing at Mao to make her get off of him. She gave a similar noise in response and simply rolled over so that she was draped across his stomach instead. Oikawa let out a puff of air. She wasn’t exactly light.
“Mao-mao,” he drawled, hands flopping on the pillows on either side of his head. “I have to get up.” He watched her let out a long, wide yawn, a tiny squeak following after as she simply continued to stare at him. Oikawa sighed. “You’re such a spoiled brat.”
Largely due in part to his own habit of being the one to spoil her, but that was neither here nor there. He finally managed to slide her off of him, the dog offering no resistance, but also not bothering to help in the matter. When he was finally able to stand up out of bed, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned as well. He glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. Seven o’clock on the dot, right when he normally woke up thirty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dismissed it for the day, then shuffled out of his room to the bathroom across the hallway.
He went about his usual routine of brushing his teeth, brushing out the knots in his hair, and washing up. When he was finished with that, he went straight to the kitchen to make breakfast. He was still more or less half-asleep as he moved around, gathering the utensils and ingredients needed to make a big omelette and for the moment completely oblivious to the guest he had invited to stay the night. If his brain actually worked in the morning, he might have remembered that fact and put on a shirt or something, but instead he stood in the kitchen in nothing but his alien-printed pajama pants.
He hummed while he cooked, sautéing onions and tomatoes with different spices, then covered on top with unwhisked eggs that were left to steam with the pot lid on. He washed his hands while he waited for the final product and when he turned to grab a towel to dry them, he was met with a figure standing in the doorway. Oikawa gave the most sincere gasp of horror in his entire life, a hand slapping over his chest as he felt his racing heartbeat gradually steady when he recognized who it was.
“Don’t scare me like that, you jerk!” he chided, slapping a much too amused Iwaizumi with the dish towel before he proceeded to dry his hands with it.
“I wasn’t trying to,” Iwaizumi said in his own defense, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his similarly bare chest. No, Oikawa didn’t have to consciously prevent himself from staring. “You’re the one off in his own little world.”
“I was focusing!”
“You focus by humming your own songs?”
Oikawa gave him a withering look to which Iwaizumi only laughed. Rolling his eyes, Oikawa put away the towel and pulled two plates from the cupboards above the counter.
“You’re lucky I made enough for two,” he muttered.
“There’s no way you could have eaten all that yourself,” Iwaizumi said, inching closer to the stove where the omelette cooked. Oikawa arched a brow at him.
“Are you willing to bet on that, tough guy?”
“ ‘Tough guy’? ” Iwaizumi echoed with a chuckle. “Who are you?”
“ I am your gracious host to whom you should show a little respect if you want breakfast,” Oikawa said, lightly jabbing at the other alpha’s side when he got too close to the pot. “Back off. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
“You—” Iwaizumi stared at him, completely affronted, then promptly returned the poke to Oikawa’s side, the idol twisting his body away from the offending hand. Iwaizumi raised his brows at him just before a wicked grin stole across his face. “No way.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Oh, he did more than think about it. Before he knew it, Oikawa was fending for his life right there in the middle of his kitchen, practically screeching at the way Iwaizumi’s fingers danced torturously over his ribs. Damn him, damn him! He tried to retaliate, really, he tried, but it was futile. His most accursed weakness was being used against him, just as he had always feared. It didn’t help that the acoustics in his kitchen that he normally loved when he sang to himself only served to amplify his ringing laughter. He was weak in the knees by the time Iwaizumi finally let up, his back to the wall and chest heaving to catch his breath.
He was grinning in spite of himself. As much as he hated being tickled, he couldn’t help but relish the carefree absurdity of it all. When was the last time he had just messed around like this? He couldn’t recall. Months? Years?
His eyes finally focused on the alpha in front of him, whose warm hands rested dangerously on Oikawa’s hips. Dangerous because where their skin touched felt like wildfires spreading across his nerves. He felt his heart give a thud in his chest as he noticed how close they were. Iwaizumi seemed to notice, too, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer.
Oikawa had tried to forget about what had happened last night. In fact, he’d almost convinced himself he dreamed it (which was a disturbing thought in and of itself), but when Iwaizumi’s lips pressed against his now, he was forced to face the fact that it had happened. And it was happening again. Like before, he didn’t know what to do, his mind short-circuiting as the alpha’s scent filled his nose. Woodsmoke and ozone, accompanied by a thin, subtle note of...old books? Oikawa could suddenly put a name to what Iwaizumi’s scent reminded him of: camping. Foggy memories prickled at the back of his mind, desperate to be released and claw their way to the surface, but he wouldn’t let them.
This was just a coincidence. There was no reason to think anything of it because it was simply impossible. It didn’t matter how it urged Oikawa forward, growing bolder as he rested his hands on Iwaizumi’s biceps. It didn’t matter that the taste of the other on his tongue left him restlessly wanting more. It didn’t matter that the quiet, barely suppressed noise Iwaizumi made when Oikawa’s teeth nipped at his lips caused a surge of heat that rippled inside him, fast and unfamiliar.
Whatever it was, it was far from instinct. Instinct would have him start growling and biting to harm rather than to entice. Not that he was trying to entice. He wasn’t trying to do anything. He was just—
He parted from Iwaizumi’s lips with a quiet gasp as he felt the sting of claws digging into his hips. Yes, claws. It was only then that he noticed his own claws had come out, leaving angry red marks where he’d been gripping the other’s arms. They were closer now, nearly chest to chest, a distinct, oppressive warmth radiating between their bodies. Black nearly swallowed the grey in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Oikawa could only assume he must have looked the same.
“Dangerous” didn’t begin to cover it.
“...The omelette’s done,” he heard himself say. Neither of them moved. Iwaizumi stared at him like a tiger watching its prey from behind the brush. Oikawa stared right back, as if daring him to pounce.
But this was a stalemate that neither of them could win because the consequences of making a move far outweighed the benefits. They were in unknown territory. So instead of doing something impulsive that they would both likely regret, Oikawa, not unlike the last time he backed down from a challenge, was the first to break away. He averted his gaze and gave a light push on the other alpha to make him move just enough so that he could slip by and return to the pot on the stove.
He moved mechanically as he turned off the heat, moved the pot to a cool burner, removed the lid to salt, butter, and garnish the eggs. It was all he could do to keep his thoughts from lingering on things he really shouldn’t be thinking about, like how he really wanted to kiss Iwaizumi again and savour the intense rush of adrenaline that came with it. Of course, he wasn’t quite successful in that as he wondered why it felt that way. Kissing someone had never been so...exhilarating. It had certainly never been enough to bring out his claws like that. Was it because they were both alphas? Or was it because—
“Think that’s enough salt?” Iwaizumi cut in from over his shoulder. Oikawa looked down at the salt shaker in his hands and muttered a quiet curse under his breath as he put it aside and grabbed a knife instead to cut out two wedges, trying to avoid the over-salted part as much as possible. He also tried not to be so stiff while the other was standing behind him, but that was a moot point. “...Hey— Look, Oikawa, I—”
“Don’t—don’t apologize, that’ll make it, just, so much weirder,” Oikawa said with a dry laugh, still turned away from Iwaizumi. He didn’t have to look at him to know what he had been about to say. “In fact, I would prefer it if we didn’t talk about it at all.” Iwaizumi scoffed behind him.
“We can’t just not talk about it.”
“Sure we can. All you have to do is stop talking.”
“Oikawa.”
Iwaizumi grabbed his arm and made him turn around to face him. Any other time, with any other alpha, Oikawa would have snapped at being grabbed like that. Right now, though, he still couldn’t bring himself to meet the other’s eyes, so he just stood there and stared at the floor as he bit the inside of his lip. Iwaizumi didn’t let go of his arm.
“I know it’s... weird, ” he said, “and I know this isn’t what you had in mind when you asked me to…” Iwaizumi closed his eyes and sighed. “I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen, you know? Especially when you made it seem like you were so against this sort of thing.”
“I’m not—” Oikawa bit his tongue, eyes searching the wall behind Iwaizumi. “I’m not... against it, I just... It’s—” How was he supposed to find the words to explain it? How did anyone even begin to put into words their own internalized fear and prejudice? It was impossible.
“...It’s what?” Iwaizumi asked.
“I don’t know!” Oikawa blurted. He shook off Iwaizumi’s hand then and finally met his eyes, his brow furrowed. “I just—don’t know, okay? I—…” He let out a sharp breath. “You should go. I have to get ready for work.”
“Oikawa—”
“Just go!” Oikawa turned around, briskly pulling out a small tupperware container from the cupboard to put the extra wedge of the omelette in. He snapped the lid on and turned back to Iwaizumi to shove it into his hands. “Just take the stupid omelette and go.”
Iwaizumi didn’t move right away, staring at him for a while longer before he pursed his lips and finally left the kitchen. Oikawa stayed there, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the quiet shuffling around the living room—likely Iwaizumi finding his shirt and putting it on. He jumped a little when he heard the door close. It wasn’t exactly a slam, but it was enough to make a point.
Oikawa glanced down at his own omelette. What the hell was wrong with him?
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
“You were my bad, bad, bad boy,
So bad, bad for me.
You made me feel like a king.
You're the only thing
I sing, drink, and bleed about.
Bad, bad, bad boy.”
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Musashi greeted Oikawa with what he felt was an over-the-top round of applause when he stepped out of the live room. Oikawa chuckled, unsure of what he’d done to earn such a response.
“Director?”
“No, no, just let me soak it in for a moment,” Musashi said, placing his hands on the idol’s shoulders as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, he grinned. “That was good, kid.” Oikawa returned the smile, albeit with a note of hesitance.
“You think so?”
“I know so. I’m glad ya took my advice,” Musashi said. “Whatever ya did to get outta your funk, it worked. Keep it up. I think we can get through at least two more songs today, then your manager says ya got a couple interviews and a photoshoot. Sound good?”
“Yes, sir!”
True to the director’s expectations, they finished recording the next two songs in Oikawa’s latest album-in-progress: Striped Carnations. Of course, they would have to be fine-tuned and maybe re-recorded in the next couple of days to ensure there were no flaws. This album was an homage to those whose lives had been claimed by Hanahaki Disease. When he started the project, he didn’t expect it to become so...personal, but that was perhaps all the more reason to make sure it turned out perfectly.
After he finished recording, he left with his manager, who had been silently observing from the corner of the room. As they were walking outside to her car, she spoke up.
"Have you ever considered acting?" she asked without looking at him, keeping her sharp eyes straight ahead, her small briefcase held to her chest. Oikawa glanced down at her.
"What? Don't tell me you've been trying to get me in a movie—" That... He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Unless it was a musical, he supposed, but he wasn't as good at acting as he was singing. Maybe she wanted him to try being the voice behind a lip-sync? He pouted at the thought.
"No. I just couldn't help but notice how well you're faking it."
Oikawa stopped walking, staring at the back of the beta's head as she continued on to her car. She didn't pause as she got into the driver's seat. Oikawa scrambled after her to climb into the passenger side, far too many memories of being left stranded on the side of the street flashing through his mind and moving his feet forward of their own accord.
"Are you going to elaborate?" he asked as he buckled up, tossing her a narrow-eyed look. "What exactly am I faking?"
"You're acting like there's nothing wrong," she said, driving the car out of the lot. "But that's a lie. You're in pain."
Oikawa blinked. He had always known his manager to be perceptive, but this was a little invasive, wasn't it? He crossed his arms and looked out the window instead.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's a lie, too."
"What are you, my therapist?"
"Have you been seeing your therapist?"
Oikawa didn't answer that. His silence was answer enough.
"This has nothing to do with that," he said instead.
"Then what does it have to do with?" she pressed without missing a beat. Oikawa clicked his tongue.
"It's nothing, " he said. "It doesn't have to do with anything! You're just paranoid because—"
"I'm paranoid," she interrupted, "because you won't ever say when something is bothering you and that affects you, me, and your career. Before, it was like you couldn't keep a straight thought. Now it's bleeding into your music. That's why Musashi-san was so impressed. You actually sounded like you were hurting in those songs. He said so himself."
...Was that true? And even if it were, how was that a bad thing? If he sounded as emotional as his songs demanded, then what was the problem? That was the goal, right? It didn't matter where the emotion came from, as long as it made it into his music. He didn't see the issue.
"When we get to the interviews," she continued, "they're going to ask where you've been. You haven't put out a new song in months. You can tell them you're working on an album, but then they're going to ask why it's taking so long. You're going to tell them it's a delicate creative process and this album is more involved than your previous albums. You're not going to tell them what it's about. You're not going to tell them what inspired you. You're not going to tell them why you're struggling with it. If you feel the need to tell anyone about that, I do recommend seeing your therapist again.”
Oikawa glanced at her briefly before turning away again. She acted like such a mother sometimes.
“I’m not trying to baby you,” she went on as if reading his mind. “In fact, that’s the last thing a manager should do. What I am trying to do is help you keep your career. Whatever you’re going through might be giving you some emotional insight to your songs right now, but down the road, you can’t always rely on that, and you shouldn’t, anyway. Method acting only works in movies. You’re an idol. You should act like it. You have to be someone people can look up to.”
He knew she had a point, but he didn’t want to admit it. Mostly because that would mean admitting that he was “going through something” right now, which he wasn’t. He was just… Things were just happening. Life was happening, and that happened to everybody. He didn’t need to talk to his therapist about it. His therapist was there to help him through a very specific problem, one that was completely separate from his best friend slowly withering away because of him and his not-real-and-very-much-still-fake alpha boyfriend having a hard time understanding the “fake” part of their non-relationship.
Says the guy who asked him out on a date. Oikawa slouched in his seat. No, that was so not a date. What kind of date ended up with someone getting the shit beaten out of them? So what if Oikawa took him home afterward and let him stay the night? It wasn’t like they— Anyway.
It definitely wasn’t a date because that would mean that Oikawa really was the kind of horrible person he kept telling himself he wasn’t and that… He didn’t want that. That wasn’t fair to anybody.
“Kiyoko-chan.” His voice was quiet, head still turned toward the window. “What if I said I don’t want to be an idol anymore?”
She nearly drove into another car while taking a turn, swerving back into the correct lane as the vehicle blared their horn and sped past. Quickly pulling into a parallel parking space on the side of the street, Shimizu Kiyoko turned to look at him with an incredulous expression.
“ What? ” Oikawa slapped his hands together and raised them over his head.
“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to bring it up so abruptly.” He lowered his hands to his lap, staring down at them as they sat in the idle car. “It’s just...it’s something Musashi-san brought up last week and—”
“Musashi-san says a lot of things he doesn’t mean to give his stars motivation,” Shimizu said. “You know that. You have to take whatever he says with a grain of salt.”
“It’s not just that, though,” he added quickly. “It’s—It’s what you just said, too. About being someone people can look up to. I...I don’t know if I can be that.”
Shimizu was quiet for a long time, the two of them sitting in silence until she eventually sighed and relaxed back in her seat. Oikawa’s eyes drifted over to her, head still slightly bowed as if he expected her to break into another lecture. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, letting it out slowly past her lips.
“...Talk to your therapist,” she said finally. When Oikawa opened his mouth to argue again, she held up a finger, opening her eyes to look at him. “Talk to your therapist, and see if you still feel the same way afterward. If you do, then I won’t stop you from stepping away from being and idol. You owe it to yourself to discuss this kind of decision with someone who knows you as well as you know yourself before you do anything.”
“...And if I don’t? Feel the same way, I mean.”
“If you don’t, then you owe me lunch and an apology,” she said. “I know I’m just your manager, but that means I want to see you succeed more than anybody. I don’t think you want to give up singing. Maybe you just need a break.”
A break, huh? He hadn’t thought about it before. Idols didn’t exactly get “breaks”. They were constantly working, expected to produce results on a regular basis. It was already worrisome to the public when an artist went quiet for too long, like he had been while working on his album. But what if he announced it? Could he do that? Could he simply...take a break from music and focus on other things for a little while? Was that what he wanted?
He continued to think it over as Shimizu ushered him inside to meet the press for his first interview of the day. These were always fairly simple: go in, answer a few questions, tactfully evade a few questions, crack a joke, say something cheesy, get out. He practically had the formula memorized by now. There was never anything to be gained from interviews; they were only for keeping the media off his back until he came out with something fresh and new. After the hype died down following his initial debut, everything was always very hush-hush. What really mattered was what he didn’t tell them during an interview.
Oikawa stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Shimizu glanced back at him questioningly, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were trained on the pair of glass doors opened across the lobby, a slew of reporters spilling out like a force field around the object of their current obsession. A pair of dull hazel eyes locked onto his above their heads.
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Not unlike the night at the bar, a rigid silence befell the room as the two alphas stared each other down. Even the reporters fell quiet. Shimizu adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose with a soft sigh. Ushijima was the first to move, stepping out of the throng of people with notepads and hand-held recorders to approach Oikawa with measured steps. He stopped just a few feet away, looking entirely too...casual, despite his straight back and squared shoulders. He nodded in greeting.
“Oikawa Tooru.”
“ Ushiwaka-chan, ” Oikawa returned with a little too much inflection for the nickname to be anything but derisive. He lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” Ushijima glanced around the lobby, over his shoulder at the interviewers, before returning his gaze to the idol’s.
“...I thought that would be obvious,” he said, voice as flat as ever. “I was here for an interview. I’m leaving now. It is more surprising to see you here. You have been...quiet, lately.” Oikawa sneered.
“I’ve been busy,” he corrected.
“I don’t doubt that,” Ushijima said before he could continue. “The life of a musician must be very eventful. I hope it has lived up to all of your expectations.”
“Idol,” Oikawa said. “I’m an idol. Second of all, what is that supposed to mean?” He crossed his arms, resting his weight on one side. Ushijima blinked. His expression never changed.
“I don’t understand why it has to mean anything other than exactly what it sounds like,” he said. “I sincerely hope your career has been treating you well. Admittedly I had thought you would choose to continue volleyball after high school. I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were,” Oikawa snapped. “And I don’t understand where you get off making any assumptions about me.” Damn that Ushiwaka. He always knows how to get under my skin.
“It was not my intention to offend you, Oikawa-san. I was simply under the impression that you had a passion for the sport. It certainly seemed that way the last time we—”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Ushiwaka-chan: you don’t know anything about me. We’re not friends.”
“You’re right,” Ushijima agreed. “We’re not. Although, I imagine that if things had happened differently, we might have become closer acquaintances. It is a shame we did not get the chance to face each other on the court again. Or, perhaps, we could have even ended up on the same team. In fact, I think that was a distinct possibility. After all, I think you would have done well in—”
“If you tell me I should have gone to Shiratorizawa one more time— ”
“Oikawa-san,” Shimizu cut in. Oikawa all but bit his tongue as he reluctantly looked down at her. Any crude retorts he might have been about to say in front of all these reporters died in his throat under her sharp glare. He swallowed. “Your interview is scheduled to begin in five minutes.”
“...Right.” Oikawa took a breath. This was just great. The last thing he needed was to cross paths with his old high school rival right before an interview. Now his whole game was going to be thrown off.
“I would like to apologize again if I have offended you,” Ushijima said as he walked forward. “It was good to see that you are doing well, Oikawa-san. Good luck during your interview.” He paused just as he was about to pass Oikawa, keeping his eyes ahead while he lowered his voice. “Do be careful… These ones are particularly vulturous.”
He smelled like aloe vera and rum. Oikawa wrinkled his nose.
He also had to refrain from growling as Ushijima continued onward without a backward glance. Who did that guy think he was, anyway? It wasn’t as if Oikawa had never been interviewed before— obviously. Who was he to be giving Oikawa advice? He blew air out of his nose as he faced the reporters, who had been hanging on to every word of their exchange. Looking at them all in a condensed group like that, he couldn’t help but be reminded of a pack of wolves. Then again, they were always hungry for their next story. Oikawa straightened himself.
“Let’s get this over with.”
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
"Oikawa-san, mere moments ago, we just saw you meet with the ace player of Japan’s National Volleyball Team, Ushijima Wakatoshi. There seemed to be a lot of tension between you two. Care to give us some insight into your history together?"
Yes, he did care, actually, but that answer wasn't going to fly here.
"We don't have a history, really," he said. "We played against each other in a few matches back in the day."
"Were you two rivals? The animosity was almost tangible."
"Well, I did say we played against each other. In a manner of speaking, I suppose that constitutes a rivalry in the same sense as any other team match-up."
"Do you keep in touch with your former volleyball contacts often?"
"As far as my own teammates go, yes."
"Do you miss playing volleyball?"
"...On occasion."
"What do you miss most about it? Would you say it was the teamwork, the game play, the environment?"
"I would say...all of it. Being part of a team was definitely a big part of it, but there was a certain charm to the game itself. Strategizing and seeing the payoff from those strategies, the adrenaline from a rally and the relief when it ends on your point, just...the feeling of getting to touch the ball—it's hard to put into words."
"You make it sound so fun! Have you ever considered going back to volleyball?"
Yes.
"Oh, no, not really."
"Why not?"
"I love making music too much! I couldn't just leave this behind. I'm content with what I got to experience in school." Liar.
"Aw, well I'm sure all of your fans appreciate your dedication! But how about this: you said you enjoyed being on a team, so have you ever thought about joining an idol group?"
"A...group?"
"Yeah! Like BTS or BabyMetal. Do you plan to stay a solo artist, or do you want to expand at some point?"
"I...haven't really thought about it." Now he was, though. He was going to be thinking about that a lot now.
"Well, food for thought I guess! Now, let's move on to what we've all been wondering. Where have you been, Oikawa-san?"
"Ah, right. I've been working on a new album. It's taking a little longer than expected, but that's just because the creative process is very involved."
"Ohh, exciting! Can you spare any details?"
"Unfortunately not. I want this to be a complete surprise. If everyone could bear with it for just a little longer, I promise the end result will be worth it."
"How mysterious. We'll all be looking forward to it! But tell us, Oikawa-san, is there perhaps another reason you’ve been so quiet recently? Maybe the same reason why it’s taking you a while to finish your album?” The interviewer waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Oikawa furrowed his brows slightly.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Oh, come on. A stud like you, your name on every radio station—omegas must be throwing themselves at you left and right.” That wasn’t inaccurate, but he didn’t like where this was going. “You mean to tell us you don’t have a... special someone you’ve been spending a lot of time with?” If Oikawa could get away with walking off in the middle of an interview on live television, he would have.
“...No, I don’t. I don’t really have time for a relationship right now. I’ve been busy—”
“Uh oh! Looks like we caught the Grand King in the middle of a fib!”
Oikawa opened his mouth to ask what in the hell this lady was on about, but he didn’t have to. With a click of a button on her little remote control, the screen behind them on the set lit up with two familiar photos side by side. Well, one was familiar. The other one he only knew was his because, well, it was a selfie. His eyes widened. The first one he recognized from the movie theatre and that god awful Godzilla poster. The second one was from his night at the bar with Iwaizumi—just himself, thankfully, but the caption he included that read “Nothing beats a night out with someone who can keep up!” didn’t do himself any favours. Shit, I posted that? I thought for sure I deleted it...
“These photos from your Instagram timeline have all the signs of a lowkey love tryst. It’s very sweet that you want to keep them anonymous, but I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on here. So, Oikawa-san, the cat’s out of the bag. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to share with us?”
“I— Those are not what they look like.”
“So bashful! That’s adorable. Sounds like the infamous playboy, Oikawa Tooru, has finally found someone he’s serious about!”
“I’m not a—a playboy—”
“Well, I think that wraps it up for today! Thank you for taking the time to chat with us, Oikawa-san. We hope to have you back again soon!"
Fat chance of that ever happening, Oikawa thought. As soon as the cameras were turned off, he didn’t waste any time standing up and confronting the interviewer at her posh little desk, placing his hands flat on top of it.
“What was that all about?! You can’t just use pictures from my social media to take them out of context and make up some bogus narrative about my love life!” He understood that he had been the one to post them and thus opened the can of worms this was turning out to be himself, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it.
“Oh, honey,” the interviewer said, sounding far too much like she pitied him for his liking as she stood from her seat and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I was trying to help you.”
“How?! How does any of that help me?”
“Oikawa-san, you’ve been radio silent for months, ” she reminded him. “Your fans need something to talk about if you don’t want them to forget about you. If you can’t say anything about your album, then this is the next best thing.”
“ Nooo, you don’t get it. This is the worst thing.” Oikawa deflated, lifting a hand to drag down his face. “I already have to deal with jealous basket cases who call themselves fans stalking me and the people I hang out with. This is just going to make that ten times worse! How long have you been interviewing celebrities? Don’t you know this stuff by now?”
“Oikawa-san,” came Shimizu’s voice as she emerged from behind the film equipment. Oikawa gave her a pleading look as if she could do something about this. “Your next interview is in half an hour. I suggest you get something to eat before then.”
He was about to protest more, but then he noticed that she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were trained on the interviewer. Oikawa glanced between them before he straightened himself and cleared his throat.
“Thank you for the suggestion. I think I’ll go do that,” he said, carefully picking his way off the set. He watched Shimizu approach to take his place out of his peripheral, but he didn’t look back to watch whatever hellfire she was about to unleash on that interviewer. It was better for everyone if he just busied himself with the small buffet in the next room over.
Thankfully, his next interview at the studio a few blocks away went much better. The line of questioning was much more business-like, something he could appreciate considering how much of his personal life was flaunted during the last interview, some of which was purely fictional. Instead, he talked about his typical process for writing songs, what it was like to dance on a stage in front of thousands of people (millions if he were to count those watching from behind a screen), how he handled all the pressure and expectations that came hand-in-hand with fame. It was still a thorough interview, but at least his answers were more technical and practiced. He was prepared for it.
Afterward, he had an hour and a half to spare before his photoshoot. He was in the line-up to be on the cover of this month’s edition of Rockin’On Japan. The magazine was pretty huge, huge enough to sponsor its own music festival. To be in it, let alone on the cover, was something of an honour in the music artist community. Did Oikawa just want bragging rights over his fake celebrity friends? Maybe. Did part of him still get butterflies in his stomach at the thought of such an achievement? Yes, definitely.
Maybe it was a little lame to be this excited to be in a magazine, but he couldn't help it. Oikawa had grown up reading magazines and it had always seemed like the coolest thing to show up in one. Of course, this wasn't necessarily his first time--he had been included in articles alongside a headshot or two, but this was different. Even if he didn't make it on the cover, he was still going to be a featured celebrity rather than just some no-name upstart from Miyagi nobody had cared about yet.
When he walked into the studio, Oikawa suddenly knew love at first sight. The decor, the ambiance, the absurdly beautiful people walking around as if they were completely unaware that they were regarded as gods amoung men. Of course, Oikawa knew that was far from the case. He was willing to bet that nearly everyone here was acutely aware of their fame and used it to their advantage at every opportunity. As glamorous as all this was, there was also the feeling of dipping into a shark tank.
That feeling was only amplified when no less than ten pairs of eyes turned to look at him when he stepped through the doors. For all of Oikawa's manufactured confidence, even he felt a little small under the scrutiny. These people were not only music artists, but most of them were veterans of the craft, unlike Oikawa whose career as an idol had only taken off in the past couple of years. He could even name some of them just by looking at them.
As Shimizu went on ahead to check them in for their appointment at the front desk, Oikawa’s attention was captured by an argument two people were having off to the side. Both blonds, from the look of it, and Oikawa almost thought they were twins at a glance, but that didn’t appear to be the case if the subject of their argument were anything to judge by.
“Who d'ya think ya are, rippin’ off my style, anyway?” one of them growled out with a sneer masquerading as an all too synthetic smile. “It’s punks like you who tarnish the concept of originality. ”
“Oh, yeah?” the other retorted, the smug curl of his lips showing a blatant and amused disregard for the apparent fact that he’d offended the guy. “You call that original? Babe, I know ten different people with this hairstyle, and all of ‘em pull it off ten times better than you.”
“Why, ya little—” The first person cut themself off when their eyes drifted over and caught Oikawa’s. The idol stiffened at being caught staring. “Hey you!”
Oh, damn. I wasn’t even trying to pick a fight this time! Oikawa cursed inwardly as the first blond approached him to grab hold of his shirt sleeve. Oikawa blinked, but before he could voice his questions, he was being dragged over into the middle of whatever tiff these two were having. His nose was accosted with the scent of sunflower seeds and coconuts— alpha, his brain supplied. He expected to recoil at the realization, but he was surprised to find that the combination wasn’t entirely unpleasant. As he was dragged closer to the other blond, he picked up on a lighter, more subtle scent: ginger. A beta.
“Look at this street rat an' tell me he ain't completely stealin’ my look,” the alpha demanded, yanking Oikawa in front of him to face the beta. He really wished he were standing anywhere else than between these two right now. “It’s totally obvious, right?”
The beta looked entirely unimpressed with the alpha’s antics, but the look in his eyes shifted from disinterest to intrigue when he looked Oikawa up and down. Oikawa pursed his lips. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one doing the inspecting? Not that he really wanted to, but it was kind of off-putting to have the tables turned on him.
“Heeey, you’re Oikawa Tooru, right?” the beta guessed, finally lifting his eyes to meet the idol’s again with a polite grin. “Big fan of your work. The name’s Terushima Yuji. My friends call me Teru, but you can call me whatever you want, gorgeous ~” He offered a wink and gave Oikawa another quick once-over as his smile turned a little more suggestive.
Oikawa might have blushed at such a shameless come-on if it weren’t so cheesy. He didn’t even have time to roll his eyes, though, when the alpha behind him grabbed his shoulders to move him aside just enough to glare at the beta— Terushima —from around him.
“Yer such a pig, ya know that? As if yer gonna get laid when ya can’t even wear my hairstyle right,” he said.
“I dunno. I think I’m doin’ it justice,” Terushima replied with a shrug. “What do you think, Oikawa-kun? It kinda works for me, right?” He waggled his eyebrows, but Oikawa’s only twitched. Oikawa-kun?
“Oink it up, ass fer brains.” The other alpha stepped forward just enough to stand beside Oikawa, slinging an arm casually over the idol’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but feel like a prop at the moment. “I think we all know who the real prize is here. Right, ‘Kawa?”
‘Kawa?
Trying to keep the murderous intent out of his eyes, Oikawa cleared his throat and, as delicately as possible, removed the alpha’s hand from his shoulder. He stepped away to put some distance between them, then put on as venomous a smile as he could manage, and he could fit quite a bit of venom in his expression.
“I think you’re both animals,” he said very plainly, “and if either of you touches me without my permission again, I’ll break your hands. How’s that sound?”
The alpha, to his credit, had the decency to look a little apprehensive. Terushima, on the other hand, made no effort to hide the way he was considering the prospect. In fact, he almost seemed tempted to try his luck. Oikawa wished he would. He didn’t mind proving that his threats weren’t empty.
“Oh, boooys,” came a light, chiming voice from behind.
All three heads turned to see a relatively tall woman approaching. Her glossy blonde hair and sea green eyes stood out like a beacon amoung those gathered in the studio lobby as she walked toward them with a stunning smile on lips painted with just the hint of green to accentuate her eyes. She moved with a certain, hypnotizing rhythm, not unlike a proud lioness who knew exactly what she wanted. Oikawa was sure he wasn’t alone when he was hit with a single thought: Wow.
“You two aren’t causing trouble again, are you?” she asked, suddenly right in front of them with a manicured hand resting on her hip. Oikawa barely managed to keep from flinching at the mere implication that she was talking to him, but her eyes were focused on the two numbskulls behind him. “I come all this way to do a photoshoot together, and you’re both making a scene like a couple of high school idiots. I mean, really, don’t you ever get embarrassed?”
Unlike the behaviour all three of them had displayed in the past few moments, this woman’s smile and laughter seemed genuine, merely teasing. The faint blush that dusted her cheeks, a light rose that stood out against her fair skin, only added to her allure. Oikawa couldn’t resist taking an inconspicuous sniff in her direction. Vanilla and...black cherry, though the undertones were a little difficult to make beneath the veil of Miss Dior Blooming Bouquet perfume (no, he was not going to explain himself). An omega, and quite the fragrant one at that. Oikawa would be ashamed to admit to the way his mouth watered at the thought of getting closer and inhaling more of that intoxicating scent.
“Ah, come on, Alisa. We’re not makin’ a scene. We’re just havin’ a little fun like guys do. Right, ‘Tsumu?” Terushima said, clapping the other alpha on the back with just a little more force than what seemed to be absolutely necessary. “‘Tsumu” barely even acknowledged the gesture, far too distracted by the look of the dopey smile on his face aimed at the omega. Alisa, Oikawa noted. That was a nice name. Definitely foreign, but she definitely looked foreign, so that made sense.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Alisa said with a giggle. Then, however, her eyes turned to Oikawa and he didn’t miss the way her eyelashes fluttered when she briefly, curiously glanced him over. Unlike his reaction to Terushima’s unabashed examination, he was perfectly content to let this Alisa look at him as much as she wanted. “Sorry, where are my manners? My name’s Alisa. Er—Haiba. Haiba...Alisa.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand while tentatively extending the other. Oikawa stared dumbly at her for a long moment before his brain jumped back into action, hastily commanding his hand to reach out and shake hers. He was familiar with the custom by now. He was also familiar with another foreign greeting custom, but there was no way he would do something that he viewed as far too intimate for first meetings with someone as beautiful as the woman in front of him. Not that he didn’t want to. Oh, how he would love to get his lips acquainted with the back of her hand, but he was a gentleman, if nothing else, and there was no way of knowing that wouldn’t come off as offensive anyway.
“—Oikawa,” he blurted then, realizing far too late that he hadn’t returned the greeting. She blinked up at him and he wanted to slap himself in the face. “My name. Oikawa Tooru.” Smooth, idiot. “Do you, ah, prefer Haiba? Or...Alisa?”
“Alisa’s fine,” she said, light smile tugging at her lips as she peered up at him through her lashes. “...And you?”
“You can call me Tooru,” he answered without hesitation. It was only fair, if he were going to be allowed to call her by her first name. First names were more common with foreigners, right? There was nothing wrong or weird about letting her call him Tooru. He watched, dazzled, as her smile widened fractionally.
“Okay. Tooru. I like that name,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Me, too,” he replied with all the intelligence of a fucking grape. Luckily, he wasn’t forced to steep in the humiliating realization of his nonsensical response on account of the other alpha he had completely forgotten about rudely shoving his way between them, effectively parting their hands that they had yet to separate from one another. He took a stance on Alisa’s right, putting an arm around her shoulder, almost possessively, before he regarded Oikawa with a dry and shallowly polite look. Oikawa bristled at the unspoken challenge delivered in just one pointed glance, but he didn’t address it.
“So,” the alpha began, “Oikawa Tooru, huh? What do ya do, anyway? Ya some kinda foot model or somethin’?” Gee, be a little more obvious, why don’t you?
“ Actually, I’m—”
“You nuts?” Terushima piped up from behind, stepping forward to prop up his elbow on Oikawa’s shoulder, which seemed really uncomfortable, given the height difference, but that didn’t seem to deter him. “This guy’s a star. You really tryna say you never heard of him before? Don’t you ever turn on the radio?” Oikawa decided to let his reputation speak for itself, crossing his arms and issuing an expectant look to “‘Tsumu”. He couldn’t help but find it a little bit funny how the question was so reminiscent of how he had lightly interrogated Iwaizumi about not knowing who he was, either.
Ah, right. Iwaizumi…
“Nah, not really. I get all my music from recommendations of talented, well-known artists,” the alpha said. Oikawa rolled his eyes. Wasn’t this guy more or less hiding behind him a minute ago? Was he really that much of a jealous alpha that he could flip a switch on his demeanor just like that? Talk about a red flag.
“Don’t be mean,” Alisa chided, halfheartedly slapping at the alpha’s chest. Even that didn’t make him tear his eyes away from Oikawa, his dead, unblinking stare beginning to make the idol’s skin crawl. “So, you’re a musician then?” she asked, turning her attention back to Oikawa, who was more than happy to indulge.
“An idol, actually,” he said, smiling. “I’m a performer above all else.”
“Really? That’s so exciting!” She beamed at him, clasping her hands together in front of herself. “I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to get up on a stage in front of so many people. Don’t you ever get nervous and mess up?”
“I used to,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “Not so much anymore. I was already used to crowds when I started singing, so it wasn’t that hard to adjust—”
“Wait a minute,” the other alpha interjected. “I think I do know ya from somewhere.” Well, that couldn’t be good. “Yeah, yeah, I remember now. Weren’t ya that kid from some high school volleyball club who took a nasty dive on TV a few years back? Oh man, I can still see it—fucked up yer knee pretty good, huh? Damn, what was that school called again…? Oh, yeah! Aoba Josai, right?”
Oikawa felt a phantom pang in his right leg at the memory the alpha was referencing. That...definitely wasn’t one of his proudest moments, especially considering that match got televised. He narrowed his eyes at the alpha.
“Well, I guess I left an impression, at least,” he said. “It’s funny, though. I don’t seem to know you from anywhere.” He watched the chaste annoyance that flashed across the other’s face.
“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised. I doubt we run in the same circles,” he said. Judging by his tone, that was meant to be another insult, but Oikawa only felt relief. “Miya Atsumu, if ya gotta know. Part-time professional athlete, part-time bass player in a band. I know, I know. It’s a lot t'balance, but I get the job done.” Oikawa arched his brow.
“Oh, yeah? What band?” he asked.
“Mine,” Terushima answered in his stead, finally slipping his arm from Oikawa’s shoulder to go stand on Alisa’s left. He still had that cocky smile in place and didn’t seem the least bit insulted at not being recognized, at least. “We’re called Stitch’d. Started out on Spotify last year, so we’re not exactly big yet, but...we’re here. That’s gotta count for somethin’.”
Oikawa made every effort to keep his expression controlled. They started last year? On Spotify? And they were already getting photoshoots to be in magazines? Were they actually amazing and Oikawa had been living under a rock for the past several months, or was he missing something here?
“This is our first shoot together!” Alisa said then, moving to wrap her arms around the middles of both men with an all too innocent grin. “I’m the vocalist. Well, one of them. Our other lead should be here any minute—”
Their collective attention was diverted to the commotion that burst through the front doors of the lobby. Someone with tawny hair and heavy eyeliner was shaking off the security guard trying to grab his arm.
“Knock it off, will you? I’m supposed to be here,” he insisted, slapping repeatedly at the offending hand, much to the guard’s evident chagrin. When the guy looked around the lobby, his gaze landed on the little group Oikawa had found himself with, and his face lit up. “There, see?! I’m with them, alright? Cool it.”
Alisa eagerly waved him over and the guard reluctantly released the fourth member of this...band. He made his way toward them with brisk steps, dusting off the sleeves of his leather jacket and adjusting the collar.
“What a fucking prick. I literally didn’t even do anything this time,” he said. Alisa giggled, Terushima snorted, and Atsumu lifted a hand to the guy’s hair to ruffle it up. Oikawa smelled the vague notes of chamomile in the air, along with something else he couldn’t quite make out, but it carried enough of a lingering sweetness to be plainly omegan. Oikawa wondered if the muted scent had anything to do with suppressants.
“ This time,” Atsumu emphasized, snickering as his hand was smacked away. “Yer an absolute menace, Semi. Ya definitely did somethin’.”
“Alright, maybe I flicked my cigarette at him by accident, but so what?!” the omega, Semi, defended himself. “Doesn’t mean he’s gotta come at me like that. Anyway. Who’s this guy?” He turned to jerk his chin in Oikawa’s direction. The idol— the idol —was about to give up on ever getting the recognition he deserved. Well, besides from crazed fans who idolized him a little too much.
“This is Oikawa Tooru! He’s an idol. Isn’t that cool?” Alisa offered by way of an introduction. Oikawa was helpless but to give a bashful chuckle at her praise, scratching lightly at his cheek. She was just so damn nice and cute. What was up with that?
“Huh. Yeah, I guess it is,” Semi said. He gave Oikawa a genuinely polite smile as he bowed in greeting. “Nice meetin’ you. I’m Semi Eita.” Oikawa returned the gesture.
“Oikawa Tooru,” he responded automatically before he could catch himself. “But—you...already know that. Sorry.” Thankfully, Semi laughed it off.
“No sweat. This your first time, too?” he asked. Man. That kind of stung a little bit, even though that was obviously the opposite of Semi’s intention. Oikawa refrained from sighing.
“...Kind of? I’ve been in photoshoots before, but this is my first time in the line up to be on the cover,” he admitted.
“Whoa! You’re gonna be on the cover? That’s amazing!” Alisa gushed, bringing her hands up to her chest to ball them into excited fists.
“Well, it’s not decided yet,” he clarified. “There are four other candidates they plan to pick from.”
“Well, I think you have a good shot at being chosen!” she said. “You’re very photogenic. I can just tell.” Now that did make him blush a little. He smiled.
“Well, thank you—”
“We better get goin’,” Miya announced suddenly, squeezing Alisa’s shoulders. “Our shoot’s in a couple minutes. We was just waitin’ on this slug.”
“I’m not a— Shut the hell up, Atsumu,” Semi shot back. “You’re the one who kept us waiting a whole two hours into our rehearsal time because you ‘couldn’t find your favourite underwear’.”
“They’re my lucky underwear an' I would appreciate it if ya didn’t talk about that!”
“Says the guy who wouldn’t shut up about it the whole damn time!”
“Our rehearsal sucked ‘cause I couldn’t find them!”
“No, it sucked because you’re a whiny bitch who wouldn’t focus on actually rehearsing because you were too busy complaining!”
The bickering continued even as they started to walk away, Terushima trailing behind them with approximately zero attempt at trying to mediate the situation. Alisa lingered behind, laughing quietly at them before she turned to glance back at Oikawa. He found the entire exchange to be rather hilarious and was holding back some laughter himself, but he was immediately transfixed by the omega’s eyes when they landed on him again. She pursed her lips, seeming to debate something to herself before she dug her phone out of the purse hanging on her elbow. She fiddled with it in her hand, staring down at it, then shyly held it out toward Oikawa.
“Would you...wanna put your number in it?” she asked softly, keeping her eyes downcast. “We could...talk sometime. If you want.” Oikawa felt his heart sputter in his chest. She really was too cute for her own good.
“I’d love that,” he said, mustering up a confident smile as he took her phone to put in his number. He took the liberty of snapping a selfie to set as the contact photo, which she seemed to appreciate. After she did the same with his phone, she cheerfully parted ways with him, rushing to catch up with the rest of her band.
Oikawa stared after her for what felt like a long time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so smitten with someone he just met. He couldn’t blame it on just one thing, either. She was just...great. Only a few moments of knowing her was enough to prove what a bright, enchanting personality she had. He found himself eager to talk to her again. Maybe next time he would try out that other foreign greeting he’d been thinking about.
“Oikawa-san.” Shimizu’s voice sliced through his thoughts as if she could hear them. He jumped when he turned around to find her staring at him from behind. “It’s time for your photoshoot. You’re in studio ten.”
“Ah—right. Shall we, then?” he offered. Shimizu blinked at him slowly, almost pointedly, before walking past him to head down the same hallway out of the lobby that the band members had gone. Oikawa sighed as he tailed after her. She didn’t miss anything, did she?