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The smoke from Kei’s lit cigarette dissipates into air, mixing with the toxic breath he just exhaled. Clad in only his boxers, he stands in the small balcony Tobio’s room offers, his arms supporting his weight on the metal rails that’s preventing him from falling to his death.
He hears rustling from inside the room; he sees Tobio awaking from his nap when he turns around. He sits up, the blanket swiftly falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist, exposing the contours of his torso. The sight causes a warm feeling to spread on his lower abdomen. Grabbing the nearest piece of clothing he could find, which was Kei’s tank top, he slips it on and takes his phone to dial a number.
Kei presses what remains of his cigarette, the embers disappearing in a quick death. He strides slowly, naked under the bright moonlight, save for the boxers around his hips.
“You have somewhere else to be?” He asks, less out of curiosity, more to save himself from the awkwardness he could feel seeping in.
Tobio shakes his head. “Delivery. I get hungry after having sex.” He crosses his legs in front of him, taking Kei’s attention away from his eyes. “Want anything?”
“Jjajangmyeon, and chicken,” he answers after a few seconds of thought.
Tobio only nods before proceeding to list down the orders.
Kei shouldn’t be surprised with how casual the other is; he’s done this countless times before, if years of living in the same house, and consequently, watching one-night-stands come and go, were to prove anything. But, he still can’t help but feel uneasy, with how easy it is for Tobio, to engage in casual conversation, as if they didn’t just have each other’s lips hungrily devouring the other, and moans blessing each other’s ears. It’s crazy; how unaffected he is by all of this; how he easily falls back into their usual dynamic.
His thoughts are especially loud in his ears when they finally settle in their shared living room, sitting on the carpet and watching an old sitcom. Everything entangles together, thanks to the sudden press of Tobio’s thighs against his when he changes his sitting position. And what he really, absolutely, desperately wants to erase from these whirring thoughts is the fact that he’s vividly aware of Tobio’s lack of underwear underneath his tank top that he stole.
If it was Tobio’s plan to drive him crazy, then he has successfully carried it out, because he fears he might actually go insane.
The chaos in his brain only dies down when Tobio, for the second time in the span of four hours, takes the air out of his lungs and draws a map on his back. And all the while, his mind is filled with one thought, and one thought only—Tobio.
Kei doesn’t know when exactly it started, but he knows perfectly well that his feelings for Tobio was an ever-developing emotion that despite his efforts to bury, has only grown larger and is now rooted in the depths of his soul. He had been doing well keeping it to himself, his lingering stares and longing sighs had been discreet; he was sure of it. But after that night, when it was only the two of them left in the band’s shared house, it was as if his emotions were given the excuse to let itself out from where it was caged.
It has been seven months since then, but he remembers it very clearly, that night. Tetsurou, Koutarou, and Atsumu were all out, leaving the house peaceful; so quiet it almost seemed uninhabited. Kei was in his room, in the middle of watching a movie he wasn’t completely paying attention to. His thoughts wandered elsewhere, thinking if he should have just gone with the other three to the bar, even if it meant having to see Atsumu suck faces with Limbo’s owner, or watch Tetsurou terribly attempt to stay sober.
The ringtone blasting through the speakers of Kei’s phone pulled him back into his room. Tobio’s contact photo glared at him as he swiped right to answer.
“Hey?”
Kei heard panting on the other side of the line, bringing him to his feet. Is he okay?
“Can you—” A sharp gasp. “—come here?” His voice was strained, as if he was trying so hard to get those four words out without stuttering.
Kei walked towards his door, slight speed in his steps as he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Please,” Tobio whimpered out.
Kei practically ran, thinking that something might have happened to Tobio—a sprained ankle, a bad cut, a bruised hip, anything . He thought of every possible scenario he could possibly catch Tobio in and all the possible approaches he could do, but nothing, absolutely nothing , could ever prepare Kei for what he was about to see.
When he opened the door to Tobio’s room, there in his bed, poorly lit by his lamp, was Tobio with his cheek pressed on the mattress, mouth agape, and ass up, a pink nub peeking from what Kei deduced to be his hole. And goddamn, Kei swore all the blood in his body centered in on the length hiding beneath his boxers.
“Shit,” Kei cursed under his breath, unable to take his eyes off the sinful display of their band manager.
“Kei...” Tobio drawled out, his eyes heavy with want. “Please… I need you to touch me.”
Who was Kei to deny Tobio when he asked him so nicely?
With long, quick strides, Kei marched towards Tobio and lifted him into his arms. His hands rested under the plumpness of Tobio’s butt while his lips were busy devouring Tobio’s. And oh, how much he longed for this; how many sleepless nights he spent wondering how Tobio’s lips felt against his.
He felt his body burn when Tobio moved his hips and tightened his legs around his waist, a desperate cry dripping onto Kei’s tongue. All of his inhibitions turned to dust right then as he stripped himself free from his clothes and let himself be pulled into Tobio’s game.
And oh, what a terrible decision that was.
It goes on for months. At first, they kept it hidden from the band, but a few slip ups and Tetsurou’s keen eye eventually spilled the secret. When they were met with sly smirks and low whistles, Kei wondered why they even tried to hide it in the first place.
Kei wakes up to a lazy morning, sunlight streaming in through the cracks between his curtains. He feels a heavy weight on his chest, and hears the light snores of a particular blue-eyed man. He runs his palm across the plane of Tobio’s back before it reaches the messy mop of his hair. Slender fingers card through the soft fibers of Tobio’s hair. It’s in times like this that Kei hopes he can freeze time; when he can just admire the slight pout on the other’s lips, the sharp slope of his nose, and the shadows that his lashes cast on his cheeks. He looks beautiful like this. He looks beautiful in every waking second, but it’s in Kei’s arms, when Tobio’s sleeping comfortably, that Kei allows himself to want—to believe that maybe he can be granted permission to love Tobio with no restrictions, to love Tobio loudly, to love Tobio in the way he deserves.
But it doesn’t last; it never does. Because Tobio soon wakes up, and Kei is left to savor the last moments of his wishful thinking as Tobio’s eyes flutter open, revealing blue irises that only gaze at him softly in the first minute of its unveiling. It never stretches beyond that.
Kei puts on a disinterested facade and lets his hand fall on the middle of Tobio’s bare back.
Tobio grimaces and groans as he lifts himself up from the warmth of Kei’s chest.
“God, I’m so sore. I fucking hate you,” he says with a frown.
With a roll of his eyes, Kei answers, “You literally begged me to go harder on you last night. I only complied, King.” He jumps to a seating position when Tobio pokes his side harshly upon hearing the nickname. “What? Do you want me to call you by your first name as if you don’t become instantly needy and submissive whenever I do it in bed?” With every word he utters, Kei leans closer towards Tobio.
A smirk grows on his face when the pink of Tobio’s cheeks deepen.
He tries to salvage his reputation by strongly disagreeing, but the colors of his cheeks spread throughout his ears, neck, and chest when he notices Kei watching him with hungry eyes.
“Really, now?” Kei challenges, inching his face closer. “It doesn’t affect you when I call you by your name, To-bi-o? ” He stresses each syllable of his name, eyes boring into his. He hums, a few centimeters separating his and Tobio’s lips.
In this distance, he can clearly hear the slight instability in his breathing, with how he’s desperately trying to control himself from succumbing to Kei’s taunts. It only causes Kei’s smirk to become larger.
“Answer me, Tobio. Does it really have n—”
Kei’s next words die on the tip of his tongue when Tobio devours his lips. He can practically feel the scrunch of his eyebrows when Kei smiles smugly into the kiss. Tobio sighs and wraps his arms around his shoulders when Kei pulls him to sit on his lap. He angles his head to taste Tobio further, their tongues engaged in dancing the tango.
Tobio tastes of summer mornings, and glorious mistakes; and it makes Kei want, and want, and want. Even if it sears his entire being—with every press of soft lips, every lick of a wet tongue, every brush of smooth fingers, and every roll of rounded hips. Kei feels himself lose grip of his sobriety as he welcomes the intoxication brought by Tobio’s entire existence. He pushes his sweet, and sinful moans down Kei’s throat and revels in the increasing tightness in his grip on Tobio’s waist.
Delicate fingers find themselves buried in a heap of blonde waves, turning into fists as Kei’s unforgiving lips mark a trail of sinful scarlets on Tobio’s flawless skin. He bites and he laps and he ingrains Tobio’s taste in his mind. He inhales his scent in the same way he sucks the nicotine from a cigarette and lets the smoke settle in his lungs. But instead of releasing the toxicity out of his body, he allows Tobio’s scent to make a home inside his chest, just as he already did with all of his intricacies.
“Oi, Tsukki, wak—”
The two break apart from each other to see Atsumu in the doorway with an annoyed expression on his face.
He groans loudly. “We’re buying groceries today. Be ready in thirty minutes,” he says with a look of disgust. He turns away, muttering, “Fuckin’ disgusting fuckers fuckin’ so early in the fuckin’ mornin’.”
Kei laughs before continuing his business on Tobio’s collarbones earlier.
“Can we please not open with a song that would kill my vocal cords?” Koutarou whines when Tobio tells the band to open with Kissaphobic on Saturday’s gig at Limbo. When he’s met with a prompt ‘no,’ he turns to Kei. “Tsukki, can you just sing it? You’re the one who made it anyway.” He punctuates his request with a pout.
Kei rolls his eyes at the childish behavior Koutarou was displaying. His eyes flick towards Tobio who was giving him a look, daring him to even try to accept Koutarou’s request. He brings his gaze back towards his sulking bandmate.
“You’re the vocalist, you sing it,” Kei replies, tone nonchalant.
Koutarou groans then with pleading eyes, faces Tetsurou who laughs at him and pats his shoulder.
“Nah, man. You and Tsukki are the only ones who can reach the notes in that bloody song.”
Koutarou whines louder, cushioning his cheeks with his calloused palms.
“You’ve sung this countless times before, why are you complaining now?” Tobio raises his eyebrows as he crosses his arms across his chest. Kei tries to keep his eyes away from his arms.
“It’s a really difficult song to sing!”
Tobio stares at Koutarou for a few seconds before standing up. “Fine. I’ll find a vocalist who can and is willing to sing the song.” He ignores Koutarou’s protests. “You don’t have to come on Saturday.”
“What—Tobio!” Koutarou screams, but Tobio’s already out the door.
It has been hours since Tobio departed from the house and left Koutarou defeated. He hasn’t replied to any of their texts, basically giving them the silent treatment.
It took them an hour of convincing Koutarou to accept Tobio’s proposal—‘demand’ is a more accurate word, Koutarou thinks—of singing Kissaphobic , but what’s important is he caved in. They know to never take Tobio’s words lightly, because if he says he would do something, he actually would do it. It’s a trait of his that has landed the band their numerous gigs.
“Try calling him from Tsukki’s phone,” Tetsurou proposes after Tobio declines Koutarou’s call for the eighth time in a row. “He’ll probably answer if it’s him who’s calling.”
Kei’s eyebrows meet in the middle. “No? He won’t?”
Tetsurou snorts. “Say it with more conviction if you’re going to try and convince me.”
Kei rolls his eyes and hands Koutarou his phone after dialing Tobio’s number, their manager’s contact photo smiling slyly at him. He brings it to his ears and waits as it takes a few more rings before Tobio finally picks up. Before he can get a word out, however, Tobio is already speaking—or more accurately, screaming.
“My God! I’m literally in the middle of getting my face fucked, can’t you wait?!”
And then the call ends.
It takes a few seconds for Tobio’s words to process in Koutarou’s head, and when it finally does, his jaw hangs open as he gives the phone back to its owner.
“Did he snap at you?” Kei asks, seemingly unfazed with how quick the phone call was, if it can even be considered as such.
“He said he was in the middle of getting his face fucked...” He trails, mouth still agape and his eyes unfocused.
“What?” Something in Kei’s gaze darkens, and his jaw and fists clench.
Tetsurou snorts beside him, before taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for Tobio?” Tetsurou asks, a certain lilt in his voice. It ticks Kei off a little.
“Shut the fuck up, will you?” He bites back, and Tetsurou raises both his hands up in surrender.
Koutarou whips his head towards the pair seated on the battered couch; his eyes even wider than it was earlier.
“You’re in love with our manager?” His voice booms into the empty night.
There’s no one else in the area, it’s their place after all, but it doesn’t stop Kei from repeating his very polite request to Tetsurou, now directed at Koutarou, of shutting the fuck up.
“That’s not gonna go well, I hope ya know that,” Atsumu remarks as he walks in, a cigarette caught between the smirk on his lips. He leans down and inhales to light it, pressing its tip against Tetsurou’s lit one. He breathes out as he straightens back up, a hand on his waist. “Trust me.”
The three men in front of him raise their eyebrows at him.
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t fall in love with him; Psyche’s vocalist did.”
Koutarou’s whispered ‘holy shit’ gets drowned when Tetsurou asks, “And you know this, because...?”
“It’s not every day yer one night stand moans out yer band manager’s name, is it?” He barks out a laugh, genuinely finding amusement in the situation. “Always thought he looked familiar when I saw him that night, then I just kinda put two and two together.”
“Don’t tell me you asked him about it?”
Atsumu snorts, thick, gray smoke exiting his nostrils. “Would I be Miya Atsumu if I didn’t snoop? ‘Course I asked. What d’ya take me for?”
Koutarou and Tetsurou chuckle in disbelief. Kei remains quiet, an internal turmoil going through his mind.
“Didn’t really expect him to open up, but it’s probably because he thought I was a complete stranger. Imagine his surprise when he saw me when we played at Limbo.”
Koutarou gasps. “So that explains the winks you sent his way when we passed by each other. Atsumu, you’re a fucking menace, I hope you know that.”
“What? I didn’t mention what happened between us to Tobio. I’m at least half decent, y’know.”
“Yeah, a quarter would be more accurate,” Tetsurou replies, grinding the tip of his consumed cigarette on the worn metal bowl beside him.
“But anyway, I’m not gonna go into details, because as I said, I’m half decent; but yeah, basically, Tobio found out that Keiji—the vocalist—has feelings fer him and immediately broke things off. Keiji tried to get him back, even if they go back ta their no-strings-attached arrangement but—“ He shrugs. “—seems like our very amazing manager has a weird hatred fer romantic feelings.”
Koutarou nods to himself, muttering, “So Keiji’s his name.”
“Ya brainless turd,” Atsumu spits as he throws the cigarette butt towards Koutarou, “I said all’a that an’ ya only picked up on his name?”
Koutarou casts him a defensive look. “What?! I’ve been trying to find out since that night on Limbo, okay?”
Atsumu groans. “And ya couldn’t have searched fer him on the internet? God, ya really should sell that brain of yers, I don’t think you’ve ever used it.”
Tetsurou roars a laugh.
“Tobio’s quick to catch on, by the way. So, if I were ya, I’d tone the jealousy down if yer not up fer heartache. Or better yet—” He slips another cigarette between his lips before lighting it up. He takes a long drag, then takes it between her fingers, pointing it at Kei, he says, “ya forget yer feelings fer him. This isn’t a game you’ll ever win, because people like Tobio? They never lose.”
He exhales.
“Why would he lose a game he created?”
Kei is not blind. He sees Tobio’s gaze and feels Tobio’s touch. They linger, they burn, and they long. Kei knows this. He knows this because they’re familiar, because he does all of it himself. He knows that even if only a little, Tobio reciprocates Kei’s feelings. Which is why Kei doesn’t get it ; he doesn’t get why Tobio, for two weeks now, has been avoiding him. He has been declining Kei’s advances, and has been out more frequently than the last few months. He goes home with hickeys more often now, much like when he and Kei still hadn’t been roped into their carnal agreement.
Kei doesn’t get it, not until he remembers what Atsumu told the band two weeks ago. He exhales a bitter laugh, strumming a novel melody on his guitar. He opens the recording app in his phone and starts recording. He lies down on the worned out couch outside their house and cages a lit cigarette between his lips. He hums a rough guide of how the lyrics would go, fingers creating a melody that captures the bitterness of his heart.
He’s halfway into his cigarette when he hears the front door click. There’s frantic shuffling before another door shuts. Not long after, he hears moans mixing and a bed creaking; sounds he already has memorized and engraved in his mind. Kei is aware that he has no right, but he can’t control the ugly feeling that boils in his chest; boiling until it scalds his insides, and the burns fester and leaves nasty scars.
And Kei has no choice but to accept it. Deal with it on his own. Because Tobio is not his, and he’s not Tobio’s.
“Are ya sure ya want to perform this?” Atsumu asks as they prepare their instruments. Kei nods.
It’s another Saturday night at Limbo and Kei informs the band that he wants to close their act with the new song he composed—the song he finished with half a pack of cigarettes, and Tobio and a stranger’s moans keeping him company.
Tobio doesn’t know, has never heard of the song. He rarely attends band practice, he’s not needed there as much as he is needed to pull the strings outside. Kei has never been thankful for that as he was in the past week.
Kei knows that singing the song will tip the balance and ensue chaos. But it was better than letting his emotions eat him alive and leave him with nothing else to pick himself back up on.
The light dims and Kei starts strumming his guitar. Koutarou insisted that he sing the song since he was the one who created it; he didn’t say that it’s also because Kei is the only one who would be able to accurately evoke the emotions needed for it.
“Ignition on this wonderful night of submission; promises break when he’s away from home,” Kei sings, his eyes closed. He doesn’t see the confused look on Tobio’s face. Kei continues, “He’s losing battles to tempting shadows when he’s alone. For all that I know.”
Kei opens his eyes. “You needed someone else to help you forget the reason you fell for me at all, in this hell of a season. If I spend the night in the gaze of strange eyes,” His eyes land on Tobio’s. “Would you mind, dear? Oh, would you mind?”
Throughout the entire song, Kei holds Tobio’s gaze. Golden brown eyes bleed with heartache and yearning, masked by a level of indifference that’s effective on everyone but Tobio. His eyes pierce right through him, reading Kei like an open book, painfully aware that the song is written for him and because of him. Kei doesn’t know but it clenches Tobio’s heart tighter than he would allow, and the rawness—the vulnerability—in Kei’s voice does nothing to help the constriction he feels in his chest.
The song ends, and Kei is the first one to leave the stage after the band have said their goodbyes to the audience. He tells the other three that he’ll spend the rest of the night in the studio and most probably come back in the morning. They don’t say anything, knowing full well that Kei doesn’t need to hear anything, because even if he speaks little, he knows a lot and he’s aware.
Kei exits the room, his guitar and his bag slung around his shoulders. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. He knows it’s unhealthy and he probably smokes more than usual, but the burn in his lungs distracts him from the thorns wrapped around his heart and blurs the memory of a certain man with oceans for eyes and petals for lips.
The cold breeze of the midnight wind nips at Kei’s cheeks and colors it pink. He hears the faint sound of the bar’s back door opening and closing, the scratch of asphalt beneath hurried steps, and the gasps of air from parted lips.
“What was that?”
Kei tunes out Tobio’s voice and continues forward. He takes the last drag of his cigarette and throws it a little farther in front of him. He doesn’t get to experience the satisfaction of twisting his foot down on the discarded filter because Tobio is already in front of him and has a hand pressed on his chest. Kei merely raises an eyebrow.
“I asked you what the hell was that.” When Kei lifts a hand to remove Tobio’s hand on him, he clutches Kei’s shirt tightly and says, “No. You do not get to run away from this.”
Kei laughs but it’s hollow. It surprises Tobio quite a bit.
“I can’t run away, but you can?” He scoffs. “A bit unfair, don’t you think?”
Tobio’s fist pushes him lightly. “Answer my question.”
“Why do I need to tell you when you already know the answer? You wouldn’t be acting like this if you didn’t, right?”
Kei stumbles a little when Tobio shoves him, his eyes darkening.
“Stop answering my questions with questions! What the hell was that, Kei?”
Something lurches inside Kei’s chest that he tries to laugh it away, else it would manifest itself in an uninvited way. But it doesn’t stop it, if anything, it only disabled him from noticing that tears are already cascading down his cheeks, uncontrollable and unforgiving like a storm.
“Are you that ashamed of loving me?”
Tobio falls a step backwards, words caught in his throat. He stares at Kei unblinking. He doesn’t say anything, he only watches the tears stream down Kei’s face and disappear onto the ground.
Kei nods in understanding and starts to walk past him, but Tobio blurts out, for the first time since his realization, “I love you.”
Kei chokes out a sob but doesn’t turn around. Instead, he whispers, “I’m tired, Tobio,” before he walks away. The embers of his thrown cigarette from earlier die in a crushing death.