Chapter Text
The stage has always been a wonderful place.
He fell in love with the stage from ages ago, he reminisced, from the way the stage light dazzles, the way it washed up on the outfits - leaving gleams of glitters upon bland fabrics, the way everything seemed so scintillating, vivid, intense. How the sounds pulsed through his chest, clasping his heart, forced it to beat harder than necessary - to how the heat of it all makes his eyes water, how he couldn’t stop an awed, dumbfounded smile from etching all over his face.
“Everyone, how was the encore, hahhh!?” He could barely hear himself against the crowd’s fervent cheering, could only feel the bump of adrenaline sprinting through his veins and the uneven gaps between his breathing. Amidst that chaotic harmony, his heartbeat interfered with the soundwave, blurred it, adopted it as his own. The enthusiastic voices served as an intermediary - an interlude that smoothens such lawless polyphony.
The electric guitar howled, urging the crowd to continue. The drum angrily shouted, followed by a no less passionate clamor. He thinks of waves; of disruptions shredding through water, producing more and more and more of its kind. He loves it all, of course: the domino chaos of sounds, of passion, of revelry.
More shouts, this time coming from the artist himself. Seconds followed - swallowed hungrily by the audience - then invited out another melody. Another song; the last for tonight.
But let’s think about that moment, that inevitable ending, later.
There’s nothing left to hesitate about
Let’s dance like this till dawn breaks.
“Bokkun, you did great!” Suga smiled, waving his hand up for a high-five, “That’s it. That was the tour!”
“Thanks, Suga-kun!” Bokuto jogged to the backstage, sweat glistered his forehead and puffs of air hastily exited his lungs. He returned the high-five. “What’s next, partying with the crew?”
“Well, that’s optional, of course. I know that you’re tired, but of course, you always love to hang out with Kuroo after the show.” Bokuto had to strain a little to listen to Suga due to the chanting outside, one that hadn’t relent after almost two full hours. God knows he does admires that kind of teamwork and stamina. “But before we get back to any action, you will have your obligatory post-concert break...” His manager continued, and Bokuto almost cheered. “Afterward, on Tuesday, we will be getting the songs and infos for your next album!”
“This early?”
“The producers had decided.” Suga shrugged, “It’s almost February anyway.”
Oh, that’s right; Bokuto reminded himself, something about periodic release schedules and the album coming out at the end of winter. Another thing about one-month preparation for the album, of course. Of course, Bokuto remembered. Of course, he listened to Suga - attentively, even - when he drowned on and on about the preparation process for the album. Of course, of course, he did.
What’s the matter, anyway? A few photoshoots for bonus cards, maybe one or two re-recording, and perhaps, perhaps one or two new songs. That’s it. Not much for Bokuto to worry about.
The topic at hand, anyway, is the post-concert party that Bokuto must attend.
After becoming the wind, disappearing with the bubbles
I want to throw these synaesthetic sentiments somewhere away
“Good job on that tour, Bo!” Kuroo cheered, thrusting into the sky - into Bokuto’s nose, rather - his second mug of beer, and the bubbles threatened to spill all over the place, “You don’t know how damn hard it was to find a ticket! I almost have to enter the black market for that, you know!”
“All sold-outs for eleven performances, that’s impressive,” Ennoshita commented, more calmly, yet no less praisingly.
“Soon enough, you’re gonna fill up Tokyo Dome!”
“Tokyo Dome! Tokyo Dome! Toookyooo Doooooome!!”
“Now, let’s not inflate his ego that much.” Kenma distractedly muttered from behind his game consoles, putting an end to Nishinoya and Hinata’s, respectively, overzealous expectations.
“Well, one way or another, that day will definitely come, aye?” Bokuto laughed and sat down on the seat left for him, at the head of the table. He saw Suga sitting down at the other end of the table, next to the quieter bunch - the manager couldn’t be a drinker as well as being the driver. But oh boy, the question is not would it be fun, but how much fun the party would get if Suga lets his wild side loose and chugged down all the beer on the table. He could do that and still be semi-conscious.
“Well, expectations and visions aside,” Kuroo drawled, “it’s time for the star here to get wild and make sure that his drunkard images don't get loose to Bunshun or somethin’!”
“That’s why Suga-kun is staying sober, ain’t it!”
Ahh, I’d like to quit being a human
Isn’t that right, nothing is interesting about it anyways
Ahh, I flaunted my boastful guitar…
Tuesday came fast, really, really fast.
The weekend passed by with a blur. An exhaustive and laziness-induced blur, in fact. Yet somehow it was normal, as repetitive and casual as standing on the stage, though without the thunderous uproar, blinding stage lights and an oppressive rush of motions as if his heart absorbs all the rumble laying under the reach of the stage light. It’s part of the usual Post-Concert Protocol: the last stage in Tokyo, drinks and laughs the last of his energy out in an unnamed restaurant in Shibuya, blacks out while Suga drives him home to a luxurious apartment building near Akihabara, a three-days break, sleep, delivered food, games and somehow, works.
Bokuto got home, per usual, at around three A.M on Sunday, and promptly spent the next eternity on his well-deserved sleep. This is exactly why investing in a ridiculously exorbitant mattress and no-less lavish pillows are the best financial decision he had made in his life. No one complained, of course, because that’s his hard-earned money, and also, Mom, I’m a mature, independent, successful, and most grown-up grown-up to ever grown-up already! Anyway, at five P.M, per the tradition, Kuroo walked from his dwelling across the street, Bokuto’s back-up keys in his pocket, and woke the sleepy owl up from his peaceful slumber. Wake the hell up already , he would say, owls shouldn’t need a human alarm clock to wake them up, for god’s sake, and Suga would kill me if you sleep through dinner again!
And so, with the threat of Suga’s benevolent, gentle, sunshine-y, yet frightening smile and his murderous glint, Bokuto fell out of his bed. Nothing too unusual. Kuroo had already ordered pizzas - thanks to the almighty that they haven’t offered fish topping, yet - all Bokuto needs to do, in his superstar fashion, was to clean himself up and lazily slouching off on the couch, working. He had promised Suga to post something on his social media, at least twice, during his break, and because it’s too much of a bother to put on make-up and attempts to hide his hungover for a single picture, the anticipating fans will have to make do with a blurry picture of Kuroo’s back, fumbling around the PlayStation while Mario Kart is displayed on the screen. Seemed like they enjoyed it, nonetheless, if the likes and comments are any proofs to get by.
[bkt_hoot] Hi everyone! Thank you so much for supporting the tour!
It’s fun, but I’m tired. (laugh) So, of course, it’s break time again!!
Everyone, treat yourself and see you guys again soon, hoot hoot!!!!
[rinringo ] ah, of course, the obligatory mario-kart-and-friend picture.
[sayaa] a tradition that we will never get tired of
[doraemomo] bokuto-kun, awesome concert! truly an unforgettable moment in my fangirl life (laugh)
[920aidoru ] the tradition of seeing kuroo-kun’s back continues. please soon update us on the mario kart results.
That counts as work, isn’t it? Something about public engagement - an act as simple as any other: updating his SNS - that he didn’t bother to remember the exact professional description. Who would know that it takes so much preparation for just a Twitter post?
Sunday passed, Monday came, with no expectation that anything life-changing would happen. Except that maybe the science-nerd and good friend in Kuroo could no longer handle the amount of unhealthy food that Bokuto inhaled and hauled him to the nearest farmer’s market, purchasing an unholy amount of fresh food, vegetables, without consulting Bokuto about what he would like to eat. His best friend knows better than to buy broccoli, so the universe hasn’t killed itself yet. The trip came with another Twitter update, of course - Suga demanded more than just pictures of Kuroo’s - this time as a selfie, mindlessly filtered, with Bokuto flashing up his blinding smile, the usual v-sign, and a lot, a lot of apples in the background.
[bkt_hoot] Well, lazy time is over. This guy is nagging at me to eat healthily.
Thank you, Mom. (laugh)
How long has it been since I last ate a piece of veggie? Do
mushrooms on pizza count? (laugh)
Anyway, lovely weather in Tokyo today. Really, really refreshing. Go
out and enjoy the sun, you guys!!!
[sugawarae_] thank you, kuroo, for forcing this man-child to contribute to the farming industry.
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[tetsu_kuroo ] np, boss.
[oikaa_tooru14] for the record, that mushroom totally counts, even though iwa-chan would suggest otherwise!
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[sugawarae_] this is why iwa-kun is in charge of your diet, tooru-kun.
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[iwaizumi_haj14] thank you suga-san for putting this kid in his place.
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[suisw] the biggest crossover event in history took place, but at what cost? tooru-kun’s dignity, thats what.
[sayaa] go out and enjoy the sun? in this unholy temperature? our ikemen is a mad man.
[321step_] arent idols supposed to keep themselves from tanning lol
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Sleep, eat, games, cooking with Kuroo on the second night (it was mostly the work of the former while Bokuto is banished to the other side of the kitchen counter, instructed only to do the most elementary tasks); Twitter updates (he might have shit-post a few times), one highly aesthetic and intricately-captured update for Instagram, courtesy of Suga, and then the gym. Never once has the thought of the upcoming album appeared to him - Suga will have them all taken care of, ready for practice, rehearsal and recording when he comes back on Wednesday; nor is there the naive, excited anticipation in his heart. Those unruly, frisky motions belonged to the dewy-eyed, eager 18-year-old Bokuto Koutaro - freshly picked up by the agency from a small, informal indie band - and not the aspiring pop star, chart-climber, professional performer 22-year-old Bokuto Koutaro.
It’s a bitter, mordant thought: the more dazzling the spotlight, the blinder he became to “passion”, a supposed essence he could no longer claim as his. He dreamed, he hankered no more, now that he had melted into the light. It’s incredibly vainglorious and presumptuous, Bokuto is aware, especially as he still couldn’t beat the more senior artists just yet, but this is how it feels like: as if he had become the sun - blinding his own eyes, his phantasm about approaching a welcoming warmth become overwhelmed - then busted open like an overblown balloon. Bokuto resigned that bitterness long ago; accepted them as much as he accepted the scalding caffeine that keeps him awake for the camera, yet the pungent taste in his tongue would never go away completely.
But that’s just growing up, Bokuto assumes. One becomes disillusioned, hopes for the future got stomped into serrated, scathing shards of glass and painted itself rosy only by the tears of those who tried to sew back pieces of their dreams. And at one point, one must give up those greener days and get accustomed to the truth, to the nights that children were shielded from. He had, of course, get used to shadows behind the stage.
He no longer gives voice to the awkward, juvenile sentiments that his high school friend had written, for a bunch of morose, cynical young adults in nightclubs and live houses. He sings now the words written by producers who know - who should know - what they are doing, but with that gone what he knows he is doing because he can’t feel the damned scripts that they’ve written. Not lyrics, certainly not poems - they are to him but arranged letters: foreign, detached and impersonal. Anyone, literally anyone could sing those songs, anyone beside him. The story they tried to paint isn’t real; isn’t his story. He isn’t a man who is afraid of losing you, whoever that is, nor does he loves a gorgeous, unforgettable “she”, one that “lights up the room” and “quietly loves him”.
The lyrics he sings, the melody he morphed himself into, are voids.
Ahh, but what is the use of being bitter, now?
After becoming ash, becoming faint and disappearing
I want to throw away these emotions that I had already lost a long time ago
Sugawara slammed the folder down the table, per usual, before heading out to pick up their coffees and delivers the copy to Kuroo, their designated sound engineer for the recording. The manager beamed that devilish smile - nothing new.
“By the time I get back, please be sure to read over at least some of the lyrics and listening to the recordings to see if there are any issues we might need to address.” Suga stood up to his full height, looming over Bokuto, who has almost twenty kilograms over him, and wouldn’t drop that frightening expression, “I will not be pleased if I receive a complaint from you, at two A.M in the morning, three days after I’ve given you the list and a little bit too late to make any adjustment, again,” Suga sure put a lot of emphasis on ‘again’, “understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” His smile turned genuinely friendly now, and Suga practically skipped out of the room, folders overflow from the fold of his arms.
Lacking anything else to do, and not because he is scared of Suga, Bokuto Koutarou, ex-volleyball player turned pop star, fit and muscled, began to probe into the stack of yellow folders that he had been given.
Because there was something I really wanted to do and I couldn’t say it
It just didn’t come to mind
The new album, per usual, (he started to get sick of the “usual”, now) comprised mostly of his old songs, but recent enough that he shouldn’t have any problems if re-recording is needed. The producers gave him three new songs - none of which would be released as independent singles for as far as he knows - and there wasn’t much to make of them. The producers probably didn’t even try, just throw to him whatever scraps that fit his range.
FLASH. Let’s Dance. Tell Me.
Too easy guesses for this time: the first two will be hip-hop, flashy songs with crazy choreography that would take a week or two to learn, and the last would be a cheesy, teenage-targeted ballad about some unknown, unrealistic, nonexistent muse. He hates those songs, secretly; love and romance make him cringe, and he simply couldn’t fall in love with whoever the song demanded him to.
Bokuto doesn’t really care which recording he would go for first, but he grabbed the disc in the middle out of a humanly, peculiar fixation for symmetry, and absent-mindedly snatched the accompanying lyrics on the table.
Aah, with this clearer than transparent heart
I’ll be laughing at the world…
Wait.
This isn’t right.
He had suspected that something isn’t right, probably from the tenth second of the intro music, but as the lyrics were being sung from the sample recording - a voice too foreign, too young from the usual records given to him, Bokuto knew that this isn’t right. He kept on listening, however - perhaps itching to break away from the tedious usuals of his life - paying close attention to the lyrics, making sure that this really isn’t his song.
“Ahh, I would quit playing music
I could describe you from my memories perfectly.”
Nope, this isn’t the type of song he is usually given. It fell atrociously out-of-place from the rest of this album - of all his songs, even - and Bokuto is sure that his fans aren’t the demographic that would love to hear about how sick he is of being human and how much does he want to just say “fuck it” and ignore life.
Well, to be frank, it’s better than the crap that he had been given. But it’s not going to work out with this album, with him. Someone else deserves this, and probably is freaking out right now on why a cheesy, mainstream pop song has entered their raw, somewhat melancholy, realm.
“Suga-kun!” Bokuto called out, poking his head onto the anteroom-slash-kitchenette attached to Suga’s office, where the manager toyed around with their coffee orders, having arrived back to the office a few minutes ago, “I think this song isn't mine, eh? It’s gonna be that one miserable misfit had we left it to hang out with the rest of the songs.”
“You talking about ‘Let’s Dance’?”
“Yeah, how didya know?”
“Because I intentionally chose that song for you, Bokkun.” Suga turned around now, and his smile is so gentle he could almost forget the demonic side of his silver-haired manager, “Thought you would need something… more refreshing.”
This time, Bokuto fidgeted with the paper in his hand, turning it right and left, forward and backward, the earphone cords wiggles between him. He looked through the lyrics all over again - seeing them at their face value, for now - and pondering how the fan would handle such an… unique, sullen lyrics. Even if the boisterous, ebullient, yet still utterly out-of-place, tempo attempts to make up for it.
“If you looked over the other new songs already, Bokkun, we really should get going to the photoshoot location, or, nevermind, just bring all of them with you.”
After becoming the wind, disappearing with the bubbles
I want to throw these incomprehensible emotions away somewhere
a.keiji.
That’s the songwriter’s name, stylized as such in romaji, not even in Japanese scripts. That must mean he is young - for if anything, those middle-aged producers and semi-competent lyricists wouldn’t bother with a stylized pseudonym. Keiji is an awfully common name, too; without the proper kanji combination to steer his search, a.keiji’s identity remained a mystery. Well, all mysteries except that he had written songs before, all for indie artists, and that his style is unique enough that Bokuto could pinpoint a familiar ambiance across his creations, regardless of how wildly differ they turned out to be.
a.keiji. Bokuto somehow is enticed by the name, even though it could reveal no more about the stranger, sans that his first name is probably Keiji and perhaps his surname starts with an A. A-something Keiji, who is still young and probably ambitious and sentimental, who writes songs for indie artists and now got picked up by an agency, like Bokuto did years ago, whose words scream frustration and grievances to a rhythm that one would bob their head to, whose song carries such a deceiving title.
Bokuto is curious.
Now, that is something usual.
To: Suga-kun
(01:47) okay, i KNOW that it is ridiculously close to 2am and im texting u again
(01:47) but this isnt like the new songs dont fit my range or the lyrics are too cheesy whatever
(01:48) (and yes i looked them over already)
From: Suga-kun
(01:48) alright, what do you need?
To: Suga-kun
(01:48) have you ever meet a.keiji yet?
(01:49) the writer for lets dance
From: Suga-kun
(01:49) well, for one, we dont have the policy that songwriter needs to show their face to literally everyone that will receive their songs
(01:49) so i cant force him to meet u if thats what u are suggesting
(01:49) i havent seen his face either, but i did talked to him on the phone.
(01:50) ANYWAY YOU BETTER GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN. WE LEAVE FOR THE PHOTOSHOOT AT 6AM SHARP AND I WILL LITERALLY DRIVE TO AKIHABARA TO TUCK YOU TO BED
To: Suga-kun
(01:51) mama no
(01:51) its okay imma go to sleep im gonna whine to u about that strange song tomorrow
From: Suga-kun
(01:53) good job
Ahh, I chose music of all things
That version of me was stupid
For the record, Bokuto did whine to Suga about the strange song the next morning, despite a.keiji being the main topic that vexed Suga throughout the whole drive.
“You know, Suga-kun, I think the song would work out so much better if I could see Keiji-san and asks him about it-”
“Bokkun, you never asked Yoshida-sensei about the gazillion songs he gives you,” Suga muttered while fixing the car’s inside mirror, promptly ignoring a Bokuto clinging onto his headrest from the backseat like a whiny five-year-old wanting to go to Disneyland instead of the dentist.
“There isn’t anything to ask! A baby could understand what is written in there!”
“Right, and Let’s Dance requires only a slight bit more insight into it.”
“No, it’s complicated and cryptic.” Bokuto’s face turned serious, “Like those hidden codes in detective movies.”
“Bokuto-”
“See, all I’m saying is, putting a face to the name would make it so much easier to gain insight into the song, ya know… Like, like how I know Yoshida’s wrinkly, grouchy face is too old to grind down em’ cheesy love songs!”
The red light conceded, and Suga got his eyes fixed on the road again, not owning the brand of recklessness to turn back and glare at Bokuto. He seemed to be contemplating, however; considering Bokuto’s request, hopefully. The sulky man didn’t yield, either, clutching the driver seat’s headrest with all of his might.
At the next red light, four blocks later, Suga sighed,
“Let’s see how you’d do with this one song first.”
The way that I knew you, once day after day has passed,
These emotions that I want to catch up with,
I want to put them into a song.
To sing the song like how Bokuto always does isn’t hard; to sing the song like how he meant it to be, how a.keiji probably want him to sing it, is an obstacle course. Fun, probably, but challenging and frustrating; as for now, Bokuto is completely, utterly lost.
He had never had this problem before; since the official debut, all of the lyrics that he has been given was simple and straightforward enough that deciphering what kind of personality is needed in order to “laugh at the world” while claiming to have “a transparent heart” and wishing to “stop being human” and becoming ashes and the wind is never a concern. Always, those were “songs for everybody to sing”: impersonal, cool, detached, catchy. Universal enough for everyone to find a piece of themselves in it, but they were too vague; the song turned into wooden letters dancing in a trendy beat. This one isn’t like that. It’s… personal. Almost too personal and unrestrained for a stranger to sing.
Bokuto is lost; he sat there, at a dark corner in a lightened studio, while an intern of some sort fixing the last creases on his outfit, thinking a song that is a maze of sentiments that he couldn’t navigate through.
“Helloo~” Suddenly, a lively, vibrant voice drawled out, “Bo-kun, whatcha got there?”
“Oikaa-kun,” Bokuto teased right back, “Fashionably late, as usual.”
“Not my fault! Daichi is also lost, and then realize that he misread the room number!”
“Somehow, Iwa-kun shares the same manager and ended up on time, Tooru-kun,” Suga commented from across the backstage area, not looking up from his folder
“Anyway,” Oikawa promptly ignored the jab, “Whatcha got there? Another new song?”
“Well, yeah, but this one is a bit…. I don’t know, hard to maneuver through, I guess. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to sing this…” Bokuto seemed troubled enough for the great Oikawa Tooru to shed his mercy and not teasing him any further; instead, the other artist only snatched the paper on Bokuto’s hand as a reply.
“Ooh~ new songwriter, I see. Never heard that name before, hm,...” Oikawa beamed at the new name with interest, before briefly swift through the piece with one look; Bokuto doubted that the other man could catch any letter written on there, let alone comprehensible, intricately-loaded words. Oikawa kept on the show, however, flipping the sheet of paper back and forth, “So? What seems to be the issue?”
“It’s just… I don’t know how to interpret this…”
“Don’t know how to, or don’t know which interpretation is the right one?” Hickory-colored orbs scrunched up in disbelief, with a hint of taunt, “I know you aren’t that thick-headed, Bo-kun.”
“Probably the second one…” It irked Oikawa somewhat that Bokuto seemed so unsure of himself, the way he awkwardly wormed his hand through the carefully tousled locks of white and black, “When you first read it… You thought that that is it, right? Pretty straightforward stuff. But then you read it once more, twice more… and suddenly you feel like there should be more to it. Like, some inside jokes you couldn’t catch on, not that it’s actually jokes or anything… but… you know what I mean, yeah?”
“Like there is supposed to be a story behind it?”
“Yeah, like bit and bit of clues that lead you nowhere, unless you could figure out a way to connect them.” And there are hundreds, millions of unsaid ways to connect them, Bokuto thought.
“Well, that leaves up to interpretations, isn’t it?” Such nonchalance is blissful - admirable, Bokuto thought as he nodded, “Then, all you need to do and choose one and stick with it-”
“-Oikawa-san, it’s your turn-” The assistant photographer called out
“-After all, isn’t art only what humans perceive it to be?”
Bokuto stood, unblinking, endeavoring to realize the pith in Oikawa’s words, before the camera started blinking furiously again and drowned him in blinding brilliance.
If it hurts right now, excuses are fine, hey
Ahh, come on, let’s dance…
Bokuto lost count on how many times he had listened to the tape, now that the sample singer’s voice and the beat sounded more familiar than his own mother’s.
Ahh, Bokuto sighed.
Fuck it.
Everything I want to convey is already
In this song and in my voice alone...
A week passed faster than he thought, among the blurs of photoshoots, reality show recording, interviews, and a trillion things that he suspected shouldn’t be on his job descriptions, and it’s time to record the new songs.
There is nothing out of place sans his thoughts - but the capricious, petulant part of his mind has decided to just ignore them and get going - Kuroo is perched on his chair at the mixer, full of knobs, turns and switches that seemed suspiciously like witchcraft, Yoshida-sensei, not caring enough to show up to examine his thoughtless creations - neither is a.keiji present, though he suspected that the reason much differs from Yoshida’s - and Suga sitting on the other swivel chair, next to Kuroo, folders forever clutched in his arms. And then there would be Bokuto, entering the sound-proofed room, the lyrics sheet in hand, disarrayed imagination in his brain and music ready on his lips.
Bokuto fixed the headphone onto his head, fidgeting and shifting the minimal furniture inside the room around, then began on his warm-ups - short exercises that Suga had recommended to him long ago - and tested out a few measures that he knew he would mess upon at least one. He took a deep breath, then another; he wrung out the last jitters clung to his arms and flashed Kuroo a thumb up. It’s time.
The hi-hats pealed, shrieked out its exciting laugh, then followed by the low holler of the bass; the gale of electric guitar gamboled into the mixture of sound, and, like a chemical reaction, coalesced into an adrenaline-ridden tempo, like a burst of caffeine to a tired heart. Bokuto hoped that this high-tech microphone, or whatever, could filter out the drumming of his heart - or, perhaps, it could interfere nicely with the harmony, like constructive soundwaves. He imagined it: a feast of unconfined beasts, a coquettish, boisterous, shamelessly exhilarating party.
Then came the cue for his voice to enter.
Deep breath
Everything I want to convey is already
In summer and in winter, in tomorrow
Bokuto was too busy pouring his soul out for this peculiar piece of music.
Kuroo was too occupied with not dropping his jaw off and listening to the performance all at once.
They couldn’t see the satiate smile blossomed on Suga’s lips, hidden centimeters behind Kuroo’s backs, headphones held on his ears.
If I’m alright for you, if you want to know more
Then there’s nothing left to hide
To: a.keiji
(10:23) he did great, you know
(10:23) exceeded expectations.
From: a.keiji
(10:25) that’s good to hear
To: a.keiji
(10:25) oof. i forgot you’re at work rn lol
(10:25) i will send you the recording later. both the edited and unedited one.
(10:25) if u see fit, perhaps i will try to get more songs out of you lmao
From: a.keiji
(10:29) lol
Suga flopped his phone down onto his lap, the content smile still hung on his face, brilliant like full moon. The last notes gave out - silence emerged, then got briskly destroyed once more by the excited bounce in Bokuto’s steps.
“Suga-kun!! How was it? How was it? Great, right? I feel like it went hella great!!”
Suga couldn’t stop a cheery laugh from erupting from his chest, “Much better than the last time, sure.”
“Right, that one was a disaster.” Kuroo sneered
“Hey! That ain’t fair! This song is so much better from the last time, so they ain’t the same!”
“Be careful, before Yoshida hears you saying that~” The sound engineer whistled playfully
To: a.keiji
(10:38) he said that this song was so much better than the last single and thats why he didnt mess up lmaooo
“Well, to be fair, even your performance is top-notch today,” Suga smiled, his eyebrows perched high, “but, let’s run over that high note in the second chorus again.”
To: a.keiji
(10:39) oh wait, did i mention that bokuto wants to meet you?