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Hinata had to be fucking with him. Oikawa could feel the condensation on his beer leaving cold dots along his jeans as it wavered halfway to his gaping mouth.
Hinata’s hands were flying still, waving as he emphasized his point with example gasps Oikawa never asked for. “No - really - I swear, Oika - Tooru. He said Tooru. All… reedy like that!”
He had to be fucking with him.
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