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“You gotta take the leap, Futakuchi.” Yahaba tells him after he sits back down beside him from grabbing them drinks, slinging an arm over the couch behind Futakuchi’s shoulders.
“What do you mean?” Futakuchi asks while grabbing the rum coke Yahaba gives him, leaning back to Yahaba’s subtle warmth.
Yahaba mockingly blows raspberries for a second as he turns to look at the other, his gaze telling Futakuchi to stop playing dumb, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been watching him do whatever shit he’s doing on the dance floor.”
With no care, Futakuchi takes three bug gulps from his red cup before taking his gaze away from the dance floor to stare at Yahaba nonchalantly, asking, “Who?”
Yahaba rolls his eyes at Futakuchi, “You see, I appreciate that you think we’re both hot and have great hair but I don’t want to be your practice game for flirting with him.”
It’s Futakuchi’s turn to roll his eyes, “I’m appalled. Who is this him and why do you think I’m using you for practice because you’re less? Do you like insulting yourself?”
“Yeah, sure, but this feels like you’re building your confidence with me so you can take your pitiful flirting skills to a higher level when you finally do it with him.” Yahaba says, then he hurriedly gives Yaku the attention the older wants to take the shot being given to him with a respectful smile. He shoots it down his throat immediately before looking back at Futakuchi in scolding mode again, “Isn’t that what’s happening?”
Futakuchi scoffs, “Yahaba, do you, by any chance — and I’m not implying that you have — but... do you have inferiority complex? I swear I have no underlying reason why I’m tickling your gay senses. I flirt with who I want because I want to flirt with them.”
“Stop acting, you’re not fooling anyone, even yourself, so go flirt with Oikawa-san alr—oh, shit, wait.” Yahaba tenses and looks intensely at Futakuchi with a hand gripping his wrist, “Do I look good?”
Futakuchi wasn’t sure how to answer the stupid question because Yahaba always looks good anyway, “Why? Got someone else other than me to look good for?”
“Yes. Incoming.” Yahaba whispers, so Futakuchi scans the club to look for whoever it is. Then he sees Sugawara walking back towards their table, an angelic smile on his slightly pinkish face. It could be because of the alcohol, but also probably because of all the dancing they’ve been doing.
Futakuchi sighs, “So you’re shooing me away to Oikawa-san because you’re about to dump me for that guy?”
“Hey, I like you a lot too but he looks like an angel and it just does things to me even if he has a savage personality at times.“
“I appreciate that you think we’re both heavenly and that we have great personalities but you gotta take the leap and flirt with him, Yahaba.” Futakuchi sarcastically tells the other with a smirk which Yahaba responds to with a cute pout.
Yaku was handing Futakuchi his shot and he takes it while standing up, waving towards Sugawara, “Hey! Sugawara-san!”
When the silver haired comes close enough to hear Futakuchi more than the blasting club noise from the speakers, he offers the shot to Sugawara, “Shot?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Sugawara says and immediately brings it to his lips and tips his head for the shot.
“You can sit here.” Futakuchi says, pointing at the spot he left where Yahaba still has his arm over the couch, and Sugawara flops down exactly right beside Yahaba. Futakuchi enjoys the way Yahaba’s eyes widened as he tried to stutter out a word but couldn’t.
“Take my cup, I’ll grab something else from the bar.” Futakuchi says before he salutes to Sugawara, the rum coke Futakuchi placed on the table already in his hand and downing half of it even without the permission Futakuchi has given him.
“Where are you—“ Yahaba says but Futakuchi only winks at him and leaves in hurried steps, chuckling as he sees Sugawara cup his hand beside Yahaba’s ear to whisper something. Futakuchi wishes Yahaba goes into a chaotic gay panic because he has never seen the man in that position yet. He’ll check later.
He didn’t want to stay on that table without some of the others coming back. Earlier, the short time that Yahaba had left him with the couple Kuroo and Yaku on their table was tough enough. He can’t imagine being sandwiched between two flirting pairs. Joining Sugawara and Yahaba to form a trio wouldn’t be half bad though, but he feels like Yahaba specifically really likes Sugawara so he’d just let them be.
Take the leap he said. Futakuchi dwells on the idea for a millisecond but shakes his head to get rid of it, then he asks the bartender for three shots of vodka.
“Ah,” He muses, making the bartender look back at him, “Do you guys have gummy bears?”
—
Futakuchi bites off a drunken gummy bear’s head as he stands unmoving in the middle of the mob.
So, what am I doing here?
He chews it slowly, savoring his favorite snack though there’s also a taste of vodka. He pops the remaining body into his mouth, glaring at Terushima’s undercut, trying to relay his anger using his eyes. It didn’t seem to have an effect since the man who dragged him out his seat, away from Gummy, Beary, and Drunky (his remaining drunken sour gummies), continued to jump to the beat while being awfully close to somebody Futakuchi can’t recognize because the blonde is all over the other.
He gulps the bear he murdered with his bare teeth, and sighs away his tiredness and irritation through his nose because being angry at someone so carefree like Terushima would only kill the remaining patience he (never) had.
But seriously, what am I doing?
Futakuchi asks the universe and nobody at the same time because how on Earth did his feet lead him in a two meter radius from a hot, giggly, bopping Oikawa Tooru? A devil’s voice encourages him: you gotta take the leap, Futakuchi.
Futakuchi’s brain hisses, shut the fuck up, Yahaba.
Then he looks back at the group’s table which he left earlier and sees Yahaba and Sugawara were nowhere in sight. He scans around desperately but the swarming, dancing, sweaty bodies that surrounds him made it hard to even just look for a single person. He guesses he won’t see them in the club anymore anyway, they’re probably in Yahaba’s car already or whatever.
The wave of hot bodies moved again as the beat got heavier and without knowing it was possible, the mob even jumped stronger and higher united as one. Futakuchi’s instinct frantically searches for somebody, and when he realizes who he’s looking for he stops awkwardly like a statue in the middle of the people grinding or making out together because why is Yahaba actually right that he’s been watching Oikawa this whole time they were in the club?
Maybe... Futakuchi coughs then treads his thoughts very lightly and slowly. Maybe I— I don’t know... just...
Futakuchi looks up again and sees more couples kissing, and that was a push he kind of needed. So he whips his head around again and finally spots that gorgeous styled hair.
Fuck it, I’m just gonna blindly jump straight into this bullshit—
Then somewhere in his ribcage, a weight so heavy suddenly drops down towards his stomach, the pain chokes him so he had to gulp and take a deep breath for some relief. It still hurts but he instantly recovered his composure as to not show the pathetic face he’s sporting to anybody he knows at the moment and swiftly turns in his heels to trot his way out of the dance floor and out of the club. The bright lights and thumping beats were making his head ache anyway, so he’s just gonna breathe some fresh air and calm down, but in reality he’s really just running away.
As soon as he gets out of the bar, the faintest noises from the inside fading out, he takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights a stick in a rush. He’s a party smoker, he only smokes when he’s intoxicated, but he’s also a stress smoker at times, and he’s very stressed while also quite tipsy so he’s going for a smoke.
He places the cig between his lips and takes a deep breath, taking all of his temper out on his innocent lungs. He pulls the stick away from his lips then takes another inhale and counts 1 to 10 to stop himself from bursting in annoyance before exhaling the toxic substance out. He has calmed down a little, but the image of a girl in front of Oikawa, touching his neck while whispering something to him makes him feel agitated once again.
Well, he’s bisexual. What did I expect? Anyone can be my competition. Nah, screw that. Everyone is my competition.
“Ahhh, damn it.” Predictably, he still loses his temper so he throws the cigarette down on the ground and steps on it rather harshly than he should have if the aim was to only put the fire out. He got some looks from strangers but he doesn’t even care if he looks like someone with anger management issues anymore. He’s a hopeless bitch that just got his heart broken! Others should mind their own goddamn business! But to be honest, he’s also mad for being so sad already even when all he did was just assume. He’s not even sure Oikawa likes that lady, but he was smiling so prettily at her, and he was just so jealous! But then, what right does he have to be jealous though? None, and that fact infuriates him even more.
He screams in frustration, earning even more looks towards his way. Then as lame as he can be, he gently takes another cigarette stick and lights it up because he’s not yet done smoking. He clicks his tongue when he stares at the barely smoked cigarette stick he stomped on and thought about how much of a waste it was, but he can only blame himself. Oh, and that damnned Oikawa.
There was a sudden tap on his shoulder along with a greeting right beside his ear, “Yo, Futakuchi-chan.”
He jumps away from whoever it was and glares, “Shit— don’t scare me like that!”
Oikawa smiles at him gleefully, and he curses his luck. The demon really does appear even when you merely just think of his name.
Oikawa chuckles, “Your terrified face is so cute. I might just do that again some other time.”
“Don’t mess with me.” Futakuchi rolls his eyes and stares away from Oikawa as he takes a hit from his cigarette again. He sees Oikawa drink from his red cup, and he wonders why the man went out of the club if he still wants to drink.
Futakuchi drops the hand holding the cig to his side when Oikawa surprisingly gestured at it, “Hey, can I have a hit?”
Futakuchi raises a brow because do college volleyball players smoke? Or is it also just occasionally? Either way, he hands it over with the intent to ask if Oikawa smoked regularly or just when he’s drinking, when Oikawa lamely hacked a loud cough from taking a hit.
Futakuchi was dumbfounded.
“How can you let this stuff enter your motherfucking system?” Oikawa makes a gagging sound before passing the cigarette back to Futakuchi, “It tastes bad.”
Futakuchi splutters a laugh, “You acted so badass when you asked for a hit but the reality that just happened is pretty fucking lame.”
Futakuchi himself takes a hit as Oikawa takes a deep inhale of clean air while wordlessly passing his drink to Futakuchi. He holds onto the cup as he exhales, then he raises the cup so he could drink from it. The rim was about to connect to his lips but his brain short circuits at the thought of a possible indirect kiss with Oikawa through the cup.
“Woah, two indirect kisses in one night. An achievement.” Oikawa says in a teasing tone while he stretches his arms upwards, his shirt lifting a little bit higher than his jeans to hurriedly flash a peak of his black underwear.
Two? Futakuchi overthinks about the number, and then he remembers that the first one was through the cigarette stick. With all the blood rushing to his face like he’s a 13 year old with no experience yet, he embarrassedly downs the remaining drink inside the cup. He gulped down the vodka sprite in a second, then licked his lips to clean it up.
He takes the quickest glance towards Oikawa’s face and sees the guy with a small smile, his face flushed just like Sugawara’s earlier.
Maybe he was tired from all that twerking too. Futakuchi bitterly says inside his head, the girl from earlier making him feel a childish envy in his chest again.
“Why do you look like you encountered someone that punched your fun? Is it painful anywhere? Want me to kiss it better?” Oikawa says as he dives into Futakuchi’s field of vision, his tone a little bit too sweet that Futakuchi takes it as an unintentional mock to his feelings.
“Yeah, you.” Futakuchi says with a bite, moving his face away from Oikawa’s attentive wide eyes.
“I’ll give you a kiss so you’d cheer up, just tell me where.”
Futakuchi was done with it. He’s tired and sad and broken and homosexual. He can’t put up with a flirty attitude that invades the three feet radius personal space he wants, especially Oikawa’s.
Why is he flirting with me. He gets on my nerves so damn well. Futakuchi places his thumb and pointing finger at his temporals and massages it to relieve the added pain which Oikawa’s existence is bringing to his life.
“God, if you’d really just genuinely flirt with me...”
Futakuchi continues to massage his head, then he hears a scoff. Then a short laugh.
“You’re a comedian, Futakuchi-chan.” Oikawa says, a slight smirk on his face with his head tilted up towards the dark skies, his eyes in a subtle search for the moon and the stars.
Fuck. Futakuchi wants to run away, farther this time where Oikawa can’t follow him. He’s definitely embarrassed but he’s going to handle this the cool way, but he has no idea how to so he just responds with anything his mouth felt like saying, “Yeah, my humor’s dry. Don’t make me feel bad about it.”
Futakuchi averts his gaze away, scared that Oikawa would notice him in the highest alert mode with red lights flashing, alarm bells ringing.
“I’ve been trying to.” Oikawa blurts out, and it didn’t really make sense to Futakuchi so he looks back at him and sees Oikawa’s eyes closed, gently swaying side to side along with the night’s cold breeze.
“Trying to what?” Futakuchi dared to ask, and he doesn’t care if he sounds stupid anymore. It was the booze, it finally caught up to him and now he’s got liquor bravery despite being in panic.
Oikawa opens his eyes and Futakuchi notices how his lips formed a small pout as he looks down on the ground sulkingly, “How does your dicktionary, and by that I mean the one spelled d-i-c-k-t-i-o-n-a-r-y, define genuine flirting anyway?”
“Dicktionary?” Futakuchi muses, and it’s obvious how his neurons are desperately trying not to process what is happening by using all their energy on focusing at those that aren’t important at all.
“Yeah, the ones that exasperating, hard to understand dicks like you use.” Oikawa says as he looks at Futakuchi, a glare accompanying his cute pout.
“Exasperating, hard to understand, and a dick? Sounds like you, not me.” Futakuchi shrugs, not sure if the tingling in his spine was more anxiety piling up in his veins or something else.
“Oh, stop trying to be witty. Converse with me like a normal person. What does your other head mean when it says ‘genuine’ flirting? I haven’t got any responses at all for so long and the reason was that I use a normal dictionary, and you use a dicktionary?”
“I thought we were gonna talk like normal people? This conversation is so weird, I don’t get anything you’re saying at all. Maybe you’re drunk?” Futakuchi’s fingertips getting tickled with a feeling of electricity, and maybe it was because of all the alcohol he drank. It kind of feels like how it is when he wakes up the next morning after tons of hard liquor that he ingested, but it also feels a little bit different because this one wasn’t a burden. It’s even quite pleasant.
“Futakuchi-chan, I would like to pretend being drunk and then simply cuddle you up, but for what? Just so you can stack it on top of the memories you filed away that’s labeled as insincere flirting?”
Futakuchi doesn’t know what to say, because he’s not sure if he’s very drunk and he’s only imagining this scene, or if he had already blacked out somewhere in or outside the club and is having a good dream, or if he’s still in reality and what he’s hearing is true.
Oikawa stares at him with tired eyes, an almost sad smile on his lips, “Stupid.”
Futakuchi continues to just watch, and Oikawa sighs, “I’ve been genuine from the start, and I thought all this time, you really just hated my guts.”
Futakuchi chokes on his own words but takes a deep breath before clearing his throat awkwardly, “I— I don’t. I’m... sorry.”
Oikawa finally laughs, and it was a soft one that is unlike his usual, as if he was relieved. Futakuchi takes another quick shy glance at him, and he sees Oikawa’s sad smile a little bit better than earlier.
“That’s good to know.”