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“Cat to Owl, the mark is currently exiting his car. You have an estimated five minutes before he enters the establishment, over.”
“Copy that,” Bokuto replied, glancing around the dimly lit club. The dance floor was packed, a pulsing mass of people that seemed to expand with every passing minute. Even with the magnifying feature on his glasses, Bokuto found it impossible to separate one person from the next, only picking up brief flashes as the strobe light caught sparkling jewelry and glistening skin alike.
“Reminder that according to our intel, target MB11 will enter the establishment through the back door and conduct the exchange in one of the private rooms. Your job is to interrupt the exchange, secure the drive, and neutralize targets MB11 and PS12 without drawing the attention of any staff or patrons.”
“I know my job, Cat.”
Kuroo scoffed, the sound jarringly loud through the earpiece nestled in Bokuto’s ear. “If you do, maybe you should spend the next five minutes looking like you’re actually here to enjoy yourself and not to secure classified information. The bouncers have been staring.”
Bokuto risked a glance at the door, and sure enough, the two terrifying bouncers were openly glaring at him, their muscled arms crossed over their chests. As Bokuto watched, the one on the right narrowed her eyes and shifted her stance.
He turned away quickly, staring at a chip of paint on the wall behind him instead. “Crap. Do you think they’re with the mark?”
“We didn’t receive any intel to suggest that, but it’s not impossible that he paid them off or just told them to be wary of you. I suggest you find something to do, fast.” Kuroo paused, the sound of typing faintly audible. “Also, the mark ran into someone he knew in the parking lot, so it’s looking like at least ten minutes now.”
Bokuto groaned. “Copy that. I’ll head to the bar and try to strike up a conversation.”
“Good plan. Wait, hold on, looks like you’ve got someone approaching from the left. Cat out.”
Bokuto spluttered. “Hey, what—”
“Is this spot taken?”
Bokuto stiffened, swiveling to face the newcomer. Having trained mercilessly for years to identify possible threats, he immediately began to profile the man standing before him, cataloging traits at lightning speed.
Japanese male, probably in early twenties. Tall, just a little under 6 feet. Fit, but not exceptionally so—perhaps a casual or former athlete? Nearsighted, but has understandably forgone his glasses tonight. He’s holding a full glass and looks relaxed but not otherwise inebriated, so that’s likely his second drink. No visible weapon, although there is still the possibility of a back holster. The weight of Bokuto’s own gun was heavy on his back, flush against his spine and hidden under a layer of fake skin. Not a current threat, he concluded, turning his attention back to the man in question.
“No, not at all,” he replied smoothly, gesturing at the high table he had been leaning on.
“Perfect,” the man said, setting his drink down and smiling at Bokuto. Beautiful eyes. Deep blue with gorgeous lashes, Bokuto’s mind supplied unhelpfully. “I’m Akaashi.”
“I’m Bokuto,” Bokuto blurted, mentally slapping himself even as the words spilled out of his stupid mouth. He could almost hear Kuroo making fun of him through the now-silent earpiece. You’re on a covert mission, idiot! You can’t just go around giving your name to strangers!
“Nice to meet you, Bokuto. What are you doing at a table by yourself?”
Determined not to compromise himself any further, the lie flowed off Bokuto’s tongue easily. “I’m waiting for a friend. I think the dickhead stood me up, though.” He hoped Kuroo was still listening.
Akaashi frowned. “Oh no, that’s terrible. I’m glad I decided to come over and join you, then.”
Bokuto laughed, the sound only coming out a little bit forced. “Yeah, totally.” Grabbing the glass from the table and taking a swig of the drink for courage, he tried desperately to think of a way to continue the conversation. “So, what brings you here tonight?”
“Oh, just getting out, I guess. My job keeps me pretty busy and I don’t have as much time to meet people as I used to.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a manga editor. My goal is to be in the literature department, though.” Akaashi tapped his fingers on the table in thought. “I’m just making the best of what I have right now.”
“Do you really like literature, then?” Bokuto was barely aware of the sounds his mouth was forming, only that he wanted to keep talking to this beautiful, interesting man for as long as he could.
“Yes. I used to want to be a writer, actually. But I don’t think the life of a creative is for me,” Akaashi sighed, a little wistfully. “So I’d settle for being able to help authors reach their potential and release the best work they can.”
Bokuto frowned. “Aw, why not? You should chase your dreams!”
“I’m not consistent enough of a writer. One day, I’ll churn out the short story of my dreams, and another day, I won’t be able to get through the first paragraph.” Akaashi shrugged. “It’s just not enough to make a living, no matter how much I enjoy it.” The words sounded rehearsed, like Akaashi had justified his decision with this argument a million times over. And his reasoning was flawless, his logic perfect—if only Bokuto was convinced that Akaashi himself believed it.
But Bokuto wasn’t stupid, and he knew a signal to drop a subject when he heard one. Taking another gulp of his drink, he leaned in, drinking in Akaashi’s surprise at his sudden proximity. “So, future literature editor. Who’s your favorite author?”
Akaashi tapped his nails on the table again, the clicking reverberating in the quiet space they had carved out for just the two of them. His nails were painted dark blue, Bokuto noted, slightly giddily. Matches his eyes.
“That’s hard… but I think I would have to say Walt Whitman.” Recognizing the name, Bokuto breathed an internal sign of relief.
“Isn’t he an American poet?”
“Yes, so I guess that was kind of a non-answer, since you asked in the context of literature. I can pick another one—”
“No, no, tell me about Walt Whitman!” Bokuto said hurriedly. Please stick with the one I know!
“Well, he’s pretty well-known for his poetry celebrating the human body, like ‘I Sing the Body Electric,’ right. It’s kind of basic, but reading that poem for the first time really changed how I thought about how human bodies are portrayed in poetry, especially female bodies. The poem was considered controversial at the time for its explicit discussion of sex and childbirth, but I honestly think it’s still groundbreaking today. Whitman’s work has flaws, but I really admire how consistently honest he is in all of his poetry.”
“Wow, that’s really cool,” Bokuto breathed, entranced. “Do you know English, or did you read a translation?”
“I know enough English to get by, but I read the Japanese translation as well. I actually translated one of his other poems, ‘Crossing Brooklyn Ferry’, for one of my English classes in uni.”
“What!? That’s amazing!” Bokuto crowed, turning a few heads from the other tables. Akaashi ducked his head in embarrassment.
“It was just a required course for my major. And it was a good poem to pick since it was closely tied to an Anglophone culture.”
“No, that’s actually so sick. Ugh, I only know like three words in English, and that’s just because my sisters were addicted to Friends when I was younger and made me watch it with them.” At that, Akaashi laughed, covering his mouth with the back of his right hand.
The alcohol was definitely going right to his head, because the next words that dropped out of Bokuto’s terrible traitorous mouth were “Aww, don’t cover it! Your smile is so pretty!”
Akaashi froze, hand dropping at the same time as his face. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. “I’m sorry, that was weird, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Bokuto hurried to add, feeling his face start to burn.
“No, no, you’re fine, I was just surprised. That’s very sweet, Bokuto-san, thank you.”
Crisis averted. Bokuto threw back the rest of his drink, feeling the tension drain out of him.
Akaashi twisted his hands together, seemingly mulling over his next words. “Do you… want me to get you another drink?”
“Huh?” Bokuto glanced at the empty glass in his hand, processing Akaashi’s words. “No, it’s…”
In a terrible flash, he realized what he had done—or more accurately, what he had been doing for the entire conversation. He had never gone to the bar. Instead, in his daze earlier, he had picked up Akaashi’s drink and for the whole time they had been talking Akaashi had just watched him… “Shit. Shit, I am so, so sorry! I wasn’t thinking at all, oh my God. I can pay for this one if you want, that was totally my fault—”
“Hey, Bokuto-san, don’t worry about it. I can get another one.”
Bokuto cringed. “Please, let me pay for it.”
“It’s fine, I would have gotten another one anyway. Think of the first one as a thank-you for your company.” Akaashi stepped back from the table, a slight hint of pink blooming on his cheeks that had an equal chance of being a blush or a stray light from the dance floor. “And for the compliment.” Inclining his head slightly towards Bokuto, he turned and made his way back to the bar.
Holy shit.
“KUROO! Kuroo, are you there? Kuroo! Bro! Kuroo Tets—”
“Bo, we are on a mission. I don’t think I need to remind you that using my full government name is not a good idea right now.”
“I’m going to be so for real, I could not care any less right now. Kuroo—or fine, Cat —did you hear that?”
“Hear you awkwardly flirting with a civilian for five minutes while drinking his cocktail? Yup, I unfortunately did.”
Bokuto paused. “Wait, do you think he was turned off by that? I wasn’t sure, since I did screw up pretty badly, but he offered to buy me another one afterwards…”
“Listen, I’m currently hooked into Camera 45 watching him try to order you another drink. He is stressed as hell, my guy. Trying to decide whether it’s better to buy you another of the same cocktail he was drinking or get you a beer because, and I quote from reading his lips as he talks to himself, ‘he seems like kind of a beer guy.’” Kuroo barked a laugh. “He is so into you, bro.”
“No way. No way,” Bokuto muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “There is no way that he is into me. Do you see him, Kuroo? He’s beautiful. Probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And so passionate, too. I could listen to him tell me about Walt Whitman for years.”
“You only know Whitman because you read an excerpt of one of his poems in first-year English.”
Bokuto sniffed. “I would read Whitman’s entire body of work if Akaashi-san asked me to.”
Kuroo whistled. “Getting Bokuto Koutarou to voluntarily read. This guy’s a miracle worker.”
Bokuto froze, a terrifying thought entering his mind. Wait. What if… no, it couldn’t be. But you never know… “Kuroo, do you think he’s straight?”
At that, Kuroo actually spluttered, which was not a pleasant sound to hear through an in-ear. “Straight? That man? Bokuto, are we talking about the same person?”
“No, but what if he thinks this is just a bro friendship? Or worse, what if he thinks I’m straight? I mean, if he thinks I’m a beer guy—”
“You are a beer guy.”
“—yeah, but beer guys are usually straight, I’m an exception—”
Kuroo groaned. “Look, Bokuto. Do you want an itemized list? He’s wearing earrings. He has painted nails. He’s wearing minimal but expertly applied makeup. He approached you at a club and struck up a conversation, which is not something one usually does for platonic reasons, by the way. His favorite author is Walt Whitman, for God’s sake!”
“What does his favorite author have to do with this?”
“Walt Whitman was a flaming homosexual, you dimwit! He wrote poems about loving men!”
Bokuto winced at the increase of volume. “Okay, okay, I’ll go home and read his biography later, sorry.” Staring at Akaashi’s back (and his very holdable waist) standing at the bar, Bokuto was struck with an idea that was extremely smart, and even better, that he knew Kuroo would hate.
“Kuroo. My dude, my guy, my brother from another mother.”
“Your tech backup on a neutralization and data retrieval mission that came directly from the higher-ups. Just as a reminder.”
“Yes, right, tech guy. Speaking of that specific skill of yours. Would you be so kind as to find out for me if Akaashi Keiji is into men?”
Bokuto could see the unimpressed look on Kuroo’s face as the line went momentarily silent.
“You’re fucking with me, right.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please with an Alienware PC on top?”
“Absolutely not, Owl. We are here to complete a mission that we absolutely cannot get distracted from. As much as I care about your happiness and would love to see you seduce the man of your dreams, this sidequest will have to wait until the data is retrieved and the targets are neutralized.”
Bokuto pouted, thinking. “Hm. When is this target approaching again, my dear Cat?”
A few clicks and beeps. “...He’s getting ice cream with the guy he bumped into in the parking lot. So in at least ten minutes, if not more.”
“So, is there anything else you should be doing that prevents you from being the best friend ever and using your compsci degree to be my personal gaydar?”
A painfully long, drawn-out muffled noise echoed through the in-ear. Bokuto imagined Kuroo dragging one hand down his face in exasperated defeat. “Fine. Fine, you win.”
“Thanks, Cat! If he’s gay, you can be the best man at our wedding.”
Kuroo only grunted in response. As clicking sounds filtered through the line, Bokuto watched Akaashi, drinks in hand but now stuck in a conversation with someone at the bar. He kept glancing back at Bokuto every few seconds, clearly trying to escape without seeming impolite. Cute.
“Alright. No Grindr, Tinder, Hinge, or other dating apps, so no indication on that front of who he’s attracted to.”
Bokuto bounced his foot. “Okay. Did you check his Facebook and Instagram?”
“No one uses Facebook anymore, and he is not an exception. No relationship status. He was born on December 5th, 1995, though, if you’re interested.”
“Hm. A Taurus.”
“No, Sagittarius.” More clicking. “His Instagram is private, but you guys do have some mutual followers.”
Bokuto’s head snapped up. “Really? Who? Are they gay?”
“Konoha Akinori?”
“Ugh, he’s straight.”
“Really? I thought he was bi,” Kuroo replied. Bokuto raised an eyebrow.
“What, you interested? What happened to—”
“Moving on. Oikawa Tooru?”
“YES!” Bokuto cried, pumping his fist in the air. “That guy is gay as hell! One point!”
“Congratulations,” Kuroo said drily. “I just got access to his Instagram, and unfortunately he doesn’t have any posts up on his profile.” Bokuto sulked, disappointed. Some shuffling from the other end, and then: “Oh. Oh, wow. Wow, that’s… wow.”
“Kuroo, if you don’t tell me what you’re looking at right now, I swear.”
“No, I just found his tagged photos from his friends and… wow. Bo, I’m warning you, it’s all over the place.”
Shooting a quick glance at Akaashi, who was finally starting to head back, Bokuto braced his forearms on the table. “Make it quick. I can take it.”
“Alright. Drunk at a club with a bunch of girls.”
“Inconclusive, could just be co-workers.”
“Coldplay concert.”
“Inconclusive, everyone loves Coldplay.”
“Museum date with a girl.”
“...Not promising.”
“TWICE concert.”
“Promising, but not conclusive. Both gay guys and straight guys love TWICE.”
“Playing beach volleyball with a bunch of other guys.”
“Extremely promising. Most volleyball players are gay.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“It definitely is.” Bokuto hesitated, worrying at his lip. Akaashi was almost within earshot. “Is he… shirtless? In the picture?”
“Yes, Bokuto, he is indeed shirtless,” Kuroo answered, amusement dripping from his voice.
“Could you send it to my glasses?” Bokuto could have sworn he heard Kuroo mutter something under his breath that sounded a little too close to horny, but the picture appeared on his glasses regardless.
Wow. “Wow,” he said aloud, feeling like his feelings had to be vocalized. It was an excellent photo. Almost professional, if Bokuto was being honest (which he always was, especially concerning hot guys). The post was dated from last summer and tagged as being from a beach in Okinawa. A company outing, or maybe just a vacation with friends?
Akaashi had been captured right in the middle of setting to his teammate, his arms raised above his head and the ball just ghosting his fingertips. In the back, a short man with messy black hair was poised to jump, his muscles coiled and ready to launch his body into the air.
But Akaashi… whew. His shoulder muscles were so defined as he stretched his arms into the air, it almost made Bokuto drool. His chest was a smooth expanse of lightly tanned skin, small freckles visible from likely spending the summer in the Okinawa sun. Although he wasn’t especially ripped, the slight suggestion of abs disappearing into his swim shorts almost felt obscene to look at. Without a word, Bokuto saved the image.
“Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto flinched dramatically, whipping his head around to face a slightly bemused Akaashi. “Oh, uh, hey! Akaashi-san! Fancy seeing you here!” Kuroo snickered loudly.
“Sorry I took so long, I ran into someone I knew.” Lot of that happening tonight, Bokuto thought wryly. “I got you another Old Fashioned, if that’s okay? I wasn’t sure if you actually liked it or just drank it because you mistook it for yours, but I thought it was a safer bet than trying to guess what kind of drink you usually get.”
“Thank you so much, you didn’t have to get me a whole other drink! Don’t worry, I love an Old Fashioned.” For proof, Bokuto accepted the proffered glass and took a big swig, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. Here goes. “Although, in the future, I wouldn’t say no to a good beer.”
Akaashi started to respond, then the full meaning of Bokuto’s words seemed to hit him, and his eyes widened. “In the future?”
“I’d love to get a drink with you another time, if you want.” Bokuto turned on his megawatt smile, praying to whatever force that was listening that he was reading the situation right. “Or not a drink,” he hastily amended. “Or coffee, or lunch, or anything you want.” His smile softened. “I’d be happy to do anything to spend more time with you.”
Akaashi opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked a little dumbstruck.
“You’d think he’d be less surprised, given that he was the one who approached you in the first place,” Kuroo commented. Unable to respond verbally, Bokuto discreetly flicked the mic pack on his thigh to tell his friend to shut up.
“I would love to, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi finally answered, sending Bokuto a hopeful smile. In a stroke of bravery, Bokuto leaned forward and placed his hands over Akaashi’s, which the other man had been twisting together nervously.
“Romantically,” Bokuto added, suddenly overcome with the need to clarify. “I’m asking you out. In a gay way.”
Akaashi stared at him, speechless. Bokuto had barely enough time to wonder if that was a weird thing to say before Akaashi visibly relaxed, squeezing Bokuto’s hands back.
“Okay. Great. That’s what I thought. It seemed too good to be true, but everything was pointing towards it…”
“Too good to be true!?” Bokuto squawked indignantly. “You’re only the most gorgeous person ever, how could you ever doubt that I would be into you?”
The speechlessness was back, along with the blush. Instead of filling the silence, Bokuto just looked into Akaashi’s eyes, trying to transmit his honesty via eye contact. When he got tired of that, he started wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, which seemed to shock Akaashi out of his stupor.
“Bokuto-san, you can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true. It’s what I first thought when you walked over here. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Bokuto said candidly, enjoying how much his words were flustering Akaashi.
Akaashi made a distressed noise and buried his head into his forearms. Bokuto just laughed and untangled one of his hands to pat Akaashi on the head.
“Sorry to break this up, but target MB11 has ditched his friend and is finally heading towards the establishment,” Kuroo’s voice filtered through the earpiece. To his credit, he did sound genuinely regretful. “Hey, if you finish this up quick, maybe you can pick back up right where you left off.”
Bokuto sulked, frustration flooding his veins. Leaving Akaashi now felt like sacrilege. Almost a crime. But, alas, he did have a job to do.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to go take care of something,” Bokuto said gently, trying to sound as apologetic as humanly possible. “I’ll be right back, and then we can exchange numbers?”
Akaashi squeezed his hand before letting it go. “Of course, I’ll be right here.”
Bokuto lingered, unwilling to voluntarily abandon this fascinating, alluring man who had drawn him in like no other person before. How was he supposed to just walk away?
“You’ll be back, Owl. Just finish the job like you always do.” Right. With one last wave, Bokuto turned and hurried towards the private rooms.
...
“Sorry I’m late, that orange dumbass held me up,” a voice echoed from inside the room, audibly annoyed. “I don’t know how he doesn’t understand that some of us have actual schedules to follow and lives to live.”
Laughter from another voice. “Why didn’t you just say no, then?”
A scoff. “He would have badgered me until I said yes. And it would have been suspicious if I had refused so stubbornly.
“Face it, Moon, you like hanging out with him.”
“Maybe like how I enjoy hanging out with an over-excitable puppy. Ugh, anyway, here’s the drive. You know what to do with it.”
BANG! The short-range explosives that Bokuto had wired around the locked door went off right on time, Bokuto leaping through the doorway before the wobbling door even hit the ground.
Target PS12 was the easier target. As he had been closer to the door and more affected by the loud noise, Bokuto was easily able to get the chloroform over his mouth and slap the handcuffs on his wrists.
“Tadashi!” Target MB11 yelled, reaching for the gun holstered to his thigh. Grinning maniacally, Bokuto dashed towards the target, easily dodging the bullets flying his way. The explosives had also included a flash component, which was clearly affecting the target as he fumbled blindly at his belt to try to stash the drive.
Sweeping the target’s feet out from under him, Bokuto grabbed the drive and let the taller man crash to the ground. Chloroform, handcuffs. A perfect job done in record time.
“Finished,” he relayed to Kuroo, just in case he wasn’t watching on a hidden camera (which he most certainly was). “Drive secured, targets neutralized and ready for pickup. Is there anything else you need, or can I get back to my new boyfriend?”
“If you quit your job and become a househusband, I’m personally hunting you down and killing you,” Kuroo threatened, no real heat behind his words. “Yes, you’re done once you pass the drive over to our confederate behind the bar. Tell the bartender with the mustache that you think you saw a black cat outside, but it turned out to just be a crow. If he answers that it was probably a flightless crow, then you can give him the drive and go back to making kissy faces.”
Bokuto whooped loudly, starting for the door.
“Have fun. I’m going to start drafting the mission report, holler if you need me. Cat out.”
“Copy that.” Slipping out of the private room section, Bokuto returned to the main area and headed to the bar. To his immense relief, he spotted Akaashi out of the corner of his eye, leaning on their table and tapping on his phone.
Bokuto reached the bar and leaned over, getting the mustachioed bartender’s attention with a light tap on the counter. “Hey, by the way, I thought I saw a black cat outside, but it turned out to just be a crow.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “It was probably a flightless crow.” Nodding, Bokuto held out the drive to the bartender, but the bartender didn’t take it, instead crossing his muscled arms and staring at Bokuto skeptically.
“I can’t believe you stole his drink.”
“What?” Perplexed, Bokuto peered closer at the bartender, and recoiled when he realized who was under the fake mustache and brown wig. “Daichi? What the hell are you doing here?”
“We work for the same agency, Owl,” Daichi said pointedly. “I’m honestly overqualified to be working as information retrieval, but Cat wanted me here as extra muscle in case something went wrong.”
“Oh. Well, obviously everything went fine.”
Daichi smirked. “On the mission, that is. In other areas, not so much. I didn’t know how terrible you were at flirting.”
Huffing, Bokuto crossed his arms and glared. “I don’t see Akaashi complaining. The results speak for themselves, Crow. ”
“I know, I know,” Daichi relented, putting his hands up in surrender. “But it was pretty funny to watch your man stand here for five minutes trying to decide what drink to order for you after you chugged the rest of his.”
Still a little miffed, Bokuto shot back, “Well, at least he had the decency to consider what I wanted. What did you do the last time we went out together?” Daichi's self-satisfied smile was quickly replaced by stricken horror. “If I recall, didn’t you panic and get Cat—hm, what was it—”
“Bokuto, please,” Daichi said desperately, grabbing the drive out of his hand and attempting to shove him away from the counter, attracting a few questioning looks from the other patrons at the bar.
“That’s right, Sex on the Beach!” Bokuto crowed triumphantly, savoring the furiously mortified look on Daichi’s face.
“Alright, sir, if you say so. One Sex on the Beach, coming right up,” Daichi said loudly, determinedly turning his back to Bokuto and busying himself with searching the shelves of liquor.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve already got an Old Fashioned waiting at my table with my smoking hot boyfriend.”
“It’s on the house,” Daichi said through gritted teeth, already pouring the vodka.
...
“Akaashi, I’m back!” Holding the cocktail glass gingerly in one hand, Bokuto maneuvered through the throngs of people back to their little table.
At Bokuto’s voice, Akaashi’s face lit up, and he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Bokuto. Is that another drink?”
“Don’t worry, turns out I know the bartender from high school,” Bokuto fibbed, setting the glass down on the table. He would tell Akaashi about his real job. Eventually. Just not yet. “He was kind enough to make this for me on the house.”
“Oh, that was nice of him. What is it?”
“Sex on the Beach,” Bokuto answered, scratching his neck sheepishly. “It’s sort of an inside joke?”
Akaashi didn’t react to the obscene name, just eyed the bright drink critically. “Huh. I’m sure it’s well made, I’m just honestly not really a fan of sweet cocktails.”
“Oh, me neither. My friend is just a dick.”
The two stared at the shifting orange cocktail, condensation beading on the glass and sliding down into a growing puddle on the table.
“Do you want to come over?” The words spilled out of Akaashi’s mouth like they had been trying to escape for ages, jumbled and bleeding into each other. “I mean, it’s okay if you have plans or something, and no pressure to do anything, but I’d love to spend more of tonight together. If you want.”
Bokuto’s face blossomed into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling and heart fluttering wildly.
“I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Being a spy didn’t give him much opportunity to tell the truth, but Bokuto didn’t think he had ever said anything more honest in his life.
[MISSION COMPLETE]