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Tsukishima wasn’t quite sure what prompted his being scouted to be part of this… situation. Espionage, really? Sure, he might be rather gifted intellectually, perhaps with some dry wit and a bit of that cold, charming glance to top it off. He might even be good at coaxing embarrassing stories out of his regulars from behind his espresso machine. But that’s not the kind of information extractions spies worked with. Right?
Right. Then, why was he being briefed by a shady-looking man with ridiculous hair about a supposed last-minute mission?
“So, glasses, we have a problem—“
“Tsukishima.”
“Right, uh, Tsukki.”
“Tsukishima.”
“Hey, your co-worker there calls you Tsukki. I’m going to be your co-worker too from now on.”
There was a faint “sorry Tsukki!” from the other side of the café. The shady man gave his co-worker a thumb up. What the hell.
“Can I not do this? Can you just recruit Yamaguchi?”
“No! No, you’ve uh… We need a person of your capacity to pull this off!” Lies.
“What. How do you even know what I’m capable of?”
“Details are of little importance. Now. You are to rendezvous with the mark later tonight—“
“Tonight? But—“ But, Tsukishima thought, tonight was Christmas eve and he planned to come to work because the pay was double and he could taunt some single regulars about their lack of partner and complain with them about how Christmas was just an excuse to get people to spend money on a celebration of consumerism. In short, Tsukishima was no believer in Christmas.
“At seven tonight, please be ready. Go through some arrangements beforehand and you should be good to go.”
“Wait. Why can’t you employ another agent to do this?”
“We are severely understaffed, Agent Tsukki?”
“Why am I an agent now?”
The man, Kuroo, briefed him the full but questionable details of the mission. Meet with the mark at a restaurant, distract him and try to get him loose-lipped enough to share the information. Who was the mark, Tsukishima asked. Someone from the organisation, suspected to be a mole, Kuroo mentioned. What information should be extracted, Tsukishima asked again. Get to know him as much as possible, Kuroo vaguely explained. Why would the person say anything to Tsukishima in the first place, Tsukishima was getting less convinced. Tell him you’re new and was sent by me as a test, said Kuroo.
“This is ridiculous. I’m not a spy. I’m not trained for this.”
“Oh? So you could get some juicy secrets out of your regulars but too scared to step up your game? Your provocation is only good for giggly female students and middle-aged office workers eh?”
Tsukishima asked him about the place, which meant that yes, he’d bloody hell take that challenge.
--
So Tsukishima arrived at an inconspicuous building at the outskirts of an office complex, third level, go left after getting off the lift. There was only one glass door leading to what might be his destination. He peeked inside and saw a pile of metal scraps, some stray wires, and lots of monitors. He pressed the bell and waited.
“Not now. 16 seconds,” came a muffled voice from the intercom.
What?
“Okay. Tsukki?”
“Um, yes. Tsukishima, actually.”
“Doors unlocked. Come in, don’t step on the wires.”
Tsukishima came in and treaded carefully, and was greeted by more monitors behind the empty reception area. There was a man slouched in his seat, with hair that needed to be redyed because the roots were showing. He was still looking at the multitudes of monitors as he addressed Tsukishima.
“Kuro said you need equipment. It’s dangerous to go alone. Take these.”
Tie pin and cufflinks? “Uh, what are these supposed to do?”
“Keep your necktie in place and secure your shirt cuffs,” and after a moment, the person added, “ah, and if you press the round ornament on the tie pin, it will alert our agents to your emergency. The cufflinks are voice recorders.”
“Thank you?”
“Sorry Kuro made you do this.”
--
The next destination came as a text message from an unregistered number. How whoever it was managed to get his number, Tsukishima didn’t even want to know. He really wanted to get out of this mess, but his brain was too addled to make good decisions. Not that Tsukishima had made enough good decisions in his life so far. It was just an excuse to get coffee. Besides, he needed to tell his co-worker that he might not be able to make it to the café tomorrow. Who knows what this espionage business might entail.
He was glad that the café was closed for lunch break when he arrived. He made himself a simple sandwich and was cleaning the milk frother when the bell they put on the door as a Christmas ornament chimed. Had Yamaguchi forgotten to put the lunch break sign again?
“Sorry but we’re— Ah.”
“Should I come back later?” was the reply from a regular of this café. Tsukishima’s favourite regular, because this person is nice and quiet and is just generally pleasant to be around. Tsukishima could certainly make the usual double shot cappuccino for him.
“Akaashi-san. Sorry about that, I thought it was someone else.”
Akaashi raised a curious eyebrow, followed by a shrug. He sat near the counter, his usual spot, and Tsukishima served him his usual. It was business as usual, except today, nothing had been business as usual for Tsukishima.
He contemplated talking to Akaashi about his predicament but decided against it. Why would he confide in a regular, he asked himself. Usually it’s the regulars who confided their life stories in Tsukishima. Not Akaashi though. Akaashi had been a regular for long enough but apparently not long enough for Tsukishima to coax stories out of him. It had gone from his standard small talk to a bit of getting to know each other which only involved conversations about food or drinks and to pining on Tsukishima’s part. Because have you seen the way this man smiled at the first sip of his coffee?
Akaashi took his time drinking his coffee, which allowed Tsukishima to admire Akaashi’s neckline. At last, something good happened today, he had thought. Not for long though, because his phone vibrated and another text message appeared. An address he had received earlier. A reminder, it seemed. He had had his coffee so he was contemplating his decision to drop the mission. But going back on one’s own words would be uncool and Tsukishima didn’t do uncool.
“—shima? Tsukishima?”
Akaashi was suddenly right in front of him on the other side of the counter and squinting with a hint of concern.
“Are you okay?”
“I— I’m fine. Sorry. You said something?”
“I was saying that if you’re free after this, maybe you could help me with something? But if you have somewhere to go—“
No, Tsukishima was not fine. Did he see the address? Has the mission been compromised? Did Akaashi just ask him out? Is this even real? Tsukishima needed a moment of hand fumbling to come up with the best response.
“I can make time tomorrow, maybe?” Tsukishima tried.
“No, it’s okay, it had to be tonight. Ah, but I just got called in for work so I can’t make it anyway.”
Tsukishima failed.
--
“Tsukki? Wow, you’re just like how Kuroo described! Tall, bespectacled blond with a pretty but grumpy face. Oh, but of course not as pretty as Oikawa-san.”
Oikawa-san. Apparently the in-charge of this boutique. There were rows of suits, dress shirts, and crisply pressed pants. There were neckties, bowties, cufflinks, and other paraphernalia Tsukishima could never afford. Oikawa-san gave him a thorough once over and called a certain Kunimi-chan over.
“Kunimi-chan, give him that Tom Ford with the shawl lapel with matching dress pants. White, no, dark red Calvin Klein slim cut because it’s Christmas. Oh, bring similar ones from Savile Row and Valentino collections as well. Any black silk tie should do, let’s keep it classic, shall we? Kenma-chan should have gotten you your cufflinks so that’s taken care of. Oh, you should never be found dead in that coat of yours. Kunimi-chan, we still have that double-breasted Armani trench coat, yes? Excellent.”
Kunimi-chan came with what looked like a whole rack of menswear, looking perpetually bored or just so done with everything. He was quiet, which Tsukishima appreciated, and he helped Tsukishima suit up. After a while, he stopped helping and took out his phone though. He might have taken some shots of Tsukishima, but Tsukishima didn’t really want to know. Oikawa was there all along, looking very different from how he had looked when he had greeted Tsukishima at the beginning. Oikawa looked focused and even slightly scary. For the umpteenth time that day, Tsukishima regretted most of his life choices.
Oikawa thought that the Tom Ford shawl lapel looked fabulous and decided to go with that in the end. Tsukishima was just glad that it was over.
--
This time, there were no messages from unregistered numbers. Instead, there was a man with another ridiculous hairstyle waiting for him with an expensive looking car.
“Yooo Tsukki!!”
The man looked familiar. And disturbing.
“How do you know my name? How does everybody— …never mind.”
“Hm? Seatbelt on, Tsukki! You’re in for a ride. Man, finally I can talk to you. Akaashi always told me not to, but that’s unfair, isn’t it? Why is he allowed but I’m not? Hey, hey, tell me what you two usually talk about—“
Oh. Now he remembered. He had seen this man and Akaashi at the café a few times. On those days, Akaashi had ordered a decaf in addition to his usual. Now Tsukishima understood and appreciated Akaashi’s decisions. This man just wouldn’t stop talking. And speeding. Tsukishima’s mind was filled with road safety hazards and regrets.
They arrived at a lobby of a high-rise building and Tsukishima let out the breath he hadn’t know he was holding. He took a moment to collect himself and checked if he had forgotten anything. The man—Bokuto, he recalled sometime during the ride—handed him a card, fake ID it seemed. Tsukishima had forgotten to ask if he was under any alias, good thing these people seemed competent enough to provide him with this fake ID. Or not.
Tsukishima Kei? All in hiragana? He’s very worried.
--
A reservation for two, under Kuroo. Tsukishima was soon shown to one corner of this pretentious-looking restaurant, passing Kuroo who was soon joined by Bokuto on his way to his table. He had four minutes until the mark arrived. He thought, because that was what he’s good at. He thought about what he needed to do to get as much information as he could manage, about how Yamaguchi might not be able to manage the café on Christmas Eve, about how he had wished his life wasn’t so boring. Well, now it certainly wasn’t, but not exactly in a good way. He massaged the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply, trying and failing to ease the tension.
“Sorry to keep you waiting—“ here comes the mark.
“…A-Akaashi-san—?”
“Tsukishima?”
“You—“
Akaashi scanned the room and found a grinning Kuroo and an eyebrow-wiggling Bokuto. Tsukishima’s eyes followed the direction of his stare and then at Akaashi, who was furiously typing something on his phone.
//I should be very angry at this moment and I should also report the two of you for misuse of national budget, but thank you. And merry Christmas. We will talk about this when I return to the office. Akaashi over and out.//
“So, Tsukishima,” Akaashi started, “I believe I have a lot of explaining to do. But first, do you have any food allergy?”
“Excuse me?”
“I was about to ask you out for dinner earlier today, before I was called in for a job. Apparently you’re the job and I would very much like to maintain my record of doing a good job. So, are you ready to order?”
Tsukishima was still a no believer in Christmas and all the spending it entails, but he could make some exceptions. Especially when all he would be spending for the night were some quality time with a quality individual.
--
Bonus:
From: Kunimi Akira
Subject: limited offer
akaashi-san, I have pictures of tsukishima in some suits. and a couple in our savile row waistcoats and one in a ck turtleneck. I am open for discussions regarding compensation.
To: Kunimi Akira
Subject: Re: limited offer
Proposal approved. Let’s meet at headquarter after hours to discuss.