Chapter Text
Rio de Janeiro never really slept.
Even in the early hours of the morning, the city breathed — slow, heavy, alive. Somewhere below the apartment windows, a bus hissed to a stop. Music drifted faintly from a neighbor’s open window, bass low and persistent, like a heartbeat that refused to quiet down.
Shoyo was dead asleep.
Sprawled diagonally across his bed, one arm hanging off the side, hair a mess against the pillow, completely unaware of the world outside his apartment.
His phone buzzed somewhere near his head.
Once.
Twice.
He let out a long, miserable sound into the mattress without opening his eyes.
The phone buzzed again.
Then again.
Persistent.
Annoying.
“Jesus Christ…” he mumbled hoarsely, blindly reaching for it.
He finally grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear without checking the screen.
“…what?”
“Tell me you’re awake.”
Sugawara’s voice.
Shoyo opened one eye.
The digital clock beside the bed read 9:47 AM.
Silence.
Then—
“Shit.”
“You’re late.”
“I know that.”
“You were supposed to be at the studio forty minutes ago.”
Shoyo sat upright so fast the blanket fell onto the floor.
“Why didn’t you call earlier?!”
“I did. Six times.”
Shoyo pulled the phone away from his ear.
Missed Calls (6) — Suga.
“…oh.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Okay, okay, I’m up.”
“Hinata.”
“I’m UP.”
“You said that last time and went back to sleep.”
Shoyo was already stumbling out of bed, running a hand through his hair while heading toward the bathroom.
“I’m brushing my teeth right now.”
“You sound half dead.”
“That’s because I was working until three in the morning.”
“You were playing FIFA until three in the morning.”
Shoyo pointed accusingly at the phone like Sugawara could see him.
“That is still mentally exhausting.”
Suga sighed deeply.
“In thirty minutes.”
“Twenty.”
“You live forty minutes away.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re going to kill yourself on that motorcycle one day.”
“Not today.”
He hung up before Sugawara could continue lecturing him.
The apartment was a mess in the way only successful people’s apartments could be — expensive furniture, giant windows overlooking Rio, gold records on the walls, and absolute chaos everywhere else.
A hoodie hanging off a chair.
Lyrics scribbled across loose papers on the kitchen counter.
An unfinished protein shake abandoned near the couch.
Shoyo moved through it like he knew exactly where everything was.
Because he did.
Music blasted from a speaker somewhere while he got ready at impossible speed. Teeth brushed. Face washed. Hoodie. Pants. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Helmet.
By the time he left the apartment, Rio’s heat had fully settled over the city.
Warm air. Bright sky. The smell of salt somewhere in the distance.
He threw one leg over the motorcycle and started it.
The engine roared to life.
Twenty-five years old, internationally famous, multiple awards, sold-out stadiums across South America and still chronically late.
Some things never changed.
*
The studio occupied the top floors of a modern building near Barra da Tijuca.
By the time Shoyo arrived, twenty-eight minutes after the call, Sugawara was already waiting outside with crossed arms.
“You look horrible,” Suga said immediately.
“You say that every morning.”
“Because every morning it’s true.”
Shoyo grinned lazily as he took off his helmet.
Sugawara had known him since he was fifteen. At this point, their conversations barely sounded professional anymore.
Still, Suga looked exactly like an agent should:
calm, organized, composed even in Rio heat.
Meanwhile Shoyo looked like someone who had accidentally become famous on the way to a street football match.
Oversized black hoodie. Tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves. Dark sunglasses despite being indoors thirty seconds later.
And somehow it worked.
People in the lobby immediately recognized him anyway.
“Bom dia, Shoyo!”
“Morning.”
“Did you finish the second verse?”
“Maybe.”
“That means no?”
“That means maybe.”
Sugawara sighed again.
“You stress me out.”
“You’re aging beautifully.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too.”
*
Work lasted all day.
Recording sessions.
Meetings.
Calls with sponsors.
A rehearsal for the charity concert.
The charity project mattered more to Shoyo than almost anything else.
It wasn’t for publicity. People always assumed it was, at first.
But the kids knew better.
Most of them came from the same neighborhoods Shoyo grew up around. Same crowded streets. Same noise. Same feeling that the world was impossibly far away until suddenly it wasn’t.
He always went all in for those concerts.
No luxury VIP sections.
Cheap tickets whenever possible.
He funded half the thing himself and argued with sponsors every single year.
By evening, he was sitting cross-legged on the studio couch while producers replayed a track through giant speakers.
The beat was rough still. Heavy bass. Samba percussion layered underneath.
Shoyo nodded slowly to the rhythm.
“Again,” he said.
The producer rewound it.
Sugawara appeared in the doorway holding coffee.
That alone was suspicious.
Shoyo narrowed his eyes immediately.
“What do you want?”
“I brought you coffee.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Sugawara handed him the cup.
“I got a call from Japan.”
Shoyo leaned back against the couch.
“Okay?”
“Daichi called.”
That got his attention.
Shoyo looked up properly now.
Daichi.
He vaguely remembered him from years ago — back when Sugawara still worked in Japan before moving to Brazil. Serious guy. Very corporate. Always wearing black suits even in summer.
“What about him?”
Sugawara hesitated just enough for Shoyo to notice.
“He manages Kageyama Tobio.”
“The singer?”
“The singer.”
Shoyo knew who Tobio was, obviously.
Practically everyone did.
Even in Brazil, clips of him circulated online constantly. Concert footage. Live vocals. Interviews.
Japan loved him.
Not in the temporary celebrity way.
In the institution kind of way.
“He wants… what?” Shoyo asked.
“A collaboration. They’re interested in a joint single. Maybe more.”
Shoyo stared at him over the edge of the coffee cup.
“I don’t have time for ‘maybe more.’”
“I know.”
“The charity concert is in two months.”
“I know.”
“I’m finishing the album.”
“I know, Shoyo.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Sugawara sat across from him.
“Because this could actually be good for both of you.”
Shoyo stayed quiet.
Suga continued carefully.
“Tobio’s huge in Japan. But mostly Japan.”
“And?”
“And you’re huge internationally, but Japan still sees you as…” he searched for the word, “…distant.”
Shoyo looked away slightly.
That part was true.
He was Japanese by blood. Japanese by name.
But after returning to Brazil, Japan became something complicated. Familiar and foreign at the same time.
He still spoke the language, but he belonged to Brazil.
Everyone could hear it the second he opened his mouth.
“You’d reconnect with Japan,” Sugawara said quietly. “And Tobio gets international exposure.”
Shoyo rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“What exactly are they proposing?”
“One single.”
“That turns into?”
“Two concerts if things go well.”
Shoyo laughed once.
“Of course.”
“One in Tokyo. One in Rio.”
The producer discreetly pretended not to listen from the other side of the room.
Sugawara leaned forward.
“And if Tobio agrees… the Rio concert could become part of your charity project.”
That made Shoyo pause.
A real pause.
Because suddenly it wasn’t just business anymore.
“You’re manipulative,” he muttered.
“I’m effective.”
Shoyo exhaled slowly through his nose.
He looked down at the untouched lyrics notebook beside him.
Then back at Sugawara.
“When would we go?”
“This week.”
“That fast?”
“Daichi wants to move before schedules get worse.”
Shoyo stared at the ceiling for several seconds.
Then finally:
“…fine.”
Sugawara blinked once.
“Fine?”
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
“You’re agreeing?”
“I said fine.”
Suga immediately pulled out his phone.
“You’re terrifying.”
“You’re welcome.”
*
Twenty hours of travel could make anyone miserable.
Even famous people.
Especially famous people.
By hour six, Shoyo had lost patience.
By hour eleven, he was lying flat across the seat with his hood over his face while Sugawara reviewed schedules beside him.
By hour fifteen, Shoyo looked genuinely offended by the existence of airplanes.
“This is inhumane.”
“You said that three hours ago.”
“How are humans okay with this?”
“Millions of people fly every day.”
“They shouldn’t.”
Sugawara didn’t even look up from the tablet.
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m suffering.”
“You slept for eight hours.”
“That’s not enough compensation.”
Outside the window, darkness stretched endlessly over the ocean.
The cabin lights were dimmed low. Most passengers were asleep.
Shoyo rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes.
Japan.
It had been a while.
Not too long — he visited occasionally for promotions, appearances, things like that.
But this felt different.
Longer stay.
Actual work.
A collaboration.
With Kageyama Tobio of all people.
The weird thing was… he still wasn’t completely sure what kind of person Tobio actually was.
Every interview felt controlled. Polite. Reserved.
Perfect posture. Perfect answers.
Like he had been trained never to say the wrong thing.
Meanwhile Shoyo regularly swore during livestreams and accidentally leaked album names.
Complete opposites.
Which was probably why everyone around them thought this collaboration would work.
*
When they finally landed in Tokyo, it was night.
Rain tapped softly against the airport windows.
Shoyo stood near baggage claim wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses despite the hour, looking exhausted enough to collapse where he stood.
Sugawara looked only slightly better.
“I can feel my spine dissolving,” Shoyo muttered in.
“That’s very poetic.”
“Thank you.”
Tokyo’s air felt different immediately.
Cooler than Rio.
Cleaner.
Quieter in a strange way.
Even the noise sounded organized.
By the time they got into the car sent by the agency, Shoyo was barely conscious.
City lights slid past the windows in blurred colors.
Tall buildings.
Neon signs.
Rain reflecting across wet streets.
Tokyo at night always looked cinematic without trying.
Sugawara checked tomorrow’s schedule one last time.
“Meeting at the agency tomorrow at eleven.”
Shoyo groaned dramatically from the seat beside him.
“That’s criminal.”
“You slept on the plane.”
“I suffered on the plane.”
“You’re meeting Tobio tomorrow, try acting human.”
“No promises.”
The driver hid a smile.
Shoyo leaned his head against the cold window glass.
The exhaustion finally started catching up properly now.
Everything felt slower.
Heavy.
Tokyo passed outside in streaks of white and blue light while rain continued falling softly over the city.
Tomorrow he’d meet Kageyama Tobio.
Tomorrow the real work started.
*
Shoyo woke up to silence.
Not complete silence — Tokyo was incapable of that — but compared to Rio, it felt unnaturally calm.
No loud motorcycles outside.
No distant music from the streets.
No people yelling across balconies at eight in the morning.
Just muted city noise somewhere far below the hotel windows and the soft hum of the air conditioner.
For several seconds, he stayed half asleep beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling without moving.
Then reality caught up.
Tokyo.
Right.
He groaned quietly and dragged an arm over his face.
His body still had absolutely no idea what timezone it was in.
A knock sounded against the hotel room door.
“Come in,” Shoyo mumbled.
The door opened almost immediately.
Sugawara walked in carrying two coffee cups and a paper bag that smelled dangerously good.
“You’re alive,” Suga said.
“Debatable.”
“You have forty minutes.”
Shoyo slowly pushed himself upright, hair sticking out in every direction.
“What time is it?”
“Too late for you to still be in bed.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Nine-thirty.”
Shoyo blinked.
“That’s illegal.”
“You slept for nine hours.”
“I needed it.”
Sugawara set the coffees down on the small table near the window.
The hotel room was modern and painfully neat compared to Shoyo’s apartment back in Rio. Dark wood furniture. Soft lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Tokyo.
Rain clouds still hung over the city from last night.
Shoyo got out of bed and wandered over toward the table.
“What’s this?” he asked, peeking inside the bag.
“Breakfast.”
“You brought me breakfast?”
“You sound surprised.”
“You usually just insult me until I wake up.”
“That method stopped working years ago.”
Shoyo snorted softly.
Inside the bag were sandwiches from a nearby café, fruit, and bottled juice.
“You’re acting suspiciously nice,” he said.
Sugawara took a sip of coffee.
“I need you functional today.”
“That bad?”
“You’re meeting people who think punctuality is a religion.”
Shoyo dropped dramatically into a chair.
“Japan is terrifying.”
“You are Japanese.”
“Half.”
“And the irresponsible half came from Brazil?”
“Exactly.”
Sugawara rolled his eyes.
“Get dressed.”
Shoyo took a bite of the sandwich.
“Have you met Tobio before?”
“Once. Briefly.”
“And?”
Suga considered it.
“Quiet.”
“That’s it?”
“He doesn’t waste words.”
“So he hates people.”
“No, he just chooses carefully.”
Shoyo hummed thoughtfully.
“Do you think this’ll actually work?” he asked eventually.
Sugawara looked at him over the coffee cup.
“I think it’ll either work extremely well…”
A pause.
“…or become a complete disaster.”
Shoyo grinned.
“That’s comforting.”
*
An hour later, Tokyo blurred past the tinted car windows while rain misted softly against the streets.
Shoyo sat in the backseat beside Sugawara, one arm resting against the door while he watched the city move around them.
Even during the day, Tokyo looked sharp somehow.
Precise.
People moved quickly. Efficiently.
Everything felt organized down to the smallest detail.
It still threw him off after living in Rio for so long.
He adjusted the backwards cap on his head and glanced at his reflection in the glass.
“You think I look okay?”
Sugawara looked up from his phone once.
“You look like trouble.”
“Nice.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Shoyo grinned anyway.
*
Meanwhile, several floors above one of Tokyo’s largest music studios, Tobio was aggressively pretending not to care.
Which mostly meant lying half across the couch in the lounge room with one arm behind his head while scrolling through TikTok.
Daichi had already told him three times that morning:
Hinata Shoyo arrives today.
As if Tobio had somehow forgotten overnight.
He stared at another video playing on his screen.
An old concert clip.
Brazil.
Massive crowd. Open stadium. Lights flashing across thousands of people screaming lyrics back at the stage.
And there was Shoyo in the middle of it all.
Sweating through a sleeveless shirt, microphone in hand, moving across the stage like he’d been born there.
The crowd practically vibrated around him.
Tobio frowned slightly.
The energy was ridiculous.
Another clip.
Different concert.
This time Shoyo was performing something slower — samba influences mixed into the beat, live percussion behind him, entire audience singing along.
Then another clip.
A rap performance.
Sharp lyrics. Aggressive flow. Heavy bass.
Tobio exited the app.
Then reopened it thirty seconds later.
He still wasn’t convinced this collaboration made sense.
Their music had almost nothing in common.
Tobio’s songs were structured carefully. Layered harmonies. Controlled vocals. Instrument-heavy arrangements.
Shoyo’s music felt alive in a completely different way.
Messier.
Hotter.
Less restrained.
Not worse.
Just different.
Too different maybe.
“You’re overthinking again.”
Daichi’s voice came from the doorway.
Tobio didn’t look up immediately.
“I’m thinking normally.”
“Watching Hinata's clips is thinking?”
“I's researching.”
“You replayed one of them four times.”
Tobio finally looked at him flatly.
Daichi ignored that.
“They should be arriving soon.”
Tobio locked his phone and sat up properly.
“Do we know how long he’s staying?”
“At least several weeks.”
Silence.
Then:
“…seriously?”
“You’re doing an entire project together, Tobio.”
“I know that.”
Daichi crossed his arms.
“You don’t have to like him immediately.”
“I never said that.”
“You’re making the face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you already decided someone is annoying before meeting them.”
Tobio looked away.
Which was basically confirmation.
Then the sound came.
The main entrance downstairs opening.
Voices.
Daichi glanced toward the hallway.
“They’re here.”
Tobio stood almost automatically.
For some reason, his heartbeat sped up slightly.
Not nervous.
Just aware.
He followed Daichi out toward the main studio entrance.
*
The front lobby smelled faintly like coffee and expensive equipment.
Several staff members looked up immediately when the doors opened.
Sugawara stepped inside first, calm as always.
And behind him—
Tobio stopped walking for half a second.
Shoyo looked exactly like the kind of person tabloids would describe as a problem.
Black leather jacket hanging loose over a gray hoodie, the hood bunched at the back of his neck beneath a backwards black cap. The outfit should’ve looked careless, but somehow every piece fit together too well for that.
Dark gray track pants. Clean sneakers.
Silver watch around one wrist.
A thick bracelet beside it.
Several rings flashing whenever he moved his hands.
And gum.
He was chewing gum like he had absolutely no business being in one of Japan’s most respected studios.
Tobio’s first thought was:
He looks arrogant.
Not loud exactly.
Just… dangerously self-assured.
The kind of person who walked into rooms already knowing everyone would look.
And people were looking.
Even exhausted from the flight, Shoyo carried himself like someone used to stages and cameras constantly pointed at him.
Then he smiled at something Sugawara said.
And the entire impression changed instantly.
Warm.
Easy.
Human.
It caught Tobio off guard more than he expected.
“Welcome,” Daichi said smoothly, stepping forward first.
Sugawara greeted him immediately.
“Long time no see.”
“Too long.”
Then Daichi turned toward Shoyo.
“Sawamura Daichi. Thank you for coming all this way.”
Shoyo grinned slightly.
“Please, twenty hours on a plane deserves at least free coffee.”
Daichi blinked once.
Then laughed unexpectedly.
“You’ll fit in fine.”
Shoyo looked pleased with himself.
And then Tobio stepped closer.
Shoyo looked directly at him and for one second neither of them spoke.
Then Sugawara broke the silence immediately.
“Shoyo. This is Kageyama Tobio.”
Tobio bowed slightly out of instinct.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Very formal.
Very Japanese.
Shoyo noticed instantly.
He straightened a little, chewing his gum slower now before speaking.
“Ah… your Japanese is way too proper, cara.”
The last word slipped into Portuguese naturally.
Tobio paused.
“…cara?”
Sugawara sighed quietly.
“It means something like ‘man’ or ‘dude.’”
“Ah.”
Shoyo held out a hand instead.
“Nice to finally meet you.”
Tobio hesitated only briefly before shaking it.
Shoyo’s grip was warm.
Firm.
“Kageyama, right?” Shoyo said.
“Tobio is fine.”
Another pause.
Then Shoyo grinned slightly.
“Okay, Tobio.”
Something about the way he said it felt deliberate.
Not rude exactly.
Just relaxed in a way Tobio wasn’t used to.
Most people around him acted careful.
Shoyo didn’t seem careful at all.
“You had a safe flight?” Tobio asked politely.
“Define safe.”
“Turbulence?”
“No, just Suga snoring.”
“I do not snore.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I literally don’t.”
Tobio watched the two of them argue for several seconds.
The dynamic was strange.
Not idol-and-manager.
Closer than that.
Like family almost.
Shoyo finally looked back at Tobio.
“Sorry,” he said easily. “My brain’s still somewhere over the Pacific Ocean.”
“That’s understandable.”
“And your studio’s huge,” Shoyo added, glancing around. “Way bigger than I expected.”
“You’ve seen photos before.”
“Photos lie.”
That made Tobio pause again.
Because somehow the conversation felt awkward and natural at the same time.
Like they were both speaking slightly different versions of the same language.
Technically understanding each other.
But still adjusting.
Still observing.
Still trying to figure out what kind of person stood in front of them.
And Tobio realized, suddenly, that Shoyo was studying him too.
*
Technically, the day was supposed to be productive.
There were schedules prepared.
Studio rooms reserved.
Meeting outlines printed neatly by Daichi.
Couple hours in, absolutely none of it had happened.
Mostly because of Shoyo.
At first, Tobio tried to convince himself it was temporary.
Jet lag maybe.
Culture adjustment.
But no.
It became painfully obvious that Shoyo simply operated differently from every artist Tobio had ever worked with.
Instead of settling into the studio to discuss concepts or music direction, Shoyo wandered.
Not aimlessly exactly.
Just… freely.
One moment he was talking to sound engineers inside Studio B, asking about equipment in rapid Japanese mixed with Portuguese slang.
Then he disappeared again.
Twenty minutes later Tobio found him downstairs somehow talking to two cleaning ladies near the vending machines.
Actually talking.
Not celebrity-small-talk talking.
Real conversation.
One of the women laughed so hard she nearly dropped the mop she was holding.
Tobio stopped in the hallway, staring.
“How does he already know everyone?” he asked flatly.
Daichi glanced up from his tablet.
“He’s extroverted.”
“That’s not extroverted anymore. That’s networking terrorism.”
Daichi almost smiled.
Across the hall, Shoyo noticed them watching and raised a hand casually.
“Oi!”
Tobio nodded once.
The cleaning ladies waved enthusiastically at him afterward like they’d all been friends for years.
It was absurd.
And somehow it kept getting worse.
By early afternoon, Shoyo knew three producers’ names, which assistant secretly wanted to become a singer, where the studio bought its coffee beans, and the birthday of one of the security guards.
Meanwhile Tobio had worked in this building for four years and still forgot half the interns existed.
“You’re staring again,” Daichi said quietly beside him.
“I’m observing.”
“You’re judging.”
“A little.”
Daichi sighed.
“You need to relax.”
Tobio crossed his arms.
“I am relaxed.”
“You looked calmer during your national television debut.”
Before Tobio could answer, his attention shifted automatically again.
Shoyo had stopped near the massive windows at the end of the hallway.
And for once he was quiet.
The entire wall was glass from floor to ceiling, overlooking Tokyo from high above the city.
Rain clouds had cleared earlier, leaving behind pale afternoon sunlight spread across endless buildings.
Cars looked tiny from this height.
People almost invisible.
Tokyo stretched forever.
Shoyo stood there with his hands in his pockets, chewing gum slowly while staring outside.
Not bored.
Not distracted.
Just… looking.
Like he’d forgotten the room around him existed.
Tobio frowned slightly.
The expression on his face was different now.
Quieter.
Almost distant.
“You okay?”
The question left Tobio’s mouth before he thought about it.
Shoyo glanced sideways briefly, then back toward the window.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“I forgot how Tokyo looks from up high.”
His Japanese softened slightly around certain words.
Not incorrect.
Just touched by another language now.
Tobio stepped closer without really meaning to.
“You used to live here.”
“Mm.”
“For high school.”
Shoyo nodded once.
Then smiled faintly to himself.
“Brazil doesn’t have this feeling.”
“What feeling?”
Shoyo gestured vaguely toward the skyline.
“This.”
Helpful.
Tobio waited.
After a moment, Shoyo tried again.
“Tokyo feels…” he searched for the word, “…organized.”
“That sounds like an insult.”
“It kinda is.”
That made Tobio snort quietly before he could stop himself.
Shoyo immediately noticed.
“Oh, you can laugh.”
“I laugh normally.”
“Sure.”
Then, just as quickly, Shoyo drifted away again.
Like a cat deciding human interaction was over.
Tobio stared after him.
Annoying.
That was still the main conclusion.
Annoying, unpredictable, impossible to focus around.
And the gum—
God, the gum.
How long had he been chewing the same piece?
Six hours?
Didn’t anyone ever teach him basic manners?
Every few minutes Tobio caught himself staring at it irritably.
The casual chewing during conversations. During introductions.
Unbelievable.
And somehow Shoyo still managed to sound charismatic while doing it, which honestly made it worse.
By late afternoon, Tobio’s patience had already started thinning.
Daichi noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He’d managed Tobio long enough to recognize every version of his moods from microscopic facial changes alone.
“You’re getting irritated,” Daichi observed calmly.
“I’m not.”
“You’re using your ‘polite voice.’”
“I always use my polite voice.”
“With strangers.”
Tobio looked away.
That was enough confirmation.
Daichi hid a sigh.
This collaboration was either going to become historic… or a complete nightmare.
Possibly both.
*
Around evening, Sugawara finally decided enough was enough.
He found Shoyo leaning against the giant window again, staring down at Tokyo with half-finished coffee in one hand.
“There you are.”
Shoyo glanced over lazily.
“Miss me?”
“No. Come here.”
“That sounded aggressive.”
“Because it is.”
Sugawara grabbed his sleeve and physically dragged him away from the window before Shoyo could protest further.
“Hey—”
“You’ve avoided actual work all day.”
“I was socializing.”
“You were freelancing as studio emotional support.”
“That’s important too.”
Suga ignored him completely and guided him toward one of the conference rooms.
Inside, Tobio sat at the table with Daichi, both already surrounded by schedules, notes, and printed documents.
Very professional.
Very serious.
And then Shoyo walked in chewing gum like he was arriving at a friend’s apartment instead of a meeting.
Tobio felt irritation rise instantly again.
How was one person this informal naturally?
“Finally,” Daichi said.
“Sorry,” Shoyo replied without sounding sorry at all. “Your staff is interesting.”
“You met the cleaning staff.”
“They were nice.”
Sugawara pointed at the empty chair.
“Sit.”
Shoyo dropped into it carelessly, stretching his legs out under the table.
Daichi opened one of the folders.
“So. We should discuss the timeline for the collaboration—”
“Wait.”
Shoyo interrupted suddenly, pointing between Daichi and Sugawara.
“How do you two know each other again?”
Both managers blinked.
“That’s your question?” Tobio asked before he could stop himself.
Shoyo looked at him immediately.
“Yeah?”
“We’re discussing work.”
“We can discuss work after.”
Tobio stared at him in disbelief.
Sugawara looked entirely unsurprised.
Daichi actually chuckled softly.
“We worked at the same agency years ago,” he explained.
“In Tokyo?”
Daichi nodded.
“Before Sugawara moved to Brazil.”
Shoyo leaned back further in his chair.
“So who was more popular?”
Sugawara looked offended.
“We were managers, not idols.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“Obviously me,” Daichi said smoothly.
Sugawara pointed accusingly.
“Lies.”
For several minutes, the conversation completely derailed.
Shoyo asked questions constantly.
About old agencies.
About Japanese television.
About how Tobio started learning guitar.
That last one caught Tobio slightly off guard.
“You play multiple instruments, right?” Shoyo asked.
“Yes.”
“You learned as a kid?”
“My grandfather taught me first.”
Shoyo nodded slowly, genuinely listening.
“What about you?” Tobio asked before thinking.
“Hm?”
“Did you train professionally?”
“Nah.”
The answer came immediately.
“My mom sang all the time at home. Then I started doing local stuff.”
“You make that sound simple.”
“It wasn’t.”
For the first time all day, Shoyo’s voice lost some of its easy humor.
Just briefly.
Then it disappeared again.
“So,” he continued casually, “you really listen to jazz willingly?”
Tobio narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Yes.”
“Insane.”
Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sugawara looked entertained.
Meanwhile Tobio was once again becoming painfully aware of the gum.
Still chewing.
Still somehow going.
How many hours had it been now?
Did Shoyo ever stop moving?
Stop talking?
Stop smiling?
And why was that so irritating?
Tobio folded his arms tighter.
“You chew gum constantly.”
The room went quiet for a second.
Shoyo blinked.
“…yes?”
“It’s distracting.”
Sugawara immediately looked like he wanted to punch Shoyo.
Daichi closed his eyes briefly like this exact moment had been inevitable.
Shoyo stared at Tobio for two seconds.
Then slowly pulled the gum from his mouth.
“…you wanna hold it for me?”
Tobio looked horrified.
“I did not mean—”
“I’m joking, relax.”
Shoyo grinned while wrapping the gum back casually.
Tobio decided, firmly, that this man was going to reduce his lifespan significantly.
Daichi cleared his throat before another argument could start.
“Anyway,” he said smoothly, regaining control of the conversation, “we don’t need to finalize everything today.”
Probably wise.
“You’ve both traveled recently. We still have time.”
Sugawara nodded.
“That’s reasonable.”
Then Daichi glanced toward Tobio briefly before continuing.
“So tonight, dinner.”
Shoyo perked up immediately.
“Free food?”
“Yes.”
“Now I’m fully committed to this collaboration.”
Daichi ignored that.
“Tobio and I will treat you both.”
“Fancy,” Shoyo said.
“It’ll also give us a chance to talk more comfortably outside the studio.”
“That means I’m allowed unlimited questions?”
Daichi sighed knowingly.
“…within reason.”
Shoyo grinned.
Tobio already had a bad feeling about this dinner.
*
By the time Shoyo and Sugawara finally left the studio, the sky outside had already turned dark.
Tokyo glowed at night.
Not loudly like Rio.
Rio felt alive in broad strokes — music spilling into streets, people everywhere, heat pressing against skin even after midnight.
Tokyo glowed differently.
Cleaner.
Sharper.
Every light looked intentional.
Shoyo shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as the two of them stepped out in the corridor.
“Okay,” he said. “Japan wins one point for weather.”
Sugawara pressed the elevator button for the underground parking garage.
“One point?”
“Still losing overall.”
“You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours.”
“And already exhausted by the social rules.”
Suga gave him a look.
“You are the social rule problem.”
The elevator doors opened.
The second they stepped inside, Sugawara’s expression changed completely.
Shoyo noticed instantly.
“…ah.”
“Don’t ‘ah’ me.”
“Here we go.”
“You did absolutely nothing today.”
“That’s not true.”
“You flirted with the entire building.”
“I was being friendly.”
“You disappeared for hours.”
“I got lost.”
“You were in the café downstairs.”
“Okay but the cheesecake was incredible.”
Sugawara closed his eyes briefly like he was praying for patience.
“Shoyo.”
“What?”
“You are here to work.”
“I know that.”
“Then why did you spend the entire day avoiding every conversation about the project?”
Shoyo leaned against the elevator wall.
“I wasn’t avoiding.”
“You absolutely were.”
Silence.
The elevator descended quietly.
Shoyo looked away first.
Outside the glass walls of the elevator shaft, Tokyo lights streaked downward in reflections.
Eventually he sighed.
“I just wanted to look around first.”
Sugawara folded his arms.
“At the cleaning supplies closet?”
“They invited me in there.”
“That’s not helping your case.”
Shoyo laughed softly under his breath.
Then quieter:
“I don’t know.”
Sugawara’s expression softened slightly.
That answer sounded more honest.
Shoyo scratched the back of his neck beneath the backwards cap.
“It’s weird being back here.”
“In Japan?”
“Mm.”
“You visit all the time.”
“Not like this.”
The elevator reached the garage.
The doors slid open.
Neither moved immediately.
Finally Shoyo spoke again.
“Tobio’s different than I expected.”
Sugawara glanced sideways at him.
“In a bad way?”
“No.” A pause. “Just… different.”
“How?”
Shoyo thought about it while walking toward the car.
“He’s really serious.”
“That surprises you?”
“Not serious-serious.” He searched for words. “More like…”
“Careful?”
“Yeah.”
That fit.
Everything about Tobio felt measured.
His posture.
His tone.
Even the way he watched people.
Shoyo opened the passenger door and slid inside.
“And he definitely hates me a little.”
Sugawara started the engine.
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“He looked personally offended by my gum.”
“…to be fair, you have been chewing the same piece since morning.”
“That’s dedication.”
“That’s concerning.”
Shoyo grinned faintly at the windshield.
But after a few seconds, the smile faded into something quieter.
“He’s talented though.”
Sugawara looked at him.
“You watched his performances?”
“Last night on the plane.”
“And?”
Shoyo rested his head against the seat.
“He’s good.”
Simple answer.
Very honest.
That made Sugawara relax a little.
Because beneath all the joking and wandering around all day, he knew Shoyo had been observing everything carefully.
He always did.
*
Back at the studio, Tobio was doing the exact opposite of relaxing.
“He’s chaos.”
Daichi calmly continued organizing papers at the conference table.
“Tobio—”
“No seriously,” Tobio continued. “How are we supposed to work like this?”
Daichi didn’t even look up anymore.
“You’ve known him for one day.”
“One day was enough.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He talked to the cleaning staff longer than he talked about music.”
“That’s called being polite.”
“He interrupted every meeting.”
“He asked questions.”
“He pulled gum out of his mouth and offered it to me.”
Daichi finally laughed.
Actually laughed.
Tobio stared at him in betrayal.
“You think this is funny?”
“A little.”
“This is exactly why you’re impossible.”
Daichi leaned back in his chair.
“Tobio.”
“What.”
“You’re irritated because he doesn’t act the way you expected.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Tobio looked away.
Unfortunately, that was also true.
He had expected someone louder maybe. More arrogant. More celebrity-like.
Instead Shoyo was strange.
Warm one second. Distant the next.
Careless-looking but observant.
Friendly with everyone immediately.
And somehow that unpredictability kept throwing Tobio off balance.
Daichi watched him quietly.
“You know,” he said eventually, “you’ve talked about him all evening.”
Tobio froze.
“…have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“That’s because he spent the entire day causing problems.”
“Mhm.”
Daichi stood up before Tobio could continue arguing.
“Go home and change. Dinner’s in an hour.”
Tobio sighed heavily.
This dinner was going to be exhausting.
*
An hour later, Tokyo’s nightlife buzzed softly around them.
The restaurant Daichi chose sat on one of the upper floors of a modern building overlooking the city.
Not overly flashy.
Private.
Elegant in that understated expensive way Japan specialized in.
Warm lighting glowed across dark wood interiors while quiet jazz played somewhere overhead.
Tobio arrived first with Daichi.
Naturally.
Shoyo and Sugawara arrived eight minutes late.
Also naturally.
The private room door slid open.
“Sorry,” Shoyo announced immediately. “Suga changed clothes four times.”
“I changed once.”
“Emotionally, it felt like four.”
Tobio looked up automatically and paused.
Shoyo had changed completely from earlier.
The leather jacket was gone now.
Instead he wore black slacks, loose dark shirt partially unbuttoned at the collar, silver chain still resting against his throat.
His hair looked damp from a shower, curls slightly messier now beneath no hat for once.
Still rings.
Still bracelet.
Still unfairly relaxed.
And thankfully, finally, no gum.
Tobio immediately felt irrational relief.
Shoyo noticed the look.
“…wow,” he said slowly while sitting down. “You really hated the gum.”
“I didn’t hate it.”
“You looked ready to declare war over it.”
Daichi covered a laugh with his drink.
Sugawara sat beside Shoyo.
“See? I told you.”
“You both bullied me.”
“Correct,” Tobio said automatically.
Silence.
Everyone blinked.
Tobio realized what he’d just said.
Shoyo stared at him for one second, then burst out laughing.
Not polite laughter.
Real laughter.
Head tilted back slightly, shoulders shaking.
And somehow the entire atmosphere in the room loosened immediately after that.
Even Tobio felt himself relax a fraction.
Dinner started slowly after that.
Drinks arrived first.
Then food.
Conversation moved easier outside the studio.
Shoyo asked questions constantly again, though less chaotically now.
About Tokyo.
About venues.
About Japanese audiences.
At one point he looked directly at Tobio.
“So when did you start singing professionally?”
“Middle school.”
“That early?”
“My grandfather pushed me into competitions.”
“And you liked it?”
Tobio thought about it.
“…yes.”
“Even back then?”
“Yes.”
Shoyo nodded slowly.
“Lucky.”
Tobio noticed the word immediately.
Lucky.
Not talented.
Not successful.
Lucky.
“What about you?” Tobio asked.
Shoyo leaned back in his chair slightly.
“I started posting songs online when I was fourteen.”
“The rap tracks.”
“You know those?”
“I researched.”
Shoyo looked dangerously amused.
“You researched me?”
Daichi immediately hid his smile behind his glass.
Tobio regretted speaking instantly.
“I meant professionally.”
“Sure.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re cute when annoyed.”
Dead silence.
Sugawara choked on his drink.
Daichi stared at the ceiling.
And Tobio looked genuinely stunned for the first time all day.
Shoyo blinked once.
Then immediately pointed across the table.
“Okay wow, that sounded way flirtier in Japanese.”
Sugawara started laughing so hard he nearly fell sideways.
Even Daichi lost composure.
Meanwhile Tobio’s ears had turned visibly red.
“I meant—” Shoyo continued, now laughing too, “—like a puppy. Aggressive but kinda cute.”
“That explanation did not help,” Daichi informed him calmly.
Tobio wanted to disappear through the floor.
Shoyo buried his face briefly in one hand while laughing under his breath.
“Jesus Christ.”
And despite himself, despite the irritation, the chaos, the endless unpredictability, Tobio felt something in the room shift again.
Because for the first time all day, Shoyo looked genuinely embarrassed.
Human.
Not international superstar Shoyo Hinata.
Just some idiot who accidentally said the wrong thing at dinner.
*
The dinner ended later than expected.
Not because of business.
Ironically, they’d barely discussed the collaboration itself.
Most of the evening had dissolved into stories, accidental arguments, cultural misunderstandings, and Shoyo asking increasingly ridiculous questions just to see if Tobio would react.
Usually, he did.
Which only encouraged Shoyo further.
By the time they stepped outside the restaurant, Tokyo had settled fully into midnight.
Cold air drifted between buildings.
The streets still glowed with neon signs and passing headlights, but things felt quieter now. Slower.
Daichi bowed politely before leaving toward his own car.
“We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sugawara returned the gesture.
“Thank you for dinner.”
Tobio nodded once toward them.
“Goodnight.”
Shoyo lifted a hand lazily.
“Night, Tobio.”
And there it was again.
That casual use of his first name.
Tobio still hadn’t decided whether it irritated him or not.
Probably both.
Then Shoyo looked at him again briefly before turning away.
“Don’t overwork yourself tonight, yeah?”
Tobio blinked once.
“…you too.”
Shoyo grinned faintly.
Then he and Sugawara headed toward the waiting car.
*
For the first several minutes of the drive back to the hotel, neither of them spoke.
Tokyo lights slid across the windows in pale reflections.
Shoyo sat in the backseat with one arm against the door, staring outside quietly.
Too quietly.
Sugawara noticed almost immediately.
Usually after social events, Shoyo got louder, not quieter. He’d replay conversations, joke around, complain dramatically about something.
Now he just looked distant.
The city passed across his face in flickering color.
“You okay?”
Shoyo hummed absentmindedly without looking away from the window.
“Mm.”
Sugawara waited.
Nothing else came.
“You’ve been quiet since dinner.”
“I’m tired.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Shoyo finally glanced over briefly.
“I said I’m fine.”
His voice wasn’t irritated exactly.
Just… distracted.
Sugawara knew him too well not to notice.
Still, he let it go for now.
Outside, Tokyo stretched endlessly around them.
Shoyo rested his head lightly against the cold glass.
His thoughts kept circling back to Tobio in annoying little flashes.
The way he spoke carefully before saying something.
The way his expression changed only slightly when he laughed.
The fact that he looked genuinely embarrassed earlier at dinner.
And weirdly, that made him feel more real.
Before today, Kageyama Tobio had existed mostly as a public image.
Perfect vocals. Perfect performances. Perfect interviews.
But now Shoyo could imagine him getting annoyed over stupid things like gum.
Could imagine him overthinking comments.
That felt strangely grounding.
“…you’re thinking too loudly,” Sugawara said suddenly.
Shoyo looked over.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does with you.”
“I’m literally sitting here.”
“And somehow still causing emotional noise.”
Shoyo snorted softly despite himself.
Then leaned his head back again.
“I’m just tired.”
Sugawara studied him for another moment.
Then nodded once.
“Sleep when we get back.”
“Bossy.”
“You need supervision.”
“True.”
That finally earned a real laugh from Shoyo, even if it was quieter than usual.
*
The next morning started with violence.
Specifically verbal violence from Sugawara.
“Absolutely not.”
Shoyo, halfway through putting on his shoes, looked up in confusion.
“What?”
“The gum.”
“What about it?”
“You are not walking into that studio chewing gum again.”
Shoyo stared at him like this was deeply unreasonable.
“I always chew gum.”
“Yes, and yesterday Tobio looked one inconvenience away from committing homicide.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“That sounds accurate.”
Shoyo rolled his eyes and continued chewing anyway.
Sugawara narrowed his own eyes immediately.
“Spit it out.”
“No.”
“Shoyo.”
“It helps me think.”
“You barely thought at all yesterday.”
“That’s hurtful.”
Suga stepped closer.
“Spit. It. Out.”
Shoyo stared back rebelliously for three full seconds before dramatically removing the gum from his mouth and wrapping it in paper.
“There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
Shoyo shoved the paper into a nearby trash can.
Then immediately reached for his cap sitting on the table.
Sugawara snatched it first.
“…seriously?”
“You’re not wearing this today either.”
Shoyo looked genuinely betrayed now.
“What is happening to my freedom?”
“You looked like a delinquent yesterday.”
“I am a delinquent.”
“You’re an internationally recognized artist.”
“Same thing.”
Sugawara ignored him and held the cap out of reach.
“No hat.”
Shoyo groaned dramatically and grabbed his jacket instead.
“You’re controlling.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re old.”
“I’m thirty.”
“Ancient.”
Sugawara pointed toward the hotel exit.
“Get in the car before I cancel your human rights.”
Shoyo laughed under his breath but finally obeyed.
The ride toward the studio started with him sulking dramatically in the backseat.
Arms crossed.
Looking out the window.
Muttering occasional complaints in Portuguese.
Sugawara ignored all of them expertly.
*
By the time they arrived, Tokyo’s morning rush had already swallowed the streets whole.
People crossed intersections in endless moving lines beneath pale gray skies, umbrellas tucked under arms even though it wasn’t raining yet. Cars crawled through traffic. Buildings disappeared upward into low clouds.
Inside the studio lobby, everything felt warmer.
Staff members greeted them politely as they entered, bowing slightly out of habit.
Shoyo returned the greetings automatically, but quieter than usual.
Sugawara noticed.
Tobio was already inside one of the recording rooms when the door opened. He had been tuning a guitar absentmindedly while reviewing notes spread across the mixing desk.
The sound of footsteps made him glance up and pause.
Something felt different immediately.
No backwards cap.
No gum.
No loud entrance either.
Shoyo stepped inside wearing a dark oversized hoodie beneath a long black coat, curls slightly messy like he hadn’t bothered fixing them properly after drying his hair. Without the hat shadowing his face, he looked younger somehow.
Less intimidating.
More tired.
“Morning,” Shoyo said quietly.
“Good morning.”
For a second neither moved.
Then Tobio noticed the coffee cup in Shoyo’s hand.
A very large coffee cup.
“…that’s your second one?”
Shoyo glanced down at it.
“Third.”
Sugawara sighed from behind him.
“And somehow he’s still half asleep.”
“I’m functioning.”
“You stared at the hotel elevator for ten seconds this morning because you forgot what floor we were on.”
Shoyo shot him an irritated look over his shoulder.
“Whose side are you on today?”
“The side trying to keep this project alive.”
Tobio looked down quickly at the guitar strings before either of them noticed the tiny smile threatening to appear.
The atmosphere felt easier today.
Still awkward in places.
Still unfamiliar.
But less tense than before.
Daichi entered moments later carrying folders and immediately shifted into work mode.
“Alright,” he said. “Today we actually start.”
Shoyo groaned softly under his breath.
“I miss doing nothing already.”
“You said you wanted structure.”
“I lied.”
Sugawara pointed toward the couch area near the recording equipment.
“Sit down.”
“I am sitting down.”
“You’re standing.”
“Spiritually, I’m sitting.”
Tobio watched the exchange silently while setting the guitar aside.
It was strange.
Shoyo and Sugawara argued constantly, but there was never real irritation underneath it. They moved around each other too naturally for that.
Like siblings.
Annoying siblings.
The morning started with music references first.
Producers played samples. Instrumentals. Vocal layers.
Different concepts for the collaboration floated around the room while everyone tried figuring out what exactly Shoyo Hinata and Kageyama Tobio were supposed to sound like together.
At first, it didn’t work.
One instrumental leaned too heavily toward pop.
Another sounded too much like Shoyo’s solo work.
Then too jazzy.
Then too commercial.
Nobody said it out loud, but the problem was obvious: their styles were completely different.
Tobio sat beside the soundboard listening carefully while one producer restarted another track.
Across the room, Shoyo leaned back against the couch, one knee bouncing lightly.
Quiet again.
Not uninterested.
Just distant somehow.
Every once in a while he’d contribute something useful—
“Bass is too clean.”
“The tempo switch there sounds forced.”
“That chorus needs space.”
—then drift back into silence.
And every single comment he made was right.
That surprised Tobio more than expected.
Shoyo approached music differently, but he heard things sharply.
Instinctively.
Like he trusted feeling before structure.
Meanwhile Tobio analyzed everything technically first.
Different methods.
Same result.
At some point during lunch break, Sugawara handed Shoyo another coffee.
“You’re drinking too much caffeine.”
“You say that every day.”
“Because every day you ignore me.”
“Consistency is important.”
Sugawara narrowed his eyes.
“You slept badly.”
Not a question.
Shoyo looked away toward the hallway.
“I slept fine.”
“You were awake at four.”
Tobio glanced up slightly from his phone.
Shoyo clicked his tongue quietly.
“You monitor me like a prison guard.”
“Because left unsupervised, you become nocturnal.”
“I was jetlagged.”
“You were staring at the ceiling listening to sad Brazilian music.”
“That was one time.”
“You replayed the same song six times.”
Shoyo rubbed a hand over his face.
“Can you stop exposing me in front of people?”
“No.”
Tobio looked down quickly again before anyone noticed the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Still, something felt off today.
Even while joking, Shoyo seemed slower somehow.
Less explosive than yesterday.
His smiles didn’t last as long. His attention drifted more often.
And occasionally Tobio would catch him staring out the studio windows again with that same unreadable expression from before.
Like part of him wasn’t entirely in the room.
The afternoon finally moved into actual work.
Real work.
Tobio recorded rough vocal lines first while producers adjusted instrumentals around him.
Inside the booth, he looked completely different.
Focused.
Sharp.
Every ounce of uncertainty disappeared the second headphones went on.
Shoyo watched from outside quietly.
One hand resting against his mouth while listening.
Tobio’s voice filled the studio smoothly through the speakers — controlled, layered, effortless in a way that almost annoyed Shoyo professionally.
When the recording stopped, Tobio stepped back out.
“Well?” one producer asked.
Shoyo shrugged lightly.
“You’re annoying.”
The room blinked.
Tobio frowned slightly.
“…what?”
“You sound too good already.”
A pause.
Then one producer snorted.
Another laughed.
Even Daichi smiled faintly.
Tobio stared at Shoyo for another second before realizing that was a compliment.
“…thanks,” he said awkwardly.
Shoyo nodded once.
Then pointed toward the booth.
“My turn, yeah?”
And suddenly the room changed again.
Because the second Shoyo stepped inside the recording booth, all the quietness from earlier disappeared somewhere beneath the music.
Not fully.
But enough.
He rolled his shoulders once, adjusted the headphones, and listened to the instrumental through narrowed eyes.
Then the beat started.
And Tobio understood immediately why stadiums screamed for him.
Shoyo didn’t sing like Tobio.
Didn’t move like him either.
Tobio’s performances were precise.
Shoyo’s felt alive.
Every word landed with rhythm woven directly into it, switching naturally between softer melodic lines and sharper rap verses without sounding forced once.
The producers exchanged quick looks instantly.
There it is.
That chemistry they’d been searching for.
Not because their voices matched.
Because they contrasted.
Cold and warm.
Control and instinct.
Precision and movement.
By the end of the session, even Tobio had forgotten to be skeptical.
Only briefly, but still.
*
The track cut off slowly.
For a second, nobody inside the studio spoke.
Only the faint static from the headphones remained before one of the producers finally leaned back in his chair.
“…okay.”
Another producer nodded immediately.
“Yeah. There it is.”
Shoyo pulled one side of the headphones off his ear.
“There what is?”
“The sound.”
He frowned slightly.
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not fake,” Daichi said from behind the mixing desk. “You two actually work together.”
Tobio stayed quiet, arms folded loosely while staring through the booth glass at Shoyo.
Annoyingly enough, Daichi was right.
It shouldn’t have worked this quickly.
Their voices were completely different textures.
Tobio’s was cleaner. Controlled. Smooth even when emotional.
Shoyo’s carried roughness around the edges in a way that made everything feel immediate.
Together, somehow, the contrast sharpened both of them instead of clashing.
Inside the booth, Shoyo adjusted the headphones around his neck and glanced toward Tobio.
“You wanna hear it again?”
Tobio nodded once.
The producers replayed the rough cut through the speakers.
This time everyone listened carefully.
Tobio focused automatically on technical things first: timing, layering, breathing, transitions, but halfway through, his attention drifted.
Shoyo was sitting on the floor beside the couch now, elbows resting loosely on his knees while listening to the track with his head tilted slightly downward.
Quiet again.
The energy shifts kept throwing Tobio off.
One second loud and impossible.
The next, gone somewhere else entirely.
As the song ended, Shoyo finally looked up.
“That part before the second chorus needs less instrumentation.”
One producer immediately nodded.
“Yes.”
“And your harmony there was too pretty.”
Tobio blinked.
“…too pretty?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not criticism.”
“It is for this song.”
Shoyo stood up slowly.
“It needs tension there. If it sounds too polished, the drop after loses impact.”
Silence followed.
Then one of the producers muttered quietly:
“…he’s right again.”
Tobio looked at Shoyo differently after that.
Not dramatically.
Just more seriously.
Because underneath all the chaos and wandering around and annoying habits, Shoyo understood music deeply. Instinctively.
And maybe worse, he understood people’s reactions to music.
That wasn’t something you could teach technically.
“You think emotionally first,” Tobio said suddenly before realizing he’d spoken out loud.
Shoyo looked over.
“What?”
“With music.”
A pause.
“You think about how people will feel before anything else.”
The room quieted slightly.
Shoyo studied him for a second.
Then shrugged.
“…isn’t that the point?”
Something about the answer lodged itself unpleasantly in Tobio’s chest.
Not because it was wrong.
Because Tobio realized he hadn’t thought that way in a long time.
*
Around evening, everyone’s energy started collapsing at roughly the same time.
The studio looked lived-in now.
Coffee cups everywhere.
Lyric sheets scattered across tables.
One producer sitting on the floor because apparently chairs had stopped being enough support emotionally.
Outside the massive windows, Tokyo slowly drowned itself in blue-gray evening light.
The city stretched endlessly beyond the glass.
Sharp buildings. Endless movement. Cold light reflecting across wet streets far below.
Shoyo stood near the window again with a bottle of water in one hand.
Quiet.
Not the relaxed kind either.
The kind that felt heavy around the edges.
Tobio noticed before he could stop himself.
Honestly, he’d started noticing Shoyo constantly now.
The shifts in mood.
The moments where his expression emptied slightly when nobody else looked.
How his energy disappeared whenever conversations slowed down.
It was strange.
Because everyone else seemed affected by Shoyo’s presence immediately.
He filled rooms naturally.
But every once in a while, Tobio got the uncomfortable feeling that Shoyo himself wasn’t fully inside those rooms.
Like part of him stayed somewhere else entirely.
“You always end up by the windows,” Tobio said eventually as he walked over.
Shoyo glanced sideways briefly.
“You always notice.”
“…you make it obvious.”
“Maybe I want dramatic lighting.”
“That sounds narcissistic.”
“Yes.”
The answer came automatically, but softer than usual.
Tobio leaned one shoulder lightly against the wall beside the glass.
Neither spoke for a few seconds after that.
The city below buzzed endlessly beneath them.
Shoyo stared at it without really looking impressed.
That surprised Tobio a little.
Most people from outside Japan reacted to Tokyo like it was unreal. Especially artists visiting for the first time.
Shoyo looked at it like he was trying to remember something unpleasant but couldn’t quite reach it.
Then suddenly:
“You’ve always lived here?”
“Tokyo?” Tobio asked.
Shoyo nodded once.
“Mostly.”
“I think I’d lose my mind.”
Tobio looked at him.
“You lived here before.”
“Yeah.”
“But?”
Shoyo took a slow sip of water.
“It feels smaller now.”
The answer sounded strange considering the city outside literally stretched to the horizon.
Tobio frowned slightly.
“Smaller?”
Shoyo shrugged.
“Dunno how to explain it.”
And for some reason, Tobio understood immediately that the conversation was over.
Not because Shoyo sounded annoyed.
Because there was something closed behind the answer.
Something deliberate.
So instead, Tobio changed directions slightly.
“You write a lot of your own lyrics, right?”
That finally pulled Shoyo’s attention away from the window.
“Most of them.”
“You prefer writing alone?”
“Usually.”
Tobio nodded slowly.
That matched what he’d heard.
Shoyo’s music always sounded personal in ways people didn’t notice immediately. Even the louder songs had lines buried inside them that felt too specific to be accidental.
“You?”
“I write too,” Tobio answered. “Just slower.”
“Perfectionist?”
“…careful.”
Shoyo huffed quietly.
“Same thing.”
Before Tobio could answer, Sugawara’s voice cut through the room.
“If you two are done philosophizing at the window, we’re finished for today.”
One producer lifted a hand weakly from the couch in agreement.
“Please let me go home.”
Daichi finally closed his laptop.
“Good work today.”
And weirdly, it actually had been.
Not perfect.
Not smooth.
But real progress.
The first rough framework of the song already existed now.
That alone was more than anyone expected after yesterday’s disaster.
People slowly started gathering their things.
The atmosphere relaxed immediately once work officially ended.
Conversations scattered around the room while equipment powered down one by one.
Tobio glanced toward Shoyo again instinctively.
Shoyo was pulling his coat back on slowly, expression unreadable again now that the music had stopped.
Then Sugawara lightly smacked the back of his shoulder.
“Move.”
“Violence.”
“You walk too slow when you’re thinking.”
Shoyo frowned slightly.
“I’m literally walking normally.”
“You have your ‘existential crisis posture.’”
“Shut up.”
Tobio watched the exchange quietly.
Then before he could think too hard about it—
“See you tomorrow.”
Shoyo looked over immediately.
For half a second, he seemed almost surprised Tobio spoke first.
Then he smiled faintly.
“Yeah.”
And just like that, he was gone again.
*
The ride back to the hotel felt quieter tonight.
Not uncomfortable.
Just tired.
Tokyo lights blurred across the car windows while soft music played low through the speakers.
Shoyo sat with one arm resting against the door, phone abandoned face-down beside him.
Sugawara drove in silence for several minutes before speaking.
“So.”
Shoyo already sounded exhausted.
“What.”
“The song.”
A pause.
“What about it?”
“We need direction.”
Shoyo looked out the window again immediately.
Tokyo passed by in endless reflections.
“I know.”
“You’ve been avoiding talking about it.”
“I haven’t.”
“You absolutely have.”
Shoyo rubbed a hand slowly over his face.
Usually this part came naturally to him.
Writing songs was easy.
Not technically, he still obsessed over lyrics for hours sometimes, but emotionally.
Songs made sense to him in ways conversations didn’t.
He had notebooks full of unfinished verses back in Rio. Entire drawers filled with ideas nobody would probably ever hear.
Writing had never scared him before.
But this felt different already.
Writing with Tobio.
Writing here.
Tokyo.
Something about it pressed strangely against his chest every time he thought too hard about it.
“What exactly are we even supposed to write?” he muttered eventually.
Sugawara glanced at him briefly.
“That’s your job to figure out.”
“Helpful.”
“I mean it.”
Shoyo leaned his head back against the seat.
“He writes completely differently than me.”
“That’s why this works.”
“Or why it crashes horribly.”
Sugawara smiled faintly.
“You like working with him more than you pretend.”
Shoyo immediately clicked his tongue.
“Don’t start.”
“…I wasn’t implying anything.”
“Good.”
Sugawara laughed quietly under his breath.
Then his expression softened slightly.
“You don’t have to force the song immediately.”
Shoyo stayed quiet.
Outside, Tokyo kept moving endlessly around them.
Cold lights. Perfect buildings. Crowded streets.
For some reason, the thought of sitting down across from Tobio and trying to write something honest together made his chest feel tight.
Too many things tangled inside that idea already.
And the worst part was, he wasn’t completely sure why.