Chapter Text
The Shimokitazawa recording studio was a mess of tangled cables, scribbled-on sheet music, and empty coffee cans piling up on the small coffee table. The space was cramped and messy, but Atsumu spent most of his time there whenever he was in Tokyo.
Sitting in front of the mixing console, he listened to the same unfinished track on repeat, his elbows resting on the desk and his eyes staring blankly ahead. The melody was good. The arrangement worked. But the lyrics... nothing sounded right. As if they were lying.
“You’re making that face again.”
Atsumu barely glanced at Hinata Shoyo, who was sprawled across the couch beside him. He was wearing a sweatshirt far too big for him and absentmindedly munching on a cookie, his legs tucked beneath him as if he were perfectly comfortable in the middle of the chaos.
“What face?” Atsumu grumbled, twirling his pen between his fingers.
“The one you make when something’s pissing you off, but you’re too damn proud to admit it.”
Atsumu pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair.
“I can’t get anything out. I dunno why, but I just can’t.”
Shoyo stared at the screen for a few seconds before sitting up, his curiosity piqued.
“Let me hear it.”
Atsumu hesitated, then hit play. The melody filled the studio, soft and vibrant, but when the lyrics were supposed to come in...
Nothing.
Still not a damn word.
He stopped the track, frustrated.
“It’s empty. I’m supposed to write a love song, but nothing’s coming to me.”
Shoyo thoughtfully chewed on his cookie before saying, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather:
“Maybe it’s because you’ve never been in love.”
Atsumu shot him a dark look.
“Got any other bullshit to say?”
Shoyo shrugged, completely unfazed.
“I mean, it makes sense. You write well about what you feel. But real love? You’ve never actually had it.”
Atsumu opened his mouth to argue, but his phone vibrated on the table. He answered and put it on speaker.
“Atsumu, I’m calling to let you know that there’ll be a meeting tomorrow at ten a.m., Studio 4 in Kichijoji. It’s for a special project in collaboration with another celebrity. You’ll learn more tomorrow. Please be on time.”
The call ended abruptly.
“A surprise collab?” Shoyo asked, reaching for another cookie.
“Yeah. Smells like a scam already.”
Shoyo laughed softly before tilting his head to the side.
“Imagine it’s with someone cool... or—”
He stopped, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.
“Or maybe it’s Kageyama. He’s a celebrity now too.”
Atsumu’s stomach twisted instantly.
“Why the hell would it be him?” he snapped, more sharply than he intended.
“Well, he’s on tour right now, isn’t he? It wouldn’t be that weird if he needed a song to surprise his fans.”
Shoyo was on a roll now. He became more animated, talking faster and faster, as he always did whenever the subject was Kageyama Tobio.
Atsumu looked away.
He knew that look.
That excitement in Shoyo’s voice. That barely concealed admiration.
It made him sick.
He rolled his pen between his fingers and said casually,
“You talk too much.”
Shoyo gave him a light kick.
“And you don’t like it when I talk about Kageyama.”
Atsumu let out a forced snort.
“Too much analysis, Shorty. Go work on your choreography instead of psychoanalyzing me.”
Shoyo laughed and grabbed his phone.
“Fine, fine. But seriously, relax. Maybe this collab will help you get unstuck with your song.”
Atsumu didn't answer.
He simply stared at his computer screen, Shoyo’s words going around and around in his head.
He just hoped this collaboration wouldn't be enough to throw off whatever balance he had left.
*
The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle smell of pages from a brand-new script. Sakusa Kiyoomi slowly stirred his coffee, absentmindedly watching the dark liquid swirl beneath his spoon. The apartment was quiet, bathed in the cold morning light.
Too quiet.
Sitting at the other end of the table, Ushijima Wakatoshi was reading an article on his tablet, silent as usual. His back was straight, his expression unreadable; everything about him radiated discipline and control.
As they did every morning, they were having breakfast together.
A habit.
But a habit didn't mean closeness.
Kiyoomi stared at the man across from him for a moment. They had been together for years. Yet he couldn't remember the last time they'd had a real conversation. One where he hadn't felt like he was simply responding out of habit.
“Are you sure you want to accept this role?” Ushijima suddenly asked without looking up from his tablet.
Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow.
“Why wouldn't I?”
This time, Ushijima finally put his tablet down and met his gaze.
“This isn't really your kind of movie. And the role is... intense.”
“Hmm.”
Silence settled between them.
Kiyoomi knew what he meant. Until now, he had always chosen controlled, distant characters. Roles he could play without ever having to feel anything himself.
But this project was different.
He was expected to portray a broken man, an artist haunted by his emotions.
Everything Kiyoomi had spent his life avoiding.
He expected Ushijima to press the issue. To ask why, this time, he wanted to take on something so far removed from his usual image.
But he didn't.
He simply nodded and went back to reading, as if the conversation were already over.
As if Kiyoomi's decision didn't matter.
Kiyoomi felt a weight tighten around his chest, but said nothing.
His phone vibrated on the table, breaking the silence.
Manager: “Meeting tomorrow at 10 a.m., Studio 4 in Kichijoji. To discuss the project we talked about yesterday. It will be a collaboration with a famous artist.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
A collaboration?
With who?
“Is it important?” Ushijima asked as he finished his coffee.
Kiyoomi hesitated for a second, then shook his head.
“Just a meeting tomorrow about the project.”
He could have told him that he hated surprises. That he found it strange that they hadn't given him any details.
But he already knew it wouldn't lead anywhere.
Because they didn't really talk anymore.
He put his phone down and stared at the bottom of his cup for a moment.
He had no idea what was waiting for him tomorrow.
But he knew one thing:
This role was going to force him to face things he wasn't ready to look at.