The Piano Man (Iwaoi)

Chapter 17

        In October everything started to fall apart.

        They were at the Black Cat: Tooru, Ushiwaka, Hajime, Issei, Takahiro, and Satori. Fall had been sweeping into the city and Tooru welcomed it with open arms, though his instinct was to love summer with all his heart. The crisp breezes felt nice on his skin when he went to walk Gemini, and the rain was soothing when he sat at the piano surrounded by windows. It had been a surprisingly long week (for everyone) so they'd agreed on drinks. The place was crowded today, so they found themselves squeezed in at the bar, clanking glasses together, making stupid jokes, flirting with the bartender. Kuroo had gotten used to seeing them there and knew, almost by heart, what each person wanted to drink based purely on their expression. Tooru was drinking his favorite martini. On one side, Ushiwaka had his arm around his shoulder and was drinking a beer. On his other, his arm lightly brushed Hajime's as he, too, drank a beer. Their conversation was idle and stupid but they were having fun. Somehow, he convinced himself that Hajime was watching him.

        "How's the gig going?" Kuroo asked. Tooru blinked up at him.

        "Me? Oh, it's good."

        "Kids are pretty talented."

        "Some more than others," he shrugged. Kuroo laughed quietly and, noticing his drink was almost empty, began making him another. Just then the young man who lived with Kuroo, who Tooru hadn't really seen around lately, appeared as if by magic, leaning against Kuroo's arm and playing on a gaming system. He was cute, he was really cute, but he was quiet and didn't interact very much with anyone. He was wearing the nicest little dress.

        "When are you gonna play piano again?" he asked quietly, without looking up.

        "You talking to Oikawa?" Hajime gasped, smiling. He was slightly drunk. The young man nodded, still without looking up.

        "Professionally, never," Tooru replied.

        "I don't mean professionally," the young man clarified. "I mean, like, here."

        He finally looked up, and pointed at the lonely, dust-gathering piano on the stage. His eyes glimmered and it seemed Kuroo couldn't help himself then—he wrapped his arm around the young man's shoulders, pulled him in tight, and planted a slobbery kiss on his temple.

        "Gross," he mumbled, pushing himself away.

        Tooru looked down at his fingers. Red, but not as bad as they were some days. He wasn't having trouble bringing the glass to his lips, wasn't having trouble grasping Ushiwaka's fingers while wishing they were Hajime's. He thought for a moment of going and busting out a tune, if that was what people wanted. But something held him down. The young man wasn't insistent. He grabbed a bottle of Coke and drank from it without bringing up the topic again when he was met with Tooru's anxious silence.

        The night droned on. Issei and Takahiro complained that Tooru needed new headshots, so he dismissed them with a flicker of his wrist, telling them they could schedule whatever they wanted. Hajime was a bit quiet, maybe lost in a hazy drunken stupor, and Ushiwaka (he never really drank enough to get drunk, he was too responsible for drunkenness) and Satori discussed whatever it was two people like them discussed. Tooru jumped into conversations every so often but he, too, was quiet, swimming in the warmth of being this close to the person who loved him on one side, and the person he loved on the other.

        A little after midnight Hajime stood up from the bar and grabbed his coat. Then he turned to Tooru.

        "Oikawa," he began, "I need your help."