#future starry here: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now past me really popped off with this thought honestly

[starry-eyed-extraterrestrial]

So apparently there's an aerohead song where you can actually hear Mick playing guitar, because they had studio's next to each other and Mick was playing so loud that some of his playing was caught on tape by mistake.

And we know from Nikki's recent tweets that he's been listening to Aerosmith quite a bit so....

Do you think he listens to the song where you can kinda hear Mick's playing because he's just too proud to actually listen to Mick's solo stuff or even stuff they recorded together with Motley so he's just in denial "listening to Aerosmith" but actually tuning out most of the song to listen to Mick's faint playing in the background.....

[no-other-words]

let’s take this offline - ch2

synergy is the key to success [read on ao3] kageyama needs to burn that sweater-vest and hinata needs to not get turned on by kageyama’s voice.

---

“Hi, I’m Hinata!”

It feels like he’s repeated this at least ten times now, but the conversation that comes after is never the same. Hinata has met pretty much all the people joining their team and he’s already liking this new bunch.

A meet-and-greet was called forth by Daichi where Kuroo’s team can meet the rest of the Marketing Division, a chance for new faces to introduce themselves and get to know one another. He adds in his memo that breakfast will be included and where there is free food, there is Hinata.

Seeing so many unfamiliar faces causes slight unease in Hinata so after loading up two full plates of fruits and muffins, he sets off to make some new acquaintances.

Oikawa seems like a total douche but the passionate way he talks about his line of work is admirable and Hinata goes starry-eyed. Akaashi is the complete opposite with his calm and collected demeanour and Hinata thinks that Kenma would get along with him. Aone is a tough one to crack but once Hinata mentions animal documentaries, an instant connection is built and he knows it will be a lasting one.

Then there’s the guy sulking in the corner of the room, staring relentlessly at Hinata. Eyes narrowed, brows scrunched, and lips pulled into small pout, he has not moved since Hinata got here. Everything about him is intense—the way he eats his fruits, the way he holds his coffee cup, the way he drinks from his cup.

The only thing that makes him slightly more approachable is the puke-green sweater vest he’s unfortunately wearing. Brave is the man who steps out into society in that.

He’s been avoiding to introduce himself but one can only be so rude for so long. Hinata musters up the courage, summons his biggest smile, and marches right up to the man.

“Good morning! I see you’re enjoying that coffee a lot.” He starts off. “I’m Hi—”

“I know. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

Now it’s his turn to stare. The next few seconds was a wild train ride as Hinata witnesses a rainbow of emotions running across the man’s face—shock, dismay, humiliation, and a final colour of cooled restraint. Or at least, as restrained as he can be with that growing flush of his.

Hinata hears the impact of an arrow shooting through his heart.

Then the guy blurts out, “I mean, you’re even harder to look at in person.”

That figurative arrow is then unforgivingly ripped out.

“What did you say?” Hinata growls.

“You just…” He appears to be struggling to find words. “You have that same stupid look—”

“Just give me your name so I know not to work with you in the future.”

“Too late, you already are.” The man takes his hand out for a handshake. “Kageyama Tobio.”

Hinata hisses in responses, slapping his hand away. “I knew there was something sinister about you.”

“Sinister? What the fuck do you mean?!”

Taking a step forward, Hinata says, “You were giving me angry looks the whole time I was here!”

“That’s because all I could see is that dumb picture you have on your Skype profile,” Kageyama says, putting his foot forward. “Take a better one by the way, it hurts my eyes and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Well I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“You already said that, genius. Try to be original for once.”

Before Hinata can reply, both of them gets a hard pat on the back and they turn to see Kuroo, standing uncomfortably close and wearing an uncomfortably wide smile.

“Well well, we sure are getting acquainted here,” says Kuroo. “It’s always nice to see our staff get along. Makes for good team morale, don’t you think?”

The silent challenge in his eyes makes both Hinata and Kageyama nod. His towering figure looming over Hinata makes it all the more intimidating.

“And Daichi will be especially happy to see us working and flourishing together as one big family, wouldn’t you agree?”

The two men couldn’t nod faster.

“Good.” Kuroo pats their back again. “Play nice.”

Waiting until the manager walks out of hearing range, Kageyama gives Hinata a pointed look. “Listen up moron, I'm not going to throw my reputation down the drain in front of my boss and Daichi just because some dimwit doesn't know how to do his job correctly."

Hinata grits his teeth. The two-faced, no-good, jer—

“Grab your laptop and come to my desk. I’ll take a look at your dumb report.”

A truce.

Okay, he takes it all back. Maybe this guy’s not all that bad.

Wait.

"Why don’t you come to my desk?" Hinata asks.

Kageyama gives him an incredulous look. "Because we're already on my floor so why the hell do I need to go to the 23rd? This is your problem anyway."

"Caused by your data!"

"Just…" Kageyama takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He rubs the bridge of his nose before brushing back his bangs, revealing a weirdly alluring forehead. "Just, come. Okay? Let me see what I can do."

Maybe it’s the way Kageyama finally pulls back. Not giving in, but receding for now to let things cool before both their hotheads steam up again. Maybe it’s also how he decides to lower his voice, as an attempt for cease-fire. It sounds smoother, low and solid, and eases Hinata’s defenses down.

Realizing that he still hasn’t replied, Hinata clears his throat. "Fine, give me fifteen minutes."

Kageyama raises his eyebrows. "It takes you that long to get up there?”

His personality is as horrid as that sweater-vest of his.

---

In all honesty, if it wasn't for his serious lack of charm, Hinata would've thought Kageyama as a slightly-above-average looking guy. He's decently-built, no doubt smart, and has a pretty face to boot (when it's not scrunched in negativity). Brown eyes are so common here so it's refreshing to see a person with blue ones.

Hinata first discovers them when they sit together to look at his broken report. Kageyama’s focusing on the screen in front of him, concentration level up 110%. He’s seated tightly against his desk, hands on mouse and keyboard moving ever so swiftly to navigate around the computer. Like a machine, he processes the report methodically and Hinata…well Hinata’s eyes explore the office setting.

And then at Kageyama. He’s currently addressing him about something, but Hinata doesn’t really listen because he realises that Kageyama’s eyes are not black but in fact a dark shade of blue. It’s hard to tell, what with the man glaring at you half the time.

“Are you even listening?”

“Your eyes are blue.”

This puts a stop to Kageyama’s scowling. He straightens up and looks back to the screen, muttering, “What of it?”

Hinata shakes his head in defence. “No I mean, I just think that’s cool. They’re so dark and…” He leans in closer to get a better look. The colour is so deep that Hinata’s mistaken them for black, to his shame, and Hinata finds Kageyama’s eyes are so intense that—

“It’s nice,” he says.

Kageyama visibly swallows. “Nice.”

Hinata nods with a smile. “They’re a nice colour.”

They find out what went wrong with the report that day. It’s neither Kageyama’s data nor Hinata’s report that is that the cause but some data-transfer issue that becomes too technical for them to solve. Surprisingly, Kageyama offers to help Hinata find the right contact and email them.

And that’s how Kageyama stumbles across the 400+ unread emails buried in Hinata’s inbox. He calls it a wrongdoing, uncivilized, an absolute abomination, and Hinata should be ashamed of himself for letting the situation get this far. Hinata in turn has no idea what’s so wrong about it until he seems Kageyama’s pristine clean mailbox.

That day is when Hinata learns of how diligent Kageyama is. How he makes sure to meticulously file his emails into folders structured in a hierarchal fashion, how he has 0 draft emails while Hinata has more than 10 because he isn’t all that great at finishing emails and he often forgets.

Kageyama’s desktop is a mirror of his inbox—clear and simple with only three icons to select on. His folders are neatly organized and easy to navigate around. His sticky notes line perfectly against each other, same width same height, and not a pixel disproportionate.

It’s all kind of endearing, really.

That and the fact Kageyama goes nuts over Hinata’s own desktop, filled with documents and software—some misnamed, some just having the default Untitled, and some with the asdf name. That one particular text file with the name asdfdsasdfasdafdasd is certainly one that drives Kageyama insane. He calls it a calamity waiting to happen.

Hinata likes to call it organized chaos.

Kageyama refuses to let it go, even a few days later, when Hinata emails him again with some work-related questions, and he lords over Hinata’s improper use of the signature block. Until this point of time, Hinata wasn’t even aware that it was actually a thing—isn’t your name enough to let someone know who sent the message?

Kageyama, Tobio [11:39 AM] It’s to show which team you’re in and your credibility.

Hinata, Shouyou [11:40 AM] ok fine team i get the credibility part i don’t what i work on reflects that

Kageyama, Tobio [11:43 AM] It’s also just corporate etiquette. It’s good to let people know who they’re speaking to.

Hinata, Shouyou [11:44 AM] ha u know im way past corp etiquette and they can find out who i am when they talk to me why give them something to put a box around me?

Kageyama doesn’t reply after that. Nevertheless Hinata takes what is advised and constructs an email signature. He might as well be half-civilized in the corporate world. Kageyama better be happy.

Their interactions are sporadic. Even though Kuroo’s team is now an extension of Daichi’s crew, it’s decided that it’s best not relocate everyone. At first, Hinata reaches out when he needs help, for purely work-things. Eventually, he gets used to the idea of bothering the snappy man because no matter how annoying he knows he’s being, Kageyama always answers.

Kenma is a victim of Hinata’s scattered attention. He tolerates Hinata with the Skype chats and over-the-desk conversations and by tolerate, it means half-listening and sometimes entertaining a response if he feels like it. The other guys on the team is more willing to join in, Nishinoya throwing in words of wisdom while Tanaka writes a book about it.

But Kageyama—Kageyama listens. He yells and questions and replies in way that makes Hinata want to talk with him more. His perfect grammar and formal wordings is as infuriating as it is charming. Never is a chat-window more of a juxtaposition than seen before. Kageyama is a big nerd and he can’t deny it.

Especially with that atrocious sweater-vest.

Hinata tells him what he needs to hear.

Kageyama, Tobio [3:11 PM] What’s wrong with it? Does it have a hole in the back?

Hinata, Shouyou [3:12 PM] r u joking it’s something my great granddad would’ve worn doesn’t go well with your skin

Kageyama, Tobio [3:14 PM] i don’t say anything about your bowtie

Hinata, Shouyou [3:15 PM] whats wrong with my bowtie?!?!!

Kageyama, Tobio [3:23 PM] It’s distracting.

He doesn’t elaborate afterwards. In fact, Kageyama goes offline for the next hour. Worried, Hinata goes to the restroom to check on his bowtie. Is it crooked? Tied unevenly? Does it clash with his shirt? He’s had the idea of developing a statement about his person in the office and his statement is his bowties.

He plans to ask just what about them offends Kageyama on a call they’d setup to talk over some project. Shimizu informs Hinata of an upcoming proposal that Daichi wants to explore next year. Apparently this project will heavily involve Kuroo’s team, Kageyama’s area of expertise in particular. They might as well start that conversation early so Hinata books a meeting call.

When he hears the beep of someone joining the line, Hinata opens his mouth to greet the person until he’s stopped short.

“Hello, it’s Kageyama.”

Oh.

Oh no.

A warm shiver runs down his back before rising up to the top of his head. Smooth, sultry, and rich is all he hears. It’s like creamy milk chocolate running smoothly down your throat, warming the rest of your body. It’s the afternoon sun on a calm autumn day, the quiet hum of a fire, the lullaby sung gently into your ears.

The sound of Kageyama’s husky voice is a surprise and it does things to Hinata’s heart.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi yes!” He hopes Kageyama cannot hear the breathlessness in his voice.

Hinata grips the phone hard during the entire call. He attentively listens to Kageyama’s lull, finding a rhythm to his voice. He sounds so different over the phone—calmer, at ease. Definitely doesn’t have that same bite when he’s in your face all the time. There’s a solidity to his tone, confident and so sure of himself in the best way. It mirrors the way he writes.

He likes that solidity.

Kageyama starts sharing his screen with Hinata, something about wanting to share a PowerPoint deck. Kageyama can share any sort of deck with h—

Hinata stops. He stops right there before it goes any farther.

He clears his throat long and hard, puffing out a harsh breath as if to expel all wicked thoughts. Kageyama is a decent-looking guy, but just that. Just your regular, average-built man with a less-than-average fashion sense.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” squeaks Hinata.

“Can you send me the file again? I want to have a comparison.”

Look at him, sweating over some man’s voice while said man is working hard and serious on the other side of the phone. Hinata needs to pull it together.

He sends the file over Skype, watching as his profile picture pop up on Kageyama’s desktop and grimacing.

“I really need to change my photo,” he says.

Kageyama clicks his tongue over the phone, casually adding, “I think you’re fine.”

Hinata’s heart skips a beat.

Oh no.

---

a/n: if you think those last 2 lines said over the phone was made up, think again. :)

[whoneedsapublisher]

When The Past Comes Calling

It’s uh, been a while, I guess! I have half a dozen unfinished drafts sitting around, so while I desperately try to get something finished enjoy chapter 1 of my incredibly self-indulgent film noir detective Nico. ~2100 words of past NicoMaki and potentially future NicoMaki with a lot of stupid internal monologue that was fun to write.

There were a lot of people I expected to see again in my life. Clients, thugs, slightly shady police officers, debt collectors. She definitely wasn't on that list, and yet here was Maki “Hot shot doctor” Nishikino in my office, holding a purse that probably cost more than everything else in the room put together and wearing an expression that suggested she knew it- and wasn't impressed.

Her hair was as long as when we were kids, but instead of being simply brushed it was styled and prettied up, curling a little at the end to give it a curve. The colour, redder than the fancy lipstick she was wearing, was all the more obvious with whatever hair care she used, and it practically shone. Her makeup was borderline professional, her jewellery was tastefully restrained, and her outfit was the kind of casual that people who don't know what casual is spend three hours carefully picking out to look informal.

In short, even if she hadn't looked like a million bucks, she'd at least look like a couple months' wages worth of styling. Meanwhile, I looked like the cost of a bad lunch with a good discount.

There's a very short list of reasons people come into my office: to shake me down, to beat me up, or to hire me. Given that Maki probably spent more on her haircuts than she could shake out of me with a centrifuge and was wearing the kind of nails that you wouldn't bring to a fistfight, I was guessing she was in the ���client” column.

“Seriously? This is where you ended up? The 'Number one idol in Japan'?” I snorted at the title and mockingly raised my hands, curled into a shape that used to be my calling card. Now, I didn't need calling cards- it was better if most people didn't remember me. Plenty did anyway. “Nico Nico nice to see you too, Nishikino.” I said sarcastically, tilting my head in that old familiar way and waving my hands. Maki “Trust fund” Nishikino wasn't exactly showing off her refined manners, jumping straight to criticism before even acknowledging the twenty year gap since we last spoke. Once upon I time, I found that directness endearing. Now it was just a reminder that I wasn't worth politeness. I should have just gotten straight to business, but of course, I couldn't help but respond. “What kinda school idol has a career past twenty five?”

“You could have been an actress, or a singer, or a talk show host, or... something!” Two decades hadn't done anything to make her less stubborn. Now I'd walked into this conversation, there was no way out but forward. “I didn't want to be a singer or a host, Nishikino. I wanted to be an idol. I wanted to make people smile. So when no one was smilin' anymore, I quit.”

Wasn't even that long before “Oh! You're Nico!” became “Oh.. you're Nico?” I spent longer dreaming about being an idol than I did being one. Not that I expected any different. I went into the industry knowing how fake it was and it didn't disappoint. Backstabbers, fickle fans, conmen, exploitative agents looking to wring a few yen out of a starry eyed girl. By the time I left, I didn't have any desire to see any of the “friends” I'd made in that industry ever again- and not a lot of desire to see the friends I'd entered the industry with either. I'd done a pretty good job of not doing so until Maki “Former idol” Nishikino decided to strut out of my memories and into my office.

That little trip down memory lane must have put a bad expression on my face because Nishikino backed down. Maybe time had eroded her stubborn streak after all. “Fine. But you still made money before you retired, right? If you had it in your head to take some insane trip to America and pick a new career, you could have afforded something better than... this.” She made a dismissive gesture at my office, and, I couldn't help but feel, my life in general.

“If you're looking for a job as my accountant, then I'm not hiring. If you're not, then my finances are none of your damn business.” I snapped. Guess that was me and Nishikino in a nutshell. Twenty years we'd been apart, and in less than twenty minute we were already at each other's throats. Who else would dare to drop me like a bad habit and then waltz into my life with nothing but judgement and disdain?

“You used to be famous.” She almost looked sad at that, and I felt the hackles raise on the back of my neck. How did she do it? No one else could get me this mad this quick. My poker face was an asset in my line of work, and I'd endured way worse insults without losing my smile if it was for a case, but she walked in my office with a bad attitude and a nice skirt and I was seeing red in minutes. The hell with it, then. They say venting every once in a while is good for you.

“I used to be a lot of things, Maki.” I said, pronouncing her first name like it was profanity. For me, it practically was. “In love, for example.” Even Nishikino had the decency to blush at that, and opened her mouth to reply. To spout some justification, some cute little reason why there was no way she'd done anything wrong, no way that she could be at fault. Not happening today, Nishikino. “Save your bullshit excuses. If you had anything worth saying on the matter, you had twenty years to say it. Still, I gotta say- coming all this way just to mock me is a new low, even for you.”

She was bright red now, as red as the tomatoes she loved so much, as red as the pasta sauce that I, Nico Yazawa, professional dupe, had made for her just to see her smile on that day so very long ago. The fury in her eyes was as obvious as a cop in a cheap suit playing undercover. Good. Let her be the angry one. My rage quelled by spreading itself, like a fire that finishes with the kindling and jumps to a log, I rearranged my face into an impassive look and leaned back in my chair. I hadn't even noticed that I'd leaned forward. “Get out of my office, Nishikino.” I said coldly. Of course she didn't. I knew she wouldn't even as I said it. I wasn't even sure I wanted her to. What if she really had turned around and left? What if after twenty years, I kicked her out and never saw her again, never even knew why she'd come back? Would I have been happy with that?

Would it have been better than the alternative?

“I didn't come here to mock you.” she said after a measured pause. Her voice was a little shaky, and I couldn't tell if she was suppressing anger or something else. Did I even care? Why should I be concerned with what was going through her mind?

But I did, and I was.

Regardless of my disturbing interest in her inner monologue, she pushed on. “I came here because I was told that I could find the best private eye in the city here.” She didn't sound like she believed it. I wanted to be offended at that, but frankly I couldn't blame her. Twenty years ago I wasn't exactly a super sleuth, and nothing about my office said “famous and successful.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like I owe someone for the advertising.” I drawled, blatantly stalling for time in the face of her intense gaze. “Were you always this flippant?” she asked, but not in the snide tone I expected, or one of frustration. No, unsettlingly, it was quiet and gentle, almost as if she was as much asking herself as me. 'Did I remember Nico wrong?' I could almost see on her face 'Or has she changed this much?' A dangerous subject, and absolutely not one I wanted to engage with. Least of all with her. So far, far later than I should have, I finally got down to business.

“Well, whatever the source, your information's good. If I can't solve it, no one else in the city will be able to either. What's the case?”

Nishikino shifted uncomfortably. It seemed like a fairly standard question to me, but she was acting like I was a nun who'd kicked down the door of a strip club and started asking the patrons pointed questions about their wives. I felt my chest clench as suddenly s horrible thought made its way into my mind- maybe Nishikino was embarrassed for the same reason that the patrons of Molly's Mammeries (first left past Green Street, look for the flashing neon breasts) were. Maybe this case was to do with a lover.

Suddenly I was back in that dorm room, holding my keys with one hand and the doorknob with the other as I felt my heart break all over again. Was I really not over her? After all this time? After two decades of a life that kept me plenty busy, all it took was a vague implication that maybe, just maybe, Maki hadn't put her love life on hold the way I had, and I was practically breaking out in a cold swea-

“A former patient of mine stole something from me.” Breathe, Yazawa. Breathe. Her love life is none of your business, and now you don't have it make it your business. I swallowed and tried to keep my composure as my traitorous heart did its best jackhammer impression.

“What did they steal?” I asked, my voice level and managing not to betray the swirl of emotions inside me. Nishikino probably wouldn't have noticed it anyway, with how uncomfortable she looked.

“That... doesn't matter. It wasn't valuable, or anything, so he won't be trying to sell it. It had... “ Her discomfort escalated to something approaching “buying a dildo and handcuffs and finding out the cashier is your grandmother” level. “...sentimental value. It's in a blue velvet box about this big-” she mimed a rectangle about the size of a pack of Virgina Slims “-and I don't think he'd have any reason to not keep it in the box.”

“If it's not valuable, why-”

“He did it to hurt me.” Nishikino cut me off before I could finish my question about the as of yet undescribed thief. “He was... interested in me, and I rebuffed him. He was my patient, and even if he hadn't been...” Nishikino made a face that implied rather strongly that this mystery man wasn't her type and even beyond that she didn't think much of his prospects. Ouch. “He got in his head that I'd somehow wronged him, and found out from a co-worker where I lived and about... the item he took... and broke in and stole it and then vanished.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “At first, I had no idea what happened, but he started... sending messages. Threatening to destroy it if I didn't... send him pictures. Sexual pictures. I managed to hire someone to trace where his messages were coming from, but all they could find was that it was various locations in this city. He claimed he'd destroy it if I didn't send him the pictures by the 12th.”

I sucked in a breath. It was already the 6th. “Not giving me a lot of time, are you?” I asked, rubbing my temples. “Do you have a description of the guy or anything?”

“I have something better.” she said, and drew out an envelope from her purse and laid it on my desk. I slipped my hand inside and drew out a photo of a bald man with a huge scar across his forehead and a number of tattoos. I paled. Nishikino noticed, of course. “What? What's wrong?”

“Nishikino... are you sure this is the guy?” I asked. I already knew the answer, but I had to hold out hope that maybe there'd been some horrible mistake. Maybe she just had this picture for other reasons, and gave me the wrong- “Yes, I'm sure. Why?”

Of all the things to get myself mixed up in. I let out and groan and dropped the photo on the desk. “Nishikino, this is Arnati Blake. He's a high ranking enforcer in the mob.”