Tooru Oikawa had always prided himself on two things: his impeccable sense of style and his ability to avoid awkward situations. Tonight, unfortunately, he had failed at both.

“Come on, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi groaned, large hand clamped on his shoulder like he was dragging an unwilling child. “You’re coming with us. No complaints.”

“I’m just saying,” Tooru hissed, trying to dig his heels into the pavement outside the concert venue, “this is cruel and unusual punishment. Why would I voluntarily go watch my ex perform? In public? Where feelings and eye contact exist?!”

Kunimi sighed. “You dated them three years ago. You’ll survive.”

“Maa maa,” Matsukawa drawled, half-amused, half-bored, “at least if they call you out from the stage, it’ll be entertaining.”

“That’s not helping!” Tooru yelped, smacking his arm.

The group of former Aoba Johsai players continued shoving, guiding, and practically herding him through the doors. The venue pulsed with energy, bass thumping through the floorboards as the crowd screamed in anticipation. The lights dimmed. The band took their places.

And then you walked onstage.

Tooru froze.

You looked… different. Confident. Alive. The stage lights clung to you like you were meant to be there. The roar of the crowd washed over his teammates, but Tooru didn’t hear any of it. He only saw you—the person he had messed things up with, the one he sometimes caught himself thinking about when he was supposed to be asleep.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi muttered beside him.

“No,” Tooru whispered. “No, I am not.”