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Tsukishima doesn’t love his job.
He’s one of the most esteemed directors in Hollywood and has been in the business for years. His films are always commercial successes, he’s done a wide variety of genres, and he’s known for his creative and unique plots and storytelling.
But he doesn’t like his job.
Directing feels dull for him. New projects don’t give him any excitement anymore. His life has turned into a repetitive cycle of one movie after another, and his old appreciation for film has become a mundane avocation.
He doesn’t know if it’s himself, the business he’s in, or simply the things he’s creating. Is it because he’s just lost interest? Does his work just have no meaning? Or is it that his pictures have lost their spark?
“I think you need to shake things up.”
Akaashi, his ever-blunt assistant, is sitting at his desk, not even looking Tsukishima in the eyes as he relays his advice. “You’re stuck in a cycle, so move things around. Try a whole new style. Cater to a different audience. Take things in a different direction.”
Tsukishima scowls, although he knows that Akaashi will just ignore it. “How do you even do that? I can’t just take my career and shake it.”
“Sure you can.” Akaashi takes a sip from his coffee. “If anything, you’re not going to get anything done by just sitting on your ass.”
Akaashi has worked with Tsukishima for almost all of his career. In Tsukishima’s opinion, Akaashi has lost any filter when it comes to speaking to him. In Akaashi’s opinion, Tsukishima wouldn’t know good humor if it got up in his cereal and danced.
Tsukishima respects Akaashi. Anyone who could deal with him for more than a year or two at a time deserves respect.
“So how do you suggest shaking things up?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“A vacation?”
“That would be welcome, yes, but actually. We’ve got a job offer from a company if you’re willing to co-direct.”
“Co-direct? What kind of film?”
“Animation.”
“Animation?” Tsukishima sits up. “Like, something for kids?”
Akaashi does look up now. “Animation isn’t just for children, Tsukishima. This company, in particular, prides itself in its storytelling, and your co-director, if you choose to take the job, was very willing to have you put in your two cents.”
Tsukishima exhales. “Could you arrange a meeting?”
* * *
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to be working on this with you.”
Koutarou Bokuto is gripping Tsukishima’s hand, shaking it excitedly as he leans over his desk. The two men are in his office, which is filled to the brim with art, random knick-knacks, paper and just clutter. It takes all of Tsukishima’s energy not to wince. “I absolutely love your films,” Bokuto continues. “I always watch the horrors with my friends, and I get super freaked out whenever I see them.”
“I’m glad the message came across well.” Tsukishima has plastered on a diplomatic smile, one that he always uses in meeting with such people. He’s met Bokuto before, and the man always seems to always have an abundance of energy. “So, tell me about this film of yours?”
“We’ve been working on it for a few years now! I’ve only directed a few times before, always short films, and never a full-length feature film.” Bokuto sits down at the table. “Animation is really different from a lot of other films. This kind of stuff can be in production for decades, sometimes.”
“Wow.” Tsukishima eyes the stacks of papers in front of Bokuto. “So, how far have you guys gotten?”
Bokuto plops down behind the desk, gesturing for Tsukishima to do the same. “We’ve gotten most of the script written, and it’s pretty much already storyboarded. Character design has just gotten involved, so if you choose to hop on board with us, we’ll be working pretty closely with them.” He hands him a binder. “That’s what we have so far.”
Tsukishima flips through it. It’s a script, covered in annotations and sketches, and several pieces of concept art. “Your process is fascinating,” he says. “How long do you have?”
“Two years to finish the animation. Post-production is a while longer. You’ll start in…around six months.”
Tsukishima glances up at him. “What’s with the short timeline?”
Bokuto glances back, holding his gaze for a few moments. “You’re perceptive,” he says at last. “The thing is, I’m technically on trial. The bosses don’t love me, you know. We got bought out a couple of years ago. You probably heard about that.”
“I did, yes. I thought that things might have calmed down since then.”
“Yes, well. We’ve got a tight budget and a very short time period. We’re short-staffed, too, so I’m pulling extra duties wherever I can, and that’s where you come in.”
“So I’ll be covering whatever duties are left?”
“Not just that! You’ll be overseeing production as a whole, adding your own two cents. Any questions?”
Tsukishima’s eyes skim over the binder again. “Talk me through this,” he says, tapping the page. “A script is a script, but what message are you going for? What themes? What’s it about, what are we talking about in terms of length, characters, all that.”
Bokuto grins. “So. It’s about this really short kid who sees a volleyball game in the store window. He’s super shocked because the ace of the team is also super short like him, but he’s still able to play well.”
“Go on.”
“So he’s super impressed by this guy and decides that he wants to be a volleyball player, too…”
* * *
“Sorry for being late, Tsukishima,” Akaashi says briskly as he enters the room. “I was caught in traffic on my way here and it appears the receptionist was new and did not know where you two were.” He extends a hand toward Bokuto. “Apologies for my interruption. I’m Keiji Akaashi, Tsukishima’s assistant.”
“Koutarou Bokuto. It’s great to meet you!” Bokuto shakes his hand eagerly.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you, sir. I look forward to working with you.”
“Just Bokuto, please. Tsukishima and I were just discussing the movie, I was just about to take him to see the rest of the team.”
Akaashi smiles—not even one of his sarcastic, condescending smirks that he gives Tsukishima—and Bokuto beams even brighter at the sight. “They’re gonna love you both, I promise. You two are so serious, I swear. We’ll get you used to us soon enough.”
Despite Bokuto’s slightly strange comments, Tsukishima allows himself to be dragged to one of the break rooms, where the rest of the ‘team’ is waiting. He glances at Akaashi, who’s avoiding his gaze. Tsukishima smirks.
Soon enough, they arrive at what appears to be a break room, and Bokuto flings open the doors. “So this is our team!” he says, nudging Tsukishima and Akaashi into the room, beaming at them both. “This is everyone who’s been in production from the start. Kuroo and Kenma, our producers.”
Kuroo raises his hand in greeting. “We spoke on the phone,” he says to Akaashi. “But I think you and Kenma were emailing a bit, weren’t you?”
Akaashi nods. “Good to meet you. I had a few questions regarding…”
Bokuto drags Tsukishima away before Akaashi can finish his sentence. “Here’s Daichi, our screenwriter! And Suga, our production designer. I’d have about ten million plotholes without them, right, guys?”
Daichi shakes his hand, offering a friendly smile. “The two of us are mainly in pre-production,” he says. “So you won’t be talking to us too much, except to refine a few details plot-wise.”
“The plot still needs quite a bit of refining,” Suga says dryly, then smirks at Tsukishima. “Bokuto creates some pretty great stories, it just needs quite a bit of editing before any sort of animation takes place.”
“It’s interesting that I’ve been brought into a project right in the middle of production.” Tsukishima surveys the room. Bokuto has somehow popped back over to Akaashi and is chatting excitedly with him while Kuroo talks with Kenma. “I haven’t co-directed anything in a long time, to be honest.”
Suga laughs. “Bokuto’s a riot. You’ll fit right in, though. He has that effect on people.”
“I can see that.” Tsukishima feels himself smirk as he watches Akaashi talk to Bokuto. He’s actually smiling.
“Wait, Tsukishima!” Tsukishima is unprepared for the way that Bokuto throws his arm over his shoulder. “This assistant you have here.”
Akaashi lifts his arm in recognition. He’s blushing ever so slightly, Tsukishima notes, but he’s keeping a somewhat straight face. He almost laughs, but Akaashi’s already sending him a look that screams, keep your mouth shut if you know what’s best for you.
He doesn’t, of course. “Yeah. He’s a genius, isn’t he? I tell him he should get a job producing, but he insists that I’d fall apart without him. Which is probably true.”
Bokuto turns with bright eyes to Akaashi, who tears his glare away from Tsukishima to smile diplomatically at him. “You have experience as a producer?”
Akaashi nods. “I worked on some minor pictures before being hired by a few of our higher-ups. Tsukishima and I started around the same time, and I simply just stuck around as his assistant.”
“I hope someday that he’ll drop me and move onto better projects,” Tsukishima says. “But he insists.”
Akaashi gives him a look, but Bokuto’s face brightens even more. “That’s super cool!” he says. “Do you think that you could help us out with some of the producing? We’re a bit short-handed, but I can get you a proper contract and a raise.”
“Bokuto, please, you haven’t even seen my resume—”
The door of the room bursts open, and a guy pops his head in. “Sorry, I got held up in traffic!” he says, a little breathless. “Hope I’m not too late?”
“Oh, Yamaguchi!” Bokuto grabs the guy’s wrist and drags him over to Tsukishima, beaming. “Tsukishima, this is Yamaguchi!”
Yamaguchi beams brightly at Tsukishima. He’s dressed head to toe in bright colors, from sparkly earrings to the pins adorning his green vest, to the red-painted soles of his white sneakers. He’s quite a bit shorter than Tsukishima, but still tall—Tsukishima finds that endearing, but nice—and his dark hair is pulled back loosely. Tsukishima looks him up and down, but he smiles back at Yamaguchi, albeit awkwardly.
“Yamaguchi’s our Art Director,” Bokuto says proudly, giving him a heavy pat on the back. “Basically, he can do all the stuff I can’t.”
“Impressive.” Tsukishima extends a hand to Yamaguchi. “I know little to nothing about animation, so you’ll have to enlighten me.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Yamaguchi takes Tsukishima’s hand and shakes it, still smiling warmly. “I’m head of character design as well, so I’ll be working pretty closely with you and Bokuto. You better get used to me.”
“I look forward to it.”
* * *
Tsukishima’s first day was six months later. It’s slightly overwhelming—the studio is the most unconventional work environment that barely passes as professional. The animator’s cubicles are decorated to look like planes or buildings or other odd structures (Tsukishima’s pretty sure he saw a castle, but he’s not sure). People ride skateboards in the halls. Every surface is covered in paint and graffiti and sharpie. There are secret passageways in the walls.
During his first week, Tsukishima has the first of many one-on-one meetings with Yamaguchi. Bokuto’s already given him the full debrief on the process, and had asked him to talk through some ideas with Yamaguchi on the second protagonist.
So Tsukishima finds himself sitting on the couch in Yamaguchi’s office, surrounded by paper and art supplies and other random trinkets. Yamaguchi is on the other side of the couch, a sketchbook in his lap as he listens to Tsukishima’s ideas.
“So I want him to be...arrogant, you know? Like he’s an outcast, he demands things from others, and he wants everything to go his way.”
Yamaguchi nods. His earrings as he leans a little further over his sketchbook, pursing his lips. “Go on.”
“Obviously, he gets a character arc where he’s able to start working with others better. But I kinda want him to look...really cool, determined, like the polar opposite of the protagonist.”
“Is that all?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Tsukishima leans forward to peek at the sketchbook, but Yamaguchi yanks it back. “Why?”
“I don’t like him.”
“What?”
“I don’t like your character.” Yamaguchi scribbles some more, then tilts his head. “He sounds bland. Terrible.”
“My character sounds bland?”
“Yes, he does. What’s his backstory? Does he have one?”
“Well—”
Yamaguchi looks up from his book and points his pen at Tsukishima. “There we go. See, this is why I don’t like your movies.”
“You don’t like my movies?”
“No, I don’t. Your characters are terribly bland. The plot, storytelling, acting, directing, all great, yes.” Yamaguchi waves his pen around. “The characters? Terrible. Their motivations are only somewhat believable, and they’re only good because of the actors. A good actor will take their own interpretation over the character, and that’s where your sloppy work gets covered up.”
“Sloppy?”
“Yeah. If you had bad actors? Your movies would be trash. This character—” Yamaguchi jabs his pen at his paper. “—doesn’t have a backstory. Why is he arrogant, Tsukishima? He’s not just a pseudo-antagonist for the main character.”
Tsukishima feels a smirk growing on his face. “So you don’t like my movies for the characters?”
Yamaguchi gives him a look. “I analyze characters for a living, Tsukishima.” He snaps his fingers. “Tsukki. I’m gonna call you Tsukki.”
“Tsukki?”
“Tsukishima’s too long. And anyway, it sounds like ‘moon’.”
“Hm.” Tsukishima leans forward. “So if we’re comparing him to the main character, who’s inexperienced, then how about...this guy has been playing volleyball his whole life. He’s a prodigy.”
Yamaguchi resumes his scribbling. “You’re on the right track. Keep going.”
“Then how about...he started expecting everyone around him to be as good as him, and then once his expectations got super high, people just stopped trying to keep up with him. So they abandoned him. You can’t play volleyball with only one person, right?”
Yamaguchi chuckles. “Right.”
“So he has trouble relating to people, trouble with working with others. But once he meets the protagonist here…” Tsukishima picked up the finished sketches. “They help each other out. The protagonist helps the antagonist to become part of the team, and the antagonist clears the way for the protagonist to fulfill his dream.”
Yamaguchi purses his lips. “Can I add something?”
Tsukishima does laugh, now. “Be my guest.”
“I want him to be kind of stupid. Both of them. They’re both not good in school, they’re both obsessed with volleyball, and they literally don’t care about grades or anything like that.” Yamaguchi holds his sketchbook away from his face, gazing at it critically. “Makes them a little bit more relatable. It’s supposed to be enjoyable for all ages, right?”
“You’re good at this.”
“I told you, I do it for a living.” Yamaguchi turns the sketchbook around. “What do you think?”
“It’s amazing.”
“See? I’m the best.”
* * *
A few months later, Tsukishima found himself in the breakroom, where Yamaguchi was busy scribbling away in a sketchbook at one of the small tables. He took a seat across from him and waited.
Yamaguchi, however, was much too absorbed in his drawing to pay attention to him. This happened often, Tsukishima had discovered over the past few months, as Yamaguchi was constantly drawing, when he wasn’t overseeing the animation. Tsukishima cleared his throat.
Yamaguchi jumped, nearly dropping his sketchbook, before he noticed Tsukishima sitting across from him. “Jesus, Tsukki,” he groaned. “Warn me next time.”
“Was clearing my throat not a warning?” Tsukishima ducked as Yamaguchi fake-swung his sketchbook at him. “Kidding, kidding, sorry.”
Yamaguchi settled back into his chair. “Alright. Do you need anything? Or did you just want to chat?”
“What’re you working on?”
Yamaguchi brought his sketchbook to his chest and eyed him warily. “Besides that.”
“May I ask why you don’t like me seeing your sketchbook?”
“It’s unfinished. What you see on screen has been polished over, and over, and over again. This is art in its most bare, unpolished form.”
Tsukishima shrugged. “Better than what I could do.”
“People can learn art.”
“Not with my schedule.”
“Nor with that attitude.” Yamaguchi clicked his tongue and closed his sketchbook, then leaned forward to look into Tsukishima’s eyes. “What do you really want? I know you didn’t just come in here to ask about my drawings.”
Tsukishima hesitated for a moment, but then spoke. “Why is the budget so small? And why is production sped up so much?”
Yamaguchi frowned. “I would’ve thought that Bokuto told you about that already.”
“He kind of...brushed over it a bit. He mentioned the company being bought out.”
“Yeah. A lot of people got laid off, a lot of budgets cut. Most of the main team were working here already, but most of us were still rookies.” Yamaguchi’s expression twisted. “A lot of the more senior employees either left or were fired. Bokuto was just a junior director at the time, and he had just been doing some short films and things.”
Tsukishima nodded. “He mentioned that some higher-ups didn’t like him.”
Yamaguchi snorted. “That’s an understatement. He’s got big dreams, you know? He just doesn’t know how to put it on paper. His ideas are a little ambitious for people to understand and they’d probably take thousands of animators and millions of dollars. Definitely not the stuff that the bigshots want to see.”
“You can say that again.”
“Yeah, well. They think he’s ‘unsteady’.” Yamaguchi air-quoted. “If the film does badly, they’ll just be scouring for a way to point the finger at him. It was Kenma’s idea to bring you and Akaashi on board.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You both went to film school with him and Kuroo, right? Kuroo said you’d get everything set straight.”
“Huh.” Tsukishima leans back in his chair. “I had no idea they thought so highly of me.”
“Oh, they were begging Bokuto to reach out to you.”
“Both of them?”
“Well, maybe it was just Kuroo. But Kenma did seem to be interested in having you on the team.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” Yamaguchi tilts his head. “You seem surprised, but you’re an esteemed director, maybe one of the most famous in modern day. Especially one of your age.”
“I don’t really like directing,” Tsukishima admits.
Yamaguchi set down his sketchbook. “Really?”
“Well, at first, I did. A lot. I loved the movies when I was a kid, and honestly I kind of always knew I wanted to direct.” Tsukishima leans back in his chair a tad. “But as the years passed…I guess I stopped making the movies that I wanted to make, and more the movies that my bosses or the audience wanted to see.”
It’s the first time he’s really admitted it, to himself or out loud. The words feel strange. Yamaguchi is watching him—neither strangely nor piteously, just watching him.
“This job was kinda my wild card. Akaashi talked to me about this job offer, at this small animation company on the other side of the country, and I guess…something told me it was worth it.”
Yamaguchi leaned forward. “If you made the movies you wanted to make, and they weren’t successful, do you think you’d be satisfied?”
“I’d like to say that I don’t know,” Tsukishima says. “But no, I don’t think so. I want to make the things I want to make, but I wish for approval as well.” He turned this over in his mind, scoffing at himself. “That makes me sound terribly conceited.”
Yamaguchi hummed. “I think it makes you sound human,” he says. “It’s human to want. It’s the way we go about the things that we want that make us selfish or selfless.” His eyes flicked to glance at Tsukishima. “But I think I get why you don’t particularly like it when someone compliments your films. It was first when you met Bokuto, and now with Kuroo and Kenma.”
“I’m not particularly proud of them, no.” Tsukishima leaned forward again. “But what about you? You said you didn’t really like my movies.”
Yamaguchi gives him a funny little smile. “I like them,” he says. “But I’ve also been a character designer for nearly ten years.”
“So?”
“I already told you that I don’t like your characters.”
“Very strongly, I might add.”
Yamaguchi laughs. “So, watching your movies is like…” he pauses, thinking. “It’s like eating cake, but someone baked a rock into it. It was delicious until you ate that one bite, and then it’s very difficult to finish the rest of the cake.”
Tsukishima tries very hard to not laugh at the analogy. “Ah,” is all he manages to say.
Yamaguchi casts him a worried look. “That wasn’t too rude, was it? Why are you making that face?”
“It’s just…your analogy, rocks, in cake—” Tsukishima can’t help it. He purses his lips, laughter bubbling up in his chest.
“Are you laughing at me, Kei Tsukishima?” Yamaguchi leans over the table with a face of mock sternness. At his expression, Tsukishima just burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking, and Yamaguchi was soon to follow.
He hasn’t laughed like this in ages, but it feels more right than he’s ever felt.
* * *
Akaashi has an office now—it suits him, Tsukishima thinks to himself, leaning into the doorframe. It’s clean but nice, and there are little trinkets that show off his personality—the little owl keychain, the photos and paintings on his desk, the occasional thing out of place. But really, just an office suits him. Akaashi always had a desk, but never an office to himself.
“So,” Akaashi says briskly. “What do you need?”
Tsukishima shrugs. “Just wanted to check in on you.”
Akaashi’s professional expression softens a little. “Why?”
“You seem to be having a lot of fun working as a producer.” Tsukishima gives him a look. It’s teasing, but Akaashi flushes.
“I do like the responsibility,” he says, delicately.
Tsukishima snorts. “It’s your dream job. You weren’t planning on being my assistant forever, were you? I always told you that you should’ve asked for a promotion before.”
Akaashi ignores his comment. “I’m well, thank you. I’m learning a lot.”
“And how is Bokuto?”
“You know exactly how he is.”
“I don’t know. You two seem to be spending a lot of time together.”
“You’re his co-director. That shouldn’t be the case.”
“Oh, but it is, isn’t it?”
Akaashi gives him a look. “Then tell me, how is our dear Art Director?”
“Yamaguchi?” Tsukishima returns the look. “He’s fine, or so I’ve heard.”
“Denying it, are we?”
“Who’s talking?”
“Everyone can see you two are interested in each other,” Akaashi says. “Both of you are just waiting for the other to do something, and it’s agonizing.”
Tsukishima stares at him.
“Get your act together, I beg of you. We’ve only got a few months here.”
“Hypocrite,” Tsukishima grumbles. Akaashi rolls his eyes at him and turns to his computer. Tsukishima knows a dismissal when he sees one, so he turns to leave, thinking.
Really, a voice in his head says. He’s not wrong.
* * *
“Yamaguchi.”
Yamaguchi is staring down at his sketchbook. He’s in his zoned-out mode again. It’s oddly endearing.
“Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi. Tadashi Yamaguchi. Tadashi.”
Yamaguchi’s head jerks up. “What?”
Tsukishima laughs. Yamaguchi frowns at him, letting out a sigh. “What do you want, Tsukki?”
“Just checking in.” Tsukishima slides into a chair. “What’re you working on?”
Yamaguchi, surprisingly, tilts the sketchbook to show him. It’s a loud smattering of color, bright and chaotic, but it works. “One last poster for the release, for the theaters. Just a sketch, really.”
“It’s awesome.”
Yamaguchi smiles, his expression pleased, but he drops it quickly to give Tsukishima a suspicious look. “What do you really want? I know you don’t just talk to me to look at my sketchbook.”
No, I talk to you because I’m interested in you, Tsukishima thinks, but says boldly. “I do want something. Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?”
The noise Yamaguchi makes is slightly strangled, and he fumbles with his sketchbook, his face rapidly turning red. “Pardon me?”
“Would you like to get dinner?”
“Dinner?” Yamaguchi says, sounding slightly dazed. “Like…restaurant dinner?”
“Yes. If you’d like.”
“Oh.” Yamaguchi nods, slowly at first, then more assertive. “Yes, I would like that.”
“Does Saturday work? At 8?”
“Yeah, that works. Okay.”
“Okay.” Tsukishima smiles. “It’s a date.”
* * *
A year and a half passes quicker than he could’ve ever thought.
A year and a half might’ve felt forever to him, two years ago, but now he’s only got a few weeks left until he’s on a flight back home.
Home. The word feels foreign to him. Home has always meant there, not here, but right now, the word fits better here. He mulls this over as best he can, as he’s in a bar, and Bokuto and Kuroo are screaming into Karaoke mics a few feet away.
Apparently, the whole team likes to go out for drinks the day before the release of a new movie. Tsukishima wishes he were in his apartment, asleep.
“So, big day tomorrow!”
Yamaguchi pops up at Tsukishima’s side. He just has a bottle of beer in his hand, but he gives Tsukishima a wide smile as he sits down beside him. “Nervous?”
“I suppose.”
“Excited?”
Tsukishima feels a smile grow on his face. “Yeah. I am.”
“Good!” Yamaguchi takes a drink, giving him a playful nudge to the side. “We’ve worked hard. We got this. The film will do great.”
Tsukishima chuckles. “I hope so,” he says. “But I’m likely a fool for doing so.”
Yamaguchi set down his drink, looking at Tsukishima. “Do you really think that?”
“‘Hope is the mother of fools,’” Tsukishima said. It’s blunt, but true.
“‘That does not prevent it from being a great lover of the brave,’” Yamaguchi finished. “Stanislaw Jerzy Lec.”
“So does hoping make me a brave man?”
“Do you think you’re brave?”
Tsukishima looked up from his drink at Yamaguchi. Not a trace of humor was on his face, just a solemn expression. “No,” he says.
“But you hope.”
Tsukishima stares at him. Yamaguchi gazes back, and for a moment, they’re just silent.
Fuck it, Tsukishima thinks.
“I really like you,” he says. “And I don’t really know why I said that, but I really liked our date, and…fuck, I just wanted to tell you that before all of this is over.”
Yamaguchi just looks at him.
Tsukishima continues, despite his better judgment. “I’ve never been happier. Working alongside you, alongside everyone...I haven’t had this much fun with a film in years. But it’s not going to last. I’m only here for one film, for fuck’s sake. So after all this, after everything, I’m just going to go back to where I was, making films that I hate once I’m finished with them.”
He lapses into silence again. Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reached out to place his hand on Tsukishima’s, his thumb just barely grazing his skin.
“Tsukishima,” he says finally. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
Tsukishima shrugs. “I’m only saying what I think. And I think I want to date you, and maybe I’ll regret telling you that tomorrow morning, but I’d probably never tell you that when I’m sober.”
“Kei—Tsukki.” His hesitation sends a knife through Tsukishima’s heart. “Tsukki, I think you should get some rest. I’m going to get Bokuto, alright? He’ll make sure you get home safe.”
“And what about you?”
Yamaguchi pauses, giving him a long, searching look. “Get some rest,” he says again. “Big day tomorrow. We’ll talk, alright?”
* * *
Tsukishima arrives at the theater early. For the first time in a long time, he’s nervous.
It’s not like he’s particularly anxious to see how well the movie is gonna be. He firmly believes that it’s good, possibly his favorite film that he’s directed, ever. But it’s just something about it, how different it is from his previous work, how he completely turned his career on his head with this film. It almost feels like his first film. Excitement, nervousness, giddiness.
His conversation with Yamaguchi isn’t forgotten, either. Yamaguchi’s words circle around his thoughts. Was it a rejection? Or did he just want to respond when Tsukishima was sober? What would he say now?
“How are you feeling?”
He turns. Yamaguchi’s standing beside him, in a dark blue suit. His earrings are tiny stones that look like frogs. “I don’t really know,” he admits. “I’m feeling...a lot right now.”
Yamaguchi nods. “So, about what you were saying, earlier...”
Tsukishima coughs. “Ah, yeah, about that—”
“I do like you, you know,” Yamaguchi interrupts. “We’ve been working together for a while now. And you’re a really amazing guy, and just...when I’m around you, I feel…” he wavered. “...I don’t know, really, what I feel, but I think that...if we tried to start something, I’d really, really, like that.”
“But?”
Yamaguchi gives him a long, searching look. “But you’re leaving,” he says at last. “You’re leaving, off to the other side of the country. And honesty, there’s nothing wrong with a long-distance relationship, but if we’re just starting something out…”
Tsukishima exhales. “Yeah. I get it.”
Yamaguchi sighs. “I just wish…”
What do you wish for? Tsukishima wants to say. I’d give it to you, whatever it takes.
But Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything. He just walks away.
* * *
The film’s a big success. Half the theater is crying at the end, and maybe Tsukishima’s eyes are a little teary, but more than anything, he’s proud. He’s proud of what he’s created.
His stomach curls a little at the thought. He’s spent so much time on this movie, but his contract only lasts for the year. He thinks of the things he’s built for the past year or so, the relationships he’s made, what he’s created.
And now he’s leaving it all behind.
There’s a small party to celebrate the completion of the movie, but Tsukishima slips away before anyone can notice. He doesn’t really feel like celebrating, to be honest, not right now. He needs to think.
So is he just going back to what he was doing before? It isn't like he has anything holding him here. He’s finished the project. His contract is finished. His job is done.
And what about Akaashi? He’d left everything behind to follow Tsukishima across the country for this project. Neither of them had particular attachments to where they were before, but both of them had built something strong. Would Akaashi follow him back home? Or would he stay here, where he had finally gotten the privilege to actually help produce something amazing, instead of just being an assistant?
He turns it over in his mind as he wanders around the studio halls aimlessly. His thoughts spiral, flipping through scenario after scenario. He can’t stay here. He can’t exactly go back with a clear conscience, either. And is Akaashi going to follow him, or stay here? What the hell is he even doing, anymore?
“Hey!”
Tsukishima’s head jerks up. Bokuto is walking up to him, his arms clasped behind his back. “So, Tsukishima,” he says, with a suspicious grin. “I have a proposition for you.”
Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you plotting?”
Bokuto ignores him. “So, we’ve been thinking,” he continues. “You liked working on an animated film, right? It’s pretty different compared to normal directing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, definitely.” Tsukishima eyes him. Bokuto still has his hands behind his back. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s a can of silly string. “Why?”
“So. We want you as one of our main directors. Directing our full-length features, or overseeing production of others, like the kind of stuff I’ve been doing.”
“Wait. What?”
Bokuto scoffs. “Surely it’s not that surprising. I mean, I told you that I wanted your input. People really like what we had here, and I think you could do some pretty amazing shit, now that you know what it’s like to direct an animated feature.”
“So you’re offering me a job.”
“Well. We kind of want Akaashi, too.”
Tsukishima squints at him. “Who’s ‘we’?”
Bokuto exhales. “Okay. I want Akaashi on the team. He’s got the makings of a great producer.”
“Just that?”
“And maybe I want to ask him out, but I can’t really do that if he’s living on the other side of the country with you,” Bokuto huffs. “But still. We did an awesome job here. And everyone loved working with you, most of the time.”
“The movie hasn’t even been publicly released. Shouldn’t you wait until you see how it’s received?”
“Are you saying you don’t think it’s good?” Bokuto doesn’t wait for an answer. “It’s amazing. It’ll do great. So, what do you say?”
Tsukishima hesitates. “I’ll have to see a proper contract before I agree to anything.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I want it clearly defined as to what my job will be. I’m still not quite used to the animation industry.”
Bokuto nods rapidly. “For sure.”
“Will I just be co-directing? What are my limitations? And what about—”
“Jeez, Tsukishima. It’s a yes or no question. Sure, we’ll work out all the little details, but I just wanna know if you’re willing.”
Tsukishima frowns at him, but it quickly twitches up into a smile. “Yeah. I’m willing.”
Bokuto lets out a whoop. He whips his hands out from behind his back—it’s just a can of silly string, it’s two cans—and a few other people jump out from absolutely nowhere. Kuroo pounds him on the back. Daichi is yelling at the two, saying something about soundproof walls. Suga is messing with his hair.
Akaashi hovers a few feet away, but he’s smiling widely. Beaming. Tsukishima hasn’t seen him this happy in years.
But for now, he focuses on Yamaguchi, standing in front of him with his arms crossed. He grins. “So,” he says. “Remember that time you said you didn’t like directing?”
Tsukishima grins back. “I’m happy,” he says over Bokuto’s cheers, and he feels so cheesy for saying it out loud, surrounded by his shouting coworkers, but he is. For the first time, he feels like he knows what he’s doing.
Yamaguchi laughs. “I’m happy, too,” he says.
Tsukishima wants to kiss him.
Maybe he was too much of a coward to say it before. Maybe it’s stupid to say it now. But it doesn’t feel stupid. So he says it.
“I kind of want to kiss you right now.”
Yamaguchi smiles at him. “So kiss me.”
And he does.