Chapter Text
Oikawa returned to his apartment, physically and mentally exhausted. He didn’t even have the energy to change out of his work clothes before he slumped onto his mattress, groggily pulling the blankets up above his face.
It was 4:46AM, and he’d finally made it home after a long night at the host club.
Tokyo was nothing like what he’d expected it to be. With it’s high rise buildings, clusters of people and more pollution than Oikawa could wrap his head around, it seemed as if the Tokyo he saw on TV back home in Miyagi had been some sort of optimistic vision.
Of course, that was what it was, and Oikawa had, in fact, known it.
How could it forget it, those exact words his parents had told him when he said he wanted to move to Tokyo for college?
“Tokyo?” his father had scoffed. “You don’t to live there, Tooru. Your mother and I moved out here to specifically escape that kind of lifestyle. The city here is big enough, and we have everything we need. What could you possibly want to go to Tokyo for?”
But they didn’t understand.
Growing up in Miyagi had been fine; as they had said, there were plenty of people, cities and it wasn’t so entirely backwards that he had trouble with anything at all. In fact, Oikawa seemed to excel at many things, whether that be study, sports or human interaction in general.
Except, that was exactly what was wrong. Miyagi was big, but not big enough. Oikawa had dreams of the city. Of too-small 1DKs, of the bustle of people and the stench of public transport. He wanted to know how it felt to be out of his comfort zone, of the too-peaceful nature that was his hometown.
Oikawa Tooru craved adventure.
Soon after graduation, Oikawa left home having already been accepted into a small-scale University of the Arts in the inner parts of Tokyo city. With the money he’d saved up from his part time job and the naivete that came only with youth, Oikawa believed himself to be above the tantalizing warnings of his parents and relatives.
A couple of hours on the shinkansen, convenience store lunches and nights spent in capsule hotels. It was rough at first, but Oikawa could feel the life pumping through his veins as he marveled at the parts of the city so far from home.
He finally felt it; felt alive. He was here, independent, and able to live the way he wanted. No longer did he have the quiet countryside holding him back from excitement, and the small apartment he’d leased himself turned out to be not that bad. With plenty of money and enthusiasm to boot, Oikawa’s life couldn’t have been better.
Somewhere along the way, however, things started to go wrong.
University wasn’t as great as he thought it would be. Oikawa was a dreamer, and the problem with that was that it left him with no idea of what he wanted in the future. Pamphlets and sheets had been stacked on his kitchen table that needed to be read; he needed to think of his units, his majors, his minors and electives. But there were simply too many.
Arts. Fine arts. Acting. Media. The options were endless, but Oikawa wasn’t. In a fit of daring more akin to idiocy, he penned down whatever and sent the sheets back in, deciding that if he didn’t like the units, he could always change the next semester.
Luckily enough, the units didn’t suck. He took history, English and an elective unit of drama, all subjects he felt at ease with. But things were different in Tokyo, and OIkawa found himself surprised at how quickly he fell behind in his work. So, time had to be put into keeping up with work - that was fine.
But time also had to put into keeping the funds to live here; after all, Tokyo wasn’t a cheap city.
When he wasn’t at university, Oikawa worked at the convenience store close to his apartment. The days were spent stocking items and helping customers, while the nights were slightly more garish and the cops were frequently called to deal with drunken patrons. But it was bearable, and more often than not he was able to take home leftover bentous and day-old bread from the display - a pitiful ordeal, but helpful nonetheless.
On the weekends, Oikawa taught volleyball in the city gymnasium to children under 12. Honestly, Oikawa looked forward to these days. To him, volleyball was an escape from the tiring hell his life was slowly descending into; being able to hit the ball so familiar and calming to him was keeping him sane and grounded.
He couldn’t even complain. After all, this is what he wanted, and given the choice, he still wouldn’t turn back.
At least, that’s what he’d told himself.
Halfway through the year, things got worse. As the cold weather set in, Oikawa found his apartment to be lacking in the heat department. It couldn’t he helped - the building was rather old, and admittedly, cheap. Heating just wasn’t something that could be expected from a simple brick and tatami layout. Heaters and radiators were invested in, and as such, the electricity bills began to rise far beyond what he could afford.
Soon after came the flu, and Oikawa spent a week in bed. Unable to work, Oikawa found himself unable to pay for his rent for the first time. His landlady, an older woman, seemed slightly sympathetic as her eyes dawned on the gallow frame of her youngest tenant, and told him that she’d put off collection until he recovered.
It took him a long time to get better. As soon as his body seemed to be on the cusp of recovery, Oikawa would break himself catching up to his studies and working himself to the bone - it wasn’t long until he collapsed, his body no longer to keep up with the stress he was exerting unto himself. There came the two weeks of strict bed rest ordered by the doctor. Unable to work, Oikawa found himself once more unable to pay his rent, the landlady slightly less sympathetic this time.
The hospital bills weren’t particularly friendly, either. Oikawa had no choice but to suspend his studies for half a year as he worked full-time to make the money he seemed to be owing everyone.
Finding a job had been hard; the convenience store only paid so much, and he could only work there for so long. Retail seemed to be only accommodating for girls, and he had no other qualifications to work in hospitality or otherwise.
Frustrated, he’d found himself wandering the night-time area of Shinjuku one night, when his eyes caught on a white placard posted up on the windows.
Job opening
Wanted:
Male host, 18+ years of age.
No experience necessary.
Inquire within.
Oikawa laughed in spite of himself, as he walked down those steps for the first time. The place was empty, the employees few, but the atmosphere itself was relaxing. Oikawa could feel himself relax in an instant, the dim lights of the bars and sound of piano in the corner doing wonders to his worries.
His life by no means increased in enjoyment, but rather, it had plateaued. And Oikawa was fine with that. He by no means needed to be going up in any direction whatsoever; it was just avoiding going down that he needed so badly.
It was his breaking point; every night, Oikawa would fall into bed, exhausted and wondering where the Tokyo of his dreams had escaped to.
Sometimes, he’d think that it never existed in the first place.
“You look like shit today, Oikawa,” an annoying voice chirped as Oikawa walked into the employee-only section of the restaurant, dropping his bag down onto the table.
He did - his eyes had dark bags on them, and his face seemed sunken slightly. “You’re looking good yourself, Kenji-san,” Oikawa smiled back, tying an apron around his waist. Facing the mirror, Oikawa picked up one of the tubs of hair product from the counter and began smearing it in an effort to control his messy bedhead. It was actually kind of embarrassing to still have bedhead at this time of the day, but when you slept at 5am on a regular basis, these kinds of things became less and less of a surprise.
“Mika-chan’s out there, by the way. She’s requested you.”
Stopping for a moment, Oikawa let out a sigh. “Already? It’s only eight-thirty.” Mika was one of the frequent customers of the host club, and ever since OIkawa had started working there, her visits had increased twice fold. The manager was ecstatic about it, of course, and now it had become sort of an unspoken rule that Oikawa was the club’s new golden boy.
It wasn’t a bad thing, per say, except that she was incredibly… needy. A host’s job was to entertain, listen and generally be friendly. Not to have sex, and certainly not to date.
Yet, it seemed that every time she came, she would pester Oikawa for these things exactly.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Oikawa straightened himself out before shaking his head. He could do this. What made this day different from the past six months that he’d been working here?
Heading up the stairs, he was greeted by the arms of his most regular customer once more.
“Say, Tooru,” she drawled, pulling Oikawa’s arm closer towards her. “That girl’s been staring at you an awful lot today, hasn’t she?” Oikawa followed her gaze towards the bar, where a girl with long black hair was sipping a drink. She had no host with her, but her eyes scanned the club as if she was searching for someone.
“Really?” OIkawa replied, turning to look back at Mika. “I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy looking at you, after all,” he smiled, and Mika gave a coy smile in return.
She turned to face him properly, her makeup reflecting off the dim light of the club. “Tooru, why is it that you still won’t agree to meet up with me outside the club?” she asked him, pouting slightly.
Oikawa stiffened. Not this again. He let out a small sigh. “Mika-chan,” he told her gently, “you know I’m not allowed to. And besides, you have a boyfriend already! It’ll only end up in heartbreak for me, you know?”
But Mika kept frowning. “I’d dump him for you, you know that right?” she told him. “You’re so much better than him. He can’t even cook me breakfast after six months!”
Oikawa let out a fake laugh. “He probably wants you to make it for him, then. There’s nothing better than waking up to breakfast made by the one you love, after all.”
The sound of a phone ringing interrupted the two of them, and Mika scowled. “That’s Seiya-kun, I set this tone specifically so that I know it’s him.” Oikawa has to hold back the urge to laugh - the tone she’d selected was an emergency sound played in movies when things were going into meltdown.
After a minute of conversing with her... boyfriend? Sugar daddy? Honestly, Oikawa had no idea what the guy was to her, because she seemed to hate him yet returned to his side no matter what. Regardless of who he was, he was important enough for Mika to gather her belongings and let out a huge sigh. “I have to go, Tooru,” she said, her voice a high pitched whine.
Oikawa put on his best disappointed face, “You’ll come see me again soon then, right?” he asked her. He hoped that she would - after all, this woman gave excellent tips.
She grinned. “Of course, anything for my Tooru-chan,” and she pecked him on the cheek. And with that, Oikawa watched her form pay at the counter before disappearing up the wooden steps.
It had been hardly two minutes since Mika had left that Oikawa found himself tapped on the shoulder. Turning around (and slightly annoyed, as he had been about to take a break) he found himself face-to-face with the black-haired girl who had been alone at the bar. “Excuse me,” she said, staring up at him.
Looking down at her, Oikawa could see that this girl was… extremely beautiful. Her thick, black hair was tied neatly back into a ponytail, showing off her face in its entirety. Her blue eyes were accentuated by well-applied makeup - a black wing of eyeliner on a bed of pink eyeshadow, and long lashes framing all sides. Her lips were a shade of pink that gave her the touch of innocence, while her thin, black glasses gave her the sexy, thrilling older woman air. Oikawa could feel his breath hitch in the back of his throat just looking at her.
“Sorry if this is sudden,” she says, pulling out her purse. “But would you be interested in-”
“No,” Oikawa said, holding up his hand. His voice had been a little sharper than he’d intended, and the girl blinked in surprise. He sheepishly raised a hand up to the back of his neck. “I-I don’t do that kind of thing.”
There was a beat of silence, and the girl’s lips upturned into what seemed like a smile, if for only a second. “Sorry, you misunderstand me,” she said softly. “You are quite handsome,” she said, her eyes returning to his face. “And you’re tall, to boot. Have you ever been interested in modelling?”
Oikawa blinked. “Modelling?” He raised his hand to point at himself.
She nodded. “My name is Kiyoko Shimizu and I run a magazine called Tokyo Style. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“I.. I have, it’s that… the fashion one, right? City fashion.”
Of course he’d heard of it. After all, Oikawa had worked in a convenience store for months. Admittedly, Japan had many magazines. Hundreds, even, but as he served customers each day, he’d noted that Tokyo Style in particular was quite popular. He’d flicked through it once, out of curiosity - a back issue that they’d have trouble selling. The pages were spread out nicely, documenting all sorts of fashion styles from the latest, upmarket brands in Shibuya to the more underground, alternative grunge that was Harajuku.
It wasn’t exactly Oikawa’s style, being from the country himself, but he could definitely appreciate the effort people here put into presenting themselves in such a way.
Kiyoko handed him a business card. Taking a quick glance, Oikawa saw that she was indeed the head editor of the magazine. He quickly placed it in the front of his apron.
“I know it’s quite an odd suggestion, but I really think you’d be a great model for our magazine. Please, give it some thought.”
It was kind words. Oikawa knew that he was handsome - of course he had to be, he was a host. But that aside, back home in Miyagi he’d certainly been the centre of many girl’s attentions. Even here in Tokyo, he knew that he was an object of interest to the slightly more… picky tastes of girls raised in luxury. But modelling had never crossed his mind, even once.
From across the room, Oikawa saw his manager give him a curious stare. Kiyoko wasn’t his customer, after all. Oikawa glanced nervously at the girl. “Um, my managers… looking this way. I’m sorry, but uh…”
Shimizu nodded, “When do you finish? I’ll wait for you, if you want to talk about it some. I don’t mind.”
Oikawa couldn’t fathom the idea of the girl waiting that long - he finished at 3:00AM. “Absolutely not,” he said, and when she looked surprised, he clarified. “I don’t finish for ages. Um... I’ll uh, call you. After I decide. Is that okay?” he asked her, and Kiyoko nodded.
With a final thank you and plea for him to think about it carefully, Kiyoko turned and left the club.
That night as they closed down the club, Kenji shuffled over towards Oikawa. “Psst, ya’know that black haired beauty you were talking to? The one with the glasses?” he asked.
Oikawa gave a grunt as he wiped the tables to acknowledge that he was listening.
“What was she after? She didn’t designate you or anything. Does she know you from somewhere?”
Oikawa paused and looked over at Kenji carefully. To be honest, the whole modelling thing had been bothering him the rest of the night. The whole thing could be a sham, for all he knew. Sighing, Oikawa pulled out the chair and sat down.
“Do you know anything about uh… the magazine called Tokyo Style?”
Kenji rolled his eyes. “Do I? That’s the fashion magazine, ain’t it? My sister reads it religiously. It’s not bad, I’ve had a look through it myself…” he wrinkled his nose. “Not really my style, though.”
OIkawa scoffed. For a boy who’d grown up in the city, Kenji was worse than Oikawa when it came to his habits. His clothes, along with his youthful face, made him just look like an overgrown middle schooler.
“Why, what about it?”
“It’s just… that girl was from there. She said I’d make a good model.”
There was a pause. “Well.. she’s not wrong,” Kenji supplied. “We’ve been so busy since you came here. The boss will probably cry if you end up leaving.”
Oikawa blinked. “You don’t think this is all some sort of scam?” he asked.
Kenji shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You wouldn’t know ‘til you try though, right? You interested at all? It might not be too bad, although you might get a li’l bit famous because of it…” he mused the thought as he mopped the floor. “What was her name?”
He pulled the card from the front of his apron and read it aloud. Kenji came over and took a quick look. “It look’s pretty legit if you ask me,” he said, shrugging. “Why not call her? And even if it’s not, she’s a total babe!”
That she was, although Oikawa didn’t quite swing that way. Not that relationships were at the forefront of his mind right now - survival was, really.
Oikawa just laughed politely. “We’ll see, I guess.”
If Oikawa’s past self could see him now, he’d certainly be laughing. At 19 years of age, in the middle of Tokyo alone and desperate, he’d given Kiyoko a call a mere 2 days later. It was safe to say that after she’d approached him, his mind had run wild with thoughts and ideas of a shot at fame.
After all, Oikawa was a dreamer. He had always been.
“I’m glad you considered it,” Kiyoko said, smiling as she greeted him at the front door.
At the sight of Kiyoko, her casual attire gone and replaced with a crisp, fitting shirt and matching suit jacket, Oikawa felt apologetic for ever doubting her legitimacy. Gone was the girl from the other day, a mysterious beauty alone in the club. In front of him was Kiyoko Shimizu, head editor of one of Japan’s most popular fashion magazines in the flesh.
Furthermore, the building itself was huge. Glass lined every side of the building, and pictures of models and photoshoots were hung on the walls. In the ten minutes since he’d gotten there, a steady stream of workers had made their way in and out of the elevators to the left of them, busy with cell phones and printed documents in hand.
It was… impressive, to say the least.
“Ah,” Oikawa said, slightly embarrassed. “I-I’m still not sure yet. I just… I thought I’d come and have a look for myself. It might help me change my mind.”
Kiyoko nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I’m not going to force you into anything, but… I agree, showing you would be the best option. Today, there is a fashion shoot happening on the second floor; if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to see it.”
“Of course,” Oikawa said, nodding his head. After all, that was what he was here for. To see it with his own eyes, and to make his own decision. Although admittedly, the adventurous (or perhaps reckless?) side of him was already heavily leaning towards one particular option.
“Please,” she said, bowing her head slightly, before ushering Oikawa towards a room on the other side of the floor.
The first thing Oikawa could see was cables.
Lots and lots of cables. There were huge lights set up everywhere of varying sizes, as well as laptops, cameras, video tapes and more. People were everywhere, all crammed into this one tiny room - makeup artists, photographers, managers and models were all together, trying to get as many things done as they possibly could at once.
“Oh, Kiyoko-san!” a voice said, and Oikawa turned to see a small, blonde girl face Kiyoko. In her hands was a large, professional looking camera.
“Ah, Yachi-san,” Kiyoko smiled. “Let me introduce you. This is Oikawa-san,” she said, gesturing.
At the sight of him, Yachi’s eyes baulked. “T-Tall,” was the first thing she uttered, before shaking her head. “I-I mean, it’s nice to meet you,” she bowed stiffly, the camera fumbling in her hands.
Oikawa smiled a little. “Nice to meet you too. Photographer?” he asked, and Yachi nodded.
“Is he a new model?” Yachi inquired, and Kiyoko shook her head.
“No… not yet,” she gave Oikawa a look. “He’s just having a look first. I found him in a host club the other day, and thought he’d be perfect for the job. Don’t you think?” she asked.
Yachi’s eyes scanned over Oikawa once more, and he shifted slightly, unsure of what to do. It took a couple more seconds, but she nodded affirmatively. “Yes. Height is quite good. Face structure is nice too. You still have a good eye for them, Kiyoko-san,” Yachi said, an air of appreciation in her voice.
“Still?” Oikawa asked, before he could stop himself.
Kiyoko glanced to the side. “I don’t… I haven’t scouted people. For a while.”
“Three years!” Yachi piped, before clapping her hands over her mouth at the alarmed look Kiyoko had suddenly attained.
The idea of himself being the first personal scout of the head editor in three years sent Oikawa’s mind spinning. “Oh,” was all he could say numbly, unsure of how to respond. He swallowed nervously and clasped his hands. Oh, shit.
“Anyhow,” Kiyoko interrupted, breaking the awkward atmosphere. “We can’t keep you here any longer. You should start shooting so Oikawa-san can see how it works.”
Yachi nodded. “Of course!” she said, and with a smile she returned over to where the models were now lined up and waiting. They stood in front of a white screen, which Oikawa guessed could double as a green screen. Behind them were a large array of objects - large potted plants, signposts, lamps and other various furnitures. To his amusement, there was even a large cardboard cutout of a giraffe. Everything about it was extremely professional, but Oikawa had expected no less.
The models themselves were gorgeous. Oikawa could tell at a glance that this was for a more up-market brand; the girls were pale with long, styled hair. Their heights were most definitely beyond average, and their deathly heels did nothing but wonders for what seemed to be endless legs. The clothes themselves were overly dressy. Leather jackets, wide brimmed hats, silken shirts and ankle skirts. At a glance, it seemed like an odd jumble of pieces that nobody would wear in real life, but when assembled by these professionals, they left Oikawa without even a rational thought in his head. In that moment, he could feel his appreciation for the fashion industry blooming erratically.
It took a surprisingly long time, but eventually, the shoot ended. Perhaps it had been all the equipment in the room, or perhaps it had been nerves, but Oikawa found himself quite exhausted by the end of it, despite doing nothing.
Seeing the models at work had instilled something inside of Oikawa. Everything about them, from the way they moved to the way they posed screamed independence, and that they owned who they were. Even as the clothes changed and makeup was fixed, they were still defiantly them.
It left Oikawa stunned. It was like a switch was flipped. Modelling had never been a thought of his, but now, Oikawa had nothing in his heart but the urge to do it. That level of self-control and belief was something that every part of his body craved.
Eyes narrowing, he turned himself to face Kiyoko.
He dropped into a low bow.
“Kiyoko-san, please let me join as a model.”