⤹ nightclub

@oikawa tooru if there’s one thing he wasn’t expecting tonight, it’s seeing the one and only oikawa tooru seated right next to him, and he can’t help the beaming grin that forms on his visage. “same reason as you i presume,” he chimes, lips coming up to knock back another sip of his scotch before issuing out his unsolicited answer, “here for a good time, though it seems like you need it more than me.” a wry lilt accompanies his words, beverage swirling within the glass as he rocks it back and forth, training his gaze to the other. of course a grimace found its way onto oikawa’s expression, for whatever reason— he couldn’t care less but he’s grown accustomed to it, found it added the much needed aggression behind his tone. “i’d offer my help but i doubt you’d want it.”

@bokuto kotaro tooru doesn't even mind his surroundings as he walks straight to the counter, eyebrows furrowed, lips curled into a deep scowl. this day has been... a mess, to put it simply. not only was his time wasted waiting for more than an hour for someone that wasn't even going to come, there's also a staff member who just /kept/ on yelling. so he can only hope that the bartender ignores his snappy tone as he orders a rather strong drink, and sits down in a manner that lacks of any poise. he only slumps over the counter, heaving a deep sigh, and it just so happens that he turns to the side right at that very moment, stiffening as his eyes widen in surprise at the face that greets him. "what the hell are you doing here?" he asks, and he can't help the exasperation that accompanies his tone, his bad mood looming over his shoulders.

@oikawa tooru lost in the rhythm of the ice cubes as they clink against the glass, obsidian orbs follow the golden waves of scotch that fall back against each other. bokuto washes back the liquid in a single gulp, seeking for the searing burn upon his throat and he can’t help the sigh of satisfaction that slips past his lips once he feels the sting. he doesn’t remember how he ended up here, but he’s not complaining— work was exhausting and he could do with a bit of stress relief right about now. readjusting himself on the barstool, he slides the now empty glass across the counter to place another order, “one more, on the rocks still.”