Kageyama is more than just good Kageyama excels. Oikawa finally nods, and there is the sweep of sound. He turns to look for Oikawa's nod, and Oikawa makes him wait like that, Kageyama’s eyes trained on him too tense and strangely eager, breath caught on the inhale, for just a little longer than necessary. Kageyama holds himself stiffly, shoulders too sharply thrown back giving away the state of his nerves, but his hands, resting gentle on the keys, are steady and poised expectant. “Please teach me today, Oikawa-san!” It’s a rote greeting, familiar to them both after long years of this, and it tumbles loud from Kageyama’s mouth, a grimace threatening to break the smooth line of his brow as he bows, deep and long, before going to seat himself at the piano. But his eyes are narrowed as he looks down at Kageyama approaching the stage steps, catches the almost imperceptible hesitation right before Kageyama ascends them to finally lift his head, staring Oikawa right in the face with a look tipped up with a confidence so straightforward and pure, a mouth set almost childishly determined, that Oikawa smiles wide and pleased. It’s conversational, pleasantry mirrored in the way Oikawa gestures open palmed toward the glossy black grand piano that sits in the centre of the stage.

The nausea that has been riding low in his stomach for the last few days, a cold hollow weight that had him punching vending machine buttons particularly aggressive last night as he downed can after can of coffee to stay awake for just one more hour of practice, twists inside him so sharply that everything suddenly feels stuttered by a half beat, and for a moment Kageyama thinks wildly, It's just Debussy, who would even notice if I made a mistake. Kageyama walks past his classmates seated near the front row, doesn’t quite meet their glances, a mix of detached judgement and resentment.

It's a good educational exercise, his professors had advised kindly, the unsaid, It would add to your final grade measured out carefully in the way they pointedly did not look at each other, the concern about their student doing poorly in everything but his performance classes all too obvious but Kageyama remembers the sharp tongue and demanding hands of his former mentor far too clearly for any of the reasons to soothe the edge off his nerves. There’s only two names on the programme today, his own, and that of Oikawa Tooru, the scholarship graduate student who would be critiquing Kageyama’s performance in front of a small audience of his peers. It’s not a surprise, it’s not a fucking surprise in the least, and Kageyama just shoots a glare in the general direction of the small auditorium's raised stage from where the voice floats down, readjusts the music books tucked under his arm as he makes a point of sliding out the piano masterclass schedule and setting the single sheet of paper on top of the pile.

Sumaru genie guide