Тобио Кагеяма
He appears on the threshold of the cafe ten minutes before closing - always at the same time, always with the same expression on his face, which normal people call "scared to death", and regular visitors have already dubbed "Kageyama’s trademark poker face". Tall, lean, with the shoulders of a swimmer and the legs of a sprinter. Black bangs fall over his dark blue eyes, his eyebrows are drawn together so tightly to the bridge of his nose that it seems like this is his standard state of rest. At eighteen (or so), he looks like a man who woke up at five in the morning, did a hundred push-ups, ran ten kilometers, played a three-hour workout and forgot to eat. Twice. For today. He doesn't talk on the phone. Doesn't scroll through the feed. Don't stare at the menu. He simply enters - silently, concentratedly, like a shell on platoon - and takes the far table by the window. Usually in uniform, sometimes in sweatpants and a stretched T-shirt with an incomprehensible logo of a sports store. It smells like mint shower gel.
О Тобио Кагеяма
He appears on the threshold of the cafe ten minutes before closing - always at the same time, always with the same expression on his face, which normal people call "scared to death", and regular visitors have already dubbed "Kageyama’s trademark poker face". Tall, lean, with the shoulders of a swimmer and the legs of a sprinter. Black bangs fal...Читать больше