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The neon sign reflected against the puddles of water that splayed out across the sidewalk. It flickered, died for a brief moment, and then Kenma heard the loud crash and swearing that followed its death. For a moment, he continued to stare, blinking slowly at the shop.
Dingy. That was the first word that came to mind. Frankly, the lack of lighting in the shop itself made Kenma question whether it was really open or not. The only illumination he could see came from the short range that the neon sign had offered. Otherwise, he could barely see anything else, save for the tiny light that emitted from the back of the shop. Fishing a hand into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper given to him by a good friend of his.
"He's terrible," Yaku had said. "But a genius. An absolute pain-in-the-ass genius."
A silhouette lumbered into view, blocking the light from the back room. Darkness and shadows engulfed the entire shop, leaving Kenma to stare into what seemed like a closed building. The figure came into view, a large dark mass that stood in front of the window. It lifted its hands and tinkered with the sign. With a few twists and turns, the neon light flickered back to life.
Green light washed across the mass's head, revealing it not to be some gelatinous, humanoid creature but instead a young man who seemed a tidbit older than Kenma himself. The young man muttered to himself, lips moving rapidly, until he turned and disappeared again into the back of the store.
The whole ordeal was already odd in itself. Kenma read the address on the slight slip of paper and peered up at the old wooden sign tacked into the brick wall. Then he stared down at the piece of paper again.
001 Nekoma St.
The addresses matched up. Taking a deep breath, he shoved the slip back into his back pocket and marched forward. The door was worn, hinges creaking even when Kenma used only a fraction of effort, and the bell above him rang loudly to indicate his presence.
Cluttered. That was the second word that came to mind. In most of the repair shops he'd frequented the past few days, none of them could compare to this forest of wires and parts. A broken television set sat next to the door, screen cracked to reveal an equally broken motherboard.
Ironically, another broken 'Open' sign sat underneath the one the engineer had fixed. However, the one displayed above looped in fine cursive, while the broken one depicted block letters. He stepped forward, sneaker accidentally kicking a screw. It flew up and hit an unseen object. But the collision of metal against metal somehow caused the neon green lights to flicker again.
"Damn it!" The giant figure emerged from the back. "Not again." His appearance was enough for Kenma to take a step back in caution. He was tall—much taller than Kenma had thought, with a head of crazed hair to add to his height. An apron wrapped around his waist, dotted with pockets along the front that jingled whenever he moved. To add to the insanity of it all, the young man supported a large screwdriver in one hand and wide, circular goggles over his eyes.
Kenma shrank back, sliding into the darkness. Maybe Yaku had given him the wrong address. However, Kenma couldn't think of one offensive thing he'd done to him to warrant direction to a serial killer. The young man strode past him, glaring forward as he swore under his breath.
Even his close proximity was enough for Kenma to feel cornered. He watched from the shadow of a large shelf as the young man jabbed his screwdriver into the sign and twisted it. And it flickered back to life. Then he set both of his hands on his hips and nodded in satisfaction.
When he turned to return to the back, he froze, goggles pointed in Kenma's general direction. And then he yelped, wielding the screwdriver over his head as his face twisted in terror. Kenma stumbled backward, back hitting a shelf that'd been shrouded in darkness, and a rain of nuts and bolts came raining down on him.
"Wait! Wait!" he exclaimed, holding his hands over his head. He never thought he'd experience death by mechanical parts. The young man paused in his step, arm still posed over his head and ready to strike at any moment. "I need your help."
At that, the young man halted, freezing in position, and after a bated breath, dropped his arm, clutching his hands and the screwdriver to his chest. He breathed out a relieved sigh, and Kenma rubbed the top of his head, flinching as he carded a hand through his hair. One of the bolts had struck his scalp, and now the skin there felt tender. Luckily, he didn't feel any indication of wetness; otherwise, he'd have to leave for the hospital instead.
"Shit. You scared me," the young man panted. He leaned forward, resting one hand on his knee and supporting the other at his hip. "I thought you were going to kill me for a second."
"Kill you?" Kenma spluttered. "I thought you were going to kill me."
"You're standing in my shop, hiding in the corner. How the hell was I supposed to give you the benefit of the doubt?"
"Benefit of the doubt? You're dressed like you're ready to kill." Kenma sighed, "Never mind that. I need your help."
"So you've said." The young man straightened, hand still over his heart, and nodded weakly, gesturing over toward the back door. They both stared at each other, waiting for the other to move until the young man threw his head back in exasperation and muttered, "Follow me."
There was barely any light; the 'Open' sign did little to illuminate the shop's interior, so he was left to stumble after the young man. Wading through the clutter, he made sure to step in the same places the young man did, lest he accidentally spear his foot with a loose nail.
"Kuroo Tetsurou, by the way. You?" the young man grunted, kicking away a spare piece of equipment. "Damned clutter."
"Kenma," he answered, taking care to slow his pace as to not slam into Kuroo's back. "And maybe clean it?" They reached the doorway, and Kenma felt disheartened that the mess in the back was no better than the one out front. If possible, it was even worse.
Messy. That was the third word that came to mind. Parts were strewn everywhere: under the work benches, throughout the multiple shelves that ran around the room, and across the tables. If there was even one clean spot, Kenma couldn't spot it.
"Clean it, if it bothers you?" he repeated, standing awkwardly at the threshold of the doorway.
Kuroo snorted and motioned for him to enter, then bent over to swipe a cluster of nails from one of his workbenches, ignoring the high pitched clatter they made against the ground. The spot was just big enough for Kenma to sit in.
"Nah. It's clutter, but it's organized clutter. You know, like messy. But in a way that only I get." Kenma definitely understood that. His apartment was in a similar state, though rather than metal surrounding his belongings, he had clothes and books thrown everywhere. "You said you needed help?"
Kenma nodded, shuffling in carefully. He kicked at a nail and watched as it flew into a forest of wires. There was no way he was going to make it around the shop without breaking something. "Yeah, I just need something fixed before next Wednesday."
Kuroo arched a brow and gestured for him to sit. Kenma made sure he wasn't going to pierce his lower body before settling on the bench. "Let's me see it?" Kuroo asked, leaning over the workspace. How he managed not to impale his elbow on anything sharp, Kenma didn't know.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out the device. At first, Kuroo just stared at it, then he snorted loudly, choking a bit before bursting into laughter. His arms wrapped around his abdomen as he tried to contain himself, but his entire upper body shook with force.
Kenma felt his neck and cheeks burn, and he looked away, hanging his head in the hopes that his hair would shield him from Kuroo's amusement. He set the device down, sliding it over the workspace while ignoring the small collisions it made with the metal parts strewn on the table.
Kuroo's laughter was amplified by the small space they were confined to, and it seemed never ending until the engineer spluttered and wheezed, yanking off his goggles. His eyes were glistening with tears, framed by the imprint of the goggles against his face.
Now that there was nothing obscuring his face, Kenma noted that Kuroo couldn't be more than five years older than he was. Maybe even just two. Or one.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to laugh," Kuroo chuckled. He picked up the game console and rotated it around, scanning it for any breaks. "So what's wrong with it?"
"It's dead," Kenma muttered, still unable to look at Kuroo's scrunched up face. The engineer was struggling not to laugh, struggling even more to keep a composed face. "No matter how long I charge it for, it's dead. Not even magic can revive it."
"Well," Kuroo heaved a large sigh, coughing slightly from his round of laughing. "It just sounds like you need a new battery. I don't know if there's much I can do—"
"I put in a new battery in last week, so it can't die that fast—can it?" Kenma reached forward to push at a screwdriver. It rolled over the tabletop, the soft collisions audible between the tabletop and the flat surfaces of the handle. "Please, just—can you look at it? I've had that for years."
Kuroo's expression softened, and he gazed down at the small device. Peering closely, he pursed his lips in thought, eyebrows furrowing. "Do you mind if I pry it open?"
Kenma waved a hand in a 'go on' motion. He kept his eyes low, blinking slowly against the single light that swung above their heads. It was a wonder how Kuroo could get anything done in such dark lighting. He twisted his wrist, cupping a hand in the air, and a faint glow began to emanate from his palm.
Within seconds, he had a small ball of light hovering in his hand. His gaze flickered to Kuroo, who's attention had abandoned the device in favor of the magic he held in his hands. Kenma gently blew on the ball, and it levitated in Kuroo's direction.
"In case you couldn't see," he murmured. The he resumed playing with the screwdriver.
"Thanks," Kuroo said after a moment of hesitation. "You said you couldn't fix it with magic? So I assumed you tried before?"
Kenma nodded. His other hand slid into his pocket to feel the slip of paper slide against his fingers. He didn't seem too much of an ass like Yaku had said. "I tried. But I didn't even know what was wrong in the first place, so what spell was I supposed to cast?" The frustration he'd been trying to contain leaked into his voice.
"Right," Kuroo said. He cupped a hand under the light and lifted it a little higher until it hovered over the game console, then picked up the screwdriver Kenma had been playing with to begin undoing the nails on the back. "I should be able figure out the problem in half an hour—or less. Is that all right?"
Kenma nodded but nearly jumped as something brushed against his legs. He scrambled up and blinked frantically at the black cat that stared back at him.
"Ah, that's—"
"—Bolt," Kenma finished. He crouched down and held out a hand, watching as the cat crept closer and then nudged his knuckles.
"You know him?" Kenma couldn't see Kuroo from his angle, but he could hear the surprise that lined his voice.
"Of course. Yaku was the one who suggested your shop." He flipped his hand and let the cat brush his head against his palm. Black as night, Kenma hadn't seen or heard him slink into the room.
"Yaku," Kuroo scoffed, "What an ass."
At that, Kenma couldn't help the quirk at his lips. It seemed like the pair had a common dislike for one another but also held mutual respect for each other.
"Funny, that's exactly what he said about you," he said. Bolt purred into his hand and pushed forward so that Kenma could stroke his back as well. The cat bumped its head against Kenma's knees in affection. He placed his hands under the cat, resting them on its soft belly. When it didn't protest or move away, he hefted it up onto his lap. Bolt remained on his thighs, and they both watched Kuroo tinker away at the device.
"What, did he call me pain-in-the-ass Kuroo?"
"Sure." It was just a feeling—an inkling—that if he mentioned that Yaku had called Kuroo a genius, the latter would hold it over his friend's head for the rest of their lives. Or in Kenma's case, the rest of his short life.
Because Yaku would murder him in cold blood.
Kuroo scoffed and pried the nails from their spots, lifting the lid to see a mass of wires. He whistled and slid his goggles back on. With a twist of his goggles, Kenma was fascinated to see that there were lens built into their frame.
"Did you make those yourself?" he asked. Bolt tilted his head up at him and then turned to watch the engineer work.
"Yup. Had to find my way around this shitty lighting anyway. Though, your light orb certainly helps."
Innovative. That was the fourth word that came to mind. There was no doubt in his mind that Kuroo was smart. That Yaku was right to call him a genius. The young man was innovative, inventive, and all-around intelligent.
"Anyway, I think you just have a faulty wire. It shouldn't take long to fix, but I'll have to reroute the drive for it to work properly. Now, I could just use any wire and you'll get your console back stat. But if you want it working like new, then I'll have to order some parts online," Kuroo explained. He leaned over the table and prodded the wires with the head of his screwdriver, pushing aside to peer deeper into the device.
"Online?" Kenma didn't think the problem was too severe. "Will it take long?"
Kuroo shrugged and sighed, pulling back to slide the goggles onto his forehead. His bottom lip jutted forward in thought. "It should just take three days for it to get here. But yeah, if you want it good as new, I'll have to scavenge online since they don't make this model anymore. You have model AX3L, meaning it was made five years ago, yeah?" He continued before Kenma could answer. "Well, the model these days is AX3L244, meaning that a lot has changed in five years."
He tore the goggles over his head and handed them over to Kenma. "Look through these." Kenma tilted his head but complied, leaning forward to take the goggles into his hands. Bolt leapt off his thighs and settled on his side, tail swishing left and right as he watched them interact.
He slid them over his head, catching them as they fell. They were a bit loose on him. Kuroo maneuvered over and adjusted the straps.
"Just push down the lever on the side. That'll zoom in. If you push it up, it'll zoom out. Here." Kuroo lifted the console and carefully placed it down in front of him.
Kenma blinked, adjusting his vision to the goggles. It was like peering through someone's new glasses. Everything simultaneously popped and blurred.
He focused his attention onto the crowd of wires and pressed down on the lever. The goggles responded immediately, and the pace of the zoom nearly left him lightheaded. But he managed to see what Kuroo was talking about.
In the mess of wires and cogs, he saw rusty metal and frayed wires. All of them tangled into something that shouldn't have been playable for the past few years. He zoomed out and pulled the goggles from his face to find that Kuroo was much closer than he'd been before, leaning over his shoulder to peer down at the device below.
He smelled like sweat, cologne, and rust.
"It's a mess in there, isn't it?" Kuroo tilted his head down to send a crooked smile his way. "Dunno how it survived for so long, but kudos to you for taking care of it so diligently. I would suggest to just buy the newest model, but I'm guessing you're attached to this one, right?"
Kenma nodded, speechless. Kuroo pushed up and stretched up with a groan, then moved to one of the shelves hidden in the shadows. He rummaged through one of the boxes and pulled out a device—an exact replica of Kenma's, only in red instead of black.
"I'm attached to mine too, but I didn't take good care of it like you did. So I had to order parts throughout the years. But it's running smoothly, so I'm doing something right." He moved back into the light and handed it to Kenma.
The latter, dumbfounded, took it from his hands and inspected it. The device was definitely well-used and tinkered with multiple times. For the first time, Kenma noticed that the back panel was a different color from the outer shell, making it red and black. Interestingly enough, Kenma thought it was the perfect fit for Kuroo.
"Take it."
"What?" Kenma snapped his head up so fast he felt it crick.
"You can borrow that one for now. You want it fixed by next Wednesday cause of the new release, right? Age of Dawn 2? You can take this one to use in case I don't finish working on your console," Kuroo offered.
"I—I can't take this from you," Kenma stammered. He was completely taken off guard. Kuroo's console was obviously of some importance to him, yet he was letting Kenma take care of it for a week. He had no intention of breaking it or messing with it, but who trusted someone enough to do this?
"Psh." Kuroo waved a hand dismissively. "It's only on loan. It's not every day that you find another person who still uses the AX3L model. So from one owner to another," Kuroo leaned forward and cupped a hand to his mouth like he was about to whisper a secret, "I trust you to take care of it like it was your own."
"Thank you," he said and stood, surprising Bolt and shoving his hand into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. "I can pay you now if you have an estimate ready—"
Kuroo shook his head. "I don't take payments beforehand. I'll update you throughout the week, but don't worry. No scams here. Otherwise, Yaku would have cast some sort of murderous charm on me a few weeks ago if I hadn't fixed his TV correctly. If I don't manage to fix it, I don't want to take your money."
"Are you sur—"
"I'm a hundred percent certain. That's my policy." Kuroo slid on his goggles again. "I should have it done before next Wednesday, but just to be sure, I'll let you use mine on loan."
"You don't know me," Kenma said, stuffing his wallet into his pocket. "How can you trust me like that?"
Kuroo snorted. "Because Yaku has mentioned you before and how trustworthy you are. He says you've never failed at deadlines or at performing a spell perfectly, which is hard to say for any government mage, considering the mess most of them have created in this economy." He pointed up. "Can't even afford to use too much electricity since it's too damned expensive."
Kenma let out an audible breath. He mumbled a spell underneath his breath and the orb of light glowed just a little brighter. Kuroo glanced at it and then at Kenma, brow raised in question.
"That's my deposit, or my thanks," Kenma started. "It'll burn for two weeks. Nonstop. So you'll have enough light to work." He sent him a small smile and lifted Kuroo's AX3L model into the air, waving it gently. "Thank you for this. I'll have it back when you call."
He took out the slip of paper with Kuroo's shop address written on and hovered a hand over the slip. With some concentration, he burned his number into the scrap of paper and slid it over to the engineer. Kuroo caught it with ease and stuffed it into his apron pocket.
Kenma tilted his head, and Kuroo reciprocated the motion. Then, he turned and made his way out of the shop, careful not to impale his foot on any loose nails. Just as the bell rang above his head, Kuroo shouted from the back. "Don't tell me any spoilers! I'm gonna play it later than you."
Kenma lifted a hand and waved, a small smile growing on his face. Exiting the shop, he breathed in the rain-saturated air and puffed out his cheeks, exhaling heavily.
Kind. That was the last word to come to mind.
Kuroo Tetsurou was kind.