Chapter Text
You plonk a black coffee on Kuroo’s desk, shooting him a wink.
He looks awful. Skin a tad more pallid than normal, dark bags under his eyes, hair even messier than usual. You’re almost ready to believe he’d gone on a bender last night, but you know he’s much too dedicated to his work to do something like that on a Tuesday.
He smiles at you, his chin balanced in one of his hands. You glance at the time in the corner of his computer screen. 8:30 AM. You’re not late.
“Thanks,” he nods before taking a sip of his coffee. He scrunches up his nose for a moment, but he manages to swallow it all down. When he’d told you he didn’t actually like black coffee, you’d asked him why he bothered drinking it. He’d told you that the caffeine kick was like nothing else, and he needed it to get through the day.
That was the moment you’d realised that Kuroo Tetsurou was, in fact, a loser.
“You look exhausted,” you observe, looking him up and down. Kuroo usually looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, but you’d just assumed that was a purposeful choice.
“Ouch,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Oh, I’m not being rude,” you dither at him. “I’m concerned.”
“No need to be,” he yawns, scrunching up his nose. “I was just on Kenma’s stream last night.”
You snort. “What, that friend of yours that plays video games for a living?”
Kuroo grins. “That’s the one.”
“How late did you stay up?”
“Oh… like 2 AM,” he shrugs. “That was nothing back in uni, but these days…”
You laugh, shaking your head. What you wouldn’t give for a taste of that youthful neglect for one’s wellbeing. You’re not quite sure when your transition to ‘responsible adult who gets paid a living wage (barely) and who (usually) turns in before 11 PM’ happened, but there’s no going back now.
“Are you hoping to leave this life behind?” You tease, tilting your head at him. “Hoping to become Youtube famous?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he grins. “I’ll earn millions at the height of my career, only to have a humiliating fall from grace when people find out I’m not a very nice person.”
“That’s tragic,” you giggle, turning back to your computer. “Make sure you go out in a blaze of glory for me, okay?”
“Oh, I intend to,” he nods, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “And don’t you worry, I’ll make myself a very lucrative merch line designed to exploit my followers for all their worth.”
His work phone starts ringing with a vengeance.
Kuroo shoots you a dithering look. You just mouth ‘good luck’ as he picks up the offending object.
“Japan Volleyball Association, sports promotion division,” Kuroo stifles a yawn as he holds the phone to his ear. “How may I help you today?”
You bite your lip as you watch him. He’s nodding and humming – typical fare for a phone call.
“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that sir?” He says with a frown.
He catches your eye, and you take the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him. A grin spreads across his face slowly as he shakes his head.
You tilt your head to the side, wondering what this specific interlocutor was after.
Kuroo gives you that look; the one that said the person on the other end of this phone line was bonkers.
“Forgive me for being so bold, sir, but are you asking me if we’d accept a large sum of money to remove a competitor’s logo from our advertisements?”
You raised your eyebrows at him. That’s certainly a new one.
Kuroo clears his throat. “No, no, sir, I’m not accusing you of anything.”
You can hear some chatter from the other end of the phone, but none of it’s legible.
They go back and forth for a while as you sip your drink, watching as Kuroo’s patience wears ludicrously thin. That late night must be really getting to him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll have to refer you to someone higher up,” Kuroo sighs, two fingers massaging his temple. “I’m in no position to deal with this in a way you would find acceptable.”
At that, he presses a button on the phone’s interface, officially making this customer ‘not his problem.’
“What was that?” You ask, leaning towards him.
Kuroo rolls his eyes, stretching over the back of his chair. “I don’t know. It’s too early for this…”
You reach over to pat his shoulder. “There, there.”
He chuckles. “It’s only, what? Just past 8:30? I didn’t think I’d get an asshole so early.”
“Maybe god hates you.”
“His loss.”
You laugh, opening your mouth to respond.
Your own work phone rings. Your mood significantly drops.
Kuroo winks at you. “Into the fray.”
You sigh, picking it up. “Japan Volleyball Association, sports promotion division. How may I help you?”
Answering calls, bargaining with sponsors, checking statistics … they may not have been the most exciting of activities, but they were part of a day’s work. It’s not exactly where you saw yourself ending up after university, but you aren’t going to snub your nose at your chance for a steady income.
Sharing a cubicle with Kuroo, at least, made things a bit more bearable.
In fact, he’d helped you settle in. On your very first day, when you were gripped with nerves and doubt, Kuroo had plonked a green tea on your desk with a warm smile. That had become a little bit of a habit, with whoever was slated to get to work last turning up with caffeine for two.
Frankly, he’d terrified you a bit, at first; you feel bad about it now, but when someone was that tall and that… intimidating, you couldn’t help it.
But, he’d disarmed you quite quickly, and willingly offered himself up as your port of call in this new tempest of a workplace. And for that, you would always be grateful to him.
You check the time. 11:15 AM. You turn to your cubicle mate, tapping him on the shoulder.
He looks over at you, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m going to go get lunch. Did you want anything?”
Kuroo spins around in his chair, standing up to full height. You often forgot just how tall he was, the bastard. “I’ll come with you, if you’d like.”
“Uh… sure.”
He tells you about the stream on the short walk to the boba shop, which is just tucked around the corner. Apparently, his friend had managed to raise the equivalent of twenty-one million yen.
“My charm and good lucks account for at least a third of those millions,” he assured you.
You didn’t quite believe that. You had a feeling that it had more to do with that Black Jackals player Kenma was purportedly close to.
Kuroo sighs as he holds the door of the boba shop open for you, ushering you inside. “Ladies first.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, ducking under his arm and into the crowded little store. The cold isn’t enough to drive off the large throng of customers. If anything, it looked more busy than usual. But, more and more people seem to flow through Tokyo as the year’s end draws closer.
The two of you stand in line, huddled just inside the warmth of the boba shop at the end of a long line.
“So,” Kuroo swallows, his gaze particularly interested in the ceiling. “I have… a favour, to ask.”
“I’m not covering shifts for you.”
“Not that,” he shakes his head, digging his hands deep in his pockets. “It’s, uh… it’s a bit more personal.”
You look up at him, blinking. “You sound like you’re asking me to help you commit a murder.”
“Not quite.”
“Not quite?!”
“I just mean that I’m asking you to do something that’s a little morally bankrupt.” He still hasn’t looked directly at you yet.
“Kuroo, you’re going to give me a panic attack.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he shakes his head again. He looks like he’s about to ask you something quite serious; frightening, even. You’re not used to seeing such a solemn look on his face. It scares you.
He takes a deep breath. “Can you pretend to be my girlfriend for the next month or so?”
It takes a moment for the question to properly click in your mind.
“I’m sorry, what?”