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Chrollo was running late, and it was all Shalnark and Uvogin’s fault.
CEOs can’t be late, just relax, Pakunoda would say, though her eyes often told a different story, fixing him with a stare that’d say, you look like an absolute mess. Shizuku was less kind about it, and would tell him upfront.
Karaoke with Uvogin had never been a good idea, and on weekdays, it was plain self-sabotage. But Shalnark had been pretty convincing in his argument for Chrollo to join them at the bar, and before he’d known it, his vision was a blur, the floor littered with cans of beer because boy, could Uvogin drink.
Two bottles of water and aspirin was never be a good way to start the morning, but Chrollo had done just that. As late as he was, he couldn’t really get to work without getting his usual filthy black coffee from Starbucks. Chrollo was sure he didn’t exactly look the image of down-to-fuck businessman right now, but the flamboyant barista with the teardrop and star tattoos still looked at him like he was a delicacy.
A downright hot mess of a delicacy.
Up ahead, one of the local university’s accommodations loomed just beyond the traffic light that separated Chrollo and the street leading to his building. It was a little past nine o’ clock in the morning, arguably way too early for a boss to be working, and the beginning of a street was lined with groups of college students, some dressed to the nines, some dressed like they’d just got up at nine.
Chrollo was used to navigating his way around the sea of students. To his credit, the two students loudly arguing by the pavement, one blonde and one suited up, hadn’t seemed like they would move from their shouting spot, so Chrollo couldn’t have anticipated the blonde one to step back, ready to deliver a roundhouse kick to the tall man—
—only to bump against Chrollo, whose coffee ended up spilling on both of them.
“Shit,” Chrollo thought, and the girl said.
Luckily, Chrollo had swerved in time so that the coffee only caught onto the sleeve of his blazer and not his white shirt, but the same couldn’t be said for the girl, who was frantically taking her jacket off and attempting to air it. There was a large, wet spot on the back of her windbreaker, and when she cussed a second time, Chrollo couldn’t help but note how… melodious and rich her voice was.
When Chrollo chanced a look, she didn’t look too pleased, but at the very least her frown wasn’t directed at him. She was glaring daggers at her friend — Leorio, Chrollo caught on — and in a few seconds they were already back to bickering like cat and mouse. She was still violently flicking her jacket when Chrollo tapped on her shoulder and asked, “Are you alright, miss?”
The look she directed at Chrollo was one of undeniable fury.
Before Chrollo could ask what was wrong, there was a sharp pain in his nose, and all he saw was stars.
“Please forgive me. I have a terrible hold on my temper at times, which I understand isn’t an excuse, but I really am—”
“Kurapika,” Chrollo said, more to test the way it rolled off his tongue rather than to address the boy. There was still a bit of pain whenever he scrunched up his nose, but it wasn’t any worse than the time Feitan accidentally kicked him in the face and sent him into an hour long coma. “It’s alright. It was my mistake.”
With the degree of exasperation held in Kurapika’s disbelieving gaze, one would think he was still mad at Chrollo for mistaking his gender the first time. “Your mistake?! I bumped into you, spilled your coffee, and punched you in the nose!”
Kurapika was by no means as loud as Leorio, but the words still garnered a few gazes from the other laundromat-goers. Clearing his throat, Chrollo attempted to coax, “Not so loud.”
Awareness settling in, Kurapika tensed up, his cheeks dusting red. Chrollo thought it was a cute sight.
“I-In any case, please at least let me pay for the dry cleaning.”
Chrollo hummed, pretending to give it a thought. “No.”
“What?!” Kurapika snapped, and then curled in on himself when he caught the attention of another stranger.
“Seeing as you refuse to see our mistakes eye to eye, I have an idea for how you can make it up to me,” Chrollo said, taking the tissue off his nose, satisfied when he saw that the bleeding had stopped.
“What is it? I’ll do anything,” Kurapika said, a bit too hastily.
Cute. Chrollo pushed away the little voice in the back of his head that sounded too much like Machi, admonishing his masochistic streak. Gazing up at the boy with a smile, Chrollo suggested, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”