Work Text:
*pssst click here to read 'but not for me' first if you haven't already*
*pssst open this in a new tab to listen to 'someday my prince will come'*
It’s safe to say that a part of his brain has been completely ruined at this point.
It’s fine for the six other days of the week, but for some reason on this quiet Saturday night, all he can see in his head is his face. His face. The vocalist’s. Kuroo Tetsurou, other aliases being The Annoying-As-All-Hell Cat and the Most Irritating Man Alive. He’s been having trouble deciding between the two, so he decides that both are accurate enough.
Still, as he rolls around in bed with a mild fever and chapped lips, he wonders if he should have gone to work tonight after all.
It’s been a week since The Incident happened at the bar, and technically his body is okay with walking around and such, but a weird part of his mind jumped onto the bandwagon of excuses the moment he realized he may have caught something. And before he knew it he was ringing up Yamaguchi to cover his shift for him even though he works on weekdays and sometimes Sundays. He’s going to have to make it up to him, he’s well aware of that, especially since Yamaguchi had hurriedly replied with a “Y-Yeah, sure! Get well soon, Tsukki!” and hung up to get ready without a single complaint.
But all of this just to avoid seeing Kuroo Tetsurou? The vocalist? The Annoying-As-All-Hell Cat and Most Irritating Man Alive?
Tsukishima rolls onto his stomach and buries his face into his pillow with a frustrated groan. This is so unlike him. The fever’s ruining him. When the reality sinks in it nearly drags him down into the floor in a puddle of humiliation. He’s skipping work just so he won’t have to see the man who kissed him and left his phone number on the inside of a decorative umbrella. (He threw it out, of course.)
Feeling his chest and throat start to burn, he reaches over to the bedside table and grabs his phone, wincing at the blinding screen in the dark of the room. There’s about an hour left before Yamaguchi should be able to leave, but he still seriously considers calling him and telling him to go home, that he’ll be on his way to work right now.
Unfortunately, that means seeing the one person he’d rather die than make eye contact with again. The one that he knows- he doesn’t even need to think about it, he knows is performing at the bar again tonight.
And in that moment, he nearly hears that one stupid song he was singing again in his head:
With love to lead the way
I’ve found more clouds of gray
Than any Russian play can guarantee
…Love?
His entire face crinkles in shock and disgust that the word even lingered in his head for over a second, and he groans even louder than before and slams his feet into the mattress. No, no, no, no, no, no way. It’s not like he even has any experience in that department to begin with. So why did the word ‘love’ pop into his mind when he was thinking about what happened last week?
“What the hell…” The blonde-haired barista mutters to himself with a pillow closed over his ears as if to block out his own thoughts. Just thinking about him felt dangerous and he really needs to stop.
He should be going to work. He knows he should. But he just can’t bring his body to move from where it’s warm in his bed. Letting a sigh out of his nose, he reaches behind him for another pillow and hugs it to his chest. Maybe just for tonight it would be okay. Yamaguchi can leave in less than an hour, anyway, and he can cover his shift for him next time, too. Plus if he falls asleep he can finally get that irritating guy out of his head. His breathing slows and begins to even out, feeling his eyelids start to grow heavy again.
Yeah. Just for tonight, it’ll be fine.
With that peaceful sentence floating around, amber eyes close in the dark and wait for sleep to find him.
Of course, until the ringing of his phone next to his pillow makes him jump and nearly go deaf.
Scratching at his curly hair with a yawn, he impatiently reaches for it and squints at the screen as his ringtone goes off. It’s a number with the same area code, but Yamaguchi’s name isn’t displayed at the bottom. It doesn’t look like it’s a telemarketer. A sigh leaves him before he slides the answer button.
“Hello-”
“Yo, Tsukki-!”
The line cuts off in less than a second. Somehow without even thinking he instinctively hung up.
A sense of dread starts to build up in his chest and tighten there, and his features curl into a frown as he stares at the blinking numbers recording the minutes and seconds. The call was exactly two seconds long.
“Shit,” He hisses to himself, curling up and pressing his face into the pillow he’d been holding.
His phone starts ringing again. He doesn’t even need to look at the caller ID to know who it is.
“What do you want, Kuroo-san?” Tsukishima flatly says into the phone. Every cell in his body is irritated now. He wonders if he has some sort of magic trick.
“Nothing much, really. Unfriendly as always, huh?” Even his voice is humiliating to listen to after spending more than five minutes thinking about who it belonged to. “I heard from a certain someone that you weren’t feeling too good tonight, so I thought I’d call and check in. You don’t sound too good. Fever?”
A vein nearly pops out of his forehead. “Yamaguchi gave you my phone number?”
A chuckle resounds on the other end of the line. “Yup.” The way he could almost hear the other’s smile makes him want to hang up again. “He’s a nice kid, y’know. It took a little convincing, but I’m glad you actually got a good friend like that.”
“You say that like you’re surprised I can communicate with other members of the human race.”
He’s met with loud laughter and almost needs to pull the phone away from his ear. “Hey, hey, don’t take it the wrong way, Tsukki. I’m just messin’ with you.”
“Could you please not call me that?” Tsukishima hopes that his frown is audible from where he is. He can hear the clinking of bottles and murmurs of customers chattering in the background; the bar sounds a bit busier than usual tonight. Or at least busier than it was last week.
“Why not? It suits you. Yamaguchi calls you Tsukki all the time, doesn’t he?”
The blonde doesn’t hold back his frustrated sigh into the phone. “We’ve known each other since middle school. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Social little butterfly, aren’t you?”
“Hardly.”
Silence hangs for a moment. The words come out on their own.
“So? Did you actually call out of concern, or are you just trying to infect me even further with second-hand stupidity?”
Kuroo sighs. “You know, Tsukki, you really gotta drop that pessimistic way of thinking. I got a surprise for you, that’s why I called.”
He quirks an eyebrow even though he knows Kuroo can’t see it. “A surprise?”
“Yeah. I’m about to leave the bar in a few minutes and I’m gonna get you something to help you get better since tonight’s show’s over already.”
“I already have medicine here.”
“It’s more on the metaphorical side.”
“Will I bleed?”
More chuckling. “No, you beansprout. Listen. Twenty minutes from now, head out to the front of your apartment and wait for me.”
“Are you serious?” He blinks and involuntarily raises his voice. “I’ve got a fever. Besides, how do you even know where I live?”
“Ah, c’mon, you can’t live that far from the bar. I’ll find ya.”
“That’s creepy.” He doesn’t bother restraining the disgusted tone. “I could have you reported for harassment, Kuroo-san.”
“Just do it, Kei.” Tsukishima’s eye twitches at the nicknames and opens his mouth for a snarky comeback when the line goes dead.
With a heavy sigh, he closes his eyes and hits his phone against his forehead. “Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable.” He whispers to himself twenty-three minutes later as he waits in the chilly night air outside the front doors of his apartment dressed in a baggy hoodie, sweatpants, his breaking Converse he normally would have worn to work, and a blanket over his shoulders. White puffs of breath fan out in front of his nose and mouth, and a flickering street lamp nearby dyes the sidewalk in an orange light.
Tsukishima curls himself inwards, tugging the thick blanket further around his shoulders and burying his mouth into the folds of his hoodie. It seems like it isn’t the fever that’s making his face hot anymore. The winter air almost hurts to breathe in and freezes his throat. And as he stands there in the light of a street lamp, questioning himself and all of his life’s decisions as a few snowflakes start to rain down, he wonders what he’s doing right now.
Kuroo Tetsurou. The vocalist. The Annoying-As-All-Hell Cat. The Most Irritating Man Alive. What is he doing, right now, in this moment of time?
His glasses start to fog up and he lifts his nose from his hoodie to stare at the white fluff beginning to fall. Why is he even here? Why is he doing this? Does it matter? Does any of it? They just met each other at the same bar he worked at part-time. That irritating man doesn’t owe him anything. So why?
His phone rings in his pocket for only a second before it’s up against his ear. “Where are you, Kuroo-san?”
“H-Hold on, I think I’m almost there.” He’s panting heavily, and something’s crinkling like scrunched-up paper. “I’ve been around to almost every apartment near the bar, I’m coming up to one now. You waiting in front?”
There it is again. The weird heat tickling his cheeks. He knows it’s there.
“…Yes.” He mumbles.
“Good,” Kuroo nearly blurts out the word from how breathless he is, and Tsukishima jumps when he hears him gasp. “Oh, is that you? The guy with the weird blanket?”
He curses the way his own heart jumps in anticipation, and he lifts the phone away from his face for a minute to squint at the dark roads in front of him. Sure enough, a strange-looking silhouette is stumbling towards him, and he’s pretty sure that’s not how any serial killer stalks its prey.
Or maybe it is one in the form of Kuroo Tetsurou.
“Ah, I see you!” Kuroo laughs into the phone and hangs up.
“Heyyyyyyyyyyyy, Tsukkiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” The most obnoxious voice he’s ever heard in his life is running towards him at full speed-
With a bouquet of roses and carnations that are lightly covered in snow and half falling apart.
Kuroo doesn’t look that much better himself. His cheeks and ears are red from the cold and his brown scarf is unwinding around his neck. Rapid puffs of white breath stream out from his lips as he runs down the sidewalk, bouquet crinkling as he does so. It’s almost like he forgot completely that he was even carrying flowers to begin with, because petals are dropping all over the place and Tsukishima cringes at the sight. Kuroo is still wearing his typical red tie and dress shirt and pants and a black jacket, but it’s the expectant smirk on his face that really gets to him.
Kei can only wonder how dumbfounded he must look from staring at a man a centimeter taller than him, panting, his clothes a complete mess, and a bouquet of red flowers falling apart in his arms all while standing in the snow at two in the morning.
“Yo.” The vocalist grins a suspicious-looking cat grin. “Sorry for the wait.”
More silence. In a moment like this, there’s only one instinct he knows how to respond with.
He turns around and starts walking. “I’m going home.”
“Hey, hey, hey, wait!” A hand on his shoulder is enough to stop his movement, and Tsukishima knows that Kuroo will definitely notice the red spread across his cheeks and nose. “At least take the flowers. They worked hard to make it this far.”
When he half-turns around and eyes the flowers warily, he can’t stop himself from letting a light snort out of his nose. “What kind of flower shop is open after midnight?”
“I know a guy. Phew.” Kuroo wipes the sweat from his brow while looking extremely proud of himself as he shoves the large bouquet into his arms. “Sorry that they’re a little-”
“Hideous?” The blonde is still smiling; lightly, just lightly, but enough for him to see.
“I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘mildly worn’.” Kuroo slings an arm around Tsukishima, completely ignoring the fact that he’s sick. “But hey, the florist said roses and carnations don’t have exposed pollen or whatever, and they’re good get-well flowers.”
His glasses shine over, and he buries his nose back into his hoodie and blanket while grabbing the bouquet. “…How many horrible romance dramas have you been watching?”
“Enough to win you over.” Kuroo bumps the side of his head against Tsukishima’s, eliciting a grunt that meant ‘don’t push it, asshole’.
“You could have at least bought poinsettias.”
“What, to match the winter mood? But this one had roses. Y'know. The flower of love.”
“You are so unbelievably…”
Smirk. “What? Handsome?”
“Obnoxious.”
“Aw, Tsukki. You know you love me.”
“I do not.” His heart’s going to explode from pure fury, and he tries to shrug off Kuroo from his shoulder.
“Then why’d you wait?”
“Right, I should have let you die of hypothermia.” He deadpans it like he realized that was a better solution and flatly slaps a hand to his forehead. “Silly me.”
“Tch. Sou-r-puss.” The black-haired man nuzzles his hair a little after he enunciates every vowel, and Kei nearly shrugs away from his touch upon remembering what happened last week. “But y’know, I think we can make this whole ‘seeing-each-other-once-a-week’ thing work out. So hurry up and get back to the bar, will ya? It doesn’t feel the same if you’re not there watching me perform.”
Tsukishima points a glare at him. “Like there was even a ‘thing’ to begin with.”
“Not that it matters,” Kuroo hums, drumming a few fingers on his shoulder. “’Sides, even if you don’t love me now-”
He cuts himself off just so he can circle around him and press a kiss onto Tsukishima’s lips, still keeping an arm around him to play with the hair at the back of his neck. His fingers are cold, and Tsukishima’s entire body freezes up immediately.
Yet, somehow, he was expecting it. Not just the kiss, but the scent of a spicy-smelling cologne and alcohol.
When he’s finally satisfied with kissing the blonde until he’s red in the face, he leans back with a grin as if to admire his handiwork just to continue where he left off:
“I’m sure that’ll change soon.”
Tsukishima’s lips are still trembling, along with his fingers. Why? He should have known that he was going to pull a move like that again, but why was he still shaking? Why didn’t he move away? Was it that no matter how many times he’d kiss him, he’d have the same reaction?
“You fucking-”
“Whooooo, was that a swear just now? Out of the mouth of the ever-articulate Kei-kun?”
“I’m going home. Take your flowers back so they can die in peace.”
“Aw, that’s heartless, Tsukki! And after I came all the way here just to deliver them to you, that’s how you repay your senpai?”
“You’re only two years older than me, don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“By the way, what’d you do with my number, anyway?”
“I burned it.”
“C’mon, you’re awful!”
“Says the one who assaulted me last week.”
And as he stomps back into the building with red cheeks and his laces undone, there’s only one thought, one person in his mind.
Kuroo Tetsurou. The vocalist. The Annoying-As-All-Hell Cat. The Most Irritating Man Alive. The one who kissed him twice.
Someday his prince will come, but it better not be him.