Work Text:
Today 2:49 AM
guess what fukunaga from nekoma sent me
bokuto
Today 3:19 AM
bobby the nintendo guru
wha
what
it's 3 in the morging
YOU TELL HIM THAT
he sent a j*ff the k*ller pic and now the
image is burned into my mind i see it
whenever i blink
bobby the nintendo guru
PKDINWLDJDIWNKWJ REALLY
ITS NOT FUNNY
bobby the nintendo guru
IM NOT LAUGUING
what does he have against you
I DONT KNOW I DIDNT DO ANYTHING
TO HIM?????????
i hate them nekoma kids
bobby the nintendo guru
i thought you knew better than to open
anything from him after sundown
u never learn do yiu
I GUESS NOT..
bobby the nintendo guru
anyway i thouhgt you liked that kind of
stuff
NOT AT NIGHT
........
......or when im alone
this one i completely hate entirely
bobby the nintendo guru
AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
WWWWWWWW
don't aw me i will snap your arm
like a twig
bobby the nintendo guru
that is so cute of you
NO ITS NOT I CANT STOP SEEING THE
IMAGE ITS LITEERALLY BURNED INTO
MY VISION
im so upset by you finding this endearing
i demand you make it up to me
bobby the nintendo guru
how
by coming over
right now
i dont care that its 3 in the morning
come over right now
bobby the nintendo guru
I DONT CARE EITHER YOUR WISH IS MY
COMMAND
don't worry [y/n]
𝖎 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚
on second thought don't come
bobby the nintendo guru
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
im already putting on my jacket
leave your window unlocked
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i l*ve you
bobby the nintendo guru
I LOVE YOU TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Your instinct is to make a sour face at the last message he sent, even if Bokuto can't see it, which he usually does, and you do. Really, it's your own special way of dealing with moments like this one, moments that make your face burn uncomfortably. You'll often scowl right at him like you'd just sniffed a carton of milk that's gone bad, but Bokuto always seems fine with it, even going so far as to find it endearing — something about opposites attracting, or whatever he called it.
You wrestle out of the heavy blanket that you adamantly attribute your earlier hot face to and you balance on your knees, reaching for the window to unlock it.
Anxiously you wait after having nestled yourself back into your corner, occupying yourself with the pesky hangnails you've been meaning to rip with some YouTube video serving as background noise. After what feels like an eternity, but was probably only ten minutes, you can hear the not-so-discreet sound of slippers slapping against the broken concrete down your street, which could only mean this guy was sprinting to your house at three in the morning. As it gets closer, the sound is replaced by crunching grass, then the scratching up the wall of your house and muffled grunting.
You snap your head around when you hear a grating noise, then your window sliding open, and you see the owlish face of your companion illuminated by the moonlight as he pushes your curtain aside, the screen of your window in hand. He tries really hard not to make noise as he swings one leg in, but his other foot catches against your window sill and he ends up tumbling to the ground.
"Shit!" you hiss, ripping your earbuds out and listening carefully for any sound that might indicate that your parents had been disturbed from their sleep due to all the commotion. You wait a second until you're sure that all you're hearing is the blood pounding in your ears and Bokuto groaning in pain on the floor.
"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," he says, hoisting himself up with a grimace. You ignore his mildly sarcastic remark, knowing he'd get over it quickly, as you're more concerned with getting into trouble for having him here so late/early. Then you shift your attention to the object in his hand and you scowl your infamous scowl.
"Man, put my screen back, what the hell?"
"I will, I will..." Bokuto reassures, though it's not very reassuring when he sighs almost defeatedly, "as soon as I can figure out how to put it back..."
You scoff, dropping back into the comfort of your bed. You'd never admit to being glad, relieved even, now that Bokuto is here, the ambient sound of him humming in confusion as he fumbles with the screen, trying to fit it back into its place, filling the room. It certainly beats some unfunny YouTube video in your opinion, but you'd never say it out loud.
Eventually, Bokuto pops the screen back in — you're impressed that he'd even manage to figure it out at all — and leaves the window opened just a crack to let the cool night air in. He shrugs his jacket off and kicks his slippers away, at which you frown, before hopping into your bed with you, at which you frown even deeper. He shifts around rather annoyingly, trying to get comfortable, like a dog circling his bed about fifty times before settling down. Not that he's a dog.
"Stop moving, idiot," you grunt, shoving him towards the edge of your bed, a wordless threat. Quite frankly you wouldn't mind pushing him off and to the ground again for a bit of mild, short-lived entertainment.
"I'm gonna fall!"
"I'm literally trying to make that happen."
It takes no effort for Bokuto to resist your pushing. He turns around and envelops you in his big, beefy arms, eliciting the sound of a strangled cat from you. He pulls you against his body, pressing your face into his big, beefy chest, and wrapping his leg around yours to keep you from kicking like a child throwing a tantrum. You struggle only for a second before giving in, silently appreciating his purpose as your personal heat pack.
"Get off me," you grumble.
"You love it. You're just emotionally constipated. 𝕷𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚."
"How did you—?"
"Don't worry about it. Now shh, sleep." Bokuto forcefully presses your head against your pillow, kind of like a toddler would with a dog trying to get it to sleep. Not that you're a dog. Your face contorts in some sort of frustration, and you fight to push his hand away from your head.
"No, I wasn't gonna sleep. I just wanted you to be my guard-dog while I watch stuff on YouTube. Oh, also," this time when you struggle in his embrace, he lets go, and you search around for the phone that got lost in your sheets while Bokuto was trying to get comfortable, "here, open Fukunaga's messages and delete the picture please."
Bokuto takes your phone and navigates to the messages, scrolled up to some earlier texts — your attempt at fleeing from the image, he assumes. He finds it, looking at it for a second, saying "Oh, this thing," before deleting it per your request.
"Thanks. Okay, now just be background noise for me," you say, laying back down in his arms when he offers them to you without resistance, not at all to his surprise as this is usually how interactions with you ended. You shove one hand under his body to warm your cold fingers, another one of your odd habits he's used to, and use your other hand to hold your phone. He knows you'll switch hands in about five minutes or so.
"Fine by me," he says with a yawn. And then he passes out.