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There are two types of people in this world:
1) People who should really not drink Bokuto Koutarou’s version of Jägerbombs. The principle of the thing, Bokuto had explained to him last night, is that you balance two shot glasses inside the rim and you grab the tequila one, right, and the Jägermeister falls into the— oh, by the way, I’ve added vodka to the Red Bull.
2)
Actually, there is only one type of people in this world. People who should really not drink Bokuto Koutarou’s version of Jägerbombs. That’s it. That’s the one type of people that exists in this world. The only one.
As he calculates the energy he’ll need to pick his wounded body and soul up from the carnage of Bokuto’s party, Kei politely ignores the fact that he was the one who had asked to try the drink, if only in disdain for all these alcoholic circus tricks. The fact that it didn’t work out in his favour is not his fault and he will not take the blame for it.
His somehow-intact watch tells him that that pseudo-French bakery close to campus must have opened. Normally, he wouldn’t even consider going to Le Petit Whatever, but at six in the morning with the melancholy knowledge that he has neither food in his fridge nor energy for the grocery, he’s left with little other choice.
It is thus that, with the determination of a sad, world-weary, hungover protagonist, Kei lifts his ass off its Doritos pack seatcushion to hit up Le Petit Something or the Other for a bit of coffee and pancakes.
However, he’d forgotten that there is only one type of people in the world: people who should really not drink Bokuto Koutarou’s version of Jägerbombs. His legs give out immediately, and with defeated grace he falls back onto the couch. The Doritos crunch in protest.
This is going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.
●●●
His quiet (albeit cynical) firmness of purpose being one of the most prominent facets of his personality, Kei finds in himself the courage to start over.
The working city would usually be unbearable, but one of the perks of living on a campus is the relative peace. Everyone’s too busy lamenting the fact that they’re up at six in the morning to make a lot of noise, and he’s got his headphones. Kei appreciates them greatly; he’s got a spectacular headache and also needs to catch some sleep before he starts with his accounts notes. Who knew he’d start revision break this way? (Well, actually, Yamaguchi did. He tried to warn Kei against going to the party. Multiple times. But that’s secondary.)
He’s glad that he doesn’t have to worry about things such as his appearance, at least. Rocking the hangover shades is Kageyama’s thing, not his, but desperate times call for desperate measures. That’s why he’s going to Le Petit Thingie at six in the—
The honking, swerving and jumping-out-of-the-way happens in succession quick enough that Kei is confused as to why he’s still on his original side of the road with his heart losing its collective cardiac shit in his chest. In his mind rings the echo of a fleeting I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE KILLED BY A CHERRY RED PRIUS. Plus, it would break his headphones. His headphones, the keepers of peace.
After calming down a bit, he reflects. Taking a typical bad day, especially in the company of the likes of Kageyama and Hinata, Kei would not mind colliding with automobiles moving at very high speeds. In general, he would say that the number of days on which he would not be inclined to collide with automobiles moving at very high speeds averages out to only five a month. As it turns out, this, in spite of his hangover, is one of those five days. He can’t die right before midterms; if he dies he won’t be able to top statistics class and if he won’t top statistics class...well, there isn’t much other purpose to life. Not topping statistics class because of being killed by a cherry red Prius would bring him to a moment where he would actually want to be killed by a cherry red Prius. Which is not right now.
Anyway.
That car, obnoxious in both its size and colour, should not be in the possession of a student. With what said student almost did with the car, Kei concludes that nothing should be in the possession of said student. He turns to glare at the offending object, only to find that it’s almost out of his sight already.
Asshole.
●●●
Le Petit Shit, when he finally steps into it, is just as disgusting and cute as he’d expected. There’s a girl with a bob behind the counter, a couple of other unfortunate students sitting with laptops and headphones, even an old gentleman with a newspaper. What he’s most grateful for (apart from the nifty easy-order machines that’ll minimise contact with stupidity) is that they seem to understand the needs of the hung-over. It’s dim and quiet and precisely what he needs, after being subjected to the trauma that is Near Death by Cherry Red Prius, not to mention last night’s special of Nishinoya Yuu and Tanaka Ryunosuke Meet Skittles Vodka. (He holds genuine sympathy in his heart for Asahi from third-year marketing. There is only so much screaming that a man like him can take.)
Using the remainder of his strength to collapse into a booth after placing his order, he almost immediately curls up on the sofa like he used to as a child, when Akiteru would take him out for happy meals on Saturday nights and his energy would peter out after ten. (Back when Akiteru and Kei were actually on happy meals terms, of course.) It’s surprisingly comfortable, more so than Bokuto’s stupid couch, anyway. Bokuto’s stupid couch...stupid couch...stupid Bokuto and his Jägerbombs. There’s someone singing loudly in the kitchen.
The next thing he registers is the touch of fingertips on his temples; gentle.
‘...your eyes out. Not that it wouldn’t be fun to watch, but cleaning the leather would be a pain. Dude.’
‘Ghhgrzph,’ Kei says. ‘What.’
‘Wake up, man, I’ve got your order.’
The voice, he notes as he yawns and raises himself, is...it makes up a little for the past twelve hours. Deep, smooth. The face, as it comes into blurred view, makes up a lot more for the past twelve hours. Strong jaw, wild black hair, falling into slanted, sharp eyes. There exists some benevolence, then. God saying sorry for the cherry red Prius.
It’s then that he realises that he can’t see all that well, and his hands go up to his eyes. ‘My...’
‘Yeah, just took them off man, here,’ and the boy puts them back on Kei’s nose. He takes a moment to get over the indignation of someone just taking his glasses off and then squints up at the Boy.
Wow. Much better. Worse. Something. And he’s grinning. It’s terrible. Kei clears his throat and pulls his headphones off from around his neck, sets them aside.
‘You okay? I didn’t want your pancakes to get cold, and I’ve already been sitting here—’ —Boy gestures around himself; he’s perched on the edge of Kei’s table— ‘—for like two minutes.’
‘Why’d you take my glasses off?’
He leans in, widening his eyes. Kei leans back. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but honestly, I have this fear that if someone sleeps with their glasses on, they’ll turn over, like, violently and break the lenses and then the lenses will poke into their eyes and blind them and there’ll be blood everywhere—’
‘Okay, okay—’ Kei does not need this right now.
‘And it would be cool but I’d get killed if I let that sorta shit stain the couch because I was already late today, so I figured I’d better take them off.’
‘Thank you. I guess.’
‘Always glad to help the kids,’ Boy says. ‘So. Pancakes with honey and chocolate syrup, blackberry muffin, and an Americano?’
All at once, Kei feels his (absolutely ice cold) heart sink. Blackberry muffin. ‘I ordered raspberry.’
Boy frowns. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Kei says, and to his alarm, he feels like if provoked enough on this matter, his mind could consider commanding his eyes to tear up. ‘I hate blackberries. I can’t stand them. I ordered a raspberry muffin, and even if I hadn’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t order a blackberry muffin.’
‘Easy with the italics,’ Boy laughs. ‘Sorry for the mix-up, I’ll get you your raspberry muffin—’
‘Never mind,’ Kei says, and to more alarm, cannot stop himself from adding, ‘life is futile anyway.’
At that, Boy stops laughing and smiles, looks down at Kei from his spot on the table in a way that makes Kei want to cover his face. ‘Ah, one of those mornings?’
One of those mornings, yeah. He wishes he could dismiss this guy with his smirk and voice and hair. Actually, he wishes that he wanted to dismiss this guy. Instead, he nods and leans back further in his seat, closes his eyes. ‘Long night.’
‘I can imagine.’ Kei waits for a kind follow-up. ‘Well, you know what solves everything?’
‘What?’ A beautiful sunrise. A long hug (yeesh). True love. Alcohol. Shimizu’s lasagna. Death by cherry red Prius.
‘A good rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.’
Kei really hopes he’s joking. ‘I really hope you’re—’
‘IS THIS THE REAL LIFE?’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘IS THIS JUST FANTASY?’
‘I have a migraine, I’m hungover, this is a bakery, it’s six thirty—’
‘CAUGHT IN A LANDSLIDE,’ Boy hollers solemnly, his hand on his pastel-pink-clad chest, the other one spreading out and the rest of the patrons sitting calmly as if this is an everyday occurrence, and more importantly, as if this human can actually sing. ‘NO ESCAPE FROM REALITY.’
‘I’M JUST GOING TO TAKE TO CAMPUS, THANKS,’ Kei says, knocking his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to get out of the booth. ‘I HAVE THINGS TO DO.’
‘I NEED NO SYMPA— you live on campus? I’ll drop you off!’
‘THAT’S NOT NECESSARY AT ALL.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss,’ Boy says, his eyebrows taking on this utterly irksome slope. ‘I won’t murder you. Also, eat your pancakes here, I’ll stop singing.’
‘You have a shift,’ Kei tries valiantly, but Boy has stopped “singing” and a ride home sounds awfully tempting. After his pancakes, that is.
‘Not a problem. Eat up while I sort some shit out, let me know when you’re ready to go.’
On a normal day Kei wouldn't accept a ride from a stranger (especially after what happened earlier) but today he’ll make an exception, since he doubts things can get much worse than the aftermath of a party coupled with murderous red cars and a Japanese Freddie Mercury. It can only get better from here, right? And Japanese Freddie Mercury, while being pretty annoying, isn’t too hard on the eyes.
With these feeble platitudes, Kei finishes his pancakes and grabs his coffee. Freddie turns in his apron with a be back in fifteen (which, he’s sure that isn’t quite enough) at around the same time and accompanies him outside the door.
‘Wait here,’ he says. ‘I’ll get my car.’
As he waits, Kei thinks about all the miserable amounts of work he has to do. Converting his shorthand to revision material, go over the notes he’s borrowed from Kindaichi, waive off yet another (anticipated) desperate text from Bokuto about some photoshoot he wants to do next week (Kei does not do photoshoots. Ever.) and the worst, laundry. He’s glad that at least this day seems to be picking up—
Turns out, when he thought earlier that Freddie’s visage was God saying sorry for the cherry red Prius, he was severely, severely mistaken, to a Shakespearean degree. It wasn’t God saying sorry for the cherry red Prius.
It was God saying sorry, HERE’S a cherry red Prius.
●●●
How Tommy Vercetti here convinced Kei to step foot into his abominable transport machine is beyond him, but he finds himself sitting in the passenger seat anyway as the asshole laughs. Loudly.
‘So it was you!’
‘It’s not funny,’ Kei hisses. ‘You almost ran me over with your car.’
‘Sorry, man,’ Vercetti says, still laughing, as he inserts the keys into the ignition. ‘Told you, I was getting late.’
‘I shouldn’t even be sitting here right now. I should just walk. I hate my entire life.’
‘Hey, come on.’ Kei turns to look at him because that sounded serious. ‘Life is not that bad, all right?’
‘Well, certainly not for you, you own a huge car and also do not own a conscience, so you can freely drive said huge car over—’
‘Okay, list three good things about life. Right off the top of your head.’
‘Swedish House Mafia, eggs, and the inevitability of death,’ Kei answers promptly.
Vercetti barks out another laugh. ‘You’re a gem,’ he says, shaking his head, and Kei wants to cover his face again. ‘That last one could use improvement, though.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Kei says as the car rumbles to a start. ‘The only positive thing about my life is that I will die one day. Like, death is coming for us all. It’s comforting.’
‘How is your life so bad? You seem like you’re in control.’
‘It’s seven in the morning and I’m hungover, sitting in a stranger’s car, the very car that nearly killed me on the way to a bakery where I did not get the muffin I ordered. Does it look like I’m in control?’
As if on cue, his phone buzzes and he knows who it is.
Bokuto [06:56]
MORNIN SUNSHINE
Me [06:56]
No.
Bokuto [06:56]
U FEELIN THE JAGERBOMBS YET
As he taps send, Vercetti gets into gear and immediately proves that his new nickname is absolutely accurate. For someone so grateful for the concept of death, Kei lets out quite an undignified noise, gripping his seatbelt as Vercetti simply propels the car backward, forward, then to the left onto the main road. Kei can understand why he said back in fifteen now; fifteen minutes is all it will take for him to die of a heart attack and for Vercetti to dispose of his body in some trash can somewhere and return to duty.
‘YOU COULD SLOW DOWN A BIT, MAYBE.’
‘What’s the fun in that?’ Vercetti says. ‘Now, about that Bohemian Rhapsody cover.’
And so, there are many things Tsukishima Kei has faced in his life, but listening to a real life Grand Theft Auto protagonist howl Queen’s greatest hit while driving at the speed of Kill Everything at seven in the morning after drinking Bokuto Koutarou’s version of Jägerbombs...this, this is not something he has faced before in life.
Bokuto [07:01]
will u do my shoot
Me [07:02]
No
Bokuto [07:02]
pls
Me [07:04]
No
Bokuto [07:04]
i lov u kei
Me [07:04]
Goodbye
‘So, which block did you say again?’
‘C,’ Kei wheezes. ‘ARE YOU THE DEVIL?’
‘Here we are! Oh, hey, I have a friend in the same block. I’m all the way in G.’
Bokuto [07:06]
its gonna b a rlly cool shoot
Bokuto [07:06]
pls kei
Bokuto [07:06]
ull look so cool with the other kid i have in mind
Bokuto [07:06]
kei pls ill giv u anything
Me [07:07]
There is no way in hell.
‘Thank you, I guess,’ Kei says as he removes his seatbelt. ‘For not killing me. Twice.’
‘Always glad to help the kids,’ Vercetti says again. ‘Will you come around the bakery again?’
And in spite of the insane ride and his terrible morning and his hangover, in the moments after Vercetti’s soft question and smile, Kei finds himself clearing his throat and shrugging and wanting to cover his face again. ‘If I get my raspberry muffin next time.’
‘Deal,’ Vercetti grins, and Kei steps out and closes the door. ‘By the way, I’m Kuroo. Nice to meet you.’
‘Tsukishima.’ Kuroo.
‘Hey, Tsukishima!’ Kuroo starts up the car and gets yet another smile on his lips. ‘I saw you like Dr. Dre?’
Kei automatically smiles. ‘Yep.’
‘Shame,’ Kuroo says, and to Kei’s abject horror, lifts up the very headphones from beside himself, smiling even wider. ‘You forgot these at the bakery. Au revoir.’
‘GIVE THOSE TO ME—’
‘Next time you come over!’ With that, Kuroo winks at him, sets his car back into gear, and drives off, leaving Kei in the literal dust, gaping and broken.
Never has he come to loathe a human being so very much in such a short timespan. This is exceptional.
Bokuto [07:10]
hey
Bokuto [07:10]
tsukishima
Me [07:10]
I’M NOT DOING YOUR SHOOT, DO NOT TRY ME RIGHT NOW, SOME ASSHOLE JUST MADE OFF WITH MY BEATS.
Bokuto [07:10]
ik ur not doing my shoot
Bokuto [07:10]
just wanted to tell u
Bokuto [07:10]
last night u repeated the chorus of “bubble butt” for 3 minutes and 47 seconds
Bokuto [07:10]
i mean itd suck if that video got out
Me [07:15]
What do you want from me.
Bokuto [07:15]
shoot
Me [07:15]
You will burn in hell with your Jägerbombs and the asshole who just stole my headphones.
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, Kei thinks, for me, for me, and rolls his eyes and starts to climb the stairs.