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The number of shits Ookurikara gives about anything, in general, is zero. For that, he’s been called an asshole, a loner, a delinquent, and once, by an annoying white-haired brat who transcends all levels of irritating, a tsundere. Ookurikara doesn’t give a flying fuck.
So when this hideously hot guy rushes into the repair shop he’s part-timing at, Ookurikara shouldn’t be giving a damn about why the guy’s wearing an eyepatch or why his hair’s blue or—
Okay, why the hell is he wearing a blazer at 11:24 in the middle of summer and Jesus how could he still look like he’s VOGUE’s cover page with all that sweat. Just. God.
Ookurikara scowls, partly because his thoughts need to shut up, partly because Eyepatch is panting and huffing yet doing it in a way that’s charming — charming, what the fuck — and Ookurikara’s eyes haven’t seen sleep in 38 hours and for them to experience so much dazzle right now is not necessary.
“Hi,” Necktie says, running a hand through his hair, and Ookurikara deeply regrets not wearing sunglasses today. This is too much kira fucking kira.
“Ghugnnk,” is the most coherent response Ookurikara can muster when his head feels like it’s being slammed into by an icecream truck repeatedly. Also, it’s too early for him to be dealing with dumb faced shits who think that they know all about motherboards and graphic drivers and The Pirate Bay. Despite how good said dumb faced shits look. Not that this particular dumb faced shit looks good or anything.
Eyepatch laughs, with that godforsaken voice which Ookurikara’s godforsaken brain decides to link with godforsaken honey, and scratches the back of his head, saying, “I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ve got a meeting in a few hours, and I kind of need to show this big company my presentation and it’s on this laptop and I think it has a virus? It was fine yesterday but um, could you check it out? My usual guy seems to be out today.”
What the hell. What is this voice. What are those lips. Ookurikara wants to throw up. That smile is making him giddy.
He sits down abruptly, he’s not sure when he stood up in the first place. His fucks should be ungiven. But what is this man. What is this feeling. He hates it. “Show.”
Four seconds pass and Necktie hasn’t taken out his laptop yet and Ookurikara’s not sure if he’s managed to beat his personal record of the most number of consecutive days of pissing people off or if Eyepatch needed a goddamn written invitation.
He glances up at Blue Hair and sees him looking down at his iPhone, furiously tapping the device with his thumbs. You do not walk into Ookurikara’s repair shop and furiously tap your mobile with your thumbs while ignoring Ookurikara. Even though Ookurikara’s just a part-timer who works here three days a week and, well, Necktie looks regal as fuck while texting, he won’t have it.
“Do I need to translate that into Hindi for you?”
Blazer looks up, and wait. Is that— is that awe? “You know Hindi?”
“No.” No one fucking knows Hindi. Someone make him stop looking at Ookurikara with those eyes. That eye?
He laughs sheepishly, and scratches a cheek, saying, “I’m sorry, I get distracted easily.”
Ookurikara snorts before he can stop himself. Yellow Eyes doesn’t seem to notice. Pulling his laptop — a shitty and scratched up HP laptop that probably weighs around 800 kilos — out of the bag he was carrying, he says, “So I might have just under an hour to reach the office. Uh, can you somehow fix this before that?”
The nerve. Ookurikara raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond. He turns the HP laptop which definitely weighs around 800 kilos towards him and spends but a second to admire how stupid it looks and opens it. It starts up normally and the password screen pops up. He shouldn’t have looked but he already has, and Eyepatch, seriously, Jesus, who even keeps a penguin as their profile image. That’s so cute. Not. No. He wordlessly turns the laptop to Necktie. “Password.”
“Oh, uh, you can type it out. It’s—“
“I don’t want—“
“—Penguin.”
“—to know.” He pauses. “That’s the worst password ever.”
Blue Hair laughs as Ookurikara turns the laptop back to himself and scowls at the penguin staring at him. “Is it in lowercase?”
“Capital P, rest are small, yep.”
Yep, he says, Ookurikara’s heart’s been hammering in his chest and he’s so done with this guy. He’s going to kick him out anytime now except, well, the laptop’s on and what the fuck.
Cats.
Cats, everywhere.
Everywhere.
The icons are images of cats. The desktop wallpaper is a photo of cats. Everything on the taskbar? Cats. Ookurikara double-clicks a folder to see if the cats appeared even there, and that’s when he sees a flash of boobs and hears moaning.
Moaning. From the god damn laptop.
He shuts the lid and looks up at Blazer who’s eyeing Ookurikara expectantly. The expectation turns mildly fearful when Ookurikara glares at him. “What kind of porn have you been watching?”
Eyepatch blushes and Ookurikara’s furious. Alright, he could have asked that with a little more tact but who gave this guy the right to blush in a manner so horrifyingly...cute.
Ookurikara is shamefully going to wear Doutanuki’s helmet for the rest of his life.
“I, well, Mikazuki-san was, ah. Mikazuki-san’s my— wait, you don’t want to know that, huh, haha, sorry. Yeah, he was using my laptop the other day and Akita-kun, uh, he’s the— wait no, um, well he told me that Mikazuki-san was being very creepy while— OKAY, LISTEN. I DON’T WATCH PORN ON THIS LAPTOP, PLEASE DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT.”
“On— on this lap—“
Blue Hair’s phone goes off, interrupting Ookurikara, and he apologizes and excuses himself to attend the call.
Ookurikara finally breathes without feeling like his heart’s about to go on a leave of absence. He’s never felt this way before, shit, he hates it so much. He hates Necktie for being so hot and nice and totally Ookurikara’s type, which became a thing ten minutes ago.
He’s going to throw this fucking laptop off a fucking tower.
While Eyepatch, okay Christ, Ookurikara has to stick with one nickname for the guy, happily chirps bull to whoever’s on the line while moving his hand around in the most animated way Ookurikara has ever seen anyone move their hand, he decides to give the laptop another shot.
The log-in screen appears again and Ookurikara cringes while keeping an unchanging exterior as he types the shittiest (read: cutest) password in the history of shitty (read: cute) passwords and hits enter.
The boobs are gone. The cats are gone. The moaning is gone. Thank god.
He starts up the obviously fake anti-virus application, and just like Ookurikara expected, it’s fake and stupid like the stupid owner of this stupid laptop and Ookurikara is this close to growling at the screen.
Trojan. Click. Everything is disgusting. Click. Click. The real anti-virus expired in 2007. Click. Click. Bad porn. Click. Why the fuck is the date 4/20.
Ookurikara’s positively snarling at the screen now.
He feels Yellow Eyes’ gaze on him and he whips his head to face him, his eyes narrowed in distrust, and Yellow Eyes looks away immediately. Ookurikara hasn’t slept in forever and he doesn’t deserve cats and boobs and 420 jokes right now.
It’s 11:58 and his shift will be over in 32 minutes and he can just tell Eyepatch, ‘Well, you asshole, you’re an absolute shit and your laptop’s fucked and sorry for the job you’re about to lose today, I hope the big company you want to impress enjoys looking at pictures of giant male dicks courtesy of your atrocious porn stash. I refuse to deal with your crap while my body is deprived of sleep and caffeine. P.S., you’re outrageous. Do you want to make out?’ and move on with his life.
Except there’s this tiny naggy part of him that wants to fix this thing and assure his customer that he won’t lose his job today and then make out with him.
Today is the day the tiny part wins. Also, he doesn’t want to make out with Eyepatch. Really. His eyes will bleed if exposed to Eyepatch’s radiance any longer.
The laptop’s now connected to the free WiFi from the McDonald’s next door and Ookurikara humourlessly stares at the unopened envelope that popped up out of nowhere with the caption, ‘Congratulations! You’re the winner of a brand new iPhone! Fill in your details and win one everyday!’ and seriously, what does this guy even do on his laptop because this pop-up isn’t even in a browser. It’s right in the middle of his photos and okay wow he looks good in jeans and Ookurikara should stop snooping into his hot client’s photos. Not hot. Just client.
Five minutes later, when Blue Hair Yellow Eyes Dumb Eyepatch jogs over to Ookurikara and peers at him from the other side of the counter, Ookurikara calmly says, “Burn this laptop. Don’t throw it out. Go home. Burn it.”
Necktie looks at Ookurikara and his approx. 800 kilo (not really) HP and back at Ookurikara and asks, frowning, “It’s that bad? Can’t be repaired at all?”
Ookurikara should but can’t confess that he just clicked on one of Necktie’s nudes and subsequently pushed the laptop down and ended up breaking a few keys and causing the appearance of like half a dozen more abominations so he nods solemnly, making eye contact for just part second because he doesn’t trust himself to not spill his thoughts about Eyepatch’s hot body. Not hot. Just body.
This guy, though, looks heartbroken and that, in turn, breaks Ookurikara’s heart which he thought was incapable of breaking unless it had something to do with Date Masamune’s biography, and he doesn’t like this feeling.
“Sorry for your job.” And he’s truly, really sorry. That’s a first.
“Job?” Eyepatch says, confused. “Oh! The presentation? Haha, no worries. I was on the phone with Hasebe, um, Hasebe’s the guy who— wait, you don’t care, I guess. The thing is, the meeting’s cancelled. Some guy from that company dragged everyone off to visit a festival nearby and um. You can take as long as you want with this. Also, sorry, I talk a lot.”
Ookurikara wouldn’t mind if he never stopped. “I’ll have Kunihiro buy some stuff then.”
“Kunihiro!” Eyepatch says, his face brightening up more than it already had while talking about Haseba. Hasebu? Whatever. “Do you know Kunihiro?”
“Three of ‘em, unfortunately. The emo’s bearable.”
Blazer laughs and says, “I like him a lot too.”
They settle into a sort of silence that’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable and it’s 12:23 and Ookurikara can finally sleep in seven minutes but he doesn’t really care at the moment.
“Write down your name and number, the shop will tell you when you need to pick up this piece of shit,” Ookurikara says, passing Necktie a paper and casually gesturing to the broken thing with his free hand. Casually. Very casually.
When Blazer slides the paper back to Ookurikara, he stares at it, his eyes kind of prickling because of the lack of everything nice (read: sleep and coffee), and he struggles with the words on it. “Pika…chu?”
Okay, what the fuck. How dare he. He walks into this shop at 11 something wearing a bloody blazer and an eyepatch and a necktie and gloves and he has an iPhone and an ancient HP laptop which weighs more than a cake shop and yellow eyes and blue hair and a smile that can melt galaxies and a laugh that makes Ookurikara’s insides tingle and he fucking calls himself Pikachu like holy shit, even a 2nd grader could do better than this and this is horrifying.
“Do you think this is a motherfu—“
“Oh God.”
“Pikachu? Huh. Pikach—“
“No. No. My—“
“I am going to—“
“My name’s Mitsutada! Shokudaikiri Mitsutada! I didn’t know you would read those characters that way too. Oh God.”
“Shut up, Pikachu,” Ookurikara says, pushing his chair away and standing up, and shit his knees are wobbly. “You are a disgrace. Stop giving your laptop to everyone in a 20 mile radius of you and stop clicking on blatantly obvious scams. Yeah, I saw your web history and chats and holy shit, you cannot view cute puppy wallpapers by entering your email in a website called xxxfuckxxx and you definitely cannot watch a documentary about jellyfish by giving your contact details to, what the fuck, Leila who is ‘always happy to serve you, handsome~’. You’re being so dumb it’s endearing. And I, Ookurikara, who hasn’t slept in ten years, and hasn’t seen a computer so fucked, ever, mind you, don’t find things endearing. So. Shut. Up.”
There’s silence while Ookurikara’s words hang in the air between them, and his mind slowly processes what Eyepatch— Shokudaikiri Mitsutada— Pikachu— THIS DUMB HUMAN TAKE HIM AWAY said and what he told Mitsutada while Mitsutada simply stares at Ookurikara, his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly.
“Um, I’m, sorry?” Mitsutada says, not looking even an iota of sorry. “But um, there’s my number, for later, and uh, my name’s really Shokudaikiri Mitsutada. Please don’t be mad.”
Ookurikara’s heart is doing weird things, and even though he’s way too embarrassed for saying all that, especially the last bit, he doesn’t let it show.
“Whatever, Pikachu. The shop will call you.” He notices the white-haired runt he wants to kill repeatedly everyday waving and obnoxiously grinning at him from the other end of the store. “Great. My shift’s done. I’m out.”
“Wait!” Mitsutada kind of yells, and grabs Ookurikara’s arm. Ookurikara sees a flash in the corner of his vision and he swears he’s going to kill Tsurumaru if he’s taking pictures of this. “Wait, wait. Could you give me your number too? For, you know, future purposes.”
“No fucking way,” Ookurikara says through gritted teeth, yanking his arm away from Mitsutada’s hold but failing terribly. And, okay, the way Mitsutada’s looking at him and sort of pouting like that is enough to make Ookurikara’s breath hitch. He grimaces, out of habit, and with his free hand, throws a visiting card from his desk towards Mitsutada.
“Don’t you dare call me. Texts are off-limits. If you even try to WhatsApp me I will personally break your shitty laptop with a baseball bat. What the fuck does future purposes even mean.” Ookurikara blames his words on his lack of sweet dreams and lack of revival liquid and lack of anything good in life. He should stop talking.
Especially now that Mitsutada’s full-on grinning and has this glint in his eye, looking a million times hotter — which may or may not be exaggerated due to Ookurikara’s current state of mind — and loosening his hold on Ookurikara’s arm to move his grip to Ookurikara’s wrist, running his fingers over Ookurikara’s tattoo while he does so.
“Future purposes like, a date, maybe?” Mitsutada says, smugness oozing out of his words. Ookurikara wants to punch a wall. “Since I’m endearing and all. I’ll call you tonight, Ookurikara!”
And he’s gone. Literally. He squeezes Ookurikara’s fingers with his own, winks at him, and walks out. That’s it. He’s gone, as if he hasn’t just invaded Ookurikara’s heart and mind and shop where he part-times three times a week, and hasn’t pretty much swept Ookurikara’s feet off the ground in the span of one fucking hour.
Ookurikara sits down and gracefully facedesks.
—————
Seven minutes later, Tsurumaru’s still rolling on the ground, laughing while clutching his sides, and Ookurikara steps on his thigh with his slippers still on.
“I see you’ve got a crush, Kuri-chan,” Tsurumaru singsongs, and a vein throbs in Ookurikara’s neck.
Something flashes in Ookurikara’s eyes and Tsurumaru’s not grinning now. Ah. Shit. “I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna crush.”
Tsurumaru screams.