Work Text:
As your night out comes to a close, you start to realize, even in your clouded mind, that you may have severely underestimated Kozume-san.
It’s not like you can say you know him that well; after all, he’s just your work colleague’s longtime partner. You’re aware of his internet success, of course, but from the few occasions you happened to meet him in person, he’s always struck you as inconspicuous and ordinary, careless, even; to be completely honest, you’ve questioned how a guy like that managed to achieve so much fame once or twice.
But the man sure knows how to throw a party.
When your and Kuroo-san’s boss announced Kozume-san would be taking care of the JVA’s usual end-of-year party, you even grimaced a little. Kuroo-san had looked a little worried, back then, and you had wondered why.
This must’ve costed half a million yen at least, and you’re pretty sure it’s a conservative estimate. Between the seemingly endless alcohol bottles, every empty one being promptly replaced by a new, opened one in a matter of seconds, the servers themselves, all dressed in pristine black suits you’re certain are brand new, and renting out the best nightclub in Tokyo for their exclusive use, you realize now Kuroo-san’s worry was warranted, because this will inevitably ruin every future nightclub experience for each and every JVA employee. Nothing will ever live up to this.
And you’ve been observing him, Kozume-san. He’s been on his phone the entire time since arriving at the club, tapping away at the screen, sitting in a comfortable chair in the far corner and shying away from any possible conversation.
What you’ve always mistook for disinterest appears clear to you for what it really is, now: deliberate, carefully crafted feigned indifference, to masterfully mask a controlling side he must want kept hidden. You haven’t missed the subtle glances he’s been sending over the entire room, every once in a while, to check everything is going according to what he’s planned out. And you haven’t missed how his gaze lingers on Kuroo-san sometimes, for a few seconds longer than necessary, and how he smirks to himself before immersing himself in his phone again.
He’s cautious about possibly getting photographed or filmed as well. Apart from himself, Kuroo-san is the only party member that was allowed to bring his phone inside the club. You and all the other colleagues were kindly asked to drop all your devices upon entering, and it seems the staff has received similar instructions.
Kuroo-san has drank a lot, too. And as you watch him down yet another glass a server just poured him in one gulp, Kozume-san’s eyes trained on him, you can’t help but wonder if this whole thing was something he planned just for his partner’s enjoyment. But no, there’s definitely a showing-off element to it, too.
Otherwise why not celebrate on their own, right?
Why invite every single JVA worker in one of the most elite clubs in the country?
Why hire private staff to attend the event too?
You feel a twinge of jealousy when you think about how much money he must be making at such a young age, but most of all, you feel like you’ve gained new insight and a newfound respect for Kozume-san.
Suddenly Kuroo-san turns towards him and he beckons him over. You can’t avert your eyes as Kuroo-san walks over to that corner. As he reaches Kozume-san’s chair, he stumbles and ends up on his knees between his partner’s legs. Kozume-san smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from getting back up. Yes, he smiles, as if he planned this too, and at this point you’re so hazy you’re not certain he didn’t.
He gestures for a waitress nearby to fill his glass, and once that’s done, he hands his phone to that same waitress, muttering some instructions you can’t hear, what with being that far from them and due to the loud music. She points the phone at Kuroo-san’s face and you realize she’s filming him while Kozume-san grabs ahold of his face and pours that same drink down his throat. Kuroo-san looks up at him with an expression that will forever be only for Kozume-san to remember, and well, the waitress. She taps the screen once, then wordlessly passes the phone back to his owner. He looks over the video a couple of times, seemingly satisfied with the end result, then reaches over to his left and the music quickly dims. There must be a control board of some kind beside his seat, you reckon.
He stands, grabs hold of Kuroo-san’s hand and leads him towards a side door; as a server rushes to open the door to a smaller, similarly furnished room, he stills as if he’s just remembered they need to excuse themselves; he clears his throat then speaks up, for the first time in the entire evening.
“Please excuse me and Tetsurō while we leave for a short while. We’ll be back soon.”
He disappears behind the door and, as Kuroo-san turns to send a half-intoxicated, half-apologetic look their way, you catch another colleague muttering something below their breath.
“Lucky bastard.”