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After a long day at work, Kenma manages to drag himself into his apartment. A heavy sigh pushes past his lips as the door shuts behind him, the silence of his home a welcome sound. It had been a long day--no--it is still a long day. The sun had yet to set and he was exhausted.
No one should ever feel this tired—this sort of heavy exhaustion that creeps into his bones, wrapping its way around Kenma’s body like a vine. Holding him hostage; keeping him for ransom. Though Kenma isn’t sure who would pay the ransom. It wasn’t like he had many friends, and the ones he did have wouldn’t pay any amount of money to free him from his suffering.
The suffering that honestly could be fixed with a good night of rest.
Rest that Kenma really never has time to take.
The point was that being so tired, so done with the world before he even managed to sit down and have dinner was completely unfair and should happen to no one.
And yet.
Here he was.
Tired. And dinnerless.
A loud meow shatters Kenma’s self-pitying thoughts and he glances down to watch a small black ball rush up to his feet, prancing around him as if happy. Though he was tired, Kenma always found energy to smile at his 4 month old kitten.
“Jiji,” Kenma says softly to the small cat, bending down to pick up the meowing piece of fur, “Jiji, I had such a long day. How would you feel if we just ate take-out and watched movies instead?”
Jiji meows again, and Kenma sees those pointy little teeth seconds before they nip at his fingers. The brat.
“I know,” he’s toeing off his shoes and shuffling into the kitchen as he speaks, ignoring the growing number of meows from his cat, “I know I promised to watch that crime show with you, Jiji. But I just can’t tonight. I’m tired.”
Another meow.
“And I have to do paperwork because someone forgot that it was due and had other plans and apparently I’m the only one competent enough to do it.” Kenma shifts the kitten so that he can hold him with one hand, using the other to pry open the fridge and grab at a leftover take-out box. He had thought wisely the night before and while eating leftover fast food wasn’t on the top list of things to eat, Kenma felt that cooking his own food would be more troublesome.
Jiji seems to get the idea to shut up—to Kenma’s relief—and Kenma is able to shuffle along the tile, grabbing bowls and chopsticks to accompany him to the couch. It’s a miracle he doesn’t drop anything as he nears his sofa since Jiji decided that in that exact moment he wanted to get down, wriggling in Kenma’s grasp.
Luckily Kenma is able to sit down before the kitten falls, and instead of dropping to the floor, the black fluff ball just tumbles into the couch cushions, “Brat,” Kenma grumbles.
Gold eyes just stare at him for a moment before Jiji meows again, and this time it sounds more like a whine—or a protest—as Kenma settles in to watch movies.
“Shut up, Jiji,” Kenma says around a mouthful of food, settling on an English movie with Japanese subtitles, “I’ll start working after the movie. Is that okay with you?”
“Meow.” Jiji seems satisfied with the answer and pads back over to Kenma, meowing once more as he curls up against Kenma’s thigh, yellow eyes fixed on the television.
“Thanks, Jiji.” Kenma takes a moment to pet the small kitten.
It’s halfway through the movie when Jiji gets up off the couch, disappearing from Kenma’s sight. He’s curious about it, though he understands that Jiji is a cat and does cat things he would likely never understand. Jiji and he may have a bond that Kenma has with none of his friends (because his friends don’t understand him like Jiji does), but they did have a problem of being from entirely different species. A brief thought flits across Kenma’s mind on if he and Jiji would be friends if Jiji were human.
What if Jiji was too popular and didn’t like Kenma? What if—
Okay, he was talking about the very extreme hypothetical situation on if his cat was a human—which his cat was not. There was no need to worry.
Honestly.
Right?
“Meow!” the sound causes Kenma to jump in his seat and while mentally chiding himself for getting so worked up over something that could never happen ever, he twists in his seat to look behind him.
Jiji meows again, and Kenma watches as a small black paw reaches out and paws at his food bowl. His empty food bowl. Kenma sighs, the sound drowned out by the movie playing in the background.
When the kitten meows again—tail angrily swishing behind him—Kenma gets up to refill the bowl, “You’re spoiled,” he says while he gets the food from the top of the fridge. At one point it had been in the pantry but after finding Jiji gnawing at the many layers of paper to get to the food, Kenma decided that the top of the fridge would be a much better place, “You eat too much.”
This time Jiji lets out more of a squawk than a meow.
“You’re going to get fat. So fat that you explode,” Kenma pours enough food into the bowl so it fills it halfway, ignoring the look his kitten gives him for not filling it all, “and then you will explode. And I won’t clean up the mess.”
Since there was now food where it was supposed to be, Jiji deems Kenma’s presence unnecessary and shoves his face into the food, munching happily at the small nuggets. Kenma just stares at him, eyes narrowed at the fact that his cat ignored him, before returning to the couch to catch the last half hour of the movie.
Kenma can safely say that in the month that been under his care, never once has Kenma woken up without the kitten somewhere on his bed. Be it his favorite spot on Kenma’s stomach, or any of his other frequented places to lie such as pressed against Kenma’s neck or curled on top of his feet.
So when Kenma wakes up with no Jiji pressed against various parts of his body, Kenma grows a little concerned. Maybe he slept in too late. Since one movie had turned into two which turned into more food and then since he had food when the second movie was done…
Well.
Well.
He slaps the space next to him, fumbling sleepily for his phone until his fingers brush against the cool surface of the screen. Squinting his eyes so that they were barely open, Kenma checks the time. While he didn’t have any pressing matters to attend to today he did have that paperwork Inuoka had so lovingly pushed on him, saying that the lawcase was in good hands if Kenma was going to read it over.
God, he hated working in a law firm. He wasn’t even a lawyer.
11:38
A pleased hum sounds from the back of Kenma’s throat, and he pushes himself up, letting his phone fall from his fingers. Up before noon. Maybe the day could still be productive.
Or maybe he’ll just walk into work on Monday and show the paperwork onto a new worker, claiming that it had to be immediately and would result in an automatic loss of a job if it was done incorrectly.
Though, Kenma thinks as his feet touch the cool wood of his apartment floors, that would be rude. And he would likely give some new kid a heart attack.
Kenma wasn’t looking for death on his hands.
A sigh sounds softly in the room and Kenma looks for the little black fuzz ball that seemed to have disappeared that morning, “Jiji,” Kenma says to himself as he walks out of his room, tying his hair up with a spare ponytail he had found, “who do I talk to in the morning if you aren’t around?”
It is then that Kenma finds his cat on the couch, curled in a loose ball, golden eyes staring at him. At first Kenma sees nothing wrong with the kitten being on the couch. Definitely out of the ordinary, but there could be a chance that Kenma moved too much in his sleep for once and Jiji got fed up with him. Only. The couch isn’t red. And Jiji is moving ever so slightly.
Kenma walks closer to the couch, finding a man passed out on the cushions.
Ah.
Kuroo wakes up with a migraine, his eyes hurting before he can even get the chance to open them. He feels a weight on his chest, and his fingers creep toward it slowly, feeling something warm and soft brush against his fingertips.
“Oh.”
The voice startles him and Kuroo’s body jolts in reflex, the movement and sound making his head throb just a little bit more. God damn he needed to lay off the drinks.
“That’s where Jiji went.” The voice continues though Kuroo notes that it seems to have lowered in volume. At least the stranger was kind to him, “Jiji, come here.” When the weight on his chest disappears and a soft meow is heard from somewhere above him, Kuroo is struck with the realization that something isn’t right.
Bokuto didn’t mention anything about someone being over.
Or a cat.
What the fuck.
Kuroo groans into the silence that had settled around the room, and the sound reminds him of the whining he had to put up with from Oikawa the previous night. No wonder he drank so much, that voice was bound to grate on anyone’s nerves. Especially when the topic of Iwaizumi was involved. Kuroo makes a mental note to never go drinking with Oikawa alone ever again. Unless he wanted to deal with more hangovers and possibly be charged with murder.
He would gladly accept that charge.
Figuring he should apologize to the person who’s house he had somehow managed to break into, Kuroo pushes himself into a sitting position, thankful that while his head felt like it could split open at any given moment, his stomach had no desire to toss up whatever Kuroo had been drinking the night before. When he opens his eyes, face scrunching at the light that filled the room, Kuroo finds a dark spot next to his knee.
A dark spot with golden eyes.
A cat, Kuroo’s mind finally supplies him.
“It looks like me,” the words claw out of Kuroo’s throat, and he coughs a few times in hopes that the next time he decides to speak it sounds more like a normal human and less like he chain-smoked three packs of cigarettes.
“He.” The stranger corrects him, the voice oddly soothing. Silence settles around the room once again and Kuroo finds himself in a staring contest with a cat.
He blinks.
It—he—the cat, grins at him.
Kuroo wants to tell the owner of the black fluff ball—was Jiji his name?—that his cat was an asshole.
Before his lips can form the words, a heavy sigh fills the room, “Would you like some water?” this time the voice sounds tired. Aggravated in a way that Kuroo feels like he understands.
“Please,” comes his croaked response, coughing into his hand again. He’s not sure if it’s the sudden movement of his hand to cover his mouth or the sound of his coughs that scare the cat, but Kuroo watches as the black ball jumps in the air, wincing when the kitten lands on his knee, tiny nails digging into his skin.
A glass of water appears in Kuroo’s vision, held by long fingers and pale skin. Kuroo can faintly see the bluish veins running up those fingers, and itches to trace them with his fingers. Wonders if the strangers skin is just as soft as it looks. He fights the urge to ask, instead taking the glass with a mumbled thanks, sipping at it and sighing at the soothing effect it has as it slides down his throat.
Moments later those same fingers reach down and snag the kitten off the couch once more, and again Kuroo hears the kitten’s soft protests at being moved.
“Jiji what did I say about eating my notes?” Kuroo assumes that the stranger is trying to reprimand his cat, but the affection in his voice is too thick for it to be anything more than fond annoyance. Kuroo presses the smile on his lips into the rim of his cup, drinking more water in hopes that he doesn’t say anything stupid.
Because really? They were talking to a cat.
When the cat meows back at him, sounding more annoyed than the stranger had, Kuroo takes a longer sip of water. Did the cat just talk back?
“I’m sorry for breaking in,” Kuroo says when he’s sure that his throat wouldn't try to kill him when he speaks. He keeps his gaze on the glass in his hands, fingers tapping against the translucent cup in a messy beat, “I didn’t do it on purpose, or to pet your cat, or anything I—please don’t call the cops?”
In the silence that follows, Kuroo feels sweat prick at the back of his neck, body tensing for the bad news. That the cops had been called, that Kuroo was going to jail. That he needed to leave right now.
“Okay,” the stranger says instead.
What?
“Did the water help? Feel any better?” the voice fades away a bit, and Kuroo hears a chair scrape across the floor.
He was not expecting this. What this is, Kuroo isn’t sure. Kindness? Apathy? Nonchalance?
Words of thanks are heavy on his tongue, pressing against the seam of Kuroo’s lips. Words that need to be spoken, another apology, gratitude. Something. And yet, when Kuroo turns to find the stranger whose home he had accidentally broken into, all the breath in his lungs rushes out in.
Like someone had punched him in the gut.
He’s pretty sure someone did.
Beautiful is the only word that Kuroo can think to describe the boy in front of him, but even that word doesn’t do him justice. Blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, resting loosely against the nape of his neck. Kuroo can see strands that didn’t make it in curl against pale skin, and a quick glance up finds dark roots bleeding into the soft blonde color.
Kuroo thinks it adds to the charm.
Sharp collarbones are exposed by an overly large shirt and Kuroo finds his gaze trailing down, a groan catching in his throat when he spies leggings of all things hugging the curves of the pretty blonde boy’s legs. He can see the swell of his thighs from here. He wants to know if they are soft or toned with muscle.
This wasn’t fair.
“Oh,” Kuroo’s eyes shoot up to stare at pink lips, watching as his tongue darts out to wet them before disappearing, “I forgot. Do you need Tylenol?” Kuroo finds the boy’s eyes and catches them staring at him.
He got caught.
Not trusting his voice, Kuroo just nods, and turns away from the pale boy. Though out of the corner of his eye he can see the curve of the stranger’s ass.
It’s not fair.
With a shake of a bottle later give or take a few moments, the blonde boy is standing in front of him, hands cupping two Tylenol pills. Kuroo wants to trace the lines of his palm, to press his lips against soft looking fingertips. To taste the sweat that rests on the inside of his palm, to—
“Here?” the words, soft enough to be overlooked, come out as a question.
A glance up has Kuroo noticing a frown on those pretty lips, honey colored eyes narrow, “Ah,” he finds himself saying and he’s fairly certain it’s the last sound he will be capable of making for some time, as the beauty in front of him seems to render him speechless.
Luckily the boy doesn’t comment on how badly a fool Kuroo is making of himself, instead using his free hand to grab Kuroo’s, turning it over and pressing the pills into his hand. When Kuroo chokes on a gasp at how soft the other’s skin is, he’s knows he’s fucked.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” his voice reminds Kuroo of late winter mornings, when the air was crisp and yet light. Frost on the windows, sun faintly warm against any exposed skin, “Are you—are you still drunk? You…were drunk when you broke in, correct?”
“Uh,” he chokes on his next inhale, coughing softly rid himself of the discomfort, “yeah, sorry. Again. It was unlocked and I don’t think I was paying too much attention to apartment numbers.”
There’s a huff from the blonde boy, and if Kuroo assumes it to be laughter. If only because he doesn’t know what else it could be. In an attempt to distract himself, Kuroo tosses the two pills into his mouth, using the last bit of water to chase it down.
“Where were you going?”
“Bokuto Koutarou’s apartment,” This, this Kuroo can do. Easy. Simple conversation with a pretty boy. He’s used to this. Hell, he’s friends with Oikawa. He can do this.
He’s got this.
“I’m an old friend of his, he said I could crash there while he’s on vacation.” It’s then he realizes that this person might not know Koutarou, as odd as that thought sits with him, “Does he live around here?”
“Next door, actually.” There’s amusement in the blonde’s tone. Kuroo counts the small victories.
“Not far off.”
“No,” the word if formed carefully, like thought had been put into choosing that specific word, “not too bad.”
Silence settles around them, awkward yet not oppressing. Kuroo doesn’t find the need to break it with words, just hands the now empty cup to the blonde, watching him walk back into the kitchen.
Really though, those thighs were completely unfair.
“Would you like some food?” he calls from the kitchen, the blond poking his head around the corner, “I think…I might have eggs?”
And those the words surprise him, he accepts. Willing to spend as much time as he can with the pretty blonde.
And that’s how Kuroo Tetsurou found himself eating breakfast with the most angelic human being on the planet.
And his small black cat.