Work Text:
“Hand me the blue one.”
Tadashi places the azure vial on Kuroo’s right and watches warily as he tips three drops from it and into the beaker. At once, the concoction within pops, bubbles, and growls. They both step back. Kuroo tosses Tadashi a bemused look and nudges his tie further over his shoulder when it threatens to fall.
“Green?” Tadashi guesses.
Kuroo shrugs. “Worth a shot.”
Kuroo’s heavy-handed with this vial, sage green dyed into the inner rim of the glass—chlorophyll, if Tadashi remembers correctly—and their parched potion drinks it up. The new addition licks gentle waves onto the liquid’s surface. Kuroo pumps a victorious fist in the air. He waves his pointer finger in circles above the glass and the potion slowly stirs itself.
“Nicely done, Tadashi. You’ll make a fine successor someday.”
“You really think so?” Tadashi asks, glowing.
“Just remember that it’s all about trial and error,” Kuroo reminds him, rubbing absently at the half of his eyebrow that’s just starting to grow back from a batch gone wrong a two weeks back. “Could you sweep up for us?”
A sunbeam shoots through the back window and reveals a layer of dust in front of the bookshelf, its contents old and ragged but helpful nonetheless. Tadashi grabs the broom and starts there. He listens to Kuroo hum the very same tune that the bell towers chime out every quarter of every day through the small, bustling town. Tadashi doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s been doing it since they arrived.
In the front half of the shop, Kenma speaks to a gentleman about something to fix his flowerbeds; they grew in pink, but he’d rather have yellow. The customer’s words carry all the way to the back room, clear as day, but Tadashi only hears the mere cadence of Kenma’s voice, hushed yet confident. He hears vials clink on the front shelves.
He’s nearly swept the entire workshop by the time he hears the familiar pop and whir of the register drawer. Tadashi rests the broom against the bookshelf. The three or four volumes Kuroo grabs frequently are nice and clean, their spines wiped down and their lettering shiny. The rest of them gather dust. Kuroo tells him not to worry about polishing them; he says it’s easier to find the ones he needs that way. Tadashi steps back from the shelf as one of the botany books pulls itself from the shelf. It suspends itself in the air in front of his hands.
“Bring that here, will you?”
Tadashi stares, both in envy and in awe, and grabs the book. The air gives it up easily.
+ + +
The hardwood beneath his desk chair creaks as Tadashi leans forward. He concentrates until his vision blurs. The dog figurine on his dresser trembles for a sole moment but no matter what he does, he can’t get it to move again. He takes a moment to rest his focus. In the flat above them, his neighbors thump around with ironclad steps. Tadashi takes a slow breath in. He stares at the little figurine again and clears his mind.
Nothing.
“Dammit,” he swears, dropping his chin in his hand.
Light footfalls resound in the hallway and then Tsukishima stands in his doorway. The sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to his elbows, his tie loose around his neck. He gazes owlishly down at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Just practicing.”
“Oh. You made it shake earlier,” Tsukishima acknowledges. “I heard it.”
“Yeah. That’s about all I can do,” Tadashi sighs, standing from his chair and pushing it back under the desk. He pads across the room and takes the dog figurine in his hand. He pokes its black nose with his fingertip. “You know, Tsukki, we need a pet.”
Tsukishima wrinkles his nose in disgust. “With my abilities? Not a chance.”
“Not even a couple mice?”
“Did you suggest the smelliest pet you could on purpose?”
Tsukishima shakes his head as Tadashi breathes a laugh.
“Ferrets are worse, actually. Besides, you’re the one who made me give up candles, Tsukki,” he teases. “Too fragrant.”
Tsukishima furrows his brow. He almost looks hurt.
“You agreed to all of this on our lease,” he reports. “You said it was fine.”
“It is fine,” Tadashi chirps. “I’m only kidding. Have you eaten yet? You wanna do dinner?”
“No, I haven’t. That’s fine.”
Tadashi grins to himself when Tsukishima turns around. He sets the figurine back on his dresser and follows him from the room. He casts one last regretful look at it over his shoulder as he goes.
+ + +
On his walk to work, Tadashi breathes in the crisp morning air. It relaxes him for all of five seconds before the mail carriers whiz past him on their bikes, so close that their residual wind blows his hair off his forehead. The morning bells sing over the main strip in all its chaos, serenading the plentiful shops and residents in the apartments above them. A woman on her balcony taps her foot to the tune. A businessman with a briefcase excuses himself as he pushes past Tadashi on the crowded sidewalk.
He sees Kenma as he turns the corner toward Kuroo’s shop. He sits perched on the bench in front of the giant front window. His head swivels as he gazes from one side of the street to the other.
“Morning,” says Tadashi. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m just waiting for someone.”
Tadashi follows his gaze. “Who?”
“I saw a cat in front of the shop yesterday,” Kenma tells him. “I was wondering if it might come back today.”
“What’d it look like?”
“It was all white. Even its eyes were bright, like little pearls.” Kenma stands and takes a couple of steps out into the street. He surveils for another minute before retreating. “I guess she’s gone.”
“She’ll probably come back when the main street isn’t so busy.”
Kenma hums and pushes the front door open for them. Tadashi follows him inside. Kuroo greets them cheerily from behind the shop counter. A wrinkled wad of receipts sits on the counter in front of him. He flips through the stack, making notes with the pen in his opposite hand.
“Seriously, Kuroo? Again?”
“It’s all a part of the job, Kenma,” Kuroo replies lightheartedly.
It takes Tadashi a few moments to realize the other half of Kuroo’s eyebrow is missing. He puts a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh.
“You mistook dark blue for black again, didn’t you?” chides Kenma. “That’s what you get for mixing potions in the dark.”
Kuroo puts a finger up. “It was in the near-dark, I’ll have you know.”
Tadashi brings his bag to the back and begins his duties. He grinds and mashes the ingredients Kuroo lays out for him by the mortar and pestle: mugwort, pea tendrils, thorns of half-dead roses, tuberous roots, and something that resembles freeze-dried meat. He wipes all the vials and beakers down with a clean rag and digs up notes for the potions on their schedule today, a dozen customer invoices pinned onto the corkboard on the wall above the work table.
He flips open the book Kuroo recommended earlier with a heavy slap. A wonderful source of Beta Carotene and Fibre, pea tendrils are packed with—tap tap tap—many of the same minerals as—tap tap. Tap, tap.
Tadashi keeps his finger on the section he leaves off on as he glances away. Tap, tap. The windowpane behind him is prodded at again. He spins around to catch a glimpse of something as it flees, bright beneath the morning sun. Tadashi watches pair after pair of shoes walk past on the inclined street behind the shop. He waits for another moment but nothing extraordinary happens by. He turns back to his reading.
+ + +
“Sorry to keep you a bit late. But the tendrils have to be added at exactly sunset if this is gonna work.”
Kuroo drops a pinch of lustrous powder into the beaker and makes note of the color the brew turns as he stirs. He runs a hand through his black hair, spiking it higher. Tadashi stays in his place by the window. The sun’s glow dims as the day expires. Light peeks between two buildings that line the back street as if they were built exactly for this moment, to perfectly cradle the setting sun for Tadashi’s gaze alone.
“Tell me when,” Kuroo directs, his hand poised over the beaker.
Tadashi holds his breath. The sun melts into the horizon.
“Now!” he calls.
The potion fizzles as the final ingredient is added, earning itself a grateful nod from its creator. Tadashi rushes to stand at his side. The mixture fizzles again, like carbonation in a freshly poured drink. Tadashi’s mouth is suddenly dry, parched. He jumps as Kuroo lets out a sudden yelp.
“This is exactly what’s supposed to happen!” he cries victoriously.
Tadashi tries to calm his spooked heart. “So what is this again?”
“You’ll see.”
Kuroo dribbles a bit of the mixture into a fresh vial and raises it. Tadashi grimaces.
“You’re gonna drink that?” he asks, remembering the vaguely meaty powder he added earlier.
Kuroo grins at him wickedly. He tosses back the contents of the vial and swallows. Whatever appetite Tadashi worked up since his lunch vanishes. Even the wonderful salmon dish Tsukishima made them last night seems inedible. Kuroo peeks into the little mirror that hangs on the far wall. He creeps closer to it with Tadashi at his back, watching himself intently.
Kuroo gapes. Tadashi isn’t sure where to look until he points it out. Black hairs sprout steadily from Kuroo’s face, forming perfectly in the shape of his former eyebrow.
“Oh my god,” Tadashi marvels.
“It totally worked!”
“You really just grew your own eyebrow back.”
“Thanks for the help, Tadashi. You can go if you want. I’ll clean up here.”
Tadashi pauses. “You sure?”
“Sure,” Kuroo replies, checking himself out in the mirror again.
Tadashi rolls his eyes with a grin. He lifts his bag onto his shoulder and weaves his way to the front of the shop. He concentrates hard on the light switch on the wall. His vision blurs. With a sigh, Tadashi crosses the room and flicks the switch with his finger. The front half of the shops falls into darkness, the sun’s light fading quickly outside.
“Kenma’s gonna be so impressed,” Kuroo mutters as Tadashi shuts the door behind him.
The final sliver of sunset splatters deep pinks and oranges over the sky. It’ll be dark before Tadashi gets home. His sneakers scrape the cobblestone street. He pulls his sweater vest over his head and slips it into his bag. When he looks back up, a pair of big, pearly eyes gazes up at him. Tadashi stops.
“Hi,” he coos. “I guess you’re Kenma’s friend, huh?”
The cat’s tail twitches. She blinks at him expectantly. The cat almost glows, her fur pure white. When Tadashi starts to walk again, the cat does, too. She doesn’t follow him so much as she strides with him, alongside him like a friend.
“You know, your fur is pretty pristine for a street cat.”
Tadashi kneels down to look closer but sees no collar, no indication of ownership or anything of the sort. The cat mewls at him. She plucks at Tadashi’s heartstrings. He starts to walk again and the cat joins him like clockwork. Most of the shops on main street are dark, only a few projecting light onto their respective chunk of sidewalk. Tadashi and the cat weave in and out of their glow. Clouds he hadn’t noticed before gather overhead, smothering the remaining sunlight and leaving the streetlights to guide him home. Tadashi turns off the main road and onto his street, rounding the corner to his and Tsukishima’s place. When he glances down, he sees only cobblestone. He spins on his heel.
“That’s your stop, huh?”
The white cat sits on the corner, her tail bobbing this way and that like she waves goodbye.
Tadashi flinches when a fat raindrop lands right on his nose. The sky splits suddenly and a thousand more like it fall around him, soaking right through his shirt. He turns toward home and takes off in a run. Raindrops pelt his face and splatter noisily around him. In the distance, his flat is completely dark. He hopes Tsukishima isn’t caught in the rain, too. He jolts as thunder rips the sky open further. Almost home, he hoists his bag over his head to shield from the rain. A white blur zips past him—the street cat is back with him in no time, mewling and jabbing her nose against the seam of where Tadashi’s front door meets the doorframe. He fumbles with his wet keys in the lock. Clunk. He shoves the door open and falls through the doorway.
The cat shakes a flurry of droplets onto the floor of the entryway. Tadashi sighs.
“You can’t stay, you know. My roommate’s gonna throw a fit. You’re lucky he’s not home yet or he’d have tossed you out already. Or so he says,” Tadashi rambles, hanging his dripping bag on its hook behind the door. He flicks the lights on and the small apartment illuminates. “But I don’t actually know if he’d have the heart to do that. I mean, it is storming. Let’s dry you off.”
He grabs a rag from the kitchen cupboard and kneels on the creaky floor. The cat approaches him, her bright white fur slicked with rain. Tadashi holds out the rag and she nestles her head into the fabric. Tadashi chuckles. He sets the rug on the ground and she dives into it, somersaulting once, twice, three times until her drying fur starts to fluff again. Tadashi leaves her to it. He stands and opens the refrigerator, its white light glowing through the tiny kitchen.
“I heard that some cats can understand people with magic abilities,” he mentions. He snaps the cap off a bottle of cold tea. “So can you understand me?”
She stares up at him and blinks. She emits a quick, happy purr.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Thunder cracks outside. Still dripping, Tadashi retreats to his bedroom. He tosses his wet shirt and trousers over his desk chair and hums in appreciation of the dry, cottony shorts he throws on. He peeks his head out into the hall.
“Hey, you’d better get in here,” he calls. “Tsukki’ll be home any minute.”
Tadashi’s not sure if it’s his beckoning tone or the actual words he says, but the cat shows up in his doorway regardless. She's much drier now, her pearly eyes gleaming in the lamplight. She trots past him and sniffs around. She laps at a bit of rainwater on the floor beneath Tadashi’s soaked clothes before she sneaks into his closet, the door ajar, and curls up on a pile of his sweaters. Tadashi guffaws and puts a hand over his heart.
“Okay, you can stay for a while. But you’ve gotta be quiet. Tsukki has these, like, super-senses.”
The cat meows and Tadashi squints at her, unimpressed.
“What did I just say?” he scolds.
Clunk. The deadbolt retracts and the front door pushes open, latching moments later. Tadashi reaches out and whips his closet door shut with the cat behind it. Ten footfalls and then Tsukishima looms tall in Tadashi’s doorway. His heart pounding, Tadashi stands.
“Were you on the phone?” Tsukishima asks. His stare swings around Tadashi’s room.
“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Hey, how come you’re not soaked?
“A coworker offered me their umbrella. Don’t tell me you walked home in the storm.”
Tadashi huffs a laugh. “Try sprinted.”
Tsukishima gives him a sympathetic hum. He yanks at his tie to loosen it as he talks.
“We can light a fire tonight, if you like. And I already had a warm dish in mind for supper.”
Tadashi’s stomach growls and the smallest hint of a smile shows on Tsukishima’s face. He turns to leave only to turn back a moment later. He squints into Tadashi’s room, concentrating. He scrunches his nose.
“It smells weird in here.”
“I spilled a potion on myself at the shop,” Tadashi fires back.
“Wet dog potion?” Tsukishima wonders, lofting a perfect blond eyebrow.
“Something like that.”
Tsukishima hums. He turns to leave but yet again, turns back.
“I was thinking of watching a movie tonight. If you wanted to sit in.”
“Sure,” Tadashi answers. “Right behind you.”
He finally wills his anxious heartbeat to quiet. The cat is still silent in his closet, getting little white hairs all over his precious sweaters. Tsukishima watches him for a moment.
He looks away as he asks, “Aren’t you going to put on a shirt, Yamaguchi?”
They both glance at his closet door. Tadashi’s heart thumps faster.
“Nah,” he says.
“Are—are you sure?”
“Can I just borrow one of yours?” he asks, teetering from foot to foot.
Tsukishima’s pale cheeks deepen to a pretty pink. He clears his throat.
“That’s fine,” he agrees.
Tadashi almost falls over with relief. “Great! Let’s go.”
+ + +
The fireplace in the living room is old and shabby, but it warms the space just the same. Brown bricks crumble at their edges. They stack high above the mantle until they meet the ceiling. The fire pops and crackles to fill the silence as the movie on the television falls quiet. The woman on the screen pauses on her porch as she sees her front door ajar. The camera pans to her shoes as she steps warily forward.
“Don’t go in,” Tsukishima instructs.
“Call the cops or something!” yelps Tadashi.
“She’s going in. She’s just walking on in.”
“She’s not listening to us.”
Tsukishima’s presence is calm next to him on the couch, his movements languid as he finally starts to relax, his work finished for the week. Warmth glows in Tadashi’s chest, like the embers have hopped from the fireplace to dance around within his ribcage. Tip-tip-tap—soft rain pesters the windowpane next to the couch. Tadashi pulls his knees to his chest and the woolen blanket slips off him. Tsukishima glances over.
“Aren’t you too warm?” he asks, tossing the blanket back on him. “With the blanket and the fire?”
“Not really. I’m cold-blooded, Tsukki.”
“Like a lizard.”
“Exactly,” says Tadashi. “Are you cold? I’ll share.”
Tsukishima’s face is red when he looks over, like maybe he’s way too warm already. Tadashi thinks about smothering the fire for him. He forgets the idea when Tsukishima’s stare pins him, his eyes glossy; the way they get when he really listens. Tadashi’s sudden nerves chomp a hole in his gut.
“Do you hear that?” Tsukishima whispers.
“I don’t hear anything. Why, what do you hear?” Tadashi wonders, his voice on a steep incline.
“It’s like…” Tsukishima pauses. “Scratching. It’s hard to hear over the rain.”
Tadashi bites the inside of his cheek—the cat. He’d been so calm and dry and comfy that she had completely slipped his mind, her and her pearly eyes and her little mewls and her sweater-ruining fur and, well, her scratching, apparently. Tadashi can imagine the marks on the back of his closet door already. Tsukishima draws his lip between his teeth in concentration.
“It’s definitely scratching,” he concludes.
“Oh, I—I think I heard something like that the other night,” Tadashi lies, “when I was in bed. Maybe we’ve got rats in the walls or something.”
Tsukishima looks askance at him and says, “If you heard it, I would’ve heard it.”
Tadashi shrugs. “Maybe you were asleep. You do sleep, don’t you?”
He makes himself look as innocent as possible as Tsukishima regards him, the fire burning on. Tadashi glances over. He makes a mental note to add another log. When he looks back at Tsukishima, he finally turns away. Tsukishima relaxes into the couch once more and steals some of Tadashi’s blanket, scooting millimeters closer. He redirects his attention to the television.
“This building is so old,” he sighs, “I’m surprised these are the first rats we’ve gotten.”
Tadashi follows his stare. A pang of guilt twists in his gut; he’s never lied to Tsukishima before, and now he’s done it twice. He swallows the lump in his throat as the woman on the screen lets the kitchen door fall shut behind her. Moonlight bends over the frilly skirt of her dress. She climbs the shadowed staircase around and around and around until darkness swallows her.
Tsukishima guffaws as the credits roll. Tadashi yawns obnoxiously, throwing his arms over his head.
“I think I’ll go to bed now, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima frowns at him, the look on his face a mix between disappointment and betrayal.
“You don’t want to watch the second one?” he asks.
Stretching tall, Tadashi stands from the couch. He quickly folds the blanket he used and tosses it over the spine of the couch.
“We can do it later in the week, can’t we?”
Tsukishima acquiesces and stands, too. He powers off the television. The only light in the room is the dying fire flickering from its place on the hearth, glowing washed-out oranges and reds over great wooden ceiling beams and ugly vintage wallpaper. They head their separate ways—Tadashi down the hall, Tsukishima through the kitchen.
“Oh,” Tadashi remembers, turning on his heel. “Tsukki.”
Tsukishima stops just short of the refrigerator. “What?”
“Do you want your shirt back?”
Tadashi tugs at the shirt’s loose hem. The fabric is thin and comfortable, lived-in, even if it does hang a bit from his frame. He can’t make out his face in the darkness but he sees Tsukishima trade his weight from foot to foot on the cool kitchen tile. He thumbs absently at the wide leaves of his favorite potted plant by the fridge.
“You can just give it back tomorrow,” he decides finally, his voice soft like cotton.
Tadashi wants to reach out and grab handfuls of it. He grins. He knows Tsukishima sees it despite the darkness, the fire’s last embers smothered to ash. Tadashi zips down the hall to his room, shutting the door the instant he’s behind it. He approaches his closet carefully.
“Don’t be mad,” Tadashi whispers as softly as his voice allows. “I got distracted.”
The cat strolls out of his closet and sits elegantly on the floor. The tip of her tail whips the air. Tadashi hadn’t bothered to turn on a light but her sharp, bright eyes cut right through the room. She lifts her paw to lick at it. She and Tadashi both flinch as thunder cracks outside. When Tadashi looks down a millisecond later, all he sees is the tip of her white tail protruding from beneath his ruffled bedskirt. He draws out a belabored sigh. He is such a sucker.
“One night. You can stay one night, okay?” he compromises, flopping down on his bed. He murmurs up at the dark ceiling, eyeing the single beam of moonlight that runs from corner to corner. “Come to think of it, do you have a name?” He waits for a few moments, like one will manifest on the ceiling where he stares. When nothing does, he rolls over to peek over the side of his bed. “Or would you like one? Just temporarily? How about…Mia?”
Under the bed, the cat sniffs. Tadashi crosses that one off the list.
“Maple?” Tadashi offers quietly.
She purrs indignantly from her hiding place.
“Margot?”
The bedskirt twitches as she pokes her pink nose out first, then her whiskers, then her little face. Tadashi grins in agreement. He reaches down and strokes the top of her head, her white fur silky under his fingertips. She rises into the touch. Tadashi counts his lucky stars that he had a cat follow him home and not something more sinister; something pointier like a manticore or ablaze like the phoenix Kuroo swears hunts him when he travels to collect ingredients in the western deserts. Tadashi’s entire bed could be burnt to a crisp instead of just a few scratches on his closet door. Tsukishima would definitely smell that.
+ + +
“Clear your mind, Tadashi. Stop thinking.”
“It’s hard to not think about stuff,” Tadashi whines.
“Tough. You can do it.”
Kuroo stands with his hands on his hips, watching like Tadashi’s magic will beam out of his forehead like a light show. The beaker on the bookshelf stays still. It reflects the sunshine that glares through the back window, at least until Kuroo’s shadow overtakes it as he steps closer. Tadashi concentrates. He curls his fingers into his palms. He imagines stuffing his rampant thoughts into a box and shoving it into the storage room of the shop to gather dust. A moment later, the beaker rattles slightly on the wooden shelf.
“Alright,” Kuroo approves. “Now try the book.”
Tadashi turns his attention to the old botany book next to the beaker, thick and weighty. He bites the inside of his cheek. The leather cover flings open. It thumps against the tabletop from the force of it. The book’s pages flick open to join it—flit-flit-flit—until the glare from the beaker winks at Tadashi. He’d left his bedroom window open for Margot to go as she pleases down the fire escape and now he frets about the weather despite the bright, cloudless sky. When he glances back, the book has gone still. Tadashi slumps in his chair.
“That’s okay, Tadashi. It was good!” Kuroo insists, waving his arms around. He flips the book closed with a resounding thud and ambles over to Tadashi. “You know, from my understanding, magic works either when you’re feeling nothing or you’re feeling everything.”
“What do you mean?” asks Tadashi.
He stands and pushes the chair back under the table. Kuroo pulls it back out and drops himself into it. Tadashi takes up the mortar and pestle on the table and gets to work grinding more herbs into a fine dust.
“Even my magic is iffy when I’m distracted or down about something. But it’s at its strongest when I’m furious or downright miserable. Or, on the other side of the spectrum, when I feel fine. Like right now.”
Kuroo nods his head in the direction of the doorway between the shop and the back. Tadashi stops grinding and watches as a glass of water floats easily past and out of view. At the shop’s counter, Kenma sighs. Kenma’s sighs are so powerful, Tadashi’s unsure how the glass doesn’t shatter in midair.
“I’m not thirsty, Kuroo,” he drones.
“You don’t drink enough water!” Kuroo lectures. He turns to Tadashi and goes, “See?”
Tadashi nods. His phone buzzes in his bag on the table. He apologizes as he reaches for it and Kuroo gives him a nod, dipping into the shop to continue on with Kenma.
“Tsukki?” Tadashi answers. “Is something wrong?”
Tsukishima’s inquiry crackles on the other line. “Hey. No, nothing’s wrong.”
“Phew. That’s good.”
“Why is that the first thing you ask?”
“You hardly ever call me on the phone,” Tadashi points out. “You just text.”
“I can call more if you want.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t be against it.”
He cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder as Tsukishima hums, taking a moment like he really considers it. Tadashi bites back his grin. Tsukishima clears his throat, the phone line crackling, and starts again.
“I wanted to let you know that you’re on your own for dinner.”
“Working late?” Tadashi infers, collecting Kuroo’s disorganized vials.
“Not exactly. I have a date.”
The vial he grabs slips out of his fingers. It rolls off the workshop table and falls to the floor, cracking. Tadashi swears. He presses the phone closer to his ear.
“What?”
“A date,” Tsukishima repeats.
“Oh,” Tadashi drawls, silence pressing down on him. He pushes it up with both hands and levels out when his voice when it comes out wobbly. “Okay. Thanks for the heads up.”
“So I’ll see you later.”
He drops the phone from his ear but lifts it back up immediately.
“Tsukki?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“Is it with the person whose umbrella you borrowed the other day?”
“Uh,” Tsukishima replies, his voice distant from the receiver. “Yeah, it is.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Tadashi parrots.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” Tadashi says one more time.
He can’t think of anything else to keep Tsukishima on the phone, so he hangs up. He stares at the glint on the beaker again, mocking him. The shop’s front doorbell chimes out merrily. Kuroo greets the customer with cool enthusiasm and Tadashi slips his phone back into his bag, screen down.
“Let’s start again,” Kuroo directs, strolling back in.
“Alright.”
“Whoa,” he gasps. He stops to peer at Tadashi. “You okay there?”
Tadashi reddens under his scrutiny. “Yeah, why?”
“You look—well—nevermind. Let’s get to work.”
He does his best to dismiss whatever expression snuck onto his face without his permission. He returns to his seat and Kuroo stands back to regard him as he focuses in on the botany book once more. Tadashi stares daggers at the stack of parchment and leather, his forehead creasing. Minutes pass, but the book stays regrettably shut.
Tadashi doesn’t move anything for the rest of the day.
+ + +
From the front porch, Tadashi smells a whiff of smoke. He jams his keys in the front door and races to the kitchen only to find it empty, and the smell mostly subdued. He spins on his heel and ponders. It isn’t like Tsukishima to burn food, anyway. He zips down the hall to his room. Frozen in his doorway, he presses a hand to his pounding heart.
“My lamp,” he wails.
Tadashi’s wide-eyed stare darts around the room but returns to his lampshade, all black and charred with strings of smoke still swirling from the fabric. Margot peeks her head through the open window, just above the sill. Her bright eyes look a bit dimmer today—and painstakingly guilty. Tadashi cocks his head. He points a shaky finger at her.
“You did that?” he accuses. “How did you do that?”
Margot hops in through the window and promptly sneezes. A wisp of smoke floats from her. Tadashi’s eyes widen, his mouth agape.
“You’re no ordinary cat,” he realizes.
She stands elegantly. A small, clawed wing comes apart from her body and extends out, out, out as she stretches. Tadashi gasps. Her opalescent scales cast a kaleidoscope of colors over Tadashi’s bare bedroom wall, brought on by the setting sun that sneaks through the window. She brings the wing back in as she sits and it folds seamlessly into her side. Tadashi creeps closer. Margot watches him with big eyes. He reaches out his hand carefully and touches her side, right where her wing vanished. He feels only white, downy fur. Sitting back, Tadashi marvels at her. Margot strolls up to him and nuzzles his side like usual, headbutting his forearm until he pets her again. Tadashi gives her a timid grin.
“Listen, I’m not kicking you out, but try not to burn any more of my stuff. Especially my bed,” he warns. “I really can’t afford to replace it.”
Margot meows in agreement. Tadashi sighs. He stands and collects his charred lampshade and the subsequent bits of black fabric that flake off of it. He figures he'd better get it down to the dumpsters before Tsukishima comes home tonight—if Tsukishima comes home tonight. Tadashi pauses with one foot out the front door. He shakes his head to dislodge the sudden, ugly thought. Surely, Tsukishima is more chaste than that. Tadashi hurls the lampshade into the dumpster out back. A clanging, metal sound erupts as the harp hits the back wall. Tadashi trudges back inside.
He opens all the windows in the apartment to let the bitter smell of smoke escape. He even changes his clothes in case the char from the lampshade seeped into his shirt as he discarded it. He tosses every permeable object within a nine-foot radius of the fire into the washing machine. Returning to his room, Tadashi glances at his desk. Tsukishima’s shirt hangs lazily off its adjoining desk chair, rejected and lonely. A fleeting thought urges him to sling it on, but the urge shies away when Margot begins to snore softly behind him. She naps on his bed, curled impossibly tight; a full, fuzzy moon against the night sky of Tadashi’s black comforter. He watches her fondly from the doorway. Heading into the hall, he shuts his bedroom door tight behind him.
Tsukishima’s favorite plant in the kitchen droops as Tadashi walks by, its leaves sad and curling.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he chants, quickly filling a cup of water from the sink. “Tsukki does not need more reasons to kick me out, c’mon, you stupid plant!”
He pours the water delicately into the potted soil and throws a movie on the television to distract him from himself, throwing concerned looks at the gloomy monstera every five minutes. He’s halfway through Spirited Away and about one-tenth more relaxed when the front door squeaks open. On the screen, Chihiro slips down the side of the bath basin.
“You’re such a klutz,” Tsukishima recites with the television.
He toes his shoes off and comes into the living room. His eyes glimmer gold, amused with himself. The fire’s glow curls into his blond hair. Tsukishima’s tie, navy and unfastened, hangs over his shoulder and shadows cascade over his features in the half-light. Tadashi presses a hand to his chest. His heart flutters against his palm.
“This is my favorite part,” Tsukishima tells him.
“I know,” says Tadashi, nodding.
“Did you burn dinner or something?”
“Oh, yeah,” he fibs. “Sorry.”
Tsukishima tuts and shakes his head. Only then does Tadashi realize he hadn’t even had dinner, too preoccupied with winged cats and borrowed shirts and charbroiled lampshades. He wills his stomach not to growl. Tsukishima would call him out on it in a second.
“This is why I’m the cook,” Tsukishima teases.
His fond smirk does something funny to Tadashi’s stomach.
“How was your night?”
Tsukishima hangs his bag on a kitchen chair and pads back into the living room. He joins him on the couch. The fire pops in the short silence.
“Waste of time,” he says curtly.
“What do you mean?”
Tsukishima shrugs. “I would rather have been home. Did I miss the paper birds scene?”
“Nope,” says Tadashi, his heartbeat kicking off again.
As Tsukishima settles in next to him, Tadashi lets out the breath he’d held all night. Even the monstera in the kitchen twitches back to life.
+ + +
“Burnt up? As in, with fire?”
Tadashi nods his head vigorously. Kenma lofts an eyebrow and hums.
“Just looked like a normal cat to me,” he says.
“Me too,” Tadashi insists, “until I saw her sneeze smoke. Well, and the wings, of course.”
Kenma puts up a finger and slides off the chair behind the register. He pads to the back room and fumbles around for a bit before he reemerges, his sleeves dusty. Under his arm, he carries a couple of worn books. He drops them on the counter and splays them so Tadashi can take a look.
“We should find it in here.”
The shop is quiet without Kuroo, their boss journeying the countryside for roots and herbs and bits and bobs for future endeavors. Kuroo swears he’ll take Tadashi next time. Though no custom potion orders have come in yet today, Tadashi stays behind just in case. The thought of brewing without Kuroo’s direction makes him twitchy. He jumps every time the shop’s front doorbell chimes. He swears he’d wither away in a ball under the workshop table without Kenma’s zen presence to keep him upright.
“Here, Yamaguchi,” Kenma suggests. “Take a look.”
Tadashi pulls the book of creatures closer to him. His mouth falls open.
He runs his finger under the lines as he reads, “The domestic feline’s rare, fiery cousin, the Dragat possesses the ability to conjure fire from its belly and a set of scaly wings. These wings only appear to those whom the Dragat deems trustworthy and are usually too small and feeble to allow the subject to successfully fly.” Tadashi pauses to both coo over the fact that Margot trusts him and also snicker at the idea of her flying tight, wobbly circles around his bedroom. He goes on, “Dragats only expel fire either in dire circumstances or, in most cases, out of plain boredom. Their other behaviors and lifespan match that of a traditional domestic house cat.”
“You have your very own dragat,” Kenma tells him. “Neat.”
Tadashi puts his head in his hands and groans.
“Tsukki is really gonna kill me.”
“You really need to go toy shopping.”
“Apparently,” he sighs.
“I can help, if you want,” Kenma offers.
“Really?”
He nods, shrugging. “I like cats. I like dragons.”
Tadashi takes him up on it.
+ + +
The pet shop has more cat toys than Tadashi would’ve ever thought possible, and the visual of a bunch of suits sitting around a glass conference table in a high-rise debating the concepts of metallic fish with neon feather tails versus plush mice with protruding eyeballs containing catnip is a little too much to handle. He snickers through the entire aisle while Kenma tosses various products into a woven shopping basket.
“Nothing too noisy,” Tadashi reminds him.
Kenma removes a butterfly toy with bells on the ends of its antennae from their basket.
“She would’ve loved that,” he mumbles remorsefully.
“Yeah, well, then she can find me a new place to live once Tsukki kicks me out.”
Kenma hums skeptically. They both flinch when the horned parrots at the end of the aisle squawk, shifting about on their brass perches.
“I can’t see him doing that.”
“He was pretty clear about the no pets, odors, or otherwise bothersome things on our lease. I’m pretty sure half-dragon-half-cat that sneezes smoke, sets lampshades on fire, and sheds all over my good sweaters falls under those categories.”
“No,” Kenma says, shaking his head, “I meant that I can’t see him doing that to you.”
“Why not? I would.”
Tadashi laughs but it comes out empty, deflated, tumbling down his chin and splattering onto the checkered tile floor. Without the mismatched socks in the dryer, the aroma of herb-crusted fish from the kitchen, the soft, melodic humming in the front hallway after a long work day—without Tsukishima—Tadashi isn’t sure where he’d end up. He pictures himself on a rickety cot in the back room of Kuroo’s shop, clutching the vials of all his failed potions. He chews the inside of his cheek. The horned parrots screech again and toss Tadashi from his internal tirade.
“Do you think this is enough?” he asks Kenma, jostling the wicker basket in his hand.
“You should be good. This will keep the rest of your furniture intact for a while.”
He puffs a sigh. “Oh, goody.”
+ + +
For the next few days, Margot follows Tadashi to work, winding between his legs with impeccable ease as he walks. She hangs around the shop while Tadashi fixes potions. He swears he doesn’t, but Tadashi knows Kenma sneaks her pieces of dried fish when Kuroo isn’t looking.
“Do you even know what I had to go through to get those? Those smelt come from a very specific riverbed near the peak of a mountain in northern Europe! You better not be feeding those to Tadashi’s cat!”
“She’s not my cat,” Tadashi insists, inching away from Kuroo’s fury.
“She’s a dragat,” Kenma corrects.
Kuroo heaves a sigh and stomps to the back of the shop. Tadashi follows on his heels. Kuroo swiftly shuts the door that separates the two rooms—something he never does—and plops down on a stool in front of his cauldron. He tosses in bits and bobs from nearby vials and pours in the contents of Tadashi's mortar so quickly that Tadashi can’t even keep up to take notes. Before he knows it, shimmery azure bubbles rise from the concoction. Kuroo sweeps an empty vial through the mixture and corks it with a pleasant pop. With a flick of his pinky, the vial floats effortlessly toward Tadashi.
“Miss Viola’s flavor potion. She’ll be here at three.”
He hangs the vial in the air. Tadashi just gapes, speechless.
Kuroo blinks at him. “What's the matter?”
“That—that was—I mean, you were just, like—and then boom, blue bubbles!” The vial in the air between them shivers, blue potion splashing around, coating the glass. “I mean, you didn’t even have to think about it!”
Kuroo holds a hand up, stopping him. He points at the vial.
“Are you doing that?” he asks.
The vial stills. Remnants of potion slip down the glass and leave it translucent once more. Furrowing his brow, Tadashi examines the suspended vial. He reaches out and grabs it. The vial glows warm, the glass thrumming slightly like a baby bird scooped from its nest. Tadashi stares back at Kuroo.
“Was I doing that?” he asks incredulously.
“It wasn’t me,” says Kuroo.
Tadashi punches his fist into the air in celebration. Kuroo gives a single, proud clap.
“This is exactly what I was talking about, Tadashi,” he goes on, his spiked black hair twitching in his frenzy. “You just need to get out of your head. You need to recognize your emotions and channel them. Take control.”
“But my emotions are precisely what keep me in my head,” Tadashi mentions.
“Well then, now that you’re aware of that, you can start to redirect it.”
“It sounds so simple when you say it like that.”
“Too simple,” Kenma mumbles from the other room.
Kuroo shoots the threshold between the shop and the back room a scolding look before he hones in on Tadashi again, leaning forward. His intense, studious focus is palpable, like Tadashi could scoop one of the empty vials through the air around him and come away with a new potion altogether. Tadashi listens like his word is gospel.
“Now that I know you can do that to objects in midair, I’m not letting you leave until you bring me that book.”
Kuroo refers to the enormous, four-inch thick Encyclopedia of Creatures that sits tucked in the enormous bookshelf against the front wall. Tadashi shrinks into himself in his seat. His immediate response is hopelessness. He squashes the ugly feeling before it can fully manifest, as per Kuroo’s instruction. Tadashi stands and approaches the bookcase.
When the book doesn’t budge, Tadashi doesn’t think about the fact that the book isn’t budging. He doesn’t dwell on it—Kuroo would feel that and call him out. He only sharpens his focus, spear-like. If he doesn’t move the encyclopedia, he’ll be here all night and Tsukishima will have to watch the sequel to that scary movie without him. Not like Tadashi thinks he would do that. But he might do so out of spite if he thinks Tadashi has blown off their plans. Tsukishima is predictable like that.
Tadashi would never tell him that, of course, as Tsukishima likes to think of himself as some mysterious entity no single soul could ever unravel. He wonders how he’d react if he were to learn that Tadashi has been unraveling him for years and he hasn’t even realized. Tadashi lets himself grin, his focus boring into the encyclopedia’s ancient spine.
The book shivers. Tadashi barely registers Kenma’s face peeking into the room from the doorway to watch. Margot’s pristine white tail flicks against his shin. She leaves tiny white hairs on his pant leg.
“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Kuroo reports evenly, “bring it home.”
Home. Tadashi visualizes the pile of sweaters in his closet, the little animal figurines on his desk, the charred, disintegrating lampshade at the bottom of the community dumpsters. He sees the puckered fabric of a borrowed shirt as it hangs off his desk chair. Tadashi’s skin thrums. He feels each stitch of Tsukishima’s shirt sliding over his skin—his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. A warm, shining nebula expands within the confines of Tadashi’s ribcage. His eyes sharpen. The back room around him blurs away, save for the encyclopedia, rattling its way out from between the surrounding books on the shelf and floating forward.
Kenma gasps. Tadashi blinks. The enormous book crashes to the ground at Kuroo’s feet, dust flying from its pages.
“I didn’t bring it all the way to you,” Tadashi grumbles into the silence.
Kuroo and Kenma share a wide-eyed look. Margot sneezes from all the dust. Tadashi looks between the three of them. He picks the heavy book up from the ground with effort and sets it on the table behind him.
“What?” he implores, the odd silence in the shop getting to him.
Kuroo stands and brushes his hands down the front of his shirt. He clears his throat.
“Tadashi,” he booms. “How would you like to collect resources with me next week?”
+ + +
Tsukishima gapes when Tadashi tells him he’ll be gone for a week.
“It’s no fun cooking for one person,” Tsukishima tells him in place of a goodbye. “And what about that movie we were going to watch?”
Tadashi finds his pout and his grumbling endlessly endearing. He wants to wrap them both up and stick them in his pocket to take with him. Tadashi practically vibrates with excitement as he packs a small bag and goes over the checklist Kuroo supplied him with. He isn’t sure he deserves it—he magicked one book, five feet—but he grabs the opportunity with both hands and holds it tight to his chest as it pounds. Kuroo suggests Margot comes along too, much to Kenma’s chagrin at being left at the shop alone.
“I’m not filling potion orders this week,” Kuroo tells him, “so you’ll just have to use your expertise to help the townsfolk with supplies while we’re gone.”
“My expertise?” Kenma huffs.
“Yes, Kenma, your expertise. There is a reason I keep you around, you know.”
Tadashi can’t believe his eyes even as it’s all laid out in front of him—the dry, waist-high grasses of the fields, the raw, rushing power of winding rivers, the dripping blackness of caves with entrances so gaping and jagged that Tadashi fears their mouths may chomp closed forever once him and Kuroo climb through. His awe is the spark that sets his magic ablaze. The inferno lights up dark corners, cuts gems from their hiding spots, and sweeps rare roots, seeds, and petals into their packs before they cinch them tight to take back home.
Tadashi watches, wonderstruck as Kuroo shatters a colossal boulder that blocks their path, like he’d shoved a stick of dynamite into it when Tadashi wasn’t looking. The massive blow pushes his hair off his face and puts a wobble in his knees. Tendrils of bright blue magic coil into the surrounding air. His legs still shaking, Kuroo has to pull him along.
“The hiking and—helps not only—physical stamina, but the core—your magic, too,” Kuroo lectures as he trudges up the snow-capped mountain ahead of him. Half of his words are lost to Tadashi in the roaring wind as it pushes past. “Think of it—magic emerges—your limbs—your strength. In the event—powerful as—like your roommate—you know?”
Tadashi is very curious about that last statement, but can’t find the strength in his overworked lungs to ask Kuroo what he means. The berries they seek grow on the foothills of the incredible mountain. Tadashi is eternally grateful; there is no way his body could have carried him to the top, but he’s oddly gleeful to have something to work toward for next time. The pale, globular berries melt when touched by bare skin, so Kuroo and Tadashi pluck the berries from their brittle stems with their magic and drop them into their weatherproof pouches, one by one. A baby Kuraokami chases them back down the mountain. Kuroo grabs Tadashi’s arm and conjures a transportation spell to yank them from the snowy hills before the ice creature's mother shows up. Fear still stabbing into his chest, Tadashi adds learning that to his list of things to work towards, too.
Margot chases field mice through the lush grass. She stretches her wings and sends kaleidoscopes into the fading sky. Kuroo asks for her assistance with the bonfires and she obliges every night, huffing embers between her little fangs onto the pile of sticks and branches. Tadashi pats her head as thanks.
He takes notes of everything Kuroo tells him, whether his mentor believes it to be noteworthy or not. Tadashi lies back on the grass and takes it all in. His magic swells within him in a way it never has at home. He wonders if the thrumming, glowy feeling will follow him back. He takes a deep breath in, the smoky aroma from the bonfire filling his nose. He absently wonders what Tsukishima made himself for dinner since he’s been gone. Tadashi’s stomach rumbles. He stares up at the sky and imagines Tsukishima’s shock of blond hair, the same color as the pale sun as it heaves itself up over the mountains. Even in the absence of wind, the grass around Tadashi shudders.
+ + +
A lovely, salty aroma nearly knocks Tadashi over as he enters the apartment. He drops his bag on the floor and then rethinks it and picks it back up so Tsukishima won’t scold him for leaving his things everywhere. Pans clink and sizzle from the adjacent kitchen. A fire flickers in the hearth. It warms more than just Tadashi’s skin, seeping inside him. He presses a hand to his chest as Tsukishima appears in the hallway.
“Hi. I missed you,” Tadashi says at once.
Tsukishima tilts his head, just a degree or two. Tadashi waits.
“Hey. I missed you, too,” he replies after a minute, closing his mouth around the words as if trying to decipher how they taste. “Are you hungry?”
“Definitely.”
Tadashi can barely keep his eyes open, his travels weighing on his shoulders like a warm winter jacket. But he can’t pass up whatever creates the smell that has his stomach growling for something more than the half-cooked fish and soft, bruised fruit he’s had for the past week. Besides, in his weakened state, Tadashi could simply not handle Tsukishima’s pout if he told him no. He follows him into the kitchen and the salty, savory smell of the enclosed room makes Tadashi’s mouth water. If it’s strong for him, he fears for Tsukishima’s nose.
“How is this not killing you, Tsukki?” he asks him.
“Oh, it is,” he reports, grabbing two plates from the cupboard. “But it’s your favorite, so.”
Tadashi grins at the back of Tsukishima’s head. The glowy feeling he felt before replants itself in his chest and blooms, quick and tall and plentiful like the miles of hydrangeas Tadashi walked through days earlier. He reaches out and touches Tsukishima’s elbow, his crisp white button-down starchy beneath his fingertips. Tsukishima turns. His golden stare lands on Tadashi like a sucker punch. Tadashi has to catch his breath.
“I really missed you,” he tells him again, still grinning.
Tsukishima drops the little sauce dishes he holds and they clatter on the kitchen counter. He steps into Tadashi’s space in an instant and leans down, pressing their mouths together in a sudden kiss. Tadashi gasps against his lips. Tsukishima pulls back just an inch at the sound, assessing. Tadashi pulls him back down by the collar of his shirt.
Tadashi hums and the vibration on their mouths has them both grinning, laughing, blushing like teenagers. He shimmies his bag from his shoulder and it drops to the ground. Tsukishima’s hand finds his waist. Tadashi parts his mouth for his warm, wet tongue. A sort of celebration kicks off in Tadashi’s chest—fireworks, sparklers, and kazoos. The finale is the cracking of all the kitchen cupboard doors as they fly open.
“What did you learn when you were away?” Tsukishima asks warily, leaning to the left to narrowly avoid the cutting board that flies off the counter. It slams into the fridge and leaves a massive dent. Tadashi turns away from it and curls his arms around Tsukishima’s neck.
“That I never want to be away from you for that long again, Tsukki.”
“You’re just sweet-talking me so I don’t yell at you about the refrigerator.”
Tadashi pouts up at him. “Is it working?”
“Yes,” Tsukishima admits, wrapping his cool fingers around Tadashi’s wrist.
He pulls him into the living room. Glued together again, they stumble to the couch.
“Good thinking,” Tadashi pants, his skin on fire as Tsukishima draws his fingers across his neck. “There are way fewer things to kill us in here, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima nods, distracted. He leans over him and kisses into his mouth again, pressing Tadashi’s back into the couch cushions. Tadashi hums again. His heartbeat hammers in his ears. He bets Tsukishima can hear it just as much as his own. His insides thrum and pulse, all his newfound magic swirling to be set free. He nips at Tsukishima’s bottom lip and Tsukishima makes a soft sound. Tadashi never could have imagined that sound, so soft, so sweet, and brought on by him.
“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima warns, pulling back. “The fire.”
Tadashi squints to look past the tornado of objects that whirl around them—the magazines from the coffee table, the loose-leaf pages from Tsukishima’s desk, the holiday and birthday cards from atop the mantle, even lost coins that slipped between the couch cushions—to see the fire crawling its way out of the hearth. He swears and squeezes his eyes shut. He centers himself like Kuroo taught him, alleviating the glow inside himself until it merely flickers.
A flurry of objects drops to the floor. Tsukishima pushes himself farther back with a hand on Tadashi’s heaving chest. They both pant in the silence. Tadashi looks around at the mess he’s created and laughs, his head tipping back with the force of it. When he looks back at him, Tsukishima’s grinning.
“I like you so much,” he begins, “that I don’t even care that you brought a cat in here. Even with my strict direction not to.”
Tadashi’s mouth drops open. He scrambles out from beneath Tsukishima and stands.
“Oh my god, you knew about that?” he worries, denying himself the urge to pace.
Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Yamaguchi. Come on.”
“You can kick me out, Tsukki, but can we still date?”
“I’m not doing that. The kicking out part, I mean. Is it here now?”
“Kind of,” Tadashi says meekly. He goes to the front door and swings it open, the drone of crickets invading the apartment. He calls into the night, “You might as well come in, Margot. Tsukki knows about you, apparently.”
A mere moment passes and Margot trots past him and into the living room. She sits politely in front of Tsukishima, her pristine tail wrapping around her legs. She leans down and sniffs at one of the many coins on the floor.
“I guess we weren’t as quiet and careful as we thought, huh?” Tadashi asks her.
Margot mewls. She sprawls across the carpet, her white belly tinted orange in the fire’s glow. Tadashi comes to her and scratches her forehead with his finger. Tsukishima would have to be heartless not to fall for her as he has.
“I’m not really fond of cats,” Tsukishima admits, his face pensive.
Like she hears him and must prove him wrong, Margot unfurls her wings. They shimmer brilliantly from the nearby flames, their scales shifting through a prism of color in each instant. Tsukishima’s mouth drops open. He scoots to the edge of the couch and leans over her, awestruck.
“She’s a dragat, Tsukki. Three parts cat, one part little dragon. Isn’t that—”
“So cool,” Tsukishima finishes.
He offers her his hand. She sniffs it and then headbutts his palm, asking for more. Tsukishima kneels and runs his fingers over her sleek fur. The moment she starts to purr, little wisps of smoke escaping her tiny nostrils, Tsukishima caves. Tadashi stands over them, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“So she can stay?” he hopes.
“She can stay.”
“And I can stay?”
Tsukishima stands from the couch and goes to him. Tadashi relaxes right into the arms he curls tightly around his middle. He leans his forehead to Tsukishima’s and wills his magic not to toss the paintings right off the walls and ruin the moment. Margot watches them with her pearly eyes.
“You’d better,” Tsukishima tells him.