Chapter Text
A few men loitered in the dressing room. They fastened cuff links, flattened collars, and straightened suit jackets. An older man in his late 40s came into the room. He glanced around the room then let out a heavy sigh.
“Where is Tetsuya?” He asked, “Has anyone seen Tetsuya?”
Smoke curled upwards, disappearing between the flickering lights of the buildings of downtown Shibuya. The hot spot on the end of the cigarette glowed with the smoker’s deep inhale. They held the smoke in their lungs, the smoke sitting in his throat. The burn of the smoke in his body almost excited him. Almost.
He exhaled, a cloud settling around his head before it dissipated in the night air. The building was cool against the back of his head as he tipped his head back. He couldn’t see the stars. Actually, he wasn’t sure he could remember the last time he had seen the night sky. Maybe middle school, he thought. That brought memories with it he wished he would forget. His lips pulled down and he made a displeased click of his tongue. Just as he was moving the cigarette to his mouth for one last pull, he picked up on the sound of his manager. The cigarette dropped to the ground, crunching under the heel of his shoe.
“Yes, yes,” he grumbled, “Time to flirt, time to work.” He said in a sarcastic sing-song.
Kuroo Tetsurou, known as Tetsuya at the club, had been working as a host since he was 18. By the time he was 21 he was the number one host at the most well-known club in Shibuya. Now 24, Kuroo was living the dream. Over the years he had seen people come and go—clients and coworkers alike. But he was still on the scene breaking hearts and making bank. His apartment was in the more flashy district of central Tokyo. It was a high rise apartment that had a huge window overlooking the metropolis. The city lights made it hard to sleep. But Kuroo didn’t do much of that anyway.
Kuroo flashed a falsely warm smile at the woman he had been sitting with. She—Himeko? Haruko?—giggled, cheeks flushed with alcohol and base arousal. She leaned in to wrap her arms around his forearm and press her breasts against him.
“What do you say we get out of here?” She breathed in his ear, lips brushing his earlobe. He suppressed a shudder. Carefully extracting his arm, he placed his hand on her thigh.
“Sorry dear,” he said sweetly, “I’m still on the clock and we’re all out of time.” He patted her thigh before standing and leaving the booth. He easily blocked out her protests. There was an irritation building in his bones and he felt the beginnings of a headache between his eyes. The carton of cigarettes crinkled in his hand. The worker at the door nodded to him as he stepped outside for a smoke.
Turned out his luck was just about gone seeing as he had run out of cigarettes. But he was lucky enough that the convenience store down the street was 24-hours—and had great sandwiches. So he wove his way among the late night patrons to the convenience store. It seemed like that same guy had worked the night shifts since Kuroo had first become a host.
“Mornin’,” he always greeted in his heavy Kansai dialect. Kuroo grabbed a simple ham and cheese sandwich and a beer.
“And a pack of smokes,” Kuroo said, pulling his wallet out. The clerk nodded and went to grab the brand Kuroo smoked. Kuroo placed a ¥1000 note in the tray and opened his beer. He took a long draw, nearly draining half of the beverage.
“Tough night at work?” The clerk asked as he rang up Kuroo’s items.
“Seems like the older they get the more handsy they are.”
The clerk—he never wore a name badge—snorted, “Bold old bags.” Kuroo’s change was returned to him in the tray and he stuffed it back into his wallet. Not wanting to get back to work just yet, he started on his sandwich. His eyes stared uninterestedly out the store’s windows. Drunks, party goers, and hosts working the streets seemed to be all that remained lurking this evening. Boring men and gaudy women. They were all just looking for something to do to pass the time. A man stumbled in front of the shop.
The clerk let out a low whistle, “Crazy bright hair. Ya think it’s natural?”
Kuroo shrugged one shoulder. The man was tall—maybe even taller than Kuroo. His hair was cropped in short, absolutely blonde curls. Kuroo finished his beer as he dissected the man’s attire. The black rectangular glasses made him look smart and he had a good profile. He stopped walking and put his hand against the glass.
“Jus’ washed that!” The clerk groaned. Before Kuroo could console him, the man outside pitched forward and collapsed. Kuroo sprang forward and the sliding doors barely opened fast enough to let him through. The clerk wasn’t too far behind him.
Kuroo knelt down by the man and turned him onto his back. Already he could tell the man was much warmer than he should be. He reached into the pants feeling around for a wallet or ID card. Kuroo found a cell phone and a subway pass.
“Help me get him inside,” Kuroo instructed. The clerk grumbled momentarily then helped drag the blonde businessman to the back staff room. They propped him in a chair.
“Get him some water—I’ll pay.” He said as he saw the clerk beginning to complain. He grumbled some more, disappearing back to the store. The man groaned which made Kuroo look towards him. Kuroo inhaled sharply. The man’s feverish eyes were a beautiful golden hazel. For a moment, Kuroo was taken to a simpler time of hot summers and warm tea with honey. An elderly woman who loved to tell stories and a shrine falling into disrepair. But just as quickly, he was back crouching on a dirty storeroom floor.
“Where—“ the man mumbled, throat hoarse from fever.
“You passed out. You’ve got a really impressive temperature,” Kuroo explained. The clerk returned with a bottle of water. Kuroo took it with a nod and offered it to the man. He looked as if he hadn’t even heard Kuroo. Those golden eyes sluggishly moved about the room.
“Daiki,” he said, “I have to get back—Daiki is—“ he moved to stand and wobbled with the motion.
“Woah there,” Kuroo caught him, “Hold on. You’re in no shape to be going anywhere right now.”
“Daiki is—Daiki will—“ the man continued to mutter. His breath was hot against Kuroo’s neck and when his forehead drooped to Kuroo’s shoulder, Kuroo was surprised the contact didn’t burn a hole in his shirt.
A frustrated sigh came from Kuroo’s lips, “Does this place sell fever medicine?” He asked the clerk over his shoulder.
“O’course.”
“Get me some of that too.”
“Not yer maid,” the clerk spat under his breath. But he went into the store once more. Kuroo managed to get the man to sit down again. He was still saying strings of sentences that didn’t make one bit of sense. So Kuroo took this moment to go through his things. The man’s name was Tsukishima. But he wasn’t sure how to read the kanji for his first name. The kanji itself was the word for “firefly." Kuroo couldn’t help but chuckle. With the man’s blonde hair that acted like a beacon on his head, the name only seemed appropriate.Tsukishima had a few business cards in his wallet as well. Turned out he worked in one of the big office buildings in another of the Shibuya districts. Stuffed shirt, Kuroo thought.
“Daiki,” Tsukishima said again.
“Daiki?” Kuroo sighed. He unlocked the phone—an old keyboard phone—and opened the contacts. He was surprised to see a mix of Japanese and English names. Maybe Tsukishima worked with a lot of international partners. There were even some names that Kuroo couldn’t really place. What did Tsukishima do for a living? Kuroo blinked and let the phone lock automatically. He didn’t care about people. So why would he care about this stranger? Why was he even doing so much as he already was?
As Kuroo was thinking that, Tsukishima turned to look at him.
“I need to get home,” he whispered. The golden eyes drew Kuroo in. He thought he might get lost in them. Kuroo stared at Tsukishima. A frustrated sigh blew out his lips and he pushed a hand through his eternally messy hair.
“Is this Daiki’s number in your phone?” He asked. Tsukishima nodded in response. He patted his pants looking for his phone. Kuroo couldn’t help but shake his head.
“I’ve got it right here Tsukki,” Kuroo chuckled. Once more he unlocked the phone. Ignoring the foreign contacts, he looked for the infamous Daiki. When he found it, he realized it was a local number and also that it had been starred as important. A lover maybe? Either way, it didn’t really matter. Kuroo pressed the green call button and held the receiver to his ear. It rang about five times. Just as Kuroo was going to give up on it, the call picked up.
“Dad?” Came the small, worried voice on the other end of the line.
“Dad?” They repeated, “It’s super late—are you still at work? Are you okay? Dad?”
It took Kuroo a second to collect himself. HIs eyes slid to the blonde man being offered water by the store clerk.
“Hey,” Kuroo began a little hesitantly, “Is this Daiki?”
The voice was even more hurried, “Yes. I’m Tsukishima Daiki. Did something happen to my dad?”
“Don’t worry—he’s with me. Looks like he’s worked himself a little too hard.”
“Is he gonna be okay?” Daiki asked, his anxiety seeming to lessen just a bit. It looked like Kuroo was right in thinking that the businessman had a tendency to put in a few too many hours. He looked the busy body type. But there was also an underlying air to him that Kuroo hadn’t quite figured out. Not that he had been around the man long enough or had a lucid conversation with him since meeting him. Not that Kuroo particularly cared either.
“He’s gonna be just fine,” Kuroo mumbled distractedly. He chewed absently on a thumbnail—a habit he thought he had kicked quite some time ago.
“Are you helping him Mr—“
“Tetsu. Tetsu is fine.”
“Mr. Tetsu?”
“Yeah?”
There was a pause then a soft exhale that crackled across the line, “Please take care of my dad.”
“Yeah,” Kuroo grinned slightly, “I will. He says don’t forget to brush your teeth. And—“ Kuroo stuttered to a halt. He was trying to give the stereotypical overprotective parent spiel they gave at night. However, he realized he didn’t quite know how that went. It caused a strange tightness to squeeze around his heart and stop his breath. Even the practiced cool that he had when soothsaying clients had disappeared too.
Kuroo cleared his throat, “He says goodnight and—and that he loves you.”
“Thank you Mr. Tetsu,” Daiki whispered, relief present in his tone.
“I’ll have him call you when he’s feeling better,” Kuroo said before ending the call. He let out a groan. Why did he feel like five years had just been taken off his life?
Kuroo slipped Tsukishima’s phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The clerk looked up at him.
“He can’t stay here,” he gruffed out. His calloused thumb jutted out in the direction of Tsukishima. Kuroo ran his hand through his hair—yet another habit he had thought he’d squashed.
“I know that.”
“You also need to pay fer water and meds.”
“I know that too,” Kuroo hissed, trying not to let the frustration show in his voice.
“Throw in some more water bottles, juice, medicine, and two more packs of cigarettes.”
Obviously not entertained anymore, the clerk stalked out of the storeroom. Kuroo flipped the man off when he was gone.
“Okay Tsukki,” Kuroo announced, “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Don’t call me that,” Tsukishima grumbled. It seemed like his fever was at least starting to go down. Kuroo ignored him as he slid an arm around Tsukishima’s back and guided him to his feet. It was a bit wobbly at first and Tsukishima had to lean into Kuroo quite a bit to remain standing. After a second though it seemed like Tsukishima seemed to get his land legs back and only needed to rely on Kuroo to keep him going in the right direction.
They made their way to the store again. The clerk was standing impatiently behind the counter. He tapped his finger harshly against the countertop.
“How much?” Kuroo asked.
“¥3758,” he mumbled through the fingers resting against his mouth, chin in his upturned palm and elbow on the counter. Kuroo muttered a few choice words as he dug around in his pockets. He pulled out a crumpled ¥5000 note and dropped it unceremoniously on the counter.
“Keep the change,” he growled. Grabbing the bag, he made his way out the door. It was a bit more difficult than he had thought it would be with Tsukishima acting as nearly dead weight. Unfortunately, it made his exit not as cool as he had hoped it would be. Evident by the sniggering of the clerk behind him. Kuroo just pushed it from his mind as he juggled the bulky bag of convenience store goods and the man becoming heavier with each step.
“Hold on just a little bit longer, Tsukki,” Kuroo ground out between clenched teeth. He should probably work out or something. This shouldn’t have been that hard of a task. They just needed to get a bit further to a main road. That way Kuroo would be able to call for a taxi.
“Don’t you pass out on me,” Kuroo said, adjusting his hold on the man. His palm was getting slick with sweat and thus losing his grip.
The main road couldn’t have been more of a salvation. Kuroo practically heard angels singing when his eyes fell on the Crossing. Even so late at night, the streets were peppered with glamorous people. Kuroo dropped Tsukishima on one of the benches near the Hachiko statue. The dog chipped out of stone was normally a popular meeting spot for people of all ages. But now, even with the night crawlers, the square just outside the metro station was empty. A few people wandered here and there, but none paid any attention to Kuroo and Tsukishima.
Kuroo allowed himself a moment to get his wits about him. It would be impossible to take a train—getting Tsukishima successfully through a turnstile without a large amount of swearing was just not going to happen. That meant the only other way was to call a taxi. Kuroo hated taxis. Mostly because the drivers generally liked to flirt with him and they could be incredibly expensive—not that Kuroo didn’t have the money to pay for them. But Kuroo also just didn’t like being in confined places, especially when he had little to no control. Although there really wasn’t much wiggle room in the current circumstance. As he pulled out his phone to find the contact he had for a company that had done him well by his standards, he felt a gaze on him. It was unflinching and unnerving, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His thumb hovered over the contact and he looked up. For what he could tell, none of the passerby's were looking. A couple may have glanced at them only to lose interest quickly and continue on their way. Kuroo turned to check and found the owner of the gaze. It was Tsukishima. Even though Kuroo didn’t think the man had broken completely from his illness, his gaze was sharp and calculating. Those golden eyes seemed to sparkle with an intelligence that Kuroo didn’t think he would ever completely grasp.
There was a tense moment between the two of them. For Kuroo, it felt like the air was charged with electricity. What was Tsukishima thinking with such intense eyes?
“Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima asked after what seemed like hours of their eyes locked together.
Kuroo returned Tsukishima’s gaze then looked back down at his phone. He pressed call and held the phone to his ear. His motivations weren’t even completely clear to him. For a very, very long time Kuroo had become uninterested in this life. Never did he really have a chosen “path” for himself and his life. There weren’t really any dreams or aspirations that he would work towards. Honestly, it was like he was just going through the motions because he was too much of a coward to end it. But those were thoughts he didn’t particularly like to entertain.
When Kuroo came back to himself, Tsukishima was still watching him. Kuroo took a moment to let his eyes wander over the disgruntled blonde hair, the sheen layer of sweat on his skin, and the gentle curve of the bow of his lips. Kuroo pulled a cigarette from the new carton and placed it in his mouth. He lit it and paused for another second.
“Who knows,” he mumbled around the cigarette. The smoke curled up and into the night air, disappearing between the stars and among the sounds of the city around them.