Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Act I

Kuroo - Day 1

“You’re staring again.”

Kuroo blinked, bringing himself back to the reality he was almost positive he had never left to begin with. He tore his eyes away from the small boy with a bad dye job walking down the hall with his arms folded in front of him and his head angled to stare at the ground. He gave Bokuto an offended look, nose scrunched and brows brought together in disbelief. “I wasn’t-” he paused to laugh, “me? Staring? No. I wasn’t…” His eyes trailed back over to the boy as he walked by them, expertly avoiding everyone else in the hallways so he didn’t even so much as brush against any of them. All of that while staring at the ground and never once lifting his eyes. Incredible. 

“Bro.”

“I’m not staring! Wasn’t. I wasn’t staring,” Kuroo assured him, looking back at his best friend with an assuring and proud nod while Bokuto just looked at him like he was mourning the loss of his friend’s sanity. “Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t staring.”

“If you want to talk to him, you should just go up and say something,” Bokuto suggested with a shrug as if that was even a possibility. It wasn’t. And that was the problem! Kuroo could go up to anyone in the school and just say something. It was literally that easy. Whether or not those people wanted to say anything back was irrelevant; Kuroo could make conversation with anyone from Akaashi Keiji, top of their class and role model student, to Iwaizumi Hajime, the police chief's son who got in more fights than a gang leader. But Kozume? Kozume Kenma? He wasn’t someone Kuroo could just go say something to. 

Kozume Kenma was two classes above him in the same grade, but that just meant he was smart, whereas Kuroo was… distracted. Not dumb. Just uninterested. But Kozume was in the same class as Akaashi Keiji, so that had to count for something. He was friends with absolutely nobody, which seemed to be completely by choice considering he avoided human contact and interaction like the plague, but occasionally some people would see him exchanging a few words with Akaashi, and that was about as far as that ever went. He was a complete mystery. A… really, really pretty mystery that Kuroo desperately wanted to know more about without sounding like a complete creep. 

It stumped him how someone so small and… caved in on himself… could possibly count as cute, but Kozume Kenma managed it. With the limited amount of his face that he showed, his horrible roots in need of bleach, the oversized hoodies he always wore over his school uniform, and his absolute distaste for other living beings, Kozume Kenma should have, by all standards, been considered a loner. And he was… by literally everybody except Kuroo because the term ‘loner’ implied a certain distaste with it, and Kuroo was quite pathetically enamored with him. Besides, normally loners weren’t loners by choice… right? Kuroo wouldn’t know. He wasn’t a loner. But neither was Kozume! Sort of. 

Whatever. Kuroo liked Kozume Kenma and this was probably one of the most well known facts in their entire school, and he wasn’t staring at Kozume even though he liked him a disgusting amount because he wasn’t a creep.

And once again, Kozume passed by him in the hallways without lifting his head even once, despite Kuroo hoping he would every single time. And fine! Maybe he was hoping for one of those movie moments where the distant character shrouded in mystery finally looks up only to lock eyes with their soulmate while time itself freezes around them, but whatever! It was unrealistic, he knew. But still, he couldn’t help but hope for the more realistic details of that scenario to one day come true, such as Kenma looking up, for starters. That would increase his chances of being seen drastically. Unfortunately, it had been nearly two years since Kuroo first noticed the boy and he had yet to meet his eyes even ONCE! Unbelievable, right? 

“Are you done spacing out thinking about Kozume?”

“Bo, I can’t help it,” Kuroo insisted, grabbing onto his arm which was probably way larger than it should have been for being attached to a high school student, and hanging off of him. “I’m losing my mind. I can’t do this for the rest of the year. What happens when we graduate? What if I never see him again? What am I supposed to do then?” It was nowhere near graduation, but two years ago when Kuroo had entered high school, he had thought his third year was far away only to blink and suddenly he was in his third year. It was a miracle he hadn’t been held back, honestly. 

“Talk to him before graduation, obviously,” Bokuto suggested with the expression of someone who genuinely did not realize why this was not an option. “Then you can become friends after we all graduate.”

“Kozume doesn’t have friends!” Kuroo whined, tugging on Bokuto’s arm with all his body weight and barely causing the man to budge. 

“Then you can be his first friend!” Bokuto said with a wide smile, again, not seeing any flaws with this logic. Kuroo seriously wished it was that easy. He would kill a man to be Kozume’s friend. Actually, trying to be Kozume’s friend would probably kill him first. “Oh fuck! Kuroo, stop pining, we’re gonna be late to class!”

“UGH!”

The two of them nearly stumbled over each other as they broke out into sprints side by side to make it to their classroom on time, which was an unfortunately common occurrence. They passed Kozume’s class, and of course Kuroo tried to look through the window for no easily explainable reason, but they ran by too fast for him to actually see anything. 

They made it back to their class just in time for the bell; ‘just in time’ meaning they both stumbled over the doorway and ended up in a heap of sore muscles and a banged elbow just as the bell rang. Their teacher just stood at the front of the classroom, unamused, as usual. 

“We made it!” Kuroo announced proudly, giving their teacher a thumbs up from the floor. This definitely counted as making it. 

“Congratulations,” the teacher answered, gesturing at their desks. “How about next time you try to make it without making spectacles of yourselves?”

“What? Those two? Enter the classroom normally? No way.”

“Eat my ass, Oikawa.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou!”

“Uh… I meant ‘eat my cheeks’. School appropriate, y’know?”

They both got a warning glare for that comment while Oikawa Tooru snickered to himself at his desk in the front of the room. Kuroo pushed himself off of Bokuto and the floor with his hands up in surrender as he made his way back to his desk. Bokuto followed behind with a hand lifted to scratch at his temple, middle finger extended. The teacher either didn’t see it or didn’t have the energy to deal with them so early in the day, so she didn’t comment. 

Kuroo more or less dropped into his chair, already sitting improperly and waiting for the day, which had just begun, to end. Bokuto sat beside him, trying his very best to pay attention for the first few minutes of the lesson before getting bored and ultimately ripping pages out of his notebook to turn them into paper cranes. Kuroo just twirled his pencil around between his fingers under the desk, reminding himself that if he dropped it again like he did last week and the week before that he’d be yelled at… again.

Kuroo and Bokuto, and of course that prick Oikawa, were all in what the school considered ‘the dumb class’, although that wasn’t true at all. Kuroo was smart, and he knew Oikawa was smart, and Bokuto had some knowledge buried deep in that brain of his. The problem was that none of them cared because the school system was just one big scam. Well, Bokuto kind of cared, but he just didn’t do well. And Kuroo had no idea what Oikawa’s problem was.

Oikawa Tooru was the Tamaki Suoh of the school. He was the It Boy. Mr. Perfect, despite being in ‘the dumb class’. He had every girl in the school and half of the boys wrapped around his fingers, and God did he love the attention. If ever there was a person to fit the description of ‘attention whore’ it was Oikawa Tooru. The man thrived off of the attention he got from his facade of a personality and his perfect hair. And also insulting Kuroo and Bokuto like it was his day job. It wasn’t bullying, probably, he was just a snarky bitch. 

Just one of the joys that made their school so enjoyable. 

Their high school was settled right on the edge of Tokyo where all the people who wanted to be a part of the city life but were too poor to really enjoy it lived. Except Iwaizumi Hajime, who was the police chief’s son. His family probably had enough money to move to the inner city, so why they stayed here was the world’s biggest fucking mystery. Kuroo wouldn’t stay here anymore if he didn’t have to. And also Akaashi Keiji. His family was apparently super fucking rich, so they probably hated Akaashi or something to put him in a school like this. All schools were terrible, but putting your son through public school despite having the option not to had to be some cruel punishment or something. 

But there were plenty of interesting things going on in this part of the city to make life just slightly more bearable. Like Fukuro, their own personal crime lord. Well, not really. He wasn’t a crime lord, but he did commit crimes. Sure, it wasn’t anything serious like assault or murder, but he stole a lot of shit and even sold cigarettes to all the high schools in the area. Basically, this guy—Fukuro—popped up out of nowhere in their first year of highschool and suddenly started selling homework and test answers he stole from the school, and then later he got into selling cigarettes and shit like that. But the best part was that the school actually had no idea. They knew about Fukuro, but they probably just assumed he was a regular drug dealer from one of the neighboring schools or something. Kuroo was pretty sure they didn’t know about his monopoly on test answer sheets. Besides, it wasn’t like everybody just knew about that shit. Kuroo only knew because Bokuto was told about it because he looked like he needed the extra help, but going to some weirdo that named himself after a fucking bird seemed too sketchy, so they never tried to actually track him down. 

But yeah, basically a high school crime lord. Pretty cool. Bet not everyone can say they have one of those. 

Kuroo was just about to dive into his personal headspace labeled ‘imagining scenarios of him actually talking to one Kozume Kenma’ only to be interrupted by Bokuto’s outstretched hand with a small crumpled note in it. He would gladly put off (note: not cancel, just put off) his daydreaming about Kozume to pass notes in class. He reached his hand out quickly, taking the note and bringing it into his lap. 

Talk to Kozume after class.

Kuroo rolled his eyes, quickly glancing up to see where the teacher’s attention was before grabbing his pencil off his desk, bringing it into his lap and using his thigh to write out his response. 

I’d rather die.

He tossed the note back, and Bokuto missed it. He had to actually lean down to grab it off the floor, straightening up the same second the teacher turned around to survey her perfectly well behaved classroom. Because Oikawa totally wasn’t texting right now either, and there weren’t two kids in the other corner making plans to smoke after class. Perfectly well behaved. 

Bokuto tossed the note back, and Kuroo reached out and just barely caught it between the tips of his fingers.

If you like him you gotta make a move.

Kuroo quickly wrote out his response, crumpling the note back up and getting ready to toss it over. Well, he was getting ready to toss it until the teacher slapped her ruler on Kuroo’s desk making him scream like a little girl. She watched unamused as he turned to her with a guilty smile. “Uh… we were discussing the homework.”

“Today is Monday. You didn’t have homework over the weekend,” she reminded them with a single raised brow, once again completely unamused. 

“The homework for tonight. That’s what we were talking about,” Kuroo corrected with an assured nod. “To be… prepared.”

“Wow, good one. Everyone totally bought that,” Oikawa drawled from the front of the room. 

“Oikawa was texting while you were teaching.”

“You fucking bitch ass snitch!”

Kuroo raised his hand, flipping off Oikawa who had turned around in his seat just to glare at him. The teacher just slapped her ruler on Kuroo’s desk again, grabbing his attention. “He just said like five bad words! Why aren’t you yelling at him?!”

“Let me see that note, Kuroo.”

“I said ‘ass’ and you got on my case, but Oikawa says-”

“The note, Kuroo.”

“I have like, 500 yen in my pocket if you wanna just let this one slide maybe-”

Kuroo didn’t get to finish his poor attempt at bribery before the bitch was reaching forward and taking the note right out of his hand. That was partly Kuroo’s fault because he should have just shoved the paper in his mouth and ate it to hide the evidence while he had the chance. He leaned forward, reaching over the top of his desk to try to grab the note back, but the teacher just turned away with it in front of her. 

“How about we read this one to the class?”

“Oh, please don’t do that.”

The teacher cleared her throat, all while Kuroo just sunk back into his seat and let his forehead hit the desk.

“Bokuto says ‘Talk to Kozume after class’. Kuroo replies ‘I’d rather die.’ ” That last part was repeated with what was probably a judgmental glare in Kuroo’s direction, but he wouldn’t know because he refused to lift his head off the desk. “Bokuto says, ‘If you like him you ‘gotta’ make a move’. Bokuto, your grammar needs work.”

“It’s- uh- that’s slang, actually, so technically-”

“And Kuroo says ‘ Bro I wish I could.’”

Kuroo curled his arms over his head as the rest of the class erupted into laughter, unable to contain themselves anymore because that was just so funny! 

“What a fucking simp!” Oikawa called from the other end of the room, followed by several other comments like ‘Pussy!’ and ‘Aww Kuroo’s a romantic’. 

Yeah, so… when Kuroo said his crush on Kozume was probably one of the most well known facts of the school, he meant it. Everyone knew already. Everyone except Kozume, be it a curse or a blessing. 

“Please pay attention to the lesson now, you two.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can I die now?”

---

“Did you hear the new rumor going around about Iwaizumi getting into another fight?” Bokuto asked lazily and with a certain amount of disinterest, like he was only bringing it up for the purpose of having something to talk about. The school day had ended over an hour ago, and yet the two of them, instead of going home or to prep classes like any other students, were sitting on the bleachers facing the school’s sports field all by themselves, watching the many sports teams practice as if that would somehow make them feel accomplished themselves. 

“Eh. Nothing new there,” Kuroo replied, just as bored. He had never exchanged a single word with Iwaizumi despite the two of them being in the same grade because, somehow, the police chief’s son who was constantly getting into trouble was in the same class as Kozume and Akaashi. Lucky bastard. His dad probably paid off the school. 

“How many more fights do you think it’s gonna take before he gets in trouble?” Bokuto asked, laying back on the bleachers and staring up at the sky.

“Who cares?” Kuroo asked in return, copying his position. He leaned back, trucking his arms behind his head. “Doesn’t even matter because he comes from a good family and gets away with shit. If today was an example of anything, it was the fact that we never get away with shit,” Kuroo grumbled, crossing his ankles and tapping his foot in boredom. But at the mention of Iwaizumi having a good family, it was like the air between them became denser. That was probably Kuroo’s fault. He couldn’t help it though. He wished his dad was the police chief and got him out of trouble. Honestly, he kind of just wished he had a dad. He’d settle for a parent who cared about him, though. “My mom has a new boyfriend,” Kuroo blurted out before he could think better about bringing the subject up. He knew talking about it was just going to upset him more, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to talk about it. 

“I thought she brought a new one back last week,” Bokuto mumbled with a small pout. 

“Yeah, she did,” Kuroo replied with a scoff. “But she broke up with that one—or he broke up with her. I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” That one was scruffy anyway, and Kuroo didn’t like him. But then again, Kuroo never liked any of his mom’s boyfriends. “This new one’s terrible, though.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” Bokuto asked, probably already expecting a list of complaints that Kuroo did in fact have mentally prepared. It was probably bad that this had happened enough times to become a habit for the two of them, but what the hell was he supposed to do when his mom brought back literal scum from the streets home claiming ‘this one will be the one’ every single time?

“Well, he doesn’t shave. But not because he takes care of his facial hair in a stylish way. It's obvious he’s just way too lazy to shave, which really says something about his personal hygiene. I bet he doesn’t wash his ass.” Bokuto snorted beside him. “He’s probably one of those people who says they wash their feet in the shower but really they just let the soap run down their legs and think that’s good enough. That’s if he uses soap. And he has this smell. It’s way too specific to be body odor but if it’s cologne then he needs a new brand because anyone who chooses to smell like that is a walking red flag,” Kuroo continued, just ranting at the clear sky above them and Bokuto, who was laying contently by his side. He really appreciated Bokuto for listening to him rant like this all the time. If it wasn’t for him, he probably would have gone insane a long time ago. 

“And he does that gross thing were he holds my mom around her waist like he’s trying to be intimate or something, but his hand is way too close to her ass to be anything but sexual. Like seriously, who does that in front of someone’s teenaged son? He has the creepiest fucking laugh too, and he laughed a lot for someone who isn’t funny whatsoever. Like, seriously, I’d love to know what my mom saw in this one, because it certainly wasn’t his nonexistent sense of humor or his serial killer laugh. I wonder if he laughs like that when he’s trying to lure children into his trunk. Y’know, I thought the way he looked at me when he saw me was weird. He was probably expecting a younger child. Is my mom seriously dating a child predator? That’s a new one. Almost as unique as the ‘fine lint collector’ she dated last year.”

“What about the therapist she dated?” Bokuto asked with a laugh.

“Which one?” Kuroo asked with a huff that was both a bit annoyed and amused. “The one with the clearly fake glasses he only wore to make himself seem smarter or the one that gave me a character analysis the second he met me and diagnosed me with ADHD?”

“The one with the creepy laugh that you said reminded you of a child predator posing as an ice cream man,” Bokuto said with an even louder laugh this time. “And you can shit on that therapist all you want! You have ADHD so he wasn’t wrong!”

“That didn’t mean he had to point it out!” Kuroo defended, laughing along with Bokuto because that had actually been pretty funny, looking back on it. “I forgot about that one. I guess there were three therapists then.”

“How long do you think this one’s gonna last?” Bokuto asked, sitting up just to roll his shoulders back before laying back down. Honestly, laying across the bleachers like this wasn’t really that comfortable. It would probably be more comfortable if they laid down on them like benches, but no, they had just laid back directly from a sitting position and the metal corners of the benches were digging into their backs uncomfortably. 

“Optimistically? A week. But I’m hoping a day at most. I don’t like this one more than I usually don’t like them, and I don’t want him in my house. He seems like the type that’d go through my room for some reason. I don’t know why he would, but I feel like he would.”

“You could always chase this one out with itching powder like you did to the doctor,” Bokuto said, snorting this time with his laugh.

“That man was not a doctor and he deserved that.”

As funny as talking about all of his mom’s exes was, it was just a shitty coping mechanism. Dealing with the bad shit by covering it up with humor. And he didn’t learn that in therapy because his family didn’t have enough money to pay for therapy and Kuroo didn’t want to get stuck with some charity therapist supplied by the school that didn’t know what they were talking about. He learned that from movies, probably. Anyway, he heard it somewhere and it just stuck with him because welcome to his life! Meeting a new boyfriend every week and shitting on them with Bokuto to make himself feel better about it. Maybe if his mom picked guys up from somewhere other than the streets and actually tried to get more out of the relationship than bad sex and dumb promises, things would be different. Life didn’t work that way, though. 

Kuroo shook his head, physically chasing the bad thoughts out of his head. “Hey, I’m hungry. Wanna go get food?”

“But our usual place down the street is closed today,” Bokuto reminded him, pushing himself off the bleachers and rolling his shoulders again because seriously, it wasn’t comfortable at all. 

“Then let’s just find a new place,” Kuroo suggested, jumping up with him. “I’m tired of going there anyway. It’s a cesspool.” That place was dirty, and Kuroo was pretty sure everyone who cooked the food was high out of their mind all the time, anyway. 

Finding a new place to eat took a whole hour because Kuroo and Bokuto were having plenty of fun just wandering the streets looking around at their options. Every place they came across was either too full of other students, clearly a bar, looked like the food would be poisoned, or didn’t have chicken on the menu. Bokuto liked chicken too much to settle, and Kuroo was dead set on finding him a place that had chicken. He also liked chicken, though. Particularly the tender variety. 

“What about this place?” Kuroo asked, looking up at the small restaurant at the corner of whatever street they had found themselves at. The building looked a little bit… worse for wear, but it was obvious enough that the place was a restaurant. There was a menu written on an old-styled chalkboard outside the door along with hours posted on the door. There were also pictures of the food on posters taped to the inside of the front windows, one of which showed something clearly chicken related. The food actually looked like it came straight out of a magazine, and yet the place looked dead, which meant it was either run by the creepiest people ever as a cover for something else or it was a small family owned place that didn’t have traction. Kuroo was willing to bet on the latter. 

“I mean, if we keep looking my stomach might eat the rest of me, so if this place can give me chicken then it’s perfect!” Bokuto decided, already marching ahead of Kuroo to get to the front doors. 

A little bell on the door jingled when they entered, and although the inside wasn’t at all fancy or perfect, it was homey. It felt family-owned. There were tables scattered around the middle of the room with chairs and booths lined the walls. None of them had tablecloths, and they were all just bare, wooden tables, but again, it was homey. In the back, there was a small counter and a door beside a little window which Kuroo could hear the sounds of a kitchen coming from. He wasn’t exactly sure how else to describe that other than the fact that he walked in and knew there was a kitchen back there without a single distinct or recognizable sound clueing him in. It was just ambiguous ‘kitchen sounds’.

Before Kuroo could ask Bokuto if they were just supposed to go up to the counter to order  or sit down and wait because the place was absolutely dead and he had no idea  what to do, someone was standing up from the table in the corner. His backpack was leaning against the side of the booth, and it was obvious he had been focused on his homework before the two of them walked in. But that shit really was not important. Not at all. Because the small boy who was already making his way over to them had partly bleached hair with a horrible dye job and a red apron tied around his waist. 

Kuroo could have sworn he stopped breathing on the spot as Kozume Kenma walked up to them, actually lifting his head and making a brief second of eye contact with them. His eyes were small, but they were almost golden in color, and Kuroo was definitely staring this time. 

“Welcome to Nekoma.”

Kenma - Day 1

Kenma sat on a rickety stool in the back of the kitchen, legs tucked up against his chest and arms wrapped around them to keep himself small enough to fit on the stool. He imagined that if he could make himself small enough, he would just fade into the background completely and then he’d never have to deal with anything ever again. Life didn’t work that way, though. 

Just… why, of all people, did it have to be him?

“Ken, are you feeling alright?” 

Kenma looked up at the sound of his uncle’s soft voice, clearly lowered just in case Kenma had a headache, which he didn’t for once. His uncle was aging with wrinkles in his skin and thinning gray hair, but he moved around and smiled just like anyone else twenty years younger than him would. Kenma actually thought the man was his grandfather when he first met him because of how old he was, but it was just the odd circumstance where his mother, who already had Kenma very late in life, happened to have a large age gap between with her older brother. 

“I’m okay,” Kenma mumbled back quietly, not wanting to raise his voice very much. The restaurant wasn’t exactly sound proof, and if those two overheard him talking in the back… Kenma didn’t even want to think about it. He would just talk quietly so he wouldn’t be overheard. 

“Did something happen at school?” his uncle asked, bringing most of his attention back to the food he was preparing, but clearly still waiting for Kenma’s response. Kenma watched him shift the pan and toss around the ingredients like he was in a trance. 

“No. Nothing ever happens at school.” In all fairness, that wasn’t true. Several dozen things happened at school every day, it was just that Kenma ignored the vast majority of them, and therefore felt no reason to bring them home with him. 

His uncle nodded, clearly trying to think of what to say next, but deciding on silence instead. Kenma appreciated that. He wasn’t sure how many more questions he could have taken before he would have been forced to admit he was hiding in the back because Kuroo Tetsurou from school was in the dining room of the restaurant. 

Kuroo Tetsurou wasn’t a bad person as far as Kenma knew, but to be honest, it wasn’t like he knew a whole lot about him. He knew Kuroo was in the same grade as him—albeit in the lower class but who honestly gave a shit about class ranking? He knew Kuroo was best friends with Bokuto Koutarou, the loud guy that everyone liked to gossip about for no good reason. And above all else, Kenma knew that Kuroo had a crush on him, and had for at least a year now. 

How could he not know that with the way everyone always talked about it like it was their business?

At first he despised Kuroo for making anyone at school notice, care about, or pay attention to him in any way, shape, or form, but eventually he just stopped caring and the gossip continued with a new story rumor that had nothing to do with him. But it had been a whole year and the rumors never truly stopped. Kuroo Tetsurou had a crush on Kenma, and to be honest, Kenma could not for the life of him justify why. They’d never spoken a word to each other. Kenma had only ever seen Kuroo a handful of times and he knew for a fact they’d never made eye contact before (well… ten minutes ago didn’t count), and he had no friends in school so it wasn’t like someone could have gone up to him and said ‘wow, Kozume is just the coolest person ever, I’m sure you’d get along great.’

But that was none of his business. Some random guy with a rat’s nest of a hairdo having a crush on him for some ungodly reason was literally the opposite of his problem, and he intended for it to stay that way until he graduated. 

So much for that. 

Now it was his problem because Kuroo Tetsurou was sitting in his dining room and had stared at him so much that Kenma actually felt like his skin was going to melt off his body. Was there something wrong with the way he looked or something? No, he had checked in the mirror after running into the back room. So literally what other reason could Kuroo have for staring at him like he was Zeus descending from the clouds when Kenma was pretty sure he passed him almost every single day in the halls? 

Why couldn’t he just have a crush on someone else? Literally anyone else. 

“Ken, maybe you should lay down,” his uncle suggested from the stove with a worried expression on his face. “You don’t need a reason to have a bad day. If nothing happened and you still don’t feel well, you can tell me and take a break.” 

Kenma gave his uncle a weak smile, pushing himself off the stool as his uncle finished preparing the plates and bowls of food. “I’m okay. Promise,” he assured him, walking over to his uncle’s side to help arrange the side dishes. It was a weird combination of food, but Kenma didn’t care enough to psychoanalyze Kuroo and Bokuto’s eating habits. “I just needed a second to sit down.”

“Does it have anything to do with those two boys from your school out there?” his uncle asked quietly, leaning down to whisper to him like they were elementary kids on the playground. But damn his uncle for being perceptive. Kenma shrugged instead of answering, taking the tray from in front of his uncle. “I can bring it out instead,” his uncle offered.

While that sounded like the best idea on the planet, Kenma didn’t want it to seem like he was purposefully avoiding Kuroo, either. That was just rude, probably. 

“It’s fine,” Kenma reassured him, once again, this time with a small smile. It was forced and short, but hey, it was a smile. “I see them at school all the time anyway. It’s no big deal.” It was a little bit of a big deal, but Kenma wasn’t about to tell his uncle that. He pushed open the kitchen door with his back, cradling the tray carefully on his forearm as he moved around the tables expertly. He took a deep breath as he approached the booth they’d chosen earlier, already feeling both of the boys’ eyes on him even while he was looking down at the tray in his arms. 

But that was fine. It was fine. Kenma was just going to give them their food, play stupid enough to not get dragged into any useless conversation, and hope they never decided to come back to Nekoma ever again. 

“Here you go,” Kenma mumbled, sticking to his server dialogue which he had memorized from a YouTube video. He balanced the tray with one arm, using the other to move the bowls and plates to their table without dropping a single thing. It was almost like a game where the consequence of failing was humiliation and embarrassment. He was a master of it. 

“Tha- thank you,” Kuroo stuttered. Kenma replied with a nod instead of addressing the stutter or making any real attempt to communicate beyond what was required of him. 

“Thank you, Kozume!” Bokuto beamed. 

“Just Kenma’s fine,” he corrected quietly, off put by the use of his family name. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with it. He just didn’t like it much. He held the tray in front of him, taking a small step back from the table. “Can I get you anything else?” Kenma did not miss the way Bokuto gestured with his eyes for Kuroo to answer that question himself, but he wished he did. 

“Uh no we’re- thank you, we’re good,” Kuroo answered, to Kenma’s relief. 

He bowed his head and made his escape quickly, not seeing any reason to stick around longer than he needed to. He pushed open the door to the kitchen, watching his uncle hurry back to the counter at a panicked pace and then pretend like he hadn’t just been caught spying. Kenma shook his head while placing the now empty tray back on the stack with the rest of the trays.

“Do you know the one with the cool hair?” his uncle asked quietly, looking at the door like if he watched it long enough he’d gain x-ray vision and the power to stare at Kenma’s classmates through the walls. 

“The cool hair?” Kenma repeated with a single brow raised in what was almost amusement. “Both of them have weird hairstyles.”

“The black haired one,” his uncle clarified.

“Not personally,” Kenma replied, which was true. His uncle still clearly didn’t believe him. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t keep pressing,” his uncle decided after a moment of silence, returning his attention to the dirty dishes in the sink so he could wash them. Kenma grabbed a dish cloth, getting ready to dry them. 

He was happy to leave the subject behind. Hopefully, after today, Kuroo Tetsurou would never become a topic of conversation between them again, so there was no reason to explain the situation to his uncle to begin with. “I saw you wrapped their chicken in a different breading than usual. Is it a new recipe?”

“Not a new one, but an alteration of the old one!” his uncle announced proudly, his voice raising again with excitement. He lit up when Kenma asked, like the fact that he noticed such a simple thing just made his day. “This one’s crunchier than the last. Doesn’t the boy with the white hair look like someone who would enjoy crunchy chicken?”

Kenma breathed out a small laugh with a shake of his head as his uncle handed him a pot to dry and put away. “He does, I guess,” he admitted. To be honest, Bokuto seemed like the type of person to eat whatever food was put in front of him, but crunchy chicken did seem more his style. 

“I should ask for their opinions on it after,” his uncle decided, smiling giddily to himself. Kenma couldn’t help but smile with it, pulled into the orbit of his uncle’s excitement about cooking. It was clearly his one true passion, and Kenma couldn’t bring himself to put a damper on it even if he wanted to. 

Kenma waited until Kuroo and Bokuto looked like they were finishing up with their food before walking back out with his dish basket, once again mentally preparing himself for being stared at. As expected, Kuroo noticed him the second he opened the door. 

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Kenma asked, doing his very best to meet both of their eyes because that’s what a good server was supposed to do but wow, Kuroo’s eye contact was just about the most intimidating and intense thing he’d ever experienced in his life. Good thing Kuroo looked away the second Kenma looked in his direction. 

“Oh my god, Kenma, this food is so good!” Bokuto commended instead of answering his question. 

“Compliments to my uncle,” Kenma said, just to make sure they wouldn’t think he was the one who made it. He did not need to give Kuroo a reason to think about him any more than he probably already did. He reached out to take the empty plates and bowls from them, which both of them had stacked neatly for him already. He appreciated that. “When you’re all set, I’ll be at the register,” he added, quickly bringing the dishes into the back room and dropping them off at the sink before walking back out to the register. Kuroo and Bokuto seemed in no hurry, so Kenma busied himself on his phone until they came up. 

Kuroo was the one to pay, and Kenma took extra care when taking the cash so their hands didn’t even come close to touching. 

“I didn’t know you worked at a restaurant,” Bokuto commented out of nowhere, most likely in an attempt to make conversation Kenma didn’t want to begin with.

“Most people don’t,” Kenma pointed out, doing his best to focus on counting the money instead of the two boys in front of him. 

“It’d be cool if you advertised it to the school,” Bokuto suggested, which wasn’t a half bad idea if anyone at school cared about or knew Kenma, which they didn’t. 

“I usually don’t like people from school coming here,” Kenma mumbled honestly before even thinking, mentally cursing himself in his head. He was trying to remain neutral, not make the two boys dislike him. “Not that- just because it gets crowded,” Kenma added, trying his best to save himself from that horribly rude comment. Damnit. He should have just kept his mouth shut. “It’s fine every once and a while. I just wouldn’t want the whole school talking about it.” Kenma quickly closed the register, handing Kuroo his change carefully before pulling his hands back and shoving them in the pockets of his apron. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah! We’ll come back again sometime. Your uncle’s food was really good!” Kenma smiled politely despite the clenching of his hands at the thought of having to go through all of this again. “Have a good day!” Bokuto called, practically dragging Kuroo out with him. 

“You, too,” Kenma replied, definitely way too quiet for either of them to hear, immediately followed by the need to bash his head against the register. That was, quite possibly, the most embarrassing experience of his entire life thus far. 

Bokuto - Day 2

“No dude, I’m going to pass away,” Kuroo insisted, dropping his head on his desk with a defined thud, his eyes shut closed tightly and his ears tinted red. “Why did you have to remind me?”

“What? That Kenma actually smiled at you?”

“He smiled at you . I stuttered every time I opened my mouth,” Kuroo reminded him. Bokuto didn’t really see the difference. And technically, Kenma had smiled at the both of them, not just him. 

“So what? Kenma stuttered at the register.”

“Oh my god I can’t believe I heard him talk,” Kuroo groaned, covering his face with his hands before banging his head on the desk again.  

“Now we can go back and-” Bokuto began, already imagining his best bro and Kenma becoming actual friends before Kuroo cut him off with an embarrassed shriek right in the middle of their classroom. 

“No we can’t!” he said, shooting up straight in his chair. “We can never go back there!”

“You’re never gonna be Kenma’s friend if you don’t-”

“Do you two ever shut up about Kenma?” Oikawa asked, sauntering over to their corner of the classroom like he owned it, looking at the two of them the same way a wild animal looked at its prey before it pounced. Kuroo looked up and sat back with an unamused expression and lidded eyes. 

“Do you ever fuck off?” Kuroo snapped back without hesitation.

“Don’t be bitchy with me,” Oikawa warned with a petty smile.

“Then don’t approach me,” Kuroo replied with a roll of his eyes. 

“I just don’t get it,” Oikawa admitted, sitting his ass down on Kuroo’s desk. Kuroo didn’t hesitate to shove Oikawa off as hard as he could while a group of girls on the other side of the classroom giggled like Kuroo wasn’t clearly seconds away from actually hitting Oikawa.

“You don’t have to get it,” Kuroo pointed out, standing up with the violent sound of his chair scraping across the floor like it was some sort of power move. Oikawa didn’t look intimidated in the slightest. “It’s none of your business.”

“You literally announce your business to the class every day,” Oikawa pointed out.

“So do you,” Bokuto pointed out with a shrug.

Kuroo turned to face him with a dramatic gasp. “Imagine the day we’ll walk into class and not have to deal with Oikawa being the center of attention every day?” 

“You just wish you had the status I do,” Oikawa insisted with a proud smirk. “Maybe then one of you could get a date. Or, y’know, a conversation in your case, Tetsu-chan.”

“Call me that one more time and see what-”

The door slid open, cutting all of them off at once while their teacher walked in, stack of papers in hand. Oikawa turned around without waiting for Kuroo to finish his threat, prancing back to his seat like he just won the argument while Kuroo just gave up and fell back in his chair, almost knocking it over in the process. He sat there with a blank expression, like he would have rather the chair tipped over under him and tossed him onto the floor. 

“I’m going to pass back your exams from last week. You can discuss them after class,” the teacher announced with a bored expression as she handed out the first few stacks of papers to the people at the front of each row.

Bokuto leaned over to the side of his desk to get as close to Kuroo as he could before the chatter in the classroom died down completely. “We’ll go back in a few days okay? It’ll be fine as long as you’re not alone.”

“I’d rather let Oikawa throw me out the window,” Kuroo deadpanned, reaching up to the paper being handed to him by the person sitting in front of him. He barely glanced at it before turning it upside down on his desk with a sigh, once again melting into his chair. “What if he hates us now?”

“Why would he hate us? Thank you,” he mumbled, grabbing the test being handed to him and turning it over to see the grade. Similar to Kuroo, Bokuto instantly placed it face down on his desk.

“Why wouldn’t he hate us?” 

Bokuto winced, curling his fingers around the edges of the test with the urge to crush it and rip it up so the score could never reach the light of day. If his grades got bad enough that the school had to call home… he was fucked.

He swallowed, shifting the test packet to sit safely out of sight in his lap instead. “I don’t think he hates us,” he forced out. He was so fucked.

---

“Sorry, I can’t hang out today. My grandma needs my help at home,” Bokuto explained as they walked down the front steps of the school with the rest of the kids who left when the bell rang and didn’t stay for extracurricular stuff. 

“That’s cool,” Kuroo waved off, looking much more relaxed now that they were leaving the school building and he didn’t have to worry about running into Kenma. Honestly, Bokuto didn’t really get it. First Kuroo wanted to talk to Kenma, then he got the chance to, he didn’t, and now he was scared to talk to him. Also, Kenma never noticed anyone around him in school anyway, so it wasn’t like they’d accidentally bump into each other. “I should stop by soon. I haven’t seen your grandma in a while.”

Bokuto laughed, probably way louder than necessary. “Uh yeah but uhm… she’d probably like that but maybe next time,” he suggested, pulling his bag up higher on his shoulders. “She’s really stressed about, uhm, taxes… right now.” Taxes? Taxes?

“No sweat, bro. I’ll see you later,” Kuroo said with a slap to his back and a wave.

“See you tomorrow!” Bokuto called back to him, walking in the opposite direction to the bus stop. He waited in the crowd of kids for a spot on the bus, ending up holding onto the bar instead of taking a seat with his old wire headphones sitting off center in his ears. 

It took about a half an hour to get to the hospital, but Bokuto didn’t mind. He was used to the drive. He let himself off and made his way into the building while stuffing his headphones in his pockets. He signed in quickly while asking the girl at the desk about her five year old and her new engagement, congratulating her when she mentioned she was pregnant again. Once he was checked in for visitation, he made his way down the hallway, bowing his head to every doctor and nurse he passed on the way, all of whom greeted him with a ‘good afternoon, Bokuto’ or a ‘hello, Bokuto!’.

He made it to the familiar room, the number of which he had ingrained in his memory two months ago. He knocked politely before entering, smiling as he slipped through the crack in the door. 

“Oh! Koutarou!”

“Hey, Grandma,” Bokuto said with an easy smile, closing the door behind him softly. “Are they feeding you okay in this place?” he joked lightheartedly, moving over to the windows to open up the shades. She looked a bit paler than the last time he’d been here only two days ago. But it was probably because of the lack of sunlight or something. 

“Koutarou, you know how the food is here,” she replied with a fragile laugh, her voice scratchy with age. Bokuto straightened out the flowers in the vase on her bedside table before taking a seat in the chair beside her bed, reaching over the frame to hold her hand, careful not to irritate any of the IV lines or wires attached to her. 

“Well, when you get out I’ll make you a nice big meal and you’ll never have to think about hospital food ever again, ‘kay?” he asked with a giggle, lighting up when she returned it. 

“Did you eat today, dear?” she asked, brows pinching in sudden concern. “Is your father feeding you well?”

“I’m eating fine,” he assured her quickly. “Kuroo and I found this new restaurant yesterday. He has a crush on the waiter.”

“Oh! Kozume?”

Bokuto laughed, stretching his smile as wide as he possibly could. “Yeah! We found out his uncle owns the place, so we’re gonna go to eat there a lot more often now if I can convince him to go with me again.”

“That boy’s gonna need all the help he can get,” she mumbled with a mirthful smile, making Bokuto laugh again. 

“Yeah, he definitely will.”

“Are you not eating at home because your father’s being mean?” she asked suddenly, reaching over with her other hand to place it over Bokuto’s. Her skin was rough like sandpaper, but Bokuto found it comforting. 

“No, no, that’s not it,” Bokuto assured her with a quick shake of his head. “He’s been really good to me. Everything’s fine. My- uh…” Bokuto swallowed the words. “The girls are really nice, too. Can you believe Kaori’s turning seven soon?” Was she turning seven? Or was she turning eight, now? 

“As long as you’re alright, Kou,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. Bokuto stood up, leaning over the edge of the bed to wrap her in a delicate hug. 

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m fine, I promise.”

---

Bokuto unlocked the front door, pushing it open and listening to the echoing creak of the hinges. He toed off his shoes in the genkan as he closed the door behind him, flicking the lights on and letting himself into the empty house. Once his backpack was discarded on the ground, he moved over to the checklist taped to the middle of the door, his daily to-do’s written in bright red ink with a bunch of less important ones already crossed out. There were some extra sticky notes scattered about, but if the contents was important enough, he would have just written it on the main list to begin with. 

He opened his phone to Spotify, clicking on some random Kpop playlist and letting it play through on full volume from the kitchen counter while he dragged his backpack over to the table, dumping the contents out so he wouldn’t be allowed to ignore it later. Then he went to his room, quietly singing and nodding along to a girl group song while he separated his clothes and collected all the dirty stuff into a basket, adding his current school uniform after changing into a loose pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, foregoing a shirt since it just seemed like too much of a hassle. He grabbed the basket of clothes and his wallet, leaving his phone playing on the table before leaving the house in sweats and sandals. The laundromat was only a five minute walk down the street, but he walked quickly to make the walk even shorter. He threw the clothes in the machine and paid for it, grabbing his basket and leaving his clothes there while he walked all the way back to his house. 

He swept the floor and danced around to the music until his alarm went off, and then he walked back to the laundromat, swapped his clothes to the dryer, and walked back to his house again. And while his clothes dried, he finished sweeping and dusting the rest of the house, occasionally getting distracted by just about everything in sight. 

Folding his laundry after walking it back home took a whole hour because he kept zoning out and getting distracted, and at one point he started organizing a bookshelf before remembering he was supposed to be folding his laundry. 

After that, he got out everything he needed to make a sandwich since he couldn’t cook for shit. He danced around the kitchen with his phone still blasting music while he put his dinner together, trying his best to put himself in the mindset of someone who enjoyed having sandwiches for dinner every single night since ordering out constantly was expensive and this was supposed to be easier. 

He only turned the music off when he sat down to eat, barely glancing at the time (which was much later than he would have liked it to be) before setting his phone down beside his food and calling Kuroo. 

He answered after only two rings. “Aw… miss me already?” he asked with a laugh.

Bokuto hummed, shoving a bite of the sandwich into his mouth. “I think I need a tutor,” he admitted, which honestly, couldn’t have been a shock to anyone. 

“Have you even started tonight’s homework?”

Bokuto glanced at the other half of the table in front of himself, covered with the dumped out contents of his school bag which he had, shockingly, ignored. “About that…” Kuroo laughed on the other end of the line. “I just got… distracted.” Seriously, how was he supposed to get all of that done with everything else he had to do? Being a student and being responsible at the same time was nearly impossible. “I really do need a tutor, though,” he continued, setting his sandwich back down on the plate with a pout. “Even when I study I don’t do good on tests. I really tried on the last one.”

“What’d you get?”

“Not a good grade.” 

Kuroo snorted. “Okay, well why don’t you try asking Mr. Top of the Class?”

“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked in disbelief, instantly shaking his head to decline even the idea of going up and asking him. “No, he’s too smart.”

“I bet he would know all the tutors, though.”

“But still… Akaashi?” Bokuto asked with a small whine, regretfully shoving his sandwich in his mouth again. “That’s embarrassing. He’s so perfect and good at everything. Everyone likes him. I can’t just go up and admit I’m too stupid to-”

“You’re not stupid!” Kuroo interjected, followed by the sound of him choking on water. “The teachers just expect everyone to learn at the same pace or whatever and they get mad when you can’t follow along. That doesn’t make you stupid.”

Bokuto rolled his eyes softly, but he appreciated the interjection. “But if I can’t follow along I’m fucked.”

“Fucked? Why? Are you thinking about college now? Sorry to burst your dreams Bo, but I think it’s a little late for that.”

“Not college,” Bokuto mumbled, looking over his piles of workbooks again. “Just… not failing would be nice. I have to graduate so I can get a job.”

“Has your grandma been pushing you to get one?”

Bokuto swallowed, biting his lip. “Not her, just… I just want to get one. Was thinking about it,” he lied with a shrug, continuing to push his food around in front of him. “Can’t get a job if I don’t graduate.”

“Well then, you’ll probably need a tutor.”

“I know,” Bokuto whined, dropping his head on the counter and ignoring the rest of the sandwich which was just going to end up being a waste of time since he felt like he couldn’t stomach anything he ate. 

“Bo, ask Akaashi,” Kuroo insisted. “Or I could ask for you and pretend it’s for me.”

Bokuto snorted with a lazy smirk. “Oh yeah? You’re gonna walk into Kenma’s classroom and-”

“I changed my mind!” Bokuto laughed, pushing his plate farther away from him. “I could always catch him between classes,” Kuroo decided instead. “Or you could. I heard Akaashi’s a decent class prez. I doubt he’d tutor you himself, but he’d definitely know how to connect you to some people. It’s worth asking him.”

Bokuto sighed, closing his eyes and pretending, for just a second, that his grandma was sitting in front of him with a smile on her face. He imagined he wasn’t alone and didn’t have to worry about his grades just so his dad wouldn’t be inconvenienced. He imagined he didn’t have to lie so much to Kuroo. 

“I’ll think about it.”

Akaashi - Day 3

“I’m telling you, the parents need to be more involved in the school system. They’re not taking responsibility for their kids anymore.”

Akaashi stared down at the porcelain plate in front of him, eyes focusing on the way the light reflected off of it as he stabbed aimlessly at his dry chicken. The surface was so smooth and perfect. It would probably feel good to break it. 

“And what about the teachers? They should also be taking responsibility. They’re in charge of nurturing these kids. Who’s to say it’s not their fault the kids are turning out like this?”

He stabbed the corner of the chicken with his fork, watching it break through the skin. He didn’t eat it. The thought of even breathing in deeply enough to smell it made him feel sick. Behind him, the second hand on the clock ticked by, taunting him. How much more would he have to eat before he could make himself sick enough to excuse himself?

“And that’s why the parents should be more involved in the system. These kids need responsible adult figures in their lives or else they’ll all turn out like criminals.”

His fingers tightened around the metal fork in his hand, pulling it out of the chicken. What would it feel like to stab it through his own skin instead?

“Don’t you think so, Keiji?”

Akaashi lifted his head, blinking at his mother. “Responsible authority figures are important,” he contributed bluntly, his own voice sounding like it was spoken by a stranger.

“See, darling? Even Keiji understands.”

The clock chimed and Akaashi put the fork down on the napkin beside his plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for tutoring.”

“Oh, already?” his mother asked with exasperated shock, like it wasn’t the same time every single day. “Go, go get ready or you’ll be late.”

Akaashi bowed his head, pushing himself up from the table and retreating to his room. He closed the door softly behind him, stretching out his fingers before reaching for his backpack which was sitting on the chair tucked into his desk. He knelt down on the floor, sliding the bag underneath his bed and pulling out an identical black school bag with a bit more weight to it. He swung it over his shoulders and moved over to his desk, grabbing both his regular phone and the burner phone tucked away in his desk drawer. He shoved both in his pockets and shifted in front of his mirror, taking a second to straighten out his clothes. 

His mom would say he looked perfect. Akaashi didn’t see anything perfect about it. 

He left his room with hurried steps, barely bowing goodbye to his parents with a rushed ‘I’ll be back later’ before slipping through the door and onto the darkened afternoon streets, barely illuminated by the street lamps. 

Akaashi walked casually down the street, waiting until he was at the end of the road before slipping into the same alley he always used. He hid himself in the shadows, dropping his bag in the dirt and kneeling down beside it. He pulled out the rolled up change of clothes first. Even though he knew he was concealed in the alleyway, he still changed quickly, exchanging his school uniform pants for black cargo pants, and his uniform shirt and jacket for a black undershirt. He grabbed his black hoodie hidden under the old crates stacked against the wall and shook it to get the dust off before pulling that on over everything else. The uniform took the hoodie’s place under the crates. 

He reached into the bottom of the bag, pulling out a blonde wig and pulling it over his regular black curls, shifting it around until it was sitting properly on his head. He checked the hairline with his fingers, making sure it was covering his real hair before grabbing his black baseball cap out of the backpack and pulling that on over the wig along with a plain black facemask. Lastly, Akaashi pulled out a case of contacts, not even bothering to disinfect his hands before popping them in. He didn’t need a mirror with how often he did it and how little he cared. How bad could it really be if one of the contacts rolled into the back of his head or if he contracted some horrible disease?

Akaashi blinked his eyes rapidly to get the purple contacts to sit comfortably in his eyes while he dropped the case back into the black backpack. He zipped it up again and threw it back over his shoulders before emerging from the alley, continuing his way down the street. 

As he walked, he pulled out his burner phone, opening his messages with H to send a quick confirmation text. He got an answer immediately confirming that he’d be there. It wasn’t like Akaashi needed him per say, but it definitely made everything a whole lot easier. 

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he made his way further into Tokyo, keeping his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. More people crowded the streets the deeper in he walked. The streets became illuminated with LEDs and bright billboards instead of dim street lamps, and smoke clouded the sidewalks from cheap cigarettes. 

“Oi.”

Akaashi lifted his head, meeting the familiar gaze of Iwaizumi Hajime. Akaashi nodded and walked over to meet him. He pulled off his backpack and handed it to him, and Iwaizumi unzipped it habitually, pulling out a facemask and hat for himself before handing it back. 

“Pickups or dropoffs tonight?” Iwaizumi asked, rolling his shoulders back. Akaashi gestured up with his thumb first before pointing it down. “Pickups first, got it. Man, those are always a pain.”

Akaashi rolled his shoulders back without answering, gesturing for Iwaizumi to follow him deeper into the outskirts of the city. Akaashi pulled out his burner while they walked again, sending another message to one of his gophers to confirm a pickup location. Iwaizumi grabbed his elbow as they walked, steering him away from groups of people. Once he was done sending the text, he patted Iwaizumi’s arm as thanks and continued leading them. 

It was an unlikely partnership, Akaashi would admit, but it worked for them. Originally it had just been Akaashi making some extra cash because he realized he could. It was never supposed to become anything more than that, but he got curious and suddenly he was being approached by the police chief’s son with an offer for protection in return for money which he said yes to because, surprisingly, the police chief’s son was probably the most knowledgeable about how to get away with illegal shit in their entire city. And ever since then, it just worked. Iwaizumi was reliable enough and he was decent to work with. Akaashi never saw a reason to change anything. 

They walked all the way to the neighboring high school, slipping through the gaps in the broken fence and making their way through the campus to the back of the school. As expected, a whole group of kids were waiting for them there, all sitting around with lighters in their hands and cigarettes between their lips. 

“Yooo!” one of them called out when he spotted the two of them approaching, pushing himself off of the stone slat he had been sitting on to meet them halfway. He looked like any other normal highschooler who blended into the background and got good enough grades to fly by under the radar. “There he is. Our famous Fukuro.”

Akaashi bowed his head, pulling out his phone again and sending a text. The guy walking up to him gave Akaashi an unamused look before pulling out his own phone, like this wasn’t a routine and he expected Akaashi to actually talk to him. 

“Yeah, yeah I got your shit. But we’re upping the price.”

“The hell you are,” Iwaizumi interjected, pulling his lips back in a snarl at the kid.

“Don’t forget, we can rat you two out at any moment,” a girl behind him said, picking at her nails like she had any business speaking right now. Akaashi rolled his eyes while he began typing. 

“Rat us out?” Iwaizumi asked with a laugh. “You’re the ones stealing exam sheets from your schools. We’re just the ones who resell them. Don’t act all high and mighty.”

Akaashi hit send on the text, keeping it held out in front of him while he waited for the kid to look down at the message. Once again, he acted like checking his phone was the most irritating thing in the world before paling at the sight of the text. 

“What did you just-?” Iwaizumi whispered, cut off by Akaashi tilting his phone so Iwaizumi could see properly. It was a screenshot of the kid’s mother’s facebook page. This kid must have been stupid if he thought Akaashi didn’t do his research. 

“Ah, okay,” Iwaizumi agreed while Akaashi began typing again. 

So, how about we make this exchange the same as always and I won’t pay any less for you trying to threaten me?

The kid in front of him swallowed with a weak nod, grabbing the backpack hanging off his shoulders and tossing it over to them. Iwaizumi caught it easily, pulling a folder of papers out and flipping through them before reaching around for the backpack on Akaashi’s shoulders, placing the folder inside and pulling out a clip of bills. He dropped the bills in the kid’s bag and tossed it back. 

“Have a fantastic night,” Iwaizumi spat as they turned around to leave, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Seriously, who do they think we are?” he grumbled once they were far enough away. He held the fence open for Akaashi to slip through, and Akaashi held it open for him in return. It felt sharp underneath his fingers, all rusted and jagged from being cut. How hard would he have to hold on before the metal pierced through the pads of his fingers? “Stupid kids is what they are.”

Akaashi dropped the metal, following Iwaizumi back down to the streets and holding his hand out with a thumbs down. “Yeah, yeah, dropoffs, I know,” Iwaizumi agreed, dropping the conversation since it wasn’t like he was going to get any conversation out of Akaashi anyway. “How many do we have tonight?”

Fuck if he could remember. He sighed, trying to count in his head as they walked. He shrugged, holding up two fingers and then making his hand a fist. 

“Twenty? That’s not too bad.”

It was more than Akaashi wanted to do tonight, that was for sure. 

---

“Are you Fukuro?”

Iwaizumi stepped between Akaashi and the people approaching them from behind while he finished the deal he was working on, handing over a baggie and taking the bills handed to him. 

“Who’s asking?”

“Thank you,” the man in front of Akaashi said, bowing and taking his leave. Akaashi pocketed the bills, turning around with a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder to get him to back down a bit. The kids in front of him were from their school actually, which made sense. Iwaizumi was always more careful with kids who went to school with them, especially because it was more risky for himself. Iwaizumi didn’t go through the same lengths for a disguise as Akaashi did, so anyone could figure out who he was with a second glance. Then again, Iwaizumi could also report every single person who’d ever done business with them before, so he was relatively safe. 

Akaashi held up his backpack with a raised eyebrow.

“We- uh…” the boys in front of them stuttered nervously.

“Do you want shit or not?” Iwaizumi asked impatiently. 

“Cigarettes” one of the kids spoke up, eyeing the bag carefully.

“Well, do you have money?”

“Yeah! Yeah, we do.” 

Akaashi nodded, pulling out a pack from his backpack and waiting for the kids to hand Iwaizumi the money before tossing it over to them. They were quick to leave, as were most people they worked with. 

Iwaizumi rolled his head back with exhaustion. “Okay, I’m done for the night. We don’t have any more shit to do, do we?”

Akaashi shook his head, taking the money from Iwaizumi and leaning back against the wall behind him. He grabbed the rest of the money they’d made from the backpack, pulling the huge stack of bills into his hands and counting it out as quickly as he could without fumbling or making any mistakes. It was a good profit for a single day, but he was going to need to see a dealer soon for a restock. When he was done counting it all out, he pulled the bills back together and began counting through it again, pulling out a third plus some extra and handing it over to Iwaizumi. He didn’t bother to count it, pocketing it with complete trust that Akaashi wouldn’t skimp on him. It actually wasn’t even part of their deal for Akaashi to give Iwaizumi more than a third, but today was exhausting and it was the least he could do for Iwaizumi putting up with everything he did. 

“You all set for the night?” Iwaizumi asked, clearly ready to take off. He was kind like that—always waiting to make sure Akaashi was fine to handle everything else even though he didn’t owe him that kindness. After all, Iwaizumi had no idea who he was. 

Akaashi nodded, shoving the rest of the bills back in the backpack. He waved goodbye as his signal for Iwaizumi to take off and head out, which he did with a nod and a ‘see you later’.

Akaashi watched him go, deflating against the wall the second he was by himself. His body ached and he wasn’t even sure why. His head pounded dully and he knew it would go away if he just closed his eyes and stopped moving for a second, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying. He leaned his head back against the wall, feeling the way his wig and hat acted like a cushion for his head against the bricks. How many times would he had to slam his head against the wall before he caused any damage? Would the hat and wig help minimize it at all? As a small test, Akaashi lifted his head from the wall and let it drop back, feeling a dull thump in the back of his head. It was a sadistic, out of place, comforting type of pain. 

---

Taking out his contacts without a mirror was a bitch, but he was used to it at this point. He made sure they got back in their case along with the hat, face mask, and wig. The clothes would have to wait until he got back to the alley and had a chance to change back into his school uniform, but at least they were comfortable clothes for now. 

He let his legs dangle off the edge of the bridge railing he was sitting on, letting his body relax with the gentle push of the wind on his back and in his hair. Not too far below him, but far enough to be concerning, was the train tracks that led to the station if you walked far enough down them. Falling from this height would probably earn him two broken legs. How much would that hurt? Would the bones in his legs or ankles break first? 

Akaashi leaned his head back, breathing in the fresh air around him. It was so nice outside. The heat from the sun almost made it unbearable, but this was perfect. 

With a sigh, Akaashi reached down into the black backpack, pulling out a half empty carton of cigarettes, and an old lighter, lighting one up quickly before dropping the leftovers back into his bag. He stuck the cigarette between his lips, breathing in the smoke and exhaling all of his nerves. It was so, so nice outside. 

Leaving the smoke hanging out of the corner of his lips, Akaashi stuck his hand back in the backpack, pulling out a small black notebook with a pen clipped to the cover. He flipped it open to the current page, quickly scanning the scrawled pen marks he’d made across the lines before breathing out a puff of smoke and creating a new line for the day, subtracting the amount he’d paid for the exam sheets, adding together the total, and then subtracting what he’d paid Iwaizumi. He also made a note about the kid who’d tried to threaten him, just in case it happened again. When everything was done, he dropped the notebook back into the bag lazily, pulling the cigarette back from his lips with another exhale. 

He shifted so he was laying down on the railing instead, one arm tucked underneath his head and his other held out over the edge of the bridge with his cigarette. In the distance, he heard the sound of an approaching train. He shook the cigarette, knocking off the excess. Was it possible for the wind to knock him down from here? 

The train grew louder, and a quick flicker of his eyes was all it took to realize the train was coming from the other side of the bridge where he couldn’t see it. He could just roll off the edge and into the tracks. If he timed it right, the train would hit him before he even made it to the ground. 

Akaashi lifted the cigarette to his lips again, releasing the smoke with a relaxed exhale, closing his eyes. Five seconds, and then the train would be there. He stretched his arm out again, hanging the cigarette over the edge. “Three…” he whispered under his breath, “two… one.”

The train raced underneath the bridge, the steam from the engine surrounding him like a cloud while the tracks shook with the weight of the train. Akaashi melted against the gentle vibration of the bridge from the train’s passing, opening his eyes when the steam was gone and looking over at the train as it raced by.

“Aw. Too late.”

Iwaizumi - Day 4

“And how have things at home been, Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi sunk even further into the cushioned chair he was already becoming one with, trying to will himself to just be swallowed whole by it already. “Fine,” he answered blandly. How much money would an apartment cost? Like, if he were to leave right now and take a bus to the suburbs, could he afford something? Legally, they probably wouldn’t even give him a chance since he wasn’t eighteen, but hypothetically, would he be able to afford it with what he had saved up? He and Fukuro made a decent amount of money, especially since the man was generous with how much he gave him. Moving away sounded really fucking nice.

“Fine? Do you want to expand on that?”

“Nope,” Iwaizumi said, popping the ‘p’. But an apartment wasn’t the only thing he’d have to worry about. He had to think about transportation and food, too. Of course, he could pay for all of that with the money he made from whatever real job he was going to weasel his way into, but therein lied another problem. Who the fuck would hire a high school dropout with the reputation he had? He was going to have to wait until he graduated. What a fucking pain. 

“Iwaizumi, you do realize this works better when we’re having a conversation, right?”

Iwaizumi hummed in affirmation, tilting his head up to stare at the fluorescent lights above him. He had to wonder what year Fukuro was in. No doubt, Fukuro was a high school student like himself. He only ever dealt with students, and most of the rumors guessed that Fukuro was from their high school which Iwaizumi personally thought made a lot of sense. And he wasn’t trying to figure out Fukuro’s identity or anything because to be honest, he didn’t really give a fuck, but knowing what year he was would have put his mind at ease a bit.

“You have to be here for a full hour once a week. Wouldn’t you get more out of it if you got some things off your chest?”

“I’ve got nothing to get off my chest, but thanks.” If Fukuro was a senior, what were the odds that their business would die down around finals time? Would Fukuro stop altogether after graduation? Before graduation? Or maybe Fukuro was actually a second year and Iwaizumi didn’t have to worry about it at all. Regardless, he was sure Fukuro would tell him if anything changed. Fukuro was good like that. 

“Not even about-?”

The clock dinged behind him, and Iwaizumi couldn’t have shot out of the chair faster. “Well, that was great. I feel like we really got a lot done here today. Couldn’t have asked for anything more. My mental illness is cured. See you next week, unfortunately,” he rambled, giving his therapist no chance to reply before letting himself out of the horribly stifling room. He could not have possibly left the building faster. 

The second he was back on the streets, his hood was thrown over his head and his hands were shoved in his pockets. If he had to go through one more week of that, he was probably going to lose his mind. He was told therapy was supposed to help him, but so far the only thing it had done was make him immensely uncomfortable. And yeah, in order for therapy to ‘work’ he was supposed to actually be a willing participant, but whatever. He didn’t need therapy. He didn’t need some grown up with a college degree and some vague understanding of what he’d been through to tell him what it all meant in the grand scheme of things. Fuck greater meanings and fuck proper coping mechanisms. Iwaizumi was doing perfectly fine without all of that. 

He walked down to the bank, letting himself inside and ignoring the weird stares he was used to getting already. Apparently it was only socially acceptable to be in a bank if you looked like you belonged there, as if banks were reserved for the rich and successful. Could a high school student not have money? Fuck, people were so judgmental about the stupidest things. 

He walked over to the ATM, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and digging around the bottom of it for the roll of cash Fukuro had handed him last night. He still hadn’t bothered to count it, to be honest. Some people might say he was stupid for trusting Fukuro to pay him fairly, but Iwaizumi didn’t see a reason to distrust him. At the beginning of their arrangement, Fukuro had never skimped on pay and he had more often than not given him more than they agreed upon. They had only gained more business since then, and the amount Iwaizumi was making from their arrangement kept increasing steadily. Why throw a fit about it? 

He pulled the rubbed band off and slid it down his wrist while he flattened out the bills, adding them to the machine one by one to be deposited into the bank account nobody ever needed to know about. It wasn’t totally uncommon for high school students like himself to have their own bank accounts, but Iwaizumi made a lot more money than a high school student should and really, nobody needed to be getting in his business. 

He ran the last of the bills through the machine, looking to the screen for the total. ¥9,935. Not bad for a single Wednesday night, especially because it was a pickup day and paying those fucking gophers for stolen exam sheets costed Fukuro way more than it should have. The more logical answer was that Fukuro paid him extra again, probably for putting up with their gopher threatening to out them. Was it bribery to get Iwaizumi to stay with him? Possibly. But Iwaizumi never had any intention of leaving just because some worthless second year thug-wanna-be thought he was smarter than them. After all, leaving Fukuro meant losing his income, and he needed money if he was going to move away. 

Iwaizumi deposited the money in his savings account with a sigh, taking the receipt and shoving it in the bottom of his bag. How many more times were they going to do this? How much longer did he have? How much more money could he make? 

He stepped out of the bank and back onto the streets, holding his hands out in front of him so he could use his fingers to help him count. His regular pay was somewhere around ¥8,000 to ¥10,000 depending on the day, and more like ¥15,000 on the weekends. If prices stayed consistent and they continued going out three to five nights a week for… well, until graduation. How many weeks was that? School ran from May to March including all of the breaks, so that was… 

Iwaizumi sighed, holding his fingers out in front of him as he counted. Eleven months. Four weeks a month. Three to five times a week. That was…. Around 170 runs give or take? At least one weekend run a week and three weekdays… 

Iwaizumi shifted to the side to avoid bumping into someone, momentarily losing his focus. That had to be something like ¥650,000 just from weekend runs, right? So that left about ¥1,300,000 for the weekday runs. Rent in a place like Nara was only about ¥40,000 a month. That wasn’t bad. It was sustainable for a while. He could probably even afford to go somewhere better than Nara. 

It would work. He could make it work. 

“No way. No way is that the Iwaizumi Hajime?”

Iwaizumi stopped walking, cursing himself for even acknowledging the callout. Couldn’t they see he was busy trying to figure out how the fuck he was going to get out of this goddamn city? 

Regardless of his annoyance, he turned to face the kids calling out to him. First year brats from his school, as expected. They had their uniforms on wrong like they were making a statement and they had cigarettes stuck between their lips that they no doubt got from Fukuro. How come it was always the underclassmen who had the guts to talk to their seniors like this? It was annoying and frankly, a pain in Iwaizumi’s ass at this point. 

“Can I help you?” Iwaizumi asked lamely, not all that interested in sticking around for too long. 

“Yeah, I’m out of smokes,” one of the kids said, pulling out an empty carton to show it off, dropping it on the ground and crushing it beneath his foot. Because yeah, that was super cool. Littering. Way to go. 

“Then maybe you should find something else to get addicted to. How the fuck is that any of my business?” Iwaizumi asked, watching the first year make a pathetic attempt at sizing him up as he walked over to him. Really, who did this kid even think he was? It was the middle of the day and they were in the middle of the city streets. 

“What, aren’t you Fukuro’s gopher or something?” the kid asked, tilting his head condescendingly. “Get me some more.”

“If you want more, pay for them your fucking self. I’m not your mom,” Iwaizumi snapped, rolling his eyes. 

“Oi,” the kid began, pressing his finger against Iwaizumi’s chest and oh he so did not have the patience for this today. “What are you waiting for? You know Fukuro. Get us some-”

“Touch me one more time and I’ll break your finger,” Iwaizumi warned, looking down on the kid in front of him. When the kid hesitated, Iwaizumi pushed him back away from him, watching the kid fumble to catch himself before ultimately falling back on his ass. “You think the world revolves around you?” he asked with a raised brow. “Grow the fuck up. If you want smokes, find Fukuro yourselves and pay for them like everyone else.”

The kid laughed as he pushed himself back up to his feet, rolling his shoulders back like he was preparing to fuck Iwaizumi up or something. Pathetic. “You know, you used to be the talk of the school.”

“Seriously? This shit, again?”

“I heard you were the top of the chain.”

“I am so tired of hearing this bullshit.”

“What happened to that guy, huh?”

“How about it’s none of your fucking business?”

“Now you’re just Fukuro’s dog.”

Iwaizumi huffed, leaning forward with his hands shoved in his pockets again, looking the kid dead in the eyes. “Then why don’t you go buy me a fucking collar, hm?”

He saw the punch coming way before it happened. The kid’s windup was sloppy and he made a whole show of it instead of just going for the hit. Dodging it was child’s play, and since the kid had the audacity to try and hit him, Iwaizumi figured he could have the audacity to deal with the consequences, too. Iwaizumi ducked out of the way, grabbing the kid by the hair and bringing his head down on his knee before tossing him to the side, watching him stumble back into the wall with blood dripping from his nose. The rest of the group hiding in the alley got ready to fight like they were going to defend their precious leader, but they didn’t dare move. 

“Go ahead,” Iwaizumi invited, gesturing for them to get closer. “Take your shot. See what happens.”

He stepped closer to them, watching them all flinch back on instinct. Iwaizumi couldn’t help but laugh in irritated amusement. “If you’re not even willing to stand your ground, don’t go around pretending to be so strong. It just makes you look even more pathetic.” 

With that, Iwaizumi straightened his backpack on his shoulders and left, seeing no reason to hang around any longer. There was a dull pain in his knee, but it was worth it for the look on the kid’s face. 

Iwaizumi reached into the back pocket of his backpack, pulling his burner phone out and opening his messages with Fukuro. 

Me: the first years are a pain. I want to up their prices

F: I need names. How much?  

Me: Give me a few hours. ¥1,000.

F: Were they insulting you or me?

Me: me, obviously

F: I’ll up it ¥2,000.

Iwaizumi smirked at the messages before turning the phone off and shoving it back in his bag. Finding the names shouldn’t have been too hard seeing as how none of them tried to hide their faces. It wouldn’t be a permanent change—¥2,000 was ¥2,000 and Iwaizumi was in this for the money—but people like that pissed him off and it was worth drilling it in their heads that their actions had consequences. 

---

His math homework could have been done an hour ago, but every time Iwaizumi looked down at the problems, he just started calculating how much money he could make instead. It was still math, just not the math that was going to get him a good grade on his homework. He had a sheet of scratch paper next to him on the table with his food pushed to the side, only half eaten and forgotten about. There were scribbles of blue ink all across the page, between every line, and in every margin as Iwaizumi tried to figure out, as accurately as he could, how much money he could expect to have by the end of the school year. It wasn’t even the first time he’d done all the math for this, but every other week he did it again just in case he had done it wrong the past twenty or forty times. 

Something about it was comforting and he needed the reassurance that he would have enough to move away and start his own life without ever looking back at this place. It was just one more year of his life. He could make it one more year… probably.

The door to the house opened and Iwaizumi was quick to push the scratch paper underneath his homework, returning to the problems which mattered much less in the grand scheme of things. His father’s heavy footsteps traveled down the hall, coming to a stop at the kitchen. His father hadn’t even said anything but Iwaizumi could feel the anger in his presence alone. 

“What did I do this time?” Iwaizumi asked, writing scratch on the sidelines of the paper to show his work because the teachers didn’t like it when he did all the math in his head. It was annoying. If he could do it in his head, why did he have to go through the extra effort of writing it down? The teachers didn’t look at the scratch work, anyway. 

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what you did?” his father asked, tone heavy and demanding. Anyone else probably would have feared for their life if their father talked to them like that, but Iwaizumi would have been more concerned if his father wasn’t pissed at him for once. 

“I went to therapy this week, like you told me to,” Iwaizumi mumbled, already tired of having this conversation. He wrote the answer under the problem, circling it in blue ink to draw attention to it. “I didn’t skip class. I didn’t get detention. I didn’t-”

“You started a fight in the middle of the city!” his father fumed. 

Iwaizumi just rolled his eyes, quickly reading over the next problem and starting the math, this time using the empty space on the page because he couldn’t do the mental math and argue with his father at the same time. 

“I didn’t start it.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well if you’re going to blame me for starting it, I didn’t star-”

“I don’t care!”

“Then why did you bring it up to begin with?” Iwaizumi asked, fingers tightening around his pen in irritation. “Don’t get pissed at me for something I didn’t fucking do. If you want to be mad at me for fighting back after some kid tried to punch me then fine, but I didn’t start it.”

“You always start it,” his father seethed.

“And how would you know? You never listen to my side of the story,” Iwaizumi pointed out, writing down the next answer and circling it again. This was getting so repetitive he could probably have this argument in his sleep. 

His father marched over to the table, slamming his hands down on it. Iwaizumi ignored the action, reading over the next problem. “You’re always at the center of it. Every time I get a call about a fight, you’re always there. I don’t think that’s a fucking coincidence.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I didn’t start it.”

“But you did bash some kid’s head in, right?” 

Iwaizumi shook his head in annoyance. “At most I gave him a mild concussion.”

“You broke his nose.”

Good. “Oh, well my bad. Maybe next time he shouldn’t start fights he can’t finish.”

Suddenly, all of Iwaizumi’s books were on the floor. His scrap paper scattered across the room as his father flung it all off the table, and Iwaizumi just stared down at the empty space on the table where his homework had been just a few seconds before. “You’re being dramatic,” Iwaizumi pointed out, pushing himself up from the table to pick up his shit. 

“And you’re acting like a spoiled fucking brat,” his father cursed at him. 

“What else is new?” Iwaizumi asked, unaffected by his father’s criticisms. He knelt down on the floor, grabbing the papers and organizing them as he picked them up, making sure to shove his personal scrap paper in between the pages of one of his workbooks, not that his father gave a damn enough to look at what he was working on, anyway.

“When are you going to grow the fuck up, Hajime?”

“Whenever you decide to start listening to my side of the story instead of always assuming I’m at fault for everything,” Iwaizumi decided, picking up the last of his things and standing up, holding them in his arms. “I’ll go finish my homework in my room, or are you going to throw my assignments on the floor again and blame me when my grades drop?” When he received no answer except for an angry stare in return, Iwaizumi turned around and made his way to his room, closing the door softly behind him.

He spread the work out on his bed, which was really just a mattress on the floor because he liked the simplicity of it. He leaned his back against the wall, pulling the workbook into his lap. “Okay… where was I?”

Oikawa - Day 5

Oikawa, you’re so pretty!

Oikawa, you’re so unique!

Oikawa, you’re so cool!

Oikawa, you’re so admirable!

Oikawa, I wish I was like you.

Oikawa, I want to be your friend.

“Oikawa, you are the most annoying fucking person I have ever met.”

Oikawa giggled from where he sat on Tetsu-chan’s desk. Tetsu-chan was glaring at him from the doorway, having spotted him immediately. It wasn’t Oikawa’s fault! The girls who sat in front of Tetsu-chan wanted to talk to him so really, what else was he supposed to do?

“Get off my desk,” Tetsu-chan demanded, stomping over with his hunk of a best friend following behind him. 

“Tetsu-chan, you’re never going to get Kenma to like you if you go around treating people like that,” he teased with another giggle, causing all the girls around him to giggle with him.

“I’m surprised anyone likes you with the way you act,” Tetsu-chan countered, walking over to his desk and pushing Oikawa roughly off of it. Oikawa laughed as he caught himself on the desk behind him, the girls around him practically swooning because he came so close to them. 

“Is that jealousy I sense from you?” he asked while Tetsu-chan glared at him like he would have rather thrown him out the window than off his desk. 

“Not even a little.”

“Tetsu-chan, you’re no fun. You’re so serious.”

“And you’re so irritating.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.”

“Oikawa! Are you coming with us to lunch?” one of the girls cut in, ending the conversation at that. Tetsu-chan looked like he wanted to retaliate, but Bokuto was already shifting his attention with a hand on his shoulder, clearly trying to stop the two of them from arguing before their teacher came in and caught them… again. 

“Yeah, why don’t you give me a second to wash up and then I’ll walk you girls down?” he asked, sporting his perfect smile which every girl in the school seemed to swoon for. As expected, every single one of them looked seconds away from melting. 

“What, you haven’t already blow dried your hair enough?” Tetsu-chan snided as Oikawa turned around to make his way to the bathroom. 

“You have no room to talk, Tetsu-chan!” Oikawa called over his shoulder. “Your hair looks like it’s never known a decent day in its life.” He escaped the classroom before Tetsu-chan could reply, slipping into the bathroom and moving over to the sink. It was empty for once, which was nice. Crowded bathrooms were always so annoying. 

Oikawa braced his hands on the sink, looking up at his reflection. His stunning smile. His perfect hair. His clear skin. 

Oikawa, you’re the most annoying fucking person I’ve ever met.

I’m surprised anyone likes you with the way you act. 

You’re so irritating.

“I know,” Oikawa whispered, not daring to let his smile drop. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulder snack and straightening his posture in the mirror. “But that’s okay, Tetsu-chan. You didn’t hurt my feelings,” he continued, the words being spoken just under his breath as he straightened out his uniform. “I’m already used to hearing it.”

---

“Oikawa, what are you doing after school today?” one of the girls asked from across the table, eating in petite bites like she was trying to impress him. Oikawa covered up the sigh that almost escaped his lips, taking a bit of food from his tray and adding it to hers.

“You should eat some more,” he encouraged, not in an attempt to be charming, but simply because she wasn’t eating much and he was pretty sure she played a sport. People who played sports shouldn’t be skimping on meals. Of course, the message was lost as the entire table seemed to go crazy over the small action, but Oikawa wasn’t exactly shocked. “My older brother is coming home from college today, so I’m going to go home to see him.”

“You have an older brother?!”

“Oikawa, I didn’t know you had siblings!”

“Oh?” Oikawa asked, unaware he’d never shared that information before. To be fair, why the hell would he? “Well, I’m the youngest of three, actually. I have two older brothers.”

Once again, every girl around him nearly fainted because… Oikawa didn’t even know why. Was having older brothers cool or something? If he told anyone else he had older brothers, what reaction would they have given him? Definitely not this. It was just so… staged. It was like the girls thought if they acted like this it would make him fall for them. It was disgustingly fake.

“Oikawa, you’re so cool!”

“Thank you!” he beamed, despite not really knowing why he was getting the random compliment. 

“Being a younger brother is so admirable!”

Oikawa was pretty sure they would have said that regardless of how many siblings he had or what age they were. “I know, right?”

“But wait, Oikawa, won’t you miss any after school activities?” 

Oikawa gave the girl who asked a kind smile. “Nope. I’m not a part of any clubs.” 

“Yeah, come on, didn’t you know that?”

“You should have known that.”

Oikawa waved off the girls who hissed rude comments at the one that asked. “It’s okay! I seem like the type to be involved in everything, right?”

“Aw, I wish all guys were more like you.”

Oikawa smiled at her, giving her the best fake show of thankfulness he could manage. She wouldn’t have said that if she really knew him, though.

---

“Tooru should be more like you, Tetsuya.”

Five minutes into dinner. It took a whole five minutes after sitting down for his name to get brought up in conversation. 

“What does this have to do with Tooru?” Nori asked, placing his cup back down on the table after he finished taking a drink from it. “We all know he probably won’t even go to college. Why hope?”

“That’s rude, Ri-chan,” Oikawa commented with a sickeningly fake smile on his face, tilting his head at his older brother who came back from college last week and needed to pack up and leave before Oikawa hit him in front of their parents. He didn’t even see what was so great about Nori. Sure, he had good grades and was president of his class like a good little boy, did sports, and had a girlfriend, but he wasn’t cute. At least Oikawa knew how to take care of his hair and skin. Even Nori’s personality wasn’t cute. 

“Tooru, enough with your nicknames,” his mom interjected. Oikawa stopped himself from rolling his eyes and returned his attention to his food. 

“What, are you suddenly planning to go to college?” Nori asked, tilting his head in amusement. “What was your last exam grade?”

“None of your-”

“ Tooru.”

“I was asked a question. I’m answering,” Oikawa pointed out as calmly as he could manage. 

“You’re being annoying.”

Oikawa shrugged, dropping the conversation once again to focus on his food. 

“You boys need to learn to get along,” his father spoke up with a shake of his head. “Tooru, stop picking fights with your brothers.”

“Nori was the one-”

“ Tooru. ”

Oikawa sighed, shutting himself up for the third time in a row, this time only staring at his plate with no intent to finish it. 

“Tetsuya and I get along just fine,” Nori pointed out, because of course he did. Oikawa kept his mouth shut this time, stabbing aimlessly at his food because opening his mouth would somehow only end up proving Nori’s point, and he wasn’t doing that. “Tooru’s just hard to get along with.” 

This time, Oikawa did roll his eyes, and of course Nori’s comment was fine but Oikawa rolling his eyes somehow crossed a line.

“Tooru, you’re so immature.”

“Right. I’m the immature one. Sorry everyone!” he announced with an obnoxious pitch to his voice, instantly going back to stabbing his food. 

“You’re such an ungrateful brother,” his father chided. “You haven’t seen Tetsuya in months but-”

“Right, sorry, sorry,” he interrupted, waving it all away because he didn’t want to hear it. “Ya-chan’s the golden child and he should get his perfect welcome dinner. Should I excuse myself?”

“You’re ruining it, Tooru. As always,” Tetsuya grumbled, shaking his head in annoyance.

“Tooru ruins everything,” Nori agreed.

“Well, I’m done here,” Oikawa decided, pushing himself up from the table because if he sat there for even one more second he was going to end up punching Nori across the face. Tetsuya too, that bitch. 

“Tooru, sit down.”

“No thanks,” Oikawa decided, grabbing his plate and carrying it off to the kitchen, dumping it in the sink. “I’ve had enough family bonding for one night.”

“Are you completely incapable of being decent?” Nori asked with furrowed brows, like he just couldn’t for the life of him understand why Oikawa acted the way he did. 

“Are you completely incapable of not being a bitch for once in your life?!” Oikawa snapped back, causing both of his parents to instantly rise to their feet and start scolding him. “Right, right,” he waved off, walking around the table while trying to block it all out. “I’m leaving. Don’t wait up.”

“What, off to see your whore club?” Tetsuya asked with a smirk.

“They’re not whores, you misogynist,” Oikawa snapped. “No wonder you don’t have a fucking girlfriend.”

“Tooru, that’s enough. If you’re going to leave, leave.”

“What a disgrace,” Nori mumbled, shaking his head. “Leaving the family dinner to get laid?”

“You just wish your girlfriend would touch you.”

“ Tooru!”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” 

“What? I said what I said.”

“You’re literally the worst,” Tetsuya spat at him in disgust. “One nice family dinner and you couldn’t even manage that!”

“Yeah cuz it’s my fault,” Oikawa deadpanned, followed by an amused snort.

“Tooru, leave,” his mother demanded.

“Fine. I’m going. Welcome home, Tetsuya,” Oikawa spat, walking out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He could feel his fingers digging into his palm and his teeth grinding together as he walked down the front steps and away from his house. Wouldn’t it just be perfect if he never had to go back there ever again? 

Oikawa laughed to himself as he walked, shaking his head in disbelief and just trying to get it out of his system. 

Tooru should be more like you.

He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, breathing erratically as he sped up his pace. He just wanted to keep walking. He would keep walking until he was so far away from that goddamn house that he couldn’t find his way home if he tried. 

We all know he won’t even go to college.

He slammed his hand on the side of his head, laughing into the darkness of the empty streets in front of him. So original.

You’re being annoying.

Because nobody had ever said that one to him before. 

Tooru’s just hard to get along with.

If he just kept walking, eventually he’d reach a point where he was far enough away. Eventually.

Tooru, you’re so immature.

All he needed was a goddamn moment away from everyone else and his own thoughts!

You’re such an ungrateful brother.

Tooru ruins everything.

“I know,” Oikawa hissed at himself, shaking his head with another forced laugh. “Tooru ruins everything,” he whispered under his breath. “Tooru is the problem here, not his asshole brothers who can say whatever the fuck they want because mommy likes them.” 

Are you completely incapable of being decent?

He slammed his palm against his head again with gritted teeth. “Just get out of my fucking head.”

What a disgrace.

“Please, just go away.”

You’re literally the worst.

“I know!” Oikawa screamed, his voice echoing back at him. “I know, I know, I know, I know, I know!” He shifted to the side kicking at the first thing he saw which happened to be a pile of crates stacked against whatever alley he’d blindly stumbled into. He watched as they toppled over, bringing a cloud of dirt and dust with them. There was a folded up school uniform underneath, and Oikawa didn’t care why it was there. He kicked that, too. 

Oikawa, you’re the most annoying fucking person I’ve ever met.

Oikawa laughed as he kept walking, running his fingers through his hair again in a meaningless attempt to fix it. 

You’re so irritating.

What was the fucking point, honestly? Why did it matter? Who even gave a fuck?!

Oikawa, you’re so pretty!

Oikawa, you’re so unique!

Oikawa, you’re so cool!

Oikawa, you’re so admirable!

He couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head and giggled to himself like a madman while making his way down the streets, and he couldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried because it was just really fucking funny. So what if he was pretty? Unique?! Those were all just empty compliments.

Oikawa, I wish I was like you.

There were only two people in this world: people who hated him, and people who would hate him if they really knew him. 

I’m surprised anyone likes you with the way you act. 

Oikawa shook his head with a snort. “Nobody does.” 

Oikawa, I want to be your friend.

Nobody wanted to be his friend. 

Oikawa, for all he was worth and for all the hype at school about his ‘fanclub’, didn’t have a single friend. That was how it had always been, and Oikawa never expected anything to change. He just wasn’t the type of person who could have friends, apparently. So if he had nobody to appease, then there was no reason to put any effort into changing himself. If he was annoying, so be it. If he was irritating, so be it. 

Nobody would like him regardless of what he did, anyway.

“Next time I see your suppliers I swear I’m going to hit one of them.”

Oikawa paused, blinking at his surroundings. He was clearly out of the residential area, but to be honest, he had no idea where he was nor how he got there. That was exactly what he wanted, and yet Oikawa didn’t feel any better. But he did feel calmer. He pressed himself back against the nearest wall, tipping his head back and taking a deep breath. He was fine. He got it out of his system and he would go home later and deal with it all over again. He didn’t need to keep flipping out over it. He knew who he was and what people thought of him. 

“Don’t give me that look. He tried to touch you. He can go fuck himself.”

Why did that voice sound familiar? Oikawa dropped his head, blinking at the alley opening he was leaning against. He couldn’t see inside it, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Nothing good ever happened in alleys. 

“Next time, I’m breaking his wrist.”

Okay, maybe he was insane, but he definitely knew that voice. It was gruff and deep but also it sounded like it belonged to someone his age as opposed to an older man. 

“Fine. Don’t give me extra tonight. You spent a lot paying the dealers.”

Oikawa couldn’t help himself. He turned around the mouth of the alley, staring at the two men in front of him who paused at the exact same moment, the blonde one hiding a huge wad of cash behind his back, and Iwaizumi mother fucking Hajime blinking at him like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Holy shit, I knew I recognized your voice,” Oikawa mumbled, his eyes flickering over to the blonde guy beside him who was… definitely not a blonde because that was so obviously a cheap cosplay wig and Oikawa was tempted to laugh. The purple contacts? The mask? The hat? “Iwaizumi… you work with Fukuro?”

He should have seen it coming. Catching the police chief’s son and the school’s personal dealer working together and making a deal in an alleyway? Oikawa could have sworn he was smarter than that, but he wasn’t ready when Iwaizumi moved forward, his hand pressed over his mouth as his back slammed against the wall. Oikawa pushed his arm away in disgust, spitting on the ground beside him. 

“ Gross. Where the hell have your hands been, Iwaizumi?”

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi cursed, still holding him against the wall like his life depended on it. Oikawa just let it be because he had heard the rumors of Iwaizumi’s record and he did not want to challenge the validity of that. “Of all people… of all people, it had to be you.”

Oikawa smirked. “Aw, sweet.” He knew it wasn’t a compliment. It never was. But he would never let people like Iwaizumi know how much it bothered him. 

“Fukuro, get out of here, I’ll deal with him.”

Oikawa watched in amusement as Fukuro listened to Iwaizumi, bowing and immediately taking his leave in the opposite direction. Honestly, not what he expected the school’s mystery dealer to look or act like. And also, he had not been expecting the police chief’s son to be working with him. 

“You’re going to keep your mouth shut,” Iwaizumi hissed at him threateningly, and maybe any normal person would have cowered and feared for their life, but Oikawa was anything but normal. This was just too fucking amusing. 

“Oh yeah, Iwa-chan?” he asked, watching Iwaizumi’s brow twitch in annoyance. “Make me.” Iwaizumi pressed Oikawa harder against the wall. “Ah- okay, okay, ow. That hur-”

“Don’t fucking test me,” Iwaizumi hissed, pressing harder again just to prove his point.

“You’re so dramatic,” Oikawa croaked out, struggling to breathe. “What are you going to do? Kill me and hide my body? My fan club will come for you.” When Iwaizumi loosened his grip on Oikawa, he took the chance to shove him back as hard as he possibly could away from him. 

“What the fuck do you want, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked, exasperated. “Money? Smokes? Free exam sheets?”

“Wow, you really are running a whole fucking business with Fukuro, aren’t you?” Oikawa asked, dusting himself off. “I don’t want your shit or your money. Keep it.”

“You’re just going to blab about it,” Iwaizumi pointed out with clenched teeth. 

“And why would I?” he asked, tilting his head at Iwaizumi before smirking devilishly. “Why tell everyone else about it when me knowing all by myself is so much more fun?”

“Enough games, Oikawa. What do you want?”

“I told you! I don’t want anything. I’m not going to rat you out so cool your jets.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“Yes, I am!” Oikawa agreed proudly, unable to wipe the smirk away from his face. Iwaizumi was running an illegal business with Fukuro. How many people in the school knew about this? Maybe everyone who bought from Fukuro, but none of them could tell anyone because they’d be ratting themselves out too, right? But not Oikawa. If Oikawa told someone, he lost nothing. Of course, he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t a snitch and he wasn’t that much of an asshole, but he was just enough of an asshole to make the police chief's son sweat about the whole thing. 

Who cared about friends or compliments? None of that shit mattered. But this was amusing, and Oikawa was going to make the absolute most of it just to entertain himself.