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Tsukishima sighs. His breath turns into a small mass of fog, quickly disappearing into thin air. The front window of the restaurant he’s standing before is lighted enough for him to pace silently. In his pocket, his phone chimes.
From: Freckles, 8:19pm.
Still waiting? :o
Sent to: Freckles, 8:22pm.
Yeah. It’s cold.
From: Freckles, 8:25pm.
Aw :/ Do you think it’s 4 something special?
Sent to: Freckles, 8:28pm.
No idea. Always fishy with Kuroo anyway.
Cars pass by, light momentarily blind Tsukishima at regular intervals. Another sigh escapes his lips, exasperation ever so slightly crumpling his features. The fog of his breath clutches briefly to his face as he walks toward one end of the front window. The floor is still damp from the earlier evening shower, the sole of his shoes screeching slightly whenever he turns to reach the other of the storefront. Another chime.
From: Freckles, 8:34pm.
Maybe he finally wants you to be his best man :D
This makes the corner of his mouth turn up as Tsukishima shakes his head with a fond huff. Even over the years, Yamaguchi stayed that ever optimistic and gentle kid, as if he somehow took the duty of being sweet and naive for the two of them after the incident with Akiteru.
To: Freckles, 8:39pm.
As if I’d say yes.
Right when he just presses send, another message comes in.
From: Bad Omen, 8:41pm.
You better be here.
Tsukishima frowns, glasses sliding on his nose. Kuroo is never one to be too cold, even when texting, Tsukishima learned that over the years. He eyes the nickname above the message and for once, he hopes whatever it may be, it won’t be true.
Sent to: Bad Omen, 8:43pm.
Been waitin 4 15min. Something wrong?
For a moment, there are only street sounds: cars, honks, footsteps, music coming from somewhere down the corner. Tsukishima fishes his phone from his jacket pocket, fingers tight around the plastic of the object. The screen announces an unread message from Freckles. Tsukishima uses the time to answer his friend to think of what could possibly make Kuroo so cold. Something he said? Very unlikely, they haven’t seen each other in months. Something he did then? The last offending thing Kei did was to play the pocky game -due to a lost bet- with Kuroo last year and Bokuto, the one who should’ve been offended, simply laughed at their awkward faces when the little stick broke, both of them very far from touching each other’s lips. To this day, Tsukishima still wonders how Kuroo managed to find such a good natured fiancé.
An umpteenth sigh escapes Tsukishima’s lips. Since Kuroo’s last text, another fifteen minutes went by. A chill runs up his spine and he resumes his pacing to try and get a bit warm. Winter isn’t here entirely but everytime it rains, it’s colder and daylight is often grim. Tsukishima is glancing at his phone screen to check the hour when a slowly approaching car catches his attention.
Tsukishima furrows his brows, both by suspicion and to try to block out the blinding from the headlights. The back passenger door opens just enough to let a foot out. There’s a bit of fumbling inside, Kei can hear muffled voices. He advances a few steps then waits. Something feels out of place. Usually Kuroo is more of grand entrance person. It’s too quiet to be normal, he thinks.
The door opens fully after what seems a long time; grey strands styled down on one side, thighs clad in skinny washed black jeans, large oval collared shirt under a white down jacket, Bokuto looks like a man ready to shrug off his vest and claim the dancefloor
Kei nods. “Bokuto-san.”
Tsukishima’s eyes follow the taxi that dropped Bokuto regain the flow of vehicles, no Kuroo in sight. Bokuto stays where he stands, face pale in the artificial night lights. Tsukishima crosses the distance between them in two steps, heart catching in his throat.
“He said...”
Bokuto’s eyes search his face, rapidly blinking. He lifts up one hand, absent mindedly brushes his fingers over his lips with a wavering breath. Tsukishima gently grips Bokuto’s hand, softly yanks him to pull him closer. Bokuto doesn’t lean in, stares at the ground instead and his shoulders tense up.
“He said I’m sorry.”
Bokuto’s fingers grip Tsukishima’s hard and he still doesn’t look up.
“He said...”
A dry sob drowns the rest of his sentence. The gentle face of Yamaguchi pierces through Kei’s mind. He would give anything to be able to show any kind of level of sympathy close to his. Tsukishima wills himself to be something more than just this block of cold and silent anger who carefully entwines his fingers with Bokuto’s to lead him toward the entry of the small restaurant.
Sent to: Freckles, 9:14pm.
Do we have a spare futon?
Bokuto slams the door shut behind him and snuggles closer to Kuroo. Out of habit, Kuroo slides his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders.
“Where are we going?”
Excitement is palpable in Bokuto’s voice, a bit higher than his usual tone. Kuroo breathes in, and like always, Bokuto presses his ear with care on the crook of his shoulder, grin wide.
“Anywhere you want.”
Kuroo blinks, looks out the window, a fist drawn close to his chin for support.
“To the Cherry Palace then!”
Bokuto shoots a happy fist and the taxi driver briefly eye them in the rear view mirror. Kuroo’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
Moon, text message, 7:56pm
What do you want?
Sent, text message, 7:58pm
Cherry Palace. Come asap.
Kuroo steals a glance toward Bokuto who’s marveling like child at the night lights gleaming everywhere around the car due to the earlier rain. Before, that smile would have been contagious. Kuroo would have squeezed his fiancé tighter, would have whispered something sweet to make him blush. Before...
Kuroo slides two fingers under Bokuto’s chin who in returns slides a warm hand around his neck. Bokuto’s eyes shine, almost hypnotic.
“You know... I...”
Kuroo laughs. It’s strangled and rough. But seemingly enough to fool Bokuto as he follows and chuckles along with him. And despite the dim lighting of the passenger compartment, Bokuto’s cheeks are red enough to darken his skin.
“Listen, babe...”
Bokuto straightens up a bit and tilts his head just a little. Even now, it’s endearing to Kuroo. He takes in a breath, briefly closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Kuroo’s gaze falls on Bokuto’s confused face, that shy smile suddenly frozen on his features. It’s abrupt, Kuroo knows it for how Bokuto’s eyes suddenly darts away before coming back to search his face.
“You’re not at fault, it’s not... you.”
Kuroo exhales shakily. “It’s me. And I thought a long time about this. It’s not easy but, let’s break up.”
Bokuto’s hands are gripping his collar and opens his mouth. No sound, just his brows and forehead crumpling in utter confusion. Kuroo presses his forehead to Bokuto’s, their noses brushing.
“It’s not- Not fair for you.” Kuroo caresses Bokuto’s cheek with the back of his hand. “And to hard for me, I don’t wanna keep pretending.”
Bokuto’s hands tug on his collar and Kuroo ears him mumbling, catches here and there a begging. When Bokuto presses into him, rushes his mouth on his lips, Kuroo doesn’t stop him. Bokuto roams his fingers his impossibly messy hair, a weak whimper passes his lips as he pushes gently his tongue in Kuroo’s mouth. Every fiber of Bokuto’s being is chanting a prayer; don’t go. Kuroo feels it under his very fingers. It’s beautiful, it’s ethereal and still not enough.
Kuroo answers the kiss, dives his tongue in between Bokuto’s lips, forcefully breathes in, sucks and Bokuto falls against his chest, heart pounding. Kuroo shoves him at arms length, tearing a broken gasp from Bokuto. Again, the back of his hand follows the round path of Bokuto’s cheek.
“I loved you, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to feel lonely.”
In the blink of an eye, Kuroo ears himself louder, talking to the driver. Another blink and the chill wind of the night shakes his jacket, the taxi already turning the corner of the street. He tries walking but his wobbling legs don’t take him that far. Kuroo leans on the nearest wall and fumbles with his jeans pocket to extract his phone.
Moon, text message, 8:44pm
Been waitin 4 15 min. Something wrong?
Sent, text message, 9:09pm
Take care of him.