Chapter Text
The beginning before the beginning
.
This.
This right here was testament to the fact that Kuroo Tetsurou had a screw loose in his head — or several, because this was outrageous even by his standards. Kei didn't care if this was a joke or one of those hare-brained ideas that resulted from the disaster that was Kuroo and Bokuto being cooped up in a room together for far too long. No, this was one of those times where it didn't matter in the slightest.
So the moment the question left Kuroo's mouth, Kei didn't even spare one moment to stare at him incredulously. He simply stood up, turned around, and took the five steps necessary to reach the front door so that he could open it for Kuroo to get the fuck out of his apartment. Kuroo, unsurprisingly, didn't move from the floor where he continued to sit in full beseeching, please-pity-me mode.
In Kei's opinion, Kuroo needn't have bothered. He had seen that look enough times to be effectively unimpressed by it. If anything, it further confirmed that he needed to run the other way now. Nothing good ever came out of that look.
With one hand still holding the door open, he tilted his head to stare down at Kuroo from his most condescending angle. "I could also just drag you out, Kuroo-san."
Kuroo winced — good, because Kei had made sure to pitch his words in that specific tone he knew would grate on Kuroo's nerves. "Aww, come on, Tsukki…" he began, then quickly raised both palms up in protest when Kei narrowed his eyes at the nickname. "Hey, it's fair game if you're going to use that horrid honorific again."
"I don't think you're in any position to be negotiating how I address you right now, Kuroo-san."
This time Kuroo grinned, the sly one that told Kei he wasn't going to like what was about to come out of his mouth, and Kei cursed his own knee-jerk impulse to react because that was like throwing steak at a hungry lion where Kuroo was concerned. "Well, Tsukki," Kuroo stressed as he finally got off the floor and stretched, all smooth limbs and ridiculous hair. "It's only natural for me to call you something affectionate if we're going to be dating."
Kei could say a few things to that. He could tell him that if they were really dating, he'd know a childhood nickname used by his best friend (and, unfortunately, Bokuto) was the last thing he wanted to be called under such circumstances; the preposterous idea of he and Kuroo dating notwithstanding. He could say a million more things to that particular line of thought. Instead, he shoved all of it down and focused, because Kuroo was moving towards him and Kei was trying to calculate how best to kick him out the door the moment he got within range.
Except either Kuroo knew him better than Kei wanted to admit, or this was yet another one of his ploys to get under his skin. Almost literally. Because where Kuroo ended up was not out of his apartment but behind him—the real problem being there wasn't actually space for another person to be there, and all of a sudden, Kei had too much of one middle blocker pressed against his back. He jerked ramrod straight then froze altogether, fingers painfully tight around the doorknob digging into his hipbone.
"Get off," he hissed. "You stink." Kei wasn't even lying about that. Kuroo reeked of loaded ashtrays most nights, ever since he started working at that seedy pachinko parlor a few months ago.
"Now you're just being mean," came Kuroo's reply, tone deceivingly casual as though he could stand there all night exchanging inane chatter while wedged up against Kei and the wall. "That's like spitting on the sacrifices that upstanding citizens have to make for their hard-earned money, you know."
The low rumble of Kuroo's voice was close, much too close to Kei's ear, and it took all of his effort to clamp down on his breath so that he didn't do something stupid like gasp. Logically, he knew he could just move away, close the door, anything—and one of these days, he should really look into what it was about Kuroo that always inspired mutiny in him—but at the moment, salvaging his dignity was about the only thing he could still manage.
Then Kuroo dropped his head down on Kei's shoulder with a heavy sigh—he knew because he felt Kuroo's warm breath seeping through his shirt—and without so much as a warning, an arm snaked around his torso, fingers sliding taut along his hip until they brushed up against the hand he was still gripping the doorknob with. There was something alarmingly intimate about the entire progression that sent his stomach churning and a shiver shooting up his spine.
And that, Kei learned, was his limit.
Self-preservation instincts flaring, he shot forward and just away, snapping his elbow back hard as he went. The door slammed shut with a shudder, and then silence. Kei stared at the door, nose centimeters away from the chipped wood (courtesy of that one time Bokuto thought it would be hilarious to open the door with his teeth) and breath heaving like he'd just finished ten laps of diving drills.
A grunt came from behind him. "There, door closed. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Kei whirled around, eyes flashing and he probably looked demented with his glasses on crooked, but he couldn't find it in himself to care right then because what the hell did Kuroo think he was playing at?
But Kuroo wasn't looking at him. He merely stood there, eyes averted and shadowed beneath his dark hair as he rolled his shoulders the way he often did when they were sore from blocking too many of Bokuto's spikes. It also happened to be something Kei had begun to suspect Kuroo did when he was uncomfortable but was defensive about it.
"Tsukishima." When Kuroo finally looked up, it was with an oddly defeated expression for someone who just got his way. "Just hear me out, okay? I promise it's not a joke."
Kei had already established that joke or not was besides the point, but he couldn't get his brain to sort out the mess that was happening in there. He sighed, feeling completely drained. It was after midnight, and while it may be a Saturday tomorrow, they did have practice scheduled in the morning. "You have ten minutes."
He turned away, settling his glasses firmly back on his nose, and pretended he didn't see the grateful widening of Kuroo's eyes. Sometimes, the only way to win was to surrender.
He just hoped this was one of those cases.
Kei regretted his decision almost immediately.
Twenty-seven minutes later (yes, he was counting) and three cups of cheap instant tea between the two of them, Kei finally gave Kuroo the incredulous stare he hadn't bothered with earlier.
"This," he said, gesturing to the copy of Music Tomorrow spread open on his coffee table, the words leaping up at him despite his best effort to ignore them—
Love is Love premieres on M-Love! this summer!
Now accepting applications from couples nationwide! Sign up today for a chance to win 1.5 million yen* and show Japan that love has no boundaries!
—and Kei snapped his mouth shut again because he realized he had no words, not even a snide one, for what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure he knew what he wanted to say. This was much worse than he had expected (and that alone spoke volumes, didn't it) when Kuroo first waltzed in unannounced a mere hour ago and asked Kei to pretend-date him, "just for a couple of months" he said. In a cheerful tone no less, like salt rubbing on wound.
Kuroo spun the magazine back towards himself so fast he nearly took Kei's mug with it. "We'll split the money of course—"
"I don't want the money," said Kei, but if Kuroo was listening, it sure as hell didn't look like it.
"—one and a half million yen, Tsukki! Well, it says here in the fine print that it's about a million in cash and the rest of it in gifts or vouchers or whatever but still."
And on and on it went.
Kei stopped listening, because yes he was aware the show wouldn't run for too long, only eight weeks during summer break so we won't even have to worry about school! (Personally, Kei thought the fact that it was going to air on TV deserved a bigger exclamation mark.) And yes, he also knew the show was the first of its kind, explicitly open to the LGBT community—aren't you proud of Japan, Tsukki?—created to promote tolerance for unconventional couples (which Kei thought was hypocritical all on its own to use the word "unconventional" as a way to encourage acceptance), but the point was he already knew this.
He knew because he read it all, including the fine print — because that was what he spent those surreal twenty-seven minutes doing, just as he knew that Kuroo knew he did, so no he really didn't need to hear a recap of it. It also didn't make anything Kuroo was saying easier to comprehend.
Kei cast his tired gaze around the apartment, as though the kitchenette with its one electric stove top held some profound answers, like the door to his moldy, tub-less bathroom could tell him what the questions actually were. He ran out of things to look at within seconds and thought this must be his dumbest reason to date for wishing his living space weren't so small. But maybe that wasn't saying much when the only times he cared was when Bokuto, Kuroo, and what felt like every volleyball player he had the displeasure of meeting decided to pop in and make his life miserable.
And then Kuroo said something that yanked his attention right back to whatever this conversation was supposed to be.
"You what?"
Kuroo shifted, sheepish, and Kei hoped viciously that his freezing floor was bruising the bastard's ass. "The deadline's tomorrow morning," he hurriedly explained—yes, Kei knew that too—as if it excused anything. "It's just a preliminary application and we might not even make it in and even if we did, there's still time—" he abruptly stopped talking, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, face contrite.
Kei said nothing.
"Tsukishima," Kuroo tried again, "this isn't me forcing you into this, okay? The application doesn't mean anything. There's no obligation to enter unless we both sign the contract, and we won't need to do that until a week from now." He paused, eyes lifting to meet Kei's unamused glower for barely a second before flickering away. "And that's if we make it in. Just- I just need you to think about it in the meantime, okay? Just think about it. That's all I'm asking."
Kei couldn't think about it because he couldn't even think straight. He was busy trying to untwist his stomach. Kuroo's gaze dropped down to where Kei had his hands wound stiffly together, looking more sorry than Kei had ever seen him. It made zero difference to the panic rising up in his chest.
"Why?" he finally asked. Why are you doing this? Why did you send in the application if it doesn't mean anything? Why?
"I need the money." The reply came fast and blunt, as though he'd been preparing for it.
"You don't need the money. You have money," said Kei, voice flat because it was true. As far as he knew, Kuroo's father was supposed to be some politically influential lawyer in high-demand; his family had to be well-off, if not at least fairly comfortable monetarily.
"Some problems came up. I need help paying for next year's tuition fee," came the unwavering answer this time, like that explained everything. It did, but the problem was it also didn't at all.
Kei waited for more, but when none appeared to be forthcoming, he bit out, "You're not trying very hard for someone attempting to convince me to do something so absurd."
"What do you want me to say?" The fight seemed to leave Kuroo all at once. "You didn't think I was working six nights a week at that godforsaken pachinko joint for fun, did you?"
Kei was unnerved by both Kuroo's words and the resigned slant of his shoulders. He had been wondering why Kuroo was working there, but— no, he shook the thoughts loose, because none of this had anything to do with him. It wasn't his problem. "Why?" he asked again, and this time it was Kuroo who gave him an unamused look. Kei took a deep breath, fingers squeezing just a bit tighter, and amended, "Why not Kozume-san? Or even Bokuto-san?"
"Bokuto?" Kuroo actually snorted, and Kei couldn't really blame him because alright, he threw the name out without thinking it through. "Who would even believe that? Let's say the world got amnesia and forgot Bokuto only lived for volleyball and Akaashi, there's still the little problem of Bokuto's acting or have you forgotten?"
Kei grimaced. No, he didn't think he'd ever forget that as long as he lived. He could still conjure too easily in his head the echoes of Bokuto's dramatically strangled shout. He was pretty sure the coach didn't buy the injury one bit and only let them off early because he couldn't stand hearing it for a second longer.
"And that was when he was convinced Akaashi was going to leave him if he wasn't the first person to greet him a happy birthday at the surprise party. It was awesome, but come on Tsukki. Bokuto?"
Kei could feel a migraine forming. "Kozume-san then. You two have been close since childhood, and you're even living together so no one would think to question it. He's the best choice." Better than me bubbled up and he squashed it back down fiercely. Why was he sitting here discussing this with Kuroo when none of it mattered, when none of it would change a thing? He wasn't going to do this.
"Kenma can't," he said in a tone so serious it left Kei floundering for a moment. "He wouldn't be—" Kuroo hesitated, then shook his head. "Kenma doesn't deal very well with social situations, you know that."
Kei arched an eyebrow, because if this was Kuroo's way of saying he picked Kei for his outgoing personality, he was seriously going to laugh in his face.
Without skipping a beat, Kuroo's eyes went wide. "But- Tsukki, why you're a ray of sunshine!"
Kei scowled and looked away. From the corner of his eyes, he caught Kuroo leaning an elbow over the table between them, chin propped up on one open palm, a ready grin on his face. He glanced back and frowned, equally perplexed and rattled by the look Kuroo was giving him. Why was Kuroo looking at him like that?
Kuroo straightened slowly, the movement reminiscent of a cat carefully coming out of slumber, and just like that, any expression on his face was wiped clean. "It's getting late," he said with a nod at the alarm clock next to the bed behind Kei. "I should get going. Sorry. That took longer than ten minutes, didn't it?"
Kei startled. What? Kuroo was already getting up and gathering their mugs together to put them in the sink, switching gears so fast Kei's head felt sluggish just trying to keep up. He didn't know whether it was because he was so exhausted, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.
He watched Kuroo return for the jacket that had been flung carelessly on the floor when they first sat down. He was relieved, glad, that Kuroo was finally leaving without Kei having to do anything drastic — it was just, nothing was making sense. "Wait," he said before he could think to stop himself, just as Kuroo reached the front door.
Kuroo shot him a quick placating smile, and wasn't that a joke because it looked like Kuroo was trying to comfort him. "Just think about it. You don't have to decide anything right now. I'll let you know when I hear back from them, and I won't even bring it up again until then, yeah?"
"Wait," Kei said again, but what did he want to say? "Why?"
Kuroo cocked his head, considering — considering what, Kei didn't know because what was he even asking? "I really am sorry for coming to you with this," he said, but Kei didn't want nor did he need apologies. He just wanted to understand. "I didn't send in the application because I wanted to corner you into this. I sent it in without telling you because—" Kuroo paused, one minuscule second, and looked away. "It wouldn't make any difference what your answer is. You're the only one I could pick for this."
Kei stared, unable to come up with a reply.
Kuroo shrugged, casual, but again there was that look of defeat Kei couldn't reconcile with all those confident smirks he had come to know better than he ever wanted to. "If you said no, then that's that. There isn't anyone else. I wouldn't have sent in the application if I thought another possibility existed."
With the preliminary application sent in, there would be no changing the who afterwards, even if he refused. It was Kei or nothing. He got what Kuroo was trying to tell him. He did. He just couldn't grasp any of it.
"Good night, Tsukishima. I'll see you tomorrow morning at practice," Kuroo said, and Kei didn't stop him this time, didn't even look at him as the door clicked shut.
Why me?
That was what Kei had wanted to ask.