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diedieri · 5 years

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Creepslayerz Week - Day 6 -Fluff vs Angst

Sooo I have a few of these that I was unable to finish / never posted. I worked on mostly original stuff this weekend but I’m hoping to feel the inspiration to get a chapter up before the premier of 3 Below.

So read on, enjoy, I hope to hear from people either about this or my fic “For my glory, where do I stand”

(Side bar: I do have a pillowfort bc yikes this tumblr purge...)

I really would like to expand on this further (and it’s a quick oneshot, please forgive typeos etc, you guys know I don’t have a beta).

Tuesday. Thursdays. Saturday mornings. Sunday nights. Four days a week Steve Palchuk faced his past. The first time outweighed the in terms of fear. The first time, an accident saved Steve’s ass and damned him every day since.

The first time, a Saturday morning, Elijah Pepperjack came into the coffee shop. Steve had recently switched shifts, explaining why he had never seen him before. His victim from high school, a living memory of the man he used to be. Eli, smiling, set his bag in a corner spot. The best seat in the house had been unusually open. Elijah claimed it like his throne. At the counter, he gave Steve a look. He adjusted his glasses and did a quick glance as his nametag.

“Argentina.” Elijah did not ask, he simply said. He nodded and said the name again, “Argentina, can I get a caramel macchiato, hot, with almond milk? Extra caramel, no whip cream?” He spoke slow and timed it to Steve typing in his request. Eli was a regular, making Steve feel like a new customer. His fingers fumbled and Eli spoke slower and smiled with patience waiting to have it confirmed.

Steve asked, “Anything else?” He forced a smile. He was not new at this, dammit! He was a surprisingly competent barista! He was just taken back how easily Eli accepted his nametag. It was not his own, but instead a coworker’s, fondly known as Arrrghh!!!! They had a second badge made, no one knew who Argentina was. Staff and guests alike only knew them as Arrrghh!!! Steve, having forgot his badge at home (or under a rock for all he knew) grabbed the long forgotten tag in the back. Elijah did not question it and Steve became unknown. In that moment they met without history.

“Eli,” Steve called out his name. Was it the first time? Three years since graduation. Three years since he said, “see you later buttsnack” for the foreseeable last time. How long had they shared the same university? Every day of the week, not just the four he saw Elijah, Steve wondered and looked for traces of his old acquaintance. Their school was large, students were a number. Steve got in on scholarship, football. He did not doubt Elijah had gotten a hell of a scholarship on his own. He smart as ever—a quick glance at his laptop while picking up plates cemented the thought. His screen was all numbers, calculations and formulas going right over his head.

Why had he not appreciated that growing up?

“Thanks, Argentina.” Steve had to keep wearing the badge. He kept it in his pocket, switching it out when Elijah came. He arrived on the same schedule, his routine was horrifyingly predictable. Eli had not changed, which bothered Steve even more. He could recognize Eli, was he so unrecognizable? Steve still had blonde hair, a stunning jaw, he was cocky, and proud and had muscles.

The reason came to Steve on a Saturday night. The football games and practice. Spring Fling King Steve, would only ever be near the field during the season. To practice and to play. There was no way Steve, his bully Steve, would be caught dead anywhere else. Especially the biggest game of the season, homecoming and he was working as a barista. Most games, he’d be there, but everyone had plans. Steve talked to his coach, there was some debate but ultimately he said yes.

Business was slow, even nerds were at the game, it was a grand tradition. Steve cleaned tables and folded napkins keeping himself busy. Nothing was enough to stop haunting thoughts. His shoulder ached and no amount of rolling would soothe them. A complete tricep tear had put Steve out of commission. His first surgery, his freshman year went well. He could not believe that shitty luck but pressed on. He came back hot and stronger than ever. Until the last game of Sophomore year. Steve had made it to the A-team. There was no ache that could stop him. His sweat and blood forced him to go on and on. He would be number one. He would be captain senior year—he would get sacked that game and let out a cry that turned every head.

His doctor never gave him the go ahead to return to the game. His life was over. There was so very few people who would understand, so few who could pull him back. He stopped going to class. He stopped planning for what was going to happen next. Then, of the very few, he came. Captain Draal. A goofy big guy, with a serious switch that kept you on edge. Steve had complete respect for his senior, especially when he learned he was openly gay. As a freshmen who recently figured out he was bi, he was an idol. Steve had not been ready to come out though he almost did after hearing a story about Draal whooping a linebackers ass, off school grounds. Officially on the school record, the dispute had been settled with words. Draal was an inspiration for the teachers. Gay Athlete solves confrontation with civil words. Unofficially the kicker texted QB Draal with details, seeing the guy in his neighborhood, at a friend’s party. Draal showed up and threw down. Rumor went, he said if he ever heard him call anyone the F-word again he’d wish it would be a dick being shoved down his throat.

Draal was a king. He was the only one to tell Steve he heard how impressed his psyche teachers were with him. That he talked to the counselor about a new sports scholarship. He went from player to counselor. Steve the asshole was becoming Steve the shoulder.

Working the slow night in the café was horrible. He could hear only an echo of Draal saying, “You’re still going to be great.” Steve asked, “Could I have been captain?” The words yes never hurt so much. How the fuck was he going to help counsel when he still had not gotten over himself?

“Argentina?” A voice asked, concerned and soft as a mouse.

Steve was standing at an empty table, his once wet rag dry from the circles he’d been wiping in.

“Elijah, shit, sorry Pepperjack.” The words came out quicker than either of them could process. Eli shook his head, his brain firing off.

“Pepperjack?”

“Your last name.”

Elijah, turned from his awkward angle at his lone table and faced Steve head on. He watched carefully and pointedly looked at his nametag. “I never told you that.” He was sure of himself, sure as Steve was that he’d been waiting for a moment like this.

“Didn’t have to.” Weeks of watching and pretending had become exhausting. Arrgghh!!! Was getting annoying, annunciating Argentina everytime they called his name. Constantly saying, “You’ll get his number quicker if you just stop staring.”

Psych 101, bullying is a form of interpersonal aggression. It is a group phenomenon with social factors contributing and perpetuating different contexts. His first psych class had been to fill a requirement. His teacher however inspired him. Steve took the material and had a true self reflecting moment. He didn’t have the badge to diagnosis himself and did not think he could ever commit to medical school to really get the degree for psychologist. But there was something. Something calling and sticking out. It started when he picked himself apart.

Why did he harass Elijah Pepperjack? He was strange. He was his own person. He was quiet. A nerd. He was cute. Steve liked it when he raised his hand because no one else volunteered. Seeing him pout made Steve’s chest swell. But. There were environmental factors that made him noticing everything wrong. At the time, he wanted to beat the affection out. Unable to stop himself, he chose to stop Elijah. He tormented the kid because Steve could never face himself.

Arrgghh!!! Was not wrong. He could get Elijah’s number a lot quicker if he texted Claire, she was on a study abroad trip and was always checking her email. He could even text Jim. They were never close but had a strange bond from some supernatural adventures. He would never text Toby, Domsalski would turn around and text Elijah, Jim, and Claire with a big OH MY GOD.

Asking would be easier, if he did not have to keep up being Argentina. But being anyone else meant instantly being shut down.

“Hey,” The voice pipped up again, “Are you okay?” Qualms of the last name were put to the back burner. Steve shook his head. No! It was homecoming night and he was not on the field! He did not even have a date to the dance because the girl he thought he liked he called it off with. For the past three weeks, every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday he’d been thinking about a four eyes. He was right back under his skin and he was just as angry as he had been as a kid.

“No.” Steve’s reply was clipped and curt. Elijah darted from chair to chair around the café, empty, he gestured to the seat across from him and his laptop. Steve left his rag on the table and took the seat, apparently he left his stomach there too. His gut twisted and turned, knotting on nothingness. Why did this feel like an interview that he lied to get in to? Five years experience required? Sure!

“So…” Elijah closed his computer and drummed on the lid. The click-click drawing too much attention, he instead fidgeted with his hoodie sleeves, already frayed with years of panic. Steve watched the stickers on the laptop lid as they went down. He learned three fundamental things at the exact same time. First, despite his original findings, Elijah was still into the supernatural. There were three glow-in-the-dark ghost stickers in one corner and a Torchwood emblem at the very center. Second, what was a Creepslayerz and why were there three stickers of the same kind? Third, he needed to say something. Elijah was polite as ever, giving time to the world around while seeking none for himself.

Silence was getting him nowhere. His counselor encouraged him to make his voice heard. He encouraged players on the team to stand up for what they believed in. Their focus needed to be on the game, not a lie. “Listen Elijah,” Steve did not need to draw his company’s attention. Nothing had been stealing his focus.

“Do you remember a guy in high school, an ass. Totally handsome. Totally a jerk. Went by Steve, well his name was Steve—is Steve.” He fumbled over his own words, his lie already getting in the way of his focus. The lead did not require much inspiration, Elijah was smart, he didn’t need things to be laid out. A string pulled up on Elijah’s shoulders. His bully, hateful and impractical was supposed to be working in a car shop in Arcadia-Oaks. Not in a coffee shop on a game night. Not looking awkward in a dim light.

“Steve?” Elijah was not sure. How could he! They looked a lot, of course, he thought Steve was Steve the first cup of coffee the other had made. The name tag was the deal breaker. Elijah could breathe knowing his past was behind him. His arm closed around his stomach, rubbing his side. His past was in front of him.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s past was in front of him.

Steve actually said it! He was the nightmare. He was real. This night fucking sucked. Why not get it all out at once? His knee bounced, Elijah had to say something. Bastard. Why are you here? You ruined my life!

Silence.

Elijah locked up, reconciling the worlds.

He stared and Steve read his thoughts. “I can’t play football anymore.” His shoulders sank at the confession. It hurt telling his mother, his coach, strange how it hurt telling a stranger. Arcadia-Oaks knew Steve to be the man. He posted on Instagram and Facebook constantly with updates and accomplishments. That was before the accident. He let everyone assume he was swept up in college magic, too busy to post. Eli too, had been under that spell.

“It’s hard.” He answered for him. “And…I’m sorry, dude.” He laughed tight and forced. What had he belittled Eli about? A nerd unable to play ball? This was fucking Karma. “I’m sorry.” The apology came quicker and heavy, taking several breathes from him. “I’m really, fucking sorry.” He called Elijah a cocksucker. All his fears and denials were easy to beat on someone smaller. He couldn’t fight a thought, but he could terrorize a human.

“Steve, hey man, that’s history. Are-” His lips flapped closed, Elijah nearly asked the same question. Steve was not okay, not even alright. Elijah had time to recover, distance between them had shown him the greatness that awaited him. Hours away from Arcadia was practically the other side of the world. Yet here Steve was, just on the other side of campus.

“Are you busy tonight?” Elijah asked the unaskable. Steve gawked. Was he hearing him right?

“What?”

“What?” Elijah repeated, “I’d like to catch up. With Steve, not Argentina.”

Warmth bubbled in the back of Steve’s throat. Elijah was always this good, once it made him hate him! Now he wanted his number even more. What sort of person could face their once bully head on? Steve looked at his watch, Elijah’s eyes were too much. They scrutinized and wondered.

“In two hours.”

“Cool. I’ll have my homework done by then.”

“Cool.”

It was not cool, busying himself around the shop, around Elijah. Any by standers wandering in he hoped they steered clear of Eli’s section. He didn’t want to go over and clean up. No way Elijah would mind, it was part of Steve’s job! But Steve minded. He minded a lot. It was too soon, what were they supposed to talk about? Eli’s favorite drink? The way Steve switched between hearts and smiley faces on the dot over the I? He wanted to be obvious. He wanted Elijah’s number—all when he was someone else. Argentina. Not Palchuk.

Steve joined Elijah outside, wearing a burgundy school hoodie. The Batman symbol glowed on Elijah’s chest. Adorable. Perfect. His eyes flicked away, Elijah moving the straps on his backpack had to be a signal. “So,” What was he supposed to say.

“Creepslayerz?” Steve had noticed the decal before, he had not realized there were three. All the same exact font.

“My band.” Elijah grinned, he started them walking ahead, following the sidewalks under the yellow street lights.

“You have a band? You, Elijah Pepperjack?” In high school Elijah had been into theatre. They bumped shoulders when Steve applied for the leading role—just for a kiss—more of anything to piss Jim off.

“I do. I help write music. We actually have a light show,” Elijah pointed to himself. His shoulders rocked from side to side, a proud shuffle. “Designed that myself. Helps working as a stage hand for the school plays.” Steve could see that. The technical stuff, he doubted the band had much ground to it, but what would Elijah be able to do with a real budget?

“So you help write the music? You don’t preform…?”

“Sometimes. But Krel is really the face of the band. Aja too. She’s our hypeman.” Dancer, number one fan, Krel’s sister so she might as well be in the band. Her position only stayed unofficial to prevent a guilt trip commitment. Aja was president of the robotics club and treasurer of the international club. Her time was divided and the duo didn’t want to keep her.

“Claire inspire you, huh?”

Elijah pulled a tight face. Not really, Claire was great and they were on similar paths but completely different styles. He hadn’t talked to her in ages.

“Krel and Aja though, huh?”

“Transfer students from Cantalupa.”

“Well that sounds made up.”

“Yeah well, I think Krel makes up a lot of things. Then makes it real when you’re not looking, so I just go with it.” His smile grew, his eyes looked beyond one foot in front of the other, a place of fondness. A place where Steve wasn’t.

“You two close?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re friends. Roommates freshman year, roommates now.”

Steve nodded. He missed out on three years, four years before that, and more before that. “How come you’re not in the paranormal club?”

Elijah looked to Steve, a grin growing, “you know I’m not?”

“Well. I just. I’m in it so—”

“You? You’re in it?” Elijah shook his head, no way! Not Steve!

Steve grinned, doubt, everyone doubted that fact. “Yes way, Eli. I like. The spooky shit. The strange. All the junk you used to go on and on about.”

“You’re serious?”

“As the plague.”

Elijah covered his mouth, his smile too big for a lame joke.

“Why? You didn’t believe in it, do you now?”

“Aliens? No. Chupacabras—we’ve had some heated discussions and have come to agree they’re racoons. Which, then they say Aliens are real. They’re left by aliens. I just say the Chupa—” Steve reeled himself in. He straightened his shoulders and quickened his walk. “Ghosts, yeah.”

“Trolls?” Elijah’s stride double to meet Steve’s walk.

“Haven’t met one yet.” Steve looked at him, letting the suggestion sink in.

“So you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Mhm. Well. I mean other than you tonight.” Another lame joke, Steve’s laugh was tight and Elijah’s exuberant.

“That is so wicked cool! Are you guys going on any hunts?” He bounced up and down, hopping in front of Steve, completely serious.

“Are you serious?”

Elijah nodded and tugged on his backpack.

“I mean yeah, it’s October. We always get fair-weather attendees so you coming won’t be a problem.”

He groaned and spun on his feet, he couldn’t believe the club was active! Discussions and ghost hunts! “I never joined because I joined international club, thanks to Krel and Aja. Then there was the band, I got a job at one of the computer labs.” Matching his schedule to a half-interested club where he’d be nitpicked was not on the to-do list. College was going to be the change, no longer the nerd hiding in the closet. Really, he’d been missing on the chance to share his passion.

“Alright, okay, so you’ll invite me?” Eli let his words hands, his hands wiggled a neon green phone case. Oh. Oh—shit! He was about to score the number, “Um-uh,” He stuttered, smiling and laughing at himself. His hands patted his front pockets, his back and dipped into his hoodie pockets.

“Phew,” His phone stuck against his hand, he was actually sweating. “What’s your number?” He typed as quick as he sent Elijah a text. Immediately Elijah replied with a ‘got it!’ Not like Steve was literally standing there.

‘Dork’ Steve texted.

‘Thought you were more of a butt-snack type of guy?’ Elijah watched Steve read, smirking when his lips curled into a smile.

“Okay, now we’re getting into full sentences. I can’t walk and type.”

“We’re standing still,” Elijah gestured around them. “Wow Steve, first night back together and already leaving me hanging? Impressive.”

‘Now you’re a butt snack’ He added an emoji of a peach, Elijah bumped their shoulders together. “I’m kidding.”

#creepslayerz #creepslayerzweek #3below #trollhunters #manawrites #elijah pepperjack #steve palchuk #i really enjoyed this concept and would love to write on it more #but gotta get to the fic first

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its-love-u-asshole · 7 years

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Slipping Underneath [Ch. 1]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Tsukishima was in some deep shit he realized, but common sense told him he should have been rather happy about the discovery he'd just made. Of course, that didn't stop him from freaking out.

"Tsukki? Did something happen?" Bokuto asked.

Dejected, the blond lifted his head, giving Bokuto the flattest stare he could manage. "The neighbor downstairs hates my voice."

Rating: T

Tags: soulmates, mythology/sirens AU, some iwaoi and bokuaka thrown in bc why not, first meetings, fluff, Kuroo is a nerd and Tsukki can’t help but be charmed, Siren!Tsukki, Siren!Bokuto

Note: Yes, I know I started another multichapter, I’m sorry, please forgive these sins of mine. I couldn’t resist a sirens/soulmate AU tho?? I had the sudden inspo and ofc this was born, enjoy! <3 Big thanks to @allykat023 and @emeraldwaves for reading this over!

AO3

The first time he heard the voice, it was because he'd been marooned on the patio of his apartment. His apartment. It was almost more degrading than when he was sexiled to the common room of his freshman dorms. He was a third year now though, this was his own property damnit.

When Kenma had decided to move into a place with Hinata, Kuroo had been forced to room with a certain overly social setter. He liked Oikawa, he really did. Well, when he wasn't being too dramatic or nosy anyways...

They got along fine, great actually. It was only when Iwaizumi visited from his university every other weekend that Kuroo found himself setting up camp on his spacious, yet boring as hell balcony.

At least the glass was thick enough to drown out any noise...

Kuroo shuddered, remembering the time he'd ventured inside for a glass of water, walking past Oikawa's bedroom...

Yeah, no. He'd learned a lot since then, had come a long way from his days as a young fool (three months ago). Now he prepared his food and drink ahead of time, almost like he was going on a picnic. This way, he never had to hear those...sounds come from Oikawa's room ever again. Even worse, Kuroo was not about to deal with Oikawa's smug face in the morning, knowing he heard everything. At least Iwaizumi had the decency to be embarrassed and smack Oikawa across the head.

So yeah, patio.

It sounded crappy, but despite the loud sex Oikawa seemed bent on having, Kuroo didn't really mind being relocated for a few hours. It gave him time to study, since he was without television or outlets. It was exactly what he needed, and he could count on those nights outside to get all his coursework done for the following week. It was a brutal study session, but it was worth it. While everyone else struggled to catch up on assignments during the week, he could go out, and play video games to his heart's content. Oikawa said he needed to get laid; and while it might've been true, Kuroo wasn't compelled to actively look for a partner right then. If something happened, it happened.

So when the usual Oikawa and Iwaizumi sex marathon finally came along one fateful Saturday night later than usual, Kuroo swore it was fate.

Kuroo had taken his usual chair on the patio, satisfied the weather wasn't too muggy for once. Perfect for studying. He had set out all his highlighters and pens, ready as ever for a night of expert note taking, but as he sank into the chair's cushions with his psychology textbook sitting on his lap, he'd heard it.

And oh how he wish he hadn't.

The melody, if it could be called that, invaded his space, punching his ear drums. The pure horribleness of the voice as it sang was enough to make his head shoot up, his ears straining and begging Kuroo to get away. It was awful enough to make him wonder if someone could die from it. The voice was bad, if he was being nice about it; and oh, he was really trying to be nice about it. But it made his brain melt, and all thoughts of studying disintegrated in favor of escape. Even the sounds of Oikawa getting pounded into the bed were a better option than this torture.

Kuroo almost felt guilty. After all, this was just some random soul who wanted to sing on their balcony. Kuroo had no say in it, and it wasn't like Kuroo's voice was anything to brag about. He should just grin and bear it, but...

Jesus fuck.

How could he possibly work through such a horrid sound?

It was a guy's voice, that much he could tell despite the screeching quality of it. As Kuroo stood to try and find the source though, he became confused. There was no one on either of the balconies beside his, and every second the song persisted, the harder it was to trace it. It was like the sound was all encompassing, coming from every direction at once, burning Kuroo's ear canals and twisting his insides. How was no one else hearing it?

There were quite a few guys loitering around down below the apartments, but they looked like they were having a fine time, blissful even.

Where the hell...

Was he getting pranked?

The song continued as he searched, the rough tones pulling Kuroo like a magnet even though his ears were probably bleeding. Oh well, he still had his eyes. Maybe the price of hearing aids had gone down...

Focus man!

Kuroo groaned, trying to employ the problem solving skills he'd spent years cultivating.

Eventually, and mostly because he couldn't take it anymore, he figured the only place it could be coming from was above him. There was one floor up after his, and since the apartments were dirt cheap, there was hardly any space between them. Risks be damned, Kuroo jumped up without hesitation, grabbing hold of the higher balcony's railing and using his strength to pull himself up. It might've been stupid, and shit he definitely could've fallen to his death. However, that song would drive him nuts and kill him anyways if he allowed it to continue.

Please...make it stop...

Kuroo groaned as he found his footing, easily hooking his legs over the rails after doing so. He was out of breath, and he dared not look at how high up he was or think about how the fuck he was going to get back down. He'd made it. He'd figure the rest out as he went.

As soon as he'd plopped down on the railing, the banshee screeching had ceased, and Kuroo thought he was gonna cry in relief.

Thank god.

Wiping the sweat on his brow, Kuroo looked up, scanning the small patio in seconds until his eyes finally landed on the apartment's inhabitant.

And wow, what a sight.

The blond was frozen where he stood, watering can in hand as he moved to rearrange a pot of tulips, one leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him like he'd been mid-step.

Even in such a ridiculous pose, Kuroo could say the blond was nothing short of stunning. Long legs, pale skin, and warm, golden eyes hidden behind black frames.

He was breathtaking, and Kuroo almost refused to believe such an awful sound had come from such a beauty. Kuroo felt his protests and excuses die in his throat, partly from the fact he was standing in front of a god, and partly because his position did not look good.

Here he was, in stained sweatpants and a sweatshirt, looking like some pathetic second rate burglar while his runway model neighbor seemed two seconds away from running.

It would've been hilarious, had the blond not looked like he was debating on whether to stab Kuroo with the nearby trowel before he left.

Somehow, the thought of a death by garden tool shook Kuroo out of whatever trance he was in, because he managed to find his voice a few seconds later.

"Okay," he began, gradually stepping onto the patio, his ears ringing from their previous abuse. "I know this looks bad, but your singing--"

All of a sudden, the blond groaned, his scowl powerful enough to kill a weaker man. Fearlessly, he grabbed the trowel--called it--and held it up in Kuroo's direction, the threat clear. Come closer, die.

It should not have been as hot as it was.

"How many times do I have to tell you people I'm not interested? Fuck off," the blond hissed, his annoyance clear. Although, given the situation, he was a lot more composed than Kuroo expected. If this was how the other responded to break ins, he was a lot better off than he and Oikawa.

The blond lowered his voice to a mumble, speaking almost to himself rather than to Kuroo as the awkwardness between them intensified. "To think not even living on the top floor helped..."

Huh?

Okay, Kuroo had to find his voice right then and there, lest he be charged with trespassing.

"Um wait, I can explain," Kuroo said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I was just--ha, I was trying to study...I live below you by the way so uh, hey there. I'm Kuroo Tetsurou."

Kuroo grinned, hoping his charm would help to win the other over, but all it got him was the most unimpressed stare he'd ever seen. The blond's eye twitched in irritation, his aura just as menacing as before.

Yet still so pretty.

"I don't care who you are, get off my balcony," the other demanded, not letting up on his threatening pose.

Kuroo sighed. Today really wasn't his day. To think he couldn't reassure people as well as he used to...

He'd really have to work on his debate skills if he wanted to pass his public speaking class.

"Ah okay, okay! Sorry, I'll leave. I just came up here because your singing...it was a bit distracting and--"

"I don't want a boyfriend," the blond deadpanned, his scowl deepening.

Oh wow alright, that's random.

Kuroo shook his head, trying to decide what was the next best course of action, considering none of what he wanted to say was getting across. Better just to be upfront about it.

"Um okay, me neither. I mean, I'm not opposed, and you look...wow but shit wait--" Kuroo went on uselessly, and he was getting pretty damn tired of tripping over his own tongue. Not cool. Groaning up to the sky, he clasped his hands together, fixing the blond with the sternest look he could muster. "I just came to ask you if you could please stop singing. It’s making it hard to study, and I need to get this work done."

Kuroo said it so fast, he was worried the blond didn't hear him, especially from the way silence seemed to descend on them again, the other blinking at him in shock. Ah shit, there's the guilt.

The thing was, Kuroo couldn't justify himself beyond that. It wasn't that the singing was just distracting, it was downright terrible, but he was way too nice to come out and say it. He prayed the other would stop without asking too many questions.

The blond's face contorted several times, each expression no less attractive on the other's face, no matter how displeased they were. From shock, to anger, and then back to shock. The other's face eventually settled on pure confusion.

The silence was moving into painful territory now, and Kuroo thought he was was better off retreating to his own apartment, Oikawa's atrocious sex moans be damned.

The blond blinked slowly, his hands lowering until the trowel fell to the floor, the loud clang echoing into the night air. "You...want me to stop singing?"

His voice was bland, cold, but Kuroo could pick up on slightest note of disbelief in there too. It made him wince. Great, this was what he'd wanted to avoid. He had to be careful now, the last thing he wanted was a neighbor who hated his guts.

"Yeah...sorry. I mean it's not like I'm a music critic or anything I mean--"

"Why?" The blond's question was sharp, straight to the point, asking the question Kuroo desperately didn't want to answer. Kuroo only prayed this guy wasn't too sensitive about this kind of thing. He didn't want another ex-theater kid lecturing him about how he couldn't recognize true talent. Been there, done that.

To be blunt or to lie...

Damn his own morals. "It wasn't to my tastes...I guess?" It was so painful I wanted to rip my ears off. "But I'm sure it definitely is to some people." Demons. "I for sure can't sing so--"

"You thought it was bad."

It was less curious and more certain, like an observation, and Kuroo started to feel a bit uncomfortable (and maybe weirdly excited) under the blond's gaze. Those golden eyes might as well have been boring into his soul, searching for...well, he didn't know.

Kuroo swallowed. "Well--"

"Yes or no."

The irritation from the blond was more than noticeable now; and whatever, Kuroo had already botched this whole encounter. "Yeah, it...it wasn't great."

So much for getting this guy's number. Kuroo felt himself deflate a little, expecting the other to start coming at him with much deserved insults. Only, it didn't happen. At all.

The blond nodded his head slowly, and Kuroo's fully recovered hearing picked up on his shaky exhale. Kuroo thought he could read people pretty well based on their mannerisms and expressions, but he didn't have a clue what any of that meant. It was like the blond was shocked, but trying his damn best to not show it.

There was another beat of tense silence before the other seemed to snap out of his daze, his scowl returning tenfold. Kuroo stopped breathing.

"Fine, I'll stop. Can you leave now?"

Kuroo blinked, exhaling all at once as the blond turned his back to him. It was a clear gesture, one Kuroo had no problem reading, and yeah...he'd overstayed his welcome.

Definitely not getting that number.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Thanks..." Kuroo trailed off stiffly, sparing the other one last glance and noticing the tenseness of his shoulders. The guilt was back again, but Kuroo knew trying to fix the situation now wouldn't help. He'd apologize properly some other time.

Turning his attention back to the railing, Kuroo scaled down the balcony back onto his own, his thoughts filled with nothing but his neighbor's face for the rest of the night.

This was not good.

Tsukishima stared at the wall as the cake on his plate sat untouched, piping exquisite and begging to be devoured. To think he was actually too distracted to eat dessert. Yeah, not good at all. Absurd too, stupid even. There was no reason for him to be freaking out.

In spite, he glared down at his cake, picking up his fork before stabbing the soft sponge and shoveling a good half of the piece into his mouth. Motherfucker.

The cake tasted sweet, moist with rich frosting and just the right ratio of sponge to cream. It embodied everything he could've wanted from a dessert, and yet his face still set itself in a sour expression.

Tsukishima stomped his foot on the floor, as if it would somehow affect the neighbor below him. The one with the atrocious bedhead, the cause of all his problems.

Annoying.

"Tsukishima, is something wrong?" Akaashi's smooth voice, calm and expectant--because yes, he probably knew there was indeed something wrong--forced Tsukishima out of his thoughts.

Tsukishima glanced up to the kitchen island where Akaashi sat, his posture far too elegant for someone wearing owl patterned sweats. It didn't stop him from being observant though. Tsukishima probably should've been more careful about it; but at the same time, he knew the other would find out eventually.

After more prolonged silence, Akaashi prodded further, knowing it was usually the only way to nudge Tsukishima. “Because you know you can tell me.”

For some reason, it made Tsukishima sigh into the space between them, knowing he’d have to get this off his chest if he wanted to stay sane. Plus, there wasn’t any harm in it.

Tsukishima kept his friend group small yes; but that also meant he held a decent degree of trust for each of the people in it. Akaashi was the best person to go to with these issues anyways, since he tended to be the most rational.

Yamaguchi always shed a good light on things, but he was away at another university. And besides, the freckled boy tended to lean more towards an overly optimistic approach which Tsukishima wasn't too fond of pursuing at this point. He had to be sure first, and even then...he didn't owe anything to anyone.

Setting down his fork, Tsukishima fixed the other with the most neutral stare he could manage, lest he give anything away too soon. Tsukishima clenched his fists, his dull nails managing to leave imprints in his palm. This was humiliating, but he needed to know.

"Akaashi," he began, steeling himself as he willed away another scowl. "Would you mind...listening to me sing?"

The other's grey eyes widened considerably, an unusual event when considering Akaashi's calm nature. “Oh, well…”

Yeah, Tsukishima knew the question was unexpected. He didn’t blame his friend for the shock.

Tsukishima hated singing. It was his least favorite thing to do, if it made the damn list at all. Not to say he didn't love music, but singing was a different story. It attracted attention, it brought unwanted advances. He associated singing with everyone's eyes on him, and he loathed it more than anything. Yet, he couldn't help but sing. It came so damn naturally to him, to the point that sometimes he wasn't aware he was even doing it until someone came up to him.

Or climbed his balcony.

Ugh.

That was the thing...

At the end of the day, he didn't have a choice but to sing. He could very well die if he didn't. That's what happened to sirens.

Cursed with fatally beautiful voices, ones which used to lure men to their deaths centuries ago, sirens both thrived and withered due to their gifts. And of course, Tsukishima happened to descend from a community of them. He blamed his mother.

He had been a siren since the day he was born; and his voice had reached maturity sometime in high school, a powerful weapon. Or well, it would've been, had he not lived in the 21st century. Being a siren was pretty useless now, apart from getting hordes of guys to do the occasional bidding, or for winning singing contests.

In addition to his virtually unnecessary gift, being a siren came with a lot of difficulties. If he didn't sing enough, he'd grow sickly and die; and if he sang too much...he could lose his voice completely.

The former was generally what afflicted his kind in the modern age though. And despite his dislike for singing, it wasn't a problem. Tsukishima had grown used to singing in the privacy of his own home to keep healthy.

However...this issue was a new one, one he'd hoped to never deal with. Being told his song wasn't calming to the human ear...it worried him.

If a siren's voice was no longer pleasing to humans, it meant the siren could be dying.

Tsukishima's pulse sped up at the thought, his future goals and achievements flashing before his eyes as he willed himself to not jump to conclusions. He wouldn't panic, not until it was confirmed.

Akaashi was a human, one who knew about Tsukishima's predicament. He'd be honest with him.

Tsukishima took a few more deep breaths, feeling the anxiety subside a bit as he forced himself to make eye contact with Akaashi again.

If his balcony hopping neighbor thought his singing had been anything less than perfect and ended up being right, it could be Tsukishima's life on the line. That or it was the alternative, the only other explanation for his singing being atrocious, and Tsukishima refused to entertain that idea without eliminating the other options.

God, kill me.

"Sure," Akaashi began, stunned at Tsukishima's request. "But, why do you--"

"Hey hey!" Bokuto's voice boomed through the humble apartment, the door frame rattling along with the wall as he slammed the door shut. "What's goin on?"

Ah, great.

Akaashi lit up at the sound of his boyfriend, although it was mostly undetectable to anyone who wasn't used to the other's subtle facial changes. To anyone else, Akaashi probably looked bored, but Tsukishima could see him practically glowing.

They were disgusting.

Regardless, even Tsukishima couldn't deny the fact they were hopelessly in love. He'd known Bokuto since childhood, having grown up in the same small community of sirens in their hometown. Bokuto was just like him, albeit way more optimistic in nature. Tsukishima didn't think he could possibly grow any happier, until he'd met Akaashi.

Tsukishima couldn't complain then either, since he'd grown rather close to Bokuto's boyfriend as well.

Tsukishima watched them as Bokuto's hand slid along Akaashi's arm, both of them comfortable with the touch, leaning into each other as if no one else existed in the world.

The peaceful expression on Akaashi's face remained up until Bokuto started to hum in contentment, a habit he had never managed to break. Then the setter's nose was scrunching up in distaste, his eyes flashing as if he'd been struck.

Ah, and there it was.

Akaashi clutched Bokuto's shirt with unrivaled insistence. "Koutarou--"

Bokuto snapped out of his daze, kicked from his reality while the guilt washed over him. He'd gotten better at being mindful, but well, it was a siren's instinct to make music. He was bound to slip up once in a while.

Bokuto cut the humming, and he cradled Akaashi's face in apology, placing a loud kiss to the setter's cheek while Tsukishima focused his gaze on the cracks in the table.

Again, disgusting.

Bokuto's voice radiated nothing but sincerity as he pulled away. "Sorry Keiji, I forgot. It wasn't that bad was it?"

"Mm," Akaashi said, and he shook his head, his smile somewhat amused. "It wasn't. You stopped."

Bokuto fist pumped at the accomplishment, looping his arm around Akaashi's shoulders after he'd fully relaxed. His eyes were back to their normal brightness, the concern gone. "Yes! Soon I'll have that down!"

Tsukishima rolled his eyes along with Akaashi, but it was full of fondness.

"Anyways, what are we talkin' bout?" Bokuto slouched further into his chair, his wide eyes homing in on Tsukishima's unfinished cake. "Obviously there's a reason you haven't devoured that."

"Tsukishima wants to sing for me," Akaashi said, tone concerned in a way which made Tsukishima feel silly for actually bringing his issue up. Maybe he was overreacting. "Why--"

"Tsukki," Bokuto hissed, standing up so quickly Tsukishima flinched, his golden eyes focusing in on the blond with an almost predator like accuracy. "Are you trying to seduce Keiji?"

The silence between them would've been comical had Tsukishima had any patience for Bokuto that day.

Are you serious?

Sensing Tsukishima's growing murderous intent, Akaashi jumped in, soothing his boyfriend with a touch to the shoulder. "Koutarou...I doubt that's what's happening."

"But--"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Tsukishima said through gritted teeth. "Can you just listen to me sing? I'll explain after."

Bokuto's sharp gaze morphed into puppy dog eyes in a flash, his mouth forming a pout as if he'd been told he'd be sleeping outside. Tsukishima didn't necessarily like making Bokuto feel bad, after all, they'd grown up together. He was used to Bokuto, found his mannerisms to be rather endearing even, but Tsukishima couldn't take any more interruptions.

To say he was freaking out was an understatement. He had to know what was wrong.

Akaashi's brow furrowed, the concern clearly there, and he nodded. Bokuto must've also sensed the rapid mood change, since he sat down without much complaint, eyes never leaving the blond's.

Well, here goes.

It had been years since Tsukishima had sang for an audience, even for Bokuto, one of his own kind, but he couldn't get shy now. Taking a deep breath, Tsukishima closed his eyes, letting the words flow out of his mouth until he spun a melody all his own.

"Take my hand, come towards the sea, and with every wave, you'll be safe with me. Don't fear the crash, don't mind the rocks, just know I'll guide you past it all."

The notes formed, slow and sure, and the orchestra in Tsukishima's head began to pick up, the assigned parts and instruments knowing exactly where to jump in, where to fit. This song he knew better than any other, had let it travel and burn itself into his soul. The song flowed, the notes amplified. Sometimes they faded into nothingness, lost in the sea of music he created.

And really, this was what he did love about singing at the end of the day. Not putting people under a spell, not enticing men to do his bidding—though in his high school years it had been fun. No, it was the melodies and magic of the song itself. It calmed him, washed away any troubles until he was like the barren shore. Peaceful, cool, but so alive beneath the surface.

Even someone like him, with his rationality and cynicism couldn't deny any of that.

This he could do forever, but his time might've very well been up, and the thought cruelly brought an end to the lightness in his chest.

Tsukishima ceased, clearing his throat as he opened his eyes. Akaashi hadn't asked him to stop the whole time, so he assumed it was a good sign, but who knew. Sometimes Tsukishima got too lost in his own music, he wouldn't have noticed. Maybe it was so bad, the raven had left the room in agony, or--

"Tsukishima."

His eyes snapped up to meet Akaashi's, catching the sight of dilated pupils as Akaashi came down from the high which sirens could elicit. The haze was still there, the spell just barely starting to undo itself. Akaashi shook his head rapidly, attempting to snap out of it for good.

Bokuto sat next to him, pouting with his arms crossed. Baby.

"Sorry, I feel like my brain turned off for a second there," Akaashi said, holding a hand to his head as his mind began to work again. "I'm not sure what you're worried about though. Your singing is as good as ever, as I'm sure you could see from the effects..."

Tsukishima sighed audibly, uncaring of what his friends thought. He slouched in his chair, the tension rolling out of him. He wasn't dying. His voice was appealing to humans. Nothing about it had changed, and he was going to be okay. His life wasn't over.

Tsukishima felt his relief for about two more seconds before the panic set in. The other panic, the one which came from the alternative reason he had to be worried about his voice.

His singing was fine; it had the same effects it had always had. It was enticing, alluring even. The only human who thought otherwise, lived right below him.

No.

That guy, his neighbor, with his untamed hair and impressive strength. The one who had no qualms about trespassing on someone else's property, the one too polite for his own good.

He had hated Tsukishima's voice. He had been physically pained by the sound of it, and that only meant one thing. Tsukishima wasn't an idiot, he knew. He'd been warned about this all his life.

He'd fucking seen it happen. At the thought, his eyes shot up to Bokuto and Akaashi, looking between them like a starved animal.

Oh no. No. No, nope, not happening.

Bokuto turned to his boyfriend, the peeved expression having never left his face. "Hmph, I can sing just as good Akaashi! I--"

"Yes, yes," Akaashi cut Bokuto off with the softest of smiles, though the amusement was apparent. Tsukishima couldn't take any joy in it, or return the smile Akaashi threw him. "I'm sure you can. Too bad I'll never know."

And it was true. Akaashi would never think Bokuto's singing was anything but atrocious, torturous in fact. Such was the way of a siren's soulmate. The one person who couldn't stand a siren's song was the person they were meant to fall in love with.

I'm going to be sick.

"It's not fair! Tsukishima doesn't even know what it's like," Bokuto ranted, unaware of the internal crisis going on right across the table. "I can't wait til he meets his soulmate, and they think his singing is awf--"

"I don't have a soulmate," Tsukishima said, his voice sharp. He'd been unable to stop himself. He couldn't help it. The realization was barely settling in, boiling inside him. It couldn't be. It was a mistake. "There's no way...."

His neighbor was not his soulmate. It wasn't possible. They didn't know each other at all, Tsukishima had no idea if they were compatible in any way, shape, or form. And while Tsukishima's brain unhelpfully pointed out how it was that way for most people, Tsukishima was bent on finding any reason to nullify this new finding.

This guy had just had hearing issues...or something.

Tsukishima put his head in his hands, knowing he was being childish at this point. He heard Bokuto's chair move, a sign he had gotten up, and seconds later he was most definitely crouched at Tsukishima's side, radiating warmth.

"Tsukki? Did something happen?" Bokuto asked, and it was so unbelievably caring, Tsukishima couldn't take it.

Dejected, the blond lifted his head, giving Bokuto the flattest stare he could manage. "The neighbor downstairs hates my voice."

Saying it aloud hit it home, and Tsukishima's body sagged in defeat, his stomach swirling in irritation and...something else he didn't want to think about. He didn't get butterflies. That was not happening.

Despite the part of him which continued to hope this was all a misunderstanding, he already knew how this would go down from Akaashi's shocked expression and Bokuto's excited cheering. This problem was not going away.

Not by a long shot.

It wasn't until Tsukishima was getting his mail the next morning that they met again.

"Hey there," Kuroo said, leaning against the mailboxes with no qualms about keeping a reasonable distance between them. Tsukishima jumped slightly, slamming his box shut a bit too loudly for the hour, stunned by the intensity of the other's eyes.

Well, that and whatever was going on with his hair.

Tsukishima debated walking away without responding, but he felt like this guy wasn't the type to let something like this go. He'd climbed a damn balcony after all; he was obviously capable of being quite persistent if he had something he needed to say.

"Morning," Tsukishima muttered, focusing on the various bills and letters in his hand instead of falling into the trap of the other's stare. It was shockingly difficult, and it pissed him off more. He wasn't supposed to like this guy, despite every other indication that he should. Tsukishima was a stubborn asshole sometimes. If this guy was so special, he could prove it to Tsukishima the old fashioned way. The blond refused to make it easy.

Yet, there were some things he couldn't ignore. Tsukishima used pushing up his glasses as an excuse to sneak a peek at the other every now and again, and yeah fine, he was handsome. Broad shoulders, strong physique, a teasing smile...

It was irritating for a variety of different reasons, but mostly because Tsukishima couldn't find it in himself to hate this guy, a complete stranger.

"So look," Kuroo said, his easy going posture taking a turn towards awkward, embarrassed even. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, rocking on his heels. "I'm sorry if I offended you the other night. I seriously didn't mean to, it wasn't my--"

"It's fine, it doesn't matter," Tsukishima said, his tone brisk. He tried not to let the flush rise to his cheeks, but he felt like he'd lost that battle from the way Kuroo grinned at him. And well, it was true. It didn't matter. Tsukishima was stubborn, but he wasn't about to blame Kuroo for something he couldn't control. Tsukishima's voice was truly painful for him, and he couldn't resist wanting the pain to stop.

The fact Kuroo actually apologized for his rudeness despite that made Tsukishima's stomach flip, a pleasant tingling traveling up his spine. Tsukishima looked up at Kuroo fully then, causing him to flush in a much similar fashion.

God. This was stupid.

"Ah well, cool. Great!" Kuroo cleared his throat, rifling a hand through his hair. Cute. "Because since we're neighbors and all, I wanted to make sure we...got along."

"Oh?" Tsukishima arched a brow, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards involuntarily. "I didn't realize we were school children."

Kuroo faltered, his eyes widening as if he were a child, and Tsukishima had to hide his smile behind his hand. "Oh, well--"

"And it's not like we're roommates, so there's really no requirement for us to get along," he continued, keeping his voice as level as possible, almost bored. What he said was true after all, but he also just wanted to give the other a hard time. Again, Tsukishima was not going to make this easy. This was who the fates had given him as a soulmate, the one who they thought was there to bring out the best in him. If he couldn't handle this, then Tsukishima would know the universe had made a mistake.

Tsukishima wasn't the easiest to impress. He had high walls which took a fair amount of time to climb over, but it wasn't an impossible feat.

As much as the idea of soulmates intimidated him and made him skeptical, he wouldn't push away a connection if there was meant to be one. He'd grown a lot from his standoffish, cold high school days. He had Bokuto and Akaashi, as well as his family, and he cared for them immensely. However, those connections were natural, not forced.

He'd accept nothing less from anyone, not even his predestined lover.

Kuroo stared at him for a second too long in Tsukishima's opinion, analyzing him. He was fairly shameless about it too, considering the few times Tsukishima caught him glancing below the neck.

Kuroo knew it too, from the way he smirked, slow and leisurely. He knew exactly what he was doing, making his flirtiness clear. What a dork. This side of him had been absent when he'd climbed Tsukishima's damn balcony. Although, he'd said Tsukishima looked "wow," so that was a good indication.

Tsukishima felt his cheeks heat up more, and he cursed himself. So unacceptable.

"What if I want to get along?" Kuroo asked, and wow did he wink at me. He fucking winked at me.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have broken into my apartment."

"Hey! It was just the balcony."

"Trespassing."

"I'm a model citizen."

"Leaving the scene of a crime."

"You asked me to leave!"

"And who will the police trust?" Tsukishima shrugged, not bothering to hide a smirk of his own now that he had Kuroo floundering. It wasn't everyday he found someone who he could banter with so smoothly. Kuroo was downright ridiculous though.

"You're evil you know that?" Kuroo's grin betrayed his words as he spoke, and Tsukishima neither confirmed nor denied the accusation. "Wouldn't have expected that from someone with tulips on their back porch."

Tsukishima grunted while Kuroo laughed at his own joke, all too amused with himself. The laugh wasn't full bodied, but it rang genuine regardless, the sound weirdly sweet to Tsukishima's ears whether it was at his expense or not. Kuroo wiped fake tears from his eyes, prompting an eye roll out of the blond.

"Nah, I'm sure gardening is a menacing field. Ha, get it. Fie--"

"I heard it the first time, please don't make me hear it again."

And with that, Tsukishima walked off, all too aware that he was probably now running late for his first class. He glanced over his shoulder, something tugging at him to turn around and look at Kuroo once more.

It was the first of many mistakes. Kuroo was smiling at him, way too fond for someone he'd just met, dopey almost. It stopped the blond dead in his tracks, his breath stalling abnormally. That look...it was neither fair nor logical in any form.

"Hey, what's your name? I don't think I ever asked," Kuroo said with a soft laugh. "Too busy trespassing and what not."

Tsukishima paused, biting his lip. Normally, he wouldn't give the information away, simply because he didn't know Kuroo too well. But part of him felt the weird inevitability surrounding the situation. Not that they'd end up being anything meaningful to each other, but that this wasn't the last time they'd meet.

"Tsukishima Kei," he answered, surprised there was hardly any hesitation there. It was as if it was natural, intimate even, giving Kuroo his name.

So silly honestly, but the fact didn't erase the feeling. Especially not when Kuroo was smiling at him so openly.

"See you around then, Tsukishima."

The blond didn't answer as he turned, but from the way heat traveled to the back of his neck, he figured he didn't have to.

#kurotsuki #kurotsukki #haikyuuwriters #haikyuu!!#adri writing

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