my first and last | t. kuroo, h. iwaizumi

manipulate, mansplain, malewife

kuroo pov.

the day was as long as a boa constrictor–or whatever the longest snake was. (i didn't know because i didn't have a biology degree. note to self: ask my new secretary.) it wasn't that i necessarily had worked extra hours or done more work than usual. but training a new staff member, particularly a secretary, always required a helping hand.

i wouldn't normally hire a new secretary. but when the last one left to pursue true love–not that i could put that past her, as i was doing the same–i needed a second one to handle the flow. the shared workload alleviated the burden that was briefly placed on my one (1) remaining secretary, usually by one taking mornings and the other taking afternoons.

i walked into my apartment where i lived with my roommate and best friend, kenma. i kicked off my shoes at the door and slid my feet along the wood floors until i reached the closed door of his room. i knocked, poking my head in when i didn't hear anything. no kenma. maybe he was in the space redesigned to be a home office/gaming setup instead of a dining table.

bingo.

"kenmaaaaa," i groaned, undoing my pants. i shrugged them off, stepping out of them. i tugged on my tie, loosening it before pulling it overhead. removing my dress shirt, i collapsed on the couch having reached my normal state of nirvana: nearly naked, but still presentable enough if anyone stopped by uninvited.

i draped one leg over the back of the couch, leaving one to dangle toward the floor. tugging on the bottom of my navy boxers, i called for him again.

"kYANMA!"

he shuddered, turning around in his gaming chair. acknowledging my presence, he nodded. kenma usually got out of bed around three in the afternoon, leaving the rest of the day and night for work, school, or professional gaming. sometimes, i felt like he'd forget to eat if i wasn't around.

we had known each other since childhood. as early as i could remember, i had always checked in on him. when we were in school, i would see his light still on despite the darkness outside. peeping into his room, i would find him gaming, tucked into a blanket. other times, he would be fast asleep with the light forgotten.

it was the same now. if i was working late or caught a late flight back, i would find the lights left on in the apartment. if he had already fallen asleep, i'd shut them off. if he was still gaming, i'd leave him a plate of fruit and crackers as a snack with his countless empty cans of energy drinks.

he paused his game, turning in his chair. one leg was folded close to his chest, the other hanging off of the chair.

"how was the new secretary?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"she's hard-working, smart...but like? textbook smart, y'know? sometimes," i sighed, sitting up to look at him over the back of the couch, "it feels like she's been living under a rock. i can't figure out if it's a quirky personality trait or how she really is."

"but that didn't stop you from hiring her."

"because i knew her!"

kenma raised his eyebrow, tilting his head. "what?"

"the girl from tokyo training camp? the one i almost performed cpr on? it's her!"

"you're making it sound like you found ariel," he responded, rolling his eyes at the memory of kuroo singing 'part of your world' while showing her she was "respected." he turned back around to his monitors and put his headphones on, effectively ending the conversation.

i laid back, one arm behind my head while the other rested across my bare, toned chest. a smile crept up on my face as i thought of her: luscious hair, bright eyes, delicate hands. she seemed to have this sparkling aura around her, even when she was making my coffee completely wrong.

"she might just be my ariel," i whispered to myself, shutting my eyes to take a cat nap.

* * * * * * * * * * *

what the hell? is this...the circus? it arrived without warning; i didn't know the circus even came to japan.

the smell hit me: melting plastic, metallic in nature; smoky, similar to when i accidentally set my lab report on fire. the distinct smell of burning a hole into the ozone layer. 'large offices like the japan volleyball association should really switch to paperless communication to reduce our carbon footprint,' i noted for future reference, hoping to remember the sentiment when i woke.

i looked around trying to find the fire. the smoke was clear, asking to the heavens for some relief. it needed a cool drink of water; i felt that in my throat as well.

i watched as a tall wall–no, a large cage filled with volleyballs–loomed over me suddenly. i reached out, touching one of them. it was wallpaper-textured, not the iconic synthetic leather i knew them to be.

that's when i heard it.

a distinct jingling, a jester hobbling toward a king to entertain in the royal court. but as i looked around, i didn't see kageyama or oikawa (both known as kings of the court). i grew increasingly panicked, turning in every direction, breathlessly searching for the source of the jingling.

it approached. louder. and louder still. where the hell was it?

that's when i saw the faint figure, emerging from the smoke like a phoenix rising from the ashes. red pants, polka dot blouse. it hobbled closer, closer. one hand held a volleyball, the other: coffee–poorly made, disgusting. (i could tell from where i stood.)

she came clearly into view, looked at me with a painted face, drawn-on smile. it was worse than what i imagined my sleep paralysis demon to look like.

her presence also brought the fire. the flames of passion.

the flames came into view. they burned behind her, licking up the walls like a child trying to get to the center of boopsie-pop. smoke filled the air, slowly filling my lungs as well. she chuckled loudly, head thrown back as if she were a villain in a low-budget horror film. the coffee mug trembled in her hand as she reached out for me, getting that (lee minho voice) disgusting shit everywhere.

i opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. she took the opportunity–what a go-getter, i commended her–and filled my mouth with the diet coffee, forcing it shut. she lifted the volleyball, aiming for me. with a final jeer, she threw it at me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

i woke abruptly before the impact of the volleyball. cold sweat, heavy breaths, (mom's spaghetti), hand holding my chest.

i searched around for kenma, but he had gone to sleep. the lights in the apartment were off, the only source filtered in from the window overlooking a quiet neighborhood street.

it was just a dream. a bad dream–but i never wanted to relive it.