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That was the last time Kuroo would ever try something as ambitious as studying with Bokuto.
It wasn’t possible, and for all his deductive reasoning, Kuroo was the king of fools for even considering the possibility of it turning out in any other way. Maybe it was his hope that Akaashi would talk some sense into the moron, but finding out Akaashi was two parts enabler and one third sadistic bastard shouldn’t have come as a surprise either. Not with all the times he’d tossed Kuroo sharp smirks under Bokuto’s radar from across lecture halls and tutorial classes when something was about to happen.
Kuroo drew a slow inhale, letting it loose through pursed lips. The urge to groan only pressed against his temple more when he heard the bookcase behind him shift; at least they had the courtesy not to fuck against the one in front of him, though this was a far cry or two—or ten—from common decency. There was a small part of Kuroo, one that died when the sun went down and saw him still on campus, that wanted to slam shut his thick, dog-eared textbooks and hurl them at the couple. Maybe their sheer obnoxious spirit would save them from yellowing bruises and ibuprofen.
Kuroo wasn’t so much grossed out as he was annoyed.
It only got worse when he heard the subtle, inaudible gasp that couldn’t have come from anyone but Akaashi, the bastard. Jaw locking, Kuroo wondered if he could get Bokuto arrested and use bail as blackmail; maybe it was his own fault for thinking he wouldn’t need headphones that night. Looking down at his open textbook, eyes following over the same sentence he’d read about twelve times already without internalizing, Kuroo decided that he was an idiot.
If midterms weren’t a thing, and had his dorm room not been a hurricane of exam-week wreckage and empty beer cans, he would have studied there. Instead, here he was—attempting the impossible to the sound of his friends getting it on at the most inopportune time in the most inopportune place. He had a sinking feeling Bokuto never matured passed the age of fourteen, and Akaashi enjoyed provoking the provocateur.
Under that calm and intelligent facade, Akaashi was a jerk who enjoyed Bokuto’s worship almost as much as he enjoyed Kuroo’s suffering.
It was nothing short of a miracle he hadn’t seen it before.
Kuroo hated his friends.
With another inhale, he pushed the black sleeves of his crewneck up his forearms. He was going to make this work, one way or another Kuroo was going to get studying done. With a renewed sense of purpose, he stowed the fingers of his right hand knuckle-deep into his hair, fingers of his left picking up the bitten, half-empty ballpoint resting center his book between parabolic functions and unintelligible number sets.
The library was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle, and the back corner especially so, with late evening drawing darkness across the space, tracing the angles of indirect light left on by a dozing librarian. It wasn’t the most upbeat place to study, but Kuroo found that the calm and low-light helped him focus.
Bokuto drew out a low moan.
Fucking hell, Bo.
Kuroo was going to destroy them once this was over.
“Uh—hey—”
It was calm, the voice settle but sweetened by stranger-chivalry. Kuroo looked up, blinking in a quick succession; the man was either a stealth expert, or Kuroo had been so far buried in his own vexation that he hadn’t heard this guy approach. Taken back, Kuroo found his voice, “Uh, yeah, hey.”
“Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt your studying or anything,” he tossed Kuroo a pleasant smile, one that curled soft against his angular features, marking no intentions and earning him a currency of trust right off the bat. He seemed lax, body broad and toiled under his shirt, laptop tucked under his arm and a cup of coffee cradled precariously by its lid. Good looking, was the first coherent, shameless thought to hit Kuroo, his eyes left tracing the sculpted line of a low jaw and the purse of full lips. “It’s just most of the rooms aren’t lit, and this is a pretty okay place—do you mind if I crash across from you?”
Akaashi had gone suspiciously quiet, and Kuroo didn’t doubt that, by now, Bokuto had a palm over his mouth. If it were any other person, Kuroo would slant a smirk in their direction, and urge them—with that vivacious, revenge-laced tone—to by all means, sit across from me—in fact, sit directly across from me and stare between the book spines. This man made him reconsider, that expression too pretty in its sincerity. Kuroo didn’t want to use him to fuck with Bokuto and Akaashi, he’d rather have the guy sit by him and be spared their fucking indecency,
And maybe there was a little part of him that considered this the highlight of his evening. It wasn’t every day he caught people with sharp collarbones and rolling arms—taut with training and trained with time—hanging around the library. Maybe athletes had a schedule that was a little better than his own post-dinner study-sessions. Whatever. Kuroo would take what he could, and if this guy wanted to sit by him, so be it.
If it also made Akaashi regret fucking with him, then all the better.
“Light’s better on this end,” Kuroo said, eyes lidding and smirk rising, “Might want to try out this side instead.”
The man raised an eyebrow, but his smile didn’t fade. He looked up in a pointed, nearly playful gesture at the low indirects above them, before letting brown eyes resettle on Kuroo again; the place was equally lit table-round. “Ah, I see. You make a solid argument.”
Kuroo’s smirk widened in its breadth, body rising into a stretch that pushed him back in his seat, chair swinging. The choreography of the whole thing was fluid and brandish, crafted for an audience. “Of course. I know every in and out of the library. I’m studious and shit, don’t I look it?”
The stranger shook his head, an amused scoff tearing itself free from his throat. “Definitely. Very impressive.”
“Naturally.” Kuroo added, “You’re not the first person I’ve dazzled with this trivia, gym-san.”
“Naturally, of course,” the guy gave a chuckle, honeycomb baritone laying itself heavy on the sound. Kuroo wasn’t sure if it was the passive humor or the nickname that triggered it, but in either scenario, he was not disappointed by the gentle thunder of the whole thing. People who were a set middle between Kenma’s soft, single-chuckle amusement and Bokuto’s hoard-preaching cackles were few and far between.“It’s Sawamura, by the way.”
“Kuroo.” The response was easy, and his grin easier, “Kuroo-san, if you’re into that.”
Sawamura just shook his head for a second time before rounding the table, a mouthed shut up hidden behind his smile. He left a single seat between them, laying his laptop onto the flat table-top with a brand of carelessness Kuroo didn’t predict. It was late, though, and exhaustion was the first and most important pillar of frustration; if he was about to tear his hair out, roots and all, he couldn’t expect Sawamura to be docile and graceful. No one wanted to be there this late.
Except for Akaashi, the prick.
They fell into an easy silence, with Sawamura’s brows falling low over his eyes, broken down the middle with focus. Kuroo did his best not to look, if only to rein in his habit of observing people who probably didn’t want to be. Instead, he tried starting on his own stuff again to the calculated clicking of Sawamura’s keyboard. Having company was nice, even if they were perfect strangers with different study goals in mind and on hand. It was a shared peace that Kuroo could appreciate, a tacit encouragement—
“Jesus, fuck—”
If asked, Kuroo could name the exact moment Sawamura’s fingers fossilized over his computer.
Bokuto really was a special type of shameless, his voice low in tenor but loud in execution, and if the hiss of Bokuto-san was much to go by, Kuroo figured his friend didn’t care much when it came to being heard. His annoyance at being reminded after only just starting to forget was short lived in favor of his amusement: Sawamura hadn’t gone back to typing, and when Kuroo stole a quick look, the man was staring that the space right above his screen.
So much for sparing the innocent, Kuroo rolled the inside of his cheek between two molars, fighting the urge to snicker. It was one thing to be used to Bokuto’s antics, and another to be introduced to it over lukewarm coffee and the sound of foreplay at a university library. Kuroo almost felt bad for him.
It took a handful of beats for Sawamura to lay his hands back down, head cocked at his screen, eyes blinking in an attempt to refocus. Kuroo bit his lip but didn’t fight the smile that sketched itself onto his expression; this was too good. Sawamura looked like the can-you-look-over-my-stuff-for-a-minute, take home to mother, no-nonsense type thats discomfort was so fucking plain in these types of situations.
He didn’t get much into the swing of writing before the books shuffled and Akaashi’s disciplined hum cut through their silence.
This time, it registered.
Sawamura’s laugh was more of a scoff, tilting on a tightrope between partially incredulous and incredulous. His head snapped to Kuroo, fingers gesturing to his notepad with an easy, curling authority. When it was slid over to him, he wasted no time leaning over and grabbing the pen right out of Kuroo’s grasp, as though their dynamic wasn’t just fifteen minutes old. Kuroo had to give him credit: he wrote without a sound.
He’s right-handed, hm.
Sawamura slid the notepad back in his direction, a subtle force behind the movement, pen resting on top. Kuroo caught it with the heel of his palm, glancing down at the blue scrawl. The lines were ignored, he noticed, with Sawamura’s handwriting a set of blocky looking figures written in diagonal, bold and clear.
‘You must be kidding me.’
A sharp, unintentional snort left Kuroo before he managed to slap a palm across his mouth, head sinking onto the centerfold of his textbook. Gathering his bearings, scrawled out a response with far less finesse. He slid it back at the sight of Sawamura’s voiceless groan.
‘gym-san, i’m thirteen different shades of not-joking’
Sawamura’s eyes seemed to go over the text multiple times before his shoulders sagged and a resigned, exasperated smile rolled onto his expression. Taking a drawn swallow of coffee, he wrote back. ‘I came here because my roommate had their boyfriend over.’
‘that's rough’
‘Rough isn’t the word I’d use here, Kuroo.’
Kuroo threw his head back in a silent laugh, teeth grit, brows peaked and eyes closed. Oh, this was excellent. The jury was still out on whether he’d get any work done that evening, but Kuroo was a man of small victories—and if he had to suffer, the best possible scenario was having a cute guy crack innuendos about it. ‘you're a riot, sawamura’
‘Life of the party.’
‘i have a feeling you’re lying about that’
‘I am.’
Kuroo was going to bite clean through his lip. There was something incredibly satisfying, though, about the small, rolling smile on Sawamura’s face, tinted with smugness. In fact, making it happen to begin with was satisfying. Kuroo felt a nagging need to amuse him—to make him laugh. It wasn’t a unique feeling, per se; he had it with Kenma on occasion, but this was the first time Kuroo wanted to put a smile there just to kiss it off.
Making out with strangers wasn’t the most romantic endeavor, so Kuroo chalked it up to attraction for the time being.
‘please i bet you’re wild when you’re wasted’
‘And I’m sure you’d love to see it happen, but you’re shit out of luck - try again, Kuroo-san.’
Sawamura circled the honorific twice.
Kuroo’s smirk made his amusement tangible, eyes rolling to their corners to hand Sawamura a seasoned side-eye. If his expression was much to go by, Sawamura seemed equally amused, grin higher on one end than the other, eyes tight around the corners. It was a dare, wasn’t it—it had to be, Kuroo wasn’t blind to flirting.
“God, ‘kaashi—”
“—be quiet—”
And there it was.
Sawamura sighed, clicking closed his laptop before gesturing for the notepad again. ‘Seriously?’
‘at least you don’t know them, man’ Kuroo heaved in a suffering sigh.
‘That’s rough, buddy.’
Kuroo deadpanned—‘shut the fuck up sawamura’—shoving the pad in his direction.
This time, Sawamura did voice his laugh: a low chime kept under breath but audible nonetheless. Kuroo couldn’t find the time to enjoy it, however, because the other had already forced the last of his coffee down and stood up. He hadn’t even gotten a first name out of the whole thing.
Before he could argue, Sawamura leaned over into his space, picking the pen up one last time; there was a lucid scent of body wash and coffee that came with him. His voice was left quiet between the slam of Bokuto’s hand on the bookshelf and Kuroo’s solid, stilted breath. “Good luck.”
It was only when Sawamura walked himself out did Kuroo glance down at the number titling the page of exchanges. With a sated sigh and a loose smile, Kuroo stretched his elbow, using it to push three encyclopedias back at once.
“What the fuck, man!”
Try again, huh? Looking down at Sawamura’s writing once more, Kuroo hummed out a laugh and started packing.
Try me, gym-san.