Chapter 2:Vocational reorientation
The last train had just passed by Nishinippori's station. The headlight's beam tore through the night and filtered through the blinds of his window. The floor had vibrated for a moment before calm settled in again.
The journey back had been surprisingly pleasant. Kuroo had entered the subway with apprehension, but when the train stopped, he was pleased to find it almost empty. Much to his surprise and delight, he hadn't had any unfortunate encounters this time.
He had found his apartment online and hadn't had the chance to visit it yet. However, the place seemed charming in the photos, relatively close to the Hongo campus, and especially cheap compared to the rest of the Tokyo market.
When he arrived at Nishi-nippori, the night had long fallen. Looking up at the sky, he discovered a greenish-orange night devoid of stars or moonlight. When he finally arrived, the old concierge, smelling like old carpet and cat fur, handed him the key, eyeing him suspiciously. He took the key and climbed the stairs, crushed in a narrow and poorly lit staircase, until he reached the last apartment under the roof.
The place was much less charming than he imagined. The main room couldn't have been more than six square meters. A bulb hanging from a wire illuminated the room with a feeble light. The worn-out wooden floor creaked under his feet and was warped in places. In the back, a small window, so tiny that it couldn't let in more than a ray or two of sunlight for half an hour a day, clung to a gray wall. The landlady had kindly left him a small refrigerator with an additional electric hot plate on top. Kuroo didn't mind; all he needed was a rice cooker, and he'd be set. To the right of the tiny kitchenette, squeezed under the roof, was a small shower room. The room was tiled in a dull brown, and the grout had taken on the same shade over time. Next to a misaligned toilet bowl, the showerhead was pitifully lying on the floor.
To put it lightly, discovering the place had extinguished the faint sparks of cheer that the brunet had tried so hard to maintain. He tried to reignite the fire within himself by telling himself that he must be in a bad mood, that tomorrow would be another day, and that the sun would reignite the dormant fire within him.
He spent several minutes exploring the few closets in search of a futon or anything similar, in vain. So, he decided to sleep on the floor fully clothed, using his jacket as a makeshift mattress and Akaashi's scarf as a pillow.
That's where he was now, lying on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling above his head. Kuroo pulled out the small midnight blue card from his jeans pocket. "Fukuro coffee," he read aloud, letting out a smile. In the background, one could make out the drawing of an owl, its plumage changing color depending on the angle of the card.
The wool of the scarf had absorbed the scent of its owner, a fragrance of wild lilac and forest rains. It enveloped everything around him, soothing him without being able to define why. The streetlamp outside began to flicker before finally going out, plunging Kuroo into complete darkness. He closed his eyes, and thinking about the handsome stranger he met earlier, fell asleep.
-/-
He didn't really know what woke him up the next morning.
Was it the vibration of the floor with each passing train? The morning hubbub, made of screeching, buzzing, and other atrocious sounds? The sun shining directly on his face? Or his backache? After mentally establishing this list, he concluded that it must have been a combination of all these things that had pounded him into wakefulness. He looked longingly at the ceiling, feeling more exhausted than the day before. Summoning his courage, he sat up. He immediately regretted the decision when he felt his spine painfully unwind. One might have thought that regularly sleeping on futons since his early childhood would have prepared him, or at least made him a bit more resilient. Let's be clear : nope, it didn't.
The train passing by his window emitted a rumble, and Kuroo didn't know if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he swore that it sounded like an old steam locomotive.
He sat cross-legged and placed his hands on his knees. Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale. He returned to himself after a few minutes, barely calmed but calmer, nonetheless. He scanned the room like a castaway at sea trying to reach dry land. He had nothing to eat or drink. Oh well, he would find a coffee shop on the way. In the meantime, a nice shower would certainly do him good.
Alas, it was only when he found himself as naked as a jaybird in the bathroom that he remembered he had nothing to dry himself with, and only one change of clothes, so he didn't even have the option to sadly rub himself with his T-shirt. He weighed the pros and cons for a moment.
"Ah, screw it," he muttered, determined to treat himself for once.
He armed himself with the showerhead, and turned the tap to maximum heat, ready to gratefully welcome the gentle caress of warm water on his skin. Ah... If only. Everything would have gone perfectly well if the universe was on his side. That wasn't the case. While he hoped for the sweet release of warm water, he was greeted with a sneaky attack of thousands of icy daggers.
Tokyo wasn't going to be his ally right away.
-/-
It was 11:45 AM on that Sunday when Kuroo found himself in the grip of one of the most terrible existential crises of his life. There, in the middle of the hygiene aisle at the Seven-Eleven, it became perfectly clear to him that life was nothing but a fragmented, sad, and insubstantial entity.
For a good ten minutes, he phased out while facing the array of shower gels and shampoos, his basket as empty as his mind. Earlier, he had waited for a good ten minutes for the water to warm up, crouched in front of the showerhead. The hot water never came. Would it ever? Hard to say... He tried to contact the landlady, in vain, and the concierge was asleep under the counter when he went to fetch her.
He then contacted his airline, hoping for better news. After five exclusively Russian speakers, he was finally informed that his luggage would (most likely) be returned to him in the coming week. Hanging up, Kuroo truly had to fight not to start bawling like a baby. But he swallowed back his damn tears and left his house with the goal to make his apartment and stomach fuller.
That's how he ended up here, with the terrible impression of having landed in a parallel universe. What could "Coco Max Alpha Boost musk" possibly mean? Or "Sandalwood, enhanced pheromone"? He didn't want much besides smelling like a clean human being. He put back the shower gel and started examining the next one.
"I wouldn't take that one if I were you," an unfamiliar voice intervened.
Under normal circumstances, Kuroo would have probably jumped, but his body was definitely too apathetic to provoke such a reaction. He simply turned around and discovered behind him a young man with a strange gray-silver (pearly blond ? Ashen white?) mane of hair. He was leaning over his shoulder to read the label of the product Kuroo held. The young man in question smiled when their eyes met.
"Hmm… Why?" the brunet eventually asked.
The young man raised his eyebrows, appearing both troubled and amused.
"Do you really want to smell like a cheap alpha?"
Kuroo noted the familiarity with which the individual addressed him. But he didn't take offense. Strangely, it had something more nurturing about it than vulgar or condescending.
"Ah… no," the brunet replied.
He put the product back and continued to look at the rest of the aisle, trying as best he could to act as if he knew exactly what he was doing. The employee didn't move, and his gaze towards Kuroo became increasingly concerned.
"Okay, okay. I'm lost, I don't understand this jumble," Kuroo finally admitted.
The silver-haired man frowned, looking deeply bewildered, and proceeded to sniff him ostentatiously. Kuroo must have looked particularly offended because the young man immediately seemed mortified and explained:
"Oh, sorry! Old habit, It's just that, I thought you were an alpha because of your smell, but... it's not yours. It's just that... I understand better now."
It was Kuroo's turn to look perplexed, a feeling that intensified when he saw the young man let out a wry smile.
"Alright, hold on a second. Let me take a guess," his hazel eyes scrutinized him for a moment before he continued, "You just arrived in the big city, completely clueless, and you went from being part of the majority to a mere subpopulation in just a few hours." He sniffed the air a bit more, "You said goodbye to your seaside home to end up in the equivalent of a broom closet with not much more to your name than a shipwrecked sailor, am I right?"
Kuroo had to hold his jaw to avoid it from dropping to the floor.
"More or less, yes."
More than less, actually. The brunet hesitated to flee, but he reconsidered when he saw his interlocutor smiling warmly at him. The mole beneath his eye followed the movement of his cheekbones, giving him an incredibly endearing and reassuring look.
"How did you guess?"
"I'm just pretty good at this game. And turns out, you're not the only one it's happened to."
Kuroo doubted that somewhat but did not comment.
"Okay," the silver-haired softened his expression, "to choose that shower gel or whatever, you have to look at the back," he picked up one of the products and turned it around, showing the text on the back like he was presenting a showing him a picture book, "It's written when it's neutral and suitable for everyone. Otherwise, you take those with suppressors, it won't change anything for you anyway."
The brunet nodded and let himself be guided diligently.
"Here, I think this one will suit you well," the young man concluded while placing a bar of licorice and honey soap, a bottle of shampoo, a facial cleanser, a styling product, and a box of cotton swabs into Kuroo's basket.
"Oh! And also…"
The silver-haired turned on his heel, grabbing Kuroo's arm in the process to pull him along. He wove through several aisles, filling the brunet's basket, which was beginning to strain under the weight. The most astonishing part was that each item was relevant, and the explanations accompanying each decision were all more unsettlingly accurate than the last.
"And there you go!" the individual whom Kuroo had now identified as some sort of medium concluded, " I suggest you go to Nitori, there's one in Ueno, you'll probably find what you're missing."
It oddly sounded like a quest...
A few seconds of silence passed; the brunet wanted to make sure the shopping was definitively over before leaving. Seeing that the young man in front of him seemed satisfied, Kuroo bowed to thank him:
"Thank you, uh," he lifted his gaze and noticed for the first time the badge the medium wore on his chest, "Thank you, Sugawara-san."
The person in question gave him a broad smile before adding:
"Oh, and go explore a bit if you have the time. It's good for the spirit."
As Kuroo was about to answer, he saw his counterpart visibly stiffen, apparently having made eye contact with his superior. He bid Kuroo farewell and added, with a politeness he hadn't displayed before:
"Thank you for visiting our store, we hope to see you again very soon. Have a pleasant day."
Kuroo took that as a definitive goodbye and headed towards the cashier. He couldn't help but let out a laugh as he watched his items slide on the small conveyor belt, still stunned by the improbable nature of this encounter. His amusement plummeted at the speed of light when he realized he now had to go back home, which meant climbing five flights of stairs with no less than four bulging shopping bags.
That was definitely not going to help his backache.
-/-
The rain had stopped, but the pavement was still wet. The sky had donned its nocturnal fabric. The streetlights had lit up on the boulevards, and the billboards had taken on a more saturated hue in the twilight. The clouds formed different shapes, sometimes leaving room for the moon to peek out as Kuroo walked, carefully cradling his purchases, enveloped by the melody of the city.
Everywhere his eyes landed, there was life, light, movement, and noise. The smell of urban rain saturated the atmosphere, mingling with that of frying, grilled fish, and warm tires.
After several trips between the stores and his apartment, the brunet spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the city. He'd wandered for hours, his heart curious and his eyes alert, imprinting in his memory everything that crossed his path.
He took a deep breath and let out a contented smile. He was now certain that somewhere here, he would eventually find his anchor.
He had the strange sensation of having appeared in the world while simultaneously drowning in it, crushed by the towering height of glass towers. The feeling of being nothing but a wandering shadow among the crowd. He hadn't stopped for hours, and even though his eyes marveled endlessly, the rest of his body began to feel the passage of time. His feet were sore from pounding the pavement, his legs heavy, and his arms numb. But he didn't care and preferred to continue.
His body finally protested to make itself heard: his stomach growled so loudly that he startled him, as did the few passersby who had the misfortune of crossing his path at the same time. He was then forced to stop, twisted by the rumblings of his hungry belly.
The world around him transformed: there were no longer frivolous sounds or lights, just smells, smells everywhere, each more enticing than the other. He pivoted on himself, nose alert: skewers, fried foods, fish, burnt grease, ground coffee, and thousands of others. Yet, nothing seemed good enough; nothing lived up to the expectation of his immense hunger.
Unconsciously, he resumed walking, his legs guiding him without his mind intervening. He turned, returned, doubled back, weaved through, crossed, and finally stopped abruptly, like a hunting dog that had spotted its prey. Above the olfactory chaos rose a fragrance more exceptional than the others, more intoxicating: it called out to him. He followed its trail without offering the slightest resistance. It led him into a tortuous alley strewn with lanterns in faded colors, dirty and wobbly air conditioners, and windows fogged by the vapors from touristic restaurant kitchens.
As he was navigating the urban maze, noises became distant and the light less dazzling; as if the city was regaining human form. With each step, the scent became more present, even more intoxicating. Kuroo finally arrived at the edge of a road. On the other side, he could see a park, where trees had dressed up for the night. In the darkness, the brunet could detect a vague, luminous red point. He squinted, not quite sure what it was. Intrigued and guided by his instinct, he crossed the road. There, wedged between a stone fence and the gate guarding the entrance to the park, Kuroo discovered, treasure among treasures, a yatai: a small mobile food stall. It was from this wonderful place that the tantalizing fragrance emanated.
Without further ado, he stepped forward and passed under the red fabric at the end of the unfurled roof, announcing his presence so vigorously that he startled the person sitting behind the counter. It was a man in his thirties, bleached blond hair pulled back by a black headband and dressed in a red apron.
Kuroo was so hungry that he forgot the most basic rules of politeness, and his attention was quickly drawn to the steaming bowl that appeared under his nose. He gulped it down in one go.
"Hey! Calm down kiddo, don't gobble it up like that!" protested the chef, who seemed nonetheless amused by the situation.
"Sorry, sorry, I was just starving !"
"Ah, kids these days, don't know how to appreciate things."
Kuroo, feeling suddenly playful, smirked.
"Aren't you a bit young to be talking like that, Gramps?"
The cook choked, surprised by Kuroo's audacity. He gave him a stern look before bursting into laughter, a laugh so loud and bright that it was contagious.
"But you're right, I didn't take time to appreciate... I see your great age has brought you wisdom, so I'll take a second bowl, Gramps."
This time, the said "Gramps" barely protested and returned to the stoves. It was barely a minute later that he turned again, with a large steaming bowl that he placed in front of Kuroo.
"Come on, eat up, and not like a pig this time!"
The brunet chuckled before focusing again on his food. A good bowl of ramen as he liked them. Kuroo placed his head over the bowl, the steam splashing his face with enticing, familiar, and comforting scents of chicken and soy sauce.
He grabbed his chopsticks and after a traditional "Itadakimasu,", took his first slurp of noodle, quickly followed by a gulp of broth. This time, he was able to properly appreciate the flavors, which instantly engulfed him in a deep sense of well-being. The ramen had the authentic texture of "homemade," like the ones his grandfather used to make when he was a kid.. He let out a smile of child-like bliss that once again made the owner laugh.
"Ah well! Isn't it better when you savor it?"
Kuroo signaled his agreement with a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to open without something spilling out. The owner chuckled before leaning against the back wall. He pulled a cigarette out of his apron pocket and, after non-verbally asking the brunet if it bothered him, he lit it.
Kuroo slowed down, allowing himself small breaks between each bite. He began to examine the interior of the stall. The place was so small that it was difficult to do much in terms of decoration. Nonetheless, many photos had been framed and hung here and there. On one of them, placed in front of the cash register, Kuroo recognized the owner, surrounded by a dozen teenagers, clearly inside a gymnasium and in uniform. The brunet smiled.
"Volleyball?", he asked, although he was almost sure of the answer.
The blond glanced at it before returning to his client, his eyes shining with pride.
"Yeah, I coached a high school team for a while..."
"Oh yeah, and with you at the helm, Gramps, how did it go?"
"Damn well!"
Kuroo chuckled in response. Silence briefly settled in, tinged with a hint of nostalgia.
"I played a lot too, when I was in middle and high school."
"You quitted?"
"Yeah, when I went to college."
"Hmm. Did you play in any tournaments? Who knows, your face doesn't ring a bell, but I might have crossed paths with you at some point kid."
"Ah no, I doubt it. I wasn't bad, but we were a small team from a tiny high school in the depths of Hokkaido. I was really crazy about it, but we never really went far..."
"Oh I see."
"And you, your team was in Tokyo?"
"Oh no, in Miyagi Prefecture. And tell me ..."
The conversation slid into nerd talk, discussing the secret techniques (which everyone knew in the end), legendary matches, small anecdotes—exciting, amusing, or neither—the disastrous moments, the defeats, and the small glories.
"Too bad you stopped kiddo, I'm sure you could've gone far!"
"It's nice, but meh, I don't think so. And you, Gramps, why did you stop?"
The blond's face dimmed a little, veiled with a heaviness that hadn't lifted, even with time.
"Ah, a real shitty story. We ended up changing direction, and some parents and leaders from the surrounding packs pressured us to enforce some dumb rules."
Kuroo frowned; the vocabulary and attitude were vehement, but he had trouble understanding what he was talking about.
"Like?"
"Some utter crap like the application of the treaty for omegas protection and other crap spewed by alpha supremacists to screw us all over!"
The brunet didn't fully grasp what was that about. He had never heard of this protection treaty in his life. Just based on the name, it didn't seem so bad, but given the rest of the conversation, he was under the impression that it wasn't necessarily the case.
"So what happened?"
"We had to form teams by primary and secondary sexes, except that of course you can't form teams like that. And even if I eventually had enough volunteers, it just annoyed me; I couldn't stand that nonsense, so I left..."
"To make ramen in Tokyo?"
"To make ramen in Tokyo, yes."
"Hmm, interesting vocational reorientation," the brunet said in an attempt to lighten the mood, "I came, I saw, I tasted..."
"And you were conquered."
"And I was conquered, yes."
"Well, I'm not doing too bad then."
Kuroo smiled.
They talked for a long time, about everything and nothing, but mostly about volleyball. The headlights of the cars became rarer, and the night grew colder and colder. Kuroo had to pull his jacket's flaps tightly against his chest to avoid shivering.
"Well, Gramps, I think I'm going to go before I fuse to the counter."
"Finally!"
Kuroo chuckled.
"See you around, Gramps!"
"Ukai-san."
The brunet gave a sly smile:
"Ukai-oji it is then."
Then he turned on his heels, ignoring the verbal reprisals of the said "Ukai-oji,".
With a full stomach and a smile on his lips, he returned to his small apartment, his head filled with everything he had seen, and those little encounters he wouldn't forget anytime soon.
-End of the chapter-
Chapter 3: "Black cats are bad luck"
"Testu, my baby, finally I hear from you! About time! So, tell me, how's college?"
"Mom, why didn't you warn me that you had stuffed an entire crab in my suitcase?" Kuroo interrupted.
His mother felt silent.
"Oops..."