Chapter 3: Black cats are bad lucks

In Tokyo that morning, three hundred and fifty-eight people woke up late, twenty-eight nearly slipped on their bathroom rugs, thirty-two took a freezing shower, five hundred and twenty-five spilled hot drinks on their knees, two hundred and twenty-two missed a step running downstairs, a hundred and twenty-eight missed the subway by a second, eighty-five missed their stop, sixteen hundred got stuck for several minutes between two flights of stairs, two hundred and twenty-five dropped their phones screen-down on the floor, and forty-two got barked at (by dogs this time). So yes, perhaps Kuroo Tetsurō wasn't the only one experiencing these little annoyances, but he probably was among the few who had them all happen to him successively in less than an hour. He finally arrived on campus, already breathless, stressed, and completely lost. Quite the way to start the year!

Kuroo swore to himself, pacing in circles, panicking as he tried to find the building listed on his schedule. Welcome to your Master's degree: no welcome ceremony, no campus tour (he missed it), no, straight to class and figure it out yourself! He scanned the area for someone who could help, but no one was around.

Kuroo stopped again, checking again the building name on his schedule.

"Excuse me..."

The brunet jumped violently, caught off guard by the voice that seemed too close to his ear for his comfort. He turned around and ended up face to face with a slim and tall guy with mid-length blond hair and two cerulean blue eyes fixed on him. Being already above the average Japanese height, Kuroo wasn't used to meeting someone taller than himself, as he was already way above Japanese's standard and didn't like the feeling. The blond in front of him started babbling something, and Kuroo had to ask him to repeat himself several times to understand:

"B3-126, B3-126!" the person repeated in a stuttering Japanese.

Poor guy had to repeat himself ten times before Kuroo understood that it was the identification of a lecture hall. Lucky for him, he was looking for that mysterious B3-126 lecture hall as well.

"Ah yes, I'm looking for that room too, but I can't find the right building," replied Kuroo, hoping his English wasn't too wanky to be understood.

The blond nodded.

"I have a map," the blond announced, taking said map out of his pocket. "I can't read it," he added, pointing to the kanji characters on the document.

Kuroo signaled him to hand it over, and the young man complied. The brunet turned the map around and eventually found their location on it.

"Found it!" he exclaimed, deeply relieved.

Seeing the somewhat perplexed look on the blond's face, Kuroo felt the need to clarify:

"It's the building over there!" he indicated, designating the building to their right.

He invited him to follow, and they rushed there together.

"Here!" Kuroo exclaimed after a frantic run up the stairs of the building he spent so long trying to locate.

Carried away by the euphoria, Kuroo swung the door open. He and his new friend were immediately met by the annoyed gazes of fifty students and their teacher. Kuroo stood still for a moment, waiting for most of the eyes to turn away from them, then bowed silently to apologize. The blond did the same. Once they were out of their teacher's sight, who had resumed reading his lecture notes, the two young men went to find a place to sit. As there were no seats at the back, they moved closer to the front of the lecture hall, stepping over a few backpacks along the way. They finally slid into a row's end, meticulously trying not to make any noise. A futile attempt. The zippers of Kuroo's backpack screeched loudly against the wood as he passed it under the desk, and his colleague joined the impromptu jam when he pulled out a pencil case full of keychains from his backpack. Their musical number eventually annoyed the student in front of them, who turned completely to give them a disapproving look. The student in question, a young man with chestnut hair, looked them up and down with disdain before turning away again.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. Sure, they hadn't been the most discreet, but the animosity seemed disproportionate. He examined him a bit more: he seemed like a grumpy fashionista, impeccably styled, perfectly manicured, with a state-of-the-art computer and an impeccably polished leather briefcase. All of that plus the Diva attitude: it was a mix that didn't sit well with Kuroo.

He turned his attention elsewhere and tried to focus on the class. It proved to be more difficult than expected, not only because he had already missed about twenty minutes of it, but also because it was entirely in English. No surprise there, he signed up for it after all, but he had to admit he probably overestimated his language skills.

"I'm Chris," the blond suddenly announced, in a stuttering but adorable Japanese.

The Diva in front of them turned again, more annoyed than before. The brunet held his gaze, unimpressed. The exchange intensified, but he didn't back down, and even let a sardonic smile slip onto his lips. A few students around them turned, but Kuroo didn't pay them much attention. However, when the Diva noticed, he looked away and turned back.

Kuroo smiled, happy to have emerged victorious from that silent battle. After a few moments of silence, he turned to Chris.

Putting on his best accent, he said:

"My name is Tetsurō Kuroo."

"Shh!" ordered the guy in front of them, before clicking his tongue.

"Sorry," the blond politely replied, as Kuroo let out a quiet laugh.

Well, maybe not so quiet, as the teacher turned to give him a disapproving look. Kuroo decided it was time to focus on the class again.

-/-

The classes went by like this until the end of the day. Chris had accompanied him in most of them. They kept each other company, exchanging in a mix of Japanese and English that worked for them nonetheless. They however had to part ways for their last class of the days, each having different minors. Kuroo ended up having to spend the last two hours of his day in company of the diva. Much to his relief, the latter didn't pay attention to him at all.

The sun had nearly disappeared from the horizon when he finished his day. He decided to walk back home, taking his time to explore the city as he wasn't really in the mood for a crowded subway ride. When Kuroo arrived in front of his apartment, his suitcase was there. Euphoria rushed within him but washed off pretty quickly when he came closer. Why? Well, first thing first, the suitcase in question had been wrapped in plastic film. The last time he saw it, it wasn't the case. Nothing terrifying so far, no. No, what was utterly terrifying was that the suitcase seemed to ooze out some unidentified substance. Secondly, the odor emanating from it had a "je-ne-sais-quoi" of Otoru's fish market smell. He tried to remember everything he had packed in his suitcase, but nothing that could cause such damage came to mind.

Perplexed, he opened his apartment door and rolled the suitcase inside. It emitted a sticky groan against the floor, definitely a bad omen. Kuroo unwrapped the baggage from the plastic film and felt bile rise in his throat as the smell intensified.

The suitcase was there, in front of him. Perfectly still (fortunately), but menacing. Kuroo dreaded discovering what was hidden inside. He took a deep breath but nearly chocked when the nauseating smell invaded his lungs. Immediately, he exhaled and held his breath.

He hesitated in front of the zipper, his hand trembling with fear. In one swift motion, he unzipped it and lifted the lid, releasing the foul odor that instantly filled the room. This time, he truly struggled not to regurgitate everything he had ingested that past week. It was with horror that he discovered, placed on top of his neatly folded pile of clothes, a swollen and oozing plastic bag.

"Damn it !" muttered the brunet while burying his nose in the collar of his shirt.

He reached out with his fingertips and grabbed the bag. He felt his insides knotting in disgust when the said bag responded with a squelching sound, as an orangish liquid slowly descended along the plastic, so slowly that it was borderline defying gravity. Slowly, to avoid bursting the bag on the floor, Kuroo stood up and, with the greatest caution he had ever displayed, approached the tiny window, which he opened completely. He delicately placed the bag on the windowsill, but as soon as it made contact with the edge, it rolled and exploded on the balcony below with a loud "SPLASH."

"Shit..." muttered the brunet, truly panicked. He had been fortunate enough to meet his downstairs neighbor, and he didn't, under any circumstances, want to end up having to confront him. Especially not now that he had spread filth on his territory.

He hesitated to climb out the window himself to clean the mess. Acrobatic, yes, but if that was the only option he had to stay alive, so be it. Kuroo began to climb out the window; the balcony was very close, so he risked only a simple fracture if he missed his attempt. Multiple fractures in the worst-case scenario, but not death… probably. As he leaned forward, preparing to swing his leg outside, he managed to decipher what had exploded on the ground. A completely different emotion washed over him. He cursed and re-entered the apartment. He grabbed his backpack and furiously pulled out his phone. He typed at lightning speed before placing the phone to his ear, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Testu, my baby, finally I hear from you! About time! So, tell me, how's college?"

Hearing his mother's voice gave him a slight pang in his heart and disarmed him. While his initial intention was just to yell at her, he backed down. He sighed. His mother had started talking again without even waiting for his answer.

"Mom, why didn't you warn me that you had stuffed an entire crab in my suitcase?" Kuroo interrupted.

His mother felt silent.

"Oops..."

"Oops? That's it? Mom, it's disgusting! I told you my suitcase was lost, why didn't you say anything?"

"What could you have done, baby? Retrieve your crab in Moscow? The longer you remained unaware, the better off you were..."

"But why did you put it there?" Kuroo's voice lost all its anger and sounded more like a child pouting.

"I wanted you to have something to eat when you arrived! A taste of home! That's why."

Kuroo sighed. The argument was silly: who thinks of a crab as an easy meal in an empty apartment... But the intention was there, and he couldn't argue against it. He sighed deeply and sat on the floor. His mother had started talking again, quickly skirting the topic. The brunet listened absentmindedly, vaguely replying from time to time.

His attention was focused on something else entirely: even though the rotten crab had physically left his apartment, its fragrance lingered. He sniffed the air, skeptical. As he approached his suitcase, he found that the smell was just as intense there. Timidly, he felt the heaps of clothing inside. It was then, with horror, that he realized his clothes were damp. Damp and oozing. Damp, oozing, and viscous. Damp, oozing, viscous, and stinky. Kuroo closed his eyes. A painful sensation of disgust mixed with sorrow overwhelmed him.

"Mom, sorry, I'll call you back later."

Before his mother could finish her sentence, he hung up.

He finally decided to retract his hand but left it hanging in the air, as if the ambient air could improve his situation. He remained motionless for a long moment, devasted, overwhelmed, and powerless.

It took him ten minutes to regain some kind of composure. He had two possibilities: close the suitcase and throw it out the window or wash his clothes of all the malodorous filth. He quickly dismissed the first option: the crab and the suitcase on the neighbor's balcony might be too much, and he didn't necessarily want to spend the year with only one pair of socks, a faded pair of jeans, and two poor boxers. So, he had to resort to intensive washing; such a task couldn't be satisfied by vaguely soapy lukewarm water in a small plastic basin. The basin was currently occupied by his soaking underwear anyway.

Alright, he quickly made up his mind.

The brunet retrieved his largest, and also most waterproof, shopping bag, stuffing the clothes inside. He was pleased to find that the rest of his belongings, stowed away in other pockets or buried at the bottom, had resisted the pestilential attack. The reunion with his toothbrush was deeply emotional. He tore himself away from admiring his toiletry bag to pull out his phone and search for the nearest laundromat.

He headed towards the indicated establishment, located barely two minutes away from his place. He stopped in front of the laundromat. Even though the place seemed nice, it was too crowded. For Kuroo, this congregation of humans meant two things:

1) A far too long wait, especially in the company of his soiled laundry.

2) Way too many potential looks of disgust and judgment attracted by his said companion.

He set off again, eventually arriving to a second location, dilapidated and of unparalleled ugliness. For a moment, he even wondered if it was one of those derelict buildings beloved by hipster photographers. Apparently not, as an old lady wearing an ugly floral blouse was seated behind an old counter. This would do. He walked in, and greeted the old lady, who didn't respond, merely pointing to a sign indicating the token price to start the machine. Kuroo handed her a large bill:

"Sorry, I don't have change but..."

The old lady didn't listen and handed him about fifty coins.

"Oh, that's way too much, can I have less?"

The old lady shook her head negatively, pointing to a sign on her left: 'We do not give change."

Seriously?

She insisted, and Kuroo reached out his hands to receive his wealth. He didn't push further. After all, it could come in handy sometimes, no?

"Oh, and for the detergent and..."

The old lady didn't let him continue and vaguely pointed him in a direction before disappearing behind a door.

Alone again, Kuroo turned towards the indicated direction, finding a rather uninviting corridor with a glow at the end from an old vending machine. Kuroo approached it, trying to fill his pockets with as many coins as possible. Only two rows of the machine were fully stocked. Luckily, there was detergent and fabric softener, which would do. He inserted a coin, but it fell between the machine and the plastic cover. Kuroo cursed but gave up on the coin and inserted another one, which was instantly returned. He sighed but tried to insert the same coin again, luckily accepted this time. He pressed A5 for the detergent. Instead, B7 appeared on the screen. Kuroo tried again. This time, the machine didn't even bother to react. He pressed A5 again. Victory! This time the machine whirred, and the mechanical cycle activated in the right place. The twirling stopped, and Kuroo felt the light within him fade away. The small pack of detergent remained stuck against the glass, so close, yet so far from his reach.

"Damn it," cursed the brunet.

He returned to the counter, calling out to the old lady. No response. He knocked on the door behind which she had disappeared. Nothing. He cracked the door open but found himself facing a long, dark corridor that seemed to lead into the depths of hell.

Deeply disturbed, Kuroo closed the door and returned to the machine. He only had one solution, the most "mechanical" one would say: he grabbed the sides and vigorously shook the heap of old metal. The machine squeaked but yielded nothing. Annoyed, he shook it even harder while banging his knee angrily against the glass. His perseverance paid off, perhaps too much, as he ended up not with just a dose of detergent but six, along with the entire row of fabric softener with...cotton candy and matcha scent. An odd mix, indeed, but he wasn't going to complain. He looked back: no one. So, he seized his loot and returned to the washing machines. He hurriedly stuffed all his soiled clothes into the first machine he came across, added five hundred grams of detergent and half a liter of cotton candy-matcha fabric softener, and pressed many buttons before starting the machine. He stood up, rubbing his hands to get rid of the metaphorical dust of his hard labor. His relief, however, was short-lived. As he watched the drum start to fill, he recognized a tartan fabric that he immediately identified: Akaashi's scarf. He did plan to wash it before returning it to its owner (he had to, given the number of nights he had used it as a pillow), but having that noble garment thrown into old crab juice was out of the question!

"Damn it!"

Kuroo furiously pressed the stop button. But the machine remained stoic and continued to fill. It was only after pressing the same button fifty times that the water seemed to stop rising. Well, now he needed to open the door! Only his brazen perseverance managed to overcome it, or rather it took so long that the door had time to unlock itself. It swung open, spewing crab juice mixed with soapy water onto Kuroo's feet. In a panicked motion, he grabbed the clothes before they could escape, seized the scarf, placed the pile of vile clothes back into the washing machine, closed the drum door, and restarted the cycle. There, mission accomplished, crisis averted.

Or so he thought. He was forced to realize otherwise when he noticed that the scarf was spinning alone in the drum, with five hundred grams of powdered detergent and a half-liter of fabric softener of improbable smell. The rest of his clothes lay on the floor like a bunch of flaccid snot. Luckily for him, most of the machines were empty, and he had pockets full of coins. He grabbed the wet clothes, which now felt like they each weighed ten kilos, and headed towards the machine on his right, stuffed everything in, and started the cycle without worrying about the temperature, colors, or any other trivia.

Phew! Finally! Now all he had to do was wait. He congratulated himself, rediscovering with pride that he sometimes knew how to act like a perfectly functional adult.

He turned around and sat cross-legged between the two machines but eventually ended up closer to the first one. The scarf was spinning solo inside. Kuroo couldn't help but smile, excited about the prospect of seeing that individual who, over time, had taken on the most fantastico-mystical traits in his brain (he had just come up with that word and was almost proud of it).

Fade to black...

After the first wash, Kuroo's clothes didn't return to normal.

Several T-shirts shrank.

Others faded onto his jeans, which also shrank.

A lot of them kept the smell of old crab, now enhanced with cotton candy and matcha.

The smell persisted, despite his numerous attempts to get rid of it...

And that's how Tetsurō Kuroo lost, once and for all, the vast majority of his wardrobe.

-end of the chapter-

Next chapter: mister fantastico-mystical

"Akaashi-san."

He couldn't help but smile. He stood there for a moment.

"Uh, I came to return your scarf," Kuroo finally said in one breath, without even caring about the informality of his language.

"I still have a little time before I have to go back to work. Would you like to join me, Kuroo-san?"

Kuroo had to bite the inside of his cheeks to prevent a silly smile from escaping upon hearing familiarity slip into the elegant speech of the brunet.

" With pleasure."