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2018-04-07
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put the notion away

Summary:

Kuroo snorts. Typical. He tries to clear his throat, to get that feathery thing at the back of it out. All it does is make him cough again, and harder this time. He coughs harder, tapping at his chest, holding hand to mouth as he feels the tickle expelled at last.

It's a petal.

What the fuck.


For Bokuroo Week Day 7: Flowers

Notes:

Dedicated, with much feeling, to everyone who dragged me into Bokuroo hell. You know who you are.

Now with art by the amazing ravynashling!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Kuroo's restless when he shows up at practice.

There's no particular reason for it, just a niggling at the back of his head, manifesting in an unstoppable tap-tap-tap of his foot whenever he's still, a drumming of his fingers against solid surface. He swipes open his phone and checks his SNS, finding nothing new, nothing substantial, nothing interesting; he tucks his phone away and picks it back up seconds later, going through the same cycle again until he remembers it's futile.

He shows up to his lectures but he may as well have skipped them; they're just not making sense, he's not processing them, and as soon as they're over he's the first to shoot out of his seat, notes full of gibberish he'll have to untangle later.

There's an hour of empty time after classes, so he tries the library, then the cafeteria, then his dorm room before giving up and going to the gym early, already mildly irritated as he changes in the locker, picks up a volleyball and dribbles it around aimlessly.

His chest feels tight in the way that tells him he's coming down with something, which is annoying because they've got a practice match coming soon, but it doesn't feel like anything, either. Nothing serious, anyway, just a flutter of something, a tickle at the back of his throat.

Maybe he shouldn't have had that can of Coke at lunch. It's past one when he drank it, he's been meaning to get caffeine out of his system.

The door to the gym creaks open, squeaky shoes hitting hardwood floor loud enough to make Kuroo look up. He almost chokes on a breath, like something small and feathery is lodged at the back of his throat.

"Oy, bright and early today?" Bokuto calls out, golden eyes lighting up as he waves. He's got his duffel slung around his shoulders, a couple books tucked under his arm. "Wanna block for me? I'll change quick."

"Sure," Kuroo says, the corner of his lips curling up. "Take your time, the rest of them aren't gonna be in for another forty minutes."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Bokuto says, disappearing into the locker rooms. He jogs over, neary slipping on the floor along the way.

Kuroo snorts. Typical. He tries to clear his throat, to get that feathery thing at the back of it out. All it does is make him cough again, and harder this time. He coughs harder, tapping at his chest, holding hand to mouth as he feels the tickle expelled at last.

It's a petal.

What the fuck.

So, that becomes a thing.

A petal before practice on Tuesday, a couple more at the library the Thursday evening after. By Saturday he's probably coughed up enough for a full flower.

"That sounds like a problem." Kenma's voice comes over clear in his headset, his tone mild even as they attempt to take down their enemies. "Keep to my flank."

"Yessir. Hang on, what did you just use-- damn it." It's a kindness on Kenma's part, agreeing to play with him. He's not actually very good at this game. He pauses, the next round loading on his screen. "It's more a nuisance than anything."

"A nuisance."

"Mm."

"But doesn't this--"

"Not always," Kuroo says. He's not lying. Well. That's what Google told him, anyway. "There are stages, you know. This is stage one. It's not as severe, so. It's not going to be an issue."

"Is it going to stay in stage one?"

"Why wouldn't it?" Kuroo asks. He shrugs, though Kenma can't see it. "It's just… a thing. It's nothing."

"It either is or isn't."

"It's not."

"So you're not going to tell him?"

Kuroo frowns. "Did I even tell you who it was?"

He's met with silence from Kenma's end of the line.

That was probably a kindness, too.

The petals never smell like petals. They don't smell like anything, actually. Kuroo gets curious once, hacking up a whole bouquet into his dorm's trash can and realizing they come out dry, like they've just been freshly plucked from a real garden.

There's no consistency in colors, switching from pastels to vibrant hues depending on the day. Once, it was even both, an absolutely garish streak of purples and oranges spilling out of his mouth alongside pinks and peaches.

It's wild, is what it is.

"You should do something about that cough," his captain tells him, narrowed gaze sharp on him after they finish a drill.

Kuroo closes his handkerchief around the bright yellow petals in his palm, slides the crumpled piece of cloth into his back pocket. He's rarely hit with a coughing fit during practice, but it must have happened enough for the captain to notice. "Sorry about that," he says.

"Are you coming down with something?" Bokuto asks. His eyes are especially wide, and he looks almost alarmed. Concern's too good of a look on him.

"Nah." Kuroo shakes his head. "Just a scratchy throat. Don't worry-- it's not contagious."

It's not contagious, but it escalates to stage two not long after.

"I thought it was nothing," Kenma says.

Kuroo groans in response. "It's a stupid self-fulfilling prophecy, is what it is," he mutters. "Didn't think this was a thing until it became a thing, and now that it's a thing of course I'm gonna think about how it's not supposed to be a thing, which only strengthened its power as a thing."

Stage two isn't too bad. Not really. It's just an increase of everything-- how many petals, how often it happens. It comes with a twinge in the chest now too, a shortness of breathing sometimes. His throat swells with irritation, but Kuroo's drinking plenty of ginger tea and stuff to take care of that. Google said that was something he could do.

Stage two isn't surgery-serious yet, that's the important thing. Kuroo highly doubts it's gonna get there, but it's just. More.

Kenma hums in his ear. Kuroo's not sure if it's out of understanding, or if he's already tuned him out.

"I think you should see a doctor."

"Gross."

"It's not going to go away."

"Not with that attitude it won't."

"Kuroo--"

"It's okay, it's fine, I've got this."

Kenma sighs.

"I do. Like, Kenma, I appreciate the mothering, but I'm fine." There's a knock on his door and he holds a breath, but his throat stays clear. "I gotta go. It's Thursday."

"Ah."

Fuck. He doesn't mean to remind Kenma, the words just slip out without him thinking. "It's not like that," he says, because he can imagine well enough what Kenma thinks.

"I didn't say it was like anything," Kenma says. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

Kuroo hangs up in a fit. Kenma probably doesn't notice, but it's satisfying anyway. The knocking continues. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he calls out, grabbing his books, and his notes, and his handkerchief. He opens the door just as Bokuto makes to knock again.

"Bro," he says by way of greeting, tilting his head to the side. "Why'd you lock your door?"

"Forgot what day it was," he says, nudging Bokuto's shoulder with his own. "Let's go, I gotta get an essay out by midnight."

Bokuto makes a face, but he's got his own work to do.

Kuroo disappears to go into the bathroom roughly a hundred times while they're in the library, coughing up a whole fucking garden, but thankfully, Bokuto doesn't seem to notice.

There are three ways-- only two of which are realistic-- to get rid of the petals.

And the truth of it is this: coughing up his feelings is way, way more appealing than getting rid of them entirely.

Kuroo's not good enough to be a regular yet, his first year. But Bokuto is. So when Bokuto plops down on the seat next to him moments before the match, Kuroo has every right to frown.

"What the hell?"

"Coach made the call," Bokuto mumbles, the slouch of his shoulders and the way his mouth draws downward clue enough for Kuroo that he shouldn't push.

"Sounds like a dumb call," he says instead, nudging Bokuto with his elbow.

Bokuto lets out a huff of air, but his back straightens up a little. "Gonna have to work harder to get on the lineup next game," he decides.

"Wanna do more tossing practice, I'm your guy," Kuroo offers, sure Kenma's probably rolling his eyes at him somewhere.

"Okay!" Bokuto brightens, at that, the moment all it takes for Kuroo to feel the itch in his throat, the twinge in his chest.

"It's a plan," he says in one breath, followed quickly by an excuse that he needed to use the bathroom. He stands up, all but jogging to the toilet and slamming the door behind him as he heaves a bunch of petals into the bowl, too many now to hide in a flimsy handkerchief. They're grey and black today, one of the few times they're unignorably glaring, and Kuroo frowns.

This is starting to become really inconvenient. He flushes them away and steps out with a pretty sore throat, and walks straight into Bokuto.

"Whoa--" he says, holding his hands up and taking a step back. Bokuto looks surprised, and a little sick, but Kuroo doesn't have time to ask, doesn't have time to move, doesn't even have time to cover his mouth because his throat is full, and he can't breathe, and he needs to cough it out but when he does it's a shower of yellow and orange flowers straight at Bokuto's face. "Fuck."

"Oh shit," Bokuto breathes, and it's a pause long enough for Kuroo to feel the petals on his own face. He reaches up, brushing his fingers against his hair, and his hand comes away with petals in shades of purple and red. "Wait a minute--"

"You too?" Kuroo asks, when he finally looks up.

"You too!" Bokuto crows. "The hell, bro?"

Kuroo laughs. "Well, welcome to the club, I guess," he says. The twinge in his chest feels sharper, this time, before he coughs up a couple of follow-up petals.

It's a blessing and a curse.

It's a blessing because Kuroo actually gets more studying done, now it's not like something he has to keep a secret or anything. He straight up shows up at the library the next Thursday with a portable bin and a plastic bag and they pass that between each other between chapter readings and essay writing. It shaves off the time they would have used to run to the bathroom, though the librarian passive-aggressively stalks by a few times glaring at them.

At the end of the evening, the bucket's nearly full, an even mix of somber hues.

They do the same thing over pre-practice practice, when they grab lunch, when they're hanging out in one of the dorms. Just two bros and a bucket of feelings between them. Kuroo doubles the ginger tea he makes, handing Bokuto an extra thermos of it before he heads off to class. Bokuto makes sure Kuroo's bag is full of menthol candies. They put subtitles on for movie night, just in case someone's coughing gets too bad.

It's a curse because, duh.

In some ways it's great, not having to keep this secret anymore. But it feels like the weight of a different secret is on Kuroo now, heavy in the questions he doesn't really want to ask.

But his gaze wanders, at practice, to the captain, or the vice captain, or the setter Bokuto's been working with, and he wonders. He hangs onto the names of classmates Bokuto mentions, follows his gaze when it drifts, and he wonders. He walks back to the dorms with Bokuto after studying, shoulders just kind of brushing, and when Bokuto opens his mouth and spews petals instead he almost breaks.

He stops himself long enough to remember it could be worse.

"You're an idiot."

Kuroo winces. He'd put off telling Kenma anything because he had wanted to avoid his mothering, but even this is a little harsh. "That's no way to talk to your senpai," he says.

"It is when he's being an idiot."

Kuroo sighs. "Look, I told you already, it's fine, I've been in stage two for, what, two months now? Google says it's likely to hold like this."

"Is it."

"Yes, and I think it's actually helping."

"You think it's helping."

"Keeps things realistic, you know?" Kuroo shrugs before remembering Kenma can't see him. "Like, maybe I need a constant reminder he's in love with someone else to, I don't know, get over it."

Because, as it turns out, a constant reminder Bokuto's in love with someone else is making Kuroo really, really eager to finally get rid of the stupid petals.

Kenma makes an unusual sound, and it takes Kuroo more than a few seconds to place it.

"Are you-- did you just scream into a pillow?" he asks.

Kenma doesn't answer. Or maybe he does, but it sounds a little muffled. Kuroo's about to ask him to speak up when someone knocks on his door. He pauses the game to answer.

"Akaashi says I'm an idiot," Bokuto tells him.

"Okay? I'm playing games with Kenma."

"No you're not," Kenma says before hanging up.

Kuroo rolls his eyes, taking the headset off and chucking his controller onto the bed. "Guess I'm not, anymore." He follows Bokuto onto the floor, folds himself into a seat beside him. "Did you tell Akaashi that was no way to talk to his senpai?"

"No, but I should have," Bokuto huffs. He's sitting cross-legged, hands on his knees and glaring at the floor in front of him.

"That flooring is kind of standard issue in this dorm," Kuroo says. "Sorry it's suddenly offensive."

"Who do you like, anyway?"

The question sends Kuroo into a coughing fit. Bokuto silently hands him their bucket and he coughs, feeling hysteria rising up his throat along with the petals. He coughs and he coughs and he coughs, until his throat is so raw there's a streak of red in with the flowers. Well fuck.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his throat. "What's that got to do with Akaashi?" he asks, to buy himself some time.

"I wanna know who I need to fight," Bokuto says. His eyes are dark when his gaze flickers from bucket to Kuroo, flashing with something that looks like anger. "Who would be dumb enough to not like you?"

Kuroo swallows down his laughter. Even he knows now's not the time to appreciate the irony. "Well."

"Because you're awesome, alright? And cool, and funny, and good-looking, and cool! And anyone-- anyone-- would be lucky to fucking… even be noticed by you." Bokuto's voice rises with every word, he's working himself up to a full rant, the distance between his brows shorter and shorter as he hunches over, almost exactly like an aggravated owl.

It would be sweet, if it weren't also extremely misguided.

"I guess we can't account for everyone's taste," Kuroo says, patting Bokuto's thigh lightly. Maybe if he strips the bandaid off now and confesses he can get past that last hurdle of rejection and be on his merry way to recovery, but Bokuto's so angry on his behalf he isn't sure he has the heart to tell him who to blame.

"Yeah, well, their taste must be so dumb." Bokuto looks up, his gaze softer now, and his voice a little quieter when he adds, "They're so dumb, if they don't see what I--"

The air leaves Kuroo's lungs the same instant he's sure the petals do. "Oh," he says. "They were right."

"Huh?" Bokuto blinks at him, and Kuroo reaches out, watches that confusion melt away as he cups Bokuto's cheek, drawing him closer.

"We are idiots."

Notes:

What am I even doing here. Uh, I found out Day 7 of Bokuroo Week was flowers and there was fanart of two characters who'd thrown flowers up at each other and it was the most Bokuroo thing I'd ever seen, so here we are. It's not beta'ed, I didn't have time, but please let me know if you spot any errors and I'll fix them eventually.

I'm on twitter and tumblr if you wanna holler.

Kudos and comments are love! <3 I've also written other Bokuroo fics since this one.