L.A.T.E. | Surprise Ship

one.

     Correction. Make that sandy-silver hair. The person who stood in the doorway bore such a close resemblance to Akaashi that Bokuto's mind had slipped. Thankfully he had noticed in time; he was pretty sure that the young man wouldn't have taken kindly to a stranger suddenly jumping all over him.

     "Sorry, sir, this man was the last person in line. The fansign's over." That was the security guard speaking now.

     "I'm just a second late, damnit! You really can't make an exception?" It was somewhat amusing, Koutarou thought, how they pouted like a five year old who was just deprived of some candy. "It's just one lousy signature, how many of those have been signed off today? WOULD IT KILL YOU TO JUST DO ONE MORE? IS THIS WHAT I GET FOR BEING A LOYAL FAN—"

     "Calm down, jeez. You're causing the poor worker trouble. Here, why don't you just take mine?" Before Bokuto could even process it, his body was moving ahead of his brain, shutting the offender down and removing the signed copy from his bag, offering it up to the frustrated customer. As soon as it's out, he knows he's going to regret this. If they accept the offer, Kuroo's never going to let him hear the end of it. Instead of immediately making a grab, however, the person standing across from Koutarou gives him a look that's an obvious mix of confusion and disgust.

     "Did I ask you for your help??" The owl is rendered completely speechless.

     "HUH??" 

     "I said, don't pity me!" They snarl, shoving the security guard off of their coat sleeve, and withdraw further from where Bokuto stands. Their hands grip the strap of their little backpack so tightly their knuckles turn visibly white. "If it's my money, or sympathy, or whatever the hell else that you want, I'd rather die than take that book. You probably put all your goody-two-shoes germs all over it, anyways." 

     Now he's starting to get frustrated. It was unintentional, that much he knew about himself, but it was still a really kind gesture considering he knew nothing about whoever was before him. He whips the novel back, clutching it close to his chest and baring his teeth himself. If that was how they were going to act, he was irritated enough to want to defend Kuroo's stupid little obsession even if it meant throwing hands. 

     Something in his gut, however, tells him picking this fight with some rando in public won't be worth it. Or at least as satisfying as he would think. 

     "Well, I'M sorry for trying to help YOU out.  Kids these days..." Bokuto shakes his head, tensed muscles relaxing. He brushes past the stranger, opting to stick his tongue out at them instead, only further enraging them. Whatever they do next is lost to him though, as the automatic door slides shut behind him. 

     "I'M 23 !!" 

-----------

     Another week passes before he's actually able to deliver the parcel. At the high school they both call their workplace, it was a well known fact that Kuroo Tetsurou of the science department tended to take several days off in a row, and rather frequently at that. A long time ago, Bokuto would have believed that he was dipping for mini-vacations to Yokohama as he himself said. Conversations with multiple students, unfortunately for the bedhead, have revealed to him that 'Mr. Tetsurou' only goes MIA due to class labs gone wrong. Figures. 

     The spikes in Koutarou's hair bristle as he hands the thing over in the staff room, grumbling. 

     "You oughta owe me HALF of your sick day rollover for what I had to go through to get this to you. You're lucky the great god Bokuto is feeling merciful and kind today. AND that I know your dumbass can't handle standing around a bunsen burner long enough without burning your hair, clothes, or both." 

     "You're a lifesaver, Bo... I would've gone myself, really, but I was too busy preparing all the forms for the new department transfer." Kuroo slinks away from where he was hugging his coworker to hop up onto the desk, crossing his legs and flipping open to the first page. Putting his nose to the binding near the middle of the page, he takes a sniff. "Waaa... I smell it.. the freshness of the sharpie from where Akisawa laid her hands on the paper... Is that a fruity perfume?" 

     Bokuto takes part of the stack of graded tests from his own desk nearby, rolling them into a cylinder before whacking his friend clean across the side of the head with it. 

     "Oi, don't say things like that, it sounds weird.." He sighs. "I forgot about the transfers. Maybe I should put in a request for next year? English could use an extra set of hands." The man next to him looks up long enough to shake his head before returning his attention to the book in his hands.

     "Don't bother. All the paperwork is a pain. Plus, I specifically asked Yaku to come over but he declined. Can you believe that ??? He REJECTED my offer. So they sent someone from Shiratorizawa instead to come help out for a year."

     "Shiratorizawa? Ahh, that name takes me back." Bokuto lets a smile grace his lips, finally moving from the spot he'd frozen in to mimic receiving a ball. He even shoots a wink at the science room disaster, earning a trademark ugly laugh in return. 

     "Me too. And if what the application I got back from Sawamura says is true, the person was a third-year in 2016, same as us. But what was the name.." Kuroo pauses, scratching his temple. "Saburo? Shoji? Sachi?" 

     Before he can utter another name, the door to the staff room glides open. 

     "It's Semi. Sawamura said I could find a Kuroo Tetsurou here? I'm the transfer from Shirato—" Amber eyes fly over at the sound of textbooks dropping to the floor and Bokuto, reasonably startled, tears his attention away from the man next to him to the newcomer in the room. He's about prepared to ask what's wrong when realization hits. 

     The sandy-silver hair. The faded gray tips and that god-awful expression. It seems that the stranger has taken note of the gelled hair in front of them as well, hell, Koutarou knows it was the reason they'd dropped their things in the first place. Raising shaky fingers at each other from opposite sides of the room, they point. 

     "YOU!"