The Man Who Ran Off With The Moon - [ Tsukkiyama Art Thief AU! ]

Unfamiliar Morning

The night dwindled into morning.
Tsukishima observed as the dawn eagerly crept over the horizon, tentative and soft, like a child coming to wake his parents for breakfast.
Outside was blue and bright and normal. Achingly normal. People were headed to work, to school, speeding off in trains and cars.
Kuroo slept on the floor. His brow was furrowed, his face a bit puffy with the stress of the night before. Tsukishima had not been graced by such sleep. Bags collected under his eyes.
Still, he watched, his gaze alternating between the window and the man who slept peacefully beside Kuroo.

Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi.
Here, not anywhere else, resting on the floor.

If Tsukishima only looked at his face, the faint crinkle of his freckles, the thin line of sleepy drool, it almost felt like one their sleepovers that had been frequent throughout middle and highschool. He always had woken up before him. He knew Yamaguchi's sleeping face well.
Looking beyond ruined the illusion. Dried blood still caked his chest. The gauze on his wound would need changing. Every few minutes, Tsukishima checked the inside of his wrist for a pulse, his forehead for a fever.
The blond breathed the same even breaths, careful not to make any noise. His own body pleaded for sleep, but his mind refused him.

What if I wake up and he's not here anymore?

He had had many dreams over the years of his friend returning. None were quite like this, but it wasn't ruled out this could all be some trick of the brain. The type of dream that hurts upon waking. His eyelids fluttered close, then sprang open.

Coffee.

Slowly, quietly, he opened the cupboard to discover he was out. He cast an eye to the two men sound asleep on the floor.

I'll be just a second. Don't go anywhere.

Tsukishima walked over to the main house. He fiddled with Kuroo and Kenma's fancy espresso machine until all the knobs fell into place and a cool whir began to produce the aromatic smell of coffee. As he waited, he sent a hasty email to his boss that he would be out sick for the day. The machine announced with a pleasant chime that it was ready. Tsukishima hungrily sipped.

Nope, no, too fucking hot. Jesus. Ow.

He set down the mug as the doorbell rang. Kuroo and Kenma had an electronic system at the gate, one of those video things. Tsukishima looked into the small screen at three men standing idly at the rim of the property. He pushed the talk button.
"Hello, can I help you?"
One of the men jumped back in mild surprise, then pressed the speak back button.
"Hello, yes, am I speaking to one of the residents of this household?"
Tsukishima shrugged to himself, his mind addled with sleep. Technically, he was a resident.
"Yeah."
"We're terribly sorry to bother you at such an early hour, we're with the neighborhood watch."
Kuroo and Kenma has never said anything about a neighborhood watch.
Tsukishima leaned in closer to examine the grainy video feed. The three men were all dressed in suits that seemed too nice for local security.
"Have you noticed any suspicious people within the area?"
A cold stretched over him.
"What do you mean by suspicious?"
He realized he had not been holding down the button, so he repeated himself.
"We don't want to cause any unjust alarm. Suspicious characters, men who seem like they don't belong here."
Tsukishima wanted more information, more specifics... but something in him told him that this was not the place to ask.
"I have not."
He watched the men glance at one another.
"Just be wary of unfamiliar people approaching your property. There's been a mild increase in neighborhood crime. Breakins and the like, you know how it is."
Tsukishima did not, but he agreed. The men at the gate wished him a goodbye, but they did not leave right away. They paced along the fence, one crouching to examine something on the ground. He looked up, shaking his head at the others. The man who had been speaking kicked at the gravel, his small video mouth exclaiming something that seemed like frustration.
Tsukishima waited to return to his apartment until the men were gone. Kuroo woke as he opened the door. He looked at the other man, bleary eyed.
They sat side by side, staring at Yamaguchi's thin sleeping frame. His chest rose and fell. And rose and fell.
Kuroo snatched the cup of coffee, taking a large sip, burning his tongue. Tsukishima covered his mouth before he could yelp from the pain. He glared at Kuroo, putting a finger to his own lips. Quiet.
Kuroo gestured at Yamaguchi and mouthed, What the fuck is going on?
Tsukishima aggressively shrugged, Do I look like I know?

Kuroo looked at Tsukishima. Then at Yamaguchi. Then back at Tsukishima. There was a challenge written on his face. Kuroo delicately reached out, pulling at the side of Yamaguchi's jacket.
"What are you doing?!", Tsukishima hissed.

Kuroo ignored him. He reached inside the exposed front pocket of Yamaguchi's jeans, extracting a faded wallet that may have been considered nice if kept in better condition.

"You can't-"
Kuroo gave him a withering look, whispering "I literally pulled a bullet out of this man, I'm allowed to look in his wallet."

He unceremoniously dumped the contents on the floor, revealing a thick wad of cash, a train ticket stub, and several laminated cards.
"What are-"
Kuroo picked one up. It was an identification card with Yamaguchi's picture, but not his name. Kazue Mori from Osaka.
Tsukishima inspected the others.
Saburo Hasegawa from Nagano. Yoshiki Nakamura from Yokohama.

He and Kuroo looked at each other.

Tsukishima felt queasy.
Like in the rest of the world, manufacture of false identification in Japan was highly illegal.
There were more cards strewn on the ground, but he did not want to see these fake iterations of the green haired man.
Tsukishima leaned over to inspect the other pocket, caution and care thrown to the wind. When he went to move Yamaguchi's jacket out of the way, he noticed its surprising weight, a pull from it's interior lining. He looked at Kuroo, who raised an eyebrow. Tsukishima ran his fingers along an inside seam, discovering a kind of pouch space.

Suddenly, Yamaguchi stirred slightly. The two men scrambled back.

Kuroo and Tsukishima waited, barely daring to breath. Minutes felt like ages. After it was certain he wasn't waking, Tsukishima delicately tried again.  His fingers grasped at the liner, uncovering a zipper within the fold. It felt heavy, heavier. He unzipped and reached in the pocket, grasping something metal. Tsukishima pulled out and immediately dropped a small handgun. It was a tiny, smooth pistol, but a gun none the less.
Kuroo's eyes widened as they started at the deathly metal object. Neither knew what to say.
The IDs. The gun. The men at the gate.

Who are you now, Yamaguchi?
Where have you been?
Why did you leave?

Tsukishima felt a pressure in his chest. This was too much.

And what have you gotten yourself into?

As if he could sense the questions that bounced around in Tsukishima's head, Yamaguchi opened his eyes, staring up at the two men before him.
It was still. Silent. When he finally broke the pause, his voice was like sandpaper.

"What time is it?"