Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tsukishima Kei sat on the outside patio, leisurely swirling his milkshake with the long straw, savouring the rich taste of the strawberry under the early autumn sun. Behind his stylish glasses, Kei's eyes were dutifully trained on his ward.

Inside the cafe, Bokuto Kotarou, sat among his friends, frosting on his face and a laugh so big it took half of his face. He had a plastic sword in his hands, ready to stab his owl-themed birthday cake. Once he did, his friends—loud, bright, mortal—cheered like this was some grand conquest.

Kei couldn't help but to reveal a soft smile of his own, quietly patting himself on the back for keeping his ward well and alive for this long. He'd spent twenty-seven years softening falls, subtly angling bicycle handles away from open drain and even inspired him to take up swimming after an almost drowning incident in the public pool.

Bokuto was his favourite ward within a millennia even if sometimes he made a decision so stupid it made Kei's non-existent blood pressure spike. Like the time Bokuto tried to "fly" off the school roof using his blazer as a parachute, or when he challenged a vending machine to a sumo match after it ate his 100-yen coin.

Kei took another slow slurp of his milkshake as a gentle flap stirred the air beside him. Yamaguchi sat on the opposite chair. Kei regarded the messenger guardian—his best friend—with a nod.

"How long do you think the birthday celebration will last this time?" Yamaguchi asked, intrigued, resting his chin on his palm, eyes were also trained on the birthday boy.

Kei pushed his glasses up his nose. "His high school buddies are planning a day at the theme park this weekend," Kei said, nodding towards the cafe window. "Konoha called this morning to make sure he keeps his schedule open."

Yamaguchi snorted. "As if Bokuto-san has ever kept a schedule in his life."

"I know," Kei said with exasperated fondness, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He released a loud exhale before flicking his wrist to check the time. "Are you here to pick me up?"

"You don't need to be picked up, Tsukki." Yamaguchi laughed warmly. "You just need to be on time. Come on." His fingers closed around Kei's with familiar certainty, tugging him to stand.

Kei resisted just long enough to maintain appearances before letting himself be tugged upright. His light brown jacket crinkled as he stretched, slowly unfolding his iridescent white feathered wings until they reached the full six-foot span. The edges glowing faintly with restrained power.

With a flap of their wings, they ascended to the heavenly realm.

🪽 ❤️🪽

The heavenly realm mortals imagined was all polished marble and blinding light, fragrant with sweet smell wafting through the air akin to baked goods. Fates however, resided in a humble abode. An old mansion with decorative awnings, once vivid grey now turned dull. The creaking floorboards of the engawa whispering the early days when Fates were younger deities—afraid of their scissors cutting the wrong thread.

And the bushes.

Trimmed oversized gardenias concealing all of what Fates did behind closed doors.

Kei stood in the main hall where thread of life crisscrossing the space. Crimson for futures not yet fixed, gold for the living present, black for the sealed past. He never knew where they start and where they ended. Somewhere within, Bokuto's gold thread pulsed, thrumming with gentle heartbeats.

When Fates appeared, the threads weaved gently around them like silk in water—not bowing but recognising kin.

Kiyoko, eldest of the three, nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her movements were precise, surgical, as she plucked a single golden thread from the air. It hummed between her fingers, warm with impending life.

"Hitoka," she said. "It's time."

The thread trembled. Somewhere on Earth, a mother gasped as her first contraction hit.

Hitoka, the youngest Fate, nodded lightly and pressed her palms together. Her fingertips began to glow like light going through water. She brought one hand to her lips and kissed each finger, whispering of a good health, a good wealth and a good death. Then, with a gentle puff on her open palm, a new gold thread unspooled into existence. It weaved itself between a red future and a black past, joining the ever intricate design of the tapestry above.

In the shadowed corner of the room, Alisa watched the newly weaved thread with sorrowful eyes. Where Kiyoko’s threads gleamed with order and Hitoka’s hummed with newborn potential, Alisa’s work was a tapestry of quiet endings. Whether a mortal lived a fulfilling life or not, long or short, the end was always sad.

She trailed one trembling thread, pulled out her trusty scissors from thin air and cut the thread short. "They turned off the machines. I'm glad his grandchildren made it there in the end," Alisa lamented. The gold thread in her grip turned slowly into black, thus signaling the end of one more mortal soul.

Kei had seen glimpses of how Fates worked before, but never this close. He always knew the sisters carried a burden far greater than his own. His wings fluttered as he mourned the life that had just lost.

As if only realizing they weren’t alone, Fates turned to Kei with grace. Kiyoko raised her hands, and four silk cushions stitched themselves into existence. She gestured for him to sit across from her on the floor. Alisa brewed sweet tea using a tea kettle made of the remnants of someone's North Star; matching cups floated above Kei's head before settling on the low table between them.

Among the three sisters, Kei was closest to Hitoka, having so often played together and explored most of the realm since they were fledglings. So when she waved at him—against all heavenly protocols—he waved back.

Kiyoko let out a soft chuckle at the sight; the sound twinkled like wind chimes during a warm midday nap. "Tsukishima-kun, thank you for coming here today."

Kei adjusted his glasses. "When Fates called—or something," he jested, fingers tracing the rim of his star-forged teacup. "I hope the reason I'm summoned is nothing serious."

"No need to worry," Kiyoko said. "We just want to inform you that your ward will be receiving a cupid from today."

"Why now?" Kei asked, gaze lingering on the cup in his hands. He mouthed a silent thank you as Alisa poured her concoction, then took a slow sip. The flavor unfolded like a bursting supernova—cosmic and startlingly sweet—until it coaxed a small smile from him. "My ward’s managed just fine without a cupid’s interference. Why disrupt that?"

"It doesn’t mean you haven’t done your job well," Hitoka insisted, though her earnest head shake did little to sway him. "We just think that it is only the right time."

"Besides—" Alisa clasped her hands, starry-eyed. "Imagine the Bokuto Koutarou struck by love’s arrow. The skies would ignite." Her sigh was a dreamy thing, as if she could already see the fireworks.

Kei studied the sisters with subtle curiosity. "I didn’t realize my ward’s life thread was that interesting to the Fates," he said. "And here I thought I could keep him to myself."

His words caught the sisters off guard—Alisa’s faint gasp, Hitoka’s violent cough, and Kiyoko’s teacup pausing mid-air before she took a sip. A weighted silence settled before Kiyoko finally spoke, her voice cool and deliberate.

"All lives are interesting to the Fates, Tsukishima-kun." She set her cup down with a soft clink. "Even yours."

The words gave him pause. But unlike him, the Fates were not to be questioned.

"Very well," he conceded, voice laid with quiet resignation. "If that is what the Fates decree." A beat of silence. "May I know which cupid has been assigned to my ward?"

"We don't know yet," Alisa admitted, swirling her tea absently. "Oikawa-kun is being…very particular about the cupid he assigns to your ward. Well, with Christmas so close, the cupids are already overworked,making sure there's one less lonely soul out there." She shrugged.

Hitoka took this moment to scoot closer, her sleeve brushing against his arm. "It's okay, Tsukishima-kun," she reassured. "I'm sure whoever Oikawa-kun assigns will do their absolute best for Bokuto-san. Cupid's arrows never miss their mark." Her eyes sparkled, smile so wide it made Kei forget why he even questioned the decision.

🪽 ❤️🪽

The squeak of volleyball shoes against polished wood had long faded into white noise, drowned beneath the rhythmic scratching of Kei’s pen across his journal.

Across the court, Bokuto’s booming encouragement sliced through the gymnasium’s hum, followed by the eager chorus of acknowledgment from his players.

Kei scribbled another note: "—excessive shouting → vocal strain. Consult Ennoshita for longer-term remedy. Note: Inspire Bokuto to mix honey with his drink."

The sharp clack of stylish loafers interrupted his focus. When a figure approached him, his gaze was immediately directed upward—right into hazel eyes obscured behind untamed bangs. The soft daylight coming from the glass pane reflected in the figure's eyes made them seem more alluring, Kei almost got lost in them.

After a moment of careful regard, Kuroo Tetsurou smirked and his pink wings stretched wide before vanishing into thin air. The cupid had stood before him for not more than five seconds, and Kei already hated that thing he did with his mouth.

"What's an angel like you doing in a place like this?" Kuroo purred.

Cupids.

Kei rolled his eyes so hard his glasses nearly slipped off. Of all the Cupids in Heaven's supposedly "elite" ranks, Oikawa had to assign him this walking disaster. Kuroo Tetsurou—whose personnel file boasted a 100% soulmate matching rate and a 200% guaranteed migraine induction rate. Kuroo Tetsurou—whose broad shoulders and tapered waist looked irritatingly good in Heaven's version of overworked, salary men outfit.

"Relax, angel," Kuroo crooned, leaning his hips against the wooden banister with practiced ease. "I've been around Heaven, but I believe this is the first time we've met." His fingers brushed the edge of his slack pockets, a display of casual arrogance. "So tell me—do you have a name, or can I call you mine?"

Ugh.

"Tsukishima Kei," he said flatly. "And you can call me 'leaving' if we didn't get down straight to business."

"Business, huh?" Kuroo said, amused. "Couldn't wait until we're alone, angel?" One eyebrow lifted accompanied with that same infuriating smirk.

Kei snapped the Waterman—the luxury fountain pen he allowed a bit of himself to indulge in—shut, along with his journal, gracefully. Then he rose from the bleachers, walking toward the cupid in sure, slow steps before joining him. He leaned against the banister, cocked his head sideways, and guided Kuroo’s attention toward his ward; Bokuto gathering his players for cool-down.

"My ward has gone twenty-seven years without a soulmate," Kei said, fingers gathered in soft clasp. "Now Fates decided he should have one." A slow blink behind his glasses, before he turned his face to the side, facing Kuroo. "So, do try to be precise with your work. I'd hate for this to be the first time your legendary arrows... misfire."

This time, Kuroo flashed just enough teeth to be on the side of charming instead of infuriating. "Ah, so you knew of my reputation. Why don't I tell you more over a cup of coffee after this?"

Kei's shoulders tensed. It made Kuroo chuckle softly.

"Careful, angel," Kuroo murmured, turning to survey the gymnasium. The quiver’s straps shifted across his back, gold chain rattling softly. "You make it too easy to tease." He propped his chin on his palm, voice dipping into something intimate—a secret whisper. "But if you want my legendary precision… tell me about Bokuto Kotarou."

Kei paused, considering the question. He watched as Kuroo’s eyes sharpened, his posture straightening, the air around them growing still.

Ah. So this is Cupid at work.

He turned to his ward."Bokuto Kotarou. Age twenty-seven. Born into a very loving, normal family—parents, sisters, two dogs, and a cat. Currently works as a high school P.E. teacher and coaches community volleyball on the weekends. Loud, easily startled, prone to mood swings…" Kei trailed as he fiddled with the stitching at the hem of his jacket sleeve. "Just a stupid guy with a big, loving heart."

"A very good soul indeed," Kuroo said. "I can see why the Fates love him. Good job keeping him safe, angel."

Kei’s cheeks warmed at the praise. He cleared his throat. "Just doing my job. No need to make a big deal out of it."

A shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling the end of afternoon practice. The guardian angel and the cupid watched as Bokuto gathered his students to the side of the gym. They discussed the upcoming match against the neighboring school—a powerhouse in their league. Rather than being intimidated, the players buzzed with excitement, eager to test their new attack formation. Bokuto's smile widened. With a clap of his hands, he dismissed the group. Some hurried to clean up practice equipment while others immediately began debating dinner plans.

Bokuto collected his bag and jacket from the side bench, bid farewell to the student managers, and headed out the door. Kei and Kuroo exchanged a glance. As their wings materialized, they glided down to the court—their shoes clicking softly upon landing. Side by side, they followed the mortal outside.

Just as Bokuto reached the school gates—whistling off-key, swinging his bag like a pendulum—a familiar figure stepped into his path, startling him into a small jump. Sweet sound of laughter echoed as recognition dawned on Bokuto's face.

“Oh?” Kuroo mused, titling his head. He leaned in Kei's personal space as they trailed quietly behind the two mortals now walking side by side. "Who's this?"

Kei tried not to be rude and pushed Kuroo out of his space, gripping his own arm by the elbow to maintain distance. The cupid's keen interest was obvious, his gaze fixed on the way Bokuto's entire face lit up while talking to his companion. To Kei, it's nothing out of the ordinary.

"Akaashi Keiji. Bokuto's best friend from high school. They used to play volleyball together. Him the setter, Bokuto the ace." Kei said, nudging his glasses up. "Why do you ask?"

Kuroo's chuckle rolled through the air, sharp and knowing. "So, they've been friends since high school and now that they're adults, they're still walking home together?"

Kei's eyes twitched, his phantom feathers ruffling. "Today is Friday. Akaashi always meets Bokuto on Friday so they can spend the weekend together. It's their thing."

Kuroo laughed, straightening up and stretching his arms behind his head.

"—and they are still celebrating Bokuto's birthday. They are going to the theme park tomorrow—"Kei's words died as Kuroo smoothly drew an arrow from his quiver. "Wait, what are you doing?" His gaze darted between the pointed arrow and Kuroo's mischievous smile.

They both screeched to a halt as Kuroo flicked his left wrist, making a golden bow materialize in his hand. He was preparing to draw the bow. Kei immediately flew in front of the weapon. "You can't be serious! He's Akaashi, you know?!"

Kuroo's smirk deepened. "Exactly."

"Shouldn't you be observing more?" Kei asked, exasperated. Oh, he would definitely be filing a formal complaint with the Cupids' Administration about rushed work. "This is my ward's soulmate we're talking about!"

Kuroo lowered his bow and arrow, resting his hands on his hips. "My dearest angel, don't you know the phrase your soulmate is closer than you think? Don't you find that true?"

Kei clenched his fists tighter. "But it's Akaashi." He glanced over his shoulder at Bokuto, the boy—the passionate, kind boy—and remembered the nights he'd sobbed quietly into his pillows when the kids at preschool scolded him because he'd been too loud. The time his middle school classmates had abandoned him during a run. The distance was too long, they were too tired, the practice was too much—he was too much.

But years later, there was Akaashi standing beside him, listening about the cool, new anime he watched. There was Akaashi running beside him toward the sunset—however far the distance was. With Akaashi by his side, Bokuto's pillows stayed dry, and "too much" became words reserved only for homework, unfinished ramen, and caffeine crashes.

"What if your arrow doesn't work this time?" Kei questioned under his breath.

Kuroo gave the angel a knowing look. Gently, he placed his palm against Kei's cheek, turning his head so their eyes met. "I'm sure you've only ever wanted what's best for him," he said, his thumb brushing the soft, warm skin. "I've only wanted the best for the souls I match too. So please, put your trust in me, my dear angel."

Kei saw the sunset reflected in Kuroo's eyes, as well as strong conviction within them. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and nodded. Kuroo stepped aside, drawing his bow tight, Akaashi Keiji's name beautifully carved on the arrowhead.

Kei watched as the cupid released the bowstring—the arrow arcing perfectly to strike Bokuto's retreating back.

"It's done," Kuroo said softly.

Kei turned toward the sunset fully, watching as Bokuto offered his hand and Akaashi quietly grasped it. Perhaps it was just the golden light of dusk, but the two of them seemed to glow brighter than the sun itself.

🪽 ❤️🪽

Kei walked among the mortals—invisible to their eyes. His wheat-coloured coat billowed softly in the autumn wind, brown loafers crinkling the crisp fallen leaves. He lingered a few paces behind, observing the way Bokuto pulled Akaashi toward the sweet taiyaki snack stand ahead. He carefully handed Akaashi the taiyaki, his fingers surprisingly gentle around the paper wrapper. Akaashi accepted it, took a small, careful bite, and a tiny, pleased sigh escaped him. Bokuto watched him as he breathed, a pleased smile etched on his face.

It had been a while since the cupid's arrow had struck its mark, and its initial, irresistible pull—the first, magical spark—had faded along with it. What was left was the connection that had already taken root, blossoming into something strong and beautiful and entirely its own. They had spent weekends together before, but now, Kei watched as the weekends had turned into something more. Bokuto and Akaashi went on little dates, lounged on the couch, whispering jokes and promises meant for them and no one else.

Kei stopped walking. The scene unfolding captivated him.

Bokuto was telling a story, and his gestures had grown so wide his own taiyaki might fall when Akaashi's hand—the one not holding his snack—drifted out and gently stilled Bokuto’s wrist. Bokuto stopped talking, his story halting mid-sentence. He looked down at Akaashi's fingers on his wrist, and his entire being seemed to soften. He turned his hand and laced his fingers through Akaashi’s, his story continuing in a softer, more intimate tone, meant only for the space between them.

Kei stood there, a feeling of profound and peaceful satisfaction settling over him like a warm blanket.

The peaceful scene drew to a stop when the scent of freshly baked potato assaulted his nose. His glasses fogged up instantly from the heat as Kuroo shoved the snack directly in front of his face—he was already munching on his own baked potato. A look of smug triumph plastered on his face. Kei stepped back with a slight grimace, wiping his lenses on his coat sleeve to put some distance between his glasses and the snack before reluctantly accepting the food from the cupid.

"What did I tell you, huh?" Kuroo said with raised eyebrows. His voice, teasing. "They're good together, right?"

It was hard to admit, but the cupid was right. Bokuto had never been happier—he would never say it out loud to the cupid though. "It's all Akaashi's doing," Kei deflected, taking a small bite of the baked potato. "He was the only one who could handle Bokuto."

The cupid spun around once with his hand on his chest—baked potato and all. Very theatrical, very infuriating. "Ouch, Tsukki. That hurts." Kuroo stopped and grinned. "I'll make you admit that I'm the best one day. Just you wait."

Tsukki—the nickname reserved for only those who were close to him, now stuck between them like something familiar. Kei adjusted his glasses. "I'll admit that the Cupid Department might have provided the best training to its agents," he conceded. "You'd need to thank Kenma-san for that. I doubt you've ever not fallen asleep in class."

Kenma Kozume was another cupid worth his name. All of Heaven knew how close he and Kuroo were, from their time as little fledglings to entering the Cupid Department. The only reason Kenma was not a more of a household name was due to the cupid's own lack of interest in meddling with human emotions.

The drama of it all.

To him, it was all about strategy; humans were like puzzles he wanted to solve. A perfectly timed broken bicycle chain followed by a sudden downpour of rain—courtesy of the weather keeper—led to a perfect meet-cute for two souls.

"How about you, my dear guardian angel?" Kuroo bumped Kei's shoulder, a solid, warm pressure against the cold wind. "Were you always the studious type? I bet you also occasionally daydreamed during lessons, didn't you?"

Kei gave him a sidelong glance, his expression utterly deadpan. "Being a guardian angel means serious business. I didn't have time to daydream and look at the clouds." With that, Kei resumed his walk, trailing behind the already faraway couple.

"So, tell me, Tsukki—" Kuroo followed him with a skip. "For a millennium, have you ever done something for yourself?" He bit the last of the baked potato, then licked the remaining salt off his thumb. "You are allowed to have something for yourself, you know? Be a little selfish," he said with a full mouth.

Kei's steps didn't falter, but the question seemed to hang in the air between them. "I indulged… sometimes." He shrugged, a small gesture that felt more like a confession. "But my purpose is my duty. The concept of being selfish is for mortals—not us." He watched as Bokuto and Akaashi turn a corner, their laughter just a faint, happy echo.

"See, that's where you're wrong," Kuroo said, his tone turning thoughtful, all traces of his earlier teasing gone. "You might think that us being not mortals is different from them, that our duty is the only thing that keeps us going." He tapped Kei lightly on the shoulder. When Kei turned, he made a gesture with his hands—one flat like a saucer, the other curved like a cup. "We're like cups. Mortals, not mortals—it doesn't matter. Wanting something for yourself is the fuel. How long do you think you can run on an empty cup, even if your cup is celestial and probably older than this city?"

Kei watched the cupid thoughtfully.

Thousands of years watching over mortals, ensuring they didn't trip over their own feet, just so they could live a full mortal life and die without regrets. That had always kept him fulfilled. But here this cupid stood, questioning him about what more life could offer him. For a being who dealt with human emotion and desire, Kuroo sure had a knack for asking questions that felt like picking at a lock Kei hadn't known was there.

He sighed loudly after a moment too long. "How about this—" he said, resigned. "You've done your part in setting my ward with a soulmate, and I'm sure you must have had a joyous time snacking on baked potatoes and following me around this long." He gestured before reaching forward to fix the slightly crooked knot of Kuroo's tie. After, he brushed the top of his shoulders, and turned the cupid around. He leaned low near Kuroo's ear, his voice a soft, deliberate murmur that contrasted with the dismissive action. "Why don't you go back and find other soulmates to match? You've been slacking for far too long, my dear cupid."

Kei straightened his back, smug smile grew on his face as he saw slight blush colouring the tips of the cupid's ears.

Before he could voice it out, a shrill scream cut through the air—not one of excitement or surprise, but raw panic. It was Akaashi's. The mortals around them barely reacted to the sound that screamed danger to Kei's attuned senses. Something must've happened to Bokuto.

He braced his feet on the ground, his iridescent wings materialized, prepared for flight. The ground cracking faintly under the force of his launch as he flew to the source of the scream with pinpoint precision. He landed silently in a narrow, secluded stone path up a hill. What he saw in front of him turned his face pale.

Akaashi, hunching over Bokuto who was lying on the ground—unconscious. His usually composed features were twisted in desperation as he lightly slapped Bokuto's cheek, voice cracking as he repeated his name. A dark, crimson stain running down from the wound on his temple. Kei turned to survey the surrounding—they were completely alone on this path, hidden from the main passage. Nobody could stumble upon them like this. Akaashi, for all his determination, could never carry Bokuto's solid, athletic build back down the hill on his own. With every second passed, more blood pooling out on the stones. Akaashi needed to act fast, otherwise Bokuto would bleed out—

"Calm down, Tsukki," Kuroo's voice came, solemn and unexpectedly close. Kei hadn't noticed the cupid following him during his frantic flight. Kuroo stood beside him, his usual teasing replaced by a grave stillness. His hazel eyes glinted under the shadows of the trees. "It's not your fault. Look, he just tripped." His fingers pointed toward an overturned stone slab and a matching red stain smeared across a jagged limestone edge.

Kei huffed and ignored the cupid's words. As a guardian angel, his job was to sense dangers, divert paths, prevent accidents from happening—to protect. His was the almost and the nearly. There was nothing much he could do once the accidents happened. He stood there, with all the power of a celestial being—feeling powerless.

Then, Akaashi's head snapped up, hardened resolve within his eyes. He ripped off his own jacket, balled it up and pressed it firmly against the bleeding wound. He struggled getting his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. He was calling for help.

The mortal act jolted Kei out of his stupor.

Kei's gaze swept the area again, but this time his vision shifted, piercing through the shadows and trees, scanning the paths that wound around the lake below. In seconds, he found what he was looking for. A spark of determination ignited in his golden eyes.

He pushed Kuroo's sturdy chest aside. "Move." The word was a command, sharp and focused. He strode to the beginning of the stone path, placed his fingers in his mouth, and let out a whistle. A gust of wind swept through the area, rustling his wheat-blond hair and shaking the branches of the trees around them.

Akaashi had just finished his frantic call to the emergency services when a faint, distant barking was heard from down the hill. It was followed by a loud commotion—a man’s startled shout and more insistent, urgent barking. Then, the pitter-patter of paws scrambling on stone as a fluffy Akita emerged from the bushes, pulling its owner along by the leash from the shadows of the path.

Akaashi gasped, a sob of relief catching in his throat, and immediately called out to the man. The scene—the blood, the unconscious form, the desperate man—shocked him out of his leisurely afternoon stroll. Without a second's hesitation, he was at Akaashi's side. Together, they quickly formulated a plan to carefully lift Bokuto and carry him down the hill towards the help he desperately needed.

"Well done, angel," Kuroo said, impressed.

Kei watched them go, the tightness in his chest easing only slightly. "Just doing my duty," he said quietly.

Kuroo bumped Kei's shoulder as he passed him by. "Well then, after all of that," Kuroo turned to gesture at the stone slab with its drying red stain. "I guess I can no longer ignore my own duty, huh?"

That startled a chuckle out of Kei's mouth. The chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh as the tension in his chest turned into strange lightness. The sound was a rare and unexpected melody, a surprise to his own ears. The cupid only smiled at him like a fool—a simple, unguarded smile that reached his hazel eyes.

"See you around, Tsukki," the cupid said before taking flight, the sound of rustling feathers leaving Kei alone on the narrow path. He brought his hand to his chest, a gesture utterly foreign to him. Beneath his palm, his celestial heart beat a new rhythm—quick, fluttering, irregular. For the first time in a millennium, Kei wondered what it meant.

🪽 ❤️🪽

"You've been smiling a lot lately," Yamaguchi said absently, his fingers playing with the dangly bits of his ear cuff. He offered a smile toward the open sea—a little too sincere. Kei glanced at his friend's profile, the freckles on his face stained a darker shade from standing under the direct sunlight.

"Anything interesting happen that you'd like to share?"

Kei hummed instead of answering. They sat under the shade of the bus stop, quietly observing Akaashi splash more salt water into Bokuto's face.

Yamaguchi turned to face him. "It's nice to see you like this. More relaxed, less… stiff." He leaned forward, his elbow resting on a knee, his chin propped in his palm. "I guess seeing Bokuto-san happy like that, anybody would feel his happiness, too. It's infectious."

“It’s loud,” Kei finally replied, his tone flat, though the usual sharp edge was undeniably absent. It was the closest he would come to admitting that Yamaguchi was right.

A small, quiet breath—almost a laugh—escaped Yamaguchi. He didn’t push further. He just nodded, understanding this was the closest he would get to vindication, and turned his warm gaze back toward the mortals.

The flutter of wings and a gentle thud on the asphalt caught Yamaguchi's attention. "Tsukki—" he whispered, jostling his friend's elbow urgently.

Kei didn't need to turn to know exactly who had landed beside them. The distinctive shadow of the nest-like hair and the annoyingly loud slurping from a paper cup were telling enough. The work visits from the cupid had became too frequent.

Annoyed at Kei's pointed inaction, Yamaguchi stood and bowed deeply to the cupid as a sign of respect. "Good afternoon, Kuroo-san! Thank you for your hard work!"

"Ah, Yamaguchi-kun… is it?" Kuroo asked with his usual theatrical flair. "You're the messenger angel for the Eastern Sea sector. How is Asahi? I heard he had quite a tough time conveying the Word of Heaven to the newborns—Generation Alpha and all." He shrugged, a characteristic smirk playing on his lips throughout the entire remark.

Yamaguchi flushed at the interaction, a bit starstruck that a celebrity by Heaven's standards was talking to him. "Asahi-san did get into a bit of trouble, but—" He stood a little taller, his back straightening with a newfound pride. "He's gotten through it! All of us in the Communications Department are very thankful for his efforts!"

Kuroo finished the last bit of his drink, smacking his lips and crumpling the paper cup before disintegrating it in mid-air. "That's Asahi for you. The best messenger guardian slash the best superior Heaven has ever had. I love that guy!" He laughed. "Speaking of—" he paused, "you are not slacking off, are you?" His tone was teasing.

Kei felt Kuroo's piercing stare directed at him. He remained still, his expression carefully, impeccably blank.

The cupid continued after noticing that the angel wouldn't take the bait. "It's just that our dear angel here will tell you off if you're slacking, you know? Believe me, I know from experience." He pouted at Yamaguchi, shoulders slumping in an attempt to gain sympathy. "He just doesn't know the joy of slacking off." And Yamaguchi, the chronic sympathizer, ate the act up.

"I knowww," Yamaguchi moaned. "That's what I've been sayingggg. I've been asking him to take time off so we could go on a holiday together, but noooo." He snickered, shooting a look at the ruffled guardian angel. "Tsukki loves his job too much."

"See, Tsukki? Even your own friend is worried," Kuroo chirped, his grin widening into something mischievous. "Might as well heed his words."

"Tsukki would rather write a 50-page analysis on the efficacy of different feathered cushion to soften a fall in his journal than have a spa day," Yamaguchi noted. Then, his shoulders straightened with the sudden, electric energy of a genius idea. He whirled on Kuroo, eyes alight. "I've got it! What if we hid his journal? He'd have no choice but to take a break!"

Kuroo's face lit up, the suggestion was just additional fuel for another round of his teasing. Kei saw the dangerous glint in both their eyes and decided it was time to intervene before this terrible plan became more than a suggestion.

"You will do no such thing," he stated, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone that made the air around them grow cold. He leveled a glare at both celestial beings. "Do not mess with my journal. I swear to Heaven, Yamaguchi, if you so much as touch it, you'll be—"

A sudden, solemn chime—the distinct tone of a priority-one message—cut through the chaotic scene. The sound instantly wiped the playfulness from Yamaguchi's face. He patted his pocket with practiced efficiency, procuring a phone that glowed with a soft, urgent light. He read the message, and his expression shifted into one of profound apology and duty.

"Need to go," he said, his voice now crisp and professional. "There's been a major multi-vehicle accident on the northern interstate. They need all available hands to bring the word of comfort to the newly grieving." He stepped back from the shade of the bus stop, stretching his creamy-coloured wings, momentarily covering the width of the shelter itself. He bid them goodbye with a hurried wave before beating his wings, taking flight, leaving Kei and Kuroo alone in the sudden silence.

Kuroo broke the silence first. "So—" he gestured to Bokuto and Akaashi strolling along the shoreline, "have they kissed yet?"

Kei bristled. "You've been asking that question for weeks," Kei sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "The answer is still the same as I've given you before: I'm not a pervert; I don't intrude on their privacy."

The cupid watched the couple holding hands; Bokuto was retelling a story that Akaashi had probably heard more than once. "You're no fun, Tsukki," Kuroo groaned, draping himself against the side of the bus stop. "They're so cute together and they haven't even had their first kiss?"

Kei rolled his eyes at the drama before getting startled when the cupid leaned down to face him suddenly. Kuroo's eyes were so full of mischief it made Kei's stomach do somersaults. From this close, Kei could trace the line of Kuroo's thin lips, map light sunspots on his skin, and smell the cologne clinging to him.

"Which is precisely why…" Kuroo murmured, and Kei was reminded that they were discussing something.

The cupid flicked his wrist to look at the time. As soon as he did, there was a sudden flash of lightning and the following rumble of thunder. Kei's gaze turned to Bokuto and Akaashi as they watched the sky turn grey and sheets of rain pour down, drenching them from head to toe. They both immediately ran, shrieking and laughing as if the rain was their entertainment.

"Right on time." Kuroo snapped his fingers, winking at Kei, all smug. He stood back up again, dusting off his shoulders arrogantly. "First kiss in the rain—the oldest trick in the book." He put his hands on his hips as he turned to the mortals."You just can't beat the classic."

Kei cleared his throat, his vocal cords not yet ready to be of use. When he could finally calm the frantic flipping in his stomach, he found he had unconsciously moved to stand right next to the cupid. "It must have taken quite the paperwork to request a sudden downpour from the Weather Department," he snarked, masking a hint of genuine awe at the lengths the cupid would go. "Which I'm sure you did, because that's just the procedure."

"Paperwork? Please, Tsukki," Kuroo scoffed. "It's called networking, my dear angel."

Kei swallowed, noticing the wind had picked up speed, whipping the rain into a sharper, more insistent rhythm. "So, how long does your 'romantic kiss under the rain' package last?" he asked dryly, his gaze scanning the beachfront until he found the couple—huddled together under the narrow strip of a shop's awning, Bokuto shaking his head like a wet dog and subsequently sneezing. "I can't risk my ward getting sick, even if they say idiots don't catch colds."

"Fifteen minutes," Kuroo stated offhandedly, as if reading from a manual. He leaned back against the bus stop, the picture of effortless control. "A true and tried period for first kisses. Any less is insufficient for the mood to properly settle. Any more, and you're just being cruel." He shot Kei a sidelong glance, his smirk deepening. "Don't worry, I put in the request of a cool down period. The sun's scheduled to break through right on cue. It's all part of the service."

Kei extended his hand, feeling the cold drop of rain hit the center of his palm. "Let's hope your plan works." As soon as he said it, he felt the subtle change in the atmosphere; the air around them grew charged. From the corner of his gaze, a sudden flash of white—a lightning bolt—zipped through the space, heading directly toward Bokuto. In a split second, Kei flicked his middle finger and redirected the bolt upwards into the sky.

Bokuto jumped in surprise, but when he turned to Akaashi, they just laughed it off, talking about their luck. Kei spun to face Kuroo, fuming. "Is getting seriously injured by a bolt of lightning part of the package too?!"

Another flash split the sky, this one also angling toward the couple; Kei redirected that one, too, his expression tightening with irritation. "Cupid!" Kei snapped, turning to fully face Kuroo.

Kuroo, who had been watching the near-electrocution with wide, startled eyes, now had the decency to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Ah. Right. That—um. Let me check my paperwork again.” He took out his phone, unlocking it with speed and scrolling through his email inbox.

Another bolt of lightning lanced down, this time aimed directly at the awning’s support beam. Kei didn’t even bother looking; he simply snapped his fingers, and the bolt fizzled into a shower of harmless sparks a few feet above the couple’s heads. Bokuto flinched, pointing up at the fizzling light show with excited confusion, while Akaashi just stared, his analytical mind clearly trying to compute the statistical anomaly of three near-misses in as many minutes.

"Aha!" Kuroo exclaimed, shoving the email correspondence he had with the Weather Department in Kei's face. "I put in a fifteen-minute light shower with cool winds. No bolts of lightning involved. See? It says right here: 'Atmospheric ambiance only. No projectiles or smiting.'"

"Well, clearly somebody messed up somewhere," Kei huffed, glaring at the offending white light from Kuroo's phone, squinting to read the email. He straightened his back. "Call it off," he instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"What? Why?" Kuroo said, his feathers ruffling. "The rain is stopping any minute now."

"I don't care," Kei said with finality. A fourth bolt of lightning now disintegrated in the upper atmosphere, vaporized before it was even fully formed. "Bokuto is not dying due to divine smiting on my watch. Call. It. Off."

Kuroo clicked his teeth and scrolled through his phone again, searching for a number on his speed dial. He placed the phone next to his ear; it rang incessantly before it was finally picked up. "Hi, Chibi-chan!" Kuroo said cheerfully, his greeting accompanied by a faint rumble of thunder in the background.

"Kuroo-san!" Hinata’s voice was a tinny, hyperactive shriek, so full of energy the phone speaker distorted. "Are we still on for game night tomorrow? I found a new board game; it has little volcanic eruptions! It’s so cool!"

Kuroo’s cheerful mask didn't slip, but his free hand clenched into a fist. "Yeah, yeah, sounds awesome, buddy. Listen, quick question about my order—the one for the light, romantic drizzle? The non-lethal one?" He stressed the words through his teeth. "There seems to be a bit of a... Noya's Rolling Thunder impression happening down here. Any idea what's up with that?"

Hinata's voice was staticky at the end of the line. "Sure, let me check the order log for today. Give me five seconds."

"Okay, Hinata. Take however long you need," Kuroo offered, biting his lip. His eyebrows raised when Kei moved closer to him, pointing at the phone in his hand. He held out the device hesitantly. Kei tapped on the screen and put them on loudspeaker.

"Hinata Shoyo, Tsukishima Kei here," Kei said calmly, though his eyes told another story. "If you don't call off that order right now, I swear I'll make your life miserable," he threatened through gritted teeth.

The clacking sound in the background ceased. "Ack— Saltyshima! What are you doing with Kuroo-san?"

"Less talking, more working, you dolt!" Kei grimaced, tapping his foot as another lightning bolt exploded behind them, far too close for comfort.

They heard more frantic clacking and a faint scrolling sound before Hinata's voice spilled out. "Your order is fine, Kuroo-san," Hinata said. "Light drizzle, fifteen minutes." A relieved sigh escaped Kuroo at the confirmation, his shoulders slumping. "It's just... there's a second, overriding order for persistent, high-intensity lightning strikes. Same time stamp. Exact same GPS coordinates."

Kuroo and Kei exchanged a single, sharp glance. "Who ordered it?" Kuroo asked first.

A slight pause from Hinata told them that the order might have been coming from someone important. Kuroo watched as Kei grew more worried by the minute, his gaze flicking anxiously to the couple under the skimpy shelter whose lives very well might have been in danger. When Kei turned to divert another bolt of lightning, he switched off the loudspeaker and put the phone back to his ear.

"Listen, Hinata—" he said, his tone shifting into something placating yet urgent. "Could you call off their order? I owe you one and I'll throw in an offer to keep a certain blond angel equipped with Heaven's sharpest spear, away from harming you in your sleep."

Hinata smacked his lips, the sound audible through the phone."Yeah, okay. Consider it done." Kuroo held his breath, sensing there was more. "Kuroo-san..." Hinata's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "The secondary order... it came from the Soul Asset Management Department—the Reapers. Their designated target is… Bokuto Koutarou."

Kuroo’s breath hitched. He exhaled slowly, a controlled release of air, his eyes locking onto Kei’s back across the short distance, ensuring the angel could not overhear. "Understood. Thank you, Hinata." He ended the call before the keeper could say another word, the unspoken gravity of the information hanging between them.

Almost instantly, the aggressive charge in the air vanished. The thunder ceased its rumbling, and the furious downpour gentled into a soft, misting drizzle. Above, the clouds began to thin, allowing a single, dramatic sunbeam to slice through, illuminating the droplets of water still clinging to Bokuto's hair and Akaashi's eyelashes. Kei turned around to see Kuroo pocketing his phone and smiling apologetically.

"Did Hinata tell you who ordered the lightning bolt special?" Kei asked sardonically, satisfied now that the scene had turned serene.

Kuroo shrugged, a practiced, casual motion that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Department confidentiality. Any more information, and Hinata might've been summoned by Daichi. You know how it is with Celestial Resources."

Kei sighed as he took off his glasses to wipe the rain droplets with his sleeve. Kuroo stepped lightly towards Kei, stopping just when they were mere inches away before one hand flying up to brush away the damp hair stuck to the angel's forehead. He tucked the strands behind Kei's ear and the angel could feel blood rushing to his face, a warm flush spreading under his touch.

The simple gesture sent a jolt through Kei, far more potent than any stray lightning bolt. He stood frozen, the snarky retort dying on his lips as Kuroo's fingers lingered for a moment too long, his thumb gently smoothing the shell of his ear.

"Anyway, it's handled," Kuroo murmured, his voice low and surprisingly serious now that the immediate danger had passed. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a look of quiet intensity. "That's all that matters."

Kei's gaze drifted back to the couple once Kuroo's hand left him. Under the newly gentle rain and the spotlight of the sunbeam, Bokuto was saying something, his voice too low to hear from this distance. Akaashi listened, a small, breathless smile gracing his features. Then, as if moving in slow motion, Bokuto leaned in. There was no more hesitation, no more near-death experiences, just the simple, inevitable pull of two souls finally aligning.

Their first kiss was not dramatic or desperate. It was soft, a little shy, and utterly perfect. Akaashi's hand came up to rest on Bokuto's jaw, his fingers curling gently against his skin. Bokuto’s own hands settled on Akaashi’s waist, pulling him just a fraction closer into the circle of his arms.

Kei felt the tension he’d been carrying for weeks—maybe years—finally dissolve. A quiet, profound sense of rightness settled over him. He had spent a millennium preventing disasters, and for the first time, he was simply a witness to something beautiful unfolding exactly as it should.

He became aware of Kuroo’s presence beside him, not as an annoyance, but as a steady, solid warmth. He didn't look away from the scene, but he was hyper-aware of the cupid watching it with him.

"Classic," Kuroo whispered, his voice hushed with something akin to reverence. No smugness, no arrogance. Just a simple statement of fact. "Told you it would work."

And for once, Kei didn't argue. He just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes still fixed on his ward, who was now the happiest he had ever been.

🪽 ❤️🪽

The accidents kept happening. Each one would have been unnoticeable, except that every incident could have left Kei's ward seriously injured or nearly dead.

One time, it was a fallen store sign while Bokuto was on his way home from doing groceries. Had Kei not diverted his attention by whispering deep urges to turn around and look at a black cat on the side of the road, Bokuto would have been crushed beneath it.

Another was a near-miss on a slippery floor, which Kei avoided by triggering the fire sprinkler and drenching the entire area. It was not beneath him to vandalise property if it meant Bokuto's wellbeing.

Tired of too many freak accidents to count, Kei found himself standing in the Cupid's Office, its reception hall was a tall building with a dome-shaped glass panel at the ceiling. Directly beneath it was a fountain filled with clear water, making the area glisten under Heaven's sun. His ward was left in the mortal world under the supervision of another fellow guardian, Tanaka, whose strategy for keeping his ward safe was intense intimidation. Bad dreams and overwhelming gut feelings were inconvenient but they worked wonders.

He approached the reception counter with quiet elegance. The receptionist—another cupid with a dark, bowl cut—glanced up from writing in the ledger. He immediately set down his pen, stood and offered a small bow.

"Good morning," he said. Kei read the name tag on his chest: Goshiki Tsutomu. "Welcome to the Cupid's Office. How can I help you today?"

Kei cleared his throat softly. "I'm looking for Kuroo Tetsurou-san. Is he available today?" He fiddled with the sleeve of his long, grey coat, finding it peculiar for a guardian angel to be standing in Cupid's domain.

The awkward feeling was clearly his alone, as Goshiki, who looked completely unbothered, clicked at his keyboard and read the words on his screen. "Currently, Kuroo-san is on an assignment in South-East Asia. However, he is scheduled to return for a departmental meeting this afternoon." He blinked before offering Kei a polite smile. "You are welcome to return after two o'clock. I'm afraid his presence at the meeting is mandatory, as he is the one leading it."

Kei nodded and returned Goshiki's smile with a thin, polite one of his own, softly thanking him for the assistance. He managed fifteen minutes in the lounge area, initially thinking he could pass the time waiting for Kuroo by reading all 154 sonnets of Shakespeare. But the constant strum of a harp in the background began to grate on his nerves, each note needling its way under his skin. Now he found himself walking a path through the rose garden, where the scent was so cloyingly sweet it was almost nauseating.

Kei arrived at a tiny, stone pavilion, secluded and away from the rose bushes. A small stream ran underneath it, the gentle trickling sound instilling a sense of calm in his heart. Once seated, he took out his phone and dialed Tanaka's number. The call connected after a few rings.

"Yello!" Tanaka whooped through the line, his voice a burst of chaotic energy. "Tanaka Ryunosuke, your mighty guardian angel speaking. How may I assist you on this lovely day?"

"Don't you get tired of greeting me that way, Tanaka-san?" Kei asked, sighing wearily. "You already know it's me calling."

"Nyeh nyeh! And don't you get tired of checking on me every ten minutes?" Tanaka retorted. Kei brushed his hair back as a slow breeze swept by him. "You haven't been gone that long, you know. For Bokuto, you've only been gone like… three seconds. The guy hasn't even finished blinking."

Kei tapped the tips of his shoes together, refusing to acknowledge just how much he was acting like a mother hen, constantly checking on his ward's well-being. "Anything happen while I was away?"

Tanaka groaned; the static from the phone made it sound like he was growling. "Just made a few dogs bark at your ward to avoid him slipping and getting impaled on a rusty fence."

Kei's heart dropped at the confession. "And you tell me it's only been three seconds!" he shrieked, springing up from his seat, his voice echoing in the serene garden. Tanaka hung up before he could get another word in.

Kei stared at his reflection in the dark phone screen—his expression one of shock, appalled at the senior guardian angel's audacity. He clicked his tongue, thinking he should just return to the mortal world and resume his duty. As he spun around, a hurried sound of footsteps emerged from behind the bushes, and he was greeted by a sweat-drenched Kuroo.

“Tsukki?” Kuroo panted, pushing a hand through his disheveled hair. A grin, sharp and familiar, spread across his face despite his obvious exhaustion. “Goshiki said you were looking for me. Sorry I’m late—the assignment was taking too long, and then I felt a… well, let’s just say I felt a sudden urge to sprint.”

"You're not scheduled to be back until two at the earliest," Kei said, taken aback. His golden eyes blinked rapidly at the Cupid, who was trying to subtly catch his breath. He watched a single bead of sweat trail down Kuroo's temple, and without meaning to, his hand moved to wipe it away with his sleeve.

He didn't even realize he was doing it until Kuroo's fingers wrapped around his wrist. Kuroo's face was flushed, and Kei couldn't tell if it was from the heat or something else. But the action stilled him completely, and he didn't react at all until Kuroo was pulling him close, wrapping him in a tight embrace, tucking Kei's face safely into the curve of his neck.

Kei let his hands hang loose at his sides, fingers twitching with the unresolved tension of whether to return the embrace or push it away. His nerves raced as frantically as the hammering in his chest. He was granted relief when Kuroo pulled back, his palms resting heavy on Kei's shoulders. Kei opened his mouth slightly—to complain, to berate—to say anything as long as he could breathe properly.

But the words died before they could form. Kuroo simply smiled, an expression so open and sincere it was disarming. "Let's just say," he began, his voice a low, warm rumble, "I also felt a sudden urge to do that, too."

"Well," Kei cleared his throat. "You're sweaty. So—" he drawled, sweeping his gaze over the Cupid from his god-awful hair to his pristine shoes. "Get away from me." He took a deliberate step back to add distance between them. The act was coy instead of rude, and it only made Kuroo laugh.

The Cupid walked into the pavilion with his hands on his hips and a satisfied smile on his face before sinking onto the cool, stone bench with a contented sigh. He stretched his long limbs, a languid action that looked similar to a cat lounging on a mat under a bright sunbeam. Kei turned to follow him with his eyes, his lips bitten to prevent a surfacing smile, endeared by the small act.

Kuroo met his gaze. "So, why did you want to see me, my dear angel?" His voice floated softly across the pavilion.

Suddenly, Kei was reminded of his dire need to make sense of what was happening with his ward. He cleared his throat, hands clasped around his phone. "Small accidents have been happening around my ward," he started, looking Kuroo straight in the eye. "Bokuto-san might be stupid enough not to notice this, but I'm not."

Kei dragged his feet until he stood directly beneath the apex of the pavilion. Kuroo had to tilt his chin up to watch him. "I need to know what Hinata told you on the phone, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo took a deep breath and released it with a sigh. His hand flew to his hair before immediately hiding inside his slack pocket. His face was turned toward the small brook meandering away from their shelter. Kei stared at Kuroo's profile diligently, waiting for his answer.

"Why didn't you ask Hinata himself?" Kuroo said without looking back. Lips bitten, hands hidden, face turned away—Kei concluded only one thing: Kuroo had something to hide.

"Whatever it was, he wouldn't know anything behind it," Kei said with confidence. Kuroo's jawline trembled slightly. "But you would. Wouldn't you, Kuroo-san?"

At the accusation, Kuroo’s head snapped toward him. "And here I thought we could have a nice conversation," he said, the words laced with a new, sharp edge. "Maybe stop and smell the roses. Maybe even hear you say you missed me or something—" The last part was a low murmur, more for himself than for Kei.

In one fluid motion, he pushed himself up and closed the distance between them, standing directly under the apex and invading Kei's space. His lips were drawn into a straight line, his eyes, dark and intense, locking onto Kei’s golden ones. All his playfulness had been stripped away, leaving something bare and grave beneath.

"Look, it was nothing," Kuroo started as if he was already done with it. "A slight misalignment with the log. We're past that, so why don't you just let it go?"

"Let it g—" Kei couldn't even finish the sentence. "Why would I want to let it go, even if it was an error from the system?"

Kuroo brought one hand to his temple; the other clung to his hip. He took a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh. "Let's calm down and just… not talk about this right now. I know! Why don't we grab a cup of coffee at the cafeteria and take a walk?" he said as if it were the most brilliant idea. "Let me show you around the office!"

Kei's brows furrowed. "Why would I—" He balled his fists in pent up rage. "Someone's life is in danger—a mortal's life—and it is my duty as his guardian to make sure that he doesn't die from an accidental twist of his ankle or from a sudden flower pot crashing down from an open window!!" His shoulders rising along with his voice, shattering the peace in the garden.

Kuroo took a moment, looking him up and down, assessing him silently with his knowing eyes.

"Remember what I told you about being selfish?" he asked finally, his voice low and devoid of its usual teasing rumble. "This is not it, Tsukishima."

The use of his full name hit Kei like a physical blow. His carefully crafted mask of detached inquiry splintered. His mouth fell open, a weak, defensive sound dying in his throat before it could form.

"This," Kuroo continued without letting him get a word in, "is attachment. A guardian angel getting attached to his ward is no way to run Heaven. We abide by the rules of Fate and Destiny so the mortal world doesn't descend into chaos. Whatever happens, is as Heaven dictates—my arrows fly as Heaven dictates. Your guarding is done as Heaven dictates. Didn't they teach you that at school?" The mocking tone was back, but it was hollow, devoid of any real humor—a weapon now, not a jest.

Kei ground his teeth, his determination to extract the answer from the cupid solidifying into something cold and hard. "What are you not telling me, Kuroo-san?" he asked, his voice dangerously low and icy. He deliberately stared down at the cupid, who met his gaze without backing down. "And what could you possibly know about attachment? About duty? About loyalty to a mortal?" Kei’s hand jabbed into Kuroo's sturdy chest with each accusation.

"You cupids just shoot your arrows and wash your hands of the consequences the moment the job is done," he spat. "You don't care if your arrows hit the wrong target, leaving a mortal to suffer a lifetime of heartbreak."

Kei watched Kuroo's nostrils flare, his eyes challenging him to say more.

So Kei said more.

"You talk about Fates and Destiny and Love and Selfishness as this grand, ultimate designations," he sneered, the words dripping with contempt. "But do you even know what they feel like? Or are they just concepts in a manual to you? Is love just a transaction you facilitate from a safe distance, never once getting close enough to be burn by its flame?"

"Tsukishima—" Kuroo's retort was cut short by the ringing from his pocket. He let it ring, holding Kei's gaze—eyes that blazed with dissatisfaction and resentment. But the ringing persisted too long; Kuroo was, after all, an important person. Kei made the decision for him.

"It seems your afternoon meeting is calling," Kei sneered. "Can't leave them waiting, can you, hotshot?" Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the small clearing facing the rose garden, his wings materializing behind him. He cast one final, scathing look over his shoulder at Kuroo, before beating his wings and taking flight, leaving the cupid and the unanswered call behind.

🪽 ❤️🪽

Kei returned to the mortal world and resumed his duty with a heavy heart. His unfinished conversation with Kuroo—their argument—remained a weight in his chest, anchoring his mind to the image of Kuroo's downtrodden face under the pavilion.

Bokuto and Akaashi were on their afternoon stroll, walking ahead of him, draped in thick clothes to fight the early winter chill—just a routine trip to the convenience store and back. Kei scanned the surroundings and saw nothing that could pose any danger to them. His gaze zoned in on their joined hands—Bokuto swinging them back and forth with childlike enthusiasm—before looking down at his own. He brought his left hand forward, palm up, and flexed his fingers. He realized he always kept this hand in his pocket, holding his phone, flicking the pages of his journal—

Never holding someone else's.

How would it feel if this hand were holding someone else's? Would it feel warm? Of course. Soft? Perhaps even sweaty? He flipped his hand over, staring at his bare ring finger—Bokuto had gifted Akaashi a promise ring sometime before, and Akaashi had worn it ever since.

Kei’s own hand felt suddenly very empty, a tool for duty, not for connection. He slowly curled his fingers back into a loose fist and let his arm fall back to his side, the weight of the unanswered question settling deep within his heart.

As he dawdled, a sharp, blaring horn shattered the quiet. Kei’s head snapped up to see Bokuto sprinting across the road while Akaashi pointed and shouted in horror. A teenager, headphones sealing him in a private world, was obliviously stepping into the path of an oncoming lorry. To another guardian angel, Bokuto’s impulsive dash might have been the instrument to save his ward. But to Kei—it was pure danger.

Angels and deities did not truly exist in the mortal world. Their bodies were not tangible; their flesh was little more than condensed air. As a result, mortals often walked through them without a second thought, feeling only a faint chill. But sometimes, if an angel's will was strong enough, they could make a part of themselves temporarily solid. That was how Atsumu—Deity of Wine and Dine— managed to trip up half the mortals he encountered.

With a desperate dash of his own, Kei willed his hand—the one he had inspected just moments before—to become solid. He managed to shove both Bokuto and the teenager forward, sending them tumbling onto the opposite pavement just as the lorry's brakes screamed. The lorry skidded to a halt mere inches from where they had been.

Akaashi sprinted to their side, his voice frantic as he called out for Bokuto, his chest heaving with ragged breaths when he finally reached them.

The teenager, clearly horrified by what had just happened, was shaking to his core. Bokuto, who had instinctively cushioned the younger man's fall, still held him in his arms and offered a reassuring, if dazed, smile. Kei, assessing the situation with a guardian's swift eye, could tell Bokuto had sustained a few scrapes and perhaps a sprain, but the injuries were far from life-threatening.

But then, the unthinkable happened.

Bokuto passed out and he was immediately sent to the nearest hospital. Upon inspection, he was admitted into the ward without more preamble.

🪽 ❤️🪽

Watching Bokuto lie in the hospital bed, his wrists traced with wires and IV lines, was a slow-breaking ache in Kei’s chest—though it was nothing compared to what Akaashi must have been feeling. Silent and still, Akaashi kept watch, holding the hand of his soulmate, now reduced to little more than skin and bone. Each of Bokuto’s breaths came labored and shallow.

Kei remained perched on the window ledge near the bed inside the room, an unseen observer. So recently they had celebrated the New Year—their first kiss of the year had been salty with tears as snow fell gently outside. Now, that same snow piled on the windowsill, casting soft, shifting shadows across Akaashi’s solemn face. With a nearly imperceptible flick of his fingers, Kei dialed up the heating system. He watched as Bokuto’s breathing eased slightly and a faint warmth returned to Akaashi’s chilled skin.

At the opposite end of the room, another presence sat. Kageyama. His figure was draped in a black shroud—a death reaper, waiting patiently at the door. Kei took a small measure of comfort in the fact that the reaper was only watching, silent and still. His scythe had not yet materialized. Bokuto’s end, then, was not imminent.

As if feeling the weight of Kei’s observation, the reaper’s dark eyes shot upward, locking onto his. In the same moment, a single, stark beat of wings echoed in the quiet room.

The figure settled silently beside him, watching the mortals at the bed, drawing a knee up to his chest. Kei let the air between them settle, breathing in the fragile peace of the room. It was a silence too sacred to break.

"I'm sorry about your ward," Kuroo’s voice was a soft murmur in the dim light. Kei remained still for a long moment before offering a quiet hum—the barest acknowledgment. He felt the cupid shift beside him. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to find you. Our last conversation…" Kuroo trailed off, releasing the heaviest of exhales. "I just didn't know how to tell you."

"About how Bokuto must die?" Kei asked the night air, giving voice to the truth he had instinctively known—hanging it there, raw and undeniable between them. His eyes burned, hot tears pooling at their corners but not yet falling.

After Bokuto had passed out from the incident and been rushed to the hospital, a routine CT scan had revealed the truth: a mass, growing like a shadow in his lungs. His ward had always been a ball of energy and noise; so when he broke the news to his family, no one could even believe it. The mass had grown steadily, relentlessly, until it could no longer be ignored. Now, here they were.

"Setting him up with Akaashi was a mercy granted by Fate and Destiny," Kuroo said, his tone uncharacteristically solemn and heavy. "When the order came down, Oikawa knew it had to be me… to…" Kuroo let the words hang in the suffocating quiet, watching as Kei lowered his head, finally unable to stop the tears that streamed down his face. "They wanted your ward to know love before his life ended."

Kei's shoulders shuddered as the full, brutal weight of the truth struck him. He sniffled, wiping desperately at his face with his palm before forcing himself to look up at the cupid. Kuroo's eyes were like warm embers in the cold, dark room, offering a silent comfort that made the truth somehow more bearable and more cruel all at once.

"How does it go?" Kei hiccupped, his voice raw. "What exactly did they tell you about Bokuto Kotarou's fate?"

Kuroo was silent for a long moment, contemplating the weight of the decree.

"Bokuto Kotarou is fated to die young," Kuroo started, his gaze fixed on some distant point, unable to meet Kei's shattered one. "If he survives past twenty-seven, grant him a soulmate so that he may experience love; a fulfilling life—a final joy before his end. Know that this is the last act of mercy from Heaven, granted only to those who are most favoured."

Kei's scoff was wet with tears and utterly devoid of humor. "What a bunch of bullshit," he spat, the words laced with a grief so profound it shook his entire being. "I thwarted every attempt on his life, so they gave him cancer?"

Kuroo remained silent.

Kei’s gaze, still wet with tears, remained fixed on Bokuto’s still form. "No chance to stop the weave from spinning his fateful end, huh?" Kei said, his voice hollow with resignation.

As soon as the words left him, he felt it—the subtle shift in the air. Kuroo’s posture straightened, a wire pulled taut. Kei pivoted slowly to regard him. And there it was again: the bitten lip, the hands clenched and hidden, the face turned just a fraction too late to conceal the truth.

This time, Kei wouldn’t wait for an answer he had to drag out. This time, he would shoot and see if his arrow struck true.

"You've attempted it before," Kei exclaimed, his own eyes widening as a slight, almost imperceptible tension around Kuroo’s eyes gave him away. "You know a mortal fate can be re-written. You know how to do it!"

Kuroo turned to stare at him sharply. There were storms in his eyes, warning him from imploring further. "Yes, I've attempted it," he confessed like he was drinking poison. "And the consequences was too great to bear." His voice dropped to a hushed plea. "Don't do this, my dear angel."

The polished hospital floor met Kei’s feet with a solid, confident thud that echoed in the tense silence. All traces of grief were burned away, replaced by a cold, furious resolve.

“If you won’t tell me how, I’ll find out myself,” Kei hissed, his voice low and sharp as a blade. Behind him, his iridescent wings materialized. He didn’t wait for Kuroo’s reply. Instead, he turned his fierce gaze to the doorway, to where the reaper stood. “Kageyama,” he said, coldly. “Don’t you dare touch my ward while I’m gone.”

A command instead of a request.

With a single, powerful beat of his wings, Kei shot forward. The cold, sterile room, the reaper’s meaningful gaze, and the sound of Kuroo desperately scrambling to follow him—all of it vanished into a blur of motion and light. He was gone, not just from the room, but from the mortal plane itself, his destination known only to him and his terrifying newfound purpose.

🪽 ❤️🪽

If the Fates lived in a quaint mansion—mystical, ancient, filled with whispers of threads unspooling —Destiny resided in a carefully constructed structure next door. Its lawn was a meticulously designed, living maze, every path branching toward an unknown destination. Yet, should a wanderer find oneself within it and try to steer from the ordained course, the hedges would turn, gently guiding them back until they reached the ultimate destination.

Kei stepped into the breathing library, deep within Destiny's abode. A vast collection of the universe's knowledge and history stored on endless, intricate mahogany shelves whose ends were impossible to see. Above him, a myriad of goose-feathered quills danced, tirelessly inscribing the destinies of everything into leather-bound books.

There was no way there wasn't a single thing within this infinite, cumulative archive—no secret, no forgotten lore—on how to unwrite a mortal's fate. He just needed time and a place to start.

Scanning the expansive collection, Kei honed in on the section belonging to the Sister Fates. He moved slowly to the far side of the room, where the shelves creaked under the heavy weight of the books, the air dense with the scent of aging paper. He reached out to touch the weathered spine of the one in front of him, long fingers trailing over the delicate velvet. The book’s title revealed itself in a gold inscription only upon contact. Kei scoffed—such was Destiny's way, hoarding all the secrets for himself.

He took it off the shelf, cradled it against his chest, and began to read.

By the time he reached his twelfth book, Kei's ears pricked. The steady scratching of quills on paper had ceased, leaving him in a deafening silence. He closed the book, a finger marking his page. He didn't need to look up to know who now stood at the end of the aisle. He was trespassing, after all.

"Would it kill you say hello at the door?" the voice—familiar, warm—greeted him. Kei sighed and turned to face the figure. With hands on his either side, he bowed slightly to Destiny.

"Hello, Aniki," Kei said.

Akiteru—Destiny—presented him with a smile that lit the space. Dressed in dark trousers and a soft wool sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, Akiteru was not what most would've expected from the architect of the universe. But for Kei, this was his brother, flesh and blood—or what passed for it among celestial beings.

"You're making a mess of my filing system," Akiteru chided gently, his voice warm. He reached out and neatly slid the book from Kei's grasp. He didn't even glance at the title before snapping it shut. The gold inscription on the spine flared once and then faded, as if the secret within had been instantly classified. "Looking for something, little brother?"

Kei's hand remained suspended in the air for a moment before dropping to his side. "I'm looking for a solution."

"To what?" Akiteru asked, though his knowing eyes suggested he already knew what Kei was here for.

"You know what." Kei's voice was tight, the formal deference gone, replaced by the frustration of a younger sibling who knows he's being patronized. "You wrote it."

Akiteru's smile softened around the edges. He turned to leave the aisle as Kei followed him back to the centre of the room. Akiteru placed the book on an expansive wooden table before gesturing at the air. All at once, the quills above them resumed their dance, a symphony of scratching that once again filled the breathing library. Once he was satisfied with the flow of the universe, he spun on his heel to train his ancient gaze toward Kei.

"Daichi told me that a certain smarmy cupid warned him that a guardian angel—" Akiteru shrugged a shoulder, a sign of nonchalance that was utterly belied by the intensity in his eyes, "—was looking for a way to rewrite a mortal's fate. Is it you, little brother?"

"Sometimes I wonder—" Kei's voice dropped to a murmur. "If it is you or your apprentice that is running this building, Aniki."

Akiteru snickered. "Daichi does keep a tight rule in this place," he agreed, gesturing wildly to address the room. "But these days he keeps hanging in the Healer's Domain." He crossed his arms on his chest, the fabric stretching and stirring dust motes in the air. "Sugawara concocted a new plague and he'd promised to help him find the cure."

A genuine, almost-smile touched Kei's lips. "Was it their idea to give late-stage cancer to Bokuto-san?" He nudged his glasses with his fingers, sudden heat pooling around his eyes as he remembered how his ward looked before he left the mortal plane. "It's not even creative."

Akiteru leaned forward, and for a moment, he was just a worried older brother. "You cannot write an epic without tragedies. Bokuto Koutarou was born, has lived, and will die for a reason." Akiteru's gaze was unyielding, yet not without sympathy. "That is its design. You, of all people, should know that trying to pull a single thread of Fate unravels the entire tapestry of the universe."

Kei's jaw tightened. "He doesn't deserve a tragedy," Kei insisted, the words sharp and personal.

Akiteru stepped forward carefully, like someone approaching a wounded animal. He did something he hadn't done in centuries: he petted Kei's hair. The act offered comfort, the only way a mighty celestial being and a brother could. He leaned closer. "Would you sacrifice your own divinity to rewrite the fate of your ward?" he asked, his voice quiet. The question hung heavily in the air.

"In a heartbeat."

Akiteru's hand stilled in Kei's hair, the weight of the words hitting him slowly as he pulled away to search Kei's eyes. He saw it then, his little brother's resolve. It was forged the moment his ward took his first stumbling steps on a grassy field, emboldened by every burst of laughter the man pulled from those around him, solidified by the quiet, desperate hope of watching him build a family and grow old among the people he loved. A future that was being stolen.

"In a heartbeat," Kei repeated, the words softer this time, but absolute. They were not a challenge, but a fact. The most devastating fact Akiteru had ever been forced to hear.

A slow, sorrowful understanding dawned on Akiteru’s face. This was beyond rules, beyond design. He was not looking at a rebellious lesser deity, but a force of nature he had not accounted for in any of his calculations. The hand on Kei's head moved to cup his cheek, and Akiteru was reminded of how heavy and full those cheeks used to be when he was still a cherub. Then, his fingers trailed down Kei's chest, stopping in the middle of his ribs.

"Inside," he whispered, his fingertips tapping gently where Kei's heart beat. "Your own thread is spun, endlessly—continuously. It glows silver—no past, no future… just now." Akiteru's lips trembled. "Pull it out. Connect it to Bokuto's own thread. His thread continues. Yours—" A wet sob caught in his throat. "—yours unravels."

Tears finally spilled over Akiteru's lashes as he looked up. It traced silent paths down his cheeks. They were not the tears of a deity, but of a brother being asked to hand his sibling the knife.

Kei did not flinch—did not even pull away from the touch. Instead, he covered his brother's hand with his own, pressing Akiteru's fingertips harder against his chest, to relieve him of any guilt for a choice that was his and his alone. The silent gaze exchanged between the brothers filled the breathing library, and somewhere among the dancing quills, a new piece of parchment emerged.

Its quill was still pristine, not yet dipped in ink.

🪽 ❤️🪽

Kei arrived by Bokuto's bedside at the crack of dawn. Outside, the snow had stopped falling, leaving a thick layer of crisp white on the ground. Inside, within the same bed, sharing the same pillow, Akaashi slept by Bokuto's side, his body moulded carefully around the man he loved, a conscious avoidance of the wires and needles piercing Bokuto's skin.

Bokuto lay awake, silently watching his lover. His fingers traced the line of a cheek before settling in dark, messy hair. Kei's own fingers flinched at the tenderness of the action, a pang stirring deep within him. His watchful gaze ended only when Bokuto leaned in to give the sleeping man a soft peck on the lips before settling back, closing his eyes for another few moments of unsatisfactory sleep.

Upon inspecting the room and confirming that they were alone—with no death reaper loitering about—Kei began his work.

He positioned himself directly over the lying figure on the bed and held his hand out, searching for the golden thread connected to his ward. He strained his eyes to see beyond the essence of life and the living, his hands drawing back the fabric of reality piece by piece to focus on the beating thread of Bokuto's life. His concentration shattered when he heard a quiet murmur from the ill man, who was supposed to be asleep. Kei turned his head to see Bokuto—a mortal man—looking right at him with a wide, unfocused smile.

"Thank you," Bokuto whispered, his voice rough with sleep and sickness, "for taking care of me for all my life."

Kei's eyes widened a fraction before he realized Bokuto's eyes were wandering, gazing at the ceiling, at nothing in particular. It was the rambling of a man drifting between pain and dreams. Kei dismissed the look, one hand tightening around the drawn reality while the other began weaving through the threads of fate as if plucking the strings of a harp.

"I'm not religious," Bokuto continued, as if confiding in the empty air. "I think you know that. But I just like to think that you are out there… somewhere. Maybe even in this room." His fingers tapped a weak rhythm on the blanket over his stomach. "When a human dies… can they be friends with their guardian angel? I think I want to be friends with you."

Kei's hands stilled in the air.

"I have done a lot of stupid things that should've cost me my life," Bokuto went on, his voice gaining a faint strength from memory. "But you've saved me time and time again. And because of that—" He sniffled. Kei watched as a frail hand wiped the silent tears clinging to a bony cheek. "—I got to love Akaashi."

Kei's brows furrowed, his determination blazing stronger, yet now tinged with a bitter, unexpected edge. The profound gratitude his ward felt was not entirely because of him. It was partly due to the work of that stupid cupid with the stupid hair and the stupid smug face. If Kuroo hadn't accepted the assignment from Oikawa, Bokuto might never have known a love this deep.

The life Kei had fought so hard to preserve would have been a quieter, emptier one. This love, this profound reason for Bokuto's gratitude, was something Kei didn't factor in, and one he now felt fiercely compelled to protect.

A flash of white caught Kei's eyes deep within the tapestry of the universe. It glowed, pulsing along the thrumming of Bokuto's beating heart. Kei found it intertwined with another thread, one that was beating steadily, as if in a deep sleep. Akaashi's.

His success was rendered null. With his hands full, one holding onto a slippery thread of life, the other holding on to prevent the curtain of reality unfolding, he had no way of reaching for his own silver thread, the one that held his divinity, his very existence. His head lowered, a quiet, frustrated sound escaping him. His mind raced, searching of ways to make this work.

His thoughts flew to Yamaguchi—his first friend in the universe. He hadn't even told him what he was planning. Yamaguchi, compassionate and kind, would have tried to stop him; he would have pleaded for him to abandon this madness. He would be devastated if Kei went through with it.

And Hitoka… was she watching this? She, who breathed life into existence—could she have foreseen this moment? Had she foreseen his desperate, divine intervention into a mortal's fate?

Another name crossed his mind, one he wouldn't have the time to acknowledge, as the very same being now stood beside him. His arrival was as silent as wind gusting behind a curtain.

Kuroo's face was unreadable as he reached into Kei's chest, his fingers closing around the silver thread nestled deep within. With a precision that spoke of a deeper understanding, he pulled it loose from its wheel. Kei felt a hard tug—a sharp, brief pain that quickly dulled to a profound emptiness, even though he knew Kuroo was trying to be gentle. It was his very essence, clinging to its host, the thread the Fates themselves had breathed into him at his creation.

The cupid reached deep into his own pocket, grinning widely as he showed Kei a strand of red thread coiled in his palm. "I bet Akiteru-san didn't tell you that you need a piece of a Future to connect you to your ward, huh?" He smirked, a sharp canine catching the brilliant light from the tapestry of the universe.

Kei, still shell-shocked by Kuroo's presence, grunted in pain as the cupid began to weave the silver and red threads together. Kuroo's hands moved with swift, sure motions, trying to minimize the agony. They watched as the silver slowly bled into the red—Kei's essence integrating into an unknown future. Kuroo reached into the fabric of the universe, his thumb brushing against Kei's, a minor comfort, before weaving the other end into Bokuto's fading golden thread.

"You weave a celestial's thread with a mortal's using a piece of Future," Kuroo explained, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "Otherwise, a divine essence would shatter a mortal life instead of sustaining it." The silver now tinged the end of the red and began to travel toward the gold. Kei spared Kuroo a glance before doubling over, a ragged groan escaping him as the silver merged with the golden thread. Instead of overtaking it, the gold remained unmarred, bright and strong. The union held fast, the bond tightening, reinforcing Bokuto's life rather than breaking it.

Witnessing it work brought a genuine, pained smile to Kei's face. Even through the hurt, seeing the thread lengthen and strengthen put his heart at ease. "How did you even get that thread?" he asked Kuroo, his voice full of unbridled awe. "One does not enter the Fates' abode without an invitation and an escort."

Kuroo's smirk returned, wider and more self-satisfied than ever. "Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy. The usual."

Then the room turned quiet, save for Kei's ragged breath as pain coursed through his body. He released his grip on Bokuto's thread, letting it weave back into the tapestry of the universe as his own silver thread followed, a faint, shimmering strand that seemed to dissolve into the greater design. Once the curtain of reality fell back into place, the end of Kei's thread was nowhere to be seen. Only a continuous, unspooling strand of faint silver emerging from Kei's chest confirmed their merged existence. They stepped away from the sleeping mortals—Bokuto's rest now deep and undisturbed, probably the best he’d had in weeks. Both celestials now perched on the windowsill, the light of dawn shining behind them, casting shadows sitting close together.

"Destiny said that my thread would be unraveled," Kei spoke into the quiet of the morning, his voice softer than the falling snow had been. The cupid turned to him, watching him with uncharacteristically kind eyes. "That means I'm going to die, right?" he asked hesitantly, the words leaving him like a final, fragile confession.

Kuroo was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting from Kei’s worried face to the steady rise and fall of Bokuto’s chest under Akaashi’s protective arm.

"One," Kuroo said finally, his voice tilting with a playful malice. "Give a guy a heads-up, would you? I can't believe I was flirting with one of the Celestial Big Guys' little brother!" He made a wild, exasperated gesture towards the barren, sterile ward, disbelief written all over his face. Kei chuckled, recognizing the cupid's transparent attempt to lighten the mood.

"Oh, you were flirting?" Kei teased back. "I thought you were just being exceptionally annoying." Heaven was too full of deities anyway, and Akiteru probably hadn't stepped foot out of his domain for centuries. As he chuckled, a faint tingling at his fingertips caught his attention. He brought his hand up, watching the morning sun rays hit his palm. His fingertips were almost transparent. Kei's face fell, but when Kuroo swooped in to hold that hand—what remained of it—the fear melted away, replaced by a look of quiet wonder.

The cupid cradled his hand, rubbing slow circles over the parts that were still tangible. "Two," he said with sudden reverence. "Nobody knows what happens next. As far as I'm aware, you're the only celestial who has ever successfully rewritten a mortal's fate." Kuroo's gaze held Kei's, deep and serious. "My attempt was…unsatisfactory."

Outside, they heard birds chirping, welcoming a brand new day. The city below was slowly awakening.

"Was it before or after you earned your top spot at the Cupid's Department?" Kei asked, his gaze dropping to their joined hands.

It struck him then that this was the first time he had ever held someone's hand like this—intimately, purposefully. He quite liked the feeling; no wonder Bokuto was so fond of it.

Kuroo hummed, letting the question linger in the air. He wove his fingers through Kei's, letting out an amused chuckle when the angel allowed it. "I was younger than you are now," he said, his voice losing its usual teasing edge, becoming something older and heavier. "It was my first big assignment. Striking Orpheus… binding him to Eurydice." He scoffed, a sound utterly devoid of mirth. "You know how that went."

The edge of Kei's smile trembled; he bit his lip harder until the skin broke. "Which part of his fate did you try to rewrite?" He looked up, staring into the cupid's eyes, seeking the ancient pain there.

"I got greedy," Kuroo confessed, a pained smile ghosting his lips. "I tried to rewrite the moment in the underworld itself. Without the Future thread connecting us, my thread snapped a part of Orpheus's… it's what caused him to look back." His hand slid up Kei's arm, coming to rest heavily on his nape, a touch that was both an anchor and a confession. "Mortals remember them as one of history's most tragic love stories. They never knew it was a cupid's fault—my fault—that caused that single, fatal moment of doubt."

Kei took a sharp breath as another wave of searing pain wrecked his body. His other hand played with his unspooled thread, twirling it around one finger. "If I'm being unwritten…" he began, the words a strained murmur, "will I be remembered like they were? If I hadn't existed," Kei's voice wavered with effort not to shed tears, "will you remember me?"

"I will remember the serious, no-nonsense guardian angel who put his duty first and a holiday second," Kuroo said, his voice low and unwavering. His hand that was on Kei’s nape came up to curl a finger under the angel’s chin, holding them at eye level. "The most resourceful, stubborn, and determined being I have ever met." His thumb traced the line of Kei's lower lip. "And the most fun I've ever had on an assignment."

Kei's glasses fogged with their sudden proximity. Kuroo leaned in first, slotting his lips against Kei's own.

This, too, was a first that Kei experienced. How ironic that his firsts were also his lasts.

Kuroo's lips were soft, and they tasted of cherries grown in Kita-sama's orchards—sweet with a slight, heartbreaking tartness. Kei pressed harder, savoring the taste, committing every sensation to a memory he would soon no longer have. When the cupid tilted his jaw and he released a shocked gasp, Kuroo took the chance to slip his tongue inside.

The wet, heated glide was nothing like the violent burst of Alisa's supernova tea. This was gentler, a slow, swirling descent into warmth. It was like floating on a never-ending river, the current lazy and sure, with the lingering warmth of a sunset upon his face.

Another shocked gasp escaped Kei's lips as he felt his silver thread tugged, its endless unspooling grinding to a sudden halt. Their kissing stopped as Kei and Kuroo followed the thread that now hung, taut and finite, between them. Their eyes landed on a figure draped in a black shroud, placing the tip of Alisa's scissors against the end of Kei's thread that had not yet dissolved into the fabric of the universe.

Kei scrambled from his perch on the windowsill, a desperate lunge to stop the final cut, but a reaper's scythe halted his attempt. Kageyama stood guard next to him, a silent, immovable watch as Ushijima—Death himself—closed the scissors with absolute, final precision.

There was no sound. No pain. Only a profound and sudden silence where the hum of his own existence had been.

Kei's first instinct was to look at Bokuto—and his own breath caught at the sight. His ward slept on, his chest rising and falling in a steady, strong rhythm.

"He will live," Ushijima announced to the room, his voice low, absolute.

The tension that had coiled in Kei for a lifetime dissolved in a single, dizzying wave of relief. It had worked. Bokuto would live.

"Tsukishima Kei." His name echoed through the quiet room, spoken with the weight of an immutable decree. Ushijima’s gaze was unwavering. "The Fates invite you to their mansion. I am here to escort you."

Kei turned his head, exchanging a glance with Kuroo. The cupid was too stunned to even react.

Death observed their silent conversation. "And you too, Kuroo Tetsurou. You are also expected." His gaze shifted slightly toward the reaper standing guard. "That is why Kageyama is here."

With a single, silent beat of Death's powerful wings, their entire surroundings changed. Kei and Kuroo didn't move a muscle. Gone was the sterile hospital smell, the pristine white of the bedsheets, and the steady pulse of Bokuto's monitor.

Before them, Sister Fates, Destiny, the Archangel, and the First Cupid sat around the same low table Kei had sat before. They sipped from Alisa's tea cups, engaged in what appeared to be a casual conversation that had just been paused for their arrival. Kageyama left the room almost immediately after he released his grip on the cupid's arm.

Alisa greeted the newcomers with a polite smile. "We are glad you two could finally join us," she said, her whimsical voice cutting through the tension thrumming in the air. "Ushijima-san," she greeted Death like an old friend, gesturing with a graceful hand toward the empty seat at the table. "Please, have a seat."

As the deity moved to sit at the end of the table next to the Archangel Iwaizumi—the guardian angels' formidable commander—the First Cupid finally spoke with his characteristic boisterous flair.

"Soooo," Oikawa wondered aloud, his fingers idly twirling a strand of perfectly styled hair. His gaze slid past Kei, zeroing in on his best agent. "I heard you two were making some trouble in the mortal world." He let the accusation hang in the air for a moment before pouting, resting his chin on his palm. "I thought you would be more responsible, Kuro-channn~"

"Let's not waste our time discussing what has already happened, Tooru," Iwaizumi grumbled, cutting off the First Cupid. He tilted his cup, gulping down his drink in one go, the sleeve of his hakamashita covering half of his face. "You know your cupid has no power over one of my best guardian angels."

"Don't you mean the most stubborn?" Oikawa retorted in one breath, a glint in his eye. "Because I know he learned it from you, you gorilla—"

He was cut off as Iwaizumi lunged across the table, and the two deities scrambled into a familiar, childish struggle of pushing and pulling.

Kei, who had remained a silent observer, startled when he felt Kuroo's hand squeeze his gently. He looked down at their joined hands, then up into bright, steady hazel eyes that offered a silent bolt of courage. Taking a shaky breath, he cleared his throat, drawing the attention of every being in the room.

"I know that I have done wrong," Kei began, his voice stronger than he felt. "I rewrote a dying mortal's fate. I defied the fate that had been written." He squeezed Kuroo's hand harder, anchoring himself. "I am ready to accept my punishment. But I beg you," he pleaded, his gaze sweeping over the assembled deities, "do not let my sacrifice be in vain. Let my ward live. Let us not steal his future anymore."

"The punishment for an angel going against their duty is to be cast into the void," Kiyoko stated, her voice smoothly floating around the room. Her eyes were trained on the ripples in her cup; made by her spoon, making small, endless circles. "You would not die. You would not truly live, either. It would simply be... you. In the void. With nothing. An emptiness without end."

She looked up from her cup, her gaze immediately fixed on his hand within Kuroo's.

"And you have only just learned how warm it feels to hold another's hand," she observed, her tone not cruel, but utterly factual. "Could you endure an eternity of never feeling that warmth again?"

Kei’s breath caught, his throat tightening as Kiyoko’s words settled over him like a shroud. The warmth of Kuroo’s hand in his suddenly felt fragile—precious in a way he’d never noticed until this moment.

"I could," Kei said, his voice low but clear. He did not look away from Kiyoko’s penetrating gaze. "If it means he lives—truly lives—then I will endure it."

A soft, dramatic sigh cut through the heavy silence. Oikawa had disentangled himself from Iwaizumi and now leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting elegantly on his interlaced fingers.

"So noble," he murmured, though his eyes glinted with something sharper than admiration. "So very… final. But darling, haven’t you learned by now? Heaven thrives on loopholes." He flicked his gaze toward Iwaizumi. "Isn’t that right, Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi grunted, crossing his arms. "The moment you left Destiny's Domain, you were no longer Bokuto Koutarou's guardian angel. You've been demoted…" He scratched his temple, the word seeming inadequate for the gravity of the situation. "You've been reassigned—yeah. You've been reassigned as small blessings."

A miracle worker.

"It was quite a lot of paperwork," the Archangel stated plainly, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "But technically, you were not acting as Bokuto's guardian angel when you worked on his thread. You were an unaffiliated agent." He tilted his head toward the deity sitting silently at the other end of the table. "You can thank Akiteru-san for that."

Kei's eyes widened as he processed the information. He exchanged a stunned glance with Kuroo before settling on his brother, who offered a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry you lost your job, Kei," Akiteru said softly.

"What does it mean, then?" Kei asked, his eyes flitting to every deity in the room.

Ushijima, who had been silent until now, spoke from his seat. "A life must be balanced. That is the law. If the mortal’s thread was extended, another of equal value must be shortened." His dark eyes locked onto Kei's golden ones, the statement hanging in the air like a verdict.

Kiyoko set her spoon down with a soft click. "The void is not the only punishment. It is simply the oldest." She looked between Kei and Kuroo, her expression unreadable.

"Go outside," she said finally, her voice the clear decree of the eldest Fate. "Say goodbye to those you have ties with in Heaven. Spend a day or two with your loved ones." Her gaze was unwavering, but a soft smile finally etched itself upon her face. "Then come back here."

"Come back here," Alisa continued, her voice, so often used to lament endings, now rising with the promise of a new beginning, "so you may be punished. You will be sent to the mortal world to live as one of them. For there, you shall know a good health, a good wealth, and a good death. For your long life as a deity has ended. "

As soon as the words left Alisa’s lips, the door to the Fates' hall slid violently off its rails, and a chorus of startled yelps echoed across the floor. Kei turned to see Hitoka, Yamaguchi, and Kageyama tangled in a heap, having clearly been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

Once they scrambled to regain their footing, Yamaguchi and Hitoka didn't hesitate. They surged forward, pulling Kei into a tight, desperate group hug, their relief and fear pouring into the embrace. In the flurry of limbs and emotion, Kei's hand slipped free from Kuroo's. Over Hitoka’s shoulder, their eyes met—one last, fleeting glance filled with a universe of unspoken words—before Kei was swallowed by the love of his friends.

🪽 ❤️🪽

The sweet, insistent chime of his phone's alarm startled Kei awake. He squinted, the bright morning sun assaulting his eyes through the window, patting his pillow for his phone, switching the alarm off. As his vision adjusted to the light, he watched the white curtain above him billow softly from a draft sneaking through the window frame.

He tried to stretch, a silent gasp catching in his throat as a sudden bolt of pain surged through his lower back.

He registered a warm, solid presence shifting behind him, engulfing his body in a comforting heat. When he tipped his chin down, he found his hand securely covered by another, resting over his chest. His eyes caught the flash of a simple silver band on one of the fingers laced with his. Almost without thought, his thumb moved to gently caress the cool metal.

"Good morning, moonshine."

The voice, husky with sleep, whispered against the nape of his neck. It was a voice that felt both deeply familiar and wonderfully, terrifyingly new.

He searched through the fog of his memories, trying to give the disoriented feeling a name. "I had the weirdest dream," he said quietly, his thumb fidgeting with the edge of the blanket covering them. The images were already fading, but the echo of them felt vivid and profound. "It felt so real. Like a memory."

The man behind him chuckled lightly, the sound a warm vibration against Kei's back, followed by a series of open-mouthed kisses planted on his bare skin. "What was it about?" his voice was muffled against Kei's shoulder.

Kei's body tingled, arching slightly into the warmth of the kisses. A blissful sigh escaped him, which only seemed to encourage the figure to grow bolder.

"In it, I was an angel," Kei gasped as his leg was lifted and Tetsurou slotted his own between them. "And you were a cupid."

"Yeah?" Tetsurou's voice from behind his ear was laced with amusement. "I don't think that's a dream. I mean—I am looking at an angel right now. Although, my angel is far more sultry and wayyy different than the innocent being after our whole night of lovemaking." Tetsurou buried his nose in Kei's hair before moving down, licking and biting skin, trailing along the length of his back.

Kei turned, catching Tetsurou's face in his hands to stop his journey south and bring them to eye level. A soft, amused smile played on his lips. "So, are you interested in hearing about my dream," he asked, his voice a low tease, "or would you rather have your mouth on my ass first thing in the morning?"

He watched the genuine, comical conflict play out on Tetsurou's face, as if he were being presented with two equally tempting but mutually exclusive paths to paradise. The same expression that made him fall madly and deeply in love with his husband of six years all of those years ago.

When a broken bicycle chain and a sudden light drizzle ended up with Tetsurou and him sharing an umbrella all the way to the nearest train station.

Kei rolled his eyes fondly as Tetsurou took too long to respond.

"Okay, fine," his husband relented, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'll listen to your dream. But like…" he trailed off, patting the bedside table blindly until his hand closed around his phone. He tapped the screen, wincing as a flood of notifications appeared. "Bokuto has been blowing up my phone—" he shoved the device toward Kei's face to prove his point. "We only have like thirty minutes of peace before he and Akaashi bang down our door and drag us out for the brunch they organised."

Kei giggled at Tetsurou's frenzied state. As he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from his husband's forehead, his eyes caught on the ring on his own finger—a perfect match to the one Tetsurou wore.

He flipped his hand, palm up, inspecting the lines that mapped its surface. This hand looked older, felt heavier in the best way. It had held so much more—

And when Tetsurou’s hand slid into his, their rings clicking softly together, it felt like home.

Kei’s gaze trailed from their joined hands, up his husband’s arm, and finally to his brilliant, loving hazel eyes. Tetsurou was grinning from ear to ear, his expression holding the entire history of their years together.

"Happy anniversary, my dear angel."

🪽🪽🪽❤️❤️❤️🪽🪽🪽

Bonus

Kuroo watched as Kei was swept away in a tangle of limbs and joyful noise, surrounded by the friends who loved him. When their backs disappeared and Kageyama silently put the fallen door into place, sliding it shut, Kuroo’s head lowered, the brave facade finally crumbling as the full weight of his exhaustion crashed down upon him.

It had been a frantic, desperate race against time: scrambling through Heaven, alerting Daichi in the heart of Destiny's Domain, his exasperated search for Yamaguchi, and his most desperate gamble—begging Hitoka for a sliver of Future's thread.

He had moved Heaven itself to give Kei a chance. And now, the angel who had—against all odds—stirred his heart back to life after the centuries of numbness that followed Orpheus… that angel was gone. Sentenced to a life as a mortal.

A cold, hollow thought echoed in the sudden silence. Was he still being punished? Was this his eternal sentence—to care for mortals, only to lose them all over again?

"Kuro-chan," Oikawa spoke with an exaggerated pout, his eyes trained on the intricate carvings in the wooden table. "I truly am disappointed in you, you know."

Kuroo tilted his head back toward the ceiling, watching the vast tapestry of the universe infinitely expanding, constantly thrumming with life. Soon, Kei's thread would weave through it, becoming a part of that grand, intricate design—beautiful, but mortal, and separate from him.

"Oika'a-kun," he said, his eyes still tracking the lives shimmering above. "I'm tired. Let's meet back at the office tomorrow, and you can give me a lecture for as long as you want." He released a heavy exhale, finally tipping his head down to face his superior with a worn-out smile.

But Oikawa was already looking at him, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Too bad you don't have an office anymore." He batted his eyelashes slowly, which earned a swift slap to the back of his head from Iwaizumi.

"Ow— Iwa-chan!"

Kuroo's jaw dropped as he watched the two deities resume their childish fight. From the end of the table, Akiteru laughed lightly, clearly entertained by the act of the deities younger than him. He turned to Kuroo, his expression softening.

"You, too, have been reassigned," he said, his voice calm and certain.

A full-body shiver wracked Kuroo as he looked into the eyes of Destiny—ancient and knowing, the greatest architect the Fates could ever have.

"My little brother might be a bit lonely in the mortal world," Akiteru said with the gentleness of an older brother, not a cosmic force. "Would you accept a reassignment… as his soulmate?"

A slow heat pooled at the edges of Kuroo's eyes, followed by a sudden prick before the tears finally fell. The laughter he let out was wet, choked with six centuries of relief and release.

"Yes," he managed to choke out, the word barely more than a sob. "Yes. I accept."

All of the deities before him watched with satisfied expressions. Kuroo wiped the tears away with the heel of his hands, running his fingers through his messy hair and back to rubbing his face raw.

"Oika'a-kun!" His voice boomed with newfound mirth, finally catching the full attention of his superior—his friend. "You know I'd trust Kenma with my life. But I'm trusting my arrow to you!" He pointed one finger directly to the First Cupid. "Make sure when you strike him, he falls madly in love with me—and don't you dare make him practice on some other guy first."

His gaze swept across the room, issuing decrees with the authority of a man who had just been given the universe and knew exactly what to do with it.

He pointed to Iwaizumi. "You. Assign your best guardian angel to him. Keep him safe until he's back in my arms."

To the Fates. "Weave our threads tightly. Make sure we find each other."

To Ushijima. "Grant us a long life together. Until Death do us part."

Finally, he turned to Akiteru, a smile of profound gratitude on his face. "And to you, Destiny... thank you for the greatest divine intervention of all."

He bowed deeply afterward, sniffling as he did. When he stood back up, he gave them a final nod before taking his leave.

As soon as he stepped out the door, he saw his angel standing amidst Fate's gardenias. Under heaven's sun, Kei was bright and golden. Once he noticed Kuroo, he held a hand out toward him. Kuroo wasted no time; he strode down the engawa, grabbed Kei's hand, and pulled the angel into a tight, careful embrace. He felt Kei's body immediately mold against him and smiled, picturing their fulfilling mortal life together.