WITH YOUR KILL SHOT, BABY

  you’ve worked with the creative team for a year now, your cubicle facing his office. you were typically blocked from his vision, however, whenever you’d reach around your cubicle or talk to a colleague from across the way, you’d catch his gaze. and you’d give him a warm smile, sometimes a gentle wave just to acknowledge his presence. and then you’d catch each other in the faculty lounge while making coffee. 

  kuroo’s not sure if he’s always made his coffee as soon as he got to work, or if it’s just a habit he’s created when he caught you in the lounge a couple of times. but he quickly makes his way to his office, setting his briefcase down by his desk, before turning heel and beelining for the lounge. he’s sure he saw you in your meeting, but he’s come to notice that anytime the creative team has an earlier meeting, they’re heading out by the time he gets there. just another observation he’s just now noticing that he’s garnered.

  the walk to the lounge is usually rather quick, except for when he’s stopped by someone else on the marketing team. “that game against the italian team is still happening this next weekend, right kuroo?” his coworker sits back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

  “yeah, there’s talks about promoting it on some of the association’s socials. we should know more by the end of this week,” kuroo speaks quickly, glancing up at the lounge, noticing you sneak in there as the rest of the team disperses from their meeting.

  “well, we were thinking about distributing some merchandise before the game, maybe some hats or wrist bands?” 

  glancing back down at his colleague, kuroo shrugs his shoulders. rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, he takes in a deep breath, “well, you’d probably have to talk to alex about that, since she specializes in merchandise sales. and then she could take it up the line.”

  patting his shoulder, kuroo quickly walks off before he could ask anymore questions about an area that he wasn’t even that well-versed in. shaking his hands a little, he starts to notice just how clammy they’re getting. he never had meant to become so giddy, at such an age, over one of his colleagues. it felt a little childish, but it didn’t stop him from entering the faculty lounge.

  it’s decorated simply, a few tables and chairs and a couch are the only bigger pieces of furniture. one corner hosts a simple coffee bar and fridge, something that needs replenishing constantly. and standing in front of that coffee bar is you, hands drumming against the counter as you wait for the water to boil. “did someone forget to refill the pot?” he asks, trying not to scare you.

  looking up, you roll your eyes, “yes, i am so tired of people not refilling this stupid thing.”

  “at least you know you’re getting a fresh pot,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, making his way over to stand next to you. the air feels electric as your arms are mere inches apart, his hands fiddling with the inside seams of his pants pockets.

  looking up at him, you give him a small smile. “you always seem to put a good spin on things… it’s nice,” you turn back to the coffee bar for a second before spinning back around to look at him, “kuroo, your top button isn’t done. someone must’ve been rushing this morning.”

  looking down at his collar, he feigns surprise, something he’s sure you’re already accustomed to. buttoning the last button, he sighs, looking around the lounge. “even after all these years, i’m still not great at fixing my tie without a mirror, would you mind?” he’s asked this question maybe a million times at his point, eyes pleading at you. 

  “you’re lucky i am so attuned to menswear,” you shake your head, raising your hands to flip up his collar. 

  adjusting his tie, you glance up at him. trying hard not to look too long at the salt and pepper stubble that’s growing in around his chin. tightening his tie and flipping his collar back down, the back of your hand brushes against his chin. the contact is short, but it makes his cheeks burn as you raise your hands up to his hair. “and your hair is a complete mess, kuroo.”

  styling his hair, he suddenly remembers why he always enters the office so disheveled. because you’re always so eager to be kind and helpful, more than willing to tighten his tie and run your hands through his hair. “i’ll have to wake up earlier tomorrow then, maybe invest in a comb,” he jokes, trying not to swallow too hard like he’s incredibly nervous in your presence.

  he’s joked about it more than once with you, and yet it never changes. you run the same routine every day, eager to be in each other’s presence, yet too anxious to actually say anything to each other. “or we could go this weekend and buy you one, maybe grab lunch?” you hear the coffee pot finish seeping the coffee grounds.

  this was a quickly becoming a day of firsts for him. kuroo instantly raises his eyebrows, staring over at you. “this weekend?”

  “yeah, oh, sorry, do you have plans?” you question, looking back at him, noticing how he’s anxiously standing as straight as he possibly good. 

  “oh no, no, not at all. not that i don’t normally have plans, but if you want to make plans then i’m absolutely free,” kuroo tries to cross his arms in front of his chest but he starts to feel too tense so he drops them to his side. 

  smiling to yourself, you try to bite back the smile in front of him as you turn to pour coffee into two mugs. “well, how about i leave you my number before i head out and we can plan something. if that’s alright with you?” you question, trying to step around the awkwardness that might be your differing ages.

  “that is absolutely fine with me,” his shoulders drop as he lets out a low sigh, “i would love to meet you for lunch.”

  picking up the mugs, you hand one off to him, smiling up at him once more. “that makes two of us, kuroo,” taking your now free hand, you quickly caress the back of his hand before walking out of the lounge, leaving him to process your sudden confidence.

You'd expected more frustration and anger than what he was giving you now. It was like he wanted to know the exact conditions you created to lure the creature back here, as if he'd never wanted it to leave in the first place, years ago. What could you say that would fulfill his expectations?

There were no grandiose details to relay; you had gone outside on a bright night and sat down on the edge of the dock with a glass of wine in your hand. You recalled letting your legs submerge to the knee and wading them around in the black water while sipping your dry rosé and scrolling social media. The stress of the day still had a grip on your nerves, but the gentle movement of the water wrapping around your legs had fast worked a lull over you.

Then, you had felt a cool current underwater.

It rushed through your legs and stopped suddenly, returning the water to the temperature it had once been. Goosebumps erupted across your body, and the needle-thin hairs on the back of your neck stuck straight out. Instincts had taken hold of you rightfully, prompting you to hurriedly lift your legs out of the water to get up and head back to the house.

Yet, as you pulled one leg out and half of the other, long fingers shot up out of the depths and seized your calf. A hand tried to pull you back down. You did what was reasonable for anyone in these circumstances: scream as loudly as you could, throw your wine glass at the pale arm coming out of the water, and launch your phone at the pale arm as well.

The water was disturbed, splashing as if by a very large fish, and the pale arm and hand and long fingers recoiled back into the inkiness. You didn't stay to scout the thing out; you fucking sprinted for the house, shrieking, bolted the doors behind you, and stayed in your room until your usual alarm sounded to give your client his first dose of medication for the day.

Later that same day, you returned to the dock in broad daylight to find your phone bobbing on the wooden slats, bone dry.

You gave the man your explanation, still massaging his legs while he listened quietly in his recliner. Once you were finished with your retelling, the man spoke solemnly, "I think it's chosen you. Don't listen when it calls."

To you, that had come across as the nonsensical babbling of a terminally ill man beginning to lose his mind to delusions, so you did not heed his warning. You hadn't considered that it was one until the chill of sea air at night touched your skin, softly rustling the hair on your head, and you opened your eyes to the wide eye of the moon and clusters of stars in the sky.

Why were you outside? How did you get there? You just remembered rubbing the man's legs and sitting down on the sofa once he fell asleep in his chair.

No, wait.

You remembered a man's song. His singing voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard; you doubted it could be replicated by human tongue and vocal cords. The words were incomprehensible, yet your mind perceived them as if they were language and something you knew. Something that told a sad story of melancholy and suffering, a lifetime of immense yearning so potent that the singer was prisoner to his own heart, his loneliness.

He had called out to you so sweetly, his words like a silk thread woven between your fingers. There were so many things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to show you. If only you would come to him… come to him… come to me… come to me… come to me…

Now, as your senses adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you were lying on the docks. You were close enough to the edge to see down into the black depths, the water stirring with movement beneath the surface. Something was there; it had been waiting for you to wake up.

One long hand shot up out of the water and grabbed the dock, then another. The fingers were inhumanly long with nails tapering into thin points. Its skin was the same sort of pale from the other night, grayish and translucent. As it hauled itself onto the dock, you noted the sharpness of its elbows and shoulders, how its wrongness was in its imitation of what it thought a human looked like. Below the torso, still halfway dipped into the water, was an enormous black tail with scales that glowed silver under the moonlight.

Now, however, you were fixated on his face and how simultaneously beautiful and horrible it was. He looked at you serenely, inexpressive, almost, as he dragged himself over your body to examine you more closely, deep-dark hair draping over you like a wet veil. His face was long with a tapered chin, black eyes without pupils, and lips a cold shade of purple and blue. Where the prominence of a nose should've been were two symmetrical nostrils formed into slits.

You weren't sure if you thought he possessed an otherworldly beauty, or if he was terrible and monstrous. Your mind couldn't make sense of all of his features existing on one face and body.

And then, he started to hum. It rose from the back of his throat, soothing and sonorous, warm and comforting despite his freezing hands touching your skin, caressing your face. You felt him kiss you, his cold, blue lips pressing slow and hard, still humming to subdue you.

Those long fingers of his continued to explore you, fondle you, learn your body more than you knew it yourself. His lips sank to your chin, molded into the shape of your neck when you moaned and moved, and tried biting through your clothes when he could no longer feel or taste your skin.

He appeared in front of your eyes again, this time with a gentle, accomplished smile. His sweet humming had yet to cease, your vision was smeared, and the limbs of your body were leaden. Even as the creature shrank back into the depths of the black murk, pulling your legs off the edge with him, you could not move.

You were paralyzed and utterly at peace with it.

Suddenly, a bellow cracked through the stillness of the night, and the man appeared with a rifle in his hands. He cried out into the air again, startling the creature in the water before shooting a harpoon at it. The spearhead missed the creature by inches and vanished into the blackness without a sound, but it had done its job.

The creature emitted an enraged, mournful wail as it released you and flipped its tail into the air to escape back into the void where it once came.