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kissmeharderrrr · 1 month ago

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summer rain | 2

summer rain | tsukishima kei x reader

chapter 2: rain mist | length: 5.1k | ao3 link

previous chapter

Summary: If you knew that the blonde boy who saved you in the storm would cause you this much heartache, you’d have rather drowned in the rain.

Content/warnings: fem pronouns/afab reader, college/university, museums, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, angst, hurt/comfort, occasional fluff, eventual smut, pining, inferiority complex, tsukishima kei is bad at feelings, tsukishima kei being an asshole, reader is a psych major and has family problems

Notes: not super proof read but happy with how it turned out :)

Flowers are a fickle thing.

You poke at the purple flower, making it wobble on its receptacle. It rocks back and forth, then plops on the side where its petals are slightly pressed due to its temporary shelter in your pocket. Picking it up, you open the ruffled petals to reveal its light yellow center.

The color is a little faded. Probably from lack of water, you should press it now before it’s too late.

Arranging it tediously on a page of a hardcover book, you gently shut it tight and look around your desk for any heavy objects. Stacking a couple of textbooks and your desk lamp for good measure, you set it off to the side and give it a little smile.

See you in a couple weeks.

Your phone starts ringing from your bed and you lean over from your chair to reach for it. Stretching your fingertips, it catches on the vibrating metal. With a groan, you slide it towards you, checking the caller ID.

An unknown number.

Tapping the green circle, you bring the phone up to your ear, “Hello?”

A woman’s voice responds, “Hi, this is the Sendai City Museum. I’m calling about the gift shop clerk position, may I ask who I’m speaking to?”

Your back immediately straightens up. You say your name and wait, heart pounding.

“Thank you for coming by a couple days ago and doing an interview with us. We didn’t expect to fill the position so quickly but we’d like to offer you the job. Do you need some time before we get your final answer?”

You jump up from your chair, making it roll back and hit your bed softly. Definitely not, you think. Trying to keep your voice even, you respond, “No, thank you for having me. I would love to accept.”

“That’s great news!” the feminine voice chirps. “Are you able to start next Tuesday? We’ll get the paperwork all ready for you on your first day. Can you please also email us your clothing measurements?

A smile stretches wide on your face and you look up at your ceiling, “Not a problem, I’ll be there. Thank you so much.”

“We look forward to seeing you, have a great weekend!”

“You as well,” you wait for her to hang up and when your phone screen goes blank, a relieving sigh escapes your lips.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

No doubt this position has one of the best pays for a part-time. And you’ll be working at one of the most notable museums in Sendai. Granted, it's just a clerk position but you honestly could care less. Anything but snotty kids and coffee stains.

Giddy, you skip to your kitchen in your studio apartment. Taking your phone out to text Asa the news, you send the quick message and prepare a small celebratory lunch—toast with honey.

You stare at the bread, blinking. Well, it is expensive honey from the farmer’s market. It’s celebratory worthy enough in your eyes.

Munching on your sweet—albeit simple—reward, you lean over the kitchen counter, propping your elbows on it.

Guess you’ll be working with him.

Tsukishima Kei.

You finally have a name for the blonde boy who saved you in the storm. But he’s a complete 180 from how you’d imagine him. Nothing like the haughty and arrogant boy you met on the hike.

Asa’s words pop up in your mind from when you had asked about him.

“Oh, Tsukishima? Yeah, he’s an ass but he’s not that terrible. He yells at me all the time in class but he’ll give me his notes when I ask for them. Well, more like throws it and laughs but I take it as a win. He’s one of the top scorers anyways.”

You couldn’t help the grimace on your face at the time of the conversation. So he’s arrogant and smart? No surprise there.

What is surprising is that he helped you in the rain. You never told Asa about the incident but she’d probably think it was a fever delusion if you did.

But he confirmed it.

You scrunch your nose at the reminder. Even after some thinking, you’re still conflicted on how to feel about this information. Were you happy? Disappointed?

He’s insufferable. But also unknowingly kind? Maybe a boy who doesn’t know how to express his feelings?

The day you were both under the same umbrella for the second time, you didn’t know how to react. After giving you that barely there smile, he just kept staring, and staring, and staring.

It was unnerving, so you just thanked him for all the trouble like you imagined yourself doing a hundred times. He had simply responded, “Don’t worry about it.” Asa and Yamaguchi had returned right after, closing off the conversation.

You thought it’d go a little differently if you had the chance to thank him. Cringily so, the whole incident could give a shoujo manga a run for its money. Maybe Tsukishima was embarrassed? He seems like the type that would be.

Shoving the last of your toast in your mouth, you push the thoughts of that night out of your head. You’ll be working with him now and you’ve said your thanks. No need to dwell on it.

You finally landed something afterall with an accommodating schedule—five hour shifts for a couple days in the week, no weekends. The world just turned a little bit brighter.

Tuesday can’t come any quicker.

Walking up the short concrete steps, you will the new-job jitters to go away as you cross the entrance of Sendai City Museum, a hidden gem of the city. It isn’t usually crowded by tourists nor is it massively big. But it’s good-sized enough to have a comprehensive collection of the city’s culture and history.

It should more or less be a calming job.

Following the directions inside, you climb a flight of stairs to the second floor, turning right for the gift shop. It’s a small little area, filled with museum knick-knacks and exhibition pamphlets—also near the museum’s restaurant too.

You look around for a worker and see a woman at the counter already looking your way. Putting on a typical customer-service smile, you walk to her, bowing and reintroducing yourself again.

Her voice was the same one on the phone so it was probably her who told you the good news. A woman who looks to be in her forties, Shinju, she seems nice—if her toothy smile says anything.

She trains you—showing you the shop’s layout, how to work the cashier, telling you tidbits of the museum’s history and what type of atmosphere she’d like you to give to customers. It’s easy to pick up. You’ve already been to this museum a couple of times in the past and if your barista job gave you anything, it was nerves of steel.

By evening when the museum closes, you start packing up your things, feeling good—confident.

Shinju turns to you, eyes crinkling, “You go to Tohoku University as well, don’t you?”

As well?

“Yes, I do go there so I’m happy it’s close by.” Hesitatingly, you follow up with, “How did you know?”

“Oh, because of Tsukishima of course! He mentioned you were a student there when he brought up someone coming in to ask about the position. I’m glad he recommended you, you’ve been doing great all day,” she smiles, blissfully unaware of the bomb of information she dropped on you.

…He mentioned you?

Huh.

“Yeah, we do go to Tohoku University together,” you reply, not knowing what else to say.

Shinju looks past your head, “Oh my, looks like he’s just heading out now too,” she says excitedly.

You turn to follow her eyeline and see Tsukishima, walking towards the staircase with his head down, fingers rapidly tapping on his phone.

You also don’t fail to notice that he’s clad in an all black suit with an employee badge around his neck. His hair was slightly styled, making his messy short blonde hair from before lay more neatly. And his usual glasses sat, perched right on his nose.

If you thought he looked good before, this was a more devastating sight. You barely stop your ogling before he disappears down the stairs.

Speaking of…

“Shinju-san, what’s the dress code here for employees? Sorry, I should’ve asked before.”

She looks at you with wide eyes and reaches under the counter for a bag, “That’s what I forgot to give you! Here, all employees receive two uniforms. Just make sure to dry-clean it instead of washing, we’ll reimburse the costs.”

Reaching for the bag, you smile at her warmly and push down the giddiness in your chest. Sweet, now you won’t have to go shopping for new clothes.

Bowing your head, you excuse yourself and Shinju happily bids you goodbye. What a lovely lady.

That wasn’t so bad—you smile to yourself—definitely something you can get used to.

The evening warmth greets you as you exit the museum. You pull out your phone to check your schedule.

5:30pm.

It’s true that your university is close by, and good thing too because you have a night class but that isn’t until later.

Library it is.

You make your way down the stairs but stop at the last step.

Fuck.

You forgot the clothes in the bathroom. You had just used it before leaving. Whirling around, you’re about to retreat back up the steps when you make eye contact with a figure at the top. You stop, feet rooted to the ground.

Tsukishima Kei.

With his hands in his pockets—already looking down at you, face impassive. He didn’t bother changing out of his museum attire.

He flinches, minutely, as if he didn’t expect you to turn back. You’re mildly shocked too, you thought he left before you did.

“Hey…” you say after a couple seconds of silence, head tilting up.

He nods to you and looks away, not saying anything.

Well, this is awkward. Why isn’t he saying anything? And why is he just standing there?

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off, “You got the job. That’s good for you.”

It takes you a second to register what he said. It seems like a compliment but his blank tone offers nothing else. “Yeah, thanks. I heard you told them I was coming. Thanks for that too.”

Tsukishima smiles, but it’s with that disingenuous one he had given Asa, “Now can you please tell Hayashi to stop bothering me? She wouldn’t shut up about it for the past week.”

Asa bothered him about it?

“Oh, sorry for all the trouble… again. I owe you one.”

He hums, his face now turning back into the impassive one. You shift your feet awkwardly. With the way he’s physically looking down at you from the top of the steps and not saying anything, the atmosphere is unnecessarily tense.

Or was it just you? Were you just awkward?

“Um… So, where are you headed?” you ask out of courtesy, not like you actually were curious.

He responds frankly, “To the library on campus.”

Silence.

“Oh, really? Me too.”

“Good for you.”

More silence.

You squirm uncomfortably, “... Do you want to go together?”

Tsukishima stares at you, gaze unfaltering, “Sure.”

“Great.”

“Okay.”

You scratch your head and point to the museum entrance, “Sorry, I just need to get something really quick.” You almost ask, Can you wait for me? Instead, you just leave it at that. You didn’t want to know how he would respond to asking him to wait for you.

He sighs as if it's a bother and your brow twitches in slight irritation.

“Okay. I’ll be at the bus stop first, just go there after you’re done.” He smiles again, cold like a snake, with his voice feigning niceness, “Forgive me if the bus comes and I leave first though, I don’t have that much time afterall.”

“No worries,” you say curtly, already passing him and heading towards the museum.

What’s his deal? It’s not like you were begging to go with him.

In fact, you take extra slow steps to the restroom, triple-checking to see if the bag of clothes is really yours, and making sure all the doors you close behind shut softly—your hand lingering on each handle.

You take the long way to the bus stop, admiring the trees outside of the concrete building you’ll be working in from now.

And with all that effort, a sigh makes its way out of your lips at seeing the blonde boy sitting at the bus stop bench—waiting, fingers once again typing rapidly away on his phone.

The journey to the library was all but comfortable. Not that you had athletic clothes on or anything, but the difference between your two attires and him himself made more than a few heads turn.

It’s unfair how his tall frame fills out the suit so nicely. Too nicely.

Tsukishima doesn’t really regard you and is quiet the whole time, from the bus stop all the way to the front of the campus library entrance. It’s only when you both head towards the stairs that he turns to give you yet another one of his blank looks.

“Did you mean to study together too? I’m not really a study-with-people type of person,” he states, clearly not wanting an impromptu study session with you.

You purse your lips and can’t help the small blush rising to your cheeks, “No. I’m just headed this way too, I have a spot I usually study at.”

“Okay,” he responds, walking ahead of you and starting his ascent up the stairs.

Huffing, you follow after him, hoping that he’d get off on a story before yours. Heading four flights up, you feel uneasiness creeping up as he keeps climbing with you, never turning back. You thank the stars that he turns right instead of left when you reach the final floor.

Letting out a small breath of relief, you walk the familiar path to your favorite spot. The small secluded area at the top floor with the comfortable chairs and an almost unnecessary—but gladly appreciated—amount of outlets.

You turn right then walk past the bookshelves until you see the wall that closes off a small section of the library. You’re already swinging your bag around, rifling through it to take out your laptop as you enter the enclosed space.

“You’re kidding.”

That voice, with its nonchalant and dry tone that was just telling you to kindly fuck off, greets you and you have to wonder why the universe seems to hate you so much.

You look up and low n’ behold, Tsukishima Kei sits at the one and only table right in the middle of the area.

“I’m not following you if that’s what you’re wondering,” you say defensively, walking towards the table and setting your things on it. What? It’s not like you’re going to give up your spot because he wants to make a fuss.

“Are you sure? You being here begs to differ.”

You look up at him from across the table, “I’ve been coming here since my first year and I’ve never seen you here before.”

Tsukishima gives you an annoyed look, “Should that really mean something? I was here first so this spot’s mine, and I don’t like sharing.”

You look past his head and refrain from rolling your eyes, “You’re being unreasonable. Let’s just both be quiet and do what we need to do.”

He grumbles under his breath but you’ve already taken out all your materials and started clacking away on your laptop. Is he a child? Huffing at his grown age claiming that something’s his.

You blink, then think about how there’s a stupid yellow-purple flower pressed in a book sitting on your desk.

…Whatever. Your prefrontal lobe doesn’t fully develop until the age of twenty five anyway.

Despite his opposed position at you studying with him, he eventually stops his seething and focuses on his own work. At some point, you’ve forgotten he was even there, engrossed in finishing up your psych assignment.

You press submit and heave a silent sigh. Okay, nice. You tap your phone. 7:30pm. There’s still some time before your next class. On to history next. You pull out the thick history textbook from your bag and a notebook for annotations.

Japanese history has always been interesting for you. If not for wanting to be a therapist, you would’ve wanted to be a historian or a teacher instead. But at times like these where the long passages of texts and the introduction of too many names run on, your brain just about explodes from the overload of information.

It doesn’t make sense. The timeline doesn’t make sense. The reasoning doesn’t make sense. Why is there reasoning anyway? Aren’t history books supposed to be purely factual?

You tap your pen against your notebook, rewriting and recircling different terms and concepts to try to make sense of what’s going on. But it doesn’t click.

With furrowed brows, you frustratedly turn ten pages back. Maybe you just need to read it one more time.

“You’ve reread the same pages for the past forty minutes, is it really that hard?”

You look up, glaring at Tsukishima’s disbelieving face and unwelcome comment. Obviously it would be easy for him, this is his specialty.

You respond, “I’m a repetition learner, I need to read it multiple times to get it.”

“You need to read it five times?” he asks, as if you’re stupid.

Jerk.

“Yes. In fact, I do. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you say in a clipped tone. Scanning the pages again, you’re already confused by the third page.

You flip three pages back.

A voice cuts off your mental reading, low and raspy.

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing. This event didn’t happen until the 1800’s,” a slim finger, not yours, points over the area you’ve been circling over and over again. “It’s mentioned in the passage but it’s not relevant.”

“This,” one finger points to another heavily circled area, “is what you should be focused on. The war happened because of these two,” two fingers on two areas far apart from each on the page, “not this,” one finger to the middle.

“Do you get it?” he ends with a monotonous tone.

You stare at your notebook. Then back to the textbook. Taking a colored pen out, you circle over the areas he was pointing at, then read the passages again.

It clicks. Barely, but the idea is there.

“Oh. Yeah, I think I get it,” you respond quietly, still thinking.

“Good. Now can you please stop making so much noise?”

You look up to see he’s already turned back to his work but something still doesn’t sit right.

“Wait, if this didn’t happen until the 1800’s, why even mention it now?”

Tsukishima sighs and you feel an inkling of guilt from bothering his studying. Before you can take it back, he leans over the table, his face suddenly a lot closer to yours.

You freeze and scoot your chair a little bit back, but he simply angles your textbook so it’s facing him and quickly skims the pages. His face is so close that you can see his golden-brown eyes roam over every word.

“Okay, so…”

With a deadpan voice, he explains the material in a much more straightforward way than the book. Without asking, he picks up your pen, writing words and circling topics just like you did. You nod, trying to follow along his words.

When it finally comes together, you beam at the notebook filled with pencil marks.

“Ah, okay, I think I finally get it now.”

Tsukishima drops your pen on the notebook and leans back. Without another word, he faces his laptop and goes back to work, pushing up his glasses that had drooped down.

Slowly, you pick up your pen and start flipping through the textbook pages again, glancing at him occasionally.

He’s the one who didn’t want to sit with you yet he just spent fifteen minutes explaining the same words over and over again with you. You wonder if he notices how his actions don’t seem to match up with his words.

The longer you eye him, the more your curiosity grows. Gratitude from his help tempts to spill out and eventually, after a couple of minutes, you call out to him quietly, “Tsukishima.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows as if to say, What now?

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile.

Tsukishima looks at you for a second before nodding, then resuming his work.

The stifling atmosphere from before gradually starts lifting.

Scribbling and keyboard clacking fills the silence. Thanks to Tsukishima, you’re flying through the pages now that you've gained a more solid understanding of the material.

In the midst of turning another page, he speaks, quiet and unemotional, “I didn’t do anything crazy. I’m sure you would’ve gotten it if you read it five more times.”

You stop short, pen hovering over your notebook. If you associate his usual sly smirk with his word choice, it can definitely be seen as mocking.

But you look closely at his indifferent face. And the way he said it, a comment made in a tone as if he thought his help wasn’t worth a thank you. It makes you wonder if people had ever actually appreciated him when he gave out his notes.

“Well, thank you for saving me forty minutes,” you respond lightheartedly, with a smile on your face.

His eyes dart to you, head unmoving, and he looks away.

“You’re weird, don’t you know I was making fun of you? I won’t help you next time even if you reread the same thing ten times over.”

Suddenly you remember that Shinju mentioned that Tsukishima recommended you to the museum staff. Why, you still don’t know. But he seems to have his own small moments of kindness, hiding behind all his quips and contemptuous attitude.

You laugh and he frowns, which makes you laugh even harder.

“I’ll do my best then.”

“I think you need a little more than that. Maybe reading comprehension classes?”

You throw your pen at him, and that infuriating smile that you’re slowly becoming more familiar with makes its way back to his face.

If there’s one thing you miss from being a barista, it would be the free afternoon coffee drinks you took without hesitation. By the time the third week of your not-so-new-anymore job rolls around, you can feel your veins thirsting for the caffeine intake.

You yawn for the umpteenth time, counting down the minutes until your shift ends.

You’re dying to tap your phone again for the time. But you know what they say, the clock doesn’t move when you’re watching it. Or was that a pot of boiling water?

After what feels like hours but was probably just ten minutes, your phone vibrates to signal it’s time to clock out. At the first ring, you gather your things and make your way to the restroom.

The second you’re in the empty room, you slip out of the god forsaken required heels and shove your aching feet into sneakers.

Even if the attire looks good, it’s such a pain in the ass.

Like the other workers, you’re wearing all black. Neat long dress pants that stop right before it touches the floor, paired with a fitted blazer—that is currently coming off too.

You fold it neatly into your designated outfit switch bag. Untucking and unbuttoning your dress shirt, you let the tank top underneath it finally breathe and you pray you can survive the summer heat outside before finding shelter in the air-conditioned library on campus.

The first step outside mercilessly challenges that thought.

The evening rays sting your skin and the weight of the day finally crashes on you, eye bags threatening to drop lower than they already do. Maybe you should go home and take a nap. But then you’d have to come out again for your night class.

What a pain.

The jingle of keys breaks your thoughts and you turn around to see Tsukishima walking out the museum entrance, spinning a key ring around his finger.

You haven’t talked to him since the library session. Instead, you both simply nod at each other in acknowledgement whenever you see each other at work. Nothing more, nothing less.

A part of you, a very small—tiny part of you wanted to make conversation but he’d be gone before you’d even left the building.

But now he’s here. Right in front of you.

You both make eye contact at the same time and he nods his head.

Words die on the tip of your tongue when he passes you and a small—tiny bubble of disappointment settles in your chest.

You watch his back and nearly jump in surprise when Tsukishima double-takes and turns around, eyeing you up and down.

That stupid bubble unwelcomingly turns into hope. You squash it down.

“Oh dear. Clearly you’ve seen better days,” he states, a sly smile adorning his face.

Pop.

“You really didn’t have to point it out,” you grumble, hands subconsciously smoothing down your hair.

Tsukishima raises a brow, “Don’t tell me you’re headed to the library. Looks like you could use a nap or two.”

“How’d you know I was going to the library?”

He rolls his eyes, “Even I know you practically live there.”

“Oh…” you shuffle your feet, looking down at the ground.

Briefly, your eyes catch on a bulky piece of metal dangling from his keychain. Car keys.

“I didn't know you drive.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Tsukishima points out. Then he smirks, “What? Want a ride? Sorry I have places to be.”

You furrow your brows defensively, “No. That was not what I was getting at.” Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, massaging the bone, “Whatever, I’m heading out.”

Passing him, you walk down the stairs and start heading towards the bus stop. You’re not even two steps away from the stairs before a hand on the crown of your head stops you. You’re ungracefully tugged back, legs stumbling over one another.

You spin around and look up at the culprit, not bothering to hide the frustration in your demeanor, “Can I help you?”

“Go home,” Tsukishima says bluntly, hand still on your head.

“No, I have a night class later. Let go.”

He doesn’t. “Then go home and come back. You’ll probably end up sleeping at the library anyways.”

“Exams are just around the corner.”

“And imagine how’ll you do if you deprive yourself of the basic necessities. Have you even eaten yet?”

You stop short, mouth snapping shut.

When was the last time you’ve eaten? Was it breakfast? Did you even eat breakfast?

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles and Tsukishima bursts into laughter. You glare up at him and it makes him laugh harder, he brings up his other hand to cover his mouth as if it’ll do anything to hide his clear amusement.

“Oh man, that was funny,” he wheezes, “Is this why you got sick last time? Because you don’t fit eating or sleeping in your library stake-outs?”

You don’t have time to retort back before his hand spins your head around and pushes you to walk forward. You try to fling his hand off but he keeps a firm grip, all while ignoring your protests and laughing as he moves your body around like a joy stick.

When you both stop, Tsukishima gives a final ruffle of your hair before letting go and you realize you’re in the museum’s parking lot standing next to a car. His car, you assume.

It’s sleek and all black—even the rims. You raise your eyebrows in surprise and try to hide the impressed look on your face. His back is turned to you though and you take the chance to card your fingers messily through your hair, trying to pat down the mess he made.

You clear your throat, “And why did you bring me here?”

He ignores you, popping open his trunk and shifting a few things around.

Despite your growing irritation, curiosity wins over and your eyes traitorously sneak a peak inside the open space. You make out a couple of things—a volleyball, shoes, duffel bag—before Tsukishima presses a palm over your eyes and pushes you away.

At the same time he closes his trunk, you rip away his palm from your face and glare up at him. “You can use your words, you know? Why do you keep pushing me around?” you ask in exasperation.

Tsukishima shoves something into your hand, “Here. Eat this before you pass out again.”

“What?” you ask in confusion, then finally looking down at what he shoved in your palm.

A cooler bag.

You raise it suspiciously, “What is this?”

“A cooler bag? With food? Can’t put one and two together? I thought you were smart,” he snides.

You scoff, “I mean, why are you giving me this?”

“Because I’m not hungry and you clearly are. So eat this since you’re so hell-bent on staying on campus. Don’t say I didn’t do anything nice for you.” He spits this out like rapid-fire, then heaves a big sigh afterwards and rolls his neck out as if he just did something arduous.

You stare at him, then at the cooler, then back to him.

There it is again. The mean-nice-mean combo. Although the timing of these combos are getting awfully convenient.

The rain. The job. The impromptu history lesson. Now this.

Feeling a heat start creeping up your neck, you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“…Nothing happened to it, right?” you ask, ducking your head.

”You can eat it and find out. Or not.”

You giggle and he clicks his tongue, you didn’t have to look up to know he was probably frowning.

Keeping your head down, you step around him, walking a few steps then turning around.

”Thanks, Tsukishima,” you hurriedly say, lifting the bag up and giving him a small smile. You whirl around and start your way out of the parking lot. Before you know it, the sound of a car engine starts up and fades in the distance.

You bring a palm up to your hot cheeks, the summer heat all but making your head swim more. Every time you look down at the small cooler bag, you feel your heartbeat picking up speed, rattling in your chest.

And when you settle into your seat in the library four stories up, taking out the bento box that fit snugly into the cooler bag. You finally let the smile you’ve been holding back stretch across your face.

You welcome this feeling of giddiness, thinking it can do no harm. For in this moment—every bite of rice, every bite of vegetables and eggs—you were left delighted in more ways than just satisfying your hunger.

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