It’s his first time in the animal hospital.
Bobata and Terushima had just ditched a frat party and had been wandering the campus looking for—
“A petting zoo, Teru! This place has a petting zoo,” Bobata is telling him. His friend's words a little slurred, but for the most part coherent as he shoves a crumpled flier into Terushima’s face.
So that’s why he’s here. And that’s why you’re glaring at him from behind the reception desk.
There’s whiskey glistening his lips and every few seconds his vision blurs as he introduces himself—but he thinks that it’s more because of your beauty than because of the alcohol—but then he remembers he’s fucking shitfaced so maybe it was just the alcohol.
Your eyebrow is raised and you regard him with suspicion as you hold a ragdoll cat protectively too your chest, and that cat—that cat’s eyeing him up and down too, disapprovingly. There’s a crash in the background, and Terushima is pretty sure that Bobata just knocked down the carefully crafted cardboard pyramid with a plethora of college flyers stapled to it.
He looks over his shoulder—yeah, he was right. He’s not surprised that the pyramid is on the ground with Bobata lying beside it laughing his ass off. He was never a graceful drunk.
It scares the living hell out of the cat though and it claws at your arm and leaps out of your embrace to hide under your desk. He now has a clear view of your nametag—you were very stubborn about giving him your name.
“Shit, sorry,” Bobato sputters.
You let out a deep sigh. “It’s fine, just don’t—”
“You’re name’s ______________?” Terushima asks. Your eyes flicker to him and the tip of his tongue runs over the seam of his mouth. You clench your fists.
“Literate? In your situation?” you sound pleasantly surprised. “At least you won’t completely fail the sobriety test,” you tease, instinctively tapping at your metal name tag. It's pinned under the Johzenji University Animal Hospital logo—an embroidered image of a beagle with bone in its mouth, and that’s, like, one of the most tragic things he’s seen all night. It’s almost up there with Bobata being rejected by that sorority girl visiting from Karasuno.
He snickers and leans over the desk, his forearms flexing involuntarily. You glance down for only a second, but he notices and, to your chagrin, that smirk on his face only grows.
“We just wanted to pet some animals,” he explains. He’s fishing through a glass cup filled with ballpoint pens, clicking the button of each one. “Isn’t this petting zoo, like, open twenty-four hours?”
The corner of your lip twitches as you see him pocket two of the pens into his too-tight skinny jeans—and even though you can’t see his legs from behind the reception desk, you can tell they’re long and fine as hell.
“I don’t know where you read that—I didn't even know you could read—”
“Hey! We’ve been over this already—”
You ignore his outburst. “But this is an animal hospital and the Playing with Paws flier clearly states that it’s only open from two to nine pm—” you glance at your Tiffany and Co. watch— “Last time I checked, it's one in the morning.” Your voice is perfunctory but distracted as you surreptitiously glance behind Terushima to make sure Bobata doesn’t knock something else over.
He pauses a beat and catches a glimpse of your computer screen; a web page with worrying query results for “my cat just swallowed a penny” and Adobe photoshop where a half-made poster about Cat Safety is in the works. The style is familiar…
“You made the Playing with Paws flier, didn't you? he deadpans.
You look kind of proud as you cross your arms over your midsection and lean back in your business chair. He thinks your haughtiness is cute as his eyes stray to your chest and pause on your lips. “Good guess.”
He leans forward and you can’t help but stare down the long column of his neck, dotted with a handful of faded hickeys, down the v-neck of his shirt to his fine pectoral muscles and the shadowed outlines of his sculpted abs.
“I don’t want to trash on your obviously fine-tuned photoshop skills—” there’s a pile of said fliers placed to his right, he scans them quickly and smirks as his eyes land on one word—“But you spelled charity wrong.”
And his voice is cheeky and low and he’s giving you bedroom eyes as he unashamedly stares down the unbuttoned neckline of your polo because—hey, you were doing the same thing to him. He sneaks a peek of possibly black lace that makes his grin go feral.
Your face flushes and you you’re hastily buttoning up your shirt as you glare at him.
“I’m giving you ten minutes with the animals,” you say through gritted teeth. “Then I want you get the hell out of here.”
/ | \
Ten minutes don't even pass before a police car and an ambulance are parked outside the hospital.
It had barely been two when you brought out two golden retriever puppies and one German shepherd. And the three puppies practically tackle Bobata as he walks into the room and yells:
You almost drop your keys in surprise.
“Wow, they really…like him,” you observe.
“You don’t say,” Terushima remarks blandly.
Terushima is staying at the doorway with you, one shoulder leaning against the open door frame. Despite the excited yelps from both the puppies and his best friend, you’re all that he can think about. You’re a hairs width away from brushing shoulders with him, and he just wants to touch you and you to touch him because he’s drunk and horny and you’re fucking hot—
“Stop trying to look down my shirt.”
“I-I wasn’t trying to—”
“Yeah, you were.” And although he expects an angry frown, you’re actually kind of smiling and he presses his tongue piercing to the back of his front teeth and—oh you’re your shoulder’s resting against his bicep. He resists the urge to tense his muscles.
There’s a lightness in your eyes as you look down fondly on the rascally pups as they nip at Bobata’s clothes and nuzzle into his lap and into his fingers as he pets them. And he sees how much you loves these animals, anyone else would have confused that love in your eyes with something else, but he knows. Because that’s exactly how he looks at volleyball and he realizes…
Maybe you’re not so different after all—what with your uppity attitude and photoshop skills, because regardless of that single typo, your flyer was still pretty great.
“So I was thinking…”
And you hum noncommittally, pretending indifference but you’re actually hanging onto every one of Terushima’s words.
“Maybe you’d like to go out with me to a club sometime—”
“Oh no!” Your eyes widen.
His eyes widen, affronted. “Jesus Christ! Okay maybe some coffee then?”
“Shit!” You run out of the room and back to your desk.
He’s offended. “You could have just said no, instead of doing all—” he blatantly gestures to all of you—“that!” Because no one’s rejected him so hard before and he thought that you two really had something going on. Was he just misinterpreting your subtle advances at him? Was this chemistry imagined? Like what the actual fuck—
But you ignore him as you pick up the phone and quickly dial three numbers and say into the speaker: “911, someone’s having an allergic reaction…Johzenji University Animal Hospital…bad…no, no, like really bad…yeah—yeah I’ll stay on the line…please, hurry!”
And Terushima realizes what’s wrong. He whips his head to look at his best friend: Bobata’s eyes are red and runny and his skin has erupted into gnarly patches of hives. A single golden retriever is sitting on Bobata’s stomach and tilts his head in confusion.
Terushima wipes an exasperated hand over his face. “Shit.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your friend was allergic to dogs?!” You sound upset as the emergency responders sit Bobata at the edge of the ambulance and administer antihistamines. Bobata gives the two of you a shaky thumbs up.
Terushima grimaces. “I don’t know,” he admits. “He’s always been really good with animals, I don’t know how he hasn’t been in contact with a dog before—fuck, his parents are going to be so angry—how did he not know he was allergic to dogs?!”
He runs a hand through his undercut, scratching at the short strands—a nervous and insecure gesture that he could never completely get rid of. Because you’re looking at him with mirth in your eyes and your lips are pulled tight.
He looks back at you with an answering smile as you both break into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. He thinks that your laugh is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard amongst the howling and barking of the canines—dogs really do like sirens.
Your face is gorgeous, illuminated by the flashing red, blue, and white of the police and ambulance lights. And his vision blurs again, but this time it’s not because of the alcohol—he’s like eighty percent sober right now—but because of how pretty you are.
“So about that coffee?” He asks again, almost bashful. There’s red staining his cheeks, and he’s thankful for flashing lights that hide his physical embarrassment.
You appraise his appearance once more—suspicion and wariness no longer apparent in your eyes like the first time you met.
“How about we go to that club instead?”
And he’s ecstatic and lets out a triumphant “boo-yah” that gets the dogs howling and barking all over again.
/ | \
It’s the second time he visits the animal hospital—three weeks since the two of you had started dating. The only thing that had prevented him from visiting you during your shift was the ban your manager had put on him and Bobata for violating the Playing with Paws rules:
“How was I supposed to know that I wasn’t supposed to have weed on me?” Bobata refuted—at least that explained why those puppies were so interested in him. “This is fucking ridiculous!"
Terushima just shrugged and said he’d see you later tonight at his place.
Now that the ban has been lifted...
He’s one hundred percent sober and the cardboard display pyramid is firmly bolted to the ground. Your flyer has been duly updated so “charity” isn’t spelled “cherity” and you’re smiling instead of glaring at him—he notes that it fits your face very well.
He walks up to the reception desk where you’re sitting, polo purposely unbuttoned, collar perfectly ironed. That same ragdoll cat—you had told Tersuhima her name was Marshmallow after just one glass of vodka—looks at him with significantly less vehemence in her eyes. He casually leans over the edge of your desk and this time you don’t hide that fact that you’re appreciating the veins of his arms.
“I hear there’s a petting zoo open from two to nine pm?”
It’s one in the morning.
And you snort as you pick up your keyring and twirl the loop around your finger. You don’t bother to look behind you to make sure he’s following. Regardless, he’s right at your heels as you walk towards the petting room.
The door clicks open, you press down the latch and he tackles you into the small room—the walls are papered with a fake white-post fence and blue skies, the carpet the nuanced shade of green grass, and a mock park bench against the wall. There’s no dogs or cats to be seen and he’s thankful because he practically pins you up against the closed door.
His hips push your backside against the door and his hands are sloppily untucking that horrendous polo from your bottoms. His fingers are hot and ravenous as they pinch and tease the skin of your waist and navel.
His breath is warm as it fans over your face. “So you are wearing black lace,” he grins.
You roll your eyes. “You knew that already from last time.”
“Well, duh,” his wanton eyes not leaving your own. “But this is a completely different bra from last time.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“Just kiss me already.”
With one swift tilt of his head, his mouth is on yours. And you moan into the kiss as he pushes a knee up into the apex of your thighs—ooooh fuck, you’re wearing a skirt today. He pushes his tongue into your lips and teases the cold metal of his piercing along the roof of your mouth as his hands move along the planes of your body. One hand moves downward to tease the hem of your matching underwear and when it dips even lower—
You’re shuddering, but equally enthusiastic as you run your hands through his hair, through his dark brown roots and blond strands and scratch at the sensitive skin of his freshly shaved undercut. He growls.
He staggers back onto the bench and pulls you into his lap. The wooden bench protests beneath your combined weight, squeaking and creaking, but his assault on your lips, your neck, your waist is uninterrupted.
Terushima’s breath hitches as he feels the inside of your thigh brush against his crotch and he’s so thankful that he’s completely sober because he now he can forever remember this moment.
Your hands are deft as they pull down his zipper—yes, yes, please, fuck yes—your teeth nipping at his bottom lip and an excited shiver runs down his spine as your fingers—
You break the kiss and whip your head to look through the door window.
Terushima groans beneath you.
His pulls his arms around your exposed waist and places wet kisses up and down your neck, trying to get your attention back on him.
“Yuuji—mmf—stop,” your voice is reluctant. “S-something—aah—happened.”
“The only thing that was happening was your hand wrapped around my—”
“Yuuji that was Marshmallow!” You scramble out of his lap and he curses that goddamn cat for ruining the moment as he gingerly zips up his fly and you hurriedly smooth down your clothes.
You pull the door open and frantically look for that cursed ragdoll cat.
“See, I told you it was nothing,” he whines.
“Yuuji, there’s pile of broken glass on the floor,” you counter.
He shrugs. “So?”
“I’m gonna clean it up,” you reply. He leans against the desk and pouts, indignant arms crossed over his chest because he’s half-hard and you’re pulling a broom and a dustpan out of the storage closet instead of doing much more important things with him.
You eye him as you sweep the shards and Johzenji animal hospital pens into a pile—No, it wasn’t a waste because you had dozens of boxes of those pens in the back room.
“Stop being such a baby,” you stick your tongue out at him and his nostrils flare. “What if someone gets hurt? I’m the only one on duty so—”
As you continue your spiel about work study and responsibility Terushima’s half-listening because his eyes are narrowed and scanning the room for that goddamned cat. His nose twitches as he finds the culprit of the fallen glass cup-pen mess leisurely grooming itself on top of your keyboard.
Marshmallow—or should he say, Satan—looks up once to meet Terushima’s hooded eyes before going back to licking her paw.
You little piece of shit!
“Yuuji did you just flip off a cat?”
Yeah, he did.