Chapter Text
Kentarou downloads the app. It’s not like he needs it or anything, but Iwaizumi is worried about him and handed him the business card earlier that day and, well, Kentarou thinks that, if he tries it for Iwaizumi, it should be okay.
It sits patronizingly on his phone screen, a simple white square with dainty, curvy blue Z’s sitting in the middle. “Sleeping Delivery” is written under it. Kentarou almost wants to throw his phone just looking at it.
Stupid nightmares. Stupid insomnia.
He taps the app open by jabbing at his phone screen, hoping the thing would shatter so he would have a reason not to do this. He types his name, his email, and his address, and answers the questions about medications as the app asks for them, barely reading the “we respect your privacy; we will not reveal your information in any scenario” crap as it pops up.
With the preliminaries over with, a big pastel blue button fills his screen, the question “Ready For Sleep?” floating complacently within it. Kentarou feels the familiar ache leak into his head, starting at his temples and flooding right behind his eyes.
He presses the button with a heavy sigh.
A list of profiles loads onto his screen, one for each available "Delivery Agent” apparently, but Kentarou feels his headache getting worse and his cheeks start to heat as he thinks about browsing and finding “the right fit.” Kentarou selects a random Agent and accepts his choice without thinking too much about it.
And then it hits him. He’s calling someone into his dinky apartment to help him fall asleep . It's pathetic. So pathetic. He isn’t a baby, he doesn’t need to be coddled, he doesn’t need any help to go to fuckin’ sleep .
But Iwaizumi looked so worried for him three days ago, when he went to wake Kentarou as he dozed on the job, only for Kentarou to scream and bat him away with a crazed look in his eyes. If Iwaizumi thinks it a good idea, then he should consider it, shouldn’t he?
By the time his headache is throbbing at his temples, it’s too late to back out on his decision; Kentarou checks the app, and it proudly proclaims that his Delivery Agent is on his way. He throws his phone down to the couch, pissed at himself for doing something so stupid in the first place, and stomps towards the kitchen. He takes out the orange pill bottle, twists the cap, and dumps two capsules into his palm. They never fuckin’ worked, anyways, but he had to try. Right?
He fills a glass with water, puts the pills on his tongue, and drains the glass just as someone starts knocking on the door. Incessantly . Kentarou winces at the noise, before grimacing as his brain tries to split his skull in half. With one hand pressed to his temple, the other balled into a fist, he stomps to his door and flings it open.
“ Shut the fuck up! ”
“Sleeping Delivery!” Their voices run over each other, and the asshole at the door has the decency to look sheepish at Kentarou’s words. “Sorry. Are you… Kyoutani Kentarou?” The dude checks his phone as he says it, like he had to be reminded of Kentarou’s name. Kentarou opens his mouth to yell at him, something along the lines of what do you fuckin’ think, idiot when it dawns on him: this is this guy’s job . He shouldn’t have to memorize his name.
Kentarou closes his mouth and takes a deep breath before nodding. The dude makes an affirmative sound, almost like he was de-fuckin'-lighted to know he got the right apartment.
“I’ve got some papers for you to read through, just to be sure we’re on the same page and what not,” the guy says, slinging a backpack strap off one of his shoulders and pulling the bag around to his chest. He pats it for emphasis and then meets Kentarou’s eyes. “Should we take care of this inside, or…?” he trails off, expectant, and all Kyoutani can do is nod and step to the side.
The guy walks into his apartment and perches himself onto Kentarou's couch easily, like he’d been there so many times before, he had every inch memorized. He scoots to the side and pats the couch, inviting him to sit down too, as he rifles through his bag. As Kentarou sits, he pulls out several sheets of paper.
“These basically have several versions of the same…” the guy starts to explain, but his eyes stray up to Kentarou’s face as his words dissipate into thin air. The better lighting in his apartment must put the dark circles under Kentarou’s eyes on full display, he thinks, because the guy’s eyes fill with a particular strain of pity.
“You look like shit,” the guy says bluntly, but it’s not mean-spirited. Kyoutani’s skull feels like it’s on fire.
“Shut up,” Kyoutani growls, snatching the papers that are held limply in the guy’s hands.
He scans the papers quickly, the phrases “no unnecessary contact” and “absolutely no sexual activities may be solicited by neither client nor Delivery Agent at any times” popping out at him. His headache worsens just a bit. At the bottom of the last page, there’s a looping signature. Kentarou barely makes out the name it declares: “Yahaba Shigeru”
“That’s me,” the guy, Yahaba , says, noticing that Kentarou was staring at the lettering. “Does everything make sense? Do you have any questions?”
“Shut up ,” Kentarou says again, the saccharine voice the guy was using making his headache worse.
“Sorry,” Yahaba says, pretending to clear his throat. He doesn’t say anything more. Just waits. Kentarou feels his eyes on him and it reminds him of thinking of spiders and then feeling them crawling across his skin. Kentarou tries to shake the feeling, he really does.
“What…” Kentarou tries to say, but his voice wavers. He huffs before trying again. “What are you supposed to… do , exactly?”
“We help people fall asleep,” Yahaba says airly, waving a hand in the air like it was obvious. Kentarou’s pinning him with a glare, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice as he continues. “Every one of our clients has different needs, but most of the time, people just need to feel someone next to them, or hear someone’s voice, or just know that someone is there to watch over them to fall asleep.”
The explanation seems soft, almost fond, and Kentarou doesn’t really expect that from him. Yahaba breaks from his sort of reverie and gives him a knowing smile.
“This your first time?”
“Shut up,” Kentarou says once more, a bit dejected, as he turns away from him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Yahaba says smoothly, reaching out to pat Kentarou’s shoulder reassuringly. Kentarou shrugs him off and ignores the fake noise of hurt Yahaba makes in response. Kentarou’s just about to stand up and tell the guy off, tell him that he doesn’t need his help and that he can just leave because this whole thing was stupid and a mistake in the first place, when he speaks again. “Did you take your meds?”
The question takes him aback. A belated “huh?” slips out of Kentarou’s lips as he looks back at Yahaba. The guy’s holding his phone, Kentarou’s profile shining on the screen as he shakes it a bit for emphasis. “Oh… yeah,” Kentarou says.
“Good,” Yahaba says, nodding before putting his phone away. “We can go to bed now, or we can keep talking. That’s up to you.”
“Like I’d wanna talk ,” Kentarou spits, rolling his eyes as he stands. Yahaba does the same, and follows after him as Kentarou makes a beeline for his room.
“I think I would’ve forced you to bed either way,” Yahaba says lightly. “No offense, you really do look like shit.”
“Offense taken,” Kentarou grunts. He almost ashamed at the disheveled state of his room, but right now he just can’t be bothered with that. There’s this random guy in his room that’s bent on insulting him and that's tasked with putting him to sleep. Like a fuckin’ child. Once he finds that business card, he’s tearing it to pieces.
Yahaba doesn’t mind his room's messiness, apparently, since he marches right in and sits at the foot of his bed like he own the place. Kentarou thinks that, with his job, he would have to be comfortable in weird places like this.
It’s his job. Right.
“This isn’t gonna fuckin’ work,” Kentarou says, feeling stupid all over again as he stares at Yahaba sitting on his bed.
“Not with that attitude,” Yahaba responds, patting at Kentarou’s bed, like he needs prompting. “It’s your first time doing this, right? So you won’t know if it helps until you try it.”
“I don’t need some idiot starin’ at me until I fall asleep,” Kentarou mutters, already planning on deleting that stupid app once he gets the chance.
“Then I won’t stare,” Yahaba says, shuffling a bit as Kentarou clambers into bed. He tries rearranging the blankets, but Kentarou slaps his hand away. “I can read to you, or sing, or tell stories,” he lists, before pausing as he laughs a bit. “I was going to go into our physical options, but I have a feeling that you wouldn’t like that very much.”
“Don’t touch me,” Kentarou echoes as he flips onto his side and tries to smother himself with his blankets.
“As you wish,” Yahaba practically sings, shifting a bit. Kentarou feels his weight settle in the space right behind his back. “Is it okay if I sit here?” he asks tentatively.
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Alright,” Yahaba chuckles. “I guess I’ll read something, then? Wanna hear anything in particular?” Kentarou shakes his head because he knows it won’t make a difference. “The classics, it is,” Yahaba says, and Kentarou hears him fiddling with his phone before he starts to read.
Kentarou closes his eyes, hoping that if he fakes it enough, Yahaba will just leave so that he never has to deal with this again. He can tell Iwaizumi that he tried it and it didn’t help, and that’s okay, because he didn’t need help in the first place. But then he actually listens to Yahaba’s voice as it breaks the usually-ice-cold silence of Kentarou’s apartment, and it’s not sugary, or sing-songy, or formal, it just… is.
Kentarou’s head still aches, but for once it’s not the only thing he can think about. Instead, Yahaba’s voice fills his head until exhaustion makes his bones heavy and the words trail off from his consciousness all on their own.