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There were instances when Shirabu felt like time stopped.
It was like this: Semi's hands in his shirt, taking in all his pieces and made sure he realized how they entangled with each other—pressing and sliding and kissing and biting and making sure they loosened up again to make breathing room for Shirabu. His hands would then move up to his face to cup it before pressing his lips to his and his tongue against his and his eyes opening and closing and meeting his along those ways with a quirk of his smile more evident on those fucking eyes than his lips. Or down to more of his parts that were aching to be touched by him.
It was Shirabu's lips twisting into a smirk as he looked him dead in the eyes. “Fuck. Me.”
It was Semi's breath against his neck and his voice whispering the words he loved, and it was Shirabu's moans and pleads and realizations that he loved being in control, but he also loved this—silence, distillment, reminding him of a ground to walk on that isn't his but is free to be explored. It was Semi's cock pulsing against his walls and his arm (a single fucking hand) with his veins evident keeping both of his wrists tied together on his back as he fucked him into oblivion.
After that, Semi would kiss him, clean him up, kiss him again, tell him he loves him, kiss him again, Shirabu retorting with a snort or a sassy little comment, kiss him once more, okay maybe another one, Shirabu snorting again, then another kiss until Semi's lips are tourists and Shirabu's skin is foreign lands and these tourists are thirsty to go island hopping—marking again and again until he falls asleep to Semi's lips on his hair and a smile burned on his lips.
"I love you." Those words would then be drowned by drowsiness, Semi exhausted him in many ways. This one way, was one of his favorites.
He rarely responds. But Semi takes what he could get.
Sometimes, it was like this: 2:00 am was printed out on red bold neon letters on the clock Semi bought out of what was left on his second salary of his part time job (university and rent demanded extra income) and his arms (Shirabu loves his arms, but you would never hear that from him) around him, caging him—the kind of prison you'd feel safe in. Shirabu was awake as Semi dozed off, getting the sleep he deserved after studying for two consecutive nights for some test.
It was Shirabu sobbing silently at 2:05 and willing his shoulders to stop shaking as to not wake Semi up.
It was Semi waking up at 2:06 and kissing the back of neck, whispering—“I love you.”—as if it was a secret the whole world was forbidden to hear. As if it was something exclusive to Shirabu only.
And maybe it was.
“You don't.”
Semi would move one arm up to stroke Shirabu's hair. “What the demons tell you will never be real enough to be reality.” Shirabu sucked in two inhales.
“Those are not real?” He says, more of a statement than a question. “They still feel real no matter what, Eita. I can't just... disregard them over and over.”
“The sun, you, me—those are real. Your thoughts, your nightmares, all these things bringing you down—they are real, too, but they exist in a plane that can't reach you.” Semi, then, would move so Shirabu would face him and kiss him two times. “They can't do this, can they?” Semi then pulls him into an embrace so tight, it felt like being strangled by victory. “You're out of reach, Kenjirou. They have to get past through me before they defeat you.”
“Tell me I'm not gonna wake up and not find you here.”
Semi snorts. “I might be in the kitchen cooking your eggs or making you coffee.” Shirabu hits his chest playfully, Semi giggles. “That, or I could wake you up and risk my arms being cut off.” Pertaining to Shirabu's dread of the morning's call.
Then he was calm again. “Go to sleep.” Semi hums.
“I love you.”
“Hey, Semi?” Shirabu would say then, when he knows Semi's in the brink of falling asleep.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.” For the kisses, for the hugs, for the love. The words that followed will never be uttered out loud, but at least he said thanks.
Or maybe it was this: the morning sun shining through Shirabu's apartment's living room window and Semi laughing silently at the comedy show playing on TV that only made him roll his eyes. Two mugs of coffee were on the kitchen counter as he was reaching for some milk (Semi actually liked his coffee with milk while he loved his coffee black) with his left hand, his right hand was busy making home on his face as a comedian on TV made a joke that was so bad Semi had to actually cackle to express just how bad it was.
It was him carrying two mugs and handing Semi the other one.
It was Semi saying, "Thanks."
It was him thinking, for what? He wanted to ask him why he loved him that way. What this relationship was made of, and what it was for. Shirabu was always told that the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference. That if the sea was burning and everything had been turned upward—opposites don't come together and the magnetic charge of gravity was pushing and not pulling—will Semi be indifferent?
Instead, he'd give him a 3-second stare and face the television, eyes dead on the screen as to not face Semi's adorable disgusting face lined with affection. He always looked at Shirabu like that. Shirabu doesn't know if he hates it or likes it.
It was still days and the sun pausing in the sky for their sake. It was coexisting in a small space. Like a corner in the library where Semi would kiss him silently. Or like his apartment when Yahaba was out with his boyfriend. Or like Semi's apartment when Tendou was busy doing stuff. Or like Ushijima's apartment when he told Semi that he should wait for him there to finish a project and him being late because apparently, he was 'stuff' and Shirabu was a good boyfriend, as he likes to say.
It was Semi's laughter coaxing the walls as Shirabu whined and ranted about those stupid TV shows that Semi was fixated on. It was Semi's annoying voice at 6:00 am when he woke up too early and decided to obnoxiously knock on Shirabu's doors. It was Semi riling him up with irritation before kissing his forehead to his nose to his lips, and again and again and again. It was Semi saying, “I love you” even when Shirabu couldn't say “I love you, too” immediately. It was Semi's radiance, and it was Semi's darkness. It was Semi's humility, and it was Semi's pride. It was Semi's adorable face when he looked at Shirabu that way, and it was Semi's disgustingly affectionate face when he looked at Shirabu that way. It was Semi's patience, and Semi's impatience. It was Semi's good and bad. Semi's all and none. Semi's everything. For some reason, it was Semi. Semi. Semi. Semi.
At times when he felt time had stopped, Semi had always been zoomed in. Always in the spotlight. Zoomed out. Always contributing to the view.
Then, it was this: Semi Eita in his toga as he was graduating college, and Shirabu Kenjirou wearing something formal as he kissed him with a smile as he congratulated his boyfriend. His parents had come to the ceremony, then was introduced to the evening after. Their smiles were genuine, their acceptance was sincere. And when it was time for them to leave, Shirabu kisses Semi.
“They loved you.” Semi commented as they were walking back from the train station, looking at him once then to the road again. Shirabu gave him a small smile, even when he was not looking.
“They're lovely.” Shirabu scoffed. “Too bad, I can't say the same for you.”
“And yet you kissed me like three minutes ago. By all means, drag me.” Semi laughed as he threw a hand over Shirabu's shoulder, another thing he has a love/hate relationship with.
“Eh,” Shirabu shrugged as he slipped off the arm, walking faster and then facing Semi so he was walking backwards. “You have some entertainment value.”
Semi raised an eyebrow. “You,” pointing at Shirabu's heart, and then gave him a kiss when he halted momentarily. “are a paint in the ass.”
“Technically, you're the pain.” Shirabu winked.
“I hate you.”
“Quit stealing my lines.” Semi grunted and Shirabu was satisfied with that.
It was this: Semi riling him up, then payback.
It was this: Shirabu graduating a year later and waving his last goodbyes at university. Semi's fingers intertwined with his and lips connected to his and everything was an explosion of whatever was flooding his chest for so many years now because of Semi Eita. His parents had already met him once in high school, so kissing him in front of them was no longer a big surprise. Even the times they held hands, or the times they touched in a way that connected them, but not really. As if only a taste, as if only a tease.
When Shirabu graduated, Semi had already gotten a job. They already had set their eyes on an apartment that was fully theirs, not with Yahaba or Tendou. Not with anybody else. Just the two of them. Just a space they could coexist in peacefully without expecting anybody else to ruin it. It was as easy as life could get. They both decided to drop volleyball and just go on with their jobs, but the sport still etched in their blood. They don't fail to watch Ushijima's games, accompanying Tendou as he complained about third wheeling and being angry about not having a boyfriend to watch the game with—instead having a boyfriend to watch. They did not miss any chance to play it too.
It was this: It was this. Semi's fingers buried in Shirabu's hair and his lips mere inches away from the other's. Small breaths, gentle humming. “Do you wanna get married?” Shirabu said.
“Is that a proposal?” Semi's eyes widened a fraction, but he retaliated with raising one of his eyebrows. Things like that weren't alien on Shirabu's lips, he usually talked about the future which was much more mystical than anything else. It fascinated him, and Semi was fine with not saying anything.
“No.” Not yet. Shirabu opened his eyes to stare at Semi's. “But do you want to get married someday?”
Semi's eyes crackled with a kind of warmth like those shared on bonfires with marshmallows on sticks. He kissed the top of Shirabu's head. “I kind of like where we are now.”
“Hmm.” Shirabu laid his head on Semi's collarbone and sniffed. He had always liked his scent.
It was this, too: The first time Shirabu said the holy three words was not as hard as he has expected it to be.
“Eita?” He said, tearing his cheek from the collarbone as Semi hummed a response. He meandered his way up so they laid face to face. Slowly, Shirabu gave him a kiss.
“I love you.” Shirabu said as he kissed him again.
For once, Semi didn't say anything.
“I said I love you. Ungrateful swine.”
It was this: Semi's eyes watering and Shirabu smirking and Semi playfully hitting him.
They kissed again, and time stopped again.