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Tsukishima really had never thought that ‘sweet’ would be a word he could, or would, use to describe Kuroo, but while they sat, curled up in Tsukishima’s bed and some terrible movie playing from Kuroo’s laptop at the foot of his bed, when he somehow produces the smallest of toy dinosaurs from his pocket, ‘sweet’ is the only word Tsukishima’s brain can process. He looks at the thing—a small tyrannosaurus rex, orange with little blue spots and it looks like it’s grinning—for a long moment, considering it, and watches as Kuroo makes it walk across his thigh, thrown over Kuroo’s own legs. His heart swells just a little bit and the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile the size of the dinosaur’s own.
“What is this?” he asks, looking up at Kuroo and cocking an eyebrow.
Kuroo deadpans, blinking at him. “It’s a t-rex, idiot. I thought you’d know that.”
Tsukishima corrects himself after an exasperated groan. “I mean, why do you have this,” he reaches for it, and Kuroo drops the tiny thing into his open palm.
“I found it at work when I was cleaning out the cabinets in the back. My boss said I could have it, so I brought it home for you.” Kuroo shrugs a shoulder. “It can stay at my house if you want, but it’s yours.”
It really shouldn’t have made Tsukishima feel warm, but it did. His cheeks warmed and he felt the smile on his face before Kuroo could point it out to him. They were never really the couple to give each other presents, even on anniversaries or birthdays, but this small dinosaur toy out of the blue was more than enough for Tsukishima. He would never say as much to Kuroo, has no plans to, but he’s sure that Kuroo knows, sure that he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble if he didn’t know.
He wants to laugh, thinking about Kuroo, ever playing up the bad boy demeanour that he managed to hold onto after high school, asking his boss to take a the thing home with him, but he leans his head against Kuroo’s shoulder instead of cackling, letting a breathy chuckle out and reaching to place the dinosaur on his nightstand.
Tsukishima wraps the blanket a little tighter around both of them and turns his head to press kisses to the underside of Kuroo’s jaw. “Thanks,” he says, voice barely above a whisper against Kuroo’s skin. “Dumbass.”
“That’s it. We can’t take this sort of violence in our home. The dino’s coming home with me,” Kuroo says, a teasing sort of finality to his voice. “You can visit it on weekends.”
“Absolutely not,” Tsukishima interjects. “It’s staying with me and the others.”
Kuroo’s hand finds its way to Tsukishima’s hip and rests there, thumb making lazy patterns on the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re a hoarder. Any seventeen year old with more than one dinosaur figurine has a problem that should be addressed.”
Tuskishima shushes him, hand held over Kuroo’s mouth. “Don’t talk anymore.” He scoffs a second later when Kuroo licks his palm to release himself, and Tsukishima wipes the drool on Kuroo’s shoulder.