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“Put on some sunscreen,” Tsukishima says. He’s lounged on a beach towel, eyes closed, face turned towards the sun. He can sense where Kuroo is, mostly by the shadow he’s casting over Tsukishima’s body as he stands in the sunlight.
“Oh, I don’t burn, Tsukki,” Kuroo says. Tsukishima opens an eye to look at him. Kuroo puffs out his bare chest, preening.
“Whatever,” Tsukishima says. “I don’t care.”
Kuroo doesn’t pick up the bottle of sunscreen. He kicks at the dry sand around his feet, getting a little on the towel Tsukishima is sitting on. “Hey!
“It’s sand, Tsukki,” Kuroo says dispassionately. “You’re surrounded with the stuff.”
“Keep it off my towel,” Tsukishima says.
“Whatever,” Kuroo says. His voice is bright and cheery, hardly taking note of Tsukishima’s own attitude. “Hey, come swimming with me.”
Anything in the world sounds more pleasant than that. Tsukishima doesn’t like the ocean. There’s… things in there. And Tsukishima most certainly does not like things. “No.”
“Come on!”
“No!”
Kuroo looks at him for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine, have it your way.”
Tsukishima watches Kuroo’s back as he retreats.
All this, it’s a retreat. A summer trip, to play beach volleyball and bond. Karasuno had invited Nekoma to the beach for this. A little ways away, the Nekoma setter, Kozume, is sitting under a broad umbrella on an old blanket, his DS in his hand, clicking away at the buttons. The rest of Tsukishima’s team is off somewhere else – Yamaguchi had excused himself, saying he was going to walk down the beach with Hinata and Kageyama. Tsukishima had volunteered to stay here, watching their possessions. He was beginning to think that wasn’t such a smart move on his part, since he has to deal with Kuroo as a result.
For lack of anything better to do, Tsukishima watches Kuroo as he splashes about in the waves. He’s not too far off, and even with his hair wet it sticks up, so it’s hardly easy to lose sight of him. Tsukishima lets the sun warm him as he sits. The day is clear and bright, but it’s a little cold. It’s still spring, after all. The wind across the sand brings a slight chill. Tsukishima leans back on his elbows.
After a while, Tsukishima notices Kuroo headed back his way. Fantastic. And what’s he holding?
Kuroo drops a mass of soaking wet seaweed near the foot of Tsukishima’s towel as he approaches. Kuroo stands there dripping water from his hair and limbs and swim trunks. Tsukishima frowns.
“I brought you a gift from the sea,” Kuroo says. He’s like a cat with a dead bird at his feet. He looks entirely too proud of himself.
“Don’t bring that to me!” Tsukishima says. He points a vicious finger towards Kozume. “Bring it to him, if anyone!” Nekoma’s setter is looking around, alerted by the yelling, and catches sight of Tsukishima’s gesture in his direction. He startles and tucks his knees to his chest.
“What, to Kenma?” Kuroo says, glancing in the direction Tsukishima is pointing. “Nah, he doesn’t like this sort of thing.”
“I don’t either!”
“Accept my gift!”
“That’s not a gift! That’s seaweed!”
Kuroo clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You have no idea how to have a fun time,” Kuroo says. “Come swimming!”
“No!”
Kuroo shrugs again. “Fine,” he says, and jogs back towards the water.
There’s no telling how long the respite will be, even with Kuroo cavorting in the waves. Tsukishima tries to relax anyway, despite the sticky, salt smell of the seaweed that’s sitting near him in the sun. Tsukishima kicks sand over it to mitigate the smell and keeps a close eye on Kuroo’s actions. The last thing Tsukishima needs is for him to bring an actual carcass up here.
Through the next couple of hours, Kuroo surrounds Tsukishima in a mass of so-called treasures from the deep. Tsukishima sits ensconced in driftwood of various sizes, a second type of seaweed, a scattered jumble of seashells of several species and empty crab bodies, and several rocks. The sun is sinking lower in the sky, and now Tsukishima can hardly monitor Kuroo’s activities without staring directly at it.
Kuroo drags a long piece of driftwood covered in barnacles along the sand and drops it to rest against the others. He wipes his hands against each other to rid them of sand, and looks down at Tsukishima with his hands on his hips.
“Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima finally asks.
“If you won’t go to the ocean, I have to bring the ocean to you,” Kuroo says simply. “Come on, I found a jellyfish and everything, but I can’t pick it up and bring it to you, can I? You have to come see it yourself.”
Tsukishima considers Kuroo with his eyes narrowed. “If I go in the water,” Tsukishima says, voice dripping with distaste, “will you stop bringing me every disgusting object you happen across?”
Kuroo considers the proposal for a short moment. “Yes,” he says.
Tsukishima regards him with a frown. He seems to be serious about that, at least. With a long-suffering sigh, Tsukishima picks himself up off the beach towel. He steps carefully over the assembled driftwood and seashells, and rolls his eyes at Kuroo’s grinning face.
The ocean as it rushes to meet his feet is freezing cold compared to the still-sunny day around them. It makes Tsukishima’s shoulders jump up to his ears in surprise. Kuroo strides into the water like he was born to it – but then, he’s been out here all day.
“Are you happy now, Kuroo?” Tsukishima says, water rushing around his ankles as the wave recedes.
“No,” Kuroo says. He’s up to his waist in it, shouting across the hissing sound of the waves pulling back from the shore. “Further!”
Tsukishima turns up his nose, but moves out farther. By the time the water is lapping cold against his thighs, Tsukishima is already wondering when he can get out.
Kuroo has retreated a little, to stand between Tsukishima and the shore. Tsukishima faces him, with the sun at his back – and that’s a relief, the brightness had been piercing.
“How’s the ocean?” Kuroo asks.
“Cold and terrible,” Tsukishima comments.
“Remind you of anyone?” Kuroo says, looking innocently off into the distance.
Tsukishima is frowning, about to ask him what exactly he means by that, when a wave crashes into him from behind. It hits him at the level of his hips, and pushes him forward into Kuroo. Tsukishima scrabbles and ends up grabbing Kuroo’s forearm to stop himself from falling face-first into the salt water. Kuroo supports him gamely.
“You alright, Tsukki?” he asks. “The sea is a fickle bitch. Don’t turn your back on her.”
“It’s you I shouldn’t turn my back on,” Tsukishima says. He pushes himself back into an upright position. His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t think it’s just from the adrenaline rush of almost falling. He and Kuroo are still standing so close their knees are bumping as the water rushes back the opposite way. For an instant, Tsukishima wonders what Kuroo would do if he kissed him.
There’s a weird feeling around Tsukishima’s ankles. “What is that?” he says, looking down between himself and Kuroo at his feet.
“Seaweed!” Kuroo says gleefully. “It’s everywhere. The joys of the sea.”
“That’s not a joy,” Tsukishima says. Now that the moment is over, he and Kuroo are standing much too close. Tsukishima steps away, then wades through the water around him.
“You’re done already?” Kuroo says, spinning around to watch Tsukishima head back to the shore.
“Yes,” Tsukishima says. “I’m going back to the house now. I’m done with the beach for today, and I’m hungry.”
There’s a bunch of splashing noises as Kuroo jogs after Tsukishima to catch up. “I’ll come with,” he says. “The beach is no fun alone.”
“You’ve been out here alone all day.”
“I haven’t been alone. You were right there, all day.”
That’s almost touching. Tsukishima finally puts his feet on solid, hard-packed sand again, stepping out of the range of the waves. They gather their possessions from where they’d left them, surrounded by Kuroo’s numerous catches of the day, and then climb the dunes and head back to the beach house where they’re staying with their teams. Flip-flops dangle from Kuroo’s fingers and Tsukishima’s towel drapes over his shoulder and they walk in silence, not speaking. It’s not uncomfortable though, the silence.
The walk knocks most of the sand off their feet, but they stop at the entrance of the house to wipe the rest off with Tsukishima’s towel. They’re the only ones in the house – Tsukishima can tell by the silence. Kuroo straightens from wiping his feet and hangs the towel by the door. Looking at it, Kuroo’s skin is remarkably red. Tsukishima can see it, angry-looking and not much at all like his normal skin tone. Tsukishima can’t resist. He slaps a hand against Kuroo’s red, raw back. Kuroo flinches immediately, launching himself away from Tsukishima’s painful touch with a sharp gasp.
“I thought you said you didn’t burn,” Tsukishima says, an evil grin twisting onto his face.
“I clearly miscalculated!” Kuroo shouts. His arms hang helplessly in the air – he looks as though he wants to touch the spot Tsukishima had slapped to soothe it, but reaching back would only aggravate the burn. “Say you’re sorry!”
“I’m not, though,” Tsukishima says.
“Pretend, then.”
Kuroo is standing very close, still relaxing from the sudden sting of Tsukishima’s slap. Tsukishima remembers that urge to kiss him that he’d had earlier, when he and Kuroo were standing in the surf. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Kissing Kuroo. It’s not like there’s anyone around. Tsukishima takes a step towards him, closing the distance. He just catches sight of Kuroo’s confused expression before he closes his eyes and leans in to kiss Kuroo.
Their lips meet easily, softly, and Kuroo doesn’t pull away. He kisses Tsukishima back, for those few seconds Tsukishima allows the kiss to go on for. When Tsukishima pulls away – and it’s Tsukishima that pulls away first, not Kuroo – he leans back to look at Kuroo’s face.
“That’s my apology,” Tsukishima says. He searches Kuroo’s face for a moment, then gives him another quick, momentary kiss. “And that’s to thank you. For… for thinking of me all day.”
There’s a smile breaking out on Kuroo’s face. “Oh, I’m going to get so many more kisses than that,” he says. Before Tsukishima has a chance to respond, Kuroo kisses him again, harder and more insistent. Neither of them pay much attention when Tsukishima’s hands reach up and press to Kuroo’s sunburned back, not while Kuroo’s tongue is licking at Tsukishima’s and not while their lips are moving against each other’s and not while they kiss for what feels like forever standing in the entryway of the beach house. Kuroo smells like salt and faintly of seaweed but his kiss is warm and heady and good, and Tsukishima doesn’t mind it, not at all.