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The first time they kiss, it’s in the middle of the night. It’s freezing cold outside, and Asahi’s heater doesn’t function quite properly, so their teeth chatter while they rub their arms under the blankets thrown over their shoulders.
The melancholic timbre of Yann Tiersen is playing on the phonograph, filling the living room with the chords of Monochrome, anchoring them in the present and nowhere else. Overall, it feels nice. They had a pleasant night, eating pizza and drinking too much coke, watching silly cartoons, and then talking until late night.
“Listen.” Asahi begins, and then sighs.
There are so many things he wants to say to Nishinoya, but he doesn’t know how. He scratches the back of his neck and turns to Yuu—and when did he start referring to him as Yuu—and it fills him with guilt, because he’s right there, so close to him, and Asahi fucked up big time during his third year, but the other never blamed him, never seemed to be disappointed in him, only forgave Asahi in the blink of an eye.
He wants to say Sorry, you were always good to me, but I was a disappointment, and maybe hug him too, because he looks so small, he looks like Asahi could engulf him in his embrace, and he wants that, he wants to burn Nishinoya’s scent into his memory, the shape of his body against his own, the way he looks up at him as though Asahi were flawless.
He feels heat creeping up on his cheeks and averts his eyes, then Nishinoya is rising to his knees, propping his hands against sinewy shoulders.
“Asahi,” he calls; eyes serious and intent.
“H‒hi?”
“Don’t run,” he says, and Asahi frowns, opens his mouth to say What, but Nishinoya interrupts him, “cuz I’m gonna kiss you.”
And he doesn’t give him time to react, he leans in, no hesitancy, just a hint of shyness, and when their lips touch, Asahi still has his eyes open, wide-open now. The other’s lips are soft and moist against his, and Asahi makes a small sound, a mix between a sigh and a hum, when Nishinoya catches his bottom lip in between his and sucks.
It’s such a chaste, small gesture, but it makes the hair on his arm stand on end. He raises his hand and touches the back of Nishinoya’s neck, holding him there, stroking the fine, soft hair at his nape.
Small hands press more firmly into the meat of Asahi’s broad shoulder, and they feel like an anchor, keeping him there, moored at that unique and incredible moment, which he doesn’t want it to ever end. But they break apart, stare into each other eyes, not moving or taking their hands off the other, just staring.
And Asahi looks down, blushing, and then cringes.
“Oi.” Nishinoya grumbles, lifting an eyebrow. “Kiss me again.”
And he does. He does so timidly, because he’s never been used to this feeling of having what he wants, he’s never felt at ease wearing his heart at his sleeve as far as Yuu’s concerned. It makes him feel improper, like he’s not right, not worthy. Like every step he makes is wrong.
Nishinoya sighs into his mouth and leans back, just enough to look at his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Eh? Nothing, n‒nothing’s wrong.”
He snorts. “Why do I put up with you?”
I ask myself the same thing, he wants to say, but Asahi just half-heartedly shrugs, looking down at his hands.
Nishinoya clicks his tongue in displeasure; he brings his hand to Asahi’s chin and makes the other look up at him. Their eye level is almost the same due to Nishinoya being seated on his lap, and Asahi almost smiles at that.
“Lemme answer that. It’s because I like your goofy face and your heart of glass,” he says, rolling his eyes as if to say it’s so obvious how come you still don’t know.
Asahi rises to his knees; the other’s small legs still around his waist, his grip tightening at his back as he’s lifted up. They’re still not at the same height, though, and Asahi has to look down just a bit to stare at Nishinoya’s brown eyes.
"I’m…" He smiles timidly, shakes his head to clear his thoughts and sets the other down on the back of the couch. "I—”
“Are you showing off?”
“Huh?”
“Pretending I weigh nothing. Like, Oh, I’m Asahi; I’m so strong and tall.”
He’s shaking his head vehemently before he can say anything. “No, I’m not, I d‒didn’t even think—”
“Sure. Cuz you’re so tall and so strong,” he says, jabbing a finger into a broad chest, “you don’t think there are people who aren’t that tall or that strong?”
“I’m…” he mumbles, distressed. “I—”
Asahi starts pouting, mumbling something so inaudible even Nishinoya, who’s only centimeters away and can’t help thinking Asahi’s pout is endearing, can’t hear.
He also can’t help feeling amused, but when warm, chestnut eyes get teary, he shakes his head, taking pity on him. He quits messing with the other and pulls Asahi closer to him by the collar of his shirt.
“Such a wimp,” he says, before kissing him.
“But I love your feet, only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.” — Neruda