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i.
When Kuroo pressed his lips against his for the first time, Tsukishima knew this couldn’t end well. He knew how these things worked, knew himself too well, to think that the softness of this kiss was anything more than the prelude to a collapse.
Because he was an idiot, he kissed back anyway.
He told himself he didn’t know why he was doing it, except he did know why, and it had something to do with the way Kuroo smiled at him like he was worth something. Tsukishima didn’t think of himself as having low self-esteem, but it was a strange feeling—being looked at specifically like you were worth something—and it wasn’t as if Yamaguchi and his other teammates didn’t treat him that way, but Kuroo was just inexplicably different.
He wondered why Kuroo thought this was worth pursuing. He wondered if Kuroo could tell that Tsukishima had only ever kissed one other person in his life, and that was forced upon him in elementary school by a girl whose face he didn’t remember. He wondered why Kuroo didn’t fall for someone else—someone less difficult. (Or maybe it was because he was difficult that Kuroo liked him—he seemed like he’d be that kind of guy, going after the hardest catch.)
When their lips parted and Kuroo had his hands firm on his shoulders, warm through the sleeves, Tsukishima swallowed. All he could do was grip the front of Kuroo’s shirt in his fists and keep telling himself, “This isn’t going to end well, this isn’t going to end well, this isn’t going to end well,” but having Kuroo stare at him so closely for the first time made him unable to think too clearly.
He was more serious than Tsukishima has ever seen him off the court. It was different—unnerving. There were birds on power lines chirping behind them as they stood on the sidewalk, and he swore he could feel the shrill vibrations of them against his back. The bright sunshine didn’t register. It didn’t feel like he was quite in this universe anymore, and a part of him wished Kuroo would act normally.
He didn’t look like he liked Tsukishima because he was difficult.
“Do you like me?”
Tsukishima didn’t respond for what felt like minutes. Kuroo just waited patiently, looked at him with an expression he had never seen before—or maybe he had, but it had been so quick, and he didn’t know if he was imagining it. Now he knew he wasn’t.
Kuroo’s eyes fell downward, watching as Tsukishima let go of his shirt. He thought this was the beginning of a rejection.
Because Tsukishima was an idiot, and maybe because he didn’t like the look of disappointment of Kuroo’s eyes, he wanted to say yes. He didn’t know how to, though, because actually saying “yes” seemed out of his ability, and saying “maybe” seemed too cruel for the moment.
He settled for taking in a breath and leaning forward to kiss him. Kuroo’s eyes widened for a moment before they went soft—too soft for Tsukishima to handle, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with the softness of his eyes and the softness of his lips or the soft hands Kuroo placed on the back of his neck.
They broke away soon. Their second kiss was shorter than their first, and Tsukishima didn’t look like he knew if he wanted to do it a third time. Kuroo’s hands fell from his neck to his waist, and he buried his face in the crook of Tsukishima’s shoulder. Tsukishima wanted to wrap his arms around him, and he didn’t know what to do with this feeling.
“You’re thinking that this is going to end horribly, aren’t you?”
Tsukishima didn’t say anything.
Kuroo only smiled against his neck, held him tight like he was fleeting.
ii.
“You better not get me flowers, or some cheesy crap like that,” Tsukishima said.
It was a week before Valentine’s Day, and Tsukishima had been thinking about it ever since he saw the date on his calendar, the little red heart next to the “14” absolutely unnerving. They had been in a relationship for two weeks now and, in their busy schedules, had seen each other a grand total of two times, not counting the day they got together.
“Do I really look like the type?”
“You took a three-hour train to walk me home from Saturday practice. That’s disgusting.”
Kuroo smiled at the faint dust of pink on Tsukishima’s cheeks, which was almost imperceptible. He stopped walking, and when Tsukishima turned around to see what was the matter, Kuroo laced their fingers together and brought their hands up, kissing Tsukishima’s knuckles.
“Tsukki, you’re so shy.”
Eyes wide, Tsukishima jerked his hand away and stepped back, stepping on someone’s nicely mowed grass.
“Stop messing with me,” he said, and Kuroo gave him a sly smile.
“But you’re so fun to mess with.”
When they continue walking, Kuroo casually grabbed Tsukishima’s hand, not even making eye contact. Tsukishima blinked and pulled away without thinking.
“Sorry,” he said after he realized what he had done.
Kuroo’s face gave away nothing. He only stuffed his hands in his pockets, giving a smile.
“It’s fine.”
They walked the rest of the way to Tsukishima’s home without touching hands again. When they arrived it was getting dark out, and Tsukishima thought about Kuroo taking a train ride home, back against cold seats and staring out at a blue-black sky.
Before he could invite him inside, Kuroo kissed his cheek and said he’d see him soon, don’t forget to text, make sure to eat a proper dinner.
When the door shut, Tsukishima didn’t move, the ghost of Kuroo’s lips seeming to linger on his cheek long after he was gone. Tsukishima didn’t bring up a finger to touch it, only standing still and trying to steady his own breath, which seemed unusually erratic. He flexed his fingers, something like regret lingering in his palms.
iii.
Kuroo had called him up out of nowhere, in the middle of night, saying without so much as a greeting, “Let’s go on a date.”
Tsukishima rubbed his eyes and groaned, still sleepy and irritated from being woken up so late.
“What?”
“Let’s go out—on a date,” he breathed, and Tsukki wondered why he sounded like this was so urgent.
“Why are you asking about this so late? It’s past 1:00 a.m., for god’s—”
“It’s been over a month, Tsukki.”
“What?”
“Since we got together.”
He understood then what Kuroo meant—it had been over a month since they had gotten into an official relationship, but they still hadn’t gone on a date yet. Kuroo had suggested it a few times before, but volleyball practices and matches, along with schoolwork and the long train ride between them, always got in the way.
He sat up on his bed, pulling the blanket off himself and scratching the back of his head.
Tsukishima wanted to say no; he had never been on a date in his life and the idea didn’t appeal to him whatsoever. “First date” sounded like amusement parks, like holding hands at the movies, like picnics at the park. He wondered which one Kuroo had in mind. “No” was on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, he said, “Fine,” because he could picture Kuroo on the other line, laying in bed in his pajama pants and even messier hair than usual, tapping his fingers on the nightstand nervously because he hadn’t gone out with his boyfriend yet. He almost never saw Kuroo nervous.
“Tsukki,” he said, mildly surprised, “I expected you to put up more of a fight about this.”
“I’m your shitty boyfriend and you want to go on a shitty date. It’s normal, right? I don’t know why you sound so nervous—it doesn’t fit you. Just don’t pick anything weird or embarrassing.”
“Tsukki.”
“What?”
“You’re adorable.”
He hung up on him immediately, pulling the covers over himself and resuming his sleeping position. As expected, Kuroo called back after a few seconds.
“Meet me at the movie theatre by your house on Saturday at 7:00,” he said.
Ah, so Kuroo was going with the “holding hands at a movie,” route. Tsukishima supposed it was better than an amusement park.
“Whatever will let me go back to sleep,” said Tsukishima.
“‘Whatever’? Well, in that case, what I really want to do for a first date is—”
Tsukishima hung up again, burying his face in the pillow and ignoring the incoming calls for the next five minutes.
…
Tsukishima realized an hour before the movie that he had no idea what to wear. It was something he had never stressed about before, but he had never been on a date before either. He rummaged through his drawers, wondering how nicely he was supposed to dress for a date at the movies and what the hell Kuroo was going to wear.
“Fuck it,” he said after ten whole minutes of this ridiculousness, and threw on a dark jeans and a button up shirt. Teenagers always said they liked seeing boys wear that.
By the time he got to the cinema, the issue of his clothes was out of his mind, replaced with dread and anticipation. Kuroo was waiting for him, two tickets in hand, and smiled as soon as he saw him. His figure was dark against the bright lights shining inside the building, clear against a blur.
They walked into the theatre wordlessly, shoulders close but not touching. It was a bit empty, a few scattered couples and a group of teenagers here and there.
The movie, which Tsukishima hadn’t even been bothered to ask about, seemed something like a crossover between Indiana Jones and Jurassic Park, and occasionally got him to chuckle.
The first time he laughed Kuroo jolted beside him, turning his head at the sound.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing,” said Kuroo. “This movie is kind of terrible, isn’t it?”
He was fully expecting Tsukki to agree with him and start trashing the movie (the bad acting, the loose plotting, the sometimes nonsensical actions of the characters) but, to his surprise, he just said,
“It’s not that bad.”
“Are you serious?” said Kuroo.
“It sucks, but the anatomy of the dinosaurs is accurate, and the historical facts are all generally true. It’s kind of surprising, honestly.”
Tsukishima went back to watching the movie, and Kuroo tried not to laugh.
“You’re a huge nerd. I knew there was something up with all the dinosaur figures in your room.”
“Shut up,” he said, a little petulant.
“What kind of dinosaur is that?” Kuroo said as he pointed to the screen.
“It’s a Deinonychus,” he said. “You can tell by the large, hooked claw on its hind feet, and its height.”
“It’s a lot smaller than I’d expect.”
“It’s only three and a half meters,” he said.
“Seriously?”
“Not all dinosaurs were huge,” said Tsukishima. “This one was only maybe nine kilograms heavier than me.”
Kuroo didn’t comment on his newfound discovery of Tsukishima’s knowledge of dinosaurs, instead asking him more questions about things he wasn’t actually too interested in. He liked to watch Tsukki’s mouth move quickly, hear his voice stutter and stop at information he wasn’t too sure about, then backtrack and correct himself. After a few questions, Tsukishima needed little prodding to keep talking, and people would sometimes turn to give him annoyed looks for disturbing the peace of the theatre.
Tsukishima didn’t seem to notice and Kuroo ignored them easily, saying “huh” and “really?” and “wow” in between Tsukki’s ramblings, marvelling not so much at the information itself but by the fact that Tsukki could ramble, had something that kept him talking unselfconsciously for minutes on end without so much as a sarcastic remark.
His face was still turned to the screen as he talked, but Kuroo kept his eyes on him, ignoring the movie entirely. Kuroo moved a hand to place on top of his but withdrew it after a moment of hesitation, not wanting to cut off his words this time.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tsukishima saw the rise and fall of Kuroo’s hand. It settled back into Kuroo’s lap, subdued in a way that didn’t seem like him at all.
“Why’d you stop talking?” said Kuroo.
“Oh—nothing.”
He had only noticed then how empty the theatre really was, how sticky the floors were, how the people in front of them didn’t seem to be enjoying the movie at all. There was a middle-aged couple sitting close by, and why they chose to see this movie in particular for a date night baffled him. The man wore slacks and dress shoes, and all Tsukishima could think of was how those shoes would get sticky on the soda stained floor and no one would would see his nice clothes except for his wife and a few strange teenagers.
The woman leaned her head into her husband’s shoulder, and he wrapped an arm more tightly around her. The light from the expansive screen seemed to be reflected in their faces, dancing around the lines in their skin. He pressed a kiss into her hair as a Kronosaurus groaned, looming tall above the Indiana-Jones-rip-off.
…
“I’ll pick a better movie next time,” Kuroo said with a laugh. “Or, you should pick, actually.”
“I liked it.”
“Are you serious?” Kuroo said, raising his eyebrows.
“It was very accurate,” Tsukishima said defensively.
Kuroo just snorted, looking like he was about to tease him.
Instead, to Tsukishima’s surprise, he just put a hand on his shoulder, pulled him in for a brief kiss, and didn’t even make the effort to tease him once.
After Kuroo said “Good night” and was about to leave, Tsukishima called out, “You look nice today.”
He couldn’t believe the words that came out of his own mouth, but Kuroo was startled for only a few moments before he smiled, looking—relieved?
“You’re supposed to say that at the beginning of a date.”
“I forgot.”
“Your shyness is adorable.”
“Your everything is the least adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I take back my compliment,” said Tsukishima.
“You’re pretty too,” he said, smile halfway between devilish and sincere.
Kuroo kissed him again, softly, like the man’s lips against his wife’s greying hair. He held his shoulders in place, then slid his hands down Tsukishima’s biceps, his forearms, and, finally, his wrists; then he let go.
“Good night,” said Kuroo.
“See you later.”
v.
“You wanna come in?”
He said it too quickly and regretted it immediately. He cursed himself for seeming too eager—it wasn’t as if he was desperate for Kuroo’s company. He just didn’t want a repeat of the last time he walked him home.
Kuroo hesitated for a moment before saying, “Sure.”
When Kuroo stepped into his bedroom he smiled at the perfectly made bed and dinosaur figures, still neatly in place like the last time he visited. He touched the tip of his finger to the head of the Triceratops, blowing off a bit of dust that had gathered on it.
“You really are a huge nerd, aren’t you? I should’ve known from your glasses,” he said, pulling Tsukishima’s glasses from his nose and trying them on.
He fell back onto the bed, still wearing the glasses, and looked up at Tsukki, who was trying to take them back.
“I have thing for guys with glasses,” he said lightly.
Tsukishima snorted. “Since when?”
“Since you wore glasses.”
“Since I was five?”
Tsukishima gave him the blankest look he could manage, which disappointed him greatly.
“Comments like that used to make you blush,” Kuroo said mournfully.
“I never blushed.”
“You almost turned slightly pink, which is your version of blushing. Good enough.”
Tsukishima snorted and swiped his glasses, saying, “You always love messing with me.”
Suddenly he was being pulled by his forearms until he was above Kuroo, facing him directly and seeing that his face had turned more serious.
“Why do you always think I’m messing with you?”
“What else would you be doing?”
Kuroo loosened his grip on Tsukishima’s arms and hugged him gently at the waist instead. He sat up, pulling Tsukishima closer until their lips were touching.
“I like messing with you, but I’m also serious,” he said, holding his hands against Tsukki’s back while their legs were tangled together.
“I’m serious,” he repeated.
He kissed Tsukki’s lips, his eyelids lowered but never closed, watching. He was always watching.
Tsukishima pressed harder, unable to bear the softness, but Kuroo wouldn’t. He brought his hands to Tsukishima’s face to still his movements, then parted his mouth, their tongues sliding together. Kuroo pulled away and pushed him back onto the bed gently, leaning down again when Tsukishima’s head hit the pillow.
Tsukishima let out a moan when Kuroo slid his tongue between his teeth again while slipping his hand under his shirt, feeling the ridges of his ribcage and the firmness of his chest. Kuroo let out a shaky breath at the sound, revelling in it, kissing harder and deeper to see if Tsukki would do it again, wondering if Tsukki would ever moan his name, wondering what was his face would look like if Kuroo kept touching him like this.
Everything smelled like Tsukki—the room, the bed, the pillows—and Kuroo’s head was full of it. He wanted to catch all his short breaths and changes in his expression, wanted to lick the pink at Tsukki’s cheek and scrape his teeth over his adam’s apple all at the same time, and he wondered if it was okay to want so many things at once from one person.
Tsukishima moved his hands to the back of Kuroo’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss, their mouths open and their teeth knocking together. It was too wet, but neither of them cared. Tsukishima didn’t bother to be gentle when he pushed his tongue into Kuroo’s mouth, driven by some thoughtless desire to fill him and be filled by him, so terrified by the feeling but too hungry to stop. (But it was so, so terrifying.)
Nothing was gentle except for the way Tsukishima ran his fingers through Kuroo’s hair, played with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck just for the sake of feeling them. Nothing was gentle except for the smell of his pillows and of his neck, like cotton and laundry detergent and something warm. Nothing was gentle except for the fleeting look in Tsukishima's eyes when Kuroo placed a hand over his chest to feel his rapid heartbeat.
In the midst of it all a single, too coherent thought eased into Tsukishima’s mind without warning: This isn’t going to end well, this isn’t going to end well, what am I doing—
The hem of his shirt was being pushed over his torso, and Kuroo kissed him chastely on the dead center of his chest. Tsukishima gasped, hands moving to cradle Kuroo’s head against heart.
vi.
They finally noticed it after a Wednesday after-school scrimmage, three months into their relationship. Nekoma began putting away the volleyball nets and organizing the storage, chatting with lingering Karasuno players who weren’t rushing to get on the bus home.
Hinata was waving his arms and shouting onomatopoeias at Kenma in the middle of the gym, somewhat distracting (although most of them were used to it), so it took them a while to notice two boys standing together in the corner of the gym.
“You’ve gotten better, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima shrugged, and Kuroo smiled.
“Surprisingly modest, aren’t you?”
“I’m not modest,” said Tsukishima.
Kuroo threw an arm around his shoulder, chuckling.
A few people noticed this from the corner of their eyes, but they supposed it was normal—it was Kuroo, after all.
They turned and blinked when Tsukishima didn’t pull away, instead leaning into him.
It was only for a second, like an automatic reaction, before he pulled away and stood upright again, but still leaving Kuroo’s arm around his shoulder. Squeaking shoes on the gym floor halted, everyone going silent. Kuroo and Tsukishima became aware of eyes on them, turning to see people looking. Everyone unpaused and resumed what they were doing, and the gym was echoing with chatter again. No one mentioned it.
When Karasuno was filing into the bus and Tsukishima was about to leave, Kuroo pulled him in for a quick kiss goodbye. They pulled away after less than a second, but everyone caught it.
Hinata looked at them blankly, tilting his head.
“When the hell—”
“I knew it!”
“Wait, wait wait wait—”
“It’s like Romeo and Juliet.”
“How long has this been a thing?”
Kenma just snorted.
…
After their next scrimmage, no one was bothering them about their relationship. Tanaka and Nishinoya seemed to have got it all out of their system after a week of teasing and snickering, and other teammates weren’t so invested in Tsukishima’s love life.
Sometimes Hinata would stare at them out of curiosity, wondering if he had ever seen Tsukishima so unbothered by another person besides Yamaguchi invading his personal space like that, and Kageyama would have to drag him away and tell him not to stare. Still, he caught the way Kuroo wiped something off of Tsukishima’s cheek, and the way Tsukishima’s eyes lingered on Kuroo’s collarbone when he wasn’t looking, and the way their hands sometimes brushed and they’d let them stay there, touching, but would never move to grab the other, and the way they gravitated towards each other when they were tired and lazy and not thinking—
“You’re always staring,” said Kageyama.
Every time after that Hinata tried not stare, turning his head away from them, but occasionally his eyes would drift and he’d see their hands bumping, knuckles brushing, fingers lingering, and it seemed so private his face would get warm and he’d have to look away again.
After a particularly exhausting game, when everyone was lying around and avoiding cleaning up the gym, Kuroo and Tsukishima lay on the hard floor with their legs tangled together. Sweat ran down their foreheads and they weren’t looking at each other, just letting their limbs touch as they enjoyed the coolness of the floor.
Tanaka walked over to them, making a kicking motion at Tsukishima and telling him that it was time to start putting everything away. Tsukishima grabbed his ankle and said to get his dirty feet away from him. Hinata caught Kuroo smiling, eyes still closed.
He looked away, face heating up.
“Why do you look so nervous?” Kageyama said. “The game is over.”
“I— I don’t know.”
…
Tsukishima lingered on the steps of the bus, the last one in. Kuroo placed both hands on the sides of Tsukishima’s face, looking like he was about to kiss him, but instead giving him a few hearty claps.
“Good game, Tsukki.”
Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks squished between Kuroo’s hands.
“Your hands are dirty.”
Kuroo clapped his face again, then kissed him briefly before the doors of the bus shut with a loud creak.
Nobody batted an eye. The bus started turning its wheels. Hinata took a last glimpse out the window. Kuroo was smiling casually, looking like he wasn’t thinking or feeling anything in particular, but his hands were in loose fists, thumb rubbing at his index fingers like there was something there.
vii.
Tsukishima was the one to bring it up, surprisingly. He had downloaded Skype on a whim, bored one Saturday night when he was done with all of his homework. It’d be a good tool for him and Kuroo to communicate when Kuroo went off to college, he thought. (If they were still talking by then, he reminded himself, the thought sharp and jarring despite what he had known all along.)
He mentioned it offhandedly to Kuroo (not the college part, though), which was all Kuroo needed. He was evidently good at taking hints, and Tsukishima was often terrible at communicating desires in any other ways that weren’t hints.
“How does it work?” Kuroo said into the phone.
“You have to download it. It’s not a website.”
“Ridiculous,” said Kuroo. “Still downloading things in our day in age.”
“You’re an idiot,” said Tsukishima with no bite whatsoever. “Have you downloaded it yet?”
“Almost.”
After a few more minutes, a grainy view of Tsukki’s face appeared on his laptop screen.
“Oh,” was his first reaction.
“What were you expecting?” said Tsukishima, condescending as ever.
“You naked, maybe,” said Kuroo. “That’s what people use these for, right?”
Despite his effort to look annoyed, Tsukishima started snickering, caught off guard by his own laughter.
“You’re an idiot,” he said.
“You’re intentions are so impure,” said Kuroo. He sat back against his pillow and stretched out his legs, watching the corner of Tsukki’s mouth lift ever so slightly. All the normally sharp shadows and subtleties of his face were more blurred, but Tsukishima was still there, both in another city and in Kuroo’s bedroom.
They leaned forward at the same time, then, catching themselves, leaned back again.
“How was practice?”
“Tiring,” said Tsukishima. He thought of Hinata. “Annoying.”
“You like Hinata deep down though, don’t you?” said Kuroo.
How did he manage to catch everything?
“Shut up.”
…
“Tsukki.”
Tsukishima looked up from his homework.
“What?”
“Something terrible happened today.”
Tsukishima looked a little more alert, losing traces of his usual flippancy.
“What?” he said.
“A little boy thought I was in my twenties.”
Tsukishima stared at him, upper lip raised in annoyance.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Do you think the stresses of volleyball have given me wrinkles?” Kuroo said, holding a finger on his forehead and stretching the skin a bit.
“You haven’t noticed?”
“Hey,” said Kuroo. “Now I really am self-conscious.”
…
“Tsukki,” he said as soon as the started webcamming for the night.
“Hm?”
“Tsukki.”
“What?”
“Tsuk-kiss kiss fall in love—”
Tsukishima closed his laptop.
His cell phone was vibrating a minute later and, against all good sense, he answered it.
“Kiss kiss fall in love—”
“I hate that song,” Tsukishima said, seething when Kuroo kept singing it anyway.
For some reason unbeknownst to him (of course he knew why, but he didn’t want to say it), he didn’t hang up, instead letting Kuroo serenade him with the shitty “Sakura Kiss” song.
“Maybe you’re my love,” Kuroo sung, humming the rest of the tune.
His voice was actually quite nice.
“You sound terrible.”
“I like your voice, too,” said Kuroo.
…
One Friday night, when they were both too exhausted to really talk, they still had their webcams on and struggled to keep their eyes open. They each only had their lamps turned on for light, the rest of the room dark. Their faces were overly bright against the black background, everything too grainy.
Kuroo yawned, loud and not bothering to cover his mouth, and Tsukishima thought with amusement that he really did fit Nekoma, looking all like a cat. Tsukishima started yawning soon after.
Kuroo’s hair was sticking up and out more than usual, not quite in the effortless but maintained looking way it normally was. A few strands were sticking against his forehead, curling. Tsukishima chuckled slightly at the image, although Kuroo didn’t seem to notice, too busy closing his eyes and already halfway to sleep. He reached out a hand to push away the out-of-place hair, blinking when his fingers hit the cool screen instead of Kuroo’s forehead.
Almost as if Tsukishima had touched him, Kuroo’s eyes opened and he ran his fingers through his hair.
Tsukishima withdrew his hand. Kuroo noticed, confused for a moment until he smiled. His eyes were half-lidded, and despite his usual grin he looked like he wasn’t quite all there, head lolling to the side a bit.
He reached a hand out to the laptop, bleary eyes only seeing the blur of Tsukki’s face, his fingers brushing over a random spot on the screen before he fell asleep. Tsukishima was left with the image of his sleeping face, whited out by the lamp light. Kuroo exhaled loudly, and Tsukishima could feel the vibrations of the sound on his speakers.
They were slight and painful.
He sat there with Kuroo’s image between the slit of his closing his eyes before he fell asleep.
…
On the nights that they didn’t webcam (which were becoming increasingly rare) Tsukishima would tap his fingers on his laptop, spending a few moments feeling lost without the routine of seeing Kuroo’s face in 2D. This developing dependency left him bitter and resentful (towards himself or towards Kuroo, he didn’t know). One of these days—and it was coming up soon, he reminded himself—they’d have to stop this.
Still, his fingers kept tapping rapidly until he annoyed himself. He wondered if Kuroo had showered yet, if he had done all his homework or eaten dinner. It was rare, but sometimes Kuroo got into a terrible habit of skipping meals, which was so hypocritical because that was what he always criticized Tsukishima for.
He huffed, then started humming.
“Maybe you’re my love—shit.”
…
“It’s weird actually seeing your face in person this time of night,” said Kuroo, sprawled out on his bed while Tsukishima sat in a chair, comfortable in Kuroo’s room but not quite at home yet.
“It’s weird actually seeing your face. Looks a lot more wrinkled in person.”
Kuroo half-heartedly threw a pillow in his direction, barely hitting Tsukishima’s leg.
“Isn’t this a little cliché,” said Tsukishima, “me sleeping over when your parents are away?”
“They don’t care,” said Kuroo. “I don’t think they’d suspect anything even if they were home.”
“Interesting.”
“Why? You want to come over more often?”
“Forget it. The train ride here sucks.”
Kuroo sat up. “Yeah. It’s a shame, isn’t it?”
Tsukishima blinked, feeling almost guilty at the tone of Kuroo’s voice. “Well, it’s do-able. It’s not terrible.”
Kuroo rolled over on the bed, tangling himself up in the blankets and closing his eyes.
“Tsukki, lay in bed with me.”
He was surprised when he felt the mattress dipping with Tsukishima’s weight. He opened his eyes to see Tsukki getting comfortable next to him, actually complying with his request. Tsukishima pulled the blanket twisted around Kuroo’s body over onto himself, lying on his side and staring at Kuroo.
“I just don’t want to sleep on the floor,” he said.
Kuroo laughed, draping an arm around him and scooted forward. Tsukishima leaned in more closely and placed a hand on Kuroo’s side, their foreheads and noses nearly touching. It almost looked accidental when their lips brushed once. The second time there was slightly more pressure, and the third time they simply pressed their lips together, not so much kissing as merely having their mouths against each other and feeling the tickle of breath.
“Another monthly anniversary,” said Kuroo.
“I’m so glad you didn’t get me flowers.”
He felt Kuroo smiling against his lips. Tsukishima’s hand tightened around his side until he felt his muscles, fingers digging in with perhaps too much pressure, but Kuroo didn’t say anything about it.
“Kei.”
Tsukishima’s eyes opened wide and, without thinking, he pulled back.
Kuroo’s eyes fell, staring at the space between them.
His heart squeezing until he was breathless, Tsukishima grabbed Kuroo’s right hand, and the feeling of their fingers lacing together and their palms flat against each other’s, the knowledge that Tsukishima was the one who initiated it—it was too much.
Kuroo stared at him, astonished. His breath was coming in and out in short, quiet pants between parted lips.
“Kei,” he said again.
Tsukishima squeezed his hand more tightly.
“Kei,” he said, moving closer until the space between them was closed.
He said it again, right against his lips, until he was breathing Tsukishima’s own name into his mouth.
“Kei.”
viii.
The realization came sooner than he thought it would, knocking into his shoulders and leaving him with nothing so say except for, “Oh.”
He had been planning the conversation for weeks now, but he still wasn’t sure how to start it.
“We need to talk.”
“I think we both saw this coming.”
“So, you’re going to college now…”
Terrible, terrible, terrible.
He gripped his pen tighter, the teacher’s lecture fading into background noise. His notes were half blank. He could barely remember what class he was in.
Hinata called his name, whispering for help on a concept he didn’t understand. It was a habit now, Tsukishima helping him out and pretending he was annoyed.
He didn’t hear him this time, though, pressing his thumb hard against the tip of the pen, unable to think anything except, how much longer?
Yamaguchi glanced over at him, catching the distant look in his eyes. He tapped a pencil against Tsukishima’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
Tsukishima turned to him, startled.
He wanted to say he was fine, but no words would come out of his mouth. He shrugged.
…
“Is something wrong?”
Tsukishima looked up, not realizing he had been staring off into nowhere. He turned up the brightness of his laptop screen, Kuroo’s face becoming lighter.
“Fine,” he said.
“You didn’t even tell me to shut up when I was singing.”
“I like your singing.”
Kuroo went silent, mind blanking at the compliment.
“Stop looking at me like that,” said Tsukishima.
“Seriously,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Tsukishima said calmly.
It wasn’t overly defensive or biting like the way Kuroo was used to hearing those words come out of his mouth. Tsukki’s “Nothing’s wrong” always came with hard eyes and a twisted mouth, not—what was this even?
“I’m tired,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
Resignation?
“It’s late. We should go to sleep.”
“Tomorrow’s a Saturday,” Kuroo pointed out.
“I’m just tired.”
…
The next time Tsukishima stayed over at Kuroo’s house, he sat on the bed like it was his own. Kuroo rummaged through his bin of DVDs, listing the titles aloud and asking Tsukishima which ones he wanted to watch.
He only got vague grunts, “I don’t care,” and finally silence.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
He didn’t get a “Nothing’s wrong” this time—only Tsukki’s stare.
Tsukishima stood slowly, walking over with firm steps until he was backing Kuroo up against the wall and kissing him hard. He gripped Kuroo’s biceps tightly and shut his eyes, only wanting to kiss him until his lips went numb.
Kuroo placed his hands on Tsukishima’s hips and pulled him forward. He had his eyes open like he sometimes did when they kissed, and Tsukki always commented that it was weird, but he said nothing about it this time. Kuroo pulled away from Tsukishima’s grip on his right arm and held his hand instead, tracing the lines in his palm with his thumb before fitting their fingers together.
He heard Tsukishima’s breath stutter—his mouth frozen for just a second—and then he exhaled slowly when they broke their kiss.
Tsukishima pressed his cheek against Kuroo’s neck, chin resting on his shoulder and eyes closed. Kuroo didn’t ask him what was wrong this time, just took his free hand and placed it flat against Tsukishima’s back.
Tsukishima squeezed his hand lightly, thinking that Kuroo, always so perceptive, would be able understand just from that. He had to be thinking about it too.
Kuroo squeezed back but said nothing. Tsukishima opened his eyes, palm itching with disappointment.
…
When finals were over and summer was about to start, Kuroo talked about going shopping for everything he’d need to live in the college dorms.
“You should come with me,” he said. “It’d be more fun than going alone.”
“Okay,” said Tsukishima after a moment’s hesitation.
He could help Kuroo pick out new sheets and a new lamp and a new rug, he thought. He could pick the pillow cases Kuroo would lay his head on for the next four years, suggest the blanket that Kuroo would wrap around himself when it got cold during the winter. He could help carry the boxes into Kuroo’s new dorm room, then leave quietly with the knowledge of what it looked like, what the pattern of his sheets were, who his roommate was, how white the walls looked, how squeakily the door hinges turned as he shut it on his way out.
He could leave quietly with this knowledge, take a train ride back to his own city, go back to his own house, crawl into his own bed, and then forget it all.
…
When the summer heat hit its peak during the daytime, Tsukishima would get out of bed, clothes sticking to his skin and sweat slightly shimmery on his neck, and open the window. He had taken to staying up late at night and waking up at noon, no homework or class schedule to stop him.
When he pushed open the window and leaned out to feel the breeze, he saw a blur on the ground.
Kuroo was waving his arms, calling out his name.
“What’re you doing here?” Tsukishima yelled.
“Let’s go out on a date,” Kuroo shouted.
“I’m tired—I just woke up.”
“It’s half past noon,” said Kuroo. “That’s your own fault. Come on!”
Tsukishima sighed and walked to his closet, pulling out fresh clothes. He gave in so easily these days. Twenty minutes later he was out the door, a sweaty Kuroo waiting for him outside while the sun beat down on him.
“What did you want to do?” said Tsukishima.
Their dates usually consisted of going to the movies or having a movie night at one of their houses, visiting museums or going to some casual restaurant. Always something lowkey, the way Tsukishima liked it.
An hour and a half later they were fastening their seat belts and squashed in a two-person seat, the hard plastic uncomfortable against their backs as the worker tightened their seat belts. Tsukishima gripped the bar in front of them, eye twitching as the ride slowly began to move.
He looked down, the ground seeming a million miles away, and then up again. Not a good idea.
Kuroo was smiling, and Tsukishima shook his head.
There were already kids and teenagers screaming in front of them and in back of them when the car had barely begun to move.
Tsukishima’s sigh turned into a scream when they hit the peak of the curve and dropped downward. His knuckles went white as he held the bar, and no matter how tight he gripped it he felt like he was going to fall and die at any second, at every second, and his heart wouldn’t slow down until the car was easing back into the entrance of the ride. When it finally halted, Tsukishima let go and stretched out his fingers.
“Why,” he said afterwards, his hands hurting from holding on too tight. “You don’t even like amusement parks that much.”
Kuroo shrugged. “We’ve never been to one together. I thought it’d be nice. It’s such a summer date thing to do, isn’t it?”
Suddenly Tsukishima understood.
“We’ve never been to one together,” “such a summer date thing to do, isn’t it?”
He inhaled deeply, unsteady and quiet, and looked up at the roller coaster they had just ridden. The screams in the distance, just background noise before, pierced through the air and filled his eardrums.
“You’re not enjoying it?” said Kuroo.
“No,” said Tsukishima. “I’m enjoying it.”
Kuroo looked at him skeptically, but Tsukishima just grabbed his hand and asked what he wanted to do next. He dragged him around, pulling him with more force than necessary. Kuroo just hung on, wondering when Tsukki had ever led any of their dates. They went on rides for the next few hours, and Tsukishima didn’t complain once.
“What’s wrong?” said Kuroo.
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t given me a hard time about any of this,” he said, gesturing all around him.
“Why are you complaining about me not complaining?”
“What’s wrong?” he said again.
“Nothing’s wrong,” said Tsukishima, voice hard.
He turned and started walking again, still holding Kuroo’s hand, but Kuroo pulled him back.
They stared at each other, frozen. In the middle of distant screams, perky music, and bullet-fast roller coasters sliding past them against the sky, the loudest noises were the steady inhale and exhale of their breathing and the absence of words.
“I’m hungry,” said Tsukishima finally, no fight in his voice like Kuroo had expected.
He didn’t let go of Kuroo’s hand when he started walking again. Kuroo followed him wordlessly, eyes never leaving his expression.
They sat down at a bench near a food vendor in silence. Tsukishima didn’t order anything.
After a while, he finally found it in himself to open his mouth and force his voice.
“This is our last time here, huh?”
“What?”
“At this amusement park—it’s our last summer date,” said Tsukishima.
“We can go again if you want,” said Kuroo. “I didn’t know you enjoyed amusement—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, a little frustrated.
There was a long pause before Tsukishima began talking again. He didn’t look at Kuroo when he said, “You’re going to college in a month.”
“Yeah,” said Kuroo. “That doesn’t mean this is our last date.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Tsukishima’s hands curled into fists on his lap, and Kuroo finally understood.
…
“Only if you want it to be,” was what Kuroo told him.
He hadn’t called Tsukishima since that day, hadn’t webcammed or shown up at his window.
Tsukishima pulled the blanket up to his chin. The view of the moon through the open window, blurry without his glasses, ate at him. It was a like a gaping mouth, the wind a groan.
His feet were frozen sticking out from the blanket, and the image of Kuroo’s hands grasping at his back pierced through his thoughts. The absence of that warmth seeped through his clothes. He shivered.
…
“Hey, Kei.”
“Yeah?”
He ignored the way Kuroo saying his first name made his heart hammer.
“Do you love me?”
He said nothing.
Kuroo went on. “We’ve never said it to each other before, but I think you do.”
Tsukishima opened his mouth to answer, but Kuroo interrupted before he could speak:
“Maybe you do,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I don’t know why I called.”
…
Tsukishima didn’t cry, but when he found one of Kuroo’s shirt in his laundry basket, still smelling like him, a stupid song played in his head all day long. It didn’t sound as nice when it wasn’t Kuroo’s voice singing it.
Still clutching the shirt, Tsukishima turned to his window, looking down at the patch of grass.
“Do you love me?”
“Do you love me?”
“Do you love me?”
How could he ask him that?
“Only if you want it to be.”
He made it sound like a choice.
Tsukishima swallowed thickly, the smell of Kuroo’s shirt making his vision blur. He threw it back in the basket and grabbed his house keys, not bothering to slip on a jacket before stepping out of the house. Today, the smell of grass made him feel sick, and he rushed to the train station, half-running and half-walking, nothing concrete urging him on except Kuroo’s smell and the simple indignation of How could he ask that? How dare he ask that?
…
Tsukishima could barely contain his rapid heartbeat when the train stopped, a voice from the speaker announcing that there were difficulties and that they were still trying to figure out what was wrong. He tapped his foot against the floor, body movements too erratic for the unmoving train. It was still as stone, and Tsukishima was forced to be still with it, just stuck.
This is why pessimists aren’t romantics, he thought. Romantic gestures were for people like Kuroo to perform, people who didn’t seem to be plagued with vehicular difficulties or trouble with communication.
After ten minutes he couldn’t stand it anymore, decided to screw romantic gestures, he was never good at that anyway.
He pulled out his phone. Kuroo answered on the second ring.
“Tsukki?”
“I was going to show up at your house,” said Tsukishima. “I was going to stand outside your window.”
“Where are you?”
“Stuck on a stuck train, because I’m an idiot. You were right: the train ride between us does suck.”
“Do you want me to come get you?” said Kuroo. “Which train are you on?”
“You said ‘Maybe you love me.’ ‘Maybe.’ I love you. There was never a ‘maybe.’ I never thought it would work out, but there was never a ‘maybe.’”
The train jerked forward, then stopped again. Tsukki was unfazed, just held on tight.
“I didn’t know it was a choice,” he said. “I didn’t know this was a choice.”
“Of course it’s a choice,” said Kuroo.
Tsukishima couldn’t tell anything from the tone of his voice, didn’t know how he was reacting to this, but he went on anyway.
It was hard to breathe, but he managed to say, “Could we—could we try this?”
“Try what?” said Kuroo, but they both knew what Tsukishima meant.
“This. Going on stupid dates and taking long, annoying fucking train rides to see each other. Keep trying it for—for however long.”
He felt light, unstable despite the fact that the train wasn’t moving at all, like he was falling every second despite his grip on the bar.
“For however long” was the most concrete idea of the future either of them would ever get.
Kuroo didn’t answer for what felt like a long time; Tsukishima waited, holding the phone close to his ear, and counted the seconds. He didn’t want to rush him, but he was getting impatient.
“Well?” he said.
“How long are you going to be stuck on the train?”
“I—I don’t know—could be hours.”
“Ah, okay,” said Kuroo. “That gives me time to tell you about the last few weeks I’ve had. You missed out on a lot since we didn’t talk. So, on Monday, I ran into that kid who insulted me again—the one that said I looked too old to be a high school student—and he was still a brat—”
“Oh my god,” Tsukishima said in disbelief. “Shut up.”
“On Wednesday I got ice cream with the team, and Kenma keeps smiling while texting someone. I think it’s Hinata.”
“Shut up,” Tsukishima breathed, heart light, still laughing.
They sat for hours, Kuroo lying on his couch and Tsukishima hunched over in his seat, until Tsukishima’s cell phone battery was completely drained.
His phone was dead now and he had nothing to distract him. He laid his head back against the window pane and closed his eyes, imagining the breeze right outside.
ix.
When the school year started up again, not much had seemed to change, except now Kuroo was farther than just a few hours away by train. The distance they used to complain about was so much easier in comparison now. There was no luxury of showing up at each other’s windows, holding hands at the movies, or taking the next train ride over to each other’s houses when they missed lying in the same bed.
The days went by too fast and too slowly at the same time; he went through the same motions—school, volleyball, studying, school, volleyball, studying. Hinata would still bother him for help during class, and he would still pretend to be annoyed and help him anyway (with many eyerolls and snorting). Yamaguchi’s freckles were still in place. No one else had left him. Kuroo’s absence was frequently sitting in the back of his mind, though, ready to think about when he had an idle moment or saw someone with an outrageous bedhead.
Their only comforts were texts between classes, long phone calls on the weekends, and the view of each other’s faces through a computer screen late at night. For once Tsukishima was glad they hadn’t been closer or gone to the same school; the practiced distance made everything a little easier.
It still wasn’t easy, though. If it was easy he wouldn’t have been tightening his scarf, then loosening it, then tightening it again in an agitated state of too cold and too hot and Where the hell is Kuroo?
He heard the crunching of snow before he saw him. Tsukishima looked up to see Kuroo—still looking the same in person as he remembered him, except maybe his hair was longer—who had a cup of hot chocolate in each hand, still holding them while he wrapped his arms around Tsukishima. The drink sloshed around in the cup, spilling through the mouth of the lid and melting a bit of snow on the ground.
They didn’t let go, continuing to hug each other tightly. In the middle of the busy shopping district it was loud, the lights were overly colorful, and a few people stared at their long embrace—it was all terribly romantic, in a way, but mostly just relieving. They were separated by layers of clothing and thick jackets, and the cold was beginning to bite into their skin, but it was the closest and the warmest they had been in months.
x.
In the past two weeks, he had gotten about four hours of sleep a night, sneaking in a nap occasionally. The dark shadows underneath his eyes gave him a sinister look, although he generally had one on anyway, so Tsukishima said it wasn’t any loss.
His head was swirling with an energy drink buzz and the image of Tsukki wrinkling his nose cutely and a fight between chemistry and math—which final should he study more for tonight and fail less?
He fell backwards onto his bed, the mattress springs creaking beneath him. It was a lot harder than his bed at home. Pulling the blanket around himself, he grabbed the now cold tea on his desk and took a sip. He ate breakfast and lunch at Tsukki’s insistence, but he had yet to eat dinner, the promise of textbooks and endless notes diminishing his appetite.
Calculus or a bagel?
He pulled his folder onto his lap.
Calculus.
His phone rang and buzzed beside him. He answered it without looking at the caller ID.
“You haven’t had dinner, have you?” said Tsukishima.
“I’ll eat later.”
“You always scold me for irregular eating habits, you hypocrite. Stop studying and eat something.”
“You’re telling me to stop studying? You, of all people?”
“I swear to god,” said Tsukishima, “if you call me a nerd—”
“You’ll kiss me?”
This got some kind of laugh out of him, much to Kuroo’s delight.
“You want to meet up after finals?” said Kuroo, folder slipping from his lap.
“Sure,” said Tsukishima. “But eat something before then.”
“I will,” said Kuroo.
They hung up soon after that, neither having any time to really talk. Kuroo gave up on studying. He knew it all well enough, just had to stop stressing and get a good night’s sleep.
His roommate walked through the door just as Kuroo was turning off the light and getting ready to take a nap. The realistic glow-in-the-dark dinosaur stickers lit up green, and he couldn’t remember for the life of him what the name of each one was despite Tsukki telling him multiple times, but they were nice to look at all the same.
“I thought you were studying tonight,” said his roommate, flicking the lights back on.
“I’ve studied enough. Just gonna go to sleep now.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“How badly can I fail a chemistry final? I think I know what I need to know.”
“I guess, if you’re sure. That usually doesn’t end well.”
Kuroo stared at him for a moment, mouth parted mindlessly. For a second he was taken back to a sidewalk on a sunny day, his memory murky except for the vivid blue of the sky and birds chirping on a power line.
He smiled. He looked sinister with the lopsided curve of his mouth and the shadows beneath his eyes, but it was a smile Tsukishima loved dearly.
“So I’ve been told before,” he said. “But I wouldn’t worry about it.”
xi: in time
On Saturdays they usually got up early to go to breakfast, too lazy to make it for themselves and too comfortable to resist indulging in going out. Today, though, they slept in until 11:00, their limbs hanging off the bed and traces of drool on the pillow. Moving everything in and unpacking had taken it out of them last night.
The birds chirping outside their window finally woke them up. Tsukishima groaned, then groaned again when he saw the drool.
“What the fuck?” said Tsukishima, glaring out the window with squinting eyes.
“They’re called birds, Kei,” said Kuroo, rolling over to face him.
“We never had this problem with our last apartment.”
“Our last apartment was a small shithole without hot water half the time. This one is fifty times better.”
“At least there were no god damn birds in the last one,” said Tsukishima, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. “I like cold showers anyway.”
Kuroo smiled and pulled him close, burying his face in his chest.
“That sounds vaguely sexual,” he said.
“Only to perverted old men like you.”
He smoothed over Kuroo’s hair, running his fingers through it until it looked normal.
“Let’s get breakfast,” said Kuroo, voice muffled by Tsukishima’s chest.
“It’s 11:00.”
“Lunch, then.”
“Okay,” he said, yawning.
But they didn’t move from their bed, which wasn’t always big enough for their long limbs after a tiring day and left them tangled together, but sometimes Tsukishima thought Kuroo picked this mattress intentionally for that reason. He kept his suspicions to himself, though.
His eye began twitching with every shrill chirp of the birds, but he kept stroking Kuroo’s hair anyway, gently and slow, until Kuroo grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, tracing the lines over with his lips to refresh his memory.