Work Text:
“But you’re both so quiet,” Yamaguchi says. “How do you guys even get through it?”
Kei shrugs.
Mornings are a quiet affair with them, but then again, neither of them are very loud people. Their shared apartment has guests often enough that they can’t be considered anti-social, with Bokuto and Kuroo using them as a quaint stop in the midst of their (mostly drunk) shenanigans. Tsukishima and Akaashi can not-so-proudly boast that they have had more three-AM net-less volleyball matches in the middle of the road than anyone else in the building, and probably the city (unless Kageyama counts). Somehow between the multitude of friends who for whatever reason consider Tsukishima’s place the prime destination to be, they still manage to enjoy a good deal of comfortable silence.
That isn’t to say they don’t talk at all, however; both of them open up quite well to one another. Akaashi finds great humor in Kei’s snarky little quips about the passers-by as they walk through the park, and Akaashi’s dry sense of humor can have Kei in stitches easily enough. That aside, both Akaashi and Kei were night owls, and thus their mornings were nearly always silent. But silent wasn't a bad thing. In fact, Kei has come to adore their little morning routine.
As Kei nurses his coffee, Akaashi his tea in the sweet glow of a warm May morning, Kei lets his thoughts wander. He thinks about Akaashi’s strange refusal of coffee despite his habit of resting his head on the breakfast table because he’s too tired to even hold himself up, and on this particular morning the fact that he couldn’t hear Akaashi’s quiet snoring was the only clue that he wasn’t actually asleep at the table yet again. He thinks about the messy bedhead that Akaashi hasn’t driven himself to brush yet, and the way the little streaks of sunlight filtering through the kitchen window make it seem radiant despite Akaashi being all but dead to the world. Kei’s not much of a morning person himself, evidenced by the fact that he didn’t even notice his body moving until Akaashi’s hair was sliding through his fingertips, catching in places where the fine locks manage to tangle. He runs his blunt fingernails lightly over Akaashi’s scalp, earning him a pleased little sigh, and Kei’s lips twitch ever-so-slightly upwards. He continues with his gentle ministrations until a pair of brown eyes so dark they’re nearly black blink blearily up at him. The seemingly-permanent dark circles under those brilliant eyes are more endearing than anything, and Kei swallows down a pulse of affection. He would have been content petting Akaashi’s hair all morning, but a warm and intense feeling rises in his chest when their eyes meet, just strong enough that he can’t stop it from blooming across his entire torso and enveloping him in a feeling that is like sunshine and April showers combined. It's different from and much rarer than the instances of affection like the one Kei'd just felt, and he can't pinpoint why but it makes him vaguely uncomfortable. Akaashi’s head leans into his palm, and with his other hand Kei pushes his coffee across the table, a silent offer accompanied by the raise of a slim blond eyebrow. Akaashi pushes it back, a silent rejection.
With a shake of his head and a kiss of apology to Kei’s cool fingers, Akaashi sits up properly and takes a final sip of his tea before standing slowly and stretching his arms over his head. His t-shirt (which actually belongs to Kei) lifts as he stretches, exposing a thin strip of porcelain skin, and Kei can’t help but get up himself lest he lose himself watching his love. He takes his time rinsing out his empty coffee mug, and calls Akaashi to bring over his teacup. These are the first words spoken, Kei’s baritone ringing in the silence of the springtime morning. He feels rather than hears Akaashi’s affirmation, in the form of a kiss to the back of his neck. He takes Akaashi’s teacup and places it in the sink before turning to meet his eyes.
Sometimes, it’s hard to forget that he doesn’t really have to look down to look at Akaashi, a refreshing change from some of the other people he associates with (namely Yachi, the poor girl, sometimes he legitimately doesn’t see her walk past him, her head is so low), and he hums low in his throat as their foreheads tip together. Their lips are brushing now, a barely-there touch that revives the cloudy-clear feeling from earlier. In the still silence of a warm May morning, they kiss a silent I love you.
“I don’t know,” replies Kei, lazily looking down at his friend. “We just do.”