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Tsukishima hasn’t spoken a word to him since the breakup.
That’s the thing about long-distance; when it ends, it just…ends. You stop texting each other. You stop visiting each other. There’s no stuff to clear out, because Tsukishima took it all with him after that last, awful conversation. There’s no social schedules to coordinate, because Kuroo’s friends are in Tokyo and Tsukishima’s friends are in Sendai. No awkward meetings at the restaurants they both used to love. They lift right out of each other’s lives. They haven’t talked; there’s nothing to talk about. Anymore.
(“Kuroo,” Tsukishima had said, blood draining from his face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” And he had been. He thought he had been. “I’m sorry. I just can’t… I can’t deal with it. I can’t.”)
Kuroo had known what would happen. He had watched Tsukishima collect his things. His resolve was already slipping, and dread was growing in his heart. “Hey,” he blurted out, while Tsukishima slid on his shoes. “Call me when you get home? Just so I know you're safe.” They always did. Or, they always had.
Tsukishima hadn’t said a word. He paused, stone-faced, and then he nodded. He won’t call, thought Kuroo. I’ll never hear his voice again. The door slammed, and Kuroo’s dread blossomed into full-on panic. What had he done?
That was two months ago, and sure enough, Kuroo hasn’t heard a single word. From someone he used to talk to every day, by phone or text. The person he talked to the most, is now just… gone. And Kuroo’s throat is choked with unsaid words. With longing, and yes, with regret.
(“I thought… I thought we were happy. I’m happy.” Although Tsukishima looked as miserable as Kuroo had ever seen him.
“Me too,” Kuroo had choked out, through tears. “But if you’re not all in, if you aren’t sure, then…that’s terrifying to me. How can I just go on acting like everything’s fine, and making plans, when I know that you think it’s just going to fall apart?”
“I don’t think it necessarily will. I just don’t know that it won’t.”
“Well, I do! Because I won’t let it! That’s what keeps people together, is when they decide to stay together! Why can’t you,” Kuroo stops, sobs. “Why can’t you decide that for me?”
Tsukishima doesn’t answer.)
Some days, Kuroo is sure that he did the right thing. That he protected himself in the only way he could. Other days, he feels as though he blew up the best thing in his life, and for what? Pride. Willfulness. Fear. And now look; there’s nothing left.
Well. Almost nothing.
Kuroo is late getting home today, and he rushes up the stairs to his apartment. Not because anyone is waiting for him, or because he has anywhere to be. No roommate, no cat, not even a plant. But he has to be home by nine. Has to.
Because Tsukishima still calls.
He had called that first night. Kuroo had blinked in confusion and anger and hope, when the name appeared on his screen. He answered, not sure if he wanted to apologize or fight. “Tsukki?”
There was no reply, but the line hadn’t disconnected. He heard Tsukishima’s breathing, as familiar and distinctive as his speech. A little irregular, a little ragged. Kuroo waited. And waited, and waited. But his boyfriend — oh god, his ex-boyfriend — hadn’t said anything. Just stayed on the phone, as a minute passed, then two, then five. And then he disconnected.
Kuroo hadn’t known what to make of it, but chalked it up to “weird breakup stuff” and didn’t think about it much, wrapped as he was in a cloak of self-righteous grief.
The second time it happened, Kuroo had said, “Look, do you want to talk or not?” And Tsukishima had hung up.
The third time, Kuroo had been so deeply lonely that even hearing Tsukishima’s breathing had felt like a blessing. They had both been silent for several minutes before Kuroo finally whispered, “Don’t hang up. Just don’t.” And Tsukishima had stayed on the line until Kuroo fell asleep.
The fourth time, Kuroo answered with “I miss you,” and Tsukishima had started crying. Not loudly — Tsukishima never cried loudly — just soft sniffs. Kuroo could picture it, the stoic way that Tsukishima always cried: face still, with silent tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “Look, I’m sorry, can’t we—” And Tsukishima had hung up. And Kuroo had cried himself to sleep, daydreaming about wiping away Tsukishima’s tears.
Tsukishima didn’t call for a week after that. But he did call again, and they both sat silent on the line. Kuroo didn’t dare speak, but his brain was screaming. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.
(“I’m doing my best,” Tsukishima had said. “I know you want more. But I’m giving everything that I possibly can right now. And if that’s not enough, then… I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“Yes you do,” Kuroo had said. How had he been able to bring himself to say that? “It’s not enough for me. So if that’s all you can do, then… I guess it’s not working out.”)
By the tenth phone call, Kuroo has grown to expect it. By the twentieth, Kuroo has lost track of the number of calls. Not every night, but often enough. Never before nine o’clock; never after eleven. Tsukishima never speaks; Kuroo rarely does. Once, only once, did Kuroo break down in tears. He didn’t even try to hide it, and Tsukishima didn’t hang up. He just stayed on the phone, as Kuroo’s sobs subsided. It was two hours before Kuroo finally ended the call.
(Tsukishima had stared at him, body completely still. “You’re saying you want to end it.”
And Kuroo had nodded. Just a nod. He hadn’t even had the guts to say it out loud. But he had nodded, he had nodded, and now it was done.)
Tonight, now, Kuroo waits, with the phone on the couch beside him. Eleven o’clock comes and goes; Tsukishima doesn’t call. Kuroo tries not to feel too crushed.
He knows it’s not healthy, what they’re doing. They broke up. He should move on. Find someone willing to commit; go on dates; fall in love with someone else.
The idea makes him want to scream.
Kuroo picks up the phone. Dials a saved number. The person on the other end picks up silently, waiting.
“I made a mistake,” says Kuroo. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud.
“I know,” says Kenma. Blunt and brutal, as always.
“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me, then?!”
“Uh…will it sound too stupid if I say you had to figure it out yourself?”
“Yes?”
“What if I say I didn’t think you would listen?”
“You’re probably right.” Kuroo slumps. “You think it was a mistake?”
“Eh, I don’t know. I can only see things from the outside. But one day you were in love and happy, and then the next day you were broken up and miserable, so…”
“Shut up. It was more complicated than that.”
“Was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well it sounds like you might want to think about that. No offense, but you don’t really seem to be getting over it much.”
Kuroo knows why that is. He hasn’t told anyone. He blurts it out now: “He’s been calling me.”
“You’ve been talking?” Kenma sounds surprised.
“No. We don’t talk at all, we just…sit on the phone.”
Kenma laughs out loud. “Well that’s the best metaphor I’ve ever heard. Both of your dumb asses, sitting on the phone and not talking. Amazing.”
“Don’t laugh. I really miss him.”
“So? Un-break-up-with-him.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know,” Kuroo says again.
Tsukishima calls the next night. As always, nothing but silence on the line. Kuroo allows himself a few moments of just knowing that Tsukishima is there, and then he summons his courage. “Tsukki. What are we doing?”
Silence. Long enough that Kuroo thinks he won’t get an answer. And then, three words, unremarkable and yet miraculous:
“I don’t know.”
The breath leaves Kuroo’s chest; it’s like getting the wind knocked out of him. Fear and hope, gripping him with equal vigor. He strains for breath; he reaches desperately for words. “I can’t get over you.”
He hears Tsukishima’s breath catch. “Okay,” Tsukishima says in a choked voice. Several seconds of silence, and then Tsukishima says again, “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
Sorry? Kuroo barely has time to wonder what this means, because Tsukishima is saying, in the softest voice. “Goodbye, Kuroo.”
“Wait!” Too late. The line goes dead.
“Fuck!” Kuroo shouts at his phone. “What the fuck?! What the fuck, Tsukki?!” For the first time in a while, he feels angry. And the more he thinks about it, the more it fills him. Why is Tsukishima messing with his head like this? What did that soft “goodbye” mean? (This is denial; he knows exactly what it means.) Anger and sorrow fill him up, until — he smashes the “call” button. His face appears on the screen. Shit, had he hit the video chat button? Shit. There’s no way that Tsukki will answer that.
He’s wrong. Tsukishima’s face appears. His expression is so grim that it takes Kuroo a moment to realize that Tsukishima’s eyes and nose are red. “What?!” snaps Tsukishima. “What do you want?”
Kuroo is almost speechless. “What do I want? What do you want? You’re the one that keeps calling me? Why are you doing that to me?”
If possible, Tsukishima’s face goes even grimmer. He nods, as though Kuroo has confirmed something. “I apologize. You’re correct; I’ve been selfish, and it’s not fair to you. I don’t intend to do it again.” Tsukishima shifts, and there’s something in his posture; Kuroo knows he’s about to hang up.
“Wait!” he shouts, halfway between fury and panic. Tsukishima hears him this time, and by some miracle, he listens.
“Yes?” So cold. Tsukishima at his coldest. It stings.
“Stop fucking hanging up on me!” Kuroo is slipping into desperation now. “I… I want… I just… can’t we talk? Just for a few minutes?” He sees Tsukishima’s face soften, just slightly, and blurts out, “I miss you so much.”
Tsukishima’s coldness falls away, but the sorrow that replaces it is infinitely worse. “I know. And I shouldn’t lecture you, not after how I’ve been acting. But… you chose this. Not me. You made the decision, and I respect your reasons, and…” Tsukishima trails off. Through the grainy picture on the screen, Kuroo thinks he sees tears on Tsukishima’s cheeks.
“God,” Tsukishima continues. “I’m really sorry. You deserve a clean break. I should have let you have it. I’ll back off.”
Kuroo realizes that he’s shaking his head, involuntarily. “No,” he croaks out. “No. Don’t do that. That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?” Even in its bleakness, Tsukishima’s question is almost gentle.
“I…” Oh god. This was a thousand times worse than asking Tsukishima out in the first place. He chickens out a little. “What if I said I wanted to get back together?”
Tsukishima’s response is a wry half-smile. “I’d tell you to make up your mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ended the relationship.” The smile is gone. “You had compelling reasons for doing so. Has something changed? Have you changed your mind?”
Of course. Logical questions — Tsukishima is always logical. Kuroo doesn’t have easy answers. “Look. Can’t we at least talk about it? It happened so fast, before, and that was my fault, and…I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, and you have questions, and — can’t we just talk?”
There’s a silence before Tsukishima says “Okay.”
“Okay.” Kuroo is hit with a sudden rush of relief, mixed with urgency. “Tsukki,” he says impulsively. “I could be there in two hours.”
Tsukishima blanches; it’s a little funny. “Tonight?”
“I mean…are you gonna be able to sleep? I’m not. Let’s just…” Let’s just get back together, he means. He doesn’t say it.
“Mmm.” Tsukishima still looks grim. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking about!” It really isn’t; Kuroo is mildly offended. “I just want to talk.” I just want to be near you, he thinks.
“Okay.”
“Really?” Kuroo feels himself smiling. “I’d better go, then. I’ll see you soon. I—” He bites back the ‘I love you’ just in time. “Bye,” he says instead.
He shoves a few things into his backpack. Staying the night is inevitable; trains will have stopped running by then. But he’d better be prepared to sleep on the couch.
It’s strange, getting on the oh-so-familiar train to Sendai. He even thinks he recognizes some of the people. And at least one person recognizes him. “Going to see your sweetheart, dear?” she asks with a smile.
Kuroo feels like he could cry. “Yes, ma’am,” is all he says.
He hesitates a moment before bringing up his chat with Tsukishima. The last messages are from Tsukishima’s last visit, months ago.
Kuroo: see you soon, I love you!!!!!
Tsukishima: You too.
The subdued response had bothered him, had gotten under his skin. Why couldn’t Tsukishima ever say it? Kuroo had worried about it.
(“But I do,” Tsukishima had said. “I might not always show it the way you expect, but I do…you know.” He finishes in a mumble, looking at the ground. “Love you.”
“In your own way,” Kuroo had snapped back, bitterly.
“Yes, in my own way. How else could I do it? I am who I am.”)
Emotion twists in Kuroo’s stomach. He doesn’t like looking at those texts, doesn’t like thinking about the conversation that followed. He almost puts his phone away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sends a message.
Kuroo: On the train!
He isn’t sure he expects a reply, but he gets one.
Tsukishima: Thank you.
Kuroo bites his lip. It feels like unsaid words are going to burst out of him.
It’s the longest two-hour train ride of his life. In his mind, he writes and revises a hundred different versions of what he might say to Tsukishima.
Clearly, he’s going to need more than ‘it felt terribly wrong to be away from you.’ But what else can he say? He usually makes decisions that way. Maybe not entirely on instinct, but he gives a lot of credence to gut feelings.
He can almost hear Tsukishima asking, and isn’t that what got us here in the first place? Make up your mind.
But he isn’t really indecisive, not really. He knows what he wants, and that’s — permanence. If he could have anything, then Tsukishima would be waiting for him on one knee with a diamond ring in his outstretched hand. Kuroo’s stomach clenches at this vision. He wants it so bad. And Tsukishima will never do it.
(“It scares me that you don’t ever talk about our future,” Kuroo had said. “Why don’t you?”
“Because. We don’t know what’s going to happen. Anything could happen.”
“But we’ll still be together.”
Tsukishima had stared at him. “We don’t know that.”)
He takes a few deep breaths. It still hurts, knowing that Tsukishima doesn’t see them as permanent. He thought he couldn’t live with it. But now he knows that being without Tsukishima is worse.
It seems like an eternity before the train pulls into the station. Kuroo texts Tsukishima again to say that he’s arrived. They’ve long given up on meeting each other at the station; Kuroo shoulders his backpack in preparation for the walk to Tsukishima’s apartment.
His phone chimes.
Tsukishima: I’m here. In front of the ice cream shop.
Kuroo looks around, heart pounding; sure enough, a familiar figure is standing across the street. He sees Tsukishima lift a hand in greeting.
His heart races. He can hardly figure out what he’s feeling. Happy; sad; scared. He’s practically shaking as he crosses the street. “Hi,” he gasps, breathless and eager. He’s staring; he feels like he’ll never be able to stop staring. “You’re here.”
Half out of habit, he takes a step into Tsukishima’s space; Tsukishima steps back.
“I’m here.” Tsukishima’s face is unreadable. “Should we go?”
No. Let me look at you. Let me hug you. Let me tell you I love you. I won’t make you say it back. “Sure.”
They fall easily into step; they’ve walked side-by-side a million times. Kuroo catches himself reaching out for Tsukishima’s hand, and clenches his fist instead. God, this is awful. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.
No. No. He had to come; he has to try.
“Thanks for doing this,” he ventures.
“You’re welcome.” Tsukishima’s voice is cold, cold, and Kuroo’s heart quails.
“I thought a lot about your questions.”
“What questions?”
“About..what’s changed. About why I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh.” Tsukishima takes a deep breath. “And?”
Oh god, thinks Kuroo, why did I bring this up, I’m not ready. “Okay. Look. I don’t think you’re gonna like this answer, but it’s all I’ve got. What’s changed is, I’ve re-evaluated my priorities. I thought it would be better to break up now than to risk losing you later, but… I don’t think that anymore. I don’t think I should have given my uneasiness that much weight in the first place, you know? That was a mistake. Coward’s way out. I don’t want to make my relationship choices like that.”
“It’s not cowardice to ask that your relationship needs be met. And it’s not a mistake to end a relationship that isn’t working for you.”
Fuck. Did he not want to get back together? Fear clutches at Kuroo’s chest.
“It scares me that I didn’t know,” Tsukishima continues. “I didn’t know you were so unhappy, I didn’t know it wasn’t working out.”
“I wasn’t!” Kuroo protests. Was I? “I… I loved being with you. I just got scared.”
“Scared enough to end it.”
No, thinks Kuroo, even though what Tsukishima’s saying is true. It wells up in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t. I’m sorry.”
Tsukishima stops walking. He’s breathing hard; he won’t look at Kuroo. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Well, you could listen to me!” Some anger is finally coming out. Tsukishima looks up, at last. “I’m telling you what I want! And that’s you! Tsukki.” Kuroo goes from angry to pleading. “Tsukki. Just tell me now. Are you… are you open to getting back together? Or not?” Oh god. There it is. Out loud.
There’s silence, as Tsukishima licks his lips, and blood roars in Kuroo’s ears. “Yes,” says Tsukishima, flatly, but it’s enough. Kuroo can breathe again.
He reaches out for Tsukishima’s hand; Tsukishima flinches away. Ouch.
“I’m not saying it’s definitely happening. Just that I’m open to it.” Tsukishima starts walking again. Kuroo hurries to catch up.
“Okay. Okay. Then… what do we need to do? What do you need?”
Tsukishima gives him a sideways glance, and for the first time, Kuroo feels a moment of connection between them. A hint of how things used to be. Tsukishima takes a deep breath. His answer, when it comes, sounds very prepared. “I need to be reassured that your expectations for the relationship are something I can reasonably fulfill. I don’t want to get back together, only for you to find that you’re still unhappy.” His voice cracks. “Breaking up was terrible. I don’t ever want to repeat the experience.”
It’s Kuroo’s turn to stop walking. Which is stupid; they’re only a block from Tsukishima’s apartment. But he isn’t sure his knees will hold him right now. “You… you don’t want to break up again.”
“No?” Tsukishima sounds like this is obvious. He meets Kuroo’s eyes at last, brow furrowed in simple confusion.
“You want to stay together.”
“Yes?”
“Permanently?” There’s a strange, tingly feeling in Kuroo’s body. As though the hope has gotten into his bloodstream, somehow.
At last, Tsukishima seems to understand what Kuroo is asking. He nods slowly. “Yes.” He pauses before asking, “Did you not know that?”
“No!” Kuroo is shouting partly to fend off tears. “How exactly was I supposed to figure that out from the shit you were saying?”
“Keep it down!” Tsukishima hisses, which only makes Kuroo madder.
“I don’t wanna keep it down! I’m — how can you — why are you so fucking calm?”
“I’m not, I’m just not shouting!” In fact, he’s still hissing between clenched teeth. “Do you not think I have feelings unless I shout them?”
“I…” Kuroo takes a breath to argue, but trails off. “Well, I don’t know! Maybe a little!”
“Well, get over yourself! Jackass.” But this time, Tsukishima sounds more exasperated than actually angry. There’s almost, maybe, a hint of a smile on his face as he starts walking.
Kuroo is starting to feel almost optimistic. “I will not get over myself! If you want to be together, and I want us to be together, then what the hell are we broken up for?”
Tsukishima looks at him, incredulous. He opens his mouth. But they’ve reached Tsukishima’s building now. “Inside,” says Tsukishima.
The stairs, the hallway, the door, the genkan — all so familiar. They feel like home.
“Now what?” Kuroo asks. On a normal visit, they’d be half out of their clothes by now.
“Now you answer your own goddamn question.” Tsukishima leads the way to the kitchen table. They sit facing each other; it feels a little like a job interview. “So. Why are we broken up?”
Calm. Direct. “I thought you didn’t love me.”
“Even though I told you that I did.” Calm and cold.
“Yeah.” Kuroo blushes. He feels a little ashamed about that.
“Why?”
Kuroo takes a deep breath. He’s taking a risk, with what he’s about to say. “I know you want me to have a concrete answer. Something we could fix. But it was just a…feeling. I can’t pinpoint what caused it.”
“And now you’ve changed your mind.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to do with that, Kuroo.” Frustration slips through Tsukishima’s cool facade. “One day you decide I don’t love you, and you dump me out of nowhere, and two months later you’ve decided you love me after all? And I’m supposed to just…get back together with you, even though it could happen again next week?”
Everything rides on this. Everything. Kuroo looks straight into Tsukishima’s eyes. “Yes.”
“How?!” Tsukishima sounds almost panicked. “That makes no fucking sense!”
Kuroo looks across the table. He can see the anger, the frustration, the fear. He can feel, in himself, the urge to fix it. Instead, he steels himself.
“I know. And I wish I could give you some airtight logical argument, but…the truth is that we don’t have any choice but to trust each other. I made a mistake, not trusting you before. I’m sorry. The only thing I can say is that I will trust you now, when you say you want to be together. And I hope…I hope that you can trust me when I say the same thing. I know you want to fix this with logic, but we can’t. We can only fix it with trust.”
Tsukishima goes still. It looks like the panic has gone out of him, but Kuroo knows better. Very, very quietly, Tsukishima says, “I’m shit at trust.”
“I know. And it’s—” Kuroo swallows. “It’s your choice. If you’d rather not, I’ll understand.”
Silence lies heavy between them. It feels like everything has been said.
At last, Tsukishima nods. What does that mean, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? “Okay. I want to try.”
It doesn’t feel real. It feels like a treaty, not a love confession.
“Okay,” says Kuroo, his voice shaky. “Okay. Can I…touch you now?”
Tsukishima nods again.
Kuroo briefly considers diving across the table; instead, he scrambles out of his chair and ends up in an awkward half-crouch, trying to hug Tsukishima while one of them is sitting down and the other standing up. And Tsukishima laughs, finally, a real laugh, and says, “Let me up already, would you?” and then they’re able to hold each other properly.
It takes Kuroo’s breath away. He strokes Tsukishima’s hair, caresses the nape of his neck. “I missed you.”
“Me too. Although I’m still mad at you.”
“Fair enough.” Kuroo’s good mood cannot be brought down. “I think we can work it out though. Together.”
“Together,” Tsukishima whispers. Kuroo feels a wetness on his cheeks, and that’s how he notices that Tsukishima is crying. Silently, like always.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Kuroo whispers. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.” Kuroo doesn’t know what to do except hold on tight.
Tsukishima just shakes his head.
“Well, but….it will be. We’ll figure it out.”
There’s no agreement from Tsukishima, but at least he doesn’t protest this time.
“It will. It will.” Kuroo’s murmuring it like a chant. “My love. It will. Because we love each other.” He thinks this is true. Believes it’s true.
To Kuroo’s shock, Tsukishima bursts into tears. Not his usual silent tears, but loud, uninhibited sobs, right in Kuroo’s ear. It’s unprecedented, and a little scary.
“I’m sorry.” Kuroo’s calm is slipping away from him. “I’m so sorry, Tsukki, I know I messed up, but I do, I do love you, I’ll do anything to convince you. What can I do? Crawl on my knees? Lick something disgusting? Clean your bathroom? Run your social media accounts for a month?”
Tsukishima is laughing now, mixed with the crying. “Shut up, you ass! I believe you. Stay the fuck away from my social media and for god’s sake don’t lick anything. That’s not what’s worrying me.”
Kuroo strokes his hair. “Then what?”
“You, um…” Tsukishima’s voice is small and scared. “Do you believe me?”
Oh. Kuroo pulls back so he can look Tsukishima in the eye. He considers asking Tsukki what he means, considers trying to force the words to come out of Tsukishima’s mouth. But he doesn’t want to play that game right now. “Yes. I do. I promise. I promised to trust you and I will. I do. I believe you.”
Only silence.
“Plus, you wouldn’t call me every night just for the pleasure of ignoring my ass over voice chat unless you really loved me.”
“Shut up. That’s not what…shut up.” There’s almost a hint of a smile. Then Tsukishima lets out a sigh, and leans forward onto Kuroo’s chest. “Okay. Okay. Then…okay.” A few shaky breaths. “I never meant to make you think I didn’t.”
Kuroo wants to be reassuring. He wants to say he never thought that; he wants to say that Tsukishima didn’t do anything to make him think that; wants to say that he doesn’t know how he could have doubted. But that wouldn’t be true. “I know,” he says instead. “And I promise, next time I get worried about it, I will tell you.”
It was the right thing to say. Honesty is almost always better, with Tsukishima. Tsukki nods. “Good. That works for me.” He slumps further into Kuroo’s chest. “Can I go to sleep now?”
“Of course. Um…” Kuroo doesn’t quite know how to ask. “Uh, should I… where should I…”
The look that Tsukishima gives him is so complicated. Resigned and amused and sad and loving, all at once.
“Come to bed,” he says. “I’m still not going to fuck you. But you can come to bed.”
It feels like a miracle, to be allowed into Tsukishima’s room again. Into his bed. And eventually, into the circle of his arms. He rests his head on his boyfriend’s chest. His boyfriend.
“Kuroo,” says Tsukishima softly.
Kuroo doesn’t answer; he’s too warm and sleepy. He thinks about trying to make a sound, but it’s too hard.
“Kuroo,” whispers Tsukishima again.
My Tsukki, thinks Kuroo, but he’s too tired to answer.
“I love you,” Tsukishima whispers. Kuroo freezes. “I love you so much. I love you.”
Wow. Oh, wow. Tears well up behind Kuroo’s eyelids. He wonders if he should say something.
No, he decides. It’s not needed. He almost smiles as he realizes the truth: it’s enough that I know. We don’t need to talk about it.
He snuggles deeper into Tsukishima’s arms and lets his eyes close.