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Tsukishima had acquired Kuroo Tetsurou's number a while ago. How he did this was none of anyone's business – but he might have bribed a fellow first-year with fast food in exchange for the necessary information. He was a thirsty bastard, alright? And not only that, but Tsukishima Kei had a horrible case of utter infatuation to the point where he could barely open his mouth to speak.
Kuroo was tall, that was the first thing. Not tall enough to get away with mocking Tsukishima for being short, but tall. He had strong biceps and a broad chest that reflected his strength as the captain of Nekoma. On the court, that strength was fearsome. In Tsukishima's imagination, that strength was intimate; beguiling; passionate. Tsukishima tended to envision all too vividly what it would feel like to have one of those calloused hands smoothing down his back. His skin tingled at the thought.
He had that hair. For a long time, Tsukishima couldn't decide whether it was hideous or attractive. He settled on being annoyed by its hideous attractiveness and imagined running his fingers through it and pulling it out of its styled messiness, because no one just got out of bed looking like that. It had to be purposeful. And, from what he knew about Nishinoya and his level of hair care, tediously so.
Kuroo's skin wasn't perfect, but it was as close as a hormonal teenage boy could get. He had a couple of moles on his forehead – that was why he combed his hair over, Tsukishima figured – and some acne on his chin, but his face was otherwise clear. He tanned dark in the summer and only got a shade lighter in the winter. The hair on his arms was wiry but his legs were otherwise smooth; he shaved them, and for some inane reason Tsukishima found that sexy.
Then there was his shit-eating grin and his stupid bedroom eyes. For a while Tsukishima figured that Kuroo just looked at everyone like that, but a brief conversation with Yamaguchi proved otherwise. He still remembered Yamaguchi's wink wink nudge nudge of a suggestion: "Why don't you try looking back at him like that?" The mere idea made Tsukishima shudder. Play his stupid game? Like hell he'd reduce himself to his level. Tsukishima was better than that. He was better than Kuroo's casual flirtation and his subtle brushes of his hands against Tsukishima's back or his abs or his ass and the last thing Tsukishima wanted was to look like a desperate whore, knocking at Kuroo's door with his dick out, ready to be ravished.
And yet, there he was, sitting on his bed crosslegged and staring at his phone. He had an empty message open with Kuroo's contact listed at the top, but they had no history of texts back and forth. Tsukishima didn't want to be the one to text first, but he soon realized that he put himself in that position by stealing Kuroo's number in the first place. Idiot past self! He was tempted to text Yamaguchi for support, but no, no he did not want any cliché gay-to-gay heart-to-heart conversations to distract him from his real goal. To spite Kuroo and all of his sexy teasing bullshit.
He had to do this. It was now or never.
> Hey. I'm texting you because I know what you're up to. You think you're top shit, intimidating me and flirting with me like I'll get flustered like some dumb schoolgirl, but that's not the case. I'm not fazed by your bullshit. If you have feelings for me, just come out and say it so we can move on with our lives.
Tsukishima took a deep breath and waited five minutes before hitting "send." This would get him. This would throw him off his game, make him squirm and pout and consider his words before letting them slip past his delicate lips.
He got a response a minute later.
> new phone who dis
Fucking. Fuck.