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It’s like two in the morning and all I can feel right now are those stranger’s lips around mine. Who are they? I can’t even remember their names. But who cares? That doesn’t matter. All I know about them is that they both have that dark messy hair I’m playing with right now. One of them has a very, very big chest. Like huge pectorals and I fucking love touching them. The other one has a very playful tongue (with a fucking piercing that’s driving me crazy) and fingers and- oh my god. Where are they going? You know what? I don’t care.
Go on, foxy dude, study me like a map and discover all my treasures.
Yeah, I know nothing about these guys. They’re both good looking for sure and they kiss me like they‘be been summoned from the lust ring of hell.
I can’t think straight (let’s be honest this is anything straight), not when one of them, the playful-tongue one, is kissing me like he wanted to take my soul. Not when the other one, the big-titties dude, is licking my neck and biting it and leading his hands to my belt.
This feels great. They feel fucking great. But whenever I close my eyes all I can see is my roommate. All I can do is pretending that I’m kissing him, that his hands are the ones touching me, that his teeth are the one marking me. I keep caressing these people hair pretending that it’s Kuroo’s.
I can do this. I can fuck them in a dark room so I won’t see their faces. They have pretty faces I know.
But they aren’t Kuroo.
Well, fuck him. Not literally as much as I want to do that. Fuck him because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about me, about who I spend my nights with, about my stupid fucking feelings for him. I don’t even blame him. I mean, why would he care about some stupid guy who just happens to be his best friend's best friend. It’s my fault to fall in love with someone who doesn’t care. With someone who’s already in love with someone else.
So yeah, when these guys grab my hands and guide me somewhere else I just follow them. No questions. No doubts. I just want to pretend that my heart does NOT care.
“Where are you going?”
Fuck. I recognise that deep voice that speaks behind me. I know it too well to my own well-being. That voice I hear every morning, every night. That voice I adore how it pronounces my name. His fucking stupid voice that I fucking love. Still, I pluck up my courage and pull myself together as if I wasn't broken inside before turning around to him and say:
“ None of your business.”
“It is.” Kuroo steps towards me and locks his eyes on mine. He's so close I feel the heat emanating from his body. I tremble up to my knees.
“Who the fuck are you?” the foxy dude asks before stepping between us.
“Is he your boyfriend?” This time is the big-chest guy who asks me.
And my heart shrinks with pain before I reply:
“He’s not. He’s just my roommate.”
I can see his face shrink, how he frowns. I can see the grimace on his mouth and his nose wrinkled. And, somehow, it breaks my heart. Somewhere in the back of my mind the idea that it hurt him to hear that ‘just’ is jumping around. And I am clutching at straws the moment he grabs my wrist and pulls me. I stumble. I feel cold where the foxy dude used to hold me and now no one touches me. I feel warmth on my face and where my skin meets Kuroo's.
“You’re drunk.” It’s not a question and I can’t deny it. I’ve been drinking the whole night trying to forget Kuroo. Now he’s in front of me.
Worth it?
“Let’s go home.”
Again, he pulls me close to him. I look back to those guys I’ve almost fucked but I don’t see them disappointed. It’s as if they are up to something. Something I don't know, but I feel like I should.
I’m not sure how we get home. Suddenly we’re there, in our living room -my books on the coffee table, his gadgets on the dinner one-. He turns on the lights and drags me into the bathroom.
“Leave me alone,” I protest. “I can move by myself, I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“Well, it seems like you need.”
Kuroo turns on the faucet and wets his hand, then runs it down my neck. I shudder and let out a sigh.
“You okay?” he asks as he refreshes my face.
“No,” I almost spit out. “You’re touching me.”
“ Well, you didn't seem to have any problem with those two guys touching and groping you before.”
“ Well , fuck you,” but I add: “They weren’t you, so there was no problem.”
I see that again. Something very much like pain covering his face.
‘Why does it hurt him?’ I think.
“Why does it hurt you?” I ask.
But he doesn’t answer me. He asks instead:
“Do you hate me?”
I blink, I stare at him. His bright eyes, his dark hair. There’s no smile.
“Why would I…?”
“Why is okay for strange people to touch you but if it’s me then that’s a problem?”
“Because…” I don’t know how to continue, I don’t know how to stop. “Because I can let them kiss me. Because they let me kiss them.”
I feel the pain growing in my chest, squeezing it, twisting it, breaking it until everything inside overflows out of my eyes.
“No, don’t cry.”
His voice is soft, as it is whenever I’m sad, whenever I have migraines, whenever I fail an exam. He’s soft as he always is. And it only makes me cry even harder.
And harder.
And my heart breaks.
And my head aches.
And the air doesn’t fill my lungs.
And I cry.
And he hugs me.
He squeezes me.
He tries to hold all my pieces together.
But I can’t do this anymore.
I close my eyes and inspire and I can smell his cologne and the beer he drank.
I can’t do this anymore.
I step back and I go to my bedroom. I can hear him following me.
I can’t do this anymore.
I turn around and I look at him even though I don’t see him. But I know he’s there, I can see his silhouette. I can hear his breathing. I can feel his heat.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
I can’t see anything through my tears, the world is as blurry as my mind.
He comes to me, close enough to touch.
“Doing what?” Kuroo asks right after touching me, his hand on my cheek. He dries my tears.
“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”
“Then stop. Stop kissing random people. Stop pretending that they’re me and…”
I interrupt him. Out loud, crushing my voice and my soul.
“And what?!?”
“And kiss me instead!!!”
What?
But I don’t say it out loud. It was just screamed in my head. I can’t say it out loud because suddenly my mouth is covered by his.
His lips caressing mine. His tongue fighting mine. His teeth biting me.
We both collide onto my bed but our lips don't stop touching. Our bodies now pull at each other as if they don't want the air to pass between them.
I kiss him. I try to memorise every inch of his lips, every nook and cranny of his mouth. But I keep my eyes open so I can see him. I don’t need to close my eyes and pretend that the person I’m kissing is Kuroo. I don’t need to pretend. The person I’m kissing is
Kuroo.
And that scares me.
So I push him.
He stops and looks at me. His face is red, his lips are swollen, his eyes sparkle.
“Don’t mess with me.” It isn’t an order, it is a plea. My voice cracks.
“I would never,” he promises.
“You are kissing me.”
“I want to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you,” he confesses.
“You don’t love me.”
“I do,” Kuroo insists. “You can’t tell me how I feel. I do love you. And it kills me to see how every night you kiss someone different. It kills me that I'm not the one you're looking for at every party. It kills me not to be the one who wake up in your bed in the morning.”
I try to process his words. I try to understand what he is saying and make sense of it in my head.
And suddenly it clicks.
“Stop kissing other people,” Kuroo implores me. “Stop sleeping with other people. Please, stop it.”
“Then,” I whisper “you kiss me.”
And he does.
He kisses me, he bites me, he makes me feel like I’m the only one in the world.
“Kuroo.”
I interrupt him by turning my face, so his lips now are running down my neck.
“Hmm?”
“Please, make me…”
“Make you what?”
“Make me feel loved.”
“Keiji. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispers as he takes off his clothes.
“Make me yours,” I implore.
“No. Because I am yours.”