Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Bro, look at this!” Bokuto points at a store window, eyes widening in awe. He plasters his face against the glass and gasps, hands resting either side in support of his head as he watches a Santa figure robotically perform Jingle Bell Rock.

Kuroo rests an arm against the window, smiling at his friend’s excitement. It’s not the first Christmas display they have stopped at this day, nor the first in the last hour. Bokuto downright adores Christmas, and Kuroo isn’t opposed to a snow-walk in exchange for a dose of Christmas cheer.

Usually, he would be third-wheeling this annual escapade, witnessing Bokuto drag along a smitten Iwaizumi to each and every Christmas display. Bokuto, being the kind soul he is, would invite Kuroo all the same, regardless of his friend’s apparent loneliness at this time of year. They would walk the streets, taking photos of any especially noteworthy Christmas displays before inevitably derailing into a snowball fight.

It was a tradition before they moved out from their family homes, before work, before Iwaizumi, before all the commitments of life that any 18-year-old at the cusp of adulthood would never comprehend their future selves to inevitably deal with.

But they are 27 now, and with work, bills, and familial responsibilities, sometimes a temporary distraction in the form of a snowball fight is a damn necessity.

“Jingle bell time is a swell time…” Bokuto hums, his breath creating small clouds of fog in the chilly air. The world around them is adorned with a fresh blanket of snow from the previous night, each step producing that satisfying crunch beneath their boots. If he looks closely, Kuroo can see the individual snowflakes landing on their clothes, decorating them with a soft glow.

Bokuto loves when it gets like this, a pristine white landscape of snow. It transforms him into a more carefree, childlike self, laughter echoing against the surrounding shops. The same cannot be said for Kuroo himself, who is currently cursing the thumb hole in his left glove that he was too lazy to replace the previous year. But, despite the subtle concern of frostbite, he cannot help but grin at his friend’s infectious joy.

Across the street, a group of children are gathered beneath a shop balcony, wrapped in scarves by their mothers in an attempt to protect them from the cold. They are singing along to Christmas tunes, pointing at the wreaths and decorations propped up on buildings with innocent joy.

Kuroo turns back to his friend who is rocking on his heels in excitement. “Hey, Bo, did you get a photo to send to Iwaizumi?” He gets a sharp nod back, before Bokuto grabs onto his arm in urgency.

“Hey, look at that!” Bokuto points towards a quaint Christmas market at the end of the street that Kuroo hadn’t previously noticed, excitement growing. “Let’s go buy something!”

He practically drags Kuroo towards the market, seemingly ignoring his friend’s surprised cries as they cut through piles of snow. 

The market is busy already for the morning, small groups of people chatting amongst each other as they peruse the stalls. Unsurprisingly, Christmas jingles play through a speaker to the side of the main tent, attracting lingering ears. Kuroo is invited over by a food stand, the aroma of roasted chestnuts wafting from the stand with a warm nutty smell that has Kuroo salivating.

He is considering buying a bag when his attention strays.

Amidst the chatter of shoppers, Kuroo catches sight of a peculiar figure standing away from the crowd, hovering near a snow-covered bench. Looking down at their phone, it is like they haven’t even noticed the market in front of them. They seem out of place in the festive surroundings, as if untouched by the warmth and joy permeating the bustling Christmas market. Kuroo cannot ignore the subtle curiosity tugging at him, calling for him to approach the mysterious figure.

“Kuroo, come on let’s explore!”

The call from Bokuto breaks Kuroo from his brief reverie. He glances one last time at the mysterious figure, before turning away and shaking off the weird feeling he is left with.

Bokuto leads him through the market, expression filled with absolute joy. Kuroo isn’t in the position to spend much money—pay hasn’t been great lately—but the abundance of free samples entices him to try all the Christmas dips and jams he can find. Bokuto, the more financially stable one of the pair, is effectively handing out free money to each stall owner, piling his arms with miscellaneous purchases that are undoubtedly going straight into Iwaizumi’s possession. With each, he flashes the engagement ring on his finger, glowing at the shower of compliments brought upon by each excited stall owner.

Kuroo finds his drifting to the mysterious figure at the edge of the market more times than he would like to admit, curiosity peaking. The guy is tall, taller than himself if Kuroo was to guess. He doesn’t ever fully enter the market, remaining on the outskirts with the occasional short nod of greeting at a chirpy stall owner.

Interesting

Kuroo shakes his head before walking to stand next to a preoccupied Bokuto, peering over his shoulder at the collection of scarves his friend is peering at. They are handmade, as proclaimed humbly by the stall owner, an abundance of different colours and shades that have Kuroo pulling out his wallet. He picks up a deep maroon one, faltering at the softness of the fabric as it wraps around his neck.

Ignoring his current lack of disposable income, Kuroo hands over the money and lets the scarf hang from his neck, fiddling with the tassels as Bokuto gives him two thumbs-up. “Looking good bro!”

Bokuto's infectious enthusiasm spreads a smile across Kuroo's face, feeling that giddy childlike feeling once more. The festive atmosphere envelops them, the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts causing Kuroo to feel slightly dazed.

Bokuto’s smile beams even wider, attention latching onto something. He looks past Kuroo, giving a massive wave to someone behind him. “Tsukki!” Bokuto calls out, loud enough that Kuroo witnesses a couple standing beside them jump. 

Before Kuroo can open his mouth to ask who Bokuto is calling to, a monotone voice cuts through his thoughts, devoid of the warmth and enthusiasm abundant at this time of year.

“Oh. It’s you two.”

Spinning around in surprise at the voice, Kuroo faces the figure. It’s the mysterious guy from before, walking over to them looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Hands stuffed in pockets, he stops in front of Kuroo, a bored expression on his face.

Kuroo glares at the offender, tilting his head up to meet the guy’s eyes. Mostly obscured by a puffer jacket and scarf, Kuroo fixates on the singular blonde curl plastered against the man’s forehead. Cute.

“Us two?” Kuroo teases, smirking and nudging Bokuto. “Bo, it sounds like we have a reputation.”

Even hidden behind thick frames, the sharp look isn’t any less intimidating. The stranger is pale, cheeks flushed a deep red from the cold. His lips, a deep red, would almost seem pretty if they weren’t hardened into a fine line.

Where does he know us from?

“Tsukki!” Bokuto’s excited call echoes—again—through the air. “I haven’t seen you leave your apartment in ages!” The man—Tsukki—responds with a hardening gaze, crossing his arms in a defensive stance. Clearly Bokuto has touched on a sensitive subject with the not-stranger.

“You were the one who dropped the mug of mulled wine in the apartment complex hallway,” he shoots a look at Kuroo, before turning his attention back to Bokuto.

“And it’s Tsukishima,” he corrects, voice low and measured. His gaze shifts between Kuroo and Bokuto, assessing. “Iwaizumi’s working, I assume?”

“Wait,” Kuroo’s eyebrows raise, surprised. “You know about the mulled wine?”

Tsukishima looks at him like he is stupid. “I am this idiot’s neighbour, and it was my doormat you stained dark red.”

Kuroo feels a twinge of embarrassment, recalling his drunken clumsiness and wincing. It isn’t like him, drinking over his limits. He’s almost 30, for fucks sake. It was plain embarrassing to be hovering a drinks table all night, much more so when present in the same room as his ex and their new partner.

The mulled wine had been a temporary reprieve. The sweetness tainting his lips, staining them that pretty colour his ex used to like. It was trashy, too trashy for a friendly get-together. Kuroo Tetsurou, Mr Drinks-His-Sorrows, couldn’t even hold it together for one night.

And this stranger’s doormat had been the final victim.

The smirk on Kuroo face wanes, replaced by a deep sense of regret. He wonders if a simple apology could unravel the knot of embarrassment currently settling in his lower gut.

“Look, about the mulled wine,” Kuroo starts, hands slipping into his pockets. His fingers brush a half-empty cigarette packet, and he almost considers handing a smoke to the other man as a compensation gift. “I'm sorry. It was a rough night and I fucked up.”

Tsukishima studies him sceptically. His eyebrows are covered by his—overly large– puffer jacket hood, but Kuroo assumes them to be pulled into a frown.

“I don’t forgive you. It sucked to clean.”

Kuroo chokes on air. Recovering from his initial surprise, he clears his throat. “Totally fair, dude. Let me know if I can make it up to you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, much to Kuroo’s disappointment. The air hangs heavy with unresolved tension, a pop remix of Baby, It's Cold Outside playing in the background. Bokuto is practically vibrating beside him, and Kuroo knows his friend isn’t able to stay still for much longer.

Kuroo turns to his friend. “Hey Bo, maybe we should call it for today.”

“But… the Christmas lights?” Bokuto whines out, shoulders slumped in disappointment. If not for the icy ground, Kuroo is certain his friend would be stomping his boots in a sulk. “First Hajime has to pick up an extra shift and now—”

“Go the next street over. There’s a choir group performing Silent Night.” Tsukishima beats Kuroo to it, pointing in the direction of the aforementioned choir. He looks almost comedic, a walking-talking Michelin man in his layers of clothing, but Kuroo doesn’t know the guy well enough to point it out.

To Kuroo’s relief, Bokuto lights up. “A choir! Kuroo, we have to go!” The previous sadness has all but vanished, replaced with that child-like excitement that draws people to Bokuto in the first place.

When Bokuto turns away, Kuroo raises his eyebrows at Tsukishima.

“Oh, you’re good,” he states, mildly impressed. “How did you—

Tsukishima, hesitates for a moment, probably wanting to leave the conversation entirely, before sighing.

“I only moved into my apartment at the start of the year. Bokuto would bring…” Tsukishima pauses for a moment, seemingly considering his phrasing. “Gifts. Every morning. Little baked goods or home supplies. It took me trying to return a cutlery set to learn from Iwaizumi that Bokuto is just very excited. Always.”

Kuroo softens at the description of his friend. “So, is that how you know Iwaizumi?”

Tsukishima nods, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Yeah. He’s fine,” he answers noncommittally, checking something on his phone before turning it off with a sigh. “I don’t have much of an opinion.”

Standoffish, huh.

Kuroo is usually the kind of guy to take the hint and leave someone alone after they obviously aren’t too interested in continuing to talk. And Tsukishima? The guy clearly couldn’t care less about engaging in pointless small talk.

But he observes the surrounding area; the ambient Christmas music and small gatherings of people and thinks fuck it. The guy could use some company.

“Bokuto alluded that you’re a bit of a homebody,” Putting it lightly. “Want to come watch the choir group with us?”

Kuroo sees Bokuto perk up at the mention of his name, and the two look at Tsukishima with hopeful expressions.

“Do you always make presumptions about people when you first meet, Kuroo?” Tsukishima retorts, crossing his arms as he tests out Kuroo’s name. Clearly the homebody comment hit a nerve, but the small smile growing on Tsukishima’s expression tells Kuroo he didn’t completely ruin his chances.

“Feisty. So, you down?”

“Mmm,” Tsukishima appears to ponder, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he rests a fingertip against his chin. “Not interested.”

Damn.

“All good, dude. You go back to…” Kuroo’s hands gesture in the air as if conjuring ideas. “Whatever you do.”

It’s awkward, more awkward than Kuroo’s usual self. It’s as if this guy has brought out all of Kuroo’s clumsiness. He fumbles for words, his usually smooth conversational skills reduced to blundering half-formed sentences.

Tsukishima dismisses himself with a nod, somehow managing to zip his puffer jacket up even higher, hands slipping back into his pockets to shelter from the cold. He must be freezing to need so many layers, and Kuroo almost considers offering him his beanie before shaking his head to clear the thought.

He can’t be offering clothing to a guy he’s just met.

Smiling softly, he watches Tsukishima stroll away, stepping carefully into pockets of footpath not already covered by snow. His long legs make it look all-too-easy for him, but the slight hesitations hints that he is a tad bit more worried about slipping than his appearance would betray.

Kuroo's gaze lingers involuntarily, a heartbeat longer than intended, before finally pulling his eyes away with a soft sigh. Oblivious to his friend's turbulent thoughts, Bokuto turns to Kuroo with a big smile, grabbing onto his jacket-covered arm in excitement. “Can we go listen now? Please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kuroo agrees, distractedly, that lingering sensation in his gut refusing to subside. He knows this feeling already, a deep sense of butterflies and anxious anxiety that has been absent for so long. It’s a bubbly sensation, threatening to rise to the surface amongst feelings of what Kuroo can only believe to be excitement.

Turning to Bokuto, Kuroo attempts to shake off such odd feelings. “Tsukishima said it was this way, right?” Tsukishima. It sounded nicer from Tsukishima’s lips; a touch softer than Kuroo’s own tone.

“Yeah dude, stop daydreaming!” Bokuto chides, a playful grin on his face. He gives Kuroo’s arm a distracting pull, leading his friend through the streets. The crunch of snow beneath their feet and Bokuto’s animated chatter about the festive spirit acts as a background to Kuroo's thoughts while his mind drifts to Tsukishima once more.

Tsukishima.

The name plays like a gentle melody in his mind, replaying their brief encounter. The sharp gaze, the hint of a smile, the subtle dismissals. Something about it enraptured Kuroo, enraptured him in a way he has seldom experienced before.

“Earth to Kuroo!” Bokuto hits him in the back, the hand meeting between his shoulder blades with a big enough oof to render Kuroo winded. “Stop zoning out on me dude!”

Kuroo, spluttering, turns to his friend. “Don’t hit me, asshole! You’re too strong to swing that hard!” He considers shoving Bokuto back, but he is wise enough to not pick the fight. Bokuto volunteers at his family’s Christmas tree farm during the festive season, and—in the words of a very appreciative, and drunk, Iwaizumi—the constant tree carrying hasn’t exactly harmed Bokuto’s muscular physique.

“So, what’s up with you and Tsukki?” Bokuto points out, a knowing grin spreading on his face. “You were acting weird around him.”

Kuroo falters, rubbing his neck in an attempt at nonchalance. “Tsukki? Nah why would I–”

“Dude, you were looking at him like, ‘let me have your babies, Tsukki-chan!’” He pitches his voice up in a pathetic impression of Kuroo himself, making kissy noises and all. It’s loud, and Kuroo blushes in shame as a group of strangers spin around to give the pair strange looks.

“Haven’t seen that lovestruck look from you since—” Bokuto cuts himself off, giving Kuroo a sheepish look. “Well, you know what I mean. This is big for you!”

“Bringing up a guy who dumped me on my birthday isn’t great for morale, dude.”

Bokuto pointedly ignores the response, instead nudging Kuroo with an elbow. “So, spill the beans! What’s the deal with you and him?”

This isn’t a conversation Kuroo wants to be having in public, but as they grow closer to the choir group, their voices blend into the ambiance of the singing. They are performing Santa Baby now, one of Kuroo’s personal favourites.

“Tsukishima? I just got a weird vibe from him, it’s nothing.”

Bokuto’s grin only widens further at the admission. “Weird vibe? Dude, be honest. Did you feel… something?” The last part is merely a whisper, but it travels directly to Kuroo’s feeble heart.

Did he feel something?

Kuroo hesitates, thinking of the right words. “I just… something pulled me too him, man. I can’t get his voice out of my head.” They come to a stop in front of the choir group, and Kuroo seizes the chance to dig into his wallet for some feeble change. The brief interlude offers a moment for him to organize his swirling thoughts, and he refuses to acknowledge the amused, yet curious look upon Bokuto’s expression.

“I’ll ask Hajime about it. He will definitely know what to do!”

Admitting defeat, Kuroo raises his palms passively, rolling his eyes teasingly. “Have fun with getting your boyfriend involved, I bet Tsukishima will forget me by tomorrow.”

Bokuto laughs, clapping Kuroo on the back. "Dude, you're underestimating yourself. Tsukki won't forget you that easily."

Sighing, Kuroo drops the coins into the choir’s collection bin. “We’ll see about that.”

It’s two weeks later when Kuroo is picking up a pair of dress shoes for Bokuto—an early Christmas present—that he sees the man once more.

Kuroo’s still in his work suit when it happens, hair an even greater mess than usual, eye bags particularly dark even by his standards. Putting it frankly, he isn’t in his best state when he stumbles into the shoe store.

The store is mostly empty, 15 minutes before closing and the only time Kuroo could afford between work shifts. For such a late hour, the employees have already begun closing up, and Kuroo feels apologetic for needing them to log back into the store computer systems to process his purchase.

The shoes were a rash decision purchase, too expensive for Kuroo’s bank account to justify in any means other than him loving his best friend. Usually, he would collate the spare funds after rent for the month, scouring all the miscellaneous stores for the stupid—if not degenerate—gag item that he knows will end up in Bokuto’s living room, or bedroom drawer.

But he hasn’t felt particularly childish this year.

The store employee, a lady with a pin-tight bun, sighs in relief. Clicking the computer’s keyboard, she gets the system working, scanning the barcode on the side of the shoe box with a tight-lipped smile. Kuroo wonders if she, like him, hasn’t been home since early that morning. Has she been on her feet all day? Servicing customers with a forced cheerful grin that chips away at her patience? Kuroo couldn’t imagine a more arduous task.

And yet, regardless, she still smiles at him.

The computer beeps, the purchase having been processed successfully. It’s relieving, and Kuroo doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward to take the box from the employee’s possession.

He grabs the shoe box from the counter, opening up the lid with interest. The faint smell of leather is almost homely, as Kuroo pulls one of the shoes from the box and inspects with interest. The stitching looks as high quality as in the photos online, and Kuroo hums in content imagining Bokuto’s excitement at the gift.

 He is running his fingers over the leather exterior when a blonde mop of hair catches his eye from outside the shop window.

Wait, is that—

“Here’s your receipt sir,”

Kuroo focuses his attention back on the employee, offering a distracted smile before taking the receipt and stashing it into the shoe box. Slipping the box under his arm with a quick apology, he hurriedly leaves the store, the soft chime of the closing door marking his exit into the night.

The cold night air bites at his cheeks as he steps outside, clutching the shoe box that tad bit tighter as a shiver ripples through him. The streetlights cast a gentle glow on the bustling streets, and Kuroo spots Tsukishima’s figure in the distance, a bulky pair of headphones perched over his ears.

It shouldn’t surprise him; Tsukishima is Bokuto’s neighbour. It would make sense for the man to frequent the same shops, to walk the same routes that Bokuto and him have walked so many times before. Kuroo was inevitably going to run into him at some point. He just didn’t expect it to be today.

Kuroo considers his options, pulse racing. What if he doesn’t remember me? It’s a terrible thought, and Kuroo’s breath catches with anxiety at the possibility of Tsukishima just blatantly ignoring him, or worse yet, not recognising him.

Tsukishima is almost out of sight when Kuroo decides to take a chance.

Breaking into a jog, he calls out, voice hoarse from the cold air.  “Hey, Tsukishima! Wait up!”

Luckily, for both Kuroo’s dignity and heart, Tsukishima appears to hear him. Stopping under a streetlight, Tsukishima slips his headphones down onto his shoulders, turning around in surprise at his name being called.

Kuroo slows his jog to a hurried walk, feigning a casual demeanour to give Tsukishima a short wave. “I knew it was you!”

It’s different, seeing Tsukishima without all the layers. If not for natural blonde hair being so uncommon, Kuroo doubts he would have recognised the man. He is somehow even cuter than Kuroo imagined, chubby cheeks complemented by the sluttiest gold-framed glasses he has ever seen.

Fuck me.

To his relief, Tsukishima seems to recognise him, albeit not offering a wave of greeting back. And with the way his hands remain grasping onto the headphones, Kuroo doesn’t doubt that one wrong word will have Tsukishima ending the conversation quicker than it started.

“I just,” Kuroo takes a moment to breathe, cursing his tobacco-damaged lungs for ruining his stamina. “I wanted to see you again.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, appearing to not believe him. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” Kuroo adjusts the shoe box under his arm, hoisting it back into a comfortable position. “I haven’t seen you since that time at the markets and, well, I saw the opportunity, you know?”

“You look like shit,” Tsukishima states bluntly, ignoring Kuroo’s question entirely. He scans Kuroo’s frame with a bored expression. “What’s your job, depressed businessman?”

Kuroo chokes out a laugh, “Close enough, dude,” He straightens his office shirt collar, cringing at how crumpled it is. Guess it’s time for dry cleaning. “Data entry.”

From the crinkling of Tsukishima’s brow, Kuroo can tell the other man isn’t that impressed.

“You don’t have to look so excited.” Kuroo teases, throwing up the gamble of elbowing Tsukishima in jest before deciding that it likely wouldn’t go well. “So, what do you do, Mr Mysterious?” 

Tsukishima shrugs, looking away from Kuroo. It’s different to the last time they met. No Christmas songs, nor Bokuto as company. Only the two of them, standing under a streetlight in the dark. Kuroo finds it oddly comforting.

Eventually, Tsukishima sighs in resignation. “I do graphic design, currently. I used to be a freelance writer but…” he tapers off, shifting uncomfortably.

“Didn’t work out?”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima admits softly, as if expecting Kuroo’s judgement. “Wasn’t as good at writing as I thought.” a despondent look crosses his face, before it’s schooled with a look of indifference. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Graphic design is more stable. Pays the bills.”

The weight of Tsukishima words tugs at Kuroo’s heart. There’s a sense of regretful acceptance at the pathway he has found himself down, perhaps due to unfairness, or merely just how his life has panned out. And boy, does Kuroo understand.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure your designs are killer. Maybe you can show me sometime?”

A flicker of surprises crosses Tsukishima’s face, the aloof demeanour slipping for a moment before it is once more replaced by a look of indifference. “Maybe,” he shrugs, not sounding entirely dismissive. “I do mostly corporate stuff, so not exactly interesting.”

Kuroo grins, “I’ll look forward to it. You manage to make the mundane sound appealing.”

He watches, somewhat in awe, as Tsukishima’s cheeks are coloured with a faint blush. For a man so aloof and serious, Kuroo finds it incredible how downright adorable Tsukishima manages to look in moments like these.

“Flattery won’t get you far,” Tsukishima teases, rolling his eyes mockingly, before they drop for a moment. It’s so fleeting, barely a second of movement that Kuroo could almost think he had imagined the way Tsukishima’s gaze lower to his lips. Fuck.

“Who says anything about flattery?” Kuroo retorts playfully, ignoring the fluttering in his chest that is telling him that holy shit it’s working. He decides to test the waters, leaning slightly closer to Tsukishima. “I’m an honest man, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima doesn’t lean away, arching an eyebrow at Kuroo’s declaration, a smirk beginning to form. “Something tells me I shouldn’t believe you.” He looks to want to say something more, but an icy gust of wind interrupts him with a shiver. “Fuckin’ cold.”

Kuroo watches the shiver roll through Tsukishima’s body, feeling apologetic for keeping the man out in the cold for so long. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with practised ease to quell the lingering chill in his chest.

Offering one to Tsukishima, the man crinkles his nose in disgust.

“Sorry,” Kuroo starts, turning away from Tsukishima to breathe out a puff of smoke. “You would’ve gotten back to the apartments by now if I hadn’t interrupted your...” Kuroo pauses, staring down at the red and white striped shopping bag at Tsukishima’s feet. “Nightly shopping trip?”

Tsukishima’s cheeks, still tinged with a blush, darken slightly at the bag’s mention. “None of your business,” he replies simply, before standing in front of the bag, attempting to hide it. “Does it matter?”

Curiosity piqued, Kuroo leans a bit closer, peering around Tsukishima’s body at the inconspicuous bag. “Oh, come on, Tsukki! I thought we were getting to know each other. I won’t tell anyone, promise.”

Sighing, Tsukishima lifts up the bag, clearly not convinced by the way his brows furrow at Kuroo. “I’m not interesting.” He unzips it slowly, opening it up to show Kuroo the contents. “Happy now?”

Kuroo leans over, peering into the bag. His eyes latch onto an abundance of packages that look suspiciously like they are filled with candy canes.

“I thought my diet was bad,” he teases playfully, attempting to reach into the bag before Tsukishima pulls it away from reach with a glare. “Someone’s protective.”

Tsukishima snorts, a mix of irritation and amusement in his expression. “Interesting for the smoker to be commenting on lifestyle choices.” He zips the shopping bag back up, placing it back down at his feet.

Undeterred, Kuroo grins. “So, a Christmas tradition?”

“I’m not that sappy,” Tsukishima states bluntly, before his gaze softens. “They’re for a friend.”

“A friend who… really likes candy canes?”

Tsukishima sighs like Kuroo is the most pathetic man to exist, and Kuroo feels himself melt. “He is a teacher, the kind that happily buys Christmas presents for his students. I don’t see the point in doing it, but he’s been stuck inside marking exams and pleaded with me to pick up the candy canes for him.”

“Sounds nice,” Kuroo hums, taking another drag of the cigarette. “Small things mean a lot. I’m sure those kids appreciate it more than you’d think.”

Without thinking, he lifts up Tsukishima’s shopping bag with his empty hand, swinging it over his shoulder. At Tsukishima’s slightly startled look, Kuroo feels the need to explain. “I’m heading to Bokuto’s. Might as well walk with you.”

Tsukishima only exhales in resignation, appearing to have given up combatting Kuroo’s attempts at teasing. “Fine.” He slips his hands into his jacket pockets, leaving the headphones around his neck. It’s obvious this isn’t the first time Tsukishima has walked this route, navigating the streets without even a hint of hesitation.

Kuroo, with both hands occupied, allows himself to be guided by the other man, the absence of conversation filled by the soft whistling of wind through the trees. The candy cane packages rustle in the bag, and Kuroo has an idea.

“Hey, Tsukki,” he asks, testing out Bokuto’s nickname once more. “How many of these packages are you giving to your friend?”

Tsukishima doesn’t look at him. “Of the candy canes? All but one.” From the slight huff of amusement, Tsukishima probably just thinks Kuroo is wanting to steal a bag for his own consumption, but Kuroo has a better plan.

 Screwing his face up at the crude taste of tar, Kuroo stops momentarily, stomping his cigarette out. Tsukishima doesn’t appear too happy for them to have stopped and Kuroo shoots him an apologetic grin, catching up to the other man, question poised on his tongue. “How do you feel about decorating your Christmas tree with the spare ones?”

To Tsukishima’s credit, he doesn’t shut down Kuroo’s idea instantly. Although, the sideways glance he sends Kuroo’s way tells him that Tsukishima is slightly sceptical. “Isn’t that a bit… cliché?”

Kuroo chuckles, hitting Tsukishima on the shoulder. “It’s the Christmas spirit, Tsukki! You can’t not be cliché. It’s a part of the holiday charm!” He spins around, nearly dropping the shoe box with his outstretched arms. “Christmas!”

“You’re starting to sound like Bokuto,” Tsukishima is so flushed, to the point that Kuroo cannot work out if he is amused or just immensely embarrassed. “Also, I don’t have a tree to decorate.”

Kuroo falters. “You…. don’t have a Christmas tree?”

“Does that bother you?”

Pausing, Kuroo considers the best way to respond as to not completely ruin any chances at building rapport.

He’s a weird guy, huh.

“It’s not the strangest thing about you, Glasses.”

The comment hangs in the air for a moment longer than Kuroo would like before Tsukishima huffs in amusement. “I live alone. Do you think I know the first thing about purchasing a Christmas tree?”

Kuroo thinks back to his first Christmas away from his family. Back then, it had been him and Bokuto sharing an apartment—a shitty place with constant power outages and the pervasive stench of urine. They had gathered the remaining change between their—incredibly, incredibly broke—back accounts and bought a sad-looking half-dead pot plant. The plant, affectionately named Mai-chan, had been their Christmas tree, even though it wasn’t tall enough to reach Kuroo’s shin. Back then it had been a symbol of shared camaraderie, a shared laugh amidst hardships.

 But Tsukishima lives alone.

The thought weighs heavy on Kuroo’s mind. Shit, he too lives alone, now. This will be his first Christmas alone—well, single—in a while. But he can handle it. Iwaizumi and Bokuto already offered their company for a ‘friend Christmas’, and Kuroo has been awaiting a night of festive alcohol and celebrations to cap off the holiday season.

But Tsukishima. Is he always alone? Does he ever let people in? Will he return to an empty apartment tonight, back to a job he barely tolerates? The absence of a Christmas tree is merely one more aspect of life that Tsukishima lacks warmth in, and Kuroo feels a deep pang of grief.

“I could help.” Kuroo’s offer hangs in the air, a soft attempt to bridge the gap of solitude that seems to envelop Tsukishima's holiday season and ask Tsukishima to let him in. He barely recognises his own voice, absent of the usual teasing and wit that is so characteristically Kuroo. But this is important to him.

The atmosphere grows heavier as Kuroo’s offer lingers in the air. Tsukishima appears caught off guard by Kuroo’s genuine words, meeting his eye contact for a moment. It’s beyond the verbal offer of a Christmas tree, but an unspoken shared offer for companionship after being alone for so long.

“Only if you’d like it,” Kuroo adds on, with a touch of vulnerability. Suppressing the urge to lighten the moment with a witty remark, he resists the temptation to bring it back to the usual banter, allowing the sincerity to linger in the air.

The darkness hides most of Tsukishima’s features, but for merely a brief moment, the usual walls he puts up seem to soften. Perhaps he is considering the idea, that maybe, just maybe, he is willing to let someone like Kuroo in.

The lights of the apartment complex come into view, a reminder that this conversation is fleeting. Kuroo wonders if Tsukishima will just not answer him, will take his bag from Kuroo’s grip with a nod and disappear into his apartment with a short nod. This is Tsukishima, after all.

But, breaking expectations, Tsukishima turns to look at him and Kuroo’s heart stutters. “Sure, why not. Although, I’m not the greatest company.”

A smile stretches on Kuroo’s expression, a genuine warmth lighting up his features. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he curses his cold fingers as he clumsily opens up his contacts. “Deal. Talk later?” He passes his phone to Tsukishima, fingers touching momentarily before Tsukishima grasps the phone.

The silence stretches longer as Tsukishima types in his digits, furrowing his eyebrows while he squints at the screen before handing the phone back to Kuroo.

“Message me too often and I’ll block you.”

Kuroo flushes, chuckling in endearment at the grumpy look on Tsukishima’s expression. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now…” he pulls the shopping bag off his shoulder, passing it delicately to Tsukishima with a wink. “Make sure those kids get their candy canes.”

He gets merely an eye roll in return, but Kuroo can see the soft smile on Tsukishima’s face, regardless of how hard the other man tries to hide it.

He’s so damn cute.

Kuroo ends up outside Bokuto and Iwaizumi’s apartment, shoe box still neatly hooked under his arm.

He doesn’t know the time, nor if he truly wants to. Somewhere between the shoe store and dropping Tsukishima off his phone went flat, and without a watch Kuroo can only imagine what hour it is. He thinks back to his six o’clock alarm this morning, and the fatigue settles even deeper in his muscles.

Cursing his time management, Kuroo reaches out to knock, fist hitting the cold wood a couple times. Worst comes to worst, he leaves the shoe box at the doorstep, or brings it along next time he sees the couple. He just wants to get one thing ticked off his long list of tasks.

The apartment door swings open.

“Oh, hey,” Kuroo jumps slightly, not expecting the door to be answered so swiftly, especially not by Iwaizumi, dressed in a Godzilla Christmas-themed matching pyjama set. “Just wanted to drop of a gift for Bo.”

He holds out the shoe box, forcing a genuine smile to disguise the tiredness he feels. A shiver rolls down his spine simultaneously, and Kuroo remembers—for the hundredth time—that he is positively freezing, his suit jacket providing little protection from the chill.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow, giving Kuroo a look of exasperation at his apparent lack of self-preservation abilities. The soft glow of the apartment spills into the corridor, carrying the scent of something comforting—perhaps a homemade meal or a scented candle. It is warm, and Kuroo melts at the homely atmosphere.

He didn’t plan on making the visit any more than a quick drop-in, just wanting to drop off the gift and perhaps use a phone charger to get just enough battery to call a cab and avoid walking home so late.

But from the way Iwaizumi’s looking at him now, Kuroo knows he isn’t heading home anytime soon.

“Kou, run the bath,” Iwaizumi calls out into the apartment.

His voice softens at Kou, and Kuroo’s chest fills with warmth at the absolute adoration Iwaizumi has for his fiancé.

Kuroo follows the other man into the apartment, smiling gently at the twinkling fairy lights decorated around the walls, accompanied by the faint hum of Christmas carols playing on an antique record player once belonging to Iwaizumi’s grandmother.

Iwaizumi disappears into the kitchen, leaving Kuroo standing in the living room. He can hear the muffled sounds of water running, and his heart flutters at the realisation that Bokuto is preparing the bath for him. Kuroo neatly places the shoe box on the living room table, breathing in the aroma of something delicious wafting from the kitchen and making his stomach growl in protest.

Kuroo is just sitting down at the living room table when Iwaizumi joins him again. This time he has a small plate in his hand, steam wafting from what appears to be leftovers from the couple’s dinner that night.

“Eat.”

“But—”

Iwaizumi hands over the plate, disappearing back into the kitchen to grab Kuroo cutlery and a glass of water. Kuroo’s protests fall on deaf ears, and before he can even think of saying it’s not necessary, he has a full dinner in front of him, a little gingerbread man on the side in true motherly Iwaizumi fashion.

Thanking the man, Kuroo digs in, fighting off the urge to audibly moan at the warm food as it settles in his mouth. “Dude, I owe you big time,” he says between bites, watching unsurprisingly as Iwaizumi waves away the compliment. “Remind me to ask you for cooking tips.”

“You burn everything.” Iwaizumi bites the head of his own gingerbread man.

Kuroo gasps, mockingly offended, before clearing his throat. “A man forgets to turn off the oven one time!”

“Just eat.”

He looks down, successfully shut up by Iwaizumi. The food really is good, a kind of soup that reminds Kuroo of the one his mother would make when he was sick. Just enough vegetables to be healthy but not enough for younger Kuroo to throw a tantrum. The perfect soup.

As he continues to eat, Kuroo watches Iwaizumi stand up, carrying a cup of tea into the bathroom. He is likely to be checking in on the bath, or the man who is currently in charge of it. It’s nice, domestic in a way Kuroo hasn’t experienced in a while.

Kuroo doesn’t notice his eyes beginning to close. Slouching in his chair, he crosses his hands in his lap, yawning widely as he starts to drift. The warmth of the soup settles in his stomach, his own personal heat pack that only lulls him to sleep faster.

He isn’t sure how long he was drifting, perhaps mere minutes, but Kuroo is jolted awake by a tap on the arm.

“Up you get,” Iwaizumi grasps Kuroo by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet like Kuroo weighs nothing more than a small child. “Bath time.”

Kuroo splutters, blinking a couple times to reorientate himself and push away the sleepiness,

“I’m fine, really. Promise.”

Iwaizumi grasps onto his suit jacket, dragging Kuroo towards the apartment bathroom. It’s one of the tinier rooms in the apartment, just barely wide enough to fit the two men as they cram through the doorframe.

“Don’t piss me off. Let us help you, dumbass,” Iwaizumi empties Kuroo’s pockets right there, throwing his phone and the empty packet of cigarettes onto the bathroom counter.

“Yes, mother,” Kuroo teases, slipping off his suit jacket to throw it at Iwaizumi’s chest. “Want to help me undress too?”

The unimpressed look Iwaizumi sends Kuroo’s way answers the question for him. Kuroo begins unbuttoning his shirt, thankful the soup warmed him enough to still the trembling of his fingertips.

“Where’s Bo?”

Kuroo had expected to see his friend in the bathroom running the bath, dressed in pyjamas matching with Iwaizumi’s in that sickeningly cute couple-way. But it’s just him and Iwaizumi in the bathroom, Bokuto yet to be seen.

Iwaizumi takes the unbuttoned shirt from Kuroo’s hands, throwing it over his shoulder. “I got him to go to bed. He has work early tomorrow.”

“Oh,” a sense of guilt grows in Kuroo’s chest. “I’m sorry for keeping you both up.” He slips off his socks, flinching when his bare skin meets the cold floor tiles.

Iwaizumi’s stern expression softens slightly. He lets out a sigh as he reaches out to grab a bottle of shower gel. “You know better than be walking around at night in this,” he gestures to Kuroo’s work suit. “Come on, Kuroo.”

The disappointed tone in Iwaizumi’s voice doesn’t escape him, and the guilt only deepens. It would’ve been easier if Iwaizumi had just gotten mad, yelled at Kuroo for being pathetic or something similar. For him to be concerned? Bad sign.

Kuroo sighs. He wonders if Tsukishima would get a similar lecture from his friends.

Tsukishima.

He turns to Iwaizumi, excuse perching on his tongue. “I walked here with Tsukishima, perhaps I was just being a gentleman?”

“Tsukishima, huh,” Iwaizumi huffs, placing a fresh towel down for Kuroo beside the—now enticingly warm—bath. “Kid is just as bad as you.”

After enough drunken nights, Kuroo doesn’t feel any embarrassment as he strips of the last layers of clothes. Mindful of the slippery surface, he gingerly lowers himself into the bath, a blissful sigh escaping him as the warmth envelops his weary body. The sensation of heat seeping into his tired muscles is nothing short of divine, a soothing remedy for both the physical and emotional fatigue that has clung to him.

He turns to look at Iwaizumi, the other man about to leave and give Kuroo some solitude. “Hey, Iwaizumi?”

His call gets Iwaizumi’s attention, who turns around with an unimpressed look. “Yes?”

“Does…” Kuroo pauses, trying to find the right words. “Does Tsukishima ever have people over?”

He hopes, just faintly, that his suspicion of Tsukishima’s loneliness is unfounded.

To his disappointment, Iwaizumi doesn’t give him an encouraging look. “Other than a guy with his girlfriend? Nah. His apartment is quiet most of the time. If it wasn’t for the sound of running water, you’d think the apartment is vacant.”

“…. Damn.” Kuroo’s breath escapes him in a heavy exhale as he lays his head back, allowing it to rest on the smooth porcelain of the tub beneath him. He stares upwards, following the ceiling markings, counting the little perfections of paint that cover the ceiling like little constellations. Shit

His view is obstructed as Iwaizumi leans over him, his face coming into view. The lines of worry etch across his features, eyes pools of concern as they meet Kuroo’s gaze. The subtle creases on Iwaizumi’s forehead expose his worry, and Kuroo fights the urge to reach out and smooth the skin.

“Kuroo.”

Iwaizumi’s voice is a low murmur, breaking the silence otherwise filled with the subtle splashes of water against the confines of the tub. “Don’t go picking up charity cases.”

His voice reverberates in the bathroom, its low murmur intertwining with the echoes of the water gently splashing in the tub. The warmth of the water does little to alleviate the chill that settles in Kuroo’s chest at Iwaizumi’s words. Charity case, huh.

Kuroo sinks deeper into the bath, his thoughts swirling like the water around him. Is that how he sees Tsukishima? Some kind of damsel in distress that Kuroo feels as if he has all the answers for.

“I… there’s something about him, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo confesses slowly, as if he’s afraid of admitting them out loud. “I just, he doesn’t even have a Christmas tree, for fucks sake. It’s Christmas and he’s alone in his apartment, with a job he hates and…"

“You see too much of yourself in him,” Iwaizumi interrupts, the sentiment knocking the wind right out of Kuroo’s chest. Kuroo curses himself, putting his head in his hands as he takes a moment to process Iwaizumi’s words.

“You might be right.” Kuroo admits softly, sighing. He runs a hand through his wet hair, fingers knotting in the tangled strands. “So, I should just… leave him be?”

The question hangs in the misty air, the bathroom enveloped in a contemplative silence. Iwaizumi’s gaze lingers on Kuroo, a dash of empathy in his usually unreadable eyes. “I didn’t say that,” he takes a deep breath. “You just need to put yourself first sometimes, Tetsurou.”

Even with the crushing weight in his gut, the other man’s lingering words are enough to make Kuroo smile softly. “Thanks for caring about me, dude.”

The term has Iwaizumi scrunching up his face. “You make it difficult sometimes. Koutarou and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

The again settles in Kuroo’s gut, bringing back memories of a month ago when Kuroo was sitting in this very bath, trying to mend the pieces that a sudden breakup left him. He hadn’t been in a good state—putting it mildly— that night. Newly alone and blindsided from a breakup he hadn’t seen coming.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Iwaizumi, like Kuroo himself, carries the memory of that night with him.

“Just…” Iwaizumi walks away from the bath, sighing as he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Look after yourself.”

Kuroo musters a weary smile, directed towards the retreating figure of his friend. “Thanks.”

The bathroom is silent once more. The bath isn’t nearly as comforting as before, lingering towards lukewarm and stealing the comforting warmth from Kuroo’s limbs.

It’s time to head home.

Pulling himself up with the porcelain sides, Kuroo steps out of the bath, his feet sinking into the plush embrace of the bathmat below. The towel is still hanging in reach for Kuroo, ready for him to use. In swift motions, Kuroo envelops himself in its soft folds, the warmth and familiarity providing little comfort.

“Hey, Kuroo?”

Iwaizumi’s back is still facing him, the faint glow from the bathroom lights casting a shadow on his broad shoulders. However, the subtle warmth in his tone catches Kuroo’s attention like a gentle embrace.

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s stupid of me to say, but I’m glad to see you excited about someone again. Tsukishima, I mean. Kou is too. He’s been worried about you.”

The words hang in the air, a delicate acknowledgment of Kuroo’s emotions. It’s not what he expected Iwaizumi to say, not in the slightest. Kuroo’s fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of the towel wrapped around him as he processes Iwaizumi’s words.

He doesn’t want to think about the start of Iwaizumi’s words, an acceptance of his interest about Tsukishima. That feels too real, and Kuroo’s heart is too delicate to process such an idea yet. But the last section catches his attention.

Bokuto has been worried about him.

Drying his feet off, Kuroo steps over to Iwaizumi’s side, a tender smile on his expression, “He’s caring like that, isn’t he?”

Iwaizumi turns to him, features softening. “Yeah. He is.”

Bending over, his head disappears behind the bathroom counter for a moment. It’s when he pops up, hands grasping a pile of clean clothes that a sense of gratitude washes over Kuroo.

“Take the couch tonight, if you’d like,” Iwaizumi offers, placing the pile of clean clothes in Kuroo’s hands. “I’m not that much of an ass to kick you out.”

Grinning, Kuroo laughs softly. “I might just take you up on that.”

With a nod, Iwaizumi closes the bathroom door behind him, and Kuroo is left in the silent bathroom alone.

“No,” Tsukishima deadpans, his expression pitifully blank and unyielding. “It’s freezing.”

“Come on Tsukki!” Kuroo whines, his foot wedged in the apartment door to stop Tsukishima from slamming it in his face. “The Christmas trees await!”

Tsukishima narrows his eyes, unimpressed. He looks as if he has just rolled out of bed, hair fluffy and messy in a way that makes Kuroo want to run his fingers through it. “I don’t recall ever expressing a burning desire to freeze to death.”

“Shh, no point thinking about such a minor detail,” Kuroo pulls the door open wider, gesturing for Tsukishima to join him outside the apartment. The morning air carries a crisp chill that nips at Kuroo's skin, but he's too determined to let it bother him. “You’ll enjoy yourself, trust me.”

Tsukishima disappears back into his apartment for a moment, sighing under his breath. Kuroo almost considers following him, but that seems like a major invasion of privacy, especially since he actually wants Tsukishima to agree to this little outing.

It’s early, and Kuroo is somewhat surprised that Tsukishima is even awake. If not for his own morning coffee, Kuroo would still be half-asleep, struggling to keep his eyes open. Driving—yes, he does use his car sometimes—to the apartment complex in hopes of enticing Tsukishima to come Christmas tree shopping with him had been a spontaneous decision, the kind that Kuroo would usually have more self-control than to act upon.

But it’s one of Kuroo’s few days off, and after a quick, if not blunt, message conversation between Tsukishima, he knows the other man’s schedule is similarly empty. So here he is, wrapped in coats and gloves, standing at the other man’s doorstep.

Tsukishima returns after a short moment, dressed in all black and enough layers Kuroo can barely see even a hint of skin. It’s even more layers than the time at the market, and Kuroo has to stifle his laughter at the sight.

“Tsukki,” he gestures to the all-black outfit. “You’re killing the holiday spirit here.”

Locking his apartment door behind him, Tsukishima huffs. “There’s nothing festive about frostbite.” He deftly stashes the apartment key into one of his many pockets, zipping it up with a quick motion that speaks of past experiences with lost keys that Kuroo most definitely relates to.

“I promise you won’t get frostbite. Your friend would be pissed,” Kuroo walks alongside Tsukishima through the apartment hallway, humming happily to himself at his plan’s apparent success. It should be no surprise that Tsukishima walks fast, being so tall, but Kuroo still falters a bit as he speeds up. “How’d the candy canes go?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Good enough. Tadashi said they all got really excited. Made him Christmas cards and everything.” The corners of his lips twitch in that subtle way that tells Kuroo he isn’t completely ambivalent about children’s happiness—a tad relieving.

He gives Tsukishima a slap on the back. “Look at that! Making children happy, knew you wouldn’t regret it,” he guides Tsukishima to his car in the apartment car park, fumbling for his keys amongst the miscellaneous goods in his pocket. “Welcome to our ride for today.”

Thankfully, Tsukishima doesn’t comment on the assortment of dents and paint chips running the entire exterior, pulling open the passenger door without hesitation to escape the frigid winds.

Kuroo swiftly follows the man, sliding into the driver’s seat. He turns the engine on instantly, sighing in utter relief when the engine starts without its usual splutters. Then, being a good companion, his hand drifts to the heater knob, dialling it up to max, both for Tsukishima’s sake and his own.

“So, Tsukki,” he grins, checking his mirrors before shifting the car into reverse. For such an early time, the road is mostly empty. “You excited yet?”

 Kuroo gets a huff back in return. Tsukishima glances out of the window, watching the passing buildings and occasional flickers of holiday decorations “Moderately interested, maybe. Where are we going, anyway?”

Kuroo chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he turns the car onto the main road. His navigation system says the farm is an hour drive away, Tsukishima is going to need to eventually loosen up slightly.

Smiling, he waves Tsukishima’s question away. “A Christmas tree farm. They have cheap options, don’t worry.”

“I’ve never been to a Christmas tree farm before.”

Kuroo raises his eyebrows, caught off guard. “Really? Not even as a kid?”

“Nope. Always had a plastic tree. Less effort.”

Not wanting to pry too much, Kuroo steers the conversation away from Tsukishima’s personal life. “Well, today you get the full experience. It’s practically a rite of passage for spending Christmas in a new place, having a fresh new tree.”

Tsukishima glances at him, a hint of scepticism in his gaze. “Other people will be there, right? I don’t exactly know what I’m doing.”

The slight concern in his tone has Kuroo hurrying to reassure the other man, flushing slightly at how cute Tsukishima is for asking such a question. “Don’t worry, Tsukki! I’m a seasoned veteran, you don’t need to worry about looking silly or anything.”

Adjusting the heat once more, Kuroo offers a reassuring smile. “Anyway, who cares? If you don’t see one you want, then we can drive home. No stress, okay? This is about having fun.”

The words seem to soothe the subtle unease in Tsukishima's mind, and his demeanour relaxes, settling into the well-worn contours of the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

Kuroo smile turns into a full beam, internally pumping his fist. Focus remaining on the road, he takes one hand off the wheel to gesture to the, currently unoccupied, aux cord.  “Feel free to plug your phone in. Give us some jams.”

Tsukishima cringes at the word jams, but nonetheless he grabs the aux cord, plugging his phone in and scrolling through his music. The subtle distraction gives Kuroo a moment to reorientate himself, counting down the traffic lights until he turns down a route what will wind through the scenic countryside towards the farm.

With a soft hum, the voice of a female singer filters through the car speakers. It’s undeniably indie, and Kuroo lets the softness of her voice lull him into a calm rhythm. He isn’t sure what he expected from Tsukishima, so full of mystery and walls, but indie isn’t too far from is predictions.

They fall into a comfortable silence, both just enjoying the scenery. The occasional snow-dusted field adds to the holiday charm, rolling hills of white that glow against the morning sky. The car's heater works its magic, creating a toasty sanctuary against the winter chill outside.

Kuroo is whistling softly to himself when he glances over at Tsukishima. The man is staring out the window with a touch more curiosity, entranced by an environment so different to the usual city landscape. After a few more minutes of silence, he sees the opportunity.

“Is this the first time you’ve ventured out of the city?” Kuroo asks quietly.

Tsukishima nods, attention not drifting from the passenger side window. “Yeah. The idea of being in a place with more trees than people is… new.”

Kuroo’s smile widens at the admission, the little bit of information adding to his ever-growing bank of Tsukishima-related facts. He turns down the music slightly, hoping to hear Tsukishima better through the rumble of the road beneath them.

“That’s cool,” Kuroo replies, his tone gentle. “Just wait until you see the Christmas tree farm. You’ll really feel the Christmas spirit.”

He turns off the winding road, leaving the view of the hills behind as they drive into what appears to be a quaint town within the hills. Kuroo smiles, pointing at the Christmas-light-decorated town sign. “We are almost there. Hang on.”

The town is adorned with festive decorations and twinkling lights, covered in a carpet of snow that has Kuroo ever thankful for their layers of warm clothing. A sign indicates the way to the Christmas tree farm, and Kuroo follows the route, driving through rows and rows of evergreen trees on either side of the road, surrounding them. Tsukishima’s eyes widen, turning to Kuroo in obvious awe.

Without thinking, Kuroo rolls down his window, disregarding the blast of freezing wind as he sticks his face out the window and breathes in. Ignoring Tsukishima’s confusion, he pushes down the button for the passenger side window.

“Kuroo what—” Tsukishima voice is cut off by the wind, a cacophony of gusts and whispers that quickly drowns out the hum of music.

Kuroo turns back into the car, yelling gleefully, “Put your head out the window and get a big whiff, Tsukki! That’s the smell of pine, baby.”

The baby slips from his tongue before Kuroo realises he’s said it, and from the blush growing up Tsukishima’s neck, he clearly heard the pet name too. Tsukishima turns away, following Kuroo’s instructions and leaning his head out the open window. Whether it was to smell the pine or remove the blush, Kuroo isn’t completely sure, but he grins regardless.

Eventually, Tsukishima pulls his head back into the car, glasses skewed and hair sticking out in all directions. From the way he is looking at Kuroo, Kuroo imagines his looks just as chaotic, before the two of them break out into giggles.

“Here we are,” Kuroo announces, pulling into the parking area and winding up the windows. Zipping up his outer coat, he steps out into the crisp winter air, beckoning for Tsukishima to follow. “Welcome to a Christmas tree farm, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima huddles close to him, staring out at the abundance of trees. He is quiet, and for a moment Kuroo has a sinking feeling in his gut that something is wrong, before Tsukishima turns to him. “Lead on, tree expert.”

Kuroo smiles and doesn’t hesitate to launch into a ramble about Christmas tree farms, all the somewhat-pointless facts that his father had once told him during their yearly visits. To Tsukishima’s credit he doesn’t appear completely disinterested, occasionally asking questions and nodding along to the dozenth fact like Kuroo isn’t talking about fucking Christmas trees.

The farm is busier than Kuroo expected. Clearly, they aren’t the only one hunting for a last-minute Christmas tree, if the small groups of couples and families are any inclination. The presence of others seems to calm Tsukishima slightly, as he starts pointing out a couple of the smaller trees. “Is there a science behind the correct tree?”

“Well, Tsukki,” Kuroo starts with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You just have to find a Christmas tree that you really connect to.” He points over at a smaller tree. “See that one? That definitely doesn’t scream Tsukki, does it?”

“You’re talking shit.”

“How dare you! Anyway, over here…” Kuroo leads him through the farm, chuckling along as Tsukishima pretends to be irritated and attempt to unsuccessfully wipe the smile off his face.

Kuroo leads them into a secluded part of the farm, away from the bustling crowd. The trees here stand tall and majestic, their branches forming a canopy that shields them from the outside world.

“This is it,” Kuroo announces, spreading his arms wide. “The cream of the crop.”

Tsukishima glances around, his eyes widening at the sight of the impressive trees. “They’re... big.” He looks around, spinning in a circle to survey all the trees. Kuroo doubts Tsukishima has ever even seen Christmas trees so tall.

“Yep,” Kuroo nods, smiling. “Won’t fit in your apartment, but I thought you’d like to see them before we leave.”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer, walking up to the tallest tree. He stands still for a moment, appearing to just take in the sheer magnitude. Eventually he reaches out, hand brushing the rough trunk in slow circles. “Wow.”

The awe in his voice has Kuroo blushing a deep red. Too fucking cute.  “Wow indeed. Imagine trying to cut down one of these.”

He walks over to stand beside Tsukishima, tilting his head back to stare up at the layers of branches. “Cool, huh?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They stand for a moment more, before Tsukishima turns away from the trees, smiling softly. “So, where are the responsibly sized trees?”

They spend an hour or so strolling through the rest of the farm, checking out the size options and noting down any Tsukishima thinks would fit his living room. The wind has died down a bit thankfully, snowflakes falling gently from the sky, creating a magical ambiance around the evergreen forest.

Tsukishima, despite his initial reservations, seems to be genuinely enjoying himself. His normally stoic expression has softened, replaced by a subtle curiosity as he inspects each tree in interest, occasionally asking Kuroo’s opinion.

Eventually, in a more secluded part of the farm away from the bustling crowds, Tsukishima stops. “This one,” he points, stating it like it’s the easiest decision of his life. “It’ll work.”

Kuroo turns from where he stands a few feet away from Tsukishima, walking back over to other man with peaking curiosity. “Which one?”

He follows Tsukishima’s gaze, settling on a modest tree. It is nothing special, not particularly extravagant, nor unique in a way that would attract most people to it. But Tsukishima looks happy, and that’s enough for Kuroo’s heart.

“Great choice, Tsukki. Knew you could do it,” Kuroo glances around, waving over one of the farm attendants, a cheerful woman with a candy-cane striped scarf. “Here’s the best part.”

Wrapping an arm around Tsukishima’s shoulder, Kuroo listens to the attendant’s cheerful advice, appreciatively thanking her for her help. It’s only when she hand’s Tsukishima the saw that Tsukishima realises what’s happening.

“Kuroo, I don’t—”

“Hey, I’ll start it. I’ve done this before, remember?”

He starts the job, guiding Tsukishima through the process softly. The tree Tsukishima chose isn’t particularly thick, so Kuroo wastes no time doing some of the brunt work before swapping out with Tsukishima. “Give it a go.”

To his joy, Tsukishima takes the lead, carefully guiding the saw along the trunk, eyebrows knitted with concentration. The crisp sound of the saw cutting through the trunk is so nostalgic for Kuroo, taking a moment to remember all the times he did this with his family.

As the tree finally begins to tip, Tsukishima steps back, a childlike grin of triumph breaking on his usually aloof expression. “I did it, huh.”

“Yeah, you did!” Kuroo cheers, patting Tsukishima on the back as the attendant helps the two men lift the tree, taking the saw from Tsukishima’s hands. They are close to the farm’s central area, and Kuroo leads the way to the wrapping station where another attendant stands, ready to help them in bundling the tree. She secures the tree with seasoned expertise, wrapping it up in a net for transport with a wide grin and a commendation for their ‘excellent choice of tree’ as Tsukishima pays, grin not faltering as she wishes them an amazing Christmas.

“Happy?” Kuroo asks, helping Tsukishima lift the now-wrapped tree. The trek to the car isn’t too far, thankfully, so he doesn’t mind taking most of the weight. He cannot see Tsukishima’s face, hidden by the tree, but Kuroo prays Tsukishima is still smiling just as wide as before.

 “Yeah, thanks for this.”

Kuroo’s grin softens, a warm glow spreading through his chest. “My pleasure. Let’s get this back to yours.” With practised ease he begins securing the tree to the roof of the car, making sure it is snug enough to not budge from any too-sharp corners on the drive back.

Tsukishima stands by, watching the process with a thoughtful expression. He stands in silence, not daring to reveal even the slightest hint at his thoughts within. Kuroo often finds himself intrigued by the enigma that is Tsukishima—always retreating into the sanctum of his mind, leaving observers nonetheless wiser. Kuroo wishes he could unravel the mysteries held behind those analytical eyes, learn what makes Tsukishima truly himself.

Perhaps that will come with time.

Once the tree is secured, they side into the car, Kuroo starting the engine without hesitation in hopes the vehicle will quickly warm up the winter chill. He pulls off his gloves, holding his hands out over the car heating vent with a sinful moan.

As he turns to Tsukishima, ready to make a playful remark about avoiding frostbite, Kuroo freezes, his mouth slightly ajar.

There are snowflakes delicately hanging from Tsukishima’s eyelashes, tiny, glistening speckles of white that gracefully adorn his blond lashes. Each tiny crystal appears to find a temporary perch, a picturesque reminder of the day’s activities, painting its own ethereal winter landscape on their chosen canvas. The world outside seems to pause for a moment, captured in the quiet beauty of those snow-kissed lashes.

"Holy..." Kuroo's heart does a quiet somersault, momentarily breathless at the angelic scene unfolding before him.

“What are you staring at?” Tsukishima's defensive tone cuts through the silent awe, arms crossed in a defensive posture, the harsh walls rising once more. “Something on my face?”

“You’re beautiful.”

The words escape his lips before Kuroo can even fully register them. The sincerity echoes in the quiet confines of the car, laying bare a truth Kuroo hasn’t quite dared to voice until this very moment.

Tsukishima, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, blinks in surprise. His defensive posture wavers for a moment, the stoic facade cracking as he blushes a deep red that travels up his pale neck.

Kuroo, regaining his composure, grins playfully. “You’ve got a little winter magic on your face there, Tsukki. It suits you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tsukishima scoffs, turning to stare out the window in means of hiding Kuroo’s view. Kuroo watches him fiddle with his jacket sleeve, long pale fingers wrapping themselves in the fabric as a means of distraction.

“Whatever you say, Tsukki.”

“Drive.”

Kuroo does just that, chuckling to himself at Tsukishima’s attempt to deflect as he pulls away from the farm, wishing farewell to the pine scent till the next farm exhibition. As they round the corner, a gentle smile plays on Kuroo's lips when Tsukishima, in a surprising move, rolls down his car window, welcoming the brisk winter air.

“Planning on enjoying the view?” Kuroo teases, glancing at Tsukishima. “Put some music on, too, keep me awake.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, muttering something unintelligible, but doesn’t roll the window back up. Instead, aux cord already connected—when did he even do that—he sends Kuroo a smirk tapping play on his phone as the car speakers burst out with what Kuroo comprehends as the iconic opening to what he can only believe to be ‘Walk This Way’.

Fingers tapping against the steering wheel, Kuroo lays his head back, revving the engine just that tad harder as the guitar riff kicks in. “Run-DMC, huh?” he nods, approvingly. “I like your taste, Tsukki.”

“Guilty pleasure,” Tsukishima smirks.

Kuroo cackles, winding up the windows and singing along, letting the bass rumble through the old car speakers. Tsukishima is giggling, face lit up with excitement as he reprimands Kuroo for not focusing on the road.

There are more cars around now, many—like Kuroo’s own—adorned with a Christmas tree atop the roof. Kuroo pulls up, joining a line of traffic, fitting into a quickly building cue amongst the snow-ridden towns.

“Busy huh, Tsukki?” He turns the music down a touch, no longer needing to hear it over the billowing wind.

“Seems like it,” Tsukishima glances at the cars, lingering on a particularly over-the-top display of holiday decorations on a large white SUV. Forehead creasing, he points the car out to Kuroo. “Bit much, huh.”

The traffic has come to a complete stop at this point, not even maintaining a slow crawl. Expecting to sit for a while, Kuroo puts the car into park, taking the opportunity to lean over Tsukishima’s side and peer at the car. “Christmas is fun, Tsukki. It simply isn’t possible to be over-the-top.”

From the obvious eyeroll, Tsukishima doesn’t appear to believe him. He settles back into his seat and pulls his knees up, tucking his chin to his chest and wrapping his arms around his lower limbs. His eyelids gently close ever so slightly, and Kuroo wishes he had a blanket he could offer the seemingly exhausted man.

“The traffic hasn’t moved in a while now,” he whispers softly instead. Tsukishima’s eyes peer open to watch him, a beautiful shade of gold that has Kuroo’s stomach flutter. “You can sleep for a bit, if you’d like. I’ll wake you up.”

To his surprise, Tsukishima wakes himself up instead, stretching out his legs and shaking the daze from his mind. He opens Kuroo’s glovebox, sorting through piles of papers and other miscellaneous goods, before popping a piece of gum into his mouth.

“Can’t sleep. I’ll only mess my sleep schedule up more,” Tsukishima turns the music up once more. Kuroo doesn’t recognise the song, but the combination of drums and electric guitar tells him Tsukishima is trying to keep himself conscious. He stills for a moment, turning to Kuroo with a soft expression. “Thanks, though.”

Kuroo grins, giving Tsukishima a few friendly pats on the shoulder. “All good, dude. I’ll go check what’s going on outside. Might be a flat tire or something.” He unbuckles his seatbelt, swinging open the car door and sighing in content at the opportunity to stretch his legs.

“Sit tight, Tsukki. Wouldn’t want your pretty cheeks getting cold.”

Tsukishima begins unbuckling his own seatbelt, indignantly calling out, “Hey!—"

Kuroo shushes him. “Think of it as a smoke break. I’ll be back soon.”

Before Tsukishima gets the opportunity to complain, Kuroo closes the door and begins the trek past the rows of cars. He wasn’t lying to Tsukishima, the tightness in his throat and subtle anxiety have been building since his last smoke that morning.

Slipping a cigarette from his pocket, he uses his hand to cover the flame and lights it, puffing softly into the air while he walks to the front of the cue of cars. He doesn’t tend to go this long without a cigarette, especially not on his days off. But Tsukishima dislikes smoking, the little furrow in his brow at mention of Kuroo’s habit starving Kuroo off taking a hit whilst in Tsukishima’s company.

It really is the little things, huh.

After scouting the area, Kuroo makes his way back to the car, slipping a breath strip onto his tongue to starve away the most obvious scent of tobacco on his breath. Arriving at the car he sees Tsukishima sitting just as he left him, staring uninterestedly at his phone.

Not wanting to scare him, Kuroo knocks on the window slightly and waves, before opening the driver’s side door and sliding onto the seat.  “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Tsukishima puts his phone down. “When is there ever any actually good news?”

“The road’s blocked. Large tree branch. Said it will be cleared in about half an hour.”

Kuroo casually reaches for a half-empty plastic water bottle nestled in the centre console, taking a leisurely sip as he observes Tsukishima process the news that they won’t be going anywhere for a while.

Finally, he turns to Kuroo. “…and the good news?

“Well, I think I’m pretty damn good company.”

Tsukishima sighs, propping his feet up on the dashboard, “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

They exchange a look, smirks cracking into genuine smiles. Kuroo shucks his jacket off, pulling it over his lap in a substitute for a blanket. It’s only when he starts lowering his seat back that Tsukishima’s brow tightens. “What are you doing?”

 “Looks like we’ll be stuck for a while. Might as well…” he gestures to his now-bed, “relax a bit.”

He sees Tsukishima’s hand drop to beside his own seat, attempting to lower his own seat to a comfortable angle. He fumbles for a moment, biting his lip in mind frustration as the seat refuses to drop below its regular angle.

“That seat’s broken, let me just…” Kuroo leans over Tsukishima, intending to fiddle with the faulty lever for a moment. It had broken years ago, one too many enthusiastic adjustments from Bokuto rendering the lever pretty-much useless.  It’s a tight space, the two men too tall and gangly for the tiny car. His hand is nearly at the lever when it brushes Tsukishima’s waist.

Kuroo freezes.

Tsukishima inhales sharply, eyes automatically locking to Kuroo’s own.

Leaning over him, Kuroo's focus drifts to the slight stubble on his chin, the small blonde hairs cupping Tsukishima’s jawline. He’s never noticed it before, a new addition to his mental image of the man sitting below him.

Gulping, Kuroo looks away, retracting his hand away from its comfortable resting place at Tsukishima’s hipbone. “Sorry.”

He finishes pulling the passenger seat down to his seat’s angle, clumsily leaning away from Tsukishima’s lap to get back in comfortable distance away from the man. His heart is hammering in his chest, a deep thudding that Tsukishima must be able to hear.  

Kuroo sits back in the driver's seat, pulling the jacket back over him to block the flush of his neck, pretending as if he wasn’t merely centimetres away from Tsukishima’s face only moments before. “You’re really fun, you know that?”

Tsukishima’s eyebrows pull together in a frown, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“What?” Kuroo thinks he is being sarcastic, but Tsukishima seems to be serious, expression pulled into a fine line.

“Fun isn’t exactly in people’s vocabulary when describing me.”

Does he really think that?

Kuroo thinks back to their time at the Christmas tree farm, their drive, even just meeting Tsukishima that day in the market. The guy is standoffish, sure, a tad bit too snarky at times, even for Kuroo’s standards.

But in these quiet moments, the shared cackles and interests at the tree farm, Kuroo senses something more. A person yearning for connection, just like anyone else.

“You do know people like spending time with you, right?” Kuroo asks softly, propping his chin up with his palm.

“You did beg me to be here.” Tsukishima answers simply. He is staring at the car roof, probably honing in on the copious questionable stains and dents littering the fabric.

Kuroo nudges him, dragging Tsukishima’s attention away from the roof. “Not just me. Would we have even met if Bo hadn’t called out to you excitedly at the market? Dude, people like you.”

Tsukishima finally looks at him, cheeks dusted in a soft pink hue.

“…Oh.”

Kuroo smiles softly. “Yeah.”

It is quiet, Tsukishima looking down at his lap, seemingly contemplating Kuroo’s words. It’s a moment of vulnerability, a crack in the exterior, a look into the world of Tsukishima that Kuroo hasn’t been able to access yet.

And so, he pushes further.

“Do you purposely make yourself unapproachable?” The words escape Kuroo's lips in a soft, almost hesitant whisper, as if he is uttering some secret only to be shared between the two of them. But from the way Tsukishima’s head snaps from his lap to the window outside, the secret label doesn’t appear completely unfounded.

“I don’t know. I’ve always been like this.” He is staring out the car window, a pale finger drawing spirals on the already fogging up glass. A fleeting shape, reminiscent of a heart, takes form before he wipes it away with the sleeve of his jumper.

“Does that… bother you?”

Tsukishima turns to meet Kuroo’s gaze. “Should it?”

“I mean,” Kuroo looks away, not wanting to meet Tsukishima’s eyes. His eyes follow the path of a white SUV he'd noticed earlier, its doors swinging open. A family steps out, the children clinging to their parents in excitement as they lead them towards a patch of snow, a carrot in the youngest child’s hand. Oh, a snowman. “In all honesty, a tad jealous.”

Tsukishima tsks. “You shouldn’t be. My friend tells me I need to let people in sometimes.”

Kuroo distantly remembers the mention of a friend, the recipient of all those candy canes Tsukishima had purchased back on that night in the cold. Observing the oldest child begin collecting snow for the snowman, Kuroo voices his thoughts.

“This that teacher guy?”

“Yeah, Yamaguchi. I think the idea of me being along for the rest of my life scares him.”

Kuroo’s eyes drift from the snowman, heart stuttering. His mind races, processing the vulnerability of Tsukishima’s words. He doesn’t quite know how to respond—how to process how truly close him and Tsukishima are.

But from the way Tsukishima is watching him, teetering towards fragility, Kuroo feels an unexpected surge of compassion, to reassure Tsukishima that he's okay.

“Being alone scares a lot of people,” Kuroo muses, looking over Tsukishima’s shoulder at the snow outside. “But it doesn’t mean you have to change who you are.”

Tsukishima chuckles a bit at the obvious cliche. “Easy to say when you don’t have a friend up your ass about it,” he retorts, though his tone lacks its usual bite.

“I think what you want is more important than what he wants for you.”

The car is silent for a few precious seconds. Tsukishima inhales shakily, fingers linking together in his lap. An anxious habit, perhaps. The unconscious need for touch woven in the fibres of Tsukishima’s very being.

“…Thanks. I needed that.”

Kuroo shifts slightly in his seat, turning to face Tsukishima more directly. His eyes, warm and understanding, meet Tsukishima's, searching for any signs of lingering discomfort. “What do you want, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima huffs. “Is it pathetic to say happiness?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

A wry smile tugs at Tsukishima’s lips, the edges softening. The road ahead begins to stir with activity, cars filling the once-empty space, and the traffic appears to regain its rhythm. Kuroo cranks his seat back up, stretching his limbs while he turns the engine back on. Beside him Tsukishima does the same, successfully getting his seat back in position having observed Kuroo’s technique earlier.

Kuroo is shifting the car into drive when Tsukishima remarks under his breath, “You know, you’re not that bad.”

“It took until now to realise?” Kuroo teases, chuckling that admitting his good qualities appears incredibly difficult for Tsukishima to muster. “I’m almost insulted.”

They begin the drive through the fields, passing the same rows of trees and houses as on the way there. Tsukishima still, remarkably, seems just as invested in the landscape, following the snowy hills. “The mulled wine was a bitch to clean.”

Kuroo chokes at Tsukishima’s whispered admission, steeling himself as to not veer off the road. “Dude! I thought we got over that!” He cackles loudly, thinking back to that accusation at the market.

“You owe me a new doormat,” Tsukishima states bluntly. “I liked that one.”

“If it helps, I did feel bad at the time,” Kuroo offers instead, rolling his eyes at the sullen look on Tsukishima’s face. “Stop looking at me like I kicked a puppy!”

Tsukishima pouts even further, crossing his arms in protest. “You could have cleaned it. It’s not that hard to scrub some carpet.”

“I tend not to get on my knees before the first date,” Kuroo shrugs, grinning mischievously. He turns his attention back to the road just in time to watch Tsukishima snort water out his nose in his periphery. “Want a tissue?”

Tsukishima accepts one with a humorous glare, dabbing at the water droplets littering his jacket. “Focus on the road, idiot.”

Smirking at the break in Tsukishima’s usually controlled exterior, Kuroo turns away from the line of traffic, driving them down a quiet route. The tension lingers, a palpable energy that draws Kuroo in with all his might.

“You’re not completely insufferable,” Tsukishima adds on softly, voice breaking the momentary silence. He has been watching Kuroo for a while now, inquisitive gaze producing a funny feeling in Kuroo’s chest.

Not completely insufferable. Only Tsukishima would utter such words in an attempt at a compliment. Kuroo turns towards him for a second, raising an eyebrow, “High praise, Tsukki. I feel flattered.”

The eyeroll he gets in return has Kuroo’s heartbeat quickening, noting the deep blush on Tsukishima’s cheeks. He isn’t the only one feeling the tension right now.

“Don’t push it.”

The car slows as they approach a red light. Kuroo takes the moment to stare at Tsukishima, the glow of the traffic light accentuating the man’s features. He trails Tsukishima’s lips, mapping out the soft pink skin in detail. He knows it’s obvious now—the way he is looking at Tsukishima. And from the way Tsukishima’s eyes trace Kuroo’s face, it’s clear he knows it too.

“Tsukki…” Kuroo whispers under his breath, taking one hand off the steering wheel to reach out, fingers brushing Tsukishima’s soft cheek. His hand lingers, a silent invitation between them.

Their eyes meet.

“Kuroo, the light’s green,” Tsukishima mumbles, staring down at Kuroo's lips. He doesn’t remove the hand, to Kuroo’s surprise. If anything, Tsukishima leans into it, Kuroo’s thumb beginning its journey, tracing a gentle path along his jawline.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Tsukishima whispers under his breath.

Kuroo blinks, smile curving up into a smirk. “Like what?”

Looking away, Tsukishima murmurs, “Like you want to kiss me.”

“What if I do?”

Tsukishima, usually so composed, appears caught in a moment of uncertainty. His breath hitches imperceptibly, the subtlest of reactions that doesn’t escape Kuroo’s notice. They are playing a dangerous game, the tension rising with every second of proximity.

“Tsukki,” Kuroo murmurs in a low hum, voice a velvet whisper. “Let’s get you home.”

Lips slightly parted, Tsukishima swallows, nodding softly. Kuroo’s hand eases away reluctantly, dropping back down to the steering wheel as he drives through the empty streets. He replays the moment again and again, a loop in his mind at the warmth of Tsukishima’s skin, the blush on his cheeks.

Did that just happen?

Peeking at Tsukishima, the other man seems in a similar state of disbelief. His hand now cups his jaw, tracing the same patterns Kuroo had been detailing only minutes earlier. The flush of his cheeks hasn’t disappeared amongst the pale skin, and Kuroo wonders if he too looks just as frazzled as Tsukishima appears.

Tsukishima glances at him for a second, eyes meeting again, tension crackling like static electricity. He drops his hand from his cheek, the pale skin patchy with red flush—he blushes all over holy shit—resting to sit on the centre console.

Well, it was, until it travels further. And before Kuroo can fully process it, Tsukishima’s hand hovers delicately over his thigh. The fingertips brush softly, not quite touching, yet intoxicating all the same.

“Can I?” Tsukishima mumbles softly, lightly biting his bottom lip in a way that Kuroo bets is unconscious. Iwaizumi’s warning plays in the back of Kuroo’s mind, a reminder of everything Kuroo has been through before.

But he nods, non-dominant hand dropping from the wheel to cover Tsukishima’s, lowering the other man’s hand onto his thigh. The touch is both tentative and deliberate, long, the delicate fingers brushing against the fabric of Kuroo’s pants. Tsukishima’s hand is cold, the difference in temperature making Kuroo acutely aware of Every. Single. Fingertip.

Placing his hand back on the steering wheel, Kuroo feels Tsukishima begin to trace teasing patterns on his thigh. Little things, a zigzag, the occasional smiley face. Kuroo can’t tear his attention away, chewing on his lip as he focuses on the road ahead.

They are almost back at the apartments at this point. Fifteen minutes, perhaps a tad more. But to Kuroo, with each purposeful touch, he experiences every damn second. Kuroo's grip on the wheel tightens as he navigates the final turns, staring through the windscreen at the kaleidoscope of colours cast by the city lights. They hold a different kind of beauty to the snow-ridden hills, albeit not as peaceful.

Tsukishima's hand inches higher, and Kuroo finds himself stealing glances, his gaze flickering between the road and the captivating presence beside him. Tsukishima is curled up under Kuroo’s discarded jacket, his eyes fluttering shut ever so slightly. If not for the rhythmic tracing of his hand, Kuroo would almost believe him to be peacefully asleep.

Despite the palpable tension, it’s the most comfortable Kuroo has been in months.

“Are your hands always this cold?” he inquires softly, feeling Tsukishima’s fingers pause for a moment in their tracing. His eyelids flutter open once more, appearing to realise just how close he was to falling asleep. Sitting up, he draws a heart on Kuroo’s thigh.

“I run cold in general,” Tsukishima mumbles, cutting himself off with a wide yawn. “Sorry.”

Turning into the apartment car park, Kuroo smoothly pulls into his usual park, turning off the engine with a sigh of content at not having to drive anymore. Without the soft hum of music, the car is suddenly silent, heavy with unspoken words and the potential for more.

Tsukishima goes to withdraw his hand, the touch of his fingertips lingering on Kuroo’s mind. Before he can even think about it, Kuroo reaches out and grasps Tsukishima’s hand.

Their fingers intertwine naturally. Tsukishima’s hands—much to Kuroo’s surprise—are just slightly larger, fingers, while thin, easily wrapping around Kuroo’s own. Kuroo cannot believe he didn’t do this sooner.

Tsukishima glances down at their joined hands, expression softly shifting. His eyes widen for an imperceptible moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh.”

Fighting the urge to audibly swoon, Kuroo chuckles at the adorable mix of surprise and warmth in Tsukishima’s expression. “Let’s get this tree inside, okay?”

His thumb brushes over Tsukishima’s knuckles before pulling away, unbuckling his seatbelt. Tsukishima does the same, grabbing his belongings as they both step out of the car into the snow-swept street.

Kuroo takes a moment to stretch, wincing at the stiffness of his joints after being cramped in the car. Breath visible in the crisp air, he glances at Tsukishima, focus dropping downwards as Tsukishima leans over, bending down to touch his toes.

“I can see you,” Tsukishima snorts, straightening up, raising his eyebrows knowingly at a blushing Kuroo who quickly averts his gaze from where it lingered on Tsukishima's behind.

“Pfft, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kuroo waves away the accusation cheekily, finally closing the car door.

The snow beneath their feet crunches softly as they begin unstrapping the tree from the hood of the car. It still appears to be in good condition, a reflection on both the attendant’s wrapping and Kuroo’s securing at the farm.

“Careful,” Tsukishima warns, reaching out to help Kuroo stabilise the tree as he shakes off the large clumps of snow. “Injure yourself and I’ll laugh at you.”

Giggling in unison, with combined effort the two carry the tree inside the apartment building. Thankfully, Tsukishima’s apartment door is easy to access, and with only a few minor brushes against the walls, they successfully manoeuvre the tree up to the door without any mishaps.

They place down the tree temporarily, Tsukishima navigating his jacket pocket for his keys. It doesn’t take him long to find them, the metallic jingle catching Kuroo’s attention as he watches Tsukishima insert the key.

And, before Kuroo can even properly process what is happening, he is being led into Tsukishima’s apartment for the first time.

Tsukishima flicks on the light switch by the entrance, illuminating the small area with a warm glow. Kuroo takes in the surroundings, an overwhelming sense of curiosity bubbling beneath his skin.

It’s clear Tsukishima works in here, a prominent corner of the room dedicated to a high-tech looking set up and stacks worth of papers. The rest of the room is surprisingly full for someone who has only moved in that year. It’s clear that Tsukishima enjoys his space, filling it with little trinkets, small bookshelves and delicate plants positioned at random light spots amongst the sea of couches and beanbags.  It’s a glimpse into Tsukishima’s world—an intimate invitation to explore the person behind that exposed exterior.

It’s… homely.

“Make yourself at home,” Tsukishima gestures to the room, guiding Kuroo to an empty corner where the Christmas tree stand sits, vacant. “I don’t accept critiques.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Kuroo helps Tsukishima through the Christmas tree setting up process, their shoulders brushing with every movement. There isn’t any distance between them like before—no longer staying an arms width distance apart. Kuroo can’t pull his eyes away.

And, if Kuroo couldn’t ask for more, Tsukishima starts shedding his layers. One jacket gracefully slides off, followed by another, and the scarf elegantly drapes over the back of the couch. A soft-looking hoodie follows suit. Kuroo's eyes widen in silent appreciation as the layers disappear, revealing Tsukishima's form.

Thin, yet strong, arms, muscles rippling beneath the smooth porcelain skin. Kuroo stares, trying to absorb all the details in such a fleeting moment. Even after conjuring countless scenarios in his mind, witnessing the real thing manages to halt Kuroo in his tracks.

He audibly gulps.

“Gross.”

Kuroo chuckles, hand gravitating to Tsukishima’s and giving it a soft squeeze. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Tsukishima, to Kuroo’s surprise, doesn’t pull away, nor sprout a sarcastic quip. Instead, Kuroo watches him break out into a rare, soft smile, a soft catch in his breath. “Focus on the tree first, Kuroo.”

They continue the task, each lingering touch bolder than the last. A hip touch, the faintest trace of a neck. If Kuroo wasn’t so focused on the tree he could almost consider this some obscure type of Christmas foreplay.

Finally, almost reluctantly, they finish the tree. The height just barely fits under Tsukishima’s ceiling, branches exploding outwards in a way only mother nature can be responsible for. Wrapping a row of lights around it—the only Christmas decoration in Tsukishima’s entire apartment—they step back, admiring their collaborative effort.

“Damn,” Kuroo whistles. “That’s one nice tree. We make a great team, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t try to deny it. “Surprisingly, I might agree.”

The room is now bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights. It’s amazing, how one tree manages to transform the place. Without it, you couldn’t even tell it was close to Christmas, not a single decoration, not even the smallest of Santa memorabilia on a table corner.

“You really don’t do Christmas, huh?” Kuroo comments, shoulder leaning against Tsukishima’s.  

 “It’s usually overrated,” Tsukishima replies, leaning in to adjust one of the tree’s branches in such a miniscule way Kuroo can barely tell the difference. “And messy. Needlessly messy.”

Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. “Not a fan of tinsel, I take it?”

“I don’t need shiny plastic cluttering up my home.”

Chuckling, Kuroo adds ‘clean’ to his internal list of Tsukishima traits. “I noticed you said usually,” he teases. “What makes Christmas not overrated to you, Tsukki?”

“Well,” Tsukishima’s eyes lock onto Kuroo’s. “This year’s hasn’t been too bad, yet.”

The shared gaze lingers, and Kuroo feels that bubbly feeling rising in his chest once more. He fights the urge to lean forward, to wrap his arms around Tsukishima and act upon all these thoughts that have been swirling in his mind since that day at the market.

“Do you have plans for Christmas day?” he asks instead, voice softer than before. “Any family stuff?”

“It’s complicated,” Tsukishima admits hesitantly, seemingly eyeing Kuroo’s reaction. “I don’t get along with my family.”

Kuroo nods softly in encouragement, pushing the other man to continue if he feels up to it. His heart pangs at the confession already, yet not surprised. Tsukishima hasn’t ever brought up his family before, never once in their chats about traditions, or any of those things. Kuroo just never thought it would be okay to ask about.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening.

“My brother has a stable job, a kid, and a wife. They don’t like that I’m, well…” Tsukishima gestures to the empty apartment. “Not meeting expectations.” He breaks their eye contact to stare at the wall, arms crossed in a defensive stance across his chest. Clearly, this isn’t the first time the topic has been brought up.

“I think you are doing just fine,” Kuroo answers, softly. His vision shifts across the room, before he strolls away from the tree, dropping down onto the worn-out couch, sighing in comfort. “Want to sit with me?”

“What are you, my therapist?” Tsukishima answers back, already following Kuroo over to the couch, standing over it with a guarded expression.

“No, but I’d consider myself your…well, I guess, friend.”

Friend. It seems too light for what they are rocketing towards. But, what are they really? Are they even friends?

What—

Tsukishima drops down beside him, the couch caving down as the two of them sit shoulder-to-shoulder. He leans back, slack against the couch like he has just done the hardest shift of his life. Drama queen.

 From here, they can see the Christmas tree in its full size. It faces them, the soft bulbs lighting up the wall with soft colours. Even without baubles or presents, it still softens Kuroo’s heart.

“Nice, right?” He turns to Tsukishima. “You happy?”

Tsukishima’s head drops down to Kuroo’s shoulder, soft hair tickling Kuroo’s neck. Kuroo wants to run his fingers through it, wants it so badly, but he restrains, arm instead stretching out to wrap around Tsukishima’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Tsukishima mumbles, burying his head even deeper. “I owe you.”

“Payment accepted,” Kuroo grins, squeezing Tsukishima’s shoulder that small bit tighter. “This whole day has been more-than-fun.”

A barely-there shiver runs through Tsukishima. Without a word, Kuroo unfurls his scarf from around his neck.  It’s the one from the market the rich maroon fabric enveloping him in its familiar comfort, a small nod to the day they first met.

Smiling gently, he adjusts Tsukishima’s head slightly from where it is nestled beneath Kuroo’s chin, before wrapping the scarf around his neck. Kuroo watches Tsukishima adjust the garment, the soft material brushing over the tip of his nose. It must smell like cigarettes; a smoky-aftershave combination that Tsukishima apparently isn’t completely opposed to, even with his repeated grouchiness at Kuroo’s smoking habit.

“It’s getting late, you’ll want to drive home soon,” Tsukishima hums softly, gradually pushing himself up off Kuroo’s shoulder. A blush paints Tsukishima's cheeks, rivalling the colour of the fabric, a rapidly deepening red that Kuroo finds almost surreal.

“Oh,” Kuroo stammers, unwrapping his arm from around Tsukishima’s shoulder. “Y-yeah. I totally forgot.”

“Stupid,” Tsukishima teases, lightly. He is smiling softly, and it strikes Kuroo that he has never seen Tsukishima like this before. So, just content. Kuroo wants to pull him close, feel the softness of his lips, smell that fruity shampoo and just… everything.

He pushes himself to his feet, instantly grieving the warmth of Tsukishima against him. Clearing his throat, Kuroo attempts to rid this bubbly, anxious feeling in his chest. A dance of emotions, pushing him to do something, anything.

“Sorry, it’s easy to lose track of time,” Kuroo rubs the back of his neck. “Let me grab my things.”

Breaking their eye contact, he moves back towards the tree, gathering up his scattered belongings littering Tsukishima’s floor. He cleans up the place, collecting a pile of rubbish that he will discard on his own way home.

As he bends down, he catches Tsukishima’s gaze on him, not breaking once. Standing back up, Kuroo comes face-to-face with the man.

“Thanks for today,” Tsukishima says, genuine gratitude in his voice. His chest is almost touching Kuroo’s, feet only inches apart. Kuroo can smell the mint scent of candy canes on his breath, knees shaky at the realisation that Tsukishima is really this close.

“No problem at all,” Kuroo replies, a small smile playing on his lips. He narrows his gaze to Tsukishima’s lips. It isn’t casual, nor inconspicuous. So incredibly blatant that Tsukishima notices within seconds.

And, as Kuroo’s breath hitches, Tsukishima’s eyes flicker down.

“It’s been… nice,” Tsukishima murmurs. He traces Kuroo’s lips with his gaze, and with each second the room seems to close in more around them.

“Yeah,” Kuroo agrees, voice dropping to a low murmur of his own. “Very nice.”

Without warning, Tsukishima closes the distance, his lips brushing softly against Kuroo’s. It’s gentle, a hesitant kiss, testing the waters in a way that sends a shockwave through Kuroo’s feeble heart. He tilts his head, fingers instinctively finding Tsukishima’s waist, pulling him a fraction closer as he deepens the kiss.

They break apart, breathless, dazed at the sudden turn of events. Tsukishima looks slightly uncertain, an unspoken question lingering in the air.

“I…” Tsukishima starts, biting his lip as he watches Kuroo’s gaze for reassurance.

Kuroo smiles back, giddy with excitement like he is a teenager again, fondness blossoming for the other man. “I think we are onto something here, Tsukki.”

The tension eases, a shy smile playing on Tsukishima’s lips. “I guess we are.”

Kuroo is the first to move this time, hand trailing up Tsukishima’s back, fingers finally getting to intertwine in those blonde curls he has been eyeing for so long. They are even softer to touch, slipping through his fingers like silk as he runs his hand down Tsukishima’s scalp.

This time, the kiss is more deliberate, patiently exploring each other in the soft silence. Tsukishima’s arms drape over Kuroo’s shoulders, hands exploring Kuroo’s back muscles, calm, as if he has all the time in the world at his disposal.

And Kuroo cannot help but smile against Tsukishima’s lips.

Eventually, they pull away, chuckling in unison, foreheads resting against each other. “We should’ve done this sooner,” Kuroo teases, playfully spinning a lock of Tsukishima’s hair around his pointer finger.

Tsukishima hums, kissing him on the cheek bashfully. “Shut up,” he looks down at his phone, a hint of surprise registering on his features. “Yamaguchi is here to drop off some clothes, you’ll want to go.”

“Kicking me out so soon,” Kuroo exclaims dramatically, teasing Tsukishima. “What a way to treat a guy!”

Pushing him playfully, Tsukishima leans in to give him a quick peck. “You really want to meet Yamaguchi? You’ll regret it.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “If he’s friends with you, I have no doubts he is interesting,” he zips his coat back up, smile widening when a tell-tale knock comes from the front door. “Guess I don’t get a choice.”

The sound of a key entering the lock has Tsukishima faltering for a moment, hands quickly slipping from Kuroo’s back. The door opens, and a man enters Kuroo only assumes to be Yamaguchi. Freckles, green hair, he doesn’t appear overly intimidating, and Kuroo offers a small wave, smiling.

Yamaguchi drops the bag of clothes, astonishment clear on his face at the sight he has walked into. He looks away from Kuroo, fixating on a—he is blushing holy shit—frazzled looking Tsukishima.

“New friend, Tsukki?”

Kuroo instantly likes the guy.

Tsukishima looks like he wants to disappear, head dropping into his hands. “I hate you,” he shoots back, not quite as threatening as he would usually appear if he wasn’t so damn embarrassed.

Sticking out a hand, Kuroo winks at Yamaguchi. “Nice to meet you, Yamaguchi. Tsukki has said a lot about you. I’m Kuroo, by the way.” He gets a handshake back, the two men exchanging a mischievous smile before Yamaguchi turns his full attention back to his best friend.

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen at the maroon scarf wrapped tightly around Tsukishima’s neck, looking between Tsukishima and Kuroo, acting scandalised.

“Oh, I see—"

“I’ll strange you in your sleep,” Tsukishima hisses between his teeth, and Kuroo’s cheeks flush at the admission. Slipping his hands into his jacket pockets, Kuroo sees it as the perfect departure time. Offering one last smile Tsukishima’s way, he heads towards the door, mind running rampant with all the ideas brimming below the surface.

As Kuroo is opening the door, he turns around, glancing one final time at Tsukishima.

“Hey, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima turns away from Yamaguchi for a moment, eyes gentle. “Yeah?”

“Merry early Christmas.”

“Kuroo! Merry Christmas!” Bokuto calls out merrily, his infectious smile beaming as he looks Kuroo up and down. “That sweater is so ugly, it’s practically a work of art!” he gasps, genuinely impressed. Reaching out, Bokuto slides a Santa hat atop Kuroo’s messy hair. “Come in!”

“Dude, Merry Christmas!” Kuroo responds, pulling Bokuto into a tight bro-hug. His friend’s sweater is a similar abomination, a mess of colours and cat-looking reindeer that have Kuroo giggling like a small child.

They break apart with a pat on the back, Bokuto buzzing with excitement. “Perfect timing! The turkey’s almost ready. It’s our best one yet!”

Kuroo steps into the bustling warmth of Bokuto and Iwaizumi’s apartment, shoulder knocking against Bokuto’s. In his arms rests an apple pie—his contribution to the Christmas Day dinner. It’s one of the few items he can semi-successfully bake, and he protectively clutches it close to his chest.

The apartment is busy with Christmas festivities, the dining room table already set with an assortment of Christmas crackers and other miscellaneous Christmas-associated items that Kuroo knows Bokuto begged Iwaizumi to purchase.

“About time you turned up,” Iwaizumi calls out from the kitchen. Rounding the corner, Kuroo is met with what only could be described as eye candy. ‘Kiss the cook’ apron wrapped around his torso, Bokuto's lumberjacket draped over his frame; Iwaizumi looks, frankly, hot.

Offering a whistle of appreciation, Kuroo places the apple pie down beside a plate of crudely decorated shortbread biscuits. “Merry Christmas to you too, Iwaizumi.”

Kuroo slots into the kitchen, having done this ‘Friendmas’ tradition long enough to know exactly what jobs Iwaizumi will want him to complete. It’s relaxing, the kind of Christmas festivities that Kuroo can really get behind.

In the corner sits Bokuto’s old speaker, the stained and battered exterior somehow still in enough functioning order to blast Christmas music at full volume. It’s Bokuto’s playlist—perfectly orchestrated with all the Christmas classics, alongside a couple extras romantic ones that Kuroo swears are just there for Bokuto to swoon over his fiancé.

Swaying his hips to the music, Kuroo loses himself in the repetitive motions of finalising the last remaining dishes, singing along with Bokuto as the other man begins carefully moving dishes of food over onto the dining table.

“Here.”

Iwaizumi hands him a mug, Kuroo’s mug, worn and weathered with years of use. The once-deep red paint now tells tales of countless sips, adorned with occasional interruptions in the form of chips and scratches. Perfect.

Kuroo takes it with a grin, peering down into the mug with mild curiosity. Not mulled wine again please—

Oh. Eggnog.

He carries it over to the table with him, placing it down on his designated drink coaster. Bokuto and Iwaizumi join him not long after, holding their own mugs and beckoning for Kuroo to begin serving himself up food.

Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, vegetables—Iwaizumi and Bokuto have truly outdone themselves yet again.

The comforting ambiance of the festivities have Kuroo relaxing into his seat, eyes fluttering shut at the first bite of turkey. He follows it with another forkful, then another, savouring the creamy mashed potatoes and rich gravy.

“Damn, Iwaizumi. I don’t know how you do it.”

He doesn’t get a response, but the look of satisfaction on Iwaizumi’s expression makes it more-than-obvious to Kuroo that Iwaizumi is proud of his culinary efforts.

It’s after the meal, when Kuroo is helping Bokuto begin to stack the all-to-tiny apartment dishwasher, that Iwaizumi’s phone goes off. Kuroo barely reacts to the familiar ping, passing Iwaizumi over his phone from its position on the kitchen counter without even a glimpse at the screen.

“Parents?” Kuroo asks, tilting his head as he gauges Iwaizumi’s reaction, hiding a smile behind his hand.

Tissue paper crowns litter Iwaizumi’s head, proof of his winnings in every single Christmas cracker pull. Much to Iwaizumi’s initial opposition, Bokuto had been adamant about decorating his fiancé with every single spoil of war. He had looped the flimsy crowns around Iwaizumi’s head with enough careful consideration that Iwaizumi ended up flushed a deep red.

Pushing a drooping yellow crown up to stop it from covering his eyes, Iwaizumi’s eyebrow quirks upwards. ““You’ll want to go stand by the door, Kuroo,” he smirks. “Might see a certain someone.”

Curiosity piquing, Kuroo pours himself another mug’s worth of eggnog, adding the usual generous splash of bourbon. The rich aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon wafts from the creamy concoction as he takes a deep sip, sighing in content.

“Sure Iwaizumi, whatever,” Kuroo responds simply, carrying the mug with him as he goes to stand by the aforementioned apartment door. Humming along to the music, spirits high, he fidgets with a loose string on his sweater.

He wonders if this is some ploy by Iwaizumi, a subtle way of getting Kuroo to leave the engaged couple alone for a moment, let them have their little romantic in the privacy of their own company.

Kuroo leans against the wall, taking the opportunity to observe the rest of the apartment in all its holiday sparkle. His gaze sweeps appreciatively across the room, soaking in the comforting atmosphere.

Taking another sip of his eggnog, his eyes drift to the entranceway. And there, suspended in all its cliché glory, hangs the mistletoe.

A few stray leaves jut out in odd directions, the ribbon holding it up filled with loops and messy knots that has Kuroo imagining a less-than-delicate Bokuto rushing to put it up with his usual infectious Christmas excitement.

It’s abundantly clear that this was Bokuto’s doing. Spontaneous, yet perfect.

There’s a knock at the door.

Kuroo’s forehead creases, confused. They aren’t expecting anyone, certainly not this late in the day. Bokuto and Iwaizumi would have told him otherwise. Deciding it must be a package being delivered, he places his mug down on the nearest table, ready to exchange a kind Christmas greeting to the mysterious visitor.

Swinging open the door, the confident smirk slips from Kuroo’s face, surprise blossoming across his features.

There, standing in the doorway, is Tsukishima.

Surprise lingers in the air, time momentarily pausing as Kuroo’s eyes meet Tsukishima’s. The warmth he felt before ignites, a searing blaze that has Kuroo’s heart thumping loudly in his chest, filled with an overwhelming yearning to reach out and—

“Kuroo,” Tsukishima breathes, a shiny sheen of pink lip-gloss encircling his lips in a way that Kuroo cannot rip his eyes away from. “Iwaizumi didn’t mention you’d be here.”

Chuckling, Kuroo attempts to steady his racing heart, chest fluttering. “Oh, well, I’m here I guess!” he exclaims, reaching out, hand wrapping lightly around Tsukishima’s wrist as he leads the other man into the apartment. “My scarf looks good on you.”

Tsukishima looks down, fingers running over the maroon fabric neatly wrapped around his neck. “You mean my scarf.”

“Yep! Yours!” Kuroo holds his hands up, smile beaming when he is rewarded with a giggle from Tsukishima. He remembers, distantly, that Tsukishima is one of Bokuto’s and Iwaizumi’s neighbours, but that didn’t mean Kuroo expected to actually see him today.

Tsukishima’s focus drifts to Kuroo’s outfit, nose scrunching up. “Horrible sweater,” he states bluntly, fingers trailing up a sleeve. “Burn it.”

“Would you prefer me to take it off?” Kuroo offers in response, raising his eyebrows suggestively. His hand—the one not currently resting near Tsukishima’s collarbone—trails up his sweater, fingers teasing the hem.

“Oh please. Who would want that.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Kuroo grabs his mug back off the table, offering Tsukishima a sip. “Spiked eggnog?” He takes a sip himself, as if needing to prove to Tsukishima that, yes, the drink is not some assassination technique.

“I don’t drink,” Tsukishima waves him off. “But… thanks.”

“I’ll get you a non-alcoholic one. Wait here.”

He doesn’t give Tsukishima the opportunity to respond, rushing back into the apartment, trying to quell the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. He chides himself for his sudden nervousness, reminding himself again and again that it is just Tsukishima—no need to be so worked up.

It doesn’t work.

He passes Bokuto and Iwaizumi on the way to the kitchen, glaring murderously at the couple where they sit on the couch. Bokuto is buried in Iwaizumi’s lap, the two exchanging sinful grins before Iwaizumi opens up his traitorous mouth.

“Don’t leave our guest alone too long, Kuroo.”

“Asshole,” Kuroo hisses, stomping over to the kitchen to pour out a mug of eggnog for the ever-waiting Tsukishima. He should’ve known his friends were up to something, but for it to be so blatant? Well, the thought has Kuroo only blushing harder.

Taking a deep breath, Kuroo carefully carries the mug from the kitchen. He directs a middle finger towards the couch on his way, ignoring the giggles he gets in return. The apartment isn’t big enough for them to be acting like this—Tsukishima can undoubtedly hear them.

Walking back to the other man, Kuroo is surprised to see Tsukishima’s attention focused on the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in that cute way that has Kuroo believing he must be thinking about something.

“What are you looking at?”

His question breaks Tsukishima from his apparent daze, spinning around with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Tsukishima pointedly avoids Kuroo’s gaze. “The mistletoe.”

Kuroo blushes. “Mistletoe? Didn’t pin you for a sap, Tsukishima.”

“I’m not a sap.”

“Fine, fine!” Kuroo smiles, playfully. He holds out the mug of non-alcoholic eggnog to Tsukishima, the warmth of the cup seeping into his fingers. “Here. A safer version, just for you.”

Thankfully, Tsukishima takes the mug, cold fingers brushing against Kuroo’s for a fleeting moment, eyes locking with matching blushes. He hums, sipping the warm beverage with a grin. “Tell Iwaizumi thanks.”

“I could’ve made it, you know?”

Tsukishima takes another sip. “You didn’t.”

Kuroo leans back against the wall, chuckling at the light atmosphere. Holding out his own mug, he raises an eyebrow in surprise as Tsukishima reciprocates with a subtle lift of his own cup—a silent toast.

“So… mistletoe?” Kuroo tempts again, licking cinnamon off his lip. “You like it?”

Tsukishima sighs, leaning against the wall, shoulder brushing Kuroo’s. “It’s… nice,” he glances at Kuroo for a brief moment, seemingly gauging his reaction.

“Hey, I’m just teasing, you know that? I think you liking a Christmas tradition is really cute.”

He gets a scoff in response. “It’s just a stupid plant people hang up. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Is that right?” Kuroo smirks inching closer, before an idea strikes. “So…” he pushes himself up off the wall, strolling as to plant himself directly beneath the mistletoe. “If I were to stand right here…”

Tsukishima narrows his eyes, mug still in his grip as a smirk plays on his lips. “Yes?”

“… what would you do?” Looking up at the sprig of mistletoe hanging above him, Kuroo mirrors Tsukishima’s smirk. He knows exactly what to say.

“It’s just a stupid plant, right? No big deal.”

That gets Tsukishima’s attention. With a nonchalant shrug, he pushes away from the wall, walking towards Kuroo with a determined look upon his face. His gaze never waivers, closing the distance between them with a few short strides.

They lock eyes.

“See, nothing happened,” Tsukishima replies, a hint of amusement in his tone. He takes a step even closer, almost defiantly, breath brushing Kuroo’s cheek tantalisingly.

Kuroo smirks, closing the distance between them. “You sure about that?” he whispers, hand dragging up Tsukishima’s chest. “Really?”

He grabs the fabric of Tsukishima’s sweater—cashmere—in his grip, pulling Tsukishima in for a heated kiss. It’s hungry, the kind punctuated by gasping breaths and hitched sighs as Kuroo takes control.

Tsukishima’s hands trail up Kuroo’s back, knocking the Santa hat off to thread his fingers in Kuroo’s messy hair. He tugs, eliciting a gasp from Kuroo as he deepens the kiss further, responding to Kuroo’s boldness with equal fervour.

It speaks of long-buried desires, unspoken emotions, a collision of passion that both of them had known as inevitable. Kuroo reluctantly pulls away, gasping, looking up at the mistletoe and considering directing a fist bump at the metaphorical hype man. Fuck yeah.

Kuroo kisses Tsukishima on the cheek, mug long-since-forgotten as he wraps his arms around Tsukishima’s waist. “Just a stupid plant, huh?” he whispers teasingly, forehead pressing against Tsukishima’s.

Tsukishima huffs, a genuine warmth in his features. “I think I might need a bit more convincing.”

They lean in once more, this time less frantic. Lips brushing, they enjoy the moment to themselves. Tsukishima is a good kisser, his snark transferring into a playful battle of dominance, exploring Kuroo’s mouth in that way that has Kuroo’s whole body tingling.

Breaking apart, Kuroo takes a small step back, running a hand through his ruffled hair. “So, Christmas isn’t too bad now, huh?”

“A certain man made me realise it isn’t too bad,” Tsukishima murmurs.

“Oh really?”

Kuroo steps closer, legs slotting between Tsukishima’s. “And who might that be?”

Tsukishima leans in, resting his hand on the slight curve of Kuroo’s hip. Head swaying lightly to the music, he fiddles with the reindeer antler headband nestled in his blonde curls—oh my god he came with that on, Kuroo calm down—pressing a small button on the side that makes the small lights flash a ray of colourful hues.

“Hitoka warned me about men like you,” Tsukishima responds instead, taking a sip from the almost empty mug.

“What, attractive ones?”

“No,” Tsukishima tsks, the twinkle of lights in his hair stopping Kuroo from taking anything he says that seriously. “The troublemakers. Especially ones who…” he looks Kuroo up and down, a subtle disdain in his grin. “… wear those godawful Christmas sweaters unironically.”

Kuroo chuckles, a low rumble against Tsukishima’s chest. “Says the one wearing antlers.”

He reaches out, fingers tracing up Tsukishima’s jaw before pressing the tiny button nestled amongst the felt of the headband. The small lights on Tsukishima’s antlers blink rhythmically once more, soft reds and greens lighting up Tsukishima’s face with a dazzling display of colour.

“Hitoka, whoever that is, might be onto something,” Kuroo admits softly, gaze fixed on Tsukishima’s illuminated features. “Maybe I am a troublemaker.”

Tsukishima leans in, bottom lip resting between his teeth. “I do have a weakness for trouble,” he whispers, head dropping to rest his forehead on Kuroo’s once more. “Merry Christmas, Kuroo.”

A soft smile tugs at Kuroo’s lips, a childlike giggle escaping his lips as he gives Tsukishima one last tender kiss, eyes drifting shut.

“Merry Christmas, Tsukishima.”