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You throw an M&M up in the air to catch with your mouth, but it lands sadly on your collarbone before sliding down by your neck, lost underneath you between the throw pillows. You mentally promise Kuroo to pick it up as soon as you get up for water.
It’s your day off and you’re beat. The heat is nothing to scoff at, either; the humidity making any endeavors outside of the apartment walls virtually impossible.
Well, to you at least. Kuroo’s on a convenience store run to pick up as many snacks as he’s able to carry, and your favorite milk tea. The men’s volleyball game in the Olympics is tonight, Argentina against Japan. He’s been buzzing ever since they qualified for the finale. As much as you love to listen to him yap, his excitement is only working to make you impatient for something you didn’t think you’d care that much about.
Volleyball’s never been your strong interest. Sport in general isn’t high on your list, actually. It wasn’t until you met Kuroo that you even began watching the Olympics at all.
Right now the Olympics are on, too. It’s been on most of the days when either of you occupy his home, and right now it’s time for the Men’s Single luge. You’ve never heard of it before, but it’s a sort of sled competition in an ice tube sort of field.
You’re about to throw the next M&M into your mouth when the door clicks open. “I’m back!” you hear Kuroo yell out, and you greet him back before eating the candy. You hear him sit down by the genkan to take off his shoes; he firmly refuses to toe his new sneakers on and off like his old ones. It ruins the structure of the back quicker, he claims. He wants to be more environmentally conscious and take better care of his things.
He groans as he comes in, wiping his neck and collar with his handkerchief. You smile up at him, admiring the way his bangs stick to his forehead from the perspiration. On his shoulder hangs his tote bags, brimming with contents you can’t wait to dive into. When you reach out for it, he yells, “ah!” and pulls it dramatically away from your reach.
“It’s for tonight!” he huffs, puffing up his chest and jutting out his bottom lip. You shake your head, “just lemme see! Gimme an unboxing, at least!” you make grabby-hands at him, and he throws his head back, “nuh-uh. I’m putting it in the kitchen for later. You need a real dinner first, too.”
You fall back onto the couch with a huff, “as if you’ll be able to eat anything during the match anyways.”
“What was that?” he calls back tersely from the kitchen but you just blow air out through your nose, “nothing.”
As in defiance of him restricting you, you put four M&M’s in your mouth at the same time.
Just to prove a point.
He comes back out after he’s washed his face, and leans against your head, “what’s on now?”
He kisses your cheek.
“Luge.”
“Huh?”
“Sled.”
“Ah.”
He jumps the backrest of the couch to land next to you, and you laugh and dodge the arm that almost pulls your head down with his entire weight. The plastic of the M&M’s container crinkles as you lift it to offer him some. Instead of reaching for it like a normal person, he pushes his face into the bag like a freak, and you pull it away with a screech. He looks proud when he looks up, crunching loudly to prove he succeeded in getting a few.
You take a handful before you put the bag on the table and cuddle up to your boyfriend. He sighs as he settles with an arm around you and you start to watch the games silently.
There’s an awkward sort of silence from the commentators as the athletes ride on their sleds, like they’re holding their breath and waiting for something spectacular to happen at every turn, but it’s pretty straightforward. Technical, sure, but straightforward nonetheless. It’s only during the sharp turns that they really say anything, and it’s without much substance. It doesn’t really give a fair idea on how much skill is needed to do this.
You throw an M&M and succeed in catching it. “I could do that.” you conclude after a person reaches the goal, the successful catch fueling your ego. Kuroo doesn’t even spare you a glance or a visible reaction, “sure.”
You playfully punch at his thigh, “I totally could! It’s just downhill.”
Kuroo snorts, “yeah, then to the left in a sharp turn and oh! Right after that another sharp turn. I’d sooner see you crash walking up the stairs to the ice tube.”
You gasp in offense and sit up, shaking off his arm from your shoulder, “excuse me!” you say, your voice high-pitched and scratchy. Kuroo gives you one of his handsome, disarming, lop-sided smirks that you almost fall for, before you catch yourself.
He reaches out for you again but you move further away, “have you no confidence in me?” you mock-cry, giving him a look of absolute disgust, “are you all talk? Lowering the net for people to enjoy your favorite sport, but you don’t care about other athletics like me? Huh?” you cross your arms and pout, and Kuroo snickers at your choice of words before he leans his head back onto the backrest. Athletics.
“You can barely catch a stray piece of candy you throw yourself.”
You gasp, and point to the bag of M&M’s, “you saw me catching one just a minute ago!”
Kuroo lifts his arm, his hand closed in a fist. You follow his movement as he reaches out for you, turns the fist and reveals a half-melted M&M in his open palm, “there’s like six of them between these pillows right now.”
You raise an eyebrow, “so? That’s from when you stuck your head in the bag like a pig.” your exaggerated lie makes him nod thoughtfully, “yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re right. You’d win, but not at luge.”
Your eyes open up, excitement visible as you lean forward, “what sport do you see me winning?”
Kuroo keeps his face neutral as he collects the fallen heroes of candy you've sacrificed to throw out, “you’d win a various of games, actually. You’d be the gold winner in all of them, even.”
You lean forward even more, and he laughs then, “qualifications for sports like overthinking situations that happened years ago, jumping to conclusions and complaining about your stomach hurting after eating dairy”- he’s interrupted when you push all the way onto him with your entire weight, smashing your face into his chest and immediately blowing a raspberry -”and best of all,” he laughs and feebly tries to push you away as you try to reach his neck to give it the same treatment, “being delusional on main, and hey! Stop it!”
He’s pushing at you more desperately now, unwilling to let you attack him directly on the skin. There’s mirth in his voice still and you giggle before you succeed. He howls and grabs onto your shoulders, “I yield! I yield! Fine! You’d win in luge!”
You pull away immediately as he yields, a satisfied grin on your face. “Hmph, now that wasn’t so hard, was it? To recognize talent for what it is.” you turn around and situate yourself again up against him and he lets out a chuckle as he kisses the crown of your head and wraps his arms around you.
After a moment of just resting his own head against yours, he asks, suddenly serious, “do you wanna try luge one day? There’s also luges for doubles. There’s a stadium for it downtown.”
“Oh, never in a million years.”