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“There’s nothing quite like you
You’re one of a kind
You’re sugar,
Contentment,
And comfort combined.”
(- Barbara Vance)
The apartment smells like cinnamon and apple, courtesy of a scented candle that Asahi wasn’t able to resist buying on his last shopping trip. It’s early still, and quiet, save for the low hum of the heater struggling to keep the winter chill at bay.
Asahi stands in the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen, adjusting the cuffs of his sweater and glancing toward the corkboard tacked to the wall. Their team schedule is pinned there, neatly colour-coded in his careful handwriting.
Practices are still frequent despite the off-season. It’s their team, after all - and out of all the university teams out there, Asahi thinks that theirs might just be the most determined one to succeed.
(To be fair, that’s probably what every team thinks. But his point still stands.)
He lingers for a moment, rereading the next day’s meeting notes as if he doesn’t already have them memorised.
Baking cupcakes for the team Christmas party was a spontaneous idea he’d mentioned once, offhand, because someone suggested bringing snacks. But then Daichi had clasped him on the shoulder with that firm, captain-like approval, and Sugawara had grinned, “We’ll leave it to you, Asahi,” and now here he is, trying to figure out how to make cupcakes that won’t taste like regret.
Behind him, a door bangs open, followed by the unmistakable sound of bare feet slapping against linoleum, and Asahi could recognise those steps anywhere. Even when they’re not home. Even on the court, with his back turned.
Nishinoya.
“Yo, Asahi-san!” Nishinoya’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “You’re not still stressing about those cupcakes, are you?”
Asahi turns in time to see Nishinoya emerge from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair dripping wet and for once smooth instead of sticking upwards in their usual spikes. He’s grinning, looking utterly at ease despite the December cold.
Asahi’s throat goes dry. “I- uh- Nishinoya, you should put a shirt on,” he stammers, his eyes darting to the window as if the snow outside might somehow save him. “You might catch a cold.”
“What, this bothers you?” Nishinoya gestures to himself, flexing his arms. “I’ve seen you in less at practice. You’ve seen me in less. Or is it different because you’re not used to seeing this much muscle off the court?”
“Nishinoya, for the love of-”
Nishinoya laughs, disappearing into his bedroom to search for what Asahi prays is a change of clothes.
When he returns, fully dressed in a blue shirt and sweatpants, he claps Asahi on the shoulder. “Anyway, what’s the plan? You’re baking these cupcakes all on your own, or do you need the help of an expert?”
“Since when are you an expert?” Asahi mumbles.
“Since I moved in with you, obviously. I’ve learned from the best. Now come on, it’s gonna be great. I can help as soon as I get back from my job.”
The words send a trickle down Asahi’s spine - dread or something else, he isn’t sure yet - but before he can protest, Nishinoya is already out the door, leaving no room to protest.
Not that it would have done him much good - Asahi knows better than to argue with Nishinoya once he’s set his mind to something. He’s been like that since the beginning: a whirlwind that barreled into his life during their first year at university, crashing into him with the casual announcement that they’d been assigned as roommates.
(“Wait, you play volleyball, too?” Nishinoya had asked, standing in the doorway of their assigned dorm room, one arm balancing a box of belongings and the other pointing at the pair of Asics sticking out of Asahi’s gym bag, thrown carelessly on his bed because he was in the middle of unpacking. “This is perfect. I called it. Fate.”
From that moment on, Asahi resigned himself to the fact that peace was no longer a thing he could hope for. Nishinoya filled every quiet moment with chatter, every empty corner of their lives with some new adventure or half-baked scheme. And somehow, by the end of their first year, Asahi was roped into renting an off-campus apartment with him because “Come on, Asahi-san, dorm food is the worst and I already scouted a place that’s a steal! Think of how much better it’ll be when we can make our own food! Trust me!”
He hadn’t had the heart to say no.
In truth, he hadn’t wanted to say no.)
It isn’t always easy - with him balancing his classes and a part-time job as a TA while Nishinoya darts around town delivering food on his bike. Their styles clash horrendously, and their apartment is a strange mix of both their personalities: a sturdy, secondhand couch that Asahi had painstakingly picked out, covered in ridiculous, mismatched throw pillows Nishinoya had deemed essential; a small dining table where Asahi tries to keep things neat, perpetually cluttered with whatever new project Nishinoya has abandoned halfway through.
Their fridge is always an unpredictable mess of meal-prepped lunches and completely unnecessary snacks - courtesy of Nishinoya’s inability to resist buying anything labeled limited edition. Their corkboard ends up covered in sticky notes and doodles more often than not.
It isn’t always easy - but they make it work.
There are nights when Asahi comes home after a bad day, only to be cheered up by finding Nishinoya practising handstands in the living room, or mornings when he oversleeps and Nishinoya has to physically drag him out of bed.
Some days, they take the long way home after training, just chatting about their days and weekend plans and what to cook for dinner, and Asahi finds comfort in the fact that he has Nishinoya to come home to - after a good day or a bad day or any kind of day in between.
The mismatched, hand-me-down furniture really only makes their apartment feel like home, and somewhere, amidst the chaos of their everyday life, Asahi has fallen for his roommate, and he has fallen hard.
Now, a few hours later, Asahi has made himself a fresh pot of herbal tea, wisps of steam curling into the air, filling the kitchen with quiet warmth. The oven is on, and it hums softly as it warms up, its digital clock indicating the time in the evening. Outside the small window, beyond the partially drawn blinds, snow falls in a steady hush, layering the world in a soft, white embrace.
It is less than a week before Chritsmas.
Ingredients are scattered on the counter, and a cookery book lies open, a bookmark between the two pages dedicated to a cupcake recipe. Bowls have been retrieved from cupboards as well as a spatula, an icing bag and a couple of knives and spoons - all gathered close to the empty sink.
Sipping from his mug, Asahi leans against the counter and glances at the book, skimming over the instructions written in a nice, artsy font. The mug warms the tip of his fingers.
The recipe is simple enough, and he’s made them before. And yet…
Asahi bites his lips. These cupcakes are supposed to be his way of congratulating everyone for their efforts, to thank them for everything they’ve done this season, for pouring everything they have into the games they’ve played. For having his back time and time again.
He wants them to turn out perfect.
Glancing at the picture one last time, he sighs and pushes away from the counter. No point in delaying - he has to start at some point.
He begins by measuring the ingredients, and the flour dust makes him cough when he pours it into the bowl. Eggs are cracked, and the scent of vanilla wafts up as he pours a generous amount into the batter. Each step is a small offering to his team, to the memories they’ve made this past year and to the ones yet to come.
He reaches for the sugar, tipping the bag over a measuring cup.
“Oi, Asahi–san!”
The voice is enthusiastic, loud, and so unexpected it startles him, almost making him drop the bag. As it is, he misses the measuring cup, spilling sugar across the countertop.
Nishinoya bounds into the kitchen, wrapped in a thick sweater and joggers, his cheeks cold from the outside, and he slides across the kitchen tiles in neon-orange socks.
“You started without me?” he pouts, leaning against the kitchen counter with exaggerated offense.
“I’m sorry,” Asahi gives him a sheepish smile. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure you were serious about your offer to help. I mean- Nishinoya, do you even know how to bake?”
“Do I know how to bake?” Nishinoya scoffs, planting a hand on his hip. “I’m a champion at making instant pancakes!”
“Ah, that-” Asahi follows the movement, tracks the curve of his hip bone. “That’s not exactly baking…” He feels heat creeping up his neck and snaps his gaze back to Nishinoya’s face and braces himself, because by now, he knows his roommate well enough to know that he is not going to take no for an answer.
Sure enough, Nishinoya grins. “Well, I’m here to help!” He stands on his tiptoes and pats Asahi’s shoulder. “These cupcakes are gonna turn out great.”
“Right,” Asahi nods with a small laugh. He pointedly ignores how Nishinoya’s fingers on his shoulder send a tingling sensation all the way down to his arm, even through the fabric of his shirt. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts about his roommate. It’s very much improper. He should be respectful. He should keep his distance.
Nevermind that Nishinoya is a bundle of energy that manages to cheer Asahi up even on days he manages to mess up any set made his way. Nevermind that he’s very attractive, despite - or perhaps because of - his petite form, which Asahi knows is no reason to underestimate him.
Nevermind that Nishinoya has taken on the habit of walking around their shared apartment in nothing but a towel after he showers, and Asahi can’t help but look everytime he does - the curve of his back, his chest. His muscled arms and trained legs, his-
He realises he’s staring when Nishinoya raises an eyebrow.
Asahi coughs. “Right,” he says again, and focuses instead on the wicked grin curving on Nishinoya’s face. He can already feel the chaos bubbling in the air - but it’s not like he could ever tell him no.
Not like he ever wants to.
“So,” Nishinoya asks, surveying the ingredients lined up on the counter, and moves to swipe the mess of sugar into his hands before throwing it in the sink. “What’s next?”
“The- ah. The batter is mostly done.” Asahi watches him wipe his palms across his joggers, causing a lot of the sugar to spill across the floor. “All that’s left is to add the sugar and mix. Then we bake them. So, after that, it’s really just the frosting. I was thinking of making it orange? Like for our team.”
“Frosting, huh?” Nishinoya’s eyes light up, and Asahi can see the gears turn in his head.
“Nishinoya,” he warns. “I can see you getting ideas.”
“Who, me?” He smiles then, small and innocently. “I would never.”
Asahi shakes his head, not quite managing to stop the smile from forming as he measures out the correct amount of sugar - without spilling any this time - and pours it into the batter, the grains dissolving as he stirs.
Next to him, Nishinoya grabs the muffin trays and lines them with paper, his movements quick and precise. Once he’s done, he moves them closer, the tips of his fingers brushing Asahi’s arm with the movement.
Spooning the batter into each cup, Asahi is acutely aware of how close Nishinoya is hovering, watching him work. He’s suddenly nervous, as if this is something more than baking cupcakes for their team - as if he’s being tested, and he isn’t quite sure what he needs to do in order to pass.
At the last one, a dollop of batter wobbles on the edge of the spoon, threatening to spill, and before Asahi can react Nishinoya’s hand darts out, catching the spill with his finger.
“Got it!” Nishinoya says, his voice light, and Asahi follows the movement, as if in slow motion, as Nishinoya raises his hand to his mouth, his finger slipping past his lips. He licks the batter off with a flick of his tongue, utterly nonchalant, his gaze not leaving Asahi’s.
It’s hot in the kitchen. Very hot. Asahi should probably open a window, this kind of heat cannot be good for his health. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly feeling very, very dry.
“You’re-” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “Careful, that isn’t, uh. It’s not cooked yet.”
Nishinoya raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. He shrugs. “Tastes good to me!” His voice is still light, still teasing, and he grabs one of the trays, nudging Asahi out of the way and opening the oven.
Grateful for the distraction, Asahi taps the other tray onto the counter once, then twice, to evenly distribute the batter, and proceeds to slide it into the oven next to the one Nishinoya already placed inside. He sets a timer, his hands feeling just slightly shaky, and turns back only to find Nishinoya already tearing up the package of food colouring.
“What are you doing?” Asahi asks, rubbing the back of his neck. He watches Nishinoya grab one of the small bottles of food colouring and hold it up to the ceiling light.
“We’ll use this stuff in a minute, right? Didn’t you say orange?”
“Well, yes. But we’ll have to make the frosting first.”
“Okay, okay fine.” Nishinoya sets the bottle back down with a sigh. Instead of retreating, he circles the counter like a predator scouting for its next move. Asahi tries to focus on cleaning up the work space - returning the unnecessary measuring cups back to their drawer, wiping stray flour dust - and leftover sugar - from the counter, but it’s impossible to ignore Nishinoya’s presence.
It always is.
“Y’know,” Nishinoya says, watching as Asahi takes out a clean mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “You’ve been frowning really hard, Asahi-san. What’s up?”
“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing.” Asahi frowns down at the bowl. “I just want these cupcakes to turn out well.”
“Uh-huh.” Noya’s tone is skeptical, but he doesn’t say anymore, and Asahi turns to watch him fiddle with the cookbook, flipping the page back and forth with surprising care. “I guess I just didn’t think you’d get all sentimental about this.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘sentimental,’” Asahi laughs sheepishly. “I just care about our team.”
“Yeah,” Nishinoya says softly. “I know. I didn’t mean it in a bad way - you’re always trying hard. I like that about you.”
The sincerity in his tone catches Asahi off-guard, and he struggles to find the right words. “Ah, well. You know. Someone has to.”
Nishinoya snorts. He puts the book back down and instead grabs the bowl out of Asahi’s hands. “Here, I’m being all serious now. Ready to help. Please teach me your ways, Asahi-san.”
They stand at the counter together, elbows occasionally bumping as they work in rhythm. Nishinoya, of course, takes over the task of creaming the butter, determined to do it all by hand. He grips the wooden spoon, bracing the bowl against his hip, and stirs with so much force that Asahi half-expects the counter to shake.
“You know we have an electric mixer, right?” Asahi asks, watching the spoon struggle through the thick butter.
“I have arms,” Nishinoya retorts. “This is a good workout.”
Asahi doesn’t argue - Nishinoya has always liked issuing challenges to himself and then surpassing them. Instead, he measures out the powdered sugar, tipping it into the bowl little by little as Nishinoya mixes. A cloud of white dust puffs into the air, and some of it lands in Nishinoya’s hair, turning the already wild mess of spikes just a little bit paler - almost a little snowy, just like the scenery that lies outside, behind their closed blinds.
Nishinoya scrunches his nose, shaking his head like a dog. “Ugh! Man, this stuff gets everywhere.”
“Maybe if you stirred slower…”
“And sacrifice efficiency?” Nishinoya grins. “Never.”
Asahi huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he picks up the vanilla extract. He tips a careful teaspoon into the bowl, the sweet scent immediately filling the air.
Nishinoya perks up. “That smells good!”
“It does,” Asahi says, putting the cap back on the small bottle and placing it on a shelf - safe from his boisterous roommate. He moves to place the measuring spoon left on the counter into the sink that is starting to pile up with utensils.
Nishinoya leans in, inhaling, which brings him closer to Asahi’s chest. Too close. Asahi swallows, his fingers tightening around the measuring spoon as he forces himself to calm down and take a breath.
He clears his throat, dropping the spoon in the skin with a clattering sound, and turns back to the frosting, pouring in a bit of milk to smooth it out. The texture is soft and silky - just enough structure to hold its shape when piped.
Almost there.
“I think we’re just about done.” Asahi gestures at the spoon still in Nishinoya’s grip. “Just scrape the sides of the bowl to make sure we got everything.”
“On it!” Nishinoya nods, setting to work and scraping the spoon against the edges. He works in silence for a moment, humming tunelessly under his breath, and Asahi watches the way his arms move, the way his fingers grip the spoon like he’s determined to win some imaginary battle against the frosting.
“Alright, moment of truth.” Nishinoya scoops a small dollop onto his finger and pops it into his mouth. His eyes go wide and he grins. “Oh. Oh, this is good.”
“Is it?” Asahi suppresses a smile. “I’m glad.”
Nishinoya grins, licking a bit of frosting off the corner of his mouth - a movement that Asahi definitely doesn’t stare at, not at all. “Try it!” he suggests.
“I don’t need to.”
“Yes, you do. What if we messed up?”
“You said it was good, so I trust your judgement.”
Nishinoya doesn’t wait for another excuse. He dips a finger into the frosting again and reaches out before Asahi can move, smearing a small streak across his lips.
Asahi freezes.
The kitchen is warm, the scent of vanilla thick in the air, and Nishinoya is still far too close, watching him with bright, teasing eyes. Asahi’s heart stumbles over itself.
“There.” Nishinoya leans back, crossing his arms. “Now you have to try it.”
Asahi exhales slowly, biting his lower lip as he discreetly brushes the frosting off, trying not to make it too obvious. His following sigh is meant to sound exasperated, but it mostly comes out breathless.
“Happy now?”
Nishinoya beams. “Very.”
With the frosting done, Nishinoya picks up the bottles of food colouring again, shaking them like some kind of scientist about to conduct an experiment. The mischief on his face is immediate.
“Nishinoya,” Asahi says. “You aren’t-”
“Oh, I absolutely am.”
At this point, he’s pretty sure there’s a catastrophe looming on the horizon.
“C’mon,” Nishinoya says with a grin. “I know how to use food colouring! Stop looking at me like I’m about to commit a crime.”
On accident? Not unlikely. Asahi could absolutely see that happening. He swallows. “Just… don’t add too much.”
“I know, I know,” Nishinoya answers, only half-listening as he tips a bottle of orange colouring over the bowl.
It happened as it had to: the frosting was supposed to be a soft pastel orange. Instead, Nishinoya, in his enthusiasm, squeezes way too hard. Asahi sees it-
“Ah, careful, Nishinoya.”
-but too late; a thick stream of colour floods the bowl.
“Uh.” Nishinoya stares. “Okay. That might be a little much.”
Asahi presses his fingers to his temple. "This is why I-"
“Wait, wait, I can fix it!” Nishinoya interrupts, lunging for the powdered food colouring. In his haste, the lid pops off, and before Asahi can react, pink dust rains down - onto the counter, the floor, his hands… his hair.
Asahi closes his eyes. Breathes.
“Oops?” Nishinoya offers, looking sheepish.
Exhaling slowly, Asahi lifts a hand to dust the powder from his hair, which begins to snow onto Nishinoya’s face.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Really? First the icing sugar, now this?” Nishinoya grins. “Oh, you’ve done it.”
The food colouring container clatters into the sink, and before Asahi can react, there’s a streak of frosting swiped across his forearm.
Asahi stares at the smear of cream on his skin. “Did you just-”
“An eye for an eye,” Nishinoya says smugly, dipping his fingers into the bowl again.
Asahi doesn’t think. He lifts a spoonful of frosting and presses it right onto Nishinoya’s cheek.
There’s a brief, startled pause - then Nishinoya throws his head back and laughs, eyes shining, and suddenly, Asahi doesn’t regret it at all.
“Okay,” Nishinoya gasps between laughter. “You wanna play that game?”
Before Asahi can protest, Nishinoya is lunging at him, a spoonful of frosting in one hand, and Asahi ducks with a startled noise, nearly knocking over the mixing bowl in the process.
The battle doesn’t last long - still, within minutes, Nishinoya is covered from head to toe in frosting and food colouring. It’s in his hair, on his face, smeared across his arms. His blonde bangs are now a bright pink.
“Alright, alright - truce, truce!” Nishinoya surrenders, breathless with laughter, holding up his hands.
Asahi, despite himself, is smiling too. “You’re impossible.”
Nishinoya grins, wiggling sticky fingers at him. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”
Asahi huffs, averting his eyes before Nishinoya can notice the heat creeping up his face, probably turning his cheeks a bright red.
Nishinoya stretches, groaning. “Ugh, okay. Our water bill is not gonna thank me today, but I gotta wash this off. I think I have more frosting on me than the cupcakes will.”
He starts walking toward the bathroom, pulling off his frosting-streaked shirt as he goes. Asahi watches him, eyes lingering on the curve of his back before he disappears around the corner. He runs a hand over his face.
There’s still frosting on his nose.
…Yeah. He’s in trouble.
The timer on the oven goes off, the sound piercing through the kitchen.
Asahi turns it off, opening the oven door before retrieving the scorching hot trays on which the cupcakes stand proudly, golden and steaming. He places them onto the table mats laid onto the counter, fanning the cupcakes with his hands before removing them from their respective cups to let them cool.
The kitchen is a disaster zone. Cupcake batter is splattered on the countertop, a bizarre rainbow of frosting hues drips down the sides and into the sink. Asahi knows he has frosting on his cheek, a streak of pink left over from their little frosting fight, and he’s trying very hard to focus his attention on trying to clean the food colouring on the floor.
Except the stain seems to grow larger the more he wipes over it, and his thoughts are interrupted by the incessant sounds of the shower running and Nishinoya humming happily.
The water turns off, and Asahi decidedly doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t glance through the kitchen door, towards the hallway where he knows the bathroom door is ajar, because Nishinoya never closes the door when he’s taking a shower. He doesn’t think about Nishinoya, hair down and body still dripping wet as he reaches for a towel, how he might have goosebumps from the cold air.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he turns his attention back to the task at hand, adding chocolate decorations he bought onto the last of the cupcakes, trying to keep his mind on them and ignore the heat in his chest.
He’s moving them into the fridge when he hears the telltale steps from the hallway, and a second later, Nishinoya pops his head through the door.
“Damn, this kitchen is a mess.” He whistles. “We should call in a cleaning crew for this mess. I mean, you need help.”
“We’ll manage,” Asahi replies, eyeing the stain on the floor.
“Mh. Maybe I wasn’t talking about the kitchen,” Nishinoya says seriously, and before Asahi can protest, Noya’s thumb gently wipes at Asahi’s cheek, coming away with pink frosting.
“I, ah.” Asahi says. “It’s fine. It’s- I’ll take a shower after I’ve cleaned this up.”
“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya says, his voice dropping an octave, “Could you lean down? You don’t want it getting into your eye, right?”
“Oh, thanks. “Asahi complies, tilting his head down so Nishinoya can do whatever it is he needs to do.
And the next thing he knows, Nishinoya’s lips are right there - licking frosting off the tip of his nose.
The world stops. Asahi’s breath catches in his throat, his brain short-circuiting like a flickering light.
“Wha - Nishinoya?!”
Nishinoya pulls back slowly, and a laugh escapes him. “See? Clean as a whistle,” he teases, a grin spreading across his face.
Asahi doesn’t respond. He can’t. His heart is pounding so hard it’s a wonder Nishinoya can’t hear it, and all he can focus on is how close he is - how effortlessly bright and mischievous his smile is.
The room goes quiet. Nishinoya’s grin falters, his laughter trailing off. “…Unless you didn’t like that?”
And then it hits Asahi.
The flirtatious comments. Parading around their apartment in nothing but a towel. The teasing that always seemed to toe the line. He’d thought Nishinoya was joking - oblivious to the effect he had on him.
But what if he wasn’t? What if he knew exactly what he was doing?
If that’s true, then his behaviour, his remarks - they all make sense.
Nishinoya gives a nervous little chuckle before stepping back. “I thought- damn,” he mutters, voice suddenly unsteady as he glances up at Asahi. “Asahi-san, if I’ve misread things - if I’ve made you uncomfortable - I’m sorry.”
But before he can take another step, say another word, Asahi moves, his hand shaking slightly as he catches Nishinoya’s wrist.
“You haven’t,” he says quickly. “You didn’t.”
Because, god - for months, Asahi has wanted nothing more than this. He just never thought he could have it.
With a small tug, he pulls Nishinoya closer to him again. “Do that again,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, heat crawling up his neck, and adds, “Please.”
For a moment, Nishinoya just stares. Then his lips split into a grin, wide and radiant. He doesn’t hesitate.
He leans in, arms looping around Asahi’s shoulders as he rises onto his toes. He presses his lips to the tip of Asahi’s nose, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, slow and teasing, until he finally - finally - he kisses him.
It’s sweet. Like sugar and vanilla and everything Asahi has ever wanted. It ends too soon, and when Nishinoya starts to pull back, Asahi follows, chasing his lips before they’re gone.
“God,” he says breathlessly when they pull apart. “You’re amazing, Nishinoya. And it’s like you don’t even try.”
Nishinoya huffs, rolling his eyes. “Are you kidding? I was trying really hard.”
“I mean, all this time?” Asahi blinks. “Really? The jokes? The towel?”
Nishinoya shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’re so skittish, you never would’ve made a move. I had to do something.” And then, with a laugh, he adds, “I was getting desperate.”
Asahi exhales a shaky laugh of his own, warmth blooming in his chest. Shaking his head, he reaches out and gently brushes a stray blond streak out of Nishinoya’s forehead.
Nishinoya leans into the touch, eyes flickering shut for just a second before they snap open again, full of mischief. “So… does this mean I get to kiss you whenever I want now?”
Asahi huffs a laugh, his face burning. “I-” He clears his throat. “I guess… yeah.”
Nishinoya grins like he’s just won the lottery. “Awesome.” Then, without hesitation, he presses another quick kiss right to the corner of Asahi’s mouth, before stepping back with a triumphant look.
Asahi groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re gonna be unbearable about this, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.” Nishinoya bounces on the balls of his feet. “Oh! But first, we gotta clean up.” He gestures wildly to the mess they completely forgot about - the frosting, the food colouring disaster, the stain on the floor that still looks like a crime scene.
Asahi sighs. “Right. We should-”
“I call dibs on, y’know. Not cleaning!” Nishinoya announces, already making a break for it.
“Nishinoya, come on. No, you- get back here!”
Laughter fills the apartment as Asahi lunges, catching Nishinoya around the waist and pulling him back against his chest. Nishinoya yelps, then laughs harder, squirming playfully.
And just like that, everything feels so easy. Asahi holds him there for a moment, chin resting against Nishinoya’s shoulder.
“…You know, I really was serious,” Nishinoya murmurs.
Asahi doesn’t hesitate this time. He turns his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Nishinoya’s temple. “I know.”
Nishinoya stills for half a second - then he melts, sighing happily. “Okay. Cool. Now let me go so I can escape cleaning duty.”
Asahi tightens his grip. “Not a chance.”
And when he thinks about it, when he looks around at their ridiculous little apartment, at the home they’ve built together, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.