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Keiji hummed a tune as he stirred the curry, nodding when the rice cooker clicked off. He pulled two plates out of the cabinet and was just finishing doling out dinner when he heard the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock. Smiling to himself, he placed the plates on the table, pleased at his perfect timing. He wiped his hands on a towel and stepped out of the kitchen to meet Koutarou at the door.
“I’m home, Keiji,” Koutarou announced, and Keiji, who was about to move in for their traditional welcome home kiss, stopped abruptly when he got a good look at his husband’s face. Koutarou was smiling sheepishly, dried blood under his nose, his right eye squinting and surrounded by a ring of purple and blue.
“Welcome home. Is this one of those ‘You should see the other guy’ moments?” Keiji asked drily, reaching out a hand to gently touch Koutarou, who involuntarily pulled back before he made contact.
“No!” Koutarou exclaimed and met Keiji’s hand with one of his own, gently moving it away from his face while simultaneously interlocking their fingers. “It was just a friendly game of volleyball!”
“Uh huh,” Keiji nodded, frowning as he took in the damage to his face. He then huffed and began to pull Koutarou towards the bathroom by their entwined hands. “You played volleyball professionally for years and now coach kids who have no control over their strength or their aim. You have never come home this bruised. Did the rules change to add tackling into the game at some point?” he asked as they passed through the doorway. He gave a gentle tug and Koutarou allowed himself to be manipulated into a sitting position on the closed toilet lid.
“No,” Koutarou pouted, having been forced to let go of his hand. He watched Keiji move around the bathroom, collecting different materials. “We just got a little too into it. You know how competitive Kuroo and I can get when we’re together!”
Keiji “hmm”ed in response, wetting a washcloth with cool water. “And you both forgot that you’re not twenty-one anymore?” Koutarou closed his eyes and let out a groan as Keiji gently wiped the cloth along his face.
“It hurts,” Koutarou whined, choosing to ignore Keiji’s question.
“I’ll bet,” Keiji murmured and placed the washcloth on the counter. He held Koutarou’s face between his hands, looking more closely at the damage. “How’s your nose?”
“Not broken,” Koutarou grumbled, eliciting a nod from Keiji who stepped away again. He pulled a blister pack out of a box and pulled back the wrapping on a section.
“Here,” he said, dropping two pain relievers in Koutarou’s hand. He leaned over and filled a cup of water before handing it over, as well. Koutarou downed it quickly, and Keiji smiled. “Good boy.”
The not purple side of Koutarou’s face flushed red. “Keiji,” he admonished, much to his husband’s amusement. Years together and he could still make Koutarou flush; Keiji found great enjoyment every time it happened. He turned away so that Koutarou couldn’t see his smile, and grabbed another item out of the medicine cabinet.
He cracked the ice pack to activate it and handed it to Koutarou. “Hold this under your eye, but be careful. It’s probably tender, so don’t put too much pressure on it.” He paused for a moment while Koutarou followed directions, then asked, still amused, “Do I need to text Kenma and warn him about Kuroo?”
Koutarou shook his head, pout intensifying. He waved his free hand in the air while exclaiming, “ He crashed into me ! And he looks fine ! It’s not fair!”
Keiji chuckled again and reached out to ruffle Koutarou’s hair. “You poor thing. The injustice of it all. Do you want me to kiss it all better?”
Koutarou let out a choked sound but nodded, dropping the ice pack from his black eye. Keiji leaned down and gave him a small peck on his cheek, just under the bruise, smiling when he felt the heat of his husband’s blush. “Put the ice pack back on under your eye. Dinner’s getting cold.” He entwined his fingers into Koutarou’s free hand and pulled him back into a standing position. Koutarou pulled him in for a tight hug before allowing himself to be herded towards the kitchen.
Koutarou sat in his chair and looked at the plates in front of him. “I don’t think I can eat while holding the ice pack,” he said, but Keiji silenced him with a kiss.
Keiji pulled back and peered into his eyes, a mischievous look on his face. “Let me take care of you.”
“What–” Koutarou started but Keiji pulled a chair next to him and spooned some of the curry and rice together. He brought the bite to a bewildered Koutarou’s mouth who, regardless, opened without another word and let the food be deposited on his tongue. He chewed silently, savoring the taste, and swallowed. “Keiji.”
“Yes?” he asked, another spoonful at the ready, grinning devilishly.
Koutarou couldn’t help but laugh, and he reached out with his free hand to take the spoon from his husband. “You know, maybe I can figure it out, after all.”
Keiji shrugged and picked up his own spoon, “Suit yourself. Who else was there at this friendly volleyball match?”
Koutarou took the opportunity to launch into an animated retelling of the volleyball match, at times using both the spoon and the ice pack for emphasis. Before long, both plates sat empty, the ice pack lost its cold, and Koutarou finished his story. They gathered up the dishes and while Keiji started to wash their plates, Koutarou came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist.
“Kou, you’re making doing the dishes difficult,” Keiji told him, trying to feign irritation, all the while leaning back against him.
“I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of me,” Koutarou muttered into Keiji’s hair, nuzzling against the back of his head.
Keiji set the plates aside to dry, focusing on the warmth of Koutarou surrounding him. “Anything for you, my star.”