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the grand king, karasuno’s number 10 once called him, and tooru laughs at the memory. rightly so — sprawled across makki’s bed, burying both of their exam notes and pens even more irretrievably out of reach, there’s not a single kingly thing about him in sight. tooru finds he doesn’t really care; no matter what anyone else says, he’s not out to claim any kind of title, though it’s something that often comes hand in hand along the path tooru’s chosen to follow. tooru’s grin sharpens at the thought, and he grabs one of makki’s pillows, stuffs it against his face to hide the edge.
“oi,” makki says from the foot of the bed, “you owe me a new pen if you lose mine up there. and a passing mark.”
“not my fault, makki. can’t give you what you’ve already let get away. too bad.”
even under the pillow, tooru’s grin isn’t dulling at all. damn. the music from makki’s phone stops, and tooru sticks his head out from under the pillow to throw him a look. “hey, i liked that song,” tooru says.
“i don’t,” makki replies. “three tries in and i still can’t beat iwaizumi’s combo. from three days ago.”
personally speaking, tooru’s never understood the allure or mechanics behind that idol app everyone’s playing these days, but he doesn’t mention that. instead he sits up, running a hand through his hair before gesturing to makki with a flourish: “alright, alright, makki. no need to beg; this great and kind oikawa-san will happily trounce iwa-chan’s record for you.”
makki snorts, reaching over to flick tooru soundly on the forehead. “afraid i’m gonna have to pass you up on that, oh great and kind oikawa-san. i said i wanted to win, not lose whatever chances i still have.”
“rude.” tooru’s still smiling, though.
makki beams back, smile soft and smooth around the edges where tooru’s is all sharp, wicked edges. it’s charming in its own way. fingers trailing from tooru’s forehead to his hair, makki pushes a straying curl back from tooru’s face. tooru blinks, but makki doesn’t let his hand fall away, drifting through tooru’s hair before settling at the back of tooru’s neck, thumb not quite pressing into the skin, but tooru feels it all the same.
tooru’s voice is low when he says, “yes, makki?”
“there was a loose strand,” makki says. “can’t have you walking out with mussed bedhead — we’d cause a scandal across campus.”
“that’s awfully thoughtful of you, makki, but…” tooru leans in, reaches a hand to the one makki has against his neck, rests his hand on top of makki’s to keep the touch, hold makki there.
“… i don’t think you found it. actually, you might have made it worse; maybe you should try again?”
makki laughs but indulges tooru anyway, tooru letting go of makki’s hand so he can use both of them to card through tooru’s hair for a while, finally settling along the sides of tooru’s face, framing his jaw. and — tooru’s heard of things like this, knows this is the part where he’s supposed to let his eyes slip shut, all fluttering eyelashes and stuttering pulse, but. from the tips of his toes to the soft of his cheeks, cradled in makki’s hands, all tooru feels is the easy, familiar sense of calm, of comfort in the presence of someone he cares for very, very much.
see, tooru’s no king, and this is no castle, no grand, flurrying declarations of love built into its foundations to sweep through tooru’s feet, but as makki leans in closer tooru lets his head tilt just a little, sinking into a quiet, bone deep knowledge that what he has is precious and lasting and lovely all the same.