Work Text:
DIDN'T I SAY RILAKKUMA BANDAIDS ARE NOT APPROPRIATE NIGHTCLUB ATTIRE: A STUDY ON THE LIONISATION AND CONSEQUENTLY NECESSARY BABYPROOFING OF OFFICE SUPPLIES
by Iwaizumi Hajime
"FIRSTLY, OIKAWA'S FACE ISN'T EVEN REAL. WHO EVEN SMILES LIKE THAT. AND SECONDLY," I SAID, LEANING FORWARD AND STARING AT SUGAWARA WITH VERY, VERY WIDE EYES, "I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH HIM."
" ♫ That's nice, Iwaizumi, ♫" SUGAWARA REPLIED, FROWNING A LITTLE AND IMMEDIATELY CAUSING ME THE GREAT DISTRESS OF WITNESSING MODERATE DISTRESS ON HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE. " ♫ But I was talking to Ushijima about typewriters. ♫ "
"Also," USHIJIMA ADDED, "did you not stay awake all night yesterday to help Oikawa with his final thesis? Since you clearly do not wish to be his friend, I would only assume that you are in some sort of romantic liaison with him."
BACKTRACKING A LITTLE, THEN, MY READERS, WITH THE SCREECH OF A RECORD AND AN I'M SURE YOU'RE WONDERING HOW I ENDED UP HERE AS THE HOLY TEXTS DICTATE, I FEEL LIKE I MUST ANSWER YOUR WONDERINGS. WONDERS. [Editor's note: Look here, it's finals week. Also, I think it's wonderings but I'm not sure.]
IT IS FINALS WEEK. HOWEVER, I HAVE NOT COMPLETELY LOST MY GRASP ON MY MENTAL FACULTIES: THERE IS A REASON WHY DISCUSSION OF TYPEWRITERS COULD BRING OIKAWA TO MY MIND. IN FACT, THERE ARE REASONS WHY MOST THINGS COULD BRING OIKAWA TO MY MIND, BUT WE'RE CURRENTLY TALKING ABOUT OFFICE SUPPLIES.
NOW, AS A MAN AND HUMBLE DISCIPLE OF Gecko Tooru WHO DOES NOT LIE, I WILL ADMIT THAT I DID INDEED PULL A MONSTER-FUELLED ALL-NIGHTER TO HELP THE ONE AND ONLY VAMPIRIC BUBBLE TEA ENTHUSIAST OIKAWA TOORU.
A GENERAL TEACHING OF LIFE IS THAT IF THERE IS A KID WHO ACCIDENTALLY STAPLED HIS OWN FINGER OR SOMETHING AND NOW WON'T STOP CRYING, IT'S LIKE WHO ASKED YOU TO STAPLE YOUR FINGER, ASSHOLE. [Editor's note: ???] BUT WHAT ABOUT SLEEP-DEPRIVED MAJORS OF UNKNOWN SUBJECTS WHO HAVE CLEARLY WORKED HARD ON THEIR THESIS AND JUST NEED TO SLICE OFF A LITTLE BIT OF EXTRA PAPER? WHY, THEN, MUST THE LEGION OF OFFICE SUPPLIES PUNISH PEOPLE LIKE THOSE?
IT IS EXACTLY AS YOU FEAR, DEAR READERS. OIKAWA TOORU, IN ATTEMPTING TO SLICE OFF EXTRA PAPER IN HIS SLEEP-DEPRIVED STATE, MANAGED TO FLICK HIMSELF ON THE BASE OF HIS THUMB WITH IT WHILE THE HORRIFIED HAJIME LOOKED ON.
"❀Fuck!❀"
"GIVE THAT TO ME." AS I GRABBED OIKAWA'S CREEPY LITTLE SHAKING HAND, I WAS WONDERING ONLY ABOUT HOW WE SPEAK OF OFFICE SUPPLIES AS THE PROVIDERS OF A SENSE OF PRODUCTIVITY, AS ASSISTANTS FOR OUR DAILY TASKS, WITHOUT SPEAKING OF HOW THEY CAN HARM US SO LIFE-THREATENINGLY IF THEY TAKE ON A MALEVOLENT SPIRIT. MORE THAN ANYTHING, I WAS WONDERING HOW Gecko Tooru, AGAIN, COULD ALLOW SUCH THINGS TO HAPPEN TO THOSE UNDER HIS ROOF AND REPTILIAN BENEDICTION. WHY, Gecko Tooru, WHY? "YOU'RE A FUCKING SHIT."
"❀Iwa-chan, that's kind of hot.❀"
"WHAT IS."
"❀You're sucking my thumb. That's hot. Like you're a vampire or something.❀"
FIRST OF ALL I HATE STAPLERS. PUT YOUR SHIT IN A FOLDER. SECOND OF ALL I FEEL LIKE A STRONGLY WORDED LETTER TO ALL MANUFACTURERS OF OFFICE SUPPLIES IS IN ORDER, TO NEGOTIATE THE POSSIBILITY OF MAKING THEM SO THAT THEY DO NOT HURT PEOPLE. DON'T GET ME WRONG: OIKAWA TOORU IS, WAS, AND ALWAYS WILL BE A MAJESTIC SHIT BUT IT'S ALSO LIKE, I'M GLAD TYPEWRITERS ARE NO LONGER IN PRODUCTION BECAUSE NEXT THING YOU KNOW, HE'S DROPPING A TYPEWRITER ON HIS FOOT AND FAINTING.
WHEN I RELAYED THIS OPINION TO SUGAWARA (YES, READERS, WE ARE NOW BACK AT THE LUNCH TABLE), HE LOOKED VERY UNIMPRESSED. USHIJIMA, HOWEVER, PASSED ME AN EGG ROLL SILENTLY, WHICH I ACCEPTED.
"THANK YOU FOR THIS EGG ROLL," I SAID.
"You are welcome," HE REPLIED. "I have read that falling in love makes one hungry. Please consume more protein."
●●●
Akiteru [22:43]
so I asked "how do dogs learn commands in korean" and she replied
Akiteru [22:43]
"HOW DO DOGS LEARN COMMANDS IN JAPANESE"
Me [22:46]
Texting privileges can be revoked, you know.
Akiteru [22:47]
my two-week trial hasn't expired yet, don't scam me
Now, in the grand scheme of things, Kei has often tripped. Over things. His own shoes, for starters, which is quite fucking fantastic given that he is one of the most meticulous shoelace-tiers that he knows of (Kei doesn't toe things off, thank you very much, he reaches down every time to untie his Chuck Taylor's and place them off neatly to the side because he has some semblance of dignity. He has also seen the way the backs of Yamaguchi's shoes are permanently folded into the soles so that he can slip into them like they are some miserable canvas approximation of Crocs, and Kei is very sure that he as a human being is above practices of that kind) but not only his shoes. Kei has also tripped, in the past, over other people's feet, loose stones, the entirety of Hinata (what? He's small) and the kind of tangle of wires that can only be found around a charging strip in the economics faculty's library.
What he means to say is, he has tripped quite often. He knows the feeling, both physically and metaphorically (which is a little funny since he can hardly say he tripped into love, or at least, didn't do it all at once, more like he caught his foot on the edge of the carpet and then lost his balance and stumbled around for nine whole seconds like that man in the video where he is trying to shovel snow before finally landing in a heap at Kuroo's feet) but it still gives him a decent amount of dismay every time it happens. Which is to say that as if that wasn't bad enough, he now has to deal with disappointment. In the human race, his own sense of balance, and Kuroo Tetsurou.
'Stop laughing,' he hisses for what must be the forty-seventh time, which is honestly a record given that he has been inside Le Petit Dumbass for all of three minutes.
Kuroo is in pieces across the room, laughing in the single most ungraceful manner that Kei has ever heard a human being express amusement in, including that time Kindaichi was high and crying over how moon melons weren't actually real and Kunimi showed him the 10 hours version of epic sax guy and Kindaichi choked on his own laugh and ended up spitting orange soda all over the laptop. Kuroo is actually laughing more annoyingly than that, looking like some sort of nonsense peacock with the way his hair is sticking up even more than usual.
Kei is, of course, in the entrance, with just about every possession he holds dear, and all of his books (which are every possession he holds dear) strewn a few feet in front of him, and his glasses barely hanging onto the tip of his nose. See, the disappointment doesn't only come from the fact that he tripped so spectacularly at the ripe old age of eighteen, or even that he did it in front of who he is reasonably sure is the love of his ripe old life of eighteen years. It also comes from the fact that he had expected Kuroo to catch him, which Kuroo...did not. In fact, going by how hard he is laughing right now, Kei can wager that if there had been enough time, Kuroo would have pulled out his phone to record the entire thing.
Which is not how Kei thinks things should go.
At all.
'Okay, okay,' Kuroo wheezes, straightening up and clearing his throat, pulling a deliberately stoic expression. 'No, I'm fine. That wasn't funny.'
'I have exams,' Kei says, making a very courageous attempt to keep any kind of petulance out of his voice. 'I'm tired. I don't think I've seen sunlight in days.'
'False. The sun was out when I drove you back yesterday.'
'Double false. I was helping Kageyama revise yesterday, and you've lost all track of time. You drove me back the day before.'
'Shit,' Kuroo concedes, eyebrows raised. 'Whatever. You tripped.'
February is still cold, Kei has no misconceptions about that. But it isn't the slightly unsettling, creepy cold of winter that sometimes makes you feel scared that this is how it has always been and summer is a dream. Instead, it is the kind of sweet chill that is fresh on the skin and wet in the hair, where he can do with just wearing his— Akiteru's— hoodie if he's feeling adventurous enough, with maybe a scarf thrown in. The sun comes out more often— even though he doesn't get to see it, dead as he is under the pressure of exams— and flowers are slowly, slowly beginning to bloom again. Yamaguchi's hair is the longest it has ever been, and Bokuto's back to polos (and knocking on Kei's door at odd times of the night to ask for vinegar).
The thing is, Kei doesn't know how to put it. He's been giddy and light ever since that day Akiteru came over, and he doesn't know what to do with that lightness because he was so used to the weight that it had become a way of life. He doesn't know what to do with the newfound lightness he has around Kuroo, now that there is nothing between them but pure air and smiles like...like the high notes of a piano, or the way Pin tugs on his leash when he sees butterflies, or...or...Akaashi's laughter, rare and startling.
Kei thinks this might be happiness, but then he doesn't know what to do with the urge he has to grab all that pure air in his fist and close the last distance. Doesn't know if happiness is a destination or a way of being, because it's too soon to tell and if Kuroo won't catch him when he trips like a fool then it's going to take him double the time to get there.
'Earth to Tsukki,' Kuroo says, and Kei looks up from The Wealth of Nations and into his handsome face. 'I'm just about done for the night, I'll join you in a bit.'
'Yeah,' Kei says, tries a smile just to see Kuroo's own. 'Okay.'
●●●
In all honesty, none of this is Kei's fault and all of it is entirely Kuroo's. For something that is going on seven months now, this is the first time Kuroo has actually involved Kei in the actual culinary activities of his kitchen that do not include making Kei taste horrendous sauces and muffins-in-progress. If half past midnight on a Friday is the time Kuroo chose to comprehend the extent to which Kei is not gifted in the kitchen, that is not Kei's fault in the least.
What is even less of Kei's fault is how much he is laughing over it. Not Kuroo (although Kuroo is laughing too). Kei means himself. If he wasn't still holding on to his desire to project a respectable reputation to the world (and, of course, the universe) and his professors, he would almost say that he's giggling. Not merely giggling, even; he would go so far as to say that he is having a gigglefit.
'Let me get this straight,' Kuroo says, in a surprisingly serious voice given how obvious his own grin is. 'I haven't seen you crack under academic pressure a single time so far, and this is how you choose to act out?'
Kei takes a deep breath, looks at Kuroo's messy hair, and loses it again.
'I just,' he says, 'I am really quite terrible at this.'
'I can see that.'
It is a very visible failure of accomplishing an endeavour. About ten minutes ago, Kei, thoroughly destroyed, body and soul, under the assault of some fifty odd graphs and even more definitions, wandered into the kitchen to see what Kuroo was doing when he had said that he was almost done. Eight minutes ago, Kuroo handed him an icing bag and told him to try and ice one of the giant cookies that he had just baked.
Five minutes ago, Kei made an attempt, and has been laughing ever since.
'I kind of feel responsible,' Kuroo's saying, even as Kei stares down at the miserable baby blue squiggle on the light brown of the cookie and coughs wearily. 'I think I'm going to tell your professor to cancel your final. You're in no state to write an exam.'
'No shit,' Kei says. 'I'm not even in a state to write on a cookie.'
'Good lord.'
Kei feels...light. Sure, he's got an exam on Monday and three on Tuesday, and because the university administration is clearly a bunch of assholes sitting around laughing at their computers and cooking up ways to torture students who worked their asses off to get in in the first place, Wednesday and Thursday are off, providing a semblance of endings when Friday actually has a full-blown amphitheatre debate which fifty percent of his grade depends on. February might not be scarily cold but it is still cold, and if Kei has to put up with Bokuto's dubstep at two in the afternoon one more time he will kill a man. Sure, despite it all he doesn't know if he's supposed to text Akiteru to have a good day at work, or if he's supposed to tell Hinata and Kageyama and Yamaguchi it's all good, what you've been watching from the sidelines for years is done with now when done isn't a handshake and a nod of the head but rather waking up and thinking let's not fight anymore.
But Kei feels light. Kei feels a lightness, and he doesn't know what to do with it because...because it feels as if before, he had...a lot of rubber bands around him. Industrial sized rubber bands (he doesn't even know if those exist) right around his ribs and arms and legs, and now they're suddenly gone— and it's great, it's— it's light, but he doesn't know what to do now that he can move so freely. He's a little cold and he feels like his legs could give out without warning, and he doesn't know how to control where he goes when he feels so light that the wind could knock him over.
For starters, he could try to stop laughing, but even that is beyond him.
'Wait, wait,' he gasps, as Kuroo reaches for the icing bag he's still holding on to. 'Wait, let me try one more.'
'I don't know if you're aware, Tsukki, but this is the third cookie you're about to ruin.'
'Okay, hang on, I can do...I can make smiley faces. I'm sure I can do those.'
As it turns out, he can, or at least some approximation of it. His hands are shaking with laughter and weakness and two straight days without a lick of sleep, but as he dots out pink freckles on a cookie meant to be Yamaguchi, he can hear Kuroo making hot chocolate like the buzz of a cafeteria or a party or a coffeeshop that he's gotten so used to that he no longer processes the sound individually. He laughs out a look, this is Yachi for a spectacular success with squiggling out clumsy yellow flowers on one cookie, collapses into his worst case of giggles yet when Kageyama ends up being an angry little circle.
In that lightness he can see more clearly; Kuroo doesn't look lonely tonight. Kei won't say he never looks lonely anymore; if done isn't a nod of the head dispelling eight years of silence, then lonely isn't something that disappears overnight either. Lonely might take a long time to leave, if it ever does, but in the meantime if Kei can make sure that Kuroo is never alone then that's already...that's already something. That's something that he can do with his lightness.
'Okay,' Kuroo says, this time with some finality in his voice. 'Drink up, and no talking for ten minutes. Wind down.'
'Don't tell me what to do,' Kei replies, just to be contrary (he's already taking the mug from Kuroo). 'I'll ice as many cookies as I want, thank you very much.'
'No, you won't. I actually need some of these.' Kuroo can actually sound stern when he wants to, but he's not very good at keeping the fondness out of his eyes, which is something that Kei noticed ages ago but accepts only now. The way Kuroo doesn't bother to brush away the lock of hair that falls into his eyes because he's busy leaning his chin on his hand and smiling at Kei, because Kei's smiling back. See, Kei trips a lot but he didn't quite trip into this; acceptance filtered in like the sunrise that they often catch together from the couch, the car, the stairwell of his apartment building. That's a part of the lightness, too, then; one of the rubber bands was his incessant need to be against it all. Smiles are so much easier when they're not grudging. Love comes so much lighter when it just is.
Kuroo is so much prettier when he's honest. (Both him, and Kei.)
'You have icing on your nose,' Kuroo says. 'How did you even manage to do that?'
'I manage to do a lot of things,' Kei replies absently.
●●●
He does wind down. It takes the mug of hot chocolate and a lot more of staring at Kuroo than a doctor would prescribe normally, but when the loopy hysteria of fatigue and the freedom of suddenly— and this is something Kei caught onto as he was winding down— only having things in life that he is entirely equipped to deal with, that are in his control— when that silly giddiness eases off into tranquility, Kei finds nothing but a rhythm of inhales and exhales in the silence.
Kuroo is working as he always does, sleeves rolled up and apron hastily tied, flour all over the place and eyes focused on the counter. He doesn't check up on Kei the way he used to long ago, because they know each other now and Kuroo knows that if Kei is quiet, then, well, Kei is quiet. So he sits on the counter and pushes the heels of his sock-covered feet against one of the drawers, still-steaming mug in his hands as he watches Kuroo.
He winds down and the peace is good, but it isn't until they're taking out the last of the recycling that Kei registers what the strange emptiness in his throat that he was attributing to hunger actually is. And all things considered, it would turn out that Kei actually has an epiphany— and a minor attack— in the cold outside under a streetlight as he hands over two sealed plastic bags to Kuroo and stares at his obnoxious Toms. The Toms are honestly very much a part of the epiphany.
The thing is, Kei doesn't know how to put it. He's giddy and light, and things have changed and he has changed but so many other things are just the way they always were. Kuroo has pretentious shoes, and hair that is beyond mortal control, and a flaming red car. Just because Kei is in love with him doesn't mean the shoes are any less pretentious, the hair any less scientifically defiant, or the car any less red. Just because Kei talks to Akiteru now doesn't mean he likes blackberries. In fact, just because Bokuto is back to knocking on his door and howling doesn't mean he's forgotten what happened last month.
What he is trying to accommodate is the idea that things can happen and the cornerstones of life can still remain what they are. Maybe that's it— just because he's looking at them from a different angle doesn't mean they've disappeared altogether, and Kei, who craves familiarity and routine, can make his peace with that. Sometimes cornerstones have ugly faces and need to be turned around a little— they're still the same rock, but the side that sees the light now is the one that should be seeing the light. It doesn't mean the shadows don't exist. It just means that he's made a choice.
Kei, handing over two sealed plastic bags to Kuroo under a streetlight in the cold, makes a choice. It's not an epiphany, actually. It's a choice, and the attack is minor because a choice prevents the outcome from being a surprise— but sometimes it's the choice itself that is surprising, or at least the timing of it. And he's surprised because this is terrible timing. Kei might be quite the cynic, but he doesn't want to make this choice in the vicinity of recycling bins. He can't even see Kuroo's face properly. His hands are freezing.
'Tsukki,' Kuroo says, and he sounds like it's the fifth time he's saying it. 'Snap out of it. We're going inside.'
Kei wants to reply, but he finds that he can't do much other than follow Kuroo as he opens the back door and slips back into the café. And once inside, he can't do much other than look around, a little blankly. His skin is buzzing. His head is buzzing, blood ringing in his ears like he just managed to catch something before it fell, like he ran up a flight of stairs. It's not like he'd moved, outside, or said anything, but the very act of making a choice and then unmaking it caught him around the ribs and hooked the air right out of him, and Kei...Kei is reeling.
The café's lights are almost entirely out, just the strings and strings of fairy lights that they always leave on apart from their reading lamps, and one white tube in the kitchen. When Kuroo turns that off and comes to kneel in front of where Kei's perched on the edge of the couch, he is entirely coloured in rosy golden. The taper of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the dark unruly strands of his hair. His eyes, brown and striking and sharp and entirely focused on Kei now, and Kei doesn't want to hide his face in his hands anymore. Kei is making a choice, again. Kei is making a choice.
'Your hands are all red,' Kuroo says, frowns. He takes Kei's hands, shifting to a crouch to save his knees, and Kei looks at the stupid bend of his toes even as Kuroo starts to rub his hands quickly, skin on skin warming them up. 'I swear, you're like a little kid sometimes.'
Kei is making a choice. Kei is making more than one choice, actually— the choice to let Kuroo take his hands like that; the choice to allow himself the desire to keep their hands connected right now, and tonight, and tomorrow, and always; the choice not to say anything even though he knows Kuroo's curious now— but it all comes down to the same thing. Kei thinks it comes down to how Kuroo's touch doesn't send him spinning anymore, and it also comes down to how he hasn't stopped marvelling at it anyway, which he thinks is the same thing.
It comes down to Kei taking a sharp little breath when Kuroo starts to pull his hands away, and hurrying to shift the grip, wrapping his own fingers around Kuroo's. It also comes down to Kuroo going still and slowly lifting his eyes from their joined hands to meet Kei's, which he thinks is the same thing.
It comes down to Kei not having the words, after all, because he thinks he's going to make some kind of embarrassing sound if he opens his mouth just because of his fluttering feelings inside his chest. It comes down to him looking at Kuroo, just looking, so earnestly, hoping that Kuroo will understand the way he always does, stop waiting the way he always waits for Kei.
It all comes down to Kuroo narrowing his eyes fondly, lips curling into a smile so beautiful that Kei doesn't know what the fuck to do.
'What, now?' Kuroo asks, softly. And Kei wants to say it's better than the recycling bins but he doesn't say anything at all.
And in the rosy gold of the lights around them, he sees it in Kuroo's eyes, too. The hesitation, the fear. Kei wants to apologise, wants to say I'm sorry you have to take this step, too, because he can see that Kuroo's fucking terrified. He can see the ache in Kuroo's eyes, thinks good God, thinks he would give anything to keep Kuroo safe. To make sure he's never alone. Beyond the blood roaring in Kei's ears, there is a silence around them in which he can hear everything. His own breathing, the crickets outside, the beating of his heart. Kei knows Kuroo's heart is beating as fast as his own. Breaths shaking like the frail new leaves outside, rhythmless; and fingers jittery, hands going warm and cold and warm again and twingeing painfully like this is a choice Kei has never made in his life before, because this is a choice Kei has never made in his life before.
It all comes down to making that choice, which he thinks is the same thing.
What, now?
Kei makes a choice, and then so does Kuroo.
He pulls one hand away from Kei's grip, and because he's on the floor while Kei's on the couch, he has to raise it up to wrap it around the nape of Kei's neck. Kei has a moment to shudder at the contact before Kuroo is gently pulling him down.
Kei makes a choice; Kei trips forward.
Kei kisses him.
There is a silence around them in which he can hear everything— like the sound Kuroo lets out; like a pained, strained, relieved, short burst of an exhale; like the wind is being knocked out of him. Like an oh, whispered out loud in the middle of the night, like an oh, my God swallowed back into an aching throat. He can hear everything, like the shocked silence in his heart.
It's chaste and gentle, and Kei has never done it before. Kuroo's lips are soft, sweet because he loves licking icing off his fingers; Kei knows that. Against Kei's own, they are chaste and gentle and trembling in a way that makes Kei chase after them the moment Kuroo slowly pulls away (and Kuroo pulls away too soon; pulling away at the end of the night would've been too soon for Kei). It makes Kei tug him closer by his hand again, and it makes Kuroo smile like he's found something he'd been looking for the entire night, his entire life. It makes Kei want to cry.
When he finally puts his arms around Kuroo and curls them tight, when he finally leans forward to kiss him in earnest, Kuroo takes his weight even though he has to sit back on his heels to do it. He takes Kei's weight and wraps his own arms around Kei, and he kisses back, and he kisses Kei, and he kisses Kei.
Behind his closed eyes Kei remembers the first time he ever saw Kuroo, a hazy outline without his glasses and a touch so careful, his voice so real and rich. Kei remembers putting on shitty fucking electro in Kuroo's car just to get a rise out of him; Kei remembers it looking like rain. God, Kei remembers everything and Kuroo kisses him. Kei sees Kuroo in an apron and a shirt, Kei sees Kuroo in a suit and tie. Kei sees Kuroo in all the ways that the world has seen him and in some ways that the world never will; fragile and frail like his fluttering heartbeat against Kei's palm, like his frame in Kei's arms.
Kei remembers and sees it all, because— he understands it now like he understands turning the cornerstones to the light— when you love someone you don’t just do it with who you are today; you do it with everything that you know and have felt in your life so far. The part of you that hates drinking water at three in the morning, the part of you that is good at math and horrible at drawing, the part that feels so strange and removed when you listen to a song that you don’t listen to very often. When he kisses Kuroo, he is kissing Kuroo with all those parts of himself; when Kuroo kisses him, he is kissing Kei with all those parts of himself. When they kiss, they are kissing all those parts of each other.
They pull away again; Kei presses their foreheads together. Looks right into Kuroo's eyes and clenches his teeth, parts his lips like he wants to fight.
The thing is, Kei doesn't know how to put it. He doesn't have the words to prove himself or to explain this painful need he has to hold Kuroo and never let him go, but he hopes Kuroo will hear him like always. And Kuroo does. Kuroo does, because he shakes his head and brings up one of Kei's hands, and he presses his lips to the back of it and closes his eyes.
He looks grateful, and that's how Kei knows that he's heard but that he hasn't understood yet. But that's all right, because they've got all night and the rest of their lives, and Kei can be gentle; Kei's made a choice.
So instead of worrying, instead of thinking and thinking and thinking the way he always does, Kei hooks his toes in the edge of the carpet and trips again, takes in a breath and surges forward. He kisses Kuroo again, and just when he thinks he's done, he kisses Kuroo again. And then, just when he thinks he's done, he kisses Kuroo again.
It all comes down to this, which he thinks is the same thing; he kisses Kuroo again.
●●●
Bokuto [08:57]
MORNING
Bokuto [08:57]
MY FRENCHIEST FRY
Bokuto [08:57]
i picked ur lock bc i was out of milk and i know u always keep shit like that
Bokuto [08:58]
hope u don't mind i will replace it and also nice bedsheets
Bokuto [08:59]
are those like pterodactyls
Me [09:02]
TEXTING PRIVILEGES CAN BE REVOKED, YOU KNOW.
'Something wrong?' Kuroo calls from the kitchen, which is when Kei realises that he groaned out loud. To be fair, waking up twice to unpleasant things (the first was the feeling of Kuroo untangling himself carefully from Kei's arms and getting up off the couch, although the sight of his shirt riding up slightly as he stretched in the sunlight was possibly worth it) warrants any and all theatrics that one would want to demonstrate.
'Your best friend broke into my apartment,' Kei replies, trying to drop his phone on the coffee table without moving off the couch and wincing when it falls to the carpet instead. 'He stole my milk.'
'Be grateful that's the only thing he stole.'
'What are you doing in there anyway?'
There's no answer to that, for long enough that Kei feels himself starting to drift off again. But just as the proverbial blissful unicorns of sleep are about to pull him under for good, he hears Kuroo closing the kitchen door and skipping over to the couch.
Kei cracks an eye open, looks at Kuroo's frame sideways. Bedhead an utter work of modern art, shirt creased to all hell, bare feet on the wooden floor. He's not even fully awake yet, so it takes him longer to notice the plate that Kuroo is holding, and what's sitting on top of it.
A raspberry muffin, clumsily iced, probably piping hot.
'Good morning,' Kuroo says. 'I got your order.'