Chapter Text
In which yoghurt milk is consumed, empty threats are casually thrown around, and two best friends fall asleep to a ceiling fan’s lullaby.
It’s the early hours of dawn when she catches him still up and seated on the couch using his physics textbook as some sort of surface to write on. To be frank, this is most likely the fifth time she’s caught him studying, rather than sleeping. Under the dim lighting, [Name] can see the darkening half-moon bruises under his eyes.
“So, how’s the not dying going?”
The boy refrains from scowling at the question, and instead, chooses not to answer, keeping his head low. He continues with his task, in which he is answering several questions from a textbook in his notebook, mechanical pencil scratching away at his paper. His friend, used to his dismissive attitude, rolls her eyes at him before shuffling towards the fridge to grab a yogurt milk drink.
One might wonder why exactly [Name] is within the very presence of the youngest Tsukishima at around two in the morning. You see, they’re not roommates, but they might as well be. Her parents are always out on business trips, and the Tsukishima matron always manages to convince the young girl that their family can care for her in the meantime. Of course, she agrees, because who could possibly reject an offer (and ignore guilt-trips) made from the sweetest woman?
Her living arrangements when she is with them consists of sleeping on their youngest’s bed, while said youngest resides on a futon on the floor. She felt bad the first time she stayed with them, and she secretly still does, but she knows that he doesn’t care whatsoever. [Name] and Kei have always been rather close friends - bordering into a platonic friendship - so in turn, both sets of parents never minded about anything inappropriate happening between their children.
Having explained some of the contexts, let us continue with the story: [Name] stabs her straw into the drink box as she approaches him, mindful to keep at a safe distance from the cranky teenager. She sips thoughtfully from her drink, observing him from afar. Tsukishima heaves out a great sigh, pulling his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
His computer is on his lap (but barely so - it’s pretty much dangling off the edge of his knees, and she wants to scold him for it), and his pre-calculus textbook is digging into his thigh, flipped open to the appropriate section for reference to what he’s working on in his notebook. He’s wearing dinosaur pyjama pants, much to her amusement, and a light orange shirt.
[Name] is near finished with her drink (it’s starting to make that irritating noise that announces the end of the beverage), but she decides to pointedly sip despite there being close to no liquid left in the box just to spite him.
It works.
“Hey,” he mutters. “Stop that. It’s obnoxious.”
The girl stops for a brief moment, only to recommence her annoying sips, an impish smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Tsukishima raises his eyes to the girl, his gaze angry and heavy. She gives him a small shrug, then acquiesces in stopping, throwing the box away.
“You’re so annoying,” the blonde huffs, rubbing at his temples. He still has not put his glasses back on.
[Name] then makes the decision in walking towards him, stopping in her tracks as soon as she’s behind her best friend.
“That’s what you get for overworking yourself, Stingy-shima,” she says, placing her hands on his head. He’s about to swat her hands away, but then she starts to card her fingers through his blonde locks.
“What are you doing.”
It’s not a question; it’s more of a statement, and she snorts.
“Trying to soothe you.”
“Keyword: trying.”
[Name] scoffs, feigning offense, tugging on several strands of his hair to shut him up. She relishes the nearly inaudible noise of surprise that he makes at the back of his throat, and she can’t help but laugh quietly at his reaction.
“If it isn’t helping you, then you should at least say something,” she says, already letting go of his hair, choosing to respect his privacy. She knows that he normally dislikes being touched when he’s stressed out.
Before her hands are fully retracted, he leans his head back. The tips of his ears are pink.
“Did I mention anything about me wanting you to stop? No. You came up with that conclusion all on your own. Boke.” There is no malice behind the insulting name. Rather, there’s an amused lilt to his otherwise indifferent tone.
There’s a pleased smile spreading on her face, and she resumes in sliding her fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter closed. He lets out a shaky breath of relief a few minutes later, and [Name] starts to sing a small tune under her breath to fill the companionable silence between them. Soon enough, her fingers make their way to his temples. Then, she begins to work at his neck’s pressure points, nimble fingers finding spots that make him tense in his seat.
“You work way too hard,” she comments with a click of her tongue, already transitioning to knead at his shoulders.
His head lolls to the side when she finds a knot, giving her more access, and her fingers work into his skin to unravel and soothe the tight muscle. His breaths are shallow now, and she’s not sure whether he’s fallen asleep, or not.
“Tsukishima?” She says softly, and when he doesn’t reply, she tries again. “You still awake?”“
“Mmnh...”
A quiet, airy laugh resounds at his mumbled response. [Name] makes the move of pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his head, her lips lingering in the soft tufts of his hair. Unsurprisingly, this does not faze the older boy in the slightest. She stores his glasses away. She walks around the couch, lowering his computer lid shut before placing it on the coffee table. She tidies his belonging, making sure to bookmark the section of his pre-calculus textbook using his mechanical pencil that she’s taken from his loosened grip, setting it next to the laptop. Then, she slips his physics textbook out of his arms, placing it underneath the other heavy textbook.
“Come on, let’s have you lie down,” she whispers, placing a hand on either side of his arms. He obeys in a sleepy daze, lowering himself to a semi-comfortable position with [Name]’s guidance. “Good thing it’s a weekend tomorrow, or else we both would have died in the morning.”
He moans, annoyed at the fact that she’s still talking. “I’m trying to sleep here, woman.”
“You could have saved all of this fuss if you would’ve just slept earlier, Kei,” the young girl counters with a shake of her head.
His nose scrunches up in distaste at her mild nagging, choosing to shift his stance so that his back is to her. [Name] takes advantage of this opportunity to childishly stick her tongue out at his dozing figure before taking the throw blanket that sits on an armchair nearby to drape it over him. Once finished tucking him in, she looks at her work with her hands on her hips, nodding to herself once. She’s about to leave him be when his groggy voice stops her.
“Pillow,” he states, and she nearly whacks him upside the head at his shamelessness.
“Oi, what am I, your servant?”
“No,” he says, taking a glance over his shoulder to look at her, a small yet languid smirk on his face, “but you’re my best friend.”
She glares at him. That isn’t an excuse for him to be ordering her around. “Is that how you get poor Yamaguchi-san to do stuff for you? I feel bad for the poor boy.”
Honestly, the reason why she resists in doing what he wants her to do is simply because she doesn’t want to walk to their temporarily shared bedroom, grab a pillow, walk back to give him the pillow, then walk back to the room. It’s too much work for someone who isn’t even worth it (this is a lie, and she knows it - he’s everything to her).
“You’re such a nuisance in my life,” she grumbles, her head hanging as she ponders whether she should obey his subtle request.
“Hah,” he chuckles. “I beg to differ. After all, you’re in my house, sleeping in my room; not to mention, you’ve also taken refuge in my bed while I take the floor. Who’s the nuisance now, [Name]?”
“Still you.”
Nope. She isn’t going to do it. The fact that he’s still keeping up his reputation of being a clever prick annoys her to no end (because who does this when they’re half-awake?), and this confirms her decision in not fulfilling his demand for a pillow. His eyes narrow at her before he drops his head, curling an arm under the crook of his neck in a lousy attempt for a pillow substitute, then continues to ignore her.
Her nose twitches at his immaturity, and she steps forward to lightly slap the back of his head, an idea forming in her head. “Up,” she instructs, and he grunts. “Do you want a pillow or not? Hurry up before I change my mind, brat.”
“Do you have a pillow?”
“No, but I have my lap.”
There is a pause, and she is close to simply retreating to the room, but he lifts his head, much to his reluctance. [Name] positions a hand on the side of his head, supporting him in keeping it raised in order to take a seat. Once she’s in place, he adjusts himself so he isn’t face-to-face with her upper body and lowers his head so it sits on her lap comfortably. He’s now looking to the ceiling, where the ceiling fan whirrs.
The girl sighs a little, willing herself to relax. She knows her entire lower body is going to end up numb sooner or later due to his heavy head, but she knows that the idiot blonde needs his sleep. He’s thrown an arm over his eyes.
“Are you comfortable?” He questions, his voice near quiet.
[Name] looks down at him, vague surprise evident on her features. It’s been awhile since he’s shown concern for her, and his question catches her off-guard. She’s suddenly thankful that he has his eyes covered, or else he would have been offended at her reaction.
“I’m going to wake up with pins and needles all over, but,” she closes her eyes, leaning her head back, “I’ll manage.”
“Okay,”
“Go to sleep, Kei,”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
They fall asleep to the soft drone of the ceiling fan.