#C/R_HQ!CONTEST

[neoheros]

NEOHEROS & COOPHI 2021 SUMMER HAIKYU! WRITING CONTEST MASTERLIST. — THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED !!!

the turnout was overwhelmingly amazing and we appreciate this SO SO much. whilst the contest doesn’t actually close for another 12 hours, we’ve combined here all the entries that have already been submitted !!

please Please check them all out, they’re all extremely wonderful !!

★ AKAASHI

akaashi’s proposal by @kairakeiji

★ ATSUMU

23 and married by @superhero--imagines

the struggles of being married 25 by @atsuimiya

miya atsumu is a loud person. by @wynihu

★ ARAN

laundry days by @mimi-cee-hq

★ BOKUTO

kids crazy in love by @venusskies-writing

★ IWAIZUMI

1:02 AM by @yutari

★ KITA

window buddy by @perruvianily

★ KUROO

to start a year by @whistlingwillows

strains of love by @babysbreath

after dark by @snailfinger

11:59 PM by @miyarins

majime kimura @gwiezdny--plomien

2:38 AM by @eowynix

stupid by @hankuto

★ OSAMU

grocery shopping by @terrakiyo

★ SAKUSA

harmony over silence by @perruvianily

★ SUGA

married at 22 by @ria-aaa

★ TENDO

mascara lines by @najvochka

★ TSUKISHIMA

you are the sun and i am your moon by @ven7s

strawberries and stars by @weewoo186

A/Ns :

— if you submitted an entry for the contest and weren’t included in this post please message me or @coophi to fix it !!

— fics submitted later tonight will still be added in the masterlist just to make sure the september 30th deadline isn’t excluding anyone from other timezones !!

— announcement of winners will be posted last week of october!

THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! this was insanely amazing to host and i cannot wait to read through all of them !!!

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #haikyuu masterlist #married under 25 #neighbors to lovers #x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #aran x reader #akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #kita x reader #kuroo x reader #tsukishima x reader #tendo x reader #suga x reader #sakusa x reader #osamu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #fluff #angst #imagines #hq!! #masterlist #coophi #neoheros #writing contest

[kashimos-hajime]

—𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 | 𝒌.𝒕.

summary: Kuroo’s a fucking mess. Isn’t he lucky that the neighbour across the hall just happened to be one, too?

WARNINGS: mentions of su*cide, depression, mental illness, hospitals, drug addiction/alcohol addiction and general substance abuse, BRIEF implied abusive relationship, swearing, adultery (you don’t commit it on each other), fluff, angst, happy ending!! pairing: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader word count: 20.2k words

a/n: originally this was going to be much longer. unfortunately, the dead line is today so i had to finish it!!! written for @neoheros​ and @coophi​ for their haikyuu summer writing challenge with the prompt neighbours to lovers! each section is the title of a song that i feel fits the vibe! 

also, i must add a disclaimer that the way both reader and kuroo experience their mental illnesses is how i and friends around me have experienced them. it may not be the same as how you do, and that’s okay!!! we are all valid and worthy of love.

and few last notes: kuroo,,, greysexual/demisexual,,, idk thats just how i see him. and can be canon compliant if you wish! anyway!

crossposted on ao3 x

(The Last Words of a Shooting Star)

.

The firecrackers pop over his head, signalling that the last year has been sloughed off and 2017 has come whether they like it or not.

Big whoop.

Kuroo has never been big on celebrations on his own, so he spends January 1st, 2017, moving into a new apartment while his other friends are out celebrating, mostly because for some reason, he doesn’t feel the urge to. 

Something about being fresh out of a psychiatric hospital, while normally something to celebrate, only feels excruciatingly lonely.

Pushing boxes into his empty apartment, he stops to take a huge gulp of water from his bottle, kindly gifted to him by Kenma the first time he left the hospital a year after high school. The paint job’s chipped, and the stickers he’s slapped on have scratched over the years, but the sentiment is no less there. Wiping at his face with a towel he’s got stuffed in his back pocket, he returns it to its spot before turning to the second-last box.

The elevator just down the hall dings, and he pauses, watching to see who steps into view of the floor lobby. For a moment, no one.

Then, a figure with clanking keys steps into view and he half-thinks they’ll walk the opposite direction. A plastic bag is hanging off their wrist, and he can barely make out the shape of some snacks, a tall can of a fizzy drink. 

You make your way closer and closer, fiddling with your keys, and you walk past him with a dip of your head in greeting before stopping at the door diagonally across the hall from him. Your keys slot in just as Kuroo turns around to grab that second-last box, and he lifts it up. There’s a niggling feeling in his stomach and he bites on inside of his lower lip.

With a glance at his wrist haphazardly, he spots the time.

It reads 12:34 on the watch that covers his hospital wristband.

It seems he’s not the only one alone on New Year’s Day.

“Hey,” he calls lamely before he can stop himself. You pause and turn to look at him, frowning faintly. Kuroo hopes he hasn’t spooked you, and he adjusts his grip on the box. 

He wants to say something normal except you’re staring at him like he’s grown a second head and there’s a burst of pink and orange behind you outside the window, glancing off your skin. You’re startlingly beautiful—Kuroo hasn’t seen anyone outside the hospital in four weeks—and you’re still standing there with a curious frown twisting your lips, so he can’t exactly look away but he’s trying hard because it’s creepy otherwise.

About a thousand possibilities run through his head as he stands there like an idiot: happy New Year. Have a good night. Happy New Year. Any plans? Happy New Year. I’m your new neighbour—

Unfortunately, his mouth moves before his brain can catch up and he points out unhelpfully: “It’s New Year’s.”

Your fingers tighten on the plastic bag. It crinkles in the aftermath of a firework going off and Kuroo wonders what’s louder—that or his heart. 

Man, he’s so shit at making conversation now. He wants to crawl into a hole and die.

Well, not die. He shouldn’t be using those terms anymore. It makes him feel physically ill even thinking it, so he mentally fixes it to something less permanent. He wants to crawl into a hole and… what? And shit himself? 

Not exactly, but he’ll get back to it later.

“It is,” you agree at length, and he blinks, looking at you. “Are we happy about that or not?”

“That’s a question right there,” observes Kuroo. Your frown fades and an almost-amused expression spreads over your lips and cheeks and eyes. “That depends if you like the idea of a new neighbour.”

“I’m indifferent,” you reply.

“Then, it’s just a New Year. Neither happy or unhappy,” he replies, relieved when you cock an eyebrow, lips barely pulling into a smile. His fingers are starting to hurt carrying this stupid fucking box—he tries to remember what’s in it and he looks through his empty door, at a space too empty and too big for him.

“Just lonely,” you propose. Something electric shoots through his body and Kuroo’s gaze lands on yours again.

Your smile grows a bit in a way that reminds him of the others in the hospital when they heard he was leaving—wistful, a bit jealous, but mostly melancholic. Like you don’t want to be sad, but you can’t help it, and Kuroo wishes he knew how to say he understands exactly what you’re feeling.

But all he does is agree: “Just lonely.”

Your hand rests on the knob of your door, and you break away their little contest by peering into the contents of your bag.

“Do you like chocolate?”

“I’m so-so.”

You frown, a bit judgemental. Kuroo doesn’t blame you. You jostle the contents with a shake of your arm, as if flipping through whatever’s in there. “What about curry?”

“Yeah. Why?”

You dig your hand into the plastic bag and it makes a soft rustling noise before you’re withdrawing a green box, slim and with gold lettering, and extending it to him. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Kuroo’s eyebrows twitch together but you’re insistent. 

Take it, you seem to say in his silence. I don’t know who you are, but you’re just like me.

Their fingers overlap and heat surges through his face, painting the tips of his ears a dark red as he takes the box from you, catching a good look at the front. 

Pre-packaged mild spicy curry.

He huffs a soft laugh and looks back up at you, offering it back to you. “What’s this for?”

“Just a house-warming gift.” With a shrug, you look at his outstretched hand and push the box back towards him. “It’s for you. Eat.”

For lack of anything else to say: “Thanks?”

“Yeah, no worries. G’night.”

“’Night.”

Thirty minutes (two open boxes, a sore back, a cardboard cut to his ring finger) later, Kuroo lays down on his mattress with the one glass he has in this whole place filled with water and listens to the pipes run with water. When his stomach finally starts grumbling and the smell of rice begins to fill the air, he gets up to read the instructions on the the curry box. He grabs it, setting it down on an upturned box and grabbing his half-charged phone from the counter.

There are some texts from Kenma, his dad, and his older sister. Kenma’s text chain included texts written by their other high school friends who don’t have his number—Kuroo has the smallest urge to smile when he sees Yaku holding Lev in a chokehold. They look sloshed, face-painted numbers on their cheeks and bright smiles printed on their lips, and a hollowness fills his chest.

FOMO’s a bitch, huh.

He scrolls past those images so he doesn’t start zooming in on every detail of the picture, obsessing, absorbing the vibes through the screen, and types out a reply before flipping over to texting his older sister. She’s asking about the new place and when she can come over. 

He replies ‘tomorrow or the day after, if you’re too hungover which you will be’ and ignore the hollow feeling in his chest.

He logs into Instagram for the first time in months. He likes pictures absently, noting some music he has to get back into when he remembers he was supposed to be reading instructions.

They seem simple enough, and he reads them over three times to finally get it before glancing around the place.

When the rice is done, he’ll start on the curry and then shower after he eats—simply because he doesn’t want to go to sleep smelling like food and it’s a cleanliness thing after living in a hospital in and out since his teens. 

He could unpack, like he said he would on the ride over here. He’s already managed to toss some cutlery and one plate and one glass where he needs it, but that was an immediate need. He could chop off the hospital bracelet that was once hidden underneath his watch, but it’s quite fashionable and also he’s tired.

He could do something productive, but he suddenly finds himself plagued with the lack of motivation so Kuroo lies down in the middle of his empty apartment and finds it the most comfortable place on Earth.

The world is relatively silent besides the fireworks.

That is, it was.

The thing is, Kuroo’s mood, presently, is in the state of absolute numbness. He’s sure nothing can exactly faze him and he’s in the state of mind that should something happen to him at that moment (a stray firecracker crashing through a window and exploding him into tiny bits was a thought that occurred more than once since entering his new place), he would simply say something along the lines of ‘It is what it is.’

Apathy feels like a safety blanket, and he stares blankly at his phone as he scrolls with nothing to do in his life—nothing of true interest. He doesn’t think anything could really peak his interest until there is the sound of a door opening in the hall. The sound of a TV spills in underneath his, and it sounds like some re-run of some kind of holiday movie—the cheap kind promising an easy romance to digest and a horribly clichéd storyline—but it’s contrasted by something much less in the holiday spirit.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up and get out!”

That voice. It’s the neighbour’s voice.

“You can’t just kick me out!”

And he doesn’t recognize that one.

For a moment, Kuroo pauses and looks up, debating on whether or not to get up.

There’s a loud crash, saving him from deciding. 

He shoots to his feet, walking to the door in lengthy strides and settling a hand on the door knob. Swallowing, he rests his ear against the door. The one across the hall opens and he hears something thump against the wall on his side of the hall. 

The beginnings of a man shouting again rise up and Kuroo twists the door knob, prepared to leap out into the hallway, but a cold voice cuts through his haze: “Stay the fuck away from me and leave me alone.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“Well, you’re a big pussy with a small dick, so I guess we can’t win ‘em all,” you say with half a laugh. Kuroo covers his mouth as something else lands on the wall. “So, take your shit and leave me alone.” In cheer poisonous enough to corrode diamonds: “Happy New Year!”

“Bastard.”

“Trip on the way down and make your mother happy,” you reply wryly.

The door doesn’t shut, but a pair of heavy footsteps do pass by his door which makes Kuroo grin to himself, so he opens the door at that moment, poking his head out the door because he can’t resist and he, if rarely, ever kept his mouth shut back in the day. Why not let old habits die hard?

“What’s the ruckus?” he drawls. Two pairs of eyes dart to him—yours with arched eyebrows, the guy in front of his door, looming and with the rage of about a thousand storms harbouring on his face. “You should watch your wrinkles, bud—you’re going to look sixty by thirty-five. That is, if you’re not already.”

Slouching against his doorframe, he observes the man with a skeptical eye. He’s definitely in better shape than Kuroo, but the twenty-two year old can’t find it in himself to care too much, considering it all.

“Don’t pick a fight,” you chastise, but even you can’t help the smile in your tone. Kuroo glances over at you lazily, and smirks. It all feels very natural—again, old habits coming back to him—and your shoulders fall when their eyes meet. You look at the sorry excuse of a man. Kuroo’s eyes never leave your face. “Just go. You’re embarrassing yourself in front of a stranger at this point and that’s just sad.”

“You still have shit at my place.”

“And I’ll go get it. Whatever. Can you go now?” 

The man stares at you for a hard moment, body taut, and Kuroo’s legs tense up because he knows when a guy’s thinking about doing something with his gut, not his brain. Easing against the door, he runs through what he can do if the guy decides to go for you.

“You wouldn’t in front of other people,” you bite out acridly. “Now, move it.”

And, eventually, he does. 

Kuroo’s hackles fall, even you seem to ease a bit, and only a few seconds after the elevator dings does he dare to speak. The air is electric, prickling with his skin, and he takes his chance to give you a scan, making sure you’re not hurt.

“You okay?” he asks. You look at him. You’re breathing a bit heavily, and there’s a very thin layer of sweat coating you as you grin a tiny bit. You look victorious—it’s stunning how perfectly the expression sits on your face. The way your eyes burn, the way your smile reaches every corner of your cheeks, changes even how you stand.

Kuroo only stares until you notice and you chuckle to yourself.

“I just broke up with my boyfriend,” you tell him proudly.

“I’ve gathered that. Do I need to offer heartfelt condolences?”

“Nope.” You cross your arms over your chest. “And I don’t think it would be very heartfelt.”

“You wound me.”

“Ha.” Sarcastically. Then: “Was the curry good?”

“I don’t know yet, but I will in five minutes,” he replies. “At least I don’t have to worry about dinner tonight.”

You smile and disappear back into your apartment, closing the door behind you with a gentle click. Kuroo stands there for a brief moment, still staring at where you’ve left, and his stomach lurches strangely when he turns back into his own empty apartment.

Sitting down on the floor again by his box table, he gives thanks for the food and takes a gulp of water before examining his place. There’s only the one lamp he’s managed to unpack that he’s plugged into the outlet closest to his mattress, giving the entire space a fading yellow, and he sighs as the sound of fireworks pops overhead. 

It’s small, and very lonely.

Sinking the spoon into his rice, Kuroo takes his first bite of food as a citizen of the world once more as music starts humming through the walls separating him from his neighbour across the hall, and he can’t help but smile.

The curry warms his gut.

Besides, he isn’t the only one lonely tonight, and maybe that isn’t so bad.

.

The morning he wakes up at six AM because, even though he is not a morning person, Kuroo can’t help but wake up early.

It’s much quieter in here than the psych ward, and he thinks that’s what wakes him up.

As he went to sleep that night, Kuroo had made a plan of what he wanted to unpack this morning, so when he wakes up, despite how much he wants to go back to sleep, he heads to the bathroom and shoves his body into a bracing shower, running shampoo through his hair and brushing his teeth with enough passion to fuel an ant.

Afterwards, he reminds himself that he’ll be unpacking just one box a day because progress is still progress, so he goes first to the box labelled BEDROOM in big black box letters. The cardboard is a bit rectangular, and mostly holds some of his sports trophies from when he was in high school, medals, a pinboard, and some other knickknacks from over the years. 

Shimmying the board out first, he holds it out as far as he can in front of him, scanning for any fallen bits before heading over to the kitchen counter to add something to it. Fighting a yawn, Kuroo opens the drawers, searching for where he keeps the knives as he sets the board down, hand shuffling clumsily over the metal and causing quite a ruckus on his still-fragile morning ears.

Finally spotting a paring knife (who knows why he doesn’t have a proper place to store his cooking knives but he was once a broke college student; he gets a pass), Kuroo slides the blade carefully underneath the hospital bracelet and yanks with all his might, teeth clenching when it doesn’t give immediately.

“Motherfucker,” he curses. “Who makes these things?”

It strangely doesn’t occur to him to use scissors. It must’ve been a pride thing, he would later reflect—and blame it on—when he did find scissors two boxers later (two days later).

It’s why he walks around his apartment dumbly, sawing off his bracelet to no avail when he comes across something slipped underneath his door and he stops, crouching down to pick it up. The paper is thin, and he can feel the pen marks through it as he unfolds the slip to a scrawl of black ink.

TO THE GUY ACROSS THE HALL:

Coffee if you want it or tea or whatever. Anyway, breakfast on me the next time we meet.

—(Name) AKA neighbour across the hall and if you somehow forgot that then consider the one with the pathetic ex-boyfriend 

Followed by your number scribbled at the bottom.

He laughs to himself, shaking his head as the elevator dings down the hall, and he shoves the note into his pocket quickly like a cat caught with the cream. 

Kuroo waits for a moment, listening for your footsteps before heading outside, popping open the door like he’s just about to leave his apartment himself and you’re jogging down the hall, form silhouetted in track pants and a jacket zipped up against the cold winter wind.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, stopping in his doorframe. You slow down, smiling. Your running shoes have a scuff and melting snow on them, not that he notices too intimately, and you look exhausted as you scan your new neighbour.

“Odd way to start a morning,” you observe, nodding to the knife he’s still got mid-attempt of hacking the bracelet off. He looks down and slides the knife free, heat rushing to his face. It’s embarrassing enough that he lurched himself to the door just to see you but to look homicidal holding a knife like how he is—what is he doing?

You reach forward with a quick questioning look, and he hands you the paring knife and surrenders his arm to you. Your fingers are a bit frigid and your breath is cool as you twist your wrist and easily snap the bracelet off, handing him back both the bracelet and the knife.

His eyebrows shoots up. “How did you even—“

“It’s the angle,” you reply deftly. Something unspoken passes by between them. “You get enough practice, y’know.”

“Third time’s the charm,” he agrees quietly. “You’ve just given me the secret to these things.”

“Well, you learn something new every day.” You don’t ask a single question about what you’ve just done or why you even had to, and Kuroo’s silently grateful for that as they stand there, him in the doorframe of his barren apartment and you standing there, shoulders rising and falling visibly.

“What’s your name?” you ask after a moment.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he answers. “And I already know yours.”

The corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile. “So you got my note.”

“Yeah, I did.” He doesn’t mention it’s hiding spot in his pajama pant pocket. You tap something on your phone and pull out your earbuds. “Why are you up so early?”

“I run when I can’t sleep.”

“That sounds dreadful.”

You pocket your phone and stuff your earbuds in with them, not minding how the wire must tangle. There’s sweat dotting your temple and you’re still panting. You look like you’ve done less of a nice leisurely jog and more like marathon.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you answer, breath still a bit heavy. “No one exactly misses me and I don’t miss anyone either because no one’s awake.”

“Except for me.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. “Evidently.” You rest your hand on the knob of your door and tilt your head. “Two lonely souls, right?”

“Considerably less lonely now,” he agrees. This time, you laugh, and Kuroo thinks it’s one of the few noises on Earth that doesn’t grate his ears so early in the morning. 

Surprising, that.

“I guess you’re right,” you allow. The door pushes open—he glances at your face, you look a bit tired, but your smile is, although slight, very, very bright. “Well…” As if an invitation for him to continue the conversation, but he can’t think of anything except:

“He hasn’t come back, has he?” 

You blink. “No. Not yet.”

“And you’re not taking him back, are you?”

You laugh. “No. Not ever.” With a final amused look at Kuroo, you take the first step into your apartment. It seems very far away despite the diagonal two-and-a-half metres between them. 

“Well, if you ever need anyone to come with you to get your things, my schedule’s suddenly opened up,” he offers. You blink. “If you need anyone, that is.”

“That’s nice of you,” you say while he yells at himself silently for being a stumbling idiot. “I’ll think about it.” A beat. “I’ll probably, er, need your number for that though, wouldn’t I?”

He nods quickly. “Probably.”

You disconnect your phone from your earbuds and hand it to him, unlocked, so he can input his details. Your stare burns his fingertips and he triple-checks to make sure his number is right before sending himself a text.

 “There you go.” He hands the phone back. Their fingers brush again like the night—or morning—before with the curry. This time, his hand is warmer than yours but he finds it doesn’t really matter because heat bursts from where you touch him anyway.

“I’m off to bed, then,” you say. “Text me about that breakfast plan. You made me laugh, so you’re entitled to at least a bagel.”

“One laugh equals one bagel?” he inquires, amused.

“Equivalent exchange.” He barks out a laugh and you grin, pleased. “Good morning, Kuroo-san.”

“Morning.”

You disappear and he heads into his own, stuffing his hand into his pocket and holding onto your slip of paper, his other hand still clutching tight onto the bracelet and the knife. Maybe he should make an actual meal for breakfast, or…

Nah, too much work.

.

(Funeral)

.

Kuroo Ayumi is much like her younger brother—tall, with dark hair, a cunning smile, and a sharp tongue to boot. Six years older, she works as a private legal consultant because that just seems like something she would do. If one asked any of her old peers where they thought she would be five years after highschool, they’d only half-joke about her saving the world.

That’s the kind of presence Kuroo lived with as a kid, and he always scoffed because they never saw Ayumi back up into a trash can and scream murder when someone’s waken her up from a nap.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Three days after Kuroo moved in to his new apartment, his older sister arrives with a crisp knock and he isn’t awake yet which only proves that his sister performs at a level higher than most human beings. 

Still, he lets her in to prevent her from busting the door down, and he lets her hug him even though he’s half-awake and still rubbing his eyes and physical touch is not allowed by most people for a good thirty minutes after he’s regained consciousness.

Family exceptions, and all that.

“Nee-san,” he mutters, patting her back as the embrace lasts for a few seconds too long, “you’re going to break my spine.”

“It’s what you get,” she snaps good-naturedly. “How has the move been? Do you need help with anything?” She pulls back long enough to examine their surroundings. Kuroo notices she’s cut her hair short around her jaw again. It suits her but it also means she had a fight with her girlfriend so he makes a mental note to ask her about it. “Did you put your pinboard up? You know the one.”

Kuroo ignores the last bit and invites her to come in.

“How’d you get buzzed in anyway?” he asks, heading to the kitchen to boil some water. “I didn’t give you the code.”

“Dad gave me the spare fob,” she answers, inviting herself down onto one of the few chairs in his place. “This looks better than I thought it would.”

“Thanks.” He prepares her a cup of tea after a silent ask to which she replied with a nod. “Do you wanna get some breakfast or something? Why are you here?”

“Well, mostly, I wanted to make sure you were alive. Considering it all.”

“Well, I am,” he replies pointedly.

His sister glances around his place again, chin on her hand as she leans forward on her elbow, and he has the distinct urge to cover something up but he isn’t sure what. The electric boiler ticks and he turns to prepare the tea. Ayumi sighs and he steels himself for the inevitable moment where she tries to talk about her feelings and her concerns, and he has to resist the urge to pre-emptively tell her to shut up.

“Otouto,” she begins as he pours the boiling water into the mugs. Immediately, steam rises and he pretends the thought of sticking his face into it is not appealing. “Four weeks…”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Onee-san.”

“You checked yourself in without telling any of us. I just feel like… you could’ve talked to us about how you were feeling more.” Her voice comes slowly, irritated, and he sighs silently to himself. “You didn’t have to go through everything yourself, you know. You could’ve talked to Dad or me, or Kenma! What about Kenma?”

“Kenma knew. How do you think I got there?” he informs stiffly. “And I didn’t want to tell anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” He shrugs, turning around to place a mug in front of her. Ayumi doesn’t even chance it a glance, focusing a pair of tawny eyes on her brother. Kuroo wants to wiggle out of his skin at the intensity. It feels like he’s in trouble. “It was my decision. You guys found out eventually anyway, so I don’t see the big deal. It’s not like I’m dead.”

“Big deal?” she demands. “You’re my brother who checked himself into a hospital. Of course it’s a big deal to me. Do you know how worried Dad was?”

“I was getting help,” he placates. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Tetsurou—“

“I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” He shakes his head and he lifts his cup to his lips as Ayumi opens her mouth. Kuroo sets the cup back down, pinning her with a glare. “Four weeks is four weeks. I was struggling and now I’m not. Is that so hard to understand?” 

“No, but I thought you could talk to me about this kind of stuff,” she presses. “In high school, you used to trust me and now it feels like you don’t even want to talk to me anymore.”

“We’re still family.” Softening, Kuroo looks into his cup. “Ayumi, you have a lot on your plate.”

“I know, but…”

“And I’m more than a lot. I’m, like, at least five plates worth. The self-awareness is actually kind of amazing, when you think about it.”

“Otouto…”

A heavy sigh leaves him.

“Don’t make me say it, Ayumi.” 

It’s as if his words are the prisoners of his chest, clanging against the bars of his ribs as if he could let them out, but he can’t. He’s misplaced the key, and the pain of the rattling inside him is suffocating as he looks at his sister. God, he feels like throwing up.

“You’re not bothering me,” insists the elder. “That’s all in your head, I promise. I just… I know I don’t really understand it all, but I thought we could still talk. It worries me when I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“I know.” Kuroo refrains from saying that it doesn’t feel like he can talk to his sister, and instead sips his tea. Ayumi stares at him, eyes darkening before she does the same, sighing into her mug. Her shoulders fall and a pang of guilt collides with his stomach. 

“New topic,” he suggests after a while. Ayumi watches him doubtfully before agreeing reluctantly. 

The air has shifted. 

Everything seems different, now, and Kuroo curses.

.

(Mess is Mine)

.

He gets a job starting as a lowlife intern at the Volleyball Association and he keeps himself busy, because that’s how recovery works, he thinks. It’s lonely without his old schedule so he has to build himself a new one, and it’s an awful process, but he forces himself to cook breakfast in the mornings, and not drink coffee and instead turn to smoothies because caffeine is a drug and he’s not about to start an addiction he can’t control.

On days he has time, he goes for walks and scopes out the new sports shops, and with his first pay check he can spare, he buys himself a volleyball just to pass the time when he’s stuck in his apartment and doesn’t want to do anything else.

He doesn’t see you, really. He supposes now that it’s nearing February, people’s schedules are starting to pick up again. Besides catching each other in the elevators, there really isn’t much time for him to ask you about that offer for breakfast, or whether or not you got your stuff from your shitty ex’s place. You work at a community centre on the board—probably a manger, but Kuroo can’t remember.

Kenma comes over some times, and Kuroo catches his streams other times, typing into his chat to fuck with him when he’s bored. 

Work picks up.

He takes his meds.

All in all, he feels normal. He feels almost good, but there’s that lingering numbness still haunting his soul, so he wakes up every morning more cautious of his mood, observing the slightest slants of his axis. He stares at his pinboard and drinks water with slices of lemon and cucumber, and he tries to change himself into someone better than who he used to be.

It’s like sloughing off old snake skin. It’s arduous. It’s disgusting. There are days he wants to stop because he doesn’t exactly see the benefits before he keeps going.

Kuroo wishes it went by quicker. 

Before he knows it, it’s February. He idly remembers the Nationals he used to throw himself into, and wonders if they’re the same as they used to be and whether or not he should pick up volleyball again. Go to a community gym. Maybe the one you work at. That’d be funny.

No, it wouldn’t. It would make him feel stalkerish.

The snow has melted into grey slush, and he kicks at the piles of it shoved onto the crub while he waits at the bus stop because he doesn’t have a car just yet. Lips puckered into a quiet whistle, he tilts his chin up at the muddy sky and gets on the bus when it comes, gets off when he’s at his stop, and takes the three-minute walk needed to reach the coffee shop just around the corner of the office.

Routine, as he said.

Until it isn’t.

The thing is, Kuroo isn’t quite aware of what day it is unless he needs to for a deadline. Otherwise, it seems to be a passing detail he doesn’t quite register, so when he goes up to take his coffee, his routine is disjointed in a way he cannot have foreseen. In a way he would later be shocked tossed him up in such a way.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” one of the baristas tell him as she hands him his coffee, batting her eyelashes and smiling bashfully at him. He nearly drops his coffee and looks at the cup where black marker paints the side in the shape of a series of numbers he knows is her phone number. Blinking, his heart drops into his stomach.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he echoes, but there is nothing in his voice, and his mind is blank as he spins around on his heel and walks out the door.

.

The day goes by a blur. Kuroo can’t help the nausea that swirls his stomach until he thinks he visibly pales, a chill capturing him once every few minutes and his head a tight knot that aches whenever he blinks. His boss starts handing out chocolate before announcing they can get home early today, and he fucking books it out of there at first opportunity.

He doesn’t even know why precisely he feels like this. It’s not as if he’s unfamiliar with Valentine’s Day. He used to love it—teasing his teammates about the chocolates they got or didn’t get—the amount of sweets he got himself. Kuroo never really cared about finding a Valentine, considering he’s never really found someone that caught his eye enough that he would put effort into that relationship. Besides, he always had his friends. He would spend all the money he could on chocolates for his team because they were all he needed.

He didn’t know when they disappeared. Even during college, he would still have people around—Kenma always muttered something along the lines of an insult whenever Kuroo snuck chocolate into his bag. 

If he imagines it, he can hear some of them; the way they would call his name, embarrassed or laughing because “Do you have feelings for little ol’ me, Kuroo-san?”

Now, he’s all alone.

He blinks. The bowl in his hands is so scalding hot he lets out a panicked yelp. His hands spring apart, his feet skirting back as the porcelain crashes, whatever he’d been carrying splashing, spreading everywhere. It spreads over his floor so fast it’s overwhelming and he stumbles back. Bits of vegetables slide and he can’t tear his eyes aware from the mess.

His headache splinters into branches of dull pain, spreading further and further into the deepest crevices of his mind. Kuroo stares at the soup as it encroaches on his feet and he only takes another tiny step back—it’s the only thing he can do. His knees lock, and his head spins as he stares at the noodles wasted, the vegetables he had chopped and seasoned only to be scrapped because of his own carelessness.

How could he be so stupid? Wasting perfectly good food because he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening around him. A useless tug in his chest begs him to grab a towel, at least stem the spread, or to even pick up the porcelain shards of his bowl but his palms are still pulsing with heat and he blinks, looking down at them.

His skin is a flaring red, and he tentatively rolls his fingers into fists only for the pain to intensify. The voice in his head is completely silent except for mourning the loss of his dinner and scolding himself viciously.

What the fuck am I doing? he wonders. Why the fuck did I do that?

“Kuroo-san?” a soft voice calls from the other side of the door. He jolts at his name when he hears a knock follow shortly after and he swallows the urge to cry bottling up in his throat, walking around the puddle that has seemed to stop growing. Peering into the peephole, he spots you standing there, glancing around, and his hand comes up to the cool door knob, twisting it open.

“What?” he asks in as flat a tone he can muster. You look up when he opens the door. You’re dressed for a storm.

“Go on a run with me,” you say without preamble. 

Kuroo doesn’t know what to do. There’s spilled noodles on the floor behind him, the smell of it permeating through the entire place, and there’s you standing in front of him, ethereal as ever, and strong, and his mouth goes dry, but you keep your eyes steady on him as you wait for his answer.

At length: “I don’t want to.”

Your lips press into a thin line. “Well, I can’t exactly make you, but… we can clean up later. I’ll help you, but for now… just… come on a run with me.”

The yellow lights of the hallway soften your features until he can only melt into the warmth of your gaze. It’s raining outside. He can hear it splattering against the window panes, and he wonders when that started. Maybe it was always raining. Kuroo can’t remember half his day anyway.

He swallows. “I need to change.”

You nod. “Okay.”

.

There are plastic coverings over the seats of your car. 

That’s the one thought that lingers as you drive Kuroo to an empty park that’s surrounded by a building and bordered by a forest. The playground there is nothing but a dark structure of shadows and you turn off the ignition in the empty parking lot, switching on the light and turning to look at Kuroo who’s been staring out the window for the past twenty minutes it took to get here.

“Are you ready?” you ask.

He stares. “It’s raining.”

“I know. Take your time and come out when you’re ready. Oh, and take the keys with you.” With that, you step out into the rain, leaving the keys in the ignition, the sound of the thundering rain filling the car for a brief moment before you slam the door shut. 

“Wait!” Kuroo’s mouth drops open as he spots you running towards the lamps along the sidewalk, arms spread out and you’re drenched in seconds as you reach the circle of light and fling your head back. Your mouth is open, and it looks like you’re saying something but he can’t make it out, and he scrambles to get out of the car.

What are you thinking? If you stay out here, you’re going to freeze to death. Even if they’re both wearing winter jackets, being wet only makes everything worse, and Kuroo grabs your keys, clambering out of the car and slamming the door shut, sprinting after you. His feet slip against the pavement and he catches himself on the hood of your car, pushing forward.

Screaming your name, he can barely hear his own thoughts as the rain soaks through his skull, blurs his vision with freezing droplets that track down his neck. Jumping the curb, his boots slap against the pavement until he can begin to hear the fringes of your voice, growing louder and louder as he nears.

“… hate him! I hate him! He was such a piece of shit! God, I wasted so much time on him! How could I be so stupid?”

“What are you doing?” he shouts at you, grabbing your hand. Your eyes snap to him, squinting against the rain and he pulls you closer, touching your face. You’re freezing. “You’re going to get a cold!”

“I’m okay!” you insist. You squeeze his hand before taking off down the path, screaming your lungs out. Confusion wracking his body, he follows you without a notion why. Your arms flailing, your body is almost like a rag-doll, dragging itself everywhere without a purpose or care as to how you’re moving as you holler to the heavens, eyes squeezed shut. The noise that pours out of you feels unchained, relentless as you confess everything to the heavy clouds above them.

He can’t help but watch as you drag yourself over to him, grabbing his elbows.

“Kuroo! Scream with me!”

“What?” Straining to hear over the rain, his boots shift in the puddles he’s standing in. Your face is shining in the lamplight, the beginnings of a smile growing. “I don’t get it!”

“Just let it all out!” His arms find your elbows, too, squeezing tightly. It’s all numb except for his heart pounding. “That’s the point of running! You just… scream until you can’t anymore!”

He blinks hard against the bullet rain. “Why?”

“Because why not?”

And, well, he can’t fault that logic.

So he tilts his head back and lets out such a raw shout he can feel it deep in his lungs, deep into his chest and gut, and rain falls into his mouth, cold droplets against his tongue that don’t stop him as you let out a victorious laugh. His voice fades and he lets his gaze drop back down to you, a breathlessness filling his entire body followed by a wave of relief. You’re smiling, and he’s grinning, looking up at the sky and screaming again until his throat is burning. 

Laughter bubbles in his throat, threatening to overtake his voice as he shrieks to the skies, you joining him a moment later and he wraps his arms around you. 

He can feel your voice in his chest, the way he’s sure you can feel his in yours.

Kuroo yells until his lungs physically hurt and he can’t bring himself to scream a moment longer, his head spinning and the rain barely drumming at the edge of  his hearing. Your voice has faded long before his, and your arms are loosely wrapped around his waist, your eyes trained on his chin.

“Kuroo.” His voice sounds like a slap across his cheek, and he blinks, conscience zooming back into his body. All of a sudden, he’s aware of your study and he jerks his head away, blood pooling in his cheeks in a violent blush. “You’re really loud,” you yell over the clap of rain. 

“Says you!”

And then you smile, brilliant and crooked and warm enough he can’t feel the rain on his numb fingers.

“No one sees us here,” you continue. “This is what I meant by going on a run when I can’t sleep!”

“It’s fucking awful!” he insists, but he’s lying even so. His knees are already giving into the push of the rain, and he crumples in on himself, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he’s sure you can’t breathe. The blood rushing everywhere in his body is preventing him from thinking as he falls to his knees, dragging you down with him. Hot tears pour down his face and his mouth, and he doesn’t even know when he started crying.

All he knows is you. The way you shift closer; your fingers digging into his back, your other hand cupping the back of his head as if you’re scared he’s going to slip between the cracks of your hands; the way your rain-slick skin slides against his as their hearts press against one another. His clothes are soggy, soaked through, and he can’t exactly feel his toes, but when your smile curves into your cheek, against his ear, Kuroo can’t bring himself to care.

There are plastic coverings over the seats of your car. 

He gets it now.

.

“You can shower first. I’ll just head into your place, grab some clothes, and clean up the mess, if that’s cool?” you offer as they stand, creating tiny pools of wet underneath their socks. Kuroo looks over at you blankly. The heat of the car had been diffused by the rain on the walk into the apartment because parking is atrocious where they live, but it’s returning in the heat of your place. Humid, the urge to peel his clothes off is so strong that he doesn’t even want to touch himself in fear of that sticky feeling.

He rakes a hand through his hair. 

“Kuroo?”

“What?”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine.” He hands over his keys and moves to the couch. You leave, returning briefly to deposit some clothes and noting that he’s still sitting on the floor by your couch, too nervous to get anything really wet and staring blankly at the wall. 

You crouch beside him.

“Kuroo?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re making a puddle on my floor.”

He looks down. “So I am.”

“Do you want me to help?”

A part of him wants to say no, but he nods and you scoop him up, arms underneath his pits and drag him up until he’s on unsteady feet.

“You’re lighter than you look,” you comment as they make their way to the bathroom, and he rests his head against yours, eyes unexpectedly heavy. It’s like the soul has been sucked out of him. He wants to crawl into a bed and sink into the sheets and wake up with a reason again.

You turn to look at him, and his stomach turns. You smell nice. Like the rain and your shampoo.

“Can you stand?” 

“Probably.”

“Okay, lean against the sink and I’ll start the shower. Or do you want to bath?” He shrugs apathetically. “Alright, well, I don’t have a bathtub, so it was a trick question.” You’re still soaking wet but your hands are warmer than his so when you leave him, he feels it painfully in the crevices of his body. 

The sound of the shower turns on and then you’re by him again.

“You can stand in the shower with your clothes on for all I care,” you tell him, “I’ll be back with new clothes anyway. Just… warm up, alright?” His eyes meet yours dully and you smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then, you’re gone again.

.

Kuroo sits in his clothes on your shower floor for the twenty minutes it takes for you to come back. 

You knock and find him in the shower, and you turn it off before placing his clean clothes on the counter and giving him a warm towel. His mind blank, he goes through the motions of peeling off his clothes, drying his skin as best as he can before slipping into a dark red shirt with a stain down the front and a pair of pyjama pants that have a hole at the knee. His hair drips a bit and he squeezes the moisture out before glancing at the fogged mirror. Wiping at the surface with his towel, he stares at his reflection and he’s startled by his own image.

His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are rimmed red, but he looks mostly himself. He looks a bit tired, the beginnings of black circles blooming on his face from the long night he’s having, but he feels relatively better now that he’s in warm, dry clothes that are comfy with nostalgia. Glancing down, he spots an unopened toothbrush package, and he takes it carefully, peeling it open and looking around for a tube of toothpaste.

He leaves the steamy bathroom ten minutes later to find you leaning over the counter in your kitchen, a plate of something sitting in front of you as you look down at the surface between your arms, and when Kuroo nears, he realizes it’s your phone.

You look up at the sound of his quiet footsteps, and you look exhausted, too. You’ve changed clothes and you scan him before glancing at the food.

“Eat,” you say. “It’s just some leftovers from dinner I made last night. Katsudon. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He sits down, taking the spoon limply. 

As he eats, you ask if he wants anything to drink and he only answers with water before you’re on his order, pouring him a cup and excusing yourself to the bathroom. The rice is only lukewarm, but he supposes you thought he’d come out sooner, so he doesn’t blame you. It tastes extraordinary either way—the pork still crispy and flavourful, the rice not too soggy at all. He’s already touched by every gesture you’ve done tonight, but this must take the cake, and as he fills his stomach, he listens, trying to get a grasp on what you’re doing out of his sight.

When you return, it’s with another fluffy towel.

“Can I dry your hair?” you ask tentatively, holding it up to half-shield your face away from him. He sits upright, eyes widening, and red creeps up his neck when a silence befalls over them. You look down at the fabric spilling over your fingers and you ramble quickly, trying to cover the awkwardness. “When I have a mental break, or when I’m just mentally exhausted, I like people taking care of hygiene for me. Sometimes being held is too much, but I don’t want to be left alone, so… taking off makeup, or washing hair, or just getting some clean clothes. That kinda stuff, you know… uh, I dunno if it’s the same for you. But, it’s what I liked, and I know it’s not the same, but—“

“Yeah, that sounds nice, actually,” he cuts you off warmly, and you snap your mouth shut, eyes meeting his in a flustered panic. Turning back around, he hears you coming near and then there is the softness of the towel against his hair, your fingers massaging his scalp. He pushes his empty bowl away, leaning forward on his arms and just letting you work. You move gently, taking care to dry his ears and carefully rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“So, what’s your story?” you murmur, running through to the tips of his hair. He lets you, lets his head follow the tug of your fingers, lets his head loll. He sips his water as you work, and he ignores how you smell like cotton, now, and the rain, and very warm. Then again, he thinks the smells of petrichor and iron are something he can’t rub out of his own skin, so there it is. “Or am I supposed to believe running in the rain with my neighbour at one AM the day after Valentine’s Day is supposed to be fate?”

Kuroo chuckles into his mug. It sounds empty. “There is no story,” he says as you pull your hands back to inspect if any part of his hair is still outrageously damp. When it’s passed your little inspection, you card your fingers through dark strands and a wave of drowsiness overcomes him. He’s more than exhausted. “No story worth telling anyway.”

“Ah, now, I don’t believe that.” 

But still, you don’t press him. Instead, you continue rubbing his head and you tell him to turn the chair so you can get his bangs, and he listens, the only sound being their breath and the tiny thump of the chair legs against the hardwood floor. You don’t make a noise as you work, but Kuroo looks up at you, at the tender concentration taking over your face. The light has made your edges soft, and there’s the tiniest crinkle of your brow as you rub at his temples. It induces another wave of sleepiness and he groans to himself, propping himself up by his hands in between his legs on the chair.

“Tired?”

“Not remotely,” he says through a yawn.

You laugh, setting down the towel. “Give me one second.” You head towards the fridge, pulling it open. Kuroo takes the chance to look around your place, and he doesn’t realize you peer over the door to watch.

“Welcome to the Cave,” you announce wryly when you notice his gaze lingering on the pile of laundry stacked on a chair that looks like it’s made its own home against the maroon fabric. “Don’t worry. It’s all clean.” You flash him an amused smile and he fights the heat rising to his face.

“I never doubted that,” he replies snippily, sipping on his water to keep himself away. “It’s just very… lived in. That’s not a bad thing.”

You let out a laugh. “Says Mr. Clean himself. Well, I’m either at home or at work. I don’t really do anything else, and I don’t want to do it.” A shrug. “I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“No friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you reply. “Just not people I want to hang out with all the time.” 

Kuroo gets the feeling. And he has a feeling Kenma would like you.

You disappear behind the fridge door again, and Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. Standing, he sets his mug down and walks over to you where you’re standing at the fridge, bending down to grab something. Leaning over the top, he tries to take a peek but you’re reshuffling some stuff in your fridge shelves that he can’t begin to perceive what your beginning goal was.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I was making something for myself, but since you’re here, I thought why not.”

“What is it?”

“Chocolate. I used to make it for that piece of shit all the time and it’s habit now, but chocolate always cheers anyone up,” you inform, moving a tray out of the fridge and showing him. Kuroo stares at the pieces hard enough he’s sure it could melt them if he tried hard enough, and he fights the crimson slowly crawling up his neck and tinging his ears as you continue on, “They have patterns and fillings and everything. I don’t know if you have any allergies, but…” Your voice dies when you catch onto the look on his face, and you realize the meaning behind your offer, letting out a strangled noise and spinning around, slamming the fridge shut. “Oh, my fucking… Ignore me. I forgot… honmei choco, er, is probably a bit strong between strangers.”

You sound ashamed to your bones, and Kuroo blinks, fighting an embarrassed smile that’s creeping up onto his face. 

“I’m flattered, but buy me dinner, first,” he teases. You draw up a board to shake the chocolate onto, and you slam the mould down with a sharp snap so you don’t have to answer.

Kuroo’s brow wrinkles in amusement as you continue to hide your face from him, and he turns back to his mug to give you time to recover. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly offended that you offered—quite the opposite actually—but the tradition had caught him off-guard. 

Look, Kuroo’s not humble enough to say he’s never gotten honmei choco back in the day and he’s not about to lie about it, but something about how casually you had offered had thrown him off, especially after the night they’ve had. You don’t seem to even look at him differently—maybe a bit softer, a bit more carefully—but it’s not pity. 

Kuroo remembers when he was little, there was a kitten who had lost his momma and hid under the steps of his porch. His dad insisted he bring the little guy in until his mom came back for him and he carried him into their house. The kitten was that small to fit into his clumsy palms and he had curled up against Kuroo’s chest even after they got inside.

The warmth that had nestled in his heart feels a lot like the heat of your gaze when you finally turn it back to him.

“Kuroo, I have a favour to ask you,” you begin uncertainly. He blinks, tilting his head. 

“What is it?”

“I’m going to a reception dinner thing at the community centre at the end of April. It’s really nothing big, to be honest, but there’s gonna be some performances and stuff for the beginning of the school year, and dinner, too, so if you wanted to come…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You could come as my plus one and get a bunch of free stuff,” you say. Kuroo’s heart skitters at the way you tilt your head away, lips twisting into a stubborn grimace. “And free food. And, mostly, I want us to hang out more. If that’s okay with you, that is.”

“That’s totally okay with me,” he assures quickly. You look at him in relief. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” you begin tentatively. “That’s dinner taken care of.” You glance at the chocolates on your cutting board. Kuroo looks at them too. There’s a dark one, with red swirls, and he wonders why you’ve poured so much time and effort for someone who’s no longer there anymore. You seem to share the sentiment and pick up one of the pieces, crafted but with no one to enjoy them—not anymore, maybe. “All this and for what?” you mutter. You look at Kuroo, as if you’ve just remembered he’s there. “I have to ask, you know.”

He doesn’t say much more than, “I know.” 

Making his way over to you, he leans in and crosses his arms over his chest to look at the fruits of your labour around your shoulder. They are quite pretty—evidence of years of practice.

Against his better judgement, he takes the dark chocolate with red swirls, examines it under the light of your kitchen.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he says before he puts it in his mouth. Biting down, the shell cracks open to a sweet raspberry purée and his heart wilts against his own better judgement. It tastes good. 

Perfect, really.

He can’t help but think what their lives would’ve been if they’d been given a better chance.

“I thought you were so-so with chocolate,” you say quietly. Their eyes meet, fluttering and tender and enough to make their gazes avert simultaneously like shy children.

“Yours might be the exception.” Kuroo looks at you again gently. You’re already staring back at him. He swallows. “Happy Valentine’s Day, (Name).”

“Happy Valentine’s day, Kuroo.”

.

“You’re buying chocolate,” Kenma observes flatly, not bothering to hide the fact that he assumed they would go back to Kenma’s to game and generally do nothing.

March 14th, the two best friends have resorted to hanging out for the afternoon. Kuroo was off work early, and Kenma had a flexible schedule considering all he had accomplished, which resulted in the present moment: Kuroo standing in a store, nearly filled to the brim with other men trying to get chocolate, inspecting different boxes of chocolate while an irritated Kenma stands beside him, scrolling on his phone.

“What about it?” Kuroo asks distantly, reading over the label of one. It contains different types of chocolate, but the fillings seemed overly creamy. No go. Based on what he’s learned over you over the past month, you have a strong distaste for repetitive flavours.

“It’s March 14th. You know that, right?” Kenma persists. “I thought we would go home. That’s what we normally do.”

“I know, I know, but wait. Huh. This one has fruits in it.”

“Have you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Are you dying?”

“What? No.”

“Care to explain, then?”

“Huh?”

“Kuro.” Sternly. It prompts him to finally look at Kenma, and his best friend arches an eyebrow. “You’re doing that thing again where you just don’t talk. Like when you had a headache and over-focused on plays after games while we were in high school.”

“I’m preoccupied,” he admits. “Sorry. My neighbour gave me chocolate so I just want to return the favour.”

“Your neighbour? The one across the hall?” Kenma had seen you in passing. Kuroo nods. “I see.”

“What?” Kenma doesn’t answer at once, and Kuroo persists. “What is it, Kenma?”

“Nothing.” Kenma glances at the shelves of chocolates, and then picks one off the shelf, reading it aloofly. Kuroo watches him with a slight, worried, frown. “I just think I’d want to meet your neighbour some time.”

“Huh?” His jaw drops open. “Have you hit your head recently? Kenma, you don’t even know my neighbour.”

“That’s the point of meeting new people, Kuro.”

“But, we’re talking actually meeting someone on purpose. You’re saying you want to meet someone new, have lunch, do something for no reason other than bonding?”

“Yes,” affirms the younger, albeit reluctantly. “This neighbour seems to have earned my time for it, however unwilling I am.”

Confused: “Why?”

“Because,” says Kenma, as if that alone holds all the answers, “you’re buying chocolates on March 14th, aren’t you?” He sets the box back on the shelf before casting his disinterested gaze over the other chocolates. “There are boxes of fruit-filled chocolates over there, Kuro.”

Kuroo stares at his best friend for a moment longer before turning to follow where Kenma points, and his heart flops on his stomach as he slowly migrates over. What on earth did Kenma mean? Chocolate is chocolate, and this is just him paying you back, isn’t it?

“Thanks, Kenma,” he says at length, only to be answered by a hum.

.

Kenma goes home after dinner, which leaves Kuroo free to go and bother you. It’s how they get here, in a parking lot with the engine rumbling quietly beneath them.

“What’s this for?” you ask. They’re sitting in your car, sweating from another run, and Kuroo shrugs, holding onto the bag still. You’re sucking down water, the vein in your neck pulsing, and he avoids looking at it which makes him look at your mouth, which makes him uncomfortable so he turns to stare out the window. He rolls it down, and sticks his head out to feel the wind like a dog. “Kuroo, I’m about to decapitate you. Watch out.”

You jolt the window under his arm and he yelps.

“That’s rude,” he says, but he sits back down properly, fanning himself with his shirt. “And I just wanted to buy you something to celebrate today.”

“It’s March 14th.” Deadpan, you arch one incredulous eyebrow. “You’re sending a weird message right now.”

“One month of friendship,” he retorts. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

And you tilt your head, laughing. It fills the whole fucking car. Kuroo’s heard it so many times by now, and he still isn’t sick of the stupid sound. Sometimes, he hears it across the hall, and wonders what you’re laughing about, and he wants to know.

(Most of the time, you text him afterwards and warn him that the video you’re about to send him is ridiculously morbid or terrible or dark and that he shouldn’t laugh, and then two minutes later, there’ll be the sound of a dying hyena AKA Kuroo’s laugh reverberating down the hall outside.)

“You’re funny,” you say, like he wasn’t aware before you said it. He rolls his eyes. You peer into the bag and take out the box of chocolate Kenma helped him pick out. There’s a sticky note slapped to the front, and you peel it off, reading it quickly before folding it up carefully and tucking it into your pocket, a smile ever present on your face but it seems to grow by the minute. “Do you want one?”

“They’re for you.”

“And I decide who I share them with,” you insist. You open the box by undoing the red ribbon with a careful tug, and you look delighted when you read the whole menu before taking the first chocolate. There’s a good twenty, at least. Tons of choice.

Kuroo takes three he really, really wanted, and surrenders the rest to you, except he eats the ones you don’t like even though he doesn’t particularly care about the fillings either. But he chews and swallows ‘em down anyway, because…

Because. 

.

(Dark Red)

.

Kuroo, at times, regrets introducing you to Kenma. It was near inevitable, considering that Kenma is one of the few friends Kuroo has at the moment, but it always feels like he’s at overwhelming odds regarding decisions since, nine times out of ten, you will side with Kenma.

Presently, he inspects himself in the mirror while Kenma and you lay on his couch. You’ve got a glass of orange juice you eloquently poured into a wine glass you brought from your apartment, watching over Kenma’s shoulder as he games.

“Red or blue?” Kuroo asks, pressing the two dress shirts to his chest. You look up, taking a sip before tilting your head. In the mirror, he sees your face twist in scrutiny. Draining the rest of the juice, you get up and head over to Kuroo, peering over his shoulder and smiling.

“Red,” you say. Kuroo tilts his head to look st you—you smell good. “With the black tie you said you wanted to wear. I think that would be deadly.”

“I thought this was a casual thing,” Kenma inserts. In tandem, the two standing look over at their gaming friend, and you quirk an eyebrow.

“It’s not casual to the point where we can show up in sweats,” you point out.

“God, Kenma, have some class.”

“I mean, seriously.”

“I know right.”

“Just ridiculous.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Kenma snipes and Kuroo cracks a smile as you turn back to face him. 

You wink before glancing at his reflection again with a scrutiny not there before. “It’s still a dinner, you know, and there are special guests coming besides the kids performing. Like dancers or something.”

“Red, then?” Kuroo checks. You nod and he heads to change. Without preamble, you follow after him with a quick excuse to Kenma, your socked feet making tiny sounds against the wood floor. He glances over his shoulder. “Is makeup required?”

“If you want some sparkles, I could arrange something,” you tease, though Kuroo knows if he wanted it, you’d do it without hesitation. It’s something he’s noticed about you over the months he’s gotten to know you—you don’t like making genuine statements and rather hide them behind jokes, sarcastic quips. Kuroo finds it pointless. Your heart has always been in plain view, in his opinion.

“Maybe another time,” promises Kuroo, and you nod as they enter his bedroom. It’s nothing more than a bed and a desk, a nightstand, and there isn’t really a door, so Kuroo has arranged a drawer as a weird partition to which he can walk around to change pants. As for shirts—well, he’s not exactly shy. 

You climb onto his bed as you do, rolling onto your back to give him privacy while he pulls his shirt on, looking at himself in his floor-length mirror. In the background, he can see you, and you’re staring at the ceiling like you do sometimes after they run, quiet and fingers laced over your stomach.

He buttons himself up quietly, tucking his shirt into his pants before working on the tie, and he mostly worries himself to death over what will happen tonight, like he has been for the past three days. His anxiety is only curbed by the fact that you and him are going together, and you’ve already confessed you’ll be sticking by his side like glue (if that was okay with him, which it completely was).

“Any idea who these special guests are?” Kuroo asks, glancing over to you just to make conversation. He tightens up the black silk around his throat and turns to you, holding out his arms. “How do I look?” You sit up, twisting to inspect him and he turns to get his jacket before heading over, perching on the bed.

Thoughtfully, you get up for his bathroom and return with a tube in hand. “I’m not sure about the exact details,” you answer, “but I know the organizations they’re coming from. Just, like, sponsors and alumni of programs from the centre coming to speak and perform for the parents. I think there might be some talent scouts, too.”

“Looking for a change in profession?”

“Very funny, but not right now, I don’t think.” You open the tube and squeeze the contents into your palm, spreading it over your hands before gesturing for him to lean in closer. When he does, you begin to rake your hands through his hair, gelling it all back and out of his eyes in crisp strokes. He watches as you work, the feeling of your fingers in his hair making his eyes flutter shut. “Hmm…”

“What?” His brow wrinkles and he turns his head but you nudge him back with the heels of your palms. “Ow.”

“That didn’t hurt.” They continue on in silence. Kuroo slouches over, letting you mess with his hair. He knows it’s mostly to calm your nerves, rather than to make him look presentable, and he sniffs to himself as you brush your fingers over the tips of his stiff locks. “Kuroo.”

“Mhm?” He opens his eyes when you don’t answer at once. Peering at you curiously, his eyebrows twitch together. You regard him for a moment, withdrawing your hands, and then you lower your gaze to your palms. Your thumb traces the line of your palm absently, and by the wrinkle of your brow, you look troubled. He half-debates pressing you for answers and his mouth forms your name before you cut him off.

“Never mind,” you say, and get up. The heat of your fingers lingers pleasantly down his temples, and he looks up at you curiously, bemused as to what you had on your mind. “A part of me just doesn’t want to go.” You sigh. “Would it be so awful if we didn’t go and skipped to a fast food place and just gorged ourselves?”

Kuroo fights the smile on his face. “Maybe a bit. We should go, though. That’s the whole reason you invited me, right? So you weren’t alone?”

“I know. It’s just, no one would miss me there, and there’s going to be strangers, and ugh. The whole thing’s making me nervous out of my head,” you admit. Getting up, he walks over to you, unsure of whether or not he should reach out to touch you. You’re still tapping on your palm where it must feel just a bit tacky,

“Then we’ll both be anxious together,” he says. Arching an eyebrow, he lifts his hand limply and you give him the slightest nod. He pats your head, and your shoulders seem to fall a bit. “We’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

You laugh uneasily. Kuroo can’t help but feel that worry bubble in his own chest, and he wishes you would tell him it’ll be okay, too, but considering how you won’t even look at him on the drive over, knuckles clenched so hard he’s sure the bones will pierce the skin, he doesn’t bother to ask.

.

How opulent can a community centre be? Clearly, he had underestimated the efforts of someone passionate about a project, because as they enter the events hall, it’s elaborately decorated with pink and white and blue, colours of spring that soothe any eye strains he might’ve had. The lighting is pale, allowing enough lighting for children to see where they’re going, and there are a lot of them, all impatiently wriggling around in their seats or walking around. The parents, too, are conglomerating, and Kuroo’s thankful that no one turns to look at them when they enter.

Someone calls your name, and you’re pulled away immediately from him, but you grab the crook of his elbow, dragging him after you so they don’t get lost, and he chases after you, relieved that he isn’t standing around like an idiot.

The air smells faintly of some kind of meat roast, and the sound of live music is just overwhelmed by the sheer amount of human conversation that rumbles through the whole hall. It surrounds Kuroo, and he can barely sort out his own thoughts as you finally halt by the stage. Whoever you’re talking to is speaking a bunch of jargon he can’t understand, and he looks around. 

He needs some water or juice or something. 

“Oh, shit, do you want to grab a drink or anything?” Your voice catches his attention immediately and he turns back to you. A concerned look comes across your face and he smiles, tilting his head. “I can get you something real quick. I’m sorry, some stuff needs to be re-arranged last minute, and I—“

“Hey, it’s all good. I can wait,” he assures. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

And so he stays.

They manage to make their way towards where there are some light snacks that will sustain any guests until dinner which should be scheduled an hour-and-fifteen from now, so Kuroo doesn’t positively pass out as you look around for some drinks. Despite it being a kid-friendly event, there are some flutes of light alcohol, but you noticeably avoid those in favour for some punch.

You hand him some in a paper cup, and they clink cups. You look a bit tired already, and Kuroo makes a mental note to suggest leaving as soon as dinner comes up.

“Cheers,” he says aloud, “to dinner.”

“Cheers,” you echo, and you sidle in a bit closer to avoid blocking other people.

.

It gets shitty around hour two. 

Kuroo is an observant person, so he knows, the instant your fingers tighten on your dessert fork, that you want to fling it at whoever’s just come into the room. There’s a whole lineup, and Kuroo glances at the itinerary that’s been posted at every table. The schedule had also been handed out, so he’s got a rough idea of the night.

Speakers for a dance program are up next, but it’ll be another five or so minutes for the designated speaker to finish at the moment. Still, you tilt your head to him and, behind a horrid smile, manage to catch his attention. You look stressed out of your mind, the frantic glint in your eyes warning him not to ask questions at this exact moment.

Not until they’re out of here.

“Can you make something up?” you whisper through gritted teeth as the speaker announces that they’ll now be playing their video that represents what the charity organization does as well as the events they’re planning for the year, and he glances around. Desserts have just been served, but you look like you’ve lost your appetite. “I think we should go.”

He knows better than to argue. Besides, he’s made too many polite conversations to not be completely drained.

“Yeah. Give me one second.” Pretending like his phone has buzzed, he grabs his pocket and pulls it out, jolting out of his seat and heading out of the hall. The air is stuffy, humid with dance sweat. Bypassing tables, he can feel eyes linger on his body and he shakes himself, mind running for excuses to pull them both out of a night that’s felt longer than it’s been.

As soon as he breaks free, a gust of air-conditioned air sweeps in and cools down the sweat that’s beginning to pool at the nape of his neck. Running a hand through his gel-crisp hair, he looks at his phone, flicking through some texts and turning around to look through the doors. The whole hall is so dark, but he can still pick you out at their table as you lean over to talk to your assistant. 

Muttering to himself, he darts out of the way to avoid anyone’s notice when Kenma’s name pops up at the top of his phone.

[KENMA] 8:32 PM

hows it going

[KURO] 8:32 PM

give me a reason to leave

KENMA ANSWER ME RN

its not even for me its for (name)

[KENMA] 8:34 PM

lol

say i died 

[KURO] 8:35 PM

you only replied when I mentioned them wtf

[KENMA] 8:35 PM

im streaming

just started an ad break

[KURO] 8:35 PM

-_-

youre very lucky this is a mutual interest

[KENMA] 8:37 PM

we literally agreed we’re allowed to say each other are in the hospital as an excuse to leave things we dont want to be at

why did i have to remind you

also tell them i say hi

[KURO] 8:38 PM

whatever KYANMA

get me boba tmr seenzone me if u agree to these terms Seen 8:38 PM

Snorting, Kuroo pockets his phone and rubs his cheeks with his fingers. He’s not cut up about dinner, so he’s all for leaving now that he’s realized how fucking hot it is in there. Throwing in a quick search on different common illnesses, Kuroo picks the first one in the list that seems believable enough to be sudden and tightens his grip on his phone, rushing back towards the table with an air of put-on urgency.

Gently laying a hand on your shoulder, he leans down.

“Hey, Kenma’s got his results back. It’s appendicitis,” Kuroo whispers loud enough that the person sitting closest to them, your assistant, can hear and you set down your napkin, eyes widening as he tugs on your arm to get up.

“Are you sure?” 

Moving to stand, you try to make as little noise as possible while Kuroo grabs your jacket, taking gentle hold of your hand and nodding. “He needs us to drive him to the hospital before it gets worse.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. Uh.” You look to your assistant who’s already urging you to go. Squeezing Kuroo’s hand, you sigh. “I’m sorry, Yuki. I have to go. Emergency—“

“No, no, go,” she whispers. “It’s near the end of the night anyway. You won’t miss anything important.”

“Thank you.” Kuroo tugs on your hand for emphasis and you shoot him a look. Turning your stare over the rest of your table, you dip your head. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, everyone. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Without much further ado, you and Kuroo walk as quickly as they can into the freedom of the hallway outside the events hall without looking like they don’t want to be there and he swears he can feel your hand tighten on him as he clutches onto your jacket tighter.

No one speaks until they break into true free air, and you’re still so close to him, despite the endless space around them, that Kuroo’s heart is pounding. The air is crisp and clear, the whole path illuminated by two street lamps on either side of the walkway to the building. It’s not raining, luckily, but the clouds are obscuring the moon, and Kuroo eyes them warily before a tug on his arm gets his attention.

“Thank you,” you breathe, squeezing his hand and looking at him in wonder. “You are… so… great.” Your voice fades. He hands you your jacket and you clear your throat. “Thanks.”

“Ah, no need,” The corner of his mouth pulls up. You look conflicted and he’s sure he knows the exact thing that plagues him plagues you then as you busy yourself putting on the aforementioned jacket. “You wanna talk about why you got the jitters just now?”

You sigh. “Maybe later. When we get back, and—“

The door behind them opens.

There’s a serene call of your name, and Kuroo’s eyes dart to the source to reveal one of the speakers for the dance program. She smiles and steps closer, the click of her heels like crashing icicles. If Kuroo holds his breath, he can hear the tiny shards scatter over the pavement—either it’s that, or the prickling needle of dread melting into his gut. 

You turn to him, face falling. “I’m so sorry, Kuroo.” “Huh? What for?” 

You can’t answer. The woman stops in front of them with a slight, taunting smile. “Are you avoiding me, dear?”

Your shoulders roll back. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Because I know the truth about you, and if I told everyone their kids would be under the control of a junkie, you’d probably lose business.” The needle of dread inside him explodes into a million bits and Kuroo searches for a way out, the words not quite digging into his psyche. You tense up beside him. “Wouldn’t that be awful?”

“You’d lose business, too.”

“You’d lose your job. Besides, I’d gain credibility because I revealed a potential danger to their precious children. Then, I’d gain your patrons. Win-win, am I right?”

“Sure. Whatever. Look, I don’t want to pick a fight with you. I wasn’t even aware you worked for that dance company or I wouldn’t have come at all.”

“Well, we are all full of surprises tonight, aren’t we?” The woman smiles. You bristle. The walk to the parking lot is five minutes away and Kuroo debates grabbing you and running. “Who’s the boytoy? You’ve looked cozy all evening.” A sharp, bitter laugh. 

“What do you want, Hana?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years and I wanted to catch up.”

Your lip curls. “Can’t say I feel the same way.”

“Oh, why not? We can go over those happy little years with your new friend, here. I mean, does he know what you did during senior year? Or what about second year? We should start small, right. Build up to the fun bits. I mean, we heard some of ‘em all the way in our universities—it should’ve made headlines! The first one was something like high school student sets trash can on fire, emphasis on the high, of course—“

Kuroo snaps back into the conversation at that moment, and his gaze fixes on the woman across from you. She looks like, to put it plainly, a knife dipped in molasses: elegant, and cold, and nothing has been done to ease the scores that blade would put to flesh.

Or a raging bitch. 

Whatever floats your boat.

Your jaw clenches.

“I wasn’t high. I was drunk,” you correct coolly. “That’s how I started the fire. And that was years ago. I am sober, now, actually. I have been sober for three years. I don’t need you airing out every fucking mistake I’ve ever made in my friend’s face. That isn’t who I am, anymore, and it is not my responsibility to convince you of that.” A heavy exhale. “Just go back inside. We’re leaving, anyway.”

The woman’s face twists into something viciously haughty, and Kuroo sees something in your eyes shatter. You look inconsolably small as your old schoolmate takes a step forward, arms crossed over her chest. “So, the little kouhai who was caught fucking their senpai in a broom closet isn’t you anymore? Strange, considering the guy you decided to bring with you. Looks a lot like him, doesn’t he—“

“Haru-san is the one who cheated on you,” you lash out. “No one even knew you were dating, much less me.”

She leans forward, shoving her face into yours condescendingly. “—the hair, the eyes, and that smile, my, that smile is just dangerous.”

“What is your problem with me? Can you stop it or do you just have nothing better to do?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know, does he?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

“Hey, lover boy.” She snaps her fingers, and Kuroo’s gaze darts to hers. Arching an eyebrow, he waits impatiently. A fire licks at his ribs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches your face slacken with dread. Your gaze turns on him, but he doesn’t back down from this bitch in front of him. “You look just like this guy your little friend here used to screw behind my back. We were best friends, once, you know, and they made me into a laughing stock, so you should probably keep one eye open tonight.”

With a satisfied grin, she swings her gaze to you again.

“They’ll probably rob you blind just for another chance to forget this even happened, all huddled up in some alley-way or whatever, and then ruin your life.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You cock your arm back, your palm flashing through the air.

”Thanks for the tip,” Kuroo interrupts venomously, grabbing your wrist before you can make contact and pulling you behind him. Eyes widening, you wrench yourself out of his grasp. You leave a score on the back of his hand—white lines that burn for only a moment, “but I won’t be needing it.”

The woman, Hana, smiles saccharinely at you. There are knives hidden in that smile. “Oh, you’ve got another one. Good job, dear. Just how do you do it.”

Jaw set, the fire inside Kuroo scorches his lungs. 

“The person I know and the person you are referring to are two different people, so I don’t know why you’re still speaking to us.” He scoffs. “Honestly, who the fuck cares if their past is fucked up if they’ve atoned for what they’ve done and grown past it? Grow the fuck up and do some soul searching, you fucking bitch.” He takes a step forward, but, this time, your hand wraps around his wrist. 

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up and Kuroo notes that she has a remarkably punchable face.

“Kuroo,” you insist quietly, disrupting his observations. “It won’t matter. Whatever you say won’t sink in.” Glancing at you, his eyes widen when you step past him, eyes rimmed with tears that refract the streetlight. “For some reason, I’ll be stuck in your head as the one who couldn’t get anything right, the butt of every joke, the laughing stock, the loser who wouldn’t amount to anything, the kouhai with no future, your little charity case. The asshole who ruined your life.” A soft sniff. Your voice is shaking but you resolutely ignore it. “And for some reason, I still care about what you have to say about me. I trusted you and all you ever did was treat me like nothing until I did something that affected you personally.” 

Your voice cracks, the raw pain seeping in beween your words. “You saw what was happening to me. What my parents did, or what they didn’t, and you never did anything. How dare you call me your best friend? I was never your friend. I was your lackey, and I was someone you blackmailed, and I was the one who screwed your boyfriend in a fucking broom closet while I was high, but I wasn’t the only one who made that choice, so why don’t you just go back inside, and leave me alone, because I… I fucking quit!”

With that, you grab Kuroo’s hand and veer a hard left, towards the parking lot and towards your car, and the air doesn’t feel so cold anymore. It is charged with your fury, and as you try to grab the keys from your bag, rooting around through your tears, Kuroo lets go of your hand, keeping pace with you until they’re out of sight from that vicious harpy before he’s jogging ahead, planting himself in front of you.

“Give me your keys,” he orders quietly but you ignore him, the frantic noise of you rattling through your bag filling the quiet. Your breath catches, shuddering as you try to hold in your tears but he gently takes hold of your arms. “Give me your keys,” he insists. “You can’t drive home like this.”

You thrash out of his grasp, eyes razor cold. “You don’t know what I can and can’t do!” 

“You’re right, you’re right.” Softly, he tilts your head to the light so he can see you better and you jerk your face away. Your lower lip wobbles as you pull yourself out of his grip. Somewhere deep inside him, a chisel digs and splits him in two. “But I want to drive you home, okay?” 

Your name slips through his lips like a prayer. 

Kuroo wishes you would just look at him. He thinks he knows how his sister feels every time he closes up.

“(Name)?” he tries. “Would you please look at me?”

“No,” you reply stubbornly through your tears, and even then, Kuroo still smiles. He swipes away a few tears, and he cocks forward, forcing himself into your vision. Your vicious searching through your bag has stalled, and your eyes are dark as you fix that wretched stare of yours on his. 

“You were right,” he murmurs. “We shouldn’t have gone.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you agree bitterly. You’re still crying. You wipe at your face angrily with the heel of your hand and try to hide your face from him. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is all fucked up. I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

“It’s not your fault…”

“Stop it, Kuroo.” Your voice is raw with your attempts at stifling tears. With a deep, shuddering breath: “I’m fine. I can drive.”

“I want to drive,” he presses. “Besides, the only thing that can make this night worse is paying a hospital bill.” With a meaningful look, he holds out a hand and you withdraw your car keys, allowing him to snatch them free and bring you to the car. He helps you into your passenger seat before skirting around to his side, and it’s not long before the silence in their small compartment is overwhelming. 

There’s not much to say in the wake of ugly secrets being shoved under a spotlight. Kuroo’s never been privy to your life before you met him, nor has he ever bothered to ask. It’s never been his business, and he knows what it’s like to have strangers pry into something he’d rather keep secret, so he always treated his friends the same way. But now, in the car with no radio, no laughter, and more tears than he had wanted for the night, he doesn’t know what to do.

You’re still crying, that much is clear whenever he looks at you at red lights and through other chanced glimpses. You’re not looking at him—either forward or out the window—and you’re doing a stellar job at trying not to hiccup or let out a soft sob, but it doesn’t escape his notice.

How can it? There’s barely a foot between them.

Kuroo doesn’t know what to do so he stays silent. When he finally turns off the ignition in their building’s parkade, and they’re safe away from anyone who could possibly see them, you hunch over yourself, forehead nearly to the dashboard, and burst out sobbing while he stays silent. When he gets out of the car and walks over to your side, he stays silent. 

He settles a hand on your shoulder, reaches forward to unclasp your seatbelt, and gently helps you out of your car before making sure the doors are locked. Then, he guides you to the elevator where he jabs their floor level with his thumb and keeps you next to him. He doesn’t exactly touch you—mostly because he’s still uncertain whether or not you want to be approached at all—

You fall silent, shoulders still shivering with your inhales.

“This is shit,” he says after a while. The elevator is a slow-moving thing—it jolts when it starts, and the buttons make a long high-pitched whine when they’re pressed—and he watches the numbers turn from one to the next loftily. “I know that. That’s probably the only thing I really understand about this situation. I wish I knew what to say that would take this pain away. The spiral you’re probably going on—the memories rushing back at you. I only understand a sliver of that. What it feels like mostly.”

He angles his head towards you and offers a sardonic smile. “When I was in high school, I started racking up a hospital record, if you get what I mean.” You raise your chin, eyes widening slightly, but he only shakes his head. Even crying, you are the most enchanting being he’s ever seen.

Wait…

“I have a pinboard in my place, and on it are all the hospital bands I’ve ever worn pinned there. It’s a reminder of where I don’t want to go to anymore, and how many times I’ve failed; how many times I’ve managed to get back up with the help of others.” His voice lowers to raspy, rumbling tones. “Look, I don’t think I need to tell you anything about being numb, but I see where it ends. Trust me, it’s not something you want to see so soon.”

The elevator doors begin to part after a startling ding. Your eyes are still on his face and his are on your tears resting in the crook of your lips. He slants his body to swipe a few off with his thumb and when the pad brushes your mouth, something electric shoots up his arm.

“You were right when you said you aren’t that person anymore,” he whispers, “because you are kind, and beautiful, and intelligent, and you are so fucking funny that I can’t breathe sometimes. But it’s not about what you can give to other people, it’s about what you are to yourself, and you are a human being with strong lungs and a fucking healthy heart and a brain controlling it all, and, personally, I think that’s enough, yeah?”

Kuroo waits for your answer. He half-expects not to receive one.

Your lower lip trembles and your face crumbles. You pitch forward, forehead crashing into his shoulder and he turns to catch you, hand against the back of your head, the other around your waist. Your arms shoot around him, clutching onto the back of his shirt, and he inhales—you, the stale air of the elevator, the remnants of the rain. It’s a wreath around his neck, the heat of you seeping into him like waves of magma sinking deep into his bones, and suddenly his heart is everywhere at once; in his head, his feet, his chest.

And distantly, a thought in his brain fires off into the night—a gunshot into the ocean.

.

(If I’m Being Honest)

.

You had wanted to go straight to bed. Kuroo manages to convince you to at least change into a pair of comfier clothes, which you do, before lying back down. You haven’t stopped crying, but you’ve stopped sobbing, and in his mind, there is a difference. He had given you a mint, left briefly to change and brush his teeth before returning to your apartment, letting himself in with some more blankets and pillows.

Kuroo dumps them on the couch before he ambles over to the bed room. You are where he left you, but you’ve curled onto your side, and you look pitifully small. His chest feels like it’s been pried open at the sight.

He slides down next to you, wondering if you’ll go to sleep. He knows he’ll stay here for the night.

It’s very quiet, and the couch may not be comfortable, but he would sleep in snow in nothing if it meant you were recovering.

“Do you want me to stay?”

He turns on his side to look at you. You’re staring up at the ceiling, tears slowly dripping down your face as you lay there, breathing, unblinking. Your makeup is running a bit and he gently stretches forward to wipe the tears away with his thumb again. Humming, he noses closer until he is barely touching your shoulder and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against the side of your head. 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

You awaken at his voice, and you look at him, eyes fluttering. Your expression is mostly blank, but it softens upon meeting his gaze and he brushes the new stray tears away.

“You look at me differently, now,” you whisper. Your voice is barely a murmur, and you sound heartbroken. He cups your face and your eyes slide shut as he leans forward to kiss your forehead. 

“How?” he prompts gently.

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to leave this bed again.” 

A part of Kuroo’s heart chips off.

Without another thought, he immediately opens his arms to you. You come to him willingly, moulding your body to his, and he covers you as much as he can, shielding you away from the world for a moment. Hiking a leg over your thigh, he rests his chin atop your head and tucks you under his arm.

“I’m here,” he says as your arm slithers around his waist. “Go to sleep. I’m here.”

“Kuroo,” comes your weak voice. He shushes you quietly, rubbing your back.

“It’s okay.”

“B-but my makeup. I have to take it off. I have to—“

“Sh… relax.” He takes you carefully and pulls you back, and you sniff, blinking at him blearily. “I’ll take off your makeup for you.” Black tears cascade to the pillow but he catches them with his thumb before they can make contact. “Stay right here. Okay?”

“Okay.” He props himself up on his elbow, turning your head with a gentle prompt of his fingers on your chin and pressing his nose against your head. Eyes closing, he brushes his lips over your skin, letting his mouth linger at your brow before he moves to sit. 

Getting up, he meanders over to your bathroom and roots around a bit before finding what he needs. He’s been around his sister long enough to know the proper order of things and he returns, climbing up with his cotton pads and his bottles of remover.

“Lift your head. It’s time for a spa session,” he announces quietly, and you open your eyes sleepily. Kuroo settles your head in his lap, shaking the bottle and he smiles down at you. “Close your eyes. I’ve got it from here.”

Careful swipes. The sound of the remover bubbling. With tender movements, he dismantles bit by bit the artwork you’ve created. He strips each layer carefully, making sure he doesn’t miss an inch, a spot, a crumb of makeup that might make you uncomfortable. All the while, you try to even out your breathing, and Kuroo speaks to you lowly, hoping to soothe you into a full sleep.

When he finishes, he places your head back down to the pillow, scooting out from underneath you to clean up your nightstand. He tosses the used cotton pads away, returns the bottles where he thinks he found them, and sits on your bedside, leaning over to hold your face. Thumbs under your eyes, he sighs as he looks at your now-cleaned up face.

“You feeling better?” he asks.

“I’m just tired,” you answer. 

“What can I do?”

You shrug insipidly and roll onto your side, out of his hands and towards the center of the bed. Your knees bend and you sneak yourself underneath the covers, so Kuroo gets up to help you in your efforts. It’s not long before he’s under your loose covers with you, and they stare at each other for a long time. Every once in a while, a new tear will slip down your face, down across your other eyebrow and into the pillow, and Kuroo smears off the trail of each one, stroking the apple of your cheek quietly.

“We’re both really fucking messy, huh,” he observes, just above a whisper, and barely below a murmur. The corner of your lip twitches. He shifts closer. The beginnings of his fringe tickle your brow. “Isn’t that something.”

Their bodies are nearly touching. Your hands are just underneath your chin, and Kuroo’s hand leaves your face for a moment to rest on your knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” you finally tell him in the same undertone as he had used and you won’t even look at him now. “I never meant for this to happen.” Your fingers atop of his. “I just… wanted…”

“I know.” Their eyebrows are nearly touching. They’re so close Kuroo can see the dark specks in your irises, despite how dim it is in your room. Only the lamp on your bedside behind Kuroo is on, yet he still notices every intimate detail of you like you’re a portrait he’s painted himself. Your breath smells minty. He knows it’s no replacement for brushing your teeth, but he thought it must feel cleaner somehow.

That’s what you like, right? When you’re like this—to be taken care of, but not coddled. 

He smiles a bit and raises his head, angling it just so while he moves his arm just enough that his elbow can support him. His fingers slip between yours before lifting to brush over your temple again and settling finally on top of your head.

You roll a bit to respond to the shift of his body, half resting on your shoulder blade but not really, and Kuroo’s eyelids droop a bit as their breaths mingled and he suddenly becomes hyperaware of the sound of your breath—the contraction and inflation of your lungs in tandem with his—and the light is gentle and warm and gauzy. Everything seems like it’s been doused in honey. His movements are slow, but full of reason, and when he dips his head towards you, there is that half-moment where he wonders if he’s taking advantage of you.

And where on earth these impulses are even coming from.

You tilt your head perfectly to him, and your eyes are half-mast and heavy, too, but he stops, face screwing up.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers. “You’re thrown for a loop and tired, and I can’t. I’d feel manipulative if I just—“

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since you bought me chocolates,” you breathe. “Don’t let tears stop you now.”

“That’s really awful of you to say.” He ponders for a moment. “Awful-sounding, at least.”

“Well, according to Hana, I’m an awful person.” Your voice twinges and you smile at him painfully, eyes glassy. “So, just do it anyway.” Kuroo thinks his heart might lurch out of his chest when your voice lowers dangerously on your next word. It’s barely a breath, barely a sigh. “Please…”

And when Kuroo kisses you, it is with his heart thundering when his lips press against a pair of soft, swollen ones. You’re so warm, pliant beneath his hands, yet you kiss him back with a strength he can’t account for. It stirs something inside him, and then he is pulling back like he was stung by your mouth because his mind’s voices are going about a thousand words per minute and he just kissed you, what the fuck is happening tonight—

His fingers clench the pillow as his other fists the blanket tight to prevent himself from grabbing you, but then your fingers are touching his face and he realizes you’re watching his reaction. Their lips keep touching by accident, and it’s how he realizes he’s basically hovering over you, casting a shadow over your features as you suck in a soft breath.

“Kuroo…” you whisper.

“You’re okay,” he promises. Your expression is still in shatters he hasn’t quite managed to stick back together and his heart feels like a stone in his chest as their noses brush. The air is thick with heat as lips snag again, and his lungs hitch when you tilt your head against his face. Your brow presses against his, eyes squeezed shut, and he swallows, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your mouth twitches into a watery frown and he sighs to himself, flinging his arms around you and lifting his chin. “Alright. C’mere. C’mon. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

He can feel your heart sprinting underneath his palm. His mouth still tingles with the taste of mint, and besides the thousand other thoughts bouncing off the walls of his skull, there is only one other he can manage to pick out among the throng.

He needs to call his dad.

.

It takes about fifteen minutes before you truly fall asleep and when you do, it’s a very deep sleep. You slip out of his grasp easy, and you look so comfortable wrapped up in your blanket, Kuroo cannot help but stall for a moment to soak you in. Your face wrinkles a bit because of whatever you’re dreaming about, but otherwise, you look at peace. Pulling the blankets up higher, he sighs softly to himself before scooting to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs off.

Kuroo takes his phone from the nightstand where it’d been charging to text his father.

As soon as he gets the go ahead, he hits dial.

“Bit early for a coffee run, son.”

“Not what I wanted to talk about. I just… I never mean it when I kiss anyone, Dad,” Kuroo hears himself say, right off the bat. No beating around the bush today, he guesses. You’re curled up around the spot his body had left, and he lowers his voice immeasurably. He half-wonders how his father can still hear him, but chalks it up to paternity. That, and Kuroo feels the urge to let it out, even if it’s needle-thin. “I don’t know if I feel bad about it, but remember when I had a girlfriend for like two weeks in my first year of high school, and then we broke up.”

“You weren’t exactly heartbroken about it.”

“I wasn’t,” Kuroo agrees. “But I kissed someone tonight.”

His father laughs. It’s a good laugh—it makes Kuroo feel better and it doesn’t matter why or how so much as it happens. “Good for you, son.”

“Yeah, and it felt really weird and warm and my stomach is in knots, and Dad, I know you’re happy with me not really marrying anyone. We had the Big Talk—“

“Trademarked, copyrighted, all under the Kuroo Tetsurou name.”

He continues as if his father does not speak. “—and I know you’re happy as long as I’m happy, but I don’t know what it is and it’s freaking me out, and I just really care about what this person thinks, and I have no idea what that kiss meant, because maybe it means something different to me, but I don’t want (Name) to hate me, you know?” Kuroo follows that quickly with: “My neighbour, that is. (Name) is, uh, the name of my neighbour.”

“Your neighbour?” his dad laughs again. “Never took you for a cliché guy, son.”

“Dad.”

“I mean, really. How terrible are you feeling that you have to call your father about whether or not this is normal? The upset stomach, the rapid heartbeat. You care about what this person thinks because you care about them as a person. You care about what they think about you because you want them to like you, and maybe, you want to see a future with them.” There’s a soft sound behind Kuroo, and he turns around to see you rolling onto your stomach, your hands shoved up underneath a pillow and he smiles despite himself, reaching forward to rub your shoulder. You turn your chin into his knuckles, the wrinkle on your brow lessening, and a moment later, your eyes are cracking open, squinting against the light of the lamp.

“Kuroo? Why are you still awake?” you murmur, trying to push yourself up but he immediately reaches out, keeping you still. “What’s going on?”

“You were sleeping,” he answers. “Did I wake you?” You shake your head. “Good. Go back to sleep. I was just on the phone but I’ll be right back, okay?” Your eyes slowly open wider until you can withstand the light, and you rub your eyes before glancing at your hands. You clearly must’ve expected something to come off your eye before remembering Kuroo himself took off your makeup.

“Kuroo?” Your voice is meek, and he cocks his head, reaching to smudge his thumb across your cheek. It’s dry and soft to his touch, and a part of him sags in relief that you seem calmer now. 

“Tetsurou,” he amends.

‘Tetsurou,” you repeat. He smiles.

“Yes?”

“Stay.”

“Oh, yeah. I will.” With that, he leans over and pats you on the head, brushing his lips over the tip of your nose before withdrawing and the bed creaks just a bit when he stands, heading for the hall. The sound of your blankets folding alerts him to you following his instructions, and he slips into the hall, placing his phone by his ear again and bracing himself for whatever teasing remarks his father has.

After all, Kuroo must’ve gotten his snark from somewhere.

But his father only sighs quietly.

Confused: “What is it, Dad?”

“You don’t like anyone calling you by your first name except for us, and Kenma, you realize that, right?”

“I don’t particularly care about that stuff, actually,” he informs pointedly.

“Please. You may act that way, but I saw the way your face twitched whenever someone called you Tetsu-kun.”

“My face did not twitch. I would never have such an obvious tell.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Dad!” Incredulous. “I don’t mind. It’s not a big deal, honestly. You’re just old so that formal stuff means more to you.”

“You calling your old man old?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“You’re awful.”

“That’s your fault.”

“I have clearly failed in being a parent,” his dad agrees, but even still, Kuroo can hear his smile. “You clearly care for them…” The sound of something shifting on the other end. He walks down the hall towards your kitchen and wonders if he could make you something while still being quiet enough to not disturb you. His blankets and pillows are still piled on your couch and he shoves them aside to make room to sit. “Shouldn’t you at least tell me how this all began and why on earth are you awake so early on a weekend, for crying out loud!”

“I could ask you the same question…”

.

When Kuroo wakes up, he’s on the couch with something lounging against him, and he recognizes it as you the instant he manages to open his eyes. You’re huddled into his side, a comma that curls into his chest, and there’s the smell of coffee and food permeating the whole apartment. His phone has fallen to the floor and his arm is prickly numb.

You’re not quite asleep but not quite awake either, so when he moves, your eyes open slowly against the morning light. His stomach rumbles as you shift to make more room. Kuroo’s arm wraps around you before you fall off the couch and he hauls you to him, wondering if this is okay, if this is normal.

It feels normal. 

Fucking good.

“Tetsurou?” Your nose is against his cheek and he can feel your eyelashes on his skin, feathery light. “Are you awake?”

“I stayed,” he whispers hoarsely, jerking his head back so he can take you in fully. You lift your chin blearily, and you look absolutely-fucking-beautiful. Your cheeks, your nose, your mouth—oh, fuck, your mouth. It’s curving into that dopey smile you have when you’re tired, that makes you look soft and warm and he wants to sink his hands into you, pull you to him so that they never part.

Instead, Kuroo wraps his other arm around you, pulling you on top of him. Their legs slip between each other. The heat from the blankets cloaks the entire morning in a sense of safety as you fold your arms over his chest and rest your chin on your forearm, content to just look at him.

“You stayed,” you whisper, too. It must mean something, because you lean forward to kiss him, and then you pull back again so you can keep looking at him. Kuroo brushes his fingers over your brow, your temple, and looks, too, the heat of your mouth lingering, spreading like a river of warm honey.

It’s very quiet. April died four hours ago, and May patters against the window in quiet rain drops lit by sunlight.

.

“What does this mean?” you ask on the night of May third.

 Kuroo has been in your apartment for the past three days whenever he’s not at work. You don’t need him there anymore, but you never tell him to scram, so he doesn’t know what any of it means, to be honest.

“I think it means we’re in a bit of a limbo,” he replies. He’s had his arms wrapped around you since dinner because he’s somehow almost the most comfortable he’s ever been when you’re in his arms. He only found that out yesterday and wished he knew that sooner. 

“But I don’t want you seeing anyone else,” you say.

“I won’t.” He contemplates for a moment. “I’m more than a lot to handle sometimes. More than a plateful. Five platefuls, probably, on my worst day. Perhaps more.”

The TV is playing some drama from the 2000’s and the storyline is cheesy, but it’s good background noise, and a good reason to get distracted, but your eyes are only on him, the flashing lights on your face not distracting him for a moment.

“I know.” You settle again and look at the TV. “I’m unstable sometimes.”

“Me, too.”

“Let’s take it slow.”

“A snail’s pace.”

“And get help.”

“Oh, yeah. We probably need it.”

“I want to hold you, now,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “Alright, lemme scoot.”

Kuroo’s at his most comfortable when you hold him. But he thinks he’s known that since he’s known you.

.

(Je te laisserai des mots)

.

Kuroo’s brow wrinkles as he looks away from the window. You look exhausted, but there’s a sated smile on your lips. You fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist, kissing his bicep all the while, and he sinks into the pillows.

“Happy New Year,” he mutters sarcastically. A firework pops overhead. You chuckle to yourself.

“Don’t be such a party pooper, Tetsurou,” you mutter. “It’s your fault you’re here. Drunk volleyball at a party indoors. Whose idea was that?”

“I almost died. Don’t interrogate me,” he rasps. You pour him a glass of water and raise his bed just a tiny bit. Tomorrow, he’ll probably be more awake and aware than now. The day after, who knows? Maybe they’ll release him early. To be honest, he’s surprised you’re still sitting next to him after getting so mad at Bokuto for sending Kuroo to the hospital that the pro-volleyball player had nearly died from shame. “You really wasting your day here for no reason, then?”

“Of course there’s a reason,” you answer, tipping the water back into his cracking throat. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, only drinks. “Tetsurou, you wanna know something?”

“I’m not physically capable of stopping you,” he replies, eyes fluttering shut. He swallows nothing and his throat feels raw from screaming. Lifting a limp hand, he rests the knuckles against his brow and lets out a sigh that must take part of his soul with him because he feels utterly drained.

“But do you want to know?” you press. He looks out the window again and you run your hand carefully through his dry hair. “I think you do.”

A pop of yellow and white in the inky night. He blinks and turns back to you, the explosion echoing in his chest. “Then, tell me.”

Your lips barely curve into a tender smile and you sigh. You smell like mint and rain on cement. 

“What is it?” he prompts.

“Nothing. I just… want to say something but you know, they’re kind of voodoo words in a way.”

A dropping stone in Kuroo’s chest. Something cold digs into his brain and wiggles as he adjusts in his bed. “Oh.”

Your eyes finally click with his. “I’m not going to say them, you know.”

Relief. He nods guiltily. “Okay.”

“Maybe when we’re in a better spot,” you continue hesitantly.

He nods once more. “Okay.”

“And maybe when we’re not so afraid.”

He smiles. “Okay.” 

“And when you don’t have a tib-fib fracture from trying to receive a spike and crashing leg first into the drinks table.”

“Obviously.”

“I just wanted to put it out there, you know, to be honest with you.”

Shifting a bit sideways, he lifts his head into your hand that still cards through his hair, nosing at the center of your palm and you sigh, laying your fingers along his cheek, holding his face as if you hold porcelain shards. Your thumb swipes underneath his eye and it nearly twitches shut at the contact before falling closed completely. 

“Did you know,” he murmurs after a while in a croaking, sleepy voice—the far-off pops of the fireworks are finally getting to him, “that I really don’t feel, like, love with people so I thought I couldn’t for a while. Love, that is. And I think I would’ve been fine with that because I have my friends and my dad and my sister.”

You sound bemused, but patiently point out, “You love your friends and family, though, don’t you?”

“Mm, that’s different.” You’re scratching right behind his ear. Shivers are shooting down his spine. “I mean romantic love. I didn’t know what romantic love felt like, really.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” Your thumb is still stroking his face at the same time. It feels nice. Like a reminder that you’re still there, even when he closes his eyes. Kuroo wishes you would come into bed with him like before but it’s too small in here for one person, much less two. If he was less exhausted, he would scoot over but he doesn’t think there’s an ounce of energy left in his body. 

Your voice is so close it hums in his ear.

“Anyway”—all raspy and warm—“I moved into a new apartment last year on New Year’s and along the way, I realized I could… actually have those feelings. And they felt nice. Confusing, and nauseating, but nice.” His face scrunches up, burning red, and he hears your gentle laughter as your own face nears. Your nose brushes against his brow and he lets out an incoherent noise before whining, “This is so stupid.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Mm. Well. It took a lot of work, but it happened, and I don’t think it’s going to happen again. You’re the only one.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. And I don’t mind that. So… there you go. That’s all you’re getting out of me tonight.” Your nose whispers up into his hair and a soft pair of lips press against his forehead. He lets out another needy noise and you laugh again and the not-quite-confession is still making his heart race. This is all so unfamiliar he thinks he’s going to trip over his feet and he’s lying down in a hospital bed. It’s so stupid (in his addled, exhausted opinion). “Are you gonna go?”

“Probably when they kick me out,” you admit. “They already made a special exception because it’s New Year’s but I’m exceptionally distracting, and the nurse and I both want you to get some sleep tonight.”

Kuroo smiles. “You’re not distracting me.”

“You don’t have to lie if the nurses aren’t here, Tetsurou,” you retort before going on thoughtfully, “If I hide underneath your bed, maybe they won’t forcibly remove me from the premises.”

“I’d… like to see you try, actually.”

“Huh. Go to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning if you wake up before then.”

“Okay.” You hum low in your chest and Kuroo’s heart skips a beat at the sound. It sounds so… warm… and almost like home? He doesn’t know—he just knows the sound of your happiness is enough to convince him, for now, that there is something to wake up to tomorrow. Eyes opening to slivers, he stares into your sternum absently as you rest your head against his, hand on his cheek moving to the back of his neck. Your thumb brushes over his ear, nails scratching his scalp. 

Nuzzling closer, he lets out a pleased yawn. “You need to get sleep, too.”

“’M not tired,” you reply quietly. “I think I might go for a run.”

“A run?” Half-heartedly. “You’re actually insane.”

“Okay, let’s evaluate who’s in the hospital bed and who had to check him into here,” you begin slowly, and he barks out a sharp laugh, pulling back and slapping a lethargic hand over his mouth. Rolling onto his back, he pulls away from your grasp and struggles to contain the bursting noise that wants to spill out of his chest until he can’t breathe. “Shush! Be quiet!” 

But you’re laughing, too—soft, shaky noises that have you keeling over—and Kuroo is painfully aware of the stress he’s inflicted on you tonight. So much so that the only way you’re letting your concern show through is by your jokes and touches and the way you look at him. 

Because words fail, every single time, and he doesn’t know why you stay except he does, now. It’s why he would stay for you.

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets the low mourning laughter fill his room until they have to breathe again.

“Go for a run,” he echoes when their laughter’s died down. You’re slouching over on his bed, tracing patterns into his stomach while he stares out the window at the fireworks, sated smile on his lips slowly fading with every second. “You should. I’ll be here when you come back.” He lifts a hand to stall the one that hasn’t stopped moving, and you raise your chin from your arm, looking at him.

His head lolls towards you, gaze meeting yours and he squints a bit with a fond smile as you reach to brush black hair away from tawny eyes. The pressure feels nice. His eyelids are so incredibly heavy.

“Do you think there’ll be curry?” he asks sleepily.

“I’ll make you some,” you answer, and it sounds like a promise.

January 1st of 2018 feels a lot like January 1st of 2017: he’s in the hospital again. He’ll be going back to the same apartment, and you’re going to be cutting off his bracelet with a paring knife that’s seen sharper days.

But it also feels exponentially different. Because he’s here because he’s living his life, and, somehow, there’s someone waiting for him on the other side, and there’ll be a warm meal. A pair of arms to welcome him. A job.

A bed. Kisses.

Love when they’re brave enough.

Kuroo’s a fucking mess. 

Isn’t he lucky that the neighbour across the hall just happened to be one, too?

#fic: to start a year #C/R_HQ!CONTEST #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x you #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x you #hq fic #haikyuu angst #hq angst #my writing

[terrakiyo]

grocery shopping with osamu — a habit you both developed a few months into your marriage — is something you look forward to during the week.

(there’s just something so domestic about seeing your husband pushing a shopping cart while you check items off the list you made that makes your heart soften).

and so, you find yourself looking around the aisle, osamu slowly trailing behind.

“hey, babe,” he calls out, “you can cross coffee off your list.”

“did you get the vanilla one?” you reach out for a carton of milk.

you hear shuffling from behind you, a quick (and loud) rustle making a knowing smile flicker on your lips.

so you look at him — your doe eyed husband who got caught putting the bag he’d grabbed first back on the shelf — and laugh, “do you need a minute to regain your dignity?”

you wipe tears off your eyes when you see his cheeks light up in a rosy hue.

it doesn’t take long for him to mutter under his breath, slowly pushing the cart once again after you gently place the milk carton inside.

“i’m gonna go get something really quick,” you tell osamu, pressing a gentle peck against his cheek before you take off.

and soon enough you return to him, quietly and gingerly setting down a pack of instant ramen in the cart as osamu reaches out for a bag of kale.

“what did you get while i was gone?” you pull out the list, a small hum leaving your lips when you eagerly cross off kale.

osamu hums back, “just some bell peppers.”

you don’t notice how his expression morphs into confusion when his eyes land on the ramen you plopped into the cart.

“what’s this?” you look up at him, mirroring that same doe eyed look he had a couple minutes before. an innocent smile makes its way into your face.

you tap the pen against the plastic. “it’s ramen!”

he gives you a look — full of disbelief and confusion and you hold back your laughter because he looks like he just got slapped by the ramen pack — before shaking the item in his hand, “why is it here?”

and you reach out for the ramen, “because i need it!”

and he raises it above his head, “no, you don’t.”

and you jump, waving your arm around as you try to snatch it back from him, only for him to avoid your prying hand.

“why not?” you huff, crossing your arms, bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

osamu blinks, brows furrowing, “because i can make some for you at home?”

you reach out for the ramen again, “what if you can’t make it because you’re busy?”

and he holds it away from you again, “i’ll make time for my favorite college student.”

“what if it’s your spouse that wants them and not your favorite college student?”

you playfully punch him when he doesn’t answer. an undignified ‘samu!’ tumbling out of your mouth.

he laughs when he sees your flushed face, “i’ll still make time, and i’ll make them with even more love, too.”

his laughter intensifies when he sees your disgusted expression.

you frown, “what if you’re gone and you can’t make them for me?”

“i’ll leave some in the fridge for you,” he says.

“what if you’re really gone?” you poke his chest, “what if you can’t make ramen anymore?”

“that sounds highly unlikely,” he scoffs.

and you hate to admit that he’s right. because not only is he barely 21, but also because it’s highly unlikely something bad would happen to him anytime soon. (aside from being buried in paper work to start working on onigiri miya).

“you never know ‘samu,” you shrug, “something really bad could happen soon.”

“you make it sound like you’re willing to show up in a true crime documentary for a pack of ramen.” he deadpans.

and you cheekily grin at him, “i might be.”

he raises a brow as he stares at you, clearly unimpressed. he lowers his arm, slowly extending the ramen pack to you.

“put it back where you found it,” he tells you.

“but the people in the aisle are gonna look at me funny ‘samu,” you pout.

and he pats your head, a smile blooming on his lips, “do you need a minute to regain your dignity, then?”

you glare at him, your bottom lip jutting out more when his smile grows.

“you’re so mean to me.” you groan.

he pecks your lips, “someone has to be, and as your husband it’s only fair i get to be that person.”

you slowly shuffle away from the cart. you turn back to look at osamu. you open your mouth to plead.

and he beats you to it, “go put it back, or i’ll do it for you.”

you frown at him before you run back to the cart and shove the pack in his hands. muttering a quick ‘you go’ before turning to grab lettuce heads.

(spoiler: he doesn’t return the ramen pack, much to your delight and his dismay).

hello hi <3 this is my entry to @neoheros and @coophi’s writing contest u///u

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #stop it’s been so long since i entered a supermarket i forgot what they look like inside #anyways i love going grocery shopping w someone <3 #the simple domesticity that holds is so cute to me u///u #also heheh show me how by men i trust #such a cute song anyways <3 #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq x you #osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu drabble #miya osamu #miya osamu fluff #osamu fluff #haikyuu osamu #hq osamu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fic

[kairakeiji]

the last few hours felt like a fever dream.

no wait, that was an understatement.

the last few months felt like a fever dream.

akaashi's proposal was so spontaneous, so out there, and so completely and utterly out of his comfort zone. he never thought he'd ever pop the question while sitting on your daily bus ride into the city together.

he thought it'd be a little more romantic, a candle lit dinner, maybe a trip to your favorite bookstore, or a walk on the dock you always liked. he thought he'd have more of a speech to his proposal, that he'd have a fancy ring in a fancy box that he'd keep in the pocket of his fancy suit. but instead, he proposed on the bus ride into work, certain he would receive a rejection from you. yet when he received that instant yes, (despite you both being together for years now) he knew his routines, his habits, his practices, and his life would flip up upside down.

he didn't even know how the topic of marriage came up, something about your job relocating you to another branch, one that was much farther than akaashi liked. sure it never really happened, but with all the uncertainties this opportunity held, akaashi realized one thing, that he wanted you to remain his life until the very end. maybe that's what got him to say it, the mere possibility of you leaving, the idea of you not being his constant, his rock, his love, and support.

it was something that just killed him inside.

so when he received your ever serious yes just before the two of you stepped off the bus, he knew that he had you and that he had you for the rest of his life.

"has it hit you yet?"

akaashi looked down at you resting your head against his chest as you two swayed together. there was no music, no crowd, no cameras hoping to capture every moment of your special day. just the two of you, relishing in what were the final moments of your wedding.

"has what hit me darling?" akaashi mumbled.

"that we're married keiji,” you answered.

it was something that hadn't truly settled in yet for the boy. if anything, he was hoping he'd marry you a little later when his job was a little more stable and when his life was a little more put together. yet with every decision and every plan you both made, he was one step closer to marrying you. it was an opportunity he just couldn't seem to pass up.

"i think it'll hit me later," he responded.

"why not now?" you asked with a smile, looking up at your now husband. "i mean we're in the fancy get up and everything. heck our cake is sitting right there." you noted pointing to the mostly eaten cake that you both said you would box up later.

"probably tomorrow," akaashi cut in with a smile. "probably in class while taking lecture notes."

"oh shit we have school tomorrow," you mumbled with a small whine. "we don't even get a proper honeymoon?"

"we're broke college kids," akaashi reminded you. "we could barely afford a wedding like this."

"gee and with all the wedding expenses we really have to conserve now," you sighed. "i'll have to take more shifts at the restaurant."

"and i'll have to try and get a paying job out of my internship," the boy added before looking down at you, not missing the frown on your lips. "hey," he started, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "we'll go on a proper honeymoon the second we have the funds."

"i just want an excuse for a vacation," you pouted.

"i mean we can have a vacation in our house."

"you mean our one bedroom apartment?" you retorted.

"staycations do exist," akaashi smiled.

"ok," you started, pulling yourself away from akaashi's grip. "you need to take me on a staycation then tomorrow."

"we have school tomorrow," he reminded you.

"so we cut class," you answered.

"what about that textbook work you have due?"

"i'll tell my professor our made up dog ate it."

and at that, the boy laughed.

"you're such a child," he said between laughter, taking your hand and spinning you around before pulling you back in his grip. "i married a child."

"and i married a teenager who only drinks water when i remind him."

a remark that earned nothing but a flick on your forehead.

"immature," he countered.

"irresponsible," you retorted before a smile you couldn't seem to contain curled on your lips.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, brow raised at your slowly bubbling laughter.

"we just got married and we're already fighting," you joked. "some couple we are."

"don't worry," he sighed, pulling your head closer to him as he rest his on top of it. "our little staycation will make up for it."

you smiled, "thank you."

"no," he answered. "thank you."

it was all starting to settle in for akaashi.

tomorrow he was going to wake up by your side, he would get to kiss you good morning and make you coffee. tomorrow he would hear your dream antics over the breakfast you two made together. and tomorrow he would intertwine his hand with yours across the small table, your new wedding rings catching light under the morning sun.

omg my entry into @neoheros and @coophi ‘s contest!! thank you so much for hosting!! i had so much fun writing this aaa

reblogs are incredibly appreciated thank you!! <33

#c/r_hq!contest #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu keiji akaashi #keiji akaashi #akaashi #akaashi x y/n #akaashi fluff #hq x reader #hq x you #hq akaashi #hq akaashi x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyu #writing.txt

[babysbreath]

strains of love

➶ kuroo tetsurō x reader

➶ fluff, slight angst but everything ends well, and one swear word lmao

➶ this is an entry for @neoheros‘ and @coophi​‘s summer contest! married under 25 prompt!!!

Kuroo finds himself in front of yet another door. This one says '25' on the dull gold plaque. He leans forward, head turned at a slight angle. There's no noise coming from the other side. Strange. Kuroo knocks lightly. 

There's a rustle. "Yeah?" 

He smiles absentmindedly at the voice. "Hey, it's me." 

"Tetsu?" Lots of shuffling noises follow. "Wait, you can't come in here." 

"Yeah, I can,” he frowns. He tries the door handle, but it doesn't budge. 

He can hear you sigh in relief. 

"Oh, I forgot I locked it. Good." 

"Good?” His voice comes out strained. “Why can't I see my own wife?" The knob is jiggled again experimentally. 

A few of the staff bustle around, clutching clipboards, floral arrangements and the like. They give him a curious once-over before returning to their work.

"It's bad luck. And technically-" 

"Don't say that you're not my wife yet. I was ready to do this last month." He rests his head on the door with a light ‘thud’. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter. The clack of your heels gets his attention. 

“We had exams, Tetsu. There’s no way we could’ve managed both.” 

“Okay, and the reason I can't see you now is?” 

“Because it’s bad luck to see me in my dress before the wedding. Apparently.”

“I bet you look so stunning that it cancels out the bad luck,” he says, grinning at the door. He’s aware that he must look like some sort of lunatic but it doesn’t matter because it’s his wedding. He’s allowed to look as loony and lovestruck as he wants to.

“Oh no-” He hears you groan. “Am I going to be stuck with ‘Mr. Cheesy Pick Up Lines’ forever?”

His mouth twists into a pout. “You signed up for this, you know?” 

The sweet strains of music reach his ears. Ah, most of the guests must have arrived. The realization slowly sets in. The wedding’s really happening. 

His tie feels tight despite the pleasant weather and the smell of freshly cut flowers. He hooks a finger through the knot and tugs as gently as he can. The thought that he's messed up the neat tie still lingers at the back of his mind. 

He clears his throat. “Where’s everyone else then? I half-expected to fight my way through your cousins and aunts just to get a glimpse of you.” 

You’re probably giggling at the mental image of nice and courteous Kuroo Tetsurō, jostling past your doting family to reach you. 

“They’ve gone to get the veil.”

“Ah.” He runs his hand through his hair, forgetting about the entire hour that it required to gel it down. It was one of his friends’ ideas. Probably Bokuto. 

He practically yelps. “I hope you’re not hiding from me so Bokuto can come out in a wedding dress instead. I’ve seen videos like that online and-”

He hears you burst out laughing at that mental image as you say, “I should’ve thought of that. The look on your face would’ve been priceless.”

Kuroo laughs a little, in spite of himself. He still pulls out his phone and shoots a text to Kenma, asking for Bokuto’s whereabouts. Just in case. Then he rakes his fingers through his hair again. It feels unnatural. Sticky and awkward. 

He suddenly recalls an interaction he had earlier. 

“Oh um, one of my dad’s colleagues asked me how we decided to get married this early. I think he wanted to ask me ‘why’ but ‘how’ sounded more polite.” 

You groan behind the wooden door that seems too much like a blockade at the moment. 

"Reminds me of the time when that cousin said something about us being ‘young and stupid’ and you responded with ‘Young, stupid and soon-to-be-married, baby!’," you snicker.

"Yeah, I just laughed it off this time too,” he chuckles, an uncharacteristic nervousness bubbling beneath the surface. 

The familiar melody of the piano regresses into a repetitive tune. He shifts his feet, unsure about… Well, he's unsure about what exactly he's unsure about. 

“I really wish I could see you though.” It comes out soft, unbearably soft. 

He breathes in- one, two, three - and out. But it’s only when he catches the sound of you walking towards the door, does he finally breathe a little easily. 

“Hey, what if I opened the door a tiny bit? I could show you my face.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He can barely put it into words but he’s beyond relieved. 

There’s the distinct click of the door unlocking and your head peeks out from behind it. 

“Hi,” he sighs. “You look…” 

You smile brightly, with your head seemingly floating at the rim of the door. It looks like a scene straight out of a horror movie. His heartbeat quickens, but it's not out of fear. 

“You can’t even see me properly. So don’t say anything yet,” you state. So he nods with a growing smile. 

Someone walks past and pats his back warmly, as you mouth "Professor Andō". You both smile politely as the professor turns to walk towards the main hall, before Kuroo turns his attention back to you. 

Your hand makes an appearance as you reach out to point to Kuroo’s neck. 

“Your tie’s a little loose.”

He nods again. 

“It looks nice on you like that.” 

He thinks his heart might burst. The music rises to a crescendo before relapsing into the melody, and you’re looking at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

You continue. “Your hair looks weird though. I wanna fix it.” 

He instantly squeezes his eyes shut when you move to open the door. 

There’s a light tug on his tie and he takes it as a sign to stoop down. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, grazing his scalp and he melts under your touch. You run your hands through a few more times, tidying the mop of dark hair, before it becomes more of a gesture to soothe him. He wants to stay here forever. He has a whole life ahead, a whole life with you, but he’d much rather stay in this moment, in your arms.

“I really do love you,” he blurts out. And he’s afraid that he’s ruined the moment so he adds, “I can’t stay quiet, you know that.”

You hum. The corridor seems to buzz with sudden activity. He almost opens his eyes to check before he hears you whisper, “I know.” 

Your fingers leave his head and you slip back into the room. When Kuroo does open his eyes, he notices a small crowd of ladies, hurrying down the hallway. He knows that he needs to leave before he catches sight of your incoming veil. He almost doesn't realize that the door is still slightly ajar. 

Your head pops out again. "I know that and I love you. I really do." 

Kuroo stands, rooted to his spot. He thinks he might be even more in love with you than he originally thought. 

“Babe, I think a second wedding might be due. Maybe after our finals and graduation, then-”

"Tetsu, go. There's yelling in the hallway about how you're not supposed to be here." You try to sound serious but a muffled laugh escapes. “Let me get dressed completely, with the veil and all that jazz, so I can look as good as you do right now,” you tease.

"Sure, Mrs.'Cheesy Pick Up Lines'. Whatever you say," he grins and moves towards the main hall. 

Kuroo is young, stupid and ready to marry the fuck out of you. 

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kuroo fluff #haikyuu oneshot #kuroo tetsurō #pika.works

[ven7s]

you are the sun and i am your moon

— tsukishima kei x gn!reader ; wc. 0.7k ; genre fluff

tsukishima kei has never taken himself to be romantic.

he’s never been one to care much about dating and he’s never really fully grasped the concept of love. sure, he’s had his fair amount of crushes. but they would only be a temporary little thing that he would brush off and quickly forget about.

and when he meets you, you’re just another friend of yamaguchi’s: nothing more, nothing less.

but today, after eight years, he deems you as the sun.

“can i call you my husband now?” you ask.

tsukishima’s standing next to you, clad in a formal suit, and he smiles, “i guess. should i call you my spouse now?”

the grin on your face widens and you can’t help but think that it must have been destined for you and him to meet.

“i guess so,” you respond quietly, observing the bands on your finngers that symbolize an eternal promise to love each other.

your heart feels heavy with joy and, surprisingly, fear. tsukishima notices and reaches out to hold your hand; he squeezes it gently and you can tell the act says we’ll be okay. you squeeze back, thank you.

it’s not too soon before what was the karasuno volleyball team’s first years — now grown up — crowds over to where you and tsukishima stand.

the four of them congratulate the both of you before hinata beams something along the lines of, “i never would have thought tsukishima would be the first to marry after tanaka and kiyoko’s wedding..”

after, yachi hugs you and wishes both you and tsukishima happiness and luck.

that day, you feel nothing but pure love and you’re sure that every day after would be just as fulfilling.

it’s now two am in the morning and the wedding is finally over.

you and tsukishima stand on the balcony of your shared home, watching the moon and stars. he wraps an arm around your waist and you lean onto his chest.

“you okay?” you mumble.

he hums a yes and you know there’s more. you remain quiet, but give his hand a squeeze, reassuring him, like he did to you just a few hours ago.

tsukishima inhales, “i’ve always felt a bit afraid when the moon faded. it felt like i was being abandoned, but now i don't feel scared anymore.”

his arm slightly tightens and you let him continue, holding his hand as if to say, i won't leave you.

“i love you,” he whispers, his voice cracked but meaningful.

there are unsaid words between the ‘i love you’ and tsukishima wants to say more.

he wants to tell you that he wants to start a family with you, that he’s ready to take care of you, and how he wants nothing more but to spend the rest of his life in the comfort of your love. he wants to tell you that he sees you as his sun, as his everything, but you hear it. you hear the genuineness and the honesty and the trust in his voice as his body trembles quietly against yours.

“quite the romantic aren’t you?” you say, with a voice he matches as the equivalent of an angel, intertwining your fingers together.

it’s now that he feels his heart ache as it finally sinks in: the meaning of love.

he settles on the fact that there really isn’t any word that summarizes the emotions he’s had for the past six years.

it’s the mere joy he felt when he realized being married would allow him to wake up every morning to the sight of you. it’s how even the most mundane chores are somehow fun with you and how he would be willing to stop time to spend more of it with you.

it was the throbbing in his heart when your happiness became his, and how all the beautiful things in life started to remind him of you.

tsukishima looks you in the eyes and all he sees is home and the sun.

you look back.

tsukishima’s always looked good under the moon, maybe it’s just the aftermath and high of getting married, but tonight — as he’s basked in the moonlight — you think he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

(and as your lips connect it strikes you then that he is made of gentle moonlight; he is the moon himself.)

a/n: hello !! this is for @neoheros and @coophi 's hq summer writing contest !!! i had a lot of fun writing for the prompt 'married under 25' <3

to the readers: thank you for taking the time to read this and to neohero and coophi thank you for hosting this event（´・｀ ）♡

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu drabbles #hq drabbles #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x y/n #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima drabbles #tsukishima kei drabbles #+🪼 #SO MUCH HAND HOLDING <33 #i love #TSUKISHIMA MY BELOVED #crying #bc #he #i can not even comprehend the love i have for this boy

[superhero--imagines]

Fill out an interest check for my haikyuu zine here | buy my Batman zine here!

A/N: wrote this for @neoheros and @coophi Writing contest. Features being married 25 and younger for all breast having readers. Slightly suggestive themes, but mostly fluff.

Atsumu has a thing for your chest.

It’s not a secret. If you’re wearing a low-cut top, the neckline in a smooth u-shaped scoop. Or a dress with a plunging neckline, a soft curve of either breast on each side.

He gets dumbstruck every time.

It’s not even sexual, well not all the time, he just thinks they’re cute. Like a couple of puppies. He just wants to smother them in kisses and tell them how cute they are.

So when he sees them wrapped in beautiful fabric, looking good and healthy, he swells with pride. (Amongst other things, he is still a man after all)

‘Mah babies are doin’ good’ he’ll think with a soft smile.

So when he walks into your shared bedroom, duffel bag still in hand, and see’s you sitting on the bed completely topless, your breasts covered by nothing but your bare hands, the dainty silver band glinting on your finger - he practically combusts.

Your eyes travel from the laptop flipped open in front of you, to your husband who’s still standing in the doorway. You expression brightens the second you see him, eyes sparkling as a smile arch’s onto your mouth.

“You’re home!” You cheer, hands still clasped at either breast.

Atsumu gulps, not trusting his mouth to properly form words, he briskly nods.

“ ‘Sumu can you do me a favor and hold my boobs up?”

That’s it. He’s dead.

Time? 3:47 PM

Cause? Brain aneurysm, he couldn’t take the mental stimulation of a dream he didn’t even realize he had coming true.

“ ‘Tsumu?” You call, he’s just been standing there at the doorway since he saw you. Is he mad? He did just come home from practice, he must be tired. You’re just about to tell him that it’s okay, he should relax, when he nods his head.

“Y-yeah, ‘course ‘ah can baby,” Atsumu shakes his head, he’s acting like a damn teenager right now! What’s there to be so flustered about anyway? You’re his wife, he’s seen you naked tons of times, no reason to get all dopey about a little fondling.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna bother you-“

“It’s no bother!” Atsumu winces as the high pitched tone of his protest. Talk about over eager. He clears his throat, hand curling in her his chin. “ ‘Ah mean, this is what husbands are for right? Even Dax Shepard sucked out Kristen Bell’s breast milk when she needed it-“ Geez, why is he mentioning that now?!?

“Anyway, point is ‘s no bother, ‘lemme just u-uh,” he flinches when his voice cracks. “Let me get behind ya” he finishes, clearing his throat when you shuffle forward, your breasts bouncing slightly.

Damn, they look so cute.

Atsumu has to bite his lip to stay focused, frosty white teeth nibbling at the plump flesh of his bottom lip as he shuffles behind you. His legs thrown on either side of your frame, as you settle between them.

He gulps again when his hands replace yours.

With the way you’re seated his chin almost brushing against your hair, he gets wafts of your shampoo, and at this angle he gets a top side view of his precious babies. The perfect scent to accompany the perfect view. They’re so much softer than he remembers too, it’s almost like-

“Atsumu stop,” he freezes, did he do something wrong? His hands automatically move to retreat back to his side when he see’s you shake your head. “No, stop squeezing, it hurts.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows thread together, his mouth pursing until it’s a straight line.

“It hurts?” You nod, not looking away from your laptop, your fingers dancing across the keyboard.

“Yeah they’re just so swollen,” you start.

‘So they’re swollen’ he thinks. Looking back he should have realized there was a reason you suddenly wanted him to hold your breasts.

“they’re so sore I think it’s making my nipples sensitive too-“

And that explains why you weren’t wearing a bra or a shirt

“They were hurting so bad I didn’t think I would be able to finish this report for work,”

Which explains the laptop, he remembers you saying you had a deadline coming up. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure what part that played in the fantasy- maybe something a little scandalous, like you were watching a dirty movie on it or something.

“But now you’re here!” Your fingers stop, abandoning the keyboard entirely and focusing all your attention on him. You twist your torso so you can face him. Your thumb caresses his face, and you press a kiss to his cheekbone.

“You’re my hero Atsumu”

Atsumu is only twenty-three, no longer a boy, yet still not a man.

But he’s trying hard to grow into one, a man you can be proud to call your husband. A mature man who you always think is cool and makes you feel like you’re going to melt.

Atsumu can’t help but feel like a teenage boy when he feels a wobbly smile curl onto his face, steam practically curling out of his ears.

“ ‘course ‘ah am,” he huffs, his chest puffing out. “ ‘s a husbands job to be their partners hero” you giggle, he’s always saying the cheesiest stuff when you give him a genuine compliment. It’s kind of cute how he still gets flustered around you. Throw him in front of a bunch of reporters or fans and he’ll play them all like a fiddle, but in front of you…he’s just a boy.

His expression gets softer when you turn back to the laptop. Your hero, huh? He likes the sound of that. But-

“I’d rather be the love of your life, though” he mumbles, face pressed into your hair, and his hands holding your breast.

“What was that?” You ask, hissing when he squeezes in surprise. Crap, he didn’t think you heard. He sighs in relief when you tell him to be more gentle, you’re in a lot of pain. Looks like you’ve let the topic go.

“I know you’re used to-“ you pause mid-sentence when you shuffle back, resting against your husband's chest only to feel something hard other than the prominent muscles on his chest.

“Are you-“ before you can get a word in edgewise, Atsumu screams:

“What? I’m pretty sure Kristen Bell’s husband was a little turned on too when he sucked out that breast milk!”

For a single second the silence stretches between you two, and then you break out laughing

“What is with you and Kristen Bell?” You gasp between wheezes of laughter. Atsumu is laughing beside you.

“ ‘Ah donno, ‘s the only celebrity couple ‘ah keep up with.” You rest your head back on his shoulder, still laughing when he leans down for a kiss.

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #haikyuu imagine #Atsumu Miya #Atsumu x reader #Atsumu Miya x reader #atsumu miya imagines #atsumu x female reader #hq atsumu #atsumu headcanons #atsumu drabble #batman imagine #dc comics imagine #superhero--imagines

[wyniepooh]

miya atsumu is a loud person.

this should come off as no surprise to anyone. every single person who has interacted with atsumu will describe him as outgoing, unreserved, and very talkative.

atsumu knew that, and carried no shame in it. he enjoyed conversing with people and making them happy. atsumu found pride in making people smile. not a fake, i-really-want-to-stop-this-conversation smile, but a real, genuine smile. a comfortable smile.

but sometimes, just sometimes, atsumu found himself closing himself off. zoning out more, making less jokes, purposely walking on a route where he knew there was no people, and fake smiling when someone struck up a conversation. it wasn’t necessarily because he was sad, or because he hated talking to that person. he was simply just tired. tired of smiling. laughing. constantly thinking of the right things to say.

sometimes, atsumu just needed silence.

though it sounds like something pretty easy to achieve, with atsumu’s hectic volleyball practices, and with his even more hectic teammates, it was hard to find a moment where people weren’t yelling in his ear.

so atsumu relied on the time when he got home. because with you, silence was finally made possible.

on the days atsumu needs silence, he doesn’t even have to say it. as soon as he walks through the door, you know. you know by the look on his face, by the way his bag is lazily slung over his shoulder, and by the way his blond hair is slightly more disheveled than usual.

atsumu has never figured out how exactly you always knew, and you never planned on telling him.

on days like these, you take his bag for him, set it down and lead him over to the dinner table. then you both eat. all without saying a word. all that can be heard is the clattering of utensils, and the occasional “hm” and “mhm.”

after the dishes are washed, and the table is cleared, you head over to the couch, atsumu following right behind. you sit down, grab a book, and begin to read. atsumu lays his head on your lap, and soaks in the silence he’s been missing for the whole day.

but silence with you didn’t feel like asking someone to repeat themselves, or like the silence after a bad presentation. the clammy hands, awkward smiles, and fake laughs. silence with you felt safe and protected. silence with you felt comfortable. silence with you just felt right.

under the dim light, atsumu just stares. he stares at the way your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, the way your bottom lip is between your teeth, and the way you’re absentmindedly playing with his blonde hair.

in this moment, atsumu is reminded why he married you. he married your smile, your eyes, your lips. he married your cooking, your questionable taste in music, and your inability to pick up dog poop. he married your bad temper, your love for reading, and your laugh. he married you, and the tiny apartment you live in. he married you, the mold in the bathroom, the constantly buzzing fridge, and the flickering lights that always scare him half to death.

but when you close the book to look down at him and flash him a smile, a real, genuine, smile, a comfortable smile, atsumu decides, he does not mind.

he does not mind the mold in the bathroom, because that’s just another thing to laugh with you about. another excuse to see you smile.

he does not mind the buzzing fridge, because it’s stored food perfectly fine, and it was a constant reminder of your cooking. it reminded him of the two of you dancing in the kitchen at midnight, hips swaying as music fills the small room.

and he does not mind the flickering bulbs, not when it provided light in a moment like this, so he gets to smile back up at you. all he needs, really, is the gold band on his left hand, and you.

miya atsumu is a loud person.

but sometimes, just sometimes, he needs a little bit of silence. and with you, the silence is warm and comfortable and feels like a hug. with you, silence felt like home.

a/n: this is for the hq summer contest hosted by @neoheros and @coophi !! thank you for hosting such an awesome contest :) i’m so honoured to have this as my first post :)) hope you all enjoy !!

likes, shares, and reblogs are highly appreciated <33

#wyniepooh #C/R_HQ!CONTEST #hq x reader #hq #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq x gender neutral reader #hq fluff #haikyuu blurbs #haikyuu soft hours #fluff #atsumu imagines #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu hcs #haikyuu x reader

[mimi-cee-hq]

Laundry Days - Aran x f!reader

Summary: Three times you picked up his underwear and one time you missed doing it.

Genres, other tags: fluff, slice of life, humour, meet cute, domestic fluff, not suggestive lol, married under 25, neighbours to married lovers ;)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: manga spoiler

This is for @neoheros & @coophi's 2021 Summer Haikyuu!! Writing contest. (Okay I'm pretty shy at first so it feels a little scary to tag you two but here's my piece.) I was going for the married under 25 prompt but ended up doing neighbours to lovers too. :D

Don't mind me spreading the underrated characters agenda as well. lol.

*****

A few articles of clothing spilled out of the dryer and onto your feet. Oops. Your neighbour must have forgotten them. You should've checked first.

Your own damp clothes sat inside the washing machine next to it, waiting for their turn to enter the dryer. It wasn't possible now.

You sighed, retrieving the phone from your pocket and scrolling until you saw the name of the neighbour who lived a floor below you.

Ojiro Aran.

You were sure this was the right person after a second look at your texting history. Who'd bring the garbage to the curb, where the lawnmower was kept, and keeping the duplex's stairway clear were some of the conversations you had with him.

You had yet to meet the guy, but he seemed amicable enough.

After shooting him a text, you thought to give him a call instead. Perhaps he'd think a phone call was strange. However, your clothes were damp and you shouldn't leave them for long. Was he even home?

You sighed. Crouched down, you returned the clothes on the floor back into the machine. A scarf, several socks, and a knit hat made their way back inside. But what was this?

Underwear. Men's underwear.

You scrunched your nose as you lifted it from the cold, tile floor. Was that a hole in it?

Click.

"Sorry I just saw your text!" a tall, dark-skinned man blurted out as soon as the door was unlocked.

"Oh! It's alright! I only texted you a few minutes ago!" you quickly explained, waving your hands in front of you.

You shouldn't have done that. The underwear was hanging from your hand.

"Ummm…" Aran scratched his cheek, eyes retreating from you.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" you spat out, tossing the incriminating object to him. "It just fell out of the dryer when I opened it so I went to pick it up!"

Once in his hands, he recognized it as the one with the seam coming undone. "I… umm… should probably have thrown this one out."

"Umm… yeah… you probably should." Those words slipped off your tongue before you could catch them.

"I- I guess I'll go now," Aran said hastily.

He shut the door.

You let out a breath. That was awkward. Heat continued to linger in your body and you weren't sure who was more embarrassed by the encounter.

Wait. His clothes were still in the dryer. Did you dare ask him back?

The door slowly creaked open and Aran peeked his head into the room.

"I forgot something, didn't I?" Aran sheepishly asked.

"Yeah." The corners of your mouth lifted into a smile. "Yeah, you did."

"I'm Aran by the way."

"Y/n."

You never thought this would be how you'd meet your future husband.

*****

The office chair in your apartment was a comfortable spot for folding clothes. The webcam caught your face as you chatted with Aran whose image filled the monitor.

You smiled. Your husband was winding down after a long day with the team and decided to check up on you.

"I'm alright," you told Aran. "I miss you though."

"I literally just saw you yesterday!" he said. "I miss you too."

After that fateful yet awkward encounter with him in that laundry room two years ago, you had run into each other more frequently at the front doors of your duplex. Your classes ended at similar times four out of your five school days. You were surprised he even started a conversation with you. You wouldn't have been able to bear the embarrassment. Fast forward to a confession, a kiss and a rock-embedded ring, and you got a small, snowy wedding during winter break.

It was back to the books for you now, and you dreaded it. Chores seemed much better, easier. Plus doing them for your newly-wedded husband? You got giddy about that.

You quirked your brow, lifting a familiar piece of clothing from the basket.

"Hey, I thought you threw this one out," you mentioned to Aran, dangling his underwear in front of the camera.

"I did! That's, uh, probably a different one."

"Just how old are these?"

"Hey! Wait a moment! Are you folding clothes?"

You avoided the eyes on the screen. "Maybe."

"You have your paper due in a few days! I told you I was going to do it after flying back home."

"I know…"

Aran's eyes narrowed at you, a trademark expression of his. "You're procrastinating again, aren't you?" His tone implied disapproval.

"But I'm still being productive!"

"Y/n…"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Your foot pushed the basket away, sliding it across the floor. Maybe you could fold them after you hung up.

Aran must have read your mind. "Show me what the laundry bin looks like."

You groaned. He saw right through you. Complying, you removed the clipped webcam off the monitor and directed it at the pile of unfolded clothes.

"It better be like that when I get home."

"Alright," you said with a pout.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Must he stop you from doing chores? They were a simple reminder you were married to him, as if the gold on your finger wasn't enough to show you.

You were his wife.

A smile snuck into your lips whenever that thought crossed your mind. The honeymoon phase was a peculiar, strange, lovely stage.

Yet it was fleeting.

*****

You groaned as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Aran's white track pants hung off the counter, the red t-shirt he got for free from first year college laid on top, and of course his underwear, which likely went through hundreds of washes, remained on the floor.

Great.

You rubbed your temples, your headache getting worse by the minute. It was Saturday morning, and Aran, who was nowhere to be seen, had left his mess behind.

I'll clean it up later, he would tell you. You knew his mother had spoiled him, always picking up after him. You understood why he was like this, but why couldn't he just start doing it now?

"Do you have this problem?" you asked your friend through your wireless headset.

"What problem?" she asked.

"Does your husband always leave laundry around on the floor?" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Aran never picks up after himself."

She laughed. You weren't sure if it was because you were a young, amateur wife or if she understood all too well.

Knowing her, probably a bit of both.

"Okay two things."

You listened.

"One, don't say always or never. That's lying."

"I'm not lying," you snapped back at her. You began to regret asking her.

"Are you sure he never picks it up and always leaves it on the floor?"

You left no comment.

"Exactly."

"Okay fine, but that still doesn't solve the problem. If only he just did it, it would solve everything–"

"Number two," she interrupted.

You groaned at her and she gave an amused snort in return.

"If you weren't picking up his underwear, it means he's dead."

You were aghast.

"You know I'm right."

Still aghast.

"What? No husband, no mess."

"I can't believe I asked you for advice."

"But it's true."

"Ugh," was all you could utter. She had several years more of marriage experience than you, yet you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You hung up the phone after you finished deciding today's outing with her, but you hadn't addressed the issue in front of you. Your head throbbed again.

Sighing, you picked up the underwear.

A few minutes later, the front door opened and you dipped your head into the hallway. Aran shuffled grocery bags through the door and into the kitchen. He yawned, placing the milk, eggs, and other items into the fridge.

A familiar coffee brand peeked out of a bag on the floor. Right. You didn't have your coffee yet because there wasn't any left.

You wrapped your arms around Aran and relaxed against his broad back.

"I can't put the food away like this," he said with a chuckle.

"You left your clothes in the bathroom again."

"Oh shoot!" He dropped a bag and started towards the bathroom but you tightened your grip on him.

"I put them away already," you told him. His body relaxed and he caressed your arm around his waist.

The honeymoon phase was a fleeting phase, novel tasks turned mundane, but your love for him grew deeper still.

*****

Aran was away again, this time at Tokyo in preparation for the Olympics. He eagerly called you during breaks, wishing to see his favourite person – although your hands were full as well.

"I miss you," he told you, his smile displayed on the screen.

"And I miss picking up your underwear," you told him with a smirk.

Like clockwork, he narrowed his eyes at you with a comeback. "Why don't you say you miss me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm your wife. I'm special," you told him as he rolled his eyes. "I wish I could be there though."

"You wouldn't be able to spend that much time with me anyway," he said. "Besides, one of us needs to stay home."

"I know." You smiled.

"I gotta go," he said as Atsumu yelled in the background. Aran blew a kiss at you.

You snorted. How cheesy. You returned the kiss anyway.

Hearing a mischievous squeal behind you, you told him, "I gotta go too."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

After you hung up, you turned around and sighed. A soggy wet diaper sagged on the floor and the little guy jumping in the crib giggled at you as if he did the funniest thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes and smiled before picking up the diaper.

"Alright kid. Let's put a diaper back on you and wash your sheets."

*****

I hope you liked it. This is a little different from what I usually write but I hope you still enjoyed it!

I blame Aran's current concern for giving me this idea along with the person who suggested I write Aran fluff. (As well as the seasoned wife I know who told her husband, "If I wasn't picking up your underwear, it means you're dead." lolll.)

I hope you stick around my blog to check out my other works! My current work in progress is a fake dating Suna series. I can't believe we're on chapter 10!

If anyone is interested, I have a Google form for my taglist.

#aran x reader #aran fluff #aran fanfic #ojiro aran x reader #ojiro aran #aran ojiro #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu fluff #C/R_HQ!CONTEST #hihqnetwork #animehorizons #angelwalker’s virtues #inarizaki #inarizaki x reader

[venusskies-writing]

kids crazy in love

Word count: 797

Genre: fluff

Warnings: small mention of a rough childhood

"We're crazy for doing this."

"Mhm."

"Ko, you realize we just spent a lot of money and barely have anything we need for this place, right?" You said as you turned to your husband with a box in your hands. 

He turned to you with bright golden eyes and smirked. "So? That just means we'll have to go yard sailing! I've always wanted to go!"

You sighed and shook your head. "Unbelievable. First we decide on having a wedding, which we are still reaping the costs of, and now we buy a house with just barely enough for a down payment." Kotarou only laughed. 

He set down the box he was holding and unlocked the door. When he turned, a twinkle was in his eyes. 

He took your box and sat it on top of his, and in one fell swoop, he was holding you bridal style as you both entered the house. 

"Kotarou! What are you doing?" Bokuto laughed and swung around with you. "I remember a American tradition that you like and thought we could do it."

You looked into his eyes and smiled brightly. "I didn't think you remembered. I mentioned it back when we first met in our second year." He shrugged his shoulders and sat you down. 

You cupped his cheeks and laughed slightly. "Your a big dork, you know that?" Your husband only shrugged with a smile. "And? That just adds to my charm!"

It made your heart swell being with him like this. Your eyes softened and you leaned in to kiss him. 

Kotarou met you half way and placed his lips on yours. 

The kiss was sweet and familiar as you both stood beneath the stairs of your knew home. A home that you both knew you weren't ready for, but wanted because you only lived once. 

Besides, the realtor told you, you guys would never be able to afford it. 

When you pulled away, you were grinning like an idiot. Bokuto still had his eyes closed and was grinning widely. 

"Alright lover boy. Let's get those boxes in before the rain sets in, don't want our clothes to get soaked." He opened his eyes and - were they always that love filled? You couldn't tell. 

Because whenever he looked at you, it was always with fondness and love. Something you never expected you would receive after a rough childhood. 

When the rain set in, you both were sitting in some lawn chairs in the living room watching a movie. 

Many boxes laid around the two of you, waiting to be opened, the contents waiting to make many memories between the two of you. 

Bokuto turned to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. 

"Hey babe?"

"Yes Ko."

You turned to him with curiosity. He leaned forward, much like you had earlier, and put his forehead against yours. 

You gently pushed back playfully and smiled. Kotarou grinned and pushed back before brushing some baby hairs away from your face. "If I could do everything again, I would."

You shook your head. "I wouldn't."

Kotarou pulled back abruptly and had his lips pouted. "But why? Did I do something?" His self proclaimed 'emo mode' had been turned on and been directed at you. 

You huffed and pulled him back. "No you silly. It's because I want to stay with you in the now, not the past. Because being here with you is so important to me that I could never think about anything else. And in the past there was a time I didn't know you yet. I love you, and never want to go through life without you my dear. You're it for me."

A giant blush crossed over his cheeks and tipped his ears. He looked away and sniffled. When he looked back, small tears were in his eyes as he pulled you in for another kiss. 

You were able to taste the strawberries he had eaten earlier after you had told him to wait for dinner. You were able to taste the love he released from his body only for you. 

He pulled back and put his forehead back on yours. "I love you, so so much. I'll still love you when I'm all gross and wrinkly too!" You laughed and flicked his nose. 

"I love you too."

He smiled and kissed you all over your face, causing you both to fall out of your chairs. Your laughter echoed across the house as you lay in his arms uncomfortably. 

"And for the record dear, you won't be gross. Maybe wrinkly, but never gross."

He whined loudly. "Babe! Your so mean to me! You wound my heart!"

You shook your head and flicked his nose again. "Stop whining you big baby. I was only kidding."

"You better be."

This piece is done for a summer contest hosted by @neoheros

#bokuto x reader #bokuto fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #anime #sports anime #bokuto kotarou #haikyuu fluff #bokuto x reader fluff #C/R_HQ!CONTEST

[ria-aaa]

married to sugawara koushi at 22

"We're married."

Sugawara says the words like the fact that he's 22 and married hasn't suck in. It probably hasn't, and the incredulity in his tone makes it all the more evident.

"We're married," you repeat. The smile that hasn't left your lips all day softened into one Sugawara recognizes all too well.

The wedding you two had was small, just a little gathering of friends and family who've seen you both grow together through the years. Funnily enough, Asahi cried the most, and Hinata caught the bouquet after jumping like he was after a damned volleyball. Everyone gave their well-wishes, and even then, it still hadn't sunk in to Sugawara that he was marrying the love of his life that day.

Today. At 22, he married you today, with his friends and family as your witnesses.

"We're married," he whispers, and your eyes crease at the corners as your smile, the smile that told him you loved him more than you could possibly say, widened.

"It hasn't sunk in yet."

He exhales slowly, pulling you in closer to him. "Same here."

You were both still dressed in your wedding attire, slow dancing to the sound of your heartbeats in the living room of the little home you shared.

It's barely been 24 hours since you both got married, and Sugawara was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed that you married him, overwhelmed that you chose him of all people. Overwhelmed that from this day onwards, he was yours and you were his.

Tomorrow, he gets to wake up to you, his wife, in his arms. He gets to watch you sleep for a couple more minutes and enjoy the warmth of you against him before he decides to get out of bed to cook breakfast for the two of you. Tomorrow, he gets to fall into routines you've both shared ever since you moved in together, but the routines won't feel quite the same anymore.

After all, you were married.

"Asahi cried so much," you mention, earning a chuckle from the silver-haired man.

"If it weren't for that, I think Daichi would've cried too," he jokes, and you both laugh.

"They got us a lovely gift though."

Sugawara eyes the unwrapped gift on the counter, the box carrying the waffle maker being the first thing you opened when you got home.

"Looks like we didn't need to buy one after all," he says, and you grin.

"Waffles for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Waffles for breakfast," he agrees. "And with strawberries."

"Are you going to do that thing?"

"What thing?"

Your grin shifts into something more teasing, an expression he was all too used to.

"Where you cook breakfast for the two of us shirtless," you reply, a hint of laughter in your voice at the sound of his, bubbling up from his throat, "and you wake me up with a kiss and a cup of coffee, and I get to admire the view for a bit."

He couldn't help but laugh. "If that's what my wife wants, then I don't see why not."

"Wife." You smile widely, leaning up to kiss him softly. "I like the sound of that."

Sugawara does too. Maybe the fact that he's married to you will never sink in. Maybe he'll feel overwhelmed every day because he's 22 and he's married to the love of his life. But Sugawara doesn't think he'll mind.

Because being married to you at 22 was the best decision he's ever made, and he's never going to regret it.

saw @neoheros‘s and @coophi’s writing contest and just knew i had to write smth, even if it was a little short <3

#sugawara #sugawara koushi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #fluff #married under 25 with suga plssss #i love suga sm #C/R_HQ!CONTEST

[neoheros]

NEOHEROS & COOPHI 2021 SUMMER HAIKYU! WRITING CONTEST.

— hey everyone !! as promised, my dear friend @coophi and i have decided to host a haikyuu writing contest ! it is open to everyone, and whilst it is called a contest, this is in no means to put any fics and pieces done or submitted down !!

GUIDELINES :

— deadline is september 30, 2021.

— must be in relation to the prompts : married under 25 / neighbors to lovers ! chelsea and i have decided to celebrate our most popular tropes this way so we hope that you find fun in it too !!

— mention anywhere in the post that it is for the summer contest AND please tag me ( @neoheros ) and OR chelsea ( @coophi ) !!

— no word limit ! as long as you’re writing for the prop or tagging us in it, you can write it for as long as you like <3

PRIZES :

— a panel of judges will be helping chelsea and i pick the winners, i assure you it’ll be a fair and thought out judgement, and whilst we will acknowledge winners, this, in no way, implies that anyone who participated has failed.

( it’s very hard to fail when you write something you’re proud of. )

1ST PLACE PRIZE — Fanart of a scene in the fic written and submitted, 1 Year Free Spotify Premium, 2k word x reader fic of your choice written by me !

FIRST PLACE — TO START A YEAR BY @whistlingwillows

2ND PLACE PRIZE — Fanart of the character in the fic written and submitted, 1k+ word x reader fic of your choice written by me :>

SECOND PLACE — 1:02 AM BY @yutari

3RD PLACE PRIZE — 1k word x reader fic of your choice written by me, Short x reader fic of your choice written by @coophi !!

THIRD PLACE — AFTER DARK BY @snailfinger

JUDGING :

— a very gorgeous thank you to the judges whom i trust and respect and without would never let this happen !!

@tisalovestory @tsukishumai @kageyuji @mattsvn @karasimpno @amjustagirl

— i love love LOVE all of you to bits, and i cannot say thank you enough for having done this for us.

— the criteria of judging was left to everyone’s personal taste as a writer and a reader’s pallet is never distinguishable. please trust their judging as much as i did for they have taken their time to read and discern to each one of the entries.

FINALITIES

— i am so sorry this took longer than anticipated.

the judging took the longest time since everyone was busy with their own thing and it was a very long list of entries but still — i very much apologize for it only being posted now, and i am so so grateful to everyone who participated and took the time to write for the contest.

that is something i can never put a place on. as far as i’m concerned, everyone did so well and are all deserving of attention. i am very glad.

dated : august 16, 2021 — october 31, 2021

happy writing and we are very thrilled to read and reread all of your entries !! please and thank you !!!!! <3

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #HERE IT IS AHH #REBLOGS R APPRECIATED OMG #ok i am very excited for this #and also very nervous #if this flops #i will walk into an ocean #JOKE IM JOKING #BUT CHELSEA AND I HAVE PLANNED THIS FOR FOREEVER AND I JUST #HAPPY #x reader #fluff #angst #imagines #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #hq!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu masterlist #haikyuu writing contest #haikyuu contest #writing contest #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu blurbs #haikyuu soft hours #haikyuu songfics #neighbors to lovers #married under 25

[perruvianily]

Window Buddy

Kita x gn! reader; neighbors to lovers; fluff

Warning/s ⚠: none

Word Count ☜: 2.0k

"Wise men say~ only fools rush in~"

You hung out on the roof outside your bedroom as the song played on the radio.

"But I~ can't help falling in love with you~"

The calming song mixed with the gentle whistle of the wind, and the dark of the night made you feel as though you were floating. You savored the few minutes left in the song before you got up to head inside.

Just as you were closing your curtains, you see a silhouette pass by behind the window opposite to yours. You wait a few seconds to see if you weren't just imagining things. The sound of crickets resonated throughout the neighborhood and you felt a bit silly just standing there until the silhouette came back and opened their curtains.

Your eyes met and he gave you a small, curt nod. You smiled in return and waved, then continued closing your windows. You let out a small sigh, at least you weren't imagining things.

•♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 As you entered your bedroom the next afternoon, you peeked to see if the kind man was there. Oh, he isn't. You could feel your shoulders immediately droop and your lips form a little pout. But, you were determined. You grabbed a sheet of paper and a decent marker and started writing as big and as legible as you could. You taped the sheet of paper to your window and distracted yourself with a few other things.

 •♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 Your room was filled with various sounds, as always. There was your favorite song coming from your speaker, inconsistent clicks from your pen, and your tapping on the keyboard.

The sun had set for quite some time. The sky must have been littered with stars by now. You decided that it would be the perfect time to go to the roof— not too cold, not too warm and peaceful. You pushed your curtains out of the way only to be met by the sheet of paper you taped a few hours ago. You tore it down and threw it into the trashcan, forgetting what it was even for. You climbed out of your room and onto the roof, scanning your surroundings. Your eyes caught a piece of paper taped onto the window a few feet ahead of you. A neat 'Hello :)' was written on it.

You searched for any sign of a person inside but was met with darkness. You could always try to meet him tomorrow. And so you scrambled to go back to your room and form a reply.

After a few minutes of thinking and overthinking, you settled for a simple 'What's your name?'. You taped it onto your window, and went to bed, hoping for a reply tomorrow.

 •♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 The same routine went on for a few weeks. You'd tape a sheet of paper to your window, and before you knew it, he already had a response. You just couldn't seem to find the right time to catch him, and you'd feel like an intruder if you suddenly knocked on their door. That would've been somewhat impolite.

You held long conversations just using sheets of paper and a marker that was soon to be out of ink. Through the pieces of paper, you learned a lot about your window buddy. He was always refined and polite with his responses, and his handwriting was always neat. You felt somewhat ashamed of your messier, hurried handwriting.

You shook your head and dismissed the thought. Who cares. You climbed out of your window again, this time much later than you usually would, and to your surprise, your window buddy was sitting on his roof, outside his window.

"I figured we'd be wasting paper if we kept on talking like that." He smiled at you, his eyes forming into little crescents. "It's nice to... actually meet you."

"Ah.... It's nice to, uh, actually meet you too."

You stayed on your respective roofs for a little while longer, hoping to know more about each other. He spoke almost exactly how he wrote– polite and gentle. There wasn't much of a difference in your conversations, only now you can hear his voice.

You went to bed feeling content and happy, already hoping to talk to him the next evening.

 •♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 The roof outside your room quickly became a safe place. It was peaceful and you had a friend, what more could you ask for?

You and Kita are studying for your upcoming finals, barely talking, even if that's what you usually do on the roof. He looks over at you only to see you cursing at your book. Probably math. He folds a piece of paper into an airplane and throws it to you. It lands perfectly beside you, and when you look at where he's sat, he pretends it wasn't him. How cute.

You keep sending each other paper planes containing questions, answers, compliments, teasing and random thoughts. As Kita opens an airplane you threw to him, his eyebrows raise and furrow in confusion. He showed you the paper that said 'Friends aren't exactly rocks, you know. I think they're ladders.'

"And what exactly do you mean?" He asks you, closing his book and giving you his full attention. You're caught off guard. You didn't think he'd take it seriously. "Uh, well, friends hold each other up you know, but not like rocks. They have to build it up and be patient to actually bring each other up. It takes time, and the tallest ladders are the longest friendships, maybe even like, a romantic relationship, I dunno.

And the longest friendships are always so beautiful, and so inspirational because they took years to build it." You look over to him and see him smiling at you, urging you to go on. He knows you tend to ramble and that there's so much more thought put into it and he'd love to hear it all. You spend the rest of the night telling him all about your thoughts and how you'd like a 'ladder' so high you can see above the clouds.

He goes to bed thinking about what you said, and come to think of it, it does make sense. He smiles softly to himself, he'd like—no, love— a ladder like that too.

 •♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 “This is for you.”

You look up from your place on the bench to see Kita holding out a bouquet of roses towards your face. “I- what for?” You look up at him, confused with the sudden action.

He smiles softly, like he always does, and levels his face with yours. “I’ll love you—“ he says, while gently placing the bouquet in your hands, securing them in your arms— “until the last rose in this bouquet wilts.”

“Roses wilt quickly.”

He chuckles, “But you don’t know when they’ll wilt. Keep them alive for as long as you can then.” He gives you a quick goodbye before heading to practice, leaving you confused. Nevertheless, you hurry home, opting to put the roses in a clean vase with water. You fixed them in the porcelain vase, while simultaneously drowning in you thoughts.

You pamper and care for the roses as best as you can, hoping they last longer than a week. You change the water often, trim the stems, and give it first class treatment. Slowly but surely, the petals fall off one by one each day. And each day, you grow more and more anxious.

One week passes, and there are only two roses left, one on the last inch of its life, and the other as good as new. You’re thankful for the last rose, so thankful that you check on it every few hours just to make sure it hasn’t wilted yet.

Another week passes, and the last rose has yet to wilt. You raise your eyebrows every time you check on it and it’s still there, with its petals intact and without any sign of wilting.

You’ve had enough of this immortal rose and try to take one of its petals off– only to fail. You examine it carefully, twisting it in your fingers. You look at its trimmed stem only to find out that the whole rose is plastic. Quite a good copy of a rose, honestly. You become annoyed, an irk mark showing on your forehead. You have been caring for a plastic rose. For two weeks. You’re stomping towards your phone to ask Kita all about it, why would—

Oh.

“I’ll love you until the last rose in this bouquet wilts.”

You’re left frozen in the middle of your home, smiling like an idiot. I guess caring for a plastic rose for two weeks isn’t all that bad.

 •♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 Your eyes fluttered open and was met with sunlight directly shining on your place in bed. You got up slowly and stretched, seeing the difference of your room from now and years back. What a lovely thing to dream of the past. You spent almost all morning collecting all the things that reminded you of your favorite times. The radio you used to blast music from– you laugh, thinking of all the songs you played in repeat on there. Now it can barely even work.

The paper airplanes Kita used to throw to you across your houses– the one that would usually contain little compliments and teasing from him. It's crumpled and the ink is blotchy but you remember vividly the memories associated with it.

As you collect your precious belongings, your smile only grows wider and wider, your eyes shining brighter every time you picture a memory.

What a nice time to look back on. Let's get go-

A single plastic rose from the corner catches your eye. The one that was supposed to wilt years ago. You strode across the room to grab the rose gently into your hands. How could you forget about this. You carefully place it on top of your other belongings and head downstairs.

 •♪♪♪♪♪♪•

 You reminisce on your teenage years as you eat breakfast. You’re barely aware of what you're doing– head always up in the clouds and swimming down memory lane. You're all but gliding on the floor, humming a sweet tune you heard a little while ago. As you trot back to your room, your eyes fall on a blank sheet of paper and an unopened marker. Oh, how wonderful.

You swiftly take them and hurry to your desk. You sweep all your clutter off of it and place the paper down neatly. You write on it as fast as you could and tape it to your window. Surely he'll recognize it.

Not a few hours later, you get a text from Kita saying 'look out your window'. As you carefully open your curtains, look past the taped paper, you see a neat 'Hello :)' written on a piece of paper taped on his window. You can't help the little fuzzy feeling in your stomach. It's like you're reliving the first time you ever talked.

Your mind was about to wander once more when Kita opened his window, climbed onto the roof and invited you to do the same. You can't help the laugh bubbling in your throat as you climb onto your roof.

And just like the old times, you stay there for hours, never growing tired of the other. You watch the sunset cast a golden glow down on the city for the last time today, and you look over at Kita who has been admiring you this whole time. His smile grows wider and he says,

"How high do you think our ladder is?"

"Enough to see above the clouds, window buddy."

You both laugh at the old nickname, realizing how you could never grow tired of it, no matter how many years pass. As the sky dims and the stars start to show, the world calms down and becomes quiet. But if you listen well, you'll hear two faint voices that have been giving the night some sound for the past years.

Tags: @neoheros @coophi @weewoo186 

A/n: This is one of my entries for the contest! The ‘ladder’ part is an actual ramble of mine, so uh hope you enjoy!

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #haikyuu!! #x reader #kita x reader #kita shinsuke #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #fluff

[weewoo186]

Strawberries and Stars

A Tsukishima and Yachi fanfic.

(I can’t write x reader since the reader is supposed to be pretty and I’m obviously not ehe~)

Genres: Slice-of-life, Married under 25, Married life, Friends to lovers, Memories, College days, Rare pair, etc

Warnings: Language not suitable for all ages

Word count: 5.4k

(Note: I used their first names at present time and their last names during their memories uwu)

Kei sighed. It was two in the morning, and he was extremely exhausted by the sheer amount of paperwork stacked upon his wooden desk. Ever since he's started his job, insomnia hovered over him more often then usual at night. Daydreaming whilst keeping his hands moving was possibly the only way for him to get all the work done, blocking out any outside distractions he didn’t want to be involved with. During times like these, he would imagine himself not as a the caffeine-induced workaholic he was forced to become, but simply as a normal partner who's there to accompany Hitoka at home. But today, he simply could not get his work done.

He glanced outside the office room's moonlit windows. He smiled fondly as he recalled how the streetlamps of Miyagi prefecture would light the alleys in flickering, golden hues. Those same lights used to shine upon so many people in a single day: elementary students giggling amongst themselves as they raced home, sport clubs making a racket in front of Sakanoshita's, ladies in their parasols chatting about on their phones, and young couples wandering the streets as they held hands whispering sweet nothings to one another. In comparison, Tokyo at night was dimly lit and quite silent, to his surprise. The only noticeable source of light was the bright, full moon. He chuckled, for who would've thought that the city so full of people presented this type of scenery under the clear moonlit sky?

A sudden gust of cold wind caused him to wrap his arms around his chest, cursing at himself for not bringing anything to warm himself up.

Snapping out of the short daydream, he reluctantly glanced at the paperwork piled under a mini wood-carving of a slightly deformed monkey that Hitoka gave to him as a birthday joke. He took a handful from the pile in front of him and began to read and sign through stacks of documents and requests given to him by his co-workers. A little less than four minutes later, his hands started cramping in the most uncomfortable way possible. He cursed for the umpteenth time as he struggled to keep himself awake, relying mostly on the so-called "special brew" he made that consisted of three whole packs of instant coffee and a small bottle of his favorite strawberry milk that Hitoka gave to him before setting off for work. His eyes kept fluttering, trying to fight the drowsiness that had accumulated from his obvious lack of rest. The dark bags under his eyes honestly didn’t help either, only further indicating to everyone else that he needed rest. Despite the daily concerns of his co-workers, he continued working, not giving himself some slack even for a single moment.

Well, at least until he felt a sudden wave of fatigue coarse through his body.

“Ahaha, the sugar and caffeine are already starting to wear off, I see” he chuckled darkly, contemplating on whether or not he should take another swig of his god-awful brew. “Should I add a few more packs of sugar next time..?" he mused, wishing that some miracle would grant him the power to stake away at willpower.

Inhaling sharply, he still forced himself to work til morning. As his co-workers started checking in one by one, he tried his absolute best to brush off the fact that majority of them were practically forcing him to sleep. He smiled at their futile attempts, assuring them that he was absolutely fine. Despite his co-workers offering to cover for him for a few days; he flatly refused, not wanting to bother them for his inefficiency. As the midday sun rose and hovered above the towering buildings of Tokyo, his peers decided to take a one hour break. After refusing a handful of invitations to go and eat out, he kept himself seated at his desk, determination overflowing as he finished up the remaining papers that needed to be signed. As his ink pen danced over the last document, he heard the concerned voice of Hitoka replaying in his head.

“You're... working too hard," she had said, her dark eyes scanning his tired state, "Ah, don't get me wrong! I just noticed that you're pushing yourself too much and I'm a bit concerned” her voice was laced with worry despite her usually jittery appearance. From this, he let out an amused puff of air. He stood up from his desk, stretching his stiff and tired muscles. Turning, he arranged the files on his desk and switched off the lights in one swift movement as he prepared to go home. From there, he excitedly rushed out of the room, trying not to skip as he imagined his wife waiting for him at home.

-------2 hours later---------

Standing outside his house, he rummaged inside his pocket and pulled out a silver key with mint green dino key chain hanging on one end. He smiled at the funny-looking item and proceeded to enter his humble abode.

Stepping inside the odd, yet, comfortable scenery of his home, he took a single whiff and suddenly felt his fatigue and drowsiness disappear in an instant. To come home and be welcomed by the heavenly aroma of butter and meat being sautéed from the kitchen is an experience only the truly fortunate can indulge in. The scraping and clacking noises of pots and pans filled the room as if to announce to anyone nearby that people are indeed inhabiting the place. After taking in his shoes and placing them on a nearby rack, he silently made his way to the kitchen and saw Hitoka sprinkling foreign ingredients of all shapes and sizes into a pot in small, happy movements, humming a tune he couldn't quite make out. He peered over her shoulder and widened his eyes in pleasant surprise. Although he knew for a fact that he wasn't experienced much in the field of cooking, he at least knew was that whatever Hitoka was making would taste simply amazing once it's finished. He grinned silently, holding his breath as he prepared to surprise his wife.

Stifling a laugh escaping from his throat, he whispered a wheezing “I’m home~” in her ear.

She screamed. And... nO- despite her being absolutely adorable, the demonic sound that escaped from her wasn't the cutesy kind of scream that you oftentimes see in films. It wasn't necessarily loud, but it was extremely high-pitched, to his surprise. The scream lasted for a solid second before quieting down to a handful of curses from the rather short female as soon as she saw the person who startled her.

She gave him a rather irritated smile, an obvious vein popping out from her neck as she crossed her arms waiting for some sort of reaction or apology from the taller male. Kei, on the other hand, just stared with his mouth slightly agape.

There was something rather out of the ordinary about this... foreign scenery standing in front of him.

He took one look at her and tried his utter best to keep himself from fucking laughing. “This is...” he snickered, keeping a palm over his lips. “Quite amusing.” He commented with a smile hidden beneath his palm. When he first entered the kitchen, he was much too intoxicated by the aroma of the food that he didn't noticed his wife's rather... new appearance. He took another quick glance at her as he nearly choked himself from trying to keep his laugh from escaping his dry throat, for Hitoka looked absolutely haggard. Her normally well-kept hair looked more like a bird's nest at this point, although her iconic side-ponytail was still intact, much to his shock. Brandishing a grease-covered spatula like some discount fairy godmother, she was wearing oversized clothing underneath a light blue apron that he bought for her since he knew just how much she loved to work in the kitchen despite him saying over and over that he could take over if she wanted to.

"Hey.." he started, composing himself as he went, "what's with the get-up?" Hitoka simply huffed in response, trying to hide the dust of pink that was slowly spreading across her pale face.

"...Welcome home." she simply said, looking at him before turning, "And in my defense, I wasn't expecting you to be home this early." A small laugh escaped her as she flicked his forehead with her free hand and proceeded to go back to handling whatever she was previously doing in the kitchen.

"Did I bother you that much?" he asked with a smirk as he reached for the shirt folded neatly on top of the table right in front of him.

"Hmm, I wonder.." she replied, re-tying her hair in response.

After much bickering and forehead-flicking, the two of them quieted down and decided to simply accompany each other in silence. Hitoka was tossing around heaps of food inside the large cooking pot as Kei helped out by chopping additional ingredients and spices from their stash. When their bodies occasionally brush against one another, both of them would be warmed by the gentle reminder of each other's presence after a wave of familiarity surrounds them. It was comforting to say the least, because even that much was enough for them. From time to time, Kei would absentmindedly give a small smile as he takes notice of how his and Hitoka's hands would accidentally touch during the whole process. Likewise, she would sometimes even sneak glances at Kei, as if trying to assure herself that he really was there beside her and not just a figment of her overactive imagination.

From an outsider's perspective, one might often think that their relationship is something that people should be concerned about given their common lack of experience and perhaps even communication. But one thing you simply must know about the couple is that both of these individuals are people of few words. And for them, it simply meant that being with each other was more than enough.

Hitoka paused as a memory flashed. Eyes misting, she set the spatula aside and leaned on the kitchen counter, crossing her arms as she simply stood there trying to recall familiar fleeting moments that had long since came to pass. She quickly glanced at Kei who so dedicatedly chopped up vegetables and spices in a surprisingly elegant manner.

For someone who acts like a child every now and then, he sure does have some style.

As the sun snuggled behind the mountains and the day began to cease, golden rays that were left behind spilled through their home's glass windows, gently bouncing off from Kei's hair, making him seem more pure and angelic than he already looked like. She caught his eyes as he simply glanced at her, only noticing now that her hands have stopped moving. He settled down the knife. Curiosity in his voice, he asked what she was thinking about.

"Remember that time? When we first met after graduating?" she asks, a gentle smile touching her pale pink lips.

After her upperclassmen had graduated on her first year of high school, she and the other first-years had become extremely close, to say the least. The club had only increased in members when they made it to the nationals, but like all good memories, this one had to meet its eventual end. She recalled the time where it all began. Five years ago, After they had graduated from Karasuno high, Yachi hadn't been able to keep in touch with anyone outside family as she started becoming extremely busy reviewing for the college entrance exams.

“You can't be a manager forever.”  they said. “Start thinking about your future.” they said.

So she did.

The extreme pressure of having to maintain her status was practically tethering at the edge of insanity as she furiously, yet diligently, studied to the extreme. The days had gone by quickly, but during the time she spent prioritizing the exams, the more her relationship with the team grew distant. It was only after she got the acceptance letter when she realized that she had no one close to share her joy with.

Life goes on, and you let people go. Although she's always been aware that she wasn't the talkative or interactive type, the feeling of emptiness surrounding her started growing as she yearned for the feeling of home that she grew so familiar with since the day she first stepped onto the polished floorboards of the volleyball gym.

And she blamed herself for letting the distance grow.

College life didn't really help either. During the start of semester, she had decided to keep as much as a low profile as she could. Despite her outward appearance being childish, bubbly, or perhaps even annoying, she was actually quite aware of the effect she had on people... And it really wasn't something she was comfortable with.

Her first year had gone by without a hitch. Her class had started forming small groups and circles since the first day, and despite a few friendly people inviting her to hang out with them, she would apologetically refuse to do so after using "I need to study" and "I'm a bit busy" as the usual excuses. So by the end of the year, she was all alone with no one to talk to. Although, as lonely as it sounds like, it wasn't as if it had actually bothered her. In truth, she was comfortable with herself, and that allowed her to get plenty of things done. But.. she really did miss the volleyball team.

---4 years ago---

And as cliché as it sounds, the first time they met after high school was during spring on their second year of college, two years after they had graduated.

It was during the school festival when her professor asked her to bring a box of some materials to a department at the far end of the college campus. In order to get there, you had to pass by a ton of classrooms, at least three different staff offices, five flights of stairs, and a weird statue that seemed extremely out of place. Although she reluctantly agreed, she realized that doing this would give her enough free time to stroll around some of the brightly decorated booths without being told to help around every five minutes being the “reliable classmate” she was. As a response, she asked the professor if he needed help with anything else; so by the time the classroom door had shut behind her, she was holding not one, but three different boxes as she made her way to the other department.

After some time had passed, she eventually arrived at the almost empty classroom where she was supposed to drop off the materials. Well, emphasis on the word 'almost'. Sitting inside was a teacher whom she got rather close to during the time she spent studying inside the college library. The woman who was arranging test papers inside worked as a literature professor and a librarian at the same time. She noticed Hitoka standing outside the classroom and stood up as she opened the door and gestured her to enter the classroom with a kind smile. As usual, she and the teacher engaged in idle conversation over cups of tea that the mysterious woman had somehow produced in thin air. After setting down the items, she prepared to leave until she heard an “oh!” behind her. The older female beckoned her to come closer.

“Ah, Hitoka, come here for a second,” the teacher said with a smile.

“What is it? Is there any chance that you need my help?” she asked politely.

“No no no, nothing of the sort,” she waving her hand, “I'd like to give you an extra copy of this department's library key.” she said, fishing out the said item from her very full right pocket, mumbling as she went.

“Oh? But why?”

“Hmm, I wonder..” the teacher mused as she held out the key “I suppose you could think of it as being the only member in a club?” a hint of sadness laced the kind lady's voice. “Well, just make sure to lock up every time you leave the library, understood?”

---Present---

“Wait wait wait, so you basically had a free pass to the library since second year?” Kei asked in disbelief, his childish side showing, “some of us actually had to pay every time, now that seems a bit unfair, don't you think?

“And I used to pay thrice the amount because of how often I used to go there. Can't help being the favorite, I suppose.” she said with a small shrug, a hint of smugness in her tone.

“But still.”

“If it weren't for that key, we wouldn't have hung out now, wouldn't we?” she said casually, wiggling her fingers in the air.

After another round of bickering, she had finally sat Kei down, allowing her to start placing food she cooked on the table. Just as she's done it tons of times before, Hitoka easily balanced three large plates filled with food on her arms and served them in light movements despite the actual weight of the dishes. Barbecued crisp meat, seasoned fresh leaves, and an assortment of bite-sized rice rolls were to be seen on top of the plates which made Kei's mouth water just a teeny bit. Glancing at him, Hitoka snorted, setting the dishes down carefully as she proceeded to get some drinking glasses and utensils.

“Ah, this might take a while actually,” she said after eyeing something inside a small pot, “Do you want a bath first? I opened it just a while ago.”

“Hmm,” he playfully mused, “but what if I want y-”

“Don't. Even think about finishing that line.” she said, an obvious smile forming, “As if I'd say something that cliché.”

“Ehhh, but-”

“Do you want me to take away Dino?” Dino was a plushie that lived on top of their bed because Kei usually sleeps with the small thing beside him.

“Fine fine, I'll stop,” he said laughing, “but this reminds so much of that first time we met in the library, you know?”

---4 years ago---

Exams week was fast approaching and Tsukishima knew that if he didn't get started on his studies, there's a possibility that he might overwork himself later on. More often that not, he'd receive “compliments” about being better than most students despite his reputation of being rather laid back or apathetic. Sometimes he'd reply with an strained smile saying something along the lines of “Ahaha, I don't think that's true at all. Maybe I just study longer than the average person?” and would proceed to slip on his headphones in annoyance.

In truth, it felt quite suffocating when he received backhanded compliments like those. It was like attributing all his hard work to just talent alone- and never once mentioning the time and effort that was needed to reach the success of where he is today, and-

He sighed. Maybe I'm just sensitive.

Despite the time that had passed, he felt like he was affected by those kinds of words way more than his former teammates were. His heart really wasn't into academics even though he excelled at it, but to people like his teammates who work themselves to the bone being labeled as “just talented” felt insulting, to say the least. Because he himself saw how dedicated they were to the sport (unlike me, he thought), and people haphazardly calling it their talent was like saying they didn't do anything to achieve the skill they have at present.

Ah it doesn't matter, you're still in touch with most of them anyway.

Most of them.

He took his time thinking about where he could possibly find peace and quiet inside the campus... if there even was such a place. Although his department would likely be off limits considering how a lot of people knew who he was, he couldn't exactly study in the hallways of other departments since he doesn't really belong there. Maybe a nearby café? But he might meet some of his peers there.. How about the cafeteria? No one really stays there, but it is full of of noise--

Oh. The library?

An odd choice on his part since no one actually uses it, but why not? It fits his standards perfectly.

In any case, I should probably start now, he thought. Standing outside the rather unimpressive exterior of the library, he started doubting if this was actually a good choice. I mean, look at it. It was the only unlit area of the school like it was trying to purposefully ward off people. The doors were covered in grime from decades of being left unused, and the rust forming on the handles were layered in oil because apparently the school couldn't afford new ones.

Let's just get this over with.

Slightly cringing at the rusty sound the hinges made, he slowly pushed open the heavy wooden doors before he was blinded by the bright rays of sun that filled the area.

Towering shelves of odd shapes and sizes filled the grand room. Although layers of dust had accumulated between the wooden floorboards, not a single speck could be seen on the thick hardbound books that had occupied every corner of the library. Wooden tables were neatly arranged in parallel groups accompanied by an assortment of random chairs and cushions placed haphazardly that kind of gave the “neat but chaotic” feeling. Looking up, you could see orange lights flickering in warm hues, radiating a friendly aura to those who wish to spend their time sitting inside this room that might understandably be mistaken for something akin to paradise. But what was most impressive of all was the sleek baby grand piano sitting at the very middle of the room, perfectly homey amidst the calm interior of the sunlit library.

In awe, he examined the room, wondering how such a beautiful place was left unnoticed by so many people. Wandering amidst the tall shelves, he spotted someone moving from a slightly hidden area behind several sections. He slowly made his way there, wanting to see just what this person was doing, before he saw who it was.

Of all people, it was Yachi.

He swiftly inhaled out of surprise as he tried to convince himself that the person sitting in front of him wasn't who he thought she was. On the other hand, her eyes simply widened as she processed his face, holding a book that was dangerously close to being dropped. Tsukishima's mouth was agape for a while before he managed a stuttering “h-hey..?” which earned him a wordless stare from his former manager.

She tried to hold herself back from reacting to his uncharacteristically awkward attempt of greeting her. When he realized this, a throaty laugh escaped him just before they both fell into a misfit of giggles. Who would've thought they would meet again after their graduation? He smiled and occupied the seat before her as they each caught up in the odd chain of events that was their lives, talking just like they did before as if not a day had gone by since they last saw each other.

---Present---

“...And we just started hanging out after that.” Hitoka said as she took a bite from her plate, pointing her fork at him afterwards, “didn't we use the library more often, too?”

“We did, actually. It's probably because we weren't there to use the books.”

“Oh that's true.”

“Except during exam weeks when we both had to tutor each other.”

“More like you tutoring me since I'm pretty slow.”

“Hmm..” Kei contemplated, “yeah that's accurate.”

“...Ahaha,” she said darkly, “you were supposed to say something like 'that's not true!' to comfort me.”

“I don't lie now, do I?”

And Hitoka just gave him the surprised pikachu face before slamming her hand down the table saying something along the lines of “you take that back!” while trying desperately to defend herself from Kei's casual, yet, witty comebacks. The cycle of bickering had repeated several times, and suddenly both of them were engaged in a heated argument about... something. The two people sitting on the table was a nonchalant Kei eating peacefully, and a stammering Hitoka blushing from embarrassment. If anyone outside so happened to look inside their house, they would see two idiots arguing for absolutely no reason.

“Now now, let's stop this shall we?” Kei said with a smile, completely ignoring the gawking Hioka in front of him. “It's getting rather late so we should probably get some sleep” he said while stacking plates and glasses on top of each other. He  silently walked towards the sink, holding the stack carefully until one of the glasses decided to yeet itself and fall to the floor. So of course, Hitoka wanting to have something to hold over Kei, took advantage of this and decided to make fun of him.

Turning, he smiled sweetly despite the annoyed aura surrounding him.

“I think this conversation had gone past its initial purpose don't you think?” He stepped towards the shorter female, eyes glinting with hidden intent. Taking advantage of the immense height difference, Kei looked rather intimidating as he towered himself over her. He slowly walked towards Hitoka who stood still in response. He placed his hand on her shoulder and said:

“We're going to sleep now, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” She said.

“Good.” Tone changing, he returned back to the calm person Hitoka’s used to seeing.

Their large bedroom was usually quite dark as soon as night falls, but today, however, the moonlit sky illuminated the room, sending wisps of light bouncing off different surfaces, making the room shine in the colors of the night sky. The neatly arranged white sheets of the large bed in the middle of the room was immediately wrinkled as the couple decided to lay side by side in the middle, peacefully drifting off to sleep.

Well, at least Kei did.

Some time had passed before Hitoka heard Kei softly snoring beside her. His soft hair was tousled by all his moving while he softly mumbled in his sleep. She watched him quietly in the darkness, stifling a giggle so as not to wake him up. Although she was oftentimes extremely tired after working at home and handling the chores, she felt an unfamiliar feeling of wakedness that she hadn't felt in a long time. Not wanting to tire herself more, she then decided to get up and read something instead to help her sleep. Slowly reaching for the book atop a nearby desk, she carefully took the said item and began reading under the clear, moonlit sky.

…

Ahaha.

Hitoka felt disappointed in herself.

One more page, she said. I'll be done in a few minutes, she said.

Except that clearly wasn't the case, seeing how it's already 7 in the damn morning.

This is what books do to you. You pick them up, thinking that it's a harmless object that casually passes the time until you check the clock and see that a decade has already passed. Books mess with your sense of time, and she knew that all too well given her habit of reading every so often.

It even messes with your sense of hearing. Rain had been pouring for quite some time now, but obviously she was too busy to notice. And although Kei was a deep sleeper, the loud  gushing sounds of rain (that's apparently inaudible to Hitoka) had stirred him awake. He slowly sat up and met his wife's baggy eyes looking back at him while she held a thick book in her hands that clearly indicated what she'd been doing the past few hours.

“Ahaha..” his wife laughed nervously, obviously guilty about what she's done, “good morning..?”

He just stared at her blankly in response.

“I'm not even going to ask.” he said stoically as he pulled over the blankets and went back to sleep.

Hitoka pretended to be insulted as she buried him in pillows and placed a small stuffed Dino on top of the fortress she had made on top of him, as if marking her territory. She huffed proudly which furrowed her eyebrows just a little bit. But when he didn't react, she just assumed he was asleep and went back to reading the book right beside him, deciding to accompany him until he woke up again.

When the rain had quieted down to a gentle drizzle she quietly asked:

“Hey, are you awake?”

Amidst the amount of pillows balancing on top of him, he met her eyes a second time and can't help but think how in the world did such a sweet person end up with someone salty as him? He’d been nothing but apathetic to her when they first met, so it truly is a wonder as to how and why they ended up together. Eyes wetting, he reached for her, long arms escaping the fortress and-

He hugged her.

And that was enough.

No I-love-yous, kisses, or words were exchanged. She understood. And that was all that matters. Cradling him gently, she let him stay in that position until he pulled away with a peaceful smile on his face

---4 years ago---

“Hey Tsukishima...” Yachi started.

“Mm?”

“Isn't spring supposed to be the season of cherry blossoms and youth?”

“Mhmm.”

“Then why..” she said, pointing outside, “is it raining so hard?”

“I was gonna ask the same thing.”

Ever since they started hanging out, the library had become some sort of a special place to the both of them. It served as a change of environment from the bleak sceneries they're used to seeing day by day; as if it was like a gentle reminder that there was a place for just the both of them.

But even the homey feeling of the library couldn't permanently ward off the glum aura that came with the rain. Which is why both of them were standing right outside the building.

Yachi sighed. Neither of them had brought an umbrella since the weather forecast said that the chances of it raining today were slim to none. So what were they supposed to do now?

“Hey, let's just go back inside,” she said motioning him to come with her, “Maybe we can borrow- hey Tsukishima?” she tugged on his sleeve, but he hadn't moved a single inch. “Come come, let's go inside now”

“Say..” He turned, looking straight at her. “Have you ever played in the rain as a kid?”

“Huh? My mom was strict so no I haven't. Why do you ask?

Without a word, Tsukishima cheekily smirked in response. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her under the rain while Yachi's usually unreadable face gave way to one that just looked at him in surprise.

“What are you-!”

“Now is the time to do it, no? Rain is very rare after all.”

Tsukishima simply chuckled as he held her wrist tightly, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to make memories under the sky of white velvet whose tears invite a cascade of umbrellas to color their gray world. The people around them stared, silently judging the two odd individuals under the rain: a girl protesting but not pulling away, and a guy determinely leading her with a warm smile plastered on his face.

They were just surrounded by so many people. And when you're surrounded by so many people, it can be lonelier than when you're by yourself. You can be in a huge crowd, but if you don't feel like you can trust anyone or talk to anybody, you feel like you're really alone. But in this moment, as the two of them held hands laughing, it didn't matter if they were the only two people in the world, for they felt that each other's company was more than what the world could offer.

---Present---

“That was so cringey.” Kei said, disbelief written all over his face after he recalled the memory with his wife. “'Rain is very rare after all'-- who says that??”

“You did,” she snickered, only causing him to bury his face even further.

“I'm done. I'm so done.” he said, standing up, “I'll make some coffee to clear my thoughts.” Deeply inhaling, he left the room with a twinge of red coloring his face. Following him, she stood up as well, preparing to face the day ahead of her.

Tags: @neoheros @coophi @perruvianily

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #tsukishima kei #tsukishima #tsukki #yachi hitoka #yachi #tsukishima x yachi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu oneshot #not an x reader #i guess lmao #they're 23 or 24 if you do the math #pls bear with me lmao #scared but i have nothing to do #here ya go perruvianily #Rare pair will always be superior