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wqnsho · 3 months

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ᥫ᭡。 flicker.

⟢ pairing: kuroo x fem!reader

⟢ summary: when you’re young and in love, it’s easy to forget that life can be far crueler than it should be at 18. but it’s also easy to forget that life can work in wonderful ways too. sometimes, you just have to wait a little for it.

⟢ cw: fluff, mild hurt/comfort, breakups, exes to lovers, mutual pining

⟢ wc: 5.1k

⟢ a/n: a slightly edited repost of a fic I wrote a couple of years ago :3

The last moment you spent with Kuroo was unremarkable.

“Swap.”

“But I like this one.”

“You know the rules.” With a resigned sigh you hand him your can of lychee soda, gingerly taking his bottle of aloe vera juice. Eyeing the cloudy, slightly greenish liquid, you grimace before you reluctantly raise it to your lips. You take a sip and wrinkle your nose in disgust.

“I can’t believe you actually like this shit.”

“Don’t be dramatic, you’ve just got childish taste buds. Besides, it’s good for you”

“I do not!” you scoff, hitting his shoulder lightly.

“Uh-huh. And this is coming from the girl who drinks artificially flavoured sugary juice.”

“Give it back then if you don’t like it,” you huff, making a grab for it.

“No.” He holds the can out of reach of your outstretched hand, which is not much of a feat considering how long his arms are. “It’s mine now.”

“But you don’t even like it!” you whine.

“Don’t care,” he shrugs, taking a sip.

“Even if all your teeth fall out from the sugar, old man?” You raise an eyebrow challengingly.

“I’ll get dentures,” he grins, throwing you a teasing wink. “I’m sure I can make the fake teeth work. Anything’s possible when you look like this.”

“Oh, shut up will you.” You scowl at him, slumping back down on his bed beside him and sipping at the remainder of his drink in annoyance, pushing down the strong urge to spit it at him. It would be funny, and maybe start a gross little war between you, but you’re not really in the mood for that right now.

Silence falls between you again, an obnoxiously frequent visitor on this clear, starry night. Your head falls on Kuroo’s shoulder just as his arm finds your waist and tucks you closer into his side, fingers tracing shapes over your hip. A few months ago, he would be laughing nervously and trying his hardest to play it cool, all while a hot blush lit up his cheekbones and ears. There’s very few traces of that shy boy left. You miss him a little.

“Feels weird now that we’ve graduated,” you muse. “It’s all downhill from here.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he scolds lightly. “We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us!”

“Here we go.”

You groan as he starts his rant about life and things that are too abstract and far away into the future for you to think about. Turning your head, you watch him excitedly talk about possibilities and plans and your heart weighs down in your chest.

This will be the last time.

“Tetsu,” you interrupt quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to forget me after I’ve left.” You can feel how Kuroo tenses all of a sudden, the lines of his body stilling as his grip on you tightens protectively. Defiantly.

“Woah, woah, woah- why would I do that?” he asks worriedly. You sigh heavily, sitting up so that you can look at him. He knows why. You’ve had this conversation before, several times in fact.

“To make it easier. For both of us. We’ve talked about this before, and I’ve been thinking that it would be best.” you tell him gently, even though every cell in your body tells you not to.

“But I don’t want to forget you,” he says stubbornly. “And who exactly is this easier for? Don’t you even want to try making this work long distance? I think we can do it.”

“I don’t want to end up resenting you.” Kuroo’s brows pinch together. “What if I neglect you, or you neglect me? What then? What if we start hating each other?”

“You won’t! We’ll call and text everyday, it’ll be like you never left! That’s what technology is for, sweetheart.”

“But we’ll only manage to squeeze in a couple of hours each day at best because of the timezone differences and even then we might not manage that! You know it doesn’t make sense,” you point out. Your tone softens as you take his hand in yours, running your thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “You’re usually so logical, Tetsu, this isn’t like you.”

Kuroo sighs, tugging you in to rest against his chest. It’s so natural now, so effortless, how you fall into each other’s embrace. Like being there was written for you from the start.

“Not always. Love isn’t logical y’know. You taught me that,” he murmurs into your hair. “Love tells me that I should keep you here, safe in my arms, not let you go halfway across the world for university.”

“Tetsu, you know-“

“I know, I know. Believe me, I know. I’d never hold you back, no matter what. But you can’t ask me to be logical when every cell in my body refuses to let you go. You can’t ask me to forget you because I would never be able to. How could I ever forget someone I love?”

You cling to him more tightly, cursing every divine power that has decided to wedge itself between you. Why the fuck has life led you in this direction? It’s cruel. Unfair.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you mumble.

“I’m not. And despite what you say, I know you won’t forget me either. Doing this now, or before you leave, or not at all, is going to hurt us at some point.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

You sit up to look at him again, meeting melancholic eyes that mirror your own turmoil. Tenderly, he brushes your hair back, long fingers lingering on your cheek.

“You might be right about the long distance thing not working,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to give up on us butâ€¦ I guess it makes sense to. We’re young, we’ll be busy - how many high school couples even last a long distance?”

“Not many, I don’t think.”

“Right. Then, for tonight, I want you to pretend with me. Let’s pretend that you’re not leaving me next week, and that we’ll see each other tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that.”

“Will that help?” you ask sadly. He smiles ruefully and shakes his head, his dark hair bouncing with the action.

“No. But I don’t wanna be sad about you going just yet.”

And you do just that. You talk and laugh, share stories and snacks, holding onto each other all the while through kisses and giggles. It’s pure bliss, this little bubble you’ve blown around yourselves in Kuroo’s bedroom.

But it’s sullied by the ticking of the clock on his wall that you can’t help but repeatedly glance at. And as thatclock nears midnight and you know it’s time to leave, your heart begins to ache desperately.

His hands rest on your hips as you stand before his closed door. When your lips meet, it’s not like your usual goodbye kisses, which are sweet and chaste. This kiss quickly becomes a deep, needy, yearning thing that you can’t pull yourself out of. You drown in the sensation of his slightly chapped lips, get lost in the taste of his still-shy tongue, melt right into the contours of his body.

You don’t even realise the two of you are crying until you pull away. You’re breathless and sobbing a little, clinging to him so tightly you’re sure it hurts him, but it doesn’t matter.

Leaving hurts more.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whisper. “I wanna stay with you.” He kisses your tears away, resting his forehead against yours and squeezing your frame.

“I’m not dying or anything, why are you crying?” he teases wetly.

“You’re crying too, dumbass.”

“So what if I am?” he sniffles, pressing tender kisses to your forehead. “My pretty girl’s leaving me forever.”

“I don’t want to, Tetsu.”

“I know, but you’ll be okay, baby. We’ll be okay,” he says, shushing you gently, but neither of you believe it for a second.

And why would you?

You’re 18. Young and stupid. Freshly graduated with the world at your feet and the whole of adulthood stretching on before you, a winding path that you can’t fully see.

And yet, this is your world, right here in your arms.

All this time, he has been by your side, naturally, but he won’t be following you into the great unknown, as much as he wishes he could. He’s seeing you off on your journey now, parting ways with you as he embarks on his own, in a different direction, even though he wants you to stay with him. He watches you from the front door as you leave, blowing you a kiss and yelling his love after your retreating figure.

This is what it means to grow up.

This is goodbye.

And you both fucking hate it.

It takes a good while to nurse your broken hearts, made more difficult by the fact that you have to adjust to new environments and new people as you heal. But you grieve and you grow and the years pass by in the blink of an eye.

Seven years have passed since that tearful night. Seven years of study, study, study and then work, work, work. You moved back to Japan a year or so after graduating university, homesick from so many years away. You visited during that time of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as living out your daily life in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you dreamed that you would bump into him. Wishful thinking perhaps, but you couldn’t quite tamp down all of your feelings towards the rooster-haired captain. There’s still a small flame flickering in the depths of your heart just for him and it’s this very flame that keeps you warm on some nights.

You wonder if that same flame burns in his own chest for you.

The convenience store is a welcome reprieve from the summer heat that bears down on you intensely. The sounds of passing cars is muffled as the doors slide shut behind you, leaving only the whir of the air conditioner and the gentle warble of a pop group playing quietly over the radio to accompany you.

You drift towards the back where the fridges are situated, absently inspecting bags of snacks as you pass and touching a box of pocky before changing your mind and continuing on. There’s a blast of cool air when you pull the fridge door open and hold it there with your hip as you scan the selection of beverages on display. There’s one in particular that catches your eye, conjuring a memory forth from the depths of your mind.

With a nostalgic smile, you reach in and grasp the can of lychee soda, only for your hand to bump into one much larger than yours.

“Ah, sorry about that,” says a smooth, deep voice. The sound sends a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the open fridge.

But it can’t be, can it?

Hopeful curiosity lifts your head to look for the owner of the voice, and you have to crane your neck a little just to look up at his face. Dark hair, still messy, but more tamed than it was in his youth - now it looks deliberate. Sharp jaw, elegant nose, and those eyes, warm hazel - almost amber, and strangely feline in shape. He doesn’t look the same but he doesn’t look different either. Just a taller (somehow) more handsome and mature version of his younger self. In a suit no less, only it’s paired with volleyball shoes.

You would probably laugh out loud if your mouth didn’t feel so dry, like you’ve just eaten a fistful of sand as you gape up at him with a mix of shock and wonder.

“I must be dreaming right now,” you whisper to yourself and the man sniggers, still inspecting the can in his hand.

Oh. That’s still the same.

“Are you talking to-“ he falters as his eyes flick to your face. “-me.”

His face mirrors your own and you’re not sure how long you stand there, fridge wide open, until someone mumbles an ‘excuse me’ and shakes you from your respective trances. You wait for them to leave before you dare to look at each other again.

“Tetsu?” It feels a little foreign saying his name again after so long. And yet, the weight of it sits familiar on your tongue, the roll of each syllable feels natural as it passes your lips.

He says your name and you wonder if it tastes the same to him, if it reminds him of home the way that his does for you. “Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You awkwardly raise a hand in greeting.

“Hi,” he says, sounding as dazed as you feel. “Almost didn’t recognise you. You lookâ€¦ different.”

“So do you. It’s been a while,” you offer lamely. He was never this hard to talk to, but you suppose that time is a thief that is impossible to catch, stealing the ease that you built your relationship on.

“Yeah. It has.”

“Seven years,” you murmur with a touch of melancholy.

“Where did the time go?”

You both fall silent, there in the snack aisle of a convenience store in Tokyo, in the middle of summer, wondering what you should say next. Wondering what is appropriate after so much time has passed.

Because you’ve both grown. A lot. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You’re hardly the same people you were seven years ago. It’s stupid of you to even entertain the idea that he could fall in love with you again, but you entertain it all the same.

You’d never admit it aloud, but on some of your loneliest nights, you fantasise about what could happen if you met again. How you’d fall back together so easily, how you’d be so in love, the way that you used to be. Maybe you’d move in together, get a pet together, maybe you’d get married and have a family. Maybe you’d grow old with the only boy you’d ever loved so earnestly, so boundlessly, despite being so young.

It’s Kuroo that finally breaks the silence.

“Let’s catch up,” he says, with a crooked grin. “For old times sake.”

You pay for your drinks and head back out into the sun. It’s odd, you think. Tokyo is familiar and Kuroo is familiar, as well as the drink in your hand but it still feels strange to you. You’re in a different part of the city because of your new job and the brand of soda you like has changed their recipe.

And then there’s Kuroo.

His gait is, regrettably, longer than it used to be, as is the height at which you stand next to him. He sounds different, dresses different, he even smells different. Back then, he used to smell like far too much body spray and his grandma's honeysuckle detergent. Now? The scent coming off him is expensive and thoroughly masculine - you might even dare to say it’s incredibly sexy.

You cast him a sideways glance, belatedly noticing the can that he sips at. It’s identical to yours and you can’t help but scoff aloud.

“I thought you said that stuff was full of sugar?” Kuroo turns to look at you curiously as you both slow to a stop and point at him accusingly. “Remember? You used to nag me for drinking it.” Your lips push out in a pout at the memory of his lecture, and he laughs.

The sound transports you back to high school, to a time where you’re still boyfriend and girlfriend, two peas in a pod, no longer clad in office wear but in your school uniforms. Kuroo’s hair is horrendous, tangled hopelessly by the wind that blows through it. You’re holding hands and bickering, but still laughing. Always laughing.

“That’s cos you used to drink it every day,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in that goddamn smirk. “And it’s addictive.”

“Oh is that right? Well, I did tell you as much back then. How the tables have turned!” you proclaim triumphantly. He rolls his eyes, amused by your smug expression.

“I’m not addicted to it,” he says, quirking his brow challengingly. “I still don’t like it.”

“Oh really? Then why did you get it?” You narrow your eyes at him as he shakes his head, smile softening.

“It’s a secret,” he says, tapping his nose with a wink before he continues to walk. Your eyes narrow in a glare as you jog after him and attempt to fall back in step with him.

“Oi, slow down! Long legged bastard,” you grumble under your breath.

“What did you just call me?” he asks quietly. You freeze, clapping a hand over your mouth as realisation dawns on you. You can’t joke with him like that anymore. Not after you put millions of miles between you. What boundaries lie there now?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” He cackles at the look on your face, doubling over right there in the middle of the street. You fix him with a deadpan look, arms folded over your chest, thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m kidding, relax! God, you should see your face, baby!”

This time, you both freeze, and the illusion shatters. A soft pink stains his cheeks as his ears and brain catch up to his tongue and heart. 25, and he’s still not immune to blushing. 25, and it still makes him look hopelessly sweet. 25, and it still makes your heart swell.

“I didn’t- shit, I’m so sorry! It just slipped out,” he yelps, panic widening his eyes. You’re not quite sure what to say to him. The pet name echoes in your ears and thunders in your chest, reawakening butterflies with Kuroo’s name scrawled across the delicate wings. Your own cheeks feel warm.

“Easy mistake to make,” you say, biting back a shy smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s call it even.” He clears his throat nervously and sips at his drink to give himself something to do, your own fingers fiddling with the carrier bag in your hand until he finally breaks the stifling silence.

“I er, I know a pretty good ice cream place about 5 minutes away from here. We can catch up there?”

“Sounds good.”

Your walk resumes and you’re both quiet again, but this time, it’s comfortable. The little bell above the door chimes and he follows in behind you to stand at the counter, poring over the selection behind the glass.

Kuroo has brought you to a quaint little spot, tucked away between an electronics shop and a bakery. Inside, it’s cool and vibrant, the pastel palette running through the airy space brightening your mood a little. It doesn’t take either of you long to make your choices, taking your cones and finding a little booth in the back to sit at.

Perhaps it’s a little odd for two adults in their mid-twenties to be sitting in an ice cream parlour, nibbling at ice cream cones and searching for something to say that sounds half-way cool and nonchalant. But Kuroo did say this was for the sake of old times, and what better way to plunge you into the past than a quiet booth and some ice cream.

“Soâ€¦” you start, but you don’t know how to finish.

“Soâ€¦” he copies, drawing the word out. You raise an eyebrow at him, licking at your ice cream and he mirrors you, holding the expression before you both snort and burst into laughter.

“Fucking hell, stop making it weird!” you giggle.

“I’m not!”

“You’re making that face!”

“Speak for yourself! Look, I just didn’t expect to run into you of all people on my way home. I’m still processing it,” he says with a grin.

“Neither did I!” His eyes soften as he smiles, crinkling at the corners.

“So how have you been?”

And just like that, you feel right at home again. You talk and laugh, smile brighter and bigger than you have in years. The cones have long since been polished off and you’re still occupying the booth, any concept of time tossed out the window. It’s not long before your catch-up of the present bleeds into reminiscing on the past.

“And then Bokuto slipped and fell right into you!”

“I remember that, I would’ve fallen flat on my face if you hadn’t caught me. You never did let that go, I swear, you gloated about it for ages,” you complain, pouting in annoyance.

“You have to admit that line was pretty smooth!” He puffs his chest out a little with pride and you roll your eyes.

You mock his deep timbre. “‘Are you falling for me?’”

“It was cool!”

“It was cheesy!” you both laugh at the memory, letting the feeling of nostalgia linger over you like a warm blanket just a little while longer.

“We had some good times together,” he hums and you nod, smiling wistfully at the memories you’ve been submerging yourselves in.

“We did.”

“I miss those days.”

“Me too.”

“No, I mean when we were together. I really loved you,” he says quietly, warm eyes burning with sincerity.

“I did too.” You heart thuds heavily in your chest at the implications in his gaze but you force yourself to rein it in and squash the hope that flutters there. “But we were so young. Immature. Naive.”

“So?” He almost sounds offended. “Does that mean it didn’t count or something?”

“No, I’m not saying that.” You shake your head and sigh. “I’m just saying, I’m sure you’ve dated other people since then and fallen in love again. Real love, not the silly delusions of a teen.”

“Our love was real.”

Your breath hitches then at the fire in his eyes, a fire that you recognise, the same as the one that burns quietly in the depths of your heart. You try to shift his attention.

“Aren’t you dating anyone right now?” you ask hesitantly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“No,” he says fiercely, but then he cools a bit and leans back in his seat. “No. I’m not. I’ve tried, butâ€¦ Nothing ever stuck. How about you?”

“I tried too,” you murmur. “But I couldn’t love them in the right way, I guess.”

Not the way I loved you.

The air between you becomes heavy with words unsaid crowding the tips of your tongues all at once, piling against your teeth and begging to break free. Kuroo calls your name, and your belly flutters in the way that it used to.

He calls out to you again and it’s so soft, so Kuroo, that your heart aches. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to keep speaking with bated breath. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

He sucks in a shaky breath and adds another secret to the pile housed deep in your heart, still kept firmly under lock and key.

“I drink them when I miss you.”

You pause, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Drink what?”

Kuroo’s expression turns exasperated as he runs a hand through his neater-than-it-used-to-be hair. The blush from before returns, tinging his ears red with embarrassment.

“The lychee soda.”

Oh.

“Soâ€¦ today?”

He nods sheepishly, covering his face with his hand.

“How was I supposed to know I’d bump into you?” he mumbles again. You say nothing, marvelling at the man before you instead. Still as sweet as the day you met him. Years have passed, and so many things have changed. And yet, somehow, Kuroo remembers you the way that you remember him.

No, not remember, he misses you the way that you miss him, still finding comfort in the warmth of that flame, just like you. Still finding solace in bubbles and sugar.

“Tetsu-”

“Weird right?” he chuckles humourlessly and you shake your head no.

“No, it’s not weird. Not really,” you say, fiddling with the napkin in front of you. “You did say you wouldn’t forget me.”

“True,” he hums.

“And if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t forget you either.”

“You didn’t?” A warm flush creeps up your own cheeks this time as you nod and give in a little.

“I missed you, Tetsu. I know it’s been such a long time, and holding onto hope that I’d see you again is probably really fucking stupid, not to mention unhealthy, but-“

“I couldn’t help it,” you say simultaneously.

Slowly, identical giddy grins spread over your faces and you find yourselves giggling like teenagers all over again.

“Let me take you out tomorrow,” Kuroo says suddenly with that lopsided grin that you fell in love with all those years ago.

“On a date?”

“If you want it to be. Or even just as friends. But seeing you again, it’s just-“ you halt him with a raised hand, a teasing grin playing at your lips as your head cocks to the side.

“Tell me about it on our date, yeah?”

And he does.

The date with Kuroo is truly magical. He’s a picture perfect gentleman, coming to pick you up with a bouquet of fresh, red roses in hand and a happy grin on his face. It seems that both of you have dressed to impress, Kuroo dressed neatly in a crisp white shirt and charcoal trousers whilst you spent hours scouring your wardrobe for the perfect dress. It’s honestly a little ridiculous when you think back on it since you knew each other so well already, so why would you need to impress each other?

But that was then, and this now.

There seems to be a goal in Kuroo’s mind as he helps you out of his shiny black Jaguar, leading you into a fancy looking restaurant. It’s clear he’s spared no expenses for the occasion. You eat and drink and laugh, allowing yourselves to get pulled back together again, like magnets. The flames in your hearts burn brighter, more fiercely with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth spread throughout your bodies, lapping gently through your veins.

As the night draws to a close and he drives you home, full, content and sleepy, you feel more whole than you’ve felt in the entirety of your adult life. You glance to the side, taking in his beautiful profile, that exquisite jawline and the curve of his lips that you want to feel on yours again.

You wonder if they taste the same as they did back in high school. If they still taste like the gum he used to chew or those ghastly health drinks he was obsessed with. Sometimes, he’d chase you around campus right after eating mackerel for lunch, threatening to kiss you with the strong flavour of fish still lingering in his mouth. Are his lips still a little chapped? Does he still grin into his kisses as his fingers rest on your cheek? Make that sweet little humming noise in the back of his throat that sounds like laughter? Does he still wear a goofy smile when he pulls away?

All thoughts of kissing him are shaken from your mind as he kills the engine and walks you all the way to the front door of your apartment. You unlock the door and turn to say goodbye, a little sad that the night has to end. Kuroo rests his arm against the door frame above his head, car keys dangling from his hand and a lazy smile sitting comfortably on his handsome features.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says.

“Me too.”

“I guess I’ll see you soon?”

Those words should be followed closely with a goodbye, but Kuroo lingers, as does his gaze, flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong,” he says after a beat of silence. “But you kissed me on our first ever date, didn’t you?” You hum thoughtfully, an impish grin rounding your cheeks.

“No, actually I didn't. It was the second date and it was on the cheek cos you looked like you were ready to pass out when I got close to your lips.”

“I did not!” he whines indignantly.

“Did too,” you shrug.

“That’s bullshit,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I’m wrong so now you have to kiss me.”

“Real smooth, Tetsuro.”

“I know, now if you’ll let me, I want to overwrite that first kiss.”

“How? We’ve kissed a million times before,” you argue.

“That was then, this is now. We’re restarting this whole thing,” he insists.

“We are?” You raise an eyebrow in question and he simply nods, cocksure and firm.

“We are.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” Kuroo takes a step forward and suddenly there’s very little space between you. “So? Will you let me have a redo?” he murmurs.

“You can try. The first time was pretty sweet. It’d be pretty hard to top it.”

“Challenge accepted, baby.”

With that, his hands slip around your waist and pull you flush against his firm body. When his lips slant down over yours, you still have to reach up to meet him, eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet after seven years apart.

He is all you remember and so much more, so much better than before, as if that were even possible. You learn that he tastes sweet like dessert, but he still tastes like your Tetsu. He grins against your lips as you press closer and you praise whoever the fuck convinced him to regularly use chapstick because his lips are so soft and pliant against yours. His kisses are dizzyingly good, addictive and sensual, his fingers resting against the back of your neck whilst his palm sits along the curve of it. You sigh into his mouth, one of relief, because you’re finally home.

Where you belong.

As fate intended.

When Kuroo pulls away, there’s a sparkle in his eyes and he smiles so sweetly you think that sugar will never taste the same again. He brushes a stray lock of your hair back, letting his thumb linger over the warm apple of your cheek.

“Can I say something?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to warn you, it’s a little unconventional for a rebooted first date,” he chuckles.

Then, his expression becomes a little more serious. “But I really, really fucking love you and I don’t think I ever stopped.” Your heart swells and spills over as his grip on your waist tightens.

“I love you too,” you say, and you really can’t resist so you tug him back towards your lips and kiss him again.

“So.”

Again

“So.”

And again.

“So much.”

Fate nods and lets you love him all over again.

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wqnsho · 3 months

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warnings: gn!reader, i’m in love with sakusa kiyoomi.

sakusa kiyoomi who searches the crowd for you every game, always hoping that his eyes will meet yours. and they always do. he’s always able to pick you out from the the other hundreds of people there to watch them play.

sakusa kiyoomi who near begs you to just accept his offer of sitting you in one of the front sections. he can get you any ticket you want in any row of any stadium they play in. as much as he loves searching for you, he’d prefer the comfort of knowing exactly where you are from the start.

“are you whining?” you tease, smiling up at your boyfriend, “you sound a lot like atsumu right now.” “don’t compare me to him.” kiyoomi huffs, resting his chin back on your head. “i just think it’d be nice to find you right away. and you’d be able to watch the game better if you were closer.” “i don’t want special treatment just because we’re dating. besides, don’t you think it’s fun to try and find me in the crowd? it isn’t even a little exciting?” “no.” he immediately answers, because it isn’t to him. nothing is exciting until he sees you. the search is just getting in the way of that. “but i suppose if you enjoy sitting in the most random spots around i can’t stop you.” “you’re right.” you nod, triumphant smile on your face. “if roles were reversed you’d understand. watching you scan the faces of strangers hoping to find mine always makes me feel nice. plus, the look when you finally find me gives me butterflies.” “no way i make a face.” kiyoomi shook his head and stared down at you, “do i really?”

sakusa kiyoomi who is pleasantly surprised to see you in one of the front rows of his next game, and later is shown a video of the exact moment he sees you.

he does, in fact, make a face.

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wqnsho · 3 months

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wqnsho · 3 months

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texting fwb!suna 'happy father's day' and then ignoring his texts and calls just to make him sweat a bit

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wqnsho · 3 months

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coach ukai

ukai keishin is a creature of habit.

he always buys the same brand of cigarettes, and the same colour lighter. he has used the exact same brand of soap since he was a kid. when he makes his coffee in the morning he always adds the same amount of milk, one sugar, stirs it three times clockwise and once in the opposite direction, blows on it twice, and then takes his first sip.

so imagine your surprise the day you walk into sakanoshita market and ukai keishin, creature of habit, your perfectly predictable boyfriend of four and a half years, is nowhere to be found.

because there's no way that the man standing behind the counter, apron on, twirling a cigarette between his fingers, with neatly combed brown hair is him.

it looks a lot like him, to be sure.

the same gentle slope of his nose, the same sharp brown eyes that light up when he spots you stepping through the door, the same little smile that you've seen curl up an identical set of lips countless times.

"what the hell did you do?"

the man who looks like (but is definitely not) ukai keishin's smile falters.

"hello to you too, sweetheart," he half-says, half-laughs. "what a terrible way to greet someone."

alright, this might be keishin.

"your hair," you finally take a step into the store, towards the counter, eyes still fixed on the head of hair that looks a lot like your boyfriend's but definitely isn't, because it isn't the same shade of peroxide yellow that Keishin had been dying it since the two of you were in high school.

the hand not fiddling with the cigarette reaches up to touch the brunette locks atop his head, though he's careful not to tousle them too much.

"you don't like it?" he asks, an uncharacteristic lilt of insecurity in his voice.

you pause.

"I... I just... give me a second," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. you draw a few deep breaths in, eyes closed, before looking at him again.

"so?" he says, an eyebrow (that for the first time in over ten years matches the shade of hair on his head) cocked. "what's the verdict?"

you step up to the counter, reaching out across it to run your fingers through the strands. they're softer than they'd ever been, and a little shorter too -- having clearly been freshly trimmed.

"you look..." you grapple for the right words. "really hot."

and you know without a shadow of a doubt that the man on the other side of the counter couldn't be anyone other than ukai keishin when you see the smile -- wide and toothy -- that stretches across his handsome face.

"you think so?" he asks, dropping his unlit cigarette in the ashtray in front of him, circling the counter to wrap you in his arms. there's no one around, so you let him -- though you're not sure an audience would have stopped you, anyway.

you can only nod as he holds you tight against him, smiling down at you with that same grin.

"why the sudden change?" you ask him, hands pressed against the front of his apron as your eyes search his face.

"well..." keishin looks away, his cheeks puffing out a little as he mulls over his response. "we're getting older you know -- can't have you walking around looking like you're dating a delinquent forever."

"but you were a cute delinquent," you laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of his pursed lips.

"and I had something important to do today, too. wanted to clean myself up a bit for it," Keishin adds, his eyes scanning your face. the playful look from a moment prior has melted away, and as you stare up at him, you're reminded just how very handsome of a man that boy from your high school volleyball team has grown up to be.

your brows knit together in confusion. "oh yeah?" you ask, pulling away slightly. "and what was that?"

"I went to see your parents," keishin said, eyes fixed unwaveringly to yours, "to see if maybe instead of you dating a delinquent they'd be alright with you marrying one who was reformed."

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wqnsho · 3 months

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The Gremlin or how to get over yourself - Suna x Reader (Angst to fluff)

A/N: I moved my writing schedule to write only on weekends. Things will take a lot more time but my health will be better off. Please enjoy this Suna Fic, it's my first time writing for him.

Words: 7,1k - tagging @emmyrosee because she loves Suna

It’s seven p.m. on a Thursday night when Suna’s phone rings, Keeping up with the Kardashians is playing on low volume as he swallows the rest of his Chuupet, a necessary entree prepping his stomach lining for the slightly burnt Rice he’s having for Dinner.

Samu’s curt in his greeting, kitchen noise in the background as usual.

“The Gremlin’s having a week off.” He says. “I’m not supposed to ask, but do you still own that pull-out couch?”

The Gremlin. He hasn’t heard that name in months.

Suna’s the one who came up with it, a silly joke that slipped out at an unfortunate time.

“That’s our sister,” Tsumu comments on the high-pitched wailing coming from the kitchen. “Just ignore her.”

“She’s not that bad.” Samu tries. “Just don’t look at her too long.”

The wailing stops abruptly, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone snuffling loudly.

“Samu? Tsumu? Are you home?”

Red-rimmed eyes peer into the hallway, silver braces glinting in the dim light. Your hair’s a mess that might have been pigtails sometime before.

“You look like a gremlin.” Suna points out. He half expects you to cry again. Instead, you kick him in the balls.

“Uh, sure.” He manages to pull himself out of the memory, the pain still fresh in his mind even if it’s been years. “She could just ask herself, she’s got my number.”

“Ah,” Osamu chuckles half-heartedly. “I didn’t like her last boyfriend. She’s still mad about that.”

“Boyfriend?” He hears himself ask, mind going a little frayed trying to picture you with a boyfriend.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you know him, but he was Nekoma’s Captain when we went to Nationals? Black hair that made him look like a Rooster?”

A chill runs down his back. “You let your sister date Kuroo Tetsuro?”

“Hey now, it’s not like I got anything to say in that matter. You know how she is.”

“Yeah, I do-” He mumbles, mind already drifting back.

“Why would I do that?” Gremlin asks, nose pointed to the sky. The braces look almost cute on you when you smile like that, a little arrogant and so very pleased with yourself. The new set of pimples across your nose ruins the look a little bit, but there are more important things to think about.

“Come on.” Tsumu whines. “It would be so funny! You just have to ask him out on a date.”

“Nah.” You blow a bubble with your chewing gum, clearly feeling very important. It’s rare that your brothers ask you for help and you like to lord your power over them.

“If you do it, I’ll ask Kita-san to let you train with us for one day.”

Your eyes light up at the prospect, even as both Samu and Tsumu groan in annoyance. The girl's Volleyball Club isn’t to be messed with, but you’re as competitive as your brothers. There’s a long-standing battle of who’s best and you’ve gotten better since you got into High School, yearning to show off.

He can’t quite understand why, but he respects it. You’re one of the youngest in your Class, born on the last possible day to make it into one school year below your brothers. Maybe it’s because you’re born prematurely. Tsumu calls it your obsessive need to be part of absolutely everything, Suna thinks you’re obsessed with proving yourself.

“Fine.” You huff. “So I ask the Basketball Captain on a date and then I just stand him up?”

“Yeah!” Tsumu nods eagerly, Samu a little preoccupied with his Bento. “I’ll even toss to you during training if he accepts.”

Midorima-san does not accept your confession. But Suna gets to be there, phone ready, when you kick him in the balls. Midorima-san screams like a little girl.

“Anyways.” Samu pulls him out of his reverie again. “I’ll text Kita to let her know you’ll pick her up from the train station.”

“Hold up.” Suna puts his phone between his ear and shoulder, trying his darned best to save both his dinner and his last remaining brain cells. “Why do I have to pick her up and why can’t you just tell her yourself?”

“Dude, keep up. Mom would kill you if she knew the Gremlin had to take an Uber in a foreign city when you’re perfectly capable of picking her up. Who raised you?”

“True.” He huffs, wrinkles his nose at the perfectly burned rice on his plate. Oh well, Take-out it is. “And Kita?”

“I told you she’s still mad about that Kuroo thing. She could never say no to Kita.”

“True,” he repeats, an acid taste on his tongue. He used to hate that, how Mr. Perfect could make even you swoon, the Gremlin, the monster every boy at school secretly feared.

“So, what did you do? That made her so mad?”

“Ask Tsumu about it, I have to work.” The call disconnects with a dissatisfying click and Suna grunts, orders Pizza, and calls Tsumu. He’s invested now.

Five days later he’s as well informed as he can be.

You’re arriving at exactly 5:24 p.m. and you broke up with Kuroo over both his workaholic tendencies and a job offer too good to decline.

Samu and Tsumu decided to throw a party at the news which didn’t go over well with you, even though you did decide to get drunk with them - Tsumu woke up with half his eyebrows shaved off and Samu still misses a box of his favorite cookies that he swears you took.

You like Tamagoyaki for breakfast and you’re here to decide between three different offers for three different teams, all Division 1 of Japan’s V.League. You’re a Libero now and a pretty good one too.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, offering you a Chuupet. You like the pineapple flavor best and that works out okay because it’s his least favorite flavor.

“Doesn’t matter.” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and stare down the roof. He can hear Tsumu somewhere below them, yelling some curse words into the wind. He’s probably fighting with Samu right now.

“Did you get asked out by someone ugly?” He asks, taking a seat opposite to you. “Do I have to beat someone up?”

“Kita-san is leaving after this year.” You point out. It’s a fact and you don’t sound too upset about it, yet it feels like you’ve dropped red-hot coals into his stomach, the acid bubbling from the heat.

“Uhuh.”

You pull your knees up and he averts his eyes, lest someone accuses him of looking up your skirt. It’s not his fault you never seem to remember that you’re not wearing shorts.

“Kita-san told me that Tsumu’s going to be Captain next year.” You mumble into your arms. “And he asked me what my plans are.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think?” Your voice is sharp now, the usual sting of your words a welcome sensation. This is the you he knows well, unbothered if your truth makes others uncomfortable.

He leans back as far as he can, lets his eyes rest on your shoulder, the smooth curve of your neck. You’ve grown a few inches since you came here and it suits you well.

“You want to be better than Tsumu.”

You snort, hit his thigh with your fist. The touch lingers even when you take your hand back.

“Kita-san said I can never be better than Tsumu.”

Suna’s never moved this fast before. His head almost knocks into yours.

“He didn’t!” His voice is almost shrill, his chest tight with a weird sensation. You seem calm, brows arched.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” You tell him, too calm. You’re the most dangerous when you’re calm. “I’ll never be an Original. Tsumu will keep playing, Samu won’t. If I keep playing, I’ll be just like Tsumu. If I decide to do something else, no matter what, I’ll be just like Samu. It just sucks so much!”

“Be a Libero then.” It’s a slip of his tongue, nothing more. But your eyes are big and bright and he wants to forget the way you looked before, desperate and desolate, so he keeps talking.

“You’re tall for a Libero. You’re average for a Setter. You’ll always be at the back of the Court and always wear a different shirt. Tsumu’s receiving sucks anyway. You’ll never be Captain, so you’ll never have to argue with him who’s been better at that. You can keep playing Volleyball and do your own twist of it.” He shrugs. “Just… Just an idea. I mean, you can do what you want. It’ll always be original. You’re the Gremlin after all.”

He forgets how to breathe when you pull him into a sudden hug. You’ve never been one for cuddling, never been into touch that doesn’t lend itself to violence.

But it’s nice, how you fit right in his arms, like you’d grown just for that purpose.

“Suna!” It seems that he might have been able to forget quite some things, but not your voice.

“I’m here!” He lazily raises his arm, counting on his height. There are too many people on the platform right now, the bustle making it hard to spot you.

But then you step out from behind a gaggle of businessmen and his mouth runs dry.

It should be illegal to wear shorts this… well, short. Your legs are way too long to be real. You could probably break a watermelon between your thighs. Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Hey Stranger!” You greet him with a grin. Where you used to have braces is now a perfectly white set of teeth in a perfectly formed mouth. Oh, wait, no, there’s the dimple and the slight curve to the right. He feels a little faint and curses the fact he’s not had dinner yet.

“Hey.” Should he move to hug you? Offer his hand? Slap you on the back?

You take that decision from him, knock your left knee into his right like you used to do back in High School. “What’s up with you? Did you forget how to talk?”

“No, I’m fine. Just tired. How was the train ride?”

“Long. Boring. Are you hungry? Can we go eat before we drop off my stuff or do you have a ‘No girl stuff in my car’-rule like Tsumu?”

“Tsumu’s still single then?” He asks, directing you toward the exit. “Both’s fine with me. We can order take-out. What are you in the mood for?”

“You eat take-out? How shameful.” You wrinkle your nose at him in mock disgust. Would it be weird if he leaned in and bit into it, dug his teeth into your skin? Probably.

“You gonna rat me out to Samu?”

“Probably.”

“I’m letting you stay in my apartment.”

“I said probably. My Silence is expensive.”

“Hey, Suna!” A familiar voice yells over the crowd. He turns, surprised to see Komori.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nohr got a craving for that one Pork Belly Dish, so I drove over to get it for her. Is that your friend you mentioned? Hey, I’m Komori Motoya.”

There’s that familiar tightness again, building up in his chest as he watches you chat with Komori. It’s Highschool all over again, how you swooned over Kita, had private discussions with Aran or the fact that you regularly went over to Ginjima’s place for some kind of secret meetings.

It’s not that he dislikes you having friends. Or that he hates the fact that his friends like you too. But he’s him and that’s Komori, the nicest guy that ever decided to play Volleyball. Well, at least Komori’s not single.

“Oh, hi Suna.”

“What are you doing here?”

Washio furrows his brows at his less than friendly tone.

“Wow, I know I messed up a little today, but are you really still mad about my Block?”

Your eyes are on him too now and he swallows the bile down yet again.

“Sorry, I’m being a dick.”

“When are you not?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice. It still stings, but less so when you knock your knee against his again. “You’re both on his team then?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Miserable is our Middle Blocker. I’m the other Middle Blocker and Komori is our Libero.”

“Oh, a fellow Libero.” You grin easily. “I’m here to check out a few teams in the area. We could get together some day, maybe? When the Grump’s not so obviously hangry?”

Washio laughs. “Sure. Sunday works well for me. What do you think Komori?”

“I’ll talk to Nohr and let you know, but I think I’d be fine with Sunday.”

“Don’t I get asked too?” Suna grumbles and you elbow him. “Pork Belly?” You ask him instead, nodding at the take-out containers both Washio and Komori carry.

“Sure.” He agrees, because at least that will get him out of this conversation.

It’s almost time to go home and he’s still in possession of his second button.

Suna refuses to give it up and both Samu and Tsumu seem to think it’s hilarious.

“Hey.” In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, you weedle yourself under Tsumu’s left arm, press yourself into him as you peer up at Suna. “What are you guys doing after School?”

“Mom’s making Hot Pot!” Samu decares from your other side, finishing off the rest of the Yakisoba bread you had brought in as a present. You got all of them graduation presents. A book for Ginjima, new shoes for Tsumu - though you declared that you wanted his old ones - a mixed bag of Chuupets for Suna. All of the pineapple flavors have been taken out and while he should find it annoying, it’s a little too endearing to him.

“You’re invited, by the way.” Samu points out. “But Mom said it’s okay if you can’t come. Your parents probably planned something for you too.”

“Not sure.” He mumbles, fiddling with his second button.

“Oh, we’re going soon, right?” Samu flings the wrapping paper of his bread into the waste basket at the door and pulls at Tsumu’s arm. “Come on, you still need to confess to that girl from the Crafts Club.”

“What?” Tsumu looks at him like he just declared he’d start playing Basketball from now on. “Yeah, come on.” Samu tugs again. “We’ll get back to you later.”

And just like that, it’s the two of you, the air around you growing dense with unsaid things.

“You still have your second button?” You ask, pointing at it.

“Yeah.” With one last tug, the string gives away and he holds it in his hands. The button’s not even that big, he thinks as he rolls it between sweaty fingers. Just a tiny thing made from plastic that holds so much meaning.

“Were you planning to give it to someone?” Your voice sounds weird. He can hear his pulse in his ears, way too loud and way too fast. He’s going back to Aichi in a few weeks, doesn’t know much about his future but the fact that he’s got into College there, will have to get into their College Volleyball team if he wants to make it Pro. And even then, nothing’s sure. Not if he’ll make it Pro, not if his team will win the important matches. He could be doomed to be average for the rest of his life, living from the memories he made right here, in those last three years.

When he looks up, you look different than before.

You’ve got the Miya Gene of Stubbornness, and are the worst of all three when it comes to not letting go of your dreams. You’ve managed to turn around and beat everyone’s expectations in the last year alone, making it from an average setter to an extraordinary Libero. You almost won the Nationals last year and there’s word of it being a sure win the next time around.

It’s not a conscious decision, but it feels right. To open his mouth and say “No. I’m not giving it to anybody.” To fling that damned button out the window.

Still. He’ll probably never forget the way your mouth curved at the sight, like you were trying to hold something inside that was trying to burst out of you.

He misses your graduation because of a stubborn cold. He watches most of your matches until he gets so busy with training and College and just, life, that he falls off, little by little.

Soon enough you’re nothing but a memory and he’s probably less in your head.

After all, you’re dating Kuroo Tetsuro and making a name for yourself, aren’t you?

His heart is a traitorous thing, it seems, but at least it calms down over Pork Belly. You’re eating on the Couch you’re going to sleep on later, your legs familiarly thrown over his. Keeping Up with the Kardashians plays on TV, but it’s basically background noise now as you talk, laugh, and wave your chopsticks around.

It’s like old times, hanging out at your house after school. Any second now, Samu’s going to come in from the kitchen with his second helping. He can almost hear Tsumu’s nagging voice in the background, telling you “Shut up! I didn’t sound like that.”

“Hey, Gremlin.” Your head snaps around at the nickname and his mouth runs dry.

“What?”

“‘s nothing.” You mumble into your dish. “Just not used to getting called that way again.”

“Oh.” He’s suddenly not hungry anymore but stuffs his mouth nonetheless to think of a comment.

“You want me to stop? It was a stupid nickname, really.”

“Nah.” You shake your head and dig your heels into his thighs. “It’s okay. I am a Gremlin.”

“You totally are. Like, you didn’t even bring me a present. Didn’t your Mum teach you about housewarming gifts?”

“I totally brought you a gift!” You jump up and pull something from your suitcase. He recognizes it by sound alone, the crinkling plastic wrap a tell-tale sign.

“You bought me Chuupets?” He laughs, his heart tightening when he realizes that you pulled all the pineapple flavors out.

“Samu said you’re still eating them.” You point out, handing them over in a way that tells you this is just as awkward for you as it is for him.

“Course. What do you think of me? I don’t change like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“Okay.” He claps his hands on his thighs and sits up, grabs his phone from his pocket, and connects it with his TV. “History lesson. I’ll catch you up on what happened in the years since I graduated.”

“Oh wow, are you going to let me write a test on that too?”

“Only if you keep asking stupid questions.”

His alarm goes off way too early for the late night he’s had.

You just kept swapping stories, drunk on nostalgia.

The girlfriend he had in College, the most awkward affair of his life to date. “She was obsessed with my hair.” He spilled what he hadn’t even told Samu, “Cut off a few strands of it and kept it in her purse for personal reasons.”

How you got to play for the Tokyo Tigers and your awful first date ever with a guy who thought he could get free Onigiri through you.

“Kicked him in the balls for that.” You said, grinning smugly. He couldn’t help the “That’s my girl,” that slipped out of his mouth. But you smiled like you agreed.

“Morning Gremlin.” He calls out as he moves toward the bathroom. Your head pops up, dried spit sticking to the side of your face, hair sticking out in odd angles.

“Bathroom’s mine.” You declare with something like a war cry. He’s got a headstart, but you still beat him there, your body trained by years of living with the twins.

“What the f-” You kick him in the shins and slam the door in his face when he goes down. Long-forgotten memories of sleepovers resurface. What does it say about him that he’s still grinning when you step back out?

“I’m so sorry.” You tell him, your hair less messy, your face void of spit. He focuses on your eyes because your sleep shirt is a little too revealing for this early hour.

“Nah, it’s good. I like being heckled right after getting out of bed.”

You snort. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Hey, I’ve gotten way better! I bet I’m better at cooking than you.”

“I’ll let you try.” The Challenge lights a familiar fire in your eyes. He’s going to have to come up with excuses to eat out if he doesn’t want to turn into a sore loser.

“Morning loverboy,” Komori greets him at training.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Suna’s probably never been this diligent with his stretches before, but it’s a welcome distraction now.

“Nohr said she could do Sunday, by the way.” Komori’s not letting the topic go, however, and Suna can’t even blame his stubbornness. He’s grown up with Sakusa, after all.

“Great.” If negative excitement is a thing, he’s projecting it right now.

Training goes smoothly, however, which he’s thankful for.

It’s hard enough to deal with Komori’s excitement - he’s been trying to set up Suna since before he met Nohr, his enthusiasm only intensified by his own personal happiness - and Washio’s weird sense of humor on any day, but he doesn’t dare imagine what it would be like if he sucked. They’d probably tell him that he’s lovesick or something equally stupid.

“So, your girlfriend-” Washio starts when they gather for a quick break.

Suna barely avoids choking on the sip of water he’d just taken, can’t even be happy about narrowly avoiding death when a smug smile appears on Komori’s face.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” He points out hastily. “Remember the Miya-Twins? She’s their little sister.”

“Ouch.” Komori pulls a face. “That must have been a rough childhood.”

“So you’re not with her because they’d kill you if you’d try?” Washio asks and Suna’s glad his mouth is empty this time.

“No, I’m not with her because I’m not with her. We’re just friends. She’s the Gremlin, okay?”

“The Gremlin?” Washio’s brows furrow in the same way they do when he thinks about Bokuto. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suna points at his shin, the darkening spot on his skin.

“She kicked me in the shins today because she wanted to use the bathroom first.”

“She’s a guest. Of course she should get to use the bathroom first.” Washio points out. Suna grunts in annoyance and turns to Komori.

“Don’t ask me for help there, I always let Nohr take the bathroom in the morning.”

“Yeah, because you’re whipped.”

“And you’re not?” Washio’s eyebrows are now doing the “Coach is saying something but I sense he means something else”-Dance.

“Weren’t you listening? She’s the Gremlin. There’s nothing there between us!”

“Good.” Washio puts his watter bottle down with a nod. There’s something there, maybe in the sound of plastic hitting the floor, or maybe it’s in his voice, but the knot in Suna’s stomach pulls taught to the point he’s afraid he might vomit any second. “That means I can ask her out.”

Suna’s good at what he does, because he’s not only observant but has a Poker Face to match it. He’s a strategist, plays the long game, all of those things.

So the fact that he did not see that coming from a mile away should scare him way more than the prospect of you dating Washio.

Oh god, what if you date Washio and it works out? And you move here? And he has to see you every time they do teambuilding stuff like movie nights or Karaoke sessions?

His mind races with a speed formerly unknown. His face is completely blank, at least he’s still got that going for him, but his mind is tormenting him with a terrible picture of you and Washio at the altar.

“I mean, you can ask her out, but I can’t tell you if you’ll have a shot with her or not. Remember Kuroo? They broke up recently.”

Washio nods slowly. He doesn’t know that “recently” is a very vague description. He’s not so sure about the timeframe himself, but it sounded like a few months have passed since that incident. Not that Washio has to know that.

“Can you give me her number?”

“Only if I want to get neutered in my sleep. But I’ll tell her you asked for it and offer her yours.”

Washio nods even slower and Komori’s face looks like he’s doing his best to hold back diarrhea.

“Well, do that, and if she’s not into it, I can still ask her properly on Sunday. She’s staying till Wednesday, right?”

“Right.”

“All right Boys, get back into position.” Coach yells from behind them. Suna’s never been more glad to get back to training.

Suna spends Friday and Saturday evening sightseeing with you, which is in itself an exaggeration. He’s never been one for sightseeing like the typical tourist.

“Okay, stop. And don’t smile, this background is serious.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t look around - you’ve learned from your previous mistakes. When he flips his phone around, you can see yourself leaning against the railing of a footbridge, behind you the central landfill.

“The Gremlin in its natural habitat.” He teases. You punch his shoulder as hard as you can.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Oh, come on,” He slings his arm around your shoulder. “You get to take one of me next. How about the mural with the poop emoji? Will that suffice?”

You lean your head back to look up at him and your face is so close now that your breath washes over his face. Your lips open and close as you speak, but there’s an odd noise in his ears.

Pain erupts from his cheeks as you pinch and twist them.

“Ouch, what the f-”

“You were zoning out completely. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Oh, good call.” Suna turns away to regain his composure. “Take-out or do you want to actually sit and dine.”

“Or we could cook?”

He pulls a face. “Do we have to?”

You laugh. “I could teach you a few things. Mom wouldn’t let me leave for college without knowing how to feed myself. And Samu asks me to help him every chance he gets. Cheap labor, you know.”

“So you’re saying that your cooking is better than Takoyaki from a street vendor?” He points at the sign he’d noticed a few seconds ago. Your confidence falters. So it is still your favorite food…

“What if, and hear me out, we get Takoyaki, enjoy your weird little poop emoji mural, and drop into a Konbini on the way back. By the time we’re home, you’re going to be hungry again anyway.”

“I’m not Samu, I don’t eat that much.”

“No? Well, I do. And I’m your guest, so what I say goes.”

Suna laughs along, ignores the tingling that erupts whenever you knock your shoulder into his as you walk. It’s nice, to be like this with you. Relaxed, at ease, no dangerous thoughts rolling around in his brain.

It’s only when you’re pushing the shopping cart down the aisle that things change.

Your phone rings and you pull it out, frown at the display.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Can you pick up some more rice and vegetables? I only need five minutes.”

“Sure.” Suna keeps his face neutral as ever, but he’s seen the caller ID. It’s Kuroo.

“Hey Tetsurou, what’s up?” He can hear your voice as you walk away from him. You sound too friendly for a chat with your ex-boyfriend. He desperately wants to hear more, but he’s not a creep, so he pushes the shopping cart away from you, down another aisle.

By the time his mind clears a little, he’s far far away from the produce aisle and staring at an assortment of Shochu. He picks up two bottles at random and drops them in the cart before making his way back to where he was supposed to be going.

Suna’s not sure what wakes him.

He knows it’s a Sunday because his body, conditioned by years of training, tells him to stay in bed. His head feels a little fuzzy, telling him he drank too much last night, but it’s Sunday, so that doesn’t really matter anyway.

His blanket must have slid off during the night, so he pats around, eyes closed. What he finds instead is a face and his eyes snap open to dawny morning light and your annoyed grumbling.

His heart, usually a rather chill fellow, thrums in his throat. He’s frozen in place, his hand still somewhat cradling your cheek. His mind unhelpfully supplies him with the information that your cheeks are warm and soft, fit perfectly into the palm of his hand.

He tries his best to block out this information in favor of checking if he’s still wearing clothes.

He couldn’t… he wouldn’t… You blink and he goes completely still.

“Suna?” You ask. “Are you okay? Your face looks weird.”

“I…” He manages before his voice gives out.

This is both his biggest nightmare and his sweetest dream. If only he could convince himself that it’s not real, he could slip back into his dreams and consider it private.

Something on his face must have tipped you off. This is worrying, because since when can others read his face?

You pull his hand from your face and slip out from under the covers. You’re wearing boxer shorts and a tank top, reasonably dressed for what he feared might have happened.

“You have not changed at all.” You say, your voice way too calm to be harmless. He’s not sure what he’s done, but he’s going to regret it.

“What do you mean?”

You stop at the door and level him with a look he’s only ever seen directed at people you never want to come across, ever again. This isn’t going well for him.

“You’re the king of mixed signals, Suna. And I’m sick of it. Make up your mind.”

“Where are you going?” He follows you, a little less balanced than you.

“Out.” You pull clothes over your sleepwear, drag your hair into something resembling a messy bun. “I need some fresh air.”

“Look, whatever happened-”

“I know.” Your voice is as hard as steel now. “Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.”

The door clicks shut behind you with a sound of finality.

You're still not back when Suna drags himself out of bed hours later.

His head hurts and his mouth is dry in a way that even three glasses of water cannot seem to fix. He calls you over the first cup of coffee, but you don’t pick up.

Five unanswered calls and plenty of messages later he’s ready to call the police. Sure, you’re one to hold a grudge, but accidents happen.

The thought of you hurt on the side of the road, will not leave his mind. His hands shake as he moves through his contacts, his first instinct as always to call Kita.

He doesn’t get that far, however.

“Why are you calling?” He asks, his voice doing some weird thing he’s not exactly proud of.

“Your friend.” Washio’s voice is serious in a way he hasn’t heard before. “She’s with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There’s the sound of a door closing. Suna can’t help but picture it. You’re probably on Washio’s Couch right now, the massive green beast he helped carry up the stairs a year ago. He’s probably made you a decent Lunch or a cup of coffee that does not burn away your stomach lining. You’ve probably told him everything already. Whatever. It’s not like he can fall any deeper in Washio’s eyes.

“Suna?” That’s Komori’s voice. It sounds like he’s on speaker phone now.

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather do this in person, but you’re both stubborn as hell. Everyone can tell that you like her.”

“I don’t-”

“Lying about has got you into this mess, you could be honest for once.” Komori’s voice stays the same, friendly and light as ever, even as his words pack a punch.

“It doesn’t matter.” Suna presses out. “I’m not good enough.”

He didn’t mean to say those last few words. It seems as if the truth is like a Chuupet, slippery in his hold - but a lot less sweet.

“I think she’d disagree.” Washio grumbles along with his deep voice. “Apparently you’re totally her type. Snarky assholes who don’t know when to stop teasing and stuff like that. Trust me, she’s not stopped talking about it since we picked her up.”

“How- How did that work out anyway?”

“Sakusa’s on Atsumu’s team, remember?” Komori explains. “I think she just needed someone to vent who’s not her brothers. Someone who knows the current you. Nohr is currently with her and they’re talking to someone called Kita on the phone.”

Suna flinches. It would have been less painful for him if you’d called the twins.

“I’m not sure if you know.” Komori starts again after a few seconds of silence. “But she doesn’t have an offer here. I’m not… I’m not telling you more about that, but I think you guys should talk. And be honest for once. You’re both grown ups, for goodness sake.”

“Sure.” He huffs. “Like she’s going to listen to me now.”

“Get over here.” Washio declares. “I’ll send her down as soon as you’re here. It’s on you to get her to listen, though.”

“Never have I ever served a ball into someone’s head.” Suna declares confidently.

“It was on purpose.” You point out as you down your Shochu.

“Tsumu?” He asks. You grin smugly.

“A Lady doesn’t tell.”

“You’ve never been a Lady.”

“I totally am!”

“You totally are not! You’re the Gremlin.”

“Well, at least I’m one of a kind.”

“That you are.” The words weren’t meant to come out this soft. But your eyes seem to mirror his sound, now pools of warm liquid that seem to pull him in.

…

“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in my school.” You drink right after you say it, but he’s too far gone to complain about you breaking the rules as he downs his own shot.

“Who?” You ask, giggling. You’re swaying in your seat, barely able to hold yourself up.

“You should get to bed.”

“Not without knowing who you’ve had a crush on.”

“You should get to bed first.” He gets up, utterly convinced that the Shochu won’t have any effect on him until he can barely keep upright without the Couch cushions stabilizing him. He pulls you up all the same, dragging you across the room. “Come on.”

“I sleep on the Couch.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Who did you have a crush on?”

“Who did you have a crush on?” He asks back. “Kita, right?”

“Everyone had a crush on Kita.” You brush it off. “Whataboutyou?”

He pushes you onto the bed, giggles when you bounce off the mattress. It looks so soft and he lets himself fall too, lands a bit too close to you to be comfortable, his head knocking against your shoulder as he tries to wriggle away. He can’t look at you properly in this position.

“The teacher.” He declares with all sincerity he can muster while going cross eyed looking at you. You’re so close now, he can count your lashes. One, two, three…

Your eyes narrow the moment you spot him.

You turn back towards the still open door but Suna’s faster, grabs your arm to pull you back.

With everyone else, he’d feel bad about this, but you’ve kicked his ass enough times. You respond in kind, gift him a few more bruises on his shin and pull him down into a headlock. He’s not fighting it. At least you’re not pushing him away, right?

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Your knuckles are no longer rubbing over his head, but rather brushing through his hair. Are you aware of that?

“I want to talk.”

You huff, let go of him. He grabs your hand before you can step away, drags you down the sidewalk by your hand. Your fingers intertwine as you fall into step with him.

“I’ve had a crush on you.” Suna points out when the park comes into view. “I don’t know when it happened, but I had a crush on you. In high school.”

“I know.” You point out, your grip on his hand neither tightening nor loosening. “Everyone knew.”

“Excuse me? I have the best poker face in the prefecture.”

“Oh please, you suck.”

“You suck!”

“Suna!”

“Rintarou.”

You stop, suddenly breathless as you gaze at him.

“What?” You ask, your voice raspy.

“You should call me Rintarou.”

“No.” You glare at him. “No, we’re not doing this. You can’t push me away and pull me in right after just to push me away again.”

“I know.” He looks down, surprised to see that you’ve still not pulled your hands apart.

“Tell me one thing.” He purses his lips, tries his best to make his words sound less pathetic than they are. “You could have had Kita. Or Ginjima. Even Midorima-san was kinda impressed with you. Washio has the hots for you too. Why would you even care about little old me?”

Softness washes over your face. You’ve never looked this good.

“I’m the Gremlin.” You tell him. You obviously are, in your layered slept-in clothes and your messy bun, your tendency to kick his ass even when he’s not asking for it. “You like me for what I am. I like you for what you are.”

And there’s a truth to that he hadn’t considered before.

You’ve been at his side for long enough, know how he acts after a loss or a win. You know he can’t cook for shit, have seen him block, have heard him snore.

A strange lightness takes hold of him. He feels like giggling.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You nod.

He leans in, heart beating in his throat again, but for different reasons this time.

His lips brush yours, the softest of touches he’s never thought possible.

When you respond it feels like coming home.

They’re almost too heavy for the swings, you’re on his lap on the tiny set.

“So, Kuroo?” He asks when everything else has been talked about, over and over and over again.

Your head’s a comforting weight on his shoulder. He could get used to this, being so close he only needs to lean down a little to kiss you.

“We’re still friends if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, but good to know.”

“Since when are you jealous?” You furrow your brows at him. He looks away.

“Rin.”

“Yes, love?”

“Since when are you jealous?”

“Since you fancied Kita, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you said you loved me, so jokes on you.”

You straighten up and glare at him.

“I told Kuroo that I wanted to try, one last time, to get with you. He was the one who got me interviews in this prefecture. So if you have a problem with him helping me-”

“I don’t have a problem with that, I just-”

“You think he’s better than you and wants me back eventually?”

“It sounds awful when you say it like that.”

You laugh. “You’ll have to work on that. It’s cute now, but your jealousy won’t be cute forever.”

You kiss the comeback from his lips. His stomach grumbles loudly.

“Lets get back to the others.” You pull him up from the swings. “It’s time for dinner anyway.”

“Do we have to? We could just go home and have fun instead.”

“Suna Rintarou. Your friends just helped you get over yourself and you want to repay them like that?”

“You’re only here until Wednesday and you want to spend time with my friends instead of with just me? Shame on you.”

“We can call in sick tomorrow? How does that sound?”

“Oh, you are a dangerous influence.”

Rintarou hollers loudly as the ball connects with your outstretched arms and soars through the air. Nohr claps exitedly next to him.

“That was a good one.” He calls out. “The Fans are going to love this.”

“How many followers do you have now?”

“About 500.000 and counting. Tsumu is still salty about it.”

“How many does he-” Nohr interrupts herself when Komori drops on the chair next to her and passes her a cup of soda. “Thanks, Baby.”

“Get a room.” Rintarou teases, already zooming in on you as you prepare for another receive.

“I bet they’re going to win. Who dares to go against me?”

“I will. We have a strong Offense on the other side and the Game just started. Loser has to pay Dinner?”

“Deal.”

…

Your expression is thunderous when you exit the changing rooms.

“Hey Gremlin,” Rintarou calls out to you, watches as you part ways with your teammates and march over.

“You played good.” He points out and leans forward, softly bites your nose as a way of greeting.

“Not good enough.” You knock your head against his shoulder. “And it was the last game of the Season. This sucks so much.”

“I know, I know.” He rubs your back, pulls you closer even. “But it wasn’t your fault. Number seven messed up a lot of the blocks. You couldn’t do anything about that.”

“I know.”

“You wanna go out with the Guys? Or go straight home and pack for tomorrow?”

You’re quiet for a while. He lets you stew on the decision. There’s no formula on how to feel better after a loss, no other way to go over this than to listen to what your body and your mind tell you.

“Can we get drunk?” You ask finally. “At that bar that serves fried chicken? We don’t have to leave that early for Osaka, right?”

“No, we can get drunk. Do you wanna take some stupid selfies and send them to Tsumu?”

“Yeah.” You nod, press a kiss to his chin. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great. Also, we have to pay for Washio’s dinner.”

“No!” You whine. “You need to stop betting on me. Rin!”

He laughs. “You say that now like you’re not going to bet on me during my next game.”

“That’s different.” You point out and take his hand. “I only take bets that I’ll win.”

“Ah, what’s losing one bet or two if I’ve got you?”

“Sap.”

“Gremlin.”

“Yours.” You grin, smug about it.

“Mine.” He agrees.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

588 notes · View notes

wqnsho · 3 months

Text

Neon Kitchen - Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader

From My Haikyuu Request Game - Requested by M.

It’s hideous. Absolutely atrocious. He feels his eyes melting at the sight of it.

But you’re grinning from one ear to the other, pulling him by the hand as you skip, yes, skip through the apartment.

“Look, it even has a little balcony.” You swoon and point at the little door leading out from the kitchen.

The kitchen, that is painted in a whirlwind of bright pink, eyewatering green, and neon, yes, neon yellow.

“What about the kitchen?” He asks when you walk the little balcony and measure with your eyes and your hands.

“It’s big enough for the table I currently have on my balcony.” You tell him excitedly. “And we could plant something during summer.”

“Did you see the kitchen?” He asks again, pulling you into his arms as you try to sidestep him on the way back into the apartment.

“I did.” You say. “It’s an open concept like you wanted.”

“It’s neon.” He emphasizes the words, fully aware that he’s sounding a bit whiney right now.

“Oh, baby.” You bring your hands to his face and hold it, squishing his cheeks a little in the process. “We can totally paint over that. But you have to agree that everything else is just like we wanted it.”

“It is.” He agrees, but it doesn’t come out as convinced as it should be and you lower your hands to get a better look.

“Baby?” You ask, your voice soft. “What are you thinking about?”

He wants to say that it’s nothing, wants to brush over it with the excitement he knows he should feel.

But over two years in a relationship have taught him at least this much: It’s better to speak his mind than stay silent.

“Are we really doing the right thing?” He asks, his grip on you tightening.

“I don’t know.” You offer with the honesty that pulled him to you in the first place. “But we spend most of our time at each other’s places, it makes sense to move in together, don’t you think.”

“Yeah, but what if you get annoyed by me? I have a strict cleaning regimen that I do every Sunday and-”

You kiss him, silence the worry with a quick peck on the lips.

“Breathe.” You tell him. “You’re in your head again. I know your cleaning regimen. Nothing about that will change. I cook, you clean. I buy the groceries, you do the laundry. We’ll just see each other every day without having to drive over first. Just think about that. Coming home and I’ll already be there.”

So he does.

He thinks about the times he’s come home to a cold and dark apartment, tired from training, mind agitated by the crowds on the subway and Miya’s teasing.

He thinks about how much time he loses cleaning up and having a quick dinner first before taking the train again to meet you at your place. Your work usually runs later than his and he hates the thought of you coming home to an equally cold and dark apartment.

“You won’t be here when I come home.” He reminds you softly, kissing your temple. “Your work still runs later than mine.”

“Sure, but I can basically walk home and you only need to take one train instead of two to get here. There’s a Combini down the road for almost everything we could need and I think Onigiri Miya is right around the corner.”

He laughs at that.

“I should have known that having your favorite restaurant close by was going to be your winning argument.”

“I can’t live without these Onigiri.” You whine, knowing it’s the one thing that will always make him laugh.

They celebrate moving in with Onigiri in the stupid Neon Kitchen. It looks less hideous with your belongings mixed in with his and when he sees your coffee cups next to his water bottles in the morning, he can even smile about the bright background of it all.

One month into living together you bring home color charts to pick from and a bottle of your favorite wine.

The color chart is quickly forgotten when you stumble across his yearbooks, giggling over his frowning face in every single picture and kissing the newest frown off his lips right after.

Six months into living together you unearth the color chart once again, hounding him with questions about his favorite colors and comparing different sets of whites.

“I don’t mind the color.” He admits when you’re sitting on his lap one evening, thumbing through the colors yet again.

You’re a warm weight that’s grounding him, curled into him like he was made to fit around you.

“Really? You said it hurt your eyes.”

“It makes you happy.”

You look up, surprise evident on your features and he smiles, shrugging as if he could care less about the blooming blush on his face.

“Your face lights up every time you step into the kitchen. It’s cute.”

Something blooms in your smile, something warm and sweet and comforting, that’s smoothing over the ripples of his insecurity like a breeze over open water.

He pulls you closer to kiss the top of your head and you giggle.

“What?” He asks, immediately fearing the worst.

“Does that mean I can paint the bedroom Karasuno-Orange? Hinata showed me some pictures for reference.”

“Absolutely not!”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

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wqnsho · 3 months

Text

My Brother’s best Friend

Mattsukawa x Reader - requested by @shoulmate for the Haikyuu Request Game

Mild Angst to Fluff, 3700 words (my hand slipped)

You’re not all that fond of your teenage years.

But maybe that’s just he curse of teenage life, to cringe looking back.

You're the little sister, two years between you and Toruu, twelve between you and Suzu.

With that age gap, it's only natural that you’d cling to Toruu more and beg him to take you on his adventures.

There are times you think he only did that because Iwa had a soft spot for you.

“Can you stop?” Toruu’s standing in the door to your room, wiping dirt of his trousers as you cry.

“But I wanna come!”

“I don’t want you around all the time! We’re going to catch bugs and you think they’re disgusting.”

“Do not!”

“Do too! You just want to come because you think Iwa-chan is cute.”

“Do not!”

“Do too! You’re in love with him.” He singsongs the last part and you grab your pillow, throw it at him with all the strength a six-year-old can muster.

“Guys!” Your mom calls up from the doorway. “Iwa-chan is here. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready. She’s not coming.”

Toruu races down the stairs but you’re quick to follow him, wiping away your tears as you run.

“But I wanna come.”

Iwa’s wearing jeans that have been cut off at the knees, something you’ve begged your mom for two weeks already with no avail.

He’s sending you a tooth-gaped smile, offering you a lollipop as if he’s handing out secrets.

“I don’t mind.” He says. “Besides, she behaves better than you, Oink-kawa.”

“She does not!” Toruu exclaims with his usual dramatics, getting more into it when he sees Iwa roll his eyes and smile at you as if you’re sharing a joke he’s not in on.

“Do too.” You stick out your tongue.

You see the Volleyball under Toruus arm and jump out of your bed.

“Training? I’m coming with you.”

He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance.

“You’re not even interested in volleyball. You’re just coming to see Iwa-chan.”

“No, I’m just there for Kageyama.”

Toruu fake gags and you throw your shoe at him, regretting it right away when he catches it and flings it up the stairs.

“Well, looks like you won’t make it in time.”

“Toruu, you ass!” You yell but he’s already out the door.

You do make it in time, mainly because Toruu keeps forgetting that you’ve joined the track team.

Kageyama is cute.

Not as cute as Iwa-chan, but no boy is worth the hissy fits Toruu throws when he thinks you’re spending too much time with his best friend.

Calling Kageyama cute or agreeing to pass the ball to him still riles your brother up, but in a much safer way.

You don’t want to wake up with a shaved head or anything like that.

Somewhere along the lines you’ ve become a babysitter.

To Toruu, because he keeps neglecting his health in favor of beating Shittyjima and to Kageyama, because no one else is willing to spare him a minute of their time.

You know you’re not the right fit for either role.

After all, you can only handle so much.

You know Toruu doesn’t really mean to push you away whenever you come to his room. To remind him that he needs to eat, or get to bed on time, or to ask if he minds passing the ball to you.

It still hurts.

You know your parents don’t really mean anything by it when match after match passes without them attending. They’re busy, especially with helping Suzu now that she’s back at work and needs help babysitting.

But it hurts, even more when there’s no match of Toruu they’ve ever missed.

You know that Kageyama isn’t as mean as everyone pretends him to be.

His social skills are worse than his grades and you’re the one tutoring him in your freetime.

But it still hurts when he’s yelling, reminding you that whatever you do, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never measure up to your big brother.

Seijoh is good for Toruu.

He’s still a dick when it comes to volleyball, but he’s got more friends than just Iwa now.

There’s Hanamaki and Matsukawa now, or Maki and Mattsun as they like to be called.

They seem to have a soft spot for you too, but unlike Iwa they dare to tease you too.

“Oi, princess, you have dropped something.” Mattsun calls out when you walk past them studying in the kitchen.

“What?” You turn, confused. The only thing you were carrying was the glass of water that’s still firmly in your hand.

He bows down to pick something from the floor and holds it up to your face, hand closed around it.

His voice is nasally as he speaks, the dramatic flair almost too overdone. “My heart, mylady.”

When he opens his hand, he’s holding a bug.

The first time it happened you’d squealed in surprise.

But you grew up with a nuisance for a brother and recognize that plastic shine everywhere.

“Oh, I missed you.” You tell the fake bug, pick it out of his hand and fling it into your mouth, swallowing it whole.

An impressed smile dances around Mattsun's lips while Toruu gags in the corner.

“Nice.” Makki whispers somewhere on your side while Iwa brings out the important information.

“That one was real.” He says.

You roll your eyes and take a sip from your water, pretending to be less grossed out than you are.

“Grow up, boys.”

“Oi, Oikawa-chan.”

Makki’s leaning in the doorframe, one arm up to showcase his biceps - the little fucker knows exactly what he’s doing. Half your class is ogling him already but you ignore him as you trudge over.

“What?” You ask.

He stretches out one hand, too quick to dodge, and pinches your cheek.

“Is that the right way to greet your senpai?”

You’re just as quick to stab your hand into his side, aiming for his sensitive ribs.

“Fuck.” He curses when you hit him where it hurts.

“Language.” Class president yells somewhere behind you and you push Makki out the door before you can get detention for his wrongdoings.

“What do you want?”

“Can’t I just come see you when I want?”

“You can, but that way I’ll never get a boyfriend. Now, spill.”

He grins and offers you a piece of chewing gum before actually telling you what he came for.

“I was sent to ask if anyone wants to apply for the manager position. We want to do it lowkey since Shittykawa is so popular.”

“Yeah, no, not doing that. I’m already part of the Girl’s Volleyball Club.”

He grunts. “Not you. The boys want someone pretty- Stop that!” He steps away just in time to avoid another hit.

“You know your peers. Pick someone who’s not going to faint at the sight of your brother.”

“Easy. Oba Makoto. He’s got heart problems and can’t do sports but he knows a lot about Volleyball. He’s tried hitting on me twice, so he’s probably got some taste and won’t fall for my brother.”

Makki pulls a face. “A boy? Ah, well, okay, I'll bring it up. We’re going out for ice cream after school. Do you want to pretend to be Mattsun’s date?”

“Again? Toruu’s not going to buy it.”

“True, true. We can put fake spider’s in his ice cream?”

You ponder the offer for a moment. “Eh, it’s too soon to pull that kind of prank again. Besides, I should hit the gym after school. First years have to make an impression.”

“Fine. But you’re going as Mattsun’s date this weekend. There’s someone from my class who thinks he can’t pull girls and we have to set him straight.”

You roll your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

Makki grins deviously. “I have blackmail material?”

You shudder. “Fine. Text me the details later. I’ve got to get back to class.”

Iwa has the decency to say goodbye before he leaves for America.

It crushes the tiny bit of hope you’d nursed in the week - or so - since the news of Toruu’s upcoming departure. Without your brother here to supervise you, you could have explored what was left of your crush on him.

“You did a good job.” He says, awkwardly rubbing his neck as he stares at the trophies littering your shelves.

“Yeah, sure, I’m not bad.” You agree halfheartedly but he shakes his head.

“Not Volleyball, or the other stuff. I mean… with Oikawa. And Kageyama. You did what you could, I know.”

“Don’t.” You get up before he can tell you more stuff that you don’t need to hear. You don’t want him to talk about things like that. It makes you feel like you’ve done it all for his approval. In reality, you did it to have friends, to stay close to your brother.

And look how that turned out.

“Just hug me.” You tell Iwa, well aware that Toruu’s going to barge in any second, still immensely jealous of his friends. Well aware that your parents only allow Iwa in your room because there’s nothing going to happen. Ever.

You allow yourself to cry a little bit over it, but only when he’s gone and Toruu’s bedroom door has closed behind him too.

College is so much harder than you thought it would be.

You barely make it onto the Volleyball team, you’re behind on your reading, your assignments, cleaning your room.

All you want is to go home for the weekend and hide under your sheets until mom calls for dinner.

Instead you dress up for a party you don’t want to go to, invited by a guy you can’t even remember the name off.

But he’s two years older than you and the thought that he could be interested - and that Toruu’s not here to ruin it - is exhilarating.

Hours later you stumble down the stairs outside, the world spinning around you.

You’re going to throw up any second, you think, or crash into something.

Someone grabs your arm instead and you turn, hand raised to slap whoever’s daring to touch you.

“Whoa, princess, chill! It’s me.”

There’s only one person in the world calling you that.

“Mattsun?” You blink up at him, half of his face light up by a streetlamp. It’s him, but he looks concerned.

“You’re not okay?” You ask him, your tongue struggling to form the words.

“I should ask you that.”

“‘m fine.” You stagger a bit. “Just… need to throw up, I think.”

“When’s the last time you ate something?”

Why does he wanna know, you wonder, as you try to figure out the answer to his question.

“Well, I had breakfast. And they had some crackers inside, but they tasted awful.”

“Yeah, come on.” He pulls you forward slightly, slinging one arm around your back to keep you upright. “Let’s go get you something to eat. What do you think of Chicken Nuggets?”

“Yay,” you sway slightly as you try to do a happy dance, “Chicken Nuggies!”

Maybe it’s the bright light or the fact that the world has stopped spinning after Chicken Nuggets, fries and two cups of coffee, but Mattsun looks worried as he watches you dip the last of his fries into the ketchup.

He also looks older and taller, if that’s even possible.

“Why were you at that party?” He asks.

You shrug. “Got invited.”

He sighs. “But drinking? You’re what-”

“I’m nineteen,” you remind him, “Two years younger than you.”

He looks unconvinced and you lean forward to glare at him.

“You threw up on Toruu when you were 17, piss drunk after trying my father’s sake.”

He has the decency to blush at the memory.

Silence falls over the two of you.

It’s a comfortable silence, even after so much time passing.

You’ve barely seen Mattsun in the last two years. He’s been at your graduation, Makki too. But it had always felt a bit forced, wether it was them watching one of your matches or taking you out to ice cream on a random tuesday after school because they were College boys and could afford it.

It always felt like the shadow of your brother kept looming over you, reminding you that he was supposed to be at the table with you, Iwa included.

Mattsun clears his throat and you look up, surprised at the serious look on his face.

“Oikawa is going to kill me for this,” he mumbles before raising his voice to a normal volume. “What’s your schedule like? We could go to the cinema this weekend. There’s this new movie from that series you’ve always watched?”

You blink, surprised that he noticed that. He’s never been one for movies, not like Makki and you. He’d always rather stayed in and watched a rerun of his favorite series or blackmail Toruu to let you play Mario Kart with the four of them.

“Sure. Makki coming too?”

He blushes again, but this time without obvious reason.

“No. It would be just the two of us.”

You blink again. “Do I have to pretend to be your girlfriend? Do you know someone working at the Cinema?”

The sigh Mattsun lets out could move mountains.

“What?” You ask, defensively.

“I’m asking you out. On a date. A real date.” He presses the words out between his teeth, his hands already in his hair, pulling at the strands in thinly veiled despair.

“Oh.” You make. Then. “Oh?” And “OH!”

“Yeah.” The smile he’s giving you looks painful.

“But-” You start, but close your mouth again, too stunned to speak.

Mattsun rubs at a spot of dried ketchup on the table, his face the colour of Makki’s hair.

“Like, I’ve been trying to for years, but you always ask if Makki’s coming too. And I thought I’d have more time to get you to like me like that, but you’re already going to parties you probably shouldn’t be at and, well, better shoot my shot now and get an honest reaction than just keep hoping, right?”

There are a million things you want to say, and a million more you want to ask.

But in a way, it all makes sense, looking back.

How he’s always called you princess, has always been the only one doing it.

The fact that he’s never missed a game of yours or had a really good excuse.

Makki always having an excuse to get you to pretend you’re Mattsun’s girlfriend.

Iwa might have been your first crush but you’d always been closer to Mattsun than any of them, even your brother.

You laugh at the absurdity of it, how you’ve been to blind to see it until you.

“Toruu would hate that.” You say and realize, just as you say it, that you don't care. "Sure. Let's go out."

You stretch your hand out to shake his, to press his absurdly large hand, and grin mischievously back at him.

“But let’s keep it a secret from him. Just for now. I want something just for the two of us.”

The smile that’s growing on his face now, slow at first, but faster by the second, is something you’ve never seen before. Something you want to see again and again and again.

"Makki knows," Mattsun tells you as you wait in line for the popcorn.

You'd been obsessing over what to wear for hours, even going as far as to text some of the girls from your high school Volleyball team.

"So you finally started caring?" One of them asked and you'd chewed on that thought up until the moment Mattsun knocked on your door, his hair messed up just the right amount, his cheeks a little pinker than usual.

"He's not going to tell Toruu or Iwa, is he?"

"Nah." Mattsun shakes his head and if his hand brushes yours on accident, it stays where it is, the warmth of his hand seeping into yours.

You kiss him in the middle of the movie, not caring for whatever is happening on the screen.

He tastes like the candies you used to share on your fake dates in High School and the hopeful thrill of the future.

"Hey, Princess." Mattsun's waiting outside the gym, his large hand enclosing yours as you step closer and he bends down to press a kiss to your lips. "Great game."

"Thanks, I know." You wave at the girls leaving, some of them waving back at you.

"You look tired." You tell Mattsun as he leads you down the street towards the bus station, your hands swinging between you.

"That internship is kicking my ass." He tells you, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. "And I still need to write that assignment I told you about."

"You haven't finished yet?"

"No." He yawns loudly. "But I took some notes while you were warming up."

"Babe." You stop in front of the subway entrance and look up at him. "I love that you come to all my games, but that assignment is more important."

He smiles. "I love when you get all serious."

"I love you."

Pink floods his cheeks at your words. You're surprised, that they slipped out just like that, but you're not taking them back, too sure of their truth.

"You know." He mumbles awkwardly, "I always thought you had a crush on Iwa. Makki was the one shipping the two of us."

“I did have a crush on him.” You agree, your hand pressing his to let him know there’s more coming. “When I was, I don’t know, seven years old?”

Mattsun’s face lights up with one of his cheekiest grins. “What? You were not into his biceps?”

“Nah. Turns out I’m more into idiots who tell me fun facts about embalming.”

His smile turns wicked. “Yeah? Guess what; I’ve got some you probably haven’t heard yet.”

It’s one of those mornings where not enough sleep does not mix well with trying to act human.

A phone rings somewhere on your left and you grab it, trying to silence the alarm without looking. Instead you hear the well known sound of a video call connecting.

Your brain isn’t as quick as the internet these days and you’re still blinking into the camera as Iwa blinks back, less tired but more confused.

“I thought I called Mattsun-” He starts at the same time reality introduces itself to your brain. You fling the phone through the room and it lands on the carpet next to the door, the call still connected.

You scramble out of bed, well aware now that you look like you’ve spent the night not sleeping - it’s the upcoming exams, you swear - wearing one of Mattsun’s old shirts.

Iwa’s still calling your name and you pick up the phone again, staring at him with as much determination as you can muster.

“No word to Toruu.”

He looks as tired as you’ve felt just minutes ago. “Sure. Sure. I don’t even wanna know. Can you bring Mattsun on the call?”

“Hey Princess,” Mattsun greets you when you stumble through the door of his shared apartment, bags of groceries in your hands.

“Hey.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, handing half of the bags to him. “I got the new Ramen you like.”

“Get a room.” Makki groans from the kitchen table where he’s working on assignments.

“Sure.” You tell him, “But the walls aren’t soundproof.”

“Not fair.” He whines. “Why don’t I have a girlfriend?”

“No clue.” You tell him as you start unpacking. “Maybe it’s because you have no job?”

“An unflattering hairstyle?” Mattsun offers.

“Because you chew with your mouth open?”

“Because you always lose in Mario Kart?”

Makki huffs at that. “The disrespect I have to endure in my own home. Oh, Shittykawa is calling.” He picks up before you can tell him not to, leaving you to dive under the kitchen counter.

Mattsun is left standing next to you, hiding his laughter at your situation in his palm as he nudges you with his foot.

“I’m gonna bite you.” You tell him, showcasing your teeth.

“Sure, if that’s your kink.” Mattsun teases, only for Makki to yell “I told you to get a room!”

This time, however, Toruu hears it too.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“Eh. Mattsun’s girlfriend.”

“Mattsun has a girlfriend?” You can hear your brother’s voice clearly, the curiosity in his voice.

Just above your head, Mattsun wiggles his fingers, a silent sign for you to take his hand and get up, to let go of that secret. After all, everyone else already knows.

And what’s Toruu even gonna do? He’s all the way in Argentina.

That’s the thought that pushes you to grip his hand and shoot up from behind the kitchen counter, mischievous grin on your lips.

“You called?” You ask.

“Is that my sister?” Toruu’s voice reaches a height you’ve never heard before.

Makki looks at you, sees you nod and turns his laptop so that you and Mattsun are in full view.

“If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.” Your voice is calm but your heart still races.

“But I thought you liked Iwa.” Your brother just looks confused.

You laugh, wholeheartedly, mountains toppling off your chest. “Dude, you’re so bad at reading women, it’s no surprise you’re still chasing a ball.”

Toruu gapes at you. “The disrespect.” He calls out. “Mattsun! I thought you were my friend!”

“Nah.” Mattsun grins and pulls you closer. “I know which Oikawa I’m picking.”

“Makki?” Toruu asks, his pout even audible in his voice.

“Depends on if she’s cooking tonight,” Makki tells him. “I can be bought with good food.”

“You can cook yourself.” You tell him and he pulls a face.

“And I’m Shittykawa’s friend again.”

You listen to them talk on with only half an ear, distracted by the way Mattsun grins down at you.

“What?” You ask.

“Went better than expected?” He asks. You shrug. His grin grows.

“What?” You ask.

Instead of an answer, he leans down to kiss you. You step on your tiptoes in anticipation, meeting him halfway.

Somewhere behind you, you hear the sentence that has grown to be the soundtrack of your relationship, now spoken by two voices instead of one.

“Get a room!”

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wqnsho · 3 months

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Of Swings and Snakes - Matsukawa x Reader

part 1 - this is the angsty start, for someone who likes angst to fluff, leave a note so I can tag you in part 2

Warning: Angst, Relationship ending, failed communication

tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain and my angsty Mattsun Anon

The old swingset creaks loudly as you push yourself forward. It’s the only noise in the park and it would probably be creeping you out if your thoughts weren’t occupied as is.

You barely have enough energy to push yourself forward, but you cannot stay in place either and the loud, whining creak is enough to cut a little slice out of the gloom that’s been settling heavily into your skin.

“This seat taken?”

You don’t look up. Makki settles in the swing next to you without waiting for an answer.

For a while, there’s just the sound of two swings creaking, the soft sound when your feet hit the floor to push you forward just a little more.

Eventually, though, you come to a stop. Makki follows, puts his feet down so hard dirt flies through the air.

His left hand moves over to take yours, folding around your cold fingers holding the cold metal.

“I’m staying with you, okay?” He says, “You’re not going to be alone.”

Finally, your tears start to flow.

When you’re dating in high school, the reactions are always the same.

There are the ones who think it’s cute.

“Youth,” they’ll say with a wistful smile. “To be young again.”

There are the ones who think you’re too young.

“You’ll regret this later, trust me. Don’t bind yourself to someone else too early.”

And there are the ones who look like their heart breaks just at the thought of it.

“I wish you the best,” your mother had said when you brought home the news, “I hope it turns out better for you.”

You hadn’t thought to ask then, what she meant. Would you have decided differently, if you had? If you’d heard about her own love story at seventeen? How she loved and lost in much the same way?

Or maybe you’d have told yourself that you are different.

Only to realize that you are not.

“Please welcome our new manager to the team.”

You wave shyly as the boys turn toward you. Your Middle School Volleyball Club was way smaller.

There’s talk of them making Nationals this year and you do your best to help.

“Oikawa made a name for himself in Middle School,” they say like he’s the Messiah that will bring new life to their hopes and aspirations.

And he’s good, that’s easy to tell. But where your Senpai seem to forget that Oikawa isn’t the only first year, you can see all of them gleam and glitter in the background, like Stars, unable to outshine the moon with their light.

Iwaizumi is a little shy, but you stay back to help him practice his spikes sometimes.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa, or as they ask you to call them, Makki and Mattsun, tend to goof off most of the time during training but it’s not hard to call them to attention. Watching them play together is something you will not get tired of.

“Hey, Manager, can you help us?” Makki calls out to you, “I wanna practice blocking with Mattsun.”

“Coming!”

You don’t make it to Nationals this year. Shiratorizawa has also gained a new star and if Oikawa is the moon, outshining the stars, Ushijima Wakatoshi is the bright midday sun, burning away all memories of the night.

“You are a good manager,” he finds you in the hallways later, face set in a passive frown, “you should come to Shiratorizawa.”

And you’re sure it’s a compliment, in a way. But there’s no question of your loyalty.

“I wouldn’t be half as good as you think if I’d just abandon my team the moment someone asks me to.”

There’s surprise evident on his face that soon falls away.

“Come on, Ushiwaka, we’re going to be late,” a redhead calls for him just as Mattsun appears at the corner, waiting for you.

“We’ll meet again,” Ushijima promises and you shrug before turning around. You suppose there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Mom, can you give me my water bottle?”

Silence falls over the Gym, then laughter.

“What?” Watari asks, hackles rising.

“You just called our Manager Mom,” Sawauchi points out.

“No, I didn’t!” Watari defends himself and you pity the poor first year.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind-”

“You don’t mind?” Makki leans heavily onto your shoulder. You don’t know how he could appear so fast out of thin air. “Mattsun, did you hear that?”

“Hm, I did.” He leans heavily on your other shoulder, winking down at you when you look up at him. Mattsun’s so close you can see every single one of his unfairly long lashes and the slow growth of his lazy smirk.

He’s terrifyingly good looking and you suspect he knows it too.

“Mom!” Kyoutani yells through the Gym a few weeks later, the Nickname stuck like glue.

“Coming,” you yell back, emergency kit ready. “Jeez, you guys need to stop being so rough. Everything okay, Watari?”

“Yeah,” the Libero’s clutching his nose, blood dribbling out from under his hands. “Just managed to receive with my face.”

“Thanks for calling me, Kyoutani,” you tell the other boy who nods gruffly before returning to the court as if nothing happened.

“Come up,” you say, but he stays on the floor, growing paler.

“I don’t feel so good,” he mutters and your head flies around, looking for someone, anyone who can help.

“I’m here,” Mattsun calls out immediately, already by your side. You didn’t see him come over, nor do you know why he decided to do it, but you’re too thankful to think about it now.

Together you manage to get Watari out of the Gym where he empties his stomach into a nearby shrub.

“Let’s get you to school nurse,” Mattsun decides before looking at you. “That okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

With Watari supported on your left and Mattsun’s right arm, the walk is more than a little wobbly - height difference and all - but your mind is going elsewhere, unable to focus on the first-year’s health.

Mattsun’s arm rests under yours on Watari’s back, warm and steadfast and safe.

He smiles softly, reassuring, whenever your eyes cross.

He doesn’t have to say anything, he just has to be there.

“Hey, I was wondering…” Mattsun’s rubbing the back of his head and you stop to give him some time to think.

“Yeah?”

A pink blush grows on his cheeks. You wonder if this is really what you think it is.

“I really like you. A lot. And I was thinking… if you’d want to be my girlfriend.”

You swallow thickly, look around for any signs that this is a prank.

“Are you being serious?”

“When have I ever not been- scratch that, yes, I’m serious.” He stretches out his hand as if this is a business offer, realizing half-way how weird it looks.

But it’s too late, you’ve already clamped both hands around his and shook it.

“I want to be your girlfriend,” you blurt out, just as awkward in your affection as he is.

A wide, satisfied grin spreads over his face and the blush intensifies to your delight.

“Wait,” Makki calls out from somewhere behind him, “Does that make Mattsun my Dad? I’m veto-ing!”

“You don’t get a say,” you declare just moments before Mattsun pulls you in, face mushed into his chest.

“If we run now,” he whispers, “we can outrun him.”

“If you miss this serve, you’re buying Ramen!” Makki declares.

“I want mine with pork!” Mattsun immediately adds on.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. They might be playing an important game, but this team knows better.

“I want mine extra spicy,” you call out from the side, waving when both Mattsun and Makki give you a thumbs up for the order.

“What are you going to do now?” Kindaichi asks after their loss.

“What do you mean?” You ask back.

“Are you still going to come to practice? You’ve got your exams coming up.”

“Are you trying to steal my girlfriend?” Mattsun hooks his head over your shoulder, trying to stare Kindaichi down.

“NO! No, no, I just… it will be different without you there.”

“Yamagata-chan will be helping you just fine,” you assure him, smiling at your feisty first-year manager. “I’m not sure yet, it depends on how well I’m getting on with studying.”

“Lies,” Mattsun whispers into your ear when Kindaichi turns his back on you for a second. “You’ll be back. You care too much.”

And isn’t that the truth?

-x-

“Where’s he staying?” You ask, your hand curled around the doorframe. Even from this distance you can tell that Mattsun’s missing.

Later you’ll find your suitcase missing, along with his suits and a few sets of underwear. He’s never been a materialist.

“I-” Makki pulls his head in as if to avoid the question.

“Please?”

“He’s staying with Kyoutani for the moment,” he sighs, moves as if to hug you but pulls back when you step out of reach.

“I’m staying with you, okay? You won’t have to be alone.”

“What if I want to be?”

Makki cocks his head to the side, eyeing you curiously. “No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “but you’re making Dinner. I’m going to take a bath.”

“Don’t drown.”

You flip him off.

Though when you’re sitting in the hot water, surrounded by remnants of this lost relationship, you can’t help but weep.

“What’s this monstrosity?” You ask when Mattsun drops his hands from your eyes. There, on the shower curtain, is a giant cat in Seijoh colors, flying through space.

“Do you like it?” Mattsun asks, giggling, “Kindaichi ordered it.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t, Kunimi ordered it. But Kindaichi paid.”

“Poor guy,” you huff, “but I suppose we can’t get rid of it now.”

“You always wanted a cat.”

You snort. “Yeah, and I guess I got one now.”

“And look, Kyoutani got us this kitten soap dishes to match. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

You sigh. “It is. At least now I’m glad I had the foresight to steal towels during my time at Seijoh.”

“You didn’t,” Mattsun gasps, “I’m dating a criminal!”

“You do,” you sling your arms around his shoulders and press a kiss to his jaw, “gonna kill you if you sing.”

He laughs, dips you like you’re dancing.

And yes, your apartment is barely big enough to fit the two of you, but it doesn’t matter. Not as long as you’re together.

“What’s for Dinner?” Makki asks, closing the door behind him with a snap.

“I wanted to make Lasagna but I only had Ramen Noodles left, so I don’t know what to call it,” you announce from the stove.

“Oh, LaRamna, my favorite,” he chirps, going straight for the snack drawer until a well-aimed spoon cuts him off.

“No chocolate before Dinner.”

“But-”

“You can set the table.”

“Fine,” Makki huffs, sticking his tongue out at you. “I brought wine with me, by the way.”

“Oh, how classy of you. Are we pretending to be something other than College Kids?”

“Who’s pretending what?” Mattsun’s still in the door, wet hair hanging into his eyes.

“Oh baby,” you coo, walking over. “Did you forget your umbrella again?”

“Mhm,” he leans down to kiss you, leaving droplets of cold running down your skin. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you hum back. Mattsun leans in to kiss you again though this time he stops, turns and “Makki, no Chocolate before Dinner!”

“You good?” Makki asks, pushing an open bar of chocolate in your direction.

“Yeah,” you hum, doodling yet another heart into your book.

“You don’t look it.”

“Just lonely, I guess,” you admit, “I’m not used to Mattsun staying out this late.”

“How long is this course going?”

“Two weeks,” you groan, rubbing your eyes.

“That’s not that long.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not.”

But the gloominess doesn’t really go away that night.

“Another course?” You ask, focus on the carrots you’re cutting.

“Yeah,” Mattsun’s at the table, going over the bills. “This one’s not mandatory but I’d get ahead much faster. My uncle said I could start working part-time for him as soon as I’ve got through this one.”

“You wanna work for your uncle?” You ask, turning to look at him.

He purses his lips, taps the table with his pen.

“I mean, it’s honest work, right? I don’t really have any passion to follow and it pays good money.”

“Yeah, but what if you realize you hate it?”

“I’d figure it out then, wouldn’t I?” He cocks his head to the side to look at you. “Do you think I wouldn’t like it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t like those late classes.”

“I know,” he coos, getting up and walking over. “I know you hate falling asleep without me.”

“That too,” you huff and lean into him. “I just… I didn’t know growing up was this hard.”

“It won’t be for long, I promise.”

The numbers on your alarm clock are a bright, annoying red and a slap in the face.

It’s two hours past midnight yet the other side of your bed is cold and empty.

There are no new messages on your phone as you slip out of bed and stalk around the room, chewing on your lower lip as you consider your options.

Call the police? Call Makki?

You call Mattsun, because that’s always been your go-to if you needed help.

The familiar ringtone cuts through the silence, muffled only by the closed door.

When you open it, you’re greeted by the dim lights over the stove and a long body stretched out on the Couch.

He fell asleep waiting for the Microwave to get done and though you want nothing less than to curl up beside him, he looks far too exhausted for you to wake him up.

So you tuck him in the best you can before you slip back into the bed he should be sharing with you, unable to get rid of a chill that has started creeping in.

“Instant Ramen?” Makki’s stopped halfway to the fridge, staring at your choice of Dinner. You shrug and dig your chopsticks into the meal.

He looks like he wants to add something, but instead, he picks a pack out of the drawer Mattsun pretended to hide them in. A few minutes later he’s sitting across from you, blowing on his own bowl of Ramen.

“I thought they’re not healthy.”

“They’re not.”

“Period incoming.”

“Had it last week.”

“Hm.” Makki squints, takes a first sip, and curses when he burns his mouth.

“Okay,” he huffs finally when even that doesn’t make you smile, “Spill. Why are we eating Instant Ramen instead of the usual healthy stuff you like to make?”

“I hate cooking for one person.”

Makki stops, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“But you’re not cooking for one person,” he says, confused, “You always cook for-”

You stare at him until he breaks off in the middle of his sentence.

But Makki wouldn’t be Makki if he could be convinced to shut up by a glare alone.

“It’s only a few more days until the course is over.”

“I think he’s cheating on me.”

Makki’s chopsticks drop into his bowl, spraying broth everywhere. But you don’t care. Not about that, at least.

You eat on, try to stare a hole into the wooden tabletop, right there, where you usually put Mattsun’s bowl when he sits down for Dinner.

“You wouldn’t-” Makki stumbles over the words. “He wouldn’t- Why do you think-”

“Working late,” you count on your fingers, “coming home later than the course needs him to, smelling like perfume. Do you need me to go on?”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yes,” you nod sharply, “but apparently it’s a secret I’m not supposed to know.”

Makki sighs. “It really is, I know it and it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You freeze. Makki dares to show a small smile and you look up at him, surprised at your own feelings.

“I was actually kinda relieved,” you admit, voice hollow, “because that would have explained why he doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

-x-

It’s hard, getting up in the morning after your first - and worst - breakup.

It’s hard, getting through the day and coming home again only to realize that this is it. This apartment will never be filled with life again, not in the way it was supposed to be.

Makki only leaves your side for work, sleeping on the Couch as if it’s his bed and not a torture instrument created to destroy your back muscles.

You think it’s sweet of him until you realize that Mattsun’s probably camping out in Makki’s apartment now.

All the friends you have are tied to the two of you.

And while none of them pick sides, you kinda want them to.

You want them to tell you that this is wrong. That you should have stayed, that you should have tried harder.

Because if everyone’s just sympathetic, doesn’t that mean you don’t have any chance to mend this? To have a future with Mattsun in it?

You’re not home when Mattsun comes to pick up most of his things.

All those feelings come back up again at the sight of empty spaces where his things should have been.

The mountain of blankets because he likes to wrap himself like a Burrito. His movie collection. The sweaters you loved to curl up in when he wasn’t around.

But he left the shower curtain and seeing that still hanging feels like the worst betrayal, a knife straight to the heart.

You’re not doing the best job taking it down, but you’d rather spray water everywhere than look at it again, be reminded of what could have been but didn’t.

This time he wakes you up.

Makki must have told him, managed to get a hold of him between classes and work and this stupid course. You can see it in his face, can feel it in the way he holds you, not too close but never too far.

“I’m not cheating on you,” he assures you, shadows under his eyes from not sleeping enough, hair disheveled and sweaty, “I swear, I promise, I’d never do something like that.”

And maybe it’s the late night or the loneliness, watching him be so nonchalant about all the time spent apart, or something else you haven’t yet faced, but the words slip out like snakes, quiet, quick, and unstoppable.

“I want a break.”

“A break?” His voice is high, frightened, like that time he dragged you to a haunted house and realized he’s so much worse at getting through them than you are.

“A break. I can’t go on like this. I don’t see you anymore. I don’t… I don’t know if I love you anymore.”

Mattsun sinks into himself, shrinks until he’s barely tall enough to look at you.

This is what you did to him, you think, this is what he did to you.

“A break like Rachel or a break like Ross?” He asks, voice wavering.

You stare at the wall behind him, at the absence of a mess in the bedroom because you keep it tidy and he falls asleep on the Couch more often than not.

“Like Ross,” you say because you’ve always believed in clean cuts over jagged edges.

The worst thing is that he doesn’t fight.

Mattsun doesn’t argue with you over the end of your relationship.

If he had, this might have turned out differently.

But he doesn’t, he just sneaks back to the Couch in the living room, curls up in the blankets like a dog that’s been banished to his corner.

He doesn’t even wake up when you sneak outside, unable to sleep, unable to stay in one place.

It’s not Mattsun who finds you at the swingset, the place you always go to when you have to think.

It’s Makki.

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wqnsho · 3 months

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The World’s most (un)serious Game of Chicken - Hanamaki x Reader

Hanamaki has never been serious a day in his life. Lots of crack and luff and Seijoh Golden Four.

Warning: Over 6k words. My hand slipped.

Kindergarten - 5 years old

Yasuda, known for her large forehead and rich parents, points her finger at her newest enemy.

“Hanamaki is ugly,” she declares. “No one can touch him or they are ugly too!”

You’re pretty sure she’s just envious of the fact that his mother gave him a Squishmallow to bring along, and it’s a rare one too.

The other kids draw away. Hanamaki’s looking a little confused, but he’s not crying. You’re pretty sure you’d cry.

Yasuda grins. It’s an ugly thing, that grin, and it makes you want to punch her in the face. But then you’d get sent in time-out again.

Besides, your mother told you to “kill them with kindness” this morning, whatever that means.

Before you can rethink your strategy, you take a step forward.

Yasuda’s eyes widen at your challenge.

But it’s too late. You’re throwing yourself at Hanamaki who’s luckily catching you. He smells like bubblegum.

“Now I’m ugly too!” You declare before turning around with fire in your veins, your determined eyes catching Yasuda’s. You can see the fear in them.

“Run!”

“Hey,” Hanamaki waits outside, Squishmallow in his hands.

“Hey,” you say, wiping the snot from your nose and into your skirt. You hate that you cry all the time, especially in front of the teacher who just scolded you. It’s not your fault Yasuda tripped when you ran after her.

“Thank you,” he says, voice earnest, “For that. You know.”

You sniff and shrug at the same time. “It’s nothing. I don’t like Yasuda. She’s nasty.”

He grins wide, revealing a missing tooth.

“Me too.” He offers the Squishmallow to you. “Friends?”

“You can’t buy me,” you tell him, the sentence grown-up and unfamiliar in your mouth. You heard it last week on Mom’s TV show. But you take the Squishmallow anyway. “Thanks.”

“Takahiro,” a breathless voice calls out. You both turn to his mother rushing down the street. She stops, catches her breath, and smiles down at you.

“Aww, did you give her your Squishmallow? Is she your friend?”

The two of you share a look. Kindergarten is hell already, you can’t have rumors like that going around.

“Nah!” You declare loudly, “Boys are nasty. This is blackmail.”

And before she can say anything, you rush back inside, determined to hide until they’re both gone.

Elementary school - 6 years old

The boy is tall, with dark curls hiding his tired-looking eyes.

“Yes?” You ask, annoyed that he’s blocking the sunlight streaming in.

“This is Hanamaki’s place.”

“So?” You push the lollipop in your mouth to the other side. “What’s it to you?”

“Hanamaki said I could sit with him at lunch.”

You sniff, clearly unimpressed.

And as if he’d heard it, Hanamaki appears in the doorway.

“Matsukawa, you made it.” He grins, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he slides into his seat. “What’d you get for lunch?” Hanamaki asks you without skipping a beat, already lifting the lid of your Bento Box. “Sausages, nice. Do you want to switch? I’ve got egg rolls.”

“Is this your friend?” Matsukawa asks, obvious interest sneaking into his voice.

Hanamki snorts. “No? She’s my mortal enemy.”

“Yeah,” you agree immediately. “Watch out for the rice. It’s laced with cy-cy-”

“Cyanide,” Matsukawa offers, pulling a chair closer. “I want the rice then. I’m offering tomatoes.”

Elementary school - 9 years old

“So, what did Yamagata want?” Hanamaki asks when you join them.

“He asked me out on a date.” You pick a tomato from Matsukawa’s Bento and chew on it as if you don’t care about it at all.

Hanamaki’s eyes are wide and round as he takes you in, his mouth open yet he seems to be speechless. Which is a first.

“You okay?” Matsukawa asks and for a second you’re not sure who he’s taking to, you or Hanamaki.

“That means you’re grown up,” Hanamaki whispers finally. “Like, a grown-up grown-up. Did you say yes?”

“No?” You ask back. “Yamagata is disgusting. He eats his snot.”

“You do that too,” Matsukawa points out.

“I stopped last year,” you point out, chopsticks raised for emphasis. “But if you think Yamagata is such a catch, you can date him if you want, huh?”

“No thank you,” Matsukawa waves his hands, “I’m waiting for Yoshida-chan.”

Yoshida-chan, your very lovely though also very old teacher, lifts her head from where she’d been reading at the desk and smiles in your direction, clearly not clued in on the joke.

You all smile and wave back, snickering quietly when she turns back to her book.

“But if you want to date,” Matsukawa points out, an eggroll perfectly placed between his chopsticks as he points, “You two can just date each other.”

“Yuck!” You both spit out at the same time and Matsukawa rolls his eyes.

Elementary school - 12 years old

You’re not the only girl waiting outside the gym.

Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa have started playing Volleyball and you’re seriously considering taking it up next year as well. They make you train with them anyway in their free time and it sucks to either have to wait for them or go home alone. Baseball is only half as fun without them there.

“You think he’s going to say yes?” One of the girls in a group near you asks her friends. She’s pretty and you think she might be from one of the top classes.

“Of Course! Hanamaki would be dumb to say no.”

You turn a little at the mention of his name but it’s too late to do anything about it anyway when the doors open and the boys step out.

“Hanamaki, hi!” Pretty Girl all but dances over to where he’s walking toward you, stopping him in his tracks.

Matsukawa immediately realizes what’s about to go down, you can tell by the face he makes, but he doesn’t walk off, just stands there, stiff as a board, looming over Pretty Girl’s face.

“Uh, could you… walk away?” She asks and you hide your snicker behind your hand.

“Why?”

“Because… I was… uh… going to ask… Hanamaki… something?”

“So?”

“Hanamaki?” She’s determined, you have to admit that, turning back to him, “Could we talk in private for a second?”

To your surprise, both of the boys turn to where you’re waiting, looking at you as if waiting for a clue. It’s annoying as hell.

“What?” You ask, pointedly raising your hand to check your nails as if there’s anything to check but the dirt hiding under them. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Matsukawa waits next to you, quiet like a stone.

You want to know what she’s saying. Not that you don’t know what she’s saying, but you want to know what words she’s using. Hanamaki still can’t help but snicker every time someone mentions the L-Word like a little kid.

You don’t have to wait long.

Her face tells you everything you need to know as she slips into the group of her friends.

Hanamaki looks like nothing happened at all and you turn to leave with him, satisfied in a way you can’t properly explain.

“Is she-” A voice raises as you move and the three of you turn back again. It’s not Pretty Girl but one of her equally pretty friends. “Is she your girlfriend?” She nods in your direction.

You pull a face before Hanamaki can react.

“Ew. I’m his cousin.”

Matsukawa lives one street down from Hanamaki and you live one street further down, right at the river.

Today, he doesn’t stop at his place like he usually does, kicking a pebble down the street as if to tell you to keep walking.

“What did she say?” You ask eventually when the silence gets too loud.

“She told me I’m pretty.”

You snort.

“What?” He asks, laughter audible in his voice. “I’m pretty.”

“In your dreams,” you tell him and he’s full-on laughing now, both of you howling out a “He’s ugly!” as if Yasuda’s torment happened days ago instead of years.

Eventually, he kicks the pebble over to you to keep going and you follow suit, still snickering.

“I’d never have said yes,” he tells you, halfway caught between a snicker and something else, “Her lips looked like she put glitter glue on.”

“That’s lipgloss,” you explain, “It probably tastes like fruit.”

“I like fruit,” he says earnestly. “Do you have lipgloss like that?”

“No,” you lie and you don’t know why but your heart beats fast like a humminbird.

“Shame,” he sighs and you’re not sure if he means it. “Tell me when that changes.”

Junior High - 13 years old

“Your name’s going to be Makki,” Oikawa declares with the air of someone who rarely gets told off. “And your name’s going to be Mattsun.”

You push your lollipop to the side and narrow your eyes at him.

“Why?”

“Because it sounds cooler.”

“Shittykawa,” you offer, “Sounds way cooler.”

Iwaizumi next to him snickers and Oikawa turns to him with a pout.

“Iwa-chan!” He whines.

“Iwa-chan!” You repeat after him, expertly copying his whiny tone. Everyone laughs.

“You’re friends?” Oikawa asks just minutes later, still pondering on what nickname to give you. He points at you, then Mattsun, then Makki.

You roll your eyes.

“Mortal enemies,” you declare. “We’re bound until we kill each other. This is just our latest reanimation.”

“Oh, cool, like in that anime?” Oikawa asks immediately, eyes glowing.

You snort. Hanamaki leans over you, pushing your head into his sweaty armpit. You fight to get him off. Mattsun changes the topic.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi asks right as you part after class, “Do you want to become a manager?”

You blink, surprised that he asked you. He’s pretty shy around girls even if you don’t act like one most of the time.

“Didn’t think about that,” you tell him honestly, “I was going to try out for the girl's team first.”

“Oh, sure.” He starts to stutter, turning away. “Good luck.”

Makki looks after him, mouthing an exaggerated “Good luck” your way.

You roll your eyes.

“Do you think I should become a manager?” You ask as soon as Mattsun is out of sight.

Makki kicks a pebble over to you and you kick it back.

“I dunno, we didn’t have a manager in Elementary School,” he remembers. “Isn’t that job kinda boring?”

“Sure, but we could be in the same team, kinda.”

He nods slowly. Then, he grins. “You would have to wipe away my sweat.”

“Ugh, no!” You whine. “Gross!”

“Fetch me my water bottle, manager-chan!” He orders in the most conceited voice he can muster. “Hush hush, we have a game to win.”

“You’re impossible,” you tell him, pushing him off when he leans into you with all his weight. “You can get your own water bottles, loser.”

It’s only when his door comes into sight that he sobers up again, turning back to you.

“What do you think of Oikawa and Iwaizumi?” Makki asks, voice suddenly serious. It’s the first time he’s ever asked you something like that. You doubt he would have cared if you didn’t like Mattsun back then. Or would he?

“They’re okay,” you declare. “Oikawa is a little conceited if you ask me, but I guess Iwaizumi keeps him in check. Iwaizumi could be cool if we get him a little out of his shell, maybe? He’s so serious.”

Makki nods slowly.

“And lookwise?”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t ask me something like that, you know I don’t have any taste. We’ll see if the girls like them when it’s time, right? They liked you too and you look horrendous.”

“He’s ugly,” he crows softly and you roll your eyes, try to trip him and fail spectacularly.

Junior High - 14 years old

“I don’t want to be the referee again,” you declare pointedly when you join the boys at the riverbank, golden sunlight streaming over the area that has probably seen more Volleyball training sessions than your school gym. But who’s counting?

“Fine,” Oikawa huffs, yet again the one who decides everything. You roll your eyes behind his back. “You can be libero.”

“Oh yes, I’m saving your asses. Again.” You drawl out, smacking Makki’s butt as you pass by. He wiggles it again for good measure and Iwaizumi’s face turns red.

Half an hour later a group of boys joins you at the riverbank. You don’t know their faces, but Oikawa greets them eagerly. Not like friends, but friendly acquaintances.

“Who’s girlfriend is that?” One of them asks, pointing at you.

You scowl, but Makki’s faster than you.

“This, my esteemed gentleman, is my bodyguard,” he declares loudly. “It’s her job to keep me from getting killed, which is rather unfortunate.”

“Most of his death threats come from her,” Mattsun adds dryly. “Watch out, she bites.”

“Hey,” Makki’s leaning against the doorway of your bedroom, staring out your window at the riverbank below. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you groan into your pillow, wishing he’d leave. It’s one thing getting your period in a friendly mixed match. It’s another thing if you bleed through your pants so spectacularly one of the boys on the other team has to puke at the sight.

“You can leave,” you tell him when he’s still not moving minutes later.

But when you hear his footsteps, they come closer. Before you can look up and glare at him, he drops, his body almost crushing yours.

You yelp, but he’s too heavy, too much arms and legs and everything else and trying to fight him off turns into a tickle-fight instead. He begs for mercy minutes later, claiming he’ll pee on your bed if you don’t set him free.

“You suck,” you tell him as you stretch out next to him, looking up at the ceiling of your bedroom, all the glow-in-the-dark stars that you claim you will take down soon.

“You suck more,” he answers softly, falling silent for a while. It’s comfortable, being like this, just Makki and you, and no one else to judge it.

“You wanna go back out and kick their asses?” Makki asks eventually and you nod, slipping off your bed before he can push you off.

Junior High - 15 years old

“Interesting,” Mattsun watches Oikawa’s fanclub with the most bored look on his face, “Collective loss of good judgment. That’s rare.”

“Ah, there are still some good ones left,” you tell him, “Ishikawa from my Volleyball Club has a crush on you, by the way.”

“Oh?” Mattsun asks, turning. “Which one?”

“First year, pinch server, the one with the pixie cut.”

He ponders that for a moment before he shakes his head. “I don’t like short hair on girls.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re superficial.”

“What do you like?” Mattsun asks, a weird kind of grin on his face. And you know all his grins by now, or so you thought. “In boys, I mean?”

You furrow your brows. “How would I know? There’s no boy I like.”

Mattsun scoffs disbelievingly.

“What?” You ask, hackles rising.

A warm arm slings itself around your hips and a head lands heavy on your shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” Makki asks, smacking his bubblegum into your ear.

“What kind of boys she’s into,” Mattsun points out.

“Oh, I wanna hear that,” Oikawa fights himself free from his groupies and shuffles over, pulling Iwaizumi with him. “Because I have a feeling they have to be tall, good looking and into Volleyball.”

You roll your eyes, unsure if the heartbeat you feel in your chest is your own or Makki’s from how closely he’s pressed against you. It’s annoying, and you hate annoying things.

“Actually,” you tell them as pointedly as you can, “I like them small. Tiny, even. Really ugly too, because that adds character. It’s best if they’re practically disfigured.”

“But they have to be into Volleyball?” Iwaizumi asks, a small smile dancing over his lips.

You shrug, almost managing to push Makki’s head off your shoulders.

“Hobbies are Hobbies. He could be into knitting for all I care.”

“Ah well, that’s good to know,” Makki sings, “Because I saw a guy exactly like that. I could set you guys up.”

“You would do that?” You mock gasp, pressing your hands against your chest. “For your mortal enemy?”

“Anything for you,” he declares, pressing a fake tear from his eyes while the rest of the group turns away, no longer interested.

“By the way,” Makki tells you as he follows you down the road, Mattsun’s house growing smaller and smaller behind you, “Itoh-chan asked me out today.”

“Oh?” You look over. “When did that happen?”

“Ah, while you and Mattsun were discussing what kind of boys you like,” he grins cheekily.

“You mean while I was telling him that Ishikawa has a crush on him?”

“She does? What a shame, she’d really be his type if she had longer hair.”

“What do you guys have with hair?” You ask, a little exasperated. You don’t really expect him to pull on yours, but you’re not surprised when he does it either.

Makki stops in front of his house but he’s not going inside and you’re not leaving either.

“Don’t you wanna know what I told her?” He asks and his voice dares you to say yes.

“Not really. I’m gonna find out eventually.”

“I said no,” he shrugs, “Because she was talking about kissing me and I didn’t want to have my first kiss with someone who chews bubblegum like a horse.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re superficial.”

“Maybe.”

Silence.

“Do you wanna practice?” You ask.

He looks at you, no sign of a joke in his eyes when he speaks.

“With or without lipgloss?” You realize that he knew what you meant when you asked, just like he’s always known what you thought before you said it out loud.

“What do you think?” You ask, moving one leg first and then the other. He falls into step next to you.

“What flavors are you offering?”

“Uh, I have one that’s supposed to be cherry flavored, but it tastes more like bubblegum.”

“I like bubblegum.”

“I know.”

His lips are dry and a little chapped, his hands clammy as they hold yours.

Kissing isn’t all that it’s made out to be, you decide unanimously a few minutes later and head down to the riverbank with a Volleyball instead.

High school - 16 years old

“Hey, we’re staying behind after training,” Makki tells you in between Classes, “Oikawa has this idea he wants to try out. Are you coming over to watch?”

“Sure,” you tell him, “Can’t have you walk home alone. You’d end up in Tokyo or something worse in the end.”

“What would I do without you?” He asks, exaggerating his theatrics as he dips back out of the classroom.

“Boyfriend?” The girl next to you asks curiously.

“Mortal enemy,” you declare and she furrows her brows and falls silent.

“Hey, we have training today,” you pull a lollipop from your jacket and pop it into your mouth, pulling a second one out when Mattsun stretches out his hand, asking wordlessly for one.

“Are you waiting for me?”

“What time are you going to be out?” Makki asks only half-listening as he copies Mattsun’s notes from the lesson. History is his weakest subject.

You calculate and name it and he nods.

“Yeah, sure, we can stay in the library until then and do our homework, right?” He turns to Mattsun who rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to wait around if you don’t want to,” you tell him and Mattsun’s eyes roll even harder.

You can’t help but snicker at it, knocking one last time against Makki’s desk when the bell rings, calling you back to your own Class.

“Alright, see you later guys.”

“Girlfriend?” One of the guys to their left asks, leaning over. “She’s pretty.”

“Mortal enemy,” Makki declares proudly, finally looking up from his notes. “I’d be careful. She bites.”

“No, no, this goes here,” you pull his hand from the paper before he can put the wrong number in yet again. “We’re not talking about the Edo period yet!”

“How do I know?” Makki grumbles, kicking his feet in the air behind him. “This shit sucks.”

“You wanna do something else?” You ask, not in the least bit minding a break. “Mattsun’s not coming over for another hour.”

“If ever,” Makki mumbles lowly and you look to the side just in time to watch insecurity flash over his face.

“You think he’s going to ditch you for a girlfriend?”

“Isn’t that how it always goes?” He asks, writing the wrong date in the space in front of him. You don’t care to correct him.

“We wouldn’t be like that,” you point out, not quite sure in what way you mean it.

“No,” he agrees easily. “We wouldn’t.”

“Mattsun’s not like that,” you assure him, putting your hand over his. “Shittykawa maybe, but not Mattsun.”

He stills for a second, eyes flickering over to yours. You can tell that he’s thinking about something, but you’re not yet sure what it is.

“Wanna try again?” He asks, voice low and quiet, his eyes flickering to your lips.

Not much history is studied that afternoon.

High school - 17 years old

It’s one of those rare days when you’re not coming home with Makki and Mattsun, dragging your tired body from the train station down the road.

You’ve cried more than enough already, yet your tears water again when Makki’s house comes into sight.

If only you hadn’t dropped that ball at that moment, had been a little faster that one time…

You know your mom’s waiting at home, food not quite ready yet, waiting to hear about the game.

But you can’t… you can’t…

The key is where it always is, hidden beneath the little wooden Tanuki at the front door.

The way up the stairs is so familiar you could do it in your sleep.

You slip into his bed and pull the covers over your head, smelling bubblegum and deodorant and a faint hint of sweat. It smells like Makki and you close your eyes, wishing you could shut out the tears just as easily as the light.

“Hey…” a warm hand on your shoulder wakes you. “You okay?”

You shake your head and he nods, slipping into bed with you.

“Do you want to continue Volleyball after High School?” Makki asks, arms slung around you. He’s like a monkey like that and you often wonder how he sleeps during training weeks. Does he sling himself around Mattsun or a pillow, does he dream of you or not?

“Not really, you?”

“Mhm, no. Winning is fun, but all that training would suck ass…”

You agree quietly, just a little noise in the back of your throat.

“So if you’re not going to continue playing anyway, it’s not that big of a deal, right?” He asks, “Just another blip in your life.”

“It’s not just another blip.”

“Remember how you bled so much you made a random guy puke?”

“Makki!” You howl, even louder when he bites into your shoulder.

But the pain soon subsides, turns into laughter that you can’t hold back.

“His face,” you remember, “He looked like he was going to pass out.”

“He’s ugly,” Makki howls and you press his hand, understanding finally why he keeps bringing up that joke.

Sometimes it’s best to laugh at your demons. They might not get smaller that way, but at least you have something to laugh at.

High school - 18 years

“Hanamaki-kun, I wanted to ask for your second button, oh…” The bright-eyed first-year stops in her tracks. The button is already missing.

She blushes a scarlet red, stuttering as she excuses herself.

“I don’t believe you,” Mattsun huffs, “You didn’t just wake up today, missing that button.”

“But I did,” Makki claims, “I swear, I’d never lie to you.”

“You always lie to me.”

“Name one time I lied to you.”

“When you told me your natural hair color was purple but it faded out over the summer.”

“Well, that’s on you, Mattsun. I can’t help you if you believe that of all things.”

“What did he believe this time?” You ask, walking over.

“Purple hair,” Makki points at his head. You scoff at Mattsun.

“I was six years old, okay?” He defends himself. “By the way, did you notice that Makki’s button is missing?” He points and you look.

“Nice,” you high-five Makki, “Who did you give it to.”

“I didn’t. Lost it at night. Some nightmare gremlin must have cut it off.”

“For real? Probably your mother who wants to curse you to stay home forever.”

“No, Mummy wouldn’t do such a thing.” He leans into you, trying to make you sway under his weight. It hasn’t worked in years but he keeps trying.

“How many buttons did you get?” Mattsun asks. “I saw Yamagata confessing to you in the hallway earlier.”

You pull a face.

“I don’t care if he’s no longer eating his snot, I’m not accepting a confession from him.”

“Why’s that?” Mattsun’s voice is saccharine sweet now and you narrow your eyes at him. You know what he wants to hear, but you’ve always been one to deny the things others want from you. Makki’s weight on you isn’t helping.

“If I say I don’t like someone, I’m not changing my mind on that.” You declare. Makki’s snickering above you, probably because he’s close to finally making you sway. You bite his bicep but he’s not moving away.

Mattsun rolls his eyes so hard it looks like he’s passing out.

College - 20 years

Your legs are flung over Makki’s and you’re so close to beating him when the door opens.

“Suck on that!” You yell as you swerve over the finish line, hitting his shoulder with your fist.

“Gladly,” he jokes, already choosing the next road as you look up.

“Oh, hi!” You wave at the guy standing in the doorway. “Are you looking for Mattsun? He’s in his room.”

“He said there’s a party going on tonight?” The guy asks. You try to place him, but your brain is failing you. He doesn’t look like he went to Seijoh, but Makki’s always been better at remembering faces.

“Yeah, for sure.” Makki declares. “Just a little later. You’re early. You can get yourself something to drink from the kitchen.”

“Cool.” He nods, walking over. He’s back in minutes, leaning over the backrest to watch, sipping whatever concoction he’s poured himself. “You two a thing?”

You don’t look up, too focused on beating Makki. You hate the rainbow road.

“Roommates,” Makki explains, his leg twitching under yours.

“Mortal enemies,” you declare, sticking out your tongue as you drift and push Makki off the road.

“Cool.” Couch-Guy leans in even further. “I’m Terushima by the way.”

Terushima finds you in the kitchen hours later. His eyes are glassy as he smiles at you and you wonder how many drinks he’s had.

You wouldn’t call yourself sober either, but you’d been so obsessed with beating Makki that you’re way behind on the others,

“What do you think?” Terushima flutters his eyelashes at you. “You and me? I could show you a good time.”

You swallow down a snort. He looks like he’s barely able to stand.

“Tell you what.” You point at your room down the hall. “Go lie down, I’m gonna be with you in a minute.”

“Awesome.”

You watch him stumble down the hall, how the door closes after him with a click. Seconds later Makki is leaning into you. He smells like bubblegum and the most disgusting brand of Tequila you’ve ever tasted.

“What are you doing?” He asks, snagging one side of the sandwich you’d been preparing.

“I sent the baby to bed.”

He snorts and you can feel his chin graze our shoulder as he peers over into the living room.

You steal a quick glance yourself. Some girl is trying her best in flirting with Mattsun who’s deep in an explanation about something that probably no one’s interested in.

The others are either drinking, singing, or snoring on the Couch and the floor.

Makki’s lips ghost over your bare shoulder.

“You’re sleeping in my room?” He asks, voice quiet as if anyone but you could hear him.

“Where else? My bed is already occupied.”

He pinches your hip, but he doesn’t move away, leaning heavy and warm against your back. You can feel his heartbeat like that, sluggish and slow and so well-known your heart beats in sync.

Work - 22 years

You’re sitting on Makki’s lap, or rather, in between his legs, playing on your phone as you wait for your stop.

There’s an older woman across from you who’s giving you the stink eye, but you don’t really care. It’s late, you’re both tired, and she can suck it.

“What do you want for dinner?” Makki asks, his head resting on top of yours.

“Rice.”

“We had rice yesterday.”

“Ramen?”

“Ugh.”

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

He falls quiet.

You let him, knowing damn well that he’s going to say it when he’s ready for it.

He pulls you up at your stop, links his hand with yours as you walk out.

It’s so not him, you’re almost worried. At least until he stops right at the corner, pulling a coin out of his pocket.

There’s a gumball machine there, one that sells cheap jewelry next to the cheap sweats.

He puts the coin in, twists and pulls a little ball out, presenting it to you.

“You shouldn’t have,” you tease, pulling the ball apart. It’s a ring, the metal bendable to fit every size. The design is even worse, a gaudy heart, but you don’t care, pull his hand up and slip it on his finger.

“Will you marry me?” You whisper as dramatically as you can and something flickers over his face, gone and away before you can catch it. He laughs, softly, and leans forward to kiss your temple.

“Oh, aren’t you a sweet couple?”

You turn, surprised to see an older lady standing behind you, squinting up at you in the fading daylight.

“Actually,” Makki starts. You can’t help but finish.

“We’re siblings.” You tell her. “Separated at birth. We just found out.”

Her eyes widen.

“What lovely news!” She chokes out, clearly confused.

You nod and bow and move away, pulling Makki with you as you rush down the stairs, suddenly no longer tired.

“They cut my hours,” he tells you later.

You’re stretched out on his bed, trying to convince yourself to get up again and do his workout routine with him. But the bed is comfy and you’re tired.

“How much?” You ask.

“Might not be able to pay rent this month.”

“I’ll cover it,” you offer. His mouth pulls into a thin line.

“Seriously,” you pull yourself up until you’re sitting. “I’ll cover it. You pay for my food all the time anyway. I could move in here with you and we open up my room for someone else. It’s no big deal.”

He still looks… unsure. Insecure. Like he’s not sure what to say or what to feel.

“I’m your bodyguard,” you remind him, “Remember? How am I supposed to protect you when you sleep in a different room anyway?”

Mattsun looks like he wants to say something. Scratch that. He looks like he wants to say a lot.

“Another roommate?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You nod. “You know, it makes sense, I should have thought about it sooner. As his bodyguard-”

“Mortal enemy.”

“And mortal enemy, thank you, Makki,” you pat his hand like one would do with a child. “It’s my job to protect him. I have neglected that for far too long. I’m moving into his room. Going to keep an eye on him at all times.”

Mattsun sighs.

“You can’t just say it? That you’re a couple?”

Makki gasps. You fake gag.

“We’re like siblings, Mattsun!” Makki claims. “Please keep your incestuous tendencies to yourself.”

“Ship someone else, will you?” You ask and he groans, pinches his nose, and shakes his head.

“Whatever. I’m not… You’re going to be the death of me. You can go and find us a third roommate for all I care… By the way, Makki, are we still on for Friday?”

Work - 24 years

“I think Ishikawa still has a crush on him,” you whisper into Makki’s ear. You have no interest whatsoever in the movie playing and neither does he, if the hand rubbing messages into your thigh is any indication.

“She still has that pixie cut,” he reminds you.

“Yeah, but it suits her now.” You point out and he shakes his head from side to side as if he’s thinking about it.

“Could you guys stop talking?” Mattsun growls from where he’s sitting. Ishikawa is sitting close enough that her hair must be tickling his nose. If only he’d put his arm around her.

“Excuse me, but we’re having a serious discussion,” Makki claims, picking a piece of popcorn and throwing it in the air. “Catch.”

It misses your mouth by a mile, landing somewhere behind you on the floor.

“Shit, again.” He picks another piece.

By the time the bowl is empty, Ishikawa and Mattsun are gone. You blink. The floor is covered in popcorn pieces and the movie has been over for quite some time if the flickering ad is telling you anything.

Makki picks up his phone from the table and squints at it.

“Mattsun took Ishikawa out for drinks.”

“Score.” You push him off the Couch. “Now come on, let’s get the vacuum.”

“Why do I have to?” He moans but gets up from the floor. “By the way, your hair looks pretty today.”

“What?” You look up from your own phone, your mind still halfway stuck in that email you just received.

“I said your hair looks shitty. What are you reading?”

“Apparently I got a promotion. Look.” You hand him your phone, pouring over the text together.

“Wow, shit, you’re going to earn so much more money,” he says, pulling you closer with his free hand. “How do you wanna celebrate?”

“I dunno, you decide.” You blink up at him. “I could treat you to that fancy hot pot place you mentioned last time.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “That’s stupid. What do you wanna do?”

“Well, it’s my money and I’m your bodyguard and I need to make sure you’re well-fed. So I guess Hot Pot it is.”

“You sure about that?” He follows you down the hallway to the closet where you keep the vacuum cleaner.

“Absolutely. What else would I do with my money? Buy you a diamond ring? Wait, do you want a diamond ring?”

“Please,” he huffs, “I only take Platin, you should know my style.”

Work - 26 years

“Oooh, look.” Makki pulls at Mattsun’s sleeve, dragging him to the left. “What do you think?”

Mattsun blinks. In front of him, behind thick glass, is a tray full of rings. Engagement rings.

“What do I think about what?”

“The rings, doofus. You’ve been dating Ishikawa for what, two years now?”

“1 year and eight months, okay. I’m nowhere near sure I’m going to marry her.”

“Still,” Makki pulls him through the door. “It’s good to do research. Thorough research.”

Mattsun rolls his eyes, digging his elbow into his friend's shoulder and navigating him to the left.

“Silver is less expensive.”

“Oi, since when are you a cheapskate?”

“Since gold turned expensive.”

They spend twenty minutes pouring over the options.

Mattsun has to admit, there are some pieces there that he wants to take a picture of, but he doesn’t, because it would be weird.

He watches his friend from the side, the way he takes in each ring.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, if this is a joke or serious.

“So, when are you going to ask her?” He asks when they step outside again.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“What am I asking?”

“If they marry you.”

“Why would I ask that?”

Mattsun groans in exasperation.

“Do you seriously find this funny? After all those years? Do you never just want to tell her that you love her or that she’s pretty or tell some weird dude that hits on her that she’s yours?”

“Oh, is that what you say to Ishikawa?” Makki asks, hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Yeah,” Mattsun says, “That’s what I tell her. Every day, if possible. Because it’s something she needs to hear. Because it’s true.”

Makki falters. He rubs the tip of his shoe over the asphalt under him, searching for a pebble to kick around.

“I don’t think she’d want to hear it. She’s not like… She’s not like Ishikawa, in that way. If she was, she’d tell me. She would have told me, you know.”

Mattsun sighs.

“Sorry. It’s your thing how you do it. If you’re both happy with it, continue being weird. It’s just hard to understand sometimes. But love you guys, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, you sap, I do.” Makki grins back at him.

His eyes fall to the watch above them and they widen.

“Shit, I’m late for work.”

“Hey,” Makki’s back way too early.

“Hey,” he mumbles, slipping into the chair next to you. “When did you get home?”

“An hour ago. Got all the Argentinian stuff for the match next month. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, away from you, yet his hands reach out. You take his left and press it.

“You sure?” You ask.

He nods.

Silence falls over you. It’s hard to continue typing with only your left hand, but you’re not willing to let go of his.

Eventually, he opens his eyes again.

“I got fired today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat of Silence.

“You wanna take a holiday?” You ask, closing your notebook for a moment to look at him. “We could drive to the beach for a weekend.”

“I wanted to buy you a ring.”

“Mhm,” you reach out and rub your thumb over his cheek. “Already bought me one. How many rings do you think I need?”

“How many fingers do you have?”

You wait for him to continue, but he falls silent again.

“Did you want to keep working there?” You ask. He shakes his head. “So if you didn’t want to keep working there, it’s not that big of a deal, right?” You ask, hoping he remembers a similar conversation when the roles were reversed. “Just another blip in your life.”

“It’s not just another blip.” He says and you can see some light returning to his eyes.

“Mhm,” you say, “Remember when Yasuda called you ugly in kindergarten?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles.

“I always thought you were very pretty.” He stills, his eyes flickering over your face.

“Really?”

“Really. Also, I love you.”

He grins. “I knew it. Called it when you tried to pee on me in elementary school.”

“I’m your bodyguard,” you remind him, “Your mortal enemy. Now, do you wanna go to the beach for the weekend or do you wanna stay in bed all day and play Mario Kart?”

Makki takes his sweet time to decide.

“Can we do both?” He asks eventually. “Play Mario Kart at the Beach?”

“So demanding,” you joke, leaning forward to kiss him.

There’s a ring packed in your things when you leave the city for the weekend.

It’s not Platin and not silver either, bought at the gumball machine with a few coins.

It will do for now.

“I could be your Navigator,” Makki offers as he looks up routes on his phone. “How much are you paying per hour?”

“Ah, not enough to be able to afford you,” you joke easily. “But I am looking for a housewife.”

“No way,” he gasps, eyes widening. “That’s exactly the job I was looking for. I make a fantastic sandwich.”

“Hired,” you offer him your hand. He takes it.

Tagging: @darthferbert @alienaiver @marti-mp4 @lemurzsquad @ @sachirobabe

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wqnsho · 3 months

Text

to tell you is too scary (so I'll just say something else)

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: lizzy mcalpine - "pancakes for dinner"

summary: nightmares don't usually translate to reality, but you call sakusa for the first time in years. just to be safe.

wc: 1k

cw/tags: gn!reader and post-timeskip!sakusa, nightmare about a plane crash but nothing descriptive, angst/comfort with happy ending, childhood friends to lovers (??), dialogue-driven, he hates everyone but you

note: yayy first @ficsforgaza gift post for @froggiewonder17 !! i tried out a different layout for the top section of this post, lmk if y'all like it! thank you again for donating to help palestinian families, i hope you like this :)) my f4g masterpost can be found here!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

Your thumb trembles over the call button next to his contact, hovering and waiting for some unseen force to make you stop. Your hand keeps shaking, no matter how hard you try to stop it; the ravaged skin of your cuticles is stained with dried blood from your constant picking and scratching. Dread crashes again in a wave and you find yourself trapped under the water, gasping for air that wasn’t being inhaled. With a knot in your lungs, instinct takes over and taps your phone.

The three ascending notes of the phone dialing his number sound far away and you unexpectedly heave out a choked sob. He’d probably changed his number or deleted yours. Maybe he would simply glance at the unknown caller ID and ignore it entirely, returning to his drink with all his teammates at the bar. You didn’t know him anymore.

You didn’t know him anymore.

Your palm slams onto the red circle and you curl into as tight of a ball as you can muster, disappearing into the corner of your bedroom. It’s stupid, calling him because of the first night terror you’d had in a decade. When you were kids, he was always your first call when your eyes flew open. I’m with you, I’ve got you, he said. He guided you when adrenaline turned into anxiety, when the void outside your window was unfathomably dark. He’d stay until your breathing evened into a sleeping rhythm and wouldn’t hang up until your phone died or you woke up the next morning. He was there every time you were drowning, and your soul didn’t know what to do without its safety ring except sink,

and sink,

and sink…

INCOMING CALL.

CALLER ID: Kiyoomi💛💚

You stare at your phone screen illuminating the blankets like a beacon. Blinking once, then twice, you wait for it to disappear like a hallucination or a trick of your psyche. It doesn’t, and when you have half the mind to reach for your phone, the screen disappears. You’d missed the call. Maybe it was a trick of the mind?

(1) MISSED CALL - Kiyoomi💛💚

INCOMING CALL.

CALLER ID: Kiyoomi💛💚

You’re faster this time, snatching your phone from the covers and swiping the “answer call” button to the side. It’s quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, but he’s there. He always was, wasn’t he?

“...Omi?”

“Hey,” he says gently. There’s faint noise in the background of where he is, sounds of conversations and telecom announcements. Even with the sound of rolling wheels, he’s still clear. “You called.” Fifty minutes away, Kiyoomi imagines you nodding in the silence, maybe wiping a stray tear with the corner of your fitted sheet. “You’re safe?” You hum a shaky mhmm, still unable to force out any words. He murmurs your name, coaxing you out of your tight ball. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m safe,” you reply after a breath. Based on your voice alone, he could tell the night terror happened no more than five minutes before you called. “I just–I’m sorry if I–”

“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he reassures you, immediately shooting Atsumu a withering glare when he tries to dance up to Kiyoomi’s less busy part of the airport. The MSBY team’s international flight was canceled an hour ago, but he was still trying to figure out if he wanted to stay with his teammates at a closer hotel. The present situation felt, literally and metaphorically, like you were calling him home.

“There was a plane,” you say in a broken whisper. He strains to hear your crackling voice and shakes his head adamantly when Bokuto and Hinata try to join Atsumu’s antics. Now was not the time to fuck around with him. “You were on it, and something went wrong, and it–There was an accident and…I just had to watch it happen. I had to watch it happen and I couldn’t do anything.” Your voice cracks and trails off, making Kiyoomi’s chest twist like a wrung towel. Your friendship was strained after Kiyoomi’s second Nationals, fading completely until there was nothing left when you graduated except photobooth strips from third grade. He kept your number, though, in case something like this ever happened. In case you needed him again or he needed you, he never decided.

“Are you–are you home right now?” Another broken mhmm. “Can I see you?”

“You’re not overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, as of an hour ago,” he admits, running an exasperated hand through his curls and straightening his track jacket collar. A flash of light catches the corner of his eye. Cameras, cameras, cameras, always. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, continuing, “But, the flight got delayed and ultimately canceled because of maintenance issues. We’re probably gonna have to postpone the game.”

“I’m sorry, Omi.” You hear him shrug in that indifferent manner that always seemed to come down when he was with you. All his walls, actually, came down when he was with you.

“I don’t care, honestly. My question still stands.” He swallows thickly, begging you to say yes for both of your sakes. When his phone showed your contact photo for the seven seconds you called, it awakened grief in him he thought he’d buried years ago. By all accounts, Sakusa Kiyoomi desperately missed you. “I can be there in an hour. I’ll take a car, I don’t care how much it costs.”

“It’s–it’s fine, you really should stay with your team and rest,” you mutter, always the selfless one worrying about his well-being. You were too good to him, letting him cancel plans for training camps and tournaments, always letting him go. “I don’t want you missing another flight if it comes up.”

Too bad that, when it came to you, Kiyoomi had decided long ago he’d always be selfish.

“Say you need me and I will be there.” You don’t hesitate.

“I need you here, Omi,” you murmur. He’s gone in seconds–mind, body, and soul. His body acted instinctually, running on nothing else but the sole purpose of getting home to you. With a wad of cash and an Olympic athlete’s intellect calculating the fastest way to reach you, he vows that you would never need to say you needed him again.

Because he’d say he needed you instead.

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wqnsho · 4 months

Text

the prince.

₊˚ ᗢ suna rintarou x figure skater! fem! reader.

⤷ suna has been leaving practice early and the team starts to wonder why.

“ah, i should start heading out for today.”

suna slings his bag over his shoulders, tugging on the straps as his other hand grips his phone. he’s seen typing a quick message to someone and hitting send the moment his blond-aired teammate walks over to him. from the corner of kita’s eyes, he notices suna’s lips curl into a small, fond smile. it seemed almost uncharacteristic for the boy. so much so that the miya twins are quick to be at his side, leaning over his shoulder with gleaming interest for his friend.

as of recently, suna has been leaving practice a lot earlier than usual. the first time it happened, he hurriedly ran to the locker rooms to change, rushing out of the doors with his shirt still halfway across his torso. the second time, he left when kita turned around to give an earful to atsumu about not taking care of his health. this was the time aran finally noticed something was different about suna, and he reacted with a simple sigh and wave. the third time, he was caught by their coach and forced to give a half-assed apology before running off again, still not learning his lesson. no matter how often the boys see it, they’re always surprised by how fast he can run, especially when he’s putting his mind to something.

this time will be different though. before he could turn around to make a jog toward the door, atsumu stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder. a glimmer of mischief shining through his hazel-colored eyes. “where do you think you’re going this time? don’t think we haven’t noticed you cutting practices early! you got a lot of nerve buddy.”

osamu wipes the sweat off his brow, coming up to suna, “it’s unlike you to leave early. do you have somewhere to go? afterschool program?”

“maybe he’s going out to see a girl!”

the boy in question looks off to the side, eyes flickering back and forth from his phone to the court. the team had paused their game just to hear what he had to say. he awkwardly clears his throat as he turns away, a faint red tint forming on the tips of his ears, “yeah. i wanted to watch my friend’s performance tonight.”

the miya twins grovel, somehow losing a mysterious bet they’ve made in their heads. kita slowly approaches suna, patting him on the shoulder. it’s a surprise, they all thought. to think that this stoic, snarky, sarcastic man had friends who could tolerate his bratty attitude was nothing short of amazing. in all their time of being together, in the same classes and lunch table, atsumu and osamu did not see it coming. perhaps if they were observant as kita, they might have noticed the way suna would smile at his phone, seemingly texting someone on the other line.

the blond-setter points at him accusingly, “you got friends outside of me and samu? you cheater!”

“this is quite the news…”

“i wonder what he’s watching…”

the man in question was an incredibly sly, albeit lazy boy. the longer he stays in the game, the more he begins to slack off. it was obvious the way his shoulders began to roll back and he took a more relaxed position in front of the net. it’s only when kita is brought into the game that he straightens up his back. aran points out that suna didn’t attempt to hide anything and would have more than likely answered their questions had they asked. the middle blocker never attempted to hide his conversion. it’s so painfully obvious how criminally online he is.

“man, now i’m curious!” atsumu comments, slapping him on the back a few times, “you wouldn’t mind if we join your friend’s little performance?”

“tsumu, you can’t just invite yourself.”

“huh? i just wanna meet them thats all! what if they’re also a volleyball player!”

“he would have said game instead of performance, you egghead.”

“who the hell are you calling an egghead?”

suna remains quiet before pocketing his phone. tugging on his bag, he resumes his walk to the door. “it’s fine. i don’t think my friend would mind.” he certainly would. but he pushes this thought down his throat. if anything, it might help to bring more people for support. he looks back at atsumu and osamu, narrowing his eyes with annoyance laced in his gaze, “just don’t cause trouble for me.”

the rest of the team quickly packed up their belongings, with kita waving them off with a simple goodbye. he says he should stay to clean up the gym while they meet suna’s friend. it was only a few days before their next game, and he thinks they deserve some level of rest. it would also be nice of them to send photos. he’s also quite curious to know who is this mysterious friend.

“i’m surprised you got such a close friend! it doesn’t seem like you talk to them in person.” omimi scratches the back of his neck, fiddling slightly with the ends of his hair. “do they go to a different school?”

“they don’t come to class,” suna replied, tucking his hands into his pocket as they continued down the road.

“so they just skip? how unfair is that!” atsumu huffs, tucking his arms over his chest. if he had the option, he’d ditch the drab books and play volleyball every day. osamu gently punches him on the shoulder, snickering about how it’d make no difference in his grades if he skipped class. the two begin to bicker as aran jogs a little faster to meet with suna.

the dark-haired boy lets out a hum, shifting his head from side to side.

“a prince, i guess.”

ice crackles underneath the thin blade, a snappy yet crisp sound echoing in the open air. a figure waves elegantly through the frigid platform. the shimmer from their ruffled clothes waves back and forth in the air, tempting the audience to lean forward as they raise their arms, performing a triple axel with a slight wobble in their toe. they ignore this flaw, choosing to continue with their program as if nothing happened. sliding left and right, they glide easily across the ice as their hands trail from the vein on the side of their neck, tracing it down to their ribcage.

the prince was not an unfamiliar name. rumors quickly spread at the beginning of the year that a new transfer student would be attending. whispers came from all directions. most of them coming from the ice skating club. they were described to be a professional figure-skater. a whole league of their own compared to the boys’ volleyball team. having won several out-of-country competitions, they came back to japan a kissed hero. it was a shame that on the first day, they were excused from classes for the rest of the semester.

despite not attending class, it was evidence there was a star lingering amongst them.

however, the volleyball team was met with a lot more than just one surprise tonight. they learned very quickly the moment they entered the skating rink, the prince was not a prince, but a lady. she slid across the field with enough grace to match a swan. yet the crunch of shaved ice and precise jumps remind them of the careful footwork of a mountain goat. every move performed was planned. every sweat poured onto the ice was a sign of their meticulous work. in other words, they were flawless tonight.

“man, i wonder how easy it’d be to do those jumps,” atsumu says, looking out to the crowd and back to suna. the middle blocker doesn’t break from the scene in front of him. the team notices the way the skater’s arms move smoothly alongside their skates, almost as if they were one flowing piece in the wind. their facial expression was concentrated, with only a thin trickle of sweat dripping down their chin.

everyone was standing behind the glass, eyes were blown wide as they were met with a sparkling scene. the slow build-up of the song brought everything together. they couldn’t hold back their gasp as they watched the skater perform a double axel followed by a triple salchow, with another jump far across the rink. a jump they could only imagine doing in their dreams. they were starting the second half of their program, yet they’ve performed this many jumps already. it was getting impossible to hide the smile on suna’s face.

“i doubt it.”

figure skating is one of the most rigorous sports anyone could play. not only do you need the mastery of ballet, but training and practice could last months before you are even ready to perform competitively. nothing slips past the judges. not a single step should be wasted unless called for. everything should be perfectly calculated by their choreographer weeks in advance. from the movements of their fingers to the tilt of their neck, only those who were dedicated to this sport can see the small details. while a volleyball player can get away with slipping on the ground, it is a fatal mistake in figure skating.

not to mention, injuries were common in every performance. you might be friends with someone one hour, before they collapse on the ground, being wheeled to the hospital after straining their muscles. it was intense.

you finished your performance, breathing heavily as you waved your arms above your head. although the ice was cold, your body was warming up from the inside out. it was burning with passion. and you lived for these cheers. you could feel it all in the tips of your fingers. this was going to be the start of something great this year. finally able to rest, you turned your head, noticing a very familiar face in the crowd, leading to you excitedly skating towards them.

“rin!” you jumped into his open arms, letting him twirl you around as his teammates stared in disbelief. the cold expression you had on the ice had completely melted away the moment you saw your best friend. “you made it! i got worried you might not be able to see the beginning of my program.”

(l/n) (y/n): professional figure skater, representing japan in the grand prix. her most notable achievement was winning gold in the junior grand prix two years ago, with her main focus being to conquer the senior division by her third year in high school. she transferred to inarizaki in hopes of finishing her education and taking lessons from another coach, but her training program had been more demanding, making it difficult for her to attend classes.

so how did you meet suna? it was very simple. he and you met in kindergarten, having been paired up together because of the latter’s extremely bratty behavior. you were the definition of a picture-perfect child. however, hanging out with him during recess completely changed that perception of you. you would always spend time together, whispering to each other in class. even when it was mandatory nap time, he would always find a way to lay his thin mat next to you, poking the center of your palm to keep you awake.

such antics led to you being a little more rebellious and open-mouthed with your opinions. he gave you the confidence to speak to your parents about your dreams. while he wanted to continue playing volleybal, you wanted to be a figure skater. just like your grandmother when she was a young girl. unfortunately, she got an injury during the semifinals that permanently withdrew her from sports entirely. it was a tragic event that affected your family for years. they wanted you to do anything but figure skating.

your mother, although hesitant at first, could not deny you this wish. not when young suna held onto your hand tightly as you began to sob in front of her, claiming with all your heart that you would, without a doubt, come home with gold between your teeth.

from there, when you were both in middle school, he would always be by your side. he went out of his way to save up his allowance from his mother to attend your competitions. to him, these small things were nothing in comparison to seeing your smile. when you looked back at him after performing your first free skate program, despite missing several of your jumps and hitting the ground with your cheek, you waved and smiled. even when you formed bruises behind the back of your knee, or sprained your ankle, he was always there to wrap gauze around it, laying on your stomach to keep you from leaving your bed. even when you moved away to a new city, crying into your pillow about how hard it is to make new friends in the ballet studio, he was there to comfort you. even when you didn’t make it to first place like you promised him, he was always whispering to you about how great you were to him.

although the distance was far, your heart was close to him.

so the volleyball team was left in awe, looking at the sight of a very soft, domesticated suna holding onto his childhood friend. he holds you tightly as he presses his forehead against yours, not minding the thin layer of sweat and warm air. squeezing your waist, he wonders about the perfect time to say how he feels.

but perhaps it could wait once the two of you make it to the peaks of your career.

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