Sawamura laughs while he’s retelling a story of something funny that happened at practice, Kuroo doesn’t really know because Sawamura’s voice is soothing and Kuroo wants to fall asleep to Sawamura murmuring sweet things in his ears while stroking his hair as his head lays on those thighs, goodness gracious, and then he focuses on the lips because hey, maybe lip reading is a thing while your mind races with weirdly domestic things instead of the sexual deviant that you self-proclaimed you are, especially as a youthful teenager.
It is not a thing, Kuroo realizes when he envisions Sawamura’s lips against his. It is most definitely not a thing.
Thankfully, he manages to clear his head to catch the tail end of the story and appropriately responds. Sawamura nods, as if Kuroo said something particularly noteworthy, and Kuroo gives into the temptation to mentally fist pump and hoot loudly.
It’s alright, Kuroo thinks as their conversation lulls, he’s got great questions. He wrote them down as little slips of papers in his hoodie’s pockets and the crinkle of the paper is rather comforting. His palms are sweaty—which is great, because now he can push his thumbs into his pockets and hunch over, clearly the epitome of cool. Sawamura arches an eyebrow but says nothing and Kuroo pretends not to break out into a cold sweat.
“You know,” Sawamura says as they wait for the streetlight to turn, a quiet night in the city streets of Tokyo, “I really enjoyed the dinner with you.”
“Oh yeah?” Kuroo says, a grin spreading across his face, his heart skipping a traitorous beat. ‘With you’, Sawamura had said, ‘with you’! “That’s great—I did too.”
“The food was great and the company was even better,” Sawamura says in a tone that Kuroo can only describe as teasing.
“Aw,” Kuroo says and nudges Sawamura’s shoulder with his own, “that’s so sweet.”
“I, uh,” Sawamura says and clears his throat, turning to look at Kuroo head on, a blush high across his cheeks. “I like you. More than a friend.”
In the most ungraceful way possible, Kuroo’s mind short-circuits.
Surprisingly, what the fuck is not actually the first thing that flops into his empty mind. Instead, due to his mind hitting panic mode, and due to him understanding that panic mode requires those slips of paper that are crinkled in his pocket: it’s:
“What’s your favorite animal,” Kuroo shouts a bit too loudly and Sawamura stares at him, eyes wide and bewildered.
What the fuck is the second thing that flops into his empty mind, followed by strong mortification. Sawamura looks like the epitome of regret and no—Kuroo is not projecting, okay, maybe a little, hell, he’d probably, well, no, if Sawamura said that to him he probably wouldn’t care, but Sawamura isn’t him and he’s not Sawamura and—
“Don’t tell Bokuto I said that,” Kuroo whines because he just presented his hopeful significant other with the best blackmail material ever. Is that how all relationships start?
“Wow,” Sawamura says, which sums up Kuroo’s entire romantic life or (possible) lack thereof. “To answer your question, I guess, the cat? Since—“ Sawamura’s cheek flushes, “that’s your animal motif, right?”
Oh my god, you like me, Kuroo thinks, possibly says because Sawamura’s cheeks get even darker, and reaches out with sweaty hands to grab Sawamura’s own.
“I like you too,” Kuroo recovers with the grace of a fish flopping around on land, leaning in close enough so that their noses are barely a centimeter from touching. “I really do.”
“Great,” Sawamura says weakly. He squeezes Kuroo’s hand though and by the time Kuroo gets home after dropping Sawamura off at his door—Sawamura pecked him quickly on the cheek and then fled inside—his cheeks hurt from smiling.
“I am the luckiest person alive,” he shouts, sends to Kenma, and then dances across his apartment.
FILL: TEAM Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun, T
650 words.
Sawamura laughs while he’s retelling a story of something funny that happened at practice, Kuroo doesn’t really know because Sawamura’s voice is soothing and Kuroo wants to fall asleep to Sawamura murmuring sweet things in his ears while stroking his hair as his head lays on those thighs, goodness gracious, and then he focuses on the lips because hey, maybe lip reading is a thing while your mind races with weirdly domestic things instead of the sexual deviant that you self-proclaimed you are, especially as a youthful teenager.
It is not a thing, Kuroo realizes when he envisions Sawamura’s lips against his. It is most definitely not a thing.
Thankfully, he manages to clear his head to catch the tail end of the story and appropriately responds. Sawamura nods, as if Kuroo said something particularly noteworthy, and Kuroo gives into the temptation to mentally fist pump and hoot loudly.
It’s alright, Kuroo thinks as their conversation lulls, he’s got great questions. He wrote them down as little slips of papers in his hoodie’s pockets and the crinkle of the paper is rather comforting. His palms are sweaty—which is great, because now he can push his thumbs into his pockets and hunch over, clearly the epitome of cool. Sawamura arches an eyebrow but says nothing and Kuroo pretends not to break out into a cold sweat.
“You know,” Sawamura says as they wait for the streetlight to turn, a quiet night in the city streets of Tokyo, “I really enjoyed the dinner with you.”
“Oh yeah?” Kuroo says, a grin spreading across his face, his heart skipping a traitorous beat. ‘With you’, Sawamura had said, ‘with you’! “That’s great—I did too.”
“The food was great and the company was even better,” Sawamura says in a tone that Kuroo can only describe as teasing.
“Aw,” Kuroo says and nudges Sawamura’s shoulder with his own, “that’s so sweet.”
“I, uh,” Sawamura says and clears his throat, turning to look at Kuroo head on, a blush high across his cheeks. “I like you. More than a friend.”
In the most ungraceful way possible, Kuroo’s mind short-circuits.
Surprisingly, what the fuck is not actually the first thing that flops into his empty mind. Instead, due to his mind hitting panic mode, and due to him understanding that panic mode requires those slips of paper that are crinkled in his pocket: it’s:
“What’s your favorite animal,” Kuroo shouts a bit too loudly and Sawamura stares at him, eyes wide and bewildered.
What the fuck is the second thing that flops into his empty mind, followed by strong mortification. Sawamura looks like the epitome of regret and no—Kuroo is not projecting, okay, maybe a little, hell, he’d probably, well, no, if Sawamura said that to him he probably wouldn’t care, but Sawamura isn’t him and he’s not Sawamura and—
“Don’t tell Bokuto I said that,” Kuroo whines because he just presented his hopeful significant other with the best blackmail material ever. Is that how all relationships start?
“Wow,” Sawamura says, which sums up Kuroo’s entire romantic life or (possible) lack thereof. “To answer your question, I guess, the cat? Since—“ Sawamura’s cheek flushes, “that’s your animal motif, right?”
Oh my god, you like me, Kuroo thinks, possibly says because Sawamura’s cheeks get even darker, and reaches out with sweaty hands to grab Sawamura’s own.
“I like you too,” Kuroo recovers with the grace of a fish flopping around on land, leaning in close enough so that their noses are barely a centimeter from touching. “I really do.”
“Great,” Sawamura says weakly. He squeezes Kuroo’s hand though and by the time Kuroo gets home after dropping Sawamura off at his door—Sawamura pecked him quickly on the cheek and then fled inside—his cheeks hurt from smiling.
“I am the luckiest person alive,” he shouts, sends to Kenma, and then dances across his apartment.