Ship: matsukawa issei/hanamaki takahiro Fandom: haikyuu Major Tags: none Other Tags: food Square: lunch at 1 pm Word Count: 506
i wrote this in the middle of the night which was Not Smart because now my stomach is growling, too
***
“Here.”
Takahiro looks up as Matsukawa drops a bottle of milk tea in his lap. He reaches up for the warmed bento box Matsukawa is holding, nodding his thanks. He scoots over on the bench, and Matsukawa plops down beside him, undoing the rubber bands on his own bento.
They’re outside the konbini, after a long, gruelling morning practice. Takahiro’s still thinking about his jump serve. He’s been trying to get it down since the training camp, but it’s harder than expected. And it’s even harder when you have Oikawa on the other side of the court, slamming serves down like he was made to do it. Takahiro isn’t jealous—Well, maybe he was, just a little. But who isn’t a little jealous of Oikawa Tooru? That’s fine, though. Watching Oikawa striking balls down like bullets and seeing his friend and captain’s hard work in between drills is incredibly inspiring. Takahiro hasn’t tried this hard at anything except volleyball.
“Hey, you want a piece of my pork chops?”
Takahiro glances over. Matsukawa holds out the box to him, eyebrows raised slightly. Dutifully, Takahiro picks out a piece of the grilled meat, and trades it for a piece of his fish.
“Thanks.”
Matsukawa hums. He nudges Takahiro with an elbow. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah. Tired, I guess.”
“Coach is always ruthless, this close to season starting.”
“True. But I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“I know how you feel,” sighs Matsukawa. “It’s our last year, too. Oikawa’s all ride or die, it’s kind of hard not to get dragged into his pace.”
Takahiro stabs a piece of fried tofu. “His pace is going to kill us all.”
Matsukawa tilts a smile at him. Loose curls hang over his eyes, giving him a soft, lazy sort of look. It’s familiar, and stupidly soothing. “Would you have it any other way?”
“Ha,” Takahiro snorts. He turns back to his lunch, and there’s a small smile pulling at his lips, too. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”
“Go big or go home.”
Takahiro’s stomach growls then, loud enough to be heard of the electronic jingle of the konbini doors. They both pause, glancing at each other. Then a smile cracks through Takahiro’s expression, and Matsukawa laughs. It’s deep, loud, kind of breathy, but it reminds Takahiro of sunny afternoons and victory dances. It’s all too easy, then, to laugh along, hands carefully curled around the bento to keep it from spilling and wasting five hundred yen.
He digs back in, finishing every last piece of rice and boiled vegetables. It’s nothing compared to his mother’s cooking, but it’s filling and satisfying right now. And with Matsukawa by his side, the meal has never gone down better. As he sets aside the empty box and reaches for the bottle of tea, he slides a glance over at Matsukawa.
“Is it too much to ask you to buy me a creampuff, too?”
Matsukawa puts his nearly-finished bento down, stands up, and leaves.
Takahiro chases him, laughing, and promises to buy him one, too.
FILL: team akaashi keiji/bokuto koutarou, A2, [G]
Fandom: haikyuu
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: food
Square: lunch at 1 pm
Word Count: 506
i wrote this in the middle of the night which was Not Smart because now my stomach is growling, too
***
“Here.”
Takahiro looks up as Matsukawa drops a bottle of milk tea in his lap. He reaches up for the warmed bento box Matsukawa is holding, nodding his thanks. He scoots over on the bench, and Matsukawa plops down beside him, undoing the rubber bands on his own bento.
They’re outside the konbini, after a long, gruelling morning practice. Takahiro’s still thinking about his jump serve. He’s been trying to get it down since the training camp, but it’s harder than expected. And it’s even harder when you have Oikawa on the other side of the court, slamming serves down like he was made to do it. Takahiro isn’t jealous—Well, maybe he was, just a little. But who isn’t a little jealous of Oikawa Tooru? That’s fine, though. Watching Oikawa striking balls down like bullets and seeing his friend and captain’s hard work in between drills is incredibly inspiring. Takahiro hasn’t tried this hard at anything except volleyball.
“Hey, you want a piece of my pork chops?”
Takahiro glances over. Matsukawa holds out the box to him, eyebrows raised slightly. Dutifully, Takahiro picks out a piece of the grilled meat, and trades it for a piece of his fish.
“Thanks.”
Matsukawa hums. He nudges Takahiro with an elbow. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah. Tired, I guess.”
“Coach is always ruthless, this close to season starting.”
“True. But I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“I know how you feel,” sighs Matsukawa. “It’s our last year, too. Oikawa’s all ride or die, it’s kind of hard not to get dragged into his pace.”
Takahiro stabs a piece of fried tofu. “His pace is going to kill us all.”
Matsukawa tilts a smile at him. Loose curls hang over his eyes, giving him a soft, lazy sort of look. It’s familiar, and stupidly soothing. “Would you have it any other way?”
“Ha,” Takahiro snorts. He turns back to his lunch, and there’s a small smile pulling at his lips, too. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”
“Go big or go home.”
Takahiro’s stomach growls then, loud enough to be heard of the electronic jingle of the konbini doors. They both pause, glancing at each other. Then a smile cracks through Takahiro’s expression, and Matsukawa laughs. It’s deep, loud, kind of breathy, but it reminds Takahiro of sunny afternoons and victory dances. It’s all too easy, then, to laugh along, hands carefully curled around the bento to keep it from spilling and wasting five hundred yen.
He digs back in, finishing every last piece of rice and boiled vegetables. It’s nothing compared to his mother’s cooking, but it’s filling and satisfying right now. And with Matsukawa by his side, the meal has never gone down better. As he sets aside the empty box and reaches for the bottle of tea, he slides a glance over at Matsukawa.
“Is it too much to ask you to buy me a creampuff, too?”
Matsukawa puts his nearly-finished bento down, stands up, and leaves.
Takahiro chases him, laughing, and promises to buy him one, too.