Part 1 - Part 2 - Requested (in a comment) by @vikikipp
Tears poured into the pillow below me, muffling the sobs that came along. His last message replayed in my head, over and over: 'Please, don't leave me'.
I refused to respond to sound of notifications emitting from my phone. One, two, three... four...
Then, they slowed down one by one until the sound stopped. Completely.
This is what I had decided, right? To cut him off. To cut off somebody who was so clearly in need of a person to talk to - in need of me.
I slept to the sound of my own guilt.
The sun shone piercingly through the curtains of my room.
Washing my face in the bathroom, the swollen eyes reflecting in the mirror reminded me of what I did last night; I really didn't want to step foot into school today.
Begrudgingly, I dressed up and prepared to leave the house, deploying my best effort to ignore the heavy weight on my shoulders. But the throbbing in my head didn't make matters easier to forget.
Eventually, I was outside and on my way to school.
On and on, my thoughts drifted - worries that I'd see him, and that he'd confront me - even though we'd never actually met. But what if he already knew what I looked like? Then, he'd easily be able to spot me in school. Maybe he was even in my class..
Suddenly, my thoughts were loudly interrupted.
"...You look like you were ran over by bus!" Someone shouted from behind me, presumably at another person.
I assumed it was somebody making a passing comment at me. Flattening my vest to maintain a somewhat kempt appearance, I continued walking. But the comments persisted.
"No, seriously, what happened to you dude?!"
Dude..? That definitely wasn't directed at me. I don't know anyone who calls me that. And above all - that voice was very boisterous. It was really.. familiar. A voice that loud isn't one you can forget very easily.
Curiosity somehow got the best of me as I turned to take a peek at what the ruckus was.
Two boys walking beside each other. One of them looked like a loud person, the other looked to be his opposite - he really did look like he was ran over by a bus. Though, the 'loud' boy didn't only sound familiar, but also looked very familiar.
That was when the realisation hit me - thinking back to those two boys in the convenience store a while back - the loud boy referred to the person walking beside him using a name that was too close to home for my liking.
"What're you looking at Akaashi?" His friend asked.
The boy stopped midway through his slow paced walk, looking directly at me, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.
My heart dropped.
He turned to his friend and said something which I couldn't hear - not through the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Soon, he paced off, leaving the two of us alone.
I almost wanted to follow him, to ignore the boy in front of me and continue as though nothing happened.
But I couldn't - not this time.
Not with him walking towards me, each step emboldening the tear burns on the corners of his eyes, the dark circles underneath, and the unbrushed, unkempt state of his hair.
He looked terrible. And it was all my fault.
My gaze remained fixed on the ground in front of me. I couldn't look him in the eyes. Not after I abandoned him.
I assumed he didn't want to meet me because he always avoided the topic. I never took a second to consider that he may have his own problems in doing that. Instead, I ran away from him, leaving him to wallow in his own issues, knowing that he needed a person to talk to.
The footsteps stopped, entering my field of view.
My vision blurred, tears streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't keep running away from things that I was unsure of. I couldn't continue to assume things about others that weren't true, things that I had no proof of.
And if I were to make those mistakes again, I doubt I'd have the opportunity to communicate what I really meant.
I was barely able to choke out the words that had been lingering in the back of my head.
"I'm.. so.. sorry."
Some time passed without a single word having been uttered by either of us. I half expected him to walk off, not satisfied with my petty apology. But he didn't, and before I knew it, he spoke up, his voice soft and gentle.
"I'm.. sorry too".
Finally raising my gaze from the ground, his eyes met mine. "I'm sorry for avoiding you." After exhaling deeply, he continued. "I'm the one who always pushed you away whenever you'd try to bring up the topic of us meeting."
He was right. It happened so often that I wondered if something in him suddenly changed one day and he became fed up with me - and his lack of desire to meet me was his own way of cutting things off. But that was a result of me jumping to conclusions, and never even giving him a chance to explain things himself.
"It's.. a little hard to explain". He sighed. "I guess.. I was just embarrassed from myself and the things I told you - things about my feelings, and my club-". His voice began to shake as he continued. "..Things that would make you think that I'm just.. some sort of freak.."
As he spoke those words, my heart sank. I couldn't have misunderstood him any more than I already had. He stood in front of me, tears silently streaming down his cheeks.
Stepping closer towards him, I reached into my pocket, grabbing a handkerchief. In one hand, I dabbed the corner of his eyes - in the other, I held his cheek, tears sinking into my inner palm. He gazed at me with wide eyes, eyes that spoke of the sadness within him.
"I never once thought of you as a freak, or anything remotely like that". Lowering my hands, I continued. "All I wanted was to meet you, to watch you play volleyball, to laugh with you, to hang out with you..".
My voice quietened. "To hear your laughter and watch you smile, and to be beside you.." My heart pounded loudly, its beating coursing throughout my entire body. Now wasn't the time to be saying these things.
He inched closer, arms wrapping around my back. I did the same, holding his back in my grasp. I feel his entire body as it trembled alongside each short inhale as his grasp tightened as if to plead "Please, don't leave me."
I might've done it once, but now, I'd never make the same mistake again. His name was now something I wouldn't forget - his face becoming the first that I'd search for in a crowd. His voice becoming my lullaby - I refused to leave him to wallow in his own sadness alone anymore.
He released me from his grasp, taking my hands in his. "I promise not to run away anymore."
A small smile tugged at my lips as I gazed back at him with tear glossed eyes. "Me too."
“I can’t have anything in the way between my fingertips and the ball whatsoever.” - Is what Kageyama replied with when you asked him why he was so particular about his hands - especially his nails. It really took you by surprise how much effort he put into keeping them short. However, his nails weren’t the only thing he had to maintain.
As the weather started to cool down, you’d notice him complaining that his skin felt really dry and tight. You offered to let him use your moisturiser, which he didn’t mind - before the overwhelmingly flowery scent of it engulfed his nostrils. And so the complaints rose up once more.
This led you to decided to pick up something that might solve his little dilemma; well, maybe more than just once thing. Despite your chosen items being a little pricey, you went through with it and decided to call him after he finished practice - the plan was to give them to him as soon as he was free.
An hour passes, then two. You’d agreed to meeting up at a park near the school, close to both of your homes. You sat on a swing, gently rocking back and forth, your hands clutching the gift bag you planned to give him.
Suddenly, your ringtone blared, startling you. You stood, scrambling to yank it out of your zipped pocket when a familiar voice spoke from the entrance to the park.
“There you are”, He stepped towards you, the light from his phone screen illuminating his face, “I knew that’d work.”
“Hey,” You huffed, taking a seat back onto the swing. “How was practice?”
Plopping onto the swing next to you, he sighed. “It was fine.
He began to fiddle - his thumb rubbing the outside of his hand in what seemed like discomfort. It might’ve been bugging him all throughout his training. You turn to face him, holding the gift bag towards him. “This is for you.”
Confused, he raised an eyebrow, “Why?” He monotonously replied.
That made you wonder, “Why?” why did you go out of your way to do this for him? You decided not to explore that; explaining it to him would be too daunting.
“Just take it. You’ll thank me tomorrow.” A hint of smugness laced your tone. Despite your reasonings, you still had a feeling it’d result in less complaints about his skin.
After a little bit of arguing (he was insistent to know ‘why’) the two of you walked home together.
You woke up for school the next day wondering if he had used the products you bought him. Though those thoughts slowly drifted away as you threw on your uniform and rushed through breakfast to leave the house as early as you could.
Somehow making it to school earlier than expected, you placed your belongings on your desk and sat down in what was an oddly empty classroom. As you unzipped your bag to prepare your notebooks, the door to the classroom opened. You turned your head to see Kageyama, who upon meeting your gaze was immediately wide-eyed
“Morning-“
“Hey!” He cut you off, pacing straight towards you and taking the empty seat in front of yours.
“Those things you gave me yesterday,” He reached out to you, almost shoving his hands into yours. “The dryness is all gone..!”
Warmth flooded your cheeks as he prompted you to ‘feel how soft his skin is’. Your thumb gently rubbed his palm, and your other hand felt the top of his hand. His skin was soft. On top of that, you’d never seen him so excited or seen a smile so wide plastered across his face.
“I wore the gloves at night, and used the cream when I woke up..” He gushed. “I also brought it with me - just in case.” You nodded, giggling softly. Though the fact that you were literally holding hands set in, and you embarrassedly removed yours.
He continued explaining how he’d never used anything like this before, but he’d never tell his team names since it’s ‘his secret’. Seeing this side of him was something completely new to you - it was though he was a whole other person.
But seeing his smile, listening to the way his tone softened, and noticing a slight rosy hue in his cheeks as he excitedly spoke - that was ‘why’.
Staring at the bright screen of the laptop in front of me, the warmth it seeping into my lap distracts me from the fact that my eyes are beginning to sting.
I never did get anything done when I studied past midnight – my brain always seems to shut off as soon as even an ounce of sleepiness sets in. Though I remain staring at my screen, my eyes are no longer able to focus on what is in front of me. Time and time again, I doubt my skills, somehow surprising myself whenever I exceed my expectations. I always achieve my goals and my results are great – though for some reason, I can’t help but stress about it all.
I want to succeed. I don’t just want to pass, I want to prove that I can achieve even higher than what I’ve done before.
But to who? Who am I proving this to other than myself?
I sigh, shutting the laptop with more force than intended, the sudden movement jolting the weight on my shoulder.
“You scared me.” He murmurs before continuing the flow of repetitive video scrolling on his phone.
His sudden speech snapped me out of my exhaustion fueled daydream, and with the gleam of the laptop finally out of my eyes, fatigue begins to slowly set in. Sliding the laptop onto the coffee table in front of me, I stretch my arms out with a dramatic groan. Lifting his head off my now numb arm, he sinks into the cushion behind him with a slump. His arm wraps around me, warmth tracing along my shoulder. “Finished for today?” His gentle voice asks.
I paused for a moment. Am I finished? Or am I just being lazy? I tilt my head to the side – whether out of tiredness or disagreement – I’m not sure. Lips pursed, I pick at my fingernails that have only been getting shorter the more I’ve been doing so. Finally, I muster up some consciousness to speak a few words of desperate plea to what seems like myself.
“..Do you think I can–“
“Yes.” His voice cuts through mine. “You can.” His tone isn't sharp, but something about it surprises me. I tilt my head to look at him with an expression that reads: 'Huh?'
He raises an eyebrow. “You were going to ask me if I think you can get top scores again, right?”
I nod slowly. A gentle smile curves his lips as he leans his head onto mine. “You always do, and I think you can do it again, and again,” his other hand finds its way to mine, fingers lacing together. “And again.”
Leaning into the warmth of his body, I yawn. “You really think so?” I murmured softly, succumbing to my drowsiness. His hum of agreement is the last thing I hear before falling completely unconscious.
There’s no need to stress over something that I’ve done so much already; I’ve done it before, so what makes me think I won’t be able to do it again?
The two of you were exhausted, having craved something sweet all week. So, why not turn it into something fun?
✮ - Bokuto Kotaro
"Most bakeries sell brownies these days," You sighed as Bokuto pulled into the parking lot of your local grocery store. "Why not just buy them instead?"
"Where's the fun in that?" He chirped, pulling the handbrake and opening the door of the car before rushing over to open yours.
Walking through the isles, the two of you picked up various ingredients as he explained that he planned on making them from scratch, insisting that he wanted the 'full experience'. After making your selections and paying for the items, it was time to head home and get started.
You weren't exactly a sweets connoisseur, and neither was he. But, brownies were supposed to be super simple to make, right?
Lifting an apron above your head, you urged him to do the same for himself; stifling a laugh at the sight of him struggling to tie a knot at his back. Once that was settled, the two of you agreed on a recipe and began measuring the ingredients, placing them in individual bowls. Holding an egg in one hand, he asked you to watch as he attempted it to crack it open, effectively crushing it and rendering it almost unusable.
“You.. What were you trying to achieve?” An exasperated sigh exited you alongside your words.
“I always see chefs do this when they’re cooking on those TV shows..!” He frowned, a confused pout forming on his face.
A small smile tugged at your lips as you patted his shoulder. It wasn’t like the recipe was ruined!
You picked the pieces off egg shell out from the bowl, and asked him to prepare the flour. Just as you were washing your hands in the sink, you heard him grunting from behind the counter.
“This is sealed pretty tightly..” He remarked, tugging at the corners of the bag of flour.
“That’s fine, we can just cut it open.” You replied, expecting him to grab a pair of scissors in the meantime. However, as you turned back towards the cabinet to grab a pair of scissors, a yelp suddenly erupted.
Whipping your head around, you were met with a powdery faced Bokuto, his gaping mouth being the only identifiable feature on his face. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, finding yours in the midst of the chaos. The both of you fell silent, simply staring at one another for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. This whole baking thing definitely wasn’t for the two of you.
✮ - Yamaguchi Tadashi
"You're still up to hang out on the weekend, right?"
Yamaguchi's voice echoed through the speaker of your phone, laid atop your dresser as you prepared to head to sleep. The two of you had been so overwhelmed lately; work, commitments, studies - there simply hasn't been any time for you to see each other. So, as a way to wind down together, you suggested to meet up at your place to do something. Something that didn't involve intense thinking. Something fun!
You'd always been interested in baking, whether it was something small for yourself, or a gift for a friend, experimenting with different recipes and desserts was something you did often. However, baking with someone else would be an entirely different matter - either making things ten times more difficult, or ten times more enjoyable.
Eventually, the weekend rolled around. At home, you prepared the necessary ingredients for what you’d be making together. You’d both decided on something small - rocky road. Easy, simple and delicious; something that wouldn’t take too long.
A knock soon sounded from the front door to your apartment. Upon opening it, you were met with a smiling face, one that you hadn’t seen in weeks. After a few moments spent in eachothers embrace, you both headed to the kitchen.
“I read online that it tastes nicer if you mix milk and dark chocolate together.” You commented as you scooped up the chopped chocolate bark and placed it into a bowl.
“Really?” He hummed in reply. “I guess that’s what gives it a darker colour..”
As you melted the chocolate over a double boiler, he sorted through the candy that you had placed on the counter. Next, he added the different components to a large bowl.
Once the chocolate had been completely melted, you poured it over the candy mixture, instructing him to mix it with a spatula. In the meantime, you cleaned the dishes and packed away the bags of candy.
Though, turning your head to see him mixing, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.
After he’d finished combining the mixture of candy and chocolate, he poured it into a lined baking tray. You’d both decided to let it sit for around an hour or so, and decided to watch a movie to pass the time.
You hadn’t had rocky road in such a long time, and so once the movie was over, you were pleasantly delighted to find that the chocolate had set and it was ready to eat.
Setting it onto the table, Yamaguchi insisted that he’d be the one to cut it. He simply couldn’t let you use something sharp when he was around to help.
Cutting into it was a bit of a struggle due to the slightly hardened texture of the gummies, and marshmallow sticking onto the blade of the knife. Though, it seemed your earlier suspicions had been correct, as one glance at the cross section of a slice told you all you needed to know.
“Come to think of it..” You muttered, turning your head to the kitchen counter where an unopened packet of digestive biscuits sat. “I didn’t pack these away - heck, they haven’t even been opened.”
“Shoot.” He laughed, pinching his nose bridge. “I completely forgot about those.”
“Oh well!” You giggled, taking a bite. “I guess this is our secret recipe - in it’s own way.”
The rocky road ended up being overwhelmingly sweet, slightly difficult to chew, and completely unlike what you had initially expected to end up with.
But spending time together wasn’t something you got to do often. So a simple mistake with a piece of candy wasn’t anywhere near enough to put you in a sour mood. Nowhere near enough to make you forget the sound of his laughter and brightness of his smile in this small space of time you’d spent together.
The classroom door slid open. As he turned to see who it was, his stomach lurched once more. She took her seat across the classroom without paying an ounce of attention to him despite the daggers he stared. An odd feeling, one that he’d never known. Holding his stomach, he turned back to his friend who sat in front.
“Yeah, I think that’s what it is.”
Ever since their argument - if you could call it that - a couple days ago, minimal words had been exchanged between the two. He had no idea what was bothering her, but despite his attempts to smoothen the situation by continuing to hang out together, she didn’t budge.
It was practically eating away at him. A friend suddenly abandoning you without saying much wasn’t the easiest thing to get over. The mundane lecture of the teacher became nothing but background noise as his thoughts became consumed by memories of her.
Her laughter replayed in his head alongside that bright smile of hers that he just couldn’t seem to forget. Then he felt it once more - that lurch in his stomach.
The feeling of falling hundreds of feet down, only to be suddenly stopped. A long drop - a deep, deep fall into unmarked territory; a place he wasn’t used to, a place he couldn’t escape.
Arms folded over the table, his head dipped. Had he done something to upset her? Or had she simply become bored of him? He scoured through his memories as though flipping through files in a binder, searching for something he might’ve done to upset her.
It was no use. He couldn’t think of a single thing; she was never the type who complained much - at least not to him.
If she wasn’t going to voluntarily tell him what had been bothering her to the point where she’d actively avoid him, he’d ask her directly. That way, she wouldn’t be able to avoid him.
Though, just the thought of confronting her worried him. What if she feels offended by his words and breaks down crying in front of him? Then, he’d seriously be done for. He knew that things couldn’t be left the way they currently despite the thin strings their friendship was barely hanging onto.
He knew that he definitely had to say something. To say something to her that would truly express the emotions he was feeling. He knew this, but why couldn’t he think of anything to say?
Through all the deliberation and reflection he’d done over the time that they’d spent apart, one thing was for sure: He needed her by his side, no matter what.
He'd mind his business, and you'd mind yours. You wouldn't get in each others way, nor would you have any issues. But it seems that the ice may soon be broken.
Dramatic music blared from the speakers of the TV as you popped a handful of popcorn into your mouth.
From the corner of your eye sat your roommate, arms begrudgingly folded as he looked like he’d rather be somewhere else.
“I’m not forcing you to sit here, you know.” As you turned your head to face him, his eyes remained glued to the screen.
A moment of silence passed where the only noise was that of the TV show.
“..I’m trying to watch the show.” He bluntly replied.
‘The audacity of this guy!’ You thought to yourself, mere seconds away from dropping an equally irritating reply. Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you turned your head back in the direction of the show, sure that you heard the sound of a scoff emit from his direction.
Time passed, and the two of you sat in silence, occasionally broken by the crunching of your popcorn. You decided to go for one more attempt at breaking the ice by offering him some popcorn; only to be met by a scowl that read ‘are you kidding me?’
“Do you know how unsanitary that is?” He questioned as you pulled the bowl back to your lap, hesitant to hear his explanation. “You’re eating from it - putting food into your mouth - and asking me if I want from the same bowl you just stuck your hands back into?”
It didn’t sound like it was directed against you specifically. Perhaps some people simply don’t feel comfortable eating from the same bowl as another person.
“Sorry.” You muttered, feeling a little embarrassed by your lack of consideration.
“It’s fine.” He sighed, his voice softer than before.
The two of you sat in silence for the remainder of the show.
Once it finished, you took the remote in your hand and pressed the ‘Off’ button, the remnants of light completely leaving the living room. As you stood from your seat on the couch in preparation to head to bed, you noticed that he hadn’t left to his own room despite his initial complaints that he was trying to sleep.
Taking a few careful steps towards him, you noticed that he’d dozed off on the couch. His dark curls sunk into the cushion of the headrest, arms gently clenching a pillow to his chest. His eyelashes flittered ever so slightly with each soft breath that he took - seeming completely different from his sharp personality.
You decided against waking him up - tapping him might freak him out a little, and if he woke up now, he might not be able to fall back asleep.
Careful not to make too much noise, you took the time to thoroughly wash your hands in the sink before grabbing a blanket from the dryer and draping it over him. He didn’t seem to notice, making no movements whatsoever the entire time.
Silently stepping into your room, you couldn’t get the image of his face as he slept out of your mind. His hair resting loosely on the couch, skin kissed by the gentle glow of the moonlight, with beauty marks that were slightly visible under the mass of curls that fell over them.
Sure he was a little prickly, but he was still your roommate, right? So why hadn’t you gotten to know him sooner?
──★ ˙🧷 @rindousbbg has chosen to work on social studies with Kenma, by reading their notes the night before the exam.. Let's see how that works out for them!
Kenma insists that the upcoming exam worth 30% of both of your grades will be easy. That it's 'common knowledge' and that he's more than prepared. In fact, he wont even study the night before - because he's simply that prepared.
You, who has been in a whirl of panic recently, feels like shrieking at his attitude, wondering how on earth he could be so nonchalant about this entire thing.
Kenma complains at your complaints, telling you that he's always busy with practice - a futile attempt at sneaking away from the fact that club activities are always cancelled 2 weeks before exam season. So what is he doing in this free time? You just know that he's definitely not training on his own. You, on the other time, have been trying your best to make time to study for your exam, struggling to fine small pockets of study in your already packed schedule.
You glare at Kenma from the corner of your eye in class, frustrated that he has so much free time to be studying and is instead doing who knows what.
Kenma calls you a few nights before the exam, and you attempt to rope him into a little bit of last minute studying - which he obviously denies, opting to listen to you write and recall concepts as he plays a video game instead.
You knew that a Social Studies exam wasn't something you could get by without studying. It took a lot of time to learn all the different topics - especially when you weren't consistent on studying them throughout the semester. Trends, graphs, legislations.. it went in one ear and out the other during class, so your last minute attempts at passing probably weren't going to make much of a difference. You tried your best to get in as much as you could, as this was the last time you'd be able to properly study, even if a little.
You simply couldn't focus on your studies, the feeling of stress overwhelming you to an extent that it overrode your concentration.
Kenma, in the meanwhile, clicked away at his controller, often murmuring comments about his game and sighing heavily. He seemed to have zero awareness of the upcoming exam - or maybe he was simply choosing to ignore it.
You were never able to find much time to study, begrudgingly deciding to follow Kenma's advice to read your notes before the exam. It was the least you could do to prepare.
Kenma shoots you a message the night before the exam; a picture of his notebook. No pen in sight, not an eraser or any of its shavings either. His accompanying text reads: 'See, I am studying'.
You decided to leave him on 'seen' until the next morning, where the two of you meet inside the classroom before the exam. He had nothing but his notebook, mechanical pencil and eraser in hand, while you carried a heap of notes, a couple highlighters, a ruler, a mechanical pencil, an eraser and a few other items stuffed into your pockets. Who knew what you'd need?
You both didn't speak much before the exam - you decided to keep your mouth shut, worrying that if you spoke too much, you might forget important concepts that were barely hanging on inside your head.
Kenma takes his seat and you take yours. The exam progresses, the questions being much harder than you'd imagined them to be. Answering as much as you could, you somehow managed to remain within the time limit, barely answering the final question as the timer ticked down on its last seconds.
Kenma, who sat in front of you, turned his chair towards you after the exam. Upon asking him how he went, you were surprised to hear that he not only finished early, that he also found the questions easy? You let out a deep sigh, dipping your head into your arms which rested atop the table. Despite you not having much time to study in the first place, maybe you still shouldn't have taken his advice...
“Okay!” You huffed, crossing your arms over the apron you haphazardly put on. “Chocolate, filling, moulds, coconut oil…” Counting all the items you’d prepared for today, you made sure that nothing was missing. First impressions this and that, right?
When you joined the cooking club at the beginning of the year, you could hardly imagine yourself using by the kitchen-classroom to make chocolates for a boy.
Upon asking your friends about the types of sweets a guy might like, they all suggested chocolate like it was some sort of fact they’d known for years. But not just any plain old chocolate; it had to be handmade for the full ‘effect’. With that, you’d considered a few flavours that he might like; not that you knew anything about him other than the fact that he was in your schools Volleyball Club, and was pretty well known for his skills.
So how on earth did you get yourself in this situation in the first place, making chocolates for someone you’d never even spoken a word to before?
You’re not sure what triggered it, but it was a while ago when you started noticing things felt different for you. He’d sit in front of you during class, being relatively quiet most of the time. You’d notice the way he acted around his friends, especially in the hallways with his younger teammates from the club. Something about him seemed different from the rest of the guys in your class - in a way, you felt an odd sense of comfort.
Though, the faint scent of something burning wafted through the air, breaking you out of your reminiscent trance.
“Why isn’t it melting..?” You muttered to yourself. The recipe said to melt two tablespoons of coconut oil with half a cup of chocolate..
But that was according to your memory based off the recipe you’d researched at home. ‘It’s gotta be correct!’ you thought to yourself as you mixed the chocolate over a strong flame on the stove. Its consistency became clumpy, almost like a dough with the smell only becoming stronger. You anticipated that this might happen, so you made sure to open the windows and close the doors to the classroom so the smell wouldn’t travel throughout the hallways. You whipped your head around to see the doors to the classroom, just to make sure you’d closed them.
Instead, you were met with wide open doors, and locked-shut windows.
In your frenzy (or excitement?) you’d accidentally opened the doors and closed the windows.
Great going! Now the entire school has to smell your mistake. Though, at least you chose to begin after school, when at least most of the students would’ve left.
Panicking, you kept the mass of chocolate and coconut oil over the flame, waiting for it to melt. The burning smell was only faint - so you couldn’t tell whether or not it was completely ruined.
‘It’ll melt eventually!’ You thought.
As this all unfolded, someone’s voice yelped from behind you - from outside the classroom.
“What is that SMELL?!”
A familiar voice at that, but not the one you wanted to hear, not now of all times!
Turning off the heat, you threw a towel over the pot containing what was supposed to be chocolate, facing the door with an awkward smile.
“Hi, Tendo! Uh, don’t you have club right now?”
‘Please, please don’t come in…!’ Internal panic overtook you as the smile on your face shook.
His eyes narrowed as he held his nose, walking into the room. “I do.” He looked offended - like it was an issue you’d forced him to check out.
Before you knew it, he was standing beside you in front of the stove. His free hand menacingly hovering over the towel that covered your mess. Yanking it off, the two of you stared inside.
“Is that supposed to be ..chocolate?”
“…Yeah.”
He sighed dramatically as though to say ‘I guess I’ll just have to teach you then!’
Throwing the towel over his shoulder, he rolled up the sleeves of his jacket, asking you to hand him a few different things. A pot, measuring instruments, sugar, milk, different types of melting chocolates, piping bags? You felt like a sous chef!
In any case, he made sure to mention where you went wrong - the heat was probably too high, wrong ratio of coconut oil to chocolate, and a few other small mistakes that came together to make the abomination that had formed in the pot earlier. He told you not to worry, that these types of mistakes happen sometimes. How ironic - the person you had tried to make chocolate for was literally showing you how to do it.
Pouring the mixture into the moulds, he tapped it on the counter, getting rid of any air bubbles. He proceeded to re-pour the rest of the mixture out, leaving only a coating of chocolate inside of each circle. He explained that he’d now be putting filling inside the shells, then coating them again with more chocolate. He let you taste the fillings as he made them, offering you a spoon here and there.
As he mixed the caramel with the spatula, you asked why he wasn’t in practice, his club uniform suggesting that he might’ve been on the way to the gym.
“I was grabbing my bag from the classroom - I accidentally left it there.”
But he didn’t have his bag on him - meaning that he hadn’t even gotten to his class before walking by the kitchen classroom.
“Don’t you think they’re wondering where you are?” You questioned
“I’m sure they can wait.”
There was something about the way he spoke that made you giggle - you felt a certain sense of warmth that was unfamiliar to you.
Even though this was the first time you’d spoken to him, he was so kind, going out of his way to help you with something like this despite not even knowing your name.
Seeing how much you had struggled to do something he saw as so simple, he still didn’t make fun of you for it.
Lightly tapping the mould upside down, the small chocolates fell out, their shells decorated with a variety of different colours.
“See? It’s that easy.” He grabbed a piece and ate it. “Try one.” He suggested, his voice muffled by the food.
Taking one for yourself, you admired the sleek shape of the small sweet before popping it into your mouth. Smooth caramel filling oozed out, tingling the sides of your mouth and melting onto your tongue.
“It’s so good..!”
“I know, right?”
Though before you could lose yourself in the patissier-level sweets, you remembered what you were here to do initially.
“So, why did you wanna make chocolates to begin with?” He asked, taking another piece for himself. They were technically for him, anyways.
Walking towards your bag, you reached inside and took out a pre-decorated box alongside the letter you’d nervously written the day before. He watched as you lined the inside of the box with parchment paper, placing what remained of the chocolates inside, one by one. After closing the lid on-top, you laid the letter, encased within an envelope, onto the lid and tied a ribbon over and around the box.
“You’ll probably laugh at me for this,” You wryly held the box out to him, struggling to meet his gaze. “But this was supposed to be for you.”
“For me?” He laughed. “Wait, so like, you let me help you essentially make something for myself?”
You nodded. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.” The corners of your mouth upturned in a shy smile.
He took the box from your hands as he continued laughing. “That’s so cute!”
‘Cute?’
‘No not me, maybe he was just joking around!’ you thought to yourself, looking down to hide the redness that washed over your cheeks.
He continued, “But why would you go out of your way for me like that?”
Instead of keeping your head down as you spoke, you decided to look him directly in the eye despite the warmth in your face.
“It’s in the letter. It took me a while to write last night, so if you could..”
“Read it?” His tone softened, the laughter leaving his voice. “Isn’t that what letters are for?”
You chuckled, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I know.”
He helped you clean up the kitchen; it was you who initially made the mess with the burnt chocolate and everything. You both laughed about how mad his team was going to be that he was so late to practice, and he insisted that maybe some of the messed up chocolate that you made would lighten the mood.
“…And once they smell it, they’ll all take off running.”
“It’s not a bug repellent, Tendo.”
“Hey! did you just call my teammates bugs?”
side note: I failed at making rocky road the other day do u guys think tendo would laugh at me lol
Lying together in his room, you were nestled into his side as his hand rubbed comforting circles around your back. Suddenly, he stopped.
You had been scrolling through tiktoks on your phone, their background noise bouncing off of the walls. A certain genre of videos involving height differences between couples had more or less infested your page.
Even though you don’t exactly pay too much attention to it, you know that height is something he worries about from time to time.
You recognised that he wasn’t exactly tall, but that wasn’t really something you minded. Besides, you were never really interested in the whole ‘I only go for tall guys’ kind of thing.
Putting the phone down, you sighed. You could tell that he’d been paying a little too much attention to what you scrolling through, and probably wondering what you were thinking.
“Is something wrong?” You asked, tilting your gaze upwards towards him.
He clicked his tongue, pausing before frustratingly voicing his thoughts. “Am I really that short?”
“Well,” You replied, careful with how you spoke your next words. “Does it really matter that much to you?”
He fell silent for a moment.
“…Does it matter to you?” His voice was small and insecure. You wondered why someone would be so concerned about something that they can’t control.
You noticed a faint red blush creeping up on his cheeks. Your hand cupped his face, its warmth enveloping your palm.
“But,” You paused, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Who cares how tall you are?”
You paused for a moment, sitting upright before continuing. “Besides, you’ll never catch me complaining about height.” You smiled. “Especially if it’s on the…” - you threw up your hands in air quotes - “…‘shorter side’ “.
He chuckled, the shakiness in his voice disappearing. His hands reached up to hold yours, your fingers intertwining, his voice carrying the same air of confidence it had when you first met.
──★ ˙🧷 Anon has chosen to study Science, 1 hour a day for 2 weeks with Kuroo! He's been hitting the books lately and insists he's prepared! Let’s see how they go..
Kuroo is a little cockier than most people you know. Always dropping comments about his training, time efficiency, and most of all, his grades. Though, he isn't the type to actually show off about any of it—in a way, you know that he says things like that because he's comfortable around you. So seeing that he was so comfortable—so confident, you made sure to ask if the two of you could study together for the upcoming Science exam.
He definitely isn't a cookie cutter example of what you'd imagine a nerd would look like, but here he was, sitting in front of you, tapping his pen onto your notebook as he explained the difference between organic and inorganic substances. Whenever he'd ask "Are you listening?" You had to constantly snap back to reality, nodding your head and replying with an "uh-huh". You were listening to him, though specifically to his voice, forgetting the concept he'd explain mere minutes after he'd done so.
Something had to be done about that—you didn't know how he'd react if you completely bombed the Science exam, especially with the hours that he'd spent on you. And so you made sure to actually concentrate. The smile on his face and jump in his voice as he drew diagrams, solved formulas and wrote example questions for you to solve—you imagined the way it'd fade if he figured out none of it was being used.
So you started studying for real. Receiving practice exams from him, you'd take them home to solve later, using the notes you'd taken on his explanations as well as separate printouts he'd given to you. Slowly, you even began to notice a shift in your information retainment. Instead of listening to his soft voice, following his hands as he'd point to specific elements, bringing his pen around the periodic table as he circled atomic numbers and whatnot, you looked beyond that.
You even found yourself looking beyond the content itself—you began to think about him, but this time, more so to do with what he did to get to the place he was now. Joking that he had barely studied yet somehow constantly scoring first place, complaining about the workload, yet finishing homework tasks before even leaving school on the day they were assigned; he'd also mentioned being the captain of your schools volleyball team.
But you weren't going to fall behind this time around. He was so busy, always seeming to have a jam packed schedule, and you who did little to no studying each day wasn't achieving the highest at all. You knew you could definitely make your marks soar—you just needed something cemented. You'd both constantly joke about how he continuously manages to maintain first place, with you ‘beginning to be a threat to his marks’. He'd laugh, running a hand through his already messed up hair as he did so, teasing, "Wow, I'm soo scared."
Though you knew he wasn't expecting to be overthrown. Not this time around, not this quickly either, and definitely not in Science of all things! Smugly placing the paper on his desk, you giggled. His mark was only two points behind yours—absolutely unheard of. However one thing was for sure. He was going to find out how you did it, how you managed to score higher than him even though he knew the content inside and out. And to do this, his plan included hanging around you for an extended period of time—watching the way you do things with a concentrated smile, looking through your notebooks when your weren’t around to see what methods you used for memory recall.
Though over the weeks, you started noticing less that your items were tampered with, a sign of him physically being around you often. The way his eyes would linger on you a little longer after you finished speaking, a pink hue glazing your cheeks as it did his; this was no longer about the exam.
He’d mind his business, and you’d mind yours. You wouldn’t get in each others way, nor would you have any issues. But it seems that the ice may soon be broken.
“Turn that down,”
Your head flicked backwards at the sudden sound of your roommates voice.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“..I’ll miss it if i don’t watch it live.”
“Ever heard of a recording?”
An awkward pause.
Rude. Someone’s never heard of a live show. The whole point is that you watch it live. It’s like watching a sports match after the results are out - the hype is gone at that point.
Though, you were still recovering from the surprise that he’d just spoken directly to you for the first time in who knew how long. Well, he’d keep to his own and you’d do the same. He did always keep the apartment clean, often doing the washing and tidying up the common space. It was a little weird how routinely he did that, actually.
But no matter how many times he’d cleaned up, you wouldn’t be turning the volume down. Raising the volume would make it too loud for the other tenants, and lowering it would make it too hard to hear.
“Either you wait for it to be over,” You paused, turning back around to grab the bowl of popcorn you had set down onto the coffee table earlier. “..Or you watch it with me.”
After his attempt to reason with you, he ultimately failed to do any convincing, joining you on the couch. You couldn’t help but think that the way he’d sat with a little force felt like he was sulking. Like when a child is told to go to bed - they complain and whine, then they slam themselves down onto their bed with a thud.
Though you’d rather keep your mouth shut than tell him he was acting like a kid. It would be a joke, but you had no idea how he’d take it. Again, this was the longest argument conversation you’d held before, so dropping a comment like that probably wouldn’t help lessen the awkwardness.
Following the light creak of my door, a pair of footsteps stopped in the midst of their tracks. His soothing tone forcefully yanked me out of my trance. It was a voice that I’d heard all too often - but not one I wanted to hear now of all times.
My back was sore, my neck pulsating from being cranked over the dimly lit desk that’d consumed my vision for the past few hours. Papers scattered everywhere, to-do lists stuck up on the walls, each written up in an attempt to keep myself on track, to help visualise my progress; but none of it seemed to be working.
A soft tap fell onto one of my open notebooks. My eyes traced the sound, telling me that a tear had fallen before the heat in my cheeks had been able to.
I kept my face down, not wanting him to see me in this state.
But when had that ever worked?
The door creaked once more, and I had hoped that he’d left.
Instead, there he was, standing behind me with his arms wrapped over my chest, his head nuzzled into the crook of my neck, his quiet voice reminding me that everything would be fine.
I worried that he’d hear the way my heart rushed in my chest, attempting to soothe myself; the quick, sharp breaths escaping me being of no help. My vision blurred and I eventually couldn’t take it anymore, losing track of how many drops were streaming down my face, dampening my paper - smudging the ink of all my hard work.
I watched through blurry vision as the words I had written became increasingly incomprehensible, falling victim to the wave of my emotions. Black ink in blotches where they never would have been, sentences merging together and words becoming completely unreadable, truly displaying the ephemeral nature of this all.
After all, that is all it was. Something temporary, something that wasn’t going to last.
I knew that after an exam, these very notes would be torn up, sitting in my trashcan until it would be emptied into a bigger trash can, taken to the dump, never to be seen again.
So could someone remind me why I was worrying so much over this? Over something completely temporary?
Slowly spinning my chair around to face him, he crouched down in front of me, lips upturned warmly. His hand cupped the side of my face, thumb gently wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
“It’s going to be fine.”
Drawing in a shaky breath, I followed up with a small laugh. One that spoke more than enough - one that carried the assurance that he had given to me.
One that wanted to apologise to him for being so dramatic - for always making him worry about me.
But I knew that wasn’t what he wanted.
In his smile, I saw the layers of trust that had been forged between us over the years; always being there for me when I was at my lowest.
It told me that he didn’t want an apology, and that my own happiness was what he wanted to see.
It told me that all he wanted was for me to look him in the eyes and laugh with a smile that didn’t warrant any second thoughts about its authenticity.
──★ ˙🧷 Anon has chosen to study English, 1 hour a day for 2 weeks with Yamaguchi! He’s seems pretty prepared for this exam! Let’s see how they go..
Yamaguchi, who was still nervous for the upcoming English exam despite scoring relatively high in all the recent quizzes and projects. Despite that, he insists that he's prepared for it, his notes serving as proof.
You, who sits next to him in class, often working together on joint projects, or sharing materials with each other. He was always smiling, ready to help whenever you asked—as though he was waiting for you to do so.
Yamaguchi, who you asked to study with despite being more than thoroughly prepared yourself. You were just solidifying what you already knew—it definitely had nothing to do with him as a person, right?
Yamaguchi, whose pen strokes were smooth and swift. His notebook was organised, neat and well kept together. Whenever you'd mention it, he'd chuckle, light pink dusting his freckles.
You, who always seemed to become carried away in conversation with him. Leant over your open notebooks and textbooks, you'd fiddle with the cap of your pen as he sat, arms folded over the table—the two of you quietly giggling over a mispronunciation he'd made. Despite being careful not to make too much noise, hushed giggles escaped the pair of you every now and then.
Yamaguchi, who made sure not to pressure you too much, taking care to constantly ask you how you were feeling. He'd bring your favourite sweet to each study session, waiting to see the way your expression shifted into a smile when he handed it to you.
Yamaguchi, who often had to remind himself that he was supposed to be studying, his gaze scurrying away whenever he noticed he'd been starting for too long.
You and Him, who'd quiz each other on different English words, with him making a vocabulary list with probable exam questions to choose from. His accent wasn't too thick, words flowing through efficiently as he spoke. He'd even help you refine your own accent, which was already well formed.
Yamaguchi, who would borrow English novels from the library, using them as study tools for the both of you. He'd use the words within them to construct a few practice questions, making sure to give them to you as well.
You, who'd began to feel slightly more confident in your writing and speaking skills ever since you'd both began studying together.
You, who insisted that his notes were some of the only pieces of material that helped you study efficiently. With their organisation, neatness, and wording, you found yourself understanding concepts that previously puzzled you.
Yamaguchi, who in turn, suggested that having you beside him when studying motivated him to try harder than he already was. He doubled down, claiming that you gave him confidence whenever the two of you were together, and that these study sessions you'd both hold helped him immensely.
Yamaguchi, whose cheeks were painted a deep red hue as he realised he'd gotten carried away.
You and Him, who, at this point, had completely forgotten about anything to do with studying, minds occupied with thoughts of each other.
──★ ˙🧷 Anon has chosen to study Math, 1 hour a day for 2 weeks with Akaashi! He’s pretty prepared by the looks of it! Let’s see how they go..
Akaashi was aware of the approaching exams, having noted them down in his timetable ever since they were announced at the beginning of the term. You, on the other hand were struggling to remain calm about it, ignoring the stress that slowly piled up, until your homeroom teacher reminded the class that they were only 2 weeks away. Akaashi offered to help you after witnessing you buried inside a pile of books in the school library. However, you didn’t even have the slightest clue where to begin, so when he asked what you struggled with the most, you replied with “Everything.” Giving you his number so you could set up study sessions together, you headed home feeling a little less stressed.
Later that day, you received a message from him. In it, was a handwritten timetable, detailing when, and for how long you’d study a specific topic, and what you could do to enhance your understanding when he wasn’t around to help. He’d find pockets of time to help you, whether in between classes, or after his club activities. You were focused on the content that he was delivering, sure, but you somehow couldn’t help your thoughts from drifting off—ever so slightly losing yourself in his voice, wondering why he decided to dedicate so much time for you, especially when he seemed so busy himself.
The night before the exam, instead of suggesting more last minute studying, he asked you to get as much sleep as you could. Concern laced his tone, and given the minimal hours of sleep you’d been getting in the previous days, you took his advice.
It was the last exam of the day. Sat in the classroom, the paper menacingly faced down with your pencil on the right, eraser on the left. You anxiously awaited for the examiner to allow the class to begin writing. Akaashi sat in the front row of the class, his head slumped slightly, arms crossed over the table—he was prepared, but you had a feeling he still let the stress get to him.
As the timer began, you picked up your pencil and began to write, your hands quivering slightly. All the concepts that he’d helped you revise had remained fresh in your mind as you somehow flew through the questions.
Once the examiner collected the papers, your class erupted in chatter—some sobbed while others cheered. Making your way to the front of the class, you found Akaashi seated on his desk, reorganising his writing materials. He asked you how you’d gone, and with a bright smile, you told him that without him you’d have definitely failed. He chucked, averting his gaze, and replying that he didn’t do much at all—that it was your effort that got you there.
The two of you left the school together, with you offering to take him someplace to destress; a cafe, or an arcade of sorts. He’d done so much for you, so this was only something small. And, well, you wouldn’t just abandon him out of nowhere. Not after spending nearly everyday together with him for two whole weeks.
A sigh sounded from the other end of the speaker “Is it another IP logger?”
“No!” You giggled, “Just open it.”
Majoring in IT with zero prior experience in it wasn’t the easiest thing. With all the stress that’d been plaguing you lately, it helped to wind down and code something that you’d have fun doing, using a mix of skills you’d picked up in class, as well as online tutorials.
Despite being busy himself, Kenma often tested things out for you, so that way, it’d kind of count as practice. Recently, he’d been complaining that he was always waking up late, missing classes because of it; his alarms weren’t going off at their set times, so he was constantly oversleeping. Of course, you considered that he could’ve been up at night playing video games, sleeping so late that he’d forgotten to actually set his alarms. Though you shook that thought away pretty quickly; after all, most of his nights had been spent with you over call as of recent.
So, although it took you a while to complete, you’d been working on a small alarm app that was designed specifically for him. Something simple that’d remind him of you throughout the day, given he remembered to use it.
Making the commute to university every day on your own, spending hours in classes in an attempt to absorb everything, then heading home only to continue studying—it was overwhelmingly pressuring. Though something that’s made things feel a little lighter, was having someone around that you could talk to, even if it was a guy who you'd met not long ago, majoring in something completely different.
The clicking of his mouse lingered in the background as he read the contents of the app aloud. "'Kenma's Alarm'?" He hummed in thought. "I don't know if other people would use this if app if that isn't their name".
"It isn't for other people." Your voice carried a smile. "It's for you, for helping me."
"...With what?" His voice was small, timid. You could only imagine the expression he'd be wearing.
It was only something little, something you'd made to help. Even though he didn't know it, being there to talk to you, taking the stress off your shoulders without even realising it—to put it plain and simple—did far more for you think he knew.
"Just," You paused, taking a deep breath. "Don't.. randomly leave me, okay?"
"Why would I even think of doing that?" He sighed, speaking in a soft, slightly sarcastic tone—one that told you he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.
a/n: been so stressed lately... sigh </3 something short I wrote earlier today. stories for my reqs coming soon!
──★ ˙🧷 @yiooobb37 has chosen to study Languages, 2 hours a day for 1 week with Hinata! He isn't too sure how he'll do though! Let's see how they go...
Hinata, who has been pretty stressed lately. Ever since the groundbreaking news was dropped that he had to pass all his exams in order to make it to this years training camp, his head has been buried in the books for hours on end.
You, who'd been doing alright for most of your subjects, only feeling the nerves hit as exams inched closer and closer.
Hinata, who stumbled on his words as he struggled, shifting between Japanese and English as you quizzed him on a variety of different vocabulary words.
Hinata, whose thick Japanese accent makes you giggle. His English translations weren't necessarily incorrect, quite the opposite, actually. 'Rice' would become 'lice' , and 'very', would become 'bery'.
Hinata, who would flare up when you teased him, ensuring you that it wasn't a speaking exam, and that his pronunciation wouldn't be marked!
You, who'd attempt to stifle your laughter, and he'd snap back, challenging you to an accent competition.
Hinata, who made sure to organise study sessions with you, whenever he was free. During weekends, during lunch breaks, and even after practice—with the two of you meeting at the local library together, or at each other houses.
Hinata, who'd sometimes fall asleep during these late-night study sessions, breathing softly as the mechanical pencil he held slowly slipped out of his grip. Gently swiping it from his hand, you noticed that the tip of his index finger had dented from how hard he'd been gripping it.
Hinata, who brought his friend, Kageyama, along at one point, joking that you'd 'definitely be able to tutor a numbskull' like him!'. It wasn't long before the boy told him off, remarking that their grades were practically the same.
Hinata, who'd sometimes ring your number in a panic, asking you about a word that he'd never heard before, and how it would be structured in a sentence. You'd answer his question as much as you could, continuing to give him pointers on other things he needed to know.
Hinata, who definitely wasn't a slow learner when it came to grasping a language concept. He knew his vocabulary, vowels, punctuation and sentence structure more than most of the people in your class. He'd been stressing for so long, complaining that he wasn't sure how he'd ever come close to passing this exam, but you'd seen how much he was working, knowing his skill level well.
Hinata, whose score on the last practice test you gave him was 100%. His eyes widened, taking the paper from you with a gasp. Laughing, he shoved the paper in his friend's face, who turned away, wearing a scrunched frown.
Hinata, whose final score on the official exam didn't necessarily align with the practice one despite the countless sleepless nights you'd shared.
You made sure to let him know that what he learnt wouldn't necessarily only be used in one exam throughout his entire life. After all, if he really wanted to play professionally around the world, wouldn't he need to learn a variety languages to communicate with all the different people he'd meet?
Hinata, who never stopped hanging out with you after exam season, inviting you to come watch his team's games sometimes, always reminding you that he wouldn’t forget what you'd done for him.
extras:
Hinata, whose newly tanned face one day appeared on your TV, playing in his debut match for a national team in Brazil. Sticking around for the whole game, you watched as the interviewer asked him how he learnt to speak Portuguese so fluently in such a short amount of time.
Hinata, whose eyes softened at the question, a breathy chuckle leaving him before responding "A close friend of mine from high school gave me the push I needed."
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
titsay
vaporwave
gracieabrams
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
pixelskylines