Summary: Kuroo hadn't seen you since you were kids. After you were introduced as his new co-worker, he didn't understand why you were upset at him. But it took a trip to the convenience store and a lot of candy canes to fix it – as well as paying a month of rent.
Author's Notes: Hi @simpfortetsu! Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas! I'm your secret santa. :) I really hope you like this!
Thank you @momochimo for organizing this secret santa fic exchange and @spriteandnicotine for beta-reading this fic!
*****
Kuroo drove past the Family Mart before turning into the driveway of the low-rise apartment, parking just before the pile of red leaves. His breath hitched. They had renovated the stairs, railings and even the roof. Would it still be there?
He told himself he was here on a whim, but his bank account would say otherwise. He simply didn't understand why you had snapped like that.
He ended up paying for a month's rent to get access to his old apartment, the one you frequently visited when you were kids. You had often bickered with him during your meals together. That was ages ago.
The door clicked open after he turned the key. Kuroo carried in an old step ladder and sighed in relief at his former bedroom. They hadn't changed anything. Kuroo stepped onto the ladder and wiggled the board on the ceiling. He took a peek inside. The attic was dusty. He should've brought a mask.
He picked up the old shoebox, surprised it was still in one piece. Inside contained a teddy bear with a santa hat, an old slinky toy, and a collection of tiny cars, all the things he cherished as a kid. He had gotten upset when his parents told him he couldn't go back and get them after the move.
Kuroo picked up the only book in the box and smiled to himself. You had given it to him. His fingers flipped through the pages before his eyes widened at the back cover of the book.
He slapped his forehead.
"I'm an idiot."
*****
The first time Kuroo saw you again was in the middle of the coffee room at the office.
"Y-Y/n?" he stammered, trying not to spit out his coffee. "What are you doing here?"
His shock turned into joy, his grin wide. He almost wanted to hug you – even though he knew you'd likely just shove him away.
He thought you'd be happy to see him, or at least snap at him for not keeping in touch after he moved. But instead, you bit your lip and hurried back to your desk. Kuroo raised a brow. He didn't expect that at all.
You were the same as he remembered, friendly with your new co-workers just like you were with him years ago, throwing a few teasing jabs here and there when you got comfortable. Kuroo couldn't help but smile as you adjusted to being on his team.
He learned you were single, not that he was keeping track. You used to be best friends before he moved. That was why you were different from his other co-workers, he told himself.
You had often shared your toys with him, not expecting any in return. Yet you also liked to mess with him by situating him next to a puddle before jumping in and splashing him with dirty water.
He had a lot of memories with you, which was why he thought you could handle a joke or two from him. You knew what he was like around the office and often rolled your eyes at him.
But today was different.
"So you’re still into that volleyball manga, huh?” Kuroo said, elbowing you. You had a wallpaper on your desktop for all your coworkers to see. You didn’t mind them knowing your love for the manga.
You took a deep breath before answering. “Mmhmm," you said, putting on a smile. “Of course I do. The manga is done but the anime is still going.”
Kuroo eyed the characters on the screen. “I bet you like this one,” he points to the tall one with black hair. “He’s probably your type.”
You stammered before clearing your throat. That was an interesting reaction. Kuroo held back a grin.
“I’d bet you'd be his type."
You got up from your chair, causing Kuroo to flinch. You turned to him with the smile you only wore when he really pushed your buttons.
“Kuroo-san, that’s not very professional of you, is it?”
"What?"
“Just… stop making fun of me.”
“What? You think I’m making fun of you?”
“What else would it be?”
“But I–”
“Look Kuroo, I don’t have time for this," you snapped, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I’m a new hire and I need to work my butt off to make sure they keep me here. I do not need you bothering me right now.”
You grabbed your laptop and left your desk, leaving Kuroo stunned.
What just happened?
*****
Kuroo placed his drink back on the table as you chatted away with your coworkers. The team was at a restaurant to belatedly welcome you to the team. You were enjoying yourself, but Kuroo couldn't help but feel a pit in his stomach as you sat beside him.
After that day, you had grown more distant from him. Yet, you'd do small gestures for him like leaving a coffee for him in the morning. He couldn't figure out what was running through your mind. He thought he had a good grasp of reading people's emotions but that didn't help when he didn't understand your actions in the first place.
That was when the listing of his old apartment had caught his eye. He thought perhaps there would be some clues there. Surely enough, he had figured out one piece of the puzzle. But there was something still missing.
"So Y/n, who's the best looking on the team?" a co-worker asked you from across the table.
"Kisami-san!" you said in a heartbeat. "I wish I knew how to do make-up like her!"
"C'mon, you know that's not what I meant."
"You need to ask her in a way where there's no easy way out," Kisami replied with a smirk. She turned to you and asked, "Who on the team would you date?"
Kuroo's palms began to sweat as he fiddled with the candy cane in front of him. He loosened his tie and studied the menu in front of him.
He glanced at you. Your eyes met his.
You downed the last bit of your water and slammed the glass on the table. "Y-you're going to get me in trouble! Do co-workers date anyway?"
"In trouble? Most definitely not," Kisami laughed. "Our company doesn't mind that. It's only a hypothetical question anyway."
Kuroo's eyes widened as you struggled to give an answer. His heart skipped a beat. He figured out the last piece of the puzzle.
*****
Kuroo sat in the car, waiting at your house. The team had to set up for the company's Christmas party tonight. He was originally supposed to pick up another coworker but he secretly begged her not to come and join the two of you.
You opened the car door and the cold, winter air rushed in. Shivering, you placed the dress you'd wear later on your lap. You needed to move freely to hang up decorations after all.
"Here, I can put your dress on the back seat," Kuroo offered after he turned up the heater. You handed it to him without saying a word.
The drive was quiet but Kuroo had expected this. He hoped that would change after today.
"I need to pass by the convenience store," he mentioned. "I forgot something."
He bent over to open the trunk and dashed out to grab his backpack. Hopefully, you didn't suspect anything.
Once inside the store, he gave you a call, mentioning he had left his wallet in the car. He did it purposely of course. He didn't know how else to get you in here.
He watched as you rushed in with his wallet in hand, checking your phone every two seconds. You were worried about getting to the venue on time, but Kuroo ensured it would be fine if the two of you were a little late.
You turned into the aisle and Kuroo froze. He had forgotten what to say. So he simply revealed the bouquet of candy canes he prepared for you.
"Before you say anything, I'm not making fun of you," he blurted out. "I– I only read the note in the manga–" he placed a palm over his face "–a month ago."
Your eyes slowly grew wide.
"Hey. I like you," said the note on the back of your favourite manga, the one you had given to him years ago, the one in that old shoebox. "So you'd better buy me a candy cane in return. I'll be at Family Mart at 4pm. - Y/n."
"Well, it's not 4pm… but we're at Family Mart even though it's not the same one," he continued. "And I have all of these candy canes…"
You gaped at him.
"Y/n… I…" Kuroo blushed even more. "UGHHH I can't do it. It's too cheesy!!! I even practiced this in front of the mirror!!"
You began to giggle at his reactions.
"I'm sorry. I can't believe I never read it. I'm sorry you've been waiting so long." Kuroo had felt horrible after reading that handwritten note.
"I never waited," you said with a smirk. "I had forgotten all about it." Kuroo knew that glint in your eyes.
He walked up to you and placed a hand on his hip. He narrowed his eyes at you. "Yeah right," he said with a grin. "You're acting all sweet now because I finally remembered."
"Hey! What was I supposed to do? Did you really expect me to wait over a decade for your reply?"
"Well, you sure were bitter about it."
You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. "I was embarrassed, not bitter." You tapped his nose. "I thought you had read it and wanted to make fun of me. You did promise me you'd read it."
Kuroo couldn't retort to that. He ruffled his hair vigorously. "Ughhhh. Fine. Just be my date for the Christmas party okay?"
"If that makes you happy," you shrugged with another eye roll.
"Fine."
"Fine."
Kuroo stared down at you but your eyes didn't relent.
You both snorted out a laugh.
"I forgot what I was planning on telling you," Kuroo said. "Basically, I'm sorry. I was an idiot."
"It's fine," you said with a large grin and wrapped your arms around him.
Kuroo's eyes turned into crescents. He had finally gotten his friend back and even asked you out.
"Thank you for the candy canes."
*****
I hope you liked it!
Please check out my other stories if you liked this one. (I also have a Google form for my taglist if anyone is interested.) There's also the masterlist of the Secret Santa exchange. :)
Summary: Atsumu needs your help studying for finals, but suddenly you're really pretty, close to him, and he likes you. A lot. What will he do?
Word Count: 1.4K
Warnings: pining, idiots to lovers, fluff, College AU, reader's kinda an airhead but we love her XD
A/N: Merry Christmas to you, @duino! I am your Secret Santa and I really hope you enjoy this! Things have been really rough for me lately and I haven't had much time to write, but I hope you enjoy this regardless! And @momochimo thank you for including me in your event and being so patient with me! -Birch<3
It was only by coincidence you found your best friend in college. Miya Atsumu was funny, quick-witted, and smart. Over the years of schooling, Atsumu had started to like you but never said a word to you.
But in your case, you hadn’t even realized your feelings for the man with bleached hair. He had always been sweet to you, finding each other laughing, studying, and hanging out together. Atsumu was your closest friend, and you didn’t even realize your feelings for him were more than just friendly.
It was in the middle of December, right before finals, a time full of stress and a need to relax at the same time. Atsumu was over at your dorm, as he had asked you if you would be able to help him study for your upcoming chemistry exam.
“Y/n/n, how are you so good at all of this?” Atsumu whines as he throws his pencil at you playfully, a pout coming across his lips right after you told him that he once again got a problem wrong.
You wince as the pencil taps the side of your head, and then you glare back at Atsumu as a smile slides across your face.
“It’s not my fault you aren’t great at this, ‘tsumu. I’m trying to help but you just assault me with your poor, abused pencil,” you lament jokingly, cradling the pencil in your hands before pouting back at Atsumu.
Atsumu just glances begrudgingly between you and the pencil before huffing out, “Can you please show me how to correctly use this equation? I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.”
You sigh and set the pencil down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips as you move to sit next to the tall blonde. You point to the paper where his problem was hastily scribbled, and you start explaining what the equation was used for, but Atsumu barely listened.
He made out the occasional “spontaneous reaction” or “endothermic” slide from your lips, but he was too entranced at how close you were sitting.
The tilt of your head, the angle of your hair, and the pretty way your eyes glinted had Atsumu’s cheeks heating up and his heart skipping in his chest. Atsumu knew he had feelings for you for a little while now, but with you here, and so close to him, he could hardly breathe.
Your (colored) eyes stare up into his own brown ones, and Atsumu decides that right then and there, with the snow falling behind you in the window, that the shade of your eyes is now his favorite color.
With his heart pounding and cheeks slightly flushed, Atsumu knows that you must have him figured out. You have a blushy, quiet boy sitting on your bed, a man who usually oozes confidence and slyness.
But no, you just continue to explain things to him, totally oblivious to his current state. To you, the look on Atsumu’s face was one of wonder about the chemistry problem, not about how entranced he was with you.
You just thought he was extra confused, so you continued to explain until you couldn’t simplify things anymore. You never end up noticing that anything was different, so you help Atsumu with the problem before continuing to study your own material.
Time ticks by that afternoon as the two of you resume studying, with some music here and there, a small snack or bottle of water from the kitchen, and some chatting to keep things interesting.
Once the two of you couldn’t stomach any more school work though, you had a great idea so you could get out of the dorm rooms and outside for fresh air.
Ice skating.
Great idea, right? It’s the start of winter, flurries in the air, the skating rink open, and more time with you. The only issue was that Atsumu didn’t know how to ice skate.
Now, you actually are better at skating than him, it was something you did in your hometown every winter, so you easily just slid across the ice. The blades on your feet cut through the top layer just right, allowing you to glide in circles around Atsumu.
He, on the other hand, was not a great ice skater. His feet were turned in, hands spread out like a little penguin, his eyes frantically searching for you in case he fell.
“Y/n, I don’t think I’m too good at this,” Atsumu called as you zipped around the rink, whizzing in and out of people before returning to his side.
You just give him a big smile before you offer him your hand and you chirp out, “Here, take my hand. I’ll just guide you so you don’t fall, okay?”
Atsumu glances down at your gloved hand nervously before taking it, praying that his cheeks aren’t too red and that you can’t feel the slight shake of his fingers through his mitts.
The skating rink was starting to get busier as you guided Atsumu around, the late evening pulling people in with the twinkly lights and the cheerful Christmas music.
Atsumu’s hand is comforting in your own, the firm yet soft grip of his mitten making you feel secure and light as you guide him around.
The two of you are sharing stories and laughing at simple jokes when your ice skate chips into an uneven piece of ice. Your ankle twists and your hand pulls harshly on Atsumu’s, your balance being offset by the sharp twist in your body.
A cry starts to leave your lips, but is quickly cut off when you are quickly spun up and around into Atsumu’s arms. While he wasn’t the best skater, he was still a strong, college athlete, and he pulled you to his chest before you could fall any further.
A gasp leaves your lips as you try to relax the shocked look on your face, and you attempt to look up at Atsumu, only to find that your vision was obscured by your beanie.
Your hair is in a bit of a mess too, the shifting of the beanie messing with the locks underneath it, making your hair slightly unruly.
Your legs are shaky underneath you as you try to push the beanie out of your face, and only then do you realize Atsumu’s hands are resting firmly on your waist.
He moves one hand to fix your hat, delicately shifting it while gazing tenderly down at you. Your cheeks are burning from the sharp bite of the cold, and Atsumu’s heart jumps in his chest at your proximity, the warmth of your breath hitting his own pink cheeks.
Atsumu lets his hand rest on your cheek for a moment as he gazes down at you, the soft doe look in your eye matching the twinkle of the fairy lights set around the rink.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you mumble quietly, your eyes dropping to escape the intensity of his brown eyes on you.
Atsumu huffs under his breath before tugging you flush to his chest, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, hiding the growing blush on his ears and neck.
“I- I’m not really sure how to tell you this, so I’m just gonna say it, Y/n. I’m in love with you,” Atsumu whispers, his eyes snapping shut in the fear that you would reject him.
What he doesn’t expect is the soft brush of your hand on the back of his head and the beautiful giggle that leaves your lips as your own grip tightens on him.
“Oh ‘tsumu, I didn’t realize you liked me like that,” you giggle as you pull away from him, wanting to see his face. Atsumu can feel his heart start to crack as he pulls away, his chest feeling heavy and his mood dampened.
Atsumu opens his eyes, not looking at you as he starts, “Y/n/n, I- I’ve been trying to tell you and show you for the last few weeks-”, but then he looks down at you, and immediately stops when he sees the goofy and kind look in your eye.
“I love you too, ‘tsumu. Sorry it took me so long to figure that out,” you mumble, shyly glancing at the ground before reaching up on your tiptoes to press a warm kiss to the apple of his cheek.
And with the snow starting to fall, and a cheesy Christmas song playing in the background, Atsumu pulls you close with a smirk on his face, leaning down to give you a taste of a true winter miracle, the gift of love.
"BACKSTAGE"
for Dear Santa-San! HQ 2021 Fic Exchange Event
Pairing: Atsumu x Fem!Reader
Rating/Warnings: T for Teen
Word Count: 5.5k (aka longer than any essay I've written this past term)
Summary: You've never been on great terms with Miya Atsumu, but when he asks you to help cover for his sick bandmate, well, how can you say no?
Note: This is my contribution to @momochimo 's wonderful fic exchange! So so happy to have been a part of this. My gift is for @atsunflower! <3 Hope you like it: MUSICIAN AU (my first au wow), enemies to lovers (more like rivals to lovers), idiots who actually like each other. HAPPY HOLIDAYS, I hope you're warm and loved and peaceful xoxo
You hate that Atsumu is better than you at this. You’d never admit it, of course, watching from your corner seat at the café. But he is. His head is bowed over the acoustic guitar, fingers plucking delicately at the strings. It fills the room with something warm and vaguely festive –well-concealed Christmas covers under a complex dance of jazz chords and fingerings.
All the patrons are mildly impressed, which is a feat within itself. He plays so well even someone who doesn’t know theory or has never touched an instrument in their life can see he’s doing something special. Even in this small café, covering Christmas tunes. They turn their heads and smile as he plays and they clap lightly when he finishes, in between songs. He gives them a winning smile. Other musicians would know he deserves more than mildly impressed, but the only other musician in the room is you and you don’t clap in between songs because every so often he does something clever with his fingers against the strings and looks up at you, smug, and you simply cannot give him the satisfaction of your appraisal.
You do nod, however grudgingly, when he finishes his set. He looks up from his guitar to you, first. Always you first. You think he’s trying to catch you off guard, like if he’s quick enough he can see you being impressed by him, like everybody else always seems to be impressed by him, but you never let yourself be caught off guard. Not around Atsumu.
So his charming mouth flattens and he nods back, and you can see he’s disappointed at your lack of a reaction. But you can’t give him one, because that means admitting defeat to the years’ long, unspoken rivalry the two of you have cultivated and you might not be as quick to charm or quick with your fingers as he is, but you can be twice as stubborn.
Atsumu starts packing up his guitar, collecting the sheet music he rarely follows, and tucking everything into a black, velvet-lined case. You’re up next. You down the rest of your coffee like it’s a shot of something strong and glance over the paper that details the set you’re doing. The owner of the café (who also happens to be the sound technician, the barista, and, after five o’ clock, the bartender) smiles at you and moves from behind the counter to start setting up your mic. Everyone calls him Uncle Hiroto, and he’s always got an ear to the door, looking for new musicians.
Sometimes quite literally. He had asked you to sing on Saturdays —Saturdays!— after overhearing you jam with Suna at the studio space next door. You had opened the door to the space only to be met face to face with Uncle Hiroto’s loud Hawaiian shirt and loud ecstatic face.
“You’ve got some pipes on ya, kid,” he had said, before clasping Suna on the shoulder. And that had been that. You got the Saturday slot, to replace his niece who had gone away to America to study music, and discounts at the café bar and all the musician tips. It didn’t pay great, but it didn’t matter, because you got to play. And here you were, a year and a half later.
It would have been a perfect little set-up had you not been following Miya Atsumu every Saturday. It had taken all of one look, a year and a half ago, for the two of you to be at each other’s throats. Or rather, you were at his throat, and he was infuriatingly smug about it.
“You’re not staying, are you?” you ask, when Atsumu takes up the chair beside you at the bar. He almost always left right after his set and you preferred it that way.
“’Course I am,” he says, easy and drawling. “You’re ‘bout to play.”
“But you never stay,” you blurt without really meaning to. You hate that the idea of him watching you makes you nervous. Atsumu smiles like he knows he’s getting under your skin. He leans against the bar with his arm.
“Got time today,” he says. You look away before you can get flustered and gather your papers and guitar.
“Okay, Miya,” you mutter. You hop off your stool and lug your gear over, giving Uncle Hiroto a small smile. “Hey.”
“Heya, kid. Watcha got for us today?” He asks the same thing every time.
“Same old, same old.” You hand him the set list. He takes a cursory glance over it and nods.
“Y’know Auld Lang Syne?” he asks. You furrow your brows.
“Sure. It’s in every American Christmas movie. Why?”
He grins, toothy. “My niece says they’re singin’ it in choir at her school. Though maybe you could do the same.”
You crinkle your nose. “I don’t know guitar for it. I barely know the words.”
“Acapella, then!” he says, plugging your mic in and fiddling with some sound board knobs.
Your heart squeezes. “Uncle Hiroto, I can’t do a song I haven’t rehearsed—”
“Sure you can! You improvise with Suna all the time.”
“But that’s with friends, I can’t do a song impromptu in front of a crowd—”
“All I hear are can’ts!” He wags a finger, chastising and fond. You look around, panicked, and catch Atsumu’s amused eyes, watching the exchange unfold. Most of the other café patrons are regulars because they overhear Uncle Hiroto and they grin sympathetically at you before going back to their own chatter. You look back at the older man. He gives you impressively doleful eyes from under his bushy, grey brows. “Please? As my Christmas gift?”
“Why do you always pick on me?” you ask, conceding with a sigh. You expect him to laugh and rib you some more, but he gives you a softer smile instead.
“Because I know what you’re capable of.”
You try to conceal how pleased you are by shaking your head. You’re getting sentimental. “If this sucks, I’m going right into my regular set.”
“Sure, sure,” Uncle Hiroto says, waving a hand. You know he’s not really hearing you and you sigh again. He tests the mic quickly and then gives you a squeeze on the shoulder before he’s rushing back to man the café bar.
Now that you’re alone in the performer’s area, your nerves are hitting you full swing. Damn Uncle Hiroto and his unsuspecting doe eyes and damn Atsumu, sitting and watching and smiling. You quickly pull up the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne on your phone and grimace. Most of it’s not even in the English you know. You pull up an adjusted version and then, hell, you don’t know the guitar, but you search those up too. Someone’s posted a simple progression and you memorize it quickly. You can at least do something simple to fill the room.
It feels deeply unprofessional to be learning a song on the spot, but then again, the only two people who seem to be acknowledging this are Atsumu and Uncle Hiroto. The rest of the patrons are deeply invested in their coffees and pastries and companies of their own.
So you tune, play a muted chord, and then tune again. And then, after a deep, nervous breath, you play. And, after a couple bars, you sing.
This is the one thing you have over Atsumu. You might not match his deft fingers, but you have a voice, and you know that when you sing there is no competition between the two of you. When you sing, you aren’t nervous, even if the first few notes are shaky and unsure. The chatter of the café bar dims considerably, making room for the gentle lilt of the melody you’re spinning. You only know parts of the song, but enough parts to pretend to be a whole. You fill the rest with your own interpretation and no one seems to mind one bit.
Vaguely, you see Uncle Hiroto break out into a wide grin. He leans over to murmur something to Atsumu but you won’t even chance a look at the blond until you’re done. But there are patrons smiling also, and you smile at them when you sing, and you pluck your easy chords and because you don’t really know the song and they don’t really know the song it’s like you and those watching you are writing the song together.
When you reach the last chorus, there are some humming the tune with you, almost like they can’t help themselves. You double the chorus to keep the magic going, this small magic that you have. When you end, it feels too soon. But it does end. You strike the final chords and let them hang. You lift your head and the scattered applause feels better than —anything, maybe. Uncle Hiroto whistles, making you laugh and grow nervous. Then you look at Atsumu.
He has no sign of an expression at all, save for a narrow line between his brows. It’s not a line of frustration, though, and in your secret heart you had been wanting him to be a little frustrated at least. He seems to be concentrating deeply on something, staring at not quite your face but through it. And then his eyes clear and he looks at you for real and you have to snap your eyes away. You start the first song on your set list for something familiar to ground you from the hard rush of nerves and slowly, the patrons return to their coffees and conversations again. People come and people go and for the hour you sing you don’t look at Miya Atsumu again.
“Hey,” Atsumu says when you’re finished your set. Uncle Hiroto is too busy with the oncoming after-work crowd to act as a buffer but he does manage a thumbs up when you pass him. “Good set.”
“You hate Christmas music,” you say, voice flat.
“I hate playin’ Christmas music,” he corrects, then grins. “I don’t mind it so much when you’re singing’ it though.”
You scowl. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not,” he says, but his voice sounds on the edge of laughter. “What’re you doin’ on Friday?”
You freeze up a little at that. He’s not actually about to ask me out, is he? The idea is so absurd you dismiss it immediately. “Why?”
“We need a singer.”
“We?”
“Yeah, we. The band. My band.”
You know a little about his band. Suna’s in it and his twin brother Osamu. The drummer, Aran, got a full ride scholarship to at least three prestigious music academies over the world. “Why don’t you sing?” you ask, but only to be petty because you know the answer. Atsumu narrows his eyes.
“You know I can’t sing,” he says. It doesn’t feel as good to be petty as you thought; he’s being almost nice.
“Why me?” you ask. Mainly you’re stalling, trying to find a way out of this conversation. Playing a weekly slot at the café bar was one thing. Singing a new song on the spot was almost enough to make you hyperventilate, had you not the familiar weight of your acoustic steadying you. Playing for a band, with a musician like Aran (who’re you kidding, musicians like any of them) is more daunting than you’d like to admit.
“You already know some of the songs, don’t ya? You play with Suna.”
“Maybe.”
“And you want to play shows, don’t ya?” he presses.
Of course you want that. But wanting and doing are two different things. “Where’s the show? How long’s the set?”
“RPM. We’re openin’, so half an hour.”
RPM is a good venue. It’s a great venue, with a way higher capacity than you have ever been used to. “Friday’s in three days.”
“Plenty of time,” he soothes. “We’ll do a couple practice sets before we play.”
Your first instinct is to say no. You’re not ready for a venue like RPM, or ready to play with an established band. Three days feels like nothing, no time at all, and a fist enters your chest at the thought of doing something like that so soon. “What happened to your last singer?” you ask faintly.
“Strep,” Atsumu says, and the way he says it makes it sound like they have something terminal. You almost smile at that.
“I don’t know…” you say. Your hand is at your shoulder, picking and rubbing nervously at the skin there.
“What don’t ya know? You’re a singer and this is a gig —a paid gig!” You fumble for a response, looking at Uncle Hiroto like he might somehow bail you out. But he’s busy with a line forming and you know what he’d say anyways. He’d tell you to do it. Atsumu catches your flitting eyes with his. There’s a line of concentration between his brows again, like when he watched you play. He says, “What? Are you scared?”
You shoot him a hard look. “No.” Which is a lie. Atsumu sees right through you. To your surprise, he doesn’t make fun of you for this. Instead, he softens.
“Listen. You don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” he murmurs. He leans in a little, voice low. “But you’d really be savin’ our asses if you did.”
You stare at him a long moment, unwilling to break eyes even though you wanted nothing more than to leave this conversation and leave this café and go home. Your eyes flicker once more to Uncle Hiroto who does meet your eyes this time, despite juggling a large order of drinks. He smiles at you, encouraging, and you realize he knows what Atsumu is asking already. Seeing the glint in his eyes, you have no doubt he might even have a hand in organizing it. You remember his words from earlier. Because I know what you’re capable of.
When you look Atsumu again, he knows he’s won. “Fine,” you say.
Atsumu lights up with a grin, real and reckless and you understand for a moment why he gets away with everything troublesome that he does. “We’ll rehearse day after tomorrow. I’ll text you the details.” And then he gets up, grabs his guitar, and leaves. He tilts his head once, like he might glance over his shoulder and say something else as he’s walking out, but he stops himself and keeps going.
You see the corner of his smile anyways.
The two rehearsals before the show go better than you were expecting. For one, Suna is there
and so part of you falls into a natural rhythm with him and playing and singing feel easy. He slings a lazy arm over your shoulders when you show up to the jam space and introduces you to the rest of the band. Aran is at the drum set already, adjusting his top hat and kick. He gets up when he sees you and shakes your hand and gives you such a beaming look that you forget your heart is hammering.
Osamu reaches over the body of his bass guitar to shake your hand and you stop yourself from doing a double-take when you see him because he smiles and damn, he really does look like Atsumu. And then he says, “Welcome to the band,” and you realize how not like Atsumu he is. There’s something gentle about Osamu. The only time you’ve seen Atsumu resemble gentleness is when he plays his acoustic guitar.
“I’m only covering for Friday,” you say, a little flustered. Osamu looks at Suna and you feel Suna shrug around your shoulders.
“Are ya?” he says, but then you don’t have a chance to respond because the door opens and Atsumu walks in.
“You’re here,” he says, when he sees you. You raise a brow at how surprised he sounds.
“I said I would be, didn’t I?”
Atsumu looks at Suna’s arm around you and then looks away. “Should we start?” He immediately starts setting up his guitar and foot pedals.
Suna turns his head and murmurs into your ear, “This is going to be fun.” You don’t have to see his expression to know he’s smirking as he says it. You think he means playing together but with the tone of his voice, you aren’t entirely sure.
The thing is it is fun playing together. You know more of their songs than you thought and even though you’re nervous as hell, hearing everybody together is a new rush. All the individual pieces coming together, forming something bigger, something precious. You fumble on rhythm guitar a couple of times and get stiff but then a couple of songs later, Aran stumbles on the beat and he laughs and you laugh and then suddenly making mistakes doesn’t ruin anything at all, but adds to the thing that all of you are creating together.
In your mind it’s a thing because it does feel more than music. It’s different than playing alone.
And then the next rehearsal it’s easier. Osamu becomes teasing and him and Suna seem to form an unspoken competition as to who can get you flustered faster. You don’t mind. It feels like family, or a life-long friendship already. That’s what music could do, sometimes. Aran gives you long-suffering looks in between sets and you hide a giggle when the twins start bickering.
Atsumu barely speaks to you at all. Sometimes he’ll correct the timing of a chord or talk to you about the set list, but it’s always professional and always feels a little distant. On one hand, you’re relieved. You don’t want to continue on your unspoken rivalry with him when the both of you are in the same band and Atsumu seems to feel the same way. On the other hand, you find yourself oddly put off by his removed behaviour. You don’t understand it. He’s spent more than a year teasing you and pestering you and trying to get a rise out of you and now…what? He’s ignoring you?
You catch him watching you, occasionally, but he always pretends not to be. So fine, you think. You play harder and better and sing and laugh with the rest of the guys and when you go home you practise until your fingers feel wooden.
On the morning of the show, you get a text from Atsumu. When you see the notification your heart does an uncomfortable flip that you ignore. You click the text open; it’s one word.
Ready?
RPM has so many Christmas decorations, it circles right through gaudy and straight back to charming again. There are fake, glittering wreaths on every door. Blinking lights zig zag over walls and around support beams. There’s a light-up Father Christmas that waves and turns on a motor and behind him, a large neon display of reindeer prancing through falling snow. You absently wonder how much their electricity bill must be.
The music club is halfway underground, and the musicians descend through the backdoor. You’ve been so sick with nerves all morning that you’ve almost gone numb with it, which is better than feeling nauseous at least. The back steps are icy and you definitely wore the wrong shoes. Your thoughts had been all stage presence and zero practicality.
“Careful,” Aran says, hand steadying you against your arm. “Here, let me get your amp.”
But Atsumu is already there, taking it from your hands. You’re so shocked the amp slips out of your grip and into his easily. You barely feel his fingers on yours.
“You’re already carrying yours,” you say, but it falls on unhearing ears. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, he just follows his brother through the alleyway door. You look at Aran, puzzled. Aran shrugs like he’s just as clueless as you are, but his mouth is pressed tightly together, as if hiding a smile.
You don’t have time to think about it. The five of you are led to a backroom through a dimly lit hallway.
“How’re you doin’?” Osamu asks, when you’ve unloaded your gear.
You asked reflexively. “Good,” you say, and then add, “I think.”
“The nerves are always there before,” he says. “They’ll go away after the second song.”
“I hope so,” you say honestly.
A familiar arm drapes itself across your shoulders. “If you mess up, I’ll cover for you, don’t worry,” Suna says. You elbow him.
“I’m not going to mess up,” you say, braver than you feel.
“That’s the spirit,” Aran grins. Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He’s looking at you with that line of concentration again. This time, you don’t look away and he doesn’t either when you catch him watching you. You narrow your eyes slightly and he does the same.
What, you mouth. He mouths it back, lips tipping up. You shake your head slightly and then turn when the backroom door opens.
An older woman steps in, with greying curly hair, braided back from her face. She’s wearing an overlarge band tee and ripped jeans and the brightest smile you’ve seen.
“Look who it is,” she says by way of greeting. The boys bow respectfully to her and you do as well. When you look up, the woman is shining at you.
“A new member!” she says and reaches out her hand. You take it quickly. She says, “I’m Mel. My partner Asa runs the bar, but I run the music.”
“Oh,” you fumble, “it’s so nice to meet you.” You forget to correct her that you aren’t a new member; you’re just filling in. You do a small little bow with your head while your hand is still in hers. Mel is laughing lightly.
“Eight years in Japan and I still haven’t gotten used to how formal it is here.” She squeezes your hand. “I just popped back to say hi. My team’ll set up in a bit, but you’ve got about an hour till you’re on.”
“Thank you, Mel-san,” Aran says. The boys chorus the same after him and she laughs again, waving her hand.
“You boys are always so sweet. Put your drinks on my tab and we’ll talk cuts and business bullshit after. I might have a consistent Friday night slot opening up.” Her Japanese is near flawless.
“Thank you,” you say, even though really, you’re just here for tonight and it’s not your place to speak on behalf of anyone. But Mel grins at you and then has to dash off when someone calls her name.
“Drinks?” Suna asks the room. Osamu hops off his amp and Aran nods. Atsumu’s already leaning against the door.
You hesitate where you are. “I might go over the set again, guys,” you say. Now that Mel’s run off, the nerves are returning again. Suna raises a brow.
“You sure?” he asks.
You manage a smile at them. “Definitely. You guys go ahead.”
It’s T-minus fourty-five minutes to showtime and you’re still staring at the same page of sheet music. You have a pen in hand and instead of making notes you’ve made little scribbles and doodles all over the margins. Your mind is spinning in circles and your pen is moving in circles and you’re so lost in your thoughts that you barely register the door opening.
Your eyes widen when you look up. It’s Atsumu, two drinks in hand.
“Here,” he says, handing you a frosted glass of beer. “I didn’t know what you like, so I just got you what I’m drinkin’.”
You take the glass from him mutely and take a small sip. “Thanks,” you murmur. He pauses and then takes a seat on the amp across from you.
“Uncle Hiroto’s in the crowd,” he says.
Somehow that makes the anxiousness worse. He’s the last person you want to do poorly in front of.
“Nervous?” Atsumu asks, nodding at the doodles on the corner of your page. You fight the urge to cover the pages up, feeling strangely exposed. You wonder if you’ve ever been alone with Atsumu before. You don’t answer so he continues on, after a moment. “Thank for doin’ this, again,” he says. It’s strange, but you feel like he’s trying do something, or say something. It’s in the casualness of his words.
“Sure,” you say and then, remembering yourself, you add, “I really appreciate you asking me.”
“’Course.” His voice is always so easy.
You ask him, “Are you nervous?”
He does a little scoff-laugh. “Nah. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re really unbelievable, aren’t you?”
“Sure am,” He grins and then disarms you by saying, “You don’t like me, do you?”
“What?”
“You don’t like me. Never have,” he presses. “Don’t look so shocked, it’s not like you hide it.” His grin goes a little tense.
You hadn’t realized it had been obvious. “I, uh, I have no idea—”
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not.”
His amusement persists, even if it sharpens a little. “You are.”
You’re completely baffled. “You don’t like me either!” you blurt, impulsively, but isn’t it true? The teasing, the goading, the little comments before your sets at the café bar, right as he’s always leaving, for over a year.
It’s Atsumu’s turn to look baffled. He hides it better than you, but it flashes over his face, real and honest for a moment. “You think…” He struggles with himself for a second, unable to look at you.
“You’re always…” you start to say and then trail because his expression isn’t what you expected it would be. Atsumu looks genuinely perturbed at your statement. “I mean…you don’t,” you finish lamely.
When he speaks, it’s quiet and his eyes are hot on you. “Why do you think I asked you to sing?” He's genuinely confused, but you don’t understand this confusion.
“Because I’m a good singer?” you say, hesitant like you’re being quizzed and you know your answer is wrong. Atsumu is frustrated now.
“Yeah, ‘course, but—" He gives a quick bark of a laugh; he’s in disbelief. “Shit, really?”
You stare at him blankly. “Really…like as in—”
“Do you really think I don’t like you?” His ears are red and you realize, suddenly, that Atsumu’s embarrassed. Which makes this whole conversation even more bewildering to you. You glance up at the clock over Atsumu’s shoulder instead of answering. Thirty minutes. Atsumu is looking at you, waiting.
“I don’t know…no? Yes? It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s. Shit. This sounds stupid now, but I always thought that you were…well, competing against me, or something.” You aren’t sure if your words are making any sense but they do seem to affect Atsumu.
“Competin’ for you, more like,” he mutters under his breath. You barely here him so you know you must have gotten it wrong. “I’m an idiot,” he says.
You ignore the easy jab. Instead, “Should we be setting up or doing anything?” you ask. Atsumu furrows his brows. “Before the show,” you clarify.
“Mel will set up. We just hafta to play,” he answers, impatient. “Wait, don’t change the subject yet.”
“Shit, we’re on in half an hour.” You voice comes out breathy. “I have to look over the music again.”
“You know the music.”
“I’ve had three days.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” he says.
“I’ve never played this big of a show before,” you say, and this time your voice cracks with the nerves. Damn it all, you really didn’t want to have a nervous breakdown in front of anyone, let alone Miya Atsumu.
But Atsumu reaches over and catches your hand that picking at your shoulder again. You hadn’t even realized you’d been doing it. Your eyes are wide, his hands are warm and large, encompassing yours.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he says again, soft. And so now you have seen him be gentle. It makes your throat tight with something that isn’t nerves. He says, “There’s no way I’d let you fumble alone out there. We’re coverin’ for you. I’m coverin’ for you.”
Your voice comes out thick. “You’re being suspiciously nice, Miya.”
“Weren’t you listenin’?” He sounds reproachful, but he’s still smiling in that gentle way. “You got it all wrong.” His hand, you realize belatedly, is still holding on to yours. It squeezes you now and something heady and light goes through you. “I’ve only ever admired you.”
You feel as though you’re hearing the words from far away, from underwater or from a dream you’re half-waking from. “You’re…You—”
“Yes,” he says, even though you weren’t even sure what you were going to say. Atsumu’s having a conversation and you’re catching up. Your two glasses of half-drunk beer have been long forgotten. “I thought you knew, and you just weren’t into me.”
“So you cornered me in the back room? So you kept picking on me this past year?” you ask, dry.
Atsumu winces. “I wasn’t —I’m an idiot,” he repeats. “But I wanted a moment alone. To clear the air, if nothin’ else. Before we play.”
“You wanted…okay.” Your mind is struggling to understand. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe you understand perfectly fine and what you’re struggling with is the fact that you want to believe him. You haven’t liked him, but maybe that’s not true either. Maybe you just didn’t want to like him too much, and be one of those girls in the café crowd, fawning and watching him play only to have him pack up his guitar at the end of the day and leave.
But the truth is, you admire him too. You always have, even if it’s been grudging admiration. You’re one of those girls, anyways. Except he’s not walking out the exit. He’s asking you to play with him. So, “Is that all you wanted?” you ask.
Your question causes a physical reaction in him. You aren’t even sure why you asked it, you just wanted to know. To know what? You don’t know that either, but at least some of Atsumu’s surety has left him and the both of you can be stumbling together.
“I don’t know what you’re asking,” Atsumu says.
“I don’t know what I’m asking either,” you answer honestly. His hand is still holding yours, except now it’s clasped in his lap. Why does that feel so natural?
“Can I do something?” he asks, voice low. You have no idea what he wants, but you nod anyways. He flips your hand in his lap and traces a finger over every callous on the tips of your fingers. “You’ve been practisin’ so hard,” he says. The callouses dull the feel of his touch, but only a little. He runs his fingers over them again and then again and then moves to your palm and starts tracing your life line, your heart line, all your little lines until your whole arm is buzzing. He looks up at you from below his lashes. “Do you still think I don’t like you?”
“No.” It’s the easiest answer you’ve given him all day. It comes out as a whisper. “But I don’t know what we’re doing right now.”
Atsumu matches your volume. “We’re getting’ ready for the show.” And then he leans in.
He doesn’t kiss you. You’re embarrassed at your own leap of foreign excitement at the idea that he might’ve. You’re embarrassed that you let your eyes flutter close, just for a moment. But he’s in front of your face, closer than you’ve ever been to him and when your eyes peak open again, he’s grinning at you, wide and boyish.
Then, he tilts his head and places a kiss on your hairline. It’s so brief and light you aren’t even sure if it happened but when he pulls away from you again, his whole face is red and bashful. “It’s almost time,” he says. “They’re gonna come set up soon.”
“What?” You’ve lost concept of time completely.
“For our set,” he says, and a spike threat of panic goes straight through your chest. Atsumu places both his hands on your shoulders, seeing your face. “Remember. I’m not gonna let you fumble alone.”
“Okay,” you say. “Okay.” And you believe him.
Atsumu starts to get up. He holds out his hand to you and you look up at him. “And…what about this?”
He raises a brow. “This?” he asks, but you both know he knows. He’s teasing you again, but you finally see it for what it is.
You scowl again, without any meanness. “What are we going to do?”
He gives you an impossibly handsome, impossibly frustrating smile. “We’re gonna do what we do best. We’re gonna play.” He takes your hand and you stand and he doesn’t let go. “And after that, we’re gonna play some more.” He doesn’t even let go when Mel’s sound team comes in to start collecting gear. They barely spare the two of you a look, efficient to a tee.
“And after that?” you ask. Despite yourself, you’re smiling. You’re excited.
He shrugs. “Improvise?”
And it’s okay, you think, to be a little scared of that. He would never let you fumble alone, after all.
𝔽𝕌ℕ 𝔽𝔸ℂ𝕋
"jingle bells" was the first song played in space. when in space, the crew of nasa's gemini 6a space flight got into their christmas spirit and made history by playing "jingle bells" on december 16th, 1965.
for the amazing @luvwithtsukii 🤍 your prompt was a delight to write (and your writing is beautiful 🥺) i hope i met your expectations with these and there is a little something else i have for you that i wrote while procrastinating for this fic🤭
thank you @momochimo for hosting this event!
MERRY CHRISTMAS!! 🎄🎅🏻☃️
⁷₍⁽՚ᵕ՝⁾₎₇
It would have been a beautiful morning to wake up to.
Seven o’clock on Christmas morning, and the first snow is spread like powdered sugar on the earth. Outside the window, the snowflakes twirl and dance gracefully in mid-air like ballerinas as they daintily make their descent, finally tiptoeing on the lush carpet of snow, and the trees wave majestically in the gentle wind as if hyping up each individual flurry.
Everything is glistening, like a fairy had sprinkled her dust over the landscape.
And wouldn’t it have been nice to wake up in your lover’s gentle embrace, awoken by soft butterfly kisses and whispers of “I love you”s? Wouldn’t it have been nice to wake up, still spooned in his arms like how you fell asleep last night, safe from the biting cold outdoors? Lowering the bar a little, wouldn’t it have been nice to wake up naturally with him next to you? You suppose even without him would pass, albeit barely. Then again, it would have been nice just to wake up without almost peeing your pants.
But of course, that’s not how you wake up. If so, you wouldn’t be complaining.
Instead, a ferocious explosion resonates through the magical morning like a furious battle cry, lashing through and shattering the crisp white silence like an angry whip. It’s like someone set the bed on fire when you shoot upright with a loud gasp, brutally hurtled out of slumberland. Your heart feels as if it’s ready to leap into a wild horse race and win one as it pounds deafeningly in your ears.
It doesn’t take much effort to locate – or rather notice the lack of – the source of the sound. He is nowhere to be found in the bedroom, his side of the bed cold, and judging from the amount of noise he just made, there is only place he can possibly be.
The kitchen.
Dammit.
With your heart still hammering against your chest, except this time maybe for a different reason, you reluctantly lumber out of the warm covers. As you unwillingly trudge to the kitchen with annoyed stomps, you grumble under your breath about stupid, stupid beanpole-like blond four-eyed idiots, cursing him and threatening about how you were going to skin him alive for waking–
Oh, dear.
You swear you tried. You did.
You swear you tried your best to be nice about it, to stifle your laugh as much as you could, to try your best not to choke over yourself trying to hold back your building giggles, to press your lips together to assure the wrong words didn’t come tumbling out of them. You swear you tried with all your might.
But, God save you, how could you not double over laughing at the sight in front of you?
How can you not laugh when there stands Tsukishima Kei. The Tsukishima Kei who gives the saltiest comments; who provides snarky opinions just to spite people; who mostly smiles because something bad happened to Kageyama Tobio; who is one of the only blockers who can successfully stop Ushijima Wakatoshi; who also stands, dressed in an apron, shell-shocked and covered head to waist in white pancake mix.
And you? You just stand there for a moment as you register the whole scene. You meet Kei’s gaze, the open packet still in his stiff hands as he blinks at you once, disoriented, like he can’t quite comprehend that he’d created this calamity that he stands in.
Still, calling it a calamity is sort of an understatement. The kitchen is in such a horrible state that the word you’d choose is “comical”. Comical, because to you, it looks like a scene straight out of a cartoon with the countertops covered in, not only the same flour and baking powder mixture, but also cracked eggs still leaking whites. Knives and spoons are scattered everywhere you turn, and pots and pans seem to fill into any empty space you can spot. You count, not one, but two cutting boards out, an empty milk carton is on the ground with the little amount of what’s left is pooled out in a pearly white halo around it, and the tap is still running water.
It looks like a tornado swept through, deliberating trying to wreak as much havoc as it possibly could, then did a victory dance and left. And all you can think is, wow.
And all your efforts of holding back were for naught when Tsukishima sneezes, setting white powder spraying off him before floating back down to the floor and counters. All it took was that one wave of laughter to roll over you and you lost any thread of self-control you had left. You hunch over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears start to come to your eyes. You have to lean against the fram of the kitchen door as you clutch your abdomen. Your boisterous laugh bounces and sparkles off the walls of the kitchen like a Christmas carol might, filled to the brim with love and delight.
In between gasps, you manage to croak out, “The weatherman didn’t say there would be a blizzard indoors today.”
Kei’s stare is almost as cold as a real blizzard as he glares at you. “This is the last time I ever try to do something nice for you,” he sneers.
You lift a skeptical eyebrow at your boyfriend standing amid the disaster. “Something nice as in completely obliterating the kitchen? Something nice as in waking me up on Christmas morning only to find that the bed is cold and my favorite boy is nowhere to be found?” You walk up to Kei and smirk at his sour expression. Then, staring at his pout, you soften. Because how can you not relent when Tsukishima Kei tried making pancakes for you on Christmas day, especially when both of you knew he sucked at cooking? You lift a hand to dust off the pancake mix on his cheek, fingers soft like the snow outside, eyes twinkling like Christmas lights, and smile warm and loving like the hearth. Tsukishima slides his hands onto your waist, refusing to answer your questions. You chuckle quietly. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
And Tsukishima Kei might have a mouth that spews words sharper than a butcher’s knife, but he has the softest heart you’ve ever encountered. This is proven as the coldness in his eyes thaws the moment you touch him and leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips. And even after three years of dating, with almost one year of living together, his kiss still gives you butterflies.
When you pull away, you snake an arm behind him to untie the apron on him, gently lifting it over his head. “I love with all my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. I don’t think I need to explain why the kitchen is strictly off-limits to you starting right now.” You give him a nudge to move him out of the horrific kitchen. “And I forgot to tell you that you look ravishing in an apron.” Kei allows you to lead him out of the hazardous room, but scoffs indignantly at your comment. “What were you even doing?” you ask.
He shoots you a petulant look. “I was trying to help with the Christmas festivities,” he explains, pink creeping onto his cheeks and you lean closer to him. And he all but whispers, “Because I know you like them.”
You link an arm through his with a giggle. “Mmm, a kitchen that looks like a bulldozer went crazy and plowed through was just the element I needed to complete the Christmas decorations.”
“Hey. I would have cleaned that up,” Kei argues as he follows you to the water heater, watching as you take out two mugs and two packets of hot chocolate. “You just woke up too early. Don’t you think it’s a little too early for hot chocolate?”
You tear open the packaging and dump them into separate mugs. “Yup, that was on today’s agenda. Wake up early on Christmas morning. Totally on purpose.” You can practically hear Tsukishima roll his eyes at your sarcasm, and you hum in agreement. “Which is why” – you press the button and a stream of hot water runs into a mug – “you are going to drink this with me before we clean up the kitchen.” You shove the mug into his hands and head to the couch.
Kei catches up to you effortlessly with his long strides and sits on the couch first, he then grabs your wrist gently, tugging you into him. You smile as you snuggle into his embrace. It’d taken him a while to accept your affection, but now it was all he wanted. You take a sip from your mug and say, “So, when do you plan on cleaning up the war zone?”
He scoffs without shame. “War zone is an understatement.”
“Good to know you at least have some conscience.”
“I have more conscience than you have a kitchen right now.”
“Exactly, and that’s embarrassing. So when do we resolve this predicament?”
Kei looks at you like you just swallowed a frog. “We’re never going to get that place cleaned, both you and I know that.”
“Don’t be silly. It’ll take us an hour max.”
“More like a day, you mean,” he grumbles.
“Come on, Kei, where is your optimism?”
“It opted out.”
“Well, too bad because you made the mess,” you say, rubbing his thigh with your thumb.
“Don’t blame me when we don’t get it clean before the guests come.”
“Oh, I will, don’t you worry too much.” You take another drink from your mug, making eye contact with Kei.
Kei meets your gaze with an icy glare, but like the past three years he’s been with you, he’s shocked once again by the warmth in your eyes. Because no matter how coldly he looks at you, or how harshly he jeers at you, he sees the humor sparkling in them, and feels the warmth emanating from your orbs. And he’s always known, but it isn’t until this moment that he fully comes to terms that you understand his love for you no matter how poorly he shows it. And he blames it on the hot chocolate he’s drinking, but he suddenly feels extremely warm inside.
Your conversation ends and the room falls quiet, but not awkward. Kei’s never been much of a talker, and a lot of the best moments with him are spent in silence, just treasuring each other’s existence – such as this one. You curl into Kei’s body and smile into the steam of your hot chocolate as his fingers play with your hair mindlessly.
So many years filled with all the Christmases that you’ve celebrated, but this is one that you could never forget because as you sit in the hug of you boyfriend, you can’t help but think that is what Christmas is meant to be: spending time with your loved ones and appreciating them for who they are and what they mean to you.
i had so much more to add to this. but i didn’t know how to continue it from there, so um, here’s a little more :)
After all that hassle and hard work, the kitchen is now clean, and you plop yourself down on the floor, drained. Your arms feel like lead and your back like it just carried a boulder up a mountain. Tsukishima sits down next to you and you press your forehead on his shoulder, groaning. “Hey, bub?”
“What?”
“Remember how I said the kitchen is off-limits to you? Yeah, I changed my mind. You are not allowed anywhere near that place. God, that was a workout.”
He chuckles and you can’t help but smile. If Tsukishima Kei has anything, it’s an infectious smile. When he does give one, that is. “I told you it was a bad idea.”
“I wonder who created the mess in the first place. Oh, right. You,” you retort. “You should be thanking me that I even helped you at all.”
“I am,” he says, and you hear the genuineness in his deep voice. You feel him turn around to face you. You feel his fingers on your chin as he lifts your head so you meet his intense, golden eyes. He looks at you like he’s trying to read your soul, deep and sincere. “And that’s why I need you to go check under the tree.”
“Huh?” You remember the last time you checked under the tree, there were three presents. One from each Kei and you for the gift exchange, and another for him from you.
Tsukishima doesn’t answer, instead, he stands and holds out a hand to you. “Get your butt off the floor, lazy.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh, gee, I wonder why I was here in the first place. Couldn’t possibly be your fault, now, could it?” you say sardonically, but accepting his hand, nonetheless. He hauls you up easily and holds your hand as he leads you to the tree you two decorated together.
“Go,” is all he says as he lets go of your hand, and glancing back at him warily, you approach the tree apprehensively.
Crouching to get a better look under it, you count the gifts. “I don’t understand, Kei. There are still three–”
“Look closer,” he says flatly. “And here I thought I had the worst eyesight between us.”
“You do,” you respond heatedly, getting on all fours to check the rug better. “What am I supposed to be looking for – oh!” Your sight lands on a single box, small and wrapped in plain red wrapping paper. Your name is written on it with Kei’s fine print. You look at Tsukishima, whose expression is completely unreadable. “What is it?”
“Telling you ruins the whole idea of a present,” he replies. “Open it.”
You pick up the box, cradling it in your palms like it’s an injured animal, and walk up to Kei. You look up at him, trying in vain to search for clues in his eyes. Your hands are trembling slightly and for the third time that day, your heart thumps viciously in your ribcage, anxious. You’re not even certain why you’re so nervous, but you are, and you know Kei and tell because sits down on the floor, motioning for you to join him.
You take a seat between his legs and take deep breaths to calm yourself. Never in your life have you encountered a gift opening moment so terrifying. But Tsukishima doesn’t urge you, his thumb rubbing the space between your shoulder and shoulder blades, and you take your sweet time trying to come up with all possibilities of what the miniature box could hold. Finally, you give up and your fingers rip through the tape and unfold the red wrapping paper. Behind the wrapping paper reveals a sleek black box, which you take one final deep breath and uncover it.
Your jaw drops and you lose your breath. “Oh, Kei, it’s beautiful,” you gasp. In the box is a necklace, silver like the glimmering snow outside your window with a chain thin like a spider’s silk, but that’s not what caught your breath. Hanging from the dainty chain is a single crescent moon pendant, as glittering and pure as the chain holding it, decorated with minuscule diamonds. It catches the lighting of the room softly, sparkling proudly like it knows what it’s worth.
You place the necklace in your palm carefully, admiring its beauty, completely mesmerized. You turn around to look at him. “Kei, I –”
Kei’s cheeks are as red as the wrapping paper he used. He sees the joy in your eyes, brighter and more beautiful than any diamond necklace he could buy. “It’s a promise necklace,” he snaps defensively, looking away. “Because rings are overrated.”
He watches as your eyes widen in realization and you mutter, “Promise necklace.” For a moment, Kei goes cold, afraid that you might turn him down, but then you break out into a smile so bright and genuine that it puts Hinata Shoyo’s smiles to shame. It’s a sight so breathtaking that Kei actually forgets how to breathe for a second. Then you laugh. The sound like silver bells tinkling in the snow while people sing their hearts out, and Tsukishima wonders how he ever got so lucky.
You press a kiss to his lips. “You’re a jerk,” you say when you pull away, still laughing. But Tsukishima can see the touched tears swimming in your eyes, and he holds his arms open slightly. You take the hint and bury yourself in his hug and give a watery laugh. “Giving me a promise necklace in your pajamas on the floor of our house. Right after you made the mess of the century. I hate you.”
“Yeah? Me, too. Honestly, I don’t know what made me fall for you.”
“My charms, perhaps?”
“Oh, good Lord, no,” he jokes right back, and you swat him playfully. He lifts a hand to wipe the tears away, giving you a smile. “I love you.”
You smile right back, never feeling so warm and content and at home. “I love you, too, Kei. And merry Christmas.”
genre: fluff I'm your secret santa! <3 sorry this took so long but I hope you enjoy this l
warnings: none
a/n: surprise @ara-mitsue I'm your secret santa! <3 sorry this took so long but I hope you enjoy this fluffy bit! This fic is a part of @momochimo 's Dear Santa-san Fic Exchange 2021!
wc: 3.1k
The wind was sharp and cold, whipping across your exposed cheeks as you trudge through the snow making your way towards the small coffee shop on campus. You let out a sigh of relief when you walk through the doors of the cozy little shop, and the warmth of the heaters filtered through your frozen fingers. The heavenly smell of caffeine sent a shock through your system, waking you up properly. You check your watch and smile a little that you’re on time, 6:30am.
The coffee shop was small but almost always packed to the brim with people. At this early hour there wasn’t much people, and you prefer it that way. You always try to make it between 6 and 6:30 so you could mentally prepare yourself for your 7am lecture… and so you could stare at the cute barista. He always worked the morning shift, and it was extra incentive for you to come on time. He was actually proving to be a good distraction for you, getting you to class on time and all.
You shake the snow out of your hair and pat it down, hoping to look at least somewhat presentable before speaking to the handsome boy at the register. He was the only one there until 7:30 when two other workers came in. You savour the time you get to watch him in his element, crafting cappuccinos, whipping up lattes, and making foam art. He always looked so carefree and happy doing it, the small smile never leaving his handsome face.
However, the truth is you’ve never actually said more than a few words to Osamu. The majority of those being your order and a ‘thank you’ when you collect it. The reason being, you were a lot of things but delusional was not one of them. Osamu was one of the most popular boys at your college, everyone knew him, he was the vice-captain of the volleyball team, now a senior, Marketing major, part-timer at the coffee shop, helpful, kind, smart and gorgeous. You knew you didn’t stand a chance; this was the closest you’d ever get to him so you took it.
“One small, black coffee please,” you place your order, grateful that you didn’t stutter this morning. It happens more often that you’d like to admit considering that you were a Communication major.
Osamu looks up with that small smile that always made his grey eyes seem to light up. “No milk and no sugar, yeah?” he asks as he scribbles your name on a cup. You nod mutely, still internally swooning.
Osamu glances at you and takes notice of a few stray snowflakes in your hair. He wanted so badly to just brush them away, but he knows that would be highly inappropriate and weird since you two barely had a proper conversation. He was familiar with you now, since you came in every morning, at the same time, and ordered the exact same thing. He wasn’t even sure why you did either, because he caught you on multiple occasions taking a few sips of the coffee and then dumping it.
You slide your money over to him and snatch your hand back a little too quickly when his warm fingers brush against your cold ones. You mumble a quick apology, face burning up in embarrassment, and quickly move down the counter to wait for your coffee.
Osamu turns away quickly after cashing for your drink so you wouldn’t see his pink cheeks. He was taken aback by the fact that he was actually blushing, sure he’d had a crush on you for a while but you paid literally no attention to him apart from ordering your coffee. You never tried to initiate any conversation apart from that, even on the occasions when it was just the both of you in the shop. He sighs quietly, brushing away his thoughts, and busies himself with making your coffee.
“Idiot,” you mutter to yourself, just wanting to facepalm onto the counter right then and there.
“Who is?” comes a voice from next to you making you jump in surprise.
You jumped and covered your mouth to withhold the shriek that almost escaped. “Oh my god Akaashi! You scared me!” you told the boy standing next to you, you hadn’t even noticed him there when you came in. He was in one of your foundation courses, and he was friends with Osamu. It was much easier to talk to the cute transfer student from Tokyo, than it was to talk to your actual crush, even though they were quite close.
“Sorry, but you still didn’t answer me,” Akaashi laughs and reaches out to pluck the few melting snowflakes out of your hair.
Osamu somehow looks over at just that moment, and freezes as he watches you laugh and thank Akaashi for taking the snow out of your hair. He gulps, feeling a pang in his chest at that, maybe he should’ve just talked to you first. He was so preoccupied with watching you with Akaashi that he didn’t notice the hot water spilling over and onto his hand until it burned him. He hisses and bites his lip, quickly opening the tap to run some cold water over the angry, red blotch on his hand.
“I was talking about myself, I made a fool of myself as usual,” you sigh, glancing at Osamu, frowning when you see him washing his hand it seems, under the tap.
Akaashi looks between you and his friend and grins, “You could just talk to him, he doesn’t bite, I promise he’s nice.”
“I’m not doubting that he is, but I’ll just make a fool of myself again— wait, is it that obvious?!” you gasp in mortification.
“Yes y/n, a blind man can see that you’ve got a big, fat, crush on Osamu,” comes another voice butting into the conversation from Akaashi’s side.
You quickly reach over and slap a hand over the loud-mouthed boy’s lips. “Shut up Atsumu!” you hiss, glancing back to make sure Osamu didn’t hear anything. You’re glad to see him busy and back to making orders for a couple people. His twin was an absolute headache, even though he was busier, being the volleyball team captain, and also a senior himself.
“Just saying,” Atsumu shrugs when you remove your hand glaring at him.
Osamu came over with three cups, giving two to Atsumu and Akaashi first before handing you the last one. Your eyes widen when you see the red mark on his hand, no doubt from a burn. It wasn’t there just a few minutes ago when you placed your order so that means he got it between then and now.
You put the coffee down and grasp his hand in yours, “What happened?!” you gasp, forgetting all about the other two boys standing there with sly smirks on their faces.
Osamu’s unoccupied hand comes up to the back of his neck, rubbing it as he looks down. “Nothing, just a small accident,” he mumbles, thinking about how nice and soft your smaller hands feel holding onto his.
“We’ll be going now,” Akaashi tells you both, but neither you nor Osamu pay any attention to him. Atsumu was about to protest about wanting to stay and see what happens but Akaashi grabs one of the straps of his backpack and pulls him along out of the shop.
You frown running your thumb gently across the expanse of burnt skin, until what you’re doing and just whose hand you were holding dawns on you. You quickly let go of his hand, staring at him wide-eyed.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry! You should put some ice on that!” you gush out quickly, your entire face red from embarrassment. You didn’t even bother to pick up your coffee in your haste to zoom out of the shop, leaving Osamu flabbergasted.
He watches you fly out the door, and out of his line of sight in record time, frowning at your behaviour. You were so hard to read, one minute you were holding his hand so gently, the next you were gone. He looks down at your abandoned coffee and frowns noticing a pair of bright pink gloves next to it. He picks them up and puts them in his pocket, the tiny smile making its way back onto his face. Your small moment of forgetfulness in your rush to get away was finally his reason to talk to you.
Your mind is on overdrive, replaying the incident over and over, it was driving you insane. Your lecturer’s voice was just background noise in your busy mind, you hadn’t been able to retain a single thing in the class since it began almost an hour ago. Slamming your book shut, you shove it into your bag and exit the classroom via the back door. It was obvious that you weren’t going to be able to pay attention to anything else for the day so you head toward the library.
The cute library assistant, Suna Rintaro, smiles as you walk in. He was used to seeing you there and you’d both studied together quite a bit last semester since he shared one of your classes. Rintaro had an admirable work ethic and you appreciated that a lot so even now when you didn’t have any more classes together, you always seek him out as a study partner whenever he’s available.
Your friends always tease you about how cute you would be together, the perfect “nerd couple,” but you shrug them off knowing that Rintaro had eyes for someone else, and you were way too caught up in the gray-haired boy from the coffee shop. Now you wish that it wasn’t so, and you and Rintaro did like each other. It would be way simpler, and you wouldn’t have made a total fool of yourself like you did this morning with Osamu. You sigh heavily, plopping unceremoniously into a chair in a secluded corner of the library.
A shadow came over the pages of the book you were leafing through and you look up, meeting Rintaro’s frowning face. “What is it?” you ask him.
He looks down at you and frowns even more for a few seconds before answering, “I think I should be asking you that, your book is upside down.”
You tear your eyes away from his and look down at the book that was indeed upside down. You quickly fix your blunder and grin sheepishly at him. “I’m having a weird day.”
“I can see that, I’ll be off in half hour if you want to talk,” he says, and you don’t even have time to answer as he was walking halfway down two bookcases already.
_____________________
Another sigh escapes your mouth, that was three in the past two minutes. Rintaro glares at you irritably, “Are you going to talk or not? I’m not going to waste my precious free time if you aren’t.”
You glare back at him, picking at your snack, “I didn’t ask you to, you offered,” you mutter but continue anyway. “I made a complete fool of myself in front of Osamu this morning,” you sigh, dropping the potato chip back into the pack.
Suna raises an eyebrow and motions for you to elaborate. You spill and tell him the entire embarrassing story, heaving another heavy sigh when you’re finished.
“So…you think you blew your chance?” he asks looking at you.
You pout and nod, “He probably thinks I’m the biggest loser ever. Girls throw themselves at him all the time, he probably thinks I’m just another one of them now,” you whine miserably.
“Is that why he’s standing outside the window peeking in here?” Suna asks again, nodding towards the window of the practically empty lecture hall you two were occupying.
“He what?!” you shriek turning around so fast you swear you feel something pull in your neck.
The moment the aforementioned boy sees you turn to face him; he ducks out of view. You barely see the flash of grey coloured hair as he disappears behind the wall. Why was he even there? To make fun of you? The thoughts that swarm your mind are less than pleasant and you feel a familiar burning in your nose and throat.
Rintaro’s eyes widen when he notices your eyes get watery, “Wow y/n, calm down,” he tries to persuade you, looking quite similar to a scared fox, it almost makes you giggle.
“It’s not that deep, Osamu is a nice guy, there isn’t even a bad rumour about him, Atsumu is the problem,” Rintaro awkwardly pats your shoulder.
“What if he tells everyone? Oh God, I’m going to die of humiliation,” you half sob, burying your face in your hands.
“Look, even if he is let’s say displeased by what happened, he would never humiliate you, give it a few days and you’ll see he’ll forget all about it,” Suna responds, offering the kind of comfort only he could.
You shake your head then nod, “Thanks Rin.”
_________________
You spend the next four days purposefully avoiding the coffee shop and anywhere else that you might run into Miya Osamu or his friends. So far you were successful in evading them all, but of course the universe could never be too kind for too long. The moment you step foot into the library you’re accosted by the same boy you’d taken inconvenient measures all week to avoid.
“Y/n, can we talk?” Osamu asks you quietly, adhering to the rules of the library. You glance behind him and see Rintaro inconspicuously making his way over to the returns shelf closer to the both of you, you shake your head slightly amused.
“Now? I’m kind of busy,” you reply, turning your attention back to Osamu, trying your best to avoid the undoubtedly awkward conversation that would probably follow.
“It won’t take long,” he pleads, looking at you with those warm gray eyes that made your stomach do a backflip. “Please.”
Your head nods automatically before your brain can even catch up, and soon he was leading you out the door.
Osamu stands next to you, looking down at his feet and biting his lip. You frown a little feeling both nervous and agitated, you rather get the humiliation over with quickly.
“What do you want?” you snap, and you realize it came out much harsher than you’d intended when the boy looks up at you wide-eyed.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you quickly try to correct yourself.
“No no, it’s fine, you probably think this is really weird but--,” he holds out his hand to you and you frown in confusion when you see a bottle of straight black coffee in his grasp.
“I…I don’t understand,” you frown looking from the coffee to his face.
“You left your coffee that morning at the shop and you haven’t been there since and well, you paid for it, so I thought it was only fair for me to bring it to you,” he smiles, actually showing some teeth.
Your heart soars at his consideration, you knew he was a nice guy but this was very unexpected, and very sweet. He doesn’t even mention the events of that morning and you were more than grateful. You glance at the coffee before taking it from his hand and thanking him.
“You really didn’t have to Osamu,” you smile at him, “Is your hand better?”
He looks down at his hand where the burn had previously been and nods, “It’s pretty much gone now.”
There’s an awkward silence after that, neither of you knowing what to say to continue the conversation. The silence made you uncomfortable after a few moments and you decide to take your leave since there was clearly nothing left to say.
“Well uh, I’m going to go now, see you around,” you tell him and turn to head back to the library.
Osamu quickly grabs your hand, startling you, “Wait!”
“What is it?” you gasp coming to a halt.
“Well I didn’t just come by to give you the coffee, I really wanted to ask if you’d consider getting coffee with me sometime?” he asks, and you notice the tips of his ears turning red.
Your shocked face was probably hard to mask at this point, was he asking you out? Did that mean he actually noticed you?
“You mean like…a date?” you ask, hoping you didn’t look too stupid if that wasn’t what he meant.
To your relief he nods, “Yeah, uh, if you want to of course!”
“Yes, and no,” you answer grinning at his confused expression.
You look down at the bottle of coffee in your hands and then back at him, “Yes to the date, no to the coffee,” you laugh. “You see…I actually hate coffee.”
Osamu looks at you with a raised eyebrow, “Are you serious? You came into the coffee shop every single day for the semester until four days ago and got coffee, every. single. day.”
A blush rises to your cheeks at his words, you have no choice but to spill the beans now, “The only reason I came in there was for you,” you mumble looking down at your shoes.
Osamu’s smile widens even more when he hears you. Of course, Atsumu and Akaashi had told him all about this before but he refused to believe them because you seemed so aloof and immune to him unlike other girls. Hearing you say it yourself this time had him feeling over the moon.
“Guess what y/n…” came his voice, closer than you expected, and you look up to see him standing very close, and completely invading your personal space, and you didn’t mind one bit.
“I was supposed to leave the coffee shop job after a month into this semester, the only reason I stayed was because you came in everyday and I was hoping you noticed me too,” he grins at you.
“Oh…OHhh, oh my god,” you blush even more now, unable to look at him.
“Cute,” he laughs and pokes your cheek, “Also, you’ve been ordering the worst thing on the menu, it’s no wonder you hate coffee, how about you give it a second chance, I’ll make you my own secret blend.”
It was your turn to raise an eyebrow at him now, “A secret blend?”
“The perfect blend,” he replies, reaching down and taking your hand.
You look at your joint hands and smile, a feeling of content blooming in your chest, “I’ll give the perfect blend a try.”
⊱• A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @nellavee. Some tooth rotting Sakuatsu fluff.I originally had something else planned but was suddenly inspired by this post.
⊱• Summary:
His stygian eyes swept to the corner the man constantly preoccupied during this time, slight relief that it was still empty, then darted to the barista behind the counter. No longer relieved but annoyed-looking up at the grinning blonde.
Atsumu knew Sakusa would probably be very annoyed by him raising his voice. Still, he was excited to see him and could not help himself.
“Cheer up Omi-kun, it’s Christmas.”
“It’s December 10th….”
cinnamon rolls & charcoal hands
It was not like it was unfamiliar. The sight of people shuffling into the coffee shop at the corner, half dead of exhaustion, limbs dragging after them. Mirroring winter skies, both with the heavy circles under their eyes and their somber moods.
Atsumu had seen the change in the atmosphere with the weeks that went on. The joyful, exciting chatter at the beginning of fall, when golden sunlight still stretched out, the days slowly transformed into partly rainy days. Finally, the winter skies became brumorous as the days got shorter.
So did the mood and temper of the students rushing in to get their afternoon coffee before they went into the thick air of the library to revise and study for the upcoming finals. Their smiles faded, old ink on paper.
Like marcid leaves that lost their color and fell into puddles, the life was sucked out of them, and cheery responses turned into grunts. It was no wonder Atsumu despised November.
At least what they could fucking do was to leave a god damn tip. Damn scrubs.
At least there was one light in the dark of the tunnel. Actually, it was more like many, many merry little bright lights that enveloped the Black Jackal Bean in kaleidoscopic shine as Atsumu’s Christmas playlist blasted through the speakers.
December brought change with it.
The pumps of caramel toffee nut and the vanilla and cinnamon powder that was added not only seemed to sweeten the drinks but also the moods.
Especially the havoc that was the late afternoon rush, punctual as always as the 4pm classes were dismissed. The horde of caffeine-deprived students, lethargically pilgrimaging to the shop to get a variety of bean juice, looked to Atsumu like one of those Zombies in the post-apocalyptic movies.
When the masses arrived, Atsumu had timed his playlist perfectly to play the sugar plum fairy and the Russian dance from the Nutcracker at the most assiduous time. Which right now has ended.
Some of his regulars had decided to stay at the shop, quietly reading at a table nearby. Atsumu took the time to perfectly clean up the countertops and appliances, humming the Christmas song that was plaguing his brain for the day, while he scribbled away on his sketchpad, too distracted to actually draw something.
Albeit, there was one thing he wanted to draw, but he needed a reference to be perfectly sure his memory didn’t fail him. Just a little longer.
Hooded umber eyes, darting to the clock on the wall and waiting for 5.30 to arrive.
On the dot, the small bell of the door chimed, and Atsumu looked up, a grin spread immediately on his features as he sang, “Well…Hello to you, sunshine…. Lookin’ really chipper ‘n’ jolly.”
Juxtaposed to the traces of sun that danced in Atsumu’s features, his eyes and the tone of his bleached hair. The man entering the building was dressed in a black tweed coat and dark green scarf, leathery messenger bag strapped across his chest. Inky curls were slightly frizzy from the weather outside.
His stygian eyes swept to the corner the man constantly preoccupied during this time, slight relief that it was still empty, then darted to the barista behind the counter. No longer relieved but annoyed-looking up at the grinning blonde.
Atsumu knew Sakusa would probably be very annoyed by him raising his voice. Still, he was excited to see him and could not help himself.
“Cheer up Omi-kun, it’s Christmas.”
“It’s December 10th….”
The man’s expression was hidden behind a black mask. Still, Atsumu could see from the sigh he released and the way his hand rose to slick back. That one irksome lock that never seemed that it wanted to stay dangled over the two moles on his forehead, that he was stressed.
He was always stressed out, and Atsumu wanted nothing more than to fix the lock himself, touch his hair, and check if it really was as soft as he imagined it to be. Maybe also poke those moles, maybe turn the two dots into a smiley face…but Atsumu was a professional.
“You know you’re gonna get wrinkles if you frown like that..” he hummed, put down his drawing pad, and took out a small notepad from the front pocket in his black apron. He proceeded to take the golden permanent marker from behind his ear, using his mouth to uncap it.
“The usual…” Kiyoomi pointed towards the corner with a gloved hand and disregarded the cap in Atsumu’s mouth with a disgusted expression.
“Alright,I already wiped down the table you go sit down and look pretty. and I’ll get you your thing…Omi-kun.”
He ignored the eye roll from the other man at the sound of his unwanted nickname, and Atsumu went to work, humming the same Christmas song from before.
His back was turned, so he wasn’t able to see how the curly-haired customer paused looking at Atsumu’s back. He always wiped down the table and seat before Kiyoomi came into the shop and mentioned it to Kiyoomi. It was like he knew that Sakusa liked things tidy.
The coffee shop worker clearly was a basket case when it comes to tidiness, Kiyoomi thought as his eyes darted over Atsumu, resting at the old notepad that he’d carelessly pushed into the back pockets of his jeans. The paper was crumpled and ripped in some places. The thicker cardboard back was ornamented by little doodles, similar to those he often found embellished around his name on coffee sleeves.
Sakusa Kiyoomi made his way to the corner he always occupied, shed off his coat and scarf, and meticulously draped it over the arm of the cuddly armchair.
He took some time watching Atsumu work behind the counter, the scent of his drink being made filling his nostrils, hand working in familiar practiced pacing.
He was strange, this one Kiyoomi noted as so many times before. An art student, Kiyoomi guessed from when he saw the blonde sketch something in his black book. A shy one, he never shared his drawings with Sakusa. He had asked once, and the barista had blushed, stammered something about needing to wash the plants in the backroom, and had scurried away. Kiyoomi didn’t bother to ask again. Nevertheless, he remained curious.
Before Atsumu could notice that Kiyoomi had been paying more attention to him than he should, the dark-haired law student took out his laptop. He rolled up the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, letting his elbows rest on his knees, and leaned forward to review the notes from his lecture that had just ended.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed the large figure of Atsumu carrying over a large Americano and a slice of red velvet cupcake. Kiyoomi’s usual on Thursdays.
“Enjoy…’ n’ stop frownin’,” the blonde belted, setting the tray onto the table, “I know yer finals are comin’ up but don’t stress too much. … I’d love to stay, and chat but I am very busy, you know? So enjoy your drink..call me if ya need me.”
Atsumu declared, then went back behind the counter to focus on whatever he was creating on his sketchpad. He was using charcoal today, the fingers turning ashy with every movement. Strangely, Sakusa didn’t mind the thought of Atsumu having dirty hands.
Sakusa closed his eyes for a few seconds, then took off his gloves and mask to take that first deliciously warming sip of his drink. Perfectly brewed to his liking.
Atsumu really was a man of his work, he thought, glancing at his slice of cake. The frosting had something drawn on it with chocolate.
:( -> :) <3
Kiyoomi, side-eyed Atsumu, was smiling at him, eyes closed into crescents.
Sakusa shook his head and swiped the chocolate off with his fork.
Atsumu was also very annoying.
The blonde barista hated that his job made it impossible to stop and just stare at Sakusa for hours every day he spent at the small corner café. He shouldn’t, really, since the customers coming in ordering and leaving made up his livelihood.
Still, gosh, one should keep Sakusa Kiyoomi as a piece of art in a very fancy exhibit.
As an arts student, Atsumu couldn’t just not look at Kiyoomi. The first time he laid eyes, he had been sure the tall guy must have been some model or reincarnation of some ancient demigod. He wondered if there was someone who had made a statue of Sakusa Kiyoomi, and if not, he wondered. Why the heck not?
If Atsumu would be practiced in the art of sculpting, he would. He only had his pencils.
He really shouldn’t stare, but Sakusa, the damn scrub, just had to go ahead and always come by on times that were the least busy. He was a clockwork prince that one. A few semesters ago, he just came by in the morning.
Grumpy face, hidden behind a mask, having the most complicated coffee order. Not because Sakusa was a fan of complex drinks, he had a different drink and food combo every day.
Atsumu was a fast learner, remembered the orders quickly and smiling widely as he handed over the dark to-go-coffee cups, with mask-guy hastily scribbled on the sleeve. Which Sakusa disapproved of by the look of his frown
One day, it was during finals week, one time the guy finally snapped telling him.
“It’s Sakusa by the way, Sakusa Kiyoomi…write my name down correctly.”
“Okay, Omi-Omi…it is” Atsumu had hummed and had started to scribble the new nickname on the sleeves. A variation of smileys, bad puns, or encouragement along the lines of “smile it’s a beautiful day” were sometimes added much to Sakusa’s dismay and Atsumu amusement.
The blonde had claimed that if he didn’t want the nickname on the coffee sleeve, he should no longer order to go and just stay in. Sakusa didn’t show up for a whole week after that, then he started to come by every day and stayed for hours.
The Black Jackal Bean had become Sakusa’s auditory. The hours, weeks, and months passed as he worked on his assignments and ate through all the danish and pastries. Who knew the clockwork prince had a major sweet tooth?
Mondays started out with a dark roast and a raspberry danish, something quick because he was swamped these days. It was on Mondays where Atsumu only saw Kiyoomi in the mornings.
Tuesdays, he came in in the afternoon. His combos were a caramel flavored Latte and a vegetarian quiche. He had more time on those days and stayed longer, adding some warm banana bread later to fill him until he went home for dinner.
Wednesdays were the days where Kiyoomi visited twice. Coffee Mocha with an extra espresso shot and an almond chocolate croissant in the morning, a cheese danish, and a Columbian in the evening.
Thursdays like today were for a quick bone dry cappuccino, bagels in the morning, an americano, and a slice of cake in the afternoon.
Fridays, routinely were days where Kiyoomi just wanted the thing with the highest caffeine and sugar intake. He always looked tired on Fridays, exhausted from the dead, and Atsumu, and he always argued about his diet.
“One day yer gonna walk around lookin’ like a gingerbread man,” Atsumu had said the last Fridays while pumping toffee syrup into a latte with whipped cream,”
“Mind your own business,” Kiyoomi gruffly grumbled, stuffing a generous tip into the jar as he grabbed his drink, grimacing at the “made with a whole latte love” written in gold onto the black cup.
“I actually am, Omi-kun,” Atsumu hummed, and Kiyoomi could swear he could hear a “you silly thing you” added under the blonde’s breath.
Atsumu packed the warmed-up cinnamon roll into a bag, adding, “If my best customer is not allowed to come by anymore, what will I do?”
His beaming smile twitched into a sheepish one as Atsumu lowered his chin, just the slightest tilt of his head. While the blonde’s half-lidded gaze fixated on the dark-haired man, murmuring in a smoky voice, “I’d actually be very sad…Kiyoomi”
His fox-like intense stare captured Kiyoomi as many times before, more than he would like to admit.
A small noise escaped Kiyoomi’s mouth, a rabbit in a snare, muffled only by his mask.
Suddenly it was as if the temperatures had risen suddenly, and Kiyoomi felt the tips of his ears flush, burning, huffing as he grabbed the baked goods and turned around.
Just then, he was able to take a deep breath and answer the menacing blonde.
“You’ll get over it.”
He walked a few steps, calming the rapid thumping in his chest, then turned around. Atsumu leaned over the counter, chin propped up on the palm of his hand, watching him with intense eyes.
“I’ll see you around, Miya.”
“See ya Omi-kun.”
The barista had the audacity to wink and wriggle his fingers.
Blush was such a lovely color on Kiyoomi.
“You always use an analog sketchpad,” Kiyoomi said one day as Atsumu cleared up his first for the day. He was feeling a little peckish. Maybe he could ask Atsumu to warm one of the paninis.
“Yeah, it’s more my thin’ you know…and I sort of don’t have the money for a digital pad yenno,” Atsumu murmured softly, wiping off the ring the coffee mug had left on the table.
“You work here nearly every day….” Kiyoomi added, watching Atsumu’s handsome features twitch into a smile. He was contemplating what to say. A little sadness and regret washed over Atsumu’s eyes basked in the warmth of the nearby fairy lights. Kiyoomi didn’t dare to add something to his statement. Afraid to have overstepped or had been too brash like he always was.
“Yeah, Omi…I do…and I pay rent and fees and well,” Atsumu sighed, “I’ll get by… I’m saving for a digital thing. I also kinda need new pencils; I have been going through them a lot for my finals…but you know nothing tops an analog sketchbook. The feelin’ of the scratchy pencil on paper…is… is something real, you know? I dream up so many things when I draw that I like the feelin’ of something being real.”
He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. For a second, then he huffed. “Omi-kun, you’re trying to take my mood down during the holiday season. Damn you, how about I’ll get you that panini so that your grumpy self is at least fed?”
“How did you know I want a panini Miya?”
“I’ve been watching you….” Atsumu blurted out, then his eyes widened, “I’ve been watchin’ ya watchin’ at the thin’ fer a while, like since ya got ‘ere and well…better a fed Omi than a grumpy Grinch that scared all my other customers away….”
Atsumu was cute when he got nervous. Kiyoomi notes. He emphasized with wid gestures a lot, lips turned into involuntary pouts in between his words as his accent got stronger. Cute…
“Yes, I’d like one….” Kiyoomi said, keeping careful watch of Atsumu, who muttered curses under his breath as he worked.
“One day…” he said as the food was brought to him, “I’d like to see those drawings of yours Miya.”
The blonde rushed away blushing, gesturing wildly with his hands and saying something about having to walk his goldfish in the break room.
During finals week, Kiyoomi’s bags under his eyes got bigger as his sleep got shorter, and so did his temper. Much to his dismay, he spent a little more time in the library than at the cafe. He considered texting Miya to ask if they had any cinnamon rolls left that day.
The barista had at one time scribbled his number onto a napkin one day during the last months when Sakusa had asked him about how Atsumu made the french chocolate cake. Atsumuwho’d been on his way out, had just scribbled the number on a napkin and told Sakusa to text him, so he could send him the receipt.
He decided just to drop by, even though it was close to closing time and the air was frosty. He saw Atsumu’s silhouette, just finishing putting away the seating. He carried the last two chairs, dressed in a light t-shirt and apron. It would have been okay for the toasty warmth inside the cafe, but outside, Kiyoomi frowned. He’d catch a cold or something.
Sakura’s assumption was correct, as the blonde froze, only to let out a loud sneeze that would have caused snow to fall off the nearby tree branches if it had snowed.
“Do you want to get sick or are you showing off?” Kiyoomi said, inspecting Atsumu’s strong arms.
“Very funny Omi-kun,” the barista sniffed, having difficulty carrying the last two chairs inside and opening the door with a kick of his foot. Kiyoomi swiftly helped him out.
“Why are you running around like you’re on Spring break?”
“Like my guns?”
“No.” Read: debatable, could you flex them for me?
“If I were on Spring break, ya would swoon over my thighs like a fair maiden Omi-Omi, I never skip leg day.”
Sakusa didn’t doubt it, but he didn’t have time to once again admire Atsumu’s thighs and grunted, “Why are you not wearing sleeves.”
The shirt was also a v cut. Atsumu was out here in the cold. What. An. idiot.
“Cuz, I spilled somethin’ on what I was wearin’ earlier,” Atsumu sighed, putting away the chairs, then added. “I was makin’ myself a tumbler to go…need some caffeine to get through the night since I need to submit a project in a few days…and I didn’t screw the lid on properly. It fell and spilled all over my sweater and cuz I’m a lucky fellow…on my sketchpad too….”
“That sucks…” Kiyoomi so eloquently said and loosened the green scarf around his neck.
“It does.” Atsumu said, wanting to add a witty comment but was stopped by Kiyoomi, looping his scarf around his neck.
Atsumu froze as Sakusa neatly tied it in front of his chest, gloved hand resting a little too long on the fabric. Kiyoomi’s slender fingers picked at lint on the scarf and simply said, “You are going to catch a cold….”
Atsumu, not daring to breathe, halted, eyes searching for a scintilla of something in Kiyoomi’s dark eyes. Charcoal, he noted, the perfect pitch black of charcoal. His lips parted, slowly exhaling breath, and whispered the acceptance. “Okay…”
Sakusa looked into Atsumu’s eyes. Despite the tired expression he had on his face, Atsumu gave Kiyoomi a tender smile as he said, “I already packed you yer cinnamon rolls….”
“How did you?”
“It’s finals week, right? You have a big test tomorrow and ya alway samp up the sugar intake.” He said softly and handed over the bag. “In case you are going to end up doing something illegal on your sugar high I don’t want to be held responsible, so they’re in the house.”
Kiyoomi was stunned for words for a bit until he blurted, “I’ll pay you..”
“I don’t want the rolls on record, so no….”
“Really, I’ll compensate….”
“Omi-kun…just take the fuckin’ rolls.”
“Stop cursing you idiot.”
“This is my shop I can curse whenever I want.”
“Technically, it’s not your shop Miya.”
“Technically, those cinnamon rolls aren’t yours yet.”
“Yeah, Yeah, whatever,” Kiyoomi quickly grabbed the bag from Atsumu’s outstretched hand, looked at the blonde, and murmured, “Thanks….Mi- Atsumu. I appreciate it.”
Atsumu beamed, “Don’t worry about it…Ace that exam for me, Omi-kun….”
At home, Sakusa found a handwritten note from Atsumu.
“Careful. They are cinfully tasty.”
Sakusa didn’t like to be in debt to anyone. Especially not art students who worked part-time as baristas in his favorite cafe.
So, as soon as his exam ended two days after, Kiyoomi went off to get some art supplies from downtown and wanted to drop them off and swiftly depart. He didn’t want to have to hear Miya’s annoying voice dragging out the vowels on that stupid nickname he had given him. Getting him a new sketchpad and pencils was no big deal, so Miya better not overreact or show him that derpy smile of his.
He’d just get a coffee to go, or better hot chocolate since it was the end of exams. Grab his drink and leave before Atsumu got any that Sakusa getting him a gift meant anything.
Kiyoomi just wanted to get it over with, so why did he keep stalling and going into overcrowded shops to buy things he clearly didn’t need. He considered buying himself a new scarf. What an idiotic move it had been to give Atsumu his favorite scarf. Sakusa glared into the distance, locking eyes with a random person who jolted under his gaze and scurried away. Atsumu had always made fun of the scarf due to its color. Why the heck did Kiyoomi give him the scarf so willingly?
It was time to get the scarf back. Atsumu should get his own scarf. Yes, that was right. Sakusa would just go right into that cafe, demand his scarf back, order a hot chocolate and give that airhead his goddamn present.
Sakusa made a noise from deep in his chest that scared off a child nearby and made his way to the Black Jackal Bean. Kiyoomi took some time checking whether the wrapped gift in his bag was really there if the bow was still intact and took a deep breath before pushing the door open. The familiar sound of the bells chiming reached his ear first, then Sakusa noticed an unfamiliar bossa nova playlist resonating in the cafe.
Strange, maybe luck was on Sakusa’s side, and Atsumu finally got sick of his cheesy holiday playlist. Another customer in front of him was still ordering, and Kiyoomi had a few minutes to gather the words in his mind he wanted to say.
He had already come to the cafe. Check.
He had to ask for his scarf back. Order hot chocolate. Endure some cheesy, dangerously flirtation from the barista. Try not to smile at the way his stupid face looked and get his chocolate with extra whipped cream and slam the present into Atsumu’s hands and then run out and never return.
The person in front of him got his drink, and the man on the other side of the counter locked eyes.
They were the wrong color.
Instead of warm cinnamon toasty browns, they were gray. Why was this person, this imposter wearing Atsumu’s face? Sakusa glared at the man on the other side. His brown hair, a darker and colder shade than the undercut, revealed Atsumu’s natural color.
Not Atsumu blankly stared at him, calmy cool. Not a goofy grin spreading on the person’s face that usually was behind the counter.
“You’re not Miya.”
Sakusa finally said after staring him down. Not Atsumu was not budging under his stare. He was almost bored, it seemed.
“Actually, I am..” Not Atsumu pointed towards the nametag. O.Miya, the O was written on a tape, “You must be Omi-kun.”
Sakusa blinked. His nickname sounded wrong out of monochrome Atsumu. He didn’t want him to utter it again, so he corrected, “Sakusa.”
“Yeah, whatever…yer the dude my stupid brother keeps drawin’ and fawnin’ over… it’s disgusting…honestly yer not that pretty,” monochrome Atsumu said, then added. “I’m Osamu…what can i get you.”
“Where is Miya?”
“Not here”
“I can see that.” Sakusa glared, “Where is he?”
“Tsumu had ta pull an overnighter and got sick… he’s stayin’ home.”
Oh, he was unwell.
Osamu sighed, grabbed a spoon, and started polishing it. “He’s being a big baby about it too…annoying since I ain’t have the time to look after him and cover his shift.”
Side glancing at Sakusa, Osamu picked up another cutlery, “You have his number right? He’d like a call from you.”
“Will he?”
“Yes. Please, i don’t want to listen to him whine about not bein’ able to see Omi-omi when i get home..”
“Say Sakusa….”
“Yes?”
The dark-haired Miya paused, checking the tip of the knife, then pointed it at Sakusa,” You could also visit my brother…I could write you down the address.”
A threat was woven into the tone with which he said these words, but Sakusa didn’t like to be in debt. So he got Atsumu’s address. He had to get his scarf back after all.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps a dragon’s layer, Atsumu in a cave-like apartment cluttered with things, pencils, paper balls, empty coffee cups. When he knocked at the door to Atsumu and Osamu’s apartment in a somewhat sketchy part of town, Sakusa was strangely nervous.
The sound of the Christmas playlist blasting louder than at the cafe was a comfort.
“Freakin’ scrub Samu, you fergot ya keys didn’t ya,” he heard from the other side of the door, made Kiyoomi’s lips twitch from under his mask, and he tugged his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.
“Yenno, I had to stand up from the couch and-” Atsumu opened the door, dressed in a cozy red Kigurumi, red with a snowflake and reindeer pattern, “Oh…Omi? Whaddya doing here?”
“Your brother told me you were sick.” Sakusa said, staring at the cartoon reindeer that had red noses and candy cane striped scarves around their cartoon reindeer necks. “This is atrocious.”
“Well, I am sick, and this is comfy….” Atsumu said, sniffing and pouting as if that was a justification. He ruffled his hair so that the hood, with sewn-on antlers, fell from his head, “I’d like to invite you in, but you’d probably don’t want to….”
“Do you have something warm to drink… it’s rather cold outside,” Sakusa said, and Atsumu stepped aside to let him in.
“I got tea….”
“What kind of tea do you have?” Sakusa inquired, emphasizing the last word, attempting to correct Atsumu’s grammar.
“Dunno something from Samu’s cabinet…pick your slippers,”
Atsumu said, getting out a pair of guest slippers, all Christmas themes. Kiyoomi chose the red and green ones that looked like elf shoes.
He looked around. The apartment was more spacious than he thought, the entryway leading to a big living room and open kitchen, like in a studio apartment. There were two doors on the left and another on the right wall, probably a bathroom and bedrooms.
“It’s clean….” Sakusa noted, and Atsumu huffed.
“Yeah, I ain’t a slob…well not in our shared livin’ space…my rooms a little messy during creative urges, but Samu won’t mind unless I keep my stuff in there….”
Osamu was a little more likable now. Sakusa thought and gave Atsumu a look over.
“I didn’t want to stay too long…I heard you were sick.”
“It’s nothing…I just got overworked since I had to pull an all-nighter to fill my sketchbook with things…but hey…I submitted the thing and slept off the cold. So I’m fine…” he sniffed, grinning a little,” Thanks fer ya concern Omi-kun…but I am alright….”
“Why are your eyes red then?”
“I was crying over a Christmas movie….” Atsumu confessed almost too proudly, Endearing.
“Wimp,” Sakusa said, tugging off his mask and shedding off his coat. Atsumu just shrugged, took the clothing, and hung them up.
“Yeah, Rise of the Guardians is just a masterpiece… it’s so brilliantly drawn and gosh…Jack Frost is hot.”
“It’s a drawing.”
“So?”
Sakusa paused, shaking his head, “How can drawings be hot Miya?”
“Well…they just can,” Atsumu hummed, “Settle down on the sofa if ya want Omi…. I’ll start the film anew and convince you….but don’t mess up my blanket, if ya want one get it from the basket over there. I’ll getcha yer tea.”
Kiyoomi heard Atsumu sneeze on his way to the kitchen and smiled a little as he overlooked the carefully arranged array of three fluffy blankets Atsmu had spread out on a corner of the couch. He didn’t get a blanket from the basket. Instead, Kiyoomi sat down on the little bit of empty space and looked over the coffee table that was littered with some stuff.
A dog holder tissue box, some snacks, a plate of cookies, a large Olaf the Snowman mug, and one of Atsumu’s black sketch pads. Opened up with a drawing of some cartoon characters visible on the page. They must be from the movie, which Atsumu had been crying about. The Santa Claus Atsumu had sketched hand tattoos on his forearms stating naughty or nice.
Kiyoomi took off his gloves, carefully reached for the book, and skimmed over the pages. Many of the graphite lines seemed fresh. He had drawn the plate of cookies, fuller with more cookies but the same plate that was on the table. Some doodles of cartoon foxes playing around in the snow, chasing each other over the page.
A detailed drawing of an apple and then his face.
Sakusa stared at the page that showed his face drawn on to the rough paper with charcoal, the same jaw, the harsh lines that looked incredibly soft. Strangely touched, Kiyoomi wanted to trace them with his fingers.
He flipped a few pages, not wanting to intrude on the unsettling feeling that had started to warm in his chest, and Kiyoomi found himself over and over again on several pages. Sometimes there was a hand, but Kiyoomi knew it was his because the hand was holding his favorite pen he always studied with. The dark eyes Atsumu drew with such intensity had the same markings and lines Kiyoomi’s own had. How could someone create something so realistic?
Kiyoomi saw a softer version of himself on the pages. Was this the way Atsumu saw him?
“Done snooping Omi-kun?”
Atsumu’s voice, suddenly very close, brought Sakusa out of his fascination and looked up, caught red-handed. He didn’t sound angry, thank god.
“Your tea…Omi-kun…”
“Why did you draw me Miya?” Sakusa was surprised that he was not offended. It was such an invasive thing that Atsumu had drawn him so many times without permission.
“Yer pretty to look at Omi,” Atsumu simply said and smiled, “I’m sorry if that’s a little creepy….”
“It’s okay….” Sakusa said, and he realized he really didn’t mind, “They’re good.”
“Thanks…” Atsumu smiled and plopped down onto the couch, “So…what brings ya here….”
“My scarf,” Sakusa blurted out, “I want it back.”
Atsumu blinked, then laughed out loud, head tilted back, bellowing.
“Sure thin’ Omi kun…I need to wash it first thou….”
“I also got you something,” Sakusa blurted out again and rummaged in his bag, “A little something...you mentioned that you need new supplies, and this is not a big deal. It was a pain in the ass to find those charcoal pencils, and I think the salesperson ripped me off. Anyway just forget about it and I’ll get going….”
He shoved the wrapped thing into Atsumu’s chest and wanted to stand up but was held back by his wrist.
“Why don’t you stay Omi-kun…just for a little.” he smiled, and Sakusa realized that Atsumu, even in the depths of winter, had freckles on his nose, “Thank you….”
“As I said, no big deal….”
“Right..” Atsumu grinned.
“I should get going….”
“You can….but” Atsumu smiled, “You could also stay…I just put some cinnamon rolls in the oven they should be ready to eat in an hour….”
“Okay… I’ll stay….” Sakusa said, looking into Atsumu’s eyes, “For the cinnamon rolls….”
“And the movie….” Atsumu’s eyes glinted then turned into crescents.
“And the movie….” Kiyoomi agreed and settled on the couch as the saccharine scent of cinnamon filled the room. Warm, pleasantly, comfortable just as Atsumu’s presence next to him.
A presence Kiyoomi realized was not unfamiliar but welcome. Very much so.
a/n: omg i'm sorry this took so long, but I'm so happy i got to be a part of this exchange. this is for @tsukkismoonlight, i'm your secret santa! i hope you like it.
also thank you @momochimo for hosting this event. i liked expanding my comfort zone
warnings: two curse words, indigestion mentions, mentions of food technically
word count: 3.2k
reader's pronouns are not specified
you miss the days when you could take a second to admire the snow piling outside; watch it glisten in the sun and relax, nothing on your mind but the cup of coffee in your hand and the next tv show on your watchlist.
these days, however, you look at the snow piling on the streets with a scowl, refreshing your work groupchats to see if either of your jobs will have mercy on your withering strength this snowy morning.
your roommate, bless his soul, seems to reappear over your shoulder every few minutes, patiently waiting with you.
working two jobs was no easy feat, he knew, and he wanted nothing more than to see you relax for one day out of the year.
“‘Dashi, you’re making me more stressed breathing on my neck like that.”
with a light chuckle, Yamaguchi steps back, making his way to the kitchen to prepare you a cup of coffee he knows you’ll need.
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but it’s looking like you’re working a doub-”
“nope! no! don’t bring your negativity into this home,” you cut him off abruptly, “I refuse to leave. I can’t even see the road outside! how would I drive on it?”
As you groan into your hands, Yamaguchi chuckles at your theatrics. He’s offered many times to drive you to work, or even cover rent for the both of you, but you always respond with a grumble along the lines of,
“too nice for your own good ‘Dashi...” and “’m an adult! I can do adult things!”
so, while he hates seeing you throw your sanity on the line with your two jobs, he’s decided there’s nothing he can really do to stop you.
he hands you your coffee and silently watches you lose your mind hoping for a day off.
and a few minutes later, by some astounding miracle, two pings sound from your phone, and you and Yamaguchi both rush to see the long-awaited messages from both of your employers.
“you should come with me to the Frogs game tonight, you could finally meet Tsukki!” Yamaguchi exclaimed after a short celebration of your newfound freedom.
at the mention of his best friend’s name, you winced. you never told him that you have met the infamous Tsukishima, and since said meeting, you’ve been actively avoiding the middle blocker.
it wasn’t his fault Yamaguchi left him in your apartment without your knowledge, and it certainly wasn’t his fault that he overheard you asking your roommate to purchase indigestion medication for you. however, him laughing in your face after the call was 100% his fault.
it was embarrassing enough to run into him in your living room that afternoon, so to “officially” meet him was asking a lot of yourself. but out of love for Yamaguchi, and a lack of excuses, you reluctantly agreed.
after a quick exchange of game details and goodbyes, he left your shared apartment in a rush to get to campus, leaving you to your own devices for a few hours.
to say the Sendai Frogs were amazing was an understatement.
while Yamaguchi was incessantly cheering his friends on, you sat in awe as you watched the volleyball fly faster than your eyes could track. you were even more shocked by how pliant Tsukishima made his body as he continued to block and defend for his team.
you were certainly not a professional in the sport, but you knew enough to understand how strong this team was.
after nearly losing your voice from cheering at the Frogs’ win, Yamaguchi drags you out of the bleachers and onto the court. he hugs a few members, as well as Tsukishima (who gives him a heartfelt pat on the back), before pushing you in front of him.
“everyone, this is y/n!”
you wave a bit stiffly towards the team before Koganegawa reaches out to excitedly shake your hand.
“we’ve heard a lot about you!”
“a bit too much, really” Tsukishima counters. Your face heats up under his scrutinizing glare.
“well Tadashi does get a little loose-lipped when he’s stressed, and i'm sure i’ve stressed him out more than enough.”
you don’t miss the small chuckle that manages to escape Tsukishima’s lips. Yamaguchi doesn’t miss the slight boost in your mood after it.
after letting them change and shower in the locker room, Koganegawa invites you to their team dinner, to which you impulsively agree to attend.
their dynamic was...strange to say the least. Koganegawa cracking jokes with other players, repeatedly nudging Kyoutani, who released a grunt every once in a while, but otherwise seemed detached for the night. Tsukishima also seemed quiet, although you always pegged him as someone who doesn’t thrive in groups, only responding to Yamaguchi’s consistent praise and excitement with variations of “calm down”.
you focused on your food while occasionally cracking jokes that made the team laugh, embracing the environment. you enjoyed their company more than you expected to. as you and Yamaguchi started heading back to your apartment, you told the team you would definitely attend their next few games, and said your goodbyes.
maybe your one day of freedom made you forget that your life doesn’t allow free time, much less time to go see every Sendai Frogs game (and they certainly had a lot). Regrettably, you had turned down Yamaguchi’s offers to join him every week, and that dinner was the last time you had seen anyone on the team.
it’s not your fault you’re busy, but you can’t help the guilt as you see your roommate head out to watch another game.
the next morning you found yourself waking up much earlier than usual, giving you some time before you had to tend to your responsibilities. deciding to stretch your legs and admire the colder weather for the first time this year, you go for a short walk to the café close to your apartment complex.
the warmth of the café washed over your goosebumps as you step into the shop. there was nothing like the ambience of coffee on a cold winter morning; the warmth of a cup in the grasp of your slightly shaking hands; the familiar head of blonde hair turning in your direction.
the brown eyes of Tsukishima Kei staring at you from his own table.
your feet were rooted to their spot, fight-or-flight response completely overridden by the awkwardness consuming your body. do you say hi? should you pretend you never saw him and just order something to go?
choosing to be mature, you decide to order a drink and exchange niceties with the man before scurrying back to your apartment to mull over your conversational skills.
taking a deep breath, you approach his table with your drink in hand.
“you’re Tadashi’s roommate.” you wish it were the frost outside reigniting your goosebumps rather than the chill in his voice.
“Tadashi’s friend,” you correct, “but yes, nice to see you again Tsukishima.”
he resumes reading whatever was holding his interest before you approached him. after a beat of silence and you fiddling with your drink, you make your way to leave when he clears his throat,
“are you just going to stand there?”
a bit startled by his invitation (?) to sit with him, you reluctantly place your drink on his table before pulling a chair across from him. his eyes stay rooted to the content on his laptop that has garnered his attention, as you fiddle with the coffee sleeve on your cup.
“did I-we scare you away or something?” he suddenly speaks up.
when you go to look at him, his eyes are still latched to his screen, although you can see through his glasses that he’s not looking at anything in particular. he’s just looking to avoid your eye contact.
“...scare me?” you question, confused. how would they scare you?
“it’s been seven games.” is all he says in response. you stare at him, trying to meet his eyes as they persistently avoid your gaze. what the hell was he on about? this was your longest conversation with the man and yet it was the most cryptic. why was he speaking in code?
when he finally locked eyes with you, he noticed your confusion. with a slightly agitated sigh he pulled out his phone, tapping around before he eventually passed it to you. even more confused, you took his phone into your hands, a bit shocked to see an empty contact form waiting to be filled in. you looked at him for confirmation, only to see his gaze had turned back to his laptop, and his ears sported a light pink tint.
still startled, you quickly put in your number, and put your contact name under Tadashi’s friend before handing his phone back to him.
he holds a subtle smile at your contact, before his alarm rings and shakes him out of his mild stupor.
“practice.” he barely explains before packing up his things and leaving you with a bow. you’re left at his table questioning the reality of the past fifteen minutes. a few minutes after his departure, your phone dings, telling you you’ve received a message. an unknown number, who you assume is Tsukishima, has sent you a schedule of the Sendai Frogs games for the rest of the season.
oh you think, he wanted me to come.
after your odd run-in with Tsukishima, Yamaguchi started pushing you a little more to attend the games, and you found yourself going out of your way to make time to go. it was always an experience seeing the force of Kyoutani’s hits, and the speed and agility of Tsukishima’s blocks.
it was nice, embracing the cheers of the team when they saw you for the first time since the past game from months ago. you were warming up to them, and it was always comforting making new friends.
but of course, life happened.
when the holidays rolled around, however, you felt yourself slipping into a pit. this year, you had no friends to hang out with, and no job to distract you. Yamaguchi made numerous attempts to get you out of your room before leaving to see family, but was painfully unsuccessful.
this holiday season, you had no one.
except for Tsukishima Kei apparently, who was standing outside your apartment door according to his recent text message to you. after attending a few more of the Frogs games, you and Tsukishima had grown a little closer than before, but you wouldn’t necessarily call him a friend.
you groaned as another message notification rang through your empty apartment.
Tsukishima: wake up
Tsukishima: I'm outside
Tsukishima: I know you’re seeing these
you wait a few minutes, hoping he’ll take the hint and just leave you in your pool of self-pity, but history has proved that Tsukishima doesn’t understand cues of when to leave. you hear a resounding knock on your door, and decide to just let him in for whatever he needs.
when you open your door, the sight of Tsukishima shakes you a little bit. his hair is covered by an adorable frog beanie, and a pink tint covers his nose and cheeks beautifully. his hands are shoved into the pockets of his coat, and on his arm lays another jacket, which he shoves into your arms after giving you a quick once-over.
before you can ask him what he’s doing here, or make yourself look more presentable, he gently wraps an arm around your wrist, dragging you across the street before stopping in front of your neighborhood café.
he shoots you a quick look, trying to read your silent consent before he walks in with you in tow. as if on cue, the barista calls his name and places two drinks out on the serving table. it isn’t until he reaches for the drinks that you realize he was still holding your wrist.
as you sit across from him at one of the café's tables, he passes you your cup. you suspiciously take a sip, until you find your eyebrows shooting up at the taste of your favorite drink.
“did Yamaguchi send you a y/n to-do list or something?” you lightly joked. he took a sip of his drink before meeting your eyes.
“is it so hard to believe that I know things about you by now?”
not knowing what to say, you decided to just focus on the drink in your hand. the silence soon shifted from peaceful to awkward, neither of you really knowing what to say, and you not really understanding why you’re sitting in the middle of a café across from him right now.
when you look at him, he looks away from you, and when he looks at you, it’s when you’ve looked away. you sigh to yourself, not understanding this random game of cat and mouse.
“how’s your indigestion?” he questions, breaking the silence in the worst possible way.
your head shoots up at this. his expression seems entirely serious. you tilt your head in confusion.
“are you poking fun at me?”
“no, I'm genuinely curious” he sighed.
“you sound sarcastic.” you muttered, reaching for your drink once again.
he takes off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose in slight frustration. you questioned if there was something irritating about your presence, but kept it to yourself. another beat of silence passed before Tsukishima attempted to continue the conversation.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. it was just an innocent question.”
“then why’d you laugh at me?”
the confused expression on his face makes you want to slap him, but it also makes you want to reach across the table and smooth out his eyebrows.
“because it was funny at the time, so let’s just move on.”
caught off-guard by his abruptness, you decide to drop the topic. this time, it doesn’t take much energy to continue conversing with him. you both talk about your hobbies and classes, and he tells you about his family. it was more comfortable than you had expected, and you certainly never thought you would be calling Tsukishima Kei a friend by nighttime.
over the span of holiday break, Tsukishima has knocked on your door every day and dragged you to the neighborhood café. it became a sort-of unspoken daily ritual, and neither of you seemed to be complaining. you thought you’d grow sick of the taste of coffee, but something about Tsukishima’s presence always made it tastier. the more you saw of him, the more you grew to appreciate the little things about him, like his attention to detail, or his tendency to wipe the right lens of his glasses before the left lens. it was clear to you that you had started to harbor some feelings for the middle blocker, and you had no idea what to do with them.
while your relationship friendship with him was growing, Tsukishima was slowly becoming more comfortable with you too. he liked the way you still tried to talk to him, to get to know him, even when he says asshole-ish things. he admired the shine in your eyes whenever you opened the door to see him, the jacket he lent you already draped over your body.
the dragging you by your wrist soon became pulling you along gently, which soon became walking side-by-side, which developed into brushing your fingers against each other’s, before you both evolved into holding hands.
“I lied to you a few weeks ago,” he says over his cup of tea as he retracts his hand from yours. he figured it would be better to try a less-caffeinated drink, and less physical contact with you to remain composed for the things he means to say today.
“I laughed at you because I was nervous. Yamaguchi spent months telling me I had to meet his attractive roommate who was ‘just my type’, and the first time he left me alone in your apartment, I had to run into you. I laughed because he was right, and it made me nervous. I didn’t give a fuck about your indigestion. who cares? and I guess I lied because I don’t know how to talk to you, everything I say comes out wrong, and it’s frustrating because I don’t want to seem like an asshole but I just do.”
he panted quietly after finishing his rambling. if the confession wasn’t such a serious topic, you would’ve dropped your jaw the way you so desperately wanted to. he found you...attractive. while your feelings for him were still fresh and developing, you knew that this was an opportunity you couldn’t miss to get closer to him.
you’re unsuccessful in hiding your smile, opting to make light of the situation instead.
“maybe if you buy me enough coffee, I’ll kiss you.” you tease. you don’t miss the way his face flares up, and his grip on his tea tightens slightly. oh?
eager to change the topic, he starts talking about a new book he started reading. you tune out more than once, more focused on analyzing his confession and admiring his features than listening about fossils.
Tsukki: open your door
the text tone from your phone wakes you up from your slumber, squinting your eyes to see a message from your crush close friend.
Y/N: you have a spare key Tsukki just open the door? you woke me up btw </3
Tsukki: that ruins the flair of it all
refusing to argue with him, you push yourself out of bed with a groan, and sleepily stumble to unlock your door, where you see Tsukishima holding two very large cups of coffee. he gives you a gentle smile before kicking off his shoes and setting himself onto your couch.
“is this enough?” he questions.
“enough for what? heart palpitations?” you joke.
“enough for a kiss.”
if someone had told you in the beginning of winter that by the end of December you would be cuddled up to Tsukishima Kei, sharing a kiss with him on your old couch, you’d laugh in their face and ask them what fanfiction they read. but as you lay in his arms for the first time, you realize that, despite the journey to get here, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. he was an unexpected force in your life, and he helped you through one of your weakest times. maybe it was too early to tell, but you felt cared for, and you cared for him more than you realized.
in Tsukishima’s arms, you found yourself admiring the snow outside once again, nothing on your mind but the cup of coffee in your hand, the next tv show on your watchlist, and your significant other’s warm embrace.
if someone told you that a year from now, you and Tsukishima would be cuddled up in the early morning, sharing coffee and kisses in your own shared apartment; that he would still know your favorite coffee order, and he’d be telling you how in love with you he is, you would dreamily smile, and tell them,
this is for @mortedeveles, who is my hq secret santa recipient!! i hope you like it as i had a lot of fun writing it and using your prompts!!
for @momochimo's hq secret santa event (the light border also belongs to them!!)
wc: 2.7k | rated t | kyotani x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)
Drifting upstairs, you let yourself into his room with ease. It’s tidy, as usual, and his bed is made, though not super neatly. Despite yourself, you smile. It’s barely big enough to fit the both of you in it now, but still you try, cramming into each other’s space without hesitation.
Rifling through his drawers, you pull out a pair of his sweats and realize you’re still wearing his club jacket. You don’t want to change out of it, but the sight of one of his soft crewnecks persuades you.
Folding your uniform and leaving it on his dresser, you make your way back downstairs. An old, familiar movie from your childhood is loaded up, and Kentarou’s gathered some food and drinks.
“I figured you’d like to watch this,” Ken says softly, moving over so you can sit on the couch.
“Good choice,” you say, matching his tone, warmth spreading through your veins. You sit, and as he presses play, he also pulls you into him, throwing a blanket over the both of you.
The familiar intro scene rolls across the screen, and you press your head into his shoulder. Your earlier dismay seems so far away now, almost unbelievable. How could you have been feeling so bad earlier when you now feel so good?
