(this could also count as 1 (month from when I thought of the idea to when I actually started writing it)
“My parents are coming over in ten minutes so put some clothes on.”
Oikawa rolls over on the couch and stares up at Tobio.
“No.”
Tobio blinks down at him. “Excuse me?”
“No.”
Oikawa rolls back over and Tobio does not fume. He does not. If he scrubs a little harder than may be strictly necessary at the spot of soup on the counter - from the ramen two nights ago he thinks but he’s not entirely sure - well then that’s between him and the stubborn as fuck stain on the counter. Because he’s not mad at Oikawa and his flippant attitude about the state of the apartment, Tobio’s apartment mind you, with the impending arrival of Tobio’s parents. He’s not.
Not. At. All.
Just because he was being nice and letting Oikawa stay at his place for a little while and Oikawa was repaying him by spilling soup on his counters and leaving dirty mugs in his sink and sleeping on his couch in nothing but his glow in the dark boxers.
He stomps out of the kitchen and throws his dirty towel right at the back of Oikawa’s stupid fluffy hair. The way Oikawa squawks and falls off the couch in surprise makes him almost want to smile. But his mental clock says that he has about five minutes before his parents show up and Oikawa is still in his boxers. Just his boxers.
His stupid glow in the dark boxers that are just as impractical as Oikawa is.
“Clothes,” he says instead of all the other things rattling around in his brain. Things like ‘why are you still here’ and ‘what are you running from’ and ‘why am I letting you do this’ are at the tip of his tongue. He swallows them all down with a deep breath. He just wants to show his parents that he’s okay. That he can take care of himself. That he does, in fact, have his life together. To a degree. But them coming over and seeing his stained counters and clothes scattered around his bedroom and his cluttered living room won’t show that at. At all.
“Please,” he adds softly. “My parents haven’t been here since I moved in almost a year ago and I just want them to see…” He sighs. “I want them to know…”
Oikawa rolls over once again and peers up at Tobio. He knows that he’s peering and not staring because, well, he just knows. He knows the differences between Oikawa’s looks, has known for years now.
“Oh Tobio,” Oikawa says softly. “They know. I can promise you that.” Tobio does smile a little at that. Just a little one. Oikawa sighs dramatically and rolls off the couch. “But for you I will cover up the magnificent beauty that is my glorious body and we can show your family just how awesome you are doing on your own.” He wanders down to the bedroom and comes back a moment later in his jeans and one of Tobio’s sweaters. “Awesome enough to help other people when they’re having a rough few weeks.” He gestures to himself with a wry grin.
The thank you is on the tip of his tongue and when he opens his mouth he says, “That’s my sweater.”
Oikawa raises his brows. “Yeah but I gave it to you. So it’s kind of mine too.” He picks up the blanket he had been using and folds it before draping it neatly on the back of the couch. A knock comes on the door and Oikawa smiles at him. “Lets go show your parents how awesomely you’ve got this whole adulting thing down.”
The warm sunshine lighting up the room is making his skin itch. Or maybe it’s the spice scented breeze gently wafting in through the window. Or the cool water trickling through the fountain in the wall. Or the fact that he knows even before he hears Seijuurou’s familiar whistling tune drifting into his apartment that Seijuurou is leaving again.
Yeah it’s probably that last one.
Seijuurou waltzes into Ai’s apartment with a cursory knock on his open door and a grin on his face. After seven years of being friends things like knocking and personal space have kind of fallen by the wayside.
“I come bearing gifts,” Seijuurou announces. His voice seems to boom and echo and search out all the quiet places in Ai’s apartment.
(and all the quiet places in his mind and soul but that makes his skin itch too and he buries that thought in the dirt of the plant he’s repotting)
“How long will you be gone this time?” Seijuurou tilts his head at the flatness that Ai can’t quite keep away from his voice. He wipes his muddy hands on his pants and stands, peering up at Seijuurou through his sweaty bangs. He knows he has dirt smeared across his forehead and is a dirty mess in general today. He can’t really bring himself to care right now.
“Well there’s a creature disturbing the peace of a little village about a week’s ride from here,” Seijuurou explains. “Not sure what it is yet. Or how long it will take to get it under control.”
Ai takes the box that Seijuurou holds out to him and unwraps it, careful not to get smudgy fingerprints on the polished box under the paper. Inside is an ornate silver amulet nestled in dark blue velvet.
“It’s beautiful,” Ai says softly. “Thank you.”
Seijuurou smiles at him, brighter and warmer than the sunbeam Ai is standing in, and claps him on the shoulder. They talk about nothing, fill the afternoon with meaningless chatter, and Ai hates how much he would sacrifice for a lifetime of just this so long as Seijuurou would be at his side.
His chin wobbles when Seijuurou tugs him into a hug before he leaves.
—
A stormy afternoon that has Ai eying the vining plants crawling through his windows warily. Seijuurou sits at his table with a mug of tea while Ai works on sachets for the laundress.
Seijuurou eventually places a bag of books - research notes he lifted from the last castle he ransacked mostly - on the table with a grin and a wink as he stands to leave.
He always leaves.
—
It’s been eight months. Eight months since Ai saw Seijuurou’s grin. Since he heard Seijuurou’s booming voice filling the space in his home and the cracks in his soul. Since he smelled the sweat/leather/spice scent of Seijuurou lingering in his kitchen. Since he felt Seijuurou’s warm hand on his shoulder or ruffling his hair.
Eight months without even a note so he knows his friend is still alive.
He’s a day away from swallowing his pride and going over to the center of the city to ask Haru and the guards if they’ve heard anything when Momo stumbles into his apartment dusty and road weary and drags him to the medics. Momo refuses to explain anything. He just keeps looking at Ai with wide eyes and refusing to let go of his hand as he pulls him through the city.
Seijuurou will be fine. He’s too stubborn not to be. But Momo holds onto Ai’s hand like it’s a lifeline and Seijuurou’s skin is pale under the bandages and it breaks Ai’s heart to hear that familiar laugh so soft and tired.
(he wouldn’t have even known about Seijuurou being injured this badly if Momo hadn’t come to him and it breaks his heart even more the realize this and hold Momo’s hand as Seijuurou drifts to sleep and he buries it buries it buries it again)
It’s another month before Seijuurou leans against the doorway into Ai’s apartment with that familiar grin on his face.
Magical seedlings that he’d never find anywhere near here sit in row of pots along Ai’s counter.
—
If Ai were an artist he could draw a photo realistic depiction of Seijuurou’s back disappearing into the distance.
A dragon’s hoard of trinkets and treasures fill his apartment.
—
Ai’s mood falls as the sun does, slowly with brilliant splashes of feeling and then all at once a soft darkness swelling over him. Seijuurou is sitting on his couch, chatting idly about something that honestly Ai stopped listening to a half hour ago. They’ve been friends for nearly ten years now and Ai can’t do it anymore. He can’t hold onto these feelings. He can’t he can’t he can’t he ca-
“It’s just really nice, you know,” Seijuurou says as he stretches out one of his impossibly long legs and nudges Ai with his toes, “that you’re the last familiar face I see before I leave.”
(he can he can hold these feelings forever but he shouldn’t he really shouldn’t keep lighting the caverns of his heart with this flickering torch waiting for a breath of fresh air)
Seijuurou tries to hand him a small round container and for the first time since Seijuurou started this whole thing - bringing him gifts before he walks out of Ai’s life for an undetermined amount of time - Ai refuses the gift. Seijuurou blinks at him a few times, tilting his head like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and then holds it out again with a confused grin. Like Ai’s playing a joke on him.
Ai shakes his head. There’s fear bubbling under his skin. Fear that this is the wrong move. That Seijuurou will walk out his door this time and just never come back. But there’s a thrill bubbling too. A wild thing that makes his hands tremble as he runs his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t want it,” he says, quiet but firm.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want it,” he repeats. “I don’t want all these… these things from you.”
Seijuurou frowns. “But it’s for you. It’s what we do. Before I leave I bring you a gift from the last place I was.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t want any of these things.” He can feel his heart pounding. Sweat is trickling down his spine. “I’ve never wanted them. Never asked for them.” His voice is rising with the moon. Steadily, surely, and ever higher. Illuminating, beautiful, and cold. “I don’t want all these material belongings!”
“What do you want?” Seijuurou’s voice. Calm, collected, filling the cracks in his soul. Overflowing those cracks until he’s not sure they were ever there and that just makes him even angrier. Even sadder. Even more exhausted.
“I don’t want anything from you!” Ai jumps to his feet and starts to walk away, only to spin back around. “No. I do want something.” He meets Seijuurou’s gaze. He knows he has tears in his eyes. He doesn’t care (except he does he does and it hurts to see the confusion in Seijuurou’s eyes) “I want my heart back!”
Seijuurou stares up at him like he’s never seen him before, eyes darting this way and that.
For the first time that he can remember Ai turns his back on Seijuurou and walks away from him.
—
He’s sobbing when Seijuurou finds him later. He’s sprawled on the ground under the flowering trees behind the guard post at the edge of town, face red and wet, throat raw and voice hoarse. Haru is sitting next to him patting his shoulder awkwardly and he knows the moment Seijuurou parts the low, heavy branches by the way Haru’s fingers press against his shoulder and the sudden thrum of energy that shoots from Haru.
“Go away.” Haru doesn’t quite hiss the words but Ai can feel the anger radiating from him. Haru doesn’t anger easily and would just as soon say ‘I told you so’ as actually defend you so the fact that he’s so angry on Ai’s behalf says a lot.
Ai hears Seijuurou inhale, can picture the consoling grin on his face and the way he raises his hands just so when he apologizes, and the rest of his control snaps. He jerks himself to his feet and spins to face Seijuurou, tears and snot running down his face as he hiccups through his words.
“Just go, Seijuurou. Go if you’re going to. But if you do.” He nearly chokes on his own voice and Haru presses his hand against Ai’s leg in support. “Don’t bother coming back to my apartment. I can’t do it anymore.”
Seijuurou looks down at Haru and Ai wants to scream. To tear his hair out. To destroy something, anything. He closes his burning eyes and presses his fists against them hard enough to see stars. Haru stands and nudges Ai’s shoulder.
“I’ll be inside if you need me,” Haru mutters. Then he’s gone and Ai is alone.
Well. Not really. But he might as well be. The silence is deafening, the sounds of the night unable to penetrate the low branches, and eventually he has to open his eyes just to see if Seijuurou is still there. Or if he actually left.
Seijuurou is sitting on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest, watching Ai.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” Seijuurou admits when he meets Ai’s gaze. “I don’t… what… what do you want?”
“You,” Ai answers without thought, without hesitation. “Not the shit you bring me back. Not the stories of places I’ve never been and will never go to. Not the sight of your back as you walk away from me again and again and again.”
“Oh,” Seijuurou breathes out. He looks shocked and Ai snorts. Of course Seijuurou never had the slightest clue. Ai was barely a footnote in the existence of Seijuurou. Just a last stop on the way back out of the city.
“All I’ve ever wanted is you. I don’t want to be some random person you kind of remember and I don’t want you to be just some vague, hazy figure at the outskirts of my life. I want to be with you.” He drags his hands down his cheeks and lets out a watery sigh, eyes drifting up and focusing on the flowering branches above them. “Do you know how many gifts you’ve given me? How many times you’ve turned away and walked out of my life? Because I never know if you’re coming back to me or not,” he adds when Seijuurou doesn’t answer. “Do you know?”
“No.”
“Four hundred and seventeen. Not counting today. Four hundred and seventeen times I have taken what you offer me and watched you disappear into the sunset like some cliche storybook fairytale hero.”
“I never thought…” (thought of you like that, thought about us, thought about the future, thought about you, you, you at all, Ai’s heart is in his throat choking him with possibilities) “I guess I never thought of it that way. Of how it looked to you.”
Ai’s brain stutters to a stop. He can only blink down at Seijuurou for a minute while he tries to process that. “What the hell does that mean?”
Seijuurou looks at the ground for a moment like he’s bracing himself before he meets Ai’s gaze again. There’s something fragile in his eyes and Ai is afraid if he blinks it’ll disappear and this soft, vulnerable Seijuurou will be gone.
“It means,” Seijuurou starts softly, “that to you I walked away four hundred and seventeen times. But for me it was four hundred and seventeen times that I had something, someone, to come back to. Come back for. You’re the last person I see before I leave and I linger until the sun sets and the stars rise to guide me because I hate to go. I can never stay long but Aiichirou you’re the reason I come back at all. I never realized you didn’t know that. And for that I’m sorry.”
“The gifts…”
“You’re on my mind a lot and I always find something, somewhere along the way that reminds me of you. And I always hoped that if I saw you before I left, if I gave you something before I was gone again, that maybe you’d look at it and think of me too.” Seijuurou rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and shrugs. “Kind of sounds stupid now that I actually said it out loud.”
“It sounds like I can’t believe I never noticed.” Ai thinks back, thinks about all the time Seijuurou spends at his apartment before he leaves, thinks about the quiet moments and the way Seijuurou lingers in his doorway and how Seijuurou laughs and hugs him and touches his shoulder and ruffles his hair like he just can’t help but touch Ai. Thinks about the looks that he tells himself he’s imagining because Seijuurou doesn’t think about him like that. “It sounds like we’re both kind of stupid.”
—
Rain patters gently against the windows as Ai stares into the dark night beyond the glass. He can see Seijuurou moving around behind him, reflection distorted by the rain, and he turns to watch Seijuurou pack up his things. He’s methodical and slow, clearly in no hurry despite the fact that it’s well past time for him to have left if he wants to make it to the rendezvous with Momo before sunrise.
When he’s finally finished he looks up and smiles when he sees Ai watching him.
He ruffles Ai’s hair and pulls him into a hug, slowly pulling away and inching towards the door.
He hesitates in the doorway and bites his lip as he stares at Ai, eyes twitching here and there like he’s trying to remember everything about this moment, and asks, “Think of me?”
“Only every other minute or two until you come back,” Ai replies. “Think of me?”
“Until I draw my last breath.”
Ai’s cheeks heat up and he throws Seijuurou’s sweater at his face with a laugh. “Oh just get out of here you sap.”
“I will. But I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Seijuurou promises.
“Six,” Asahi says softly, fully aware that neither man in front of him is even listening to him. They’re too busy arguing with each other to hear him right now.
“I told you it was a dumb idea. Why the hell didn’t you listen to me?” Morisuke glares at Tetsurou.
“Hundred,” Asahi mutters.
“I did listen to you! You’re the one who came up with the idea in the first place,” Tetsurou growls at Morisuke.
“Ninety-four,” Asahi sighs.
“And then I said that it was a dumb idea and we shouldn’t do it and I shouldn’t have come up with it in the first place!”
They’re in each other’s faces, well as best as they can be considering the top of Morisuke’s head barely reaches Tetsurou’s chin, and Morisuke’s got Tetsurou’s shirt collar in his fist and honestly Asahi isn’t sure if he wants them to fuck off or just give in and fuck each other right now.
“Six hundred ninety-four stitches,” he states as he sets down the wad of fabric in his hand. He sticks the needle he had been working with into a pin cushion beside the fabric and rubs at his face for a moment. The fact that he doesn’t even sigh when Tetsurou scoffs and Morisuke growls and they both go tumbling to the floor just goes to show how often this happens anymore. “Six hundred and ninety-four stitches I have to redo by hand because I’m in love. Suga was right. Love does make people stupid.”
Asahi’s desk jolts when the other two roll into it and he grimaces as everything on top of it shudders and shakes. The room is quiet for a few long seconds after that and Asahi is just about to lean over and see what’s going on when Morisuke sucks in a sharp breath.
“Kuroo,” Morisuke says in the most disgusted voice Asahi has ever heard from him. “Did you just lick my forehead?
Asahi can hear the shrug in Tetsurou’s voice when he says, “Yeah. Just as I suspected. You’re saltier than a pretzel stick.”
Morisuke lets out a snarl and then the two of them are scrambling up from the floor and shooting out of Asahi’s office. He has no idea what that whole thing was about. Hell they probably don’t even know what they’re arguing about today. The fact that at twenty-seven they still fight like they’re seventeen should probably be less endearing than it is. Maybe he really did get hit in the head with a volleyball one too many times like Daichi always says.
A clatter from the living room has him standing with a shake of his head; clearly he’s not getting any more work done tonight. He heads down the hallway and hopes, for their sake, that they didn’t knock over Kenma’s gaming setup yet again. He loves them both dearly but he’s not about to stand in the path of Kenma’s wrath because of their own stupidity.
just a note these are totally non-linear. they are just 14 moments in times between Asahi & Yui
(about 2400 words so it’s a bit longer than the junk drawer bits)
1.
Asahi only half watches as Michimiya approaches Daichi and says something to him; Suga is at his side, chattering a mile a minute and he’s trying to listen to him and make sure they don’t walk into anyone on their way out of the school. It’s their last day as high schoolers and the mood is somber and happy in equal turns. Daichi lets out a bright laugh and pats Michimiya on the shoulder with a grin. Asahi tunes out Suga and turns his attention fully to Michimiya just in time to see her eyes dim a little. Then she shakes her head with a small smile, as equally somber and happy as the day in general has been, and blinks rapidly. Their eyes meet and somewhere deep in the back of his mind Asahi thinks ‘Oh’ when her smile flashes into something brilliant and she straightens her shoulders, laughing as Daichi throws his arm over her and Suga’s shoulders and drags them towards where Kiyoko is waiting for them all.
2.
Sometimes Yui isn’t sure if she loves her job or wants to strangle everyone she works with. The two feelings aren’t mutually exclusive, she figures, as she tunes out yet another coworker’s mindless blathering. Her phone rings and she answers it without even looking at it.
“I swear you’d think I work with a bunch of children. We’re not in the academy anymore. Why do they insist on acting like it?”
“Because boys are dumb and these boys feel threatened by you. As they should because you are amazing.”
Yui laughs. “You know just how to brighten my day Asahi.”
3.
They don’t normally use local police for security for events. But a long string of mishaps that Asahi wants to stay as far from as possible has made it a necessity. And as the newest designer on the team that means Asahi gets the crappy job of being the go between for his boss and the police. He nervously straightens his jacket, tucking away a stray hair from his artfully messy bun, and knocks on the door to the security office.
There’s a lot of scuffling and laughter and a frustrated voice calling out and then the door opens and a figure steps out into the hallway. Asahi presses a hand to the center of his chest and vaguely wonders if this feeling of ‘Oh’ will ever go away when he sees Michimiya Yui squaring her shoulders and meeting his eye.
4.
Yui stares blearily at the door of the fridge. It’s not her fridge. She’s not entirely sure whose it is. There’s a lot of things she doesn’t know right this moment. But there are plenty she does. She knows that Suga is evil, Daichi is no better, Tetsurou is passed out on the kitchen floor near her feet which serves him right, Iwaizumi arm wrestles like his life is on the line and holy damn if that man was even remotely interested she’d jump into bed with him.
“I want a puppy,” she announces, unprompted, to the kitchen.
“I want a painkiller,” Asahi mutters from behind her.
She spins around, startled, and trips over Tetsurou. Asahi manages to save her, though he settles her on her feet and bolts out of the room a moment later, looking nauseous and miserable.
“My hero,” she murmurs, rubbing her arms idly where he had grabbed her. His hands had been so warm.
5.
She’s laughing, laughing so hard she’s ugly crying with tears and snot and hiccups and she can’t even reach out and punch Azumane on the shoulder. She has to settle for throwing her phone onto her bed and burying her face into her pillows. She can’t remember the last time she’s laughed this loudly, this… freely. Probably sometime back in high school. When she gets herself under control enough to breathe properly she grabs her phone and scowls at Azumane.
Azumane looks truly unrepentant and innocent and something in her chest tightens and she thinks ‘huh’ as he smiles gently at her.
6.
He waves her off, face flushing so much he wonders if he has any blood left anywhere else.
“It’s true,” Michimiya says softly. Softly but sincerely. Her words have a trace of steel in them that makes Asahi’s spine straighten despite himself. “I’ve always admired you.”
“You have plenty of cops and real heroes and shit to admire.” He tries so hard to avoid looking at her. She makes it nearly impossible when she kneels in front of him. He wants to tell her that she’ll get the knees of her tights dirty but the way she looks up at him and takes a deep breath, eyes flashing, makes all his thoughts scatter.
“I do. And I still admire you. What you went through back in school? Everyone always talking about you? The rumors about you being a delinquent and all that stuff that followed? And then everything that happened with volleyball? The way you came back and broke through? Inspirational.”
“Oh,” he whispers.
7.
Yui watches Asahi frown at the papers spread out in front of him and rub at his forehead. He’s already got a headache, she can tell by the set of his shoulders and the way he keeps rolling his head back and forth, and he’s going to make it a million times worse if he doesn’t relax soon. Especially since he’s not wearing his glasses.
She doesn’t tell him to stop though, to take a break, even though she knows she could easily convince him to. Instead she sets a mug of tea and his glasses on the table in front of him and tells him to take the dog out when he inevitably goes for a run later while she, and the rest of the world, are fast asleep.
8.
Yui looks over at him, eyes sparkling with joy, and then leaps into his arms with a shout. He catches her easily and smiles up at her when she wraps her legs around his waist and props her elbows on his shoulders.
She leans down and nudges his nose with her own.
“I love you,” she whispers against his lips.
He can feel the tension in her body, the way her shoulders are tight and squared despite the way she seems to lounge against him.
‘Oh’ he thinks as he stares into her warm eyes.
“I know,” he whispers back. She sinks against him with a content hum.
9.
He doesn’t even want to participate in an arm wrestling competition. But Noya had looked at him with puppy eyes and he’s always had a weakness for Noya. And for puppy eyes. And for Noya’s puppy eyes. So here he is. At the table. Rolling his shirt sleeves up while Noya fans his face and dramatically collapses against Tanaka.
“Lordy,” Noya shouts out. “I thought Daichi and Yui were the ones with the guns.”
Asahi is beginning to regret even agreeing to come to this get together with Noya. So between that and giving into the puppy eyes it’s a pretty typical Friday night.
What isn’t typical is Michimiya sitting down across from him, elbow on the table, and grinning at him. He gulps and slides his hand into hers, trying hard not to think about how much smaller than his it seems.
He fails.
10.
It crushes her heart a little, when Sawamura doesn’t get what she’s asking him and simply lets out that laugh of his that she’s come to love and pats her shoulder. It’s the day they graduate and she finally got enough courage to tell him her feelings and okay it crushes her heart a lot. Especially when he turns away with a grin and pulls Sugawara into a conversation without a second thought. She watches him for a moment, almost certain she’s going to start crying, before she manages to blink away her tears with a shake of her head. She looks past Sawamura and locks eyes with Azumane and he looks so concerned, so contemplative that she can’t help but flash him a reassuring grin. Sawamura laughs again and tosses his arm around her shoulder to steer her and Sugawara towards the gate but before she turns away from Azumane something flickers across his face.
‘Huh’ she thinks as Sawamura guides her around fellow students, warm against her side. She kind of wishes she would have had time to get to know Azumane and Sugawara better before today.
11.
“No,” he says as sternly as he can. “We can’t.”
Yui pouts up at him, eyes wide and pleading. She’s dripping water all over the floor and he wants this argument to be over so he can yank off her wet clothes and wrap her in a warm, dry towel.
“But Asahi,” she coos.
“Nope.”
She lets out a huff of frustration and then bends down to scoop up the bundle at her feet. He knows what’s coming and tries to brace himself but not even his years of dealing with Noya can prepare him to face down double puppy dog eyes from the woman he loves and an actual puppy.
12.
“I love you,” Asahi announces one night. Out of the blue. His hands are twisted in his lap and his eyes dart up to her face and then away, again and again.
‘Huh’ that little voice in the back of her mind says as she sets her carton of take out on the table and reaches for his hand. He flushes bright red when she tucks herself against his side with a smile.
13.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Azumane says. His phone has been buzzing all night, rattling across the counter until she had finally put it on silence and tossed it onto the chair across the room. He’s beyond stressed and she wishes she could do something for him. But all she can do right now is sit on the other end of the couch and watch as someone who has become one of her best friends breaks down.
“I really don’t,” he continues. “You’re always so bubbly and cheerful. You don’t let anything get you down. You’ve always got a smile and the patience of some kind of saint.”
Yui snorts. Azumane looks at her in confusion.
“Everything gets to me,” she admits.
“But you’re so confident and-”
She snorts again. “I am insecure as fuck, Azumane. I’m always afraid that I’ll say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and everyone will realize how much of a fraud I am.”
“But then…” He tilts his head and looks at her, really looks at her, and a thrill runs through her at being the center of his focus. “How do you do it?”
“I pretend. And I find something that makes me able to keep going no matter what.” She smiles at him, suddenly tired and more than a little unsure of where this conversation is going to go.
“And what’s that? What that something?”
She licks her lips and notices the way he’s watching her as if her answer was the key to everything he was searching for.
“Well for the last year or so…” She takes a deep breath. “It’s been you.”
“Oh,” he whispers.
He looks awestruck and he blinks rapidly as he processes it. Then he gives her a brilliant smile and reaches out for her hand.
“Huh,” she lets out when their fingers meet and warmth settles in her chest.
14.
“It’s just been a shit week,” Yui says softly. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” He can hear the snickers behind him. He’s heard more than one snarky whisper about who wears the pants in his and Yui’s relationship. They don’t bother him nearly as much as they would have in the past. Yui’s shared plenty of her steel backbone with him over the years they’ve been together and he uses some of it to straighten his shoulders and spin his chair around to give his coworkers an unimpressed look. It’s doesn’t completely stop the snickers but it at least makes them all look sheepish.
“It’s been a shit day and a shit week and you know that asshole I was dealing with last week? Well he’s back in the station again and he’s been a royal jackass and I just. I really wish you weren’t on the other side of the country right now.”
Her tone sets off his mental alarms and he straightens even more. He can feel the scowl on his face as he presses the phone to his ear to hear her even more clearly. She’s breathing steadily but there’s a stuffy quality to the end of her inhales that means she’s been crying and she takes a deep breath and swallows thickly before she starts talking softly which means she’s sitting on the couch clutching a cushion. He knows his girl. She won’t flat out ask him to come home. But she wants to.
“I know. I hate being away too,” he says distractedly. A few of his coworkers snicker again and he glares at them. For once they shut up.
“I just-” her voice breaks off as she lets out a sob.
“Shit. Yui,” he says the moment he hears her suck in a breath. “Love. Who do I need to beat the shit out of? Say the word and I’m there. I’ll pick up Noya and Ryuu on the way.”
She lets out a watery laugh. “You’d come all the way back just to beat someone up for me?”
“Of course.”
Fifteen minutes later he has his things packed away and his temporary desk cleared. He can do all of this work from home. Which he tells the lead designer he’s been working with when he explains that he’s leaving. The man tries to get him to stop and reconsider staying for just a day or two more.
Asahi stares him down, eyes narrowed, until the man nods once and asks Asahi to send him his portion of the collaboration as soon as he has the chance.
When he tells Yui about what happened she laughs until she’s nearly in tears and tells him she wishes she could have seen it.
“You scared the shit out of them babe,” she explains as they’re curled up in bed. “When you drop into Ace Mode? You’re intense.”
He flushes and pulls her against his side, kissing her face until she giggles again and buries her nose against his throat.
“That’s the thing,” Yuutarou hisses out. “There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ or a ‘we’ or anything like that. Nothing was ever supposed to be ‘ours’ or whatever.” He scrubs his hand through his hair and blows out a heavy breath.
“Well you done fucked that one up.”
“Thanks, Hanamaki-san.”
“Anytime.”
“I never asked for him to love me.”
Hanamaki pats Yuutarou’s shoulder with a smile. “That’s the thing, Kindaichi. You should never have to ask someone to love you. And if you have to ask them to love you, well, I personally wouldn’t trust them to be telling the truth about it.”
“But what if… What if I can’t love Azumane?”
“Then that’s a discussion you have to have with him. Not me. But what if you can?”
—
Asahi settles at his desk and flips through his sketches idly. He’s looking at them but he’s nowhere near focused. He just can’t today. Not even when Yachi pops into his office to go over their project. All he can think about today is Yuutarou. Yuutarou’s laugh. His smile. The way he crinkles his nose when Oikawa texts him. Yuutarou curled up on Asahi’s couch. Yuutarou grinning during a weekend volleyball game.
He does think about work a little. He thinks about the indulgent look Yuutarou gives him when he sees what Asahi has designed this time. The way he tilts his head and rubs at his cheek when he steps out of the dressing room and lets Asahi see how he looks in Asahi’s designs for the first time. How he looks on the runway in any designer’s clothes but especially how he looks in Asahi’s.
He thinks about the way his stomach swoops and butterflies flutter against his heart when Yuutarou just looks at him.
He just hopes the one day Yuutarou might feel those things when he looks at Asahi.
—
Hanamaki gives Yuutarou a look. Yuutarou glares at him in response. Asahi looks between two of his favorite models to work with and swallows nervously. Something happened. Something shifted. He’s not sure he wants to know just what it was.
Hanamaki grins at Asahi and Asahi smiles in return.
Yeah something is going on. Maybe he’ll sic Futakuchi on them if they keep acting weird. He’ll get to the bottom of things in no time.
—
Sometimes Yuutarou really hates the fact that he’s such good friends with someone who has known him since he was, like, thirteen.
Hanamaki smirks at him from across the room like he knows what Yuutarou is thinking. He might. There have been days that Yuutarou’s pretty sure Hanamaki is psychic.
Hanamaki sneezes and nearly cracks his head on the mirror the makeup artist is holding in front of his face and Yuutarou snorts. Then again there are a lot of days he wouldn’t want to be stuck in this whole modeling thing without Hanamaki at his side.
“You’re done,” his makeup artist says. “Azumane’s collection is up in twenty-five minutes.”
Thoughts of Asahi’s newest collection, of Asahi hunched over his desk and sketching while he mumbles distractedly at Yuutarou, of Asahi grinning in triumph as he hands over a sketch eagerly for Yuutarou to look at flash through Yuutarou’s mind and he can’t quite keep the smile off his face as he slides out of his chair and heads for the dressing rooms.
—
“That’s the thing.”
—
“Asahi,” Suga warns, “do not make him your muse.”
Asahi scratches at his cheek and smiles sheepishly. “Too late?”
—
“So,” Futakuchi hands out invitations and itineraries to the party, “we all know how these things go. If you don’t have a partner you’ll need a date that falls into one of the qualification categories. I know it’s shitty. But it’s the price we pay for our jobs.”
They all start to trickle out of the office while they read over the information on the latest charity event.
“So is Aki coming with you to this one?” Yuutarou snaps out of his wandering thoughts at Asahi’s voice. It takes him a moment to register what he was asked but when it does he laughs.
“Ah no. She’s actually started dating this guy she met at the grocery store, of all places.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No need. You know she and I were never anything but friends.”
Asahi nods as they make their way towards the entrance of the building. He opens the door with a thoughtful hum and gestures for Yuutarou to head outside first. They stand in the cool autumn morning for a few minutes in silence, just watching each other until Asahi suddenly blurts out, “If you wanted we could go together. I’m pretty sure we fall under each other’s ‘acceptable categories’ and all that. But we’d have to double check with Futakuchi.”
His heart does not flutter at Asahi’s suggestion. It doesn’t.
But it does speed up a little at the thought of arriving at the party not only wearing Asahi’s designs but with Asahi at his side.
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Saves us both the hassle of finding someone to go with that we can actually stand for the entire thing.”
—
“There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ or a ‘we’ or anything like that.”
—
Yuutarou rolls his shoulders and does his best to simply sink into the couch. He loves being a model. But sometimes he just wishes he had gone into business or something. Sitting behind a desk for hours sounds less exhausting then dealing with makeup and hair and fittings and re-fittings and adjustments and cameras and angles and-
He groans and falls onto his side.
“Long day?” Asahi doesn’t even have to ask, but he does. He also doesn’t have to get Yuutarou a cold bottle of water and tug off Yuutarou’s shoes and grab a blanket from the basket in the corner and cover Yuutarou carefully. But he does.
He does and Yuutarou appreciates that. He doesn’t appreciate the way his stomach twirls awkwardly when Asahi smiles gently at him and runs his hand through Yuutarou’s hair quite as much.
But it’s close.
—
It’s all crap. Asahi balls up another page and tosses it across the room towards the trash can. It’s his seventeenth one this afternoon. Nothing is working.
He feels like a phony. A fraud. A cheap hack of a designer.
His eighteenth sheet winds up the same as the other seventeen and he buries his face in his arms before he can even start to ruin his nineteenth attempt.
Something bounces off his head and he turns his face to the side with a glare. Yuutarou snorts at him and tosses another paper ball at his head.
“Come on,” Yuutarou says. “Let’s take a walk. We’ll head over to that garden. You know there’s never anyone there and you look like you could use a break from everything.”
Their walk is quiet but something about it feels different than their usual quiet. There’s a charge in the air, like a storm in the distance waiting to roll in. But the trip is still pleasant and the garden is empty like it always is and Asahi relaxes against the bench in degrees until he’s slumped against the back of it and tilting ever so slightly towards Yuutarou.
He tries not to notice that Yuutarou is tilted towards him as well.
—
It’s something of a routine now. Asahi finishes a set of sketches and they go out for a cheap dinner to celebrate. Usually one of the small stands near Asahi’s apartment but sometimes they’ll hit the shop down the street from Yuutarou’s place that they’re never quite sure about how it has managed to stay open this long. After dinner they’ll head back to whoever’s place is closer. Then they’ll collapse in front of the tv and binge whatever random shows or movies they find until one of them falls asleep on the couch.
When they wake up the next morning whoever fell asleep first makes breakfast.
It’s not until Yuutarou overhears Asahi turn down an invitation from Futakuchi and Yachi to go out after finishing his latest sketches that he realizes what has happened.
“You sure you don’t want to go Asahi? We don’t want you to feel left out or anything and hate us and never speak to us again.” Yachi stares up at Asahi with wide eyes.
“Thank you again for inviting me but no thanks. Kindaichi and I are going to grab a quick bite and marathon that new series everyone’s been talking about. It’s kind of our thing after I finish a project.”
Futakuchi shrugs and gives Asahi a lazy wave as he and Yachi leave the office.
Yuutarou swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry and hands clammy, when Asahi calls out that he’ll be done in just a minute and they can go.
—
“Nothing was ever supposed to be ‘ours’ or whatever.”
—
Asahi has three bags hooked on one arm and a watermelon tucked under the other. It makes the trip up the winding path to Oikawa’s secluded house a bit of a struggle but it’s worth it when he stumbles through the gate and Yuutarou’s eyes widen in surprised glee.
“You actually brought me a watermelon,” Yuutarou breathes out as he takes it from Asahi.
“Of course. You wouldn’t flat out say it but you were disappointed that Oikawa ate all of the one he had last night.”
“You spoil me.”
Asahi waves off his words and if anyone would dare ask him he’ll tell them his flushed cheeks are from the walk up. Oikawa eyes him but before he can come stick his nose in Asahi’s business Ushijima pokes his head out and says something that has Oikawa yelling at him and chasing him inside the house.
—
Yuutarou stares up at the night sky with unseeing eyes. He doesn’t even flinch when Hanamaki drops onto the porch steps next to him and throws his arm around Yuutaoru’s shoulders.
“You done fucked that one up,” Hanamaki says softly. Almost apologetically. Yuutarou knows exactly what he’s referring to even if the conversation was over a year and a half ago.
Yuutarou snorts and shakes his head.
He already knows.
—
“I never asked for him to love me.”
—
The streetlights throw sharp stripes of light across Asahi’s bed and he groans as he rolls over in an attempt to avoid them. He just doesn’t feel like getting up to shut his curtains. He’s not even sure what time it is other than late enough to be dark enough for streetlights. Which means he slept far too much and missed all his meetings today and he might have had a deadline this evening? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know for sure what day he’s on.
This is what he gets for not listening to Suga. It is also what he gets for listening to Suga. It’s complicated. Suga is the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other all at once.
Sometimes he wishes he could just shut off parts of him. Right now his emotions would be a nice thing to set aside.
Feeling things is tricky.
He buries his head under his pillow and falls back asleep. He’ll deal with whatever happens later.
—
“But what if… What if I can’t love Azumane?”
—
Yuutarou has his phone in a death grip as he storms into Asahi’s apartment. The guy behind the desk looks startled but Yuutarou is here enough that he simply nods and goes back to his newspaper. It should give him at least a moment’s pause that he’s at Asahi’s place so much that he doesn’t even get stopped or anything when he comes in. It should. But it doesn’t. Because he hasn’t heard from Asahi in almost a week and his heart is racing and his stomach is turning in on itself as he impatiently watches the elevator floor numbers climb.
He’s out of the elevator the moment the doors start to open and in front of Asahi’s door before he even realizes he’s moved. He doesn’t bother knocking. He’s had a key for a few months now (yet another thing that should give him a moment’s pause but doesn’t) and he lets himself in. He kicks his shoes off into the pile already next to the door and calls out a greeting as he hurries into the apartment.
Asahi startles awake from where he’s slumped against his desk when Yuutarou steps into his workroom slash office and yelps when he steps on a pin.
Asahi jumps up and hurries to Yuutarou’s side. Yuutarou lets Asahi half carry him across the room and deposit him gently in the chair.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he kneels on the floor. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize I even dropped any pins on the floor.” Asahi pulls the pin out and inspects Yuutarou’s foot.
—
“Then that’s a discussion you have to have with him. Not me.”
—
“I love you,” Yuutarou says. Asahi looks up at him in surprise. “I’ve been so frustrated that you disappeared this week and I was going to come over here and give you a piece of my mind but…” He laughs at himself and shakes his head. “I love you,” he repeats. “That’s all there is to it. Nothing else really feels like it matters right now.” He smiles at Asahi’s still surprised expression. “And I just hope you feel something similar.”
Asahi blinks at him a few times and then his surprise melts into a smile that makes Yuutarou’s chest feel tight and his heart speed up.
“I love you too. I have for awhile. I was just waiting for you to catch up to me.”
“I’m here now.”
“You are.” Asahi pulls Yuutarou down into his lap and buries his face against Yuutarou’s neck. “You’re here,” he whispers.
“You do realize, don’t you, that nearly everything he does, he does out of spite?” Ai looks over at the table next to his. “I mean. He asked Lev out because you told him he didn’t have the guts to do it.”
He really shouldn’t be listening in. It’s not very polite. But with the volume the three people are talking it’s not like he really has to strain to hear them.
“Hey. He wanted to ask Lev out to begin with. They’d had mutual crushes since we were in high school.”
“Yeah. Tetsu was just nudging him along.” Ai drags his attention back to his book but he’s still listening to their conversation. He’s starting to get names. He can’t stop listening now.
“Thanks Koutarou. You’re the best,” Tetsu says sweetly.
“No you’re the best,” Koutarou responds.
“You’re both disgusting.” Ai can’t help the way his gaze darts over at the irritated tone. But the other two just laugh at the speaker.
“Kenma,” Tetsu scolds, “stop being a jealous salt pile just because Shorty’s not here to smother you in affection.”
Kenma rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his phone. “Keep it up and I’ll tell Yaku you’ve been talking about him. What was it again? ‘Yakkun’s been so grumpy lately maybe he needs a new boytoy.’” The laughter stops and Ai looks over curiously. “That is what you said isn’t it Kouta? And what was it you said Kuro? ‘Maybe he needs to become someone’s boytoy?’ That’s what you said last night isn’t it?”
“You wouldn’t,” Tetsu hisses.
“I think we all know the answer to that,” Kenma replies, eyes still on his phone.
The three fall into silence. Not a charged, uncomfortable one. But one that kind of reminds Ai of Samezuka when Momo broke something and didn’t want to admit it to Ai. He’s still stuck in his memories of the time Momo had tried to sneak a whole family of beetles into the room and had managed to ruin half of Ai’s textbooks in the process when a fourth person joins the table next to him.
“Hey Yaku,” Koutarou and Tetsu chirp simultaneously.
Oh. So this is Yaku. Ai gives the newcomer a once over that is immediately spotted, since he’s almost directly across from Yaku’s seat at the table, and he blushes a little. Yaku’s eyes dart over Ai and then his attention is drawn as Kenma leans in close.
“Don’t you dare Kenma,” Tetsu yells.
Everything devolves into chaos after that and Ai pulls out his headphones and sinks into his own world. By the time he looks up again a half hour later all four are gone.
—
“You.”
Ai startles at the voice so close to him. He looks into a pair of light brown eye and wonders idly if he should be worried.
“Um. Hello,” he says politely. “Can I help you?”
He’s at work. So it’s possible that this is a business interaction and Yaku is merely surprised at seeing someone he had seen earlier that day. Then again given the almost wild shine in his eyes and the way he, once again, gives Ai a quick once over he highly doubts that.
“I saw you earlier. You heard what they said at the coffee shop.” They aren’t questions but Ai nods in answer anyway. This was starting to feel a lot like conversations with Rin had gone once they had graduated and he had gotten over most of his hero worship of the older man. “What did Kenma say to them that had them so fake cheerful and nice?”
“Um.” He’s not sure what to say. First of all his boss could come back any minute and while Ai doesn’t absolutely love his job he’s not sure he wants to lose it because of a guy he’s never even officially met hanging around chitchatting with him. Second of all he’s not sure he should be sharing private conversations with other people. Especially when neither of them were technically involved.
Yaku blinks and then glances around, like he’s just remembered where they were and why he was here, and Ai is surprised to see a light blush dusting his cheeks.
“Sorry. I just. I don’t like them talking shit about me and I know they were. Even if it wasn’t bad shit. It’s still shit.”
“Okay.”
Yaku places an order and pays for delivery next week and then, almost sheepishly, asks if he can wait for Ai to get a break or off work.
Normally Ai would say no and ask him politely to get the hell out of the store. But Yaku is kind of adorable and his friends call him a cute thing like ‘Yakkun’ and he doesn’t really want to go home and listen to Sousuke wax poetic about whoever the hell he’s dating but won’t introduce to Ai. So he tells Yaku he’ll be off in a couple hours and they can meet at the park down the street.
—
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Yaku says as Ai settles onto the bench next to him. “I mean I’m basically a stranger who burst into your shop and started demanding things.”
“To be fair that’s actually how most customer interactions go.” Yaku gives him a confused look. “A stranger shows up in the shop and demands things,” he explains with a grin. “That’s basic customer service really.”
Yaku stares at him for a moment and then starts laughing. “Oh shut up. You know what I meant.”
Ai shrugs, grin on his face. “So you still want to know what was said?” He still feels a little odd about sharing it. But all the times at school that he walked into a room and it fell kind of silent had echoed in his mind on his way over and he had figured that if he were in Yaku’s shoes he would want to know what his friends were saying.
“Yep. I need to know what I need to do to get those jerks back for whatever they said.”
Ai tells him and watches the way his eyes narrow a little.
“Well, I mean, I do wind up doing a lot of things out of spite,” Yaku eventually says. “That’s kind of the basis of my friendship with Kuroo. We’re salty spiteful shits to each other. I’m Yaku by the way. Yaku Morisuke.”
“Nitori Aiichirou,” he replies automatically.
“Well, Nitori Aiichirou,” he turns to Ai with a grin and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You wanna be a pretty new boytoy for me to help fuck with my friends?”
—
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Ai gives Sousuke an unimpressed look. “I mean. I’m just saying. You’re getting all prettied up to go hang out with a guy you barely know just to… what? Play some weird joke on his friends?”
“Oh Sou-chan,” Nagisa pipes up from where he’s trying to find a specific pair of jeans in the back of Ai’s closet from like three years ago. “You wouldn’t understand the subtle nuances of our kind of sweet revenge.”
“Your kind?”
“Yep,” Nagisa replies. He lets out a shout and tumbles into the room with the jeans held aloft. “Got ‘em!”
“I still don’t get it,” Sousuke grumbles a half hour later as Ai rolls his shoulders and gives himself an approving once over in his full length mirror.
“You don’t have to get it,” Ai says. “Just keep your phone on you so you can march in and play knight in shining armor if it gets too creepy.”
Sousuke laughs at that and then there’s a knock on the door and Ai hurries to answer it before Nagisa does. Yaku is waiting on the other side with a smile that only grows when he sees Ai’s outfit. Ai waves him in and goes to grab his shoes and his messenger bag.
“Will this work for your devious plans,” he asks as he tugs his shoes on and laces them up. He stands and pulls his bag over his head. It feels a little strange since he’s not used to having a bag on when he’s wearing his crop tops. They’re usually for nights out with Nagisa at a club or backyard cookouts in the summer with Rin’s family.
Yaku eyes roam over his crop top, down his tight jeans to his sneakers, and then back up to where Ai has his hair artfully messed up and his bright blue eyes are ringed with the tiniest bit of eyeliner.
“Oh yeah,” Yaku breathes out. “You will definitely work.”
—
The slightly too tight jeans and the light blush on his cheeks at wearing this outfit to a night of movies with Yaku’s friends is totally worth it when Kuroo and Bokuto’s jaws visibly drop when they walk in and Ai gives them a cheerful smile and friendly wave.
“Morisuke’s told me so much about you,” he practically coos when they’re all introduced. “You guys are so awesome for letting me crash your night.” His voice is pitched a little higher than normal and the other two just nod at his words.
“Now now,” Yaku says as he steps to Ai’s side. His hand slides along Ai’s back and his hand rests possessively against Ai’s hip. It should be odd since Yaku is just a touch shorter than Ai is but the way he tips willingly against Yaku and curls happily against his side makes the other two’s brows raise in surprise. “I told you I could have brought anyone. It’s not really crashing.”
Ai pouts playfully and dramatically. Yaku tsks at him and tugs him into the kitchen. Ai glances over his shoulder to see Bokuto and Kuroo’s heads together as they whisper fiercely.
“Okay,” Yaku says. “Those two are already hooked. And panicking.” He grins at Ai. “Kenma won’t be so easy. In fact I doubt we’ll get past him. But he probably won’t call us out either.”
Kenma sounds a lot like Nagisa and when Yaku hands him a drink Ai can’t help but grin. “Sounds like fun.”
—
It’s been five months of crashing movie nights and coincidentally appearing at bars and being dragged to dinner dates and sports events. Five months of eyeliner and wide blue eyes and breathy laughs. Five months of tight pants and crop tops and tank tops and, on a few nights, Nanase’s borrowed leather jacket. Five months of screwing around with Yaku’s friends and being Yaku’s supposed boytoy. And he’s still having the time of his life.
He’s in the middle of texting Yaku about tonight’s plans, some party at one of Yaku’s friend’s places, when the door of the shop opens and he pockets his phone.
“Hello,” he calls out cheerfully. “How can I help you?” Whatever else he might have said dies in his throat at the sight of Kenma standing in front of him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“I knew it,” Kenma murmurs. “This whole time. You’ve been fucking with them, with us.” Kenma laughs softly. “I didn’t know Yaku had it in him to go on this long.” He stares at Ai for what honestly feels like hours and then laughs louder. “Oh. Oh that makes sense.”
Ai finally finds his voice. “What does?”
“It was a joke to fuck with us. But now he genuinely likes you.” When Ai doesn’t respond, can’t respond, Kenma smiles at him again and says, “I wonder when he’ll confess and ask you out for real. See you tonight.”
And then he’s gone and Ai suddenly has a lot more to think about than he did five minutes ago.
—
“He said what?” Yaku groans and buries his face in his hands. “I mean he’s not wrong. But the jerk didn’t have to go and tell you.”
Ai blinks rapidly as Yaku’s words sink in. “He’s not wrong?”
“Not really. I really do like you and would love to date you for real.” Kenma’s soft laughter filters out through the window above them and Yaku scowls. “Jerk didn’t have to go telling you that though.”
“I mean. You don’t have to tell them.” Yaku’s eyes snap to him and Ai smiles. “Do you Morisuke?” He lets his voice lilt and turn airy as he leans in close. “They don’t have to know I’m anything but your boytoy if you don’t want them to,” he whispers playfully.
Yaku tangles their fingers together and hums thoughtfully. “How long do you think we can drag it out before one of them realizes?”
“Oh I don’t know. But it might be fun to find out.”
Kenma lounges on the counter - the counter - and Haru wonders idly how many health codes are being violated right here, right now as Kenma talks at him.
“You’re both insanely athletically talented. You have weird food obsessions.”
It’s bad enough that Kenma is in the middle of his prep area. But he’s sprawled across the counter like it’s his sofa at home and Haru was trying his hand at a new recipe and kept losing his things. Like his bag of apples. And his measuring spoons. And his cutting board.
“You’re disgustingly single minded when it comes to your preferred sport. And you both have that brooding look and dark hair and unfairly pretty blue eyes.”
His cutting board is under Kenma’s butt. Kenma is sitting on his cutting board.
This is his life now. Kenma plopped down in Haru’s life like a beach ball hitting the water one day and just… never went away.
He sighs and gives Kenma his full attention. To be fair Kenma does have half ownership of the business and probably more or less paid for the counter he is on top of. He definitely paid for the cutting board he is sitting on.
“And you’ve both got that,” Kenma hums contemplatively, “slim but toned look going on. Like you’re not skinny or scrawny but you’re not, you know.”
“Built like Yamazaki or Bokuto.”
“Exactly.”
Kenma beams at him, just long enough for Haru to feel unsettled, and then looks at his phone. His eyes flicker between his phone and Haru a few times.
“Are you sure you’re not related?” He holds out his phone and Haru takes it, even though he knows what he’ll see. “You two could be twins or something. Cousins at least.”
Haru studies the picture of Kageyama. They do have a similar body type and the same colored eyes and hair. But really. That’s about it.
“You’re reaching,” he informs Kenma. “And you’re literally in the middle of my kitchen on my cutting board while I’m trying a new recipe to make us money.”
Kenma frowns a little and Haru is in no way swayed by it.
Really. He’s not.
“What’s your point anyway? Do you have some weird twin fetish or something?”
Kenma doesn’t answer right away and he has fifteen glorious minutes of silence while he wrestles the board out from under Kenma and sets himself up at the other end of the counter to work on his recipe. He’s in the middle of adding pinches of various spices when Kenma hops off the counter and wanders over.
Kenma presses his head against Haru’s back, right between his shoulder blades, and whispers so quietly that had he not been so in tune with Kenma’s voice he would have missed it, “Fetish? No but I think I have a type.”
“Is that all,” Haru mutters when Kenma’s arms circle his waist. “I could have told you that.”
