you’d believe him. if he hadn’t just let out the loudest, most aggressive sneeze you’ve ever heard.
you look at him and raise a brow in disbelief.
he shrinks under your gaze, pouting. “‘s just allergies.”
atsumu’s face is burning up, and he’s not sure if it’s from the fever he swears he doesn’t have, or if it’s from the fact that your face is inches away from his as you measure his temperature.
“you don’t have any allergies, ‘tsumu.”
and now he’s sure his face is actually burning up from embarrassment.
he sniffles. and you quickly hand him some tissue paper, “blow.”
he clicks his tongue. you pinch his side. he lets out a loud yelp. “you shouldn’t be mean to people who’re sick, y'know.”
“you just said you weren’t sick.” you bite down your smile.
a huff of laughter leaves your lips when you see his pouty face. he grumbles under his breath. there’s a few beats of silence.
“i’ll go make you some soup.”
atsumu’s eyes widen. he opens his mouth, and promptly closes it. he repeats the action three times. you tilt your head in confusion.
he hides his face behind his blanket. “i haven’t gone grocery shopping yet.”
you groan. “you suck.”
he pokes his head out to stick his tongue out at you.
you close your eyes and sigh, “i’ll go buy some stuff to make dinner.”
you hear some rushed shifting. and then you feel something heavy rest against your shoulder.
you slightly turn your head and meet atsumu’s eyes.
he pouts. “you shouldn’t leave a sick person alone.”
the corners of your lips quirk up. “so you admit you’re sick?”
atsumu chooses to ignore your remark. “just ask ‘samu to go grocery shopping for us.”
you roll your eyes. “what if he’s busy and can’t go?”
“then tell him to bring food and go when he’s not busy.”
“what if he takes too long to bring food and we’re starving?”
“tell him it’s an emergency.”
“what if-”
atsumu lifts his head from your shoulder and frowns. “why do you want to leave so badly?”
you blink at him. “why do you want me to stay so badly?”
his face flushes. he looks away from you and rubs the back of his neck. “because i’m sick?”
his argument really isn’t that convincing. and you’re sure he’d be fine if you left for a while. plus, it’d be quicker if you went yourself than having to send osamu in your stead.
still, you can’t bring yourself to say anything other than “i’ll stay.”
kuroo stops in his tracks. his hand instinctively tightens around his backpack. he bites his lip.
he gulps. “who is it?”
“this guy in my class.” you stop when you realize he’s not walking behind you.
you turn around. “you haven’t met him yet.”
yet. he hates how that small word implies he’ll have to meet him eventually. a frown flashes in his face, though it disappears just as quickly as it showed up.
he looks at you. “why are you telling me this?”
and you look away. “i want to know what you think.”
it should be him. that’s the first thing kuroo thinks. you should be dating him. not some guy in your class. him. kuroo tetsuro. your kuroo tetsuro. him, who’s been with you since you were kids. him, who stayed up all night helping you study for your finals. him, who brings you soup and medicine every time you get sick.
it should be him. him, him, him—
your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. the first thing he sees is your worried expression. a wave of guilt washes over him.
he feels like a child throwing a tantrum. he hates it, the feeling of being denied the one thing he wants more than anything.
kuroo’s never considered himself to be selfish. but at this very moment, he wishes he could be selfish enough to act like a spoiled brat.
he wishes he could tell you he’d rather you hadn’t said anything to him. that he’d rather die than see you with someone else. that he could tell you it’s a mistake being with someone who isn’t him.
he opens his mouth, and he tries. he tries so hard to get something—anything—out of his mouth. but he can’t. the words he so desperately wishes to say die on the tip of his tongue.
“i think that as long as you’re happy that’s okay.” he smiles at you.
his heart aches when you beam at him. because that’s not what he wanted to say. he doesn’t mean it. he wants you to be happy, sure. he just wishes it was with him.
but he can’t tell you that. not when he knows you gathered up your courage to tell him. he wants the best for you, he really does. but he can’t stand the thought that someone else might be better than him. not when it comes to you.
and yet, he can’t bring himself to stand between you and your happiness.
“do you like him?”
your eyes widen. his breath hitches. he doesn’t know why he said that. he didn’t even know he’d said that until he saw your reaction.
“yeah.” you whisper.
his chest hurts.
and suddenly he thinks it would’ve been better if he’d just headed home alone. he should’ve left with kenma. he should’ve left before you. he shouldn’t have insisted on walking you home.
“tetsu?”
he tries to steady his breath. “that’s good.” it’s not.
you give him a small smile.
“i hope you’re happy with him.” he doesn’t. he hopes you end up hating him. he hopes you never wish to see him again.
but he’ll never say it. because kuroo tetsuro’s your best friend. and if that means he’ll have to settle on being second best, then that’s what he’ll do.
because he’s not selfish enough to tell you he loves you.
your eyes snap open. you look around before turning at sakusa.
he stares at you. you stare back, quickly pointing at yourself, earning a small, almost imperceptible nod from him.
a smile blooms on your face. “me neither.”
sakusa huffs in amusement at your enthusiastic response.
not that he’s surprised about your reaction, really. it is the first time he’s initiated contact with you. after sitting next to you. for half of the semester. yup.
he’s an idiot, he thinks.
it’s not like he’s never wanted to talk to you. he’s considered it (or so he says), he’s just never gotten around to it, is all.
he takes a deep breath. “do you like coffee?”
you glance at the plastic cup sitting in your desk. you look back at him hesitantly. “yes?”
he wants to slap himself. of course you like coffee, he’s seen you come in with a cup of it before class starts.
his eyes widen, face flush in embarrassment. he clears his throat. “i meant to ask if you wanted coffee.”
you raise your brow. you quickly cover your mouth. “but i already have coffee.”
he can hear it. the slight quiver to your voice. he’s heard enough of your rambling for the last months to know you’re holding back your laughter.
he’s going to throw himself into a ditch. somewhere nobody can find him. he’d rather die than deal with this anymore.
he shrinks into himself. maybe this was a really bad idea, he thinks. he should’ve just kept to himself until the semester ended.
he shouldn’t have listened to stupid miya and his stupid advice. so what if he wanted to get to know you better? so what if he looked forward to seeing you sitting next to him?
he may have taken a liking to you, but not enough to make him want to deal with this embarrassing experience.
his body stiffens when you tentatively poke his shoulder.
he turns to you, brows furrowed. he’s glad he’s wearing his mask, that way you won’t see his pout. (not that he’s pouting—because he’s not. he doesn’t pout. he’s such a liar).
you offer him a small smile. he hates that fluttery, fuzzy feeling it gives him. his face is still flushed. (it’s not embarrassment this time, though).
you blink at him. he blinks back. you gently nod at him.
he takes a sharp breath. he wonders if you’re doing this for your own sick amusement.
he’s got half a mind to leave you hanging. to just end his misery right then and there and leave the class and just tell the professor he was sick or something. anything to not embarrass himself further.
but when he meets your gaze he can’t bring himself to do that. because he doesn’t want to be rude to you. or, anymore than he might’ve already been.
he takes a deep breath. his hands are shaking, his heart feels like it’s about to jump out of his throat, and he still can’t look away from your eyes.
“do you want to grab some coffee with me sometime?”
and maybe—just maybe—that moment of distress was worth it. because that smile and the excited nod you give him are enough to make his unease melt away.
kuroo wants to kiss you, so badly, terribly, deeply.
he wants to kiss you. but he also wants you to kiss him.
‘is there any difference between the two?’ yes, absolutely, obviously, he’d say.
kuroo wants to kiss you and kenma’s sick of hearing him tell him that.
kenma swears that the time his best friend spends whining to him about how he desperately wishes to press his lips against yours would have been better spent actually trying to do so.
it’s so stupid, he thinks when kuroo sighs for the umpteenth time in the hour.
“stop it.”
kuroo sighs again just to spite him. “i can’t help it.” lies. “it’s an involuntary reaction.” he’s such a liar.
kenma clicks his tongue, brows furrowing. his gaze snaps up from his console to the man (read: idiot) sitting in front of him.
he groans. “just ask for a kiss.”
the look kuroo gives him makes him want to throw his console at his stupid face.
kuroo shakes his head. “are you out of your mind?”
“no. you are.”
truly, kenma’s not sure how much more he can handle. he hates seeing that dumbstruck, puppy-eyed look on his friend’s face. not that it’s a bad thing, rather he hates having to see it every day.
he frowns. “is it so hard to walk up to them and ask for a kiss?”
“oh, please, you’d be doing the same thing,” kuroo scoffs, “besides that’s just creepy.”
“creepy, is staring at someone from a far, whining to someone about how much you want to kiss them— oh, sorry, how you want them to kiss you.”
silence falls between the two of them.
“i hate you.” kuroo mutters.
and kenma doesn’t miss a beat, “i hate you more.”
there’s another pause.
“what would i even say?”
“what should i know?” kenma huffs, “i’d be doing the same thing you are.”
“maybe i should just keep looking for now.”
“freak.”
“shut up.” kuroo rests his head against his hand.
he sighs agains. and then he yelps when kenma hits him under the table.
“just talk to them.”
kuroo squints at him. “why do you want me to do that so badly?”
“i made a bet with yaku and lev.”
he blinks at kenma. “you suck.”
“you suck more.”
there’s a pause before kuroo opens his mouth to speak again.
“how much did you bet on me?”
kenma doesn’t look up from his console. “enough.”
kuroo bites the inside of his cheek. he contemplates between walking up to you and talk his way into kissing you, or staying where he is, looking at you from afar (like a stalker, kenma would say).
really, the former sounds like the better option.
“i’ll go talk to them.” he whispers.
and he does, because he wants to kiss you, badly, terribly, desperately. and unbeknownst to him, you want the same thing too.
kuroo wants to kiss you, so badly, terribly, deeply.
he wants to kiss you. but he also wants you to kiss him.
‘is there any difference between the two?’ yes, absolutely, obviously, he’d say.
kuroo wants to kiss you and kenma’s sick of hearing him tell him that.
kenma swears that the time his best friend spends whining to him about how he desperately wishes to press his lips against yours would have been better spent actually trying to do so.
it’s so stupid, he thinks when kuroo sighs for the umpteenth time in the hour.
“stop it.”
kuroo sighs again just to spite him. “i can’t help it.” lies. “it’s an involuntary reaction.” he’s such a liar.
kenma clicks his tongue, brows furrowing. his gaze snaps up from his console to the man (read: idiot) sitting in front of him.
he groans. “just ask for a kiss.”
the look kuroo gives him makes him want to throw his console at his stupid face.
kuroo shakes his head. “are you out of your mind?”
“no. you are.”
truly, kenma’s not sure how much more he can handle. he hates seeing that dumbstruck, puppy-eyed look on his friend’s face. not that it’s a bad thing, rather he hates having to see it every day.
he frowns. “is it so hard to walk up to them and ask for a kiss?”
“oh, please, you’d be doing the same thing,” kuroo scoffs, “besides that’s just creepy.”
“creepy, is staring at someone from a far, whining to someone about how much you want to kiss them— oh, sorry, how you want them to kiss you.”
silence falls between the two of them.
“i hate you.” kuroo mutters.
and kenma doesn’t miss a beat, “i hate you more.”
there’s another pause.
“what would i even say?”
“what should i know?” kenma huffs, “i’d be doing the same thing you are.”
“maybe i should just keep looking for now.”
“freak.”
“shut up.” kuroo rests his head against his hand.
he sighs agains. and then he yelps when kenma hits him under the table.
“just talk to them.”
kuroo squints at him. “why do you want me to do that so badly?”
“i made a bet with yaku and lev.”
he blinks at kenma. “you suck.”
“you suck more.”
there’s a pause before kuroo opens his mouth to speak again.
“how much did you bet on me?”
kenma doesn’t look up from his console. “enough.”
kuroo bites the inside of his cheek. he contemplates between walking up to you and talk his way into kissing you, or staying where he is, looking at you from afar (like a stalker, kenma would say).
really, the former sounds like the better option.
“i’ll go talk to them.” he whispers.
and he does, because he wants to kiss you, badly, terribly, desperately. and unbeknownst to him, you want the same thing too.