Work Text:
It's like he could drown in the sheer amount of relief that washes over him in that instant; the sheer intensity of the feeling leaves him weak on the knees.
He's not much of a crier, but he thinks this is what it feels like to want to let the tears roll down his face and not care. He's beyond caring right now – but he won't cry, if only because he's too stubborn to let emotions run rampant before he's back at the apartment.
The sharp prickling behind his eyelids makes him rub at his eyes with his thumb and index finger, and Kei tries to ignore the wetness that he feels press against them.
This feels like the greatest victory he's achieved since Karasuno times.
It sounds pathetic, if he stops to think about it.
He is kind of pathetic, being so happy for finishing one fucking thesis that he hadn't even worked on all that seriously.
.
.
.
”I knew you could pull it off, Tsukki,” Kuroo laughs when Kei tells him about it – tells him in clipped words 'I did it, I finished the godforsaken thesis and turned it in' – and there's that certain glint in his eye that Kei's good at ignoring.
So good that it might as well not exist in the first place.
”Well, I didn't,” he says at length as he leans against the back of the couch, legs pulled up beside him. Kuroo watches him carefully with a smile that makes Kei think of a cat on the verge of leaping upon an unsuspecting mouse.
Kuroo's eyes flicker and gleam, and Kei purposely looks away towards the small coffee table and the books piled on top of it.
”Cramming for entrance exams?” he asks, even though he knows the answer without asking as he glances at Kuroo from the corner of his eye.
He can't help watching him.
It's a hard habit to get rid of; just like how Kuroo finds it difficult to quit smoking.
Kuroo ruffles at his own hair, making it even worse case of a bedhead than before if that's even possible. Kei bites at his lower lip, fighting off a smile.
”Yeah,” Kuroo says, and his expression shifts to a wary, almost worried one as he too looks at the books on top of the table. ”I'd say I can get in, no problem, but shit I hate physics.”
”Your confidence is charming,” Kei snickers, but in all honesty he knows the feeling of helplessness that sometimes shows on Kuroo's face, too. Like they're stuck in a spider's web with no way out. Struggling only makes the web cling tighter to their skin, trapping them to wait for the spider to come and eat them.
”That's what you like about me,” Kuroo's weariness turns into a bright grin and devilish glint in his eyes, and Kei feels like he's screwed.
”Let's have some drinks to celebrate the occasion, Tsukki,” Kuroo continues, rolling his (wide, Kei notes for the millionth time) shoulders as he gets up. ”I think I have vodka stuffed somewhere.”
”You hate vodka,” Kei rolls his eyes, but knows the reason for it.
”But you like it.” Aaaand there it is, the sole reason Kei wishes he hadn't agreed to share an apartment with Kuroo, who is more thoughtful than anyone ever gave him credit for.
More thoughtful than what Kei deserves, too.
”Fine,” he agrees, pinching at the bridge of his nose. ”Vodka sounds good right now, actually.”
”Thought so,” Kuroo snickers from a distance, and Kei nearly punches himself in the face.
.
.
.
It's not like he drinks often. He tries to tell himself that that's what makes this occasion alright and acceptable, but there's that vague feeling in his gut that says that this is a problem that he could get used to.
Besides, alcohol makes looking at Kuroo's face much more bearable. Either it's the courage of the bottle, or just Kei's current fuck it I'm done with the thesis and I don't care anymore attitude times ten.
He thinks it's a little bit of both that makes him not pull himself away when Kuroo's shoulder bumps against his.
”How does it feel like, finishing that thing,” Kuroo asks, and Kei furrows his brows and tries to find an answer that makes sense. It's hard, when he's tipsy and all he really wants is to-
”Like I should have tried harder,” Kei says, ”I don't know. Surreal.”
It is surreal; spending so much time worrying over the unwritten pages and grammatical issues and simply everything, only to somehow manage to finish and hand it in and receive a congratulatory smile from the professor even though no one knows if the thesis is any good yet.
”You tried hard enough,” Kuroo hums, and there's that look in his eyes that Kei knows too well. ”You did it, Tsukki.”
It's weird to have someone be proud of him when he can't be proud of himself even despite everything that had happened in high school.
It's even stranger that that someone is Kuroo Tetsurou.
(Or maybe it's not as weird as it is frightening.)
.
.
.
”You wanna come with me and the rest of the guys to play some volleyball this weekend?” Kuroo asks somewhere between the third and fourth shot of vodka, and Kei actually stops from picking up his own glass to consider his answer.
”Guys as in Bokuto-san?” Kei grimaces at the thought; Bokuto's always been difficult for him to deal with when Kuroo's nearby.
He thinks about that one summer camp and Bokuto slapping him on the back, effectively making Kei choke and Kuroo laugh.
It's one of the worst (best) memories he has, to be honest.
It's sad how he remembers more of his high school years than the last ones he's been attending university.
”Well, him included,” Kuroo shrugs, and looks at Kei like he's trying to figure him out. ”Some from the old Nekoma team. Sawamura, Sugawara and the guy that looks like he's dealing drugs for living. Probably your wonder duo, as well.”
”I'm not dealing with Kageyama when I don't have to,” Kei immediately says, but in reality it would probably be good to see ”the King” again. If not for anything else, then at least as a reminder that some things would never change.
(That he hasn't changed.)
”C'mon, Tsukki,” Kuroo sighs, his arm goes around Kei's waist, and presses cheek against cheek. ”You're doing so well recently; I think you really should. Have fun. With me... with the old gang.” Kuroo's voice wavers slightly, and Kei wonders why it's so important to him. Why Kei's well-being still matters to him even after all the yelling and Kei's panic attacks and meltdowns during these grueling months.
Kei sighs.
Kuroo grins tentatively, turning his head to look at Kei.
”Fine.”
Kuroo hoots.
He literally hoots.
”Because Bokuto's gonna be so excited,” he explains himself when Kei stares at him flatly. In all honesty, Kei can't help it when he laughs – it's a quiet, barely there laugh, but Kuroo hears it, and his eyes light up like fireworks.
Kei feels like he can't breathe as he reaches out for more alcohol.
.
.
.
Kuroo touches him.
He does that a lot on a regular basis, honestly, and Kei's mostly used to it after living with him for so long.
Kuroo's hand rubs at Kei's hip while Kuroo talks about nonsensical things – something about going to watch fireflies with Kenma when summer comes – and Kei listens simply because that's what he always does. This is what they always do. Kuroo talks, and Kei either listens or doesn't.
It's different this time, though. Kei feels freer than he has felt in a long time, there's the giddiness from alcohol, and Kuroo's lips look really, really good.
Superficial, but Kei is usually too caught up in the real in-depth things, so he's alright with this for once.
It's easier to accept the deep attraction he feels for Kuroo when he's drunk off his mind – or getting there, at least – and Kuroo's smiling, pretty drunk himself, and rambling about something that's slowly starting to lose its meaning as Kei's eyes flicker to Kuroo's lips.
He's spent too much time fucking every important relationship up.
He hasn't managed to fuck this one up yet, even though he has tried – on purpose, occasionally, when he has thought he doesn't deserve even a smidgen of Kuroo's friendship and warmth – and sometimes he's thankful, but mostly he's afraid.
The fear of creating new relationships that are bound to break off eventually is one that he's never been able to get over. He's always been happy with just Yamaguchi, who's patient enough with Kei's moods and doesn't mind the sharpness of his tongue when anxiety hits hard.
(Yamaguchi never settled for just Kei's friendship, though; he has good relationships with a lot of people, and a ginger-haired nuisance as a boyfriend. Though, Kei supposes reluctantly, Hinata has his moments.)
That fear cripples him, it has always been crippling him during the length of his (unlikely) friendship with Kuroo.
It's a delicate thing, both the relationship and Kei's own self-esteem.
But he's just...
He's done being scared all the time – of university homework and of the relationship with Kuroo.
So he leans in and does something he's considered on some occasions. He has never found it in himself to do it or talk to Kuroo about wanting to do it, about wanting to kiss him and breathe in Kuroo's breath as though it's his own.
He kisses Kuroo, and it's difficult because he's much drunker than he should be and so is Kuroo – why is Kuroo this drunk anyway, he always takes care of Kei when they do this – who responds by kissing Kei back.
Kei lets out a surprised sound; Kuroo's mouth is warm and wet against his own, drunkenly eager to kiss Kei. Sloppy, too, but Kei doesn't mind it as he kisses back as fervently and greedily, wanting Kuroo's taste to linger on his lips.
His hands tremble as they move to hold Kuroo's cheeks, uneasy anticipation and freed want both ruling over Kei as he holds onto Kuroo for his dear life.
.
.
.
Things escalate from there.
.
.
.
Kuroo's always had this reputation of being a ridiculously good lover. Kei has absolutely no idea where that rumor initially came from, and it doesn't really matter, because it seems like it's somewhat true.
Kuroo's very perceptive of Kei's needs, even in his inebriated state, and his mouth trails down Kei's heated skin, gentle and tortuously slow, unhurried even when Kei tugs at Kuroo's hair shakily and impatiently. More, he tries to tell Kuroo with the gesture. Please, he almost says out loud.
Kuroo (Tetsurou, Tetsurou, Tetsurou) kisses his jaw, his cheek, his neck while feeling Kei's body up and down with warm hands that leave Kei wanting so much more.
”Tsukki,” Kuroo's voice is thick and muffled, but still so audibly affectionate that Kei wants to cry.
It's mostly because of the vodka.
”Tsukki,” Kuroo repeats as his mouth goes down to Kei's chest, the shirt gone since a while ago, tongue languidly circling one of the nipples.
It feels a lot like I want you, and Kei revels in that feeling, he lets it sink into his head and heart as he gasps for Kuroo and tugs at the strands of black hair a little too harshly.
It's alright, though.
He's long since figured that Kuroo must be a masochist, for dealing with Kei for so many months that had turned into years.
.
.
.
They have moved to Kuroo's room at some point that Kei can't pinpoint now, and doesn't even try to as Kuroo's pressing hot kisses on his neck while gripping Kei's hips hard.
Kei likes it, in his muddled-up mind.
Maybe the pleasure is worth the possibility of fucking everything up, even though he knows there's a chance Kuroo likes him just as much as Kei does Kuroo.
He has never dwelled on Kuroo's feelings much, other than the obvious: Kuroo, despite being one of the better guys Kei has ever known, finds him at least tolerable.
But even if Kuroo's feelings went further than that, getting shitfaced and having a one-night stand wouldn't mean anything if one of them forgot the event or chose to never talk about it.
And Kei has always secretly thought Kuroo's feelings were in I'd tap that rather than I love you category, if the looks Kuroo sometimes gives him hint anything.
It doesn't hurt if he doesn't let it.
Being embraced by Kuroo like this, with whispers of utter adoration murmured into his ears as Kuroo spreads him and takes proper care of things, Kei finds that even if it might be the last time, it's still worth it.
Maybe the heartache will be easier to deal with if Kuroo walks out on him.
Because that's usually what happens after drunken sex, isn't it?
Kei usually doesn't hope for much, but he wishes now that he'd still have this when he wakes up.
(This as in Kuroo Tetsurou and the smell of his bedroom, Kuroo Tetsurou and the nights spent studying together, and just Kuroo Tetsurou.)
.
.
.
”Kuroo-san... Kuroo-san-”
Over and over again.
”You're already welcome to call me Tetsurou, you know,” Kuroo mumbles into Kei's neck, his voice heavy with desire as he shifts his hips according to what feels best for them both. ”Ah, shit...” Kuroo groans, but it's nothing compared to the needy, keening sound from Kei's throat.
”Kuroo...”
”Fuck, Tsukki,” Kuroo sighs and pulls his head up so that their eyes meet, their heads close since Kei's glasses are somewhere. Neither cares exactly where.
”Can you just,” Kuroo slurs, and eyes flicker with emotions Kei doesn't know how to interpret, ”calll me by my name for once?”
Kei looks at Kuroo's (Tetsurou's) face, sees the lines of concentration and anxiety, and he wants to ease them off, because outside of volleyball court, Kuroo's not supposed to look like he's having hard time figuring something out.
Like he's not getting what he wants and deserves.
Kei resists the urge to touch Kuroo's face, but not the urge to call his name.
”Tetsurou...”
Kuroo's smile, as distorted as it is in Kei's blurry vision and drunken haze, is still beautiful.
.
.
.
Next morning finds Kei waking up in Kuroo's arms, disoriented and nauseous, way too early in the morning.
The birds outside won't shut up.
The combination of irritating noises and the acidic feeling in his throat makes Kei open his eyes reluctantly – he's even more reluctant to detach himself from Kuroo's (Tetsurou, he thinks and almost hurls from the anxiety) arms.
He looks at Kuroo, squinting but not seeing shit other than a vague outline, but tears his gaze away as he tries to stand up.
He actually manages to leave the bedroom before the dizziness strikes him and his long legs start to tremble.
Kei collapses onto the couch he often sat on with Kuroo, closing his eyes. He still has no fucking clue where his glasses are. He has probably screwed himself up by sleeping with Kuroo. He also probably should start looking for a new apartment with a new roommate. Preferably not Yamaguchi, who already shares rooms with Hinata and Yachi.
His head hurts. A lot.
Yet he still can't help trying to remember the details from last night; the pain in his lower back says plenty, but he wants to play out last night's events in his head.
So he does, but he's hungover, and the memories make him want to curse and cry. He's not ready to deal with this bullshit.
He's not ready to say goodbye, even though last night he had felt that out of all times, this was the best. Might as well clear out his messes one at a time – thesis first, Kuroo second – until they're out of his life for good.
God, I'm a mess, Kei thinks, as if that's anything new, as he rubs at his closed eyelids. He's been a mess for a while, honestly; high school never quite fixed him in the way his loved ones had probably hoped.
At least there had been volleyball back then; that's something he's a little proud of, though he doesn't express it like Kageyama and Hinata, who are loud and overexcitable.
Kei sighs, remembers that he had promised to go play volleyball with Kuroo's gang.
It would be the first time he saw Sawamura and Sugawara since the nationals in his last year at Karasuno.
It's been a long time since then.
They'll be disappointed, Kei knows, and the thought stings him somehow.
He's surprised that he even cares at this point.
He knows things about Kuroo not many others do, just like Kuroo knows some shit about Kei no one else (well, Yamaguchi would always be an exception to some extent) does.
He knows about the reason Kuroo sleeps with a pillow or two tucked over his ears, which results in the ridiculous bedhead he can never get rid of in the morning.
(It's because Kuroo grew up listening to his parents fighting every other night, and shoving pillows over his ears was the only way to make the yelling quieter, softer, easier to pretend it wasn't there.)
Only Kenma knows about it asides from Kei – or maybe Bokuto does, too, but that doesn't stop him from being unbearably loud around Kuroo.
It's not about the loudness of someone's voice, Kuroo had once mentioned when he had been making dinner for them. It's just the tone that makes me flinch sometimes.
Kei can't remember his response to that.
Probably something scathing.
Kei has always tried too hard to be prickly, but even when he doesn't want to be, he still is.
What he feels for Tetsurou isn't the silly high school crush he used to have – which, ironically, had blossomed after Kuroo had already graduated. Go figure. Falling for the unreachable guy.
Now that he knows Tetsurou – his likes, dislikes, the way he doesn't smile immediately in the morning before he gets his coffee – Kei's feelings are different.
Kuroo's not the distant university student that he used to be for the second year Tsukishima Kei.
Well, currently Kuroo's not a student at all – after fucking major shit up, he decided to change programs and universities altogether, though adamantly refusing to move out even if he gets accepted into the new one – so there's that.
Kei has lived with Kuroo long enough to see him go through all that. Almost three years now.
Three years, and his crush hasn't gone away even after actually getting to know what waking up in the same apartment as Kuroo is actually like.
.
.
.
When Kei opens his eyes again, the room is filled with even more sunlight, and Kei's headache only gets worse.
But his legs can probably carry him now.
Good, because he probably needs that skill soon, he think a little angrily as he squints. There's a vague outline of a person staring down at him.
Well.
Shit.
”Hey there, sleepyhead,” Kuroo sounds about as dead as Kei feels inside, and he puts glasses on Kei's face. ”You can stop squinting like that now, y'know.”
Kei looks at Kuroo's face, stomach churning in nausea already. Kuroo's not really smiling – he's not a morning person... well, it's afternoon by now – but there's a worrying, vulnerable look in his eyes.
Kei has no idea how to go about this, to be honest; he wishes Kuroo would be upfront about it if he got what he wanted, that it means nothing, that Kei means-
”You're thinking too hard about something, aren't you?” Kuroo's lips curl up slightly, warm golden eyes twinkling dimly as he bends down next to the couch Kei's splayed on. ”I know that look. It's Tsukki's 'something bad's going to happen' face.”
”God, shut up,” Kei groans and tears his eyes away from Kuroo's face, flushing as he remembers one certain look Kuroo had given him the previous night. Like he l-
”Tsukki,” Kuroo sighs, and Kei can practically hear the smile fading from Kuroo's voice alone. ”We should talk.”
.
.
.
Kuroo is oddly earnest even despite the raging hangover that shows on his weary expressions and sluggish posture as he kneels on the floor. Kei still doesn't bother getting himself up into a sitting position on the couch.
Kei doesn't even want to look at him, if he's completely honest with himself. It might be out of self-consciousness, which he has never gotten rid of, or maybe because it would be much more painful if Kuroo does plead him to stay silent.
You're not even a trophy, Kei thinks to himself.
(But he should know Kuroo Tetsurou well enough to realize that he's utterly wrong in his presumptions.)
”So,” Kuroo says like it's the most natural thing in the world, ”I kinda love you, Tsukki.”
Kei peers at him, distrust tugging at every corner of his mind, and tries to read Kuroo's (Tetsurou's) expression.
There's nothing to find except for tired honesty, like it's something that has been weighing down on Kuroo for a while.
Like he's been wanting to say for the longest time, and has grown tired of his own inability to utter the words.
”What.” Kei stares at him, eyes wide but distrusting behind the frames of his glasses, which Kuroo can see. He's gotten good at reading Kei in the past months, years.
Kuroo sighs, and places his hand over Kei's arm – the one laid across Kei's stomach – before repeating the three words.
”I love you.”
It sounds like resignation, a little bit of I can't help it and I don't really want to stop.
Kei doesn't really know what to say – he's tired, he's hungover, his self-esteem issues want to fight Kuroo's words.
”Do you,” he asks, closing his eyes as he sighs, ”do you really.” He sounds just as sarcastic as he intends to, but his heart is breaking a little.
He expects these things to be jokes, because most of the time they are.
And besides, first loves always end in heartache, don't they?
”I do,” Kuroo says simply as he lifts Kei's hand up to his lips and kisses at Kei's knuckles. ”I always have, Tsukki.”
Again, the words waver and sound like I wish you could see that and do you love me too, which is ridiculous.
Kuroo should know the answer to that already.
Kei momentarily thinks back to the training camp during his first year in high school – thinks back to easy smiles and annoying provocations from Kuroo, sweaty arms held high to demonstrate Kei positions and postures.
It's an easy flood of memories, a series of exasperating struggles for Kei but which helped him move forward in some ways, and Kei almost smiles.
He remembers how Kuroo's gaze sometimes lingered on him longer than necessary, but that might have been hopeful thinking on his part.
”Good job,” Kuroo once told him with a genuinely praising and encouraging smile on his face as he patted Kei on the back. ”You're getting there, Tsukki.”
Wherever there is, Kei may have reached that place now.
”Do you--” Kuroo's voice breaks the train of Kei's thought, and the golden eyes flicker anxiously as Kuroo presses another kiss to Kei's fingers. ”Do you feel the same, Tsukki?”
Kei is tired of fighting himself about this thing.
Maybe he can let himself have something nice for once, even if it might not last for long.
”Yeah,” Kei says quietly, his voice hoarse from the rough amount of sleep he got. ”I love you too,” he hesitates here, ”Tetsurou.”
The slow smile that he feels forming against his skin makes Kei wonder just what he has been scared of all this time.