Category: Uncategorized

Tooru is an expert at flirting. Really, he is. He’s been charming women and girls since elementary school, and he’s good at it. Being cute helps, though, and Tooru is adorable, okay? Extremely, absolutely adorable. 

But Tooru is also a giant idiot, because he’s fallen in love with the only person who is immune against all of his weapons. It’s a boy. It’s his best friend. And suddenly, Tooru is lying on his bed, clutching his phone tightly and typing a message that he knows he’s gonna regret. But you know – desperate times… Okay. He’s just gonna ask him to come over. They rarely meet outside volleyball anymore – and hey, why not throw in a little teasing? Iwa won’t get it, anyways.

[to: Iwa-chan ♥]
wanna come over for volleyball and chill? ❤ 

He’s done it. He really just sent this message. Tooru closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to hold in the helpless squeal that builds in his throat. Then, his phone vibrates. 

[from: Iwa-chan ♥]
We already had practice today. And I know what x and chill means, idiot.

Tooru forgets how to breathe. He’s fucked up. Oh – oh God – another message?

[from: Iwa-chan ♥]
On the other hand, I’m down for kiss and chill. If that gets you to finally make a move on me and stop staring like a lovesick puppy. 

The noise that comes out of Tooru’s mouth is terrible close to those little squeaks that girls make when they spot him on the court. And when Tooru’s mother opens the front door to Iwa, barely ten minutes later, Tooru greets him with a gleaming smile and an imprint of the pillow on his cheek – where he’s pressed his face into the soft fabric and screamed his happiness into it, before he’d sent a message back. 

[to: Iwa-chan ♥]
forget chill. I only want the first part, every day from now on. and come over now!

2 more days until my birthday. 

It is almost unbelievable how much one year could change me. I have broken bonds with friends and woven new, stronger ones. There have been long, long times that I spent solely with myself, thinking too much and too deeply, but it was necessary. I have learned, changed, morphed into a new and old amalgamation of myself.

I have lost parts of myself. And I am not afraid anymore. 

I have given up on being scared of the world, my own soul and body and what events my occur in the future. 

My roots have always served me well, and I am proud and blessed to have them. But this past year has given me wings and wind underneath my ivory bones and strong feathers. 

Flying is a journey, and no one can travel without being changed by it. And I have only just ascended. 

The young men that approach Kenma with slick smiles and confident hands full of gestures bring hundreds and thousands of words with them. They are taller than him, dark or light hair, eyes that glint and stare at his body like he’s fresh meat or soft, warm prey to bite into. 

They pour pet names over him and try to weave a tooth-rotting sweetness underneath his skin. Oh, you are such a pretty one. What is a cute thing like you doing, in a big city like Tokyo? You study – what? Computer sciences? A face like yours could do model jobs, sweetheart. Can you smile for me? I can walk you home. Hey, come on, talk to me. Hey, cutie. Come on. Don’t ignore me. What’s wrong with you? Slut. Tease.

He doesn’t lower his head. He doesn’t duck or run. He looks at them, into the blackness of their greedy eyes, and counts to five. Then, he walks off, slowly. The only thing he ever mentions is what he studies. And, sometimes: “I have a boyfriend. Do not touch me.” Kenma isn’t scared. His heart belongs somewhere.

When he drives home for the weekend, in a train that’s fast enough to blur the world into a maelstrom of colours outside, he’s already on the phone. His boyfriend’s voice is soothing, his laughter kind, happy, sometimes teasing. 

And when Kenma is curled against Kuroo’s chest at night, he traces his fingers over that pale throat until his nails leave a soft streak, painless, barely there. Kuroo’s head then drops back, his body tensing. 

“God, Kenma,” a mumble into the darkness of Kenma’s hair. “Yours. All yours.”

Kenma smiles, only then, for him. His heart belongs. He belongs, and owns.

“You’re mine.” 

And Kuroo nods, whimpers softly when Kenma’s teeth scrape along his collarbone, until he sucks at his skin and paints him a careful, gentle blue.

“I know you want to hear that I love you,” Hajime tells him one day. Tooru is surprised – one minute they’re cuddling, and then Hajime reaches for his bag and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson. Tooru wants to ask what’s wrong, but Hajime just pushes the paper into his hands. “Just read it. I can’t say it out loud, so – please. This is for you. It’s yours.” 

And because Tooru is eternally curious and eager for Hajime’s words, he reads.

One day, my love, I’ll tell you 
How the white gold of your eyes
Conjured dawn’s kiss in my dead heart
Took my darkness with a smile 

And if silver dew of sadness
Crowns the blind spot in your chest
I will fight all of your battles 
I will lay your fears to rest

It’s quiet when Tooru sets the paper down. Hajime watches him, eyes flickering between the poetry and Tooru’s eyes. “Sorry if it’s bad.” 
But he goes silent when Tooru falls into his arms, silent tears on his cheeks, and curls against his chest like something tiny and vulnerable. “Don’t apologize,” Tooru whispers, kissing Hajime’s knuckles. “You gave me more than I love you, and that’s all I need. You gave me – you.” And Hajime just smiles, and holds him.