Category: Uncategorized

“Iwaizumi-san?” Kindaichi taps his shoulder just as Hajime’s leaving the locker room. “Hm?” Hajime turns around to look at his kouhai. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Kindaichi looks a bit embarrassed, his voice going quiet. “You see, uhm, everyone knows that you and Oikawa-san are going out. But why is he still flirting with all those girls? Aren’t you bothered by that?” 

Hajime takes a moment to consider. He looks over to Oikawa, who’s smiling at a group of girls and accepting small gifts. Kindaichi tilts his head in confusion when Hajime starts to laugh. 

“Did you know that I’m half-German, Kindaichi? My mother’s from Northern Germany and moved to Japan later in her life. She taught me the language quite well.” – “Uh. No?” Kindaichi blinks. 

“Well,” Hajime says, a grin on his lips. “We have a certain saying: Appetit holt man sich draußen, aber gegessen wird zuhause. It roughly translates to something very interesting.” And just as Oikawa comes dancing back to them, his fangirls gone, Hajime pulls him close to press a rough, passionate kiss onto his lips. 

Kindaichi stands there, awkwardly blushing and weirdly nervous, just as Hajime pulls back from a very wide-eyed Tooru and says, smiling: “The translation is You get an appetite outside, but you always eat at home.” 

Kindaichi has never desired a spontaneous loss of short-time memory as much as he does now. 

A Witch’s Kiss. || kurooken.

His father had only taught Kuroo three things before he vanished into the night to get cigarettes and never returned. 

“Don’t trust women who are too beautiful. Don’t go out during thunderstorms. And whatever you do, never – never – fall in love with a witch.” 

Kuroo’s mother had laughed when he’d told her that. She had kissed Kuroo’s hair and traced his neck until sparks flew and dark letters appeared on his skin, and Kuroo smiled because even though they always vanished after a few days, he loved the tingling they left on his skin, and how they protected him from the sadness. 

And then, Kuroo’s world shatters in a night years later, where the sky is white from lightning and his bones echo from the roar of thunder. The lithe figure that pulls him off the street just before the car hits him is soaked in rain, their hand tiny and pale inside Kuroo’s. He stares at the now-empty street for a moment, heart storming behind his ribs. When he turns around, the thin shadow that tore him out of death’s grip is gone. 

The shadow finds him again one week later. He keeps appearing on the balcony of Kuroo’s flat over and over again, every night, dark clothes wet from the rain and lightning reflecting in his eyes. When Kuroo comes closer, he vanishes, but only after Kuroo’s been near enough to stare into his eyes. 

The irises are golden, light-spun and sunshine-bright. Kuroo finds stars around the darkness of that young man’s pupils, and maybe it’s not only beautiful women who are dangerous. The man has soft-golden hair, fading into black halfway, and his lips are always thin, pale, tinted with blue on the edges. Kuroo starts to wait for him, begins to sit on his bed and soak up the darkness with his glare until the soft thud tells him that the young man is back. 

“Can I come inside?” The golden shadow says one night. It’s the first time he speaks. Kuroo doesn’t know why he nods, why he opens the door or why he offers him a blanket, some tea, warm clothes. He has so many questions, but none are answered. As soon as he puts the blanket around the man’s shoulders, as soon as a gentle finger traces his jaw and pale lips whisper “Tetsurou”, his mind fades to black. 

The next morning, the figure is gone and the flowers on Kuroo’s windowsill bloom purple and crimson red, and a coin of pure gold hides under each of their petals. 

Kuroo reaches out to touch one of the flowers, and stops. The back of his left hand is decorated with black ink, elegant swirls forming a name – “Kenma”. Kuroo traces his fingers along the outlines, and jolts as it vanishes. 

Don’t fall in love with a witch, his father had told him. 

“Thank you for letting me in,” the golden shadow says when Kuroo opens the door for him the next night. “Hello, Tetsurou.”

“Achoo!”

This is the fifty-sixth sneeze today, and Yaku is really fucking annoyed. Of course he had to catch the flu. Of course he’d wake up with a burning, raw throat and a swollen nose a few days before Christmas. He could be practicing right now, helping his kouhai and improving his own skills. But instead, he’s stuck in a nest of three blankets, with fuzzy socks on his feet and a soft scarf around his neck.

It gets a bit better, though, once afternoon comes around – and them, his mother peeks into his room. “Honey? One of your teammates is here, he wants to see you!”

Yaku’s heart skips a beat. Oh no. What uf it’s – “Who…” his voice cracks miserably. “Don’t – ”

“Yaku-san, it’s me! Wow, you look really bad!”

A giant, bean-stalky figure tiptoes through his door and slumps onto his bed. Lev smiles at Yaku’s mother as she’s leaving, and then he immediately cups Yaku’s crimson face with his large hands.

“I’m so sorry that you’re sick! I know you need a lot of rest, and Kenma-san said that I’d just exhaust you if I came over, but I just had to!”

Yaku stares. He’s curled into a small circle but Lev still manages to give him a warm hug, and Yaku’s heart beats like thunder, a thousand butterflies in his stomach. Stupid, stupid crush, why does he like Lev so much, why is he speechless right now when Lev is so close – his lips –

“I brought you soup!” Lev abruptly pulls back and rummages through his backpack, gently placing a plastic pot on Yaku’s nightstand. “It’s really good, I helped my mum with making it. I…” He goes quiet, and pulls Yaku into another hug. “I hope you get well soon, Yaku-san. I miss you.”

Yaku can’t speak. He watches helplessly as Lev nervously tucks the blankets back around him, and his fingers come to rest on Yaku’s shoulders. And then, Lev leans in and kisses his forehead. It’s soft and quick, a warm touch of Lev’s mouth on his skin.

“Please go out with me when you’re not sick anymore! G-get some rest!” Lev’s face has turned a wonderful shade of red, and he rushes out of the room without looking back.

Yaku sits on his bed, touching his forehead, and fails not to smile. Maybe it’s good that he couldn’t speak. He has to get well even sooner now.

“I think they’re cute,” Daichi says when he’s first kissing Suga’s naked stomach under soft moonlight, tracing the black moles on his skin one by one. “They belong to you,” he says when Suga lies in his arms, lips warm like fire and home on his throat. Daichi spends months kissing them, a year, two years. 

“Please, please stay with me,” Daichi says when Suga returns from a check-up with the word malignant echoing in his tears. 

“I’ll try.” And God, does Suga try. Daichi doesn’t allow himself to cry when the starlight of Suga’s eyes melts back into the night sky of the universe. He only cries when Suga’s last warm touch against his cheek goes cold, and fades out.