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When Kenma asks him if he’s always been like that, Kuroo has to force the howling machinery of his mind to a stop in order to find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and it sounds so helpless, so stupid, so unlike him.

“It’s okay,” Kenma says and does that tiny smile that Kuroo loves. “I just want to understand.”

“I don’t think you can.”

Kuroo can’t keep his mouth from saying the words. They’re true, but they’re such a cliché too, and the effect on his mind is immediate. The edges of his thoughts tremble, a wave of dark fingers reaching into his brain and tugging at the wires, he burns and stands and has to do something.

He is always doing something. Kenma can sit and play games, but Kuroo has to –
– he runs in the morning, jogs around the lake before the uni’s dorm, eats breakfast and chases to class and some call him crazy for having classes until evening but what else should he do, how could be just be home and do nothing, they admire his intelligence though nobody expects it and finally, he’s useful, helpful, needed.

The volleyball training is hard but he’s the vice captain and manager, takes care of the water bottles, food, net, his fingers are pale with red sprinkles and callouses but God, he’s so good at this, they need him and thank him and he’ll never hear a grown man call him useless again, a disgrace, because now his mind is sharp, silver, he is fast and untouchable and he – he is useful.

“Kuroo.” Kenma’s fingers are soft. The touch of warm skin against his own is a jolt, and Kenma’s arm wrapping around his shoulder seems as if it could stop the world.

“M-my homework.” He tries to breathe. “It’s due in -”

“You’re a month ahead of your classes,” Kenma says, gentle. “You’re… you’re always doing so much. I love you, but – what you’re doing scares me. Can we talk about this?”

When Kenma lets him curl under the blanket, in the bed that Kuroo only sleeps in for a few hours each night, his mind screams. It’s hard, he can’t, has to get up, has to do –
But he feels the tears on his cheeks, hears the wild thunder of Kenma’s heart and if there’s one thing he knows, then it’s that Kenma loves him. And that things can’t stay like that.

“Okay. Okay.”

Kenma’s breath floods slowly against his neck. “Alright. I’ll listen.”

And Kuroo speaks.

“You know, there’s a saying about how you’re supposed to kiss someone when it’s midnight on New Year’s eve, because then your love will last forever.”

Hajime wonders why he’s even agreed to celebrate the new year with his own and Tooru’s family. It just ends in him having to put up with shit like this. For example, Tooru standing next to him in a wa coat and fluffy scarf, looking adorable and beautiful while the countdown is being chanted by their dads and their moms and siblings get the fireworks ready.

“Stop it already.” Hajime kicks against a pebble and buries both hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Tooru’s lips curve into a smile, but it looks false and bittersweet as the chocolate mousse they’ve had aftet dinner. “What, Hajime? Don’t you understand what I mean? That I just want a chance to-”

“Yeah, to kiss my sister, alright. I got that. Everyone fucking knows, stop dropping hints at me and coming over to see her all the time.” He’s not even mad anymore. Hajime doesn’t look at the sky, doesn’t care about the first fireworks flying already. He feels stupid, so dumb, how could he love someone like Tooru who keeps so many girls on each hand –

“You are terrible. Terribly, amazingly, impossibly dense.”

“Huh?”

But Hajime can’t shoot the insult on his tongue at Tooru. Because the fireworks go off his a satisfying hiss, roaring up into the night sky and exploding into gold and crimson and gleaming purple on ink-black velvet. Because their families yell and hug each other, because Hajime’s mom winks at him, because –

– this wonderful, infuriating boy is kissing Hajime on his lips, cold on warm, trembling and shy and perfect. Because Tooru doesn’t pull away afterwards to laugh it off but instead looks at Hajime with fireworks-reflecting eyes and stars in his hair, licking his lips and giggling a nervous:

“I kinda really don’t want to kiss your sister. ‘Cause, you know. There’s this boy that I like, and… it’d be pretty cool if we could try and last for-”

“-ever. Shut up.”

Hajime pulls Tooru’s soft, cold face into the trembling frame of his hands and kisses all bittersweet chocolate off his mouth, until the sky fades from black to pink and red and morning.

jeannetteleven:

“That way, he can spend his entire evening curled on Hajime’s lap, hands cradling his face like he’s a star fallen from the sky…”

Based on this amaaaazing fanfic written by the lovely @moami

I hope you like it!! 

Big size here

I have been staring at this for a few hours and I am still lost for words, but I shall try. 

Jeanette – this is so beautiful. God, the colours, the shadows – all of this fits perfectly. The details you put into it make my heart beat so fast. I love the mug with the number, his socks, and you even included the ridiculous Christmas-alien-sweater I described. Also I am DEAD about Hajime’s sweater, because One Punch Man is my new addiction and just. Wow. 
W. o. w. 
Thank you so, so much, and thank you for being inspired by my words. ♥ The gentleness of those Iwaois means everything to me. 

The sharp ring of his phone has Tooru jolt awake with a gasp. He sits upright in bed, heart chasing behind the fading remnants of a nightmare, and his pulse thunders underneath the flow of his blood. The display of his phone is alight in neon blue when Tooru grabs it and falls back into his sheets. There is only one message. It’s just a few words, but they’re enough to have Tooru’s mind go still and ice-cold.

They didn’t take it well. I’m coming over. 

Minutes later, his phone rings again. Incoming call. Tooru waits five seconds, and the alarm dies out. It’s their signal, and god, hearing it in a situation like that hurts so fucking much. Tooru pushes his blankets back and uses the light of his display to sneak out of his room. The stairs don’t make a sound below his feet. There’s a shadow waiting behind the front door, silent, motionless. 

Tooru opens. “I’m sorry,” he says, “come in. Tell me what happened.” 

But Hajime’s eyes are tired and crimson-swollen, his lips parading a shameful hint of blood from teeth digging into them. “No. Don’t wanna talk about this shit anymore.” He brushes a hand through his hair, glancing up at Tooru. “Can I stay tonight?”

Tooru’s answer is to cradle Hajime’s cheeks between his warm hands, trembling and scared, and to kiss his lips as if this was their last night on earth. 

It still takes an entire night of weaving their bodies into a skin-tight hug, one that holds together souls and minds, for Hajime to say another word about it. The morning sun rises when he rests his soft lips against Tooru’s forehead and whispers: “I don’t care if they hate me. I’m so sick of hiding that I love you. They gotta live with it, because – because I can’t and won’t stop loving you.” 

“We’ll find a way.” Tooru’s voice is quiet and calm, but his fingers shake where they rest on Hajime’s heart. “And if it means you staying here until we graduate, we’ll do that.”

They both know that it won’t be that easy. Hajime buries his face into Tooru’s warm shoulder and doesn’t say anything. But the smile that Tooru’s mother gives them when they come downstairs the next morning, hand in hand – well. Maybe it’s a start. Maybe it’s something like hope.

Tooru lies as naturally as he breathes. Years ago, when they were still children and far too naive and innocent, Hajime used to get upset about it. He remembers screaming and stomping his foot when Tooru said something untrue, and he knows that Tooru yelled something back that has stayed in Hajime’s mind, burnt into the core of his soul. 

“I just lie ‘cause I want you to be happy.” 

It hasn’t changed. 

“I’m fine, Hajime.” Tooru smiles as if he’s just won the lottery, all white teeth and sweat on his forehead from hard training. Hajime’s hands wrap the bandage around his knee in practiced motions. “Of course,” he replies. 

“I don’t need your help. Honestly, I don’t need this from you. You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile or something, it’s not like I’m going to break.” 

“Done.” Hajime shuts him up with a soft press of their lips. They rarely kiss during training, so Tooru’s breath comes to a sharp halt. His eyes are molten amber when Hajime pulls back, fingers touching Tooru’s warm cheek. 

“I know you don’t need me,” Hajime says. His lies are bad, obvious, as if a bird was trying to use its wings for swimming. But Tooru still leans against the warm touch of Hajime’s hand and nods. “Yeah. I don’t. Let’s go and play.”

Tooru’s lies are perfect, except for Hajime. However intricate and delicately planned the castle of Tooru’s illusion may ever be, however hard he tries – Hajime finds a gap to push his hand through, and rest it onto Tooru’s heart. Maybe Tooru will never speak the truth. 

Hajime doesn’t care. He reads Tooru’s wishes from the light in his eyes, and that amber-gold has never betrayed him once. They will be fine. 

“I feel like I’ve been your boyfriend forever.” 

Maybe Hajime intended for his words to sound romantic, but in Tooru’s head they ring all possible alarm bells. He jolts up from where he’s been resting his head on Hajime’s stomach, lazily eating some chocolate and wearing the most hideous aliens-and-Christmas sweater ever. 

Hajime gives him an amused grin. “What? You alright there? I just said that it feels like we’ve been together for like, an eternity.” 

“Are you bored with me?” This isn’t a joke, not to Tooru. He bites his lip, licking off the rest of sugar and whole milk chocolate, staring at his boyfriend. The snow outside falls in silence. Christmas is tomorrow, and they enjoy the last calm hours before both of their families come over and bring boasting life into the flat.

Hajime watches Tooru’s concerned face for a second. 
“Well? Are you? You sound like you’re fed up.” Tooru begins to fidget. He reaches for Hajime’s cheeks, tea-cup-warmed fingers tracing his lover’s jaw. The worried line of his brows soften. “I love you, you kno-”

“I know! God, that’s not. Okay. Listen.” Hajime sighs, lips curling into a grin. “This is going to be embarrassing. Don’t interrupt me.” 

And Tooru listens, mouth slightly open, as his boyfriend sits up and kisses his forehead. “I just meant that I feel like I know what an eternity with you feels like already. We’ve been doing this relationship-thing for some time. And… I think… that a ‘forever’ with you sounds like the best future I could wish for.”

Tooru is glad that their families are only coming over tomorrow. That way, he can spend his entire evening curled on Hajime’s lap, hands cradling his face like he’s a star fallen from the sky, and Tooru’s lips pressing snow-soft kisses onto his mouth with a whisper of “yes, yes, I want us to be forever”.

hoodoodle:

From the Akaashi-appreciation-post on to Iwa-chan o /
Oh wait wrong emoji, just imagine the flexing emoji, thanks!!

First one is actually based on @moami’s writing!

(sorry it’s gotten a bit quiet around me, I’m still keeping up the daily drawings, but I’m currently moving. I’m already in the new place but it will still take some time to set up the internet, so I can barely even check tumblr. But I get your notes and I’m so so happy everytime!!! Thank you everyone <3)

…I’m posting this from work actually /hides

Talli, those are beautiful! Gosh, I’m so excited to see how the comic comes out in the end (no pressure. Take your time. Seriously, don’t push it, I would wait an eternity for your art, honey.) Your drawings always have so much dynamic and life, they’re wonderful. I’m so happy my writing could inspire you! ♥

“You never told me how you and Kenma got together.” Bokuto lets himself fall onto the bed and nudges his head against the edge of Kuroo’s physics textbook. “Tell me,” he demands, and frowns when Kuroo turns a page. “C’mon. You just said that you guys talked about it, and then it happened, but I need details. Was it – romantic?”

Kuroo closes his book and leans back against the headrest. He looks at Bokuto for a long while. The smile that begins to curve his lips is unusually gentle. 

For once, Bokuto’s right. But before it was romantic, it was chaos. He remembers it all – 

– a night of storm and thunder, Kenma curled against his side as they watched this new horror movie Kuroo couldn’t stand, but of course he’d still lend Kenma his company because nobody could deny a wish when those golden eyes looked at him from below. His cheek had rested on top of Kenma’s hair, the smell of lemon and cinnamon, how was he even doing this, smelling like their childhood but grown-up, older and still young and beautiful and so fucking breathtaking. 

And it had happened, just like that, with Kuroo opening his idiotic mouth and saying “You have no idea how much I love you” into the silence before the character on TV screamed and died. 

Kenma hadn’t said anything for a horribly long time. His breath had slowed down, but Kuroo had felt his chasing heart beat where his arms were locked around his best friend’s chest, just like always, just like Kenma kept asking him to. 

Then – Kenma’s hand curled into his shirt. Kuroo only realized that he’d fucked up when a broken sob rang out of Kenma’s chest. “Don’t,” he had said, no, whimpered, and oh, Kuroo’s stupid and hopeful heart had broken. He’d let go of Kenma, an apology on his lips, until – 
“Don’t make fun of me like that. You – you’d never – someone like me – “ 

There had been a lot of things Kuroo had wanted to say. ‘You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me’ was amongst them. In the end, he went with gently taking Kenma’s hands and kissing all the knuckles, and not letting go until the tears stopped, until Kenma glanced at him with tear-silver eyes, finally listening when Kuroo said: “It’s the truth. And I love you because you’re exactly you – “

“Hey, Kuroo. You still there?” Bokuto’s hand waves in front of his face. Kuroo blinks and shakes his head. “Yeah. What?” 

“Was it romantic or not? Was it easy?” 

Kuroo looks at his friend for a long time. “Not easy,” he says, finally, and picks up his phone that has lit up with a message from Kenma. ‘Miss you’, it says. Kuroo grins and begins to type back, throwing Bokuto a last glance. 
“But perfect, yeah. After we talked, it was perfect.”