#819.docx

you land on the cushions behind you with an oomph. "hey!"

he smiles timidly as he looks up at you from where he lays on your chest, an adorable playfulness in his eyes. "hi."

the syllable thwarts your attempt at feigning annoyance, and extinguishes all the catastrophic thoughts that were about to form. "this what you needed, eh?"

the tips of his ears turn red before the high points of his cheeks do.

"how demanding," you tease. with your arms wrapped around him now, he nuzzles your collarbone with a happy sigh.

"one minute," he says quietly, his chest rumbling pleasantly against yours when he speaks. "a minute is all i need."

"only a minute?"

"contrary to popular belief, i'm fairly easy to satisfy."

you snort.

"most of the time," he corrects himself for you, giving your body a gentle squeeze. "but because you're you, you don't ever have to do much."

"right, i just need to be ready for cuddles when i least expect it."

he hums, pleased. "yeah."

"well, fortunately for you, mr. cuddle monster, cuddling happens to be an activity i am a fan of." you cradle the back of his head, curling your fingers into his hair, and he peers up at you with a look that makes your heart sing. "and i can definitely give you more than a minute of this."

he lets out a tiny laugh that dances over the side of your neck and leaves a kiss there before he starts to get up off of you. "it'd be nice if you could."

"i can."

"you can't."

you pout and throw your arms around his neck, keeping him hovering over you with his forearms on either side of your head. "i said what i said."

"you're gonna be late."

your forehead narrowly misses his when you jolt upright with a gasp and a curse. you run to the kitchen, and your quick glance at the microwave clock confirms that it is indeed four minutes past when you absolutely need to leave to get to work on time.

somehow, you're able to pour the boiled water into your travel mug without splashing it all over the place. sakusa plops a teabag into your mug before you can even start to reach for the cupboard and hands you your lunch bag.

"thank you," you tell him before tiptoeing to give him an appreciative kiss on the cheek. "maybe ambush me a bit earlier next time?"

"okay. or you could wake up earlier," he smirks as he follows you to the doorway.

"okay, or..." you pause to step into your shoes and with his hand already there for you to hold to steady yourself, you pull yourself towards him to whisper in his ear.

"morning cuddles... in bed."

you say it to tease him because surely he's thought of it and knows it's an option, but there's a small shift in his expression, like you mentioning it unlocked something... like an even better idea...

and you think sakusa's about to say something about it but you give him a quick peck to the lips before you rush out the door.

relieved, but also in mild disbelief that your grandma didn't even invite you into the house first, you trudge over to the neighbours', turning the cookie tin in your hands to make sure it's actually a sealed tin of cookies, not a tin of sewing supplies.

come to think of it, you don't think you've ever met her neighbours. she once told you that a family lives next door — a mom, a dad and their son — a boy, from what she said just now. it's not uncommon for the neighbourhood kids to offer shovelling services to supplement their weekly allowances in the wintertime, so you're fully prepared for a kid to come to the door when you ring the doorbell.

not a man.

you probably look hilariously lost for a few seconds before you come to your wits. "uh, did you shovel my grandma's driveway?"

he raises a brow and for a moment you're horrified by the possibility that you've come to the wrong house, until his confusion dissipates. "oh, yeah. this morning."

you hold the cookie tin out stiffly. "she thanks you. i mean, i'm thanking you too but these are from her. to thank you. for that."

he puts a hand on the tin, gently pushing it towards you which thankfully stops you from adding anymore redundant sentence fragments. "no worries, she doesn't have to give me anything."

"oh," you say, your brain lagging for a moment. "but she insists."

"it's fine," he shakes his head, "tell her it's payback for all the fresh tomatoes she gives my parents in the summer."

you briefly consider letting him win, but your grandma will not let you hear the end of it if you returned with her gift rejected.

"then these are from me," you say, arms outstretched far enough to hold it to his abdomen. "i usually have to shovel for her so, thank you for doing that."

the way he slowly takes the tin from you sends you into a mini spiral of panic for maybe coming off as being pushy. then he gives you a small smile that briefly makes you consider moving in with your grandmother.

"you're welcome. say hi to her for me."

"actually!" you yelp, suddenly recovering enough sense to remember the other thing your grandma told you. "she asked for you to come over."

he tilts his head curiously and you get the feeling he's about to reject her invitation.

"HAJIME!"

you both jump at the sound of your grandma's shrill holler from her porch.

"grandma," you groan — the crazy lady is outside without a coat! — at the same time hot — er, hajime — calls, "hi granny!"

"i made tea!" she waves to him, selectively ignoring your frown. "come over!"

"are you sure?" he laughs, hand rubbing the back of his neck. it's sweet how friendly he is with her. "your granddaughter's here, so you should spend time with her."

"exactly! you should come over and spend time with her too! she doesn't have a boyfriend!"

an undignified grunt leaves your throat. "grandma!!" you whine, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you give her another look. for heaven's sake, if she wanted to set you up with her neighbours' hot son, she could've at least told you so you wouldn't have run out of house dressed like a potato, and be more subtle about it!

but he chuckles behind you, and when you turn, his eyes catch yours.

"is your granddaughter okay with that?" he calls loud enough for her to hear but you know the question is for you.

"you don't have to," you whisper.

"that's not what i asked," he smirks. his voice is low only for you to hear and knowing that makes your cheeks flush even more, it might melt the last few functioning brain cells in your skull.

so you nod once shyly, then a second time when you're brave enough to look him in the eyes again, when he gives you a look for confirmation.

then he turns to call over to your grandma.

"I'm fine, granny, Merry Christmas!" He gives her a wave, but she pushes past you and steps out onto the porch in her slippers to trap him in a hug.

"Come inside! We're cooking up a feast!"

"Sorry, I can't," he gives her an apologetic smile, "we're about to go to my grandpa's for dinner."

"Then come over after!" She gives him a pat on the shoulder before jabbing a thumb towards you. "She makes the best tiramisu, you have to try it."

You shrug. "I mean, it's just tiramisu—"

"I'll see if I can, if it's not too late," he assures her, his eyes flashing to you quickly before he nods as she starts scolding him for not wearing a thicker jacket or a hat.

"Anyway," he interrupts gently, handing her the larger of the two gift bags he has in hand, "this is for you, from my parents."

She huffs, a little flustered by the unexpected gift. "Tell them thank you, and to come over for tea some time."

"I will—"

"And you too!" she says sternly, with a slap to his arm. "You never come over anymore! You know how often she visits me?"

"I'm your grandchild, he's not," you add, trying to save Iwaizumi from an unneeded lecture.

"At least come to say hi to her, she needs friends."

"Grandma!"

Fortunately, a timer dings from the kitchen.

"Oh! The beef! Alright, I'll let you go," she waves him away as she shuffles back into the house. "Say hi to your parents for me! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas granny!" he calls after her before looking at you, chuckling when he sees the mortified expression you can't hide.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all good," he laughs. "She's always like that."

"Fortunately and unfortunately," you shake your head. "Well, you shouldn't stay any longer or she actually try to kidnap you."

"Right," he shudders in pretend fear. "Oh, this is for you," he says, handing you the other gift bag.

Your brows raise in delight. "Aw, thanks! Tell your parents they didn't have to."

"Well, it's from me."

An undignified hah? comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.

He laughs. "Merry Christmas."

"But I didn't get you anything," you blurt out.

"It's fine," he waves a hand. "Just save me some tiramisu."

"I'll save you the center piece."

"Sounds good." Iwaizumi shoves his hands in his pockets, and with his cheeks and ears flushed now, he's probably regretting not choosing a warmer jacket like your grandma said. "I'll see you around."

You nod a little too earnestly, but he doesn't seem to think anything of it as he turns with a little wave and starts down the walkway.

Then, he stops. And after a few seconds, he makes his way back to the door where you're watching curiously as he approaches almost sheepishly.

"So..."

"So?" you tease.

"About you...needing friends..." he trails off, casting his gaze to the side like he'll find whatever he wants to say there.

Your cheeks warm with the reminder of the embarrassing moment. "You don't have to listen to her."

"I know." He takes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the screen before turning it to you.

"Wanna give me your number?"

You can't help your jaw dropping at the request.

"So we can...you know..." He scratches the back of his head like he's thinking hard about how to justify himself. "You can let me know whenever you're here and I can come over."

"Right," you say slowly, taking his phone.

"Or if you ever wanna hang out not at your grandma's house, that'd be cool too. Nothing against your grandma, of course, but..."

You grin as he trails off with a shrug.

"I think she'd be totally fine with that," you laugh, before clearing your throat, "and, um, so would I."

You catch him glance at you before you return your attention to his screen and tap out the digits of your phone number on the message composition screen. You try not to giggle when the slow breath he exhales forms a puffy cloud of steam in front of his lips.

"Merry Christmas to you," you joke when you return his phone.

"Yeah," he laughs, "Merry Christmas to me indeed."

Aside from a hum, he doesn't give you any more of a response because you're already on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his. You pull away briefly to quickly gauge his reaction, which seems... positive by the way he grins and nudges your nose with his, beckoning for more. So you kiss him again, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You carefully take a few steps to turn him around and steer him towards the —

"Hold on," he chuckles softly as he pulls away, hands on your shoulders. "No outside clothes on the bed, right?"

You try not to let the sudden halt stop your momentum. "Well, that's not a problem."

"Wait." He takes your hands away from the hem of his top, holding them in his. He seems to hesitate when you maintain your smile, taking an audible breath before he says, "Let me take a shower first."

You hear a record scratch go off in your head. "I'll come with you."

"No." His tone is gentle yet strict, and it's enough to shatter your confident, flirty facade and confirm to you that this was all a bad idea.

You slip out of his grasp. "Okay."

"Hey." His finger hooks under your chin so your eyes meet his. As hard as you try, you can't pull your lips out of the pout they're forming.

"Nature calls," he grimaces, cupping your cheek, "otherwise, you could absolutely join."

You look away with a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "Fine."

"I'll be fast. Don't go anywhere."

You give him a weak smile at that before he scurries away with his clothes. It's not like you'd go anywhere anyway; after your sad attempt to seduce your boyfriend, you don't think you could show your face in public ever again.

Only after you hear the shower start to run do you allow yourself to fully feel your embarrassment. You flop onto the bed face first, groaning loudly into the mattress and kicking it a few times like a child throwing a tantrum. An involuntary shiver jolts through you, reminding you that you're still in the scandalously thin pieces of lingerie you were initially so excited to wear, and you groan again. You were stupid to think you could be sexy just by putting them on.

With one last punch to the mattress, you peel yourself off the bed and stomp to the closet, snatching one of his hoodies off its hanger and pulling it over your head before stomping back to bed.

You're curled up in a ball and wrapped up in the comforter by the time you hear Hirugami return. A drawer opens, then closes and he sighs contently as he slaps on his skincare.

"Are you still up?" he asks quietly.

You make a gravelly noise in your throat, which gets him to laugh softly.

The bed dips behind you when he gets in. He adjusts his pillows next to your head. "May I?"

You roll over just enough to see him from the corner of your eye hovering over you with a tiny smile that makes you a little less grumpy.

He offers you the space under his arm when you sit up, and you gladly take it.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

You clear your throat. "For trying to be — for being weird."

He laughs and it feels nice against your cheek. "For what it's worth, I thought it was cute."

"Sachirou." You sit up to look him in the eye. "I wasn't trying to be cute."

He frowns at your accusatory tone.

"Sorry," you relent. You know you're being unfair. "I was trying to be... sexy," you shudder hearing yourself say it out loud. "But I guess it wasn't... translating well, or I'm just not... a sexy person —"

"But you are," he interrupts gently before you can go any further down the slippery slope of negative self-talk. "You're incredibly sexy."

You drop your gaze away from his, but he draws it back when his fingers trace down your arm and find yours to intertwine with.

"I'm serious," he insists. "In everything you do. Like when you help tourists when they look lost. Or the way you don't flinch at jumpscares. Or when you wake up before me to make coffee for me? Woman!"

You laugh when he shakes his head to himself feigning exasperation. "The list can go on forever, honestly."

"Stop!" you whine halfheartedly, burying your face in his chest to hide the visible evidence of warmth spilling into your cheeks. He holds you there and kisses your head before he goes on.

"How you always try your best at everything you do. Whenever you roast Fukuro on my behalf. And when you put your hair up in a messy bun in under five seconds."

You pull away to look up at him. "You think that's sexy?"

He grins and tugs on the drawstrings by your chin. "That and when you're in one of my hoodies? Gets me every time."

You flap the extra long sleeve at him playfully. "But did you at least like the — did I at least look good? Earlier?"

Something in his smile changes as his eyes flicker to and from your chest. It's subtle but it's enough of an answer for you, and enough to restore a little bit of your confidence.

"You could show me again, just so I can make sure," he teases.

So you sit up off of him to pull his hoodie over your head, tossing it to the side. The satin material of your babydoll top cascades over your stomach and hips over the matching panties. The rush of cold air doesn't sting like before, not with how he's gazing at you almost reverently.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, you look good."

With a smirk, you hike a knee over his legs to straddle his waist and lace your fingers behind his neck. "And you turned this down to take a shower."

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before his hands settles on your thighs. "I don't think you would've liked the smell of wet dog."

"Fine, you're right."

He hums, smug. "And it's more comfy in bed, right?"

"Whatever."

He shakes his head in mock disapproval. His hands, however are moving slowly up and down your thighs.

"You're phenomenally sexy," he breathes, "especially like this."

"In fancy lingerie?"

"Well, it's not working against you."

He giggles with you, but your giggles get cut off with a quiet squeal when he firmly squeezes your hips and pulls you down onto him.

"You're sexiest when you're yourself."

And you wonder why you doubted yourself at all.

Your crash your lips into his and he reciprocates in kind. His hands leave your hips to slide underneath your top to hold your body against his and he feels so, so warm.

You pull away and find the hem of his t-shirt, giving him a quick look in case he wants to stop you again.

"May I?" you blink innocently.

And he laughs, taking his shirt off for you, before he leans back onto the bed, pulling you down with him.

You open a few cupboards before you find the one housing your personal snack stash and to your chagrin, the basket containing the cookies you're craving are on the highest shelf — a punishment by your parents for your midnight snacking habit.

You don't get a chance to look for a stepstool because Osamu is somehow already at your side reaching for the basket you were eyeing. Wordlessly, he holds it out to you, shaking it a little when you gawk for too long. Can he also read your mind?

"Thank you," you murmur, taking the basket. He makes a small noise of acknowledgement before he looks through the cupboard for his next ingredient.

You assemble yourself a plate of cookies and a glass of milk while he carries on with his own work. He's diligent, as always, working quickly and with precision as he carefully measures powdered sugar on the scale and sets it aside.

Then he turns to you and gestures to the milk jug. "May I?"

You pass it to him and he thanks you before pouring it into a measuring cup.

"Oh, and leave the basket, I'll put that away later."

You hadn't even considered hiding your own tracks, too mesmerized watching him work. "Okay."

He gives a nod as if to acknowledge you leaving, which was initially your plan — to return to your bedchamber and spend the rest of the afternoon reading the novels you purchased months ago — but whatever he has simmering in his saucepan on the stove smells heavenly and is giving you another reason to stay.

So you settle on the stool at the counter across from his workspace. He glances at you as you do, and you think he smiles to himself before he turns back to the stove.

You watch him quietly while you munch on a cookie. He's pouring the contents of the saucepan into another bowl of ingredients, whisking them together until he's content, then pouring it back into the saucepan.

"Want a taste?" he calls, probably sensing your eyes on him.

"No," you say, keeping your voice casual.

He turns this time, holding the saucepan out, chuckling when you shake your head insistently. "Alright then, off to the fridge."

"What are you making?"

He returns from the fridge with a tray of tart tins. "Not telling."

You roll your eyes when he sticks his tongue out at you before he puts the tray into the oven. "You're not baking for anyone this year, princess?"

The reminder of last Christmas eve brings an annoying warmth into your cheeks. "No, I bought presents this year."

"That's too bad." He wipes his hands off before resting them on the counter, leaning towards you. "I'm sure everyone would have loved receiving your macarons again."

You're not sure if he knows that you had made them only for him.

"Are you baking for someone?"

"I am."

You hold back the urge to ask for whom, but he goes on. "'Tsumu and I are visiting home tomorrow, so I thought I'd bring home dessert for our parents."

"That's nice of you." He beams a bit at that. "What's Atsumu bringing?"

"Himself," Osamu snorts. "And maybe a bottle of wine."

You share a small grin with him at his brother's expense.

"Don't you have any plans? Didn't your parents go somewhere?"

"A friend's ski lodge," you answer. "You should know by now Christmas eve is a day to myself, Miya-san."

"That I do," he smirks. "I meant tomorrow."

You shrug. "My parents will be back so we'll have dinner with my uncles, aunts and cousins. But I was hoping to go to the Christmas market."

"Some of the guards are there now," he says as he bends down to peek at his tart tins through the oven window. "You could have gone with them."

"I know, but I would much rather go with —"

You stop yourself before you say the next word. And when he stands upright again, he gives you a look with a tilt of his head, waiting for you to continue.

"With myself — I mean, myself. Alone."

"You —"

"I know, I know, I can't," you sigh, waving his reply away. "Oh well."

"There's always —"

"It's alright," you interrupt him, feeling flustered for telling him all of this and almost saying something truly embarrassing. You slip off the stool, taking your plate and mug. "Anyway, I will stop bothering you now."

"Who said you're a bother?" he asks, almost defensively.

You take it as a rhetorical question. "Good luck with your... pastries."

He seems to stop himself from saying something before his lips settle into a small smile that almost seems... sad. "I'll do my best."

You pause at the doorway and glance behind you. He's back to work, collecting the used mixing bowls and cutlery, and wiping the counter as he goes along.

You hate to interrupt him after making your escape but it feels impolite not to.

"Miya-san?"

He looks up from the sink. "Yes princess?"

"Merry Christmas."

He gives you that smile that makes your heart beat a little harder.

"Merry Christmas to you too, my lady."

You scurry away before he can notice the red in your cheeks.

You flop onto your bed in a way that would have your mother scolding you for being too unladylike and revel in the silence of your bedroom after coming from the boisterous dining table with your twenty-some family members. As much as you adore all of your younger cousins, you were not built to entertain them for four hours straight; and as much as you respect the adults in your life, there's only so many times you can handle answering so when are you getting married?

You turn to your side, admiring the moonlight spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the fluffy snowflakes gently tumbling down to earth. You imagine it's making for a lovely, magical sight at the Christmas market with lights twinkling in the background, and people gathered around the bonfire with their hot cocoas and toasted marshmallows —

A knock on the door interrupts your daydream. Swinging your feet over the edge of your bed, you briefly consider that you could not answer and pretend you hadn't heard it, but you know better not to (especially if it's your mother).

You gasp when you see who's on the other side.

"Good evening, princess," Miya Osamu greets with a bow.

"You're back?" you ask, skipping all formalities.

"Evidently, yes."

You roll your eyes. He's still in his winter coat, partially unzipped, and you delight in seeing that he's wearing your Christmas present around his neck.

He notices where your gaze is and touches the muffler scarf. "Thank you. It's warm."

"I would hope so," you laugh. "Now the cold can be a bit more tolerable for you."

He shrugs, and clears his throat. "Yeah, anyway..."

It's then that you notice he has his hat and gloves in one hand, and the other had been behind his back, until now. He hands you a box.

"Uh, for you."

It's rare to see Miya Osamu nervous. You would tease him for it if not for your own heart starting to race when you take the box from him.

"What is it?" A stupid question to ask; it's obviously a gift and he wouldn't tell you what's inside.

At least, you hope it's a gift from him.

"Open it."

"Now?"

"Well, are you going to save it for next Christmas?"

You scowl at him for that, but you both laugh.

You fumble with the cardboard box until you're able to pry the lid off unveiling two perfectly golden cheese tarts, reminding you of the heavenly smell in the kitchen yesterday.

"I should have known," you shake your head to yourself.

"If you stayed, you would have found out."

You grow timid again at the mention of yesterday's conversation, but you find the courage to meet his gaze. "Thank you."

He nods in acknowledgement, looking a little shy himself.

"I'll have to save them for tomorrow. I'm still stuffed from dinner."

"Or save them for later, after you return."

You give him a confused look. "Where am I going?"

"You're going to the Christmas market. By yourself," he emphasizes. "Under the supervision of a guard..."

Your cheeks, already a little warm from the champagne at dinner, flush a little more at the implication.

"The guard being me, of course. As usual," he huffs with a roll of his eyes, but the small upwards tilt of his lips tells you he feels otherwise. "And not to worry, I told your parents and they have granted you permission. Said you need to get outside more anyway."

"Well then, I'll be ready in a minute," you tell him curtly, excusing yourself and letting the door close. Once it's shut, you give yourself a moment to sigh happily and do a very unladylike happy dance.

You don your parka, earmuffs and a purse, which you put your mittens in for the moment. You hesitate when you reach for your new scarf, but decide to put it on anyway.

And when you step out of your bedchamber, you don't miss the way his eyes widen the slightest when he sees you're wearing the same scarf as the one around his neck.

"Shall we?" you chirp, zipping your parka up.

There's something soft about the way he looks at you, and while it feels foreign, you realize that there's always been something different about the way he looks at you compared to when he's around others. And selfish as you are, you hope it's not all in your imagination.

And it's hard to argue that it is, especially as he grins and offers you his arm.

you huff, digging deeper into your bag, trying your best to hide your face which is most likely sporting an angry pink glow. 

“you know,” he leans down to your ear. “that librarian who already hates you is looking this way again.”

you don’t bother checking; the sudden chills running down your spine could’ve been from his proximity to your face but it was more likely from a glare sent to you by said librarian. 

“okay, okay fine! let’s gtfo.” you close up your bag, and zip up your coat before throwing your bag over your shoulder, following him to the exit.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

though the crisp, nighttime, winter air is a refreshing change from the stuffy, old-book smell of the library, it nips at your cheeks the instant you step out from the building. it doesn’t take long for your teeth to start chattering uncontrollably and audibly. 

“oh? is someone cold?” the concern in his voice is overdone and he knows it; his breath forming delicate, little clouds in front of his grin. he’s practically beaming when he slides his hands into his own wool mittens, though he’s already comfortably bundled up in his parka, a muffler, and earmuffs in place of his over-ear headphones. 

you yank your toque over your ears and shove your bare hands in your pockets. “no shit.” 

“you should’ve been more prepared, idiot.”

“i was!” you huff, and the puffs of condensation billow around you like steam from a roaring train. 

tsukki laughs heartily, the way he does when he’s truly entertained, and he’s only ever truly entertained when he gets a rise out of someone. you roll your eyes and walk ahead, leaving him to his giggle fit. 

but it was true; in preparation for the first day of sub zero-degree weather, you had set out your mittens, a toque, scarf, and winter boots by the door with your winter coat. but as someone who’s Always Cold, multiple layers are never any help against the bitter chill of winter. 

and of course, your mittens had to go missing.

you sneak a glance behind you; he isn’t at all fazed by your little storm-off, looking down at his phone with no intention of catching up. you scoff, another small cloud trailing from your lips. 

stupid tsukishima, you curse to yourself. stupid, annoying, tall, intelligent and handsome tsukishima! 

despite the small burst in speed and feeling too flustered, you’re still shivering, maybe a little more than before. the cold air stings your face more, penetrating deep into your bones, eliciting a small sneeze.

“gesundheit.”

you sniffle and grunt in reply; he scoffs at your insolence, suddenly by your side in what you imagine took only two and a half strides.

“here, take this.”

you look at his outstretched arm, offering you one of his mittens. “why?”

“put it on.”

“what am i gonna do with just one?”

“shut up and take it.”

“nah, it’s fine.”

“just take it.”

“no, it’s fine, i -”

it’s like time slows for a moment when he steps in front of you, putting his hand on your left forearm. 

behind his fogged glasses, with how wide his eyes are, you’d think he’s terrified but, tsukishima kei, terrified? that’s a laughable consideration. yet there’s a tentativeness to his hold on your wrist. 

he tugs gently and you allow him to remove your hand from your pocket. the cold bites at your fingers but disappears when the fleece lining of his mitten envelopes your hand, his lingering warmth immediately restoring some of your body heat. or maybe that’s from the blush growing on your cheeks.

“wha- what?” you stammer; whether it’s because you’re flustered or cold, you can’t really tell and you hope he doesn’t either. you examine the oversized mitt, the top part of it limp, almost flopping over on itself. “aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“sh- shut up.” it’s hard to tell under the dim glow of the street lamps but you think there’s a pink tinge on his cheeks. whether it’s because he’s flustered or cold, you can’t really tell and he really hopes you don’t either.

there isn’t much of a chance to further assess the nervous expression on his face when his bare hand takes your other hand from your pocket, and his fingers lace through yours before both hands are buried snugly in the left pocket of his parka.

“let’s go.” he begins walking with you in tow, leaving no room for questions. 

but you had so many. is this really happening? is this some kinda prank? is he warm enough while you leech away his warmth? how is such a cold person so warm, anyway? can he feel how dry your skin is? (there was one thing you forgot in your preparations for colder weather: a travel-sized bottle of hand cream).

you have no complaints though; the shivers have dissipated and the only part of you that’s close to quivering uncontrollably is your heart.

you steal a glance at him. his golden brown eyes are trained on the path ahead, but there’s the hint of a small smile; the one he wears when he is truly content. and to your knowledge, there are only a few situations when he is truly content: after the first and last bites of a slice of strawberry shortcake, a good block during a volleyball game, or when his witty comeback effectively shuts someone up.

your pulse thuds in your ears as you stumble along next to him, trying to keep up with his long strides as he keeps you close to his side. 

“kei?”

he glances over at you. “what.”

you grin. “your hand’s sweaty.”

he clicks his tongue. “that’s your hand, dumbass.” 

“but i’m cold, because i ‘wasn’t more prepared’, remember?”

he smirks. “oh? so you’re admitting it?”

“no, you -“

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

the streets are quiet for the rest of the way except for the occasional car that passes by, the rhythmic crunching of snow beneath your footsteps and the banter between you two. 

the route you always take together brings you to your building first. when the glow from the front entrance lights approaches, you gingerly take your hand and his and you both bristle from the sudden loss of warmth, and it isn’t until you make it to the door when he finally lets go. 

you brush a strand of hair from your face with your other hand, suddenly remembering the oversized mitten barely hanging on from your wrist.

“oh, here,” you pull it off, handing it back to him. “umm, thanks? for the mitten.”

he takes it back and shrugs. “see you tomorrow?”

“y-yeah.” there’s no stopping the reddening of your cheeks, as you look up at him through your lashes. “see ya.”

he gives a small wave as he turns to leave. you watch him for a moment with one hand reaching into your pocket to fish out your keys when he stops a few feet away, head down, shoulders shaking.

“kei?” you call, taking quick steps towards him, but your concern dissipates as quickly as it came when he throws his head back, cackling. 

you arch an eyebrow. “tsukki, what the hell?”

still laughing, he slides one of his backpack straps off his shoulder, swinging the bag to his front. 

“sorry,” he snorts, rummaging through his bag before pulling out a small pair of mittens.

your mittens.

“tsukishima. kei.” you narrow your eyes, fighting a smile to maintain the serious expression you want him to see.

he tilts his head sideways, feigning innocence. “hai.”

“what the hell!?” you screech, a giggle bursting from you when lunge at him, but he dodges, laughing as he holds your mittens over your head.

“tsukki, really!?” you whine, hopping a couple of times. he isn’t holding them as high as he could but your vertical reach doesn’t get you anywhere near his hand. “give them back!”

“nope!”

you groan. “what use do you have for mittens that don’t even fit your hands?!”

he makes a thoughtful noise. “well, not much, really.” he chuckles when you jump again, this time into his chest. “but it’s okay, you aren’t gonna need them either.”

you pant, frowning slightly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he stuffs your mittens back in his bag despite your protests, and holds out his mitten - the one you were wearing moments ago. 

“you won’t need them because you have this.”

you make a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “but... it’s yours...”

he quirks a brow at you as he waves the mitten in front of you, wordlessly beckoning you to take it. after a few seconds, you give up, snatching it out of his hand. the corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. 

“good.” his mitted hand pats your head, lightly ruffling your hair and sending the butterflies in your stomach aflutter. “i’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

you blink, looking down at the mitten, trying to will your cheeks from turning any redder than they already are.

“mmhmm.” it’s all you can manage to say as he begins to walk away. “goodnight, kei.”

he stops at the end of the walkway, turning to you with a smirk.

“don’t forget the mitten, you popsicle.”

perhaps… it was something subtle. anyone would think after all these years of knowing you - since elementary school, and now you were practically adults! - he’d be able to notice if anything was slightly off about you. but that wasn’t always the case.

he subtly angles himself to see more of your profile. did you do something different with your make-up? a memory of the first day of third year of high school replays in his mind: it was the first time you wore eyeliner; kenma had pointed it out before he had even realized there was something different.

(“it looks nice.” “thanks kenma! doesn’t it accentuate the shape of my eyes?” “i dunno, you still look like a little gremlin -” “hey no one asked you, kuro!!”)

he’s startled out of the flashback when your eyes - each minimally accented with a thin stroke of eyeliner and a quick swipe of mascara, as they usually were - are suddenly looking into his.

your eyebrow quirks up, but you don’t question him. “let’s go,” you say, with the hint of a smirk at your lips. it takes him a second to command his legs to move, but he catches up in a few long strides.

“how was your presentation today?” you look up at him and he takes the opportunity to take one last scan of your face.

“uhh,” he stalls, trying to sound as casual as he can with his eyes darting from your eyebrows (those look normal) to your cheeks (were they always that pink?) to your lips (wow, they look soft - fuck, man, did you really just think that?!). “i messed up on a question the prof asked, but i think he still liked it.”

“of course,” you give him a light slap on the arm, “you always do well, tetsu, all the teachers love you, you nerd.”

he barks out a laugh. “excuse me? you’re the one who stays after class to talk to the profs and TAs!”

“that was only one time!”

he chuckles, looking over to see you roll your eyes, lips curling up with the hint of a smile. it sets his heart aflutter and he has to clear his throat to steady his voice. “okay, fine. how was stats today?”

“horrendous.” you start on a rant about how half the class was spent waiting for the campus IT guy because the prof didn’t know how to turn on the projector. he responds when appropriate, nodding at the ends of your sentences, or chuckling when you groan -

but it feels as though it’s taking more effort today to cognitively process the words coming from your mouth because his brain is stuck on trying to figure out how on earth it’s possible that your voice sounds different.

and why it’s now his most favourite sound.

a breeze blows through then, stirring up the fallen leaves on the sidewalk and tousling your hair, blowing strands across your lips. he watches in amusement as you grimace and brush the loose strands away before continuing your rant. some of it falls back over your eyes, and his hand twitches in his pocket at the same time realization crashes down on him -

he’s seen your hair messy before: fly-aways escaping your ponytail after a long rally at practice, strands slipping from where they were tucked behind your ear while you were studying. never had he ever thought to reach out to brush your hair away from your face -

- until now.

maybe it isn’t you who is different today. it’s him.

he shoves his fist deeper into his pocket, taking his thoughts and his newly discovered feelings with it.

“tetsu?” he stops walking, suddenly aware that your voice is coming from behind him. whirling around to face you, he realizes that he has walked a few feet past the entrance to the building you both live in. you brows furrow slightly. “you okay?”

“huh?” not really.

“you look…bothered.”

he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and feels all his muscles relax, including the facial muscles that were holding a scowl he hadn’t realized he’d been making. “i’m okay.” he saunters back, hands still deep in his pockets.

“reeeeally?”

“yeah.” he really wasn’t - status-post life-altering realization that he now has a massive crush on his best friend - but he’ll figure that out later.

you look at him a moment longer, tilting your head to the side. “tetsu?”

“yeah?”

“did you… do something different with your hair?”

his eyebrows shoot up and he rubs the back of his head. “no. well, i woke up a little later and didn’t have time to gel it as much as i usually -”

the space separating you from him narrows when you take a step towards him and it feels like all the oxygen is sucked out of the air when you tentatively reach up and brush a piece of his fringe from his eye.

well, that’s never happened before.

“it looks different today.” and with that, you turn on your heel, not before he catches sight of the faint blush on your cheeks accompanying your impish grin. he absent-mindedly reaches up to the side of his head where your fingers had lingered, watching as you skip to the doors ahead of him.