#kiyofuri

Sometimes Kouki thinks about booking a flight across the ocean, charging it to his dad’s credit card and facing the fallout later because it won’t matter because he’ll spend a weekend or a day or even a few hours with Teppei; even if Teppei can’t lift him up properly or play basketball with him it doesn’t matter because he misses Teppei’s lips on his cheek and mouth and forehead and wrist, Teppei’s hands clasped around his, Teppei’s voice right next to his ear, Teppei’s presence—calling or Skyping him isn’t the same at all; it’s a cheap facsimile and sometimes Kouki feels horribly greedy for feeling this way when Teppei’s gone over there to heal his knee and he’s selfishly pining but sometimes Teppei leans closer to the computer screen and tells Kouki in a hushed voice that he misses him so much and Kouki feels likehe’s going to explode if he doesn’t get to feel Teppei’s breath on his neck anytime soon.

Word Count: 1168

When he sleeps, the creases on his face smooth out and his fingers do not clutch so tightly around Teppei’s arm and his shoulders relax slightly and his heartbeat is steady. It’s beautiful and simple, a side of him that Kouki himself perhaps does not know exists—sometimes he tries to let himself go, be less nervous, and sometimes he forgets to be afraid when he’s awake, but those are brief flashes of a few seconds at most. In his dreams, he is free of anxiety, has slipped out of these terrible mental shackles. Teppei brushes back the soft brown hair from where it’s fallen over Kouki’s cheek and he does not stir, too wrapped up in his subconscious. Teppei knows he should be asleep, too; he has school tomorrow and he has to get up early, and he’s not actually doing anything right now except watching the moonlight streaks wind their way across Kouki’s face. But he could watch this forever, encompass himself in the moment where he’s alone in the muffled night quiet and wrapped up in this beautiful boy’s simplicity.

Furihata doesn’t know what he does to Kiyoshi, the way he bites his lip and furrows his brow and lets his hair fall just so to frame his face (he needs to get it cut, but at the same time he shouldn’t because it’s just so adorable). Kiyoshi’s not sure he likes this ravenous self that awakens whenever Furihata moves just so or looks at him just so, because it’s impossible to quell it no matter how tightly he hugs Furihata (he’s afraid he’ll squeeze all the air out one day) or how much he smothers him with kisses. Furihata is timid, but he is not afraid of this—at first he was, but now Kiyoshi is the one who’s afraid of himself and Furihata who has to coax him out of his shell, mumbling sweet words of encouragement into Kiyoshi’s chest, “yes” and “please, Senpai” and wordless moans and sighs.

Sometimes, though, Furihata bares everything, all that is in his trembling soul, blinks up at Kiyoshi and lives in the moments and gives him a smile that’s full and pure and wanton all at once, and it’s the most precious thing to Kiyoshi; he will die to protect that smile’s existence, will do anything just to know that it will even once more grace Furihata’s lovely face (because when Furihata worries, even if it’s about something irrational or that others would consider trivial, Kiyoshi worries, too; he shares that burden to ease it from Furihata’s aching shoulders).

Summary; Furihata actually looks kind of happy about getting to do the box score, which is honestly okay with Kiyoshi. He clearly gets a kick out of all that stat stuff. Actually, Furihata looks kind of adorable when he's focused