#theonecalledrae

things you said at the kitchen table

"Morning, sunshine."

Daichi mumbles something incoherent as he trudges into the kitchen, a brief detour to press a clumsy kiss to the top of Kuroo’s head the only stop he makes on his way to the mug of coffee already steaming on the counter. A half-finished carton of milk and a cute kitschy sugar pot sit next to the mug (a housewarming gift from Bokuto, meaning it is somewhat garish but very well-loved), and Daichi manages to spill only a few drops of milk as he sweetens his drink with sleep-stiff hands.

"Someday I’m gonna figure out how you like it," Kuroo tells him, watching as Daichi returns to the kitchen table with slow, shuffling steps, careful not to spill.

Daichi raises an eyebrow, sets his mug down, and flops into the only other chair they have. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?”

Kuroo laughs, and the movement of his breath makes the steam climbing up out of his mug dissipate into thin, erratic wisps. “You would pick up on that innuendo the one time I didn’t mean it like that.”

"What makes you think I don’t just ignore the rest of them?"

Daichi’s smile needs a little warming up, but it’s there, and Kuroo responds to it the way he always does lately: with one of his own, soft and too-sweet and a little surprised, like Daichi had caught him off-guard.

With a deferential nod, Kuroo concedes. "Point taken."

Daichi gives a triumphant little "ha!", and laughs again when Kuroo rolls his eyes. He nudges Kuroo under the table, hiding his amusement behind his mug, and says, “Anyway, we’ve only lived together for…what is it? Three weeks now? You’ll figure it out eventually. What I like, I mean.”

"Eventually, huh…" Kuroo muses, expression going that peculiar shade of tender that usually only coincides with moonlight hours, and he reaches over the table to prise Daichi’s hand off of his mug and curl their fingers together, stroking the work-rough curve of Daichi’s palm with his thumb. His eyes are on the place where their hands are joined when he says, "That could be a long time."

These are the things Daichi sometimes thinks he couldn't live without: the inexplicably tender set of Kuroo’s mouth; the easy way they fit together, hands and hearts alike; the way he aches when Kuroo lifts their hands to press a kiss to the thin skin of Daichi’s wrist.

There are a hundred potential responses to what Kuroo’s just said, but Daichi doesn’t bother to consider witticisms and snark; instead, throat thick and eyes soft, he says, “I hope so.”

Kuroo’s smile swells lovely and warm as a midsummer breeze, and though Daichi can’t find the words to tell Kuroo how he loves him, he thinks Kuroo must know.