#tsukikawa

His heart is beating too fast against his ribcage.

He needs to breathe but he feels breathless.

At this moment, in the rain, as he reaches out to slide off Tsukishima’s glasses, he wonders how the fuck he got into this mess—how he ended up standing here drenched with Karasuno’s number 11 across from him, his cheeks tainted a faint red (Cute, it crosses his mind fleetingly) and his mouth (God, those lips are sinful) parted slightly in hesitance and reluctance.

He searches the other’s face for an answer, but he only finds confusion and a burning determination. There was no resistance from him though as he leans forward and brushes his lips against the blond’s and in the back of his mind, he muses about how there’s a lingering sweetness akin to strawberries on Tsukishima’s mouth. He pulls back with a slight smirk playing on his face when he sees the blond’s blush stain his cheeks ever so darkly (I wonder what the rest of him looks stained in red—).

For his part, Tsukishima isn’t sure how to react because he’s never felt a rush like this in his entire life and it doesn't make sense how Oikawa Tooru of all people could render him like this. It doesn't help either when the setter brings his hand up to run his fingers so gently against the curve of Tsukishima’s cheek that it makes him shiver (Definitely not in delight, oh no, no—) and he opens his mouth to say something in the midst of the crashing rain.

“Oikawa…” He calls quietly, but he’s not sure what to say.

A soft smile crosses Oikawa’s lips at Tsukishima calling his name.

“Tsukishima,” He murmurs back, so affectionately, “Let’s go home. I wouldn't want you to get sick.”

He slips his hand down to twine his fingers with Tsukishima’s and he gently tugs him forward.