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Au: Regular (Timeskip)
Requested
Tags/Warnings: GN!reader
Word Count: 2.3k
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"You do?" You asked.
Tsukishima sighed. Sure, he hadn't said it before. But with the high energy of the stadium, the adrenaline rushing through his bones, and the cheers bouncing off the walls and into his ears, he felt like floating on air. He had to say it.
Your eyes curled happily at him, a subtle smile like the Mona Lisa, and you shifted your positions to place a light peck on his cheekbone. It was light as a feather yet sucked all the air out of him with the power of a dragon's wing. You had never done that before, either.
Before he could catch his breath and let his heart settle, Hinata pulled at his jersey from behind with the help of the taller (and comparatively stronger) pair of Yamaguchi and Kageyama. They tugged, stronger than they had been at the beginning of the year, choking him with the collar as they dragged him towards the awaiting team and away from you.
That was seven years ago, right toward the end of their first year after winning the game against their long-time rivals at Nekoma at nationals. Before that moment, you had always been a companion and friend since elementary school. Afterwards, there had been an unspoken agreement that it was something more. Despite himself, he wished it had been spoken even just once.
"Knock knock." You push open the door to the apartment with a bag that was beginning to tear at the base of the handles.
He glances over for a moment, nodding before turning back to his laptop and punching his fingertips into the keyboard. Still typing away, eyes straining on the bright screen, he keeps his peripherals focused on you, watching you take off your shoes, walk to the kitchen and unload your bag on the counter. As the containers exit the bag, he can smell the warm food wafting his way. He can't stop working.
Soon after getting another paragraph typed, there's a plate set in front of him, between his elbows on the desk. You kiss his hairline before dropping your chin on his head and digging your thumbs into his shoulders. It feels like his muscles crack as you do, he doesn't want to think of the implications of that.
"How many words are left?" You ask lightly.
"400 more." His throat feels dry, the words scratching against his skin.
"Almost there." You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him another peck on the temple. "You're amazing. You've got this."
With you against his back, the food from your restaurant fogging the air beneath his chin, and the fluttering in his chest at your words, he felt like he was lying on hot coals. He manages to cool off when you stand straight and lean against the desk by his arm. It's a large, hefty piece of wood that came with the apartment, but it shifts back a bit as you fall against it.
