Our relationship has come to a point where words cannot express what this is. This being us. And us being in love and us as a whole and us as separate beings across thousands and thousands of miles. Us being able to look at the other only for a week every year and us yearning for the other over skype calls and text messages and pictures sent over facebook. Pictures of us.
Or well badly photoshopped pictures of us.
The shadows don’t match, his vibrant orange hair weirdly and unnaturally cropped, and not to mention how one picture was took at the dead of night while the other was taken at the early hours of dusk when the sun was greeting the world and filling whatever it could fill in a soft golden overlay. That picture did not need a filter to say the least. That picture was of him. My little sunshine boy with a spring to his step and a voice I have grown to be fond of despite it being covered in light static. We decided at 1 am in the morning that the badly photoshopped picture of us would be our phone screen wallpaper.
Our relationship has come to a point where walls don’t exist. We have shattered them quite some time ago as callouses form and grow like weeds and dandelions. We have come to a point where his favorite napping spot was my lap. We have come to a point where his favorite article of clothing is my red woolen patterned sweater that sits in his side of the closet. We have come to a point where he tells all his friends about how we stay up talking, holding each other, soaking up the presence of the other as the room silently drowns in quiet pleasantness. We have come to a point where kisses are ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s and ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s. They are not confined in closed off quarters and confined corners. We kiss for the world to see, for the ‘see you later’s as i leave the train station for my university, for ‘welcome back’s as I pick him up from his own university a train ride away. We kiss for everyone to know that his orange ass is taken.
They are passionate and gentle and rough all at the same time.
He came to Tokyo for all of these (and maybe also for Kenma) and he says to me that he would proudly say that he did not regret anything.
Our relationship has come to a point where sex is a regular occurrence. We’ve had sex in every room in my apartment and I’m proud to say to the world that I took him on the washing machine at 7 in the morning, bathed in the early morning rays painted gold by the rising sun that filtered through the window. He was a masterpiece, propped up on the hood of the vibrating machine, gasping and panting and writhing with my cock in his trembling tight hole, clenching onto me and all my being. He started tearing up, beads of sweat rolling down his feverish skin, panting, moaning, smiling.
He was smiling.
We exclaimed in ecstasy as we released in tandem. My hands grazed across his tone, aching flesh, happiness filling every corner of his body as he came down from his high. It ebbed away into content as I laid him down into the bathtub and cleaned him up ever so gently.
Our relationship has come to a point where jealousy was inevitable. Every late night arrival brought about heated conversation about priorities and urgencies and ‘why the fuck are we even talking about drinking with Sawamura, he’s my boss! It was just politeness and one drink never hurt anyone, Hinata. I’ve only ever fucked you and I will only ever fuck you--
He cries still, after a night at a friends house. And when he comes back home he cries still. And I hug him with a gentle tug on his hair and kisses and breaths and quiet sobs of ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘I promise I won’t do it again’s and ‘I'm so so so so sorry Hinata, I didn’t mean to---
He kisses me and it’s all tongue and teeth and absolutely no tact at all but right now that doesn’t matter. He kisses with words left unspoken and are instead hanging on his tongue and that the back of his throat, lodged into his esophagus and never mentioned again. But they are there and they are real. He kisses with love that felt so fresh just yesterday morning. But love can rot under the sweltering heat of the summer evenings that we spent on separate beds with a pillow and a galaxy in between. Yet everyday we wake up face to face, skin to skin, legs wrapped around torsos and bones scraping against each other. We inhale the stale morning air and breathe apologies and yawns of acceptance and promises of ‘never again’.
Our relationship has come to a point where touches were no longer touches and kisses were no longer kisses.
To us they were words.
Replacements for huffs of ‘I love you’s, puffs of ‘I'm sorry’s, and exhales of promises that may or may never be coming true. He gasps against my shoulder and bites down to muffle a scream and whimpers my name through trembling lips as a fleeting thought in his clouded sex riddled mind. He babbles on and on and on about how good I am and how good we are and ‘oh god Kuroo i’m cumming! Hahaa~ I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming--
We lay in bed right after our shower, in the silence of dusk as the sun peeks through the window. I count the light dusting of freckles on his shoulders and his hips and connect what I could as I passed the time.
That's when I proposed to him.
I tell him to give me his hand and he smacks it into my face and groans for me to ‘go back to bed because he has class in a few hours and i’m not being late just because you wanted a handjob-- I slipped on the small, intricate band of soft silver that snaked around his finger like vines. He pauses and smiles. He curls up against me and nodds. He cries against my chest but I can feel the smile against my skin.