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Honestly, Kei probably should have known that not even the library was sacred.
He’d come here in the ultimately fruitless hope that it would prove a quiet place to study -- the common room certainly wasn’t, and it seemed that every time he found what he thought was an empty classroom, it turned out there was a couple snogging in the supply closet or a group playing Exploding Snap in the corner or what have you. He couldn’t be the only fifth-year intent on getting a head start on studying for his OWLs -- in fact, he knew he wasn’t, but everyone else seemed to be either goofing off or in Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw tower would actually have been an excellent place to study, but while it wasn’t as though the tower’s riddle passwords were particularly challenging, their prefects always ended up kicking him out within just a few minutes of getting in the door.
So he’d come to the library. On the surface, this would seem to be the perfect place to get in a few good hours of studying in peace and quiet, surrounded by the soothing smells of old paper and creaking leather, and perhaps if Kei were anyone else, it would have been. But Kei was not anyone else, and Kei had a shadow.
Kuroo Tetsurou was, realistically, ninety-nine percent of the reason Kei couldn’t study in the dungeons; the rest of Slytherin House had learned to leave him well enough alone over the years, but there was, of course, one exception. An exception who really should be starting to study for his NEWTs just as much as Kei was starting to study for his OWLs, but God forbid anything get in the way of his bothering Kei all over the damn castle.
It had been this way since Kei was a third-year, unfortunately, though at least his tall, stupid-haired, endlessly frustrating affliction wasn’t permanent; he only had to deal with him for a week or so each year, and at least next year he would be gone, but this year of all years Kei had really hoped he would make an exception. Instead, though, he was sitting there across the table, in the library, which was for studying, not for the harrassment of one’s juniors. The bastard at least had the decency to pretend he was here to do work; he had books spread out in front of him, an ancient-looking potions manual Kei wasn’t familiar with and, somewhat pointedly, Quidditch Through The Ages.
Kei, on the other hand, was actually trying to study for History of Magic, damn you, but he was quite certain that wouldn’t be an effective deterrant. In his experience, nothing had. He could scare most of his peers away with a look, but then along came this fucker, and -- he gritted his teeth and looked up from the page, glaring. There was no way he’d get anything done with Kuroo just lingering there, where Kei could feel his stare prickling on his shoulders. “Can I help you?” he gritted out, somewhat against his better judgement.
Kuroo sighed dramatically and scrubbed a hand through his already helplessly messy hair. “Tsukki, what does a guy have to do to get you on his quidditch team?”
“What does a guy have to do to get a little peace and quiet in the library?” Kei snapped back instantly, his voice a low hiss. He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth; he’d barely finished speaking when a shit-eating grin began to spread over Kuroo’s face.
“Simple,” he sing-songed, and Kei resisted the temptation to bash his head in with A Brief History of the Goblin Wars, Volume 7. “Tryouts are next Thursday, but honestly, you don’t need to bother. I’ll just put you on the team straight out -- captain’s priveleges.”
“No,” Kei replied, for what felt like the thousandth time. Was he really going to have to endure this until next Thursday? God help him.
“Come on, Tsukki,” Kuroo wheedled, not even pretending he was here to study anymore, shoving his books aside so he could lean over the table to get closer to Kei. “I’ve seen you fly. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want to -- you don’t get to be that good unless you want to.”
Kei was beginning to doubt that Kuroo had ever listened to a single word he had said. “I don’t,” he said flatly, turning a page with more force than was strictly necessary, “want to.”
“That’s crap, and we both know it,” Kuroo shot back, his hands balling into fists on top of the table. Interestingly enough, he was frowning fiercely when Kei deigned to look up at him; he seemed genuinely upset. Maybe he was finally starting to realize how futile this little crusade of his was. Of course, this being Kei’s life and Kuroo Tetsurou being who he was, there was little to no chance that Kei would get that lucky, but it was a pleasant thought, at least.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Kei told him almost absentmindedly, scribbling down a few dates on his parchment even as he did so.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kei looked up long enough to quirk an eyebrow at him. “You practically live and breathe quidditch. Not everyone cares as much as you do.”
Kuroo raised his brows right back. “No,” he admitted, then shook his head. “But you do. I just don’t know why you aren’t willing to admit it.”
Kei didn’t respond. He didn’t know how; telling Kuroo he was wrong had yet to show any effect, but he had no idea what else to say, and frankly, he didn’t have the time or interest to carry on this line of thought, let alone the conversation. To his relief, Kuroo finally, finally fell silent, though he continued to stare across the table for quite some time before he finally sighed and reached for his books again.
---
Somehow he made it through the next week and a half unharmed, but it was a close thing. There were nuisances and distractions of all kinds, ranging from charmed notes that followed him down the halls to an actual first year sent to do much the same thing to Kuroo himself nattering at him at all hours, no matter whether he was eating, reading, trying to study, or, horrifically, bathing. None of them caused him actual physical harm, of course -- Kuroo wasn’t, as far as Kei could tell, actually that much of a bastard, and besides, his end goal was to get Kei to play quidditch, so it made sense not to break him. Be that as it may, though, his little tricks were bloody annoying.
It culminated with a Howler at dinner Thursday evening, right before tryouts were set to start -- annoying, and more than a bit embarrassing, but Kei steadfastly ignored it and kept eating his meal as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening at all -- and then instantly it all faded away to nothing. He heard the vaguest of news about the results from the snippets of gossip he caught in the hallways; apparently they resorted to sticking a third-year whose name Kei vaguely recognized in as their second beater, and he was shit. Kei absolutely, 100% did not feel bad about that at all. So what if -- and he knew it was true -- he could fly circles around that idiot, and outplay him besides? That was really Kuroo’s problem, as team captain, and not his.
Which is probably why Kuroo continued to harrass him.
It didn’t start back up right away; he got a few blessed days of peace when tryouts finished. In hindsight, that was probably because Kuroo was re-grouping for the next stage of his attack, but at the time it seemed like he had given up. Kei probably should have known better.
“What on Earth are you doing here?” he asked blankly, because there was a Hufflepuff standing outside the door to the common room. Well -- he’d actually been sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching down the hallways, but when he’d seen Kei come around the corner he’d sprung to his feet and trotted over eagerly.
Bokuto laughed. “Believe me, I don’t know either. It’s probably in my best interest not to convince you to play. But Kuroo’s one of my oldest friends, so here I am!”
Kei blinked hard. Kuroo seriously hadn’t given up? But tryouts were over. Surely putting Kei on the team at this point, without a tryout, would absolutely reek of favoritism. Everyone would call it out as unfair, and they’d be right to do so. Kuroo didn’t actually think he was worth all that mess, did he?
Apparently so, because Bokuto started into a spiel about House pride and the joy of the sport and the fact that Kei -- he had to restrain himself from punching the idiot for calling him Tsukki, but whatever -- clearly needed to get outside more anyway, because he did live in the dungeons and everything but he was, like, scary pale, he looked like he was gonna shrivel up and die. Kei let him talk for a while, partly out of pity, and then abruptly held up a hand to quell the flow of inanity.
“I’m not going to play,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to play. I’ve told Kuroo that himself a thousand times, my answer’s not going to change just because he sends someone else in his place. Not even another team captain. Now please, get out of my way. I need to study.”
Bokuto held up his hands in surrender, grinning amicably. “Like I said, no skin off my nose if you don’t play. All the better, really. But…” He frowned, and it looks so utterly wrong on his face that Kei almost felt bad. Almost. “Look, Kuroo really does seem to… I don’t know. He does seem set on this, though. He can pretty stubborn once he sets his mind on something. And he kind of has a thing for hopeless cases.”
Kei thought maybe he should be offended by that, but Bokuto didn’t apologize or anything, just stood there and stared at him speculatively while Kei looked back at him, face perfectly blank, not saying anything. Then he shrugged, grinned again, and clapped Kei on the shoulder before walking off in the direction of the Great Hall, cheerful as anything.
Kei sighed, rolled his eyes at the moron practically skipping his way out of the dungeons, and tried to put the incident out of his mind as he opened the door to the common room. That was a lot less bothersome than the Howler, at least. Bokuto had seemed to take that mission uncommonly seriously -- not that Kei knew him all that well, but it was hard not to hear about his antics, honestly. He was loud.
But still: better than a Howler.
Unfortunately, though, now he wasn’t not sure what to expect or when to expect it. At least before there had been a time limit, and the intensity and frequency of Kuroo’s little tricks had increased accordingly. Now the framing was removed, and it seemed like the incidents were completely random, if much less frequent.
Bokuto was the first, but a few days later there was a note on his pillow -- Kei tried not to think about that one too much -- and then Kuroo attempted to charm his broom to follow him around a few days after that, and then the same little first-year from before following him to all his classes and trying to convince him to at least come fly with the team at practice that evening, and then almost a week of peace, and then --
“I almost thought you’d decided you were too good to come see me personally,” Kei said drily, not even looking up from his reading. He’d learned his lesson on that one well enough last time. “But really, has it even occurred to you to pick a better spot than the library?”
“I dunno, I think of this as our spot,” Kuroo replied smoothly, leaning back so far Kei was half-convinced he would fall. Not that he would care, except that it might make a racket. “Besides, I don’t know how to break this to you, but the library is pretty much the only place I can find you. You spend way too much time in here. You’re gonna get all dusty.”
“Thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll be just fine.” He turned the page pointedly, hoping maybe Kuroo would be clever enough to figure out he wasn’t wanted. Not that that had ever worked before, but there was a first time for everything, after all.
But apparently not today. “I’m not sure I believe you. Being this intent on staying inside doing nothing can’t be healthy.”
“I’m doing plenty, actually,” Kei pointed out, gesturing dispassionately to the book open in front of him. “Or at least, I would be, if you would leave me alone.”
Kuroo sighed deeply, like Kei was the one being purposefully dense. “Come on, Tsukki. Just a little fresh air would do you good.”
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that.” But it was an inane response, almost absent, because his brain was actually working over what Kuroo just said. Either he was crazy, or the question had changed -- Kuroo almost seemed to be haggling. ‘Just a little fresh air’ was an entirely different thing from joining the quidditch team. But then again, if Kei gave an inch, he had full confidence Kuroo would take a mile. No. Better not to risk it. “And I’ve told you to leave me alone. Many times, in fact.”
There was a heartbeat of silence where the charge in the air suddenly shifted. Kei could almost taste the difference on the back of his tongue; there was a sudden intensity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Look,” Kuroo said, the legs of his chair hitting the ground with a solid thump, and there was something in it that was fervent enough that Kei looked up at him as though magnetized, shocked despite himself to find that there was actually something burning behind his eyes. It was odd, that it had taken Kei this long to realize Kuroo was really serious about this, that this wasn’t just a game for him. Odd, too, that the sudden realization made him shiver. “Tsukishima -- Kei. Please. I don’t know why the hell you’re so dead set against flying, I don’t know if something happened or if you just hate me or whatever. And I don’t really care. Come fly with us, come to practice just once. Please.”
“Why does this matter so much to you?” Kei blurted, and instantly wanted to shove the words back down his throat. It wasn’t a familiar feeling for him -- he didn’t usually let his words get away from him like that. Something about Kuroo, unfortunately, seemed to bring it out in him. He frowned and looked away, but didn’t retract his question, just left it hanging there awkwardly.
Kuroo’s chair creaked as he shifted slightly, and he let out a long, low sigh. “When I saw you fly,” he began, his tone unusually guarded. “Last year, remember? You were so… some people just look like they’re born to be on a broom. And you did, right up until you noticed I was watching.
“Part of it is that I’m pretty sure you could wipe the ground with half of our team, let alone the other Houses,” he admitted. Then he shifted again, and quirked a sardonic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Part of it is that I want to figure out why you don’t want anyone to know you can fly like that. You fly beautifully, Kei.”
Kei knew that, was the problem. He didn’t like the way the tone of Kuroo’s voice shifted when he said it, was the other problem.
“Has this all been some long-winded way of hitting on me?” he said flatly, and almost, almost enjoyed the way Kuroo jumped at the words. For several seconds he sat dumbstruck, blinking rapidly, and Kei did take a fierce delight in actually being able to take him by surprise.
But then he started to laugh, quietly at first, and then bubbling out of him so much that people started to shoot them dirty looks and Kuroo tried to stifle the noise with his sleeve, even as Kei hissed at him to shut up.
"Oh, fuck," Kuroo wheezed, still cackling under his breath. Kei once again decided the best course of action was to ignore him, and promptly set about pretending nothing ever happened, in the hopes that the students glaring at them and his own damaged pride would accept that as the truth. "You really are something else."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," Kei said stiffly, but Kuroo waved him off, grinning altogether like the cat that caught the canary.
"Well, you know what they say happens when you assume. But I've always been an ass, and I kind of think you have too. So no hard feelings. Besides..." He paused, then shook his head a bit ruefully, shrugged, and pressed on. Kei forgot to pretend to be ignoring him again. "No, that's not why I want you on my quidditch team. But it's not like the two things are... mutually exclusive."
Oh. Well. That... put an altogether new spin on things. Kei blinked, considered, and promptly filed that away under the category of 'things presently too strange to process fully.'
Kuroo was studying him from across the table, though, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips, and when Kei didn't reply he cocked his head. "I half expected you to run screaming," he commented lightly. "Or whatever your version of that is. Stalk off scowling, I assume."
"It's not like it's a problem," Kei informed him, uncomfortably aware of the strange twist in his voice that he couldn't seem to control and even more uncomfortably aware of the fact that Kuroo noticed it too.
"It might be a problem if I were to join your team without a tryout, because that would make it doubly likely for such a thing to be seen as favoritism," he pointed out as cuttingly as possible, trying to get himself back on track, and Kuroo did lean back a little bit and shake his shoulders, but the weight of new knowledge still hung in the air between them. Even worse, suddenly he couldn't look at Kuroo sitting across the table from him and see just an obnoxious upperclassman who wouldn't stop bugging him to join the quidditch team. Now Kei looked an saw... well, a possibility, if nothing else. And a bit of an enigma. He hadn't expected Kuroo, of all people, to catch him by surprise like this.
"Look," Kuroo said, with the air of someone who was just dangling on the edge of throwing up his hands and calling it a loss, but nevertheless wouldn't quite give up. "Just come flying with me. Just once. Not -- practice, or anything like that. Just come fly with me."
Kei stared at him. Somehow that was -- almost more surprising than the Other Thing. It was certainly a lot more raw; whereas Kuroo had sort of brushed that off with a 'what can you do' attitude, this he sounded deadly serious about, and bearing the full brunt of his focus as he leaned across the table and stared Kei down was suddenly a bit difficult.
He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he licked his lips and said, very quietly, "I'll think about it."
It clearly took Kuroo a second to understand what had just happened. He had obviously been bracing for yet another dismissal, and when it seemed to dawn on him that Kei had at least moved it up to a maybe, he grinned widely, his eyes lighting up with a clever sparkle.
"Don't think *too* hard," he said off-handedly, as though he didn't really care one way or the other, and Kei rolled his eyes. It was too late for him to try playing hard to get. He'd showed his hand way, way too early for that to work.
"Believe me, the only thing I'm trying to think hard about is this," Kei snipped back, indicating his book with a short wave. Kuroo snickered at him, but this time he didn't leave, just sat there across the table and pulled out a book of his own, and a parchment littered with notes. Kei tried to pretend he wasn't a bit curious, but some very subtle glances snuck across the table revealed that it was arithmancy. If the thickness and dustiness of the book Kuroo was reading was anything to go by, very advanced arithmancy, too. He dutifully told himself he was neither surprised nor impressed.
And he was sure it was nothing of consequence that they were the last two to leave the library that night, eventually shooed out by the harried-looking librarian. Probably just another recruitment tactic or... something. Something ridiculous and stupid, since this was Kuroo, after all.
And if Kuroo wished him a quiet, hopeful goodnight just before they parted ways in the dungeons to go to their separate rooms, well, Kei didn't think he could be blamed for returning it sincerely. After all, it was only polite.
---
He honestly didn’t know what possessed him to even think about Kuroo’s… request, let alone consider it with any level of seriousness. And yet here he was, his mind drifting in History of Magic -- not like he really needed to pay attention in this class anyway, he could probably teach it about twice as well as Professor Binns, and with half as many tangents -- and no matter how tartly he rebuked himself, no matter how many times he told himself Kuroo was an idiot and he was an idiot, too, if he was humoring him even a little bit, he couldn’t keep his thoughts away from the way the wind would feel in his hair and the way he felt when he sat his broom, like he was dangling in the air on the thinnest string and yet simultaneously safe and in complete control. At least, he told himself, none of that had anything to do with Kuroo. Not really. It was just -- well. It had been a while since he had flown, was all.
He didn’t go out very often, largely because more often than not either the pitch itself was occupied or there were students milling about on the grounds not far from it. It wasn’t like flying was any great secret, of course, just he’d rather not give people one more thing to blather on about. The constant comments about his grades were inane and grating enough.
Besides, one of the few times he actually had gone out at night to fly had been what started this whole mess with Kuroo and the quidditch team and everything in the first place.
The memory came back to him unbidden, even as Binns droned on and on about the subtleties of negotiations with the merpeople over something-or-other in the lat 1200s. When he let his eyes drift shut for even a moment he saw the sun sinking down below the treeline of the forest, early summer making it lazy and slow to do so, and felt the gentle breeze on his cool skin. It was a wonderful night for flying, and the semester was almost over, and Kei had been... restless, he supposed. No matter how much he rolled his eyes and made snide retorts when Kuroo said it, it was good to get out of the castle every once in a while for more than just the walk to the herbology greenhouses. There had been a few other students around, mostly lingering at the shores of the lake, and he had told himself that it was nearly dark anyway, surely no one would come to bother him. It wasn't as though taking a flight on such a nice evening was odd behavior, and he knew no teams had the pitch for practice that night. His broom, though he did take good care of it even when he wasn't flying, seemed almost dull from disuse.
So Kei had gone flying. At first, nothing out of the ordinary had happened; he took several minutes just to make laps of the pitch, warming up and making sure he had his broom back under him properly, since he hadn't flown since the holidays, and then he methodically made his way through a routine of dives and break-neck climbs and quick hairpin turns that was as ingrained in his muscle memory after all these years as breathing or walking. It wasn't actually a challenge, anymore. It hadn't been for a long time. Anymore, it was just habit. He tried not to wonder -- he had at the time, and he did again now as he remembered it -- if perhaps that wasn't why he didn't fly as often anymore.
And then abruptly he was there. Kuroo. Kei looked down suddenly, slamming to a stop at the prickling realization that someone was silently watching him, and saw him leaning against the base of one of the goal posts, expression carefully neutral except for the beginnings of a clever Cheshire Cat grin. They stared at each other for a moment before Kuroo inclined his head and slipped off the pitch, back towards the castle; it was impossible to miss the satisfied spring in his step. Kei didn't stay in the air much longer after that. All of his satisfaction seemed to have run out. After all, he wasn't an idiot -- he knew Kuroo was the Slytherin team captain, he knew that, since Kuroo was a sixth year then, the next year would be his last shot at bringing the quidditch championship to their House, and most of all, Kei knew exactly what he had seen on Kuroo's face, why he had looked almost predatory. Granted, he hadn't known the full extent of the annoyance and bothering he'd be subjected to come autumn, but he had certainly had some guess at the idea.
Now, of course, it had all come full circle. Kei's eyes fluttered open again, and he let out a breath slowly, exhaling through his nose. He flew in the summers, naturally, when he was at home -- and when his brother wasn’t, but that was neither here nor there -- but he hadn't flown since he got back to Hogwarts. That was only about a month now, but still. Long enough that something, some part of him he usually jeered at and kept silent, ached to feel his broom under him again, whether or not he had to suffer Kuroo's company to have it.
What’s the harm? some part of him asked treacherously. You could always use this as an opportunity to fly like a moron, and maybe get him off your back. Except Kuroo, he grudgingly admitted, was much to clever to fall for something like that. He’d already seen Kei fly, and fly well. There was no way to play that off as a fluke. Besides, even if it might have worked, he bridled at the idea of pretending to be any less than he was.
And yet he couldn’t quite shake the idea that maybe he really did want to fly. He didn’t want to fly with Kuroo, particularly, but he did want to, and he was half-convinced the bastard might have set a charm on the pitch to let him know if Kei went down there, or put some terrified first-year to watch for him, or something. With Kuroo on his case like this, he doubted he’d get the pitch to himself. Besides, it was probably a pretty busy place at the moment, what with all four Houses trying to make their new assortments of players into a team that might stand a chance of winning the first matches of the year, which were coming up in just a couple of weeks. No. If he wanted to fly, he might well have to fly with Kuroo, if only so he could actually make it onto the pitch.
Christ, Kei realized suddenly and uncomfortable, the bastard had got his hooks in him after all. He’d tried his best to resist, but he was self-aware enough to realize now that he’d failed. Dammit. This was going to go so, so badly.
---
“I still can’t believe you actually agreed to do this,” Kuroo said mildly, his tone a restrained counterpoint to his knowing grin.
You and me both, Kei thought grimly, but didn’t say anything, just shot a glare over the tops of his glasses and rubbed at a nonexistent speck of dust on the handle of his broom. Kuroo found something in his expression worthy of outright laughter, just shy of mocking, but there was something almost infectiously lighthearted about him. It wasn’t really the bearing of someone who knew they had won, more that of someone who couldn’t believe how lucky they’d gotten. Somehow Kei would have almost preferred standard-issue smugness.
Still, here they were, out on the pitch together in the fading light. Kei’s dependable old Nimbus was practically humming beneath him, and Kuroo had an uncharacteristic spring in his step as he finished fiddling with the lid of the chest that held the balls.
“I know it’s just the two of us, but I figured you’d appreciate the opportunity to hit bludgers in my general direction anyway,” he’d said when Kei had asked him why he was bothering with it. And, well. Kei couldn’t exactly argue with that, even though he could practically feel the slippery slope sliding by beneath his feet.
Kuroo tossed him a bat, which he caught with an ease that barely belied the current of nervous energy that was making his fingertips tingle at all. The bludger is a bit harder to catch, naturally, but once he did have it he hefted it with a practiced familiarity and kicked off the ground, getting a bit of a head start on Kuroo. The look Kuroo gave him as Kei rose into the air above him very nearly unnerved him, though – there was something pleased about it, but also something almost predatory. He tried to ignore it, making a couple of warm-up laps while Kuroo closed the ball chest back up and soared up after him.
Kei at least did him the courtesy of calling out, “Ready?” before he sent the bludger soaring towards his face, but it was a near thing. And from there, they were off.
It had been – a disconcertingly long time since he was in the air with another person. When they were very small, he and Yamaguchi used to fly together in a field near their homes, playing a two-person game that was some odd permutation of quidditch or else just daring each other to do increasingly stupid and complicated stunts. And he used to fly with his brother sometimes, a very long time ago. But those memories were all tinted with the hazy glow of childhood, and he hadn’t done anything like this in years.
If that was visible, if Kuroo noticed, he certainly didn’t say anything, not even when Kei buzzed by him just a hair too close or missed him widely with the bludger because he wasn’t used to having a moving target. But as the night dimmed around them and the breeze got stiffer, Kei settled back into it with nothing more than a sudden, simple easing. After no more than half and hour it was like they had been flying together for years, their movements coordinated and cohesive in a way that both made Kei’s stomach sink and set his skin to tingling. It was less like flying with another person – and certainly less like flying with a… with someone like Kuroo – and more like flying with an extension of himself, someone who could read his every move before he made it and whose intentions were just as plain to him. It was heady to be sure, but it was also slightly unsettling. Still, Kei tried to focus on the ease of it, and began to lose track of time, only noticing its passage in the blistering seconds between the beginning of his swing and the satisfying crack of bat hitting ball.
It was with a sudden start that Kei glanced off toward the castle and realized that lights were beginning to go out; it must be nearly curfew. He looked back to Kuroo, to tell him they needed to land, only to find him hovering not a meter away, still breathing a bit heavily from their flying and looking at Kei with an intense, unreadable expression.
“We should…” Kei tried, but found himself unable to finish the statement, instead swallowing hard and doing his best to meet Kuroo’s gaze levelly. He didn’t quite succeed, but nevertheless it was Kuroo who looked away first, his expression a bit wistful.
“We should,” he agreed, but lingered for another long moment and looked back at Kei before gently angling his broom towards the ground.
Kei waited in silence as Kuroo put the bludger and bat back in the kit chest, and then put the chest itself back in the locker room, and then they both began the walk back to the castle, trudging along silently. All the inexplicable ease that had flowed between them in the air seemed to have suddenly shattered, but the buzz in the air wasn’t the same back-and-forth of irritation and teasing as before, either. Kei couldn’t even begin to fathom what it was that had settled under his skin – or rather, he could, but he was actively choosing not to, instead just walking along next to Kuroo without saying a word and trusting he had enough tact to do the same.
It wasn’t the safest assumption in the world, but it held at least until they were almost to the common room, the dank air and confinement of the dungeons all the more noticeable for the way Kei’s cheeks were still tingling a bit from the wind outside.
“Kei,” Kuroo said suddenly, quietly, interrupting the silence and making Kei jump just slightly even before he put a hand out to stop him. “Hang on just a second. Please,” he added, almost an afterthought, but so soft it made Kei’s stomach drop.
He stopped, swallowing hard, and tried his best to maintain an aura of sardonic indifference. It was much harder, though, when that wasn’t what he was genuinely feeling, and he didn’t think he really pulled it off, because Kuroo just looked at him almost fondly and said, “Look, I’m not going to ask you again to join the team.”
Kei waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, just letting that hang in the air, he had no choice but to take the bait. “I guess even you can’t keep chasing a dead end forever,” he snarked back, but all the usual frost had gone out of it, leaving it more teasing than waspish. Shit. Shit, this was going downhill so fast.
“I really can’t, no,” Kuroo allowed, grinning that Cheshire Cat grin at him and looking, if anything, encouraged by what was presently Kei’s best attempt at disdain. “But – look, Tsukishima…”
“I’m looking,” Kei informed him when his words drifted off into nothing, and then he full-body twitched before almost reluctantly adding, “And you using my full name is almost worse than calling my Tsukki at this point. Just – call me Kei.”
He honestly didn’t know – couldn’t even determine for himself – whether or not he’d meant that as encouragement, or just as a courtesy, but it certainly seemed to give Kuroo a second wind. He straightened minutely and squared his shoulders and took his own advice, looked Kei straight in the face, and asked, “Will you keep flying with me?”
Kei’s heart stuttered like a goddamn schoolgirl in a romance novel. Just the mention of it brought him back full-body to just minutes ago, when being in the air with someone who was still, realistically, a huge pain in his ass had seemed the most natural and wonderful and easy thing in the world, when he had almost been tempted to keep flying well on into the night, until they either fell off their brooms or were physically detained by whichever irritated professor inevitably found them out on the grounds after curfew.
“Is it always like that?” he asked instead of giving a proper answer. “With – your team, or whoever you fly with. Is it always like that for you?”
“No,” Kuroo responded, quietly, his gaze intense and burning and locked unerringly onto Kei. “That was… It’s never been like that. Kei. Never.”
Chemistry, some part of Kei’s brain supplied nonsensically. Outwardly it was all he could do not to shudder. He heard himself say, “I suppose, when I can find the time…” But it was like listening to a stranger talk through his own mouth; he was too preoccupied with the way the flickering torchlight from the wall sconces made Kuroo look that much more intense, all his lazy, easy nature burned away to reveal something almost predatory.
“Of course,” Kuroo murmured, and took a half-step closer. Kei took a step back himself, nearly stumbling into the wall as he did so, feeling the cool, damp stones pressing against his shoulders. “I know you’re busy.”
“I’m sure you’re busy too,” Kei replied, a last-ditch effort at maintaining a semblance of normalcy, but he couldn’t quite mask the tiny tremors in his voice. “Especially with the team to worry about.”
“They’ll be fine,” Kuroo said, a slow, dark smile curling just at the corners of his mouth, and took another step closer, leaving Kei with his back against the wall and his breathing just this side of ragged. “They’d probably like it if I paid them just a little less attention.”
“Aren’t you concerned about the season starting, though?” Kei asked, his gaze drawn, no matter what he did, to Kuroo’s mouth. His teeth glinted in the torchlight, his tongue a wet gleam just beyond.
“Right now,” Kuroo admitted, voice breathless, “I have other concerns.”
And then suddenly he was everywhere – his hands curling into Kei’s hair and around his waist, his mouth against his open and slick, his frame and the heat of him simultaneously pressing Kei against the wall and pulling him unerringly forward, closer, closer. Kei, for once in his life, ignored the million and one complaints and criticisms shrieking in his brain and let his eyes slip shut, and brought his hands up to cup Kuroo’s face under the pretense of the idea that he could use them to push him away if he wanted to. He blithely ignored the fact that he absolutely did not want to.
Just as suddenly as he’d pressed forward, Kuroo pulled back, and when Kei’s eyes blinked open again it was to the sight of him taking a full step back, giving Kei a route of easy escape if he wanted it. He didn’t say anything, just looked on with a question and a challenge burning undeniably in his eyes. Kei considered him for a long moment, the dungeons dark and silent around them except for the flickering light of the torches, before he let a slow ghost of a smile creep onto his face.
“I think I’ll rather enjoy flying with you,” he said, and surprised himself even more than Kuroo by meaning it.