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Tsukishima Kei never had the pride of his best friend, Yamaguchi Tadashi. He never had the tenacity of Hinata Shoyou. He never had the dedication of Oikawa Tooru, the genius of Kageyama Tobio, the raw ferocity of Ushijima Wakatoshi. He never even had the cleverness of Kuroo Tetsurou.
He had only ever been Tsukishima Kei.
He was a wingless bird, useful only by merit of his immediacy.
He was the one who remained on the ground, watching the others soar, knowing he would never be able to do so himself.
Kei looked down at the man lying beneath him, the sum of all the things he would never have. The pride, tenacity and dedication, the intensity and ferocity. But despite his envy, when he looked at this man, he didn’t see any of those individual things. To Kei, Bokuto Kotarou was more than the sum of his parts.
Curious golden eyes blinked up at him, an amused smile playing on Bokuto’s lips.
Ah, how foolish.
But, despite the foolishness, Kei couldn’t help but smile back. He reached down to cup Bokuto’s face, his thumbs squishing his cheeks and making his look a little like a deranged fish.
“Hey, Tsukki,” Bokuto said, his words slightly distorted by Kei squeezing his cheeks, but otherwise understandable. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?”
It occurred to Kei that he likely had some stupidly fond expression on his face as he looked down at Bokuto. But he couldn’t really bring himself to care, not right now.
Kei was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Bokuto’s apartment’s tiny kitchen, while Bokuto laid on the ground, shirtless, his head in Kei’s lap.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Kei laid a hand on Bokuto’s chest, marveling at the tensing of the strong, solid muscles underneath his fingers, his body flinching away from the coldness of Kei’s hand. Kei let his fingers linger there, appreciating the dependable, steady rise and fall of Bokuto’s chest.
“Yeah, it’ll be super cool! Plus, I never knew you were into kinky shit, Tsukki. This is a nice surprise.”
Kei flushed and moved his hand up to pinch Bokuto’s cheek. “I’m not into kinky shit. Now shut up so I can paint you.” He tried to stop himself from turning even redder at Bokuto’s self-satisfied grin.
“Tsukki’s gonna paint me,” he sing-songed.
“Or maybe I’ll just superglue your stupid mouth shut and be done with it.”
“Hey hey hey! You love this stupid mouth, Tsukki!”
Kei sighed, that ridiculous fondness back in voice. “I guess I do.” This time it was Bokuto’s turn to blush, his cheeks reddening and his already large eyes going wide with surprise. The sight was so comical that Kei almost giggled, but instead he let out an amused hum. “Just stay still, okay? You don’t need this paint getting all over your floor.”
Kei reached down to his bowl of inky black paint, dipping his index and middle finger in the liquid, then tapping them on the edge of the bowl to get rid of the excess. Once he was satisfied that it wouldn’t drip all over the tile, he moved his hand, bringing it down to a spot at about the center of Bokuto’s abdomen. He felt the man shiver slightly under his touch and hesitated, looking down, if only to confirm that it was okay to continue. Bright eyes stared back up at him, silently urging him on.
So he continued, dragging his fingers up Bokuto’s chest, the paint leaving a thick black line in his wake.
He dipped his fingers into the paint once more and made another line, this one curved outwards at the top and bottom, on the left of his first mark. Thrice more he marked Bokuto, one on top of his first mark, one through the middle, and one on the right, all cutting downwards.
He finished the last mark, leaning back to admire his handiwork. The paint had already smeared from Bokuto’s impatient shifting around as Kei had painted, but he didn’t mind all that much. He didn’t even mind that little beads were dripping down the sides of Bokuto’s stomach, leaving thin black trails across his skin and making their way to the tile floor. He knew that the paint would probably be impossible to get out of the grout. He didn’t really care.
“So what did you write?”
“... remind me again how you passed high school?”
“Hey! It’s all smudgy, and it looks upside down to me!”
Kei snickered. “It’s only smudgy because you keep moving around,” he pointed out, poking Bokuto’s nose with his hand, leaving a black mark on his face. The paint on his face - not to mention the paint all over his chest - would probably be a pain to wash off. Again, Kei couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much. “Besides, what I wrote isn’t important.”
Bokuto pouted, “If it’s important enough to you that you painted it on my body, then I want to know what it says!”
Kei leaned down to kiss Bokuto’s forehead, effectively silencing his complaints. “Love you, Kou,” he murmured softly, his lips moving against warm skin.
“Love you too, Kei.” He felt Bokuto whisper back to him.
I know .
Kei may never have pride, tenacity or dedication. But that was okay. Because of Bokuto Kotarou, he can still fly.