That Was So Fucking Cute - Blog Posts

"A LITTLE COMPANY" Pairing: Sakusa x Fem!Reader

Rating/Warnings: T for Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You don't know why Sakusa asked to walk you home. Until you do, of course.

Note: Awkwardness, fluff. I literally have no idea what this is. This is NOT the fake-dating fic I was writing (someday I'll post that). Please don't ask me what the plot or point is, I don't know. Maybe I'll know after my finals, xoxo.

Somehow, Sakusa Kiyoomi is in your living room. You’re in your kitchen, putting a kettle on for tea, trying not to watch him. Sakusa makes your tiny, Tokyo living room look even smaller. He’s an impossible presence; he towers, he looms. In the dimmed lighting, in his black shirt and black pants, he’s like a shadow from another world. Tall, stately, sharp with beauty. He could almost be intimidating save for the fact that he seems positively enchanted by every little thing in the room.

The magazines on your coffee table are picked up, flipped through, placed back down in a neat pile. He walks over to your bookshelf and tilts his head to read the spines —he smiles (just barely) like every title and author name tells him a little secret about you. He moves to the picture frames you’ve hung on your wall of family, of friends. There’s one from when you were seven, at the beach. He straightens the edge of that one and turns to you with a softened expression.

That softness is as disarming as the shape of him in your home. You’ve only ever known him with serious eyes, those dark eyes that never let anything on. Usually, his mouth is covered with a disposable mask. Tonight, the mask is tucked into his pocket as he examines all the details of your décor. He keeps sending small, hesitant smiles your way. You keep busying yourself with pushing your mug back and forth on the counter, waiting for the water to boil.

The thing is, you aren’t exactly sure why he’s here. You’ve never been terribly close to Sakusa, unlike the rest of the MSBY Jackal team; Hinata, whom you share classes with, Atsumu, who had quickly roped you into being his wing-woman/drinking buddy, Bokuto, whom you shared so many hours of laughter with…Sakusa had always been polite (almost to a fault) and you had always been kind in return, but it had never extended past that. Until tonight, when he had offered to walk you home after a celebratory, post-match dinner.

You had gone to the dinner on a whim, and you had agreed to let him walk you home on a whim, and you had invited him up, thoughtlessly, on a whim. Why? You don’t know. He had been standing under a streetlight, curls over his forehead, a look in his eyes and the words had tumbled out. Do you want to come up? The fact that half his face had been masked only made the surprise in his eyes that much more evident.

And now he’s here, lifting up your throw blanket and folding it into a neat square before settling it back down onto the couch. He looks up and catches you watching him.

“Sorry,” he says.

You shake your head. “I’m the one that’s sorry. My place is a mess.”

“A little pigsty,” he agrees. You don’t have a chance to be offended before his impassive expression transforms into a secret, sly smile. And then you grow flushed. He’s teasing you, you realize. That’s new. You let out a huff of a laugh and shake your head.

“Earl grey? Mint? Chamomile?” you ask, turning to rifle through your cabinet. You hear a couple steps and when you close the cabinet, he’s in the kitchen with you, just a couple feet away. Suddenly your kitchen feels half its size. He fills up every square footage with his subtle energy. What it is exactly, you can’t place. There’s thin line of thrill, threading its way through you. It’s almost nerves, almost awkwardness. Almost excitement. It’s almost definitely the three glasses of sake you had over dinner. When was the last time a man —basically a stranger— was in your apartment? You try not to think too hard about it.

“Chamomile,” he says.

“What?”

“The tea. You asked what I wanted. Chamomile.” His smile is gone, but you can still sense a playfulness to his words. It’s so unlike the Sakusa you know (or barely know). Your mind is still trying to catch up with the image of him smiling at your framed photos.

“Chamomile,” you say. “Great.” You fumble over the tea bag package for a shamefully long time before dropping it into a mug for him. When you pour, the water sloshes onto your counter. Sakusa’s there with a rag, wiping, before you can even move.

You’re amused. “I’m a terrible hostess, inviting someone over just to have them wipe my tables and stack my magazines.”

Sakusa places the rag by your sink and doesn’t say anything. Awkwardly, you take a sip from your tea. It’s far too hot, but you furiously blink away the sting of tears.

“Uhm, do you want to sit, or—”

“Is that you in that picture?”

You stare at him. “Sorry?”

He nods vaguely at one of your living room walls. “The little girl at the beach. It’s you, right?”

You’re embarrassed for no reason. “No. Well, yeah. It is,” you let out a little laugh. “I don’t know why I said that. Yes, that’s me.”

“It’s a cute picture.”

The word cute clangs through you, through the room. Somehow you spill another slosh of tea onto your counter. “I’m a fucking mess tonight,” you mumble. You reach for the cloth again. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Sakusa’s long arm snatches the cloth before you can, wiping away the spill. “You’re fine. I’m nervous too,” he says.

“You are?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. His gaze flickers away and back.

“Thanks for the tea,” he says instead of replying. He’s so perfectly polite you suddenly remember your manners.

“Well,” you say. “Do you want to sit? On the couch?”

And so, somehow, Sakusa Kiyoomi is on your couch. He takes one opposite end, pressed right against the arm rest, and you take the other. You both take small sips from your tea, in silence.

“Congats on the win, by the way,” you say, just to speak.

“Thank you.” A pause. “I didn’t see you in the crowd.”

“Were you looking for me?” you fire back, quick, like you might with the other boys. Sakusa stiffens in his seat and you immediately regret it. You have no idea how to talk to this man. You wince, sheepish. “I was working,” you say. “Shōyō gave me the full play-by-play after, though.”

Sakusa nods. You take another long sip from your tea. He says, “you should come to the next one.” He chews his lip. “And yes.”

You tilt you head. “Yes?”

There are two splotches of red on the height of his cheekbones. I’m nervous too, he had said. In wonderment, you see it now. It makes the strangeness of his presence in your home even stranger. Your awkwardness, his nerves. You don’t understand why he offered to walk you home, but you’re beginning to. You’re beginning to understand why you asked him up.

“Yes,” he says again, softly, “I was looking for you.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what to do with that. You aren’t sure what to do with your hands, suddenly, or with your eyes. You put your mug down on the coffee table and then pick it up when your hands feel too empty. But then your hold your mug and your hands feel too full, and the way Sakusa is not looking at you makes you think that you’ll need your hands for something. You’ll need to be ready with waiting hands. You put your mug down again. “Are you —ah, never mind.”

Sakusa puts his mug down too. “What?” The way he says the word is almost eager.

You shake your head. “Do you want to watch a movie? Or maybe order food, or…?”

He leans back into your cushions. “We just ate.”

Your waiting hands are restless in your lap. “So…a movie? Or do you have to get going?”

“No,” Sakusa says.

“To the movie or to you leaving?”

He’s having trouble keeping his eyes on your eyes. “To both.”

“Oh,” you say. You crack a wry smile. “Then I’m all out of good ideas.”

“No you’re not.”

You furrow your brows. Sakusa looks at you. “Sakusa-san—”

“Kiyoomi. Please, just call me Kiyoomi.”

You hesitate. “Kiyoomi,” you say, after a moment. You say his name slow, feeling the syllables out. His face softens, goes shy.

“Yes?” And then he says your name in return, just as feeling. You feel your whole face go hot.

“Are you—” you break off, stuttering a laugh. “Are you flirting with me? Because I really can’t tell.” You can’t believe how bold you’re being with him. But then maybe it’s not so bold. He had asked to walk you home. You had asked for him to come up.

He looks at you again and you know, now, the look in his eyes. It’s the same look he had under the streetlight. It’s the same look, you realize with a jolt, that he’s had for a long, long time, looking at you. Only as you say his name, and he says yours, can you place the name for this moment in time.

“Yes,” he says again. The word is so firm you barely catch the trembling edge of it. “I’m flirting with you.”

“Why,” you breathe out, carelessly. You ought to write a book on courtship.

His mouth quirks, his ears go pink. He tries to look at you like he’s a teacher and he expected better of you, but he’s too nervous to pull it off. “Why did you invite me up?”

“I think I want to,” you fumble. “I think I want to know who you are, I guess.”

You notice you’ve moved away from the edge of the couch. He has, too. Sakusa swallows. “Then we want the same thing.”

You know what this means. It’s been a while, but you haven’t forgotten all the cues. You lean in, on a whim. Your waiting hands move to clasp his, and it turns out his hands have been waiting, too. They’re warm, long fingers encircling yours. He tilts his chin down and you tilt your chin up, to make it easy. You can feel him exhale through his nose. You’re so close. “Do we?” you ask, trying on something low and sultry. You place a hand on his thigh, perilously high. As close as you are, you can’t see Sakusa smile, but you watch the corner of his left eye crinkle.

“Cute,” he whispers, almost to himself. You close your eyes and wait. Then, your eyes are startled back open. Sakusa presses his lips on the tip of your nose, lingering for only a second before pulling back. With his index finger, he taps where he kissed.

You’re blinking at the chasteness of his kiss, at his quick retreat. He stands, abrupt, and you blink at that too, stunned. What? you mouth to yourself. You can’t pin this man down for the life of you.

“Not tonight,” he says, seeing the confusion on your face. Sakusa looks smug, or content, considerably less nervous. Somehow, this entire exchange has pleased him. You shake your head slowly.

“So…we don’t want the same thing?” You’re embarrassed at how shamelessly disappointed you sound. You hadn’t even known that you had wanted it, and now you can’t believe you can’t have it.

“Trust me,” he sighs, “we do. I hope. Just not tonight.”

You don’t know if it would be better to stand or stay sitting. “I’m…okay, then. Uh, sorry, I’m just a little confused.”

Sakusa grabs his mask from his pants pocket and loops it around his ears. He leaves it pulled down around his chin so that you can see his smiling mouth. “I’m not someone who rushes anything,” he says. “This isn’t…something I want to rush. Like that.”

“Oh,” you say, for the third time that night. You’re really on a roll. You wonder how long he’s been looking for you in crowds. You wonder how long he’s been waiting to walk you home. Sakusa must see the line of thought in your eyes because he presses his mouth together into a tight line. “Oh,” you say, something unfolding within you. “Oh, you like me.” You’re impossible.

Sakusa turns his face from you, but not before you catch his expression. You think you’ll remember that look on his face for a long, long time. “You’re so…” he trails, half amused, half annoyed.

You don’t realize how wide you’re grinning until you feel your cheeks hurt. “What? I’m so what?” There are stars spinning in your chest.

“Thanks for the tea,” he says, firm. He’s moving towards your door. You stand, you follow, giddy with something new.

“Thanks for walking me home.” You trail him right to the entrance. Sakusa holds the doorknob and then pauses. He places a hand on the frame and then stops. You watch the back of him, the slight turn of his head as he tries to peer over his shoulder at you. You’re practically buzzing out of your skin at your newfound revelation.

He turns, unexpectedly. He presses his back against the door. “Tomorrow,” he says.

“Tomorrow?” you ask. But you know. You know.

Sakusa huffs, starting to pull his mask up over his face.

“Kiyoomi,” you say, which has the desired effect. He stops. “Wait.” You take the long step towards his and before you can psych yourself out with your own brazenness, you tiptoe to peck the tip of his nose. You hear his sharp inhale. “Now we’re even,” you say, bright.

“Sure,” he manages. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say. Then you reach around and open the door for him.

Sakusa pulls his mask up, but it doesn’t matter. You can still see his smile.