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Daichi wasn’t one for spending Saturday mornings curled up in his duvet or chasing after the images of a fuzzy dream. He prefers the chill that settles into his kitchen in the early hours of day, the inviting scent of coffee, and his breakfast sizzling in the pan while the radio plays softly in the background. Mornings like those make a long week seem worthwhile, to just wake up to nothing but peace.
The doorbell rings through his apartment with a cheerful chime just as Daichi fills his mug with coffee. Reading the time to be half past nine in the morning, he runs through a mental list on who could be at the door at such an early time of day. The spoon clinks against the mug as he stirs sugar and milk into the dark concoction.
Suga? No, they just had their catch-up session last week. He would call in advance if he wanted to visit at an earlier time. (Or to fuss over him like a doting mother and poke fun of his taste in house plants. There’s no harm in finding your flowering cacti cute.) Asahi? It couldn’t be him either. Although he lived a whole city away, Asahi still managed to visit alongside Suga, usually with Nishinoya in tow. Those days were the ones that made his spacious apartment echo with conversation and laughter, typically ending with him having to throw blankets over their sleeping figures as they occupy the couch and liquor-littered floor. A classmate? As if. He kept his address a secret for this exact reason. (Also because he let the fact slip that he lived alone and they would not stop pestering him to throw 'the sickest party in this semester outside of the dorms.') Then maybe a neighbour? Possible, but unlikely. The only ones that lived on his floor were elderly, other unfamiliar college students cooped up in their rooms with weekly quizzes, and young families. Pigs would have to start flying before they would come to his door.
A barrage of chimes resonates through the hallway, shocking Daichi out of his thoughts, and he grunts at the door with disgust. Armed with his coffee mug, he shuffles to the door, turns the lock, and pulls it open with his free hand.
At the door, he is greeted by the one who has been assaulting his doorbell with no mercy. A man stands before Daichi, wearing the most confident smirk he has seen up to date on his (reluctantly admitted) handsome face. He is at least an arm’s length away from him, but Daichi can tell that he has a good ten or more centimetres on him, since he has to incline his head to look the stranger in the eye. He notes the way his hair is raised in little tufts, much similar to bed hair, and the way he seems to scrutinize the shift of Daichi’s eyes from his socks, to his sweatpants and up to the black muscle tank that displays the tattoo across his lovely clavicles.
Lovely clavicles. Can clavicles even be lovely?
“Sorry to bother you so early in the morning,” the stranger says, his tone more mischievous than apologetic. “I just moved in next door about a week ago and I thought I’d introduce myself around,” he motions to the door to the right with a tilt of his head, offering his hand to Daichi. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”
So the improbability of a neighbour being at his door is apparently very probable, but Daichi recalls the sudden noise muffled by the walls in the last few days – the tapping of footsteps, the groan of furniture scraping across the wooden floor, the hushed string of curses that follow a loud thump – and the pieces click together in his head: Kuroo was settling into his apartment next door when Daichi had holed himself up in his room, rushing to complete his final semester project. Taking Kuroo’s hand in his free one, he shakes it firmly and offers a smile of his own. “I’m Sawamura,” he introduces himself. “Welcome to the neighbourhood, I suppose.”
“Glad to be here, Sawamura,” Kuroo replies, squeezing his hand gently before releasing it. “I hope we become good acquaintances.” Daichi dips his head at him in acknowledgement, but the easy-going grin never falters from Kuroo’s face, trouble oozing from his very pores.
“Well, if that's all, I’ll be going in now,” Daichi starts, reaching to close the door, but Kuroo slips into his comfort zone in one smooth stride. He effectively acts as a door stop and simultaneously spills some of Daichi's coffee onto the floor.
“Actually, there is one more thing,” Kuroo says as he leans on the frame of the door way, shadows dancing across his face as he tilts his head and his eyes flickering down to the lower half of Daichi’s body. Daichi immediately remembers his current state of dress, but Kuroo beats him to the punch. “I'm not going to question why you answered the door without any pants on, but I'm pretty sure I've seen your boxers somewhere.... I think my dad has the same pair.”
Blinking at the subtle insult, Daichi feels very tempted to scratch the itch of seeing coffee drip from Kuroo’s face, but he becomes aware of the fact that Kuroo wants him to take the bait.
“If it makes you feel any better, they make your ass look great,” Kuroo says as Daichi shoves him from under the doorway and away from his life. “Do you play a sport, by any chance?”
Daichi shoots a menacing glare at Kuroo, who looks like a cat who definitely got the cream, but with his burning face his glare has the effect of a toddler's pout. Kuroo chuckles as he unlocks the door to his apartment, the keys jingling in his hands as he twists the door knob open. “Well, until next time, neighbour,” he salutes with two fingers, and the last thing Daichi sees is a playful upturn of the lips when the door shuts.
“Next time, huh,” Daichi mumbles as he chews meekly at his breakfast of his stale toast and burnt eggs, the coffee already lukewarm on his tongue when he takes a sip. Next time, he’ll consider sleeping in if it means steering clear of his new neighbour in the morning.
+
Kuroo was exactly the neighbour Daichi didn’t want.
Energetic beats thumped against the wall almost every morning, stirring Daichi from his slumber earlier than his internal clock intended. Voices from movies made their way into his apartment (apparently Kuroo really enjoyed Pacific Rim and watched it enough times that Daichi could quote Mako), and since late-night parties were common with him, those two factors were combined to create one big Daichi Irritator. How Kuroo hadn’t been kicked out of the apartment building yet, he still had to know. In spite of this, he was aware of the fact that Kuroo also lived alone and had no partners (that he knew of, but he didn’t want to know anyway) and thankfully, having heard no signs of that changing in the near future, some nights managed to remain serene and peaceful.
Kuroo is a man of interaction, Daichi observes one evening. He likes to greet and converse with their neighbours when he lounges around in the lobby with his laptop. He also prefers some sort of physical contact during a conversation, from a clap on the shoulder or nimble fingers against the forearm. Personal space is foreign to Kuroo when it comes to one-on-one conversations, but a smile always graces his features no matter the conversation topic. Daichi still had to decide if a coy or genuine smile appeared on his face more often.
Returning to his apartment from an overtime shift at work, Daichi arches an eyebrow at the parcel in front of his door. The return address reads of a brand unknown to him, along with his address at the center of the package as its destination. Daichi doesn’t recall anything about making purchases that include mailing (online shopping is still a little confusing to him), but he brings the package into his apartment, shaking it with interest.
Tearing through the tape carefully with a box cutter, Daichi chews on his lip and lifts the lid to find a box resting beneath the packaging peanuts. He dusts it off as he squints at the large, block letters specifying the product as a dildo.
The gears in Daichi’s brain slow to a stop and his emotions take a ride in the dryer with the temperature on high. He reaches up to soothe his forehead of the oncoming headache as he stares at the box in disbelief. Sure, he’s been living alone for almost two years now, but he wasn’t as lonely or desperate to pay for such a thing, and he spends a minute in silence trying to evaluate his position in life and how a dildo of all things manages to land right in his lap. How he was going to get rid of it was the next problem.
A bright, yellow piece of paper flutters down onto the floor from the corner of Daichi’s peripheral, and he folds it open with hope of finding an answer to his prayers.
Valued customer Kuroo,
We thank you for your purchase of our most popular product and hope you enjoy its extra functions! If you have any comments or questions, please call the number on the bottom of the box.
The XX company.
Ah. So his neighbour Kuroo apparently ordered this for himself.
Without a word, Daichi stuffs the box back in place and wraps the parcel in several layers of tape, completely throwing his care for Kuroo discovering his violation of privacy out the window. Taping down his own note on the front of the package, written on the back of the company’s personalized thank you letter, he opens the door to abandon the package in front of the rightful owner’s apartment only to see said owner walking towards him.
“Sawamura,” Kuroo grins, lifting his hand up in greeting. “You need something?”
Shoving the parcel into Kuroo’s hands, Daichi spins on his heels without a word and retreats back to his apartment, slamming the door behind him and throwing himself onto the couch with a loud groan. If there is any possible way to bleach his brain from the image of his neighbour using the damn thing, Daichi would spend his life savings on it.
Back in the hallway, Kuroo snickers at the note Daichi hastily scrawled onto the paper, already aware of the opened package underneath the covering of tape.
Idiot neighbour,
Get your address right next time.
+
Regardless of the temptation to spend a few more hours with his head on the pillow, Daichi’s internal clock causes him to stir just as the sun filters through the blinds. Silence surprisingly greets him as he drags his feet to the kitchen, and he murmurs a good morning to his cacti. A soft knock at the front door interrupts him as he chugs orange juice straight from the carton, his tongue tasting like tang and mint from his mouthwash.
“Yo, Sawamura,” he hears Kuroo’s voice from behind the door, and suddenly a good morning it was not. Their awkward address mix-up is still fresh in his mind a month later, and Daichi will never be prepared to see his neighbour in that light. “I brought pancakes,” Kuroo calls out, and a grumble emits from his stomach in response. Placing a hand over it to silence his hunger, Daichi tiptoes towards the front door and looks into the peep hole to see Kuroo’s hair in close proximity, the convex lens bringing his attention on the sharp bridge of his nose. A plate of golden brown pancakes is in his right hand, and his mouth starts to salivate at their sight.
Kuroo turns his head to look straight at the peep hole, meeting Daichi’s line of vision, and he ducks down to press his back against the door, only realizing afterwards that Kuroo would have not seen him from the other side of the hole. The smell of the food lures him to reconsider his refusal, so he gets up to drag the door open and sees Kuroo beam immediately at his presence.
“Morning,” Daichi says, because it is not a good morning so far.
“Good morning to you too, Captain Underpants,” Kuroo answers back, glancing down at Daichi’s trackpant clad legs. “Or not. I guess you’ve learned to put pants on since our first encounter.”
“Hilarious,” Daichi rolls his eyes, shifting the conversation off his choice of underwear. “So pancakes, huh.”
“Yeah, I thought I’d share some since I made too many,” he replies. “Also as thanks for covering for me when the landlord got on my ass about that housewarming party last week.”
Daichi hides a smile behind his hand at the memory of the landlord scolding Kuroo at four in the morning in his own apartment for ignoring the building’s 11 p.m. to 5 a.m. quiet hours and throwing a party. The image of Kuroo’s flushed face is vivid in this memory as he tries to defend himself, tipsy and barely coherent (Kuroo doesn't need to know that Daichi found that particular face very, very cute). Daichi had checked up on the commotion after waking up from the noise and attempting to go back to sleep to no avail and saved Kuroo from the landlord’s wrath, promising to uphold the rules more strictly in the future. He eventually returned his apartment after dumping Kuroo on his own bed, already out cold.
“Just be glad you didn’t get kicked out,” Daichi says as he leans on the door frame, the tension leaking from him like the steady drip of the tap. “Maybe you should hold parties somewhere else.”
“I’ll think about it. Hope you like ‘em, Sawamura,” Kuroo says as he hands the plate to him, already retracing his steps back to his apartment. Daichi nods in acknowledgement, looking back into his empty kitchen, and he sees himself eating breakfast alone again.
“Wait.” He wants to know if food tastes better with someone else.
The words die in his throat when Kuroo turns to him, eyebrows raised and fringe falling over one eye, but Daichi inhales courage into his lungs and grips the plate with determination. “I can’t eat this by myself,” he lies, and Kuroo purses his lips.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not on some training regiment or something because your thighs are proof of that–”
“What I’m trying to say here,” Daichi bites out through gritted teeth, his eyes wandering to his sock-clad feet and avoiding Kuroo’s eyes. “Is that you should help me by eating some. With me. In my kitchen, maybe.”
Kuroo smiles and shoves his keys back into his pocket before striding over to Daichi. He towers over him with his estimated ten extra centimetres of height, to pick up a pancake to roll and chew on thoughtfully. “I was hoping to see your place sometime soon, but this isn’t how I imagined it,” he states. “It involved a lot more booze and me getting a good look at what’s behind your old man underwear.”
Heat crawls up his neck as Daichi’s hands grasp the air for words to while Kuroo grins cheekily as he slides past him into the foyer, already slipping out of his house slippers. “Chill,” he says, strolling carefree into his kitchen. “I was just joking.”
Simmering in embarrassment, Daichi follows his neighbour to his kitchen island and finds Kuroo looking around the apartment shamelessly. He eyes him from his peripheral as he prepares coffee, taking in the way he seems to occupy all the right spaces, fitting right in place despite being a stranger in his home.
“You say that you’re not in some kind of diet,” Kuroo starts, watching Daichi drown his pancakes in syrup. “But with that much syrup you may have to. You’re going to get diabetes or something,” he teases, folding his hands under his chin in amusement.
“Please choke on these delicious pancakes, Kuroo. I insist.”
“I'm glad to hear that they're delicious. I am a master chef, you know.”
Kuroo's teeth flash and his eyes crescent when Daichi rolls his eyes at him, and he discovers that the pancakes taste a tad sweeter, just a bit fluffier on his tongue, whenever Kuroo offers more to consume.
“We should do this again,” Kuroo says over the rush of water as they clean the dishes together, and Daichi almost drops the plate in his hands. He turns to face Kuroo in half-embarrassment and half-surprise, only to find him very interested in the invisible speck of grease on the plate. “Breakfast together, I mean. On weekends. Or weekdays, you know, whichever,” he babbles. “But only if you want, of course.”
“Yeah,” Daichi answers, hushed, turning away but looking at Kuroo through his warped reflection on the plate. “Yeah, that'd be cool.”
Kuroo nods silently as his smile transitions into a full grin, the authenticity of it not lost in the mirror image. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
+
“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Suga points out one afternoon during his visit, hiding a chuckle when Daichi’s foot catches on the rise of the floor. “And you didn’t even tell me. Is this what our friendship has come to?” he whines, crossing his arms and sighing dejectedly.
Daichi clicks his tongue as he sets down the tray of coffee and cookies on the table, flopping down beside his friend as they wait for the movie to play on TV. He takes a cookie from the tray and nibbles on it. “If you’re talking about the guy who happens to be my neighbour, then you’ve got your thought process all wrong,” he retorts, pointing the cookie at him for emphasis. “We just ate breakfast together, that’s all.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” Suga arches his eyebrow, his eyes glinting with mischief. “It looked like it was more than that when he came out of your apartment all disheveled and kissed you right outside your door.”
Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose in humiliation, emitting a groan at the memory. He and Kuroo had spent another morning in his kitchen making breakfast together and laughing at reruns on TV. Just as they were saying their farewells, Kuroo kissed his cheek briefly and told him that it was a common way of expressing gratitude overseas. Daichi had seen enough foreign films to know what Kuroo was talking about, but it didn’t make him any less embarrassed. He probably would have stayed frozen at his door all day, contemplating over the outline of his thin lips pressed against his cheek, if it weren’t for Suga ringing the doorbell and snapping him back to reality.
“He was just saying thanks,” Daichi mumbles, his cheeks warming as he blows curls of steam away from his coffee. “And he always looks like he just got out of bed. We didn’t even get close to the bedroom at all, so stop staring at me like that.”
“So you two didn’t use that particular item that was sent to your address instead of his–”
“That topic is forbidden under this roof.”
“Alright, alright,” Suga laughs and raises his hands in defeat, choosing to busy himself with a cookie. “But I wouldn’t be against it, you know. I actually thought he lived with you until he walked right in to the apartment next door.”
Daichi drops the topic and hums in response around his mug, his eyes reflecting the colours on the TV screen, and he ponders over Suga’s assumption on his neighbour,
To him, Kuroo is… a friend, rather than an acquaintance. They tease and poke fun of one other, but Daichi knows there’s no bite behind the words they throw. Sure, they cook and eat breakfast together almost every morning now, exchanging stories and gossip like old friends, but Daichi senses no intimacy between them. The most intimate encounter they shared was when Kuroo kissed his cheek, and that was only to thank him.
And okay, maybe once when he's alone, Daichi thinks that Kuroo actually likes being in his apartment. He feels that it was just right that Kuroo took all of the couch with his lanky frame as the morning cartoons rolled on TV, or that he sang slightly off-key when they washed dishes, or that he didn’t like wearing house slippers, opting to lounge around bare-foot and swinging Daichi around the house to the beat of the song playing on the radio.
Huh.
“Well,” Suga pipes up, turning to him with a stern expression. “When you and your neighbour both decide to engage in other activities, please make sure there are no stains on the counter the next time I come visit. I don’t want to be eating lunch at such an unholy place.
“Suga, you’re my best friend and I love you, but please shut up.”
+
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask this, but it’s kind of hypocritical," Kuroo speaks around a spoonful of cereal, pointing his spoon at Daichi in question. Daichi frowns when he sees milk from his mouth fly back into the bowl, and he places his toast down as he pours himself a glass of juice. “Like that would stop you from asking me,” he replies before sliding beside Kuroo on the kitchen table. “I guess it wouldn’t,” Kuroo agrees, wiping away the leftover milk off of his upper lip with the back of his hand after Daichi gestures at it. “But I was just wondering why you don’t have a roommate.”
“How is that even supposed to be hypocritical?”
“Because we both don’t have roommates and I’m asking why you don’t have one?”
“You’re actually considering my feelings, how rare,” Daichi jokes, and Kuroo leans over to take bite of his toast, smearing his lips with peanut butter. Daichi grunts in disapproval when Kuroo smirks at him, hopping out of his seat to refill his mug. “I actually had a roommate once,” he says, and Kuroo raises his eyebrows in interest as he sips coffee. “We were good friends, actually. He just wanted to move out, and who was I to say no?” he shrugs, nonchalant. “Now I have the place to myself.”
“Do you ever want another one?" Kuroo inquires. "Living by yourself can get lonely."
“I don’t really know if I do,” Daichi answers truthfully, moving to dump his dishes in the sink, and wonders if Kuroo is speaking from experience. “You know, I don’t mind being alone, but I don’t like being lonely.” He hears Kuroo hum in reply as water flows from the tap, feeling his eyes burn holes through his shirt. The drone of the radio drifts between them as Daichi scrubs the plates clean, aware of Kuroo lingering behind him.
“You don't have to be sorry,” Daichi starts, sensing an apology from Kuroo. “It's not a big deal, Kuroo–”
Warm palms slide against Daichi’s waist as Kuroo wraps his arms around him, his fingers meeting one another just below his stomach, and Daichi inhales quietly when Kuroo rests his forehead against his shoulder. Tufts of hair brush against Daichi's cheek when he looks down to observe him, and he feels Kuroo's pulse skyrocket from his chest against his back. He listens to Kuroo swallow down his worries before speaking.
“Daichi,” he mumbles, and Daichi's skin forms goosebumps at how his given name sounds in Kuroo’s baritone. “You don't have to be lonely, because I'll be… I mean, I'm...”
Daichi replies back by covering Kuroo’s hands with his own, running his thumb across thin fingers, and pressing a quick kiss to the mass of hair tickling his neck. Shifting behind him, he feels Kuroo trace a path on his shoulder with his nose before burrowing it into the crook of his shoulder, his entire frame shaking with a stuttering exhale. They stay standing in front of the sink stacked with dirty dishes as the radio plays soft piano in the early rays of the morning sun. “It’s okay, Tetsurou,” Daichi murmurs, and Kuroo tightens his grasp around him in response. “You’re here. That’s enough.”
+
Daichi stirs from his slumber at the sound of crows calling outside his window, and he sits upright as he raises his hands overhead in a languid stretch. Books and clothes are spread across his bedroom floor in numerous piles, along with several boxes shoved against the corner the room in rows. Picture frames and personal achievements adorn his drawer, and Daichi cracks a smile at one particular frame: a picture of him and his lover after their very first date encased behind the glass, Daichi himself with a wide grin as a kiss is pressed against the swell of his cheek, his date’s hair untamed and still in its upright glory.
A finger traces shapes onto the curves of his shoulder blades and down his spine, and Daichi turns to the figure lying beside him to smother the culprit in a shower of light kisses against his jaw. Kuroo wraps his arms around Daichi and brings him down to the bed to peck his cheek, smiling wider when Daichi grunts and cups his face in his hands to place a proper kiss against his lips.
“Good morning,” Kuroo mumbles, his eyes twinkling with delight, and Daichi feels his heart thud in glee. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”
“I didn’t either,” he admits, glancing at the clock to read the time briefly. “But now that we’re up, we might as well get your things in place and have you settled in.”
Kuroo tangles his legs with Daichi’s and groans, choosing to burrow back into the covers with a sigh of satisfaction. Rolling his eyes, Daichi complies by pulling the duvets over their shoulders before placing his head back on the pillow, brushing the stray hairs of Kuroo’s fringe off his eye and tucking them behind his ear. Nestling himself in Kuroo’s lanky but sturdy arms, Daichi smiles at the brief brush of lips against his temple, the sound of Kuroo’s steady breathing lulling him back to sleep.
Daichi still isn’t one to seek warmth from his blanket in the early hours of day or yearning to remember the hazy pictures of his dream, but the thought of Kuroo and his belongings mingling with his, sharing experiences and kisses under one roof with no barriers outstanding, is enough to make his toes curl in giddiness. Kuroo fit unexpectedly well into Daichi’s life, just like how the spaces between his fingers are right where his fit perfectly. Breathing comes to humans without thought, and the sun rises in the east without fail; for Daichi, having Kuroo by his side was just as natural.
“You’re too good to me,” Daichi murmurs as sleep covers him like a dark blanket, and Kuroo anchors him with three words before he dreams in colour behind his eyes.