Do you? (Kuroo X reader)(Suga X reader)

Chapter seven: Paper cuts.

When you got back, the apartment was dark. Almost everything where you left it, except for the stray mug next to the sink and the odd array of noodle wrappers that lay next to the microwave.

You slowly dropped your bag, letting out a breath. You were tired, for almost half the day you'd spent with Kuroo, teasing one another and the other half spent attempting to finish your essay - to no eval.

You still felt a flutter in your chest, remembering the look in his eyes, how close he'd been to you and how gently he'd spoken. You found yourself wanting to see him more, more. Again and again. He left you every time with so many questions.

You were torn out of your thought by the sound of muffled gun shots, dramatic music and the lulling of toned voices specific to that of the 1950's. You felt your gut drop slightly, turning to glance down the hall, Sugas door was open - letting out a stream of blue-ish light. It highlighted the curves of the carpet and left you with the urge to enter.

Since you were a child, he'd always had an open door. You'd always been welcome. His notions yesterday had hurt more than you could explain. Although stupid, the open door meant something to you. Something not many people wouldn't care to understand.

You kicked off your shoes, walking almost by an invisible magnetic pull - past your room and towards his. You paused in the doorframe.

He sat there, hoodie on, his hair messier than usual, eyes red staring at the cheap TV he'd found at a second hand store. You felt just slightly stunned, he seemed so animated, so detailed . The curves of his face highlighted by the flashing of the screen, amber eyes reflecting the pixilated sparkles. Lashes blacker than before.

He didn't notice you at first. He was kept in that perfect stance. And for a moment the slight anger that seemed to loom on his face reminded you of a time before Karasuno. Who he used to be. Determined and stubborn, wanting nothing but the best for himself and for you.

You glanced at the screen. That was when he noticed you, off guard, his expression vulnerable. Because he knew, that you knew.

You glanced back at him, trying to dim out the look of concern that mustered in your chest. It was a 1950's movie, a cowboy drama. He always watched it when he was feeling troubled. Though you never knew why. It was his mother's favourite film, you remembered the countless times you'd joined them on the couch watching the scenes of desperation, tension, revenge and grief. No matter what, Suga had always watched it to the end with her, hardly speaking to you until the credits had began to roll.

You hesitated , gazing at him as he stared back at you . You moved almost reluctantly, making your way over, sitting besides him. Though your back was to him

He gulped, you'd taken your jacket off and your bare shoulders whispered with beauty marks. He was transfixed on you, the smoothness of your frame, your hair that fell out of its knot, tickling at the skin on your back.

"Are you okay?," you half muttered, staring at your hands that lay in your lap.

"I-," he let out a heavy breath, he could've told the truth. He could have let it all out, instead he looked away, "I'm fine."

You glanced over your shoulder at him, parting your lips, "no you're not."

"I don't- I don't want to talk about it," his voice cracked a little.

You couldn't stop yourself, despite your recent disagreement you turned, gripping his hand and leaning against his shoulder. He smelt of peppermint.

"Suga?," you called gently. He didn't move away from you, instead he let his head fall against yours. Pain sparking in his chest.

"Yeah?"