I've spent half this morning thinking about the tee shirt you sleep in

Kenma X Kuroo

He has small hands.
The smallest hands he has ever seen.
He didn't know hands could be so small.

Said hands clutch a bright red Nintendo to his chest, legs crossed beneath him with bulky headphones covering his ears-also in the shade of red.
The train comes to a jerky stop and Kenma – being the lightweight that he is – almost falls face-first into the floor if not for Kuroo, his large hands gripping the back of Kenma's bright red Nekoma jersey and giving him a tug, pulling him back into the seat.

Kenma says nothing, so used to the way that Kuroo looks out for him that it seems natural to accept it and awkward to acknowledge, although, the pudding-head's eyes go wide and lift from the Nintendo for a moment, glancing up to meet eyes with Kuroo and Kuroo swears his heart stops.

The sound of his racing heart outranks the screech of train tracks.
The blur in his eyes encase Kenma in the centre of his vision, blocking out the other passengers.
The hands too large, the largest he has ever seen, craves to hold the hands that are too small, the smallest he has ever seen.

Kenma coughs, lowering his gaze back to the blaring screen and leaving Kuroo to his own devices. His whole body buzzes, feeling a strong urge to grab Kenma and hold him to his chest, to kiss him all over his face.

Fuck.

Why is it harder to ignore the feelings today than it was yesterday?
Yesterday he could pretend that it was because Kenma had a bow in his hair and seemed pretty – almost like a girl.
And the day before he could pretend he was projecting his feelings because of the sexual game Kenma was playing on his laptop when he should have been studying.

Today, today there was no pretending. No projecting.
Today it wasn't sexual, it wasn't imagining Kenma ass bent over the edge of Kuroo's bed and blame it on the fact that he hasn't been laid in a while.
Today it was sensual, it was imagining how although their sizes in hands are fair, that they would fit together perfectly, how Kenma's body could mold with Kuroo's and what Kenma's breath would taste like at their good-night kiss.

It was a tightening in his chest, a lift but a trigger.
It was unrequited love.
And it fucking hurts.

Kuroo raises a hand to his head, thumb and forefinger rubbing against his eyes and he sighs, lips pursed and fighting the urge to turn over and kiss Kenma and then cry. Why the fuck did love hurt so much?

"Kuroo," Kenma's voice is soft and close. "We missed our stop, are you okay? You seem out of it." Kuroo turns over and almost has a heart-attack, Kenma is right there, in his bubble, so close that he can smell what Kenma's breath would taste like at their good-night kiss.