AOMINE
He watches as you sluggishly make way to your shared bedroom in your modest apartment, eyes wide when he sees you slump face-first on the soft surface of the sheets. He meant to offer you some popcorn with the bowl he has in hand—an NBA game is playing on TV—but he ditches the idea, placing the bowl on the nearest counter top before pacing to get to where you are.
“Welcome home,” he says warily as he observes you from the doorway. You look dead if not for your garbled, incorrigible response. He approaches you, sitting slowly on the bed next to you, a large palm on your shoulders. You are still carrying your backpack.
“Hey,” he calls out again, “you okay?”
“I want to sleep forever,” you murmur back, and that is when he knows it is more than just a bad day. He scoops you from behind by your underarms like someone would handle a kitten, easily lifting you up to a sitting position facing him. Deft hands help you get rid of your backpack, which ends up sliding down the bed and to the floor with a light thump. Warm arms wrap around you, and you realize that your face is buried against his chest—a position in which you feel complete protected.
He hears your light sobs and brings you impossibly closer as he gently strokes your hair, a behavior that juxtaposes his gruff self so strongly that your heart wrenches even more.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m tired,” you whisper, “so tired, Daiki, I just wish I could quit.”
He kisses the top of your head, making you want to sob into his chest all the more, but then he tips your head up to look him in the eyes before planting a soft kiss on your lips. You feel his breath against you, sending pleasant shivers down your spine, but the pain you have endured the whole day is not yet forgettable.
“I don’t want to go tomorrow,” you say defeatedly, “I don’t want to meet them ever again.”
And then he descends again, sapphire eyes seemingly glowing in the dark room before he closes his eyes as he kisses you again, this time with more passion.
“Don’t worry, babe, I’m going to make you forget about them,” you hear him say as the hand around your waist caresses the skin under your shirt, “and then I’ll call you in sick tomorrow so we can figure this out.” You gasp when he moves to nip at your neck instead—Aomine might not be so eloquent in sweet things, but his methods of distraction are as equally effective.
“Just relax for now. I’ll take care of you.”
KASAMATSU
The sound of your bag hitting the side of the couch is the first thing he hears after the slam of the front door, and seconds later he spots your figure rushing to the bathroom before he hears another slam and a click. His previously relaxed temperament turns into that of murky worry and anxiety, but he has a clue as to what is making you so upset.
With a slight frown on his face—it hurts him to see you like this—he approaches the bathroom door, trying to detect sounds of anything going on beyond the slab of wood, but upon hearing none, he knocks slowly.
You hear him call out your name, his voice gentle and slightly muffled from outside the bathroom, and you lift your head only to see your horrible reflection in the mirror. Your hair a mess, your face… well, you have looked better, but the day took a toll on you, and it seems like it is not just mentally. You sigh, washing your face as quick as possible before stepping out. You hate worrying him, but you cannot take back that dramatic entrance you executed a minute ago—there is no way you can pretend it is nothing now.
Maybe you can lie that you really wanted to pee.
No, you shake your head in disdain. There is no escaping him.
“Hey,” you meekly call out once you open the door, slightly embarrassed at your outburst and what you did with the entrance door. He cups your cheek with a hand, his thumb stroking you so gently that you feel the burden on your shoulders vaporize almost immediately.
“Hey,” he echoes, “what happened?”
You slowly close the distance between your bodies in a hug, one that he instantly reciprocates. With the reassurance of his hand on your back, you reply, “They’re horrible,” and then after a long sigh, “they’re all horrible.”
Kasamatsu ushers you towards the couch, where you are sat comfortably before you find yourself in his arms again.
“You don’t deserve this,” he quietly says, leaving loving strokes on your back to calm you down. “I think talking about it is only going to make you worse, though,” he continues, and you nod.
“I’ll fix you a drink and we can relax for a bit, okay? Don’t worry about tomorrow, I’ll let your boss know that you need some time off.” Your boyfriend pecks your temple before standing up to make his way to the kitchen, but you tug at his hand and he understands, trying not to let the smugness get to you at the sight of his blushing checks.
“I get it, I get it,” he murmurs, resorting to litter kisses against the skin of your neck, conveniently hiding his reddening face from you.
“I won’t leave you.”
Sweet supportive boys!
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