Kuroo Tetsurō | BOYFRIEND

It’s raining when practice ends. Not heavy. Just enough to blur the streetlights and make everything softer. Kuroo steps out of the gym, towel around his neck, still half-laughing at something Yamamoto said — until he sees you.

Standing under a small umbrella. Waiting.

For him.

You’re slightly damp from the mist, his jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers curled around the umbrella handle. The rain makes your lashes look darker, your expression quieter.

And his chest tightens so suddenly he almost grunts.

Kenma glances at him from his phone, looking at him with that same bored, deadpanned expression. “There it is again.”

“There what?” Kuroo asks, already knowing, but trying to play coy.

“That look. Like you’re in pain.”

He is.

You spot him and your face softens instantly — not flashy, not dramatic. Just warm. Relieved. Like seeing him is the best part of your day.

That does it.

He walks toward you slower this time, rain tapping lightly against his shoulders. The closer he gets, the worse the ache becomes. It spreads from his chest to his throat, heavy and overwhelming.

You lift the umbrella slightly so it covers him too. That small gesture was devastating. He stares down at you for a long second, eyes softer than they ever are on the court.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs.

One hand slides to your waist. The other gently tilts your chin up. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his forehead, but he doesn’t care.

“You wait in the rain for me,” he says quietly, voice low. “Do you know what that does to me?”

You just look at him like that. That trusting, steady look.

His composure cracks.

He pulls you into him in one smooth motion, umbrella tilting awkwardly as he wraps both arms around you. It’s tight — not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

You’re his.

His face presses into the top of your head, and he exhales slowly, almost shakily.

“My heart actually hurts,” he admits into your hair. “Every single time I see you. You're so fucking cute.”

You fit perfectly against him, smaller, warm despite the rain. His grip tightens slightly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “It makes me want to keep you forever. I'm gonna cry.”

(CYOS)