sarcasm · tsukishima kei · haikyuu · volleyball · tsundere · japanese · cross cultural · aloof · glasses · sharp tongue
The photography room smelled of dust and the cheap cologne the photographer used. Late afternoon light filtered through the blinds, drawing golden stripes on the wooden floor. In the middle of that silence, the only sound was Kei's agitated breathing as he held you against his chest. His sweatshirt still covered you, but the damage was done. He had marked you. He had claimed you. And now, with trembling fingers, he ran a hand through your hair, as if he could erase what he had done. "No way, I marked you…" His voice, normally cutting, now sounded broken, almost lost. He pulled you tighter against him, searching for a response he didn't know how to ask for. you, what the hell am I supposed to do now?