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#not proofread but first fic of 2024 that i wrote in literally 20 minutes at best. be kind to her she's sensitive
ktsumu · 4 months
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RESOLUTIONS (this year is different) tw: alcohol consumption
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This year, you wait for January in an apartment that is packed full.
You’re familiar with everyone, for the most part, all people who have played with Ushijima over the years, all people you’ve watched in one jersey or another. Everyone is laughing, happy — even Wakatoshi himself who, normally quite reserved, laughs with one of his teammates, a glass half-full in hand.
This year is different, you tell yourself. 
You know that, whenever you're all drunk enough to call it a night, you’ll call a cab and go home, probably kiss on the way there. He’ll lean on the bathroom counter and giggle while you smear your makeup away with a wipe, then take it from you and do it himself. He’ll be so much worse at it, but he’ll be gentle, and you’ll let him.
This year, you’re going to let yourself be loved. You’re excited to let him.
You watch Wakatoshi from your place on the couch, a small smile on your face. Happy looks good on him; he’s handsome when he’s free. His smile gives him lines around his mouth, his eyes crinkle. His laugh is saccharine. 
He doesn’t notice you’re watching, either, it’s not often he does. It’s not hard to be subtle — your eyes typically find him, anyway, golden boy wherever he goes.
This year, I’m going to let myself be loved.
You met him years ago, sort of in a situation like this. You were both in a bar in Tokyo, you think, and he stuck out like a sore thumb; freshly twenty and new to this, surrounded by teammates who made it obvious he’s never been to a bar before.
They also made it obvious he was new to a lot of things, likely why they made it so obvious in how they were jabbing his side with their elbows, nodding to you sat a few seats down. Go talk to her, she’s totally into you, she’s pretty!
(He didn’t even talk when he first sat down — you offered him a shot he probably needed and he took it.)
The rest is history.
It feels weird to think about going home. Home. You live with him, the bills get paid. He has smile lines and stretch marks on his shoulders. He’s going to take your makeup off for you because he’s seen you in every way you come. You have a house and you have a home — your friend said she thinks he might propose this year.
Growing pains are scarier when they’re not in your knees.
You only notice he’s moved when the couch sinks beside you. Wakatoshi sits next to you, a close-lipped smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he rests a hand on your thigh.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and it’s just the two of you.
You look over his face, his flushed cheeks. You smile, too. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Wakatoshi is gentle when he guides you towards him, his hand on your nape, kissing you like you’ve never done it before. He tastes like Tennessee, and like a resolution. 
This year, I’m going to kiss him more.
“I love you,” he murmurs. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
Whatever dread you carried before, it’s going away now.
“You are?” you tease, pulling back to really look at him. An anonymous hand walks by and ruffles his hair, like he’s scoring his first girl, and carries on. He doesn’t look up. 
“Very.”
“Mm,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I guess I’m glad I’m here with you, too.”
“I mean, I would hope so.”
“Hah,” you snort, “I’m excited to go home, too.”
He scoffs, as if he isn’t typically the reserved one; as if he wasn’t the one you had to convince to make a show here. “You want to get out so soon?”
“What, you’re not excited to deal with me at home?” you giggle, craning your head to look up at him. “Not excited to spend, like, a fat hour getting ready for bed?”
He snickers again, taking a sip of his drink. He squints like he drank it too quickly. 
“Like last year?”
“Yup. Except, I don’t know about the last part. I’m gonna pass out the second I hit the mattress, ‘Toshi.”
“That’s okay, I’ll tuck you in.”
Your chest warms, and you both laugh. One of you starts it, but you don’t remember who.
“You’re gonna tuck me in and take my makeup off, huh?”
“Like last year,” he confirms. “And get you water — get us both water,”
“Mm, you’ll need it, big guy.”
“I am fine.”
“Yeah, I know. As long as you can see where my face is, that’s good enough for me.”
“I can find it blind,” he says simply, smoothing your hair back and out of your face. “But yes, I can see it fine.”
You smile all crooked — he tilts his head like he wants to see it upright. 
“We’re gettin' older, huh ‘Toshi?”
“That is how years work, yes.”
“Going home,” you say; your thoughts are all out loud. “Going to bed.”
He smiles — he loves it. “Unless you want to stay out?”
“No, no, I want to. I’m just,” you take a deep breath, “thinking. This’ll be how many years?”
“Not enough,” he says simply. “I wanna do this forever.”
“Hah, well, I have no doubt your body could sustain years of New Years Eve parties—”
“I meant going home,” he interrupts. “Taking off your makeup, getting you water, and kissing you goodnight.”
Your heart swells to the point of being uncomfortable, the lump in your throat impossibly there. His hand hasn’t left your thigh, it hasn’t risen higher, it just sits there. His touch is warm like a swaddle, unmoving. It’s so familiar that you lean into it like you're being carried to bed.
Wakatoshi grins; it’s crooked and you tilt your head to see it upright. “Every year, I think I love you a little more.”
(The dread you had is gone now — why you ever had it, you don’t know for sure.)
This year is different, you tell yourself. This year, you’re gonna grow.
There’s a cheer throughout the room, all this laughter becoming a dull muffle when the room seems to reach the sound capacity the little space has. There’s kazoos, glass clinking, goofy hats falling to the floor — people are singing:
“Happy new year, love,” he murmurs, and he captures your lips again.
This year, I’m gonna grow.
I’m gonna let him love it, and maybe I’ll love it, too. 
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