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myelocin · 4 years

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strangers: but sort of like home. | kuroo tetsurou

synopsis: in which you’ve been neighbors with kuroo tetsurou for over eighteen years, and this goodbye is sort of feeling like the music video to taylor swift’s you belong with me.

characters: kuroo tetsurou, you

genre/warnings: fluff, no warnings!, adolescence

wc: ~1.2k

a/n: this is @ciels-the-limit req #15 to stories in passing, and was supposed to be a drabble but i am booboo the clown and wrote too much. i really liked the bit ab waking up and beating the sun ;w;

“I’d ask you why you’re awake for some ungodly reason but at this point the things you do don’t even surprise me anymore,” Kuroo deadpans as soon as you cracked your window open.

“Funny,” you scoff but open your window fully anyway to see him better.

“It’s four am why are you up?” you ask and lean against your folded arms on the windowsill.

Kuroo’s been your next door neighbor for your whole life. And your relationship was weird— or at least you think it is. The window in his room was ironically right across yours and from the day you moved in, and catching glimpses of one another has just become a part of your day.

You rolled your eyes every time your friend made a reference to Taylor Swift’s You Belong With Me music video. Kuroo didn’t seem to mind though. He laughed every time he heard the joke.

But at least he was nice about it.

He could have easily told the class about the time he caught you half sobbing into your pillow, snot faced and hair sticking out everywhere because of a new book you’ve just finished—but he didn’t. He just awkwardly waved and shut his blinds before you could even think of an excuse. A text with a funny picture would always be waiting in your inbox ten minutes later though. You appreciated it.

Then again, you’re sure he appreciated the tin of cookies you baked indirectly for him when your dad would pop by their house and share some of the steak he was grilling. He didn’t say much, but the text about how your recipe’s improving would always be at the top of your inbox as soon as your dad came back in the house.

Outside of the conversations you shared over the window during hours like these—neither of you really talked much outside of it. A nod of acknowledgement in the hallway maybe, and a polite hello when your parents would invite his over dinner, but other than the fleeting conversations between windows at four am, you only knew him as Kuroo Tetsurou.

Kuroo Tetsurou, the neighbor who lived next to your house for more than eighteen years and always left his blinds open in the hours he knew you’d wake up before your alarm.

Like now.

Like any other day.

Except this time, the conversation lasted a little longer.

“Aren’t you going to jog?” you ask him. Kuroo lets your voice ring in the makeshift silence before he sits back down on his bed—the side facing you, and shakes his head.

“In a bit, but aren’t you leaving today? Heard my dad talking to yours yesterday.”

You nod; a little sleepy, but attentive. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, you muse. Eighteen years later and the bedhead was still there.

“Osaka, huh?” Kuroo says and this time you let his voice ring out before you prop your head up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and nodding at him.

“Yeah. Heard my dad say that you’re staying in Tokyo,” you say and he grins, almost softly, and nods back at you.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been a good neighbor,” you tease, and Kuroo looks at you, the look in his eyes gentle. Maybe because it’s the magic of four am, or the fact that this is sort of your last four am with Kuroo—you feel something akin to sadness.

“You’re saying that like I’m gonna die,” he snorts, one hand running through his hair. If it was already messy before—it looks even messier now. Then again, his hair has always been one of his charms, you think, so you don’t comment.

“Are we supposed to cry and say goodbye?” Kuroo quips across you and you hum in contemplation before shaking your head no.

“For the most part of our lives we were sort of strangers. Why, do you feel like crying Kuroo?” you laugh and he feigns his hurt by throwing one hand over his heart.

“We shared eighteen years worth of memories, (y/n)!” he gasps, which you easily laugh at.

Across you, Kuroo smiles at your laughter. He’s always thought happiness was a good look on you.

“I feel like every time I’ll come home, I’ll think of you, though,” you confess. “Your voice is literally the first thing I hear every morning. Kinda sad that your blinds would probably be closed by then.”

“It’s because you’re racing your alarm clock. It’s supposed to wake you up, not the other way around!” he laughs.

You wave off his comment and laugh with him. The clock beside you ticks to 5AM and this time, it’s his alarm blaring from his phone. You raise your eyebrows, confused. He always got up before you?

Picking up on your puzzled expression, Kuroo speaks, “I have two alarm clocks. I usually used to jog at five, but ever since I discovered how fucked up your sleep is, I guess I started waking up around your schedule too.”

You laugh, a little confused, but a little touched too. The mini conversations you shared with him were always a good way to start your day.

“Now you’re making me sentimental,” you groan. The world is still a little quiet, save for the ticking of the clock and Kuroo’s chuckle floating from his window into yours—but it’s nice. Familiar.

It feels as familiar and in place as the literature books on your bookshelf, swimming trophies above a framed wall of achievements alike, and the framed photo of you from your childhood. Kuroo laughs again and says another comment that in turn has you laughing along with him and you can’t help but feel like home.

In many ways he was still a stranger to you—but in the subtle ways, he’s felt like home too.

You’re staring at each other, still a little sleepy, and share a smile.

“I guess I’ll see you out in the real world,” Kuroo says as he stands up and stretches. The sun’s peaking now and you notice that the light hits him beautifully.

A packed suitcase and a travel bag sits at the foot of your bed along with a map of Osaka’s station as the lockscreen on your phone. You think about Kuroo as you watch him stretch and smile at you, nostalgia clawing up your throat.

“See you,” you smile and wave at him as he leaves.

You think of how he said see you, instead and goodbye and how it sounds like what you’d say to your friends when you went home from the pool or library.

Like you were just leaving and coming home in time to see him the next four am.

It’s like a promise, you think.

You smile and settle on the thought that the sentiment’s nice.

It’s seven hours later when you’re sitting in the window seat of a bullet train when your phone lights up with a text.

Kuroo Tetsurou: when u wake up at four like the lunatic you are, you can still call me. i’ll be up :) goodluck in the real world.

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