Work Text:
It starts, as most things do, with YouTube.
Kuroo thinks makeup is okay. She wears it when she has meetings scheduled, when she’s not half-way asleep in the morning, or on the off chance she has a date. Outside of those occasions, she’s really kind of lazy to be honest—but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how it works.
Kenma, on the other hand, has never been a big fan of makeup. While entirely neurotic about her skincare routine, she could not give a damn about anything besides eyeliner. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t fallen down the YouTube rabbit hole before.
The last time this happened was in high school, they were fifteen and sixteen respectively, and Kenma found all sorts of videos about eyeliner. Kuroo remembers laughing at the first attempt because her best friend looked like a raccoon instead of a cat. She had smeared it in her impatience for it to dry, and it was funny up until it started burning her eyes. She remembers having to help Kenma wipe it off because she panicked and wouldn’t try to flush it out of her eyes and the longer it stayed, the longer the sting burned.
But high school wasn’t like this.
In actuality, Kuroo’s not too sure how to blame YouTube for the position they’re in now. She’s seen some of the videos Kenma’s been fixated on, all full of pretty looks to try, but who in their right mind was doing makeup like this ?
“Tetsu, stop moving,” Kenma murmurs.
“Sorry.”
Kuroo has known she’s a lesbian since she was fourteen, it took the one-time-dare-kiss with Bo to realize that maybe her beef with Daichi wasn’t only friendly sportsmanship. Kuroo has also known that she’s been nursing a long-time, one-sided crush on her best friend since she was sixteen.
When Kenma asked Kuroo to be her test subject, she readily agreed. There isn’t much that she wouldn’t do for her best friend, sitting for an hour at most isn’t a big deal. The problem in this situation is that she’s not sitting, she’s laying down—she’s laying down and Kenma is the one who’s sitting.
Is it embarrassing to be twenty-three and still rendered a blushing mess because a girl looks at her? Maybe.
But let’s be fair here. She might be twenty-three with a ridiculous crush, but said crush is sitting on top of her. She can’t imagine how she’d react if she would open her eyes. Really, Kuroo is only so strong.
She can feel the hairs of the makeup brush against her eyelids.
“You’re tensing,” Kenma chides softly, never faltering in her movements.
“It tickles,” She says back. It does; Kenma has a different kind of brush than Kuroo normally uses. Brand new ones she specifically bought for these experiments of hers, they’re made of softer hair—probably something expensive and imported, because like Kenma always says, if she’s going to invest, she’ll invest in the best.
“It does not. You’re just sensitive.”
She lets out a playful scoff in return, “Sensitive?” The nerve. She gently reaches her hands up from where they lay at her side, “You wanna talk about sensitivity?”
“Tetsu, do not.” There’s a clear warning in her tone, she knows exactly what kind of game Kuroo’s playing.
She still has her eyes closed but she can imagine Kenma’s face perfectly and can’t help the grin that comes out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her hands lightly brush the shirt her friend is wearing. Kenma’s always been ticklish, especially on her sides; it’s been that way since they were kids and it hasn’t changed.
She swats the hand that’s about to squeeze her waist. “I swear to God, I’ll poke you with this brush so hard it’ll make both eyes match blue.”
“Okay, okay. There’s no need for violence.” She takes the risk though, pushes her fingers into the other girl’s side to hear the squeal that comes. The laugh she gets out of it is entirely worth the smack to the forehead. It’s surprising that she keeps her eyes closed despite the jolt of the hit surprising her—she can’t be one hundred percent sure that Kenma won’t make good on her threat.
“Damn it, you are such a bitch.” The words are harsh, but Kenma’s tone is fond even through her exasperation.
“I’m sorry, kitten. Couldn’t help myself.” It’s a bit awkward to shrug her shoulders sheepishly in the position she lays but the movement gets the point across.
She feels Kenma’s thin fingers wrap around her wrist and pull them from waist, they push her hand more towards her own body. “Keep your hands to yourself, please.” She wants to give a cheeky response, but she can feel the rise and fall of Kenma’s stomach from where her hand is now pressed against. In the midst of the tickle-moment, Kenma had lurched forward more and stayed there even as she continued working. Kuroo can feel the words shrivel and die in her now dry throat. God, isn’t she pathetic.
She clears her throat gently before trying to think of a distraction for this very moment. She can be normal about this, she agreed to help out her friend, they’re just two friends doing very friend-like things. Doing each other’s makeup is something that friends do and physical touch isn’t uncommon, best friends are close and can sit close to each other.
Sit close and sit on are different, the traitorous part of her brain whispers.
The weight on top of her shifts to the side, she can hear Kenma rifling through the pile of supplies. She can picture her perfectly, hair half done up in a shitty bun and wearing the Bouncing Ball shirt that she insists isn’t Kuroo’s but is two sizes two big, her face scrunched up while she decides on what brush is right for the next color. She’s beautiful.
Kuroo wants to open her eyes, to see if the real thing meets the expectations or blows them out of the water. But she knows if she even tries to peek, Kenma really will poke her in the eye. Blinded by beauty, literally. The thought, regardless as to how painful it could be, makes her smile in amusement.
“What’s so funny?” She hears from above.
“Just thought about something.”
The curious hum she gets in return vibrates against her hand, “‘Something’ being?”
“It’s not important.”
“It made you laugh, tell me.” She feels the bristles of the brush change, Kenma’s picked up a new brush to begin the blending.
She couldn’t possibly be corny enough to say what she thought about earlier, so she settles with, “I was thinking about the first time you tried working with eyeliner.” Exactly like she thought, Kenma freezes and she can practically hear the screeching halt of her hand.
“I thought we agreed to never mention that.”
“You agreed.”
“That was a traumatizing time in my life.” She feels the shift of her hips, and Kuroo can’t decide if this is all too predictable or if she knows Kenma like the back of her hand—but she pulls her legs up to brace Kenma’s light flop backwards. She still can’t see her yet she can imagine the dramatics clear as day.
She wobbles her knees, “Let’s call it character building, reclaim it or whatever therapists say.”
“You were a finance major, not psych.”
“You never know, I could’ve gotten another degree. Don’t downplay my capabilities.”
Kenma snickers before moving from the reclined position she was once in, there’s a groan that escapes when she pulls herself back up.
“What’s wrong?”, Kuroo can’t help but ask.
“My back, I’m old.”
She stretches her hand up again, waving her fist—which would be more threatening if she could even see where she’s aiming. “You are literally twenty-two, shut up. Save that for the actual old-timers.”
There’s a swat to her hand, “You’re twenty-three,” and the blending brush has started up again.
“Exactly, I’m one foot in the grave already.”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll make this your funeral makeup.”
“Yes ma’am.” She shuts up.
The blending shouldn’t take too long, she’s seen the videos, she thinks Kenma is merely a perfectionist. Soon there’s the sound of the brush being tossed and it lands on the mattress with a soft noise.
“What are you gonna do next?”
There’s a little rattling sound by her ears and a gentle shake of the bed. Shaking the bed, Kenma on top of her…whoa now, that’s an image. Kenma hasn’t put any blush on her cheeks but her mind gets the best of her for a second. Snap out of it, don’t be weird! The internal reprimand is like a tiny version of herself shaking her shoulders in a tight grip. Like Lizzie McGuire, the blonde American girl. That throwback is enough to really pull her out, she’s has got to stop letting Bo convince her to watch Western television.
“A little bit of eyeliner.”
Ehhh, Kuroo’s not too sure about all of that. Kenma has a different definition of what ‘little’ means when it comes to eyeliner.
“Relax please, it’s actually a little.”
She feels the felt tip glide against her eyelid and flick gently to make the wing. Okay, so far so good. It moves to the other eyelid, is done in seconds, and she thinks she’s in the safe zone. But then she feels the tip of the liner press again, “Kenma.” She can’t help the weariness that comes out.
“Shush.”
She scoffs, “Shush?”
“I’m concentrating on my masterpiece.”
“Okay Picasso, this isn’t art.”
“It’s my art.” She says it passively, but there’s a small thrill that runs through Kuroo’s veins over the idea that her friend could be referring to her.
“Oh, you flatter me.”
Kenma doesn’t reward her with a response. Instead, there’s a light breeze over her eyes like she’s being fanned and she assumes it’s to help dry the liner fully.
“Open your eyes for a sec,” Kenma directs and as always, she listens.
Her eyes don’t open right away and since they were closed for so long, her vision is a bit blurred. The picture of Kenma in her head from earlier is correct. Hair tied up, faced scrunched, big shirt on. The lighting in the room is soft enough that it looks like a glow behind her, it makes her appear almost angelic. Kuroo so badly wants to roll over, push her face into the pillow, and kick her feet like she’s a teenager again.
However, she is not a teenager so she does not do silly things like that.
She clears her throat lightly and blinks. Kenma waves another one of the tools she bought. Eyelash curler in one hand and mascara in the other, she gets handed both.
“Aren’t you supposed to do this?”
“I don’t wanna pinch you, but this is the next part.”
“What if I pinch myself because I can’t see?” She inquires.
Kenma rolls her eyes, “I’ve seen you do this on the train to work while nursing a hangover, you’ll be fine.”
Kuroo sighs and proceeds with it anyways, she can feel the eyes on her. They’ve always had an intense stare, it doesn’t lighten up even in this instance. They make her nervous, even after all these years. But she’s right, Kuroo can curl and apply with no problem—one of her talents, if it can be considered one at least.
She rests the tube and the curler to the side when she’s done, she can’t close her eyes again because the mascara will smear and Kenma will kill her for ruining her hard work. They aren’t saying anything while they wait for it to dry and Kenma looks around to find the bag she had originally, before she had chosen to dump everything out in the open.
This gives Kuroo time to simply look again and she focuses on one thing, “Are you wearing lipstick?”
“It’s chapstick.”
“It’s red.” It’s soft and at first glance, it can be mistaken for lipstick. But Kenma hates lipstick, she has an issue with getting it in her teeth and the taste of that bothers her.
“It’s tinted,” There’s a small pause before she tacks on, “Cherry flavored.”
“Oh.” This isn’t the first time she’s had the thought about kissing Kenma, that floats through her mind on a daily basis.
She wants to kiss her when they’re waking up from a nap and Kenma does that little stretch-shake thing, she wants to kiss her when they’re in the kitchen making eggs because Kenma insists no one but Kuroo makes them right, she wants to kiss her when they’re waiting in line for the unveiling of a new game and it’s six in the morning in the middle of December.
The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, all living things are made of carbon, and Kuroo wants to kiss Kenma; three facts she knows off the top of her head.
Kenma hands her a mirror, it’s one of those hand-held ones that’s big enough to see her entire face instead of only parts of it. Honestly, it doesn’t look half bad—not that she expected it to look bad, of course. She’s a tad bit surprised at how well Kenma did for her first time.
She tilts her head inquisitively, admiring the shimmer on her eyelids and the eyeliner that actually did stay small, “So I’m done?”
“Almost.”
“Almost? I think I look pretty good.”
“You always look good,” Kenma takes the mirror from her hands, she’s still on top but makes no indication she’s going to move. “Your lips aren’t done.”
Kuroo feels her tongue run over her lips and realizes she’s right, Kenma never put on any kind of lipstick or gloss to finish the look. She glances at the mess of cosmetics, “Did you even buy a lipstick for this?”
“Oh, no, I forgot.” To Kuroo, that sounds anything but regretful. She can’t help but narrow her eyes.
“You ‘forgot’.”
Kenma sucks her teeth, “I did.” She drums her fingers on her thighs and thinks for a second. “I have the chapstick, it’s tinted.”
Sharing chapstick, an indirect kiss being offered front and center. And if that isn’t a thought. Normal , she reminds herself, be normal . She tries to go for casual, “Yeah, okay. Yes, that works.”
“Cool, close your eyes.”
What, she thinks.
“What?”
“Close your eyes, so you can get the full reveal.”
“I had the full reveal already,” she argues.
“Just-” Her friend huffs, “Close. Your. Eyes.”
She does and oh, the things she does for this girl. Really, if it were anyone else, she would’ve rolled her eyes so hard and insisted on keeping them open because to her, it’s a bit unnecessary.
For example, if Bo pulled this…well, she doubts she would be in this position with Bo mainly because that girl is made of pure muscle and Kuroo isn’t as strong as she was in high school. Daichi on the other hand, well maybe, but still unlikely considering she’s been with Suga since their first year of university. So how she’d even get into that theoretical position with Daichi, she wouldn’t be able to tell you.
Kenma, though, has always had this power over her. That’s the reason she didn’t argue when Kenma decided to buy an entirely new set for this project or complain when Kenma insisted that this position was the best for doing makeup. Kenma knows how to play Kuroo straight into her hands and that’s why she huffs and closes her eyes again.
Because she’d do anything for Kenma, even let her apply the chapstick when she’s capable of doing it herself—all because Kenma asked. Chapstick that she has yet to feel swipe against her lips, now that she thinks about it. She parts them, ready to crack a joke about how dry they’re getting when she feels it.
It’s not a swipe of balm, no press of a finger to help it smoothen in. There’s a different pressure that, funnily enough, reminds her of lips. Which would be crazy, it can’t be lips because then that means…no, she can’t let herself think that. She’d have to check into a facility and declare that she’s gone crazy from a crush on her best friend.
But before she can let her mind continue running wild, there’s a small exhale of air that tickles the top of her lip. Oh my God , she thinks, Am I being kissed right now?
Her answer comes when Kenma pulls back the next second and she opens her eyes to see that her friend didn’t lean away, she’s still there and they’re face to face.
“Was that okay,” Kenma asks quietly.
Kuroo can’t think of what to say, she blinks a few times. If this were that damn Western show, the mini version of Kuroo would be just as dazed.
When she fails to respond right away, Kenma’s face does the twitchy thing Kuroo knows is her regret-response. And if that doesn’t disperse her cloud fast enough, the way Kenma starts to pull all the way back does.
She has point-five seconds to respond or react before it all goes away and everything is ruined. In her haste and lack of thought, she’s not even sure what she does to get Kenma’s lips back on hers, but they’re there.
Kissing her is unreal, a fantasy come to life—Kuroo has spent eight years thinking about this moment and not once did she imagine it could happen. She can taste the sweetness of cherry on her lips and Kuroo, ever-so greedy, wants more.
Her hands weave themselves straight into Kenma’s hair, paying no mind to how messy she makes it. In turn, Kenma’s cold hands reach for her face; the chill doesn’t bother her because she feels the heat creeping up her neck. Kenma’s touch is both comforting and thrilling, familiar and all-together new. She can’t believe this is happening. She could die in this very moment and she’s certain this is what Heaven would taste like.
Kuroo gets a hint of the fruity flavor again when she brushes her tongue delicately against Kenma’s lips, she wants them to part and welcome her in. The light gasp she hears when her tongue grazes over is like coming home, it makes her flush and pull her closer. She swears she can feel Kenma’s heartbeat, or maybe it’s hers…maybe it’s both of theirs, beating in sync because they’ve always been KurooAndKenma . They’ve just never crossed this line, and now that they have, there’s no going back. Kuroo doesn’t want to go back.
And when teeth reach out to bite at her lip, she thinks that maybe Kenma doesn’t either.
She’s not really sure how long it lasts, at some point it seemed as if time had slowed down. Kenma is the one to break away but she doesn’t go far, Kuroo can see the reflection of the same delight that she feels inside. The world around them softens and Kuroo thinks that she would give anything to make sure that Kenma never stops looking at her like that.
“Sorry,” she whispers, not wanting to dispel the peace of their bubble.
“For what?”
Her thumb rubs softly across Kenma’s lips, they’re plump, “Your chapstick is all gone.”
“That’s alright,” She says before inching her face closer, “I have more that we can share.”
Kuroo doesn’t have to respond with words, a kiss will do just fine.