This tent is dimly lit, nothing like the colour-filled atmosphere of the other tents. It’s the small, hand-written tag tied to a ribbon on the entrance that draws you in – “Fortune Teller, Yoon Sanha” in neat characters.
There is a small sofa, a coffee table covered in unlit candles and to the side, a set of deep red curtains that leads off into another room. You are unsure if you should sit down and wait, and are currently debating going into the other room when an unruly head of hair pops around the corner.
The first thing you notice are his eyes, bright and inquisitive. He looks nothing like you expect a fortune teller to look like; you cannot shake off the notion that he should have been an old woman shrouded in scarves and wearing dangly earrings. He is in a blue dress shirt and a white cropped sweater and a tie, a combination that really should not work but somehow does, and it is cold enough that he has thrown a plaid trench coat on.
You stand there for a moment before he scrunches up his nose and asks you if you’d like to step inside.
A polite man, he holds up the curtains as you pass through them, and he takes a seat only after you do. You look around the room – the walls are the same deep red as the curtains, but there’s something brighter about this room. There are candles in glass jars that are scattered seemingly haphazardly around the room, but that illuminate every conceivable corner. There’s an almost pearlescent quality to the seats, even though they seem to you like velvet that might have once been white.
He waits patiently until you finish taking in your surroundings, before smiling brightly at you.
“Would you like your palm or your cards read?” His voice is sunny and child-like, and it makes you smile.
“Both please,” you say.
He laughs, and asks you to make a wish on something you want with all your heart. You squeeze your eyes shut and make your wish, and when you open them again, smiling unconsciously, he gestures for your hand.
When all is done, he tucks his cards back under the table and beams at you.
You are about to ask how you are to make payment when he gestures to a sign to his right. It is written in a messy scrawl this time, almost like it was tacked onto the wall as an afterthought.
“Tell me something you couldn’t have told them,” it reads.
You turn back to him, unsure, but he nods encouragingly, chin in hand and eyes curious.
“I’d say…” you start haltingly, “I’d tell him that it was his fault for leaving his laundry in the washing machine for over an hour and that the poor girl did nothing wrong.”
A startled laugh bursts out of him.
“You don’t know how many people have told me “I’m sorry” or “I love you”. It’s a little sad that most of them have so much regret, isn’t it?” he says, and for a split second he no longer looks like a teenager. His eyes stare off somewhere to your left and the way his lips curve into a sad smile makes you wonder how old he really is.
He holds the curtains open for you again, and as you leave the tent and exit into the loud excitement of the circus, you wonder how much he’s heard that has made him so tired. You don’t look back, and the curtains swing back down on an empty room, almost as if no fortune teller was ever in there at all.
Looks like nobody's asked for KuroMattsun yet. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) May I request hcs of these two idiots close to my tiny lil heart thank youuu
The first time they meet is during freshman orientation. They attend the same college and for the orientation they were asked to partner up with someone for some ice breaker exercises and they end up partnering together. It’s awkward at first but then Matsukawa mentions something about volleyball and they hit it off.
They seem like the type that needs to be friends first with someone before even considering dating them. They sleep over each other’s dorms, meet up for lunch, keep each other sane during finals week cramming at the library. It’s so easy and fun to be with each other. It takes a few months until gazes are kept longer, hands linger on each other’s bodies for too long and the air between them can be peacefully silent without the need for noise.
I think they might be pining for a while. Kenma has come up in conversations, so does Hanamaki and both think the other is nursing a crush on their best friend who is suddenly far away that they don’t want to make a move.
They do get together though. It was a messy affair too. They both woke up with a hangover and next to each other on Kuroo’s bed. In the haze of what must be a drunken night and pent up feelings Kuroo kisses him. Matsukawa draws back because he doesn’t want this to be some sort of mistake Kuroo will regret when he’s sober. Kuroo insists it isn’t but Matsukawa ups and leaves.
Hours later Matsukawa opens the door to his dorm to see Kuroo standing outside with a nervous smile and a latte from that one hipster cafe Matsukawa likes.
“So here’s the thing, I think you’re beautiful.”
“Are you…are you still drunk?”
“So? Tomorrow I’ll be sober and I’d still think you’re beautiful. You’ve always been.”
“Did you just quote The Dreamers at me?”
“Doesn’t make it any less sincere.”
Kuroo hands him the latte and there written on the side is ‘I like you a latte’ with a grinning cat scrawled on.
Free drinks and puns, Matsukawa is in love.
He initiates the kiss this time, melting away all of Kuroo’s nervousness and confessing that he likes him too.