Literature was not Kuroko's idea of an ideal class. He wouldn't consider himself a writer and poetry made no sense to him. Why couldn't they just say what they meant? Why did he have to figure out that someone was dead from the color of the curtains they mentioned in one line? However, it was a required class, and he wanted to get his degree, so he was taking it.
"I want you all to write about love. What you love, what you think love is, why it's important. Anything about it." The professor told them as they were packing up to leave the class.
Which is how Kuroko found himself staring at a blank word document, trying to figure out how to phrase what love was to him.
"Tetsu! Tetsu, you home?" Aomine called as he walked into their appartment. "Oh thank God, you are here. I have no idea how to store a milkshake, and I probably should have thought about that before buying them, but I saw they were on sale and figured you would want one so I got us each one. I drank mine on the way here, but don't worry, I didn't drink any of yours. Not even a sip because I know your weird milkshake senses would let you know if even one drop was missing." He said with a grin, walking over to peck Kuroko on the cheek and deposit the fast food cup in front of him.
"Liar. You did take a sip. Two actually." Kuroko said with a glare after picking up the drink.
"Guilty." Aomine said, smiling sheepishly and running a hand through his hair. "Does it help if I say I wanted to make sure it wasn't melting?"
"It might if that were true." He couldn't keep the glare up for long though and was smiling around the straw of his vanilla milkshake soon enough.
"So, whatcha working on?" Aomine asked, peering at the computer.
"A paper for my Lit class."
"When's it due?"
"Two weeks from now."
Aomine made a face at him. "You're such an over achiever, Tetsu. If you've got that long take the night off. That movie you wanted to see came out yesterday. Let's go watch that." He said, already starting to tug Kuroko out of his chair.
"Is it out?" He asked, letting himself be pulled to his feet.
"You're the one who wanted to see it. What do you mean 'is it out'? Yes it's out, I put it on Midorima's calendar to be sure of when it was going to come out after you went on about it for twenty minutes." Aomine never put things on his own phone's calendar since he was constantly losing his phone. Instead he just stole Midormia's and put it onto his and then waited for the green haired boy to call him ranting about stealing his phone.
"Alright, but if I forget what I was going to write it's on you."
"Bullshit. I'm not taking responsibility for that when you didn't have anything written down." Aomine argued.
When they got back later that night, Kuroko knew what to write.
What is love? The answer is not "baby don't hurt me", as most people would have you believe.
Love is the look on his face as he tells you all about his criminology class that day. Love is actually watching cop shows with him even though he's only watching to figure out who's the killer before the protagonist do. Love is not telling him when you figure it out first. Love is adding that line when he's not reading this paper so that he still won't know.
Love is him stopping to get your favorite drink, despite the fact that he doesn't even like it. Or the fact that it is nowhere near on his way home like he'll try to claim to make it seem like no big deal that he brought it home with him.
Love is not sunshine and rainbows after the rain. Rather, love is him telling you to get out your swimsuit because it may be raining but you still owe him a basketball match. Love is telling him to fuck off, politely of course, because if the sun is not up you will not be either. Love is not breaking up with him for making you actually get out your swimsuit anyway.
Love also isn't sex. TV writers worldwide would be stunned to hear that. Love is the time after where you both struggle to stay awake because you want to look at their face for just a few more seconds before falling asleep. Love is not having to ask them to stay after because neither of you want to be anywhere that isn't with the other right then.
Love is the key he hands you before saying "you're over so often that you might as well stop paying to stay on campus when you can just live here".
Love is allowing that God awful poster to stay in the living room instead of burning it like it deserves. Love is telling him that a criminology student should know something that terrible should be illegal and that he should be arrested for owning it. Love is him not moving it to the bedroom as payback for that comment. Love is glaring at him for considering it as he reads this paper over your shoulder.
He says to say that love is those magazines he likes to buy, which brings up the point that love is not getting mad that he buys magazines filled with large breasted woman because you're the one he's still coming home to. Love is not hitting him for calling you a sap when he reads that. Love is also him actually shutting up when you tell him to let you write your paper in peace.
Love is waking up in the morning unable to move because his arms are wrapped around you, but not minding because even though you stole the blankets he's still warm. Love is him letting you steal the blankets.
Love is a lot of things, and means different things to a lot of people. To me, love is him. The good and the bad parts. Because when you love someone you work through the days of rain to try and get to the sunshine and rainbows, but you try to make the best of the rain because if the rain is all you're going to have at least he is getting soaked with you.