Work Text:
When Kuroo wakes, he feels a familiar pain, a pain pulled tighter by the weight of the rainstorm hanging outside and a late night of correcting problem sets. He rolls his shoulders when he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He has a persistent knot that’s made it’s home in his right shoulder, a relic of years spent playing volleyball. Most days he doesn’t notice it; he’s diligent in his physical therapy, but he’s spent too much time hunched over a desk lately. A trip to the gym to loosen his muscles will do the trick.
When he stands, he feels his bones creak, something his body has started doing since he passed the age of 35. He winces, though, once puts weight on his legs. The more aggressive of his pains has flared up with the storm as well, shooting a sharp pain up his leg. He tuts. No gym this morning then. He’d developed tendinitis in his right knee in college—he’d made a bad habit of landing on one foot after blocking. The injury wasn’t so serious it kept him from playing, but he’d had to wear a brace throughout his college years alongside many of his teammates. Most days it was just a dull ache, easily ignored, like the tightness in his shoulder. But today, encouraged by the stormy skies and eager to show its face again, the pain is sharp and unignorable. No gym today, then, he decides.
Instead, he hops directly into a shower turned extra hot, letting the water relax his muscles. He spends a little more time than he usually does in there, but doesn’t linger too long, promising himself a nice soak in the evening. He towels off, stretching again as he does so, bending down to touch his toes. He grabs a box of heat patches from the cabinet, sticking one on his right knee and one—with some difficulty—on his right shoulder. He’s always had trouble getting the placement just right using his left hand. He used to swear by creams, which were all around easier to apply, but now he worries about staining his work clothes, so he’s converted to the patches. Either way, they get the job done, and he feels a gentle warmth as the patches start to work.
He returns to the bedroom and dresses, taking his time. It’s actually quite nice, having a little extra time in the morning. He does things leisurely, and decides to make a little more elaborate of a breakfast than he usually does. He shuffles through his drawers—quietly, so as to not wake Kenma prematurely—trying to locate his knee brace. He’s not sure he’ll need it, but he likes to be prepared. He finds it tangled up in his underwear drawer, shoved near the back.
When he pads out of the bedroom, he hears Yotaro jump off the bed and follow him. He’s small, but poofy and his squished face doesn’t make him look too grumpy. He trots after Kuroo with his tail in the air, just as excited about breakfast as his owner is. Kuroo puts out fresh water for him but holds off on feeding him. He starts the rice and miso and pulls out a salmon fillet. He can feel Yotaro rubbing against his ankles. That’s right, he thinks, removing it from its packaging. You get something special today. When he finishes cooking the fish, Kuroo plates everything up, including a small dish for Yotaro that he places beside his water bowl, and returns to the bedroom.
He sits down on the bed and bends over to kiss Kenma’s cheek, rubbing his shoulder gently. Kenma’s eyes flutter open and they narrow on him. “Breakfast is ready,” Kuroo says. Kenma checks the time before determining that yes, it is in fact time for him to get up as well. He frowns, but pushes himself out of bed. Even though he’s dropped the habit of snuggling back into the covers for an extra few minutes of rest, he’s still not happy about having to get up in the morning. Kuroo smiles at him and retreats back to the kitchen, placing the breakfast on their dining table.
Kenma emerges from the bedroom and stops in the bathroom quickly before joining Kuroo at the table. When he sits, he narrows his eyes at the spread like there’s something wrong with it. “You made sides,” he says.
“I did,” Kuroo says, reaching for some of the aforementioned side dishes.
“You didn’t go to the gym?”
“Nope,” Kuroo answers. At Kenma’s look, he elaborates. “My knee is sore today, so I’m resting it.” Kenma’s eyes flash with recognition and he doesn’t say anything further.
They eat quietly, Yotaro chirping at them after he’s finished his meal. He jumps up onto one of the chairs and Kenma makes to serve him some of their breakfast like he’s a human. Kuroo chuckles at the image, Kenma with his messy bed head offering their cat a string bean. Yotaro’s not interested, though. “Suit yourself,” Kenma says, eating the bean himself.
They wash the dishes together, Kenma washing and Kuroo drying so he doesn’t get splashed with water. They linger in the kitchen after they’re done, just enjoying each other’s company before it’s time for Kuroo to leave for work. He gathers his things and packs his bag making sure to take his umbrella along. He gives Yotaro a pat and Kenma a kiss before slipping his shoes on and stepping out the door.
“Goodbye, I’ll see you this evening,” he says with a smile. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The rain gives him a chill, but he’s warm nevertheless.