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After tossing and turning for what felt like ages, with no indication whatsoever that the relief of sleep was on its way, Kuroo threw his arms up in defeat and rolled out of bed. He lingered for a moment at the door, contemplating whether or not he should just crawl back under his blankets and keep hoping for rest. But the night was calm and beautiful, the path from his parents’ farm to the country road clear, and his worries threatening to bubble over and consume him. So he left.
The stars, perched delicately in the soft, deep mantle of the night sky, glimmered and vied for his attention like so many preening birds. They tempted him to cast aside his worries and gaze upon their beauty. Though he appreciated their efforts, his thoughts surged on. So he kept walking.
He strolled along the lane for a good while. Though he maintained a brisk speed in an attempt to outpace his anxiety, his footsteps were silent on the soft, dusty earth. Summer may have been drawing to a close, but even so, the night was alive with the sounds of nature carrying on. Insects droned and whined, owls called to each other from the treetops, and the tall grasses rustled as rodents scurried about. He paid no mind to the evening cacophony, focusing instead on quickly putting lots of distance between himself and his bed.
Kuroo made it all the way to the long-abandoned fields down the hill from his family’s farm before he let his footsteps slow to a dragging shuffle. The act of walking itself had done nothing to slow his racing thoughts, so he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and turned to the side of the road. An old, low stone wall ran along this stretch, and he paused for only a moment before approaching it. He gave the bottommost row of stones a gentle kick out of habit before pivoting on his heel and sitting atop the cool rock.
He let his head fall back and his shoulders curl forward as he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He could smell the approach of autumn in the breeze as crisp air filled his lungs. The waxing moon was bright above him and he could almost feel the light settling over his face, like the gentle stroke of his mother’s hand on his cheek. He let out a long, slow breath and smiled. In the fresh, open air and the calm light of the moon, surrounded by the noises of late-summer night, he felt both invigorated and deeply peaceful. As his worries finally sank back beneath the fast-calming surface of his mind, he could feel his skin begin to prickle with the joy of simply being alive.
A loud crack reverberated across the fields behind Kuroo’s back, quickly followed by panicked shrieking. Kuroo whipped around, eyes immediately drawn to the old barn that had taken pretty severe storm damage a few days ago. A corner of the roof had buckled, and as he watched, pieces of shingling began snapping and caving in. As the screams intensified, Kuroo shook himself out of his stupor, launched himself over the wall, and sprinted toward the collapsing building. In mere seconds, the whole roof had fallen in, large sections of the walls giving in shortly after. But still, he ran.
With the barn crumpled and broken like a downed animal, the area had gone completely silent save for the sobbing of panicked children. Kuroo tore towards the first figure he could make out in the settling dust.
“What happened?” he demanded, chest heaving as he grabbed the shoulders of a small child and looked them over quickly for injury.
“We snuck out, and we were playing, and then we-”
“Never mind!” Kuroo interrupted, having determined the child was largely unscathed. “Did everyone make it out?” He scanned the area frantically, counting two other heads stumbling toward him.
“Ren? Ren! Ren, where are you!”
Kuroo darted toward the little girl making her way over, crouching so he could get a better look at her. “How many of you were playing?” He asked, raking his eyes over her and the boy beside her to make sure neither were broken or bleeding.
“F-four!” The boy answered, eyes wide as saucers and lower lip trembling as he tried desperately to bite back tears. The other two children weren’t holding back their fear quite so well, tears cutting stark lines down their dirty cheeks as the shock wore off.
Kuroo snapped back up to full height, looking behind the children for any sign of a fourth. Seeing none, his stomach dropped.
“You, run as fast as you can to get help, now!” Kuroo shouted to the oldest-looking boy as he ran toward the ruins of the barn. Once he neared the heavily distorted wall, he heard coughing from underneath the rubble, followed almost immediately by whines and pleas.
“Don’t move!” Kuroo shouted, scanning the perimeter to find a way in, “I’m coming to get you!”
Spotting a section of the wall that must have been missing long before the collapse, Kuroo darted over and peered inside. It was dark, but the beams of moonlight streaming through the ruined sections of roof provided enough light for Kuroo to catch the flashing of desperate eyes. A little boy, no older than four or five at most, was pinned against a large support beam by a section of roof that had fallen against him. Slowly, painfully slowly, Kuroo picked his way toward the boy. The last thing he wanted was to cause anything to shift and send that beam down on top of the child.
“Shhh, hush little guy, everything is okay,” Kuroo crooned as he tiptoed through the rubble. “Just stay nice and still, okay? I’m going to get you out of here.”
The little boy whimpered but did as he was told, remaining perfectly motionless.
When Kuroo made it to the boy’s side, he realized he was going to have to shove the large section of roof aside if the boy was going to make it out. He looked pretty much unharmed aside from a gash in his cheek, and Kuroo prayed that the kid would be able to get out quickly and on his own once Kuroo unpinned him. The deep groaning and glacial shifting of the large support beam behind the child indicated that he didn’t have time to wait for backup to get the kid out carefully. He needed to act fast.
“Hey buddy, are your legs okay?” Kuroo asked, gently feeling over the beams in front of him to find a good purchase point.
The little boy nodded very carefully.
“Good, good. Can you see the hole in the wall over there? The way I came in?”
Another nod.
“Perfect. I’m going to shove my shoulder up under this beam to get it off of you, okay? The instant you can get out from underneath it, you’re going to run for that hole. Understand?”
The little boy let out another whimper, but nodded yet again.
“Alright. Count of three then, yeah?” Kuroo settled into a squat and pressed his shoulder gently into the beam, just above the little boy’s arm. “One… Two… Three!”
Kuroo shoved as hard as he could, driving his heels into the ground with all of his might. For a horrifying moment it seemed as though nothing would happen, but then the smaller beam shifted. Once the gap was large enough, the little boy squirmed free.
However, the shift in pressure sent the already unstable pile into freefall. With only a shuddering crunch and groan as warning, the massive support beam started toppling over. Kuroo’s mind completely blanked out, his body moving entirely on impulse. He jumped with as much power as he had left in him after shifting the beam, hands colliding with the little boy as he successfully shoved him out of harm’s way.
Kuroo was not so lucky.
The beam, solid and unrelenting, crushed him into the ground. He felt his ribs crunch and shatter, piercing into his lungs. He wanted to scream, felt one rise in his throat as agony overtook him, but the weight on his back was too great. A pained grunt was all he could manage. He saw the little boy scrambling out through the whole in the wall. Good.
💀
Surrounded by the warm glow of candlelight and quiet rustling as he turned the pages in his book, Kenma felt perfectly at peace. Normally, his uncle would scold him for being up so late, but with him away for the next few days Kenma was free to manage his own schedule as he pleased. So, if he wanted to stay up long past sunset to study his summoning rituals, then he would do just that.
The soft, flickering shadows and the comforting smell of old books were doing their best to mind Master Akaashi’s wishes however, surely and steadily lulling Kenma to sleep as he sat at his desk. As circles and symbols began swimming across the pages and his lashes dragged ever slower across his cheeks, someone banged against the front door with what sounded like enough force to knock it off the hinges.
Kenma jerked upright in his chair, twisting toward the study door. Had he been dreaming?
“Please! Please help! My son, please! Hurry!”
Desperate, plaintive shrieks assaulted Kenma’s ears, made delicate by hours of silence.
Definitely not a dream, then.
But, what should he do? Master Akaashi told him he shouldn’t offer any services more complicated than helping families write spirit notes while he was away. He might be able to manage more under his uncle’s careful supervision, but he had a feeling whatever had driven someone to scream at his door in the middle of the night was beyond his current level in necromancy.
So, just ignore them? There was no window to the study, no one would have seen his reading light. The place could be empty—plenty of people knew Master Akaashi was away visiting the city for a few days. His apprentice very well could have accompanied him. There were also definitely two people, a man and a woman from the sound of it, in full blown hysterics. Master Akaashi would know how to soothe them, but Kenma wasn’t good with people. He was scared, and he would definitely only make things worse.
“Please,” the woman called out, a sob breaking through her cry. Her voice had softened a bit, leaning more toward defeat. “Please, you’re the only one who can help us!”
Kenma clenched his hands into tight fists, nails stinging against the soft flesh of his palms. If he didn’t do something to help them now, then they would probably attract more people, and he really wouldn’t be able to deal with that. Pulling his apprentice’s robes more tightly around his thin frame, Kenma grabbed a candle and slinked toward the front of the house. Just as he was about to flip open the latch, someone, probably the man, started banging against the door again.
Kenma cringed away from the noise, now only inches from his face, and waited for it to stop. Once he counted ten seconds from the last beating, he flipped open the latch and slowly pulled the door open just enough to peer out.
“Oh, thank gods!” A tall, willowy woman breathed. Her cheeks were red and tear-wetted, hands wringing violently before her.
“Please,” said the man, just as tall and with labor-broadened shoulders. He stepped in front of the woman, pressing a hand against the door just enough to ensure Kenma wouldn’t be able to close it. “You have to help our son.” His voice was much quieter now, but all the fear and desperation remained.
Kenma followed with his eyes as the man gestured behind him. A flat cart pulled by a small, sturdy horse was pulled up just beyond the door. A young man lay motionless on the cart, and Kenma winced. Even in the cool light of the moon he could tell the man’s skin had a grey cast to it, and his lips were clearly blue. If that weren’t enough to tell him the man was beyond help, the slumped, misshapen form of his chest confirmed it.
“Your son is gone,” he murmured, looking down at the man’s feet, “I can’t help you.”
“You can bring him back.” The man’s voice picked up in volume once more, a hint of anger now lacing in with the desperation. The woman, his wife no doubt, only whimpered.
“I can’t. That ritual is beyond my training, and my Master is away.”
“But it can be done.”
“Well, yes, but—”
This time it was the woman, the young man’s mother, who interrupted Kenma. “Then please, please try. Please. Anything. We can’t lose him.” Her face was still screwed tight in despair, but her words were firm. Her husband stood strong behind her, like a tree well adapted to weathering even the strongest of storms. They would not be turned away.
Kenma hesitated before responding. His shoulders were so tight he felt they would snap at any moment. He wanted nothing more than to lock the door and hide away under his blankets. This was too much for him. His uncle would know exactly what to do, what to say to calm these frantic parents. Kenma had no idea. People had always been a mystery to him. But if they wouldn’t leave him be, then he had to try something.
“I can’t bring him back…” He said softly, barely above a whisper, “Not without my Master’s help. But I might be able to help you talk to him.”
💀
Once the preparations were complete, Kenma instructed the man to help lift his son onto the low altar. With everything and everyone in place, Kenma squared his shoulders to begin the ritual. He’d been present for dozens, and Master Akaashi had even let him take the lead on the most recent ones. He could manage this at least.
Kenma couldn’t stop his tiny, satisfied smile only minutes later when the candles in the room flickered low and the semi-opaque spirit of the young man, Kuroo, materialized before him. He looked confused, but that was to be expected. Before Kenma could step forward to calm Kuroo’s spirit and let him know what was happening, the young man’s parents rushed forward.
They didn’t dare cross the line, Kenma had been very clear about what the consequences of that would be. But once they revealed themselves, calling out to their lost son, Kenma was completely out of control of the situation.
“Mom? Dad?” Kuroo sounded pained and confused. Kenma couldn’t blame him. The guy was in a dark and unfamiliar room, couldn’t move, and his parents were calling out to him desperately.
“Please, will everyone just—” Kenma’s quiet attempt to settle everyone before things spiraled out of hand was fast interrupted by Kuroo’s mother.
“Kuroo, darling, we’d thought we lost you!” she cried, clapping her hands over her mouth to bite back a sob at the sight of her son’s translucent form.
“Lost me?” Kuroo sounded incredulous, “But I just went for a walk… Where are we?”
“Kuroo, son, don’t you remember what happened? What you did?” His father asked, drawing his son’s attention. Kuroo’s eyes were wide and panicked, his memory lapse only adding to his confusion and distress.
Kenma lifted his arms, a silent imploring. “Wait, please, let me just—”
“Kuroo, you died saving that child in the barn. Our good, sweet boy,” Kuroo’s mother said, her voice now caught somewhere between a whimper and a proud crooning.
“I died?” Kuroo shouted, incredulous.
Kenma’s stomach dropped. What little control, what semblance of control he had before was gone and the situation was fast devolving. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He should have closed the door. He wasn’t ready to do this, he couldn’t do this. Not without Master Akaashi.
“Yes, you died,” his father said, in a tone as reassuring a man could muster when trying to comfort the spirit of his deceased son, “But it’s alright. We’ve brought your body to the necromancer. He can bring you back.”
All sensation left Kenma in a cool trickle starting at the crown of his head and ending at the tips of his toes. He watched, numb, as Kuroo’s eyes flicked to him.
“You can bring me back? What are you waiting for! Please, I don’t want to die!” Kuroo’s voice cracked as he begged Kenma for his life.
Kenma thought he was going to be sick.
“Please,” Kenma choked, “As I said, I can’t do that. My Master—”
“So you’re just going to let me die!”
“No, that’s not… You’re already dead, I can’t…” Kenma pinched his mouth shut against a wave of nausea. This was all wrong. The words were coming out wrong. If only Akaashi were here, none of this would be happening.
“Come on,” Kuroo’s mother said, “You said it’s possible. You said he could be brought back. Look, he’s right there. Just… I don’t know! Bring him back the rest of the way! Please! Give me back my son!”
The men joined Kuroo’s mother in her begging, their voices clashing and clamoring over one another to be heard in their frenzy. Kenma was becoming fast overwhelmed. The noise was too much. He wanted to hide, he wanted them gone. He wanted them quiet.
“Alright!” He said, not quite a shout but certainly louder than anyone in the room had heard him so far. “Alright,” he repeated, shoulders sagging. He could feel a migraine needling it’s way out between his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
💀
Kenma looked over his chalk etchings, referred to his book, then checked them again. He moved Kuroo’s fingers into position, turned his head as best he could to face the right way. He selected the candles, placed them where they needed to be. He found the appropriate incantation, committing it to memory quickly. Kuroo’s parents had moved further away, hands folded and faces serious as Kenma prepared himself and Kuroo for the coming ordeal.
He found his place on the chalk markings, checked three times to make sure his feet were in just the right spot. He placed his hands on Kuroo’s body, his right hand palm-down over Kuroo’s heart and left hand palm-up over his forehead. He took a deep breath and held it for as long as he could to steady himself.
He began the incantation.
As they had during the summoning ritual, all of the candles flickered low. Shadows flitted across the walls, giving the illusion that they were running circles around the altar. Kenma closed his eyes, not wanting to risk any distraction as he uttered each word with careful enunciation.
As he worked, he felt his hands start to warm and tingle where they pressed into Kuroo’s skin. He moved into the next phase of the incantation. The tingling in his hands shifted to a burning in one and a chilling in the other and they began to tremor. He ignored the sensation. A deep, horrifying crunch reverberated through the room as Kuroo’s ribs and vertebrae snapped back into place. Kenma wanted to cringe away from the noise he felt within his own bones, but he ignored the rising ache and carried on.
As he murmured the last line, the flames shot up on their wicks in a startling conflagration to cast the room into a brilliant light for a split second. As the flare settled back to an easy glow, air rushed into Kuroo’s lungs and he lurched up on the altar, coughing violently.
Kenma opened his eyes and stepped back from Kuroo, gesturing to his parents to indicate it was alright for them to approach now. The pair surged forward, tears running down their faces as they threw themselves onto their boy. Kenma crept away toward the edges of the room, choosing to stare at the floor rather than watch the embarrassing scene before him. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, picking lightly at his nails as he longed for them to wrap up their rejoicing and leave him so he could collapse into his blankets. He hadn’t realized how much energy the ceremony would leech from him. He was the embodiment of exhaustion, distilled down to its purest form.
After a few minutes, the weepy jubilating finally began to die down. Kenma started when a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. He looked up to see Kuroo’s father smiling down at him with tears in his eyes.
“Thank you, boy. From the depths of my heart and soul, thank you for bringing him back.”
“How can we ever repay you?” Kuroo’s mother asked, stepping into Kenma’s line of sight. She had her hand wrapped tightly around her son’s, her knuckles white with the strength of her grip on him. Kenma might have laughed if he weren’t so tired. Kuroo wasn’t going to have a single moment of privacy for weeks.
“You don’t need to worry about it. Just go home and be together.” Kenma found he couldn’t have raised his voice above a whisper, even if he wanted to. He longed for his bedroll like he never had before.
“Are you certain?” It was Kuroo who spoke this time. “You saved my life. I’m in your debt.”
Kenma closed his eyes, trying not to wobble as the fatigue began to weigh heavier on his shoulders. “Your parents said you died saving someone else. A life for a life sounds fair to me.”
Kenma didn’t look at the family before him, but from their quiet noises he could tell they weren’t satisfied with his answer.
“Your master will be back in a few days time, right? We’ll come back then and see what he thinks is fair.” Kuroo’s father finally lifted his hand away from Kenma’s shoulder. He almost stumbled back at the loss of the weight he hadn’t realized was holding him in place.
“We’ll leave you now to get some rest, then,” Kuroo’s mother said. Her voice was warm, soothing. Kenma could listen to her talk like that forever. He almost wanted to ask her a question, just to hear her speak little while longer. He couldn’t manage more than a nod.
Kenma shuffled toward the door, opening it enough for the family to walk out. He gave them a weak wave as they left, then flipped the latch shut behind them. He turned and leaned back against the door once they’d gone, too tired to even walk the few steps to the nearest chair. He yawned, his jaw stretching wide and cracking with the force of his weariness. He groaned a bit, then took a deep breath, counting as he did so. When he reached ten, he shoved off from the door and staggered to a chair. He would just rest a moment before pulling out his bedroll.
Just as he braced himself to prepare his bed, Kenma felt his chest begin to tighten. He rubbed his hand over his sternum, pressing hard to try and relieve the pain. He coughed once, twice. It was getting harder to breathe. His vision began to speckle and vignette. He thought perhaps he would be panicking if he weren’t so dead tired.
He felt a snap, like a rope pulled taught around his chest. If it pulled any tighter, it would break or his ribs would crack under the force. He could no longer draw in any air. He felt his lips going numb, the room going impossibly quieter as his hearing failed.
Had he pushed himself too far? Master Akaashi… His uncle would be so disappointed.
Moments later, he felt air begin trickling back into his lungs. He gasped, and clutched gently at his throat as feeling prickled back into his lips and fingertips. With every passing second the weight lifted from his chest and each breath came easier and stronger. Odd… Perhaps he was just so exhausted his body reset itself? Maybe it was for the best that he hadn’t laid down right away.
Not three moments later, a banging at the door once more.
“Boy! Necromancer!”
Kenma grimaced, but stumbled to the door to pull it open yet again.
Kuroo’s family stood before him, all looking panicked. Kuroo was leaning heavily against his father, gasping for air. He seemed to be breathing just fine, only startled.
“We made it to the end of the path there, and he just stopped breathing!” Kuroo’s mother explained, “Something is wrong! You must fix it!”
Ah. Well. This was going to be troublesome.
💀
Master Akaashi couldn’t help them. He explained to the boys that in his inexperience, Kenma made a grave mistake during the resurrection ritual, perhaps even several. Their souls had been bound together permanently.
“To go beyond the boundaries your souls have set for one another would mean certain death,” Master Akaashi explained to the pair and Kuroo’s parents. “And I would not be able to bring either of you back. You may be able to train your bond, extend your boundaries a bit… But I’m afraid you’ll always be tied together.”
Kuroo was immensely guilty. He dedicated himself entirely to Kenma, taking care of his every need and whim. He performed most of his chores and even picked up other odd jobs around Akaashi’s property to keep the house and the grounds nice. He carefully tended the herb and food gardens to prepare them for the coming winter, cleared and leveled the walking path, helped organize the pantries, stocked the woodpile with enough kindling and fuel to last weeks, and repaired any creaking hinge or squeaking wheel he could find. He was talented and efficient, having grown up on a farm, and ran himself out of the most obvious tasks in only a matter of days.
Kenma was irritated.
“It’s my fault this happened,” Kuroo explained when Kenma confronted him about his ceaseless apologies and tireless working. “You said you couldn’t bring me back without Akaashi, but I wouldn’t listen. I pressured you into it even though you weren’t ready. It’s my fault you’re stuck with me. Besides… I owe you my life, and I have no other way than this to repay you.”
“You don’t need to worry about it so much,” Kenma muttered, wishing Kuroo would just let it go. His need to apologize and make reparations were bothersome. All Kenma wanted was some peace.
Kuroo’s parents were upset initially that Kuroo wouldn’t continue to live with them. They had few children, and Kuroo was the most talented in helping to run the farm. However, Akaashi was firm in his insisting that for their safety, and for the continuation of Kenma’s training, the pair would remain under his care.
Akaashi was not without reason, however, and frequently packed a small bag of books and papers for Kenma to study, perched atop a fence or blanket near Kuroo, on days the young man needed to help his family with harvest.
Likewise, Kuroo accompanied Kenma on his trips into the forest or to the market to collect supplies for various rites and rituals. Once Kuroo finally stopped constantly tripping over himself to apologize to Kenma at every opportunity, he found he quite liked the company. He’d never admit it, though.
Though they were allowed to travel short ways, Akaashi made them promise to return each day before sunset. When Kuroo finally asked why, pointing out that the harvest consumed a lot of time and he didn’t want to leave his family with more work than they could handle, Akaashi sighed.
“I can’t be sure just yet, but I sincerely doubt that the binding of your souls is the only consequence of Kenma’s resurrection attempt.” Akaashi had trailed his fingers lightly down Kenma’s arm, a gesture of affection he’d shown him since he was small. “I just want the two of you to be safe… and until this moon cycle is complete I’d rather you stayed near at night.”
Kuroo was clearly nervous, but Kenma trusted his uncle and was inclined to obey him when it counted. So, the pair remained close to each other and close to home.
💀
The first new moon after Kuroo’s resurrection proved to be the night Akaashi had been fearing.
Kenma woke up, clutching at his chest and gasping for air. For a moment he feared Kuroo had gone for a late-night walk, as he had proven wont to do, and pushed too far past their boundary.
Labored wheezing beside him quickly disproved that theory.
Kenma rolled onto his side, looking over to Kuroo’s bedroll. The two shared a space tucked under an alcove near the hearth. When Kenma had the space to himself, he liked it for the close walls and the smell of the select herbs tied and hung to dry overhead. When Akaashi insisted he share the space with Kuroo, Kenma had been apprehensive. He preferred his own space to recharge after long days or evenings studying and practicing his necromancy. But Kuroo had proven to be a surprisingly comforting presence at his side, never pestering him and always respectful of his space.
Kenma appreciated their close proximity even more now, for the ease with which he could reach for Kuroo despite the increasing difficulty with which he was breathing. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to walk even a few steps to check on his friend.
Oh… friend?
Kenma would think about that later.
“Kuro, what’s going on?” Kenma whispered, reaching out toward him.
Before Kenma could touch him, Kuroo let out a pained yell. His back arched up off his bedroll, his blankets cast aside with the force of his writhing.
A startled yelp across the house and the rapid pattering of bare footsteps over stone indicated Akaashi had been awoken by the chilling cry.
Kenma’s hand was frozen, hovering above Kuroo’s quivering form. He had curled in on himself now, arms and legs pulled tight to his chest as he choked and cried out in agony.
“What’s wrong with him?” Kenma gasped, trying to sit up in spite of his increasing lightheadedness when Akaashi fell to his knees beside them.
“I feared this,” Akaashi whispered, looking toward the window at the dark night outside. “It seems as though part of Kuroo’s price to pay for driving you to resurrect him is to re-experience his death without the light of the moon to soothe his soul.”
Kenma coughed, his chest still too tight to breathe comfortably. He couldn’t be sure if it was entirely due to their soul bond, or if perhaps some of it was his own stress at seeing Kuroo in such terrible pain.
“He died crushed under a support beam,” Kenma said, his voice flat and void of emotion to the untrained ear. Even so, Akaashi heard the distress in his nephew’s tone. Another howl ripped from Kuroo’s chest, his voice breaking. Both Akaashi and Kenma flinched. It seemed as though Kuroo was experiencing the full, unadulterated torture of his death. Without a crushing weight upon him, however, he was free to scream whenever he could catch his breath.
Akaashi trailed his fingers down Kenma’s shoulder. “I’ll put together a medicine that should aid his aching soul. Stay with him.”
Kenma nodded. Akaashi helped him sit up beside Kuroo’s head before slipping away.
Kenma watched as tears slipped from the corners of Kuroo’s eyes and into his hair. His teeth were clenched, and his lip was bleeding from having bitten it during one of his convulsions. His hands were wrapped into fists so tight Kenma feared he would break his own fingers under the pressure. Before he could stop himself, Kenma reached out to touch the back of one of Kuroo’s hands.
When Kuroo gasped at his touch, Kenma flinched away, afraid he’d made the pain worse.
“No… Come back…” Kuroo choked. His fingers trembled as he reached for Kenma, blindy searching with his eyes still squeezed shut.
Kenma reached out once more, carefully placing his hand over Kuroo’s. The taller man breathed out a sigh, as close to relief as Kenma imagined he could get when in so much pain.
The weight on Kenma’s own chest eased, if only slightly.
Kenma glanced back over his shoulder. Akaashi was shoulders-deep in one of the cabinets, rummaging around for ingredients. Turning his attention back to Kuroo, Kenma scooched closer. Slowly, carefully, he slipped his free hand under Kuroo’s head and carefully guided him to rest in his lap. He then gently carded his fingers through Kuroo’s hair despite its being soaked through with sweat.
Though he was still clearly in immense pain, Kuroo seemed to be breathing a little easier.
“I’m so sorry,” Kenma whispered. It was the first time he’d apologized to Kuroo. “I wish I could take away the pain.”
A shadow of Kuroo’s sarcastic smile flickered over his lips. “It’s not so bad as it was,” he wheezed, turning his hand in Kenma’s to lace their fingers together.
“Oh… maybe if we’re close together our soul bond eases your burden.”
Kuroo winced, flinching away from a stab in his ribcage. “No... “ he whispered, “I don’t think that’s it.”
“No?” Kenma furrowed his brow. Akaashi had said—
“The first time… I was alone.”
Kenma froze. When Kuroo whimpered, Kenma resumed gently running the backs of his fingers down Kuroo’s cheek to soothe him.
“I died alone. This… isn’t so scary.”
Kenma’s throat felt tight, and his eyes misted over. He blinked rapidly to clear away any evidence of emotion as Akaashi came to kneel beside them.
“Good thinking, Kenma,” Akaashi said, pressing a small wooden spoon to Kuroo’s lips, a task made easier with Kuroo’s head propped up in Kenma’s lap.
Kuroo managed to swallow most of the remedy Akaashi threw together for him. Kenma continued his gentle touches, petting Kuroo’s hair and wiping his brow. He didn’t loosen his grip on his hand for a moment.
Akaashi stayed with them until the worst of Kuroo’s pain had passed. He warned that they should expect this during every new moon and suggested they put together a supply of the analgesic for him to take at sunset.
When Akaashi excused himself to return to bed, Kuroo breathing free and easy at last, Kenma let out a sigh of relief. He watched the fire sputtering lower and lower in the hearth as Kuroo began to nod off in his lap. He should probably get back to his own bedroll and let Kuroo sleep.
“Thank you... for being with me.”
Kenma, startled, looked down at Kuroo. The boy was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his cheeks flushed pink from exertion. His eyes were soft and honest, filled with gratitude. Kenma smiled, a wave of courage surging through him. He bent over and pressed the gentlest of kisses upon Kuroo’s forehead.
“I’ll always be with you.”