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Kuroo can’t picture Kenma without picturing a subway, a busy sidewalk, or a crowded ramen shop. He can’t think of their love and their partnership without Tokyo underscoring every day they’ve known each other.
The Imperial Palace is about a thirty minute commute from their street. Shibuya is about twenty-five, Yoyogi Park is forty-three (they specifically timed that one when they were in elementary school because of a bet. Kuroo lost.)
To Kuroo, Tokyo is their home. That would never change, right?
-
They’re having tea at Asakusa (fifteen minutes from their street). Kuroo was staring out the window, basking in their comfortable silence, when he let a question roll off his tongue. “Kenma, would you ever leave Tokyo?”
“Yeah.” Kenma didn’t even pause. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No. I don’t know.” Kuroo rests his head on his hand. “Where would you go?”
Kenma shrugs. “America.”
“The entirety of America?”
“No. Shut up.” Kenma shifts his eyes to the side. “I figured I’d leave that part to you.”
Kuroo sputters. “I see. And when were you gonna tell me about our plan to move to America, exactly?”
Kenma looks back at him. “I freaked you out, didn’t I?”
“No!” That comes out a tad higher-pitch than Kuroo’s liking. He clears his throat and tries again. “No. I just didn’t think you’ve thought this far ahead.” He takes Kenma’s hand above the table. Will you tell me more?”
“We’ll get a big apartment. High ceilings.”
Kuroo’s chest tightens. “The top of my head thanks you.”
“Big windows with a view.”
“Ooh, do we get a cat?”
“Cats.” Kenma corrects. He smiles. “They get lonely by themselves.”
“Good call. And we’d adopt them. No breeders.”
“Duh.”
“But they’d be cute anyway. Even if they’re old and grumpy from living a hard and checkered past.”
“No, we’d have to adopt them as kittens together.”
Kuroo tilts his head. “How come?”
Kenma looks at him as if the answer is obvious. “They wouldn’t be as happy together if they didn’t meet so young, right?”
Kuroo chuckles. That was obvious. “Right.”