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“Yaku-san, is the fish supposed to smoke that much? Or turn that brown?”
“What?!”
Kenma smiled to himself from the kitchen table as Yaku nearly ran into a wall while turning the corner into the kitchen. Lev stood there, spatula in hand and befuddlement on his face, as his fiance all but shoved him away from the smoking pan on the stove.
“Lev, what the actual fuck, I told you to turn it over when it’s golden brown! This is charcoal! And why is the flame so big?!”
“I’m sorry!” Lev wailed, wringing the cutesy pink apron tied around his waist in distress. “I thought it would cook faster if I turned the heat up!”
“You could have burnt the kitchen down, you reckless–!”
Kenma laughed quietly as Yaku scolded and Lev grovelled, safely away from the carnage. Thank heavens Yaku had already made and given him his breakfast before making the unfortunate decision of trusting Lev to watch over the stove while he got dressed.
One thing was for certain. Life was never dull, not since he moved in with them. He hardly needed WiFi for entertainment when he had them around. He was really, really glad that Yaku had been so insistent on him staying with them until he can get back on his feet. He didn’t regret caving in.
He took another bite of rice and fish, relishing in the comforting taste of homemade food. So much better than what he’d had to tolerate at the hospital.
It’s been a long time since Kenma had anyone to cook for him. Not since Kuroo had...
His fingers trembled a little around the chopsticks.
Five years had passed. Five years since the car crash that took Kuroo away from the world. Away from him. The pain was still there. Kenma doubted it would ever go away completely. They say time heals all wounds, but some wounds were never meant to heal fully. Some wounds left scars that would always hurt a little. Kuroo’s death would always be a scar that would never stop hurting completely. Unlike the scars on his wrists, which would stop hurting in time.
But it was easier, these days, to admit that Kuroo was dead. Easier to look back on their time together with fondness instead of having grief paint every memory a cold blue. Easier to remember him as he was, young and eager and brimming with ambition, ready to make a name for himself in the world, instead of the way he was at the end, body wrecked and half mad from pain.
Kenma shook away the dark thoughts creeping in before they could take root in his mind. He glanced around the room. Five things I can see.
His breakfast in front of him. Rice and grilled fish, miso soup on the side. A glass of water.
One.
The pretty flower-patterned tablecloth, pink and red and yellow petals scattered on a cream background.
Two.
Yaku’s jacket hanging on the back of the chair across from him. His doctor’s ID on a lanyard draped over the jacket.
Three.
The soft sea-foam green wall. Just a few shades lighter than Lev’s eyes.
Four.
On the sideboard, three photographs in frames. One for every year that Lev had spent on the Nekoma boys’ volleyball team. Kenma had asked once, when he’d first seen them, why Yaku didn’t have pictures from his first and second year there too. Yaku had shrugged. “My third year was the only one that mattered,” he’d said, pragmatic as ever. “My third year was when I felt like part of a team.”
Five.
Kenma released a breath. The dark thoughts had dissipated. He was grounded again. Every time, it got easier. His therapist would be proud.
He focused on the first frame on the sideboard. On one head of spiky black hair, on a face as familiar to him as his own. Kuroo grinned crookedly at him from the frame, one arm draped over Kai’s shoulders, leaning on Yaku’s head with the other, eighteen years old and full of life. His heart clenched, and he turned away from the picture, biting his lip.
Only to have his blood freeze in his veins.
Yaku was still scolding Lev in the kitchen, though his voice had softened now that the danger has passed. Lev was clinging to him, smiling and taking the scolding like the endearment it was meant as. Their voices sounded distant. Kuroo was sitting on the other end of the table, head tilted towards the kitchen, listening in like he used to listen in on Yaku and Lev’s receiving practices in high school. He was smiling, just like he was in the picture on the sideboard.
Kenma sat frozen in his seat, hardly daring to breathe.
Kuroo turned away from the couple in the kitchen. His golden eyes, warm as they had been in life, caught Kenma’s. His smile softened into the one he only ever wore around Kenma.
Time stood still as they locked gazes.
“Kenma?”
Kenma blinked, and Kuroo was gone.
Yaku’s hand was warm on his shoulder. Kenma looked up at him. “Are you okay?” Yaku asked, that familiar worried look in his eyes.
Kenma nods. “I’m okay.”
He’d made the effort to braid his hair back today. He was going to go meet Akaashi and Suga for lunch later. There’s a resume in his pocket, his application for a position at a small indie game company. Tomorrow, for the first time in years, he’ll join the annual inter-region volleyball game that Oikawa organises for the ex-players to catch up with each other. He had plans to call Tsukishima and Yamaguchi tonight, check in on how their wedding preparations are going.
“I’m okay,” he repeats.
He was. He really was. He would never be the same, but he was okay. And that was enough.
Yaku smoothed a hand over his hair, careful not to mess up his braid. The worry in his eyes melted into warm fondness. “I’m glad.”
Kenma leaned into the gentle touch and closed his eyes.
He could never go back to the way it was before. Before the crash, before his downward spiral, before he took that knife to his wrists.
But still.
The sunlight spilling in from the window behind him was warm on his back. Yaku’s hand was soothing as it stroked rhythmically across his hair. Lev was humming a tune in the kitchen. The bandages around his wrists didn’t chafe today, the aching of his scars only a distant discomfort.
Still, it was a good day.
Kenma breathed in the sounds and smells and feeling of home, and sent up a prayer to the heavens.
Good morning, Kuro. I hope you’re having a good day too.
~
Kenma leapt, fingers reaching out for the ball in the air, shooting a glance over at Yamamoto, who grinned wildly in response and jumped to meet his set. On the other side of the net, the blockers tensed in preparation to block the former ace.
Kenma tipped the ball over the net instead.
The ball dropped right between Tendou and Tsukishima. Yachi blew the whistle, ending the match. 2-1, in favour of Kenma’s team.
“Aw, no fair!” Tendou complained, though his lips were quirked up in a smile. He narrowed his eyes faux threateningly at Kenma through the net. “Tricky kitty, I won’t fall for that dump next time.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” Kenma said, deadpan.
From the other side of the net, Semi snorted. “Take the loss with dignity, Satori,” he said, elbowing his former teammate and current housemate in the side as he passed by. “Stop harassing Kenma-san.”
Tendou pouted. “I’m not harassing him!” He protested. “We’re friends! Aren’t we, kitty cat?”
“We would be much closer to a friendship if you would stop calling me that.”
Tsukishima rolled his eyes at Tendou’s melodramatic cries of betrayal, pointedly turned his back on the redhead. He dipped his head slightly towards Kenma. “Good game, Kenma-san.”
“Drop the ‘-san’ already, how many years have you known me?” Kenma chided. “You too, Kei. You’re even better than I remember.”
Tsukishima pursed his lips and turned his face away, the back of his neck turning pink from the praise. Kenma bit back a smile. Tsukishima had changed, as they all have, but some things remained the same. “The team has been increasing practice lately,” the blond mumbled. “Tournament season soon.”
Ah, that’s right. Tsukishima played for the Frogs now. Division 2.
“Maybe I’ll come and keep Tadashi company at one of your matches,” Kenma said casually. His therapist did say it was good for him to get out of the house more often. “It’s been a long time since I watched a volleyball match live.”
Tsukishima turned back to face him. The hard angles of his face softened, and his lips tilted into a small, genuine smile. “I’d like that. He’ll enjoy the company too, I’m sure.”
Kenma returned the smile with his own little one.
It had been hard, at first, to get back into volleyball. So much of his involvement with the sport was entangled with memories of Kuroo. But he’d also made it his own, after that fateful match with Karasuno at Nationals. He had other memories too.
Memories of leading the team by Yamamoto’s side, of his kouhai looking to him for guidance, of Teshiro’s admiration. Of sitting on the gym steps with Akaashi, watching ants in companionable silence while their rowdy teammates ran wild inside. Of trading Pokemon with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi during summer camp. Of falling asleep on Ennoshita’s shoulder on the sidelines while the others did their extra practice, only to be woken up by Tanaka’s unexpectedly gentle touch. Sweet memories. Enough that he’d made an effort to try reconnecting to the sport that had been so important to his beloved, even though he’d sworn he’d never touch a volleyball again when Kuroo died.
He was glad he didn’t keep his word. He thinks Kuroo would be glad too.
Tsukishima excused himself when he caught sight of Yamaguchi waving him over. Yamaguchi had his phone in hand, FaceTime open, a stern man with the same brown eyes and flyaway hair as him on the screen. His father, Kenma guessed. Hinata had told him that Yamaguchi's father had started to make amends with his son and future son-in-law. He hoped it turned out well for them.
“Hey, Kenma-san! Off the court, unless you want to play another three sets!” Akane yelled, having taken over the referee position from Yachi.
Kenma scurried off the court instantly, drawing laughter from the new teams playing. Kenma shot them an unimpressed look, which really did nothing more than make them grin at him.
He didn’t mind. He liked the reminder of how close he’d gotten to these people, how comfortable they were with him and he with them.
Bokuto and Akaashi were waiting by the sidelines. Bokuto, upon seeing him, let out a cheer and immediately swept him off the ground in a hug. Kenma let him, too used to it now to protest. “You were amazing, Kenma!” Bokuto hooted, smiling up at him so widely that his eyes were mere slits. “You managed to trick both the Guess Monster and Tsukki! Several times!”
“This was Tendou’s first time playing against me, and it’s been years since he’d played regularly,” Kenma reminded him. “And Kei is probably tired from training. It wasn’t that great.”
“Nu-uh!” Bokuto shook his head firmly. “You’re still amazing.”
“He’s right, Kenma, don’t be so modest,” Akaashi chimed in. “Kou, put Kenma down. You’re going to squeeze the breath out of him. You can make your point with him on the ground.”
Bokuto pouted, but he did set Kenma on his feet again. Kenma didn’t go too far though, remaining under the grounding weight of Bokuto’s arm.
“Atsumu thought you were great too. Didn’t you, Tsum-Tsum?”
The question was directed to a blond with hooded eyes hovering a little ways away from them. He looked familiar too.
Atsumu’s face turned red, put on the spot like that, and the glare he shot at Bokuto was admittedly impressively full of murderous intent. “Stop runnin’ yer mouth, Bokkun, and don’t go spreadin’ lies about me,” he scowled, stalking over to elbow Bokuto in the ribs none too gently.
“I’m only being truthful!” Bokuto protested, retracting his arm from Kenma’s shoulders to rub tenderly at his side. “You literally said–!”
Atsumu stomped down on his foot without a single shred of mercy. Bokuto yelped and immediately turned to Akaashi for comfort. Akaashi, patient as ever, sighed as he offered head pats. That didn’t stop him from giving Kenma a resigned smile over Bokuto’s shoulder.
Atsumu turned to Kenma with a lazy smile, blithely ignoring his teammate’s wailing. “That Bokkun, eh? Always sayin’ crazy stuff,” he said. Bokuto shouted a protest behind his back, which was, again, ignored. “How about a do over? I’m…”
“Miya Atsumu,” Kenma interrupted. “MSBY Black Jackals, setter, right? You‘re from Hyogo Prefecture. Your team won Nationals in 2013. Shouyou told me about you. You're his and Koutarou's teammate.”
Atsumu’s smirk widened. “Oh?” He purred, leaning in closer. “He talk about me a lot? What’d he tell ya?”
Something in that smirk lit a long dormant spark of viciousness in Kenma; something he thought he’d left behind in his high school days. He tilted his chin up to meet Atsumu’s eyes, grinning victoriously to himself when he caught a hint of surprise there at the unexpected challenge.
“He said that you’re trouble,” Kenma replied. He gave Atsumu a deliberately dismissive once-over. “I think he’s right. More trouble than you’re worth, probably.”
Atsumu could only blink for a moment, taken aback, his smirk slipping into an ‘O’ of surprise.
Oh, this was fun. “You’ll catch flies if you don’t close your mouth,” Kenma warned, amused.
Then, Atsumu’s lips slowly curled up into a smile. “Well, would ya look at that,” he said. The look in his eyes was definitely appreciative. “The kitten has claws.”
“Mm, Koutarou and Shouyou would have mentioned that I went to Nekoma, I suppose. We were known as the Cats. Trust me, we have claws.”
“So I see.”
Bokuto and Akaashi exchanged smirks. “Oh, I think Sarukui just got here, we should go say hi!” Bokuto exclaimed, snagging Akaashi’s arm and pulling him away. “We’ll leave you two to it! Come on, Keiji!”
And they were gone.
Kenma snorted. How unsubtle.
Atsumu muttered something that sounded like ‘be more obvious, why dontcha’ under his breath. He cleared his throat at Kenma’s pointedly raised eyebrow, pulling himself back together enough to put on what Kenma had mentally dubbed his ‘too cool to care’ facade. “Good riddance, I say. Can’t have him spreadin’ more lies about me.”
“Uh-huh.” Kenma made sure to inject very clear disbelief into his voice. “Whatever you say.”
Somehow, that made Atsumu burst out laughing. “Yer not gonna make this easy fer me, are ya?” He asked, mirth shining in his eyes.
“Not one bit.”
“Catty. Does Shouyou know yer like this? All I ever hear from him is ‘Kenma’s so cool’, ‘Kenma’s so nice’, blah blah. I was sure you were some kinda angel, the way he gushes about ya.”
“Shouyou has friendship points. You’re starting from zero, I’m afraid. You’re going to have to work your way up.”
Atsumu’s smirk gentled into a smile. “I can do that. Ya wanna start by watchin’ the game with me? Find a seat together?”
Kenma found himself nodding. “Sure.”
Atsumu perked up instantly. Inarizaki had the fox as their mascot, Kenma remembered Hinata telling him. He had to struggle to not let his amusement show as he imagined a pair of fox ears pricking up on Atsumu’s head. “Really? Uh– I mean, yeah, cool.”
Kenma smothered a laugh as he followed the other man through towards the bleachers, Atsumu obviously trying too hard to seem cool and unaffected. It was flattering, to know he could have this effect on someone. Someone who wasn’t Kuroo.
Right at the moment the thought crossed his mind, his eyes caught a pair of golden ones from the bleachers on the other side of the gym. He stopped dead in his tracks, heart skipping a beat.
Kuroo sat in the topmost row, leaning back on his hand, his eyes gentle. He looked at Kenma, then at Atsumu, who had stopped a little ways in front, confused, and smiled.
It felt like a benediction.
One blink, and Kuroo was gone again.
Kenma smiled quietly to himself, and caught up with Atsumu. “Sorry,” he offered. “Got sidetracked.”
“... Are ya okay?” Atsume asked, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Ya look like you’d seen a ghost.”
Kenma would laugh at that statement if it weren’t so true. And if it wouldn’t make Atsumu think that he’d lost it. “I just thought I saw an old friend.”
Atsumu nodded, still confused, but didn’t push. Kenma liked him already.
Was this your doing, Kuro? He wondered fondly. It would be just like his meddling self to do this. Did you send him to me?
He looked at Atsumu as they found an empty spot just big enough for two, at his strong hands and expressive eyes. Not gold like Kuroo’s, but a lovely, clear brown. He remembered how they’d sparkled as their owner laughed at Kenma’s teasing. His body was solid and warm where Kenma was pressed up against him.
Kenma decided that he liked Atsumu. Maybe he could even learn to love him, in time. Kenma was interested in finding out if he could.
And, judging by the way Atsumu looked at him, Kenma thought he might be willing to find out too.
~
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s wedding was beautiful. They had taken their ceremonial sake at Yamaguchi’s favourite shrine, with only their families present. The reception, by contrast, was very well-attended.
Kenma was in a quiet corner, tucked into Atsumu’s side, as they watched the celebrations.
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, or, rather, Kei and Tadashi, now that they were both Tsukishima, swayed serenely in the middle of the dance floor. The kanzashi holding up Tadashi’s hair glinted under the lights.
Kenma couldn’t help but smile to himself, amused, when he remembered the way Kei’s jaw had dropped when Tadashi walked in with his hair elaborately done up, fabric flowers crowning his head. Akiteru had laughed, and it really showed how gone Kei was, that he didn’t even bother sending a dirty look at his older brother. Tadashi, absolutely aware of the reaction he’d caused and relishing in it, had only patted Kei’s cheek as he took his husband’s arm, smirking the whole way.
Now, though, there was no teasing. Tadashi’s head was resting against Kei’s chest, his eyes closed, the blissful look on his face visible even from this little corner. Kei, for his part, had never looked more enamoured as he did now, idly twirling a strand of Tadashi’s hair around his finger as they moved to the beat of the soft instrumental music.
Atsumu leaned down to whisper in Kenma’s ear. “The hair accessories are a nice touch,” he said, voice filled with amusement. “I should recommend it to ‘Samu for his and Sunarin’s wedding.”
Kenma snorted. “Rintarou would actually do it, but Osamu might just turn around and walk right back out if he does.”
“Nah. ‘Samu’s too whipped for him to ever do that.”
“Tell him that to his face, I dare you.”
“Hell no. Do ya want him to maul me? What are ya gonna do if yer boyfriend gets mutilated, huh? You’ll miss this handsome face, I know it.”
Kenma hummed. “Well…” he said slyly, “you do have an identical twin brother. I’m sure Rintarou won’t mind sharing. I can be Osamu’s mistress.”
Atsumu stared at him, dismay clear on his face. “Kitten. Ya don’t mean that. Ya can’t possibly mean that.”
“Try me.”
Atsumu groaned, slumping down to shove his face against Kenma’s neck. “Yer gonna be the death of me one day, kitten.”
Kenma smirked and idly toyed with his boyfriend’s hair. “And what a death it’ll be.”
“Horrible. Shouyou has no idea what he’s talkin’ about. Yer no angel. Yer pretty face and innocent big eyes are all lies.”
That only served to make Kenma laugh at him. Atsumu pouted at him while he gasped for breath between his laughs.
“Ya owe me a dance now,” Atsumu told him after he’d stopped laughing. “Fer being mean to me.”
“Oh?” Kenma twirled the ends of his hair around his finger, coy. “Do I?”
“Definitely,” Atsumu nodded, decisive. His brown eyes gleamed with laughter, enjoying their little game. He bowed, all dramatic flair, and held out a hand towards Kenma. “May I have this dance, Kozume Kenma?”
“Dork,” Kenma accused, but put his hand into Atsumu’s, “I suppose you may, Miya Atsumu.”
Atsumu grinned at him as he led him to the dance floor. “Yer hot when ya do the aloof thing.”
“Quiet,” Kenma ordered. “Or I’ll step on your foot.”
Atsumu snickered, but obediently fell silent. They swayed to the soft strains of the song playing over the speaker, comfortable and quiet. Kenma took the chance to observe his surroundings.
There were flower petals scattered around, kicked up by the dancers’ feet. Yellow roses. For joy and friendship. And for the colour of Kei’s hair, Tadashi had told him.
His eyes locked onto a pair of feet that didn’t stir the petals as they danced.
Kenma’s breath stopped for a heartbeat, going stiff in Atsumu’s arms.
“Ken?” He didn’t answer Atsumu’s call.
Kuroo was standing there, in a dark corner, the same corner that he and Atsumu had been lurking in minutes ago. He looked happy. Happier than Kenma had ever seen him after his death. Two pairs of golden eyes met. Kuroo smiled wider, lifted his hand in a wave. A pair swept past, blocking his view. When they passed, Kuroo was gone.
It felt strangely final.
Kenma buried his face in Atsumu’s shoulder, let out a shuddering breath. His eyes prickled with the threat of oncoming tears.
“Ken?” Atsumu whispered, concern heavy in his voice. His hand stroked down Kenma’s back, comforting. “You okay?”
Kenma shrugged. “I don’t know, Tsumu,” he choked out, voice trembling.
“Was it... was it Kuroo-san?” Atsumu asked, hesitantly. Kenma nodded against his shoulder.
He had told Atsumu about Kuroo a month into their relationship. About the crash, about how he spiralled after. How he kept seeing Kuroo everywhere. The lengths he went to to keep seeing him, the self-harm and hallucinogens. The attempted suicide. The way he still saw Kuroo around, every once in a while.
He’d been prepared for Atsumu to leave. To decide that it wasn’t worth it to stay with a man whose mind wasn’t completely in one piece, a man who still saw his dead boyfriend. He had expected it, and wouldn’t have resented Atsumu leaving.
Imagine his surprise when Atsumu stayed. When Atsumu asked him about Kuroo willingly, requested stories from their childhood and listening raptly when Kenma told him. When Atsumu didn’t hesitate to ask for blessing for their relationship from Kuroo’s father, long since a second father to Kenma, as well as from Kenma’s own parents. When Kenma heard him quietly ask Kuroo for his blessing too the last time they went to a shrine.
Atsumu ran a gentle hand through his hair. “What was he doin'?”
“Just… standing there,” Kenma replied, so soft it was barely an exhale. “In that corner we were in. He looked happy. Like when he was alive. He waved at me, then he was just... gone.” His voice broke. “Why do I feel like this is the last time?”
Atsumu pulled him in closer and pressed his lips against Kenma’s hair. Kenma curled into him, letting his tears stain Atsumu’s lapel. Thank god he was wearing a dark suit.
“Maybe he’s finally movin’ on,” Atsumu said after a while. “Maybe he just wanted to make sure you’ll be okay first. Let ya see him as he was when he was alive before he goes. Maybe he’s finally at peace now. It’s a good thing, yeah? Fer him.”
“I know,” Kenma whispered. “I’ll miss him, Tsumu.”
“I know ya will, baby,” Atsumu murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “He was like yer guardian angel or somethin’. Of course yer gonna miss him.”
Kenma managed a little smile at that. “Guardian angel. I like that. He’d like it too. He always liked taking care of people. Of me.”
Atsumu glanced at the podium near the guest book, where the grooms had set up a portrait of Kuroo, smiling over the wedding party. He gave the picture a rare soft look. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve him leading me to ya,” he said. “But I promise ya. Both of ya. I’ll look after ya until ya can meet him again.”
“Until we can meet him,” Kenma corrected. “Both of us. I love him, I always will, but I love you too, Atsumu. Never forget.”
Kuroo could never be replaced. Atsumu and Kenma both had no illusions about that. Part of Kenma’s heart would always belong to Kuroo. But Atsumu was never meant to be a replacement, not for Kuroo, not for anyone. Kenma loved him, fiercely and deeply. For his acceptance and understanding. For his trust in Kenma, the way he never treated Kenma as anything but strong. For the way he never backed down from a fight when Kenma had one of his manic fits but stubbornly refused to leave when he knew full well that it was Kenma’s way of trying to push him away. For everything that he was.
Atsumu smiled, impossibly loving, and leaned down to kiss him. Kenma met him halfway.
Goodbye, Kuro. Please look after us.
~
It was spring when Kenma made his way up a familiar grassy hill from his childhood, a bouquet of red amaryllis in his hands.
“Good morning, Kuro,” he murmured, kneeling down in front of a marble stone.
Kuroo Tetsurou
Loving son, brother, and friend.
1994-2017
“I brought amaryllis today,” he added, arranging the flowers in the little holder built into the headstone. “I’m starting to run out of red flowers to bring you, you know. There are only so many red flowers in this world. Why you’re so attached to the colour of our high school team, I’ll never know. Sentimental idiot.”
He could almost hear Kuroo’s ridiculous hyena laughter at his complaints. It brought a smile to his face.
“I have news. I think you’ll like what I have to tell you,” he said after a while.
The early morning light glinted off the silver band around his ring finger as he absentmindedly fidgeted with his hoodie strings.
“Atsumu asked me to marry him. And I said yes.”
He paused for a second, almost hoping for an answer. A glimpse of Kuroo. Anything. The hill remained still and calm.
Kenma sighed.
It wasn’t unexpected. The last he’d seen of Kuroo, or his spirit, or whatever it was he had been seeing, had been three years ago. At Kei and Tadashi’s wedding. He never saw Kuroo again after that. Didn’t keep him from wishing.
“I thought you should know,” he said quietly. “I hope you’ll be watching. I hope you’ll be there, in some way, even if I can’t see you. It’s a special day, you know. I want to share it with you. We both do.”
Nothing.
Kenma stood up, brushing the dirt off his jeans. “I have to go. We’re supposed to look at venues today.” His nose crinkled slightly in distaste. “Ugh. The things I do for that man.”
“Bad mouthing yer fiance behind his back, kitten? Yer so mean.”
Kenma smiled upon hearing that teasing voice, but made a show of rolling his eyes when he turned to face Atsumu. “You chose to marry me. Deal with it.”
Atsumu clutched at his heart in mock distress. “Shot through the heart, kitten,” he moaned dramatically. “Kuroo-san, do ya see how mean he is to me? Was he always this mean to ya too?”
“Yes,” Kenma deadpanned.
“That actually makes me feel better,” Atsumu said cheerfully. He kneeled to place a red tulip among Kenma’s amaryllis. “Good mornin’, by the way, Kuroo-san. Did Ken tell ya the news?”
“I did,” Kenma said, slipping his hand into Atsumu’s when the other man stood up and reached for him. “Gave him an invitation too.”
“Yer the first one on the guest list, Kuroo-san,” Atsumu informed. “Because yer special like that. Yer the guest of honour, ya know?.”
Kenma looked at him with fondness. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he was, that he had managed to get a man so understanding. He was so, so very grateful. “I told him we had to go look at wedding venues today.”
Atsumu laughed. “Didja make yer cute little ick face?”
Kenma shoved his elbow into Atsumu’s side. He didn’t let go of his fiance’s hand though. “Quiet.”
Atsumu laughed, but brushed his thumb over Kenma’s knuckles in apology. “Well, ya heard him, Kuroo-san. We gotta go,” Atsumu said to the headstone. “We’ll come back soon. Have a good day, Kuroo-san.”
“Have a good day, Kuro,” Kenma echoed.
He gave the tranquil little place one last look as he allowed Atsumu to guide him away. For a moment, he could swear he saw Kuroo lounging against the tree, just like he used to when they were children.
A blink, and he was gone.
Kenma smiled to himself, and turned to face the future.