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Sometimes, Kenma just can’t help but feel envious.
He knows what he sees isn’t true, that there’s a lot more to Kuroo than what he throws out for others to see, but he just can’t help but feel jealous. Kuroo makes everything seem so easy, so effortless.
Kenma remembers that it wasn’t always this way. He remembers first seeing Kuroo, hiding behind his mother and clutching the fabric of her neatly ironed pants.
When they were younger, Kuroo was a lot more shy; he was reserved, timid. Like Kenma. They spent their days together, not because they were neighbours, but because the both of them were too scared to go beyond each other.
Kenma was fine with that. Kuroo was nice to be around, nice to talk to, even if it was a bit awkward at first. It was pleasant being able to just be with someone like himself; quiet souls, content with just each other’s company. The stress of having to express his feelings vanished because with Kuroo, Kenma didn’t need words; Kuroo already knew.
Kenma can’t quite pinpoint the day, or even the year, that Kuroo began evolving into the person that he was today. But he watched as his best friend’s voice grew louder over the weeks, as he grew bolder and more confident, as that timid smile transformed into his signature smirk. Kenma was proud, in his own way; he wanted what was best for Kuroo. He felt honored to be able to stay by his side, in awe and admiration of the person he called his friend.
But Kenma was still stuck in his five-year-old mindset, still unable to get the words out of his mouth, and he wanted someone to share that space with. He wanted Kuroo- to himself. He didn’t want to think of life without Kuroo there to help him. He didn’t want to think of the day where Kuroo would finally grow out of Kenma.
Kenma just wasn’t fast enough to keep up with him; everyday felt like he was chasing a shrinking silhouette.
However, that feeling of possessiveness faded when Kenma had graduated junior high; a year without Kuroo forced the introvert to develop a sense of independence; he no longer felt the need to stick by Kuroo’s side no longer.
Of course, they weren’t completely separated; they did still live next door, and they had sleepovers nearly every other day, but Kuroo wasn’t there to speak for him anymore; albeit small and quiet, Kenma had finally found his own voice.
Those days, he just wished it were a little louder.
Kenma was diagnosed with social anxiety in the last year of junior high, near the end of the school year. He had broken down in the car on the way home after school, and his mother finally decided she’d seen enough; the next month, she had taken him to see a psychiatrist.
It was just a word, Kenma told himself in a daze after he received the diagnosis. Yes, he knew his tendencies seemed to be… abnormal and an inconvenience at best, but he felt like he had lived this way for years. It was familiar to him, it was routine ; he didn’t want to have to deal with the burden of changing it.
Or that’s what he told himself anyway.
(He knew he was lying to himself; he vaguely remembered the days where he wasn’t paralyzed by simply having to talk to people, the days where he wouldn’t overthink a glance that lasted a second too long- the days that were spent being alive rather than beijing lived as though he were always being watched.)
But it wasn’t just a word, no matter how much Kenma told himself that. It made him feel different, like a burden. It made him feel like a cracked glass of water- useless, broken, an inconvenience.
A week after Kenma had been diagnosed, Kuroo had come over for a sleepover- to study, he said in his smooth voice, his signature smile audible even through the phone.
They both knew better than to believe that.
That night, Kenma fell apart in the dark of his bedroom, only a tiny sliver of moonlight sneaking past his curtains and into his bedroom. Kuroo showed no fear, no hesitation, and immediately comforted Kenma. The majority of that night was spent in silence, but the small touches of reassurance, the squeezes of affirmation, the soft looks were enough to communicate. Kuroo understood the language spoken, for he had grown up speaking it as well.
That night, Kenma’s head pounded with the pain of having cried so hard, but his chest felt full. The waves of anxiety that he normally felt lapping at his feet had subsided in the presence of his best friend.
Kenma slept well that night.
Needless to say, Kuroo didn’t sleep as well as Kenma did that night.
Time that should’ve been spent dreaming was instead spent staring at the ceiling and outside the window while he asked himself why and how and when and how did I not notice sooner?
He watched Kenma that night. He was afraid- afraid that if he turned away or fell asleep, Kenma wouldn’t be there when he looked over again.
Of course Kuroo noticed the changes in Kenma’s behavior. He slept in more often, he daydreamed through most conversations, he fidgeted way too much. But Kuroo brushed it off as stress, as Kenma simply just growing up. People changed over the years; Kenma included. He just didn’t think it would be in this way.
He listened diligently as Kenma sniffled in his sleep. His breath followed the inhales and exhales of Kenma’s lungs.
He imagined them becoming the same person in that moment; becoming one, not romantically, but just. Mentally. So that they could both bear the burdens of each other’s struggles- so that Kuroo wouldn’t be left in the dark again.
Kuroo made a promise to himself that he’d never leave Kenma’s side again.
Kuroo was a lot smarter than he let on, Kenma noticed.
He spent the majority of his free time making dumb, stupid jokes and messing around with Bokuto, acting like the two of them had a shared braincell.
But Kuroo worked hard behind his silly facade. He spent hours studying, crouched over his desk, perfecting whatever skill he needed to. Before anything else, Kuroo was committed and dedicated to his work- something that always left Kenma awestruck and surprised, no matter how many times he’d watch as Kuroo threw himself into his work.
Sometimes, it was almost nightmarish to watch when Kuroo ended up being really stressed out; he never did get stressed because he managed his time and work so well, but the times he did…
Kenma would have to pull him back from the deep end.
Kenma remembers once, during a particularly difficult finals week and harsh practice match, Kuroo had stayed over. He was tense, and stressed. Kenma offered a massage and found himself needing at the knots of Kuroo’s back. He pressed his palms into fabric and listened as Kuroo let off soft sighs.
Kuroo didn’t normally cry.
That night he did. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as if a faucet broke behind his eyes, as if it had been the first time he’d let go this year. And then it occurred to Kenma, maybe it was…
“I just want a future,” Kuroo said softly once he had calmed down, his cheeks glossy with the shine of tears, threatening to overflow again. Kenma listened, squeezing Kuroo’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting matter. He focused on tears still hanging off of Kuroo’s lashes, shining under his bedroom light.
“I want to be able to support you, Kenma,” Kuroo said quietly with a broken voice, looking down and reaching for Kenma’s free hand.
Kenma felt his hand freeze on his friends’ shoulders, blinking once, twice, as he processed it. He said nothing and continued to press into Kuroo’s muscles, but his head was racing and his heart was swelling painfully in his chest. A future with Kuroo?
Kenma was ashamed to admit he hadn’t even thought that far ahead.
That night, Kenma let Kuroo sleep on the bed.
Kenma laid awake that night, thinking. He came to the conclusion that he had never thought so far ahead because he always just assumed Kuroo would be with it.
His chest felt tight. Something felt like it was coming alive in his chest, ready to burst out at any given moment.
A future with Kuroo…
He wasn’t as adverse to it as he thought he would be.
Kenma told himself he wouldn’t cry.
The final day of school wasn’t something to get emotional about; it wasn’t even his final day of school.
But it was Kuroo’s. And it announced his departure from Kenma’s everyday life again , and perhaps permanently. Kuroo promised a future with him, but teenagers are fickle creatures, and Kenma wouldn’t be surprised if Kuroo proved to share that trait. He was scared; scared that these last few weeks before Kuroo left for university would be the final.
Kuroo slept over that night, predictably. His laughter filled Kenma’s bedroom, obviously joyous and exhilarated with finally having completed his schooling. And Kenma normally found joy in hearing Kuroo’s laugh; he could listen to his symphony of a laugh all day, studying the different pitches, losing himself in the noise, but today was different. Today, it felt off.
How dare he laugh? Kenma found himself thinking as he tapped away at his phone idly, surprised by the bitterness of his thoughts but unable to stop them from coming. His head swelled with his anger and sadness and he sighed, shutting off his phone. Kuroo continued to babble on, his voice becoming background noise as Kenma crawled into his bed and under the covers.
Kuroo’s voice quieted immediately as he watched Kenma pull a cover over his shoulders. It went quiet for a few seconds, and Kenma found himself finally relaxing in the quiet.
Then he felt a weight on his bed, quickly followed by the cold of the AC as Kuroo lifted the covers and made room for himself. He left out an angry huff before turning to face the intruder.
Kuroo looked at him with a small smile, his eyes crinkling as he looked at Kenma with a fondness only ever reserved for the blonde. Kenma felt his face soften and he allowed himself to close his eyes as he felt Kuroo cup his cheek.
“I hope you know I’m not leaving you . I’ll be waiting for you,” Kuroo says against Kenma’s hairline before he presses a soft kiss on his skin. Kenma felt his body relax into Kuroo’s touch, and just before he fell asleep, he heard Kuroo speak again.
“I love you.”
He clenched the fabric of Kuroo’s shirt and let the curtains of dreamless sleep fall over him.
The next day Kenma grabbed Kuroo’s hand as he left through the front door. “I love you, too.”
Silence followed, and panic began to flood Kenma’s chest. But then Kuroo broke the tension with his beautiful, stupid laugh.
“I know.”
The last year of Kenma’s school year isn’t as lonely as he expects it to be. In the absence of Kuroo, he finds himself growing closer to Shouyou and finding himself finally connecting with his teammates. Life doesn’t feel empty like he thought it would; for once, he feels hopeful. For himself. For the future. For life.
For him and Kuroo.
It’s at this time when he is surrounded by the high of happiness, at a sleepover with Shouyou, where his friend recommended starting a gaming channel.
It’s not like the thought had never crossed his mind, but when Shouyou looked at him with that big, giddy smile, something in his heart told him to do it. And it wasn’t just Shouyou’s contaminating smile; something told him this is the time to finally go for it.
I guess I’ll finally have something to tell Kuroo next time we call, Kenma thought to himself with a smile.
The first time Kuroo came back from school for break, it felt a little different; it felt foreign, as if they were back at the scene where they first met. Kenma wasn’t sure what to say when Kuroo sat on his bed like nothing had changed, but then he flashed that soft smile, and Kenma felt himself melt into what they used to be.
“So. I’m dating a youtuber now?”
Kenma laughed, and for a moment, he didn’t recognize the laugh as his own. It felt pure; it felt good. Things finally felt like they’re back in place.
Kenma doesn't think he's ever been happier.