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Translucent white clouds float lazily in the orange sky, the sun sinking down onto the horizon. The air is chilly, because winter has come in full force. Still, Kenma sits on the steps in front of his house, arms wrapped around his knees and scarf wrapped around his neck. Next to him is Kuroo, palms planted on the concrete and leaning back, his face tilted towards the sky. The last of the sunlight hits his face just right, making Kuroo look like he’s glowing.
Nationals are in three days and Kenma can feel the anxiety rolling off of Kuroo. Kuroo wouldn’t admit to being nervous out loud, but Kenma can tell from the far away look in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders.
Kenma watches him and wonders where his thoughts are, what he’s lingering on. He wants to reach out and wave his hand in front of his eyes or maybe touch his shoulder, bring him back to earth, to this moment right here. On Kenma’s steps, watching the sunset.
“My last year,” Kuroo says. “And my first time at Nationals.” His eyes slide to Kenma, their gazes meeting, and Kenma’s chest feels light and heavy at the same time. “It’s gonna be something special.”
Melancholy. That’s the word for the light and heavy that Kenma is feeling. For the look in Kuroo’s eyes. Kenma’s hand reaches out and rests itself on top of Kuroo’s, and he stays quiet. “I want to win,” Kuroo continues.
Slowly, his hand turns, his palm meeting Kenma’s and his fingers closing. “We can only do our best,” Kenma responds, quietly, his voice carried away by the wind.
“I’m feeling brave today,” Kuroo says, “maybe it’s the pre-National jitters. Or maybe I’ve just wanted to do this for awhile and I’m tired of waiting.” Kenma’s eyes widen a fraction as he leans in close to Kenma’s face.
He stops right before their lips touch; his eyes are also wide, panicked, as if he just realized what he was about to do even though he had just been talking about it. “I’m not feeling brave anymore,” he whispers.
Kenma laughs so hard that he has to turn away, cheeks pink from the cold and his laughter and maybe something else, and Kuroo chuckles, too, softly, eyes fixated on the boy he’s known forever.
“Should we try again?” Kenma asks, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear, and Kuroo’s heart jumps into his throat. Kenma turns back to face him, and Kuroo’s hands move up to caress his cheeks.
Neither one of them move towards the other. Kenma glances to the side, puffing his cheeks with air; Kuroo squishes the air back out. “This is silly,” Kuroo sighs, and begins to drop his hands.
Kenma catches his wrist. “Wait…”
He waits. They both wait.
Kenma’s free hand comes up and rests itself on the back of Kuroo’s neck, fingers playing with the hairs on his nape. He pushes up towards Kuroo, his face getting closer and closer and Kuroo can’t stand it. He closes his eyes right as Kenma’s lips press against his.
And then they pull away just as quickly.
Kuroo’s eyes blink open; Kenma’s looking at him with a curious expression, head slightly tilted to the side. “It’s that easy,” Kenma says.
“I didn’t know you were the expert.”
Kenma just shrugs. And then he moves towards Kuroo again. Their lips touch once, twice, three times before the kiss deepens, Kuroo’s arms winding around Kenma’s small frame and pulling him close.
When they part again, the streetlights are on and the hard concrete is making Kenma’s butt cramp. He pushes Kuroo’s head away and stands up. “I’m going inside,” he says to Kuroo. Both of their lips are slightly swollen, both their cheeks are flushed, and neither of them are looking at each other. “See you tomorrow?”
Kuroo smiles, stands and brushes his knees off. “Yeah,” he answers, “tomorrow.” His hand claps Kenma’s shoulder and stays there, and Kenma sighs uncharacteristically loud and steps forward, his shoe nudging Kuroo’s as he places his forehead against his chest.
“Tomorrow,” Kenma says again, but neither pull away— Kuroo’s fingers absently play with Kenma’s hair as the last of the sunlight disappears.