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“Hi, everyone. Welcome to the stream,” Kenma says, his eyes glazed over as he scans the chat. “If you managed to find this stream, don’t go spreading the link around, yeah? This is a secret stream for a reason.”
Kuroo glances over at Kenma, raising an eyebrow. Kenma stares back, trying to project an aura of confidence. Maybe if I seem confident enough, he won’t suspect anything. Unfortunately, though, Kenma’s not so lucky. “If this is a secret stream,” Kuroo says, “how do you have over 100 viewers?”
“Really dedicated fans,” Kenma lies.
“Why is it a secret anyways?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma curses Kuroo for being so perceptive, then himself for falling in love with Kuroo’s annoyingly perceptive ass.
“Because it’s a preview of a game I made myself,” Kenma says. “Sue me for not wanting the whole world to see it yet.”
“Hey, BOKUTO1 said something in the chat. Is that actually Bokuto, do you - “
“Okay,” Kenma interrupts before Kuroo can get any more suspicious. “Here, look at this monitor. I’ve got the game pulled up for you. You’re my first beta tester.”
“Aww, what an honor,” Kuroo teases, but there’s something soft in the gleam of his eyes and tilt of his mouth as he looks at Kenma, a hint of pride. He turns back to the screen. “Damn, this looks really good already.”
“I’d hope so, considering I’ve been working on this game since middle school,” Kenma says, but he can’t help the way his spirit lifts at Kuroo’s praise. Of all of the people on the planet, he wants Kuroo to enjoy the game the most. He wants Kuroo to be the one to compliment him on it. “So, you’re gonna design a character first.”
“Okay,” Kuroo hums in affirmation, clicking through the options on the menu. He’s quiet for a second, and then: “Hey, this hair looks like mine.”
Kenma glances down, his cheeks warming. He, very obviously, designed the hair option after his boyfriend’s messy rooster hair, but having it pointed out on stream is something else altogether. “Uh, must be a coincidence.”
“You’re such a fuckin’ liar,” Kuroo says with a quiet laugh. “Okay, I’m good. What do I do now?”
Kenma steps a little closer to him, leaning over him so that he can guide Kuroo’s hand movements. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the chat on the other monitor exploding with “CUTE” and heart eye emojis, quite a few of which are sent by Bokuto, but he ignores them. “This is a platformer game. Think of it like Mario. So you move like this, with the WASD keys,” he demonstrates, moving his character across the screen, “and you jump like this. You aim with the mouse, and you can shoot like this.”
Kuroo watches him, looking as though he’s taking notes on Kenma’s instructions. Kenma’s always appreciated that about Kuroo—how attentive he is—but once Kenma steps back, letting Kuroo take over, he just stares at the screen blankly. “So I just have to make it to the other side of the map and defeat each level’s boss?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as easy as it sounds— “ Kenma starts. Before he can finish, Kuroo’s character is flying across the map. A trapdoor opens before he can make it more than a few centimeters, though, and Kuroo’s character falls into a pit of lava. Kuroo turns to glare at Kenma in an accusatory fashion, and Kenma shrugs. “I tried to warn you.”
“It’s the first level ,” Kuroo complains, but he presses the “try again” button anyways. This time, Kuroo’s more cautious. He makes it about halfway, avoiding lava pits and destroying enemies, before a swinging hammer comes from the sky to knock Kuroo out. Kuroo groans, and Kenma tries to stifle a laugh behind his hand. Kuroo gives him a patented Kuroo look that conveys his displeasure. “You made this hard on purpose so you could see me fail.”
“It’d be easy for an experienced gamer. Not everything is about you, Kuro,” Kenma says, though internally he thinks, You have no idea. Not that he would admit that to Kuroo.
“Ha, right,” Kuroo says, his voice dark as he presses the “Try Again” button. His character runs across the screen again. Kenma watches, a tiny smile on his face, as Kuroo gives it another shot.
It takes five more tries and a good twenty minutes, but finally Kuroo makes it through the first level. “God,” Kuroo says, leaning back in his chair and wiping his forehead in his typical overdramatic fashion. “I feel like I’ve just completed a workout or something. How many levels are left?”
“Uh,” Kenma says. “Nine.”
Kuroo shoots up, his eyes wide and comically catlike. “ Nine more levels?! ”
“I wanted it to be a full-length game,” Kenma mumbles. “No one would buy a game that’s only, like, three levels.”
“People would buy anything you produce, World-famous Kodzuken,” Kuroo teases, bumping his shoulder into Kenma’s.
Kenma frowns at him. “Shut up,” he says, even though Kuroo’s at least partially right. Still, Kenma would never release a half-assed product. If it’s something he cares about—like he cares so deeply about this game—he pours his entire soul into it. “Next level.”
“Oh, god,” Kuroo groans.
“You’re not enjoying it?” Kenma asks, suddenly a little paranoid.
“No, it’s not that. The game is amazing so far,” Kuroo says quickly, his tone changing—more reassuring and soft now. “I just wish I was better at it. I’m sure all your viewers are used to my MLG boyfriend, and I suck in comparison.”
“You’re doing fine,” Kenma says, giving him a tiny, encouraging smile and watching the blood rush to Kuroo’s cheeks in response. Cute. It’s strange someone as big and intimidating-looking as Kuroo could be cute , but somehow Kuroo manages.
Kuroo makes it through three more levels in the next forty minutes, which is a faster progress rate than Kenma had expected, honestly. He leans close to the screen, his eyes scrunched in concentration. Once he makes it through the fourth level, he turns to Kenma with big eyes. “Did you see that?” he asks excitedly. “I didn’t die once . I’m actually getting better at this game.”
“Yeah,” Kenma acknowledges, because, well, it’s true. He shoves his hands under his legs so that Kuroo won’t be able to tell how sweaty his palms are. Shit . “You are. Congratulations.”
“Watch out, Kyanma,” Kuroo says teasingly. “One of these days I’m gonna catch up with you. I’ll show up at one of your tournaments as your final boss.”
“Yeah, now you’re just taking it too far,” Kenma grumbles, and Kuroo laughs in response.
The fifth level is more of a challenge. It’s the halfway point of the game, so Kenma had, inevitably, designed it to be a bit more challenging. However, Kuroo does not seem to be a fan of this latest challenge. “Fuck,” he says after falling into a lava pit for the tenth time—or at least it feels like the tenth time. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m just gonna keep dying over and over again.”
“It gets easier the more you try it,” Kenma says, his heart speeding up. Fuck. Kuroo can’t give up here. He can’t. “Just give it another try.”
“If I can’t get it done this time, maybe we can just give up for today,” Kuroo says, his head in his hands, “and we can try again later this week. Do another secret stream. I mean, I basically made it through half of the game already.”
“No,” Kenma says immediately, then cringes. Shit—Kuroo’s suggestion was more than reasonable, and now Kenma’s going to look suspicious as hell. Quickly, Kenma adds, “I mean, I just really want you to see the ending. Not sure I can wait any longer.” That, at least, is true.
Kuroo gives Kenma a look. For a moment, Kenma thinks Kuroo is going to protest more— that he’s not going to understand just how much this means to Kenma—but then he tilts his head down and gives Kenma a short, determined nod. “Okay. I’ll keep going, then.”
When Kuroo dies once more, this time at the hands of the boss, he sighs. Kenma nudges him. “Want me to take over? I could do this level for you.”
“Absolutely not,” Kuroo says vehemently. “I’m gonna win this by myself. But, damn, you’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Kenma agrees easily. Nothing worth having comes easily, he thinks but doesn’t say out loud. No need to make Kuroo even more suspicious, after all.
After a few more tries, a lot of overdramatic groans, and a good amount of encouragement from the chat which Kenma reads to him while conveniently leaving out any usernames, Kuroo finally beats the fifth level. He’s sweating, which Kenma finds both hilarious and endearing. “I’ll go get you some water,” he offers.
“Aw, you’re being so nice today,” Kuroo teases. Kenma doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he stands up, feeling the box in his pocket with his fingers and taking a deep breath. Soon, he tells himself, his heart rate speeding up dramatically. Soon.
It doesn’t take Kuroo half as long to do the sixth or seventh levels. When he’s confronted with the boss of the eighth level, though, he suggests coming back to it another day again, to which Kenma vehemently says, “No,” again and then, with big, pleading eyes he knows Kuroo is all too susceptible to—“Please? I really want you to see the ending”, and Kuroo immediately gives in.
He doesn’t bring up giving up during the ninth level, not even when he keeps missing all of his shots against the minor enemies and falling into a variety of traps. He mutters a stream of curses under his breath, which Kenma expected, but manages to make it. And then, finally, finally, Kuroo makes it to the last level.
“Let me guess,” Kuroo says. “This one is unbearably hard.”
“Uh,” Kenma says. “There are three final bosses. So—yeah. Kinda.”
Kuroo stares at him, an expression of pure disbelief coloring his features. “Three final bosses?” he asks at last, and then stares at the floor as though in shock, muttering, “Three bosses. Three bosses. Fucking three bosses.” Finally, he looks back up at Kenma. “You really can’t make anything easy, can you?”
“What fun would that be?” Kenma says with a little smile.
“God,” Kuroo grumbles, “you’re lucky I love you.” Kenma’s heart soars at the words just as it had the first time Kuroo said them, standing in front of him at their park, his cheeks a deep hue of red—though Kenma will never tell him that, of course.
Kuroo starts up the last level. He plays slowly and carefully, as though he’s giving this level his full focus, which Kenma appreciates given how chaotically Kuroo tends to play other games. He makes it to the first boss, but after just a few mistimed shots, Kuroo gets taken down. He throws his head back. “I’m never gonna be able to do this.”
“You can,” Kenma disagrees.
Kuroo shakes his head. “You sadist.”
But he keeps going, keeps on fighting, battling his way through the three bosses. Kenma wants to cheer when he finally beats the first boss, but when he gets past the second boss, Kenma’s heart starts to speed up. This is becoming all too real. God , Kenma thinks. This is really gonna happen—and soon.
He blinks as Kuroo starts up the final boss battle, comforting himself with the thought that it’ll be a decent amount of time before Kuroo gets through this battle. He made it extra challenging on purpose, but time seems to speed up before his eyes as Kuroo works out the strategies, coming closer and closer to beating the boss each time. “I can’t believe people are still watching,” Kuroo says with a chuckle after losing yet again.
“Uh, yeah, weird,” Kenma says, almost too nervous to speak.
It takes Kuroo another five tries, but finally, finally, he makes it through the boss battle. When he does, he jumps up from his chair, pumping his fist in the air. “Fucking finally ,” he all but shouts. “Oh my god, I’m gonna go make myself a nice cup of coffee, go watch some TV— ”
“Kuro,” Kenma interrupts before Kuroo can get any further. “It’s not over yet. Sit back down.”
Kenma watches as the life is sucked out of his boyfriend all at once. “Whaaat?” Kuroo asks dejectedly. “You said that was the final boss battle!”
“It was,” Kenma says quickly. “But there’s— well, there’s something more. Just sit back down. You’ll see.”
Kenma clicks for Kuroo to continue, watching as the words THE END appear on the screen, and then: This game is dedicated to the one person who has been there for me through it all, to the person who believes in me more than anyone, who is really and truly my #1 fan (and in return, I’m your number one fan too).
Kuroo turns around with big eyes, mouthing “Me?” Kenma just smiles. Keep going.
So Kuroo does. He clicks, and his character appears suddenly at a virtual version of a park— their park. The park they’d played volleyball at together as children, the park where they’d shared some of their deepest secrets, the park where Kuroo implored Kenma not to quit volleyball. It’s the park that’s most important to them, and so Kenma figured, even if virtually, he would want this park to be a part of this moment, too.
He wonders if Kuroo expects what’s coming next.
A tiny, virtual Kenma appears at the top of the screen, a pixelated ring in his hands. Thank you for all that you do for me, appears as a speech bubble above his head. I don’t know what I would do without you. You are the best person I know. I love everything about you — your messy hair, the way you lead people without even meaning to, how caring you are, your stupidly contagious laugh, even your corny jokes. You mean so much to me, and I love you. I always have. I’m certain that I always will. I want you as my Player 2 for the rest of my life, as corny as that is. And so, that’s why I have an important question to ask you now. So turn to the right, will you?
As the last speech bubble appears, Kenma gets down on one knee, fishing the ring box out of his pocket and holding it in one still-shaking hand as he asks, “Kuro, will you marry me?” And for a second, it’s silent. Shit. He wouldn’t say no, would he? I mean, he’s always said he definitely wanted to marry me, but maybe he changed his mind…
But then Kenma looks up, up into Kuroo’s already watering eyes and the brilliant smile on his lips, sees the way Kuroo nods his head and manages to get out a broken, “Yes,” and then, a little clearer, “Yes, Kenma. Of course.”
And then Kenma knows. It wasn’t even a question, really, in the end.
It was always going to be them. He was always going to say yes.
Kenma leans up, slipping the ring onto Kuroo’s finger— and mentally praising himself for having gotten Kuroo’s ring size right. As Kuroo— his fiancé, now— stands up to kiss him, getting his messy tears all over Kenma’s face, Kenma can’t even find it within him to complain. But then suddenly Kenma remembers. Shit. They’re streaming. He pulls away quickly, turning back to the camera.
“Thank you all for watching,” he says quickly. “I’m glad you could all share this moment with us. But I think we’re, uh, gonna go now.” He says his quick goodbyes before he ends the stream, thanking all their friends for joining them once more.
“Ohhhh,” Kuroo says, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “That’s why it was a private stream. And hey— that was Bokuto watching, wasn’t it?”
Kenma shrugs coyly, giving him a little smile. “Maybe.”
“You little devil,” Kuroo says, his tone accusatory but lighthearted, genuinely happy— just the way Kenma likes it.
“Come on,” Kenma says, rather than acknowledging this. “I think we’ve got a little celebrating to do.”
And when Kenma pulls him in to kiss him, Kuroo’s ring cold against the warmth of Kenma’s cheek— well, Kuroo certainly doesn’t complain.