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One minute, Kuroo is chattering away nervously, face flushed and hands fidgety, his words barely intelligible as his feelings pour off his tongue. The next, his lips are on Kenma’s, sending a shock of electricity to the younger boy’s stomach. Kenma’s eyes are wide as Kuroo pulls back, biting his bottom lip as he looks for a sign on his best friend’s face that he hasn’t completely made a fool of himself.
The words crash into Kenma’s skull as his stomach flutters uncomfortably under Kuroo’s yearning gaze. “I like you.” Those words click into place as Kenma realizes his best friend just confessed to him. The best friend who stands before him waiting for an answer.
Kenma’s heart aches. He doesn’t feel the same. He loves Kuroo, of course he does, but not in the way that Kuroo is confessing to loving him. But he can’t stand to see Kuroo in pain. There’s no way he can reject him.
So, he tells a little white lie. He accepts Kuroo’s feelings and tells him he likes him too. And really, it’s not all a lie, because he does like Kuroo. Maybe with some time to adjust, he can get used to the idea of more. At the very least, this way, he gets to see Kuroo’s radiant smile.
At least, this way, they can still be together.
Except, he underestimates what that means. He didn’t think things could change that much. After all, they already spend all their free time together, and really that doesn’t change. Kuroo has always been affectionate. The closeness of his body to Kenma’s as they watch a movie after practice is nothing new. The casual touches are nothing new. The way Kuroo leans into him is nothing new.
What is new, is the way he laces their fingers together every chance he gets, often bringing them to his lips to give them a chaste kiss as he holds Kenma’s eyes with an intensely loving gaze. What is new, are the stolen kisses between classes, behind the gym, in the storage closet. What is new, is the whispered “I love you’s” Kuroo lets slip every time they’re alone, and even at times when they’re not.
The hand holding is a bit embarrassing at times, but Kenma doesn’t actually mind it. And, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t mind the kisses either. He would even go so far as to say he likes kissing Kuroo. In some ways, he feels even more connected to Kuroo than before. He’s hyperaware of his partner off and on the court, and for a while, their newfound intimacy translates to them being even more in sync than usual. The team is better with their relationship taking a new step forward. But as the days turn into a week and then two, the knot in his stomach grows tighter and tighter.
He grows frustrated. It’s glaringly obvious that the gap in their respective love for one another is only growing, instead of shrinking. His hopes that going through the motions would change his feelings are beginning to sink along with the pit in his stomach. He’s terrified.
He doesn’t want to lose Kuroo. He doesn’t want to see Kuroo unhappy. Kuroo is his best friend and he loves him but he isn’t in love with him, and it kills him to realize this.
He starts slipping at practice. His tosses are all over the place, he snaps at the first years more than warranted—it’s not their fault, he knows it’s not their fault—and he flinches away from Kuroo whenever the other boy gets too close. Coach tells him to take a walk.
He wants to walk out the door and keep walking. Not look back. Walk home and bury himself in a mindless game where he doesn’t have to think about love or hurting anyone. But he doesn’t get far before Kuroo catches up to him.
“Hey, you ok? You’ve been distant the last few days.”
Kenma’s heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He thought he’d masked it well, but of course Kuroo could see right through him. He shakes his head.
“How can I help?”
“It’s not that easy, Kuro.”
“Why? I’m your boyfriend. You can tell me anything.”
Kenma flinches at the word boyfriend. He wishes he didn’t. Wishes that word had never entered their relationship. It was better before, when they were just best friends. “Don’t make me do this,” he mutters.
Kuroo swallows. “Do what?”
Kenma looks up at him, meets his pained gaze, feels the expression mirrored on his own face, and he knows it’s too late. They have to talk about it. He takes a deep breath and squeezes Kuroo’s hand. “We’ll talk about it after practice.” The team needs them both and he can focus on that to distract himself for another couple hours.
He manages to make it through practice with fewer mistakes, his resolve to talk to Kuroo giving him renewed confidence, even if the knot in his stomach still twists in agony. Kuroo is better at not letting his emotions interfere with practice, but Kenma can tell he’s not at 100% either.
The walk home together is quieter than usual. Kuroo doesn’t talk, and Kenma takes the rare peace to organize his thoughts. He knows what he needs to do, but he wants to say it in a way that minimizes the pain for Kuroo.
“Kuro.”
Kuroo sighs. “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”
Kenma doesn’t flinch at the resignation in his best friend’s voice. He nods. “It isn’t fair to you for me to keep pretending like everything is ok.”
“Is it something I did wrong? Can I fix it?”
Kenma shakes his head. “As cliché as it sounds, it’s not you, it’s me.” Kuroo huffs at that. “I shouldn’t have agreed in the first place,” he goes on, barreling through before his nerves can clam him up. “You were so happy, and I didn’t want to make you unhappy. I thought I could get used to it, to force myself to love you as much as you love me, but I—,” he sighs, unable to say the words he knows he needs to say.
Kuroo knows him too well, though. He finishes his sentence for him. “You don’t love me the same way.” He stops. They’re almost home.
Kenma realizes that this might be the first time they’ll go home alone in almost 6 years. “I’m sorry, Kuro.” It’s the only thing he can think of to say. “I just can’t give you the love that you want.”
Kuroo laughs. Or maybe it’s a choked sob. “No, I’m sorry, for not realizing how much you were hurting. You’re right, and I don’t want you to force yourself for my sake.”
Kenma chews his lip. “I don’t want you out of my life, though. You’re still my best friend.”
Kuroo stares down at him with dark eyes, the knot in Kenma’s stomach clenches. He isn’t prepared for the words that follow that stormy gaze. “Can I make a selfish request?”
Kenma nods. After everything he’s put Kuroo through in the last few hours, he can at least grant him this. “Can I…can I kiss you one last time? Can I kiss you goodbye?”
He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But he does. He hopes it’ll give Kuroo some closure. His heart flutters involuntary as Kuroo’s hands cup his face, tenderly, he is always so tender, and then his lips press against Kenma’s, soft and warm and salty with his tears.
He wants to remind him that this isn’t goodbye. That they’re still friends. They’ll still walk together to school every day and see each other at mealtimes and practice. But he also knows they can never go back to how it was before. Not know that they know the feel of the other in their arms, the taste of the other on their tongues. Kenma knows he doesn’t love Kuroo, but he still feels a stab of regret. He knows he’s going to miss him.
When Kuroo pulls away, he wipes his cheeks and smiles. “Thank, you Kenma. For being honest with me and telling me to my face.”
“Of course.” He tries not to scoff. Did Kuroo believe Kenma was the type to break up over text or something? Instead, he asks, “Are you going to be ok?”
Kuroo shrugs. It’s not his usual, quirky shrug. His heart isn’t in it. His heart isn’t in anything right now. “I just need some time. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in a few days.”
“Ok,” Kenma says slowly, sensing a lie but not willing to call him out on it. “Just let me know if you need anything.”
Kuroo does laugh at that. He shakes his head and waves as he heads towards his house, alone. Kenma watches him go, feeling lighter and yet heavier at the same time. Kuroo would come around. He just needed time.
Kenma wishes he believed that.
//
The first day after Kenma breaks up with Kuroo, the taller boy is absent from school. Kenma stands at their usual spot, waiting impatiently for his best friend to come join him on their usual morning routine. When he doesn’t show, Kenma leaves with barely enough time to get to school.
He texts Kuroo a reminder to let him know if he’s going to be late next time so Kenma doesn’t miss class, but he doesn’t get a response. He spends the morning annoyed. He knew Kuroo would be upset, but this was ridiculous. They were still friends, weren’t they?
At lunch, he eats alone. Or he tries to. The usual group finds him and is surprised that Kuroo isn’t already with him. “He didn’t show up this morning,” Kenma says, face buried in his game but mind wandering to whatever Kuroo was doing at that moment.
“It’s not like him to get sick,” Yaku grumbles.
Kenma tries not to flinch, but Kai notices. “Did something happen between you two after practice?” he asks.
Lev gasps in shock. “Kuroo-san was acting weird after you guys came back.” Yaku shakes his head and kicks him.
“We broke up.” Kenma deadpans. It was only a matter of time before they found out anyway, so there was no point in trying to hide it. “I wasn’t being fair to him so I ended it.” The stunned silence around him forces him to look at their faces. This time he does flinch.
“But you guys were so cute together!” Lev breaks the silence. Yaku punches him in the ribs.
“Are you okay?” Kai asks.
Kenma blinks. He wasn’t expecting them to be concerned about him. He wasn’t the one who had his heart broken. Well, not exactly. “I’m…worried about him,” he admits. It isn’t like Kuroo to miss school just because of a fight.
Taketora claps him on the shoulder. “It’ll be alright. He’s probably just needed a day to himself.” Kenma nods at the echo of Kuroo’s words from the night before ringing in his ears.
Practice is tense at first, the team all too conscious of their captain’s absence, but Coach whips them all into shape and gets them running drills just like any other day. Kuroo would be back making snide comments and handing out compliments soon enough.
Kenma’s walk home is lonely, though. He hadn’t walked home by himself in years. He really hopes Kuroo doesn’t need more than a day to mope, because if this was going to be their new normal, Kenma would quit the team.
But the next morning, Kuroo is waiting for him in their usual spot. He doesn’t offer his usual greeting or say anything at all, but his presence is more than welcome. It’s familiar. Routine. Kenma likes routine.
They walk side by side like the world hasn’t been turned upside down between them. Kenma plays on his PSP like usual, but Kuroo keeps quiet, which is not like usual. Kenma chances a glance up at him and sees the heavy bags under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin.
“Kuroo?”
The older boy gives him a half-hearted smirk. “I’m ok. Didn’t sleep well.”
Kenma frowns. “Should you be going to school like this?”
“I can’t afford to miss another day,” he says, eyes focusing back on the path in front of him. “Besides, it’s better than sitting around a quiet house all day.”
“If you say so.” Kenma would have loved nothing more than to stay at home and be left alone, but he knew Kuroo, and Kuroo thrived better with other people. They don’t speak again until they get to school. “See you at lunch?”
Kuroo nods without looking at him and heads off to his class without so much as a farewell. Kenma feels annoyance burning in his stomach again.
He tries to remind himself that Kuroo is the one hurting here. Kuroo just needs time. It had barely been a day. But how long did he really need? It wasn’t like they had been together all that long. A couple weeks at most.
His lip is nearly shredded by lunch time, but if anyone notices they don’t comment. Everyone is too glad to see Kuroo back at school, back where he belongs. They were normally too loud for Kenma, but he notices the way Kuroo flinches at the volume too.
Something else is wrong. This isn’t just exhaustion from heartbreak. “Kuro.” The older boy flinches at the tone of Kenma’s voice. “Can we talk?”
The other boys whoop and holler as Kenma drags Kuroo out of the classroom ad up to the roof. Whatever they suspected was about to happen, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Kuroo blinks roughly at the harshness of the sun as they emerge from the stairwell. Kenma watches him warily. The older boy keeps his hands in his pockets as he leans against the fence, eyes pointedly avoiding Kenma’s face.
“Why were you out yesterday?”
“Didn’t feel well.”
“Kuro.”
Kuroo sighs. “What do you want me to say? That I couldn’t bear seeing you again so soon so I hid at home?”
“If that’s all there is to it, then I don’t blame you.” Kenma closes the distance between them but keeps his arms folded across his chest to keep from grabbing him. That close, he could still smell a hint of mint on Kuroo’s breath.
A firework explodes inside Kenma’s head, filling him with hot fury. The mouthwash. The unusual flinching at loud noises. The unnecessary squinting in the sun (it wasn’t that bright). “You’re hungover.”
Kuroo doesn’t even flinch. He just shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and turns his face as far as he can. “What the fuck Kuroo?” Kenma hisses.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why would you do something so stupid? I can’t believe you.” Kenma steps back before he can reach out and throttle his idiot of a best friend. “Seriously?”
“I just wanted to feel a little numb, ok?” Kuroo still won’t meet his gaze. “No one was home and dad’s liquor cabinet is never locked so I just had a couple shots.”
“A couple?” Kenma takes in his disheveled state. He looks like he’d had more than a couple, and worse, it was all Kenma’s fault. He’d drunk himself stupid because Kenma broke his heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I won’t do it again.”
Kenma ground his teeth. “No. You won’t.” Kuroo does look at him now, the ice in his voice finally breaking through to chill him. “You’re going to go home and get some actual sleep.”
“We have practice.”
“No, the rest of us have practice. You can barely stand on your own two feet.” Kenma sighs. This is going to be such a pain to explain to coach.
Kuroo fidgets like he’s about to argue further, but he just sighs. “Okay.”
Kenma nods as if he doesn’t expect anything but agreement. He turns to head back to class and feels Kuroo move behind him to follow. Before they descend, he feels the need to reiterate his sentiment about Kuroo’s coping mechanism.
“I mean it Kuro. You do that shit again and I am never speaking to you again.” He doesn’t bother to turn back and see if Kuroo acknowledged him. If Kuroo knew him half as well as he knew Kuroo, he knew that Kenma’s threat would stand.
When they get back to the classroom, Kuroo excuses himself, saying he isn’t feeling well after all and is going home. Kai promises to get his notes for the rest of the day and Yaku threatens him bodily harm if he isn’t better by tomorrow.
“Do you think we should get checked?” Lev asks. “I mean, if he’s really sick, we could all get sick.”
“He’s not contagious.” Kenma shakes his head as he buries himself back in his PSP. “He just needs some rest and he’ll be good as new.” As the conversation shifts around him, he really hopes he was right.
//
The first few days after that are awkward, but they get through it. Eventually Kuroo stops flinching every time Kenma looks his way and after a couple weeks they’re back to some semblance of normalcy. He talks animatedly as they walk to school. He laughs too loud at Fukunaga’s jokes. He makes fun of Lev’s mistakes. Their captain is back and things are going great.
He is respectful of Kenma’s personal space, though he seems hyper aware of it. Kenma thinks it should be endearing, that he should be glad his best friend is being cognizant of the fewer physical allowances their current status provides, but mostly it just annoys him.
“Kuro.” He calls him down one evening when Kuroo is over after practice, working on homework while Kenma plays a game.
“Kenma?” He says it with an innocent eye flutter. That would have amused Kenma once, but it just stokes his annoyance higher.
“I’m not a glass doll.” Kuroo blinks in confusion. Kenma sighs. “I’m not going to break if you touch me.” He gestures to the six-foot gap between them. Kuroo is a tactile person. He used to sit right up against Kenma, using him as a support. This space between them is uncomfortable.
“I know you won’t,” Kuroo says, voice timid, reserved. “I just don’t want to push you.”
“I appreciate that,” Kenma sighs, “but this? This makes me uncomfortable. You used to lean on me before we dated, I don’t see why that has to change just because we’ve kissed now.”
Kuroo’s face turns red and Kenma rolls his eyes, turning back to his game. He feels Kuroo shift next to him, moving back into his home base where he belongs. He really didn’t have to be so dramatic about it. As if Kenma would be more comfortable without that constant support at his side. Honestly. The way things were before was the best. Why couldn’t they just go back to that?
Kuroo flips through his notes, humming as he reads over formulas and highlights key terms. “Oh,” he exclaims. “Bokuto wants to get a friendly game going this weekend. Since we don’t have practice.”
“And you want me to come along?”
Kuroo’s shoulders tremble against Kenma’s as he chuckles. “It’d be difficult to play without a setter.” Kenma hums noncommittally. The weather is supposed to be nice, which means he’ll end up sweaty and gross. He grimaces at that thought. “I’ll buy you that holiday skin pack you’ve been eyeing.”
Kenma’s eyes slide to the side as he considers it. “Bribery is unbecoming you know.”
“The premium one,” he reiterates.
Which is how Kenma finds himself at the rec center with Kuroo, Yaku, Bokuto, Akaashi, and Konoha on a perfectly beautiful Saturday afternoon playing 3 on 3 for a few hours. Where did these guys get all their stamina? Do it for the skins, he reminds himself. Though the longer they play, the more he wonders if he should have haggled the price.
They shuffle teams every couple sets. The games he set to Bokuto were the easiest. Bokuto’s energy is infectious, like he was casting a rejuvenation spell on his allies. It would explain how Kenma finished those games feeling like he hadn’t expended any energy of his own, how Bokuto won every game he played, regardless of the team he was on. Well, that, and the fact that he was a nationally ranked ace. It’s actually kind of fun to play with a weapon like Bokuto on his team.
It isn’t until he is home and staring at his ceiling that it occurrs to him, he had genuinely enjoyed hanging out and playing with Bokuto. Someone so bright and exuberant should be draining to be around, but Kenma only felt recharged. He never felt this good after practice.
After that friendly pickup game, they start hanging out more. Kuroo would drag Kenma out to spend time with them, and he found himself looking forward to socializing for once. Bokuto is interesting. Loud, but so were plenty of his teammates. Somehow it isn’t as oppressive with Bokuto.
Somehow, they start gravitating towards one another.
Somehow, they start spending time together, just the two of them.
Somehow, Bokuto confesses to him.
Somehow, Kenma has no reservations about accepting his feelings.
Somehow, Kenma likes him back.
If they thought their friends would be happy for them, they would be right on all accounts but one. Kenma has never seen Kuroo so mad, and it hurts more than breaking up with him had. Kuroo hadn’t even screamed at him back then like he does now.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“I thought you’d be happy for us!”
“How would I be happy? You broke up with me for my best friend!”
Kenma staggers like Kuroo had slapped him. “I thought I was your best friend?” he hisses. That’s not even the most egregious fallacy of his statement, but it hurts the most.
Kuroo at least has the grace to appear abashed. “I can have more than one best friend.” He puffs out his chest to barrel on. “And come on, seriously? Would a best friend break his friend’s heart like you did?”
“I didn’t ask for you to confess to me,” Kenma reminds him. “And we broke up months ago. I’ve only been hanging out with Bokuto for like a month, and you’re the one who brought us together in the first place.”
It isn’t fair. He knows it’s not fair. Throwing the blame back on Kuroo when he’s hurting like this. But Kenma has never been so happy with another person like he is with Bokuto. He loves Kuroo, he does, but it’s not the same love he feels when Bokuto smiles at him, when Bokuto laughs at his deaths in games and consoles him with kisses peppered on his cheeks. His heart had never fluttered like that with Kuroo and he wishes it had so they wouldn’t be here now, screaming at each other and saying words they can’t take back. There are no save points to go back to, to reset the conversation and start over.
Kuroo glares at him through his tears. “Did you ever even care about me?”
Kenma can’t answer that. If he speaks, he’s going to curse him again. But his silence is just as damning, and Kuroo leaves. His oldest friend turns his back, walks out the door, and does not return.
It isn’t fair. Doesn’t he deserve to be happy too?
Kenma cries.
//
Kenma and Bokuto date until after Bokuto graduates. They try the distance thing for a while when he goes off to play college volleyball, but between his own classes ramping up with college prep, leading the volleyball team, and starting his streaming career, Kenma has little energy left at the end of the day to deal with his exuberant boyfriend. They naturally drift apart, and when Bokuto calls it off, Kenma feels a mix of sadness and relief.
He had gotten used to Bokuto’s presence in his life, but even he knew things had gotten stale between them. This level of his life was over, and he had to move on.
Akaashi helps. He had known them both, had helped them through their rough patches, and having him around helps Kenma transition to a life without Bokuto. And he enjoys Akaashi’s company in general. They had a lot of shared interests and just as naturally as he and Bokuto had drifted apart, he and Akaashi had found their way into each other’s arms.
It isn’t as long-lived as his relationship with Bokuto. They were both busy preparing for college, and they weren’t going to the same school. A fact that Akaashi agonizes over. He agonizes over a lot of things. It’s overwhelming how much he overthinks things. Kenma can only take so much of the burden, but in the end he grows tired. It pains him to break up with Akaashi, but he doesn’t want to resent the other boy when they leave for different schools.
He is actually excited to start college. He already has a steady income from his streams, and he has big ideas for starting up a company. His roommate is chill, and the school is close enough he can still visit his friends at home if he wanted. He does want to keep supporting the volleyball team, and had promised to come by once in a while to see how they were progressing.
He is content.
Then he sees a familiar mess of bed hair outside the student center during his second week. Of course Kuroo would be here.
He freezes as Kuroo’s eyes catch his own from across the quad. A mix of emotions flash across his former best friend’s face. Shock, confusion, relief. Kenma’s heart beats so hard against his ribcage he fears it will escape. Then Kuroo’s lips quirk up in the smile Kenma had always thought of as his signature, and he waves.
Kenma clenches his fist around the strap of his backpack. It has been a year and a half since they’d last spoken, outside of the remaining awkward practices of Kuroo’s senior year. Could that really all be water under the bridge?
He sighs and waves back. Kuroo’s face brightens as they met in the middle. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I didn’t know you came here.”
Kenma rolls his eyes. “Well that’s what happens when you stop talking to someone.”
He knows he shouldn’t have said it. It was cruel. But Kuroo just laughs. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been such an ass.” Kenma glances around. Is he being punked? Kuroo is apologizing? “Oh don’t act so surprised. I fucked up, and I’m owning it.”
“Why now?” Kenma asks, suspicious.
Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit he clearly hasn’t lost in their time apart. “Do you have class right now?” Kenma taps his finger against the strap of his bag wondering what Kuroo is up to. He had just finished his classes for the day. He decides to tell him so. “Do you wanna grab some coffee? Catch up?”
He does. And he hates himself for it. He’s still mad that Kuroo cut him off for over a year. But he had missed his best friend during that time. He’d missed having someone to talk to when he was having relationship woes. And mostly he’d missed that strong support at his side.
So they get coffee. And they catch up. And it’s easy. So easy. Like time had rewound to before they’d dated and there was no awkwardness between them. They start hanging out outside of classes. Kuroo is over at his dorm room almost as often as he’s at Kuroo’s. And they fall back into their easy banter, their comfortable silences, and Kenma starts to let himself relax. Starts to let himself believe he got his best friend back.
Looking back, it had been foolish to let Kuroo in again.
“We should try again.”
“Kuro.”
“We’re older now. We’ve matured. You can’t tell me there isn’t something here.”
Kenma swallows his emotions. He can’t say no to Kuroo. He’s never been able to say no to Kuroo. Because he’s not wrong. There is something about them. Something burning between them. He doesn’t think it’s what Kuroo thinks it is. He doesn’t think it will last forever. He doesn’t know how much of himself he can give, but Kuroo pleads with him. Insists he’ll let Kenma go if it isn’t forever. He’ll take what Kenma is willing to give.
So they try again.
Kenma doesn’t actually take joy in saying “I told you so,” but even after another month of tumultuous emotions and brief flashes of passion, he still knows his heart better than Kuroo ever did. The flame burns out and he’s breaking Kuroo’s heart again.
//
He finds solace from his latest breakup with Kuroo in Hinata.
They’ve always enjoyed each other’s company, and over New Year’s they discover those feeling might run deeper than they’d thought. In the early hours, tipsy with lack of sleep, they end up curled up together on a couch at Kageyama’s. Kenma likes the feel of Hinata in his arms, the feather-light caresses of his fingers on Kenma’s cheeks, the softness of his lips as they tentatively taste his own. It’s comfortable, and familiar, and Kenma isn’t scared to fall in love with another friend. Hinata isn’t Kuroo, after all. Their history isn’t nearly as long and checkered.
Hinata isn’t Kuroo. He isn’t Bokuto or Akaashi. He’s like them all in some ways. His brightness is nearly as overwhelming as Bokuto’s had been. His insecurities aren’t as loud as Akaashi’s had been, but they’re there, under the surface. He’s as fun as Kuroo had been back when they could joke and mess around. And he’s as loyal as they all were.
“You’re not happy.” Hinata startles him out of his thoughts. He needs to stop comparing them all.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Hinata tips his head to one side, considering. “You’ve been distant lately. Did I do something wrong?”
The echo of Kuroo from all those years ago freezes him. He shouldn’t be thinking about Kuroo right now. “No,” he assures him. “You didn’t do anything.”
Hinata lets it go.
But he brings it up again.
And again.
And Kenma is forced to admit that there is something wrong. He isn’t happy anymore. Hinata is great. He deserves someone who will love him with all their heart. Kenma’s heart isn’t big enough to love him the way he deserves. And it’s been tugged towards the past again.
He meets up with Kuroo sometimes when he’s stressed about how to deal with Hinata. Their last breakup hadn’t been as messy, and the silent treatment had only lasted a few months. And he was used to going to Kuroo with his problems. It probably wasn’t fair to Kuroo, but as long as he would be a support at Kenma’s side, Kenma would lean on it.
“You’re doing to him what you did to me in high school,” Kuroo muses.
Kenma suppresses a flinch. “That was different.”
It wasn’t. Not really. He hadn’t been fair to Kuroo then, and he’s not being fair to Hinata now. He breaks things off with the smaller boy after only seven months, and even though he knows it’s the right thing to do, his heart still cracks at the shadows on Hinata’s face as they say goodbye. He hates himself for dimming that light.
“You did the right thing,” Kuroo assures him as they curl up at his place with a movie. They’ve been doing that a lot lately.
It’s stupid. He knows he shouldn’t do it. It’s barely been a year since their last breakup. But he can’t help it. He’s comfortable with Kuroo. And Kuroo lets him do whatever he wants. He gives Kenma so much power and Kenma hates him for it.
“I’m just going to hurt you again,” he says one night a month after his breakup with Hinata. “We can’t last.”
Kuroo holds his face in his hands, tenderly, always so tenderly. His eyes shine in the dark as his breath ghosts over Kenma’s lips. “Have a little faith in me, kitten.”
It’s not you, Kenma wants to scream. He’s never questioned Kuroo’s devotion. He knows Kuroo will kill himself to please Kenma. It’s part of why Kenma cannot allow him to continue. But then Kuroo’s lips are on his and he can’t think straight and everything is Kuroo and he wants to devour the taller man whole. Kuroo brands him with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. Kenma takes it all and puts it in a chest and buries the chest in the darkest dungeons of his heart.
He finds himself in Kuroo’s bed dozens of times over the next few months. Every time he tells himself they won’t take it that far. That he’ll stand his ground at the edge. That he won’t descend into hell again. But he’s never been good at saying no to Kuroo. He wants Kuroo to be happy. That’s all he’s ever wanted. So he’ll go to hell and back as many times as it takes to keep the smile on Kuroo’s face.
//
Kenma transfers schools in the spring of his second year. His new university’s business program is more robust, and he is better positioned to launch his company. Kuroo is sad to see him go, but promises to come visit him as often as his schedule allows.
Kenma is secretly relieved for the space between them. Fleetingly he thinks of what distance had done to his relationship with Bokuto, and wonders if history will repeat itself. He tells himself he’s not running away, but a part of him hopes that he will be able to breathe easier now.
The difference is stark within the first week. Despite the clingy texts and calls from Kuroo, Kenma feels freer in his new school. He makes new friends, joins the gaming club (discovering a small fanbase of his own in the process), and pours himself into his classes. His life finally feels like his to live again.
It’s not like he doesn’t miss Kuroo, though. He’s become accustomed to a certain level of physical attention, and while he’s grateful he can finally breathe, his skin burns to be touched. To be loved. He’s starving for it.
Kuroo visits him one weekend a month into the new semester. He shows him around, introduces him to his new friends, but they spend most of their time between his room and the gaming club. He tries to ignore the suffocating pressure that follows them wherever they go. He revels in Kuroo’s touch when they’re alone, an addict getting his fix, and he tries not to think about how toxic that analogy is until after Kuroo has gone home.
The fight happens over text.
Kenma shouldn’t have been so angry, he thinks. After all, he had plenty of new friends he did stupid shit with. It would be hypocritical of him to forbid Kuroo from unwinding with his own. But his stupid shit was relegated to practical pranks and drunken gaming, not screwing around with chemical compounds chasing highs. He knows Kuroo knows better, and that’s probably why he’s so furious. He isn’t even there to make sure Kuroo wakes up in the morning, so he spends the entire night panicking, waiting for him to respond.
When Kuroo finally texts him the next day, Kenma has had enough. He had warned Kuroo, years ago, that if he pulled another self-destructive stunt like he had after their first break up, that they were through. He doesn’t break up with him until he’s sure Kuroo is sober, but when he does, it’s final.
Kenma is tired. Tired of giving himself to someone who takes and takes and can give nothing back. He had been a fool to think he’d had any power in their relationship, not when he couldn’t say no to pleading amber eyes and a whispered caress. It was a lie he’d told himself to make it seem like he was ever in control.
If only he had rejected the first confession. If only he had never bent to Kuroo’s whims at the start. If only he had been a little surer if himself back then.
He’s sure now. Sure of himself, his wants, his needs. Sure that they have never been good for one another, despite growing up together. Sure that they are better off this way.
Sure that he will never miss anyone in his life as much as he’s going to miss Kuroo.
//
Kenma spends his junior year messing around. He tells himself he doesn’t have it in him to commit to any more long-term relationships, and he finds his casual hookups to be thrilling and liberating. He doesn’t have to give his all to these boys, and they don’t expect him to. He’s having fun and he doesn’t think he needs anything more.
Until he meets Yamaguchi.
It’s at a Halloween party some mutual friends dragged him to. He didn’t notice the quiet freckled boy at first. Terushima was monopolizing his attention and he wasn’t complaining. But by the end of the night, their circles intersect and he finds his eyes drawn to the green-hued ponytail and toothy smile. He wonders how he’d never noticed the boy before.
He learns they actually attend the same economics lecture, and they start studying together. Yamaguchi is comforting in a way none of his casual flings have been, and it scares Kenma at first. He doesn’t want to put himself in a position where he’ll have to pour his heart into a relationship that can’t last, but Yamaguchi never pushes him. He’s patient, and gentle, and willing to wait for Kenma to take the leap if he wants it.
He isn’t ready to commit, but after a couple months of near-exclusivity he realizes that he can see a future with Yamaguchi. He accidentally confesses one night when they’re goofing off in Yamaguchi’s room and the younger boy is complaining about failing an impossible exam and how he’s going to have to live in a cardboard box on the side of the road. Kenma laughs, full and happy. “Yeah but I still love you anyway.”
Any reservations he had about their relationship evaporate in the light of Yamaguchi’s smile. “That’s the first time you’ve said you love me.”
Kenma flushes to rival his old Nekoma jacket. “Well, yeah dummy. Do you think I would still be here if I didn’t?”
Yamaguchi’s answer comes in the form of a heated kiss. A promise. He knows Kenma is in it for good. And Kenma doesn’t worry about the future anymore.
//
They spend their summer apart, going to their respective homes with promises to visit each other at least once before returning to school. For the first time, Kenma isn’t concerned about the distance between him and his boyfriend. He’s happy, and he can’t wait to see him again.
He’s at a party with some old high school friends when he runs into Kuroo again. They haven’t spoken in over a year. Surrounded by their friends and teammates, drunk on the air and the booze, Kenma thinks maybe now is a good time to forgive him. Things can’t go back to the way they were, not ever, but he doesn’t want to go through the rest of his life hating his childhood best friend.
They find themselves taking a walk to get some fresh air late into the night, giggling like they hadn’t screamed at each other the last time they spoke. It’s comfortable. Refreshing.
“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says again. He’s always the one to apologize.
“I am too,” Kenma insists. And he is. Because if he had just been a little more assertive at 16, they wouldn’t be having this conversation at 20. “We cool?”
Kuroo smiles, lazy and catlike, and he squeezes Kenma’s shoulder. “Yeah. We’re cool.”
They walk in silence for a while, the balmy air settling around them. When they get to the corner of their street, Kuroo stops. “Can I make a selfish request?”
Kenma flashes back to their first break-up. “No promises,” he says, “but you can ask.”
Kuroo smiles, and it’s full of longing and sadness and Kenma knows this will be their last conversation. “I know there’s nothing in the future for us, but will you come up? One last time, for old times’ sake?”
Kenma’s heart catches in his throat. There’s a part of him, buried in an ancient chest in the depths of his heart, that clamors for him to say yes, to go with Kuroo and fall back into hell one final time. But there’s a new part, reflected in brown eyes and freckled skin, that stands at his side, supporting him so that he can finally stand firm in his resolve. He finally has the power to say no to his oldest friend.
“Kuroo,” he says, letting the name sink in (no more childhood nicknames), “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Kuroo closes his eyes and nods, his smile not wavering. “He’s really special, huh.”
“He is.”
Kuroo leans forward and presses his lips to the top of Kenma’s head. “I’m glad you finally found someone you can love. I won’t say I’m not sad it wasn’t me, but I am happy for you.”
Kenma’s chest constricts again. For a fleeting second, he almost reconsiders it. But Yamaguchi is waiting for him, and Kenma will die before he hurts him. “Thank you,” he whispers.
They part ways one final time.
Kenma knows this is the way it has to be.
But he’ll still never miss anyone more in his life.