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“Sit still, bro, I’m concentrating.”
Until rebleaching day rolled around again, Tetsurou honestly forgot how much hair Bokuto possessed. It wasn’t that Bokuto had a mountain of hair, but the bleaching process was so finicky that he tried to apply the lightener in the thinnest sections possible. Which led to hours spent inhaling toxic fumes and bending forward at the weird angle Bokuto’s desk chair gave him to work with. Both his nasal passages and neck were complaining at the abuse, but Tetsurou was determined.
He was not going to leave out that one stray patch of hair that his color brush always seemed to miss. Bokuto’s hair was going to be flawless, a pure blanket of white sitting on top of the darker pieces. A perfect canvas to create the ridiculous, if impressive owl horns that his friend liked to sport. And it was going to be that way because he was going to knock this bleach job out of the park. Finally.
In front of him, Bokuto’s phone was blaring an obnoxious tune, some new music video or game that he had found while scrolling through social media to kill time. Tetsurou would not admit that it was catchy. If he’d had the leisure, he might have enjoyed its energetic, absurdly fast beat. But right now, it was a problem because the music was causing Bokuto to sway side to side and become a moving target.
Bokuto bounced in the chair, causing Tetsurou’s brush to flick a few stray drops off onto the towel covering his shoulders. He glared daggers at the back of Bokuto’s neck.
“Akaashiiii, did you get the link I sent you?” Bokuto asked, jerking his head to the side to stare across his bedroom.
Tetsurou growled lowly.
“Bo, be still,” he emphasized, poking him with the end of the comb he had in his other hand.
A few feet away, Akaashi plucked one bud out of his ear. He was sitting on Bokuto’s bed, propped against the headboard, with his homework on his lap. Beside him, the window was open, providing at least one of their noses with a dose of fresh, unbleached air.
“Yes, though I have my own music to listen to.”
Tetsurou raised an eyebrow and peered at Akaashi suspiciously.
Whatever music the kid was listening to apparently wasn’t at a loud enough volume to prevent him from hearing whatever Bokuto said to him. How very convenient. Tetsurou wondered if there was any music playing on those headphones, because throughout this process, Akaashi hadn’t missed one question or comment of Bokuto’s. Either he had a powerful innate Bokuto detector, or he was wearing the earphones for decoration.
“But thank you for thinking of me, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi added, with a slight quirk of his lips.
Tetsurou’s brow arched higher.
Sometimes it really escaped him how his friends didn’t realize they had a crush on each other.
But Tetsurou wasn’t about to interfere. Much. It was entertaining to watch Bokuto and Akaashi mindlessly flirt. And to see how far he could push things without them figuring it out. You could say he had a front row seat, and the show was worth the eventual disappointment he’d face when those two birdbrains got together and he could no longer tease them. Then again, there would still be plenty to laugh at.
Tetsurou pictured their first date. It was probably beyond the limits of proper behavior to think about, but he indulged his imagination. Bokuto might work up the nerve to kiss Akaashi after the date, but with any luck, he’d trip, or worse, give his beloved new boyfriend the meatiest-tasting kiss he’d ever receive. Instantly spoiling the romance and putting their eventual second kiss further into the future.
A snort burst from Tetsurou’s lips, and once he started, he couldn’t stop, laughter racking his body as he pictured Akaashi’s crestfallen look of disbelief. His stomach cramped from the force of his mirth, and he clutched at it with a hand to try to steady himself.
“Kuroo-san, I am not sure what is so comical, but you are dripping. On the floor.”
“Bro, my mom is gonna kill you if you stain it.”
“Sorry!” he wheezed, feeling at least five percent contrite. Which he thought was rather generous of him to feel.
Akaashi’s dark green eyes narrowed as he assessed his shaking body, gaze seeming to pierce through Tetsurou’s apology and straight into his soul. His oh-so-sinful, friend-shipping soul. Belatedly, Tetsurou wondered if Akaashi had a radar for his bullshit too. Or was a mind reader, perhaps. But Akaashi settled for leafing through his textbook, sticking the other headphone back into his ear.
Maybe he would show the same amount of acceptance when Bokuto planted a yakiniku-flavored kiss on him someday. As Bokuto’s closest ally, Tetsurou could only hope so, for the sake of his friend’s romantic ego.
After catching his breath, Tetsurou sobered up, returning to painting bleach onto the faded sections of Bokuto’s hair. He had almost forgotten his goal for the day. That wouldn’t do. Bokuto’s hair was going to be a masterpiece, and all would tremble in the wake of his artistic brilliance. Or something equally as appreciative, like the neck massage Bokuto had promised him after they were done.
What felt like an eternity later, the job was finished. All that was left was to run some purple shampoo through the hair to tone it, and then a quick blow dry.
Tetsurou grinned in self-satisfaction and slapped Bokuto on the back.
“Okay my little owlet, time to go shower and become a bigger, more beautiful owl.”
Bokuto opened the camera app on his phone, using it to survey the end product. He turned his head from one side to the other, checking the distribution of the bleach over his hair. Then he flashed Tetsurou an enthusiastic thumbs-up of approval.
“Be back in five minutes!” Bokuto said, springing to his feet with the gusto of someone who had been sitting far too long for the amount of energy they possessed inside them.
“Not five!” Tetsurou yelled as he sprinted toward the bathroom. “RINSE AND REPEAT TWICE! And dry your own hair, I’m not blowing it for you!”
Praying to the universe that Bokuto listened, Tetsurou busied himself with cleaning up the dye supplies, tossing the disposable tools and putting the developer they hadn’t needed back in its packaging. There was no way his aching neck and arms would last through more hair care.
Eventually, with a long, steadying breath, Tetsurou collapsed across the foot of Bokuto’s bed. Rebleaching was always such a ridiculous marathon, yet somehow, every time, he forgot what a pain it could be and agreed to help out anyway. Shifting, he stole a pillow patterned with pygmy owls and tucked it under his chin, laying down on his stomach to rest.
A few feet away, he noted a low hum. The noise swelled, increasing in intensity until it was a solid force against his eardrums, pounding out a controlled, but undeniable beat. Tetsurou’s face rose off the pillow.
Maybe he was hallucinating from the lingering bleach fumes, but it sounded like music was coming out of Akaashi’s headphones. Music that was passably loud enough to be able to hear even if he had been sitting further away. Music that he hadn’t heard when Bokuto had still been in the room with them.
Tetsurou’s eyes creased with suspicion, narrowing into slits.
As if sensing the surveillance, Akaashi looked up from his notes, and shot him a questioning stare.
“Can I assist you with something, Kuroo-san?”
Tetsurou rolled his eyes at the feigned politeness, not caring that he was letting his annoyance show. Sometimes he liked to mirror that attitude back at Akaashi, to test which of them would crack first, but he was too tired to put in the gargantuan effort of acting nice right now.
“You just turned your playlist on, didn’t you?”
Akaashi’s lips pursed as he stared back. He also seemed annoyed.
“Are you that concerned with how I am occupying my time?” Akaashi asked. “I came over expecting to have a more productive afternoon. Instead,” he paused, letting the sentence trail off pointedly. Akaashi’s eyes swept the room as if to underline his meaning.
“Oya?” Tetsurou responded, a note of amusement flickering in his tone. Okay, maybe he was never too tired to poke fun at his friends. “You mean you weren’t taking notes so you can do Bokuto someday too? His hair, I mean.”
The faintest shift occurred on Akaashi’s face, lips twitching and cheeks turning a pale red.
“Ah, right, I should check my phone. Kenma probably misses me.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
Tetsurou rolled onto his side without trying to defend the attack on his reputation as a wonderful person to kill time with. Akaashi wasn’t an authority on that topic. He retrieved the device from his jeans pocket, tapping on the screen to view his notifications. In the background, he heard Akaashi’s music grow louder, and figured he was now being ignored.
To his deep dissatisfaction, but lack of surprise, there was only one text message from his so-called best friend waiting for him. Tetsurou pouted, feeling betrayed, the pain of rejection shattering his entire soul, but opened the message anyway to see if what it said would lift his spirits.
applepi: mom’s making dinner. are you coming over, y/n?
Or not.
Apparently, Kenma didn’t miss him when they spent a night apart. That stung a little. Tetsurou shifted his legs, overlapping them unevenly as he reclined back on his side. He tossed his phone down and let that hand rest on his hip in contemplation.
Maybe he was approaching this problem all wrong.
The text could be Kenma’s way of subtly hinting that he did enjoy his company. First, he gave Tetsurou the silent treatment for leaving him to let him know he disliked being alone. Then Kenma sent one seemingly neutral message to reforge the lines of communication between them. That way it was clear that he wouldn't stay mad if Tetsurou got his act together.
Perhaps, deep down, Kenma valued their friendship and the time that they spent together just as much as Tetsurou did. That didn’t seem like a stretch. After all, they were best friends. If it were up to Tetsurou, he’d have no issue always being at Kenma's side.
That wasn’t weird to think, right?
“Whoa, Kuroo, is 'Kaashi gonna draw you like one of his French girls?” Bokuto’s voice cut through his scenario-running, the amused lilt bursting the bubble of his Kenma-centric daydream.
Tetsurou blinked, then surveyed the way he was laying.
Bokuto wasn’t that far off, as his pose was similar to Rose’s. Though, he was surprised his friend had been patient enough to sit through an entire showing of Titanic. Or that anyone had let Bokuto watch that movie, given the tragic ending. When he’d watched it, his eyes had misted over a little. Just a little, no matter what Kenma said when the memory was brought up in conversation.
“I don’t know… you got your scratch paper ready, Akaashi?” he teased, smirking toward the other end of the bed.
“I am sorry, Kuroo-san, did you say something? I missed it.” Akaashi removed an earbud, face blank. His gaze flickered away, landing square on Bokuto. “The hair is done then?”
“And looking pretty awesome,” Bokuto crowed, gesturing at his newly-whitened locks. They were gel-free and fluffy.
Tetsurou uncurled his body, the owl pillow getting kicked toward the wall as he clambered off the bed. He marched over, scanning his masterpiece with critical eyes. Bokuto stood there proudly, hands lowering to his hips, waiting to be heaped with compliments. But this was a serious matter, and Tetsurou couldn’t give his opinion before he made sure that his praise was merited.
He hummed in deep concentration as he finished checking the front strands. So far, so good. The pieces closest to Bokuto’s face had lightened nicely, into a crisp, snowy shade that matched the aesthetic they were going for.
“Turn around, Bo.”
This was the true test. That one pesky strand that always thwarted Tetsurou lay at the back of Bokuto’s hair, somewhere in the middle layer on the left side. He wasn’t sure why it managed to escape his careful brushstrokes, other than the universe liking to mess with him. But this time, he had been meticulous. Surely, this time, his caution would be rewarded.
Tetsurou’s fingers carded through the mass of fluffy white hair, pulling apart the layers to check.
Then he cursed.
“What vendetta does your hair have against me?” he cried, letting his hands fall away.
Bokuto circled around, looking puzzled. Golden eyes blinked at Tetsurou’s despair, warm and soothing in their utter lack of comprehension. Gradually, Tetsurou’s angst waned, and he decided to give up. There was always the next rebleaching day.
“It’s okay! No one’s going to see that part.”
“True enough.” Tetsurou huffed, still disappointed.
He walked back to the bed, picking his phone up and firing off a quick text to Kenma to let him know he wasn’t going to be home until later. Even though his primary project had been accomplished, however imperfectly, there was more he needed to do before leaving.
“It looks good, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, now missing both earbuds. His textbook was also closed, and Tetsurou noted a more engaged air emanating from him, as if Bokuto’s reappearance had given him a second wind.
“I’m the definition of cool, aren’t I?” Bokuto prompted, humble as ever as he dug for more words of admiration.
Akaashi ignored the hook, instead turning toward Tetsurou.
“Frankly, I am surprised you can do this with how,” Akaashi paused, weighing his word choice and choosing savage, “hands-off your own style is. I would not think you had much practice taking care of hair.”
“I’ve thought that too!” Bokuto chimed in, the traitor. “Your hair’s messy for being bedhead. I wonder if you slept different it’d be better?”
Tetsurou clutched a hand to his mouth. Their comments offended him deeply.
But then, a second later, the less insulting parts he’d heard sunk in, leading him to ponder a possibility. He lowered the hand, his thumb stroking over his chin as he let his imagination take the wheel. Could something as small as changing his sleeping position be the breakthrough he needed to appear like a decent member of society?
“Actually,” he said, “I’ve never tried that.”
“Let’s test it out!”
Akaashi leveled a stern gaze in Bokuto’s direction.
“We have no time for more messing around. Today was supposed to be for studying. Kuroo-san, you do remember promising to help me with chemistry, right? I would not have bothered joining you two otherwise.”
“I could, maybe tonight. But do you think that’d be enough?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Bokuto encouraged. “Just do something different, bro!”
“But I’m pretty used to sleeping the way I do. I never change it up.”
“Then you’ll never know if your hair can be hotter!”
A deep sigh echoed from next to Bokuto’s headboard. But there was no following comment from Akaashi to interrupt their pondering session. Just resigned silence. Tetsurou shifted his weight back and forth, finger tapping at his chin as he thought. Once, he had tried being a side sleeper, but it had felt awkward somehow, like there was something missing beneath his arm. He had woken up with a stiff, aching shoulder for his efforts.
“I don’t know. I need my sleep, and I’m not sure if the delicate homeostasis going on inside my body would appreciate the change.”
Bokuto gaped at him. Two seconds later, his eyes shifted toward Akaashi, begging.
“Kuroo-san is saying he is afraid to try new things.”
Understanding dawned on Bokuto’s face. He nodded sagely.
“That isn’t it,” Tetsurou snipped, glaring at Akaashi. He wasn’t afraid, he was aware of his limits and sore spots. As was Akaashi, it seemed, by the calculated jabs he threw into an otherwise passable conversation.
Tetsurou huffed.
Maybe he was a little resistant to the idea because of one factor.
“Okay, so maybe I am. But sue me, I like getting enough sleep. And good, quality sleep at that.”
“Just like a cat,” Bokuto pointed out.
“If you are uncertain if it will be comfortable, you could always sleep holding something.” Akaashi paused. “Or someone.”
Bokuto’s eyes lit up again.
“Not you, Bokuto-san. We are going to study tonight at some point, whether you like it or not.”
“Wow, are you offering yourself instead, Akaashi?” Tetsurou said, leering just to go the extra mile and really earn all the pent-up frustration his friend harbored toward him.
To his immense satisfaction, Akaashi’s lip twitched.
“I wanna sleep with you, Akaashi!” Bokuto interrupted, enthusiasm making him boom out the words.
Tetsurou snickered, body quivering with mirth as he kept tabs on Akaashi’s reaction. The irritation vanished in a moment, replaced with trembling lips and a very suspect red tint to the rest of his face. Akaashi froze for an extended pause, then gritted his teeth as if steeling himself for a particularly difficult and unwelcome task.
“Phrasing, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi muttered in disapproval, face steadily darkening.
“Oya oya? I think it sounds pretty honest as far as how Bo feels!” Tetsurou smirked and let his first sentence air out. “What’s so wrong with that? I’m a little surprised he hasn’t tried to nap on you yet.”
“I slept with you on the bus home at our last away match,” Bokuto said. He quirked his head to the side, peering over at Akaashi with a pure and innocent aura. “You didn’t mind then.”
“Slept on me. On my shoulder. As is normal, considering we were traveling so late at night.”
“Oh, very normal.” Tetsurou’s laughing curtailed into a single, amused snort.
Akaashi’s suggestion wasn’t a bad idea. If he changed a few things, sleeping on his side could be a possibility. Then Tetsurou could learn what he looked like with average human hair. It was an intimidating but welcome thought. Though he didn’t usually mind how messy his hair was, it bothered him when Kenma saw him trying to fix it it in the mirror and frowned at him.
Did Kenma hate the way his hair looked?
Maybe that was it, maybe Kenma was drifting away from him because he’d realized, after ten years of wonderful, fulfilling friendship, that Tetsurou’s hair was never going to improve. And that was why he only texted him once when they weren’t together.
Okay, that probably wasn't it. If it was, then Kenma had no leg to stand on. Not with his brassy locks and grown-out dark roots.
That Tetsurou didn't mind in the slightest, because it reminded him of their childhood, when Kenma's cute, round face had been framed by jet black hair. It was a cherished bit of nostalgia that he hoped he might get to indulge in for years to come. There was a reason he never pushed Kenma to rebleach. Though, if Kenma had wanted, he would have helped with the coloring process.
Because he was a kind and generous friend.
"Anyway, I could, but I don't have a body pillow. Or someone to be my body pillow."
Someone hummed. Tetsurou blinked as he noted that Bokuto had somehow crossed the room and climbed into bed next to Akaashi in the brief space Tetsurou had zoned out. Damn, he was quick. They were propped beside each other against the headboard. One of Akaashi’s earbuds was in Bokuto’s ear. Presumably the other was in Akaashi’s ear.
Not for the first time, he wondered how far off the day was when his two hopeless friends realized they were more than that.
“What about Kozume?”
Tetsurou blinked some more. But he gave the idea three seconds of serious deliberation.
It wouldn’t be too weird if he asked Kenma if he could spoon him tonight, right? It was all in the name of science. Tetsurou figured it would work out in a physical sense. Kenma seemed like he would fit in his arms. Not that he had ever thought about them cuddling to do the math. Alright, a few times, but nothing extensive. But if he had to guess, it seemed like their bodies would match well.
"Kenma could work,” Tetsurou said, making up his mind.
He would try it. He would try sleeping with Kenma and see what it did to his bedhead.
Little did he know that future Kuroo Tetsurou would come to regret those careless, oh-so-stupid words.
. . . . .
bokhooto: full report on hw u look after sleepin w kozume! 2000¥ says ur hairs the same!
kjakaashi512: Once again, Bokuto-san, mind your phrasing. But I will add 1000¥.
kurotets17: 3000¥ of my money says it will be a miraculous transformation.
kurotets17: But I'll send a selfie of the before and after looks.
kjakaashi512 is typing...
bokhooto: can'tw ait! ur gonna look great bro!!
kurotets17: Don't worry, Akaashi, the pictures will be safe for your young, innocent eyes to feast upon ;)
kurotets17 is typing...
kjakaashi512 is typing...
kurotets17: Unless you'd prefer something a little more- *✧･ﾟ:*(W ͜ʖ ͡°)*✧･ﾟ:*
kjakaashi512: I don't need that.
bokhooto is typing...
bokhooto: akaaasshi!!!
bokhooto: never say nO to prime wankin material! thse things cost money!!
kjakaashi512 is typing...
bokhooto: not that i'd kno ive just herd from other guys yo knoW and not 1s that do it it as thr job!! promise!!!
kjakaashi512 is typing...
kurotets17: The owl doth protest too much, me thinks.
kjakaashi512: Do not sweat it, Bokuto-san. I am already good on that front.
kurotets17: Oya oya? ;)))
bokhooto: AKAASHI
bokhooto is typing....
kurotets17: Uh oh, your senpai figured out how to type your name correctly. Someone's in trouble.
kjakaashi512 is typing...
bokhooto: WHOSE IMAGE ARE YOU USING?!
kurotets17: My god, he typed an entire sentence right, I'm going to die of shock!
kurotets17: We'll never know if my hair gets sexier!
kjakaashi512: Kuroo-san, would you kindly please stop and go upstairs? I already know what I want to buy with my winnings.
bokhooto: AKAASHI, WHOS, IMAGE???! YOU CAN DM ME!! I WONT TELL ANY1!!!
kjakaashi512 has left the chat
kurotets17: He's growing up so fast.
kurotets17: Night, Bo.
bokhooto: KRRO DO U KNOW WHO?!
kurotets17 has left the chat
. . . . .
Studying had been a long and drawn out affair. The three of them had covered numerous subjects, chemistry being only one of them. Tetsurou had enjoyed tutoring when it was his turn to lead. Organic compounds were a personal favorite topic, and Akaashi was an attentive student. Bokuto had been less so, but they had gotten there in the end. Hopefully well enough for his friends to earn passing grades.
He had been so wrapped up in learning that he'd forgotten what was on the agenda later. But going home to Kenma's house instead of his own was ingrained habit at this point, so he didn't question the movement of his feet until the slew of texts started.
Now that he was here, however, and the group chat inactive, Tetsurou took a minute to think.
Was this experiment silly? His hair resisted all of his waking attempts to style it into something reasonable, yet he knew it was how he slept that got it to that state. Sleeping face down, head smashed in between two different pillows as he did was not going to result in beautiful, sleek hair. The mechanics didn't leave any room for doubting that, if he had wanted to doubt it. For years, he'd been content to accept that his unruly bedhead was unchangeable, and a bit of a charm point if he was optimistic.
Only, he wasn't sure that it was charming.
There was a chance, a real chance that Kenma hated his hair. As evidenced by the frown he sported whenever he caught Tetsurou fussing with and trying to tame it. Sure, it was just hair, and nothing to worry about in the grander scheme. But Kenma was definitely worth worrying about.
Tetsurou stared at his feet.
He didn't know why that potential, not even substantiated, hypothesis bothered him, but it did.
It didn't make sense. Kenma didn't need to like the way he looked for them to be friends. He might need to if they were more than that, but-
But they weren't.
So it didn't matter. Right?
Tetsurou's stomach rolled over a few times, tightening and untightening as he stewed on his discontent. His palms felt sweaty as he stood on the landing of the second floor, just steps away from the center of his concerns. Finally, Tetsurou sighed. He forced his brain to change tack and consider something new. Maybe, if the experiment was a success and he woke up with normal hair, Kenma would feel differently. Then he wouldn't need to worry about any of this stuff.
How he wanted Kenma to feel about him, Tetsurou wasn't sure.
Just differently, if what Kenma felt now was anything negative. That would be enough of a win to satisfy him, and to quiet his nerves.
He raised his hands toward his face, and gave his cheeks a quick, decisive slap. The shock of it jolted through him, clearing out the rest of his thoughts. Once Tetsurou felt the sting began to recede, a smile worked its way onto his face again. It was more bravado than actual confidence, but he was happy to be home. And a little excited for the night ahead.
It was time to figure out if his bedhead was indestructible or not.
Tetsurou shoved open Kenma's bedroom door without knocking and walked inside.
Inside, there was an amped-up track playing, heavy with percussion and metallic sound effects. Battle music, he guessed. The room was draped in shadows, the sole light the lamp next to the bed. It cast an orange glow over Kenma's body as he fiddled with the circle pad on his game console, and clicked at the buttons on the opposite side.
At the abrupt interruption, Kenma raised his head, staring at Tetsurou for half a second before returning to his screen.
Kenma had stopped being surprised on about the fifth time or so Tetsurou barged in. Being that time had occurred years ago, any shock potential had long since evaporated. If Kenma minded him coming in and out of his room without notice, he had yet to say anything.
"Hey Kenma! Did you miss me?"
Tetsurou doubted he'd get an answer, let alone a yes, but one would have been nice. As would have a few more text messages.
"Did you find the food Mom put aside for you?"
Tetsurou repressed a sigh.
"No, but I didn't look for it. I came here to see you, not eat. The least you could do is answer my question. For the record, I missed you. It's getting bad over there," he said, feeling a bit of a ramble come on. Indignation lent a put-out tone to his voice, and a higher volume.
Crossing the room in quick strides, Tetsurou perched himself on the edge of Kenma's bed, level with his knees and facing him.
"I swear, if one of those owls doesn't have an epiphany soon, I'm sticking them in a closet and making them play a confession-themed version of 7 Minutes in Heaven. Even then, I feel like I'd have to explain how that works, because they clearly have no idea how to confess to each other," he said, sighing deeply as he recalled events earlier in the evening.
Kenma's eyes flickered in annoyance. Tetsurou assumed he'd gotten a low damage roll on his current attack.
"There's no confession version of that game."
"Not officially, I think, but I'm sure some people have ended up confessing during. It's only right to be honest about how you feel before making out with someone."
At least, that's what he'd do.
Then again, when was something like that ever going to happen?
Between them, Kenma's game music blared, loud cheers mixed into the background. Tetsurou quirked an eyebrow, but didn't comment. It was different than what he was used to from this series. Kenma had been playing since they were 10 and 9, and he'd been privy to every successive game's music. This track sounded more modern, and the voices overlaid on it mimicked spectators at a sports match.
"You would say that," Kenma said, stabbing at a button.
"I would," Tetsurou agreed. "I mean, hypothetically, if we were locked in a closet together, and I had a crush on you-"
His best friend peered up at him, eyes narrowing. Kenma's face twisted and pulled into something unreadable, but his expression made sweat trickle down the back of Tetsurou's neck. What? He was discussing a possibility. A situation that was far and away from the reality of their life. He was speculating, nothing more. Was there a reason Kenma had to stare at him like he was saying something ridiculous?
"I would just tell you. And then it wouldn't be weird if we made out, because we'd be on the same page, and there'd be none of that should-we-shouldn't-we nonsense to figure out. Communication is key in any relationship."
"Why does it have to be me?"
Tetsurou blinked.
"Who else would it be? I'm around you for most of my waking life. It's just statistics that you'd be the one with me."
Kenma's lips pursed. He slid a finger along the left side of his console, and the game music dampened down to a quiet whine.
But he said nothing, which prompted Tetsurou to restart his story.
"Anyway, I'm telling you, Kenma, they're horrible. Indecent! We took a break partway through our study session and Akaashi ate a rice ball Bo tried and didn't like. It was half eaten. And Akaashi stuck it in his mouth. Without any hesitation, or even pretending to care about the indirect mouth germs. Later, he fed Bo meat off his chopsticks. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Well, I could, but seriously. I'm at my limit."
Watching it in real time had been bad, but Tetsurou felt three times as fired up as he narrated.
He was generous, so he'd give Bokuto and Akaashi two more weeks. Frankly, if he had been less kind-hearted, he would have found a closet to stick them in earlier and called it a night.
"I'm going to have to intervene soon."
"You're not going to actually do anything, Kuro."
"Kenma, I'll die if this goes on," he emphasized, pitching his body forward. Tetsurou's hand landed on the outside of Kenma's thigh.
A sigh left Kenma's lips, and he shifted, bending his knees and shaking off the light touch. Pulling both knees up to his chest, he balanced his console on the top of them, curling into a self-contained unit. Tetsurou pouted, feeling dismissed. He hadn't expected a wealth of sympathy for his plight as a third wheel from Kenma, but some consoling words would've been nice. Honestly, even the validation of Kenma agreeing their friends were awful would have been enough.
"You won't."
Tetsurou whined, crawling closer and wedging himself between the edge and where Kenma sat. Leaning against his shoulder, he scanned the console screen. On it, four 3-D rendered, animated monsters faced off in battle, two on either side of the field. On Kenma's side, the health bars were in the yellow zone. Which could explain some of his irritation, though he wondered if there wasn't more contributing to that mood.
"Want to bet?"
"You like to meddle, but not when someone could get hurt," Kenma said. "You'd hate it if you screwed that up for them. So you won't say anything, even if you're annoyed."
Huh.
What Kenma was saying was true. Messing with people was something he did for kicks, and it was how he showed affection to those he liked best. Occasionally, his provocations went too far. In which case he had no problem apologizing. But this was different. This involved feelings. Love, potentially. Was it worth shortening his suffering and taking the chance that he pushed Bokuto or Akaashi when they weren't ready?
Knowing you liked someone was part of the battle. Wanting to confess had to be worked up to. Actually confessing? He couldn't imagine.
"Why do you know me so well?" Tetsurou asked, laying his head down on him. The hoodie Kenma was wearing was soft, and warm from his body heat, making for a pleasant pillow.
"Statistics," Kenma echoed him. "You're always here, so I've been forced to learn your patterns."
Tetsurou snickered, not even minding the insult in the comeback.
He wished Kenma had been with him tonight. If they'd been together, he would've had someone to snark with when faced with the courtship dance of two very oblivious owls. Someone who didn't hesitate to drop a cutting comment, and who wouldn't judge him for doing the same.
Maybe it was Tetsurou's imagination, but he thought he felt Kenma shift then, adjusting the placement of his arms. Leaving more space to curl against his side. Whatever the case, Tetsurou felt a contented feeling settle in his gut as he slumped against his best friend, indulging in the comfort of their bodies leaning together. His pulse slowed into a gentle thrum in his veins, and he felt himself relax, coming down from the buzz of his ranting. Not even the renewed pulse of the game music was enough to ruin it.
"Isn't this your bedtime... why'd you come over?" Kenma asked, fingers sliding over the circle pad again as his avatar was back in the overworld, padding through a forested route.
Tetsurou hummed. Then, in a brief flash of realization, he remembered the plan.
His hair. Sleeping with Kenma. Technically, spooning Kenma as they slept, not anything else, no matter how Bokuto made things sound. But he was getting off topic, and this show needed to get on the road. Otherwise he would never learn if there was a chance for him to banish the rooster that lived on his head to the shadow realm.
"Actually, it is my bedtime. Which is why I came over. There's something I want to try, and you're going to help me with it."
Kenma side-eyed him with a high amount of suspicion.
"Oh come on, it's not that bad. You don't even have to get out of bed for this experiment!"
The wariness on Kenma's face remained.
Tetsurou pressed on.
"I'll explain, but first things first," he said, tugging his phone out. Holding it up in front of them, he smiled and snapped a picture.
Kenma's knee nudged against him, almost like it wanted to shove Tetsurou off the bed. A frown lined his lips, suspicion giving way to annoyance and slight confusion. Then, with a harried sigh, Kenma put fingers to console and resumed his game. Tetsurou gave the selfie a quick once over then tossed his phone on the bedside table. Then he went back to the issue at hand: convincing his research assistant to work with him.
Though judging by Kenma's actions, he wasn't tuning him out. The jerks of his thumb around the circle pad were mindless.
"Bokuto gave me an interesting idea."
With another well-honed movement, Kenma's finger slid the console volume back up.
Tetsurou grimaced, but he would concede that the reaction was fair.
It hadn't been the first or the last time Bokuto's ideas had led to less than stellar outcomes. Like when the four of them had tried paintball, and Kenma had gotten sniped two minutes in by Akaashi, who had claimed he'd never played before. Neither had Kenma, and Tetsurou doubted he ever would again. Akaashi had slaughtered them all. Kenma wasn't the hugest fan of green paint, or paint flying up his nose. Or losing, in pretty much anything except the one instance where it mattered most.
What he wouldn't give for Kenma to play volleyball like he had in that second round. Blood, years off his life, his eternal soul, perhaps.
But that was probably asking too much.
"I don't want in."
Tetsurou's heart fluttered with indecision at the bluntness of Kenma's reply.
Granted, he hadn't explained the whole experiment, so there was a chance. But what if after said explanation, Kenma refused to participate?
He pushed Kenma to do a lot of things: practice more, eat vegetables, indulge in a little more human empathy. But there was a difference between nudging and forcing, and he'd never do the latter. Anything he really buckled down on was for Kenma's benefit, because Tetsurou wanted him to live a long and happy life. Sometimes Kenma needed a kick in the ass to get there, one that he was prepared to give. This experiment though, it was silly, and it was about him. Kenma didn't get anything out of it.
Music swelled between them, tense and frantic sounding, as Kenma's avatar approached a figure deep within the forest. A dialogue initiated, and by the character design, Tetsurou guessed it was a villain. The composition made sense, but it did nothing to quell the erratic beat of his own pulse.
Again, he wondered if he was doing something dumb. Something unnecessary.
Kenma huffed, fingers tapping the D-pad as he checked his party's stats. Then, almost unconsciously, he tipped to the side, leaning his weight against Tetsurou's shoulder. It was a bit of a reversal to their prior arrangement, but Tetsurou didn't mind.
"Isn't this the guy who puts entry hazards on the field at the beginning? Before turn one?"
A quiet grunt of confirmation issued from Kenma's lips.
"You know, you could always play it stubborn and send out this guy," Tetsurou suggested, tapping a finger against one of the monster names on the menu. "Poison types are immune to the hazard, right? Use that one and chip away at him until it wears off. It's a bit annoying using less effective attacks in the beginning but-"
Kenma turned his head. Golden eyes flickered with surprise as their gazes locked, then shifted back to the screen.
A few button mashes later, the monster made its appearance on the battle field, and Kenma went to work, setting up stat buffs so he could steamroll once the antagonist's lead was knocked out. Tetsurou found himself smiling as he watched Kenma concentrate on the order he was using moves, weighing how to stack everything for maximum gain. He could see Kenma's mind working, and that was a beautiful thing. As he spectated the battle, his pulse settled, falling back into the same contented hum he'd felt when he'd climbed into bed.
"If you don't want to, that's fine. But I'll tell you the idea first, and then you decide."
Kenma nodded. His face smoothed over as he finished setting up buffs. His monster's health bar sat at the lower end of the green zone.
"So the three of us were talking about my hair-"
"It's awful," Kenma said.
Tetsurou choked on a noise that was half faux-offended and half actually a little hurt. Unbidden, his earlier anxieties swam back to the surface.
Kenma wasn't being serious, was he? It didn't seem that way, but what if he was?
"Wow, okay, rude," he fired back. "But that's not the point. Well, it sort of is, but we're going to fix what's awful about it. By that I mean, I'm going to sleep differently from the norm and see if my hair will behave itself for once."
With a weak cry, the villain's monster fainted on screen to Kenma's attack. Tetsurou tried not to take that as a bad omen.
"I don't get why it's "we're" fixing it."
This far into their friendship, Tetsurou had a sixth sense for how Kenma would react. Most of the time, he was correct in his predictions. Something told him Kenma wasn't going to like what he had to say next. But for the sake of science, and changing Kenma's mind about his appearance, he wouldn't back down.
Straightening up, Tetsurou moved, crawling to sit before Kenma's bunched up legs. Getting to that spot was awkward, and the bed creaked in protest from his sudden rearranging, but he had to sell this experiment. If that meant using ten years' worth of friend knowledge to tug on Kenma's heartstrings, Tetsurou would be ruthless. There was no way he was going to let Kenma slip away and miss out on the next eighty years.
Tetsurou placed both hands on Kenma's knees, and leaned forward, trying to look as pitiful as possible.
"But Kenma... I need you," he implored softly.
That performance earned him some notice. Kenma's attention left the screen, and he stared at Tetsurou from over his knees. He blinked twice, eyes wide with surprise.
"What?" Kenma asked, tripping over the words, "Why?"
Perfect. It seemed his acting skills were up to snuff. Though, it wasn't as if he was saying anything untrue. If there was any point to this experiment besides figuring out his hair, it was ensuring that Kenma stayed around. He definitely needed Kenma around, more than anyone else in his life.
He leaned closer.
"Because you're important to me," Tetsurou replied, laying it on thick. "You're the only one who can help."
Color rose on Kenma's face, lightly staining it pink.
Tetsurou stared. His pulse sped up.
He couldn't remember Kenma ever looking quite like this, flustered and unsettled. But it was kind of ador-
"Explain," Kenma said, cutting across Tetsurou's thoughts with a severity that didn't match his current expression. It sounded far more normal.
Tetsurou leaned back, hoping he'd managed to inspire a little willingness.
"I need you to be my body pillow."
Any lingering color on Kenma's face paled. He frowned, returning to keeping his gaze planted firmly on his console. Between them, the game music bubbled with an upbeat, perky theme that signaled Kenma's character's arrival into the next town. Tetsurou waited, hoping that he wouldn't have to sit there too long before getting an answer.
Because it was getting late, and he needed Kenma to give in and let him spoon him already. Otherwise none of this was going to work, and he was going to be sleep-deprived.
"I'm busy."
"How about tomorrow night then?"
"I'm busy forever," Kenma clarified sharply. "Ask someone else. Bokuto would do it."
Tetsurou glared.
"I don't want to snuggle Bo! I'm sure it would be comfortable, but then Akaashi would want to murder me more than he already does!"
Kenma mashed buttons, failing to offer up any sympathy.
"Kenma! Don't you want me to live to see our university years? Who's going to make sure you eat right and don't skip your classes?"
Once more, no response emerged from the lump that masqueraded as his best friend.
Tetsurou's jaw locked, frustration making him tense.
But then, inspiration struck. Slowly, he mulled the idea over in his head. He was really scraping the barrel, but it was just petty enough to work. Kenma didn't show it much when they met up, but Tetsurou knew the paintball incident, along with a slew of times Akaashi had used Kenma's strategies against him in matches greatly annoyed him.
It couldn't hurt to dangle that carrot if it meant Kenma would bite, right?
"I've got a bet going on whether my hair gets better," Tetsurou said, leading in slow. He kept his face neutral, repressing a grin. "The plan is to sleep on my side, but I thought it'd be easier for me to sleep if I was holding something. If you'll kindly assist me by acting as a pillow, I have no problem splitting my winnings with you. You can get the new DLC for that game. I know it's coming out soon."
Kenma's lips twitched. Potentially a good sign.
"Bo chipped in more money, but Akaashi's got some riding on it too."
"...Fine."
. . . . .
Tetsurou hadn't moved a muscle in twenty-seven minutes, or so Kenma's alarm clock was gracious enough to inform him.
Dozing off never took Tetsurou more than ten, so things were off to an inauspicious start. He was beginning to worry that he'd be able to meet his usual sleep standards.
Initially, when they had been navigating how to make this experiment work, he had felt fine. Not a care in the world. Leaning on Kenma's back with his body weight was normal, something that any friends did. They did it on a regular basis, usually after winning matches or when he watched Kenma play games, and had for years, so Tetsurou would know. That part was fine. Comfortable, even.
Wrapping his arms around Kenma's waist from behind was a little less fine, but that was because he wasn't used to taking their closeness so far.
He wasn't used to feeling Kenma's warmth against him from head to toe, their legs folded into each other, or the faint rise and fall of Kenma's chest as he breathed. Tetsurou was finding more and more things to notice as time ticked on, which probably explained why he had failed to drift away into oblivion. He felt hyperaware, mind alert to any new observation. His stomach flipped over each time Kenma shifted, letting his arms change position as he played through later stages of his game.
But everything was fine. This was going to work out just fine.
Nothing to worry about.
Sleeping on his side was different, but he had to admit it was nice when there was another person there and not just a pillow.
Specifically, Kenma.
Tetsurou shifted, leaning forward and trying to relax. That was probably the missing piece here. Not thinking too hard about how Kenma fit against his chest, or about how he could smell Kenma's shampoo - apple - strongly from this vantage point. Once he stopped overanalyzing, sleep would follow suit.
He caught another inhale of the shampoo. Right then and there, Tetsurou decided he needed closure.
"Did you just shower before I came over?"
Kenma's body jolted inside the cage of his arms, and Tetsurou watched strands of two-toned hair fall away, baring the nape of Kenma's neck.
For some reason, his eyes became glued to that spot. Maybe because he rarely got to see it, least of all so close up.
There was a long, pointed silence.
"I always take them at night. Don't like waking up earlier to do it," Kenma replied, the implicit and you know that heavy in his voice.
Which Tetsurou did, having long since catalogued the daily routines of his best friend. Didn't everyone?
Akaashi had a goddamned list about Bokuto. Several, for weaknesses, strengths, favorites, least favorites, and other things. Tetsurou didn't think him noticing when Kenma showered or preferred to eat meals was that strange by comparison.
Besides, it wasn't like he was doing it to sweep Kenma off his feet. It was just practical to know these things.
"That's why the shampoo is so strong."
"Sorry."
"No! I mean, I love that smell," Tetsurou blurted out.
And he did. Sweet things weren't his taste for the most part, but Kenma's shampoo was one of the exceptions. It had a mild bouquet, nothing that overwhelmed or made him feel nauseated. If he had to say, it was kind of a comforting scent? Like, when he caught a bit of it, he felt relaxed and at home. Maybe that was too much emotion to attribute to a smell, but it was honest.
Still, it was embarrassing to admit that, but his mouth had moved on its own. Traitor.
Kenma hummed.
"Yours is good too," he offered quietly before settling back in.
Unbidden, something tightened in Tetsurou's chest, and he felt his head swim with a new line of thinking. Was it just him? Did Kenma attribute anything specific to his scent, or was it a more general 'nice smell' feeling and nothing else? There had to be something Kenma felt, right?
Or he wouldn't have bothered saying anything.
At least, Tetsurou didn't think so.
He forced himself to laugh.
"I wasn't sure how this would go, but I think... maybe... this experiment will work."
Just as soon as he figured out how to stop staring at Kenma's neck and how to fall asleep, that was. But once he did, his hair was going to learn that there were other ways to lay on top of his head. Ones where he could go out into the world looking halfway decent. And then maybe Kenma would care more and preferably stay in his life moving forward.
"Kuro."
His ears perked up.
"Yeah?"
Kenma shifted in his arms, and before Tetsurou could press to find out more, he was distracted. It was a small shift, but Kenma seemed to sink back into his chest. Suddenly, his body felt several degrees warmer. The pleased exhale his best friend uttered didn't help.
Not that he hadn't thought it before, but it really was intimate, them laying together like this.
But it felt incredibly good.
"Your hair is a mess. But I don't hate it," Kenma said. He paused, and Tetsurou's heart felt every second of that pause. "It's a part of you."
He needed an anchor. Tetsurou's fingers tightened, gripping the loose fabric of Kenma's shirt where it lay under his hand.
It took him several breaths before he realized he was doing it, and a few more before he let go.
What did that even mean?
Color flooded his face, and he felt his pulse start to kick up again, moving faster as thoughts swirled in his brain. Tetsurou didn't know which ones to cling to, which to spend time analyzing. Kenma had said he didn't hate the way his hair looked. That was positive. A reassurance he had definitely never expected to receive. Particularly due to the fact that Kenma wasn't the type to compliment someone. If he had catalogued all the times Kenma had ever praised him aloud, the number would have been low.
Very low. Perhaps higher than other people's tallies, but low.
So why tonight? Why was his stupid, unruly hair the thing Kenma chose to focus on? Why was it worth the effort?
Better yet, what did Kenma mean with his last statement?
Tetsurou swallowed against the building lump in his throat, heart fluttering in his chest. The words registered as positive too, but he didn't understand them. And he didn't expect Kenma to elaborate, either. He wasn't sure what he wanted it to mean.
He wasn't sure how to feel, because while he was happy in some ways, part of him ached. For more context, probably, so that he could let his mind rest. So that Tetsurou didn't stay awake all night, wondering if maybe Kenma meant that he didn't hate more than just his hair. If the universe was kind, it would provide some clue.
He frowned.
Maybe it had never been about his hair.
If he was going down this road, it all traced back to wanting them to stay together. Wanting, selfishly, for Kenma and him to be closer.
Click.
Tetsurou blinked, noting the blue light of Kenma's console going black in front of them. The screen settled into hibernation and the unit was shoved farther away, toward the wall of Kenma's bedroom.
With another weirdly soft exhale, Kenma settled against him, pressing his back fully against Tetsurou's chest. Where there had been the faintest hint of space between them, just enough so they weren't touching but their temperature was palpable to each other, none was left. Kenma bunched up his legs and then flexed them straight for a second to let the blood run back through.
His hips circled, unworking the tension there. But as he stretched, he bucked back slightly, and Tetsurou's breath left in one savage punch.
He nearly choked when there was another movement, Kenma's shifting body making one long slide against parts of him that were more awake than the rest. With dawning horror, he felt the change happening before that consequence registered in his brain. In seconds, he was biting back a moan as he felt his length harden against the abrupt stimuli.
Panic swept through him. Tetsurou broke.
Not sparing a thought for extricating himself carefully, he slid his arms out from around his best friend and made a mad dash for the hall bathroom. He needed to be alone. He really needed to be alone.
. . . . .
As it turned out, his unease had only ever been a little about his hair.
Tetsurou gripped the edges of the bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror, trying vainly to calm down. His pupils were huge in the reflection and his cheeks were red and flushed. He felt the heat pooling in them just as much as it was pooling in other areas. Despite having splashed his face with ice cold water, he felt liable to burn.
Nerves threaded through his chest like roots with thorns, pricking away until he could hardly breathe.
Something was wrong.
And yet, nothing was wrong at all. It made perfect sense.
He liked Kenma.
He liked his best friend, the person he had spent most of his days with since he was eight years old, and whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. In retrospect, the fact that he wanted to and that he regularly thought about their future was sort of a clue. Sure, they were friends, and Tetsurou would be content keeping in touch with his other friends forever too, but Kenma was different.
The difference was that he needed Kenma in a way that he didn't need anyone else.
And he desperately wanted that longing to be mutual.
Tetsurou's lips trembled in the mirror. He let his eyes flicker downward, avoiding his reflection. Below, his fingers loosened their grip and began to tap against the porcelain anxiously. He wasn't sure how long he zoned out, but once he looked up again, the heat had receded, and the nervous energy trapped inside him had flowered into full bloom.
This was painful.
Maybe there were things Kenma liked about him. Tetsurou wasn't so stupid to believe they were close just out of convenience. Kenma had no patience for networking, for making friends with people in general, let alone for the sole purpose of killing time.
But it hurt to know they were on different pages with the whole what-are-we business.
And now, he couldn't even move forward with this new insight and pretend what he felt was platonic.
He had thoroughly messed that up.
Was it worth saying anything? If he admitted how he felt to Kenma, then it could clear the air a little. Tetsurou figured - hoped - that maybe he could get a pass on this screw up. If he wracked his brain and guessed based off of what he knew, he didn't think Kenma would be too weirded out. They were affectionate sometimes, and other than occasional grumbling, Kenma tolerated it. Maybe he wouldn't judge him. This was probably going to change something in their friendship, but maybe it wouldn't end it.
Hopefully.
He bit his lip, digging in hard with his teeth. His fingers continued to drum against the sink.
There was a knock on the bathroom door.
Tetsurou froze.
Panic again settled into his veins, jittering through them as everything inside him wanted to curl up and cease to exist. He wasn't ready to have this conversation. Not that he would ever be ready, but he'd thought he'd get the chance to choose when it took place. He had wanted to compose himself, then head back to the room.
He did not feel remotely composed.
"Are you hiding in there?"
Something flipped over in his stomach as he heard Kenma's muffled voice seep through the door.
Yes, I'm hiding in here because I'm in love with you, and that terrifies me.
It was a lot to own up to.
"Maybe," Tetsurou shot back defensively. "I just needed a little break to clear my head."
"Yeah, I noticed one of your heads needed attention."
He choked on thin air.
"Kenma! You can't even lie to spare my feelings?! That wasn't supposed to happen!" Tetsurou cried. The color in his face made a reappearance, heat spreading across it at the same time he slumped against the sink.
He hated himself.
Hated this entire night, the stupidity of his actions, and the audacity of his body to betray him like it had. Even if Kenma had been sandwiched into every plane of his body, smelling sweet, being warm and incredible to hold, that was no excuse for his dick to chime in.
Tetsurou had his own bedroom where it was more than welcome to revisit those thoughts tomorrow. In private, with the utmost respect for Kenma's disinterest.
There was a long silence before he got any kind of response.
"I know. That's not something you can exactly... control," Kenma trailed off awkwardly.
Tetsurou latched on, analyzing the tone shift at record speed.
Was he embarrassed too?
Because it sounded like that was the case, and that didn't gel with his theory about Kenma hating him forever once he left hiding and admitted his apparently highly passionate love.
He took a tentative step away from the bathroom sink, facing the door.
"You don't... you aren't," Tetsurou began, stumbling as the words left his lips. "You don't hate me?"
Slowly, the door opened.
It had never been locked, so that wasn't unexpected, but he still jumped.
Kenma appeared in the space, looking reassuringly normal in his black hoodie and pajama pants.
So normal that Tetsurou wanted to tear up on the spot, because the universe was benevolent, and his best friend didn't think he was horrible, and weird, and a pervert.
"No. I don't," he said. "So you don't have to hide."
Avoiding eye contact, Kenma tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear. Tetsurou watched, noticing with a growing ache in his heart the blush of color on Kenma's cheekbones. It was barely there, just a dusting of pink that stood out because of how pale he was otherwise.
He didn't know what that meant, but it couldn't be bad.
It might even be good.
"Come back to bed. Maybe if we switched positions, you could relax. It's late."
Tetsurou blinked.
"Are you asking to spoon me?"
"I'm offering it as a solution," Kenma sighed. A scrowl twisted its way onto his lips, but the blush intensified.
Contrasting him, Tetsurou smiled.
"Okay. I accept your offer."
. . . . .
There was something very different about being held. And yet, in some ways, it was equally as intense.
Tetsurou felt less hyperaware as they lay in bed together, Kenma's body melded to his back. He was just aware. The warmth captured between them was pleasant, but not overwhelming, something he didn't have to overthink. Kenma's arms around him were comforting, and he had the freedom to arrange himself however felt best without worrying about if he was touching somewhere awkward.
What was most comforting, though, was knowing things were okay between them.
At least, they weren't at odds. Tetsurou didn't actually know for sure what the state of their relationship was.
Maybe it was him being lulled by their closeness, or perhaps he was starting to drift off to sleep finally, but the courage to ask built higher with each minute that they huddled together beneath the blankets.
"Kenma?" he called. His stomach erupted into a storm of butterflies.
It was too late to go back now.
Then again, the point of no return had probably happened for them long before that. Tetsurou had a feeling it might have happened for him the day Kenma had agreed to go to Nekomata's training camp when they were kids. A small favor, but it had kind of meant the world at that age.
Moving to a new place and his family fracturing apart had been painful to adjust to. But then the universe had sent him Kenma. Them getting along had never been a problem, but Tetsurou had worried. He'd wondered if he had latched on too hard to the first friend he'd made in Nerima. If he acted annoying. If he was keeping Kenma from things he enjoyed more by herding him outside to practice volleyball. If Kenma liked him.
The last concern was ironic now that he was wondering it again, even if the 'like' was a different kind of 'like.'
Instead of feeling alone with the concerns, Tetsurou had found out Kenma harbored his own. That they were both wondering. On Kenma's side, he'd been unsure of what he brought to the table, having never had friends. He'd felt like he wasn't compelling enough.
Nothing was further from the truth.
Simply hearing his uncertainty had been enough to give Tetsurou resolve to ask him about the training camp. It had made him believe that he wouldn't be laughed at, and he had been determined that Kenma had a good time. When it was over, he'd hoped Kenma understood that he didn't want to be friends with someone. Tetsurou wanted to be friends with him.
The doubts weren't so scary when he knew they both experienced them.
A muffled noise of acknowledgement echoed from behind Tetsurou. He felt the reverberation against his back and stifled a shiver.
Please, please want to be something more with me.
"What are we?"
Kenma rested his head against the back of his shoulder. It brought their bodies that much closer to each other. The weight of Kenma's chin was a blessing to bear. If he strained, Tetsurou could feel the soft, slow gust of Kenma's breathing on his neck.
Which meant Kenma could sense him too.
"I was serious earlier, Kuro. I don't hate your hair," Kenma said, firm and no nonsense. "Or anything about you."
Tetsurou's pulse throbbed.
He found himself repeating his earlier wish on loop in his head as Kenma paused, letting his words air out. Likely so that Tetsurou could absorb them. And he was, he really was listening, but deep down, he wanted time to speed up until he heard the rest. How Kenma wanted their relationship to be. Whether there was a chance for them to level up.
"I think about the same things you're thinking right now."
Tetsurou let out a shaky laugh.
"Are you sure?"
He felt like his heart could shatter at any second.
Did Kenma actually feel that same way?
"I'm sure."
The panicked noise in his head flatlined. All that was left was the imprint of Kenma's answer, certain and fond on his brain. It dispelled his lingering doubts, leaving room for only curiosity. Curiosity Tetsurou could entertain now that he wasn't scared he'd overstepped his bounds. Their bounds.
'Theirs' was a word he could now use in a context beyond them being friends.
He loved that.
"Why did you never confess, then? I would've said yes, even if I didn't know I liked you that way."
Kenma sighed. He shifted, hand sliding up Tetsurou's forearm until it reached his wrist. Once there, he hesitated, fingertips hovering just above the skin. Somehow, Tetsurou could sense him debating, could hear the cogs turning in his mind as Kenma considered his actions. Inside himself, he could hear his pulse beating loudly in his eardrums, the sound thick with anticipation.
All of this was new information. He wasn't upset, but he was curious.
If Kenma had been honest with him, he would have accepted it easily. On the other hand, if Tetsurou had tonight's epiphany earlier, he wasn't certain he would have said anything so quick. What he wondered was what Kenma's reasoning for waiting was, because somehow, they were compatible on their approaches. He assumed their logic would be different.
"Because there was nothing wrong with the way that we were."
Kenma's hand by passed the wrist and slipped his fingers in the spaces between Tetsurou's, lacing them together.
"I wasn't in a rush. Didn't want you to be either. You panic when you're pressed for time."
There was a laugh hidden in his voice.
That, more than anything, was what soothed Tetsurou's runaway nerves.
It didn't matter that what was said made him look uncool. Kenma thought his eccentricities were amusing. He knew him, knew the way his mind worked, and wasn't fazed. He wasn't impatient with how slowly things had unfolded because he didn't plan on going anywhere. Kenma wanted to stay with him.
Emotion swelled in Tetsurou's chest, bubbling up higher until he exhaled for relief.
Once that bubble burst, all he felt was happiness.
Kenma wanted to stay with him.
"I think I could be a lot calmer if we kissed right now."
Silence met his request, but Tetsurou wasn't willing to give up so easily.
It was late, but what he needed more than sleep was that final reassurance. If they kissed, it would really feel real, like when they woke up in the morning, they wouldn't forget about this conversation. In his rational mind, Tetsurou knew things were secure between them, but this night had been all about his irrational side running wild.
Hopefully Kenma was feeling generous.
"Please," he asked. "It'll just be for a minute, and then we'll stop."
Kenma huffed, and Tetsurou could almost hear the eye roll he was shooting him in that exhale. Still, the twitch and tightening of Kenma's fingers around his painted a different impression. Maybe it wasn't such an unwelcome request after all. Which figured, considering he'd learned that Kenma thought about the same things he did.
At least in theory.
Their desires could be different for all Tetsurou knew. But as for him, he really wanted a kiss from his new boyfriend. As many as he could humanly receive in a sixty second period, and with whatever level of depth Kenma wanted to give him.
Tetsurou wasn't holding his breath, though.
Kenma was a slow mover.
He'd be lucky to get three in that span, and as for the depth, that bit was a wild card. Kind of depended on where Kenma's thoughts had landed with them spooned together. Tongue had long odds stacked against it, but Tetsurou was nothing if not a dreamer.
"A minute. And then let's sleep," Kenma stated. The offer felt final.
. . . . .
When he rolled back over and they resumed their former position, seven minutes had passed.
Tetsurou fell asleep before the clock moved three more minutes ahead.
His dreams were flavored by feelings of satisfaction. The odds against tongue usage hadn't been insurmountable after all.
. . . . .
kurotets17: Alright guys, here's an update!
> > [theaftermath.jpg]
bokhooto: whOAAA NOT BAD its so fluffy!! i cn tell its SUPER soft iwanna feell it
kjakaashi512: You appear almost presentable, Kuroo-san.
kurotets17: Thanks *: ･ﾟヽ(*¯︶¯*)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ
bokhooto: so... who held who???
kjakaashi512: Phrasing. Bokuto-san. We spoke about this last night.
bokhooto: i MEAN lke big spoon & litl spoon!!!
kurotets17 is typing...
bokhooto: u've got adirty mind, agkAAshi!
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kjakaashi512 is typing...
kurotets17: (ಠ_ಠヾ
kurotets17: Akaashi. You filthy... (¬_¬ )
bokhooto is typing...
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kurotets17: Bo, what are you teaching your kouhai over there???
kjakaashi512: Given your reaction, I would wager Kozume-san was the big spoon.
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kjakaashi512: Ah, so he was, then.
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kurotets17: SO WHAT IF HE WAS? Obviously, this experiment was a success because Kenma held me *skillfully* all through the night.
kjakaashi512: Phrasing, Kuroo-san.
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bokhooto: idk kaash, it kinnda sounds lk how kuroo realyl feels!!
kjakaashi512 is typing...
applepi has joined the chat!
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applepi: keiji, send your money here >> [link]
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kurotets17: KENMA. YOU CAN'T JUST REACH OVER AND ADD YOURSELF. THIS CHAT IS PRIVATE! ヽ(`⌒´メ)ノ
bokhooto: hiiii kozume!!!! :)
applepi: morning :3
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bokhooto: was wondrin,,,
kurotets17: Excuse me, since WHEN have you two used emojis? Kenma, you never use emojis with me! But with Bo it's suddenly fine?
kjakaashi512: I am wondering that also. Your emoji use is rather sparse for someone of your effusive nature, Bokuto-san.
bokhooto: is it good holdin a biggr guy than u lke??? (o-O)? or (˘⌣˘) ??
kjakaashi512: Sent, Kozume-san. I cannot say I am surprised Kuroo-san is spending the money on you.
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applepi: it's fine, bokuto. keiji will manage 👍
bokhooto: (〃°◡°〃)
kurotets17: KENMA YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO GIVE THEM HIN
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bokhooto: ??!
applepi: kuro stoP
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bokhooto: guysss/???
kjakaashi512: I am up for the task, Bokuto-san. If you would like to discuss further, please call rather than text. Video call.