Work Text:
Tetsurou likes to think that, if Kenma was going to get bored of him, it would have happened already. After all, they’ve been friends for over fifteen years now, and while Tetsurou has some confidence in his growing collection of useless-but-fun trivia facts, he doesn’t particularly think he’s interesting enough to warrant keeping up with a fifteen-year-long friendship if all Kenma did was tolerate him. He certainly wasn't interesting enough to pursue a four-year-long relationship with unless Kenma really loved him.
Unfortunately for Tetsurou, being aware of the facts has never been enough to stop his brain from worrying that it still isn’t enough .
At first, he tries to hide it. He knows he gets quiet and withdrawn when he starts overthinking, so instead, he tries to overcompensate on the affection and rattles off story after story about his coworkers and their pro player friends at dinner. It’s dumb, because he knows Kenma can usually see right through him, but he makes a valiant effort at playing it off as just stress, or sleep-deprivation (or, somewhat more believably, Kenma -deprivation and a little bit of touch-starvation) from late nights spent working overtime from his office as the V. League season starts up.
To be fair, the lack of time with Kenma is just as much of a factor in his slowly-decreasing mood as the weird, unfounded worries. It’s easier to be obnoxious about that, and it distracts him from his thoughts, so Tetsurou has taken to barging into his beloved boyfriend’s home office and draping himself over Kenma’s back whenever he gets back late— he doesn’t linger for very long if there’s a stream going, but he still drops by and pokes his head into the room to say hi instead of waiting for him to finish like he usually does.
(Kenma doesn’t mind— at least, he’s said before that he doesn’t mind, and his fanbase knows about Tetsurou already so it isn’t a big deal if they can hear him say hello, but he still doesn’t usually take Kenma up on that offer in fear of breaking his concentration. He knows Kenma probably thinks it’s strange that he’s doing so now.)
Still, no matter how much Kenma notices, he doesn’t say anything. Tetsurou nearly tricks himself into thinking that he’s got Kenma fooled.
Kenma lets him get away with it for a few weeks. Tetsurou almost feels bad, because he’s always hated hiding things from Kenma, no matter how insignificant— he's notoriously bad at keeping birthday presents a secret, and he hasn't been able to surprise Kenma with anything since his confession in his second year of university. He also knows that Kenma would much rather wait for Tetsurou to bring up difficult topics instead of confronting him about it, but days just keep passing without a word about Tetsurou’s worries. Kenma streams, and Tetsurou works, and he talks himself into thinking that he’s just being overdramatic because he is —
— and then Kenma gives in and stages an intervention.
It isn’t much of an intervention, really, but it's proof that Tetsurou has been doing a shitty job of pretending he’s fine.
(He knows, deep down, that it also means Kenma cares — he’s always cared, which is why he’d initially given Tetsurou space to try and work things out on his own, and he still cares, so he’s stepping in now before Tetsurou can get even more caught up in his own head.)
Tetsurou knows something is up the minute he steps through the front door. Kenma’s office-slash-gaming-room is right down the hall, so Tetsurou can usually tell if he’s streaming or not based on whether it’s open when he gets home. Usually, it isn’t— unless he’s working overtime, he usually gets home when Kenma’s got about an hour of time left in his stream.
It’s wide open, lights off and no sign of Kenma inside. He isn’t even editing or doing company related things.
“Kenma?”
“In here,” Kenma says, just loud enough for Tetsurou to hear from the entryway. His voice is coming from the bedroom, so Tetsurou heads there first, opening the door gently in case Kenma isn’t feeling well. That’s the only reason he can think of, for Kenma to not be streaming or doing any sort of work at all.
Kenma, however, seems to be perfectly fine when Tetsurou steps into the room. He’s sprawled out on the bed with a handheld, hair tied up in a loose bun like it usually is when he streams. He doesn’t pause his game, but he does glance up long enough to acknowledge Tetsurou, giving him a small smile. “You didn’t have to stay late today,” he points out.
“Yeah,” he agrees, already shrugging off his jacket and pulling a hoodie from their closet. He loved his job, really, but he still liked to get home on time, even if he’d been under the impression that he’d be waiting an hour to be able to see Kenma. “What about you? You’re usually streaming right now. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine with me,” Kenma says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Tetsurou pause. There’s a chime from Kenma’s game as he clears the level, followed by the rhythmic clicking of buttons that Tetsurou has grown so used to over the years. It almost lulls him into relaxing, but when he tugs the hoodie down over his head, it stops.
He looks over his shoulder at Kenma to see him sitting up, leaning over to put his game on the nightstand, and immediately knows that he’s been caught.
“I’m fine,” he starts, somewhat futilely, but Kenma gives him a flat stare that makes him stop short. Tetsurou knows there isn’t any way to get out of this now that Kenma’s gotten worried enough to intervene, so it isn’t worth trying to get around it. He finishes getting changed, and then motions for Kenma to scoot over so he can join him on the bed. His boyfriend dutifully moves back, leaning against the headboard so Tetsurou has room to lay down and sprawl out, long limbs hanging off the edges of the mattress.
He’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and he knows Kenma is trying to stifle his little snort of amusement at the way Tetsurou is practically melting into the mattress. There’s some shuffling, and then Kenma’s face comes into view above him, framed by a few stray sections of hair that had escaped his bun at some point. (Tetsurou is pretty sure they’re intentional, actually. He knows Kenma still likes the curtain, even if he’s gotten better at doing things with a wider field of view.)
Tetsurou moves again, leaning up for a brief kiss before dropping back down, head in Kenma’s lap. “I’m really fine,” he tries again, watching Kenma’s expression shift to something a little more serious. “The start of the season is always rough, especially since we’re trying some new stuff this year, but everything’s settling down now, and I’ll be fine once I can start leaving on time again. It’s just— there’s hiccups and stuff, we’re trying to figure out what works— ”
“Kuro.” Kenma’s tone is sharp and soft all at once, cutting through Tetsurou’s awkward rambling without any struggle but doing so gently enough that Tetsurou can tell how worried he is.
Tetsurou sighs. “Fine, okay,” he finally relents. He’s well aware that it was a futile effort to try convincing Kenma that it was just work-related stuff. Besides, if he knows his worries are all just a byproduct of overthinking, then there should be no issue telling Kenma the truth— it’s not like Tetsurou is hiding anything, after all, and Kenma is familiar with his occasional bouts of insecurity.
He must tense up, because moments later, there are small fingers working through his hair, combing through the strands. Tetsurou blinks, looking up at Kenma. There are still a few lingering traces of worry in his expression, but they fade ever so slightly as Tetsurou melts into his touch, closing his eyes and basking in the feeling of Kenma’s hands in his hair for a few more seconds before he starts talking— properly, this time.
“D’you remember what you told Shrimpy, back when you first started sponsoring him?”
There’s a beat of silence, and Tetsurou resists the urge to peek one eye open. Kenma responds a moment later anyway, giving him a hesitant “No…? I said a lot of things to him at that meeting, Kuro.”
“Mm, no, not any of the official stuff,” he clarifies. “It was when he was asking about it, later. Right before he left.” He doesn’t really want to say it out loud. He would really much rather have Kenma just figure it out, even though he knows he’ll have to face it properly sooner or later.
There’s still no response— no verbal one, at least— and this time, the silence drags on until Tetsurou can’t take it anymore and opens his eyes. He sees the gold of Kenma’s own eyes staring back at him and gets the distinct feeling that he’s just walked into a trap. (Of course he has. Of course Kenma would figure it out, and of course he would still make Tetsurou say it.) It takes all of thirty seconds for him to cave. “You told him to stay interesting,” Tetsurou says, and then immediately corrects himself. “Or— technically, I guess you told him you’d drop him if he wasn’t. If he got boring.”
Kenma looks at him for a moment, studying his expression. That’s all it takes, really, for him to figure out exactly what it is that’s been bothering Tetsurou. “You’re not boring,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Hearing it makes Tetsurou feel lighter, but it’s still not quite enough . He knows it probably should be, but it isn’t, and he can’t place why.
“I know,” he assures Kenma anyways, mustering a flash of faux confidence to give him a smarmy grin. It falls a little flat, and he knows Kenma can see exactly what he’s doing— trying to distract him from the real issue at hand.
“You’re not boring,” Kenma repeats, more firmly. “Even if you were, because you are boring sometimes— don’t give me that look, it’s not a bad thing, and I’m not done— even when you’re boring, I’m not going to just… drop you.”
“But—”
“Kuro. Listen to me. I don’t think Shouyou could ever be boring with how spontaneous he can get— and, for the record, I’m not actually going to do anything if he ever does get boring— but if you were like that too, I don’t… I just— what I get from Shouyou and what I get from you is… different.” Kenma pauses, obviously expecting Tetsurou to butt in. Tetsurou, for once, is silent, wide-eyed and waiting for Kenma to continue. “Shouyou’s fun, and I like spending time with him because he feels like a puzzle to figure out. I don’t need you to be a puzzle. I don’t want you to be a puzzle.”
He speaks slowly, each word intentional and carefully thought-out even though Tetsurou can tell from the frown on Kenma’s face that he’s struggling to find the right phrasing.
“You’re comfortable,” is what Kenma eventually finishes with, shrugging.
Of all things, it’s not really what Tetsurou expected. “I’m… comfortable?” He knows Kenma, knows that something like that is important— and of course Tetsurou loves knowing that Kenma’s comfortable around him, it’s something he’s taken pride in since he was nine years old— but it still catches him off-guard.
Kenma nods. “You’re comfortable,” he repeats. “I… puzzles and games, they’re fun. I like trying to figure them out,” he explains, as if Tetsurou doesn’t know— as if he hadn’t spent most of his childhood watching Kenma’s eyes light up, bright with excitement and the reflection of his handheld’s screen. Still, Tetsurou stays quiet and lets him continue. “It’s tiring sometimes, though. Especially when it’s people that I have to try and figure out.” (There’s been a lot of that lately, Tetsurou realizes. Between sponsorships and Bouncing Ball meetings and dealing with his rapidly-growing fanbase, Kenma’s had to deal with more and more social interaction in the past few years than Tetsurou would have ever expected him to.)
“Ah,” he says, slowly. He thinks he gets it, kind of.
Kenma stares at him for a moment. His hands are still carding through Tetsurou’s hair, slow and steady and almost lulling him to sleep, but it’s an idle movement— Tetsurou wonders if he realizes he’s still doing it. It seems to be more for Kenma’s own comfort than Tetsurou’s, now. He feels his eyes slide shut again, waiting for Kenma to speak. “You’re not tiring,” he says softly. “You’re familiar, and safe. You’re… you’re like home in a person, Kuro. You always have been.”
Tetsurou opens his eyes again. Kenma isn’t looking at him, head tilted back against the headboard and eyes trained on the ceiling. “Kenma,” he starts, and he’s surprised at the way his voice catches in his throat. He thinks he might cry. Golden eyes flick back down to look at him, and Tetsurou is struck silent at the softness in them. He tries to form words for a moment, wanting to be just as careful with what he says, but the only coherent thing he can come up with is a quiet “I love you.”
Kenma seems to find his brief struggle more amusing than anything, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I love you too,” he says, gentle and sure.
Tetsurou reaches up, fingertips brushing against Kenma’s cheek. “Thank you,” he murmurs. In lieu of a response, Kenma leans down to press his lips to Tetsurou’s forehead. It’s enough— more than enough, actually— to quell Tetsurou’s thoughts.
(Later, when they’re laying down properly and Tetsurou is once again nearly asleep with Kenma’s weight against his chest to ground him and the quiet sounds of his game filling the air around them, he hears Kenma speak up again. “Why did you think I’d leave if you got too boring? Kuro, you used to make me listen to you reading out paragraphs from your chemistry textbooks because you thought they were fun— and yet, I’m still here.”
Tetsurou just laughs, long fingers poking at Kenma’s ribs and then lifting in surrender when a sharp elbow jabs into his stomach. “They were fun facts,” he insists. He doesn’t answer the question, because he really doesn’t know, but he evidently sounds like he feels better than he did before their talk, because it doesn’t prompt any more discussion— and he does feel better, really. He feels okay now, comfortable and content, and that seems to be enough for Kenma.)