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The lock gives way easily enough under the pressure of Kuroo's key as he already starts to take off his shoes on the doormat, not bothering with his shoelaces (why untie them when he has to tie them again tomorrow anyway?) and tossing them to the side in the foyer. Not a care in the world other than the desire for food and a calm evening on the couch is on his mind after the preceding day.
"Bo, 'Kaashi!" he calls out and of course that would merit an answer other than blatant disregard of his presence, but he discovers the reason for it when he makes it to the living room and finds them entangled on the couch.
Akaashi's fingers are woven into Bokuto's hair that he's letting down more lately because Akaashi loves to stroke it, loves to bury his hands in the soft silver-black tresses, and Bokuto loves attention from Akaashi, so it's an unspoken agreement that when he gets home, the first thing he does is make a beeline for the bathroom to wash all the sweat and hair gel away. It's a hassle he loves to whine about – only as long as it takes for Akaashi to return from his classes, though. After that, it's all happy purrs and croons when he gets to sit on the floor before the couch and Akaashi fiddles with the smooth locks of his hair lovingly and dries them one by one with the towel around Bokuto's neck, because he loves him.
It's not like Kuroo doesn't understand, but the envy is there, and it refuses to leave. No matter how many times he begs to forget, he always remembers, and he gets stuck in this endless loop of frustration and anger and exhausted surrender. He's tried so often to just yield to the latter, accept the fact that Bokuto isn't his, was never his, will never be his, but then he looks at him and loves him to bits and pieces and the frustration returns. He sees him holding hands with Akaashi, hears the sounds of their soft lovemaking at night, and the frustration turns into anger, and when he's cried all his tears, when he's bled dry from all his desperation, the miserable surrender sets in to start the cycle anew.
How easy it would be if he could at least hate Akaashi.
If he could just grab the nearest kitchen knife and ram it into Akaashi's chest, twist it and relish the sound of tearing flesh, rip out his heart to make him feel the pain Kuroo has been going through for ages, for decades, for centuries – that would be wonderful.
But Akaashi is so gentle, so polite, so smart and sensitive and kind and breathtakingly pretty; he's so happy when Bokuto hugs him from behind and whispers, whispers hey 'Kaashi I love you, love you to the moon and back again and Kuroo knows that even if Akaashi was obnoxious, hideous and stupid and rude, he wouldn't be able to raise a hand against him.
Akaashi is what makes Bokuto light up, what gets him out of bed at morning and into bed at night, what makes him want to push for the top, always, always putting his efforts into pleasing Akaashi and making him proud and showing off. Akaashi is Bokuto's soulmate, and Kuroo will endure him. He's started to love him at some point, when all the hatred has tired him out and his only other option was to love.
He protects Akaashi with his life, still remembers the trenches of the war back then, remembers taking bullet after bullet to shield the man that will make the love of his lives happy. He remembers the cold of winter, the gnawing hunger and the ache of giving away his last ration of food to Akaashi because as long as Akaashi's there, Bokuto's smile won't fade. He remembers shoving Akaashi out of the way of an oncoming car to take the impact himself, remembers his heart slowing down to a standstill in the icy water of that frozen river just to get Akaashi to shore safely, remembers helping Akaashi escape in the dead of night from their cornered hideout, sacrificing himself as prisoner, rotting away in a dark cell without daylight with only watered-down memories of a smile as bright as sunshine.
And neither of them even has a clue of what Kuroo sees when he looks at them now, wrapped up in a bubble of their love he can't enter, will never be allowed to enter, because his place in their world is in the background.
He's just a supporting character to the main cast of the movie that keeps playing over and over – the disposable one, the one who's mourned for a minute and whose grave is left unattended once they turn their backs on it.
Kuroo has tried to kill himself a couple times, mostly right after running into them, one of them, both of them, and remembering everything. Spare himself some heartache, end it early. Don't wait for the big dramatic showdown. Go, leave, disappear quietly and without a sound, without leaving an impact in their lives.
Something, a greater power, has always stopped him last minute.
Just like it's stopped him the few times he's actually tried to leave Akaashi to whatever fate awaits him, or when the anguish has gotten too heavy for him to carry and the only way out has been killing this man, letting him die by Kuroo's hand just once, just one time to soothe his anger and hatred and rage and pain with warm blood on his fingers.
One time, not too long ago, he's closed his fingers around the trigger of his revolver, lifting it slowly to point it at Akaashi's sleeping figure on the bed, wrapped securely in Bokuto's arms (where he belongs, and that thought is an agony Kuroo won't ever be able to strip), but then Bokuto has shifted in his slumber, nuzzling his boyfriend's cheek and muttering his name and holding his hand, and Kuroo has dropped the gun to the carpeted floor.
"Knock knock, you two, I'm home!" he announces cheerfully and hangs over the back of the couch with a playful frown to poke Bokuto's cheek, who looks up and grins widely when he becomes aware of his best friend's presence.
"Kuroo! I didn't even hear you!"
No, of course he hasn't, too caught up in Akaashi, who blushes and averts his gaze and hastily tries to cover his exposed chest where Bokuto has bunched up his shirt, probably just to feel his skin. Bokuto doesn't seem to mind, doesn't even bother to get up and try to explain the situation – he doesn't even have the decency to blush. Why should he?
He trusts Kuroo.
With all his innocent, cheerful and happy heart, he trusts Kuroo. He puts all his faith in his best friend, and it's always been like that. Throughout all of their lives, nobody has had more of Bokuto's unadulterated trust.
Which makes it even more painful at times.
As he sees them there, a bit flushed from kissing and obviously both a bit disappointed with his early return that has ruined their fun, Kuroo can't help but to think back to years ago. Mafia clans and gunfights and always trying to keep Bokuto out of trouble, brash and brazen as he is, and Akaashi, oblivious to everything at first but quickly sniffing out the second life his boyfriend lives when the streetlights come on.
They've met in secret after that, lest Akaashi might become a target for enemy clans to lure Bokuto out in the open and end him alongside his lover, and Kuroo recalls sitting on that chair in the corner of the room, gun resting heavily across his thighs, always staring at the door so nobody can interrupt their special time together because Bokuto trusts him, trusts him so much it hurts.
Half the time, he hasn't even been on his guard, just staring somewhere as not to be forced to look at them, at Bokuto and Akaashi embracing each other on the bed, barely undressed to ensure a quick escape – should one be necessary, should Kuroo not be able to stop possible invaders.
Of course he's tried not to let his eyes wander, has tried to block out Akaashi's sighs and moans and the soft calls of Bokuto's name short moments before his elegant body has arched beautifully, but how should he have been able to withstand the temptation of looking at Bokuto, just to see him, just to memorize the expressions chasing across his face in the throes of passion, his deep growls and the contrasting whispers, the sound of his voice, hoarse from screaming and yet muttering on and on to Akaashi, dirty and sweet things and all Kuroo has been able to do was yearn from afar and bring those memories back to mind when he lay awake in his own bed at night.
"S-Sorry, we got a bit out of hand. Next time, we won't bother you here in the living room," Akaashi mumbles hastily as he pushes Bokuto off of himself with a patronizing glare at his boyfriend when he whines and makes grabby hands at him to come back.
"But 'Kaashi! Kuroo's never cared about stuff like that, and I wanna kiss you some more!"
Kuroo cares, but who is he to tell Bokuto?
"You two have fun here, and I'll be off to study a bit. Brought takeout by the way, so once you're done here and you get hungry, there's food in the fridge," he announces, and to underline his words, lifts the bag he's still holding. His voice is a careful composition of neutral, pleasant amusement and friendly exasperation, and of course they eat it up, like they always do.
"You're the best, Kuroo! Next time, dinner's on me!" Bokuto sings and reaches for Akaashi's arm. "Come on back over here, I wasn't done with you yet!"
No, he isn't, isn't he, Kuroo thinks with a desolate little smile as he heads over to the kitchen so he can put the food away. His appetite is gone, so might as well not eat at all rather than choking something down just to throw up later.
In contrast, Bokuto's hunger never ceases. Whether it's concerning real food or Akaashi, he doesn't seem to know any limits. Nobody would know better than Kuroo. Kuroo, who remembers so many wedding nights, so many regular nights when the walls have been too thin to block out the noise and too thick to be see-through like Kuroo sometimes wishes they'd be, just so he could look at Bokuto and imagine it's him beneath or on top of that body he knows more intimately than Akaashi himself, probably.
What reason would Akaashi have to remember every curve and edge of Bokuto's body? He can touch him, kiss him, hold him whenever he wants, whilst Kuroo is restricted to brief flashes of bare skin here and there, scattered throughout lifetimes.
It's like a curse, to relive this pain again and again, and it's a blessing.
At least he gets to see Bokuto happy over and over, even if that happiness doesn't concern him, Kuroo thinks as he steps into his room and slumps down against the door. That's payment enough for all his suffering. And maybe, maybe if the universe finally gets tired of punishing him, he's going to find his own paradise, his own repeating eternity of happiness.
He remembers confessing to Bokuto hundreds of times, thousands of times. Remembers the soft, apologetic expression on the face he loves so much, the hands squeezing his own, the pained "I'm terribly sorry, Kuroo" and Bokuto's pitiful glances have hurt worse than the rejection. No matter how often he's going to try, there will never be an "I love you too" coming from those lips that's directed at him.
Not the romantic way, at least.
Brotherly love, yes, maybe even more – a platonic kind of soulmate, that's what Kuroo is to Bokuto.
How often he's said something along the lines that life without Kuroo would be hell. How often Kuroo has perked up hopefully, has hoped for a confession, a kiss, maybe even just a blush on Bokuto's cheeks. Always to have his spirits crushed by an easygoing laugh and a fist bump.
He's tired of trying, tired of waiting for this cycle of hell to end.
Slowly, Kuroo steps to the window across the room. The street's far down below, cars zooming by and disappearing around corners. A small town, inhabited by mostly college students like them. From the living room, he hears the creaking of the couch as it bends under what's probably Bokuto's weight pinning Akaashi onto the soft cushions.
He opens the window, stares at the ledge.
Suicide.
Is it worth it?
This short moment of weightless relief, those few years of blissful oblivion until the next Bokuto and the next Akaashi stumble into his life? Is there any difference between enduring the pain and starting to feel it anew? Maybe he'll get lucky, maybe they'll meet only in college. Maybe he gets to spend a childhood without pain, without longing, without Bokuto.
If he wouldn't love him so much, he'd hate him for this miserable life.
Something tries to pull him down from the windowsill, something tells him to get his shit together and sit down by the desk and do his homework, maybe put on headphones to concentrate because there's stilted moans coming from the living room across the hall now.
This time, Kuroo swings his legs over the edge and calmly stares at the concrete ground below. Nothing will change, whether or not he ends this now or not. So he might as well obey and be rational, do what the voices in his head are telling him.
Or he could defy them for once in his lives.
Maybe he should leave a note for them. Bokuto will be down in the dumps for months to come, but he's lived so often without Kuroo, has lived so many lives before without his best friend by his side because Kuroo always dies to protect Akaashi, protect Bokuto's happiness. Yes, Bokuto will be sad.
But he has Akaashi.
He'll be fine.
Kuroo drops down from the ledge.
Maybe it's time to protect his own happiness.
Kuroo meets Kenma when he's in grade school.
For the first time, there's a Kenma in his life – small, fragile, quiet, overthinking, intuitive, clever, lazy little Kenma. He's the polar opposite of Bokuto.
Kuroo is hooked. He's head over heels, he's in love, he's going crazy with want. Of all the lives he vaguely remembers in the back of his head, of all the love he's felt ever since his birth at the beginning of the universe, nothing has ever run so deep. It carves his way through his heart like a river cutting through stone, gradually but steadily, and every crevice, every nook and cranny of his soul is spilling over with love for this boy who calls him Kuro and looks at him through heavy lashes and sits between his legs when he's playing his video games.
Kenma is his paradise.
He meets Bokuto and Akaashi in high school.
The memories come back to him at once, but he greets them like old friends and encloses them somewhere inside. They're best friends again, of course they are – they're soulmates, after all. Platonic soulmates, brothers of the mind. But when Akaashi holds Bokuto's hand under a warm spring sky during volleyball training camp, Kuroo just closes his eyes with a smile.
"If you fall asleep here, I'm not waking you up," a little voice says from between his legs, and Kuroo tightens his embrace around Kenma.
"I know that. I'm just enjoying the moment."
Kenma doesn't look up when he says "Shut up, Kuro", but his body softens and it fits snugly against Kuroo's, nary an inch between them both. That night, Kuroo decides, he will say it. He will leave his bunk in the Fukurodani dorms and climb down the ladder, he'll kneel in front of Kenma's bed and whisper to him how much he loves him, how much he means to him.
Suddenly, Kenma moves, which is very atypical for him in his current state.
He shuts off his game, and Kuroo watches with a confused little frown as Kenma clambers to his feet, a bit wobbly from exhaustion, but his eyes are alight with the same glow Kuroo knows so well from all his past lives, despises and hates and loves and fears all at once because it's always been the beginning to a new hell.
"Shouyo," Kenma says to the person approaching the group, and holds out his small, frail hands.
Shouyo Hinata takes them, and Kuroo stares for a long time with empty head and empty heart as he picks up the discarded console between his legs. His thumb strokes over the buttons, and they click softly in the silence of a warm evening in spring.
They click like the trigger of the gun Kuroo presses to his temple not long after, painting the wall red with blood to escape the raging inferno that's been starting to burn his world again, when all his love is in vain and Kenma's smile is only meant for Shouyo.
He meets Kenma again in middle school.