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Kenma shoves his backpack against the door with a thump, propping it up on his knee as he unzips and rummages through every single pocket to locate his house keys. He doesn’t know why he always just throws them in his bag when he leaves, it makes this part of his journey all the more tedious and stressful.
He finds them pressed underneath his switch case and the two bottles of Pocari Sweat that he’d picked up for Kuroo, yanking them out with a grumble before lumbering into his empty apartment.
He can hear the sound of his TV buzzing through the quiet and resists the urge to just drop his backpack on the ground and lay on the floor in front of it. He kicks his shoes off and drags himself over to his small kitchenette instead, unloading the sparse groceries and spoils from his trip to the combini on the counter before pulling out his phone.
There aren’t any notifications, just the daily reminder to drink water and take B12 that hangs on a banner over his lockscreen. He scrolls through his apps blindly and leans against the counter, opening and immediately closing his Twitter app upon seeing 99+ over the little bell icon and setting his phone down with a huff.
[Kuro] Can I come over to study later? I can’t focus here TT
That was the text Kenma had received at four pm. He’d still been in his pajamas, which isn’t necessarily anything new, but something had felt different about the day. He’d woken up late, spent too much time scrolling through various discords and reading Twitter threads from the safety of his burner account, trying to stave off a headache that had been creeping up on him since the day before yesterday.
He stares down at the little thumbs up he’d given Kuroo in lieu of a real answer or suggested time. It’s only five fifteen now, but Kenma is starting to get nervous at the idea of Kuroo coming over.
He hasn’t seen him in person in eight days. It shouldn’t feel like a long time, especially since Kuroo had watched three of his streams since then, but it really does. He knows Kuroo probably misses him (ok, not probably), and chatting with him on Discord and the occasional phone call or message definitely aren’t replacements for physical intimacy in Kuroo’s eyes.
He sniffs to himself and turns to his groceries for something to do, shoving the pocari sweatin the fridge next to the three cartons of apple juice he has left and stocking the produce drawer with onigiri. It’s pretty sparse in there, Kenma thinks as he peers around his almost empty fridge. He still has some eggs left from his last trip to a real grocery store, as well as a few mandarins, but he’ll have to pick up some more food in the next few days if he wants to eat anything resembling a balanced meal.
Kuroo isn’t going to like the sad state of his fridge, will probably gasp and give him a hard time for not taking care of himself like he does every time he visits. This is what happens when I don’t come over? he’ll say, before demanding they take a couples outing to the store immediately.
Then they’ll hold hands the whole time, and Kuroo will talk about his week, and what new recipes he’s been wanting to try, and how much he hates the new calculus TA, all while carrying their heavy shopping basket in one hand
And Kenma will vibrate out of his skin for the first fifteen minutes before relaxing and moving in closer, pressing against Kuroo’s side to avoid the crowd as he debates the pros and cons of gluten-free pasta.
Kenma shuts the fridge as hard as the soft-close hinges allow before tugging his backpack over his shoulder. He drops it on the ground near the front door before padding back over to his bedroom, the dormant headache starting to bleed back into his consciousness with his thoughts of Kuroo.
Kenma isn’t a child anymore. He knows more about himself and his needs than he did in high school, and he knows he’s been feeling lonely without Kuroo around. Knowing what to do about it, on the other hand, is a different story.
His bed is unmade so he makes it, arranging his pillows and folding his quilt loosely at the top. His inkling plush is squished between the bed and the wall, so he pulls it from its prison and tosses it near his pillows haphazardly. The curtains are resolutely closed, but Kenma leaves them as is, choosing instead to grab his dirty clothes off the floor and throw them into the hamper in his closet.
The LED clock near his bed ticks to five thirty as he’s collecting the last empty wrappers off the floor, and while he deposits them into his kitchen’s trash can, his phone lights up on the counter.
[Kuroo] Leaving now! 20 mins or so.
Kenma peers down at the message, feeling his head throb twice in succession as his teeth grind together. Twenty minutes. Ok. He tucks his phone into the pocket of his joggers with finality and looks at the living room. It’s tidy enough to avoid speculation from Kuroo, Kenma decides, so he plops down on the couch with his switch to pass the time before Kuroo arrives.
.
Kuroo barges in around six, and within five minutes has plopped down at Kenma’s low table, bookbag in his lap, stacking an array of textbooks and notebooks between himself and Kenma before zoning in.
He can still feel the quick kiss that Kuroo had pressed against his temple upon entry, tingling with warmth even hours later as they sit next to each other under the kotatsu.
Kenma watches as Kuroo flips through page after page of text without a single word or noise outside the occasional hum of contemplation. It’s always unnerving to see Kuroo’s single-minded focus manifest in studying instead of athletics or pestering his juniors, requiring complete silence and little to no skinship to distract him from the task at hand.
It’s a stark contrast to his usual demeanor, all upbeat and touchy-feely, and always toeing the line between being friendly and being a downright pest.
He wouldn’t mind Kuroo’s pestering behavior right about now, if just to distract him from the endless stream of static that won't leave his brain. Kuroo smells so good next to him, like the mandarins he’d peeled half an hour ago, and the spicy cedarwood cologne Yaku had gifted him for Christmas last year. Kenma drinks the smell in as casually as he can, feeling the electricity between their arms drawing him in like a moth to flame.
It’s right there, his arm. Kenma has been hyper-aware of its presence since he’d plopped down next to Kuroo two hours ago. What’s worse is that Kuroo’s whole body is attached to it, sitting mere inches, yet simultaneously miles away from Kenma’s own petrified self.
He’s not sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. He’s not used to being ignored by Kuroo; Kuroo usually throws himself at Kenma the moment they reunite, regardless of what Kenma might want at the moment. It’s annoying at times, but it also serves the purpose of getting any awkwardness out of the way immediately and makes saying I missed you too a hell of a lot easier than just saying it out of the blue.
Affection just makes it easier for Kenma to buy into being vulnerable, and he doesn’t usually have to wait hours upon hours for his clingy-ass boyfriend to throw him a bone.
He listens to the sounds of Kuroo’s mechanical pencil scraping against his notebook, frowning at his screen as he feels traitorous warmth creep up his face.
I want to hold your hand, he thinks, before shoving the thought down and wiggling his toes under the table. It wouldn’t be productive to just wait for Kuroo to reach out first. He’s studying hard, and it’s not like he can just reach over and grab it without having to explain himself. He’d have to ask, which is embarrassing as fuck. Who asks their boyfriend if they’re allowed to hold his hand? That’s stupid.
Then, as though Kuroo can read his mind, he moves the hand in his lap to rest on the table next to Kenma.
A chance ball?!
Kenma glares at his switch as GAME OVER flashes across the screen, pointedly not looking towards the offending appendage on the table. He hits CONTINUE, and definitely doesn’t think about turning his switch off and linking his fingers through Kuroo’s.
Even with the music creeping out of Kenma’s switch, uneasy silence starts bleeding into the room like an oil spill.
It’s probably only uneasy for Kenma, considering Kuroo’s demeanor hasn’t changed much at all in the last hour and a half. He’s still taking notes meticulously, completely focused and all but ignoring Kenma’s presence next to him under the kotatsu outside the occasional press of his knee against Kenma’s. He suspects that it’s a calculated move, just enough physical contact for Kuroo to be able to focus without being distracted by Kenma’s presence next to him.
Which is fair. Any other day, Kenma would be appreciative of this simple closeness instead of the usual overt affection. Unfortunately, today it feels like a wall that Kuroo has put up between them, one that Kenma isn’t sure how to scale effectively on his own.
Kenma feels his lips twitch into a grimace at the thought. He turns his head as casually as possible, peeking down at Kuroo’s hand before letting his eyes flit up to his face. He looks calm, sleepy even; eyes cloudy with formulas and symbols, and completely unaware of the internal conflict tearing Kenma apart.
He doesn’t comment on Kenma’s scrutiny, doesn’t even raise his eyes from the page he’s diligently studying. Seems telepathy isn’t going to work in this situation.
He swallows down a huff and turns his head towards the wall.
It wouldn’t even be out of the ordinary, Kuroo is always throwing an arm around Kenma’s shoulders when he’s playing games, or initiating hand holding even at the most inconvenient of times. The difference is that this time Kuroo is the one who’s busy, and Kenma doesn’t want to distract him from his studies just because he wants a little attention.
Kuroo sniffs again, tapping his free hand against the table in an uneven rhythm. Kenma powers his switch off and sets it gingerly in front of him. Kuroo’s hand ceases movement. Kenma blinks down at his own empty hands.
He slumps against the table without another sound, burying his head in his arms as uncertainty plagues his thoughts. He should just ask, right? It’s not like it has to be a big deal.
Except it is, even if he pretends it’s not. Kuroo will probably make some sort of comment about his boldness, which is embarrassing even though he knows Kuroo is just joking around. Either that or worse: he’d just look at Kenma, a small smile creeping up his face and fond eyes melting into Kenma’s in that way that reads I love you, clear as day, before pressing his hand into Kenma’s without a word.
The thought is almost more embarrassing than him saying anything, and there’s no way Kenma can handle an admission like that right now.
He peeks up at Kuroo from between his arms, suppressing the huff that his body tries to release into the silent room.
He’s so handsome. It’s a begrudging admission, but one he can’t help but think. They’d resorted to lamplight in the late hour of the night, and it casts them both in a soft, intimate glow. Shadows deepen the lines of his face attractively, and Kenma aches to run his thumb across the soft skin under his eyes.
He shifts under the kotatsu anxiously at the thought, inadvertently pressing his knee harder against Kuroo’s in a way that sends a zing of something up through his nervous system.
“C-”
He swallows down the consonant like bitter melon, eyebrows scrunching and dropping from Kuroo’s face as he abandons the question. Can I hold your hand? Is what he means to ask. He exhales sharply through his nose and clears his throat instead, a pathetic attempt to play off his embarrassing lapse in control, which unfortunately has the opposite effect.
Kuroo turns his head, eyes dragging up from his papers like an afterthought to regard Kenma’s profile, “you say something?” Kenma suppresses the urge to snap a glare in his direction, falling halfway between that and the cool, composed expression he wants to wear, to land somewhere near a revealing grimace.
He feels goosebumps shoot up his arms and he turns his face away in hopes of avoiding Kuroo’s question. Kuroo follows the movement, ducking his head to try and meet Kenma’s gaze a little better, clearly interested in Kenma’s hesitance over the seemingly simple question.
“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, pulling his switch off the table just to give his hands something to do. They tingle against the hard plastic, screaming at him to just reach out and touch Kuroo’s skin instead, to just get over himself and ask for what he needs when it’s right there.
Kuroo purses his lips, eyes narrowing at Kenma before dropping to the white-knuckled grip he has on his Switch. “You sure?”
He hasn’t hit the power button yet, so he presses it with his pointer finger and taps A. “Yeah, it’s nothing, s’stupid.”
Crap, he thinks, sucking the inside of his cheek between his teeth and biting down. He hadn’t meant to say that last part. Kenma feels the weight of Kuroo’s full attention slamming into him now, body turning so his chest is almost perpendicular to Kenma’s shoulders.
“What do you mean?” He’s still holding the pink mechanical pencil in his left hand, and he twirls it distractedly as Kenma sweats next to him. Options A and B have now been reduced by one. There’s no way Kenma is getting out of this unscathed, and the thought makes him want to fall into the floor, or cringe himself into nonbeing.
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” He doubles down instead, backed into the corner of his mind where confrontation equals pain and embarrassment, and starts clicking through his inventory, “forget it.” He equips a royal broadsword, tapping R to attach fire arrows to his bow before clicking out of the pause menu with a sniff.
“Hm,” the noise is flat coming from Kuroo’s pursed lips. Kenma resists the blush he feels creeping up his chest, willing it to change course behind his neck where it’ll be hidden behind his hair. He sees Kuroo prop an arm on the floor behind him and lean back, feels him weighing the pros and cons of forgetting it for a few seconds before doubling down himself. “S’gotta be something. You can tell me.”
The huff of air Kenma releases in response is borderline hysterical. “I really can’t.”
His eyes fall closed against his will. Another mistake, but at least he’s being honest this time.
“Why not?” Kuroo has completely abandoned his studying now, and maybe Kenma wanted the attention before, but he sure as shit doesn’t want it now. His pencil lies forgotten with his schoolwork and he leans forward again, head on his palm, resting the other on the table next to Kenma with intention. Kenma sees it jerk slightly, like Kuroo’s considering reaching out to touch before thinking better of it.
Kenma wishes he would, to save them both the trouble of this conversation.
He remains silent, frozen. The clock on the wall ticks a few times. His Switch darkens from inactivity.
Kuroo breaks first.
“Well, whatever it is, it can’t be stupider than stochastic calculus,” Kuroo says, tone taking on a hysterical edge of its own as he flattens his hand against the table. “I thought math was supposed to be concrete, none of this makes any sense to me.”
It’s clearly a bid, Kuroo drawing his attention away from Kenma’s discomfort to give him a chance to breathe without scrutiny. It’s clearly a bid, but even if Kenma can see it coming, he is wholly unprepared for the swell of affection that wracks through him at Kuroo’s thoughtfulness.
His hands loosen around the console and it drops to the tabletop with a clatter, body shuddering with simultaneous warmth and prickly embarrassment. The pulse behind his eyes throbs harder.
His head falls into empty palms, motion forcing out a pathetic groan that he couldn’t have prevented if he tried.
The action is more than enough for Kuroo’s instincts to override his self-control. Kenma feels a hand jump from the table to his upper back, sliding across to wrap around his shoulders and pull him in.
“It wasn’t a big deal, but now it is,” he whines against his palms, pride crumbling in the wake of Kuroo’s sudden closeness. Fuck Kuroo and his patience, and his uncanny ability to know exactly what Kenma needs. He digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets before releasing them with another borderline frenzied noise, “but it is stupid. And embarrassing.” He might as well start trying to choke out the truth, Kuroo is gonna wrench it from him sooner or later.
“Embarrassing, huh?” Kuroo waits a few seconds before replying, the hand on Kenma’s shoulder rubbing warm and gentle against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Kenma, you don’t have to be embarrassed. Nothing you could say would make me think any differently of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not that, it’s just-” Kenma chokes the confession down again. He feels like his skins gonna peel off from Kuroo’s proximity, and the thumb thing Kuroo’s currently doing to his shoulder is pretty fucking distracting.
What’s worse is it feels good, great even, and a part of Kenma’s brain is cheering because yes! Kuroo is touching you and you didn’t even have to tell him what you wanted! But the other, rational part of his brain is kicking his ass over the fact that it took an actual meltdown to get this attention from Kuroo at all.
“If it’ll make you feel better, please tell me. I want to know.”
It will make him feel better. And Kuroo wants to know, so he should tell him.
Kenma takes a shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly to calm his racing heartbeat. “Okay... but you can’t say anything embarrassing.” He turns minutely to face Kuroo, eyes narrowed and searching for any signs of mockery from his boyfriend. He finds none, of course, just earnest pools of gold that beg for Kenma’s trust. Whatever.
“Ijustreallywannaholdyourhand,” he blurts out. Pros of being so close to Kuroo’s face are that he can revel in the stupid, stunned expression that crosses his features. But as Kuroo processes the jumbled string of words from Kenma, the confusion shifts to surprise, and the surprise to understanding.
And then, mortifyingly, the hint of a smile starts creeping up the side of his mouth.
“Um, I guess it started a few days ago,” he stammers out in a rush, turning his head away from Kuroo as heat bursts behind his ears. As much as Kenma had been overthinking the whole situation, he hadn’t really planned on dropping the whole story. Anything to delay Kuroo’s sense of satisfaction. “I-I got this headache, and I started feeling really anxious and jumpy, like I used to all the time.”
He’s staring down at his hands now, which had dropped from his face to lay palm up on the table. Kuroo nods next to him, the smile settling into his eyes while his lips struggle to remain composed.
“And then you messaged me, and I got...really nervous.” He still is. His nerves are on fire, body telling him to just pack it up and run, that he needs to keep these feelings a secret or else Kuroo will find him bothersome and needy, and just too much work.
This is the hardest part, Kenma thinks as his palms curl into fists under his tender gaze. “I think I just really missed you, and when you got here I wanted to...hold your hand. Touch you at all really, but you’ve been studying and I didn’t wanna...bother you.”
There. Kenma sucks his cheek in between his teeth again and waits. Kuroo is quiet for a few moments, mulling over Kenma’s confession with the slightest curve to his lips. Kenma wonders if he’s trying to calm his own racing heartbeat.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he replies, finally. The hand he’d propped his head against slides across Kenma’s inner wrist, dragging upwards gently to curl around his right palm. “I always thought you just tolerated me, it’s nice to know you need it too.”
“So-” he adds quickly, as Kenma’s face shifts from embarrassment to indignation in the blink of an eye, “you’re touch starved, it’s fine! Not embarrassing! Hell, now you know how I feel, every minute of every day.”
He’s not controlling his face anymore, Kenma laments, watching Kuroo’s expression transform into pure bliss as he scoots even closer, “I feel like I’m gonna vibrate out of my skin when I’m not touching you. I only made it this far because I actually got a full night's sleep last night, and I’m masochistic. You trained me to expect as little lovin’ as possible.”
Kenma shoves Kuroo’s shoulder with his own resentfully, inadvertently pressing even closer still. Kuroo is unmoved, of course, so he squishes his face against his broad shoulder instead, releasing Kuroo’s hand to push him back against the floor with a grunt. He falls easily this time, and practically giggles when Kenma shoves his face against the space between Kuroo’s neck and shoulder. Now that the dam has broken, he’s feeling antsy and uninhibited, a combination that’s perfect for pushing through any feelings of embarrassment or shame.
“Y’jus’bad,” he mumbles into Kuroo’s skin, relishing in the warm palm that Kuroo drags up and down his clothed back. He doesn’t explain further, just swings a leg up across his thighs, resting his foot in the space between Kuroo’s knee and the floor as he inches impossibly close. “Yer stupid.”
He feels Kuroo shake with laughter under him. “Big talk coming from someone who’s scared to ask their boyfriend to hold his hand.” He locks the arms around Kenma in preparation for an escape that never comes. Kenma just grunts against him, too tired from the day of overthinking to manage any more bitterness than that.
They stay like that for a while, and it’s heaven. Kenma finally lets himself breathe in that spicy cedarwood and citrus he’d been smelling for hours, and Kuroo slips his hand underneath Kenma’s hoodie to rub warm, familiar patterns against his back. It’s only after Kuroo’s phone timer goes off with a bang, startling Kuroo so much that his knees jerk and all but launch Kenma off his body, that they finally release each other.
“Break time~” he croons and he rolls Kenma off of him onto the floor, “I’ve got twenty minutes, and then I gotta study till eight, I’d say we should spend at least nineteen of those making out. I just have to go pee first.”
Whatever bitterness Kenma had planned on spitting Kuroo’s way dissolves immediately in his words. He stares at Kuroo incredulously as he hops up, gaze snapping back down to the floor as the embarrassment starts to trickle back in.
“And really, Kenma,” he yells from the closed door. Kenma glances up at the hallway, hears him wash his hands and wipe them on a towel before striding out and continuing, “if you ever wanna hold my hand, touch me at all really, you don’t have to ask. Just do it.”
Kenma can’t help the glare, but Kuroo continues, undeterred, “even if I’m studying, it’s never a bother, I’ll have anything you’ll give me.”
Well, that’s that, his brain helpfully supplies as he flounders for a reply to Kuroo’s own pseudo confession. Luckily, Kuroo seems like he’s done talking for now, and plops down next to Kenma with a cheeky grin, pulling him in close by the back of his neck. He presses a quick peck to both cheeks, then his nose, before finally rewarding his vulnerability with a gentle press to his lips.
Kenma grabs his wrists, “you’ll tell me if you don’t want me to touch you?” he mumbles against Kuroo’s lips, eyes fluttering open and closed as Kuroo laughs into his mouth. He tastes like mandarins, and the Pocari Sweat he’d been sipping on for the past hour. Kenma wishes they could stay like this forever.
“Probably not, but it’s never gonna happen so don’t worry about that.”
Well, there’s that, he thinks again. He quiets the part of his brain that’s telling him to overthink this, relaxes into the easy, familiar motions of kissing Kuroo; the familiar motions of trusting Kuroo. Loving him.
Kuroo’s alarm goes off too early, and before they know it, he’s back scratching out equations and staring holes into his textbook. What’s different is Kenma’s right hand, curled gently around Kuroo’s left, fingers interlocked. Pretending he’s not bursting into flames as he scrolls through Twitter with his left hand is difficult, but it’s worth the residual embarrassment when he’s rewarded with a little squeeze from Kuroo every time he solves a difficult problem.
He smiles at his phone and doesn’t even try to hide it. Eight PM can’t come soon enough.