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It began when they were little.
At first, they’d both been chicks nestled in their eggs, fluffy feathers peeking out of cracked white shells, not quite ready to hatch. Too shy to even peep, awkwardly fluffing their feathers a foot away from each other.
But slowly, slowly, they learned to be together. It started with mild doses, playdates at Kenma’s house, and stretched to weekend-long sleepovers, until the time Kuro got sick and they weren’t allowed to play for a few days. Being apart felt strange, like Kenma was missing a limb.
The first time Kenma remembered talking about marriage was at age ten, sitting with Kuro on the front steps of his house. The summer air settled around them, still warm despite the sinking sun. As the cicadas buzzed distantly in the trees, Kenma’s palm settled against the rough concrete, just inches from Kuro’s.
“Hey, Kenma…” Kuro began in that tentative way of his, like he was afraid that his next sentence would make Kenma want to stop being his friend. He pulled his hair away from his eye, the strands persistently getting stuck to his sweaty skin. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
Why would he ever want to get married? Sharing a bed with someone, letting them use your games and risking cooties every time you had to—gross—hold their hand. The answer was easy.
“No.” And he emphasized his point by contorting his face into a grossed-out expression.
Kuro’s face spread out into shock, but just like a bubble, it only lasted a second before he burst into laughter. “Right, I should’ve guessed.”
From then on, it came up every once in a while. Kenma supposed it was only natural: after all, people were expected to grow up and get married from the time they were children. There had certainly been times when his mother scolded him for different things, saying that “his future spouse” wouldn’t like it if he spent all night gaming, or left the cap off the tube of toothpaste.
But he always ignored her, because adulthood was at least one lifetime and several galaxies away.
“Kenma!” Kuro yelled, practically jumping onto him.
He resisted the urge to push Kuro off, because they’d just had another volleyball game, and he was sweaty enough without getting other people’s body heat all over him. “What?”
“You were so amazing on the court!” Kuro beamed.
All forms of protest died on Kenma’s tongue, and he felt his face flushing when Kuro continued, “I thought you’d be tired since you were up late last night studying, but you totally demolished that game. Seriously, it’s like you can do everything! When you get married, your spouse is gonna be so lucky.” He finished this monologue by ruffling Kenma’s hair, which only made him more embarrassed.
He uttered a quiet “shut up, Kuro” before escaping, hoping that a few feet of cool air between them would calm his racing heart.
By the time high school came around, he couldn’t avoid it anymore. Loving Kuro was the same as breathing.
On nights when he was sad and video games couldn’t distract him, he’d call Kuro and they’d talk for hours in low voices. Kenma would have to practically shove his sleeve into his mouth to muffle his laughter so that his parents wouldn’t wake up. There was no one else he wanted to talk to more, but it took him some time to realize that all of this fondness wasn’t how friends normally felt about each other.
He knew because there would be times when Kuro would be talking about something with this fiery, passionate look in his eye. But instead of listening, Kenma would daydream about kissing him. Not exactly friend behavior.
But in this game of chess, he always played black, never making the first move.
It was Kuro who confessed first.
Not in a grand way, not even intentionally. They’d been talking about some girl in their class, whom Kenma suspected he had a crush on. But when Kenma brought it up, Kuro said offhandedly, “I could never like her as much as I like you.”
Which could be normal, right? It was cheesy, but a friend might say that to another friend.
Until the friend, Kuro, turned into a blushing and stuttering mess and was desperately trying to cover up his tracks until the other friend, Kenma, said as nonchalantly as he could manage with sweaty palms, “I like you too.”
On one of their dates, months after becoming established boyfriends, they were walking in a park together and found a couple taking wedding photos. The bride looked ethereal, her long white dress glittering in the sunshine, surrounded by patches of bright flowers. The groom was glued to her side, enchanted. They both looked like they’d walked straight out of a Disney cartoon.
Just when Kenma turned to Kuro to make fun of them, he caught a look in Kuro’s eyes that he could only describe as melted chocolate: warm, gooey, and achingly sweet.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to take wedding photos here?” Kuro asked, practically sighing with want at the scene.
Kenma hadn’t planned on saying anything. How could he? But then Kuro turned to look at him, actually expecting an answer.
“I guess so.”
Kuro had always been a hopeless romantic. On most of their movie nights, he would pick rom-coms, much to Kenma’s disdain.
“They met three days ago and he thinks she’s the love of his life? This is worse than a Shakespeare movie.”
“They’re in love, Kenma!”
“They’re going to break up two weeks after the final scene because he uses three-in-one bodywash.”
Needless to say, Kenma had never understood romance. He didn’t know how people could fall in love the same way people got hit by trains. All he’d ever known was Kuro and a trust and adoration that had built over so many years, that was so real. Everything else had to be fake.
He never had to really confront the future of their relationship until Kuro went to college. It was like how Kuro got sick when they were kids and couldn’t see each other, except instead of lasting a few days, it was indefinite. Kenma wasn’t sure he’d ever get his limb back.
They hadn’t seen each other since Kuro moved away and they’d kissed goodbye on Kenma’s front steps, because Kuro usually didn’t have enough time to come home on the weekends and he hadn’t had a break from school yet. Which meant that all of their time together was spent on phone calls.
“This sucks.” Kenma huffed into his mic one evening. “I can’t believe it’s gonna be like this the whole year. I feel like I’m going through withdrawal.”
Kuro laughed, the sound easing a knot in Kenma’s shoulders. “I miss you too.”
“Shut up.”
The only comfort he had was imagining Kuro laying on his dorm bed, stomach to the mattress and legs crossed in the air. As he sat in his gamer chair, headphones on, he could pretend that Kuro was sitting just behind him, on Kenma’s bed.
“Ah, just think about it this way.” He could hear the smile in Kuro’s voice. “One day, we’ll be married in a big ol’ house and we won’t have to worry about these things.”
Kenma paused, guilt tugging at his heart from every direction. If he didn’t say anything now, it would be like lying.
“I don’t see myself ever getting married.”
Another moment of silence, one he couldn’t decipher.
“Is it because announcing your feelings to the world is embarrassing?” Kuro’s tone was light, but Kenma could detect the confusion hidden underneath.
“That’s part of it.” He shrugged. “I don’t really see the point. All the fanfare over a commitment that you can make in just a conversation. And...and the whole legal aspect of marriage—getting the government involved in your relationship. It’s—it’s not anyone else’s business.” As he spoke, he tripped over his words, trying to explain himself. “If you love someone, then you don’t need a certificate or a party just to prove it.”
This time, he feared the silence. Or maybe what he really feared was disappointing Kuro.
But he didn’t get back an argument, or even an exclamation. All he got was an “I see.”
And that was that.
Kuro never brought up marriage again. Until six years later.
They sat at table number two at Shoyou and Tobio’s wedding. Some people say that weddings have a sort of magic about them, but Kenma had no idea what they were talking about. There was no magic to be found.
Sure, the night was pretty. With all of his training in beach volleyball, Shoyou had decided that he simply had to have his wedding on some sand, and for once, Tobio had no reason to disagree. The tables were surrounded by a circle of poles, which were connected by strings of golden fairy lights. The ocean quietly rustled and whooshed just a few feet away, guided by the full moon and a few stray stars.
But it wasn’t quiet and peaceful, because by this time of the night, everyone was drunk. Even Kuro was getting past the point of buzzed.
“Bokuto made me take a shot for every time Hinata-kun said ‘I love you’ in the past hour.” Kuro giggled, sweeping his arms dramatically. “Love is in the air! Love is love. Love wins.”
Kenma discreetly pulled the alcohol out of his reach. “Why don’t you drink some water, babe?”
“You’re so right, babe. You care so much about me~” Kuro gave him this dopey look that made him roll his eyes.
“So when’s the wedding?” Lev chirped.
Kenma didn’t know why Shoyou had put them on the same table as Lev. Maybe he’d assumed that they wanted to have a mini Nekoma reunion. But even though Lev was older, he was still a little shit.
“It’s right now,” Kenma deadpanned.
Lev snorted. “No, I mean you and Kuroo-san. You guys have been together for like eight years, right?”
“Well, let’s be clear,” Kuro said with that easy smile of his. The one that had always marked him as the captain during their away games and showed off that smooth confidence all leaders had. “If we wanted to get married, I would have proposed ages ago. After all, I’ve known that I want to spend my life with Kenma since we were kids.”
When he was sober, Kuro could dial back his feelings, but now, affection poured from his eyes like a thunderstorm in the desert. “We agreed that marriage wasn’t Kenma’s thing long ago. And I’m fine with that.”
Then why do you look so pained? Why is your mouth at a wedding while your eyes are at a funeral?
The stars and fairy lights still twinkled, but Kenma’s heart plunged into darkness.
Autumn leaves settled on sidewalks, later covered by blankets of white snow, only for them to thin out and disappear, letting spring buds peek through and blossom. Every night, Kenma pondered over Kuro’s empty hands until it became summer once again.
Hadn’t Kuro given him everything? Would it really be so bad to give something back?
It wasn’t like marrying Kuro would be torture. They already lived together and, almost every day, Kuro nagged him for leaving the cap off the tube of toothpaste. Kenma had no plans to run away with anyone else, and he could say with total confidence that Kuro was worth a bit of hassle. He did hate parties, and certificates, but...If Kuro wanted the whole world to know they were together, then Kenma didn’t see why not.
He had to time it just right.
“Hey Kenma~ I’m home,” Kuro announced one afternoon, loosening his tie as soon as he walked through the door. “I actually saw the mailman today! Maybe I should leave work early more often.”
If Kenma had any doubts, that smile would have wiped them clean like a chalkboard.
“Hm. What’s wrong?” Kuro asked, concerned by Kenma’s silence.
“Hey, Tetsurou,” Kenma said as he opened up the cardboard package.
What if Kuro had decided he’d had enough waiting? What if he changed his mind about marriage and get mad that Kenma had even suggested it? What if—
“Kenma?”
No, he had to do this. He willed his voice not to crack. “It’s my turn to ask, right?” From the package came a black velvet box, which contained a sparkling ring. “Will you marry me?”
He was expecting a smile, maybe a “yes.” Maybe even an argument. What he didn’t expect was for Tetsu to start sobbing.
Tears streamed down Kuro’s face, a little trail of snot following soon after. “K-Kenma, are—are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said, wiping the tears away. He was surprised that his hands, for once, did not sweat. “I am completely, one hundred percent sure that I want to be yours forever.”
This might have been the wrong thing to say, because Tetsu sobbed louder, burying his face in Kenma’s shoulder.
“Tetsu,” he murmured, caught somewhere between emotional and amused, carefully hugging his potential-but-still-undetermined-fiance. “Is that a yes?”
“YES!” Kuro pulled away, offering up his hand. “Yes yes yes.”
Kenma slid the ring onto his finger. A perfect fit.
