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Kenma hasn't done anything remotely bad lately, so he crosses out the possibility of this being some kind of bad karma from the universe. It’s really just another Sunday morning of Tetsurou terrorizing him without cause.
Tetsurou tells him he has a tendency to fixate on things – or in this case, people. His contrarian nature wants to say no but who is he to deny a generous observation from his best friend?
It’s a curse, he thinks, to have someone who knows you better than you know yourself. It’s especially painful when the person in question is Kuroo Tetsurou, all Cheshire grins and wriggling eyebrows. Technically, he’s not even at the same place as him but he can sense his teasing from miles away. That’s how annoying he is.
He thinks of the time in high school when they both discovered what the dark triad is on one of Tetsurou’s geeky little ventures. Look, “callousness, dishonesty, manipulation”. This is all you, he had pointed out. What! Little old me! Tetsurou had replied, hand on his chest like a forlorn lady, wrongly accused.
His phone buzzes, transporting him back to reality.
Why don’t you just ask him out already, Tetsurou asks. It’s been what, six years, now?
Why don’t you stop projecting and ask your guy out already, he replies sweetly.
He imagines the smirk disappearing from his best friend’s face and feels a great sense of triumph. Yeah, didn’t think so.
It’s not his fault, he thinks, for harboring in the same place for years now. He thinks it’s the logical course of action to be fixated on something so divine. Anyone would hardly blame him for that, if they were in his shoes.
Shit, he’s poeticizing things again. This is getting bad.
Kenma, If you don’t ask him out, I will.
Oh, he has to laugh. Like that’s a plausibility. That’s too empty of a threat, even for Tetsurou’s standards.
Sorry, he doesn’t like slimy guys in three-piece suits who thinks they’re hot shit just ‘cuz they make six figures a week.
The reply is almost instantaneous – a huge red !? followed by a small block of text.
- Rude, my dress suits have a fanbase of their own.
- It is seven.
Huh, no objections to being convicted as slimy. He decides to put down his phone for a while and give Tetsurou time to recuperate — maybe he will realize how silly he sounds. He crawls out of the kotatsu, stretching his limbs while hearing his joints pop. Satisfying.
So what’s stopping you, Tetsurou probes. It’s honestly even weirder that you guys aren’t going out after all you’ve done for each other.
He tries to decipher what that means. Maybe it’s the way they lit each other's fires on their fateful encounter some years ago. Maybe it's the way their relationship has been nothing but exchanges of intense looks and promises that other people can't seem to understand. Maybe it's the way he's never felt this way about anyone before and doesn't want to, anyway, because he's sure no one else will ever compare.
He shivers against his will.
Idk, he replies halfheartedly, fully aware of how lame he's being. Sometimes he feels leagues away.
He gets antsy when Tetsurou doesn’t respond right away, then decides to send a follow-up text.
It feels wrong to keep someone like him all for myself.
He feels his face heating up at his own words. If his thoughts were somehow broadcasted on a livestream, he would get downvoted so fast. Is it likely to be banned from Twitch for being vulnerable? Canceled for showing emotions, maybe?
What, you’re not good enough for him?
No, it’s more like. He tries to summon all functioning braincells, even if it feels like his brain also popped when he cracked his joints earlier. I don’t want to be selfish.
Wanting someone's company isn't selfish.
No, it's different. He doesn't just want his company; he wants Shouyou's eyes on him and him only, unconditionally. He doesn't know how to articulate that to Tetsurou without humiliating himself to death. He calls Tetsurou all kinds of terrible stuff but he knows he's just as bad as him when it comes to certain things. His mind runs through such embarrassing faultlines, sometimes.
Just do it, Tetsurou tries one last time. He'd be dumb to refuse. I mean it.
GBBVBRBBbgghehshgrgrgrgrghsbavwbekheierheihshdeugr, he types. Ending the conversation elegantly, Kozume Kenma style.
He runs his head through different options (six, at least) of what kind of text he should send, ranging from a simple greeting ('Sup) to a cheesy, full-blown confession, teenage rom-com style (Hey I've been thinking a lot about you and me lately and so on and so forth). He finally settles on a harmless little question.
Wanna come over?
It’s cowardly, he supposes, but it's a start. He feels most secure when he's at home, crumpled kotatsu and messy streaming bay be damned. Besides, seeing Shouyou on his property is a different kind of pleasure on its own.
He’s prepared to throw his phone right away like an anxious teenager who just sent a risky text for their crush when his phone buzzes instantly. He reads his screen and – oh. Hinata Shouyou never gives him a break, does he?
He puts his phone down, getting up to prepare for his now-better Sunday. Smiling, he mentally files the image of a text that reads:
Shouyou: YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!