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The monthly training camps devised by Coach Nekomata are taxing, to say the least. Every night, the Nekoma players wipe out promptly, one by one, after the clock strikes 11 pm. The futons, laid out by Lev under the sharp scrutiny of Yaku for slacking off yet again, are in no particular order. As it is, Kuroo's lies at the far corner, with only Yamamoto — snoring and sprawling Yamamoto — to his left.
For Kuroo, tonight's a bad night. Pressed between the close confines of his pillows, he tries to steady his breathing as he comes out of his nightmare. It's the same as it always is — it's dark, he's alone, and there's screams and bangs ricocheting off the walls — it's his father, he's coming for him, he's in one of his moods again, and Kuroo is powerless, small and weak, and the door opens —
He tries to steady his breathing, but no matter how hard he presses the pillows to his ears, he can still hear the banging — the slaps and shouts reverberating through his skull. He rolls over, throwing the pillows to the side.
Squinting through the dim lighting of the room, he can see Yamamoto's back curled over in sleep, and when he sits up, he can see Kenma's small form huddled under his blanket on Yamamoto's other side.
Tiptoeing over his teammate's legs, Kuroo eases onto Kenma's futon, heart hammering hard and fast against his ribcage. He's not a child anymore, he knows that, and his father is long gone, but he's still there — still alone in that dark cupboard.
He needs Kenma.
Peeling back the covers, careful to watch the blonde's sleeping face for any signs of wakefulness, Kuroo slips in, fitting himself around Kenma's back. When he breathes in, the soft sent of apples and laundry detergent and something distinctly Kenma welcomes him. He leans down, presses his face into Kenma's hair, still soft from his recent shower.
He might be able to fall asleep like this, or, at the very least, hold out until morning, where everything is bright and volleyball occupies the empty crevices of his mind.
"... Kuro?"
Kenma shifts around in the bracket of Kuroo's arms, wiping blearily at his eyes. Even muddled from sleep they are sharp and cat-like; an incomparable yellow.
"You couldn't sleep?" he murmurs.
Kuroo can't bring himself to speak; only stares into Kenma's eyes; so bright, familiar, and home.
To Kuroo, Kenma is home. He'll never be homesick, as long as he has him by his side.
"... Another nightmare?"
Kuroo nods, shutting his eyes tight. He hates feeling so weak. He'd thought that all the moments of feeling powerless and scared would be gone along with his father, but they won't stop haunting him. He's so fucking sick and tired of it all —
He blinks as soft hands reach up to his face, brushing against his cheeks before sliding over his ears.
"Kuro, if you want..." Kenma says, in that endearingly unsure way of his. "I'll cover your ears for you, until you fall asleep."
He says it so simply, the same way he had 9 years ago when they'd been nothing but scared children with knobby knees and running noses, and all of a sudden, Kuroo is choked up by an fierce wave of pure adoration and affection for his childhood friend. You're too good to me, he wants to say. You're perfect. Why can't you see that? Don't change; you're perfect. Don't ever leave me. He can't say any of it, not when Kenma is looking at him so calmly, his small hands still pressed over Kuroo's ears.
He grips one of Kenma's hands in his own, tight, and instead:
"I think I'm in love with you," he blurts out.
... Shit. This wasn't... This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd planned his confession with much grander schemes.
Kenma blinks, just once. "... Huh?"
Kuroo brings their foreheads together, brings Kenma's hands down in both of his own. Screw it. He's already gotten this far.
"I'm saying that I'm in love with you."
"Kuro..."
"I mean, you don't have to say it back. I'm just — I just wanted you to know. I have been for a long time," he's babbling now, and he can't seem to stop. "You're fucking perfect the way you are, and I hate that you want to change, and that you're always worried about what other people think, because fuck what they think. You're amazing, and kind, and — I just — I... love you... yeah," he finishes lamely.
And the award for the most uncool confession goes to... He definitely can't let Bokuto hear about this.
Kuroo searches Kenma's face for any sort of reaction, but it seems frozen in state of shock. Just when he's deflating, waiting for a rejection that's sure to come, a tear escapes Kenma's eye, and then another until they're streaming.
"Kuro, you idiot," Kenma hisses, hitting a fist against Kuroo's chest. But it's Kuroo's turned to be shocked, because he hasn't seen Kenma cry since third grade, after the schoolyard bully tossed his game in the toilet when Kenma hadn't risen to his taunts.
He'd just made Kenma cry. Shit. He wipes his thumbs across Kenma's cheeks, frantically. His nightmares are nothing compared to this.
"Hey. Pretend I didn't say anything, okay? Kenma. I'm so sorry, Kenma, I'm sorry, don't cry — "
"You're an idiot," Kenma grits out.
"Yeah, I know. I'm an idiot. I'm the worst. Fuck, I'm so sorry, so please — "
"Stop apologizing!"
Kuroo falters. Kenma's cheeks are flushed and his golden eyes flash angrily.
"I'm just... Don't apologize, okay?" Kenma whispers, gentler this time. His fingers clench in Kuroo's shirt. "Don't apologize."
"But... you're crying," Kuroo says, helplessly.
"And I said, you're an idiot," Kenma grumbles. "I just... never thought anyone would ever say those things... to me."
"I meant every word," Kuroo growls.
"I know." And everything makes sense again, as Kenma tips his face up, his lips hovering so close to Kuroo's that their breaths mingle, and his fingers slide up through dark hair. Kuroo's breath hitches. Kenma, who gazes at him with intense concentration, looks seconds away from kissing him.
"I might... feel the same way. For you," he says, slowly.
Kuroo lets out a breath when Kenma leans back. His heart is beating so loudly he fears it might wake the others. "Oh." Oh.
"Does this change anything?" Kenma looks down, and his eyes flick up under his lashes before sliding back down.
Kuroo licks his lips. "Yes. No. I mean, not if you don't want it to."
A pause. Then, because it's Kenma, and he's so incredibly simple yet unfathomably complex all at once, quirks a small hint of a smile, before saying, "Want to try out my new game? Since you can't sleep anyway." and Kuroo can't even think to refuse him anything.
That's how they end up, the two childhood friends with maybe less than nothing in common, huddled under their blankets next to their snoring volleyball teammates at 4 in the morning, knowing they have training regimes at 7, playing Pokemon Omega on Kenma's shiny red 3DS.
Nothing does change in their dynamics. And Kuroo wouldn't have them any other way.
He rests his chin on Kenma's shoulder, the blonde tapping away at the console from his spot between Kuroo's legs with utter concentration, and hums in contentment. The nightmares are long forgotten. Miles away from Tokyo in a darkened gym in ratty old t-shirts and crouched on rock-hard futons that smell like mothballs and laundry detergent, he's never felt more at home.
Because for Kuroo, Kozume Kenma is the only home he's ever known.
Bonus:
"Sweet, that Pokemon looks sick as fuck," Kuroo whispers.
"I'm catching it." A beat. "I caught it."
"... That's some luck you got there. 'Croagunk', huh. Are you gonna name it?"
Kenma stares at his Croagunk's lazy grin, then back at Kuroo, then back at Croagunk.
"..."
"Kenma! Don't name a damn frog after me!"
"My fingers moved on their own."
"Damn it! Go to sleep, both of you! It's 5 in the damn morning!" Yaku screeches.
fin