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Warm, chapped lips pressed into the soft spot behind Kenma’s ear as a calloused palm grazed over his bare hip. The motions were slow, methodical, a gentle way to rouse him from the clutches of slumber. His eyes opened, adjusting quickly to the morning sunshine spilling through his thin white curtains. He was facing the wall, eye-level with a corkboard his father had nailed to his wall a few days before he started high school.
You can hang all of your pictures and keepsakes on it, he had said. And you can take it with you when you leave. Keep all those memories.
Kenma, only fourteen at the time, had rolled his eyes and mumbled that he wouldn’t make enough friends in high school to fill a whole corkboard with. His father had told him to keep his chin up.
Despite fourteen-year-old Kenma’s statement, the corkboard had filled up before he knew it. Photographs of him, Fukunaga, and Tora were scattered about the surface; photographs of them out at restaurants and in their volleyball uniforms and even at a party or two were tacked up with colorful plastic pushpins. Receipts from memorable team dinners, ticket stubs from school events, even old passes from volleyball matches were interspersed in the cork. Uplifting notes from teachers were carefully attached. Small promotional posters of his favorite video games were tacked around the edges. Short letters from his underclassmen were near the middle. Even a crude drawing of him as a cat (from Lev, of course) was attached amongst the chaos. Most of the corkboard, however, was decorated with photos of Kuroo and notes from Kuroo and memories of Kuroo.
For his fifteenth birthday, Kuroo had gotten him a polaroid camera.
Intermingled with the other pictures were several candids of Kuroo; examining some crabs at a nearby beach (the two had gone with their families over the summer holidays), delicately eating a slice of apple pie (that he had made for Kenma’s sake), sleeping peacefully in Kenma’s bed (at three o’clock in the afternoon, no less). There were polaroid selfies, too, of the two of them out on dates. Kuroo would take the camera into his hands and snap a photograph from a much better angle than Kenma could manage.
Kenma’s sleepy eyes raked over the corkboard, and he was surprised how much his own face smiled back at him.
Chapped lips once again kissed him, this time on the column of his neck. He shivered under the sensation, leaning back into a sturdy, smooth body. Those lips traveled down his neck, peppering against his back, gently, until teeth scraped against his shoulder blade. The soft noise of skin being bruised filled the space around him. Like he was a young kitten, his bruise was licked once, twice. Lips traveled back to his neck.
Kenma rolled onto his other side after taking one last glance at his corkboard. He thought that he should apologize to his father.
Just as his other hip touched the mattress, his lips were captured in a sweet, delicate kiss, like he was a flower at risk of wrinkling under someone’s harsh touch. He returned the kiss, sliding a bottom lip between his own.
Pulling away, Kenma rested his head against the cool cotton of his pillowcase. He hadn’t cut his hair in nearly eight years, and it was finally long enough to tickle his collarbones. Now, it was being trapped between his head and the pillow, itching the curves of his ear. He must have painted his discomfort on his face, because a large, warm hand fit itself against his cheek and brushed his hair away. Kenma nuzzled into the touch, pressing a butterfly kiss to a strong thumb.
Familiar steel-gray eyes peered into his own, clouded still with the remnants of sleep. Looking closer, Kenma noticed small beads of moisture threatening to drop from reddened rims. He reached his own hand up, placing the pad of his thumb against the faint purple shadows beneath his eyes. He said nothing, at first. Then the tears fell, running down a tanned cheek before severing, hitting the sheets below. They temporarily stained the pale-tinted sheets a darker, more kelly green color. Kenma wiped the stream away.
“Why are you crying?” He murmured, voice thick with slumber. More spots of kelly green appeared. A shuddering, broken breath was taken.
“Because, I-” Kuroo replied, his words slightly warped due to the lump stuck in his throat. Kenma didn’t do anything but continue to rub his thumb over a wet cheek.
“I’m. Leaving you.”
More tears spilled, so quickly that Kenma couldn’t wipe them all away. He stopped trying, choosing instead to press his forehead against Kuroo’s.
He let him cry. Kenma let Kuroo do a lot of things, actually; he let him be the little spoon. He let Kuroo baby him when he so often fell ill. He let him keep a polaroid photograph of his bare chest, bruised and bitten, inside his wallet. Kenma wondered if Kuroo still had the photograph. He hoped so.
Kenma patted Kuroo’s bedhead, weaving the thick strands between bony, pale fingers. His sobs shook the bed a little.
The sun rose a little bit farther in the sky. Kuroo’s sobs ebbed into sniffles, his heaving into hiccups. He buried his nose in Kenma’s chest. Kenma wondered if his bare, pokey sternum was all that comfortable against his cheek.
The room fell silent again, and Kuroo’s head eventually reemerged. He gave Kenma a small smile before pressing a kiss to his chin.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay.”
“I should be more, I don’t know, composed.”
“You don’t have to be composed. You don’t have to be anything. Tetsurou, you’re about to move to a new place all by yourself and start the next level of your life. It’s okay to be scared. Or sad. Or whatever it is you’re feeling.”
Kuroo nodded, looking like he wanted to cry again. Kenma decided that if he did cry again he’d go find a box of tissues.
He didn’t cry. Instead, he sighed a shaky sigh and pushed the duvet down to his waist. Kenma looked at his bare chest, at all the marks and scars and freckles he’d long ago memorized. He saw the cluster of dots underneath his pec that looked like a star. He saw the faded white line where he had had a juvenile hernia repaired in the middle of a sticky summer night years ago. He saw the fading yellow bruise he had received after rough-housing happily with Yaku at a graduation party.
Kuroo got out of bed, swinging his legs off of the side of the bed. Kenma watched him approach his dresser, where on top laid one of Kuroo’s faded tee shirts and sweatpants. Kuroo wanted to just wear Kenma’s clothes. Kenma insisted he’d be uncomfortable an hour into his drive. He knew he’d complain to anyone that would listen that his pants wouldn’t even reach his ankles.
Kuroo dressed himself before opening the dresser and bringing Kenma clothes of his own. Of course, he picked out one of his old tee shirts (a gift to Kenma; had a friendly-looking egg on it) and a pair of too-short shorts that he always said made Kenma’s legs look good. Kenma thought his legs always looked stick-like.
Kenma dressed in silence all while letting Kuroo watch. Sometimes he’d tell Kuroo to stop, that he was a pervert, that he got to see Kenma naked enough, no need to watch him change. But after this morning he wouldn’t be seeing Kenma at all for a very long while. After more than a decade of almost constant contact, they were being separated. So he let him watch. He wondered if Kuroo was trying to commit every piece of his body to memory.
After slipping on his socks, Kenma took Kuroo’s hand in his. Silently, he asked if Kuroo was ready to go down the staircase and say good morning to his mother and Kenma’s parents. Just as quietly, Kuroo replied and said yeah, he was. Kenma squeezed his hand. Kuroo slid to the edge of his bed and wrapped Kenma into a hug, exhaling into his stomach. Kenma buried his face into Kuroo's messy hair. He smelled like everything familiar, like tea tree oil and sleep and the remnants of practiced, tender sex.
The two carefully descended Kenma’s wooden staircase. One time, when they were much younger, Kuroo was running up the stairs in his socks and slipped on the hardwood and smashed his face into the surface. One of his baby teeth had gotten knocked out. Kenma remembers how much it bled. All over the stairs. All over him. All over Kuroo.
Today they didn’t slip. They just walked, hand in hand, into the kitchen. Kuroo’s mother was helping Kenma’s at the stove while Kenma’s father was busy setting the table. The floorboards creaked underneath the two boys’ feet as they entered.
Their parents smiled and welcomed them to the table, forcing them to sit and wait to be served. It made Kenma crack a small smile, because his mother was always a stickler for pitching in at mealtime - setting your place, serving yourself, and doing the dishes afterwards. Special days called for special treatment, he supposed.
Bowls of steaming rice and eggs were set on the table alongside plates of cut up fruit and salted mackerel pike. Glasses were filled with coffee (the parents), orange juice (Kuroo), and milk (Kenma). Thanks were given and they began to eat.
The table was loud and boisterous, even for the early morning. Stories of Kuroo’s youth were traded, Kenma’s too. Last minute plans for his departure were looked over. Mostly, however, they just reminisced on his time as a boy. His hand was resting on Kenma’s thigh, his thumb stroking over the smooth, nearly hairless skin. Kenma was never able to grow much body hair. He didn’t push his hand away like he might have another day. Again, it would be a long while before they’d get to be together again. Besides. Neither of their parents would mind the gesture - they were the type of adults to respect their children.
They were the type of parents to let their kids have sleepovers with the door closed, even though they knew what was going on. They were lenient with curfew, knowing if one wasn’t at home in their bed, they were snuggled up in the other’s. Kenma’s father, when he had turned seventeen, bought him a box of condoms.
I’m not necessarily encouraging this, Kenma, but I know it’s happening and I want you to stay safe. I know it’s different between two men, and I don’t know everything, but I know that I love you and I want you to stay in good health.
Kenma had thanked him, interestingly unbothered by the interaction. Then he had to explain that he wasn’t the one that needed the condoms.
The next day, his father had bought a different box and told him to give it to Kuroo. Kenma asked why he bought Kuroo condoms.
It’s what a father does for his boy, Kenma.
Kenma then thought about how when Kuroo talked about his future, it never once included someone else. It was always Kenma there by his side. Even now, at the breakfast table, Kuroo’s plans included him.
“It’s impressive, Tetsurou. You’ve got the next ten years mapped out!” Kenma’s mother laughed in between bites of fruit. Kuroo blushed.
“It’s good to have a plan, isn’t it? Tell us again, Tetsu. Your next decade.” His mom prompted, beaming at her son. Kuroo looked towards Kenma, who nodded in agreement. He liked hearing Kuroo’s plans too; it gave him a future.
“Well, I’ll spend four years at Niigata University pursuing a degree in marketing and advertising. I’ll live the required one year on campus and then I’ll rent a little apartment nearby. I’ll graduate and move back to Tokyo, where I’ll get a job with the JVA and another apartment and maybe even a dog. I’ll work for a year before Kenma graduates and moves in with me. Or I’ll move in with him. I’m not picky. Then, once I’m twenty-seven, we’ll have our wedding, and maybe we’ll move into a house in a nice neighborhood.” He said casually, rubbing his hand over Kenma’s leg. He smiled. A wedding.
He caught his parents looking at him fondly.
Kenma thought about the small, navy, crushed-velvet box that lived inside his mother’s jewelry box. She told him about it when he had turned seventeen.
It’s your grandfather’s. I want Kuroo to give it to you when he asks for your hand.
Kenma asked about what ring he should give.
Manami has her father’s ring. She’s saving it, just like me. She’ll give it to you when the time comes.
Kenma wondered what Kuroo’s grandfather’s ring would look like.
“Tetsurou, you should start packing your things. You need to leave by nine.” His mother said softly, her face sad. Kenma watched Kuroo’s face fall.
Wordlessly they shuffled to Kenma’s front door, after their parents refused they help clean up. They walked in the brisk morning air the short distance between their houses. Kuroo unlocked the door, stepping over the threshold before shucking off his shoes. He slowly walked to his room, gazing at every wall and every crack in the ceiling. Kenma followed him and did the same. He suddenly wondered if he’d spend much time in Kuroo’s house after he was gone.
Kuroo pushed the door of his room open and Kenma swallowed hard.
It was creepy to see a room that's been the same for nearly all his life suddenly look barren and bland. All of Kuroo’s posters had been taken down and rolled up for safekeeping. His bed was stripped clean, save for one thin white sheet. His desk was empty, all his trinkets and papers and pencils packed away.
As Kuroo stacked the few remaining boxes scattered about, Kenma tried to pick out his favorite memories of Kuroo’s bedroom. One was definitely when he was eight and his parents finally let him sleep over for the first time. Another was when they danced on the creaky floor to old American music at three o’clock in the morning the night before Kuroo graduated junior high school.
Kenma sat on his bed.
He thought about how many nights he’d slept in this bed. This bed had carried every stage of his body - when it was young and tiny, when it was awkwardly growing, sweaty and pimply, and when it was settled, more grown, more angular. Kenma had thrown up in this bed before. Twice, actually. He had suffered through influenza in this bed before. He and Kuroo had caught it at the same time, and their parents let them be together as they fought it off. Kenma remembers eating a lot of chicken noodle soup and watching Freaky Friday twelve times over.
Kuroo told him he was going to marry him in this bed. First when he was seven. Again when he was thirteen. Once more last Tuesday.
Kenma, whenever he felt like the world was too big and he was too small, would snuggle up in this bed, burying his face in pillows that smelled like Kuroo. He’d do that often. Even when Kuroo wasn’t home.
He had lost his virginity in this bed, too. Way before he should have, he realized. He had sex for the first time a month after his fourteenth birthday because he felt like he was ready. Kissing felt good. He liked when Kuroo put his hands on his private parts.
But after it happened, and as he was lying next to Kuroo in this very bed, he regretted it. He didn’t love him any less, he didn’t want to break up. But he didn’t want to do that again. It made him feel insecure, like he had to put on a show to make Kuroo feel good. He hated the way his stomach still had a little layer of baby fat on it, and hated even more that Kuroo was touching and kissing it.
It took two years and lots of then-awkward conversations for him to be comfortable having sex again. Now, it was easy and enjoyable and fun to be touched by Kuroo, to feel their bodies connect.
Kenma wondered when the next time they’d have sex would be.
Kuroo managed to stack the boxes and hold them in his arms. Kenma watched him struggle for one moment, two, before shuffling over and taking the top box from him. Kuroo smiled sweetly at him.
Kenma left first, leaving Kuroo to spend a few moments alone in the bedroom that watched him grow. He waited on the porch with his box. He watched a few cars pass by, and counted how many of each color there were.
He heard Kuroo shut the front door behind him after a long while. Three white, four black, one red.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He said softly. Kenma didn’t have to look at him to know that he had been crying. Maybe he was reliving those same memories Kenma had been.
“I told you to stop apologizing, Kuro.”
“Right.”
Next door, Kuroo’s mother emerged from Kenma's front door. His own parents followed, the three of them chatting happily, they slowly made their way over, smiling at their sons the entire time.
Kenma fished Kuroo’s car keys out of Kuroo’s pocket and unlocked his car, popping the trunk so he could put the extra boxes in. He handed the keys back to Kuroo, allowing him to keep their hands clasped together.
They broke apart so Kuroo could say goodbye to his parents, kissing his mother politely on the cheek and hugging his father tightly. His own mother was weeping now, her tears staining Kuroo’s shirt like Kuroo’s tears had stained Kenma’s sheets not long ago.
Finally. It was his turn to say goodbye.
Their parents had walked a little ways away and Kenma was grateful for the privacy. He didn’t think he was going to cry or anything, but he wanted one more moment with Kuroo alone before they parted for longer than they’d ever parted before.
Kuroo led him back to the stone steps of his porch and sat. Kenma had always liked sitting on their porches. When they bought a house together, it had to have a porch.
Kuroo rested his head on Kenma’s shoulder. His hair tickled Kenma’s cheek.
“I don’t know what to say,” Kenma admitted. Kuroo wiggled his body around until he was lying against the stone, his head in Kenma’s lap. Kenma threaded his fingers through Kuroo’s hair. They sat in silence, listening to the white noise of morning around them.
Kuroo’s tears trickled down Kenma’s thighs. Kenma realized he didn’t have to say anything.
Eventually, Kuroo kissed the soft part of Kenma’s inner thigh, near the hem of his shorts. He picked up his head. He wiped at his cheeks.
They sat in more silence.
A car honked angrily in the distance.
“Hey, Kuro?”
“Hm?”
“Do you still carry that polaroid of me around? The naughty one?”
Kuroo cracked a smile despite the way his eyes were watering. He wiped at his runny nose.
“Yeah. I do. Why are you asking?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I just wanted to know.”
The two smiled at one another. Kuroo sniffled again.
“Show it to all the girls that ask you out while you’re in college, okay?”
“Not that they will, but if a girl does as me out, I’m telling her I’m engaged. End of story.”
Kenma blushed as Kuroo gazed down at him. His mother told them they needed to get going.
Kuroo’s eyes grew watery again as he pulled him into a tight hug. Kenma could hear his heartbeat through his thin tee shirt, fast and intense. He knew Kuroo was crying into his hair.
After a moment, Kuroo dug into his pocket and procured something small and shiny. He took Kenma’s left hand in his own and pressed a kiss to every one of his fingertips. Then, very slowly, he slid a thin band around Kenma’s fourth finger. Kenma’s heart stopped beating. It was delicate and simple silver. Inconspicuous. Personal. Perfect.
“It’s not my grandfather’s, not yet. But it’s something. So please. Wear it.” He explained, his voice wobbly.
At once Kenma angled his head up, slowly and sweetly capturing Kuroo’s lips against his own. They kissed for a long, long while. After all, it would be the last kiss they shared for who knows how much time.
When they finally parted, Kuroo planted a kiss against Kenma’s forehead and smiled at him sadly. Kenma reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a crinkled envelope. He placed it in Kuroo’s hands, wordlessly, and nudged him towards his driveway.
He walked to his car, unlocked it, and strapped himself in the driver’s seat. He didn’t roll the window down. He just waved at his mother and blew Kenma a kiss before backing out of the driveway and disappearing down the street. Kenma watched him drive away until he couldn’t see his car anymore.
His mother placed her hands on his arms, rubbing them up and down like she was trying to warm him up.
“Kenma, you’re crying.”
He touched his cheeks and sure enough, they were wet.
All at once he crumpled.
He cried like he hadn’t cried in years, the full-body sobs racking his small frame. He sat down on the sidewalk, wailing loud enough to wake up the entire block. Kuroo’s mother rubbed his back while his own tucked long strands of hair behind his ears. Still he cried. Eventually, his father scooped him up off of the pavement like he was four years old again and carried him into their house.
He carried Kenma right to the couch, and sat down with him still in his arms. He cradled him close, petting at his hair. His mother entered the room and gently joined her family. They didn’t say anything. They let their son cry so hard that all his tears dried up.
Once he had nearly cried himself to sleep, he spoke.
“Why does this hurt so much?” He croaked. His mother gave him a small, sad smile. His father kept stroking his hair.
“Because you love him more than anything. And he loves you more than anything.”
“He gave me a ring. He’s really gonna marry me.”
“Well, we’ve always known that.” His father replied.
The Kozume family sat in silence. Maybe for a minute, maybe for an hour. Kenma couldn’t really tell.
“I’m going to go to my room.” He announced weakly, shuffling slowly towards the stairs. His parents didn’t press him.
He dove underneath his covers, inhaling Kuroo’s scent again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pretended Kuroo was lying next to him instead of driving a hundred miles away into an unknown world that he wasn’t a part of.
He hoped Kuroo read the letter soon.
+
Kuroo settled into his unfamiliar bed in his unfamiliar room that he shared with an unfamiliar person, a wrinkled envelope in his lap. Gently, he tore it open and shook the contents out - a folded sheet of paper appeared, as well as a small golden ring.
His eyes watered for what felt like the thousandth time that day.
He unfolded the paper.
Dear Kuro,
By the time you’re reading this, you’re probably sitting in your brand new dorm room, already perfectly unpacked and organized. I hope your roommate is nice. I hope you don’t show him too many photographs of me.
I’m sure you’ve already seen my gift included in the envelope. It would mean a lot to me if you wore it. I know we aren’t getting married for like nine more years (according to your master plan), but I thought that it might be nice. To get you a ring. Don’t feel the need to go out and get one for me too. I don’t need one. I already know how much you want to be with me forever.
Anyways, I just wanted to tell you how much you mean to me. I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but you really are the most important thing in the world to me. I am who I am because of you. You’ve seen me and all of my parts; when I was young and innocent and bony. I’m still bony now, but I was more bony then. You know I’ve always been a picky eater. You’ve seen me when I was all sweaty and awkward and my ears were too big for my face. When I got zits all over my chin and my back and my butt. Do you remember that? Zits. On my ass. Till I was fifteen years old. We literally had sex while I had zits on my ass. Don’t tell anyone about that, by the way. Just tell people we have normal people sex.
I’m writing this letter because I know I’m not going to be able to say much the morning you leave. I won’t have the words then. I think I have the words now.
God, I’m going to miss you so much. I’ve been beyond lucky to have you by my side for over ten years and now you’re gone and I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do, if I’m being honest. If I cried a lot when you left, know that I ate some ice cream and got over myself. But I think there’s a chance I might not cry. Not because I’m not sad, but because I’ll be feeling too much to show it. Sometimes I feel like my body is too small to carry all of my emotions. And I can’t cry even though I’m sad.
But you know all of this, because you know everything about me. You know all of my favorite foods and my biggest fear and even my damn lorazepam dosage. You know how to make me feel good. You know how to cheer me up even when I don’t know what to do to make myself feel better. And for all of that, Kuro, I’m so grateful. So thankful.
I don’t know why I’m so sad that you’re leaving, logically speaking; you’re not dying, I’ll get to see you over holiday breaks and we have these incredible devices called cellphones. You’re only three hours away. I guess I just know it’ll be different, and I’m scared. I'm afraid of changing and I’m afraid of you changing. I think a teeny-tiny part of me is still worried that you’re going to meet someone else and be happy with them. But I’m going to tell that teeny part to shut up, so no need to tell me yourself.
I’m terrible with words so I’ll end this soon. Please have fun and don’t worry too much about things going on back home. I’ll take care of your mother. The team is in good hands. Tora will look out for me.
I love you more than anything in the world and I’m excited for you to begin this next level of your life. I’ll miss you like crazy. I love you. Work hard, okay? Make me proud (not that you’ve ever not made me proud before). I love you. I can’t wait to marry you one day. I love you.
Call me tomorrow, if you can. If you can’t, that’s okay too. I love you.
Love,
Kenma
Kuroo wiped at his eyes, laughing softly at the words that were convoluted and raw and so utterly Kenma. He slipped the ring onto his finger and examined it in the dim lighting of his dorm room. Gently, he tucked the letter into a nearby book for safekeeping before tucking himself into bed. He turned off the lights. He closed his eyes. He wondered what Kenma was doing right now, if he was tucked into his bed too. If he was already asleep. Maybe, Kuroo thought, he was up playing games. Maybe he was taking one of his late night showers. Or possibly, he was lying awake still, thinking about the same things Kuroo was (as usual). This time, though, he was a hundred miles away.