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Kenma was surprised to find the first little bit of Kuroo being back to be awkward. They’d been friends for more than a decade, spent countless hours together, and it’s not like they stopped talking by any means, they practically texted each other all day every day, so why did it feel overwhelmingly awkward? It also wasn’t like Kuroo had been away at school that long, it had only been a few short months. They were able to escape Kenma’s mom’s endless barrage of (well meaning) questions and slip upstairs to his room, but once they got there, they just sat in uncomfortable silence.
“How’s your setter?” Kenma finally asked.
He watched Kuroo’s lips curl into a smile as he said, “Well, I have two. The men’s team setter is okay, I guess. The co-rec setter on the other hand is really damn good. She’s fun to play with.”
Kenma regretted asking the question. He wasn’t sure what he expected, or really, what he was wanting. Did he want Kuroo to tell him that he was bummed that his setter wasn’t as good as he was? Of course not. He didn’t want Kuroo to not enjoy volleyball. So why did it bother him that his co-rec setter was good? He couldn’t figure that out, but he also couldn’t figure out what exactly he was feeling. It was somewhat wistful? But also pointed? Could wistfulness be pointed? Doesn’t that preclude it from being wistful in the first place? There had to be a better way to describe it.
“You should make her learn how to do your time difference attack,” Kenma said, trying to keep his expression neutral, “Unless the league is more casual, I guess.”
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said excitedly, “After one of our games, she asked me if I wanted to learn how to do a time difference attack. It was like the stars aligned, man. It took us only like four tries to get it, too.”
Oh, the word he was looking for was apparently straight up jealousy. There was no two ways about it. He tried to shove it down, but it kept bubbling to the surface.
“That’s awesome, have you guys tried anything else?” Kenma asked, internally cringing at how the phrasing and tone combination came out.
“Volleyballwise? We’ve tried a few things. Since it’s just a casual league, the team doesn’t really practice, but sometimes we like to get smoothies and then fuck around in the gym for a while,” he said.
Of course Kuroo would not only want to practice for a casual league, but he also found someone who wanted to practice with him for the aforementioned league. He almost wanted to roll his eyes. It was just so on brand.
“Do you often fuck around with girls in the gym?” Kenma asked, trying to give a lighthearted laugh.
“Shut up,” he said, “But I do wish you would try to convince her to set for me like you used to. She won’t listen.”
The past tense of the sentence felt like a stab to Kenma’s chest, but why? He didn’t play volleyball with Kuroo anymore and hadn’t for months.
“What’s wrong with the way she does it?” Kenma asked, even though he decided he’d probably regret that question, too.
“She sets too high and too far away from the net and insists it’s a better set for me, but she’s wrong,” Kuroo said, “Even though I don’t really care for the men’s setter, he at least sets the ball where I like it.”
Kenma felt another emotion overtake the jealously. Irritation. She was absolutely correct and not only did Kenma know that, but it also pissed him off.
“She’s right. You should let her do it,” Kenma said, even though he didn’t want to admit it.
“What do you mean she’s right? It’s harder for me to hit them,” he argued.
“You’re in a casual co-rec league so you don’t necessarily need to prioritize speed to get around blocks. By setting the ball up and away from the net she’s giving you more time and room to think before hitting. Even though it’s not really an MB play style, she probably noticed you pick up on things easily and wanted to get you to expand your skillset even more. Once you get used to the timing, I think you’ll actually enjoy the freedom it gives you,” Kenma pointed out, still agitated that she figured it out that quickly.
She must be paying a lot of attention to him. Of course she was, he was her hitter. Why wouldn’t she? That’s literally her job to analyze her players. It pissed him off either way.
“I don’t know about that,” Kuroo said.
“If you didn’t fall in love with blocking, you’d probably make a better wingspiker. Your defense is plenty good enough and you’re smart enough and strong enough for the position.”
It was something that Kenma had been thinking about for a long time. It wasn’t that Kuroo was slow. He wasn’t, not by a long shot, but sometimes he thought that Kuroo would have made a really good ace if he wanted to be. He was really dependable and would be able to pull off the skills needed. It was something he already knew, but it became even more glaringly obvious after how he stepped up in the Nohebi game in prelims. Kenma would have even suggested it if he didn’t notice how much Kuroo loved blocking.
“I’m not sure about that,” Kuroo said, pondering it over.
“I’ve been thinking it for years,” Kenma said with a shrug, “It’s just a for fun league, so do what you think is fun, but I don’t think it’d be a bad idea.”
“I guess I’ll think about it. Wait, do you want to try it with me?” he asked.
Kenma didn’t. He realized this, but then he was confused. He was just jealous a minute ago that he was no longer the one setting to him, so why wouldn’t he want to set. Oh. He felt like a cartoon character stepping on a rake and having it smack him in the face. He didn’t want to be Kuroo’s setter. He wanted to be his boyfriend.
This shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. He’d been thinking about Kuroo almost constantly. Missing Kuroo almost constantly. Mentally making plans for things he wanted to do with Kuroo almost constantly. He dismissed the thought of it being anything but a normal reaction to being apart from a really close best friend. Self awareness, particularly around emotions, was not his strong suit.
“I think it’s supposed to rain in a bit, but we could give it a go if you wanted,” Kenma said with a shrug.
“Really?” Kuroo asked, taken a back.
“Yes, really,” Kenma said.
“No way,” he said, a grin appearing on his face, “You’re the best.”
Kuroo wished they had a real net, but their makeshift net made out of two poles and a long rope was around the right height, so it’d be good enough.
He was acutely aware of Kenma’s eyes on him. Kenma said he needed to get used to his spike again, so they were doing a couple warmup ones to get back into the swing of it. He knew what Kenma was doing, watching his movements, analyzing his actions. It only took him a few hits before Kenma declared they could start trying the new set. The analytical gaze only got more aggressive as they switched to the new setting style. Kuroo was really hoping that Kenma would look at him with something else in his eyes.
He wasn’t terribly surprised when he first noticed it. He’d always had a mighty large soft spot for Kenma, but it had never been anything more than friendly, or at least he thought. Being away from Kenma made him realize that maybe the reason he’d never looked for a boyfriend or a girlfriend was because he didn’t need one. He had Kenma.
It occurred also to him that it’s not normal to think fondly about the way your friend laughs, or the way he pulls his hair back when he’s going for a swim, or the way his golden eyes are captivating, if your feelings are completely platonic.
He wasn’t bothered by the realization either. He let himself fall in love with Kenma from a distance. Kenma had started streaming to his small audience of about thirty people fairly regularly, and Kuroo was almost always one of viewers, even though he’d never tell Kenma that. He loved listening to the timbre of his voice as well as the soothing rhythm he narrated his playing with. Most of all, he loved Kenma’s brain. He loved the way Kenma flitted though endless permutations in his mind of what his next move should be. He was doing it now, quietly analyzing Kuroo’s backswing, the height of his jump, the speed of his run up.
“Either you’re distracted or you’ve been skipping leg day, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the latter,” Kenma said with a laugh, “What’s going on in your head right now?”
“Nothing. Why?” Kuroo tried to ask in a way that didn’t give himself away.
“Oh come on, I can practically see the hamster running on the wheel, and that’s not even mentioning your pathetic, little, baby jumps. Frankly, I can jump higher than you’re jumping,” he pointed out.
“Really? I didn’t notice,” he said, honestly.
“Yeah, because you’re distracted by something, and normally, I wouldn’t care, but I don’t want you to practice a bad rhythm and then have it be even harder to adapt back to your actual setter,” Kenma said.
“Interested in a bet?” Kuroo asked, before he could stop the words from coming out.
“Is that what you were thinking about?” Kenma asked.
“Not really,” he said half lying.
“Okay, name your terms,” Kenma said.
“We haven’t been bowling in a while,” Kuroo said.
“Oh, I can kick your ass at bowling any day. I’m in. What are you betting?”
“Well, I was thinking,” he started, hesitantly.
He ended up not finishing his sentence. He lost the nerve. He was a bit ashamed of himself for running away, but he couldn’t get the words out.
“Ooh, a high stakes bet, huh? It’s been awhile,” Kenma said with a smile, “Oh, I know. If I win, you have to help me get four stars on three Overcooked levels. I’ll even let you pick the levels, as I’m feeling generous.”
“Damn. That really is a high stakes bet, huh?” Kuroo said.
He did not like playing Overcooked with Kenma. Kenma was very good at the game. Kuroo was not. Sure, he was probably better than the general population due to how much Kenma whipped him into shape, but still he wasn’t close to Kenma’s level. It didn’t help that Overcooked Kenma was a little shit. When he was irritated he’d spray Kuroo with the fire extinguisher or launch food at him at an annoyingly high rate.
“If you weren’t wanting a high stakes bet, I’ll lower it, but you seemed pretty apprehensive,” Kenma reasoned.
“Im not actually sure if it matches up or not,” he admitted.
“And I’m frankly not sure how we can decide that if you don’t tell me what yours is,” Kenma pointed out.
“Hmm, fair point,” Kuroo admitted.
“So say it, genius. It can’t be that bad. What are you so worried about?” Kenma asked.
Oh nothing much, just that his best friend might never look at him the same way. He didn’t care if Kenma wasn’t interested, but he didn’t want Kenma to pull away because of it. What was he doing? He shouldn’t have said anything, but honestly? He was going back to school in two days anyway. Maybe if it ended up being super awkward it would be easier to just pretend it didn’t happen.
“I want to take you on a date if we win,” he said, deciding to be forthright about it.
“A date?” Kenma asked, his expression unreadable.
“Yeah, a date. I would like to take you on one. You can say no, obviously,” Kuroo said.
“I’m not saying no, but I do have some questions,” Kenma said slowly.
“Uh, okay, go ahead,” he encouraged nervously.
“Well, the first one is why. Is this like a joke? Or are you being serious? I guess my question is what your end goal is,” Kenma said, trying to figure him out.
“I mean, if it goes well, and you want to, I would like to take you on many dates, I think, but really, if not, there doesn’t have to be an end goal. It could just be one date,” Kuroo said, trying to sound somewhat confident.
“That’s a lot of bowling you’re going to have to win,” Kenma saw the look on his face and amended, “Sorry, I’m totally just fucking with you.”
“Great thanks for that, really,” he said sarcasm dripping in his tone.
“Alright, well what about your setter then?” Kenma continued.
“What about her?” Kuroo asked confused.
“The fact that you couldn’t stop smiling while you were talking about her.”
“Oh, I’m not into her. She’s not really my type, I guess,” he said as he shrugged.
“What is your type?” Kenma asked.
“You,” he answered honestly.
“Smooth line,” he said with a snort, “I have one last question.”
“Go for it,” he said, nervously.
“What makes it a date? I mean we go out to eat and to different places together all the time already,” he pointed out.
“You know?” Kuroo said, “That’s a fantastic point.”
“I know, right?” he said.
“It’s about the principle,” he declared.
“The principle?” Kenma asked.
“Yeah, it becomes a date, because we say it is a date, just like that,” Kuroo decided.
“Fair enough, I accept the terms. I think the rain is going to start pretty soon,” he said eyeing the sky, “Do you want to head to the alley now?”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
Kenma was a fairly good bowler for a casual bowler. He had a hypothesis that people who were actually good at bowling were weird. He felt the same way especially about people who were really good at foosball. Who is dedicating their time to becoming skilled at foosball? Weirdos, that’s who.
This wasn’t the first time they’d bowled over a bet. It had happened three or four times before. He knew he’d won at least one and lost at least one, but wasn’t sure about the others. This game had been fairly close the entire time.
While Kuroo was by no stretch of the imagination a good bowler, he at least could keep the ball on the lane every roll. Kenma couldn’t say the same. He always tried to get fancy which led to him launching it straight into the gutter.
“Nice one, genius,” Kuroo said as Kenma did just that.
“Don’t you just hate it when your best isn’t good enough,” he said with over the top faux despair.
He didn’t mean that but he wasn’t going to admit it, because he wasn’t actually doing his best. He was honestly a bit disappointed in himself for it, but he was throwing the bet. The many Kenmas of Betmas past would have been disappointed in him. They sometimes went to ridiculously long lengths to win bets, that had really low stakes, but now he was intentionally not playing well. He really wanted Kuroo to take him on a date. It had only been a few hours ago that he actually acknowledged his feelings about Kuroo, but now he couldn’t ignore them, so he was shaming his bet legacy by throwing.
It also wasn’t like he was playing bad, but he specifically wasn’t playing well. He’d not pick up spares that should have been easy for him to get. He’d occasionally put too much spin on the ball, causing it to go off course. This being said, he was still ahead of Kuroo by a few pins. He might have been throwing, but he wasn’t going to let Kuroo win that easily. At this rate he may have to just win and then ask Kuroo on a date afterwards, but for some reason that was less fun.
It was the last frame. Kenma needed seven to tie and eight to win. For some reason he was nervous. He started sweating. He could feel his heartbeat. He put a little spin on the ball and managed to knock over four. He held the next ball in his hand, thinking about what he wanted to do, and then decided he would just try to win. Maybe he would ask Kuroo on the date while he was being mopey about Overcooked.
He cracked his neck, and then tried to release the ball, but the sweat caused the ball to slip right off his fingers. It found the gutter almost immediately.
“Oops,” he said, “The sweat.”
“Really, Kenma? Again?” Kuroo asked with a laugh.
“Hey it happens, fuck off,” Kenma responded with a laugh of his own.
“So, are you busy tomorrow at five?” Kuroo asked, with a wink.
“I am actually. I have a date,” Kenma responded.
“And to think you made fun of me for the cheesy line earlier,” Kuroo said rolling his eyes.
’The dinner was good. The movie is okay so far, but was the principle really enough to make this be a date? We’ve done this plenty of times before, so what makes this a date?’ Kenma wondered.
He slid his hand over and awkwardly laced his fingers into Kuroo’s.
‘This does,’ he thought with a soft smile on his face.