Archive of Our Own

“It’s just a concussion, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor says with a frown. She’s an older woman with deep smile lines, her hair swept back into a neat bun — the sort of woman that Kuroo would pretend to hit on in front of Kenma, just to annoy him. It’s not necessarily an appropriate thought right now, but it’s what’s keeping Kuroo sane at the moment — clutching onto some semblance of normalcy.

“There was some brain swelling. We can’t know the extent of the damage until he’s awake.”

“Can a volleyball to the head really do that?” Kuroo asks in disbelief. “I mean, we played together for years and we’ve both gotten knocks to the head.” Kuroo’s gotten black eyes before but nothing so severe that he’d suffered brain damage.

“It depends. This is an unusual circumstance. He happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and hit with a ball going at a high velocity right at the most delicate part of his cranium.”

“That’s why I didn’t want him going in the first place—” a voice cuts in. Ryou, Kenma’s snivelly gamer boyfriend, death-glares Kuroo. “I told him not to go!” he insists, his face snarled and arms crossed.

Kuroo grits his teeth. “He hasn’t seen Hinata in a while, of course he would go.”

“It’s Hinata’s fault in the first place! But of course another volleyball idiot wouldn’t understand.” Ryou rolls his eyes.

Kenma stirs from the bed and the nurse steps over to check on him.

Ryou lunges for him, his sandals thwacking against the linoleum flooring, knocking the nurse over as he does. Kuroo catches her when she stumbles, smiling apologetically. Ryou grabs Kenma’s hands. “Kenma! Baby, are you okay?” Kenma yanks his hands away, his shoulders up to his ears.

“Who are you?”

“Please step away,” the doctor says sternly and Ryou seems to remember his manners, pulling away sulkily. She sits down on the edge of the bed and tilts Kenma’s chin with the tips of her fingers so that she can check his pupils with her pen light. “I’m Dr. Endo. Can you tell me your name?”

“Kozume… Kenma,” Kenma mumbles, his eyes squinted.

She clicks off her light. “That’s right. Can you tell me today’s date?”

Kenma blinks, finding Kuroo’s eyes after a few meandering seconds. His eyes are glazed over from the pain medication, but he's relieved to see recognition there when Kuroo smiles tightly at him. His brow pinches slowly and Kuroo can see the confusion clouding them again. “He’s… never been good with dates. So that might not be the best question to ask,” Kuroo pipes up quietly. Dr. Endo nods over her shoulder and squeezes Kenma’s shoulder gently.

“Kozume-san, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was playing volleyball,” Kenma says, sounding unsure.

“That’s right, you were playing volleyball,” Dr. Endo encourages. “You got hit pretty hard on the head and blacked out. You’ve been unconscious for a few hours and there was some brain swelling, so we’re going to have to run a few more tests.”

“But,” Kenma says, frowning. “I have school tomorrow… there’s an exam…” he mumbles, looking worried. “I haven’t studied.”

Exams? Is Kenma taking extra classes?

“What exams?” Ryou blurts out. Something in the back of Kuroo’s throat rises. Kenma glances at Ryou, an unnerved look in his eyes.

“Physics,” Kenma says, clutching at his bedsheets, looking smaller and smaller. No one speaks for a long time and Ryou rubs at his mouth. Kenma’s eyes flit between all three, perking up the tiniest bit. “Does this mean I get to skip it?”

“You’ve graduated already,” Ryou says, his voice cracking. Dr. Endo’s eyes harden with concern.

“Kozume-san, what year is it?”

“2012,” Kenma says.

+

Kuroo loosens his tie and sighs. His hips are starting to lock from the unforgiving plastic chair, too low to the ground for his overgrown legs.

It's been two hours. The doctor had kicked them out to run more tests and there’s nothing to do but worry. He’s sick with it, anxiety lacing itself into every muscle fiber in his body. Ryou sits a few rows away from him, though he can feel that bastard glaring at him, which is unsurprising. They’ve never been on good terms, despite how polite Kuroo’s tried to be since Ryou and Kenma started dating.

He doesn't even know if he should stay. The only reason why Kuroo had been able to come right away was because of Kenma’s voicemail.

Kuro, I think I need you to come pick me up. I think that Ryou is going to propose to me— I’m freaking out. I don’t know what to do. What do I do? Kuro—

And then he’d heard the impact of the volleyball and Kenma’s phone clattering to the ground and shouts.

Kuroo had managed to get someone on the phone to tell him which hospital they were taking Kenma to and that’s how he’d ended up, right out of work, still in his cheesy volleyball tie. He had gone without thinking, even though this is the first time that Kenma’s called him in…

Kuroo checks his phone for the date. It’s been 6 years, give or take. It’s not that they don’t talk anymore — that would be impossible, given their circle of friends and both of their work and their history. Kuroo’s not the type of person who would end a friendship, especially not his most precious friendship — but they don’t talk like they used to.

The short answer is that it’s Kuroo’s fault.

The even shorter answer is that Kuroo is a coward.

The doctor comes back out, looking grim. “Please come back tomorrow morning,” she says with a sigh and a bow.

+

When Kuroo arrives the next morning, Kenma’s boyfriend is nowhere to be found. It’s just Kenma’s parents who had to travel overnight to get here. They look older and smaller than when Kuroo remembers seeing them last. He bows deeply to them and they greet him warmly, despite the worry clear on both of their faces.

“How is he doing?”

“He’s doing alright. The doctors say the swelling has gone down, but his memory…” Mrs. Kozume frowns. “He can’t remember anything past high school.”

“I see,” Kuroo says, blinking. “Is there any chance of recovering his memory?”

“The doctors aren’t sure since memory is different from person to person. But he should be released today and she told us there’s no harm in catching him up with the present. It might be good if he goes back home and maybe something will jog his memory and will start the process naturally—”

“He’s going back home with Ryou?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

Mrs. Kozume’s smile dips a little, giving him an odd look. “Well yes, Kuroo-chan. They’re living together. You know they even bought a house together. It’s very serious.”

Kuroo ignores the tightening in his chest. “I know. I just… I think we should take it slow— with Kenma’s memory.”

“Dr. Endo assures it will be fine.”

“But they don’t know him—” Kuroo pauses, because it’s not exactly his place. He rephrases. “I think it’ll really freak him out, if he thinks he’s still a highschooler too.”

Mrs. Kozume places a gentle hand on his arm. “If he feels alarmed, we’ll pick him up right away.”

Fukunaga and Tora show up after to drop off some get-better-soon gifts and Hinata does too. It’s hard to ignore the slump in his shoulder and the bags under his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hinata like this; his energy is usually cranked up to 200 percent. “He’s really not okay?” Hinata asks, his voice thick with tears. Kuroo gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“The swelling’s gone down… It’s just his memory for now.” Hinata nods, his hands sealed tightly together, holding all of his guilt in his fist. He must feel like it’s his fault, but who could predict something like this when it’s just a hazard of the job?

“Will he remember me?” Hinata asks, voice quiet.

“He knew who Yamamoto and Fukunaga were, so maybe. They’re not really letting anyone else in today except for his immediate family. And—”

“Okaa-san, Otou-san,” Ryou calls out, annoyingly on cue. He’s carrying a duffel bag and Kenma’s hoodie over his arm. Mrs. Kozume smiles brightly, stepping away from Kuroo so she can pull Ryou in for a warm hug. “Did he ask for me?” he asks, squeezing her to his side.

“No, but I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. The both of you,” she adds, glancing over at Kuroo as an afterthought.

Right.

They let Ryou in first. Kuroo waits his turn.

+

Hinata goes home without seeing Kenma and they finally let Kuroo in the second time Kenma wakes up to take his medication. He looks tiny and pallid, and his unwashed hair a mess from where they’d bandaged part of his head.

Kenma watches him as he comes in, his pale yellow eyes clearer than they were a few days ago, which Kuroo’s relieved about. “Kuro,” Kenma greets, his voice barely a blip over the other blips of his heart monitor. He’s glad that Ryou’s not here.

“Hi,” Kuroo hugs his arms tighter to himself, in a self-soothing motion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to go home. I’m tired and when I’m awake, they won’t let me look at my phone or have bright screens, cause it still hurts my head.”

“Ah.”

Kenma shrugs, fiddling with the edge of his sheet before he looks up, eyes sharp when he says, “Can you come closer?”

Kuroo clears his throat. He’d been hovering at the door, but he forces a smile and comes to sit in the plastic chair next to the bed. “Uh, alright. Do you need anything?”

Kenma shakes his head slowly, wincing as he does. He scrutinizes Kuroo quietly, mapping out Kuroo’s whole face for at least a minute or more. Kuroo coughs into his fist. “Something on my face?” he jokes, his fingers tapping an unsteady beat against his forearm. Kenma keeps looking at him warily.

“No. It’s just — you look like Kuro. But…” Kenma wrinkles his nose — “I saw you yesterday and you were regular Kuro. What did you do to your hair?”

“Huh?” Kuroo slides his hand through the top. “Tobio’s sister taught me how to use hair product,” he adds, slightly embarrassed by it. Kenma’s never commented on his hair before, but he guesses that this must be a completely new sight for Kenma.

“Tobio? Kageyama?”

“Yeah. I work with her sometimes — uh, I’m on the Japanese Volleyball Association and sometimes we do ads together, so she’ll style the volleyball guys’ hair for promotional shots.” They also dated very, very briefly, but Kenma doesn’t know that — present or past.

“You’re not playing volleyball?”

Kuroo grins. “I played in college, but it wasn’t the same as playing on Nekoma, so I decided to do this instead.”

“And… we’re still friends,” Kenma says, mostly to himself, sounding like he’s fading away from the pain medication.

Kuroo hides a wince. Kenma’s eyelids flutter drowsily. “Yeah, we’re friends,” Kuroo agrees.

“I’m glad,” Kenma says, before falling asleep.

+

Kenma feels awkward in clothes that are apparently his, but he has no recollection of buying or owning. It’s just a hoodie, a few sizes too big so that he drowns in the soft fabric. He plays with the little ‘B’ logo on the sleeve that Ryou told him was his ‘brand.’

Kenma is apparently twenty-three years old, is a multimillionaire, owns his own company and has a gamer boyfriend.

Kenma, who was seventeen just yesterday, feels like an imposter — dropped into a savepoint of someone else’s life.

“Here,” Ryou says, opening the door of an old style house. “You can shower and maybe if you’re feeling okay we can do a quick stream to let your viewers know you’re okay.”

“Right,” he says, feeling nervous now. He’s only recently picked up streaming in a more serious way. Maybe a handful of bored college students will watch him play, but it’s just that — it’s manageable. He doesn’t think that millions of followers is manageable right now.

“Yeah, you’ve already skipped a day. People will start to talk, you know? Just better to keep things normal.”

“But—”

“Baby,” Ryou coos and pauses when Kenma physically finches at the nickname. Kenma doesn’t think he likes being called that. Can’t picture anyone calling him baby and him being okay with it.

“Kenma,” Ryou says again, softer this time. “I just know you, and you’d be so upset with yourself for breaking your streak. You’ve streamed every day for the past five years. I’m honestly amazed I’m having to convince you right now, since it’s usually the opposite! Sometimes I have to convince you to do a shorter stream just so you’ll spend time with me.” He laughs.

“I just don’t think…”

“The doctor said doing your normal routine might help you remember something, so that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go set it up and I’ll be right there with you. Go shower,” he says, stepping closer, brushing Kenma’s bangs out of his face. Kenma flinches, hating the touch, and steps back, his stomach sinking. There’s a tug at his inguinal line — the sharpening of anxiety.

Kenma has a panic attack in the shower, but that was to be expected. He lets it pass, the shower steam and the rhythm of the water on his back grounding him so it’s not full blown dry heaving — still bad, but nothing he can’t handle on his own.

When he steps out, he stares at himself for a long time in the mirror. His hair is long and his eyebags have gotten worse with age. He looks kind of shitty. Otherwise, he looks sort of the same, less baby fat around his cheeks. It’s him, just six years into the future.

In the life he knows, it’s just volleyball, Kuroo and afterschool snacks. He has an exam on Monday he’s been putting off because a week ago on February 26th, 2012, Kuroo told Kenma that he loved him and Kenma hasn’t been able to think about much else since.

Though he guesses, if he has a boyfriend now, it must not have worked out — he doesn’t know why it stings so much, but it does.

After, he does as suggested; he streams — though he asks Ryou to turn off the chat view so it’s just him and a game. His body goes into autopilot and he’s surprised by his reflexes, proof of the years he’s spent gaming. He says nothing as he plays, just navigates through a few worlds for maybe thirty minutes before his eyes feel like they’ll sink into his head and the lingering migraine increases intensity.

Ryou shuts off the system for him and then hovers. Kenma tries his hardest not to be on edge, but every single part of his body is on high alert with this stranger.

“We should go to bed,” Ryou suggests and Kenma freezes.

“Together?”

Ryou looks hurt when he does, mouth pinching. “Well, yeah.”

“I can’t. I — don’t know you.” Which is the wrong thing to say, because Ryou goes from hurt to shattered. “I’m sorry,” Kenma says, licking his lips. He knows he should know who Ryou is. He saw their toothbrushes in the bathroom side by side, which ironically was the thing he focused on to ground himself. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he insists. “Or… maybe I should—”

+

Kenma runs away.

Or, he runs back home to his parents for a few days. They call Kuroo over, which makes Kenma spiral further.

He doesn’t know if he wants to see him or not — this Kuroo who is older, who uses hair product and doesn’t play volleyball and who, from Kenma’s phone records, hasn’t talked to Kenma for almost two months. The majority of their conversations on LINE have been short and transactional. Either a few memes here or there, or mostly talk about work, since Kenma still keeps involved in V League by sponsoring his friends.

What happened?

Was it his fault?

Kuroo shows up in casual clothes, which makes him look less unfamiliar than he did the other day at the hospital. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Kenma says, frowning. It’s still weird seeing him like this — older and taller — but being around him doesn’t make panic prickle his skin, so he sags a little in relief.

“I hope it’s okay that I came. Your mom called… and my parents wanted to come see you too.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kenma says, twisting the piece of lint in his hoodie pocket. “Do you want to come up?”

+

Kuroo can’t remember the last time he was in Kenma’s room, but it hasn’t changed much from high school. Kenma seems more at ease here too, though he keeps glancing curiously at Kuroo, watching him with a contemplative, hard to read look.

“Are you starting to remember anything?” Kuroo asks and Kenma shakes his head, his eyes dipping away like they used to in high school. He tucks his knees up to his chest. The movement is so achingly familiar that it catches Kuroo off guard. Seeing him like this is bizarre, like he really is talking to a high school Kenma who still moves like he’s unsure of himself and has a propensity for making himself as small as possible.

Kenma’s become more sure of himself over the years, less worried about what people think about him since he started gaming seriously. He knows vaguely that Ryou’s probably helped Kenma get out of his shell and manage his fame, and — fuck, they’re gonna get married. Ryou’s gonna marry him. Kuroo slides a hand down his face.

At least, Kenma called him. There’s a small part of him that’s satisfied that he’s still the one who gets a call when Kenma really needs someone. Still, it probably doesn’t matter in the long run. Of course Kenma would panic at a big change, but that doesn’t mean he was going to say no.

Kuroo sighs, tired of his own overthinking. He dives to his knees to search for the game console he knows is shoved under Kenma’s bed.

They play a few rounds of Smash Bros. and he’s surprised by how quickly they fall back into their groove, despite not having done this for years. Kuroo takes the opportunity to watch Kenma out of the corner of his eye — brows pinched in concentration, his dark bangs curtaining his face and sometimes obscuring him from Kuroo’s glances.

Kuroo’s heart squeezes one ventricle at a time. He’s just missed Kenma. He knows that this is his fault for saying anything in the first place when he knew better. He should have been happy with what they had and now it’s hitting him that he’s spent six years without being able to just watch Kenma like this, just getting to be with him.

You can’t fuck this up again, Tetsurou. Be the best damn friend he’ll ever have, he thinks to himself. He has to do better than he has been, that’s for sure.

“You have to go back at some point, you know,” Kuroo says, staring at the blinking cursor over the Choose your fighter! menu.

Kenma sighs, tossing his controller aside, and pulls his knees back up to his chest. “I don’t want to. I don’t know what to do when I’m there.”

“That’s your house, though. You live there,” Kuroo says, smiling wryly. Kuroo had helped them move in, along with the rest of the Nekoma team and a few of Ryou’s vtuber friends. It was the most bizarre moment, packing Kenma’s things into a truck so he could watch Kenma and his boyfriend unpack their boxes together.

“Ryou kept telling me and showing me things I like, but I don’t remember any of it and it makes me feel — it’s like that’s someone else’s life. So if I stay here with my parents, with things I remember, it doesn’t make me feel like… I’m a skinwalker.”

Kuroo snorts, grinning a little over Kenma’s light pout. He shoves his foot against Kenma’s ankle once. “Kenma, you’re not an imposter.” Though, he gets it.

“What if I never get my memories back. How am I supposed to live with a stranger?” Kenma looks at him, his pale yellow eyes heavy with worry. A curtain of his bangs falls in front of his eyes and Kuroo wants to reach out to brush it back, but he doesn’t, just keeps his grip on the controller and watches Kenma from afar.

“You’ll get them back,” Kuroo says, though he doesn’t sound convinced himself, voice dipping.

“What if I don’t? And I’m stuck like this?”

“Then,” Kuroo says, tapping his fingers on the controller. “You’ll still be fine. We— you’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?” Kenma sounds suspicious and Kuroo swallows, looking away from Kenma’s intense gaze. Briefly, Kuroo worries that Kenma remembers something —

“Hey, let’s go somewhere,” Kuroo pivots.

+

‘Somewhere’ is the field by the bridge that they played at as kids. It looks exactly like how Kenma remembers it from a few days ago, except maybe the graffiti on the bridge and the overgrown grass is different. But it’s really not different at all. Kenma looks at the spot where Kuroo told him — Kenma’s stomach somersaults uncomfortably and Kuroo picks up on it, looking seriously as he bumps his shoulder to Kenma.

“I’m fine,” Kenma says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He shakes his head automatically to get his bangs out of his eyes and stares at the ugly rusted pipe jutting out from the concrete. He’s confused about what happened between them. Could he really not return Kuroo’s feelings and then they just drifted apart? He wants to know so badly, but if he asks, he’ll ruin the timeline or something — even though he knows it’s not time-travel.

He can start somewhere easier, maybe, to piece it together.

Kenma bites his lip. “Did you really stop playing volleyball?”

“I still play for fun,” Kuroo says with a shrug.

“But… it’s all you talk about. I mean — from what I remember.”

“Yeah, it was all I thought about, but reality kind of… I got to meet some of my volleyball heroes and none of them were as excited about their careers as I thought they’d be, so it was discouraging. It’s changing now that Shrimpy and Bokuto and a few people we played against are pros now, but at that time, it just felt like I’d end up like these old guys, in it for the money. I didn’t want to do that, you know? Volleyball is supposed to be fun — I mean, it’s the best! I want people, young kids, to know it’s the best!”

Kenma finds himself smiling a little, watching Kuroo getting heated over it. He really is still a volleyball nerd, so that hasn’t changed. That’s good. The other thing he should find out is—

“How did I meet… Ryou?”

“Ah,” Kuroo says, looking away. “I don’t actually know that.”

“Why?”

“Because you never told me,” Kuroo says, grimacing. Is that one of their rules? They just don’t talk about Kenma having a boyfriend?

“Why?” Kenma asks again, frustration tensing his jaw. If Kenma had a boyfriend right now, he’d tell Kuroo, even though it seems impossible to him. Having a boyfriend… liking someone is an unknown variable and makes his skin feel itchy with anxiety.

“I don’t know,” Kuroo says, softly. “But —” Kuroo continues. “I think you should ask him yourself.”

+

You should give it a try with Ryou.

That’s what Kuroo had told him before he left and so Kenma listens and walks right back off the plank into the unfamiliar embrace of Ryou.

Ryou’s more careful around Kenma this time, less hovering and keeping his distance. He’s clearly been holding back and has set up a second bedroom so Kenma doesn’t go running again.

His attention’s a little overwhelming — something Kenma isn’t used to at all. He’d worked hard to try and impress Kenma this morning by making breakfast, but failing miserably; the tamago had stuck and burned to the sides, so there was no recovering the pan when Ryou accidentally scraped off the non-stick layer with a fork. It had made Kenma smile a little since he was so embarrassed and apologetic.

Kenma decides to ask after their takeout boxes are emptied. “How did we meet?”

Ryou sticks his fork into a kiwi, a fond smile on his face.

“We met at a gaming convention. I’d been your fan, even before I auditioned for my v-tubing group. I mean, your gaming is seriously incredible and I liked your humor and… I thought you were cute,” Ryou says with a grin. It makes Kenma’s ears hot. Cute? He’s never been called that so boldly before.

“I finally had the courage to talk to you after a panel and we exchanged LINEs. We had a lot in common, so it was really easy.”

“Easy?” Kenma asks in disbelief. He scrapes his nail against his palm, brow scrunching. “I’m not easy to talk to.”

“You are to me. It’s always been easy and we get along really well. The only thing we don’t share an interest in is… volleyball. Ugh. I couldn’t believe it was something you did and were into.” Ryou swirls his spoon in his custard, his expression darkening. “It’s my fault you got hit in the head. You were dreading it, but you were forcing yourself to go, even though…” Ryou huffs. This seems to be a sore spot for Ryou and Kenma’s brow lifts. “When we met, you said you wanted to stop the whole… volleyball thing. But that guy—”

“Kuro?”

Ryou grits his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes with his dislike for Kuroo. “Convinced you to help sponsor the games, so you couldn’t get away from it, even though you said you were tired of waiting for things to change, so you’d make the change yourself and start focusing more on your career.”

So Kenma was trying to stop volleyball and Kuroo kept him involved by the sponsorship, and that does sound like something Kuroo would do. He’s always been very persuasive.

“So you… asked me out eventually?” Kenma asks hesitantly.

Ryou’s frown melts away into a bright smile. “Actually, you kissed me!”

“I did?” Kenma blinks, cheeks heating.

“Yes! We were drinking one night and it was — I’ll never forget it. It was February 26th, 2015, and you kissed me.”

The color drains from his face, because knowing himself, he knows exactly why he kissed Ryou on that date — because he was probably thinking about that and couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“We’ve been together ever since,” Ryou says, his fingers brushing over the back of Kenma’s hand. Kenma’s stomach unsettles and he pulls away to throw up his breakfast in the sink.

+

February 26th was an ordinary day. They headed straight to the bridge after school, which had become a part of their ritual again. This place was their hallowed ground, even if it was just a small patch of dirt filled with their forgotten candy wrappers. They snacked on soft breads and did their homework for a while, half-listening to a rerun game of Japan vs. Poland that was playing quietly on Kuroo’s phone. It felt as normal as it could be, even though Kuroo’s graduation loomed ahead and Kenma could tell that Kuroo was anxious about it.

The sun was starting to set, so everything was golden yellow when Kuroo spoke up.

“Hey, Kenma.” Kenma looked up. The way he said his name made him pay attention for some reason, even though he usually missed the first two times Kuroo called him. He eyed the side of Kuroo’s face. His sideburns were a little overgrown and he had a small patch of pimples under his chin where he also couldn’t shave and he had the gravest expression on his face.

“I like you,” he said without looking over. The wind picked up one of their candy wrappers and blew it downstream. Kuroo inhaled shakily, his lips curling. “I actually think I love you.”

Kenma stared — just stared and kept staring until Kuroo finally looked over with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, but don’t worry about it — you don’t have to say anything. Nothing has to change, but I just needed to say it.”

+

“Have you ever heard of the literary term ‘unreliable narrator’?”

Kenma nods, squeezing his fingers around the bottom edge of his hoodie. The psychiatrist’s office is a lot less sterile than he envisioned. It looks more like someone’s living room and he sinks into the warm, comfortable brown lounge chair as Dr. Shimada smiles at him, lacing her elegant fingers together.

“When it comes to memories and the storage of memories, there is no narrator more unreliable than the human brain,” she continues.

“That’s comforting,” Kenma says quietly, rubbing the soft edge of his sleeve with his thumb.

“It can be.” She smiles. “Sometimes our memories hide themselves away if they’re too painful to deal with and sometimes memories stick harder to the forefront of our mind so we can work through a problem. Sometimes you can even feel ‘stuck’ on something and it might make it harder to move on.”

Kenma squeezes the armchair and shifts in his seat and her eyes glint briefly.

“My job isn’t to ask you about the arbitrary, insignificant day to day moments. I won’t even ask you about your very first memory, because memories are like dreams. We aren’t expected to remember all of our dreams, so I won’t expect you to remember all of your memories.”

Kenma sighs in relief and she smiles widely at him.

“For me, the important thing isn’t to “recover” your memories. The important thing is that you are okay with the memories we can uncover and don’t feel lost while making new ones. I want to get to the memories that are yours, that are meaningful to you. How does that sound?”

Kenma slowly nods his head.

“Great, let’s get started then. How are you doing today, Kenma-kun?”

Kenma shrugs. He hadn’t done much of anything, really, too paralyzed by this appointment.

“Let me rephrase that. What has been on your mind the most today?”

The question is heavy, because there’s been too much on his mind and it’s hard to parse out. He licks his lips, thinking about how disjointed the past week has been. He must take too long to answer, because Dr. Shimada leans forward, her comfortable leather chair squeaking as she does.

“How about just the past hour?” She smiles encouragingly and Kenma bites the inside of his lip.

“This session.”

“How did you feel about this session?”

A familiar spike in his gut. “Nervous.”

“What about it made you nervous?”

“Being… asked too many questions.” It isn’t a dig at her and he exhales when she lets out a soft laugh.

“About yourself or about your memories?”

He scrunches his brows. Memories, definitely… but —

“Both.”

“And I think that makes sense. I’m sure everyone’s already asking you lots of questions.”

He nods, dropping his gaze down to his hands. “And having to ask questions back. And everyone’s expecting me to… be the Kenma that they know.”

She hums. “Let’s make a list. Don’t think about anyone else when you’re doing this, just yourself. Forget all of their assumptions and expectations. Make a list for yourself — all of the things you like, all of the things you don’t like, what you hope for in the next month.”

+

Kenma makes lists.

The things he knows about himself that don't make him spin into existential questions are this: he likes videogames, he still likes sweets, he’s still anxious and awkward and sometimes too competitive. Are these his core traits that make him ‘Kenma’?

What are the things you want to find out?

Ryou gets busier with rehearsals for a live event coming up with his v-tubing group, so Kenma spends his time investigating the house. There aren’t many pictures around, because he’s not a very sentimental person and that doesn’t seem to have changed with his age. There are a few photos with Nekoma as a team, and then a few with what seems to be Ryou’s gamer friends. The weirdest part is looking at himself in these photos, at how neutral his face is in most of them.

“Are you even happy?” he asks aloud, frowning. He wishes he could ask himself and he tries to think of anything, tries to recognize any of these faces or the phone conversations with Ryou, but it’s all a blank.

Kenma writes it down. Are you happy?

+

“Kuro, can I stay with you?”

Kuroo’s caught off guard, a spoon halfway to his mouth. The cereal slips from the spoon, plopping into the milk and splashes on his hand. “Uh. I — Ryou,” Kuroo stutters.

“I can’t.” Kenma curls up his fist tightly and then digs the heel of his palm into his eye. “I don’t remember anything and Dr. Shimada thinks it’s bad for my sleep.”

He almost opens his mouth to gently remind Kenma it’s only been a few sessions — it hasn’t even been two months yet, so he might start remembering things soon. But then Kenma keeps going, the slump in his shoulders more severe than usual as he does.

“I know I have… work because of my calendar schedule and I can’t stay at home with my parents, because they’re too far from the office. He’s nice and it makes me anxious because I think I’m making him sad that I’m not his Kenma.”

Kenma puffs his cheeks out and finally looks at Kuroo — the first time he has this whole time. “Can I stay?”

“Okay, yeah,” Kuroo says, like an idiot.

An idiot who has a second chance to fix things.

+

Kenma mumbles a soft apology when the edge of his box accidentally pushes into Kuroo’s back hard enough to make him yelp. He rubs the sore spot and rushes to open the door, flicking on the light to the genkan. Kuroo shuffles off his shoes, toes popping when he steps on to the warm wood floors.

“Well, this is it,” Kuroo says, gesturing with his whole arm. “Make yourself comfortable?”

His apartment isn’t anything to brag about, but it does its job and it’s big enough for his stature, which was important. There’s also just enough room for two, since Kuroo had opted for a smaller kitchen with just a single hot plate in order to squeeze an at-home office into the living space. But now that Kenma’s moving in, he had packed the desk and replaced it with a twin daybed he struggled to assemble yesterday.

Kenma takes a look around, setting his last box into the corner of the daybed. His eyes glitter with curiosity as he takes a cautious turn on his heel. It’s still mid morning, so sunlight flits in from the window and the light catches Kenma’s profile, the flat bridge of his nose and his yellow-green eyes.

Beautiful.

Kuroo swallows, heart suspending for a moment at how Kenma fits in his space. Kenma catches him staring and raises his brow, something shifting in his eyes as he thinks. Slowly, he stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket and sighs.

“I don’t think my gaming system is going to fit in here.”

+

Akaashi’s expression is full of silent judgment.

“What?” Kuroo asks, loosening his tie. He pulls his face away from the grill and watches a droplet of fat drip into the fire below.

“So, he’s just going to live with you?” Akaashi asks, sipping daintily at his beer. “For how long?”

“He didn’t say.”

“What about Ryou?”

“I guess they’re taking a break right now,” Kuroo says diplomatically, even though he can barely control the faint tug at the corners of his mouth. He clears his throat and uses his metal chopstick to scrape the wire rack of its blackening meat crust. When he looks up again, Akaashi lifts a brow.

“You better practice that in the mirror. You look way too happy.”

+

Kuroo checks his watch.

“We should try that bar that Masada-kun suggested, right? You coming this time, Kuroo-san?”

“Ah, sorry, I can’t.”

“What? It’s been so long since you’ve come out with us! Just this once shouldn’t hurt, right?”

“I really can’t,” Kuroo says, smiling when the long hand runs over the 12 on his watch. He clocks out, right at 5pm and waves his coworkers goodbye, rushing down the steps of JVA to catch the next train. They have a routine now and it begins by Kuroo grabbing dinner after work.

Kuroo stops by the konbini on his way home, grabbing three meals and a few snacks that he really shouldn’t be eating anymore at this age and skids into his genkan.

“I’m home!” he calls out, clumsily kicking out of his shoes.

“Why are you so loud?” Kenma spins in his gaming chair, hands in his pockets as he watches Kuroo with a semi-amused smile.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘welcome home’!” Kuroo insists, setting down the plastic bag full of goodies. Kenma huffs a soft, annoyed sound and comes to join Kuroo, rooting around the back for a snack. He’s just showered and his hair is still wet and split evenly down the middle, revealing a perfect patch of pale scalp down to the whorl at the top right. Kuroo imagines leaning down and burying his nose there where he must smell like Kuroo’s shampoo. He doesn’t, of course.

“Kuro.”

“Hm?” Kuroo’s gaze breaks away from the line of his hair, down to Kenma’s scrunched face.

“You’re being weird,” Kenma says, looking up at him with one eye squinted. He starts to tear into his package of strawberry milk cake, instead of the perfectly good pre-packaged dinner that Kuroo had gotten for him. Kuroo plucks the cake out of his hands.

“This is for after dinner.” He punctuates each word with a shake of his hand.

Kenma scowls at him. “I’m not that hungry.”

“So you’re going to eat cake for dinner?”

“Yes.” Kenma makes a move for the cake, but Kuroo just keeps it out of his reach. Kenma gives up immediately since he knows there’s no way he can reach Kuroo’s wingspan, even if he jumps. He ‘tsks,’ crossing his arms. “You’re so annoying. Why can’t I have cake for dinner? I’m twenty-three, aren’t I? Ryou never said anything if I ate just cake for dinner.”

Kuroo blinks, his arm lowering as his stomach drops into his knees. “Ryou? Did you remember… something?”

Kenma pauses for a moment, considering Kuroo. “Not a full one… more like a dream or something. But then again, even from when I was with him for those few days, I could tell he really liked me and always did whatever I wanted. Like he always wanted me to have the sense that he’s ‘easy-going,’ even though I don’t think that’s true.”

Kuroo’s pulse races and he exhales in relief. “Got it. Well, I’m still not going to let you eat cake for dinner. At least have some rice.”

Kenma huffs again, but takes the box reluctantly. Kenma picks a video at random — just youtube fanmade compilations of himself. They’ve been calling it research, since there might be a chance that Kenma’s memories will start coming back, piece by piece. It was something his psychiatrist suggested, even though Kenma hates looking at his own face.

They settle side by side onto Kenma’s bed to face his computer monitors. They had managed to squeeze some of Kenma’s gaming stuff into the apartment. In fact, Kenma’s stuff has started to overtake the entire place, sprawling out into the bathroom and even Kuroo’s room, but it’s a compromise that Kuroo’s more than willing to make. He eyes the stack of Kenma’s laundry in the corner, something he’ll get onto him about later, even though he likes the reminders that Kenma’s here with him.

Kuroo snaps out of his revelry, leaning back on the pile of pillows. “This one’s a good one.”

“You watch these?” Kenma asks, glancing over at him, a disgusted look on his face that makes Kuroo bark laugh.

“Well, yeah.” He grins, his smile softening when it was the only way I could keep up with you crosses his mind.

Kenma looks back to the video, cheeks slightly pink. “Embarrassing,” he mumbles. They watch the compilation ‘Kenma’s best Valorant moments.’ Kuroo knows shit all about video games, but he knows how good Kenma is, just by the amount of oneshots he manages in the first three minutes, all with a calm, cool face. They watch a few other videos, even a few videos of Ryou’s v-tubing compilations, because Kenma had said he wanted to know what sort of person Ryou was. Even though Kuroo doesn’t like him, he has to admit that Ryou’s charismatic and good at his job. He’s got a huge audience and ranks as one of the highest paid v-tubers in Japan. He was able to afford a house with Kenma, and Kuroo looks around his tiny apartment in comparison, wondering if Kenma hates it.

Kenma only eats a quarter of his rice before he sets it aside and curls up again, a strange look in his eyes. He lets the video finish playing and bites his lip.

“Kuro,” Kenma starts. Kuroo’s neck prickles in warning, gut wrenching with nerves — hearing his name said like that is usually never a good thing, so he braces himself, cleaning the end of his chopsticks with his teeth. “Were you really busy? I mean…did we get too busy for each other?”

“Ah.” Kenma tilts his gaze up, reading Kuroo with a hard look.

“I’ve looked through our LINE conversations and they’re all… regular conversations. But it seems like we don’t meet up that much.” Kenma picks at a piece of fuzz gathering at the seam of his knee.

“That’s probably… a little bit true,” Kuroo says with a wince. “But, it’s not because I wanted to, or anything! It’s just—” Life got in the way, which isn’t what he wants to say either, because he never wanted life to get in the way of him and Kenma, it just… happened. He let it happen. “It’s been busy for the both of us,” he adds, lamely, knowing it doesn’t make up for all of his choices.

Kenma seems to see right through it, his lips downturning.

“Do I see everyone else?”

“Sort of. Yaku’s in Russia now.” Kenma’s eyes widen in surprise. “I know, right? He got scouted and decided to go. Lev’s still here — he’s modeling, as I’m sure you’ve probably seen by now. I don’t keep up with my juniors as much, but I know you’re still pretty close with Fukunaga and Yamamoto.”

“Can we… see everyone?”

+

“I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but this has kind of been nice,” Tora mentions offhandedly, a can of a disgusting energy drink in his hand. They’re watching Lev talk animatedly at Kenma and it’s a funny scene — Lev towering over Kenma who looks disgruntled to be listening to whatever stupid shit that he has to say.

Kuroo’s apartment is definitely not big enough for this many people gathered, but what was supposed to be a small get together ended up being almost the entire Nekoma team and more — everyone who had been concerned about Kenma and hadn’t gotten a chance to see him yet — all squeezed into his apartment. It was good timing for Yaku too, who had just arrived yesterday for a match.

“Like, of course it’s bad that Kenma has amnesia, but it’s kind of… nice that he has time for us again,” Tora continues.

Yaku smacks the back of Tora’s head and Tora sputters, holding the back of his head. “Senpai!” he shouts, affronted.

“Don't say things like that. This is really serious,” Yaku says with a stern face, hands on his hips. Kuroo’s lips curl into a smirk.

“I'm not saying it's not! But don’t you agree, Kuroo-san? I mean, even you don’t get to see him that much! That boyfriend of his takes up all of his time.”

“Why do you sound like his concerned father?” Yaku says, amused.

“I’ve said it from day one that I don’t like that guy.” Tora’s expression darkens and Kuroo sighs, pushing his sleeves up.

“I watch his streams. He’s not a bad guy, you know. He’s really charismatic and is a good match for Kenma,” Kuroo manages to say. Yaku snorts at that, elbowing him hard in the ribs. More than anyone, Yaku knows how much Kuroo was lamenting over it.

“Yeah, but what guy doesn’t like volleyball?”

“Why isn’t he here?” Yaku asks curiously.

“They’re taking a break,” Kuroo says evenly and Yaku bursts into laughter, smacking Kuroo repeatedly on his spine.

“Man, don’t let Kenma see you say that. You look like a serial killer.”

“Woah, seriously? They broke up? Wasn’t he going to ask him to —”

Kuroo moves quickly, smacking his palm to cover Tora’s mouth. “Shh.” Kuroo gives him a hard look. Kenma chooses the exact moment to look over at them and Kuroo grins at him, trying for casual, which makes Kenma narrow his eyes. Tora licks his palm and Kuroo jerks his hand away, wiping it on his knee with a grimace, though he doesn’t look away from Kenma.

“So, you’re not going to tell him?” Yaku asks, looking extremely disapproving.

“He’s just going through enough right now, why bring it up?”

“Bad idea.”

Tora hesitates, glancing between the two of them. “I actually agree with Yaku-san… I definitely think it’s a bad idea.”

“Well, I think you’re both wrong,” Kuroo hisses out of the side of his mouth, eyes on Kenma as he makes his way back over.

“About what?” Kenma asks, though he doesn’t seem suspicious, just curious.

“About everything,” Kuroo says smoothly. “As usual.”

Kenma looks tired and a little bit tipsy, judging from the light pink in his cheeks. Kuroo uses his concern to draw toward him, his hands settling on his bony elbows. “Let’s get you water?” he suggests, walking them a few steps into the kitchen, ignoring Yaku’s prying gaze. Kuroo gives Fukunaga and Lev a dark look that gets them scattering and gets out two cups while Kenma leans against the countertop, picking at the leftover paella still stuck to the bottom of the saucepan that Fukunaga had cooked.

“Have you had enough of everyone? ‘Cause if you have, I’ll kick everyone out.”

Kenma sighs, wiping his bangs out of his face with his hoodie-sleeved hand. “Only a little. I don’t mind them being here.”

Kuroo hands him the cup of water. “Anyone asking you too many questions or anything?”

“Lev kept quizzing me about himself like I would know any of that — even if I hadn’t lost my memory. He was offended when I didn’t know what his favorite snack was.” Kenma rolls his eyes, taking meager sips from his cup. “And then the other questions like ‘how much do you remember’? ‘What’s your last memory?’ Stuff like that gets tiring to answer.”

“What is your last memory?” Kuroo half-jokes with a grin. He’s been good about not asking this since they’ve been living together and knows how tired Kenma is of answering questions, but curiosity's been eating at him.

Kenma gives him a considering look, but after a moment says “Nationals. We just lost to Karasuno.”

“Seriously?” Kuroo asks loudly enough that he can see a few eyes on him. “Ah, man? Our worst moment?” It was a good game, but still a low blow to his ego. It was after Nationals that he finally had a moment to think about his growing feelings for Kenma. It was easier to think about volleyball and training, but after, he had nothing but time to think about Kenma — about the impossibility of loving anyone else.

Kenma doesn’t remember his clumsy confession and it’s infinitely better this way. Tension he wasn’t even aware he was holding in his neck and shoulders release and he relaxes.

Everyone stays an hour past midnight before Kuroo makes the decision to kick everyone out, promising that they’ll all meet up again soon, courtesy of Kenma or Lev’s salary.

They get ready for bed at the same time, squeezing almost cartoonishly into Kuroo’s tiny bathroom. It’s the one part of the apartment he can barely fit in on his own, but Kenma’s already brushing his teeth half asleep and Kuroo doesn’t have the heart to kick him out — not when he gets to watch Kenma being sleepy and cute. He brushes his own teeth, careful with his elbows so he doesn’t knock Kenma in the jaw and raises his arms up so that Kenma can duck under his arm back into his bedroom. Kuroo washes his face and puts on night cream (once again, a habit he had picked up from dating Miwa.)

When he comes out, Kenma is on his bed, curled up around one of his pillows.

Kuroo blinks.

“Uh, Kenma — your bed is out there.”

“Mmh,” is the only response he gets before Kenma goes limp again. His shirt is riding up a little, showing off a slice of his hipbone above his tattered sweatpants that sends an itch in Kuroo’s palm.

Kuroo’s bed is big enough.

He runs his hands through his hair, staring at the wide, inviting space next to Kenma. It’d be so simple, just get on the bed and go to sleep. It’s fine, he can go to sleep next to Kenma as long as he doesn’t cuddle him, even though the curve of his neck looks like the most inviting place to plant his face and fall asleep.

No.

“Kuro,” Kenma says, voice sleep-thick. He lifts his head, shooting a one-eyed glare at Kuroo. “What are you doing?”

“Uh—” Just warring with myself. “You sleep here. I’ll take your bed.”

That seems to wake Kenma up more and he leans up on one shoulder. “You won’t fit on my bed.” He gives Kuroo one more lingering look before he flops back down. “Just come here,” he says, even extending his palm briefly, eyes half-open — devastating.

Kuroo sucks in a breath and goes, heart lodged in his throat as he pulls the covers out from under Kenma and climbs in next to him. He tosses the covers over Kenma, who lets out a sleepy, satisfied sigh and falls right back into sleep.

Kuroo is wide awake after that and carefully turns on his side to watch Kenma like a creep. It hits him again that this is what he could’ve had all along if he would have just kept his mouth shut — his best friend asleep in his bed, gently snoring. And comfortable mornings too — and dinners and all the little moments in between that Kuroo would still be able to have if he hadn’t been so greedy, when he knew that saying it out loud would amount to nothing. And in reality, it was worse than nothing — he lost this closeness with Kenma for years.

He’ll do anything to keep this equilibrium — Ryou’s proposal be damned.

Kuroo falls asleep eventually, Kenma’s sleeping face imprinting itself in his precious memories.

+

“Get up!” Kuroo’s hands worm their way under the blanket to grab his ankles and wiggle his legs back and forth.

Kenma swats him away like an annoying mosquito. Kuroo leaves his legs be, but he can hear him being louder than necessary in the kitchen right behind Kenma’s bed. He manages to doze for a few more minutes, because he’s always been stubborn with a pension for falling asleep anywhere.

Kuroo comes back, setting down a cup of water on Kenma’s makeshift bed stand. “I made breakfast.”

“Mn,” Kenma groans, sitting up with an irritable sigh. “What’d you make?” he asks, voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Tamagoyaki and rice. And maybe if you get up in the next five minutes, I can make pancakes too.” Irritated that Kuroo knows his weak spot, he huffs. His sweet tooth will be his downfall, he thinks as he reluctantly tosses the covers off of himself in an attempt to not get swept back into cozy unconsciousness.

He’s just comfortable. It’s been nice living here since he doesn’t have to worry about how to act around Ryou.

Now that it’s been a few weeks, he should consider what he’s going to do about Ryou. He’s nowhere ready to be back in a relationship with him, not when he still feels like a stranger. He should probably tell Ryou in person, gather the rest of his things up and figure what to do with a house that’s way too big for one person.

Kenma brushes his teeth and pads back to the livingroom to watch Kuroo’s back as he works. Kuroo seems to sense him watching and tosses an amused smile over his shoulder at Kenma’s sleepy yawns. He turns off his stovetop and brings over their plates of food — garnished and everything. It’s good. Kuroo’s a good cook, he thinks, though he wonders how much of it is Kuroo trying to make up for lost time.

It has been a long time, he thinks as he thumbs through the history of their chats. Is this the first time Kuroo’s had the opportunity to cook for him? It’s still surreal, thinking about how involved Kuroo is in his life at 17, only for that to fade away into nothingness — into once or twice a month correspondences. What happened between us? He wants to ask.

“You okay?” Kuroo asks, his voice laced with worry. He should ask right now — it’s the perfect opportunity.

“I’m just trying to figure something out,” is what he says instead and the moment seems to fade away. Kenma pauses, deciding it is best if he gets it over with. He exhales and digs his palm into his eye socket. There are other things he needs to do first. “I’m going to see Ryou today.”

“... Do you want me to go with you?” Kuroo says levelly.

Kenma shakes his head. “I think I need to do this alone.”

+

“I’m very sorry,” Kenma bows.

The silence stretches out until all he can hear is the thunder of his nervous system. “I knew this was coming.”

Kenma looks up.

“Don’t look surprised. I knew this was coming even before your accident.” Ryou’s mouth is one unhappy slash. Ryou barks a bitter laugh. “I really should have known not to fall for someone who’s already in love with someone else.”

“I’m not in love with someone else,” Kenma says firmly, though his mind betrays him, flashing to Kuroo and waking up in his space with him. His chest goes tight — cheeks flushing.

“Please, Kenma. If he walks in the room, it’s like I disappear.” Kenma almost deflects with a joke it’s because he’s so tall, he has to take up the room — but he doesn’t think Ryou would appreciate it very much. “And now you’re playing house with him! This accident is convenient, huh? You can finally get rid of me because you don’t ‘remember’ me.”

Kenma goes cold, giving Ryou an incredulous look. “I really don’t remember you.”

“Sure. Sure, whatever you say, Kenma.” Ryou’s anger is ugly to see this way. It contorts his face, and aimed at Kenma, it stings. He thought that Ryou had been a nice guy — that at least he had managed to get a boyfriend who was a good person, but now he’s not so sure. He wishes Kuroo was here, because he’d have the sense to take Kenma by the shoulders and walk him out of here already.

“Do you think it's fun waking up one day and not knowing anything about your life?” A searing anger, brief and white at his core overtakes him. Dr. Shimada said he shouldn’t feel guilty for not remembering things, but he is — he’s guilty, because it was his life, but it doesn’t feel like that at all. It’s like opening a book with whole pages missing about his choices that have led him here.

“You seem to remember everything except for me!” Ryou shouts loud enough for Kenma to stagger back. Ryou exhales, anger bleeding out of his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I thought you’d marry me,” he says quietly, his voice breaking at the end. Ryou turns away, hiding his face, though Kenma knows he’s crying. Kenma swallows.

His back is still turned to Kenma when he says “This house is under your name. I’ll be out of here by the end of the week. I hope you’re happy.”

+

On the way home, Kenma checks his list again with shaking hands. He feels relief, like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Are you happy? He stares at his chicken scratch, searching for the feeling inside of him.

Is he any happier living with Kuroo when things haven’t changed either? It’s frustrating, being with Kuroo and still not knowing where they stand. Kenma leans his head on the window, letting the gentle rock of the train against the rails calm him. Would you be happy with Kuroo?

+

Kenma remembers bits and pieces.

Shouyou was back in town and Kenma wanted to see him. They left in a hurry — his chest was tighter than usual because they’d had a small argument about volleyball again, but Kenma had checked and double-checked that no one had invited Kuroo — and Ryou called over his shoulder to remember to grab his jacket and that's when he had found it. It was a small, black velvet box, unmistakable for anything else.

The strangest thing is remembering the sheer panic which buoyed him all the way into dialing Kuroo’s number — despite his avoidance, despite the tightness in his chest any time he thought about Kuroo and the miserable ache in his stomach when they left each other more and more as acquaintances — he thought Kuroo might have an answer and then the volleyball impacted.

Would you be happy with Kuroo?

Static.

Nothing continues to change between them after — and he sees now the fractured limbo that they’ve gotten used to living in. He feels so brittle that he’ll break at any moment. And he thinks that this time is — it isn’t enough. Something has to change.

+

“I’m moving back to the house,” Kenma says on a quiet Sunday morning.

Kuroo nods, though it feels automatic. He forces himself to smile. “Great. It will be good having my own space back,” he jokes weakly through his heart carving a jagged path down to his belly.

“And that’s it?” Kenma asks, tersely. “If I move away, will you stop talking to me again?”

Kuroo swallows, shaking his head. “No. ”

“I don’t believe you,” Kenma laughs. “Why should I believe you? You stopped talking to me before. We’re not best friends anymore, we’re barely even friends.” Kenma says, his fists twisted in his hoodie — his face dark and cloudy. “And you seem to be completely okay with that.” Kenma swallows and then finally looks up, meeting his gaze.

“I — that’s not true,” Kuroo says, heart thundering.

“Then why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you stop me from — pulling away? You know that I’m always… you always…you told me you loved me.”

Kuroo’s blood runs cold, heart dropping to the floor — deafening white noise rings in his ears.

Kenma’s mouth is twisted and he keeps shrinking in on himself. “The way you said it looked like it was a death sentence, like it was the worst thing you could have possibly said to me. Is loving me that bad? Is it such a horrible thing to do? And you didn’t give me a chance to respond. You said ‘it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything back’ and then after that nothing changed — you act like nothing’s different, that we can just continue on and I have been so confused. I’ve been so confused — then and now.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo croaks out, trying to step forward. “I—” He’s fucked up. He knows he has, and he keeps fucking up.

“I don’t understand.”

Kuroo doesn’t know what to say to that. He is the worst piece of shit imaginable.

“What do you want, Kuro?” Kenma looks him dead in the eyes, searching Kuroo’s face with a worn out look. “Because I’m tired of waiting for things to change.”

There are a hundred words lodged in his throat and he can’t speak for so long that Kenma pushes back in his chair, the sound scraping against his eardrums as he watches in near slow motion as Kenma turns his back and heads for the door.

“Wait,” Kuroo says, not knowing what the fuck he’s doing, but knowing he can’t lose Kenma again. “Don’t go,” he pleads, his heart pounding as his hand encircles Kenma’s wrist and tugs him back. “I— you’re right. I really, really fucked up. I should have never said that I liked you—” Kenma whips around, his expression sharp and hurt.

“So you don’t?” The question hangs dangerously, threateningly.

Kuroo tugs at his own hair, a hysterical laugh escaping his throat. “No! Yes, I mean I do…,” he wets his lips, closing his eyes. “I just thought it was a mistake back then, telling you and changing things between us forever — ruining our friendship. I know that I’m a coward and that I ruined it anyway.” He tugs at his hair, trying to dig some form of courage from somewhere, even though his hands are shaking. “But I’m not going to do that this time.”

He is acutely aware of how much the past is reflected in this moment now — the same tightness in his chest and the same nerves eating his intestines, the same shake to his voice when he says “Kenma, I like you. I — love you.” He tightens his grip on Kenma’s wrist, thankful that Kenma doesn’t pull away. “I won’t let you go again. I have loved you all of my life and I’m sorry that I let you get away for five years, but know that I’m not going to let you go again.”

“Stop,” Kenma squeaks out, his voice watery as he weakly tries to tug his hand away. Kuroo takes in his pink cheeks and his shiny eyes, and he gets on his knees in repentance — ignoring how harsh the wood feels on his joints.

“You asked me just now to keep you from pulling away, so I’m going to do that.” Kuroo says, determined now to make sure Kenma understands every word. “Even if you don’t love me back, I promise, I will stay in your life and will cherish you anyways.” He looks up, seeing glimpses of Kenma’s bright red face through his fingers.

“Okay, I get it, you can stop now—” Kenma mumbles, speech muffled into his palm. Kenma tries to pull away, yanking hard enough that he slips on his socks. Kuroo shoots to his feet to catch him, pulling him chest to chest so he doesn’t slide down into a heap. Kenma’s ears are red and he can feel him trembling against him.

“I won’t. I want you to know, so I’ll say it every day so you really understand. I want you in my house, I want your stupid gamer shit all over my apartment and to make sure you eat real food for dinner and let you kick me in your sleep every day of my life,” Kuroo says, gaining more and more confidence, even though all he can see of Kenma is the top of his head, the pale part of his hairline. “I was young then, but I’m not young now and I want to grow old with you.”

Kuroo eases his grip from his thin wrist, enough for Kenma to plant his face in both of his hands, but doesn’t let go of his waist and doesn’t let their chests apart. “Even if — you don’t, then at least, being there for you every day, any way you need me to. I like you,” Kuroo says, leaning down to kissing the crown of his head and then again when Kenma doesn’t pull away. “I love you. Are you going to say it back?”

“Embarrassing.” Despite his words, Kenma clings closer to him, hands curling into fists that anchor onto the bottom of Kuroo’s shirt. His breath puffs against Kuroo’s collarbone. Kuroo lets out a breathless, happy laugh, buries his face into Kenma’s hidden neck — inhales his clean, sweet scent and rejoices in the unsteady patter of Kenma’s heart in quiet reply.

+

Kenma never gets most of his memories back — the occasional time he does, it’s never life-changing or significant enough to mention it to Kuroo or Dr. Shimada.

Sometimes, funnily enough, he’ll wake up next to Kuroo, in a panic of missing a school exam that’s long been due. It doesn’t bother him that he doesn’t remember, except for his career — an empire he’s built himself without remembering almost feels like cheating, so he’s been learning things in his spare time, reading up on stocks and about his career trajectory.

“Nice kill!” Kenma hears the coach shout out to Bokuto who is on fire in this game. The squeak of volleyball against glossy wooden floors is something he’s never going to escape, not that he wants to. At least he doesn’t have to play anymore, not missing the muscle ache from long practices or the way his back got slick with sweat or the diligent washing of his gym clothes. It’s a part of his life that he doesn’t want to give away, but almost did.

All of his friends, all of the things important to him are tied to volleyball — the crowd erupts into cheers and Kenma’s brought back to the present again, squinting through the bright stadium lights until his eyes land on a broad back down at the stands.

Kuroo, ever a third sense for him, turns to catch him staring. Kuroo’s soft smile grows into a roguish grin when he mouths I love you.

Kenma flips him off.

Yeah, he loves him too.