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“Are you sure we can’t drive you home?” Kuroo asked.
“That’s sweet of you, dear,” she said, setting her hand on his shoulder, “But I need to start walking again and walking to the station is a good start.”
“Here,” he said, handing her some money from his wallet, “For the fare.”
“Absolutely not,” she clicked at him, “I’m not charging my son and son in law to see them.”
“It’s not like-“ he started.
“Okay, Mom,” Kenma said, “It was really nice to see you. Please let me know when you get home safe.”
“You never used to text me when you were home safe,” she pointed out.
“You have to be the bigger person then,” Kenma told his mother, shaking his head in fake disappointment.
“Oh, Kozume Kenma, are you calling me fat?” she asked.
“Mom,” he said, exasperated, “Just text me, please.”
“Alright, dear,” she said, ruffling his hair, “Take care, you two.”
“See you soon,” Kuroo said.
He closed the door and started putting the coins in his wallet before Kenma held out his hand, beckoning for them.
“What are you going to do to earn it?” Kuroo asked him, quirking an eyebrow.
“Oh please,” Kenma said, grabbing it from him, “I keep an envelope of money my mother refuses to take and then leave it in the couch cushions or her coat pockets when I visit her.”
“The genetics are unbelievably strong in your family,” Kuroo said with a laugh.
Kenma just rolled his eyes. He wandered upstairs to find his aforementioned envelope. It was already getting rather thick. He was going to have to up his hiding game.
Upon going back downstairs to the living room, he noticed Kuroo nosing around the boxes they’d picked up from Kenma’s mother’s house earlier that morning.
“I don’t see why we can’t just throw those out,” Kenma complained, “It’s just a bunch of old stuff.”
“You’re not even a little bit curious to look through your stuff from when you were a kid?” Kuroo asked, opening a box.
“No,” Kenma said, sitting next to him, “It’s all just old, useless junk.”
“You’re no fun,” Kuroo pointed out, elbowing him.
“No, this is no fun,” Kenma said, “I can think of way more fun things the two of us could be doing.”
He pointedly set his hand on Kuroo’s knee and slowly started moving it higher. Kuroo removed it.
“Too bad,” Kuroo said, “You’ve got to wait until we go through these boxes.”
“Fine,” Kenma said, annoyed, “But I’m at least grabbing a drink first.”
Kuroo just laughed as he walked off to the kitchen. The boxes really weren’t that large. It would take them an hour maximum to get through them, and like Kenma said, it was probably mostly junk. It wasn’t the overbearing task he was making it out to be.
He looked through the first box and it was mostly old toys and games. He figured they would probably just donate them unless Kenma saw some sort of sentimental value in any of them.
He recognized some of them, but most of them he had no recollection of. He looked at the different action figures, trying to place who they were supposed to be.
“Kenma,” he said as his husband walked back in with two drinks, “Which game was this one from?”
“Let me see,” he said after sitting down and setting their drinks on the table, “I’m not entirely sure.”
He inspected it a bit more closely before putting it back in the box and grabbing a small handheld game. He was more than surprised to see the little thing had enough charge to turn on until he realized it was battery powered.
It was a simple game, a two dimensional soccer match, but he played it anyway. It didn’t take long for him to become bored with it, which was no particular surprise, considering the fact it was meant for children.
“Oh my god, do you remember this?” Kuroo asked, holding up a red plastic water bottle.
“I do,” Kenma said with a laugh, “That was an incredible power move on your part.”
“I wonder if any of the rest of his stuff is in here,” Kuroo said, “Though I figure it’s probably mostly in my dad’s attic.”
A young Kuroo, new to Tokyo, before he’d hit his seemingly decade long growth spurt, had been harassed by a boy in his class. Young Kuroo handled it by secretly stealing a bunch of his stuff in silent resistance. Even when he was that age, he knew it was not the right thing to do, but he and Kenma found it particularly funny, so he did it the entire year and the two of them ended up with a whole assortment of his things. Some were useful and some weren’t. They used his pencil sharpener for years until it broke.
“We should find him and return all of it to him,” Kenma said with an amused smile, “Expand upon that power move. It’s been twenty years. We’re returning this junk you didn’t know we stole. What would you even do if someone did that to you?”
“Honestly I would lose my mind,” Kuroo said, laughing, “Like what do you even say to that?”
Kenma grabbed it from him and set it in their donation pile.
“Perhaps we could send it in the mail,” Kenma recommended.
“See, only two more left,” Kuroo said, “Almost done.”
Kenma nodded and sorted the things Kuroo handed him, most of them to the garbage or donate piles, but there were a few things he decided to keep.
One of them was a picture of the two of them. They were really young, full of dirt, and Kuroo was beaming, holding a volleyball. He decided he would leave it on his desk in his office downtown.
“Do you feel weird or is it just me?” Kenma asked.
“Nah, I feel it too,” Kuroo said, “It’s almost a pinch sad, honestly.”
“Somewhat melancholy,” Kenma agreed, grabbing some of his old art projects from Kuroo and tossing them onto the garbage pile.
Kuroo just nodded and continued handing Kenma things. Most of them were things like old homework assignments or drawings and immediately got tossed, but he did find a few things in good enough condition to donate.
“Thank god,” Kenma said, pulling out his vibrating phone, “It’s finally the doctor.”
“Staged,” Kuroo alleged.
Kenma flipped his phone around to show the caller ID listed as their primary care doctor before answering the phone. He wandered off as he talked, distancing himself from the boxes, the main reason for his excitement at the call. Material sentimentality wasn’t his thing.
Kuroo just kept going, throwing away the obvious junk and leaving a pile of the rest for Kenma to sort through. The only thing left in the box was a piece of folded loose leaf paper. He had noticed it a bit earlier and didn’t pay much attention to it, but when he picked it up, he noticed the other side had the word ‘important’ written on it in sloppy red handwriting.
With a tinge of amusement, he started to undo the tape holding it closed. He was very curious to see what young Kenma decided was so important.
When he read what was inside, he immediately remembered when they’d written it. The memory came back to him at once.
It was right after the new year, just a year or two into their friendship, and they were laying on Kenma’s bed, not really paying attention to the card game they were playing. He remembered at one point laying on his back and setting his cards face down on his chest, abandoning the game entirely.
“It’s so fricking dumb,” he complained, his hands behind his head.
“I think you might just be upset,” his friend responded.
“You don’t get it,” he whined, “Your mom and dad actually live together. You don’t have to get on a stupid plane to see your stupid family.”
“I guess,” Kenma said, either not understanding or not caring.
“I’m never getting married,” he insisted, “Marrying is stupid.”
“Almost every single person gets married,” Kenma pointed out, “So you are probably going to get married.”
“No, I won’t,” he said, “Because I’m not an idiot who thinks getting married is good.”
“You will,” Kenma just said with a shrug.
“No I won’t,” he repeated, tossing his entire hand of cards into the discard pile.
“I bet you will,” Kenma said, shuffling the deck of cards, wanting to just play in silence.
“And I bet I won’t,” Kuroo responded.
“200 yen,” Kenma said.
“200 yen?” Kuroo asked, confused.
“If you get married, you owe me 200 yen,” Kenma said.
“Deal,” Kuroo said, “Because I’m never getting married and then you have to give me 300 yen.”
“It’s supposed to be the same,” Kenma told him, “It’s fair that way.”
“Fine 200 yen,” he said to the ceiling, “But how are we going to remember in like thirty years?”
“We can just write it down,” Kenma said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He got up to pull 200 yen out of his wallet and went back to sorting through the last box. There were a couple of manga he’d entirely forgotten about even though he’d spent hours and hours reading them and an old card game they used to play.
“I’m officially allergic to ragweed and dogs,” Kenma said, walking back into the room.
“Congratulations?” Kuroo said.
“Thank you,” Kenma said, retaking his seat next to his husband.
“Are you going to actually take your allergy meds now?” Kuroo asked.
“Nope,” Kenma said, beginning to sort through the pile his husband left for him.
“Why don’t you just take it with your other meds? You can take it at night,” Kuroo suggested.
“Allergy medicine is stupid,” Kenma pointed out, “It’s basically just telling your immune system to stop doing immune system things.”
“You take a medication that tells your brain not to do brain things,” Kuroo countered.
“Right because I need that,” Kenma said, “My neurons are overactive. Remember?”
“So is your immune system?” Kuroo pointed out.
“It’s not. There’s not supposed to be dog or ragweed inside of my body,” Kenma said, “My immune system is correct.”
“Think of it like-“ Kuroo started, “Never mind.”
“Your immune system just lets random stuff bounce around your body unfettered,” Kenma said, “Who’s the one with the bad immune system now?”
“Actually let’s talk about something else,” Kuroo said, holding the coins he’d grabbed earlier, “For you.”
“Silencing me costs way more than that,” Kenma said with a disapproving click of his tongue, “I’m halfway to a medical breakthrough here.”
Kuroo just handed Kenma the paper and waited for him to read it. Kenma swiftly grabbed the coins and pocketed them, a slightly more serious expression overtaking his face.
Instead of saying the words out loud, he grabbed Kuroo by the chin and said them with kisses instead.
You are loved.
Not just today.
Tomorrow.
The day after that.
I’m not going anywhere.
Up until I take my last breath.
And maybe even after that.
You are loved.