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At seven years old, Kenma silently watched the new boy from next door walk past his window, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed in his pockets.
He looked grumpy, but in the sort of way that Kenma got told he looked grumpy, which actually wasn’t grumpy at all. It wasn’t his fault he just ended up scowling by accident; maybe Kuroo was the same.
Kuroo.
He wasn't a friend, yet, but he could be.
***
At nine years old, Kuroo paused in the doorway on his way back from fetching them drinks to watch Kenma effortlessly kill an enemy he'd been trying to defeat for three rounds already.
He’d already asked Kenma for his help, and he’d refused, encouraging Kuroo to try instead. Now he’d spin one of his usual tales about how the game was going to time out unless he did something, and he didn’t want Kuroo to lose his progress.
Kuroo smiled. Kenma was strange, but things were better with him around.
***
At eleven years old, Kenma waved to Kuroo like he did every morning, but then set off to school by himself for the first time, as Kuroo headed in the opposite direction.
Kenma had been used to not having many friends before Kuroo, especially not a best friend, so he didn’t know why it now felt so wrong to be by himself, why he suddenly felt so hopelessly lonely. He could play with Kuroo as soon as they got home from school, after all.
The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach was not helped by looking back to find Kuroo already laughing with other people. New friends. Older friends.
Well... if Kuroo wanted to play after school, that was.
***
At twelve years old, Kuroo returned a morning wave from Kenma and plastered on the biggest smile he could, trying to hide how nervous he was to be starting high school, without Kenma no less.
Kenma turned away, quickly, and Kuroo watched him leave, not knowing why it hurt so much.
The other kids from the neighbourhood started up conversation quickly, which Kuroo tried to join in with, but he looked back three times to see if Kenma would too. He was instead met with the sight of Kenma’s dark hair, and the unnerving feeling of everything being slightly out of place.
***
At sixteen years old, Kenma accidentally glanced up at Kuroo as he was changing his shirt in the locker rooms after a volleyball game, catching a glimpse of Kuroo’s abs and the sheen of sweat across his back.
He knew he was blushing because he could immediately feel the heat rising from his cheeks, so ducked his head as fast as possible, using his hair as a curtain to hide behind. Kenma wasn’t sure what the big deal was; he and Kuroo had grown up together, they’d seen each other shirtless plenty of times. Not when he looks like this, filled in Kenma’s mind unhelpfully.
Kuroo wandered over, dressed, an expectant smile to see if Kenma was ready to head home. Mumbling a response, Kenma shoved his things away quickly and followed Kuroo, trying to work out why he already had the urge to see him shirtless again.
***
At seventeen years old, Kuroo got hit in the head by another volleyball, because he'd stopped paying attention to his own practice to instead watch Kenma play.
The way his lithe body twisted, the sharp look in his eye as he feinted and dumped the ball over the net, his small smirk of triumph when it worked and he scored a point in the two versus two match they were playing.
Kuroo would take every volleyball in the world to the face if it meant he got to keep watching Kenma play, got to see the subtle brilliance that Kuroo had coaxed out of him over the years, and admire his impressive form that Kuroo enjoyed in more ways than just his technique.
***
At eighteen years old, Kenma picked up his phone for the hundredth time to call Kuroo, needing to hear a familiar voice as he sat alone amongst the chaos of starting university.
He decided against it, again. Kuroo continued to stare at his own phone, wishing it would ring.
***
At twenty years old, back home for the holidays, Kuroo lay awake in his childhood bed and thought about all the sleepovers he'd had with Kenma over the years. All the play fights and video game tournaments and heart to hearts about topics that seemed so serious at the time.
He thought about Kenma being there now, thought about what it would be like to be in this bed, any bed, with Kenma. About how they'd start off with Kenma tucked into his front, and inevitably end in a mess of splayed limbs and body heat. He thought about how Kenma would look after waking up, messy hair, bleary eyes, rosy cheeks.
Kuroo thought about how he shouldn't be thinking about Kenma at all, not now, not here, not ever.
He thought about how difficult that was in practice, given that he'd been thinking of Kenma every day for over a decade, heart skipping more and more as he'd grown older.
***
At twenty years old, in the house next door, Kenma lay awake in his childhood bed and thought about how he'd accidentally fallen in love with Kuroo.
At twenty one years old, Kenma considered whether he'd ever find the courage to tell him that, whether he could handle the rejection.
No, probably.
***
At twenty five years old, Kuroo arrived home with takeout and a new game, because Kenma had messaged him saying that the day was a bad one. The decision to live together after they’d both finished university had been easy as breathing, and every day since had felt like the best day he’d ever had.
If this was it for Kuroo, if this was where he peaked, living with his best friend and getting to buy him food to cheer him up, he could live with it. He could be happy with that.
As he offered up the goods, Kuroo felt the customary flip of his stomach when Kenma smiled up at him like he'd hung the moon.
What he'd give to tell Kenma he'd hang the sun and stars too if it would make him happier still.
***
At twenty eight years old, Kenma fixed Kuroo's ever unruly hair before Akaashi had the chance to bark at him during the wedding photoshoot.
He was tender in his actions, reaching on tiptoe to put the strands back in place, face inches from Kuroo's.
“Kenma-“
“Tetsu...”
There was a yell from outside the room, likely Bokuto, which startled them and broke the spell.
“Are you two nearly ready?”
Kenma hurried away, blushing furiously, mind consumed only with the flecks of gold in Kuroo's hazel eyes. Kuroo held back, trying to catch his breath, pointedly not thinking about how soft Kenma's lips looked.
Yes, they each thought, dazed, distracted, delirious.
Maybe they were nearly ready.
It had been long enough, after all.