Chapter Text
Kenma Kozume took a deep breath.
Maybe it’s a bit cliché, but that’s it: he took a deep breath. He woke up before his alarm set off, his almost golden eyes staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what he had dreamed of. He was sure it involved weird fishes who sang opera and that he needed a golden ticket to buy chocolate. He had no idea why buying chocolate was necessary in his dream, but now everything was fading away from his memory, suffocated by other thoughts even more exasperating, and Kenma got to the conclusion that he had watched too many movies after all. On the day before, Hinata came to his house with a bag full of snacks, drinks and a pen drive full of horrible movies that both watched for hours on end. That had been good — that precious day when he drowned in distractions from random order. But, now, the day had come and everything that Kenma could feel was nothing.
That was almost desperating: nothing.
Kenma Kozume took a deep breath once more.
✧✧✧
[four years ago]
kittenma: that was really stupid
hotassroo: but you did it, didn’t you? In the end, we made that asshole get fucked up
kittenma: indeed. Well, tomorrow I’ll be here. Will you come?
hotassroo: tomorrow is Saturday. I’m gonna hang out a little.
kittenma: [pause] oh, okay. We’ll talk later, then.
hotassroo: sure, I’m going now. See ya!
kittenma: see you later.
Kenma stared at the screen, with a lukewarm expression — like milk that is not too hot — indifferent and empty. It was exactly 3:10am, the numbers showed at the corner of the screen illuminated in green and blue. He still hadn’t finished that part, which meant that he couldn’t go to sleep yet, so he stayed there, in front of his computer, and his fingers gliding swiftly. It was the eve of his birthday — twelve years old — but Kenma never really paid any mind to birthdays in general.
It hadn’t been long since he started playing that, creating characters and formulating strategies, but he was already a featured player, reaching higher scores in the general ranking. Kenma stretched on his chair, extending his arm and massaging his painful wrists, thinking of whether he should just sleep and leave the mission for the next day. He wouldn’t have Kuroo to help him, though. It’s not like he was the best, because he wasn’t: in a simple quest, Kenma could find way better players that wouldn’t act with such stupidity and imprudence like Kuroo.
Whatever.
After contemplating the monitor screen for long seconds, Kenma decided to simply go to sleep. His actions are almost automatic, even though it sounded weird, gliding through the buttons on the monitor and turning it off. There were no more wavering lights, no more audios of recorded speech, just the silence. It was enough. He left his headphone on the desk and went to bed.
✧✧✧
Tetsurō Kuroo opened his closet.
There were lots of options: white, colored, or mainly dark shirts. Pants of every kind, jackets and scarves. He observed each one, a bit hesitant, a bit agitated. “What should he wear?”, and the questioning wouldn’t cease even after rechecking the options, even after considering what would be appropriate. He looked at himself on the mirror for a good while, breathing in and out, analysing carefully the first choice of clothes. He was almost sure that Kenma understood fashion as well as a snake could fly, but he still wanted to give a good first impression. He left the clothes on the bed, impatient.
No, the problem wasn’t actually the clothes. If Kuroo had to go to the grocery store or meet his usual friends, he would pick the outfit almost automatically, his intuition making him choose for a combination without much doubt and he would be fine. Kuroo was charged with charm, always oozing off an air of confidence, and yet, here he was frowning against the mirror and thinking of which god damned clothes he should wear so that Kenma would appreciate him in his tridimensional version. That was weird. He knew him for a few years — since he was twelve, more specifically — but he had the feeling that, in reality, Kenma was still a puzzle.
“Could it be an effect of online friendships?”, he asked himself at some point, “Or would it be because Kenma was the kind of person that was closed off, taking some time to open up and trust, like a shy cat?”. But couldn’t tell, and once again Kuroo stared at his reflection on the mirror, deciding if he should use his leather jacket, all black and a bit beat-up, with metal studs on the collar and wrists. Leather jackets never fail, right?
Right?
(right)
✧✧✧
[three years ago]
hotassroo: but don’t you have classes tomorrow?
kittenma: no, tomorrow there will be a field trip that isn’t obligatory.
hotassroo: and you’re not going?
kittenma: hm, no.
hotassroo: why?
[pause]
Tetsurō stretched his muscles. It had been a long day: the classes were more complex than usual, his homework had taken all his patience away and even the game seemed to be more intense. He considered sleeping earlier, but his conversation with Kenma distracted him enough to lose track of time, mostly because the game wasn’t the main topic anymore. After the performance of each match, they started talking about other games, development enterprises, trademarks, and, in the meantime, their personal lives were part of the dialogue too. “I woke up sick today”, Kuroo once said and Kenma wished for his recovery in his distant and kind of cold manner. “Sorry for not logging in yesterday, my wrists were quite irritated”, Kenma commented some other time and Kuroo advised him lots of massage. It has been an year already since he met Kenma, in the early hours of night when he couldn’t sleep, and now, their conversations had become part of his routine, like an habit so important such as brushing his teeth or doing homework.
kittenma: I think i just don’t wanna go after all.
hotassroo: oh, alright.
kittenma: do you want to play one more round?
hotassroo: let’s go.
✧✧✧
Would it really be a good idea?
Kenma watched the TV for a few minutes, while he maneuvered the toast with delicacy. He lived along with the inflammation on his wrists for years — since he was eleven, give or take — and was constantly between massages, ointments and supporters. “And now we will talk about th weather, with Kaori” — Kenma decides then to turn off the TV. Silence. It was better that way. Kenma sat at the table, the toast still arranged on the plate, the sensation still oscillatory.
He was used to emptiness.
To the warm days, to things having little meaning, to games and were all about thinking and winning, to the moments that would drag themselves so slowly. He wasn’t the kind of person to have enthusiastic emotions, he always ended his sentences with a full stop, and he wasn’t someone that demonstrated anything beyond. He stared at his own hands and noticed, not without surprise, that they were shaking. The tiniest little bit, almost not, but he could still feel the trembling there, like a shadow behind, like his body couldn’t help but react to something that his mind was struggling against.
He would meet Kuroo in that afternoon.
And not even Hinata, with his blinding smile and his unique way of making the day lighter — because emptiness has weight, and, sometimes, it can be quite a toll — could smooth that fact.
He would meet Kuroo in a few hours.
And suddenly, the toast seemed so sickening, the food becoming a lump in his throat, like it blended with all his anxiety accumulated over the days. His medicine helped, of course, and Hinata even more, but his stomach still hurt and his head was starting to throb. “What if—” andKenma prefered to go back to his room, where he could be on his bed and wait for it to go away. A little.
Maybe he should change his mind.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.
Maybe Kuroo would feel disappointed after all, and their relationship wouldn’t be the same again, becoming awkward and distant, and that would be very, very bad.
We took a deep breath — breathe in, breathe out, calmly count to ten, don’t get lost in paranoid thoughts — and he decided to find the outfit he could wear, opening his closet and observing each one of the combinations he had. His brain, however, didn’t seem to register anything like it should, keeping itself in a weird autopilot, like someone wanted to hold sand but couldn’t, because sand is thin and the hands aren’t even real. Like it was in a dream. Kenma decided to put on a random shirt and other random pants, without even checking, not because he didn’t care, but because the expectation turned out to be so painful that it swallowed everything else.
He threw the chosen clothes on the bed. They seemed ok. He wasn’t very capable of judging at the moment, but he trusted that he could pick nice clothes even automatically, without giving it much thought. There were more fancy ones in the closet, but he figured that it wouldn’t be too… appropriate to use them in the first date.
First date.
Was it a date? Kenma took a nervous glance at the clothes, his hands going to his belly, pressing at the stomach area, clenching his teeth — everything’s ok, everything’s ok, everything’s ok — he was thinking about the hypothesis, how it was weird, and how it was not a date, it was just hanging out. He was just having a social life, that’s all. He didn’t feel anything like that Kuroo, he didn’t even know Kuroo to affirm anything—
(he didn’t?)
It was just an online friendship that turned out to be pleasing.
That’s all.
Then, Kenma decided to just put on his jeans already.
✧✧✧
[two years ago]
hotassroo: y’know, it’s a bit weird that we’re from the same city but we never see each other around.
kittenma: not that weird. We never go to the same places, so it’s normal that we never bump on each other.
hotassroo: you got a point. But I bet you never went to some specific places, since you never go out. Have you ever gone to a nightclub?
kittenma: nightclubs seem annoying.
hotassroo: ok, and bowling? Have you ever gone bowling?
kittenma: [pause] no.
hotassroo: then it’s settled. When we meet, I’ll take you to go bowling. Who knows, maybe this time I’ll beat you at something!
It wasn’t the first time that Kuroo mentioned something like that, sometimes in a direct and frank manner — other times with a simple approach, as if he was trying to find out why the the younger one was resisting so much in meeting Kuroo tridimensionally. Kenma himself had no idea why, but the act of dodging was comfortable to him, like a safety zone where he should stay. He had a good relationship with Kuroo, that was simple to understand, their conversations flowed, the presence was comforting. Also, he didn’t play as badly as before, after some training and technique, making Kenma actually start to want him as a partner in gaming for his abilities, not just because he was… Kuroo.
If something was good, comfortable, safe, then there was no reason to interfere, right? Kenma continued to stare at his phone screen, realizing that it had been months that they didn’t talk through the game chat anymore, but through other softwares and could reach him online easily through more means. He asked himself if that part — of meeting someone in person — would be the last stage of a friendship, if the human relationships should walk in a straight line, in levels. Wasn’t that how things worked? They met, fell in love, then they would kiss, get together, get married and have children. Kenma, however, never even thought of levels: his friendship with Hinata seemed so fresh and comfortable since childhood, for instance, and things have been stable with Kuroo since the beginning. Kenma picked on his black nail polish, feeling annoyed all of a sudden, not really understanding why. It was just an invitation to hang out, get some sun on his face, socialize with people out there. Isn’t that what his parents said he should do, after all? Maybe it would be good. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.
kittenma: hm, ok.
hotassroo: we could meet at the mall this saturday! Around 2pm, how about it?
kittenma: [pause] ok.
hotassroo: will you recognize me? Have you seen a pic of me?
kittenma: [pause] no. I mean, yes, you published some here and there. But I don’t remember now.
hotassroo: it’s fine, I’ll send you a photo of me and then you’ll be able to recognize me anywhere.
What an embarrassing thing.
Now Kenma had a picture of Kuro (Kuro) in his phone, where he smiled confident in his school uniform. And he never deleted it — that photo would stay for years in his phone archives.
✧✧✧
Kuroo checked the time on his phone. It was forty-seven past twelve, and then he turned his attention back to the mirror. It took him more than two hours just to decide which outfit he would wear, and more long forty minutes to be sure if the it really was the best possible. He sat on his bed, checking his phone once more, getting rid of the notifications. The last message Kenma sent had been on the night before, more than twelve hours ago. He confirmed the meeting, which was a good sign. Last time, Kenma said on the previous night that he couldn’t go, claiming he had a cold or something like that. Since then, months had passed until Kuroo approached the subject again — he felt, for some reason he couldn’t explain, that the cold had been just an inconvenient excuse, maybe a lie to cover the real reasons, and, motivated for instinct more than reason, prefered to give Kenma some space before trying again. He realized, quite surprised, that the failed hangout had been two years ago.
He continued fumbling on his phone, since he had nothing to do — they would meet at 3pm and he was already perfectly dressed. He straightened his jacket, contemplating eating something before going out, even if he wasn’t hungry. But maybe they could eat at the mall. His phone screen lit up — again — but it was Kenma.
“You’re already busy today, right?”, Bokuto said between abbreviations and different emojis, like a secret code. Kuroo smirked, quite crooked, and his fingers danced through the keyboard on his phone with agility. “Yes, I’ll be meeting Kenma.”. He never said any details about Kenma to his friends, but they, at least, knew there was someone that took Kuroo’s attention from time to time. “Oh, finally! I hope he is, y’know, Kenma. Not a perverted serial killer.” Kuroo laughed imagining Bokuto’s voice saying those things, in a innocent and light tone. “Thanks.” he texted, and his friend’s answer came quickly, in a few seconds, full of emoji just like the before: “We’ll be hanging out later. If he wants to, you can bring him and all. We can shut Tsukishima up and everything’s alright”. He doubted Kenma would accept the suggestion, but it was comforting to know that this was a possibility. “Thanks again”, he answered, and Bokuto replied with a few emojis in sequence.
Kenma didn’t text him yet and it was a little past 1pm. He wouldn’t give up this time. It was so weird, he thought as he stared at the phone, the dark screen not lighting up not even for a second. The breathed deeply and packed up.
Maybe Kenma was a perverted serial killer.
But he was still Kenma and that’s what mattered at the moment.
✧✧✧
[one year ago]
hotassroo: it wasn’t really a cold, was it?
kittenma: [silence]
hotasroo: it’s alright! But I still wanna beat you at bowling some day.
kittenma: ok. We can arrange that some time.
It was alright. Kuroo drank more of his soda, his teeth playing with the straw, and straightened his headphone. He could hear Kenma’s voice, so monotone, suggesting him to do this or that. Eventually he asked himself how that related to his appearance — he has seen pictures of Kenma here and there in a few websites. It wasn’t a constant worry, it was simply a question that popped in his head once in a while: was Kenma someone who made visual contact or not? Did he gesture with his hands while talking or let them still? Would his voice in person be much different from the one he hears when they were playing?
They were just speculations, of course, hypothesis that cam up in moments like this, when he heard Kenma’s voice complaining about the sounds Kuroo made while drinking soda from the straw or when their conversations ceased because Kenma needed to sleep and rest his wrists. He brought his attention back to the game, preparing to attack as Kenma gave him directions. They made a good team in the game. His doubt was if they would make a good team for the rest of their lives.
✧✧✧
When the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house, the immediate reaction was to get in alert. Kenma lifted his eyes in the direction of the door, his hands still holding the nail polish remover. He heard a familiar voice talking with his mother and the steps sounding closer and closer. It didn’t take not even ten seconds to realize who had come, and he tried to remember if he had made plans with Hinata or something like that. No, he didn’t — Hinata visited the day before with all those movies and Kenma told his friend about hanging out with Kuroo. Hinata seemed really excited with the idea — “Oh, that guy who you play games with? The one you almost got to meet once? Finally” — and asked about what they would do or what they would watch if they went to the movie theater. For some reason, Kenma didn’t feel like those questions were intrusive, but something that lessened his anxiety. If it was another person asking, the only thing he would feel would be sickness, but coming out from Hinata’s mouth, he felt that being able to answer those questions were a kind of guide he would remember when the time came. That’s the only reason he didn’t cancel it again: for having in mind a closed group of things to do made him somewhat calmer.
Furthermore, Hinata left his house too late and Kenma thought it would be really inconvenient to send a text canceling the meeting (for the second time) at three and a half in the morning.
“Hello!”, Hinata said, entering his friend’s bedroom, his smile bright like always. Kenma glanced at him, and Hinata seemed a bit clumsy, scratching his head. “I’m not staying, I swear. I just forgot something—”
“Your pen drive”, Kenma answered, pointing to the desk where the pen drive lied, thrown between the keyboard and the mouse. “And my mom put your shirt in the laundry. You won’t be able to take her today. I’m sorry.”
Hinata laughed awkwardly. In the day before, he had spilled orange soda on his shirt between two movies, in such a clumsy way that there was no other option other than changing into one of Kenma’s shirts.
“Well, I wanted to give your shirt back too”, Hinata said, lifting the bag he had in hands “My mom washed it this morning and it’s already dry! You’re going to the mall soon, right?”
“Yes”
“Good luck! I hope Kuroo is a nice guy”, Hinata frowned for a second and darkened his expression, soon getting back to his dazzling and confident smile. “I mean, I hope he isn’t.... some of those weird guys. And if… you can call me, ok? If anything.”
“Ok”
Hinata stayed in silence for a while, seeming uncomfortable, not knowing whether he should leave the shirt on the desk or on the bed or if he should just take the pen drive and leave. He stayed put until he decided, leaving the bag on the floor beside the desk and grabbing the pen drive.
“Those clothes look nice.” He said, in his best encouraging voice.
“Thanks, Shōyō.” It was all Kenma said, and if he was someone that used to smile, he would at that moment for his friend. Hinata, however, seemed to look satisfied with that, because he brightened even more his smile, his presence working like sunshine that stimulates and comforts. To Kenma, it was as if Hinata was the embodiment of going out of home and feeling like a regular person, but without the negative parts of excessive social interaction.
Hinata said his farewell and left, leaving Kenma alone looking at the dark nail polish on his nails. He thought of removing them, but now he didn’t know if it would be the best idea. After all, it was more than 1pm and if he wasted more time there, he would be late.
He decided to keep the nail polish. It looked good.
He hadn’t eaten anything, that’s true, but if he tried to eat anything, he would puke because of all the sickness he felt. But he had brushed his hair, chosen appropriate clothing, checked if he had enough money and charged his phone.
He was ready.
✧✧✧
[four days ago]
hotassroo: what kind of places do you go to?
kittenma: nothing special. The mall, I guess.
hotassroo: only the mall? You rarely go out, heh
kittenma: [pause] yes. But the mall gathers a lot of things. It could be there.
hotassroo: sure. I’m just gonna check if I’m free then I’ll confirm with you, ok?
kittenma: [pause] ok.
The discomforting sensation of déjà-vu bothered him, like the echo of something that happened a long time ago. The last time, they had agreed on going out with more than a week of antecedence and Kenma passed four days thinking repeatedly about the damn meeting until he ended up texting to cancel everything, too afraid to go and too afraid to give up and give Kuroo the impression that he didn’t care enough. He did care, that’s the truth, and he cared so much that he simply couldn’t stand meeting him in those circumstances, two years ago.
He nibbled the point of his fingers, ripping out bits of cuticle, without paying much attention to what he was doing. He didn’t want to give up this time, that’s the thing, but he had no idea if he would handle this. He didn’t know what he should expect of it, and didn’t know if it was adequate to imagine how Kuroo would be like — his voice, his gestures, the fact that his presence would become something real and tangible, something which he wouldn’t be able to keep away from. And what if it affected the way they talked online? What if he found out he didn’t really like how Kuroo reacted to things, and got disappointed? Or worse, what if Kuroo didn’t like him?
When he realized that he had ruined his nails, all Kenma did was let out a long and frustrated sigh before taking the nail polish remover and fixing each one of his nails with patience.
We would decide everything later.
He still had three or four days. And the longer he took to decide, the less time he had to give up and that was good — somewhere inside his mind, it worked like pressure. Because there would be some point that, once passed, Kenma couldn’t go back, and, well, it was to go or to go. And Kenma wanted to go.
Somehow, he knew that, with his bitten nails and subtle tremor that already initiated there.
He wanted to go.
it was just because giving up was easier.
✧✧✧
The mall was huge, gathering more than a hundred different shops of clothing, games, shoes, make up, toys, sweets, everything you can imagine. Kuroo, particularly, liked the fact that the mall could be used as a starting point, a place you could meet people, buy something necessary and, from there, leave to somewhere else more interesting. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes wandering the place in search of someone that matched the pictures he saw of Kenma. To be honest they didn’t help much, but it wasn’t really Kenma’s fault. “He has blond hair” Kuroo thought to himself, staying at a strategic point in the food court, “plus, he’s shorter than you, he told you that already. It can’t be that hard.”
He checked his phone once more. Nothing out of usual. It has been twenty minutes since the last time Kenma had visualized the messages, according to the app, but he kept silent. “Ok” he thought as he put his phone in his pocket. “He won’t give up by now, will he?” He sighed, touching his hair, and started to ponder whether Kenma was the kind of person that was always late or not.
And, suddenly, all he could think about was all of the things he didn’t know about Kenma. If he had the habit of running late, what style of clothing he used to wear, from which side he would enter the food court, little things he knew about Bokuto or Tsukishima that he had no idea about Kenma. Subtle things, details that are almost forgotten and that, out of a sudden, turned out to be so important because they could keep him more calm at the moment. The simple fact that he didn’t even know from where Kenma would come from, in a place so large and full of people, was already a reason for his tension. What if he couldn’t see him in time? What if he had already gotten here and he just didn’t see? For how long would he have been here?
Then, his phone buzzed.
kittenma: I’m on my way.
✧✧✧
[one day ago]
hotassroo: then it’s settled. Food court, mall, 3pm?
kittenma: yes. I’ll text you if anything happens.
hotassroo: okay then. We could watch a movie or something like that, if you want to.
kittenma: i guess so. That picture of yours from before still counts, i hope.
hotassroo: i’m more handsome than that now, but yes, it still counts. Or do you think it would be better to send you another one?
kittenma: i guess it would.
hotassroo: ok, just a second then.
Kuroo carefully chose the picture, picking one from a few days before, when he was about to go out with his friends. His hair was particularly decent, shiny and silky, and the smile he shot to the camera was full of charm. He wondered if Kenma hadn’t seen that one already, since he published it on his social network and earned a considerable amount of likes and positive comments. But Kenma didn’t seem to have seen the picture — at least he didn’t show it — so he sent it without further ado. Kenma replied by sending him a random picture of his, and now both had an updated image of how each other looked like.
He observed Kenma’s picture for a long time. He never stopped to analyze one of his friend’s pictures from the time when they played their first match together, but now he took his time, trying to memorize his features. How came had slumped shoulders, inexpressive eyes, neutral expression — it’s not like Kenma was completely serious, because that kind of people tend to show an air of rigor with their stance that could be intimidating. Oh, no, Kenma didn’t seem like this type of person in his expression captured by the photo. He just seemed indifferent. Like a cat that simply didn’t care about things and you needed to work hard to captivate it.
When he slept, he dreamed of cats with light fur and golden eyes.
✧✧✧
Kenma spent the last forty-five minutes locked in a stall of the mall bathroom, sitting on the toilet with the lid closed, his eyes fixed on the door while his mind wandered in a random and ridiculous way. It was that big of a deal. It wasn’t even close of being that big of a deal. He had dressed up, gotten out of home, took his pills and that was a good start. Now all he had to do was get out of there and go straight to the food court, where Kuroo waited for him, probably. He held his phone with both hands, unlocked it, and his fingers were already searching for his friend’s picture.
Right. It was him that he should look for.
What a detestable feeling — he clenched his jaw — like an octopus was squeezing his lungs in his grip. He thought of eating something, to find out if doing anything other than holding his phone like his lifeline would distract himself, but his throat reacted to the thought, the sickness intensifying. His phone buzzed, the screen lightening up, making Kenma get out of his trance for a second. “So? Found him already? Are you in mortal danger?” And the little icon of Hinata blinked beside the text. Kenma almost smiled, the pressure fading away just a bit. “Not yet. he must be up there.” Kenma answered, not going into detail. Hinata would understand the message behind. If you make a shadow, the sun won’t insist in invading that space you’ve traced. He will be around you, simple as that, waiting for the moment you’ll be too cold in the shadow and will yearn for the sunlight, warm and sweet, on your skin. Some days are too hot, and Kenma would rather simply stay inside. But on other days, however, feeling the sun was more than desirable, it was necessary. His phone buzzed once again and Kenma checked his messages. “Just text him saying you’re there. It’s alright”
Doing that — typing the message — had been hard.
But he did.
hotassroo: are you here already? Ok, I’m in front of the stairs. The one on the right!
✧✧✧
Kenma still had his eyes glued on his phone, carefully observing the photo, slightly annoyed because suddenly his hands were so wet when he made his way up to the second floor, where the food court was at. Stairs. The one on the right. They were simple informations that could be stored logically. It was alright. When he got to the second floor, he halted, his eyes scanning the place. He saw lots of people: families and groups of friends that laughed and talked, sitting at tables, full of smiles, consuming every type of food. There were so many people, Kenma felt his breath wavering as he noticed. “Where would Kuroo be?” he asked himself, holding his phone like a mother would hold her offspring. He really didn’t want to search for his friend in such a crowded place, wandering around and getting definitely lost. That sounded so, so pathetic—
“Boo.”
(breathe, breathe, breathe)
Kenma turned around, noticing almost immediately Kuroo’s presence behind him, all his height and the way he smiled, although kinda crooked, didn’t contain any malice. He felt embarrassed when he noticed his phone still had his phone unlocked, where Kuroo’s photo was clearly on the screen, and abruptly shoved the phone in his jacket pocket, taking the opportunity to hide his hands as well — he didn’t want Kuroo to see they were trembling a lot more than normal.
“H-Hello” Kenma said, breaking visual contact with Kuroo for an instant, his shoulders were even more tense than usual.
It was funny: he spent so much time worrying about distinguishing Kuroo from the others, if he would be able to feel his presence, and now, he noticed it was a needless worry. He would know who he was in a crowd of a hundred people, he would just know, with no logical reason for such thing. He wondered if Kuroo thought the same about him. If he was also easy to recognize, and if Kuroo had found him so easily to the point of approaching him from his back, certain that he was talking to the right person.
“How are you?” Kuroo lifted his chin a little, putting his hands in his pocket just like Kenma, but for a different reason. While Kenma didn’t know what to do with his hands and hid them, Kuroo used that as a laid-back pose, like he did that everyday.
“Fine.” Kenma answered and Kuroo chuckled, a little bit nervous. So his friend was as monosyllabic in real life as he was on the internet. No surprises till now.
“Did you eat before heading out? I ended up not eating anything.” Kuroo admitted, bending a little in the direction of Kenma, and pointed to the tables. “So I thought we could grab something to eat. If you want to.”
“Hm… Fine.” he agreed.
He hadn’t eaten anything aside from those two or three toast that he forced down so miserably. So he agreed, hoping he would be able to eat something now that Kuroo was there, so close, so easy to reach. It was real. What a weird thing to think: it was real.
Choosing the food wasn’t that hard: due to the facilities the food court offered to friends with diverse tastes, they found out they had some things in common and agreed to one of the simple fast-foods. Kenma ordered first, then Kuroo, and Kenma silently thanked for these minutes that the conversations had to be about food, queue, and ordering. It was and easy socialization, one he could deal with. So they sat at the table, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. He had rehearsed everything with Hinata, who made everything sound easy and with no surprises, but now everything faded from his mind and he could only think that he was, in fact, in front of Kuroo.
“Do you wanna watch a movie later?” Kuroo asked, between bites on his sandwich.
It was a good idea. Watching movies and not needing to talk, and, for now, it was good. Two hours in which he could stay beside Kuroo but with no obligation of thinking of topics. That was, in truth, an excellent idea and Kenma agreed almost immediately.
“Ok, then we’ll check the sessions later. Do you have curfew?”
“Hm, not exactly.” Kenma muttered, trying to find out how to define his situation. He didn’t tell his parents that he was going out to see a friend he met through the internet, because he didn’t feel like dealing with the constant apprehension of “What if he’s one of those pedophiles”, but Hinata knew everything that was necessary. Also, his parents were quite relieved when Kenma told them he was “hanging out with friends”. He shrugged, then “If I call my parents and tell them where I am, I won’t have problems. What do you—”
“I don’t want to kidnap you or something like that” Kuroo laughed, that way of speaking, just that laughter, his unpretentious way he moved, glancing at his friend already made Kenma feel more comfortable, not even knowing why. “It’s just so that I can arrange our schedule. Because, if there’s some time left, we could go to that bowling club I told you about! Do you have classes tomorrow? You don’t, right?
“No” Kenma answered, his eyes staring at the cup Kuroo held, the boy’s fingers around the patterned plastic. It was kind of distracting, observing the way his fingers held the cup, and it was even worse when his eyes wandered through the path of the drink, dragging his eyes along the straw that ended between Kuroo’s lips. Kenma glanced away once again, that sickening feeling coming back suddenly, but weaker and blended with an amount of thoughts that he couldn’t unriddle in a rational manner. Maybe he was too nervous. Too afraid of opening his mouth. Too afraid of getting disappointed. Maybe.
Or too afraid of liking it.
✧✧✧
It was Kuroo who finally picked the movie. Kenma seemed incredibly bored against two movies whose posters were especially dark, with silhouettes, guns and some things that suggested it was a movie about intrigue and a lot of money involved. From that, Kuroo simply asked if it would be ok to watch an action movie involving robots and a dystopian future. Kenma agreed without complaint, so this part has gone smoothly.
They went to an arcade while waiting for the time the movie would start, one hour and a half went flying in a pleasing way. Kenma didn’t talk a lot, yes, and Kuroo constantly fixed his stance just to he wouldn’t seem nervous, but it was good. The conversation didn’t flow like in the chats, but it also didn’t get interrupted by awkward silence but a soft silence, and eventually Kenma himself would bring up a topic, talking about the games, making some references and connections that caused more discussion. Yes, it was good.
When the lights went out, Kuroo made use of the darkness to turn in the direction of Kenma, staring at him. His face was illuminated by shades of white and red because of the images on the screen, and it made the older one smile. “So he must be like this when he plays” he thought for a second, “All concentrated and his face illuminated only by the screen”. He brought his attention back to the initial credits of the movie on the instant he realized Kenma noticed he was being watched, his cheeks warm and burning. And he knew — even if he wasn’t looking — that Kenma was doing the same thing now, watching him for a few seconds, maybe thinking the same as him. So Kenma brought his attention to the movie as well, still in the initial credits.
The time it took is unknown, but there was a moment in which Kuroo passed the popcorn to Kenma — neither of them was hungry, but when one asked for politeness if they would eat popcorn, the other was too uncomfortable to answer negatively and the first one also didn’t want to deny it, so, in the end, they were now with a lot of popcorn that they chewed monotonously — and didn’t take his hand back, keeping it over the armrest. Kenma put the popcorn on his lap, eating with his right hand and decided to rest his left arm, but he met Kuroo’s on the way, both arms sharing the same space, side by side.
Kenma’s instinct was to flinch, while Kuroo’s was to hold — and that was weird, something he had not foreseen in his mental scenarios projected by Kenma and Hinata — his fingers holding the wrist so slightly, almost like caressing, and not knowing what to do, Kenma gave up, accepting the touch.
It was just like a shake of hands, right?
Kenma brought his attention back to the movie, pretending nothing happened. Maybe this was common between friends, he thought, maybe it was just one of those mysterious and enigmatic things that human socialization involves. Maybe it was a big deal, maybe he didn’t need to make that out to be something important. Kuroo observed him for an instant, and kept his fingers intertwined with Kenma’s his touch pleasant and soft at the same time that it was weird. It was like being in a place you’re sure you’ve met before, but you’ve never even stepped on for your whole life — the feeling of a home you found.
It was just intertwined fingers.
(and lots of things start with fingers that are intertwined.)