Work Text:
"Never ignore someone who loves you, cares for you and misses you because one day you might wake up and realize that you lost the moon while you were busy counting stars." -Anonymous
Falling in love is like reading a book. At first, you’re wary. You peruse the cover, the description, the first few pages… everything in easy access. Superficial details. Then comes the commitment to read it, start to finish. You become invested in the story, both the fantasies and the flaws alike. But what if the story didn’t have an ending? Would you still read the book knowing that it could never be resolved or would you put it down and walk away before you got in too deep?
For Kozume Kenma, there was never a choice.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“… I didn’t know you cared.”
Sounds from cars whizzing by filtered up through the crisp, dark air. The only lights came from the street lamps ten stories below and the faint orange glow of a half burnt cigarette, held between fragile fingers. The vaguely sweet smoke spiraled up into Kenma’s nostrils and he inhaled deeply, the nicotine creating a calming affect on his frazzled nerves. The sharp voice from behind called out again and he flinched, dropping ash from the butt onto his pants and watched as the blazing embers faded into grey nothingness. He snorted.
“Kenma, come inside. It’s below freezing out here.”
A clenched fist. An adamant headshake. A sigh.
“I’ll never understand why you do this to yourself,” Kuroo muttered, his eyes reflecting the glowing light as he wrinkled his nose at the cigarette. The atmosphere was still.
“It’s the only way I can feel,” Kenma murmured, voice echoing and lost. The sounds of shuffling emanated from behind and a glance to the side revealed a shock of unruly black hair come to sit beside him, feet dangling over the edge of the apartment rooftop. Swiftly, Kuroo reached over and yanked the cigarette from Kenma’s fingers, snapping it in half and letting the pieces plummet to an ashy grave on the sidewalk far beneath them. The corners of Kenma’s mouth turned down and he shifted his face away.
“That was rude,” he huffed, annoyance lacing his words.
“You’ve been distant,” Kuroo followed up, ignoring the statement. Kenma flicked his golden eyes upwards to meet Kuroo’s, sitting in silence and trying to study the soul that lie beyond. Not finding what he was looking for, he blinked and severed the eye contact.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he shrugged.
Agitated fingers drummed on the concrete floor.
“How are you feeling, both physically and emotionally?” Kuroo asked finally. An incredulous snort left Kenma as he wondered if his friend truly had a brain inside that thick skull of his or if he was a modern marvel that was born mindless. He was sincerely considering the latter to be truer and truer the longer he knew his best friend.
“Not good,” Kenma answered before biting his lip. “Just numb, I guess.”
Kuroo frowned in concern and shifted his position so that his shoulder brushed warmly up against Kenma’s.
A racing mind. A shaky breath. A heavy heart.
“It’s reminding me of when Shouyou stopped talking to me,” Kenma quietly continued when nothing else was added. A dog barked in the distance. He shivered. Cats were much preferable. They were reminiscent of-
“But you dated Shouyou. You aren’t dating me. There’s the difference in its entirety,” Kuroo said with that lazy grin of his. Kenma scowled at it and pointedly looked away, gaze drawn into the dismal sidewalk far below. Kuroo sighed and rubbed at the five o’clock shadow forming on his cheeks.
“Come on, Kenma, don’t give me that look. I’ve been conflicted too, you know.”
Images of black and white hair, raucous laughter, and the stench of alcohol permeating their shared apartment flashed through Kenma’s mind and he had to fight back a bitter remark.
“Is that so?” He asked through grit teeth.
“Of course. In fact, it’s the same situation as yours. Just wondering if it’s time to give up.”
It didn’t sound like you wanted to give up last time I came home and your tongue was halfway down his throat, Kenma wanted to say but was instead interrupted by the glow of an incoming text on the phone discarded beside him. “Shouyou :3c” the sender read. Frozen fingers picked up the phone and unlocked it, tapping away a reply. His complete focus caused him to miss the scathing glare that his companion gave the device. A small whoosh indicated the message had been sent and Kenma darkened the screen once more, putting the phone away. Gone were the caustic remarks about Kuroo’s friend, lover, whatever-they-were. In place was the weariness that had been lingering since Bokuto Kotarou has entered their lives.
“I don’t know what to say,” Kenma eventually mumbled, closing his eyes as a stiff breeze rushed into them.
“Then don’t say anything,” Kuroo chuckled with a false bravado. “I’m strong and usually I can figure things out on my own.”
“I’d tell you to fight,” Kenma said listlessly, as though someone had blown out the fire in his heart, “But I guess there comes a time when no amount of fighting will do anything.” Forcing the words out was like forcing him to eat a flaming sword, each syllable causing him to flinch away from the searing pain inside his chest. If only he could heed his own advice. If only he hadn’t gotten in this far with someone who could never return his feelings.
To his right, Kuroo inhaled deeply and shook his head.
“It’s time to move on.”
“Are you sure?”
“No I’ll never be sure,” Kuroo laughed humourlessly, “But if I spend all this time making a decision, I’m going to hurt a lot more… And I’m done hurting.”
Kenma blinked and thought about Bokuto and Kuroo: the wild drunken nights, the slam of the headboard against the wall at 2 AM when he wanted nothing more than to sleep, the creak of the front door soon after.
“You deserve better,” Kenma scoffed. A small smile played around Kuroo’s thin lips.
“So do you.”
“Sometimes I wonder…”
“Trust me, you deserve it more than I do,” Kuroo winced.
Something in the smaller ignited, setting fire to the dusty crevices of his emotions that had long sat dormant and aching.
“Have you seen my black hole of a heart? I’m unlovable,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “That’s why nothing ever works out for me.”
Kuroo stared on with a somber expression as Kenma drew his legs up to his chest, forehead resting against knobby knees. The feeling of his own body curled up so tightly was like a soothing salve to his anguish and the racing of his heart slowed immediately. Making himself small and insignificant in comparison to the spectrum of the universe was a remedy, one that he’d learned from only the best. The best in question, of course, knew this and he let his eyelids fall closed, thinking…. thinking.
“I don’t know everything about you and I doubt I ever will, but I can say that everyone deserves love. You more than most,” Kuroo eventually whispered, leaning back so that his eyes were trained on the pearly stars above. The red light of a plane streaked across the evening sky. Flicking his hot tears away, Kenma looked up with bloodshot eyes and felt the same pang in his chest as he did every time he set his gaze upon Kuroo Tetsuro. It was exhausting.
“…Maybe one day I’ll find it,” Kenma conceded.
“Maybe.”
“I doubt it but I guess there’s always hope…”
“Mhm.”
“I just hoped that this would be the one,” Kenma admitted, voice saturated with the heaviness of unrequited love. He let his chin fall back to his knees, muscles weary. “I want to know why people find it so easy to treat me badly. I feel like I give them everything and it’s so easy for them to give nothing in return. Tell me, Kuroo. Why?”
When Kuroo next glanced at his best friend, he was met with the piercing intensity of fierce golden eyes. There were bags beneath them and the white corners has long since been overtaken by scarlet, but they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. It pained him to see those eyes looking up at him like a caged animal as though it was only he himself that could give Kenma release. Unthinking, he reached up to wipe away a tear track from the other’s ruddy face.
But caught himself and lowered the hand.
If only that were the case, Kuroo thought bitterly to himself.
“I wish I could tell you,” he shrugged, not looking his best friend in the eyes.
“My heart and mind are fried,” Kenma said after a pensive moment. “It’s like thinking through a cloud.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to get older and never find love,” Kuroo divulged in one, rushed breath. Golden eyes blinked over to him, looking at him in a different light. Kenma always knew his best friend used caustic remarks and alcohol to drown out his vulnerability, but never had he thought that Kuroo would be unable to find love (or at least a good fuck). The string of hookups that he’d had since college proved it.
“You will. Of course you will,” Kenma remarked adamantly, trying not to let any sourness seep through.
A small shrug. A shuffling of legs. The blare of a car horn.
“I wonder. No matter how much I bash love and claim not to believe in it, I still want to be loved,” Kuroo whispered, taking a shaky breath and looking ruefully down at his clasped hands. “More than anything, really.”
The same golden eyes blinked rapidly, taken aback. Since he had known Kuroo, he had never once heard him so open and honest and heartbroken. He must really love Bokuto, Kenma thought with guilt sinking into his heart for selfishly trying to come between the two. Knowing that it had always been the crazy young man with the messy hair, he couldn’t help but let a few salty tears slip down his cold cheeks. It was never me.
“I do too,” Kenma started slowly, trying to mask the emotional wobble in his voice. “It’s always been my goal. No matter how many times I get hurt by it, I’ll probably always chase after it. Maybe that’s just my burden: to always chase love and never find it. That’s a sad notion…”
“A very sad notion indeed.”
Ten years Kenma had to ponder over what happened next, yet in those ten years he could never find a reason why he did what he did. Perhaps it was the starlight reflecting in Kuroo’s eyes or the proximity of man he’d loved since they were little kids. But even though he could never justify what happened, not once did he regret tilting his chin up to kiss the warm lips of Kuroo Tetsurou in the cold of December on the rooftop of their shared apartment moments after realizing he was in love with another.
No, he didn’t regret it, but guilt swallowed him soon after.
“Please go to Bokuto,” he whispered, ducking his head in shame. Kuroo sat in shock for a moment, deft fingers flying up to his lips that still tingled with the ghost of wamrth.
“….Kenma, I-“
“Please. Just go.”
Kenma kept his face buried in his knees, waiting for the eventual sound of shuffling feet away from him. He didn’t need to see the pity and disgust that was he’d surely caused his best friend. The slam of the rooftop door was like turning the page of a book, only to find out that the rest of the pages were empty and the story would no longer continue unresolved.
But their story did continue, for a short while at least. Kuroo moved out of the apartment the next day and Kenma fell into the worst depression he’d had since highschool. For months the apartment smelled of nothing but cheap takeout and the haze of cigarette smoke. Sleepless nights were countered by hours upon hours of video games in the dark living room. Sometimes he would sit and watch the front door, convinced that it was all a nightmare and Kuroo would come home eventually. When the door never opened, he would sob and beg to any god listening to just bring Kuroo home to him if only so they could be friends again. But the door never opened, the phone never rang, and the messages remained empty.
The ink had stopped flowing.
Until one day ten years later in the crowded subways of Shibuya when whatever cosmic force that guides the universe decided to dust off the old feather tipped pen and begin again.
Twenty-nine years of age found Kenma working part time for a video game developer. The rest of his time he spent working in a coffee shop until he climbed his way up the ladder to secure an actual full time position in the company. The 8:00 AM train always took him to said coffee shop on Saturdays though he always hated these particular days. It was far too busy for his tastes.
He hooked a strand of his freshly dyed black and blonde hair behind his ears, flinching slightly when he heard a sharp intake of breath beside him.
A sideways glance. A stilled heartbeat. The shattering of a phone screen as it hit the ground.
How were you supposed to react when the love of your life suddenly reappears after ten years of absence? And how were you supposed to react when the love of your life comes walking over to you at breakneck speed through a throng of Saturday morning city-goers? Kenma didn’t know, but he figured that ruining his phone screen was one of the tamer things he could’ve done.
“You were never in love with Shouyou,” Kuroo said breathlessly as soon as he got within hearing distance of Kenma. The latter lamely shook his head, unsure of how to react. Kuroo cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. He still looked the same as when he had left, albeit with a little more fat around his edges likely from lack of exercise,
“You know it was never Bokuto, right?” He laughed with bitter humour. “It was always you. I am in love with you and I always will be.”
They attracted the stares of nearly everyone waiting for the 8:00 AM train out of the Shibuya station as Kuroo closed the distance between them and crushed his lips against Kenma’s as he’s wanted to do since he moved out of their apartment. It was messy and almost painful, but as Kenma felt himself melt into Kuroo’s arms his heart felt as though it had finally come home.
So maybe stories do come to an untimely halt. Maybe there are pauses, lulls, dips, and dives that leave you wishing you’d never started the story in the first place. But the pen can always be wielded anew, the story restarted, revised, revived.
And the ink can always flow once again.