Archive of Our Own

Kuroo never expected to work in an arcade. It was something that just happened.

His original plan was to work at a gym over the summer. He played on a volleyball club team at his university during the school year, enjoying being active and pushing himself. It only seemed natural that he would get a job that revolved around fitness.

That plan fell through, however, when the gym in his neighborhood wasn’t hiring. But it did lead to an unexpected opportunity when he saw the ‘help wanted’ sign in the window across the street.

He took a chance on the arcade, and to his surprise, he really enjoyed it. He loved the atmosphere, the dark open room lit up with the bright lights of the arcade machines. The constant sounds from the games were a little annoying at first, but they quickly faded into the background as a nice ambience. His coworker Yamamoto was nice to work with as well.

But more than anything, he enjoyed the customers. He enjoyed watching them have fun, was always curious to see what each person picked out at the prize counter.

But one customer in particular stood out to him, and he spent his shifts waiting for him to walk through the door.

“Okay,” Yaku said, walking into the break room and shutting the door behind him. Kind of pointless, Kuroo thought, when the arcade wasn’t open yet and they were the only three people in the building.

Kuroo was lounging in his chair, his long legs spread out before him. Yamamoto was next to him, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He looked like he just woke up ten minutes ago, and knowing him, he probably did.

Kuroo sighed. Were these weekly meetings even necessary? Monthly would be more than enough. He tried to take Yaku seriously, he really did. But the thing about managers was they sometimes tried to do too much.

“We need to get rid of a couple machines to make room for the new ones coming in,” Yaku said, getting right to it. Kuroo appreciated the timeliness, but he wasn’t sure he felt so great about the topic.

“The one in the corner is off limits,” Kuroo said. It was the game that one of the regulars, Kenma, always played. It was the only one he played, actually, and no one else who came in seemed to be interested in it at all. But it didn’t matter that he was the only one. To Kuroo, Kenma playing the game was equal to one hundred people playing it. That’s how important he was to him.

Kuroo still remembered when Kenma came in to buy a membership. Kuroo had to lean over the counter so he could hear him over the noise of the arcade, but Kenma was very polite and had a calm voice that Kuroo could listen to forever. Add in the stylish, oversized clothes and the bleached hair that fell over his golden eyes, he was also the prettiest person Kuroo had ever met.

So yes. The machine in the corner was very much off limits.

Yaku ignored his comment and went on. “It makes the most sense to get rid of the ones that are played the least.”

Kuroo sat up straighter, flicking his head to the side to move his bangs out of his face. “Actually, it makes the most sense to change the layout to fit the new ones in without making unnecessary sacrifices.”

Yaku sighed. “Kuroo, please remember you’re at this meeting for formalities and not because your opinions are valid. I know you want to keep every game, but it’s just not possible. Not if we want to continue having a successful business.”

Kuroo opened his mouth to say something else, but Yaku was quick to cut him off this time. “We don’t have to decide which games are going right now, but we will have to decide soon. Start getting that into your head, Kuroo. Accept it now instead of throwing a fit later.”

Of course it was only directed at him and not Yamamoto. Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Your kind words mean so much to me.”

“Kind words don’t work with you.”

“Come on, Kuroo,” Yamamoto said, standing up and pulling Kuroo to his feet. “Let’s get this arcade open, okay?” He started leading him out of the break room, lowering his voice a little as they went. “You should probably try to let Yaku do his job without making things too hard for him.”

Kuroo didn’t bother lowering his voice at all. “If feedback is hard for him to take, then he’s not really a good manager, now, is he?”

“He’s joking,” Yamamoto called to Yaku over his shoulder, but Yaku just let out a huff and walked away.

Walking out of the break room and onto the main floor felt like traveling a much greater distance than just a step through a doorway. From the sparsely decorated room with a white fluorescent light overhead into the arcade area with colorful designs and lights everywhere, it was like stepping from adulthood back into childhood. Kuroo never got tired of it.

Their spot behind the counter felt less like a job and more like a hang out spot. It probably also had to do with the fact that arcades existed for entertainment, but it was mainly because Yamamoto was a great guy to work with.

Kuroo leaned against the counter, watching him with a grin. “Wow,” he said. “Who would’ve thought the guy that always used to pick fights with people in high school is now playing peacemaker?”

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” Yamamoto said, shrugging it off with a smile. But it was obvious he took those words to heart. He was holding his head a little higher as he went around making sure all of the games were turned on, and Kuroo was glad. Yamamoto deserved to know just how great of a person he was.

Kuroo did the opening tasks behind the counter while Yamamoto did his rounds on the floor, but Kuroo was distracted. He kept looking at the arcade machine in the far corner of the room, Yaku’s words replaying in his head. With only one person ever playing it, it fit the criteria for Yaku’s hit list.

But Kuroo shook his head against the sudden worry in his chest. It wasn’t a question that that game wasn’t going anywhere. Kuroo wasn’t going to let Yaku get rid of it. Not when it obviously meant a lot to Kenma, and Kenma meant a lot to Kuroo.

Not that Kenma even knew that he did. Kuroo had never said much more to him than was needed for his job, but wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? He knew for sure Kenma wasn’t coming to the arcade to get hit on, and Kuroo definitely wasn’t going to break that boundary.

Maybe if he saw him outside of the arcade, maybe then he could talk to him more. Only if it worked out, of course, and with the highest amount of respect that Kuroo knew Kenma deserved.

But Kuroo didn’t have his hopes up. Not in a pessimistic way, but because he was accepting that this was how he would know Kenma, forever with a prize counter in-between them. The fact that their paths crossed at all was reason to be grateful, and Kuroo wasn’t going to ruin that by wishing for more.

He leaned his arms on the counter, resting his chin in his hand.

Nope. Definitely not wishing for more.

“You have that look on your face,” Yamamoto said, rejoining him behind the counter. “The one that says you’re lying to yourself.”

“What?” Kuroo asked, sitting up and making a face. “What does that even mean? When would you have even recognized it before?”

“Come on,” Yamamoto said, counting on his fingers. “It’s the same face you make when you say you don’t want dessert, when you say you don’t actually want those expensive shoes, and when you say it’s too late to start another episode.” Yamamoto grinned, satisfied with himself. “So what is it this time, Kuroo? What do you not want but actually really do?”

“Wow,” Kuroo said. “You’ve opened my eyes, Yamamoto. Now I see that we spend way too much time together.”

“Hey, you can’t just sidestep the question.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I just did.” He pushed off the counter and walked over to the front door, unlocking it and flipping the sign to ‘open’. “Everything’s all good,” Kuroo said, giving him a reassuring smile. “If it wasn’t, you’d be the first person I’d go to for help.”

Yamamoto grinned, accepting that answer. “Good.”

It wasn’t long before people started trickling in. Every time the door opened, Kuroo looked over, waiting to see Kenma. And every time that it was someone else, he felt an ache in his heart like something was missing, like something was taken away from him. Which was ridiculous, really. Kenma wasn’t his to lose.

But he could be mine to gain.

Kuroo rubbed his face with his hands, trying to make sense of how he had gotten himself into this situation. He was supposed to be working in a gym, but instead he was catching feelings in an arcade. And the crazy thing was that he knew it was real this time.

He was a little ashamed to admit it, but he’d never had a problem flirting with people he wasn’t entirely interested in. He’d always had someone with him at college parties, always had people wanting him. He had been bored and lonely, and flirting came easily to him. Could he really blame himself?

But the thing was he couldn’t remember any of their faces. Not now, when all he saw was Kenma. And the last thing he wanted was to flirt with Kenma for fun. This was the most serious he’d ever felt about anyone, because Kenma wasn’t just anyone. Kuroo felt like he could be everything.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the flash of bleached hair moving along the perimeter towards the back corner.

“Is that what you were thinking about earlier?” Yamamoto asked, appearing at Kuroo’s side again.

“Thinking about what?”

“The person you’re staring at.”

Was it really that obvious? He trained his eyes on the counter, refusing to look in that direction again. “I’m not staring. I just happened to look over there.” Kuroo started refilling the prize boxes even though he just did the day before. Usually if he started doing something productive, then Yamamoto did, too. But it seemed Yamamoto wasn’t done with the conversation.

“He doesn’t come up here anymore,” he said.

“No,” Kuroo agreed. “He doesn’t.”

“Did he reject you?”

“What?”

“Come on, Kuroo. It’s obvious you like him. You give him a different kind of smile than you do anyone else.”

“Should I be creeped out that you’ve been watching me that closely?”

“Just answer the question. Did he reject you? What happened?”

Kuroo learned right away when he started working there that Yamamoto was a nosy person. But he learned just as quickly that his nosiness didn’t come from a negative place. It was because he genuinely cared about the people around him. He couldn’t help if he didn’t know the details, and so Kuroo decided to give him the details.

“What happened was I saw that he was uncomfortable coming up to the counter so often, especially when there were lines of people. I decided to make things easier for him by leaving him tokens at the machine instead. Which he already paid for, by the way. He has a monthly membership.”

Yamamoto just stared at him.

“What?” Kuroo asked. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You literally got rid of the one interaction you have with him. You like him, and you made it so that he never has to talk to you again.”

Sure, Kuroo missed seeing him up close. Missed his voice, and the way he looked up at Kuroo through his hair.

“Still don’t see the problem,” Kuroo said despite the ache in his chest. “He should only talk to me if he wants to, not because he has to.”

“Oh my god,” Yamamoto said. “This is why you’re still single.”

Maybe he was still single, but the person he liked was more comfortable. Wasn’t that more important?

“Worry about your own love life.”

Yamamoto perked up at that. “Oh yeah, that reminds me,” he said excitedly, pulling his phone out. “My girlfriend and I got professional pictures taken, and—”

Kuroo let him go on and on, his gushing making it abundantly clear how much he loved and cared about her. Kuroo loved how his face lit up in these moments. It made him wonder how much his own face would light up in the future when he was talking about the person he loved.

And the only person he could imagine loving was Kenma.

Eventually, Yamamoto had to go help someone whose tickets weren’t coming out of a machine, and it was as soon as he walked away that Kenma’s voice came from behind Kuroo.

“Hey,” he said. “Here are the tokens I didn’t use.”

“Oh, thanks,” Kuroo said as he turned around to face him. Having Kenma appear without him expecting it was like opening his eyes to sunlight when he thought it was still the middle of the night. It was the best feeling, immediately filling his heart with warmth.

Kenma had his fist outstretched, so Kuroo automatically put his hand under. As the tokens fell into his palm, he was momentarily distracted by how much smaller Kenma’s hands were than his. It made sense, of course, with the height difference. But seeing it was different than knowing it.

Kuroo’s face felt hot. Did it just feel that way or was it noticeably red? He hoped it wasn’t. He hoped he would never do anything, ever, that would make Kenma feel uncomfortable even in the slightest.

He cleared his throat, getting back on track. “You know, it’s okay if you leave them on the machine.” He gave Kenma a smile, a smile he hoped radiated friendliness and not anything else. “I don’t mind.”

“I know,” Kenma said.

And it was those two words that got Kuroo’s heart beating faster, even after Kenma had left.

I know.

Kuroo was overthinking it, of course. But those two words meant that Kenma talked to him, and not because he needed to.

Could it be that Kenma wanted to talk to him?

No. He couldn’t get his hopes up. He wiped down the counter, ignoring Yamamoto’s eyes on him, and tried to get through the rest of his shift without thinking about Kenma’s hands and his voice and his—

Kuroo sighed, tossing the wipe in the trash. He took pride in being able to win most of the challenges he came across, but it seemed his losing battles were always the ones in his mind. It was hard, though, when his heart was against him. Or was his heart for him? He wouldn’t know unless he knew for sure that Kenma was feeling the same way about him, and that was more unlikely than he wanted to believe.

He sighed again. He was being stupid. Kenma was just returning tokens. There was no ulterior motive to it at all, and it was weird of him to even consider that there was. But he kept going back and forth between logic and hope, between professionalism and love, and no matter which route he took, Kenma was always at the end of it.

“Need to get something off your chest?” Yamamoto asked, but Kuroo just shook his head.

“Nope. Just breathing.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friend for advice. He just knew that Yamamoto wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he knew that one little interaction was all it took for him to fold.

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It was funny how Kenma could start going to the arcade for one reason and then stay for another. But that seemed to be a recurring theme in his life. The most important things to him were things that he hadn’t been looking for. It’s like the universe put people in his path that were able to bring out the best in him, and he was left to wonder how he got so lucky.

He was in the beginning stages of receiving the newest gift from the universe which happened to be in the form of an arcade employee. Kuroo had stuck out to him from the first time he walked into the arcade, but that initial feeling only intensified when Kuroo offered to leave tokens on the arcade machine for him.

Kenma never complained about his dislike for crowds. It wasn’t like he would ever ask Kuroo for special treatment. But the fact that Kuroo had taken the time to catch onto what he was feeling meant more to him than anything. Knowing that someone could pay just as much attention to him as he paid to other people, despite the fact that Kenma was someone who was often overlooked in other aspects of his life, was heart-warming in a way that gave him new life, new hope. Kuroo made him feel seen in a world that often made him want to hide, and it was for that reason that he sought interactions with him despite Kuroo thoughtfully making it so that he didn’t have to.

But he didn’t talk to Kuroo every time. If there were a lot of people at the counter, Kenma snuck out. But if there weren’t, then he returned the extra tokens, a perfect excuse to get close to him.

Kenma liked to pride himself on his ability to read people. He knew who he should be wary of and who he could trust. Not only by the things people said to him, but in the way that they said it. Their body language, the energy they gave off.

It meant a lot when Kenma did things he didn’t like, and he didn’t particularly like his trips to the arcade. It was a long walk, and he had never liked being tired. He didn’t like feeling sweaty on hot days or having his hair messed up on windy days. Really, there was something unpleasant to deal with no matter what the weather was, and yet he still walked through it. Day after day, he made his way to the arcade.

It was because Kuroo was one of the only people in the world who got a perfect score in Kenma’s reading of him.

His genuine kindness and genuine interest in making Kenma’s life easier. The way he leaned closer instead of asking Kenma to talk louder. The way he took the extra time to leave tokens on the arcade machine so he wouldn’t have to deal with the crowd.

But this was different from the way he felt with his friends. When he looked at Kuroo, he felt a flutter that started in his heart and went down to his stomach. What was it about him that made Kenma feel differently? The way he was tall without being intimidating? His black hair and how he styled it? His voice and his smile?

But there wasn’t any use trying to pin it down to one thing. It was everything.

Say something, he told himself. Tell him how you feel.

But the days went by, and he didn’t. Socially speaking, it didn’t feel right. Kuroo was just trying to do his job. It would’ve been weird if Kenma tried to turn it into something more, especially with the very real possibility that Kuroo didn’t want anything to do with him.

Kenma almost visibly cringed at the thought. Not only would it be incredibly disappointing, it would be embarrassing enough that Kenma wouldn’t leave his house for a week at least.

He sighed. This was why he hadn’t been in a relationship before. It required a vulnerability that he hadn’t been able to achieve.

But that was the thing about his feelings for Kuroo. When he pictured Kuroo in his mind, he felt like he could achieve anything.

And so he continued his token routine, hoping their hands would brush, but never doing it intentionally. Sometimes he hoped Kuroo would meet him at the arcade machine in the corner. Maybe then, Kenma could do it. When they weren’t front and center at the counter, when they were in the private corner instead. Maybe then Kenma could tell him how he felt.

But for now, he enjoyed Kuroo’s presence from afar. He enjoyed getting just close enough to return his tokens, close enough to smell his cologne and imagine what it would be like if Kuroo wrapped his arms around him.

And he spent his walks to and from the arcade wondering how someone as indifferent as he often was could feel so passionately about another person, a person who probably didn’t have the slightest idea that one of his customers felt so strongly about him.

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Kuroo couldn’t pull his eyes away from the arcade machine. The last customer had left, but it was like Kuroo could still see Kenma standing there in front of it, concentrating as he played the game. That particular machine didn’t make as much noise as the rest of them, didn’t light up as brightly and demand the attention of the entire building. That was one of Kuroo’s theories as to why Kenma always played it, but he also knew there had to be more to it than that.

Kuroo never stared at Kenma while he was there, but he did look over at him frequently to see if he could tell how he was doing. Was he doing well? Was he struggling? But the thing about Kenma was he seemed to be steady in his expressions. Kuroo could never tell how exactly he was doing. He seemed to have the same face, the same concentration, no matter what.

Not no matter what, a voice in his head said. Not when he’s looking at you.

The thought sent a flutter through Kuroo’s heart. It was true. When Kenma looked up at him, there was something more in the golden color of his eyes. More than the concentration needed for the arcade game, but something similar. Curiosity, maybe? Interest? But Kuroo always brushed these thoughts away, not letting himself believe that someone like Kenma could be interested in someone like him.

It was a self-inflicted blow to his ego, he knew, but he also refused to let himself feel entitled to a person he probably didn’t deserve. But whether he deserved Kenma or not, the final decision would always be Kenma’s. If a relationship were to ever form between them, Kuroo would be more than willing to let Kenma lead the way. He would be comforted knowing that Kenma felt the same way about Kuroo that Kuroo did about him.

It was nothing more than a dream, of course, but it was a dream that kept him going nonetheless.

“It’s time,” Yaku said, walking into the room and pulling him from his thoughts. “The new machines are coming in tomorrow, which means we’re moving some out today.”

The way he spoke was like he was announcing a funeral, and it was all Kuroo could do not to roll his eyes. “You're acting like this isn’t completely your decision,” Kuroo said.

Yaku’s somber mood was gone in an instant. “I’m trying to act in a way that shows you some sympathy, but I should’ve known you’re impossible to please. Yamamoto? Do you have the list?”

“What list?” Kuroo asked.

“The list that tells me what games are played the least.”

Yamamoto pulled out a folded up piece of paper and solemnly handed it to Yaku.

“You guys are being so dramatic,” Kuroo said. “No one needs a list. I could tell you right now which ones don’t get a lot of players.”

“So you know the facts, but you’re still refusing the logical course of action?”

“Kenma loves that game,” Kuroo said, pointing to the one in the corner. “It’s the only game he plays.”

“Kuroo, we can’t keep the game for one person. That’s ridiculous.”

“We can,” Kuroo argued. “He has a membership, which not many people do, and we need to honor what he comes here for.”

“Losing one person isn’t so bad in the scheme of things.”

“You would lose two,” Kuroo said, decisively. “If you get rid of the game, then I won’t work here anymore.”

Yaku let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re ignorant for believing that one person’s enjoyment isn’t enough.” He ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t often that he got this worked up, but Kenma was someone who deserved to be fought for. “It’s enough.”

“This one for sure,” Yamamoto said, lightly hitting the side of one of the other machines. “No one really plays it anymore because the controls don’t work quite right.” He was trying to keep the peace by at least making some progress. Kuroo could see that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn't use it for his own argument.

“See, Yaku? Now this is worth the conversation. Why don’t we check for the games that are broken in some way? Those should be replaced first before anything else.”

“Popularity isn’t something that can be repaired, Kuroo. If they’re not getting played enough, they’re leaving. End of discussion.”

Kuroo tried his best, but it seemed that words weren’t enough. “Fine,” he said. “Then I’ll just sit here until you change your mind.” He sat with his back against the machine, even crossing his arms for effect.

Yaku pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m already doing it.”

Was it childish? Maybe a little bit. But Kuroo was quickly realizing that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Kenma. He glanced at Yamamoto to see whose side he was taking, but he was purposefully not making eye contact. Yaku, on the other hand, was staring Kuroo down and looking like he was really trying not to lose his temper.

Part of him felt bad for aggravating Yaku so much, but not bad enough to let the game slip from his fingers. No way would he lose the game, because losing the game meant losing Kenma.

“Alright!” Yaku said finally, throwing his hands up. “We can keep it in the breakroom.”

“Really?” Kuroo asked. That didn’t take nearly as long as he was expecting it to. He was actually prepared to sit there all night, for days even. Part of him wanted to keep fighting to keep the game where it was, but a bigger part told him he should stop while he was ahead. If he learned one thing about Yaku, it was to not push his luck further than absolutely necessary. He got to his feet, grinning. “Thanks, Yaku. I knew you would come around.”

Yaku waved off Kuroo’s attempt at a hug as he walked away. “Just so you know, the headache you’ve been giving me is coming out of your paycheck.”

Whether Yaku was serious or not, Kuroo didn’t mind. He would’ve given up his entire paycheck for this victory.

“I’ve been waiting for this day,” Yamamoto said with a grin. “The day love makes you crazy.”

“What’s crazy is you standing there that whole time without backing me up.”

“Hey, someone has to be the peacemaker, remember?”

“I remember,” Kuroo said, ruffling Yamamoto’s hair. “And I appreciate it.”

Kuroo took it upon himself to oversee the moving of the machines. He had to make sure that Yaku was actually going to keep his word, and that no harm would come to the machine in the process of moving it. Thankfully, it made it safely into the breakroom, and Kuroo’s fight was finally over.

Although the game was remaining on the premises, Kuroo was nervous about telling Kenma. He felt bad to be breaking up Kenma’s routine. Would Kenma even feel comfortable playing it in the breakroom? Despite Kuroo’s efforts, would this still be the last day he would come to the arcade?

It was all he could think about while he waited for Kenma to arrive. But luckily Yamamoto made up for his distraction, doing the tasks that he wasn’t able to focus on. Kuroo would make up for it later, of course. But not today. Not when his feelings were on the line.

When Kenma finally walked in, Kuroo met him at the door.

Kenma seemed a little surprised to be approached like that, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. Kuroo took that as a sign to continue.

“Can you come over here for a second? I need to talk to you about something.”

Kuroo thought it would be better to set it up that way rather than Kenma walking over to the corner to find that there was a different game there. But at the same time, was saying he had to talk to him about something worse? Would it stress Kenma out more than necessary?

But the walk to the break room was short, and Kenma seemed calm about it. When Kuroo opened the door to reveal the arcade machine, he wasn’t sure how Kenma would react. He didn’t want him to feel negatively, but how couldn’t he? It was Kenma’s favorite game, and now it was awkwardly shoved into the employee break room.

“We had to move the game back here to make room for some new ones,” Kuroo explained. “I’m really sorry.”

To Kuroo’s surprise, Kenma seemed a little confused. “You’re really sorry? Why?”

He didn’t seem to be upset in the slightest, and now it was Kuroo’s turn to be confused. Of course he was relieved that Kenma wasn’t upset, but to not be bothered at all seemed a little strange. He decided to talk things through and see if that would help him make sense of things. “Because it’s changing what you’re used to. And I figured it would bother you that we almost got rid of it. Because it’s your favorite game, isn’t it?

Kenma was quiet for a moment. “It’s not something I really like or dislike,” he said finally.

That was not the response Kuroo was expecting. He took a moment to collect himself, and then remembered that the best things in life always seemed to be unexpected. He was eager to hear Kenma’s explanation, eager to learn as much about him as possible.

“Oh?” he said.

Kenma smiled. “My friend, though…he got so excited when he got on the leaderboard that he cheered so loudly. It was embarrassing that everyone looked at us, but I tried to just focus on him.”

“H.S.?” Kuroo asked, looking at the initials that Kenma was pointing at on the screen.

Kenma nodded. “Hinata Shoyo. He’s overseas at university now, but…” he trailed off, shrugging slightly. “I play this game and I think of him. I think of what it would be like if I found something that made me feel the same way that he did when he got this high score.”

It seemed that with each word Kenma said, Kuroo’s heart grew bigger. He wanted to help Kenma in any way he could. He wanted him to be pleased.

“Well, there’s a whole arcade full of machines other than this one,” Kuroo said, fully prepared to walk him around to each and every one. “I’m sure we can find something that would get you excited.”

“I’m thinking of something more than a game, actually.” Kenma looked down at his shoes, then back up at Kuroo. “Shoyo’s not the only reason why I play this one.”

After weeks of seeing Kenma at the arcade, Kuroo was so excited to finally be learning things about him that were coming from Kenma himself rather than just an observation. He tried not to sound too enthusiastic as he prompted him for more. “No?”

Kenma shook his head. “I play the same game because it’s familiar to me,” he said. “It’s something to help calm me down while I’m trying to work up the courage to talk to you.”

It took a moment for the words to process.

“To talk to me?” Kuroo repeated.

Kenma nodded. “But I’ve found something out. I actually don’t need a lot of courage to talk to you. I talk to you, and it’s easy.”

It was too good to be true. But maybe Kenma’s words meant that Kuroo was actually deserving of it. He relaxed, smiling at him. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”

How long, he wondered? How long had Kenma been feeling the same way? And how could he express to him what he’d been feeling in his heart ever since Kenma first walked into the arcade? There was a lot to talk about, and there was only one way to start. “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

Kenma hesitated, and Kuroo’s heart almost dropped thinking he read things wrong, that he asked too soon. But then Kenma smiled as he looked up at him. “Can we do take-out at my place instead?”

Again, Kenma surprised him, and again, it felt like Kuroo’s heart grew. “Of course, Kenma. I’d love that.”

And when they started dating a few weeks later, Yamamoto was just as excited about the news as they were.

Kenma was easy to take care of. It was natural for Kuroo, a second-nature. Kenma was easy to fight for, easy to love.

Maybe it wasn’t always easy to understand other people, to know why they did certain things. But Kuroo would take the time to learn everything about Kenma, even if it took a lifetime.

A lifetime, Kuroo thought to himself, and smiled.

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