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It's been two and a half years since Kenma last spoke to Kuroo. Two and a half years since he last stood in front of him, trying to memorize the exact shade of his eyes and the contour of his cheeks, as if he’s trying to recreate him from memory alone because he knows he won’t be seeing him again. He suspects he can do it. Draw Kuroo from memory. He suspects that if he’s asked to blindly feel for him, he’d pick him out in a sea of people in seconds. He can pick out his laugh from a kilometer away, his handwriting with a single letter, his smell with one nose plugged, the texture of his stupid messy hair with just one strand. That’s what sixteen years of knowing somebody gets you.
It's been two and a half years since he told Kuroo he loved him. The content of the letter containing his confession still fresh in his mind. He can recite it perfectly because he’s been reciting it to himself every day since. I love you. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen and first knew what love was. You are my best friend. My favorite person in this entire world. I probably will never love someone the way I love you—
It’s been two and a half years since Kuroo told him he did not love him back.
Now, Kuroo is standing at a random hotel bar in California, looking just as sinfully handsome as he did at 24. Kenma’s heart jumps into his throat. The sight of him makes him want to cry because of how much he’s missed him. Kuroo sees Kenma too and they look at each other, simultaneously understanding that they are best friends and strangers all at once.
Kenma does the only thing he can do—he flees.
Kuroo does the only thing he wants to do—he follows him.
~
When the door slams behind him, Kenma is trying his hardest to catch his breath. He leans against the wall, clutching his chest. He doesn’t know which part of him he’s trying to control—his body in reaction to the fastest he’s ran since his high school days for volleyball practice or his mind in reaction to him.
What is he doing here? Kenma’s mind races. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in Japan. In Tokyo.
Not in the middle of Anaheim, California of all places.
Kenma tries to fool himself into thinking it’s not him. What would Kuroo do here anyways? Kenma is here for Vidcon. He has multiple panels he has agreed to participate in and a few people he’s promised he would meet, other YouTubers and streamers who want to collab with him in the future. Kuroo has no reason to be here. He has a job. At home. In Tokyo. Where Kenma’s managed to hide from him so expertly all these years by avoiding all of their old haunts. Is luck truly against him that he’d run into him here, at this hotel, oceans away, of all places?
Even when he’s monologuing inside his head, he knows he hasn’t mistaken a stranger for Kuroo. No one looks like that in his mind. And no one looks back at Kenma like that, like he knows everything about him.
His chest aches, and not from the run, but from seeing the man he’s been in love with for a decade stand across from him once again. So close, yet so far away. The distance Kenma puts between them taunting and laughing at him every day.
It’s for the best. He reminds himself. He can’t go back to being friends with Kuroo, not with the way everything went down. How he left his heart out on the table just for him to show up on a grainy Facetime announcing that he’s got a girlfriend a day later.
Remembering that moment instantly makes Kenma weak in the knees. The lump in his throat rising so fast it constricts his breathing. Suddenly, as if it’s just yesterday, he’s back there, on the beach under the umbrella to hide from the blazing Brazil sun, answering a call from Kuroo while Shoyo plays volleyball with his friends in the distant…
“Kenma! How’s Brazil? Is Chibi-chan keeping you company?” Kuroo’s smiling on the phone, looking so excited to see him.
Kenma thought, “This is it. He’s going to tell me he loves me too.” Because that’s the only reason he can think of for Kuroo to look so happy. He’s read his letter. He understood. He couldn’t come with Kenma because it’s last minute, so now he’s calling to let him know instead. The knots in Kenma’s stomach tighten as he anticipates the news.
“He’s a handful as always. He tried to rope me into beach volleyball, can you believe that? I can barely walk in the sand.” This is what he manages to say out loud while his inside is screaming, “Tell me now! I can’t wait any longer!” He bounces his legs in nervousness, his one free hand fumbling with his waistband just for something to do.
“I would pay good money to see you play in the sand,” Kuroo grins. Then his voice lowers, “Listen, I have to tell you something—”
Kenma can feel the world tilting on its axis. He has never, not once in his life, ever heard something so clearly that it echoes in his ears long after the speaker has stopped, played on and on like an endless loop from one of those singing birthday cards. Nothing except for these words, “I have a girlfriend.”
Kenma’s face freezes. His legs stop bouncing, as if now weighed down with a thousand tons of bricks. He blinks, unable to do anything else.
Kuroo goes on, “We’ve been talking for a few weeks now, but we just made it official last night. Anyways, I think I have some vacation days coming up actually so we’re going to go somewhere for a few days. I just want to tell you in case I’m not here when you come back—”
There’s a ringing in his ears that won’t stop. It’s as if he’s being swarmed by bees or hornets. He feels like he’s stuck inside a hurricane, frozen while the rest of his world collapses outside of him.
“That’s great, Kuroo.” He hastily cut him off. He can’t hear anymore. “I—I got to go now. I think the signal is getting bad. Bye!” And he doesn’t wait for Kuroo to say goodbye before hitting the red button to end the call. He can’t even look him in the face to see what kind of expression Kuroo has on. Does it matter? All the joy he feels is not because of Kenma.
Kenma slumps back into his fold-out beach chair, feeling numb and devastated and enraged and nothing all at once.
I told him I loved him. He repeats to himself. And he said he has a girlfriend.
It’s a while until he realizes that he’s crying, when the tears finally made their way into his ears and wetting his hair, when he feels his eyes go heavy and swollen with the weight of it. Kenma’s grateful that Shoyo’s too far away to see him or hear him. He wants the luxury to fall apart on his own. He shoots him a quick text before gathering his things and walking back to Shoyo’s apartment alone.
Kenma picks himself up from the ground to look through the peephole in the door. Kuroo’s not in the hallway. Chances are he’s lost him.
He breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe that wasn’t Kuroo, after all. Maybe he’s just so used to looking for him in a crowd that a tall, handsome man with black hair is now starting to look like Kuroo. Maybe he’s finally forgotten what he looks like.
All of the possibilities only make him sadder. It doesn’t matter which one is true. He’s disappointed either way.
Not for the first time, Kenma thinks of messaging Kuroo again. This time it’s to ask whether he truly is in California or in Japan where he should be. But he’s not ready to open that door.
When they last spoken, when Kenma came back for the very last of his boxes to see Kuroo staring dejectedly at the empty space where his stuff has been, Kenma vowed not to reach out to him anymore. Not until he’s no longer in love with him.
Two and a half years later, he hasn’t made much progress. Turns out, distance and space don’t do anything to erase Kuroo from his life. Nothing does. He suspects nothing will. He’ll just have to live with this terrible, all-consuming love for Kuroo for the rest of his life.
But he can’t be friends with him again, can he? Can he sit and listen to Kuroo drone on about what’s-her-name? Because Kenma knows they’re still together. Can he sit across the table from him and pretend he doesn’t want to have him all to himself? Can he go just one second without screaming and asking, Why didn’t you choose me?
Kenma has learned that he’s inherently selfish. He can’t do it. He can’t be Kuroo’s best friend anymore. Not when he’s in love with him and Kuroo’s in love with someone else. He loves him an unhealthy amount. He loves him so much it hurts. It hurts to be with him. It hurts to be away from him.
But this is the better choice. This way, Kuroo can get the life that he deserves without Kenma getting in the way with his stupid, unrestrained feelings. Kenma can give him that at least, can’t he?
He makes his way to his bed and collapses on it. Tomorrow is the last day of actual work. Then, he can take a day off to relax before flying back to Tokyo. He needs to sleep. He can’t think of Kuroo and his broad shoulders and his wide golden eyes looking at him like he’s found a treasure chest just minutes ago downstairs. He can’t think of Kuroo and his soft black hair and his sad, teary eyes when he told him he needed space two and a half years ago before walking out on him for the first time in their sixteen years of friendship.
He can’t think of Kuroo, but that’s all he can think about. He can’t think of Kuroo, but he dreams of him. In his dreams, Kuroo loves him back. Sometimes, Kenma wakes up crying.
~
Kenma tried, one time, to go to a MSBY game in person. He wanted to be there for Shoyo, who’s been there so much for him emotionally when he finally found out about how things went down with Kuroo. He wore a big hoodie, a mask, and sunglasses, concealing everything he could possibly conceal without stopping his ability to breathe. He made it to the stadium, made it all the way to his seat, even. He was about to sit down, trying to look for Shoyo or Bokuto in the midst of players, when he saw Kuroo instead. His heart skips a beat. It’s been a year since he last saw him in person.
He looked hot in a suit. And he was wearing that red tie Kenma got for him, the first thing Kenma ever got him with his real adult money. His chest constricted, but that would’ve been fine if that was all there is. He could’ve handled that.
But that wasn’t all because Kuroo wasn’t completely alone. He was talking to another woman. She wore a badge just like him around her neck, so Kenma had assumed she was with the JVA as well. Then they kissed. Just briefly. One mini-second. Not even on the lips. Just Kuroo leaning over to give her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, making her blush and smile at him.
Kenma didn’t stay for the game. He felt sick. He went to the bathroom with the fear that he was actually going to throw up, leaning over and gagging into the toilet. Luckily, he didn’t, but he shot a quick text apologizing to Shoyo before catching the train home. He can’t afford to go to any games, so he just watched MSBY matches on his TV. It’s better this way. This way, if he catches a glimpse of Kuroo on the screen, then the only person who would know is himself. And if it makes him want to cry or scream or throw up again to be reminded of his place in Kuroo’s life, then no one has to know about it but him.
~
Kenma doesn’t know what propels him to go to the bar again the following night. He must be masochist, knowing that this can only end in ways that hurt him. But he can’t resist it, if Kuroo’s here, he wants to know for sure.
And it’s okay, right? To see him here in California? Maybe it doesn’t count when you’re in a different country. Maybe it wouldn’t remind him of all the things he could have had. Maybe it would only set him free, to see the happy life Kuroo’s got now, and he’ll know that he’s made the right decision.
He nurses the beer in his hand like it’s his only lifeline. He’ll give it until the end of this drink, then he’ll head upstairs. Kenma’s not going to wait all night for Kuroo—he knows how painfully that goes, waiting for somebody who will never show.
When Kenma’s all but given up again, the stone in his stomach sinking further into the ground, he sips the very last drop from his beer and stands to go.
“Calling it quit at 10:00? Since when are you an early sleeper?” It’s like his voice has come from the depths of Kenma’s imagination. The same teasing, easy tone that sends his insides churning and tugs an unsuspecting smile at the corner of his lips.
“I’m getting old, is all.” Kenma slips back into his seat, his heart thumping so loudly he’s surprised it hasn’t sprung free already. “You are too.” Kenma finally looks at him. At his Kuroo. The years, remarkably, have aged him more than he expects. The tiredness around Kuroo’s eyes more prominent, crow’s feet showing when he smiles. The space between his brow edged with worry lines.
But his face, his beautiful, handsome face, is the same as Kenma remembers. The curve of his lips and the sharpness of his jaw. The way his hair sweeps across his shinning gold eyes. His broad, dependable shoulders filling out his button-up shirt nicely, with the sleeves rolled half-way to his elbows. Kenma doesn’t mean to stare, but his eyes don’t have anywhere else they’d rather be. He's been deprived of Kuroo for too long.
“Can I sit here?” Kuroo gestures to the chair beside him. His eyes are uncertain. Kenma doesn’t blame him, given their last interactions.
He nods, not trusting himself to say anything. He rips his eyes away from him to look at his empty beer bottle in his hand. Now that Kuroo’s here, Kenma doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t have anything really to say to him now, does he? It hasn’t been like this since the first few days of them meeting each other that they have no idea what to say to each other. Kenma almost laughs at the awkwardness and irony of it.
It's Kuroo who speaks first, “It’s nice to see you again, Kenma.” He can feel his eyes on him. “You look just as good in person as those edits your fans make of you.” As Kodzuken, Kenma gets tagged in a lot of videos and picture edits. 98% of which are downright embarrassing. The other 2% are pure talent.
Kenma lets out a groan, the awkwardness leaving his body. “Oh my god. Please tell me you don’t actually watch those.”
Kuroo laughs, the sound so familiar, like a favorite song that Kenma hasn’t heard in a while. “It’s a curse to have a face that can be so easily edited with cat ears.”
“I pray that you don’t see the ones with the flower crowns.” He wrinkles his nose.
“Flower crowns, dog ears, anime-version of you, compilations of you smiling—you name it and I’ve seen it.” Kuroo looks so proud of himself, so achingly the same as he always was that Kenma almost forgot who they were now. That is, until his voice softens, “It’s the only way I get to see you now, Kenma. On a screen through everyone’s eyes but my own.”
“Kuroo,” Kenma looks into his eyes. He wishes he could just reach out and touch him, to rub that space between his brows free of lines, to gently cup his cheeks like he’s something precious. But instead he clenches his hands into fists and looks down. “We can’t be friends. Not yet.”
“I know.” Kuroo’s voice is sad. Kenma can’t bear to look at him, so he strains his eyes once again on his beer bottle. He hears Kuroo quietly asking, “Can I buy you a drink, at least? Or can we get dinner or something tomorrow? I just want to talk to you, please.”
The pleading in his voice is enough to break Kenma’s resolve. What can he ask of him that Kenma won’t do?
“We can do dinner tomorrow. Here at the hotel restaurant.” He says before he can chicken out of it, even though all he wants to do is to weasel his way back into Kuroo’s life and never leave again. Kenma bites his lips before asking, “Is your girlfriend here?”
“Yes. But she won’t join us for dinner tomorrow, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Kenma looks up now, raising a questioning brow.
“She’s going to meet up with a friend.” Kuroo explains, shrugging.
“Right.” He tries not to show how relieved he is. “What time tomorrow?”
“Seven?”
Kenma nods again. He’ll probably regret this. He already does. But what can he do? The deepest, purest, most selfish part of him wants to see Kuroo again. Wants to fit back into the space he carved out like he’s never left. Wants to regain his position by his side as his best friend. If Kuroo wants it too, they can pretend for a few hours? And it won’t hurt too much when he leaves again?
“Perfect.” Kenma can hear the smile in his voice without seeing it. Kuroo gets down from his chair to leave, but before he does, he slides something towards him. “I got you this, by the way.”
Kenma eyes the drink being pushed towards him. It’s pink with sugar rimmed around the top, a margarita. The smell of strawberries hits his nostrils. “You know I don’t really like strawberries anymore.”
“I heard.”
“Oh?” Kenma picks up the cocktail glass, anyway, swirling it around and hearing the ice clinks against one another.
“Akaashi might have mentioned it a few times.” Kuroo says this like it’s nothing, but they both know it’s not. Kenma has always liked sweet things. Even with alcohol, he has always had something sweet to chase the bitter taste. One of his favorite flavors, besides anything resembling apple pie, is strawberry. But for the last two and a half years, he hasn’t touched it. Not the fruit nor anything strawberry-flavored. Apparently, Akaashi shared this information with Kuroo. “It surprised me.”
“People change.” Kenma shrugs.
“People do. But do you?” Kuroo’s voice suggests that Kenma doesn’t need to actually respond. Thankfully, because he doesn’t have anything to say to that. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenma. Try the drink. Toss it if it really makes your stomach hurt.” Then he walks away, hands in his pockets.
Kenma’s still staring at the drink in his hand. Kuroo doesn’t know it, but strawberries always remind Kenma of him. Of the days that they were boys. Of the days that Kenma was wholeheartedly Kuroo’s alone and vice versa.
“Kuroo! Stop running so fast please!” Kenma pants, his short legs running so much faster than he’s ever gone as Kuroo pulls his outstretched hand.
“We gotta go, Kenma!” Kuroo says excitedly, his black hair bouncing wildly as he runs. “I don’t want to waste any time.” His other hand is holding a volleyball. Ever since Kenma agreed to play with him, they’ve been making this trek to the park every day. Sometimes, if Kuroo is too over-excited like today, he’ll drag Kenma by his arm as he sprints to their spot.
Kenma is dying at the speed at which they’re racing down this hill. His left side is stabbing at him uncomfortably.
“Kuroo—Ah!” He’s about to complain again when one of his feet is caught in front of the other, sending him flying towards the other boy.
Kuroo is quick to regain his footing, but Kenma isn’t so lucky. He falls face first and scrapes his knees in the process.
“Are you okay? Kenma?” Kuroo’s worried face appears in his vision, his round eyes wide. He helps him get up. “I’m so sorry.”
Kenma bites his lips to keep from crying. His knees stung. A lot. But he can’t cry because then Kuroo would feel bad, and he would definitely cry too. Kenma doesn’t want to make Kuroo cry.
“I’m okay, Kuroo. Just don’t go so fast next time.” He mumbles, patting at his clothes to get the dirt off of him.
“I’m so sorry.” Kuroo already looks like he’s close to tears. He looks down on the ground, still clutching the volleyball tight.
“I’m fine. Really.” He tries to smile at him, but then realizes that his right knee is bleeding. “Oh no.”
Kuroo follows his eyes and gasps. “Kenma! You’re bleeding.”
“Ugh, it’s fine. It’ll stop soon.” Is there anything he can use here to stop the bleeding? Nothing that’s clean anyways.
“You stay here.” Kuroo hands him the ball, leading him to the side of the road so he can lean against the wall. “I’ll go get you a band-aid.”
“That’s not really necessary—”
Kuroo shushes him. “I’ll be right back.” Then he sprints away faster than Kenma can object.
Kenma waits for only ten minutes before Kuroo’s little figure appears beside him again. He’s grinning as he catches his breath.
“Here, eat this.” He shoves a popsicle into Kenma’s hand. “Consider that my apologies. And stay still.” Kuroo then leans down to clean his knee. Carefully with a wet wipe first, then a dry one, then a band-aid over the wound.
As Kenma watches Kuroo at work, his own fingers curl around the wooden stick holding up the strawberry popsicle. The hot summer heat covers his skin, and the sweet iciness of the strawberry coats his lips.
Strawberries always taste like Kuroo when they’re seven and he hands him a popsicle while he patches up his knees before they walk, slowly, to their park to practice volleyball.
Strawberries always taste like Kuroo when they’re twelve and they’re watching the fireworks after spending a few hot hours wandering around the night festival.
Strawberries always taste like Kuroo when he buys Kenma milk after dragging him to early morning practice on weekends in high school because he knows Kenma’s too lazy to get breakfast for himself.
Strawberries always taste like Kuroo when he tries to make ice cream for the first time by following an internet recipe without half of the ingredients when they move to their first apartment together.
Strawberries always taste like Kuroo.
Kenma glances down at his drink and sees that it’s completely empty. Even after two and a half years, he still loves the taste of strawberries. It’s sweet. It cuts the bitterness of the alcohol in half. It still tastes like Kuroo.
He licks his lips to get every last drop. Seems like old habits die screaming, after all.
~
They sit in the farthest corner of the restaurant for dinner because they don’t want to be disturbed by one of Kenma’s fans or other Youtubers. Kenma is relieved for the privacy, also because it feels like he can get Kuroo all to himself.
The restaurant is fancy. Fancier than any place they would’ve gone together back home. It almost, almost, seems like a date, but Kenma kicks himself for having this thought. He gets one night. One more night with Kuroo. Let it be a normal, friendly catch-up so he can go on with the rest of his life in peace.
“So what are you doing here?” Kenma asks him once their waiter has gotten their orders. His curiosity couldn’t be held back any longer.
“Vacation.” Kuroo says simply. He’s wearing another button-up shirt today and the top button is loose, revealing just enough skin to make Kenma’s throat dry. “Plus, Ema has friends in the area she’s meeting up with. You?”
Kenma almost winces at the sound of her name but he chooses to answer Kuroo instead, “Vidcon. I skipped last year, so a lot of people were expecting me this year.”
“I’m not surprised, Kodzuken is a household name, you know. I can’t open Twitter without seeing a post about you.” Kuroo’s eyes glitter in the dim light. When Kenma first started streaming and posting videos on YouTube, Kuroo was always first to log on, first to comment and like, first to annoyingly share his video with anyone he knows. It doesn’t surprise him to know that Kuroo would keep up with his content.
“You know those posts are targeted.”
“Even people at my work knows about you, Kenma. I’m pretty sure they’re not the target demographics you’re looking for.”
“Wait that’s really good to know.” He points out, his mind racing with the statistics. “I am trying to branch out into different demographics. How old are they? Are they—”
“Hey no business talk.” Kuroo pouts. “I want to know about you.” He looks so earnest. Kenma just wants to say he already knows everything there is to know about him. Everything that matters anyways.
“What about me?”
“I don’t know, what’s new with you?” He lays his chin on top of his hands, looking at Kenma like he too is trying to memorize the shape of his face for safe-keeping.
“New? Nothing’s new. Same old same old.” Truly, there’s nothing new in his life that would interest Kuroo. Everything is exactly the same—he streams, he posts videos, he occasionally hangs out with Shoyo, he talks to Akaashi on the phone, he eats too much instant ramen for his own good. Exactly the same except the best thing in his life is no longer there. Though that’s not what Kuroo’s asking.
“What bout that guy you were seeing?”
“Who?” This startles Kenma. He hasn’t expected Kuroo to bring up relationships.
“The YouTuber with the bleached tips.” He waves his hand around his head to demonstrate. “Not like yours but way shorter. He’s Australian?”
“Oh him? That was last year.” Another streamer Kenma collaborated with one time. They met at Comic Con, and he likes him enough to make a quick video together. Then, a day after they meet, they go out with some other creators and are caught making out outside the club. The picture circulates the internet for a few weeks before another celebrity gossip overtakes their supposed “romance”. Kenma didn’t have any intention of being with Charlie, but he was cute, and he was there.
“Oh. You’re not seeing him anymore?”
“I don’t think being caught kissing by paparazzi counts as seeing anybody.” Kenma rolls his eyes.
“Oh.” Kuroo pauses. Then says, “But are you seeing anyone?”
Kenma doesn’t know why Kuroo’s so suddenly invested in his love life, but he can’t discuss this any further. Not when the person he wants most is who he can’t have. He shakes his head, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay, sorry.” Kuroo takes a sip of his wine. Kenma does too for a lack of better things to do. “So did you get that new video game? Final Fantasy XIV something?”
“That?” Kenma’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “Yeah, I did. How did you know that came out?” Kuroo was always one who never followed video games. All of what he knew was from Kenma’s occasional rants.
“Targeted ads.”
“Hm.” Kenma doesn’t really believe that, but he lets it go. He tries to search for things to say to him and it doesn’t take long to find something. As if he doesn’t have a running list of things he wishes he could tell Kuroo readily available in his head. “Did you see the last MSBY vs Adler’s game by the way? Bokuto’s form is sharper than ever.”
With that, Kuroo’s eyes light up and he launches into his own analysis and thoughts of the aforementioned game just a few weeks ago. Kenma almost forgot the joy of watching volleyball with Kuroo, of sharing insights and observations and dissecting every move on the court. The two of them talk and talk and talk. About volleyball. About their shared friends. About anything under the sun that isn’t the thing that now divides them forever.
Kenma has almost forgotten how much he loved being around Kuroo. His energy, his laugh, and his captivating charm. They slip into their old roles easily, with Kenma teasing Kuroo mercilessly and Kuroo taking it like a champ.
They finish a whole bottle of wine, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and from laughing too hard for too long. It’s so familiar, the floating feeling in Kenma’s chest. Even as his vision gets blurrier, he still tries to keep his eyes on Kuroo, to hold on to this moment for longer even as it slips like sand through his fingers.
They continue to talk until the restaurant closes for the night.
“Well, thank you for having dinner with me.” Kuroo smiles down at him as they’re ushered outside the restaurant. Neither of them moves further than the door. Kenma doesn’t want to go back to his room because that means that his limited time with Kuroo is over.
“I had fun.” Kenma admits, giving him a small smile back. I always did, with you.
They stand there for a few seconds, just taking in each other. Then Kuroo reaches a hand to touch Kenma’s arm. The warmth of his hand sends tingles throughout Kenma’s body. “I’ve missed you, Kenma.” His voice is so soft Kenma would’ve thought he imagined it if he wasn’t staring right at his face to see his lips moving.
“Kuroo…”
“I want—” Kenma doesn’t get to know what Kuroo wants because a woman’s voice cuts through the rest of his sentence.
“Tetsu! Going up with me?” They both turn their heads towards the source. And Kenma sees her by the elevator, in a gold, silk dress this time, waving and smiling at Kuroo. She’s too far away for Kenma to properly see the expression on her face, but he knows she sees him too. The fact that she didn’t come over means, Come here, Kuroo.
Ice runs through Kenma’s veins. As if he needs more reminder that Kuroo isn’t his. He knows his place.
“Looks like your girlfriend’s back.” He turns to look at Kuroo one last time. His eyes burn but he refuses to cry in front of him. “It was nice seeing you, really. I’m going to go now. Take care, Kuroo.” He pries his arm away from his grip and starts walking in the opposite direction. He doesn’t know if he can get upstairs from there, but he can’t stand here anymore.
“Wait Kenma—” He hears his frantic voice behind him, but Kenma doesn’t look back.
For the second time that week, Kenma runs. His eyes search for an exit or a door. He finds something that’s close enough. He disappears behind the door and locks himself in the family bathroom.
Unfortunately, Kenma’s luck runs out. Seconds later, he hears Kuroo banging on the door. “Kenma, please let me in. Please.”
What good will it do? Kenma is determined to stay here until Kuroo leaves. This was a mistake. Seeing Kuroo again was a mistake. He shouldn’t have done it. What good did it do for the two of them? To remind them both of what they lost? The hours they spent together were the happiest he’s been in years. Of course, he knew that would happen. He knew this would happen too—how hard it would be to walk away again—but he has to stay strong.
“Go away, Kuroo.” His voice trembles, not matching his resolve.
“Kenma. Can’t I see you for a few more minutes please? Just five minutes.” He sounds like a child begging to stay on the playground. But five minutes? Kenma can give him that, can’t he? Can’t he use five more minutes, too?
Kenma unlocks the door and lets Kuroo in. This time, Kuroo doesn’t waste a second before enveloping him into a hug.
The weight of Kuroo’s arms around him—it feels right. They fit, perfectly, Kenma’s head slotting in the crook of Kuroo’s neck, their arms tight around one another. Kuroo is so so warm. He feels his hot breath brushing the top of his hair. He breathes him in like the scent alone could sustain him for the rest of his days.
Kenma is grateful Kuroo is holding on to him because he fears he would’ve fallen down if not for him.
They stay like that. Perhaps for the full five minutes, Kenma doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to be the one to pull away first.
Kuroo is the one to do it. His face unreadable as he stares into Kenma’s eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s searching for, but Kenma hopes the words aren’t written plainly on his face like he’s afraid they are.
“I’ve missed you, Kenma.” Kuroo says, voice almost breaking. “I’ve missed you so much my chest hurts. Do you know that can happen? That you can physically ache by being away from someone?”
“Yes.” Kenma knows that feeling all too well. But Kuroo can’t be saying the same thing he’s thinking. It’s foolish. He needs him to leave now before he gets any more of these foolish ideas. “Kuroo, you got your dinner. You got your drinks too. And you were right, okay? I do still like strawberries. It tasted good. You still know me, okay? Now it’s time to go.”
“I want you back, Kenma.” And he sounds like he means it. The ringing is back in Kenma’s ears. His head pounds against his skull.
“You need to leave, Kuroo.” He shakes his head. He tries to wiggle out of his grip but Kuroo only tightens his hold on him.
“Why?” Why? Why can’t Kuroo understand?
“Because your girlfriend is out there waiting for you.” Kenma hisses, finally free. “Ema is out there waiting for you.” You chose her.
“But you’re in here.” Kuroo grabs his hands again. Kenma realizes that he’s trembling. “Kenma, please. Why can’t we be friends? I’ve missed my best friend. I’ve missed you.”
“You know why, Kuroo.” Kenma’s voice is soft. He looks away from him because he feels hot tears rolling down his cheeks. His hands burn where Kuroo’s holding on tight to him.
“I don’t understand. I—”
“I still love you, okay?” He whirls around, the words clawing their ways out of his throat now, unrestrained and unfiltered. “I still fucking love you. As much as I did two and a half years ago, if not more. And it hurts me to love you. Do you know that? To look at you and her together? Even after all these years.” He runs his hands through his hair, hoping that it would make the headache go away. The words spitting out his mouth like venom, but he doesn’t hate Kuroo. He hates himself. “Jesus, Kuroo, I can’t stand it. I can’t fucking stand it. It’s fine if you don’t love me back. Really. I’ve known that was a possibility, but for you to not even say it to my face after reading my letter but just telling me you have a girlfriend on the phone? That hurts too. And I’m not over it. I’m not. So, I’m sorry but we can’t be friends.”
With that, Kenma races outside, not pausing to look at Kuroo’s face because he knows it’ll only make it harder. He doesn’t look back. But he doesn’t hear footsteps following him either. All he knows is that he was right—it hurts to love Kuroo. And he can’t see him. Ever again.
~
Two and a half years ago, Kenma placed a letter on top of Kuroo’s pillow. His hands shook as he did so, but he hoped that Kuroo would understand why it had to be this way. He couldn’t face him for real, the possibility of rejection straight from Kuroo’s face and lips mere inches away from him would probably make him break down in an instant.
So, he wrote him a letter. Something he could read on his own. It would give him time to answer Kenma with no pressure or his own presence there to bias it. He left the letter before Kuroo could get home from work. Then he headed to the airport to catch a flight to Brazil, hoping Kuroo would follow his footsteps just hours later.
He recites the letter in his mind,
Kuro,
It feels weird writing this to you because haven’t we always said everything to each other? But I feel like I can’t tell you this. I’ve tried and tried but the words get stuck in my throat like a fishbone that I have to swallow back down. So, I’m writing to you instead. Maybe that’s me being a coward because I don’t even have the guts to say it to your face. But a huge part of me doesn’t know if I can do this without jeopardizing our friendship or falling apart right in front of you, and I really don’t want to do that.
Here goes, I’ve stalled long enough. And don’t fret, it’s nothing bad.
I love you. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen and first knew what love was. You are my best friend. My favorite person in this entire world. I probably will never love someone the way I love you, with the years between us and the ways we know each other. I look back at my life and find that all of my life-changing moments have been shared with you. How lucky am I? To have a best friend like you to share my sorrows and my joys. I want them all, and I want more with you.
You might not feel the same way, but if you do, I hope you would come with me to Brazil to see Shoyo. Then, we can travel around if you want because I know you have a few days open on your calendar. Is there somewhere you want to go? I’d go anywhere, as long as I get to be with you. I’m attaching your tickets here, one for my flight and one for the one after if you can’t make the first. I hope you use it. I’ll be waiting for you. If you can’t come, I’ll be so sad, but at least please let me know so I don’t fly across the world thinking you’re not in love with me. Unless you’re not, then I would be devastated, but I’d understand. Either way, talk to me soon?
Yours in every sense of the word,
Kenma.
And Kenma waited for him at the gate. He waited until the last boarding call of the flight, the last person to walk in before the door closed behind him. Head craned back as far as he could, hoping to catch a glimpse of black hair chasing after him. He was still holding out hope then, even as the flight took off without Kuroo, that a phone call or a text from Kuroo could still make everything better. Or that he would see him hours later in Brazil. He still got a chance.
But a day later, he got his answer and his heart broken. He cried for the rest of his trip in Shoyo’s apartment, apologizing profusely for ruining their shared time together. He didn’t really tell him what was going on—how could he? Saying it out loud just then would break him beyond repairs. He did manage to go on a few excursions with Shoyo, letting his joyful, mindless chatter fill the empty space inside of him for a few precious moments.
Then, before Kuroo came back from his trip, Kenma moved out of their shared apartment and out of Kuroo’s life.
~
As the bathroom door slams shut behind Kenma, Kuroo’s head spins. His last words replaying in his mind like a mantra, I love you…It’s okay if you don’t love me back…for you to not even say it to my face after reading my letter…
Kenma loved him? Loves him? He’s been running away from him all this time because he loves him? He told him in a letter—
The letter. What letter? Kuroo doesn’t understand. He hasn’t understood for the past nine hundred and thirty-five days apart from his best friend, but the gears are finally turning in his head until it clicks. The letter. All this time, he’s been missing a letter from Kenma.
He whips the door open to see that Kenma’s long gone. He searches for him, running through the hall like a madman while employees look on, worried, and Ema shouts for him to return. When his breath is too ragged to go on, he finally trudges back to her, but his mind is elsewhere.
“Are you okay?” She asks when they get on the elevator. Her eyes clouded with worry. “Did Kenma say something to upset you?”
Kuroo laughs without humor. Is he okay? He doesn’t know how to feel. Did Kenma say something to upset him? He said many things. Are they upsetting him? Or are they just uprooting everything he’s known to be true?
Kuroo’s chest tightens as he remembers the feeling of coming back to a half-empty apartment. He remembers dropping his bags by the front door and seeing anything that resembles Kenma’s presence in his life gone. As if he was never there in the first place. As if he was a made-up figment of his imagination. He remembers staring at Kenma’s blank bedroom, devoid of his electronics and streaming set-up and clothes scattered on the ground. He remembers feeling like his heart has been ripped out of his chest and stomped on repeatedly.
He's had girlfriends and boyfriends before, albeit briefly, but no breakup came close to seeing Kenma’s back as he exits his life in one swift motion.
Kuroo never fully understood why. All Kenma said was that he needed space from him, that he didn’t know if he could be his best friend anymore. All Kuroo understood was that he thought his time by Kenma’s side was up, that Kenma finally wanted to move on to somebody else, somebody better.
Now he knows why. The look in Kenma’s teary gold eyes, the saddest he has ever seen him. He should’ve known. He should have guessed. He should have tried harder to understand instead of just letting him walk away.
Kenma was heart-broken. Kuroo had broken his heart. He didn’t even know he had.
Somehow, Kuroo and Ema are back in their hotel room. She’s looking at him like she doesn’t know who she’s looking at. He sits on the bed and stares at the wall, trying to fit more pieces to the puzzle inside his head. Ema stands in front of him, in between his legs. She pulls him into her chest.
Kuroo can’t help but feels the stark difference between her and Kenma, who he had in his arms just minutes before. The sweet shampoo Kenma always uses comforted him, the bony but soft lines of his frame fitting perfectly in Kuroo’s arms. Ema is soft, but she’s not warm. Ema is soft, but she’s not who he wants to fall into right now. But he lets her comfort him anyways, remembering that it was her all those years ago that was there for him in the fallout of his and Kenma’s friendship.
“Was it a bad idea, darling? To see him again?” She traces patterns on his back. “Was it too much for you?”
“It was too much.” Kuroo admits. It was more than what he bargained for. “But it wasn’t a bad idea. I couldn’t not see him.”
Ema’s hand falters just a little bit before she resumes her caress of his back. “I’m glad you got to do it then, but I don’t think you should talk to him again. Not when it leaves you like this.”
Kuroo’s eyes burn with tears. Not to see Kenma again? Ever? He still isn’t used to that. Still doesn’t really want to hear it or do it. But is it for the best, though?
Kenma is in love with you.
Is Kuroo in love with him? The question hits him squarely in the chest. In love with Kenma? Is he in love with Kenma? He’s in love with Ema, isn’t he? He likes to kiss her and hold her and…but Ema isn’t the one whose name is at the top of his lips when he gets good news. He doesn’t turn, instinctively, when he has a joke to tell it to her. He doesn't, even after all this time, want to collapse against her after a hard day. He tells Ema good news after he realizes he can’t share them with Kenma. He says good morning to Ema because she’s the one who sleeps next to him. He turns to tell her a joke because Kenma’s no longer standing by his side. He collapses against her after a hard day because Kenma’s god knows where, kilometers apart from him.
Oh my god. Is he in love with Kenma?
“Em,” he says, peeling away from her. “Do you remember the night we went on our first date?” The night Kenma left for Brazil.
“Yes, of course.” She smiles, the memory nothing but pure happiness for her to recall.
“You were in my apartment. You remember that?” She was waiting for him to come back late from work.
“Kenma let me in.” She nods. Kuroo supposes that he remembers her from the many work events Kuroo dragged him to.
“Did you—” He swallows, the question is a simple one, but now he’s afraid of the answer. “Did you see a letter somewhere? For me?”
Ema’s brown eyes widen just a fraction of a millimeter before they return to their usual size, but Kuroo catches it. “No. I didn’t see any letter.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t see one, anywhere?” Kuroo presses on. She’s the only one who would’ve had a chance to see it. And Kuroo can feel it now in his gut—she’s lying.
Ema’s face drains of color. She knows he knows. She walks away from him. “I did see a letter.” She sits down in the chair at the far end of the room, facing towards the window instead so he can’t read her face.
“What did you do to it?” Kuroo can feel his blood boiling. He tastes bile in his mouth. All this time, she kept this from him? During the entire length of their relationship, she’s been lying to him?
“It looked like a spam letter, honestly, so I got rid of it for you.” She shrugs, her voice nonchalant. She’s outright lying now, her lips twitching nervously.
“Cut the crap. Did you read it?” Kuroo almost doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. So low. Dangerous. He digs crescents into his palm to keep his anger at bay. “Did you. Read it.”
Ema’s face flushes. It tells him everything he needs to know.
“Jesus Christ, Em!” He stands up, pacing back and forth. Kenma’s letter. His confession to him. Kuroo never got to read it. but she did. She did and she—“What did you do to it? Do you still have it?”
She looks at him now, shaking her head. A tiny bit of remorse in her eyes, but Kuroo knows from that look on her face—she’d do it again.
“I’m sorry that I read it, okay?” She gets up and makes her way to him. “I’m sorry I threw it away, but Tetsu, it was standing in the way of us. He was standing in the way of us. Kenma has always loved you. Everyone knows it. Even I could see it. And you, you always cared for him too much. More than you ever cared for anyone else. If you found out, you would’ve felt too bad to start a relationship with me and there wouldn’t be an us.” She cups his face, trying to get his eyes on her. “I did it for us. I’m sorry that took him out of your life, but I’m not sorry that it got us together. I love you.”
Kuroo winces now at her words. They sound wrong. They make him nauseous. But even Ema could see that Kenma was in love with him? How blind could Kuroo be? You always cared for him too much. Maybe it was this, the fact that he thought everything they had was normal for a friendship as deep as theirs, but that’s not true, is it? She is right in that Kuroo cared for Kenma more than he has ever cared for anyone else. Even her.
“That doesn't give you the right to do that, Ema.” He tears his eyes and arms away from her, suddenly feeling suffocated under her gaze. He heads towards the bathroom for his things. “I deserved to know. The letter was mine. It was for me. It was my choice to make, not yours.”
“You wouldn’t have chosen me.” That makes Kuroo stops in his track, his hand still holding the toiletries that are about to go into his suitcase. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t.” Kuroo continues to pack. He can’t spend another second here. Another second with her. The past two and a half years playing in his head. A lie. He finally understands the allure of time travel. He wishes he can rewind time, too, to go back to that moment and undo the past.
“Where are you going?” She sounds like she’s close to tears. Normally, her trembling voice would’ve sent him flying by her side, but he can’t do it. It almost scares him how repulsed he finds her right now, the switch happening in a split second. “We have two more days here. What am I going to do?”
“I don’t care what you do or where you go.” Everything’s paid for anyways. Kuroo does have somewhere else he needs to be. “I’m going back to Japan.”
“To him? You’re abandoning me, for him?”
Kuroo’s packing is fast, a new personal record for him probably. When he’s done, he looks at her, the woman whose been by his side close to three years, he doesn’t even recognize her. But he feels like he’s truly seeing her for the first time.
“You were right, Ema. If he’s in the picture, there wouldn’t be an us. There never should have been in the first place. And going to him? That’s where I should have been all along.”
The door clicks, hiding her bewildered, tear-stricken face behind it.
~
Somehow, even with all his hurrying, Kuroo missed the earliest flight back to Japan, the one Kenma was probably on. After getting the worst sleep of his life, first in the airport lounge and secondly in the middle seat between men who are larger and taller than him, Kuroo races to his apartment for a shower. He resists the urge to burn everything in here that reminds him of his and Ema’s relationship. That can wait. Now, he needs to reach Kenma.
He punches the button on his phone for Akaashi, feeling his damp hair dripping on the back of his T-shirt. He couldn’t care less even as it makes a wet spot behind his neck.
“Hello? Kuroo? You’re back early—”
“Akaashi, I know you know where Kenma lives.” He cuts him off. “I need the address. Please.”
Akaashi is instantly quiet. They don’t talk much about Kenma, but it’s an unspoken agreement that Kuroo absolutely does not get to know how to find him. Even if all of their mutual friends know.
“I’ve never asked you this, but I’m asking now. Please. I need to see him. I need to talk to him. We—” He chokes back a cry. He can’t cry. Not before this is done. “I saw him, Akaashi, in California. He told me he loved me, did you know that?”
“I was not told the details.” Akaashi admits. “But Kenma said you rejected him. Then you showed up with a girlfriend, so I figured that was why he wanted to run away.”
“It was a misunderstanding, and I was stupid, but I need to make this right. I need to see him. Please.” He begs.
He hears Akaashi sighs. “Okay. I’ll text you the address, but be gentle with him, won’t you? He still loves you.”
Kuroo’s heart tightens. So everyone knows. Everyone knows except him. “I know. I—I love him, too.”
A laugh escapes Akaashi’s lips. “Guess I was worried for nothing. Took you long enough, rooster-hair bastard.”
“You could’ve told me you know.”
“It’s not my confession to tell.” It’s simple, but Kuroo knows he’s right.
“Thank you.” Kuroo says, feeling a buzz that signifies Akaashi has sent him what he needs.
“Good luck.” He hears in his ears before the line goes cold.
Kuroo runs out the door and gets on a train across town.
~
Kuroo barely has time to stare at Kenma’s house before smashing the doorbell repeatedly. He bounces on his feet, nerves and adrenaline coursing through his body. Please be home. Please be home. Even if he’s not home, Kuroo will wait. He’ll wait here every day if he has to.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long because Kenma’s figure appears behind the gate. He looks just like the Kenma in his memories, wearing a grey oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants with his socks over the pantlegs. His delicate face a mixture of boy and man. The boy Kuroo grew up with and the man Kuroo had fallen for without his knowing. The ends of his hair still show some bleached parts, although it’s so faint you can chalk it up to your imagination and sunlight trickery.
“What are you doing here?” Kenma narrows his eyes. Kuroo curses himself because he sees how swollen they are and knows that he is the cause of them.
Kuroo opens his note app on his phone and scrolls though it. He begins reading the entries,
“March 3rd, two years ago: I saw this and thought of you. missed you kitten.
March 4th, two years ago: did you see that it was going to rain? And you have that meeting across town so don’t forget an umbrella. And a jacket because I know you get cold easily
March 4th, two years ago: you know what this weather is good for? Miso soup. Just plain old miso soup”
“Kuroo, what are you saying?” Kenma stops him. But Kuroo sees in his eyes that he’s starting to understand.
He explains anyways, “I stopped texting you a few months after you moved out. Do you remember that? I realized that I shouldn’t bother you anymore if you truly wanted space from me, so I stopped texting you. But that doesn’t mean that I stopped wanting to talk to you. You were my best friend. You are my best friend. Who will I share everything with now that you’re gone?” He swallows the lump in his throat, remembering himself the despair he felt. The emptiness inside of him that used to be Kenma’s place. “So I started writing down things I wanted to say to you. It gave me an outlet. A way to talk to you.”
“What else is in there?” Kenma asks in a small voice. Still staring at him like he doesn’t believe he’s here. Kuroo resists the desire to pull him into his arms. Not yet.
He looks down at his phone and continues reading, his voice choking with this next entry,
“October 16th, two years ago: Today I had an urge to eat apple pie. Then I realized that I’ve been eating apple pies on this day for the past decade. I went to get some, but it’s not the same without you. Happy birthday, Kenma. I miss you
November 17th, two years ago: My first birthday without you in sixteen years. I don’t like it. I miss you
May 8th, a year ago: I thought I saw you at the 7-Eleven in Shibuya. Turns out it wasn’t you. Maybe next time? When can I see you again?
June 22nd, a year ago: Remember when we were kids and we tried to catch fireflies? Well, I tried to catch fireflies and you yelled at me to let them go. I caught one today and let him go. I thought of you
August 10th, a year ago: Hi. Have you seen this silly video? Maybe you should do something like this on your channel?
September 30th, a year ago: Watched your stream. You need sleep desperately. It shouldn’t have taken you that long to get to the chest. Are you sleeping enough? Eating enough? Probably not. Kenma, how many times do I have to tell you to take care of yourself?”
He skips around, not reading every single one because it would take too long. Kuroo scrolls all the way to the bottom, to the very last entry he typed out when he waited at the airport.
“Yesterday: I broke up with her. I’m coming to see you. I love you.”
Kenma lets out a small gasp. His eyes widen as he stares at Kuroo. Kuroo doesn’t hold himself back then, he reaches to hold both of Kenma’s hands, steadying him and himself.
“I never got your letter, Kenma.” He confessed, looking into Kenma’s eyes so that he believes him. “I never got to read it. I just—I thought you were done being friends with me. I thought you needed space from his friendship that has done nothing but take and take from you. I thought you were done with me. I’m sorry. I should’ve tried harder. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I knew you. I shouldn’t—”
“You never got your letter?” Kenma’s voice is breathless, like all the air is punched out of him.
Kuroo shakes his head.
“You never read it.”
“I never read it.” He confirms.
“Oh my god,” Kenma breaths out. He shakes his head now, “I’m sorry. I’m the one that should be sorry, Kuroo. You thought I just walked away from you because I didn’t want to be friends anymore? That’s not it.” He takes a shaky breath. “I was too scared to tell you in person. I should’ve told you and it would’ve avoided this whole thing between us. I’m so sorry. Could you ever forgive me?”
Kuroo almost laughed at the situation. “Forgive you? Kenma, for all that you’ve given me in my life, you could run me over and I’d still owe you my thanks.”
“You’re so dramatic.” He rolls his eyes, but the tension is gone from them. The sadness ebbs away slowly.
“I’m serious. There’s no Kuroo Tetsurou today without Kozume Kenma. When I lost my game in middle school, it was you who took me to the park to level up. When I missed three points on a useless chemistry test, you stayed up with me to study for my next one. When I had doubts about our chances at Nationals, you were the one that said we had a shot—not even to cheer me up, but because you truly believed in us. When I was vying for the JVA internship, you were the one who ran practice interviews with me for weeks on end.” He looks into his eyes, seeing Kenma clearly for the first time in years. The sight of him makes him weak in the knees, like he can never get enough of him. “It’s you, Kenma, and it has always been you.”
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.” Kenma still looks like he doesn’t want to believe it. The hope in his eyes so fragile Kuroo can see it teetering on the precipice.
Kuroo takes a deep breath before going on. Years’ worth of truth and pent-up feelings about to bubble out of his mouth, and he hopes they reach Kenma without fully tumbling over themselves too badly.
“Do you remember when we were seven and you asked me if there was anything I wanted to do? I went to get a volleyball, and well, changed the course of our lives forever.” Kuroo smiles thinking of that moment. “Then I would get so excited to practice with you that I would drag you along, running down the street even though we truly had all of the time in the world back then.”
Kenma smiles too. It’s so soft and fond that Kuroo almost couldn’t bear it, but he goes on, “One day, I was pulling us too fast, and you fell and scraped your knees open. I always remember that moment, when I looked back and saw you there on the ground. You looked like you were crying not to cry. Then you were trying to comfort me, it felt like. Well, I told myself that after that day that I’d never again force you to do something you didn’t want to do. Nothing was worth that.”
Kenma’s face is unreadable now, no doubt replaying the memory too in his mind, this time, seeing it from Kuroo’s perspective.
“So I let you walk away from me. I said it before, but I shouldn’t have. How many times have I nagged you about eating and sleeping and dragging you to early practices? Why didn’t I nag you about this? Why did I let you go so easily? I don’t know what I was thinking.” Kuroo shakes his head. “Nine hundred and thirty-six days we’ve been apart. Nine hundred and thirty-six extra days we could’ve been together. I should’ve known. After graduation, when I didn’t talk to Yaku for months, I didn’t feel anything was amiss in my life. When I went weeks without words from Bokuto, I didn’t feel so sick I had to lay in bed. I should’ve known. The things I feel for you, Kenma, weren’t just feelings of friendship.”
“Kuroo…” Kenma has tears in his eyes, he’s gripping Kuroo’s hands so tightly as if he’s afraid he’s not real, as if he’s going to float away if he lets go. Kuroo let him continue to cut off circulation in his hands as he goes on, unable to stop now.
“You don’t think that I know this weekend was Vidcon? You don’t think I gawked at ticket prices but hit check out anyways? A year ago, I thought you might come that video game conference in Spain. I went. Then there was the conference in Australia last March. Every single video game release party I thought sounded vaguely familiar to what you used to play. Every time I thought there was a chance we would run into each other, I was there.” Kuroo remembers every event with clarity. Even when Ema or Bokuto or anyone else were with him, thinking that they were just on vacation, he was searching for Kenma. He was never there for the sights or the launch. His eyes weren’t on the buildings or the screens but scanning the crowds of people, hoping in pure desperation.
“Even during MSBY games, I was looking for you. Every day for the past nine hundred and thirty-six days, I’ve searched for your face in every crowd. Even at the fucking supermarket, I would go down every aisle, hoping I’d catch even a glimpse of your face. Just the curve of your nose or a single strand of your hair would’ve sufficed. When I saw you in California, it was like a dream come true. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve always been looking for you, Kenma. My best friend. I’ve always been waiting all this time for you to come back to me. I’ve lived life without you, enough to know that it doesn’t interest me one bit. I can do it. I can survive. But a life without Kozume Kenma? I don’t want to do that any longer.”
Kuroo closes his eyes. He still sees Kenma’s beautiful face behind his eyelids. He opens them and finds the real thing, looking back at him. Nothing can prepare him for it. For the same, pleased and love-stuck look Kenma gives him. The soft upturn of his slowly trembling lips. The golden, honey colored eyes staring back at him like he’s hung up the stars. The boy he’s always known. The man he’s always loved.
“I was in denial of why. I don’t know how I was too blind to see it, but now I can’t unsee it. I love you. I’m in love with you. Even with the days separating us, my feelings only grew. I can’t re-seal my love for you just as you can’t put squeezed toothpaste back inside its tube. I want to be yours, Kenma. Yours in every sense of the word. Yours in all the ways that matter.” He lets the words hang in the air, then he finishes, “If you still want me.” Because it’s always been Kenma and his choices that matter most to Kuroo.
“You love me.” Kenma repeats through his effort not to cry. Kuroo can’t help but thinks he looks pretty.
“I love you.”
“But you didn’t read the letter?”
“I didn’t read the letter.”
Then Kenma laughs. He tilts his head back and laughs, a sound so joyful that Kuroo feels he can be lifted off his feet with the force of it alone.
“I’m so stupid. You’re so stupid.” Kenma sounds almost hysterical as he keeps laughing, a hand escaping from Kuroo’s grip to wipe at his tears. “We’re so stupid. Of course, we love each other. Of course. Of course.” He looks back at Kuroo now, smiling, like There you are. Like he too, has been looking for Kuroo when he’s been right in front of him. “I love you too, Kuro. Being with you? That’s all I ever wanted.” The complete finality in which he says it sends Kuroo’s heart through the roof. His body somehow simultaneously sags with relief and has never felt more alive.
Kuroo reaches for him, desperate as if he’s been wading at sea aimlessly and Kenma is a lifeboat in the distant. Their lips meet in a bruising, long-overdue kiss, as they breathe in each other.
Kuroo has never kissed anyone like this, like he’d die for it.
No one has ever kissed him like this, like they needed him to survive.
They part, a string of saliva connecting their swollen lips, panting as they rest their foreheads against the other. Kuroo leans back in again, gentler this time, barely brushing his lips against Kenma’s.
“This one is for letting you go.”
Kiss.
“This one is for making you cry.”
Kiss.
“This one is a promise.”
Kiss.
Kenma’s hands find their way to the back of his head, pulling him down. His eyes are still closed, but he’s smiling.
“This one is for walking away from you.”
Kiss.
“This one is for making you waste airplane tickets to see me.”
Kiss.
“This one is just because. Because I get to now.”
Kiss.
Kuroo melts into every kiss. The taste of Kenma is divine. He’s a breath of fresh air and a whirlwind of emotions. He’s the warmth of a thousand suns and the anchor tying him to earth. He’s his best friend and the love of his life. Kenma’s everything.
They separate, still holding onto each other but far enough that Kuroo can fully admire the glazed looks in Kenma’s eyes. A new expression he’s going to log into his memory storage forever. What other faces will Kenma make that’s still unknown to him? His body tingles with excitement.
“You’re thinking of something dirty or sappy aren’t you?” Kenma accuses him.
“It’s entirely wholesome and warranted.” He lies through his teeth, busted.
“Oh yeah? Do tell.” He challenges him, the smirk on his face so achingly familiar. Why does it look so hot all of the sudden?
“I was wondering what you wrote in your letter,” is what Kuroo says out loud. Surprising himself with the sincerity of it. “I wished I could’ve read it.”
Kenma arches a brow. “You really want to know?”
Kuroo nods.
“I can tell you.” He looks down, suddenly shy. “I have it memorized.”
His heart thumps loudly against his chest. “Tell me. Please.”
When he’s done, he stares expectantly at Kuroo. It’s Kuroo’s turn now to laugh hysterically. Kenma’s right. They are stupid. Kuroo pulls Kenma into another kiss, because he doesn’t know how else to express to Kenma that he loves him back. He, too, wants to go anywhere as long as Kenma’s there.
“This one is because I will be yours, forever, in every sense of the word.”
Kiss.