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Kenma knew for a long time that he and Kuroo would be together forever.

It was destiny, or something just as corny and embarrassing. Kenma was a nervous wreck when he met Kuroo, young and hiding behind his mother’s legs, and Kuroo was - well he was the same. He stared from between his dad’s legs, gripping his jeans as he blinked at Kenma’s face. They were nervous, and then they were more nervous, because they were peeled away from their parents and tossed at each other. 

“Play nice,” his mom whispered, and then, even more quiet, she said, “say one thing and we’ll get ice cream, okay?”

Kenma didn’t want to say one thing, he didn’t even want to make a new friend - or a friend, because he didn’t have any - but he really liked getting ice cream with his mom. She was his friend, or close enough to one, anyways, because unlike friends, she wasn’t allowed to run away or get tired of him. She was a built-in best friend, and his third favorite thing to do with her was to get ice cream and sit quietly as they watched the people around them. She had to like it, too, because they did it a lot.

So, while Kenma didn’t want to make a friend or say something to this odd-looking strange boy, he decided that he had to. His dad was out of town so they couldn’t do his first favorite thing - which was watch the gaming tv shows while sitting on the floor with their dinners, completely silent and in the dark - and it wasn’t raining, so he could sit on the porch in silence with her and watch as the cats across the street ducked in and out of the broken fence between two houses - it was too hot outside to sit without feeling uncomfortable. He did want to sit and eat ice cream with his mom, though, so he decided he had to do it.

Kuroo was probably only a couple centimeters taller than himself, and that was probably only because his hair was messy and stood straight up in some places. He wore sneakers that looked scuffed and worn, while Kenma wore sneakers that had been bought only days ago, and he had only worn them once before, on the train on the way home. He looked a bit mean, too.

“My favorite animal is a cat,” Kenma said, loud enough his mother would hear, and looked down at the ground. “I like black cats with green eyes.”

Kuroo didn’t say he also liked cats, but instead nodded so hard Kenma suspected his brain got bounced around his skull. “I like salamanders,” he announced, also loud. Kenma wondered if he was going to get ice cream with his dad after their playdate, too. “My mom and dad aren’t married anymore. Are your parents married?”

He asked rude questions and got real close without asking and even snatched Kenma’s hand right away from his body and examined his fingers, announcing they were short, all without demanding an answer from Kenma. 

He made Kenma tired, and as they sat there, on the porch of Kuroo’s new house, Kuroo demanded that Kenma call him Tetsu-Chan.

“No, Kuro,” he said, and Kuroo stared at him for a long moment before nodding. 

“Kozume, then,” he said, almost dejected. Kenma hated using his last name - it felt still, and people often thought of his dad, the fashion magazine photographer that would travel from one country to the next, always spoiling his wife and his son. 

“Just Kenma,” he muttered.

Kuroo probably would have jumped out of his seat if his dad didn’t announce they had to go home. 

Ice cream was promised, and it was delivered, sitting inside of the cool shop, on a chair pulled right next to his mom’s. She always ordered for them, aware Kenma, while old enough to order, would prefer to sit silently and point at the flavor he wanted. They always got the same thing, his mom got strawberry, he got green tea, hating the sweet flavor of the rest of the ice creams, and they sat at the same table and watched all of the people walk by. Sometimes his mom would speak to him, most of the time they didn’t say a word.

“Did you like Tetsu-Chan?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. Kuro was nice, he guessed. 

“They live on our street,” his mom said, quietly. “Maybe you and Testu-Chan can play more?”

He nodded again. While he didn’t feel the need to spend more time with Kuroo, he guessed his mom really wanted him to make a friend. Sometimes he worried she was lonely when his dad went away, and she looked at him and saw a lonely little boy who sat there quietly and looked forward to watching tv and staying inside. She probably worried about him, and on top of missing her husband, she was probably a little unhappy. 

He guessed spending time with Kuroo couldn’t hurt. They probably wouldn’t even go to the same middle school, so he only had a couple of years until he wouldn’t have to make nice.

___

“I don’t think I’ll play volleyball next year,” Kenma admitted just six days before Kuroo graduated from high school. 

It was dark out, and they were up on the roof of Kuroo’s house, basking in the last scraps of heat before the night took over and Kenma had to wrap up and go home, three houses down and one across. Kuroo’s house was his favorite place on Earth, though he figured that when Kuroo started University, he’d never see the inside of the bedroom he loved so much again. 

Kuroo wasn’t surprised by his declaration. He probably knew that Kenma was skipping out based on the way he turned his jersey in with Kuroo, both uniforms folded neatly by his mom. 

“I don’t think I’ll play, either,” Kuroo said, and this didn’t surprise Kenma at all. “I don’t think it’ll do any good at all.”

“It might,” Kenma muttered, though he figured this was a long time coming. Kuroo was athletic, sleek, and smart, though Kenma suspected that volleyball was only a placeholder for something else. He’d seen the guitars, the music books, he’d heard Kuroo’s voice, deep and soothing while he was in the shower, or on the phone, singing to annoy Kenma.

He knew what he wanted to do when he grew up. It was such an odd thing to say - when he grew up. He was soon to be a third year in high school. However, Kuroo wouldn’t be there, he’d never be there, not in the ways that mattered, which meant Kenma didn’t really want to go. He didn’t want to spend a whole school year without him. He wanted it to be over, he wanted to sit in his house, staring at his screen, talking to his already large following in the comfort of the dark. 

Kuroo knew about his dream - his real and already forming dream. Kuroo was the one to tell him that he’d be good at it. “You can talk the ear off of anyone when it comes to games, and you’re good at it. Why not make money off of it?” That’s what he’d said, all quiet and happy with himself. Kenma agreed with him, but it was probably because he kind of wanted to kiss Kuroo for the past couple of years.

“What’s gonna happen?” Kenma asked, suddenly. He was worried all of the time, lately. Kuroo, his best friend, was going to University. Shoyo had decided he was going to play volleyball forever, until he died or was forced into retirement, and everyone from school he was friends with were all in the volleyball club, and would continue to be. Kenma worried about being alone.

Years ago, right before Kuroo went to middle school, Kenma was also worried about being alone. He was very worried, and while it was similar, it was different. Kenma wasn’t going to be alone for just one year of school, he was going to be alone the whole time Kuroo was in University. He wasn’t going, and Kuroo was, and suddenly all of his worries about being alone were flooding him. 

“I don’t know,” whispered. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t-” Kenma cut himself off. “I don’t want to be alone forever, Kuro, so you better come back.”

“I don’t even want to go,” Kuroo said, but he wasn’t laughing like Kenma thought he would be. He had his eyes locked onto the sky. “I think I’m going for music, not medicine.”

“I hope you do,” he answered honestly. 

Nothing else was said between the two of them for a long while. The sky shifted from dusk to night, the air chilling, time turning. Kenma didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to burst their comfortable bubble of silence for anything in the world. Kuroo shifted a bit, bending one leg to lean against Kenma’s thigh. He said nothing, just lightly pressed against his friend's leg. 

The chill grew, yet Kenma refused to move. Should he move, the moment would be over - their silence would break and he’d have to walk home, alone and upset for some unknown reason, too big of feelings to put into words. He’d put it on a list of things he didn’t like to think about or feel, and he’d move on. Kuroo knew about his lists, in an unspoken sort of way, though he didn’t know what they held. Kenma decided a long time ago he’d never tell Kuroo about the list's content, just in case Kuroo began thinking too deeply about certain things. 

“Come on,” Kuroo pushed himself up into a sitting position, groaning as he did so. Kenma watched the motion before he also sat up. “I’ll walk you home.”

In six days, Kuroo would be a University student, and Kenma would be a third year. Kuroo would have an apartment with two more people that he had never met, and he’s sit in silence over his textbooks and wonder what he was going to eat for dinner. Kenma would sit through classes and rush home as soon as he was dismissed from his classes and cleaning duties, and sit in silence as he wondered when Kuroo would call. He wouldn’t have to have Kuroo walk him home, wouldn’t have to worry about volleyball and his wrists hurting.

In six days, for a whole year, Kenma would have to be alone.

“Okay,” he muttered, because he found that it was much easier to just agree and stuff those feelings into a list than to think about them, or talk about them.

___

“I have no clue what that is, but I think I’m going to touch it.”

Kenma loved the internet. Not only was he able to sit in his chair all day in the dark and talk non-stop about video games, people paid him to do it. His mom had been so upset when he said he wanted to be a streamer, then less upset when she realized that he could make more money than his dad did in a year with just two live streams. 

The internet was amazing. The whole world was on the internet, or at least, it seemed that way, and when Kenma was online, he didn’t have to worry about talking to people or going outside. He could do anything on the internet, and no one would judge him, not because there was weirder stuff out there, but because he had a lot of money and people liked him. 

It was gross. 

“It blew up.”

He sat in his chair, pink and black, a gift from Kuroo when he got his first big payout from a studio, with his LED lights lit up to a soft pink, to match the pink cat-ear headphones he’d been given ten thousand dollars to wear and promote once at the beginning of each stream. His apartment was big, his bed was bigger, and his PC setup was one of the best that there was in Japan. Outside, it was only seven P.M., and it rained in gentle waves, and on the last train of the night Kuroo would ride in, in his mysterious outfit, bringing dinner and presents that Kenma could buy, but didn’t have to worry about.

“The graphics are good, too. A lot of blood,” he wrinkled his nose at the screen, ignoring the chat that seemed to never stop. His least favorite part of streaming was answering questions. “I think it’s going to be a good game, once it’s finished. It’s advertised as a horror, but they haven’t developed the jumpscares yet, so it’s just a lot of gore without the horror,” he admitted.

He’d been given a demo for a game that was supposed to come out in early October in America - the start of the halloween season - but the game had yet to be finished. While he enjoyed playing the demo, and enjoyed the graphics and the story line he’d seen, the game wasn’t close to being done at all, and it was late August. 

He figured it wouldn’t be finished until late December at the earliest, and that seemed to be stretching it.

“Don’t forget to go look at the trailers on the website. It’s pretty.”

A glance at the time - seven fifteen. Kuroo was arriving in two hours, give or take, and Kenma had to wrap up the stream before he got there. Fame looked good on him because no one knew much about him other than what he let out on streams. He was easily recognized in public because his face was the face of a multi-million dollar streaming platform and a multi-million subscriber channel on both youtube, twitch and TikTok, but he didn’t mind because most fans took pictures from a distance, or waved and said nothing else. Fake on Kuroo, though, was a little different.

He dropped out of University to sign a record deal, he wrote and released two albums in seven months, he was good looking and he had more teenage fans than any other male singer in Japan. Kuroo was good looking, tall, rich, and most importantly, easy to spot. He stood taller than the average man, taller than some athletes, and more often than not was approached in public. 

Kenma decided a long time ago that Kuroo wouldn’t make an appearance on his stream, even if the whole world knew they were friends. His youtube channel, mostly videos of him building his PC, featured Kuroo carrying the boxes from the elevator to his apartment, Kuroo carrying his couch with Bokuto when he did a move-in vlog, and Kuroo moving his entire gaming setup in one day, all because he complained about getting no sun. TikTok was a different thing - Kenma feared it. A lot of people did, mainly because so many people were so open and scary. 

The world knew Kuroo was his friend, but they got to see the edited, picked-over clips of them together. They didn’t get to see the authentic Kuroo, not like Kenma did, and Kenma made a point to keep it that way.

“There’s going to be a convention sometime in November, I think in Tokyo. I’ve been invited again, but I’m worried about Miso. Last time my mother fed him human food and he gained, like, ten pounds, so I have to take him with me. But I feel cruel leaving him in the hotel room, so I might not go.”

Miso, a gift from his dad when he moved into his apartment. He was worried about Kenma not getting any interaction past the screen, and demanded that he buy a cat. Kenma convinced him to adopt, then two days later, his dad brought home the ugliest, smallest kitten he could find.

“Tetsu-Chan said he was handsome! He just needs some love.”

Kuroo was a famous singer, most famous for singing about sex and taking his shirt off on stage, and made millions of dollars, yet his parents still called him a childish nickname. Kenma had rolled his eyes and taken the ugly kitten into his arms. He’d fallen in love, and three years later, Miso was large, long, and a patchwork of different colors, but mainly black. Kenma loved him, as did his fans, and often made videos of taking him to the vet, buying him toys, and the destruction he caused to the inside of Kuroo’s suitcase.

“Someone said: you’d leave your fans out for a cat, how nice. I would, I love Miso, he’s a living being, and he’s like my son,” Kenma rolled his eyes. “Banned.”

The clock read seven forty-five, and he smiled to himself. 

“I’m logging off, I have company coming soon, I need to make it look presentable in my house,” he shrugged as the chat blew up at his announcement. “It’s just Kuro,” he muttered, more to himself than the chat. Miso meowed from the chair Kenma made Bokuto buy him when he saw it online - it was only a week from his birthday, and Akaashi had told him to send over anything as a gift suggestion, which he had done. Bokuto had seen it and bought two, one for Miso and one for his shared apartment, even though he was allergic to cats.

His log off was quick, and he tossed his headphones down onto the desk without hesitation. He liked them, the sound and quality were both amazing, but they squeezed his ears a little and gave him a headache. He’d also seen a video of a streamer getting a misshapen head, and decided he’d rather die than have to deal with that. 

Kuroo would come, they’d eat, and he’d sleep comfortably knowing Kuroo was only one room down, snoring and complaining about how warm Kenma kept it in his apartment. He’d complain and bitch and moan but he’d really be happy that he could wear little clothing and lounge around for a whole week before he was called back to his work. In the morning he’d dump gifts out for both Kenma and Miso, and then announce he wasn’t going to buy anything else for either of them until the next year, which was a lie. Kenma would find a box waiting outside of his apartment a week later and find more things, all gifts from Kuroo, and the occasional one from Shoyo, who had finally moved back from that horrible place he called a beach. 

___

Kuroo was tall enough that when he laid on Kenma’s couch, his feet would hang off. He would often complain that he was going to buy a new couch for Kenma, one that fit his whole body, but he had yet to do so. It was probably because he didn’t want to be the one to put it together.

“I have three singles coming out this year,” Kuroo announced from his position on the couch. He was wearing sweats and a Kodzuken sweater that had seen better days. Kenma watched him from where he was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, Miso on his lap.

“Why?” He asked, and looked away as Kuroo sat up. He didn’t need to stare at Kuroo as he spoke, not anymore. He found it hard to look at him sometimes, when he was in Kenma’s house, in his brand, on his break. Sometimes, he wondered if it was the right time to say something - because that’s why he’d been waiting. He’d been waiting for nearly ten years to say something, and he figured that he’d probably take it to the grave that he had feelings for Kuroo. The right time, if there was such a thing, would have been a time long ago, when they were alone on the roof of Kuroo’s childhood house, in the dark, before they gained real, fame-filled lives.

“I’ve just been writing, I guess,” Kuroo said, and it made sense that he was writing, because all he wanted to do was mope around and complain for weeks when he called Kenma. “Just about everything.”

Kenma nodded. “About people, you mean.”

It was true - Kuroo wrote about people. Some girls, some boys that were less clear if they were really boys, his dad, everyone. Kenma guessed he was snuck into a song somewhere, but he was too scared to ask. He didn’t want to hear the answer because, if he were in Kuroo’s shoes, he’d write sonnets about Kuroo. Kenma didn’t see sonnets about himself in Kuroo’s set list.

“No!” He whined, but his cheeks were red, and his brows were furrowed. Kenma rolled his eyes - he knew the truth, not only because he knew Kuroo, but because Kuroo had told him before. 

“Fine,” Kenma shrugged and flopped so he was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Are they good, or are they to please your managers?”

“They’re good, I think,” Kuroo grunted, flopping back onto the couch. Miso moved further up Kenma’s body, onto his chest. “I just-” he cut himself off.

In the past, Kenma used to not care for Kuroo’s songs. He sang about things that didn’t matter - girls, mostly, then sex with those girls, then sex with men, though he never really said they were men, not in public, but to Kenma he did. It was a secret, back then, to Kuroo. Kenma never had to tell Kuroo he liked boys, it wasn’t something they ever talked about, but it wasn’t a secret. Kuroo kept his wrapped up tight until Kenma watched him run off to University. Some blonde American boy who spoke perfect Japanese and wore tight pants was the one to do it, to convince Kuroo to try out boys.

Kenma wasn’t jealous, not really, because he hadn’t been loyal to Kuroo - you can’t be loyal to something that’s not there, he’d decided as he sat beside a man much larger than him and pretended he liked what was happening - but he hated that it took a stranger for Kuroo to see that it was okay. Hated that he wasn’t the first one to know this secret about Kuroo, but a stranger who got everything he wanted for a whole month before Kenma got to be in on it. 

He was jealous every time he heard Kuroo’s song about that boy. 

“You just what?”

“I don’t know.”

It was silent, for a long moment. Then, without warning, Kuroo sniffled. Kenma shifted enough to see the tears that were slipping down his friend's cheeks. Instead of moving to console him, to make it even worse, he sat there, and waited.

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t famous so I could be who I wanted to be.”

Kenma’s heart stopped. He leaned onto his elbows and looked at Kuroo with eyes as sharp as they could get. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he accused, and his mouth was dry. 

Kuroo never had boyfriends, he only had flings and returning guests. He’d had girlfriends, lots of them, public and private ones, but never did he have boyfriends. Kenma could be okay with it - with the flings and the sex and the never committing. He couldn’t be okay with Kuroo having a boyfriend, with him slipping away.

“I don’t,” Kuroo whimpered, which was worse than crying. “That’s the problem.”

Kenma cried a lot when he was a teenager, alone in his room, under the covers in his pajamas. He’d never tell people why he cried, half of the time he didn’t even know himself. Kuroo cried openly, as a statement and because he was big enough that people wouldn’t pick on him for letting a couple of tears fall. He’d cried openly in front of Kenma since they were eight years old and Kenma fell, skinning his knees and his hands. Kenma didn’t cry, he kept it together while Kuroo sniffled and sobbed about how much it must have hurt. 

When he cried like this, ugly and quiet and so terrible, Kenma knew it wasn’t because he was watching a sad video, or because he would miss someone. It was because he was sad. Sad enough to make a big deal go little. 

“Oh,” Kenma nodded. “So there’s someone?”

Kuroo said nothing, which was enough. Kenma sat up and walked on his knees to the couch, letting his head lean against the edge where Kuroo’s head lay. He sighed a little, letting Miso jump onto the couch and make home on Kuroo’s stomach.

“They’re not worth it if they make you cry,” he promised. He said that a lot, too, mostly to himself. Kuroo would leave and Kenma would hold it together, then later that night he’d let the tears fall until he cried himself to sleep. Every morning he’d wake up with puffy eyes and the promise to himself to move on. 

It didn’t work.

“He is worth it,” Kuroo whispered. “He just doesn’t know.”

He’s lucky, Kenma thought. He’s lucky and he’s dumb if he doesn’t see you want him. I hate him. 

“Tell him, I guess.”

“No! Who do you think I am?” Kuroo screeched, and Kenma suspected that, should Miso not be on his stomach, he’d have sat up and thrown his arms around. Instead, he did nothing except shout and roll his head away from Kenma, like he had the plague. “God, you’re terrible at making me feel better!”

Kenma nodded. 

“Write your songs and move on from him. You’re an ugly crier.”

“I’m not! I’m handsome! People magazine said so!”

___

“I have a convention,” Kenma tried, but Kuroo groaned so loud he doubted the singer heard him say anything at all.

“You’re not going to go! It’s all over twitter that you’re not going because you won’t leave Miso with your mom!”

“I changed my mind. I’m going.”

He wasn’t going, Kuroo knew that. However, he wasn’t going to go to a concert in Tokyo, not when everyone that went there was loud and the majority of them were teenage girls. He didn’t want to stand in the crowd with a hat and a mask, watching Kuroo sing. He wanted to watch from his couch, in the dark, where the focus wasn’t on strangers, but on Kuroo.

“Liar,” Kuroo screeched. “My dad is going! Bokuto is going, too! Akaashi is even going. All of my important people are going, but my most important one isn’t!”

His heart squeezed, and he looked away from the facetime call to glance at his computer. He had a planned stream in ten minutes, focused on playing the newest and hottest Roblox mini-game, Dress To Impress, but the way it was going, he’d log on late if Kuroo didn’t stop whining. 

It didn’t help that he kept saying things that made Kenma feel hot.

“I’ve been to one before, Kuro. And I watch them all on TV.”

“It’s different,” Kuroo demanded, as if this was the first time he’d heard the argument. 

Kenma had been to Kuroo’s first in-country concert, and he’d danced and cried and waved around a glow stick from the VIP section that was filled with Kuroo’s dad and all of the parents and friends of the other up and coming singers and performers. It had been fun enough, but he knew Kuroo was putting on a show when it came to his concerts, he knew it wasn’t the real Kuroo.

“You’ve only been to one,” he grumbled, his voice going whiney. “I’m neglected. You’re neglecting our friendship.”

“Kuro,” he grumbled, but said nothing else. 

Was he neglecting him? Kuroo bought his merch, wore it out, posted his videos on twitter, made a point to comment on all of his posts, TikTok, Instagram and youtube alike. Kenma bought Kuroo’s merch, too, but that was about it. Sure, he posted his newest songs and made fun of him in his Instagram comment sections, but was that not enough? Suddenly it didn’t feel enough.

“Kuro,” he started again, but Kuroo spoke over him.

“VIP with my dad, my managers and Bokuto and Akaashi. That’s it. No fans, backstage access. Plus I’ll let you sit in my dressing room while I get dressed and eat all of the goodies I can’t eat.”

The goodies were good. The best.

“The convention invited me, specifically,” he started, and heard Kuroo sign. “If I can set something up with them, send them merch to sell or something, I’ll come to your concert.”

Silence rang. It went on for so long that Kenma clicked back to their Facetime to make sure he hadn’t hung up. 

“Seriously?” Kuroo asked, voice small. Kenma suddenly felt bad - he was neglecting their friendship, all because he was too insecure to give up and move on.

“Yeah, seriously.”

Kuroo screamed and ranted and probably cried, but Kenma was too busy trying to hang up and start his stream to listen to him.

___

Kenma looked a lot like his mom, to the point where people often called them twins. He didn’t look much like his dad - he got his height and his small, awkward smile - which never really upset him. His mom, who he considered one of his closest friends, even though he was almost twenty-two and famous, loved that they looked alike. 

When he was little, she’d dress him up in outfits that matched hers, and as he got older, she’d lecture him on the colors and styles that would look good on him. She made a point to teach him how to take care of himself, deciding that since they looked alike, he had to look at least presentable. As he grew older, she realized that he wasn’t one to dress up, but instead dress lazy. Time and time again she tried to get him into street wear, or something close to it, but never did he fall for it. He wore sweats and big shirts and comfortable clothing that could be slept in.

When he went to visit, to spite his mom, he’d wear his biggest, baggiest outfit.

“Oh Kenken, you look homeless,” she moaned as he walked in, toeing off his sneakers and letting Miso fall from his arms onto the floor. His cat made a beeline to his mom - the fatass, Kenma thought. 

“Mm,” he nodded, ignoring her comments to scoot in close and nudge his head against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and laughed.

“Just like when you were a baby,” she cooed, wiggling him around until he groaned and let go of her. She was grinning, and he smiled too, despite himself.

When he was little, he was stuck to her like glue. His final year of high school was without Kuroo, and she had figured out that not only was he lonely, but his feelings for Kuroo were more than friendship. She never brought it up, not until he cried in her arms that he was no better than all of those people on TV. Now, he was out of the house, and he called her almost everyday. She knew him better than anyone, probably better than Kuroo did, too, because she knew his big, deep, dark secret. 

She ushered him into the kitchen and forced him to eat, holding Miso in her arms as she watched him put down the food she had cooked. He let her watch as they stood there in silence, just taking each other in. Their silence broke because of his mother, the know it all.

“Tetsu-Chan wrote some interesting songs, Kenken.”

He nodded, finishing his food and setting his chopsticks down. “He’s performing them next month, too.”

“At the concert you’re going to,” she stated, not as a question. He blinked at her, raising a brow and she smiled, innocent as ever. “A mother can be surprised, can’t she?”

He shook his head. His mom knew everything about him, she wasn’t surprised that he’d give into Kuroo whining and complaining. She also knew he had a soft spot when it came to neglecting people, probably because he didn’t have any friends before or after Kuroo. 

“Have you heard the new songs?”

“No,” he shrugged. “Kuro asked me to wait to see them performed in person,” he laid his head on the table and looked up at her. “Are they bad?”

She shook her head, bending at the waist to place Miso on his feet. Kenma watched her hair fall in front of her face, the long, dark locks peppered with white. It hit him, suddenly, that as he aged, his parents did, too. His dad, away on one of the last shoots of his career, was growing a gray beard, and was salt-and-peppered. His parents were good looking people, Kenma guessed, but he worried about them again. 

What would happen when his mother was too old to understand that he was struggling with issues that he couldn’t even think to explain?

“Tetsu-Chan has a way with words,” she said, standing straight again. “He makes your heart ache without meaning to.”

“Oh,” Kenma frowned. The songs Kuroo spoke about writing and releasing as singles on his couch that night, were the ones he made Kenma promise not to listen to until he was at the concert. He must have written them about the man he was talking about - the one who Kenma hated, the one who made Kuroo bawl like a baby on the couch that he was too long for. “Kuro mentioned-” he shook his head.

His mom already knew, anyway.

“Perhaps it’s time, Kenken,” his mother started, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said simply.

He didn’t think there would ever be a good time to tell Kuroo, now. He wrote songs all about this man, he cried over this man, he made Kenma wait to listen to songs about this man. Kenma decided not too long after he watched Kuroo cry on the couch that he wouldn’t ever confess. His feelings, heavy and hot and raw, would sit in his head forever. 

His lists grew and grew every single day, all because of Kuroo. 

“Alright,” his mother said. “I can’t force you.”

“I won’t ever,” he spat out, not unkindly, just sharp. “I don’t think I’ll ever.”

Silence overtook the pair. His mom frowned in that sad way she often did. Her eyes squinted and she looked unhappy, unpleased. She looked away from him.

“I’ll never see you happy, Kenma,” she stated, and he sighed. 

She was probably right - he was a loyal creature. He liked things the way he liked them - his phone on dark mode, his emergency contact being his mom, Kuroo, Miso in a pink sweater a fan had made for him, the couch angled at the TV. He liked things a certain way, too. He never strayed from the green tea ice cream he’d eaten since his mom would take him out for ice cream when he was a child. He ate the same five meals, he played the same type of games, he washed his socks with hot water even though they were a little tight after, he only slept on his stomach and his left side, he didn’t like velvet, satin, or ribbed clothing, and he hated the rain when it was humid out. He was a creature of habit who was loyal to an ice cream flavor.

He doubted he’d ever stray away from Kuroo, even if Kuroo was old, wrinkled, and married with five children. Even if Kenma was never happy - he’d always be with Kuroo. They were destined to be together forever, as a unit. A pair, he supposed.

“I’m happy,” he swore. “I am just less happy than I could be.”

He was happy, too. He was happy with his stream, he was happy with his investments, he was happy because Shoyo made it onto the team with a bunch of people from high school, and was probably going to marry Tobio-san. He was happy, though he could be happier. He could be wearing comfy clothes, he could buy his parents a house and make them happy, which made him happy. He could confess to Kuroo, who could accept his feelings, and they could be married. 

He couldn’t ever confess, though, so he supposed he’d never be happier than he was now.

“Oh, Kenken,” she rubbed his head. “You’re so much like your father.”

“Gross,” he wrinkled his nose. “He takes pictures of half naked women and wears knitted sweaters.”

“But he’s shy, just like you. Handsome, too. I wouldn’t have had a baby with a man that wasn’t handsome like he is.”

“Gross.”

___

They never fought.

It was a fact between them - they never fought. Kuroo would get angry and walk away, then come back within minutes. Kenma would stew and snap but never yell, and eventually would forget about it, or worse, not forget about it, but forgive Kuroo despite how mad he was at one point in time. 

A week before Kuroo’s concert, the one Kenma was skipping a convention for (though, to be fair, he wasn’t skipping solely because of the concert, he was skipping because he hated conventions, and hated leaving his cat with his mother even more than he hated conventions because fat cats were cute but they weren’t healthy, not at all), Kenma woke up to roughly a million notifications from every platform of social media that he was on.

This wasn’t unusual. Kenma learned quickly that his phone would never be dry when he was famous and handled all of his social media by himself. People often told him he needed a second phone, one for his public accounts and one for his private accounts, but the truth was, he didn’t have any private accounts. He found it tiring to deal with more than one account on any given platform. He also found it odd that he’d hide a post from his fans as if he didn’t sit on an unedited live stream for hours at a time, multiple days a week.

While it wasn’t unusual for Kenma to have so many notifications, it was odd for them all to be tagging him. Usually he ignored it - it was easy to leave people on seen or delivered for days when you didn’t have to worry about the repercussions - but that morning, it was hard to ignore, specifically when the reason he woke up was because Akaashi was calling him. Akaashi was his friend, yeah, but they never called. It was the best part of having a friend that was just as quiet and socially inept as you - you could call them a friend without having to ever talk to them outside of a once a week text demanding proof of life.

He answered with caution - he worried that Akaashi was calling because something terrible happened with Bokuto. What if he got concussed again because he kept tossing Shoyo into the air and Shoyo kicked him in the head on accident? What if it was worse - what if he died from all of his concussions that continued to happen to his ridiculously thick skull?

“Hello?” He heard his voice crack at the end and winced, hoping it wasn’t obvious he was asleep at one in the afternoon. 

“Kozume-kun,” Akaashi had a sweet voice for a guy, Kenma noticed for the first time. “Did you see the post that Hinata-kun made?”

Kenma had not seen it. However, he figured that it was either about volleyball, his sister, or Tobio, because that was all he ever posted about. “No,” he groaned as he sat up. From across the room, the blinds shifted and the late autumn sun shone directly in his face. “Fuck.”

“It’s very revealing,” Akaashi spoke up, and Kenma sniffed.

“Shoyo in shorts?”

“No,” Akaashi spoke. “You’re in it. Kuroo-san is, too.”

Kenma perked up at that. Shoyo was around often now that he was back in Japan, however he and Kuroo usually never crossed paths when it came to Kenma. Kuroo was so busy that when he did manage to see Kenma, it was only for a day or too, and Shoyo was so busy with volleyball and Tobio that it was hard for him to find time to lounge at Kenma’s house in his underwear complaining about how Japan isn’t as warm as Argentina was. It was rare that Shoyo even asked about Kuroo, seeing as he got updates from Bokuto and, like everyone else, the news.

“Lemme look,” he muttered, pushing the phone away from his ear to open Twitter. Shoyo didn’t use Instagram - the last time he had it he ended up posting a very questionable picture of the locker room scene involving Miya-san in a towel and Bokuto butt naked, so he’d been banned. He ignored his inbox and looked up Shoyo’s name, then stopped. “What is this?”

Akaashi cleared his throat. “I believe it’s him in high school.”

“Clearly,” he snapped. “Why is Kuroo all over me like that?”

Silence rang out. He flicked back to the phone call. Akaashi was still on the line, sitting in silence.

“Akaashi,” he snapped, and the other man made a noise.

“Well, Kozume-kun,” Akaashi started and Kenma wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him with his bare, human hands. “Kuroo-san and you are always all over each other. It seems your fans, as well as Kuroo-san’s fans, believe that you are in a homoromantic relationship, which would explain his three newest singles.”

Kenma blinked. He took a deep breath, then blinked again. 

“Let me call you back,” he stated, fairly calmly, then, without Akaashi answering him, hit the hang up button.

He didn’t get the chance to find Kuroo’s name in his contacts, because the other man was calling him. He waited one, two, three seconds before clicking the green accept button and bringing the phone up to his ear. Silence answered him, and he answered back with nothing but a shaky inhale.

For a long moment, he worried that Kuroo knew. Of course, Kuroo would figure it out because of a picture he was in from years ago - Kuroo was smart. He was smart enough to know that, for ten years now, Kenma had been beside himself with love. He’s waited and waited and waited, all for Kuroo, and now the whole world and the whole internet and even his mom, probably, thought they were in a homoromantic relationship that started when Kenma was sixteen and Kuroo was seventeen.

“Did I wake you?” Kuroo asked, softly. That was just like him - worry about Kenma and not his public image or his family.

“No,” he whispered back. “Kuro.”

Kuroo hummed, his deep voice sounding all too soothing for the situation. “Shoyo posted something, Kenma,” he said, and Kenma made a noise of agreement. “Your fans are-”

“Kuro.”

“People are going to be rude to you, I think,” Kuroo said, louder this time, like he was finding his voice after hours of not having it. “Now that they think we’ve been banging for years.”

“I guess,” he whispered. “Your fans are blowing me up.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. It wasn’t terrible, Kenma supposed. Maybe instead of dying alone he’d just kill himself and get it over with - it would be easier than trying to explain to Kuroo what exactly he was thinking when he was hiding his undying love for his best friend for nearly ten years.

“I’ll have him take it down,” Kenma tried, because it was the least he could do. “I wouldn’t want to fuck your reputation up,” he said, and maybe it sounded rude, but he was in mourning, so he was allowed to be mean.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, already texting Shoyo, who was oddly silent. “Akaashi said-” he cut himself off.

What would he say? What could he say? Akaashi said your songs sounded like you were in love with me but that’s just fans realizing they’re about a guy and I’m a guy but not the guy. Oh, and by the way, I’ve wanted you both sexually and romantically for about ten years, thanks for being my friend I have to go kill myself in the bathtub of my stupidly expensive apartment now!

“No, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Oh, he was mad.

“Nothing, Kuro. I’m just anxious.”

And that wasn’t a shocking thing, because Kenma was pretty sure that every ounce of him was anxious all of the time. Kuroo was his best friend and now they are having gay allegations - not for the first time in their life, but the first time in their famous, adult lives. The life that Kuroo had dreamed about for years and the life that Kenma was just good at. 

“What did Akaashi say?”

“He said,” Kenma shrugged, then became aware Kuroo couldn’t see him. “I don’t know, Kuro. He just said that it made sense because he knows all your songs are about that guy.”

“That guy?” Kuroo asked, and Kenma wondered if Kuroo was playing dumb because he wanted to spare his feelings or if he was so stupid that he believed that he could hide the fact that there was a man out there who had every inch of Kuroo. 

“The one in your songs,” he whispered, and, Jesus, this was hard. His eyes stung. “Shoyo will delete it, he apologized.”

Kuroo made a noise that wasn’t a hum, more of a grunt, and Kenma felt his face getting hot. He sat there, sitting up in bed, in his underwear and a sweater that had Bokuto’s name all over it, feeling the worst he’d ever felt before, and all Kuroo could do was make a weird, almost-hum of a noise. 

“Kenma, there’s no other guy.”

“What?”

He sat there, in his stupid outfit, in bed in the middle of the day, his phone buzzing with every incoming notification. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, they all knew. Everyone knew. It wasn’t like they all knew how he felt, but Kuroo did, he had to know, because Kenma didn’t look at anyone like he looked at Kuroo, not once, not ever, and maybe a stranger wouldn’t know that. But Kuroo would. He would know, and now, all of the sudden, there wasn’t another guy. 

“Well,” Kuroo said, and he said it in the same way he said it fifteen years ago when they were seven and eight, and Kenma realized that volleyball was an everyday thing, not a one and done thing. “Here’s the thing.”

Sometimes, when they were little, Kenma would cry at random. Now, as an adult, he doesn't do it anymore. He knew how to keep himself in check, he knew when too much was too much. However, tears were falling without his permission. 

“The thing is,” Kuroo started again. “That there’s not really a guy.”

“But you said,” Kenma trailed off. It would be a lot easier if it was a woman, he supposed.

“You haven’t listened to them, have you?” His voice was worried. “My singles?”

“No, you said not to.”

Kenma wouldn’t do anything Kuroo asked him not to do, simply because he asked. It was how they were - Kuroo didn’t do what Kenma said not to do, Kenma didn’t do what Kuroo said not to. There was a level of trust between them, or at least, there was before Kenma started to slowly take advantage of their friendship. 

“Okay,” he said. “My songs, they’re not about some guy.”

“Some girl, then?” He asked, and it was easy to imagine Kuroo with a woman, because, when it all came down to it, he’d never be able to move on if it was a man. A man who was like Kenma, a man who walked about knowing every inch of Kuroo’s skin - it made him want to die. A woman, though. A woman was easy. A woman wasn’t anything like Kenma, nothing. 

Kenma wouldn’t move on, but it would be easier to accept.

“No,” Kuroo said, and it was painful, like Kenma was the stupid one. “They’re about you.”

What?

“What?” It came out a whisper, a squeaky one.

“Yeah,” another whisper, soft and quiet and sweet. “They’ve always been about you.”

He was hot. Not physically - yes physically, he was burning up. His face was hot, his hands were sweaty, his legs, curled up under the blanket, were cooking. He shoved the blanket off, in an effort to cool down, to not be as warm, but it didn’t work. He was still hot, too hot.

He stood, unsteady on his feet. His stomach churned, his mouth watered, his tears burned paths of fire as they leaked from his eyes.

“Stop it, Kuro,” he choked out, though it was probably more of a sob than anything else. Miso looked at him, his head cocked to the side, and he stared back. Kuroo and Miso had the same eye color, it was a running joke between the two of them.

Now Kenma couldn’t look away, in fear that Kuroo wouldn’t ever be near him again.

“I’m serious,” Kuroo said, and he was crying too, Kenma could tell by the soft sniffles and the way his voice cracked. “They’re about you, all of them. You’re just too far up your ass to see it!”

“No,” Kenma hissed, more tears falling. “No.”

“Yes,” Kuroo shouted, and any other day, Kenma would have jumped. He’d have fallen out of his own skin because Kuroo didn’t yell, except it was different today.

“You’re just saying that because you know,” he whimpered. 

How cruel, he thought, how cruel of a man was Kuroo? To lie about something so delicate and unspoken between the two of them. Has he always known? Or did he just figure it out because of all the people in the world, Kuroo was the one who knew Kenma best. He was the one who knew him better than anything and everyone, even better than Kenma’s mom. He knew that Kenma would never look at someone with those eyes, with that smile, with that much love.

How cruel.

“Know what?” And the gall of this man to sound baffled, even after Kenma was openly crying on the phone, one second away from throwing up.

“How I feel!” He screamed, and then snatched the phone from where it sat on the edge of the bed. “You know and you’re using it to rub it in!”

“What?” Kuroo was yelling, too. “Who does that? I thought you knew!”

“Knew that I had feelings? Clearly, they’re my feelings, dumbass,” he frowned. “You knew, all along.”

“I didn’t know anything! I don’t even know what you’re talking about! I didn’t tell you because I thought that you were, like, incapable of feeling anything! You never say anything , Kenma! Ever! I have to guess, and half of the time I think I’m wrong! I don’t know anything except how you never tell me anything anymore, and you sit there and watch me cry on your fucking couch about having feelings for you, and you don’t say anything and create this fictional guy to take your place? Who does that?”

He blinked. His stomach tied itself into a tight knot. The air crackled.

He just sat there, all while Kuroo bawled about having feelings for a man. A man he’d never tell, a man he couldn’t tell. And now, he stood there, all while Kuroo yelled about how, for a while now, it was Kenma all along, not some random man that he found. 

What.

“I feel things,” he whispered, unable to stop the waterfall. “I feel things but I can’t tell you! You’re always so busy, who even knows where you are. You got famous and you left me and now I’m alone and everyone in the whole world knows that for years I’ve wanted you, but I can’t have you because you’re on a stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people.”

Kenma believed that Kuroo and he would be together forever. Destiny and soulmates, platonic or otherwise. He believed, without a doubt, that he’d never leave his side.

Today would be the day he proved himself wrong.

“You don’t get to be mad at me, Kuro,” he muttered, looking around the room. Miso hadn’t moved, shocked by his shouting. “Not when I’ve been sitting here waiting for the right time, and that time was never going to come.”

“It’s come now,” Kuroo hissed, and he sounded angry, but Kenma didn’t think he was. He was tired, probably of everything. “The right time, it’s right now.”

Kenma had thought that before, too. The day he moved into his apartment, everyone was there. Kuroo was the only one who stayed the night, in the spare bedroom. In the silence of the apartment, Kenma felt worried. He’d padded to the spare room and poked his head in, realizing that it was weird, but not caring one bit. He had watched Kuroo roll over and open his arms wordlessly. He crawled under the blankets, and laying against Kuroo felt good, too good, and different. It was the right time - right now, in the big, spare bed he bought thinking of Kuroo. In the spare room he got, all because he knew Kuroo wouldn’t want to get a hotel when he was in the city. He had sat up, ready to tell Kuroo, but when Kuroo wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at his phone, texting a girl who never even made it into their conversations. 

That was the last time Kenma ever thought about confessing. That was the last time, because he had laid there, awake and aware for hours, even after Kuroo fell asleep, just thinking. 

“No it’s not.”

There would never be a right time, even if Kuroo demanded that there was.

“What?” His voice was soft.

“You,” he sighed, leaning his legs against the back of the bed, slumping over to face the ground. “You don’t know what it’s like, loving you.”

It was so hard. So, so hard. Kenma longed for Kuroo, he longed for him. Every day, he saw his face, and every day, he wanted. He just couldn’t have it. And now, there was a chance. There was a chance at having the thing he’d wanted for what felt like as long as he could remember. Loving Kuroo was like loving the sun.

Kenma wasn’t even part of the same solar system.

“It’s hard,” he told Kuroo. “It’s so hard and I can’t take not having you.”

“Have me, then,” Kuroo whispered. Kenma gasped as more tears flowed.

“You’re never going to be able to keep your career if you have me,” Kenma declared, factual and coated in tears. “I’d throw my career out the window. I’d shred the money, I’d delete everything, Kuro.” He would. He’d give it all up. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“I’ll give it up right now,” Kuroo said, and Kenma believed him. He believed him and he wanted to, but he couldn’t.

“No,” he sobbed, sobbed so hard his body was shaking. “I’d never forgive myself.”

He choked on a sob, holding it back.

“Kenma,” Kuroo whispered. “Please, just, just let me have you.”

Kuroo wanted Kenma. He didn’t want some strange man, he didn’t want a woman, he wanted Kenma. He wanted him, and he was willing to throw his career away for Kenma. He would be able to move in, live his life with Kenma, he’d be able to get groceries and work a normal job and he’d be able to be in the livestreams and the videos more than just by mention or a flash. He’d be Kenma’s and Kenma would have Kuroo just like Kuroo would have Kenma. 

Kuroo worked so hard. He worked, he begged, he fought, he started from nothing, with no formal training. A dream and a small amount of money from Kenma’s streaming services and a prayer to whatever God Kuroo wanted to pray to. He’d give it all up for Kenma.

“No.”

Hanging up the phone had never been harder.

___

Akaashi was prettier than any man Kenma knew. With his long eyelashes, his green eyes, his bone structure - he was so pretty. Bokuto was handsome, sure, but Akaashi was pretty. Too pretty to sit at a desk and draw comics all day, and too pretty to be the one Bokuto intended to wife up, as he put it.

He could model, Kenma thought. He was still skinny, too, between walking everywhere and working out almost every day, he was the perfect mix of being pretty like a girl and fit like a man. Kenma was once jealous of him - how could a man so pretty act the way Akaashi did? - but now he respects him. Cared for him, even.

“It smells in here,” he announced as he walked into the room Kenma was setting up for a stream. “Like death, and body odor.”

“Mhm,” Kenma muttered, plugging in his LED lights and blinking as the room lit up. 

“And you look unbathed. Homeless, I think is a better word.”

Kenma supposed he did look bad. After he hung up he laid in bed for two days, only moving to give the cat food and to pee. He didn’t even eat anything other than the snacks he kept in his room, which were probably the reason he continued to stay hungry and tired. His phone was off - a rare occurrence. Though, off was a strong word. 

Kuroo had called him seven times in a row before Kenma had flung it at the wall and watched the screen explode.

“Did you come to make fun of me or did you come to bring me my new phone?”

“Well I came to look for proof of life,” Akaashi sighed, dropping the Apple bag in front of Kenma with a thunk. “However I’m starting to think you’re decaying under there.”

“Bokuto is such a bubbly guy,” Kenma thought out loud. “I wonder how he tied such an asshole down?”

“He’s lucky to have me,” Akaashi said, unaffected by Kenma’s words. “And so are you. You know your mom called Kuroo thinking you were dead, then Kuroo called me because, apparently, you broke his heart? And your phone, by the way.”

Kenma groaned, rolling towards the new phone. Kuroo had called Akaashi, who had entered the apartment with Kuroo’s key, a new phone with the receipt for Kenma to pay him back, and a strongly worded phone call from Kenma’s mother. He’d ever heard her so angry, then so sorry, then so loving. 

It was for sure a day, and Kenma didn’t want to go live. However, it was one day until Kuroo’s concert, he had told his followers he’d go and document it, which would now not be happening.

It was only fair to let his fans know.

“Well, clearly I’m here and alive,” he muttered. His computer made an odd sound when he clicked it on, and instead of worrying like he normally would, he just nudged the box with his toe. “Tell everyone to leave me alone and let me die alone, thanks.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Akaashi groaned, as if this was the first time he had ever spoken to Kenma. “You two belong together.”

“Stop,” Kenma hissed, stilling. “I don’t want to hear about Kuroo. Or see him or talk to him or even think about him.”

In truth, Kenma had yet to stop thinking about Kuroo. It’s all he did while he cried and lounged around his house. He cried, moped, and didn’t stop thinking about what would happen if he said yes. What if he said yes, what if he said yes and Kuroo was there, what if he said yes and Kuroo wasn’t there, because Kuroo didn’t really feel the way he said, even if he screamed and shouted and begged.

He’d say it was shocking, the non-stop thoughts about Kuroo, but really, it wasn’t. It was normal. 

“You should still go,” Akaashi said, and to prove his point he shoved at Kenma’s chair a little with his foot, enough to push him a few inches. “What’s the point of not going?”

“Maybe to die with dignity?”

“Your fans will know something happened. They’ll know and you’ll never hear the end of it, so why not just go and pretend?”

“No,” he muttered, then pulled his legs onto the chair to set his head upon his knees. “I don’t think I’ll ever get better, y’know? At least now I can do it without crying about Kuroo at a concert he’s singing at.”

Akaashi was silent. It wasn’t shocking - he was usually quiet. Pretty men usually were, Kenma found. Handsome men - Kuroo and Shoyo and Bokuto - were the loud ones. Kenma wondered if that made him pretty, or if it just made him silent. He didn’t think too much about it. 

“Bokuto-san and I usually never fight, but when we do, it’s usually over his fans,” he finally said, and it was shocking that he was so forthcoming about his relationship. Kenma caught the scraps of what he wanted to share, and that was normally nothing. “They didn’t know about me, not on purpose, but because he never wanted to make me uncomfortable. When they finally figured it out, they said awful things about him and I, both. Homophobic comments, some racist, some just mean, they were terrible. I almost left him because I wanted him to focus on volleyball, and not how his fans were rude to me.”

Kenma blinked. He didn’t know this - in fact, he didn’t know anything about Bokuto’s fans being rude to Akaashi. From what he’d seen online, everyone loved him.

“Bokuto loves volleyball and I knew that, so I was going to leave so he didn’t lose it. I used to think that there was nothing in this whole world that he could love more than volleyball, and I was okay with that. I figured that being second best to his athletic career was better than not being in his life at all. When I told him this, he stopped me, and told me he’d leave his career behind in a second for me. I didn’t believe him, and we ended up fighting even more. It took him signing a retirement paper in front of me to realize that he loved something more than volleyball.”

Akaashi’s cheeks were red, but he was smiling. He looked at his hands, the long fingers that used to set for the man he intended to marry, and tangled them together. A silver, simple band sat on one of those long fingers, and Kenma’s heart filled with jealousy. 

“Kuroo-san told me he offered to quit singing for you, Kenma,” the taller man said. He looked up and smiled a small, sweet smile. “Bokuto-san has volleyball, and Kuroo-san has singing. If a man who worked so hard on a career was willing to drop it for you, wouldn’t that make you realize how much he truly loved you?”

Kenma loved his career, but when it came down to it, he didn’t love it so much that he wouldn’t stop streaming if it meant Kuroo could be in his life. He didn’t work super hard on it - it wasn’t a hard profession, not when you were good at gaming and people liked how you looked, specifically brands. Streaming was his life, but it didn’t have to be. He had a lot of money, enough to settle down and be alone with someone. 

Kuroo, however, would probably never settle down. He was so alive, even when he didn’t want to be. He worked so hard, too. Hours of recording and dancing and filming music videos. Press conferences and interviews and the strain of having so many fans. Kenma hated the idea of it, thinking about it made him tired, but Kuroo loved it. He loved it all. So much so that he told Kenma he’d only retire when he was dead, buried in the family plot. He’d never stop writing, singing and performing.

Kenma could easily give up his fame for Kuroo, and Kuroo said he could give up his fame for Kenma, but Kenma didn’t want him to. He could live without Kuroo, as long as Kuroo was happy.

“I’d give everything up for him,” Kenma said, his face hot. Akaashi didn’t judge him, though, he just nodded. “I worry that if Kuro gave everything up, he’d resent me because of it.”

“I don’t think he would,” Akaashi whispered, crossing to Kenma’s chair and dropping to his knees to look up at Kenma’s face, mashed into his knees. “Kuroo-san is a perfectionist. He wouldn’t do something without thinking about it, you know that.”

He did know that. He didn’t want to think about that, not when it meant it all might be true.

“Should I go?”

“Even if it means to give yourself peace, I think you should.”

Akaashi’s large, cool hands squeezed the exposed skin of his ankle. He was a good friend, as quiet as their friendship was.

“You’ll be there, too?”

“Yes,” he nodded, still squeezing Kenma’s ankle. Bokuto-san will, too. He even said he’d beat Kuroo-san up if he tried to talk to you if you didn’t want him to.”

“No he didn’t,” Kenma muttered, but a small smile grew on his lips.

“No, he didn’t,” Akaashi smiled, too. “But he would if you asked.”

Kenma knew. 

His alarm went off - people were waiting for him to go live and talk about his preparations for the concert. The truth was, he was going to cancel, to say he wasn’t going, but Akaashi looked at him with warm eyes and his cool hands squeezed around Kenma’s ankle like a security blanket.

“Okay,” he nodded. “But just to give myself peace.”

___

At three in the morning, Kenma was awake. 

This wasn’t unusual - he was always awake, because a lot of his fans were from different time zones. He also streamed well into the night most streams, getting sucked into his games. It wasn’t abnormal for him to be eating dinner at three in the morning, on his couch with his car and a bowl of instant noodles because he had money, he had a lot of money, but he still didn’t know how to cook. 

Today he had chicken, leftovers from Akaashi’s bringings. It was good, spicy but not so much that he couldn’t taste the other flavors. Miso got his offered bite, but turned his nose up at it, so Kenma frowned at him and turned back to the TV, watching the lifeless commercials trying to sell him things. It was a nice night, not too cold for how late it was in the year, no rain despite the call for it, and no stars, though he was in the city, he doubted he’d ever see a star out his window.

When his phone rang, he didn’t jump to answer it. Akaashi was probably waking up because Bokuto was flipping around, the before-concert workout would start in less than two hours, he guessed. He finally reached over and clicked the green button without looking - he’d tell Akaashi off for being awake as if he wasn’t wide awake.

“You’re up really late, Akaashi, you should be asleep,” he rattled off, a smile on his face. He loved mothering the other man when he could - it made him mad.

“I’d be worried if he was up this late,” a voice called back, and oh!

That wasn’t Akaashi. “Kuro,” he breathed, and god, how pathetic. Six days of no contact after two, horrible loud confessions, and he was a whining mess before he could even stop himself. “You should be in bed, you have a concert tomorrow night.”

“Tonight, technically,” Kuroo answered back, always the smart ass. “How are you?” 

Kenma wondered how he was. He was sitting on his couch, with his cat, eating leftover chicken and missing his best friend. He missed him, and he missed the company of their everyday texts and calls, and he was tired but he couldn’t sleep.

“Fine,” he muttered. “How are you?”

“Nervous,” Kuroo reported back quickly. “I called you because I was gonna ask something, but now I’m nervous.”

“Oh, Kuro,” he signed, sinking deeper into the couch cushion. “Just ask. I wanna know.”

Silence rang between them for a long while. This was comfortable, the silence. They could sit on the phone for hours in silence, doing nothing but existing. Kenma loved those times, he loved just existing with Kuroo. It calmed him, and if he had to rank it (which he had, oh he had ranked it so many times) it was his fifth favorite thing to do with Kuroo and his seventh favorite thing all around. 

“Tomorrow, I’m going to announce it’s my last concert for a while.”

Kenma froze. He sat up so fast his chicken almost dumped into the floor and he had to grab it with his bare hands. He sat there, back taunt, holding chicken in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to write songs about you if I don’t have you in my life anymore,” he said casually, as if it was common knowledge. “You’re not in my life anymore, are you?”

“I am,” Kenma swore. “Don’t. Don’t stop performing because of me, Kuro.”

“It’s not all about you, Kenma,” Kuroo laughed a little bit, in a sad way. “It’s about me.”

“Okay, then don’t stop performing because of you.”

“There’s not gonna be anything to perform,” Kuroo sighed. “I miss you.”

Kenma missed Kuroo with every breath he took. His heart ached and it was all because Kuroo wasn’t in the same room as his - that much wasn’t new. He missed him so much he sat around thinking of nothing but Kuroo. 

“I miss you, too.”

“Come to my concert.”

“I am.”

“What?” Kenma could hear blankets moving around. Kuroo was in bed, probably on his side, the phone on the pillow, and now he was probably sitting up, staring at the phone screen like Kenma confessed a crime. “You’re coming tomorrow?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yeah but,” he trailed off, cleared his throat and asked, “you’re not coming for me, are you?”

He was, but he wasn’t. He was going for himself, to see Kuroo and to get over him. He was going for himself, even if he knew he was really going to Kuroo.

“I don’t know,” he answered, which was a better answer than everything else. “I’m just going.”

“Okay,” he said, like it was simple, like it was okay. “Okay, you’re just going.”

For a second, Kenma wanted to beg him to come over. He was at his apartment in Tokyo, closer to home than Kenma was, and he was only an hour away. Kuroo had a car, one that he could drive when the trains weren't running. He could drive over, crawl under Kenma’s skin and sit there forever.

He didn’t ask, though. “Sing well, okay? Because I don’t like concerts, so I’m expecting the best.”

“If I do my best will you come home with me?”

Kenma sighed. “No,” he muttered. “If you do well, I’ll be proud of you.”

“I don’t care if you’re proud of me, Kenma,” Kuroo spoke, and Kenma realized he was crying over the phone, voice raw and tired. “I just want you.”

___

His BeReal went off twenty minutes into Kuroo coming on stage, which was perfect because he needed an excuse to look away from the man.

Akaashi and Bokuto, who had both come without bias or judgment, crowded around him as he took the selfie part of the BeReal. Bokuto was larger than life, Akaashi looked sweet, and Kenma looked like he was going to cry out of frustration, but he flipped the camera and pointed it at Kuroo, who couldn’t see the phone, but still looked perfect.

He looked perfect, he sounded perfect, and Kenma, not for the first time, realized that Kuroo was the perfect man. The perfect on, head to toe, ugly bedhead to expensive sneakers.

“Now, there are three songs I’ve never performed live before,” Kuroo started shortly after finishing a dance-heavy number. “The person I wrote about hasn’t heard any of them, either.”

Kenma knew the songs were about him, but he hadn’t heard them. He hadn’t gone against Kuroo’s wish and listened to them when he figured it out - in fact he’d been scared to listen to them. Now, he was even more scared. Not only would he have to watch Kuroo sing these songs, the songs written about him, he’d have to watch Kuroo. His eyes, his hands, his mouth, he’d never get to look away.

He didn’t want to, but he knew that, after the show, he had to. 

Sometimes, when he wasn’t fully himself, he would sit and think about Kuroo in ways that no one should think about their best friend. As he watched Kuroo sing a song about sex, one that he wrote about Kenma, he thought of those thoughts, and he thought of them so hard Akaashi was giving him the hardest side-eye known to man.

It’s always the pretty ones that judged the most.

“Wow Kenken, Testsu must really like you if he thinks about your peepee,” Bokuto shouted over the music, and from the other side of the VIP box, Kuroo’s dad practically broke his neck to stare at the three of them. Kenma hid his face in his hands.

“Oh my god.”

Kuroo’s dad had kept his distance, probably because Kuroo asked him to, and despite looking like he wanted to sprint across the box, he didn’t, he just smiled softly at Kenma as the young man prayed lightning would strike. 

“This next one, it’s about you, too,” Kuroo announced, his face a sad smile. 

It was about him, most definitely. It was slower and less sexual, but Kenma would probably die if Kuroo said anything like that to his face. He wanted to die, now, because there were millions of people out there who loved Kuroo, who wanted Kuroo to write songs about them. Millions of people out there and thousands of people in the concert arena, begging for his attention. They didn’t have his attention, but Kenma did.

All of those years, he wanted Kuroo to look at him and only him. He wanted to feel Kuroo and keep him all for himself, as selfish as it was. He wanted him, in every way that he could have him. For years, Kenma has longed to have Kuroo even glance at him. And for years, Kuroo was writing songs about how he wanted Kenma. For years, Kuroo wanted him, too.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo gasped, his voice cracking. Kenma worried he might cry, but realized that he was grinning. Oh, how beautiful. “I’m sorry, every single song is about you.”

Oh. 

Oh.

Kenma stood, silent. He was stone, in that moment, so focused he could have been knocked over by Bokuto, who was jumping up and down with ugly tears on his face, red from either the cold or the loud crying. Why was he crying? Kenma wondered, when Kenma finally got what he finally wanted, he should be crying, not Bokuto.

He took a gasping breath, and his lips tasted like salt. Tears, he realized, tears from crying. 

His phone shook in his hands. He opened up their chats, saved even on his newest phone, and typed slowly, one finger at a time, one letter after another.

Hitting send was easy, too easy.

___

Kenma was naked in the bathtub when he heard the door of his apartment open. It was frightening, for a moment, until he heard the soft shushing that he knew came from Kuroo pushing Miso away from the door. 

“Kenma?” His voice was loud in the silent apartment, and it took him by surprise. 

“Gimme a minute,” he called out, not ready to leave the warmth of his tub, but too ready to see Kuroo. He started to stand, pushing his sore muscles up, when the door of the bathroom flew open, and, through the steam, there stood Kuroo, tall and in sweatpant shorts and a hoodie with Kenma’s brand down the arm. He looked good, softer than he did at the concert. “I’m naked,” Kenma said, stupidly, and Kuroo nodded. 

“I know,” he stated, staring openly for a long moment before slapping his hand over his eyes, though his fingers were still spread enough that Kenma could tell he was looking. He bent his legs towards his chest and slid back down, hiding everything important. “I got your text.”

“I figured,” he whispered, and sank low enough his mouth was under water, his nose just skimming. 

Kuroo took his hand off of his face, either accepting that he’d seen it or just not caring, and slithered his way to the tub, sitting down on the floor. Kenma wondered if he should be embarrassed - the man he loved was sitting his head on the ledge of the tub, looking right at him, where he was naked under the clear water - but couldn’t find it in him. He was tired of being embarrassed. 

“I write every song about you,” Kuroo started, slipping his fingertips into the water. He swished them around, not daring to touch Kenma’s skin. “I think of you every day. I have wanted you for so long I don’t even know how to not want you.”

His face was red, from the steam, Kenma guessed, because Kuroo wasn’t shy about this. He wasn’t shy because Kenma could tell that he just wanted to get it all out.

“I will give everything up just to have you, Kenma.”

Kenma looked at him, eyes narrowed, tired bones aching dully under the water. The door was open, and Miso wandered in, turning when he realized how steamy the air was. Kenma watched him leave, fluffy tail in the air, before turning his gaze back to Kuroo. 

He was the same man Kenma knew for years. The same young boy who liked salamanders, the same teenager who loved volleyball, the same man who was a singer and played guitar. The same boy Kenma loved at eight, thirteen, and twenty-two. The same boy who only ever broke Kenma’s heart once, but was patching it up as he sat there, on the bathroom floor of Kenma’s large, expensive bathroom, his fingers dangling in the hot water even though he liked cold showers better. 

Kenma raised his head a little bit, enough for his lips to break through to the surface of the bath. “Don’t give it all up for me, Kuro.”

“I would give everything up,” he said, and Kenma shook his head.

“You don’t have to,” he reached a hand up, wet and warm, and touched Kuroo’s face. The taller man shoved up into the touch, like a cat who hadn’t been touched in years. Kenma’s wet fingers rubbed at Kuroo’s sharp jawline and his perfect nose. “I told you, you have me.”

Because he did tell him. Seconds after Kuroo’s very public confession, Kenma typed out the slowest text he’s ever typed out.

I won’t come home to you because Miso needs feeding. Come home to me.

“I came home,” Kuroo muttered, then stood up. Kenma panicked for a moment, afraid Kuroo would walk out, but he didn’t. Instead, he unzipped his hoodie, revealing his bare chest, tossed it on the ground, then proceeded to shake off his shorts.

“What’re you doing?” Kenma asked, but Kuroo just waved his hand. He left his boxers on, though they were so tight Kenma was getting an eyeful anyways, pulled off his socks and stepped into the hot water of the bath. His body caused waves, sloshing the water over the sides of the tub, but he ignored it, lowering himself in, on top of Kenma’s naked body until their skin was touching. “Kuro, my floor,” he tried to complain, but Kuroo laughed a little, shuffling until he was flat across Kenma.

“I’ll clean it, I swear.”

“I’m naked,” he gasped as Kuroo’s hands traveled lower, cupping his butt. He frowned - he didn’t hate this.

“I know,” he said, and he was laughing, squeezing his hands and pulling Kenma close. “I’m repressed, let me have this.”

Kenma was repressed, too, so he shoved aside the half-chub that was growing and relaxed into Kuroo's hold. He ignored the mess on the ground, ignored the fact that he had to upload an Instagram post, and ignored the world churning around them.

“We’re having a lot of gay sex tonight, I hope you’re aware,” Kuroo muttered against Kenma’s damp hair, and it shocked a laugh out of the smaller man’s chest.

“Thanks for letting me know.”