Chapter Text
As a kid, Kenma rarely ever gets to make his own decisions. What to eat, when to sleep, where to go, how long he can play video games for…even who his friends are. Everything is decided by his parents. Fortunately for Kenma, his parents pick well. Most of the time.
He still refuses to eat vegetables or finish his meals. He still stays up way too late. He has to go to school because everyone goes to school. He always manages to play video games underneath his blanket at night to fool his parents into thinking that he has already gone to sleep. As for friends, well, Kenma has one friend. The perk of living next door to a kid his age is that once his parents see that he’s not completely alone, they don’t try to push him to meet new people anymore.
Kenma thinks that he’s pretty lucky with this pick. They’ve grown up together. Birthday pictures are taken all the way from their first birthdays (neither of them remembers) to the most recent 7th (8th for Kuroo’s).
Kenma’s first memory is of Kuroo. Kuroo and the summer festival fireworks. He thinks that they were holding hands too, because their parents didn’t want them to get lost in the crowd. It was something about seeing the bright lights against the dark night sky that stuck in Kenma’s brain. And Kuroo’s hand was clammy because it was too hot.
Kuroo is just as shy as Kenma, but he always suggests fun things to do. Although sometimes Kenma doesn’t want to do it, he still tags along anyways to make his friend happy. His most recent obsession is volleyball. Kenma has a feeling that this one is going to be the one that sticks. Kuroo looks uncharacteristically happy when he’s holding the ball, a completely different joy on his face than anything Kenma has ever seen before.
He even let Kuroo teach him how to play. They’re not good, not by a long shot, but apparently there’s a camp that Kuroo wants to go to that’s supposed to make them better. Against his better judgment, he agrees to come along. It’s in a few weeks, so Kenma has been mentally preparing for that as he feels Kuroo’s excitement grow as each day brings them closer.
Tonight, as he lies in his bed, eyes straining to look at the bright screen of his gaming console, Kenma hears tapping on the window.
Kuro. He thinks, turning off his PSP. He uncovers himself from the blanket and climbs out of bed.
Kenma spots Kuroo outside his balcony, face gloomy under the pale moonlight. His stomach sinks. Every time Kuroo comes, it’s because his parents have had another fight and Kuroo can’t sleep. That or they’re still fighting, and his friend doesn’t want to hear it anymore. Kenma wishes he could have him over every night, but Kuroo insists he’s fine.
He unlocks his window, and wordlessly, Kuroo climbs through. He trudges through the room to collapse on Kenma’s bed, face-first.
Sighing, Kenma follows him. He pushes Kuroo into the wall so he can lay next to him, pulling the blanket over them both.
“I don’t believe in love.” Kuroo’s voice is muffled by his pillow, but Kenma can understand him just fine. “It’s terrible.”
“Hm.”
“I don’t ever want to get married.”
“Okay.” Kenma has never thought about marriage of his own. He’s seven. Wait, when is it appropriate to think about marriage? Is there an age you’re supposed to want that? He supposes that there are already girls in class who are always talking about what boys they like. Is that the same as marriage? “It’s okay. I’m not sure about marriage either.” Although his parents are perfectly happy being married, so maybe it’s not too bad, right?
“Yeah.” Kuroo turns around now, so that he too is staring up at Kenma’s ceiling. Kenma doesn’t see it, but he knows that there are tears in his eyes. There always are.
“I don’t like other people anyways.” Kenma says softly. “I only like you.”
“Hm. Maybe we can get married.” Kuroo suggests.
It’s a silly thought and a silly comment. Kuroo only saying it because he’s emotional and maybe trying to be funny. But he’s not laughing. He sounds like he’s considering it.
Kenma considers it too. What he says is true, he only ever really enjoys being around Kuroo, and isn’t marriage being around someone else 24/7? If everyone marries who they like, maybe everyone will be happy. Maybe they won’t fight all the time.
Kenma says, “Sure. I’d like that.”
And Kuroo chuckles. His hand finds Kenma’s underneath the blanket. Kuroo’s hand is always warm, no matter the weather. He’s quiet again, and Kenma thinks that he’s asleep until he hears his soft sniffles.
It’s his cue to say what he always says but Kuroo never believes in, “It’s not your fault, Kuro. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Because Kuroo always wants to be good. He always wants to be perfect. A perfect son. A perfect student. If he’s perfect, then maybe his parents will be happy.
Kenma tries to tell him that Kenma is never perfect, and his parents are happy. And Kuroo always shakes his head and says that their parents must be different.
Kuroo grips his hand tighter. Kenma tries to squeeze it back, but he’s not nearly as strong. After a while Kuroo says, “I think I would be happy if I married you. I like you.”
A funny feeling spreads over Kenma’s chest. He feels warm all over and not just in his hand. It’s too much. All he can say back is, “Me too.”
They both don’t know what they are talking about. They don’t mention this conversation again either because it’s hard to talk about it without bringing up Kuroo’s parents and Kenma never wants to bring up his parents and upset him. But Kenma thinks about it all the time.
That night, they fall asleep, still holding each other’s hand.
Kenma thinks that he would always be there for Kuroo, for anything and everything that he needs. What he doesn’t know though is that he won’t get to. He won’t even get to come along to that training camp Kuroo was so excited about. Because Kuroo would move away before they get the chance.
As a kid, Kenma and Kuroo rarely ever get to make their own decisions. And this one is the one they both hate the most.
~
The day before Kuroo is set to move, Kenma suggests that they go play volleyball in the park. Kenma just wants to do something to keep their minds off the move. And maybe he just wants to play one last time with Kuroo.
After a few hours, Kenma gets tired. He doesn’t say anything, but Kuroo probably notices because he smiles and say, “Let’s sit down.”
They don’t sit. They collapse on the grass. The sky is beginning to turn orange above them.
They breathe heavily, trying to take in their last moments together.
Kenma suddenly feels like crying. He doesn’t like running or exercising or working really hard. But he likes playing volleyball with Kuroo. He’s sad to know that he won’t get to again.
“We can still be friends, you know.” Kuroo says quietly. “I can call you all the time.”
“Okay.” Kenma hates talking on the phone, but maybe he won’t mind picking up once in a while if he can hear Kuroo’s voice.
“I will miss volleyball.”
“You can still play, Kuro. You can make other friends.” Now Kenma is starting to get nervous about making new friends himself. He hopes his parents will leave him alone. He doesn’t know if there’s going to be another person like Kuroo. From the looks of it, probably not. Kuroo is annoying, but he is funny. He is nerdy, but he’s not smug about being smart. He talks a lot, but he always listens when Kenma has something he wants to say. Kenma has yet to meet anyone like him.
“I will miss volleyball with you.” This makes Kenma’s chest ache. He feels heavy inside. He doesn’t know if he can even get up right now if asked. Luckily, Kuroo is content to lay here for a few more minutes.
“I will miss you too.” Kenma admits. A silent tear rolls down from the corner of his eyes into his ear, making its way to the grass below his head. Kuroo is probably crying too because he doesn’t respond.
After a while, Kenma hears rustling and feels the wind whoosh next to him as Kuroo sits up.
“Let’s both play in junior high, Kenma. If our teams do really well, we can meet at Nationals.” Kuroo sounds excited for the first time in a long time. Kenma sees that his eyes have gone wider, almost glowing with the thought.
There’s nothing Kenma can say to that other than, “Okay.” Because who is he to deny Kuroo of his only joy right now? How is he supposed to burst his bubble that without Kuroo, Kenma is probably not going to be any good? He wasn’t even planning on continuing with volleyball.
He sits up, too, feeling the grass unstick from his shirt in the back.
Kuroo is holding out his pinky finger, waiting for Kenma to unhook his own through it. “You promise?”
Kenma sees Kuroo’s tear-stained face. His bedhead from swishing pillows around his head. His excitable, grinning teeth. The delicate, hopeful look in his eyes.
He hooks his finger through Kuroo’s. “I promise.”
~
“Kenma!” His mom calls for him from below the staircase. Kenma pauses his game to listen. “Kuroo’s on the phone for you.”
His heart races. It’s been a few weeks since Kuroo moved. Kenma has resigned himself to believing that he has forgotten about him after all. But maybe not.
He sprints down the stairs. He takes the phone from his mom, sliding down the wall so he can sit next to the landline.
“Hello?” He whispers, as if afraid the person isn’t Kuroo after all.
“Kenma!” Kuroo’s voice is loud as it comes through. He can almost imagine his grinning face on the other side.
His heart is lifted. He feels that funny feeling in his chest again. “You’re so loud, Kuro.” But he’s grinning too, and he knows Kuroo can hear it in his voice.
“Sorry.” He chuckles. “I’m just excited to talk to you!”
“How’s your new house?”
“Eh, it looks the same as our old one. Except my grandparents live with us now! So, it feels a little bit more crowded. But fun, I guess, because there’s four of us now instead of three.” Kuroo’s parents have split. His mom opting to stay in their old house until she can sell it off while his dad and Kuroo live with his grandparents at their place. “It feels a bit strange actually, but it’s not bad, I think.” His voice gets quieter towards the end. Kenma knows it’s because he’s thinking about something.
So he fills in the silence. “Well, that’s good. I started school here again. It sucks without you.”
“Aw, you miss me already?”
“No. I just miss not having to look to see where I’m going.” He does miss Kuroo. A lot. But he doesn’t want to say it first at all.
“I miss you too, Kyanma.” Kuroo admits. Kenma almost breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he had been worried that Kuroo has been fine without him. “It’s weird to not be with you all the time. The kids here are not as nice.”
“I’m sure you’ll like them once you give them a chance.”
He can practically see Kuroo roll his eyes with his response. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you make new friends then?”
“That’s different. I don’t want to make new friends.”
Kuroo huffs. Then he switches topics. “Did you get your new video game by the way?”
Kenma remembers that he has been waiting for Street Fighter to come out with its new version. He groans. “No. My mom says maybe she can get it for me if I do well on this math test next week.”
“Kozume-san really does know how to motivate you.” He laughs.
“Ugh. But I don’t really get this topic at all.” It’s partially his fault because he should have been paying attention in class instead of secretly being on his game, but he had needed to grind the last few weeks for a tournament.
“Hm. What are you guys studying? Maybe I can try to help you over the phone.”
Kenma perks up. Kuroo was always better at him with school, and with him being a year ahead, he had always helped Kenma on his homework.
“Really? You don’t mind?”
Kuroo laughs again. The receiver makes a squeaky noise before returning to his voice saying, “—Just call me when you need me. I can give you my number.”
Kenma laments over the fact that they won’t be calling every day. Of course, Kuroo would be too busy to call every day. And once Kenma starts going to his club volleyball practice, he would be as well.
He surprised his mom with that request to join the local club volleyball. His elementary school doesn’t have their own team, but if he wants to play once he gets to junior high to see Kuroo again, he needs the practice. Without Kuroo there to practice with him, he has to do something else to supplement for it. He much rather prefers to not make a fool of himself once he gets on the team.
They talk on the phone for another thirty minutes. Only stopping because Kenma’s parents say that it’s time for dinner. Kenma is almost reluctant to go but it seems silly. He has his number. He can call him back. But now that he’s gotten to be around Kuroo, even if it’s just his voice, he feels sad to let go of him again.
They say goodbye and when Kenma puts the phone back in its spot on the wall, he has to walk away to stop himself from dialing Kuroo back immediately.
~
Even though Kuroo gives Kenma his number, he does in fact call him every day. Every day, when Kenma gets home from practice, he would shower and change into his PJ’s then wait for approximately fifteen minutes. The phone would ring downstairs, and no one would get it because his parents know that Kenma would be making his way soon for it.
The longest he has ever let it ring is five times because he really needed to pee right at that moment.
Sometimes they don’t even talk for that long. Sometimes, Kuroo has to go play with his other friends or be in some study group, but he always calls first. Sometimes, they talk for too long, and Kenma’s butt aches from sitting on the floor uncomfortably for hours. Even so, it never gets easier to say goodbye to Kuroo. They continue this tradition all the way into their junior high years.
Today, when Kenma answers the phone, Kuroo immediately asks, “Do I sound different?”
“No.” Kenma furrows his brows. “Are you supposed to?”
“I’m calling you on my cell phone!”
“Woah!” His eyes widen. “When did you get that?” Kenma must not have noticed the change of number on the caller ID. Why would he need to check it to know who’s calling him? It’s always Kuroo.
“Just last night.” He laughs. “I spent all day today trying to set it up.”
“Do I sound different?”
Kuroo hums into his receiver. “A little bit actually. You sound clearer.”
“Nice.”
“But I’m calling you from my bed! How cool is that? I can call you from anywhere!”
The comment strikes a chord in Kenma’s head. He can call him from anywhere. If Kenma gets a cellphone, too, maybe they could call more than once a day. Maybe they can even talk on his way to school. It would be like the old days when Kuroo used to walk with him. He dismisses the thought quickly.
No. Kuroo wouldn’t want that. Kenma would be cutting into his time with other people. Although it would be nice to call Kuroo from his bed too, so he’d be more comfortable at least.
“Kenma? Are you listening?”
“Huh?” He blinks. Clearly, he’s zoned out.
“I said you should ask your parents for a cell phone too!” He sounds like he’s going to say something else but stops himself. Kenma can almost see him biting his lip. But Kuroo is probably older now, isn’t he? His face has changed since Kenma’s seen him last. Something twists in his stomach, reminding him that maybe he doesn’t know Kuroo at all anymore. But he focuses enough to hear Kuroo’s next words, “We can call more often if we both have cellphones. And texts! Texts are fun, Kenma. Since you’re lazy, maybe we can text instead.”
The feeling in his stomach is replaced with warmth. He’s always so surprised to know that Kuroo still wants to be friends with him just as much. Even though Kenma’s sure he has more and cooler friends now, he’s grateful that, somehow, he still has Kuroo’s attention. Maybe his best friend is just too loyal for his own good. He still remembers when they said they would marry each other so long ago, but he knows when Kuroo said it, he didn’t mean it like that. Though Kenma is still holding on to a small, tiny hope that something will happen between them in the future.
Out loud, he says. “I’ll ask my parents.” And he knows, without a doubt, that Kuroo is grinning into the phone.
~
As they transition into high school, two things happen. Well, really three.
The first is that Kenma does eventually get his own cellphone. Before he even inputs his parents’ numbers, he puts Kuroo’s in and gives him a call. He opens with the same line, “Do I sound different?”
And Kuroo’s excited whoop on the other line means that he understands. They spend an embarrassing amount of time on the phone nowadays (his parents regularly remind him to be mindful of the minutes he’s using up). And they text throughout the day, so Kenma almost feels like Kuroo’s there with him again. Almost.
The second thing is that neither of their junior high team made it to Nationals. This brings sadness to Kenma and tears to Kuroo. He can hear him crying over the phone when they talk. And while he never gets used to the distance between them, this is one of the moments he hates it the most.
But this is his chance to escape. His chance to let go of the promise he’s made with Kuroo years ago. Because Kenma doesn’t really enjoy volleyball even now.
But something about Kuroo makes these words come out of his mouth, “We’ll play against each other in high school, Kuro. Nationals, okay?”
And through the sniffling, he hears Kuroo respond, “Okay.”
The third thing that happens, and this is the most horrible thing, is that Kenma does quit the volleyball team after that conversation with Kuroo. And he doesn’t tell him about it.
~
Kenma has always struggled with large groups of people. Their attention. Their stares. Their weird, unspoken expectations that everyone seems to understand and is okay with except him. He thinks that being on a team with a bunch of other guys is an environment designed specifically to torture him. Not only is he surrounded by other people constantly, he’s expected to effectively communicate with them while they stare daggers at him, and he also has to physically exert himself more than he’d like.
Nekoma High School volleyball team is much, much more different than his junior high team. They’re territorial about their positions and obsessed with the social hierarchy. When Kenma was placed in a game as the setter instead of a third year, they made his life a living hell after that. Not that they weren’t already doing so before.
It was Kenma who put away the balls after practice. Who had to wipe the floors. Again, because apparent it wasn’t clean enough once the second-years had done it. It was Kenma’s lockers that they stuff mean notes into. And one time, they stole his clean clothes, so he had to walk home in the cold in his sweaty, smelly sweats.
The rest of the team aren’t bad, but Kenma doesn’t particularly like them either. It’s not like he’s friends with any of them. He even got in a fight with one guy once over “guts”.
The only thing that kept him going was the thought of seeing and playing against Kuroo at Nationals. But truly, he doesn’t think that they would ever get there. They don’t trust him when he plays, and they don’t listen to him when he gives them suggestions. After one practice, when they blatantly ignore his existence by pretending to never hear or see him, one of them going as far as bumping into Kenma until he’s flat on his back, Kenma doesn’t return.
He tries to tell Kuroo about it, but the words die in his throat. The thought of him letting Kuroo down. The thought of not getting to see him again. It’s unbearable.
So, he lies to Kuroo about how practice is going and when Kuroo texts that he’s excited to see him at Nationals that year, Kenma just texts back, “Me too”.
~
The gymnasium that Nationals is held is larger than any other space Kenma has ever been. It’s packed with people—athletes, coaches, TV crews, family members…the list goes on and on. It’s almost too overwhelming for Kenma if not for the thought that, finally, he would be reunited with Kuroo once again.
They’ve talked every day, sure. But they haven’t physically seen each other in years.
Kenma is so filled with nerves that he might as well be one of the players here. As he expected, Nekoma did not make it in the prefecture finals, even though two teams could represent Tokyo. He didn’t play—he had already quit by then, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he did.
Kenma is excited to see Kuroo play though. He hasn’t seen him play properly…ever. They have never been on a real team together. He knows that Kuroo has improved from what he’s told him. And from the way he analyzes the games they sometimes watch together, he knows that he’s got good game sense too.
He can only hope that Kuroo is not too disappointed at him for not making it on the same court as they promised.
Kenma enters the back stairway where Kuroo says he is waiting for him and sees him immediately at the bottom near the window. At the sound of the doors opening, Kuroo looks up.
Kenma’s breath catches. The years have been good to Kuroo. Even from here, he can see that he’s tall and his features have grown into themselves. He looks good. Better than any of the boys at Kenma’s school at least.
A warm feeling settles itself into Kenma’s stomach. He’s missed him. It’s so unbelievable good to see his face again, even if it’s different than the one he’s known.
Kuroo flashes him a wide grin, so reminiscent of the kid in Kenma’s memories that his chest aches. He makes his way down the stairs towards where he’s waiting for him.
“Hi.” Kenma says, breathless. At the same level, he can see that Kuroo is even taller than he thought, his eyes a whole head taller than Kenma. He has to look up to meet him.
“Hi.” Kuroo smiles, his gold eyes dancing around Kenma’s face, as if trying to take him all in at once. His voice sounds deeper in real life for some reason. His hair is still wild after all this time, the bedhead never improving. Kenma likes that there is still that constant in Kuroo. “I like your new hair.”
Kenma touches his own hair instinctively. He’s dyed it after being told he looks like the girl from The Ring. Its blonde curtain was supposed to make him blend in more, though he isn’t exactly sure if it’s doing its job.
“Thanks.” He suddenly feels shy, so seen under Kuroo’s gaze that he looks down at his shoes.
“Is your game later this evening?” Kuroo asks. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
His stomach sinks to the ground. Of course, he would notice right away that Kenma’s wearing his street clothes. He always goes straight to the point.
He wrinkles his hands together, not able to meet his eyes still as he mumbles, “We’re not playing today. We didn’t make it to Nationals.”
“What?” Kuroo’s voice is in disbelief. Kenma looks up to see confusion clouding over his face. Then flashes of hurt and sadness. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought—”
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed. I—I wanted to see you.”
Kuroo shakes his head. He tries to give Kenma a small smile. “It’s okay. We still have next year.”
Kenma almost doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they don’t, but he has to. He can’t hurt him again. “No. I quit the team. I’m not coming back next year.”
Kuroo’s eyes darken. His brows grow close together as his lips take on a frown. “What do you mean? Kenma, the only other time we have is next year. I mean, after that, I’m going to graduate—”
“I can’t do it, Kuro.” He doesn’t know what to tell him. Kuroo is already so upset, and Kenma is regretting ever coming here. He doesn’t want to mess up his game because of this.
“Why not?”
“It’s—” the only word that can come out is, “—hard.”
Kuroo looks at him like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing or seeing. He backs away, hand combing through his hair like he might try to twist it out. His voice raising a few octaves as he says, “Hard? Kenma, everything that is worth doing is hard, but that doesn’t mean you can just give up. I thought you wanted this too.” He motions between the two of them, then he looks towards the direction of the stage. “I thought we promised.”
Kenma feels like he’s going to cry. In fact, he’s pretty sure tears are already forming in his eyes because everything is blurry. He tries to blink them away, looking up at the ceiling instead of at Kuroo.
“I don’t think you understand—”
“No. I don’t think I do.” Kuroo’s words come so harshly that Kenma’s lips snap shut.
He has nothing to say to that. His entire body feels like it’s burning.
It was a mistake to come here after all. He wanted to see Kuroo, but maybe it would’ve been better if they had never meet again. Maybe he should have never tried to get to this point in the first place. Who is he to make promises he can’t keep?
Kenma can’t stay here any longer. He had wanted to stay to watch Kuroo play, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a good idea. All he wants to do now is leave, to get far away from here and from Kuroo’s furious eyes as soon as possible. He’s no longer the kid that Kenma has known. He’s just a boy who he has disappointed.
“I’m sorry.” Kenma whispers to Kuroo’s shoes. “Good luck on your game.” And then he’s taking two steps at a time out of the staircase and out of the gymnasium. He knows he’s not fast, so the fact that Kuroo isn’t behind him means that he doesn't want to run to catch up to him. He just lets him go.
Eight years after Kuroo moves away and approximately ten minutes after they reunite, Kenma finally feels the connection between them breaking. After that day, the calls and texts stop. They wouldn’t speak for another five years.