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Kuroo has always imagined that Kenma tastes like apple pie and juice—the sweetness of the things he loves most. Kuroo’s used to tease him about that when Kenma would only want to eat sweets instead of real food whenever they’re out together.
“You are what you eat, Kenma,” he’d said, and Kenma would stick his tongue out at him. Kuroo would laugh and feel a bubble of warmth inside his chest, a feeling he’s never tried to name.
Now, Kuroo thinks about that way too much, how great it would be if he could taste the sweetness on Kenma’s tongue, less to do with what he eats and more to do with the fact that Kuroo knows he’ll never love someone the way he loves Kenma.
And he tries simultaneously—and fails spectacularly—to not think about the fact that to Kenma, he’d taste like nothing at all.
~
“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says over the phone. He is sorry, very sorry, but at the same time, he’s glad. It will be the first time in years—a decade?—that he won’t be with Kenma on his birthday. It won’t feel right, and yet…Yet he knows that it will not be the same if he’s there. “I’ll come the weekend before, okay? I’ll still see you.”
There’s a beat, and in the pause, Kuroo can almost see the displeased expression on Kenma’s face as his phone is pressed against his ear. Then, he says, “Fine,” on an exhale, “I guess it can’t be helped.”
It’s a response so Kenma that it tugs at the corners of Kuroo’s lips, not enough to be a smile but enough to remind him that he misses him.
“The next time I have an exam on your birthday celebration, I’ll just fail.”
Kenma huffs. “Don’t be stupid, Kuro.”
Kuroo smiles this time to himself, already seeing the change in Kenma’s mood in his lightened tone. “No, I’m dead serious. I’m tired of studying about carbon-hydrogen arrangements anyways.”
“I don’t believe you, but wait—why don’t you come the week after, then? I don’t want you to waste time with me if you need to study.” The frown is no doubt back on his face, his voice dipped with worry.
Kuroo’s thought about that too but, “It’s never time wasted if it’s with you, Kenma. Don’t stress about it. I’ll be studying during the week, so I’ll need a break eventually. You can have me for a whole Saturday if you want it.” His chest squeezes, the familiar pain of longing. It’s on the tip of his tongue, You can have me forever if you want it. He grips his phone tighter in his hand, as if that will make it easier to ignore his feelings, to hold the words in.
“You can just study at my place, you know. We don’t have to do anything special.” Kenma’s voice lowers. “It’ll just be nice to see you. It’ll just be like the old times.”
Just be like the old times.
Now they have “the old times”. Kuroo’s only been gone to university for six months, and yet so many things have changed. He’s expected it, of course, but to live it is a separate, more difficult matter. And Kenma’s missed him too. He wants, albeit in a different way than Kuroo, to be a fraction of how they used to be with each other.
There he goes, making Kuroo feel like he cannot love him more.
But it will not be like the old times.
“We’ll go get apple pie from that fancy place you like.” Kuroo promises.
“Okay.” There’s a smile there that Kuroo wishes he can see in person. “Ah, I have to go. Practice is starting. Are you home yet?”
Kuroo stares up at his building in front of him. He’s been circling the block for ten minutes now, not wanting to go in. He could’ve, but he finds that it’s easier to pace around while on the phone with Kenma. It keeps him focused on the conversation and distracted from his feelings for him. He’s gotten a lot of steps in this way.
“Just about,” says Kuroo. He can hear already the squeaks of shoes on the floor as Kenma approaches the gym. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that they’re walking into practice together, that time has not passed and pulled him out of his orbit. “Have fun, Kenma.”
“Hm. Bye, Kuro.”
When the line dies, Kuroo keeps his phone pressed against his ear for just a few seconds too long, just to see if maybe Kenma would still be there after all. It’s senseless and futile. He knows that. Yet, somehow, he always wishes Kenma would call him right back because he wants to call him right back.
Sometimes, in the silence after the call ends, Kuroo tells Kenma he loves him. Just to see what it would sound like coming out of his mouth. Just to hear it spoken aloud because he knows he’d never say a word.
It always hurts more than he expects. It makes it real, the fact that he will never hear anything in return. But it feels oddly good to hurt. It makes that real too, the fact that these feelings exist, that Kuroo hasn’t just made them up out of thin air. It’s a reminder that he carries Kenma with him wherever he goes.
Kuroo lowers the phone from his ear.
They should teach a class on How to Be in Love with Your Best Friend. The first course should be titled Realize Your Feelings Before You Move a Significant Distant from Them.
Kuroo isn’t angry at Kenma. If anything, he’s angry at himself. He should’ve known sooner. He shouldn’t have stepped on the train. He should’ve stayed. He should’ve told him. He shouldn’t have waited. He—
Kuroo falls in love with Kenma over the course of their lives together, but he only realizes it when he sees his face disappearing outside the window of the train that’s taking him far, far away.
And there’s a moment that he could’ve said something—no, would’ve said something if not for what happens next.
Kuroo’s thought that somehow, Kenma has been in love with him too, deluded himself into thinking that’s true, but he should’ve known this amongst many things—Kenma has always been drawn to Hinata in inexplicable ways. Chibi-chan is easy to love.
And the moment is that Kuroo realizes that Chibi-chan is easy to kiss as well.
Kuroo can run a thousand hill sprints and still not feel the intense pain in chest when he catches them together for the first time. The heat of the summer, the sweat gathering on his forehead, saves him from having to explain the cold water pouring down over his hair, bent over behind the Shinzen gym. He’s allowed to excuse himself from the rest of the training camp because technically, he’s not even supposed to be there.
And technically, Kenma has never been his to lose.
He feels the loss anyways.
Just be like the old times.
It cannot be like the old times. Not when Kuroo is already picturing how Kenma and Hinata will lay together on his bed the week after, in the same room where he used to teach Kenma before his every exam, under the same sheets they used to share when they were younger with their small gangly limbs intertwined.
Kuroo is sorry that he won’t be there, but he’s not sorry that he won’t be reminded that he’s now the odd one out.
Kenma’s first birthday without him.
And then it occurs to him…A birthday without Kenma. What if he doesn’t come home for his? Maybe it’s better this way. Steps forward and all that. He’ll need to learn how to be on his own.
Kuroo stares at his phone, still on the screen for him to dial another number. He forcefully flips it closed and shoves it deep inside his pocket.
It’d be stupid to call Hinata and ask if what he’s always thought is true. He hopes, at the very least, that he likes apple pie and juice.
~
“Kenma!” Kuroo calls from half-way up the steps. It’s a habit and a necessity just in case Kenma is in the middle of changing his clothes. It’s cute when they’re younger but is significantly more awkward now that they’re aware of what it means to see someone else’s naked skin. That and the excitement of seeing his best friend always gets to him. Kuroo feels like with every step, his chest will threaten to burst and the only way to relieve the pressure is by announcing his presence and calling out the name that is dearest to his heart. So, he says again upon opening the door, swinging it open with a bang, “Kenma! Happy birthday!”
“I feel like you’re more excited about my birthday every year than I am.” Kenma lowers his game console from his grasp, looking over to Kuroo with a look that someone who doesn’t know him would say as disinterested. Not Kuroo. He can see the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes, the slight upturn of his lips.
Kuroo’s heart pounds inside of his chest. And not because he’s just run up an entire flight of stairs in less than thirty seconds.
He grins at his best friend, setting the gift bag down on the floor next to his bed. “Someone’s got to.” He sees Kenma eyeing it with curiosity, although he’s trying to mask his obvious excitement. “Are you ready? What do you want to do today?”
“We can do what we always do.” Kenma shrugs, pressing his remote to save and exit out of his game. He’s dressed already, just waiting for Kuroo to come. His half-dyed hair pulled into a low bun behind his head. His black pants are a nice change from his usual Nekoma sweats, and Kuroo tries his best to ignore how good his legs look in them.
“Whaaat?” He whines. “You only turn 18 once, Kenma. We should make it special.” Kuroo remembers his own 18th birthday last year, surrounded by their teammates in a small ramen shop after their Saturday morning practice. He remembers thinking that there was nowhere else he’d rather be, even with Kenma’s elbows knocking against his every second. Maybe especially so.
“You say that about every age.” Kenma rolls his eyes as he follows Kuroo down the steps.
It feels natural to be with him here. It feels like he’s never left.
He fits, seamlessly, back into Kenma’s life. Maybe Kenma was right about it being back to the old days. Maybe Kuroo’s being dramatic. Maybe nothing has to change.
“Because it’s true.” Kuroo wraps an arm around Kenma’s shoulder, pulling him to his side so he can speak directly into his ear, the way he knows always makes Kenma tickles. “Now, seriously. What do you want to do today?”
Kenma lets out a small, annoyed laugh, and wiggles away, just far enough to get his ear out of shot but enough to dislodge himself from Kuroo’s arm. “I already told you. What we always do.”
“But what about—”
Kenma blinks up at him, his gold cat-like eyes shine in the morning light, Kuroo’s own personal pair of suns. “It’s not special because of what we do, Kuro. It’s special because I get to spend the day with you. Really, other than that, I don’t care.”
And it’s the fact that Kenma never says things that he never means, never says things that are unnecessary.
“Oh.” Kuroo manages to get out through his closing throat. He finds it hard to breathe all the sudden.
Luckily, Kenma chooses now to fish his phone out of his pocket, sliding it open to a mobile game. He misses the incredulous look on Kuroo’s face and his flushed, blossoming cheeks.
“I’m glad you can come this weekend, but Shouyou’s really sad you won’t make it next week.” He says while tapping on his phone. Kuroo’s arms slide down, falling away from his shoulders with the mention of Kenma’s boyfriend.
Still, it’s hard to hate Chibi-chan. Kuroo can’t do it.
“Tell him to eat an extra slice of pie for me.”
“I don’t need to tell him. He’d probably do it anyways.” Kenma muses.
“True.” Kuroo laughs. Then, maybe because he needs to say something or else he might die, maybe because he needs Kenma to hear it, he says, “Kenma?”
“Huh?” He doesn’t look up. It’s probably for the best. Kuroo doesn’t know if he can say it if Kenma’s staring straight at him.
“I’ll always come for you. Even if it’s not your birthday. If you need me, I’ll always be there. Because, well,” the words are thick in his throat, “You mean everything to me.”
Kenma still doesn’t look up, doesn’t give any inclination that he’s heard him at all after a few beats. But he says, quietly, as they stop at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn, “And I’ll always be there for you.”
Kuroo’s heart clenches inside of his chest, but he keeps his words hidden there, his feelings safely tucked away. He won’t ask Kenma what he means to him. He’s afraid he won’t be able to handle the truth.
~
They make their way to Kenma’s favorite video game store. Kuroo follows him around like a lost puppy while Kenma browses the selection on the shelves. Kenma’s surprisingly picky when it comes to buying a new game. He says that if he’s going to devote all his time and money to it, it’d better be worth it. In the end, he opts to wait until he receives all his birthday gifts before buying anything new, glancing up at Kuroo as he says this to gauge his reaction.
He shakes his head, tsking. “I’m not giving you a hint about your present. You’ll just have to find out tonight.”
Kenma seems mildly displeased at his comment, looking just like an angry kitten. Kuroo laughs and receives his stink-eye gleefully as they walk out of the store.
They trace back their steps, perfected after so many years. They visit the bookstore across the street—this one is mostly for Kuroo’s benefit, so he tries not to spend too long just in case Kenma gets bored. The small mom-and-pop lunch place is their next stop, not needing to look at the menu to know what they’d order. Then they take the train across town to their favorite arcade.
Kuroo thinks it would’ve been boring by now to do the same thing every year, and maybe with someone else it would be. With Kenma, it feels like a comfort. And somehow, they always discover something fun that they haven’t before—today is their joint terrible attempts at Wild Side on Dance Dance Revolution, both of them clinging to each other to catch their breath afterwards, swearing not to ever do that again as they feel every push of their ribs into their lungs.
And by the time they’ve finished dinner and the delicious slices of pie they share have settled nicely in both of their stomachs, Kuroo can’t help but think that Kenma is right after all. It is special to just be together.
He wonders again if he should spend his birthday this year without Kenma. It would be unbearable. It is unbearable just to think about it now. So, he pushes it out of his mind for the time being.
“Ready for your present?” He grins at Kenma when they’re finally back in his room.
Kenma’s tired face lights up, remembering at last that he’s able to open his gift.
They sit down on the floor, and Kuroo slides the bag in front of him, holding his breath. It’s the first time he’s felt like he’s giving him a real present. His hands are strangely sweaty as he watches Kenma.
It doesn’t take him long to hold the object in his hand, but he doesn’t speak right away. He holds the box gingerly in his grasp, as though afraid he will break it if he grips too tight. Though Kuroo’s sure it will take more than that to break a PS controller. It’s a special edition one, golden for the color of his eyes. But if anyone asks, Kuroo will deny and say it’s because it looks the coolest—which he isn’t wrong about either.
Kenma still hasn’t said a word, still staring at the box in his hand. The silence would’ve made Kuroo nervous if he didn’t know how to read the obvious delight in his wide eyes, scarily unblinking. Now, he feels as though both of their bodies are shaking with excitement, albeit for different reasons.
“Kuroo…” Kenma’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks. Awed. “You shouldn’t have. It’s too expensive.”
“It’s okay. I got a part-time job, remember?” It’s one of the first things Kuroo made sure to do when he’s settled in.
Kenma shakes his head, his voice a bit shaky as it rises at the end of his sentence. “I know, but—it’s for rent and tuition. And food!”
“And you.” He waves a hand in front of his face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Your birthday only comes once a year. It’s not going to milk me dry. I’m frugal, you know. Good with my money.” Suddenly, his mouth runs dry. Was he wrong after all? Was it not what Kenma had wanted? “Do you not like it?”
Kenma laughs, finally turning to look at Kuroo. “Are you kidding? I love it. I’m half-scared that I might break it. It’s so pretty.”
Warmth finds its way to the bottom of Kuroo’s stomach. “Well, good. Now you can win all your games in style.”
“Thank you, Kuro.” Kenma smiles at him, a full smile. A rare but truly beautiful sight. He says again, “I love it.”
What Kuroo wants to say is that he would’ve given him the world if he could afford something like that. What he actually says is, “You’re welcome.”
~
They spend the rest of the night playing video games, with Kenma using his new controller and Kuroo gladly taking the old one of his. Every time the flash of gold catches his eyes, he feels oddly proud. He loves the look of it in Kenma’s hands, the way his fingers seem to curl perfectly around it.
He blames that for the repeated losses he’s taken tonight.
By the time they’re tired enough to want to go to bed, Kuroo wants nothing more than just to collapse on Kenma’s and let his eyes close. And if this is any other day six months ago, he would do just that, but Kuroo doesn’t feel right somehow. He feels as though being just that close to Kenma now is inappropriate. Not when he has all these thoughts about Kenma and all these feelings he cannot control. Not when Kenma is most definitely not thinking about him in the same way.
“Where’s the extra futon again?” Kuroo asks. He says “again” as though they’ve used it at all in the last five years.
Kenma’s eyes flash, as though he, too, doesn’t know where it is. But he clears his throat and says, “The closet in the hallway.”
Kuroo nods at him and goes to fetch it. He knows Kenma’s thinking about it now. No matter how much they don’t talk about it, things have changed.
He sets up the futon on the ground, parallel to Kenma’s bed. Staring up at his darkened ceiling, he can’t remember the last time he’s been here like this and not up by Kenma’s side, feeling the heat of his body.
“Good night, Kenma.” He says to the quiet of the room.
“Good night, Kuro.” He hears back somewhere above him.
He’s tired. So, so tired. His muscles are sore and heavy. The day has worn him out. Yet, on the cold hardwood floor, Kuroo finds that he can’t sleep at all.
~
He manages to doze off at some point and wakes back up when the sun is slowly beginning to rise. There’s a pain behind his eyes that reminds him of how little sleep he’s gotten. He’ll be paying for that later today. He can only pray that he doesn't fall asleep on the train and misses his stop.
Kuroo slowly gets up and sneaks a glance at Kenma’s sleeping form, his chest rising and falling slowly under the cover. His best friend won’t be waking up anytime soon. He’ll just have to come back later to say goodbye.
He does his best to pack up the futon without waking him. He’s lucky Kenma has always been a heavy sleeper. He can sleep through a team of rambunctious volleyball boys getting ready, after all, so he can definitely sleep through Kuroo’s soft footsteps.
Before he leaves, though, Kuroo pauses for a minute to stare at Kenma’s sleeping face, just barely peeking out from underneath the blanket. The strands of gold hair fan out across his cheeks, and the delicate lines of his jaw make him look utterly beautiful.
Even though no one’s here to see it, Kuroo wonders if he’s allowed to look at him like this. If someone catches him, they’ll know with a single glimpse what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. But how could it be wrong if he’s just so nice to look at?
Kuroo knows he could stay here all day, admiring him, but it’s not his place. He’s never felt farther apart from Kenma than in this moment. He knows he’ll have to let go of him if he ever wants Kenma to be happy with someone else. If he ever wants Kenma to be happy.
Still, Kuroo can’t help himself. Maybe just once wouldn’t hurt. If no one hears it, will it really count?
He reaches out to gently pat Kenma’s hair, just quick enough to feel the heat of his face underneath his fingertips, just quick enough for the words to fall out of his lips, as quiet as he can afford, “Happy birthday, Kenma. I love you.”
The non-answer is just as loud as the ring at the end of the phone line. It hurts just as much.
Kuroo closes the door behind him and walks the few steps to his home.
~
It would be easier if Kenma can chalk it up to a dream. It would be easier if he doesn’t instinctively recognize the weight and warmth of Kuroo’s fingers through his hair like his own mother’s. Ten years of being best friends with someone won’t do that to you, don’t worry. Not unless you’re also secretly in love with them for most of it.
It would be easier if Kenma also cannot hear Kuroo’s voice as clear as day, even at the low tone he speaks in.
“Happy birthday, Kenma. I love you.”
And somewhere in his memories, he hears this too, You mean everything to me.
Kenma keeps his eyes closed, the way they’ve been all night without him actually getting any rest.
Why, Kuro? Why now?
When the door clicks, he wants to chase after him, and it takes everything in him to chain himself to his bed.
In the months after Kuroo’s gone, Kenma decides that he will no longer wait for him. When Shouyou asks him if he’s ever kissed anyone before, Kenma doesn’t move away when he leans in. Being with Shouyou is always discovering something new. Being with Shouyou helps Kenma forget the ache in his heart, left by someone who does not love him back.
Or so he’s thought.
It’s not fair. How can he be allowed to say something like that? How can he love Kenma when Kenma’s vowed to never wish for such a thing again?
He’s moved on. He’s over him. He’s—Can he love two people at once? Even as Kenma’s thinking about it, he knows it is impossible. He’s only ever loved one person even now.
~
Kuroo decides not to come home for his birthday. When Kenma first hears the words coming out of his mouth, he feels as though he’s entered another universe. Then, he realizes that it’s the same one, just one where Kuroo continues to be far away from him. Choosing to be far away from him this time.
Even though he knows it’s wrong, he wants to curse him just a little bit. Kenma’s waited for six years. Six months and Kuroo’s cracked already?
But Kuroo is the least selfish person Kenma knows. And he’s the worst at taking on too much upon himself if he thinks it’ll make someone else happy.
So here Kenma is, plopping down some peach-flavored candy on the counter in an unfamiliar konbini, just to get his attention. He’s lucky Kuroo chronically talks to him about his life, leaving no details behind. Finding his place of work is incredibly easy because of this.
“Check out, please.”
His voice awakens Kuroo out of his daydream, his fingers on the page of his textbook as though he’s reading it, but his glazed eyes tell Kenma that something’s occupying his mind. Right up until the moment he realizes that there’s a customer.
“Yes, that would be—Kenma.” Right up until he realizes that the customer is Kenma. His voice is breathless as he takes him in, mouth slightly ajar. “What are you doing here?”
Kenma lifts a shoulder, nonchalant as though he didn’t just travel two hours just to see him, his backpack full of his weekend stuff. “I remember that you work today.”
“Uh huh.” Kuroo still looks dumbfounded, eyes barely blinking as they scan Kenma’s face to ascertain that he’s real. Kenma wants to smile at his crooked nametag on his left chest.
“And it’s your birthday tomorrow.” These words are a little harder to come out. They’re like syrup coating his throat, making it too heavy. “I wanted to see you. I mean, I’ve always seen you on your birthday.”
Kuroo swallows. Then, his lips curve into a smile that melts Kenma’s heart, that lets him know he’s made the right decision. He has a worried look on his face though with the way his eyebrows meet at the center, furrowed. “I—my shift will be over in an hour, but I have dinner with a few friends tonight. Early birthday celebration.”
“Oh. Should I go home?” Kenma hasn’t really thought this through unlike most things he does. Has he ever mentioned that Kuroo makes him lose a bit of his brain? Of course, Kuroo wouldn’t spend his birthday completely alone. He has other friends, as much as Kenma often forgets.
“Do you—do you want to come to dinner with us?” He smiles sheepishly, boyish. “You can meet my uni friends.”
Kenma’s heart skips a beat. “That’s okay?”
“Of course.”
“Yeah. I’d love to,” says Kenma, sounding more confident than he feels inside. He’s come all this way to show Kuroo how much he means to him. He can’t back out now.
If Kuroo’s surprised at Kenma’s easy acceptance, he doesn’t show it. He scans the single item Kenma has and says, “Okay. You can wait for me in the coffee shop over there?” He points across the street. “We can walk home together. Or I can give you the key, and you can just head there now.”
Truthfully, Kenma feels so gross from coming here straight after practice that he’d rather change as soon as possible, but he likes the thought of walking home with Kuroo more. “I’ll wait.”
“Okay.” Kuroo grins. His eyes shine behind the messy bangs. He’s giving Kenma a look that makes him go,
“What?”
“You came to see me,” he says simply.
It is that simple, isn’t it?
Do you get it yet? Because you mean everything to me.
“Of course I did.” Kenma huffs, his face reddening. He turns before his heart can jump out of his chest. “I’ll just be over there.”
Six years and he hasn’t learned how to still his heart under those eyes. No wonder seven months and the press of someone else’s lips on his don’t make any difference.
~
Kuroo somehow finds the two people in the world who’s as nerdy as he is. His lab partner Yoichi and his friend Kenjiro from communications talk to him as though they’re using a separate language. Kenma tries to follow along, but it truly makes him want to fall asleep more than anything else.
He can’t help but feel glad, though, that Kuroo has friends who will indulge him in all his nerdiness. They seem like genuinely nice guys. Not that Kuroo’s capable of being friends with terrible people anyways.
“So, Kenma,” the sudden mention of his name makes him jump back into reality. He looks over at Kenjiro’s smiling face, his bright red hair rivaling Shouyou’s with the force of it. “You got a girlfriend or something?”
Now how did they get on this topic from the library of Alexandria? And, yes, they really do think the library of Alexandria is fun birthday dinner discussion.
Kuroo reaches across the table to smack Kenjiro gently on his forehead. “Dude, leave him alone. He’s—”
Kenma doesn’t mind talking about it. Kuroo should know. “Actually, I’m single. Just got out of a relationship.”
“Oh, shit.” Kenjiro’s face falls. He smiles apologetically. “Sorry.”
Yoichi rolls his eyes at him, muttering something incoherent to Kenma under his breath but it makes Kenjiro goes, “Hey!”
Kenma doesn’t pay much attention to them, though. He feels Kuroo look at him with wide eyes right next to him. He feels his heart pound against his ribcage.
“No worries.” He shakes his head. “Though I was dating a guy. I thought Kuro would’ve talked to you about me enough to know I don’t really swing that way.”
“Oh, he does talk about you a lot.” Yoichi grins, his lips crooked, smug.
Kenjiro cheers up again at this, telling Kenma excitedly, “He usually talks about how smart you are, and he tells all these stories about you guys as kids—Ow! What was that for?” Apparently, Kuroo’s giving him another smack on his forehead. “It’s the truth! I heard all about Kenma’s fall from the apple tree circa 2005 like six times in the first month of meeting you. That’s an average of more than once a week.”
“Ignore him.” Kuroo laughs, looking at Kenma while rubbing the back of his head. “He drinks.”
Kenjiro coos at him from across the table. “Don’t be jealous you’re only turning nineteen. It’ll be your turn soon.”
“I think you’re jealous of Kenma, who’s managed to get in and out of a relationship while you can’t even get to the second date.” Yoichi points out casually while sipping his drink.
That gets them into their own heated discussion that Kenma does not want to be a part of. Though it’s entertaining to watch from afar.
Kuroo nudges his elbow, turning his attention towards him.
“Are you okay?” He asks in a low voice so that they others can’t hear.
Kenma nods. It’s been a few weeks now, just shortly after his birthday that they call it off, but he finds it hard to tell Kuroo over the phone.
“You could’ve told me, you know. I could’ve come home.”
“You can’t come home every time I need you.”
Kuroo frowns. It makes Kenma smile, the sincerity of it.
“I’m fine, Kuro. I just needed some time to myself. And Shouyou and I are still friends, so it’s really not a big deal.” Kenma has been afraid of what would happen to their friendship, but Shouyou makes it easy. He suspects it’s because they both sense it wouldn’t last. It’s something they thought they’d try for a while with someone safe. That’s not to say it didn’t hurt. It’s just that Kenma knows that pain is temporary.
Kuroo opens his mouth to say something, but Kenjiro chirps at him to get him to settle yet another, different argument. He turns his attention away, but he presses his leg closer to Kenma’s under the table.
Kenma doesn’t realize how much he’s missed Kuroo’s casual, absentminded touch. He doesn’t realize how much he’s held himself back in the past few months until just now, when the return of his body against Kenma’s makes his entire body feel warm. It almost makes him want to cry right here.
It explains why he couldn’t sleep at all that night with Kuroo on the floor and not in the bed next to his. It’s wrong that way, unnatural for the two of them.
Kenma has never been one to initiate touch between the two of them, but unable to help himself, he rests a hand on Kuroo’s knee. It feels like a secret to see Kuroo’s smile widens just a fraction of a millimeter, unbeknownst to everyone else.
They stay close, and Kenma feels his body thrumming for the rest of the dinner.
~
They say goodbye to Kuroo’s friends and walk home together. It’s nearing midnight, and with his busy day he’s had, Kenma feels the tiredness in his bones. But his heart continues to flutter inside of his chest, as though feeling the shift in energy between the two of them.
The night is a perfect canvas for them to hold their feelings, so emotionally loud with every touch of their shoulders, every brush of the backs of their hands.
But how can you even begin to say something a decade in the making? How are there enough words?
Kenma speaks first. His voice echoes as it joins their footsteps against the pavement, making a white cloud of smoke in the dark night.
“I’m sorry.”
Kuroo is genuinely puzzled as he says, “For what?”
Kenma feels like he wants to cry again. He hates it, but he feels as though it can’t go unsaid. “I didn’t wait for you.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“Kuro—” Kenma whips his head, both of them stopping now to look at one another. Kenma can see the amber of Kuroo’s eyes reflecting the dim streetlamps and his wild, wild hair.
“I took too long.” He smiles sadly, his eyes scanning Kenma’s face as though he’s seeing him for the first time in years and not seconds.
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Then neither do you.”
Kenma feels a lump in his throat. “But I—” should’ve known that we would’ve ended up here eventually. I should’ve waited. I should’ve believed. I should’ve—
“And I should’ve too. Many things.” Kuroo stops him from hurting himself, his voice soft and unwavering. “But, Kenma, you came to see me even when I tried to push you away. That’s enough for me. More than enough.”
Kenma looks at the ground, at their shoes pointed towards each other. He pushes the words out of his chest.
“I’ve loved you since I was twelve years old. When you left, it devastated me. It wasn’t easy to love you alone when you weren’t even there. I thought the only way I could move on was to forget about it.” He pauses. “And Shouyou—he was there for me. Though I think we were both looking to run from different things. He doesn’t love me the way he loves—”
“Kageyama?”
Kenma’s head turns back up to see Kuroo’s smiling face. He cracks a rueful smile of his own. “I was going to say volleyball, but you know, that’s not wrong either. We both knew our paths will split eventually.” They both know the one person who feels the most like home.
“I bet it still sucks though. I’m sorry.”
Kenma thinks again about how if Kuroo has only been an arrogant jock, he never would’ve bothered to play with him. He’s reminded time and time again that his best friend is much more than that.
He shakes his head, holding Kuroo’s eyes. “Don’t be. I think I’m exactly where I need to be.” The alarm he’s set earlier rings on his phone. He turns it off quickly with the press of a button inside his pocket. At Kuroo’s questioning gaze, he says, “It’s midnight.”
His eyes shine in understanding. He breathes the words, “My birthday.”
Kenma smiles. “Happy birthday, Kuro.” And he waits, just for a moment to appreciate the way Kuroo looks at him, stars in his eyes. He reaches up with his hands and pushes his bangs out of his face to see him better, more clearly. “I love you.”
It’s Kuroo’s birthday but suddenly it feels like it’s Kenma who’s receiving a gift. Kuroo, bright and teary-eyed, his pink lips trembling as he says, “I love you, too.”
They lean forward at the same time, correctly anticipating the other’s move although this is the first time they’ve ever done this together. Kenma feels his lips touching Kuroo’s in a gentle kiss, so soft as though in disbelief. Then, again and again, surer they more they crash into each other. He’s dizzied with it, drowning in it even though he’s certain it’s the only thing that can save him in a storm.
Kenma has never allowed himself to think about this before, never been brave enough to wonder because it’d hurt too much, but he’s relishing now the way Kuroo melts under his lips, the taste of him under his tongue.
Kuroo tastes like apple pie and juice—the sweetness of the things he loves most. It’s only fitting.