Chapter Text
Kuroo and Kenma have never really questioned their love for each other.
Well—maybe Kenma has.
“I’ll make you say it’s fun!”
It’s whatever. That was then. That was a different Kenma. Now, he’s happy and in love. And Kuroo loves him too—always has.
So why does his chest feel so tight tonight?
Tomorrow is the day. The soulmate reveal. That weird new law or scientific breakthrough or whatever it is—“Whatever marks your soulmate has, you’ll get too.” That’s how it works. One day, you wake up with someone else’s scars, their burns.
Kuroo thinks it’s romantic. He’s convinced, without hesitation, that he and Kenma are soulmates. Always has been. And Kenma… well, Kenma wants to believe that too.
But the thing about Kozume Kenma is—he’s curious. Quiet on the outside, sure, but his mind never stops yapping. He doesn’t look like someone who stays up asking “what if”—but that’s exactly who he is. Tonight, it’s loud. That curiosity.
“You’re still uneasy,” Kuroo says softly.
His hand slides over Kenma’s gently. He doesn’t squeeze, not right away. Just rests there, waiting. And then—fingers lace through his. “No matter what happens, I love you, Kenma.”
Kenma knows.
“Ugh… I know,” he mutters, yanking his hand away. He’s never liked too much contact, not even from Kuroo—but the spot where they touched still burns. Not in a bad way. Not at all.
He still gets butterflies.
Kuroo chuckles— so soft it makes Kenma want to disappear under the covers.
He sits down beside him, pats the bed, then his lap. Kenma gives him a flat look. Kuroo sighs like he expected it. Of course he did. Everyone already thinks they’re perfect. The perfect couple.
And Kenma wants to believe that. He really, really does.
But the thought is there—What if Kuroo isn’t my soulmate? Would it change anything?
No—no. They’d talked about this. Promised it wouldn’t matter. And yet—
Kenma can’t stop thinking about it.
“Let’s do this again next year!”
for some reason, just now—especially now—he remembers it.
He still thinks about how “next year” never came.
Kenma shoved his headphones on and cranked the volume up so high it was practically vibrating through his skull. Kuroo could hear the music bleeding through. He knew Kenma was nervous. Really nervous. But there was no point, was there? Soulmate marks or not—Kuroo had already decided.
It wouldn’t change anything.
That night, Kenma barely slept. No—he didn’t sleep at all.
He stayed up until 6AM, doomscrolling, fidgeting, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. His thoughts looped like a glitchy game—what if, what if, what if—until it became unbearable. Eventually, exhaustion pulled him under for maybe an hour. Maybe less.
And when his eyes cracked open again—
OW.
His thighs and stomach were burning.
“Fuck,” he hissed, curling inward instinctively. What the hell? Did he sleep on something weird? Did he pull a muscle from lying down too long?
Or—was it stress?
His brain scrambled for logic. He hadn’t checked yet. Couldn’t bring himself to.
But it hurt. A lot.
Kenma dragged himself out of bed, still pressing a hand over his stomach like that might ease the pain somehow. The apartment smelled like syrup and butter—Kuroo had made breakfast. For himself, obviously. Kenma was picky, and everyone knew mornings weren’t his thing.
“You good?” Kuroo asked around a bite of waffle, glancing up. “You look like you’re in pain.”
Kenma blinked. “Yeah… I, um…” He covered his stomach again. The burn was still there.
Wait—
He looked up. Really looked.
Kuroo was shirtless—still in sweats, hair a mess, golden in the morning light like a walking shampoo commercial.
But—no marks. No scars. No burns. His skin was the same as it always was.
Kenma stared.
‘Uuuhhh… he’s staring at me again,’ Kuroo thought, amused. Not that he minded—he loved Kenma’s attention, rare as it was. But this kind of staring?
Maybe not.
“You like what you see?” Kuroo smirked, trying to play it off, casual as ever.
Kenma blinked. The comment hit him like a slap—flushed heat across his face, snapped him right out of his spiral. He hissed in pain, rubbing at his stomach again.
“Okay, okay—sorry!” Kuroo laughed, stepping closer. He reached out and gently cupped Kenma’s cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. “You can tell me anything.”
And Kenma—
Kenma froze.
Because it was real.
Kuroo wasn’t his soulmate.
Kenma gave him a look—a strange one.
Relief? No—wait. Disgust?
Kuroo blinked. What’s up with him? He thought, heart stuttering in his chest.
OW.
The burning came back, crawling hot across his thighs like someone had taken a knife against his skin. He winced and stepped back, hunching slightly as his hands stayed firmly pressed to his stomach.
“You’re acting weird, Kenma.” Kuroo stepped forward, concerned. He didn’t try to touch him this time—not directly. He just raised an eyebrow and gestured gently. “Can I see?”
Kenma hesitated. His fingers were still locked over his stomach like they were keeping something terrible inside. But he gave a small nod.
Kuroo carefully lifted the fabric gently, not wanting to startle him.
And then—
“Oh my God—Kenma.”
Fresh scars. Real ones. Red and bleeding—one in particular had opened and was already staining the hem of Kenma’s hoodie.
Kenma stared ahead, blank. Waiting.
This was it. This was the part where Kuroo would look gutted. The part where he’d say, “Guess we weren’t made for each other after all.”
But instead—
“Kenma, what the hell! Come here.” He grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the bathroom. No hesitation.
The first aid kit was already halfway open when Kuroo dropped to his knees in front of him. His movements were fast and precise. He disinfected the cuts with his hand, apologizing every time Kenma flinched. The worst of them got soft gauze and bandaids—Kuroo even added extra medical tape, just to be sure.
His work was clean. Careful. Kenma wouldn’t have been able to do it himself. Not like this.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered.
“For what?” Kuroo looked up, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t do this, right? It was your freak of a soulmate.” Sarcasm, but worried. So Kuroo knew.
He already knew.
And he wasn’t sad. He wasn’t angry. He was just—taking care of him. Like he always did.
Kenma swallowed hard. Slowly, he slid his shorts down just enough to reveal the rest—more scars. Not open, thankfully. Faint lines down his thighs, a few that looked like shallow scratches from a cat. Well, that’s what Kenma hoped they were.
Still—Kuroo made a big deal out of it. Of course he did.
He cleaned every mark, even the ones that were clearly healing, muttering under his breath about how “just because they’re small doesn’t mean they don’t need care, too.”
Once it was all done, Kenma flopped back on the couch, drained. Kuroo dropped down beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
“So much for first impressions,” Kuroo chuckled.
Kenma stared at him. Like really looked. This was the second time today.
Kuroo was just… being normal. Like nothing had changed. Didn’t he get it? He wasn’t Kenma’s—
“Don’t even think about it,” Kuroo interrupted, like he could read his mind.
Kenma blinked.
“I told you,” Kuroo continued, voice quieter now. “This doesn’t change anything. So what—we have different soulmates. I still choose you. Every time.” He reached up and ran a hand through Kenma’s hair, slow and gentle.
And for once—Kenma didn’t pull away.
He just stayed there.
But it didn’t hit the same.
Kuroo’s fingers were soft, familiar in his hair. The weight beside him was comforting. The butterflies were still there—low in his stomach, fluttering, warm. But—
Something was missing.
It was stupid. It shouldn’t matter. Kuroo chose him. Hadn’t he always? Even before the marks, even before the words—Kuroo had always chosen him. But Kenma couldn’t shake the feeling.
Unfortunately, if you told Kenma the wall was red—when it was actually blue—just enough times, he might grow to believe it was red.
It was like that.
Exactly like that.
This didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel wrong, either. Not really. He wasn’t even heartbroken.
And that—that was the worst part. He was upset… that he wasn’t more upset.
He should’ve been spiraling. Should’ve felt like something was being ripped out of him. Instead, he just felt… dull.
Kuroo’s hand was still in his hair, threading gently.
And Kenma lay there, still and quiet, thinking.
Should he ask? What the hell were those marks?
Surely, his supposed soulmate had—what? Run through a field of thorns? Tumbled down a gravel hill naked? There was no way anyone got those kinds of cuts accidentally.
Well—
Actually.
Kenma didn’t get to finish the thought. The phone rang, slicing through the silence. Kuroo picked it up without checking the ID, casual as ever.
“Hello?” he said, easy and calm.
“Kuroo!!” Shoyo’s voice radiated through the speaker, bright and obnoxiously loud, like sunshine shoved through a megaphone.
Kenma jolted. His entire body buzzed—heat rushing up his spine, across his cheeks, tingling at his fingertips. He sat up straighter without realizing it.
Shoyo?
Kenma smiled to himself, soft and small. He always liked how that name sounded. Kuroo shot him a look. Smirked.
“Something up, shrimp?” he teased, though his eyes lingered on Kenma—narrowed just slightly.
“You and Kenma should come watch today’s game!” Shoyo exclaimed, too excited to breathe between words. “Jackals vs Adlers again! It’s gonna be crazy! Like—revenge match energy.”
Kuroo hummed. “Heard about it. I’ll ask Kenma and update—”
But when he turned, Kenma was already nodding—aggressively.
Kuroo blinked. Disgusting, he thought. The level of enthusiasm was actually a little offensive.
But… also kind of cute.
“Nevermind,” Kuroo said, voice amused. “When should we be there?”
“Oh! The game starts at 7,” Shoyo replied, practically bouncing through the phone.
“Great. See ya, shortie.” Kuroo hung up and turned back to his boyfriend, raising a brow.
“You’re awfully excited.” His tone was playful but edged with something else. “You wanna see the shrimp that bad?”
Kenma froze.
No. No. It wasn’t because of Shoyo. It wasn’t—
“…No, you idiot,” he muttered, eyes flicking away. “I’m excited for the game.”
Was it the truth? Was it enough of the truth?
“You are his sponsor after all,” Kuroo mused, stretching his arms behind his head. “I get excited every time he plays too. Like—hey, that’s the tiny guy I used to destroy in high school.” He grinned. “Although I guess he’s not a tiny man anymore.”
Kenma smiled. Genuinely. But it tugged at something. That warmth. It wasn’t supposed to happen when you heard someone’s name.
Kenma didn’t think about it.
Couldn’t think about it.
He threw on a plain t-shirt and some baggy pants, the fabric swallowing him just right—comfortable, familiar, safe.
Across the room, Kuroo was pulling out a blazer. A blazer.
Kenma blinked. “Aren’t you going a little overboard?”
Kuroo turned, one brow raised, smoothing out his sleeves like he was walking into a press conference. “Gotta look good for the cameras. What if I get scouted as a manager or something?”
“You’re not on the team,” Kenma deadpanned.
“A man can dream.”
Kenma rolled his eyes.
“Aren’t ya gonna be cold, Kenma?” Kuroo asked, glancing at his loose clothes.
“No. Don’t worry.”
He rarely got cold. His body handled it fine—just another little quirk he didn’t care to explain. Kuroo sighed through a soft smile. His gaze lingered a little too long. Kenma caught it. Didn’t comment.
He knew that look.
Kuroo’s “you’re so pretty it’s annoying” face. It made his stomach do something annoying in return.
“Aren’t we going?” Kenma asked, tapping his foot with manufactured impatience.
Kuroo looked at the clock and chuckled. “Kenma, it’s five. The game’s not until seven.” Kenma didn’t move. Just shrugged.
“So? Are we going?”
Yeah. He was disgustingly excited.
Before Kuroo could tease him again, Kenma was already at the door—hood half-up, sneakers on, keys in hand.
Kuroo watched him go with a grin. “You’re such a fangirl.”
Kenma didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
His heart was already sprinting ahead of him