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Kuroo was feeling nostalgic. That was probably why he agreed to come to this god forsaken party at all when Bokuto called. The mere thought of an evening of reminiscing with the people who were there for his possibly happiest year, before it all went to shit, made him cringe. Add to that the surely incoming attack on his ears, and it was barely enticing at all. Even if he did want to see Bokuto, and even if he was a bit curious about the Karasuno guys he hasn’t seen in years.
And then there was Kenma.
Bokuto, to his credit, warned him about it from the start. Of course, Hinata would invite him. Of course, he would come. This was an old ache, sour and persistent - that Kenma barely waved him goodbye before designating a new best friend. That Hinata fucking Shouyou had what Kuroo wanted. That, unlike Kuroo, he didn’t screw it up. Still, it’s been years, and Kuroo was a grown up, damn it, and he could handle it.
He might have, in hindsight, come here just to prove it, out of spite. As a sort of a challenge - to see whether Kenma would be the one who couldn’t handle it. That was a mistake. Kenma barely looked at him. As Kuroo chatted with Bokuto, Akaashi and Daichi, he kept catching Kenma smiling to Hinata, or showing something on his phone to Tanaka, or just watching people while pretending to be absorbed in his gameboy. Not a single ounce of attention to Kuroo. Barely a hello when he arrived, the last of them all, when Kuroo has already resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t coming after all.
Kuroo pretended it didn’t hurt. He laughed, and teased, and drank one glass after another until it felt like he wasn’t pretending anymore. Until he was distracted enough to plant himself in an empty booth without realizing it wasn’t actually empty.
It didn’t take him long to notice Kenma’s quiet presence in the corner, though. It took even less before he could no longer look away. Soon enough, he was drinking Kenma in, greedy and unnoticed. He forgot how soothing it was, once upon a time, to just be near him when Kenma was like that: deep into his own world, simultaneously small and larger than life with all the universes blooming in that bright head of his. It made Kuroo want to guard his boundaries. It made him want to crawl inside of them and take his place by Kenma’s side: ruffle his hair, wrap an arm around him, watch over his shoulder…
He was drunk, and nostalgic, and the soft flashes of light from where Bokuto and Hinata were screaming their hearts out on the stage were erasing time and distance, and Kuroo just wanted to feel something besides regret for once, when he was next to Kenma. So he looked away, had another sip and spoke.
"You haven’t changed much. Kind of impressive, honestly. Not even Bokuto on full volume can break that forcefield of yours."
"You just did," Kenma replied immediately, and Kuroo turned to look at him again, pleased at the statement and annoyed that he cared whether Kenma still heard him even in the depths of his hyperfocus.
Mostly, pleased.
"At least they are consistent," Kenma continued flatly. "I’m treating it as a soundtrack."
Kuroo snorted before he could choose not to. He missed this. Kenma’s dry humour, his mercilessness, the way he’d be so closed off to everyone, but still joke with him.
"Consistently bad, you mean," Kuroo joined in, and god knows Bokuto and Hinata were loud and off key enough that he felt zero guilt over it. "Are you playing a horror game, or something?"
"Of sorts," Kenma said. He sounded amused, and it pulled on something inside of Kuroo - something pleased, something fond. Pulled him close, and he didn’t think - just let himself move, shift until he was right there by Kenma’s side, not touching but feeling like he did. It felt good. It felt right. He smirked when he saw which game Kenma was actually playing. The simplest most basic black snake was looping around the screen in intricate patterns. Kuroo only had a moment to be impressed before the snake ran into itself, ending the game in an act of self-destruction. He snorted - this, too, was a familiar shape of Kenma’s humour. Kuroo loved how his mind worked.
"Oh, I see," he commented, amused. "That kind of horror."
The Evangelion’s opening being butchered by the over enthusiastic duo a few meters away was hardly a suitable soundtrack for the pixelated snake’s journey, but the quality of the performance made it fit.
Kuroo moved back, not finding an excuse to stay close now that Kenma was frozen under him. Part of him wanted to move closer instead - drape himself over Kenma and see if they still fit. Pretend he was still allowed to do that. He wasn’t that drunk, though, and Kenma was clearly uncomfortable already. It irked Kuroo. He knew it made sense, after everything, but it irked him to no end, as if Kenma had no right to keep rejecting him in this polite sterile manner, like a stranger.
Was he, now? Was he a stranger? Kuroo put a lot of effort over the years to make it happen but he failed. He could never rid himself of Kenma no matter how hard he tried. But perhaps, Kenma didn’t have to try quite so hard.
"It’s a good distraction," Kenma said, still curled up around his phone. Still not a single look his way, excluding a second-long glance when Kuroo moved away.
"Yeah, not exactly your scene, is it."
He let his annoyance show. It was mostly directed at himself, for still caring, but at Kenma too, a bit - for still being the same person Kuroo fell in love with and not caring whether Kuroo was here or not. For treating him like a nobody. For coming to this stupid get-together only to sit in a corner and tune it all out.
"Why’d you even come?" Kuroo asked.
And Kenma said nothing.Didn’t react in any way. Successfully filtered him out of his world. Kuroo was no longer able to, as he phrased it earlier in the evening, to penetrate his shields. It pissed Kuroo off. He spent maybe a minute trying to convince himself to walk away, and then moved closer instead.
Kenma flinched under his touch and looked up at him, clearly startled. As if he never expected Kuroo would dare to touch him again, after admitting he wanted Kenma in all the ways Kenma didn’t want him.
"Do you hate it this much?" he couldn’t help asking, the old ache sharpening and poking at his stupid heart. "Made you look at least. Thought you were set on pretending I’m not even here."
Kuroo sounded bitter and accusatory, and he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t hide his messed up feelings, laugh it off and walk away. That Kenma knew how much he was still not over it.
Kenma flinched again and pulled away. Of course. Kuroo let him go. Kuroo let him go years ago, really, so why did this feel like he was tearing himself apart all over again? It’s not like Kenma has ever given him hope. Not like he’d indicated in any way that he’d like to let Kuroo back in.
"I’m not pretending you are not here," Kuroo heard. Yeah, right. Just not deeming him worthy of eye contact. "It’s just… hard. To look at you."
Brilliant. Kuroo would’ve preferred if Kenma kept that part to himself, but of course he didn’t.
"Fuck you, Kenma," he grumbled, attempting to hide how much it hurt. "I’m not that hard on the eyes."
"Which is exactly the problem."
What? Kuroo stared, knocked out of his doom and gloom by the unexpected compliment. Was it a compliment? Kenma wasn’t making any fucking sense.
"We are not friends anymore," Kenma said as if it explained anything. All it did was sting and deflate whatever pathetic hopes Kuroo still held. He felt like more drinking. Like drinking himself under the table and into an alcohol induced blackout actually, so he could erase this evening from his memory and go about his life, feeling like, yes, he was missing a crucial piece of himself that was Kenma’s friendship, but also, that piece still existed somewhere out there. Unlike now, when Kenma crushed it into dust in five simple words.
"I probably won’t see you again for months after this night."
"You don’t have to see me at all," Kuroo suggested. He just needed to shift his schedule a bit. To stop planning it so that his visits to his dad overlapped with Kenma’s visits to his own family. Stop "accidentally" runnign into him for a chance to see him.
He felt movement on his side and looked up. Kenma was closer now, on his own volition and looking determined.
"No," Kenma said. "Kuro, listen."
It must have been the first time in years that Kenma used that pet name, and it worked. Kuroo listened. He thought, maybe he misunderstood something somehow.
"I’m not saying I don’t want to," Kenma continued, and Kuroo translated: Kenma wanted to see him.
"I’m saying," Kenma insisted, nervous and pushing through anyway. Kuroo held his breath, staring at him with wild hopeful eyes, not knowing himself what exactly he was hoping for, exactly. "It’s hard enough to manage without the reminders of… well. This."
Kuroo frowned. This was not going the way he hoped - that much was clear. But where was it—
"I can’t pretend everything is as it used to be, when I know it isn’t."
Ouch.
Fucking ouch.
Kenma wasn’t looking at him anymore after landing that hit, but all Kuroo could do was look, as the fragments of the evening and the past alike swirled in his head before settling into a picture that made sense. The things Kenma said, the things he did, the things he didn’t do… The way he didn’t even try to stop Kuroo withdrawing back then, even though they both agreed to remain friends. The way Kenma couldn’t even look at him anymore, except like this: sad and scared.
"Kuro," Kenma called, and that hurt too, now that Kuroo knew there was no way back.
No way back, no way forward, just this mud where he was stuck for years.
"I understand," Kuroo said, and he didn’t even recognized his own voice, cold and flat with quickly rising fury barely held back. "You want it to be like before. Like I haven’t made a fool of myself."
Kenma tried to interrupt, always quick to withdraw from a conflict. This time Kuroo wasn’t in the mood to let him.
"Well, too bad, Kenma! Because I can’t just erase that. So if the only version of me you’re okay with is the one who never said anything at all—then yeah. I guess this is it. You can go back to your games and comic books and whatever else you use to hide in these days, and I promise I won’t fucking bother you anymore!"
"You like comic books and games too," Kenma noted after a moment, as if that was the most important part of Kuroo’s explosion. It only made Kuroo angrier, because of fucking course Kenma was right — he knew Kuroo, and he wielded that knowledge of him as if he had any right to it after throwing him out.
"You don’t have to erase anything," Kenma tried next.
"Why, thank you for the permission," Kuroo snapped, sarcastic, his anger settling into something bitter and a bit more contained now.
"Hey, everything alright?"
Or maybe it wasn’t, because the sight of Hinata mindlessly sliding next to Kenma, slotting right in without Kenma batting an eye, got him all the way up in seconds. Kenma, who flinched and withdrew from him, let Hinata be all over him, take his hand, more or less wrap himself around him. The contrast — the reminder that it wasn’t about Kenma’s natural touch aversion, it was about him, specifically — fucking hurt.
"Peachy," he spat, not even trying to hide it. "Just wrapping up the happy reunion."
Kenma looked away, leaning into Hinata. Kuroo felt himself snarl.
"Bro, chill," Bokuto said, a hot palm on his shoulder forcing him to pay attention. "Do you want to step out for a moment?"
"Maybe you should just go home," Akaashi’s calm voice added. "This was a bad idea."
No fucking kidding. They were right, he should walk away. He should have walked away minutes ago, and how long, exactly, were they here, listening to that whole disaster of a conversation? Still, to be the one kicked out of here, as well…
"Am I not welcome at the party anymore?" he asked, cold and mocking. "Here I thought you missed me."
"Of course you are welcome," Bokuto frowned immediately. "You need to calm down, though."
And wasn’t that ironic: Bokuto of all people telling him to chill. To calm down.
"I am perfectly calm," Kuroo said, glaring at his friends and daring them to challenge that statement.
Movement on the other side of the booth caught his eye, and he shifted his attention just in time to catch Hinata look at him thoughtfully and then lean into Kenma again, where he was already hugging him close.
"What did he do now?" Kuroo heard, and suddenly he could no longer tolerate it: the way Hinata was all over Kenma, and the way Kenma was letting him be, as if he needed protection from Kuroo.
"The fuck does that mean?" he snapped. "Are you the new best friend now, shrimpy? Picked up right where I left off, I see."
He heard the rumble of voices around him settle. It was so quiet now, he could hear a soft startled exhale from Kenma and turned his ire at him now, leaving Hinata alone. It wasn’t Hinata he was truly angry at, after all. It wasn’t Hinata who was his closest person for twelve fucking years, who knew him in and out, who made him who he is - and then threw it all away and replaced him after a single mistake.
"That’s all it took, huh? Me walking away once, and you let someone else just step in? Guess you just needed someone to fill the role, and it didn’t matter much who you stuck into it."
He barely saw Hinata move before a sharp pain bloomed in his jaw. His alcohol addled brain struggled to process it, but his body reacted, grabbing and swinging in retribution, only instead of landing a hit he was stopped and contained under the steel of Bokuto’s grip. He saw Hinata being dragged away, still swinging and looking at him fiercely, and he saw Kenma’s open-eyed shock, and then he, too was being dragged away by two pairs of arms and into the bathroom.
"Let me go already," he snarled once they were there. Bokuto stepped away from him, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Akaashi leaned on the door, blocking the exit. Kuroo glared at him.
"Seriously?" Kuroo asked with as much sarcasm as he could muster, which, at the moment, was admittedly not a lot.
Akaashi shrugged.
"Why are you even here?"
"Support," he replied, annoyingly calm. "Because you are out of control, you crazy cat, and Bokuto just might buy whatever bullshit you are about to try and sell."
"Hey," Bokuto protested. They both ignored him.
"I’m out of control?" Kuroo snapped. "Are you sure about that, dumb owl? I’m not the one who started throwing fists."
"You are, though," Akaashi noted.
Kuroo glared at him for a few seconds more, and then deflated, his anger not holding up very well against the joint attack of Akaashi’s calm clarity and Bokuto’s uncharacteristic frown. He slumped against the counter with the sinks and rubbed his face. It hurt.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?"
"You are drunk, for one," Akaashi replied, but it was softer now. "What happened?"
"He wouldn’t even look at me," Kuroo answered, bitter and resigned. "I thought…" he stopped and huffed humorlessly. "I don’t know what I thought, actually. But not this."
Bokuto knew the full story from back then. Akaashi probably guessed it at some point as well. Neither of them seemed confused by his jumbled explanation, at least.
"And then Kenma said he didn’t want to pretend we are okay, when we aren’t. That just looking at me after I said I loved him was hard. And then Hinata was there, and I guess I lost it."
He registered movement, and then Bokuto was pulling him into a bear hug, patting his back. It was awkward as hell, but Kuroo appreciated the first moment of comfort this evening.
"You are an idiot," Akaashi proclaimed, and he was closer now, no longer blocking the door.
Kuro chuckled, straightening up and pushing Bokuto gently away. "I’m well aware."
"It doesn’t excuse you having a go at them like that."
"I know," Kuroo said.
And of course he did — now, that the anger wasn’t overtaking him at the sight of Hinata wrapped protectively over Kenma, like he used to be. He felt less drunk, too, the adrenaline of the near-fight and time clearing his head a bit. Which was good, because Hinata, apparently lacking any kind of self-preservation instinct, chose this moment to march into the bathroom and glare at him.
"Came for seconds, little crow?" Kuroo asked, more tired than anything at this point.
That had an unexpected effect of Hinata freezing still for a second, and then bowing.
"I’m sorry I punched you, Kuroo-san!"
Kuroo blinked and looked at Bokuto to check he wasn’t seeing things. Bokuto beemed at Hinata, looking proud and a second away from pronouncing it. Kuroo watched Akaashi grab him by the collar in a familiar, well practiced preventative gesture, and it ached. This was part of what he has walked away from, when he ran from the consequences of his confession and rejection. These people he knew better than he had any reason too. He was still close friends with Bokuto, but the rest of them, including Nekoma, he left behind, because Kenma couldn’t. Didn’t mean he hasn’t missed them.
Hinata grew tired of waiting for his response and straightened up, making Kuroo look at him again. There was still fire in his eyes, despite the apology.
"I was friends with Kenma well before you abandoned him," he said, loud and clear, and it was now Kuroo’s turn to flinch under someone else’s anger. "And even then I had to fight to stay, because he shut everyone out after you left. So you don’t get to come now and accuse him of taking it easy when he’s still…"
Hinata stopped himself sharply and pressed his lips into a thin line, as if physically holding the words in.
"Still what?" Kuroo asked, unsure if he was ready to hear the answer and needing it anyway.
"You’re gonna go apologize to Kenma," Hinata said, pointedly ignoring the question. "And if you ever attack him like this again, I’m gonna kick your ass."
Kuroo looked at him for a long moment, silently, and Hinata held his gaze, stubborn and serious. This was not the boy Kuroo trained four years ago — the boy who only seemed to be passionate about volleyball and his rivalry with Karasuno’s setter. This was Hinata Shouyou — the boy who stumbled upon Kenma on a sidewalk, befriended him in a matter of hours and lit a fire under him that even Kuroo couldn’t. The boy who stayed when Kenma, apparently, was blocking everyone out, because he was hurting.
Kenma was still hurting — wasn’t that what Hinata was trying to say? Kenma might have been the one who rejected Kuroo, but it didn’t mean he hasn’t lost a friend, too, when they stopped talking. They’ve been inseparable since they were eight years old, tangled together in mind, body, memories, everything. Of course he would also hurt. Wasn’t that exactly why Kuroo left — what he wanted to avoid back then? Only to come back swinging today and make it worse: demand the attention and then lash out when it was denied.
"Yeah, fair," Kuroo managed, before walking out of the bathroom and back into the karaoke room they rented to find Kenma.
Except Kenma was no longer there. Everyone looked at Kuroo like he was dangerous, which, again, fair, he wasn’t even offended at this point, just resigned. It took Hinata actually asking on his behalf, but finally Sugawara admitted Kenma left for home right after the fight. He wasn’t answering his phone when Hinata called, and Kuroo had no idea where Kenma lived anymore, but he knew Kenma. At least he wanted to believe he still did. He walked through the streets they used to walk together, back in the day, both anxious to find Kenma and terrified of what would happen when he finally did.
He found him where he thought he would — on the bench of a familiar bus stop. Kenma didn’t even have a phone in his hands, for once. He was just staring into the asphalt under his feet, looking small and lonely. Kuroo felt a pang of guilt. He walked closer, slowly, not wanting to spook him. Kenma didn’t look up.
"They don't have buses here after ten anymore," he said, awkward and unsure how to approach this. Whether Kenma will even want to hear his apology.
And then Kenma apologized first.
"I’m sorry," he said. "It wasn't like that. Shouyou didn't take your place, nobody did. Nobody could."
Kuroo leaned forward, letting his elbows carry his weight when his back couldn’t. He knew — after Hinata reminded him what actually happened — but it was still significant to hear it from Kenma himself. Yeah, he screwed up, letting his pain speak for him today.
"I didn’t want anyone to replace you," Kenma added softly, and Kuroo closed his eyes and just listened, pressing down the familiar defensive urge to interrupt and doubt the words. "You are a part of who I am, Kuro. I miss you. Letting you walk away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I never wanted that."
Kuroo let out the air he didn’t realize he was holding. This, he did not expect. He looked up at Kenma, confused, and hopeful against everything, because apparently no matter how many times his hopes were being slashed down, they still managed to survive.
"Why then?" he asked, shaky and raw. "You gotta help me out here, Kenma, because I walked away from you thinking it was so I wouldn’t burden you with my feelings, and maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe I just couldn’t handle being right next to you when you didn’t need me the way I needed you. But you let me."
And god, how it hurt — back then and now — that Kenma never tried to stop him. Never reached out to him to ask why Kuroo stopped coming to his house, or dragging him places after school.
"I’m sorry," Kenma said again. "I just thought…" he looked away for a moment then met Kuro’s waiting eyes again. "I knew that if I asked you to stay, you would, for me. And you would be miserable. I couldn’t do that to you, not after I already hurt you. You pulled away, so I thought that was what you needed to feel better. What right did I have to take that away."
"Fucking hell, Kenma," Kuro muttered, processing it and coming up with a strong desire to just scream into the void, because of how badly they misunderstood each other. Him, pulling away to protect Kenma. Kenma, letting him go to protect him. Both of them losing a friend when they didn’t have to.
"I thought you’d get over me and maybe we could be friends again," Kenma continued, quietly. "I thought you’d come back eventually. But you didn’t."
"Because I didn’t," Kuro said after a long moment of hesitation. They were on a precipice of something fragile and tender. Maybe not reconciliation, necessarily, but understanding. He didn’t want to screw it up again, but he also didn’t want to hide his truth again. "Get over you."
"You didn’t?" Kenma echoed, sounding like he was choking, and maybe this was a mistake to confess again when the first time went so spectacularly badly, but it was out now, wasn’t it.
"Nah," Kuro replied, leaning back onto the bench and looking up. "Not for the lack of trying, either. I guess I’m just dumb that way."
"I love you," Kenma said suddenly.
Kuro stared at him, not sure he heard it right. It didn’t make any damn sense.
"I love you, Kuro," Kenma repeated quietly, looking straight at him for once, serious and sure. "Is that okay?"
What kind of question was that even? Is that okay… what the actual fuck? Kuroo’s mind was blowing up with questions like fireworks: kind of happy, but mostly just loud and chaotic.
"Since when? What are you…"
He jumped off the bench, unable to remain still, ruffled his hair, paced a few times. It helped somewhat. He looked at Kenma again, focused now.
"You love me?" he asked. Begged for confirmation, really. Kenma nodded. Kuroo stared at him in disbelief. "You don’t just say shit like that out of nowhere and then nod. Explain."
"When you said you were in love with me," Kenma started, "remember what I said, exactly?"
"That you didn’t feel that way," Kuro replied immediately. As if he could ever forget that.
"I also said I didn’t think it was something I’d feel, because it just didn’t seem like my thing." Kenma amended, and yes, Kuroo remembered something like that, too. "I thought I was perfectly happy with you just being my friend. Nothing was missing, you know? It was already perfect. And love is something that makes you want… things."
"Things?" Kuro asked, mildly confused but beginning to get it. Was Kenma asexual? Did he expect to feel lust and took its absence for a sign that he didn’t want anything romantic at all?
"I wasn’t sure what specifically, but it didn’t matter, because I really didn’t feel like I wanted anything else. But then you walked away, and I came to realize… I didn’t want anything because I already had everything. With you."
He looked up, and Kuroo looked back at him, taking him in while trying to process it.
"I loved you already, Kuro," Kenma added with a quiet surety. "It just took me losing you entirely to realize it. I’m sorry."
This was wild. Kenma was in love with him, has been in love with him for years, and didn’t realize that at the time because they were basically already dating as far as Kenma was concerned, and none of them noticed? Was that what happened? And okay, Kuroo definitely wanted more, but there was a huge difference between keeping things as they were but with the knowledge Kenma loved him back — and losing it altogether, as he did.
"Are you going to say anything?" Kenma asked, quietly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Why," Kuroo asked, "didn’t you tell me before? I spent years thinking you just flipped the page and moved on."
"I thought you didn’t want me in your life at that point." Kenma frowned. "I wasn’t your problem anymore."
"You were never a problem, Kenma."
"Of course I was. You spent half of your time in high school looking after me."
"I never minded."
Kenma looked down and quieted, and Kuroo could see him smiling at that. Like that was a surprise, and god, did Kenma actually spent all this time thinking he was some kind of burden Kuroo tolerated? That was so fucking dumb, Kuroo couldn’t even with him. He moved closer instead and reached out, finally letting himself touch as he wanted. He pulled Kenma closer, turning them face to face and hooking a finger under his chin to gently tilt it up.
"So, you love me, huh?" he asked, still hesitant, but increasingly less so. "Even after all the shit I laid on you today?"
"Some of it was pretty dumb," Kenma replied drily. "But yeah. Even after that. And you?"
"Yeah," Kuroo said and smiled, bright and happy. "Yeah, I love you too. And I’m sorry. For the dumb shit today."
Kenma reached out to thumb gently at the bruise on Kuroo’s face. It hurt, a bit, but Kuroo wouldn’t complain when it was Kenma touching him, and letting him touch, and hope, and breathe him in.
"I’d say you paid for that already," Kenma said reasonably.
"You don’t know the half of it," Kuro grumbled, thinking back to everything that happened at the club after Kenma escaped. He deserved it though. Not to mention, he’d be happy to suffer through a way harsher beating if it could lead him here. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, careful not to push — not to lay any expectations that Kenma couldn’t meet, but hoping he was reading this right, anyway. "Is that one of the things you decided you wanted?"
Kenma kissed him first.