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Kenma rides the night bus.
Kuro tells him not to—Kuro always tells him not to do dangerous things—but it’s not like Kenma has a choice when he’s balancing three jobs with crazy hours. Somehow he always ends up closing the toy store, opening the local botanist’s stall on the days he’s not in town, and working full-time in antique shop which has enough dust per square inch to be hazardous to the customers’ health.
He should really think about quitting at least one of his jobs.
Either way, it doesn’t matter what Kuro says about the night bus. It’s cheap, it’s reliable, and it doesn’t smell too badly of piss if Kenma turns up his music and drowns out all his other senses. Plus, it gives Kenma a chance to observe his fellow patrons. All his coworkers have known him to be stubborn when it comes to customer service and impossible to reach by any other method but text, so it generally surprises them when he says his hobby is people watching.
It’s not all that odd. Kenma likes organization—likes to examine and analyze situations and people around him so that he can respond in the way that creates the least ripples and lets him slide under the radar. It’s basic survival instinct, but it also gives him a sense of contentment to guess at a person’s life and personality by looking them over. The bus just so happens to be the best place to do this.
Haggard looking male, smudged glasses, circles under his eyes, and rumpled clothes: a med student, working thankless hours at the local hospital for the sake of education and a future better than his young adulthood. A girl, like him, with her hood tucked over her head and headphones secured over her head: hasn’t given up the boyfriend who probably doesn’t treat her as well as she deserves, judging from the angry mashing of keys on her phone screen. An older man, stubbly and smelly, reeking of alcohol and vomit, well…that was an easy one. Most of the patrons were unsatisfied businesspersons who escaped into the night for a chance to forget their miserable daily lives.
And the last one on the bus, a ratty jacket and ripped jeans, backpack slung over his thin shoulders and bright, bright hair—
Oh. Him.
Kenma adjusts his earphones a little. Not tighter, as he usually did when people started arguing or social interaction seemed inevitable, but a little looser, enough so that he could catch the way the kid’s eyes lit up in recognition out of the corner of his eye and hear the beginning of their daily (well, nightly) exchange.
He says: “Hey. Is the window seat taken?”
Kenma says: “Mm-mmm,” and shakes his head slightly.
Then the orange-haired stranger slips past him and burrows comfortably into the seat’s cheap fabric, looking right at home between the cushion that’s hemorrhaging stuffing and the plastic back of the seat in front of him, a crudely enlarged penis drawn on in sharpie. He gives Kenma a cheerful smile, leans back, and promptly falls asleep.
That’s their routine.
Kenma doesn’t know his name, or what his story is, or what the hell a scrawny kid like him is doing out late when there are thugs who wouldn’t think twice about mugging a boy his height. He can’t protect himself like Kenma can. It makes Kenma wonder.
He huffs softly, slightly annoyed, and presses his earphones back in, shifting his shoulder so that the boy’s hair is out of his peripheral vision. They aren’t friends. He doesn’t need to worry about some careless idiot who’s either a secret badass or completely oblivious to keep such a blithe smile on his face when he’s wandering around at night. Kenma sneaks a peak at him and nearly snorts. He still smiled in his sleep, too. Gross.
Honestly, Kenma wishes he would move somewhere else, sit with someone different for a change. He had to wait until after the boy went to sleep to pull out his phone and play games—the last thing Kenma wanted was for that boy to get interested in him.
It’s still distracting, though.
Having a person so close to him, their arms almost brushing through two layer of fabric…like hell Kenma could focus when he could feel the kid’s pervasive heat radiating off him in waves. He had to tuck his arms in tight, which was spectacularly uncomfortable. Inconvenient as well, especially when Kenma was grinding songs on expert and the smallest contact between them was enough to make Kenma jump and fuck up his combo, swearing softly.
Yeah. The kid needed to go, for real. Kenma lived alone, worked as independently as possible, and made every effort to be the best recluse he could be when he lived in the center of a bustling city of a couple hundred thousand. Even a casual connection like this was dangerous for both of them. Familiarity bred comfort, which bred acquaintanceship, which bred social conventions that declared the boy would have to start talking to Kenma, and he couldn’t take that risk. He didn’t want to have to switch buses when he liked this one so much, but maybe a change would be better for him.
There’s soft snoring from the window and Kenma closes the app in frustration, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket, leaning back and letting the music wash over him. A change…yes, that sounded about right. Looks like Kuro was going to get his way after all.
The bus driver’s voice crackles over the intercom for a stop that is as familiar to Kenma as his own stop, as ritual as the snip of conversation between him and his bus partner. And just like every night since they first started sitting together, Kenma gradually drifts back into anxious awareness of his companion’s presence. Was he going to wake up this time?
The approaching bus stop is lit faintly by a yellow-orange street light as grimy as the gutter the bus pulls alongside, wheezing to a halt. And still, the boy doesn’t wake up. Kenma purses his lips, knows it isn’t his business to interfere, not his business to help, but he does it anyway. He turns back to the boy and reaches out a tentative, gloved hand to shake the kid’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Kenma croaks, his voice cracking in all the wrong places. “It’s your stop.”
The kid comes to with a jolt, blinking sleep away with bleary, wide eyes. He looks somewhat akin to a confused, brown-eyed owl. Kenma swears it’s his love of owls and fear of interaction with humans that makes his stomach churn and his heart squeeze uncomfortably.
The kid rubs at his eyes with the back of his jacket sleeve. “Um, thanks,” he says in an equally raspy voice. He stands up and scoots past Kenma with the same agility he slipped in with, swinging his backpack over his shoulder again.
He makes as if to trot off the bus (as usual) with a half-smile shot back at Kenma before he got off (as usual), which was his promise that they’d see each other the next night (as always), but this time he stutters to a halt. He glances back hesitantly, chewing his lip, and just like that, Kenma’s careful cycle is broken.
“Um…about how you always have to wake me up…” He starts and no, Kenma doesn’t want this, he wants the comfort of routine, he doesn’t want connection, and his chest seizes up and—
The kid scratches his nose. “I’m sorry about all that. And, really, thank you. It must…it must get tiring.” He looks like he might say something more (like ask Kenma’s name, oh god), but Kenma is saved by the bus driver snapping at the boy to get off or sit down, and the boy is gone without another glance back at Kenma.
Kenma would be fine with getting up and leaving his job and his bus and his life should he need to, he believes. It would be hard, but he could do it. He always puts his best interest first, and in this case, it really was in his best interest to walk away from his nightly commute.
There was just one problem, or one big problem with a lot of little problems. He found it in the way he listened around his earphones when the boy was near, the way he avoided touch out of excitement as much as fear, the way he froze up when he was spoken to voluntarily, and in the irrational desire for a hobby, a favorite celebrity, a name, anything to help him understand this boy better. Kenma’s problems began on one evening when his someone broke their routine and changed the script.
Problem #1: Kenma wanted to be that boy’s friend.
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Problem #2: Kenma had no idea how to go about becoming the boy’s friend in the first place.
How the fuck did people become friends, anyway? Kenma didn’t have any experience, having been voluntarily friendless his entire life (Kuro didn’t count—Kuro had always been around). He supposes the easiest way to start becoming friends would be to say ‘hi’ or ask what the kid’s name was, but the moment he showed up on the bus with that same sheepish smile and question, the only noise that could escape Kenma’s throat was a kind of garbled whine. The kid gave him a mildly concerned look, and that was the end of any attempts at interaction on Kenma’s behalf for the rest of the week.
When he finally grew a spine and prepared himself to say something, all the opportunities slipped by while he was psyching himself up. He couldn’t ask the boy where he was coming from so late at night if he was in a different place than Kenma had rehearsed in his mind. He went over all the possible scenarios in which his bus partner could walk up the aisle and slip past him (there weren’t many), but each time he opened his mouth, his mind went blank and he ended up snapping his jaw shut so fast his teeth clicked.
Worse, Kenma couldn’t go to Kuro for help. The whole bus partner situation had never registered as important enough for Kenma to tell Kuro about it and waste energy, but now that it was a big deal, Kenma was sure Kuro would disapprove and do everything in his power to keep Kenma from making friends with the boy. That was the smart choice, the safe choice, but Kenma didn’t care if it was the best choice, and the fact that he was disregarding his own safety for someone else was an exciting and terrifying rush.
So he couldn’t rely on Kuro. He couldn’t rely on rehearsal either, since the kid seemed to read his mind every time Kenma wanted to speak and duck away from any attempt at conversation. Kenma was almost convinced the kid was avoiding him back which was equal parts confusing and frustrating. Had Kenma done something to offend his nightly companion? Was there a reason their acquaintanceship seemed strained of late? Absurd—Kenma was anti-social, but he wasn’t inept. He could navigate a social situation with an air of practiced ease, even if he hated it. There was no reason he should be ignored.
“Hey,” he snaps finally, sounding a bit more irritable than intended. The boy’s head whips around from where he was leaning back to fall asleep and his eyes grow wide. “Do you hate me or something?” Kenma grumbles.
The boy’s jaw drops. “What? No!” He sputters. “What makes you think I…huh?”
Kenma shifts uncomfortably and looks away, feeling as if he miscalculated something. “You’re avoiding my eyes,” he mutters. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past few weeks. You keep ignoring me. What’s up with that?”
The kid’s eyes get even wider. “I…I thought you were uncomfortable with me!” He squeaks. “I was trying—I thought I was giving you space so you wouldn’t kick me out.”
“I am uncomfortable with you,” Kenma blurts out, making the kid’s cheeks flush. He looks crestfallen.
“Oh…well…I’ll move if that’s what you w—” He starts, making to stand up.
“No!” Kenma yelps.
It’s loud enough that they both flinch, staring at each other anxiously, neither really sure where to go from there. “If you’re uncomfortable with me,” the boy says finally, slowly, “then why do you…”
“No,” Kenma groans. “No, shut up, I can’t—”
He flips childishly to his side, heart pounding wildly because he was fucking this up, oh shit, he was fucking up the first friendship he had ever wanted to have, fuck—
“Hey,” the boy says, too close, resting a hand on Kenma’s shoulder.
White-hot panic flashes across Kenma’s mind and Hinata yelps in pain, drawing his hand away as if burned. Concern and horror override Kenma’s panic and he flips around, eyes wide. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He forces out, sounding about as flustered and winded as he felt.
The kid offers him a puzzled smile. “Yeah? Just some static electricity. Your jacket is really charged.”
Kenma’s shoulders slump in relief. “Oh…that’s fine then.” A thought occurs to him. “I have a cat at home who rubs against me a lot, maybe he’s to blame.” It’s a weak, pathetic ghost of a joke, but the boy giggles anyway, offering that same lopsided, helpless smile that made Kenma’s breaths choppy.
“I’m Hinata Shouyou,” the boy offers, shrugging one shoulder.
“Shouyou,” Kenma blurts, so thrilled to finally know his mystery person’s name that he forgets he’s supposed to address strangers by their last name. He slaps a hand over his mouth. Shouyou—no, no, Hinata—looks fiercely embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” Kenma apologizes. “I shouldn’t—Hinata is—”
“It’s okay,” he assures Kenma. “We’re kind of friends anyway, right? You can call me Shouyou. Just no Shou-chan, okay?”
Friends. The word sticks to the tip of Kenma’s tongue and the back of his throat and pastes itself across his heart, a warm and healing balm on his nerves. But was that really all it took? Just that one acknowledgement and they were friends? Wasn’t there a contract to sign and hoops to jump through?
“We’re…friends?” Kenma asks softly.
“If you want to be!” Shouyou assures him. Still smiling.
“I don’t…I’ve never had a friend,” Kenma confesses. “What if I’m bad at it?”
“Impossible,” Hinata chirps, winking. “There’s no right way to be someone’s friend—that’s why all friendships are different. All you need to do is like the other person. Do you like me?”
The warm balm on Kenma’s heart turns into a searing coal, burning him straight through and turning his face red and hot. What kind of a question was that? “Sure,” he mutters, refusing to meet Shouyou’s eyes. That earns him a laugh.
“You’re really cute, um…” Shouyou teases, trailing off when he realizes he doesn’t know Kenma’s name.
“Kenma. Just Kenma,” Kenma tells him, muffling his voice behind the sleeve of his hoodie. “…Don’t call me cute,” he adds as an aside.
Shouyou laughs much louder this time, loud enough that the other patrons of the night bus grumble and turn up the volume of their own music, wallowing in self-pity while two sparks come to life in their own little nook between the seats.
--------------------------
For a while after that, Kenma doesn’t have any problems. Each night, Shouyou greets him with a “Hi, Kenma!” that should get on his nerves or embarrass him, but only serves as a reminder that against all the odds, he had made a friend. Shouyou doesn’t fall asleep immediately anymore—instead, he stays up to watch Kenma play games, tucking his chin over Kenma’s shoulder and making Kenma’s skin crackle with electricity and his fingertips go so icy cold, frost forms over his fingernails.
All in all, it’s very difficult for Kenma to get any kind of reasonable game play done.
But on the plus side, he’s finding out more about Shouyou. About his friend. Shouyou is even warmer when he’s pressed against Kenma’s side. Kenma grumbles more than once that he must have some magical fire powers to keep so warm even this late in autumn. And there’s the proximity, too—Shouyou doesn’t have much of a concept of personal space when it came to friends. Or maybe that was just a friend thing in general? Kenma has a sinking suspicion it’s unique to Shouyou, though.
Shouyou smells warm, like fresh bread. It’s not what Kenma expected, but it’s pleasant enough that he doesn’t mind the touchiness. He talks loudly and bounces his leg in place, but he never shakes Kenma’s arm and his voice drops when his mouth is right by Kenma’s ear. Kenma knows the exact feeling of Shouyou’s breath tickling his ear. That makes him feel uncomfortable. Maybe. He doesn’t stop Shouyou from doing it, in any case.
And despite Kenma’s inclination to respond with monosyllabic murmurs, Shouyou talks to him. He talks enough for both of them. He always slides into his seat with a new story on the tip of his tongue. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays it’s about the weird or cool customers from his part-time job at the local 24-hour mart. Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s about the drollness of his university classes, or about campus life. And scattered amongst those, stories of volleyball practice with his best friend, Tobio.
Kenma isn’t surprised. Of course Shouyou has friends. Of course he has a best friend. They play volleyball together. They’ve played together since high school. They’re next-door neighbors in the dorms. I don’t mind, Kenma thinks, sinking further down in his seat. He wonders how much Shouyou would hate him if he put a hex on this Tobio.
He’s so busy thinking about turning Tobio into a crow that he misses the way Shouyou turns in his seat, eyebrows furrowed together and smile wide. “What about you, Kenma?” he asks. “Is there anyone you hang out with a lot?”
People he hung out a lot with. Friends. Right, friends. Like normal people had? Kenma’s eyes dart, searching for a coworker he might know who he could call a friend. Kenma swallows and looks at Shouyou. Shouyou nods encouragingly. Who was Kenma kidding? He didn’t have friends.
Okay, well.
“There is one…guy,” Kenma says grimacing. “He’s my best friend. I guess. He’s been around pretty much my whole life. His name’s Kuro.”
“A childhood friend!” Shouyou says, clapping his hands together. “I have some good childhood friends, too. They’re the type that get you best.”
Kenma shrugs one shoulder. “Something like that. He helps around my apartment sometimes.” Although ‘help’ is a pretty generous word. Kuro is much more inclined to lie across Kenma’s floor in a patch of sunlight than help Kenma clean.
“You live alone?” Shouyou’s mouth is in an ‘O.’ “Wow! That’s pretty incredible!”
“I’m used to taking care of myself,” Kenma says. His lips quirk up. That’s one thing he’s particularly proud of—his ability to cook and clean and take care of his own business. That couldn’t hurt to share, right? That didn’t give anything away. And that’s what friends were supposed to do—share.
He twists a strand of hair around his finger. “I’m a really good cook,” he says.
“Aw man, really?” Shouyou groans. “You’re really so much cooler than me—all I can make is instant ramen.”
Kenma’s cheeks heat up. He was cool? What the hell did that mean? In his bag, he can see the potted plant he’d bought that day curl out the hole in the top, a bud on the end of a thin green vine reaching for Shouyou like he was the sun. Kenma’s eyes widen. He kicks his bag under the seat. “I’m not that cool,” he protests in a squeaky voice, half embarrassed, half panicked.
“You totally are,” Shouyou says, grinning. “You’ve got this whole mysterious aura about you, you live on your own, you’re really good at games, and you can cook. That’s cool!”
Kenma flicks Shouyou in the forehead he yelps. “I’ll teach you how to cook a little if you stop calling me cool.”
“Really?” Shouyou asks, eyes sparkling.
“Sure,” Kenma says. He doesn’t realize his mistake until Shouyou opens his mouth.
“Oh, that’ll be so awesome! I’ve never been to a friend’s apartment before!” he says, blissfully unaware of the horror dawning on Kenma. “Most of my friends are first-years like me in the dorms, so I’ve never seen the real bachelor lifestyle. I have a fake, so maybe I could bring us some drinks, and—”
“Um,” Kenma breaks in. “Are you sure we can’t use your dorm kitchen or something? My place is really a mess and I don’t think you’d like it—stuff literally everywhere—”
Shouyou’s smile falls from his face, replaced with understanding. “That’s right,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry—I got a little carried away, but I guess you don’t really know me, huh? It’d be kind of weird to invite a stranger over, I get it.”
No, Kenma wants to say. No, that’s not it. He can see his friendship with Shouyou slipping through his fingers as Shouyou withdraws, smiling shyly to cover up the hurt Kenma could read on his face. No, no, no. This isn’t what Kenma wanted. He wanted to be friends with Shouyou. He trusted Shouyou. Maybe it wouldn’t—maybe it would be okay—
“You’re not a stranger,” Kenma says gently. “You’re a friend. I’d love to have you come over.”
“Really?” Shouyou says in a small voice.
Kenma holds out his pinky. “Pinky swear,” he says.
Shouyou smiles. He curls their pinkies together and his touch has the elements singing underneath Kenma’s skin. “It’s a promise,” Shouyou says.
Problem #3: Kenma cared about his fledgling friendship more than his own safety.
----------------------------------
“Kuro, we have a problem,” Kenma says very calmly and not at all with an undercurrent of panic when he opens the door with groceries.
Kuro doesn’t seem alarmed. “A problem?” he says. “What, are they releasing two of your games on the same day again?” He stretches out, yawning and digging his claws into the carpet.
Kenma frowns. “No, much worse. And don’t dig your claws into the carpet. My landlord said I’m not supposed to have pets.”
“I’m not a pet,” Kuro says, flicking his ear and blinking large, yellow eyes.
“Yeah, well you’re a cat,” Kenma says. “And that’s all she’ll see.”
Kuro twitches his whiskers. “So what’s this big problem you’ve got?”
Kenma hesitates. Puts down the groceries. Fiddles with his keys.
“Kenma…” Kuro says, narrowing his eyes.
“I made a friend,” Kenma says. “And invited him over. Today, actually.”
Throughout Kenma’s apartment building, the sound of a cat yowling in anger can be heard.
“What were you thinking?” Kuro squawks. “You let someone close to you? What if he sees you use magic? What if he finds out you’re a witch? What if starts a witch hunt?”
“It’ll be fine, Kuro,” Kenma sighs. He knew this was going to happen. “We’re only going to cook lunch and then he’ll be gone. He’s really nice, okay? I like him a lot.”
Kuro licks his paw agitatedly. “Just…just keep your magic…under control,” he says between licks.
Kenma tries. He does try.
But the thought of Shouyou being near him, in a place as sacred as Kenma’s apartment, has his stomach doing somersaults. Their routine on the night bus was one thing—it was predictable, with only so many possible outcomes and scenarios. Kenma had thought through all of them in great detail to prepare himself for anything. But when it came to his apartment, well. The possibilities were endless, weren’t they?
And then there was cooking. Sure, it could be mindless and simple, but he was teaching. He imagines Shouyou dancing to the radio, mouthing the words dramatically. He imagines Shouyou’s chin tucked over his shoulder, watching him prepare food. He imagines his chin tucked over Shouyou’s shoulder, hands over hands, showing him how to dice vegetables. He imagines Shouyou cutting his finger, tears pricking his eyes. He imagines taking Shouyou’s finger in his mouth, healing it with his magic.
No! Bad Kenma! He needed to focus especially hard on not using his magic around Shouyou. If Shouyou found out…Kenma’s entire life would be put at risk.
“I’m not feeling particularly hopeful,” Kuro says, walking by Kenma, tail in the air. Kenma lifts his eyes to see the mass of potted plants twisting their leaves and stems around themselves. Above on the ceiling, the hanging plants sway back and forth. And tucked along shelves, Kenma’s succulents quiver. Smacking his cheeks, Kenma manages to stop the plans from moving on their own. His cheeks are warm to the touch.
And then, with horrific timing, there’s a knock at the door.
Kenma’s heart thuds. Shouyou. Kuro’s eyes widen and he makes himself scarce.
Brushing his sweaty palms on his jeans, Kenma gets up and opens the door. Shouyou is wearing a puffy vest and his brightest smile. He has a six-pack, as promised.
“Hi Kenma!” he says. He’s so bright, it’s hard for Kenma to look directly at it him. “How are y—oh!”
Kenma knows what Shouyou sees as he opens the door wider. He sees a plant maniac’s heaven. Kenma has potted plants from tiny patches of daisies to royal orchids, to fully grown leafy plants in pots that took him an hour to haul up his apartment steps. His ceiling isn’t so much a ceiling as it is a home to hanging plants and flowers. His shelves are lined with cacti and bonsai, carefully tended to.
It’s no big surprise that earth is his favorite element to work with. Not that Shouyou can be allowed to know that.
“Oh, Kenma, this is—” Shouyou breathes.
“A little weird?” Kenma says. “Sorry. I did warn you, though.”
“It’s amazing,” Shouyou says.
Kenma feels his face get hot again. He hopes Shouyou doesn’t realize how the plants slowly unfurl their leaves in his direction. Luckily, Shouyou is too busy swinging his head in every direction to notice.
“I’m so glad we came to your apartment,” he says. “This is the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen.”
“Stop,” Kenma chokes. “You said you would stop complimenting me. You promised.”
“But…” Shouyou says. “I can tell how much love you put into this place.” His fingers ghost over the broad leaf of a plant. “There’s no way they could have grown without care and attention.” He spins in a circle, smiling at Kenma. “This place is alive,” he says. “I love it.”
Oh no.
Shouyou ducks his head. He steps close to Kenma. Takes Kenma’s hands in his own.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
“Thank you,” he says, the prettiest flush to his cheeks. “Thank you for letting me come over; for trusting me. I can tell this place is special to you.” He smiles, flashing perfect, white teeth. “I’ve really come to like you a lot, Kenma!”
The dam in Kenma breaks. There’s a flash of light, electricity crackling from the light fixtures to Kenma’s skin and back again, making the lights flash and Kenma glow. The plants start to overgrow their pots, crawling across the ground and twisting and climbing to reach Kenma and Shouyou. And then Kenma and Shouyou, still holding hands, start to float in the air, some of the smaller plants join them, bobbing and spinning in a lazy circle around them.
Shouyou, incredibly, doesn’t panic.
His grip on Kenma’s hands tightens. He looks around, eyes and mouth wide with wonder. His head whips around and he tries to go for words, but can only make a few aborted noises of incredulity.
“I’m sorry,” Kenma whispers. “I wasn’t—it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’m sorry.”
“Are you doing this?” Shouyou asks.
Kenma offers the tiniest, tiniest nod.
Shouyou looks at him. Kenma winces, afraid of horror or condemnation, but only finds that innocent wonder directed at him. Shouyou’s smiles returns and widens, bigger and bigger, until it splits his face. “I knew it,” he whispers. “You really are a cool guy, Kenma.”
Kenma sniffles. Tears rise to his eyes and float out into the mini cyclone he’s formed around the two of them, the center of a miniature universe.
“Why are you crying?” Shouyou asks. He reaches out one hand to brush at Kenma’s eyes.
“I thought you’d be afraid,” Kenma says. “Or think I was a monster. I’ve never—I’ve never shown anyone before.”
“Oh, Kenma,” Shouyou says gently, pulling him into a midair hug. “I would never think you’re a monster. I’m your friend, remember? Friends take care of each other.”
“Promise?” Kenma says.
Without Kenma having to ask, Shouyou finds his pinky and shakes it. “Promise,” he says warmly, and presses a searing kiss to Kenma’s forehead.
“You’re the best friend I could have ever asked for,” Kenma whispers. He hugs Shouyou back tightly.
“He’s a pretty cute kid,” Kuro says, floating by the two of them.
Shouyou gawks. “You have a cat? Your cat can talk?”
“Shut up, Kuro,” Kenma says.
“I’m a familiar,” Kuro grumbles. “A familiar! If you’re going to hang around a witch, at least know what a familiar looks like.”
“Your friend Kuro is a cat?” Shouyou says. “You’re a witch?”
“There’s…a lot…you don’t know,” Kenma admits. He smiles hopefully. “I could tell you about it over lunch?”
“I’d like that,” Shouyou says. He blushes. “And Kenma?”
“Yes?” Kenma says.
“Thank you again,” Shouyou says. “Thank you for letting me be a part of your world.”
Kenma could tell him how he sparks his pulse and his magic, how he drew even the toughest of elements from Kenma without him even having to try, how Kenma had never levitated so much weight for so long before, how being friends with Shouyou only seemed to make him stronger.
Kenma could tell him that when he touched Kenma, Kenma saw stars and planets explode and be reborn. He saw galaxies in Shouyou’s hair and constellations in his eyes and the freckles across his nose. He could tell Shouyou that he looked and smelled and felt like magic felt to Kenma, but for now he just takes Shouyou’s hand again, and squeezes.