Work Text:
Kenma is private about his personal life when it comes to his Kodzuken social media accounts.
Not necessarily because he needs or wants to be, but more so because it’s just easier this way. Over the years, it has become a habit. Curating a professional presence online is easier if all he ever posts are updates on his streaming schedule, brand deals, or photos of the latest Bouncing Ball merchandise. Sometimes a funny or good clip from his content slips in. Most of the time, nothing else makes it out of his phone’s camera roll.
But there are still plenty of pictures there, and some of them do remain his favorite moments.
Here’s a look at five.
—
“I look stupid,” Kenma repeats, fiddles with the collar of his shirt, top two buttons undone, giving a peek at his collarbones. The sunglasses on his face feel tiny and out of proportion, and yet they keep slipping down his nose, with the sweat gathering below the bridge of the frame. He doesn’t know how many times he’s pushed them back up already. He fucking hates them.
“You look fine,” Kuro repeats with a grin oh so bright and ruffles Kenma’s hair lightly. “And besides. It’s your own fault for breaking yours.”
He glares at Kuro, pushes away his hand. “Pretty sure that’s on you and your stupid idea of a beach volleyball match for promotion."
“You agreed pretty willingly, if I recall correctly.” There’s a teasing lilt to Kuro’s voice that makes it very clear what he’s thinking of. And with how this trip has been going — Brazil is nice and he’s missed Shouyou but having Kuro in reach 24/7 has a done a number on him — it’s so easy for Kenma’s own mind to dip into the gutter, to conjure up all the ways Kuro worked very hard and with the full use of his body to convince him of how playing volleyball in the burning sun of Brazil and on a beach would be the best idea ever. Maybe Kenma held out longer with his agreement on purpose.
“Coercion,” Kenma grumbles under his breath, ignoring the way his face feels flushed with more than just the heat of the sun now. They are in public after all. Instead, he pulls his phone from his pocket again, makes a disgusted face at himself in the reflection of the screen before he turns it on and unlocks it. They were supposed to meet Shouyou a few minutes ago, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.
“Gimme that.”
Kuro has snatched the phone from him before he can even react, taking a step away from him.
“Kuro,” Kenma says, pursing his lips at him in disapproval and annoyance. He glares at him over the top of his sunglasses — already slipping down once more.
But Kuro just grins, and then there’s the shutter noise of his phone camera going off. Then he taps at the screen for a moment and nods, seemingly proud of himself. He flips the phone back around, shows Kenma the picture he took. “See, you look good. Your fans would have a field day if you posted this.”
Kenma stares at the screen, blinks. He doesn’t really take many pictures of himself where the focus is so up close and centered on his face. He spends enough time with his face on a webcam to want higher-quality pictures of himself as well. So usually he’s either with friends in pictures or it’s some posed sponsorship post. This is unusual. This is weird. Still, when he takes his phone back, he doesn’t immediately delete the picture. Towards Kuro he says, “There’s no reason to post this,” as he locks his phone again.
“I know,” Kuro says, stepping back in and reaching out to push Kenma’s replacement sunglasses up himself. “But what I said stands.”
Kenma doesn’t need to see Kuro’s eyes — hidden behind his own pair of sunglasses — to know that there’s an all too familiar heat in them. And really, it’s ridiculous how much that does for Kenma’s confidence still, even though it shouldn’t. Because how much value should Kuro implying that he’s hot even hold anymore if it's old news, and Kenma knows he’d still be attractive in Kuro’s eyes if he wore some stupid mascot outfit or something equally ridiculous. The answer is none.
And yet.
“Kenma!” Shouyou yelling his name, bright and excited as always, is enough to pull both of them back to the moment. Forces them out of their bubble and back into the reality where they are standing in public on the boulevard near the beach, and there are so many people around.
Kenma stuffs his phone back into his pocket and forgets about the picture and the burning heat of Kuro right beside him.
Later, when they are lying in bed, blanket tucked between them to starve off the uncomfortable feeling of sticking together with sweat during the warm night, Kenma returns to the picture by chance. Kuro’s snoring softly into his neck, unfazed by the light of his screen. And while he lies there trapped by Kuro’s weight and stares at himself on the screen, he thinks that maybe Kuro does have a point.
He does look good. Maybe he should do something with the concept of close-ups for his next merchandise photo shoot.
But the glasses remain ugly.
With a chuckle, he locks his phone, places it on the nightstand. Kuro’s hold on him tightens a little, a heavy exhale leaving him as Kenma turns back into his side, pressing his nose into Kuro’s hair.
That’s for after Brazil though.
—
Kenma is tired beyond belief.
His late evening stream turned into a whole night stream when he got sucked into the excitement of getting so close to completing a list of challenges. He didn’t realize how late it had gotten until the pop-up of the last one checking off had appeared, and he’d finally moved from his fixed position of staring at the screen with laser focus. Only then had it sunk in how tired he was, how his whole body was aching with the need to change posture, and how dry his eyes were.
A look at the clock had surprised him with the unpleasant reality of it being half past five in the morning already.
Needless to say, he’d ended his stream within a few minutes after that and the only reason he went through the hassle of brushing his teeth and washing up again — he took a full bath after dinner already but the tiredness left him feeling sticky nonetheless — was that he knew Kuro would get on his nerves if he found out in the aftermath he didn’t.
When Kenma steps into the bedroom, the sun is already starting to peak through the window, dipping the room into a warm glow, and with it Kuro, face down in the pillow as usual when he’s in bed by himself. Or rather, without Kenma. Because their cat Mochi has certainly taken to keeping Kuro company in his sleep, is curled up on top of the blanket and Kuro’s back. They look comfortable and inviting, and Kenma’s breath catches in his throat because some days he still can’t believe that this is his. That he’s the only one to see Kuro like this. God, it’s been years, and sometimes this still feels like everything is brand new.
Before Kenma’s even fully thought it through, he has unlocked his phone and is aiming his camera. Mochi is the main focus, but Kuro’s bare back peaks out from behind her, his mess of hair a stark contrast against the white sheets. They make a gorgeous picture. The shutter sound is loud in the silence, and it makes Mochi blink her tired eyes open, chirp at him.
Kenma smiles, clicks his tongue at her as he finally climbs onto the bed and underneath the sheets. He tries to be careful in his movements, doesn’t really want to wake Kuro up, but it’s a lost cause this time. Probably because of the hour. Kuro’s still an early riser at heart, even if he’s taken to indulging Kenma and staying in bed with him longer on days when they don’t have to be anywhere. So really, it doesn’t surprise Kenma when there’s another set of tired eyes blinking at him when he’s finally horizontal and has got the blanket tucked over his shoulders.
“There you are,” Kuro mumbles, voice full of sleep still. He lets go of the pillow and lifts his arm in invitation, and the shift in Kuro’s posture seems to be too much for Mochi because she gets up and stretches — seems to dig her claws into Kuro’s back if the way he inhales sharply is anything to go by — and then jumps off the bed.
Kenma couldn’t care less about her leaving as he shuffles even closer, tucks himself into Kuro’s side, and presses a kiss to Kuro’s cheek. There’s a hint of stubble below his lips, and the smile is spreading on Kenma’s face before he can do anything about it.
His.
All of this is his, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
“I love you,” Kenma mumbles against Kuro’s face and feels Kuro’s cheek twitch.
“You’re sleep-deprived,” Kuro replies, still just as sleepy, but his words are filled with fondness, and a moment later his arm tightens around Kenma, and he slurs his own, “Love you, too,” right back. He’s already on the verge of dozing off again.
Kenma hums happily and lets his own eyes slip shut.
He’s out within seconds.
—
There are a few rare days when summer is just right in Kenma’s opinion. Not too hot, not too cold. Not too high in humidity, not too dry. The wind just right to rustle leaves and the wind chimes, but not enough to feel cold on skin, and the sun there but interrupted by clouds from time to time, granting a reprieve. Just perfect to sit outside on the engawa and relax without breaking into an immediate sweat.
Kenma doesn’t mind summer on those days.
To be honest, he’s come to like these days more and more, has learned to appreciate and enjoy them. Making your own schedule does come with some perks. Not lifting a single finger on those perfect days is one of them. And today is one of them, and the only thing that would make this day even more perfect would be Kuro being home instead of at work. Then again, that would mean the peace and quiet of the day would not be as present. But it would also mean Kenma wouldn’t have to leave his spot to get himself food, drinks, and entertainment quite as often as he does when he’s by himself.
But it’s fine.
On days like today, Kenma can look past a lot of things.
So he wanders back and forth between the engawa and the kitchen over the day, even takes a moment to get the bedding and hang it up outside to air out. Not that it’s necessary. Kuro makes sure they do it regularly, but Kenma’s sure he’ll appreciate the thought anyway. Kuro is always way too grateful when Kenma does things that Kuro thinks are only important to him. It can be as simple as picking out the right hand soap — for dry skin because Kuro’s office changed theirs to one that leaves Kuro’s hands itchy and a little rough — or not buying any sweets because he knows that Kuro is mindful about what he eats and with everything going on at work, he doesn’t need to stress out about having easy access to unhealthy food at home, too. But even when it’s the bigger things, like leaving out a fully prepared dinner for Kuro when he’s coming home after Kenma has already started streaming or making sure that they find the time to visit their families regularly or at least squeeze in a video call when it’s just not possible, Kuro’s gratefulness is massive. It slips into everything he does for Kenma in turn.
It’s lovely.
Just as lovely as those perfect summer days. And even if Kuro showing his love and gratefulness is a much more common experience than those days, Kenma has still learned to cherish them just the same. Kuro’s love isn’t worth less just because he has plenty to give. If anything, it’s what makes it more special that Kenma gets so much of it. He’s spoiled in so many ways, and being able to laze around outside all day, cold drink at his side, watching Mochi wander through the grass and jump after cicadas, is just one of them.
The more important one comes in the form of the shutter noise of a phone camera, and Kenma knowing it’s Kuro being silly and in love before he’s even fully turned his head towards it. And sure enough, he’s met by Kuro standing just inside the living room, looking a little too fondly at his phone and the picture he just took, his shirt sleeves rolled up, suit jacket thrown over his arm, and a bag from the bakery at the station in his hand. Today just keeps getting better and better.
“Welcome home,” Kenma offers, doesn’t move from where he’s leaning onto his right hand, legs propped up in front of him.
Kuro’s gaze returns to him, smile growing wider. He crosses the distance between them until he can squat down next to Kenma, press a kiss to his cheek. When he pulls back, Kenma reaches up to pull him right back in by his tie for a proper kiss.
“It’s good to be home,” Kuro mumbles against his lips.
“Show me the picture,” Kenma says when they part. Kuro isn’t to be trusted with unapproved pictures of him on his own phone anymore. Not after the last time he got drunk and nearly posted one of them for the whole world to see. Arguably, most of Kuro’s snapshots are still much better than any selfie Kenma could ever take, and Kenma wouldn’t have been mad about it either. Just a little miffed about something private leaving their little bubble. But it still makes him feel a little better to be aware of what’s floating around.
“Bossy,” Kuro says without any actual heat behind it and holds up his phone, picture still on show. He’s never minded Kenma’s need to see his snapshots, always seems happy to share his own precious moments with Kenma. It takes a moment before the screen adjusts to the brightness of being outside again, but then Kenma is looking at himself. He looks comfortable and relaxed, and it’s a little off-kilter but still a nice picture. That his shirt is too big and Kuroo’s wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, oversized clothing going a long way in summer. But both of them know, and that’s enough.
“Send that to me?” He looks back at Kuro, who’s already nodding.
“They had apple tart on sale,” Kuro says, as he taps away on his phone.
Kenma hums. “I’ll get us plates if you go change?”
“Deal.” Kuro grins and leans in for one more quick peck.
And it’s not a hassle at all to leave the gentle breeze on the engawa for a little bit of work if it means catching Kuro’s pleased little hum at finding the bedroom windows wide open and the bedding swaying just outside of it.
—
Kenma knows that this is an important event and he should treat it as such. Kuro worked hard on the all-star match after all, and it took a lot of sweat and late nights, and planning to make everything run this smoothly.
Still.
It’s also been a while since Kenma has seen Kuro full of this unbridled energy, the excitement only volleyball has ever managed to procure within him to this level — Kenma’s confession did get pretty close, but Kenma feels like there shouldn’t be a competition here. Different kinds of love, and yet both love just the same.
Either way, this version of Kuro — the one that reminds Kenma so much of the one he got to see during their childhood a lot more often, the one he got with shining eyes after their last match against Karasuno — is one of his favorites. A true volleyball idiot. Kenma thinks very fondly of him. He’d never admit it out loud, though.
The thing is, though, while Kenma loves this version of Kuro and respects that he’s in business mode and working hard here — even if today it’s all about the match and there’s not much left to do for him — Kenma just wants to make sure he’s on Kuro’s mind at least a little. He can’t lose against volleyball or even worse against work, can he now?
On top of that, Kuro looks unfairly good in this particular suit, and it makes his back and ass stand out particularly well. Kenma would like to say he’s had a hand in picking this one out, but the only thing he did was pay for it. Still, he’s probably not the only one noticing, even if everything that should be exciting today is supposed to happen on court. But Kuro is right at the edge of it, and surely people pay attention when he has a quick chat with some of the players, clipboard under his arm, posture relaxed and hip popped just so.
Kenma has no shame in pulling a little attention and reminding Kuro that he is watching and that he can’t wait to congratulate him on a job well done. So he’s opening up his camera on his phone and, after an inconspicuous glance to his sides, focuses it on the real prize. He leaves it zoomed out a bit for the actual picture, just in case. But when a moment later he opens his chat with Kuro, he does zoom in a fair bit before he sends both the picture and then a short message of It’s not just ‘hot players’ that pull attention.
Then he locks his phone blindly and watches how down at the court Kuro nods at something Yaku says and then lifts a hand in apology as he pulls his phone out — business mood means checking every message in case of emergencies. A moment later, Kuro’s head tips back with laughter. The ugly loud one. It gets drowned out in the bustle of a full arena and music playing over the speakers, but the sound echoes in Kenma’s head nonetheless. It’s too familiar to him not to.
It’s enough to make him feel satisfied, and he doesn’t even bother checking his phone when it buzzes with a message in return, a minute after Kuro has calmed down again. He doesn’t need to read whatever cheesy reply Kuro has in store yet. His focus already is where it’s supposed to be.
On Kuro and what his love for volleyball has made possible for both of them.
—
There’s a lot to be said about proposals and marriage, and there are a lot of opinions about both.
As far as Kenma is concerned, he doesn’t care about other people’s thoughts, though. Except for Kuro’s. But Kuro is a romantic at heart, and Kenma never had to even wonder whether or not Kuro would want to get married if there was the option to. Because he knows what the answer would be. He knows that it would be obviously, followed by it could just be a small thing, though, because Kuro loves him and wouldn’t mind losing a chance at showing him off to friends and families, and coworkers if it meant Kenma would have fun and enjoy their day just the same as him. He’s a kind person like that.
Kenma thinks Kuro could stand to be a little more selfish sometimes when it comes to their relationship.
But that’s the theory.
In reality, them marrying each other isn't really a possibility yet. But Kenma has the patience of a saint, and once it is, he will be prepared to convince Kuro that asking Kenma for more than just their immediate family to be attending won’t break Kenma’s limit on being the center of attention or how much human interaction he can stand. Kuro likes to go the extra mile to make Kenma comfortable, and Kenma won’t mind putting in the effort to make Kuro happy. One of them will win, and it will be Kenma.
Either way, there’s been a ring box sitting in Kenma’s office since before Kuro’s birthday last year. An impulse buy as much as a planned decision. Just two of the same simple silver bands in different sizes. It started with looking for a new wristwatch to gift to Kuro and ended with Kenma trying to figure out Kuro’s ring size without actually becoming obvious. It’s a good thing he’s always been obsessed with Kuro’s hands since they started officially dating.
The watch still ended up being the gift last year, though, made a much more logical gift with Kuro’s old one being broken and his aversion to just checking his phone for the time making him overdue for a new one. On top of that, the stress of the preparations for the all-star match starting up properly made Kenma that much more conscious of not adding anything too emotional to Kuro’s days. Sure, it would have been a happy moment, and the high of it would have probably carried Kuro through a lot of the grueling prep work of the event. But Kenma didn’t want to make anything during this time about himself or them on purpose. Didn’t want to take away from Kuro’s own big break in his area of work and didn’t want to overshadow his achievements. So the rings ended up sitting in their box in Kenma’s office. Innocently and not even really hidden.
Until now, that is.
Now the rings are in Kenma’s sweaty palm, warm and weighing nothing and everything at the same time — he’s not nervous but he’s still feeling weird, heart in his throat and jittery — and Kuro is standing next to him at the counter, trying to cut the small strawberry cake into four even pieces — two for right now, two for later today — and looking focused in the same way he does when he’s jerking Kenma off. Even distribution of food. Even distribution of pleasure. Kenma’s head is a real mess right now, and the mixed signals his body is receiving aren’t helping. So it’s not really Kenma’s fault that he can’t wait until Kuro is done with the process and has placed the knife down, but instead suddenly shoves the hand holding the rings into Kuro’s field of vision, fingers still tightly wrapped over them. He hides the knife and cake from sight in the process and makes Kuro startle so badly that he presses the knife down into the cake, cutting it very much unevenly.
“Kenma!” Kuro exclaims.
“Kuro,” Kenma responds, voice much calmer and surprisingly steady.
“I’m holding a knife,” Kuro continues with a lot of reprimand in his tone, and Kenma nods because yes, Kuro is holding a knife, but it’s Kuro. He trusts Kuro with a lot of things. A knife is just a minuscule thing on that list.
He looks Kuro straight in the eyes as he responds with, “I’m holding a promise.”
Kuro blinks and then furrows his brow, says, “What?”
“Gimme your hand,” Kenma says, and when Kuro unglues his right hand from the knife where it’s still stuck in the cake, Kenma shakes his head, says “Left one.”
Kuro follows the request and doesn’t just hold out his left hand to Kenma, but also turns his whole body towards him. His face is still filled with confusion, but there’s a hint of curiosity sitting in his features now, eyes sharp and interested as they fix back on Kenma’s hand.
“I love you,” Kenma says, as he reaches for Kuro’s hand with his left one, wraps it underneath Kuro’s fingers as he fumbles with the rings in his right one as he tries to get only Kuro’s into a hold between thumb and pointer finger, nearly drops them both, Dropping the ball in the last rally against Karasuno due to sweat still mildly haunts him some days, dropping their future wedding rings due to sweaty fingers would send him into an early grave. Still, his voice is even as he says, “And that’s really enough as it is. I think.”
“Kenma,” Kuro breathes as he finally catches sight of the ring, catches on to the intention behind this.
“But I just want you to be more aware of how thankful I am to have you. At all times.” Kenma swallows, suddenly becomes too aware of how his eyes are burning as he lowers them to Kuro’s hand, watches himself push the ring onto his finger. Maybe he’s the one who wanted this more between the two of them. Maybe he’s the one who needs to see the proof of his own love on Kuro on the days that he can’t show up fully, is too tired to deal with the world. “And I wanted to make it a promise.”
He keeps his left hand wrapped around Kuro’s, can’t stop himself from brushing his thumb along the ring as he flips over his right hand and shows Kuro the second ring.
“And maybe I want Yamada-san from sales to finally stop flirting with you for good.”
Kuro’s laugh is wet and squeaky, and his, “Kenma,” comes out fond and sweet, and Kenma feels it in his bones. “She only flirts with me to make me drop more hints about who my partner is. She’s in it for the gossip. She’s known I’m off the market since she tried the first time. Did I not tell you that?”
“You did,” Kenma responds because Kuro did tell him years ago, just a few months into his job at the JVA, when he had settled in a bit and had started to figure out his coworkers’ habits somewhat.
“Kenma,” Kuro says once again, and curls the fingers of his left hand around Kenma’s, squeezes. And because he’s Kuro, he continues with, “I’ll tell her to stop, promise,” instead of accusing Kenma of jealousy or any other feelings he doesn’t want to be having — because they both know they trust and love each other and that it’s not about them so much as about other people intruding. Then Kuro picks up the second ring from Kenma’s palm. “And I'll gladly make you a million more promises for the rest of our lives.”
Kuro’s touch is gentle and familiar, but the ring slipping onto Kenma’s finger still feels foreign. He tried it on once before when he got them, wanted to make sure it fit, and even then, it was an odd feeling. It felt oddly grown up, a little like playing dress up. He’s not a jewelry person. He’s going to have to become one now. At least for this much. He stares at where Kuro is now holding onto his hand with both of his, stares at both their rings, and thinks that while physically it’s odd, emotionally it feels very right.
“I love you,” Kuro says, sounding a lot more choked up now as well.
Kenma will deny it until the day that he dies that he proceeds to start full-on crying at words he’s heard a thousand times before, but Kuro takes it with ease, is laughing as he pulls him into a hug, arms wrapping over his shoulders tightly, and lips pressing against the side of his head and then top of it in between his cackling. It’s not very romantic. It’s perfect. Between the tears, and into Kuro’s shoulder, Kenma says, “Guess what date I got engraved on them,” because he figures if one of them is crying already, why not make it worse.
Kuro thinks for a moment, then offers, “The day we started dating?”
Kenma shakes his head, tips it back to look up at Kuro. “Think way earlier.”
Kuro’s brows furrow again as he absentmindedly brings up a hand to brush away Kenma’s tears. “Surely not when my dad and I came over to introduce ourselves.”
“A little later than that.”
“A little- Kenma.” And there it is again, that absolute fondness only Kuro manages while saying his name, and this time it’s accompanied by a wobble in his voice. His eyes are already tearing up as he offers, “The first time we played volleyball together? Seriously?”
Kenma sniffles, pleased beyond belief. “Wasn’t as hard to figure out as I thought it’d be. My mom was still trying to keep track of how long my screen time was back then, and it was the first notable day it dipped since they had given me my own TV.”
“That’s-” Kuro’s tears do spill over then, and he drops his head forward until he can knock their foreheads together, stare at Kenma from up close. “You really do love me. So much. How embarrassing for you.”
“You’re the one crying over a date. Who’s more embar-” Kuro interrupts him with a kiss. Which is only slightly annoying — Kenma pinches him in retaliation — and mostly just welcome — Kenma also drags him in closer with his other hand.
When they part again, they stay quiet for a few minutes, just clinging to each other and breathing the same air. They only pull apart when Kuro’s phone, buzzing on the counter, reminds them that there was a reason why they were in the kitchen in the first place.
“Celebratory birthday and promise cake?” Kuro asks into their bubble.
Kenma blinks his own eyes back open. “Are we keeping with the promise thing?”
“Well, engagement makes it sound so trivial. And it’s not proper marriage. Yet.” Kuro straightens back up, hold on Kenma loosening a little. “Promise feels like the right amount of commitment for now.”
Kenma hums, smiles. “Promise it is then.”
Kuro smiles right back, and it’s so easy to continuously get lost in each other right now. But Kuro offers a question of “Picture for the camera roll?” and Kenma finds himself nodding because he does want that. He’s maybe been working on collecting his favorites of the past years to get them printed and framed. This one would make a nice edition.
So while Kuro steps back to get his phone from the counter, Kenma already holds out his left hand, throws a peace sign towards the floor, the ring clearly visible from above. A childish gesture, Kuro used to be fond of when he started coming more out of his shell after they met. And sure enough, Kuro gets it, meets Kenma with an amused grin, and says, “I feel like you’re simultaneously bullying me and professing how obsessed with me you are.”
Kenma shrugs his shoulders, says, “Sounds like a normal Thursday,” and watches as Kuro grins while holding out his own left hand in the same way, slightly off-center from Kenma’s. His right hand lifts his phone, and the repeated noise of the shutter sound makes it clear that he’s taking multiple pictures.
This time, Kenma doesn’t ask to see any of them. He knows that all of them would be perfect anyway.
A promise.
Just for them for now.
But maybe someday for the rest of the world.