Archive of Our Own ^beta

In Kenma’s memories, Kuroo was always smiling.

The amazed grin of pure joy when Kenma reproduced the very first spell Kuroo had ever taught him, prouder than anything Kuroo ever seemed to do for himself.

The glinting smirk of mischief in Kuroo’s eyes when he’d had another adventurous idea flash across his mind like a bolt from the blue, with all intent to drag Kenma along with him.

The shy, pleased upturn of the corners of Kuroo’s lips when Kenma offered up his own beloved apple on the rare occasion.

The tight, bloodless smile that didn’t quite reach Kuroo’s eyes when they walked past whispering villagers and their accusing gazes.

The one smile Kenma still didn’t have words to describe, on the last night when he had let Kuroo get away without realizing. He only knew that it had been completely and wholly his, as if Kuroo had ripped it from his own face and closed Kenma’s fingers around it so that Kuroo couldn’t come take it back.

And even now, footsteps away from the final boss and battle for the sake of the world just like the stories always foretold, standing in their way, Kuroo was still smiling after all.

“Hey, Kenma. How much bad luck do you think it takes to end the world?”

Seated on a large log with his knees drawn up to his chest under his robes, Kenma’s eyes took in the bustle of the camp. In the cleared spot where the ground was grassiest, soft and springy, Aone, whose name he’d only learned from the others, was expertly hammering down stakes and threading ropes and fabric in a spacious tent with a deftness that belied his towering stature. A few paces away, Iwaizumi had shed the heavy knight’s armor that Kenma had met him in, the pieces stacked in a somewhat haphazard manner as he rummaged through the bags that the rest of the party had set together. Iwaizumi was the only one carrying two bags.

On the other side of the camp, the youngest two members appeared to be arguing again–a raucous conversation of a heated clash of wills that Kenma had found himself accustomed to hearing surprisingly quickly, especially for himself. Hinata was crouched over the crude fire pit he had dug several minutes ago and from what Kenma could grasp, offended by the way Kageyama was leaning over him with biting criticisms for Hinata’s attempts to start a fire.

Neither the party’s numbers, actions, appearances, nor personalities were familiar at all. Yet the scene of the camp overlaid an inextricably similar memory in which Kenma had watched from the outside, just as he did now.

“Hey, Kozume.”

Kenma jumped at the sound of his name in a firm, low voice that carried and peered upwards out from under his hood. Iwaizumi stood before him with his hands on his hips, narrow black eyes meeting Kenma’s gaze squarely. Kenma fought the urge to pull his hood down past his nose. “Yes?”

“Anything you can’t eat? Or don’t like to eat? You don’t look like the type to get out much, so we’ve gotta put some meat on your bones. Otherwise you’ll have a rough time traveling with us.” The blunt words held no pretense, pity, or annoyance, only a simple statement of facts. “Luckily, none of us are that picky so we usually cook one big dish for everyone to share. But if you’ve got any complaints, you should let me know now. I’ll figure something out.” It was very generous, Kenma thought, to offer such a compromise to a near stranger when they had first encountered each other a few scant hours ago. Perhaps Iwaizumi was only desperate to keep on a valuable cleric in the party.

But a voice of reason that always sounded too close to the real thing urged Kenma, in a comforting whisper, to trust in his own powers of observation, and Kenma filed away his newly acquired knowledge of Iwaizumi’s surprisingly nurturing side.

“...Anything’s fine with me,” Kenma mumbled. “I don’t really care that much about food, so I’ll eat the same thing as everyone else.”

“Oh yeah?” Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his head. “Great to hear, I guess. There’s gotta be at least something you like though, right? Depending on what it is, we might not be able to get it today, but I have a feeling we’ll be relying on you a lot more in the near future.” A grin split his otherwise stern features, and Iwaizumi clapped a hand on Kenma’s shoulder. The impact hurt slightly. “And you saved our asses today. Good deeds deserve a good reward.”

Kenma averted his eyes. “It was nothing. And I’m not really doing it for any of you.” He had to set the record straight, before it became anything more. “I’m only here for my own goal, and coming with your party seemed like the best way to achieve it.”

Iwaizumi looked unperturbed. “Well, funny story. That’s what I thought at first too.” Shifting his weight to his other leg, he turned and made to stride back to where a heap of sturdy cookware lay sitting. “Let me know, all right?”

Kenma scarcely got in more than a nod and a few seconds of peace before a shock of orange leapt into his field of vision, too close too quickly.

“Kenma!” Hinata appeared to have given up on the fire and Kageyama had replaced him crouched at the pit, down to a perplexed expression as to why the miniscule pile of kindling was only smoking and nothing more. “What are you up to?”

“Not much,” Kenma replied, as soon as he had uncurled from leaning back reflexively. “Just killing time.”

“Doing what?”

“...Watching.”

“Watching what?”

“...Everyone.”

“Is that fun?”

“Not really.” He caught sight of Hinata’s face falling slightly, and continued. “Because I don’t know what to do here yet. Once we stopped to set up camp, all of you went off on your own to do things like you already knew.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hinata beamed, straightening with his hands on his hips. “It’s only your first day with us, so I think it’s fine. Iwaizumi will probably figure out something you can help out with.” So it was true that everyone seemed to defer to the knight captain. He had certainly seemed to carry himself as the leader of the party. “And you’re already trying to figure out for yourself too, right?”

“...I can’t just sit and do nothing, after all. It’d bother everyone.”

Hinata shook his head emphatically, eyes wide. “No way, you’d never be a bother! Not when you can do all the awesome things we saw today. I mean, you came flying in and went whoosh! Zap! Kabam!”

“I can’t fly,” Kenma corrected flatly, but he felt the corners of his lips twitch at Hinata’s descriptive sounds. “And I’m used to dealing with the plants that almost ate you guys. Everyone in Nekoma learns about them when they’re kids, and you just happened to be unlucky enough to walk over them right around the time they matured.”

“But we were lucky since we got to meet you, so it balances out!” It was very hard to deflect Hinata and his honest, bubbly optimism when he said things so straightforwardly, and Kenma hunched his shoulders at the discomfiting familiarity of it. But he did not move away as Hinata took the open space on Kenma’s other side, swinging his feet that did not quite reach the ground. “Hey, tell me more about why you wanted to come with us. You said you’re looking for someone, but it didn’t sound like Oikawa.”

“I’m looking for my friend.” The word came out naturally, as it always did, but it gave Kenma pause for some reason. He went on. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, but he disappeared one day without telling me or anyone else why. When I found out you guys were looking for Oikawa, I thought it might be my chance to find him.”

“Huh? Why would he be with Oikawa?”

“You know all those rumors about Oikawa that have been springing up recently, right? From some of them, I heard he had a black cat with him.”

“Your friend’s a cat?”

“Not really, but close enough.”

“Which is it?!”

Kenma couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “He’s like me.” After a beat of hesitation, he tugged down his hood to allow Hinata to see the triangular, calico-colored ears sticking out of his hair, twitching slightly from being freed. No doubt that everyone had gotten a brief initial glance in the chaos of their first meeting, but it was the first time he had revealed them to someone outside the village of his own volition. Kenma’s tail remained hidden under his robes and he couldn’t quite be bothered to take them off, but Hinata seemed fascinated enough, eyes glittering. To his credit, he did not ask to touch the ears, even though it brought Kenma some amusement to see how hard Hinata was clearly trying to fight back the urge.

Kenma let the hood remain down as he stared at his hands wrapped around his staff, studying the spots that had gone white with his grip. “I know it sounds like I’m out of my mind, only having that to go off of. But… I got tired of waiting.”

From the beginning, he had known it would be the slimmest of chances. One chance in a thousand, if he were to be generous. A pipe dream, or wishful thinking would have described it far more accurately.

But despite what his head told him, something in Kenma’s chest had tingled with something more than a wish, hungrier than a want.

A mysterious certainty.

“He means a lot to you, huh?” Hinata’s voice, still bright, but quiet and sincere–the former quality a descriptor Kenma never would have used mere minutes ago. “We’ll definitely find him.”

“...Thanks,” Kenma said, feeling equal sincerity well up in his words. “You’re a nice person, Shoyo.” He lifted his staff, and with the tip, tapped a spot on Hinata’s left thigh, his right forearm, and finally traced it across Hinata’s cheek. The faint line of red there vanished cleanly, leaving Hinata gaping with wonder as he put a hand to his face.

“Healing magic’s so cool! When did you learn it?”

“A long time ago. It wasn’t the first type of magic I ever learned, but it was the first one I saw Kuro use.”

When he came to, the first thing that registered was a stabbing sensation in his hind leg. The second was that he was utterly drenched.

With his eyes squeezed shut, Kenma let his mind rewind the turn of events that had brought him here. The local bullies had been on the prowl again today, spotting their prey as soon as he had left the safety of the sharehouse. That in itself was nothing new.

But on a spur of good luck, or bad luck, depending on how one looked at it, a storm brewed out of seemingly nowhere. Sensing it, Kenma fled towards the river, hoping the damp conditions and unstable terrain would deter them from following for once.

But his strategy had apparently worked a little too well. By the time the downpour started, punctuated by ominous rumbling, Kenma had found shelter under a tall pine tree.

It’d happened in an instant. The lightning strike split the tree in two. He ran for his life, instincts telling him smaller, smaller, and burst out in a shower of needles on all fours, his more nimble cat form dodging the crashing branches and dislodged debris. But the riverbank was already a deluge of slippery mud. One stumble of his paws, and Kenma found himself rolling, rolling, rolling, only the incessant sound of rain echoing in his ears.

It was this same sound he had awoken to, disoriented, cold, and in excruciating pain.

It hurts. It hurts. Make it stop. Make it go away.

He could no longer tell if the darkness encroaching on his vision was the pitch-black sky of the storm or his wavering consciousness. It seemed to spread in time with each rhythmic throb he felt in his leg. The cold he felt on his fur seeped into the depths of his body, into his veins, as if it wanted to freeze him from inside out.

Kenma closed his eyes.

It could have been an eternity, it could have been several seconds. But a faint splash followed by a brief crunch of gravel sounded in his ears, rousing Kenma again. Something small, wet, and cold–but far, far warmer than Kenma felt, snuffled against his forehead. With great effort, he cracked an eyelid open, a blurry silhouette sliding into his view.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

A quiver ran through him at the sound, but Kenma was too dazed to tell whether or not the voice was familiar. He heard a little gasp and sensed more movement near him, only managing a whimpering mew when something pushed against his leg.

“Don’t worry,” the voice spoke again, frantic. “I’ll help you out. But I can’t use magic like this, so don’t be scared, okay? Just stay with me.”

A telltale tingle ran through Kenma’s fur, but in the next moment, he was aware of a presence more than twice his size now towering over him. He flinched, the instinct to flee ringing loudly in his mind, but could only struggle marginally when the huge figure scooped him up, a protesting meow escaping as he felt himself leave the ground.

“It’ll be okay,” Kenma heard the voice, barely audible over the sound of rain, but both sounding more and more distant. “I won’t let you die.”

A blinding white flash lit his entire vision and Kenma had a glimpse of large, worried hazel eyes framed by floppy, rain-soaked black spikes, followed by an intense, almost burning heat that quickly receded to a gentle warmth. The warmth spread to every inch of his body, and as it reached his chest, it took on a strange tingle that somehow ached to his core as if imbued with a wish, a plea, a prayer.

As the light faded, so did everything else, darkness washing softly over everything but blanketing him with that comfortable warmth this time.

The last thing Kenma remembered seeing was a relieved smile on the other boy’s face.

With a pop and a crackle, the small pile of kindling burst into flames. Kenma pulled his staff away and stood, gesturing for Hinata and Kageyama to add the bundle of larger branches in their arms to the gradually growing fire.

“Seeing you do that never gets old!” Hinata exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Kageyama did not add a remark, but the wide-eyed look of awe seemed to carry his agreement. “Setting up camp’s gotten way easier since you came with us, Kenma. You can do all sorts of stuff in a snap that used to take us longer.”

“...Well, it’s still worth knowing how to do things the old-fashioned way. If I ran out of mana for the day, you’d be right back to where you started. I’ll leave that stuff to you guys again if that happens.”

“But we haven’t seen you run out of mana yet,” Kageyama said slowly, tipping his head to the side. “Do you have a lot of mana, Kozume?”

Kenma paused to consider, tapping his fingers on his staff. “I don’t know if it’s considered a lot compared to others, but magic-using species tend to have more than the average human. I’ve only run out of mana once in my life that I can remember though, and it was a long time ago before I could even use magic properly.”

Sharpening his sword a short distance away, Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed. “Less than the average human…” he repeated contemplatively. “Kozume, do you think you have more mana than Oi… Than the Demon King?”

“I’ve never met him, so I can’t say,” Kenma said flatly. “And it’s rare, but humans can still have more mana than someone like me.” He looked at Iwaizumi steadily. “If you’re asking me that, you think Oikawa’s human, then? Even though they call him a ‘Demon King’?”

Iwaizumi stiffened and dropped his gaze back to his sword. “I’ve known him since we were kids, and I can’t believe it,” he muttered, and Kenma felt a twinge. “I don’t know what led him down this path, but I intend to see him. And then beat the shit out of him for being a dumbass.”

“...I believe Oikawa is human too,” Kageyama added quietly, standing up from where he had been crouched. The fire was flickering merrily behind him. “At least, I don’t think he’s a demon.”

“Get out of here, you demon cat!”

Kenma shook away the unpleasant memory of the shriek echoing in his head. No matter who they were, people always made their own choices in the end. He would never fault, or pity anyone for it. 

But it didn’t mean he had to agree. “I trust whatever you guys say. They won’t like it in towns if they hear that though, so be careful. You might not believe Oikawa is a demon…” Despite himself, a brittle smile in that same memory flashed through Kenma’s mind. “...But maybe Oikawa thinks he is.”

Dinner that night was provided by Aone, who’d apparently had great luck fishing from the nearby river. The larger fish had been chopped into the creamy stew simmering in a pot over the campfire, while the smaller fish were salted and set to roast whole directly in the flames.

It was true when Kenma had told Iwaizumi he wasn’t particularly interested in food, as long as it was edible. But he couldn’t deny the slight uplift in his mood at the prospect of having fish. Seeing Hinata and Kageyama with their cheeks stuffed happily as they devoured the fish off their sticks overlapped with another memory, this time a much more pleasant one.

“Kozume.”

Kenma jumped at the rumbling voice that sounded next to him, almost dropping his spoon. He’d still never heard Aone speak more than a handful of times, perhaps less than the number of fingers on both of his hands, and it always seemed to be when he least expected it.

Aone nodded at Kenma’s nearly empty bowl. “You enjoy fish? You… ate faster than you normally do.”

But Kenma had already discovered in the short time since he joined, that though perpetually silent, Aone was perhaps the most thoughtful and observant of the entire party.

“Y-Yeah. If I had to pick, I do prefer fish over meat, I guess. But it’s not a big deal.”

Aone blinked down at him, stony-faced as ever. “Noted.” And that was all.

It did not escape Kenma thereafter that fish appeared more often in their meal rotations, even when they did not set up camp by the rivers. Instead, Hinata and Kageyama, tasked with resupplying their food stock, would fly into the campsite with glistening fish from town markets slung across their shoulders. The act of seeing the dynamic duo stride in with their catch, the way Iwaizumi would scale them effortlessly and unnecessarily with his sword, and watching Aone prepare the fish with methods that hardly seemed possible outdoors made an odd sensation settle in Kenma’s stomach.

Not uncomfortable, only unfamiliar. 

And as the days passed, if Kenma found increasingly more ways to put his magic to use, then he could hardly complain when it was to make his–their journey a comfortable one. The protective barrier that he had only cast on a whim the first time began to grow in complexity as night after night, Kenma discovered new weaknesses and thought of extra wards he wanted to add, especially against pesky bugs. Spells he had not used in years from lack of necessity, or spells he had learned the theory of but never tested thoroughly found new life through the needs of their party: purifying water, removing rust from metal, locating lost arrows or edible plants, dozens of small tasks that Kenma had never known needed doing if one was out traveling, out in the wide world, out with other people sharing your time and space.

When everyone else had tried so hard to make him feel welcome, such trivial things were the least Kenma could do to oblige them.

At the same time, it felt as if something had stirred inside him, like being roused from a deep sleep, or the slow grind of a wheel beginning to turn.

Like blood beginning to flow again.

On a night like any other, Kenma took his turn for the night watch. He circled the perimeter of their campsite, fixing the barrier here and there with flicks of his staff. He readjusted the soundproofing over the tents, and the snoring from within quieted to little more than a whisper on the wind. He crouched by the remains of the campfire, watching tiny sparks dance and sleepy embers blink, kept warm enough by their residual heat.

On a night like any other, the darkness should have been of no concern. But suddenly unable to stand being left alone with his thoughts, Kenma lifted his wrist and blew gently over the surface of his palm. Immediately, the campfire flared back to life, not quite to the heights of earlier in the evening when they had used it for dinner, but enough to cast a small glow and allow Kenma to see his hands again.

After tens of hundreds of times, casting a basic fire spell, humble in its simplicity, came nearly as easily as breathing to him.

And each and every time, the memory of Kuroo teaching it to him was as vivid as the first, as was the tingling in his chest that inevitably accompanied it.

Hesitantly, but steadily, the fire materialized above his palm, no larger than the size of a candleflame. Kenma gazed down at it, as equally wide-eyed as Kuroo, who leapt to his feet in excitement.

“You did it, Kenma! And on your first try!”

The flame wavered slightly from Kuroo’s movement, leading Kenma to cup his other hand around it. “It’s a lot smaller than the one you showed me though.”

“Doing it is the hard part! You can always change the size later.” Kuroo beamed, seeming even prouder than if he had done it himself. “You’re great at magic!”

Kenma felt his ears burn, twitch, and looked away from Kuroo’s shining admiration as if it would blind him. “It’s nothing special.” Despite his attempt to act nonchalant, the fact that he had succeeded did make a warm sensation stream through his body. A sense of pride for the first time, or maybe it was because of Kuroo’s words, always genuine in their straightforward praise, even if Kenma never thought he really did anything to deserve them. “But I guess if you say so. …Ah.” The flame enlarged right in his hand, much to Kenma’s surprise.

It seemed simultaneously like very long ago and only recently that Kuroo had picked Kenma up at the riverbank on that terribly stormy day. The next morning, under sunny skies that made the storm seem like a lie, Kenma had opened his eyes to the walls of an unknown house, nestled in worn but comfortable blankets on a bed far too large for his current size. Clean white bandages were wrapped around his back leg. His first instinct had been to bolt, as he was always used to doing when overcome with unexpected, unpleasant, and unfamiliar situations. 

Kuroo then returned carrying a large basket of provisions, and their first proper meeting consisted of an anxious staring contest that both of them were too nervous to break for several long minutes.

Alternately feeding and pulling mana from the fireball and watching it change in size accordingly, Kenma mused that he could not quite remember how, or when they had settled into this routine. As his leg healed and he was able to turn back into his human form, Kenma found himself accompanying Kuroo like a shadow on the errands necessary to live their daily lives. At some point, more quickly than Kenma had ever imagined could happen, being together with Kuroo had simply become natural.

Even though it turned out he was only slightly older than Kenma, Kuroo already seemed to know everything that mattered. How to meet people’s eyes. How to catch fish that they could eat, ways to cook it to make it taste better, and many other rudimentary dishes. How to buy and barter at the market. How to speak clearly and enunciate, without giving in to the urge to look down and mumble. How to tell if a plant or herb or fruit was good to eat.

And how to use magic.

Kuroo had apparently awakened to his magic during his own days at the sharehouse before Kenma had arrived himself, and had been thrilled when they both discovered that Kenma had the knack for it as well, the first other person he had ever encountered to do so. The inhabitants of Nekoma Valley were not a particularly affectionate species, with little attachment to family ties, and it was far more common than not to grow up among a colony of fellow youngsters at the sharehouse run by some of the more altruistic residents. But it was still hardly more than a roof over a head and a place to sleep at night until one learned to fend for themselves and seek a more comfortable dwelling, which likely contributed to the general sense of aloof, even cold sense of independence and indifference most ended up developing.

In his admittedly short life so far, Kenma had found Kuroo to be the first exception. 

“Um, you know, I’ve been wondering.” After carefully transferring the fire he had conjured in his hands to the fireplace, Kenma turned back to the other boy who was thumbing through another dusty book he had brought home. “How come you’re teaching me magic when you’re already good at it? Isn’t it kind of boring? Don’t you want to find someone who’s better so you can learn more?”

Kuroo’s eyes darted up and he shook his head emphatically, his triangular ears flapping with the movement. “It’s not boring! You’re really good and you learn fast! I bet you’ll be better than me in no time.” He tapped the book under his hands. “And I learn just fine with these. It’s hard to find someone who wants–I mean, who has enough time to teach magic,” Kuroo finished a bit lamely. “Teaching you makes me understand it better too, anyway.”

“...If you say so.” Kenma let his tail swish back and forth rapidly a few times. “I just dunno… why you bother to let me stay. I can’t talk to people like you do. I’m not good with cooking, or cleaning, or anything you need help with. And now you’re even teaching me magic. What’s in it for you?”

Kuroo closed the book and rounded the table, stopping a few paces before Kenma. They stood like that for several seconds, Kenma’s right hand clutched around his left elbow, and Kuroo fidgeting before he put his hands on his knees and bent slightly to look Kenma in the eyes.

“Do you not want to stay, Kenma? I don’t blame you if you don’t.”

His voice and gaze were steady, but Kenma caught a discordant fragility in Kuroo’s tone, the sound of someone steeling themselves to be hurt.

“You know what I look like, after all.”

Oh, he thinks that’s what I’m worried about.

In a world where magic made miracles possible, so too did it make for rumors and superstitions, far too numerous to count. But the strongest ones were persistent, consistent, transcending places, species, and time.

And in a world where demons existed, those who looked too similar took the brunt of it. Perhaps the exact feature that brought it to mind manifested in different ways for humans, for other species, and for people like them.

Like it did for Kuroo.

In his cat form, Kuroo’s fur was midnight-black from head to toe, with an even darker tip at his tail. Kenma had not seen it clearly the night Kuroo first saved him, and Kuroo was sparing in the times he transformed as well, never once doing so around crowds even when most others were. But natural instinct was a powerful thing, and Kenma knew very well the urge to make use of their other form’s conveniences, when both equally made up one’s identity.

One morning, when Kenma’s leg was still healing, he had woken up to a ball of black fur tucked warmly against his side on the bed. It was the first time he had seen Kuroo’s cat form properly. In truth, Kenma had not thought anything about superstitions, about bad luck and misfortune, and least of all about demons.

All he thought was that it probably got quite hot for Kuroo in direct sunlight, and that he couldn’t imagine another color suiting Kuroo better.

Kenma had shifted only a little, but just that awakened Kuroo, who bolted away with his fur on end, tail pin-straight, and eyes visibly wide even under the odd long tuft that draped from his head, reminiscent of his human form. In a mirror of their first meeting, they stared at each other in silence for several long moments. In the end, Kenma had dropped his head down first with a yawn, too tired to keep holding up his neck. “I’m going back to sleep.”

A few minutes later, he felt Kuroo pad up next to him and hesitantly resume his previous position, tensed through his fur at first, but eventually relaxing as he too succumbed to the comfortable rays of sunshine that bathed them.

Kenma had never said a word about it in the end. Perhaps just as he had miserably contemplated over his usefulness and belonging in Kuroo’s home, Kuroo had been equally wracked by Kenma’s precarious unspoken opinion of him.

“You don’t have to, but you can stay. If you want.”

Something in Kuroo’s plaintive voice, in the way his tail swished restlessly, in the way Kuroo ended up looking down as if he didn’t dare hope, made Kenma’s decision easy.

“Okay. I will.” Kenma opened his mouth, hesitated, but the word seemed right on his tongue.

And just right for Kuroo.

“...Kuro.”

Kuroo’s eyes grew large.

When he thought about it, that had been the first time he saw Kuroo give a genuine smile for himself.

A few months after Kenma joined the party of heroes, their efforts to track Oikawa were finally starting to bear fruit.

They generally traveled from town to town following any rumors about the Demon King they could get their hands on, as well as the movements of demon beasts. Skirmishes with those were still few and far between, but by now the party had encountered enough of them to establish a pattern, one that Kenma pointed out when he asked to see Iwaizumi’s maps. With the help of Kageyama’s memory, they cobbled together a list of the dates, locations, and brief details of each battle, including the ones from before Kenma had joined. The demons, though scattered, appeared to be heading broadly north, and thus the party trailed after them.

On one such day with an encounter, Kenma watched with his staff still raised in caution as the wolf-like demon uttered a final gurgling howl, before it finally fell on its side and began to melt into thick black mist that then dissipated into the air. Hinata’s sword and several of Kageyama’s arrows clattered to the ground, no longer having anything to embed themselves in.

Kenma whirled and flew to Hinata’s side where he was being supported by Aone, whose brow was creased far more deeply than usual. Hinata’s usually joyful face was pale, and he was clutching his side where the demon wolf’s claws had found their mark. 

“Don’t move, Shoyo.” Kenma did not think the warning was necessary, but he saw Hinata’s slightly glassy gaze move towards him at his words and allowed himself a small sigh of relief before beginning to mutter under his breath. White light ignited from both the jewel in his staff and Kenma’s hand where he held it over Hinata’s wound.

“Kageyama,” Aone spoke, and Kenma might have jumped too if not for practiced reflex keeping him focused. “Go help Iwaizumi patrol the perimeter.”

Kageyama, hovering anxiously over Hinata, looked as if he wanted to protest, but seemed to understand and extricated himself reluctantly, snatching a handful of his recovered arrows as he went. 

All distractions removed, Kenma closed his eyes. Though fire magic had been the first spell he ever learned, it was healing magic that had always come most naturally to him. He had never been able to put the concept or the feeling into words well, but it simply made sense the first time he cast it to heal a cut above Kuroo’s eye. Kuroo never did tell him where that cut had come from.

The slashes in Hinata’s side had already stopped bleeding and were on the verge of closing up. Hinata himself seemed ready to sit up of his own volition, but Aone’s firm hand on his shoulder prevented it. “Sorry, Aone, Kenma,” Hinata said, an appropriately contrite expression on his face. “I know I shouldn’t have been so reckless.”

“Well, this isn’t any different from what I normally do, so don’t worry about it,” Kenma replied dryly. “But you sure gave us a scare. Be more careful, okay?”

“I will.”

Aone added quietly, “You did a good thing. But it was foolish.”

“...Yeah.” Hinata looked sheepish. “My body moved before I could think.” He glanced in the direction that Kageyama had left, then returned to watching his own skin knit back together. “I know I need to get better. To be good enough to do everything.”

Despite himself, Kenma chuckled. “Spoken like a real hero, I guess. Anyway, just take it easy for the rest of the day. I can heal you up, but I can’t restore your mana, so you probably won’t feel at your best for a bit without some food and a good night’s sleep.”

“Mana?”

“Yeah.” Seeing that his remark had successfully distracted Hinata from his attempt to get up, Kenma continued his explanation, even as the white healing light finally dimmed. “The most fundamental rule in magic is that you can’t use it to restore mana. Remember when I told you that all living things have mana, even if they can’t or don’t use magic? It’s essentially your life energy. You can use magic to do things like heal wounds, but you can’t directly generate mana out of nothing for someone who’s low on it. You can only wait for mana to recover through time and patience.”

Kenma finished poking at Hinata’s side and gave his nod of approval, and Hinata grasped Aone’s proffered hand to get to his feet. The three of them turned at the sound of rustling leaves preceding Iwaizumi and Kageyama’s return, their weapons sheathed. 

“The area’s clear,” Iwaizumi announced. “Hinata, you all right now?”

“Yes, sir.” Hinata saluted, wobbling only slightly.

“Good to hear. It’s a little early, but we’ll set up camp here for tonight. Hinata, you stay put. Kozume, I’m counting on you for a barrier. Aone, come help me with the tent. Kageyama… Get a fire started, will you?”

“I can do that too,” Kenma began, but stopped at Iwaizumi’s subtle shake of his head. 

“Barrier first. Kageyama might as well do it while you’re busy.”

Kenma blinked in understanding, and he, Aone, and Iwaizumi went their separate ways. As Kenma made his way around the perimeter, weaving the spell in his wake, he circled back to where Hinata and Kageyama had remained. Hinata was sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest, watching Kageyama fiddle with flint and kindling. Their conversation drifted over in Kenma’s direction. 

“You’re a dumbass, Hinata. Why did you jump in the way?”

“Don’t call me a dumbass! I really thought I could dodge it when I saw it coming for you.”

“Well, you didn’t, dumbass. You scared everyone half to death.”

“Is dumbass the only insult you know?! And I feel bad about that. …I gotta train more.”

“...Me too. We’ll practice that combo move we talked about first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You’re on.”

“After I check your mana level first, Shoyo,” Kenma called, shaking his head bemusedly. “I might be asleep though. Don’t wake me up if I am.”

“Aw, but you’re always the last to get up, Kenma,” Hinata complained. “I bet I’ll be totally fine thanks to you! I always bounce back fast!”

“I don’t doubt it considering your personality. Not that personality usually has anything to do with how fast you recover mana, though.”

Kageyama had successfully lit sparks, and was alternating between blowing gently on them and strategically placing twigs to catch fire. “What usually determines how fast you can recover mana?” he asked between breaths, tilting his head quizzically. “As far as I know, physical injuries heal for everyone at about the same rate without outside healing, and it’s fairly consistent across species. But mana recovery is different?”

“I’d say there are more similarities than differences, but a little.” Kenma crouched by them, dragging a stick across the dirt. “The rate of recovery really differs individually, but there’s a general tendency for magic-capable species to recover faster than non-magic-using species. So especially for humans, this can vary a lot between those who learn magic and those who don’t.”

“Then you recover really fast?”

“I don’t know if it’s that fast compared to others of my species, but I’m probably faster than the average human. It’s not a hard rule though.”

“I wonder how fast the Demon King recovers mana then.” Hinata had joined Kageyama at the fire, assisting in the blowing effort. “I mean, he is calling himself a “demon” king. But Kageyama and Iwaizumi think he’s human, right? It could go either way.”

Kenma’s brow furrowed. “Tell that to the rest of the kingdom. They sure seem convinced he’s a demon, and to be honest, I don’t blame them with how it looks.”

Of late, the rumors were no longer mere whispers on the wind, but tales of caution flying about taverns, announcements of warning posted on town boards, gated roads bolting shut the further north they went. Eyewitness accounts of an ominous fortress-castle at the edge of the land. Adventurers fleeing the rampages of demon beasts, who no longer seemed concerned about remaining in hiding as they pressed forward, undeterred, on their strange migration. A falling star that would herald the end of the world, summoned by the Demon King himself on merely a whim, his fickle displeasure. The name “Oikawa” whispered in hushed voices like a taboo, as if he could suddenly materialize in one’s midst at the sound like a summons.

And of most interest of all to Kenma, sightings of a secondary figure who always seemed to be hovering at Oikawa’s side. Some swore that it was Oikawa’s familiar in the form of a large black panther. Others insisted that it was one of Oikawa’s demon brethren, with the horns to prove it.

Every mention that made its way to his ears caused the tingling in Kenma’s chest to pulse, as if his entire heart was made of pins and needles.

Kageyama looked uncomfortable at the mention of Oikawa, casting his eyes in Iwaizumi’s direction. “What about your friend Kuroo, Kozume?” he blurted. “Why’re you so sure he’s not a demon?”

Kenma knew. Months traveling with the party had shown him his party’s true natures, taught him what kind of people, good people, they were. So Kenma knew there was nothing but honest curiosity and the desire to deflect behind Kageyama’s blunt words.

But it did not stop the stick in his hand from snapping.

“Kuro’s not a demon.”

Kageyama did not shrink back at the curt response, nor was he the type to. But even he lowered his gaze, sensing the prickle in the air. Hinata glanced worriedly between the two of them.

“Neither is Oikawa,” Iwaizumi suddenly spoke from behind, making them all jump. He clapped a hand on Kenma’s shoulder before moving over to ruffle Kageyama and Hinata’s heads in turn. “Even if the kingdom’s the one who sent us on this mission, we know we’re doing this for ourselves, and we know them better than anyone. So we shouldn’t let the rumors of total strangers sway us.”

Ever honest, Kageyama nodded obediently, and Kenma blinked.

Later that evening after they finished their meal, Kenma sent Hinata and Kageyama off to the tent first, sat Iwaizumi and Aone down, and lifted his staff meaningfully. They remained still, compliant, as Kenma walked around them one by one tapping various parts of their bodies, the glows of healing magic disappearing almost as fast as they appeared and taking with them the myriad of minor cuts and bruises. But even larger injuries like the way Kenma had noticed Iwaizumi favoring one leg and Aone gingerly moving his arm were only immersed in the healing glow for mere seconds longer.

“You know it doesn’t take me that long, so why do you guys have to act so tough in front of Shoyo and Kageyama?” Kenma grumbled, stabbing the end of his staff into the ground and folding his arms.

Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck. “They were freaked out enough already by today, so I guess I just thought they didn’t need any more reminders.”

“Thank you, Kozume,” Aone rumbled, and at least he made no excuses. “You work fast as always. I’ve never encountered a healer as good as you.” His thin, barely perceptible eyebrows furrowed in thought. “In fact, I’ve never actually met a true healer of your caliber like you. I suppose it slips my mind that you can do such things.”

“And how long have we been travelling together again? What exactly do you think I’m here for?”

Now it was Iwaizumi’s eyebrows that rose. “You’re here because we seemed to have the best chance of finding your friend, right? Isn’t that what you told me? You’re not like us, tasked by the kingdom to vanquish the great threat.”

A growl of exasperation, rare to his own ears, escaped Kenma’s throat. “That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna heal my other friends if they need it. Is that such a weird concept?!”

It was a rare sight to see Iwaizumi and Aone both looking so astonished, and for some reason, it only made Kenma more frustrated.

He thought of Iwaizumi asking him what he liked to eat on the first day. He thought of Aone wordlessly taking note and adding his preferences to the routine of their camps. He thought of Hinata’s unreserved, welcoming optimism and the sparkling, awed respect with which Kageyama listened to Kenma’s explanations of magic.

“People are usually pretty happy when you say you want to help them, you know.”

“Not for the actual help? Just because you say it?”

“I mean, that too. But I’d say so.”

Then why wasn’t it enough for you?

“Anyway,” Kenma continued impatiently. “No more of this, and you’ll be getting healed when I think it’s appropriate, not you. Do you see any other healers around here? Do you think you know better than me?”

Iwaizumi and Aone shook their heads, still wide-eyed. But Iwaizumi was the first to regain his composure and smirked, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand.

“So we’re friends, are we?”

“...Then any friend of yours is ours as well.”

Kenma looked up, and Aone had come to tower over him beneath his notice. He raised both arms and patted Kenma by his shoulders, a little awkwardly. “That means… we believe in him just like you do, Kozume.”

His ears and cheeks still hot, Kenma could do nothing but nod, locking eyes with Iwaizumi–both in apology and understanding.

“I know.”

One day, Kenma realized that whether he liked it or not, his own world had widened little by little without him noticing. And it was all Kuroo’s fault.

In all honesty, he thought he would have been fine all his life with just Kuroo by his side. The familiar, common routine of waking up together, sometimes with their tails intertwined, sometimes with their limbs. Running out of the house to the meadow or the woods to practice magic, or simply on a short adventure. On the rare occasions Kenma deigned to join, clinging to Kuroo’s sleeve as the older boy led their way through the middle of town and marketplaces and feeling the rush of relief when they returned together to their little house, just the two of them. Yet other times, staring out the window with his tail lashing even when Kenma was the one who wanted to bow out of the day’s excursion on the excuse of studying a new spell, and the mysterious tingle in his chest telling him Kuroo was back before Kenma could even see him. 

It was certainly enough for him, and for a time, he thought it had been enough for Kuroo too.

But one day, Kuroo had stumbled home, his hand pressed to blood streaming from somewhere above his eye and looking distinctively scuffled all over, causing Kenma to drop everything he was holding in horror.

“Kuro!” He leapt to Kuroo’s side and led him to the bed, gently pushing him to sit on it. “What happened?” Kenma frantically looked from side to side, mind racing. Who had done this? No, what did Kuroo need first? The bleeding needed to stop. Had any of it gotten into his eye? Why hadn’t he gone with Kuroo today? If he had, could he have prevented this?

“Kenma.” Kuroo caught Kenma’s wrist with his relatively cleaner hand and attempted a reassuring smile, despite wincing. “I’m okay, really. It’s worse than it looks. I just… had some bad luck.”

“...Why are you smiling?” Something hot was gathering at the corners of Kenma’s eyes from the angry frustration he felt bubbling up inside.

“‘Cause it’s no big deal.” Kuroo swayed a little on the bed, despite the fact he was sitting. Maybe a sign of a concussion, Kenma thought, recalling a medical text he had read before, and a wave of panic rose up again only to be assuaged by Kuroo’s steady voice. “Do you mind getting me a wet cloth?”

Relieved to have something to do, Kenma bobbed his head and rushed over to their kitchen area to prepare the object in question. On his way back, his foot bumped into something, and Kenma glanced down to see the tome he had dropped in his initial alarm. His eyes widened as he remembered what he had been studying before Kuroo’s return and scooped it up in his arms.

Kuroo had not moved from his initial position, only staring dazedly at his blood-covered hand, but his gaze followed as Kenma crawled onto the bed to sit next to him, flipping the book open in his lap.

“Kenma?”

“Quiet,” Kenma mumbled, poring over the text intently. “I’m gonna try something.” After several seconds, he snapped the book shut and tossed it further back onto the bed, getting to his knees and extending his hands. “Don’t move, Kuro. And… Sorry if it doesn’t work.”

“...Uh-huh.”

Kenma squeezed his eyes shut, the familiar stirring of magic beginning to flow throughout his body. Calling forth magic to his command had never been difficult for Kenma, despite Kuroo explaining how it had been for him. It was making the magic take shape and directing it outwards for a tangible purpose that Kenma had struggled with initially, and it was apparent in the differences between his spells and when Kuroo cast the same ones.

But the instant he reached for the white light he visualized within the flow of magic, it seemed to reach back easily, encouragingly towards him, with a sense of nostalgia that Kenma couldn’t quite place.

Kenma snapped his eyes open with a gasp, and right in front of him, the gash on Kuroo’s brow sealed shut, one last drop of blood trickling down. He lowered his hands, staring at them before lifting his chin to meet Kuroo’s stunned expression.

“Was that… healing magic?” Kuroo breathed, reaching up to feel where the gash had been and his hand only coming away with dried blood. “It’s gone. You really healed it!”

Kenma caught Kuroo’s arm as the older boy made to jump to his feet in excitement, keeping him settled on the bed. “I only healed the cut itself,” Kenma reminded him. “You probably shouldn’t move around a lot for the rest of the day.”

Kuroo did not seem bothered and bounced on the bed instead, eyes sparkling. “Kenma, you can be a healer! Do you know how amazing that is? I can’t believe you did it so fast and just like that! I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that!”

Feeling a heated sensation rise up in his cheeks the same way when Kuroo had praised him on his first display of magic, Kenma ducked his head. “It’s… nothing special.” He hoped beyond words that Kuroo did not feel the heat through their still connected fingertips. “Is it that amazing? You healed me too, didn’t you? When you first found me.”

“Oh, that was a little different,” Kuroo said, a little too quickly, waving his hand. “I couldn’t even heal your leg completely back then. But never mind that. Do you know what this means, Kenma?”

“No.”

“You’d be able to help so many people!”

After so long together, Kenma knew that Kuroo never lied about what he thought of Kenma. There had always only been genuine pride and joy, and more times than Kenma could count, that fact had saved him.

But today, just now, Kenma did not like those words.

He furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his lips together. “...I don’t really care about helping other people.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’s good to make connections because you never know when someone you helped will be able to help you in return.”

“That doesn’t really matter to me. It’s enough as long as I can help you.”

“Huh? But it’s a waste if I’m the only one who knows how amazing you are! Look, healing magic is special, and someday when you leave–”

Kenma could bear it no longer. “Then if I don’t do healing magic, you won’t tell me to leave?” he hissed, ears flattening back.

Kuroo’s eyes widened, and he went pale, even paler than he already was. “That’s not what I–”

“Why do I have to be ‘amazing’? Why do I have to heal anyone I don’t want to? Why isn’t just staying here with you enough?” The anxiety, the fear that had always simmered just below the surface rose now like a tidal wave, washing out in the caustic words that Kenma found leaving his throat, and they burned in their wake. “Why does me being able to do healing magic change anything? I don’t get why you would say any of those things at all!”

Before he knew it, Kenma had grabbed the cloth and flung it in Kuroo’s face, then leapt off the bed and landed on all fours at the same time he heard the wet smack.

“Kenma!”

He heard Kuroo calling his name, but had already darted out the door.

It was dark by the time Kenma deigned to return. Kuroo found him at their favorite stream, but Kenma hissed him away, keeping his back turned and his tail lashing angrily. Kuroo had hovered for several more minutes, eventually retreating back to their house after telling Kenma he would be waiting there.

Kenma had not responded.

He took a deep breath, whiskers twitching, before steeling himself to cross the threshold. In his cat form, he avoided the creaky plank of the wooden floor, and bounded nimbly from the chair to their table from which the sole source of light was flickering, the candle halfway burned through.

At the table, Kuroo was asleep with his face in his arms folded over a large book, and Kenma realized it was the healing tome. He glared at it. If it hadn’t been for this, he wouldn’t have thought to use healing magic and cause this entire mess.

But if it hadn’t been for this, he wouldn’t have been able to heal Kuroo, either. He hated the thought of that even more.

The scent of cinnamon Kenma had picked up earlier wafted into his nose, and sure enough, there was a small platter with a clumsily assembled apple pie sitting on top. An oozing syrup was leaking out of the fragmented crust, and the edges were slightly burnt.

For all his dexterity and skills that Kenma admired in him, Kuroo’s attempts at making apple pie always turned out like this. Kenma had eaten them more times than he could count. He sat back on the table, curling his tail over his paws as he looked down contemplatively. Even if he reverted to human form, he still wouldn’t be able to move Kuroo. And he was still angry.

But just a little less now.

Kenma nosed at a gap between Kuroo’s bangs. The gash was still gone, proving that at least being able to heal it hadn’t been in his imagination, much to Kenma’s relief despite everything. Knowing it would be enough, he pushed at Kuroo’s head with his paws, waited for the other boy to mumble and stir, then leapt off the table and made for their bed.

There were times he preferred going to sleep as a cat, when everything around him was overwhelming. The idea of shrinking in on himself to become smaller, unnoticed, and enveloping himself completely in a nest of blankets hidden away from the world brought a sense of security. This time was no different as Kenma dove under the covers, closed his eyes, and waited.

It did not take long for him to sense the bed sinking, but only slightly, and the familiar feeling of Kuroo’s fur brushing past him as Kuroo settled, almost tentatively. As always, the bed was entirely too large for only two cats, but all the more excuse for them to press against each other, sharing body heat.

At last, Kenma heard a sigh, still drowsy at the edges.

“Kenma, I’m sorry.”

“...I know.”

They lapsed into silence, and Kenma wondered if Kuroo had fallen back asleep after all until the older boy spoke again.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you’re lonely here with just me. I’m not saying you have to go and make friends with everyone you meet, but I don’t know if it’s good for you to only hang around with me all the time. And you know how it is around other people if you’re there and they recognize me. They’ll treat you the same way. Like you’re bad luck.”

Kenma did know. He knew how the gazes felt, how the whispers sounded. The days he went with Kuroo and Kuroo avoided the busiest, most crowded areas with him. The days he didn’t go and Kuroo came back with a smile more brittle than usual. But he had never seen it come to what had happened today.

Kenma opened his eyes, staring directly into Kuroo’s. “Is that why you got hurt?”

Kuroo, who was only a little older, but seemed to know everything. Kuroo, whose arguments always made sense, who was always patiently, frustratingly right, who always only wanted the best for Kenma.

Kuroo, who never applied those things to himself, and simply stared back at him, an uneasy flicker of something like guilt in his hazel eyes.

So Kenma let it go. “You said I could stay if I wanted, so I did, because I wanted to. That’s all.” He felt his tail flick, and drew it over his nose as he mumbled the next sentence. “...But if you ever wanted me to leave, I would.”

Would I? 

“No!”

Kenma flinched as Kuroo bolted upright, the sheets falling off his head and letting moonlight into their blanket burrow. “I just thought… that someday you might want to. But I’ve never wanted you to leave. Never ever. You’re special.”

Kenma drew a sharp intake of breath. “...My healing magic is?”

Kuroo shook his head emphatically, frantically. “You are.” He leaned forward to press his nose to Kenma’s, and Kenma could feel a tremble through their touch. “You’re special to me.”

From the tingling in the center of his chest, a furious wave of heat seemed to rush all the way to the tip of Kenma’s tail, making it puff out and go pin-straight. The familiar instinct of wishing he could break eye contact rose up initially, but it was Kuroo. Kuroo had never once made him want to look away, unlike everyone else.

He stretched his tail out, until the tip curled around Kuroo’s as well. “I don’t believe you’re bad luck,” Kenma said softly. “So I won’t leave. Because I believe in you like you always do for me.”

Kuroo’s eyes widened.

Kuroo who had never doubted what Kenma was capable of, who was good at getting him in the right mood, the right mindset, unwavering confidence to believe that Kenma could do anything he wanted, all on his own.

He wanted that for Kuroo too. And Kenma made up his mind.

Tilting his head at a purposeful angle, Kenma twitched his ears in signal, turning up his eyes. “Can you… do what you always do?”

Kuroo beamed, and enthusiastically began to lick Kenma’s face. The firm, yet gentle, rhythmic strokes invited the lull of sleep at last, and Kenma began to drift, closing his eyes contentedly.

He knew he had forgiven Kuroo.

The party’s encounters with demon beasts became more frequent as they steadily made their way north towards the edge of the land. The distance between towns they stopped at to resupply grew larger and larger. The forests became thicker, the plains emptier, the rivers faster. Days of sunny blue skies were a rarer occurrence, as if all signs of liveliness and life instinctively avoided the now infamous Demon King’s castle that stood at the end of the world, only a single white trail in the sky daring to approach. 

With each and every skirmish with a demon, they made quicker work of it, more prepared, more experienced. Hinata, always the fast learner and naturally nimble, had never gotten as badly injured as back then. The barriers that Kenma wove night after night grew ever stronger and more complicated. They began to take the night watch in pairs. 

The unsettling tingling in Kenma’s chest had never felt more palpable. It vibrated within him like a constant low hum, where he could be distracted from it if preoccupied with other tasks. But when Kenma was left to his own thoughts, his thoughts inevitably turned to Kuroo, and the tingling would threaten to swallow him again.

Kuro.

Identifying patterns was also something that had always come easily to Kenma, and it had not taken long for him to realize when the tingling was at its most prominent. Since the day Kuroo had disappeared, since the day Kenma had joined the party and left Nekoma, since each day a new rumor made its way to his ears, the pieces of circumstantial evidence Kenma had slowly gathered one by one joined together to point towards the obvious conclusion.

The only thing he was missing now was tangible, decisive proof.

And today, the tingling was more restless than ever, almost a buzzing that Kenma was sure was audible, but Hinata had shaken his head when asked. It kept Kenma on an anxious edge as they made their way through the thicket of trees, searching for signs of the demon beast that they couldn’t have missed more than an hour ago. 

Abruptly, a jolt like electricity ran through his chest and Kenma almost doubled over with a gasp.

“Kenma?” A few paces ahead, Hinata seemed to have heard him stumble and looked back worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” The sensation had faded almost as quickly as it materialized, but it left his heart pounding rapidly, not with pain, but with a frantic sense of impatience that felt just as bad.

“I need…” Kenma blurted out, and the rest of the party turned to look at him quizzically. “I need to go look for something. Right now. Alone.”

Iwaizumi met his gaze steadily. “Will you come back?”

Kenma hesitated. But in the end, he nodded. “I might… not be too far. But I need to go. I know the demon beast is still around, but–”

“Go on.” Their leader glanced once around at the rest of the members, who nodded their agreement. “We’ll catch up. Be careful.”

Kenma lifted his staff, his grip around the handle trembling slightly with the force. “You too.”

And he disappeared.

Kenma rematerialized in an entirely different thicket of trees, without other signs of life, and stabbed his staff into the ground to lean on it heavily, gasping for breath. Teleportation was high-caliber magic for a reason, requiring copious amounts of mana and concentration, and even then it was not to be taken lightly. In all honesty, it had been reckless to attempt it when he was feeling so borderline to full-on panic, but it had been necessary.

And worth it, as the tingling in his chest practically sang.

In an effort to calm himself, Kenma pulled his hood over his head, finding comfort in the way the fabric enclosed him and narrowed his field of view. Anything worth noticing, he would be able to detect through their mana anyway. 

He closed his eyes to scan his surroundings and immediately picked up a presence, just as he had expected.

But would it be who he expected?

Kenma made his way through the brush with barely a rustle in the direction of the powerful mana signature, and the tingling sensation shivered like the needle of a compass. His penchant for moving with minimal presence had always surprised people when he approached them beneath their notice, more times than he could count. He recalled very well that Kuroo had complained he could never sneak up on Kenma–

Kenma stopped.

A short distance ahead, there was a tall figure with his back turned, in a long crimson coat. A crystal ball floated above his palm, magic swirling about lazily within and making indecipherable images. Kenma saw ears sticking up through spiky black hair and almost called out of instinct, but froze again. Crouched in front of the man and even so taller than him was a demon beast, strangely docile as the man stroked its fur with his other hand, murmuring something out of earshot. In the next moment, the demon beast heaved itself up and ambled away in a different direction. The man turned to watch it go, and his face came into profile.

The man turned, and they weren’t cat ears at all, but angular, twisted horns.

The man turned, and more importantly, it was Kuroo.

Kenma heard a stick under his boots snap with a strangely loud echo, and Kuroo’s face shot up at the same time.

“Ku–”

Before Kenma could finish, an intangible force knocked the wind out of him and sent him flying backwards, even through the barrier he had reflexively put up. He tumbled through a bush, landed on his stomach, and curled in on himself, gasping. He couldn’t lift any of his limbs higher than an inch. A gravity spell, he realized dazedly, the one Kuroo had used once to restrain some of the local bullies who’d gone after them in town.

But Kenma was sure the feeling of suffocation in his lungs came more from the pulsing tingle in his chest, the spark of mana Kenma had carried within all these years that did not belong to him, now recognizing and calling for its owner who was within arm’s length.

He heard footsteps crunching through the underbrush behind him and could only wait helplessly as a large hand on his shoulder turned him face-up. Kenma’s hood flopped uselessly open, his hair spilling out beneath his head, and their eyes met.

For several long seconds, or several long minutes, days, months, they stared with their gazes locked on each other, equally wide-eyed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kenma was reminded of their first meeting. One after another, he saw many expressions cross Kuroo’s face all at once. Horror, bewilderment, shock, and so many more.

“Kenma?”

Kenma felt the gravity spell melt away but did not move, Kuroo hovering over his face and Kenma pinned under his larger frame. “Kuro.” It felt good just to say his name. Suddenly, they were back in Nekoma, back in their forest, back in the little house–home they had made together.

But it couldn’t be real, and Kenma knew it.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Alone? You’ve been traveling?” Kuroo’s voice seemed to get higher with each incredulous question. Kenma could not ever recall Kuroo looking so rattled, because Kuroo always knew everything. “Are you eating properly? What about sleeping?” The absurdity of Kuroo interrogating him on something so mundane was too much, and Kenma couldn’t help but cough out a soft laugh.

“I’m traveling with the party of heroes sent by the kingdom. They’ve been looking for Oikawa. I’m eating and sleeping okay. Camping outside is a pain sometimes.” 

“You’re with the heroes?”

A hint of panic flickered in Kuroo’s crimson eyes.

Crimson?

Kuroo’s eyes had always been hazel.

At first he seemed to hesitate, but Kuroo slowly got to his knees, then to his feet, pulling Kenma gently by the arms with him. “I heard the rumors… that a talented healer had joined them. But you shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe.”

“Neither should you.” Before he realized it, Kenma had reached up to place his hands on Kuroo’s cheeks, patting them several times as if to reassure himself Kuroo was actually there. He slid his hands up even further, raising himself up on his toes to reach Kuroo’s hair, the horns. “Kuro. Kuro, tell me what you’ve been doing. Why did you leave?”

“Kenma…” The torn look on Kuroo’s face was unmistakable, but in the next moment, his expression hardened. “If you’re with the heroes, then you should already know. I work for the great Demon King Oikawa.”

Kenma stared. For all that he had chased the rumors down all this time, hearing the truth straight from Kuroo’s mouth was incomprehensible. “Why?”

Kuroo caught Kenma’s wrists with one hand and tugged them back down, placing his other finger on Kenma’s lips with a faintly pained smirk.

“Because I’m a demon, remember?”

It was a very foreign feeling to have something ice-cold drip into his chest and shoot all the way up his spine, when Kenma was more used to the sensation of heat doing the same. Ice-cold words in ice-cold memories, unpleasant to the ears and eyes.

Those terrible words that had left their mark on Kuroo after all.

A faint rustling caught their attention in the ensuing silence and they both glanced back. In the distance, most easily visible, a shock of orange hair was coming their way, followed by other familiar figures laboriously making a path through the foliage. Hinata with his sharp eyesight seemed to spot Kenma first and waved, yelling. “Kenma! Just now we took down a demon beast that came from this direction! Are you okay?! Who’s that next to you?”

Kenma heard Kuroo curse under his breath, felt him begin to pull away, and grabbed his sleeve. “Kuro,” he whispered. He did not know where he should start, thousands of ways he had thought he would make his arguments all flying out of his head. “Stay.”

“Kenma?” Hinata’s voice was closer, starting to sound tinged with worry.

“Kuro. Say you’ll stay, and talk to me. Kuro.”

But faster than he could blink again, the world turned over and Kenma found himself once again pinned face-down to the dirt, blades of grass tickling his nose. The ground was very soft, he thought dazedly. Hinata and the others’ shouts of surprise were audible, the rustling growing more frantic.

The gravity spell again would not even permit him to lift his head to see Kuroo’s face. There was a soft sensation, the familiar touch of Kuroo pressing his lips to the top of his head. And Kuroo murmured in his ear.

“Go home, Kenma.”

Kenma froze, this time of his own volition, wholly unrelated to the spell that bound him. 

Never had he heard Kuroo speak so icily to him before. More than the shock of finding Kuroo, more than the fact that Kuroo had attacked him, those three short words of rejection sent what felt like his heart plummeting to some bottomless depths of his stomach, as if it had become nothing more than deadweight with nowhere else to go but down, leaving ice cold gashes in its wake.

He barely registered that the spell had lifted by the time his party companions had reached him, surrounded him, asking in alarmed voices if he was all right. It was all Kenma could do to sit up with Hinata’s support, and nod or shake his head in turn in simple answers to their questions.

But as always, they were kind, and did not press him beyond confirmation of the barest facts.

His mind still fuzzy, Kenma clambered slowly to his feet, blinking back something hot at the edges of his eyes.

It’s not home if you’re not there.

The tingling in his chest was quiet again.

…

The seasons passed and the world at large continued to turn in relative peace, at least in Nekoma. Almost to Kenma’s disbelief, his and Kuroo’s circle of friends (for a lack of better words) had widened with their peers of similar ages. The older generations were disinterested, crochety, and at the worst of times, hostile as ever, but the younger blood seemed to care little for the old superstitions and distant ways of life, weaving their own connections wherever and whenever they pleased. 

Kai and Yaku were reliable and level-headed, naturally establishing themselves along with Kuroo as ones to go to for help. Kenma found Taketora grating, but also unfortunately dependable in terms of firepower and the right sort of aggressiveness when called for. Kenma liked Fukunaga, who was just as quiet as him, but said the oddest things that made Kenma roll around laughing at times, much to the others’ astonishment. Inuoka, Shibayama, Lev, Teshiro looked up to the rest of them with starry-eyed admiration, and were good and honest kids. Kenma watched the expansion of his little world happen before his own eyes now that he accompanied Kuroo to town more often, a little grudgingly at times, but the way Kuroo’s eyes lit up at him was worth it.

At the end of the day, as long as he and Kuroo went home to their little house together, just the two of them, Kenma decided that was enough.

Nekoma seemed to grow livelier month by month, and Kenma found that at times, he even enjoyed being in town now. He did not know what kind of magic Kuroo had worked, magic that wasn’t magic at all, but to Kenma, there seemed to be no difference.

But at other times, reminders of what used to be still reared up unpleasantly out of nowhere, as it did one day when Kuroo called Kenma for help.

Over several beats, the thin, jagged red line across Yaku’s arm disappeared, and the bruised skin surrounding it lightened once again to a healthy shade, with no evidence that there had ever been anything there if not for the gaping hole in Yaku’s sleeve.

Yaku and Kai’s eyes were wide with surprise.

His job done, Kenma put his hands back down in his lap and attempted to retreat a space away, only for Kuroo to take a seat on his other side, throw an arm around his shoulders, and kiss him on the forehead while beaming. Yaku wrinkled his nose at them. “See? Kenma’s great at magic, especially healing magic!”

Kenma looked up, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “But how’d Yaku get hurt?”

At that, Kuroo’s smile seemed to turn a little brittle. He opened his mouth, but it was Kai who answered first, calm as ever. “We went a little too near that grumpy old man who runs the shop.”

“He was aiming at me,” Kuroo supplied, far too cheerfully. Kenma’s eyes widened only for Yaku to reach across and kick Kuroo in the shin before Kenma could say anything. “Ow! Just because Kenma’s here doesn’t mean I condone violence!”

Yaku ignored Kuroo’s protest. “He was throwing it at all of us. Well, we always knew he was a crusty old jerk. We just got a little careless.”

It had been a while since any incidents of the sort, and perhaps they had let their guards down, all of them. It gave Kenma a twisting feeling in his stomach. It was bad enough when only Kuroo bore the brunt of it, but he knew how much Kuroo blamed himself when anyone else became involved, as if it reinforced the reminders.

On their way home, Kenma trailed a little behind Kuroo as he always did, watching Kuroo’s back, his black tail with an even darker tip swaying behind him. Just as Kenma opened his mouth, Kuroo beat him to the punch.

“You know, Kenma, I heard there’s going to be shooting stars tonight. Let’s go find a place to watch them.”

“...Okay.”

After the sun had gone down, they slipped into the forest, two small, four-legged shadows darting across the field. An orb of magic light hovered at Kuroo’s tail, and it was this Kenma dutifully followed as Kuroo led the way.

They scrambled up a particularly tall pine with thick sturdy branches jutting out at uneven intervals, and Kuroo extinguished the light with a flick of his tail when Kenma finally made it, panting, to the perch near the top that Kuroo had reached first. He regretted the effort spent, slightly.

But Kuroo had chosen well, because the sky above them was clear for miles without obstruction, and on the night of a new moon, the stars were brighter than ever. They sat side by side in comfortable silence, waiting, paws tucked and tails twirled around each other’s. 

When the first star streaked across the sky, Kuroo jumped to his paws in delight. “Kenma, make a wish!”

“Huh?” Kenma swiveled his neck in the direction Kuroo was looking, but the star was already gone. “Ah…” 

“There’ll be more.” Kuroo gave him a reassuring lick across the forehead, but in all honesty, Kenma was not particularly concerned.

Shortly after, the meteor shower began in earnest, dozens of them blinking and flashing overhead. But for some reason, they made Kenma’s fur stand on end. Yes, they were beautiful, almost hauntingly so, but he could not stop his mind from imagining their whereabouts at the end of their journey. An involuntary tremble ran through him, and Kuroo pressed his side against Kenma’s, perhaps mistaking it for cold. 

“I read somewhere that seeing a shooting star is good luck. That’s why people make wishes on them.” Kuroo sounded cheerful, more cheerful than Kenma had expected considering the afternoon’s events.

“They’re nice,” Kenma said slowly. “But when there’s a lot like that, I think they’re kind of scary. Sometimes they land in places instead of just burning up in the sky, right? I keep thinking about what if one lands where we live.”

Kuroo looked down at him in brief surprise. But a grin spread across his face, the slightly mischievous one Kenma had seen all his life that Kuroo wore like a natural piece of his armor.

“Don’t worry, Kenma. I’d protect you from the big bad stars.”

Hinata found Kenma well out of range of the camp barrier, sitting against a tree as he stared up into the starry sky. One of them gleamed particularly bright, larger than the others around it, streaking minutely faster than the rest in the direction they were headed, just as the party had heard.

It seems the rumors that Demon King has summoned a falling star to obliterate the world are true, Iwaizumi had announced flatly to the rest of them, his expression the stoniest they had seen yet. So we avoid the hundreds of demon beasts now roaming around the castle, break in, defeat the Demon King’s lackey, defeat the Demon King, and then stop a natural disaster. Nothing to it.

“Kenma?” 

“...Shoyo.” Kenma spared him a glance, saying nothing as Hinata took a seat next to him. The fire from the camp was only a small glow of red some distance away, and even with the light of the full moon shining over the forest, their faces were still barely visible to each other. “You should get back inside the barrier.”

“I’m here to protect you since you’re out here,” Hinata replied cheerfully. “You know we’ll probably reach the great Demon King’s castle tomorrow, right? Shouldn’t you sleep early?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Are you scared of seeing Kuroo?”

Hinata’s words, straightforward and even warm, but they still made Kenma flinch. He remained silent for several moments, before the urge to spill the words he had kept swallowed back overwhelmed him. “Maybe… he doesn’t like me anymore. Maybe nothing he told me about himself was true.”

Kuroo, who had told Kenma he wanted Kenma to stay, who said Kenma was special to him. Kuroo, who had saved his life, taught him magic and more, made him feel like he was worth something, and even gathered the people Kenma called friends for him, as if he’d known this would happen all along.

But Kuroo, who had also left without a word, as if all their years together meant nothing.

“You know,” Hinata said, turning his sword over in his lap. “The rest of us didn’t see him that well, and we don’t really know him like you do. But we know you. The stuff you’re talking about like if Kuroo likes you, or what he’s told you, it doesn’t really have to do with you, right?”

It was at once so simple-minded, yet Kenma could see the thread of logic. He pursed his lips. “True.”

“And if he didn’t explain properly, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with going to ask him either.”

Kenma felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Hinata made it sound like they were simply going to knock on a neighbor’s door to ask them to play.

Hinata glanced around conspiratorially, then beckoned Kenma closer. Kenma tilted his head slightly to the side, listening as Hinata whispered in his ear.

“By the way, if I don’t like the way Kageyama says something, I just don’t listen. And it’s turned out okay so far for me!”

That finally provoked a chuckle from Kenma, who had borne witness to the exact situation Hinata was talking about, multiple times over.

“Thanks, Shoyo.” He let his head fall onto Hinata’s shoulder with a light thump, and Hinata patted his knee. “You’re right. This is about what I want, isn’t it? Who cares about what Kuro wants?”

It was true, but at the same time, untrue. To Kenma, what Kuroo wanted mattered more than anything else in the world.

“...And it’s not just me.” Kenma closed his eyes. “It’s everyone together back home waiting for him.”

Even if he doesn’t think so.

“That’s the spirit.” Hinata’s grin was audible. “Then let’s go save the world the way we think is right.”

He had never thought he would ever be the type to try and save the world, but saving a group of strangers from the dangerous plants in the forest wasn’t beyond him.

“You’re sure about this?”

Kenma hefted his small rucksack over his shoulder and took up his staff, nodding at Kai and Yaku. The strangers–the party of heroes were standing slightly away, keeping a respectful distance away to allow Kenma to say his goodbyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“We could tell.” Kai smiled a little wryly, looking over at the party. “Kuroo told us once to look out for you, you know.”

A twinge in Kenma’s chest. “I’m not surprised.”

“But that dumbass didn’t say how,” Yaku added sourly. “So he doesn’t get to complain that we think it’s better you get to go.” There was an almost smug tone to his voice, as if proud of finding his idea of a loophole.

Kenma took a step away, and then another. And paused. “Kai, Yaku… Thanks.” He swallowed, and hoped they couldn’t see his tail trembling beneath his robes. “I’ll be back. With Kuro.”

They beamed at him, with the same fond eyes they’d always given Kuroo too. “Tell him we’re waiting for him to come home.”

Kenma didn’t know how things had escalated so quickly.

They’d arrived at the castle, dodging around the gathered, transfixed demon beasts thanks to Kenma’s spell of invisibility, the falling star hovering ominously over them on its downward descent and turning the sky a shade of sickly crimson like the end of the world really was nigh.

When they burst into the grand entrance hall, Kuroo greeted their party, smirking. But just as they had planned, Kenma swept his staff through the air to send the four others to where he had pinpointed Oikawa’s location before Kuroo could lay his hands on them.

“Will you be okay alone?” Hinata had asked the previous night worriedly.

Kenma nodded, resolute and sure. “He won’t hurt me. He can’t.”

The statement held true still, but Kuroo had acted far more forcefully than Kenma expected, than Kenma had ever seen him, all in an effort to pin him down and remove him from the area, it seemed.

“I thought I told you to go home.” Kuroo said it as casually as one might speak of the weather, even as lassos of fire whipped through the air before him in attempts to surround Kenma and limit his movements. Kenma was nimble enough to dodge by layering buffs on the soles of his feet for speed, cast wards over his body for the heat, all while searching for an opening to restrain Kuroo in turn.

“Did you… think I’d listen?” Kenma panted. Buffs or not, the continuous dodging took a toll on his physical stamina, which had never been his strong point. And Kuroo knew that, even if Kenma’s pure magical capacity was far larger than his.

“I wanted you to.” A wry sort of smile was visible on Kuroo’s face. “But I know you were always the type to see things through to the end, no matter how much trouble it was or how much you complained.”

The floor above them rumbled, clangs of steel and roars that sounded more like childish arguments faintly audible. 

“Kuro.” It was laborious to spend extra energy on talking, but Kenma wheezed, not completely acting, as he slumped to his knees, clutching his staff for support. A magic circle flashed beneath him, spreading out in a wall and preventing Kuroo from reaching Kenma for the finishing touch. “Kuro. Come home. Everyone’s waiting.”

Kuroo’s clipped response. “No one wants a demon who brings bad luck around.”

Kenma’s grip tightened on his staff, making his knuckles turn white. “Why do you keep saying that? You know I never cared or believed that stuff. You know Kai and Yaku, and everyone who mattered never cared. Why are you choosing to take the words of people who’ll never care about you to heart?! You’re not a demon!”

He heard Kuroo’s boots clicking as he approached the barrier, the faint buzz as Kuroo placed his hand on it, seemingly analyzing the composition. “But it was true, Kenma,” Kuroo said quietly. “I met Oikawa. He was human, but he was like me. One in a hundred, no, maybe a thousand people, of any species, you’ll find someone who was marked by them from birth. Oikawa had his horns, and I had the color of my fur.”

Kenma had stopped being able to hear the sound of his own breathing, despite the fact that he could feel it was still as heavy as ever. “But… That doesn’t make you a demon.”

“No,” Kuroo agreed. “It doesn’t, but to most people, it’s enough.” He lifted his chin, meeting Kenma’s gaze squarely, and for the first time, Kenma couldn’t read his expression. “The attracting bad luck part is true, though. I’ve always thought I was the one who brought that storm when we first met, and you got hurt.”

“No,” Kenma gasped. “It was just a freak storm.”

Kuroo continued with barely a pause. “After I started talking to Oikawa and we shared our experiences, he came up with a plan. He… dreamed of something bigger than I could ever imagine.” There was a loud cracking sound, and a rift appeared in Kenma’s barrier under Kuroo’s fingers. “But I liked his idea. And I thought if it worked out, then I could finally be proud to be by your side.”

Pieces of the barrier fell all around and shattered into particles of light as Kuroo stepped within, drawing closer until he was right in front of Kenma, and lowered himself to one knee. “Hey, Kenma. How much bad luck do you think it takes to end the world?”

Kenma could only continue to stare upwards at Kuroo, the wry smile on his face burning into his vision. The same one he had seen right before Kuroo vanished without a trace.

He never wanted to see that smile on Kuroo again.

Kuroo reached out and wrapped Kenma into his arms. Kenma let him, unresisting, even as he felt Kuroo pouring magic into him, the familiar sensation of teleportation magic making his body feel light and floaty, and Kuroo whispered into his ear. “Don’t worry, we don’t plan to die. But we can’t have distractions like you and the other heroes around. So I need you to sit tight somewhere for a while.”

“...And then you’ll come for me?”

Kuroo did not answer.

In the next moment, there was a loud crash from above. Kuroo jerked away reflexively and Kenma felt solidity returning to his limbs as the interrupted teleportation spell faded away.

The crash did not stop at one sound, but began to compound upon itself, roaring and shaking to the foundations. Kuroo’s head shot up in alarm, and Kenma sensed what he knew Kuroo had, a major shift in the magic that laid like a shroud over the entire castle.

“It’s Oikawa,” Kuroo muttered, almost to himself. “The magic he put into this place is becoming unstable. Maybe he’s drained himself under the threshold needed to maintain this place. It’s supposed to be both a barrier and a beacon to draw the demon beasts in, where they’ll all be extinguished in one fell swoop by the falling star. But it’s already hit the castle.”

Spiderwebbing cracks, impossible to count, were rapidly expanding across the ceilings, the pillars, the very structure of the castle. Kenma drew a sharp intake of breath. “The top floor where everyone else is.” He said it more calmly than he felt. He only had a general idea of the location, but it was easy to imagine it as the point of initial impact. “We have to get them and go.”

“I don’t think we have time,” Kuroo said evenly. “I bet he threw up an even stronger barrier to save them, so it diverted his mana resource from the other one. Well, that’s why I’m here as backup.”

Clouds of dust were beginning to drift through the air, the walls coming down around them. With a start, Kenma felt a flow of magic swirling, gathering around Kuroo, stronger than anything he had ever sensed from him. A piece of rubble crashed inches from them, and then Kuroo grabbed Kenma by the shoulders and rolled them both aside to avoid another where their heads had been. With his back against the hard floor, Kenma glimpsed the burning sky above them, visible through the half-open view of the cracked roof, the great falling star pressing and being repressed by a golden barrier that flickered blindingly, audible screeches of magic fighting natural disaster on top of the rumbling and crashing and it was all so much–

“Kenma, concentrate on me.”

Kuroo’s voice cut through the cacophony and Kenma found his attention back on Kuroo, the sing-song lilt of his name the way Kuroo always said it, the playful gleam in his eyes despite their crimson dye.

Hovering over him, their noses just barely touching, Kuroo grinned, brighter than any star in the sky.

“I said I’d protect you from the big bad stars, remember?”

Everything went black.

…

…

…

When he came to, the first thing that registered was a crushing weight on his chest, rendering him barely able to breathe. The second was the resounding silence.

Kenma forced his eyes open at last, but immediately had to shut them again as they watered furiously from the dust still floating aimlessly through the air. Resigned to the darkness for now, Kenma took in what he could make of his current state with his eyes still closed. He could feel his arms, his legs. Bruised and aching, but attached. There was something hot and sticky running down his forehead, but his expertise told him it was not a worrisome amount.

The most contentious issue was the weight on his chest. Kenma wriggled slightly beneath it, drawing shallow breaths, but it did not budge. Kuroo would be able to get it off for him, he thought dazedly, and reached out to feel for Kuroo, for the sensation of his magic signature. To his great relief, he felt the faint pulses of his party some distance away, and one other he did not recognize as well, but enough to know it was Oikawa’s, the magic signature shrunk to a far more modest amount.

But no matter how hard Kenma searched, he could find no trace of Kuroo’s presence anywhere. Even the tingling in his chest that had always led him to Kuroo was silent.

Alarm began to set in, and Kenma weakly lifted his arms, his legs, attempting to shift the mysterious object splayed out over him. His hands came up, patted, and met cloth. They moved even further upwards and ran into strands he recognized as hair, but at the same time, his fingers slid across something even softer within them. Something like… fur, in a triangular shape, similar to his own.

Kenma’s eyes snapped open with a gasp, and by sheer adrenaline forced himself to a sitting position. The weight rolled limply off his chest and into his lap, and Kenma’s hands flew to Kuroo’s far too pale face. The horns were gone, replaced by Kuroo’s natural cat ears, and a long sleek tail lay lifelessly beneath Kuroo’s robes, the transformation no longer sustained by Kuroo’s magic.

“Kuro. Kuro!” Kenma shook him by the shoulders, but Kuroo did not stir. The fact that Kenma had not even been able to sense Kuroo’s presence by his mana meant that it had been drained to practically nothing.

And nothing was a state reserved for only inanimate objects without souls, or the dead.

Kenma scrambled around and pressed his ear to Kuroo’s chest. He heard nothing, and pressed even harder, to the point he could feel a rib against his cheek.

Ba-dmp. Ba-dmp. Ba-dmp.

Weak, fluttery, and barely audible, but a heartbeat was there and Kenma could have cried from relief. In the next second, practicality won out as he realized that Kuroo was still in danger, the very lessons he had taught to Hinata and Kageyama so long ago surfacing in his mind.

“The most fundamental rule in magic is that you can’t use it to restore mana.”

Kenma concentrated, tested his magic. He still had reserves left, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to keep Kuroo’s vitals functioning while his mana restored itself, even though Kenma would have happily given up every last drop. He balled his hands into fists with angry frustration. Why? Why did this have to happen to them, to Kuroo? 

He buried his face into Kuroo’s chest again, feeling shudders run up his spine. His heart seared with pain like never before as if it was liable to rend itself to pieces on the spot, worse than any of the times the tingle in his chest had stirred him.

Kenma froze.

The day they had first met, the day Kuroo had saved him, the day they had begun the rest of their lives together, it wasn’t healing magic that Kuroo had used on him at all.

“Hey, Kuro. How much luck do you think it takes not to die from this?”

Kenma pulled himself up to Kuroo’s head, gazing down at his face. He could have been sleeping, for all Kenma knew. He placed his palms on Kuroo’s cheeks, stroking with the pad of his thumb under Kuroo’s closed eyes.

“But lucky for you, I’m a healer.” Kenma murmured. “I’m giving this back to you. It’s going to be okay.” He felt his grip tighten, making white spots in Kuroo’s skin. “I won’t let you die.” A threat, as much as it was a wish, a plea, a prayer.

Kenma leaned down and pressed his lips to Kuroo’s.

He would not call it a kiss, because it was something far more important than that. He drew the spark of Kuroo’s mana from his chest and through his lungs, feeling it carve out an aching sense of emptiness in its wake as it returned to its rightful owner. But all the years it had stayed with him, a part of Kuroo he had unconsciously held apart and to him at the same time, were enough.

The mana was warm as it passed through their lips, and Kenma coaxed it along, sending tendrils of healing magic with it. He kept his eyes closed even as he felt Kuroo’s lips grow warmer against his, his lungs slowly filling with ragged breath, and the beating of his heart turn stronger beneath Kenma’s palm. Strangely, Kenma had not felt any urge to replenish oxygen throughout the entire process, only the desperate need to stay connected to Kuroo forever.

In the midst of that forever, Kenma felt one arm wrap around his waist and another cradle the back of his head, pressing him deeper. He smiled against Kuroo’s lips and gladly reciprocated, hand clenching into the cloth of Kuroo’s shoulder.

At long last, they separated with a loud gasp, breathing heavily, a line of saliva still connecting them. Kuroo’s hazel eyes gazed up at Kenma, blurry with a wet film over them, looking bewildered and blissful in equal measure.

“Am I dreaming?” Kuroo asked hoarsely, even as his grip on Kenma tightened. “I’ve wanted to do that to you forever. Or for you to do that to me, I wasn’t picky.”

It felt like it had been a very long time since Kenma had laughed the way he did then.

“It’s better than a dream,” Kenma told him, his heart swelling with joy, and kissed Kuroo again.

“Kuro, I’m bringing you home.”