Work Text:
Somehow, you’re not sure how, the sound of shared, quiet breathing has become the soundtrack of your friendship.
You’d like to think it hasn’t always been that way, but you’re pretty sure it is.
In the beginning, when calling still had that awkward ring to it and there were those awful pauses no one knew how to fill, your friendship grew on the sound of your and his breathing, and the stubborn way you both clung to the space it created.
Kenma doesn’t mind that you use him as a body double, just like you don’t mind staying on the phone in the background of his first streams. It used to be his crutch, knowing someone was there to actually answer, instead of talking to an empty chat.
Now, his chat has filled up nicely, but you’re still there, your breathing slowly turning in tune with his, a background noise to the game he’s playing.
Your washing machine beeps its fancy tune to signal the end of its cycle and you chirp along, sliding down the hallway in fuzzy socks. You don’t quite manage to hit the breaks at the right time, barely catching yourself before you faceplant into the wall, laughing at your failure.
Quiet, almost inaudible if not for the fact that you’ve got your headphones tucked in, volume up, you can hear Kenma mutter. “God, I love you.”
You freeze. Has he- Has he meant you with that?
He must have noticed his slip up, or maybe the chat alerted him before you could, too many ears and eyes open at all times, because he stutters, hurriedly, trying to explain.
“The cat,” he says, and you know for a fact that he’s not talking to you now, because he’s always called Sir Applepie the third by his name around you. “I was talking to the cat. Or about the cat if you want me to be specific. Don’t make up things that don’t exist. Sir’s sitting on my foot, do you want to see?”
You believe him, the sincerity in his voice. And you’re glad he’s distracted for the time being. It leaves you the space you need to deal with the disappointment that shouldn’t be there. After all, Kenma’s just a friend.
-
“You should hang up,” you say, yawning.
“You should hang up,” he counters. Kenma knows for a fact that while he’s almost done with work, he should have gone to bed hours ago, considering that he’s got a long stream planned for tomorrow. But he’s stubborn. Eager to get things done once he’s committed himself to them. At least that’s what he likes to tell himself and others, when asked. Kenma’s too smart not to know you’re the reason he hasn’t given up yet, the gentle rhythm of your breath that keeps him going.
You yawn again. “I want to take a bath,” you mumble, half-asleep. “It would be so nice right now.”
“You’d drown.” He points out, frowning. It would be too easy to imagine you like that, and he doesn’t want to, shouldn’t, really.
“Mhm,” your breathing has turned a little slower. Kenma can tell you’re falling asleep. “Sounds like you should come along and keep me from drowning.”
He hangs up on accident. Face red, hands shaking, he stares at his screen, the tiny pixelated version of your profile picture that he could pull up much too easily.
Did you mean what you said? Or were you already dreaming, talking to someone else, someone better, someone not him in your dreamland, maybe?
Kenma considers calling you again, waking you, just to demand answers.
But it’s late and you’ve got work tomorrow and he should sleep - oh well, he knows he’s not going to get any sleep now.
-
“What’s my baby doing?” You ask, slipping out of your shoes. Just a few feet away, Kenma’s trying to keep Sir Applepie the third from climbing up his leg in an effort to get to his food bowl, and the sight is so familiar, you can’t help but laugh in relief.
“Well, I’m doing good, and you?” Kenma answers then, and turns, his cheeks pink as he catches your eye for a second before turning away again.
Your breathe hitches, and you freeze, unable to speak. Did he just- Did he-?
“How are you doing, Sir Applepie,” Kenma asks his cat, mimicking the voice Kuroo uses when he’s over, always a little over the top. He turns. “Sir Applepie the third is dying of hunger, can’t you see?”
“Oh,” you breathe out, hoping he can’t tell how fast your heart is racing. “I see.”
Quietly, you stand side by side, watching Sir Applepie the third noisily feast. You swallow. Your hand twitches, the back of your pointer finger brushing against the back of Kenma’s. Without looking, he hooks his finger around yours.
Your breathe hitches and he moves just enough to let his hair fall into his face, a curtain of black and blonde, hiding the gold of his eyes.
“Do you wanna take a bath?” He asks.
Your mind flickers, jumps from memory to memory, falling asleep to Kenma’s quiet mumble, dreaming of floating in a cloud of foam, your head on his shoulder, warmth all around. The tenseness that followed, even though he always made sure to call, even if neither of you talked. And back, further back in time, to the muttered words you’re still not quite sure were meant for you. But you wish. Oh, how you wish.
“Are you coming with?” You ask, and his hand jerks, a quick, instinctive movement, your hand now in his. And you can’t pretend you didn’t say it. Don’t want to pretend you meant the cat.
“Do you want me to?”
Sir Applepie the third mewls after your retreating feet, not quite understanding why you’re dragging each other toward the bathroom. Don’t you see that food is served?