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Stars blanket the night sky with small specks of light. The spring air is crisp and cool on Kuroo’s face, fresh with the scent of sun-kissed hills and rain-touched grass, the world finally waking up after a long, dark winter. Kuroo leans against the railing of Kenma’s balcony, staring across the horizon past Nerima’s rolling hills, past the train tracks and suburban homes synonymous with his childhood. Central Tokyo lies past those landmarks. Central Tokyo, Tokyo University, and, hopefully, the rest of Kuroo’s life.
Kenma taps away at his 3DS beside Kuroo. He clicks his tongue as his thumb flies across the keypad, executing combos Kuroo couldn’t even begin comprehending. Kuroo bought him the new Kingdom Hearts game for Christmas, and it seems like Kenma’s enjoying it; even if he rolls his eyes and punctuates his movements with swears. Kuroo guffaws and peeks over Kenma’s shoulder.
“Hmm. Sora’s having a bad day.”
“Shut up,” Kenma seethes. He groans as the giant boss monster deals him one last, final blow, his screen shifting into slow motion while his character falls to the floor. Kenma sighs and turns off his device, tucking it into his pocket. Kuroo raises an eyebrow.
“Not going to give it another shot?”
“Eh.”
“Huh. It’s not like you to give up so easy.”
“I can play another time.” Kenma folds his arms and tilts his chin upwards, meeting Kuroo’s gaze. He shifts from side to side, toying with the drawstring of his hoodie. For the hundredth time, Kuroo’s reminded that he isn’t the only one whose world drastically changes tomorrow. Tomorrow, Kuroo, his father, and his three suitcases will board the train from Nerima, switching lines at Iidabashi to bring him to Tokyo University. He’ll move into a residence a twelve-minute bike ride from campus, start his classes and hopefully make some friends. It means a fresh start, new beginnings, growing up. Taking the first steps into adulthood.
It means moving away from Kenma.
Kuroo doesn’t foresee their friendship changing drastically. He won’t walk Kenma to volleyball practice every morning but they’ll text or call, and Kenma will visit on weekends. Nerima is only an hour from Tokyo University campus–if Kenma really needs him, Kuroo can just hop back on a train and swing by for dinner. Only Kenma will never ask. He’s terrified of vulnerability and scared to death about what others think, so he’ll keep those feelings locked deep in his chest. It’s why they haven’t addressed tomorrow’s painful truth, and why Kuroo wraps an arm around Kenma and pulls him in close.
“Hey, hey. I’m not going that far away, you know.”
“Yup. Says so on the map.”
“We’ll visit back and forth. I’ll take you around Tokyo.”
“You’d better.”
Kenma rests his head against Kuroo’s shoulder, and the sparks of something warm kindle in Kuroo’s chest. It’s nice to be this close to Kenma, especially right before they part; there’s something about his touch that feels grounding. There are mere minutes till midnight, and each second feels like sand slipping through their fingers, an invisible clock ticking down to the last vestiges of Kuroo’s yesterdays. Kenma feels like the North Star, a lifeline, a glowing lamp on his porch. A reminder that no matter what changes, Kuroo can always call Nerima home.
Yet the future feels nebulous and uncertain in the dim glow of Kenma’s balcony, and Kuroo wants Kenma to talk about it.
“You’ll be fine without me. You know that right, Kenma?”
“Obviously.”
Kenma’s been growing his hair out, and it skirts the back of his neck, blonde tips brushing just above his shoulders. Kuroo wonders if Kenma’s hair is as soft as it looks, what it might be like to run his fingers through Kenma’s tresses, but doesn’t act on it. He never does. They’ve always been unusually close for best friends, but that feels like an act reserved for a lover. He’s never quite been able to elucidate the shape of his feelings for Kenma, though right now might be too late even if Kenma feels the same. Kuroo pushes the thought away and laughs.
“Now you’re pretending you aren’t even a little sad I’ll be gone.”
Kenma tenses under his touch. He inhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut, and Kuroo knows he’s struck a nerve.
“You’re excited. What else am I supposed to say?”
“You can still say you’ll miss me, you know.” Kuroo pulls away so he’s facing Kenma, who’s wearing a blank, unscrutable expression. “Hey, I’ll miss you too. But we’ll see each other lots, Kenma. I promise–”
“It won’t be the same.”
“You might be happier. Without me, you can do what you want to do. You could sleep in on school days if you wanted. Hell, you don’t even have to keep playing volleyball now I’m not dragging you to practice every day–”
“Kuro.”
Kenma glares at Kuroo, pointed. Quiet falls between them, tense and heavy, thick as the fog that cloaks Nerima in springtime’s dawn. They stand there, not speaking, remaining at a wordless impasse for one too many seconds, and Kuroo’s chest tightens.
“Sorry, Kenma.” Guilt wrenches in Kuroo’s gut. “That was mean.”
“Mm.” Kenma makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. “Accepted.”
“Thanks. I…”
Kuroo’s voice trails off. Despite Kuroo’s confident facade, Kenma isn’t the only one who has trouble putting his feelings into words; it’s what once drew them to each other as shy, lonely kids. Kuroo scratches the back of his head and stares into the stars.
“I used to get insecure, you know? Didn’t think you actually wanted to play volleyball ‘til you thanked me on the court. I still get insecure sometimes, like you only learned to love volleyball ‘cause of Shrimpy and not me.”
“Huh.” Kenma raises an eyebrow. “You can’t be everything to everyone, Kuro.”
“I know. But I want to be everything to you. I want to make you happy all the time, Kenma. It’s always been that way and once I leave…” Kuroo sighs and slumps forward onto the banister, resting his head on his hands, “we’ll still talk all the time but things will change. We might change.”
“I won’t ignore my phone.”
“Hah! I know that.” Kuroo’s never been more certain of anything. “But I’m pumped with epinephrine before a big event. My adrenal glands are conflating excitement with fear–”
“You are so lame–”
“Anyway, you’ll come visit me, and I’ll come visit you, and it’ll be like I never left.”
They both know Kuroo’s lying. There’s a whole wide world ahead of Kuroo that will shape who he is, a future that’s bigger than their school and homes and their little neighborhood in Nerima. Kuroo reaches for Kenma’s hand and squeezes it tight. Kenma squeezes it back.
“It’s… It’s scary.” Kenma’s tied his hoodie drawstring in a convoluted series of knots. “What if I lose you?”
“Never. You’ll have to block me everywhere to get rid of me.”
“Swear you won’t leave, then.”
“What do you mean?”
On the surface, this seems like a promise Kuroo can’t keep. He can’t throw away his future, quit his degree, just so he and Kenma can keep playing neighbors. Commuting back and forth each day would mean hours of Kuroo’s life locked in public transit, waiting in steel vessels for a glimpse of Kenma every night.
More importantly, Kenma doesn’t mean for Kuroo to not leave Nerima. He can be petty and selfish at his worst, but he’s never been unreasonable. It’s not in Kenma’s nature. What lies beneath the surface must run far deeper than that.
“Kenma. Tell me.”
“F-forget I said anything.” Kenma stares down at his feet, the tips of his ears turning a light pink. “It’s stupid.”
“Come on, Kenma.”
Kuroo takes Kenma’s hand and rests it on his chest, a tacit promise. Never mind that Kuroo’s mind has raced into overdrive, and he’s certain that Kenma can feel his heart thundering. He’s wondered many times if Kenma might want to put different words to their relationship, to finally bridge the gap between soulmates and best friends, but fear always held Kuroo back. Fear that something might shift, that something might change, and they might lose each other forever.
Now change comes tomorrow regardless of what’s said tonight. In some ways, that makes this the perfect time to act–minutes before midnight, as they wait together on the bridge between Kuroo’s childhood and adult years. He presses his forehead against Kenma’s, hoping desperately that he hasn’t misread the situation.
“I want you to tell me how you feel.”
Words have never been Kenma’s strong suit. He tilts his chin towards Kuroo, closing the space between them with a kiss.
It happens so quickly Kuroo barely registers it. Kenma blushes as he pulls away, and Kuroo lifts a hand to his mouth; the brief contact ghosts Kuroo’s lips like a spectre. Warmth spreads through his body, a contrast to the cold night that nips at their skin. Now that the dam's been broken, want floods through Kuroo, drowning out reason. He wants to kiss Kenma, over and over and over again– and he pulls Kenma back in and presses their lips together, this time for longer, their embrace cresting the slow shift from tomorrow to today.
Kenma’s the first to break the kiss. He’s flushed and panting, breath condensing into clouds in the cool spring air.
“It’s past midnight. You’re going to go.”
Bittersweetness wells up in Kuroo’s chest. He nods.
“I’ll go, but I won’t leave you.”
They both know now that it’s not the same thing.
Kenma’s smile is soft and gentle as he reaches for Kuroo’s hand. Kuroo’s fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between Kenma’s, and he wonders why it took them so long to put truth into words. All Kuroo’s tomorrows still feel murky and uncertain, but one thing is crystal clear–
“My future’s much brighter with you in it.”