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Kuroo has been by Kenma’s side since he was seven years old. From fifteen on, they have been in each other’s lives more than when they haven’t. Kenma is 29 now, and the fact that he will get to love Kuroo, and be loved by him, for the rest of his life is something he has yet to fully comprehend.
It’s one thing to love Kuroo quietly and secretly, to linger on his face for a second too long when he isn’t watching, to dream and imagine the weight of his body on his. It’s another to love him out loud, to turn and watch him and see that he’s already looking, to fall asleep buried in the comfort of his embrace. Kenma thinks he will never get used to it, and a part of him never wants to.
He stares down at his hand, at the unfamiliar gleam of gold that he would’ve thought is the result of his lack of sleep for the past ten years if it’s not for the coldness of the metal against his skin in the night breeze. He has held consoles and scalpels alike. He has touched bowels and blood and broken bone fragments. Yet, this is the strangest thing he has ever seen. Undoubtedly, it’s the best his hand has ever looked—not that the competition has been stiff in any way, though.
Kuroo’s bought a chain for it as well, for when Kenma goes into surgery, but what is he supposed to do when he has given him something so perfectly made? He doesn’t start work until next week. He can indulge himself now with the view of it before it can sit nestled behind his scrubs, just above his heart where its giver lives indefinitely.
Kenma hears the balcony door slide open, and his head turns, expecting to see Kuroo but instead is met with Keiji’s smiling face.
“Thought I would find you here,” he says, slipping into the spot next to Kenma against the railing. “Congratulations, Dr. Kozume.”
For a second, Kenma feels the wave of déjà vu wash over him like a bucket of water, of the unbearable pain of that one cold spring night, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. It’s a comfort to know he can survive that kind of heartache and a comfort to know he never has to again.
“Thank you.” Kenma nods, smiling back.
Keiji’s blue eyes trail down Kenma’s face to his hand, where a mindless habit of twisting the ring on his finger has already developed. His eyes twinkle delightedly as he grins and says, “Oh. I suppose I should be congratulating Kuroo, too. He never said.”
Kenma thinks back to last night, to the damp and stickied skin of his Kuroo as his arm is draped across his own naked, sweaty body. He’s opened his eyes to see, once again, that Kuroo is staring at him with love in his eyes, as though he has hanged the stars and brought the moon into Earth’s orbit. He thinks back to Kuroo’s quiet whisper, like a secret he can no longer keep even if his life was dependent on it, “Kenma. I love you. I know it’s not enough, but can I love you for the rest of my life?”
Here, now, out on the balcony of their shared apartment, Kenma says, “He didn’t want to make a big deal about it tonight. Something about not stealing the spotlight away from me.”
Kenma’s graduation party from residency. He’s made it at last. His whole life has led to this moment—in more ways than one.
“Gee. Does he even know you?” Keiji wiggles his brows and laughs. The wind blows his wavy black hair back. He manages to look like a teenager and an adult all at once. Maybe this is just the view you get when you’ve been with someone through the stages. Sometimes, when Kenma looks at Kuroo, he only sees a scrawny kid with weird hair and shaky hands. His friend’s voice is gentle as he continues, “You look happy.”
Kenma’s face is often deceiving to everyone but Kuroo, but today, he feels like that’s not the case.
“I am.”
Before Keiji can say anything back, they both hear the sliding door open again, letting out into the quiet night the chatter of the party inside and Kuroo’s sweet, whiny voice, “Kenmaaa. Where are you? I missed you.”
Kenma laughs at his pouty face and the slight blush on his cheeks from the champagne. He doesn’t stumble though as he makes his way towards them.
“Just needed some air.” Kenma says with a shrug of his shoulder. He feels Kuroo’s arms envelope him from behind, his chin resting on the crown of his head.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” Keiji excuses himself with a knowing smirk, already averting his eyes lest he sees something not meant for him.
“Are you enjoying your party?” Kuroo asks, rubbing Kenma’s arms as he snuggles him. Kenma hasn’t realized how cold he’s been until he feels Kuroo’s hands smoothing out the goosebumps on his skin.
Kenma nods. “I had to escape Shouyou and Kagayema’s conversation. You know how they fight-flirt? I didn’t want to get in the way.” He leans his head back against Kuroo’s chest, looking up at him through his lashes to look at him from below. “Plus, I didn’t want to drink too much and fall asleep early.”
“Maybe you should fall asleep early.” Kuroo mumbles. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t gotten a good night sleep in ten years.”
Kenma can’t really argue with that. His own bad habits aside, a surgical residency is brutal for your sleep schedule.
“Sleep is overrated. Kiss me, and I’m sure I’ll feel better in no time.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Kuroo grins. He uses one of his hands to tilt Kenma’s face around and plants a kiss on his lips. Kenma tastes champagne and the sweetness of his tongue. But Kuroo isn’t done—he peppers tiny kisses into his cheeks and his hair, one behind his ear that makes Kenma yelp in a giggle.
“Why do I think this is more for you than for me?” Kenma teases him, catching his breath when Kuroo finally stops, holding tightly on his arms not because he’s afraid he’d topple over the balcony but because he just doesn’t want Kuroo to suddenly fly away with the wind.
“Guilty.” Kuroo grins, his gold eyes reflecting the lights of the city.
For a moment, they just stand together and stare at the Tokyo skyline in the night. Kenma has seen this view many times—from their first place together during college and medical school, from the lonely nights he had here by himself when he first moved in, from the odd hours he would be up in the hospital, trying to wake himself or get a moment of peace after delivering some life-altering news. He has seen the city by himself and with others, but with Kuroo draped over his back and the mutterings of their friends behind them, he feels as though the city looks different somehow. It’s beautiful and shimmering and big, but he himself doesn’t feel insignificantly small.
And as though Kuroo lives in his mind now as well as his heart, he says in Kenma’s ear, “Isn’t it strange how the skyline always looks different? You’d think we’d seen everything after living here all our lives, but it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time every time.”
Kenma understands that. Maybe all too well. He squeezes Kuroo’s biceps in his hands.
“Sometimes, I feel that way about you. I’ve loved you all my life. But somehow,” he looks down at his hands and then again right next to it where Kuroo’s finger shines too. “It’s different.”
“In a good way, I hope.” Kuroo squeezes him back, kisses the top of his hair again.
Kenma chuckles. “In the best way, I think.”
“It looks good on you.” Kuroo says after a moment.
“I think so too.” He agrees. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Time is simultaneously slow and fast when he’s with Kuroo. “Should we go back in?”
Kuroo rubs his cheek on Kenma’s head, his breath tickling his ear when he says, “In a minute? Let me have you to myself for a bit.”
What Kenma thinks is, won’t we have the rest of our lives?, but he can’t find it in himself to disagree. Standing here with Kuroo—his best friend, his lover, his heart—he can’t help but feel lucky. He feels loved. He doesn’t want any more than this, his whole world in between the palms of his hands.