Chapter Text
In novels, romance stories are full of soft imagery: cherry blossoms, hydrangeas in the rain, little notes exchanged between classes, steaming cups of tea while snow falls outside the window... All perfectly cliché and sweet as strawberry candy.
Meanwhile, love had struck Kenma like an anvil falling on his ribs. Almost literally.
It had been just another morning. One of many where he tried to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep after staying up late playing a new video game, until he heard his bedroom door open softly. He didn't need to open his eyes to know it was Kuroo.
"Kenma..."
In response, he had burrowed even deeper under the duvet. It was their usual routine. This was followed by his friend's familiar resigned sigh and the sound of his footsteps circling the bed.
"Kenmaaa," he repeated. "Well, you asked for it."
That was all the warning Kenma got before Kuroo flopped down on top of him. Once he managed to sit up, sore and cursing under his breath, Kenma shot Kuroo his most incendiary glare.
Or at least he had tried to.
Because Kuroo, with his arms crossed behind his head and his absurdly long legs hanging off one side of the mattress, had given him a smile and a "Good morning" laden with unjustified innocence, and Kenma's heart had backflipped into his throat.
He has no idea why that was the moment, but it was. Years later, he can still close his eyes and visualise Kuroo's face, lit only by the light seeping in from the hallway. He can even remember the weight of his lanky body across his stomach.
How could he not?
Kenma had spent the rest of that year fighting to conceal the feeling that bubbled in his blood. Trying not to imagine Kuroo's body directly on top of his, with no fabric between them, or how his panting, hoarse voice would sound in his ear. He had never looked at his friend that way before and, suddenly, it was as if all his synapses had rebelled. Kuroo, with his smile, his biceps, and the kindness he masked beneath his mocking tone, had invaded every corner of his mind.
It had been hell. Until Kuroo had graduated; then it didn't seem so bad in retrospect. Although he would never admit it out loud.
The patter of rain on the roof tiles brings him back to the present. The sweet smell of damp earth mingles with the one of tatami and old wood. He's only been in that house for a few months — his house; the idea still makes him a little dizzy — and he still has to get used to its quirks and creaks. But he likes it.
Most people probably picture him living in a small yet modern flat in some building overlooking half the city, with an entire wall covered by computer screens and neon lights. Videogames are his main occupation, after all, so what is he doing in an old, traditionally laid-out house surrounded by woods and orchards? Of course, most people don't understand his order of priorities: tranquillity, solidity, affordability, Kuroo's expression when he sits on the porch, content as a cat in the sun...
Yes, time had done little to temper his feelings.
He turns on the coffee maker, which comes to life with a gurgle. A gift from Fukunaga to celebrate when he signed the lease on the house. Its Nekoma red colour clashes horribly with his last-century kitchen, and there is nothing Kenma loves more in the world first thing in the morning.
His cat, Aki, appears without needing to be called as soon as he opens one of his cans of food. "You're such a glutton," he scolds, but affection seeps into his voice.
Aki tangles himself between his feet with a deep purr.
He likes his routine. The fresh smells, the hot cup of coffee, the soft presence of Aki following him to his office... It almost makes him forget about that hole in his chest that never quite closes.