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When are you going to love someone who’s good for you?
It takes Kuroo thirty-two minutes to get from his place to Kenma’s. The station is four minutes from his apartment, then the train takes another twenty-one minutes, and the walk to Kenma’s is seven minutes from there. Thirty-two minutes. Less if Kuroo runs.
Kuroo hasn’t realized how long it is before, but somehow, within these thirty-two minutes, he sees their entire life together unfolding in his mind, years and decades stacking on top of each other as seconds and moments intertwine. He hears Kenma’s words echoing inside his mind and feels that, for the first time, he’s listening to what he’s saying. He is thirty-two minutes too late and fifteen years too late and also exactly on time.
There is no best time to fall in love, but Kuroo thinks there is a best way and a best person to fall in love with. And the best time to tell him is as soon as possible.
Kuroo glances at his watch—a gift from Kenma, was that a sign? A nudge?—twenty-five more minutes to go.
When?
~
Kenma’s hands are always surprisingly cold, even during the summer under his two layers of clothing. Kuroo has a theory that he has poor circulation, a direct result of Kenma never drinking enough water on the count of it “never crossing my mind, Kuro”, but he has never verbalized this. Because then, he would have to follow it up with a confession that even though his hands are cold, Kuroo has always felt comforted by them, and this is something he doesn’t have any explanation for. Not yet.
He’s only thirteen, though, so maybe he just needs to learn more science before he can wrap his mind around the mystery that is Kozume Kenma. A scientific discovery and conundrum all at once. A final boss of his own rights.
But there are things that even the magic of Kenma’s room, his hands, and the boy himself cannot fix, so Kuroo doesn’t bother trying this time, even as he wonders how his much smaller hands might feel around his own in balled-up fists.
Kenma hates talking about feelings anyways, so he will hate this. Kuroo will spare him the awkwardness of trying to console him.
Still, something in his chest changes when he hears the familiar rapt of Kenma’s knocks on his own bedroom door, slightly muffled by the blanket he’s cocooned himself in. The hinges creak even without his explicit permission, and Kenma’s soft, unassuming voice echoes as he breaks the quietness of Kuroo’s room.
“Oh. You are here.” He sounds half-surprised and half-not, like he was expecting to be wrong. Kenma must’ve noticed the lump that barely resembles a human shape under the duvet. Or maybe Kuroo’s black bedhead is making itself known. Either way, Kuroo speaks into the darkness of his covers, not wanting to reveal himself.
“Why aren’t you at school?”
“I woke up late,” is Kenma’s response.
If Kuroo wasn’t feeling so terrible, he would’ve laughed. His lips twitch in betrayal anyways. Of course, he would be late if Kuroo hadn’t been there to drag him out of bed. His parents would’ve assumed he left on time as always.
Even though Kuroo cannot see him, he can imagine his best friend just fine—Kenma in his winter uniform in the summer, a backpack half-slung over his shoulders, his long black hair falling around his face in an attempt to hide it.
Kuroo is still in his uniform from yesterday. Kenma cannot see this or know this, even if Kuroo was to pop out right now. Or would he?
“You can still go.”
“So can you,” Kenma counters.
Kuroo feels a surge of annoyance flair up inside his belly. His tone is a childish whine when he says, “Not going.”
Kenma hums, as though considering this as a viable option. Kuroo imagines he’s seeing the scene in front of him like a video game dialogue with two different routes. He hovers his clicker over the choices, lighting them up and scrolling until it dings on, “Neither am I then.”
Kenma’s backpack makes a thump as it hits the ground, and his footsteps come closer and closer to Kuroo’s bed.
“I’m not in the mood, Kenma, so you should just go.” No sooner than the words leaving his mouth, Kuroo feels a tug of the sheets. The dim light of the room hits his eyes as he stares into Kenma’s. The pair of gold is curious, scanning Kuroo’s face with not a trace of expression on his own. Kuroo catalogues this as a face he’s yet to understand from his best friend. “What?”
“Just wondering who you are and what you’ve done to Kuroo Tetsurou.” Kenma says easily, still looking at him.
Kuroo wants to hide again but Kenma suddenly has a newfound strength in his hands, keeping him from pulling the blanket over his head again.
“I have shitty days too, you know.”
“I know.” Kenma almost smiles, but nothing about this is funny. “I just didn’t expect this.”
“What? Am I not allowed to mope around? Say a bad word?”
“Honestly, I was beginning to worry you didn’t know how, so this is good news.” He does smirk this time. Then he tilts his head, his black hair looking longer on one side than the other, almost touching his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”
“You hate talking about feelings.”
“But you don’t.” Kenma shrugs. He almost doesn’t look uncomfortable at the thought.
Kuroo knows he’s being a little bit of brat, but he almost wants to be one. Is it bad that he wants to yell? Even though Kenma isn’t the one he should be yelling at, is it still okay if he does?
“There’s nothing to talk about,” says Kuroo stubbornly.
Kenma’s brows meet his hairline in an impressive motion. “When you say “nothing” it usually means “something”.” This look Kuroo knows. This one usually means, Try me.
“I’m really not in the mood, Kenma.”
“Want to play a little volleyball?”
“No.”
“Well, fuck. More serious than I thought.”
They stare at each other until Kenma lets out a sigh. He breaks their silent contest and starts pulling his handheld console from the side of his backpack out. He sits on the floor and leans back against Kuroo’s bed as the screen loads.
“What are you doing?” Even though it’s quite obvious.
“Sitting down. Playing my game.” In demonstration of this, Kenma opens up Monster Hunter, tilting his screen just so, See?
“You have school.”
“So do you.”
“You can’t just be here,” Kuroo says lamely.
Kenma snorts, knowing that it’s really the best argument Kuroo has, and it’s nothing.
“Why not? I’m not forcing you to talk, Kuro, but I’m going to sit here until you want to. Or until you kick me out, whichever comes first.” He raises an eyebrow at Kuroo in a frustrating mixture of defiance and innocence. “So, are you going to kick me out?”
“No.” The word leaves Kuroo’s lips before he can command them to shut. He feels the edge of his eyes stinging as the tears threaten to fall again.
The thoughts flood in again, his permission and refusal be damned.
Is it stupid for him to be disappointed at something he knew was coming? Or at somebody he knew was never going to come?
Kuroo’s very good at being fine about his mother not being in his life anymore. He’s not a little kid anymore. He doesn’t need her when he has his dad and his grandparents and Kenma.
But she had promised to show and she didn’t. Again. Kuroo feels stupid to have had hope.
Is it call leaving if she was never there in the first place?
In front of him, Kenma is blurred but his voice is its ever decisive, no-nonsense tone, “Okay. Then I’m not leaving.”
“Ever?”
“What?” Kenma turns around then, really looking at Kuroo. He knows he’s heard him, but he isn’t sure what it means.
Kuroo isn’t sure either if this is what he wants, if it’s something he can even ask Kenma for. But he sees it clearly in his mind, Kenma’s back as he walks away from him, his vague, glassy eyes as he mutters, “Kuroo Tetsurou? Who is that?” and this will be the thing that will break him beyond repair.
“Are you not going to leave ever?” Kuroo repeats.
The space next to Kenma’s lips twitches, just a little bit, and Kuroo knows Kenma’s surprised. He is too at his own insecurity spilling out just like that. It’s not the first time he looks uncool in front of Kenma, though, and it isn’t going to be his last. But this is different than all the other times. He can’t laugh this one away.
Finally, Kenma nods and says, “Yeah, ever.” He looks as though he’s agreeing to play Virtual Fighter 3 instead of 4, as though Kuroo isn’t asking for a lifetime of commitment to a boy down the street who keeps bothering him way too much.
“Will you promise?” Kuroo does stop himself after this by slapping his own hand over his mouth. This is too far even for him. It’s stupid. “Sorry. You don’t have to promise.”
But Kenma says, casually, easily, world-changingly, “I promise.”
“I promise, too. I will never leave you.”
~
It’s not Sunday, so Kuroo hopes it’s fine. Kenma doesn’t usually have plans.
Right? What if he does?
Kuroo doesn't know when this began—Sunday dinners. He just knows that after Kenma bought his house and they went from roommates to just best friends again, there was a distinct lack of Kenma in his life that he missed. And maybe Kenma did too in the way he always found something at his house for Kuroo to fix or some food he needed him to finish before it went bad but too much that he never could manage alone. There were weeks when life was busy and terrible and reminded Kuroo so much of another terrible time that he found himself on Kenma’s doorstep more often than not.
So, Sunday dinners began, and this new normal that made Kuroo feel more normal than anything else in his life.
All along, though, it was just Kenma. Kenma and his too-warm house, just slightly too far out of reach.
When was Kuroo going to realize what was good for him? Who was good for him?
It’s not Sunday. It’s a Tuesday, a middle-of-the-week-day. Kuroo hopes it will be fine.
~
Kuroo waits for what seem like an eternity as Kenma stares at him with uninterested eyes, his expression as though he’s thinking about eating a plate full of green peppers, a grimace at the corners of his mouth.
“So that’s a no, then?” Kuroo says, letting out a laugh. He’s more amused than disappointed, even though it would’ve been fun.
“Of course, it’s a no. Fine someone else to torture for an evening.” Kenma rolls his eyes and returns back to his game, lifting it so that his face hides behind it.
Kuroo puts his elbows on Kenma’s bed, still trying to use his pleading eyes even though he knows it’s a losing battle.
“It won’t be torture! I’ll be there!”
“Not helping.”
“Hey!” Kuroo playfully slaps at his ankles.
Kenma quickly folds his legs back under his body, so Kuroo doesn’t get a chance to do something worse.
“Why don’t you ask Yaku? He would love to go on a double date with you.” Kenma’s brows scrunch up slightly as he says this.
Yup. He totally hates this idea.
“Are you kidding? I want to give Haruhi a good impression of me. Not whatever monster comes out when I’m fighting with Yaku.”
“Oh, so you’re aware. That’s good.” Kenma smirks.
Kuroo throws his face on Kenma’s bed, submitting himself to collapsing here for the rest of the day. He could’ve asked Kai, but he already has a girlfriend.
“It’s fine. I’ll just die alone.”
“Or you can just go on a normal date. Like a normal person.” Kenma points out.
“Nope. Dying. Alone.”
“You’re so dramatic. You’re only sixteen.”
Kuroo lets out a long, drawn-out groan just for good measure. In truth, he already expects Kenma to say no. He wasn’t going to force him, but he was half-hoping that Kenma was somehow more interested in romance than he lets on. Aren’t all teenage boys at least a little bit curious?
Kuroo’s prepared to let this go when Kenma speaks up again, his voice small and rushed, like he hasn’t meant for the words to come out but they do.
“It’s not that I don’t want—I mean, I’m not—” Kuroo looks up then, just in time to meet Kenma’s eyes as his lips betray him. “I don’t like girls.”
“Oh. Oh.” Kuroo can hear his heart in his ears. Is that normal? Why is he nervous all the sudden?
Kenma likes guys. Kenma and a guy. Who does he like? It has to be somebody, right? Or else he wouldn’t have figured it out?
Kuroo’s mind is racing, and he hopes he’s doing a good job of hiding it.
“Okay,” Kenma says, clearing his throat. His cheeks are slightly pink, but he doesn’t give any indication that he’s joking or wanting to take it back. “Don’t make this weird.”
“I’m not.”
Kenma arches his brows. “You have that face.”
“What face?” Kuroo schools his expression once more, hoping to do a better job this time. The truth is that he doesn’t care if Kenma likes guys. Kenma is Kenma. “Kenma, I just want you to know that I’m still your best friend. It doesn’t matter—”
“Omg, I know, I know!” He leans towards him, covering Kuroo’s mouth with his palms. His face now is pained with regret. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything. I knew you were going to be a sap about it.” Still, there’s a mix of happiness and relief there in his gold eyes in the way he looks at Kuroo.
Kuroo feels his heart soften. “Thanks for telling me.” It sounds odd coming from behind kenma’s fingers, but he thinks the message is clear.
Kenma removes his hands then. He clears his throat again and says, “Um. Thanks.”
“For what?”
Kenma rolls his eyes, but his voice is soft as he says, “For being you.”
~
For all that Kuroo claims to know Kenma, there are moments when he explicitly feels like he does not. Sometimes, this makes him thrilled that there are still things he’s yet to discover, but sometimes, this makes him scared that perhaps everything he’s thought to be true about Kenma is wrong.
Kenma likes guys.
Kenma dyes his hair blonde.
Kenma gets his first kiss.
Kenma wants to buy a house.
Kenma in his world that sometimes Kuroo gets to enter. Or can he always enter, but he always stops himself at the door, the junction in which he himself has drawn the line?
In his mind, there are moments that Kuroo thinks Kenma loves him, but they feel so impossible that he has never dared to acknowledge them as such.
I promise.
For being you.
When are you going to love someone who’s good for you?
But when he really stops and thinks about it, what is more impossible? If Kenma loves him? Or if he does not?
~
Kuroo almost displaces Kenma’s spot on his bed with the weight of his own body when he plops down into it, his face hitting Kenma’s pillow with a thump. The familiar smell of his linen sheets is comforting, probably more so than his own childhood bedroom. His bed is so close to swallowing Kuroo’s memories of his disastrous date, displaced by nostalgia. He’s taken the train all the way here straight from dinner, because he thinks being mortified in Kenma’s company is better than his own.
“Ugh,” the pillow absorbs his groans. “I’m never going to have my first kiss. It’s hopeless for us, Kenma.”
He expects Kenma to make fun of him, like he has done so many other times. Kuroo knows he’s not bad-looking, and he’s generally a nice guy, but Kuroo is truly shit at dating. No matter how many times he’s been asked out, he’s never successfully gotten past the first few dates. A kiss? He can forget it.
So, yes, he expects Kenma to make fun of him. Again. What he doesn’t expect is this, a snort and a, “Speak for yourself.”
Kuroo gets out of his slump and up onto his hands in record seconds, just as soon as his brain finishes rewiring itself based on this new information.
“What? You’ve had your first kiss?”
“Yes.” Kenma says with a shrug, his eyes still on his video games. How he manages to play while simultaneously up-ending Kuroo’s entire world view is beyond Kuroo.
“With who?” Kuroo’s aware of how shrill his voice sounds, but he can’t help it. He’s gone to university for less than four months, but Kenma’s kissed someone already? Wait, he can’t assume that this is new. Maybe he has kissed them before and Kuroo never found out. “When? How?”
Kenma smirks, the corner of his lips lifting mischievously. “Well, you see, when two people like each other—”
“Kenma!”
He laughs, covering his face with the back of his hand. Kenma’s hair falls as he does so, the long locks framing his cheeks nicely. His black roots have grown out even more, but he refuses to cut his hair short or bleach it again, so it’s a stark contrast around his ears.
“It was Shouyou.” Kenma finally admits after a while.
It makes sense to Kuroo, even though he feels strange thinking about it. Then again, he has never pictured Kenma kissing anyone, so this must be why.
“Ohhh. So you like him?”
“No.” Kenma shakes his head. Kuroo pretends he isn’t relieved because he doesn’t know why he would be. “He just asked if I knew what kissing felt like. I said no, and I was curious too, so we did it. It was over the summer.”
“Wow.” Kuroo blinks. So simple. But yet, so Kenma. Here he is stressing about kissing a girl on a date, and Kenma just does it casually with a friend. “There’s something I never knew about you.”
“You never asked.” Kenma points out.
“It never came up!” What? Was he supposed to ask everyday if Kenma’s kissed someone? He assumed Kenma would’ve told him once it happened.
“It came up with Shouyou.”
“I guess.” Kuroo furrows his brows. They never talk about kissing specifically, just how terrible Kuroo is on dates. Then, feeling a bit bold, Kuroo nudges his friend, “So if I had asked you, you would’ve said yes?”
Kenma rolls his eyes, focusing back on his game now. “Ask another question, Kuro.”
Kuroo grins. “So how was Shouyou?”
Kenma thinks about this for a moment, revisiting that memory.
Kuroo briefly wonders if he truly wants to hear the answer or not.
“He was…enthusiastic.”
“Hm. That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
Kuroo feels his heart racing, but he doesn’t know why. He senses that they’re reaching dangerous territories, but he wants to know. Has to know. How much will Kenma tell him?
“Did you guys do anything else together?”
“No.”
How much does he want to know?
“Did you want to?”
A pause. Kuroo’s heart skips a beat in this silence. He shouldn’t have asked. He’s gone too far. He—
“No.”
If it was someone else, would you?
He stops asking.
~
Maybe that was the start of it. Thinking about Kenma and kissing. Kenma with a faceless stranger. Even though he knows it’s stupid, he feels sad. He feels left behind. He feels like there’s something wrong with him, and everyone in the world knows this. His mom figured it out first, and everyone simply follows.
And he wants to kiss somebody. Is that so wrong? He wants to know if it’s as nice as everyone makes it out to be. So he does, and the thing is, he feels worse.
It’s a horrible thing to be lonely by yourself. To be lonely in the presence of someone else, that’s different kind of torture. Kuroo can kiss and kiss and kiss, but he feels like he can never fill that hole inside of himself that seems to be ripping itself open day after day.
He doesn’t remember when it started happening that first year in university, but Kuroo stops coming home. He stops seeing Kenma. Mostly because he thinks Kenma will know that something is wrong, and Kuroo can’t explain to him what it is. And then, what will they do?
Kenma will get sick of him then, truly and easily sick of him, and he doesn’t want that.
But even in the coldest and darkest days of winter, Kuroo finds that the only thing he can tolerate is Kenma’s cold hands, trying to warm themselves under his sweatshirt. Kenma in his layers of jackets and scarves and a hat, miraculously appearing on his doorstep like a hallucination in a snowstorm.
“Let me in.” Kenma says, already elbowing his way into Kuroo’s tiny genkan, his foot hopping from one to another in an effort to get warm.
“What are you doing here?” What Kuroo wants to say is how good it is to see Kenma’s face. The redness of nose and cheeks behind the curtain of his hair, tucked in his giant red scarf. Even if he’s only half-convinced he hasn’t made him up completely.
“Since you didn’t bother to come home, I had to track you down to see if you were truly alive.” Kenma grumbles. He knocks the snow off his boots, slipping them off his feet and into a spare set of slippers like this is his home. He looks up at Kuroo finally, boring his intense gold eyes into him. “I told you. I’m not leaving. Ever. You don’t get to run away either.”
The words might as well impale Kuroo straight through his chest and into the wall. He feels so seen in a way that can only be described as having his heart ripped open. They haven’t talked about that promise again, but Kuroo thinks about it often. Apparently, so does Kenma.
He wants to argue that he isn’t running away, that he was always planning on seeing him again, on coming back when things are better—when he is better—but isn’t that admitting that he was running then?
Kuroo doesn’t have the energy to think about that. He only has enough to let himself collapse against Kenma’s small frame, expecting him to push away like he always does with any display of affection. Not today, though.
Kenma is holed up inside Kuroo’s apartment with him for the weekend. And on Sunday, it is Kenma that drags him out next when the snow finally starts to melt, their boots smushing wet slush on the ground as they walk.
“Here.” Kenma stops in front of store, its glass windows showing tiny hammocks attached to the front and a tall cat tree inhabited by sleepy balls of fur with triangle ears poking out on top. He gently taps against the glass. “This one looks just like you.”
He points at a far one in the back by the corner, its long black hair fanning out across his face as he sleeps. He opens his eyes once to blink up at them, but his head falls back down within seconds, as though too heavy for him to hold up.
Kuroo’s walked in front of this cat café countless times by now, but he has never gone in, never so much as glance in its direction more than a quick fifteen seconds because he’s always running late to class or too tired on the way home.
Kuroo smiles at the cats in front of him now and feels his insides warm. Why didn’t he think of this?
His eyes wander across all the cats he can see from the window, and they land on the smallest kitten he has ever seen, curled into a perfect circle in a pink flower cushion. It’s a calico cat, its patches of orange and black scattered throughout its fur, leaving just the belly snow-white. She yawns in her sleep but doesn’t wake. Instead, her front two paws come up to cover her eyes, as though shielding her from the light pouring in from the window, not unlike Kenma whenever Kuroo used to wake him up in the morning.
Kuroo chuckles. “I like that one.”
Kenma follows his gaze. He hums appreciatively. “She’s cute. She’ll do just fine.”
Kuroo turns to blink at Kenma, about to ask a question when his friend is already pushing his way into the store, the jingle at the door making several cats’ heads perk up in their direction.
Kuroo’s slack-jawed and starry-eyed as he watches.
Turns out, they aren’t there just to see a cat. And over two hours later, that same tiny calico kitten is purring away on top of Kuroo’s pillow, taking up almost all the headspace he has on his bed.
“She’ll watch over you.” Kenma muses, seemingly pleased with himself. They’re both admiring her from their place outside of Kuroo’s bedroom door, not wanting to be so close they’d spook her but so obsessed with her they can’t help but watch.
Kuroo still can’t get over the fact that he has a cat. Forty-eight hours ago, he forgot to feed himself and now he has a cat.
Kenma got him a cat.
“And what? Tell you if I’m slacking?”
“Precisely.” Kenma smiles at this, as though the cat will certainly find ways to call him up on his phone if she sees Kuroo do anything Kenma wouldn’t approve of. Knowing Kenma, maybe he has cat telepathy. Kuroo wouldn’t put it past him at this point.
“She loves you more than me, though.” Kuroo nudges his elbow, referencing the fact that it was Kenma who was able to pet her right away while she only sniffed disapprovingly at Kuroo’s hands before walking in the opposite direction.
“Makes sense.” Kenma shrugs.
Kuroo laughs. It’s almost foreign in his throat, and he finds himself almost choking.
Kenma came in with the storm and got him a cat. Of all the things Kuroo’s tried and the people he’s ever known, Kenma’s the only one who has ever left him feeling more full, less empty. Then. Now. Always.
“Thanks for getting me a cat. I’ll take good care of her.” What he promises is that he will take better care of himself.
Kenma nods because he understands.
Outside, the snow continues to melt.
~
It isn’t his first break-up, but it’s the one that truly makes him feel like the world is going to end. He really thought he had it right this time. He did everything you were supposed to do, say all the things you’re supposed to say. And he really liked her. That’s what made it worse, the fact that he had let himself believe that there was a future.
Now that he can drown his sorrows in alcohol, Kuroo doesn’t mind feeling the way it hurts going down his throat. He almost craves it because it’s better to focus on that than the fact that his chest is actually trying to burn him alive from the inside out.
“Ugh, stop, Kuro.” Kenma says, his hand reaching for Kuroo’s glass to replace it with another cup of water.
This has not changed—Kenma getting to see him look pathetic. He’s probably tired of it. Kuroo’s lost count of how many times they’ve been here.
“I’m not cleaning this if you throw up, so you better stop now.” Kenma chides him again, sliding the bottles away from him this time in a greater effort to cut him off.
Kuroo’s head spins. Or maybe it’s the room itself. And Kuroo doesn’t know which Kenma is yelling at him, but they all look sad. And worried. And slightly annoyed.
“Why does this keep happening, Kenma? I better swear off dating. It’s not meant for me.” Kuroo feels his eyes begin to swell up again with tears. They sting at the corners where he’s been rubbing them.
“It is meant for you. You’re just bad at picking who’s good for you.”
How is he ever supposed to know who will be good for him? Don’t they all seem to be like that at first? Wasn’t it always nice before it got terrible? We all lie to ourselves and each other, so that we’d get a chance to date, but the truth always comes out. Then it never lasts long after that.
It’s the cycle that’s disheartening. Kuroo feels a piece of him break every time, unable to completely fit himself back together.
“I guess so.” Kuroo mumbles. He lays his head on the coffee table, trying to use the stability of it to his advantage. His hands are reaching to find their cat Mittsu, but she’s nowhere within reach. She’s probably hiding in Kenma’s room.
Kuroo spends the rest of the night battling with his mind and his body, everything rejecting him, even himself. He remembers the cold flashes of a rag on his forehead and a wobbly walk towards his room. He remembers the sensation of being tucked into bed, even though it feels like he is floating aimlessly in the abyss of the universe instead.
He remembers Kenma’s voice, soft and cracking, for reasons Kuro was so wrong about then, “When, kuro? When are you going to love someone who’s good for you?”
He remembers answering, not because he meant to but because he has long since lose any semblance of control of himself, “I wish, Kenma. I don’t know when that day will come.”
He remembers it like a dream that he sometimes revisits, like a wish he keeps tossing as pennies into the pools. He remembers but he doesn’t know until much later that the answer has been there all along.
~
Kenma starts seeing someone in university. At first, he never wanted to admit that he was dating, but it became harder to avoid the topic when he came home with an obvious hickey on his neck.
It’s strange to see such a mark on Kenma’s pristine, pale skin. A mark of adulthood. The evidence of a life he’s lived that Kuroo isn’t privy to. Kuroo sees him, for the very first time, not as a boy he knows next door, but a man that is desired.
Kuroo’s known that, of course. Kenma’s cute. Kenma’s hot, even when he doesn’t try to be so. Kenma as Kodzuken? Has the internet wrapped around his finger.
But seeing it and knowing it are two different things. When Kenma starts dating, those two truths collapse into one for Kuroo.
Kenma’s boyfriend is much older than he is, a graduate student at the same college. It’s not unheard of to have a big age difference between a couple these days, and Kuroo’s not a prude by any means, but he can’t ever shake an uneasy feeling about the guy. Still, Kuroo can’t say anything because out of the two of them, Kenma’s the one that managed a relationship for three years. Kuroo’s track record taps out at one, even that is rounded from a lovely eleven months and a week.
And Akita isn’t a bad boyfriend. Kuroo’s never seen him raise his voice at Kenma even once, never heard him complain about anything. He’s pleasant when he’s around and helpful with the dishes. Mittsu doesn’t even seem to mind him all that much.
A part of Kuroo, though, wonders how long it will last. He wonders if he is someone who will be in Kenma’s life forever, and his own by proxy. He was prepared for it because he knew that with Kenma, he never did anything lightly, not even relationships.
What Kuroo wasn’t prepared for is the fact that Kenma’s heartbreak somehow feels much harder and heavier than his own. To sit with him in his loneliness and pain while unable to do anything, that’s a kind of helplessness he doesn’t like to experience.
Kuroo worries about Kenma all the time. Is he too cold? Does he have enough to eat? Is he working too hard? When it comes to love, he wishes he can protect Kenma too, but it’s not even something he knows for himself.
Kuroo looks down at Kenma now with his head on his lap, his swollen eyes still strained to his handheld console like somehow that will help erase all the thoughts in his head and feelings in his chest. Kuroo lets him do whatever it is he wants to do, but he will be here.
He’s surprised when Kenma’s the one that breaks the silence first.
“I thought that love wasn’t going to be a thing for me.” He says, his console screen now black, the device itself lying on the bed next to him. In this angle, Kuroo can’t see Kenma’s face, but maybe he likes it better this way. “But then he came along, and I believed it for a moment.”
“Yeah.” Kuroo knows exactly what that feels like. He almost feels the remnant of his own break-ups now in his chest.
“Then, well.” Kenma lets out an indistinguishable noise. He never told Kuroo what happened between them, not really. Kuroo doesn’t push it. “Whatever.” Kenma lets out a long sigh.
“Not whatever. You’re great, Kenma.” Kuroo knows that sounds lame, but he doesn’t know how to begin to describe Kenma.
His friend snorts at this. “You have to say that.”
“I don’t have to say anything.”
“Of course you do. Because you’re my best friend.” He adds. “And Kuroo Tetsurou.”
“Am I your best friend because I’m Kuroo Tetsurou or am I Kuroo Tetsurou because I’m your best friend?”
“Oh god.” Kenma groans, but it’s accompanied by a weak laugh. “Don’t quote JJK at me. I should kick you out.”
“You wouldn’t.” Kuroo smiles, just a little bit when he notices that trace of humor in his voice.
“You wouldn’t leave anyways.” Kenma’s fingers are now playing at something mindlessly on his sheets, picking at the pilling.
“Yeah. I won’t leave ever.” Even though he’s said it before, Kuroo feels the words even heavier now on his tongue, his chest, in his throat. He lets them float into the air and linger there with the pale, dusty moonlight.
Kenma doesn’t say anything, but there are sniffs he’s trying to hold back that break through the delicate silence. His long black hair covers his cheeks, his face. Kuroo lets his hand run through Kenma’s hair, drawing circles into his scalp, but he doesn’t say anything either. He pretends not to hear him cry, pretends his tears aren’t soaking the fabric of his pajamas into his thighs, just as Kenma wants it.
~
When kuroo falls apart, it’s quiet and unassuming. When Kenma falls apart, the world shakes. Maybe it’s just Kuroo’s.
“Come on.” Kuroo says as he pushes open the front door to Kenma’s house. He’s just slammed it shut but the fact that it doesn’t lock behind him gives Kuroo everything he needs to know. “Kenma, you know how this works. I’m not leaving. Even if you’re being a shit or you’re taking it out on me or you’re slamming a door in my face.” He hears his own words echoing back to him, bouncing off the walls. Kenma is nowhere to be seen, but Kuroo knows he can hear him. “I’m not leaving.”
Kenma appears now from his living room, his face livid, eyes wild. He’s cut his hair, choppy and uneven, the blonde tips now gone. Kuroo almost winces at his appearance, not even in high school has he ever seen Kenma look so tired, the circles below his eyes so dark. His footsteps stamp the wood floors as though attempting to break them.
“Why not?”
Kuroo knows his anger isn’t about him, but it’s directed at him because he’s the only person around.
“Because I promised.”
Kenma’s eyes tear up at the words, but he uses all the force in his body to spit out, “Then un promise. Un promise! Un promise! That’s what I want.”
He looks like a wild animal in a cage, and Kuroo wants more than anything to hold him, but he keeps his distance.
“Do you hear yourself? That’s not what you want.” Kuroo says as calmly as he can. He sees Kenma’s body shake and tremble, trying to hold himself together like a volcano about to erupt.
When the tears start to flow down his cheeks, he doesn’t even move to wipe them away. “Everything’s fucked, Kuro. My company, my parents, my life. Everything around me is fucked, and one day it’s just going to bleed into you. And I don’t—I can’t.” He finally looks at him now, more desperate than Kuroo’s ever seen him. The cracks in his voice break Kuroo’s heart right open. “Do you understand that?”
Kuroo thinks that there has never been a time when life is perfect. Something’s fucked, all the time. But even in the worst of it, because of the worst of it—
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving you alone. I can deal with the shit, Kenma. It doesn’t scare me. Let me deal with it.”
Kenma raises a hand in a fist, but it lands weakly on Kuroo’s chest, taking with it the last remainder of Kenma’s energy. Now, and only now, can Kuroo pull him against his body, resting his chin on the crown of Kenma’s head.
There will be late nights and bad decisions and words he can never take back. There will be hospital waiting rooms and crappy cafeteria puddings and prayers. There will be arguments and demands and nothing but selfishness. All of it will tear Kenma apart. All of it Kuroo will be a witness to.
“Let me deal with it,” he tells him. “I promised.”
~
“Now, Kenma.”
Twenty-nine minute later and Kuroo is panting as he crosses Kenma’s front door to his genkan, his hands on his knees, heart pounding against his rib cage, aching.
“What?” Kenma tilts his head, confused. His hair is still short, but it’s long enough to be tucked behind his ears. He’s far too small for his large hoodie that belongs to Kuroo, his sweatpants still tucked into his socks.
“Nothing. Hi.” Kuroo looks up and smiles. “Can I come in?”
Kenma arches his brows, the corner of his lips lifts too, amused. “It’s not Sunday.”
“I know. Can’t I see you anyways?”
Kuroo knows the answer before he gets it, and the certainty of it overwhelms him. He reaches out and pulls Kenma in, almost crushing him in his arms.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you dying?” Kenma pats his back, not pushing him away but not fully pulling him in either. He chuckles, but there’s a slight twinge of worry there.
He’s right, though. It’s so unlike Kuroo.
“No, no. I’m not dying. I just—” He pulls back, meeting his eyes. “Kenma, I don’t want to see you on Sundays.”
God, how hard is this?
“Okay? We can do another day, Kuro.” Kenma’s still looking at him like he grew horns. Or he’s trying to see if he’s drunk or somehow possessed. His gold eyes twinkle in curiosity.
“I mean I don’t just want to see you on Sunday. I want all the days. All the time.” At this, Kenma’s expression changes. He goes from limply standing in Kuroo’s arms to gripping his biceps. Kuroo’s now only aware that he still has on his buttoned-up shirt and dress pants from work, his briefcase lying haphazardly on the ground, forgotten. It is a Tuesday after all.
“What are you saying?” There’s a slight plead in his voice, a disbelief. He sounds breathless, even though Kuroo is the one who just ran here.
“There’s a guy who works at the Family Mart near my apartment that knows your birthday and your favorite candy. He asks about you every time I come in. Adachi, who sits next to me at work, knows you almost broke your arm when you were nine, and the way you like your coffee in the morning. There are about a hundred strangers who know just why I get apple pie every year on October 16th.”
“You talk too much.”
Kuroo grins.
“Today, I came home and before I put the key in my lock, I thought about you. I wanted to come here. I wanted to see you. I always, always do.” Maybe because it’s Tuesday and it will be five more unbearable days, but Kuroo allows himself to think about why today. Why has his heart always been here instead of inside his chest. Why, why, why. “Seeing you has always been the best part of my week. Every time I have a hard day, and everything’s shit I just think it’s going to be fine because at the end of the week, I’m going to get to see you. Every time I have a good day, I just want to share it with you. I mean, fuck—I’m stupid, right? That’s what it means this whole time. I just didn’t see it.”
“Kuro.” Kenma squeezes harder on his arms, like he might fall if he doesn’t.
Kuroo feels lighter than ever, lighter than air. He will get everything wrong in life but this.
“I love you.”
Now. The answer is now. The answer is Kenma.