hi i meant to post this a month earlier but school got in the way huhu sorry anyway here u go fam i hope you all enjoy this not-so-little piece of mine :)
disclaimer: i don't own haikyuu!
"Hey," a voice blurts out, says to him one day, "can you read my mind?"
Pale fingers hover over the controller buttons as the console beeps, but their owner is far too distracted to bother with the situation. Amber eyes lift once from the nintendo screen to meet the boy's gaze before flickering back to the small display.
It isn't a peculiar question.
Mindreading isn't anything new in their world – it is, in fact, the way of their world. Soulmates are bestowed with the gift of intuition, of a connection that transcends the sheer realms of simple communication. Kenma's seen it happen countless times, mostly with his parents and with couples he chances upon in streets on occasion, and can't help but regard them with a tinge of bittersweet fascination and an overwhelming sense of awe. He sees the way they look quietly at each other — exchanging tell-tale looks in meaningful glances and listening to voices that reside in their hearts; reading between the lines and knowing what the other person feels, understanding the entirety of their sentiments without needing to say anything at all.
(Part of him wonders, though he is afraid, what it'd be like for someone to feel for him in the same way.)
"My parents told me not to talk to strangers," Kenma says simply, coupling his response with a minute shrug.
"I'm not a stranger!" the boy shakes his head and answers back, almost a little too quickly. "I'm Kuroo Tetsurou. I'm a year older than you and I live right next door, Kozume-kun. Our moms are friends."
"Oh," the smaller boy manages, and stares at him in contemplation before stretching out the silence. He notes the way the boy stands out of the crowd, with his spiky bedhead hair and the brightest of brown eyes. "N…n-nice to meet you, Kuroo."
"Likewise, Kozume-kun."
"Kenma," he corrects sternly, before hushing himself. He repeats the thought, gentler in tone yet still as firm. "Just… just 'Kenma' is fine."
"O-kay, Kenma. So…were you able to read my mind?"
"Uhm, I—"
The boy Kuroo looks at him expectantly, and his heart echoes the sentiment once again – says it so casually, almost as if it were a simple afterthought. But Kenma doesn't think of saying anything more, so he purses his lips and quells his spirits to stay silent.
"I…I don't know," he settles for instead, not quite giving the boy an answer. "Can you hear mine?"
"Oh, yeah. You're right. Hmm…" Kuroo hums thoughtfully and tries to direct his attention to the newfound task at hand. The smaller boy feels his pulse race; his mind throbs and his palms clam up with sweat.
Just then, the GameBoy flashes in Kenma's hands. LEVEL UP! CONGRATULATIONS, reads the LED, and an onset of tokens send a flurry of pings echoing through the speakers. Kenma feels the flush on his cheeks and quickly averts his gaze, turns away from the quiet scrutiny of the older boy's patient stare to claim his victory.
Kuroo shakes his head.
"Sorry, Kenma, I—"
"Nevermind, Kuroo," he mumbles soon afterwards, putting the game down. "It's fine."
§
It always happens in the silence.
Kuroo is the louder of them two, not exactly the life of the party like Fukurodani's owl-haired captain, but loud enough to stand at the heart of most – if not all – their conversations. Kenma's more of the listening type, anyway. To be fair, he's a good listener; oftentimes patient enough to probe with gentle questions to help the person finish their narrative so he could offer his feedback later on, other times content with simply sitting by the sidelines and watching stories unfold by themselves.
But when Kuroo is the one who mulls himself into the quiet, Kenma takes it upon his shoulders to fill in the other boy's role for a change. He doesn't shift gears entirely, though. The setter does it in his own way, with soft nudges on broad shoulders coupled with the calming mumble of hey, I'm here's and We can talk about it if you want's.
It's the night before the last high school tournament of the season when he spots the taller boy lounging by the balcony, consumed by the noise of his own thoughts, that Kenma finds himself drowning in the repercussive silence.
"Kuro," his voice calls out and snaps the middle blocker out of his daze. "What are you doing out there?"
"Stargazing," the older boy replies. "Oikawa's been geeking out about how one of Jupiter's moons would be visible from the Earth tonight and some shit. Thought I'd check it out myself."
"Hmm," Kenma hums in agreement. He follows Kuroo's gaze, looks past the flicker of the city lights to chance upon the evening horizon; bright yellow eyes treading the vast expanse of the Tokyo skyline. "And so? Can you see it?"
"…What?"
"Jupiter's moon." He reiterates, "Callisto. Can you see it?"
"No," Kuroo sighs. "Oikawa said it'd just be a tiny speck at most, so I guess it's too bright out here in Tokyo to notice. But…'Callisto'? You sure know a lot."
Kenma denies the compliment with a quick shake of his head. "Shouyo just told me about it this morning in a text," he explains, "that's all."
"Shorty, huh…"
"He said he was camping with Karasuno tonight, and was excited about seeing one of four Galilean moons together with his team."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
The silence settles between them once more, save for the howls of the evening wind and the low drones of the city at night. A minute passes beneath the glimmer of the waning moon, and the world sings a still song in verses of a standstill and melodies of reticence.
"You've been quiet lately," the younger boy says at once, voice breaking the quiet, and they've had enough years in their friendship to understand that this is Kenma's way of asking him what's wrong.
"Nothing's wrong, I'm fine," Kuroo tells him instantly, plastering a smile almost like a conditioned reflex. It's a futile attempt. They both know the younger boy won't buy his cheap farce of a light-hearted conversation anyhow.
"I won't pry," he promises, but his hand reaches out in hopes of reaching the other, the sentiments of I'm worried about you lingering in the air. Kenma halts in his motions, commits a thoughtful pause in the middle of the act; instead, he waves the boy over with his outstretched arm.
Kuroo comes rushing to his side, arms poised with the security of muscle memory as his fingers grip the safety bars and he leaps over the ledge.
§
The first time Kuroo had climbed over the railings to visit Kenma was during the latter's first break down in middle school. Kenma had hidden himself away from his family by crying in the balcony, and so Kuroo, in a valiant attempt to come to his best friend's aid, knocked over one of the fern pots midway through his jump. He stubbed his toe and nearly lost his footing, having loosened his hold on the railings from the shock of a sudden impact, but Kuroo had said nothing despite clearly being in pain. Rather, he focused his attention on the task of calming Kenma down for the rest of the afternoon.
(His mother forgives them later on. She'd repaired the casualties: coated the pot in lacquer and restored the vessel into a reinforced whole. Kenma remembers watching as the powdered silver trickled down into the fissures, the way it filled in spaces between their cracks. Kintsugi, she'd taught him. The art of mending. A way to heal.)
"Sorry I got you hurt," Kenma had muttered to him later on, when his tears had stopped falling and he was calm enough to grab his GameBoy and some ice for the injured boy's foot. There was no open wound, luckily, just a mild swelling and a dull throb of pain. Both of which could easily be ignored by Kuroo, if his mind was preoccupied enough.
"Doesn't matter," the older boy shrugged. "This was an emergency."
"You didn't have t—"
"It's fine." Kuroo shushed him right then, wiping away the beginnings of a threatened onslaught of the younger's tears. "Any moment where you're in trouble counts as an emergency to me. You needed me, so I came over to help. Simple as that."
"Okay," Kenma nodded. There's a pause, and he appends an afterthought: "But use the front door next time you want to come over and help. Like… normal people."
"Nah," the older boy grinned in reply. He rested his hand atop the blond's head and made a gentle attempt to ruffle his hair. "This path's faster. Convenient too, if you think about it. It can be our thing, these over-the-ledge visits."
"Yeah, but– "
"With enough practice, I'll learn. So don't worry, I won't get injured next time," Kuroo promised. "And any other time after that. Trust me, okay?"
"Stupid Kuro," Kenma mumbled. He reached out to hold onto the other boy. Even before, Kuroo's hands were still a tad larger than his own. His touch felt warm against Kenma's fingertips. Thank you, Kenma had meant to say, holding out the sentiments nestled in his heart, praying the gesture was more than enough to get the thought across.
"Anytime, Kit-kat," Kuroo answered him back, seeming to understand.
§
By the time they settle into his bedroom, Kenma sits down onto the floor, figure curled up against the foot of his bed. He lets Kuroo take the usual spot behind him, the other boy sprawling almost cat-like on Kenma's mattress, stretching his limbs as he extends his arms over the sheets.
"You're not quitting volleyball just because you're graduating, are you, Kuroo?" Kenma asks, diving head-first to tackle the problem at hand. His voice is soft, tone even, but it's firm enough to demand a straight answer without being too forceful. The older boy sits up straight in attention and blinks at him in a brief period of surprise. It doesn't take long for him to give in.
"What? No. Of course not. I…" Kuroo trails off. He shakes his head, and mutters tiredly, "I probably can't stay away from it too long, anyway."
For a moment, he hesitates. There's the pained cry of an I thought I was invincible, the frustrated realizations of but really I'm just ordinary, and Kenma bites back his words as he listens mutely to the sentiments bottled up in Kuroo's heart. He doesn't say anything about it, doesn't want to make it known that he knows, understands that it'll only hurt them both if he were to voice these feelings out loud.
Kenma wishes he could pick up his PSP right now, to push aside the building anxiety with the distraction of controller buttons and fiddling navigation keys. Instead, he busies himself with the hem of his shirt, twirls his index finger round a lone strand of a stray thread. A stitch undone.
"That's…good," the younger boy remarks, and turns around to meet his stare. Kenma's eyes are honey, as bright as gold. "Don't give up on it, Kuro. Because I won't give up on volleyball either."
Kuroo's eyebrows shoot upwards, arching loosely in surprise. "Wow, Kenma," he mutters, stunned. "If you're going to be this committed then I'm looking forward to Nekoma's performance next year. Don't let me down now, Mr. Soon-to-be-Captain!"
"Yeah, okay," Kenma shrugs it off with a sigh. He nudges Kuroo's knee and gestures to his bedside shelf, as the older boy dutifully hands him his PSP.
§
The third years are graduating today.
The ceremony happens in the midst of a downpour. Rain pelts down on the gymnasium roof, a gentle shower masked by titanium shillings and concrete walls. Kenma and the team hover outside the building, loitering along the area by the covered walk.
Fukunaga finds them minutes after the ceremony, as Lev manages to summon Yaku's presence by conveying their location through his thoughts. Kenma identifies Kuroo first, of course, manages to make his figure out from among the sea of strangers and surfeit of bright yet ill-fitting umbrellas.
"Are you cold?" Kuroo asks the moment he arrives, draping his blazer jacket over the smaller boy's shoulders. "Keep it. We're done with the ceremony anyway, so it's fine."
Kenma nods his head soundlessly. The navy blue of the blazer clashes oddly against the black of his shirt – the two making for a seemingly mismatched pair of hues – but Kenma takes it anyway, grateful for the added warmth. He moves to the side of the bench and lets Kuroo take a seat next to him.
"You're making that face again," Kuroo points out, the remark coupled with a gentle prod of his diploma against Kenma's left cheek. Kenma knows enough for this to be Kuroo's way of asking him what's wrong. Still, though, he feigns ignorance.
"What face? This is my usual face," he scoffs, and gently nudges the paper aside before it gets crumpled. He spares the other a wry glance. "You're being weird, Kuro."
"Your expression is set the way it usually is, but I could tell something's off. You're less pensive-looking. Today, it seemed more of…sad." His best friend explains, and it takes all of Kenma to regard him solely in silence.
Kuroo shakes his head. He nudges closer, a pair of worried hazel taking in other's expression.
"It's the face you make whenever I'm graduating," he says.
"I'm just going to miss all of you around campus next year. That's all," Kenma answers back, simply. The blond averts his gaze, lets his attention fall onto the spectacle of the Nekoma team, eager to get away from the taller boy's knowing stare.
Kai has taken the box of congratulatory cupcakes from Inuoka's hands and returns his kouhai's words of We'll win at nationals for you next year, Senpai with an equally empowering I'm counting on you all. Yaku is in the middle of giving the rest of the team his thanks for their pleasant experiences, recounting their memories from training sessions and tournament matches. It isn't long before the team falls into a puddle of emotions – huddled together in a mismatch of sobbing underclassmen and beaming graduates.
("But Yaku-saaaaan," the Russian boy whines. "You know that's not the case! You've read my mind during training hours, haven't you? There's no way I'm slacking off!"
"But that's exactly the point! It's because I can read your mind that I can tell you're far too distracted," the older boy chides. "You need to learn how to focus so you can become our ace sooner, Lev."
Something inside of him clicks, and Kenma catches the way Lev's eyes go wide. Evergreen irises take on a brighter shine, and the small libero winds up tackled by the larger lion, wrapped in lanky limbs and eager arms.
"Does that mean you want me to become the ace, Yaku-san? Are you supporting me now? Are you? Are you?"
"Idiot," Yaku reprimands, albeit almost fondly, and the setter's tawny eyes note how the older boy still hasn't made an effort to move away. "Haven't I always?"
Lev only hugs him tighter, and the team laughs at the couple in the background. How lucky it is to find your soulmate so early in your life, they say. Kenma could be jealous of them, almost.)
Kenma relaxes only slightly – ears familiar with the friendly banter, the sounds of Yaku and Lev's usual antics. Then, Shibayama hollers at them with a Let's take a team picture, Captain! Kenma-senpai, too! and the latter quickly takes this as his cue to rise from the bench, pointing a finger to the rest of the team.
"Let's just join the others, Kuro," he says. "Don't you want to say your goodbyes?"
§
They share an umbrella on their walk home.
Kenma was always too lazy to bring two, so on rainy days, he and Kuroo walked home from campus under the shade of a single one. Kuroo would carry the parasol high enough for the both of them, and Kenma would only grip his bag's straps tighter, inching closer to his best friend's side.
He figured there would be no point in changing things now. Today was their last time, after all.
§
April finds them wandering the Kanto subways, seemingly lost in a maze of underground train tunnels and automobile light rails. School starts next week. Kenma's agreed to help Kuroo move in, to bring some of his things over from his place to the student dorms, with the promise of being treated to a slice of apple pie from his favorite café by the station before their departure.
Kuroo's university takes eight train stations plus a nine-stop change in lines, so for convenience's sake he's decided to room together with Bokuto. They're both heading to the same university anyway– Keio Daigaku. Kuroo is majoring in Applied Chemistry – his true, yet somewhat clandestine, passion – whereas Bokuto has chosen to pursue Physics. The latter had done this more so on a whim, as he simply chose the program after being recruited by the university's Athletic Association. The two friends agree to settle for the housing units just a three-minute walk from the campus lecture halls.
They meet the Fukurodani duo by the dormitory gates. At first there's an exchange of greetings, with the ace beaming at them with a jovial wave and his setter offering a polite nod of his head. They motion to help with the luggage before they usher the two towards Bokuto and Kuroo's shared unit.
"It's not a problem," Akaashi says, promptly taking the two duffel bags from Kenma's hands and handing them to his partner. He hauls another of Kuroo's bags – one of the smaller ones – over his shoulder. "One of Bokuto-san's key features include his burly physique, so it's best we make the most out of our resources. Besides, I'm sure you two must be tired dragging all this extra weight around during your travel."
Bokuto fishes the unit's key out of his pocket; there's the jingle of metal clanking against the surface and the click of the knob as he undoes the lock. The captains make their way inside first, then Akaashi and Kenma later follow suit. The taller setter grabs Kenma by the arm, a gentle squeeze to summon his attention before they edge closer to rejoin their companions.
"Kenma-san," the raven-haired calls, a careful eye sparing a fleeting glance towards the others lest he warrant their attention. Kuroo has situated himself by Bokuto's left side; both captains preoccupied with an exchange of yet another one of their weird handshakes of sorts. The routine is different every time, Kenma notes, and he wonders when the two ever manage to find the occasions to come up with these at all.
"You're scared, aren't you?" Akaashi remarks in a volume just short of a whisper, and his tone sounds less like a question and more of a fact. There's an air of certainty attached to his demeanor, the way he'd voiced his observations giving no room for false niceties and the labors of pretense.
"Of what?" Kenma enquires.
"Of things changing. You're afraid of what will happen after all this. I can tell," the vice-captain articulates. "Are you thinking this is only going to end badly for you both?"
"Change is always terrifying," the boy parries in response, not quite giving a direct answer to the other's question. "I'm sure you of all people would understand."
Akaashi shoots him a look as he regards the shorter boy warily.
"Please be careful with what you're doing, Kenma-san," he warns. "I'm sure none of us – Kuroo-san, Bokuto-san, and myself included – would want to see you allow yourself to get hurt."
"Okay," the smaller boy whispered back, mumbling his thanks. "I'll try."
§
It rains on his way back. Kenma wades through crowds in Ginza's streets and puddles on cobblestone alleyways, walks alone with Kuroo's umbrella in tow.
(Still, he carries the parasol high enough for the both of them.)
§
The next five months pass them by in a blur.
Kenma had stepped up to be Nekoma's captain at the start of the semester, filling in Kuroo's shoes with his quiet voice and his humble instructions.
It's difficult, at first. Kenma doesn't do well with attention, often preferring to veer away from the cold stare of the public eye, and happily offers his co-captain the proverbial spotlight during the team's training hours. Yamamoto seems to be faring better as his partner, directing the team at what is probably a volume thirteen decibels louder than it should be to rile them up and ignite their motivations. Despite this, however, Kenma still holds true to his potential and makes for a great leader – with a good eye for the ball and a keen sense of the game. He draws out the strengths of his teammates with every well thought-out toss; leads them to a steady victory, set after set after set.
(Remember that you are our setter, Kuroo had told him, after Kenma confessed to his best friend that he wanted to quit the team in his first year. You are our brain, our heart.
Kenma regrets not shooting him down the first day Kuroo decided to establish his so-called 'clever' chant as Nekoma tradition.)
The former captain revives the group chat with the team every so often it becomes almost a ritual for Kenma to check his mobile on the third Saturday of every month, watching the screen glow abuzz with a plethora of messenger notifications.
Senpaiii how are you we missed you at training again today, the boys say and flood the chat box. Kuroo fills them in on detailed accounts of his college shenanigans as he replies to his former teammates' messages with traces of encouragement and equal parts of nostalgia. Yaku and Kai do the same, with the former always veering the conversation to extract updates on Lev's receiving skills and make sure their resident skyscraper isn't goofing off. They exchange stories, and the highschoolers fill the alumni in on training anecdotes and details about the new recruits, before they all move on to talk about tournament prospects and consider varying play strategies.
For a moment, it's as if the third years had never graduated in the first place. Kuroo goes back to being called 'Captain.' Kenma goes back to being – simply – 'Kenma.'
It's almost as though nothing has changed. And it's better like this, Kenma thinks to himself, hoping to hold on to things in this way.
§
In its entirety, however, it's easy to understand that just because Kuroo's gone doesn't meant he'd left Kenma's life altogether. They still keep in contact, sending texts and holding skype calls whenever possible. Most of which are their conversations operating on the comforts of clockwork and the rhythmic beats of routine.
The calls happen at around eight, with Kenma fresh from his post-training shower and Kuroo midway through eating his dinner. It begins with an exchange of hellos as soon as Kenma selects green on the incoming call notification. Kenma sends Kuroo updates on Nekoma's progress, and Kuroo begins to recount his day's events while Kenma listens in the background, a multi-tasker in action as he toys with the controller in his hands. They make plans for when Kuroo drops by for his next visit during the weekend, Kenma agrees, and they bid each other good night (but only for now, because Kuroo still has a meal to finish and papers to do, while Kenma has two more levels to clear, each with four bosses to defeat). Then, they make the promise of calling each other again, the same time in the evening, tomorrow.
Tonight's conversation, however, runs counter to exactly that.
[8:03] kuroo_konobasuke: hey kenma
[8:03] kuroo_konobasuke:just wantd u to kno I wont be cming home nxt month
[8:04] kuroo_konobasuke: sry
There's a drop in his stomach as he reads the messages that pop up on the screen.
[8:05] kuroo_konobasuke: but i'll be there 4 ur bday tho ;) dw
Kenma quickly types out his reply: an anxious ? in the chat box in response. He alters his settings, enables the video function as he props up his laptop and sets it on his desk. Kuroo's face appears not long afterwards, eyes not quite meeting the camera as he directs his focus onto the window of his own device.
"How come?" Kenma asks, worrying at his lip in concern. Is there something wrong?
"Ah, well it's nothing to worry about. I'm sorry I scared you, Kit-kat," he chuckles. There's a lightness in his laugh, a calming mirth that washes over his expression. The college student adjusts the mic rod of his headphones, and lips just shy of a grin, he speaks, "It's just— I'm…seeing someone."
Oh.
Oh.
And the universe seems to laugh at him just then, bitterly even, because he finds himself hopelessly and terribly in love with Kuroo Tetsurou. He's in love with his best friend, Kenma realizes –albeit a tad belatedly – and he wonders when the human heart has ever decided to play fair.
"Congratulations, Kuro," Kenma tells him, and the words taste sour against the tip of his tongue. There's a fiery mess lingering in the hollow pit of his stomach – the threat of acrid tears and caustic sentiments – a tangled knot at the back of his throat. The feeling stings something short of a papercut, but it's a stupid analogy to compare heartache to something as mundane and shallow as skin-deep lacerations.
For once, Kenma is grateful that Kuroo is twenty-one point six hundred forty-seven kilometers too far away to tell the difference between a choked sob and the sounds of static. He says, "I'm glad you found your soulmate."
(One cuts his finger from the chiseled edge of a lonely page. But theirs is a story that runs along the multitude of their years — from day to day, era to era, cover to cover. You cannot wound yourself with the thickened blade of an entire book.)
"Oh, she's not my soulmate," Kuroo tells him then. "I can't read her mind."
Kenma's brows raise only slightly.
"But she's pretty cool about it. Kind of the predictable type too, though, so it's not too hard for me to understand what's going on in her head. She's course mates with Bo, and we're in the same lecture class for Calculus. We're just going out for fun right now," Kuroo proffers as an explanation, "then we'll see where it goes from there. It's nothing serious."
He ends the account. There's a flicker of light dimming in his eyes before he speaks, hesitant in that moment.
"This is okay though…right, Kenma? Or do you think I should stop?"
"Uhm, I think you should go for it," Kenma begins. He doesn't force himself to fake a smile – he knows Kuroo knows him well enough to see through that. Instead, the younger boy soldiers on with his usual attempt of a poker face, all sharpened eyes and a stiffened lip. The setter chooses his words and speaks them slowly, almost carefully; maintains an even measure in the deliverance of his tone. "As long as you're happy, Kuro, then it's fine. I'll support you."
"Thanks," Kuroo replies, smiling – a playful grin tugging at his lips as he poses with a peace sign on screen.
Kenma flashes his friend a thumbs-up on camera in return, just as his phone lets out a beep. It's probably Hinata, the setter guesses; they've been texting more often lately. And with that, Kuroo decides to call it a day, reminds the young blond not to stay up too late with his video games because you still have training tomorrow so don't give auntie a hard time waking you up.
"Sure," Kenma says, before he quickly ends their call.
§
The next night Kuroo calls, Kenma presses red and declines.
[7:52] nekozume-knm: cant 2day
[7:53] nekozume-knm: midtrms
He lies.
[7:54] kuroo_konobasuke: aw :(
[7:55] nekozume-knm: sorry
[7:55] kuroo_konobasuke: its k
[7:55] kuroo_konobasuke: dw bout it
[7:56] kuroo_konobasuke: good luck
§
Kuroo calls him again after a week. Kenma forces himself to pick up this time, adjusts the screen to make himself more visible as he toggles with his PSP. He's placated to do no more than listen as his messy-haired best friend talks about his day. He stays quiet for most of the conversation, preoccupied with his game and content with just the sounds of Kuroo's voice in the background, grounded by the familiarity of his pitch, the change in his inflections at every high and low of his daily tale.
There's the mention of Ninomiya-san, too – Kuroo's new girlfriend– but Kenma doesn't bother to ask for more details about that, doesn't want to deepen the fissures of an already festering wound. Though, he lets Kuroo know that he's still there, still listening, and hums every three minutes or so in acknowledgement as a signal for the other boy to continue. Kuroo does, and Kenma hums again, shrugging his thoughts away into the dark.
"You're more withdrawn than usual, Kit-kat," Kuroo notes, and the boy in question doesn't miss the way his brows furrow with concern. "Is something the matter?"
"Just…concentrating," Kenma formulates a response, trying to sound calm. He shakes his head, but makes no effort to pause his game. "Final boss," he tacks on, lamely, finishing his explanation.
"Ah."
"I should go," he says then. "You still have to revise your lecture notes right? Besides, Shouyo will be calling me soon."
"Alright," he concedes, though Kenma fears the older boy doesn't totally buy his excuse. Even over the breadth of electromagnetic waves and computer screens, Kenma espies the suspicion the other holds in his eyes.
"Good night, Kuro," Kenma sends him off with the greeting. It's habitual, perfunctory at best, but Kuroo nods and takes it anyway.
"Don't stay up too late," he reminds, and closes the line.
§
The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Kozume Kenma is in love with Kuroo Tetsurou.
The world keeps turning. Life goes on.
(And yet—)
§
Kenma pushes himself to forget.
As much as the young setter hates getting tired, he drives himself to the corner further and further in a manner not at all unlike Oikawa. Kenma turns up earlier at morning practice. In the evenings, he heads home later than the rest. He helps set the equipment before training begins – trusting the first years to handle the clean-up afterwards – and agrees to toss to Lev for an hour to help the budding ace-to-be with his spikes. It's exhausting, but it keeps his mind off of Kuroo – wards away the loneliness that creeps upon his chest, the biting coldness in his fingertips.
He barely sleeps – and when he does, he does so fitfully. The young blond tosses and turns in his sheets, body tired but mind still so awake. He wallows in his thoughts in the silence of his bedroom, with a heart that drowns in torrents of emotion, feelings brewing in him like a storm. It isn't very productive to force himself to go to sleep after all that, so instead Kenma opts to stay up, eyes glued to the LED screen until he dozes off half a clock tick before dawn, falling in a brief period of slumber at the peak of his fatigue.
He clears more levels in a day on average now that he's more eager to immerse himself elsewhere. He also doesn't have an appetite. Kenma hardly eats much to begin with, sometimes forgetting his meals in lieu of his games, and this problem is only intensified by Kuroo's absence and the tensions leading him to pull himself away.
It isn't all too surprising to find that he's been working himself hard; too hard even, to the point that he passes out midway through training the next time he tires himself out on court.
Kenma comes to in seconds — to the sounds of hushed whispers and an urgent, albeit strained, call of his name. He feels a large hand rest on his forehead, and the setter lets out a contented sigh as he leans in to the coolness of its touch.
"Ku…ro?" he croaks. He wills himself to crack open his eyes, making out a sliver of silver and the familiar red of the Nekoma jersey amidst the disorienting haze.
"Kuroo-san isn't here, Kenma-san," a voice close to him murmurs as he cradles the blond's head in his lap. The harsh light of the gym's fluorescent bulbs is blinding, and Kenma squints to shield his retinas from the glare, mind rendered unable to identify the figure's identity. "You passed out just now. Are you alright? Do you feel sick?"
"Dizzy," he says, but otherwise shakes his head. The figure runs his hand through Kenma's hair and wipes away the sheen of sweat coating his brow. It's kind of gross, Kenma thinks, with a delayed antiphon of unease, and offers the man an apology.
"You don't have to do that," he tells him. The hand ceases its ministrations momentarily.
"Ah, sorry. Does it make the nausea worse?"
"No," Kenma replies. It feels good, actually. His mind is soothed by the repetition; gentle motions lulling him to a state of relative calm. "But I'm sweaty and it's probably gross, so–"
"That's okay, I don't mind," the stranger says, and resumes combing through his tresses. There's the gentle press of knuckles against his cheek. "You feel warm. I think you might have a fever, Kenma-san. We ended practice early today and Manabu-sensei is calling for your parents to pick you up. You can rest for now."
The setter nods dumbly. The world is spinning at an increasingly alarming rate and Kenma, too tired to fight back, lets his consciousness fall and lids flutter back to a close.
§
Later, Kenma wakes up in the comforts of his bedroom, to the sight of broad shoulders and hair the familiar shade of black. He sees Kuroo sitting by the edge of his bed, gaze transfixed on the view outside his window – stargazing again, probably, if the force of Oikawa's influence is anything to go by – and the smaller boy stirs, the rustle of his sheets alerting the other of his movements.
"Hey there," Kuroo turns to greet him. He feigns a smile, but his eyes are glazed with worry. "Missed me? Yaku told me that Lev told him that you collapsed during training earlier. How are you feeling?"
The blond doesn't answer him. He also doesn't admit that he misses him. Instead, he just stares at the person before his eyes because surely Kenma must still be dreaming at this point. After all, Kuroo is in university, it's a school day, and his campus is twenty-one point six hundred forty-seven kilometers or eight train stations plus a nine-stop change in lines away. He also said he wouldn't be visiting Tokyo until after next week. Maybe Kenma's delirious and this is all just his fever talking; his fatigue-riddled conscience taking the form of his best friend-turned-crush after all this time he's spent missing and pining for said best friend's presence for almost a month.
"Geez, you shouldn't have gone to practice if you were sick," dream-Kuroo scolds. "Take it easy when you're tired. How many times do I have to remind you not to neglect yourself? You scared the hell out of me back there. I almost got a heart attack when I heard the news."
Kenma falls mute. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand anything and it's terrifying, this overwhelming sensation of helplessness –being unable to comprehend, much less control, what's happening to him anymore. This would be so much easier to handle if Kuroo were around to help, he thinks to himself.
"Uhm, but I am around…? I'm right here, Kenma," the Kuroo before him remarks, bemused.
Crap. Had he said that out loud? No, that can't be right. He–
He shakes his head.
Not you, Kenma thinks, I mean the real Kuroo.
"What the hell? I am the real Kuroo," dream-Kuroo insists, to which Kenma's heart fights back with a cry of denial.
No. This is just a dream. I'm imagining you right now because I missed having you around.
"Well I missed you too, Kit-kat, but you're not making any sense," Kuroo reaches out, a featherweight caress at the base of his jaw. A touch, confirmed. "Did your fever get higher?"
Kenma doesn't flinch at his fingertips, but he doesn't hold onto the hand that holds him either. He looks at dream-Kuroo wordlessly – wills away the stinging in his eyes, bites his tongue to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. At the back of his mind, he wonders if his teeth have sunken in deep enough to draw blood. The taller boy returns Kenma's stare, gazing back at glassy amber eyes.
How did you get inside? his heart wonders.
The balcony, he hears other think back in reply. Kenma discerns the faintest grin on the other's features, conjures the image of Kuroo flashing a peace sign in his mind. After all, it was an emergency. You needed me.
"Y-You—" Kenma begins almost inaudibly, voice trailing off. He bites his bottom lip.
"Hm?"
"You're not…" Kenma says, forcing himself to speak. His voice cracks, falters. "You're not real."
"Seriously, I— oh fuck, don't cry," the other boy urges, almost pleads. "Please? I don't like it when you cry, Kenma…"
Dream-Kuroo hovers over his frame; he rubs the smaller boy's back in circles, a simple effort in an attempt to console him. The pressure of his hand against Kenma's back is firm but gentle. It feels familiar, this casual intimacy, like a taste of something once so painfully and dizzyingly real. Kenma breaks, crumples in on himself and buries his face in the sheets. He cries harder.
"How?" he asks out loud, heart begging for answers, a shrill voice muffled against the dampening fabric. "If this isn't a dream, then…then how are you reading my mind? Kuroo can't— …the real Kuroo can't do that. He…he isn't…isn't supposed to be able to... I…we aren't —"
There's a pause; a stutter in their motions.
Ah–
"Yeah. Of course," he hears the other say, over the hushed whisper of an apology from the crevices of his soul. "Sorry I lied. You're right, Kenma. This isn't real. You're just hallucinating because your fever's breaking, that's all. It always gets worse before it gets better. Now, come and lay back down. You should probably rest."
A gentle nudge sends him leaning back against the pillows, and Kenma obliges, lets the other pull the blanket up over his chest. The Kuroo before him runs a hand through his tresses, a gentle ruffle of his hair. The feeling is as vivid as a faded photograph, the embers of a memory.
"Shh… don't cry," he whispers, "or else you'll make yourself sicker. It's all right…just go back to sleep, yeah?"
Kenma nods and curls up on his side. He falls asleep in the arms of an illusion, tears still caught in the corners of his eyes.
§
Kenma wakes up again with puffy eyelids and the feeling of his head stuffed with cotton. His fever has gone down significantly by then, but he still feels like crap, and so he's grateful that his parents let him skip school for the day to recover. He lingers in his bed for another good second, cocooned in the soft cotton of his sheets, figure bathed in the light of the seven a.m. morning sun; the glow of its rays peeking through the gaps of his room's venetian blinds.
A cough escapes him. Kenma heads to the kitchen in search of a glass of water to soothe his parched throat. He's stopped by the scene that greets his vision: the image of a man with his back turned to him, rooster-like bedhead sticking up at odd angles, figure slaving over the stove.
"Kuro…?" he calls out, groggily. His voice is rough; raw and scratchy from what he presumes to be the lack of use.
"Good, you're awake. Mornin', Kit-kat," Kuroo lowers the fire on the cooktop and stirs the contents of the pot with his ladle. "Are you feeling any better?"
"How did you get inside?"
"Like a normal person," Kuroo replies coolly, with a smirk. "I came in through the front door. I'd have jumped over the ledge, honestly, but you were still asleep and I didn't want to risk waking you and interrupting your rest. Long story short: Your parents left for work and auntie asked if I could help watch over you today. By the way, this is your mom's soup. I'm just reheating it for you."
"I thought you weren't going home until after next week," Kenma remarks in between coughs. The blond trudges to the dining table, plops down onto the seat closest to him and lets out a tired exhale. "Why did you come back?"
"I planned to pick up some things I forgot," Kuroo tells him, his words coupled with a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. He spoons some of the soup into a bowl and moves to lay it on the table. "But then Yaku told me that Lev told him that you collapsed during training yesterday, so I figured I'd drop by to see how you were doing."
Lies, come the words from deep inside his heart, Kuroo is a liar.
(It was an emergency, he'd heard Kuroo think, but doesn't say quite out loud. You needed me.)
Kenma coughs again to clear his throat, forcing down the phlegm, and wills his voice to speak.
"When did you get h–"
Kuroo shakes his head; pours Kenma some water and hands him a glass.
"Here. Drink this, it'll soothe your sore throat," he instructs. Kenma accepts the offer and downs the liquid appreciatively — a temporary remedy to the discomforts of his cold. "Take it easy, all right? How many times do I have to remind you not to neglect yourself?"
The words sound excruciatingly familiar, and Kenma feels the other's heart ache with a mild sense of unease. Kuroo is kind. Too kind that it hurts, and Kenma's heart stings with the reminder as he thinks of this, tells himself that he doesn't deserve to be treated so generously by the likes of someone like him.
"I arrived this morning," Kuroo says. "I'm heading back to the dorms tomorrow."
"But last night, didn't y—"
Kuroo cuts him off with a wave, tone light and voice nonchalant. "I heard the news last night but I had classes at nine. I was worried about you, you know, but I couldn't leave until after my lecture. By then, the trains already stopped running."
Kenma can't tell if it's the truth or not, with his fevered mind still muddled from illness and observation skills dulled with fatigue. His temperature dances to the rhythm of his thoughts, a pirouette flitting between the blurred boundaries of reality and a dream. The setter pushes his questions aside and tucks them into the back of his mind, holds them off for at least another day.
"Have you had breakfast?" he asks instead.
"Ha?"
"That's a no, then. Have some soup."
"But…that's yours."
"I meant go serve yourself another bowl, Kuro."
"How could I? Auntie made that for you, Kenma," Kuroo retorts, and Kenma makes an effort to roll his eyes.
"My mom made enough to share."
"But I'd feel bad if I were to steal from the sick," Kuroo exclaims with an overly dramatized gasp, "You need all the nutrients you can get to recover!"
Rising from his seat to grab the silver ladle, Kenma spoons the pot's contents into another bowl. He grabs another placemat and lays it onto the table with the bowl, scuttling away to fumble through the drawers.
"Just take the damn soup," he mutters and hands the taller boy the spoon. The younger seats himself back down on the wooden chair and mumbles into his food, "I don't want to eat alone."
Kuroo gives him an anomalous look, eyes regarding him with curiosity, and blinks. Itadakimasu, Kenma announces hoarsely with a clap of his hands; and the university student quickly follows suit.
They're quiet as they eat. Kenma doesn't mind; he doesn't bother to fill in the gaps with forced small talk and one-sided conversation. He watches Kuroo down the soup heartily. The silence between them isn't at all awkward, isn't stifling — it's an acquired comfort. For them, this is normal. This is the way they've learned to fit together, over the years. This is the way they were, and always have been:
Two figures lying in the transient stillness, between rays of daylight streaming through the window, sitting together — side by side.
§
"If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask," Akaashi had offered him once over a cup of tea, the day he came to help carry Kuroo's things to the unit. "We will do our best to help."
And so, that leads us here: Kenma standing at the foot of the dormitory building on a Tuesday – or sitting, rather – figure perched upon the corner of the entryway steps and slouched over the gaming device in his hands. Nekoma always grants its students a week off before their Autumn half-term so Kenma had taken this particular opportunity to take Fukurodani's setter up on his offer. Plus, he'd always meant to tour himself around and check out the college campus. He'd listed KeiDai as one of his main options for university, anyway.
(It was his mother's idea, he reasons, with his parents feeling more secure at the thought of entrusting their introverted son's safety in what they had described as 'Tetsurou-kun's reliable hands'.)
When his cellphone buzzes, Kenma pauses his game to fish the device out from his jeans. The sun glares against the screen and he squints to make out the text, sighing with relief as he identifies that it isn't Kuroo. The rooster-haired is still in a lab class and won't be out until after another hour and a half, he recalls. He selects the view option on the message notification and reads.
Hey hEy heY! Bokuto has typed, and Kenma restrains himself from gagging in displeasure at the other's stylistic mannerisms in text. d0n3 w/ cLaSs n0w s0 iM oTw! $eE ü PuDDiNg-kUn ! :D :D
Said blond sends back a simple ya, ok before he shoves his mobile back into his pocket. The air is crisp, and the season leaves behind a muted chill in his surroundings, the subtle beacon of an oncoming winter veiled in a coldness that seeps into his bones. Kenma wraps the jacket around his frame tighter. He clears another level to pass the time.
A tap on the shoulder jolts him soon afterwards, and Kenma – taken by surprise – hastily drops the PSP in his lap. He looks up and meets a pair of bewildered green eyes, the sight of downturned lips and rich ebony locks.
"…Kenma-san?"
"Keiji."
"What are you doing outside?" the raven-haired asks. "Hasn't Kuroo-san let you in?"
The younger setter shakes his head gingerly. As Akaashi opens his mouth to speak, Kenma cuts him off in a rush.
"Kuroo's in class. He doesn't know I'm here," he says. "Bokuto knows, though, and I asked him to keep my visit a secret. I'm here to see you, actually. Bokuto told me you always drop by the university on Tuesdays, since that's Fukurodani's day off from practices."
Oh, Akaashi responds and lowers himself to take a seat on the spot beside him. "Well, Kenma-san… Bokuto-san has just informed me that he's still on the east wing of the campus and it would take roughly fifteen minutes before he would arrive. So, whatever it is that you want to talk about, we can talk about now – if you'd like. I assume this is a private matter, yes? And seeing how you've been insistent on keeping this a secret from Kuroo-san, I'd also take it that this is a matter concerning Kuroo-san in particular?"
"Yeah, i-it's just…Kuroo, he–" Kenma stammers, voice trailing off. Akaashi regards the smaller boy with restraint and looks at him patiently; he waits for Kenma to ground himself further to continue.
"You were…right," Kenma finally agrees, "about what you said back then. I needed him. Always did. So I was terrified of what I would have to do after he left, because it's difficult adjusting to a world without Kuroo. I'm not good with people, and I don't like interacting with them. But…but with Kuroo, he's kind, so it's easy, and I—"
Truth be told, he'd always been scared of losing his best friend. It's hard to think of Kenma's life without Kuroo – Kuroo with his starry-eyed visions and penchant for tenacity, his ability to always seek as many openings and create as many opportunities to secure their victory. Kuroo, who built the team from the bottom up; who forged between and among his members their iron connections, their ties that bind.
Kuroo was the light in their path, Nekoma's north and guiding star, and Kenma had always been happy to push him from behind and remain in the shadows. The middle blocker is a cunning smile where Kenma is a bundle of doubts, a feral jump where the setter is a pair of taciturn eyes. What Kuroo decides, he supports; where Kuroo jumps head first, Kenma evaluates in the after math. The blond has always been the spectator, the wallflower — the one who lingers by the sidelines and fades into the dark. An observer contemplating on the possibilities of winning and losing, the topics of firsts and forevers.
Now, Kuroo is gone and Kenma finds himself overwhelmingly alone, a growing void taking his childhood friend's place.
They say 'opposites attract' and it's true – at least, for them. Complements, Kenma believes, were always the best combination to keep a system running in the long-term, no matter how difficult it may be to reconcile them at the start. Where Kuroo is, Kenma will always – though oftentimes, begrudgingly– follow. They've learned best how to work together in this way, juxtaposed — perfect fit or not. An apposition of differences, he recalls Nekomata-sensei describing them once. An antonymous codependence. A harmony of contrasts.
But just as how shadows fade further from the light, have these miles eroded the value of their existences? What is one to do without the other?
(This codependence, it seems, has grown into a reliance far less symbiotic and more so one-sided.)
"I see," Akaasi comments, seeming to consider the boy's words in solemnity. He coaxes gently, "And you…?"
A hundred thoughts are running rampant through his mind, but the young setter holds in a breath and settles to find a solution. "How do I shrink the distance between the two of us?" Kenma asks instead, and fear catches in the flecks of his amber eyes.
Mm, Akaashi hums. "I understand where you're coming from. Although I don't think the issue here is your distance, Kenma-san."
"…How come?"
"Take, for example, my situation," the taller setter illuminates, fiddling with his fingers. "Bokuto-san and I are in different year levels, so it was only natural for him to graduate and move on to university ahead of me. We don't get to see each other every day anymore, but we are learning to cope with the distance. Bokuto-san makes an effort to come visit me on weekends during his spare time, just as how I also do my part to visit him in mine. When that isn't possible, we communicate whenever necessary just to remind the other that they aren't alone. This is why fate has decided to bring us together as soulmates, I think, because we know how to best fit together and work with our situations, rather than against."
Olive eyes look at him thoughtfully, as the taller boy plasters a careful expression.
"Kenma-san," Akaashi murmurs, his tone unreproachful but nonetheless stern; commanding Kenma's attention just the same. "Tell me, why are you avoiding Kuroo-san?"
"Uhm," the smaller boy swallows. "I'm not…really—"
"You didn't want him to know you were coming today. You haven't been talking to him lately, either."
"We talk," Kenma tells him. "Kuroo's just been busy lately so I just don't want to bother him. But we do talk. A bit. Kuroo's still good to me, too. When I got sick last week, he still came over to look after me, even when he already said he wasn't planning to come home this month because of his new girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?"
"He's dating a girl in one of his classes," Kenma explains, and the brunet blinks slowly. "No serious commitments, though. He can't read her mind."
"Oh."
"Yeah. She isn't his soulmate."
Akaashi gives him an odd look.
"Of course not, Kenma-san. You are."
"What? No, I'm not." Kenma frowns. "Kuroo can't read my mind."
"Ah, well, yes. That's true, but—"
"But…?"
Akaashi is looking at him for real now, rich emeralds transfixed on his features. His eyes soften slightly. Warmly, even.
"You can read his, can't you?"
For all of Akaashi's soft-spoken façades and tender miens, his knowing gaze can become far too stifling. Kenma draws deeper into himself, backs away from the oppressive attention. He doesn't look at his friend in the eye anymore, just directs his gaze down to his feet and settles for the dull gray of the sidewalk.
"You're too guarded, Kenma-san," the black-haired setter declares, evenly. "You've built these walls around you that are so high it's almost impossible for anyone to get in. But that also means it's impossible for you to see beyond yourself."
The taller setter inches closer – voice falling to volumes of hushed undertones and gentle whispers.
"Have you ever considered the possibility that perhaps, Kenma-san, it isn't that Kuroo-san is unable to read your mind, but rather, that you simply aren't allowing him to?"
§
(Bokuto arrives in that moment with an ever-eager Akaashi! as a hollered declaration of his presence as the other turns to welcome him. Bokuto ushers them to head inside the building and interrogates them with a flurried Sorry, did you wait long? Wasn't it cold out? Want me to make some warm milk and tea?
Akaashi drops the issue. Kenma doesn't get to give him an answer.)
§
"Hold on for a sec," Bokuto says, fingers fumbling through his pockets as he grumbles, "I can't seem to find my keys."
"You mean, Bokuto-san," Akaashi huffs, his tone mildly exasperated. "You lost them."
"'Kaashi! No!" Bokuto pouts. It's almost childish. "I didn't lose 'em."
The three of them stand outside the unit, loitering by the doorway. Their figures crowd the hall. Akaashi sighs as he looks at his partner, appearing to be clearly unimpressed, but Kenma knows better. He sees the way the other boy reigns in on his emotions, spots the hints of a smile concealed in the press of his lips, the tender sense of fondness that crinkle in his olive green eyes.
"Really n—"
"Yeah, not lost! On the contrary, my dear Akaashi," the grey-haired ace promptly cuts him off, his expression smug. Akaashi cocks an eyebrow in askance. Bokuto raises his index finger and waggles it in his soulmate's direction. "They were simply misplaced!"
Ah, yes. Lost was a limiting word, burdened by an air of permanence - the weight of a forever. But misplaced? Misplaced was a smoulder of hope, a flickering ember — a chance and an opportunity for a return. A start-over.
Kenma decides that he likes that term a lot better.
§
[10:16] kuroo_konobasuke: can i come over?
[10:17] nekozume-knm: it's a quarter past 10
[10:17] kuroo_konobasuke: so?
[10:18] nekozume-knm: u hve class tmrw at 7
[10:19] kuroo_konobasuke: doesnt matter
[10:20] nekozume-knm:
[10:21] nekozume-knm: I hve class tmrw at 7
[10:22] kuroo_konobasuke: tru
[10:22] kuroo_konobasuke: but
[10:23] nekozume-knm: kuro
[10:23] kuroo_konobasuke: ill b good
[10:24] kuroo_konobasuke: i wotn b much of a bother
[10:24] kuroo_konobasuke: ppromise
[10:26] nekozume-knm: youll miss the last train back
[10:27] kuroo_konobasuke: thats ok
[10:28] kuroo_konobasuke: i just
[10:28] kuroo_konobasuke: …
[10:28] kuroo_konobasuke: I need 2 see u
[10:29] kuroo_konobasuke: its imprtant
[10:29] nekozume-knm: we can skype…?
[10:30] nekozume-knm: I can call u rn if u wnt
[10:31] kuroo_konobasuke: kemna
[10:32] kuroo_konobasuke: please
[10:43] nekozume-knm: my parents r asleep
[10:44] nekozume-knm: ill w8 at the veranda
§
Kuroo is silent when he arrives, just looks at the stars and steeps in Kenma's presence. He looks beautiful in this way, Kenma thinks quietly to himself, underneath the cheap lamplight; the ghost of the moon tracing lightly on his features. He notes the arch of Kuroo's neck, the faint hunch of his shoulders, the bridge of his nose, his lips slightly parted, the sight of his lashes fluttering in the dark, a little bit short but still just enough, and oh– how badly Kenma wishes he could kiss him in this moment.
It's a selfish thought.
Kenma restrains his countenance and redirects his stare. He settles for the stratosphere; lays his gaze on the constellations. He thinks it's a metaphor not too far from the state of Kuroo's mind – thoughts in an array, ideas numerous but not loud. Kenma doesn't bother to ask or question him why.
Kuroo is only an arm's reach away, and it would be easy – so easy, he knows – to listen; to pry away their secrets and overhear the older boy's thoughts and unravel all his worries in an instant. But Kenma won't take the bait. He won't demand the other for his words, or for anything akin to an explanation. Right now, the setter feels – rather, hears – the sadness weighing Kuroo down in his heart, knows that the other boy is hurting somewhere, somehow. Kuroo is upset, and he needs this time, this stillness, to think – to sort out his thoughts, to deal with his emotions. Kenma knows. He's dealt with this too, before, on his own.
So he'll give Kuroo this night, Kenma tells himself, and stays with him in the quiet.
(An hour later, Kuroo decides it's high time he jump over their balconies to return home. He doesn't knock over a pot as he makes his exit, but he does make an equally shattering impact all the same. He turns to flash Kenma a smile – raw, honest, open, real – and gives him his gratitude. It's late and Kuroo makes an effort not to shout in fear of waking the neighbors, so he mouths out the syllables to indicate his sentiments instead:
'Thanks for tonight Kit-kat, I appreciate it.'
In that moment, Kenma thinks, he'd give him the world.)
§
"We broke up," Kuroo tells him over the phone after a day, voice as brittle as the sounds of static that, after an hour of listening, leave behind a ringing in Kenma's ears.
Between them, the middle blocker has always been the one more composed, so certain of the world and so sure of his capabilities. Kuroo is strong, always has been – a brave soldier, a warrior at the seams, a champion in the making. But right now, as his voice falls back into what Kenma remembers as nothing but an unsettling quiet, he sounds weak. Defeated, maybe.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Kenma states, simply. He purses his lips, mouth pressed thinly into a quivering line. "If you need me to, I'll listen."
"There's nothing much to talk about though, I guess? She left me, and that was it." Kuroo forces out a laugh, but it comes out more as something in between a breathy exhale and a shaky, strained cry. "She met her soulmate when she went to visit her hometown in Niigata during the long weekend. Just one thought from him and she knew."
At the other end of the line, he hears Kuroo sigh into the receiver.
"Ku—"
"It's fine, it's fine," Kuroo tells him, his voice outwardly flippant. Kenma imagines the older boy waving his arm around, a portrayal of his attempt to ward off the younger's worries in a way that resembles the action of swatting flies. "We weren't serious about it, so it was bound to happen. 'These are the terms we've agreed upon,' she said. 'Don't worry, I know you'll find yours soon, Tetsurou-kun.' And it's not like, well…she didn't ask me to be happy for her or anything, but I told her I was. And it wasn't a lie, you know. I really was. How much time does it take until we find our soulmates, anyway? Not all people have it easy like Shorty and his setter, or Akaashi and Bo. Hell, Oikawa and his boyfriend had known they were each other's soulmates since they've been together their whole lives. But Yuzuru? She had to wait for that shit. She tried so hard to listen and find the one for her and everything. I'm not gonna tell her to hold their relationship off for a while just to keep me company while I'm lonely. I'm not that cruel."
(And this is it; this is the moment. The dreaded battle. The final boss. Kenma waits for the warning bells, the pop-up messages and signs that tell him he has zero lives left. Game over, it would say. He wonders how much better he would fare if his life at least had a pause button, an opportunity to think: just a few mere seconds where he could set aside his problems and reconsider the prospects before he felt ready enough to press play and start again.)
"How long do you think?" the young blond utters into the receiver, voicing his thoughts in a manner slow but deliberate. He bites his bottom lip and tries his best to choose the right words. "How many years do you have to wait before you can say that you can read someone's mind?"
"I don't know, Kenma," the older boy answers. In a quiet voice, he asks, "Why?"
Kenma holds in a breath.
"Nothing. I'll see you soon."
§
Kenma is not, by all means, an impulsive person. The setter makes it a point to first analyze all his options when faced with particularly difficult situations, to weigh the consequences of his choices and consider the plausibility of their outcomes in a slow but careful scrutiny before he makes a move. He treats the world the way he does his video games; has always been one to err on the side of caution — a strategist at his core.
So – he reasons – him boarding the first carriage at Ginza and riding the Hibiya Line en route to Naka-Meguro (so he could later change trains and drop himself off at Motosumiyoshi) twelve minutes into six on a Wednesday evening is a totally logical, deliberately rationalized, and well thought-out decision on Kenma's part; an act done solely out of his own volition.
(But the part where he's running through the hallways and climbing up the dormitory building of Bokuto and Kuroo's shared unit? Maybe not.)
Kuroo opens the front door to the sound of his frantic footsteps.
"Bo, did you forget your key agai–" he freezes. "…Kenma? What are you doing here?"
The boy in question doesn't speak. He can't. His head is a jumbled mess of emotions and his thoughts are pulling him into every direction and his mind is just. So. Loud. It's crazy. It's dizzying and suffocating a– and oh, this must be what it feels like to fall into the quiet. The overwhelming stillness. To feel every pinprick of fabric against your skin and hear the blood pounding in your ears; a loss of control and hyper-acuity of your senses. It's too much. Too much.
He kisses him.
The world slows down for a moment. There's the taste of Pocari and a little bit of mint. Kenma picks up the scent he's come to define as unmistakably Kuroo's – the smell of cologne and cheap shampoo, the same brand he'd been using since they were in middle school, the faint traces of rubbing alcohol he used on his hands after coming out of lab, the earthy musk of sweat and the citrus tang of his aftershave. Kenma's tongue traces the other boy's mouth, needy and imploring, and Kuroo tilts his head, angling it just enough to let him in.
Kuroo's lips are rough, chapped at the edges from whenever he'd bite at his bottom lip – a horrible habit that Kenma too, had unfortunately picked up. Still, the kiss is softer than he imagines. It feels like festivals in summer and shared umbrellas under the rain, calloused fingertips and a crooked smile bathed in the dim glow of a city before dawn. A hand held beneath the moonlight. A blazer jacket draped warm over his shoulders.
Kuroo takes a moment to catch his breath, pulls away without warning.
"Kenma?"
Kenma's heart catches in his throat. He feels a pressure in his lungs, a vice grip coiled tightly around his chest.
"Hey? Hey, it's alright…"
He feels Kuroo pull him closer, long fingers running through blond hair; a low voice whispering his name to invoke the calm. Kuroo is careful with him in his arms – his hands, gentle; his words, kind. Always kind. This is the Kuroo that Kenma has always known him to be. This is the Kuroo that he's always remembered.
"You'll be alright. I'm here," Kuroo murmurs softly. "Tell me what's wrong."
Kenma swallows hard, makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat. Blond strands hover above fluttering eyelids, falling against brittle lashes and pale cheekbones. There's an intake of air; a quiet breath sucked in and held tightly in the battered cage round the quick beating of his lonely heart. The younger boy clutches Kuroo's shirt with trembling hands, and looks up to meet his gaze.
"Kuro," he begins, and he thinks– please.
"Kuro," he repeats, and he thinks–
Listen.
§
((I think you're my soulmate.))
§
The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Kozume Kenma is in love with Kuroo Tetsurou.
The world keeps turning. Life goes on.
(And yet—)
Kenma's graduation happens beneath the blessing of a clear blue sky.
§
Kenma makes it to KeiDai for university, is accepted to his second-choice program of Electronics and Electrical Engineering. He agrees to room together with Akaashi, who's taking up Sociology. They move in together the next month, with their unit located a floor below Kuroo and Bokuto's.
"Aw," Kuroo clucks his tongue with disappointment as he settles into the room. Kuroo assists the freshman unload his belongings. Tomorrow, they've scheduled, will be spent unpacking the boxes. "Now we can't do our thing anymore."
"Our thing?"
"I was hoping we could be neighbors, you know, so I could just leap over our balconies to visit you. Now I gotta learn how to climb down from my window to reach your room."
"Just use the front door," the younger boy chides. Kenma tucks his fringe behind his ear, still blond at the tips and black at the roots. He should probably get that touched up before the school year starts; his hair has grown out to be significantly longer since he'd graduated, ends hanging below his jaw and grazing past the tips of his shoulders. "You know, like…"
"Like a normal person?" Kuroo finishes for him, lips curling upwards to form a mischievous smirk.
"Yes," Kenma replies and nods with finality. "Like a normal person, exactly."
"But, Kit-kat, what about curfew?" the older boy whines, slinging an arm over Kenma's shoulders. Kenma eyes the creases this action makes on the other's sleeve. Kuroo teases, "You'll miss me after lights out."
Kenma fakes an emotionless tone: "Will not."
"Will too," Kuroo counters, and beckons forth a rally.
"Will not."
"Will too."
"Will not."
"Will too."
"…"
"…"
"Will not."
"…Will too."
(Stupid Kuro, Kenma grumbles under his breath, as his heart whispers shyly, earnestly: Yeah, will too.)
§
Kenma remembers a practice match against Fukurodani in the summer of his third year. When their team loses the third set after a particularly gruesome battle for match point, Lev had called out his roughened condition with an It's alright, Kenma-san, I know it's hard without your Kuroo-san around but we'll make up for it! and Kenma snaps, quite uncharacteristically, before he tells the lanky middle blocker off for being too loud.
"Your teammate has a point," Akaashi – his rival, at the moment – had commented. Kenma regarded the raven-haired setter from beyond the net with a quick shake of his head.
"No, he doesn't," Kenma had told him, hastily diverting his attention back onto the ball. "Kuroo isn't mine."
"You must be mistaken," the other answered softly with a smile. "He always was."
§
It's late in the afternoon when Kuroo comes over, both their classes long since finished for the day. Kenma notices an extra pair of worn out sneakers by the genkan, two sizes larger than his own. He considers it first to be Akaashi's, but the lack of a messenger bag by the foyer indicates his roommate's presence is nowhere to be found. Kenma shuts the door behind him, makes a mental note to inform the presence of his guest to Keiji, and makes his way inside.
Kenma spots Kuroo – his lanky frame nestled on the couch, messy hair once again sticking out at odd angles, a bored face and a book in his hand.
"Don't tell me you crawled in through the window," the blond remarks, teasing. "How did you get in?"
The raven-haired grins. "You underestimate me, Kit-kat. I asked Akaashi to lend me his key."
"Okay then," Kenma replies, tone nonchalant. He makes his way to plop down onto the seat beside his best friend. "Ne," he calls.
"Mm?" comes the soft reply. Kuroo looks at him expectantly before he hums out a gentle, "What is it, Kit-kat?"
"Ca–" Kenma begins to say, before pausing. He opens his mouth again to speak. For a moment, he hesitates.
(Kenma thinks of empty balconies and quiet bedrooms, of starless nights and hollow skies, of memories told in large, warm hands and mussed-up hair the color of galaxy black. He thinks of kintsugi, the ways they can be fixed; remembers shattered pots and crevices filled in with powdered gold, cracks restored and vases born anew. Spaces between fragments mended to construct a new narrative: A chronicle of memoirs in their fractured history. Their story is forged in lacquer, a separation traversed in distances.
The art of detachment; reattachment. The beauty in the broken; the healed.)
"Kuro," he whispers as he purses his lips to return the other's gaze. Kenma lets the seconds pass by them slowly, allows his words to ripple with the wind before they sink into the silence. He thinks: Can you read my mind?
Kuroo doesn't speak – but even in the quiet, he does more than get his thoughts across. There are no hushed tones or gentle murmurs. It all becomes a wordless exchange, just quiet eyes and patient glances; a conversation spoken in words that they could not utter but could not be left unsaid. An action that, to them, comes as easily as breathing.
I don't know, Kuroo's heart answers, teasing. Can you hear mine?
The boy takes his hand and cups it gently in his palms, then laces their fingers together and struggles to hold back a smile. Kenma doesn't have to strain his ears to listen to the quick thrum thrum thrumming of Kuroo's pulse, hope coursing through the blood in his veins. He stays with him in the stillness, a hand held warmly in his, a figure pressed close to his side.
Loud and clear, he thinks as their fingers touch.
...so uhm, this turned out to be much longer than i expected welp
anyway thank you for reading and i hope you have a great day ahead. as always, comments and reviews will be much appreciated :)