prompt: childhood
"Why do you have so much stuff," huffs Kenma as he drags a cardboard box across Kuroo's half-empty room.
The older boy's room looks strange without clothes hanging everywhere and books and games lying around. Now, instead of the usual mess there are boxes and organized piles and plastic bags-even Kuroo's bed is bare. Nekoma's former volleyball captain is finally moving out, after eighteen years of living in the same place. For some reason, Kenma is forced to help with the packing.
"Hey, that's my life you're throwing around." Kuroo catches the stuffed cat Kenma throws over his shoulder. He sets it down carefully into a box. "It's sort of fascinating, though, isn't it? To see all these pieces and fragments of Kuroo Tetsurou. Ah, a free trip down nostalgia avenue."
Kenma blinks at him. "It's always a free trip down nostalgia avenue."
"Let me have my moment, won't you, Kenma."
They continue to sort things into piles of 'keep' and 'store away' and 'donate' and 'to bring'. There isn't much noise between the two of them, and since the house is empty on account of Kuroo's parents running an errand, but it isn't unusual for the two of them. Ever since that one fateful afternoon when Kuroo's volleyball rolled down the hill and hit Kenma, they've been used to such dynamics between them; sometimes Kuroo's rowdiness has Kenma hanging on like a rollercoaster ride, and sometimes they're just quiet next to each other. No matter what it was, as long as they're with the other, it was fine. Comfortable. Familiar.
But now things will change. Kuroo's not going to be around all the time anymore. Kenma won't be able to walk home with the taller boy, he won't be able to eat lunch with him and the other third years, he won't be able to text Kuroo to come over when he's feeling down. Things will be different.
They're not kids anymore.
"Hey, look at this." Kuroo pokes Kenma until the pudding head turns around to face him. He's holding up a small lumpy-shaped thing made of string and yarn. It looks sort of sad, all squished and uneven, but what Kenma makes out (after several seconds of just blinking at it) are two whiskers on either side, two mismatched button eyes, and two slightly more pronounced lumps on the top.
"A... cat?"
"Yeah! You made it for me. When we were... I don't know, eight, maybe?" Kuroo looks absolutely delighted, grinning down at the lumpy cat in his hands like he just found the ultimate treasure.
"I did?"
"Yes. It was the first ever gift you gave me. You stayed up all night and even asked my mother for help. I thought I'd made you upset or something, you were avoiding me for a whole week."
Kenma blinks. He doesn't really remember putting in so much effort, but the little handmade cat does seem familiar.
.
.
("Kenma! Play with me!" Kuroo twirled the ball in his hands, grinning at his friend and neighbour.
"I don't want to," came the usual monotonous reply. Kenma's golden eyes peeked out at him from behind a half-open door. "Go away, Kuroo."
"Why? Come on, it's sunny, you don't wanna stay inside playing games all day!"
"Yes, I do. Bye."
The door slammed shut in his face, and Kuroo blinked. Even though he was used to having to needle his friend into joining him under the sun, he'd never been outright refused this way before. He wondered what he did wrong. Maybe Kenma was having a bad day? Well. He'd try again tomorrow.
Except Kenma didn't want to play for the next few days. Kuroo was starting to feel lonely. He'd asked his mother what he did wrong, but she only smiled at him, which he didn't understand. He didn't know what had happened with Kenma, but he wanted to fix it. He liked Kenma, and didn't want his friend to stay mad at him.
He gathered enough change to buy a slice of apple pie from the nearby bakery, and carefully brought it back home. Since it was his birthday today, he wanted to spend it with his friend. So he knocked on Kenma's door, apple pie in hand. This time, the door opened, and instead of Kozume-san, there stood Kenma.
"Kenma! Hi! I-are you- I mean, I brought you this!" He thrust the apple pie at Kenma, who just stared at it. Kuroo fidgeted, wondering if he did the wrong thing, again.
Then Kenma reached out his hand as well. "Here," the eight year old blurted. "I made this. For you. Happy birthday."
Kuroo's eyes widened at the small, clearly handmade cat in his hands. He looked back up at Kenma, who was staring at the ground, his cheeks dusted pink. A grin spread across Kuroo's face. "Thank you, Kenma."
Golden eyes flicked up to meet black ones. "You're welcome, Kuro," Kenma replied softly, a small smile on his face.)
.
.
Kuroo drops the cat into his box of 'take with'. Kenma frowns at him.
"Why are you taking that with you?"
Kuroo raises his eyebrows at him. "Because it's special. It symbolizes our beautiful friendship, don't you think?"
Kenma blinks dubiously at the ugly little cat. "Not really."
"Well, I do, and it's my box, so there."
Kenma rolls his eyes.
They resume sifting through Kuroo's things. It's quiet again until Kenma breaks the silence. He places a figurine in front of Kuroo.
"What is this?"
"Ah. Remember that time in middle school when we went into that store in Akihabara? I bought that."
"... Why? You hate anime."
"I don't hate it. I just don't have time for it. And, okay, I just liked the way it looked, that's all."
Kenma glances down at the figurine, a slender girl with long, dark hair, dressed in a typical maid outfit, holding a cake. He gives Kuroo a flat look. "Is this your type or something?"
A slight pink tints Kuroo's face and he swipes the figurine out of sight. "No, okay? It was just a whim."
"... Really?"
.
.
("Five more minutes."
"That's what you said five minutes ago." Kuroo groaned slightly, following Kenma through the store. He couldn't remember why he'd agreed to go with Kenma today. But he was here, and he couldn't very well leave an eleven year old on his own, could he?
He was trailing Kenma down another aisle when something caught his eye. It was one of those typical figurines of a 'sexy' girl or something, Kuroo couldn't really see the appeal, but something about this one struck out at him. He wondered if it was the eyes, the wideness and sharpness and the sort of yellow-ish colour that made it look like it knew all your secrets...
Oh my god, it looks like Kenma, he thought, a bit horrified but also a bit-he didn't know, excited? But why? He felt a bit weird.
He glanced around, but Kenma was preoccupied where the games were. He checked the price. Then he grabbed a box and made his way to the counter. Whatever. If anyone asked, he could say it was his type of anime girl or something. He didn't even know what show she was from.
When Kenma asked what he had bought, he shrugged and pointed out a dessert shop next door.)
.
.
"Really, Kenma. Just forget it." Despite his words, Kuroo carefully places the figurine in his box of 'store away'.
Kenma shrugs, turning back to his section of the room.
Not five minutes have passed before Kuroo is making an excited noise again, holding up a battered notebook. "Remember this?"
Kenma scrunches up his nose. "Why do you have that?"
"It's special! It contains all our secrets and stuff!"
"We were like, ten, Kuro. We couldn't even write half the words we wanted to and had to use hiragana to spell it out."
"That's what makes it special, Kenma. Like a sort of code."
.
.
(Kenma lost his voice due to a cold, but Kuroo had a solution. After school, he proudly held up a new notebook.
"With this, we can communicate!"
Kenma furrowed his brows at him. Kuroo could understand the look in his eyes meant, We're communicating just fine.
"No, but see? You write in this, and I can write back. Like letters."
Kenma still looked skeptical. Kuroo decided to show him how it worked. He flipped to the very first page, uncapped his pen, and wrote down at line. Then he closed the notebook, and placed it in Kenma's lap. He also handed him a pen. He motioned with his hands, like go on.
Kenma sighed, but picked up the notebook. He opened the page. He blinked at what Kuroo wrote.
You're my very best friend in the whole wide world!
Kenma smiled.)
.
.
"It ended up just being filled with games of tic-tac-toe," comments Kenma, peering over Kuroo's shoulder.
"Yeah, but it was cool, eh?"
"Mm." Kenma turns back to his box, and pulls out a giant photo album. He hands it over to his friend.
"Wow, this is a while ago."
Kuroo flips it open, and Kenma settles next to him. They look at all the pictures spanning from when they first met to entering high school. There are a lot of photographs, since Kuroo's father loves his camera and loves his kids (the Kuroo family had always considered Kenma as part of the family) even more. Kenma doesn't even remember when half these photos were taken.
"Heh, look at this one. You're actually smiling."
The picture Kuroo is pointing at is one taken when they were probably around six and seven, summertime, running around at the park a block over. Kenma can sort of remember that day, his parents had allowed him to go along with the Kuroos for a picnic. In the picture, Kuroo is grinning unabashedly, one hand holding up a peace sign outstretched towards the camera and the other wrapped tightly around Kenma's smaller hand. Kenma's face is for once not hidden by his dark mop of hair, but rather smiling towards the camera. They look young, fresh, happy.
.
.
("Tetsu-chan, Kenma-chan, look over here!"
The two kids halted in their running around, chasing after the butterflies surrounding their picnic blanket. They looked over at where Kuroo's dad was waving at them, his face half hidden behind his big Canon.
Kuroo spins them around to face the camera lens pointed straight at them, his grin wide and brighter than the afternoon sun. Kenma watched his face for a moment, just plain mesmerized, because yes he'd seen his friend laughing and smiling before but for some reason he'd never really realized just how radiant his friend's smile could be.
"Kenma, look at the camera!" Kuroo pointed ahead, urging his smaller friend to do the same. He grabbed his hand, and aimed his grin at the camera.
"Alright, ready? One, two..."
Kuroo dragged Kenma closer, baring all his teeth in a gleeful grin at his father's camera. Kenma followed his example, encouraged by the sun and warmth coming from his small hand enveloped in Kuroo's slightly bigger, more calloused one.
"...Three! Say cheese!"
It was the best day of Kenma's life so far.)
.
.
When they've flipped through all the photographs, Kuroo closes the album and places it neatly into a box. He leans back against his bed, all straight edges and wood now that his personal bedding is all gone. His eyes shut for a brief moment, but a small smile remains on his face.
Kenma watches him for a moment, struck again by how easy and sunny his childhood friend's smile can be. Then he crawls over, and sits himself in Kuroo's lap. He leans his head against Kuroo's shoulder-when did his shoulder become so broad?
A hand comes up to hold his head. Familiar fingers run through his not-really-blond-anymore hair. His head moves as Kuroo adjusts his body to accommodate the extra weight.
"This is it, isn't it," he says, sighing softly. "I'm finally here."
Kenma nods against his shoulder. "You made it. Congrats."
Kuroo laughs quietly, his upper body bouncing slightly. He stops when Kenma makes an annoyed sound. "I'm gonna miss all this, you know? My whole life is here. All I've ever known."
Kenma stays quiet. Kuroo wanted his moment, didn't he?
"Kids sure grow up fast, huh?"
Kenma turns his face into Kuroo's shirt. "I'm going to miss you."
A hand pats his head. "Hey, you're still gonna see me like, every other weekend. And we can Skype any time you want, yeah?"
Kenma hums. "Wait for me."
"Yeah, Kenma. Like always."
"... Can we stay like this for a bit?"
Kuroo nods, allowing his cheek to land on Kenma's head. "As long as you want."