3

Kuroo

Tetsurou considered actually pouring himself a drink, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he tried to focus all of his concentration, every last fucking bit of it, on Koutarou. Who was at the moment downing his third cocktail. It was hard to tell just when he was tipsy, drunk, or plain sober, due to his already loud nature and incessant smile. Tetsurou, who'd been friends with Koutarou for a few years now and owned the bar, could pretty much tell. Koutarou was still on the verge.

"Kuroo!"

"What's up?"

"Do you dare me to drink every single cocktail on the menu?"

"You wouldn't."

Koutarou raised his eyebrows.

"Wouldn't I?"

"Do you have," Tetsurou began quietly, leaning across the counter, "enough money for every single cocktail?"

"Aw, shit."

Tetsurou laughed as he mixed another one. He made deals for Koutarou, because they were close. It was also hilarious when Koutarou was shitfaced. He was hilarious all the time, really. He brought out the inner child in Tetsurou, made him want to do stupid things just for the hell of it. Both of them brought out the good in each other.

"Don't give him anymore. He's annoying enough as it is."

As Tetsurou handed the drink to Koutarou, they turned to face the tall, lanky kid who was approaching the counter. He was one of Tetsurou's employees, since he couldn't run the entire place himself. His name was Kei Tsukishima; he was a sarcastic, ill-tempered young man with a penchant for condescension and putting other people down. Unbelievably intelligent, and he liked to rub it in people's faces. Tetsurou had liked him as soon as he'd interviewed him for the job, much to Kei's dismay—even more annoying to the relatively withdrawn (unless he was insulting someone) Kei, Koutarou had taken a special interest in him.

"Like you could hold down half the amount of alcohol that I can, Tsukki," Koutarou taunted.

"Don't call me that."

"Tsukki."

"Stop it."

"Tsukki. Kuroo, you try it."

"Don't you dare."

"Tsukkiiiiiiii," Tetsurou chimed in, drawing his voice out until he saw Kei cringe.

"You stupid old men should just go fuck yourselves," he grumbled, grabbing a tray of drinks and walking away.

"Hey. We're not that old," Koutarou grumbled.

"Yeah we are. Ancient," Tetsurou shrugged. "It just means we're wise."

"Oh. Wise. Yeah, I like that. We're wise as fuck."

"Not to mention sexy."

"Holy shit, we are, aren't we?" Koutarou cried. "Speaking of which, guess who got a super hot date." He took his thumbs and pressed them to his chest. "This guy."

"Look at you go, you smooth son of a bitch."

A woman at the bar asked for a Long Island. He smiled at her, a smile that he'd once heard described as 'ambiguous,' and made the drink. She took it with a smooth thank-you and a generous tip.

"Bet you've got no problem with the ladies. Or the men. Or anyone, really," Koutarou pointed out. Tetsurou just kept smiling. He glanced back at the woman. She was sitting next to another woman, and they were speaking in hushed tones. As if they were telling secrets they wanted everyone to be curious about.

After Tetsurou had dropped out of college and taken over, the Black Cat had become a haven for members of the queer community, a safe place known throughout the city. Here, people loved in the beautiful, diverse ways that they knew how, making it bright and colorful and romantic. People wore what they wanted, said what they wanted, did what they wanted (and who they wanted), loved who they wanted. It was one of the reasons the Black Cat had become even more successful since Tetsurou had become its owner. It was a place where everyone could strip down to their very bones, reveal the parts of themselves that they felt forced to hide when they were outside of the sanctity of this place. Tetsurou liked seeing those parts in people.

"What can I say? I am who I am," he said to Koutarou.

"So?" he insisted.

"So, what?"

"Anyone currently on the radar, hotshot?"

"Right now?"

It was such an easy question to answer. It wasn't like Koutarou didn't know the answer anyway. If Tetsurou wanted someone on the radar, there was someone on the radar. He was hardly the type of person to be fond of loneliness, and he had no problems remedying such situations. Especially as the bartender of a place like Black Cat. Especially with a smile as 'ambiguous' as his. It drew people in.

The question had never bothered him before this moment. This specific moment, when it made his head spin and his heart shrivel up, hollow, colorless. But he swallowed his discomfort and made it look like a rainbow, so that when he opened his mouth to reply, lie to his best friend's face, it would at least look okay.

"No. Not now," he said. The words were bland on his tongue. It was at once both a lie and the truth, a lament, a means of hiding the fact that the one person he couldn't have was tearing him apart from the inside. Drinking away his color.

"Seriously?"

Tetsurou shrugged the question off, but Koutarou's attention span was small, so he let the subject change. He rambled about an episode of My Strange Addiction he'd seen.

"There was this woman addicted to snorting baby powder, so I tried it, and I sneezed like crazy and got a really, really bad headache."

"You didn't get a high?"

"Nope, not even a little bit."

"You should try something more potent," Kei interjected, handing money for Tetsurou to put in the register. "Like salt."

"Ooh! Good idea, Tsukki."

Before Tetsurou could go grab a packet of salt, chuckling to himself, the door opened and two unfamiliar men walked in.

"Welcome to the Black Cat," he called. He leaned across the counter and smiled. "Haven't seen you two around."

"That's cuz we don't usually come into places like this," one of the men said. Tetsurou narrowed his eyes. They were stumbling over each other, laughing, snorting, already disruptive to the other customers. They were clearly very drunk.

"What, places with some decency?" Kei scoffed.

"Shut up, faggot!" One of the men pointed his finger at Kei, who just blinked. Genuinely surprised that someone had said that to him, let alone in a place like the Black Cat. Tetsurou knew these types—homophobic people who felt that it was a good idea to invade the places they knew they weren't welcome. Where they knew there were people unlike themselves, people they could make feel uncomfortable in their safe haven.

They were people that Tetsurou despised.

"Oi! If you're gonna make a scene, get out," he called.

"We'll go where we want! If we wanna bother a bunch of homos and trannies, we fucking will," one man said.

"Like hell you will. Get the fuck out, before I run my fist through that dirty mouth of yours," Tetsurou hissed. Koutarou stood up. A few other people stood among the hushed murmurs, and the two intruders looked around anxiously.

"Whatever. Like we wanna be around the likes of you anyway."

They turned and they left. Everyone heaved a collective sigh.

"The fuck was up with them?" Koutarou grumbled.

"You get them every once in a while. Like to come in and cause trouble because they have nothing better to do," Kei shrugged. "I almost feel bad for them."

"I don't." Tetsurou leaned back against the wall and started mixing another drink. And in that strange moment, when he blinked, he imagined Kenma upstairs. He was glad he hadn't been down here to see that. Kenma was sensitive.

At least, Tetsurou thought he was.

But recently, he felt like he hardly knew Kenma at all.

He knew that Kenma like to lie in bed, wrapped in the covers, and make himself small. He knew that Kenma's favorite food was apple pie. He knew that Kenma's favorite animal was a cat, just like Tetsurou, and he had even once said that he trusted Tetsurou because he reminded him of a cat. He knew that Kenma was shy, that he hated alcohol, that he was insecure about how skinny he was, that he loved Marina and the Diamonds and that after he got his paycheck he had impulsive shopping problems. It was easy to shop online, he said. It didn't require him to move. He knew that Kenma was addicted to video games, because they helped him escape reality and discover new worlds in different bodies.

He wondered if Kenma knew little things about him, too. His favorite movies, his favorite foods, his birthmarks and his weird habits.

At the end of the night, after Koutarou had been shipped home in a taxi, Kei helped Tetsurou clean up.

"How often do you see guys like that?" Kei asked as he swept the floors.

"You mean the assholes from earlier? Not that often. I mean, the whole vibe of the bar is relatively new. Only since I started running it. But people tend to know their place."

"Did you always plan on running it? After your dad retired, or whatever?"

"No." Tetsurou smiled. He wiped the counter. Kei blinked at him, stoic no matter the emotions he felt. "I wanted to be a chemist."

"A chemist? You? You're joking."

"As serious as they come," Tetsurou laughed. "I was studying it at university. But I dropped out to take over the place."

"Why the hell would you do that? You must've been good at it if you liked it enough to go to university for it," Kei said. Tetsurou shrugged.

"There were more important things I had to think about. Besides, I like it. And I'm good at mixing the drinks."

"I guess I can't argue with that."

After Kei was gone, Tetsurou took a deep breath. And he went upstairs, to the only reason he'd come back here in the first place. Where that reason was pretending to be asleep, curled up with the cats.

When Kenma walked out of his room, late the next morning, Tetsurou was distracted. He had spoons lined up at the kitchen table and was picking each one up, fitting it against his nose, his chin, his cheeks, and then trying to keep them there. He'd been trying for fifteen minutes now. He still hadn't managed even one.

"Kuro...what are you doing?" Kenma asked, shuffling over. Kenma Jr. was at his heels—Kuroo Jr. had long ago fallen asleep at Tetsurou's feet. Kenma was dressed as usual. His sweater, his shorts, his socks. He'd tied his hair up into a messy bun and the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy.

"Oh, morning," Tetsurou said with a smile. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not at all," Kenma said. He pointed to the spoons. "What's with the spoons?"

"Well, Bokuto sent me a picture of himself balancing four spoons on his face. Which means I have to balance five, but I can't even get one."

Kenma blinked. Once, twice, three times, before he shook his head lightly and moved to the fridge. He opened it and began to rummage, while Tetsurou tried again with the spoons. But his eyes were on Kenma now. His shoulders hunched, strands of hair sneaking out of his hair-tie, large sleeves of his sweater (even in summer) covering his hands and smooth legs shaking slightly. He liked to curl his toes up, and Tetsurou could see it through the socks. Now that the fridge was open, Kenma Jr. began rubbing against Kenma's legs, and then meowed. Begging for food. Tetsurou wished that Kenma had been able to sleep. Sleep made him look brighter, not so sad and small.

"We're out of milk," he said softly, taking out the empty carton. "Why would you put an empty milk carton back in the fridge?"

"Woops. Sorry," Tetsurou shrugged. Kenma looked at him for a few moments, then put the empty carton back, never breaking eye contact. Instead, he grabbed the half-sandwich that he never finished yesterday and sat at the table picking at it.

"How's the game coming?" Tetsurou asked.

"It's fine. I'll make the deadline, no problem."

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah."

Tetsurou and Kenma had never had awkward silences before. (Which wasn't to say that they never sat in silence together. They did that a lot—it was just never awkward.) But this silence was so awkward that if they'd reached their fingers out, they would've felt it rubbing against their nails. Everything was heavy. Tetsurou's gaze fell to the chips, the scratches, the stains on the table, and he let the spoons fall. His phone buzzed, so he scrolled through his messages absentmindedly. Even if he wasn't looking at Kenma, he was so aware of his presence, more than he'd ever been before. He could hear his breaths, his soft chews, his nails scraping the table, his swallows.

At one point, Tetsurou glanced up. Kenma was eating. Just eating. There was a glassy, vacant look in his eyes. He swallowed, zoning out, somehow unaware of Tetsurou's eyes on his face. After a few seconds, he noticed a piece of lettuce stuck to his thumb. He brought it to his lips, licked it off, kept his thumb there a bit longer, and then took another bite of his sandwich.

In that moment, something strange happened. Tetsurou felt heat, starting deep in his stomach, spreading through his body mercilessly. His eyes were watery and his skin tingled. He could see every detail of Kenma's tongue as it pressed to his thumb. He thought of how Kenma's tongue tasted. He wanted it to stay there a bit longer, but it was gone too fast, and Tetsurou was left with nothing but thoughts of how desperately he wanted Kenma's tongue pressed to his skin.

Fuck.

Blushing, hot, overwhelmed, Tetsurou ripped his eyes away.

When Kenma was finished, he washed his plate and put it on the drying rack. Then he walked to the couch and he sat down, bringing his legs up, and grabbed his 3DS. Tetsurou was hungry, too, but he didn't want to get up and make himself anything. He lacked the energy at that particular moment. Which was strange.

They sat in silence for a bit longer. Then, oddly enough, Kenma was the one to break the silence.

"Kuro, I have a favor to ask."

"Hmm? What's up?" Tetsurou's head came up like a dog whose owner just walked through the door, and he was crushingly conscious of it. Kenma was still looking at the 3DS screen.

"Could you brush and braid my hair? You're way better at it than me."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Are you going somewhere?"

"No. It's just bothering me."

"Okay."

It wasn't an odd request. In fact, it was a rather common one. Kenma often turned to Tetsurou when it came to his hair because at this point, Tetsurou had become an expert at dealing with it. And yet, he was surprised when Kenma asked. He wouldn't have been surprised a few days ago—but now that Kenma had also, at one point, asked Tetsurou to fuck him, it sounded a bit different.

Tetsurou quickly went into the bathroom to grab Kenma's black hairbrush. On the couch, Kenma had already positioned himself, so that his feet were pressed against the armrest and his shoulder was leaning against the back of the couch. Tetsurou sat behind him, legs crossed. His hair was still in the messy bun. So Tetsurou reached up and gently, so that he wouldn't hurt Kenma, pulled the hair-tie out, guiding the tangled strands of hair down to Kenma's back, covering his pale neck. Then, while Kenma kept playing, he began to comb through it. He would put the clumps of hair in the palm of his hand and run the brush through, slowly, thoroughly, taking care of every tangle. The backs of his fingers hovered above Kenma's neck, moved along it, until he found himself driven nearly mad by the nearness of his skin.

"Two braids or one?" he murmured.

"One."

He brushed, brushed, brushed, until he could easily run his fingers through Kenma's blond strands. His back barely moved with his quiet, small breaths, and from his hunched shoulders, the ridges of his spine poked out just slightly. Tetsurou remembered what it had been like to run his hands along them, counting the ridges, dipping through them like mountains and valleys that he mapped on his raw fingertips.

He split Kenma's hair into three strands. He put the two on either side over Kenma's shoulders, smoothed them out, even though they didn't really need smoothing. Then he began to braid. One strand over the other, pause, grab the other, bring that one over the one in the middle. A rhythmic, robotic motion that he'd grown used to—when Kenma had first asked him, and he'd totally screwed it up, he'd taken it upon himself to watch YouTube videos dedicated to the art of braiding so that the next time, he'd be able to give Kenma a real braid. Now it was natural. As he worked, strand after strand, tightening, he brought his face closer. Even he wasn't really aware of it. Suddenly, his forehead was nearly touching the back of Kenma's head. No doubt, Kenma could feel his breaths. His fingers moved more slowly, his breathing hollowed, caught in his dry throat. He was dreaming now, alone but together with Kenma in this world of daydreams and pretty braids and licking lettuce off thumbs.

Any understanding of consequences, any impulse control, slipped away, just like they had when he'd first kissed Kenma.

He moved the half-finished braid over Kenma's shoulder so that he could see clearly the skin of his neck. It was bare, vulnerable, exposed, so fucking beautiful. Kenma caught his breath. Tetsurou could hear it. Fingers still entwined in Kenma's hair, Tetsurou brought his face closer, closer, until his lips were right there. Just above Kenma's skin. When he breathed in, there were sunflowers. Strawberries. Apple pie. Sadness and fear and cat hair.

His lips reached. He kissed that spot, in the middle of Kenma's neck. Pressed his lips against it, and without thinking, said his name.

"Kenma..."

He kissed it again. Again. Again. Breathing ragged now against Kenma's skin. Kenma's back hunched a bit more, his toes curled, he sighed and there was an earthquake.

But when he heard Kenma's voice, he came to his senses.

"Kuro."

He pulled away quickly, jarringly, scaring even himself with this brutal rush into reality.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he stumbled, burying his face in his hands.

"It's all right. Can you finish braiding my hair, please? I can't finish it on my own."

"Of course."

He kept his distance when he grabbed Kenma's hair again and continued braiding. Until it was tight, neat, and he tied it at the end. Finally, he pulled against the strands, to give it a more textured, thicker appearance.

"Thanks, Kuro."

"Any time."

He stood from the couch, his face red, and he went to his room under the ruse of having a phone call to make. Doing his best to avoid Kenma's eyes, because he wouldn't have been able to stand seeing the look of betrayal, sadness, emptiness, on Kenma's face. Not now.

Fuck.