Scratch

Chapter 10:

Closed Doors

The couple ducked into a small cafe, holding tightly to all their items as they escaped the rain. Kuroo held the door for them both and Kenma bent down slightly to go under his arm. Kuroo ran a hand through his hair to get rid of the excess water as they looked around for an empty spot in the cafe. It seemed like everyone else had the same idea; there were a lot of customers, more than usual.

"Today sucked," Kenma commented. He shook his head like a cat in an attempt to dry his hair, glaring at Kuroo when he laughed.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, giving Kenma a sympathetic look. "Honestly, the weather forecast said nothing about rain. It said no snow, but apparently that doesn't mean no rain."

Kenma nodded, and didn't say anything further. He moved further into the small cafe, finding a booth and sitting down. He didn't need to look to know that Kuroo was following him. Kenma ran a hand through his wet hair to undo the knots, once, twice, and a third time. He knew Kuroo was watching him, but he didn't feel like talking at that moment. He busied himself, picking at a loose thread from his coat that Kuroo had brought for him.

Hearing the tell-tale sound of a booth seat moving, Kenma looked up curiously. Kuroo had disappeared from his spot, without saying a word. He wasn't sure if he should be mad or glad about that. Kenma decided glad, that Kuroo knew when to leave him alone.

That train of thought led him to the question that has been plaguing Kenma for a whole three weeks now: How did Kuroo understand Kenma so well? He would understand it if they were childhood friends, or even knew each other for a couple months. But the two men had only met each other three weeks ago, totally out of chance.

Or fate, a voice in his mind commented, but Kenma chose to ignore it. He'd been doing that a lot, ignoring things. If he was in a video game, he probably would have leveled up his skill of ignoring things; that's how often he'd been focusing on only the things he wanted to.

Movement caught his eyes, and he turned around to see Kuroo walking back towards him, balancing a tray with food and two drinks. So that's where he had went. Kenma watched him carefully the rest of the way, noticing how he took precise steps, somehow knowing where slick spots were, and how he barely faltered at all; Kenma doubted if a single drop from the drinks had been spilled. He wondered if Kuroo had been a waiter at some point in his life, or if he was naturally meticulous.

Kenma caught himself smiling at Kuroo's accomplishment, but quickly scolded himself. He briefly wondered why he shouldn't smile, was it not okay to be happy? He was unable to answer the question, distracted by the drink that was being pushed to him. He eyed the cup carefully, weighing the pros and cons of drinking it. Kuroo got it for him, that was the pro. But he didn't know what it was, that was the con.

Few people knew he was a picky eater.

He heard a laugh, and glanced back up to see Kuroo grinning, as if he knew something he didn't. Kenma almost asked him what was so funny, but he knew Kuroo would eventually explain. And, of course, he was right.

"It's not poison," Kuroo chuckled, and pushed the cup a few more inches, almost as encouragement. When Kenma still refused to take a sip, he sighed and tried again. "I know you'll like it. I got you a cappuccino and added lots of sugar and cream."

Figures that Kuroo was one of those few people.

Kenma grimaced, and ignored Kuroo's confused and worried look. He wasn't grimacing because he would hate the drink, he wanted to tell him that it was fine, that he liked that type of drink, but he couldn't. He was grimacing because yet again, Kuroo knew exactly what to get him, and Kenma couldn't fathom how he could be figured out so easily, so quickly. Everything was made worse when he noticed which snack was now in front of him: apple pie. His favorite.

He nearly burst into tears right then and there.

"Stop," Kenma whispered, barely loud enough to be considered audible. He felt a prick of guilt when he watched Kuroo's expression turned from a smile to confusion, and if he wasn't paying such close attention like he always does, he would have missed the flash of hurt in Kuroo's eyes.

Breathing in and out slowly, Kenma took a few moments to compose himself. He avoided looking at the person across from him, scared what would happen if he did. Kuroo didn't say anything, but Kenma knew that he was being watched and analyzed. The fact that he came to the conclusion of 'Don't say anything to Kenma right now,' though that it should make him happy, that he was being left to his own calming devices, actually made Kenma extremely upset. It was just more proof, another reason, that he wasn't as guarded as he once thought.

That, in itself was a problem. If he wasn't guarded, then he could be hurt. Quite easily. He enjoyed knowing that everyone thought of him as an emotionless person, he enjoyed that reputation, because it hid the fact that Kenma could be broken with the push of a finger. Everyone thought that the only thing he liked was video games and apple pies, that nothing really bothered him. Like everything to him was water off a duck's back, but in reality, it wasn't. No one knew how many emotions and thoughts filtered through his mind every second, every day. He had intended to keep it that way, keeping people out in order to keep himself safe.

But it was hard. It was hard to keep someone out who already knows what's going on inside. It was hard to ignore someone whose entire point is to not be ignored. It was hard to push someone away, who actually wanted in. It was hard being around someone Kenma cared about, knowing everything could go to hell in a single moment. It was hard keeping Kuroo out, because he was all of those things.

Kenma didn't know what scared him more: letting Kuroo in and being hurt, or driving Kuroo away. Both would hurt, and he was tired of being hurt. He didn't want either of the options; he acknowledged that Kuroo made him happy, that much was sure. But at the same time, if that man had the power to make him happy, he had the power to take it away.

That's why he couldn't allow himself to be happy, Kenma decided, answering his own question, because it could be taken away at any moment.

Coming back to reality, Kenma found himself blinking several times, as if he had kept his eyes open for way too long. Which, for all he knew, could've been entirely true. He looked up at Kuroo with an apologetic smile, ignoring the calculating expression that met him.

"Are you ready to talk now?" Kuroo questioned softly. Kenma was internally grateful that he started the conversation. He nodded in response, and worked to keep eye contact, Kuroo deserved that much. Though Kenma knew what he wanted to say, he had worked through everything in his mind just moments previous, what came out of his mouth…

"I don't like you."

… wasn't at all what he meant.

Kenma's eyes widened as he processed what he said, and a panic began to set in. He was positive he could see hurt in Kuroo's eyes, and maybe even anger. He could feel his palms sweating and his eyes darting in different directions. That really wasn't what he meant to say, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything more. His throat constricted, and became incredibly dry, making it nearly impossible to even make a noise. But what surprised him was how Kuroo responded.

"Calm down, Kenma. Try again."

At the sound of Kuroo's deep voice, encouraging him no less, he found the strength he was missing. He looked up, carefully making eye contact, evening his breathing as he did so. Kenma straightened up, his throat becoming more open by the second. He took a deep breath, and tried once more.

"As you probably figured out, that… wasn't quite what I meant," Kenma informed him quietly. Another deep breath, still keeping eye contact. When Kuroo's expression turned into another, with relief, he found it even easier to continue speaking. "I'm scared, really, that's all there is to it. It's too much to explain."

He winced when Kuroo raised an eyebrow, obviously curious, and gestured for him to explain, like a I've got all the time in the world type gesture. Kenma rubbed his hands together nervously, proud of himself for keeping eye contact for so long. Then, scolding himself when he looked away, but it was lacking any real malice. He figured if Kuroo wanted to know, then he would have to be looking away. It was the only way he would be able to say everything he'd wanted to.

"We've only known each other for two weeks, but even from the beginning…" Kenma trailed off. He cleared his throat once, and continued, "You knew everything about me. You figured me out, like a puzzle, with your analyzing and calculating gaze."

Kenma shrugged, more out of habit than anything, and laughed slightly out of anxiety. He looked around, making sure no one else was watching him unnecessarily, before continuing in a strained voice.

"In fact, you should be a criminal psychologist, instead of a vet. Just in the past ten minutes that we've been here… When we got here, you knew to leave me alone. You knew what to get me for a drink and a snack, for heaven's sake, you even knew what to say to get me to try it!" He made a strangled sound, something like a half laugh and a half sob. It was definitely a sound Kuroo didn't enjoy. "Seriously! How did you even know I love apple pie?"

"Well, in my defense," Kuroo interrupted, silencing Kenma in his once in a lifetime rant, "You told me that one, that your favorite food was apple pie."

"You know what I meant!" Kenma defended himself, uncharacteristically loud. He then slumped down, sliding further into the cafe's booth, ignoring the looks from the customers nearest their booth. Kuroo watched as Kenma filtered through expressions; pained, annoyed, confused, and ended on a sad smile. Kenma chuckled humorlessly, and continued talking. "Even… just now, when I accidently said that I didn't like you. You knew… you knew that wasn't what I meant. You waited for me."

"I'm sorry," Kuroo offered, scratching the back of his head, "But I don't… I don't see how that is scary."

"It's very scary," he whimpered in response. "You make me happy, that much I have to acknowledge. But… that means you can also take that away, and hurt me."

Kenma half-smiled at the annoyed expression on Kuroo's face, he could even hear what he would say. 'But I'd never do that to you!' It was predictable, obvious, but entirely Kuroo. The problem was that no one knew that he'd never do that for sure. Neither of them do. It could be an accident, it could be years in the future, but it wasn't impossible. Before Kuroo could actually voice his protest, Kenma cut in and continued his tirade.

"I've worked very hard on keeping my reputation. I've worked hard to make everyone think that I'm emotionless, because if I didn't, I would be hurt constantly," Kenma explained carefully, looking pointedly at Kuroo, staring into his eyes as he murmured, "I'm not a strong person, Kuroo. Everything hurts. I feel too much. That's the entire problem."