Chapter Text
Kuroo Tetsurou walked with his red volleyball club jacket swaying on his shoulders with every step. Beside him, Kenma Kozume trudged along with his head down, his cat-like eyes fixed on the glowing screen. His two-toned hair—dyed blonde with black roots growing in—fell like a curtain around his face.
Kenma wasn’t looking at the road; he didn’t need to. They had been walking these exact same streets since they were tall enough to reach their neighbors' doorbells. His body knew every turn and every crack in the pavement by heart, but above all, Kenma trusted the boy walking beside him completely. He knew that if there was a pothole, a lamppost, or an oblivious pedestrian, Kuroo would simply reach out an arm to guide him by the shoulder or backpack, nudging him back onto a safe path without interrupting his game.
And that was exactly what Kuroo did at that very moment.
"Kenma, one step to the left," Kuroo said, reaching out to gently press his friend’s shoulder blade before he could collide with a rusty fire hydrant.
"Thanks," Kenma murmured, never looking up from the screen. His fingers moved with impressive agility, executing a perfect combo that wiped out three minor enemies in a single hit.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Kuroo’s mouth. It was that lazy, cat-like, and slightly sly grin that drove his opponents at the net crazy and kept the referees watching him closely. But when he was alone with Kenma, it softened completely.
Kuroo loved the afternoons after practice. The Nekoma gym was usually absolute chaos: the deafening screech of sneakers against the hardwood floor, volleyballs slamming violently against the ground, Yamamoto’s loud motivational shouts, and Yaku’s constant complaints as he corrected the first-years' forms. As the captain, managing all of that required an immense amount of energy. But the walk home... the walk home was a sanctuary. It belonged only to the two of them and the silence they shared.
"Coach Nekomata was in a great mood today," Kuroo commented, stretching his neck and looking up at the sky, which was beginning to turn shades of purple and orange. "Though I think he almost killed Yamamoto with that double-reception drill. You should’ve seen the look of agony on his face. It looked like he was going to pass out at any second."
"I saw him. He was making too much noise, as usual," Kenma replied. "Kuroo, you're moving too fast. Slow down."
Kuroo blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, and looked down at his feet. Sure enough, due to his height and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins from practice, his strides had grown too long and rapid for Kenma’s short, languid steps. He adjusted his pace immediately, matching the setter's speed flawlessly, like a gear finding its place.
"Sorry, my bad," Kuroo said, scratching the back of his neck with a chuckle. "I was thinking about the Spring Tournament. It’s closer than it looks, and as the captain, sometimes I feel like I have to carry the weight of making sure everyone is ready. If our synchronization fails, we're out."
Kenma fell silent for a few seconds. A dungeon boss appeared on his screen with a massive health bar, but for an instant, Kenma’s thumbs hovered over the buttons. In his mind, he replayed that afternoon's practice.
"We're fine," Kenma said in his usual low, monotonous voice, but with a layer of mathematical certainty that made Kuroo look at him sideways. "As long as the team's pieces move the way we organize them on the court, we will win. Don't worry so much, Kuroo. Your blocking was perfect today."
Kuroo let out a clear, boisterous laugh that echoed through the empty residential street. He reached out and, with total familiarity, ruffled Kenma’s two-toned hair, messing it up completely.
"Wow, look at that confidence! That’s my star setter, the true brains of Nekoma. If the brains are at ease, the captain is too."
"Don't do that, seriously, you're going to make me lose the level," Kenma protested, wrinkling his nose and hunching his shoulders, though he made no attempt to pull away from the physical contact.
On the contrary, the subtle warmth of Kuroo’s hand on his head was something Kenma secretly sought out; it was his anchor when the outside world became too overwhelming.
They arrived at their usual corner, the exact spot where their paths split for a couple of blocks before reaching their respective houses. They stopped out of pure habit, an unspoken pause that was part of their daily ritual. Kenma finally sighed, saved his game, and turned off the console screen, slipping it carefully into his backpack. When he lifted his head, his golden eyes met Kuroo’s almond-shaped gaze.
"Are you going to stay up late playing again?" Kuroo asked, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow in amused reproach. "We have extra morning practice tomorrow, and I have zero desire to drag you by your feet to the gym because you overslept."
"I'm just going to finish a couple of side quests," Kenma lied shamelessly, shifting his gaze down to his own sneakers. "See you tomorrow, Kuroo."
"See you tomorrow, Kenma. Text me when you get inside, don't get distracted standing on the porch."
Kenma gave a single nod, turned around, and began to walk away. Kuroo stood there, beneath the flickering light of the first streetlamp turning on at dusk. He took a couple of minutes just to watch his friend’s smaller silhouette fade into the distance, visually making sure he crossed the next street safely before turning around to head to his own house.
About ten minutes later, Kuroo’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen.
Kenma: I'm inside. Eating apple pie for dinner.
Kuroo smiled to himself, putting the phone away. To him, the outside world could be a chaotic, noisy place, full of expectations and adult pressures. But as long as Kenma was on the other side of the net, maintaining that perfect, silent routine that only the two of them understood, Kuroo felt like nothing bad could happen. Their friendship was a mathematical, immovable constant in his life. A perfect structure that nothing and no one in the world could ever break.
Or at least, that was what Kuroo thought that afternoon, completely unaware that tomorrow would bring a loud, chaotic whirlwind that would change the rules of their game forever.