Chapter Text
Miyagi, January 2nd, 2015
Nationals was around the corner, and the tension in the gym was suffocating, clashing with the bitter Winter draft leaking through the high windows. Every mistake felt like a personal insult to a particular third year, but no one was bearing the brunt of the post-holiday atmosphere quite like Shoyo.
Maybe it was because Tsukishima was already exhausted. Maybe it was because Tsukishima barely slept the night before. Maybe it was because every mistake Shoyo made seemed to happen in front of everyone. Maybe it was because Kageyama and Yamaguchi had not been there, being that they were training elsewhere.
Whatever the reason,
“Pathetic.” The words came before he even landed. Shoyo stumbled after the block attempt, shoes squeaking against the floor as laughter erupted from the opposite side of the net.
A few of the first years went quiet. Normally Shoyo would fire something back immediately. Today he just rubbed the back of his neck. “Shut up, did Kuroo-san not return your call or something?”
“Wow.” Tsukishima looked genuinely impressed. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Practice continued. For a while.
Then Tsukishima’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Are you brain dead? Look at where the ball is, you moron!” The ball smacked against the floor. “Too slow.”
Shoyo retrieved it.
Again. “Your timing is garbage. It’s like you’ve never seen a volleyball before.”
Again. “Stop wasting sets. We're giving you a perfect ball and you’re treating it like a joke.”
Again. “Are you even paying attention?”
“I am!”
Tsukishima let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “It’s almost impressive how much potential you waste every single day. You’re a waste of a jersey.”
Usually Shoyo could handle it.
Usually he’d yell back.
Usually he’d turn everything into a competition.
Today every word felt like another weight added to his shoulders. By the end of practice his legs hurt.
His head hurt.
His chest hurt.
"Honestly, it's impressive."The fact that you've made it this far." Tsukishima continued.
The gym went quieter just enough that Shoyo felt every word.
Tsukishima's smile sharpened. "And somehow you're still our starting middle.” Tsukishima adjusted his glasses, his expression one of pure, unfiltered disdain. “I honestly don’t know why we even bother with the ‘decoy’ strategy anymore. You’re not drawing anyone’s attention, Hinata. You’re just a physical liability taking up space on the court. Do you actually think that flailing around like a desperate toddler makes you a player?”
The implication landed immediately. Shoyo's grip tightened around the bottle. To Tsukishima, maybe it was just another joke. But Shoyo suddenly couldn’t stand hearing it. He forced a grin.
He grabbed his things and left while everyone noticed how quickly he was moving.
The biting evening air hit his face like a slap the moment he stepped outside, and Shoyo hurriedly zipped his coat to his chin. He climbed onto his bike and started pedaling, his tires crunching over thin patches of frost. The city blurred past, still decorated with lingering New Year’s lights that twinkled coldly. Streetlights flickered one by one, casting long shadows over snow-dusted sidewalks as the wind pushed against his face.
Normally volleyball helped.
Normally he left practice feeling lighter.
Today he felt hollow. His phone buzzed in his pocket at a stoplight. A team group chat notification—probably more teasing or talk of the upcoming tournament. He ignored it. The light changed. He kept riding, hands numb despite his gloves. Halfway home he pulled into a small park and stopped beside a bench partially covered in a light layer of snow.
His legs were tired.
His throat felt tight.
For a few moments he just sat there staring at his phone.
Then he opened his contacts.
His thumb hovered.
Kenma.
Shoyo hesitated.
Kenma was probably busy.
Streaming.
Or hanging out with his new university classmates.
Still.
He opened the chat.
Shoyo: Hey.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Kenma: Hi.
Shoyo smiled despite himself.
Shoyo: Weird question.
Kenma: Usually means yes.
That earned a quiet laugh. Shoyo leaned forward on the handlebars.
Shoyo: Can I come over this weekend?
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Kenma: Sure.
Another message followed almost instantly.
Kenma: Something happen?
Shoyo stared at the screen. The honest answer felt too complicated. Too exhausting.
Shoyo: Just kinda had a bad day.
This time the reply came without hesitation.
Kenma: Then definitely come over.
A third message appeared.
Kenma: Bring comfortable clothes.
A fourth.
Kenma: And don’t forget your charger again.
For the first time all day, the tightness in Shoyo’s chest eased. A small smile pulled at his mouth.
Shoyo: It happened one time.
Kenma: Three times.
Shoyo: That’s basically one.
Kenma: Sure.
Shoyo laughed softly. The sound surprised him. He looked up at the darkening sky. Then back down at the conversation.
Shoyo: Thanks, Kenma.
Kenma: Anytime.
Shoyo tucked his phone away and climbed back onto his bike. Home suddenly didn’t feel quite so far away.
Tokyo, January 3rd, 2015
The train ride passed quietly.
When they met up, Kenma spent most of it scrolling through his phone, huddled deep into his winter coat, while Shoyo watched the city slide by outside the window. The afternoon sun was pale, reflecting off frosty windows as they made their second train transfer. When their stop finally arrived, they stepped onto the platform, their boots thudding against the salt-strewn concrete as they followed the flow of people toward the exit.
Shoyo adjusted the strap of his bag. “So are we heading straight to your place?”
“Not exactly.” Kenma glanced at his phone again. “I need to make a stop first.”
Shoyo looked over. “What kind of stop?”
Kenma hesitated. “My tattoo appointment.”
That immediately got his attention. “Your tattoo?”
“The one on my back.”
“You never showed me that!”
“I know.”
“Kenma!”
Kenma shrugged. “You never asked.”
Shoyo spent the rest of the walk demanding details while Kenma offered almost none.
-
The tattoo shop sat between a record store and a coffee shop, its front windows darkly tinted. A small bell chimed overhead when they entered. The familiar buzz of tattoo machines filled the air.
The artist behind the counter looked up. “Back to finish it?”
Kenma nodded. “Yeah.”
A few minutes later they were being led toward one of the stations in the back.
Shoyo followed curiously. He’d never actually watched someone get tattooed before.
Kenma set his bag down before pulling off his coat, shivering slightly from the transition into the warmth of the room.
Then his hoodie.
Then his shirt.
Shoyo immediately found something very interesting on the opposite wall. The wall was fascinating. Incredibly fascinating. He stared at it with intense concentration.
“Shoyo.”
“Hm?”
“You can stop pretending.”
His face heated. “I was looking at the artwork.”
“Sure.”
The tattoo artist tried not to laugh.
Kenma climbed onto the padded table and settled onto his stomach. The unfinished tattoo stretched across his lower back, dark lines already visible against pale skin.
Without the hoodie and shirt hiding him, Shoyo found himself noticing details he’d never paid attention to before. Kenma was surprisingly lean. Years of volleyball and gaming apparently created a very specific kind of physique. And then there were the small dimples above his hips. Shoyo’s brain immediately betrayed him.
Sexy.
The thought arrived uninvited. He looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Wasn’t it kind of hot in here?
Fortunately, the machine started up before he could draw more attention. Kenma rested his chin on his folded arms. Shoyo expected him to flinch. Or tense. Or react somehow. Instead Kenma looked almost completely relaxed. His eyes drifted toward the handheld game console he’d brought along.
“You can play while getting tattooed?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
Kenma blinked. “With my hands.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The artist laughed again. “You’d be surprised how many hours he’s spent lying here completely unbothered.”
Shoyo stared. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” The artist deadpanned.
Kenma had already started a game. As if someone wasn’t actively putting permanent ink into his skin. Shoyo eventually pulled up a chair nearby. For a while he watched the artist work. The clean, precise movements. The gradual appearance of new lines. The way the design slowly came together.
Every so often Kenma would glance over. Each time he’d find Shoyo already looking. Eventually a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What?”
Shoyo immediately looked away. “Nothing.”
Kenma hummed. The sound suggested he didn’t believe him for a second. Which was unfortunate. Because Shoyo wasn’t entirely sure how to explain that seeing Kenma like this, comfortable, confident, quietly enduring something painful without complaint, was somehow making his stomach do strange little flips. And admitting that sounded significantly more embarrassing than simply pretending the tattoo was the most interesting thing in the room.
The artist worked for another few minutes before glancing between them.
Then he smiled. "Oh."
Shoyo immediately became suspicious. "Oh what?"
The artist pointed the machine away for a moment. "So you're the kid."
"The kid?”
"The one he's always talking about."
"What does that mean?"
Neither of them answered. Kenma's eyes never left his game.
Shoyo looked back and forth between them. "Why do I feel like everyone's having a conversation except me?"
The artist laughed. "Because Kozume talked about you before."
Shoyo froze. That got Kenma's attention. Only briefly. "Don't make it weird."
The artist ignored him. "Honestly, I wasn't sure you existed."
"Why wouldn't I exist?"
"Because he never used your name at first." The artist nodded thoughtfully. "For a while it was just 'this volleyball kid. The orange one'"
“I’m literally a year younger, so what does that make Kenma?”
Kenma groaned into his folded arms. "Please stop."
Shoyo looked delighted. "Wait. You talked about me that much?"
"No."
"You had nicknames for me!"
Kenma pulled his hood over his head despite not wearing a shirt. Somehow.
Shoyo wasn't sure how he managed it.
The artist continued. "My personal favorite was when he came in one day and spent twenty minutes talking about how some random kid walked up and started a conversation with him when he was in his second year of high school."
Shoyo immediately pointed. "That was me!"
"Yeah, I figured." The artist grinned. "Apparently you'd both gotten lost."
A memory surfaced instantly. The complete lack of direction. Shoyo laughed. "Oh my god."
Kenma made a quiet noise of resignation.
The artist wasn't stopping now. "He spent ten minutes describing how you appeared out of nowhere."
"You remember?"
"Unfortunately." The artist shook his head. "You should've heard him."
Kenma closed his eyes. "I hate both of you."
"'This random kid just started talking to me like we'd known each other forever.'"
Shoyo was practically glowing now. "You really said that?"
"He literally did."
"I was being friendly!" Shoyo added.
"You were being invasive."
"You talked back!"
"I was trapped."
The artist snorted. "That's not what he said back then."
Kenma immediately knew where this was going. "No."
"'He was kind of interesting.'"
"NO."
"'Weird. But interesting.'"
Shoyo's entire face turned red.
The artist was laughing openly now. "Then a few months later it became ‘I think he might actually be insane.'"
Shoyo wheezed. "KENMA. I'm being slandered. You said I was insane?"
"You jumped onto a rival bus and we almost rode with you."
"I didn’t know it was leaving!"
The artist had to pause because he was laughing too hard to hold the machine steady.
When he finally recovered, he looked toward Shoyo. "So what about you?"
Shoyo blinked. "What about me?"
"First impression."
Immediately. Without thinking. "Oh, I thought he looked cool."
Kenma slowly lifted his head. The artist's grin widened.
Shoyo realized his mistake. "...Oh no."
"Cool?" the artist repeated.
"Forget I said that."
"Absolutely not."
Shoyo covered his face. "I was from the countryside! He looked like some cool city guy!"
Even Kenma laughed. Actually laughed. The rare, genuine kind that made his shoulders shake, he rarely does that in the presence of a stranger.
Shoyo stared. His embarrassment deepened instantly. Kenma was so fucking pretty, what the fuck.
"Stop laughing!"
"You thought I was cool?" Kenma asked it so seriously that it somehow made everything worse.
"Not anymore."
"That's not what you said."
"I was wrong."
"You literally approached me because you thought I was cool."
"Please stop talking."
The artist was having the time of his life. Meanwhile Kenma looked suspiciously pleased with himself. Which felt deeply unfair. Because Shoyo had spent the last ten minutes learning every embarrassing thing Kenma had ever said about him. And somehow he'd still ended up being the most embarrassed person in the room.
Eventually the artist regained enough composure to actually finish his work. “Alright, hold still.”
“I’m literally lying down.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The buzzing resumed. This time the room settled into a comfortable quiet. Shoyo continued to watch for a while. Continued to be fascinated. It suited Kenma. Of course it did. Everything somehow suited Kenma. The thought annoyed him slightly. After another twenty minutes, the machine finally went silent.
The artist leaned back in his chair. “There.”
Kenma looked up from his game. “Done?”
“Done.”
Shoyo immediately stood. “Can I see?”
The artist laughed. “You’re more excited than he is.”
“I am.”
“Clearly.”
Kenma sat up carefully as the artist cleaned the area one last time.
Fresh ink stretched across his lower back, the skin surrounding it slightly pink and irritated. Even Shoyo, who knew almost nothing about tattoos, could tell it looked incredible. “Whoa.” The word escaped before he could stop it.
Kenma glanced over his shoulder. “You like it?”
“Yeah.” Maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah, it’s really cool.”
The artist started covering the tattoo with a protective film while explaining aftercare. “No gym for a few days.”
Kenma nodded.
“Mhm.”
“No swimming.”
“Mhm.”
“Keep it clean.”
“Mhm.”
“Moisturize.”
“Mhm.”
The artist narrowed his eyes. “Are you actually listening?”
Shoyo laughed. “I’ll remember it.”
“Good.” The artist pointed at him. “You’re in charge now.” Apparently satisfied with that arrangement, he handed over a small packet of aftercare supplies.
-
By the time everything was paid for and packed away, Kenma had pulled his shirt back on and gathered coat and things.
Shoyo followed him toward the front of the shop.
Halfway there he stopped. “…Wait.”
Kenma glanced back. “What?”
Shoyo stared. How had he never noticed that before?
“What?” Kenma repeated.
“Your ears.”
“My ears?”
“Your piercings.”
Kenma blinked, then immediately looked confused. “I’ve always had them.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I literally have.”
Shoyo stepped closer. The left side had a single silver stud. The right side was completely different. Several small silver hoops climbed the curve of his ear, and one thin chain connected two piercings together, catching the light whenever he moved.
Shoyo stared. Then stared some more. Kenma looked mildly concerned.
“You’ve had those the entire time?”
“Three years.”
“THREE YEARS?”
The artist burst out laughing from behind the counter.
Kenma looked genuinely puzzled. “I thought you knew.”
“I thought you had one piercing!”
“That’s because you never look at me.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, it’s not.”
Kenma raised an eyebrow. “What color are my eyes?”
“They’re—” Shoyo stopped. The answer came immediately. Gold. Warm gold. The kind that shifted depending on the light. The kind he’d accidentally memorized years ago. “…that’s different.”
“Sure.”
The artist was openly eavesdropping now. Neither of them acknowledged it. Shoyo looked back at the earrings. Then at Kenma. Then back at the earrings. How had he never noticed them? Actually—
No.
That wasn’t entirely true.
Kenma looked different these days. Three years had passed since meeting him during his first year of high school. Two years of volleyball tournaments. Train rides. Gaming sessions. Text messages. Sleepovers. Three years of watching Kenma slowly become more comfortable in his own skin. His hair was longer now. His posture more confident. The quiet awkwardness he’d carried as a first year had softened into something calmer. The earrings suited him. The tattoo suited him. The oversized hoodie waiting in his bag suited him too.
And suddenly Shoyo was hit with the startling realization that three years had been very, very good to Kozume Kenma.
Embarrassingly good.
Dangerously good.
Unfairly good.
Kenma tilted his head. “Why are you staring at me?”
Shoyo immediately looked away. “No reason.”
Kenma’s eyes narrowed. Shoyo could practically see him trying to figure out what was happening. Unfortunately, Shoyo wasn’t entirely sure himself. All he knew was that he’d walked into this tattoo shop thinking Kenma was his best friend. Which was still true.
But somewhere between the tattoo, the laughter, the stupid stories, and discovering earrings that had apparently existed for three entire years, his brain had become deeply unhelpful. Because now every time he looked at Kenma, one very specific thought kept repeating itself.
Oh.
Oh no.
Kenma’s really hot.
That seemed like a problem.
A very large problem.
And judging by the suspicious look Kenma was giving him, it was only a matter of time before he noticed something was wrong.
Shoyo continued refusing to make eye contact. The artist watched the exchange with the expression of someone witnessing a slow-motion disaster.
Finally, Kenma sighed.
Before Shoyo could embarrass himself further, Kenma shouldered his bag and headed for the door. “Come on.”
Shoyo followed immediately. “Where are we going?”
Kenma glanced over. “Are you hungry?”
The answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Figured.”
“I’ve been hungry since yesterday’s practice.”
“It’s called being an athlete.”
Tsukishima had called it being a bottomless pit…
-
The afternoon had settled into early evening by the time they reached the mall.
The afternoon had settled into early evening by the time they reached the mall. People drifted between storefronts carrying shopping bags, many still wearing heavy scarves and hats. The lingering New Year's sales signs were still plastered on windows, and a massive, slightly wilted holiday tree stood in the central atrium. Shoyo’s stomach growled loudly enough for both of them to hear.
Kenma looked over.
Shoyo pointed accusingly. “You heard nothing.”
“I heard everything.”
“You didn’t.”
“It sounded painful.”
“I’m starving.”
“I know.”
Five minutes later they were sitting in the food court. Shoyo had somehow acquired enough food for what looked like three people. Kenma had a much smaller meal and a drink sitting beside him. Shoyo was already halfway through his food.
Kenma watched him for a moment.
Shoyo swallowed. “I need energy.”
“You needed energy yesterday too.”
“And tomorrow.”
“You’ll probably be hungry again in an hour.”
“I definitely will.”
Kenma shook his head. The ridiculous thing was that Shoyo wasn’t joking. Half the time Kenma genuinely wondered where all the food went.
By the time they finished eating, Shoyo looked significantly happier than he had earlier. The tightness around his shoulders had eased. The forced smile he’d been wearing earlier when they had met up, is gone. Now he looked more like himself.
“Shoyo, so you wanna talk about it?”
“Hmm?”
“You said you kinda had a bad day yesterday,”
“Ah, just Tsukki being a jerk, probably because he didn’t get picked to training camp with Japan's elite this year. Now he’s taking it out on me. It’s like, Tsukki was a lot nicer when Kuroo was around, you know.”
“I don't think Kuro made him nicer.”
“He totally did.”
“He just gave Tsukishima someone else to annoy.”
“That counts as nicer to me.”
Instead, Kenma stood and tossed his trash away. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
They wandered through the mall afterward without much urgency.
Shoyo stopped to look at almost everything.
A display of shoes.
A sports store.
A collection of novelty keychains.
A giant plush sitting in a storefront window.
Kenma patiently waited through all of it.
Mostly because this was normal.
Eventually they ended up in a convenience store. “Supplies.”
Shoyo immediately grabbed a basket. “For what?”
“You coming over.”
“Don’t you already have snacks at your house?”
“Mhm.”
“You literally own an entire drawer of gummies.”
“Mhm.”
Kenma continued shopping anyway.
Shoyo laughed.
The basket slowly filled.
Water bottles.
Sports drinks.
Several bags of chips.
Chocolate.
Crackers.
Cookies.
More gummies than any reasonable person should own.
Shoyo held up one of the bags. “Do you actually like these that much?”
“Yes.”
“You buy them every time.”
“Because I eat them every time.”
Kenma grabbed another package and dropped it into the basket. Shoyo couldn’t even argue. The gummy obsession was well documented at this point. By the time they reached the register, the basket looked ridiculous.
The cashier scanned everything. Then looked at the collection of snacks. Then looked at them. Then looked back at the snacks.
Shoyo immediately started laughing.
Kenma remained completely unbothered.
A few minutes later they stepped back outside carrying several bags. The evening air felt cooler now. Streetlights had begun illuminating the sidewalks. Shoyo shifted the shopping bag onto his shoulder.
“You know.”
“Hm?”
“This is already way better than my day was.”
Kenma glanced over.
Shoyo was smiling.
A real smile. “Good.”
Shoyo’s smile softened slightly. Then he bumped his shoulder against Kenma’s. “Thanks for letting me crash at your place.”
Kenma adjusted his grip on the bags. “Anytime.”
And for once, Shoyo believed him completely.
Together they headed toward the station, carrying enough snacks and drinks to last the entire weekend. Shoyo glanced down at the ridiculous amount of snacks again.
“Seriously, though.”
“Hm?”
“Why do you have so much food?”
Kenma adjusted the strap of his bag. “Because people keep showing up.”
“What people?”
“Kuroo.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“Akaashi.”
“Makes sense.”
“Bokuto.”
Shoyo immediately nodded. “Actually, that explains most of it.”
“It really does.” Kenma sounded completely serious.
Shoyo laughed. “I thought you liked being alone.”
“I do.”
“Then why do they keep coming over?”
“They pretend to ask permission, but honestly they just appear.”
“That kinda sounds… I don’t know,”
Kenma looked genuinely relieved that Shoyo understood. “They eat everything. Bo definitely does. So the snacks are basically defensive supplies.” For a few moments they continued walking in comfortable silence. Then Kenma spoke again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How would you feel about someone smoking a joint around you?”
Shoyo blinked. The question felt random enough that he almost missed a step. “What?”
“Weed.”
“I know what weed is.”
Kenma waited.
Shoyo thought about it. “I don’t know.”
“That’s a strong opinion.”
“I’m serious.” He shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it much.”
Kenma hummed.
Shoyo considered the question a little more carefully. “I guess as long as the person is not being stupid about it, I don’t really care.”
“Define stupid.”
Shoyo looked over. “Why?”
“I smoke sometimes.”
“Oh.” The admission surprised him less than he expected. Actually… Now that he thought about it, it explained a few things. The gummy obsession. The permanently relaxed attitude. The way Kenma somehow managed to turn every free evening into a comfortable nest of blankets, games, and snacks.
Kenma glanced sideways at him. “That’s it?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You kind of make sense now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the gummy drawer finally has context.”
Kenma looked offended. “The gummies existed first.”
“Sure they did.”
“They did.”
Shoyo laughed. “So that’s why you buy so many?”
“Partly.”
“Because you get hungry?” He watched Kenma nodding. “That’s actually kind of funny.”
-
The station came into view ahead of them. Shoyo found himself smiling. Somehow the conversation had drifted from tattoos, to snack economics. Which felt very on-brand for Kenma, and nationals. The conversation faded after that. His thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.
Kenma.
Which was becoming a problem.
Three years.
Three entire years of friendship. Three years of train rides to Tokyo, tournaments, text messages, gaming sessions, and random conversations at odd hours of the night. And somehow Shoyo was still learning new things about him. The tattoo. The earrings. The fact that he apparently talked about him enough for his tattoo artist to recognize Shoyo upon seeing him. The fact that he smoked. That one especially didn’t surprise him.
Kenma likes comfortable things.
Relaxing things.
Long gaming sessions.
Dim lighting.
Oversized hoodies.
Soft blankets.
An entire drawer dedicated to gummies.
Streaming.
Making money.
When Shoyo thought about it that way, it felt less surprising. More like discovering another piece of a puzzle he’d already been looking at for years.
Beside him, Kenma walked with his hands tucked into his pockets.
Unbothered.
As if admitting something personal hadn’t affected him at all.
Shoyo kicked lightly at a crack in the sidewalk.
Then did it again.
Then once more.
Kenma glanced over. “Shoyo, are you okay?”
Shoyo looked up. “You can tell?”
“Obviously.”
“How?”
“You make that face.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
Shoyo frowned. The silence returned. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Hey, Kenma?”
“Hm?”
Shoyo hesitated. Immediately. Because now that he was about to say it out loud, it sounded strange. Stupid, maybe. But he’d already started. So. “Would you…”
“Would I what?”
Shoyo rubbed the back of his neck. “You know.”
“No.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“I really don’t.”
Shoyo groaned.
Kenma looked amused.
Which wasn’t helping.
Finally, Shoyo forced himself to finish the thought. “Would you be okay with me trying it sometime?”
For once, Kenma actually looked surprised. The question seemed to catch him off guard. “You want to?”
Shoyo shrugged. “I don’t know.” Honesty felt easiest. “I guess I’m curious.”
Kenma considered that. For several seconds. Long enough that Shoyo started wondering if he’d said something wrong.
Then Kenma looked forward again. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“It’s literally not.”
“Shoyo, you’d only do it because you wanted to, and not because you thought you had to, right?”
“I know.”
The answer seemed to satisfy him. After a moment, Kenma nodded. “Then maybe.”
Shoyo smiled.
That felt fair.
More than fair, actually.
Neither of them said much after that. The station lights glowed ahead of them. Their bags were full of snacks and drinks. The weekend stretched out in front of them. And for the first time, Shoyo realized he wasn’t thinking about Kageyama or Tsukishima anymore. He was thinking about spending the next two days with his best friend.
For now, that was enough.
-
By the time they reached Kenma’s apartment, the sky outside had darkened completely. Shoyo followed him up the stairs, balancing two shopping bags against his hip while Kenma searched for his keys. The door unlocked with a familiar click.
“I'm home!” Shoyo announced dramatically as they stepped inside.
“Don't say it like you live here.”
“Pardon the intrusion!”
Kenma sighed. The sigh suggested he’d already accepted this was his evening now. Shoyo kicked off his shoes near the entrance and looked around. He’d been here before. But something about it felt different tonight. Maybe because it had been a while. Maybe because he’d spent the afternoon discovering entirely new things about Kenma. Or maybe because every time he visited, the apartment looked more and more like the home of an actual adult.
Which was weird.
Because Kenma was still Kenma.
The same person who could spend twelve straight hours gaming without noticing.
The same person who kept enough gummies to supply a small convenience store.
The same person who routinely forgot to answer texts for six hours.
And yet.
Adult.
Somehow.
The apartment wasn’t large; a single bedroom, small kitchen, living area, bathroom. A balcony. Nothing extravagant. But it was undeniably his.
The shelves were organized
Books stacked neatly beside game cases.
A few plants sat near the window and out on the balcony.
The low wooden table in the center of the room was clear except for a charging cable and a game magazine.
The soft rug beneath it looked expensive enough that Shoyo felt guilty stepping on it.
“How are you a real person?” Shoyo asked.
Kenma paused while unloading groceries. “What does that mean?”
“This.” Shoyo gestured wildly. “Everything.”
“Helpful.”
“You live alone.”
“Yes.”
“You pay bills.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You have matching dishes.”
“They were on sale.”
“That’s not the point.”
Kenma laughed softly.
Shoyo dropped onto the rug with a dramatic flop. The fibers were so soft they practically swallowed him. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“This rug is amazing.”
Kenma glanced over. “It should be.”
“You sound proud.”
“It cost money.”
“A lot of money?”
“Enough.”
Shoyo groaned. Then immediately stretched out across it. The apartment smelled faintly like fabric softener, coffee, and something uniquely Kenma that Shoyo had never been able to identify.
Comfortable.
That was the closest word he could find.
Kenma carried groceries into the kitchen while Shoyo watched from his spot on the floor. He moved easily through the apartment. Like someone who had built a life inside these walls.
Putting away groceries.
Refilling a water filter.
Checking something on his phone.
Normal things.
Adult things.
Shoyo rested his chin on the low table.
Three years ago, they’d met by accident. Just two rival volleyball players who happened to get lost in the same place. Now Kenma lived on his own, managed classes. Paid rent. Scheduled tattoo appointments. Owned furniture Shoyo was afraid to spill things on. It felt strange.
Because somewhere along the way, the quiet first-year who hid behind Kuroo or behind his phone, games, consoles, had grown up. The realization hit unexpectedly hard.
Kenma returned from the kitchen carrying two bottles of water and snacks. He set them on the table in front of Shoyo. “You’ve been looking at me for like a minute."
Had he? Apparently. “I’m just glad I get to see you, Kenma.”
“Mm,” Kenma sat across from him on the opposite side of the table. The chain connecting two of his earrings caught the light. The sight immediately reminded Shoyo of the tattoo shop and Kenma laying on the table or whatever that was called. Which was unhelpful. Very unhelpful. Because now he was noticing things again.
Kenma unscrewed his water bottle and smirked like he knew something. Shoyo grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at him. He caught it without looking. Which somehow made him seem even more annoyingly competent. And that definitely wasn’t helping Shoyo’s situation at all. Kenma eventually pushed himself upright from the rug.
“I’m going to get a few things.”
Shoyo looked up from where he’d been examining one of Kenma’s game cases. “Hm?”
He didn’t answer and disappeared into the bedroom for a minute before returning with a small case, setting it beside the table.
Shoyo watched curiously as Kenma carefully arranged the items: a tightly packed, pre-rolled joint, a small metal lighter, and a heavy glass ashtray that caught the dim light. As soon as the case opened, a sharp, earthy scent—pungent and herbal—permeated the living room, clinging to the soft fabric of the rug.
The soft glow from a lamp in the corner illuminated the room.
Shoyo curled his legs beneath himself on the rug. “You really do this often, huh?”
“Sometimes.”
“Enough that you have a system.”
Kenma shrugged. “I like routines.”
“That’s true.”
That might have been the understatement of the century. Kenma liked routines almost as much as he liked video games. Maybe more. A few moments later he picked up a controller and tossed another one toward Shoyo. The controller landed directly in his lap.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Game first.”
Shoyo grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Within minutes the television flickered to life. A familiar menu screen appeared. The music filled the room.
Shoyo immediately sat up straighter. “Oh, you’re going down.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“And this time I mean it.”
They loaded into a match.
Shoyo lost the first round.
Then the second.
Then the third.
“THIS IS RIGGED.”
“It’s really not.”
“It absolutely is.”
Kenma didn’t even look away from the screen. Which somehow made it worse. Several games later, the competitive energy gradually faded into something more relaxed.The conversation drifted naturally between matches.
Classes.
New Years.
Nationals.
Kageyama.
The tattoo.
Eventually Shoyo found himself glancing over. “Can I ask you something?”
“You usually do.”
“How’d you get started? Smoking I mean.”
Kenma knew exactly what he meant. His eyes remained on the game for a moment before he answered. “University.”
Shoyo blinked. “That’s not very specific.”
“It kind of is.” Kenma rested his chin against his hand. “The workload got ridiculous.”
That surprised him less than it should have. Kenma had always been smart. People tended to assume smart meant effortless.
Shoyo knew better. “Stress?”
“Mhm.”
“Kenma gets stressed?!”
Kenma slowly turned his head. “Shoyo.”
“Right. Stupid question.”
“Very.”
Shoyo laughed.
Kenma looked back at the screen. “I was taking too many classes. Sleeping badly. Spending most of my time either studying or streaming.” The words were matter-of-fact. “Eventually everything started feeling like work.”
Shoyo's smile faded slightly.
Kenma shrugged one shoulder. “I needed something that would force me to slow down for a little while.” His eyes stayed fixed on the game. “Found it after I got dragged to a party one night.”
Shoyo nodded quietly. That, he understood. Maybe not in the same way. But he understood wanting the noise in your head to settle for a while. Eventually Shoyo leaned back against the couch. “You know.”
“Hm?”
“When I was younger, I thought being an adult would mean having everything figured out.”
Kenma laughed. “That’s adorable.”
“Hey.”
“No, seriously.” Kenma shook his head. “That’s the funniest thing you’ve said all day.”
Shoyo groaned.
Kenma’s smile lingered. For a brief moment he looked surprisingly relaxed.
Happy, even.
And sitting there in the warm apartment surrounded by games, snacks, and comfortable silence, Shoyo found himself thinking that maybe growing up wasn’t about having everything figured out. Maybe it was just finding the things and the people that made the difficult parts easier to carry. The thought lingered longer than he expected. Fortunately, Kenma chose that exact moment to destroy him in the next match.
“KENMA.”
“What?”
“You did that on purpose.” Kenma shifted slightly, his gaze fixed on the screen while he enjoyed his victory. Shoyo reached over with a wide grin and gave Kenma a firm, accidental pat right on his lower back. Kenma immediately winced sharply, a pained gasp escaping him as he arched away from the contact. Shoyo froze, his hand pulling back as if he'd been burned. The realization hit him instantly. “Oh my god! Kenma, I'm so sorry!” Shoyo blurted out, his face pale with guilt. “The tattoo—I totally forgot for a second. I'm so, so sorry! Are you okay?”
Kenma took a slow, steadying breath, the sharp sting gradually fading. “It's fine,” he managed. “I need to reapply some balm anyway. The area is still really fresh.”
He stood and tugged his hoodie off in one smooth motion, then peeled his shirt up and off as well before sitting back down on the edge of the rug. Shoyo froze for half a second before immediately pretending he had suddenly become extremely interested in the floor.
"Right. Cool.."
Kenma gave him a look. "You’re being weird again."
"I’m not being weird."
"You are." Kenma opened the kit and carefully took out what he needed, moving with practiced ease as he applied the aftercare to his lower back with one hand. After a few seconds, he paused and shifted slightly. "Hard to reach properly though."
Shoyo hesitated. Then, before his brain could fully catch up, "Do you want help?"
Kenma turned his head slightly. “You sure?"
"Yeah. I mean it’s just if you can’t reach it properly—"
"Okay."
Shoyo immediately scooted closer. The moment his fingers made contact with Kenma’s skin to help adjust the placement of the ointment, his brain short-circuited.
Oh.
This is Kenma.
That is his best friend.
Why was this suddenly so loud in both heads and heart? He carefully focused on what he was doing, trying very hard not to think about anything else. Kenma, meanwhile, didn’t seem particularly bothered. Which somehow made it worse. Shoyo cleared his throat awkwardly.
"So—uh—"
"Hm?"
"Do you—" He stopped.
Kenma glanced back slightly. “What?"
Shoyo immediately blurted the first thing his brain produced. "Are you seeing anyone right now?"
Kenma didn’t even hesitate. "No. Not really."
Shoyo frowned a little at that. "What does ‘not really’ mean?"
Kenma exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to decide how much effort this question deserved. "It means I don’t do relationships right now."
"Ah...I see" That landed differently than Shoyo expected. Kenma finally glanced back over his shoulder again.
"It’s easier that way."
Shoyo’s hands slowed slightly, then resumed carefully. "Easier?"
Kenma shrugged one shoulder.
Shoyo looked down at the tattoo again, trying very hard to focus on the motion of what he was doing instead of the words. “That sounds kind of lonely.” The words came out before he could stop them.
Kenma was quiet for a moment. "...Not really."
Shoyo didn’t push further. He didn’t know why, but something in Kenma’s tone made him feel like pushing would be the wrong move. So instead he just finished what he was doing, careful and quiet, until Kenma gave a small nod.
"Done." Shoyo pulled his hands back immediately like he’d been caught doing something suspicious.
Kenma adjusted his shirt back down slowly, then sat there for a moment before picking up his controller again like nothing had happened at all. But Shoyo didn’t move. He stayed sitting on the rug. Still slightly red. Still thinking too much. Because somehow, in the space of a few questions, Kenma had gone from “his best friend who owns too many snacks” to something a lot harder to define. And Shoyo felt ready to name what this feeling was.
Kenma didn’t turn back to the game immediately. Instead, he stayed sitting there for a moment, controller resting loosely in his hands. “What about you?”
Shoyo blinked. “Huh?”
Kenma glanced over his shoulder slightly. “Are you seeing anyone?”
He let out a short laugh, a little too fast. “No.”
Kenma waited.
Shoyo shifted on the rug. “I mean, I’ve been confessed to a few times and whatever.”
That got Kenma’s attention more than anything else had so far. He turned his head slightly, actually listening now. “And?”
Shoyo shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “And I said no.”
“Every time?”
“Yeah.”
Kenma didn’t look surprised. Just… observant. “Why?”
Shoyo hesitated. There wasn’t one clean answer. He picked at a loose thread on the rug. “I don’t know. It’s just… weird.”
“People liking you?”
“No—well, yes, but not like that.” He exhaled, searching for the words. “It’s like… I know I don’t really fit what people expect, once they get to know me.”
Kenma didn’t interrupt.
Shoyo kept going, a little quieter now. “Sometimes I feel like they’re looking for someone more… normal. Or… easier to stand next to.” He gave a small, awkward shrug. “Like, I know I’m not exactly the easiest person to—” he gestured vaguely at himself, “—be with.”
Kenma tilted his head slightly. “Because you’re loud?”
“You know that's not what I mean..." It's because he's leaving.
“But you think that matters?”
Shoyo opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Kenma just watched him, waiting.
Finally Shoyo let out a breath. “Maybe. I guess I just don’t want someone to regret it later.”
Kenma turned back to the game but didn’t start it. “…That’s stupid.”
Shoyo blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It is.”
Shoyo frowned. “How is that stupid?”
Kenma adjusted his grip on the controller. “People don’t like someone by accident.” Shoyo didn’t respond right away. Kenma added, more matter-of-fact than anything else: “And you’re not hard to stand next to.”
That made Shoyo go quiet. He looked down at his hands. “…You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Kenma said simply.
Shoyo risked a glance at him.
Kenma still wasn’t looking directly at him, but his voice had that same calm certainty it always did when he was sure of something. “It’s kind of obvious when people want to be around you.”
Shoyo’s ears turned pink again, and he quickly grabbed the controller like it could save him. “Whatever. You’re just saying that.”
Kenma finally started the game again. “Sure.” But the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
The game started again, but Shoyo wasn’t really playing anymore.
His thumbs moved on instinct.
His attention didn’t.
Kenma noticed.
Shoyo made a sound of protest, then lost his character immediately on-screen. “I guess I’m more distracted than I thought.”
Kenma didn’t tease him this time.
That silence, that steady, patient kind, he appreciated not being called out.
Shoyo stared at the TV for a moment, then let out a long breath. “Kenma…I think I might be into guys too.” The room didn’t change. Kenma didn’t react loudly. But he did pause the game. That was enough to make Shoyo’s stomach tighten. “I mean,” Shoyo rushed, “I don’t know for sure. I just—” He stopped, frustrated with himself. “I thought I only liked girls before, but lately I don’t really think about it like that.”
Kenma’s eyes shifted slightly toward him now. Just listening more carefully.
Shoyo swallowed. “And my heart does this thing sometimes.”
“What thing?”
“It just… goes too fast when I’m close to the person that I like.” He rubbed the back of his neck hard, like he could physically erase the words mid-air. “It’s annoying.” Kenma stayed quiet. Shoyo kept going before he could lose his nerve. “I always thought it was just because they were my friend, you know? Like, normal closeness stuff. But recently I kind of… thought a lot about them… about kissing them.” Shoyo kept staring at the TV, like if he didn’t look at Kenma, the moment wouldn’t exist. “…And that doesn’t feel like best friend stuff anymore.”
Kenma slowly set the controller down. “Shoyo, do I know this person?”
Shoyo’s shoulders tensed immediately. “I—” He stopped. Because there was no point lying at this point since he got this far. Not to Kenma. So he just exhaled. “…Yeah. I’m, uh, talking about you. I like you a lot, Kenma…”
Kenma didn’t react the way Shoyo expected. Just a long, thoughtful pause like he was assembling something carefully in his head.
“You’re saying,” Kenma began slowly, “that you thought you were straight, but you’re not sure anymore.” Shoyo nodded once. “And you only started thinking about kissing me recently.” Another nod. Kenma leaned back slightly against the couch.
Shoyo’s face went instantly red and groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
Kenma watched him for a moment. Shoyo peeked through his fingers. Kenma’s expression hadn’t changed much, but his eyes were sharper now. Focused in that quiet way he had when something actually mattered.
“I don’t think you suddenly changed, Shoyo…” Kenma tilted his head slightly. “I think you're just noticing something that was already there.”
“What?”
“You've always been weird about me.”
“Hah?! Weird how?!”
“Do you want the list?”
“No!”
“Okay.”
“Kenma!”
“Since you asked.”
Shoyo made an offended noise.
Kenma rested his elbow against the arm of the couch. “When I graduated, I thought we'd probably stop talking as much.” The casual way he said it somehow made it sound more honest. “I’m not playing volleyball anymore and you’re still busy with practices, tournaments, all that stuff.” He looked back at the paused game screen. “Most people drift apart once the thing connecting them disappears.”
Shoyo stared at him.
Kenma continued. “I figured we'd text less. Call less. Maybe check in every few months.”
“Kenma.”
“And that never happened.” Kenma's eyes flicked toward him. “Honestly, I kept waiting for you to get bored.”
“What?!”
“You're very volleyball-oriented.”
Shoyo huffed.
Kenma's mouth twitched. “But then you kept calling or texting. You wanted to talk about your day. About classes. About food. About random things you saw online.” His voice was quieter now. “Half the time we weren't even talking about volleyball.”
“Because I wanted to talk to you. I mean—obviously. You're my friend.”
“Right.”
Neither of them looked away.
Kenma sighed softly. “That was kind of the signs I saw. You kept proving that volleyball wasn't the reason.”
Shoyo's heart skipped. How long had he liked Kenma?
Kenma looked down at his hands. “You'd call me after matches. You'd call me after bad days. You called me when you were excited. And when you were upset.” Kenma let out a small laugh. “You even called me once because you found a weird bird.”
“It was a really weird bird.”
“I saw. You sent twelve pictures.”
“It kept standing differently.”
Kenma shook his head. The fondness in his voice was impossible to miss. “My point is... eventually it got harder to tell myself you only cared because we happened to meet through volleyball.” Kenma looked at him directly. “So yeah.” His gaze dropped briefly before returning to his. “I had a feeling.”
A faint flush colored the tips of Shoyo’s ears. “You knew I liked you?”
“Mhm.”
“Why didn't you say anything?!!!!”
Kenma looked genuinely confused by the question. “Because there was also a chance I was completely wrong.” Kenma looked away first.
It sounded like Kenma had already decided this was normal. Like it wasn’t something to panic over at all. Shoyo lowered his hands slowly from his face. “…You’re really calm about this.”
Kenma blinked once. “What would you prefer?”
“…I don’t know.”
Kenma picked up the controller again, turning it over in his hands. “Anyways, this is fine.” Then, almost casually: “And for the record, it’s not weird.”
Shoyo didn’t respond right away. The game was still paused. Neither of them moved to unpause it. Kenma’s gaze flicked briefly towards the joint on the table they had yet to touch.
“...I’ve said like a thousand different things in the last minute.”
“That’s normal talking.” Shoyo said knowing it was not. Kenma doesn't always talk this much.
Kenma gave him a look.
Shoyo looked away quickly, suddenly aware again of everything that had been building in his chest all evening, the questions, the embarrassment, the realization Kenma hadn’t flat out rejected him.
The lights from the TV were lower than before, casting warm shadows across the room as Kenma reached for the joint and lighter. For a moment, he simply turned it between his fingers, eyes half-lidded and thoughtful.
Then he lit it.
The tip glowed briefly in the dim room.
Shoyo found himself watching more than he meant to.
Kenma looked completely at ease.
Like this was another part of his routine. Another quiet thing he did when the world became too loud. After a moment, Kenma leaned back against the couch and took a slow drag before exhaling toward the ceiling.
The smoke drifted upward lazily. Neither of them spoke. Not right away. Kenma glanced sideways at him. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Shoyo laughed softly. “You’ve asked me that like three times.”
“Because I know you.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Kenma’s mouth. Then he held the joint out toward him. Shoyo stared at it for half a second. At the offer. At the trust in it. At the fact that somehow tonight had become this.
A tattoo appointment.
The mall.
Dinner.
His confession.
Kenma nudged his hand slightly. That more than anything made Shoyo smile. He accepted it from Kenma, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. The contact was tiny and somehow enough to make his heart trip over itself again.
Kenma immediately noticed. His eyes flicked down to Shoyo’s hand and then back to his face. The faintest hint of amusement appeared. “You really have it bad for me, don’t you?”
Shoyo groaned. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
"Whatever."
Shoyo took a tentative hit, but the smoke was unexpectedly thick and searingly hot. It hit the back of his throat with a bitter, resinous taste that made his eyes water instantly. His lungs immediately rebelled, and he descended into a violent, hacking, wheezing cough, doubling over and clutching his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Ugh, it tastes like... burnt pine needles,” he managed to gasp out. Kenma watched him, a genuine, warm laugh bubbling up as he leaned over to pat Shoyo's back.
“You’ll get used to it if you keep at it,” Kenma teased, his eyes bright with amusement. Shoyo tried to glare at him between coughs, his face turning a deeper shade of red as he finally managed to draw in a ragged breath.
Kenma reached out, his fingers brushing Shoyo’s as he reclaimed the joint. He took one last, slow drag, the embers glowing bright in the dim room, before he carefully pressed it out in the ashtray. The final plume of smoke spiraled upward and dissipated, leaving the air quiet between them.
Kenma settled deeper into the couch cushions, looking far too pleased with himself. He sat back against the couch, one arm resting loosely over the armrest, eyes half-lidded as he stared at nothing in particular for a moment.
Shoyo is quieter now. Softened. Like the edges of his earlier anxiety had been rounded out. He leaned back on his hands on the rug, looking up at the ceiling.
“…Oh,” he murmured after a while. He felt incredibly heavy, as if his body were melting and sinking deep into the plush fibers of the expensive rug. Time seemed to stretch and slow down, the seconds between breaths lengthening. Most importantly, the constant, buzzing static noise in his brain, the anxiety about Nationals and Tsukishima's shouting, had simply vanished.
Kenma glanced over. "You doing okay?"
“My mouth is so dry,” Shoyo croaked, his tongue feeling like it was made of cotton. “Kenma, I need water. Like, a lot of water."
Kenma glanced at him. “Then drink some.”
“Right. Water.” Shoyo stared at the ceiling for another few seconds before remembering he was actually capable of moving. With far more effort than seemed necessary, he pushed himself upright and reached for the bottle sitting beside the couch. The plastic crackled loudly in the otherwise quiet room.
He took a long drink.
Then another.
And another.
“Better?” Kenma asked.
Shoyo lowered the bottle slowly. “Maybe.”
“Keep drinking.”
“Yes, mom.”
Kenma rolled his eyes.
Shoyo turned his head slightly toward him. “Kenma, what are you thinking about?”
Kenma was quiet for a moment. Long enough that Shoyo started regretting asking. “…I’m considering it. That’s all.”
That finally got a small, quiet laugh out of Shoyo. “Considering it?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s ominous.”
“It usually is.”
The game sat forgotten. The snacks remained abandoned on the table. Kenma watched him. Not the way people usually watched Shoyo. Like he was trying to understand something. Or maybe like he’d already figured it out. Shoyo became increasingly aware of it.
“Shoyo.”
“Hm?” For the first time all evening, Kenma looked almost uncertain.
“Do you want to kiss me?” The question landed between them with no teasing hidden underneath or escape route built into the words.
Shoyo stared at him. His heart immediately attempted to launch itself through his ribs.
“Oh.” Brilliant response. Truly incredible. Kenma waited patiently. Shoyo rubbed the back of his neck.
Looked away.
Looked back.
Failed to come up with anything remotely normal to say.
Finally he laughed softly at himself. “That’s unfair.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked it like you’re asking if I want another snack.”
“Do you?”
Shoyo groaned. Then covered his face. Then immediately dropped his hands again because hiding wasn’t helping. His face was completely red. “Yeah.” His voice came out quieter than intended. So he repeated it. Looking directly at Kenma this time. “Yeah. I do.”
Something warm softened in Kenma’s expression, unmistakable.
That made Shoyo smile. Then blush harder. Then mentally curse himself. This was hopeless. His gaze dropped briefly to Kenma's hands resting loosely in his lap.
Long fingers.
Relaxed.
A thought occurred to him.
A stupid thought.
A nice thought.
Don't people hold hands first?
Kenma tilted his head. "Hm?"
Shoyo suddenly felt fifteen years old again.
"Can I hold your hand?" The words escaped before he could overthink them. For a second neither of them spoke. Then something in Kenma's expression softened even further. It wasn't teasing. If anything, it looked fond.
"Yeah." The answer came immediately. Like there had never been any possibility of him saying no. Shoyo's chest did something embarrassing. Slowly, he shifted closer. Close enough that their knees brushed. Close enough that he could see the gold flecks in Kenma's eyes when the light hit them. His hand hovered awkwardly between them.
Then Kenma reached out first.
Saving him.
Like always.
Their fingers brushed.
Then settled together.
Shoyo stared down at their joined hands for several long seconds. For some reason, this felt even more dangerous than everything else. Kenma's thumb moved once against the side of his hand. A tiny motion. Barely anything.
It sent an unreasonable amount of warmth through Shoyo's chest.
Kenma looked amused.
And Shoyo couldn't stop staring. "...I think I like this."
Kenma glanced down at their hands too. "Mhm." His voice was quieter now. "I know."
The answer made Shoyo smile before he could stop himself. For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Just sat there with their hands linked together.
Comfortable.
Warm.
Dangerously nice.
Shoyo stared down at their fingers for a while before finally speaking. "...Can I also tell you something more?"
Kenma glanced over. "You usually do."
"I'm serious."
"Okay."
Shoyo swallowed. Then laughed nervously at himself. "I've never actually done it before."
Kenma tilted his head. The look he gave him immediately made Shoyo wish he'd chosen different wording.
"K-Kissing I mean!!!"
Kenma laughed softly. The sound eased some of the tension sitting in Shoyo's chest. Because now the admission was out there floating between them. And for some reason that felt more vulnerable than admitting he liked him.
Kenma squeezed his hand gently.
The motion drew Shoyo's attention back to him.
"With kissing, you don't have to know what you're doing."
Shoyo stared. “That sounds suspiciously reassuring."
"It's true." Kenma shifted slightly on the couch. Still close. Still holding his hand. "You don't get graded on it, the point is to feel good.”
Shoyo immediately barked out a laugh. "Thank god."
"I think you'll survive."
"That's easy for you to say."
Kenma hummed. Then he grew quieter. More serious. Like he was making sure Shoyo was actually listening. "You don't have to force anything, Shoyo."
Shoyo nodded.
"You can stop whenever you want."
Another nod.
"And if you're nervous, that's normal."
That one made Shoyo smile a little. "I am nervous." Shoyo rubbed his thumb lightly against the back of Kenma's hand. Kenma let him. Eventually Shoyo looked over. "...You're being really nice about this."
Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I be mean?"
"No."
"If you're complaining I guess that means you finally stopped panicking."
Shoyo rolled his eyes. Then smiled despite himself. Maybe he had been. Just a little. Their hands remained linked together between them. Shoyo had almost forgotten about everything else.
The game.
The snacks.
The fact that he’d spent half the evening having multiple life-changing realizations. Right now there was only Kenma. He felt his thumb brushed lightly against the back of his hand again. A tiny grounding motion. Then, after a moment, Kenma leaned in. Slowly enough that Shoyo could have moved away if he wanted to. Slowly enough that the choice remained his. Their foreheads brushed lightly first. The nervousness was still there. So Shoyo closed the remaining distance himself. Nothing like the dramatic movie scenes Shoyo had imagined growing up.
Better, somehow.
Because it was Kenma he kissed.
When they pulled apart, it was only by a few inches.
Shoyo stared at him. Then immediately laughed. Because he couldn’t seem to contain the happiness bubbling up inside him.
Kenma looked amused. “What? No good?”
Shoyo shook his head. “I don’t know.” A grin spread across his face. “I just really wanted to do that.”
For perhaps the first time all evening, Kenma looked genuinely pleased. The nervousness that had followed Shoyo all evening seemed smaller now. Less overwhelming. Because Kenma wasn’t making anything complicated. Wasn’t rushing. Wasn’t asking for more than Shoyo wanted to give. Just meeting him where he was. Patiently.
Shoyo rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Immediately embarrassed by how happy he probably looked. “This might be a stupid question.”
Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
Shoyo laughed softly then glanced away. Then back. His confidence lasted approximately two seconds.
Kenma watched him struggle through whatever thought was currently short-circuiting his brain. The nervous smile. The red ears. The way his eyes kept flicking to Kenma's mouth before darting away again.
Understanding arrived almost immediately.
Something warm tugged at the corner of Kenma's mouth. "One wasn't enough?"
Shoyo made a strangled noise. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know what you were going to ask.”
“You don't know that.” Shoyo squeezed his hand. "Maybe I just had a different question."
"You were staring at my mouth." Kenma shifted closer. Close enough that Shoyo could see every detail he normally missed. "How many were you thinking?"
The faint freckles near his nose.
The way his eyes softened when he was genuinely happy.
For someone who spent so much time hiding behind a screen, Kenma suddenly felt impossible to look away from.
So when Shoyo leaned closer this time, he didn’t feel nearly as scared.
Just excited.
The kind that made his chest feel too full.
Their second kiss started soft. It only stayed that way for a few seconds. Shoyo had spent too long wanting this. Too long imagining what it would be like to sit this close to Kenma without having to pretend he wasn’t affected by it.
Now that he could, it was hard to stop.
He shifted closer.
Then closer again.
Until he was practically pressed against Kenma’s side. Kenma made a quiet sound of amusement against his mouth. The answer made Shoyo grin, and immediately ruined the kiss. Which made both of them laugh.
Neither moved away. If anything, they ended up even closer. Shoyo’s knee bumped against Kenma’s. The distance between them disappeared piece by piece. Drawn together by the simple fact that neither of them wanted to be anywhere else. When Shoyo kissed him again, he reached for Kenma’s shoulders without really thinking about it.
Wanting closer.
Always closer.
Kenma’s hand settled at his side.
Inviting him nearer.
It was a wordless invitation to drift even closer into the dream, all the encouragement Shoyo needs.
He shifted awkwardly for a second before ending up in Kenma’s lap.
“Shoyo.”
There was a slow, honeyed laughter in Kenma’s voice, sounding like it was underwater. He didn't seem to mind the weight at all.
“What?” Shoyo's own voice felt distant to him, vibrating in his chest in a way that made his head swim with a pleasant, fuzzy heat.
Kenma's words drifted through the hazy air. “You’re climbing on me.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m not a tree…”
Shoyo let out a breathy laugh that made his vision tilt ever so slightly. His hands slid up to rest around Kenma’s shoulders, the texture of the fabric feeling impossibly soft and vivid beneath his palms. The angle was easier now that he was straddled, the closeness amplifying every spark of contact.
By the time they finally paused, Shoyo felt beautifully flushed, his face tingling with a radiant warmth. He let his forehead drop lightly against Kenma’s, closing his eyes against the gentle whirl of the room.
"Hey," Kenma murmured, his eyes searching Shoyo's with a slow, dreamy focus. "How do you feel? You're really floating, aren't you?"
Shoyo blinked, the edges of his vision soft and glowing. "I feel... gold," he whispered, the description making perfect sense in his head. "Everything is so warm."
Kenma's thumb traced a slow, languid circle against his back, the sensation sending ripples of calm through Shoyo's hazy consciousness.
"Are you okay though? Not too much?" He asked, his breath soft and tingling against Shoyo's lips.
Shoyo considered the question, the thought bouncing around his clouded mind before he slowly shook his head, a dizzy smile tugging at his mouth. The concern felt like a soft blanket. Shoyo's expression melted into something pure and adoring.
"Yeah," he sighed, leaning into Kenma’s touch. "Just really, really good." When he smiled it felt like it took a long time to reach his eyes, but once it did, it stayed there, bright and steady in the fog. "You’re worried?"
"A little," Kenma admitted, his voice a low, soothing vibration.
Shoyo gave a tiny, lulling laugh. "Kenma, I promise... everything is just really soft right now." Not quite soft though underneath his thigh where Kenma’s bulge was trapped.
Kenma just hummed, the sound resonating through both of them in the hazy room, as he tipped forward, the movement feeling like it took minutes. He pressed a lingering, feather-light kiss to the corner of Shoyo's mouth.
Shoyo could feel his heart racing, the dizzying heat of Kenma’s body pressed against his own, and he held on for as long as he could, pressing back against him. Felt Kenma’s grip shift lower, settling briefly at his waist before sliding to his hips. The message was unmistakable. And Shoyo wasn’t thinking about what came after nationals. About graduation. Or Brazil. Or the future. He was thinking about Kenma’s arm around his waist.
About the way Kenma looked at him.
About the fact that after all this time, they were finally sitting here together as his hand remained at Shoyo's back as he was kissed again. This time, there was no slowing down the desperate hunger and impatience beneath Kenma’s affection. The tiny sound that escaped Shoyo’s throat brought a pleased little smile to Kenma’s face. His fingers threaded into Shoyo’s hair, tilting his head back and exposing the line of his throat. He gasped softly at the suddenness of it, his own hands tightening on Kenma’s shoulders.
Shoyo let out a frustrated sound, pulling himself closer as though trying to erase every remaining inch between them. He wanted more, so much more, and his body agreed with him through maddeningly slow grinding. The movement drew another breathless sound from him.
“Kenma…” The look Shoyo gave him made Kenma's composure crack almost instantly.
His hand slipped back into Shoyo's hair as he pulled him down into another kiss, deeper this time, as though he couldn't stand the distance between them. As though even the smallest gap felt unbearable. Shoyo kissed him back, clinging just as tightly. Everything about this felt entirely new at once, and he found himself chasing that feeling, wanting more of it with every passing second.
And that was exactly what finally made Kenma slow down. It took a few minutes of hugging Shoyo before he could calm down. He pulled back first ,not far, just enough to look at him. Turned out to be a mistake since Shoyo let out a quiet whine and dropped his forehead onto Kenma's shoulder.
The words caught somewhere in his throat. “Don’t stop…”
“Are you sure? I can tell this might be too much.” Kenma replied softly, brushing another kiss against his skin.
“Yeah because I haven’t felt like this…so…”
"It’s not like I'm not done holding you yet, can I touch you instead?”
His hands tightened against Kenma's shoulders while anticipation coiled tighter and tighter beneath his skin, his mind spiralling into a haze of heat and need for release. “Please.”
Then, finally, Kenma's hand slipped beneath the waistband.
Every muscle in Shoyo's body tensed at once. The sensation of someone else's touch, of Kenma's touch, sent a sharp rush through him that stole the air from his lungs. A desperate sound escaped him before he could stop it, and instinctively he tried to bury his face against Kenma's shoulder again. Kenma caught his jaw before he could hide.
"Hey." The word was quiet but firm. Shoyo's eyes fluttered open. A faint flush colored Kenma's cheeks, but his gaze never wavered. "Shoyo, at least look at me, you asked nicely for this."
The intensity of it hit harder than anything else. The way Kenma was looking at him. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be, and a flood of possibilities rushed through Shoyo's mind at the thought of everything they still had ahead of them, and the realization left him dizzy. His head felt light, his pulse racing, every sensation amplified until he could barely keep track of where one feeling ended and another began. What else could Kenma give to him?
Kenma's mouth curved into a fond, knowing smile.
He drew Shoyo by the back of his neck and kissed him again, slow at first before the kiss deepened. Shoyo melted against him, overwhelmed by the warmth of his hands, his breathing, the way he seemed determined to keep Shoyo's attention fixed entirely on him as he tightened his grip around Shoyo’s cock, jerked him off, the sensation almost blissful with nothing more than his own precum to ease the way, and Shoyo saw flashing lights behind his eyes as he all but collapsed against Kenma’s chest.
By then, kissing back felt almost impossible.
He could only cling to Kenma and let himself be kissed, letting the pressure of Kenma's mouth ground him whenever everything threatened to become too much. His hand tightened at the back of Kenma's neck, drawing in uneven breaths while Kenma pressed a series of soft kisses along his cheek and jaw.
He could feel himself coming, could feel the hot release spill over inside of his trousers, but throughout it all, he didn’ t stop touching him, even after the peak had passed, Kenma continued, drawing out every last tremor until Shoyo was reduced to helpless, breathless sounds.
Only then did he finally let him go.
Shoyo sagged against Kenma’s chest, utterly boneless now that the relentless ache inside him had finally eased. One hand settled against the back of his head, keeping him tucked securely against him while the other tried erasing any trace of what had just happened, using his shirt. Kenma wasn't even breathing hard.
Shoyo could still feel the unmistakable evidence of Kenma's arousal pressed against him, completely unchanged. At the reminder, he shifted, intending to pull back and see what he could do about that. To his surprise, Kenma immediately guided him right back against his shoulder, one hand rubbing slow, soothing paths along his back.
Only then did Shoyo realize he was trembling. His entire body still twitched with lingering aftershocks. He felt exhausted, wrung out, and strangely weightless all at once, but he'd also never felt this relaxed in his life as Kenma continued running his hand along his spine, the other resting against the back of his neck. After a few moments, he tilted his head and pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to the side of Shoyo's hair.
“Shoyo, how do you feel?” He could only groan in response. Neither his limbs nor his voice seemed willing to cooperate. Kenma chuckled and pressed another kiss against his temple. “Was it good?”
Good felt inadequate. Good didn't come close to describing whatever this was. So Shoyo settled for another incoherent sound and let his full weight sink against Kenma's chest. Long fingers traced idle patterns between his shoulder blades while the other hand drifted through his nearly damp curls, gently combing them back from his forehead. Shoyo focused on the steady rise and fall of Kenma's breathing beneath him, using it to slowly regain control of his own. The raw intensity that had consumed the room gradually faded, leaving something quieter in its place.
Something warm.
Something safe.
Kenma's hand continued its slow, absent circles across his back, each passing a silent reassurance that he wasn't expected to move, wasn't expected to be anything other than exactly what he was in this moment: exhausted and content. Shoyo hadn't realized how badly he'd needed that.
It wasn't a feeling Shoyo was familiar with. Not really. Not in any lasting sense. This felt deeper than comfort, deeper than relief. It was as if some part of him that had spent years bracing for the next blow had finally been given permission to rest.
“Kenma,” he whispered eventually, voice rough with exhaustion. “Do you want me to... um…?” Heat immediately rushed to his face. After everything they'd just done, the sudden embarrassment felt ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. He was still acutely aware of Kenma's arousal, still aware that he'd been the only one receiving attention.
It only seemed fair.
Kenma's fingers stilled briefly against his back. For one uncomfortable second, Shoyo worried he'd said the wrong thing.
“Shoyo,” His name was quiet. Gentle. Far gentler than Shoyo had ever heard from him. “You don't have to do anything right now,” His hand resumed its slow path along Shoyo’s spine. “Not for me.”
“...Are you sure? I just need a minute.”
“I’m sure.”
“Hmm,” Something warm settled in Shoyo's chest. For a few moments, he simply lay there, listening to Kenma's heartbeat and enjoying the comfortable silence. Then a thought hit him. His eyes opened. Slowly. "...Hey Kenma, hold on ."
Kenma immediately sounded suspicious. “Hm?”
Shoyo lifted his head. The movement earned him a look that could only be described as mildly annoyed concern. “You never answered me.”
Kenma blinked once. “What are you talking about?”
“My confession!” The words came out far louder than intended. “You never answered it!”
Kenma stared at him. Shoyo stared back. Neither moved.
Then Kenma slowly closed his eyes. “…Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously!”
“Shoyo.”
“No, because I said it. I definitely said it.”
“You did.”
“And then you kissed me.”
“Yes.”
“And then a bunch of other things happened.”
“Correct.”
“And now we're here.”
“Observant.”
Shoyo narrowed his eyes. Kenma remained completely deadpan. “You never actually said it back.”
Kenma looked at him for a long moment before speaking. “Shoyo.”
“What?”
“I thought the last several hours made my feelings fairly obvious.”
“They did not.”
Kenma stared at him.
Shoyo stared back.
Neither budged.
Finally, Kenma smirked. “I am literally holding you.”
“That's not a confession.”
“I have voluntarily agreed to spent an unreasonable amount of time with you and cancelled my plans with Kuro.”
“Still not a confession.”
Kenma's expression somehow became even flatter. Then, after another second, his gaze softened. Just a little. "...Idiot.”
“...Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
A grin spread across Shoyo's face. Then another. Then another somehow. “I think I could eat ramen now and understand them emotionally.”
“I’ll make us some.”
“But you said you’re not done holding me yet…”
“Mm. I know.”
“And I bet I can still do a float serve.”
Kenma wasn’t sure what the context of that even was. “No.”
“I definitely can.”
“You’re high though so maybe not.”
“I’m an athlete.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Shoyo opened his mouth to argue. Then immediately yawned. A huge one. So large it interrupted whatever point he thought he was making.
Kenma stared.
Shoyo blinked. “I’m still awake.” Another yawn betrayed him.
Kenma’s shoulders shook slightly. “You’re losing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m winning.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
Shoyo considered this carefully. “…Counterpoint.”
“There isn’t one.” Kenma snorted softly. The sound made Shoyo smile. Everything felt warm. Comfortable. His limbs felt heavy in the pleasant way that came after a long day. After finally saying things he’d been carrying around for months without realizing it.
Eventually Kenma nudged his shoulder lightly. “Come on.”
“Hm?”
“If we’re eating, I need to make food.”
Shoyo immediately tightened his grip around him. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Shoyo.”
“But you love me.”
“That doesn’t make you immune to being moved.”
“It should.”
Kenma pried him off anyway. Patiently. Without much effort. Which felt unfair. A few moments later Shoyo found himself relocated to the couch. A blanket had somehow appeared. He hadn’t seen Kenma grab it. It was just suddenly draped over him.
Suspicious.
Shoyo squinted toward the kitchen and smiled sleepily into the blanket. The sounds of the kitchen started a few moments later. Cabinets opening. Water running. The quiet clink of dishes. Shoyo watched Kenma move around the kitchen for a while. Watched him push his sleeves up. Watched him wait for the water to boil.
The sight made something warm settle in Shoyo’s chest.
He meant to keep watching.
Really.
He did.
Just for a few more minutes.
Then maybe they’d eat.
Then maybe they’d play another game.
Then…
His eyes drifted shut.
The blanket was warm.
The couch was soft.
By the time the ramen was nearly finished, Shoyo was asleep curled on his side. One hand tucked beneath his cheek completely unconscious. Kenma noticed immediately. He glanced over from the stove then sighed. The kind of sigh reserved for people who had somehow become important before you noticed it happening.
The water continued simmering when Kenma pulled out his phone while he waited. More out of habit than intention. His thumb unlocked the screen automatically and a familiar icon sat near the bottom. An app he’d downloaded almost a year ago, when he had first started his semester. It had been easy, convenient and meaningless. Then his gaze drifted toward the couch. Toward the sleeping volleyball player currently stealing his blanket.
Shoyo snored quietly.
Tiny.
Ridiculous.
Kenma felt himself smile despite himself.
His thumb hovered over the screen then pressed. The icon began to shake and the confirmation window appeared. He didn’t hesitate and the app disappeared. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Turned off the stove.
And stared at the two cups of ramen.
One steaming.
One untouched.
Then started figuring out how long ramen could sit before it got soggy.
Eventually he grabbed his own bowl, a pair of chopsticks and stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was cooler than he expected. The city stretched around him in scattered lights and distant traffic. For a while he simply ate.
Leaning against the railing.
Listening to the sounds below.
Thinking.
Or maybe trying not to think.
That wasn’t working very well.
Every time his mind drifted, it circled back to the couch inside. To orange hair disappearing beneath a blanket. To the fact that when he opened the balcony door, Shoyo would still be there.
For now.
Kenma stared down into his ramen. Eventually he finished eating and set the empty bowl aside and pulled out his phone again. His thumb hovered over a familiar contact.
The call connected almost immediately.
“Well?” Kuroo answered.
Kenma blinked. “…Hello to you too.”
“I know that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one where you’re pretending you’re not calling me for a reason.”
Kenma rolled his eyes. Some things never changed.
“So?” Kuroo pressed again. “Did you seduce him?”
Kenma stared out over the city. For a second he considered hanging up. Then decided against it.
“…Shoyo confessed.”
“ABOUT TIME.”
Kenma immediately pulled the phone away from his ear. The shout echoed loud enough that it probably disturbed several neighboring buildings.
“Kuro.”
“Good for you Kenma.”
“Kuro.”
“You’ve been waiting years.” Kenma closed his eyes. Kuroo sounded unbearably pleased. Like Christmas had arrived early. “How are you feeling?”
Kenma opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Because that was actually a difficult question. The city lights blurred slightly as he looked out across them. For the first time all evening, nobody was looking at him. Nobody was waiting for the right answer. Nobody needed him to be calm.
Or confident.
Or certain.
Just Kuroo.
Who knew him too well.
“…I don’t know.”
That immediately got Kuroo’s attention.
The teasing disappeared. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
Kenma leaned back against the railing. Exhaled slowly. “…Scared, I guess.”
Kuroo was quiet for a moment. That alone told Kenma how serious the answer sounded.
“Scared of what?”
Kenma laughed softly. Not because anything was funny. Because the answer felt obvious. “Everything.”
The word disappeared into the night. He stared down at the street below. At the passing headlights. At the world continuing normally despite the fact his own felt slightly tilted.
“It’s like he forgot he’s leaving.”
Kuroo didn’t interrupt.
Brazil.
The reality sat where it always had.
Waiting.
A few months.
Then gone.
Kenma had spent years being careful about distance. Keeping people in places where losing them wouldn’t hurt much. Then somehow Shoyo had slipped past all of that. And now every future thought seemed to split in two.
One with Shoyo in it.
One without.
“I know.”
“And I—” Kenma stopped. The next part felt harder to say because admitting feelings was one thing. Admitting hope was another. Much worse. Much more dangerous. His fingers tightened slightly around the phone. A stupid part of him wanted to hold on tighter now that there was finally something to lose. “I don’t usually do this.”
Kuroo laughed quietly. “No kidding.”
Kenma ignored him. “I don’t let people get this close.”
He thought of all the times Shoyo had shown up anyway.
Messages.
Calls.
Visits.
The way he’d become part of Kenma’s routines so gradually that Kenma hadn’t noticed until the idea of those routines changing made his stomach twist.
Kuroo knew it too.
Probably better than anyone.
For a few moments neither of them spoke.
Then Kuroo’s voice came through the phone again.
Softer this time. “So what’s the problem?”
Kenma frowned. “I just told you.”
“No.” Kuroo replied immediately. “You told me you’re scared. But you’re calling me from your balcony while the guy you’ve liked for years is probably passed out on your bed.”
“Couch. I didn’t fuck him.”
“Oho?”
“I hate talking to you.”
“You called me.”
Unfortunately, that was also true. Inside the apartment, Shoyo shifted beneath the blanket but didn’t wake. Still somehow occupying an absurd amount of space in Kenma’s thoughts. A grin tugged at the corner of Kenma’s mouth despite himself.
Kenma found himself watching for another movement.
As if reassuring himself that Shoyo hadn’t vanished in the few seconds he’d looked away.
Ridiculous.
Kuroo’s voice came through the phone again.
Gentle for once. “Hey.”
“…What?”
“You know being scared doesn’t mean you’re making the wrong choice, right?”
Kenma didn’t answer. The problem was that being scared usually made him step back. Close the game before he could lose. Avoid the risk entirely. But every time he imagined doing that now, all he could picture was Shoyo leaving anyway. Only this time with something unfinished left between them. A reminder of how attached he’d become.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly.
A dangerous sign. “So what’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You plan what games you’re buying months in advance.”
“That’s different.”
“It isn’t.”
Kenma rolled his eyes. Across the apartment, Shoyo shifted slightly beneath the blanket. His arm disappeared further underneath it. Like a caterpillar. An orange caterpillar. Kenma stared for a second. Then looked away before Kuroo could somehow hear it happening.
“You’re staring at him, aren’t you?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“You know something?”
“What?”
“You’re acting like he’s already gone. He’s leaving in a few months.”
“I know.”
“Not tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Not next week.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like you’re counting down to a funeral.”
Kenma closed his eyes. “…That’s dramatic.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Kenma.” Kuroo’s voice returned. More casual now. “Besides.”
Kenma immediately became suspicious. “Besides what?”
“You won’t exactly be alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
Kenma stared out over the city. “…I don’t know.”
“Bokuto.”
Kenma groaned immediately. “No.”
“Akaashi.”
“No.”
“They adore you.”
“No, they don’t.”
Kuroo laughed. The loud, disbelieving kind. “Bokuto practically invites himself over every weekend if he’s not in practice.”
“That’s not affection. That’s Bokuto.”
“And Akaashi too.”
“Akaashi is just polite.”
“Kenma.”
“What?”
“You’re an idiot.”
Kenma sighed. The accusation lacked evidence. Probably.
“You have friends.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Kenma rolled his eyes. Kuroo continued mercilessly. “You have me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You have Bokuto.”
“Debatable.”
“You have Akaashi.”
“Sure.”
“Bokuto and Akaashi are really interested in dating us, don’t forget about that possibility… Ken.”
Kenma went completely silent. “Stop bringing that up.”
Kuroo sounded delighted. “No.”
“I’m serious.” Kenma pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow this conversation had become worse. Which was impressive even for Kuroo. Kenma closed his eyes. The worst part was how easy it was to imagine. Bokuto enthusiastically agreeing before understanding the question. Akaashi quietly evaluating the logistics. Kuroo treating the entire thing like an interesting social experiment. An absolute nightmare.
“You didn’t deny that you imagined it.”
“Why are you like this?”
“That isn’t a denial.”
“I’m not doing any poly thing.” Kenma hung up immediately. The call disconnected.
Peace returned.
And from the phone speaker came one final text notification. Kuroo. Obviously. Kenma didn’t even need to read it. He already knew it was going to be unbearable. Then, against his better judgment, he unlocked his phone.
KURO: You thought about it.
Kenma immediately locked the screen again. Kuroo had planted the image in his head before he’d hung up. Kenma buried his face in one hand. Why had he even called him? That was the real mystery here.
Another notification appeared. He refused to look at it. A third one followed. Definitely Kuroo. Possibly Bokuto now. Potentially both. Kenma slid the phone back into his pocket before his curiosity could betray him.
Nope.
Not happening.
The entire conversation was getting deleted from his brain.
He took a slow breath and glanced through the balcony door. The couch came into view. The blanket. The familiar shock of orange hair sticking out from underneath it. Shoyo had somehow migrated sideways in his sleep.
How?
Kenma had no idea.
The sight made Kenma’s expression soften despite himself. There. That was a much better thing to think about. Not Kuroo’s nonsense. Not imaginary scenarios. Just Shoyo sleeping peacefully on his couch. And infinitely less complicated than anything Kuroo had been talking about.
Across the couch, the blanket-wrapped disaster currently occupying it shifted suddenly. The movement caught Kenma's attention immediately.
A sleepy frown appeared.
One hand emerged from beneath the blanket, searching blindly. Like he'd lost something. Or someone. Kenma watched with growing suspicion. The hand patted the empty cushion beside him.
Once.
Twice.
Then Shoyo made a small sound, barely more than a mumble.
"...Kenma..." The sleepy voice drifted across the apartment. Entirely unaware of the damage it was doing. Shoyo shifted again. His hand stretched further across the couch. Still searching. Like he expected Kenma to be there.
The moment Kenma got close enough, Shoyo’s searching hand found his wrist, his fingers curled around Kenma’s sleeve. Satisfied. The frown vanished.
Kenma stared down at him. “You aren’t even awake.”
Shoyo responded by trying to pull him closer. A completely effective attempt. Even half asleep, somehow still managing to get exactly what he wanted. Slowly, carefully, Kenma adjusting himself into the narrow remaining space. Immediately, Shoyo moved, gravitating toward the new source of warmth.
And before long, Shoyo had curled closer, still holding onto the sleeve of Kenma's hoodie like he planned on keeping it.
Kenma looked down at him.
Orange hair everywhere.
Then closed his eyes.
Shoyo sat up so abruptly that Kenma nearly lost the comfortable weight of him.
His eyes narrowed, but it lacked any real edge. More confused than sharp. “…I just remembered something...”
Kenma opened one eye.
“What?”
“You said you don’t do relationships.”
Kenma’s face went blank in the way that meant he was already regretting this conversation. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”
“I did forget...” Shoyo’s voice had softened again, the sleepiness creeping back in around the edges. He blinked slowly, as if trying to keep hold of the thought. “You said it wasn’t happening.”
Kenma tugged once. “Shut up and come here already...”
Shoyo blinked. Then, very slowly, he stopped resisting. Kenma shifted just enough to make space again, pulling him down with ease. Shoyo landed against him in a soft collapse of limbs and warmth. Immediately, Kenma’s arms came around him.
“…You’re hugging me,” Shoyo mumbled into Kenma’s shoulder.
“Mm…I like this.”
Shoyo looked down briefly at their hands and nestled closer, like the answer had already been decided, before finally letting sleep take him the rest of the way.