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Kuroo would never understand why people would cheat on their partners. How could someone see someone else as something better than the person who has their heart? The person that saw them at their worst and best, and still cheat on them, still go behind their back and breaks their promises to them.
To him it didn't make sense. Love wasn't a game. It wasn't something you could control. Or choose the second option because your first was taken. Or the new thing that is starting to appear now, "situationship". How could someone play with the other emotions, knowing they feel something, but not caring. You could never make him see how a situation could work; he saw enough hearts breaking with his friends that had situationships with others. "It's for when you want to keep your options open", but if you truly cared about someone, why would your first instinct be to seek comfort, excitement, or affection somewhere else instead of turning to the person you chose in the first place?
He could understand falling out of love. If you truly don't feel anything, break up with the other person. Don't pretend, don't play with your partner's feelings. People change. Times comes and fucks all of us, then lets us try to interpret what lesson should have we learned from all the bullshit we were trough.
But cheating on somebody? Why? Cause they changed as well? Because of their body? Because of their hair? Because they are themselves? He could never justify cheating. No matter what. It could be one of his very close friends, and he still won't be on the friends' side.
Kuroo would never understand how Kenma could ever say he's not pretty, either. Kenma was the prettiest guy Kuroo has ever seen, prettier than Oikawa, Akaashi, Suga, or anyone else for that matter. How could he ever think that he's not good enough for Kuroo. When Kuroo couldn't think that he could live without him for a day.
Without his smile, a smile that radiates warmth, rivaling the sun. Without his voice, a voice so melodic even the birds that chirped every morning were jealous. Without his laughter, laughter so soft, so comforting, so contagious, he himself can't help but chuckle. Without his sly remarks, so sly that every fox can't believe they didn't think of that. Without his kind heart, a heart so pure, that he tries to help any animal on the street, buying them food, visiting them and loving them as his own. Without his high intellect and understanding of any situation, intellect so sharp that even the most tangled problems seemed to unravel in his hands, and an understanding so deep that he could see what others felt long before they found the words to say it, before he himself, finds words to tell him. Without his unwavering loyalty, a loyalty so steadfast that no storm, no distance, and no passage of time could ever shake it.
Sure, the world would still spin, still live, still continue as normal, the sun will rise, the birds would sing their little songs, but for Kuroo? For Kuroo everything would be duller, bitter, dimmer, dark, boring, quitter and less beautiful, lively, spectacular if Kenma didn't exist. If his pretty baby didn't exist... Oh, he'd be a mess.
People think their relationship is one sided. That Kuroo does the heavy lifting and Kenma profits from his love. But that would be far, far from the truth. Kenma... he showed his love. In his own special way. In the way he cared for him when he was sick. In the way, he would always have a snack in his bag, for after practice. In the way, he would give him the better controller. In the way, he was patient with him when he lost his cool. In the way he looks at him, as if he hangs the moon. In the way, he knows when Kuroo's upset and always finds a way to have him in his arms, playing with his hair and watching his favorite movie, whispering about sweet nothings. In the way, he always sends him a text, even when he is gaming. These sweet acts of service, will always melt Kuroo's anything away. Stubbornness? Anger? Sadness? Gone, gone and gone. His boy always knows how to take care of him. And he sure hopes he knows Kuroo would burn this whole world if Kenma wishes.
Kuroo loves Kenma. Kuroo adores him. He obsesses about every little thing Kenma does. Not in a creepy way, just in a yearning way.
In the way that he notices things nobody else bothers to.
The way Kenma's eyes narrow ever so slightly when he's concentrating. The way his fingers tap absentmindedly against a controller while he's thinking. The way he quietly tugs at his sleeves when he's uncomfortable, as if hoping to disappear into the fabric. The way his voice softens when he talks about something he genuinely enjoys.
Kuroo notices any micro expression Kemna's face ever does. Not because he's keeping score, but because for him, observing Kenma is like second nature. It's natural. It's normal. Because Kuroo knows him, predicts everything Kenma does before doing it.
Knows him in the way that comes from years spent growing up side by side. Knows him in the way that lets him read entire conversations from a single glance. Knows him so thoroughly that sometimes he forgets not everyone can.
Sometimes he'll catch himself staring.
Not because Kenma is doing anything particularly remarkable.
He's just there.
Sitting on the couch with his legs tucked beneath him. Looking down at his phone. Taking a sip from a juice box. Existing.
If Kenma thought he did too much, he'd stop.
So, it broke his heart when he found Kenma on the floor of his bathroom, crying his heart out. His whole body shakes every time a sob leaves his throat. He was resting his head on the toilet cap, his arms under his face, hiding it completely. From his left leg, blood was gushing out of his scars. The scars the once where healing, now reopen and an angry red color.
Kuroo's face softens from his worried look to something almost like helplessness, as he started to look for the emergency kit in Kenma's bathroom.
".... I'm so sorry..." Was the only thing Kenma was mumbling, while Kuroo was bandaging his foot.
Kuroo patted his back after he was done, looking at him with a small smile.
"Why, my dear?" Kuroo, slowly took the smaller boy in his arms, rocking him.
For a long while, neither said something.
Kuroo just holds tightly on Kenma, as if he might disappear.
Ane Kenma? His fingers curled into the fabric of Kuroo's shirt.
"I messed up," he whispered.
The words were so quiet that Kuroo almost missed them.
"You didn't."
"I did."
Kenma's voice cracked.
"I always do."
Kenma took a shacky breathe.
"I always do... I let that damn scale decides what mode I am in, then I lose control and end up with you, here, crying..."
Kuroo's heart clenched.
There it was.
Not the wound.
Not the tears.
The thing underneath all of it.
The belief that he deserved them.
That every mistake was proof of some failure only he could see.
Kuroo tightened his arms around him.
"No," he said gently. "You don't."
Kenma laughed bitterly through his tears.
A sad, broken sound.
"You don't have to lie to make me feel better."
"I'm not lying."
"But I—"
"Kenma."
The younger boy fell silent.
Kuroo rarely interrupted him.
Even rarer was the firmness in his voice.
And so Kenma listened.
"You are having a terrible moment."
Kuroo rested his cheek against his soft hair.
"But a terrible moment doesn't make you a terrible person."
Kenma squeezed his eyes shut; a chuckle left his lips.
"Kuroo, we have been here. In the same situation a million times. I... I can't fix it. I can't stop the urge to do it when the scale shows even 0.10 grams extra."
Kuroo's breath caught. Not because he was shocked. Because he could hear how exhausted Kenma sounded. Like he'd been fighting alone for far too long. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The bathroom was quiet except for the occasional hitch in Kenma's breathing.
Then Kuroo pulled back just enough to look at him.
His eyes were red.
Tired.
Heartbroken.
But steady.
"Then don't do it alone anymore."
Kenma stared at him.
"Kuroo—"
"I'm serious."
His voice shook.
Just slightly.
Enough for Kenma to realize how scared he must have been.
"I don't care how messy this gets. I don't care if I have to come and bandage you a million times again"
He brushed his hand through Kenma's hair. The words hung heavily between them. Raw. Honest.
"I don't care how many bad days there are."
His smile was small.
Unsteady.
"But you're not carrying it by yourself anymore."
Kenma felt fresh tears gathering in his eyes.
Not because he was sad.
Not entirely.
But because after spending so long convinced he was a burden, hearing someone willingly choose to stay felt almost unbelievable.
"Kuroo..."
"I'm here."
The answer came immediately.
Without hesitation.
Without conditions.
Just certainty.
And for the first time that night, Kenma let himself lean into him completely.
Not because the pain was gone.
Not because everything was suddenly fixed.
But because he trusted Kuroo, just as much as Kuroo trusted him.
So, if he could go through what he is feeling with somebody, it was Kuroo.
And Kuroo? Kuroo would be there very part of the way.