Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was nothing quite like a good night’s rest under a solid roof and tucked under a soft cotton blanket in bed versus roughing it in the great outdoors.  It was impossible to not feel completely refreshed and rejuvenated in the morning after a night in an inn.  When morning came, gently brushing at Kenma’s sleeping eyelashes, he turned over in the bed once, burying himself deeper under the covers until the ambient noise from the downstairs tavern attached to the inn drifted upwards and into his ears.  Well, he was feeling rested, so he didn’t strictly need to sleep any longer.  He hauled himself out of the bed and gathered his things before heading downstairs.

He met his dark-haired companion in the tavern for breakfast, where they each plopped down a few coins in exchange for some eggs and toasted bread.  The innkeeper himself personally brought out their meal—not enough money to pay for hired help—and after making some light conversation, the two travelers learned that the poor man was desperately in need of ginseng for a sickly younger sister. 

Everyone knew where the herb could be acquired—the Odella Plantation—but the journey there would take most of their day.  It wasn’t as if they had plans, really… they just needed to be in Haven before the end of the month, but that was ages away and in the meantime, they were happy to keep themselves busy.  The main problem with the Odella plantation was that it was overrun by the Grey Mane and Dundun tribes, who weren’t exactly merchants selling the ginseng for a fair price.  They would have to fight tooth and nail for the precious medicinal herb, and Kenma largely doubted his companion’s ability to handle such an expedition.  But the warrior had insisted upon coming to the innkeeper’s aid, and soon they were on their way. 

Kenma had been right—as he so often was—Kuroo had been nowhere near ready to handle the swarms of tribesmen who rushed at them, outnumbering them by the dozens.  Especially not when he charged in like a buffoon without equipping his defensive weapons and getting blindsided by combo after combo he didn’t know how to block. 

As the blood spilled out of their corpses, staining the soil black beneath them, Kenma sighed and muttered,

--Kuro, you suck at this.

--Cut me some slack, I’m having trouble playing and typing at the same time.

--If you’d stop trying to type while fighting, it might work a bit better.  Also your shield wasn’t even equipped.

--Seriously?!  Man, no wonder I was taking so much damage.

--When did we last save even?

--¯\_( ツ)_/¯

--Maybe we’ll get you some better equipment too.  We might have the money for it.

--Kayyy… What’d you have for lunch today?

--Kuro…

Kenma frowned at his game as the chat dialogue text began to take up his entire screen above their death scene.  Kuroo could never focus on the game for more than fifteen minutes before he started using the chat screen as an instant messaging medium instead.  At that point, they might as well just be texting.  But Kuroo had insisted that they try regularly playing an MMO together to keep in touch.  Kenma was fine with just texting, but Kuroo thought Kenma would be less interested in daily texts and would be more enthusiastic about talking with him if they used a game as the communication medium. 

--I had a convenience store bento, as usual, but from the 7/11 this time, not the Family Mart!

Kenma wasn’t sure which he found more discouraging—the fact that Kuroo was eating convenience store food every day, or the fact that he found it an exciting break from that horrid routine to simply pick a different store.  Clearly, living on his own hadn’t fostered adulthood quite yet.  Pushing his keyboard away from him, Kenma grabbed his cell phone and pulled up their chat log on Line. 

A month on your own and all you’ve had is Family Mart food.  It’s not that hard to look up recipes online and cook for yourself.

Kenma.  You can’t cook.

The setter flushed and considered throwing his phone across the room.  But it wouldn’t be quite as satisfying as being able to elbow Kuroo in the ribs in person.  Plus he’d be sacrificing his phone.  Instead he furiously texted back:

Like I said, it can’t be that hard. 

I don’t think playing Cooking Mama is an accurate representation of actual cooking. 

Kenma was really beginning to miss Kuroo’s proximity—if only because he couldn’t physically slam a pillow into that smug face—and he knew Kuroo was smirking on the other line. 

Anyway, how’s the team?

There it was.  Kuroo could never go for too long without asking after the state of the team.  Maybe it was because he had been the captain and that feeling of responsibility for them never really went away.  Maybe he wanted to make sure Kenma wouldn’t give up the one extracurricular activity where he was forced to be at least a little bit social.  For Kenma’s part, he hadn’t particularly wanted to stay on the team… but he hadn’t really wanted to give it up either.  It was just really… different without Kuroo.  He hadn’t figured out yet if different meant good or not.  It had also been somewhat difficult to even consider walking away from the team when they had banded together to make him Vice-Captain. 

They’re fine.  We had a practice match the other day with Ubugawa.  We won. 

Nice receive!!!

Something ached inside him to see those words flash across his screen instead of ringing in his ear.  Every time he looked over his shoulder on the court hoping to see Kuroo’s ridiculous bedhead in his field of vision, he was disappointed by the sight of Taketora’s mohawk, or worse, Lev’s obnoxious grin.  He wondered if Kuroo was too busy for a phone conversation instead of texting.  His finger hovered over the Call button, debating if Wednesday night was too middle-of-the-week for a catch-up phone call.  He wasn’t sure about the protocols surrounding long-distance relationships.  Were people supposed to wait one week between calls?  Two to three days?  They had just talked last weekend… three days was probably too soon… Probably. 

Mom’s calling me down for dinner.   He lied instead.

Man I miss your mom’s cooking.  Tell her I said so!

You can have some next week.  I can ask her to make your favorites for Golden Week.  When are you coming back? 

Secretly, maybe not so secretly, Kenma had been looking forward to Golden Week this year more than any previous year.  Hinata had mentioned something about maybe coming to Tokyo with his scary looking boyfriend and had invited him to hang out, but he hadn’t replied because he hadn’t confirmed Kuroo’s schedule yet. 

Ah.  The team has a training camp for the first weekend, so I won’t be able to get in until next Wednesday probably. 

Oh.

Sorry.  I wanted to come home early as a surprise, whisk you off your feet and ravish you all week, but the coach would’ve killed me.  And Bokuto. 

It’s fine.

Go eat dinner.  ( ˘ ³˘) ♥

Kenma put his phone face down on the desk before rolling into his bed.  It would be another while yet before his mom would actually call him down for dinner—he wasn’t sure why he had lied about that—he could’ve spent another half hour maybe texting with Kuroo but now he just felt too defeated to do much else. 

Next week was Golden Week, and instead of having Kuroo back for all of it, he would have him for less than half.  Kenma wished he didn’t feel as disappointed as he did about that, and he tried to reason with himself that less than half was better than none at all.  He rolled out of bed to grab his phone before rolling back into it, playing one round of Sudoku to clear his head somewhat before he texted Hinata. 

You said first weekend of Golden Week, right?

Yeah!!!  Kenma are you free?!?! 

Kenma smiled.  Shouyou was always so animated, even in text.  He could visualize that bright head of orange hair and practically hear the excited squeal in that voice.  He hadn’t expected to make a friend like Shouyou in his second year, but he was glad he had, though he often lately wished the two didn’t have to be so far apart.  It was just his luck that the two people he wanted to talk to most in the world were annoyingly far away from him now. 

Yeah, probably. 

Awesome!  I’ll text you once we get there, you can meet us at Tokyo Station!

Ok.

I’m so glad we’ll get to see you for a bit!

It was then that Kenma’s mother knocked gently and poked her head in through the door. 

“Dinner’s ready.  Are you texting with Kuroo again?”

“Shouyou,” he grunted as he sat up.  “We just made plans for Golden Week.”

“Oh, that’s nice!  What about Kuroo?” she stepped aside lightly to let her son pass before following him downstairs. 

“He won’t get back until Wednesday, he said.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.  Still, at least you’ll get to see him for a little while, I know you miss him.” 

He shuffled onward, not responding.  Sure.  He missed Kuroo.  But he missed Shouyou too and the other third years that had graduated recently.  He missed having Yaku around to keep Lev in line, and he missed Kai’s calming presence over the team.  Maybe he missed Kuroo a little more (maybe a lot more) than the others, but it wasn’t fatal.  She didn’t have to worry so much about it.  Kenma didn’t.  Or at least, he tried not to.

-----

The gymnasium was empty and clean, all the balls put away in their proper places, sunlight filtering in softly through the upper window panes and casting halos of light off of the reflective flooring.  No sounds of athletic shoes scuffing the floor or the smell of sweat and salonpas drifting through his nose.  Actually, it smelled like… cherry blossoms. 

Ah.  This is a dream.

Kenma turned to look outside the gym and saw the soft pink petals floating down from the trees overhead—to his memory, there weren’t any actual cherry blossom trees on campus—but the scenery he saw told him that this was graduation.  It was like something straight out of one of the dozens of manga he’d read—that’s how he knew—but not very accurate when compared to the actual graduation ceremony he’d attended the previous month. 

Except for Kuroo.  He, at least, was true to reality.  Holding his diploma in one hand and fidgeting with his jacket with the other, Kuroo had approached Kenma on that afternoon with a shy blush tinting his cheeks.  Dream Kuroo was doing the same.  Kenma remembered holding out his open palm without question, so he did so now. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Kuroo blinked.

“You’re giving me your second button, right?” 

“W-we don’t even wear standard gakuran, Kenma!”  The nervous laugh hid nothing. 

“Ok, so what’s in your hand then?”

“It…” Kuroo sighed as he held out his fist, dropping a small navy button into Kenma’s outstretched hand.  “It’s my second button.” 

“Thanks,” Kenma had muttered nonchalantly, taking the button and pocketing it carefully, glad his hair could hide the small blush creeping up his ears. 

“I know… we sort of mentioned but didn’t fully talk about what’s about to happen, but…”  He was getting nervous again.  Kuroo’s nervousness made Kenma nervous, whether it was a memory or a dream… even though he knew what he was seeing wasn’t the present reality.  

“You’re going to be a forty minute train ride away.  In the same city.  It won’t be the end of the world, Kuro.”  Kenma furrowed his eyebrows as he spoke.  It didn’t have to be a big deal.  Second buttons or no, reality wasn’t some clichéd shoujo manga.  The cherry blossom smell started to dissipate.  He’d take the damn button; he would not take all the dramatic pining for a lost lover. 

“Will you call me every day?” Kuroo smirked down at him.  Yes.  That was better. 

“No.”  Kenma scoffed.  “I’ll be a third year.”

“Will you visit me every weekend?” Kuroo pressed, stepping toward him.  At least in dreams, Kenma could erase all potential passerby.  Nobody would see or care to see them standing so close or leaning in so intimately. 

“I’ll have volleyball practice.”

“Yeah…” Kuroo reached out to tuck Kenma’s hair behind his ear, smiling at the hidden blush he had uncovered.  “Good luck, vice-captain.” 

“You can text me whenever,” Kenma relented, swatting Kuroo’s hand away and covering his ears again.  He couldn’t control his blushing even in dreams… but he wasn’t sure if it was possible to improve on that. 

“Will you pause your games to reply?”

“Probably.”  So many questions. 

“Okay.  I’ll miss you every day.  Will you miss me?” 

Kenma looked up to see the same confident grin, the one that had followed and supported him for most of his life, playing on his mouth.  But his eyes were a little different, almost uncertain.  Maybe a little sad. 

“Not every day…” Kenma mumbled. 

“But you’ll miss me.”

“Yes, stupid.” 

“Yaaaaay,” Kuroo drawled, in that stupid, childish voice he used whenever he made a particularly good block on the court.  Kenma might’ve kicked him if Kuroo hadn’t drawn him close, holding him tight to his chest and enveloping the smaller boy with his smell and his big, strong arms. 

It was warm and comfortable, and Kenma closed his eyes, breathing deeply… opening them moments later to the sound of the alarm clock on his phone.  His blankets weren’t nearly as snug as Kuroo’s arms had been, somehow not nearly as warm.  With a dreary sigh, he turned off his alarm and rolled under the covers with his phone, unlocking it to find a new text message from Kuroo, in English, of all things.

Good morning, how are you?  It is going to be a beautiful weather today! 
My English is getting awesome right? 

Kenma didn’t study it hard enough to know if that was actually correct English, but he figured it probably was.  Kuroo had been texting him a lot in English lately; it was clearly one of his favorite university classes.  He texted back.

I wouldn’t know. 
I dreamt about you last night.

He froze as soon as he sent the text, and then resolved to never send half-asleep text messages to Kuroo at six thirty in the morning ever again.  He needed to erase the message somehow.  Or ignore it and get ready for morning practice. 

Nothing creepy, don’t get the wrong idea. 
It was just about your graduation day. 

No.  He had definitely just made it worse.  Stashing his phone under his pillow, Kenma dragged himself out of bed to brush his teeth, trying not to overthink what he had just sent, and hoping Kuroo wouldn’t overthink it either.  He probably wouldn’t get a reply from him for a couple of hours when they had both finished practice.  But his dream from the night before left him aching for a reply now, right now, and all he wanted was to go back to sleep so he could see Kuroo again. 

Instead he put on his uniform, threw his gym bag and backpack over his shoulders, pulled a small button out of his desk, tucked it into his pocket, and sulked out of his house to school.  He just needed to keep busy, busy with practice, busy with school, busy with video games… he needed to keep himself occupied… and he needed to stop checking his phone every two minutes to see if Kuroo had texted a reply. 

Just as he had predicted, his next reply from Kuroo came after morning practice, before their morning classes.  Kenma pulled his phone from his locker to find:

I dream about you almost every night. 
Not usually about graduation though.
Did you take my button with you today? 

“Ah, is something wrong, Kenma?” Lev’s voice called out and Kenma quickly locked his phone screen. 

“Hm?” Kenma grimaced as Lev wrapped an arm around his neck.  He definitely missed having Yaku around. 

“You were making a really scary face at your phone.  Did you lose a game?” 

“LEV!!!” Taketora screamed from across the changing room.  “Stop bothering Kenma and take this back to the gym.” 

“Y-y-yes, Captain!!!”  Though Kenma heard him muttering under his breath something about not being a first year anymore, and wondering why he still always had to run the errands. 

Kenma let out a sigh of relief before catching the captain’s eye and giving a curt nod of thanks.  He knew it would be difficult for anyone to fill Kuroo’s shoes as captain, but the now-third-year Taketora had stepped up admirably, displaying more responsibility than anyone had previously thought possible of the Yankee spiker.  Kenma unlocked his phone again to type a brief reply before heading to class.

Morning practice went fine.  Lev’s receives are getting better. 

Kenma!  Don’t ignore my question!

He gave a small grin at the almost-immediate reply, threw his phone into his bag, and reached into his pocket to touch the small button gingerly.  Kuroo hadn’t known how happy Kenma had been in April to receive it—even though it wasn’t a standard gakuran button—and he still didn’t know how much comfort Kenma took from having it with him from time to time.  Nor was Kenma going to tell him.  After all, he didn’t want Kuroo knowing he missed him that much. 

Chapter Text

Standing around at Tokyo Station on the first Saturday of Golden Week, during its most crowded time of year teeming with crowds of people, Kenma was fiercely reminded of why he almost never went out in the first place.  He hated crowds.  Growing up in Tokyo, he was used to a certain density of people on a normal basis, but the number of people in certain areas of the city would be described as obscene.  He could only bear those when Kuroo was with him, and Kuroo definitely wasn’t with him.  He gripped his phone tight and looked down at the screen repeatedly to see when Shouyou would text he had arrived.  He tried turning up the music in his earbuds, but that didn’t guard him against the amount of people who were jostling into him every half second.  

I’m going to wait inside the Doutor Coffee outside Nihonbashi Gate. 

He sent the text and then essentially ran out of the station.  Too loud, too crowded, and he was severely missing a 188cm tall boyfriend to anchor him amidst the waves of people.

Once he was safely tucked away in a corner table on the second floor of the café, he turned down his music volume some and wondered what Shouyou would even want to do once he arrived.  In all of Japan, Tokyo was the place-to-be, but Kenma had lived here all his life and never done any of the touristy things if he could help it.  Well, he had gone to Skytree once with Kuroo, and he had some good pictures from that day… but he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to go there again. 

His phone buzzed.

Ok!  We’ll meet you there so long as Kageyama doesn’t get us lost!

Kenma couldn’t remember if the setter’s sense of direction was any better than Shouyou’s.  He got the feeling it wasn’t, but he also wasn’t going to move from his seat until he got another text that they were actually lost.  It was amusing to remember that his very first meeting with Shouyou had been thanks to the boy’s horrible sense of direction.

He was made to wait another twenty minutes or so before he saw orange hair bouncing up the stairs of the café and locked eyes with the two boys from Sendai.  They were arguing—but they were always arguing—and Shouyou made one last attempt at a glare at Kageyama before turning to give Kenma a souvenir gift from home. 

“Hi, Kenma!  Good to see you!” 

Kenma stood, bowing awkwardly as he took the box of crackers from Hinata’s hands and accepting the boy’s excited hug.  Kageyama seemed to give him something of a begrudging nod of the head before pulling Hinata toward him and demanding that he sit down for half a second. 

“Thanks,” Kenma muttered, looking at the gift.  “I didn’t bring you anything.” 

“It’s okay!  I would’ve forgotten too, if Kageyama hadn’t reminded me about that sort of thing.”  That was unexpected.  Now it seemed that the gift was mostly from Kageyama than from Shouyou.  “You can tell me how to beat this one boss I’m stuck on in my game, and we’ll call it even.” 

“Where’s Kuroo?” Kageyama asked suddenly, looking around the café thinking maybe they had missed him on their way in. 

“Oh yeah!  Don’t University students get Golden Week off at least?” Hinata tilted his head. 

“They do.  But his volleyball team has practice for the first weekend of it, so he won’t be free until later in the week.”  Kenma explained sullenly. 

“Ohh.  I guess that makes sense.  Our Golden Week extra practice isn’t until the second half though.”  Hinata poked at his chin with a finger.  “I guess some people would rather do them in the first half?”

Kageyama shrugged beside him. 

“Are we gonna stay here for a while?  Cause I was gonna get a drink if we are…”

“Oh, where should we go, Kenma?”

“Wherever you guys want, I guess.  I haven’t really been around Tokyo to see the tourist areas really.  I don’t have any particular recommendations.” 

“Isn’t there a life-size gundam in Tokyo?!”

“Mm.  Yeah,” Kenma muttered while doing a quick search on his phone.  “It’s in Odaiba.” 

“We should go there!  I heard it lights up and moves and stuff!”  Hinata stood and began making robot gestures with his arms, pursing his lips to make pew pew laser noises. 

“Idiot, it’s not an actual gundam,” Kageyama said teasingly, poking the spiker in the ribs. 

“It does light up, but only at night though.  And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t move.”  Kenma added while looking up their train route.  “Hmm… Only one transfer, and it’s about a half hour from here.  You guys have Suica?”

“What?  No, were we supposed to bring watermelons?” Hinata gave a quick glance at Kageyama, hoping for insight. 

“Must be a city thing?”  The setter gave a confused shrug, wondering now if maybe they should’ve brought a souvenir watermelon instead of Sendai crackers. 

Kenma pressed his phone to his forehead.  He could practically hear Kuroo’s raucous laughter in his ears.  He’d have to text him about this later. 

“IC Cards.  You load them with yen and then you can use it to get around through all the trains and subways and buses and stuff.” 

“Uwoo!!!” the two cried in unison, squaring their shoulders.

“We can get them at the station, let’s go.”  Kenma sighed.  He really didn’t want to navigate the crowds of Tokyo Station again, but he had already agreed to be out with Shouyou for the day, so he would just have to deal.  It was just too bad he didn’t have Kuroo to cling to for a recharge the way the two idiots were clinging to each other occasionally. 

Not that Shouyou didn’t cling to him repeatedly, pulling on his arms as he showed them how to print and load their Suica cards from the machine, and running circles around him just before they boarded the Keihin Tohoku line, chanting something about a ‘city train.’  He didn’t mind Shouyou grabbing onto him the way he usually minded when other people did it.  It was only that Kageyama kept making a terrifying expression every time he did, and Kenma really didn’t want to be held responsible for the sudden lack of Shouyou affection in Kageyama’s life.  He tried to ignore the furious glares, finding excuses to gently pry his arm away.

Their transfer was quickly done at Shinbashi station, and after a brief ride on the Yurikamone line, they arrived at Odaiba Kaihin Kouen Station, greeted by the Rainbow Ferris Wheel of Odaiba and the entrance to Palette Town.  The big, glittering Ferris wheel immediately erased all thoughts of the life-size gundam from Shouyou’s mind, who demanded they ride it now now now. 

Being only three people, they were permitted to ride in one of the all-glass cabins, which had Shouyou bouncing for joy (not that he wasn’t always).  Even Kageyama’s lips were quivering a little in excitement.  Kenma was glad to get some nice pictures of Tokyo Bay from various points in their revolution, also sneaking a few pictures of the other two when they weren’t paying attention, and forwarded them to Kuroo with a note. 

I’m at Odaiba with Shouyou and his scary setter today.  Tokyo Bay looks pretty nice. 

At the top of the revolution, it was impossible to get Shouyou to sit down, and his slight but steady rocking of their cabin made Kenma a little queasy.  Ironically, it made the redhead sickest of all, and he sat out the rest of their fifteen-minute ride fighting the urge to puke while Kageyama pinched and pulled on his ear and called him an idiot repeatedly.  Once they got off the ride, the spiker recovered fairly quickly and eagerly demanded they see the gundam next.  Kenma and Kageyama tried to convince Shouyou to take it easy for at least a little while after the upset-stomach-almost-puking episode, but he took off at a sprint and soon Kageyama was chasing him down and racing with him instead of trying to actually stop him.  Kenma followed them slowly, trudging along in their wake.

Inspired by the cute and funny poses the other tourists were taking in front of the gundam, Hinata pulled on Kageyama’s arm and said,

“Hey, Kageyama!  Let me on your shoulders!”

“Huh?  What?” 

“It’ll be a cool photo!” 

“Why do you need to get on my shoulders?!”

“Would you just lean over?!?” 

And after several more minutes of griping and arguing, Kageyama was kneeling low to the ground, his head bent while Hinata threw one leg over his head while standing, then gently began resting his weight on Kageyama’s shoulders.  The setter rose slowly, working hard to find his balance while Hinata wriggled on top of him.

“Stay still!”

“I’m trying!”

“At least grab onto me!”

“To what, your hair?” 

Kenma silently snapped photos as he watched. 

Photo one had Shouyou almost to the top as Kageyama’s back was nearly straightened.  Photo two had them at full height, looking precariously at the ground.  Photo three was a slightly blurred image of Shouyou throwing a victorious fist into the air—even Kageyama looked blearily triumphant.  Photo four was a very blurred image of the two tumbling towards the ground, a terrified look on the smaller boy’s face and a slightly more horrified look on the boy who lost his balance beneath him.  Photo five was the two lying in a defeated heap at the gundam’s feet.  Photo six was a selfie of Kenma giving a peace sign in front of the carnage while other tourists crouched near and asked the two boys if they were all right.  He sent the stream of photos to Kuroo with another small note:

Odaiba gundam. 

They were fine, of course, egos a little bruised, but it was nothing that two cream-filled gundam-yaki couldn’t cure.  The two practically inhaled their treats while Kenma took half-hearted nibbles from his—he’d give the rest to Shouyou later—before the three of them went through Palette Town into Venus Fort.  Almost instantly they could tell it was meant to be a place for couples on dates, since that was the vast majority of the people who surrounded them, but they spurred on ahead, taking note of the lights on the ceilings and the painted interiors that were made to look like some sort of European city during the Renaissance.  Once or twice, Kenma saw them linking fingers when maybe they thought no one was looking, and he found himself wishing he had at least brought Kuroo’s button. 

The sun was setting by the time they left Venus Fort, and after walking a little on the Big Bridge of Dreams, they found a good vantage point from where they could look at the Odaiba Rainbow Bridge as they started to light it up for the night.  Hinata told Kageyama to get them drinks while he and Kenma saved their spot on the bridge, mustering up his best puppy dog pout to convince him.  Kenma had to admit he was a little impressed at the fact that puppy faces could even work on Kageyama, but maybe it was only that Shouyou’s faces were especially cute.    

“Hey, Kenma,” he said as soon as Kageyama had left.  “Thanks for showing us around today!” 

“I didn’t do much.  Just made sure you guys had Suica, really.”  Kenma pulled on his hair.  “I got a good amount of street passes on my DS too.” 

“No, but it was really good to see you!  And I’m glad to see you’re doing okay.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”  He didn’t really like the implications in that statement. 

“You know… since Kuroo’s gone and all.”  Hinata shrugged. 

Kenma rolled his eyes and sighed, turning away from the redhead and looking out over Tokyo Bay.  In the month since Kuroo’s graduation, his team, his mother, even Kuroo’s mother had all pestered and nagged at him about being apart from Kuroo—as if without him, he was functioning on half capacity or less.  He didn’t think he had been that dependent on his friend.

“I’m doing fine even without Kuro around, Shouyou.  Besides, he’s only a forty minute train ride away.  It’s easy enough to see him.” 

“Yeah, but even so, you haven’t seen him right?”  Kenma’s bewildered look more or less answered that question and Hinata gripped the railing of the bridge before continuing with a smile.  “This past January, just as we got back from winter break, Kageyama got sick for a couple of days.  Can you imagine?  Big, scary Kageyama all wrapped up in bed with a fever and stuff?  It was pretty hilarious.  Anyway, we walk home together every day after practice, and I got really used to him just being there all the time.  So when he wasn’t, even though it was only for a few days, I missed him a lot.  And I think you and Kuroo are closer than Kageyama and I are right now, so… you know?” 

“I think you guys are a bit of an exception…” Kenma muttered.  “Besides, Kuro and I text basically every day.”

“Well that’s good.  Kageyama sucks at texting me back.” 

“Kuro texts me a little too much, probably…”

“Really?  Cause you’ve been texting me a lot more in the past month…” 

“We’ve been getting closer as friends too,” Kenma reasoned.  “It makes sense we’d talk more.”

“It’s okay to admit you miss him.” Shouyou flashed him one of those bright, cheerful smiles that probably gave people cavities. 

“I was only gone five minutes,” Kageyama’s voice startled them both as he held out their drinks with a raised eyebrow.  “You owe me 160 yen.” 

“Pehh!  Stingy!  Stingy-yama!” 

Kenma turned away from them both, sipping at his juice and reaching into his pocket to touch a button he had forgotten to bring.  Okay.  Maybe he missed Kuroo a little bit more than he’d like to admit. 

The three of them stayed together for dinner, a bit of souvenir shopping (Shouyou insisted they bring things back for the team and also, he had a little sister who had demanded cute things from Tokyo), and then they were back at the station.  Thank goodness Kenma thought to ask,

“Where are you guys staying?”

He had forgotten to ask his mother if it would be okay to let the two of them stay over in the guest room, though he probably still could and she’d be all right with it.  He knew she was curious to meet Shouyou. 

“We haven’t… exactly…” Kageyama started.

“Capsule beds!!!”

“What?” Kenma gaped.

“He really, reeeeally wants to try sleeping in a capsule bed…” Kageyama groaned, burying his face in his hands and very clearly not wanting to go along with the same idea. 

“Shouyou…” Kenma grimaced. 

“But that’s the definition of sleeping in Tokyo!!!  It’s so crowded, and loud, like GUOHHH!!!  And there are so many people you have to be crammed into trains, like GYUUUUHHHH!!!  And at night, you sleep in capsule beds or internet cafes and that’s what it means to be a city boy!” 

Kenma looked to Kageyama, appalled that he could even think to go along with this particular scheme, and the Karasuno setter merely sucked in his lips and frowned at the ground, obviously not wanting to be stuck in a capsule bed for the night, but evidently not knowing how to deny Shouyou from doing something he really wanted to do.  Clearly, as the oldest in the group, Kenma was going to have to put his foot down.  He pulled out his phone and began texting his mother. 

“Shouyou, those things are really uncomfortable, and we have a guest bedroom you can sleep in.  You two can share the spare futon—“

“We’d really appreciate that, thank you very much!!” Kageyama bowed abruptly and suddenly, his voice way too loud and his head almost touching his knees. 

Hinata clicked his tongue in disappointment. 

“Aww, but Kenma, we don’t wanna put you out or anything… we brought money, we’ll be fiiiiiine…”

“Mom’s already said yes.”

“Thank you for allowing us to impose!!!” Kageyama shouted, head still bowed.  His over-politeness was starting to make Kenma really uncomfortable.

“Shut up, Kageyama!!”

“Mom really wants to meet you, Shouyou.” Kenma stressed, wondering if he could guilt Hinata into staying over and not sleeping in a capsule bed in the middle of downtown Tokyo somewhere.  “And I have new games I want to show you.”  The ball was set. 

“Ah.  Well…”

Kenma looked to Kageyama to spike the ball, since he had finally stopped prostrating himself. 

“Didn’t you want Kenma to help you with that game of yours?” Kageyama said suddenly, arms waving awkwardly, brows furrowed together in concentration.  “Plus you’ve imposed on Kozume’s time a lot, you should at least thank his mother in person!” 

“Okay okay okay!!  Jeez!”  Hinata relented, crossing his arms and pouting with all his might. 

Match point. 

Kuroo got back to his apartment late in the evening with aching muscles and desperate for a shower.  At the very least, he wasn’t hungry since the entire team had gone out for yakiniku after a hard day’s practice.  He had bought himself an ice cream from the convenience store as a personal treat on his way home, and he stashed it in the freezer before plopping his bag down and ripping off his sweat-stained practice jersey. 

When he checked his phone, he was pleased to find a stream of texts and pictures from Kenma, detailing his day spent with the two baby crows from Karasuno.  The rare selfie sent warm flurries across his chest, and Kuroo pressed his lips to his phone, counting down the hours until he could take the train ride home.  The prospect of being able to see Kenma again after so long had him missing him more than ever… like a cat itching to swipe at a prize dangled in front of it. 

But first things first.  He had to take a shower, stretch his legs out a little more, and take out the trash.  He could lie around in bed texting with Kenma after that.  Having to do his own chores all the time was a drag, but he had gained a newfound appreciation for all the work his mom had done around the house.  Especially since Kuroo hadn’t exactly been the neatest of children to raise.  

After he had himself a nice warm shower and a good, painful stretch… he put out his trash, threw his dirty jersey into the laundry, and pulled out his spare sets for the next day.  Sighing, Kuroo pulled his ice cream out of the freezer and sprawled out on his bed, drawing up his phone and taking a tired, dimly lit selfie. 

Practice was looooonggggg…

Then he scrolled back up the chat log and looked through Kenma’s pictures, saving them individually to his phone.  Tokyo Bay really did look nice from that ferris wheel, Kuroo thought.  He wondered if Kenma would want to take a second trip there so they could ride it again just the two of them.  Probably not.  Kenma didn’t really like doing things twice.  Certainly going to Skytree that one time had been fun, but they didn’t get to share a private cabin or anything at 450m up, which was the major benefit of a ferris wheel.  Eventually, his phone buzzed and he eagerly opened up the chat log, face quickly falling when he realized who had sent the text.

Heeeyyyy Kuroo!!  Got home all right to your bachelor pad???

I’m not a bachelor, you dumb owl.  (｡･д･)☞)´Д｀)

Hey!  Not nice!  ✧*。ヾ(｡>﹏<｡)ﾉﾞ✧*。
Besides, you live alone, so that makes you a bachelor.  Akaashi agrees. (￣︶￣)

No he doesn’t.  Besides, that’s not the definition of a bachelor.  Bachelor just means unattached.

Akaashi says it means you’re unmarried.  Which apparently makes us all bachelors. 
What are you doing the rest of Golden Week?

I’m going home, remember? 

Ohhhh yeah.  Say hi to Kenma for us!  Next time, you should totally invite Kenma over to visit you instead!   (•̀o•́) ง

Occasionally, even the idiot could say a smart thing or two…  Kuroo wondered if it was too late to propose the idea to Kenma… though for his part, he had been looking forward to going home and enjoying some home-cooking from both his mom and Mrs. Kozume.  Well, maybe next time.

His phone buzzed again.  He was about to tell Bokuto to go screw Akaashi or something if he had nothing better to do, but his eyes lit up because the message wasn’t from Bokuto.  It was from Kenma. 

Did you remember to stretch? 

I even stretched extra and everything after I showered! 
I see you had a busy day with the shrimpy and his setter. 

Yeah.  They’re getting ready for bed now.  I convinced Shouyou to stay over here because otherwise the two of them were gonna end up in a capsule bed. 

Eh?

Shouyou really wanted to try sleeping in one, apparently. 

Hahaha… there’s not much harm in it.  Not that they’re comfortable. 
Hey.

What?

Send me a selfie. 

I sent you one earlier.

I know.  Send me one now.  While you’re in bed, all comfy in your pajamas. 

Kuroo waited several minutes, and then he was sent a dimly lit photo of Kenma lying sideways in his bed, looking sleepily at his phone.  Oh, he felt his stomach knot into a ball and his chest grow tight with longing.  He really, really, really missed being able to see that face every day. 

Good night, cutie.  Can’t wait to see you in a few days. 

Go to bed.  I’ll see you Wednesday. 

The promise was so sweet, Kuroo put his ice cream back in the freezer for another day and went straight to bed, wanting to fall fast asleep with the warm feelings currently fluttering in his chest. 

Sunday came and went for both boys, Kenma being dragged around once again at Hinata’s pace and Kuroo exhausting himself at practice.  Kuroo went home in the evening exhausted and spent, but happy to see the day’s texts and photos from Kenma of their excursions—Sunday had been Ikebukuro’s Sunshine City, and more than likely several hours spent in the big Pokemon Center getting street passes and battling small children.  The poor children. 

Kuroo and Kenma eventually started to reminisce about all the hours they had spent in elementary and early middle school playing Pokemon in Kenma’s room during the summer when it was too hot to go outside.  Kuroo had always traded away his legendary to Kenma for a Magikarp because he didn’t really care, and obviously Kenma really wanted it. 

You’re the only Legendary I care about catching~ <3

Kuro…

Did I touch your heart just now?  Maybe a little?

…that was so lame.

(;﹏;)

Monday, Kenma saw Shouyou and Kageyama off at the station in the evening after a day spent at the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, where they watched varying levels of competitors practice a variety of different sports (including volleyball), and where they even spent some time hitting a few tosses back and forth.  The two crows left with a fierce determination to be back next year for their second year Spring High, promising to meet Kenma and his team on the other side of the net.  Another in a series of battles at the trash heap, they swore.  Even Kenma could feel a small spark of motivation from those promises.  Maybe because he was a third year now—it would be his last year to play against Shouyou.  It would be his last year for a lot of things. 

He sent Kuroo a selfie that evening of the three of them around a volleyball net with the caption: Preview for next year’s Spring High.    

Are you sad the Shrimpy’s gone?

We had fun.  I’ll see him again in practice matches soon. 

True enough.  Besides, you can’t be feeling that down since I’ll be home in two days!
Are you excited to see me?

…
yes.

UWOOOH!!  A STRAIGHT ANSWER!!!  (╯✧∇✧)╯
Ahh… Kenma… what do I do?  Now I’m so worked up, I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep!
…
…Kenma?
Kenma!!!
(੭ ˘•ω•˘)੭ु⁾⁾
Fine… Good night!!! 

Tuesday, Kenma stayed in, determined to recharge after spending three straight days out and about, not to mention spending those days with a bundle of pure energy known as Hinata Shouyou.  He was sure it might have been a little more bearable if Kageyama hadn’t also been there, since the two seemed to feed off of the other’s energy and become exponentially worse when put together.  If Japan could find a way to harness the energy of their odd combination, surely the country wouldn’t have to rely on nuclear power anymore.  He sent zero pictures Kuroo’s way, since he was already well acquainted with the interior of Kenma’s house, and waited until the evening when he would be out of practice at last. 

By dinner time, his phone was bombarded with several pictures of sizzling meat, meat on chopsticks, marinated meat, meat, meat, meat… At last, one blurry picture of Kuroo and Bokuto making faces. 

Yakiniku yakiniku!!!  All-you-can-eat Yakiniku!! o(≧∇≦o)

I can see that.

Bokuto’s trying to out-eat me, but Kuroo Tetsurou is not a man who backs down from a challenge!

Kenma recalled the last time Kuroo had eaten so much he had made himself sick, and pulled up a number from his address book, sending Akaashi a brief text.  A few minutes later, he got several more messages from Kuroo.

No fair, calling in Akaashi like that!
Now Bokuto’s sulking.  (｡◕ˇд ˇ◕｡）

Kuroo and Bokuto were a train wreck waiting to happen, and no doubt Bokuto was sending Akaashi similar messages like the ones he was receiving from Kuroo.  With a polite request from Kenma, a well-timed and aptly-worded text from Akaashi could rein Bokuto in like little else. 

But for all that, Kuroo wasn’t going to be pressured into drinking alcohol by his upperclassmen while underage.  Before the night was through, he excused himself early from the rest of the team to go home and pack his bags, spontaneously deciding to catch a late-night train to get himself home.  He had said Wednesday morning, but Tuesday night was certainly better.  Tired, but eager, he knocked on Kenma’s door late in the night, greeting a surprised Mrs. Kozume with his usual smug grin and a polite bow.  He proffered a small gift—a university souvenir—before he was ushered in and sent straight upstairs to Kenma’s room.

“Surprise!”

Kenma stared at him blankly, hunched over his PS Vita, his hair still damp from a recent shower, eyebrows furrowed.

“I thought you were coming home tomorrow.” He mumbled, pausing his game and putting his game system to sleep.

“Geh!  What kind of reaction is that?  I came home early to surprise you!”  Dropping his bag by the door, Kuroo wormed his way into Kenma’s bed, burrowing his head under the blond’s arm and laying his head in the setter’s lap.  “Kenmaaaa… Kenma…. Kenmaaaaa…” he whined repeatedly while nuzzling his face into the boy’s abdomen.  A month without his darling Kenma left him more starved for attention than he knew, but now he was here, Kenma was in front of him, and he held on tight. 

“So annoying…” Kenma muttered, but he smiled all the same and ran his hands through Kuroo’s bedhead, scratching his nails lightly on his scalp the way Kuroo liked it, and leaned forward.  “Welcome back.” 

“Do I get a welcome back kiss?” He sat up, one corner of his lips turning upward, baring half of a pearly white grin. 

Kenma answered by pressing his lips softly to Kuroo’s, lightly touching his cheeks with thin fingers.  When Kuroo deepened the kiss, Kenma brought his arms up around Kuroo’s neck to pull himself closer, relishing the feeling of being able to hold him again, of feeling those broad shoulders under his hands again.  The muscles tensed and relaxed with every touch, and the thin, ever-smirking lips smiled against his own, kissing sweetly at the corners of his mouth or fiercely coaxing small sighs and moans out of his own chapped lips. 

It was wonderful to have him home. 

“Go shower,” Kenma mumbled against his cheek.  “You smell like burnt meat and dried sweat.” 

“Don’t wanna.”

“Go shower, or I’m pulling out the spare futon.” 

“Fine…”

Reluctantly, Kuroo pulled himself away to go and make himself a little less smelly for his Kenma, borrowing a towel and pulling a change of clothes out of his bag. 

Minutes later, Kenma received a photo text message and opened it to find a very naked selfie of Kuroo in his bathroom with the caption: I’m hoooooome~ <3

At least now he was close enough to punch. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go out somewhere?  I’ll treat you,” Kuroo mumbled into Kenma’s hair as they lay around in Kenma’s room barely watching a movie on Kenma’s laptop.  It was some Hollywood film that Kuroo had suggested but now could hardly be bothered with. 

“I spent three days in a row being dragged around Tokyo by Shouyou,” Kenma groaned, stretching out his arms in front of him.  “The last thing I want to do is go out somewhere.” 

“Mm… fair enough.” Kuroo ran his fingers absentmindedly through Kenma’s hair.  For the remainder of the boy’s second year and now into his third, he had been letting it grow out steadily, the length easily brushing his shoulders now—it was starting to be really inconvenient for volleyball.  “Do you want me to trim your hair?”

Kenma shot him a skeptical look.  It definitely read as: you’re not going anywhere near my hair because I know you’ll ruin it. 

The way it was growing out currently, his hair was almost exactly half black, half bleached, and it looked almost comical.  Kenma knew of course it didn’t look that great, but he couldn’t be bothered to care as to whether or not it looked ‘fashionable.’  After the first time bleaching it, he quickly realized what a pain it would be to repeatedly touch up his roots, so he had simply left it be.  Before he knew it, he was growing it out into something long enough to tie back. 

“I could at least touch up your roots for you.”  Kuroo offered, grinning. 

“It’s such a pain to keep up with…” Kenma sighed.  “I’m probably just going back to my natural color, and I’ll cut off the blond completely at some point.” 

Kuroo pouted, pulling at the blond strands. 

“Shame.  It looked really good on you.” 

“…do you like me as a blond that much?” 

“I like you either way, but I guess you took me by surprise the first time you bleached it.  Like, wow, here’s Kenma really wanting to try something new!  How adorable!  So I have that impression associated with you being blond.  But either way is fine.” He nuzzled closer, squeezing his arms tighter around Kenma’s middle.  “Or maybe we can just chop it all off.  It’s been a looooong time since I’ve seen you with really short hair.” 

Kenma gave a nonchalant shrug, debating the prospect of bleaching his hair again.  If Kuroo liked it that much… It’s not as if he really cared about lightening it again.  He just didn’t want to be made to do it every month. 

“Oooooh…” Kuroo grinned suddenly.  “If you keep letting your hair grow super long, it’ll eventually look like it has blond tips.  That could be cool.  You’d look like one of those beautiful K pop idols.” 

Kenma reached over to tug on Kuroo’s mess of black hair, pouting. 

“Stop fixating on my hair!”

“Ah… sorry, sorry.” Kuroo laughed into his cheek, nuzzling their noses together.  “You want me to pay more attention to you, right?” 

“N-not really.”

“Liar.”

“Tetsu!” Mrs. Kozume’s voice called from downstairs.  “Your clothes just finished in the washer!” 

“Ah—I’ll be right down!” Kuroo called back, raising himself slowly off of the bed. 

Kenma clung to his shirt, pulling him down for one more brief kiss before Kuroo went to go hang his clothes out to dry. 

This was what he missed.  Lazy days together lying around doing nothing in particular, enjoying the feeling of the other’s warmth, the sensation of their bodies pressed together.  Saying nothing, feeling everything.  All the texts and late-night selfies in the world couldn’t make up for the feeling of having Kuroo actually next to him, pulling on his hair and slipping his hand into his shirt. 

“I thought you said you didn’t wanna go out anywhere?”

“Going over to your house isn’t going ‘out.’  Besides, you should probably see your mom at least once while you’re back home.” 

“True…” Kuroo muttered around a mouthful of melon bread.  “She probably misses me.  Heck, she probably misses you.  Have you gone to see her while I’ve been gone?” 

“No real reason to.” 

“Hey now, I brought your mom a present.” 

“You’re the one who’s coming back from being away.  What would I even have to give your mom?”

“Ok, fine.  But you know, it’s good to have a close relationship with your mother-in-law.”

“M-my what?!”

“That’s what she’s going to be, you know!” Kuroo grinned, sliding his hands around Kenma’s waist and drawing him close.  “I bet she’d love it if you called her ‘mom.’”

“I’m definitely not calling her that,” Kenma groaned, putting his hand between Kuroo’s mouth and his face.  “Now I’m not going to be able to look her in the eye when we head over.” 

“What if I introduce you as my bride?  Hgck!!  Owwwww…. Kenma!!” 

After much squirming, a little bit of wrestling, then tickling, eventually the two got changed out of their pajamas—at two in the afternoon—and made the short trek (all of five seconds really) to the Kuroo household.  Mrs. Kuroo greeted both boys with a not-so-surprised smirk (Mrs. Kozume had called her the night before to let her know her son was back home), and ushered them both inside because she had made all of both of their favorite dishes.  Kenma she hugged excitedly, cooing that the boy needed to come over more often whether Kuroo was home or not, and her own son she pinched hard on the cheek, demanding he learn to call ahead and be a proper adult. 

“Did you at least bring a gift for Kenma’s mother before barging into her house?”

“Yes mom—ow! Ow ow ow let gooooo!  Is this how you treat your precious son?!”

 “A precious son who can’t even be bothered to come see his mother first after getting home from school, you mean?  Kenma, go on ahead to the kitchen dear, I’ve made you apple pie!” 

“Th-thank you,” Kenma muttered, neatly setting his shoes aside in the doorway before moving past the tearful mother-son reunion.  Tearful on Kuroo’s end anyway. 

Kenma peered into the kitchen fridge to find a recently baked apple pie sitting on the top shelf, which he pulled out along with a few plates and forks (he knew quite well where everything was located) and cut himself a slice before sitting at the table.  Eventually Kuroo and his mom found their way to the kitchen, Kuroo cutting himself a small slice of pie and taking small bites with a pouting face as he sat down.  Kenma poked at Kuroo’s shin gently with his toes under the table in reassurance. 

“So Tetsu, do you like your new volleyball team at Tokai?” 

“Yeah.  It’s definitely different, but it’s not bad…” Kuroo hummed around mouthfuls.  “I guess the team dynamic is mainly what’s different.  We can’t depend so much on a genius setter.” He winked at Kenma. 

“I’m sure you and Kenma miss playing on the same team.” She smiled knowingly, placing cups of juice beside each of the boys.  “Please tell me you’re not neglecting classes for volleyball.”

“I’ve never done that!” Kuroo pouted.  “But okay… I really like my English Professor, so I’m doing really well in that class right now.  I am almost like the natural speaker!”    

Kenma and Mrs. Kuroo shared a look.  They couldn’t really tell if that was proper English or not, but it was most likely passable, and if a foreigner could understand him, that was honestly all that mattered. 

“Oh, and my political science class is pretty fun.  A little difficult, but I like the challenge.  I’ll probably take the accompanying Economics class next term.  Two of my teammates are focusing track on law, and they’ve recommended some other decent courses for me to take.  I don’t know if I’ll end up committing to law school or not, but it’s on my mind.” 

Kuroo’s mom nodded steadily as she listened, and Kenma found himself picking at his pie as he too heard all this information for the first time.  He knew Kuroo was enjoying English because of how much he texted him in it, but he hadn’t known at all about that political science class or the fact that he was considering law for his career track.  There was a lot he didn’t know about Kuroo’s daily life now that they were apart… but he also hadn’t bothered to ask.  He had never needed to before.  And as Kuroo continued to talk about his teammates and his coach, his practice matches, his favorite professors, his cranky landlord at his apartment… it felt more and more to Kenma that Kuroo had gone away to an entirely new world, one that barely featured him in it at all.  He saw how Kuroo’s eyes lit up as he talked, how his natural sneer would relax a little into a more genuine smile, and he knew then how much he was enjoying himself in his new surroundings… and he was so happy for him, and so very very sad. 

Later, as they lay around in Kuroo’s room, Kenma playing a game on his Vita and Kuroo doing some light reading that had been assigned, Kenma found he was having trouble concentrating.  No matter how many times he tried, he just could not beat the boss in his game.

“Having trouble there?” Kuroo asked, flipping a page in his book.

“How could you tell?” Kenma grumbled.

“I’ve heard the ‘you’ve just died jingle’ about four times now.” 

“What are you reading?”

“Excerpts from Two Treatises of Government by John Locke.  Well, a translation anyway.  It’s for class.  It’s honestly a bit boring, but I think I got the gist of it.” 

“I thought you said you liked your political science class.” 

“Hm?  I do.” 

“What about it do you like?”  Kenma pressed.

Kuroo lifted his eyes from his reading. 

“What’s got you so interested all of a sudden?” 

“Nothing.  Not really.  It’s just… you were telling your mom all this stuff that you never told me before.  I guess, I never asked about it.” 

“Oh.”  Kuroo dog-eared the page he was on and closed his book.  “I mean… I didn’t offer to tell you about it either, you don’t have to feel bad about that.”

“I don’t.  I just… I wanna know.”

“All right… What do you wanna know?”

It irked Kenma that he had to try so hard to pull this information out of him when he had just spoken so freely in front of his mother. 

“I dunno.  Just… stuff.  Why you like it.”  He tried not to sound snappy but he couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him.

“Hmm… Honestly, it’s probably got a lot to do with the professor.  An interesting person can make any topic interesting too, you know?  In a lot of ways, he kind of reminds me of Coach Nekomata.  You wanna do well in the class almost to make the guy happy.” 

“You’d go into law just to make some old professor happy?”  Kenma knew Kuroo was always the thoughtful type, but…

“I didn’t say I was going into law.”

“You said so to your mom.”

“I said I was thinking about it.  It’s only my first term.  I might try a few courses and decide it’s really not for me.” 

“…oh.”

They fell into silence again, and Kenma was growing frustrated with himself for not being able to think of more questions to ask.  He was bad with questions and words.  If he could just hang around Kuroo for a week while he was at university, he’d see and know everything, but as long as they were apart, he couldn’t discern much of anything. 

“It’s a little overwhelming, to be honest.”  Kuroo admitted after some minutes had passed.  It was always Kuroo who started the conversation again when Kenma faltered.  “High school was all about entrance exams and test scores and getting yourself to college.  Now, it’s all about actually deciding what you want to do for the rest of your life.  I can’t think three years ahead, I have to think about the next twenty, forty years.  What if I choose wrong and realize in my thirties that I’m a miserable old git who couldn’t hack it at pro volleyball?” 

Kenma’s eyes widened as he watched Kuroo stare at the posters on his wall, dark brown eyes gazing into some hazy future neither could grasp.  He could never have guessed that Kuroo had such deep pressing concerns in his mind.  Where was his usual, unwavering confidence?  Could Kenma do so little to help?  Except it was true.  He couldn’t help.  He didn’t know what to say to any of that, he was still a high schooler. 

“Kuro…”

“But I have you, Kenma.”  He turned and took one of Kenma’s hands into his own, broad palms eclipsing the smaller boy’s hands.  “Thinking about you relaxes me.  I’m sure I’ve told you how much I love seeing your texts at the end of the day.  I loved all your photos out with the little Shrimp, and I’m glad you had fun, even if it was without me.”

Kenma was so very bad with words.  So he leaned forward and pressed their lips together, pulling his hands out of Kuroo’s and gripping at the taller boy’s shirt, pulling him up and into the bed.  They had plenty of time for words for when they’d be apart, but this… This closeness, this heat… This could only be achieved when they were together bodily, and Kenma wasn’t willing to neglect it any longer. 

As if able to sense Kenma’s urgency, Kuroo tilted their heads for a better angle and urged the setter’s mouth open with his tongue, moaning into the soft warmth of his mouth and relishing the feel of Kenma’s small tongue darting forward to meet his own.  Kenma didn’t usually initiate, which meant that he must have missed him very much, regardless of how little he said on the matter.  Kuroo ran his hands along Kenma’s waist, pulling his shirt up and pressing his hands against the bare skin he found, the skin along his abdomen soft against his calloused fingertips.  He felt Kenma’s arms slide up around his neck, pulling him closer, gripping him tighter, their bodies pressed so tight, it was almost suffocating.  It’s not like he needed to breathe.

Ok, maybe he needed to breathe a little. 

Panting, the two used the opportunity to fling off their shirts, crashing their mouths together again as quickly as they could, now bare chests pressing together.  Kenma ran his hands along Kuroo’s shoulders, down his arms, across his chest, tickling at his abdomen… he could feel the strength of those lithe muscles, rippling beneath the skin and tensing with each hot breath… he could feel the weight Kuroo had lost in a month thanks to his awful eating habits and perhaps thanks to the added stress of loneliness.  Kenma was sorry for that, and he tried to make up for it by running his fingertips across every surface that he could, pressing gently but insistently, all the while peppering Kuroo with kisses, some shallow, some deep, some breathless, and all full of whispered affections. 

Eventually they shifted, Kuroo gently guiding the two of them to lie on the bed, his hands running through the soft strands of Kenma’s hair, gently at first, before his fingertips ran against Kenma’s scalp with need and pulled him into harder kisses, rocking his hips forward so Kenma could feel his growing arousal against his thigh. 

“Ken…ma…” he gasped, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he clung to the boy in front of him.  “Kenma…”

Kuroo always got so vocal, so needy… But Kenma was glad for it.  It felt like he was being reached out to, and he needed to know that Kuroo needed him.  He reached down and palmed the stiffness between Kuroo’s legs and touched that need... and felt himself grow harder at the thought.  Greedily, the setter shoved his hands into Kuroo’s shorts, thin fingers grabbing at the thick length.  Eyes wide open—like when they used to stand side by side on the court—Kenma watched Kuroo squirm beneath his touch. 

Kuroo’s lips grew slack, his mouth falling open to voice his soft groans and raspy gasps.  Kenma eyed how his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, the veins in his neck straining against his skin, which had started glistening with a light sheen of sweat.  Kuroo usually shut his eyes in times like these, his hands falling almost limp in Kenma’s hair, chest heaving. 

“Ken… ma…”

The setter pushed Kuroo’s shoulders so that he was lying on his back on the bed, Kenma moving to straddle him after shimmying his own shorts a little ways down.  Ignoring how his own breathing was coming in broken gasps, he held their lengths together in both palms, their heat melding together. 

It was Kenma’s favorite vantage point—and he knew it was Kuroo’s too.  Riding atop him, Kenma could look down and see Kuroo laid bare beneath him, watching him as he licked his lips and threw his head back in ecstasy.  Kuroo too, could see Kenma exposing himself above him, his hair swaying to and fro, falling into his face and teasing the skin of his shoulders. 

“Kenma…”

“Kuro…”

They were both whispering the other’s name repeatedly, breaths coming in faster and faster gasps as they rubbed themselves together, hips gently rocking as they came in quick succession—Kuroo came first with a low groan, Kenma following soon after with a breathless sigh. 

Their fluids mingled and flowed together on Kuroo’s chest and stomach, some of it sliding down his ribs and spilling onto the sheets.  Kenma watched it steadily stain the sheets with moisture, but made no motion to move. 

“We have to wash your sheets.”

“And me.” Kuroo grinned.

“And you.” 

“Bring me a tissue?”

“Not yet.”  Kenma whispered, sitting determinedly atop him and eyeing every inch of Kuroo Tetsurou, drinking in the image of him lying beneath him with flushed cheeks and their combined cum spilled across his abdomen.  He looked long and hard, until he knew he would never forget this image and until Kuroo began to flush under his intense gaze. 

“Like what you see?” Kuroo attempted a small flirtation to hide his nervousness. 

“Always.”  Kenma replied with a small grin, leaning forward to lay a firm kiss on Kuroo’s forehead, before retrieving some tissues and helping him clean. 

And after they were both showered and the sheets changed, they lay back down together snuggled close and tight, Kuroo reading over Kenma’s shoulder and Kenma tracing small circles on Kuroo’s chest until they were called down for dinner. 

Golden week came and went in a flash, and soon Kenma was walking Kuroo to the station, sullenly thinking of all the weeks to come they’d have to now spend apart.  He wouldn’t be able to see Kuroo again until late July probably—nearly 3 months away.  For now, he tried to focus on the warm grip that held onto his hand, pulling him along gently. 

Once they were close, Kuroo stopped and pulled him aside, gently kissing him and fondly tucking his hair behind his ears. 

“I know you don’t like crowded places, so you don’t have to walk me all the way to the gate.”

I would’ve done it anyway, Kenma thought.  For you.  But he didn’t argue.

“Next time, come visit me?” The older boy asked shyly, cheeks tinged a slight pink.  “I’ll clean my place up and try cooking for us… I’ll help you study for entrance exams and take you around my campus.” 

Kenma stood on his tip toes to kiss Kuroo’s chin, offering a rare smile. 

“I’m looking forward to it already.” 

Kuroo blinked, clearly growing more and more embarrassed by the second, before he let out an almost exasperated sigh.

“No fair, Kenma… you can’t look at me like that right before I’m about to leave.  I’ll never want to go.”  He pinched Kenma’s cheeks lightly.  “Good luck at Interhigh.” 

Kenma nodded, watching as Kuroo walked across the street, went through the station entrance, turned around one last time for a two-fingered wave, before he disappeared among the crowd of people.  Sighing, he turned to return home, walking almost a block before his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Miss you already!  (づ￣ ³￣)づ

Chapter Text

The first week after Kuroo left was probably the worst, somehow even worse than right after graduation.  Kenma had thought himself ‘recharged’ in a sense after spending a few days with his boyfriend, but he quickly went back to feeling irritable and sour.  He had absolutely no patience for Lev in their first week back at practice, and nearly gave the poor boy a heart attack when he fumbled his fifth serve (which had hit Kenma in the back of the head).  Kenma shot him a glare no one had ever seen out of the setter before, and the whole of the gymnasium went into a mild panic. 

“Uwoohhhh, Kenma, are you okay?!”

“Kenma, Kenma, your face!!!”

“Is ‘The Tiger’ rubbing off on our precious vice-captain?!?!” 

“Run, Lev!!!”

Afterward, the team was on guard for the rest of practice, with even Taketora tip-toeing around Kenma—as best as the boy knew how to tip-toe. 

“Maybe it would help if you tied your hair back!” His captain had said to him in the locker rooms.

“How?” Kenma sighed.

“Well it’s pretty long now.  If you leave it loose, you’ll overheat more quickly during practice.  And then you’ll get tired more quickly, you know…”

“You hate getting tired, right?” Fukunaga chimed in. 

Kenma considered the advice quietly, saw the still-frightened look Lev was giving him, and decided to buy a pack of elastic hair ties from the convenience store on his way home.  He wasn’t Kageyama, he didn’t want to be a setter who struck fear into the heart of his team with a single look.  At home, he stood in the bathroom, trying several times to work his hair into some semblance of a ponytail and failing.  He couldn’t quite work the elastic around into more than one loop, and he was having trouble coordinating the motions of his wrist from the back of his head.  Girls did this all the time, he saw it, why couldn’t he?  Eventually, he was looking up YouTube tutorials and some minutes later, he finally figured out the wrist motion required to get it all tied back. 

He didn’t like it. 

He didn’t like the feeling of having his hair all out of his face—he had started growing it out for a reason—on top of which, the ponytail was too tight, and it pulled on his scalp painfully.  How did anybody keep this in their hair all day? 

“Kenma?” his mom knocked on the bathroom door.  “You ok?  You’ve been in there an awful long time…”

He’d figure this out later.  He pocketed the rest of the hair ties and opened the door, startling his mother. 

“Oh!  I—oh!!”

She gasped and pointed at his head, and Kenma sighed and pulled the band out of his hair, grimacing at the pain.  He was going to go bald trying to use these. 

“That’s a new look!” she grinned at him.  She had said something similar when he emerged out of the bathroom the summer before his second year of high school, hair suddenly turned blond. 

“I’m not sure if I like it yet.” He muttered, but his earlier consensus rang truer: he didn’t like it.

“It’s a bit neater than just letting your hair fly about all the time.  Your teachers will probably prefer it, and it’ll certainly help for practice.”

“It hurts.”

“There are other ways of tying a ponytail.  Or maybe you just need to get used to it…” she poked at her chin, a gesture Kuroo usually pulled.  “Would you like your mom to help you figure out a new hairstyle?” 

“I’m not a girl, mom…” he mumbled.

“I know, I know… but you could have been!” his mother sighed wistfully.  “Of course I adore you, my one and only son, but there are things boys won’t do with their mothers!”

“Like hair appointments and manicures and weekend-long shopping trips…”  He supposed if he had been born a girl, he wouldn’t have minded those things maybe, but they were certainly pointless endeavors now given who he turned out to be.

“You’re struggling with this, and parents are supposed to help their children with their struggles.  Let me help with this one, Kenma!” 

She was clutching his wrist now, a hint of a whine to her voice—the same whine Kuroo used on him to try and get him to do things—and he relented. 

An hour and a half later, he emerged from his parents’ bedroom with roughly three different types of ponytails he could wear that wouldn’t hurt his scalp and wouldn’t make his head look like a slicked bowling ball from the front… along with a pocketful of hairpins and barrettes he was determined not to use.  But the experience had been helpful and, dare he say it, even educational, with no small amount of enjoyment for his mom.  The effect was twofold.  He had allowed his mother to help him while simultaneously being a good son. 

He went back to his room and pulled it into the loose ponytail she had shown him, pulling his front fringes out so the sides of his face were covered again, and took a quick and nervous selfie. 

No, that was no good.

He tried another angle.

He couldn’t even see the ponytail.  Another one then.

Fifteen minutes and thirty images later, he sent Kuroo a two-picture selfie collage with the caption:

New style, I guess.  Better for practice.

That night while he was working on calculus, his phone buzzed several times in quick succession and he unlocked the screen to find a stream of unintelligible keyboard smashing from Kuroo along with:

(๑´ლ`๑)ﾌﾌ♡
(●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。
Can I come over right now?  

I guess you technically could.  Except it’s a school night and it’s past 11pm. 

That’s so unfair, Kenmaaaa… how am I supposed to focus now?
Maybe I’ll send a picture of my hair too!
From down under~ （○゜ε＾○）

Turning off my phone and going to bed now.

Σ(゜ロ゜;)
Good night, Kenma! 

He didn’t turn off his phone or go to bed, but he did blush at the overwhelmingly positive response he had gotten from Kuroo. 

He was less irritable—especially at practice—after that. 

For Kuroo’s part, Golden Week had been more than rejuvenating for him, and he was on the top of his game from the day he got back to his cramped apartment and to his team.  His blocking sense—which had suffered some in his first month at university amidst the chaos of adjusting to a new home, a new team, and in general a new life—had returned.  He was once again useful to his team, and it was finally starting to show in their practice matches.    

“Nice block!” 

“One touch, chance ball!”

“All right, Kuroo!”

It was good to be, well, good. 

“There’s the Kuroo I used to hate playing against!” Bokuto boasted with a hearty laugh in the locker rooms after practice that week.  “I guess going back home for a bit did you some good?  Did Kenma help you out of your funk?”

“I don’t want to hear about mood funks from you, of all people…” Kuroo groaned. 

“Hey!  I’ve gotten better about that!”

“You have to be able to go three matches in a row without it cropping up for it be ‘better.’”

“Hey, hey hey!!!”

“BOTH OF YOU, QUIET DOWN!!!”

The renewed vigor earned him praise from his coaches and his teammates—when it wasn’t getting him and Bokuto into trouble—and helped foster the beginnings of some new friendships.  In particular, he and Bokuto started to grow close to an upperclassman (the team’s Vice-Captain) by the name of Takahashi Reiji, who served as the team’s principal setter.  He was a mostly calm guy (like most setters he had known in his life) with a bit of a wild streak that showed only during team dinners and celebrations.  The setter’s in-game responsibilities almost made him duty-bound to get to know the rest of his team, but it was also extremely helpful for Kuroo since Takahashi was interested in roughly the same fields of study.  He loaned Kuroo some of his old notes from his previous years, and gave him pointers on how to handle certain professors in the department. 

After being team captain and an advanced third-year, Kuroo was back to the bottom of the barrel again, a newbie first year just like Bokuto.  Only this time he had a pretty cool senior looking after him.  It was a refreshing change, in some ways.  He told Kenma as much the next time they spoke on the phone, some weeks later. 

“He’s not like the seniors we had to deal with at Nekoma; he doesn’t bully his underclassmen.  He’s more like… well he’s more like me, you could say!”

“It’s bad form to compliment yourself while talking about others, you know.”

“I’m trying to come up with good examples, that’s all!” Kuroo screeched into the mouthpiece.

“I can think of better examples.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Sawamura Daichi from Karasuno.”

“Geh!”  The problem was Kuroo couldn’t exactly argue.  “Fine…”

“What are you doing, anyway, what’s that rustling noise?”

“I’m trying to sort out my trash.  The university’s pretty strict about what goes where and how it gets sorted.  The apartment complex I live in is mostly students and owned by the university I think, so we have to follow the same rules as the kids on campus.  It’s a pain in the ass.”

“Sounds like it.”

“But a lot of Tokai is about… being progressive, and living green… science and medicine to better the world—ah shit, I forgot I had to sort the cardboard separately.”

“So…” Kenma coughed.  “Your senior, Takahashi…”

“Yeeeahh?” Kuroo drawled.

“…is he… is he a good setter?”

Kuroo couldn’t stop the positively feline smile that spread steadily across his face. 

“Yeah.  Of course he’s good.  We’re a collegiate volleyball powerhouse, remember?”

Better than me?  The question hung in the silent buzzing on the line between them. 

“How—how good?”

“Kenma?  Are you… jealous?”  Kuroo should not be enjoying this as much as he was.  But he was.  Oh, god he was. 

“I’m curious.” 

“You’re an excellent setter too, you know.  Different styles work for different teams—“

“Just answer the question, Kuro.”  Kenma snapped.

“Kenma—“

“And don’t lie to me.”  Ok, well now it was a little less fun.

“Objectively speaking, he’s damn good.  Consistent, steady, analytical.  Knows how to give the right tosses to the right people.  Just like you.” 

“But he’s better than me.” 

“Kenma, he’s been playing for longer than you, he doesn’t skip practices, and he is actually motivated to get better.”

“…”

Now he’d done it. 

“Kenma, I didn’t mean that.  I mean, I did.  It’s… I know you like volleyball, but it’s not as important to you as it is to some other people—and that’s not a bad thing.  I loved playing with you in high school, you are an excellent setter, I know Nekoma’s gonna lose a lot when you graduate, you’re a way bigger loss to the team than I was—I… would you please say something?”

“Mom’s calling, I have to go.” 

He was lying.

“Kenma—“

“Text me later.” 

And then he hung up.  Kenma hung up on him. 

“Ah, fuck.”

Kenma had just hung up on Kuroo.  Without any goodbyes, without any fond words, he had just coldly cut the line, and he had really no one to blame but himself for the mess he had just made. 

And the mess he was continuing to make.

The internet was a horrible thing.  It was a wonderful and a horrible thing, because it meant that Kenma could google the Tokai University competitive volleyball team, find Takahashi Reiji, who wore jersey number five (the number he wore last year; the number he wore when he and Kuroo were on the same team in their prime), and mentally curse him for doing absolutely nothing wrong.  His only crime was that he played the same position Kenma did, and actually cared about it. 

It was hypocritical, he knew, to have carried on all this time with his vague apathy and then suddenly care about his own prowess compared to another setter who actually went to every practice.  The sudden competitiveness was petty and unwarranted.  He had never once resented Akaashi or Kageyama for their abilities—he knew Kageyama was definitely a better setter than himself.  But this was different.  They didn’t set for Kuroo.  His Kuroo.

You used to have another setter on your team, right?

He texted Shouyou.

Yeah.  Our upperclassman, Suga.  He was awesome! 

The nice thing about texting with Shouyou was that he never had to wait long for a reply as long as he texted well after practice hours. 

Between his tosses and Kageyama’s tosses, which do you like better?

Probably Kageyama’s? 
I mean, Suga’s tosses were still really great tho…
He made them really easy to hit.
But you know how cool Kageyama’s tosses are…
Really, I’m happy with anyone who’ll toss to me!

That was a very Shouyou-like response. 

Why the preference for Kageyama?

He gives me the tosses I want.  The ones that go SWOOOSH and SHWAAA and stop in front of me so I can smash them down like GUOHHHH and stuff!  He’s really, reeeeeeally awesome, you know?
Ahhh, but I mean, Kenma you’re a setter too!  And you’re also awesome! 
But Kageyama’s also my… 
Well.
You knooowwww…

Kenma rolled his eyes.  Yes.  He knew.  Everyone knew.  In fact, everyone knew long before the two idiots themselves knew.

Maybe Shouyou wasn’t the best person to ask.  He wasn’t sure if the boy understood anything about jealousy or really any ugly feeling like the ones Kenma was currently harboring.  He was too… nice for that sort of thing.  That, and he really did appreciate any setter that would toss to him.  Maybe the better question was…

Did Kageyama used to get upset when you hit Suga’s tosses?

I dunno, lemme ask him.

Kenma slammed his head into his desk.  This wasn’t going where he had hoped.  Kageyama was definitely going to consider that a strange question.  Hopefully Shouyou didn’t mention Kenma by name while asking. 

He says he didn’t used to, and not with Suga since Suga was our senior and he was really nice and stuff.  Plus he taught Kageyama a lot of things. 
But now he says he’d be mad if I got all excited about another setter’s tosses.  Including yours, Kenma!  Good thing we’re not on the same team!

Good thing, Kenma thought.  Being on the same team as those two would be exhausting.  But he was a little relieved to hear that Kageyama was possessive about his spiker too.  Except… Kageyama was definitely the possessive type in ways that were way weirder than normal.  Plus the two of them had their special combinations, their oddball quick, later modified to be an even more formidable move.  It was a toss Kageyama could only give to Hinata, a toss only Hinata could hit.  He and Kuroo never had any special attack combinations like that.  Kenma never gave Kuroo any tosses that another setter couldn’t mimic, and any competent spiker should be able to hit Kenma’s tosses. 

Maybe he needed at least one other opinion.  Shouyou might be a good friend, but he and Kageyama were just too… weird… and too different to try and parallel their life experiences.

Akaashi, what do you think of Takahashi Reiji?

Since Kuroo and Bokuto were both on the Tokai team, he could feel reasonably certain that Bokuto would have talked about his new teammates to Akaashi. 

Who?

The regular setter for the Tokai volleyball team.

Ah.  I’m sorry he now has to deal with Bokuto and his emo mode. 

Maybe Akaashi wasn’t much better than Shouyou.  He had an entirely different set of problems when it came to his relationship with Bokuto.  He was always the one looking after his moody senior, and Kuroo had always been the one to look after Kenma. 

Yeah… True. 

I’ve seen a couple of practice matches, at Bokuto’s insistence.  I remember thinking he was very skilled. 

It doesn’t bother you?

What?

Kenma didn’t really want to say it outright, since he knew how childish it sounded, but he had to do it directly otherwise Akaashi would never get it. 

That Bokuto’s setter isn’t you anymore.

Kenma.
Are you jealous?

Maybe. 
A little. 
I don’t know. 

I’ll admit I’m a little surprised at you, Kenma.

So you’re obviously not thinking the same things I am. 

No.

Great.

But I think I understand a little of what you might be feeling. 

I’m not Bokuto, you don’t have to humor me. 

I’m not.
I miss having Bokuto on the team.  Even if he was annoying.  It was always very satisfying to see him do well with one of my tosses.  It almost made up for all the times he would botch them because he got into one of his moods.  Mostly. 
I think I miss playing beside him, but I also know I won’t be continuing volleyball after graduation.  I suppose it’s bittersweet seeing him play well with another setter.  A little.  But that’s if I think about it too much.  Which is probably why I don’t think about it. 
Did that help at all?

…sort of. 

Ah.  I can say this.  Even if I don’t feel jealous about Takahashi Reiji,

Wow, it sounded awful when he phrased it like that.

I know what it feels like to be left behind. 

…
Thanks, Akaashi.

You’re welcome, Kenma. 
See you at Interhigh in a few weeks. 

No matter how he looked at it in retrospect (hindsight was always 20/20), Kenma knew he had behaved rather badly and would need to apologize to Kuroo.  But to do that, he needed to feel sorry first.  And glancing over at the still-grinning face of Tokai’s number five on his computer screen, he definitely didn’t feel sorry just yet. 

Or maybe he did feel sorry. 

It just wasn’t materializing into an apology yet.  It was instead manifesting as Kenma attending every single practice after that conversation, surprising his entire team but really surprising no one more than himself.  In the remaining weeks before the Interhigh games, Kenma approached Taketora with a topic he had been stewing on for some time. 

“We need another setter.” 

“What, for Interhigh?”

“No, for the future of Nekoma’s team.  We can’t just hope that the team will get a genius first-year setter after we graduate.  I want to start training one of the first years we have.”

“K-Kenma!”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you cared so much about us!!!” his captain began sobbing, his usually-distorted face now doubly disfigured with tears.  His hands were slowly rising, fingers twitching, and Kenma was tempted to drop and run.  “C-can I give you a hug?”

“S-sure…”

And then Taketora had him bound in a vice grip, which got the team’s attention, and then Lev joined in because he had no sense of timing or atmosphere, and then it was the entire team dog piling on Kenma and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all.  He would blame this inconvenience on Takahashi Reiji.  Because he could. 

Alas, he couldn’t blame Takahashi Reiji for everything.  Taketora’s wholehearted support for Kenma’s idea insisted that Kenma be the one to approach Coach Nekomata.  The setter tried desperately to convince Taketora to be the one to tell the Coach, but in the end the only compromise he could squeeze out from the mohawk was that he would be with Kenma when he presented his plan. 

“It’s rare for you to both come see me at once,” the Coach grinned. 

It was just after practice, and as the team set to work cleaning up the gym and putting away the equipment, the two captains had asked for a quiet word. 

“Kenma’s got some ideas for the team, Coach!”  The captain beamed, clapping a hand on Kenma’s back and pushing him forward while the old coach raised a curious eyebrow. 

“Well… Coach.  I was telling Taketora that… um.  I think the team needs another setter.  Because… it’s a big risk to wait and see if an incoming first-year might have those capabilities, and… from my observations, we have a first year that could be converted into a setter with some extra practice.”  He tried to maintain constant eye contact with the coach, but the old man was keeping one of those impassive stares on his face that could at any moment turn into a sneaky grin or unexpected anger. 

“Hoh…?  Which first year?” 

“Kamikawa.” 

“I see…” Coach Nekomata rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, pursing his lips and glancing over at the chatting group of first years as they folded up the net together.  “He came in as a wing-spiker.  But you see potential as a setter?” 

“…I do.” 

The carefully kept line of his mouth finally broke into a full-on grin, and he laid a firm hand on Kenma’s shoulder, gripping tight and nodding his head. 

“You really are the brains of this team, Kozume.  And you’re a good senpai.”

Taketora matched the coach’s grin, and it was starting to feel infectious even for Kenma.  He could feel the beginnings of a smile twitch on the ends of his lips until—

“And since this is your brilliant idea, I’m gonna let you run point!” the Coach cackled.

“C-Coach?”

“You tell Kamikawa, you train him, let’s see how you fare as an instructor.” 

Then the old man walked away from them, chortling happily, leaving Kenma to realize the full weight of the responsibility he had just taken on.  He couldn’t blame Takahashi Reiji for this one either.  Nope, this one was alllll on him. 

“You have good game sense,” Kenma said later to Kamikawa Wataru. 

“I—do I?”  The first year stammered nervously, surprised to be addressed by an upperclassman, and for that upperclassman to be Kenma, who talked to almost nobody. 

“I’ve seen how you watch our games—especially the ones you don’t feature in.  I see how you’re watching the team.  Tell me our fastest player.” 

“Obviously Inuoka…” Wataru muttered. 

“But what are his shortcomings?  Objectively speaking.” 

“He… his technique is rough around the edges. Just because he can get to the ball doesn’t mean he can do what he wants with it.  And he gets uncertain about which moves to do.”

“He was a middle blocker, and a decent one.  Good against Shouyou.”

“Who?”

“But Lev won out for his regular position last year because he’s basically a tree.  If Inuoka’s in a game with you, when would you set the ball to him?”

“When… um.  When the spikers are marked and guarded… Inuoka has a clear shot…”

“And there’s only one place on the court to hit to.  Like you said, he doesn’t always know what to do with the ball.  So you give it to him when there’s only one option for him to take so he doesn’t get confused.”

“I see…”  Kamikawa nodded, and Kenma could see the information taking root in his mind for further analysis. 

“I think you’ll be a good setter, Kamikawa.” 

“R-really, vice-captain?”

“Starting tomorrow, I’ll be focusing on you during team practice, and I might even make time for an extra session here or there.  You won’t be good enough to play in the Interhigh games—that’s too soon, but by the time I graduate, I know I’ll be leaving Nekoma in good hands.”

“Th-thank you!” 

This meant that now Kenma was at every team practice with zero absences whatsoever, and every so often, he stayed later to coach Kamikawa on setting, how to observe the players, driving home the strengths and weaknesses of their own team.  It didn’t come as easily to the first year as it came to Kenma, but the basic intuition was there, which made him easier to work with.  Unlike Lev.  Not to mention, the first-year was eager to learn, and quickly came to understand the critical role of the setter for his team, which meant he was quick to understand the responsibility Kenma was passing onto him. 

Suddenly, Kenma found himself coming home later in the evenings, less time to complete his schoolwork (which he prioritized), ultimately ending in less time for video games overall, and less time for… missing Kuroo. 

He wondered if he was supposed to feel bad about that.  He was sure to miss Kuroo if he thought about him, but there wasn’t much time to think about him in the first place.  Could they really call themselves a couple anymore?  Weren’t couples supposed to think about each other all the time?  But he knew long-distance couples existed.  And they obviously had to live their own separate lives; they couldn’t just spend all day pining that the other one wasn’t around.  Kuroo was certainly living his life.  And Kenma…

Oh.  Maybe this is what it was to have a life of his own.  A life where he didn’t just follow Kuroo’s lead and go along at someone else’s pace. 

It had only taken him seventeen years.

He pulled up his phone.

I’m sorry about before. 

The reply was almost immediate—as if Kuroo had been waiting all this time for him to text. 

No, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have accused you like I did.  And I’m sorry I made you apologize first, it was my fault.  Bokuto says I’m an idiot, and I am.

Kuro, it’s not your fault.  And I was never even mad at you.

What?  Really?

I was probably more mad with myself. 

Oh Kenmaaaaaa… ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚
I’m so glad you don’t hate meeeee

I could never hate you, Kuro. 

But now, Kenma thought he had come a little closer in understanding him a different way.

At Interhigh in late June, Nekoma emerged as one of the top four teams in Tokyo prefecture, which was no easy feat, but still vaguely unsatisfying.  Their last game—a semi-finals match against Fukurodani—had been nothing short of an uphill battle.  Even without a power ace like Bokuto, Fukurodani was a well-balanced team with good connection.  Their receives could rival Nekoma’s, and they had still stronger offense.  Nekoma could take pride in taking the match to three sets, two of the sets going to extended deuces.  Kenma would never say so in front of the team, but he had suspected they’d lose with their current team composition as it were.  They were missing their former captain, their star blocker, and the team felt that loss as much as Kenma did… But even so, they all fought tooth and nail (himself included), for every last point, and the setter felt a strange sense of pride for his team.  It was his team now, not Kuroo’s.  It felt good to own up to that finally. 

Kenma shook hands with Akaashi after the match in the lineup, sweaty and exhausted, but pleased with both teams’ efforts. 

“Good game,” he huffed. 

Akaashi gave a tired smile in return.  Still holding Kenma’s hand, he flicked his eyes to the bleachers and gestured with his chin.  Kenma looked up to see Kuroo and Bokuto in the crowd, grinning broadly.  They started whooping and hollering as soon as they caught the eyes of their former setters, and both high schoolers hung their heads immediately in shame. 

“It’s Captain Kuroo!!!”

“It’s Bokuto!!!”

“They came to see us play!!”

Their teams however… they were ecstatic. 

“Did you know they were coming?” Kenma asked in a low voice.

“I had no idea.” 

But they couldn’t help smiling… even as they both thought to themselves how troublesome and idiotic the other two were.  Really, it was an expected surprise—of course they’d want to come see a match-up of their former teams, and being able to see their boyfriends play was just an added bonus. 

Kenma very much expected Kuroo to come by their locker rooms later to greet the team.  He’d probably also join in on their team dinner (which would unfortunately not be a congratulatory one), and for tonight, it would feel at least a little bit like the Nekoma they used to be. 

Except for the part where Kuroo showed up to the locker rooms with a bouquet the size of Lev to throw into Kenma’s arms, hugging him tight and nuzzling against his head. 

“K-Kuro!!!”

“Ahhhh, Kenmaaaa, you were so amazing to watch!!”

The upperclassmen gaped slightly at the sight—the two had always been close, everyone knew, but…

“How come Captain Kuroo gets away with touching Kenma like that while I always get slapped away?”

“Shut up, Lev.”

“Lev!!!” Kuroo turned his attention next to the beanpole.  “Sloppy, still sloppy, but your receives have definitely improved!” He elbowed him (a little hard) in the ribs, and soon the entire team was jumping at him, asking him about university volleyball and how he liked his new team.  They also gushed about how much they missed him, and how they had all worked very hard to do him proud. 

“Captain!!!” Taketora was screaming and blubbering, trying to hold back tears and failing. 

“Hey, hey… you’re captain now…” Kuroo consoled with a smile, grasping the Mohawk’s shoulders firmly.

Kenma watched it all with warm flutters in his stomach, and he was almost glad for the size of the bouquet since he could hide behind it. 

“So that’s former captain, Kuroo Tetsurou…” Kamikawa said, offering Kenma a water bottle.  They were still in their jerseys, fresh off the court, and still sweating.  “I didn’t know you two were so close.” 

Kenma coughed and hid his blush behind his flowers, wanting to undo his ponytail immediately and use his hair to hide his face. 

“Y-yeah.  We’ve uh… known each other a long time.”

“If I had been born a little earlier, I might have been able to play with the two of you together.  I saw the Nekoma versus Karasuno match at last year’s Spring High…” the first-year sighed, a hint of missed opportunity in his voice. 

“But then you’d have been in the same year as Lev… and I might never have started training you to be a setter.”  

“Oh, true!!!  Better to be where I am now then!!!” He held out his arms, offering to take the flowers off of Kenma’s hands so he could clean up a bit and get dressed. 

Kenma accepted his offer, and he saw Kuroo raise an eyebrow from across the locker room, eyeing the two of them with an amused grin.  He ignored it for now.

Eventually, the team managed to get changed amid happy reunions—Kuroo left to chat with Coach Nekomata, which finally allowed the players to resume changing—and they got themselves to a beef bowl place for dinner.  Lev had whined about wanting barbeque, but Barbeque is for when we win!, Taketora made clear.  Even Kuroo was treated to the celebrations—because what was one more person, really?—though he refrained from ordering anything large and expensive, and opted out of dessert, even while the coaches insisted it was no bother. 

Afterwards, as the two were walking home, happy and full of food, Kuroo laced their fingers together in the dim light of the street lamps and teased,

“You have a fan, I see.” 

“His name is Kamikawa Wataru.  I’m training him to be Nekoma’s next setter.”

“You—what?” Kuroo sputtered.

“The team needs a new setter for next year.  I offered to teach Kamikawa—“

“You offered?  Coach didn’t force it on you?”

“Yes, Kuro.  This is something I decided to do.” 

He didn’t much appreciate the flabbergasted look he was getting from Kuroo—he had never been that flaky, goodness.  He kicked Kuroo’s shin lightly, at least to change the expression. 

“Kenma, you’ve really… wow, I dunno.  Grown?  I guess?  I mean… I’m a little sad you didn’t have that motivation when we were still on the same team, but I’m mostly just… really proud and happy for you.”

“Stop trying to sound like you’re my dad or something.”

“Why, is that a kink you have?”

“We’re only one year apart, asshole.”

“Well yeah, but…”  Kuroo took his hand again.  “I’m happy you’re enjoying volleyball so much even without me.  A part of me always worried you were only doing it because I told you to.” 

“If I really didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have done it at all.” Kenma pouted, lacing their fingers back together.

“I know.  But… a small part of me couldn’t help but worry.” 

“Anyway, I can’t believe you embarrassed me with a giant bouquet.  How much did this even cost?”

“It was for multiple occasions!  Congratulations or consolation… add some flowers as an apology… add waaaay more flowers to symbolize my love…”

“Stop—stop talking.” 

Kuroo grinned and leaned down to kiss Kenma’s cheek instead. 

“I’m home for one night.  Wanna stay over?”

Kenma flushed before answering, “…I’m exhausted though.”  And he really was.  Their afternoon’s matches had not been easy, and he was about ready to keel over. 

“We don’t have to do anything.  But if I’m gonna be home, let’s at least sleep in the same bed.” 

“…okay.” 

So Kenma went home, Kuroo on his heels, threw the flowers at his mother before showering and grabbing a change of clothes.

“What are the flowers for?  Did you win?  Oh hi, Tetsu!!  Wait, where are you going?”

“We lost.  I’m going over to Kuro’s.” 

And then they were out the door, Kuroo bowing apologetically before Mrs. Kozume could ask any more questions.  She was placated well enough by the flowers though, so she didn’t really mind.  She had long grown used to the boys simply running off on their own. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Kuroo had been waiting for them with a warmed-up apple pie.  She really did love to spoil Kenma. 

“So am I giving you this as congratulations or as consolation?”

“Consolation,” Kenma brightened as he sat down to his plate.  “But the prefectural playoffs are later in the year, so we’ve got time.  Thank you for the pie.” 

“Well it’s good you’re not too down about it.” She smiled.

“It’s ‘cause I’m here,” Kuroo bragged.  “That’s just my effect on him.” 

Two legs kicked Kuroo’s shins under the table, and he cried out in dismay, rubbing at his legs and moaning about how nobody appreciated his love.  Silently, Kenma agreed with Kuroo’s sentiment—he did have a rather nice effect on him—but he wasn’t going to admit it aloud in front of his mother, for goodness’ sake. 

Mrs. Kuroo turned in early, warning the two to not stay up too late, though her tone made it clear she fully anticipated her advice to be ignored.  The two spent a little while plopped in front of the television, flipping through several channels before settling on an NHK documentary of remote places and climates around the world and the creatures that lived there.  Kenma watched with mild interest, occasionally adding a comment or two.

“I’m never going to the Amazon.”  Then again, he never really wanted to go anywhere.

“Really?  I’d love to go.” Kuroo countered, eyes bright.  “Actually there are a lot of places I wanna go.  Not necessarily all exotic rain forests, but… the world really is a big place…”

Kenma peered up at him.  They were snuggled up, half-lying down on the couch, Kuroo’s back to the couch wall, and Kenma’s back against Kuroo’s chest.  Their legs were tangled and untangled depending on what was comfortable for that fifteen-minute period, and one of Kuroo’s arms was lazily draped over Kenma’s side.  His other arm propped up his head, and his expression was almost… voracious. 

“You’ve never mentioned that before.”  Kenma muttered, keeping his eyes locked on Kuroo’s expression, the varying colorations of poison dart frogs forgotten. 

“It’s a new thing.  I’m really digging all my new international studies stuff is probably why.”  Kuroo hummed, running his fingers absentmindedly through Kenma’s hair—he really, really liked it longer. 

“Are you gonna run off and travel the world?”

“Hahaha… if I had the cash, at some point, I’d like to go a lot of different places, yeah.”  He kissed the top of Kenma’s head.  “If possible, I’d like to take you with me.”

Kenma considered the offer. 

“Where would we go first?”

“The Amazon, duh,” Kuroo teased as the documentary started flashing images of the most venomous spider in the world (the Brazilian Wandering spider). 

The setter made a horrified face and shoved a cushion into Kuroo’s face.

Mr. Kuroo came home to find the two boys in the middle of a mild pillow fight on the couch, and shoved them both off to bed, before they woke up his wife and she beat them all up for making too much noise, regardless of who was actually at fault.  Which is how they ended up warmly tucked into Kuroo’s bed, relieved that Kuroo’s father hadn’t walked in on them couch cuddling five minutes prior. 

“Is being in college really that fun?” Kenma asked, snuggling his head against Kuroo’s chest. 

“It’s different.  There’s a lot of freedom and openness compared to grade school.  Freedom to pick your classes, sharing classes with people from all different years… it opens up a lot of different perspectives.  A lot of people consider it their last years of freedom—ah, I keep using that word—before they enter the workplace.”

“All that ‘freedom’ sounds exhausting.” 

“It’s daunting for some people.  Indecisive people, mostly.  Others really thrive in it.  There are definitely areas of study that have way more structure for people who want or need it—like medicine.”

“I’d be a horrible doctor.”  Kenma frowned. 

“You’d have to work on your bedside manner.” 

“I don’t like thinking about this.  I don’t know what I want to study or what I’d want to be or where I’d even want to apply.”  He was focused on midterms and practice matches right now… if he made himself think a little further ahead, he’d be looking forward to the summer training camp with Karasuno, a summer full of Kuroo, autumn Tokyo prefectural playoffs.  It was overwhelming to try to think of any further than that.

“Then don’t do it now.  You’ve just finished Interhigh games… literally today.”  Kuroo pulled him closer, pulling the blanket up high how Kenma liked it and held him tight.  “For now, just sleep.” 

So he did.  He took slow, deep breaths, clinging to Kuroo’s warmth under his fingers and inhaling his smell.  Having Kuroo next to him always helped him sleep.  He managed to sleep long and deep, even if his dreams were occasionally plagued with spiders and poison frogs.  It was okay though, because Kuroo was there with him, holding his hand and guiding him through the jungle, all happy grins and warm glances.

Chapter Text

Kuroo hadn’t been lying when he had said that university afforded him more freedom.  Even with more hours spent on volleyball practice compared to high school, he spent far less time in class and even less time doing homework.  The time he spent practicing volleyball was nothing to sneeze at, sure.  But it was just enough that any hours spent doing extra practice outside of that risked over-straining his body and further increased his chances of injury.  Not to mention that his specialty was blocking, a skill that was rather difficult to practice on one’s own. 

When it came to his academics, there were certain classes that he hardly needed to study for at all, and even with midterms around the corner, he wasn’t worried about his grades.  After the first month of bustling about trying to get adjusted to his new life, he had settled into a comfortable routine… where comfortable came accompanied by a whole lot of boredom.  As much as he would’ve liked to devote all that extra time to visiting or chatting with Kenma, the poor boy had comparatively more midterms plus practice matches and was far busier than he was.  He considered going back home just to hang around, but he didn’t want to distract Kenma either.  The better Kenma did in school, the more college options he would have, and the more likely he was to end up at Tokai with him. 

That didn’t solve his boredom problem though. 

Bokuto, go out with me. ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

No way, Kuroo!! My heart belongs to Akaashi!!!

Not like that, dumbass!!  I meant let’s go out somewhere for food or whatever, I’m bored off my ass.
( ｰ̀εｰ́ )

Don’t you have midterms?  ( ・◇・)？

Yeah but they’re gonna be fine… I only need to study for two of them basically. 

Ok well some of us are taking hard sciences like math.

Yeah but you’re good at math. 

…fine. 
But you’re treating.  (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

What?!  (」゜ロ゜)」

In the end, Kuroo did end up treating him, since it was just coffee, and he did drag Bokuto out when the guy had probably meant to stay in and study all day—bizarre as that thought was.  And yet the thought wasn’t as bizarre as the sight of Bokuto in front of him. 

“I can’t believe you need reading glasses,” Kuroo mused over his latte. 

Bokuto wasn’t strictly wearing them currently as they were perched atop his spiky hair, but the image stuck.  An owl with glasses… it was so cliché it hurt. 

“Lay off.  You never made fun of Tsukki for wearing glasses.”  Bokuto huffed around his hot chocolate—he hated the taste of coffee. 

“They suit his character.  You, on the other hand, look like you’re playing dress up.” 

“Akaashi thinks I look dashing!” Bokuto huffed.

“He probably just likes you better with those on because it means you’re in study-mode and you’re not nearly as annoying.” Kuroo teased, stirring his latte around idly. 

“Are you cranky today?” Bokuto sneered, his foot squashing one of Kuroo’s under the table.  “You’re taking way more jabs than usual.”

“I probably just miss Kenma.  He’s way busier than I am so I feel bad for even texting him.”

“You’re so needy, poor Kenma.” Bokuto smirked.

“I don’t want to hear that from you, of all people.” Kuroo frowned.  “I am a little worried about him though… He seems stressed about colleges and jobs and the future.” 

“Sounds like little Kenma’s growing up without you.”

Kuroo buried his hands in his hair, slumping forward onto the table.  His latte was cold now. 

“I wanna help but I don’t exactly have my own life figured out.  It’d be the blind leading the blind… so I don’t wanna bug him, annnnd I can’t really help him.”  He was just straight up whining now.  To Bokuto.  It all felt very backwards. 

“What about bothering Tsukki?  You have his number.”

“Same boat.  High school, remember?  Plus he never replies anyway.”

“Maybe you’re just slacking off, Kuroo.  You’re doing what, standard amount of courses, none with labs?”

“Wow.  Trying to get back at me for earlier?” 

“I’m not saying you have to suddenly enroll in more classes you’re not interested in, but maybe you need a part-time job or something.” 

“Maybe.” Kuroo swirled his latte around, mixing it. 

“You could be a host!  I hear they make great money!”

Kuroo kicked him under their table, passing an innocent smile to the waitress who looked their way when Bokuto cried out in pain. 

And yet, the idiot had been oddly insightful.  Kuroo didn’t want to cut into any potential time spent with Kenma, but if Kenma wasn’t going to be available anyway, a part-time job wouldn’t hurt.  It’s not like he couldn’t ask for time off here and there when he needed.  And of course his parents would appreciate not having to pay for absolutely everything concerning his living expenses. 

“Let’s go job hunting, then.”

“What?”

“You don’t have one either, right?  Maybe we could get hired together someplace.” 

“Ah… I guess…” Bokuto thought for a bit.  “I’ve been needing a bit of extra cash.” 

“You should bring the glasses, they make you look more responsible.”

“Asshole, I am responsible.  And if it’s gonna be like that, you should do something about your hair.” 

“Mine?  What about yours?!”

“Grey hair gives a man distinction!”

“You’re not even legal yet, don’t go calling yourself a man.” 

Bickering, the two of them left the café and wandered around the rest of the day filling out several application forms for various jobs.  Convenience stores, family restaurants, cafes, book stores, standard retail… Most of them promised to get back to them later with a polite smile and a bow.  But one book store seemed willing to take Bokuto on rather immediately, and Kuroo made a similarly strong impression on the owners of a small family restaurant.  So they were likely not going to be hired by the same place, but it had been worth a shot, long-shot though it was.  At the very least, they had each secured one very potential part-time job. 

“An owl in a book store…” Kuroo muttered on their way home.  “Figures you’d get that one.” 

“No complaints here.  Why, you didn’t like the restaurant?”

“Nah, should be fine.  I’ll probably get free meals now and then and not have to eat everything from the convenience store.” 

“You should definitely take that job then.  For your health.”  He urged.

“Yeah yeah…” Kuroo pulled out his phone.  “Thanks for hanging out with me today.  I think the part-time job thing is gonna help a lot.”  It would keep him from getting too into his own head anyway. 

“Oho!  Does that mean I’m gonna get a portion of your first paycheck?”

“As if!”  He elbowed Bokuto in the ribs, hard. 

“I helped you find a job!” 

“And I helped you find yours!”

“Okay, so next time, I’ll pay for your dinner, and you can pay for mine!”

“…What’s even the point of that?!?!”

Midterms were about to drain what little strength Kenma had left after extra practices.  Well, not extra practices, strictly speaking.  They just felt like extra for him because he used to play hooky.  But starting next week, practices would be canceled so that everyone could study for their exams, and Kenma was glad for the reprieve.  His muscles weren’t used to being so sore, and his entire body aching constantly was a sure sign he simply needed to lie down for an entire week.  Studying was a different kind of strain, but he could do it lying down on his nice, soft bed, and that was what mattered.  It was his first weekend to himself in a long while; it was just too bad it had to be filled with midterm stress. 

I got a part-time job!

He read the text from Kuroo as he exited the shower one evening, getting dressed before submitting a reply. 

Oh?

It’s a family restaurant.  I’m going to be a waiter. 

Kenma wasn’t optimistic about what that meant for their already little time together. 

So now that your man’s gonna be rolling in cash, you should tell me what you want for your birthday and just really anything else you want.  ☆⌒(≧▽° )

You should be using that money to buy actual food.  Also my birthday is in October, which is months and months away.

I obviously know when your birthday is.  It’s circled on my calendar in a heart in red marker.  <3

…I don’t have Disgaea 5 yet.

Of course you’d pick a video game. 

Kuro, I really don’t need presents. 

He wanted to text that all he really wanted was to spend more time with the frolicking college boy, but Kenma was in fact the one with the more restricted schedule.  It was unfair to expect Kuroo to just wait around until he called him over.  Instead he texted back:

What about summer?

I’ll be able to take time off here and there probably.  Just let me know the dates of when you’re coming over and I’ll ask for the time off.

What if I want to come over a lot? 

Kenmaaaa you naughty boy! 
If I can’t get all the time off, you could just wait for me at home in an apron?  (ㅎᴗㅎ )
Ahhhh!!!  Kenma, you’d be such a cute housewife!

I want a divorce.

Were we married?!?!

Kuroo made it sound as if his new part-time job would have hardly any effect on their time spent together—but Kenma was fairly certain Kuroo wouldn’t make any more spontaneous weekend excursions home, which was a shame.  He had been looking forward to more of those.  As much as you could look forward to something unexpected, anyway. 

But… for the next week or so, he had midterms he needed to focus on.  He’d deal with summer scheduling conflicts when summer got here. 

How’d your midterms go, Kenma?

The text was from Shouyou.  It was the Saturday night after the last day of midterms, and everyone was happy to be free. 

Fine, I think.  Yours?

I’ll probably have to take make-up exams again… But so will Kageyama! 
I’m really excited about the Tokyo training camp!!!

It’ll be good to see you again. 

Will you give me more than five tosses this time?

I thought Kageyama didn’t like me giving you tosses. 
Besides, I will actually be spending the extra time coaching one of my underclassmen. 

No way!!  Special training from Coach Kenma?!?
Is it receives?
I still need to work on mine.

Haha.  It’s setting.  So you wouldn’t be interested.

You just laughed in your text!
You must be feeling better compared to Golden Week, huh? 

Uh.
Yeah.

It was odd the things Shouyou noticed… things he didn’t even notice in himself.  And Kenma was supposed to be the observant one. 

His phone buzzed with a new text from Kuroo.

Congrats on finishing midterms~ 
I just finished my last one!

At six pm?

It was an evening midterm. 
Anyway, I was in peak form so I think I did really really well on that one.  (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
I know you probably did well on your cores, you’ve always been good about those.  What electives did you have again?

Computer Science and Graphic Design.

How did those go?

Fine.  I don’t think the classes are that hard, really.  They’re high school level.

Orrrrr maybe you’ve got a special knack for it. 
Looking forward to the training camp?

More than last year, anyway.  I think it’ll be good for Kamikawa. 
And the other first years too, but it’ll be Kamikawa’s first time playing practice matches against other teams. 

You should have him practice with the shrimp. 
If he can get that little idiot to hit a toss well, he’d be on Kageyama’s level.  Or something like that. 

Shouyou’s gotten a lot better, you know.  He can hit tosses from a lot of different setters now. 
I’m not gonna let Kamikawa practice with Shouyou too much though.
Kageyama gets scary about that sort of thing.

A possessive setter, huh?
I know a thing or two about that.  (*´艸`*)

Shut up.
How’s work?

Oh it’s fine. 
I do get a lot of free food, so that’s cool. 
Mom’s happy I’m pitching in for tuition. 

I’m happy you’re eating better. 

I still get snacks from the convenience store and stuff.  The old lady who runs the place has really taken a shine to me, so she gives me food all the time. 
Must be my natural charm!  ヽ(。ゝω・)ノ☆

That or you’re flirting and taking advantage of a lonely old woman.

I do not flirt!

Yes you do!  You flirt with everyone all the time!

That’s just my personality! 

Which is that of a flirt.

But Kenmaaaa you know I’m devoted to you, right???  へ(´д｀へ)

Yeah yeah.

Hey, Kenma.
I’m about to flirt with you right now, okay?

You don’t have to tell me when you’re about to flirt with me.

I miss you.

I know.  How is that flirting?

And I can’t wait until it’s summer and there are no classes and there’s no practice and you’re over here staying with me and I can just be with you allllllll day.

Kenma felt his entire face grow warm.  For some reason, he could imagine—he just knew—that Kuroo would whisper something like that low into his ear, drawing close and running a hand up Kenma’s neck.  He had just finished midterms, and his brain was overactive.  He buried his face into his pillow until he felt his phone buzz again.

I’m gonna think about you every day until we can see each other again. 
And every night. 
Especially when I’m in bed.

Kuro, are you trying to seduce me via text?

Why, is it working?   (○ﾟεﾟ○)

Maybe, Kenma thought.  He didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Kuroo though. 

Well I’m down for phone sex if you are, just let me know~

He wasn’t.  At least, not right this second.  But all the same, he felt the heat pooling in his lower stomach the more he thought about it and groaned quietly.  Even if he wasn’t ready to jump on the idea of phone sex the instant it was mentioned, he was still growing steadily more aroused. 

His phone gave a slightly different buzz, indicating Kuroo had left him a voice message on Line.  It was a recording four seconds long, and when he played it, he heard Kuroo’s husky voice softly play from his phone speakers. 

“Good night, Kenma.  Sweet dreams.” 

It was so soft, but so laced with need.  Smug bastard.  He was probably snickering to himself alone in his apartment while imagining Kenma’s embarrassed face.  Well two could play that game.  Kenma sat up on his bed, deftly removing his shirt before lying back down.  He pulled open his front-facing camera and adjusted how his hair was splayed on the pillow, chewed on his lips for almost a minute to get them swollen and pink, then took a selfie with the best bedroom eyes he could muster. 

Personally, he thought he looked kind of bored (he wasn’t very good at being sexy), but Kuroo would probably lose it, so he sent it anyway, pulling his shirt back on. 

Is this a yes?

It’s a… I’m-going-to-bed-but-you’re-probably-not-so-you-might-as-well-think-about-me-while-you-do-what-you’re-going-to-do. 

Eeeeeeevil. 
But ok.
As you wish, I’ll think about you while I get myself off.  (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

So will I, Kenma thought, though he didn’t text it.  Instead, he replayed Kuroo’s voice recording and rubbed at himself through his sweatpants.  Over three months mostly apart from his boyfriend, but he had yet to masturbate to thoughts of him.  He wasn’t the overly horny teenage boy Kuroo was, he wasn’t even the average horny teenage boy his classmates were.  But the mood struck him and he was horny now, and his mind was eager to play back the memories of the times he and Kuroo had done it—especially the sight of Kuroo from Golden Week. 

Biting and sucking on his lower lip, Kenma slipped his hand into his boxers, touching skin to skin and gasping at the touch against his erection.  He rarely touched himself, even to experiment… he wondered if that was what made him so sensitive now.  His body shivered, and he adjusted himself on the bed to get more comfortable, rubbing his hand slowly up and down. 

He closed his eyes and remembered—he had an excellent memory—what it was like to have Kuroo’s heat between his legs when he straddled him, the tantalizing sensation of the skin of his thighs rubbing against the ridge of Kuroo’s hip bones… He imagined it was Kuroo grasping him, pulling on him firmly and gently.  Whispering his name. 

Kenma.

He loved the sound of his name on Kuroo’s tongue, the way his voice caressed the sounds and syllables and made it sound so affectionate, so precious.  His first name wasn’t special—everyone used it to talk to him—but nobody said it like Kuroo did.

Kenma.

He imagined running his hands through Kuroo’s ridiculous bedhead, the coarse black hair brushing between his fingertips and tickling the skin between his fingers.  He’d grab that hair and pull their heads close together.  They would kiss.  Deep and long.  Kenma would hate pulling away but he wouldn’t be able to help it as he imagined it was Kuroo’s thumb that ran over the slit of length, smearing the wetness of his precum around the head of his cock. 

The wetness made him remember something else.  It reminded him of the end of summer, his second year, when Kuroo had wrapped his lips around him and teased him with his tongue, licking up and down… They had been sweaty, they had just finished practice… he was definitely abusing his captain’s clubroom key privileges…  But Kenma had wanted it too.  He had wanted it right there and then.  He wanted Kuroo’s mouth on him there, anywhere, everywhere, and he wanted to put his mouth on Kuroo.  Wanted to suck him dry and have him cum writhing beneath his touch, wheezing his name. 

Kenma.

Sometimes Kuroo’d groan it, low in his throat.  Almost choking on it as he buried himself to the hilt inside Kenma’s warmth, which accepted him greedily after too much time spent on teasing and preparation.  Three times they’d done it that way, three times they’d joined their bodies as one, and three times Kenma had nearly cried in frustration at how long Kuroo took, fingers buried inside him and whispering sweet, encouraging sentiments into his ear. 

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough.  Kenma knew he couldn’t come from just stroking himself.  He reached under his bed and pulled out his lubricant—the one he had bought with a host of other groceries when his mother had asked him to run an errand, the one the cashier had wordlessly slipped into a brown paper bag separate from the rest of the produce and allowed the boy to slip into his pocket, both of them conveniently forgetting the receipt… The same one he had wordlessly shoved into Kuroo’s hand their first time with a blush and a whispered, please. 

As he coated his fingers and let the liquid warm up in his hand, Kenma remembered how he had bent over his bed for Kuroo, his hands nervously gripping the sheets before Kuroo had grabbed his hips and turned him around, laying him gently on his back and asking to see his face.  Kenma lay on his back now, reaching down to press at his opening with one finger, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation. 

Relax, he reminded himself.  Without Kuroo there was even less to be nervous about.  The pace was entirely up to him.  He pushed his finger in with a stuttering gasp, reminding himself to keep a rhythm playing with his other hand.  He was tight around himself.  It had been a while, but his body hadn’t forgotten completely.  He pretended it was Kuroo’s hands on him, Kuroo’s fingers inside of him, Kuroo’s firm touch.  One finger, then two, he was going faster than Kuroo had ever done, but that was because Kuroo treated the setter like porcelain.  Kenma lacked such reverence, and he curled his two fingers inside to reach—

“H-haa… K-Kuro…” he whispered into the silence of his room. 

He wondered if Kuroo was doing the same thing, across Tokyo in a lonely apartment in Shibuya.  Was he touching himself too and thinking of Kenma?  Was he gripping himself with his strong hands and whispering Kenma’s name into the open air?  He lived alone, maybe he was allowing himself to groan freely, take liberties with his volume.  Kenma hoped he was.  He loved when Kuroo was louder, despite usually preferring peace and quiet. 

Kenma reached inside himself to press against that sweet spot once again and envisioned Kuroo’s face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing hot, shallow breaths against his chest and gasping his name—maybe as he fucked him, maybe as he was being fucked.  He would stutter and moan, a keening cry accompanying his panting breaths as he increased his rhythm…

K-Kenma…

Kenma’s hips twitched and shuddered as he spilled his release onto his stomach.  He kept his fingers in—like Kuroo used to do—and rode the high as long as he could.  Through the haze of pleasure, Kenma made himself remember the look on Kuroo’s expression when he came… cheeks flushed, light sweat beading his forehead, eyes hazy with desire. 

“Hah… hah… Ngh…” Kenma groaned after the tide receded, slowly pulling his own fingers out and reaching for tissues to wipe up the mess. 

Sex was always so messy—even if it was only masturbation.  If he could do it without having to clean up after, he’d probably do it more often.  Maybe. 

He made himself vaguely presentable before wandering over to the bathroom at the end of the hall, washing his hands and flushing the toilet even though he hadn’t done anything.  He’d shower tomorrow morning—for now, he just wanted to get back to bed.  His phone was lit up, a message waiting for him.

I just came screaming your name.

Kenma gave a lazy smile.  ‘Screamed’ was probably a bit of an exaggeration, but it was nice to know he had been on Kuroo’s mind just now. 

I just came imagining you doing exactly that.

There was a dull ache in Kenma’s chest that didn’t normally accompany his post-orgasm flush.  Usually he’d feel butterflies under his skin, happy gurgles in his stomach, and a warm fullness in his chest.  And he had some of those symptoms, true, his skin felt tingly and a happy languor was seeping into his bones… but normally this is where he’d be snuggled up against Kuroo’s chest, listening to him murmur into his hair.  Without that he felt like what he had just done was a little bit hollow—even though he and Kuroo had basically agreed to do it in tandem.  Really, this was why most times he preferred to just not do it at all when he was alone. 

Was it good for you? 

He wondered if Kuroo had guessed what he had been thinking.

Good.  But it’s much better with you. 
I miss you.

He had typed it and sent it before he really realized what he had written, but seeing it there, on his screen, sent from his phone, combined with his slightly compromised emotions, made Kenma curl up and pull the blankets over himself. 

He missed him.  He missed him so much. 

I miss you more.

Kenma didn’t believe that could be true.  If it were, he felt even worse for Kuroo. 

He pulled up his phone calendar and looked all of his scheduled practices, seeing the big block of blue that took up the last week of June for the summer training camp.  After that, there’d be a full week of break, before his team would start extra practices three to four times a week in preparation for the Representative Prelims in late August.  He pressed on the date following the training camp, July 28^th, and added an event to his calendar:  Visit Kuroo. 

Sixteen days.  And then he’d have him for an entire week with no other obligations or interruptions whatsoever.  He could endure the wait, especially when half of that wait was the training camp—that time would go by quickly.  He bit his lip and sent the dates to Kuroo in a text, willing the ache to subside.  The last message he saw from Kuroo before he fell asleep was short and sweet, and it returned the warm feelings to his chest.

Can’t wait.
I love you, Kenma.

Chapter Text

“Kenma, you have the sleeping arrangements?”  Taketora asked over his shoulder as the team worked together to pull ten futons out of the closets and place them equidistant around the room they were renting. 

“Here,” Kenma pulled the sheet of paper out of a folder he kept in his sports bag.  “They’re more or less arranged by year.”

“Except for the part where you and Lev are on absolute opposite corners of the room.” His captain smirked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I like the wall side… away from the windows,” Kenma muttered.  Lev was better put against the wall too, since he liked to sprawl in his sleep, and it was better to encumber one person rather than two with those long limbs. 

Taketora just laughed, patting Kenma light on the shoulder before calling out to the team for attention.  He pointed at futons in turn and barked out names to indicate who would sleep where, then gave a rundown of the daily schedule, including meal hours, shower designations, lights out, and general rules. 

“I think it goes without saying that good sportsmanship is the pride of any athlete!” Taketora growled fiercely, the other third years averting their gazes silently as they remembered the who-wants-to-fucking-go face of the younger Taketora—especially when around Karasuno’s baldy.  “I expect you all to be courteous and respectful of everyone here, and take the time to learn something from the players who’ll be around you this week!!!”

Seriously, where did this version of the Mohawk even come from? 

The first years snapped to attention and cried out an affirmative, which put an overly pleased grin on Taketora’s face.  Then they all plopped down their bags and began pulling out their gear. 

Kenma checked his phone one last time before he put it in his jacket pocket for most of the day to find two texts.  One from Hinata that read:

SUMMER TRAINING CAMP!!!
We’re almost there!!  And I’ve only thrown up once, and it wasn’t on anybody, and I’ll see you soon!!!

And another one from Kuroo that read:

Have fun at training camp 
Say hi to those crows for me~

“First practice matches are at 10:00am, then the afternoon matches will be at 1:30 and then at 3:00, 4:00, and 5:00.  Each match will be one set, first to 25.  Losing team must complete one penalty run up the steep grassy hill outside the gyms.  First match will be Ubugawa, second set against Fukurodani, and third set against Shinzen.  Fourth is against Karasuno, and the last match of the day will be Ubugawa again.” Kenma read from a sheet to the team. 

It was the first day so they’d only play five matches instead of the usual ten to twelve.  Karasuno, in particular, was only available for the afternoon matches as they were busing in all the way from Tohoku.  As the team headed out for their warm-ups, Kenma tapped an unsuspecting Kamikawa on the shoulder, and asked,

“You ready to play your first full match against an actual team?”

“P-probably not…” the boy sputtered.  “But I’m gonna do my best!  I’ll make you proud, vice-captain!”

“I’ve told you to just call me Kenma.  Everyone else does.  Even on other teams.” 

Kamikawa’s face was resolute. 

“I would, but I’m just a first-year and I’ve never played in an official match.  Or even a practice one against another team.  Until I can stand on the court with everyone else, and until I think I’ve done well enough to take your place, I’m going to refrain.”

“Kozume, then.  Vice-captain is still way too formal.”

“Oh… okay—K-Kozume-senpai…”

Warm-ups were in the second gym, the one closer to the parking lot where the buses were arriving and dropping off teams, and Kenma slipped away briefly (old habits die hard).  He saw the Karasuno team gathered around in the front lot, their new captain (whose name he didn’t recall—he wasn’t a regular last year) calling out their matches for the day.  Kenma caught a glimpse of Shouyou practically bubbling with excitement, and Kageyama trying his best to keep the small boy restrained.  After deciding to not engage that crowd, Kenma rejoined his team in the gym. 

“Line up!”

The call was given by the team captains, and the Ubugawa and Nekoma teams lined up opposite each other, bowing and calling for a good game. 

Playing against Ubugawa was an excellent chance for Nekoma to truly hone their receives.  Whatever they could do to counteract those strong jump serves strengthened their defense, and Shibayama, now a second year, had his work cut out for him as the team’s new libero. 

“Nice Receive!!”

“It’s up!”

Kenma surveyed the court briefly as he hopped into position.  Both Lev and Taketora were itching for a toss, Lev marked by two of Ubugawa’s blockers.  Taketora was at an awkward angle, but he could handle even a fumbled toss—he was their ace, after all.  He made brief eye contact with his team captain, who gave a smug grin in reply and jumped.

The ball came lightly into Kenma’s fingers from up high, the leather catching against his skin, and he braced his feet and jumped, dumping it lightly over the side of the net. 

“Dump shot!”

“Niiiiiiice, Kenmaa!!!” 

The score was 18—16 in Nekoma’s favor, and Kenma waved his hands at the coach, calling for a switch.  He looked to Kamikawa, who jumped before grabbing the number two fan nervously, and the setters traded places.  Kenma moved off court after earning a high five from Taketora and gripped Kamikawa firm on the shoulder. 

“Don’t worry.  The team is behind you.”

Then he took his seat on the bench next to Coach Nekomata, who grinned wide without looking his way. 

“Glad you’re not the sleeping cat anymore, just observing from on high.”

Kenma sighed.  His coach really did love the animal references.  Especially when Karasuno was nearby. 

“Yes, sir.”  He mumbled, trying to ignore the hearty chuckle that rumbled out of the old man.

Nekoma’s serve was given to Murata Shosuke, a first year who became an instant regular after showing off his powerful jump serve at team try-outs back in April.  He scored for his team three points nearly uncontested before Ubugawa managed to get a volley going, and then it was time to see what Kamikawa could pull.  Their receive was sloppy, but Fukunaga got it in the air, and the setter ran forward.  Not knowing the team well enough to simply give a silent toss, and since the court was a bit of a jumble, he called it out.

“Captain!”

Taketora ran up for the kill, challenged by a wall of Ubugawa’s blockers, who struck down his ball instantly in a block-out. 

The score was now 20—17 Nekoma with Ubugawa’s serve. 

Kenma watched as Wataru bit his lip—his first toss being blocked out so easily even though he had given it to the most flexible wing spiker they had.  Don’t let it get to you, it’s just one point.  But Kenma could understand his frustration all the same.  Watching his student from the sidelines was certainly a different kind of stress. 

Ubugawa’s serve was off, it hit the net before going over and Lev caught it hastily on his upper arm before Shibayama received it, nice and clean, back to Kamikawa, who braced himself, calling the toss loud and clear.

“Lev!”

Lev readied himself and jumped eagerly, Ubugawa’s blockers following immediately after, Kamikawa also jumping for the toss… before he spiked it over the net himself, straight down on the other side of the court. 

“Ohhhh?” Coach Nekomata grinned.  “The little kitten’s showing its claws.”

Kenma hadn’t taught him that.  He wasn’t even sure that he’d ever seen his underclassman spike the ball before in practice.  It wasn’t a bad spike—clean, powerful… more powerful than any spike Kenma could ever pull off (mostly because he was smaller and lighter). 

Lev moaned in frustration at being tricked, but Taketora was screaming victory at the top of his lungs, threatening to take his shirt off—even being captain couldn’t rid him completely of that particular habit.  Four points ahead in the late game was a very solid lead; the team was in high spirits. 

As the game went on, Kenma noted that Kamikawa had fumbled maybe two tosses, but had cleanly given several more.  Everyone now knew he was capable of spiking it if necessary, and his height made him a more effective blocker than Kenma on the front line of the court, though he also shrank from the ball once or twice when he thought it might break his fingers.  Yes, easily frustrated when he missed, but that made his subsequent plays far more aggressive. 

“Coach,” Kenma asked at the end of the match (Nekoma’s victory by three points).  “Can Kamikawa play the match against Shinzen?  Entirely?”

“You’re not using the hard work of your underclassman as a chance to slack off now, are you?” Coach Nekomata asked with a raised eyebrow.  “Haha, I’m joking!” he clapped Kenma on the shoulder, hard, after catching his pout.  “I wanna see more of how he plays too.  Let’s let him sharpen his claws a little more.”

Lunch in the cafeteria for Nekoma’s team meant sitting around Kamikawa, asking him for more tosses, or when he learned that spike, or what extra practices with Kenma must have been like for him to have surprised them all like that.  Kenma slipped away outside, wanting a little break from the noise and the questions, and unlocked his phone, texting Kuroo while he sipped on his juice box.

Won our first practice match of the week against Ubugawa. 
Kamikawa’s going to be a great setter.  He’s pulling off things I didn’t even teach him.

First practice match of the week and you let him play?

We hit 18 points and swapped out.  I want him to play a full match this afternoon. 

Wow, even I wanna see him play now.
Said hi to the shrimpy yet?

Not yet.  I’m a little tired, so I’m taking lunch on my own.
Don’t you work today?

I’m working every night this week to make up for taking days off next week while you’re here. 
But my shift doesn’t start until 3, and then I’ll be working until closing.  Sorry if I won’t make it home in time to wish you good night.   (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Stupid, that’s not something to apologize over.

Morning practice, late lunch, and then work until late…
I’m starting to feel like a real college student, I think.  Busy all hours of the day.  ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌

Or maybe you’ve finally stopped slacking off.

Kenma, you’re not allowed to say that to anyone. 

I’ve stopped slacking too.
So now I can. 
I should go now.  Have a good night at work.

Yes, vice-captain!!!  ＼(・ω・)/

Kenma rolled his eyes before heading back to the cafeteria, tray empty and found Shouyou and Kageyama near the entrance at the end of a long table, stuffing their stomachs with what looked like three trays worth of food. 

“MMGPHMA!!” Hinata mumbled, spitting out a few grains of rice. 

Kenma gave a slightly disgusted look before walking cautiously over.

“Shouyou, don’t talk with your mouth full, you’re a second year now.” 

“Please, he’s going to talk with his mouth full until he’s forty and balding,” Tsukishima weighed in, seated on the other side of Shouyou with about three spaces between them. 

“Forty, that’s early!” Shouyou screeched, thankfully after swallowing.  “Hey Kenma, how’d your first practice match go?”

Kenma held up a small V with his fingers, and Shouyou whooped. 

“We’ll be taking a win against you today, so be ready!” 

“Idiot, you’re gonna jinx it!” Kageyama snapped, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. 

Kageyama didn’t seem an especially superstitious person to Kenma, but he left it be and said,

“Oh yeah.  Kuro says hi.”

“Uwooohhh, greetings from a college student!!” 

“He’s only just started university though…” Tsukishima quipped, and Yamaguchi laughed beside him. 

“Tsukki...”

“Well, even if it’s only one term in college, that still makes you a college student,” Kenma replied with a small shrug.  “You’re a team member even if you’ve only had your jersey five minutes, or even if you spend most of your time warming up the bench instead of out on the court.” 

Tsukishima’s brow twitched, and he returned to his meal sullenly.  He took the comment as a personal affront referencing Akiteru and Yamaguchi respectively, even though he knew Kenma knew nothing about his older brother, and even though Yamaguchi was smiling in agreement.  But he gave Kenma one last look that promised a battle of wits on the court later, with a smirk that read, let’s test whose strategies win out.

“I wonder what college volleyball is like…” Shouyou wondered aloud.  “I bet everyone is really tall and really strong and really cool-looking.  Maybe they’re all like Ushiwaka… or Sakusa… uwaaahhh scary!” 

“Don’t get scared about it before you’ve even been scouted!” Kageyama punched Hinata’s shoulder lightly, stealing a piece of meat from his tray. 

“Don’t steal my food!”

Kenma didn’t miss the implication in the setter’s casual statement even if Shouyou did—the one that was confident that the redhead would be scouted and would be allowed to play on the collegiate level.  He hoped that was true.  Shouyou did seem a few centimeters taller compared to last year… If he could grow a dozen more, there’d be no reason to doubt his chances at all.

It felt like nothing short of a miracle that he and his teammates had had any strength left to play Ubugawa after their match against Karasuno.  Even though it was only a practice match, on only their first day of a week-long training camp, both teams seemed to be reliving Nationals somehow and fought desperately over every last point, for a deuce that went to thirty points and beyond, eventually resulting in a victory for Karasuno. 

Kenma had been switched out and switched back in, and halfway through their following match with Ubugawa, his endurance was giving out.  Though his stamina was better than it had been, the Karasuno match had exhausted the majority of it.  He lay in his futon at the end of the night, staring at the ceiling, every muscle in his body aching.  It was only the first day.  They’d have twice as many practice matches tomorrow.  He wondered if Kamikawa could play in the majority of them so he wouldn’t have to.  The first year seemed eager enough, but Kenma also wasn’t willing to give up his time on the court that easily.  Not anymore.  Not in his last year. 

Around him, his teammates were chattering nonstop about the day’s matches or about the crazy moves of teams Fukurodani and Karasuno, wondering if they could pull off the same things or if they could come up with any special moves of their own.  Lev was as chipper as always, wanting to learn some ridiculous new move so he could proudly call himself the team’s ace—Kenma was thankful he had latched onto Kamikawa as a new setter he could pester.  A small part of him told him to tell the poor boy that he didn’t need to indulge Lev in the least just because he was a year ahead of him, but more of him wanted to enjoy the respite.  At least for a little while.

“Kenma?  Not gonna play a game?” Taketora asked, slipping into the futon beside him. 

“My arms are too tired to hold my game system.  And my brain is buzzing.”

“Hahaha… I can understand the exhaustion.  Your little crow friend was really giving me a run for my money today.  That sneaky number ten…”

“Shouyou is always exhausting.” Kenma agreed.  “I think only Kageyama can keep up with him.” 

“Speaking of exhausting, we should probably force everyone to sleep.”

“Your job, not mine.”

“Slacking off again, Kenma?”

“Yes.” Then he rolled over on his futon, throwing a light sheet haphazardly around his waist—too hot to use it properly—and closed his eyes. 

Six more days of camp, with nine more matches against Karasuno, each more intense than the last, he could be assured… then after that… he smiled quietly to himself as Taketora forcibly dragged certain team members off to bed. 

Their second day featured ten matches, with Nekoma taking three penalty runs total.  Kamikawa served as the principal setter for the team for three out of the ten games, switching out with Kenma in three more.  The boy then begged Kenma for some additional practice sessions before dinner, but Kenma instead shoved him towards their team, reminding him of how important it was for the setter to know the other members intimately well.  The more he knew about them, the more it would improve his ability to read their moods and conditions on the court, and the training camp was an excellent opportunity for extensive socializing.  That and Kenma was exhausted.  But he convinced himself it was better for Kamikawa in the long run.

Kamikawa took Kenma’s advice to heart and was determined to give every other player on his team some dedicated individual attention as the week continued.  Unfortunately, he had slightly the wrong idea of how to go about getting to know his team… and was forced to run extra laps by Taketora after dinner when he had asked why their Tiger of a captain had never had a girlfriend. 

After dinner, Kenma caught Akaashi leaving the cafeteria at the same time, and they sat quietly together for a while on the grass, lightly discussing their current teams, their former teams, and their thoughts on which colleges to apply for.  Kenma was glad he could discuss that sort of thing with someone also currently going through the struggle, and made a note to text Akaashi a little bit more about the topic so he didn’t unload all his worries onto Kuroo.  Before bed, Hinata came over to the Nekoma room to ask Kenma about a game he was stuck on, and before the night was out they ended up getting into a pillow fight with Lev and the first years. 

The third day, Nekoma took five penalty runs after eleven matches, and Taketora strictly demanded they all go to bed early that night to ensure they wouldn’t be half-asleep for morning matches and making sloppy mistakes all the time.  The Tiger himself had badly fumbled five spikes that morning.  But in the evening, the Nekoma first years found the Karasuno first years getting extra lessons from Shouyou and Kageyama, and Kenma was roped in to watch.  He was glad to see that Shouyou had become flexible enough to hit a toss from anyone, including his less-skilled underclassmen, and he was extremely amused at the very… parental attitude he and Kageyama seemed to take with the awestruck boys they were teaching.  Their teaching methods and… instructional vocabulary was certainly non-standard, but overall, they weren’t awful coaches.

They only just made it back to their room in time for Taketora’s ‘curfew,’ though they all had trouble falling asleep from the buzz of excitement they got learning and trying new things. 

Still, they did better on their fourth day, taking three penalties out of twelve matches, and Kenma took the evening spare time watching Murata and Taketora working on their jump serves with the Ubugawa team.  Lev eventually joined in, going from horrible to well-at-least-you-got-it-over-the-net by the end of the night.  Kenma’s game console lay forgotten at the bottom of his gym bag—even in his free time he now preferred to watch his teammates instead. 

Unless Shouyou wanted a quick round of Monster Hunter.  Then he’d go hunting. 

The fifth day they came close to taking no penalties at all until their eighth match and second game against Fukurodani that day.  But only taking one penalty all day was an impressive feat, and they received a rare speech of praise from Coach Nekomata.  It raised their spirits considerably, but Kenma still hated running up that hill. 

Karasuno, the team that had been forced to take the penalty run after nearly every match the previous year, was now returning the favor a year later, even watching from the bottom of the hill and either cheering on the penalty team or cackling in victory.  Shouyou always cheered encouraging things.  Tsukishima… did the opposite. 

Every time he passed Shouyou in the gym or outside of it, they fist-bumped each other with a grin that clearly challenged: beat us if you can.  And every time he caught Akaashi’s eye before or after a match, they did the same, just with a little less burning. 

That evening, the sky darkened with rain clouds before the sun set and showered them with a refreshing thunderstorm that sapped some of the sizzling heat from their bones.  Taketora pulled out a flashlight from an emergency kit and gathered everyone for some good, old-fashioned team-building via ghost stories.  As the thunder crackled overheard, they went around the circle, taking turns telling the scariest tale they could.  There weren’t any candles, and some of the mood was ruined from the sounds of neighboring teams moving about in and out of their rooms next door, but there were still a few decent frights that had various team members clutching each other in terror and begging to sleep with the lights on. 

In the middle of Inuoka’s story about a haunted building near where he used to live, Kenma’s phone went off suddenly, startling everyone into a panicked scream fest.  It was a text from Kuroo asking if Kenma could be free for a phone call, and Kenma said it was from his mother to excuse himself from the group for a bit.  He went down the hall toward the empty classrooms and pulled up Kuroo’s number on his speed dial.

“Three more days~!!!  Three… more… dayyyyys!”  Kuroo’s voice rang in his ear, and he pulled the phone away a bit, checking the time.

“Don’t you have work?” Not that he wasn’t happy to hear Kuroo’s voice… 

“I got off early because there weren’t any customers.  Still got food though!  What were you up to?”

“The team is telling ghost stories in the storm.” 

“Hohhh… whose idea was that?”

“Taketora’s.” 

“Little scamps.  How many matches have you played against Karasuno so far?”  Kuroo had always encouraged extra practices as captain, and had certainly never indulged the idea of telling ghost stories in the dark. 

“About seven.”

“About?”

“It feels like more because of the extra practice, and the random three-on-three matches that go on with Shouyou.” 

“How’s your darling little first-year?  Ka—ka…Kawami?”

“Kamikawa,” Kenma corrected.  “He’s…  He’s good.  Kuro, I think he’s gonna be really good.” 

“Do I hear excitement in your voice?”

“…maybe.” 

“Heh… Can’t wait to see him in action myself, if he’s got Kenma’s stamp of approval.  Anyway, I know you can’t spend all night on the phone with me—you probably told the others I was your mom—but I just wanted to hear your voice for a bit.  Keep at it a couple more days and then come to me in Shibuya with a little more character, ok?”

Kenma flushed, but he muttered a quiet okay into the receiver. 

“Good niiiiiiight… Don’t let Sadako bite!” 

“Good night,” Kenma sighed, hanging up on Kuroo’s laughter ringing through the earpiece.

It was only after he was back in the room with the others—the lights back on because after the jump scare it was too scary to continue anymore—that Kenma really realized the day.  Three more days.  Two more days of camp, and then he’d pack another week’s worth of clothes for a train ride to Shibuya.  The first several days of the camp had gone so quickly he barely noticed.  Now he wondered if the last two would go agonizingly slow. 

But Kenma needn’t have worried.  Practice matches kept him sufficiently pre-occupied, and their sixth day ended with three penalty runs and dedicated receive practices for the entire team.  Coach Nekomata didn’t want them forgetting what the strength in their defense was, and felt it was pertinent to drill in some serve-receives.  Murata and Taketora served balls into two lines of people, who ran up to receive before running back to the end of the line.  Those who missed would stay at the front and continue to receive until they made a passable one. 

Murata’s powerful jump serves were proving difficult to receive consecutively for the majority of the team, which was an excellent development.  The first-year would be able to pull off an astounding amount of service aces if he kept at it, though occasionally, he still hit it out of bounds. 

Kenma caught Shouyou enviously eyeing their serve-receive practice and met him outside afterward.

“Kageyama’s got a good jump serve right?  You can practice receives with him.” 

“Yeah, but…” the boy poked his two index fingers together.  “It’s way more fun to practice with him when he’s giving me tosses.  Because… landing a quick is like WAHHHHH and like GYUUUNNNNN but receiving a ball right is just kind of like… like oh.” 

“I think your vice-captain libero would disagree.” 

“Maybe if I was as good as Noya, I’d enjoy it more.” 

“That’s exactly what would happen, you just have to practice it, dumbass!” Kageyama’s voice startled them both, and they turned to see the grumpy setter hovering over them menacingly.  “I was wondering where you ran off to!” 

“Calm down, Kageyamaaaa!!” Hinata whined as he was pulled into a noogie, struggling feebly.  “I’m sorryyyyy!”

“Stop running off without telling me where you’re going!”

“What are you, my handler?”

“Only just your boyfriend!!” 

Kenma watched the wrestling display and felt a faint tug on his heart.  He smiled slightly as he remembered he would have his own brand of excessive affection in a couple more days.  Though Kuroo would be considerably gentler than Kageyama by far. 

Before he knew it, it was the morning of the last day, they’d have six matches, a barbeque, and then they’d be busing home.  His attention remained focused on the games while they were happening, but the more he got switched out for Kamikawa, the more his mind started to wander.  The more Kamikawa improved in-game, the less Kenma had to pay attention.  It was both a very good and a very bad development. 

At the celebratory barbeque, he was reminded of how Kuroo and Bokuto used to compete for certain cuts of meat, stealing from each other’s plates—and grills—and stuffing their faces brusquely.  As if to honor their absence, he put a little more meat on his plate than he normally would, and once he realized he wouldn’t be able to finish it all, he tried to pawn some off on Akaashi, who declined it with a grimace, remembering when Bokuto used to do the same. 

“Putting extra meat on your plate, next you’ll be ohohoho-ing at me.”  Akaashi sighed.

Kenma hoped not, but he had to admit he wasn’t the same person he was at this time last year.  Didn’t couples pick up their lover’s habits?  He felt he had read that somewhere. 

“It was a good week, but I’m exhausted and ready to just lie around in Shibuya for a week,” Kenma huffed, eyeing the way Hinata and Kageyama were racing to see who could stuff the most meat in their faces in the shortest amount of time.  One or both of them was going to get sick, he knew it. 

“Shibuya?  With Kuroo?”

“Ah… yeah…” Kenma blushed faintly.  “I’m gonna go stay with him for a week.” 

“Well I live in that general area—which is why I don’t get much chance to really miss Bokuto—so I’ll probably see you then.  I’m sure Kuroo and Bokuto will want to arrange some sort of double-date.” 

“I wouldn’t mind that…” Kenma considered. 

“Really?”  Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“Especially if we could just hang out at home and play Smash.” 

“Forget what I said.  You’re still very much Kenma.” 

Their teams eventually found them both, calling them over for watermelon slices and group pictures—Kenma was shoved into about a dozen different selfie shots.  Team captains then wanted to try a seed-spitting contest, but were chastised by several different managers about cleanup and trash duty instead. 

And then it was over, and it was time to pack their bags, roll up their futons, and head back home.  Kenma spent the entire bus ride buzzing with anticipation, barely listening as Taketora discussed the upcoming summer practices to a bus half-asleep with fatigue.  As soon as he got home, he threw his practice clothes in the wash and began repacking his bag with casual clothes from his closet.  He also packed his 3DS and his PS Vita, with a couple of games he hadn’t played yet, and made sure not to forget all of his charging cords.  Especially for his phone. 

He apologized to his mother for leaving two weeks in a row, but she wistfully sighed that it was just a sign of him growing up, and that she had always encouraged him to get out more.  She reminded him several times that she had cooked and packed several extra dishes of food for Kenma to take with him (since lord knows what Kuroo ate living on his own), and Kenma made a note in his phone to not forget the food in the morning.  If he did, he knew Kuroo would be immensely disappointed.  His mother also stuffed some extra money into his wallet just in case, and made him promise to go out to eat instead of resorting to instant ramen and snacks.

When Kenma texted Kuroo the next morning that he was at the front door and needed to be let in, he nearly dropped everything he was carrying as Kuroo slammed open the door and rushed out to lift him up into a suffocating hug. 

“K-Kuro…” he wheezed. 

“Kenmaaaaa…” Kuroo whined, nuzzling into his shoulder and breathing deeply. 

“Kuro… I can’t breathe.”

“Oh!  Sorry.” He pulled back, abashed, and pulled the bags out of Kenma’s hands.  “Here let me.  Oh hey, is this home-cooking?”

“My mom made a few things for you—well, us—but it’s all your favorite stuff.” 

“Sweet!  I love your mom!” Kuroo hauled the bags inside, taking it into the living room as Kenma kicked off his shoes in the doorway. 

Kenma looked around the small apartment, noting the bathroom and the hallway cabinet from the entryway.  A little farther in there was a small counter against one wall with a single sink and two small burner units.  Next to it was a mini-fridge with a microwave on top, a smaller toaster oven above that—it was no wonder Kuroo didn’t really cook for himself—that tiny space could barely be called a kitchen.  He followed Kuroo into a more open room, with a short, walk-in closet that took up almost a third of the floor space, but his futon was above it as a sort of… lofted bed?  There was a ladder to get up into it and a shelf unit beside it.  He had a medium-sized television propped up on the wall with a small floor table in the center of the room, two seat cushions around it, and two trash cans in the corner.  In another corner was a very small desk, Kuroo’s laptop atop it, and a rolling chair.  The door to the balcony was open, a fan propped in front of the opening to help circulate the stifling air inside.  All in all, the space fit one person comfortably, but felt slightly cramped for two. 

“I uh… cleaned before you got here, but it’s probably not gonna keep looking like this as the week goes on.” Kuroo laughed, setting Kenma’s bag atop the low table and taking the food toward the fridge.  “Awesome, there’s grilled mackerel in here!” he put his face to the container before stuffing it into the fridge. 

Kenma seated himself on one of the cushions, smiling fondly at the way Kuroo excitedly pulled the food out of the bag, like a kid opening presents at Christmas.  He pulled his game systems out of his bag and plugged one in for charging immediately.  He thought about turning the other one on and playing, but decided to wait a bit—at least ten minutes. 

“Did you eat before heading over?” Kuroo asked while opening a cabinet and pulling out a plate.  “Cause I’m starving so I’m gonna have some of this food now.”

“I did.  You go ahead and eat.”

While Kuroo busied himself with that, Kenma wandered over to Kuroo’s desk, looking up at the photos he had taped to the wall—most were from high school, pictures of the team, a few selfies he had taken with Kenma, though a few were new.  Kenma didn’t recognize that gym, so he assumed it was the one at the University he and Bokuto were smiling in, and those were his new teammates, clad in royal blue and white.  Kuroo didn’t look half bad in blue. 

“Ah, I was gonna show you our gymnasium, and the rest of our campus too,” Kuroo commented as he took his seat at the short table, eagerly gripping his chopsticks and mumbling, thank you for the meal. 

Kenma resumed his previous seat and leaned forward, eyes locked on Kuroo’s face, happily eating the reheated grilled mackerel.  He was a little bit tanner, his hair a little less spiky—it looked like there had been a recent trim—and his loose tank top fluttered in the breeze of the fan.  Summer gave Kenma every excuse to ogle Kuroo’s body, and that was about the only good thing about it.  Otherwise, he hated the stifling heat. 

“Everything okay?” Kuroo asked, noting the way Kenma was staring at him, a piece of mackerel halfway to his mouth. 

“Yeah.  Everything’s great.” Kenma replied softly, his eyes never leaving Kuroo’s.

The taller boy leaned forward to place an affectionate kiss on Kenma’s cheek before continuing his meal. 

“You’re so cute when you’re lusting after me.” 

Kenma rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, and after a few more minutes, pulled a hair-tie out of his pockets and tied his hair up off of his neck into a loose bun.  He really did prefer his hair longer, but summer made everything a little more difficult.  Again, he wasn’t sure how girls did it.  He saw Kuroo swallow hard on a mouthful of food and lick his lips. 

“Man, I really like you with longer hair…” 

“Glad you approve, so does my mom.  Or at least, she likes playing with my longer hair.” 

“It really suits you.  I bet next Valentine’s Day you’ll be getting tons of chocolates from the girls, maybe even some guys.”

“That’s annoying.”

“It’s supposed to be flattering!”

“But I’ll have to turn them all down, and that’s such a hassle.”  He remembered when Kuroo would receive all of his valentine’s chocolates, his desk and locker stuffed with them, turning down girls in the hallways and around the gym after school.  Kenma had just one shy girl in his second year give him a box, and he had felt awful at the way she ran off sobbing after his mumbled rejection. 

“My Kenma… what a heartbreaker you’re turning out to be.”

“I’m not you, Kuro.  I’m not captain of the team, or tall, rugged, and handsome.” 

“You think I’m tall, rugged, and handsome?”

“Just eat your food.”  Kenma pulled his Vita into his hands, hiding his blushing face behind the console. 

After lunch, all Kuroo wanted to do was laze around in the apartment, lying next to Kenma on the floor as he played song after song after song on his Persona 4 rhythm game.  Eventually, Kuroo had learned the lyrics to most of them from hearing them on repeat all afternoon, and towards the end starting singing along, loudly and badly, before Kenma put the console to sleep and shoved a pillow into his face to quiet him.  A mild pillow-turned-tickle fight ensued that ended shortly after with them as a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs.  The sun was setting, and the light grew dimmer and dimmer in the small apartment, but the air didn’t really get much cooler. 

“Get off me, it’s hot…” Kenma moaned, halfheartedly trying to shove Kuroo off of him. 

“I know… Ugh… Do you wanna get ice cream?”  

“Convenience store?”

“Or we could walk towards downtown Shibuya a little more.  There’s a really tasty melon bread ice cream shop somewhere, I forget where… Bokuto took me once.  Let me look it up.” He reached for his phone in his pocket but Kenma grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Too far… let’s just go to the Lawson.”

“Fine…” Kuroo muttered affectionately, rubbing his nose against Kenma’s before hauling himself to a sitting position.  “Ice cream before dinner… Our moms would kill us, but this is your first taste of college life, kitten.”

“What did you just call me?”  Kenma sat bolt upright. 

“Uhh… kitten?  Cause you’re… cute and you act like a cat in a lot of ways, and… if you hate it, I’ll never say it again.”

“…I don’t mind it.”  Kenma said after a while. 

“Oh.  Okay then.” 

They playfully pushed and shoved at each other as they pulled on their shoes in the narrow entryway before walking out to the convenience store, Kuroo grabbing a dark chocolate ice cream bar and Kenma opting for a mochi ice cream pack.  They took the scenic route on their stroll back to the apartment, Kuroo lacing their fingers together, insisting that it was Shibuya and nobody cared about that sort of thing here.  Even though their palms were sweaty from the heat, Kenma found he didn’t really mind. 

After reheating Mrs. Kozume’s cooking for dinner and enjoying it together while a variety show played quietly from the TV, and after arguing over who would do the dishes (Kenma thought he should as the guest, but Kuroo insisted he sit tight precisely because he was the guest), it had finally cooled down enough for the two of them to snuggle up on the lofted bed. 

It was odd for Kenma to not have to worry about parents in the next room, or to be able to hold Kuroo’s hand freely in public… They might have never felt the need to advertise their relationship, but they were always careful to hide it from their parents at the very least, unsure of just how modern their Tokyo parents could be.  But in this tiny apartment, he could kiss Kuroo wherever and whenever he wanted, and he wouldn’t have to hold back his voice nearly so much if they were going to be intimate.  Never mind being able to eat dessert before dinner, this was the freedom Kenma wanted.  And now that he had a taste, he wanted to graduate all the more quickly.

The next day, Kenma acquiesced to being pulled out of the apartment for a tour.  They threw on t-shirts and shorts that hadn’t been slept in, Kenma pulled his hair up into a ponytail and tucked his Vita into his pocket with his phone.  Kuroo lived near Ebisu station, which was about equidistant between the Yoyogi campus and the Takanawa Campus of Tokai University.  His volleyball practices were all held at the large gymnasium on Takanawa campus, but most of his classes were on the Yoyogi campus, which had the courses with a focus on international relations and tourism.  They took the #87 bus from the Ebisu bus station to the station closest to Tokai and walked the rest of the way, trying their best to ignore the heat beating down on them. 

“Classrooms are classrooms, but I figured you’d like our gymnasium.” 

The facilities were impressive, at least compared to Nekoma and Shinzen.  Kenma tried to imagine Kuroo playing volleyball on the wide court beneath them, in that royal blue uniform, maybe jumping up to block a really impressive spike.  He hoped he could find some time later in the year to come and see a match—even if it was just a practice one. 

“Locker rooms are this way.” 

Kuroo led him out of the gymnasium and down a long hall, passing a few other students, and Kenma instinctively hid behind the taller boy.  It was hard to tell just from walking around who was a university student and who wasn’t, but everyone needed a pass-card to get into the building to begin with, so he figured it was all right.  Everyone who saw him inside would assume he too was a student, probably… even with his smaller stature.

“Wow.  These are big locker rooms.”

“Well, they’re meant to accommodate all the different sports teams, plus the students who just use the gym for exercise.  It’s sectioned off a bit, so we’re not all in each other’s spaces, but the volleyball team’s lockers are here… and this one… is mine.”  He patted one of the square lockers that stood at the level of his hips, and grinned.  There was even a plate for his name like on mailboxes. 

Kenma figured this was a good time to say something stereotypical and couple-y based on Kuroo’s oddly smug expression.

“Ah.  My university athlete boyfriend is so cool…” he said in a flat, monotone voice.

“At least put SOME effort into it!!”

“My heart’s beating so fast, what should I do…” he continued in a flat voice, mimicking a line he had seen many times in manga.

“You clearly don’t mean any of it!!!”

Kenma smirked and took Kuroo’s hand, attempting to placate him.  Really, he didn’t have to see an official university gym locker to be proud of him. 

“Don’t think we’re done yet, I wanted to show you one more thing.” Kuroo pouted, dragging them out of the locker rooms and out of the gymnasium complex entirely. 

Swiping his pass card at one of the academic buildings, he led Kenma towards the computer and technology labs, showing him rooms full of up-to-date computer equipment, the stuff of every techie’s dreams.  He knew that perhaps Kenma wasn’t quite as interested in pure computers just yet, but he could see the slight twinkle in his eye—he knew enough to be impressed by the facilities at least.  That or he was probably thinking about what sorts of video games he could play on such powerful machines. 

“The Takanawa campus has the school of information and telecommunication engineering, with tons of computer science and programming courses I thought you might be interested in.” 

“Why would you think I’d be interested in that?”

“You’re really good with computers, and that can turn into a really compatible field of study for you.  Even if you don’t know that yet.” 

“You’re saying this because I’m doing vaguely well in a high school computer science course?”

“And because you always used to help me when my computers and laptops acted up… I think you’re a natural at it, Kenma.  At least compared to me, it just looks like you know what you’re doing with the damn things.”  But the setter was still giving him a doubtful, confused look, and Kuroo sighed before taking his hand in his own.  “Look just, think about it sometime, ok?” 

The hand not held in Kuroo’s was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and he nodded silently, wondering how long Kuroo had been sitting on a thought like that… The older boy had always been thoughtful, always asked him what he was doing, how he was doing, if he was okay, not okay, what he liked and disliked.  It was with everything: their relationship, their friendship before that, their teamwork on the court, and now it was even about his future.  Maybe a small part of Kenma was annoyed at being babied all the time, but really, most of him felt very… loved.  He stood on his tip toes to kiss Kuroo’s cheek in the empty hallway.

“I promise I’ll think about it.” 

The rest of the day they spent wandering certain areas of Shibuya, avoiding the malls and areas that were overly crowded—which was no easy feat—and later in the afternoon, they ended up at a café just off the main road in Omotesando.  Kuroo had texted Bokuto and Akaashi to meet them, but the two were apparently otherwise preoccupied, and agreed to meet up with them the next day. 

When they were tired of the crowds and the noise, they went back to Kuroo’s tiny apartment a short walk away from Ebisu station, eating reheated leftovers while watching a drama on TV, their feet battling for space under the tiny table.  And because they were alone without mothers to harass them, they left their dirty plates out on the table when they were finished, ignoring dishes for later and opting to kiss each other silly instead.  Kenma learned in this short time how much he loved being in Kuroo’s lap, especially with the knowledge that no one could walk in on them in such a compromising position… and that Kuroo really, really liked his longer hair.  But it was okay, because he loved the feeling of those strong fingers running through the strands, brushing them tenderly and sometimes pulling slightly when he got excited.  He wanted Kuroo’s hands in his hair.  He wanted Kuroo’s hands all over him. 

“Hey I have an idea…” Kuroo whispered, and he had that smile on his face—that dangerous smile he wore whenever he was thinking something really wild. 

“What?” Kenma gasped. 

“Something I’ve always wanted to try…”

Now Kenma was getting worried.  The grin was getting wider, and those eyes were looking at him hungrily. 

“You and me… let’s… take a bubble bath together!”

“…what.”

“I’ve always wanted to, but people start to frown upon two boys showering together past the age of nine.  Besides we got all sweaty today and—“

“Kuro.  Your tub is much too small to fit two people comfortably.”  Heck, it could barely fit one when one was Kuroo’s height and breadth. 

“We won’t know for sure until we try.” 

“This is not worth trying—and we already know.” 

“No, look… I’ll get in first, and you can sit between my legs with your back against me.  We’ll both bend our knees, it’ll be fine.  You’re short enough.”

“And then what?”

“…I’ll massage your shoulders?”

Kenma sighed in what sounded like reluctant agreement, and Kuroo poked him in the nose. 

“Is that a yes?”

“I’m going to go along with this for the first fifteen seconds just so you can see how horrible this idea is and how it’s going to be the opposite of sensual, which is what I assume you’re going for.”

“Oh just you wait and see!” 

Some minutes later, the two got to some sort of seated position in the tub in the arrangement Kuroo originally suggested, though in Kenma’s opinion, it still wasn’t all that comfortable.  Obviously the tub wasn’t long enough, but neither was it very wide, and Kuro’s thighs were squeezing him in on either side.  If he didn’t hunch forward or lean back, his shoulders were going to be squished between Kuroo’s knees.  His own knees had to be drawn up to his chest, and no matter what Kuroo said, he was going to feel awkward about leaning back into Kuroo and feeling his… against his lower back.  So Kenma stuck to hunching forward, resting his chin atop his knees, arms stubbornly folded.  His own little problem was arguably becoming a bigger problem, even though he would staunchly defend his position that this was uncomfortable, not sexy, and a romantic failure.  But they were both just so hopelessly naked and the water was warm against his skin, and every time he peeked over his shoulder he could see Kuroo with his hair flattened and plastered to his face from the water, skin glistening with moisture, and—

“See, this was a horrible idea.  I’m getting out now.” 

“Kenmaaa…” Kuroo whined, wrapping his arms around his waist and trying to get him to lean back against him.  “I told you we’d fit.”

“And I told you it wasn’t going to be comfortable.” 

“I’m comfy,” he retorted, bringing a hand up to sweep Kenma’s hair off to one side, exposing his right shoulder and neck.  Gently, he kissed the skin there, coaxing delicate shudders out of the smaller boy.  Slowly, he felt Kenma’s muscles relax under his touch, and he looked over Kenma’s shoulder with a grin.  “And now you’re comfy too.” 

Kenma splashed bathwater into that smug grin and scowled as best he could (which wasn’t all that threatening). 

“Hey now…” Kuroo coughed, sputtering as he wiped the water from his face.  “No need to get grumpy.  Look…” he guided Kenma’s hand back under the water, laying his fingers against his own arousal.  “See?  I’m in the same boat.” 

Kenma’s breath hitched slightly to feel that firmness against his hand, and even without Kuroo’s insistence, he grasped it firmly, turning as best he could so he could see the look on Kuroo’s face.  He was leaning his head back in pleasure, mouth falling open, short gasps escaping his thin, rosy lips.  His cheeks were tinged with pink—mostly from the heat of the bath—and it was delectable.  Kenma wanted to turn around and kiss those lips, swallow his moans and press their bare chests together.  The heat and the wetness were amplifying everything—even their breathing echoed within the bathroom walls.  It was summer, and Kenma hated summer, he hated the heat and the humidity, but this… this he craved. 

He let go of Kuroo so he could turn and adjust himself, but he felt strong arms wrap around him, holding him still where he was. 

“Let me have some fun…” Kuroo murmured into his ear, nibbling at the lobe and sending shivers down Kenma’s spine.  His ears were really sensitive, and Kuroo knew that all too well. 

What Kuroo really wanted at the moment was to run his hands all over Kenma’s body.  He started at the shoulders, running feather light touches down Kenma’s arms, feeling at his toned deltoids and biceps, his long forearms, his small hands, lightly calloused from tossing volleyballs.  From there he brought his fingers up and trailed them down Kenma’s sides, then up again before reaching forward and teasingly brushing a hand down his neck, along a collarbone, finally brushing lightly against an erect nipple.  Kenma moaned into his touch, his head craning forward, his hair falling into his face, the ends dipping down to splay in the water.  To reward such adorable reactions, Kuroo brought both of his hands up to Kenma’s chest, pinching and rolling the small pink nubs between his fingers, and Kenma cried out, grasping at Kuroo’s knees and writhing, splashing water out of the tub. 

“K-Kuro…”

His skin was on fire, the humidity inside the cramped shower room was stifling and made him feel feverish.  Kuroo wasn’t sure if it was the way Kenma groaned out his name, or if it had just been too long since his last release, because he came suddenly with a gasp, thrusting his hips forward against Kenma’s and spilling into the water.

“Ah, shit…”

His hands stilled against Kenma’s stomach, gripping tight, his forehead resting on the boy’s shoulder.  He struggled to take deep, even breaths, and Kenma pressed their heads together, fingers brushing against the back of Kuroo’s hands. 

“You okay back there?” Kenma asked softly. 

“Don’t laugh…” Kuroo sighed. 

“I’m not laughing.  Remember my first time?”

It hadn’t been all that long ago… as two teenage boys with very little free time and privacy available to them, they hadn’t even had sex that many times.  Neither of them should have had very high expectations of each other, much less themselves, but Kuroo had always had a certain reputation thrust upon him that he unconsciously tried to fulfill.  Yet contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t some suave, high-endurance sex god.  He was just another teenager, all too in love with his best friend and lover. 

“Kenma, sit up on the tub for me.”

“Hm?”

He patted the side of the tub.  “Sit.” 

It meant being mostly exposed, only his legs dangling in the water, and Kenma did so bashfully, cool droplets dripping steadily from his hair and down his bare skin. 

“Let me suck you off?”

Kenma’s face turned beet red, but he gave one slow nod of his head, swallowing hard.  Communication was good, he reminded himself.  Even if it always flabbergasted him to have Kuroo ask so directly. 

Kuroo needed no more encouragement than that to take Kenma into his mouth at once, swirling his tongue eagerly around the tip.  He’d only really done this once before, but he still mostly remembered what Kenma liked.  So he ran his tongue firm and slow up the entire length and watched as Kenma’s lips fell open in a stuttering cry, his hands immediately tangling in Kuroo’s hair and pulling.  He looked stunning, biting on his lower lip, his long hair clinging to his face and down his neck… Kuroo hummed in appreciation around the flesh against his tongue, and Kenma’s hips jerked, thrusting forward into his mouth, and Kuroo had to pull his head back immediately, coughing. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry—“

“Well that was new,” Kuroo rasped, letting out a few more coughs mostly to clear his throat.  He’d have to remember to repeat that particular technique.  “Should I do it again?”

Kenma’s entire body language screamed embarrassment, and Kuroo ran his hands gently up Kenma’s thighs to ease him back to him. 

“I’m glad you felt that good.” He grinned. 

“Just… let me finish already…” Kenma stammered looking away. 

“Sure thing…”  

Kuroo took as much of him in his mouth as he could, grasping Kenma’s hips with his hands to still him.  He tried another experimental hum, feeling how much Kenma struggled to keep his body still, and quieting a particularly loud moan behind his hands.  It was still louder than they could be at home with parents around, but an amplified scream from the bathroom might be enough to disturb neighbors.  A steady rhythm of bobbing his head up and down the length brought Kenma to his full not long after, spilling into Kuroo’s mouth even though he had tried to push him away when he felt close.  Kuroo had resisted the push, wanting to take Kenma’s pleasure—all of it.  Well, he couldn’t swallow all of it, but he got most, and he loved the expression on Kenma’s face after. 

“Mm…” Kuroo licked his lips and made firm eye contact.  Kenma flushed to see the trail of white liquid dripping from that chiseled jawline. 

“I’m dying, it’s too hot in here.” Kenma complained, wringing the water out of his hair. 

“Ok ok.  You get out first.” 

But having taken that sauna-like bath, they did feel much more refreshed afterward, especially with the fan blowing a nice breeze on their rosy cheeks.  Kenma’s longer wet hair, which also took longer to dry, kept him cool for a good long while, and he was thankful for it.  Relaxed and feeling very very loose, Kenma curled up into Kuroo’s lap to play a game, with Kuroo absentmindedly brushing the setter’s still-damp hair with his fingers.  Everything was warm and comfortable and safe. 

At around nine, Kuroo received a text from Bokuto. 

Hey, just got an invite from Takahashi!
You’ll probably get one soon too. 
A small group of us are gonna meet up tomorrow for some practice. 
You should bring Kenma!  Show him the gym and stuff!  I’m bringing Akaashi.

I already showed him the gym today, dumbass. 

Yeah but he could also meet some of the team and stuff.

“Do you wanna meet some of my teammates tomorrow?” Kuroo asked aloud, showing Kenma the texts on his phone.  “Bokuto will be there.  Akaashi too.  Apparently there’s a sort of impromptu practice with a small group.” 

“Sure.” Kenma agreed, not lifting his eyes off his game. 

Well that was easy.  Kenma actually said yes.
Who else is going?

Uhh… I think Ikejiri and Haruyama at least…

Kuroo then got a text from Takahashi, just as Bokuto had suspected.

Hey, Kuroo! 
I remembered you mentioned sticking around for the summer with your new part-time job and everything.  Some of us are gonna get together tomorrow for a little extra practice if you’re free and want to come. 

Bokuto just told me about it.  I should be free, what time?

10:00am tomorrow.  And we can get lunch after.

I’ll be bringing a friend, if that’s all right.

From high school?  Sure, that’s fine. 
See you tomorrow!

Kuroo frowned at Bokuto’s name list.  He wasn’t particularly fond of Ikejiri, even if he was one of the best spikers they had.  He was a good teammate, they worked well enough on the court, but there was something about how the man talked that made Kuroo think they wouldn’t get along well outside of volleyball. 

Chapter Text

“Heeeeeyyy!!  Kuroo!!  Kenma!!”  Bokuto jumped wildly in the air, waving excitedly at the two figures entering the gym.  Four other heads also turned to greet them, nodding or straightening up. 

“Glad you could make it, Kuroo.”  Takahashi waved, turning a polite smile toward Kenma—the unfamiliar face of the group. 

“Sorry we’re a little late, it’s always a little tough getting this one out of bed in the morning.”  Kuroo playfully nudged Kenma’s shoulder, and the boy tried his best not to pout like a child. 

“Kenma, is it?  Nice to meet you.  I’m Takahashi Reiji.” 

Kenma took his hand, giving as firm a handshake as he could, an old jealousy rearing its ugly head in his grip.  Kuroo’s university teammate, Kuroo’s new setter… he couldn’t help but get a little competitive.  But even so, he found the invented anger difficult to maintain when face-to-face with that smile… he wouldn’t be able to continue holding a grudge against Takahashi for very long.  He was, as Kuroo had assured him weeks ago, a really nice guy.  In any case, Kenma was supposed to have moved on from that incident. 

“And that’s Haruyama—“

“Yo.” A very tall blond raised his hand from the other side of the net—he looked almost European to Kenma—broad shouldered and strong-jawed. 

“And you already know Bokuto—“

“Yahoo!”  Bokuto hooted and Akaashi gave a small wave from beside him. 

“And this is Ikejiri.”

“Hey.”  Ikejiri nodded his head once before readjusting his knee pads. 

“It is summer vacation, so these were the only guys who were free,” Takahashi added with an apologetic smile. 

“The only assholes without girlfriends who don’t like spending time with their families, you mean?” Kuroo taunted, and Kenma saw the veins in Ikejiri’s neck pop. 

“Sure, something like that,” Takahashi laughed, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes—he’d just been insulted too after all.  “Akaashi’s kindly agreed to play with us so we’d have enough for a three-on-three.  Don’t suppose you wanna switch out with him later, Kenma?  I hear you’re a setter too.” 

Kenma gave Akaashi a brief look (which silently read, thanks for volunteering so I don’t have to play), who returned it silently (with a nod that said, I’m used to it, it’s fine), before Kuroo let out a laugh and wrapped his arm around Kenma’s neck.

“Nah… he’ll be sitting this one out.  He’d rather watch, right, Kenma?”

“Yeah…  Maybe later.  I’ll keep score.”  Kenma mumbled, not missing how Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

He wandered over to a nearby bench as the other six got into position around the net.  The teams would be Kuroo, Takahashi, and Ikejiri versus Bokuto, Akaashi, and Haruyama.  Height-wise, they were all about even, with Akaashi as the shortest player, as short as 182cm could be considered.  If Kenma had agreed to play, he would’ve himself been the shortest by a much bigger margin. 

Haruyama had the first serve after a quick round of rock-paper-scissors, and it was a light one that Kuroo easily received, bouncing the ball high and easy toward Takahashi, who served it quick and fast to Ikejiri, who spiked it down hard.  Bokuto had gotten an arm on the ball, but it bounced off sideways and out-of-bounds.  One point for Neko—Kuroo’s team. 

“All riiiight!!” Ikejiri hollered, tossing the ball to Kuroo for a serve.  “Make it a good one, Kuroo!”

“Yeah yeah, pipe down.” 

He threw it up into the air, then lightly smacked it overhead, sending it over the net and cleanly into Haruyama’s receive.  Akaashi ran for the ball, setting it neatly up into the air for Bokuto to spike.  Ikejiri and Takahashi jumped to block, but they were a touch early to counter the C-Quick.  Kuroo jumped a fraction of a second after they did, and Bokuto slammed the ball into his fingers.  The blocker couldn’t quite hold it back, and the ball flew behind him, its straight course diverted. 

“One touch!”

Takahashi dived for it, but the angle of the receive was sloppy and it went flying out of bounds. 

“Geeez, Bokuto, you’re gonna break my fingers!”  Kuroo whined across the net, shaking out his hand. 

“Ahahaha!!!  My spikes are just too powerful!!  Did you see, Akaashi?  Haruyama?  That spike was awesome!” 

“Yes, Bokuto, it was great…” Akaashi drawled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.  Haruyama gave a polite smile and a thumbs up.

Kenma had always hated having to play practice matches against Fukurodani precisely because of the strength of Bokuto’s spikes.  No matter what Coach Nekomata said to scold him, he would always recoil and retreat from them if he could.

“My serve next, right?” Bokuto shouted, grabbing the ball. 

He tossed it up high, ran forward, jumped, and hit it right at the top of the net.  It jusssst barely went over, and Takahashi jumped immediately to dump it back down on the other side.  Bokuto fell to his knees on the floor, screaming in agony, and Kenma updated the score.  Two for Kuroo, one for Bokuto.  He had to be impressed at Takahashi’s reaction speed.  Net balls were always difficult to react to; Kenma typically waited too long to see if it would even go over before trying to receive it.  Even if he was a fast thinker, he couldn’t get his body to move as fast as his thoughts.   

The next serve was Takahashi’s, who was smiling broadly from the last successful dump.  He ran up for a jump serve of his own—an impressive repertoire of abilities—landing it cleanly on the other side for a service ace.  Kuroo’s team now had a two-point lead.  Kenma begrudgingly allowed himself to be impressed further as Ikejiri and Kuroo offered the setter high-fives.  Kenma had never even tried a jump serve before.  At least, not in game.  This had always been the level of ability that separated Kenma from all the other setters he knew—most setters were well-rounded, strong players like Karasuno’s Kageyama or Aoba Johsai’s Oikawa.  They didn’t just coordinate the offense, they could usually serve and spike at high levels as well.  It had always been fine that Kenma couldn’t do all these things—his team rallied around him regardless.  It just wasn’t… Kenma was just starting to learn the meaning of the word ‘dissatisfaction.’

Takahashi’s second serve took most of Haruyama’s focus to receive, but it flew high into a free ball, and Bokuto jumped up to spike it from the back.  He smashed his hand into the brightly-colored leather, and Kuroo and Ikejiri jumped, Kuroo’s fingers darting out to slam the ball down in an impressive read-block. 

“Damn it, Kuroo!!!” Bokuto flailed his arms in the air. 

“Hahaaaa…” Kuroo taunted before turning his head and shooting a wink in Kenma’s direction. 

“Trying to impress Kenma?” Akaashi asked across the net, ignoring Bokuto’s tantrum behind him.

“Always!” Kuroo grinned, missing the way Ikejiri’s expression soured. 

Kenma saw it though.  And something told him that would be trouble. 

After some minutes, Bokuto’s team won the first set, and they all took the opportunity for a short water break.  Kenma held out Kuroo’s water bottle to him as they wandered over to his bench, and smiled.

“Good game.”  The intensity of having practiced with a university powerhouse team showed in every movement Kuroo made on the court—Kenma had been mesmerized watching him. 

“I’ll get him next time.”  Kuroo huffed. 

“Haruyama’s serves always veer left.  And they’re not strong enough to go out of bounds.”

“Oh?” Takahashi grinned as he overheard.  “I don’t even think our coach has noticed that little quirk.  I know I hadn’t.  Is this what you meant by Kenma’s superb observational skills, Kuroo?” 

Kenma flushed to think that Kuroo talked about him so much to his current teammates… it was proof of how much he really thought about him.  The reassurance warmed his chest and coiled knots in his stomach.

“K-Kuro, how much did you tell everyone about me?” 

“Honestly, more than we really want to know,” Ikejiri chimed in coldly, chugging down his water.  “But at least if he’s fawning over you, he’s not likely to go at any of us.” 

“Ikejiri.” Takahashi warned. 

“Whatever.” The spiker shrugged, moving over to talk to Haruyama. 

Kenma saw Kuroo’s clenched fists and the hard line of his mouth as Takahashi sighed, readying an apology on Ikejiri’s behalf.  Everything about the body language of both men painted the picture that this was a regular occurrence.  Kuroo’s frustration screamed familiar, not new. 

“I’ll play in the next set,” Kenma said suddenly.  “I can take over for Akaashi or Takahashi.” 

“Are you sure, Kenma?” Kuroo asked worriedly—Kenma hadn’t brought a practice jersey, and he was wearing cargo shorts laden with electronics. 

“Yeah.”  He replied firmly as he emptied his pockets. 

“Then I’ll sit out,” Takahashi volunteered.  “It can be like old times for the four of you.” 

Kenma was grateful.  Not that he would’ve held back if he had been up against Kuroo, but he knew better how to set to him… and he couldn’t deal with Bokuto’s mood swings at all.  He tied his hair back as tight as he could stand and strode out onto the court as Haruyama took the ball to serve. 

It veered left despite its spin just as Kenma had said it would, and Kuroo was there to receive it, passing it neatly to Kenma with a wide grin—It made him quite giddy to play on the same court with Kenma again.  The setter made brief eye contact with Ikejiri, who ran up for the spike, and Kenma tossed it straight into his hands.  The ball spiked down on the other side with ease—a powerful straight spike—and Bokuto groaned dramatically.  He wasn’t falling into one of his mood swings though, which was a clear relief for Akaashi, who was watching the spiker carefully. 

The next serve was Kuroo’s, and he attempted a jump serve (not his strongest suit), but he was feeling good, and that made him feel confident, and the ball flew over the net with ease, landing just inbounds though Haruyama had moved to avoid it thinking it would be out.  His second jump serve went straight to Akaashi though, and the setter received it into a free ball that Haruyama spiked over the net.  The blond was nothing if not a consistent player—Kenma hadn’t seen him get rattled by anything yet, even by his own mistakes.  Bokuto’s next serve served straight into Kuroo who received it just a little bit high, but it gave Kenma plenty of time to get into position. 

“Kuro!” he called.

As the blocker eagerly made the leap for a spike, all three of the opposing team jumping to meet him, Kenma jumped up to meet the ball, and dumped it over the net. 

“Nice!” Takahashi laughed from the bench.

Akaashi glared at Kenma across the netting—he hated Kenma’s dump shots—while even Kuroo gave a half-hearted pout. 

“Aww… I thought I was gonna get the chance to land a nice spike…” 

“Sorry,” Kenma shrugged, not really meaning it. 

“Nah, it’s good.  Take everybody by surprise.  Bet you refined that trick from playing against Hinata and his scary setter, yeah?” He patted Kenma’s back and grinned, nothing curbing his enthusiasm for long.

Kenma replied with a shy smile of his own, his fingertips tingling. 

“If you’re gonna make goo-goo eyes at each other, take it off the court.” Ikejiri jeered flatly. 

Kuroo’s grin fell immediately off his face to be replaced by an expression the setter couldn’t read, but it frightened him.  Kenma grabbed Kuroo’s wrist instinctively, shaking his head, and they resumed the game in silence. 

The second set went to Nekom—well, it went to their team; all of Kenma’s tosses were steady, and every dump shot he made was well-timed without a counter.  Sure, his serves weren’t powerful, and his blocking was still unsteady—he did somewhat slack off on blocking with Kuroo next to him—but his receives were still solid and, as a setter, he had done right by his spikers.  Takahashi and Haruyama were quick to praise him, and even Ikejiri could manage a begrudging compliment about his skills, having received the bulk of Kenma’s tosses.  Kuroo, whether he realized it or not, had played his absolute best with Kenma on the court with him. 

The good mood soured instantly when Bokuto pointed this out. 

“That felt like high school again!  You definitely play better with Kenma around.” Bokuto teased. 

“Kind of how Takahashi always plays better when Emiko comes to watch his games,” Haruyama smirked, leaving the university setter sputtering and punching at his arm.

“What can I say?” Kuroo shrugged.  “Kenma brings out the best in me.” 

“Don’t tell me you can only play like that when you’re trying to ‘get some’ from a teammate,” Ikejiri sneered, his tone lacking all traces of humor despite the smirk. 

“Ikejiri, that’s enough,” Takahashi snapped. 

“What?  It’s a legitimate concern about his consistency as a player, not to mention the well-being of our team.” 

“What are you trying to say, Ikejiri?” Kuroo stepped forward, brushing Kenma’s hand aside.  “That I’m not putting one hundred percent into our games?”  His tone was still cool, almost playful, but his presence had abruptly grown very menacing.

“Kuroo—“ Bokuto grabbed Kuroo’s shoulder, but Kuroo shrugged him off violently.

“No one is saying that, Kuroo.” Haruyama interjected.

“I am,” Ikejiri retorted, his tone dripping with malice while he pointed an accusing finger at Kuroo.  “How do I know that ten percent, or fifteen or fifty of his focus isn’t going to checking out some guy he thinks is hot on the opposing team?”

“Ikejiri—“ Haruyama held up a hand to try and quiet him.

“Hey, I’ll have you know—“ Bokuto began, but Akaashi’s bruising grip on his wrist stopped him.

“Ikejiri, leave.  Now.” Takahashi’s voice was firm and cold, resonating above the others. 

“You’re not the captain, Takahashi, this isn’t official team practice, and you can’t order me around.”

“I’m the vice-captain, Ikejiri, and I can bring up your attitude with the captain or with the coach and suspend you from play if I think you’re going to upset and imbalance the team with your prejudices.”

“What, you think I’m the threat?  What a fucking joke.  Coach would side with me anyway—we don’t need fags—“

“Kuro, don’t!”

“Kuroo!!!”

Before anyone could stop him, he had lunged forward, grabbing Ikejiri by the collar of his shirt, shaking him violently. 

“Apologize!!” he screamed.

“Let go of me, you fucking faggot!!” Ikejiri’s hands flew to his throat, digging his nails into Kuroo’s skin as he tried to wrench himself free. 

“Apologize to Kenma!!”

“Kuroo!!”  Bokuto leapt forward, Haruyama quickly following suit. 

“Stop it, both of you!”

It took Bokuto and Haruyama both to pry the two apart, Bokuto’s arm firm around Kuroo’s neck and Haruyama’s arms gripped around Ikejiri’s middle.  Kenma’s insides were roiling with guilt as he stood by unable to help or intervene.  Kuroo would never hurt anyone, even now, he hadn’t laid a finger on Ikejiri in the way of a punch or anything really damaging, but he was... he was getting angry… he was letting Ikejiri provoke him… and it was all on Kenma’s behalf.  It was all because of him.  He shouldn’t have come today.  Now it would be a problem for as long as the two of them were on the same team—if the coach would even allow it—what if Kuroo got kicked off the team?  Kenma didn’t think he could bear it if something like that were to—Kuroo had worked so hard! 

Ikejiri stormed off as soon as he got to his feet, slamming the gymnasium doors behind him.  As soon as the spiker left, Kuroo stopped struggling in Bokuto’s grip and was let go. 

Haruyama looked haggardly from the door to the group, looking at Kuroo, then Kenma.  After a little while, he mumbled quietly,

“I don’t agree with everything Ikejiri said.  I think you’re a great volleyball player, Kuroo.  You too, Kenma.” He added softly.  “But maybe… Kenma shouldn’t… come around here anymore.  Not to watch your games, not even to watch your practices.  I think it would just… cause trouble.” 

Takahashi sighed as the other two left, turning to the remaining four with furrowed brows. 

“Look, I’ll do what I can here, but there’s no guarantee he won’t go telling the Coach about this.  I think Ikejiri is dead wrong, but he’s a strong player for our team, and Kuroo, you’re a first year… I can’t promise Coach won’t bench you.” 

“But that’s—“ Bokuto started, but Kuroo raised a hand to silence him.

“Not your fight, Takahashi.  Sorry for the trouble.”  Kuroo shrugged lightly, attempting a smile.

“Sorry about today, guys.  But good game, all of you.  And Kenma,” he turned his attention to the boy, who had taken several steps back away from all of them, wringing his hands and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.  “You’re a great setter.  I’m glad I got to see you play.” 

Kenma’s lip quivered, but he managed a small nod, and Takahashi left it at that.  When the four were left alone in the gym, Bokuto kicked a ball in frustration, sending it flying across the court. 

“The nerve of those guys!  I mean—do they even think before speaking?!”

“Bokuto, enough.” Akaashi urged gently beside him.  “It’s done.” 

“I’m sorry,” came a quiet whisper behind them all. 

They turned to see Kenma blinking back tears, and Kuroo ran immediately toward him, his anger dissipating instantly and turning into worry.  He brushed the long hair out of Kenma’s face and grabbed his shoulders gently. 

“Kenma, no.  No no no…  You have nothing to apologize for, none of us do.  Ikejiri’s just an asshole—“

“But… you might get kicked off the team…”

“That won’t happen!” Bokuto shouted, patting Kenma on the shoulder as gently as he could manage.  “I’ll threaten to leave if that happens, and Coach can’t afford to lose both of us!  Remember, I was one of the top five high school players last year!” 

“Ikejiri can bitch and moan all he wants, it’s not gonna get him anywhere.  I’m sorry I got angry—I just didn’t want you to feel bad because of anything he said.”  Kuroo was speaking so softly and cradling his face so gently, Kenma just wanted to throw himself into Kuroo’s arms, but he stopped himself. 

“I don’t care what he says about me,” Kenma mumbled miserably.  “I just don’t want you to suffer any consequences because of—“

“Even if anything happens—which I doubt—as long as I have you, Kenma, I’ll be okay.”  He brought one of Kenma’s hands up to his lips, kissing it tenderly.  “We’re okay.” 

Kenma sniffed and wiped at his eyes, tears smearing across his arm.   He needed to keep it together right now.  That was important.  The last thing he wanted to be was the immature high schooler in this exchange.  He bit his lip and pulled Kuroo close to him finally, mumbling an apology into his shirt for crying and causing a scene.

“Who’s hungry?” Kuroo tried for a change of subject, rubbing slow circles into Kenma’s back.  “I’m starving.  Let’s go to lunch.”

“Yeah!  Uhh… I know a great place around the corner!” Bokuto chimed in. 

“He means Denny’s.” Akaashi clarified. 

“Yeah… and it’s great, and it’s around the corner!” Bokuto huffed.

“It’s not exactly prime dining, Bokuto.”

“Akaashi, you really need to back me up once in a while!”

Kenma couldn’t help but laugh at their bickering—really, the two were insufferable.  But that light giggle broke the tension they were all weighed down by, and quietly, Kuroo and Akaashi let out little sighs of relief. 

“I don’t mind Denny’s,” Kenma smiled, and Bokuto puffed out his chest in pride. 

“I was the one who insisted he not mention our relationship,” Akaashi remarked around bites of his omelet rice. 

It wasn’t anybody’s preferred topic of conversation, certainly… but the earlier incident was still on their minds, and it seemed better to get it off their chests and out of the way instead of everybody stewing on it silently over lunch.  Even Kenma agreed it was better to talk about it, and he very much wanted to hear about Bokuto and Akaashi’s situation.  It hadn’t escaped Kenma’s notice that Takahashi and the others seemed blithely unaware that Bokuto and Akaashi had the same relationship he had with Kuroo—Ikejiri’s lack of homophobic slurs against Bokuto being the main indicator. 

“Not that I would’ve cared!” Bokuto staunchly claimed, his hands balling into fists on the table.  “I’m proud of what we have, and I’m proud of who I am, and I’d tell the team in a heartbeat!  I wouldn’t have been as nice as Kuroo either, I’d have punched Ikejiri’s lights out instantly.”

“You were trying to stop me from doing the exact same thing,” Kuroo sneered, pointing his fork accusingly at his friend.

“Yeah—well, that’s…”

“I saw it from the first practice match Bokuto invited me to—Ikejiri is a team player only on the court, and I just… had a bad feeling.” Akaashi said quietly.  “I didn’t want it to cause any problems—I understand it’s like running away, but...”

But they understood. 

“I was a lost cause from way before today, Kenma.” Kuroo laughed.

“He talked about you all the time to anyone who would listen—which was mostly me at first.”  Bokuto chimed in. 

“People jokingly asked if you were my boyfriend, and I said, ‘yeah, so what’ and that was that.  I pretty much let that one slip right away.” 

“Obviously, most people aren’t stupid enough to care anymore,” Bokuto poked at his food.  “But yeah, it made a few of them uncomfortable… Sort of the, I-don’t-care-just-don’t-tell-me-about-it type, and then there’s Ikejiri, who’s an asshole about everything.”

“It’s not just this, he’s a dick in general to underclassmen and newbies because he cares about seniority even though he’s only in his second year.  Most people ignore him and just put up with him for practices and games.” 

Kenma listened in silence to all the information everyone provided, his sandwich mostly untouched.  For the most part, he was now relieved to hear about what sort of person Ikejiri was and what others thought of him in that the spiker’s opinion wasn’t held in very high esteem.  But there was a new frustration taking root now—one that didn’t want Kuroo suffering any of this alone.  If Kenma had just been the pretty girl next door, nobody would be giving either of them a hard time about anything.  None of his teammates at Nekoma were so narrow-minded—not even the country bumpkins from Karasuno; he had always just assumed anybody younger than their parents’ generation wouldn’t really care. 

“Kenma?” Kuroo asked quietly.

“I’m okay,” he replied quietly.  “Just promise you won’t do anything stupid… like, beating the crap out of Ikejiri and then leaving clues so it can be traced back to you.”

“Whoah—“ Bokuto’s eyes grew wide, and he shot a quick glance at Akaashi, who replied with similarly wide eyes.  “Scary!” 

“Hahaha… okay, okay.” Kuroo laughed, chugging down the rest of his soda in one gulp.  “Oh, hang on, that’s for me.” 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and the caller ID told him it was from the restaurant. 

“Damn it… Hello?  Yeah.  Ohh… Oh, I see.  Mmhmm.  Sure.  Yeah.  All right… no, it’s nothing.  Bye.”  He hung up the phone and slumped his shoulders.  “I just got called in for work tomorrow night because the waitress covering my shift went home early today for being sick.”

“Bummer.  Still free tonight though!” 

Kenma felt the disappointment oozing from Kuroo, so he tried not to let his own show.  It was only one night, and he’d brought things to study for entrance exams anyway.  A solid night of studying would do him some good, maybe. 

The four spent the rest of the afternoon slumming around arcades and sweets shops and shoe shopping for Akaashi before dinner.  Kuroo and Bokuto played an embarrassing round of DDR—apparently being athletic didn’t guarantee high scores, and being good at volleyball did not transfer well into being good at dance.  At the sweets shop, Kenma used the extra food money his mom had given him for strawberry chocolates and other snacks that were decidedly not food in the eyes of most parents. 

Kuroo and Kenma had tried discreetly taking pictures at first—Kenma wanted to add to Kuroo’s wall of photos—but eventually gave up discretion and just started taking selfies everywhere… strange looks be damned.  Group selfies occurred when they could manage to get Bokuto to pay attention for half a second.  Even then, most of the photos with Bokuto and Kuroo in the same frame came out blurred.  By the time they got home, it was almost as if that morning’s debacle had never happened. 

Almost.

Kenma didn’t mention how his mind helpfully conjured up thoughts of Kuroo going to practice to find ugly slurs defacing his locker and its contents… of a group of upperclassmen ganging up on him, Ikejiri leading them, with ugly faces and even uglier words, of Kuroo being benched repeatedly because he was the cause of problems on the court, how he was forbidden from playing in the December tournament.  They were the worst-case scenarios imagined by his hyperactive mind; he couldn’t give in to them, so he swallowed them down and snuggled up closer to Kuroo under the sheet, squeezing him tight.  He promised to himself he would never let Kuroo go, even if the entire world were against them.

After parting ways with Kuroo and Kenma, Bokuto and Akaashi had gone back to Bokuto’s dorm in silence, the spiker sulking almost the entire way.  Despite the happy grins he had recently worn while playing games with Kuroo, as soon as they had parted ways from the other two, his mood took a quick downturn.  Or rather, he had been feeling awful all day, he just knew now how to hide it.  Bokuto was getting better at it every day—sometimes even Akaashi couldn’t tell when he was just pretending to be cheerful.  But when they were alone, just the two of them, Bokuto would never have to pretend.  Akaashi didn’t want him to. 

Adulthood was forcing Bokuto to learn that if he didn’t have more control over his emotions (especially his negative ones), that he risked not only his position on the team, but also his job and his grades.  The Fukurodani team may have been happy to carry him, but Tokai would drop him from a regular position with little hesitation because of his inconsistencies.  But even when depressed and lashing out like a petulant child, Akaashi preferred when Bokuto was wholly honest in front of him.  His simplicity, his openness, these were the traits the setter had fallen in love with in the first place. 

When they returned to Bokuto’s dorm, Akaashi coaxed the honesty back into Bokuto’s being with gentle touches that said, It’s just us now, it’s okay to cry.  He gently brushed away every tear that fell from those golden eyes, handed the spiker tissue after tissue, and kissed away the furrows between his brows.  With open arms, Akaashi accepted Bokuto’s every sadness, his every grief, his desires. 

When Bokuto’s sobs finally settled, his eyes stinging and his lungs sore, he pressed needy kisses into Akaashi’s neck, and the setter pulled them both gently to the bed. 

Bokuto’s every motion and gesture was an open book for Akaashi.  The absolute longing in his kisses, the desperation in his grip, the frustration in his moans… Every gentle touch was a reminder of how much the spiker cherished him, the soft murmurs against his skin a reminder of his adoration.  But he was rough at times too, usually from excitement he couldn’t quite control—today it was because of bitterness.  Akaashi answered in kind as best he could with his kisses and his caresses, but he couldn’t rid Bokuto his anger, no matter how many times they embraced one another. 

“Are you okay, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked after their third session, handing the setter a bottle of water.  

“I should be fine by tomorrow,” Akaashi murmured, accepting the water gratefully and rolling carefully onto his stomach on the bed.  Bokuto sat beside him, rubbing gentle circles into his lower back. 

“Sorry…”

“And you?” Akaashi asked.  “Are you going to be okay?”

Bokuto’s lips quivered into a pout, and he brought his hands together, one hand clutching the other.  Akaashi wanted those hands back on him, not balled up in anguish. 

“It just… It really pisses me off!” Bokuto hissed through gritted teeth.  “It’s not just Ikejiri we have to hide from, it’s employers and coaches… your parents.” 

Akaashi lay in silence, listening.  He too felt the injustice of it all, just not as keenly as Bokuto, who felt every emotion at its full intensity. 

“I hate having to hide,” Bokuto mumbled into his hands.  “I hate that I’m supposed to feel ashamed or whatever.  And Kuroo… He’s more laid back about this than he should be.”

“Koutarou, that’s not fair.”

“The things I hear people say, Akaashi!  Even if they never say it to his face, it—Kuroo should be standing up for himself more!”

Akaashi brought himself up to a sitting position, arms wrapping around Bokuto’s waist, pressing his chest into Bokuto’s back, his cheek resting on those broad, strong shoulders. 

“The frustration you feel because you have to hide… I’m sorry to put you through it, but it’s different from the frustration Kuroo has to deal with from being out in the open.  The things people say… it would be worse for you if those comments were directed at you every day, at us.” 

“I wouldn’t just take it lying down, that’s for sure.” 

And that is exactly the problem, Akaashi thought, sighing through his nose.

“Even if the world never accepts us, you have the love of your family and closest friends.  Isn’t that enough?” 

Bokuto answered with a heavy silence.  Of course it wasn’t enough.  Bokuto Koutarou was not a man easily satisfied.  He knew no other way than to take the bull by the horns then lead that bull straight into a china shop.  No matter how much affection and patience and understanding Akaashi poured into their relationship, Bokuto would always want just a little more.  Even so, Akaashi found it difficult to fault him for that. 

“It’s gonna get harder and harder to hide the truth about us once you’re at Tokai with me, you know that, right?” Bokuto attempted a slight change in topic.  “I won’t be able to resist touching you or stealing kisses on a daily basis.” 

He turned his head and smiled and it was so full of affection, Akaashi felt his heart might leap out of his chest if it weren’t so weighted down by guilt. 

“I’m… I may not…”  Akaashi almost never stuttered.  And he certainly didn’t usually hold back when talking with Bokuto.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I may not attend Tokai after all.”

“What?  Why?” Bokuto pulled out of his embrace so he could face Akaashi directly. 

Facing that piercing gaze head-on was still sometimes overwhelming for the setter, and he broke their gaze, opting instead to stare at the crumpled sheets between their legs. 

“My parents.  They want me to be a doctor and Tokai… isn’t the best school for that.”

“A doctor?  Akaashi, you never told me you wanted to be a doctor.”

“I don’t.  Well.  That’s not accurate.  I don’t particularly want to be a doctor, but I don’t particularly want to be anything else.  A doctor is as good as anything else.”

“Like hell it is!  That’s way more schooling than most other stuff, tons of studying, long work hours—are you sure you’re up to that?!”

“Like I said, I don’t have any real interest in anything else—“

“That’s not a good enough reason to jump into medical school!”

“My parents want to know that their investment in my education is going to yield—“

“That’s not a good enough reason either!!”

“Nothing is ever good enough with you!”

Bokuto jumped.  Akaashi almost never raised his voice… and for him to lose his patience so violently—

“Akaashi, I—“

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just go home tonight.” 

“Akaashi.  Wait—Akaashi, please.  Don’t go, I’m sorry, I—“

But Akaashi was hurriedly pulling on his clothes, shying away from Bokuto’s every touch, ignoring all the soreness in his body and rushing out of the door.  And Bokuto, stunned by Akaashi’s anger and his rejection, didn’t know what else to do other than let him leave. 

The rest of Kenma’s week with Kuroo passed without further incident (in part because they barely left the apartment).  Kenma greeted Kuroo coming home from work the one night, which resulted in him being permanently relegated to ‘best wife’ status.  This was mostly because he had timed it so that Kuroo could come home right as Kenma was reheating dinner for him.  Unfortunately, Kuroo had also brought home two dinners from the restaurant as a means of treating them both, thus relegating him to ‘thoughtful husband’ status.  And because Kuroo couldn’t refuse the food that Kenma had prepared for him (though originally cooked by Mrs. Kozume), he stuffed himself with the leftovers instead of the hot, freshly-made food from the restaurant, which Kenma picked at instead. 

Kuroo helped Kenma understand some of the English prep he was trying to work on for entrance exams, also the literature, and also stole Kenma’s game system for a stab at some of his games—all of which, he sucked at.  They spent lazy days watching NHK, Kuroo now in the habit of twirling Kenma’s hair between his fingers when they sat together.  They stayed up late, slept in late, ate whenever and whatever they wanted with the freedom of elementary schoolers, but with a mature love pervading the air that only adults could really enjoy.  Somehow they managed to make the cramped apartment for one feel cozy enough for two, and by the end of the week, Kenma was very reluctant to leave it. 

On the morning of his last day, he packed his bag painfully slowly, pretending he were ninety years old with full-body arthritis. Kuroo laughed at the persistent frown that refused to leave his face. 

“What’s your practice schedule?”

“Taketora and I scheduled group practices four days a week, but they’re not all consecutive.  Three on, one day off, last day on, so weekends are still free.  We’ll take another week off right before the second term starts so everyone can finish their summer homework.” 

“And have you finished yours?” Kuroo smirked.

“Summer’s only just started,” Kenma grumbled, adjusting his bag strap.  “I’ll get it done.”

“Don’t slack off now, you’re a third year.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll text you my work schedule and when my volleyball practices are, we can coordinate.  Some weekends I’ll go home, some weekends you can come here.”

“I’d rather come here,” Kenma admitted.  “I like being alone with you.”

“At some point, I think our parents might get suspicious.  Plus I should probably show this adorable face to my loving mother once in a while.”  He kissed Kenma’s forehead in the doorway.  “See you soon.”

Kenma stopped just before opening the door, grabbing the front of Kuroo’s shirt and pulling him down for a proper kiss—just because it wouldn’t be long before they saw each other again did not mean he didn’t want a proper sendoff—licked his lips, then stammered a ‘bye’ before walking out of the door into the hot, muggy air.  It was just hot outside, he told himself as he covered his burning ears with his hair.  That was all. 

In the weeks that followed, they spent their time much how they expected.  They both went to volleyball practices, sweating miserably as the summer only grew hotter and hotter, Kuroo went to work most evenings, and Kenma spent his extra time studying and getting his summer homework done.  He wanted to get it done early and out of the way, and he wanted to make sure he did his absolute best on the Tokai entrance exam.  Backup options were tedious and annoying—he wanted his first choice, and he wanted it set in stone. 

Kenma spent two weekends out of every month at Kuroo’s, cramming a change of clothes into a backpack and taking off either Friday after practice or early on Saturday mornings (despite how much he hated mornings), and Kuroo came home once a month to leech free home-cooking from both of their mothers and ‘stretch out his legs’ in a living space larger than the size of a postage stamp.  The two of them frequently talked about Kenma’s options for school, Kuroo’s career options for later, the both of them moving into a bigger apartment together…

That conversation had been embarrassing.  Kuroo said it so nonchalantly, as if the matter had already been decided.  In fairness to him, it more or less was, but Kenma felt he needed to put up at least a little resistance.  For propriety’s sake. 

“We need a bigger place though…” Kuroo had muttered absentmindedly, staring at the ceiling.

“We?”

“Yeah.  You’re moving in with me after graduation, right?” 

“I mean… I haven’t talked with my mom yet about it or anything—“

“But you’re going to.  Why?  Don’t you want to live together?”

“No, I do!  It’s just—it’s…” Kenma flushed. 

“What’s wrong, Kenma?”

“I… I feel like I’ve just been proposed to…” he mumbled, ears growing pink.

“Ohhhh?  And are you saying yes?” 

He did.  After a bit of a struggle involving pillows and tickling, Kenma agreed to move in with him, whispering his confirmation breathlessly while pinned down.  It was only afterward that he debated on how to broach the subject with his mother.  Kenma thought about waiting until after he got acceptance letters, but that would be a while, and he didn’t want to spring it on her last minute before graduation.  He had to first convince himself it wasn’t anything suspicious or lewd… he and Kuroo had been best friends forever.  His mother wouldn’t think anything of it.  He hoped.

Chapter Text

Summer practices were nothing but an uphill struggle in the heat.  It made them slow at best, sluggish at worst, every action requiring about five times more energy than usual.  But even so, Kenma watched all the first years, in particular Kamikawa, grow more and more confident with each passing day.  The younger setter had grown close with his other first years—with Sato Shou (wing spiker) especially—and the two spent extra hours practicing together outside of club to try and come up with a quick combo that could rival Hinata and Kageyama from Karasuno.  Kenma encouraged them to try, though neither of them were anywhere near as honed in their abilities as the crows they aspired to be.  His only condition was that they couldn’t bring their antics into group practice until they had mastered their tricks, so as not to disrupt the rest of the team.  They were also forbidden from ever mentioning the words ‘entrance exams,’ ‘college,’ ‘girlfriends,’ and ‘graduation’ around the third years, or Taketora would have their heads. 

Everything went as scheduled and as planned, the smoothness of which Kenma appreciated since he didn’t typically make plans.  He wouldn’t say that he hated surprises, but he was less-than-thrilled when things happened that were both unexpected and awful.  So when he very unexpectedly hit another growth spurt at seventeen years old, he had trouble being pleased. 

As the weeks went on late that summer, he noted how the sleeves of his Nekoma jacket didn’t pool around his wrists, and how his running shorts no longer hit just above his knee.  He asked his mother if she was doing laundry differently… maybe she had switched detergents to a brand that shrank everything.  But it was obvious to his team almost instantly.

“You’re getting taller.”  Taketora nodded approvingly.

“No way, you can still grow at seventeen?!” The first years squawked hopefully.

“You’re not trying to catch up to me now, are you?” Lev teased. 

“Idiot, who would want to?” was Kenma’s reply. 

Over the last few weeks of summer, when temperatures were at their most unbearable, Kenma shot up from 169.2cm to 178.5cm, and accompanying that growth were longer limbs, a slightly longer face, even longer hair, and a desperate need for new pants.  His mother went ecstatic about it, happy to take her son shopping as many times as he needed, fawning over the fact that she had to look up at him now because they were no longer the same height.  She even took to calling him a beautiful man, the sort that women would have swooned over during the Bakumatsu period, and to complete the new items in his closet, she insisted he have a new yukata to wear at the end-of-summer Fireworks festival at Tokyo Bay.  She also bought him a formal men’s kimono for special occasions, insisting it completed the look of a beautiful wandering samurai.  While he appreciated having new clothes to wear—including the yukata and kimono—Kenma wished she would stop watching so many historical dramas in her spare time, if only so that she would stop projecting her fantasies onto her son.  Though it was now abundantly clear where her love of his long hair really stemmed from.  It had very little to do with wanting a daughter.

Upon being dragged on yet another shopping trip, Kenma texted Shouyou—glad the boy didn’t have team practice today so he could keep him company… at least vicariously. 

Another shopping trip.  I think we’ve gone to every Parco in Tokyo. 

Lucky!!
Natsu’s always getting new stuff because she’s growing faster, so I have to wait until my stuff is pretty busted before I get new things. 

Do you want some of my old clothes? 
I don’t know what else to do with them otherwise except donate them. 

Oh you had that one hoodie that was super comfy!

Which hoodie?

Oh no wait, that was Kageyama’s.
Sorry.
I don’t think we’ll be able to see you in Tokyo until after the Miyagi Playoffs though. 
If you don’t want to hold onto them that long, go ahead and donate them. 

“Kenma, what do you think of this cardigan?” his mom held up a long, cream-colored, cable-knitted cardigan with brown accents that Kenma wasn’t entirely convinced was an article of men’s clothing. 

He shrugged.  He didn’t really care, and his mother gleefully added it to the basket. 

She even got me a new yukata for the fireworks festival this weekend. 

Wow nice!!!  Take pictures!!! 
I only grew like 2cm this past year, maybe I’ll get a new one if I suddenly grow twenty more!

If you grew twenty more centimeters, I don’t think you could jump as high or run as fast.

But I’d be taller than Kageyama.

In the end, that’s what it always came down to, wasn’t it? 

Later in the day, Kenma texted Kuroo pictures of his bed piled with new clothes, and asked if he wanted to meet up for the Tokyo Bay Fireworks Festival in Setagaya at the end of the week, like a proper boyfriend asking his partner out on a proper date.  He supplemented that he was under orders from his mother that he had to go and that he was honor-bound to wear his new yukata.  He didn’t yet mention why he had a new yukata.  The two hadn’t seen each other in almost three weeks, and Kuroo had not seen him shoot up like a magic bean stalk.  He supposed it could be a sort of surprise… he wasn’t sure yet if it would be a good one or a bad one. 

Kenma examined himself in the mirror the night before the festival after his shower, surveying his taller frame and his longer face.  It was jarring even for him to see—and it was proving difficult to come up with words to describe how he now looked.  He couldn’t be mistaken for a middle-schooler anymore; the height and the slightly more pronounced jawline had robbed him of the last vestiges of his boyhood.  Yet even as he considered his lost boyishness, he also thought he looked less feminine despite the long hair he continued to keep.  He knew Kuroo wasn’t superficial enough to be with him only for his looks, but if even Kenma felt bizarre seeing himself now, how would his boyfriend feel?  Would he miss their height difference?  Lament the loss of what little femininity he had possessed?  Kenma attempted in vain to take a mirror selfie to send so that Kuroo could brace himself, but none of them seemed adequate.  Turned out the camera couldn’t do justice to the changes his body had made. 

As he made his way through a crowded Futakotamagawa station towards the exit where he had agreed to meet Kuroo, he wondered if he should’ve just sent a crappy selfie after all instead of saying absolutely nothing.  He had told him to look for a dark green yukata, maybe he should have also mentioned the fact that his eye level was ten centimeters higher.  There were so many people around, he worried about being able to spot each other in the crowds.  He needn’t have worried, he could spot Kuroo’s hair instantly no matter what.  As soon as they caught each other’s gazes, he saw Kuroo’s eyes pop wide open and his face flush bright red.  Okay, so good surprise then.

“K-Kenma… wow.  Um.” He cleared his throat repeatedly while Kenma nervously shifted his weight between his feet.  Eventually, Kuroo brought his hand up to cover his face, failing to hide how utterly overwhelmed he was.  “Geez, you can’t just spring something like that on me…”

He grabbed Kenma’s hand and put it on his chest, over his heart.  Through the soft fabric of Kuroo’s yukata (a dark grey one Kenma had seen him wear in previous years), he felt it… the hard thump, thump, thump of his wildly beating heart.  Kenma’s own heart was beating just as fast, almost in time.  For a few moments, the two felt invisible to the world as the crowds bustled around them, everyone too preoccupied to notice how Kenma’s hand lingered long on Kuroo’s chest, both of their faces as red as strawberries.  Reluctantly, Kenma pulled his hand back and gave a nervous smile.

“Surprise?  I grew almost ten centimeters?”

“I can see that, plain as day.  I’m guessing your mom did your hair.”  Kuroo laughed breathlessly, letting his hands drop to his sides, fingers twitching. 

“What? Oh, yeah…” he pulled at the side-swept loose braid on his shoulders.  “She tried to show me how to do it myself but I kept just knotting it all together.” 

“Remind me to thank your mom.”

“Don’t be weird, Kuro.”

“I mean it.  You look really really beautiful.”  And even that felt like a very incomplete summary of just exactly what was running through his head, but Kuroo didn’t want to scare the poor boy off—he was plainly already about to die of embarrassment.

Kenma felt all the capillaries in his face burst, and he knew he must have been a really horrifying shade of red, because Kuroo eventually broke into raucous laughter.  He would’ve kicked him, but the yukata was far more restricting than the clothing he was used to. 

“Let’s just go,” Kenma grumbled, trying to get his face back to normal—he had to remember this was nothing so embarrassing.  After all, Kuroo had seen him naked and—no, that was definitely not the right way to go about not blushing. 

Kuroo laced their fingers together, drawing close to his side, his other hand tucked casually into his more open nagajuban. 

“So what gods did you pray to for this height miracle to come about?  Have you told the shrimpy crow?”

“Shouyou’s envious, as you might expect, and my mom is overjoyed.  She keeps taking me shopping for new clothes even though I have enough by now, and she keeps trying to dress me up like some old samurai.  She’s watching these historical dramas lately, and she’s obsessed—“

“Oh!  My mom too.  But I don’t have any of that samurai appeal, so I’m safe.”

“What would you have been then?”

“Shogun?” Kuroo offered with a cat-like grin. 

“In your dreams.” Kenma scoffed.

“Haha… I can see where your mom would get the samurai idea though.  You probably look like those actors that play Okita Souji, the beautiful swordsman, and all that.”

“As soon as she suggests a light blue haori with white mountains on the sleeves for me to wear, I’ll run the other way.” 

“Yeah, I don’t want you dying of tuberculosis, please.”

Kenma feigned a light series of coughs before they both burst out laughing. 

“How’s practice?” Kenma asked quietly, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“It’s fine.  And I’ll tell you this now so you can stop worrying about it, but no, I haven’t been benched, no, Ikejiri hasn’t been messing with me—not more than usual anyway—and as far as I can tell, Coach either knows and doesn’t care, or doesn’t know and it’s staying that way.” 

“Oh.  Good.”  That relieved Kenma more than Kuroo knew. 

“Oh, except for that time Ikejiri jumped me last week with these six big, American guys with third legs for dicks and they all had their way with me.”

“Not funny.” Kenma glared. 

“I told you to stop worrying.  Yeah, he’s being an ass during practice, but honestly, it’s barely more than before.”

“Fine.  By the way, where are we going?” Kenma finally asked as they passed by a 109 Cinemas he didn’t recognize. 

“What?  Uh… I was following you.”

“I was following you, you’re leading my hand.” 

“Oh, uh…” 

They both looked around at the unfamiliar streets and people, then pulled out their smartphones, trying to get a ping on their GPS apps.  The crowds of people all with interfering cell signals, however, meant their GPS cursors were bouncing all over the map, and it was impossible to pinpoint exactly which street corner they were on.  Even Akihabara was better on the worst of days. 

“Should we try heading back to the station?” Kenma suggested after tucking his phone away. 

“I think I know where I’m going, I’ve been here before,” Kuroo said slowly, eyes darting around at street signs, attempting to find a familiar landmark that wasn’t a convenience store. 

“Kuro, the last time either of us saw fireworks here, I think you were nine years old.”

“I have a good memory…” His shifty eyes and high-pitched voice were definitely what Kenma would call convincing. 

“Not that good.  We’re going back to the station.”  Kenma pulled on their hands, turning them around.  He wasn’t about to let Kuroo make them more lost.  That had not been fun when they were twelve and thirteen, and it wasn’t going to be fun now. 

“Wasn’t there a park of some sort that used to be here?”  Kuroo was turning his head in all directions, as if he could tell up from down in the crowds, pointing to random buildings and mumbling to himself. 

“I think we have to go toward the water.”  Kenma said, pulling harder. 

“Are you sure?”

“No.  But there are maps nearby the station, so we’re starting there.”

Reading the station map and comparing where they had been to where they were, they had been walking in completely the opposite direction of where they needed to go, which… of course.  Kenma leaned against Kuroo for a bit, adjusting his zori since they were irritating the skin between his first two toes.  He would’ve preferred his usual sandals, but his mother wouldn’t let him leave the house without the whole picture complete. 

“Ok, so the park is actually this way.” 

“We can sit down for a bit somewhere so you can rest your feet, or do you maybe wanna eat?”  Kuroo suggested.

“What time are the fireworks?”

“I dunno…” Kuroo shrugged.

Kenma sighed, eventually breaking out into uncontrollable giggles.  God, they were so bad at dating, it was pitiful. 

“Look, you told me to meet you at this station at a certain time and told me you were gonna be in a yukata, and really, that’s all I was ever gonna care about.”  Kuroo threw up his hands as if to absolve himself of responsibility.

“Yeah… okay.  Forget fireworks.  Let’s get food.” 

“Really?  You don’t want to see the fireworks at all now?”

“I didn’t come all the way out to Setagaya for fireworks, Kuro, I came to see you.”  Kenma mumbled. 

Kuroo’s face flushed again, almost as bad as he had done at the station exit earlier, and he tapped his cheeks before pulling out his phone.

“Okay, fine.  But let me take some photos of you first.”

“What?  K-Kuro—“

“I’m telling you, you look great, I just need this, okay?” He held up the phone as Kenma fidgeted in place, looking at the passerby to make sure they weren’t in anyone’s way.  “Okay, great… great nervous look… now give me a dash of Shinsengumi warrior!”

Kenma grabbed Kuroo’s wrist that was holding the phone and led them finally away from the streets into a restaurant—any restaurant would do. 

An hour or so later, they heard the muted sound of fireworks in the distance as they left the ramen shop and saw flickers of light over the tops of the buildings.  Most of the display was obscured from view; they had clearly just walked outside in the middle of the show.  Kuroo took Kenma’s hand and led them towards the water, towards the lines of people crowding the bank of the Tama river, where their line of sight was cleared of the tall buildings.  Over the water, in the distance, they saw the fireworks fly up high into the sky, bursting into colorful explosions of light, some bigger, some smaller, some with fanciful shapes.  Several sightseers were taking pictures or recording videos on their phones, most were simply standing there enjoying the view.  Kuroo squeezed Kenma’s hand tight in his own and stood as close as he could.  Their shoulders were almost the same level now—that was different.  Kuroo didn’t have to lean down so far to kiss him now—that was also different.  And Kenma didn’t have to stand on his tiptoes for a shy peck on his chin—he might miss that… but being able to reach Kuroo’s cheek more easily was certainly an improvement. 

“Wanna come back to my place for a bit?”  Kuroo asked with a playful glint in his eye, the light from the fireworks glittering in his irises. 

“Are you gonna make me miss my last train home?”  Kenma’s expression was equally mischievous, the corners of his mouth upturned ever so slightly.

“…I might.”  Kuroo’s grin got wider.

“Okay.” So did Kenma’s. 

It was a Saturday night, neither had practice in the morning, and Kenma’s mother was no stranger to him texting her that he was staying over at Kuroo’s.  At least now he could borrow a change of clothes from the older boy without completely drowning in them.

As soon as the door closed behind them in the apartment, Kuroo was gently pushing Kenma against the wall, kissing him long and deep, cradling his head in his hands and breathing hard against him.  He coaxed Kenma’s lips open with a moan, running his hands through the long hair and messing up the stylized braid entirely.  When he drew back, he saw how the long tresses fell out in loose waves that framed Kenma’s face beautifully, his lips already pink and swollen. 

“Wow, Kenma,” he breathed against the setter’s lips, peppering light kisses against them and murmuring between pecks, “You’re so… so… so… beautiful...”

Kenma groaned in embarrassment and pulled their mouths together with more pressure until they were breathing erratically and their heart rates grew frantic—his hands slipped inside Kuroo’s yukata, running up the firm abs, across that marvelously toned chest, and up to the broad shoulders, pushing the fabric aside and baring the skin.  He nudged Kuroo away a bit so their faces came apart and then he was trailing kisses down Kuroo’s neck (lightly, he didn’t want to leave bruises), while his hands roamed across the smooth skin beneath his fingers, quietly demanding that more of that skin be bare. 

“Ah… Kenma…”

Kuroo groaned into Kenma’s touch, bringing their hips together and gasping at the sensation of feeling Kenma’s hardness pressing against his own.  It caught him by surprise some, their hips had never been near the same level before.  It was new and exciting, and something about the shifting and sliding fabric of their yukata made it even more sensual, and he had to forcibly pull himself away—away from Kenma’s touches, away from his kisses, so that they could move into the actual apartment and not just cum standing up in the doorway. 

It was times like this that Kuroo hated his lofted bed—not only did it fail to fit two people comfortably, it was so close to the ceiling that very few positions would really be available to them up there short of lying down side by side to rub each other off.  While that was usually a fine option, Kuroo wanted more tonight.  A lot more.  And that meant the floor would have to do.  So he shoved the table out of the way with his foot, and sank to his knees in front of his lover, his hands resting on Kenma’s hips to keep the setter standing. 

Staring deep into those amber eyes and keeping his gaze fixed there, he slipped one hand under Kenma’s obi, and slowly began to untie it, smirking as Kenma’s breathing quickened just from having the fabric fall loose around his waist.  Kuroo pulled his arms out of his yukata, which had been pooling at his elbows anyway, and slowly opened the folds of the dark green fabric, rewarded by the sight of Kenma’s growing arousal, the tip of his erection peeking over the top of his boxers and leaking the early drops of his desire. 

In one smooth motion, Kenma shrugged the garment off of his shoulders and it fell in a crumpled heap at his feet.  He pulled out the hair tie, which was about to fall out anyway, and shook his hair out of the braid letting it fall in loose waves upon his shoulders. 

Kuroo watched him breathlessly, heart tight in his chest.  He sounded like a broken record—even to himself—but he did really think Kenma was absolutely beautiful.  Many other words could be supplemented, like ‘gorgeous’ or ‘lovely’ or ‘handsome,’ but his mind always came back to the word ‘beautiful.’  He had always thought him so.  Kenma’s features had always been slim, lithe, and smooth.  Blessed with the sorts of details girls longed for… a long, thin neck, long, fluttering lashes, and small but capable hands… the taller, leaner Kenma that stood before him now had grown into those traits with grace and charm.  He reached for Kenma’s hands, running their fingers together, entwining them, pressing them to his lips, and let them go only when Kenma pulled them back to run them tenderly through his coarse, spiky hair.  The setter looked down at him with a smile.

“Like what you see?”

“Immensely.” 

“Am I allowed to join you on the floor now, or—“

“In a bit.  Let me look at you a little longer.”

“Your eyes are gonna fall out.”

“It’s worth it.” 

They waited a few more moments, before Kenma grew restless and lowered himself to the floor whatever Kuroo said, straddling his hips and settling into his lap with a pout.  His hands came down between their bodies, and he pulled impatiently at Kuroo’s obi.  He didn’t want to be the only one mostly naked in the open room.  Kuroo’s body also very much deserved to be nude and admired.  Kuroo’s laughs shook them both, and soon both pairs of hands took on the task of undoing the tie, flinging it aside, and throwing off the dark grey yukata to join the other mass of fabric on the floor.  They pulled apart despite how much their bodies wanted to stay pressed together to each remove their underwear, and then they faced one another entirely exposed. 

Kenma understood why Kuroo’s expression was so fascinated—he was practically seeing a new version of him—even his teammates wouldn’t shut up about it, and they saw him consistently all summer.  On the other hand, nothing about Kuroo’s body was new for Kenma, yet he adored it all the same.  There were subtle differences he noticed—mostly in Kuroo’s eyes and the way he smiled, and they all made his heart flutter and his breath catch in his throat, and he reached out with trembling fingers, wanting to be one with him. 

“Kuro…”

“Kenma…”

Kuroo’s grip was strong and steady as he pulled Kenma into his arms, pressing their chests together and burrowing his face into the crook of Kenma’s neck. 

“Kenma… will you do me a favor?”

Kenma smiled into Kuroo’s neck.  For someone whose natural personality was to be very flirtatious, he was surprisingly coy and shy during sex sometimes.  Not that Kenma minded. 

“What is it?”

“Will you… take… me?”

That was new.  Kenma pulled back to look at Kuroo’s face, red with desire and embarrassment, his lips pouting forward slightly.  They’d never done it that way before… though to his memory, they had really only fucked like that twice before tonight so it wasn’t as if they were breaking some sort of established routine. 

“Yeah.”  He whispered finally.  “Okay.” 

He tried his best to remember how gentle Kuroo had been with him both times prior, how slowly he had taken it—maddeningly slow, in fact—and would try to do the same.  He wasn’t sure if he could have quite as much self-control, but he would make a valiant effort.  He didn’t want to hurt him.  Kuroo passed the lube into his hands and Kenma warmed up the cool liquid between his fingers, pressing his other hand into Kuroo’s chest so that he’d lie back on the floor.  A futon would have been preferable, but there was absolutely no room to do it up there, so they made do with the floor cushions.  Kenma pressed one questioning finger against Kuroo’s entrance, and felt the strong body beneath him tense briefly before relaxing.  He leaned down a bit to trail kisses along the inside of Kuroo’s thigh, each one making Kuroo a little looser, and then Kenma dared to push the tip of his finger in. 

“Ahhnnn…” Kuroo arched his back, biting his lower lip and bringing his hands up to his face. 

Kenma swatted the hands away—he wanted to see.  Kuroo had always made damn sure he could see every single second of Kenma’s changes in expression when their positions were reversed, so he was going to try and derive the same satisfaction.

“Does it hurt?”

“Ngh… no.  It’s just different.  You can put it in more.” 

So he did.  He slowly pushed one entire finger in and watched as the muscles in Kuroo’s abdomen tensed, his breathing coming in short, strained gasps.  Kenma leaned forward to press a kiss to Kuroo’s chest, swirling a tongue around a nipple, and he could feel the muscles around his finger clench. 

“I’m okay…” Kuroo huffed.  “I’m just… really turned on.”

“Better be,” Kenma mumbled around the nipple in his mouth.  “I’m gonna move it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Slowly, Kenma began to pull his finger out before pushing it even more slowly back in.  He repeated the gesture until it seemed that he could slide his finger in and out with relative ease, poured a little more lube out, then pressed a second finger in.  Again, he felt Kuroo tense beneath him, but he relaxed a little faster this time, seemed to have a better handle on his breathing.  Kenma kissed his way down Kuroo’s stomach, loving the way the abs flexed up to meet his lips.  He could feel the tip of Kuroo’s erection poking at his chin the further down he went—it was a good sign—he wasn’t going limp.  Once he had two fingers pushed all the way in, again he slowly moved them in and out, waiting until they could do so with relative ease. 

“One more,” Kenma murmured against Kuroo’s skin, and pressed in a third.  It slipped in more easily than the second one had, which was some relief to Kenma.  He hadn’t touched his own need in all this time, but it demanded attention soon… he just hoped he wouldn’t cum immediately after sticking it inside.  He wondered how it would feel.  Better than Kuroo’s mouth?  It was maybe better not to think too hard about it otherwise he would definitely jump the gun. 

So he focused instead on the warmth around his fingers, pulling them in and out slowly, twisting them some, and curling his fingers inside.

“Ah-ahhh!!” Kuroo jumped suddenly, clamping a hand over his mouth to cover his outburst. 

“Wh-what?  Too fast?”

“N-no… Ngh!  That just… it was good.”

Oh…  Kuroo’s scream had nearly given him a heart-attack—it was more nerve-wracking than he realized to be the one leading the pace.  He let his eyes wander up and down Kuroo’s body, staring long at its visible strength, the toned muscles reminding him that his lover was not so fragile, he’d have to try pretty hard to break him.  Instead, Kenma tried to reach the same spot and again Kuroo arched his back, his voice a little more restrained this time, his entire body tensing, but not with pain.  He tried thrusting his fingers faster, finding that they now slipped in and out quite easily, and again he brushed against the spot that drove Kuroo wild, and he licked his lips. 

“St-stop, Kenma… I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that…”

Kenma stilled his fingers, and took a breath—he didn’t realize he had stopped breathing too—and groaned at the strain of his own arousal.  God, he was probably about as close as Kuroo. 

“I’m ready.  Please.”

Kenma withdrew his fingers and kissed him gently. 

“Okay.”

He looked around hurriedly for the box of condoms—thankfully he didn’t have to climb up into the futon to retrieve them—and slipped one on after orienting it the wrong way at first.  The feeling of the rubber on his skin was strange, but he focused his attention on pouring more lubricant onto it.  He grabbed a tissue to wipe his hands and turned to find Kuroo lying very… very seductively.  He had adjusted the floor cushions to sit beneath his lower back, raising his hips up off the ground.  His legs were spread wide open, and he was gently stroking himself, looking at Kenma with that cat-like grin of his.  Eager, was probably the best word for it. 

Kuroo bit his lip as Kenma crawled toward him, his hair swaying, clinging to his neck in some places where he had worked up a bit of a sweat… and when he felt Kenma position himself, pressing against his opening, he spread his legs a little wider, focused on his breathing, willing himself to relax, relax… and then Kenma was in, pushing himself slowly further, and they were one, and he felt so full, he could hardly breathe anymore.  He shivered and gasped, reaching for Kenma’s hands until their fingers were entwined.  They sat still for a minute or two, trying to catch their breaths and gather themselves… Kenma looked about as wrecked as he did. 

“How’s it feel?” Kuroo asked. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I wanna know how you feel.” 

“You always want to know how I feel.”  Even when Kuroo was going to be the one sore tomorrow, he was checking in on Kenma instead.  Getting taller didn’t mean he was going to be babied any less, it seemed. 

“I’ll start then.  You feel… mmm… fantastic… inside me.”  He wiggled his hips a little to prove his point, laughing at how Kenma stiffened and tried to hold him still.  “We should do this more often.  Now your turn.”

“Stop… wriggling…” Kenma sighed.  “I… um… I feel… No, you feel… Ughh.  It feels great, ok?” he snapped, his ears growing hot.  He wasn’t good with words and Kuroo knew it, but he always had to make him say every tiny embarrassing thing.  It wasn’t fair, and it also wasn’t fair that Kuroo could go from shy to sultry devil in the span of one session.  “You’re really warm, and… and tight and… I like looking at you.” 

“I like looking at you too,” Kuroo whispered, pushing himself up with his elbows pulling Kenma down for a searing kiss.  “Now fuck me, Kenma.” 

He pulled out and thrust his hips in experimentally, it wasn’t hard or fast, but Kenma needed to figure out his angle.  It was hard to concentrate though… if he forgot to breathe regularly, he would definitely come too soon.  He tried again, attempting to establish a rhythm, even if it was a slow one, and now it was Kuroo’s moans timed with his thrusts that made it hard to concentrate.  The sound flowed into his ears and went straight to his cock, and he squeezed his eyes shut to try and focus.  Or maybe this was when he was supposed to just…

Oh fuck it.

He sped up his pace, disregarding angle and rhythm, he just moved his hips however was easiest, thrusting faster and faster.  As Kuroo’s moans turned into keening cries, it only made Kenma more desperate for release.  And just as he expected, he came quickly, his hips stuttering to a halt as he buried himself fully inside Kuroo’s warmth, falling forward with gasping breaths, his hair falling around Kuroo’s face like a curtain.  They were nose to nose, and he could see and feel Kuroo was close, but Kenma simply couldn’t move anymore—he couldn’t. 

“Ah…  I’m…” Kenma whined. 

“Shh… just… Ngh… Just stay in me.” 

He felt Kuroo’s hands move between them, touching himself, and bringing himself to his finish.  Kenma kissed him hungrily, wanting to swallow every moan and cry Kuroo made before he came, and he ran their tongues together until he felt a warm wetness splash against his abdomen, Kuroo shuddering almost violently beneath him.  Slowly, he pulled out so he could collapse completely on the floor beside his boyfriend, both of them spent and breathing heavily. 

“That was…” Kenma huffed.

“Amazing?” Kuroo offered.

“Short.” 

They both laughed, and Kuroo pulled the cushions out from under him so they could use them as pillows instead. 

“Yeah, well… I think you have to be on certain drugs to be able to just fuck for hours.”

“I don’t need hours, I just would’ve liked more than three minutes.”

“Maybe next time.”

Kuroo leaned over to kiss his cheek, rolling over and plastering himself to Kenma’s side, his cum sticky between them.

“Ew, stop.  We need to shower.”  

“But Kenmaaaa…” Kuroo whined, wriggling himself closer and smearing the fluids from his stomach onto Kenma’s arm. 

“St-st-stop!!!”

Kenma wasn’t the neatest person in the world, at least not when it came to clutter in his room, but they were both hot and sticky and gross, and he wanted to bathe.  Now.  So he wrenched himself out of Kuroo’s grip and waddled towards the shower, pulling the condom awkwardly off himself, tying it off and dumping it in the trash.  Kuroo lay defeated on the floor for a bit, pretend-sobbing before hauling himself up and walking towards the shower room. 

“Cuddles in the shower?”

“As if I could stop you.” 

Kuroo gave a very wide, canine-baring smile before noting the time. 

“Oh.  You could probably shower and still make the last train.”

“Whatever.  I planned on staying the night anyway.” Kenma shrugged, walking past him and turning on the water. 

“Kenma, you’re so bad…” Kuroo teased, lightly smacking the setter’s bottom. 

“I blame you.”  Kenma pouted, but he placed a kiss on Kuroo’s cheek anyway. 

Kuroo may not take nearly as many pictures on his phone as Kenma, but if there was one thing he really did love taking pictures of, it was his absolutely gorgeous boyfriend.  Kenma wasn’t exactly camera shy, but he did start to get annoyed when Kuroo snapped too many at a time.  Of course, when the boy was asleep, he couldn’t exactly complain...  Kuroo’s phone held a sizable gallery of sleeping Kenma snapshots, and he was currently adding to his collection.  It was a late, rainy morning, and Kenma was surprisingly still asleep.  Usually he always woke up first, but Kuroo was feeling restless with warmth and affection from the evening before—like he couldn’t wait to open his eyes again and see Kenma in front of him, as if every sleeping moment, every blink was a wasted second because it deprived his vision of Kenma. 

In his first year at Nekoma, Kuroo remembered how he too had grown tall and gangly, his awkward teenage body prone to acne and his hair as unruly as ever.  His growth had been more gradual than Kenma’s, but he too had grown upward before he grew outward, and he had worked hard to bulk up and fill out his new body, glad that Kenma couldn’t see him at school with other high schoolers who looked less awkward.  It was the one time in his life he had ever felt self-conscious about his looks.

An incessant smile tugged his lips upward as Kenma gave a small moan before shifting a bit in the sheets, his long hair falling into his face.  Kuroo reached out to tuck the hair behind Kenma’s ear, his eyes lingering on the gentle flutter of Kenma’s eyelashes, the slight pout of his lips.  It seemed to him that they always grew most when kept apart.  Now as adulthood loomed, he was curious to see how else they might change both individually and together… as long as Kenma was by his side, Kuroo could imagine the future, and it was no longer terrifying. 

He texted one of his snapshots to Bokuto.

Kenma grew 10cm on me, and he’s even more beautiful now, I can’t believe it. 
Bokuto, I’m so in love, it’s incredible. 

You’re a sap.

I know. 

Wait, did you say 10cm?!?!

Clearly, Bokuto wasn’t fully awake yet. 

Also stop taking pictures of him while he’s sleeping, that’s like, creepy old man behavior.

I’ve seen the pictures you’ve taken of Akaashi.
Kettle, pot. 

Arghhhhhhhhhhhh speaking of Akaashi…
I need to go do something. 

What, in the rain? 

Later.

Uh, sure.
Don’t forget your umbrella. 

But by the time he got Kuroo’s text, Bokuto had already run out of his dorm, and once outside, he pulled up his shirt over his head to try and cover himself from the rain.  The water came down in a drizzle, though the droplets were big, like a late summer downpour.  By the time he ended up in front of Akaashi’s house—unable to dry off in the trains and stations—he was soaked through, his usually-vertical hair plastered to the sides of his face.  He thought about ringing the doorbell, but his brain was having issues trying to conjure up an excuse to present to Akaashi’s mother. 

Yes, hello, Mrs. Akaashi.  Sorry to show up on your doorstep soaking wet, I just need to talk to your son for a bit.  Yes, it was this urgent.  No, it’s nothing you need to worry about. 

Yeah, that’d go real well. 

Bokuto moved himself under the awning, then tried desperately to dry his hands, patting them down onto the less-soaked parts of his shirt hem and his shorts.  Eventually they were dry enough that he could use his phone, and he texted Akaashi.

Hey.
Can we talk?

He waited several minutes before his phone buzzed with a reply.

Did you want to talk on the phone or via text?

No.  Um.  I’m standing outside your front door actually. 

A few minutes later, the door swung open, and Bokuto gave a half-hearted grin at Akaashi, who was looking at him with wide eyes and a face that looked for all the world like he was about to cry. 

“Akaashi, who is it?” his mother called from the kitchen. 

“It’s Bokuto,” he called back.  “He’s… I’m gonna go out for a bit.”

He hurriedly slipped on a pair of shoes before his mother could ask further questions, grabbing a spare umbrella before stepping outside into the rain. 

“Let’s not talk here,” Akaashi mumbled, opening the umbrella, grabbing Bokuto’s hand, then dragging him away from the house. 

Bokuto followed wordlessly as Akaashi walked them silently out of his neighborhood, past the Family Mart, and into a nearby park, where the children’s playset sat abandoned in the rain.  There was no place to sit, but they were alone.  Bokuto brought his hands up to cradle Akaashi’s face before kissing him hard, their faces pressed so close it almost hurt.  When he pulled away, Akaashi’s face was wet from where Bokuto’s dripping hair had pressed against his skin, and he bit his lip before looking away. 

“Was that supposed to be an apology?” Akaashi muttered, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Part of one.  At least.  Akaashi, I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

Heaven help him, Akaashi wasn’t trying to be petty.  He knew they were both at fault in many ways, and that the argument had only escalated over the past month because Bokuto didn’t know what to apologize for and because Akaashi had stubbornly refused to let it go.  But this wasn’t a minor spat about volleyball or Bokuto saying something stupid because he fell into a mood… This was about their future.  This was about Bokuto’s utter disrespect toward Akaashi’s parents and the selfishness with which he had demanded Akaashi figure out his life at seventeen years old. 

“Everything?”  Bokuto said too quickly, and Akaashi rolled his eyes.  “No no wait, wait.  Just let me… figure out what I’m going to say.”  Bokuto huffed and brushed his hair out of his eyes, slicking the strands back.  “I’m…  I wanted you to come to Tokai because I wanted us to be together.  I know you said you didn’t want to play volleyball in college, and that’s fine, but… I just—I miss you a lot.  All the time.  So when you said you weren’t applying, I was really upset, but then you told me it was because of your parents, and not because you didn’t want to be with me, and that just made me more upset because… It felt like you were choosing them over me.” 

“Bokuto, they’re my parents.” 

“Yeah, I know!  But it’s also still your life!”  Bokuto gripped Akaashi’s shoulders. 

“But I don’t know what to do with my life, and I’m not like you.  I’m not brave enough to go to a four-year college to try and ‘figure it out.’  I could spend all four years, all of my time and my parents’ money and still come out of it not knowing.” 

“But that’s—“

“That may not be a good enough reason for you, but it’s good enough for me.  You said it was my life, but you’re really just asking me to live it by your standards instead of theirs.”    

Akaashi felt like they were talking in circles, like they had had this conversation about five different ways over the past few weeks but inevitably they were still saying the same things and not getting anywhere.  Bokuto’s grandiose gestures and lavish gifts didn’t change the discourse. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto released his shoulders and instead gripped the hand that held the umbrella between them.  “If you get into a medical school in Tokyo, will you move in with me?” 

“Bokuto… how does that fix anything?” 

“If you don’t want to go against your parents, if you really don’t mind going to medical school, okay.  Fine.  But that doesn’t mean you hate me, right?  That doesn’t mean we can’t be together, right?” 

“Of course I don’t hate you, but I just don’t think it’s that simple.” 

“Why not?”

“My parents might need me to stay home so that they don’t have to pay for schooling and additional living expenses.  I doubt I’ll be able to make time for a job while studying something as comprehensive as medicine… And all of that would seriously cut into any time spent together—“

“I’m not giving up on this, Akaashi!” Bokuto fumed, startling Akaashi with his fierce gaze. 

“Bokuto—“

“You do what you need to for now.  Study, apply wherever.  I’ll figure out everything else!  I’m gonna make this work!”

Akaashi felt his chest might burst.  After a month of back and forth, it felt like they had finally broken through the loop, and of course it was because of Bokuto and his unwavering affection.  Akaashi had thought to himself several times how it might have been better for them to just say their good-byes, despite how painful it would be, but every fiber of his being had cried out to not give in… and evidently Bokuto wasn’t giving in either. 

He let the umbrella slip from his grip and let himself fall forward against Bokuto, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his face into his neck. 

Chapter Text

Before the summer heat had fully dissipated in late August, shortly before classes resumed in September, the Nekoma volleyball team proceeded to the Tokyo prefectural preliminaries.  Two victories there would guarantee them a position in the playoffs in October, and just making it to the finals in the prefectural playoffs would secure them a spot at the Spring High tournament in January.  As a Tokyo school, Nekoma didn’t face as much pressure as Shouyou faced in a smaller prefecture like Miyagi, where only one school would be allowed through to the Spring High.  Tokyo almost always hosted the national competition, and as a larger, more densely populated prefecture, it was usually permitted to send its top three teams.  All Nekoma had to do to make it to Nationals was be in the top three.

Still, that would be an uphill battle since Tokyo boasted the top teams and players in the country on average.  The typical Tokyo school was going to be leaps and bounds ahead of the average school from… say… Shimane prefecture.  Thankfully, Fukurodani had also been designated as a seed team based on their Interhigh performances, and they’ would be placed in an entirely separate bracket.  The next time Nekoma would have to play against them would be in the October playoffs, and that eliminated a serious early obstacle. 

Lucky! 
We have to be absolute best in Miyagi or bust!

Unfortunate for Shouyou, of course, but Karasuno had quickly become a powerhouse school despite the boy’s complaints.  They were no longer the dark horse, everyone knew the soaring crows were in the running to go to Nationals and feared them—more accurately, they feared Shouyou and his intense quick. 

Guess you’ll just have to be the best then.

#1 in all Japan!!  That’s gonna be me!

Kenma sometimes wished that he had a little more of Shouyou’s fighting spirit.  As vice-captain, he didn’t think he always did much for his team’s morale, even if Taketora had more than enough spirit for the two of them combined.  Back when Kuroo was on the team Kenma had been referred to as the brains and the heart of Nekoma, but that wasn’t exactly rousing—and now there were two to share that task. 

He admitted looking forward to seeing how Kamikawa would perform in an official match, since he had performed so well during the summer training camp.  The combination attack he had been working on with Shou hadn’t amounted to much of anything yet, but they were only first years—their time to shine would come. 

While Kenma may have been lacking in the overflowing, bubbling enthusiasm department, he still had his pride as a third year.  He walked onto the court with that pride; different from the excitement the first-years held to prove themselves, altogether different from the relentless drive Shouyou was fueled by.  Surely Kuroo must have felt the same pride when they stood on the court the previous year.  Best in all Japan?  Shouyou was welcome to that title.  Kenma just wanted to be the best setter he could be for his team. 

At the end of a long, grueling weekend, Kenma took a tired, sweaty, but happy selfie with his team, and sent it ahead to both Shouyou and Kuroo with the caption:

Made it to playoffs.

He knew Fukurodani had done the same, so his text to Akaashi was instead:

See you in October.

Likewise. 

Unfortunately, the high of victory wore off fairly quickly as Kenma now had to buckle down and study for the Tokai University entrance exam in September.  As a private school, it had its own test separate from the National Center Exam in January.  But despite having its own exam, Tokai required both scores in their application so Kenma was also duty-bound to still take that weekend-long exam in January.  Then, assuming he survived that hurdle, he would march straight ahead to the Spring High tournament the next weekend after that.  From there it was smooth sailing until March when he would graduate and move in with his boyfriend into a slightly bigger apartment somewhere… but he had to first overcome that wall in January.

He tried to do his due diligence on his schoolwork, study for all of his exams, and exert himself in volleyball practice.  Though his parents had offered to pay for cram school in the evenings, he simply didn’t have the time around practice and homework.  Well… he could make time.  But then he was sure he’d just go crazy before he could graduate.  Thankfully, they didn’t push the subject as his grades were already satisfactory.  His practice test scores ranked him well above average—secure enough that he wouldn’t get rejected from most places he applied—his additional studying was mostly to guarantee his current position, and maybe push for slightly higher rankings. 

Sometimes though, he sat in his room staring blankly at History or English, his brain fizzing and leaking out of his ears, and wondered just how on earth Kuroo had juggled being Captain and being in class five. 

In all the academic chaos, all he wanted was for Kuroo to come over in the evenings to keep him company.  Not to fool around, but to just be a comforting presence in his room like he always used to be.  Kuroo could read on his bed while Kenma studied for exams, and maybe they’d ask each other the occasional question or share a quiet laugh.  Instead, he had to relegate both his video games and chatting with Kuroo as low priority while the Tokai exam loomed ever nearer. 

Can I skip the parts with entrance exams and just be a college student already?

He texted Kuroo one night as his History notes vomited meaningless numbers at him.  His scores in math were high, he wasn’t bad with working numbers… he just didn’t want to memorize a bunch of random ones just because stuff happened.  Theory was better, he decided. 

Hahaha… I’d like that too.  What’s giving you trouble this time?

I just don’t like memorizing dates for history. 
Or names. 
Or places.

Which period?

Bakumatsu.

Oh come on, Kenma that is the single most overused period of history for dramas and anime and games!  (；￣Д￣）

I prefer fantasy games though.

I KNOW there are fantasy games that pull from the Bakumatsu period.  눈_눈

Also I don’t have time for games anymore. 
I haven’t touched any of my consoles in weeks.

My poor Kenma!
Are you in withdrawal?!  Dizzy spells??
Are you staying well hydrated???  (๑´•д • `๑)

Oh shut up.

Good luck next weekend~
I know you’re gonna do great!  (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ 

Whether he did great or not, he’d have to wait a month for the official results online.  Well… or he could make a copy of his answer sheet like the more diligent students so he could check his answers at home.  He cared about getting into Tokai a lot, but he wasn’t sure how obsessive he felt about knowing his score.  Checking his answers at home wouldn’t change them on the submitted answer sheet, and there were no such things as retakes.  But it might relieve his test score anxiety for a month, and that wasn’t nothing.  He sighed loudly and resent his first text.

Ughhhh can’t I just be a college student already?

On Tuesday afternoon practice, four days before the Tokai exam, Kenma asked Coach Nekomata permission to take the rest of the week off so that he would have extra time to study for his weekend test.  Of course, he was allowed, even a powerhouse school in athletics valued exams above all else.  Already they had seen less and less of Fukunaga at practices, though Taketora continued to put the team before all else, despite the pleas from his teachers. 

“Tokai, huh?  Isn’t that where Captain Kuroo is going?” Tora asked when Kenma told him about taking the rest of the week off. 

“Stop calling him ‘captain,’ he’s not your captain anymore.”  Kenma sighed.

“Habit.”

“And yes.”

“You two really are inseparable, huh?” Lev piped in, attaching himself to Kenma’s side.  “Best friends since birth following each other even through college… maybe I’ll apply to Tokai next year!”

Kenma made a face that sent half the team bursting into hysterics. 

“Just kidding!  I’m gonna go to Yaku’s school, probably.” 

“I didn’t think you were the pining kohai type…” Inuoka teased, while the other second and third years hooted. 

“Who’s Yaku?” Murata asked on behalf of the first years. 

“Someone who graduated last year, who kept this asshole in check,” Fukunaga muttered, pointing in Lev’s direction.  “And that one,” he added, pointing with his other hand to Taketora. 

“Don’t call your captain an asshole!!  You wanna go?!”

“Ah.  It’s the old Tora.” Kenma pointed, snapping a quick picture of the familiar yankee face.

“What the hell is that face?”

“Yikes!”

“He’s lost it!”

The first years huddled together, still not used to seeing their rambunctious captain in his yankee-attitude phase, while the upperclassmen merely shrugged.

“He used to be like that all the time, you know,” Kenma said casually, sending the image in a group text to all team members.  “Given the Mohawk, I feel like you guys shouldn’t be that surprised.”

“Got a problem with my Mohawk, vice-captain?” Tora sneered, jutting his chin out and sliding over to tug on Kenma’s ponytail.  “Hair this long with bleached ends, you stand out even more than I do.” 

Kenma glared over his shoulder.  It was a comment exactly like that that had made Kenma bleach his hair a year and a half prior, and now he knew it wasn’t true—nothing stood out more than that stupid Mohawk.  And now he was too lazy to bleach his hair again, especially at its new length. 

“Next time you come to practice, Sadako will be waiting,” Kenma threatened with narrowed eyes.

It was an inside joke that none of the others understood, but it made Taketora scream and shiver like a little girl, and that was what mattered, really.  Now with longer hair, the threat was even more effective. 

For someone who used to look for any excuse to skip practice, Kenma found himself wanting more than ever to be inside the gym again with the rest of his team, especially if it meant he wouldn’t have to continue studying for his exam.  He pondered taking a break by playing a game on his DS… but he knew once he got started he’d have a hard time stopping himself.  Games these days were excellent about coming up with excellent pause points in the plot that left you itching to continue straight on to the next one.  Instead he took his phone in hand, checking a few game apps that were time-dependent (much harder to be distracted by for long periods of time), before opening up his messages.  He had a few recent ones from Shouyou—mostly random updates—then a missed one from Akaashi. 

Good luck this weekend.  It read. 

Good luck to you too.

Ah, I’m… probably not taking the Tokai exam.
Parents want me to focus on other schools. 

Oh. 

Kenma stared at his phone in mild shock.  He was sure Akaashi would also want to go to Tokai given Bokuto… but clearly his parents were a bit more controlling than Kenma remembered. 

You should get back to studying. 
Good night, Kenma.

Good night, Akaashi.

Saturday night after the first day of the Tokai exam, Kenma trudged home with shoulders slumped, hair a mess, dragging his feet.  He probably looked exactly like Sadako in that moment (minus just a few minor details), but his outside visage only served to reflect how he felt on the inside.  He may have frightened a young schoolchild or two as he went on his way, but he sure felt like the dead and couldn’t be bothered by their little screams of terror.  Practice exams were different from the real thing, and his brain was fried.  He stopped by the station bakery on his way home, grabbing a slice of apple pie to go with his dinner—he deserved it—and resolved to do nothing before bed except relax and take a nice long bath before he did it all again tomorrow.  Weekend-long exams were an awful idea, and they tired him out more than any volleyball game or training camp ever could.  At least volleyball was fun. 

He kicked off his shoes in the doorway, muttering a quiet, I’m home, and was shocked to hear a voice that was definitely not his mother’s reply,

“Welcome home, Kenma!”

He looked up with wide eyes to see Kuroo standing in his house with arms wide open and that stupid smile on his face.  Kenma was so glad he could cry. 

“Kuro…”

“Your mom stepped out for a bit, but I brought you apple pie since I figured you’d be tired from the exam—it’s murder, I remember—and, what’s in your hand?”

“Apple pie that I bought for myself because I’m tired from the exam—it’s murder, I now know.” 

It took a moment before they both started snickering.  The only problem with surprise visits was that they really did know each other a little too well. 

“Ok one for today, one for tomorrow then.  Come on.”

Kuroo held out his hand and Kenma practically lunged into him, wrapping his arms tight around Kuroo’s waist and burrowing his face into his neck.  He was big and warm and comfy, and smelled and felt like home.  Not even the apple pie would be worth it after a comfort like this. 

“You ok?” Kuroo asked softly, running his hands slowly through Kenma’s hair and coaxing out some of the tangles the setter had made while scratching furiously at his head over exam questions. 

“Mmhmm… I’m good now.”  Kenma mumbled into his collar, nuzzling slightly. 

“It’s good to recharge, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

After a few more minutes, Kenma released him, and padded over to the kitchen table, unwrapping his apple pie and taking a bite before pulling out leftovers from the fridge.  Kuroo had left a book on the table—a literature (history?) book by Koizumi Yakumo—a name he didn’t recognize.  It seemed like Kuroo was always reading something or another for his classes.  He hoped it was more interesting than the material he had to read for school.  Out of the fridge, Kenma pulled out day-old curry, pouring some into a bowl with a ladle before microwaving it.  There was always warm rice in the rice cooker, thankfully, and he settled down at the table with his plate and a spoon just as Kuroo sat down with two glasses of water, one for each. 

“I won’t ask you about the exam, since that’s the last thing I know you want to talk about, so how’s school and how’s practice?”

“School’s fine, I skipped out on practice after Tuesday so I could study a little more.  Oh, Taketora slipped into yankee mode by mistake in front of the first years.” He pulled out his phone and showed Kuroo the blurry snapshot he had taken. 

“I can’t believe he’s kept that under wraps for this long—can’t they tell from the Mohawk?”

“That’s what I said, but they’ve only ever seen him as the responsible captain… making speeches about sportsmanship at training camp.  Plus every time he was with that baldy from Karasuno I think the first years weren’t around.” 

“Incredible.” 

“How’s practice for you?”

“Mm… it’s started to pick up pace a little bit since we’re only three months away from the national intercollegiate tournament.  It’s not nearly as big a deal as the Spring High, though.  Anyway, we’re scheduling more and more practice matches in the coming weeks, so I’ll have more and more weekends away.  Well, most of them come to us, especially from other prefectures… But you’d think the biggest event coming up was Bokuto’s birthday given how he won’t shut up about it.”

Kenma smiled around a bite of his curry—Kuroo hated that Bokuto was technically older. 

“Not as big as the Spring High, you said?”

“High school sports have always been a bigger deal than college sports, just look at Koushien.” 

Kenma had always assumed that the reason he hadn’t heard much about competitions at the college level was because he was currently in high school.  So naturally, he would mostly hear about high school level competitions.  A part of him had always thought playing at the college level was a really big deal, Kuroo had some tuition paid for by athletics scholarships even… and wasn’t it supposed to be the gateway to going pro? 

“Well, even if volleyball is a glorified hobby at this point, I’m having fun anyway.” Kuroo smirked.  “I never wanted to go pro, I just like playing.”

“Shouyou talks about going pro all the time, and how he’s going to be the best in all Japan.” 

“Has he gotten any taller or gotten any better with his receives?”

“His receives are a little better.” 

“Better than nothing.  I could see that genius setter of his going pro, for sure, don’t rightly know the chances for the little guy.” 

Kenma chewed his curry in silence.  He mostly agreed with Kuroo, but he would never tell Shouyou the same.  For his part, he would continue to hope that Shouyou could actually make something of himself in pro volleyball.  If or when he did, Kenma would be sure to watch his games. 

At that moment, Mrs. Kozume returned home, her arms laden with bags of groceries.  Kuroo went to go help, taking the heaviest bags and bringing them to the kitchen for her while she gushed over how helpful he was and what a good man he had grown to be, and if only Kenma could learn a thing or two from him. 

“Oh, Kenma, you’re home!”

“Yes, and I heard that.”

“Oh good, you’re eating the curry.  How was the exam?”  She smiled, changing the subject hastily. 

Kenma shoved a large spoonful of curry-soaked rice into his mouth in reply, cheeks bulging as he chewed slowly and deliberately. 

“Goodness, that bad?”

“He’s just tired, I think.  Those exams test your endurance as much as they test your knowledge of anything.  But if he does well on the Tokai one, he should be fine for the Center exam later on.”  Kuroo laughed as he opened up a bag to assist with putting things away. 

“Thank you for helping, Kuroo, oh, you can put the soba in that cabinet.  Yes, you remember.”  She gave her second son an affectionate pat on his shoulder.  “Well, Tokai comes by your recommendation, so I hope it all goes well.  I’m sure the two of you would love to attend the same school again.  Really, both Mrs. Kuroo and I are surprised by how well the two of you have stayed in touch.” 

“Ah… well,” Kuroo scratched his head.  “We’re practically family, so…”

Kenma was glad Kuroo had said ‘family’ instead of brothers.  One had slightly more open-ended implications than the other. 

“Mom,” Kenma started.  “If I get accepted into Tokai, you wouldn’t mind my moving out, right?”

The kitchen fell silent, wide eyes turning toward Kenma.  Kuroo’s expression seemed to scream, Really?  Is now the best time for this discussion?  His mother’s expression was mostly shock. 

“Oh… um.  Well… This is something we should really discuss with your father too, Kenma, but… we can take a look at the finances, and…”

“I’ll work.  And if I move in with Kuro, we’d each only be paying half the rent.” 

“You can’t just spring that on him like that, I know you and Kuroo are friends, but—“

“We’ve talked.  He’s okay with it.” 

She looked to a flustered Kuroo, who could only nod silently to confirm Kenma’s statement, swallowing nervously.  He feared that anything he said might come out wrong and turn into some twisted version of, yes, I’m stealing your son away.

“Like I said, we’ll talk it over with your father.” 

Kenma was impatient for an answer now, and it showed by the way he returned to his meal, practically inhaling the rest of it as fast as he could before he grabbed his apple pie and huffed,

“I’m gonna take my pie upstairs.” 

Kuroo followed soon after, giving a polite smile to Mrs. Kozume and grabbing his book before going upstairs and quietly closing the door behind him in Kenma’s room.  The boy was slumped over his desk, picking at his pie with his fork. 

“Kenma, don’t sulk.” 

“I’m pretty sure we’re fine on money, I don’t know why she wouldn’t just say yes.”  Kenma mumbled.

“You did kind of spring it on her… and it’s not exactly a small topic.”  Kuroo tried to reason.  “There are some things you can’t get an immediate answer for.”

Kenma brought a small, mushed lump of pie slowly to his pouting lips. 

“Why not?” 

“Because they’re big and complicated,” Kuroo sighed, leaning against Kenma’s desk with his arms crossed.  “You have to give her some time to think about it.”

“It feels like you’re taking her side.”

“I’m not, because she hasn’t picked a side yet.  At least try to empathize with your mom’s feelings a bit.”

“How?  I don’t know what she’s feeling.”

“You’re her baby, Kenma.  Her only son, and one that hasn’t really shown signs of independence excepting the past… six months?  She’s protective, like any mom, and she’s going to need—I’ll say it again—time to adjust to the idea of you moving out from under her roof.”

Kenma frowned and picked at the flaky crust of his pie.  He didn’t like it when Kuroo took that scolding tone with him.  It made their miniscule age difference infinitely wider and made the younger boy feel… well, younger.  Lesser. 

“Did your mom do that?”

“Pfft, no.  But mama Kuroo has never been the coddling type.  Except with you, since she adores you.”  Kuroo walked over to Kenma’s desk, running his hand gently through the long strands of his hair.  “Just give it a few days or so.  And eat your pie properly, little brat.” 

“I’m tired, Kuro.” He whispered, and it had nothing to do with eating his pie.  “I think I’m stressed.”

“I know you are.” Kuroo chuckled.

“I just wanna sleep until March.”  Kenma mumbled into his sleeve. 

“You can’t sleep until March, but you can go to bed early tonight.” 

Kuroo’s voice was soft and soothing, and the hand in his hair was just so mollifying… Kenma could fall asleep right there on his desk. 

“Are you gonna stay with me?” 

“Yeah.  Come on, at least put on your pajamas before you pass out on me.” 

Kenma was going to mumble something about not being a child and that he didn’t need to be reminded to put his pajamas on… except right now, all he had done this evening was prove exactly how immature he really was.  He might not have stormed out of the kitchen with an indignant huff and a loud slam of the door, but he hadn’t given any thought to his mother’s feelings like Kuroo had, and…

“If we move in together,” Kenma mumbled, having put on his pajamas and climbing into bed.  “I’m gonna take care of you too, you know.”  He would try to not let things get so one-sided so often. 

“We’ll take care of each other,” Kuroo corrected.  “Now sleep.  You mind if I leave the little lamp on so I can read?” 

“No.” 

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” Kuroo murmured, kissing his forehead tenderly. 

Kenma fell asleep tucked into Kuroo’s side, while he sat up reading with his back against the headboard, warm and comfortable… if only they could fall asleep every night like that… but in the morning, when Kenma’s alarm went off reminding him of his second day of Tokai exams, Kuroo was no longer in his bed, and he woke up cold and irritated.  There was a note from his mother on the desk about having a family discussion that night, and a message on his phone from Kuroo wishing him luck and promising to see him after his dinner discussion with his family.  Apparently, everyone had decided the day’s schedule while he had been sound asleep.  But if Kuroo knew about the evening’s plans, the results would probably be favorable.  Or at least, Kenma needed to think so if he were to have any hope of surviving the remainder of his exam.

Except, it turned out that the second day wasn’t nearly as difficult as the first since it had been more math and science heavy where the previous day had been literature and history.  So Kenma left the test center feeling oddly rejuvenated and not nearly as exhausted as the day before.  A bit of saving grace, he supposed.  No schoolchildren to frighten on his way home today.

At home, he found their parents arranging the dinner table together, greeting him as he arrived, and remarking that dinner was just about ready.  It was a bit of an odd sight—Kenma didn’t see much of his father—like most Japanese children in nuclear families, and he certainly never saw him in the kitchen bustling about and helping set the table.  This either meant something wonderful or something awful was about to happen.  So he went upstairs to drop off his bag, sending a few quick texts to Kuroo.

I’m home.
The exam went much better today than yesterday.
Dad’s in the kitchen, helping. 
It’s weirding me out.

Glad to hear the exam went better today!   (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑
I am also in the kitchen.  Not yours, mine.  Sort of helping.
Except I keep messing up and my mom’s probably about to kick me out of here soon.

Since when do you help cook?

Since I moved out and realized I need to learn to make more food than just omelet rice and instant noodles. 

True.

Cooking is haaarrrrrrddddd!!!   (;﹏;)

I believe in you.

His mother called from downstairs then, and he shoved his phone into his pocket before heading down, his parents already seated at the table.

“It’s all your favorites, Kenma!” his mom said with a flourish. 

“Good work this weekend, Kenma.” His father said with a firm nod. 

Kenma nervously took his seat, eyeing his parents with suspicion—they were being too nice, and this behavior was largely unprecedented, so it made him wary.  Were they being extra nice because they were about to give him bad news, or were they being extra nice to amplify good news? 

“Oh stop looking at us like that,” his mother chided, passing him a bowl of rice.  “Yes, we’re going to talk about what you brought up last night, and no, you’re not in trouble or anything so please relax.” 

“Mostly, I’m just surprised you want to,” his father added.  “You always seemed the type to never want to leave home.” 

“And of course, I may have encouraged that in you a bit…” his mother flushed. 

“But really, we’re glad to see you growing up and thinking ahead about these things.  I’m proud of your achievements in school.  I know how dedicated you are to volleyball, but you never once let your grades slip, and I might never have said what a relief that is, but I’m glad for it.” 

“Th-thank you…” Kenma murmured, his hands fidgeting in his lap.  He didn’t have a bad relationship with his father or anything, but the sudden and exuberant praise still felt bizarre. 

“That doesn’t mean I agree with this long-hair look you’re going for…” his father smirked, sipping at his tea. 

“In any case, I’m always gonna be a little sad to think about you leaving, but you’ll be an adult sooner than I can picture it, and of course we’ll support you.”  Mrs. Kozume added hurriedly, bowing her head sadly toward the end of her statement and also fidgeting with her hands in her lap. 

“Thanks, mom.  Dad.” 

“Now there’s just one thing,” his father warned.  “I know you want to move in with Kuroo, and financially, that’s a smart decision for two young men trying to live in the city.  But you’ve always depended on that boy, maybe a little more than is good for you, and I need to be sure that you’re not just following that boy off to college just because you’ve trailed behind him your whole life.” 

His mother sighed, obviously bothered by the harshness of those words but unable to disagree. 

Kenma was slightly taken aback, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.  His whole life he had depended on Kuroo, and plenty of people around him had told him so, including his team.  Independence, he reminded himself.  They wanted to know that he could be self-sufficient with or without Kuroo. 

“I know I haven’t always led my own life,” he started slowly.  “And Kuro’s done a lot to take care of me as my friend… and I know you think I only started playing volleyball because of him, and maybe when we were kids, that was true.  But I play for me now because I really enjoy it… and even if I gave it a chance because Kuro asked me to, it was my choice to keep playing.  In the end, I won’t do something that I really don’t want to do.”

“Well that’s true,” his father laughed.  “Pretty sure, ‘I don’t want to’ were your first words.”

“After ‘mama,’” his mother had to add. 

“Tokai has a good program at its Takanawa campus for computer science, telecommunications engineering, and programming.  I’ve been thinking of making a career out of that.” Kenma pressed his luck.

“Have you now?” his mother asked with wide eyes. 

Yes, Kenma thought.  In the past five minutes.

“I’m good with computers, my best subject is math, and I wouldn’t have even know about that program if it hadn’t been for Kuro…  But Kuro’s studying something else entirely.  Yeah, he’s still helping me a lot.  But this is also something that I want to do for myself.”  He studied his parents carefully, seeing how the surprise in his mother’s eyes shifted into pride and adoration, while his father pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded slowly. 

“All right then.”  Mr. Kozume said at last, his sharp eyes finally softening.  “You’ve gone and grown into a man while I wasn’t looking, and now it’s too late for me to even try and stop you.”  His words were rough, but spoken with deep affection.  “Now, let’s eat.  Food’s getting cold.” 

His mother reached across the table to squeeze his hand gently, her smile a little more strained than her husband’s, but still very full of love.  Apparently, when Kuroo had told him to give it time, he didn’t mean weeks so much as at least one night, and now Kenma felt a little silly for getting so impatient the night before.  He might have just convinced his parents he was ready to be a man, but he felt like a child more than ever sitting beside them at the dinner table, and he tried not to look at his mother’s trembling hands or the strain in his father’s jaw. 

After dinner, he threw on a hoodie and stepped out for some fresh air.  Standing in front of Kuroo’s door, he texted,

I’m outside.

Kuroo met him downstairs in about two minutes, throwing a light jacket over his shoulders and huffing,

“What’s up?”

“They said I can move in with you.”

“See?  I told you it’d all be fine.”  Kuroo smiled, pinching his cheek. 

“So, it’s finally happening,” Kenma whispered.

“Well not just yet, you still have to graduate.  And win the Spring High.” 

“Yeah, but… after that.” 

“Yeah.  After that.” 

Kuroo’s grin was wide and beaming, and it took Kenma a few seconds to realize he was mirroring Kuroo’s exact expression.  He touched his own face in disbelief before laughing aloud.  Soon Kenma’s giggles had infected Kuroo, who started laughing along with him in the street, and resisted every urge to pull the boy in for a kiss—they were both still standing in front of their parents’ houses after all. 

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Kenma sorely wanted (besides to be already living with Kuroo and playing the new Yokai Watch game), it was a vacation after that stressful weekend.  But ever since summer had ended, he had hit the ground running and knew he would be unable to pause until graduation was actually upon him.  The end of September passed by in some muddled haze of schoolwork and extra practices to prepare for the Tokyo prefectural playoff matches… and then it was the beginning of October, the weather was suddenly cooler, and he was pulling his winter uniform out of the depths of his closet. 

His calendar for the first half of October was mostly full of scheduled extra practices, but the third weekend of it looked comically busy.  The 16^th, his birthday, happened to fall on the Friday before the weekend of the playoff matches.  He could potentially turn eighteen then receive a fantastic present from the forces that govern the universe in the form of Nekoma advancing to Nationals… or he could turn eighteen and suffer one of the biggest disappointments of his last year in high school.  Oh, and the official exam results of the Tokai exam were due to be released that weekend too, so he would either be doubly blessed or doubly disappointed.  Kenma didn’t think it was quite fair for everything to pile up on him at once like that, but fate was a bit of a cruel mistress. 

At least the first weekend held the excitement of a practice match with Karasuno.  He would enjoy a trip to Miyagi and a change of scenery.  Plus he could finally give Shouyou some of the clothes he’d grown out of.  Most of them had been discarded or donated, but the ones in best condition that suited Shouyou’s style he had kept set aside in a small duffle bag for the trip. 

Time for another battle at the Garbage Heap!!!
Hope your team is ready for a trouncing, Kenma!

Kenma awoke Saturday morning at the ass-crack of dawn, jostling around in the Nekoma volleyball team bus to the above texts from Shouyou.  He groaned at the bright glare of his smartphone screen and wondered if the boy ever slept—he didn’t know how Shouyou woke up so early all the time and always so full of energy.  Surely the boy was running some sort of nuclear fission core inside of him instead of normal human physiology.  Kenma checked the time blearily on his phone.  Based on the time they had left the night before, they were almost there.  Around him, various teammates snored in their seats, including Coach Nekomata, who snored loudest of all—big, gulping, ugly snorts with an irregular rhythm. 

My team is asleep on the bus.  Like you should be. 
Why are you awake right now?

I’m always super excited for practice matches, so I get up extra early for them!
Kageyama’s awake too. 
We went for a morning run.  Race.  I won. 

Kenma’s sleep-muddled brain conjured a mental image of the two of them running laps all around the whole of Miyagi prefecture, maybe also screaming at each other about not losing.  Just thinking about it made him exhausted.

I’m going back to sleep, I will see you in probably an hour or less. 

Okay! 
Kageyama and I are gonna practice some tosses in the meantime. 
See you soon! 

Unfortunately, now that he had been woken up, he couldn’t fall back asleep on the shakey bus with all of its snoring inhabitants.  There was no way Kuroo would be awake for texting at this hour, though…  He contemplated playing a game on his phone to pass the time when the bus started to turn off the main road, going slower speeds and turning more corners until they were pulling to a stop in front of Karasuno high school.  The change in momentum was enough to wake up about half the bus, who took it upon themselves to wake up the other half.  Coach Nekomata was the last to be gently shaken awake by his young assistant coach, and then a half-asleep, sore-necked team got off the bus, Taketora giving instructions at half his usual volume, most of his words slurring together into an unintelligible jumble. 

Shouyou and Kageyama had been practicing their tosses near the small parking lot where the bus had pulled up, so they dashed immediately over, bowing fervidly and screaming GOOD MORNING into all of their ears. 

“We can show you to where you’re staying tonight—“ Kageyama started, but was cut off suddenly by—

“UWOOHHHHH!!!” Hinata was jumping in place, eyes wide and pointing wildly at Kenma. 

“Shut up, Hinata!  Idiot!  Jeez, can’t you focus for two seconds—“

“Kenma!!!” he shouted, drawing suddenly very very close while everyone around him covered their ears and grumbled.  “Kenma, you seriously got taller!!!  Wow!!!  You’re like… almost as tall as Kageyama now!!!”

Kenma covered his ears along with his teammates and grimaced.  So loud…

“Shouyou… I texted you this already…”

“I know!  But texting about it and seeing it are totally different things!  Plus your hair—Jeeeeeez… I’m super jealous now!!”

“KENMA!!!”
“HINATA!!!”

Taketora and Kageyama bellowed in almost unison.

“If you two wouldn’t mind,” Taketora continued.  “We need to finish unloading the bus and take our futons and bags over to our room!” 

“Sorry, captain Mohawk!!!”  Hinata screeched, darting back over to Kageyama’s side.

“…sorry…” Kenma mumbled, though none of the disturbance had really been his fault. 

Eventually the bus was unloaded, which took a little longer than usual since everyone was moving at a very sleep-deprived pace, and the Nekoma team managed to haul up their belongings and settle them into their room.  The first and second years tried diligently to unfold and arrange the futons, which was proving difficult since Lev had sprawled himself over the pile of softness as soon as they had set them down for two seconds. 

Kamikawa shuffled over to Kenma’s futon, a little more awake than most. 

“What time was our practice match again?”

“I think we agreed on 9 am.”

“Okay.  So why are Hinata and Kageyama—“

“They’re just like that.  We’ll see the rest of the Karasuno team actually at 9.” Taketora grunted, morning grump lines creasing his forehead.  “We’ll finish setting up here, grab breakfast down the road, light warm-up.” 

“Yes, Captain,” Kamikawa nodded, before plodding back off toward the other first years. 

Hours later, at a time when other normal people were awake, the crows and the cats lined up opposite each other outside the gym, bowed and said their greetings, their coaches shook hands, and their games commenced. 

Practice matches against Karasuno were always challenging—their tactics seemed to be frequently changing, sometimes even reckless and ill-advised.  More than anything, they were relentless.  Whatever the differences, the crows were still largely based on offense.  Omnivores, Coach Nekomata liked to remind them.  Nekoma’s specialty was to never let the ball drop, but their offensive measures paled in the face of Karasuno’s varied arsenal.  Their one cannon, Murata, scored a fair number of points with powerful service aces Nekoma had never brought to the table before, but it didn’t take long before the Karasuno libero (now Vice-Captain) was receiving them with fervor.  As the first game crawled to a thirty-point deuce, Kenma could feel exhaustion weighing him down, though it was clear to his ever-observant eyes that it was probably just a warm-up for Shouyou.  Most of the volleys crossed the net several times before a point was scored, and Kenma’s stamina had never been his strong suit.  But after a well-timed straight spike from Taketora and a follow-up serve-block combo from Murata and Lev, Nekoma finally took the first set. 

After that, they all very much required a break before continuing, and both teams sat slumped over on benches or on the floor, panting raggedly and gulping down bottles of water.  Kenma eyed the Karasuno team across the gym, mostly surveying their new first years.  It was easy enough to get distracted by Hinata when on the court—that was, after all, his main function for his team—but there was definitely a reason why they were all grinning like idiots after having just lost the first set.  There appeared to be five new first years for the Karasuno team, and three of them hadn’t appeared on the court yet though the other two had proven themselves surprisingly consistent so far.  Their wild-looking coach was mumbling about something or another, and their entire team had those intense eyes that Shouyou sometimes had—looks that threatened to eat them alive if they weren’t careful.  Omnivores, Kenma’s mind echoed.

“Be ready for anything,” Kenma said to his team, who always turned to him attentively.  “I think… maybe the first set was just them playing around.” 

“Mann… those guys get trickier every single game we play!” Lev whined, draping his towel over his neck. 

“It’s only been a few months since the training camp, too…” Shibayama added, rubbing at his forearms.  They were really making him earn his libero jersey, that was for sure. 

“There’s something in the water here, probably,” Murata joked with a sneer. 

“Ohh, if that’s it, let’s all drink lots and lots of tap water tonight!” Lev perked up considerably. 

“You’re all gonna make yourselves sick doing something ridiculous like that!” Tora yelled. 

But Kenma’s eyes never left the Karasuno team.

Kamikawa started out the second set in Kenma’s place, steadily playing the game until the score was about seventeen points in, in Karasuno’s favor.  Unfortunately, something about Wataru’s form was a little off today, and he couldn’t quite get into the swing of the game.  He made a couple of bad calls on tossing, and the one dump shot he attempted was easily read and countered by the tall blond middle blocker with glasses… what did Kuroo call him?  Tsukki.  At the point where Kamikawa was starting to get really frustrated, Kenma switched out with him, and Karasuno rotated Hinata back in. 

Their eyes met across the net, and Kenma felt something coil in his stomach, making his spine tingle.  Fear?  Anticipation?  Or maybe it was excitement.  And maybe his team felt it, the way their setter brimmed with energy—the beating heart of the team—they felt the way his heart beat faster, pumping their blood faster… Nekoma was flexibility, it was teamwork.  There were no genius players, no individual who stood above the others, but they were the truest definition of a team. 

That wasn’t always enough though.

Karasuno took the second set from them after a ruthless series of attacks and offensives that came with a ferocity Nekoma could not match.  Their coordination—connected as they were—could not endure Karasuno’s overwhelming stamina.  Was that Shouyou’s doing?  Kenma had to wonder.

Three sets, four… it wasn’t even about victory by the end of the day, it was about staying on their feet.

And while the Nekoma team struggled to catch their breath afterward, Hinata turned toward them with a wide smile and a face dripping with sweat, shouting,

“One more time!”

The entire gym groaned and several projectiles went flying toward the redhead: bottles, towels, spare volleyballs…  Even Kageyama wasn’t having any of it.

Dinner took the two teams to a yakiniku place, where they drove the restaurant manager insane with their rowdiness and disgusted him by how much food they could stuff into their mouths.  Somehow, all of the first years from both teams had ended up at a separate table, and from what Kenma could overhear, they were basically gossiping about their respective upperclassmen when not discussing the earlier games.  Kenma wasn’t paying all that much attention to their banter—he had cats to feed in his app.

Eventually, Shouyou slid into Kenma’s booth, sitting beside him on his bench and stealing Kenma’s extra meat while he resumed gushing about Kenma’s new height and appearance. 

“You kind of look like these idols that Natsu’s really into right now, especially with the hair.”  Shouyou said around mouthfuls of meat. 

“I don’t know anything about idols,” Kenma sighed.  “I brought those extra clothes for you, by the way.” 

“Oh!  Thanks!”  Thankfully, the boy swallowed before opening his mouth wide with a grin.

“They’re back on campus in our room, I’ll give them to you after.” 

“And how’d you do on that exam you were stressing about?”

“I don’t know yet.  Official scores come out in a couple of weeks.” Kenma grumbled, fiddling with his hair.

“During playoffs?!”  Hinata screeched.

“Pretty sure.”

“Uwaahhh… that would make me so nervous though!” the boy squirmed, clutching his stomach. 

“You get nervous before matches anyway, dumbass.” Kageyama joined in, never all that far behind, really.  The Karasuno setter slid into the booth opposite them, snatching a cooked piece of meat off of Hinata’s plate.  Kenma got the impression Kageyama chased Shouyou around like a puppy.  A very grumpy, scary puppy... but one that imprinted quite strongly.  

“But now I don’t throw up anymore.”  Hinata batted Kageyama’s chopsticks away with his own.

“Kozume—“ Kageyama suddenly turned his attention to Kenma then, and the Nekoma setter recoiled some into the booth.

“Just Kenma is fine…”

“Kenma-senpai.” 

“Y-yeah?”

“I was very impressed with how you rallied your team today during the second set.”

“Huh?”

“There was a moment, where your aura sort of… shifted… and went… gwaahhh… and then suddenly your entire team was going gwoohhh with you…”

“Can you speak in words that I can understand?” 

“Oh man, I felt that too!” Hinata chimed in.  “Like a bunch of cats about to hiss and snarl and pounce, like ugyaaahhhhh!”

“Anyway,” Kageyama continued, his fist on the table, expression serious.  “Do you have any advice on how I can also focus my team with my aura?!”

“I… I really have no idea what you’re talking about, Kageyama…”

“Trying to steal our setter’s secrets, Kageyama?!” Lev slid into the booth beside Kageyama, stealing a piece of meat from Hinata’s plate.  “Don’t tell him anything Kenma, not a word!”

“Like I said… it’s not really a secret—“

“If it’s not a secret, then you can teach me, can’t you?” Kageyama pressed.

“Kenma, don’t say anything!” Lev held out a spoonful of rice, trying to shove it into Kenma’s mouth and help him preserve some measure of secrecy. 

“LEV!!!” Taketora roared from two booths over, seated beside Tanaka.  “What are you doing to Kenma?!?”

“I’m trying to protect his secrets, captain!” 

Kenma shrank down into the booth, mortified, and pulled his hair into his face (the longer hair was really useful for that), and Shouyou laughed giddily while stealing the remaining meat off the burner and subsequently scorching his mouth with it.  Kageyama was still trying to catch Kenma’s attention from the other side of the table, wrestling around Lev’s long, spindly arms, but eventually that all subsided when the first years began going around, collecting group selfies from everyone.  Even the coaches obliged within reason, and they all took a final picture at the end of the evening of everyone altogether in front of the yakiniku restaurant.  Afterwards, the teams thanked the owner of the shop profusely, both pairs of captains and vice captains bowing their heads low in apology for the noise. 

Shouyou came over to the Nekoma room later in the evening, bringing an entourage of first years.  It was mostly to collect the clothes Kenma had brought for him, but he also wanted to hang out for a bit and ask Kenma about the horrors of being a third-year high school student. 

“Really?  You took time off practice to study?” 

“Most third years do… unless you plan on playing volleyball in college and you get scouted early.  Then your scores don’t matter quite so much.” 

“So I just need to get scouted then!” 

Kenma wanted to say something along the lines of, it’s not quite that simple, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.  Not to Shouyou.  Not when he was looking at him with that face. 

“Better catch up in the height department then.”  He said instead with a smile. 

“What did you eat over the summer?  You weren’t this tall at the training camp, and then you just—GYUUUU!!!”

“Oi!!  Keep it down!” Taketora screeched at equal volume. 

“Anyway, your birthday’s coming up, right?” Shouyou changed the subject immediately, shifting into a quieter voice, almost a whisper. 

Hunching over, as if he had a secret to tell, he pulled out from his pocket a small package (poorly wrapped), and passed it into Kenma’s hands. 

“There’s one in there for you and one for Kuroo, since you mentioned his birthday was soon too.  Oh, and Tsukishima said something about telling you to tell Kuroo that he vaguely remembered his birthday?  I dunno, it was really round-about and Yamaguchi wouldn’t explain it… I think Tsukishima wants to wish Kuroo a happy birthday, but like… he’s not happy about it?”

Kenma hid a chuckle behind his hand.  He’d have to text Kuroo tonight about that so he wouldn’t forget.  Birthday wishes from a rival team’s kohai—Kuroo had to be at least a little flattered about that.  Especially when it was from someone as prickly as Tsukki.

“Thanks, Shouyou.  Sorry I forgot your birthday this summer…  I’ll mail you something later.”

“Oh I thought the clothes were for my birthday.”

“But… they’re my old—I’ll just mail you something, okay?” 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KENMA!!!!

Happy birthday, vice-captain!

KENMAAAAA HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY~!!

Happy birthday, Kenma!

Congrats on turning 18!!!

Happy birthdayyyyyyyyy

Happy birthday to you you you!!!

On the somewhat nippy morning of October 16^th, Kozume Kenma, now eighteen years of age, vaguely considered chucking his phone out the window, or at the very least turning it off for the rest of the day.  Shouyou had been the first one to text him at some ungodly hour of the morning, and his teammates were quick to follow suit as they each woke up in turn for morning practice.  Kuroo was actually the last one to text, when Kenma was almost all the way to school. 

Happy birthday, Kenma~ 
Sending you all my love on your special dayyyy   (๑♡3♡๑)
I tried to get time off but the schedule got wonky, but I’m gonna try to make it to your playoff games! 
Miss you, love you, don’t eat too much pie!  (♡ ὅ ◡ ὅ )ʃ♡

You’re late.
Shouyou was first to text me.

That little bastard!    (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

Honestly, the whole team texted me before you too.
Shouyou got us matching phone charms though as a joint gift. 

He sent a picture.  One charm was a white calico cat with a somewhat bored expression that apparently ‘looked like Kenma’ and the other was a solid black cat with a very obviously mischievous grin that Kenma agreed ‘looked like Kuroo.’  Kenma had stuck the calico on his phone as was intended and stuck the black cat onto his bag for the time being. 

Damn it, now I HAVE to love the little bastard.
I get the calico, right?

But the calico is me. 
The black cat is you.

I know, that’s the point.  I don’t want to have meeee, I want to have you! 
So give me the calico. 
Then it’s like I’ll always have you with me, and you’ll always have me with you.   ( •⌄• ू )✧

…fine.

When Kuroo put it that way, he basically couldn’t say no. 

But Kenma could still say no to the swarm of his teammates trying to dogpile him in the locker rooms before morning practice.  With a grace and speed that he never used on the courts, he dodged all of their advances (especially Lev’s) and changed into his uniform in a nearby bathroom instead, rushing to the gym to avoid the tidal wave of congratulations. 

Except they weren’t going to let him off the hook quite so easily.  With the prefectural playoffs the next day and the day after, afternoon practice had been canceled in favor of letting everyone get some rest.  This meant that the morning practice was their only opportunity to harass him.  Every single toss that Kenma passed well, and this meant every.  Single.  Toss… his teammates would loudly cheer and high-five him, attempt hugs… it eventually got so exhausting that Kenma switched out with Kamikawa and asked to sit out the rest of practice in peace.  The coaches were understanding about it, too amused by it all to be bothered.  Eventually the team started to cheer on Kenma for whenever Kamikawa did something well, shouting, all thanks to Kenma!, and shooting thumbs up at him at every turn.  And Kamikawa—that little rascal—was encouraging it all.

No afternoon practice also meant that the team had decided morning celebrations were just fine.  At the end of practice, they cornered him so he couldn’t escape, blocked off all of his favored escape routes, then showered him with gifts and sweets and loudly sang him the Happy Birthday song until he was about as red as his uniform… After which, they were all subsequently late to their first classes. 

He texted Kuroo about it on his walk home after school.

The team decided we would have birthday celebrations during morning practice and then we were all late to class. 
Plus they wouldn’t stop trying to high-five me or ambush me with hugs throughout the day. 

I’m so proud of them.

It’s worse than when you were around.

Well, I told Taketora to do me proud.  (•́⌄•́๑)૭✧

…was this all your doing?

Now now, Kenma!
I wasn’t there, remember? 
How was I supposed to be able to control how they would interpret my instructions to make your birthday special? 

Kenma glared at his message window, contemplating the best way to get back at Kuroo for his absolutely exhausting day, when he received an entirely different text from his mother. 

Checked the mail and found your Tokai exam scores inside!
I haven’t opened it yet, so hurry home, okay?

Well that was ominous. 

Mom says my Tokai exam scores are here. 

Great! 

I don’t know if I want to know those results today.

Why not?

I have playoffs tomorrow.  If I failed, I’m not going to be in the best condition for the game.

But if you passed (which I know you did), then you’ll be in even better condition tomorrow!
Besides, won’t you be anxious by not knowing? 
Like… it’ll be hanging over your head?

…

It’ll be fiiiiine. 
Trust me.
I’ve never been wrong yet.   ( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!!

But whether or not Kenma wanted to see his score, his mother wasn’t going to let him keep it a secret for more than five minutes after he returned home.  She shoved the results into his hand then hovered behind him, peeking over his shoulder as he held the envelope between shaking fingers, gently ripping it open and slowly unfolding the papers inside. 

He passed.

His mother shrieked with delight and held him tight, arms wrapped painfully around his neck, but Kenma just stared at his score, eyes wide.  He had passed.  And his score had been pretty decent, at that.  He almost couldn’t process it.  If the path to his future were a locked door, like in games, this was the key to opening one of the padlocks.  And he held it firm in the palm of his hand.

He texted a snapshot of the paper to Kuroo.

See?  I told you it’d be fine.

Stop being so smug about it.

Now go win the playoffs.   (۶•̀ᴗ•́)۶

Kenma had always found the old team chant embarrassing, but that had never stopped Kuroo from reciting it before every game.  Calmly, purposefully, he had drilled it into the team’s head that their setter Kozume Kenma was the brain of their team, and that brain needed proper blood flow to function.  And once the brain knew what to do, he and the other players would serve as the body and the limbs, carrying out the commanding will.  Kuroo didn’t know if the team continued to say the chant without him—he hoped they did—Taketora in any case should be able to remember the whole thing.  But chant or no, Kuroo watched with pride from the stands as Kenma strode out onto the court, leading his players—posture finally fixed a little, thank goodness—and taking his place as the head of their scarlet-clad team.  He could see what an excellent mood the setter was in, his condition surely at its peak, and it manifested in the rest of the team.  They’d start their semi-final playoff match with fangs bared. 

In another section of the crowd, a young girl with enormous pigtails led the Nekoma cheering squad, and Kuroo chanted along quietly to himself.  He might have sat with them if not for—

“Nekoma’s looking good,” Bokuto whistled beside him.  “Good and strong.”  He clapped Kuroo on the shoulder, eyeing Kenma as the team lined up for serve-receives. 

“Kenma got a good score on his Tokai entrance exam.” Kuroo smirked.

“For real?  Well no wonder then!”  Bokuto clapped his hands along with the Nekoma cheering squad. 

“Now he just has to win this weekend.”

“Hey now.  They’re gonna go up against Fukurodani tomorrow—“

“If Fukurodani wins their match today—“

“Hey!”

Unluckily, Fukurodani had been paired with Itachiyama for their semi-finals match later in the afternoon, and a power school was a power school, regardless of the famous aces that came and went with the times.  Itachiyama had won the Interhigh games for Tokyo prefecture earlier in the year and were still a force to be reckoned with, Sakusa or no. 

From Kuroo’s vantage point, there was no way Nekoma could lose their match.  He could almost feel how Kenma’s eyes leered around the court, observing, calculating… figuring out the holes in the opposition’s defense, formulating counter-attacks to their offense… They trailed by one or two points for the entire first set, conserving their energy—the wiggle before a cat’s pounce—before snatching victory in the last four points with well-placed cross spikes from Taketora and strong service aces from Murata.  It was a play-style best reserved for practice matches, since it wasn’t always guaranteed you could push ahead at the finish line, and that risked letting go of an entire set. 

“The service aces from that first-year are really something!” Bokuto laughed, leaning back in his seat in the lull between sets. 

“He’s big and strong, yeah,” Kuroo smirked.  “Not like Lev, who came to us big but otherwise mostly useless.”

“Well Lev’s a nice tall height for blocking at least.  Not that that can necessarily stop an exceptional spiker!” Bokuto puffed out his chest with a smug grin.

“He still needs to work on his read-blocks.  And his damn receives… If only Yaku could’ve stuck around one more year to drill his ass.” 

Bokuto laughed and clapped Kuroo hard on the back, making him wince. 

“You worry too much about your old team!  Have more faith in them, like I do.”

“You only get to say that because your team carried you, of course they’re fine without you.” 

“What’d you say?!”

“Second set is starting.” 

“Hmph!”

Kamikawa remained benched, Kenma took the court to start, and the rotation was heavily focused around offense.  Of course every player (minus Lev) was better than average at receives, but clearly Kenma’s plan of attack was plain and simple: attack. 

After taking the first four points nearly uncontested, Kuroo understood why.  The opposing team seemed to lose their concentration if they had to play a rally that went over the net more than twice.  They could handle a serve well enough, but struggled to form a strong counter after a difficult receive.  The deficiency was in their setter, who seemed lacking in game sense from the looks of it.  When flustered, his sets fell short in speed and became extremely easy to read, which meant even Lev could follow through with a read-block against several spikers.    

“This… probably won’t take long.”  Kuroo muttered.  The excitement in the crowd around them was also dying down—for a semi-finals match, it seemed like a miracle the other team had even made it that far.  That didn’t stop Yamamoto Akane from spurring on the Nekoma cheering squad—she screamed as if the team’s livelihood depended on her. 

“It’s almost boring if one team is just gonna steamroll over the other.”  Bokuto sighed, scratching at his hair.  “Any luck finding a bigger apartment?” 

“Oh, they’re out there, I just don’t want to pay triple what I’m paying now.”  Kuroo grumbled, barely concerned that Nekoma let a service ace slip past their defenses.  They’d get the next one.

“Dorms don’t really have this problem, hahahaaa… they’re just all small and dingy.” 

“It’s just… if we’re gonna be two people, I’d like us to have an actual kitchen, you know?  Not half a meter of counter space with one tiny sink I can barely fit my hands in.  And a single burner.” 

“Ooohh… housewife Kuroo emerges!”  Bokuto sneered.  “Maybe I should buy you an apron for your birthday!” 

“Hey!  I’m the one with a job!” 

A cheer rang up around them and they jumped, faces turning immediately back to the court; Nekoma was still leading by three points, and it was Murata’s serve.

“One more!”

“Give us a nice serve, Murata!”

Bokuto and Kuroo slumped back into their seats, keeping their eyes forward on the game now as they talked. 

“What about you?  Don’t you want to move out of the dorms at all?  Especially now that Akaashi’s graduating too.”

“I don’t really see the point,” Bokuto mumbled.  He was pouting again.  “Akaashi’s first choice university isn’t Tokai, it turns out.”  Even as he said it, Bokuto knew this was not the time or place to be talking about his relationship problems.  But it was getting more and more difficult to try and keep it private—and Kuroo was his best friend.  If he couldn’t talk about it at least with Kuroo, it was gonna start affecting his performance.

“Oh?  What does he want to study?” 

“His parents are pushing him into medicine.  He doesn’t know for himself what he wants.”  Bokuto’s voice wasn’t in that whining register yet, but Kuroo heard the irritation there.

“Ah.” Kuroo said.  Strict and pushy parents like Akaashi’s were mostly on the decline, but they were still common enough to be thorns in the sides of enough unlucky children.  Kuroo didn’t really know much about the specifics of that situation, only that it irritated Bokuto enough to depress him from time to time.  More lately than ever before, and clearly this had been the reason.

“He sort of went against them to stay on the team for his third year.  They wanted him to quit after Interhigh and focus on his studies and all that.  Most of the time he spends with me, he’s studying.” 

“You want him to get into a good school, don’t you?”

“I want him to get in where he wants to go.  Not just where his parents tell him to go!” Bokuto huffed, crossing his arms and glaring daggers onto the court. 

“But you just said he doesn’t know where he wants to go.”

“I know!  That’s why he should figure it out!” 

“He’s running out of time for figuring out that sort of thing… maybe it’s better for him to just get in somewhere, even if it’s a place his parents chose, and then go from there.  He can always choose to study something not medicine later on.”  Kuroo shrugged.  “But he can’t just dawdle and miss out on all of his exams and applications.” 

Bokuto grumbled something unintelligible, uncrossed, then re-crossed his arms.  Bokuto didn’t do well dealing with Akaashi’s parents, though he was polite enough in front of them.  His last outburst had taught him to keep the anger muted while with Akaashi, but when apart, he would complain as much as he damn well pleased about those harpies Akaashi called parents. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side…” Bokuto whined.

“It’s not about sides, Bokuto.  I don’t like Akaashi’s parents any more than you do—mostly because I don’t know them—but they’re his parents.  If he decides to listen to them, that’s his call.”

“He could always take a ronin year…” Bokuto mused.  “Take that time to figure things out?”

“Even if it’s common enough, nobody wants to take a ronin year.  Taking a year off means it’s harder to get back into the swing of things—it might hurt Akaashi’s future more than help.” 

“I still think it’d be better than just agreeing to go to medical school.  That’s seven years at least!” 

But Kuroo thought quietly to himself that not everyone did well making their own decisions.  People couldn’t all be independent, free-thinking leaders; some of them were followers, and a lot of them needed a little push.  He himself had been leading Kenma along his whole life, the boy would never have left the house as a child if someone hadn’t made him.  Left to grow on his own, Kenma would have shrugged his shoulders, just like Akaashi, not knowing or caring how or where he ended up in college, and then meandered through his courses with little idea about picking a specialty.  They were the type that needed to be exposed to things, since they so rarely put themselves to the task. 

Kuroo wanted Kenma at Tokai, of course… but now as he had watched Kenma struggle through his studies and stress about exams, Kuroo started to hope that he hadn’t forced it on him.  Or worse, guilted him into going to the same university just because Kuroo couldn’t stand being without his boyfriend.  In retrospect, he wondered if his behavior was comparable to Akaashi’s parents, or Bokuto’s… and maybe they all just needed to take several steps back and let the boys decide their lives for themselves. 

“Agh…” Kuroo groaned, grabbing his head.

“What?  They’re winning.” Bokuto raised an eyebrow.

“No, I just… I wonder if I’ve messed something up really badly.” 

“That’s cryptic.”  Bokuto sneered before patting Kuroo on the back.  “Well whatever it is, you should probably watch the match point.” 

It was the opposing team’s serve, but the Nekoma libero, Shibayama, was on the court and rearing to go.  The server tossed it up, ran, jumped, and spiked it hard into Nekoma’s side of the court.  In a flash of red and white, Shibayama was there to receive it, sending it cleanly to the middle of the court.  Kenma ran and positioned himself, turning wide eyes to his team to signal a synchronized attack.  Four spikers ran up for the jump—

“A synchronized attack!” Bokuto shouted, leaning forward and gripping the railing. 

The blockers were spread, almost evenly spaced across the net, hesitant.  Who would spike it?  Taketora?  Lev?  Kenma’s gaze flickered to Lev for a moment, and the blocker that stood in the middle shifted, moving closer to the left-side blocker to mark Lev as the ball landed on Kenma’s fingertips… and he dumped it over the net. 

“DUMP SHOT?!?!?” Bokuto screeched, half the gymnasium roaring in confusion along with him. 

Kuroo could hear Lev’s whining even from up in the bleachers.

“Ehh!?!?  Kenma, I thought you were gonna toss it to me!!!” 

But as anticlimactic as it was, a victory was a victory, and Nekoma had shut out Okamiyama two games to none, clearing them through to the finals, and securing their place in the Spring High tournament.  Akane and Alisa were shrieking their delight and hugging each other close as the cheering squad around them deafened nearby spectators.  Kuroo’s own excitement was somewhat muted from his conversation with Bokuto, but that wasn’t going to stop him from smiling fondly down at his former team, laughing at Kenma’s extreme discomfort as the team lifted him up above their shoulders, threatening to throw him several times in the air. 

After being given a moment to cheer and/or despair, the teams were made to line up, bow and shake hands, before filing out of the gym. 

The next match on the court would feature Fukurodani versus Itachiyama.

A part of Kuroo wanted to leave for a bit and join his former team in their locker room to congratulate them and promise to be back tomorrow for their finals match… but he had suddenly grown wary about seeing Kenma.

“Not gonna text Kenma?” 

And then of course he had Bokuto along with him. 

“I dunno… He should probably be with the team, don’t you think?  I can see him later tonight at home.” 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to seeing you right now.”

“I think that’s the problem…” Kuroo muttered. 

“Okay, now why are you all mopey?”  Bokuto nudged Kuroo’s knee with his own, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you think I… boss around Kenma too much?”

“What, as captain, or…”

“Maybe not ‘boss around,’ but… Like… I’m always making him do things.  He joined the volleyball team when we were kids because I pushed him into it, and he took the Tokai entrance exam because I convinced him to apply… I… I basically pushed him into moving in with me, come to think of it.” 

“Kenma does sort of follow whatever you do…” Bokuto mused, hand to his chin. 

“Exactly!”

“But I don’t think he’s the type to do something if he really doesn’t want to… And come on, you’re telling me you think he doesn’t want to move in with you?” 

“No—he… what if he comes to Tokai and it’s not the best place for him to be?  A lot of couples split up to go to different colleges because that’s better for them individually; what if I’ve just robbed Kenma of a really good opportunity elsewhere?”

“Don’t ask me this stuff, Kuroo, that’s really complicated!  You know Kenma better than I do, you’re probably just overthinking shit!!!” 

“Yeah, but I’m really selfish with him, you know?!” 

“Argghhh!!  Neither of us should be thinking about this right now!!” Bokuto shouted back, both hands pulling at his hair.  “Look, there’s Fukurodani—AKAASHI!!!” Bokuto roared, standing and waving his hands wildly in the air.  Kuroo shrank in his seat a bit, and covered his face, pretending that he had zero associations with the screaming man beside him.  Bokuto Kotaro was the very definition of an embarrassing boyfriend, and while the two of them were discreet enough around the Tokai University volleyball team, Bokuto rather forgot the meaning of the word ‘subtlety’ when cheering back at his old high school teammates. 

“GET ‘EM AKAASHI!!!  GOOD GAME, FUKURODANI!!!  FUKURODANI FIIIIIIGHT!!!”  Bokuto was a one-man band, and he was decidedly louder than the whole of the Fukurodani cheering squad—and they had trombones.

“Will you shut up?!  The game hasn’t even started yet, dumbass!”  Kuroo grabbed the back of Bokuto’s shirt and forcibly pulled him back down into his seat, doing his best to ignore the eyes that stared at them from around the gym. 

Except Akaashi.  He acted for all the world as if nothing had happened, and calmly spoke to his team, doing his duty as captain and calling them to line up to bow. 

Kuroo felt his phone buzz in his pocket and opened a text from Kenma.

I saw you in the bleachers. 
Not gonna come say hi to the team?

Damn it.  Kuroo texted slowly, erasing his message several times to reword it or retype it before finally sending one through.

Well… Bokuto’s here with me and we’re watching the Fukurodani game right now.
Plus it’s your victory, I shouldn’t intrude.
Us old-timers gotta step aside and let the new generation enjoy the spotlight, ya know?

Weirdo. 
Should I meet you in the bleachers then?

Spend time with the team, Kenma.  It’s your third year, remember? 
I can see you later tonight at home.

Kuroo waited patiently for another reply, but after five minutes or so without one, he gave up on it, figuring Kenma had taken his advice and gone off to be sociable.  That was an odd thought, Kenma being sociable. 

His attention was returned to the game, in no small part thanks to Bokuto’s frantic slaps on his arm.  Itachiyama remained an incredibly skilled team with a very aggressive offense.  They continued to favor straight spikes as often as possible, and wasted little time with any other strategy (including defense).  And they were fast.  The average speed of the players on that team was the fastest in the prefecture, if not the country.  Maybe not as fast as the rising ‘small giant’ from Karasuno, but Kuroo didn’t want to be caught in a footrace with any of those players. 

“Fast and aggressive, huh?” Their strategy hadn’t much changed from the previous year. 

Bokuto was biting down on the collar of his shirt, tears shining in his eyes he was so nervous. 

“Hey!” Kuro smacked him.  “What was that you were saying about having faith in your team?”

“B-but…”

“You have a Nationals ranking team, idiot!”

With Bokuto’s graduation, Fukurodani was certainly missing a valuable offensive weapon, but they had always been a cohesive bunch without their moody former captain.  They just had to get a little used to the speed with which Itachiyama countered them.  By the end of the first set, they had drawn it out to a twenty-eight point deuce, but eventually Itachiyama took their first victory. 

“Their backs are against the wall, Kuroo!!” 

“You’re the worst cheerleader ever.”

“But now they have to win the next two sets for sure, otherwise—“

“Geez, Bokuto, get off me!”  The spiker was clawing frantically at his arm, and Kuroo was growing quickly exasperated with his friend’s quick descent into despair. 

But the second set made clear that Fukurodani was now used to Itachiyama’s pace, as nearly every quick attack was countered or received—some sloppy, but the connection was made, and volleyball was all about connecting.  As long as the ball didn’t hit the ground, there was a chance.  Without Bokuto, Fukurodani was lacking a powerful offensive, but without Sakusa, Itachiyama was lacking the adhesive that kept their team together.  Their pacing, which had been so dependent on their star ace, now relied on their less-experienced setter.  And when it came to controlling the pace and the will of his spikers, Akaashi Keiji was no pushover.  Fukurodani won out the second set by following Akaashi’s steady head, and Bokuto was once again screaming his support for his former team at the top of his lungs until Kuroo physically shut him up. 

The following third set roused an old beast in the Itachiyama players.  They were former champions, and they weren’t just going to roll over in defeat to a team they had bested the previous year.  A valiant effort was now put into their receives—they ran after every one-touch, even the ones that seemed impossible to catch.  Their setter, seemingly calmer now, matched his wits successfully against Akaashi’s during a number of rallies, enabling his spikers to score handsomely. 

Their scores were neck and neck throughout the last set, promising a long deuce in the late game... Until a powerful wing spiker from Itachiyama took a particularly nasty dive to receive one of Taketora’s killer spikes.  Itachiyama called for a time-out, but the injury to the player’s wrist was bad—he had twisted it during his landing—and the spiker was out for the rest of the game.  Most likely, he would also be out until the spring season started in the new school year.  After the unfortunate break in Itachiyama’s momentum, Fukurodani went on a brutal offensive. 

At 20—19, in Fukurodani’s favor, the owls continuously widened the point gap, Bokuto hooting uproariously with each new change in the scoreboard.  When they finally slammed down the winning point on the other side of the net, the team cheered uproariously, and Bokuto nearly broke down sobbing into his jacket.  Kuroo wondered if maybe he should sit away from Bokuto in the bleachers the next day given that the finals match tomorrow was now set to be Fukurodani and Nekoma.  He’d rather deal with Akane and Alisa than Bokuto’s hysterics.  Of course Itachiyama had still one more chance to attend Spring High—the third place match would take place tomorrow as well—but their pride as a powerhouse team had no doubt been shattered.

“Ok, go take your gross crying over to your team,” Kuroo grunted, shoving Bokuto out of his seat. 

“You’re not coming with?”

“Nah, I’m gonna head home.”  And maybe prepare some sort of apology for Kenma. 

“Oh, okay.  Tell Kenma I said hi.” 

“Tell Akaashi I said congratulations.” 

“Yeah,” Bokuto smiled.  “Hey Kuroo?  Your thing with Kenma… you know you’re probably overthinking it right?”

“Probably,” Kuroo sighed, rubbing at his neck. 

“Kid’s crazy about you—I bet he can’t wait to graduate and move in.” 

“Thanks.” It made Kuroo feel better than he thought possible.  “And Bokuto?  You know everything with Akaashi is probably gonna work out fine?  Eventually everything gets figured out somehow.” 

“Yeah…  I’m gonna get it figured out, thanks.” 

They fist-bumped and parted ways, Bokuto bounding towards his former teammates and Kuroo slinking off toward home, trying not to let guilt slow his steps.  Hearing about Akaashi’s situation was depressing enough, and then he had to go and project his own insecurities.  Kuroo knew how much Kenma wanted to be together with him… exams were always going to be stressful, the boy would have had to study his ass off either way.  Kuroo was just overthinking things from the strain of trying to find a new apartment.  That’s all it was.  

He was surprised to find Kenma waiting for him outside the house, messing with his phone as usual. 

“Hey.  How long have you been waiting out here?” 

“Akaashi texted me they won.  Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.” 

“That eager to see me?” Kuroo smirked. 

“...sure.”

“What’s with that pause?” 

“What was with you earlier?”

“What are you talking about?

“It felt like you were avoiding me after the game.” Kenma mumbled quietly.

“I…” Except he had been.  And Kuroo didn’t really have an excuse for it… and Kenma was just too damn observant, even more so after a game. 

“Let’s go for a walk.”  The setter suggested. 

Kenma tucked his phone into his pocket and started leading them both towards the small park that sat several blocks from their homes.  Kuroo followed wordlessly, walking several paces behind him instead of beside.  Quietly, he watched how Kenma led the way, hair flowing in the wind, a small crinkle in the strands at the base of his neck from where he had tied his ponytail for the game.  It was a bit of an odd sight for Kuroo all in all.  For one thing, Kenma was walking ahead and leading him, which he had absolutely no memory of Kenma ever doing.  Second, the setter wasn’t on his phone, beeping away at some game and threatening to run into every telephone pole in his path.  Plus he was considerably taller, and Kuroo still wasn’t quite used to that.  The silence as they walked wasn’t new, but it was uncomfortable and that was new.  Kuroo busied himself trying to gather his thoughts and to not get distracted by the way the blond edges of Kenma’s hair started reflecting the light of the early sunset. 

“You’re quiet,” Kenma remarked after they had walked some ten minutes. 

“So are you.”

“I’m always quiet.” 

He had him there. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Kuroo muttered, picking up his pace a touch so he wasn’t trailing so far behind.

Kenma slowed his pace a bit to match, still keeping his eyes forward. 

“What about?”

“Ah… for not meeting up with you right after your match.  Avoiding you… sort of.  It’s not that I didn’t want to see you—you all played great.  Really great.  Your last dump shot took pretty much everyone by surprise—Bokuto almost blew out my ear drum.” 

“I’m not upset at you, you know.” Kenma said over his shoulder. 

“You probably should be.” 

“Why?  What did you do?”  The question was light, teasing almost.  A hint of a smile played on Kenma’s lips.

“Kenma… you’re gonna apply to other schools and not just Tokai, right?”  Kuroo asked, and finally Kenma stopped walking, turning slowly toward him with his calm, piercing stare. 

“What kind of question is that?”

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t think you’ll get in, your score was great.  But it’s always good to have back-ups.  Can’t put all your eggs in one basket, as they say.  It’s safer to apply to more than one.” 

“Kuro, you’re talking in circles.”

“I think you should at least look into other schools.  You never know, maybe one of them will jump out at you and you’ll really want to go somewhere else.”  After all his efforts to keep the two of them together, Kuroo could barely believe the words that were spilling out of his mouth.  Was there a point to any of this now?  Didn’t he want to keep Kenma close?  Wasn’t this just another way of trying to take command of Kenma’s life? 

“…do you not want me to go to Tokai?”  Kenma, for his part, didn’t like it when Kuroo was hard to read.  Kuroo alone was supposed to be an open book at all times—one he was attuned to, one he paid more attention to than anyone else. 

“I want you to come to Tokai more than anything!” Kuroo closed the distance between them with long, broad steps and reached out, taking Kenma’s hands in his and squeezing tight.  “But… after thinking about it… I don’t want to be the only reason you go there.”

“But you are the main reason I’m going there.”

“I know, but I… I don’t want you to force yourself to go to Tokai if there’s a better option for you out there… somewhere.”

“What better option—“

“That’s why you have to look into it, at least!”

Kenma stood silent, narrowing his eyes to demand further explanation, almost drawing his hands away.  Kuroo was either worrying about something insignificant that he had blown out of proportion in his head, or there was actually something really serious he was trying to hide.  He couldn’t tell which yet.

“I guess I feel like I’ve always… made you… do things.  And they weren’t always things you wanted.  Like when we were kids and I dragged you along for volleyball practices and made you join the team and—“ Kenma was now rolling his eyes at him and pulling away.  Kuroo held him tight and blundered on.  “Bokuto was telling me how Akaashi’s parents are basically forcing him to be a doctor, and it was pissing him off, and I just started to wonder if maybe… I haven’t been letting you live your life.  If I’ve maybe been too selfish with you and your time.” 

Kenma sighed, decidedly pulling his hands away and stuffing them back into his pockets. 

“Really?  Kuro?  You of all people should know by now that I don’t do something if I really don’t want to do it.” 

Kuroo’s face fell as Kenma’s hands disappeared roughly out of his own, and the setter sighed, reaching up to pull on the spiky black hair.  I’m not rejecting you, the gesture read.  You’re just being dumb.

“I literally just had this conversation with my parents the last time you were here when they asked about me moving in with you.” 

“What?  You did?”

“They were asking the same things you’re asking me now.  Making sure that I really want to go to Tokai for me and not just because I’m chasing you and not thinking for myself or whatever…”

“What’d you say to them?”

After a momentary silence, Kenma looked firmly into Kuroo’s dark eyes, his own amber ones flickering with sunset rays, making them appear almost golden.  Kuroo swallowed hard on nothing, drowning in the intensity radiating from that gaze. 

“The same thing I’m going to tell you, and it’s the truth.  I’m doing it for me because I want to.  Just because you gave me the idea doesn’t mean I went along without thinking about it for myself… at least a little.  If I were only playing volleyball for your sake, don’t you think I’d have quit by now?  I’d have quit the club as soon as you left, but I didn’t, because I like it.  Enough, anyway.  And… from what I’ve read, a college degree is a college degree.  Even without name recognition from a prestigious school, people get good jobs later in life… and that’s way later down the line anyway, and—and… I thought we’d just figure all that out together.” 

Kenma sighed again, this one sounding more like a huff.  He didn’t like repeating himself, and words really weren’t his strong suit.  He was always better with actions.  So his hand reached for Kuroo again and gently brushed aside that low-hanging fringe before flicking the older boy in the forehead. 

“Honestly, I can’t believe you were worrying about that today of all things.”

“Ow!”

“Nekoma won today.  We’re going to Spring High as a Tokyo representative.  Again.  It was my birthday yesterday… and I got a decent score on the Tokai exam.  So stop worrying about me like you’re my mother, and just… be my boyfriend.” He pouted, putting on his sternest face.  It failed miserably in the ‘intimidation’ department.  “Don’t worry about being ‘selfish’ or whatever with me.  You’re supposed to be selfish with your b-boyfriend, aren’t you?”  The last part of his sentence came out as a hurried mumble, so quiet Kuroo almost missed it. 

“Ah, geez, Kenma…” Kuroo fell forward, resting his face on Kenma’s shoulder.  “You grew up on me so fast…” 

Kenma was hearing that a lot lately.

“We’re only one year apart…”

“Yeah.  Well.  That still technically makes me your senpai.  Come on.  Let me buy you a birthday cake.”  Kuroo grabbed Kenma’s hand and pulled him along the road, re-stablishing their long-accustomed rhythm.

“I still have cake at home.”

“Yeah, but that’s from your parents, and I wanna buy you ‘boyfriend’ cake.”

“How is that different?”

“It comes with a kiss.” Kuroo grinned, a sly eyebrow rising slowly upward. 

Now there was that annoying confidence Kenma preferred.

They peeked around each other in the neighborhood streets, looking carefully for passerby, before leaning slowly into one another, lips meeting gently as the sun set finally behind the tops of the buildings, the last bit of the day’s light leaving them. 

Chapter Text

“So that’ll be one Nabeyaki Udon, and one chilled Zaru Soba.  Any drinks or appetizers?”

“I’d like a hot oolong tea, please.”

“Just water for me.”

“Understood.  I’ll be out with your drinks right away.”  Kuroo tucked his notepad into his waist apron, offering a polite smile before heading straight towards the kitchen.  He tore the order sheet out with a flourish and placed it in the line of other torn-out order sheets, calling the dishes into the kitchen for good measure before prepping the tea.  The motions were well-practiced and honed into his limbs.

“Ah, Kuroo?” his manager called, poking her head into the back room.  “I have some foreigners at table three, who probably want an English-speaking waiter.  Can you switch out with Natsume?  She’ll take your table ten.” 

“Sure, no problem.” 

Natsume rushed into the back moments later, looking somewhat frazzled and red in the face.

“Ahhh… they’re just so tall and big and they started speaking English at me so fast after I said ‘hello’ and—“

“And is one of them really really cute?” Kuroo teased.

“Shut up, Kuroo!” she shoved his arm playfully. 

“Blond hair, blue eyes, like some European prince?” 

“Anyway…” she coughed, attempting to change the subject.  “Table ten?”

“I just put in the order.  Nabeyaki udon, cold zaru soba, and this oolong tea goes to them too.”  He passed the tray into her hands stacking it with the teapot and mugs. 

“Ok.” 

Kuroo sent her off with a wink and a wave before he weaved out of the back kitchen toward table three, where a group of three light-haired foreigners were chatting animatedly about their day.  Two women, one man, and the man did sort of look to be Natsume’s type.  Kuroo was convinced his co-worker was going to help some charming white man stay in Japan by marrying him and indulging his fantasies of a devoted Japanese wife.  It wasn’t a trope he liked much. 

“Hello, welcome.” He smiled.  “What would you like to order today?”  Shit, he was supposed to say, ‘tonight.’ 

“Ooh, uhh… we haven’t quite decided yet.” One of the girls flushed, clearly surprised to be given an English-speaking waiter. 

“What do you recommend?” asked the other with a playful smile. 

“Do you prefer the noodles or some rice?” Kuroo asked. 

“Surprise me!” she chirped. 

Kuroo hated the indecisive types.  But his smile never faltered.  He learned long ago it was some bizarre western thing to have the waiter just order for you.  The first time he had been asked for recommendations and had a customer simply hold out the menu for Kuroo to make the final decision, he had to clarify the order about five times to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.  By now, he’d been made to do it on more than a few occasions, so it no longer caught him so off-guard. 

“Well, the weather is quite cold tonight, so… a hot noodle dish I would recommend.  Maybe you might like the ramen or udon…”  In fact, one could even say he now had a knack for dealing with it.

“Well that udon looks yummy!” she pointed to one of the pictures on the menu. 

“Tempura udon, okay, got it…”

“Well if she’s doing that, can I have this ramen?” The other girl chimed in, pointing to a separate picture on the menu they shared.  They giggled at each other, muttering something low before playfully nudging each other’s elbows on the table. 

“Of course.  And what would you like then to eat, mister—sir?”

“I think I’ll have the tonkatsu.  And a round of beers for the table, please.  Kirin.”  He was the only one to not choose from one of the five pictures that decorated the menu. 

“Of course.  I will return soon with the beers, Kirin, thank you.”

He went back to the kitchen to place the order and grab the beers out of the fridge, finding Natsume peeking around the corner at him, eyes wide with wonder and amazement.  She always got like that whenever he had to deal with an English speaking table.  She was prone to cases of star fever.  Even though her own English wasn’t awful, she was horrible at actually using it with other people because she would get flustered and embarrassed. 

“I wish I could just do that… just speak English at will to the customers…” she sighed, shoulders slumped.

“You can—you just need to not get so nervous.  And maybe stop falling in love with every handsome white man who walks through the door.” 

“I can’t help it!  I have a type, Kuroo, a type!  The gentleman type…” 

“We all have types, you just need to not turn into a blubbering mess when your ‘type’ is right in front of you,” he smirked, setting the beer bottles and glasses on a tray and heading back out.  “I’ll be sure to let my customer know you think he’s cute.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He wouldn’t, but it was always fun to rile her up about such things.  As far as his coworkers went, Natsume was definitely one of his favorites.  Friendly, hard-working, and cute, with a disposition most customers adored.  On the rare occasion she had to handle foreigners because he wasn’t working the same shift, many had tried to leave her generous tips, which wasn’t customary in Japan.  But if they could leave those tips, he was sure Natsume would be swimming in extra income. 

Returning to his table of giggling foreigners, he set down their glasses and beer, popping open the bottle caps and slowly pouring out their drinks for them.  He tried to make small talk.

“You are tourists?” he asked.

“Oh, I live here,” the man answered before pointing at the other two.  “These two are visiting me from America though.  My sister and her friend.”

“I see.  Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles!” one of them said, raising her hand.  Kuroo handed her the first beer, mostly since she raised her hand at him. 

“It’s your first time in Japan?”

“Not mine, but it’s hers!” the sister gestured to her friend, patting her on the back. 

“Is it very fun?  I hope you are having the good time.” Kuroo smiled, passing her the second beer. 

“Thank you, yes.  I’m having a really good time.  It’s so different from home, but everyone we’ve encountered has been so polite…  Though there’s… definitely a lot to see, I don’t think we’ll be able to get to it all.”  She spoke a little quickly, especially toward the end, Kuroo didn’t catch everything she had said, but he didn’t ask her to repeat herself. 

“Yes, there is a lot to see here.  I hope you continue having the good time here in Japan.” Kuroo passed the last beer to the gentleman and tucked the tray under his arm, bowing his head.  “Would you like I also bring some waters?”

“Yes please.”

“Thank you.”

He checked up on two other tables on his way back to the kitchen, making sure their food was satisfactory and their drinks were full before heading back and pouring out three glasses of water.  He should have really brought the waters out with the beers to begin with, but it had slipped his mind while teasing his coworker.  The food was also ready for table twelve, so he set the water aside to first deliver the finished order, nudging Natsume as he passed her in the bustle. 

“You’ll be happy to know your gentleman actually lives and works here so you could probably ask for his number if you wanted.”  Most of her gentlemen types were tourists who would fly away in a few days’ time.  He wondered if this would be a welcome development. 

She flushed and darted past him, a tray of dirty dishes in her arms, sputtering and muttering something about how horrible and sadistic he was.  He looked over his shoulder across the restaurant to see if she would maybe hover near table three, when he accidentally caught sight of the two women sharing a quick and discrete kiss as the man checked his phone.  His eyes popped wide open along with his mouth for several seconds before he could correct himself, excusing himself hurriedly from the customers at table twelve. 

He put himself together a little better in the kitchen, slapping at his own cheeks and pressing his eyes back into his skull.  It wasn’t a big deal… he was gay too, for heaven’s sake.  And considering his good friend Bokuto, and knowing about all of the relationships that went on with their rivals at Karasuno, he was practically swimming in gay, but… they were—all of them—hiding it from their families and from their bosses, their professors, their coaches.  Kuroo would never dare kiss Kenma in public without making absolutely sure there was no one paying attention, even in Tokyo, which had to be the most liberal of Japanese cities.  Probably.  There was definitely a little bit of envy rising in him, that those women lived in a place where they could show their affections for one another without fear of reprisal.  Mostly, it just made him miss Kenma a little more than he already was. 

“Here is your water,” he said, placing their glasses down. 

When the kitchen rang the bell noting their food was ready, Kuroo shoved Natsume at them, claiming he desperately needed a bathroom break before telling her with a wink that the tonkatsu was for her blue-eyed gentleman.  Maybe he was teasing her a bit much, but he couldn’t help but get a kick out of the way she stammered and went red in the face at every polite smile he shot her way.  Honestly, the guy probably already had a girlfriend already, but the experience would be more beneficial to her than hiding in the kitchen and pining not-so-silently. 

As the dinner rush came to a close (as much rush as there could be on a Wednesday night, anyhow) and the last of their customers trickled out of the door, everyone began their duties cleaning up the restaurant.  Kuroo was usually in charge of wiping tables and stacking chairs, Natsume with mopping the floor in his wake, their manager locked up the front counter and cash register, and the kitchen staff scrubbed away in the back, cooking up any last ingredients of the day for employee dinners.  Kuroo had just finished wiping off the last table, setting the chairs upside down atop it when his elderly manager came over with a take-out bag not from their restaurant. 

“Sorry to make you work on your birthday, Kuroo, we really appreciate it.” She passed him the bag.  “Just a little something from me as compensation, and of course, you and Natsume are free to take whatever leftovers you want to eat.” 

“Ah—thank you so much,” he bowed, taking the bag reverently in both hands. 

“Will you be able to spend the weekend with your family at least?  Or with anybody special?” she winked, emphasizing the last word.

“Ah… well… my—“ Kuroo stopped himself, wondering how well his kind old manager might take the news of a boyfriend.  “My high school sweetheart, you could say, will be visiting this weekend.”

“Oh how sweet!” she cried.  “I always thought you might have already had a girlfriend, you’re always so uninterested in all the young ladies who try to flirt with you.  Well, you’re welcome to bring her by the restaurant, you can eat on the house!” 

“We’ll… consider it, thank you.” He bowed again.  No, he couldn’t bring Kenma by on those pretenses… not unless he wanted to risk losing his job.  And he doubted that Kenma would agree to be a girl for an afternoon. 

Grabbing a container of leftover yakisoba from the kitchen and thanking the cooks profusely for keeping him so well-fed, he gave a swift goodbye to Natsume before trudging home, unlocking his phone to a barrage of happy birthday messages.  Some were even from his old teammates at Nekoma (Kai and Yaku even), and of course there were messages from Bokuto and Akaashi, some from his current teammates at Tokai, his parents, even a curt message from Tsukki… he appreciated them all, but he scrolled past the bulk of them to find his chat log with Kenma.

Happy birthday, Kuro.
It’s your last year to be a teen.
Sorry I couldn’t help celebrate today, but I’ll see you this weekend. 

No caps locked kana, no excited misspellings or added emoji, no exclamation points even—compared to most of his other birthday messages—but it just read and sounded like Kenma… he could hear that quiet voice in his head echoing the words with Kenma’s particular intonation.  And that was enough, and it made Kuroo smile into the cold November night. 

Once he got home, he unwrapped his food and the gift from his boss—a single slice of chocolate birthday cake—and took a picture to send to his ‘sweetheart.’ 

Birthday dinner~
Got cake from my boss!

Oh that was nice of her.

I told her my high school sweetheart would be visiting this weekend when she asked my plans.
She said we could eat there with lunch on the house if we wanted to, and I told her I’d think about it, but unless you wanna try dressing up like a girl for a day…  (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

No thanks.

I figured you’d say that. 
It’s a little unfair, isn’t it?  I wanna be able to show you off to everyone I know! 
Tell them, this is Kenma, my boyfriend.  He’s beautiful and smart and I love him soooo much!  ( ˘ ³˘)♥

…are you drunk?

Kuroo laughed aloud when the last text came through his phone.  It seemed silly now that he could have ever thought things like discrimination against race or sexual orientation didn’t exist.  Maybe back in high school that never seemed the case because their circle of acquaintances was open-minded and young.  But the older he got and the more he saw of the world and how it ran, the more hate and misunderstanding he encountered, and there were times when it ran him down.  Ikejiri wasn’t the only teammate who knew about him and disapproved, he was just the most outspoken about it.  And even if his parents didn’t know the truth of the relationship between himself and Kenma, he knew what his father thought of ‘the gay lifestyle.’  It’s not like Kuroo was some lecherous hump who just wanted to push Kenma against the walls of the train station and ravish him in front of a crowd; he just wanted to be able to hold his hand when they walked in public and to not have to lie to acquaintances or hide all the time from their families.   

I miss you, Kenmaaaa  (´•ω•̥`)

Just wait a couple of more days.
I’ll be there soon.

Kuroo swore he’d kiss Kenma silly as soon as the boy got here, and then maybe they’d just cocoon themselves in the futon or stay glued to the kotatsu for the entire weekend.  If they stayed in, he could be as affectionate as he wanted.  He took a small bite of his yakisoba, trying not to be depressed for the remaining hour or so of his nineteenth birthday.  Another text rang from Kenma as he began typing out thank you replies to the others who had texted him birthday wishes.

I’ll bring you a boyfriend cake.

As long as I get the boyfriend, I don’t care about the cake.

Well I’m bringing a cake.
So you better eat it.

I’ll eat it all!
I promise!  σ(≧ε≦ｏ)

It was a promise he could make to Kenma, but not one that he could keep with his teammates when they took him out for dinner that Friday night.  The entire team wished him a belated happy birthday in the gymnasium after practice, Bokuto pulling a cake seemingly from nowhere.  That would have itself sufficed, but then another chunk of the team (nearly a dozen of them) insisted on treating him to dinner (and drinks if they could manage it), and he was dragged along to an izakaya, where the upperclassmen (mostly Takahashi) footed the bill, sneaking alcohol along to the underclassmen.  Bokuto took advantage of this legal infraction significantly more than Kuroo, who wanted to be mostly sober for when Kenma arrived later that night. 

“You should probably slow it down just a bit there,” Kuroo smirked as Bokuto knocked back another sake shot with a few upperclassmen.  “Isn’t this the first time you’ve had alcohol?”

“Nahh…” Bokuto proclaimed with a proud grin.  “Second!”

“…that doesn’t exactly make you a veteran.” 

Dinner was followed by several rambunctious rounds of karaoke with a smaller group as many dispersed for other evening commitments.  Bokuto managed to get more or less completely shitfaced, but Kuroo excused himself from the group before he could start to feel the effects of the little alcohol he had drunk.  An hour into karaoke and Bokuto was just getting warmed up, and Kuroo might have accepted that challenge on any other night, but not tonight. 

“Awww… leavin’ already, Kuroo?” Bokuto drawled, clinging much too close and breathing alcohol vapors basically directly into Kuroo’s nose. 

“Kenma’s coming over for the weekend.  I need to be home when he gets here.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t given him a spare key already,” Takahashi teased gently, flipping through the songs with Nakamura (a second year).

“And no wonder you held back with the drinks!” Bokuto shouted, furiously shaking the tambourine in his hand. 

“Next year, when I’m actually legal, I promise to get as shitfaced as I can with you,” Kuroo laughed them off with a wave. 

“You’re surprisingly law-abiding, given that face,” Haruyama chuckled, and the room burst into raucous laughter.

“What?!  What’s wrong with my face?!”

“Go, go.  We’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” Takahashi pushed him out of the door, shaking his head the moment Kuroo tried to reach into his pockets for his wallet.  “Our treat, don’t worry about it.  Tell Kenma we said hi.” 

“Thanks… Someone’s gonna get Bokuto home, right?” 

“Haruyama is in the dorms too, he’ll take him back safe and sound.”

Kuroo thanked them all for an enjoyable evening before skipping home, his face and his belly warm from the sake, and happy with thoughts of seeing Kenma within another hour or so.  He pulled out his phone to send a quick text—though he had to stop walking in order to type properly.  In his current state, he couldn’t competently do both. 

See you sooooon, kitten~ <3

I hope so, I’m freezing out here.

…
Wait what?!

I thought I’d surprise you by coming early. 
Now I’m waiting out here in the cold. 
So come home already.

Kuroo had never run so fast in all his life, he was sure of it… or maybe it just felt faster because he was at least a little tipsy… more than a little tipsy.  Something told his mind that his body probably wasn’t running in the straightest of lines.  But the mental image of Kenma shivering out in the cold outside of his apartment was quite the motivating force to keep those feet moving despite the chilly air burning in his lungs.  Takahashi was absolutely right, he should have just given Kenma his spare key.  Why didn’t he?  Now Kenma was going to catch a cold, and it was all going to be Kuroo’s fault, and—his apartment eventually came into view and he bounded up the flights of stairs to his apartment, three steps at a time, finding Kenma at the top of the last rung, watching a video on his phone, earbuds tucked beneath his hood and muffler. 

“Oh god—Ken—Kenma…  I’m… I’m so sorry…. I…” he wheezed, clutching the railing for support.

“Catch your breath, Kuro, I’m fine.” Kenma pulled his earbuds out and tucked his phone away, standing up off the stairs and out of the way.  His bags lay by the door to the apartment, and he pulled them off the floor onto his shoulders, smirking slightly.  Knowing Kuroo, he had just run top speed the rest of the way, whether that was five minutes or fifteen. 

“I’m—how long… have…”

“Maybe an hour or so.  I went to the convenience store at one point to warm up and grab a snack.” Kenma shrugged as Kuroo struggled to pull his keys out of his pockets. 

He unlocked the door in a frenzy, practically shoving Kenma inside before slamming the door behind them.  His breath was proving exceedingly difficult to catch, but the warmer air inside was helping a little. 

“Turn on the… the heater… and the—the kotatsu… whatever you need—I’m… ugh, I’m gonna be sick.”  The alcohol was churning in his overly-full stomach, his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest from the recent sprinting, and it was all coming together into a fantastic combination for a well-timed puke in his toilet. 

Kenma rushed to grab a cup of water (just as Kuroo started retching into the porcelain bowl) before coming back to gently rub slow circles into Kuroo’s back while the birthday boy knelt hunched over the toilet. 

“Did you sprint that fast?” Kenma teased, handing him the water once he was well enough to raise his head.

“Ugh… that and the sake…” Kuroo moaned, taking small gulps of the water as he flushed the toilet.  His stomach was plainly empty now, and he’d be happy to wait until he was more than legal before he took another drink of alcohol again. 

“You turned nineteen, not twenty.” The setter frowned, finally placing the smell that hovered on Kuroo’s clothing.  He wasn’t overly fond of the idea of alcohol, much less the smell and taste, and he definitely didn’t like what it was currently doing to Kuroo.  He could smell cigarette smoke too, now that he was paying attention. 

“That doesn’t really discourage upperclassmen, you know…” He sat up against the wall, finally managing to catch his breath.  “Go get warm under the kotatsu.  I’ll be fine, just… gimme a minute.”

Kenma left only for a few moments, despite the request, turning on the warm air and plugging the heated table in, but he returned steadfastly with another glass of water in his hand.  After helping Kuroo to his feet and waiting patiently while he rinsed his mouth out several times in the sink, he kissed the birthday boy’s cheek softly.

“I brought the cake, like I promised.”

“Please don’t talk about food right now…”  Kuroo groaned.  Not that he wasn’t grateful, he just didn’t feel like putting things in his mouth right this second. 

“My mom also made your favorite fish, and your mom gave me this to give to you, along with the message that we spoil you too much and you need to show your appreciation properly instead of being an ungrateful twat.  Her exact words.” 

Kenma grabbed an envelope out of his bag and passed it into Kuroo’s hand, also pulling out the tupperwares full of food onto the counter, then finally dove under the kotatsu to warm himself after feeing certain that Kuroo could stand on his own without toppling over.  The setter kept his jacket and muffler on until he could stop shivering, then slowly started to remove his bundled layers when he started to get warm. 

Kuroo opened the envelope to find a birthday card from his parents along with a few ten-thousand yen notes, which he pocketed gratefully—he was sure that money meant no small amount of chores for the next time he went home.  Then he stuck the extra food into the fridge before asking Kenma,

“Do you want one of my extra heyagi or something?  If you’re still cold?” 

“No,” Kenma muttered, merely patting the cushion beside him for Kuroo to come sit.  “Just come here.” 

“I’m sorry…” he groaned, settling down next to Kenma and leaning his head forward onto the table.  “For coming home late… and then throwing up everywhere… I think I’d have been fine if I hadn’t eaten so much… and then sprinted home on top of it.  I only had a few drinks, I swear… I’m sure I look pathetic right now.”

“Well, I’m used to that, so it’s fine,” Kenma smiled, ruffling the untamable bedhead.  “My fault for coming early.  I don’t think we’re very good at surprises.  Most of our attempts have sort of failed.” 

“Ha… well I still think it’s worth trying.  Oh, speaking of.  Go look in the top right-hand drawer of my desk,” he murmured, slowly lifting his head from the table. 

Kenma frowned, not wanting to move away from the warmth of the heated table, but he pulled himself up and made his way over to the desk, opening the specified drawer and asking,

“What am I looking for?” 

“My spare apartment keys.  You should take them.” 

Kenma hesitated for several moments, biting his lip and knowing how red his face must look, before gingerly taking the keys out of the drawer, handling them like treasures and coming back over to snuggle next to Kuroo. 

“Honestly, I should have just given you those over the summer.” Kuroo shrugged.  “Now you can come over whenever you want, whether I’m home or not.  And you won’t be stuck outside.  Ugh… I think I’m gonna make some tea—“

“I’ll make it,” Kenma declared, pushing Kuroo’s shoulders back down.  “You stay put.  Do you have oolong?  I think that’s supposed to be good for your stomach.” 

“Yeah…”

Kenma turned on the TV, passing the remote to Kuroo before heading over to the kitchen area, opening two cabinets before finding the electric kettle, and one more to find the tea bags.  He pulled out two mugs (matching ones they had found on one of their rare shopping trips), poured water into the kettle and started it up, peeking in on Kuroo. 

“Do you have any painkillers or headache medicine?” Kenma asked over the droning of the NHK newscaster.

“Ha… all I have is salon pas.” 

“Volleyball nerd.”

“Says the vice-captain of his team…”

“I can go to the convenience store and get some—“

“No, don’t.  Just stay inside, I don’t need it, I promise.” 

Kenma silently returned to the kettle as it started to whistle, pouring out the hot water into the two mugs and then bringing them to the table.  He then pulled the cake out of the fridge, cut out a slice, put it on a plate, grabbed a small fork, and plopped down next to Kuroo, worming his toes under the kotatsu and wiggling the cold nubs against Kuroo’s warm leg.  He pouted, but didn’t pull away.

“I did mention I’m not in the mood to eat…” Kuroo mumbled.

“I know.  This is for me.” Kenma shrugged, taking a bite of Kuroo’s birthday cake.  “Drink your tea.” 

“I can’t remember the last time you took care of me like this,” he mused, blowing on the hot water and warming his hands on the mug. 

“I think it was your second year, back at Nekoma.  It was only for maybe half a week, but I hated those few days at practice without you.”  Kenma recalled, fork in his mouth.  He couldn’t remember if it had been an odd case of the flu or if it had been food poisoning, but the poor boy had come down with a nasty fever with a heaping dose of all the aches and pains, and couldn’t get out of bed for a couple of days.  Yaku had retrieved assignments from Kuroo’s classes and passed them off to Kenma at practice for home delivery. 

“I remember you making me rice porridge and spoon-feeding it to me when my mom was out,” Kuroo remembered in a quiet, wistful tone.  “I thought I was gonna die just from how adorable you were then.” 

“Really?  And not from the ridiculous fever you were running?”  Kenma reached over and ruffled Kuroo’s hair affectionately before pinching his cheek.  They were still rather warm (clearly he wasn’t 100% sober yet) and slightly flushed, and Kenma thought maybe it was the remnants of the alcohol that was making Kuroo so talkative. 

“The fever wasn’t helping, but I think it was mostly you,” Kuroo sipped at his tea, testing the temperature.  Still too hot.  “I was soooo crazy about you, even then.” 

Kenma flushed and shoved another forkful of cake into his mouth. 

“I think alcohol makes you sappy, and you should never drink it again.” 

“Okay…” Kuroo sighed as he put his head back down onto the table.  “Or maybe next time you can drink with me…” 

“Depends.  Is there a drink that tastes like apple pie?”

Kuroo smiled at him softly, blinking heavily.  “You have such a sweet tooth…” His voice was getting quieter, his sentences slower. 

“Hey, if you’re gonna sleep, climb up into your futon and change at least.” 

“Mmm-jus’ resting my eyes a bit…”

Kenma rolled his eyes, but made no effort to move either of their bodies.  The kotatsu was exceedingly comfortable, and if push came to shove, he was not opposed to dragging the comforter down off of the futon and sleeping on the floor with their legs tucked under the heated table.  He finished his cake quietly and pushed the plate aside, noting how Kuroo’s breathing now came in long, even intervals, his eyes shut, mouth gaping slightly open. 

“You totally fell asleep.” 

Kuroo’s phone calendar did indicate he had practice in the morning, so Kenma set two alarms (one on Kuroo’s phone and one on his own) for the next morning, then set another one for an hour from now.  A short nap under the kotatsu wouldn’t hurt… Then Kenma would wake up to his nap alarm, put the dishes in the sink, turn off the lights, and shake Kuroo awake so they could change into their pajamas, brush their teeth, and go to sleep properly in the bed.  Kuroo would wake up in time for practice the next day and not be sore from sleeping on the floor all night.  Yes.  Perfect. 

With his plans carefully laid, Kenma laid his head on the kotatsu mirroring Kuroo, lacing their fingers together, and closed his eyes to the monotonous mumblings of the news on the TV. 

An hour and a half later, Kenma’s nap alarm went off, and he instantly shut it off and fell back asleep. 

The next morning, they both woke up on the floor with their backs sore, the lights on, TV and the kotatsu running, a dirty plate on the table with two mugs mostly full with over-steeped, room-temperature tea… and their mouths tasting grossly like whatever they last ate the night before.  This was especially unpleasant for Kuroo.  His throat was also dry and sore from slight dehydration. 

“Ugh….” Kuroo groaned, fumbling for the remote and turning the TV off at last, then struggling with his phone to shut off his pesky alarm.  He was very displeased to find that didn’t stop all of the noise in the room, since Kenma’s phone was going off too somewhere. 

“Mmnghhh…” Kenma echoed, rolling over and shielding his eyes from the light filtering in.  He made no effort to grab his phone. 

“Ah, geez… I have practice…”

“Mmmrrrngh…” Kenma repeated. 

“For the love of—“ Kuroo’s hand finally found Kenma’s phone on the other side of the kotatsu and shut off the second alarm, now feeling regrettably more awake.  Pulling himself upright, he looked around at the state they were in and managed to laugh a little, voice hoarse.  “Wow… this is a mess…” 

They were really, really bad at being responsible adults. 

Eventually Kuroo managed to get himself ready (at least he wasn’t hungover), even convincing Kenma to brush his teeth and change out of his clothes from the night before even if he was just gonna climb into the futon to sleep the rest of the morning.  Kenma changed into his pajamas—only nine hours overdue.  The dirty dishes were thrown into the sink, Kuroo’s practice clothes flung into his bag, and then he gave Kenma a shower of affectionate kisses before running out of the door. 

“I’m off!”

“Have a good practice.” Came the sleepy mumble from his bed. 

Even after waking up with a sore throat, a stiff back, and an awful taste in his mouth, Kuroo felt giddy all over having Kenma send him off from home in the morning.  It was so bloody domestic, his smile was hurting his face.

“I could call in sick—“

“Go,” Kenma insisted, poking his head out from under the covers.  “But promise you’ll be home soon.” 

A small pinky poked its way out of the blankets, and Kuroo curled his own pinky finger fondly around it, tugging gently and pressing the pads of their thumbs together—to seal the pact. 

“I promise.” 

Chapter Text

“Heyyyyy!!  Kenmaaa!!  We’re over here!!!”  Lev shouted, waving his arms side to side in the air and hopping up and down madly.

“He acts like he’s hard to spot in a crowd…” Kenma muttered, Taketora laughing beside him. 

“Well… around other tall volleyball players, he’s not so out of place.” 

The two captains strode up to their team across the open courtyard in front of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, waving slightly.  Kenma did a quick mental headcount as he dodged Lev’s greeting hug.  Two, four, six, eight…

“Hey, who are we missing?” Taketora barked.

“Shou and Wataru just texted they’re on their way,” Murata offered, holding his phone up in the air.  “They met up early in the morning for extra practice, and they’re finishing up.” 

“Hahaha… those two are so diligent even as first-years.  They’re making the upperclassmen look bad!” Inuoka laughed, scratching his head.

“Really?  I don’t feel bad at all though…” Lev added.

“You never feel bad about anything, you can’t talk!” Taketora snapped, punching Lev in the gut with the palm of his hand. 

“Well, they’re first years and they’re trying really hard to be regulars.  I understand where they’re coming from…” Shibayama added quietly, running a hand through his hair.  Taking over for Yaku as the team libero had been a somewhat daunting task for him at the start of the school year.  Even though he had been able to play in every game since April (being the only libero available kind of helped), he felt he hadn’t truly earned his place as a regular until their second term had rolled around after summer.  Not to mention, Yaku hadn’t just been an amazing libero for their team, he had also been a pillar of support, as well as the firm hand keeping Lev in line.  Shibayama was trying his best to fulfill just one out of the three. 

“That’s all well and good, so long as they’re not working themselves to death—“

“Or making us late to the first match!”

“Tokai’s not in the first round though…” Kenma muttered. 

“Hey now!” the captain wheeled around, poking his vice-captain in the forehead.  “Yes, we’re here to support our former captain, Kuroo Tetsurou!  But this is also an excellent educational opportunity for us!  We’ll get to see how college teams play, what strategies they use, what techniques they’ve perfected!  These are the guys that go on to be pros!”

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear you shouting about ‘educational opportunities’ with that face…”

“Wanna keep running that mouth, Fukunagaaa??!!?”

Yankee Taketora was back. 

“Oh, there’s Kamikawa and Sato!” Shibayama pointed.

The two first-years sprinted over to their team and, upon seeing they were the last ones to arrive, bowed low, panting hard.  They screeched,

“We’re sorry we’re late!!!”

“That’s a nice, low bow!” Taketora barked over them, crossing his arms and taking his place as reprimanding captain. 

“We’re sorry!  We’re so sorry!  When we realized we were going to be late, Wataru suggested we go by the convenience store and buy everyone drinks as an apology, so… please accept these!”  Sato wheezed, thrusting two bags into Taketora’s hands. 

“…welllllll we all make mistakes from time to time!” the Mohawk laughed, his rough exterior growing immediately soft as his face failed to hide an all-too-pleased smile. 

Kenma sighed and took the bags away from his captain, passing them around to the team after pulling out his favorite apple juice.  His captain was too easily bribed to dole out proper punishments.    

“And you say I’m easy on them.”  Kenma muttered, pulling out the tickets and passing them around to his team, the last ones being Kamikawa and Sato.  He gave them a long, even look before he handed them their passes, waiting until they wilted under his gaze before quietly saying, “Don’t overdo it.” 

“Y-yes vice-captain…” they murmured in reply, exchanging guilty looks between them, and Kenma felt sure the former Karasuno captain (Sawamura, was it?) must have dealt with something similar with Shouyou and Kageyama.  Honestly, the current Karasuno captain (whose name escaped him) was probably still dealing with it. 

Entering the gymnasium itself sent the first years into a frenzy—they had never been inside such a large stadium.  The upperclassmen meanwhile felt a nostalgic pride, having competed here a year prior during the last Spring High… they had been knocked out of the competition by their now-famed rivals at Karasuno, but that loss had been as strangely satisfying as it had been disappointing.  In just another month, they’d return to this stage and take their revenge against those crows, maybe even win the championship. 

The noise inside was deafening as they found their way to their seats.  The first semifinal match featuring Tsukuba University versus the Nippon Sport Science University was a few points into the first set, and Tsukuba had just scored an impressive no-touch service ace. 

“Wow, that was a powerful serve…” Murata gaped, eyes wide. 

If Kenma’s memory served, Tsukuba had won the 65^th intercollegiate championship the previous year and in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, proved a near unstoppable force when they won six consecutive championships between 1997 and 2002.  In 2003, Tokai had been the one to break their winning streak, stepping up to the championship for the first time in nearly a decade.  He only remembered these matches as well as he did because he and Kuroo had grown up on those games, watching videos of them in Kuroo’s room and trying out the moves they had seen while playing in the park.  Well, Kuroo had tried anyway.

“The semifinals are gonna be awesome, but I kind of wish we would’ve been able to see some of the earlier matches during the week…” Sato said, nudging Kamikawa’s arm next to him.  “I’ve heard Kansai schools play really crazy, ya know?!”

“I think your mom would kill you for skipping school, and captain Tora would kill you for missing practice.”  Kamikawa laughed.

“What about skipping practice?!?” Tora’s voice rang from three seats away. 

“N-nothing!”  The two shrank. 

“It’s what, B—no, A system this year, right?” Inuoka asked, sipping at his barley tea and leaning over into Kenma’s shoulder. 

“Hm?  B?  A?  What?” Lev leaned over from the row behind them, squishing his head between Kenma and Inuoka. 

“Damn it, Lev, personal space!” Inuoka grumbled. 

“The Intercollegiate Volleyball Federation runs two different tournament structures, A and B,” Kenma started to explain.  Lev and the first years grew instantly attentive, leaning in towards their setter—eyes wide like kittens with their sights set on a waggling toy.  Kenma shrank a little from all the gazes that were focused on him, but he soldiered on.  “It’s… It’s still pretty new, they only started doing it in 2013, but the A system is what you might expect—about 120 universities from all over Japan compete and the tournament goes for seven days.  In the B system—“

The crowd roared around them as Nittaidai (the affectionate nickname for the Nippon Sport Science University) brought the score to a tie with Tsukuba with consecutive blocks from Gen Masaki, a middle blocker wearing the #14 jersey. 

“I think that middle blocker is shorter than me,” Lev whistled. 

“Which means you have no excuse for slacking off!” Tora bristled.  Every comment Lev made was somehow a chance to remind him of the work he still had left to do.

“Sorry, sorry!  Anyway, B system?”  Lev’s blocking might still need work, but he was a master of dodging and changing the subject when he was being scolded. 

“The B system essentially cuts down the number of competing teams by half,” Inuoka joined in.  “Kansai holds a tournament for their top eight teams, Kanto does the same…”

“You add another 48 top teams from around the country,” Kenma supplemented.

“Then you get a national tournament of 64 total teams going over six days.” Inuoka finished. 

“Eh?” Murata jumped in.  “So if your school is in the bottom half of the rankings…”

“Then you only get to play in the national tournament every other year,” Fukunaga shrugged, sipping at his tea. 

“Top four this year are Tsukuba, Nittaidai, Tokai, and Chuo,” Taketora listed, counting down fingers as he said their names.  “All Kanto schools, and you’re gonna see them pretty much every year.” 

“Wow… you guys know a lot!” Lev smiled, leaning back into his seat.  “Do you guys do anything besides volleyball?” 

A series of blows and punches made themselves known to the second year, and the half-Russian was soon hunched over in his seat, clutching the growing bumps on his head.  He never learned.

After that, Lev watched the rest of the game mostly in silence, only adding commentary for particularly cool spikes or quick attacks.  The first-years huddled together examining the players’ play styles and trying to figure out the techniques behind some of the combinations that were played—Murata was attempting to record every serve on his phone.  Kamikawa had brought a notebook and was scribbling furiously into it with Sato, who called out player numbers excitedly whenever something impressive was done (from either team).  Kenma, Taketora, and Fukunaga had a mild wager on which team would advance to the finals, with Kenma and Fukunaga betting on Tsukuba, and Taketora on Nittaidai.  Inuoka and Shibayama were going through the program booklet, reading up on all of the players’ names and stats along with the extraneous information that was thrown in (like what their favorite foods were).  They went a little star-struck when they found the Tokai pages with Kuroo’s picture, and Kenma made a mental note to text Kuroo about that later.

“These look like celebrity profiles…”  Inuoka laughed. 

“I guess they kind of are?”  Shibayama shrugged.

“It’s weird seeing Captain Kuroo and Bokuto in here though.” 

“They even ask them things like what they look for in a girlfriend!  Seriously?!” Shibayama groaned, turning away from the program they were sharing.

“Plus favorite foods and how they got into volleyball… definitely like some sort of idol magazine.” 

Kenma listed off the items silently to himself as he listened in on their conversation.  Kuroo’s favorite food was grilled mackerel, he’s been obsessed with volleyball ever since he was a child, and what he looked for in a girlfriend was apparently someone quiet and reserved, with a preference for games over most people.  Someone who doesn’t mind playing volleyball with him from time to time, and, oh yeah, has a dick.  When he looked into the pamphlet to double-check his answers, he was pleased to find that Kuroo’s answer for the girlfriend question had been simply: Sorry, but I’ve already found the love of my life.  Very pleased. 

Eventually, Kenma and Fukunaga won the first wager as Tsukuba advanced to the Finals and Taketora dejectedly passed 1,000 yen notes to the other third years.  But of course there wouldn’t be any betting on the next set of matches, because they would all be unanimously rooting for Tokai’s victory against Chuo. 

When the Tokai team entered the court in their royal blue and white, the Nekoma team cheered wildly from the stands, calling out Kuroo’s name, his jersey number—Taketora was waving his red Nekoma jacket wildly above his head.  Their opposing team from Chuo University, clad in black and red (almost an inversion of the Nekoma team colors), took the court for warm-ups.  The black almost reminded Kenma of Karasuno, but the red accents to their uniforms instead of orange instead made him think instead that Kuroo was up against some alternate version of Nekoma. 

Kuroo never did wave back at them, there were too many people in the stands and simply too much noise for him to be able to hear the voices of his old team out of the crowd—in any case, he was focused on his team and focused on the game ahead. 

But Kenma swelled with pride when they took their positions on the court, and he saw Kuroo (and Bokuto) in the starting line-up for Tokai.  Most likely, he wouldn’t be kept on the court for every set, but starting lineup meant he was absolutely holding his own in an elite university team, him and Bokuto both.  The former Fukurodani captain was in the back row to start, and Kenma pulled out his phone to text Akaashi.

I see Bokuto in the starting line-up for Tokai. 

And I see Kuroo.

Are you here with your team?

Northwest corner of the bleachers—almost straight across from you guys.

Oh you saw us?

Your entire team kind of…
stands out. 

It wasn’t a phrase Kenma liked to hear, but when put in context with the rest of his team, Kenma was content to know they all blended together as such—even if the team as a whole was rather distinctive.  He pulled on his long hair absentmindedly—he couldn’t deny he definitely stood out more now than when he was a second year. 

Does Bokuto know you guys are here?

He told us explicitly not to come because he’d get nervous if he knew we were watching. 
We came anyway, obviously. 
And the idiot is still looking up into the stands to see if we’re here.

So he was being coy?
He told you guys not to come even though he really wanted you here. 

He’s really annoying that way…

At least you know what he really means.
Kuroo knows we’re here, but he hasn’t found us in the stands yet.
He’s really focused on the game.

As he should be.

Are you and Bokuto… doing ok now?

…
I think we’re at the calm before the storm. 
But now’s not the best time to talk about it. 
We can talk later.

“Kenma, stop texting and pay attention to the game!” Taketora shoved his shoulder from the row behind. 

Kenma might have argued that he could do both perfectly well, but it was about to be Kuroo’s serve, so he wordlessly slipped the phone into his coat pocket. 

Kuroo threw the ball up, ran up, jumped, and slammed it down on the other side of the net, close to the back line—service ace. 

“YEEAHHH, KUROO!!!” his teammates around him screamed. 

Even Kenma called out a barely audible, “Nice serve!” 

The second serve slammed straight into the libero’s receive, starting up an intense volley that ended with a point for Chuo after a successfully executed rebound-spike off of Tokai’s blockers.  Kenma’s teammates groaned around him, but continued calling out more encouraging cries.

“Next point!”

“Take the ball back next serve!”

“Don’t mind, don’t mind!”

But no matter how often or how hard they cheered, victory after three full sets went to Chuo University, and the Tokai team stood dejectedly on their side of the court, Bokuto visibly sniffling and wiping away tears.  Bokuto had played in every set, and he had had some critical misses in the third set—no doubt he was blaming himself for their loss.

“They’ll play again tomorrow,” Kenma muttered as the two teams lined up to shake hands on the court.  It was hard to mask his own disappointment seeing the way Kuroo’s shoulders hunched over dejectedly.  “It’ll be Tokai and Nittaidai so they can determine which of them will get to be in the top three.”

“Well, at least they get to play one more time.  Just not for the championship…” Lev sighed, bringing his hands up over his head.  “Bummer.”

“It was a good game though!” Inuoka added.  “It was really close, and they went to three full sets.” 

“That deuce in the second set had me at the edge of my seat!” Kamikawa piped in.  “Kuroo really has great instincts for blocking, he saved Tokai a lot of points when he was on the court!” 

They were directing almost all of the commentary at Kenma—as if the greatest disappointment was his and not Tokai’s.  Maybe if they could cheer him up, they could ostensibly cheer up their former captain, and also themselves.  Of course they didn’t really need to, Kenma didn’t feel that bad about the match (Kuroo was only a first year, he’d have more opportunities in the future to play and to win, and Kenma would have plenty more opportunities to watch), but he appreciated their thoughtfulness all the same. 

He opened his phone to find texts from Akaashi.

Well, they’ll play again tomorrow. 
We’ll be back then.  You?

We have tickets for the entire weekend. 

Maybe tomorrow our two teams should sit together. 
We can cheer on Kuroo and Bokuto with double the people. 

Won’t that make Bokuto nervous?

That’s what he’ll say, but I know what he means. 
See you tomorrow. 

Kenma looked down at the court below as his teammates gathered their things, picking up their trash like responsible students.  The Tokai team looked dejected, certainly… Kuroo had his hand on Bokuto’s back with a sympathetic smile, probably urging him to stop crying…  But the setter could see the slump in Kuroo’s posture, the way he dragged his feet.  Kuroo felt the loss just as badly even if he wasn’t crying about it.  Kenma unlocked his phone to send Kuroo a text.

Good game. 
You had some seriously impressive blocks, the whole team thought so.
We’ll come see you again tomorrow. 
Top three in the nation in your first year—you can be proud of that.  I am. 

Kenma received a reply much later that evening, as he lay in his bed looking over his class notes to prepare for midterms. 

Sorry I couldn’t show Nekoma a winning match. 
I’ll make it happen tomorrow for sure!

An ambitious promise, perhaps—Kenma had found Nittaidai to be an impressive team—but he was glad Kuroo felt well enough to make his usual, over-confident promises.  Even if Tokai hadn’t won, he had found Kuroo amazing to watch on the court.  He prayed that college gave him the promised free time to see more of Kuroo’s matches, even practice matches.  Other people were always doubting Kenma’s love of volleyball—and yes, he admitted he couldn’t play on the college level and wouldn’t try—but he had loved playing it with Kuroo, and he continued to love watching Kuroo play.  That would never change.  Those lithe limbs looked most at home on the court, and it was a thrill to see Kuroo come alive as he did.  Whether he won or not, all that really mattered to Kenma was seeing him compete.  Shouyou had said to him once—that he wanted to stand on that court for as long as possible, as many times as possible.  Kenma wondered if it was silly or strange to want that for someone else.

I can’t wait to see you play tomorrow too.

When Tokai won their place in the top three the next day, the cheers from Tokai, Fukurodani, and Nekoma echoed throughout the stadium.  It wasn’t the finals, it hadn’t been for the championship, but they had gone out on the court, played their best, and left as victors.  Besides which, third place meant a place on the podium at the awards ceremony afterwards.  They’d get to see Kuroo and Bokuto receive medals and probably cry.

After the competition was over, Nekoma and Fukurodani parted ways outside the stadium, their teammates shaking hands as if in preparation for a match themselves.  Soon enough they would be.  Akaashi and Kenma took each other’s hands in an uncharacteristically firm handshake, resolution shining in their eyes.

“See you back here in January.”  Akaashi promised, his eyes glimmering.

“Count on it.”  Kenma affirmed, his amber eyes wide with a piercing gaze. 

“I’m just telling you, the Illumination displays in Shinjuku are supposed to look really cool.”

“It’s Shinjuku.”  Kenma’s voice grumbled in Kuroo’s ear.  “At Christmas.” 

“We don’t have to stay long.  We have to go out to get food anyway,” Kuroo mumbled into his phone, cozying deeper into his kotatsu and stirring his hot cocoa. 

“There’s a difference between buying dinner somewhere around your apartment, and making the trek to Shinjuku.  Shinjuku.” 

“Look, I know it gets crowded there—“

“That station is a dungeon, and I thought I was gonna die.  It’s crowded even for Tokyo standards.” 

“But Christmas is for couples!  And I wanted to take you out on a romantic Christmas date!”

“It’s not going to be romantic if I spend the whole time hating the crowds and wishing I was home.” 

“We could look at the pretty lights in matching coats and scarves, holding hands in the snow—“ Kuroo gushed, closing his eyes and leaning into his phone. 

“You’ve been watching all the Christmas specials on TV, haven’t you?  We don’t even have matching scarves—“

“We do now!”

Kuroo laughed as Kenma sighed loudly on the other end of the line.  He heard the faint noise of a zipper in the background, along with a quiet rustling—Kenma was packing up to come visit for Christmas and New Year’s.  The setter was being rather hasty about it, actually—he had only just finished his last midterm a couple of hours ago and had decided he would immediately go home and pack to spend as much of his precious one week holiday over with his boyfriend.  It sounded to Kuroo through the phone like Kenma was packing in a vague frenzy.

“Don’t forget your hair brush.”  Kuroo reminded.  The last time Kenma had stayed over without a brush had not turned out well for that beautiful, long hair.  Kuroo, by contrast, had never bothered with a hair brush in all his life. 

“I’m trying to decide what study textbooks to bring—“

Kuroo felt bad for the poor boy—he had sacrificed nearly all of his gaming in the past year to study for his college entrance exams.  Well, and to make time for their relationship… And the second weekend after New Year’s was the dreaded Center Exam.  Kenma was stuck leading the fast-paced life he never wanted, but such was the nature of being a high school third-year student with aspirations for higher education. 

“Maybe I’ll just bring History and English since you can help me with those.”  He heard Kenma mutter, voice drifting further and further away.  The phone was likely slipping off his shoulder.  “Okay.  I’m packed.  I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”  His voice was suddenly much clearer and closer to the phone, and Kuroo smiled at the eagerness he heard in that voice.

“All right, see you soon.  Love you.”  Kuroo made a kissy noise into the receiver. 

“S-see you soon.” 

Christmas Eve was anything but kind to Kenma as he made his journey over to Kuroo’s apartment in Ebisu.  The crowds were immense even on the evening before the main day, and the streets and stations were bustling with people (mostly couples).  He may not have known what the special Shinjuku illuminations looked like, but there were lights aplenty no matter where you went in Tokyo during the holiday season, every station trying to outdo itself from whatever they had done for the previous year’s festivities.  Having just escaped their last day of midterms, many students, still in uniform, wandered about in shopping areas, happy to be on vacation at last and making full use of their first free evening.  Kenma shared their sentiments.

In the middle of his train ride, his phone buzzed with a text and an attached image from Shouyou, and he opened the image to find a slightly blurry selfie of the boy in front of a sloppily built snowman.  The caption read:

Built a snowman with Kageyama after school!
Merry Christmas Eve!!!  Got plans?

None that involve snowmen.

Tokyo very rarely got snow for Christmas (sometimes a sprinkle might rain down around New Year’s), but Miyagi was further north, and he suspected that Shouyou traditionally played in the snow every year.  It made for beautiful scenery, to be sure, but Kenma was perfectly fine without the famed ‘winter wonderland Christmas.’ 

I’m spending tonight and tomorrow with Kageyama.
It’ll be for Christmas and his birthday, which was the other day. 
What do couples normally do on Christmas anyway?

Here they usually go out to every major shopping center and look at the illumination displays.
And I think there’s usually cake involved. 
But you and Kageyama should just do what feels natural for you. 
Kuroo and I are probably staying in.

Ohhh…
So I should buy him a cake…
And then we should play volleyball?

Kenma felt a laugh bubbling up in his throat as the train jostled against the wind. 

Maybe a little less volleyball.

I guess people do usually go out somewhere though…
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi mentioned something about that after practice last week.  Something about stargazing.
I just wanna try coming up with something really really special!
It’s our first… ya know… couple-y winter…

I’m sure Kageyama will be happy just to spend time with you, Shouyou.
Or at least… as happy as Kageyama can get.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.

…you don’t really want to. 
Are you and Kuroo gonna go to a shrine for New Year’s?

Kenma remembered previous years when he and Kuroo had attempted a shrine visit on New Year’s morning—usually dragged by both of their parents… in recent years, it was sometimes a team event—and shuddered.  Those crowds were worse than the Christmas rush.  Why did everyone feel a compulsive need to go out for the holidays?  All Kenma wanted to do was stay inside where it was warm and quiet. 

Maybe. 
It’s gonna be my stop soon.

Visiting Kuroo again?
Lucky… you guys have like—
A special space where you can be alone together. 
I hate having to sneak around Kageyama’s parents. 

All things in good time, Shouyou. 
Merry Christmas. 
I’ll see you at Spring High.

You bet!

Kenma got off the train at Ebisu—a less crowded station than some of the others—and walked at a steady pace toward Kuroo’s apartment, fumbling about in his pocket for his keys.  He specifically didn’t want to knock; he wanted to unlock the door himself with the key he had received and call out, I’m home.  He walked up the now-familiar stairs up to the tiny apartment he considered a second home (even his mother referred to it as his home away from home), slid the key slowly into the lock, opened the door, and quietly called out,

“I’m home.”

Kuroo practically ran over to him at the door, hugging him tight around his shoulders as the door closed behind him, and whispered fondly into his ear,

“Welcome back.” 

Four months, Kenma thought in a daze.  Four months until this could become their daily routine.  He wrapped his arms tight around Kuroo’s waist and slowly took deep, long breaths. 

“I made curry!” Kuroo said, taking Kenma’s bag from him and leading them inside.  “I know tomorrow is gonna be fried chicken and cake and apple pie or whatever… but I need to practice cooking the recipes I got my mom to teach me.”  He opened the warmed-up pot and held out his arms.  “Ta-daaa… My Christmas Eve present!” 

Kenma took a whiff—it did actually smell really delicious—and silently grabbed a plate. 

“When did you get a rice cooker?” he pointed at the new appliance that now took up most of the kitchen counter space. 

“Oh my parents brought me one for my birthday.  Plus gave me some of our old kitchen things.  My mom really wants me to stop eating shit.” 

The setter tried a bite of the curry while still standing in the kitchen, and blinked.

“Well this isn’t shit.  So good start.” 

“You really like it?” Kuroo’s face lit up, and Kenma giggled at the excitement in those eyes.  It was almost like the bedhead itself was perking up. 

“Yeah.” Kenma smiled, taking his plate to the kotatsu and settling in. 

“I think there’s a housewife in me somewhere that’s super-duper pleased about that,” Kuroo laughed, pouring out his own plate.  “So if nothing else, at least I can make us some decent curry.”  He settled down across from Kenma at the heated table and wriggled his toes against Kenma’s under the comforter. 

“I’ll do some of the cooking too.  It doesn’t have to be just you.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that,” Kuroo smirked.  “How’d midterms go?”

Kenma shrugged, shoving another spoonful of curry into his mouth. 

“They were fine.  Main thing is they’re done.”

“Haha!  Fair enough.  I got a text from Bokuto while you were on your way.  He and Akaashi want to know if we wanna spend Christmas with them tomorrow.” 

“…in Shinjuku?” Kenma raised an eyebrow. 

“If it’s all four of us, I think we’re sticking to this area.  Maybe Omotesando?  That won’t be as crowded.” 

Kenma shoved another spoonful of curry into his mouth and pondered the suggested change.  He did actually want to see the other two, and if they weren’t going to be wading through the crowds in Shinjuku like sardines crammed into a can, he could handle going out.  Plus he did actually enjoy the lights he saw on his way over just now.  Maybe he was getting into the Christmas spirit after all. 

“Ok.”  He relented around another bite of curry.

“Really?” Kuroo brightened.  “Okay, lemme text Bokuto.” 

And while Kuroo did that, Kenma pulled out his phone to text Akaashi. 

Did Bokuto try to drag you to Shinjuku too?

He changed his mind pretty quickly when I said I’d be happier with a more intimate setting. 
Then he and Kuroo changed to Omotesando, and I ‘relented.’
I’m assuming you did too.

I wanna see you guys.
I just don’t want to be caught dead in Shinjuku. 
I’ve never not gotten lost there.

Bokuto bought us matching mufflers. 

…Kuro did too. 

So it wasn’t a Kuroo thing, it was a Kuroo-and-Bokuto-came-up-with-this-together thing. 

Merry Christmas Eve, Kenma.

Merry Christmas Eve, Akaashi. 
See you tomorrow. 

The setter tucked his phone back into his pocket then narrowed his eyes at his scheming boyfriend—scheming made worse by his incorrigible friend.  Akaashi’s temperament must have been touched by the hand of Buddha; Kenma had less patience for it. 

“Okay, so we know what we’re doing tomorrow…” Kuroo chirped as he put his phone aside.  “As for tonight…” Kuroo flashed a feral grin, almost baring fangs.  Kenma felt a shiver go up his spine and excitement pool in his stomach.  Very frequently, that particular grin meant…  “Sappy holiday movies!”

“…what.”

“I have this one British movie—it has Japanese subtitles don’t worry—that’s supposed to be fun and cute.  My western-world-obsessed coworker recommended it to me.  And then I have the Japanese spin-off version that’s I think a little more drama than comedy, but it has Hiroshi Tamaki in it—“

“Kuro…”

“What?” 

Kenma couldn’t really hold it in.  The laughter erupted out of him, and he clutched his sides as the giggles shook him. 

“Kuro… you’re such a dork!” 

When he remembered that Shouyou still found Kuroo vaguely intimidating—along with the current Nekoma first years who had never spent any real time with him—he wished he could properly explain to them all.  Kuroo wasn’t anything at all like they imagined.  He only looked like he had ulterior motives all the time because of that face of his.  The true face of Kuroo Tetsurou was one that got excited over holiday movies, who loved to sleep in late for morning snuggles, and who behaved like a mother hen to all of his underclassmen. 

“Wh-what?!”  Kuroo was getting flustered now. 

“Ok ok, we’ll watch your movies.”  Kenma gasped for breath, the laughter subsiding a little.  “Just as long as none of them are that weird ‘Grinch’ movie we saw as kids.” 

“O-okay…”

“And let’s make hot cocoa.” 

The two snuggled together in the kotatsu (Kuroo enveloping Kenma like an additional blanket), and quietly sipped their hot cocoa as they watched Love Actually.  Kenma did actually recognize about half of the actors from other famous movies—not that he really remembered their names—but there was a very odd disconnect for him in British humor.  He could tell many of the moments were supposed to be funny, especially when Kuroo chuckled behind him, but Kenma had never really understood western sarcasm.  Especially the one older guy whose main form of affection seemed to be insulting his poor, suffering manager. 

“Have you ever gotten British customers?”

“Once, I think?  They didn’t sound anything like this though...  No, wait—maybe they were Australian.  Honest to god, Kenma, I can’t tell them apart.”

As the movie progressed, Kenma’s favorite stories were the one with the ridiculous, middle-aged rock star (despite his constant stream of mean insults), and the one about the writer and his temporary housekeeper.  Kuroo seemed most amused by the Prime Minister’s story along with the story about the body-double actors (an uncomfortable profession, if ever there was one) whose plotline turned out to be one of the sweetest despite their rather… unconventional first meeting. 

“Too bad there’s no story in here about childhood friends turning into lovers,” Kuroo had teased at one point, nuzzling into Kenma’s neck.  “That’s a trope I like.” 

Kenma had blushed and leaned back further into him, silently agreeing. 

About halfway through the second movie, It all began when I met you, Kenma felt himself drifting off, surrounded by warmth and comfort and Kuroo’s steady breathing in his ear. 

“If you want to go to bed, we should actually get ready for bed.  Let’s not have a repeat of my birthday weekend.” 

“Mmghmmph” Kenma mumbled, leaning forward to rest his head on the tabletop, his long hair falling like a curtain over his eyes. 

“Up up up, come on,” Kuroo nudged his sides gently, turning off the movie and clearing the plates and mugs off the table. 

There was no repeat of November; they got properly changed into pajamas, brushed their teeth, turned off all the lights, and crawled rightly into bed like responsible adults.  Kenma curled himself up into Kuroo’s side, forcing him to sleep on his back and not on his stomach like usual.  Whenever Kenma stayed over, Kuroo woke up in the mornings without his standard bedhead, and it almost made him look halfway presentable.  Almost. 

Except sometimes in the mornings, Kenma found he missed the gravity-defying spikes. 

He lay in bed as the late morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains, watching the steady rise and fall of Kuroo’s chest, contentment shining across that sleepy face.  Kenma almost always woke up before Kuroo.  He suspected he may have some form of mild insomnia, or maybe he spent too much time looking at small, bright screens and overthinking things.  Not to mention Kuroo slept like a log, and if you left him be, he could probably sleep for entire days depending on how sleep-deprived he had recently been.  Well, he had a bigger body… he probably needed more energy to run it, and that probably took more time to recover. 

Kenma reached up with his hand to gently trace his finger along the ridge of Kuroo’s nose, across his lips—chapped, like his own in winter—along his slightly stubbly jaw… the gesture made the man’s eyelids flutter a bit, though he stayed asleep.  The setter brushed the long bangs out of Kuroo’s face and noted how long those eyelashes were… longer than his mother’s even, though maybe not quite as full as his own.  His long fingers crept down the strong neck, brushing against the adam’s apple and dipping into the hollow between the collar bones.  He felt the shoulder muscles tense under his head where he was using them as a pillow as Kuroo finally started to wake, stretching out his arms and letting out a long, low groan. 

“Mmmg’mornin’,” Kuroo mumbled, turning a sleepy smile toward Kenma and kissing the setter’s forehead.  “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” Kenma replied softly, pulling himself closer to Kuroo’s warmth. 

“What time is it?”  Kuroo yawned, rubbing his eyes against the strip of light that fell across his face.

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Dunno.” Kenma shrugged, closing his eyes. 

“Just felt like watching me sleep?” he teased, twirling a strand of Kenma’s hair between his fingers. 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Your hair’s getting impressively long… It might be time for a trim.”

“If you say so…” Odd, now that Kuroo was awake, Kenma just wanted to snuggle back into his side and go back to sleep.  Well, maybe not sleep.  But he wanted to lay there a little longer. 

“A slightly shorter length might be easier to take care of too.” 

“Mmkay.”

“Hey, don’t fall back asleep now…” Kuroo nudged him gently, kissing the bridge of his nose, before kissing his forehead again, then his lips, then both of his cheeks… soon he was peppering soft kisses all over Kenma’s face until the setter was laughing into him and shoving his face away. 

“S-stop…” Kenma whined, though the smile on his lips gave him away. 

“But it’s breakfast time.”

“I’m not breakfast.”

“You sure?” Kuroo pulled their faces together for a kiss.  There was a slight tinge of morning breath and their lips were definitely chapped from the warm, dry air the heating unit was pumping into the room, but it was rousing nonetheless.  “But you’re yummy.”

“Gross…”

“Ooh,” Kuroo grinned, pushing his hips into Kenma’s.  “I must have been dreaming about you.”

The setter felt a warm firmness press into his thigh, but it was too early in the morning, and he was still not awake enough to blush.  Instead he pushed back against it, feeling it grow harder and teased,

“Can’t remember what your dream was about?”

“Don’t need to.  Reality’s much better.”  He took Kenma’s face in both hands and kissed him again softly.  “Much better.”   

“You’re so embarrassing…” Kenma muttered, but he could feel his own desire growing, his body growing more and more awake. 

He stretched his arms up over his head, feeling his skin tingle in the cool air outside of the blanket.  Breathing in deep, he inhaled until he felt his lungs would burst, then slowly exhaled, feeling every cell in his body come alive.  In one smooth moment, he rolled over on top of Kuroo, keeping his head low so it didn’t bump the ceiling. 

It had long been obvious to the both of them that Kenma’s sex drive was much lower than Kuroo’s, likely lower than the average person’s, and certainly lower than the average teenage boy, but occasionally, even he could feel that heated longing people called ‘lust.’  It rarely manifested as that frantic, desperate fervor like in movies.  Usually it was in lazy mornings like this one when he was well-rested and so full of affection his spine tingled with every loving thought.  In these moments, all he wanted to do was press their bodies close together and shower Kuroo with deep, long kisses.  So he ground their hips together as his lips found the steady pulse in Kuroo’s neck, gently licking and sucking on the skin. 

“Ahnn… Kenma…” Kuroo breathed, and those deep moans went straight to Kenma’s crotch. 

Kenma wanted to hear more of that and right away, so he shuffled his way down, pushing up the fabric of Kuroo’s shirt and kissing his way down that defined abdomen, dipping a teasing tongue into his navel before tugging impatiently on the waistband of the pajama pants.  After shimmying his way down, he was basically burrowed under the blanket, his exhales warming his own face as he slowly licked Kuroo’s length from base to tip. 

“Hngh!”  Kuroo pushed back the blanket lest Kenma suffocate down there, and groaned a little louder as Kenma sucked eagerly on the tip. 

“Ah… Shit… h-hang on.” Kuroo leaned up on his elbows, reaching down to pull on Kenma’s shoulder. 

But Kenma clamped his lips tightly down around the hardness in his mouth and shook his head slowly side to side, letting his tongue sweep over the weeping slit as he did.  It was very satisfying to see Kuroo squeeze his eyes shut and throw his head back, panting and gasping at the sensation. 

“Hngh… hah… just…” he pulled again, more insistently.  “Let me suck on yours too.” 

“Hmm…” Kenma pretended to ponder the request, humming against the flesh in his mouth and swirling his tongue pensively around in circles, watching intently as Kuroo squirmed beneath him, cheeks growing flushed. 

After one more insistent tug, Kenma relented, swiftly undressing before repositioning himself so he was on his knees bent over Kuroo’s length, while his own hung inches above his lover’s face.  It was one of the more embarrassing positions for Kenma—something about it made him feel much more exposed.  When he felt Kuroo’s mouth take him in, he gasped aloud, Kuroo’s erection slipping out from between his lips.  He could feel the smirk form around his lower flesh, and he determinedly took Kuroo into his mouth again, slowly dipping his head downward to see how much of him he could swallow.  The answer was: not quite all.  But Kuroo moaned against him, and that was satisfying for a multitude of reasons. 

Kuroo, for his part, didn’t use as much tongue as Kenma did, but he used much more of his hands.  He ran them up and down Kenma’s sides, occasionally brushing against a nipple… or he’d run them across the insides of Kenma’s thighs to tease him, or he’d grab and squeeze Kenma’s ass because he knew how much that drove him wild.  In this position it always turned partially into a competition.  Who could distract the other enough to make him forfeit his attention on the cock in his mouth?  Who could make the other moan louder or shudder harder?  And inevitably, who could make the other cum first? 

Kuroo won out this time around, when he discovered that Kenma had a bit—just a bit—of a masochistic side to him. 

“Ahh!  You spanked me!” Kenma had cried out, his head craning to meet Kuroo’s eyes. 

“Did you not like it?”

“I… Ngh…” it was difficult to form a reply when Kuroo was rubbing a teasing finger against his entrance, spreading his cheeks wide with those strong, broad hands.  Another unexpected smack to that bottom sent shivers down Kenma’s spine, and he bit his lip to hold back a louder cry.  He could feel his cock leaking happily from the new sensations.

“Oooh, you like it…” Kuroo confirmed, and Kenma was in no state to deny it or try to say otherwise. 

So he came first, spilling into Kuroo’s mouth and on the sheets when Kuroo couldn’t swallow anymore.  After Kenma took a moment to let the first wave of ecstasy wash over him, he took Kuroo into his mouth again with renewed dedication, letting his refined oral technique drive Kuroo to his edge.  With trembling hips, he came hard and messily, filling Kenma’s ears with a delicious symphony of low groans and keening high gasps. 

“You got some in my hair…” Kenma pouted, rolling over onto his side and wiping at the drops of sticky fluid around his mouth. 

“Well you got some on my sheets,” Kuroo panted, smacking Kenma’s behind playfully. 

“Not.  The.  Same.  Thing.”  Kenma poked Kuroo’s thighs to punctuate each word.

“Both can be washed.  Ngh… later.” 

Like hell.

“Now,” Kenma demanded, pinching the soft inside of Kuroo’s thigh. 

“Ow!  Okay, okay.” 

Kuroo’s phone rang as the two climbed down from the lofted futon, and Kenma waved that he would take the first shower. 

“Whaddaya want, Bokuto?” Kuroo mumbled into the receiver, tugging and pulling on the sheets. 

“Somebody’s cranky.  Did I wake you guys up?” 

“Something like that.”

“What time did you guys wanna meet up?  I’m about to meet up with Akaashi, so we were gonna head over pretty soon.”

“Well Kenma’s in the shower, then I need to take one after that so you’re gonna have to give us another hour.” 

“You lazy bums,” Bokuto chided.  “But all right, text me later.” 

“Yeah, fine.”

“Oh, and Kuroo!!” Bokuto chirped into the phone loudly.  Kuroo pulled the phone immediately away from his ear and hissed.

“What?!” 

“Merry Christmas!!!” 

“Merry Christmas!” Kuroo yelled back in pretend anger, hanging up the call, and laughing to himself. 

If he was going to wash the sheets anyway, he figured he’d do it in tandem with a half-load of laundry.  He dumped the sheets into the washer with a basket full of dirty clothes, threw some detergent in, and then started up the kettle for a morning cup of tea.  Not long after, Kenma stepped out of the bath with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping onto his shoulders.  Kuroo tried to catch him for a hug, but the setter practically ran towards his bag, wanting to get quickly dressed and not be wet and naked in mid-winter.  He hated winter showers.   

“Bokuto called, I told him we’d text him when we left the apartment.  Want some leftover curry for breakfast before we head out?” 

“Maybe a little,” Kenma snuggled himself under the kotatsu, turning it on and checking his phone.  Lazy mornings were definitely his favorite. 

“Then come heat it up yourself, lazy-bones, I’m taking my turn in the shower.”  Kuroo laughed, flinging his pajama pants at Kenma before stepping into the shower room.

Okay, so he couldn’t be entirely indolent.  But heating up leftovers was still an easier task than trying to cook himself breakfast from scratch.  When he was settled back at the table with his curry, Kenma wondered about pulling out one of his study books out of his bag and reading it while eating… except it was Christmas.  And he’d only just gotten out of school and midterms yesterday.  Surely he could be allowed this one day free from Japanese history?  He shoved his bag into the corner—out of sight, out of mind—and turned on the TV instead, flipping between channels all bombarding him with Christmas-themed advertisements about sales, illumination displays, and deals on fried chicken meal sets. 

It took almost another hour after Kuroo was out of the shower, to wash the dishes in the sink, pull the sheets out of the washer and hang them up around the room to dry, and get dressed (matching scarves begrudgingly accepted).  Kuroo had bought the scarves in a matching red and black color scheme (obvious Nekoma colors, though he protested it was simply because he liked those colors in general, and because they were flattering on everyone).  Kenma suspected that Bokuto and Akaashi and would in turn be wearing matching grey and yellow mufflers.

He was right. 

He and Akaashi looked at each other’s scarves, then exchanged a look between them that solidified them as comrades-in-arms in the our-boyfriends-are-overzealous-idiots struggle.  As Kuroo and Bokuto gave each other high-fives for their efforts, Kenma took Akaashi’s arm and the setters walked on ahead.

“Hey!!”

“Wait for us!!!”

While it was still light out, none of the illuminations were turned on, but with Meiji Jingu shrine so close by, the four decided they would take a frosty stroll through nature before attempting the thicker crowds along Omotesando.  Kenma snapped several pictures as they walked… of the shrine and of the paths surrounding it, of Bokuto and Akaashi exchanging subtle glances in the cold, of Kuroo grinning up at the sky after submitting a few coins into the offering box at the shrine.  At one point, Kuroo snatched his phone and forced him to take a couple selfie with him, then they were both ambushed by Bokuto who demanded group photos of them all. 

“We could link scarves,” Bokuto suggested.

“We could also not do that.”  Was Akaashi’s reply. 

“Hey Kenma—“ Kuroo grinned.

“Nope.” 

“Aww, you didn’t even let me finish my question!”

“We’re so unloved, Kuroo!” Bokuto pretended to sob, Kuroo joining in. 

Kenma ignored them both as the older two—unbelievable as that was—linked their scarves together sullenly.  He instead looked over at Akaashi, who was going over study notes on his phone.  That was so diligent there was almost no word for it.  Not to mention slightly masochistic. 

“Are you really studying for the Center Exam on Christmas day?”

“Hmm…” Akaashi answered quietly while flipping through to the next flash card on his app.  “My parents didn’t like my last practice test score at cram school.” 

“I’m surprised they let you even come out with us today then.”  Kenma mumbled, glancing at the questions on the screen and trying to answer them in his head—great, now he was studying too. 

“They think Bokuto and I mostly study together—since he’s already a university student, they trust him to help me get a better score.”

“…have they actually met Bokuto at all?”

“He’s somehow charmed them, I can’t quite understand it,” Akaashi sighed, giving the wrong answer for his current flash card question, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

“Kind of how he’s charmed you?” Kenma noted. 

“…Kuroo’s rubbing off on you.” 

“Eh?”

They turned to look at the other two who were walking a few paces behind, Bokuto showing Kuroo something on his phone (a game?).  They were talking animatedly, their cheeks dusted pink from the cold and eyes bright. 

“Well… that’s not a horrible thing, I think,” Kenma muttered.  “So you’ve got cram school on top of volleyball practices, and school…  What university are they pushing you to go to?”

“University of Tokyo is always the one parents push for, isn’t it?”  Akaashi closed his app, tucking his hands into his pockets to warm them a bit.  “Then Keio, Waseda, any one of the ones with name recognition.  They’d even be happy for me to go to Kyoto.” 

“Kyoto would be really far away…” Kenma’s eyes darted to Bokuto for a moment, and Akaashi caught the glance and sighed loudly, his breath forming into fogs. 

“They’re gonna make me apply to most places.  I’m sure they’ll let me stay in Tokyo at least,” Akaashi mumbled with a shrug, but Kenma didn’t miss the hopeful plea. 

“Ultimately, it’s not their decision… if you really don’t want to go to medical school.”  Kenma proffered.

“As long as I can stay in Tokyo and be near Bokuto, I don’t mind.” Akaashi smiled gently as he always did, but still it made Kenma sad somehow. 

Not minding isn’t the same thing as wanting to do it. 

“Hey, hey, hey!!!” Bokuto shouted from behind them, running up to catch both of them in his arms.  He rested his head between the two of them and grinned, “What are you guys talking about?” 

“School things…” Kenma grimaced—Bokuto’s arm on his shoulder was heavy. 

“What, on Christmas?  No no no!!!” Bokuto rubbed his cheek on Akaashi’s before running ahead of them and turning around to walk backwards.  “What we need are some ice cream parfaits!”

“Ice cream, Bokuto?” Akaashi questioned.  “In winter?”

“Akaaashiiiii!”

“How about coffees and teas in a café somewhere?” Kuroo amended.

“A much more sensible idea, Kuroo.” Akaashi stated plainly. 

“Akaashiiii…” Bokuto wept. 

Kenma shrugged and matched his pace with Kuroo’s, reaching out shyly to entwine their fingers. 

“That sounds good to me.”

Bokuto was content buying a parfait for himself at the café while the others opted for warm drinks instead: a simple latte for Kuroo, a hot chocolate for Kenma, and black tea for Akaashi.  They managed to snag a table by the window just as it became vacant, and sat together looking out as the sun made its way down, and the streets slowly began to light up and sing.  Kenma snapped some pictures of the twinkling trees and street lamps from his window seat, sending a few of the photos to Shouyou, who in turn, sent back a few blurry photos (the boy was an awful photographer) of himself and Kageyama in a shopping center somewhere, smiling brightly.  Even Kageyama had a hint of a smile on that normally grumpy expression. 

When Kenma showed the pictures around the table, Bokuto stole the setter’s phone to text Shouyou to buy date parfaits because that’s what all the cool people in Tokyo do. 

“Don’t give Shouyou weird ideas…” Kenma frowned as his phone was returned to him. 

“It’s not weird, you’re supposed to buy parfaits on dates and share them and it’s romantic and stuff!”  Bokuto huffed, snatching his parfait off the table when Kuroo stole a small spoonful.  “I meant sharing with your date!” 

“Aww, you mean, I’m not your date?” Kuroo laughed. 

“At the very least, you’re not his only date,” Kenma muttered. 

“That’s true, Bokuto.  You should share some of your parfait with Kenma too, you know how much he likes sweets,” Akaashi added. 

“I thought you guys didn’t want parfaits in the first place!” Bokuto whined, sliding the dessert back onto the table in defeat and offering it to Kenma. 

But the Nekoma setter brought his hot chocolate to his lips instead, refusing Kuroo’s spoon and insisting it was too cold for ice cream.  Instead, Kenma pushed his clean spoon to Akaashi, nudging the setter under the table with his foot, his eyes pointing to Bokuto’s drooping shoulders.  While Kenma texted Shouyou that he shouldn’t just listen to the dumb things Bokuto spewed while his phone was stolen, Akaashi leaned shyly over to take a small spoonful of Bokuto’s parfait, and the spiker’s mood grew considerably brighter. 

Oh, so…
No date parfaits? 
Cause now I think we kind of want one.

Kenma eyed the soft smile Akaashi was giving Bokuto, and the giddy little grin Bokuto was shooting right back at Akaashi, and he texted:

Well if you both want one, that’s different. 

“Kenma, don’t tell me I’m competing with Shrimpy for your attention today,” Kuroo drawled, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Mmhmm,” Kenma teased, his eyes never leaving his phone. 

But Akaashi’s foot pressing against his now urged Kenma to put the phone away, and he took Kuroo’s hand beneath the table, lacing their fingers together. 

“Ok, chicken, chicken!” Bokuto started to whine eventually when his stomach began to grumble.  Though it was probably complaining because it had been made to endure a semi-large quantity of ice cream prior to any actual food. 

“Kentucky fried chicken~” Kuroo joined in the sing-along. 

The four braved the cold once again to find a KFC where they could procure their Christmas fried chicken, eventually finding one with a line that trailed out of the door and along the sidewalk.  Nothing quite like that Christmas day rush… They stood and waited as the air around them grew chillier and chillier—Kenma burrowed into Kuroo’s chest without thinking, the taller boy wrapping his arms firmly around the setter to keep him warm.  With Kenma’s long hair mostly hiding his face and the winter layers hiding the frame of his body, they probably looked like a ‘normal’ couple to most passerby, Kuroo thought.  At one point, Bokuto held out his arms, inviting Akaashi to cuddle in like Kenma was doing, but the Fukurodani setter plainly rejected the advances, pointing out their lack of any potential camouflage. 

“You could wrap your scarf around your head?” Bokuto suggested. 

“Bokuto, no matter how you look at Akaashi, you really can’t mistake him for a girl.”  Kuroo laughed. 

“He has such a beautiful face though!”

“B-Bokuto, stop…”

“Ooh… Akaashi getting embarrassed, there’s something you don’t see every day…” Kuroo smirked. 

“It’s cute,” Kenma muttered into Kuroo’s chest. 

With Kenma’s added betrayal, Akaashi had little choice but to resign himself to being as red as a tomato for the time being, and pulled his scarf up higher to hide what he could of his face—sneakily disguising the small smile that threatened to give him away. 

“At least can we hold hands?” Bokuto pouted. 

“You’re so troublesome, Bokuto…” Akaashi sighed, but he brushed his fingers softly against Bokuto’s open palm, and the spiker laced their fingers immediately with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. 

“He’s just a man looking for some love!” Kuroo laughed, brushing his fingers through Kenma’s hair. 

“Exactly!”  Bokuto chimed in loudly, puffing out his chest. 

“Men like us, we have to work hard for your affections.”

“Ever think maybe you’re trying too hard?” Kenma teased.

“It does feel like you’re overcompensating for something…” Akaashi smirked, he and Kenma exchanging a sly look between them. 

“What?!”

“Hey!!!”

Eventually the line snaked its way indoors and they were rescued from the cold.  Bokuto paid for everyone’s meals—his Christmas gift for his ‘precious friends’—and they trudged back out into the winter air with hot chicken between their fingers, as the restaurant seats were filled to capacity.  Of course they couldn’t really go sit inside of another restaurant with food from a different place, so they searched for benches outside.  It was an arduous undertaking, since most were occupied, but eventually they managed to find two open seats, and Bokuto and Kuroo practically shoved Kenma and Akaashi onto the bench. 

Halfway through his chicken, Kenma noted a small white fleck fall from the sky onto his hand. 

“Ah.”

“It’s snowing!” Bokuto cheered, craning his head upward as more white droplets fell slowly down. 

“A snowy Christmas?  Isn’t this a little too cliché?” Kuroo laughed. 

“Shut up, Kuroo!  Just enjoy it!”  Bokuto threw out his arms, as if to will the snow to fall faster, but the flurries were slight and inconsistent, melting as soon as they hit the ground.  “I wanna make a snowman!  Or go ice skating!”

“I have no idea where we can go ice skating… and this snow isn’t going to stick around,” Kuroo took another bite of his chicken leg. 

Kenma seemed to have forgotten his food entirely, holding out his hand into the open air to catch what few snowflakes would fall.  The little white flecks melted as soon as they touched his skin, tickling him and leaving spots of cold across his palm, but still, it felt almost nice.  He glanced at Akaashi, who was observing Bokuto’s glee with absolute adoration in those dark green eyes.  That was affection, if ever he saw it so openly from the Fukurodani setter, and it was infectious.  Kenma felt his own chest grow warm and tight, and when he looked up at Kuroo, he found the man staring down at him with a similar look, but with eyes slightly more crinkled and with a much bigger smile.  With the lights and the snow and the season’s bustle around him… Kenma felt what must have been holiday spirit welling up inside him, and he stood up abruptly to kiss Kuroo’s lips, ignoring the passerby. 

“Ooooohh hoo hoo!” Bokuto hooted, while Kuroo looked at Kenma with absolutely startled eyes.  “Goooo, Kenma!” 

“Merry Christmas,” Kenma muttered, Bokuto’s cheers coloring his cheeks.  He kept his gaze fixed on Kuroo’s.    

“M-merry Christmas…” Kuroo stammered. 

“Merry Christmas!!!” Bokuto pulled Akaashi up from his seat and pulled all four of them into a tight hug, laughing up a cloud of condensation.  “Man, I love you guys!!!” 

“Me too!” Kuroo answered, adding the strength of his arms to the overwhelming strength of Bokuto’s.

Kenma and Akaashi thought their lungs might burst from the strain, but they endured it.  For the holidays.  Because there really was no better way to spend it. 

While Christmas had been hectic and full of bustling crowds, long lines, a little snow, and music everywhere, New Year’s Eve was spent cozily tucked into the kotatsu, watching the NHK New Year’s Eve special on TV.  They had splurged at the supermarket on a do-it-yourself nabe set that came pre-packaged with all the fixings including broth flavoring.  Kuroo also bought a little more meat to stuff into it—because they were still ‘growing boys’—and Kenma threw in some extra cash to add in quail eggs.  And of course cake.  Because Kenma’s sweet tooth could never be denied. 

The portable stove was burning merrily away atop the kotatsu, the stew steaming and bubbling and filling their noses with its irresistible aroma.  Kuroo brought out their rice bowls, stew bowls, and chopsticks… Kenma poured out the cold barley tea (brewed earlier in the day and stashed in the fridge), and the two squeezed their legs under the heated table for a special New Year’s Eve feast-for-two.  It was maybe a tad excessive to have nabe with only two people, but Kuroo had insisted upon a special dinner at home, and the set they had bought was meant for two, so clearly the universe was on their side on the matter.  Greedily, the two boys sank their chopsticks into the boiling stew, Kuroo sticking vegetables into his mouth immediately and then wincing and hooting about the burning heat in his mouth.  Kenma transferred his pieces to his bowl (like a sane person) and blew on them lightly to cool them down.  Some old singer was wailing enka into their ears from the glittering NHK stage on TV, and Kuroo turned the volume down slightly.

“Man… enka… dunno why it ever went out of style,” he said dryly, shoving a bit of rice into his mouth.

“Peking opera is still worse,” Kenma shrugged.  He wasn’t a music connoisseur by any means, since most of the music he listened to came from his games... but even he knew tone-deaf wailing when he heard it.

“I gotta ask Tsukki for some music recommendations, I have no idea what the kids listen to these days…”

“Kuro, you’re nineteen years old.” 

“So old…” he pretended to sob.  “I’m not a high schooler anymore—aren’t those the glory days?  I mean, it’s all downhill from here.”  He speared several pieces of meat onto his chopsticks and shoved them into his mouth, hooting again at the heat. 

“Great… thanks for giving me so much to look forward to,” Kenma drawled. 

“You’ve still got Spring High coming up!  And man, is that gonna be soon!” 

Kenma wanted to look forward to the tournament as much as Kuroo, but his Center Exam was the weekend right after Spring High, and he had to study for that first and foremost.  It meant the third years would have little time to rest between the tournament and the exam, which was unfortunate timing… but they had been reasonably expected to quit after Interhigh, so they had nobody to blame but themselves for the trouble. 

“Center Exam though…” he mumbled around a mouthful of rice.  “Ughh…”

“Aww, cheer up.  You did fine on the Tokai exam, and that one’s supposed to be tougher.”

“But the Center Exam has a more extensive English portion, with a listening tape and everything…” Kenma groaned.  “How did you deal with this and being captain?” 

“Honestly, I barely remember,” Kuroo laughed.  “I mean, it was a busy year, but I think we were doing so well in volleyball, it was actually helping me do well in my classes, ‘cause I was in such a good mood about that.  Plus I had you around for emotional support.” 

Kenma scoffed.  His emotional ‘support’ had been to play games in the room while Kuroo studied, skip fewer practices, and maybe get a little bit excited about volleyball thanks to meeting Shouyou.  He didn’t exactly cheer Kuroo on while he took his exams.  Kenma only remembered that on the weekend of the Center Exam, Kuroo had been significantly more exhausted than usual and had been extra clingy. 

Halfway through their nabe, the program on the TV switched to featuring pop stars and idol groups—a progression in time, so to speak—and Kenma watched a glittering group of girls prance around stage with mild disinterest.  He had never seen the appeal of idol groups, and he said as much.

“Wouldn’t that be because they’re mostly girls?  And you’re… not… you know, interested in them?” Kuroo turned down the heat on the stove so the flames were barely flickering.

Kenma narrowed his eyes to consider the information, but shook his head eventually.

“No, because I don’t see the point of the male idol groups either.” 

“Oh…” Kuroo nibbled on his chopsticks.  “I think some of them are kinda good-looking.” 

He caught sight of Kenma’s raised eyebrows and he put his bowl and chopsticks immediately down to pull Kenma into a crushing hug.

“Though none of them are nearly as beautiful as my Kenma, of course!” 

“Okay okay, get off…”

“So you don’t think any of them are attractive?” Kuroo pressed, not letting go. 

“I just said I didn’t.”

“Kenma… could it be…” he pulled away, eyes wide.  “Are you perhaps so in love with me that I’m the only person in the world you find desirable?!??”

Phrased that way, Kenma found himself wanting to find at least one of the made-up, glittering, over-styled girls at least somewhat pretty.  Otherwise Kuroo was just going to be insufferable. 

“Nabe’s getting cold,” he muttered.

“The stove’s still on.”

“Just eat your stew.” 

Kuroo snuck a series of kisses on Kenma’s cheek before resuming his meal, a smug grin spread across his face and his chest puffed out in pride. 

By the time of the midnight countdown, they were full and warm and had already eaten their cake, and had very nearly fallen asleep on the floor again.  But the excited screaming of the people on TV had jolted them back awake, and they managed to rub the sleep mostly out of their eyes by the time the TV shouted Happy New Year!!!

Kuroo kissed Kenma’s forehead tenderly, murmuring Happy New Year onto the skin there, and brushing a stray lock of hair out of the setter’s face.  Kenma vaguely muttered it back into Kuroo’s neck—at least something approximating those syllables—then grabbed the remote to turn the television off at last. 

“So, should we get dressed and head to the temple?” Kuroo teased.

Kenma glared sleepily, eyes emitting as much distaste as he could muster, but found that Kuroo was unaffected, laughing into his cheek and twirling his hair. 

“Oooh, that looks like a ‘yes’ face!”

“In what universe is that a ‘yes’ face from anyone?” Kenma grumbled, poking at Kuroo’s ribs. 

Kuroo wriggled away from Kenma’s prodding fingers, turning off the kotatsu before clearing the table and sticking dirty bowls and plates in the sink. 

“I’m kidding, we’ll go after we get some sleep.  Come on, off the floor, bedtime.” 

“When we get a new place, we are not having this lofted bed nonsense…” Kenma mumbled.  “One of these days I’m going to fall down this ladder and die trying to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night or something.” 

As the setter slowly pulled himself to his feet, reluctantly leaving the sanctuary of the kotatsu, he felt Kuroo slowly wrap his arms around him from behind, holding tight and resting his head in the crook of his shoulder. 

“Say that again,” Kuroo murmured.

“…I’m gonna fall off this ladder and die?”

“No… the first bit.”

“…when we get a new place?”

“Yeah…” Kenma felt Kuroo smile into his shoulder.  “I like hearing you talk about our future together.” 

“Mostly, I demand a bed on the ground so that I don’t feel like I’m risking my life trying to get in and out of it.”  Kenma replied dryly, but he snuggled back into the embrace, reaching up with one arm to tousle Kuroo’s hair. 

“I’m gonna find us the best apartment I can, and I’ll get us one of those big, American-style beds so we’ll have all the space we want.”  Kuroo nuzzled his forehead into the back of Kenma’s neck as he spoke, and the coarse, black hair tickled through the curtain of his smooth, longer hair. 

“You’re setting the bar pretty high… what if you can’t find us an apartment with a room big enough?”

“I’ll make it happen.  Believe in me.” 

“I always do,” Kenma turned his head toward Kuroo’s, meeting his eyes and silently requesting a kiss. 

Soon, they promised themselves silently.  Soon, they would make for themselves the life they wanted and would never be kept apart again. 

Chapter Text

The famed Spring High tournament claimed the second half of Kenma’s precious two-week Christmas vacation—five days long in total, should his team make it all the way through to the finals.  He almost hated it for cutting into his precious holiday, but once he was caught up in the thick of it, all other thoughts gave way to focus on the game.

The first three rounds of the elimination circuits would run Tuesday through Thursday, Friday allowed the advancing players a day to rest, then the semi-finals and finals would take place over the last two days on Saturday and Sunday.  Exhausted though he’d be to endure five full days of competition, Kenma felt a stirring ambition for his team to make it all the way through to the final match.  He stood at the Opening Ceremony of Day One, amidst hundreds of other high schoolers from a total of fifty-two teams from all over Japan.  He didn’t quite remember how he had felt at the assembly the previous year… Maybe a little excited, maybe a little anxious, maybe a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people present… it seemed being in his third year only amplified it all.  In the crowd, he couldn’t even find Karasuno in the sea of faces—he hadn’t grown that much taller, after all. 

As a Tokyo seed team, Nekoma would not be playing the first round of the tournament, but they would play the victor from the match between the representatives from the Hyogo and Akita prefectures.  Prior to the games, their team had decided to stay through the first day to watch the match and better know their opponents for the second day of the tournament. 

“A Kansai team versus a team from Tohoku.  That should be interesting,” Taketora grinned as the gymnasium bustled around them.  The two captains led their team off the courts and up toward the spectator areas as the opening ceremony came to a close and the courts were set up with nets.

“We do have to wait until the afternoon to see it though.” 

“Gather ‘round team!” Taketora barked, bringing the members together once they reached a clearing in the hall.  “We’ll meet back here in the afternoon to see the match of Hyogo versus Akita, three o’ clock sharp!” 

“Yes, Captain!” the others cried, before lightly scattering. 

The first years banded together to run off and explore the gymnasium, wanting to catch glimpses of as many of the morning matches as they could, Inuoka and Shibayama following after them.  Fukunaga told the others he’d find a place to sit and study for the Center Exam next weekend, wrangling a distressed cry from Taketora, who didn’t want to be caught dead anywhere near a textbook for the next several days.

“Feeling underprepared?” Fukunaga smirked. 

“Underprepared would be an overstatement…” Taketora mumbled.    

“Is Karasuno playing today?” Lev asked Kenma, who was holding the schedule pamphlet in his hands. 

“No.  They’re a seed team from last year’s Nationals, so they’ll play tomorrow like us,” Kenma answered without looking at the papers.  “And since they’ve come in all the way from Sendai, I’m sure they’re sticking around the gym all day.”  Tokyo competitors were always a bit spoiled in that they could easily return home in the evenings even at national level tournaments.  But in order to fully enjoy the experience of the Spring High, Coach Nekomata managed to secure cheap lodgings for the team, to keep them together and encourage team-building even outside of games.  Akaashi had previously mentioned that Fukurodani would not be doing the same. 

“Man, I can’t wait to play them again!” Lev gushed.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Lev!” Taketora shouted.  “We have to win tomorrow first!  And another one after that, and if we can manage to get that far, we’ll face those damned crows in the quarterfinals!”  He was getting louder and louder as he kept talking, Lev cheering on his enthusiastic captain. 

“Let’s go find Karasuno!” Lev exclaimed, pulling excitedly on Kenma’s arm. 

Exasperated, Kenma pulled out his phone and texted Shouyou, doing his best to wrench his arm free.

Where in the gym are you?

Kenma!  Hi!
We’re by the soccer fields next to the track. 
Kageyama and I are hitting tosses with the first years, what’s up?

A few of us will meet you there.

Oh, cool! 
See you soon!

“As usual… any spare second he has, he’s practicing.”  Kenma muttered, tucking his phone away and leading the way to the track and field areas. 

“Maybe if we practiced at their pace, we’d have beat them last year,” Lev suggested.

“Anyone else who practices at their pace is likely to keel over and die,” Taketora laughed.  “But you should still work more on your receives, Lev.” 

“Why is it always me?!” 

They found the crows milling about right where Shouyou said they’d be, Kageyama attempting to instruct the first years the proper form required for a solid jump serve.  Kenma caught Hinata’s eye and waved, and Shouyou came running over.

“Kenma!  And Lev!  And Mohawk!!!”    

“Hey, Shouyou.” 
“Yo, Hinata!”
“I HAVE A NAME!!!”

Kageyama gave a curt nod of his head in greeting, and the Karasuno first years all bowed their heads low, shouting a very loud ‘hello.’ 

“We’re practicing serves,” Hinata explained.  “Kageyama is improving his teaching skills, though he’s still a little rough around the edges.”  He made a Kageyama-like face to explain what he meant, and Kenma giggled.

“At least I’m good enough that the first years want to learn from me!” the setter snapped.

“Geh!”

“Ooh, that’s hitting below the belt!” Lev laughed, clapping a hand on Hinata’s back. 

“Glad to be in Tokyo, little crows?!” Taketora sneered at the first years, who had mostly learned to stop being intimidated by the Nekoma captain after the summer training camp. 

“This gym is amazing!”

“It’s really really huge!”

“Some of the teams here look super strong!”

Several of the first years chimed, bright-eyed and clearly excited to be able to make it to Nationals in their first year of high school volleyball.  Many of them had the same look in their eyes that Hinata and Kageyama had had the previous year.  Kenma almost felt bad about wanting to crush them in the quarterfinals.  Almost. 

“Who do you think you’ll play tomorrow?” Hinata nudged Kenma as Kageyama attempted to regain the first years’ attention to continue his lesson. 

“Between Hyogo and Akita?  Hm… maybe Hyogo.  It’d be interesting to play a Kansai team.” 

“It’d be interesting?” Hinata raised an eyebrow.  “Kenma, you’re really enjoying volleyball now, huh?” 

“No one’s surprised more than us, kid!” Taketora sneered, wrapping an arm around his vice-captain’s shoulder.  “Even Kenma gets fired up these days, which means you’re in for a world of hurt come the quarterfinals.  Just don’t get beat before then.”

“Oh, we won’t, just you wait and see!” Hinata almost snarled back, a wide grin splitting his face from ear to ear. 

Kenma had no doubt Karasuno would clear the first round of the tournament with ease.  Shouyou had been bragging about new moves and extra practices and Kageyama’s growing strength—incredible to think the genius setter could improve any further—but Kenma rather thought Nekoma could hold their own.  They’d certainly set tongues wagging in Tokyo after last year. 

Later that afternoon, as Kenma had predicted, the representative school from Hyogo prefecture took the victory and became their opponents for the morning of day two.  For Karasuno, their opponents for the next day would hail from Toyama prefecture.  With the first day and twenty intense matches concluded, the top thirty-two teams in the country returned to the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium for the second day of competition, eager to advance toward the finals.  For Nekoma, Karasuno, Fukurodani, and thirteen other seed teams, the second day of Spring High marked their first actual day of competition.

Nekoma’s match against Hyogo prefecture (the opposing team came from the city of Kobe) was scheduled for the morning.  Taketora and Kenma had watched their afternoon game on the first day, and from what they had seen, the Nekoma captains knew that their high defensive capabilities would do the most to secure a victory.  Kobe’s receives were weak, however flashy their play style, and all Nekoma would have to do was just keep the ball in the air until they could find a convenient time to strike.  That was not to say that the first set didn’t take them by surprise—their opponents pulled out some stops Kenma hadn’t seen them play the day before, but it was easy enough to get used to—for they lacked the flexibility to counter the moves Nekoma threw back at them.

After three full sets, Nekoma advanced to the third day of competition, where the top sixteen teams would continue to play in hopes of winning the championship.  In the afternoon, they returned to the main stadium to watch Karasuno’s match against a school from Toyama prefecture.  The crowd buzzed around them in the halls and in the bleachers.

“That one school from Miyagi is back this year.”

“The one that won last year?  Karasuno?”

“That really short kid who’s crazy fast and jumps super high is here again.” 

“It’s awesome to see that crazy quick combo in action, actually.  I mean, he wouldn’t be able to do it without that genius setter of theirs.”

“Is he their ace?” 

“He scores the most points.  What else makes an ace?” 

Kenma wondered if Shouyou’s ears were burning.  He hoped they were. 

The whole of Nekoma’s team settled into the bleachers just as Shouyou and Kageyama were showing off his signature quick combo spike, slamming down onto the opponent’s side of the court.  The score was five points in Karasuno’s favor, and they were nearing match point of their first set.  It was always a wonder to see that quick, an impressive feat of human ability that could only have resulted from the uncanny combination of Shouyou’s speed and the pinpoint accuracy of that brilliant setter of his.  Kenma didn’t really believe in fate or destiny or whatever, but he wasn’t sure what else could have really brought those two together. 

After two sets, Karasuno advanced straight through to day three of the competition, and Nekoma cheered their victory loudly in the stands.  If all went as planned, they’d see them in the quarterfinals tomorrow afternoon. 

That night in the hostel, as his teammates laid out the futons for bed and showered in turns, Kenma texted with Kuroo, relaying his first day of actual competition.

We won today against the school from Hyogo.

Nice!  What school were they from?

…
I forgot.

Kenma! 
You’re supposed to at least remember the names of the people you defeat, out of respect! 
Where’s your samurai spirit?  (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

But they were kind of boring…
Even though they were from Kansai. 
Anyway, tomorrow we play a school from Chiba. 
And after that, we’ll play against Karasuno in the quarterfinals.

‘After that’ he says…
Ohoho ho… aren’t we feeling confident?  （○゜ε＾○）

Maybe a little. 

Man, I wish I could go see you play.  But I’ve got work all day tomorrow. 
And I’ve already tried begging to get it off, but Natsume’s sick and can’t cover for me.   (つ﹏<)･ﾟ｡

It’s all right.  You can come see us in the finals this weekend instead.

Wow, you ARE feeling confident. 
Don’t let it go to your head now.  | ￣∀￣ |

Well Shouyou won against us last year.
I’m supposed to win this year without fail, right?
I figure the universe will work in my favor. 
…or something. 

Maybe it’s Taketora rubbing off on you. 
Or Lev.  Is it Lev?

Ew. 
Anyway, my turn for a shower, I’ll text you tomorrow. 

Good luck!!! 
Tell the team I said good luck too!!!
I love you!!!  (○ﾟεﾟ○)

Love you too.

?!?!?!?
Kenma!!!   Σ(ﾟДﾟ|||)
You never text back that you love me!

Grimacing, Kenma turned his phone off to avoid further notifications, and headed off to the showers, mumbling briefly to the team that Kuroo sent his regards for the next day. 

On the third day of the Spring High competition, sixteen teams returned to the main stage for advancement (though many more returned to watch the games).  Nekoma’s morning match was against a school from Chiba City, Chiba.  From what they knew, they were a steady and well-balanced team.  Their play style was somewhat reminiscent of Fukurodani, and Nekoma had played more than enough practice matches with them.  They were made to play three full sets, with the third set running to an extended deuce that breached thirty points.  Living up to his role as Nekoma’s ace, Taketora slammed down the final two points to lead his team to victory, then the team reveled in the chance to play Karasuno again on the National stage.  Truth be told, they were probably looking forward to that more than winning the finals of Spring High. 

During their lunch break, Kenma’s phone buzzed with a text from Akaashi.

We just won our second match.
Quarter-finals this afternoon.
I see you’ll play Karasuno. 

Congratulations on your victory.
We’re hoping to take our revenge from last year. 

Rivals indeed. 
I’m not entirely sure who to root for.

You can at least root for the same prefecture.

But if you win, we’d have to play you again in the finals. 
Fun as that is, I wouldn’t mind a go against Karasuno.

“Kenma, get off your phone, team huddle!” Taketora shouted, demanding Kenma’s attention.

“Sorry…” he mumbled.

The team gathered round Coach Nekomata, who stood in the center of their ring, looking around at them proudly. 

“All right, team.  It’s our second battle at the trash heap—“

“Battle at the what?” Murata cut in.

“Cats versus crows!  Karasuno are our eternal rivals, Murata!” Lev chimed in.

“Why is it at the trash—“

“Focus, Murata!” the Coach barked, and the team fell silent immediately.  “Karasuno knocked us out of Nationals last year, but this year we’ll take our revenge and clip those pesky crows’ wings.  I wanna see good connection, with the court, with each other, with the ball.”

“Yes, Coach!” The team shouted.

“All right, get outta here, go stretch and relax for a bit.  We’ve got another few hours before we play.”

“Thank you, Coach!”

Kamikawa found Kenma afterward the team disbanded, Sato trailing close behind. 

“Um… Kenma… this afternoon’s match…” Kamikawa started.  “We were wondering if it would be possible to maybe…”

“Sit out?” Sato finished for him.

Kenma stared at the two underclassmen for a long while in silence before responding.  He had to admit, he was surprised.  People didn’t join sports teams and pour in hours of extra individual practice so that they could keep the bench warm.

“You two… don’t want to play?” 

“It’s not that we don’t want to play, but…” Kamikawa held up his hands as if to apologize, growing quickly flustered.

“It just seems like this is a really important match for Nekoma, and for the third years especially.  This ongoing rivalry thing with Karasuno, and…” Sato and Kamikawa shared a glance.  “And we’re first years, we have more matches we can play.  The two of us don’t have anything really special to offer like Murata.  So we figured, if Coach would let us sit out… the third years could play as much as they wanted.” 

“I mean, Karasuno was amazing at the training camp,” Sato gushed.  “Last year’s champions and we know they’re really really hard to beat, and Nekoma should probably put its best players on the court for as long as possible.” 

“As long as you’re here, the beating heart of the team is still you, vice-captain.”  Kamikawa urged. 

Kenma considered their thoughtful proposition… for maybe two seconds.

“No.” he replied abruptly.

“Eh?”

“I’m not benching you two.  And neither will Coach.” 

“But—“

“You two are being ridiculous,” Kenma snapped.  But he saw the concern in their eyes and made himself stop and try again.  Words, words… he wasn’t made vice-captain of the team because he was loquacious or eloquent.  But he made an effort to try.  “Look, the two of you have worked really hard to earn your place on the team these past nine months.  This isn’t about being a first-year or a third-year, I told you from the beginning, Kamikawa, I don’t care about year hierarchy or anything like that.  Remember?  There are times when the ones who have to be on the court will be you guys.  You deserve to play.  So if Coach puts you out there, you play and you play your best.  That’s how you do us third-years a favor… or something.” 

The two bit their lips to stop them from quivering, then bowed profusely, screaming,

“Thank you, Kenma!”

“Thank you, vice-captain!”

“We won’t let you down!”

“We’ll help you get revenge and go on to the finals!”

And now Kenma was definitely uncomfortable. 

“C-come on, guys… There’s no need to—“

“We’ll do our best!” 

“Please count on us!!!”

“Oh… okay.”  Kenma stammered. 

Eventually he managed to get them to stop bowing and screaming their appreciation at the top of their lungs, and slipped away for some blissful peace and quiet before later reconvening with the rest of his team in the gymnasium. 

The main stage was full of spectators who had come to see the grudge match between Karasuno and Nekoma—it was hard to ignore how people whispered and talked about it up and down the halls.  Some of the players from other teams offered Nekoma encouragement, wishing them luck; others offered consolation, clearly meaning they thought Karasuno would take the victory straightaway. 

Sure enough, the first set between the two teams went swiftly; Karasuno was at the top of their game, and Shouyou was proving absolutely impossible to catch.  Lev’s read blocks were too slow, and Shibayama couldn’t mark him at all.  Inuoka was doing his best, but Shouyou had much improved since their very first practice match, and he could now hit straights, cross shots, even feints with an incredible amount of accuracy and distinction.  Murata managed to score two service aces before the Karasuno libero came onto the court—the third year in orange had won an award the previous year at Nationals for ‘best libero,’ and he was living up to that title admirably.  Karasuno won the first set with a three-point margin. 

When they switched courts, Karasuno’s rotation included three of their new first-year players, none of whom had made a strong impression on Kenma during the training camp, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down.  The Nekoma rotation demanded more offensive power, so Taketora, Murata, Lev, and Sato were put on the court at once.  Kenma made use of the composition to line up as many synchronized attacks as they could.  But their success rate on the synchronized attack dropped to half of their usual when it was revealed that the new Karasuno first years were surprisingly good at receiving.  But even with Shouyou’s bizarre quick, Nekoma didn’t just let the ball drop.  It was all about connecting, and they knew how to do that better than any team.  Kenma eyed the coach halfway through the second set, and he and Kamikawa were swapped, with Karasuno leading the set by two points. 

Off the court, Kenma threw a towel over his head and stared intently at the opposing team of crows.  Being on the court offered a better vantage point to observe them, but being off the court allowed him the freedom to focus on their movements without having to formulate an immediate counter.  Kamikawa understood the team’s need for offense, spiking the ball himself as needed when Shibayama offered him a chance ball toss, and even scoring a dump shot over Kageyama.  That had earned them a satisfactory scowl from the Karasuno setter.  Kamikawa and Kageyama were evenly matched in terms of power and height, but the Nekoma setter had no impressive serves in his arsenal, and he couldn’t match Kageyama’s sheer technical ability.  But because Kageyama didn’t know Kamikawa’s pace as well as he knew Kenma’s… with enough variation, Nekoma managed to squeeze out a victory in the second set.

For the third set, Karasuno’s clever shield, (Tsukki, as he was called) came striding onto the court with a menacing sort of finality.  He was much like Kenma—their play styles never caught anyone’s eye immediately, but always the gears in their heads were turning.  Tsukki’s read-blocks on Taketora were now executed with almost pinpoint accuracy, and even if his blocks didn’t always result in a point, they left the Nekoma team scrambling to keep the ball in the air.  As for Kamikawa, Tsukki could read him completely.  Kenma switched out for him almost immediately, patting his shoulder in thanks for the second set as the boy moved to the bench. 

“The shrewd setter returns to the court.” Tsukki sneered across the net. 

“Pot, kettle, Tsukki.”  Kenma replied, fondly remembering how Kuroo used to taunt his opponents. 

“If you could refrain from calling me that…” Tsukki clicked his tongue in annoyance, and moved around in the rotation, bringing Shouyou to the vanguard. 

Kenma shared a silent look with the ‘Little Giant,’ neither of them willing to back down the least tiniest bit. 

Karasuno attacked relentlessly, and Nekoma adamantly kept the ball in play.  At twenty-five points, both teams were locked in a deuce, and all time-outs had been used up. 

On Karasuno’s side of the court, a tall, freckled pinch server was called in… the one that had won the match for them last year at Spring High. 

“Forward!” Kenma called to his team. 

“It’s the jump floater!” Taketora cried, wiping the sweat from under his chin.  “Get ready with an overhand!”

Yamaguchi threw the ball up into the air, ran, jumped, and slammed it down onto Nekoma’s side of the court with a powerful spin, hitting near the edge of the boundary line where Nekoma had left it wide open after moving forward.  Kenma’s eyes widened, and he felt a shiver go down his spine as the ball was flagged ‘in’ by the referee and Karasuno wildly cheered Yamaguchi’s name.  He could feel that serve was more powerful than Kageyama’s, if not quite as strong as their bearded ace from the previous year. 

Well, that was new.

But that was Karasuno’s style, wasn’t it?  Always something new, and it wasn’t just Shouyou.  They all knew their freckled pinch server had a dangerous jump floater serve that had snagged the last few points away at Spring High the previous year.  Turns out, he’d now perfected a powerful jump serve to go along with his unpredictable jump floater.  Just to make things more difficult.  The break was in Karasuno’s favor now.  One more point, and Nekoma would be out of the tournament. 

Yamaguchi took the ball in his hand, threw it up and ran, jumped…

Jump floater?
Or just a jump serve?

Kenma’s eyes watched for the impact of the server’s hand on the ball—spin or no spin? 

Nekoma’s defensive lineup had reverted to normal with the knowledge that the back line was just as vulnerable to attack.  No spin.

“Floater!” Kenma called out. 

Taketora dived for it, managing to get the ball on its odd trajectory toward the ground, and managed to get it up into the air at an awkward angle. 

“Sorry!  Cover!!!”

Kenma couldn’t get to it—Lev was the only one close enough—the half-Russian jumped high, twisting in the air to hit the ball right at the top of the net.

“Net in!”

Hinata dove recklessly to catch it, knocking his chest painfully against the parquet floor, but the ball was up, and Kageyama was in perfect position to catch it.  With Shouyou on the ground, Kenma knew Kageyama was likely to toss it to their new third-year ace. 

“Watch number three!”

Tanaka jumped, Kageyama set the toss, three blockers jumped to meet him—including Kenma—and Tanaka slammed it hard through their fingers, the ball hitting the floor with a powerful thump… and the crowd roared. 

Karasuno would advance onward to the semi-finals.  For Nekoma, their Spring High journey was over.  And for Kenma, his last official game would be one of defeat at the hands of his very good friends and rivals.  They bowed and shook hands, his own team all agonized smiles.  Later, off the court, Nekoma’s team members cried loud and hard, wiped away their tears, bowed and thanked Coach Nekomata and each other, and said good bye to the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium. 

It didn’t really hit Kenma until hours later, when he was sitting alone in his room and unpacking his gym bag.  He pulled off his jersey, and as he stared at the number two emblazoned on the back of that red and black fabric, he saw his vision blur as tears came unbidden to his eyes.  He had spent so much of the past year wanting to be done with high school—to graduate from it all and be with Kuroo again—that he almost missed out on his own life, his own time… But he struggled on and built a life of his own, a team of his own—the team he had helped to build after Kuroo had left.  Kenma had decided ages ago that he wasn’t going to play volleyball past high school, and the decision had come so easily then.  Now that it was actually over, he felt a horrible sadness at the finality of it all. 

But he had played his best, and all of Nekoma had done the same, and despite the anguish, he had no regrets.  He sniffed and wiped away his tears using the red he had so proudly worn the past three years, and pulled out his phone.  To Shouyou and to Akaashi, who were both advancing on to the semifinals, he texted a fond, ‘Good luck this weekend.’  To Kuroo…

We lost.
Karasuno’s headed to the semi-finals.

Aww. 
How are you holding up?

I’m…

The tears came rushing to Kenma’s eyes again, but he wiped them stubbornly away, trying to focus on the future he held in his hands.  On that glowing screen was the promise of tomorrow and of days to come. 

I don’t know, Kuro.
I’m actually really sad.

His phone rang moments later, Kuroo not hesitating an instant to call him at the slightest hint of Kenma being distressed.  Kenma sniffed and grabbed a tissue, trying to gather his bearings a bit before flicking the little green button to answer the call. 

“Kenma,” and Kuroo’s voice was so gentle, so sweet, that Kenma found the tears building all too quickly again, and he sobbed into the phone before he could stop himself. 

“Oh, Kenma…” Kuroo cooed into the receiver, all heartfelt understanding.  “Was it a good game?”

“Y-yeah…” Kenma sniffed into the line, dabbing his tissue at his nose and trying to keep his voice down so as not to alarm his mother.  “It… it was fun.” 

“I’m glad.” 

“Why, Kuro?” he hiccupped.  “Why am I so sad?”

“It turns out you really love playing volleyball after all.” Kuroo teased gently. 

Kenma laughed into his sobs, tears still streaming down his face, but the pain in his chest seemed to be receding a bit.  He blew his nose into his tissue and cleared his throat several times as Kuroo listened on in silence. 

“Yeah… I guess so.”  He felt a smile curl his lips. 

“You gonna go watch Karasuno this weekend?”  Kuroo asked. 

“Hmm… maybe.”  Kenma wiped away the last of the tears that leaked out of his eyes, coughing a few more times.  “At this point, I should probably focus on the Center Exam.” 

“Let me know if you’re gonna go and you want company.” 

“Okay.  Thanks, Kuro.”  He murmured gently, closing his eyes and trying to visualize the other boy in front of him.

“Hey, Kenma.”

“Hm?”

“Three more months…” Kuroo sang. 

“Yeah…”

But before that, Kenma needed to complete his Center Exam.  He had spent every day at Kuroo’s (excepting Christmas and New Year’s Eve) studying when he could, asking Kuroo for ways to memorize the unnecessary stream of dates from the Sengoku period, and attempting (rather poorly) to practice his English.  He had even started using the same app Akaashi was using to study, pulling it out for the lull of train rides and the walk between home and school. 

In the few days leading up to the big exam, Kenma, Fukunaga, and Taketora all found themselves unable to go to any of their practices (relaxed though they would be, following Spring High), in order to shove in whatever last bit of cramming they could manage.  Fukunaga and Kenma spent the time mostly reviewing the material they had learned; Taketora hurriedly attempted to learn everything he could.  On the morning of the first day, Kenma trudged through the blistering cold to get to his massive test center, along with almost every other high school third-year in the area.  He had worn the muffler Kuroo had bought for him on Christmas, had Shouyou’s GOOD LUCK texts in his phone history, and his mind was swimming with a lifetime’s worth of public school education and then some. 

The first sixty minutes of the exam was Civics subject exams, including tests for social studies, politics, economics, and ethics.  Kenma twirled his pencil between his fingers as he recalled answers to the questions, feeling confident he was answering the majority of them correctly.  Towards the end of every hour, he copied his answers for the exams onto his question sheets, double-checking them as he went.  The next hour of the exam was a little more grueling, consisting of six tests; two for World History, two for Japanese History, and two for Geography.  Geography was largely visual, so Kenma confidently filled out those exams first, then dragged himself through the history tests.  Was it Commodore Matthew Perry or Martin Perry who forcefully ended their national seclusion?  Had the first Shogun been Tokugawa Ieyasu or Tokugawa Hidetada?  The senryu that best described Toyotomi Hideyoshi was… If the cuckoo does not sing, coax it.  Probably.  Or maybe he was supposed to wait for it.  Either way, Kenma didn’t see how any of it mattered, but he begrudgingly filled out his exam, knowing better than to leave a blank answer. 

A short break allowed all the students a chance to shove some much-needed calories and brain food into their mouths.  Kenma ate as best he could despite his nervousness, finding Taketora—they had ended up at the same test center—and bemoaning their exams together.  He texted Kuroo once near the end of his break before turning his phone back off. 

I’m going to die. 

After lunch came the eighty-minute Japanese literature exam, which went mostly fine excepting the portions for Old Japanese and Classical Chinese, which had always given him a headache in class.  He wasn’t even sure why they were tested for things like kanji in the modern age, given that most people used smartphones now and texted everything and nobody really needed to know how to write with their hands anymore.  Kanji stroke order could kiss his—oh, Kuroo was definitely rubbing off on him. 

The end of the day was his most dreaded Foreign Language exam for English, consisting of eighty minutes for the written exam and then sixty minutes for the listening exam.  By the end of it, he had well and truly developed a fond hatred for subjunctives and prepositions, not to mention the grating voice of the woman whose voice asked questions (much too quickly) through his headset.  Every time he had to press play again to hear her repeat the question, he found himself scowling at her all-too-pleasant, robot-like intonation.  If the goal was to be able to comprehend conversational intonation with a native speaker, Kenma thought she should probably sound a little less like the automated voices on the trains. 

And then at last, his first day of exams was over and Kenma was allowed to trudge his way home.  His legs felt like jelly and his brain felt like it had been melted to mush.  He was sure it was just a steaming pile of grey matter inside his skull at this point, and he had no idea if he could muster the endurance for another day.  The Tokai exam may have contained objectively more difficult questions, but the Center Exam was so very very long with so very many questions, and covered a significantly wider range of subjects. 

That evening, he slumped against his desk with a slice of apple pie, a box of Melty Kiss chocolates (strawberry), and soft oreo cream cookies.  His phone buzzed later in the evening with concerned texts from Kuroo.

Sorry I’m late.  Work.
Hahahaaa… yeah… that test is a nightmare. 

You lied to me.
You said it’d be easier than the Tokai exam.

Content-wise, yeah.  But it’s longer and has more stuff. 

My brain is mush.

I’m sending ‘get well’ smooches from Shibuya.
Are you catching them? ( ˘ ³˘)♥

No, I’m busy shoving candy and pie into my mouth. 

Why don’t you try playing a game tonight and just relax?

I don’t even have the concentration right now for a game.

Wow, that does sound bad. 
My poor Kenmaaaaa…

After this, I’m catching up on all the gaming I’ve put aside.
But I’m going to bed for now. 
Tomorrow should go better than today. 

Good luck~!!! <333

Since the second day of exams consisted of only science and math, Kenma definitely felt a little more in his element.  The first sixty minute segment contained two tests for Biology I and General Science B, and while he may not have remembered all the details regarding photosynthesis pathways, recalling step-by-step processes was much easier than names and quotes and dates.  The next sixty minute segment was Mathematics I, followed by Mathematics IA, and he breezed through, since algebra came largely intuitively to him, and he fared much better on aptitude-style questions than memorization ones.  Even simplifying complex quadratic formulas was easy enough, he just had to remember to take it slowly to avoid careless mistakes in his order of operations.  Kenma actually found himself with plenty of time left over to double check his processes and re-work some of the more complicated questions from the beginning. 

The second series of math tests included Mathematics II, and Mathematics B (in which he chose to take the tests for Statistics & Computers, and Calculation & Computers as opposed to Sequences or Vectors), Basic industrial mathematics/science, Accounting, and basic Information Technology.  None gave him any particular hiccups, and none of the computer-related questions were as difficult as his actual elective class in school.  He’d maybe have to thank his computer science teacher at Nekoma after this was all over. 

During his lunch break, between consoling Taketora and eating his yakisoba bread, Kenma texted Kuroo a brief:

Second day going much better than the first. 
I actually feel pretty good about today.

The remaining two hours were filled with exams for Chemistry, General Science A, Physics, and Earth Science, and Kenma walked out of the test center in the evening feeling reasonably well accomplished, with the exception of maybe Earth Science.  His memory of plate tectonics and divergent versus convergent boundaries wasn’t perfect… But at least his brain didn’t feel like goo—more like a lump of pudding, which stayed in one piece and held some structural integrity. 

He’d dig into his leftover sweets from the day before, happy to report to his mother that his second day of exams went much much better than the first.  She had made his favorite ramen for dinner as a prize for his hard work, and Kenma was happy to scarf it down, his appetite much bigger than usual given his exhausting weekend.  Not even Spring High had been as tiring as this. 

“Five days for Spring High, your Center Exam this entire past weekend…” Kenma’s mother sighed wistfully across the table.  “My Kenma’s so busy, when will you be able to spare some time for your dear mother before you graduate and leave me?” 

“…next weekend?”  Kenma suggested, sipping another long line of noodles. 

“Is that a promise?” his mother pressed.

“…yes?”  This felt like a trap.  “…why?”

“I just want us to spend more time together is all,” she pouted, unappreciative of her son’s suspicion.  “When you were a boy, all I wanted was for you to get out of the house more and make some friends because I worried about you being lonely… And now you’ve done that and your poor mom is lonely without her boy…” she sighed dramatically.  “I know I’m whining.  Just… save some free weekends for me, ok?” 

“…ok.”

She smiled brightly at that, insisting he eat more since there was still plenty of room for him to grow (never mind his sudden summer growth spurt). 

When Akaashi checked his phone Sunday evening, it was much later than he expected.  The swiftly setting winter sun was throwing off his internal clock considerably, and it was well past dinner by the time he glanced at his phone for the time.  He would have to prepare an apology for his mother during his trek home, but he was feeling restless and the last place he wanted to be was back under his parents’ roof, no matter the hour, no matter the freezing temperature outside.  Seeking solace in the warmth of a train station, he absentmindedly texted Kenma. 

How was the Center Exam?

Yesterday was more difficult to get through than today.
Mostly I’m just glad it’s over. 
You?

Akaashi blinked at the innocent question on his phone, thought long and hard about his reply, and eventually settled on:

It’s over, that’s what matters.

Pulling his muffler higher up around his neck, Akaashi went into his chat logs to pull up his conversation with Bokuto.  A few hours ago, the man had asked him the question he had just asked Kenma, and Akaashi had spent hours stewing on his reply.  He glared at the text on his screen.

Akaashi!!!  How was the exam???

It was a simple enough question.  And the answer was simple enough too.  The plain and simple fact was that Akaashi didn’t have an answer at all. 

Because he didn’t take the exam. 

Because something had snapped, and after the very large argument he had had with his parents after the Spring High national tournament (their argument had been something along the lines of—if he was going to waste his time and energy on volleyball instead of focusing on his studies, his team should have placed higher—or something), Akaashi had had enough.  He wanted no more of their expectations, their dismissals, the way they tried to control every single aspect of his life…  People used to always joke that he must get so fed up with Bokuto and his mood swings, but the people who really tested his patience were his very own family. 

Akaashi looked at the train station map above the IC Card machines.  He took the trains and subways all the time, nearly every single day of his life.  How easy would it be to just hop on a line, any line, and go as far as it could take him?  Didn’t he have that freedom?  Didn’t everyone?  He had just spent the past two days wandering around the city in place of sitting in a test center competing with other students for the future. 

He sighed into the bustle of people around him and headed towards the ticket gates, swiping his pass-case over the sensors and boarding the Yamanote line to head home.  He had school in the morning.  He wasn’t that free. 

Bokuto, I’m sorry I didn’t reply earlier.

He texted on the train, finding a corner seat at the end of a car.  Home was only five stops away, but his feet were exhausted from walking around for two straight days. 

It’s all right, I know the Exam must have been tough! 
But I know you kicked its ass because you’re amazing at everything you do!

I wish you wouldn’t say such things. 
I’m only going to disappoint you. 

What are you talking about?!
You could never disappoint me!
Is it your parents?  Are they spouting crap again?  You know you shouldn’t listen to them. 

Bokuto.
I didn’t take the exam.

…
…what?

Akaashi’s phone buzzed with an incoming call from Bokuto, and he rejected it immediately. 

I’m on the train, I’d rather not talk on the phone.

Akaashi, what do you mean you didn’t take the exam? 
Like, at all? 
What have you been doing this past weekend?
Are you okay?

I’m not sure. 

The train doors opened and closed at the next station, Akaashi noted home was only four stops away now.

I just couldn’t do it anymore, Bokuto. 
I left the house on Saturday to head to the test center.
I got there.  I stood in front of the gates as other students walked past me into the building. 
But I couldn’t go in with them. 
I can’t explain it. 

Akaashi…

He could almost hear Bokuto’s voice in his head saying his name; he could picture those amber eyes staring at him with concern and pity. 

Something came over me. 
I left.

The next station came and went.  Three stops now.

I walked for hours just to get away from there. 
Once, I ended up at the Tokai gym.  I don’t remember thinking I wanted to go there, but that’s where I ended up.  Another time, I ended up at the bookstore where you work. 
What am I doing, Bokuto?

Sounds to me like you’re taking charge of your own life.

By running away? 

Running is a decision too. 
And it’s a decision you made for yourself!  Not one your parents made for you.

Two stops.

But what do I do now?  Without a Center Exam score, I won’t qualify for any university in the country.

Come on, Akaashi!
Plenty of people take ronin years! 
Take a year off, work, study, figure out what you want to do, try again next year if you think college is still something you wanna go for!

You have all the answers, don’t you?

He could always depend on Bokuto for an endless supply of optimism. 

Akaashi, honest to god, I’m talking out of my ass right now. 
I can’t give you the right answer or anything.
All I can tell you is you’re not out of options!  There’s always something!  
You’ll figure it out! 
We’ll figure it out! 

Home was only one stop away now. 

I don’t want to go home yet. 

You said you’re on the train, right? 
Why don’t you come stay with me tonight?

I have school in the morning.

You decided out of the blue to not take your college entrance exam, and you’re worrying about playing hooky for one day? 

That and this are two very different things. 
My parents don’t know about the Exam.  They’ll be very suspicious if I don’t come home tonight and skip school tomorrow. 
I don’t know how I’m going to tell them, but I’m not prepared to tell them tomorrow, which is what I’ll certainly have to do if I run away tonight. 

The train doors opened at Akaashi’s stop.  The polite female voice in the station called out the name of the stop several times, warning passengers to steer clear of closing doors and to be careful when stepping on and off the train.  He knew he should stand, move his legs, one foot in front of the other to get off the train, but… The doors closed, and Akaashi slumped further into his seat. 

I just missed my stop.

So you’re heading over to me then?

I’m on the Yamanote line.  I’ll just ride it for another full circuit and head home then. 

That’s gonna take another hour, isn’t it? 
Why not just get off at the next stop and take the line heading back the other way?

I’m going to ride it for another loop. 
Then I’ll go home.

…okay.

Will you keep me company, Bokuto?

Did you really have to ask? 

Akaashi smiled at the glowing screen of his phone, clinging desperately to the small amount of peace Bokuto brought to his heart amidst the terror of knowing that he may have just ruined his future completely.  Wild and volatile as he was, Bokuto provided Akaashi a bizarre serenity he couldn’t quite understand with his seemingly infinite joy and boundless love. 

Thank you.

As promised, Kenma spent the next Sunday with his mother, who was so eager for his company that she checked his pockets before they left, pulling out the 3DS out of his pocket and demanding he leave it at home and give her his full attention throughout the day.  He gaped at the betrayal and tried to reason with her that he only needed it on his person for street-passes, but she was having none of his excuses, and Kenma had little recourse but to thank the universe that she didn’t confiscate his phone. 

“Are you going to be warm enough in that?” she eyed his coat and muffler as she checked her purse one last time to make sure she didn’t forget anything.  “Do we need to get you some gloves, would you like to wear your boots?” 

“Mom,” he insisted.  “I’m fine.” 

“It’s gonna be cold out today, you don’t want to get sick at the beginning of your last term.” 

“No, really.  I’m fine.” 

He couldn’t say that his mother was ‘overbearing.’  She had never nagged at him about schoolwork or practice, and she had more or less always given him free reign to go places and see people.  In fact, she worked hard to make sure he would go places and see people.  Yet for all her fussing that he was much too quiet and shy, she had still willingly provided his game consoles and games.  And it wasn’t every mother who had zero objections to her son bleaching his hair suddenly or growing it out like Rapunzel.  If he had to pick a word, he supposed she was the doting type.  Though really, he was absolutely fine.

Eventually they managed to leave the house and catch the trains, and she led the way first to Oshiage Station, where the Tokyo Skytree towered above them in the grey January sky. 

“I know you’ve been here once with Tetsu already, but I thought we’d wonder around Skytree Town and maybe do some apartment shopping.” 

“Apartment shopping?” Kenma repeated.

“I’m sure Tetsu has a lot of essentials already taken care of and I know you boys don’t mind sharing, but you’re gonna need some new things.” 

Kenma followed her wordlessly to a home furnishings section in the Skytree mall, where she pointed to about five million different things to ask if Kuroo already had one, because if not, she would make sure they both had it. 

“I suppose Mrs. Kuroo’s already given a kotatsu…”

“Yeah…” Kenma nodded his head.  It had been quite the luxury for them the previous winter. 

“Hmm… toaster oven?”

“I don’t think so…” Kenma racked his brains to try and visualize the kitchen they barely used, but he felt reasonably certain that Kuroo had only a microwave. 

“Ok, let’s add it to the list.” She pulled out a notepad and a pen, scribbling down information for a toaster oven that caught her eye, so that she could take her list to the register at the end and order everything at once to be delivered later.  “Did you want a new bed or a new desk?”

“N-no.  I can just keep the ones I have…”

It occurred to Kenma that the logistics he had in mind for their new life together was somewhat inconsistent with the thoughts of their families.  Kenma had thus far assumed they would move into a larger, one-bedroom apartment (upgrading from Kuroo’s tiny studio), with one bed and maybe two desks… But of course their families assumed that a two-bedroom apartment was in order, with the boys sleeping in separate rooms, on separate beds, and generally keeping to their own space… like normal friends.  Given that, Kenma supposed that asking for a new, larger bed came off as rather suspicious.  Had Kuroo considered these things?  Probably.

“Electric kettle?” his mother asked, pulling his attention back to the present.

“He has one.”

“Oh good.  Pots and pans?”

“Uh… he doesn’t do much cooking, so he doesn’t have too many of the kitchen stuff…”

“Well I presume that with the two of you living together, you could learn to make some meals.”  She added various kitchen items to the list, including cutting boards, a cutlery set, kitchen shears, ladles…  As the list spilled over onto the second page of her notepad, Kenma grabbed her arm to stay her frantic writing. 

“Mom… even with a new apartment, our kitchen is probably going to be tiny.  We won’t need all that stuff, and we probably won’t get around to using it all.” 

“It’s good to have.  You’ll need all these things at some point.”  She assured him, continuing to wander around the shop and writing down more notes. 

Kenma pulled out his phone and texted Kuroo desperately.

My mom is going nuts buying things for our kitchen. 

Hey, it’s all good to have. 
You know I live like a slob and get away with not cooking because I work at a restaurant, right? 
Tell her I appreciate it. 

Kenma rolled his eyes.

We’re not going to have room for all this stuff.

Depends on how big our new apartment is and how many cabinets we can snag for the kitchen.  Don’t worry, I’m working on it. 

“Kenma!” she called.  “Does Tetsu have a drying rack for his clothes?” 

“Uh… he has a small, hanging one on his balcony.”

“Well with two people around, you’re going to need a bigger one.  Look!  This one has detachable clips for your socks!” 

“Oh… okay…”

Now she’s latched onto a drying rack with sock clips.

Oh sweet!  I’ve been meaning to get one of those!
Your mom is the best, tell her I said so.

Kuro, are you actually getting excited about a drying rack?

Look, Kenma.  This is what adulthood actually is. 
I’m actually excited about that drying rack, and once you move out of your parents’ house, you’ll understand.

Suddenly adulthood didn’t sound that exciting anymore. 

Almost an hour or so later and after almost a dozen purchases made at the home furnishings store, Kenma and his mother made their way around the rest of Skytree town, browsing in and around the shops, his mother snapping pictures incessantly after Kenma taught her how to use her phone camera.  When they walked past a hair salon with a sign that read walk-ins available, she pulled him in and asked for an appointment for her son. 

“What—?” he started.

The stylist looked long at his long, two-toned hair, and politely asked,

“I’m guessing we’ll cut some length off.  Did you want to re-bleach it?” 

“Uh…” Kenma stammered as they pushed him into a chair and placed a barber’s cape around his neck. 

“I was thinking, we could at least cut off the blond, what do you think, Kenma?” his mother asked, more to the hair stylist than to him.  “If you want to bleach it again, I don’t mind.  But the ends of your hair desperately need a trim, sweetheart.” 

He glared as best he could at her before looking at his reflection in the mirror.  Even if they cut off all of the blond now, he would still be left with shoulder-length hair.  He could take it shorter, back to the length he had kept for most of his life, but there was something in him that wanted to leave that boy behind him.  When he considered the blond, of course he knew it would be a pain to keep it that way, and yet he had managed to develop something of an identity with his pudding-head hairstyle.  He had met Shouyou and Akaashi as a blond, and had flourished as vice-captain of his team with half-blond hair.  That was an identity he wanted to keep… though it wasn’t as if he would suddenly regress back to the boy he had been just because he cut some bleached fibers off his head.  In the end, this was all probably way too much soul-searching regarding a single hair-cut.  The stylist was waiting for an answer.

“Can you cut it… shoulder length?” he gestured with his hand the length he wanted.  “And uh… leave it black, please.” 

“Your wish is my command!” his stylist chimed, taking her shears in hand and snipping away. 

Thirty minutes later, his bleached ends had all been cut away, and he was left with lighter, slightly more free-flowing hair that fell just below his shoulders, all black and shining with some sweet-smelling styling gel she had used. 

“Now that it’s all even, it looks much more handsome!” his mother gushed. 

Kenma found he rather liked it more than he thought he would.  It was longer than he had kept it in his first year, and combined with his new height and matured facial features, he didn’t feel like he had turned back the clock, really.  Somewhere in his mind, he thought he missed the blond, but this would also serve better for college and job applications in the future. 

When their feet grew tired and their stomachs growled angrily, the two popped into a café for tea and pastries, Mrs. Kozume anxious to try out a certain tea a friend had recommended to her recently.  Kenma opted for a sweet matcha latte with a berry scone. 

“It’s been so long since we’ve done something just the two of us, don’t you think?” his mother noted as she took her seat across from him. 

“We went shopping last summer for clothes…” 

“I think as a mother, I should probably aim to do better than twice a year for spending time with my son.” 

“It’s not like I mind…” Kenma muttered. 

“I know.  You prefer to have your own space.” She smiled sadly.  “I’ve always tried my best to respect that.”

“I know, mom.  Thank you.” Kenma said, reaching for her hand across the table.  It was a comforting gesture Kuroo had taught him.  “I know I’m not the easiest to talk to.” 

“Oh Kenma,” she teased.  “You’re not the easiest to talk with.  I can talk at you all day!” 

He flushed and hid his face behind his mug, and she laughed, but squeezed the hand in hers tight. 

“But you really did surprise me this year.  I worried when Tetsu graduated that you’d be lonely.”

“You and everyone else on my team,” Kenma muttered.

“I also worried you’d quit your team.  Which, as a third year, I would’ve understood the decision to prioritize your schoolwork, of course.”  She bit her lip.  “I guess I’m just trying to say… I’m really proud of you, Kenma.” 

“Mom…” Kenma’s lips were quivering, but he tried to avoid sitting in dumb silence.  “Th-thank you.  You’ve been a really great mother my whole life.  I’m lucky to have been your son.” 

“Oh, Kenma…”

He saw her eyes water for the briefest of seconds before she dabbed them quickly away with a napkin—she was not about to have a fit inside a café in public.  There was no denying her surprise, however, since she could rarely sustain a conversation with her son, and it was even rarer that Kenma could string more than two sentences together. 

But for Kenma, a small itch began to nag him—one that reminded him that despite all his pretenses of being a good son, he was still ultimately lying to his mother about one of the most important relationships in his life.  Someday she would tease him about getting a girlfriend, and he would be unable to look her in the eye while trying to convince her that he was uninterested in dating.  Someday she would wonder why he and Kuroo continued to live together even as they grew into adults with full-time jobs (assuming they stayed together that long).  Someday he would have to have the conversation that would reveal to her what a disappointment he really was and why that meant she would probably never have grandchildren.  But for now, he swallowed down the words with scalding hot tea and tried not to look directly at her smile. 

Chapter Text

After the adrenaline rush of Spring High followed by the extreme challenge of his Center Exam, in the midst of his college application process, the last thing Kenma expected for the remainder of his final term in high school was to arrive at school in mid-February to a locker teeming with love letters and a desk full of chocolates.  Regrettably for all the girls, Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday this year, meaning that they had to cram all of their gift-giving and confessions the day before on Saturday the 13^th.  A bit anti-climactic for them perhaps, but not something that Kenma thought concerned him.  Now he stared blankly at the mass of pink and red ribbons and wrapping on his desk, and wondered what on earth he’d do with it all.  Give them back?  Offer them to his team?  Why on earth had he gotten so many in the first place? 

“Hey, Kenma!  Here’s your—holy shit!” Taketora’s voice screeched from the doorway of his classroom, and Kenma immediately shrank from the sound. 

His boisterous team captain had come to return the English textbook he had loaned him… but now he was probably here to give Kenma an envious beating instead. 

“Uwwahhh… lucky!!!” he groaned, shoving the book into Kenma’s chest and drooling over the pile, though not out of hunger. 

“You can have some if you want,” Kenma mumbled.  “I don’t really—“

“That’s not how it works, Kenma!!!” Taketora barked, several eyes in the classroom turning to look at them both.  Kenma put a finger to his lips urgently, hoping to quiet him though he knew it was a futile endeavor.  “All these girls… All!  These!  Girls!  Put their whole hearts into making you these chocolates and mustering up the courage to confess to you in these letters, and you can’t just brush them aside or give them away so carelessly!!!  You should cherish them!  That’s what a man would do!!!” 

“Tora, you are aware that—“ Kenma bit his lip.  He wasn’t sure how to tactfully remind his fellow captain that he was already in a very committed relationship with someone who in no way resembled a woman. 

“You have to read those letters, Kenma!” Tora grabbed Kenma’s shoulders suddenly, gripping tight and looking at him with blazing eyes.  “For those girls, and for the sake of every lonely man on this cruel day!  You have to give thanks for these blessings, and when you turn them down, you turn them down for all of us!” 

“All of… who?  What?”

At this point Taketora was sobbing profusely, his fingers digging painfully into Kenma’s shoulders.  They were definitely attracting attention now—even from students in the adjacent classrooms.

“Such a waste…” he sniffed between hiccupping sobs.  Eventually he let go of Kenma, pouring his tears into the elbow of his shirt as he stumbled slowly out of the room. 

Several eyes in the classroom watched the mohawk leave, then turned curious eyes to Kenma, who shrank down into his chair and stared at the gifts he had received. 

Tora wasn’t wrong.  If Kenma didn’t have to keep his relationship such a secret, none of these girls would have gotten their hopes up to begin with.  He looked at the pile of letters, each probably filled with some heartfelt confession of admiration or even love, and he couldn’t bring himself to understand it.  How could anyone really read these messages and accept?  He could count the number of girls he regularly spoke to on one hand, none if he eliminated family members, and he could never even consider agreeing to date essentially a complete stranger.  What did they expect him to do?  Read through them all then randomly accept one?  Choose the girl that submitted the best letter?  Line them up in a row and pick the one that was most attractive?  He didn’t now have to prepare White Day gifts for all these girls, did he?

He took a quick snapshot of the mass on his desk before he shoved them into his bag as well as they could fit, then sent the picture to Kuroo with a question:

What do I do about these?

He tucked the phone into his pocket after setting it to silent mode just as the first bell rung, then spent the rest of his morning pretending not to notice the handful of girls who kept sneaking glances at him during the lecture.  So some of those confessions came from girls in his class.  Well, that made things awkward. 

At lunch, he snuck away out of the classroom with his bento, opting to eat near the gym, and checked his phone to find a few texts from Kuroo.

Wow, that might even be more than what I got in my third year…
Don’t be tempted to cheat on me now~  ★~(◠‿◕✿)
Anyway, just read the letters at least once, turn them down politely and be done with it. 
I don’t think a lot of the girls really expect much, if you’re afraid of someone running away sobbing after you reject them. 

“K-Kozume-kun?” a timid voice called out, and Kenma looked up to see one of the girls in his class standing in front of him, fidgeting with the box in her hand and looking anywhere but at his face.  “I um… I wanted to give you these.”  She held out the red-wrapped box with shaking fingers.  “I saw you play at Nationals, and… um…”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, cutting her off before she could finish.  “I can’t… um, you shouldn’t…” 

Her face fell and her lip quivered before she forced a smile back onto her face, passing the chocolates into his hand anyway. 

“I understand.  You can give those to your team if you want.  Um…  I’m sorry for bothering you!” 

She ran off before he could say another word—not that he would’ve known what to say—and he sighed into the chocolates in his hand.  She might not have run away sobbing, but the hurt was plain as day on her face, and Kenma didn’t like feeling responsible for that.  It was going to be a long day. 

He was approached five more times before the end of the school day, two of them adding to his already enormous stash of gifts, the other three hoping for a positive answer to the content in their letters.  He didn’t even know their names, and one of them was a second-year!  Kenma did his best to turn them down as politely as he could, trying not to let their disappointment get to him. 

It was a struggle just to make it to the end of the day with an exhaustion he wasn’t at all used to.  At the goading of his teammates, he laid out his bag of sweets in the club room, ignoring their gawking and giving them free reign to take whatever they wanted.  Looking around, Murata and Kamikawa had received quite a few, even as first-years, from fellow classmates who had seen them play at Spring High.  Inuoka and Shibayama had received several letters and gifts themselves, Lev boasted over the several boxes he had received, even if two were from his sister, Alisa.  They had all together made the Nekoma volleyball team into a powerhouse contender, and that meant some level of fame and adoration from the rest of the school… and star athletes were always due to receive Valentine’s Day chocolate.

Taketora clutched his one precious gift with tears streaming down his face.  Unfortunately for their poor Captain, the lone sender chose to be anonymous and had left no letter or note to indicate whether or not she would remain that way. 

“Ahh, but Kenma definitely beat us…”

“It feels like last year, when Captain Kuroo overshadowed us all…”

“This is more than Kuroo got though, isn’t it?!”

“This really isn’t a contest…” Kenma mumbled, a blush quickly rising to his cheeks.  He tried to recall how Kuroo had dealt with this situation the previous year.  To his memory, the former captain had simply sneered at his victory, passed Kenma several sly winks, and given the bulk of his received gifts to his teammates.  But the setter didn’t think he had it in him to simply laugh this off.

“Kenma, most of these letters aren’t even opened!” Inuoka pointed at the pile. 

“Come on, Kenma, you have to at least read them—it’s really rude if you don’t.”

“Oh man, you should read them to us!  We’ll help pick the best one!” Lev suggested excitedly.

“Lev!  The letters are supposed to be private!”  Shibayama chided, punching him in the arm.

“All right, all right!” Taketora shouted over the fray, having at last regained his captain’s composure.  “Everyone get dressed and into the gym!” 

With only a month and a half left in the term, the third-years weren’t particularly required at practice, but they wanted to take the time to help supervise and establish the current team’s foundation before a host of new first-years would join them in April.  Coach Nekomata forbade Kenma, Taketora, and Fukunaga from participating in full-team composition practice matches, and in practice three-on-threes.  The current first and second-years needed to play without the presence of their upperclassmen, and in the remaining month left to them, had to decide their new captains.  It was their Coach’s opinion that a team should always choose their own leader to follow, so he refrained from offering any suggestions or giving open support to any would-be third years. 

Much to Kenma’s delight, Kamikawa quickly rose to the challenge of becoming the new permanent team setter.  In time he would gain Kenma’s experience and game sense, but he had the team’s trust and he was charismatic and personable where Kenma had not been.  Unfortunately, the day’s practice was extremely unproductive as several girls came in staggered groups to the gymnasium to nervously watch them.  Kenma recognized two of the girls from his class, who stared him down so intently he could feel them burning a hole into his back.  Eventually, Taketora waved Kenma out of the gym (Coach Nekomata chuckling heartily across the court) because,

“Clearly they want to talk to you, and they’re distracting the others.  Go take care of it.” 

Sighing, Kenma left with the girls quickly following at his heels, and outside he was surprised to find a handful of more girls, all nervously fidgeting, their eyes flickering over him with shy glances.  Well, at least he could turn down the majority of them at once to save time… though he didn’t much like the idea of being so outnumbered and surrounded. 

“Uh…” he stammered quietly, pulling on the ends of his hair and staring mostly at the ground.  “I’m sorry…” he murmured.  “I um… I’m not…” 

One of the girls was so small, he was sure she had to be a first-year.  She was the first one to speak and break the silence, her voice shrill and crackling with nervousness. 

“Kozume-senpai!  I… I don’t expect anything from you!  B-but… I just… I wanted to—I wanted to tell you in person how cool I thought you were at Spring High!  And… I wish I were older, and… good luck on your college applications!”  She then bowed suddenly, startling the entire group and ran off back towards the school, leaving Kenma dazed and somewhat confused.  Was there even a point to a confession like that? 

“Kenma-kun,” one of the girls from his class spoke up after that.  “If you don’t mind my asking… is there… someone else?” 

“Does that matter?” he asked candidly, and several of the girls looked taken aback by the question. 

“Well it…”

“It might help give us some… some closure.” 

“Yes,” Kenma answered honestly, meeting all of their eyes in turn, suddenly strengthened by the force of this revelation—as if thinking about Kuroo gave him some measure of the man’s confidence.  “Yes, there is someone else.  Someone that I love… very much.” 

He could feel rather than see the disappointment around him, layered under their shock, but thankfully no hint of malice or ill will.  Backing away from them, he allowed himself a small smile, and bowed low and sincere. 

“I’m sorry.  Thank you.  All of you.”  He said quietly before turning away from them and heading back into the gym where his team suddenly resumed practicing where before they had been obviously eavesdropping. 

Taketora cleared his throat as a sign of an odd sort of approval, and clapped him sternly on the back. 

“You handled that pretty well.” 

Kenma coughed to try and stem the flush that came to his cheeks, sighing in relief.

“I’m just glad none of them burst into tears and wailing sobs.  I think I’d have handled it less well if that had been the case.” 

Out of the corner of their eye, they saw another girl poke her head into the gym, eyes darting around with a wild panic.  Taketora sighed as he pushed Kenma immediately in her direction. 

“Honestly, I should probably just have you sit outside and keep all your hordes away so the rest of us can practice in peace.” 

“Might be for the best,” Kenma smiled, before heading over to the girl in the doorway, who looked steadily more flustered the closer he got. 

“Um!  Uh… um!”  she threw up her hands, shaking her head frantically.  “I’m sorry!” she bowed suddenly, and Kenma’s eyes widened. 

“I haven’t said anything yet—“

“N-no… I’m!” she stammered, pulling on the hem of her blazer, her face growing beet red as her eyes looked around the gym, eventually settling on the mohawked captain.  “I came to—to talk to…”

“To Tora?” Kenma gaped, trying his best not to sound too shocked at the idea. 

“Y-yes…” she flushed, bowing her head, her light brown curls falling forward into her face. 

“Uhh… sure.  Just uh… wait right here.  I’ll—I’ll get him for you,” Kenma ran back to his captain, who raised an eyebrow at the fact that the girl remained standing in the doorway.  “She’s uh… She’s here to talk to you, actually.” 

“Wh-what?!?!?!” The captain’s face turned a frightening shade of red (matching his jersey almost).  The rest of the team immediately stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at their astonished captain, some turning to stare at their visitor.  The girl who stood just outside the gymnasium doors turned the same shade of scarlet as Lev took a ball to the face in his distraction.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-what am I—“ Taketora screeched, looking at Kenma with wide, horrified eyes, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.  This was not the expected behavior of someone who made terrifying faces at opposing teams and wore his hair in a Mohawk.  It would’ve been funny, if he didn’t seem on the verge of tears. 

Kenma found himself shrinking away—what was he supposed to do or say here, it’s not like he knew how to handle women—before something in him snapped, and he shoved Taketora toward the girl, attempting to be firm and commanding.  He was vice-captain, he could manage this much.

“G-go take care of it!” he said, parroting Taketora’s earlier words.  “Like… like a man!” 

Silently, the entire gym watched in wonder as the Tiger stumbled towards the door, the girl bowing her head repeatedly before they both disappeared from the doorframe.  The team turned wide eyes to Kenma, pleading, begging… The vice-captain rolled his eyes, but passed the question onto Coach Nekomata, who turned his head away from the boys, eyes flicking towards the door briefly.  Coach Naoi sighed in exasperation, but gestured them off the court.  So the team immediately rushed to the doors, shoving and pushing at each other to peek and attempt to overhear the conversation.  Kenma had to admit he was curious too, but he had to maintain some level of decorum—he was vice-captain for another month yet.  The cheer that soon erupted from the boys crammed near the gym entrance made clear the outcome. 

When Taketora came floating back into the gym, everyone hooted around him, clapping him on the back and asking him a dozen questions at several miles a minute.  What was her name?  How long had seen been harboring her secret love?  Where would they go on their first date?  But Tora heard none of it.  He seemed somehow as if he had transcended the mortal plane and found something akin to nirvana.  Kenma smiled at him, offering a small V sign from across the gym, and he saw the Coach grin widely before holding up his little pinky in the captain’s direction. 

That evening, he recounted the entire affair on the phone to Kuroo, who laughed uproariously at every detail. 

“You’re kidding… Tora?!”  Kuroo chortled into his ear. 

“Yeah.  This cute girl with light brown curls.” 

“We are talking about the same person, right?  Yamamoto Taketora… scary face… mohawk?  Tried to recruit us a female manager last year and failed miserably?”

“Yes, Kuro.”  Kenma giggled. 

“Wow… wish I could’ve seen that.  And what about you?  Kozume Kenma, heartthrob of the Nekoma High School volleyball team?”

“Don’t come up with weird names like that…”

“How many girls did you send away sobbing?”

“Nobody cried,” Kenma sighed.  “At least, not that I saw.” 

“I wish I could’ve seen that too.”

“Don’t be mean, Kuro.”

“No, I mean… I’d have casually let it slip that the reason you’re rejecting them all is because of me.”

Kenma had a vague recollection of an extremely smug Kuroo turning down girls the previous year with some dramatic speech detailing how his heart belonged to and has always belonged to another, sneaking dozens of looks and smirks and longing stares in Kenma’s direction, testing to see if any of the girls would notice.  He sighed at the memory, and Kuroo laughed.

“It’s your third year, would it matter so much if people knew?  You’re graduating soon anyway.  Oh, speaking of which… Can you come over tomorrow?”

“For Valentine’s Day?” Kenma smirked into the phone.

“Yeah.  I have a present for you.” 

“If you’re about to tell me it’s in your pants—“

“No!  Well, I mean… yes.  But that’s a year-round present.  I have an actual, special, Valentine’s Day present for you, and you have to come over tomorrow to see it.” 

“As long as it’s not chocolate.  I have enough of that to last me for a year at least.” 

“It’s not chocolate.”  Kuroo assured him, and Kenma could hear the amused smile playing on his lips. 

In fact, his present wasn’t even a tangible object—not in the strictest of terms.  It wasn’t the sort of tangible one could stick into a pocket.  It was an apartment. 

“Well, it’s not ours yet.  We have to both sign the lease and put down the deposit and stuff, but the landlord is basically holding it for me right now.” Kuroo said cheerfully as they walked.  Playfully, he ran his fingers through Kenma’s hair.  “You cut off the blond… It looks much neater now.”

“I’m still keeping it long.”

“I’m glad.  I like that look on you.” 

When they reached the apartment building, there was an old woman standing on the sidewalk waiting for them.  She smiled when she saw Kuroo, and gave a small bow, which the boys quickly returned. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Kurosawa,” Kuroo greeted before laying his hand on Kenma’s shoulder.  “This is Kozume Kenma, he’s going to be my roommate.”

“H-hello.” 

“Nice to meet you, Kozume,” she smiled before leading them upstairs.  “Well let me show you boys the room—of course, Kuroo, you’ve already seen it.  There’s an elevator on the other side of the building for when you move in.  The third floor is just high enough that you’ll probably need it.”  She led them up the stairs slowly.

Kenma found himself rolling his eyes mentally—of course Kuroo wound find some apartment complex where the landlord was a little old woman he could charm.  He wasn’t sure just what it was about Kuroo that older women found so attractive (besides everything), but they were always spellbound by him.  It was some bizarre special power of his. 

Ms. Kurosawa led them to a unit in a corner of the building, unlocking the door with her master key and ushering them inside.  They removed their shoes and already Kenma could see how much more spacious it was compared to Kuroo’s current studio.  The short hallway by the door led almost immediately into a wide kitchen space with a small living room—still bigger than the ‘living room’ Kuroo currently had.  The kitchen came pre-equipped with a fridge and a microwave, and Kenma was pleased to see it was nearly a full-sized fridge, not a mini one. 

“Those two doors are the bedrooms, you boys can argue over which room is whose,” she pointed to the doors that stood on opposite ends of the small living room space, walking over to the one on the right and opening the door.  “This is the corner one, so it’s got extra windows.  It’s also the bigger one between the two.” 

Kenma poked his head inside and grimaced slightly at the brightness.  He definitely didn’t want to sleep in this room if it meant all that sunlight in the morning.  It was east-facing.

“Kenma, come over here.” Kuroo called, and Kenma walked over to the balcony, poking his head out into the cold.  “Think this is enough space for that drying rack your mom bought us?” 

“Um… Should be.” 

“Awesome.” 

“Even the kitchen looks big enough to fit everything.”  That was probably the biggest shock. 

“Would you like to see the second bedroom, Kozume?” Ms. Kurosawa called him over.  “It’s smaller, and it’s not a tatami room, but—“

If it was the ‘smaller’ room it wasn’t smaller by a noticeable degree.  There was plenty of room for all of his things from his parents’ house—he didn’t have very much in the way of material possessions.  One window let in non-direct sunlight, but it was the perfect size to throw a curtain over it, and the closet was clearly meant for being able to squeeze in spare futons and blankets, meaning there was plenty of space for all of his clothes. 

“It’s nice,” he said quietly to the old landlady.  He wanted to ask about the cost of rent, since the apartment was so much bigger than Kuroo’s current studio (albeit older), but he didn’t know if that would considered rude or not. 

“So what do you think?” Kuroo asked, hands on his hips, all smug grins.  “Nice, right?” 

“It’s really nice,” Kenma reassured him, trying to smile. 

“Thank you for showing us around, Ms. Kurosawa, on a Sunday, no less.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”  She chuckled. 

“Now that Kenma’s seen the place with me, we’ll have to discuss it with our parents in more detail.  When would you need an answer by?”

“By the end of the week is fine.” 

“All right.  I’ll give you a call then.  Again, thank you so much.” Kuroo bowed low, and Kenma followed his lead, mumbling a quiet thank you as they left the apartment unit. 

As they walked back towards the station—the new place Kuroo had found was on the other side of the station from his current home—Kuroo began going over the details. 

“So rent is basically 30,000 yen more than what I’m paying right now for my teeny studio, but it’s more than double my current floor space—which you saw.  I think it’s because the building is older and it’s a much further walk from the station.  Plus I mentioned we were college students, so I think Ms. Kurosawa is offering us a bit of a discount from the usual pricing...  It’s not the biggest two-bedroom I could find, but—“

“Kuro… It’s fine.  It’s great, I mean… I think it’s a great fit for us.”  Kenma stammered, trying not to be embarrassed by the fact that he was spending Valentine’s Day browsing a future apartment with his boyfriend.  This so-called ‘present’ beat out chocolates by a far cry. 

“So you really like it?”

“I do,” Kenma smiled.  “But… um…”

“What?”

“Are we… are we gonna—you know, sleep in separate rooms?”

“What?  Of course not.  We just have to pretend like we’re going to in front of the old landlady.”

“But… what about for when our parents visit?” 

“My mom paid for movers and never came to see me.  Even with the bigger apartment, it’s not exactly large enough to properly host guests.  They’re always gonna insist we go home to see them.  I wouldn’t worry about it.  Neither of us are girls so it’s not like they’re overly concerned about us doing ‘unsavory’ things,” Kuroo smirked.  “If they only knew…”

“Someday they’ll know,” Kenma said quietly.  “And it’s probably not going to be pretty.” 

“Maybe.  But we can worry about that later.” Kuroo shrugged, taking Kenma’s hand in his own and gripping it tight.  “For right now, let’s focus on getting you moved out.  One thing at a time.” 

“Okay,” Kenma agreed.  “Kuro?”

“Yes, Kenma?”

“Thank you.”  Kenma smiled and it turned Kuroo’s face a bright cherry red alarmingly quickly, making him put a hand to his face and slump his shoulders in defeat. 

“Do you… wanna spend some time at my place before you go home?” 

“Yeah.” 

At home, they fell into each other’s arms effortlessly, their lips trailing soft, tender kisses across bare skin and gasping out small huffs of pleasure.  Their hands roamed across each other’s bodies with alternating firm presses and faint touches so light they tickled, switching between curiosity and need as they kissed each other breathlessly.  Kuroo kept their bodies held tightly together, moaning into the skin of Kenma’s neck and whispering hushed confessions.  Every whisper of ‘I love you,’ ‘Kenma,’ ‘My beautiful Kenma,’ sent Kenma’s mind into a tizzy—those poor girls at school never had a chance. 

It was slow and comfortable and so full of silent understanding, Kenma wondered if even their heart-beats were synchronized.  He felt they must be, even if he was too distracted to know for sure.  They were so in sync with each other, he thought it must be how Shouyou and Kageyama felt on the court… except he and Kuroo had had years and years to refine and fine-tune their technique together.  All of their unvoiced questions, the silent acceptances…

When they merged their bodies together, Kuroo buried deep inside him, arms wrapped around him, panting heatedly into their kisses… Kenma wanted to stay that way for hours, soreness be damned.  The setter led the pace, and it was unhurried, steady.  He took the opportunity to touch every inch of Kuroo he could reach, relishing the sensation of feeling the muscles pulse and tense under his touch, mesmerized by the flutter of Kuroo’s eyelashes with each contact.  When Kuroo placed a firm grip on Kenma’s hips to try and quicken their pace, he had guided them strictly away, placing them above Kuroo’s head and wordlessly commanding they stay there.  Kuroo whimpered at that, thrust his hips up impatiently, but Kenma silenced him with a slow roll of his own hips and a whispered mandate, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed with desire. 

“I’ll do it.” 

For Kuroo’s part, he had always smiled knowingly—the way the Mona Lisa smiled purposely at all her viewers—at people who spoke of Kenma as a weak-willed, sensitive child that needed constant guidance.  To some degree, yes, Kenma had required a certain level of care when they were children, but he was anything but weak-willed.  At times, he could be stubborn to a fault, and when he was feeling particularly willful, he left Kuroo a disheveled, muddled mess in his wake.  Kuroo had always been the weak one—weak to Kenma’s every desire, every whim… ever since he had fumbled through the early years of his adolescence and learned what it meant to have hormones and how horribly they amplified everything when you were in love. 

Even at an agonizingly slow pace, hearing Kenma moan faintly and seeing the way his back arched into every roll of his hips was enough to push Kuroo over the edge.  He gripped the pillow under his head and thrust upward helplessly, breaking Kenma’s rhythm and making the setter gasp and cry out from the sudden rough push against his insides. 

Their bodies stilled for several minutes as Kuroo’s entire body grew slowly more relaxed, and then Kenma was moving again, and Kuroo hissed in discomfort.  His post-orgasm cock was very, very sensitive, and Kenma’s renewed movement was sending sharp spasms up his body.  Not entirely unpleasant, but too much.  He tried to still Kenma, grabbing the setter’s waist and trying to pull himself out of that overwhelming heat, but Kenma pushed his hands away, pinning them to the bed roughly and continued heaving his body up and down. 

“Shit!  Ah… K-Kenma!” he wheezed, resisting feebly against the grip that held him down. 

He considered simply overpowering the smaller man—he could do it easily enough—and pushing him off, but Kenma’s voice pleaded in a strained groan.

“K-Kuro… I’m… almost… nnghh…”  Kenma’s hands left Kuroo’s wrists, clawing at the firm chest and abs beneath him, grasping, pulling… marking what was his. 

Kuroo was weak.  Kenma made him so weak, so he endured it for a few moments longer, until he felt Kenma’s warmth twitch and squeeze around his length and felt the hot splash of his finish across his chest and stomach. 

“Hah… hah…” Kenma struggled to catch his breath, which was why it made absolutely perfect sense for him to lock their mouths together for more suffocating kisses, smearing his fluids between them.  He grasped Kuroo’s shoulders tightly, nails digging into the soft skin as he rode out the final waves of his pleasure. 

Kuroo reciprocated the kiss just as eagerly, shifting his hips carefully so that he slipped gently out, Kenma letting out a keening cry at the sudden emptiness inside him. 

“Geez, Kenma…” Kuroo huffed, letting his body go limp at last.  “You’re so rough with me…”  He could think of several teammates who would comment on the scratches in the locker room.

“Sorry…” Kenma murmured as he kissed Kuroo’s cheek, then forehead, then nose. 

“I’ll live.”  Kuroo leaned up to kiss Kenma’s nose, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  “You’ll let me know as soon as you get your letter from Tokai, right?” 

“Mmhmm.”  Kenma breathed into Kuroo’s shoulder, closing his eyes. 

“Be sure to tell your mom how much you love the new apartment I picked out.”

“I will.”

“And don’t slack off too much in your last few weeks, you still have to pass your finals to graduate.”

“I won’t.”

“Kenma, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Sure.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow and felt the deep, slow breaths heaving against his chest.  Well… a short nap wouldn’t hurt.  Probably.  …Except they’d probably feel absolutely disgusting when they woke up still covered in sex. 

“Kenma, get up.” He shook him awake.  “We’re cleaning up first.” 

“Mmmghmmm…” Kenma grumbled.

“This is a really bad precedent to set.  Come on.  Up.”  Kuroo was sure if they started doing this now, they’d definitely continue the habit after they were moved in together, and there were certain measures of adulthood that just had to be established early on. 

“Kuro…” Kenma whined, pulling against the arms that tugged him toward the bathroom.  “…again?”

“What?”

“In the shower.  Again.” 

Kuroo felt his blood rush to his face before hurrying to the lower areas of his body—he wasn’t young and athletic for nothing.  He pulled a giggling Kenma hurriedly into his tiny shower room, swearing he’d reciprocate some of this marking that was going on—especially since Kenma no longer had practice to worry about.

A few nights later, when Kuroo turned his phone on after work, he opened an image attachment from Kenma, showing a slightly blurred photo that he could just make out to be the Tokai University letter of acceptance.  The nearby stray cats that loitered around his neighborhood scattered in fright at the sudden shriek that poured out of Kuroo’s lungs as he punched his fist into the air and stomped on the ground.  He ran the rest of the way home, calling Kenma the instant he was inside, panting breathless happy laughs into the phone. 

“Kenma!”

“Kuro—“

“Congratulations!”

“I—th-thanks…” Kenma muttered sheepishly, and voices in the background told Kuroo the setter was currently among company. 

“You’re busy!  I can call back later—don’t worry about it.  I just—I saw your text and I… I got so excited!” he wheezed, and he heard Kenma giggle into the receiver. 

“I’ll call you later.” 

“Yeah!  I’ll be waiting.” Kuroo breathed, kicking off his shoes and stumbling into his apartment as they both hung up the phone. 

He looked around with a giddy excitement, and after throwing down his bag, he grabbed his phone again to call Bokuto.  That letter sealed everything—they’d be together again.  Same school, and soon they’d live together in the same apartment, and everything was coming together all at once, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t let it out somehow. 

“Bokuto!” he screamed into the receiver. 

“Kur—geez, you’re loud.  What’s up?”

“Sorry, sorry… I’m just really excited.”

“Yeah?”

“Kenma!  He got in!  He got accepted to Tokai!” 

“Awesome!!!  Congratulations!  Wow, that’s… basically everything the two of you wanted…”

Even if he was largely distracted with Kenma’s success, Kuroo knew that mopey tone when he heard it.  Nor was he blind; he had seen how Bokuto’s condition at practices had grown steadily worse over the past several weeks.  It was slight, but noticeable enough. 

“What’s wrong, Bokuto?”

“What?  Nothing… don’t worry about it, you should be focused on Kenma right now.  Why are you calling me and not him?”

“He’s busy, I needed to get all the energy out of my system—come on man, tell me what’s up.” 

“Dude, I don’t wanna be a downer when you’re basically oozing happiness—“

“Bokuto.”  Kuroo’s voice was firm—it was his former captain voice.  Bokuto recognized it immediately, having been a captain himself. 

“It’s Akaashi.” 

“Is it his parents again, or…”

He heard Bokuto inhale a sharp breath on the other side of the line, sputtering as he tried to find the words.  Kuroo grew increasingly worried with the extending silence. 

“To tell you the truth… and I did mean to tell you sooner, but… I mean, it’s not entirely my place to say anything, and—“

“Bokuto, spit it out.”

“Akaashi didn’t actually take the Center Exam last month.” 

“What?” Kuroo said it louder than he meant to, but the shock was honestly confounding.  He could’ve never imagined Akaashi displaying any sort of rebellious behavior; it was as surprising as the fact that Bokuto himself had kept this a secret for the past month—no wonder he had been off at practice. 

“He didn’t take it, so he didn’t apply anywhere… he’s decided on a ronin year but he hasn’t told his parents yet.  They’re gonna figure it out though, since he hasn’t gotten any letters.  No acceptance letters, no rejection letters, no Center Exam score… they have to know something’s up.”

“But—“

“They’ve made him stop going to practice—he can’t see me, he can’t see the team…”

“Bokuto, how are you handling all of this?”  Kuroo interrupted.  Bokuto’s voice was growing more frantic, his words spilling out of him in a frenzy—it had not been good for him to keep this to himself for so long.  Kuroo should’ve asked about it sooner—should’ve realized something was seriously off about his friend. 

“I’m… Damn it, Kuroo, I’m pissed!” 

“Yeah…”

“I haven’t seen Akaashi in weeks and I’m worried sick about him.  He keeps telling me on the phone that he’s fine, that he’s taking things in stride, that he’ll tell them soon, but… what if they lose it?  I just wanna bust in there and look his shit parents in the eye and tell them that Akaashi should be able to do what he wants with his own life!”

“Maybe not the best way to handle that situation…” Kuroo muttered.

“Yeah?!  I’ll tell them I’m marrying their son and there’s nothing they can do about it, and then I’ll whisk him out of there and we’ll make our own happily ever after!” 

Bokuto was swaying dangerously between concern and rage.  Kuroo had always known him to be an impulsive guy, but he tried to convince himself that he wouldn’t be so stupid as to actually carry through with a threat like that.  Kuroo listened on in silence—there was honestly very little he could do or say.

“Bokuto, I’m going to ask you something and you need to answer me honestly.  Do you honestly think you can help this situation by getting involved with Akaashi and his parents?”

“…”

The silence was heavy between them.  Parents were tricky… and being gay with strict parents was definitely trickier… Bokuto was the only person Kuroo knew to be out with his family.  His parents had shrugged, waving it off because it didn’t change the fact that their son was considered one of the nation’s top amateur athletes, and they were very proud of him for that.  And honestly, there were other aspects of his character that were far more troublesome.  Kuroo very much doubted, however, that Akaashi’s parents would be so laid-back about it. 

“No.  I’m not gonna out him to his parents,” Bokuto grumbled at last.  “Not my place.” 

“Let Akaashi deal with his parents about the ronin year stuff… you two can discuss your upcoming nuptials after that’s over and done with.” Kuroo quipped.

“If they hurt him,” Bokuto warned, his voice menacing and low.  “I’m getting him out of there ASAP.”

“Do you think they would?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.” Bokuto snarled.  “I know Akaashi’s mom has a tendency to slap him when she gets upset.  I’ve never seen anything like bruises or anything really serious, but…”

Kuroo’s own mother whacked him around all the time, though never out of anger, never with any degree of seriousness.  For Bokuto, his own parents would never raise a hand against him even in jest—he had grown up with a boisterous family who only knew how to express love and affection in its purest forms. 

“If Akaashi’s actual safety is at risk, that’s a totally different story.  But you really need to calm down.  Don’t act on impulse with this.”  Kuroo felt relatively certain Akaashi’s parents weren’t the excessively violent type… they cared so much about their image, he didn’t think it would escalate. 

“I just feel so useless.  I want to be able to do something to help!”

Kuroo could understand Bokuto’s frustrations, certainly… neither of them had spent their first year of university feeling all that grown-up, per se, but being viciously reminded of how little control they had over their own lives was…

“Keep me in the loop,” Kuroo said into his phone.  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, and talk to me when you feel like you’re about to explode.” 

“Yeah.  Okay.” Bokuto grumbled.  “We’ll figure it out… Wanna stay after our next practice?  Work on some serves?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Kuroo.”

Akaashi really needed to figure this out.  But no matter how many simulations he ran in his head, no matter how many scripts he practiced for the discussion that needed to happen, the problem was that he simply couldn’t muster the nerve.  He had never been an anxious person—no pre-game jitters, no test anxiety, not even Bokuto’s wild personality could really rattle him, but his parents… His parents made him feel like an ill-behaved child regardless of what he did or didn’t do.  They had even gotten upset with him for coming home after school around Valentine’s Day with a bag full of chocolates he had received, telling him things like, ‘Don’t even think about girls, you’ve got exams to worry about!’ or ‘Dating is just a distraction when you’re young.  Wait until you’re in college and your future is secure.’ 

As if he had any interest in girls to begin with…  No, but that was an entirely different issue he would never ever feel ready to talk about with them.  He considered calling Bokuto to work up the courage… but he feared that would just make him want to run to the safety and comfort of his presence instead of steeling himself for what needed to be done. 

He just had to pretend like he was about to take the plunge into a really cold swimming pool.  Deep breath, close your eyes, jump in. 

“Keiji?”

His parents were seated in the living room, watching the nightly news.  His father was sipping lightly on his coffee, legs crossed, his mother seated by the low coffee table, peeling a small bowl of oranges.  They looked at him expectantly and he felt what little resolve he had crumbling under the weight of their judgmental stares. 

“Um…” he started, biting his lip.

“Oh that reminds me,” his father interrupted, setting his coffee down.  “Dr. Kamiya’s son has gotten his early acceptance to Waseda.” 

“Well, that would be expected of the Director’s son, wouldn’t it?” his mother added with a huff.  “Dr. Kamiya went to Waseda himself, I’m sure his name has some recognition value with the acceptance committee.” 

“Yes, but it reminded me that we haven’t heard anything yet for Keiji.  It seems a bit late now, don’t you think?”

They knew.  Oh god, they knew.  That should have made it easier, but really it only made it worse. 

“That’s true, it is getting a bit late.  Maybe you should make some phone calls?” his mother asked her husband with a worried grimace, peeling the last orange and wiping her hands on her apron. 

“I um!” Keiji interrupted.

“For heaven’s sake, Keiji, spit it out whatever it is, don’t just stand there like a broken record!” she snapped, clicking her tonge in annoyance. 

“I’m going to take a ronin year,” he mumbled quietly, the words spilling out of him like some horrible beast he had finally set free.  And now that the beast was free, there was nothing he could do but deal with the ugly consequences. 

The silence following his statement was deafening, his parents at first too stunned to do or say anything; Akaashi briefly wondered if maybe he had died.  Maybe his parents had lost it and it was so sudden he couldn’t even conjure a hazy memory of the end, and now his soul was wandering some limbo specially reserved for children who disappointed their parents.  When his father turned off the television, it snapped him back.  It snapped them all back. 

“What are you talking about, Keiji?” his mother spoke first, her voice shaking.  She usually got the first word in for these types of situations.  “A ronin year?!  Don’t be ridiculous!  Maybe the mail is just delayed, I’m sure that’s all it is.  The postman for this neighborhood was recently switched out for some… irresponsible young man, I’m sure—“

“No.  Mother—“

“I understand you’re nervous because you haven’t heard anything yet, but a ronin year is out of the question, Keiji.  What would you even do?  Have you even thought that far ahead?”

“I’m… I thought I’d work.”

“Doing what exactly?” her voice was growing shrill. 

Akaashi hated when her voice took on that shrill, almost yell.  She never actually yelled at him—that was unseemly—it was always this odd step just beneath it.  It was the sort of tone that entitled customers took with sales representatives in shopping centers.  Expectant and demanding. 

“I hadn’t looked into it that far just—“

“There you go again!  Always half-assing your work.  Are you just running away from university because you think it’ll be too hard?  Or because you don’t want to work for it?”

“No—nothing like that…”

“Keiji, many people don’t recover from a ronin year and go back to school, you know that,” his father snapped, clicking his tongue in the same manner as his wife.  “Spending a year out of school, working some dead-end, entry-level job with no prospect of advancement… and then trying to compete with high school students who’ve spent the entire year focused on their schoolwork—one year can easily turn to two, then five… then it’s your whole life.  Is that what you want?”

“It’s not like I want to fail at life, but—“

“No, this is ridiculous.  Keiji, we are not having this conversation.” His mother slammed her hands on the table with a stinging finality, her mouth drawn into a tight line.  “We just need to wait for your letters.  Nothing to be done now but wait.”

“They won’t come,” Akaashi murmured softly, his fists clenching by his side. 

“What do you mean they won’t—“

“I never applied.  Anywhere.  Not one.”  Akaashi’s voice grew firm in his defiance.  It was like his mother had said.  There was nothing to be done now after the fact.  “I didn’t take the Center Exam in January.”

The slap hit him before he even saw her rise—probably one of the hardest he had ever been hit with in recent memory.  He stumbled back, hand to his stinging cheek as she raised her hand again. 

“Hanako!!”

His father’s voice rang in their ears, and she froze in place, lowering her hand almost painfully, her face turning blotchy and red with anger. 

“Keiji, what do you mean by this?!” his father snapped.  It was his turn to talk now.  His turn to sternly almost-yell at him about everything he was doing wrong and how stupid he was being.  “You didn’t take the exam—you left the house that weekend to go—what were you even doing?!  Just… fucking around town?!  Taking your parents for fools?!?!!!”

That wasn’t an almost-yell.  That was yelling.  It was the sort of yelling their neighbors would surely hear and then later gossip about.  His mother thought the same, and tried to gesture at her husband to quiet down some.

“What’s the meaning of this rebellious behavior?!  Are you just going to throw away everything we’ve done for you?!  For your future???”

“But you never even asked me if I wanted to go to medical school!” Akaashi whimpered, trying to keep his voice steady and not cry.  Crying would only make him seem more like a petulant child in the eyes of his parents.  “You decided that for me before I was ever even born!!” 

“If you had wanted to pursue something else, you should have told us!” his father barked.  “We would have encouraged any number of alternatives—law school, business, engineering—“

“There you go again, deciding my options!  How am I supposed to know what I want—you never let me have a say in anything!”

“We let you do plenty of things you wanted!  We let you play volleyball, even in your third year!” his mother chimed in, unable to stay silent any longer.  “I should’ve insisted you stop after Interhigh, look what’s come of it!  You’re not going to tell us now that you want to be a pro-volleyball player like your upperclassman now, are you?”

“No, no…” Akaashi shook his head.  They were giving him such a headache.  He couldn’t get one word in, not one!  They weren’t listening to a single thing he said! 

“We pushed medical school onto you when you didn’t want to go, that’s what you’re saying… and instead of telling us that like a responsible adult, you took advantage of our trust!  Not taking the exam?!  It’s not that you want to take a ronin year, now you have to!  How dare you present that to us like it was something we could even discuss?!”

“I’m sorry!” Akaashi choked, matching his parents’ volume.  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m… a failure… I’m sorry I don’t know what I want and ran away, but—I felt like there was nothing else I could do to make you listen to me!” 

His tears were salty on his lips—he had tried so hard not to cry in front of them.  But he couldn’t now halt the sobs racking his body as he kneeled on the floor before them in shame.  He thought he had been terrified of what his life was going to be on the day he had failed to take his entrance exam, but clearly that had been a delusion.  The cold chill that gripped his body while his face grew hot and red from his weeping… they were right.  Bokuto was right.  He hadn’t thought things through like he should have, hadn’t considered what direction his life would take, and now he was stuck, barred from any opportunity for higher education for this year. 

“Well, if you wanted our attention, you certainly have it!” his mother crossed her arms, unmoved by her son’s tears.  “Goodness, where did I go wrong with you?” 

“Hanako, enough.”

“What are we supposed to do, Hiro?  After all that fuss—we should never have allowed him to continue with volleyball.  He probably spent too much time around that senpai of his… the wild one with the ridiculous hair.”

“Bokuto…” Akaashi whispered his name like a prayer. 

“Him.  I know he had some influence on you.  He might be good enough to be a pro, but he should never have encouraged you to think the same, how irresponsible!”

“Don’t talk about Bokuto like that.” Akaashi spat, his voice low. 

Yes, he was a failure, a disappointment, a good-for-nothing, rebellious… and whatever else they wanted to call him—but he would not allow them to speak ill of the one good person he cherished more than anything else in the world.  Bokuto, who had only ever been kind and warm to everyone he met… even when Akaashi had tried to resist being pulled in by his whims and his charms… He was so troublesome in all the most wonderful ways.  Akaashi needed to see him again.  More than anything. 

On quivering legs, Akaashi pulled himself up and moved out of the room.

“Keiji!  Where do you think you’re going?!” his mother screeched.

“Out,” he muttered.  He grabbed his keys, his wallet, and his phone as his mother followed him to the door, pulling and grabbing at his shirt. 

“We’re not done talking here, don’t you even think about—“

But he pulled himself roughly out of her grip, knocking her hands away—the first time he had ever raised a hand against his mother—and she responded in turn by slapping him again.  She always resorted to that when she couldn’t think of any more words to say. 

“Hanako, let him go,” his father’s weary voice resounded from the hallway. 

“Hiro, you can’t be serious—“

Akaashi took advantage of his mother’s momentary distraction to throw his shoes on and run out the door, the chilly February air hitting his lungs like a cleansing wave.  Out of the house he felt so free.  He heard his mother dimly call his name again, but he had taken off at a run, the wind rushing in his ears and his heart drumming in his chest, pushing him forward. 

It had helped Bokuto considerably to talk to Kuroo, but just talking was never quite enough to relieve his frustrations when he got particularly worked up about something—only volleyball could serve as a remedy, which was why it was almost ten o’clock at night and he was slamming spikes across the net of the Tokai University gymnasium.  Earlier in the evening, he had managed to convince a few members of his team to stay after practice for a little longer (Kuroo included)… but after dinner, most of them left him for varying other commitments, including schoolwork, so he resumed practice alone.  Kuroo stayed the longest, but when his body couldn’t keep up anymore, he took the train home.  Bokuto was starting to feel a late-night appetite work up at this point, and contemplated just how hungry he was feeling when he heard his cell phone go off in his bag across the gym. 

“Akaashi’s ringtone!” he sprinted over to his belongings, answering the phone in a flourish.  “Akaashi!  Hi!”

“Bokuto—I’m sorry, are you busy?”

“I was just… I was practicing.  On my own.  Serve practice.”  Bokuto took a couple of deep breaths to bring his heart rate down, wiping at the sweat on his neck with his shirt.  “What’s up?”

“Ah… so you’re at the gym then.” 

“Yeah, probably gonna head home now.  Maybe pick up some food on the way…” Bokuto hummed as he started to pick up the volleyballs around the court, dumping them into the ball bin.  Hearing Akaashi’s voice always lightened his mood—and the setter rarely called him first.

“I can meet you.  Um.  Halfway?” 

Bokuto stopped moving about the gym then.

“Akaashi, where are you?”

“I… came to your dorm.  I was calling hoping you would let me in, but… you’re at the gym and—“

“You’re where?!” Bokuto screeched, his voice echoing throughout the wide, open space. 

“Um—“

“I’ll be right there!  Just—I’ll leave right now!” 

Bokuto threw the rest of his belongings into his bag, just managing to throw his team jacket over his shoulders before running out of the gym, the doors slamming behind him.  He was going to run back to his dorm, so there was no point in changing into pants—he’d only be outside for a little while anyway and the running would keep him warm.  He just knew he couldn’t keep Akaashi waiting.  Something was surely wrong.  Akaashi was well-mannered to a fault, and he never came to visit without calling first. 

Sure enough, when he saw the boy waiting outside in the cold (without a jacket even!), shivering slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, nursing a tender cheek, Bokuto thought to himself, I hate being right. 

He threw his arms around him, felt the chill of Akaashi’s skin and the slight tremor in his bones, and bit his lip to stifle his cry of frustration.  Bokuto pulled away from the embrace only to pull off his own jacket and wrap it around Akaashi’s shoulders instead before pulling him hurriedly inside so he could warm up. 

“Sorry for the mess—are you really cold?  Did you wait long?  I’ll turn on the heater, and I can make you some tea if you—“

“Bokuto…”

Akaashi’s arms were wrapped so tight around Bokuto’s waist he almost couldn’t breathe—the setter had always been stronger than he looked.  His quiet, calm Akaashi… usually so levelheaded and even-tempered… held him now with such a firm desperation, his nails dug painfully into Bokuto’s back and his breathing came hard and labored against his chest. 

“Akaashi…” Bokuto laid his hands gently on the setter’s back, unsure what to say.  He willed himself to focus on the trembling boy in his arms, to push out his own rage and frustration and concentrate instead on comforting Akaashi’s sadness.  There was no room right now for his selfish anger, that’s not what Akaashi needed right now. 

The setter’s lips suddenly found Bokuto’s as he pressed their bodies closer together.  Immediately, the spiker’s hands went from Akaashi’s shoulders to his face, cradling it gently and leaning his head slightly so they could fit their frames perfectly into one another.  Akaashi’s kisses were insistent, needy; he was nipping and sucking hungrily, murmuring Bokuto’s name between as many kisses as he could. 

“Akaashi—“ Bokuto pulled away after several minutes, looking carefully into his lover’s eyes.  “Are you sure this is—“

But Akaashi swung them around and pushed Bokuto down onto the bed, knocking the wind out of him before climbing on top and bringing their mouths back together roughly.  It was rare for Akaashi to be so aggressive, not that Bokuto was gonna argue against it...  The past several weeks without him had been hard; he wanted this intimacy more than anything.  He just wanted to be sure it was the right thing for Akaashi, who was hurting so bad, Bokuto could taste the despair in their kisses.  But when he heard Akaashi moan into his mouth as he pressed their hips together, he couldn’t help moaning back and pushing his calloused hands up the hem of Akaashi’s shirt. 

Fuck it.

Bokuto thrust his hips upward, his hands grasping Akaashi’s hips and pressing them downward to meet him.  It made the setter break their kiss, gasping and moaning, his hands frantically clawing at Bokuto’s shirt pulling it up to get it off. 

This was usually where Bokuto would, out of courtesy, mention that he had been sweating at practice and hadn’t taken a shower yet, etc… but Akaashi’s mouth was pulling eagerly on a nipple and all the courteous words flew from Bokuto’s brain.  Anyway, it wasn’t the first time they’ve had sex just after practice, their bodies hot from the exertion, muscles sore, every kiss just a little bit salty. 

“Ah… Akaashi…” Bokuto panted, craning his neck so their eyes could meet. 

Worried golden eyes met lustful midnight green, and it was only then that Bokuto noticed Akaashi’s fingers working into himself, preparing, while he trailed sloppy kisses down his abdomen.  When he brought both hands to the waistband of Bokuto’s shorts, urging the spiker to raise his hips to help get them off, Bokuto found his words.

“Akaashi… I haven’t showered—“

“Please, Bokuto,” Akaashi groaned, his voice husky and his hands insistent.  “I love how you taste regardless.  Please let me?”

It wasn’t every lover who actually begged to suck one’s cock, even when it wasn’t at its most hygienic state.  It was really hard to say no to a request like that.  Besides which, he was really really hard. 

“Ngh…” came Bokuto’s eloquent reply.

He raised his hips and Akaashi tugged down his shorts and briefs, mouth falling almost immediately onto Bokuto’s already-weeping length. 

“Agh—Aka…ashi… Ahh…”

The setter was not taking things slow or steady, which was his usual preference.  Instead he had most of Bokuto’s cock down his throat already, sucking and listening eagerly for the pants and the moans that escaped Bokuto’s lips in uneven stutters.  Bokuto was unabashed about everything, and Akaashi loved that about him.  On the court, in bed, Bokuto let out every feeling to its full extent and never held back his passion.  Shame, embarrassment… these were not words that existed in Bokuto’s vernacular.  He moaned as loud as he wanted, gasped Akaashi’s name using every inflection, and thrust his hips wantonly—Akaashi had long since learned to overcome his gag reflex. 

Rough.  Akaashi wanted it rough.  Rough enough to drown out the world around him so that all he could feel or think about was Bokuto consuming him, inside him, holding him.  He released Bokuto’s cock from his mouth with a pop, giving it one final, wet lick before straddling him, positioning himself.

“Akaashi—wait—“

“It’s fine,” Akaashi panted breathlessly. 

“No no, stop—“

But Akaashi was lowering himself, forcing the head of Bokuto’s cock against the tight ring of his entrance—not fully stretched and not lubricated enough.  He shut his eyes tight, tears pooling and dampening his long lashes.  He bit down hard on his lip and tried to push it in further.

“Whoah whoah, hey!”

Bokuto pressed his hips into his mattress and pulled out—a little quickly—and Akaashi cried out, half startled, half pained. 

“Bokuto—“ his voice was strained. 

Akaashi tried to position their bodies into the right alignment again, but he felt strong hands on his waist turning him, pulling him down to the mattress then flipping him over onto his back.  Bokuto was kneeling over him, his eyebrows furrowed, teeth clenched. 

“We don’t play it like that, Keiji.” 

His voice was firm—it was a tone he rarely used, even as a captain, but he felt he needed to exert some air of authority here.  He was perfectly content to let Akaashi lead the pace but not to the point of hurting himself. 

“Don’t use me to punish yourself,” Bokuto hissed, punching the mattress.  “Don’t make me do that to you—you… I only ever want to be good to you.” 

The spiker kissed the edges of Akaashi’s eyes, tasting the boy’s tears, then kissed his cheek before pressing their foreheads gently together. 

“B-Bokuto…” Akaashi choked, broken sobs bubbling up his throat. 

Bokuto replied with another gentle kiss to his cheek, and Akaashi repeated the name desperately as he flung his arms around Bokuto’s neck, whispering a haggard apology.

“I’m sorry, Koutarou…” 

“It’s okay.  I’m here.  Let me take care of you.” 

They proceeded slowly then, Akaashi letting Bokuto carefully prepare him with slippery fingers and tender kisses and whispered I love you’s.  When eventually Bokuto slid himself inside, it was painless and easy, and Akaashi felt so full, he struggled to catch his breath.  Instead he caught Bokuto’s hands with his own, lacing their fingers together.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asked softly, struggling to keep himself still. 

“More than okay,” Akaashi huffed, running his thumbs along Bokuto’s and smiling up at him.  He could feel the quiver in the backs of Bokuto’s thighs.  “Please… Kou…”

Experimentally, he pulled out slightly before pushing slowly back in, watching Akaashi carefully.

“How do you want it, Keiji?”

“Hard.  Please—ah!”

He had barely answered the question when Bokuto’s hands slipped out of his own, grabbing onto his hips and guiding his body in time with the thrusts.  Akaashi felt the fingers digging into his skin, pressing down on bone, and he hoped they would bruise him—a reminder of the staggering pleasure he felt whenever those hands were on him.  Digging his toes into the mattress, Akaashi lifted his hips upward, angling his body so that Bokuto could—

“Ah!!  Th-there!  Ahhh!  K-Kou!”

“K-Keiji!” 

They were both stuttering uncontrollably, gasping out each other’s names as they came undone, Akaashi coming unexpectedly with a few well-timed thrusts and collapsing down onto the mattress, his thighs throbbing from the effort of holding himself up.  But Bokuto was still inside him, still hard.

“Ngh…” the spiker groaned, trying to keep himself still while Akaashi went limp beneath him. 

He wanted to come very badly but he wanted to do right by his lover.  He had promised to be good to him.  Gently, he massaged Akaashi’s thighs until the setter had ridden out the last waves of his climax, his fluids a mess between them, sticky and hot. 

“Koutarou…” Akaashi whispered, voice cracking and hoarse.  “You too.”

“I can wait a little longer,” Bokuto huffed, puffing out his chest and grinning. 

“Mm… here.”

Akaashi moved so that Bokuto could slowly pull out, then he repositioned himself on all fours, presenting his ass neatly.  He could feel his ears growing red at how lewd he was behaving, but his own boldness was bringing firmness back to his erection.  Good.  He was very much in the mood to be ridden to utter exhaustion; he wanted to feel used and spent, so he wiggled his hips tantalizingly and held his ass up a little higher, biting his lip and moaning into the sheets.

“Kou… fuck me…”

There were hands spreading him apart before he had a chance to feel mortified, and then the full feeling was back, somewhat duller now that he had had his finish, but as Bokuto pounded into him faster and harder than before, the heat began to build anew.  People whispered that Bokuto had all the makings of an Olympic competitor, and he certainly had the stamina to show for it.  Soon Akaashi’s cock was leaking hopelessly again, and he almost worried he’d come a second time before Bokuto could let himself go even once. 

“Ahhh… K-Keiji…”

There it was.  That low growl that meant Bokuto was close, that he was about to lose himself completely and work Akaashi so hard he’d have trouble walking the next morning. 

“K-Kou… Kou… Please…”

He couldn’t hold out, much as he tried to.  Akaashi spilled onto the sheets with a cry, his entire body shaking with the spasms, but this time Bokuto didn’t pause.  He just kept pounding, and Akaashi felt like he was coming again and again, though his cock was spent—it was almost painful, but mostly it was just overwhelming.  His vision blurred, there was a roaring rush in his ears, and somewhere behind the haze, he felt Bokuto come at last, groaning low and gripping Akaashi’s hips so tight he could feel the blemishes forming on his skin. 

An emptiness took reverberated through Akaashi when Bokuto finally pulled out, collapsing onto the bed beside him with a deep and heavy sigh. 

“Agh… man…” the spiker groaned, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths.  He had pushed his body pretty hard today, spending several extra hours practicing on his own after team practice disbanded, sprinting home in the cold, then of course the intensity with which he had just fucked Akaashi…

“I’m sorry, I know you must have been tired…” Akaashi murmured, curling up beside him and resting his chin on Bokuto’s firm pecs. 

“Who, me?” Bokuto grinned with a raised eyebrow, though he kept his eyes closed.  “I’m unstoppable, you know that!”

Akaashi allowed himself a smile—his first of the night.  Bokuto always knew how to make the corners of his lips take that happy upward turn. 

“So you wanna talk about it or are we just gonna snuggle?”  Bokuto asked, cracking open one of his eyes to keep a watch on Akaashi’s expression. 

“Can we please snuggle first?”

“Now the question is do we snuggle before or after we shower?”

Akaashi lowered his head sheepishly, eyeing the mess he had made on Bokuto’s sheets. 

“…after.” 

Bokuto gently cradled the cheek where Akaashi’s mother had left evidence of her cruelty, his hand soft and tender where hers had been rough and spiteful.  Akaashi leaned into his touch with a smile, a smile Bokuto could scare believe the boy was capable of despite everything.

“She has no right…” Bokuto bit his lip in annoyance.  “No right to do this to you.” 

“Koutarou…”

“I’m sorry.  I know we agreed.  We won’t talk about it right now.”  Bokuto pulled them both off the bed, pulling at the sheets and urging Akaashi to take the first shower.  Dormitory communal showers didn’t make for the best cuddling—they always took turns and had thankfully never been caught. 

“But when we do…” Akaashi fidgeted with his fingers as Bokuto threw him a spare set of pajamas. 

“I can’t stand on the sidelines anymore,” Bokuto snarled.  “The next time you talk to your parents, I’m going with you.” 

“Bokuto, that’s—“ an extreme complication, was what Akaashi wanted to say. 

“We don’t have to tell them about our relationship!” It was clear he wasn’t happy about that, sick as he was of hiding it all the time, but that wasn’t the point.  “But I am still your senpai and you came to me for help.  I’m going to go and be beside you in front of them, and they’ll have to at least behave themselves!”

Bokuto grabbed Akaashi’s hair, pulling their foreheads together fiercely—like they used to do when they were teammates. 

“I don’t want her laying another finger on you… and I’ll say as much.” 

“Bokuto, I have no right to ask that of you.” 

“That’s why you’re not asking,” the spiker grinned, cocky as ever.  “I’m saying that’s what’s going to happen.  Because I love you, Keiji.”

I love you too.  I love you so much.  I thank the gods every day that they brought you to me, shining and bright…

The words Akaashi couldn’t say gathered in his chest, a jumble of feelings he didn’t know how to sort out, couldn’t figure out how to bring any of them to his tongue to set them free.  Instead they swelled and created a pressure in his chest so painful he could scarcely breathe.  They came out instead as tears and choked sobs, spilling out of him uncontrollably—could Bokuto understand it was meant to be joy?

The soft kiss they shared answered yes.

Chapter Text

Kenma, Taketora, and Fukunaga stood awkwardly in a row, situated before all the other members of their team.  There was a solemnity in the air broken only by the tears filling half of the eyes in the gymnasium.  Graduating the seniors from the team always held a bizarre finality, despite the fact that it reoccurred every year—even the Coaches seemed moved, and they had seen many more players come and go.  Taketora cleared his throat, and the seniors bowed low and deep.

“Thank you for everything!”  They three shouted together, eyes shut and each trying to ignore the heavy weight that pressed against their hearts.  “Thank you, Coach!!!” 

“Thank you so much!!!” their team shouted back, a few of them sniffing audibly and holding back sobs as best they could. 

“It’s been a good year...three years…” Taketora choked out between sobs, absolutely unable to keep his composure.  “We… We played a lot of… a lot of really good matches!  Spring—Spring High in your third year is—it’s what every upperclassman hopes for!  We couldn’t have done it without you guys—I just… it’s been my honor to be your captain!!”  He bowed his head low and gave in to his hiccupping sobs, Kenma gently patting his back and Fukunaga offering him a handkerchief out of his pocket.  The heartfelt tears of their captain were only making the underclassmen more sniffly, and Kenma had to try his best to not make it worse. 

“I… Um.”  He knew he should have tried writing out this stuff beforehand.  “I really enjoyed playing volleyball with all of you.” He stammered out, trying to not fidget with the hem of his t-shirt.  “I’m… I was really sad when we lost Spring High.  Not because we lost, but because… it meant I couldn’t play anymore with all of you guys.  And… I—I’m… I will miss this team.”  He bowed low before them, and the sniffles turned into hiccupping sobs—Lev was wailing now—oh, he had definitely made it worse. 

“Same as what these guys said… Really, I…” Fukunaga nervously rubbed at his neck, trying his best to sound sincere.  “I’ve loved being on this team for three years, being able to play at Spring High the past two years has been awesome, and… uh… I know you guys will be able to go again next year, and go further than ever.” 

The sobs might have erupted around the gymnasium if Coach Nekomata hadn’t stepped forward with a rough clearing of his throat, uncrossing his arms and standing before his graduating third-years, his heart swelling with pride. 

“Every year, I know how hard it is for my third-year players to try and maintain exams and practice, and I will always appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made and the time you’ve poured into making this team.  Nekoma’s had its ups and downs over the years I’ve coached at this school, but the time of you three definitely qualifies as an up.” He grinned.  “You boys are gonna do great things and go far in your lives.”

“Thank you Coach!!!”

“As for the rest of you…“ he turned to face the tear-stained underclassmen.  “When I see you again start of April, you’ll be a little older, a little keener… cats are flexible and sharp, and even with new jersey numbers and new first years, you remain a team.  And your newly appointed number one… Inuoka!”

“Yes!”

“Shibayama!”

“Yes, Coach!”

“Starting today, you two are the new captain and vice-captain.” 

“Thank you very much!” the two barked in almost unison, stepping forward to bow before the coach and the team, then turned to shake hands with Taketora and Kenma. 

“We’ll do our best to continue the team you’ve made us into!” Inuoka promised, looking fiercely at Taketora, though they were both teary-eyed and red in the face.

“Thank you for everything,” Shibayama murmured, lip quivering as he shook Kenma’s hand.  Kenma squeezed his fingers hard.    

And after several more bows and heartfelt words, hugs and pictures, congratulations and goodbyes, Taketora, Kenma, and Fukunaga walked out of the Nekoma High School gymnasium, concluding their very final volleyball team practice. 

A week later, the three stood in the gymnasium once again for their graduation ceremony.  Kenma wasn’t sure about Taketora and Fukunaga, but while other students in there gym were looking around uninterestedly, bored by the speeches or mindlessly staring forward, Kenma found his gaze drawn all around that parquet floor from corner to corner, from the supply closet up to the bleachers… In his mind’s eye he washed away all of the school banners and flags, the extra chairs and the cameras… in the dappled sunlight that filtered onto the parquet floor, he felt three years of sweat and struggle, triumph, and love.  He was sure other athletes felt it too, in a way that non-athletic students couldn’t understand—the memories held inside the gymnasium.

He recalled the frustrations of being a first year, bullied around by his upperclassmen at the beginning and end of every practice… He’d bend down repeatedly to pick up armfuls of volleyballs while they stood around, lazily chatting.  He used to wish all the while that he could just quit if it meant not having to listen to them anymore.  That was the year he had first started thinking about abandoning volleyball for good.  He could never say for sure whether or not he loved playing, but he definitely didn’t like team practice.  The only thing that had kept him going was Kuroo… and the chance for them to play together.

Kenma remembered when Kuroo was determined captain at the end of Kenma’s first year, all gangly limbs because of the awkward start of his last growth spurt… he remembered the embarrassment he had felt when Kuroo proposed making Kenma the center of their team… and how unanimously everyone had agreed. 

A student shuffled behind him in the line, their shoes squeaking against the polished gym floor, and Kenma remembered all of the practice matches held with other teams… bodies bustling about on both sides of the net, calling out plays, their shoes screeching as they ran, jumped, skidded to dive for balls—meeting Shouyou, inviting Karasuno over for multiple weekends of heart-pounding, blood-pumping practices that pushed both teams to their limits and challenged the conventions of what they knew about themselves and each other. 

Here he had spent long hours with the boys he would call his team, his family… the smoothly flowing blood that circulated oxygen for the brain—for him.  Kenma smiled.  The chant had always been cheesy, over-dramatic.  Only now did he realize how much he would miss it. 

When the speeches were over, and the Auld Lang Syne was sung, the students filed out of the gym, immediately flocking to their groups of friends, some cheering, some crying… It was just outside of this gymnasium the year prior that Kuroo had given him the button off his uniform, promising that even though he was graduating, he was not leaving Kenma behind.  He remembered he had felt somewhat anxious then… wondering what his last year of high school would be like without Kuroo by his side—his last year of middle school had been a bit miserable. 

“Kenmaaaa!” Taketora found him soon enough outside, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in close.  Kenma didn’t have the heart to try and push him away.  Not today.

The other Nekoma team members eventually found them, aided by Taketora’s signature hair, and they all stood around for a last round of fond farewells, selfies, group pictures, and email exchanges.  Though this would truly be their last time all together, it didn’t feel quite as melancholy as their final team practice…maybe due to the atmosphere where hundreds of other students milled around them.  Maybe because final meetings were always better done with smiles. 

“I hate to be the first to take off,” Taketora smirked, pulling his blazer open with a flourish.  “But there’s a certain beauty waiting for me to give her my gakuran button!” 

The boys whooped and cheered, chasing Taketora off with lewd whistles.  Kenma smiled and waved away his friend, his classmate, his co-captain.  Tora was the first person in Kenma’s same year to befriend him.  Despite their somewhat opposite personalities, they had always respected each other as teammates and considered the other his equal.  They were never very close, but Kenma felt a fondness for him he couldn’t quite name, perhaps the result of running a team together.  He thought it would be nice if they could stay in touch as the years went on. 

He shared a firm handshake with Fukunaga and a quiet, understanding nod.    

“I should go too.  I have to go home and pack.” 

They all smiled sadly at him at that, and Kenma took their hands in turn, thanking them each individually for a wonderful last year.  At the end of it all, he even allowed Lev a hug, which soon resulted in him just being caught in a suffocating group hug with all possible members involved.  His footsteps felt heavy as he walked away from them, waving, but when he reminded himself that he was turning his footsteps towards the future, a future with Kuroo and a life together in a not-so-tiny-but-not-quite-big apartment with late-night snuggles and lazy mornings… he found himself walking faster and faster until he was sprinting home. 

Akaashi had not expected to find Bokuto waiting for him at the train station after his school graduation.  He might have hoped for it, but he certainly didn’t expect it.  He probably should’ve expected the flowers though… Bokuto had always been keen on grandiose gestures of celebration and affection. 

“Bokuto…” he sighed, pointedly not taking the flowers.

“Congratulations on your graduation, Akaashi.”

“Thank you—“

“I’d lift you into my arms and kiss you silly if—“

“People can hear, Bokuto.”  They were in the middle of a bustling train station—no one was paying them any mind actually. 

“Is your dad letting you enjoy spring break at least?  Your last week of freedom?”

“Only the next few days, I’m afraid.  He says working adults don’t get nearly as many breaks as students do, and that if I wanted to experience the real world, I’d have to start by learning that hard fact.”

“Geez, stingy…” Bokuto clicked his tongue, but he didn’t press further.  Instead he took Akaashi’s hand in his own and led them away from the ticket gates.  “But you’re free today!” 

“Yes I am.” 

“Good.” 

They walked in silence together out of the station, and the quiet left Akaashi reflecting on the events of his last hectic term of high school.  It had been about as volatile as Bokuto’s mood swings if he thought about it too much, but by the end of it… somehow… just as Bokuto had assured him, everything had turned out just fine.  Akaashi graduated high school with no problems regarding his grades and final exams, excellent memories of the time spent with his teammates… and he was now facing a ronin year working at his father’s hospital and studying for next year’s Center Exam.    

Miraculously, he and his parents had worked out a compromise.  Akaashi would work at the hospital with his father, see firsthand what it would be like to be a healthcare professional, and if he found himself still wavering about medical school, they would no longer fight his wish to attend a four-year university to discover a career path of his own.  It was so sensible, Akaashi could barely believe it had been originally their suggestion.  Perhaps they felt they had to offer some concession with Bokuto sitting at their kitchen table glaring daggers while doing his best to remain calm and polite.  Whatever the reason for their change of heart, Akaashi would take it without complaint. 

Of course, while he was wrapped up in his own thoughts, he failed to notice where Bokuto was leading him and finally thought to ask,

“Bokuto, where are we going?”

“My parents’ house.” He replied with a grin.

“Why are we going there?”

“I told my mom about your graduation and she’s whipping up a feast with all of your favorite foods!  I figured you wouldn’t remember to celebrate so—“ Bokuto shrugged nonchalantly.

“B-but—“

“Did your parents make plans for you?”

“Well… no but—“ Akaashi stammered meekly—his wasn’t a celebratory household.

“Then it’s settled!”

“I can’t just impose on your family like that—“

“And I wanted to remind you!” Bokuto cut in, squeezing Akaashi’s hand tighter in his own. 

“Remind me?  Of what?”

“That there are more people than just your mom and dad who consider you family!” Bokuto huffed, pulling Akaashi along at a faster pace.  “And that there are certain ways a family should treat you—how they should love you and pamper you even!” 

“Bokuto…” Akaashi whispered, pulling at the hand in his own to try and slow them down.

“What, you thought the flowers were your only graduation gift?”

“N-no, well… Well I…” Akaashi stammered, eventually mumbling out a quiet, almost inaudible, “I was hoping to see you.”

“Akaaaashi!!!”

“Bokuto, volume.”

“You think I’m a gift???!?”

Akaashi sighed at nothing and turned his head, ignoring the question and hiding the smile that found its way to his lips.  Gift was an inadequate word, he thought, but he wasn’t going to voice a correction in public.

EPILOGUE

“Where should I put the electric kettle?” Kenma calls from the kitchen, his eyes glaring at the overflowing cabinets both under and above the sink.  He knew his mother had bought too much stuff but it was a little late to take things back now. 

“Uhh… on top of the microwave?”  Kuroo pokes his head out of the bathroom, where he’s busy laying out towels and unpacking their toiletries. 

“The toaster oven is going on top of the microwave.” Kenma grumbles—the kitchen had seemed so much bigger when they were first touring the apartment, but as soon as all of their possessions were unpacked, the space filled up rather quickly. 

“So put it above that then.”

“But then it’s going to be annoyingly high up.” 

Kuroo laughs then and steps out of the bathroom, putting his hands on his hips as he stares at Kenma (and his slow progress in the kitchen) with a raised eyebrow. 

“Should we switch places?  Bathroom’s a little easier to set up.”

Hunching in defeat, Kenma sets the kettle down gently on the floor and trudges toward the bathroom.  Kuroo strids past him in the hall with a quick smack of Kenma’s behind, making the setter jump in surprise and pout—though not entirely in annoyance.  Kuroo winks and Kenma fails to hide his blush, but presses a quick kiss to his cheek—their fifth in the new apartment—before switching places.  Kuroo isn’t at all surprised by the neatly stacked, evenly arranged, slightly color coordinated, and entirely inefficient stacking of plates when he opens up all the cabinets and examines Kenma’s handiwork of the past half hour. 

“Kenma, you’re kind of really bad at this, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never packed or unpacked a kitchen before…” he mumbles, escaping into the open toilet room.

“It’s like playing Tetris, you gotta squeeze the most stuff into the most efficient amount of space.” Kuroo teases as he starts pulling beautifully stacked plates and bowls out of the cabinets for restacking.  “Or like one of those Russian dolls…” Where Kenma had made three different stacks for large plates, smaller plates, not to mention large and small bowls, Kuroo consolidates all of the plates in one pile, all of the bowls in another, and shoves cups and mugs into the magical extra space Kenma failed to find. 

For Kenma’s part, there isn’t a whole lot left to do in the bathroom except add toilet paper to the TP holder and lay out their shampoo, conditioner, and toothbrushes.  He feels an odd fondness at placing the two toothbrushes into a cup on the sink… it was really helping the atmosphere, one that feels like home.  The décor isn’t anything out of the magazines or commercials… they don’t have a consistent color scheme going on with their mismatching towels and Daiso-bought floor mats that they’ll probably have to replace in six months… but it’s entirely theirs, in all the world, it’s a space for just them two. 

Okay, he’s maybe getting a little too sentimental about a couple of toothbrushes in a tiny bathroom.

Kuroo has almost finished re-doing everything Kenma had done to the kitchen, when their doorbell rings, and Kenma answers the door to find Ms. Kurosawa smiling in at them. 

“Hello, boys.”

“Ms. Kurosawa,” Kenma bows his head quickly.  “Uh… please come in.”

“Oh no no, I’m sure you’re busy unpacking.  I just came by to give you these.”  She holds out a wrapped gift-box that Kenma takes politely with both hands, bowing again as Kuroo came to the door. 

“Oh, thank you!”  Kuroo gushes, bowing his own head, and Kenma mutters additional, quiet thanks. 

“Just a little housewarming present.  I’m sure you boys are going to be excellent tenants.”  She smiles warmly, turning to leave.  “You know which unit I’m in if you have questions, I’ve called the gas and water people to activate your accounts today so they’ll be coming by later to collect your information.” 

“Got it, thank you so much.”

“Oh, and one more little thing,” the old woman raises a finger, her voice taking on a sly tone.  Kenma’s heard this tone before from Coach Nekomata.  Usually, it put him on edge.  “You boys wouldn’t happen to be interested in a cat, would you?”

“…a cat?” Kenma repeats.

“I found a little stray last week that I just couldn’t leave alone—don’t worry, I’ve already taken her to the vet.  She’s clean and fixed now with all her shots, she just needs a good home.  It’s so hard for strays to be adopted out of shelters, and… well… she’s used to this area to begin with…”

“You allow pets in your building?” Kuroo asks, clearly interested.  Kenma finds himself a little surprised at that, but there’s no mistaking that twinkle in his eye.

“Some, not all.  I’m all right with caged pets and cats… I just won’t stand for dogs.” Ms. Kurosawa smiles, though Kenma finds it more threatening than welcoming—he briefly wonders about the fates of all the dogs who crossed this woman’s path.  “Oh, here’s a picture I took of her.” 

She pulls out a phone from her pockets, flipping through the pictures she’s taken—there were quite a number. 

“Ah, my grandson… vacant units… ah, there she is!” 

A sleeping calico is presented to them, small and skinny, likely no more than half a year old judging by her size… the picture must have been taken in the vet’s office; she’s smothered in blankets and there’s a half-empty bowl of food beside her. 

Kenma can feel Kuroo’s heart melt beside him, as the man turns to him with pleading eyes. 

“Oh… Kenma, what do you say?  I think I love her already.” 

“…I don’t mind.”  He loves how Kuroo loves her… and he’s always liked cats himself.

“Oh wonderful!” Ms. Kurosawa chimes happily, tucking her phone away.  “Just wonderful.  I’ll be picking her up from the vet tomorrow, and I’ll bring her to you—I have some spare supplies too I’ll be happy to give you boys… Food and litter boxes and such… I already have a couple of cats, you see…”

Kuroo also calls to mind that he’s seen her feed every stray cat on the block. 

“Thank you so much, Ms. Kurosawa, really!” Kuroo bows as she turns away from them. 

“It’s no problem dear, you’re doing me a favor, really… I’m so happy you two like cats!” 

Kuroo bows again as she turns the corner of the hallway with a final wave, before closing the door.  “Man, she’s much nicer than my last landlord.  Remind me to get her a present with my next paycheck.” 

“You just have a way with older women, I think.” Kenma mumbles, bringing the gift inside and placing it on the small living room table. 

“What can I say?  They know how to appreciate my particular charm.”  Kuroo laughs as he begins collapsing cardboard boxes in the kitchen and placing them in the slowly growing pile.  “We’re gonna be parents, Kenma!”

“You sound like such an old man sometimes…” Kenma mutters, but he’s hiding his own pleased smile. 

“She looks just like you, you know… the cat.” Kuroo pulls his phone from his pocket—the little calico charm from Shouyou dangling off it.  “Even without your bleached hair.  What should we name her?”

“Let’s finish unpacking first,” Kenma’s cheeks are growing warm—it hasn’t even been one whole day in their new home.

“Okay, what’s left now?”

“Mostly bedroom stuff… plus all of our books and clothes,” Kenma points to their suitcases and the few boxes that lay scattered by the balcony.  “Kuroneko should be dropping off our furniture and bigger boxes later today.” 

“You wanted to make the corner room our study, right?”

“Well I definitely don’t want to sleep in there, so…”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Kuroo stands in the center of the living room, arms crossed and looking between the two open bedrooms.  “So we can stick two desks and a bookshelf in there, the other room will have the bed and—what are we gonna do with your bed?”

In keeping up the pretense that the two boys are definitely sleeping in separate rooms and on separate beds, Kenma had little choice but to allow his mother to pay the shipping company to send off his bed to his new apartment.  He still feels extremely guilty about that cost, knowing how unused it’s going to be, but telling his mother that he and Kuroo are planning on sleeping together in the same bed (and that they regularly do things in that bed not at all related to sleep) is a conversation he’s not ready to have yet. 

“It’s a smaller bed… we could stick in the study and use it kind of like a couch?”  Kenma eyeballs the space in the corner room, attempting to visualize how much space that would take.  “It really cuts down on our floor space in there, but…”

“It’ll be fine.  I think that’s probably the best option.”  Kuroo plops down onto the floor by the table, reaching for the housewarming gift.  “Let’s take a break.  I wanna see what Ms. Kurosawa gave us.” 

“We’ve only been unpacking for a couple hours or so…”

“You know when I moved into my new place, I still had boxes lying around three months later.” Kuroo brags, ripping off the wrapping paper with a flourish.  “Senbei!”  He opens the box eagerly and stuffs a cracker into his mouth as Kenma settles down across from him at the table.  Their knees bump and Kuroo wiggles his toes against Kenma’s bare calf, grinning as Kenma lightly taps his foot away.

“Three months?”  Kenma laughs as he grabs a cracker. 

“I think I was completely finished unpacking just before you came to stay with me over the summer.” 

“Tetsu, we’re not doing that.”  Kenma chides, experimenting with the sound of the name on his tongue.

“I’m just taking a little break,” Kuroo insists, scooting around the table and laying his head in Kenma’s lap, munching happily.  “Lemme enjoy this for a bit.” 

In the comfortable spring coolness, a light breeze filters in from their open balcony.  Kenma runs his fingers gently through Kuroo’s hair, smiling while gently chiding,

“You’re getting crumbs in my lap.”

“I’ll clean it up later.” 

Kenma doesn’t fully trust that statement, but he also can’t really bring himself to care. 

“Later…” he repeats, feeling the weight of the sentiment on his lips.  There would be from now on, many many laters for the two of them...  Today is only the beginning—

Kuroo’s head suddenly shoots up from Kenma’s lap, eyes wide.

“Wait hang on… what did you just call me?”

Ah, maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself, Kenma thinks to himself quietly, giggling at Kuroo’s surprise.  It’s only the first day.