Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kuroo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Trying to clear his head, he lets his phone sink to the kitchen table and scans the room, blinking in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable dryness in his eyes.

The zucchini on the counter looks accusing somehow, like it knows it was supposed to get turned into dinner over half an hour ago. He squints at it before going back to his text message draft and reading through it again. He’s turned over every sentence, retyped it again and again to the point where the words stopped making sense and the letters started to swim, as if there was any particular way he’d have to put it for maximum success. 

It's been about four years, almost five if he really thinks about it, since he’s last seen Kenma. He’s trying to go for something cheerful, lighthearted. The simpler the better. Which makes the amount of time he’s taking for this all the more ridiculous.

To: Kenma

Yo!! I'm on a business trip super close to you next week! I’ll be free on Wednesday afternoon, you wanna hang out? It’s been forever right 😅

He goes over it one more time. Truly inconspicuous, something you'd definitely expect estranged friends to text each other. Realistically, Kenma will probably say yes. It's not like they ever had a falling out or stopped getting along, so his fear of getting rejected is probably entirely unfounded. Still. These five years feel like half a lifetime to him. Maybe Kenma doesn't want to hear from him. Maybe he's a completely different person now. 

Kuroo sighs again and, in a surprising bout of courage and resignation, hits send.

For a moment, he almost expects the text to bounce back because Kenma changed his number and never bothered to tell him. Never mind the fact that it's only been a couple of months since they exchanged their annual happy birthday messages. Kuroo can’t shake the irrational fear that Kenma becomes unreachable, vanishes completely, and he'll be left with nothing but distant memories. 

It goes through. He spends a good few seconds staring at it some more, as if he could will a quick reply into existence, before he leaves his phone on the kitchen table and gets to making dinner. 

Really, the entire situation he’s gotten himself into is ridiculous, especially for his ripe age of 30 years. He decapitates the zucchini just a bit more aggressively than necessary and starts chopping it into chunky, crooked pieces.

Back when they were still friends, they never really talked about what they were looking for in potential partners. He wonders if Kenma would be looking for a good cook, and tries chopping it a bit more evenly.

•☆°.*✷.

As per usual, dinner turns into a somewhat disappointing affair, with food that's neither particularly good nor bad and the TV running in the background as a distraction. The apartment feels too empty if he doesn’t leave it on, even though it’s not exactly big. Something is missing. He half expects the clang of the plate to echo, bouncing off the walls. 

Kuroo can never help but wonder if Kenma still thinks of him at all. It’s an almost desperate wish, probably stupid, because Kenma never seemed nostalgic enough to get hung up on people after he’d fallen out of contact with them.

The rice is slightly undercooked, which might just be a skill, considering he uses a rice cooker. He jabs at it listlessly. Someone is getting confessed to in the shitty drama on TV, so he switches to the evening news.

There was never anything particularly exhilarating that made Kuroo realize he was in love with Kenma. It was more of a gradual thing, something that transitioned from interesting to exciting to painful to almost unbearable over the years until they lost touch. Since then it’s become a sort of dull ache at the back of his mind, an empty space, impossible to fill.

The feeling of longing is somewhat volatile, almost easy to ignore. It’s just that every now and then something will remind him of Kenma and it will flare up, a stinging in his chest, hot to the touch. It’s always made his fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to finally send one of those text drafts he’s typed up and deleted way too many times. 

Today, there was an interview in the online newspaper. A couple of questions and answers with “the nation’s most popular streamer, worldwide sensation kodzuken”. Kuroo knew full well reading it wouldn’t do him any good, and he read it anyway.

Q: How did you get started? Did you always believe you would make it big or did you have some doubts?

A: Well, I didn't exactly plan the entire thing. I just started streaming for a couple of friends, because they asked me about a game I was playing. I guess they thought my commentary was funny, so I kept doing it, and over time more people started watching.

Q: Wow! How did it feel, suddenly having an audience of strangers?

A: Weird. I was going to stop streaming publically, but one of my friends convinced me to keep going. So I guess I have him to thank for the entire thing.

Even if Kenma never thought of Kuroo outside of that one interview, getting mentioned like that felt like something monumental. A confirmation that they did, in fact, once exist as friends, as best friends who hung out every single day, spent almost all of their free time together. It wasn’t just something Kuroo’s lovesick brain had made up.

He didn’t need a business trip as an excuse to reach out, Kenma’s house really isn’t that far away, but it almost felt too convenient. Like things were aligning somehow, even though he was probably just projecting.  

After finishing dinner, Kuroo forces himself to do the dishes and even works through a couple of dreadful business emails before letting himself check his phone.

It's blank, no notifications, no new messages. Maybe Kenma is trying to figure out how to let him down as gently as possible, which would be another testament to how estranged they've become, because Kenma never used to care about being blunt. Kuroo kind of wishes he could take the message back at this point, but what's done is done, so he'll just have to suck it up and live with the shame if his former best friend decides to ghost him.

•☆°.*✷.

It’s 3 am when he's pulled out of a somewhat unsettling dream about getting buried under insurmountable piles of paperwork. A single ring comes from his nightstand, his phone lighting up in the darkness.

Some hopeful (silly) part of himself refused to put it on silent tonight, and he’s wide awake immediately.

There’s the very real possibility that it's just one of his old friends messaging him from overseas at ungodly hours because of time zone differences. Maybe he's getting spam because he let an enthusiastic convenience store employee talk him into signing up for their rewards program yesterday. After he’s done managing his expectations, he sits up and grabs his phone.

Kenma – 1 new message

Kuroo has to enter his unlock code twice to get it right, either because his hands are shaking or because he's not thinking straight.

Kenma : Sure sounds good

The banality of the message almost makes him laugh. Suddenly, he’s not sure what he was so worried about to begin with. Of course Kenma wouldn’t just ghost him with no reason. He jumps when his phone buzzes again, adding another new message.

Kenma: I usually work in the afternoon, so it would be nice if we could do evening? Though I can reschedule my stream if that's no good

Kuroo: No no evening is perfect 👍

Anything specific you wanna do?

Kenma: I mean you can just come over

I don’t really feel like going anywhere haha

Kuroo: Some things never change hmmm 👀

Kenma : 😛

Some things apparently do change, because Kuroo can’t remember Kenma ever using tongue out emojis.

Kenma: Just let me know when you're on your way ok?

Kuroo: Got it little man 👌👍

Kenma : 😒

His phone stays silent after that, and he flops back down to the bed. It’s only now that he registers his rapid heartbeat, holding him wide awake. Maybe he should go through his presentation for next week. Maybe he should come up with an exact plan of what to say to Kenma in order to make things just the right amount of friendly and casual.

Four days pale in comparison to five years, but now that he’s suddenly this close, the impatience is almost palpable.

Kuroo huffs and rolls over, tossing his phone back onto the nightstand. It skitters across the wooden surface for a moment, stopping precariously close to the edge. He closes his eyes and tries to relax, letting the faint traffic noises from the street wash over him. 

He’s spent many days and nights wondering if there was ever one singular thing that made contact break off between them. It had felt like something was boiling underneath the surface for a long time, and he was desperately trying to keep it from going up in flames.

Moving away for college seemed like a way out almost, getting some distance in order to suffocate the constant growth of his affection. It didn't work. It was tiresome. So he stopped coming home every weekend, citing busy exam periods or internships as the reason.

In the end, he can never make out one singular moment they stopped really being friends. Maybe it was when they didn’t celebrate Christmas together for the first time because Kuroo was invited to some useless college party he shouldn’t have bothered with. Or that time Kenma cancelled on him twice in a row because he got busy with his company startup and they didn’t bother setting up a replacement date anymore. By the time Kuroo realized what was happening, he couldn't bring himself to do something about it, because maybe it was better that way.

Keeping his eyes closed isn’t working to make him tired, so he blinks them open and stares up at the ceiling.

His apartment isn't big, the walls are thin and it feels empty all the time. The faint glow of street lights, billboards and car headlights illuminates his room, casts long shadows and odd patterns across the walls. He doesn’t bother closing the blinds, because he kind of likes watching them. At the same time, he finds himself missing the calmness of the city outskirts, of their old neighbourhood. Or maybe he just finds himself missing everything associated with Kenma.

Someone bangs a door in the apartment above his, and Kuroo can't sleep.

Chapter Text

The sun is starting to set when Kuroo makes it out of his Wednesday meeting. He's immensely glad Kenma and him agreed to meet in the evening, because his day at work has gone several hours into overtime, with his mood deteriorating by the minute. 

Now that he's free, it's picking back up, even though the sky is a pool of muddled grey and the air practically feels wet. Lightning bolts across dark clouds, quickly followed by the crackling of thunder. People on the street are hurrying to get inside, filling him with a sense of urgency, so he makes a full on dash down the street towards the nearest taxi, wheezing out directions as he slides into the backseat. 

Kuroo shoots Kenma a quick text to notify him, and then spends the remaining time running through Bokuto's top 10 meditation techniques, none of which seem to be working. 

Rain starts pattering against the car windows within moments, and by the time the taxi pulls up in front of Kenma’s house, it’s coming down in a pour. Kuroo sprints over to the porch, but it’s not really big enough to shield him from the rain, so he rings the doorbell without giving it a second thought. 

He realizes he hasn’t come up with something fun or witty to say, and no matter how long he’s been waiting for this he’s entirely unprepared. His hands are trembling, but he can probably chalk that up to being cold from the rain, and he’s breathing heavily, but he can probably chalk that up to running (although Kenma would wonder just how out of shape he is).

The rain is starting to soak through his suit as he waits, anticipation thrumming in his veins. An idle thought about whether his shoes will make it through this ordeal flits across his mind just before the door is yanked open.

Pathetically, his heart skips a beat the second he sees Kenma standing in the doorway. He doesn’t really have time to take it all in, because before he knows it he’s being ushered inside, and the door closes behind him, reducing the sound of rain to a distant thrum.

“Hi,” Kenma says.

“Hi,” Kuroo answers.

Maybe it’s just his addled brain talking, but Kenma looks even cuter than he used to. He’s practically disappearing in an oversized sweater, delicate features illuminated by the dim light in the entrance room. His hair is longer now, partly held up by a messy bun and partly hanging down to just below his shoulders. The blonde is gone completely, replaced by his natural hair color, and Kuroo wants to thread his fingers through it to see if it’s softer now, too.

That's what goes through his head in the few seconds it takes for Kenma to step towards him and extend his arms, clearly demanding a hug. Kuroo's heart palpitations aren't getting any better, but he ignores them in favor of his trademark grin before wrapping his arms around Kenma.

The first thing he registers is that Kenma still smells distinctly like home, warm and familiar. The second: he's so small. Kuroo can't remember Kenma being this small. It makes some sort of primal protection urge flare up inside of him, as if he had any right to that despite practically disappearing for years.

"Ew, you're wet," Kenma says, face buried in Kuroo's chest.

"It’s probably just rain," Kuroo says and makes no attempts to release Kenma, fully intending to make use of all the time he can get like this.

"Probably?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Ugh. You're still the worst," Kenma groans, wrestling himself out of Kuroo's arms. 

Kenma takes half a step back before narrowing his eyes at the sorry state of Kuroo's suit jacket. Then, he lifts his hands to the front of it and pops the buttons, his fingers moving in one swift motion, until he can slide it off Kuroo's shoulders. 

Kuroo manages to suppress a nervous chuckle and ignores the way his skin immediately heats up, his flush mercifully hidden by the dim light.

"You undress all your guests as soon as they walk into your home?" he asks, voice surprisingly stable.

“Wouldn't you like to know. I'll get you a towel,” Kenma simply says and walks off with the jacket, leaving Kuroo to stare after him while struggling out of his shoes.

He takes a deep breath. Disregarding the weird tension he was probably just imagining, this is going fine so far. He's got this. They'll catch up for a couple of hours, maybe reminisce about good old times, and then one of them will say "It's getting late. This was fun!" and the other will say "We should do this again sometime!" and then they'll go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Kuroo really isn't shooting for the stars here.

Kenma returns with the towel and unceremoniously throws it over Kuroo’s head, patting his hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"Nope. I can order us something, since I'm intruding here," Kuroo says, replacing Kenma's hand on the towel and ruffling his own hair without any kind of finesse.

"I was actually planning to cook. And you're going to help me," Kenma says and turns on his heels to walk down the corridor, leading Kuroo to the kitchen. 

"Since when does the great Kozume Kenma cook?" Kuroo asks, letting his towel drop to his shoulders as he follows obediently. The kitchen turns out to be a lot better equipped than it was when he last saw it, with the addition of a spice rack and different sized pans hanging off the wall, cutting boards stacked on top of each other and a neat knife block on the counter.

Kenma rolls his eyes, a habit he hasn't lost since middle school. "It's alright once you get decent at it. Fukunaga taught me some stuff over the watch parties."

The watch parties Kuroo is very aware he has avoided for years, making up excuse after excuse and afterwards cursing himself for not going. He's not sure if Kenma brought it up as a deliberate dig at him, and he's not planning to ask.

“You want something to drink? I’ve been into collecting red wine lately,” Kenma says, scanning an (also new) impressive wine shelf right by the kitchen entrance.

“Since when does the great Kozume Kenma drink?” Kuroo takes a seat at the table and blinks up at Kenma through his lashes, putting on a teasing grin.

“If you’re going to keep asking me since when the great Kozume Kenma does things we’ll be here for a while.” Kenma doesn’t seem to be nearly as easy to annoy as he used to be, which is just as well. Kuroo can always crank it up a notch.

Kenma retrieves two wine glasses from a cupboard and selects a bottle, wandering over to the table and handing it to Kuroo. “Open this. I hate corks.”

“What makes you think I know how to open wine bottles? I am but an innocent soul-“

“We haven’t seen each other in five years, not half a lifetime. I’m pretty sure you didn’t suddenly turn into a saint.”

“You can't know that. Maybe I've been taking self-improvement classes," Kuroo says while twisting and pulling at the cork, knitting his eyebrows in concentration.

"Have you, now?" Kenma leans on the table with both hands and looks down at Kuroo with raised eyebrows, clearly not convinced.

"No, of course not."

"Good. You should save those for the midlife crisis."

"Excuse me? My life is so fulfilled, I don't have anything to get a crisis over."

The bottle pops open, making Kenma flinch. He recovers quickly and takes it from Kuroo to fill their glasses. “You sound like Bokuto. I’ve been telling you, he’s not a good influence, unless you like losing brain cells.” 

“Come on, you like Bokuto.”

“Well, maybe I like losing brain cells."

“Sure looks like it, with that wine collection of yours,” Kuroo says and raises his eyebrows in fake reprehension. Kenma takes the damp towel from Kuroo's shoulders to smack him with it, making him wince at the wetness hitting his arm.

Kuroo fights back a grin as he lifts his glass. Bickering with Kenma is still second nature. Maybe he didn't have anything to worry about after all.

"To long lost-"

"Cheers," Kenma says, cutting Kuroo's cheesy speech short before clinking their glasses together.

They effortlessly fall back into their old dynamic of easy conversation and casual teasing as they cook dinner. It’s almost startling how simple it all feels, as if they never lost contact. Kenma laughs more easily now, and he doesn’t cover his mouth anymore when he does, instead just tilting his head down like he’s still shy about it. It’s adorable, and Kuroo almost gets them into a food fight for tickling him a few seconds too long.

They spend the time as they cut up the vegetables to catch up on their career achievements, and the time as the noodles fry to catch up on any personal life developments. Kenma doesn’t mention anything about a romantic relationship, and there’s a distinct lack of evidence of another person in the house. Kuroo takes that information and stores it away somewhere safe, even though he doesn’t know what to do with it.

An hour later, they're seated at the kotatsu in the living room, plates of food splayed out on the table. It makes Kuroo feel oddly accomplished. Maybe the dream of becoming a good cook in order to increase his bachelor status isn't quite as dead as he thought.

“Wanna watch Shouyou’s latest match while we eat?” Kenma asks. It’s more of a rhetorical question, he's already selecting the video on his laptop that he apparently keeps hooked up to the TV.

“Sure,” Kuroo says, stretching his legs under the toasty warmth of the heated table. He hasn’t seen the match on video yet, since he was there in person; one of the many perks of his job. He somewhat roughly remembers Hinata giving a godlike performance and being flooded by fans afterwards.

“You’re in it, too,” Kenma says as he hits play and picks up his chopsticks.

“I am?”

“Yeah. They showed your face for like, a few seconds and mentioned something about the Volleyball Association.”

Kuroo wonders how he missed the part where he was being filmed, and whether something like that has happened before. “Did I at least look good?”

Kenma squints at his food for a second, then says, “Hm,” and pours some more soy sauce over his noodles.

“Those already had plenty of soy sauce. Is this how you get so salty?”

“I’m not salty,” Kenma says, and stuffs an impressive amount of noodles into his mouth.

Kuroo distinctly remembers Kenma having a dislike for overly salty foods, and right now he’s making a face like he’s actively regretting his decisions. 

“Since when does the great Kozume Kenma-“

“Shut it.” Kenma narrows his eyes at the TV, like the roster of players currently being introduced has anything to do with his questionable food choices.

•☆°.*✷.

At halftime, they've finished their food, and Kenma very unceremoniously opens up the second bottle of wine, apparently decided he doesn't need Kuroo's help with the cork this time.

"Your part is coming up," he says while refilling their glasses. 

"You memorized the exact time of my face being shown? Aww, Kenma, you shouldn't have."

"You're so annoying," Kenma says, and sips his wine.

Kuroo can feel the alcohol slowly buzzing through his bloodstream, making everything a bit more bright and blurry around the edges, so he snatches the bottle away when Kenma isn't looking and hides it under the table. He's not sure how drunk he'd have to get in order to suddenly confess, and he's trying not to find out.

His own face on the TV screen catches his attention, and he watches himself smirk and give a small wave to someone off screen. Admittedly, they got a good angle, somehow making his cheekbones look sharper and his eyes more seductive than they really are. He breathes a sigh of relief, because at least he didn't embarrass himself on national television.

There's a slight flush on Kenma's cheeks, most likely courtesy of the wine, but Kuroo very unfortunately doesn't have time to tease him about it before a Kageyama curry ad starts playing and they both burst out laughing.

At the beginning of the next set, Hinata does the most intense broad attack Kuroo has ever seen, flying across the court and making Kenma's eyes go wide with joy. Kuroo can feel himself grinning, too, and for a second it feels like watching Karasuno at nationals all over again, the cheering of the crowd, Kenma at his side, their shoulders touching.

They spend the rest of the match watching in fascination as Hinata goes on to score point after point, flashy as ever, until his team pulls off a win in the fourth set. Kenma yawns when the video ends and leaves the screen blank. His glass is empty, and he glances around the table suspiciously.

"No more wine," Kuroo says, "I'm not having a hangover tomorrow."

"Ugh. Live a little," Kenma says, but starts collecting their dishes, stacking them on top of each other in a wobbly pile. He gets up to carry them to the kitchen, leaving Kuroo alone in the room. 

It's completely dark out at this point, and his phone informs him that it's far past 8 pm. Rain still patters against the window, sometimes louder, sometimes more quietly, depending on the direction of the wind. Kuroo walks over and opens it, just a crack. The wind turns again and smacks him in the face, hard enough to clear his head. Cool March air fills the room with the smell of wet grass, and he takes a deep breath.

"I forgot how much you like being cold," Kenma's voice comes from behind him. Kuroo turns to watch Kenma shuffle under the kotatsu until only his face is visible, squinting in disapproval.

He grins as he leaves the window open and walks back to the table, sliding under it until he's lying next to Kenma. 

Technically, he knows he should get going. They've run out of conversation, and it's late. He'll have to check out of his hotel room by 10 am tomorrow. Besides, he's probably overstaying his welcome already, but Kenma is right here, for the first time in five years, and leaving is the last thing Kuroo wants to do right now.

Kenma rolls over to face Kuroo, wearing a strange expression. The silence between them isn't uncomfortable, but it's loaded, and he's not sure why.

It's getting late, I should get going. He repeats it in his head, trying to convince himself of saying it out loud.

"Kuro."

"Hmm?"

"Have you been avoiding me?"

Kuroo's heart drops. He didn't exactly expect Kenma not to notice anything, but they used to have a certain unwritten rule about not mentioning uncomfortable topics, so he isn't prepared for this scenario. Kenma looks equally lost, somehow lonely as he stares into Kuroo's eyes.

"What? No," he says. It's a blatant lie, and one look at Kenma's face tells him he's not buying it.

The guilt that has been eating away at him over the years, that he let fester and become part of himself, pricks at the back of his mind.

"Actually, I guess I have." The words slip out, unbothered by his resolve not to fuck up. He curses himself for going along with Kenma's wine antics.

Kenma looks hurt, even though he must have been expecting as much. "Why?"

Fuck . Kuroo's brain is running on overdrive, trying to come up with an excuse, a reason, anything to avoid telling the truth.

"Uh," he manages, very intelligently.

Kenma sighs and sits up. "You can say it. I know I'm not really fun or interesting to be around. So, I get it. I just kind of wish… no, whatever."

"What?" Kuroo struggles to sit up as well, blinking when the room spins ever so slightly.

Kenma props his chin up with one hand while tapping the table with the other. "If you didn't like hanging out with me anymore, I just wish you would have told me what bothered you. I mean, I could have done something about it. I don't know."

Kenma's voice gets quieter the longer he talks, like he's losing confidence in what he's saying. Kuroo wishes he had closed the window, because suddenly he's shivering.

"That's not-" 

Annoyance flashes in Kenma's eyes before he puts on a neutral expression again and busies his hands by spinning his glass slowly, waiting for Kuroo to continue.

With a sinking feeling, he realizes he's out of options. He can either let Kenma continue to think he's genuinely bored Kuroo out of his mind, or he can confess and deal with the consequences. Either way isn't looking too good for his plans of rekindling their friendship. 

He takes a deep breath, and, with a sense of resignation, makes up his mind.

“For the longest time,” he starts. His heart aches like it's desperately trying to shield itself from whatever is about to happen. He continues anyway. “I used to be… totally in love with you. I guess I just broke off contact because I didn’t want to deal with my feelings anymore. I'm sorry.”

He's not sure if he feels better or worse now that it's out. A bit exhausted, maybe. Definitely terrified.

Kenma stares at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted. He’s stopped spinning his glass, instead gripping it tightly. 

There's a pause. A particularly harsh gust of air makes the window rattle. 

“Used to?” Kenma asks, almost inaudible. Kuroo might not have been able to understand if he hadn’t gotten used to picking up on Kenma’s quiet, off-handed comments over twenty years ago.

There’s a burning somewhere in his stomach region that almost makes him feel sick. Holding Kenma’s gaze is too difficult, so he averts his eyes to the table. A defeated chuckle bubbles up in his throat, because even after all this resolve to come clean, he still wasn’t honest, and Kenma noticed.

“It’s really obvious, huh? I guess I still am.” He holds back another "sorry" , because apologizing for being in love feels decidedly too pathetic, even to him.

Kuroo forces himself to meet Kenma’s eyes, waiting for something, anything. Kenma’s face is practically frozen, shock written on his features clear as day. Kuroo wonders how he himself would react if his childhood friend confessed to him in his living room after years of radio silence. He runs through possible answers in his head, scenarios he’s played out time and time again. “I don't feel that way for you,” Kenma would say. “I know,” Kuroo would answer, and try to laugh it off like he didn’t just expose the most vulnerable, sheltered part of himself.

After what feels like endless moments of silence, Kenma unfreezes. He lets go of his glass and takes Kuroo’s hand into his own, interlacing their fingers, ever so slowly. His hand is cold, and Kuroo fights the urge to grip it tightly in an attempt to warm it up. He realizes he’s holding his breath and it’s making his heart beat even faster, frantic about the lack of air as well as the entire situation.

“Me too,” Kenma says.

Kuroo’s throat is parched, so when he tries to ask, tries to figure out if Kenma means what he wants him to mean, nothing comes out.

“I love you.”

His thoughts screech to a halt, leaving behind a ringing in his ears. 

A car passes by the window, the crunch of wheels against concrete sounding far away and distant. It feels like the entire room is shaking.

I love you. He repeats it in his head until it makes him dizzy. Lets those simple and straightforward words sink into him, filling in the cracks of loneliness and heartache that formed over the course of loving Kenma for all these years. He takes in a shaky breath, slowly because his ribcage feels too constricted for anything more. The air feels hot as it hits his lungs, weaves trails of sparks through his chest that curl tight around his heart, squeezing until tears spring to his eyes. 

“Ah,” he says, trying to blink the blurriness away. He clears his throat.

Kenma unlocks their fingers and traces patterns over the palm of Kuroo’s hand. It tingles, and Kuroo can feel his whole body shiver as he tries to make sense of what’s happening.

“How long,” he rasps out.

“I don’t know,” Kenma says. His voice is soft, comforting in a way Kuroo didn’t even realize he was missing. “A long time. Since we started high school, probably?”

Fifteen years. Years he could have spent doing anything other than denying his feelings. Years they could have spent together, really together, without secret glances and empty hopes.

“We wasted so much time,” he says, a telling waver in his voice.

“Yeah.” Kenma rubs his hand gently. “We’ll just have to make up for it now.”

Make up for it. The reality that Kenma not only has feelings for him (loves him) but actually wants to be with him hits him like a ton of bricks. Kuroo just nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He feels weak, but at the same time the urge to pull Kenma close and kiss him senseless is stronger than ever before.

“Can I- “ he starts, interrupted by Kenma straddling his lap at what feels like the speed of light.

“Yes.” It’s breathless, barely a whisper, and Kuroo feels himself suspended mid air. 

A brief moment of looking into Kenma's eyes, pools of liquid gold, before he leans down and presses their lips together. 

There's softness and warmth, the feeling of Kuroo's heart soaring in his chest to the point where he thinks he might faint. He shudders with the force of all the desire he'd locked away crashing down on him at once, and all he can really do is to let his eyes fall shut and twist his hands into Kenma's sweater, holding on for dear life. 

Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the slow and steady movement of Kenma's lips, but it feels better than he ever could have imagined. Kenma’s kisses are gentle, almost careful, his hands curling around Kuroo's shoulders, slowly traveling up to cup the back of his neck. He's radiating body heat, and Kuroo can't help but dig his hands into Kenma's sides, trying to anchor himself as his head spins. 

Kenma pulls back and gasps, and Kuroo is working purely on instinct now, all thoughts drowned out by his pulse hammering in his ears. So he leans forward and bites Kenma's lower lip, gently, and Kenma moans. It's quiet, but very much audible, causing a shock of electricity to travel through Kuroo's entire body. He doesn't have time to process the way Kenma's eyes grow dark, a bit menacing, before their lips crash back together.  

It's like Kuroo has set something off he wasn't prepared to handle. The gentleness from earlier has evaporated, leaving behind a scathing heat as Kenma sucks on Kuroo's lower lip, running his fingers up through Kuroo's hair and back down, lightly scraping over the back of his neck.

Kuroo shivers, feeling increasingly helpless, only borderline aware that he's moaning into the kiss when Kenma's tongue glides against his own. Arousal is slowly curling up his spine, and he pulls back to suck in a shaky breath, trying to get himself under control. 

Kenma regards him with an unreadable expression, lips flushed red and eyes lidded. He's so beautiful Kuroo feels his entire world shudder, zero in until it's just the two of them in this room.

"Fuck, I missed you so much," he whispers, tracing Kenma's lips with his eyes. He wants to kiss him. He wants to keep looking at him forever.

Kenma smiles a tiny, dangerous smile and says, "Mhh, I missed you too. How are you gonna make it up to me?"

"I can think of a couple of things-"

"Me too," Kenma hums and shifts, moves forward until they're fit snugly together. Rolls his hips down just enough for Kuroo to feel Kenma's erection pressed up against his own. 

It feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs, desire surging in his veins so fast it leaves him dizzy. Kenma runs his hand back up through Kuroo's hair and tugs. 

Kuroo tilts his head back on a sharp inhale and Kenma takes the opportunity to kiss up his neck, burning hot and wet. Kuroo really can't be blamed for the low moan that escapes him, his pants feeling tighter by the second. 

Kenma takes his time reducing Kuroo to a panting mess, his grip on Kuroo's hair holding his head in place the entire time. Kuroo feels his own voice crack into a high, desperate whine, causing Kenma to pull back. It takes a moment for his vision to stop blurring, and when it does he sees Kenma smirking down at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

"You got anywhere to be tomorrow?" Kenma asks, voice low and breathy.

"Um," Kuroo says. The implication is going to give him a heart attack. "I mean, I have to check out of my hotel room at ten, but other than that…" 

"Good," Kenma whispers and climbs off him. "Come with me." 

He's not really giving Kuroo a choice anyway, pulling him up by his tie and leading him to the bedroom without stopping once.

Kuroo finds himself pushed down to the bed with Kenma back on top of him, pulling his tie off and tossing it aside. Not wasting a second, Kenma leans down to go back at Kuroo's neck, littering it with kisses and bites. 

Kuroo's heart feels about ready to burst as he slides his hands under Kenma's sweater, feels hot, smooth skin under his fingertips. He drags his nails gently down Kenma's back and sucks in a breath when Kenma bites down harder. There are definitely going to be marks tomorrow, but rather than being worried, it makes him heat up, needy and impatient.

"What, ah, what are we doing?" he manages.

"I thought it was pretty obvious," Kenma says against Kuroo's throat.

"Okay, yeah, but I mean, specifically-"

"Oh." Kenma lets his lips trail up to Kuroo's ear, tracing them along his jawline. It's such an intimate feeling that it makes him shiver. "To be honest, I'd really like to fuck you," Kenma whispers, breath ghosting over Kuroo's ear.

It’s like the temperature in the room goes up by several degrees, the mental image making his cock surge in his pants, pushing against them almost desperately and smearing precum across the fabric.

"God," he groans, fingernails digging into Kenma's back. 

"Though I don't mind either way, if you don't want that."

"No, no. It's just, I've never, well, at least with an actual person-" He's fucked himself with more sex toys than he'd like to admit, is what he's trying to say.

Kenma pulls back at that, looking down at Kuroo's flushed face with wide eyes. "Are you telling me you're a virgin?"

"No. Come on, connect the dots."

"Ohh." A slow, sultry smile spreads across Kenma's lips. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

"Don't go stealing lines from porn, now."

"I will, though."

"Look at you, all smug even though nothing's happened yet," Kuroo huffs, and promptly tugs Kenma's sweater over his head.

The impatience as they get rid of their clothes makes their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. As soon as their pants are off, Kuroo wraps his fingers around Kenma's cock, earning a satisfied sigh. It's hot and heavy in his hand, and sliding his palm over the smooth skin makes his mouth water. Kenma bucks his hips slightly and moans, making heat spike in Kuroo's veins.

"Spread your legs," Kenma mumbles, and bats Kuroo's hand away before fishing a bottle of lube out of the bedside table.

Kuroo ignores a twinge of embarrassment and forces himself to comply, settling his legs on either side of Kenma's thighs.

Kenma's intent stare trailing up and down his body makes him feel too exposed, so he squeezes his eyes shut, resisting the urge to hide under the closest pillow. 

There's a plasticky clicking noise, and then Kenma's slick finger circles his entrance, rubbing over it and pressing forward, until he sinks in all the way to the second knuckle.

Kuroo's breath catches in his throat at the feeling, familiar and new at the same time. He blinks his eyes open to find Kenma watching his face, probably looking for signs of discomfort.

Their eyes stay locked as Kenma presses his finger all the way in and curls it upward, forcing a telling gasp from Kuroo's throat.

"That was easy," he mumbles and pushes his finger into that spot harder, causing Kuroo to shudder.

"Shut up. God," Kuroo groans and tilts his head back as Kenma pumps his finger slowly, working him open. 

By the time Kenma nudges a second finger in, Kuroo is panting, rolling his hips up in impatience. He can feel his cock throbbing, beads of precum leaking onto his straining abs as he tries to get the most out of what Kenma is giving him.

"Can you hurry?" He sighs when Kenma keeps his movements careful and calculated, refusing to speed things along.

"Don't be such a diva," Kenma says.

Kuroo's patience snaps. He shoves Kenma's hand away and pulls him down on top of himself, grabbing his cock to line them up.

"I didn’t get you ready enough to-"

"You did," Kuroo breathes out and wraps his legs around Kenma's waist, determined to get fucked into the mattress within the next thirty seconds.

Kenma huffs, but somehow manages to get on a condom and slick himself up despite Kuroo's constant fussing. 

"Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, come on..."

Kenma presses against him and Kuroo bites his lips, failing to stifle a gasp when the head of Kenma's cock pops inside, stretching him wide. He watches Kenma sink into him, slowly, until he feels so full he can hardly keep his eyes open. His breathing is labored, his heart racing like he just ran a mile.

Kenma stays like that, bright eyes watching Kuroo's face as he forces himself to relax, sinking back on the pillows with a sigh.

"I'm good," he says. He realizes he's slurring his words, wound up so tight he feels like he could crack at any moment. 

He expects Kenma to start slow, maybe, or experiment to see what Kuroo likes. Instead he stays buried deep inside and rolls his hips, carefully, until he finds Kuroo's prostate, forcing a startled whimper out of him. 

Kuroo grips the sheets for purchase, satisfaction building at his core, spread open as Kenma continues to take him apart with precise, languid movements. 

He feels like his reactions are disproportionate to how little force Kenma is using, but he can’t help it. It's the fact that it's Kenma, Kenma's perfect cock filling him up, Kenma's hands on his thighs, Kenma's lidded eyes locked with his own. He's got Kuroo writhing on the sheets within moments, toes curling with pleasure and desperate gasps falling from his lips.

Kenma leans down to press them flush together, chest to chest, locking their lips in a messy kiss. The heat is stifling, and Kuroo wants to drown in it, feeling himself go lightheaded as he instinctively wraps his arms around Kenma's back.

Kenma keeps grinding into that spot until Kuroo is seeing stars, legs shaking and fire surging in his abdomen. He faintly registers his own strangled moans, his cock dripping, precum starting to pool on his stomach.

Finally, Kenma starts adding actual thrusts to whatever else he's doing to make Kuroo go insane. It pulls him back to reality a little bit, enough to blink his eyes open, his vision blurry with unshed tears. 

The slow pace is inexplicably making everything feel more intense, Kenma's gentle kisses covering Kuroo's lips, neck, and collarbones. It lets him focus on the feeling of simply being stuffed with Kenma's cock, lets him stay pliant as Kenma slides out and back inside, slick squelching noises filling up the air.

Kuroo feels his muscles tense, alight with a blazing and desperate need. Realizes he's digging his nails into Kenma's back with an unmistakable urgency, his cock aching with the lack of attention. 

He really can't be bothered to wait, just shoves a hand down between their bodies with the single purpose of getting himself off, sucks in a breath like he had been starved for air when he wraps his fingers around himself.

Kenma sits up abruptly and pulls Kuroo's hand away to pin it next to his head, interlacing their fingers. 

"You're gonna come like this," he says, before Kuroo can even let out a frustrated whine.

It doesn't sound like a command, more like he's just stating a fact. Kuroo doesn't bother arguing. 

Kenma is breathing heavily, some strands of hair coming loose as he finally picks up the pace and starts fucking Kuroo for real, snapping his hips forward with a startling amount of force. 

Kuroo whimpers, squeezes Kenma's hand. He's dangerously close to the edge, just almost there, lungs burning and heart hammering in his chest, pleasure coiling tight inside of him.

Kenma licks his lips, intent gaze wandering between Kuroo's flushed, leaking cock and his face, desperation oozing off him in thick waves.

"Ngh," Kuroo forces out, between unforgiving jabs at his prostate. I'm so close, is what he's trying to say, but he finds forming words practically impossible, so he just claws at Kenma's arm, trying to convey the message.

Kenma hums, uses his free hand to grab Kuroo's leg at the bend of the knee and pushes it all the way down to the bed. 

Rather than the change in angle, it's the feeling that does it for him, being pinned down by Kenma's sure grip, open and held in place, completely at his mercy.

Kuroo shudders, nerve endings on fire as pleasure courses through him, his untouched cock twitching and spilling between them. A broken moan falls from his lips, and he squeezes Kenma's hand tightly as the feeling of relief washes over him.

Kenma's eyes go wide and he bites his lips, nails digging into Kuroo's thigh.

Before Kuroo can really come down from it, Kenma lets go of his leg and grabs his cock to jerk him off. A lot of things seem to be happening at once. Kenma hits his prostate just right, swipes his thumb over the head of Kuroo's cock. He mewls as he twists his hand into the sheets, holding on for dear life. He's squirming with oversensitivity, but there's still pleasure building underneath it, getting more intense by the second until suddenly it bursts and he's coming again, his entire body trembling with the force of it. He sobs, overwhelmed and helpless, while Kenma continues fucking him through it until Kuroo doesn't have a single rational thought left inside his brain, reduced to a shaking, incoherent mess.

He faintly registers Kenma collapsing on top of him and burying his face in the crook of Kuroo’s neck, erratic thrusts leaving both of them breathless until he stills, staying buried deep inside. 

Kuroo’s consciousness is hanging on by a thread, but he still manages to wrap both arms around Kenma to hold him close, running his hands down his back and through his hair, loosening his hair tie in the process. 

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but it’s long enough for him to regain his ability to move properly and for Kenma’s weight on top of him to start feeling heavy. Kenma is nuzzling Kuroo’s neck without any attempt of getting up, so Kuroo pushes at him until they’re lying side by side, still panting.

"Is it normal to give a guy multiple orgasms during your first time together?" Kuroo mumbles as Kenma haphazardly cleans him up.

"We'll try three next time," Kenma says and settles down next to him, pulling the blanket over the both of them.

"Have mercy," Kuroo sighs before throwing an arm over Kenma and closing his eyes.

•☆°.*✷.

Kuroo blinks open his eyes. Kenma's warm body is pressed up against his own, his hair tickling Kuroo’s face. There’s an alarm blaring that he registers as his own, loud and obnoxious. He groans, forcing his eyes to stay open as he sits up and grabs his phone from the floor, buried somewhere underneath his suit.

Checkout in 1h, his alarm informs him. He turns it off quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when the room turns quiet.

Kenma has somehow managed to sleep through it, now curled up on his side. His face is so peaceful and calm, Kuroo really doesn't want to wake him. He takes a moment to internalize the curve of Kenma's lips, the way his soft skin is gleaming in the sunlight that filters in through the window.

Finally, after he's done staring, Kuroo pokes Kenma's shoulder. It earns him a miffed expression, Kenma’s eyebrows drawing together in his sleep. He groans when Kuroo continues poking different parts of his body, moving from his shoulder to his belly to his cheek. He finally blinks open one eye, still half asleep.

"Hey," Kuroo says, feeling his face split into a slow grin.

"Mm."

He leans down to press a kiss to Kenma’s cheek, because he just can’t help himself. "I gotta go check out of my hotel room, or they’ll charge me for an extra day."

Kenma sighs, closing his eye again. "Are you coming back here afterwards?"

A blissful warmth blooms in Kuroo's chest, the kind that informs him that he'll remember this moment for the rest of his life. "Well, if you want me to," he says, more smug than he has any reason to be.

"Mmh. Just take my keys, on the table next to the door," Kenma mumbles, clearly in the process of falling back asleep.

"Oh… okay," Kuroo says, more to himself than to Kenma, revelling in the way his heart speeds up at the prospect of having keys to Kenma’s place, even just for an hour or so.

Kuroo winces as he gets out of bed, his body sore and clumsy. There’s a hint of a hangover after all, and if Kenma were awake right now, he'd probably laugh.

His suit is crumpled and only partially hides the hickeys covering his neck. He probably looks like he's on a walk of shame from a mile away, but can't bring himself to mind. Just as he’s about to step out of the bedroom, Kenma’s voice perks up behind him again.

“Kuro.” 

“You’re awake?”

“Kiss,” Kenma says, now with both eyes open (even if just halfway) and pouting.

Kuroo grins, wide, before pressing a soft good morning kiss against Kenma’s lips. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispers.

“There’s a convenience store at the corner. I want pancakes,” Kenma says, and rolls over in bed.