[ in Kenma speak, those who Know will Know of course, 'get here faster' might as well be a foghorn for 'i miss you'. in his own way. sort of. definitely. or something. ]
[ it's with the warmth of that knowledge settled comfortably in his chest that kuroo hurries through packing his weekend duffle. he shoots off a few texts, apologies for sudden cancelation of plans. mostly casual stuff-- he is too responsible to dip if he had something important planned, but otherwise kenma takes precedence. he'd taken the initiative to ask kuroo to come home. kuroo is going home.
it's about three hours later and a little past midnight when he lets himself into the kozume household. he headed straight there rather than stop by his own house first. it's not like his family is expecting him.
are kenma's parents home? either way he moves quietly as he locks the door behind him and heads up to kenma's room, duffle bag over one shoulder and a white, crip bakery bag in his hand. ]
[ truth be told, it bothered kenma a lot more than he thought it would when kuroo left for uni. truth be told, kenma had already 'borrowed' and 'forgotten' to return a few clothing items of kuroo's and maybe wore them more often in the first weeks of him not being here. truth be told.
not that he will.
but he doesn't, or won't deny it necessarily either.
on most nights, kenma would still be playing a game at this hour but for whatever reason even before kuroo's ridiculous text, he's been uncharacteristically restless. it only got worse afterwards. girlfriend. the worst fake girlfriend. well duh. he's not a girl. he's already majorly screwed that one up, was his dry thought hours prior. by the time kuroo actually gets there, kenma is almost asleep.
his body recognizes kuroo from smell to sight to sound. he's not alarmed at all by his door opening in the middle of the night and is slow to drag himself out of the clinging tethers of would-be-sleep. the way he sits up, the covers fall off and he blinks at kuroo in the dark.
the shirt kenma is wearing is too big because it isn't his but it's not something he's thinking about as he extends a sleepy arm and hand out: pie, mine, now.
[ there are some truths that are so instinctively understood that they didn't need to be spoken. while kuroo's worries about leaving kenma without a support system had eased thanks to their mutual friends, that did not make their separation any easier.
anyone that knew them more than casually could see how protective kuroo was of kenma, how much he nagged and looked after him... it would be easy to assume that kuroo was the indispensable one. in truth, their codependency went much deeper than that.
kenma took care of kuroo as much as kuroo took care of him, if in more subtle and understated ways. kuroo has always understood this, but the knowledge was painfully reinforced after his move to the college dorms. suddenly there was no quiet but calming presence by his side. no head tipping over onto his shoulder when he stayed up watching movies too late, reminding him it was time for bed. no gentle touch against his temples when he gives himself a stress headache, no warm hand between the jut of his shoulder blades when he's slumped over with exhaustion.
the little every day kenma actions that kuroo gave no more thought that he did to breathing or how to take his next step.
he steps into kenma's bedroom and like every time he gets to see him after longer than a week, there's both an easing in his chest and a knotting low in his stomach. a need to touch, to verify, to simply solidify with tactile confirmation that he really is home.
kuroo pads over on bare feet, the long week and late drive suddenly catching up to him.
apple pie has been brought, but a price must be paid. kuroo sets the bag on the nightstand as he passes but keeps moving, crawling right atop of the bed and the sleep softened kenma. it's easier to use his much larger body to press him back, weight and gravity helping him push kenma down against the mattress until he's all but completely buried under kuroo.
kuroo nuzzles his face into the warmth of his neck, breathing him in and letting his body completely melt down against him. ]
[ the slight 'oomf' that comes from kenma is even slighter than usual, gentled by his sleepiness and his warmth and more than all of that, kuroo's warmth that kenma always has room for. when he's not here, that particular familiarity isn't filled by anyone else; can't be. instead kenma goes through his daily life with a space that's inside him more than beside him empty and missing what it knows should be there. it would be a lie to say that he doesn't worry about kuroo; it also won't do any good to mull it over too much.
his energy and attention is better spent when kuroo is there; is here; is home.
kenma's arms slip natural and easy over kuroo's shoulders and one hand smooths up his nape along the shorter hairs there up to thread into the soft mass of it. always sort of messy. it's comforting, this small thing that hasn't changed and seems to draw with it this implication that, of course it hasn't and of course kuroo hasn't and of course they haven't. his sigh is only audible because it's otherwise so quiet, the soft inhale one that kuroo can certainly feel perhaps along with the rabbiting of the cat's pulse that's not nervous so much as happy.
they aren't kids anymore. they are going to keep growing, walking forward.
it's not that kenma doesn't know this. he does. they both do.
but right now it's not what's important.
tension melts out of kuroo and the way kenma's fingers card through his hair is a conscious effort to shoo the vestiges away even more. when kuroo still lived next door, kenma might have grumbled or complained: i can't reach the pie. but kuroo doesn't, and he won't maybe ever again, and it bothers kenma almost as much as admitting how much it stings as it does to experience it.
he never asks kuroo if he misses him and it feels foolish and stupid and self centered to be concerned of it enough to be reluctant to inquire.
the arm draped over kuroo's shoulder is bruised explosively, not from volleyball but from a fall he could've avoided if he wasn't distracted imagining someone who wasn't really there beside him just yesterday. it will hurt something impressive next practice but there's nothing to be done about it now and honestly kenma couldn't care less. kuroo's old shirt is soft and worn and reliable but nothing compared to kuroo himself whose touch is almost a kiss but not quite.
unconsciously, the hand not in kuroo's hair makes a small fist in the fabric of his shirt; holds on.]
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[ but :| ]
Get here faster.
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[ in Kenma speak, those who Know will Know of course, 'get here faster' might as well be a foghorn for 'i miss you'. in his own way. sort of. definitely. or something. ]
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it's about three hours later and a little past midnight when he lets himself into the kozume household. he headed straight there rather than stop by his own house first. it's not like his family is expecting him.
are kenma's parents home? either way he moves quietly as he locks the door behind him and heads up to kenma's room, duffle bag over one shoulder and a white, crip bakery bag in his hand. ]
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not that he will.
but he doesn't, or won't deny it necessarily either.
on most nights, kenma would still be playing a game at this hour but for whatever reason even before kuroo's ridiculous text, he's been uncharacteristically restless. it only got worse afterwards. girlfriend. the worst fake girlfriend. well duh. he's not a girl. he's already majorly screwed that one up, was his dry thought hours prior. by the time kuroo actually gets there, kenma is almost asleep.
his body recognizes kuroo from smell to sight to sound. he's not alarmed at all by his door opening in the middle of the night and is slow to drag himself out of the clinging tethers of would-be-sleep. the way he sits up, the covers fall off and he blinks at kuroo in the dark.
the shirt kenma is wearing is too big because it isn't his but it's not something he's thinking about as he extends a sleepy arm and hand out: pie, mine, now.
also: come here.
you know, the rest of the way.
here. ]
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anyone that knew them more than casually could see how protective kuroo was of kenma, how much he nagged and looked after him... it would be easy to assume that kuroo was the indispensable one. in truth, their codependency went much deeper than that.
kenma took care of kuroo as much as kuroo took care of him, if in more subtle and understated ways. kuroo has always understood this, but the knowledge was painfully reinforced after his move to the college dorms. suddenly there was no quiet but calming presence by his side. no head tipping over onto his shoulder when he stayed up watching movies too late, reminding him it was time for bed. no gentle touch against his temples when he gives himself a stress headache, no warm hand between the jut of his shoulder blades when he's slumped over with exhaustion.
the little every day kenma actions that kuroo gave no more thought that he did to breathing or how to take his next step.
he steps into kenma's bedroom and like every time he gets to see him after longer than a week, there's both an easing in his chest and a knotting low in his stomach. a need to touch, to verify, to simply solidify with tactile confirmation that he really is home.
kuroo pads over on bare feet, the long week and late drive suddenly catching up to him.
apple pie has been brought, but a price must be paid. kuroo sets the bag on the nightstand as he passes but keeps moving, crawling right atop of the bed and the sleep softened kenma. it's easier to use his much larger body to press him back, weight and gravity helping him push kenma down against the mattress until he's all but completely buried under kuroo.
kuroo nuzzles his face into the warmth of his neck, breathing him in and letting his body completely melt down against him. ]
I'm home.
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his energy and attention is better spent when kuroo is there; is here; is home.
kenma's arms slip natural and easy over kuroo's shoulders and one hand smooths up his nape along the shorter hairs there up to thread into the soft mass of it. always sort of messy. it's comforting, this small thing that hasn't changed and seems to draw with it this implication that, of course it hasn't and of course kuroo hasn't and of course they haven't. his sigh is only audible because it's otherwise so quiet, the soft inhale one that kuroo can certainly feel perhaps along with the rabbiting of the cat's pulse that's not nervous so much as happy.
they aren't kids anymore. they are going to keep growing, walking forward.
it's not that kenma doesn't know this. he does. they both do.
but right now it's not what's important.
tension melts out of kuroo and the way kenma's fingers card through his hair is a conscious effort to shoo the vestiges away even more. when kuroo still lived next door, kenma might have grumbled or complained: i can't reach the pie. but kuroo doesn't, and he won't maybe ever again, and it bothers kenma almost as much as admitting how much it stings as it does to experience it.
he never asks kuroo if he misses him and it feels foolish and stupid and self centered to be concerned of it enough to be reluctant to inquire.
the arm draped over kuroo's shoulder is bruised explosively, not from volleyball but from a fall he could've avoided if he wasn't distracted imagining someone who wasn't really there beside him just yesterday. it will hurt something impressive next practice but there's nothing to be done about it now and honestly kenma couldn't care less. kuroo's old shirt is soft and worn and reliable but nothing compared to kuroo himself whose touch is almost a kiss but not quite.
unconsciously, the hand not in kuroo's hair makes a small fist in the fabric of his shirt; holds on.]
Welcome home.
[ missed you. ]