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Kuroo stops by training camp for the second year in a row since he’s graduated high school. At this point it feels like a tradition, like he should keep going back until the exact point where it truly does feel like he is overstaying a welcome. Lev had also sent no less than five messages all pleading along the lines of “You’ll come by right??? Right??” and since saying no to Lev felt like nothing less than kicking an (albeit very large, very dumb) puppy, Kuroo had resigned himself to making the trip.
One win and one loss later, he’s making his way out after securing enthusiastic promises from Lev that yes, of course they’d win the last game of the day, and yes, he’d update Kuroo as soon as possible! He has a stats class at five later, and he’s inadvisably quite far out from school right now and checking for the most efficient train route — when he rounds a corner and runs right into third-year Yamaguchi Tadashi, captain of Karasuno.
He knows him, of course. Kuroo has had to spend a lot of his time worrying about Karasuno’s Hinata Shoyo — both on and off the court. Kenma loves him very dearly and it’s somewhat grating sometimes to think about, how quickly and easily Hinata wormed his way into a particularly warm spot in Kenma’s life. Kuroo, as part of his own designs on Kenma’s warmth, has spent a lot of time listening about Hinata, Karasuno, and Karasuno’s volleyball, enough that he certainly knows the name of the fourth member of their year.
“Oh, Kuroo-san!” Yamaguchi beats him to the chase in the second he’s spent ruminating on Hinata and greets him, looking mildly surprised. He glances left and right around Kuroo, frowning slightly when he doesn’t seem to see anyone else. “Why are you— um, here?”
Kuroo grins at him, shark-toothed. “I’m Nekoma alumni, have you forgotten me so soon? I’m wounded, Yamaguchi-kun.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Yamaguchi assures him hastily, “Um— but Kenma-san graduated last year, right?”
Kuroo lofts an eyebrow at him. “I care about people other than Kenma,” he promises haughtily.
“Sure,” Yamaguchi says agreeably. He cocks his head to the side, eyes following the movement for a brief second before they snap back to Kuroo. “Can I… help you then?”
Kuroo shrugs, shifting the weight of his bag up on his shoulder further. “How’s Glasses doing?” he asks, just to be a bit annoying. It has the opposite effect of making Yamaguchi perk up — Kuroo supposes that he would’ve had to ask Tsukishima himself, about his progress, if he’d wanted to irritate someone.
“Kei is doing well,” Yamaguchi smiles, “I never did thank you and Bokuto-san for coaching him in our first year.”
Kei. Something like jealousy bubbles up inside Kuroo. Yamaguchi’s tender use of Tsukishima’s first name must mean something, that they’re — together, if not getting there. Kuroo had spent enough time with Kenma and his Karasuno friends at the last training camp to be acquainted with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s history as childhood friends, and well. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are nothing like them, like him and — but it still feels bitter somehow, that someone else has found a similar sort of love that he desperately wants.
“You know, Kuroo-san,” Yamaguchi offers, “We should exchange numbers.”
Kuroo barks a surprised laugh. “That’s very forward of you — break a lot of hearts around here?”
Yamaguchi smiles in a way that’s very intense behind the eyes and scarily reminiscent of Sawamura. “Captain to captain, I’ll let you in on something,” he tells Kuroo, “Tsukki doesn’t have any intention of ever replying your texts, and Kenma-san and I have been texting every week since my second year, because we both love Pokémon. I would hate for you to be out of the loop.”
Kuroo does gawk then, because Kenma had never mentioned Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima ignoring his texts — well, that was a given and gone case, he only ever replied to Akaashi, but still, what a way to really rub it in. Suddenly, Kuroo has a complete picture. These Karasuno guys really are all bastards, and that’s why Tsukishima fits in so well. It figures.
Then again, these bastards have all befriended Kenma, something that once upon a time would’ve been Kuroo’s area of expertise. It’s a bit humbling.
Kuroo gives him his number, in the end.
And that’s why, two years into Kuroo’s job at JVA, he’s at a bar on a Friday night. It’s really early — he’s having dinner, and it’s only about eight, so it’s quiet and the crowd hasn’t spilled in yet.
“Congrats,” he toasts, over the distinctly sharp clink of two mugs of ice-cold beer. “To your years of loyalty being rewarded by the biggest gesture of them all.”
Yamaguchi Tadashi looks at him from across the table, loose tie and sleeves to his elbows in a perfect mirror of his own post-work disarray. “Loyalty and companionship are two sides of the same coin, Kuroo-san,” he says thoughtfully.
It’s hard to believe this when Yamaguchi sits there with a gold band on his finger and Kuroo does not. He tells Yamaguchi as much, and Yamaguchi just sort of cocks his head at him in this way that — Kuroo graduated well before Karasuno’s ex-captain became captain and menaced an entire league with his float serve, but he imagines that this must’ve been how it felt, facing Yamaguchi down on the other side of the net, waiting for the ball to drop.
“I don’t think there’s a huge difference,” Yamaguchi informs him blithely, “After this you’ll still be going home to Kenma-san, to the apartment that you both share, won’t you?”
Kuroo doesn’t really know how to tell him that it’s not the same at all. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have always been obvious, steadfast in the way their strengths and weaknesses work together, fitting together like two pieces of a fate-ordained puzzle. Kenma has always been the most brilliant person Kuroo knows… there’s nothing that Kuroo has ever been able offer him other than companionship — his heart on a platter. That Kenma has kept him by his side is truly more than anything Kuroo could have ever wanted.
”I always did wonder what Tsukishima did to earn your loyalty,” Kuroo muses, “I guess he’s secretly a sap when he decides to take a break from looking like he’s perpetually bit into a lemon.”
”He didn’t earn a damn thing,” Yamaguchi laughs, “My loyalty has always been freely given, and I think your devotion is the same.”
The easy way that Yamaguchi says that — speaking about Kuroo’s feelings for Kenma like they’re something that could only be good. It makes something uncomfortable and hopeful squirm in his chest.
“I don’t know if I would be so quick to say that,” he drawls, putting one fist under his chin. “You and Tsukishima — you’re a huge help to him, you’re equals, a pair. With Kenma — I'm dragging him along. I feel like I’m smothering him, how much I like him.”
Yamaguchi frowns. “You think you’re too much?”
”You said it yourself,” Kuroo shrugs, “Your Tsukki likes Kenma way more than he does me.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Yamaguchi says carefully. “Tsukki likes Kenma-san because he’s quiet and doesn’t contact him often. I don’t think — my boyfriend thinking you’re noisy is a good indicator of Kenma-san similarly finding you irritating.”
“Very reassuring,” Kuroo sighs.
A little shit-eating grin slices briefly across Yamaguchi’s face before he sighs and reaches across the table to pat at Kuroo sympathetically. “You set yourself up for that one, Kuroo-san,” he tells him gently.
Kuroo takes a big swig of the last of his beer, exaggerated, sighing in a long-suffering way.
“You know,” Yamaguchi starts, in a tone of voice that indicates that he is about to say something wise that Kuroo will probably not want to hear, “What you and Kenma have is already a really good thing, so I think it’s hard to know… what escalation might mean.”
Kuroo’s grip tightens around nothing on the table, and suddenly his collar feels a little tight. He knows exactly what Yamaguchi is saying, but it feels — like too good to believe, too unfair to Kenma, to want to hope for more between them after it’s already been so many years, and when things should be comfortable between them. It feels unfair that Kuroo should bring up dissatisfaction — that Kuroo is dissatisfied.
“You should tell him, Kuroo-san,” Yamaguchi decides. He’s got a gentle countenance and a commanding tone, and Kuroo imagines that this must have been very formidable, back in Karasuno, because it feels formidable now. “That you want him to stay. Or else, how will he know?”
Kuroo sighs. “You gotta stop calling me ‘n Kenma ‘-san’. You’re out here every month talking to me about my feelings.”
Yamaguchi blinks innocently up at him with his big, deer-in-headlights eyes. “It’s polite, Kuroo-san,” he protests lightly, “You’re my seniors.”
“I know you do it just to be an asshole to me,” Kuroo smirks, “I’ve seen your texts to Kenma, you little upstart, you don’t use honorifics at all. You just want me to feel old.”
Yamaguchi laughs openly then, grin cracking across his face — he’s just as smug, just as mean as Tsukishima, and Kuroo tells him as much, that they’re a match made in heaven. “Only you’ve got a prettier face,” he informs a snickering Yamaguchi wisely, “Tsukki ruined his permanently from too much sneering, back in the day.”
“Don’t say that about my fiancé,” Yamaguchi chides, but his eyes are alight with mirth. Maybe there’s some merit to following Yamaguchi’s advice, because after all, he’s the one with the ring, and his childhood best friend on his arm. It’s a dangerous line of logic, but Kuroo files it away carefully anyway.
When Kuroo reaches the apartment, he tries very hard not to think of it as coming home, because the idea of a home that’s his and Kenma’s and something that’s for good is too big for the shape of his chest. Stepping through the front door, he can see and hear light and sound still coming from Kenma’s streaming room, so he makes silent work of putting his things away and washing up for the evening.
Once his hair has been sufficiently dried and he’s had a quick supper of convenience-store soba and chicken, he slinks quietly into Kenma’s room, making himself comfortable on the couch that’s just off-screen.
“You’re back,” calls Kenma’s disembodied voice from behind the obscurement of his tall gaming chair.
“You’re done?” Kuroo asks, watching the faint movement at Kenma’s desk, as he clicks off of some programmes and takes aside some equipment.
Kenma spins around lazily in his chair, then, small and hunched in the embrace of ergonomic cushioning. “Mm,” he hums in agreement, “Just before you came in.”
“Yamaguchi watched the stream,” Kenma informs him. “Where did you head out after your dinner?”
Kuroo slumps, sliding further down on the couch. “Just went for a walk, get some air. I got you a WcDonald’s apple pie; it’s in the fridge.”
Kenma nods in acknowledgement, scooting his chair back on its wheels off to the side so that he can access his computer and also show Kuroo his screen. His messaging app pops up and Kenma clicks to open a particular chat, zooming in to enlarge the font so that Kuroo can read comfortably from where he is.
A short message from Tsukishima blips across the screen, recent: Stream was fun. Tadashi enjoyed boss fight, kicked me three times in excitement.
“It’s a little sweet,” Kenma admits fondly, smiling at the screen as he shuts it off and then looks back at Kuroo. “Imagining Tsukishima of all people, all cosy, watching my stream just because Yamaguchi wants to.”
Kuroo imagines, but he doesn’t imagine Tsukishima. It’s more than sweet, and more than believable to Kuroo, when he pictures Kenma instead of Yamaguchi; content to be in his presence, eager to do anything Kenma wants to do. What wouldn’t he do for Kenma?
Loving Kenma is as easy as breathing. It makes Kuroo feel quite breathless. Against all rational thought and logic, he blurts, “Would you like that?”
Kenma blinks up at him slowly, and it’s sweet, like a cat, and he’s pretty, and Kuroo would do anything for him. Kenma says, sounding slightly unsure, “Would I like… cuddling with Tsukishima…?” He frowns. “Or Yamaguchi? Yamaguchi would be preferable.”
“With me,” Kuroo breathes, and it feels like he has no control over it, the way the words leave his lips. For an utterance so tender and so quiet, it feels like a punch to his gut, the way it hurts, the amount that Kuroo wants.
Kenma’s eyes go wide and Kuroo’s world tilts — and then he sees it: Kenma is wearing his hoodie, the one that he’d just put into the wash last night, which means that Kenma had gotten up today, in their apartment, hung their laundry up to dry, and picked Kuroo’s hoodie off the line and burrowed into it before his stream. His love for Kenma expands in his chest and bursts through his veins, and Kuroo is babbling.
“Not just— that. I want so much; I want to have this apartment for you for real, not as roommates, I want it to be ours. And I want you. I want us.” He swallows, and realises with a faint ebb of horror that his vision’s a little cloudy, all the heat in his body flooding to his face as he gasps out his confession. “I like you, Kenma. I’ve been in love with you for years, and your friendship is amazing, but I want more.”
Kenma goes completely still for a few beats of utterly gripping silence. And then, he says, “Okay.”
Kuroo gawks. “Just like that?”
”Well… yeah,” Kenma says. “Those things that you listed, I’d like them too. So okay.”
Those words are nothing short of ruinous to Kuroo. Disbelief and joy — his head is spinning as the thing he wants most in the world falls right into his lap.
“Kuro,” Kenma says calmly, electing to be the functional adult in the room in the face of Kuroo’s rapturous experience of his world falling apart and coming back together again. “I am going to get on the couch now, and you are going to hold me.”
Kuroo sputters a little, and he feels ridiculous even as he does it. And then he doesn’t have time to think about how he feels at all because Kenma is crawling onto the sofa and then into his lap, and he fits — perfectly, and he's warm, in a hoodie that’s one of Kuroo’s oldest ones, and it’s everything that Kuroo has been dreaming about and hoping so much for for years.
“So,” Kenma breaches the silence eventually, “Do I have Yamaguchi to thank for this turn of events?”
”We could definitely invite him to cuddle,” Kuroo offers jokingly.
Kenma hums, an amused little sound. When he looks at Kuroo from up under his lashes his eyes are dark and his expression coy, and he says, “Maybe, but not so soon.” He grins, small and sharp. “I’ve only just gotten you all to myself.”
The way Kuroo’s stomach swoops, then. It’s… “You’ve always had me,” he chokes out. “Seriously, Kenma, I… Always.”
Kenma’s expression is carefully neutral; it’s obvious that he’s fighting to keep it that way because his face is flaming in an adorable shade of red that really makes Kuroo’s pulse go clunky. “That’s good to know,” he murmurs, almost shy.
“I’ll text Yamaguchi to send him our thanks,” Kuroo promises, and he’s just talking complete nonsense now, talking for the sake of talking, because if he doesn’t he thinks he might wake up and this all won’t be real. “He’s been rooting for our happiness for a long time.”
It’s real, though, when Kenma shifts in his arms and moves even closer to his chest. ”Is that so?” Kenma muses, his volume low and private. “Then maybe we should let him be our third.”
“Maybe,” Kuroo agrees giddily. But for now… he sees the way Kenma’s eyes drop to his mouth as he speaks, and he thinks that they can talk about Yamaguchi again later.
Tsukishima Kei [01:56AM]: fuck off