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2025-04-28
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Empty Nest

Summary:

One of them should bring it up before the tension imploded and took the entire atelier with it. They’d brushed against the topic a couple of times over the years: what might change without fledglings and what paths unspoken affections might take if left to bloom uninhibited. But that was over a year ago and apparently Kei was a coward when it came to people he couldn’t live without.

Another time, Kei told himself for what must have been the twentieth day in a row.

Notes:

back on my kurotsuki bullshit (i missed them)

Work Text:

Boom!

Kei steadied his worktable with the practiced ease of three other explosions this week. “Not today,” he snickered before a second, larger jolt knocked what little dust was left in the rafters free. Kei rolled his eyes and called out, “Alive, Kuroo-san?”

“If I say ‘no’ will it result in CPR?” Kuroo yelled back.

“No.”

A telling pause. “I guess I’m fine, then.”

With clockwork ease, Kei retrieved his notebook from the floor. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

Telltale footsteps shuffled up and down the stairs. Kuroo wasn’t supposed to come up uninvited but recent developments had eroded that boundary to the point of uselessness. It was hardly a fair grievance. Kei had his own living quarters and workshop out back, lush with privacy and cradled by the woods and garden on all sides, save for a narrow, stepping stone walkway—and if he wanted to be left alone, he should’ve stayed there. But it was too quiet. Layers on layers of isolation—the sort that made Kei deafened by it. Like his ears were stuffed with cotton and that invisible bubble he kept too close had cured into a proper shell.

Even last month, when Sou and Yuuki were still milling about the property, working on spells of their own and doing Kuroo proud with the pyrotechnics, Kei had preferred the suite upstairs. Now that Suo and Yuuki had moved on to their adult lives as full witches? Kei had virtually moved in.

The fifth stair from the top creaked. Kei never bothered fixing it for exactly this reason.
 
It was sweet he tried, Kei told himself. It was nice of him to shuffle back down two steps before climbing three, and Kei appreciated the offer of company even if he wouldn’t admit it at this particular moment. They both felt the pangs of their empty nest, even if the students were, technically, just Kuroo’s.

“Just come in if you’re so bored, no need for the dramatics pretending you won’t.”

“Not my fault there’s nothing to do,” Kuroo grumbled. But he ascended the stairs in short order and by the time he crossed the threshold into Kei’s workshop, all traces of restraint had evaporated.

Kei broke the outer circle of the glyph on his workbench with a venomous scribble. The frostbitten tabletop warmed to room temperature. In his notebook, Kei wrote ‘too cold’ next to the latest round of variants. No matter what he did, Kei’s only notable progress so far was delaying how long it took to turn his workbench into a solid block of ice.

“Oof, what is this?” Kuroo asked, peering over Kei’s shoulder until Kei shooed him away. “Attempt number four?”

“Today.” Kei flipped the notebook closed before Kuroo could get too interested. He never got anything right without drawing out the pieces over and over again but witches like Kuroo worked better on instinct. Kuroo didn’t need to ponder every keystone and sigil; he trusted his gut and was frequently rewarded for it. A talent Kei wished could be cultivated but three years together and Kei was no closer to picking up a pen and drawing miracles from scratch.

“Well, you’ll figure it out. You always do. And if you can’t, somehow?” Kuroo’s Cheshire grin widened to obscene proportions. “Well, I could be convinced to help you—for a price.”

“Oh, that deal’s never been worth it.” Kei drawled with toothless scorn.

Kuroo shrugged and threw himself onto the sofa near the window, draping his forearm over his eyes and lounging like a too-tall house cat desperate for every last drop of the sunset. Outside, idyllic greens and blues trailed like watercolors, dripping through the open window to paint Kuroo’s skin.

Kei twirled his pen between his fingers. “No, no, by all means. Stay.”

“Sure,” Kuroo said, ignoring the sarcastic bend of Kei’s tone. “Want some help? Tried messing with the airflow yet?”

“No, I’ve all the help I need.” And then, because Kei was every bit as terrible at just letting it go as Kuroo was, he added, “And airflow won’t help, the entire point is for it to be chilled while being undisturbed.”

“So make it hollow and stick the glyph on the inside. Cold, moving air chills the table. Much easier to control that way, too.”

That was infuriatingly brilliant and Kei would have definitely gotten there… eventually. “Amazing. I never knew you were capable of thinking inside the box. Is there a reason you’re up here?”

“Just bored.”

“And that’s my problem, how?” Kei asked, settling onto his work stool.

“Isn’t it? Don’t you care about my mental state?” Kuroo peeked out from beneath his arm to watch the dust flutter about the rafters. The high ceilings and skylights did wonders for emphasizing the specks. “I thought it was your job to make sure I don’t go tumbling off the deep end and start making zombies or something.”

“As if anyone could stop you if you put your mind to it. Even I wouldn’t bother.”

“No? Shame, since you’re probably the only person I’d let knock me off course.” The tease lacing Kuroo’s tone was well-worn and comforting. “Especially now that it’s just us.”

One of them should bring it up before the tension imploded and took the entire atelier with it. They’d brushed against the topic a couple of times over the years: what might change without fledglings and what paths unspoken affections might take if left to bloom uninhibited. But that was over a year ago and apparently Kei was a coward when it came to people he couldn’t live without.

Another time, Kei told himself for what must have been the twentieth day in a row. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t have the attention span for zombies, anyway.” But if he did, oh Kuroo could come up with some apocalypse-worthy ones. “Why are you really here?”

Kuroo’s gaze slid from the ceiling, mirth abounding. “Maybe I just like watching you work.”

And maybe Kei just liked letting him.

“Really, I’m just killing an hour. The guys want to hit the Ezrest taverns tonight. Do a proper crawl since we’re all freed up for the first time since we were the apprentices. You should come.”

The offer was too dangerous when coupled with Kuroo’s mouth pulled charmingly horizontal, stretched ear to ear with mischievous affection. All the more reason to stay home. A night out with the Nekoma alumni nearly always resulted in being questioned by the Knights Moralis. “I have work to do.”

“So?”

“So, I can’t go commit misdemeanors with you tonight. Fetch Bokuto.”

“Bokuto’s gone to Kalhn with Akaashi.”

Easy twenty said Akaashi spotted the dangers of this pub crawl a mile away, too. “Lucky Bokuto and Akaashi. Try Kai.”

Kuroo pouted, but Kei had practice with every expression in the book. When the nonverbal begging proved ineffective, Kuroo groaned. “Or you.”

“Me is unavailable.” Kei paused, trying to parse the absurdity of whatever just came out of his mouth. “You’re doing that thing again, where you try to make me sound crazy to get your way. It won’t work.”

“Fine,” Kuroo draped his arm back over his eyes with teenage disappointment. “But I refuse to be held responsible for my actions or alcohol consumption.”

“So long as you sleep it off somewhere else, I couldn’t care less.”


Two in the morning and Kei had to amend: he cared a little.

It wasn’t unusual for Kuroo to be out so late. Kei had no reason to be worried. But the atelier had been quiet lately—too quiet—and Kei found it impossible to sleep knowing Kuroo wasn’t home. Once upon a time, Kei had prized solitude. When had that changed?

Kei didn’t know why Kuroo hadn’t found another apprentice and he hadn’t asked even though he probably should have. Speculation ran rampant on nights like this one. Did Kuroo not want to teach anymore? Had he needed a break? Or was Kuroo tired of this whole atelier-in-the-countryside life and craved a return to Ezrest where he wouldn’t need thirty some-odd knobs on his windowway and total solar eclipse timing to keep in touch with his friends?

Out of the corner of Kei’s eye, the windowway thrummed. A moment later, Yaku stepped through in red and white-embroidered robes, crusted with dirt at the bottom hem. Behind him, Kuroo sat on a floating square platform with embellished guardrails on each side, pointed hat teetering to the left, looking like he’d spent all night rolling on the ground.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Yaku,” Kei said, not bothering to get up from the sofa. This was hardly an occasion.

“Tsukishima. Evening.”

“Morning, more like. What is that thing? A crib?” It was easily one of the more hilarious things Kei had seen in his life.

“Better than carrying him, though I did consider tattooing a levitation glyph on his ass just because I can.”

“Or you could have kept him.”

“Hey!” Kuroo hiccuped and unfolded his legs, lurching to the side until Yaku had mercy and steadied his arm enough to climb over the guardrails. “That’s uncalled for,” he said, jabbing a finger in Kei’s direction well before his feet were steady. Kei could smell the liquor across the room but Kuroo at least seemed more belligerent than wasted.

“Sorry?” Kei made sure not to sound sorry at all.

“You’re not.”

“No,” Kei admitted. “Not really.”

“It’s criminal how adorable that is on you. Like what am I even supposed to do with it?”

Kei ignored the ferocious warmth of his face and stood, approaching Yaku’s crib under guise of examining the intricate glyphs artfully woven into the embellishments carved around the base. “This is clever.”

“Thanks,” Yaku said. “Maybe try to tell me so when it’s actually about me.”

Kei snorted. “Afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Yaku took the time to eye Kei up and down, as if to drive home that yes, he was being perceived to an unprecedented magnitude, and no, Yaku did not think it was even worth his time to address. “Okay. Right. Well, Tsukishima, this was fun and all, but I have to go repot half my greenhouse now.”

“Don’t you dare,” Kuroo’s bony, jabbing finger immediately found a new target in Yaku. “They’ll thrive in the bigger pots. You were stifling them. I placed their roots in new soil with love spewing out of my fingertips.” Kuroo listed to the side and stumbled. “You can’t just take that away!”

“How much,” Kei marveled, “did you drink tonight?”

“Moron drank like we’re teenagers.” Yaku patted Kuroo’s shoulder with an audible smack that sent Kuroo teetering in the opposite direction like a disheveled weeble wobble. “You hear that, dumbass? You are like thirty! Get it together.”

Thinking about who was and was not ‘like thirty’ at quarter past two felt inhumane at the molecular level. “Well, at least he had your greenhouse to fixate on. Thanks for dragging him home. Kuroo? Go to bed. In the morning we can work out everyone you have to send apologies to.” God, Kei dreaded asking but better to know now. “Ballpark, Yaku?”

“Start with my tomatoes,” Yaku yelled over his shoulder on his way through the windowway. “Return the Rock-a-bye in the morning. Or never. I don’t even care anymore.”

The portal went quiet. And for five blissful seconds, it stayed that way.

“Aaaarhhhhh,” Kuroo let out a windowpane-rattling yawn.

The late hour hit Kei like a truck. “Come on, Kuroo. Let’s get to bed.”

“Oh? You coming with me?” Kuroo leered. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Kei began the typically arduous task of herding Kuroo towards his room. “That’s not part of the deal.”

“The deal? Oh, please! I’m trying so hard to have a deal with you.” Kuroo managed to bang into the same wall twice but he made it to his door in the end, and this wasn’t the time to be picky. “Look, I get you need to stew on things and it’s okay, but we’re getting to be properly stewed, now. We’re— We’re stroganoff! We’re total gumbo, here! And like—” Kuroo stared off into space, as if searching for his lost place in a one-sided conversation.

“Like what?”

Kuroo grinned, suddenly attentive. “You, mostly.”

“Hilarious.” Kei crossed his arms and tried to look more stern than the late hour allowed him to feel. “Come on, we can’t talk about this now.”

“But we do have to talk about it.” Kuroo echoed the sentiment rattling around Kei’s head for weeks. “All the stuff: the you and the me and the anticipation of it all.

Kei always thought he’d know when that mythical ‘right time’ arrived; that he’d be able to tell when they were, as Kuroo so clumsily put it, properly stewed. If Kuroo didn’t smell like the dregs of a well-quality Long Island Iced Tea, Kei would be tempted to say this was it.

Another of those gargantuan yawns battled its way free as Kuroo eased his door open. “Something for tomorrow-us to deal with, I guess. G’night, Tsukki.”


Kuroo endured breakfast and a round of hangover remedies with better humor than Kei expected of him, then retreated to his office until late afternoon. Kei was content to keep to himself as well. Sleep had been fickle even with the late night, so after some half-hearted pokes at his cooling table, Kei gave in to the lulling desire for a nap.

By the time Kei came down from his perch, it was late afternoon and Kuroo was tidying up the bookshelves with something delicious simmering on the stove.

Kei peered into the pot. “Mountain apples?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, placing two more books back on their shelves. “Had a bunch lying around, thought I’d try my hand at those turnovers you like so much. As a treat. Or a thank you. Or whatever you want it to be.”

They had to talk about it: the fluttering in Kei’s chest and how he was meant to live in the hut out back but hadn’t in weeks. This thing they kept not saying about how the apprentices were off on their own now, and what that meant for certain other conversations had out in the garden, under pale moonlight with loose tongues.

Kei leaned back against the kitchen counter, hands braced on the edge. “Can’t wait. What do you have going on this afternoon?”

“Nothing, really. Yaku’s got these self-watering planters now and I’ve been thinking about applying the glyphs to the kitchen pots—wouldn’t that be neat? Self-watering kitchen pots, perpetual steamer baskets, endless kettles, blah blah blah? If you have time, I’d love your thoughts on it. Seems up your alley.”

The unknowing and witches alike would go ballistic. “Is that why you were repotting all of Yaku’s plants last night? To get a better look at those glyphs?”

Kuroo at least had the decency to look sheepish as he came to join Kei in the kitchen. “Might have been part of it.”

“Should’ve been the whole part, but you do you.”

“What can I say? I’ve been restless lately.”

Kei rolled his eyes at the garlic and herbs hanging upside-down to dry in the windows. “It’s okay to miss the apprentices, you know. I do. Their noise, their curiosity. How the world was more magical through their eyes. If you took more students, I wouldn’t mind.” Kei’s bravery swelled. Why had he been nervous? “And I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Kuroo’s smile went soft and lopsided. “Oh? Are you opening a door, then?”

“We always said that, right? That once it’s just us, we’ll talk about… everything. Well, let’s talk. Preferably before Yaku murders you for reorganizing his plants and making him drag your drunk ass home.”

“Like Yaku’s never had one too many and wound up needing bail.”

Kei would ask about that later. For now, though, he stayed on point. “I’m just saying if you felt like it’s one or the other, it’s not. I didn’t mean to make you think I wasn’t thinking about this whole thing between us, too.”

Kuroo bit his lip, considering Kei for a charged moment. “Are you doing that thing where you just talk crazy until I have mercy and leap to the end of the conversation?”

“Oh, don’t even, you’re the one who— mmpgh!”

Kuroo’s fingers tightened around Kei’s wrist and yanked, bringing their chests flush.

“I’m the one who what?” Kuroo asked with a husky timbre. He adjusted his hold to grab Kei’s hand and squeezed, just once, before lining up their fingers and letting them fall into a loose weave.

Kei had a thousand answers to this question. Kuroo was the one who always saw him best. Kuroo was the steady one; the passionate one; the endgame goal in Kei’s long journey. Someday, Kei would tell him that last part. Today, Kei closed the narrow gap between their lips and indulged a different question—one that had been lingering so long, Kei had started taking it for granted. Only seconds passed before Kuroo’s other hand was slipping across Kei’s back, drawing him close enough to feel Kuroo’s chest swell. Magic danced across Kei’s skin and tingled through his veins, gathering in his heart until Kei thought he might burst. Kuroo always did know how to make Kei feel effortless.

“Thought we were supposed to talk,” Kuroo said, his voice a whisper against Kei’s lips.

“We talk too much anyway.” There were so many better things to do with their time. More kissing—now that Kei knew the magic of it, he never wanted to let it go. He wanted days full of Kuroo’s explosions and shenanigans and silly attempts to make better cookware because he’d found a neat glyph. He wanted the workshop upstairs instead of the one out back. Evenings in the garden with homemade wine. To watch Kuroo pour his finest into the world around him.

“Guess I can’t get away with thinking about it more, huh?” Kei didn’t even want to. This was it, this was their moment.

“Nope.” Kuroo’s reply popped with good humor. He kissed Kei’s cheek and jaw, then settled his chin on Kei’s shoulder and sucked a heady breath through his teeth. “It’s too late now. You’ve got me.”

They were swaying together; Kei hadn’t noticed when it started. But the tempo of birdsong floated through the open window and curled tendrils up their legs, and Kei felt light as a dancer.

“Yeah, you’ve got me, too.”