Archive of Our Own

“Wanna go out with me this weekend?” Kuroo asks.

He pushes into Kenma’s direct view, casually sitting backwards in a chair that isn’t his. The mere presence of an impossibly tall, handsome third year scandalizes Kenma’s class almost every time he visits. Kenma can see them out of the corner of his eye, giggling and whispering to one another. To someone looking for upward social movement, the attention would have been delightful. Kenma, however, wishes Kuroo would just text and save him the notoriety.

Also, he is tired of telling all the girls in his class Kuroo is still single.

He looks up from his game. “Out?” Kenma asks in an unaffected tone.

“Yeah, Bokuto and Akaashi wanna go over to that outdoor rink in Midtown.” Without any prompting, Kuroo begins unwrapping the patterned bandana around Kenma’s forgotten lunch box. “Thought it might be fun if we go together,” he shrugs.

Kenma blinks. “Ice skating?” Outside of volleyball, his coordination is limited to his thumbs. Kuroo knows that.

“C’mon, it’s barely exercise. You move your feet a bit and the momentum does the rest,” Kuroo says and sets aside the lid of Kenma’s bento. He talks casually, downplaying the monumental leap he is asking of his friend. But he knows. Kuroo knows better than anyone and this is just his way of tapping on Kenma’s shell.

“It’ll also be fun if I stay home where it’s warm,” Kenma retorts.

Kuroo grins, something knowing and fond. “If you come out with me this weekend, I won’t ask for the rest of December. No adventures or outings whatsoever,” he says. And Kenma doesn’t entirely understand what he means or why he has a playful gleam in his eye.

Kenma sighs. “You’re weird.”

Kuroo offers Kenma his chopsticks. “So is that a ‘yes’?”

Kenma glances at the utensils, then at Kuroo. When he gives Kenma that smile — that expectant, excited grin he is so weak for — it’s hard for Kenma to outright refuse him. After a long moment, he clicks his console to sleep and puts it aside to take the chopsticks from his friend. He picks at the plum sitting atop a bed of rice. “It’s a maybe.”

And then ‘maybe’ turned to ‘yes’ when Kuroo knocked on his front door that Saturday.

Thus, Kenma’s present dilemma.

Kenma switches scarves for the sixth time and he doesn’t quite understand why it’s so important to him. It shouldn’t matter whether the scarf matches with his beanie or his jacket. It shouldn’t matter that it makes him look like he has no neck and is two inches shorter. The point of a scarf is to keep him warm. And yet he keeps fussing, standing in front of the mirror and switching between a deep red and a striped, slate gray; wrapping them around his neck as many ways as he can remember from a how-to video on Youtube.

He settles for red. It’s near Christmas and they’re going out to Roppongi, so Kenma decides to make an effort to be festive. Maybe it will make Kuroo happy. But if his friend makes one teasing comment, Kenma will march right back upstairs and switch to the gray.

He doesn’t know why they are going out in the first place. The idea of being a third and fourth wheel to Bokuto and Akaashi’s romantic winter night on the town is less appealing than running a marathon on a hot summer day. But Kuroo had seemed so excited at the prospect that Kenma found himself unable to fully say ‘no’.

He grabs the matching accessory to his scarf — a red and white knitted hat with a pompom stitched to the top — and gives himself a once over. He tugs at the hem of his hoodie, fiddles with a stray thread on his gloves, and generally just…fusses. Kuroo’s cackling laughter echoes from downstairs and an anxiousness begins to creep in on Kenma. He can feel it in his fingertips; like a tingle. But it’s neither bad, nor good. He just wishes it would stop.

“Kenma! You almost ready?” Kuroo calls.

Kenma doesn’t bother to respond. He just sighs, tugs his beanie down over his ears, and flips the lights before he heads down.

Kuroo is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, wearing a smile at the corners of his lips and a cable knit cardigan that looks more expensive than it probably is. It suits his broad shoulders and long torso and comes off as dressy; more sophisticated and mature than Kuroo’s usual athletic style. It’s a good look. One day — probably sooner rather than later — Kuroo will don a full suit for the first time and he’ll have to beat people away with a stick.

Kenma suddenly feels silly and childish with a pompom on top of his head.

Kuroo watches Kenma descend the stairs with a grin. Kenma stops a few steps from the first floor so he is the same height as his friend and waits for a mocking remark about his festive scarf and oversized sweater combo.

“You look cute,” Kuroo says.

The tingling in Kenma’s fingers is so distracting he has to ball his hands into fists. It isn’t an insult, so he isn’t immediately stomping up the stairs to change. But everything Kuroo says has a certain teasing element to it, so Kenma takes the compliment with a grain of salt.

“I’m not trying to look cute,” he says, half lying.

“That’s why you’re so cute,” Kuroo grins, “C’mon, we gotta get going or Akaashi will chew us out for being late.”

Maybe it’s because he’s gotten his way, or maybe it’s the spirit of the season, but Kuroo is bolder than usual. He beams a little wider; shines a little brighter. An effervescent bounce to his words flaunts his good mood. Kenma can’t even begin to be angry at it. A little flirtation always edges along Kuroo’s tone. He doesn’t mean anything by it. But a little part of Kenma wishes he did.

A little part of Kenma wishes for a lot of things.

Kenma’s mother comes into the entryway from the family room and says something Kenma doesn’t catch through the thick knit of his cap. Kuroo responds to her with a smile and a laugh. He gets along with Kenma’s parents far more than any high school student should; better than Kenma does. Kuroo comes and goes as he pleases in the Kozume household. Sometimes it’s strange to come home from the store and find his best friend chatting with his father in the kitchen. But Kenma is so used to the comfortable informality of it all — he wouldn’t want it any other way.

So it isn’t strange when Kenma’s mother takes Kuroo’s long black coat from the rack and helps him put it on. She does the same for Kenma with his down jacket, but she fusses over them both in different ways.

“I’ll have him back by ten at the latest,” Kuroo says, wrapping a scarf around his neck.

“Nine at the latest,” Kenma clarifies, looking sideways at his friend.

“Oh, one late night won’t hurt. You boys just have fun,” Kenma’s mother says. Kenma’s father pops his head through an open doorway and adds, “Tomorrow you can sleep in.”

Kuroo grins. Kenma does not.

The cold bites. He can see it in puffs of his own breath and in the stillness of the air. Some people think the winter is stark and beautiful. Kenma finds it bothersome. The chill sinks right into his bones the moment he steps foot outside and all his instincts want to herd him back into the house. But Kuroo waits at the end of the path just outside the open gate, looking so expectant and excited as he pulls a pair of faux fur earmuffs over his head. And Kenma’s brain pulls him in one direction, while his heart pulls him in another. Kenma takes his time to catch up and Kuroo is patient.

Kenma’s parents wave them off from the front door, seemingly delighted to live vicariously through their son’s social life.

“They don’t do that when it’s just me, you know,” Kenma says as he brushes passed and walks into the empty street. “They go overboard when you’re around.”

Kuroo’s long legs catch up with ease. “That’s because I’m their favorite son,” he gloats.

“It’s not like they’ve officially adopted you.”

“Well, they gave me a key. I’d say that’s pretty close.”

Kenma stops dead in his tracks at the end of the block. “They what?”

Kuroo reaches into his pocket and procures a key identical to the one in Kenma’s pocket. It looks small sitting in Kuroo’s big palm. “They said they wanted me to have it in case you forgot yours, or if there was an emergency,” he says.

“I can’t believe them.” Kenma shakes his head and continues walking — more like stalking — toward the train station. Now he can’t go home early. Kenma has to figure out how to gently ask his parents why they’ve gone mad.

Kuroo companionably bumps his shoulder. “Oh, don’t be so sour just because they love me more than you.”

“You can go ice skating with them then,” Kenma retorts.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I wanna go with you.”

And as they walk to the train station, their elbows occasionally brushing, they settle into their familiar rhythm. Some silence, some conversation. Their warm breath wisps through the air like smoke, mingling before disappearing into the night sky. Kenma likes the way Kuroo’s breath makes individual puffs when he laughs. He does so more than usual, overeager to have a good time, and it puts Kenma at ease.

He mostly forgets about the key business.

As they wait for the train together, Kenma feels less cold with Kuroo by his side.He wonders how warm he would be if Kuroo held his hand or slung an arm over his shoulder and held him close.

The train car is moderately crowded. Kuroo could put a seat between them like he normally does for the sake of his long legs, but instead he sits right against Kenma. Kenma can’t feel his warmth through the layers of clothes, but the pressure makes him hyper aware of how they touch. How the sides of their thighs line up and how Kuroo’s shoulder is at a perfect height for Kenma to tilt his head and take a nap. He does not.

Instead, he does the usual when he wants to drown out the noise of the train and the distraction of so many people, and procures his console from his pocket. Kenma had contemplated leaving it at home. But it wasn’t like he needed to put on airs and give Kuroo his full attention. They don’t talk much on trains anyway, to keep from bothering other passengers. He boots up the game and continues where he left off. Kuroo quietly watches over Kenma’s shoulder. He feels so much closer than usual, Kenma thinks. If the train had to make a sudden stop and lurched, their cheeks would surely brush.

The train races along its track without a hitch.

Kuroo taps Kenma’s knee on the stop before theirs. Kenma puts away his game, they stand, and Kenma steels himself for the nightlife rush.

No matter where they go, eyes are drawn to Kuroo. His height alone makes him a target, but Kenma imagines his roguish handsomeness also has something to do with it. It works in Kenma’s favor because he moves relatively unseen, using his best friend to part the crowd and as a lightning rod for attention. He keeps close to Kuroo’s side without actually latching on, like a remora to a shark; his head down, hair blocking most of the crowd from his view. Kuroo keeps his eyes up, constantly aware of their surroundings. Kenma wonders if Kuroo knows people look at him like they do.

It’s warmer in Midtown than the street where they live. Or maybe all the liveliness deceives Kenma’s senses. He picks his head up enough to take in all the lights and tall buildings, so bright against the dark night. Almost every building they pass has some holiday cheer — a big, decorated tree; meters and meters of green garland; twinkling lights; some abstract bauble art that could maybe pass for a Christmas-like structure. It’s...nice, actually.

Kenma presses his shoulder against Kuroo’s arm as they walk and he chances a look to the sky. His eyes follow the skyline, imagining jumping from building to building unseen by the crowds below. He imagines drifting through the streets in a flashy, red car, dodging the civilians and taxis in a street race. He imagines —

“Hey hey hey!”

Kenma comes back down to Earth.

Bokuto waves his arms high above his head, beaming from ear to ear. He wears the brightest down jacket Kenma has ever seen. At his side, Akaashi — looking rather cozy in neutral colored layers of sweaters — just smiles and nods. Bokuto’s energy is exhausting for Kenma. Akaashi moves at a better speed for him.

Behind them, a temporary ice rink has been constructed for the winter season. Bathed in blues and purples on a backdrop of the city lights and glittering winter trees, the rink should be every person’s winter wonderland dream. The perfect Christmas activity. But Kenma just sees all the people and the kids falling over and the uncoordinated adults holding onto the side railings for dear life and he thinks: why am I putting myself through this?

“You ready for some skatin’?” Bokuto says as Kenma and Kuroo approach. “We’re gonna outskate you two for sure! Gonna run laps around you both!”

“It’s not a racing track, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi quietly reminds him.

“Well, not with that attitude it isn’t,” Bokuto retorts.

“I’d love to see you bowl over a few kids tonight, so knock yourself out,” Kuroo says. Fukurodani’s ace aims a childish face in his direction.

Akaashi turns to Kenma. “It’s good to see you again. Glad Kuroo could convince you to come out with us,” he says. A look passes between Kuroo and Akaashi that Kenma doesn’t quite understand. A little gremlin in the back of his mind can’t help but wonder if this is all part of a big prank; that maybe Kuroo invited Kenma out so the three of them could laugh at him as he stumbled over himself on the ice.

“Yeah, he showed up at my door tonight and I couldn’t get him to go away,” Kenma says, dryly.

“You’re making it sound like I forced you to come!” Kuroo objects.

Like the master of de-escalation he is, Akaashi smiles lightly and says, “Well, whatever the circumstance. I’m glad you’re here. I think we’re going to have fun tonight.” And the response is so graceful that Kenma really doesn’t have any counter to it. “Have either of you ice skated before?”

Kuroo nods, “Once or twice, when I was a kid.”

“No, never,” Kenma answers. There’s a gleam in Kuroo’s eye that Kenma can’t quite place.

“Well then, get ready for either a sore butt or a scraped knee. ‘Cause one of those is probably gonna happen,” Bokuto says, like both are a badge of honor. Kenma gives Kuroo some side eye.

“Don’t scare him,” Akaashi chides.

“Alright, enough small talk! Let’s go!” Bokuto says, punching the air.

They stand in line together and Kuroo and Bokuto immediately get into a light hearted argument regarding whether or not spearmint or peppermint is the better mint flavor. Akaashi asks Kenma a few easy, smalltalk questions. And when they get up to the booth, Kuroo pulls Kenma up with him. They give the woman behind the counter their shoe sizes. “It’ll be faster if we get them together,” Kuroo says, pulling out his wallet.

The logic is sound. Still, Kenma says, “Okay, I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo says. The woman returns with two pairs of skates and Kuroo hands Kenma the smaller set. “Since I forced you to come out tonight, it’s the least I can do.” His best friend grins. In the cool ice rink glow, Kuroo is even more charming than usual. Kenma can’t help but smile a little in return.

The foursome sit down in a cluster on some benches to lace up their rented skates. There’s some boasting on Bokuto’s part — something about how he almost played ice hockey instead of volleyball but was deemed too aggressive for contact sports by his youth coach — but spirits are high. People all around them are laughing, an instrumental Christmas jingle playing from the speakers above sets the mood, and Kuroo’s got a smile as big and bright as Tokyo Tower. As Kenma wiggles into his first skate, he thinks the whole ordeal wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Kenma quietly observes as Bokuto stands, confident on his blades, and offers a hand to Akaashi for support. With the softest smile Kenma has ever seen him make, Akaashi takes Bokuto’s hand.

“See ya on the ice, slowpokes,” Bokuto says to Kuroo. Even when he’s making fun, it’s hard to dislike him. It’s just the natural way of Bokuto’s disposition. They take to the rink and Akaashi stumbles a bit, but Bokuto holds him steady. Kenma feels like he has missed an important development.

“Are they...together?” Kenma asks Kuroo.

Kuroo looks up from where he’s bent over, double knotting his last skate. “I mean, kind of I think. They’re figuring it out.”

“Hm. Taken long enough.”

“Yeah, it really has,” Kuroo nods, eyes lingering on Kenma.

“Only so many hints Akaashi can make.”

“He could’ve made the first move if he wanted,” Kuroo says, “Instead of waiting for Bokuto to finally come around.” His words feel slightly double edged, but Kenma can’t place why.

Kenma shrugs. “I guess.” Like hell he would ever go out on that limb himself. Kenma had no intentions of sabotaging his and Kuroo’s friendship. His sense of self preservation is stronger than most.

Kuroo is quiet for a few seconds. He’s done with his skates while Kenma still struggles with his own. He turns over his shoulder and looks out at the semi-crowded rink, watching Bokuto turn and glide backwards, pulling Akaashi along with both hands. “Bokuto’s about as dense as they come, but I know for a fact that he’s liked Akaashi longer than Akaashi has liked him,” Kuroo says.

Kenma freezes. “No way.” He’s been watching Akaashi pine for Bokuto for as long as he’s known them. It was borderline embarrassing; how Akaashi would go out of his way to please Fukurodani’s ace.

“It’s true,” Kuroo insists, “Bokuto told me himself. He’s been crying to me about Akaashi for ages. He’s not this open book like you think. He’s got his secrets.”

Kenma looks over his shoulder. Bokuto wears a ridiculous, dopey smile. Kenma really can’t imagine his empty head is harboring that many secrets.

“You’re gonna break your ankle if you go out there on those,” Kuroo says and brings Kenma’s attention back. Kuroo slides off the bench and kneels in front of Kenma. His heart skips two beats. Kuroo unties then begins tightening Kenma’s laces. “They have to be pretty snug. Has to give you enough support. Too much room and you’ll wobble around and end up rolling your ankle if your blade slips.”

“What are you, an expert now?” Kenma watches the top of Kuroo’s head. “I can do it myself, you know.”

“It’s fine. I’m already down here,” Kuroo shrugs.

One day, a long time ago, their dynamic switched. Kenma used to watch over Kuroo. He would invite Kuroo over for dinner when Kuroo’s father would be working late. He would be the listening ear whenever Kuroo was brimming with frustration. He could read Kuroo’s moods like no other. Kenma could tell when Kuroo was itching to play volleyball, when he preferred to stay in and play games, and when he wanted to just sit in the same room together and relax. Kenma can still read him, mostly.

But then, it switched. Kuroo became Kenma’s keeper; making sure he ate, slept, and was well cared for when he fell ill (which was more often than Kenma liked to admit). It felt like he was paying Kenma back ten fold. Like he was consolidating a debt with interest. And, in most ways, that suits Kenma just fine.

“Alright. Good to go,” Kuroo says and lifts his head to grin up at Kenma. Kenma’s glad his hat is covering his ears because he is sure they turn bright red.

“Thanks.”

Kenma, much to his own surprise, is much better at ice skating than he anticipates. The first couple of strides are difficult. It’s very unlike rollerblading because his blades feel like they could slide every which way with the slightest wrong move or hesitation. But as he gets used to the feeling of weightlessness and stops accidentally dragging the toe pick whenever he lifts his leg, Kenma glides along with novice confidence. He moves leisurely and slow, letting the momentum carry him like Kuroo said before. When he completes the first lap without a single stumble or a fall, Kenma feels relatively proud of himself.

It is Kuroo that has the problem.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, this was so much easier when I was a kid,” Kuroo complains when Kenma skates up beside him. His best friend’s hands grip the side railing and his legs wobble. It’s the first time Kenma has seen a lack of physical confidence from him. His natural athleticism puts him at an advantage in most sports. Apparently, he’s met his match.

“Your center of gravity has changed drastically since then,” Kenma remarks.

Bokuto glides by. “Oh-ho, having some trouble there?”

Kuroo sneers. He loses focus for just a second, one leg slips out from underneath him, and Kuroo’s backside lands flat against the cold ice with a flail of limbs. Bokuto’s laughter rings loud and clear from another part of the rink.

“Dammit,” Kuroo mumbles, quickly trying to pull himself back up.

There’s something cute about Kuroo’s frustration and helplessness. Maybe it’s his scrunched nose or the grumbling under his breath or his quiet indignation, but it reminds Kenma of a younger Kuroo. It’s not often that Kuroo finds himself out of his depth. Kenma skates over, braces one hand on the railing, and worlessly offers the other to his best friend.

Their dynamic has temporarily switched back.

Kuroo takes Kenma’s hand, sighing as if it wounds his pride to do so. “I’ll get the hang of it in a second,” he says, defensively.

He doesn’t. For every small stumble Kenma makes, Kuroo makes three. At first, Kenma leaves Kuroo to his own devices, because his helping hand seems to frustrate Kuroo even more. But after watching Kuroo slip and fall half a dozen times, Kenma stays by his side. He helps him up when he falls and steadies his best friend with a cautious hand. In the end, the situation works in Kenma’s favor. With his whole focus on keeping Kuroo upright, Kenma forgets about the throngs of people skating alongside them. He forgets about his own trepidation because Kuroo has it so much worse. And, most importantly, he has a reason to hold Kuroo’s hand.

Kuroo’s palm is big and warm, long fingers wrapping most of the way around the back of Kenma’s smaller hand. Nekoma’s captain doesn’t even seem to notice what they’re doing when his eyes are so fixed on his feet. So Kenma cashes in. It’s not the full thing, not when they’re wearing gloves and he can’t feel the warmth of Kuroo’s skin. But it’s more than he’s had in a long time. It gives him a reason to be patient and not just skate away and leave Kuroo to figure things out on his own.

They skate. Kuroo falls. They skate some more. Kuroo goes off the track and into the railing. Bokuto and Akaashi fly by. They skate. Kuroo stumbles, but catches himself. He gets better in tiny increments, but not by much.

What finally breaks his determined, yet dwindling resolve is a child. An overzealous little girl who whizzes by and accidentally knocks Kuroo off balance. She apologizes as she skates away, unaware of the disaster she has just set in motion.

Kuroo’s eyes go wide as he does a half spin. He flounders, skates sliding back and forth uncontrollably. Finally, he careens backward like a chopped tree. And in his panic, Kuroo grabs a fistful of Kenma’s festive scarf and pulls him down to the same fate. Kenma goes easily; his own body weight and balance aren’t anywhere near enough to support the both of them.

And in a perfect world, it would work out like it did in the dramas Kenma guiltily binge watches when he can’t even be bothered to press buttons. They would fall to the ground in a precarious position; something completely unfit for even the boldest displays of public affection. But both of them would be fine. Kenma would have enough strength to look up into Kuroo’s eyes and they would share a moment. In slow motion. The trees would sparkle a little brighter. They would both be paralyzed as the frame around them frosted over and the credits started to roll, showing their graceful fall and lovestruck faces from seven different angles followed by a preview of the next week’s episode.

But they are not characters in a drama. They are just Kuroo and Kenma.

And when they gracelessly fall — limbs tangled, cursing underneath their breath so the children nearby can’t hear — they land in an unattractive heap on the ice. Even worse, Kenma’s knee drops soundly on Kuroo’s crotch.

Kuroo doesn’t make a sound for the first few seconds while he processes the pain. His body stills, his jaw tenses, and he curls in on himself before letting out a sharp and heavy breath of air. Kenma skitters back as fast as he can. “S-Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t — Are you okay?” It’s a dumb question on Kenma’s part because Kuroo is clearly not okay. With the room Kenma gives him, Kuroo rolls over and away from the crowd so he can purse his lips, grimace, and groan.

Kenma wants to go home immediately. He wants to make sure Kuroo is okay, give back his skates, and take the first train back to their neighborhood because the shame and embarrassment he feels is downright oppressive. People are looking their way. It makes him nauseous. Though surely not as nauseous as Kuroo must feel.

Bokuto and Akaashi come skating over a moment later, looking genuinely concerned.

“Geez, guys, what happened?” Bokuto asks, acting a far cry from his earlier attitude.

Kuroo moans.

Kenma pulls his beanie down over his head further, as if it could hide him. “We fell and I — Well — I hit him, you know — Down there.”

Bokuto and Akaashi react with varying levels of sympathy, alarm, and pity. “Kuroo, are you okay?” Akaashi asks.

Kuroo sits up; face a cold, granite slab. He doesn’t look at Kenma and that makes him feel worse. “I think I — I need to sit down for a sec,” he groans out, a little garbled.

The three help him to his feet and over to the railing opening on the sidelines. Kenma waves his friends away. “You guys just keep going. I’ll stay with him,” he says. It’s the least he can do before he puts his tail firmly between his legs and runs home, dishonored.

“You sure? We can take a break and — ”

Kuroo is the one to cut Bokuto off. “It’s fine. We’ll be back out there in a sec,” he says, hobbling to the nearest bench. “Just can’t — ” He groans as he lowers himself down. “ — Recover from a nut check sitting on a crowded skating rink.”

Kenma, Bokuto, and Akaashi look at one another before Akaashi nods and pulls Bokuto back on the rink. Kenma hesitates, head ducked, and wonders if he should even sit next to his friend. Eventually, he does. Though he does leave a foot between them and keeps his legs fixed together just in case Kuroo is feeling vindictive enough to give him the same treatment.

Kenma clasps his hands together, starts anxiously chewing on the inside of his lip, and waits. Kuroo grips the edge of the bench, keeps his legs parted, and lets his head hang down as he steadily breathes in and out. He’s not so unaware to cradle himself in public, but Kenma is sure that he wishes he could. They are used to the silence between them, but this is so much worse.

“Hell, Kenma,” Kuroo finally says, looking out at the rink in front of them and not his friend. “You really did a number on me.”

Kenma wants to crawl under a rock for an age. Maybe he’ll never come out again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” he defended.

“I know you didn’t but, damn, you really couldn’t have had better aim.” Kuroo turns and the tongue-in-cheek grin on his face tells Kenma that all has already been forgiven. But the tightness of his lips and quickly blinking eyes give away his continuing nausea. He looks back out at the people skating.

“I could’ve gotten you with both my knees,” Kenma offers. If a bit of conversation distraction is what Kuroo needs, Kenma will make that happen. To ease his own consciousness as well as Kuroo’s pain.

“Then you’d have to take me to the hospital.”

“If you weren’t so bad at ice skating, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

“That girl basically tripped me on purpose.”

“She did not.”

“I was doing great before that.”

“I think your fifty bruises would say otherwise.”

“Not fifty bruises,” Kuroo insisted. He paused before finishing his thought, “More like forty.”

Kenma looks back out over the rink. He feels a little bit better, but he still wrings his hands in his lap.

“Don’t leave,” Kuroo says, like Kenma’s personal mind reader. Like he knows exactly how Kenma operates and how he would react. It’s a little bit infuriating and a little bit comforting all at the same time. When Kuroo turns to look at him, the sincerity of his expression pins Kenma to the bench. “I know that wasn’t the best thing that could’ve happened, but it’s fine. I’ll be fine. Everyone out there has probably forgotten it already and the only one who’s gonna give you trouble is Bokuto. And he’s harmless and has the memory of a fruit fly.”

Kuroo really shouldn’t be the one to comfort Kenma. Not when he had to personally go through the shame of writhing on the floor of a crowded ice rink after getting knocked down in the most painful and humiliating way possible.

Kenma shuffles his still bladed feet, eyes darting across the wet, icy carpeting. He weighs his nauseating embarrassment against the guilt of abandoning Kuroo.

“I’ll stay,” he decides, “Since I messed this all up in the first place.”

He can see Kuroo’s shoulders relax out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks.”

Out on the ice, Bokuto and Akaashi continue to skate in circles, sometimes hooking a few fingers together and sometimes Bokuto races ahead in some weird effort to impress his teammate. Slash boyfriend. Whatever they are. Sometimes they check on Kuroo and Kenma as they pass, waving with smiles. There’s an ease and playfulness to their connection (mostly on Bokuto’s part) that Kenma is somewhat envious of. He’s too grounded to have what they have; too practical and unyielding. Romance and merriment are for other people.

“Hey,” Kuroo says, “If you wanna make it up to me, I could use some green tea.” He nods his head toward a temporary booth on the other side of the benches.

Because he’s feeling guilty, and because Kuroo paid for ice skating, Kenma wordlessly goes. He hesitates at first, unsure how to navigate the small crowd gathered. But an older woman behind the register notices him and takes pity, calling out for him to step up and order. Kenma returns with two small cups warming his hands. He feels moderately proud for braving the situation by himself.

He offers a cup to Kuroo and the black haired teenager takes it with a smile. “Thanks.”

Kenma nods. He sits across from Kuroo so he doesn’t have to keep watching Bokuto and Akaashi having an inordinate amount of fun without them.

“What did you get?” Kuroo asks.

“Coffee.”

“That’s gonna keep you awake all night.”

Kenma looks at Kuroo, blankly.

His friend shrugs and crosses his legs. A good sign. “Though I guess that’s no different than any other night. You really need to get better sleep.”

“More sleeping means less gaming,” Kenma says, like it’s the simplest known fact of the universe. He takes a tentative sip from his cup. For cheap coffee, the flavor is nice. And the temperature is perfect.

“You’re hopeless.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult when it comes from Kuroo. He says it with a gentle pensiveness, like he is more mesmerized by Kenma’s stubborn traits than annoyed. His gaze is fond, watching Kenma through heavily lidded eyes. Kenma doesn’t know how to react. So Kenma just pretends Kuroo isn’t acting weird and continues sipping his coffee, wondering how most people would continue along this strange line of conversation.

Shouyou pops into Kenma’s head. Karasuno’s peppy middle blocker is a little ray of sunshine and he’s charismatic and personable. He makes friends at the drop of a hat and people like him. What would Shouyou say?

Kenma looks at Kuroo’s faux fur earmuffs and says, “You look like you have gerbils fixed to the sides of your head.”

It would have sounded much cuter coming from Shouyou, but he’s committed.

Kuroo chokes on his tea.

“This is fashionable, Kenma,” he weakly argues. But concedes with a sigh, “And they were also the only ones in the store. Decided to give them a try rather than have my ears fall off. The long hairs kinda tickle though. Like, inside.” Kuroo points to his head.

Kenma cradles his coffee with both hands. “The fake fur is tickling your ear holes?”

“Don’t say it like that, that sounds creepy.”

“You’re the one who started talking about hairs tickling your holes.”

“Kenma.”

He doesn’t make jokes often, but when he does, Kenma has an offbeat sense of humor. Kuroo understands though and he grins through his shock at Kenma’s choice of words. Kenma smiles down at his coffee. He feels good. The mood is back up, Kuroo seems okay, and they aren’t falling over every ten seconds or getting badgered by their friends.

So, of course, it can’t last.

A small gaggle of university students pass between Kuroo and Kenma on their way to the exit, taking up more space than necessary and forcing Kenma to fold his legs in against the bench. They talk loud and excitedly, clearly buzzed on something. One of them turns quickly to laugh back at his friend and the camera on a strap in his hand swings wide.

It knocks the coffee out of Kenma’s hands. The lid pops off when it hits his chest and the contents spill all over his red scarf and down jacket. Kenma stands on instinct, leaning over so the hot liquid drips to the ground and not all over his pants. At first, he just stares down at his ruined clothes, too stunned to take action.

“Oh shit,” one of the guys says.

“Damn, is the camera okay?” the second says.

Kuroo is on his feet a second later. “Hey, what’s your problem?”

The offending young man with the camera scoffs. “Chill man, it was an accident.”

“Still, you should apologize at least,” Kuroo insists.

The first one laughs a little, turning his beady eyes on Kenma. “It’s just a scarf and a hot chocolate. What? You want us to buy you another one, kid? C’mon, we’ll get you another hot chocolate.”

Kenma swallows hard. Even with his eyes down and hair shielding his face, he senses Kuroo’s temper building like a wildfire. Kuroo lurches forward — he’s much more confident on his skates than before — and Kenma reaches an arm out to grab his black, wool coat. Kuroo stills.

“It’s okay, Kuro,” Kenma says, voice quiet and small.

“Kenma, they — ”

Kenma’s yellow, cat-like eyes look up at Kuroo; a warning. A plea. “Don’t make a scene.” It’s the last thing Kenma needs after the skating fiasco. He can already sense attention turning their way; eyes and heads turning to look at him. He wants to shrink again.

“Yeah, Kuro, don’t make a scene,” one of the university students mocks, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. His friends laugh, ugly and mean, and Kenma feels it in his bones. Kuroo grinds his teeth and clenches his hands into fists to keep from flying off the handle. But he does what Kenma wants. He stays still and doesn’t talk back.

“C’mon guys, let’s get outta here,” the guy with the camera says. They turn and leave, kicking Kenma’s empty coffee cup as they go.

As eyes and heads turn away, Kenma feels an overwhelming sense of relief. He feels less paralyzed and can finally assess the damage. Thankfully, he isn’t burned because his winter clothes covered anywhere the hot coffee touched. His down jacket is waterproof so that is fine as well. But his nice red scarf is beyond repair. The coffee has set in deep, muddying the vibrant color and Kenma knows if he keeps it on, the milk will start to go bad and smell. Regretfully, he takes it off and tosses it in the nearest trash.

“Hey, don’t do that, you can wash it,” Kuroo says.

“Not worth the effort,” Kenma says, numbly. But really, it’s dirty in more ways than one. If he keeps it, just looking at the scarf will remind Kenma of bullies and unfair sneers. That’s why he really throws it away.

He picks up the napkin that came with Kuroo’s tea and wipes down the front of his jacket. Kuroo just watches, looking particularly helpless.

Bokuto comes flying through the rail opening, awkwardly jogging in his skates for the first few meters of carpet to bring his body back down to normal speed. He sidles up to Kuroo and Kenma with his hands on his hips, a little breathless. “Hey, you guys gonna come back out?” he asks. Akaashi comes in from the rink a few moments later, face flushed pink from the cold.

Bokuto’s cheer is not what Kenma needs, so he says nothing as he continues to clean himself off.

Kuroo answers for both of them, “I think… I think we might be done skating. I’m, uh, pretty sore to be honest.”

Kenma softens a little as he tosses the used napkin in the trash. He appreciates the lie.

Bokuto lets out a big dramatic noise, somewhere between a sigh and a cry of anguish. Akaashi smacks him with the back of his hand. “Fine, fine, we can be done,” Bokuto deflates and hobbles to a bench to take off his skates.

“Why don’t we grab some dinner?” Akaashi suggests.

Kenma is relieved to put the crowded ice rink behind them. With two fewer catastrophic events and a smaller crowd, he might have actually enjoyed skating. Unfortunately, his first experience will be forever marred by Kuroo’s pained expression and a scarf forever lost. It will take Kenma some time to recover and he wonders if going out to eat in an undoubtedly busy Roppongi restaurant is the best thing for his mental state. But he made a Kuroo he intends to keep.

And when they walk down a street lined with barren trees glowing with icy blue lights, Kenma thinks he’ll be okay. He keeps to Kuroo’s side, tailing close behind Bokuto and Akaashi, and decompresses as he watches the lit branches float by above him. There is something magical to some real life experiences that games can’t reproduce, no matter how hard they try. It’s the tangibleness of it all. The cold wisping across his neck and seeping into his clothes, the gentle murmurings of couples who pass by, the all encompassing experience of it. Kenma doesn’t like the cold, but he likes what it does to the atmosphere. Like an appropriate gust of wind in a winter scene. Until VR can successfully replicate all the senses — which will happen sooner rather than later — there are just some things games can’t compete with.

Games also don’t have Kuroo.

Their hands brush once — twice, and that’s just coincidence and not Kuroo deciding whether or not to make a move — and Kenma tries to forget about it.

When they arrive at the restaurant front, Kenma becomes noticeably hesitant. It’s some casual western-style eatery with big windows and decked to the nines in holiday cheer. But through the big, beautiful windows, Kenma can see a lot of people. At tables, at the bar, people mingling around, waiters bustling back and forth, and even some people spilling out from the double doors of a holiday party in what appears to be a private room off to the side

“This place has got rave reviews. Been wanting to try it for a while,” Bokuto says, approaching the podium where the host stands.

Kuroo just has to glance at Kenma to see the anxiety forming in his head. He acts fast. “This place looks jammed, we’ll never get in.”

Even Akaashi notices. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

The suggestions go right over Bokuto’s head. “No way! We came all the way here. Let’s at least ask,” he says. He turns to the host and asks about a table.

And, as Kenma’s bad luck would have it, they have one, four person table available. “Perfect!” Bokuto claps his hands.

“Hey, Kenma, are you okay with — ” Kuroo starts, but Kenma cuts him off. With his building anxiety and the mounting stress, Kenma is already on edge. So when he tersely insists, “It’s fine”, he doesn’t actually mean it. He just suddenly has no patience for being babied. Kuroo backs off immediately.

But he should have let Kuroo baby him. Because the moment Kenma steps foot in the busy restaurant, his senses are on fire. It’s warm and loud with so many people talking over one another and the clatter and clink of plates. Brassy, jazz Christmas music blares over the speakers. It smells like sweaty people, fire, and cinnamon. Kenma gets separated from the group on the way to the table when two drunk businessmen unknowingly step in his way. He sneaks behind one of them almost completely unseen, but gets knocked in the head by one of their elbows.

When he sits down at the table next to Kuroo and across from Akaashi, Kenma tells himself he’s going to be okay. Kuroo knocks his leg against Kenma’s knee and Kenma thinks their little table could be his sanctuary.

“I’ve heard this is crazy good,” Bokuto says, pointing to something on the menu.

“That does sound good,” Akaashi agrees.

The restaurant noise gets louder. A waiter comes by to take drink orders and Kenma isn’t ready. And when he finally does croak out ‘water’, the server can’t hear him and Kuroo has to answer for him.

The two women at the table next to them are talking about an affair one of them is having.

At the table on the other side, someone is incessantly tapping their knife against the side of their plate.

Kenma barely registers his leg starting to jump.

“You gonna look at the menu, Kenma?” Kuroo asks.

“Yeah,” Kenma says, on instinct, and opens the pamphlet in front of him. He can read the words, but it’s hard for him to comprehend what he’s looking at.

A waiter accidentally knocks him on the shoulder.

Kenma feels sweat drip down his neck. He’s forgotten to take off his jacket.

It’s so loud.

“Kenma, are you okay?”

His heart pounds in his ears.

Ugly laughter.

There are too many people.

“Kenma, you don’t look so good.”

He swallows and his mouth is impossibly dry.

Kenma feels like he might throw up.

It’s so loud.

“Kenma?”

Suddenly, he stands. It’s dizzying. He registers the look of alarm on his friend’s faces, but misses Kuroo’s. “I — I n-need some air,” he says and his eyes immediately find the nearest exit sign on the back wall of the restaurant.

Kenma doesn’t care who he pushes out of the way as he wades through the crowd. His focus is singular. He goes through a wide, open doorway into a hall and follows it. He passes a set of bathrooms, some women waiting to use said bathrooms, and a swinging door to the kitchen where he can hear people shouting, the sizzle of food in pans, and the smack of metal on metal. He turns at the dead end, passes a janitorial closet, and suddenly there’s a door on his right that leads to the outside.

He emerges in an alleyway. A cold, dark, but quiet back alley where there are no people. Just a stoop, a dumpster, a streetlamp, and a steaming vent in the road.

Kenma shifts to the side of the platform, wraps a hand around some rusted railing, fixes his eyes on a crack in the wall across the way, and breathes in deep. The trash nearby doesn’t smell great, but the air is thinner than the breathable soup inside the restaurant. He breathes in and out slowly, like his mother had instructed him time and time again. The rhythm is shaky, but he’ll get there.

A minute or two later, the door behind him opens.

“Hey,” comes Kuroo’s voice. A pause and then, “Need me to do anything?”

Kenma shakes his head.

“Do you want me to go back inside?” he asks.

Kenma hesitates, imagines being alone, and then shakes his head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

The blond nods, slowly.

Kuroo steps forward into Kenma’s line of sight. He avoids touching Kenma or making any unnecessary movements. He goes a few steps down and sits on the platform, letting his arms rest on his knees easily. Kenma continues his breathing. He actively tries to steady his heartbeat. Occasionally, he glances over at the back of his friend’s head to make sure he’s still there.

The process takes some time, but Kenma is glad he ran out when he did. His state could have been much worse.

Finally, when he can hear, think, and feel more clearly, Kenma says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Kuroo checks.

“Yeah.”

Kuroo nods. Over his shoulder, Kenma sees he’s playing with a loose thread on his gloves. The black haired teen breathes in deep and says, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Kenma.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” It’s what Kenma is supposed to say.

“It kind of is,” Kuroo insists, looking over his shoulder briefly. His honesty is one of the things Kenma really likes about him and it comes off him in droves. But the sight of Kenma seems to upset him and he shifts to put his eyes forward again.

“This was supposed to be — This was all supposed to work out very differently. In my head, it was perfect,” Kuroo says, “I was supposed to help you like ice skating and we were supposed to warm our hands on a cup of coffee and have a nice dinner out with friends. That’s how all of this was supposed to go. And at the end of the night, I was supposed to kiss you under mistletoe. Which would just magically appear, I don’t know.”

The mention of kissing and mistletoe jumpstarts Kenma’s heart again. For a brief moment, he thinks he might just be slipping for a completely different reason. But his brain keeps him focused on Kuroo’s words when his heart is just...erratic, to put it lightly.

“Instead, I’m covered in bruises, you’ve lost a scarf, and we’re sitting in a dirty alleyway because I didn’t have the guts to tell Bokuto that we should go somewhere else,” Kuroo says. He pulls the loose thread out from his glove almost violently and tosses it aside. “I’m a really rotten date.”

Kenma wonders if hallucinations are a side effect of anxiety attacks.

“This… is a date?” he asks.

“Well, if you’re giving me an out then no, no this isn’t a date. You didn’t just go on the worst date in history.” Kuroo makes a frustrated, garbled sound and throws his hands in the air “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that tonight was a disaster or you not realizing this was a date.”

Kenma feels like he’s going mad. He stares at the back of Kuroo’s head with wide eyes. He goes through the night in his mind’s eye from start to finish. From the ‘you look cute’ to Kuroo standing up for his honor to Kuroo almost holding his hand underneath the lights. And then, to this moment, on a stoop, next to a dumpster, in the dark. Suddenly, all the pieces click in Kenma’s mind. But instead of the ecstasy he imagined to feel when Kuroo finally liked him back, Kenma is ripe with indignation.

“You should’ve said this was a date,” Kenma says.

Kuroo turns on him with a similarly exasperated expression. “Was, ‘wanna go out with me?’ not enough?”

“Well, Bokuto and Akaashi were coming. I thought we were just hanging out.”

“It’s a double date. A double date.”

“It really isn’t if one of the four people doesn’t know it’s a double date.”

“You need to learn to read between the lines.”

“And you need to stop making assumptions,” Kenma concludes.

Kuroo snaps his mouth shut. Kenma thinks to himself, Great. First I hit him in the balls, then I spill coffee on myself, then I have an attack, and now we’re having a fight. A real knock out from start to finish.

Kenma is really not made for romance.

Kuroo turns around and looks at the wet, dirty gutter that runs through the street. “I should’ve never asked you to come tonight. I knew this was gonna be a lot,” he admits. “I just thought — I don’t know what I thought. Guess I was just being selfish, wanting to do things my way. I’m sorry.”

And then it really hits Kenma: that’s why he smiled so much. It’s why he dressed so nice and was so high spirited to begin with. Why he came over early to talk with Kenma’s parents and why he sat so close to Kenma on the train. It wasn’t the ice skating or the holiday or visiting Midtown at all. Kuroo was just excited for their first date. Kenma would have been excited too, had he known.

Had he known Kuroo likes him back.

The revelation sparks the strange, tingling sensation in his fingertips again. His legs are restless. He has an inexplicable urge to touch Kuroo. Instead, he steps down and sits on the platform next to his best friend.

“What would we have done if we didn’t come out tonight?” he asks. It isn’t a test. Kuroo has passed (mostly) everything Kenma has thrown at him with flying colors. But Kenma wants to know.

Kuroo’s brow furrows. “What?”

“What was the other date option?”

Kuroo sighs, “I didn’t really have a Plan B.”

“Make one up,” Kenma says.

Kuroo opens and closes his mouth a few times, thinking. He looks out in the middle distance. “I would have…” A smile spreads across his face. “I would have picked up some oden from the convenience store down the road and brought it to your house.”

“It’d be full of your favorites: daikon, chikuwa, hanpen, egg, shirataki. We’d share it. Fight over the last fish cake. Talk about whatever. I’d do my best to keep the volleyball mentions to a minimum. You could tell me about the games you wanna get to get you through the winter break.”

Kenma watches Kuroo with big, amazed eyes. It’s not the cheapness or the simpleness of the date, but the details. It’s that Kuroo knows so much about Kenma that he can come up with something like this on the fly. Strangely enough it feels a little...like a love confession. To know and be known so well by another person is the most flattering, intimate thing of all.

Kuroo continues, “Then, I’d convince you to take a walk with me so we can digest the food. And you’d probably whine about the cold, but we’d at least make it as far as the river so we could see the lights on the bridge. It’s not a big, fancy display. Just a community thing but... they’re nice.”

They are nice. Kenma likes those lights very much.

“And to make up for the cold, we’d stop by that night cafe you like. We’d get some apple pie. If you’re feeling up to it, we’d eat it there. In that corner table away from people. Or we’d sneak it up to your room so your mom doesn’t get mad that we’re having sugar so late. I’d watch you play something until I fell asleep on your bed. And you wouldn’t bother to kick me to the futon on the floor.” Surprisingly, there isn’t even a hint of suggestion in Kuroo’s voice.

Kenma lets Kuroo’s answer sink in a few moments, wondering why it wasn’t Plan A to begin with. “That sounds really nice,” he eventually says.

“Yeah, it just sounds a lot like what we usually do.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Kenma argues, “You don’t — You don’t have to prove anything to me, Kuro. Or to Bokuto or Akaashi. You don’t have to impress me or show us off to other people.”

“That’s what dating is, Kenma.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“I know, I know. But I want to impress you. Is that so ridiculous?” Kuroo asks. Then, he freezes, eyes wide and scared, but hopeful. “You said ‘us’.”

“Did I?” Kenma asks. “Guess so.”

It’s been years since Kenma has seen Kuroo truly act shy. He hides his insecurities well and he’s (almost literally) grown out of many of them. But when he looks down at the ground to hide his smile and chews on the inside of his cheek, Kenma catches a glimpse of a younger version of his best friend. The first Kuroo he came to love. He loves all versions but it is always nice to see an old friend.

As they sit in a comfortable silence on the restaurant’s dirty back stoop, a very decidedly unromantic location, Kenma feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

“I think I’m okay now,” he says. Kuroo nods.

Kenma feels happy. He feels ecstatic. As the remnants of his anxiety wear away and he lets the bad parts of the night fade, the gravity of what has just occurred dawns on him. It hits them both at the same time, Kenma thinks. Because the air between their bodies suddenly feels electrified. He’s acutely aware of how close every point of Kuroo’s body is to his own. How Kuroo’s fingers twitch and he lets his arms drop so their hands are closer together on the concrete steps.

But Kenma wants a little more than just holding hands. He feels emboldened, maybe a little high, when he happens to glance down and finds a lone pine sprig — probably fallen from one of the restaurant's many garlands when being installed — sitting on the stair next to him. He picks it up and regards it for a moment. Kenma doesn’t believe in magic, but he knows a good opportunity when he sees it.

As if possessed by the spirit of someone else, Kenma raises the pine sprig above their heads and says, “Mistletoe.”

Kuroo looks at the very obviously not mistletoe sprig and is stunned for all of two seconds before he takes Kenma’s face in his hands. And when Kenma feels Kuroo’s lips press against his own, he thinks all the bad moments of the night were probably worth it for that one kiss. No mistakes. No knocking noses, no copious amounts of spit, no interruptions. Just one, long, perfect kiss to end a very long, very bad evening. When they part, eyes half lidded and hearts pounding, they share a nervous laugh. Kuroo’s eyes sparkle like the lights on their neighborhood bridge and Kenma falls a little further.

“We just had our first kiss next to a dumpster,” Kuroo says, his hands slipping from Kenma’s blond locks.

Kenma shrugs. “I’ve seen worse dumpsters.”

A week later, Kuroo goes out to retrieve the mail. Waiting for him is the usual amount of envelopes plus a small package with no postage. It sits conspicuously among the bills and letters. Small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, the little gift is wrapped so carelessly in printed snowflake paper that Kuroo thinks it must be a gag gift from one of his teammates. But as he reads the tag attached, his heart leaps and Kuroo quickly flees back into the house and out of the cold.

to: Kuro, from: Kenma
so you don’t mix them up
and thanks
for the date

Kuroo drops the letters on the kitchen table and bounds up the stairs to his room, absconding with his package like it’s something illegal, something secret. He closes his door, sits on the end of his bed, and opens it with an unnecessary amount of ceremony.

Sitting in the open wrapping paper is a key cover in the shape of a cat’s head. The rubbery cat’s eyes look up at Kuroo. He’s mostly white with patches of light brown around its right eye and covering its little ears. It’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. It reminds him of Kenma in a strange way.

Kuroo falls back against the bed, staring at the gift for a few long moments and smiling to himself like a lovestruck fool. When Kuroo finally does get around to fitting it on the Kozume house key, it’s not an easy task to get it back on his main keyring.

It’s a good thing Kuroo never intends to give it back.