Chapter Text
Kenma and Kuroo meet on a rainy day of February at the cinema.
Kenma had always despised the rainy months following December, the magic of Christmas gone with the fairy lights and illuminations hung around the city and the novelty of snow and winter, wearing thicker jumpers and curling up under thick blankets had worn off by the end of January.
So, on that grey rainy day, when he finds himself disappointed with the dullness of reality, looking desperately through his university textbooks for meaning and answers about his life and future he knows he won’t find, he grabs his puffer jacket and leaves his flat.
The streets are wet, the light rain tapping on everything so fine it's not even worth grabbing an umbrella. The colored lights and the tall skyscrapers seem to be mocking Kenma, the bright neon outside of bars smudged, dull, musty. The people in the street walk past Kenma and look through him as if he is invisible, a see of people that from above must look like ants climbing on top of each other to reach food.
He enjoys going to the cinema alone, watching movies without an excited friend commenting the best parts in his ear or a lover disinterested in the plot that longs to kiss him.
He walks the careful line between watching movies to escape from the grey, squalid reality of Tokyo and avoiding the cinema altogether, knowing he will set himself up for disappointment as soon as he leaves the theatre and steps outside on the crowded pavement, where he'll go back to being another faceless individual wandering through wet streets with no aim.
So, he chooses a foreigner movie and he allows himself to be happy for two hours, gasping in awe at the dreamlike, lyrical elements of the movie, characters so happy their feet lift off the ground, cities so alive the buildings light up with different colours.
He gets to pretend for a couple of hours, he gets to stop everything and just be, float in a pocket of time that seems to stretch for months.
He sits for a while in the dark room even when everybody has left, preparing for the crushing disappointment he will feel when he leaves the cinema. With shaky legs he carries his tired bones out of the darkness.
Perhaps is the sleep deprivation imposed by his studies or the cold that has been sitting in his bones for days since his landlords turned off his heating or maybe even the sudden light after sitting in darkness for so long, but he does not see the figure coming in his direction and when they collide, he feels as if he has hit a wall.
He ends up on the floor with a grunt.
When he looks up, there is a man with dark messy hair, wearing a suit. He is tall and his shoulders are broad and judging from how hard Kenma has been sent on his butt on the floor, there are muscles under his expensive coat.
However, he cares for none of those things, when he meets his eyes.
They are a fascinating colour, difficult to pinpoint, between hazel and grey and they are desperate. It’s subtle, barely there, but there is a hint of sorrow in them, maybe in how they are slightly widened or maybe it’s the immeasurable sadness in them, but Kenma feels cold and tense, despite his heartbeat speeding up.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” mumbles politely the man, falling on his knees with no care for his expensive trousers.
“Are you okay?” he asks, resting a big hand on Kenma’s bony shoulder.
Are you? , he wants to ask, but it’s inappropriate, so freely investigating a stranger’s well-being, so he nods to buy some time, accepting the hand the other man offers him.
Now that they are both standing, Kenma realizes the stranger is even taller than he had thought, basically towering over him and that he is terribly handsome.
Maybe it’s the contrast of his sad eyes and unkempt stubble paired with the put together suit and red tie under the expensive coat, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and his trim waist that makes his breath catch. Or maybe something else, that inexplicable pull he feels towards a man he has just met.
Oddly enough, he reminds him of a fictional character: beautifully sad, terribly complex.
“I am fine. Sorry.” he apologizes, feeling like he is about to lose his balance again, when the man in front of him offers a half smile, one corner of his mouth lifting up as his eyes remain the same. Far from being lifeless, because of the immense pain he can see in them.
“No, it was really my fault, I was so excited after the movie I saw-“ starts the man, waving his hand around.
Kenma has the feeling he is older than him. He doesn’t look that much older but there is something, a heaviness curving his shoulders downwards in defeat one only usually finds in people that life has managed to toss around long enough to suck away their hopes and dreams.
“I truly didn’t see you, it must be the sleep deprivation or the fact that I haven’t eaten, making me woozy.” he cuts him off, wanting to leave as soon as possible, feeling tight in his own skin under the scrutiny of kind, sad eyes. In the process he reveals more than he should to a complete stranger.
“You haven’t eaten? All day?”
Kenma’s eyes snap up at him, weirdly unafraid of looking directly at him, something he usually despises, feeling anger simmer in his stomach.
Who is this random stranger to judge his life choices?
“Allow me to buy you something, I-“
Kenma wants to bite and scratch, lash out and tell him he doesn’t need his pity, help or money but before he has the chance to talk the man stops mid-sentence, his expression falling.
“Oh. It seems I have upset you.”
Kenma blinks, taken aback. He knows he kept his face carefully blank despite his fury and yet he is met with an apologetic smile and defeated eyes that suddenly avoid his. How can this random person read him so easily, like he has a direct path to his soul?
“I apologize. I should go.”
He nearly lets him. But then he notices trembling hands stuffed with haste in coat pockets and hunched shoulders and he realizes that perhaps he is not the one receiving charity.
“I suppose,” he straightens up, looking at the older man “considering you bumped into me and it was totally your fault,” he receives a small smile for the heavy sarcasm he uses there “I could allow you to buy me something. As an apology, of course.”
The result takes his breath away.
The man turns around with a smile that ignites something in him, before holding his arm out charmingly at Kenma.
“Shall we then?”
They eat something in the pastry shop of the cinema. Kenma finds out the man is called Kuroo Tetsurou and he nods with only little confusion when he is asked to call him Kenma rather than Kozume, but he stiffens when he calls him Kuroo-san, requesting to just be called Kuroo. The honorific seems to only make him distant more than uncomfortable but Kenma still settles for Kuro, since the nickname makes him smile enough to make wrinkles appear by his eyes.
Kenma thinks he probably used to do that a lot. Smile, that is. It just suits his face and his smile lines seem to just be made to be there.
Kuroo buys him apple pie with money he takes from an expensive leather wallet and for himself a croissant filled with yellow cream.
“So, you are here alone?” asks Kuroo, after a bite of his treat.
Kenma nods, drinking a sip of the tea he accepted to have with his apple pie.
“I dislike watching films in company.”
He waits for the confused look in Kuroo’s eyes but instead, when he looks up, all he sees is understanding and excitement.
“Me too! I struggle concentrating on the movie if I am in the company of somebody. I feel like I have to entertain them.”
Kenma raises his eyebrows, surprised at how he is nearly voicing his thoughts word for word.
They discuss movies of course and Kenma finds out Kuroo is truly a cinephile. He knows the Asians classics but he is knowledgeable of foreign movies as well and he seems to have a passion for those presented at the Festival of Cannes. Kuroo adores musicals while Kenma can’t stand them, so they have a discussion until they change subject and end up talking about Raise the Red Lantern and how it is one of their favourite movies.
“You talked about sleep deprivation,” says Kuroo at some point “what do you do?”
“Oh,” Kenma smiles “I am a university student.”
“What do you study?” he asks, clearly interested.
“Coding.”
Kuroo schools his surprised expression quickly but Kenma ends up chuckling anyway.
“You are surprised.”
“I am impressed. I shouldn’t be, however. I could tell you are terribly smart.”
Kenma’s cheeks heat up at the compliment, even more when Kuroo seems to catch up to what he has said and ends up blushing with him.
Kuroo licks the cream of his croissant off his finger, pink tongue darting out to lick his fingertip and Kenma has to look away, swallowing thickly. He asks a question to regain his footing.
“What about you?”
“I am an employee in an office.”
There is bitterness in his voice when he says it, but he softens his tone when he speaks up again.
“The company I work for produces chemicals but I take care of the paperwork.”
Kenma nods.
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
He stiffens, realizes he spoke carelessly, without thinking.
He looks up, scared to see hurt and anger on his companion’s face for overstepping but instead he finds him with raised eyebrows and parted lips in shock.
He starts laughing a moment after, a loud clumsy noise that makes people turn around and Kenma lean forward in wonder.
Laughter, amusement look beautiful on this man. The tired lines around his eyes disappear and his lips vibrate with joy. It suits him much more than the defeated look he saw when they started talking and Kenma wishes he could stop the footage and save the frame where Kuroo looks young and free.
“You are right. I am not. But they pay well,” he explains after his laughter has died down “and there was a time when that mattered greatly to me.”
He looks distant, as if he is looking at something only he can see and Kenma wants to ask what he means but Kuroo speaks again.
“Your bluntness is refreshing.”
“Some would say it’s merciless.”
“There is mercy in being truthful. And you are careful, receptive. You don’t seem the kind of person that hurts people.”
Kenma doesn’t really know how to reply to that, his cheeks burning.
Something is different. Strangers don’t usually get to read Kenma that easily and he usually doesn’t feel crushed when he sees a random good-looking man with sad eyes. And yet, he finds he would do anything in this moment to make Kuroo laugh like before again and he wonders, if he were to kiss him right now, would he taste the chamomile tea he just drank on his tongue?
“Do you want to watch a movie with me?”
He doesn’t know where that comes from but the moment he says it, he knows he wants it to happen, despite the shining golden band on Kuroo’s ring finger, despite not knowing his age or anything about him really, Kenma wants to sit in a dark room with him and look mesmerized at all the expressions other than sadness that the man is capable of showing.
He looks at that ring. He knows what it means, he knows Kuroo is taken. He should retract his offer because Kuroo seems like a good man unwilling to cheat on his wife with a kid he met in a shabby second league theatre.
Then, that hand moves over his and when he looks up, Kuroo’s cheeks and ears are painted a lovely pink shade.
“I would love to.”
They buy tickets for a movie about the origin of a newspaper. It’s only them because it’s late by now and it feels surreal, the empty seats, the handsome man sitting right next to him.
Kenma doesn’t watch movies with people. He doesn’t accept strangers paying for his food and most importantly he does not look at married men’s lips wishing to devour them and thrust his tongue between them.
But no stranger before had looked so sad and no stranger before had known Kenma’s thoughts like him.
So, he sits next to Kuroo and they watch the movie together, and despite not speaking a single word, Kenma is still distracted.
He can smell Kuroo’s intoxicating cologne and feel his warmth on the arm rest they decided to share and the few times he dares to look at the man, the images on the big screen reflected in his eyes are more beautiful than anything Kenma could ever see if he faced forward.
He bites his lip until he draws blood when Kuroo’s bigger hand settles on his. It’s calloused and his fingers are long and graceful. He shivers wondering how it would feel if that palm pressed against his naked back.
He banishes the thought as soon as it presents itself, but he is scared, terrified, because if Kuroo decided to kiss him, Kenma wouldn’t push him away. Even worse, Kenma is realizing more and more, he would be the one to lean in and capture his lips. He has never felt so in sync with someone in his life and he grimaces when he hears someone on the screen say “I love you”.
Is this what love feels like? If it was anybody else, Kenma would laugh at the gullibility of thinking to be in love with someone after a few hours, but now that he is in a dark cinema with the most brilliant man he has ever met, he wonders if he might have been wrong all along, scoffing at love at first sight.
But it’s not at first sight, corrects his mind, it’s after Kuroo talked that Kenma realized he is different .
He understands, in a split second, as the screen turns red painting Kuroo’s face orange, that even if he might come to regret this later and curse his past self, right now he doesn’t care. All the reasonable worries he would usually have are forgotten, unafraid of the ring on his finger, all he cares about is the smell of cologne and smoke, the tight knot in the red tie and that shaky smile he received before.
When the movie ends, Kenma doesn’t know anything about the plot but he nods along as Kuroo talks about it, the things he liked and didn’t like, whispering in his ear and gesticulating excitedly, his voice deep and soothing. His breath on his neck is intoxicating and Kenma needs more desperately.
He turns around too soon when he tries to speak and their noses bump together.
He sees the battle Kuroo has with himself and he considers leaning back, when pain flashes through his eyes.
He doesn’t want to make things difficult for him. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than the amount he is already bearing so gracefully.
He melts on the spot when Kuroo’s lips touch his. His eyes close immediately when the man’s mouth presses against his, the tension and doubts fading into nothing when that heat he felt previously envelops him.
Kuroo’s hand opens and closes, hoovers unsure next to his cheek.
He wants to touch me , realizes Kenma and without thinking about the reasons Kuroo might have to hold back, because he hasn't been able to think logically since their lips touched, he grabs the hand and presses it against his cheek.
That seems to undo Kuroo. A whimper leaves his throat and all the restraint he was exhibiting before is gone as he moves the other hand to the back of Kenma’s head.
Kuroo does not kiss like a married man.
And with that Kenma means that it seems like Kuroo hasn’t kissed someone in years, not because he is inexperienced but because of how tentative but also desperate he is. His touch on Kenma’s skin is tender and unsure but his tongue is hot and skilled, making Kenma’s head spin and feet lift off the ground and his kiss is frantic and urgent, like Kuroo is afraid Kenma might disappear at any moment, like he has been waiting eons to touch him.
Kenma is about to throw caution at the wind and sit in his lap right then and there, scared and confused by the burning desire that makes him feel like he will die if he doesn’t feel Kuroo’s bare skin against his, when Kuroo stills his movements, his hand on the thigh Kenma had planned to place next to his hip.
His eyes are shining prettily with unshed tears like diamonds and Kenma wants to ask so many questions, about his ring, if Kuroo is even his real name, about going to the movies alone in the middle of the week.
Why doesn’t he care anymore about earning money and why does he seem like a man who has lost everything?
Instead, he settles for a shaky sigh when Kuroo pulls him close so their foreheads touch and a shy “are you okay?”
Kuroo’s smile is soft and apologetic but he doesn’t reply.
He grabs Kenma’s hand, eyes widening when he intertwines their fingers, as if he’s surprised by how they fit together, Kenma’s smaller hand linked with his, and he guides Kenma out of the cinema.
They stop in front of a car. It’s expensive but neglected and he can’t help but be stunned by the contrast. Who buys an expensive car only not to care about it?
Kuroo lights up a cigarette, his hands shaking, not from the cold that surrounds them.
Their bodies are still tremendously warm and when their eyes meet, the smoke of the cigarette dancing between their gazes, Kenma shivers at the heat and longing in Kuroo’s.
His eyes fall on his lips wrapped around the cigarette and when Kuroo’s cheeks hollow, eyes closed, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows and incredibly long lashes fluttering, Kenma inhales quickly accidentally breathing in some of the smoke, which results in him coughing in his hand.
“Sorry, does it bother you?” asks concerned Kuroo, moving the cigarette as far away as possible.
He shakes his head and he spends the next minutes staring in silence at Kuroo smoking, feeling unsteady every time Kuroo tips his head back to the starry sky to exhale smoke.
“I should stop.” chuckles the older man, now that his cigarette is finished and he takes a step towards Kenma.
Kenma doesn’t know if Kuroo is referring to smoking or what they are doing, but he prays and hopes he wasn’t talking about them.
I want to kiss him , he can’t help but think, and he is hit once again with how novel this urgency is to him
Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long because Kuroo cups his face and after receiving an impatient nod, he leans down to press his lips against Kenma.
The flames in his chest surge up immediately and his knees nearly buckle when Kuroo sucks at his lower lip.
He does everything with such tenderness, he seems like a husband, how ironic , on the night of the wedding, if it wasn't for the flashes of pain Kenma thinks he sees in his eyes.
When Kuroo slots his muscular thigh between his legs, pressing upwards, his thoughts and the entire world stop.
He lets the man press him against his car, his quick pants caressing Kenma’s cupid’s bow and he moans in the kiss, grabbing Kuroo by his jacket to pull him impossibly close.
What if somebody sees us? he wonders briefly, the image of the shining ring on Kuroo’s finger buried in his hair flashing in his mind, before he realizes that in the position they are, Kenma’s back pressed against the car, nobody can see him, hidden by Kuroo’s broad shoulders and height.
The kiss ends abruptly when he pushes him away, feeling like he is about to pass out with Kuroo’s thigh between his legs.
Kuroo, panting, flushed, opens the passenger door and Kenma gets in with no hesitation, not even stopping to think of all the things that could go wrong from now on.
Kuroo drives carefully for a man who keeps shifting in his seat and readjusting his pants. He doesn’t speed and Kenma catches him looking at him from time to time, mostly when they wait for the traffic light to turn green.
Kuroo is beautiful under the lights of the city. The lit windows of the skyscrapers seem like shooting stars when Kenma looks at them from the car when they make their way through the main road and Kenma wonders if wishing on those artificial celestial bodies will bear him any luck at all.
“Do you want me to drive you home?”
His voice is shaking and he doesn’t turn to look at Kenma when he asks.
The real question is clear and Kenma doesn’t even stop to consider if he wants to end their night there, looking at the man’s side profile, from his Adam apple moving when he swallows and his swollen lips, his defined jaw, to the expensive watch on his wrist and the hand holding firmly the wheel.
“No.”
Kuroo’s mouth falls open for a split second before he nods, clenching his jaw and tightening his grip on the wheel.
He crumbles before Kenma’s eyes, eyebrows twitching like he’s about to break and Kenma wonders if he just committed a terrible mistake.
“If you don’t want to-“
“I do.” Sure, leaves room for no doubts.
And that’s the problem, is the unspoken half of the sentence and once again Kenma wants to ask about it, but he doesn’t, too confused about his own feelings.
He doesn’t bat an eye when Kuroo parks in front of a motel in a less known, shady part of town and he follows him out of the car with no hesitation.
Kuroo reaches for his hand immediately, walking protectively in front of him, when they notice some people around the entrance.
He doesn’t feel dirty or guilty when they ask for a room. Kuroo is unhappy, he knows this and he has the feeling the ring on his finger might be the reason for it.
So, he feels no remorse when he grabs the shiny card to their room from the bored employee when Kuroo’s hands shake too much to take it.
The building is cheap and old, squalid and dirty.
Kuroo looks like a diamond in the rough inside it and Kenma nearly stumbles on the stairs, since there is no lift, looking at him, but a strong arm supports him around the waist.
Kenma has had sex with other people before.
He had a few experiences at the start of university but feelings weren’t involved and if they were, they were as weak as the sun in winter.
The passion, the longing he feels when Kuroo grabs his face in the dimly lit room they rented, with only a twin bed, is unlike anything he has ever experienced.
“I haven’t done this in a while.” hastily admits Kuroo, but Kenma doesn’t care. He thinks deliriously there is no possible way sleeping with Kuroo can be bad, when his heart feels like it has been set on fire only by looking at him.
He loosens Kuroo’s tie as he drags his face down to kiss him, teeth clacking together clumsily and he shivers in the cold room when Kuroo gets rid of his hoodie.
Kenma has had sex before, but it never felt like this, like melding his soul with the other person’s and he only realises it when Kuroo is buried deep inside him, the mouth pressed against his neck going slack when he tightens his grip on jet black hair, their hands linked next to his head the entire time.
He feels like he is about to shatter with every touch, he shakes, he trembles and he cries tossing his head left and right because it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
They go fast, urgency lacing their movements, his legs tightening around Kuroo’s waist, Kuroo leaving red marks all over his pale neck but everything is infused with love.
It’s terrifying how Kenma feels like he is about to crack open because of the love he can see in Kuroo’s eyes, full of tears and a cocktail of emotions Kenma can’t even comprehend. He’s afraid of the storm of feelings in his chest when Kuroo grips his hips a bit too tight, moans his name softly against his skin and when he whimpers hearing him echo, Kuro, Kuro, Kuro .
Kuroo makes love to him like he is afraid he is going to vanish in thin air, lovingly but not tenderly. He grips him tight enough to leave bruises but he takes a second in the middle of their frantic movements to rub his thumb on the purple lines of Kenma’s veins he can see under the pale skin of his thighs.
Kenma’s memory of that night is a water colour: the shades of greys of that destitute room, the white light of the lamppost outside (the only thing that allows Kenma to see Kuroo’s eyebrows pinching together and his mouth red, bitten falling open in whimpers and grunts that make Kenma grab the greyish white sheets in fists) the purples and blues of the marks Kuroo leaves on him, the veins he so carefully follows with his thumb and tongue and the colour of his dark eyelashes in the light, the white marble of Kenma’s skin flushing pink against Kuroo’s.
They both have tears streaking down their faces when they are done and when Kuroo tries to move away, Kenma tightens his legs around his waist in panic, a helpless sound leaving his lips.
It must show on his face because Kuroo presses his lips together, nodding and moving to hold him tighter.
“Okay.” he murmurs, soothing him and petting his hair, “Okay, sweetheart.”
They lay in bed for hours, shivering in the cold room and finding comfort only in the other’s warmth, hands linked over Kuroo’s toned chest. His ring shines even in the dim light.
When Kenma wakes up a couple of hours later, it’s still late at night and Kuroo is sleeping. The light outside still makes Kenma feel like he has stepped in a black and white movie, looking at Kuroo’s inky eyelashes against his skin turned white.
The man next to him is a puzzle, an enigma full of contradictions. He has the intelligence and spirit to attend university but instead he is working already at a job that he doesn’t seem to love, but that in the past was worth it for the salary. What changed?
He owns expensive things, his coat, his suit and car, but he doesn’t take care of them and one might be tricked into thinking he cares about his appearance but the stubble he rubbed against the skin of Kenma’s inner thigh until it turned scarlet or his messy hair suggest otherwise. He seems incredibly sad but he is kind and caring. He cheats on his wife but he doesn’t treat Kenma like a random man he can cheat with, kissing his knuckles, wrecking him with every touch and reverently and urgently kissing him, like a woman saying farewell to the boy she loves before a war.
It doesn’t feel like an affair.
And Kenma knows it isn’t an affair when Kuroo holds his hand the entire time, when he presses his face in his hair when they fall asleep and he has proof of it when Kuroo drops him off in the early morning and he scribbles his number on his forearm.
“I can just save it on my phone.”
But Kuroo prefers old fashioned.
Kenma stares at the car leaving, hoping his wish on false shooting stars will come true.