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So there's this guy, right?
That's bad enough for Kenma already. Kenma doesn't do guys. Well, he does—or he would, but that's beside the point. The point is Kenma doesn't do people.
Attraction is a fool's game. The last time Kenma spared someone more than a glance was when he was 19. Shouyou had just taken his shirt off, far more tan and built than Kenma had remembered in high school, and his hair glimmered in the Brazilian sun. Four minutes after, Kenma dropped from heat exhaustion. To this day he's not entirely positive that was even real. He leans towards 'probably not.' Guys can be hot, sure, Kenma isn't blind. Even Shouyou's cute! It's the whole... desire thing, that Kenma evades. Wanting, waiting, thinking, it's exhausting.
Then, there's the whole 'bonding' ordeal beyond that. Kenma met his designated extrovert, Yamamoto Taketora, when he was 15, made 2.5 friends after that (Akaashi is frequently on thin ice, what with his wit and his powers of observation and his Bokuto), and that should be the end of that. Kenma has learned to navigate small talk and business jargon out of necessity, but developing real interpersonal relationships after 23 is something he thought he opted out of. Isn't it enough that Fukunaga caught him at the pharmacy once with a box of hair bleach in one hand and a refill of Zoloft in another? Must Kenma attempt intimacy?
It's unnecessary. Entirely. The mere thought of dating puts Kenma's stomach in knots and sends a cold sweat down his spine. So it doesn't make sense.
It doesn't make sense that when the most attractive man Kenma’s ever seen steps onto his bus, he shoves himself so far against the window he's practically falling out of it. It doesn't make sense that he spends the entire ride hyper-aware that there's a specimen within five metres of him. It doesn't make sense that he doesn't want Bus Guy to sit next to him ever, except yes he does, but no he doesn't, but maybe he does?
Kenma doesn't even know anything about him! He's tall and tan and hot as all fuck, but that's not exactly a reflection of character. He's always in a well-fitted suit with a black leather shoulder bag, so maybe he's some sort of salaryman? Does that make him boring? Well-to-do, perhaps? Could he like video games? Or even slight blonds who don't like the sun very much and have never given a blowjob before?
Kenma stares at the back of his head like his soft-looking hair will spell out all the secrets he craves. Bus Guy is standing today, which makes this a particularly dangerous activity because there are endless variables in play now that could lead to him getting caught. Kenma hasn't gotten caught yet, because he's paranoid and also quite good at reading body language, but if the event arises that he is caught, then he's going to evaporate. Surely, the heat of his shame will turn his body to steam all at once, and he won't have to deal with whatever fallout could occur.
There is a very minor part of Kenma's brain that tries to reason that people meet each other's gazes all the time in transit, or out in public in general. Humans are social creatures, and eye contact is a social stimulus. It's a natural response. This part of Kenma's brain clearly doesn't understand that this is a life or death situation.
The woman sitting in the seat to Bus Guy's left begins to shuffle her things together as they approach the next stop. Kenma averts his gaze.
Five stops from now, Kenma will disembark. Bus Guy stands before the back exit, which means Kenma does not have to gather all of his courage just to walk past him. He can just keep his head down and Bus Guy likely won't see him. It's the ideal scenario.
But that's a thought, isn't it? He won't be noticed. There's a pretty good chance he won't ever be noticed. His hair is blonde, sure, but he always waits too long to bleach it and it's more unkempt than eye-catching. He's never worn anything flashier than a deep red sweater. His default posture is hunched in on himself completely. Kenma’s usually fine with this, he’s designed himself this way. He doesn’t like to be noticed, he doesn’t like eyes on him, he doesn’t like being within arm's reach of the centre of attention.
Kenma considers this, fiddling with the spinning bit of his lanyard, watching the road pass through the window. He pulls the cord, then steps off the bus without sparing a last glance. All the while he thinks, maybe this time could be different.
Bus Guy’s name is Kuroo Tetsurou, and Kenma should be arrested, probably. Kenma relays this information in Akaashi’s DMs because Tora simply would not understand, and neither Shouyou nor Fukunaga deserve to be punished like that.
The story is this: Bus Guy manages to snag a seat in the row opposite Kenma. This means it would be painfully, humiliatingly obvious if Kenma was to look at him. As such, Kenma looks everywhere but him: the passing cityscape, the peeling outdated ads panelled below the roof, the grimy floor. He should probably charge his 3DS again. The Switch is a little too obnoxious to commute with, the Steam Deck is definitely too obnoxious to commute with, and mobile games are… the way they are. Most days Kenma has other means of distraction, but in trying times like these? Well, it’s been a while since he’s played Pokemon X.
His mind continues to drift, his eyes continue to wander, there’s a shuffling in his periphery, then there’s an ID on the floor. The photo is small, but Kenma can still clearly make out the visage of Bus Guy. He looks way again, fully expecting Bus Guy to pick up the card, but nothing happens. There is no more shuffling. A minute passes. Kenma’s stop is fast approaching, as is the realization that he has a decision to make.
He can ignore the whole thing. It’s not his responsibility, really. It would be easy to pretend he never saw it, step past it and go about his day at work. IDs are a bit of a pain to obtain, but he must have a passport or something that he can use in the interim. Maybe he’ll even notice it when he gets off at his stop, and it’s a nonissue! Kenma can stay anonymous this way. Bus Guy still won’t know or care about him. The status quo remains blissfully undisturbed.
Or.
Or, Kenma can be a decent person and take four seconds to hand the man his fucking ID. He doesn’t even have to say anything. He can just hold it out and surely Bus Guy will understand. Maybe Bus Guy will be so grateful that his ID is safe that he won’t even look up at Kenma. Oh, shit, what if he says something to Kenma?
Kenma has about a minute before they arrive at his stop. He takes 20 seconds to muster what little bravery circulates within him.
With a deep inhale, Kenma leans down to pick up the card. Kuroo Tetsurou is printed clearly at the top, a fact Kenma tries desperately to ignore because it’s probably a little weird to take note of it. He quickly wipes the card down with the sleeve of his sweater, exhales, and holds the card out to Kuroo—to Bus Tetsurou—damn it.
“I think you dropped this,” Kenma says. The terrible combination of being naturally soft-spoken in a very noisy vehicle means that Kenma isn’t sure if Kuroo Guy heard him, but Kenma would sooner combust than repeat himself at a marginally louder volume. He’s prepared to just drop the card on the empty seat next to Kuroo and run on foot to the south of France because his plan went askew and he has no other options.
Miraculously, marvellously, Kuroo turns. His gaze falls on Kenma first, then to his outstretched hand. His eyes (a devastatingly bright amber that until now Kenma had always thought were just light brown in the sunlight) widen, and he takes the card gingerly, careful not to touch Kenma’s fingers. Still, they’re mere centimetres away from contact. Kenma’s heart thuds.
“Thank you,” Kuroo says, reaching into his pocket to pull out a worn-looking card holder. He smiles at Kenma, eyes crinkling, “You’re a lifesaver.”
Kenma feels a little like he’s been bludgeoned. He’s never put much thought into what he thought Kuroo’s voice would sound like, but he always assumed it would be deeper, smoother. It’s lower, yes, but it has a lilt and a husk to it that Kenma hadn’t expected. His voice, in addition to the smile and the addressing Kenma specifically thing, causes heat to bloom in his cheeks that he hopes isn’t particularly visible.
The bus lurches as it slows at Kenma’s stop. It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, Kenma has no idea how to appropriately end the interaction, so the excuse of a swift exit is appreciated. On the other hand, he was standing and distracted, so he stumbles while Kuroo is still looking directly at him. All things considered, it’s probably a net loss, so Kenma quickly ducks his head and nearly trips over himself again when he twists to step down and push open the doors.
Kenma speedwalks away from the bus stop and towards the Bouncing Ball office like it’ll get him out of Kuroo’s sight faster than the literal motor vehicle pulling back onto the road. He stuffs his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie to fiddle with the fidget toy he keeps there, channelling all his embarrassment into flipping the smooth metal rings.
He’s seen people trip and fumble on the bus all the time. He’s never paid it any mind. Kuroo did seem to look at him any differently, only that his jaw began to move like he was going to say something just before Kenma turned away. Kenma wonders if he was going to say something, what would he have said? Another gratitude? A joke, maybe? Something out of concern? He supposes he’ll never know, but his mind latches on to all the things Kuroo could have said in the melody of his voice, and then he’s standing outside his building with his hands at his sides.
Five hours later, his Discord pings. Akaashi has replied: Ha.
Despite everything, Kenma’s actually quite successful. He’s maybe a tad… shy, sometimes, but he’s intelligent, and he can be ruthless, and he works hard when he wants to. He wanted to be a YouTuber, he wanted to be a programmer, and he wanted to have his own home before he turned 25. The whole ‘investment portfolio’ and ‘self-made CEO’ thing was a bit of a surprise, but they’ve been kind of fun, so he’s been running with them. To put it simply, Kenma has—and he wants to say this humbly—money.
Maybe not excess, my house is so big it echoes, my G-Wagon could take your Civic in a fight, I don’t know how much milk costs, fuck you money, but money. He’s savvy with it too, which helps. He saves, budgets, coupons, you name it. All of Kenma’s material sins are neatly contained in his office/game room, and outside of it, he likes to think he’s decently thrifty.
This is all a poor effort to distract himself and a very long-winded way of saying that he really should be able to tell what kind of cologne Kuroo is wearing. He can't. It smells like sea salt and something woodsy, subtle in a way that feels expensive. Kenma's own cologne, colloquially known as Dove Men+Care Antiperspirant in the scent Clean Comfort, emanates so strongly from beneath his shirt that all he can think is at least I remembered to put deodorant on today.
Kuroo is sitting next to him. Directly. The last open seat must have been Kenma's, and rather than opt to stand as he has in the past, Kuroo offered him a small smile, almost inquisitive. As though asking to sit next to someone on the bus is a thing. Kenma had looked away in response, completely at a loss for how to answer properly, and apparently, Kuroo had read it as go right ahead.
Here Kenma sits now, shrinking in on himself to avoid any kind of physical contact at all costs, and trying not to die. His mind is racing so fast that it feels like his thoughts are skipping frames. He tries to keep his breathing even, but his heart is pounding against his ribcage and it feels like his whole chest is being bottlenecked. He places his hand against his leg to stop it from bouncing, scratching at a tear in his jeans in a much more subtle manifestation of anxious energy.
Kenma knows it's stupid. Kuroo isn't even looking at him. Kuroo probably can't even hear him. His earbuds are in his ears, crimped wires connected to the phone he's significantly more invested in. It's just.
Kenma's gotten better with the whole 'social anxiety' thing. It’s still present, of course, but he manages a lot better. Most of his anxiety nowadays comes either before or after a specific interaction, and he has a whole process on how to deal with it. Cock and ball therapy, or whatever. He only got around to this after he graduated high school, which unfortunately means he’s lacking a lot of those basic juvenile experiences.
Namely, what to do if you—if the—if your crush enters your personal bubble for any reason. Also, having a crush for more than 190 seconds. Also, whatever the hell you're supposed to do when drinking socially, but that's not really Kenma's scene, so he thinks he's good on that front.
He knows the classic symptoms of having a crush. He's read enough Final Fantasy fanfiction. Butterflies in your stomach, heart skipping beats, uncontrollable blushing, insomnia, nihilism. Kenma just doesn’t know what to do about it.
Media makes it seem so easy. More than half the time the love interest already likes the protagonist. Kenma doesn’t have that privilege. Kenma is just some dude on Kuroo’s bus, and Kuroo is just some dude on Kenma’s bus that he’s started brushing his hair for. They exchanged words once, a week and a half ago. Kuroo doesn’t know his name. Kenma’s not supposed to know Kuroo’s name.
It’s hopeless.
And that should be fine! It’s just a stupid crush. Aesthetic-based, too. There are plenty more men out there to pine for, and plenty more time in Kenma’s life to do so. Hell, if he left his house 15 minutes earlier he could take a different bus and never see Kuroo again. Kenma shouldn’t care enough for it to bother him. He’s never cared before.
Except he does now. It’s frustrating. He doesn’t understand it, and Kenma’s not a fan of things he doesn't understand.
Kuroo’s arm moves. Apparently satisfied with whatever business he was attending to on his phone, he stuffs the device in his pocket and leans back. In doing so, his arm pins the excess fabric of Kenma’s sweater between itself and the seat. He’s not touching Kenma, there’s still a good couple of inches between them, but Kenma can feel the way the sleeve of his sweater pulls. He can feel Kuroo’s body heat radiating. He can still smell that fucking cologne.
Kenma takes a deep breath because sighing in this situation would be all too noticeable.
At the very least, it can’t get worse than this.
The funny thing about buses is that sometimes they’re much more full than usual for seemingly no reason at all. This means, that even though it’s rare, there are days when Kenma either can’t find a seat, or he opts to give his up.
Long story short: it got worse.
Kenma knows Kuroo is tall. It’s obvious just from looking at him. It was more obvious last week when they were sitting next to each other and he was at eye level with the tip of Kuroo’s nose. It’s most obvious now, where Kuroo has his arm raised to hold one of the hanging handles and is essentially caging Kenma against an upright bar.
Kuroo looks down every so often with a face of remorse, trying to express to Kenma how much he also doesn’t want this to be happening. Kenma does not meet his eye, because he would have to tilt his head up to do so, and because that would be all too much to handle when their chests are nearly touching. Kenma’s knee has bumped just below Kuroo’s six times so far.
Sea salt and something woodsy.
Kenma peers past Kuroo’s shoulder (which is a challenge, as Kuroo is not only tall but upsettingly broad) to gauge their current location. He reckons he has about five minutes before they reach his stop, which is good because he reckons he has about five and a half minutes before the arrhythmia becomes a concern.
The bus careens hard around one of the sharper street corners. Kuroo shoots a hand out to brace against the bar next to Kenma’s head. This stops him from crashing into Kenma completely but comes with the unfortunate consequence that for eight entire seconds Kenma is surrounded by Kuroo’s arms.
“Sorry,” Kuroo mutters, too close to Kenma’s ear.
“Don’t be,” Kenma says, instead of something sane like no worries or it’s alright or nodding.
Kenma watches two women exit the bus and thinks this may finally be his chance for some space. Kenma watches a man with a stroller enter the bus and feels his heart drop to his stomach. Every standing passenger shuffles further into the bus to accommodate the man, which means Kenma’s pushed from the safety of his metal bar to the wily wobbling of the handles overhead and pushed even further closer to Kuroo.
It’s been four years since he’s last had to endure frequent conditioning, so his balance and overall body strength could be considered lacking. Each bump and rocky turn has him white-knuckling the handle, and even with all his might he still bumps into Kuroo far more often than he wanted to. He’s positive that his face has gone entirely red. He only hopes Kuroo assumes it’s from something like heat.
318 seconds pass before Kenma hears his stop called. He extends an arm to the nearest button, relief nearly settling in him as he starts nudging his way through the passengers ahead of him. A sharp tugging on the side of his head stops him. He instinctively raises a hand to press against the sudden stinging pain, turning to find the source, and—
Oh god. Fuck. Oh no.
His hair is caught in the metal buckle of Kuroo’s satchel. All the jostling must’ve caused his hair to get tangled. Kenma watches realization dawn on Kuroo’s face. His brows rise in surprise for only a second before they settle into something firm, and fear rises in Kenma’s throat. He doesn’t want to be told off by anyone, especially not in public, especially not by the guy he’s been infatuated with for the better part of six months. Kuroo steps forward. Kenma braces.
The bus sways as it pulls to his stop. It’s the least of Kenma’s concerns right now. He won’t be able to work properly after this anyway.
Kuroo opens his mouth. “C’mon,” he says, far gentler than Kenma was expecting. He tilts his chin in the direction of the door. “I don’t want you to miss your stop.”
Kenma moves forward robotically, unsure of what exactly is happening. His hair isn’t tugging. He can feel Kuroo moving behind him. When he steps off the bus, Kuroo’s satchel knocks against his side. When he turns, he finds Kuroo holding it out by the strap, the buckle hovering near Kenma’s ears.
Kuroo wasn’t upset with him. He was determined. He didn’t want to hurt Kenma, so he made the decision to get off the bus early.
Kenma’s face erupts in heat.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, nigh inaudible. His shoulders curl and his knees press together as he reaches up to begin pulling strands of his hair out from the buckle of Kuroo’s bag.
“Hm? Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo drawls. Kenma fumbles when Kuroo’s free hand enters the mix, gently untangling, knuckles bumping Kenma’s. “I work a few blocks up, so I’ll just be five minutes early instead of fifteen.”
Kenma, had he not been utterly mortified, could have smiled.
“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything,” Kuroo continues.
With a final tug, Kenma is free from Kuroo’s bag with only a limited amount of breakage. With his eyes glued to his shoes, he shakes his head and points down the street in the general direction of his office.
“You work for Bouncing Ball?” Kuroo asks, shock audible. When Kenma nods, Kuroo continues, “I noticed the logo on your backpack. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around before. I’m with the JVA, so I—”
Kuroo cuts off abruptly. Perhaps he realized that trivial chatter was fruitless? It gives Kenma a beat to process that Kuroo works with the company Kenma’s closely partnered with. Missed connections, he thinks, before shaking the thought from his head. After another moment passed that Kuroo has not spoken nor moved, Kenma peers up at him, cocking his head slightly.
“You’re Kozume Kenma,” Kuroo says, lips drawing into a smirk. “Blond, shy, wears sweatpants to work. You’re only at the office on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
Kenma shrinks. If Kuroo’s any kind of fan of Kodzuken, Kenma may have to reconsider his stance on this whole thing. There’s still the chance that Kuroo is just… very dedicated to his job. “You’ve done your research,” Kenma says, hesitant.
Kuroo laughs, then sticks out his hand. “Kuroo Tetsurou, JVA Sports Promotion. I transferred from accounting a few months after the sponsorship went through. I’m also Bokuto Koutarou’s best friend.”
Everything clicks into place. After the initial details of the Bouncing Ball sponsorship had been ironed out, Kenma left most of the contacting to his relations team. When he is required personally, it’s usually the head of the Sports Promotion Division that he’s in contact with.
“Bokuto likes to talk,” Kenma says. He’s somewhat embarrassed that Bokuto’s relaying of him was ‘wears sweatpants to work,' but it’s significantly more comforting than if Kuroo had spent any time at all on his Wikia page. Kenma meagerly shakes Kuroo’s hand, not thinking even once about how large or tanned or warm it is.
Kuroo’s eyes shine. “Bokuto likes to talk about what Akaashi likes to talk about.”
Suddenly, this is a conversation. They are relating to each other over common ground. Multiple, actually. Kenma is actively talking to the hot guy on his bus. Thinking of this is similar to when you become aware of your own breathing. Kenma suddenly does not know how to respond naturally.
The passing thought, have I been associate-zoned? runs through Kenma’s mind, which nearly shuts him down completely.
“Should you be heading to work?” Kenma prompts because it’s been several minutes and they are still standing at the bus stop and Kenma needs this interaction to be over now.
Kuroo checks his watch, then reaches up to rub the back of his neck. The thick fabric of his suit jacket bunches around his biceps in an unflattering way that very well may have saved Kenma’s life.
“I suppose you’re right,” Kuroo sighs. He looks up at Kenma, smile warm. “I’ll see you on around,” he says, which definitely isn’t the threat Kenma hears it as.
Kenma does not watch him go. If Kuroo was to turn around for any reason and find Kenma still staring at him like an abandoned kitten, Kenma would have to Dig Dug himself. Instead, Kenma pushes up the sleeves of his sweater in an effort to cool off. It is inexplicably hot for late autumn.
kodzuken Today at 9:28 AM
:weirdchamp:
akeiji Today at 12:13 PM
You can do better than him.
Pros to having introduced himself to Kuroo (if you could call it that): Kuroo now regularly sits next to Kenma on the bus. He asks first, every time, either with a small smile or cocking of his head or a brief pause in the aisle when their eyes meet. This often saves Kenma from a total and complete stranger sitting next to him.
Cons to having introduced himself to Kuroo (if you could call it that): Everything else.
Kuroo is still warm, with the temperatures cooling. He’s changed his cologne to something with spice and vanilla for the coming winter months. Sometimes he carries a travel mug that he takes intermittent sips of, Adam’s apple bobbing. Kenma still thinks he is achingly handsome. Worst of all might be that they are now at whatever level is above acquaintances.
“You should turn your brightness up, you’ll strain your eyes,” Kuroo chides, leaning over slightly to watch Kenma play Pokemon X.
A natural part of getting to know someone is that you get to know them. Kenma learned very quickly that a lot of the things that Kuroo says and does are purely to get a reaction from him. Anything arrogant or haughty is said with a treacherous grin and mischief in his eyes because he delights in being a bother.
Against Kenma’s better judgement, he finds this upsettingly charming and often falls victim to it. Kuroo’s very good at knowing which buttons to press, and Kenma has a stubborn streak to him. It helps that sometimes his reactions make Kuroo laugh. Kuroo’s laugh is an ugly choking guffaw that irrevocably changed Kenma’s life path the first time he heard it, so that’s about where he’s at with his ‘romance is a waste of time’ philosophy.
Kenma navigates to the brightness setting and slowly raises it to the maximum, all while staring Kuroo directly in the eyes. He only looks back at the screen when he’s reopened the game.
“Thank you. Now put Golduck back on your team.”
Kenma snorts. “My Greninja is better at 39 than Golduck is at 45.”
“No, I like your Greninja. Replace your Talonflame.”
“I’m not replacing my Talonflame with a fucking Golduck.”
“You would if you weren’t a coward.”
“Do you want to beat this gym for me, League Champion?” Kenma asks, holding out his 3DS.
Kuroo shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “No,” he says, “I would only embarrass you.”
Kenma has won eight different eSports championships. He smiles openly this time, fingers back on the joystick as he approaches the Shalour City Gym Leader.
Even as he wipes the floor with Korrina, there’s a nagging thought in the back of his head, spurred on by all Kuroo’s teasing. Could Kuroo play video games? Maybe not as intensively as Kenma, but as a pastime? Would he be willing to?
If Kuroo, on top of being hot and quick-witted, gamed in any capacity, Kenma wouldn’t stand a chance.
(This leads a little further into the general concept of ‘dating Kuroo’ which is a silly and irrelevant idea. Kuroo is on the quickly developing path of becoming a friend, and any more than that is surely out of Kenma’s range. Still—
Kenma’s always thought an arcade date wouldn’t be too bad.)
Kenma’s definitely not going to ask. That would be along the lines of making himself vulnerable and his thoughts known, which is something he refrains from in most situations. Kenma’s leg begins to bounce, but he doesn’t notice until the screen of his 3DS starts shaking. He grounds it immediately and bites his tongue hoping Kuroo didn’t notice.
“Y’know,” Kuroo starts. Kenma dangerously toes the line between wanting to know and definitely not wanting to know. “It’s been a while since I’ve played any games, actually. I loved fighters as a kid, and I had a brief affair with Sekiro, but.” Kuroo cuts himself off with a shrug.
If not for the need to finish off Aurous, Kenma would have frozen completely. Did Kenma accidentally say something out loud? Was Kenma obvious?
“Oh! Actually,” Kuroo says, then whips his phone out from his pocket. He taps around a few times, then turns the screen to Kenma to present a photo of two cats stuffed together inside a single hut on a cat tree. “These are Reno and Rude.”
Kuroo swipes at the screen to zoom in further on the cats, staring fondly down as he does so.
Kenma has a very, very weak spot for cats, but he can’t look away from the softness on Kuroo’s face. His fingers tighten around his console.
He never stood a chance.
Kenma has a Real Meeting for Important Things today. It was only noted on his Google Calendar as ‘XP Camp — 10:30 AM-12:00 PM’, but it was coloured blue, which means he had to shower for it.
Kenma, to Tora’s surprise every single time, can make himself presentable. He has a carefully curated selection of businesswear to be mixed and matched, and he’s learned two different ways to style his hair to come off professionally. It’s simply that the people around him don’t care what he looks like, and he cares even less, so sweatpants with his high school branded down the leg are his preferred attire.
He’s chosen a matching set of tartan grey slacks and a blazer over a white button-up today. Each piece is far too well-fitted for his physical comfort but they’re hopefully light and textured enough to hide any cat hair he can’t reach with a scotch roller. With a little effort, he also managed to comb his hair back into a much neater bun than usual.
Most of Kenma’s bus ride is spent going over his meeting notes, adding or revising things last minute as he sees fit. He’s in the midst of reviewing a list of pros and cons when he hears Kuroo’s embarking stop called, and he raises his head like Pavlov’s goddamned dog.
Kuroo steps on, taps his transit pass, meets Kenma’s eyes in the aisle, and stops so abruptly the woman behind him almost bumps into him. Kuroo recovers quickly enough, continuing forward and swinging himself into the seat beside Kenma.
“Come here often?” He greets. It’s delivered like a joke, with a smirk painted on his face to match. His eyes, however, keep flickering down from Kenma’s eyes to his body. It’s almost like he’s actively trying not to look, but failing at it.
Kenma’s pulse thrums beneath his skin. He turns away from Kuroo’s face, hand moving to tuck his hair behind his ear on instinct despite all of it being tied up. “I have a meeting today,” he explains.
Kuroo hums. His shoulders are still tilted ever so slightly towards Kenma. “What for?”
“Some branch of a game dev studio came to me with the idea of creating a programming boot camp for kids between eight and eighteen. They’re willing to facilitate it if I’m willing to help build and promote it, given my viewer base.”
“That’s a pretty big age range.”
Kenma nods.
“Is it going to be held over weekends or school breaks?”
Kenma shrugs.
“Did they propose what the boot camp will teach, exactly?”
Kenma shakes his head.
“That seems very…”
“Conceptual?” Kenma offers, lips twitching into a smile. Kuroo wouldn’t have said it, but he was right to think it. “I think the email used the word ‘potential’ three different times. My contact changed three different times trying to set up the meeting, too.”
Kuroo winces. “And you’re still going for it?”
“It’s not what I usually pursue,” Kenma says. He’s often a lot more pragmatic in his business ventures. He doesn’t like to waste energy on things without good reason. “But on paper, it’s something that probably would have helped me a lot when I was younger. I was lucky, but some other kids may not be. It could be an important opportunity for them. Besides, it isn’t like a few meetings will put me out all that much.”
When Kenma looks back at Kuroo, he finds his eyes are wide, browbone soft. There’s a light flush across his cheekbones. Kenma feels like he’s been looked straight into. After a moment, Kuroo blinks away the expression on his face.
“That’s pretty benevolent of you,” he says, facing forward as he leans back against the seat.
“I’ve been told I can be.”
“My sources have said otherwise.”
“One of your sources doesn’t even know what that word means.”
“Hey!” Kuroo laughs, nudging Kenma’s arm with his elbow. “He’s learning! Akaashi just taught him what ‘capricious’ means."
“Only now?” Kenma quips. Kuroo laughs again, hard enough that he does that stupid hacking thing, and nudges Kenma once more. Kenma’s arm feels like it’s on fire. Kenma’s brain is on fire. He wants to do this forever.
It’s a little easier, nowadays. Kuroo’s smart in the way Kenma is. He’s good at reading people. Kenma doesn’t often feel like he has to perform for socialization's sake, not when Kuroo knows when to back off and put his headphones in. Not when Kuroo still gives him a pleasant wave when Kenma gets off the bus like the silence was shared and not forced. Strangely, this is part of what makes him want to talk to Kuroo more. It’s not as challenging to talk to him, like Kuroo’s built stairs up a mountain so Kenma doesn’t have to grasp at footholds and risk a violent fall.
Then, there are times when Kuroo says things like, “I guess you’re pretty busy, huh, Kodzuken? It has to be hard on your girlfriend,” which is the conversational equivalent of grabbing him by the collar and throwing him overhand off that mountain and into the cloudy abyss below.
To Kuroo, this statement may have been a gentle prod at getting to know more about his personal life, like how most budding friendships go. To Kenma, this statement is a riddle with his life on the line.
He could say he doesn’t have a girlfriend. It’s the most straightforward approach. This answer, of course, branches into at least two paths: one being that Kuroo could ask about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and the other being that Kuroo falls silent because it’s a pathetic answer and he feels bad for bringing it up. The spectrum of responses in between hinges entirely on the tone Kenma answers with.
He could say he’s too busy for a girlfriend, which would be appropriate within its context, but could lead Kuroo into thinking that he wants a girlfriend eventually. That would be a lie, and counterproductive.
He could say he doesn’t like girls. If Kuroo’s best friend is Bokuto ‘Look at This Picture of Keiji’ Koutarou, then surely he wouldn’t mind. It would also be an easy way to drop a hint. Unfortunately, they are on a public bus, and coming out to every person within earshot was not part of the intentions he set today.
“I’m single,” is what Kenma decides on. He doesn’t attach the word ‘girlfriend’ to the statement in any way. If Kuroo is clever enough to decipher his ambiguity, then all the better for Kenma.
Kuroo doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Kenma’s stop is called. Kuroo stands to allow him out, though he leaves less room than usual. Kenma’s shoulderblade brushes across Kuroo’s chest as he passes.
A moment before Kenma has moved too far out of reach, Kuroo leans down slightly and says, “That’s good to know.”
Kenma hears it like the whistling of a boulder falling from a great height, mass shadowing Kenma’s body at the base of the mountain before the impact.
Update: Kenma has to date this guy.
If not for his own personal desires, then for the sake of his health and safety. Kuroo keeps existing in a way that makes Kenma’s heart pound and brain fizzle. It can’t be good for him.
Last week, he handed Kenma a cafe mocha with soy milk, because he’d heard from Bokuto that there wasn’t a reasonable way for Kenma to pick up Starbucks on his morning commutes.
Kenma knows Bokuto, he knows Bokuto wouldn’t have been able to remember his exact order. Kenma also knows Akaashi, he knows that he’s complained about his lack of cafe mochas with soy milk enough for Akaashi to have it branded into his memory. Kuroo would’ve had to go out of his way to get a hold of this information.
At the time, Kenma had considered pulling the emergency escape handle on the window next to him and jumping out. He didn’t, though mostly because he’d been distracted by trying not to look at the way Kuroo’s lips pressed against the plastic lid of his own cup.
Now, he has a newfound determination. It is a feeble determination because Kenma is very susceptible to things like rejection and not knowing exactly what someone is thinking about him at any given moment, but a determination nonetheless.
He just doesn’t have a plan.
He doesn’t have anyone to ask, either. Shouyou has never been interested in romance. Tora has a terrible track record with women. Fukunaga’s love life is a complete mystery. Akaashi fell in love with Bokuto at 15 and never looked back, so he obviously can’t be trusted. Kenma’s best lead so far is the guy on Reddit who recommended peeing on them to assert dominance. There are, of course, the droves of articles and comments saying you should just ask so long as you aren’t a creep about it, but that can’t be right.
He’s just sort of stewing in it, now. Marinating in the idea of asking Kuroo out, somehow. He thinks about it almost constantly. When Kuroo sends him that wry, crooked smile, Kenma thinks, go on a date me. When Kuroo rambles on about how crazy talented Suna Rintarou of EJP Raijin is, Kenma thinks, I really like you. When Kuroo solves a level of BoxBoy! for him, Kenma thinks, do you feel the same?
It used to be fine, just like this. The flutter of his stomach and the flush of his ears were just the happenings of a juvenile crush. It almost burns now, sweltering in the middle of his chest and the tips of his fingers, this desire. This want to have and hold and belong to.
The gust of cold air that rushes through the bus when the door opens at Kuroo’s stop is a welcome reprieve from his thoughts.
Kuroo practically collapses next to Kenma, heaving a deep sigh. “Reno’s an asshole,” he bemoans.
“Yeah,” Kenma agrees. “Your Reno?”
“Little shit threw up in my shoe. My other brown pair was all the way in my storage locker, so I didn’t have time to do my hair.”
“You couldn’t wear your black shoes?”
“No, because the asshole chewed a new set of holes in my black belt. It’s probably why he threw up.”
“So you thought it was more important to match your shoes to your belt, which no one sees, than to take the time to do your hair, which everyone sees?”
Kuroo whips his head around to Kenma, eyes desperate. “Why couldn’t you have said that to me before I left?”
Kenma snickers right past the stake that drives through his heart at all of those implications. He looks up slightly to assess the damage and finds that Kuroo’s hair not-done isn’t too different from its usual style. It’s still soft-looking and spikey, just a little less intentional. Some tufts stand from what are clearly something like cowlicks, and his bangs fall straighter than their typical wind-swept look.
Bedhead, Kenma thinks, right before his insides melt entirely.
“You look fine. Everyone has bad hair days.” It’s not a bad hair day. It’s cute and homey and Kenma is going to die about it,
“Those are two conflicting statements. Give it to me straight, doc.”
“Your hair always looks bad. I think you should shave it.”
“Gee, should I join a monastery while I’m at it?”
“If it means I’d get some peace and quiet again, yes.”
Kuroo grins up at Kenma from where he’s still slunk low in the seat. “You think I’m handsome and you love the sound of my voice. You’d miss me so much.”
Kenma, disarmed from the light gleaming in his bright golden eyes and the way a strand of hair bounces at the sudden movement, cannot say anything but a quiet, earnest, “Yeah.”
Kuroo’s smile drops. Kenma freezes. The bus pitches forward as it pulls up to the curbside.
“Kenma—”
“This is my stop,” Kenma mumbles, breaking eye contact to stand and shuffle past Kuroo’s legs. It’s a lie, a very obvious one considering Kenma hasn’t stopped here in his life, but an extra ten minute walk is bound to be better than whatever staying on that bus would mean.
He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, fingers shaking as they rapidly flip the metal rings of his fidget toy.
Definitely not how he wanted that to go down, and going about it in a way that offered some sort of closure would have been nice, but what’s done is done. Luckily, he and Kuroo seem to get off work at different times, so he won’t have to face him on the way home. Starting next Tuesday, he will leave his house a bit earlier to catch a different bus. He should also probably ask Akaashi to act like Kenma died in the case that Kuroo ever asks about him.
The walk is nice. The walk is good. The crisp autumn air does little to soothe the suffocating heat in the back of his throat, but at least he’s expending energy.
Kenma always tries to be the last person out of the office on Fridays. Ideally, he wants to send everyone home just a little early to begin their weekend, but at the very least he makes sure certain members of his staff aren’t staying late. Today especially he thought it would be good to lag behind an extra hour, given that he was a tiny bit distracted after this morning's mishap.
As he waits for his PC to finish shutting down, he rests his elbows on his desk and drags his hands across his face.
Kenma had forced himself out of his self-pitying to focus on his job, but with the day now over, the regret comes pouring back in. It’s dark outside, but it isn’t yet seven. Kenma rests his chin in his palms, putting pressure on his cheeks. Fukunaga’s probably in the middle of dinner service, but maybe Tora’s available for a drink somewhere. Kenma already cancelled his late-night Friday stream, so he’s free to do whatever.
(He knows Kuroo started to tune into his streams whenever he found the time a few weeks after they’d started talking. Kenma doesn’t know what would be worse tonight: streaming knowing Kuroo could be watching, or streaming knowing he might not be.)
He drags his feet to his bus stop. The later hour means he’ll have at least a fifteen minute wait before the bus comes around. It’s a little too chilly to have his bare fingers out on a console, so he fiddles with untangling his headphones as he perches on a cold metal railing next to his stop. He’s got one earbud in his ear and is browsing through his daily mixes for something that really screams ‘copium’ when he hears a voice call his name—a voice that he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear anytime soon.
Kuroo Tetsurou, brown shoes and bedhead and all, is running towards him from down the street. Kenma tenses, looks down, hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he doesn’t move, Kuroo won’t see him. Maybe there is a different Kenma behind him that Kuroo is actually calling out to, one who isn’t a fucking idiot.
Kuroo stops directly in front of him. Shit.
“You work pretty late,” Kuroo pants.
Kenma’s brow furrows. “Were you… waiting?”
“The old man at the auto shop let me stay inside so long as I bought a bottle of wax. Do you have a car?” When Kenma shakes his head, Kuroo pushes on. “Cool. I just wanted to be sure I caught you. You can be sort of… skittish.”
A byproduct of anxiety. Kenma can’t fathom how Kuroo ever noticed.
“Did you need something?” Kenma asks, hesitant. He considered apologizing right out of the gate, but he’s still pretty confused by all of everything currently happening, so it may not be too much to hope that Kuroo has already forgotten about everything.
“Do you have feelings for me?”
Damn him. Play dumb, pretend you forgot everything. “What?”
“What you said, this morning. It sort of came out like you might like me.”
Kenma stares blankly at him. What does he even say to that? Does he have to go through this whole painfully awkward half-baked confession thing again?
Kuroo blinks. He steps back a bit, providing Kenma with a little more room to breathe. “Okay, yeah, I hear it now. Let me try that again,” Kuroo clears his throat. “Kenma, would you like to go out with me?”
Kenma’s eyes widen, heart rapidly picking up to thrash against his ribs. Kuroo could still be interrogating him. It is a proper question, considering the situation. He might be trying to ask if Kenma has feelings for him in a gentler kind of way. However, it also sounds a lot like Kuroo is trying to maybe, perhaps—
“Are you asking me on a date?” Kenma manages, voice low in disbelief.
Kuroo laughs once, something a little wild around the edges. “Only if you’re going to say yes.”
Kenma swallows. Swallows his embarrassment, his regret, his pride. “You don’t have to do this because of this morning. It’s fine, really, there’s a different bus that I—”
“I like you,” Kuroo blurts. Kenma closes his mouth so fast he bites the inside of his lip. “I always thought you were attractive. Then we started talking, and you were, well, you. So beyond being gorgeous, you were interesting, and fun to talk to, and I kept looking forward to seeing you and—and I really like you.”
Beneath the streetlamps, Kenma can see the red spreading across Kuroo’s cheeks. He wonders how much of it is just from the cold. He wonders if the flush is contagious. Despite the late autumn evening air, Kenma can feel the blood pooling in his own cheeks, soft heat crawling up his jaw.
Kenma tucks his chin into his scarf to hide whatever blotchiness may betray him. He has to force himself to look away from Kuroo, eager and open and bathed in oranges and blues from their place on the sidewalk. His heart feels ready to crawl out of his throat, thundering so loud he can almost hear it.
He wasn’t expecting this. There had been a few times where Kenma may have thought that Kuroo could have returned his feelings, a comment here or a gesture there. Kenma’s problem was that he’s never understood where the line is drawn between friendly and flirting. He’s never had the experience to be able to tell whether or not Kuroo was trying to befriend him or something more. Kenma tried to smother most of those thoughts. It’s always safer to expect the worst.
Now he stands, blindsided, eyes focused on the shining tips of Kuroo’s shoes, knuckles white around his phone. He takes a deep breath, trying to get a handle on his speeding thoughts, needs to figure out the perfect way to reciprocate, but he doesn’t have the time.
Kenma watches Kuroo sink as the silence draws on. He sees the way Kuroo’s arms go slack, the way his knees drop slightly. Kuroo’s foot shifts back an inch, and Kenma loses his train of thought completely. He shoots out a hand to grab the cuff of Kuroo’s jacket.
“I do,” Kenma confesses, the words tumbling from his mouth before he’s sure about them. His mind only catches up after the fact, and he has to force the rest out. “Have. Feelings for you.”
He looks up at Kuroo. Really looks up, because he's never dared to from this angle before and Kuroo is oh so tall and the way he has to look down at Kenma is dizzying. Moreso is the smile that grows across Kuroo’s face, small and wobbly, missing every bit of impishness he’s so usually full of and instead full of something like awe.
“And… I’d really like to go on a date with you, if you’re asking,” Kenma continues when Kuroo fails to respond.
“Definitely asking,” Kuroo finally breathes. He moves his arm, and Kenma’s grip on his sleeve loosens. Kuroo knocks his knuckles against Kenma’s, and when Kenma doesn’t move away, he gently hooks their index fingers together. “When are you free?”
Kenma’s thick sweater is time bleached and fraying around the cuffs. He’s not wearing sweatpants today, but his cargo joggers are ripped at the knees. He’s not date-ready by any stretch of the imagination, but Kuroo’s hand is so warm, his eyes warmer still.
“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Kenma says. Kuroo’s smile widens.
The bus pulls up behind them.