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The summer weather in Akita is a mild thing. The sunshine that breaks through the August clouds coats the air in a gentle warmth that wakes Kenma alongside a chorus of laughter. The afternoon sun seeps in through the open car window and digs beneath his eyelids to pry them open faster. Normally, Kenma would double down and go back to sleep, squeeze his eyes shut and nestle his cheek into his seatbelt, but evidently there’s something that’s got both Kuroo and Bokuto giggling beneath its hilarious heel, and he posits he won’t be able to fall back asleep any time soon. At least the warmth feels good on his skin.
“Hey Kenma,” Akaashi says from the driver seat. He’s snacking on what looks like a kale and peanut butter roll-up, but Kenma decides he doesn’t have the bandwidth to think about that too hard right now. “We’re almost there.”
“You slept through the entirety of Bokuto’s part of the drive,” Kuroo says. He rummages through a grocery bag at his feet and fishes out a bundle of bananas. He breaks one off and offers it to Kenma, who keeps his gaze honed on the fruit to avoid his gentle eye-contact and to guarantee he doesn’t accidentally graze his fingers with his own.
Things are weird right now. They’re being a little weird right now. Well, Kenma is being a little weird right now, but Kuroo has never been a stranger to him. Kenma can see that he’s been turning over each of their interactions in his palm like a stone. Kuroo is just better about not being weird, an expert in taking the matter of Kenma’s comfort and making it his center of gravity, which in turn means he’ll continue business as usual to give Kenma the space to parse through the events of last sum—
Kenma doesn’t have the bandwidth to think about that, either. Not right now, anyway. He concentrates on peeling his banana.
“Good,” he says more to the back of Bokuto’s headrest. “If it was anything like the time he drove along the coast in Okinawa to see if he could outpace the clouds, then all I missed was an elevated heart rate.”
“Hey, first of all, I’m a great driver. Secondly, I totally could have driven past the clouds. I just needed more road.”
“Earlier when you saw an incoming pothole, your solution was to ‘put my foot on the gas so that we just float over it’ rather than driving around it.” Akaashi takes one hand off the steering wheel to gingerly pinch Bokuto’s earlobe. Kenma peeks up through his bangs and stares as Bokuto catches Akaashi’s hand and kisses his palm. When he leans a few centimeters to his right to observe, he can see Kuroo turn to watch him in his periphery.
“And we drove over it just fine!”
“The small lump on top of my head begs to differ,” Kuroo adds, prompting another playful back and forth that’s sure to last the rest of the way to the campsite. Kenma can’t seem to get any service as he angles his phone around, and so he settles for looking out the window.
There’s so much blue and green whirring past him as Akaashi drives. It’s a far cry from what he’s used to, splashes of color blinking at him from neon signs and towering grays and glass. Kenma closes his eyes as the wind sweeps his hair out of his face. They’ve been on the road for nine hours. It really should have been a little less than that, but both Bokuto and Kuroo still haven’t learned how to manage their beverage intake on the road, cueing more than a handful of bathroom breaks. There’s significantly more grocery bags in the back seat than he remembers, most of them bundled at Kuroo’s feet. They must have made one last pitstop for food to last them the weekend while he slept.
Kenma lingers on the weekend piece of things, on the Almost Alone with Kuroo in the Woods piece, too. All of it, really. It had all happened so quickly. Akaashi had allowed Bokuto to plan a weekend getaway to Lake Tazawa, just the two of them. And to Bokuto’s credit, he had done everything right. The correct place, date, time. I went to college, I got this, Bokuto had said.
And he had it, until he booked an entire bungalow rather than the generous tent Akaashi had suggested. They could not in good conscience take up the entire thing on their own when they’d be spending most of their time outdoors. Kenma snorted when he saw Akaashi’s invitation in their group chat. “Kenma” and “camping” aren’t two words that are likely to occupy the same sentence without “would never be caught dead” buffering in between. He’d almost said no and even considered rearranging his streaming schedule to conjure up an excuse until a text from Kuroo chimed in moments later.
I’m down if you are. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do, but we haven’t seen each other in a while, and I think it’d be good.
Kenma has always been good at thinking things over, taking his time when something is supposed to count. If Kuroo can turn stones over in his palm, Kenma can break one into pieces, come to a conclusion, and put it all back together after understanding it completely.
He probably should have thought about it more, but his mind had so quickly wandered to a smiling Kuroo in the sun, a Kuroo against the deep blue of Lake Tazawa, a Kuroo within his range again.
And of course the opportunity to pretend that he wasn’t being weird about, well. Kenma is good at identifying boons. Kuroo’s response came in barely a few moments after Kenma had told him he’d go.
Great, I’ll bring you a hat. :)
Kenma opens his eyes when the car comes to a stop, and Kuroo and Bokuto cheer as they launch themselves out into the parking lot. Kenma takes a deep breath before he peels himself off the seat and steps out.
The sun takes all of its previous careful late afternoon warmth and bathes Kenma in it like a spotlight. This region is much less humid than most parts of Japan this time of year, but it’s still there, hanging in the air with enough weight that Kenma can feel it blanket his skin. There’s a bird somewhere in the distance in a relentless cawing match with itself, and there’s already dirt caking the wrong parts of his shoes. He wrinkles his nose and frowns, hindsight pummeling into him like the humidity. He left most of his tolerance for being hot and sweaty on the court seventeen years ago.
“Feels good to stand, right?” Kuroo rounds the corner and laughs when he catches Kenma’s face. “Come on, it’s not that bad!”
“We have to deal with this,” Kenma waves his hand around, “for three days. It’s dire.”
“Have I ever told you how good you are at taking things in stride?” Kuroo walks over and places a straw hat on Kenma’s head. “This should help, and the fresh air will be good for you. When was the last time you were outside? Grabbing your mail doesn’t count.”
Kenma fiddles with the white ribbon tied around the base of the hat. “It doesn’t matter. I’m out here now.” He shuffles a foot around in the dirt and tries not to wince.
“Don’t look too pleased about it,” Kuroo teases. Kenma rolls his eyes and breathes out a small laugh, which he promptly reigns back in before it morphs into a wheeze. Kuroo is stretching, arms reaching towards the sky, his shirt hiking up enough to reveal a sliver of his very familiar happy trail. If he notices Kenma staring, he keeps it to himself. That errant thought makes something shift in Kenma’s chest, and he files it away for later.
“Here,” Akaashi spawns from behind and hands Kenma several grocery bags. “We’re doing this in one trip.”
Kenma looks over Akaashi’s shoulder and glares at Kuroo.
“Things in stride, remember?” Kuroo laughs before Akaashi bestows even more bags into his arms.
Lugging a bunch of groceries along with his own belongings for an eighth of a mile outside where even a setting sun tackles him from all sides would typically be the sort of thing that would land Kenma on the news. But as they trek to their bungalow, Kenma gets a clear view of Lake Tazawa, deep and blue and large you could sink just looking at it. The mountains hugging the horizon are bursting with green summer flora, the slopes and peaks almost taking on the shape of a woman lying down on the coast. The waning sunlight shifts its attention away from Kenma and settles on the golden Statue of Tazuko so far off in the distance.
The view is enormous, but Kenma still needs to look past Kuroo to really take it in. He’s looking towards the water, and when he catches Kuroo’s smile as he registers the mountains, the bags hanging off his arms feel lighter and heavier all at once.
“I’m guessing you didn’t get the memo on the sleeping arrangements, either,” Kuroo says in disbelief.
Kenma looks at the only other bed in the entire bungalow like it’ll transport him to some eldritch nightmare if he gets anywhere near it. Akaashi and Bokuto had indeed failed to let either of them know that they’d be sharing a bed. Kenma can’t really fault them, though. Under normal circumstances, it’d be fine. They’ve known each other long enough that it wouldn’t land inside the realm of unusual.
But there’s the matter of the weirdness, of Kenma recalling the last time they shared a bed. He knows Kuroo is thinking about it too from the way he takes a step to his right to give Kenma a little more breathing room.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Kuroo says, already moving to reach for the extra blankets to bundle on the ground.
Kenma is tired. They were on the road for nine hours, he can still feel the grooves in his forearms from where the grocery bags had dug into his skin, he is sweaty, he is tired.
He can’t take Kuroo’s endless consideration for him right now.
“No,” he says, tugging on Kuroo’s shirt. “It’s fine. The bed is huge, there’s enough room for us to have plenty of space.”
Kuroo’s gaze lifts from where Kenma’s hand leaves his shirt to Kenma, searching for signs of hesitation. Kenma keeps his face statuesque.
“Alright,” Kuroo concedes. “It’ll be like the sleepovers we had as kids. I’m sure there’s a flashlight around here somewhere for my famous terrifying tales.”
“No thanks,” Kenma snorts. His shoulders sag from the tension releasing out of his pores. He can do this, he can do old, familiar ground. “They’re hardly scary.”
“That hurts. And fine, but if you brought your Switch, I can pretend to roll over and fall asleep only to cave and watch you play under the covers.”
This punches a laugh out of Kenma. He’s not sure if it’s from nerves or genuine glee, but either way, he’s relieved that he can manage a laugh alone with Kuroo right now.
“Deal.”
All the food gets put away, everyone is showered and settled, and their exhaustion cuts any late evening conversations short. The bungalow relaxes as the summer evening breathes in through the slightly open windows. Kenma stares at the ceiling as he clenches his molars to prevent himself from vibrating out of his skin. The bedsheets feel good, Akaashi had mentioned some impossible thread count, and Kenma is thankful for it. The softness eases a lot of his apprehension.
He’s been staring at the ceiling for hours trying to reckon with the Kuroo-shaped lump to his left.
“It’s only three days,” he whispers to himself. His eyelids begin to lose against his fatigue, and Kenma figures he might as well rip the bandaid off. He shuffles into his preferred sleeping position, on his side facing left with his knees bent.
He’s looking directly at Kuroo’s back, observing the rise and fall of his shoulders. Kenma tries to match his breathing, taking in long, slow breaths until it really is a losing battle to keep his eyes open. He stares at Kuroo’s back for a couple more minutes, taking in the expanse of it like he has so many times before. There’s too many trees outside the window to let any moonlight in, but Kenma allows his imagination to fill in the blanks. It would suit Kuroo to be bathed in moonlight. Kenma reaches for his shoulder just to see if he’ll let him.
The unfairness of it snatches his hand back and tucks it safely to his chest.
+
Kenma might end up on the news.
The sun must have exuded all of its kindness yesterday because now it’s searing everything in sight, coating everything in its relentless heat. Kenma is sweating beneath his hat, which he can’t take off on account of his nose’s penchant for burning, and he can feel the summer stick to his skin as the minutes pass. He keeps brushing his arms against Kuroo’s, and he almost gnaws a hole through his cheek to resist the urge to recoil, or lean into it despite the sweat, which is gross, but Kenma blames the errant thought on the heat. They’ve been on this trail for an hour now, and Kenma has long given up on fixing his expression. Kuroo hasn’t left his side since they started. Kenma knows he’s itching to walk a little bit faster, but he can’t spare him the energy right now. They had to drive to this trail.
“Bokuto,” Akaashi pauses and waits for Kenma to catch up. “Slow down. We’re supposed to be taking in the sights as we hike. At this rate you’ll finish the entire trail without even looking at a single tree.”
“There’s so many trees I think I’ll see them when I close my eyes in bed later,” Bokuto laughs. He looks over his shoulder and grins at the three of them, jogging over to grab Akaashi’s hand. He makes an effort to look up and around, breathing so hard at the flora he may very well inhale some of it. It prompts a laugh out of Kuroo and Akaashi, and Kenma can’t fight off his smile.
“It’s nice, right?” Kuroo asks him as they continue on. Kenma pulls a Bokuto and looks around, gazing up at the tall pines and their elongating branches. It’s like they’re stretching after a long sleep, growing up and up, spreading all of their green all around. It plays well against the sky, so extraordinarily blue Kenma feels like he’s in a video game. If he squints through the thick tree trucks well enough he can see Lake Tazawako peek through the trail in its equally perfect hue. Kenma may not be fond of the outdoors, but even he can bow his head to its titanic beauty.
Kenma looks up at Kuroo’s waiting smile and says, “Yeah, it’s really nice.” He pretends not to notice the way his gaze lights up, like he’s said something important.
“Did you know,” and Kenma fondly sighs as Kuroo points to the trees, “that there are two common types of Japanese pine? Red pine and black pine.”
“And they’re a symbol of long life and stability,” Bokuto adds. At Kenma and Kuroo’s confused brows, he says, “I went to college! I know things.”
“Remember when you wore a suit to your first class because you forgot to do laundry the day before?” Kuroo tugs on his cheek.
“Shut up,” Bokuto slaps him away with a grin and surveys this part of the trail. It’s widened out into a large circle with a bench perched just on the outskirts. “Also, here’s good!”
“Good for what?” Akaashi asks, chewing through about three cabbage leaves. Kenma doesn’t bother asking where he got them from.
Bokuto takes off his backpack and rummages through it before taking out a volleyball.
“Of course you brought one,” Akaashi says through a smile. “I’ll sit this out for now, though.”
“Me too,” Kenma follows him to the bench.
“Not me, pass it here.” Kuroo digs the ball when Bokuto hits it down at him, and they pass the time peppering back and forth. The sound of the back and forth, that familiar and comfortable bump, bump, bump, eases the last remaining dregs of tension in Kenma’s shoulders.
He watches Kuroo get low to pass the ball, his calves flexing beneath his weight. When he reaches up to lightly smack the ball down at Bokuto, Kenma fixates on his bicep as it peeks from beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Kuroo laughs when Bokuto digs the ball perfectly, and when Kenma examines the way his lingering smile skews a little left like it always does, a bead of sweat trickles down from his temple into the corner of his mouth. Kuroo swipes it with the back of his hand, and Kenma reaches for the water bottle in his backpack without tearing his gaze away.
A crunch from his left drags him away from the back and forth. Akaashi is staring at him with an unreadable expression, cheeks full of cabbage like he’s keeping it in there for storage. He chews for a moment and swallows, offering a cabbage leaf to Kenma.
“Want one?” It goes limp in seconds.
“No thanks.”
“Alright.” Akaashi shrugs, shoving the cabbage in his mouth. He stares at Kenma as he chews, and before Kenma has a chance to look away, he says, “It might help you cool down, though.”
Kenma groans, resisting the urge to bury his face in his palms so he doesn’t draw Bokuto or Kuroo’s attention to himself. He opts for flushing beneath the shelter of his hat instead. Akaashi snorts.
“Your cabbage looks warm,” Kenma grits, all of the heat in his voice evaporating to make room for his embarrassment. His eyebrow twitches when he hears Kuroo grunt, and he frowns when Akaashi clocks it.
“I know,” Kenma sighs.
“I didn’t say anything,” Akaashi says, his smile sinister.
“I know.
“Shit,” Kuroo huffs, and Kenma looks up in time to watch the ball sail into the trees. “I shanked it, I got it!” Kuroo jogs into the woods, and while Kenma doesn’t want anything to do with rummaging around off the trail, Akaashi is still staring at him with a quiet smugness that gets him off the bench.
“I’ll help him,” he says, wincing as soon as a bush catches on his ankles.
He catches up to Kuroo, the ball nowhere in sight. They look around their surroundings, peering around trees and squinting through bushes, but the ball eludes them, which Kenma doesn’t understand even a little bit. It’s bright and blue and yellow, and yet, it’s gone. Kuroo sighs as he gets up from a squat after rummaging around a bush. He takes the hem of his shirt and wipes some of the sweat off his face, revealing that familiar happy trail. Kenma feels like he’s been struck by lightning, and he knows his mouth has twisted like he’s bitten into a lemon.
Kuroo doesn’t notice, thankfully. He lets out a groan.
“I can’t have shanked it that badly.”
“I don’t know Mr. JVA, maybe you’re just out of practice.”
Kuroo shrugs. “Yeah, yeah. But let the record show I was keeping up with a whole Olympian.”
“Who was taking it easy on you,” Kenma adds.
“Ouch!”
“If we get eaten by a wild animal, I’m dedicating an entire stream to slandering you.”
“How would you manage that if we’ve been eaten?”
“I’ll figure it out.” Kenma looks up at Kuroo, who is already peering down with an expression that renders Kenma still. There’s an open gentleness in his gaze, inviting Kenma to apply pressure and tear, like pressing into a steamed dumpling until the filling spills out. He’s wearing it so brazenly, and Kenma has a feeling he’d stare at him like this even if they weren’t alone.
He’d expected this, for Kuroo to leave the light on, to invite him to bask beneath the glow, but not this early. Kuroo has been considerate and patient from the moment he got into the car, and Kenma still doesn’t know what to do with this thoughtfulness. Kuroo has gently deposited it in his hands for most of their lives, and not knowing how to properly carry it anymore makes Kenma feel like he’s consistently missing a step walking down the stairs.
A shame that one stupid evening could almost dismantle a lifetime.
“You need to reapply your sunscreen,” Kuroo says.
“What?” Kenma wrinkles his nose and feels a little tightness in the skin there.
“Here,” Kuroo gingerly traces out the lines from the bridge of his nose. “It’s getting too pink.”
“I’ll put some more on when we get back on the trail. Akaashi has my sunscreen.” It takes more force of will than Kenma would like to admit to get the words out without whispering. He can still feel the tip of Kuroo’s finger on his skin.
“No need, I have some with me.” Kuroo digs into his pocket and pulls out a travel-sized tube of sunscreen. When Kenma reaches for it, he pulls it back and opens the cap.
“I got it,” he breathes, squeezing some of it onto his finger and slowly rubbing it onto Kenma’s nose. He trails his finger up and down along the bridge and then around his nostrils. Kenma curls his toes when Kuroo swipes the remainder on the mounds of his cheeks, and he inhales sharply when Kuroo’s pinky catches on his bottom lip. His palms feel like he’s dunked them in seltzer water.
“There,” Kuroo says, pocketing the sunscreen.
Kenma ducks behind his hair and is thankful for the added shelter of his hat. He knows Kuroo is staring at him with that expression again, but he doesn’t think he can bear the weight of it right now.
“Thanks,” he huffs. His gaze darts everywhere except Kuroo until he catches a familiar blue in his periphery. He walks over to the bush and plucks out the volleyball.
“You really are out of practice.” Kenma tosses the ball to Kuroo.
“You continue to wound me!” Kuroo clutches his chest as they make their way back to the trail.
And if Kenma knows that Kuroo had already checked that particular bush, he doesn’t mention it.
Turns out, with a little patience and plenty of endurance—both of which Kenma has a hard time conceding to when he’s sweating and outside—making it to the end of the trail is worth it.
A humble waterfall cascades before them, gentle as it reaches the body of water below. It sneaks through the cracks on the small cliffside like a spider web, and Kenma resists the urge to wade through the water just to feel it run through his fingers. There’s something enormous about how the waterfall seems to be holding back, like at any moment it could remind them that it is so many times bigger than them, but it chooses to be mindful instead.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, barely audible over Akaashi talking Bokuto out of scaling the rocks and jumping off the apex.
“Yeah,” Kuroo agrees from his left, “it is.”
Kenma doesn’t have the courage to look up.
+
Kenma is too warm when he wakes. He throws the covers off and mutters a half-hearted apology to Kuroo, only to realize that there’s nobody occupying the space next to him. He pats the sheets behind him without looking just to double-check before turning towards his solitude. He waits for the relief he expects with this rare opportunity. Even though he recognizes that things are quickly defrosting between the two of them, he’s still sleeping like he needs to occupy the least amount of room on the bed. There should be some modicum of ease now that he’s had a chance to sit in his own space.
But when Kenma looks at the empty sheets, at the strand of black hair sticking to the pillow next to his, all he can feel is pressure dropping in his stomach like an anvil.
He gets ready for the day and pads into the kitchen. Kuroo is sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone as he drinks a glass of water. The window curtains are drawn, but the sun sneaks through anyway, cascading across the table and settling its heat right in front of Kuroo. There’s sweat gathering at his temple, and it drips down the side of his face and lands on his knee where he’s got one leg crossed over the other. Kenma has an absurd train of thought that he humors for a few moments. He imagines himself walking over and running his hand through Kuroo's hair, to feel the sweat on his palm and tease him about it a little. He imagines sitting in Kuroo’s lap, the proximity making things uncomfortably warm, but not caring about any of it. He imagines padding into a shared kitchen and doing it all very, very often.
And while he can imagine Kuroo reciprocating all of it, he has a hard time admitting that it would be because Kuroo has never denied him anything in a way that only benefits Kenma.
“Hey,” Kuroo says through his lop-sided smile. “Bokuto and Akaashi drove to one of the adjacent camps. They mentioned something about dogs being allowed at that one.”
Kenma twists his face into a frown, which earns him a loud, high-pitched laugh that has him fumbling with the hem of his shirt so that he can resist erupting into laughter himself.
“We don’t have to go,” Kuroo adds, draining the rest of his water and standing up from the table. Kenma watches his movements and continues to fiddle with his shirt. “I was thinking of grabbing one of the canoes and doing a lap around the chunk of lake right there. What do you think?”
Kenma squints pass the curtains and stares at the sliver of that magnificent blue lake that he can see. It would probably cool them down, especially since the breeze is blowing over the surface of the water. There’s a serenity hovering over the lake that Kenma wants to submerge himself in. If he’s spending the weekend outdoors, he might as well spend his time in the parts he enjoys.
There’s the matter of spending an afternoon alone with Kuroo in the middle of a lake where even if he wanted to, he’d have no place to run. But his mind wanders back to their shared bed, to the empty sheets and his unanticipated solitude, to the last time one of them had to wake up to an emptiness carved between their chests.
“Would I have to help paddle?” Kenma asks.
Kuroo looks down at him with a smile. Kenma wants to dig into his chest with his hands.
“Yeah, but you’ll be fine.”
Getting a canoe out of the nearest shed is easy enough, but the late morning sun insists on blanketing them in summer. Kenma is already sweating by the time they get to the lip of the lake, and Kuroo wastes no time taking off his shirt once the canoe is in the water. Kenma flips through twenty scenarios in twenty seconds, and he does not make it out in one piece in any of them.
“Here,” Kuroo says, offering his hand once he’s in the canoe. Kenma stares at it and contemplates stepping in himself, turning around completely, or jumping in the lake. The sun has found the back of his neck, sneaking around the shade of his hat, and he holds his breath when he grabs Kuroo’s hand and steps in to escape the heat. Kuroo’s grip is strong, and Kenma quickly looks away when he catches himself locking in on the way his forearm flexes.
A breeze skirts along the surface and it’s a welcomed relief when it tickles the nape of his neck. They slowly paddle a little ways from the shoreline, sticking closer to the perimeter until they get used to the motions. Kenma takes it all in, the restless breeze, the swaying trees, that enormous blue. Kenma does not reckon with the serenity of the outdoors ever, so he appreciates these surprising little moments where he’s not even noting that his arms are tired. The beauty of their surroundings is also a much needed distraction from the way the wind runs its fingers through Kuroo’s hair.
“Told you you’d be fine.”
Kenma rolls his eyes, partly because despite the last year, it’s still knee-jerk to fall into this sort of playfulness, but mostly so he can give himself a second to look away from the way Kuroo’s bare chest moves as he rows.
“If the sun incinerates me before we get to the middle of the lake, I’m haunting you.”
“Would you even have the energy to haunt me as a ghost?” Kuroo snorts.
“I’d find the energy,” Kenma answers. “I’d be a sunburnt ghost. The rage from that alone would fuel me.”
“Nah.” Kuroo reaches over and adjusts Kenma’s hat so that it shades his cheeks completely. “I’ve got you covered.”
Kenma hums as they continue rowing. It’s a huge lake, and the unexpected charm of the outdoors is starting to wear off, which means he can feel the fatigue in his biceps. It’s not like he’s completely allowed all of his prior strength to melt off throughout the years, but he’s not exactly hitting the gym regularly, either. Kuroo doesn’t seem to be struggling all that much, heaving them through the water like a knife. Kenma takes the opportunity to be a little selfish and ease up on his own rowing. Kuroo looks up from his concentration and smiles, his grin harpooning through Kenma’s neck as he rows harder. An entire lifetime and a clumsy summer, and he still isn’t used to it.
They reach the center of this part of the lake soon enough, and Kenma wastes no time resting his oars inside the canoe. Kuroo giggles when Kenma breathes out a sigh of relief, which he chooses to ignore as he takes stock of everything around them.
They’re too far from the treeline to find any relief from the sun, but Kenma doesn’t mind, not when the expanding blue of the water gently sways to and fro. He looks around in every direction, and it feels like the lake stretches on and on for more miles than it actually covers. It breaks into the surrounding flora and mirrors the clear sky above. Kenma gently breaks through the surface with his fingers, and he almost anticipates passing his palm through a cloud. The water is cool, and it feels so nice that Kenma subconsciously groans in relief. He’s not as embarrassed as he’d normally be; he won’t be apologetic about combating the heat.
“Feel good?”
Kenma turns away from the water to glare at Kuroo only to be met with an expression he’s seen once before an entire summer ago. Hunger seeps out of Kuroo’s gaze, and Kenma dips his hand into the water again to stave off the heat trickling down his spine. It’s a there and gone again thing that Kuroo dissipates completely when he reaches above his head and stretches, but Kenma wonders if this is something they should bring up right about now. The conditions are ideal; they’re alone, there’s nowhere to run, the peace of their surroundings will buoy any flyaway emotions.
But at the same time, they’re alone, there’s nowhere to run, and the peace of their surroundings would underscore the potential discord a conversation like that would spark.
It’s not that Kenma thinks Kuroo would be unreasonable, or that even he himself would be unreasonable. If Kenma really thinks about it, the only thing that would potentially make their much-needed conversation go south is his penchant for not only still being a little childish, but being childish around Kuroo. A whole lifetime of being involved in a dynamic is knowing how you fit in it, and Kenma knows all too well how skewed in his favor his friendship with Kuroo has always been.
It hadn’t been a personal point of contention with himself until last summer.
“It’s pretty nice,” he finally answers.
“The water is unreal.” Kuroo dips his hands in and splashes his face. “You think it’s a bad idea to jump in right now?”
“We’re kinda far from shore, but I’m not stopping you. If you do end up jumping in and can’t climb back in, you’ll have to push it back to the campsite.”
“With you in it?”
Kenma shrugs. “I’m not rowing by myself.”
“You think I can do it?” Kuroo bats his lashes quickly, like his eyeballs have sprouted wings and are attempting to fly away. Kenma doesn’t have it in him to bury his smile.
“I don’t know, jump in the lake and find out.”
Kuroo’s laugh startles a bird out of its dive into the lake, and it feels like the breeze carries his noise and deposits it all over Kenma. It’s been a long while since they’ve had a moment together like this, but it doesn’t ram into Kenma’s chest headfirst. The familiarity of a morning like this has always and will always be in Kenma’s line of sight or, at the very least, the corner of his eye. Despite whatever Kenma has allowed to fester in between them, he will never be startled out of enjoying Kuroo’s company. A lifetime, and all that.
“This is making me think of Fukunaga’s birthday party from a few years back, his twenty-ninth, I think. I don’t remember which park it was, but we all ended up in the lake eventually.”
“At the end of September,” Kenma groans, shivering as he recalls the order of events. Yamamoto, for some reason, was convinced the lake was deep enough to jump in like a cannonball. Suffice to say, it was barely deep enough, and a good chunk of the party-goers jumped in to make sure he was fine. The only sign of bruising was in the shape of Yamamoto’s frown as his ego plummeted to the shallow depths of the lake. Somehow, this evolved into a chicken fight tournament since most of the former Nekoma team was already in the water. Kenma was not among the brave to initially test the waters in the middle of fall, but ended up on Kuroo’s shoulders anyway as he failed, spectacularly, to throw Yaku off Lev.
“I still think we could have won that round of chicken,” Kuroo sighs.
“Yaku is an international athlete and Lev is almost 195 centimeters tall, we were never winning.”
“I’d take those odds again.”
“Yeah? Jump in the lake, then. Let’s see.”
They continue like this for the rest of the morning, chatting and reminiscing with pockets of comfortable silence seamlessly breaking up the conversation. Almost all of Kenma’s apprehension has dissipated, and he’s glad he’s not surprised by it. The only reason he can approximate how many hours they’ve been floating is because the sun has reached its apex in the sky and has made angling its sunbeams directly onto Kenma’s cheek its personal mission.
“Did you bring any sunscreen with you?” Kuroo asks when Kenma attempts to shift his hat.
“No, I forgot it on the table with my phone.”
Kuroo huffs out a laugh and digs into his pocket to pull out the same tube he carried with him during their hike. He carefully shuffles in close, squeezing sunscreen on his fingers and gently rubbing it into Kenma’s cheeks. Kenma hangs onto the side of the canoe so tightly he fears he might splinter that side completely. Kuroo is so careful, so slow, his movements soft. He spends more time than necessary to make sure the sunscreen is truly blended in, but Kenma doesn’t care. He doesn’t dare look away when Kuroo is finally finished but doesn’t remove his hands. In fact, he’s cradling Kenma’s cheeks now, his thumbs grazing over the skin. Kenma feels all of the summer heat pool in his gut when Kuroo narrows his eyes and leans in.
A wiry, buzzing noise hovers close until a giant horse-fly has the audacity to flit in between and all around them. They try to swat it away only to almost slap each other a few times. It finally flies away after a couple minutes, but not before Kenma mentally curses it and its entire bloodline. Kuroo leans back and grabs his oars, a blush high on his cheeks, and Kenma so badly wants to tease him about it, but with the mood now turned into mist, he picks up his own oars and helps him row them back to shore.
It’s quiet on the way back, but not entirely uncomfortable. It’s probably for the best. Kenma doesn’t think he should be hanging around a shirtless Kuroo before properly talking about last summer, let alone making out with him in the middle of a lake.
He’s still allowed to be disappointed by it, and judging from the way Kuroo hasn’t really looked at him since, he’s probably in the same boat.
Kenma steps off first when they make it to the tiny dock, but before he can turn around for Kuroo, he hears a loud splash followed by some cool drops of lake now sparkling on the back of his legs.
“Did you fall in?”
Kuroo dives under the surface two more times before walking the canoe back to the shore.
“No, I jumped. It’s too hot out here.”
“At least you can feel a little more confident about being able to push the canoe while you’re in the water,” Kenma tries.
Kuroo smiles. “I guess so.”
They take the canoe back to the shed, and Kenma almost wants to spend the next hour in its shade. It’s a little stuffy, but the sun barely reaches him here. It’s nice. He basks in the minimal darkness for a minute before turning towards the door, but he doesn’t even take steps before Kuroo stops walking in front of him.
“Kuro?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t even turn around for a full thirty seconds until he swivels with all the grace of a newborn calf to face Kenma.
“About earlier,” Kuroo starts. Kenma swallows and prays it isn’t audible.
“Earlier…”
“Yeah,” Kuroo scratches the back of his head and takes a deep breath. “When I was reapplying your sunscreen. You know?”
Kenma nods, twisting the hem of his shirt.
“Do you wanna pick up where we left off?”
There’s a few angles Kenma can attack this from. The most logical and responsible angle is to say no, to walk away until they talk later about the unkept trail behind them thanks to everything spilling from their backpockets.
He can say no, but stay put and insist that they sort this all out right now rather than just walk away.
But Kuroo is still damp from his plunge in the lake, and he’s still shirtless, and his early thirties are doing remarkable things to him, and Kenma is dizzy with want.
“Yeah,” he whispers.
Kuroo wastes zero time, diving in to kiss Kenma like he’ll evaporate if he doesn’t. It's a warm, wet thing, and by all accounts, it should be awful in this heat, but Kenma doesn’t give a shit. It’s Kuroo. They’re exploring each other’s mouths in no time, and Kenma almost laughs into it when he realizes that all of this is also familiar. Kuroo helps him yank his shirt off, and when Kenma wraps his arms around his neck and they’re finally chest to chest, it’s so delicious that he bites his bottom lip hard and moans. He’d made so many mental notes last summer and had scribbled them all in his prefrontal cortex. He knows what Kuroo likes.
“Fuck,” Kuroo huffs as he backs Kenma against the wall. They stay like this for a while, kissing so roughly Kenma has half a mind to ask if they can pause to take a seat, but he doesn’t hate himself that much, so he keeps up with Kuroo’s enthusiasm.
There’s a part of him insisting for him to stop, to press the giant red button and gently push Kuroo off him so they can talk, but that nagging gets quickly snuffed when Kuroo begins trailing kisses down his neck and chest until he’s right at his pelvis. Kuroo is also a very good note taker.
Kenma’s shorts and boxers are peeled off as soon as Kuroo is on his knees. He takes one of Kenma’s legs, hooks it over his shoulder, and proceeds to take care of him with his mouth for the rest of the afternoon.
Kenma watches the smoke drift from the grill and curl beneath the inky canvas of the evening, and while he’s appreciated his exposure to the bright blue daytime sky, he’s thankful to bask in the dark and the temperature drop. It’s not all that drastic, but it’s enough where eating hot food doesn’t make him want to die. He takes a second bite of his skewer and hums.
“Good right?” Bokuto boasts from the grill, flipping a skewer over.
Kenma swallows and nods. “It’s seasoned well.”
“See Akaashi, I told you it wasn’t too much pepper.”
“I definitely misspoke.” Akaashi gets up and allows Bokuto to deposit his third skewer on his plate. When he takes his seat again, he procures a jar of strawberry preserves out of thin air and spreads a thick layer on it before digging in. Kenma can’t even pretend to be surprised at this point.
“I swear if you guys already ate most of the food I’m throwing Bokuto in the lake.” Kuroo emerges from the cabin, runs over to the grill, and tries to wrestle the spatula out of Bokuto’s hand. Kenma feels bad for the relief flooding his chest at the fact that Kuroo didn’t immediately take a seat next to him. He sort of hopes he won’t have to be less than a few inches away from him until they go to bed. The compressed pressure between any kind of minimized space between them might blow the entire campsite up.
“Like you could even pick me up!”
“I think he could,” Akaashi says before taking a bite. Strawberry preserves ooze out from the side and land on his plate with a plop.
“What? I’m a premier athlete!”
“So?” Kuroo manages to take hold of the spatula only for Bokuto to get a grip on it again.
“The only way Kuroo is getting Bokuto in the lake is if he gets running start, and even then, it’s about forty-sixty Bokuto even budges,” Kenma adds.
“I feel so betrayed right now.” Kuroo gives up on the spatula to clutch his chest. Akaashi wordlessly hands him a paper plate while Bokuto slides skewers onto it. Kuroo turns towards Kenma and grins as he makes his way towards him. He might as well have swung a war hammer into his gut.
“You’re gonna let me have the rest of yours if you don’t finish it, right?” Kuroo asks as he sits down.
“Only if you catch it when I throw it like a frisbee.”
“Do I get a running start?”
“No,” Kenma says as he takes another bite to avoid smiling. The steady back-and-forth is keeping most of his nerves at bay, even if he can’t quite manage to take so much as a glance at Kuroo without his brain short-circuiting until all he can think about is their afternoon in the shed. Kuroo’s hands, his mouth, his fervor, all of it familiar, all of it electric. As much as he enjoyed himself, thinking about it leaves an odd taste in his mouth. They’re very much adults with their own volitions, but Kenma still feels like they shouldn’t have indulged themselves without talking about last summer first. All of this is out of order, and while Kenma has always had a knack for assessing a shifting situation and determining the best way to pivot, he’s out of his depth this time. He’s never had this much to lose.
Kuroo, bless him, is patient. Kenma has been radiating anxiety since their rendezvous that even Bokuto and Akaashi have noticed and given him his desired space without him having to ask. Kuroo has given him room to breathe by being so unflinchingly himself. Kuroo just being Kuroo, all familiarity that gets Kenma to get off his heels.
But as the evening moves on, and more skewers are eaten and fatigue presses in on them from all sides, Bokuto lays his head on Akaashi’s shoulder and swears he’s just resting his eyes. Only a few minutes pass before his loud snoring drifts into the air. Kenma can’t look away when Akaashi carefully rests his temple on top of Bokuto and doesn’t bother with stifling his affection. Kenma’s gaze quickly darts to their hands, where Akaashi gently takes Bokuto’s into his and rubs his thumb across the back.
“I’m turning in,” Kenma says, abruptly getting on his feet and walking towards the cabin so quickly he needs to remind himself to bend his knees. He hears the door behind him open as soon as he shuts it, but he doesn’t turn around. His current objective is making it into the shelter of the bathroom in one piece.
“Hey.”
Kenma stops, but he still doesn’t turn around. He knows he can’t get away with pretending he didn’t hear Kuroo, that’s just absurd. He could pick out that voice from across a stadium, and he knows Kuroo is aware of this. He’s banking on being stubborn, of that being enough to make Kuroo’s patience wear until it’s bald.
But when it comes to Kenma, Kuroo is just as stubborn.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Kenma manages. “Just tired.”
“Okay,” Kuroo starts slowly, “it just seemed like–”
Kenma turns to face him. “Like what?” There’s no heat in his voice, but it still makes Kuroo frown.
“Nothing weird, or anything.” Kuroo puts his hands up. “Just, you were staring so hard at them.”
“No.” Kenma can feel his cheeks burning.
“Right.” Kuroo puts his hands down and sighs. “It was almost like you were jealous.”
“Of what?” Kenma gets the words out worse than someone trying to speak through a mouthful of sand.
“That’s the thing. I’m pretty sure I know, but I also know if I mention it, you’re going to deny it and brush past me to get to the bathroom.”
Kenma bristles at the accuracy. “I’m too old to get jealous over someone else’s relationship.”
“No you’re not,” Kuroo snorts. “You think we grow out of feelings like that at what? Mid-twenties? We’re just expected to know how to better handle them now.” A pause, and then, “Also don’t call being in our early thirties old. I’m sensitive,” he tries. It doesn’t land.
“You knew what I meant.” Kenma fixates on the top of the doorframe he can see over Kuroo’s shoulder. He allows a few seconds to pass before he fulfills Kuroo’s prediction and brushes past him. “I’m getting ready for bed.”
“Kenma,” Kuroo says after him. It gets him to stop, again, and it pisses him off a little, his eagerness. “If you want something more, like–”
“If I want?” Kenma digs his nails into his palms.
“Yes, if you want, we could–”
“So our entire thing hinges on what I want?”
“Yeah?” Kenma finally hears impatience thread itself into Kuroo’s voice and is sort of relieved by it, which in turn makes him feel like shit. “Unless you’re happy with hooking up once a year and then acting weird about it for months afterwards.”
“That’s not fair.” Kenma presses his nails deeper.
“Maybe not, but I don’t think any of this is.” Kuroos sighs. “I’ll go along with whatever you want, though.”
“So whatever I say, whatever I want, you’re just going to roll with it? No questions asked?” If Kenma clenches his fists any further he’ll draw blood, which Kuroo will feel obligated to fuss over. He’d rather implode on the spot.
“Maybe one or two, but basically, yes. What do you want, Kenma?” Confusion is pulling at all sorts of points on Kuroo’s face, but Kenma doesn’t know what needs to be clarified. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel it in his wrists. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything rational.
“I want to get ready for bed,” he says before rushing into the bathroom and closing the door.
Kenma settles into his side of the bed and waits for Kuroo when he hears him exit the bathroom, but he never steps foot into the bedroom. A closet in the hallway opens as Kuroo rummages around it for a minute before his footsteps fade away in the direction of the living room. Kenma can’t blame him, it’s not like he gave Kuroo the impression that he’d wanted him to still come share a sleep space so Kenma could challenge himself to face that proximity head on and finally say what he means, but jury’s out on whether or not he would have actually opened his mouth. Everything about today has been exhausting, and it tugs at his eyelids as he begins to rake through the events of last summer.
Kenma had been out of commission as the last vestiges of a cold had finally subsided, and Kuroo had time for him that same weekend. Kenma had thought long and hard about whether it was coincidence or intentional and whether to tell him not to bother, but then Kuroo was in his kitchen, organizing the takeout he brought with him onto plates. He’d also washed the dishes Kenma was too sick to acknowledge, executing all these acts of service like he had been for years.
“Alright,” Kuroo said as he sat next to Kenma on the couch, “I’m all yours. What are you kicking my ass in today?”
“The new Mortal Kombat.”
A couple hours passed, and Kenma hadn’t lost a single round. Kuroo was doing that thing he does when he loses too many times in a row, which is to firmly plant his feet on the ground and lean forward like it would somehow give him better game mechanics. He’d grip the controller tight, clench his molars, and all this would do marvelous things to his forearms and jawline. Kenma almost lost a round on account of sneaking approximately forty glances over at Kuroo.
“Gah, almost had you!” Kuroo put the controller down and looked over at Kenma with a smile, which quickly dissipated the more he stared at him. “Are you okay? You look warm.”
“I’m fine.” Kenma had quickly turned away only for Kuroo to gently put his hand on his cheek to turn him back around and check his temperature. Kenma had half a mind to shove his hand away. This sort of intimacy wasn’t unusual for them, but for a brief moment, it felt like they were both about to get eaten alive by it.
“Are you sure?’ Kuroo murmured, breath on his skin. Kenma hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten, eclipsing his view of everything else so all he saw was Kuroo. “You feel super warm.”
Kenma would be a remarkable idiot if he never acknowledged the mounting tension that had been building between them since they were teenagers. He knows Kuroo has held it in his palms at several points, too. It just didn’t seem like a necessary thing to bring up over the years, especially since Kenma was fairly sure that most of the tension had spawned from his increasing yearning and Kuroo’s tendency to go along with whatever he’s feeling even if it may not be exactly what Kuroo wants to do. He’d been doing it since they were kids. Playing video games he knew he would lose at, not inviting Kenma outside to play on several occasions despite wanting to since he knew Kenma would never, twisting his schedule around to accommodate Kenma’s free time, always asking Kenma what he’d wanted. Always Kenma, never Kuroo. Kenma had already begun feeling guilty about their dynamic, but Kuroo had always seemed happy that it was the way it was. Their friendship had blossomed for years, there was no real reason for Kenma to push the boundary.
But as adulthood had settled into their bones, it became difficult for Kenma to keep everything buried. His budding crush had bloomed into something hard to manage, unfurling all around him, wrapping around all the pillars holding up his foundation. It became increasingly difficult when Kenma had experienced all of the firsts and became prone to imagining all the things he could be doing with Kuroo.
So Kenma felt it had been very necessary to lean forward, wrap his arms around Kuroo’s neck, and give his answer right above the bow of his lips.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Is this what you want?” Kuroo whispered into his ear. There was a dense uncertainty concentrating in the pit of his stomach, but it was quickly overshadowed by the inescapable heat radiating off them as he nodded into his neck.
It hadn’t occurred to him then when they were exploring each other’s mouths, or when they stripped each other of their clothes and Kuroo trailed kisses up and down his torso and around his hips before he had taken both of them into his hands and took care of the rest right on the couch, that there was a hard-to-carry possibility that Kuroo’s only motivator was that Kenma had expressed that he wanted it.
It did occur to him later, though. When Kuroo was sound asleep in his bed, arms and legs wrapped around him like, Kenma stared at the wall. It was so easy for Kuroo to follow his whims, he’d done it for years. Would Kuroo have wanted this to happen without Kenma finding the courage to initiate it? Would Kuroo have closed the distance first in any other scenario? Did Kenma, with the knowledge that Kuroo was absolutely going to surrender to him, take advantage of him?
I’ll talk to him in the morning about it, he’d decided.
But of course, Kuroo had to leave early for work, and he’d acted the same as he always did and with no indication that anything had happened. To be fair, he had overslept and was in a rush, but Kenma had also spent most of the morning sulking in the bathroom after feeling some kind of way at how easy it was for Kuroo to leap out of bed and continue business as usual. Friends as usual, like an entire plane hadn’t fallen from thousands of miles overhead and ruptured everything. It felt like Kuroo had taken a bucket of ice water and thrown it all over him while he was still naked in his bed.
Kuroo had knocked on the bathroom door and whispered something, but the ringing in Kenma’s ears had nullified the attempt.
“Okay,” he had said, before he heard Kuroo leave through the front door.
+
Akita has decided to be mild today, like the afternoon they had first arrived. Kenma revels in the much needed reprieve. Still, he’d rather avoid any possible brunt of heat the morning manages to sneak in, so he’s currently sitting on the deck of the cabin with Akaashi beneath the clumsy shade of the makeshift awning Bokuto had somehow got together in the early hours.
Kenma takes a long sip of his lemonade as he watches Kuroo and Bokuto pass the volleyball back and forth. Part of him wishes he’d been brave enough to wake up as early as everyone else and catch Kuroo before he got ready for the day to talk about last night, last summer. But when he’d finally gathered the gumption to get out of bed and confront him, Kuroo was already outside with the ball. It’s one of the very few times Kuroo has opted for not waiting around for him, and two emotions hook on each side of Kenma and pull; relief and guilt.
“How did you sleep?” Akaashi asks, taking a spoonful of strawberry preserves and dunking it into his lemonade.
Kenma frowns. “I’m sure you can guess. You saw Kuroo on the couch.”
“I’m not asking Kuroo, I’m asking you.” Akaashi shrugs.
Kenma takes another long sip of his lemonade to stall. He doesn’t want to lie to Akaashi, but he’s not sure how forthcoming he wants to be about any of this.
Oh well.
“Like shit.”
“I thought so,” Akaashi laughs. “If it helps, Kuroo didn’t look well-rested, either.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I won’t press you on what happened. We can just sit here, if that’s what you need.” Akaashi nudges the pitcher of lemonade towards Kenma, who sighs and tops off his glass.
Some time passes, and they both spend it watching Kuroo and Bokuto pass. As the sun gets closer to the center of the sky, it showers the boys in luminosity. Kenma can see all the sweat and exertion sticking onto Kuroo as he tries to keep up with Bokuto. He laughs loudly when he shanks a pass, and Kenma wants to bottle up the sound and put it on display. Kuroo looks so good like this, uninhibited by whatever the hell Kenma has going on, having a good time under the sun.
“How did you and Bokuto figure it out?” Kenma asks.
Akaashi drains the rest of his lemonade and stares at Bokuto for an entire minute before answering.
“Bokuto used to have this habit of telling me everything I did was great, perfect, no notes. Honestly, so did I, and even now we’re sometimes guilty of it. We didn’t give each other room to be anything less. On paper, it sounds fine, and it’s not like we never pointed out opportunities. For instance, when Bokuto would get into one of his moods during a high school game. But, it wears on you, unexpectedly.”
Kenma nods as he takes that in. Anyone with eyes could see that when Akaashi and Bokuto looked at each other, they saw stars, luminous and wondrous and perfect. It’s been that way since their school days. Akaashi’s right, that should have been the ideal situation, but Kenma can see how that could get out of hand. He can see how the pedestals they put each other on just kept getting higher and higher, eventually reaching a point where it might have felt impossible to feel good enough to make it work. That would have been teetering into dangerous territory, where their perceived perfection of each other could have morphed into resentment. That kind of skewed perception could have gotten a little close to being on par with their feelings for each other.
“What changed?” Kenma asks as he watches Kuroo dive into the dirt for the ball.
Akaashi huffs out a laugh. “Bokuto was in town for a match, and he found time to knock on my door. When I answered, the first thing he yelled was, ‘I think you overwork yourself and need to find time to rest and sometimes you snore super loudly and it keeps me up! But only sometimes!’”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, he started laying out every one of my arbitrary imperfections as they came to him, although it seemed like he was taking poison damage with each one he mentioned. I just stood there and took it before I had to catch him because there was a point where he forgot to take a breath.”
“And then?”
Akaashi shrugs. “We just talked about it, all of it. How we felt about each other, why we both hesitated for the wrong reasons. We have years of history, and even if we didn’t, it would have fallen into place thanks to that very silly segue, we’re that close. But despite the years and the closeness, we aren’t mind readers.”
Kenma hums and finishes the rest of his lemonade. Kuroo and Bokuto have moved on to who can receive a too-high pass the best. Bokuto is winning by a large margin, but Kuroo is still enjoying himself. Akaashi refills both of their glasses, and when he adds another spoonful of preserves into his glass, Kenma’s hand twitches.
“Could you put a little in mine?”
Akaashi’s smile is as big as a dinner plate as he plops a dollop into Kenma’s lemonade.
It’s very good.
Kenma waits in the kitchen as Kuroo gets ready to go canoeing. Bokuto and Akaashi have already gotten a head start and must be at the center of the lake by now, but Kuroo insisted he needed to get at least some of the dirt off him. He greets Kenma the same as he always has, but there’s no denying the tightness that exists between them now. Kenma could probably snap it with a small tug.
He’s pacing now, probably digging a circle around the kitchen table as he hears Kuroo finishing up. He’s tearing a page out of Bokuto’s book. He’ll start small, start silly. He’ll bring up Kuroo’s unruly bedhead, his ear-piercing laugh, that he’s too generous with his smiles, that sometimes he can dish it out but he can’t take it, and Kenma will say that he wants all of it, and go from there into the actual point of contention.
But when Kuroo finally pads out of their shared room and asks if he’s ready, Kenma says, loudly, “I want you to want me.”
To his credit, Kuroo does not look as shocked as Kenma had anticipated. In fact, all that erupts from his expression is confusion.
“Kenma, what?”
“I–” Well, fuck it. “I need to ask you a question.”
“Actually, I want to go back to that first thing,” Kuroo says like he’s chewing on a fistful of tar.
“It’s related, I promise.” Kenma looks up at Kuroo and prays that his determination is written plainly all over his face.
“Fine, but I think I need to sit.” Kuroo waves his hand towards the couch and takes a seat. He gestures towards the empty cushion next to him, and Kenma sits down.
All of Kenma’s bravery from literally a minute ago has been siphoned out of him like a straw, but it’s too late to back peddle now, especially since Kuroo is just looking at him.
“Yesterday, in the shed, and even last summer,” Kenma fiddles with a stray thread on his shorts, “did you only agree because I wanted it to happen?”
“I always want to make sure you’re on board before doing anything. Is that something I’m supposed to not be conscious of?”
Kenma isn’t asking this right, it’s all still too foggy. Kuroo can’t read his mind.
“When I think about yesterday and last summer, and even just our entire lives, it feels like I might be taking advantage of you, of how easy it is for you to accommodate me.” Kenma shocks himself with how much of that he was able to grit through his teeth.
It’s obvious that Kuroo is fighting every urge to interrupt, the tension in his shoulders alone could crater the earth, but that unending patience of his just results in a nod that encourages Kenma to keep going.
“It’s like, ‘Kenma-first’ for you all the time, even with things like sex,” Kenma is finding it easier to talk, finding his momentum. It’s always been like this, Kenma knows what he wants to stay but it all gets stuck in his molars because he, unfortunately, cares too much about what other people think, especially Kuroo. But also, the ‘especially Kuroo’ piece of it eases the burden. “I've been trying to think of a scenario where you haven’t acquiesced to what I wanted, and nothing. It’s always you asking if it’s what I want and following through based on how I answer.”
“I’m getting to where you’re at.” Kuroo reaches for his wrist, but Kenma slowly moves it out of reach. “But why is that a bad thing?”
“I just need to know,” Kenma starts, ripping the thread off his shorts, “would you still want me if I didn’t want you?”
“Hey,” Kuroo says and tries for his wrist again. Kenma gives in this time, and all of the fight in him vanishes when Kuroo rubs his thumb across his skin in circles. “I must have really fucked up somewhere if I gave you any other impression that I’m absolutely wild for you.”
Kenma looks up from their hands to stare at Kuroo, whose gaze is so soft Kenma is sure he could pull it apart with his fingers. That’s all Kenma ever wants to do, pull at Kuroo’s pliant everything, sink his arms into the center of Kuroo’s chest until he’s elbow deep.
“It’s just,” Kenma shakes his head. “It’s always been this way.”
“What has?” Kuroo traces a trail up and down Kenma’s forearm.
“It’s all so uneven.” Kenma gestures at the space between them with his free hand. “You’re always doing all the heavy lifting.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” Kuroo laces their fingers together. “What’s uneven about this?”
“You ask and wait for my confirmation before closing the distance,” Kenma says. “I’ve never been hard to read for you, so it’s almost like when you recognize I might want something, you’ll do or say anything to make it happen because it’ll result in my happiness.”
“Is your happiness supposed to be off the table or something?” Kuroo says it like a joke, but the way he squeezes Kenma’s hand betrays him.
“I’m only going to be on board with this if you are, and not because I want us both to row, but because you do, too. I can’t take advantage of you.”
Kuroo makes a face like he’s trying not to laugh. He sort of looks constipated, and now Kenma has to work hard not to crack a smile.
“I would have enjoyed jumping in the lake and pushing you to shore,” which is followed by, “Do you know that you have a freckle on your lower back?”
“What?”
“It’s really close to your left hip,” Kuroo glances down and gently pinches him there. “I noticed it back when we were at Nekoma, in the locker rooms. You were changing into your practice shirt and I still haven’t stopped thinking about it, or staring at it whenever I have the chance.”
“You’ve lost me.” Kenma’s hanging upside down at this point.
“I know,” Kuroo says. He takes Kenma’s hand and presses his lips against the back of it. “I’m saying that I think about kissing you there all the time. I’ve been thinking about all kinds of things I want to do with you and things I want from you because of that damn freckle, including the luxury of waking up next to you every day and pinching you there.”
“That’s,” Kenma can’t find the words, he can’t find anything. It’s all been vacuumed out of him by the power of revelation. They could have been doing this the whole time. They can start doing this now. “We could have been doing this the whole time,” Kenma lingers on the first part of it just to be a little difficult.
“Yeah but, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t jumping the gun. I have big feelings about a freckle of yours, let alone you. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with any part of it,” a pause, and then, “Plus, I said that last time!”
“When?” Kenma scoots closer until their thighs are touching.
“Literally the morning after when you were hiding in the bathroom. I—” He gives Kenma another squeeze. “I wanted to offer an out in case you regretted it. I’m not used to you hiding from me like that.”
“I didn’t even hear what you said,” Kenma can almost feel the ringing he’d endured then just from memory. “I thought you were saying goodbye.”
“I said that I had a good time, but if you just wanted to leave it at the foot of your bed, that was fine, too.”
“And I accidentally agreed to the second part,” Kenma groans.
“Add that to the list of reasons why I always ask for your permission.” Kuroo tucks several strands of Kenma’s hair behind his ear and brushes a finger along his exposed cheek.
“I didn’t know what you said,” Kenma pouts.
“Well, I know that now,” Kuroo laughs.
The whole conversation has made Kenma feel like a deflating hot air balloon, but it’s a good thing. He’s decompressed and anchored back to earth. Nothing had been unraveled after all, or rather, they’ve unraveled the messiness now. Kuroo is within his grasp again, and he’s relieved that he can dig his nails in all he wants and that Kuroo wants him to.
He wants him.
“You should ask me if I want to make out,” he says.
Kuroo does not need to be told twice.
“Do you want to make out?”
Kenma swings his leg over Kuroo’s lap and takes a seat, his mouth on Kuroo’s the second he gets his hands on his jaw. Kuroo grips his waist and matches his fervor, leaning into it like he’ll lose it if he doesn’t. Kenma digs his teeth into his lip to remind him that he’s not going anywhere. He’ll happily remind him for the rest of the afternoon, and it seems like he might.
But at some point, their kissing slows, and Kenma realizes with augmenting amusement that they’re both entirely too drowsy for this.
“Do you still want to go out to the lake?” He asks, kissing the corner of his mouth.
Kuroo shakes his head.
“Won’t they wonder where we are?”
“They’re probably sucking more face than we are right now,” Kuroo says as his lips barely graze Kenma’s.
“What do you want to do, then?”
“Let’s take a nap. I know you also slept like shit last night.”
Kuroo maneuvers them until they’re both lying down on the couch. It’s a tight fit and leaves a lot to be desired, but Kenma won’t complain about any opportunity to tuck his head beneath Kuroo’s chin. He’s too tired to suggest walking the entire twenty feet to their room, and he suspects Kuroo is on the same page.
“It’s not a waste of time? We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Not sure if you want to spend the rest of our time here snoring,” Kenma asks, eyes closing.
Kuroo brushes a kiss on his temple. “Definitely not a waste, and the lake water tastes weird, anyway.”
Kenma waits until Kuroo’s breathing evens out and his light snoring breaks through the birds chirping just outside the cabin before he opens one eye and takes a peek. Kuroo looks so peaceful like this, draped over him like they’ve been doing this for lifetimes, like he’s wanted to for lifetimes. Kenma gets a little greedy and begins counting his lashes to stall his fatigue for as long as possible, but eventually the entire weekend floats downwards from the ceiling like twenty kilos of feathers and lands on his chest. It feels really good.
And he falls asleep.