It was supposed to be a joke. Kenma hides behind the door of Kuroo’s room while he’s downstairs to get them some tea. Nobody else is home. This is a good prank, Kenma thinks, I’m going to scare him a bit and maybe he’s going to tickle me then. Maybe we’ll end up cuddling (that would be really, really nice).

It is supposed to be a joke. Kenma jumps out from behind the door and rips his hands into the air when Kuroo comes in. He wants to yell something, a funny quote from a movie, but his body freezes when-

It was supposed to be a joke. But then Kuroo’s on the floor, the tray is dropped, and Kenma watches how his best friend shrinks into a tiny ball and covers his head with both hands.

“Don’t hit me, please don’t hit me, I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry.”

“Kuroo.” Kenma’s voice breaks. He drops to the floor, reaches out, halts. “I didn’t know that you – I’m so sorry. Kuroo, l-look at me. I won’t hurt you.”

It takes a moment until Kuroo lifts his head. The tracks of tears on his cheeks feel like a knife through Kenma’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, looking at Kuroo, not moving an inch.

It was supposed to be a joke. But five minutes later, Kuroo sits on the bed, the spilled tea is wiped away, and Kenma listens to the story of what Kuroo has been living through during middle school whenever Kenma wasn’t with him. And oh, Kenma didn’t know that he could hate other people so much, but he does when Kuroo tentatively talks about fists that make bruises bloom and how being gay has only started to feel right when high school came around and Kenma’s fingers laced up with Kuroo’s in front of the team for the first time without any pain raining down on him.

rainbowd00dles:

@moami posted on twitter about kenma having a chubby stomach and muffin tops and then this happened

kuroo would love to cuddle him

me too kuroo. me too.

Oh my gosh, they are perfect. I want to squish Kenma’s cheeks and his beautiful tummy and I want them to hug all night, drink tea and kiss and be happy without anyone ever hurting them. Thank you so much, Rainbow! This is wonderful in any possible way. ♥

Because Kuroo loves all of him, the soft outside and the sometimes insecure, dark inside, anything and everything through shadows and light.

Some nights, Kenma can’t stop the stinging and crawling of his skin with cold showers. He dries himself off and migrates over into Kuroo’s room, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and hips, hair tied into a ponytail. He only ties it back for Kuroo. There’s nothing to hide when they’re alone.

Kuroo doesn’t look up. He’s sitting before his easel, rough fingers guiding the brush in delicate strokes. Kenma licks his lips. He manages to speak, but it’s hard and awkward. “I,” he says, slow, and remembers that Kuroo will love him whatever weakness he admits, whether his recovery is sluggish or smooth. “I don’t feel… good.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Kuroo puts the paintbrush away and turns. He opens his arms. “Come here?” Kenma has waited for that. He moves, catapults himself into Kuroo’s hug. It’s hard to keep his fingers away from his back, his face-

“May I try something?”

“Uhm.” Kenma frowns. Kuroo has spoken gently into his chest, where he’s buried his lips and kisses his skin. “Okay?”

“Trust me.” And Kenma does. He follows Kuroo’s plea to lie down on the bed, after Kuroo’s spread an old white bedsheet over it. Kenma rests his head on his hands and listens to the noises Kuroo makes, shuffling closer, uncapping a tub of paint, or is it something else?

A paintbrush touches his back. Something cold melt against his skin. Kenma’s lips curl into a smile. “That’s a good idea. Can you turn on music?”

Kuroo can, and he does. Kenma doesn’t know for how long Kuroo paints on him. His skin tingles with sensation, bursting into sparks of joy and yes, good, that’s better than the crawling stings from earlier. It’s almost natural to fall asleep. It’s dark outside when Kenma drifts back to consciousness. Kuroo’s rummaging in the kitchen; a cup of steaming tea is on the nightstand, together with Kuroo’s phone. The display is lit up, showing a photo.

Kuroo has taken a snap of his back. He’s painted two wings on Kenma’s back that melt together into the shape of a door. The lock is twisted out of a cat’s mouth, green eyes shining with cunning. On the back of his hand, Kenma then discovers the shape of a small, golden key. He smiles.

His skin doesn’t itch anymore.

Kuroo asks him when they’re ten and eleven years old, lying in the grass of the garden behind Kenma’s house. Their fingertips touch, and Kuroo whispers as if it’s a secret. “If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?” He wants to say, so you can have a superpower or something, but Kenma already says, quiet: “Everything.”

Kuroo frowns. “That’s stupid. You can’t hate all of yourself.”

Kenma falls silent. His fingertips are cold and pale, like the small marbles Kuroo collects. He wants Kenma to stop making that sad, tiny face. “What do you like about yourself, then?”

“Nothing.” There’s something wet, glinting on Kenma’s cheek.

That’s the moment where Kuroo takes Kenma’s hand for the first time. “Come on,” he says, and then again, louder, “let’s go play! I’ll show you something cool about yourself!”

After a moment, Kenma follows him. He wipes his tears with his shirt and nods.

Twelve years later, Kuroo takes his hand again and kisses the knuckles. “What are you thinking about?” His arm rests on Kenma’s shoulders, lap full of two sleeping cats, and Kenma leans into his side, lips still red, warm, mouth a smile.

“Nothing,” he says, soft, before stealing another kiss from his boyfriend. “I just thought of another thing for my list.”

“Will you tell me?” A rough thumb caresses Kenma’s knuckles, one by one, careful and so familiar. Kenma nods. “Sure. Thing number two hundred and fifty seven that I like about myself – that I’m here right now.”

The hug that Kuroo gives him knocks all air out of Kenma’s lungs, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. This time, it’s Kuroo who’s crying.

beechichi:

Older Kenma doodle (that got out of hand) inspired by @moami‘s tweet

idk honestly…

“You look gorgeous.” Kuroo’s voice is heavy with admiration, and he takes a step forward, gently touching Kenma’s wrist. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He lets the blacksmith adjust the filigree jewelry that curls along his arms, his neck, smooth and perfect against his silky hair. The other apprentices spent an hour helping him, lining his eyes with red for fire, dusting crushed earth over the roots of his hair, painting his nails blue for the ocean’s grace.

Now, Kuroo has brought him the jewelry that is wind and energy, pulsing with magic right where his veins send blood flowing into his body. The blacksmith steps back, eyeing Kenma over. A soft smile spreads on his lips. “You are honestly, just. I don’t have words. Sorry, it’s silly, I made this for you but I didn’t know it’d be so – so-”

Kenma swirls around and kisses him. It’s a quiet touch of lips, barely a moment. Kuroo freezes, his breath hitching against Kenma’s mouth. His eyes are closed when Kenma pulls back. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. You’ve made me complete for the ritual.”

Kuroo blinks at him, slow, like a cat that shows affection with a drop of dark eyes. “You were always complete. The ritual is stupid. Kenma, you’re the most powerful magician that the world’s seen in what, centuries? They just want to control you.”

But Kenma just smiles. “Maybe.” His fingers lace up with Kuroo’s, wiping soot off the rough hands of his beloved one, tracing the harsh lines that whisper about years in a smithy, about nights with Kenma, kisses, touches, two souls as one.

“They can’t hurt me. Not when I’m carrying your silver on my skin. Let us go.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Kuroo bursts through the door of the flat, a plastic bag full of groceries in each of his hands. Snow is hissing behind him, a storm of white flakes trying to claw its way into the warm house. Kuroo manages to slam the door shut with his foot before dragging the groceries into the kitchen. “Kenma?” He calls out while searching the bags, only putting away what belongs in the fridge and then wandering through the flat with a packet of sandwiches. “Ken-”

The door to Kenma’s room is open. Kuroo moves closer, taking a peek inside, making sure that his steps are loud enough to not startle his boyfriend. “May I come inside or is it alone time?”

“You can come in,” Kenma replies from inside. A blanket rustles, and Kuroo recognises the noise of a gaming console being put onto the nightstand. “Welcome home. I missed you.” It’s only with those words that Kuroo pushes the door open and comes inside. Kenma is under the blanket, curled up, lips forced into a thin smile. A jolt of pain flies through Kuroo’s chest.

He’s by Kenma’s side and underneath the blanket within seconds. “What’s wrong? Talk to me. Are you havin’ a bad day?”

Kenma bites his lips and nods. Sometimes Kuroo hates being right, hates knowing the reason that tears well up in Kenma’s eyes. “How can you still l-love me when I’m,” Kenma begins. His voice is so tiny, wet, shivering, and Kuroo immediately acts. He carefully slides his hands below the blanket, tickles his fingertips along Kenma’s soft waist. “Mhm.” Kenma closes his eyes, hums, a hiccup following as he smiles through the tears. “Kuroo.”

“I couldn’t not love you,” Kuroo says. “I don’t care if you look different.” His fingertips are reverent when they paint invisible patterns of gentleness onto Kenma’s lower belly that has gotten bigger and softer after he’s stopped playing volleyball in college. “I love you in any shape and age, I love you with wrinkles and grey hair and with blind eyes or a bigger stomach. I’d kiss you until we both couldn’t breathe anymore, no matter what. You’re always – just.”

“…I’m your K-Kenma?”

Kuroo nods. His neck is wet where Kenma has buried his face, and his chest hurts a bit because short nails dig into it through his Iron Man shirt. But it doesn’t matter. Kenma’s stomach is warm and beautiful below his touch, and the hiccups stop. “Okay?” No, it’s not. He knows. It returns, and it takes time to heal.

But Kenma looks up with eyes as golden as sunlight, kisses Kuroo’s mouth until both of their heads are dizzy, and then he lets his own fingers slide down to tickle the trail of hair on Kuroo’s stomach until both of them laugh, grin, smile.

When Kenma asks him if he’s always been like that, Kuroo has to force the howling machinery of his mind to a stop in order to find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and it sounds so helpless, so stupid, so unlike him.

“It’s okay,” Kenma says and does that tiny smile that Kuroo loves. “I just want to understand.”

“I don’t think you can.”

Kuroo can’t keep his mouth from saying the words. They’re true, but they’re such a cliché too, and the effect on his mind is immediate. The edges of his thoughts tremble, a wave of dark fingers reaching into his brain and tugging at the wires, he burns and stands and has to do something.

He is always doing something. Kenma can sit and play games, but Kuroo has to –
– he runs in the morning, jogs around the lake before the uni’s dorm, eats breakfast and chases to class and some call him crazy for having classes until evening but what else should he do, how could be just be home and do nothing, they admire his intelligence though nobody expects it and finally, he’s useful, helpful, needed.

The volleyball training is hard but he’s the vice captain and manager, takes care of the water bottles, food, net, his fingers are pale with red sprinkles and callouses but God, he’s so good at this, they need him and thank him and he’ll never hear a grown man call him useless again, a disgrace, because now his mind is sharp, silver, he is fast and untouchable and he – he is useful.

“Kuroo.” Kenma’s fingers are soft. The touch of warm skin against his own is a jolt, and Kenma’s arm wrapping around his shoulder seems as if it could stop the world.

“M-my homework.” He tries to breathe. “It’s due in -”

“You’re a month ahead of your classes,” Kenma says, gentle. “You’re… you’re always doing so much. I love you, but – what you’re doing scares me. Can we talk about this?”

When Kenma lets him curl under the blanket, in the bed that Kuroo only sleeps in for a few hours each night, his mind screams. It’s hard, he can’t, has to get up, has to do –
But he feels the tears on his cheeks, hears the wild thunder of Kenma’s heart and if there’s one thing he knows, then it’s that Kenma loves him. And that things can’t stay like that.

“Okay. Okay.”

Kenma’s breath floods slowly against his neck. “Alright. I’ll listen.”

And Kuroo speaks.

“You never told me how you and Kenma got together.” Bokuto lets himself fall onto the bed and nudges his head against the edge of Kuroo’s physics textbook. “Tell me,” he demands, and frowns when Kuroo turns a page. “C’mon. You just said that you guys talked about it, and then it happened, but I need details. Was it – romantic?”

Kuroo closes his book and leans back against the headrest. He looks at Bokuto for a long while. The smile that begins to curve his lips is unusually gentle.

For once, Bokuto’s right. But before it was romantic, it was chaos. He remembers it all –

– a night of storm and thunder, Kenma curled against his side as they watched this new horror movie Kuroo couldn’t stand, but of course he’d still lend Kenma his company because nobody could deny a wish when those golden eyes looked at him from below. His cheek had rested on top of Kenma’s hair, the smell of lemon and cinnamon, how was he even doing this, smelling like their childhood but grown-up, older and still young and beautiful and so fucking breathtaking.

And it had happened, just like that, with Kuroo opening his idiotic mouth and saying “You have no idea how much I love you” into the silence before the character on TV screamed and died.

Kenma hadn’t said anything for a horribly long time. His breath had slowed down, but Kuroo had felt his chasing heart beat where his arms were locked around his best friend’s chest, just like always, just like Kenma kept asking him to.

Then – Kenma’s hand curled into his shirt. Kuroo only realized that he’d fucked up when a broken sob rang out of Kenma’s chest. “Don’t,” he had said, no, whimpered, and oh, Kuroo’s stupid and hopeful heart had broken. He’d let go of Kenma, an apology on his lips, until –
“Don’t make fun of me like that. You – you’d never – someone like me – “

There had been a lot of things Kuroo had wanted to say. ‘You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me’ was amongst them. In the end, he went with gently taking Kenma’s hands and kissing all the knuckles, and not letting go until the tears stopped, until Kenma glanced at him with tear-silver eyes, finally listening when Kuroo said: “It’s the truth. And I love you because you’re exactly you – “

“Hey, Kuroo. You still there?” Bokuto’s hand waves in front of his face. Kuroo blinks and shakes his head. “Yeah. What?”

“Was it romantic or not? Was it easy?”

Kuroo looks at his friend for a long time. “Not easy,” he says, finally, and picks up his phone that has lit up with a message from Kenma. ‘Miss you’, it says. Kuroo grins and begins to type back, throwing Bokuto a last glance.
“But perfect, yeah. After we talked, it was perfect.”

“I’m not good with words,” Kenma says as he comes into Kuroo’s room and sits by his side. The box in his hands is small, silver letters spelling “for Kuroo” on the lid. When Kenma shoves it into Kuroo’s hands and then quickly hides his blushing face against his shoulder, all he says is: “I wrote something for you. Read all of it. It says what you are, and why. But… happy birthday.”

“Oh kitten.” Kuroo doesn’t know what to say. Kenma curls around him, arms over his waist, and nuzzles his neck with a little sigh. “You shouldn’t have.” Placing a kiss onto his boyfriend’s hair is something Kuroo can’t resist before opening the box.

He finds cards inside. They’re in various colours, with a single word on the front and more on the back. Kuroo reaches for one and begins to read.

“Kind. Because even though you’re loud with Bokuto, you’re always gentle with me because you know I’m scared of people speaking up too much. When I panic, you give me space or time or hold my hand. You took in the stray cat that kept coming to our school, and now she sleeps on the foot of your bed and turns fourteen this year.”

“Understanding. Because when your little sister starts crying and throws a tantrum, you don’t get impatient but kneel down and ask her what’s bothering her. Because you accept when I don’t want to be kissed and when I want you to hold me all night and not let go until I feel your body all around me.”

“Beautiful. Because you always call me that, but you’ve never seen your own smile when you greet me in the morning, your chaotic hair and the warmth of your skin, the scars on your knees and the old cigarette burns on your arms. Because you don’t hide before me anymore and I love you for that.”

“Strong. Because you stepped the first time you this monster lift a hand against your mother and sister, and you took the pain and fear and the scars. Because you asked for help. Because you had taken being yelled at and shoved for years, and now you’ve freed yourself and them, too.”

“Brave. Because you always spoke up. Because you care. Because you love them so much, and because you love me, even with how complicated and strange I am.”

The last card is just a word, just one. Kuroo doesn’t even wipe the tears streaming over his cheeks as he reads it. And when the word reaches his mind, he pushes the box away and hugs Kenma so tightly that his shivers wreck both of their bodies, until Kenma kisses his lips and holds him.

The card lies besides them.

“Home.”

‘Kittenwhisper.’ – fic. kuroken.

Kenma Kozume / Tetsurou Kuroo.

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 3,397

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Kenma Kozume, Tetsurou Kuroo, Lev Haiba, Morisuke Yaku

Tags: Confessions, Pining, First Kiss

Summary:

“Can you say it? Just once? Te-tsu-rou?” It would be so nice to hear his first name off Kenma’s lips. Maybe he’s an idiot for wishing that. But love makes people do the dumbest, bravest things, even risking a perfectly fine friendship.

‘Kittenwhisper.’ – fic. kuroken.