“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.”

“Kuroo, your face is all stubbly. Didn’t you shave this morning?” Bokuto reaches out and rubs a finger along Kuroo’s jaw, nudging his cheek until Kuroo grunts. “Did you forget? You’re usually perfectly shaven.” 

“I know. It’s just – “ How is he going to explain? “Kenma’s on a field trip for his biochemistry class, and – “ 

– his mornings are lonely now, but soon Kenma will return and wake him with warm, soft kisses again, a whisper against Kuroo’s throat, the tiniest lick against his mouth. “Wake up, Tetsu,” his kitten will mumble, and crawl out of the bed to make breakfast. They will eat in bed, because Kenma is a saint and Kuroo’s last unregretted sin, and he will feed his lover fruit and kiss coffee with cream and too much sugar from his sinful mouth. 

And then Kuroo will undress and sit before the mirror on his desk, and Kenma gets the black leather case. The razor inside is silver, polished and sharpened to silent perfection. Kuroo leans his head back against Kenma, his hair touching his lover’s stomach, and Kenma stands still as he applies the white shaving foam to Kuroo’s jaw, neck, the calm line of his throat. 

His eyes are closed when Kenma pulls the blade over his skin. It feels like nothing, barely a touch. Kuroo’s universe narrows down to the symphony of metal kissing his bare skin, and Kenma’s free hand tilts his head and turns his jaw, morphing Kuroo into the position he wants him in. 

When the razor’s song of silence is over, Kenma will set it down and carefully take the balm to soothe Kuroo’s face with. His fingers dance, a choreography Kuroo will never get tired of feeling deep down to his bones as Kenma kisses his forehead and rubs the cooling balm over Kuroo’s soft neck. “All done,” Kenma would whisper then, and Kuroo would stand only then to turn and catch his mouth, to murmur “kitten” into his lips and – 

“Kuroo?” Bokuto shakes his shoulder. “You alright there? We gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo says and touches his jaw. It’s three days until Kenma returns. “Let’s go.” 

The storm inside his head begins to rise in the last minutes of class. 

Kenma stares down at his notes, at the pen in his fingers that has stopped writing. The professor says something. He doesn’t hear it. There is thunder in his ears, lightning curling into a monster’s white teeth behind his eyes. He’s had eight hours of class. Home, home, he needs to go home. 

There are too many people, the world roars around him, too much and loud and everything screams, bright and sharp and no, no, he packs his things and the class is over and he runs. Words fly around him, he runs, the dorm, please – 

When the door slams shut behind him, silence comes down like a wave of pure white. His dorm is quiet. Tetsurou’s on the couch, stretched out like a lazy cat with its belly turned to the sun, a book in one hand and the other behind his head. He looks over the rim of his glasses when Kenma drops his bag. 

“Bad day?” He asks, soft. Kenma takes a step. It’s hard. He has no energy. Everything is quiet, and that’s good. Tetsurou puts the book away and opens his arms. “Cuddling? Alone-time? Should I – “ 

Kenma doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but he flings himself onto the couch and into the warm hug of his boyfriend. “There you are,” a gentle whisper into his hair, Tetsurou’s hands sliding carefully to rest on his ribs, the small of his back. “I’m here. It’s okay. What do you need?” 

He can’t speak. “Okay then. You’re safe.” His body keeps trembling. Tetsurou doesn’t press, doesn’t ask again. But when Kenma reaches to touch his mouth, a shivering finger tracing his lips, Tetsurou tilts his head down. “Want a kiss?”

Kenma finds that he can still nod. And Tetsurou rests a warm hand in his neck, thumb caressing the pulse of blood at its side, and gives him a kiss. 

He doesn’t know when he’s fallen asleep after that. But when he blinks, it’s dark outside, and Tetsurou’s back to reading his book. He smiles at Kenma when he sneaks his mouth to nuzzle it against Tetsurou’s jaw. 

“Dinner?” – “Yes,” Kenma says, and smiles a tiny bit. “Yes, I’d like that.”