Chapter Text
*5 years in the past*
Last day, last year of high school for Kuroo. Kenma had been preparing for this moment all year, knowing his best friend would finish his studies a year before him and go to university. It was not like he hadn’t always known, but he still felt strange. Kenma had only one thing to do during Kuroo’s entire last morning at the high school.
« You don’t lose anything by confessing ». Well, actually he could lose a lot. Kenma didn’t remember exactly the day they had met or become so close, he didn’t know when they had started to consider themselves best friends, although there was nothing he wanted to remember before Kuroo came into his life. Kenma would never have expected to fall in love with that boy who wouldn’t leave him alone, insisting every afternoon that they go out to play volleyball—even if it was raining—, something that Kenma hated at first, but now… you could say he liked.
The last year students were going crazy, it was their last day, their graduation, their moment. Boys had a tradition of giving their tie to the girl they liked, that’s why there were a lot of girls hanging around the upperclassmen’s classrooms, waiting for their moment to receive a confession. It was not like Kenma was nervous—which he was—and waiting to receive Kuroo’s tie—which he was too—, but so many people around him always made him feel overwhelmed.
Kenma was looking for Kuroo. Maybe it was silly, but he wanted to confess before anyone else did—although it wouldn’t be the first confession Kuroo would receive in his high school years,it was almost common for him to receive a couple of confessions a month. That day was important, what would happen if a girl confessed to Kuroo before Kenma could? It wasn’t like Kuroo was going to accept his feelings and go out with him—he was sure about that—, but… he just simply wanted to do it.
There were a lot of things that were going to change since Kuroo left. Kenma had thought about quitting the volleyball team, but his friend had flatly forbidden him to do so. Kenma didn’t like the idea of playing without having Kuroo around, however he had ended up giving in because Kuroo had asked him to as a last favor. Kuroo kept repeating many times that he was sure Kenma could go far in volleyball if he tried hard. if he just put in a little more effort, but he didn’t want to. Kenma didn’t see his future on a court where Kuroo wasn’t by his side.
He walked down the hall, sneaking like a cat through the crowd, dodging teachers and teeneagers who ran back and forth, excited, holding ties aloft and shouting names he didn’t know. Lev had already spoken of his discontent with Yaku’s dismissal from the team, they had a strange relationship as teammates—Yaku always seemed to want to beat Lev, but then they would laugh together over the smallest of nonsense. Lev was holding Yaku by the sleeve of his jacket, begging him not to leave and to stay another year—an impossible thing—and Yaku, despite the grimace he gave the taller boy, took off his tie and threw it in Lev’s face.
“Keep this and shut up, please.” Yaku crossed his arms, blushing slightly, not only from the stares of the people in the hallway, but also from the illusion in Lev’s gaze.
“Oh! Really? For me?” Lev asked, completely excited. He lifted the tie to look at it closely.
“For who else?”
Kenma didn’t hear any more of the conversation once he walked past. Where the hell had Kuroo gone? He and Yaku were supposed to be in the same class. A group of boys were gathered by the hallway windows, whispering and giggling, shushing each other when someone talked too much. Kenma had decided to ignore them, they usually did that kind of nonsense when someone was about to confess. Although, his wish was cut short when he heard one of them speak.
“Kuroo is so lucky, that bastard.”
Kenma stopped, as if an invisible wall stood between him and the rest of the hallway. Erratically, he turned to look at the group, who continued to stare out the window without paying attention to him. He walked over to the window—one of the many there were—and looked out at the courtyard.
The day was sunny, despite the chilly March weather, and the wind blew softly through the treetops—which were already beginning to show the first signs that spring would soon arrive. Kuroo was there, with his hands in his pockets, his back to the window, while a girl—approximately a first year—was talking to him. She seemed nervous, her hands clasped together to avoid fidgeting with her fingers or holding back her trembling. Kenma didn’t hear what she said, but there was no need. It was a confession.
Something snapped inside him. He was a fool hoping to be the first to confess on that important day, without thinking that maybe he should have done it that morning before taking the train to class. It was obvious that the school would be full of the same girls who had tried in previous years, maybe some new ones who had arrived this last one. Maybe math wasn’t his thing, but he should have done that mental calculation before screwing up so badly. It didn’t matter, there was still time.
Kenma distanced himself from the window, he already knew where Kuroo was. He never ran, he didn't like to sweat, he didn’t like the feeling of tiredness, but he ran towards the first stairs he found. He nimbly made his way down the steps, his feet almost flying over the structure. He was on the third floor. On the second floor he had to dodge a teacher—who gave him a little scolding about not running in the hallways, while Kenma kept running away—and on the first floor he almost tripped and fell. He reached the ground floor, the doors to the backyard weren’t too far away—that stupid yard where so many girls had confessed to Kuroo. Kenma pushed open the heavy metal doors, and the light completely blinded him for a couple of seconds. To the left, Kuroo had to be in that direction, so he didn’t waste any time. And as he turned the corner, the girl he had seen through the window passed quickly by him. She didn’t look very good.
«Thank God he didn’t accept her.»
Kuroo was there, sighing tiredly. Kenma stopped running, leaning on the nearest wall to catch his breath. He looked up at the window, where he knew the group of boys had been, although they were gone. They must have gotten tired of the show when they saw Kuroo reject the girl. Kenma took a deep breath.
“Kuroo…” he whispered, but the aforementioned turned around, as if he had a radar to detect where he was.
“Hey, Kenma. Tell me you didn’t see that scene, it was so awkward.” Kuroo rubbed his nape nonchalantly.
Kuroo was always like that. Carefree might not be the right word, more like stoic. Kuroo never showed if something bothered him or worried him, he just keep hoping he could fix it on his own.
“Kuroo…” Kenma came closer, whispering that name as if it were the greatest of his sins. Kuroo watched him, silent, until they were facing each other.
“Did you come running here?”
Kenma didn’t respond immediately. Unconsciously, his gaze fell on Kuroo’s tie—red with white stripes, exactly like his own—and a huge pressure appeared in his throat. Then, he looked back at his friend, who was waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” Kenma replied. “I have… No, I need to talk to you.”
It might not have been the best time of day. The sight of that girl running away might not have been the best of premonitions. It didn’t matter, he didn’t expect anything from Kuroo. He just wanted to get that weight off his chest. Kenma had to say it before someone else tried to push Kuroo away from him.
«You are going to push him away with what you are going to say.» That was his problem.
“I…”
“Please,” Kuroo interrupted. Kenma pressed his lips together, not understanding.
“Please? Please what?”
“Please don’t tell me you are in love with me too.”
That was the closest Kenma came to getting punched in the stomach. He somehow managed to keep his composure, his throat burning and his gaze lost in the pain in Kuroo’s face. Fuck, of course he did. Of course Kenma was in love with him, for so long that he couldn’t remember ever not being in love with him. He couldn’t remember what life was like without Kuroo. He couldn’t remember what it was like to wake up and not have Kuroo waiting for him. Kenma swallowed heavily.
“No, of course not.”
And maybe that was the moment Kenma knew he wouldn’t see Kuroo again for a long time.
That stupid dream again. He’d been dreaming about that day a lot lately.
Kenma stretched out on his bed, uncovered and still wearing his clothes front the night before. He had done a very long live with his followers to celebrate two years since he had started broadcasting. His phone vibrated on the bed. Where was it?
What the hell.
Kenma searched for the phone without sitting down, feeling around in the duvet with his fingers until he found it. The light from the screen blinded him for a few seconds until a message from his manager appeared on the screen.
[From]: Manager Itoo
>>>I’ll pick you up in half an hour for the sponsor party.
Sponsor party? Is it today? What time is it?
Kenma saw that it was almost eight in the evening. The phone vibrated again.
[From]: Manager Itoo
>>>You better not have forgotten. We have some very important sponsors today that can further boost your career. Your most recent sponsors will also be there. Dress up.
Kenma didn’t dress up—not if he was expecting a suit. One thing he had learned over the past two years of networking was that people like to see people who are genuine and sincere. If that was enough of an excuse to take a quick shower, throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, and tie his long hair up in a ponytail, then it was enough for Kenma.
Manager Itoo texted him again to let him know that he was in the parking lot when Kenma was putting on his sneakers. He groaned because 1. he didn’t feel like going to the sponsors party at all, and 2. because he knew he had to go no matter what. Kenma took as long as it took to get down the elevator, thinking about how he should spend the next 2 or 3 hours putting on a good face and making a good impression on people he didn't care about. The manager was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring intently at his phone.
“Itoo-san,” Kenma greeted him, climbing into the back seat.
The rear windows of the vehicle were tinted, so Kenma liked to ride there because no one could see him. He wasn’t the most famous content creator in Japan, but he was famous enough that he was stopped by two or three people every five or ten minutes. He was very grateful to be able to do what he loved, but it was tiring.
“If we don’t hurry up, we’ll be late.” Was all his manager said. He was extremely serious when it came to events, meetings, and punctuality, but deep down he was a good man. He had looked after Kenma when he had caught the flu last winter, and when he had to get up early he always greeted him with a coffee.
Kenma didn’t say anything. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sleepy anymore, but there was condensation on his head, as if the dream had left him groggy. He thought about Kuroo and how stupid he was for still thinking about his friend when he had gotten over him years ago and usually didn’t think about him anymore. It was just nonsense. A dream. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Lots of people. Lots of food. Lots of alcohol. And lots of offers.
Kenma was already tired, but he had only been there for an hour and they said it was rude to leave before the third toast. Toasts were made every hour, so he still had a long time of meaningless chatter and fake smiles. His manager was the one who usually had the important conversations when the sponsor thought he was to their liking and wanted to include him in their PR lists or run an advertising campaign.
Kenma looked away at the room when his manager started joking with one of his current sponsors, thanking him for the time and money invested in his client. Among the businessmen there were several that Kenma recognized: the firstborn son of the head of Z Electronics—they led the market in computers and tablets—; the manager of an energy shake brand that his manager insisted on promoting, but Kenma refused because it tasted awful; the CEO of Nintendo, surely looking for new clients to test his new game in development. Kenma sighed and took a sip of his glass of white wine.
“Right, Kozume?” his manager asked. Kenma hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t matter much either.
“Of course,” he replied confidently and smirked. The businessman they were talking to smiled back and walked away.
“Piece of cake,” Itoo said when he was far enough away to be out of earshot. “He’s a leader in the instant food company, I think we can make a good deal with him.”
“You always tell me it’s not good to eat a lot of ramen and that I should eat more nutritious things.”
“They sell more things than ramen.” Kenma rolled his eyes. “It’s true, they have everything. Curry, ramen, rice, pasta, soups, etc. A little bit of everything.”
In the room, the hubbub filled every corner. There were more content creators around, some with more years of experience than him, but they looked equally bored. After all, those parties were nothing more than gatherings where you could eat and drink alcohol without being frowned upon.
“Oh, look, new recruits. I’ve been told that the company director is really young, but he made a lot of money during his previous job and has now been able to open his own company dedicated to the search for new talents in all kinds of fields. Oh, and they also have a line of sportswear!”
Kenma had stopped listening halfway through, but he couldn’t help but follow his manager’s line of sight to one of the tables at the back where he inexplicably recognized the person immediately. The wine glass shook in his hand and almost fell to the floor, but he caught it before it spilled. The dark hair, the broad back, and the body posture; Kenma could recognize him even if a thousand years passed.
“Kuroo…” he muttered.
“Ah, yes, exactly. Kuroo Tetsuro,” the manager said.
Tell me that what I dreamed wasn’t a premonitory dream .
Maybe Kenma was staring in his direction for too long, because Kuroo turned his body in his direction and, as if he knew exactly where he was, fixed his gaze on him. Kenma looked away, trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t looking at him, but away from him, and finished his glass of wine in one gulp.
“We should go,” he said, wiping the edge of his mouth with his hand.
“What? Kozume, you know we can’t leave before the third toast. It’s rude and the sponsors will think you’re not interested.”
But I’m not interested . He wanted to scream.
No, the problem wasn't the endless, empty talks with sponsors. It wasn't the excessive noise and condensed heat. It wasn't how antisocial he was. No. The problem was that he had met Kuroo after five years. He had met him after repeatedly dreaming about the first and last time he had his heart broken. The last time he had seen and spoken to Kuroo. He didn't think Kuroo had forgotten him—they had been friends for many years—but he didn't think he cared enough after all this time either.
Kuroo hadn't tried to contact him, but Kenma hadn't given him a chance either because he had blocked him from everywhere shortly after he left for college. And once Kenma had finished his last academic year, he had moved away and resumed his new life. He thought the change of scenery would help him forget about his broken heart, and it had, at least for a small portion of time. He had dropped out of college in his second year and had dedicated himself entirely to content creation, which had paid off and he could now make a living from it.
Kenma didn't want to acknowledge it, he didn't want to think about how his heart had raced just by seeing him. He didn't think that could be happening to him, not when he had spent so much time forgetting about him. His heart was pounding hard against his chest with just that small exchange of glances, as if he were a stupid teenager again. Nothing would happen as long as Kuroo didn't come closer and he knew he wouldn't, because there was nothing that could interest him about him.
"Kenma." He heard his name said.
He looked up and his worst nightmare materialized before his eyes.
Kuroo .
“You must be Mr. Kuroo, right?” his manager interjected, but Kuroo was simply staring at him. Kenma gulped, thinking of what to say or how to act.
“It’s been so many years,” Kuroo added, ignoring his manager again.
Five years to be exact .
“Do you know each other?” His manager wouldn’t give up no matter how much he was being pushed aside. Kuroo sighed, understanding that Kenma wouldn’t talk. The young man had become petrified, staring at him like one would stare at a ghost from the past. He was scared, perhaps worried about saying something stupid, but he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.
“We were very good friends for many years,” Kuroo replied. “Best friends.”
“I wasn’t informed of that fact,” he murmured reluctantly, almost as if giving him a warning.
“I don’t need to tell you everything…” Kenma whispered, perhaps because it was less complicated to talk when it wasn’t directly to Kuroo.
“Could you allow me a few minutes alone? I won’t take up too much of your client’s time,” Kuroo asked his manager. The man nodded, excited. Kenma wanted to tell him not to go, but he was gone before he could open his mouth. “Kenma.”
His name sounded wrong every time Kuroo said it, like a vague memory lost in the wind. Kenma swore he had forgotten the suffocating feeling in his throat every time he looked at him, heart pumping hard and brain working at full speed. His eyes looked at him, searching for and recognizing each of the differences with the Kuroo of the past, and he hated himself for being able to identify them all. Kenma thought that the image he had of Kuroo had faded over the years, but it seemed more vivid than ever.
“Kuroo,” he said. It was the only thing he could vocalize without his tongue getting stuck.
“It will seem silly, but… I am very happy to see you. A couple of years ago I saw that you rose to fame as a content creator, youtuber and gamer. I don’t think there was a better job for you.” There was an awkward silence between them. “How have you been all this time?”
“Fine. I’ve been… fine.”
Words were scarce, he knew. He was nervous. He always played with his fingers when he was. And Kuroo knew that too.
“I’ve been looking for you. Not exactly ‘looking for you’, not like a stalker or anything,” he wanted to joke to make light of the matter. “But I haven’t seen you since my last day of high school. When I came home for vacation, you were never there. Then you finished high school and you just disappeared. The first time I saw you in an advertisement I thought I was delirious.”
That was exactly the intention, so that Kuroo couldn’t know anything about him, so Kenma wouldn’t know anything about Kuroo and everything would stop hurting. Although it wasn’t that the pain had stopped, he had simply learned to hide it—or so it seemed since now everything was blooming again inside him or he hated it.
“Could I… ask for your contact information? Your phone number or something?” he insisted again.
Kenma exchanged glances with him, because Kuroo had always been able to read the small truths hidden in the shades of his eyes. But if Kuroo saw something, he completely ignored it.
“I have to go. I think there are some sponsors who want to talk to me.” He was able to gather all the strength in his body to form the sentence. Kuroo tried to speak, but he didn’t give him the chance. “I’m very glad that things have gone well for you in life, but I don’t think there’s a reason to resume a friendship that died a long time ago. I hold our childhood memories very dearly, but that’s all.”
Obviously the childhood ones, adolescence was a complete hell.
“But, Kenma…”
“I’m Kozume. I hope you have a good time.”
Kenma left, without looking back, without hearing a single word more. He couldn’t bear that burning inside his chest, with the lack of air that made him dizzy. He couldn’t believe that after so long he had met Kuroo. And considering his presence at that sponsor party, he would surely see him again and again.
Mental note: Ask Itoo to reduce the number of parties for a while.