Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Oi, Kozume. Your shift started an hour ago."

Kenma doesn't look up from his spot on the floor. He's tucked away in the corner of the dressing room, knees curled up to his chest, PSP in his hands. A white boot steps into his peripheral and nudges his black one. Kenma shies away from it.

"Did you hear me? Oikawa-san is going to notice if you're not out there soon."

"Did someone request me?" Kenma asks softly, thumbs tapping wildly as he executes a rather difficult combo.

"No, but you could be doing something. Serving drinks or chatting up customers. Pulling your weight."

Kenma smiles faintly as he successfully manages the combo, but it melts into a frown as the interruption keeps talking.

"I don't speak to the customers, and I'm too clumsy to serve drinks."

A snort sounds from somewhere above him. Kenma still hasn't lifted his head to see which coworker came to fetch him this time, but from the tone of voice he's guessing it's Shirabu.

"I don't believe that."

"It's true. I dropped an entire platter last time."

"You did that on purpose to get out of work."

Kenma smirks, finally shifting his gaze to look up at Shirabu from behind his hair. "You shouldn't accuse people of things you can't prove, Kenjirou."

Shirabu scowls down at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. Stay here. I'll tell that regular of yours that you're home sick today."

Kenma stiffens at this, his eyes widening slightly.

Shirabu smirks. "Yeah, that's right. It's Friday. Did you forget?" He shrugs, lowering his arms. "But if you'd rather stay here . . ."

Kenma shuts off his game. It's one he's played before anyway. Standing quickly, he slides the PSP into his hoodie pocket and heads for the door. Shirabu catches his sleeve, as he passes him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Kenma frowns, not meeting Shirabu's gaze, as he removes the hoodie. He shivers, as the cool A/C hits his exposed skin. Shirabu reaches up to help fix his hair. Kenma purses his lips but stays still, crossing his arms over his chest, barely covered in the small black vest and tiny red spandex shorts he's wearing. Shirabu's dressed similarly, only his vest is white and his shorts are maroon.

After a moment, Shirabu steps back with a nod. Kenma spins on his heel and inhales deeply, preparing himself before he walks through the doors into the main area of the strip club.

Aoba Johsai is run by one Oikawa Tooru. It specializes in entertainment of the adult variety, and is renowned for its excellent bar service as well. Kenma applied back when he was a broke college student and got a job as a bartender, until Oikawa himself said he had potential to make a lot more money as a stripper. At first Kenma refused. The tips were good at the bar, and he was practically invisible, considering most eyes were on the dancers and entertainers. He liked that. The last thing he wanted was to be the center of attention.

But once he got his own apartment, the bills started accumulating. And considering his video game collection and the fact that his degree in game design would require equipment to work on actual projects once he graduated, he decided to take Oikawa up on his offer to tutor him in the various pole dancing routines that his strippers used. It was exhausting work, too much effort in Kenma's opinion, but Oikawa said he had a natural talent and promised he could only do private sessions, if being on the public stage made him too uncomfortable.

The first time he performed in a private session, he was extremely nervous. But apparently he performed well enough, or was attractive enough, that the patron recommended him to a friend, who in turn recommended him to her friend, until he gained a modest but profitable list of regulars. Kenma found he didn't mind dancing privately so much. For one thing, it's much easier to control the atmosphere. There are no sleazebags oogling him, shouting crude things or making foul suggestions. He can turn down anyone he wants, and Oikawa still lets him work the bar when he's not dancing in order for him to still receive tips while being invisible.

It's not exactly enjoyable. He's never caught the performance bug that his coworkers seem to possess. Sugawara Koushi keeps telling him he'll get more customers if he loosens up some and stops dancing so stiffly. Akaashi Keiji says he needs to work on his bedroom eyes and to stop looking constipated all the time. That's easy enough for them to say. They like their jobs. They have fun teasing the customers; Shirabu whispered to him once that they had a bet going to see who could gather the most tips at the end of the night.

Kenma feels no need to participate in such things. It would include exerting more effort. He simply does his job and gets paid. That's all there is to it.

And then a certain customer arrived that turned everything upside down.

"Oh? Someone's looking eager. Is it Friday already?"

Sugawara (or Suga, as he prefers to be called) grins down at him from his spot on stage. He contorts his body around the pole, sending a wink to a man with short dark hair seated near the front who's openly staring, his mouth hanging open. The man blushes and shuts his mouth, but he doesn't look away.

Kenma nods absently to the question, eyes scanning the area. Suga laughs softly.

"He's over by the bar. He just walked in a couple minutes ago."

Kenma bites his lip, catching sight, now, of the man with a ridiculous bed-head of hair talking to Yahaba Shigeru, the bartender that took over after Kenma was "promoted." Kenma quickly walks over, goosebumps prickling over his skin. He blames that on the A/C.

Yahaba nods to Kenma when he approaches, and the man turns, a smile already spreading across his face.

"Hello there."

"Hi," Kenma says, not sure what to do with his hands all of a sudden. He folds them together behind his back.

"Room two is available," Yahaba says after a moment of silent staring.

Kenma blinks, scolding himself, as Kuroo Tetsurou takes his drink from Yahaba with a smooth "thank you." He turns to look at Kenma then, expectantly, and Kenma quickly turns around and leads the way to the private rooms on the right side of the club. They have to walk through the main area to get to it, and he ignores Suga's whistle as they pass his pole.

The walk allows Kenma to clear his head some. He's not sure why this feels different than any other Friday session with Kuroo. Maybe it's because he's been thinking about the man more often lately, wondering what exactly his deal is.

Every Friday for the past six months, Kuroo's been coming to Aoba Johsai to request a private session with Kenma. From the very first night he was different from all of Kenma's other customers. For one, he didn't want Kenma to dance. Instead, he offered him a place to sit next to him and asked if he could just vent about something. Kenma was thrown off by this request, but the man was paying for the hour so he just nodded and listened.

And that's how it's been since that night. Kuroo will come to the club, pay for a private session with Kenma, and just . . . talk. About his day, about his job, his family, his neighbors, his failures, his successes, his volleyball team, etc. After a while Kenma got the feeling Kuroo's rather lonely. He lives a good eight hours away from his parents, alone, and his line of work (advertising) seems extremely stressful.

After a while, Kuroo started asking questions about Kenma himself and by that time Kenma felt comfortable enough to answer them. Once Kuroo found out about Kenma's love for gaming, he brought games for Kenma to play while he vented.

Kenma's pretty sure this is why Kuroo's his favorite client. It's the most logical explanation, other than the fact that he doesn't have to do anything other than sit there and only sometimes participate in the conversation. He likes that there's no expectations put on him. Kuroo doesn't seem to want anything from him other than to be a listening ear.

Apparently, according to Kuroo, it's cheaper than therapy.

But . . . that can't be all there is to it, is there?

He steps into the room, waiting for Kuroo to enter before he shuts the door behind them. Kuroo walks immediately over to his regular seat across from the stage, and Kenma finds himself studying him from behind, the way his shoulders look beneath his jacket, the way his long fingers wrap around the glass he's holding, the way his pants make him look like he has more of an ass than he does.

Kenma's never really found people attractive in the same way others do, but lately there's been something about Kuroo . . .

"You okay?"

Kuroo's sat and is now looking over at him, head tilted to the side just slightly. Kenma tells himself to stop acting weird and crosses over to perch on the armrest of the seat beside his. He catches a whiff of Kuroo's cologne and inadvertently shivers. He always smells nice, but for some reason it seems more potent tonight.

"Are you cold?" Kuroo sets down his glass, shrugging off his jacket. Before Kenma can tell him he doesn't need to, he's wrapped it around Kenma's shoulders.

It dwarfs him, but it is warm, so Kenma simply takes the lapels and holds it closed over his chest.

"Check the pocket," Kuroo prompts with a grin. "I think you'll like what I got you this time."

Kenma's heart pounds faster against his ribs, as he quickly searches the pockets until he finds the PSP. He looks at the game that's already been inserted, and his eyes widen.

"The new Fire Emblem . . ."

He glances up to see Kuroo grinning crookedly at him. "Part of the perks of working in advertising. I've got connections and was able to score one before the official release. Pretty cool, huh?"

He's smirking now, expecting praise most likely, but Kenma just clutches the game, turning his gaze down to stare at it. Kuroo usually gets him old games, ones he's already played but doesn't mind replaying while he listens to Kuroo's chatter. He always has to give them back at the end of the session anyway. But this . . .

"Can I keep this?" he asks hopefully, not daring to look up just in case Kuroo is shaking his head.

"Of course. I got it for you."

Kenma's hands are shaking. He starts up the PSP, his eyes fixed on the screen. Kuroo laughs softly.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look this excited," he says fondly.

As Kenma waits for the game to load, he expects to hear Kuroo start talking. But instead he remains silent, forcing Kenma to look up to see what's wrong. Kuroo's still watching him, but he's chewing on his lip now and seems nervous. Kenma narrows his eyes.

Is this where the other shoe drops? Does he want something for this?

His stomach churns uneasily, the game suddenly feeling too heavy in his hands. He clutches it tighter, going over in his mind what exactly he'd do to keep this game. How far would he go? He's still weighing his options when Kuroo speaks again.

"Can I . . . watch you play?"

Kenma blinks.

Is that it?

Then Kenma realizes what he means. In order for Kuroo to watch comfortably, Kenma will have to sit in his lap for him to see the screen. For some reason, though, this doesn't make Kenma want to flee the room. Instead, his stomach erupts in something not unlike butterflies, and his neck feels suspiciously warm.

"Ah, you know what? Never mind. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I'll just—"

Kenma snorts, cutting him off. He slips off the armrest, stepping closer to Kuroo's chair.

"It's fine," he says, emboldened by the fact that Kuroo appears more nervous than he is.

Kuroo leans back in his seat, and Kenma turns, sitting down on his thighs with his back facing Kuroo's chest. He feels Kuroo shift slightly beneath him, and then he feels warm breath tickling his ear, as Kuroo looks down over his shoulder. Kenma resists the urge to raise his shoulders, though he does hunch forward slightly, as he starts the game.

Kuroo remains silent, and he doesn't make any moves to touch Kenma, his hands clutching the arm rests beside him. But Kenma can feel the way his heartbeat elevates, can hear the shallowness of his breath, and he struggles to focus on the game.

The hour passes too quickly. Kenma nearly jumps out of his skin when Kuroo sighs and touches his shoulder lightly.

"You don't have to stop playing, but I have to go. The hour's up, and I'm afraid I can't afford two." He chuckles softly.

Kenma pauses the game and twists around to look back at him. Kuroo leans back quickly before giving him a crooked smile. "Same time next week?"

Kenma stands, keeping hold of the PSP even as he shrugs off the jacket and hands it back. He misses the warmth immediately, and he finds his chest aching strangely, as Kuroo puts his jacket back on. His drink sits forgotten on the armrest, ice melted.

Reaching out, Kuroo taps the PSP with his finger. "Tell me how it ends?"

Kenma nods, and Kuroo hesitates, almost like he wants to say something else. But then he simply smiles and bows slightly, turning to leave the room. Before he can, Kenma reaches out to grab his sleeve.

"Next time," he starts, swallowing hard. He stops, as Kuroo turns to look down at him. Kenma lowers his gaze to his hand, forcing himself to release the sleeve. "Next time, I'll dance for you . . . if you want."

Kuroo doesn't answer for a moment, and when Kenma chances a glance toward his face, he sees it's grown bright red. Kuroo reaches up behind his neck, rubbing it as he looks at nothing over Kenma's head.

"Well . . . to be honest, I'm afraid if you do I'm going to want to kiss you senseless so . . . it's probably better if you don't."

Kenma blinks rapidly, wondering if he heard that correctly. Kuroo coughs awkwardly, escaping out the door before Kenma can think of a response. He finds his own face is burning, and he has to wait until it cools off before he exits the room.

It's only when he's back in the dressing room that he realizes Kuroo never said a word the entire time he was playing Fire Emblem.

Figuring Kuroo was just caught up in the story, Kenma brushes the thought aside and settles back down in his corner to continue the game.

Kenma remembers this fact though when, a week later, Friday comes and goes with no sign of Kuroo. He lingers by the front doors as Yamamoto Taketora and Iwaizumi Hajime, the main bouncer and assistant manager respectively, lock up for the night, searching the parking lot for any sign of that familiar bed-head. Yamamoto and Iwaizumi exchange looks, before Iwaizumi touches Kenma's shoulder sympathetically.

"Maybe he just got held up somewhere."

Kenma nods, that's a reasonable explanation after all, but he doesn't move until Oikawa himself comes over and wraps his arm around Kenma's shoulders.

"Come on, Kenma-chan," he says. "I can't lock you up in here. Time to go home."

Kenma allows him to lead him out the back, though by this time the trains have stopped running. He's contemplating whether or not he's close enough to Oikawa to ask him for a ride, when he finds Oikawa's led him straight to his car.

When he blinks at him, Oikawa raises an eyebrow. "You didn't think I was going to make you walk home, now did you?"

He unlocks the doors and gestures for Kenma to get in, which he does without a sound. He watches out of the window as Oikawa and Iwaizumi say goodbye, not entirely surprised when they sneak in a quick kiss. He wonders vaguely how long that's been going on and if Shirabu knows. He probably does. His coworker seems to know everything about everyone.

"So! Which way?" Oikawa asks, as he gets into the driver's side.

Kenma gives him directions and then sits back, watching the buildings go by. The radio is playing pop music, but Oikawa has it turned down and Kenma gets the feeling he's going to try to talk to him.

Sure enough, not five minutes into the drive, he glances over. "You know, Kenma-chan, I see everything that goes on in those private rooms."

Kenma says nothing.

"You and Kuroo-san seemed quite cozy last week."

Kenma blinks. "Are you scolding me?"

"No, no, not at all! You didn't do anything inappropriate, nor did you break any rules I just, well, I found it surprising. You never get that close to customers. You won't even do lap dances. You always stay on stage. But then I remembered that Kuroo-san is the one who always talks to you. I'm simply curious."

It's obvious he's prompting Kenma to ask what he's curious about, but when Kenma doesn't oblige him, he goes on.

"Is there something going on between you and Kuroo-san?"

"No."

"So quick! But that makes me wonder . . . why would Kuroo-san not show up today if nothing happened between you two?"

Kenma frowns. He doesn't like the anxiety that's suddenly creeping into his chest, tightening cold fingers around his lungs. Did he do something wrong? Is it his fault? Oikawa seems to notice the sudden chill in the air, because he hastens to add,

"Or it could be something completely unrelated! Who knows? Best not worry about it, Kenma-chan. We lose clientele all the time for many different reasons. Maybe he simply moved away."

He wouldn't do that without telling me . . .

Still, Kenma knows Oikawa is right. It won't help anything to worry about it.

He just . . . wishes he knew what happened.

Two more Fridays pass with no sign of Kuroo, and Kenma wonders if it's okay to start panicking yet.

"Maybe he got a girlfriend," Akaashi suggests. "He couldn't exactly be seen around a place like this if he did."

"Maybe he's working on a big work project and just doesn't have the time," Suga offers.

"Maybe he's dead."

Shirabu gets heavily admonished for this guess, and Kenma finds himself hyperventilating in the bathroom. He grips the counter, staring down at the water as it runs down the drain. He keeps the faucet on, listening to the white noise the water makes, trying his best to breathe evenly.

Something must have happened to him. That's the only explanation that makes sense. He knows that Kuroo is gay because he told him, and both his parents know as well so there'd be no need for him to get a girlfriend. And if he had a work project he would've told Kenma that too.

His mind doesn't want to jump to worst case scenarios, but what else could it be?

He's not sure how much time passes before Shirabu finds him and turns off the water.

"Oikawa-san won't be happy with the water bill this month," he comments absently.

Kenma doesn't reply. He stares down at the sink, watching the last of the water escape.

"What's going on with you? He's just a client. You don't even like people."

Kenma bites his lip. He doesn't know how to explain it. For the past six months, Kuroo's been a constant in his life. A way to escape from the loud world that surrounds him. When it's just him and Kuroo, he doesn't have to worry about his bills or if he's entertaining well enough, performing well enough. He doesn't have to worry whether or not a client is going to do something gross or say something inappropriate. He doesn't have to think about his tiny apartment that he lives in alone or the fact that he has no friends.

That's not entirely true, though, is it? Kuroo is your friend.

"He's my friend," he murmurs, blinking as the realization hits him.

Shirabu scoffs. "You became friends with a client? That's weird."

Kenma gives Shirabu a sidelong glance. "Maybe if you weren't so stuck up and rude all the time you'd make friends too," he says before he can stop himself.

He feels bad then, at the stricken look on Shirabu's face. He's too upset to address it, though, and all he wants is someplace he can cry in peace, so he pushes past his coworker and exits the bathroom. There's a lump forming in his throat, but he manages to swallow back the tears until he exits the back door. Leaning up against the wall of the club, he gasps for breath, pressing his palms into his eyes. He slides down until he's seated on the ground, mindless of the dirt, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He misses him. It's only been three weeks, but he misses Kuroo like he's missing a limb or a piece of his heart. He's never felt this strongly about anyone in his life before. There have been acquaintances, relationships bordering on friendship that simply faded away once circumstances changed, but this is different. Kuroo is different.

He's smart, incredibly smart, and funny, especially when he's not trying to be. He's kind and generous, and he listens to Kenma when he answers his questions like he's genuinely interested and isn't just asking out of politeness.

And Kenma couldn't have been imagining the way Kuroo's heart raced when he sat in his lap, but Kuroo never made a move to touch him or push him out of his comfort zone. He was considerate.

He cared about Kenma. He can't be imagining that.

How long has it been since Kenma's felt cared about?

He grew up in an empty home, both parents working to put food on the table, clothes on his back. He's always known they love him, but it was rare for that love to make a physical appearance.

He likes the way Kuroo makes him feel. Like he's special. Someone Kuroo can rely on. Trust.

And that thing he said before he left . . . about kissing him senseless . . .

Did he really mean that?

Kenma inhales shakily, wiping at his face before getting to his feet. He has to find out what happened to him. If he's hurt or needs help, Kenma needs to be there for him. He can't let this bond fade. He can't lose the one person he feels safest around.

Walking back into the club, he marches straight over to the bar where Yahaba's working on a patron's drink. He waves his hand, trying to get Yahaba's attention. After a moment, the bartender steps over, giving Kenma a look.

"I know why you're here and I'm sorry, but I can't give out member information. That's illegal, Kozume-kun."

"He could be hurt or-or in danger or something," Kenma says, though he knows that last one is a bit of a stretch. It's not as though he works for the yakuza.

Yahaba sighs. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for his absence."

Quicker than Yahaba can react, Kenma's reached across the counter, grabbed the front collar of Yahaba's shirt and yanked him closer. He has to stand on his tip-toes, but he doesn't let that fact lower the intensity of his expression.

"Give me . . . his information. Now." He hisses through clenched teeth, watching the way Yahaba's eyes widen.

Before he can respond, however, Kenma feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder. He knows it's Iwaizumi without having to turn around, and although he wants to keep hold of Yahaba, to shake him until he gives him what he needs, he slowly uncurls his fingers and releases the bartender.

"Why don't you take the day off?" Iwaizumi says, not unkindly.

Kenma turns and heads for the dressing room without a word. He can feel the stares of his fellow dancers as he changes and gathers his things, and his face feels hot. He ducks his head, hiding behind his hair, as he hurries back out of the room.

He takes the next three days off.

Alone in his apartment, he huddles beneath the covers of his bed and replays the Fire Emblem game. He can't seem to full immerse in the stories this time, though. His thoughts keep turning to Kuroo no matter what he does. He even tries running to clear his head, which leaves him sore and sweaty and still anxious.

So he goes back to work.

He still has his other regulars, and he does his best to perform adequately for them. But even some of them catch on to the fact that something's off.

"Are you okay?" one client named Matsukawa pauses in giving Kenma his tip, peering down at him, as his large eyebrows furrow over his nose.

"Yes," Kenma says quickly, taking the money and sticking it into the waistband of his g-string. As he turns to pull his outfit back on, he can tell Matsukawa is lingering. He glances over and sees the concern in the other's gaze.

"You just . . . look tired," he offers with a shrug.

Kenma purses his lips, watching him go and wondering if the concealer he put on the bags beneath his eyes isn't working. He hasn't been sleeping well, but he hopes it doesn't start affecting his performance. He can't afford to lose any more clients.

When he exits the room to head for the dressing room, he finds Oikawa engaged in an intense discussion with an irate looking man. He's not curious enough to bother stepping closer to listen in, but when he reaches the dressing room, Shirabu's leaning in the doorway. He nods toward the two.

"That guy requested you," he says, not looking at Kenma. "Called you 'the pudding-headed twink.' Oikawa-san's been trying to get him to leave for the past five minutes. He wants to avoid a scene, but it looks like Iwaizumi-san's going to have trouble with him."

Kenma stares, wondering why he's telling him this when he hasn't bothered to talk to him since they spoke in the bathroom a week ago.

Shirabu looks down at his feet. "I thought about what you said. I'm not trying to be stuck-up or rude, but I get why people might be put off by me . . . You never have been though, so I guess . . . I thought we were friends."

Kenma blinks. "I never considered you a friend," he admits and hastens to continue when he sees Shirabu's expression fall further. "But we can be. I-I'd like that." He bites his lip, thinking it'd be nice to not feel so alone anymore.

Shirabu lifts his head, a faint grin playing about his lips. It changes his entire face, and he actually looks rather pleasant. But then it turns razor sharp, as he flits his gaze back to the man in front of Oikawa. "You want me to go kick his ass for you? I will. I've got a knife in my locker."

That catches Kenma's curiosity. "Why do you have a knife in your locker?"

Shirabu rolls his eyes. "Just in case some pervert tries to grab me, duh."

Kenma stares. "What good would that do if it's in your locker, though?"

Shirabu frowns suddenly. "You're right. I should put it in my boot."

He turns back into the dressing room, and Kenma decides to take care of this issue himself. He'd rather not, but the last thing he wants is for there to be a scene that involves his name being thrown around (or in this case, a very specific descriptor). That will no doubt cause trouble for him later.

"Oikawa," he says, stepping up beside the man, who looks like he might start having jaw pain what with how tightly he's clenching his teeth in that fake smile he's wearing. "It's fine. I'll do it."

The man who was arguing with him looks Kenma up and down in a way that could only be described as lecherous. Kenma can feel a headache forming above his right eyebrow, but he beckons for the man to follow him toward the private rooms.

Oikawa hurries after him. "Kenma-chan, are you sure about this? I was just about to have Iwa-chan throw him out."

"It's fine," Kenma says again. "I can handle him."

"I heard about you from a coworker," the man leers as they enter the room. "He said you don't do lap dances, but I bet I could convince you to give me one."

He reaches for Kenma, but he never touches him, because Kenma grabs his hand and twists it and his arm behind the man's back. With a surprised cry of pain, the man falls to the floor, and Kenma presses his knee into the small of the man's back to hold him down.

"Unless you'd like me to break your arm," he says calmly. "I suggest you behave. I'm in a very poor mood today, and I'd rather not make the effort to dance for a scumbag like you. So, I'm going to let you go with all your limbs intact, and you're going to leave and you're not going to ask for a refund. Got it?"

The man nods quickly, and Kenma releases him. He scrambles to his feet, backing away.

"You're stronger than you look," the man grumbles.

Kenma just stares at him. The man shuffles on his feet for a moment, looking like he wants to protest the terms of their agreement, but in the end he slinks out of the private room. As soon as he's gone, Kenma sits on the edge of the stage, grabbing his arms to keep his hands from shaking.

"You never cease to surprise me, Kenma-chan," Oikawa says, as he steps into the room, shaking his head. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

Kenma shakes his head. "It won't help," he mutters, staring down at the floor.

"You know, Kenma-chan . . . I'm starting to suspect you're in love with Kuroo-san."

Kenma glances up from behind his hair. "If I agree with you, will you tell Yahaba to let me have his information?"

Oikawa smirks knowingly. "I don't need to. He's here now~"

Kenma's eyes widen. Standing quickly, he sprints from the room, ignoring Oikawa's laughter as it fades behind him. Kenma doesn't have to scan the room to see the crown of black bed-head standing just inside the door.

A flood of different emotions rushes through him, but the one that stands out the most is pure relief.

He's back. He's okay. He's here.

He runs toward the man, heedless of any staring eyes, and launches himself at him. Kuroo catches him readily, holding him close to his chest, as he buries his face in his neck without hesitation. Kenma clings to him, very much aware of the fact that this is their first hug, their first acknowledgement of any kind that they're something other than client and performer.

It makes Kenma's chest swell with warmth, and he realizes that the tears burning in his eyes are because he's happy.

"Perhaps you'd like to take this somewhere private?" Oikawa's lilting voice interrupts; his laugh still evident in his tone.

Kuroo doesn't need to be prompted further. With Kenma still clinging to him like a koala, he walks back toward the room Kenma just left. Once there, he releases him, and Kenma slides back down to the floor.

It's then that the other emotions hit him, and he places both hands on Kuroo's chest to shove him, hard.

"Where were you?" he hisses. "It's been a month."

"I know, I'm sorry," Kuroo says, and despite how tightly he hugged Kenma before, there's no happiness on his features now.

Kenma's heart sinks into his stomach. Something's wrong.

"It's . . . my grandfather," he says, running a hand through his hair. "He got sick suddenly, and I had to leave. I had to go home, and I didn't have time to tell you. I could have called, I guess, but everything happened so fast, and he got worse and was in the hospital and he . . ." A shudder runs through him.

Kenma takes his hand, leading him over to the chair. Kuroo sits, dropping his head into his hands. Kneeling in front of him, Kenma lays his hands on the outside of Kuroo's knees, tilting his head to try and see his face.

"Kuroo . . .?"

"He passed away last week."

Kenma blinks, stunned. "You . . . why are you here, then?" he asks. "Shouldn't you be with your parents?"

"I was. I mean, I am. I'm going back. I just . . ." Kuroo inhales sharply, lifting his head. He moves to take Kenma's hands, holding them firmly yet loose enough that Kenma can pull away easily if he wants to.

He doesn't.

"I want you to come with me," Kuroo says, swallowing hard. "While I was there, I kept thinking . . . 'I wish Kenma was here.' Or, 'I wish I could talk to Kenma right now.' I missed you so much. Your presence is . . . really calming to me. It always has been. It's probably selfish of me to ask this of you. I know you have your life here, your job, and you can't just pick up and leave but—"

"Yes," Kenma says quickly.

Kuroo stares. ". . . Yes?"

"I'll go with you."

Kuroo's eyes widen. "You will?"

Kenma nods. "I missed you too," he murmurs. Hesitantly, he pulls one hand away, reaching up to trail his fingertips through the hair just above Kuroo's ear. It's softer than it looks, and he lingers almost inadvertently.

Kenma bites his lip, as Kuroo's eyes grow wet. He looks away, and Kuroo leans forward to press his forehead against Kenma's shoulder. His shoulders shake, as tears begin to soak into the thin material of Kenma's outfit, but he simply wraps his arms around Kuroo and lets him cry.

His chest aches, and he wishes he could do something to take Kuroo's pain away.

Is being in love supposed to hurt this much?

Oikawa gives him the time off, and two days later Kenma finds himself on a train heading for Kuroo's hometown. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He's never been to a memorial service before, and he won't know any of the people that will be there, aside from Kuroo.

But when he looks at Kuroo, the drawn lines of his face as he looks out of the window, lost in his thoughts, he knows he made the right choice.

If he can help alleviate some of Kuroo's worries in any way, he will.

Still . . .

"How are you going to explain my being there?" he can't help but ask. "Nobody is going to know who I am."

"I already told my parents about you," Kuroo admits, and a light blush colors his cheeks.

Kenma raises an eyebrow. "You told your parents you go to a strip club every Friday?"

"What? No," Kuroo says quickly and too loudly, drawing the attention of a few other travelers. Kenma snickers softly, as Kuroo apologizes. Despite the embarrassment, Kuroo does seem less tense as he turns back to Kenma.

"I told them I was seeing someone. Someone I liked a lot. They wanted to meet you."

Kenma falls silent.

Kuroo grimaces. "Sorry. I kind of made it sound like we were dating. I know it's not really like that, but—"

"It's okay," Kenma says quickly. "I don't mind."

Kuroo nods, leaning back in his seat. "I promise you won't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I'll even pay you for your time, if you want."

Kenma frowns. "I'm not doing this for money," he says sharply. His gut twists painfully. Is that what Kuroo thinks of me? That I only spend time with him because of the money? Had his display on Friday not been enough to convince him that Kenma felt more for him than simple regard for a favorite patron?

It's not like he runs across the club to fling himself into the arms of every customer.

Pouting, he slouches in his seat, pulling out his PSP. Kuroo inhales, and Kenma waits for him to say something. He remains quiet, however, and Kenma pushes the button to start the game with a little more force than necessary.

The eight hour train ride seems to take forever, especially with this new tension between them. Kenma feels awkward and keeps his face in his PSP, not looking up even when Kuroo eventually leaves to go to the restroom. He does notice, however, when time passes without him returning.

Lowering his legs to the floor, Kenma straightens, looking around the train car. Not seeing any sign of him, he stands, holding onto the back of the seat in front of him, as anxiety starts to churn in his stomach. Before he can start to fully panic, however, the door at the front of the train car opens, and Kuroo steps through, holding two ekiben. Kenma quickly sits back down, doing his best to regulate his breathing, as Kuroo walks over and slides past him to sit in his seat.

"I was getting hungry and I thought you might be too, so I went to find something to eat," he explains. He pauses. "Are you okay? You're really pale."

Kenma bites his lip, not entirely sure he wants to admit that he'd been afraid Kuroo was leaving him again. It's ridiculous, really, considering Kuroo asked him to come with him in the first place. But Kenma had snapped at him, and he thought . . .

"Hungry," he says instead, taking the top ekiben and sitting back with it. He pulls his legs up once more, and ignores Kuroo as he eats.

He's only here to perform a role. To give Kuroo a shoulder to lean on. He'll most likely go back to work after a few days and things will return to normal. Kuroo will use him as his therapist, just as he always has, and any attraction that might be between them will most likely fade over time.

Kenma knows that's probably for the best, but he can't help but feel disappointment sink in his chest.

He didn't ask me to date him. He asked me to pretend that we're dating. He even offered to pay me for it.

He has no doubt that Kuroo likes him just fine, he obviously cares on some level, but everything he's said and done so far could be seen as a desire for true friendship, and not simply the professional relationship they've had so far.

And while Kenma is more than willing to call Kuroo his friend, would even be glad for it, he can't help but long for something more.

Kuroo's family lives in a nice neighborhood in a suburban town. Used to the city, Kenma's first thought is recognition of how quiet the place is. Kuroo pauses only briefly before opening the door to his parents' house and calling a quiet, "sorry for intruding!"

Kenma looks around the modest yet well-kept home, toeing out of his shoes as a tall, curvy woman in her late forties comes out from the kitchen to greet them. She gathers Kuroo in a tight hug, holding him for a couple seconds longer than a normal greeting would require. Kuroo clings to her tightly, burying his face in her neck, and Kenma looks away to give them privacy.

"You must be Kenma," Mrs. Kuroo says, turning to him after a moment with a warm smile. "Welcome. Tetsurou's told us so much about you."

Kenma sends Kuroo a look, which he staunchly ignores, keeping his eyes on his mother. Kenma bows to Mrs. Kuroo after a moment.

"Sorry for the intrusion," he says, keeping his eyes on her feet. They're clad in house slippers shaped like cat heads. He has to keep his lips from twitching at the sight.

"Thank you for being there for Tetsurou when we have not," Mrs. Kuroo says, taking his shoulders in her hands and pushing him upright. "We're very grateful for you."

Kenma has to fight to keep a blush from crawling up his neck and face, and his gaze skitters to the side.

"Um, it's no trouble," he says, distinctly uncomfortable with the praise when she doesn't know the truth. Would she say such nice things about me if she knew our relationship is a fraud?

He's suddenly angry at Kuroo for lying in the first place. This woman is looking at him with such kindness in her eyes, he can barely stomach it. Mrs. Kuroo steps back to ask them what they'd like to eat ("You must be starving!"), but Kenma cuts her off quickly.

"Sorry. I'm really tired. Is there somewhere I can lay down?"

Kuroo frowns slightly at his rudeness, but Mrs. Kuroo simply shakes herself as though she'd forgotten something.

"Oh, of course! You two must be exhausted from your trip. The memorial service isn't until tomorrow, so there's plenty of time for you to meet the rest of the family later. Tetsurou, show Kenma-kun to your old room, will you? I've set up a futon for him there."

Kuroo nods, giving his mother a peck on the cheek before gesturing for Kenma to follow him further into the house. He leads them into a hallway with four doors, taking them to the farthest one and opening it. Kenma steps inside. The room is clean and tidy, nothing indicating that it used to belong to a teenage boy. Kenma wonders how soon after Kuroo left home was it converted into a guest room. His own parents changed his room the day after he left.

"Mind explaining why you were so rude back there?" Kuroo asks, crossing his arms, as he leans back against the door.

Kenma lets his duffle bag fall to the floor, as he claims the bed, crawling up onto it and sitting cross-legged in its center. He stares back at Kuroo impassively.

"Mind explaining why you lied to them about me?"

Kuroo grimaces. "It was just . . . easier," he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Are you ashamed of me?"

Kuroo's eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. "What? No, of course not." He shakes his head.

Kenma tilts his, studying Kuroo closely. "Then why?"

"It's just . . . they think I'm doing really well out there, you know? They have such high expectations . . . they've always told me how proud they were of me, how incredible I was going to be once I became one of Japan's leading scientists . . ." He sighs, slumping against the door. "They were so disappointed when they found out I changed my major to advertising, but between working and chemistry and volleyball . . . I couldn't do it all. I had to give something up. Advertising was an easier degree."

"What does that have to do with me?" Kenma asks blankly.

Kuroo looks off to the side. "They want me to be happy. They want me to live a fulfilling life. But I have no friends, no lovers, no . . . life at all, really. I told them we met at a coffee shop and we started talking and one thing led to another . . . I couldn't tell them I was paying you to listen to me rant about work and my shortcomings. That's not progress that's just . . . pathetic." He runs a hand through his hair.

Kenma holds his knees gently, considering this information. "I don't like outright lying," he says finally. "I'm fine with pretending to be your boyfriend, but if they ask me about my work, I'm going to tell them the truth." He can't stand the defeated look in Kuroo's eyes, so he continues. "But I'll leave out the part where you're paying me to be your friend."

Kuroo nods, relief evident in his expression. Kenma wishes he didn't care so much about it. He feels sick to his stomach. He hoped that Kuroo would correct him, say that they'd be friends even if Kuroo wasn't paying him for his time. But he doesn't. Instead, he pushes off the door, gesturing toward the futon beside the bed.

"I'll take that. You can have the bed."

"I already claimed the bed."

Kuroo's lips twitch in amusement, as he takes in Kenma's current position. "I guess so." He glances toward the door. "Do you want the shower first or?"

Kenma lies down, stretching his arms over his head as he yawns softly. "Wake me when you're done," he says, turning onto his side to curl into a ball.

The exhaustion of the long trip hits him as soon as he relaxes into the mattress, and the next thing he knows, Kuroo is shaking him awake gently with a hand on his shoulder. Kenma rolls over slightly, opening his eyes to blink up at Kuroo blearily. His hair is damp, dripping slightly on the towel he has around his neck. For once it's slicked back away from his face. Kenma catches himself staring, wondering if it'll revert back to its crazy bed-head state once it's dry.

"Shower's free," he says with a faint crooked smile.

Kenma's heartbeat quickens suddenly, and he practically shoves Kuroo out of the way as he hurries off the bed and out of the room. He lingers in the shower, reminding himself that he's here to be an emotional support for Kuroo, and anything he might want to confess is better saved for later.

Once he's finished and dressed, he makes his way back into the bedroom. Kuroo's standing by the window, looking out at the backyard, holding the ends of the towel around his neck. Kenma watches him for a moment. He's never seen him dressed so casually, in just a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. Kenma himself is dressed in his hoodie and baggy black pajama pants with white cat faces on them. Kuroo glances down at them as Kenma steps up beside him, and his lips twitch.

"Cute," he says.

Kenma shoves down the heat that threatens to rise in his cheeks. "You okay?" he asks, shifting the conversation to Kuroo.

Kuroo turns back to the window. "My grandfather tossed me my very first volleyball in that yard," he says, nodding. "I was just thinking about how he basically started my love for the game. He was always so supportive . . ."

He trails off, biting his lip. He suddenly looks young; there's vulnerability in his expression that Kenma isn't used to seeing. Hesitantly, he reaches up, tugging gently on the edge of Kuroo's towel, careful not to touch his hand. It catches Kuroo's attention, though, and he looks down at Kenma expectantly.

"He'd be proud of you," Kenma states.

Kuroo's lips twist into a bitter smirk. "Considering I didn't make the cut for the national team and now just play with the neighborhood association, I don't think he'd be that proud."

Kenma frowns. "You're always talking about how much of a failure you are. It's like you don't even see what you've accomplished and how far you've come."

"I'm not living the life I wanted, Kenma," Kuroo says flatly. "They all know that. He knew that. That's nothing to be proud of."

"If you're so unhappy with your life, why don't you change it?"

"It's not that simple."

"Why?"

Kenma scowls up at Kuroo, arms crossed over his chest, and Kuroo's brows furrow slightly. He purses his lips but doesn't answer. Annoyed, Kenma shakes his head.

"You come to me once a week to vent about your life and how much you hate it, but I never see you do anything about it. You're being stupid."

"I've already failed once, okay? I'm not exactly in a rush to fail again." Kuroo turns away then, stalking over to the futon on the other side of the bed.

Kenma follows him doggedly. "Who says you'll fail again? Your parents believe in you. It sounds like you grandfather did too. Why can't you believe in yourself?"

Kuroo's fallen onto the futon and is pressing two pillows against the side of his head as though to block out Kenma's voice. Further irritated by Kuroo's immaturity, Kenma kneels beside the futon and yanks one of the pillows away. Kuroo lifts his head to frown at him. Kenma stares back, undeterred.

"You're better than this," he says.

"Are you where you want to be in life?" Kuroo asks sharply. "When you were a kid did you dream of becoming a stripper?"

Kenma blinks, not having expected a retaliation of that caliber. Before he can think of a response, Kuroo grabs the pillow and smashes it back against the side of his face.

Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, Kenma curls his hands into fists on his knees, glaring down at them.

"My job gives me the money I need in order to pay the bills while I work on getting to where I want to be. I don't regret where I am, because I'm still moving forward. You've just stopped where you are. It's stupid. You could do anything you want. You're smart, dedicated, hardworking . . . if you wanted to go back to school and get a chemistry degree, you could. I know you could."

Kuroo hasn't moved, and Kenma isn't even sure if he heard him at all through his pillows. He waits, bracing himself for whatever angry response Kuroo's going to throw at him next, but nothing happens. Sighing, Kenma moves to stand. As he does, though, Kuroo reaches out to grab his ankle. Looking down, Kenma sees Kuroo lift his chin.

"You really think that?" he asks softly.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Kenma says. "What do you think?"

Kuroo sighs, rolling over slightly to free his face from its pillow prison. "I think I don't want to disappoint my parents again," he says, not looking up at Kenma's face.

"I think it would disappoint them more if you didn't try. And anyway, forget about them. I think you should focus on your own happiness and get to where you want to be for your sake. Not anyone else's."

Kuroo contemplates that for a moment. He smirks, then, shifting his gaze up to look into Kenma's frown.

"I don't think I've ever heard you talk so much. How much do I owe you for that session?"

Kenma's neck grows hot, but his blood feels like ice, as he wrenches his ankle out of Kuroo's grasp.

"Nothing," he says, regretting now saying anything at all. He still thinks this is one giant pseudo-therapy session.

Angry at himself for expecting anything different, Kenma climbs up onto the bed and slips under the covers. He turns his back on Kuroo, shutting his eyes and trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

The memorial service takes place in Kuroo's parents' home. Family members and close friends kneel in front of the shrine, as the priest chants and incense burns. Kenma's dressed in the nicest black suit he owns, which he's only ever worn once. He's kneeling directly behind Kuroo, who's in the front row beside his parents, head bowed. Ever since the previous night, Kuroo hasn't spoken more than a few words to him. Kenma knows he's been busy greeting their guests and helping his mother and father prepare for the ceremony, but other than a quick "Good morning," he's practically ignored Kenma up to and including avoiding eye contact.

He can't help but wonder if Kuroo is still upset with him about what they discussed, despite the light hearted way Kuroo ended the conversation. Thinking back on it, Kenma doesn't think he said anything untrue or unhelpful. So why is he being this way? It's annoying.

He knows better than to approach him about it now, however. Instead, he lingers back as the ceremony ends and the guests stand and start mingling. Food is brought out, refreshments served, and Kenma finds a corner to stand in, frowning slightly through his hair at Kuroo across the room. He's speaking with an older lady, perhaps a great aunt, and has continued to ignore Kenma.

Why did he even ask me to be here if he was just going to ignore me the whole time?

"Holy shit, are you—? It can't be. Maneki-Neko?"

At the sound of his stage name, Kenma grows still. Slowly turning his gaze toward the voice, he finds himself looking into the wide golden eyes of a young man with crazy spiked hair streaked with gray, white, and black. He's dressed nicely otherwise, a smart black suit that hugs his muscular frame rather attractively. But the stunned look of disbelief on his face ruins the effect.

"It is you! Holy shit!"

It takes a moment for Kenma's memory to kick into gear, and when it does he has to fight the urge to run. Curious eyes are turning toward him, including Kuroo's, and Kenma's face feels hot, as he storms over to grab the man's tie who'd spoken. Bokuto (that's his name, Kenma remembers) yelps in surprise, as Kenma drags him out of the house into the backyard.

"Shut up," he mutters. "What do you think you're doing, yelling like that? Have some respect." He scowls.

"You can't blame me for being surprised!" Bokuto exclaims. "This is, like, the last place I expected to see you! I didn't even recognize you at first with your clothes on." His gaze roams over Kenma's form briefly, and Kenma crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for Kuroo," Kenma says. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you! Kuroo and I, we were friends when we were kids! We kinda fell out of touch after he left for college, but his mom invited me to come. She thought he could use a friendly face, you know?" He blinks then, as realization dawns on him. "Wait! Does this mean . . . holy shit we've been going to see the same stripper and we didn't even know?!"

"I said 'shut up,'" Kenma hisses, advancing toward Bokuto. The man backs up quickly, his back hitting the wall of the house. Kenma can imagine they look rather comical, considering Bokuto's height and width. But Kenma's determined to not allow Bokuto to ruin things for Kuroo. He still thinks lying to his parents isn't the right way to go about things, but he'll be damned if he's going to let Bokuto out Kuroo before the man is ready to tell the truth.

"As far as Kuroo's parents know, him and me are dating," Kenma says, keeping his voice pitched low. "They don't know who I am or what I do, and you're going to keep your mouth shut about how you know me, otherwise we're going to have a problem. Got it?"

Bokuto nods and mimes zipping up his mouth and locking it before tossing an invisible key over his shoulder.

"Hey . . . what's going on out here? Bokuto?" Kuroo steps out of the house, blinking at the two of them in confusion. "Mom told me she invited you. I didn't see you come in."

"You were pretty busy helping your mom out and stuff," Bokuto says with a shrug. "I was gonna say hey but then I saw, uh, what's your real name?"

Kenma purses his lips. "Kozume. Kenma."

"Kozume-kun and . . . we were just chatting, that's all." Bokuto shrugs, grinning tentatively with a furtive glance at Kenma.

Kenma resists the urge to slam his forehead against the house. Of course he's a terrible liar.

"Real name?" Kuroo stares at them blankly.

"He's come into Aoba Johsai a couple times," Kenma admits with a sigh, guessing there's no reason to hide it from Kuroo. "I've had him as a client before."

For some reason Kuroo doesn't respond right away, only continues staring. Bokuto, probably sensing the strange tension that's suddenly fallen, pushes away from the wall to wrap his arm around Kuroo's shoulder. "Dude, I had no idea we'd been going to the same club all this time! We should meet up there one night! Mane—er, Kozume-kun could dance for both of us!"

Kuroo shrugs Bokuto's arm off him. "Thanks, but no thanks," he says, shaking his head. "I don't go there to see him dance."

Bokuto's eyes widened. "You paid him to come here with you, and you haven't even seen him dance? Oh, man. You're really missing out, dude! He's, like, super hot!"

Kenma bristles, not liking how he's talking about him as though he's not standing right there in front of them. He clears his throat pointedly, but all Bokuto does is grin at him.

"You should totally show this guy here one of your routines," he says, grabbing Kuroo's shoulders and shaking him gently. "That'd cheer him up for sure!"

"You're so annoying," Kuroo complains, his cheeks starting to grow red. He grabs Bokuto's face and shoves him away. "Go inside and say hi to Mom. I bet she'll be happy to see you."

"Oh, yeah! Your mom is super cool!"

"Try to tone down the enthusiasm. This is a memorial service, not a party." Kuroo rolls his eyes.

"Right, right, got it," Bokuto says with a nod, lowering his voice. He gives the two a knowing grin before retreating back into the house.

Kuroo sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about him," he says. "He's super irritating, but he's not a bad guy. At least, as far as I remember . . . I actually haven't spoken with him much since high school . . ."

"Didn't want to let him down either?" Kenma asks knowingly.

Kuroo doesn't respond.

Kenma shakes his head, stepping closer. "He came here for you. I'm guessing that means he still cares."

"Yeah," Kuroo says, a fond smile tilting his lips.

Kenma's chest tightens at the sight of it. He looks away.

"Hey," Kuroo says then, drawing Kenma's attention back to him. "That's not why I asked you to come here, you know. I mean, I'm not looking for you to cheer me up with a routine or whatever."

"Why did you ask me here?" Kenma asks, slipping his hands into his pockets and meeting Kuroo's gaze.

"I . . . told you why. Your presence is calming. You let me vent to you without judgment, or at least you did . . . and I just . . . I wanted someone by my side that I know I can lean on."

"You've been avoiding me all day," Kenma says pointedly.

Kuroo grimaces. "Yeah . . . I'm sorry. I just . . . I wasn't expecting you to come back at me like that last night. You always just sit there and play the games I bring you while I rant. To be honest, I wasn't even sure how often you were actually listening."

Kenma frowns. "I've always listened," he said.

"I'm starting to realize that," Kuroo says with a nod. "Thank you."

"Stupid," Kenma mutters, his neck growing warm. He stares down at the wooden paneling of the porch beneath his feet. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"Don't I? You don't have to listen to me. I pay you either way."

Kenma hunches forward slightly. "It stopped being about the money a while ago," he murmurs. "I'd sit and listen to you for hours even if you weren't paying me . . ."

He speaks so softly, Kuroo has to lean forward in order to hear him. Because of the new proximity, Kenma hears Kuroo's sharp intake of breath, but he keeps his eyes on his feet. Curling his hands into fists in his pockets, he does his best to keep his own breathing even, though his heart has started to pound faster in his ears.

"When you stopped coming to the club I thought something might have happened to you. I realized just how much you meant to me. As-as a friend but also . . ." He lifts his head slowly, gathering his courage as best he can. He can't hold Kuroo's gaze, though, and his eyes skitter to the side. "I like you. As more than just a friend, I mean. I-I've never really felt this way before, about anyone, so . . . it took me a while to catch on. But I do."

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before looking into Kuroo's eyes directly. He's not entirely sure what expression he sees there. Kuroo appears surprised, but also . . . happy? Is that happiness that's starting to crinkle the corners of his eyes?

"I like you too," Kuroo admits stepping closer. "I wasn't entirely sure how you felt about me, so I didn't dare to hope we could even be friends but . . . last night I realized just how much you actually cared about me and that meant a lot. It struck a chord in me and that's when I realized that I really, really don’t want to be apart from you."

Reaching up, he brushes his fingers across Kenma's cheek, cradling the side of his face in his hand.

"You put me in my place and made me realize that I could have the future I want, if I try for it. And I want to try. But I know I'm going to need help. Will you stay with me? I think I could use someone like you in my life, more than you have been, I mean. I want you with me every step of the way."

Kenma's heart stutters in his chest, pounding rapidly in his ears. He digs his nails into his palms, grateful for the slight sting that tells him "yes, this is real."

At his lack of response, however, Kuroo grows nervous. He bites his lip, and his hand starts to fall away.

"I understand if that's too much too soon," he says. "If you need time to think about it—"

"Yes," Kenma says quickly, once he realizes Kuroo's starting to backtrack. He grabs the retreating hand, holding it in both of his. "I want to stay with you."

Kuroo grins, relief flooding his features. Kenma moves one hand around to the back of Kuroo's neck, pulling him down to kiss him. Kuroo moves willingly, and his lips, when they meet Kenma's, are warm and pliant.

Kenma leans into him, savoring the touch, the warmth, the taste. He parts his lips, slotting them between Kuroo's in order to deepen the kiss. Kuroo murmurs softly, his other hand moving to Kenma's waist to pull him closer.

He's not sure how long they stand there, long enough for Kenma's neck to start aching because of the angle, and when they pull away Kenma shivers at the sudden loss of heat.

Kuroo looks at him with such an affectionate, dopey look on his face that Kenma can't help but move his hand down to curl his fingers around Kuroo's tie, giving it a small yank.

"That'll be ten thousand yen," he says.

Kuroo blinks, his lips twisting into an uncertain smirk. "You're joking, right?"

Kenma stares up at him, unblinking.

Kuroo's eyes widen with sudden panic, and Kenma can't hold his expression still any longer. A snort escapes, as he struggles to suppress his laugh, and Kuroo relaxes.

"That wasn't funny," he complains.

"You should've seen your face," Kenma gasps, holding onto his sides.

Kuroo huffs, but he grabs Kenma's arm to pull him in close once more. "It wouldn't matter," he says then in a low voice. "I'd pay whatever you wanted in order to keep you."

Kenma stops laughing. He frowns faintly, reaching up to flick Kuroo's forehead. "Don't ever offer me money for my time again," he says. "I give it freely, so don't cheapen it."

"Got it," Kuroo says with a crooked grin. He leans down to press his forehead against Kenma's then, closing his eyes briefly. "Does this mean I'll get my sessions at Aoba Johsai for free too?" he asks, smirking.

Kenma shoves him away with a roll of his eyes. "You won't have to go to Aoba Johsai to see me anymore," he says.

"Oh?" Kuroo raises an eyebrow.

"I'm going to move in with you."

Kuroo laughs abruptly. "Oh, really? You are? Isn't that kind of sudden?"

Kenma tilts his head. "Did you not just ask me to stay by your side through everything?"

Kuroo's expression shifts into a fond smile. He reaches up to tug gently on the ends of Kenma's hair. "I did," he agrees. "I can start on that paperwork as soon as we get back."

"Good," Kenma says with a nod. He looks toward the door into the house. "We should go inside and tell your parents the good news."

"That you're moving in with me?"

"That you're going back to college."

Kuroo swallows hard. "Oh. Right. That."

Kenma grabs his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "They're already proud of you, Kuroo. I never met your grandfather, but I'm sure he was too. No matter what happens, nothing's going to change that."

Kuroo looks down at him. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Kenma looks away, face hot. "Shut up."

Lacing his fingers through Kenma's, Kuroo squares his shoulders and steps back into the house.

Kenma stays beside him, just as he promised.