❛ volumes . gaze at my muse in a way that silently says ‘i love you’ . ( For Ken from kuroo
it’s hard to speak in front of crowds, to dictate stories & thoughts & narratives, & to be the partner of a conversational script. it’s hard to want to speak much ( for prolonged durations of time ) even in more private settings — when there are only two. but for all this difficulty, shyness is only a partial culprit. for crowds, yes, kenma is sensitized to the press of needling eyes against their skin — waiting to pull action from them when they are reluctant to give. however, for crowds, kenma is mostly just reluctant to digest an onslaught of stimuli from others’ trying to relate or alienate them.
within a confined area — when it’s with people they know, shyness is thwarted. really, to hell with shyness. when kenma has granted their continued company, when those around them start to be accustomed to them —- then their company will learn to bear with them & their non-verbal communications.
kuroo has done more than that. he bears with kenma, he’s learned their body language — & unfortunately he's learned to use that to his advantage. in small ways that would be nothing if kenma weren’t so certain of kuroo’s intentionality.
the way he caters to kenma — brings them tea & hides a smile when they put it out of their reach accidentally. the way kuroo starts a conversation right before he knows kenma is about to start a boss level. the way kuroo laughs so loudly in quiet shops, the way he always swears that he’s going to go home soon . . . & then falls asleep making an ugly face on kenma’s couch.
all these things pull from their features expressions of huffed bemusement, resignation, displeasure, endearment. kenma has never made much effort at disguising their expression, but . . . .with all this, kuroo wins.
but tonight, kuroo doesn’t look like he has the energy to seek any wins. he looks too tired, too worn & diplomatic. take-out containers litter kenma’s coffee table, & the residual smell of food still hangs in the air. from the corner of their eye, kenma watches how kuroo forces himself to sit upright, to pillow his head on the flat of his hand with his arm propped on the arm of the couch.
the screen of the television goes blue —- kuroo’s elbow has managed to land on the remote & press a wrong button. kenma hums to guide kuroo’s attention. no response. they hum again & nudge their foot against the other — the touch is too soft, it seems; still, there is no response.
kenma finally turns to ensure that kuroo hasn’t fallen asleep completely ( the position would surely hurt his neck ) & freezes. tired though kuroo may be, the way that kuroo looks at them now promises an eternity, a thousand cups of tea put just out of reach, a thousand poorly timed conversations, a thousand laughs, a thousand nights when kuroo wants to see them even when he’s tired.
kenma sucks in their cheek, averts their gaze. the blue of the television screen paints both their faces.
‘ hey, ‘ they finally offer. ‘ just sleep here tonight. i’ve got some spare clothes you can use in the morning. just don’t hurt your neck. just — ‘
stay here.
@frsttempo | loud & deafening silence
