Work Text:
Kenma is startled by the sharp ringing of his phone cutting into the silence, the vibrations on the table reverberating through the dark room. When did I even turn my sound on? He thinks, irritably shuffling over to the device, seeing “akaashi keiji” flash across the screen. While the sound is still painfully echoing despite having answered, Kenma tries to recall how much water he has had today. Kuro would rebuke him for his self-inflicted headache. Akaashi would not explicitly berate him, but would inevitably find random excuses to make more noise, chastisement implied. (What does it say about Kenma that he finds only adoration for Akaashi, even then?)
Kenma then realizes that no response has come from the phone. “Hello?” is not more than a murmur, but it still seems too loud for the quiet of his house. He strains to hear anything more than Bokuto's voice overpowering the background club music. You would have hung up on anyone else – besides shrimpy – by now, kitten, a mental voice that sounds like Kuro observes. I play favorites, Kenma easily thinks in response.
“Akaashi?” He says, putting in the effort to fully enunciate it. Deliberate effort? mental Kuro drawls. I've been doing this for him for years, thanks for finally noticing? Kenma's thought drips with sarcasm, even in only mental delivery.
“Kenma?” is mumbled, drawn out. Akaashi has called him “Kozume” for as long as they've known each other. A hiccup comes through the line. Akaashi is wasted. That's a shock. Akaashi usually refrains. Kenma hums into the phone, amused at his friend's predicament. “Wish I could call him now. Can't find a phone,” Akaashi's broken sentences spill like warm honey through the call. “Miss him.”
Kenma laughs. “Akaashi, you called me.” The last time Akaashi got this drunk, he showed up at Kuro's doorstep without shoes, claiming Bo was going to hate him because he wasn't going to be the other's setter – Akaashi hadn't been playing volleyball for a year and a half at that point – and that he was going to platonically marry Yachi Hitoka, so they could be “hashtag gay besties.” (Yes, he said the hashtag out loud, to Kenma's chagrin.)
Kenma puts the call on speaker as Akaashi rambles on, texting Bokuto and... who else did Bo say they were drinking with tonight? Can't remember. Who would be responsible enough to get Akaashi home? Akaashi groans and Kenma imagines he lets his head smack down onto whatever hard surface is in front of him. “...it's that laugh, you know? Ugh,” is all Kenma can recall from his echoic registry. Nerd, you remember the term “echoic registry”? Whose fault is that. Not mine-- “I'm so gay.” Akaashi adds.
“We been knew,” Kenma responds, holding his phone against his ear again. Akaashi transitions on. “Kenma has not managed to deviate from 'Akaashi' once.” Still in third person. Now formal sentences indicate annoyed Akaashi. “For everyone else, it is always first names or nicknames or half-baked attempts that lead to a shortening of the name-”
“Akaashi-” Kenma attempts to interrupt, and fails.
“...even at times petty ribbing. Which, yes, is hot-”
“Akaashi-” Kenma interjects, but is brushed past yet again.
“...but my name hasn't been changed. Not since I started paying attention,” and Kenma wonders what details are hiding behind that phrase, “and that is the problem, isn't it?” Akaashi sighs. Problem?
When it seems Akaashi has paused, Kenma starts, “Akaashi-”
“I'm so in love with him.”
Kenma wants to let out a laugh. It's funny to hear the words he wants to hear, knowing that they are not his to keep. Knowing that a drunk Akaashi says a lot of things that he doesn't follow through on, doesn't remember. And these aren't words that Kenma feels comfortable reminding him of and teasing him for in the morning.
It's dangerous territory to tread.
“Akaashi.” It comes out clearer, a little more stern. There's only a moment of hesitation before,
“Kenma?”
“Yes. Who there is sober? Can you put them on?”
“I love you so much.” Wasn't prepared for that. “I want your golden eyes on me, as if you find me subjectively attractive,” Akaashi's speaking gets quicker and slurs just a little more as he continues. “You are incredibly attractive, and not 'objectively', except actually also objectively, both objectively and subjectively, and sometimes when you're angry I wonder if you'd be willing to rail me-”
That is an image about his Friend that needs to Leave his brain yesterday. Kenma is coughing, choking on nothing but air, and his stupid brain won't turn off and keeps listening as Akaashi goes on, and on, and on. “But I also want languid make out sessions in your kitchen, or for you to run your fingers through my hair, or to lay kisses on your scrunched up nose and your cramping fingers and-”
“Akaashi. Drink water.” Kenma manages to push out. He doesn't want to picture any of it. Too bad you already do, huh? Bug off, Kuro.
Akaashi giggles. Giggles. “Because I'm thirsty for you?” Kenma wishes he could forget about this in the morning, too. “But you don't get it, that's not all that I want with you. I want to lay in your lap, or simply hear you rant about the old corporate assholes that piss you off because you're a better person than them, or just lean over and tuck your hair behind your ear and whisper in your ear asking for permission to kiss you because consent is important and I wonder how you would react, but I'm too scared of acting – no, taking action, because--”
“Akaashi,” comes out much louder, but so much more broken than all the previous ones. This time, Akaashi actually stays silent. “You are so, so drunk. Go home. Please, stop talking when you don't mean it.”
“Kozume Kenma, I'm so fucking in love with you!” Akaashi yells. Slightly slurred and all. As if this point wasn't made clear, or as if it was true. Pissed off, Kenma yells back, “If you love me so much, tell me when you're fucking sober!” and hangs up.
The yelling rings in his ears. Kenma sits alone (“not since I started paying attention”) with the echoes of words (“because I'm thirsty for you?”) playing on overlapping, broken loops (laying kisses on scrunched up noses and cramped fingers) in his head, (languid makeout sessions in my kitchen) unable to follow through on any one (“I'm so in love with him,” “I love you so much,” “I'm so fucking in love with you”). He tries to visually follow the lines in the floor next to him but questions play pinball in his head. (When did he start “paying attention”? What does that mean?
What has he started paying attention to?
Does he know that I love him?
“and that's the problem, isn't it?” - what is the problem?
How could he not know?) He can't think straight.
Do you ever think straight though? Mental Kuro cuts through. Kuro, fuck off! Kenma laughs out loud. Mental Kuro helped to stop the thought spirals. Kenma still – jokingly – sends Kuro a threatening message before going to bed.
(fuck all the way off
or else I tell bo smth, my choice
wonder what it could be)
He checks the time, and it's been hours. Ugh.
When Kenma is up in the morning, he decides he's going to make breakfast before he thinks about anything too hard. He finds his phone on the table he left it on last night, checking the text messages. All but one are from Kuro, emojis and memes translating to “wha?” and “what did I do??” The other is from Bo, roughly translating to say he is very hungover and made it home safe. He'll talk to Kuro later and explain, but for now he's simply amused, and glad to hear it, respectively.
He's cooking breakfast when there is a knock at his door. “Kozume?” Ah. He opens the door and walks away, just like he always does. Akaashi gently closes the door behind him, just like he always does.
At Akaashi's presence, Kenma soaks in the present moment. He simply exists, and is okay with existing. For now, Akaashi is one of his best friends, who he is in love with, and it's okay to have feelings. Whatever happens, happens.
Not taking his sunglasses off, Akaashi flops dramatically onto his back on the floor and groans. Kenma snorts, before going back to preparing food. “Coffee?” he questions, asking because he doesn't want to assume. Conversation isn't forced as Kenma finishes making food for two, then takes it to the table for Akaashi.
“This is so good,” Akaashi manages out. Kenma chuckles as he remembers Akaashi's frequent jokes about being a slut for food. “Bokuto got me wasted last night. He kept pouring shots and being a bitch when I didn't want to have them. Anyone who thinks he's innocent is wrong, he manipulates me all the time, and knows he's doing it. The excuse last night was something about not wanting to lose his best friend.” Akaashi pauses as he drinks his coffee, then continues. “We live together.” Kenma is holding back laughter at Akaashi's description of Bo. Bo's version of manipulation is tricking Akaashi into getting a full night's rest and taking much needed emotional breaks and reminding him to eat.
“You spend more time at the library than with Bo,” Kenma points out, deadpan delivery intentional.
Akaashi groans in response, “Sadly, my thesis doesn't write itself.”
After they finish, Akaashi leans up against the counter in the kitchen, sipping his second cup of coffee while Kenma finishes cleaning, and asks, “so are we not going to talk about it?” Well, shit.
“Talk about what?” Kenma clarifies. He can feel Akaashi's eyes following him, analyzing him, studying him, and he ponders what Akaashi said last night about him paying attention.
“I'm sorry for my behavior last night. I want to apologize for what I said, even if it was the truth.” What? The truth? Kenma's brain rapid-fires through the information Akaashi said last night (“I'm so in love with him,” “I love you so much,” “I'm so fucking in love with you”), wondering how much of it he remembers. “I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable-”
“How much do you remember?” How much of what he said was actually meant? Kenma looks up at Akaashi, watching him look down into his coffee. How much would he be willing to follow through on? (“. . .lean over and tuck your hair behind your ear and whisper in your ear--”)
“...I remember I said some things that are not currently appropriate to repeat.” Akaashi sighs. He starts with that? “I remember saying that I love you. That I'm in love with you.” Present tense. Akaashi looks up. Kenma doesn't look away. Kenma allows himself to look. “I remember enough to think that I meant the words I said.”
Kenma laughs, giddy. He tries to calm down, but he's so happy. He laughs a little too hard for having no explanation, and he tries to calm down to explain he's not intending to be rude. “Sorry, sorry. Drunk Keiji was so forward.”
“Kozume-” Akaashi starts, but Kenma doesn't let him finish.
“Keiji,” Kenma starts, because he knows he wants to get used to repeating that name over and over, replacing the Akaashi he's practiced for years, “do you remember how the phone call ended?”
He returns his gaze to Keiji's eyes. Keiji shakes his head no. “I just remember that you sounded... uncomfortable, then angry.”
Kenma nods, “I was. I wanted to hear those words from you, but not while you were drunk.”
“Kozume--” “Keiji, I'm in love with you, don't you dare call me Kozume.”
“Kenma,” Keiji says, quietly but poignant, “what did you say to end the call last night?”
“'If you love me so much, tell me when you're fucking sober'. I think. Might have been 'if you love me so fucking much, tell me when you're sober.' Don't remember where the fuck went.” Kenma shrugs, but can't hold back his smile. Smitten. Not wrong.
“Kenma, I'm so fucking in love with you, it's insane.” Keiji laughs. Kenma feels comfortable. It's nice to hear those words, clear and intentional. It calms Kenma, feeling like something has finally fallen into place. Kenma smiles. Keiji smiles back. “I have such a bad headache, but hashtag worth it.” Kenma groans. He's a ten but says the word hashtag out loud. You're still smiling, Kenma.
He walks towards Keiji, intertwining their fingers with a murmur. “This okay?” Keiji hums and nods, seeming content. “We can have a conversation about our relationship and boundaries and stuff,” Keiji mocks, “and stuff,” snickering under his breath, “and then we can maybe cuddle while you take a hangover nap, and when you wake we can maybe cash in a languid make out session?” Keiji drags his free hand down his flushed face, but he's not hiding his smile as he says, “I'd like that.”
Kuroo later gets told that his AkaKen ship has finally sailed, and Kenma – in a round about way – thanks him for their friendship, because it helps him to stop overthinking even when Kuroo's not there. Kuroo cries. And probably posts on social media (tagging Kenma) #blessed.