SleepoverA Kuroken collaboration (bc ch 318 was A LOT) Story by @nimbus-cloud​  Art by @beechic

Sleepover

A Kuroken collaboration (bc ch 318 was A LOT)

Story by @nimbus-cloud​  Art by @beechichi 

“You’re smart! And you learn quickly!”

As flattering as the words had first been, it quickly dawned on Kenma that Kuroo was also, in fact, rather smart himself. Smart enough that when he came over to stay the weekend for the first time, he’d first unpacked his volleyball from his overnight bag, suggesting they go down to the riverbank to play. He’d uttered not a peep about the volleyball DVDs he’d also brought until they were both completely sore, thoroughly bruised, and as grimy as boys their age were expected to be.

Only then, only during the walk home, did he (almost innocently) suggest that they could either play a game or watch the matches he’d brought after dinner.

He’s figured out that if we start with the DVDs, we’d never leave my room. Sneaky jerk.

Well, if there was a choice about it, then Kenma would insist on a game then. A game he knew he’d always win.

But even as he grimaced at the new bruises developing on his forearms (just a little more ‘internal bleeding’ he supposed), Kenma gave a respectful nod to Kuroo’s strategy. He wouldn’t be as interesting if he were an idiot. At home, they kicked off their shoes and might’ve run straight toward the kitchen if Kenma’s father hadn’t intercepted them and shoved them away to take a bath first. The whiff they caught from the kitchen smelled of fish—mackerel—which Kenma noted brought a glimmer to Kuroo’s eyes and an excited tremble to his bottom lip. There were some things he just couldn’t hide.

Although Kuroo was still a little shy and quiet around his parents and most other
adults—probably trying to be polite—he now let fully loose when it was just the two of them. In the bath, Kuroo scrubbed his back for him and insisted that Kenma soak in the hot water for longer even though they were small enough to both fit.

“Your arms look way worse than mine!”

And then he chattered on and on with Kenma listening comfortably from his hot water cocoon until they were both pruney and Kenma’s father knocked on the door for them to stop dithering about and come out for dinner.

“If it weren’t for the noise, I might have thought you boys had drowned!”

His father teased them in a way Kenma suspected he’d wanted to do all Kenma’s life, if only he’d had friends earlier.

But now their household had Kuroo too. Kuroo, who wolfed down salted mackerel as if it were his last meal, who always packed his volleyball into his backpack no matter where he was going, who could get as rowdy as any eight-year-old boy when the adults weren’t looking, and who now jumped into his bed carefree when not even a month ago, he’d sat nervously on the floor instead barely saying a word.

“Ahh… dinner was so good! Your mom’s food is the best!”

Something in that sentence rang hollow in Kenma’s ear, and his mouth pulled into a thin line.

“Move over,” he said quietly as he crawled into his bed beside his friend. Reaching for the remote, he paused only a moment before he added, “You brought DVDs, right?”

It was just as well, Kenma thought as he settled to lie down on his stomach to watch. His forearms were so sore he’d have trouble holding his game controller anyway.

Kuroo popped one of three DVDs in—a women’s volleyball match this time—then sat cradling his volleyball in his lap beside Kenma. He might’ve complained—he knew exactly where that ball had been and it was filthy—but it had been cleaned.

Probably dad.

He gave silent thanks for that, because for Kuroo, that ball was as good as any stuffed animal or baby blanket. And about as effective too. Only an hour later, Kenma felt Kuroo’s body drooping sideways, his breathing slow and comfortable as he lay his head on Kenma’s back.

Meanwhile Kenma was transfixed on the game, and most especially on the setter’s every movement. Ever since Kuroo had suggested the idea, he’d taken a liking to it. And the setter on the screen was good. Really good. When he looked up her name, Takeshita Yoshie, it turned out that she was known as the World’s smallest and strongest setter, earning the “Best Setter” award seven times total throughout her career in various competitions, including twice at the Olympic Qualifier level. 

You brought over a star setter for me to watch.

Which meant Kuroo was fixated on the idea of Kenma as a setter too. The first time he’d said it, Kenma couldn’t be sure how serious Kuroo had been. It could’ve so easily just been a passing whim, the shallow thoughts of an excited child. 

But Kuroo rarely said things he didn’t mean, and Kenma reminded himself for the second time that day that Kuroo was smarter than he wanted to give him credit for. 

Kenma stretched out his arms in front of him on the bed, mimicking the motions of a toss as he flexed his fingers as he fell asleep.

The next morning, Kenma found that his mom had come in to turn off the TV, provide extra pillows and blankets, and that she’d also left a mischievous note on his bookshelf that read: Thanks for the adorable photos!

He also realized that Kuroo was a pillow hog, and that he slept on his stomach like a weirdo, somehow avoiding suffocation despite the pillows squished against either side of his head. Kenma gave the blanket a harsh tug, which was enough to wake him, and a sleepy head of exceptionally spiky hair rose slowly from the pillows.

Oh… Kenma realized with a snort. His stupid hair is just bedhead.