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The known rush of the morning market welcomes Kuroo when he walks into the town, black hood brushing his eyebrows. People barely cast a glance at him. His height and his foreign cloak not a sight out of the ordinary in a place where commoners, royals and all sort of magical beings come in a daily basis, for all sort of matters.
The red insignia on his chest doesn’t catch much attention, either, but why would it. Kuroo’s not the first royal to step in the townsquare, and for sure he’s not the first mage to walk through the town’s small alleys, albeit probably the first who did so.
This is, after all, the town that gave him birth and saw him flourish.
A wink comes his way when he crosses the baker’s stall. So much for trying to go unnoticed.
“Tetsu-chan!” Kuroo grimaces at the loud tone of the baker’s voice. The warmth of his smile is as soft as the bread he makes, and Kuroo answers him despite himself.
“Good morning, mr. B.” Kuroo bows, and chokes on his own spit when the baker hits his back. Hard. Bakers shouldn’t have such strength, when their main workload is bread. “How—” Kuroo coughs the pain away. “How are you?”
“How am I?! How are you! I can’t believe it took you so long to come visit us again.”
There’s a long list of excuses. Kuroo has time to say none, for the baker’s excitement has traveled fast through the nearest stalls. Before long, Kuroo’s surrounded by ten people, all of them ranging from fifteen to fifty. The hood is pushed back, Kuroo’s face is turned to the side and then to the other by caring fingers. Bread is pressed on his hands. Kuroo smiles, wide and simple. He can’t remember the last time it has been this easy.
“Are you staying long?” the librarian asks him, the soft cadence of his voice as loud as the raged excitement of the others. Kuroo blinks down at her, and the smile fades.
“I don’t think so, unfortunately. I’m here on official business.”
Like water thrown at a candle, Kuroo’s words extinguish the joy of the townspeople. The weight of their gazes is an obvious feeling on his chest, right where the red brand of their King stands proud and shiny. The crowd slowly vanishes, and Kuroo’s left with the baker, broad like a bear with his arms crossed. Kuroo sends his way an apologetic smile.
“Just try to not break anything,” he tells him, and Kuroo doesn’t need more warning.
A knot the size of the moonn locks on his throat, though, the words unsaid as heavy as if they’ve been yelled at him. Kuroo puts his hood back as he walks away, and the farest he goes, the loudest and lively the market becomes again.
Being a mage is a blessing more days than not. Being the Royal Mage, though. There are days Kuroo can’t really know the answer to that.
*
The shop is empty when Kuroo steps in. His heart beats fast and loud in his ears, expectation almost physical in the way his fingers bend around each other, inside the pockets of his cloak, on the small thread around his neck.
Kenma’s not inside, and Kuroo lets out a shaky breath. It hasn’t been that long , but the reassurance barely registers, because Kuroo sucks at lying to himself. Timewise, yes, it hasn’t been that long, for three years is nothing for magical beings. But— Kenma has never adhered to regular rules, not even to special, magical rules.
He has things to do. He has several papers in his pockets he needs to deliver, and a massive theft to investigate. Wasting time in Kenma’s shop, between his herbs and his disorganized and chaotic systems, will only lengthen this trip and help no one.
Kuroo sits on the counter anyway. The hood falls, and Kuroo closes his eyes and inhales as deeply as he can. The thick smell of copper stings, but beyond that the sweet smell of Kenma is everywhere. No matter the time that passes, when Kuroo smells this, exactly this, he’s a kid again playing in his aunt’s shop and breaking jars. He’s right back to square one, with Kenma.
Always with Kenma.
“What are you doing here?”
Kuroo doesn’t open his eyes, not yet. A twitch breaks his relaxed lips, and when ruffling comes from the door’s direction, he can’t but finally face what has his heart constricted.
His hair is longer, and dyed. A braid, dishevelled and askew, falls over his shoulder. There’s red in his cheeks, the kiss of a harsh wind or the result of a fast run, Kuroo doesn’t know, but it suits him.
Kenma stares at him with big golden eyes, a gleam of distrust, a badly contained spark of happiness. Kuroo drinks from it.
“Just wanted to say hi,” Kuroo says, with a smile as big and cocky as he can make them.
Kenma’s not fooled. “They say you’ve come here as—” He can’t finish the sentence.
Kuroo’s smile widens, sharpens. “You can say it. It’s not gonna hurt you. Or them.”
“You know they are proud of you,” Kenma says instead. Kuroo tears his gaze away.
He wants to ask, are you? But that would say too much, and Kuroo’s shaken chest feels already one word from breaking.
He answers Kenma’s eyes again, but the film of distrust in them does something awful to his heart.
“Did you rush here expecting to see me? Oh, Kenma, you warm my heart.”
Kenma stares at him a second longer, the piercing of his eyes enough to break Kuroo’s fake smile. There’s an awkward silence, in which Kuroo breaks into a grimace and stares away, and Kenma puts his basket on the counter and starts taking everything out.
“Are you gonna tell us what the official business is?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Kenma moves around. The ruffling of his red cloak and the clank of the jars meeting one another fills the shop. Some kids play outside. Kuroo watches them, and remembers what was it like, to be a kid with no name, with no title, with no insignia forever chasing you.
“I don’t think I’ll stay long,” Kuroo says, as if from far away. His voice couldn’t sound more bashed.
“Okay.”
“Kenma.”
Kenma stills. Kuroo does too. The words get stuck, and for a second Kenma’s name lingers as if it had a meaning of its own. Kenma’s back is a perfect line while he waits for Kuroo to say whatever he wants to say.
When he doesn’t, he finishes unpacking, as if Kuroo’s presence means as little as his morning shop. Kuroo watches the shaking of his hands, but finds no reassurance in them.
“If you need me,” Kenma says, stepping behind the counter and waving his hand to some customers now gathered outside his window. “You know where to find me.”
Kuroo wants to take his face and force him to look back at him, but he doesn’t. He stares at him a bit longer, the soft line of his jaw, the small nose, the stubborn golden eyes he knows by heart, always a step out of reach. Kuroo nods, although Kenma won’t see it, and jumps off the counter.
“I’ll see you around, I guess.”
The loud sigh Kenma lets out when Kuroo steps outside is as much a relief as it is a burden, for Kuroo has no idea what to do with it.
*
Some days pass. Kuroo spends the first night with his mom, eating her food and accepting her love with open arms. There’s a special magic in the way his mother shows her affections, the salty comments, the direct hits towards his mistakes. Kuroo doesn’t know how much he’s missed her honesty until he’s at her table, smiling down at his plate.
“You took too long to come back,” she amonishes him. Kuroo nods, and fills his mouth with a heavy spoon. Food has always been the best way to avoid smiling. “I thought Kenma would forget about you.”
The food falls in the wrong way. Kuroo coughs, his chest broken and painful, and with teary eyes he throws a glare at her. The smugness in her expression is as annoying as it is tender. Kuroo has learned from her ways, but it’ll always suit her best.
“What does that even have to do with anything.”
“Don’t pretend, kiddo. I am your mother.”
Kuroo makes a face. Letting his spoon down, he answers his mother’s eyes, and with the most serious of tones, says, “I’m sorry I took so long to come visit you. I was— It has been difficult.” To say the least. Kuroo can’t talk about royal affairs, but it is general knowledge the kingdom has been going through some major changes as late.
His mother’s lips soften at the whispered confession. How stupid are they both, that to confess their truest feelings they must always go around roundabouts. Kuroo smiles again, an apologetic twitch at the tips of his lips. She beams.
“I wasn’t kidding. About Kenma,” she clarifies when she sees Kuroo’s puzzled face. “We aren’t that far away from the world, you know. We do hear things.”
“What things?” His mother hums, but instead of answering, she stands and starts cleaning the table. Kuroo, plate full, stares at her in disbelief. “Mom, what things?”
“Don’t play fool. And finish your dinner!”
Kuroo doesn’t find out that night, nor the following night or the one after that. His mother attends to her clinic and dismisses any attempt Kuroo can throw at her about the matter. It’s not as if he has much time to spend on them, anyway.
The townspeople end up being as terrifying as they are helpless. Useless. A complete waste of time. We know nothing , they say. What? I haven’t heard any of this. Tetsu-chan, why don’t you come have dinner with us tonight? You know, my daughter—
Kuroo spends his awoken hours jumping from acquaintances to old friends to people who’d seen him grow through the worst of his adolescence. It’s awkward and it’s painful, and by the end of each day Kuroo has a head full of mist, a blush of shame perpetually painted on his cheeks and the worst of hunches about this whole trip stuck in his throat.
Maybe that’s what takes him to Kenma’s shop the third night. A hopelessness he can’t understand nor cope with, one not even the subtle care of his mother couldn’t take away. It’s not even a thought move, for at this point Kuroo’s acting on instinct.
Kuroo knocks this time, softly, almost scarily. Three times, tap, tap, tap , hiding his nose in his cloak. Kuroo used to joke that was their secret number. Three broken jars, three days sick. Three kisses under an oak tree.
A grimace takes over Kuroo’s face right when Kenma opens the door, and the witch can’t but frown up at him. “What now?”
Kuroo tries. He tries with the best he has, but the day has been long, and the journey in his hometown has been even longer. Centuries have passed since he stepped on the market three mornings ago, but at the sight of Kenma, time ceases to matter. Who would control one’s reactions, when there’s a safe space to just be.
A dumb smile settles on Kuroo’s lips, and Kenma’s frown deepens.
“Just wanted to come by,” Kuroo says, honesty dripping from each one of his words. The truth his confession doesn’t convey is the fact he’s been wanting to drop by every day since the Royal Mage had come fetch him so many moons ago. Kenma’s smart enough, though. Kuroo’s sure he’ll understand. That he understands .
“To interrogate me too?” but of course Kenma doesn’t understand. Time does pass, and it does matter. In Kuroo’s fantasy, Kenma’s still the kid able to read him like an open book, no matter witches or mages or opposite magics. In reality, though, Kuroo is a tall Royal Mage with the power to erase the whole town, if he feels like it.
“I’m not here as the Royal Mage,” Kuroo says. Tiredness falls on his shoulders like a gravestone, and unbidden, they move forward, closing around him. Kenma’s eyes narrow. Kuroo’s sure he’s about to be kicked out when Kenma steps to the side. An open door and an obvious welcome.
Relief waves Kuroo’s chest.
“Thanks.”
“Sit. I’m gonna make tea.”
Awkwardness fills the room while Kuroo waits for Kenma’s return. The back of the shop acts as Kenma’s rooms, and for the first time in years, Kuroo sees what their hide. Kenma wasn’t a full independent witch last time he came to town; he’d been living with Kuroo’s aunt, being her apprentice. Kenma’s now the town’s witch, and Kuroo has missed every step in between.
The windows are wide and big and let the sunlight through from every direction. A small table, several shelves and a chaotic mass of books and objects Kuroo can’t discern fill the empty spaces. It smells of magic, of witch magic, and herbs, and leather, and lemon. It’s the first time Kuroo smells the place —Kenma’s true home—, and it’s the best smell he has tasted in his life.
“Stop sniffing my room.”
Kuroo jumps out of his skin, and turns around with wide eyes. Warmth creeps up his neck at the sight of Kenma carrying the tea and watching him as if Kuroo were the creepiest of the lot.
The silence lingers as Kenma leaves the trail on the table and pours the tea in two cups. Kuroo swallows soundly, and he bites his tongue when Kenma presses his lips until they are white.
“Are you laughing at me, Kenma.”
“Not really.”
“There’s a smile right there,” Kuroo narrows his eyes. “There! You smiled.”
Kenma frowns, but his lips can’t keep a serious line. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he takes his cup and drinks a long sip of the hot tea. Kuroo grimaces. “How can you still drink it that hot.”
“I told you witches are dragons in disguise.”
“And I seem to recall I sent you a book belying that theory.”
“It’s never been a theory.” Another sip, another golden glare. Kuroo licks his lips at the joyfulness of Kenma’s gaze, and smells his tea. “Also, that book was garbage.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” It’s an earthy tea, thick and rich in minerals. Kuroo’s smirk slowly becomes a soft smile. “This smells good. Thank you.”
Kenma blushes, because he’s smart, and so is Kuroo. “I’ve heard people talk.”
“As you always do,” Kuroo says, amused. The tea warms his throat on its way down, and dissolves every and any knot of discomfort the trip might have built inside of him. As always, Kenma’s magical ways are the nicest to him. “Is it bad?” Kuroo asks despite himself.
Kenma looks at him for a brief second, assessing his mood. The tea is cleansing and gentle, but no drink in the world can erase the hard edges Kuroo’s job has shaped him into. A river flowing against a rock for millenniums will always change it, even if it’s only the roughness of its surface.
“I can take it,” Kuroo says, unnecessary.
“I know.” Kenma’s soft voice isn’t scared, per se. There’s an underlying emotion behind his hesitation, a shadow of confusion in his eyes. “It’s not bad, really. They are just— unsettled.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“I know. They know. We all know. It’s still weird.” Kenma’s matter-of-fact way of speaking has always been a caress to Kuroo’s anxiety. Now, he breathes in deeply, and nods. “They are starting to think you don’t trust us.”
A bitter laugh gets caught in his mouth. “I can’t have the luxury of trusting anyone .”
“No one?” Kenma asks, blunt and yet shy.
Kuroo swallows, but the tea has now a copper scent, a lemon edge he can’t avoid noticing.
“Maybe someone.”
Kenma nods, and looks away. As if his eyes were casting a choking spell, the second Kuroo’s free from his gaze he can breathe and his throat can function and his heart can beat, although it’s racing insanely fast. The urge of letting his skin touch Kenma’s overtakes him, the overwhelming tiredness of being royal and being mage and being wrong although he’s right. All of it tickling his nerves, shaking his sanity. If only he could touch, he thinks, then the burden would ease a bit. The way it used to.
“I have to go back now.” Kenma stands suddenly, shaking the table and the cups. Kuroo stares blankly at him, but Kenma doesn’t stare back. “To the shop. I have— customers. I need to attend.”
“Okay,” Kuroo musters. “Can I finish the tea? I’ll leave right after.”
“Yes. Sure.”
Kuroo watches Kenma’s back and the sharp line of his shoulders and his braided hair, now tied differently. I should have told him it suits him. I should have praised his hair and the dumb dye he’s done and the way the witch’s cloak seems perfect for his shoulders . But Kuroo says nothing; he doesn’t step into the shop and tells Kenma how proud he is of what he’s made of himself, because he doesn’t think himself worth it. Who cares what Kuroo thinks? He wasn’t here. Not when Kenma’s parents passed away, nor when his aunt took him in, or when he passed his witch exams and became a full grown witch.
Kuroo wasn’t here, because he was busy being somewhere else. Saving someone else’s life. Keeping something else together. He wasn’t here, taking care of what had been his.
He doesn’t drink the rest of the tea. The subtle care of it feels fool now, in his mouth and in his stomach. On his way out, Kuroo looks at Kenma talking to a mother and her kid, the way his words soften, how the shake of his hands have lost their edge.
Knowing Kenma has grown without him stings, and with the memory of that pain, Kuroo steps outside and back to business.
*
“It’s useless. No one knows a thing and I’m not closer to finding any cat than I would have have I been somewhere else.”
The magical crystal shines in Kuroo’s hand as if his words make it dance, a glow of light projecting the bored face of his King. And he is bored, barely paying any attention to what Kuroo’s saying. In fact, he’s not even looking at him.
“Oi. I’m talking to you.”
“Kuroo, did you get the news?” the big golden eyes of the king finally fall on Kuroo, but the gleam in them promises nothing good.
“What news?”
The King takes the crystal so close to his face, the only thing Kuroo can see is the wide shape of his eye and his sharp silver eyebrow. “Akaashi has been promoted ! I’m so proud of him.”
“ You promoted me, Bokuto–san ,” someone says from outside the crystal’s view. Kuroo rolls his eyes as the gasp the King lets out, that travels till the alley where Kuroo’s currently at.
“You earned it! It was not my doing.”
“ That is true. But the promotion was done by— ”
“Can we please go back to my business?” Kuroo says, loud and done and amused despite himself. The way the King looks at the crystal is half pissed half worried, and Kuroo’s heart shakes a bit at the idiot’s missed face. “I need your orders, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. I’m not my father.” Bokuto’s seriousness is as dangerous as a two edged blade, and Kuroo nods. “You know I can’t bring you back until you figure this cats issue, Kuroo. Apparently, no one but a high ranked magician can take care of magical cats. Imagine that.”
“Yes, I know that.” Kuroo’s frustration is as visible as Bokuto’s face. “But—” The buts are infinite, but the first and most important one has a two colored hair and eyes as known as they are now foreign. “I don’t sense harm has been done. I think we should provide the area with some new cats and hope for the ones lost to appear. Someday.”
“We can’t do that,” Bokuto says softly. “And I know you don’t want that either. I wish I could send some of your mini mages, but the law is the law.”
Kuroo’s stomach shrinks at the sight of Bokuto’s pity.
“I could send Akaashi to help you, though! If you want! Now that he’s promoted to King’s Guard, he’s awesome .”
“ Calm down, Bokuto-san, I can’t leave your side. ”
Kuroo chuckles when Bokuto turns around, startled, and stares at his side. “What do you mean? You have to stay with me forever ?”
Finally, a laugh. At Akaashi’s sigh, Kuroo cracks open, shaking his hand and his king. It’s not until the storm has passed that he sees the knowing smile in Bokuto’s face. His King is a hell of a wise man.
“Thank you, Bokuto,” Kuroo says with a smile. “You still suck at helping me, though.” At the sound of the outraged, hey! , Kuroo says, “And congratulations to you, Akaashi, although we all knew you were the best.”
“ Thank you, Kuroo-san. Please, take care, and don’t let any more cats get lost. We have to leave now. Bye .”
The conversation gets cut with Bokuto’s complaint. The loudly capital seems lives away, and although yearning is travelling through his system now that he’s seen Bokuto and Akaashi and what has been home for years, Kuroo doesn’t want to leave. Bokuto’s right, of course, in forcing him to stay here.
He has a job to do. He has cats to find and magical balance to restore.
Interestingly enough, no witch has seemed overly affected by the issue. While Kuroo walks back to the town’s center in a thoughtless pace, numbers start to fly around his head.
And the maths just won’t work. No matter how much Kuroo thinks of it, no matter how he turns the numbers around, adds them and takes them, there’s something amiss with the whole situation. The town isn’t broken, nor is the magic in the area shaken or wounded. Kuroo has sensed the witches and they are as healthy as they are unworried. The townsfolk are okay and characteristically unabashed.
That’s what shakes Kuroo’s senses the hardest, and that’s what makes him act the foolest.
*
He stops by Kenma’s shop because he has no control. A planet forever slave of its sun’s gravity. Kuroo comes as close as he dares, and stares at Kenma.
The witch works diligently, a soft smile, sometimes falling into awkwardness but always polite, forever engraved in his lips. There are waves of energy flowing from his shop, out the windows and into the streets, painting the town with healing magic. As if when Kenma casts his spells, there’s always a bit of all living things in them.
Kuroo drinks from it with nostalgic guilt. I don’t want to do this, but I must . As if Kenma, even unaware of Kuroo’s presence, could forgive him for a spell he hasn’t casted yet. Kenma’s magic has always been Kuroo’s favorite medicine, even when it almost kills him the first time it touched him. Maybe that’s why, as long as Kuroo’s eyes stay in him, the world seems a little less weighted, and the air a little less charged.
Colors seem to dash from Kenma the longer Kuroo stares, and for a second, it almost feels like the tangle around his hands, caressing his cheeks. As if saying, It will all be okay .
Probably the trick of a tired mind with not enough rest and an unanswered puzzle to resolve. Probably just Kuroo projecting his want, that one he hasn’t dared think of in so many years he has forgotten how it looks like.
*
His mother’s waiting for him outside the house when Kuroo makes his way back home. The way she holds herself speaks of strength and courage, of loss and love. Kuroo wanted to be her when he was little, and now that he’s grown, he can’t but wish he’d accomplished that dream.
“The town is mad at you,” she tells him, unnecessarily. Kuroo knows.
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Putting guards around with no notice? That’s your job? We are no criminals.”
Kuroo shrugs her judgement away, but it follows him inside. Her voice carries from the porch.
“Then the guards shouldn’t bother you.”
“You know why they are mad.” Kuroo sighs and stares at her, her messy hair, her pressed lips. “What you’ve done speaks volumes about what you think of us.”
“No. The way you react speaks volumes about the way you see me . If any of you had had the decency to talk to me about the damn cats, no guards would’ve been put.”
She takes a step back, and Kuroo inhales a shaky breath. He’s as displeased with this arrangement as she is, but his conversation with the king has unleashed some truths about himself this town always seems to make him forget.
“I am the law, mom,” Kuroo musters, weighted and tired. “I know you don’t want to see it, but there are things I must do to protect this country. This? The guards?” A dry laugh, bitter and rough, leaves his lips, and his mother takes another step back. “This is the nicest thing I’ve done to protect all of you.”
“The message it sends—”
“I don’t care!” Kuroo closes his eyes. His heart’s beating so fast he can feel it in every patch of his skin. “You know what unbalanced magic can do,” Kuroo says it low and fearful. His mother narrows her eyes. “This region is not as fertile as others might be, but magic still needs to be controlled.”
“They are only cats.”
“They are witches’ cats , which makes them everything except only .”
“Kiddo.” But she says nothing more.
There’s a shadow on her gaze, a flash of memory Kuroo hates himself for putting in there. He knows this situation has nothing to do with what she’s seeing right now, the death and the killing and the war. This is a small town, and the missing cats barely register to be of any importance.
But that’s for now. Enough changes are happening all around for Kuroo to fear the worst. A kingdom in growth will always find stones in its path, and arrows at its back. Until Kuroo finds out who and why, he won’t rest.
A drilling starts at his temples when she shakes her head and turns around, leaving him alone. By the time she’s out of the house and in her way to town, the headache is in full bloom, and it’s killing him.
*
The soft brush of cold fingers shakes him awake. Kuroo wakes up in a startle, and looks around trying to understand what’s happening. The moonlight draws in the garden, the beginning of which Kuroo has fallen asleep at.
Kenma’s sitting beside him, staring down at his face. A second pass, in which Kuroo finally registers his head’s in Kenma’s lap, and Kenma’s fingers are tangled in his hair, combing it.
“Sorry,” Kenma musters, almost soundless. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”
Kuroo tries to speak, but there’s no voice inside him. The drum at his head has toned down, but there’s still echoing in his skull. Kenma moves his fingers again. Kuroo closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.
“Your mom came to the shop,” Kenma says, the tip of his fingers drawing circles around his forehead. Kuroo recognizes them almost immediately. He smiles, and his teeth catch the moonlight. “She was worried.”
Still Kuroo doesn’t speak. He dazes off, the warmth of Kenma’s body a perfect contrast for the coldness of his touch. His fingers press around Kuroo’s brow, down his nose, the edge of his cheeks. He draws spells on his skin, three at a time. One for pain, one for loss, one for memory . Kuroo wonders what his mother has told him, but he words nothing.
“The town’s mad.” Kuroo pretends to sleep. Kenma’s magic fingers make the headache fade away. “They think you’ve betrayed us.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you care.” A soft caress, nothing to do with Kenma’s fingers, brushes Kuroo’s face. The unexpected touch forces his eyes open, and there Kenma is, leaning down over him, hair loose. His eyes are coins of wisdom so close Kuroo can see their most hidden depths. “I think you care enough to make of this mundane business your business.”
“I just want you safe,” Kuroo confesses, and the truth is so raw he has to add, “all of you. I want this town safe.”
“I know.” But what does he know? That Kuroo wants him safe? Or that Kuroo cares about this small town, no matter how many worlds he can travel to? “Is it that important?”
“What is?”
“The cats.”
Kenma’s breath smells of mint and lemon, as if he’s just eaten a cake with only those ingredients. Kuroo can feel his magic crawling through his skin, the same color as the way he smells. They are so close Kuroo can brush the edge of his jaw with the tip of his nose, if he dares to.
“Yes. You know they are.”
“We are only three witches,” Kenma whispers, as if it were a secret. “The surrounding towns have an overpopulation of witches’ cats. We aren’t unbalanced.”
“I noticed.” Kenma’s lips have the sense of a new discovery, now that Kuroo’s seeing them from upside down. They fill his mind, still hazy, with foolish things, with forbidden memories. Kuroo can’t take his eyes away from them.
“Why care so much, then?”
“What if the next cats missing are the ones from the surrounding towns? What if later that happens to villages and cities and every corner of this country with witches in it?” Words leave Kuroo, and they have meaning, but his mind can’t remember what has just left his lips. Kenma leanes an inch forward, and Kuroo dreams of things he shouldn’t be wanting anymore.
“Do you really think that will happen?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. If it could happen, even if it’s the smallest of probabilities, I have to make sure it doesn’t.”
The moon shines through Kenma’s dyed hair, painting it silver. A statue of gold and white, surrounded by red, framed by Kuroo’s broken words and Kuroo’s unworded wants. Kenma stares at him, pupils the size of small coins, and Kuroo feels his soul being looked at. Carrying his truths on his eyes, Kuroo’s heart misses a beat and pushes himself up—
—but his lips don’t meet flesh, for Kuroo’s not worthy. He sits, his back pointing at Kenma, and stares down at his hands.
“You’re still in pain,” Kenma says after a bit.
“I’m fine. I’m better.” Kuroo throws a glance over his shoulder, a smirk, broken and humble, shaping lips that would rather be doing something else. Kenma’s frown is so deep it casts shadows over his eyes. “Thanks. You really didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Kenma says, stubbornly. Kuroo nods, but his smile falls a notch. “I don’t think the way they do. I understand.”
“I know.” Kuroo stands and his eyes tear from Kenma’s burning gaze. “Thank you. You’ve always had a magical touch. Good night, Kenma.”
Kuroo doesn’t look at the way Kenma sits on the grass, red and silver, nor to the gleam of rage that takes over his eyes. He doesn’t dare, for his emotions are so over the edge he doesn’t believe himself able to react properly. So Kuroo leaves him there, sitting on his garden, another tree that will survive the pass of time and the fade of memory.
In his room, Kuroo sleeps again, and thanks to Kenma’s caressed, he gets the best night’s rest he’s had since he stepped into town. Kenma fills his dreams, but doesn’t intrude them. He’s just there, caringly, and Kuroo flows through the night with his worries eased.
But morning comes around too soon, and there’s no magic in the world capable of erasing the aches and pains of this town’s madness.
*
The town market should be taking place. But it isn’t, and it won’t, for there’s no space on the townsquare for any stall or any market because it’s full of cats.
Dozens, dozens and dozens of cats, of all sizes and colors, from old to kitten, everywhere . The amount of magic is such Kuroo’s veins are flowing crazy with adrenaline, and he’s a magical being that doesn’t even need a magical vessel to find balance. And yet, he’s pretty sure he’s about to have a magic overdose, even when he’s never read something like that to be possible.
“What the heck.”
It’s pandemonium. People are trapped between islands of cats, some are scared, some have disgusted grimaces on their faces, others are filled with joy. Kuroo can’t decide in what category he belongs to.
“The cats are back!” someone yells, stating the obvious, and making a general growl to fly around. Kuroo stares and stares, and hopes for someone to say something a bit more clarifying, but nothing comes.
“See? The guards weren’t necessary!” a palm hits Kuroo’s shoulder. Kuroo barely reacts, when another villager stops at his side. “Now you have proof we weren’t the thieves.”
More and more waves of people with similar statements come and go, but Kuroo can’t hear nor process any of their words. The only thought perpetually in his mind is the logistics of this amount of cats, and the small size of this town. It’s the fact Kuroo’s guards were a pantomime, and opposite to what all the townspeople think, this situation proves them all fools.
“Now that you’ve found them,” his mother says, the last one in a long line of people with opinions. There’s a clear distance in her tone Kuroo doesn’t acknowledge, “you can rest assured nothing bad will happen.”
Kuroo ignores her comment. “Who was the first to find it?”
“Find what?”
“The square. The cats.” His muscles are taut and ashen, when he turns around to face her. The way his mother’s eyes widen is tell enough of how raged his expression must look. “Who found it?”
“I don’t— I have no idea. Tetsurou, what’s the matter? The cats are back. Everything’s fine now.”
Nothing’s fine. In fact, the more Kuroo stares, the more he sees the wrongness of it all. The insignia of his king is an iron curse in his chest, dragging him down into the pits of duty. Bilis fills his mouth, and Kuroo hates his title for a dreadful second.
But then Kenma’s face shines in the crowd, a shooting star in the middle of the darkness. It’s a second, only a glimpse, but Kuroo’s heart goes from a feverish dance to a temptative beat. His eyes are locked on his figure, on the small frame of his shoulders, on the almost invisible smile hidden in his blushed cheeks. He’s surrounded by cats, meowing loud and attentive at him. A kid hidden behind his arm, grabbing him hard enough for Kuroo to see it from this distance.
And yet Kenma’s demeanors doesn’t betray his anxiety nor his usual awkward self, the one Kuroo’s used to see in him the weirder and odder the situation becomes. The kid believes himself as save with Kenma as with any other adult around, —probably more—, and when Kenma takes a kitten and brings it closer to the kid, there’s no fear surrounding them.
“Tetsurou!”
Kuroo blinks himself away from Kenma and back to his mother, her nails deep in his skin. There’s a troubled shade in her eyes and a knowing smile in her lips, and Kuroo wants to erase both.
“What.”
She stares at him, long and thorough. Kuroo’s fidgeting by the time she finally says, “You should talk to him.”
“To who?”
“To Kenma. You should tell him.” Kuroo doesn’t dare ask her what , but she doesn’t need him to. “How you feel. You should be honest, for once in your life.”
“I am honest,” Kuroo lies, but it is true when it concerns his and Kenma’s relationship. No matter how insane his words might be, Kenma always knows what lies beyond. “And I don’t know what you mean.”
Sadness falls on her eyes. Kuroo wants to tear his gaze away, but the power of that stubborn sadness is too heavy to ignore.
“He won’t stay here forever. Time’s not infinite, no matter how much magic you have flowing through your veins. This,” she points her finger at Kuroo’s chest, right beside his insignia. “It isn’t inflexible. He’ll change, and he’ll move on. And so will you. Things don’t stay the way they are, no matter how much you want them to.”
Memories flash in her eyes. A war, a lost family, a dead husband. Kuroo hears the experience in her voice, but his own choices keep him from following her lead. I can’t be as brave as you, mom .
He doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to. She sees, and shakes her head, but says no more.
Kuroo has never fled as fast as he does now.
*
It’s because of the chaotic morning and the still echoing headache of the night before, and the way Kenma’s lips are engraved in his mind now that he has learned them anew. He shouldn’t be here. In fact, when Kuroo steps under the big old oak, as tall and green as he remembers it, the realisation he should have burned it down at some point in time strikes him. Hard.
Maybe he should do it now, so the town can add another crazy thing to this day unthinkable day.
Kuroo sits at its bottom instead. The loud shouts of the crowd fly over his head, muffled by the distance but within reach nevertheless. It helps him get a hold of the present, but the past lingers around the thick old trunk.
A leaf falls on him. Kuroo closes his eyes and inhales deeply, but the darkness behind his eyelids only fuels the power of his memories.
He sees it as if it were happening right before his eyes. There are the days with hands dirty of mud and roots cut, of a counter in a shop no longer such with knives and Kenma and a dissection day, trying to build their own herbs supply. Somewhere in the future of these are the days in which Kuroo decided climbing was a skill he wanted, and Kenma stared up at him with a frown and a displeased rictus, but ended up following anyway. There’s the time, when Kuroo was twelve, he’d gotten sick, awfully sick, and everyone thought there was no hope for him. Kenma had never left his side for the length of his fever and delusion.
And then there’s the golden memory, the one Kuroo has hidden in a box so deep in his mind he barely touches it. A kiss for a wound, he’d said. Three wounds, three kisses. Kenma had replied, but you only scraped your knee , but Kuroo wasn’t talking about the blood in his leg. There had been a letter hanging atop his head, one Kenma didn’t know yet. Kuroo had smiled, all teeth and spiky messy hair, and Kenma had thought it another joke. A kiss for a wound, three wounds. One for me, two for you. That he didn’t say either, because Kenma would never tell when it hurt, and less when it cut so deep you wouldn’t see.
The first kiss had been short and shy and awkward. That one had been Kuroo’s.
The second had been rough and dry but longer, warm like a sunkiss. That one had been Kenma’s first, the shallowest.
The third had been perfect in its simplicity, for it was not a duty but shared want what’d driven it. Kenma had closed his eyes, but Kuroo hadn’t. It had been long and sweet and warm and free, and Kuroo cherishes it as if it were the most valuable of things.
That kiss had also been Kenma’s, but in a different way, a kiss for a wound Kenma still hadn’t known he would have, and one he probably still isn’t aware he does.
*
“I’ve been looking for you.”
It’s like waking from a dream, the shine of the light and the sharp edges of reality momentarily blinding him. Kuroo watches Kenma with half closed eyes, a soft touch at the corners of his lips. He’s weightless.
“Are you okay?”
Kenma looks like an angel, the heavy sun at his back giving him aflamed wings. Kuroo can’t help the smirk. Kenma’s frown deepens.
“Kuroo.”
“It suits you.”
The sudden comment takes the worry off Kenma’s expression, and puts a layer of surprise on it. “What does?”
“The dyed hair. The red cloak. Being a witch.” Kenma has no time to process this before Kuroo continues, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. For your parents. For your apprenticeship. For your shop’s opening. I’m sorry I missed all of it.”
Kenma needs a second to recover. “You’re the Royal Mage. You have duties.”
Kuroo doesn’t want to dismiss the importance of his title, the choking gratitude towards Bokuto for being such a good friend before becoming his king, the pride of the insignia now shadowed by Kenma’s body. Still, the words tickle his lips. You are important too. You are as important. More important. You should be everything beyond that truth . But Kuroo doesn’t want to lie, not now, not like this.
So he says, “I wish I could have been with you.”
Something nasty flashes in Kenma’s eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means—˝
“It means you’re a sacred, stupid idiot with a black cloak, a red badge and no courage to say what you actually mean to say.” Kenma steps aside, and the direct sun blinds Kuroo. In the darkness, Kenma’s words echo. “Don’t you dare come back to my shop until you’ve learned to speak up your truths.”
Kuroo doesn’t see him leave, but he feels it. An absence of warmth and color, as if Kenma’s steps have taken with him the power of the sun itself.
*
Kenma doesn’t step out to help when Kuroo goes back to the townsquare, so he has to take care of the overpopulation of felines together with the only two other witches in the vicinity. The townspeople stare at them for less than half an hour, and then, they are gone. Kuroo’s mother blames it on the guards, you know how they felt about it . But it has been pure and evil laziness, and an unnatural fear towards cats Kuroo can’t understand from a town with such amount.
The work is tedious and laborious. By the time night falls, a handful of cats still need to be put somewhere and Kuroo has run out of ideas.
“I thought they were stray cats,” Kuroo complains to the only female witch of the region, her hair blue with silver tips. Kuroo doesn’t dare ask why is painted hair such a fashion for witches.
“Whomever took them must have treated them as pets.”
“ All of them?” Kuroo grimaces, but his heart melts when the one he’s holding close to his heart starts purring. What a dirty move. “We’re talking about hundreds of cats.”
“Probably less than a hundred,” the witch says, amused. She strokes some meowing cats, and smiles down at them. “They are drawn to magic, and magic tames them. It probably was someone with an impressive amount of it.” The witch casts a glance at him, an arched eyebrow as blue as her heard high up her forehead. “I’d think it was you, if I didn’t know better.”
“I don’t need cats,” Kuroo tells her with exasperation. “I’m a mage. My magic’s flow’s different.”
“I know. It wouldn’t benefit you in the least, either,” she shrugs, and puts three kittens inside her bag. Kuroo watches her movements with a blank expression, and she smiles apologetic. “I like cats, and I do need them. I’m planning on growing my business, and if the affluence of people has to grow as well, I want to be prepared.”
“That’s pretty sane of you.”
“Thanks.” She stares at his hands, still filled with purring babies. “You should take those home and figure out the rest tomorrow. They won’t get really attached to you.” A gleam of mischief shines in her eyes, and Kuroo stares at her wary. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Your aura,” she says, as if that explained it all. Kuroo can’t hold her before she disappears, leaving behind only a warm amused laugh.
Kuroo stares down at his hands, at the four pairs of pleading eyes. “Great.”
*
Bokuto makes fun of him. His mother makes fun of him. Kenma doesn’t make fun of him, because Kenma’s not in speaking terms with Kuroo right now. Which is annoying and confusing, given the dreams that had filled Kuroo’s nights these last two days.
“I don’t want cats,” his mother says on the breakfast table, with two happy cats purring on her lap. Kuroo doesn’t dignify her lie with an answer. “Cats are magical beings. They ought be somewhere else.”
“I’m a magical being.”
“You also ought be somewhere else.”
They don’t talk about the place Kuroo should be, because everytime Kenma’s name is as much as suggested, Kuroo flees the room. He almost breaks his crystal when Bokuto asked early this morning, but what about your childhood witch friend? He sure could help!
Akaashi called a little while later and announced he’ll be going to be Kuroo’s liaison with the castle from now on.
Kuroo can’t wait for the day to finish and it’s just early morning.
“You’re so stubborn.” Kuroo sighs, and trying to ignore her, eats a mouthful of bread. “Maybe I should adopt these babies and disown you. I’ll call you Royal, and you Mage.” She kisses the tip of each cat’s nose. “That way I don’t have to correct people when they tell me I’m the mother of the Royal Mage.”
The afternoon doesn’t get better. With the breakfast turning into ashes in his stomach, Kuroo goes around town, trying to find who found the purring scene two days prior. I don’t know! Who cares? The cats are back, shouldn’t you be leaving? Anyway, before you do, did I tell you my niece—
No one talks about the cats, but everyone wants to talk about everything else. Kenma is mentioned. Kuroo’s stomach shrinks every time he hears the sound of it. The King is mentioned. Kuroo has to explain over and over again how he became friends with the current king. His mother’s clinic is mentioned. Kuroo nods and nods and tells everyone how proud of her he is.
“Here,” the baker hands Kuroo a bag filled with bread and cakes and a small container. Kuroo stares at it, confused. “It’s for the cats. I’ve been giving them for free to anyone who took them home.”
It breezes through his ribs, that simple sentence. Kuroo can feel it cleaning the dark heaviness of these past days, and with a shaky smile, he says, “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“No problem, kid. It’s good to help. What would be the point of us being here together, otherwise?”
“What, indeed,” Kuroo agrees, but the baker’s honesty and goodwill finally shakes him awake. “Thank you.”
Before the baker can bid him farewell, Kuroo breaks into a run.
*
Someone’s at the door. The cats meow, first up at him, then at the door, and repeat.
“Yes, I know,” he tells them, but the cats keep yelling, the door, the door, the door . There’s no way for Kenma to tell them to shut up, so the only solution is opening the door and content whomever has the bad judgement of coming this late looking for a bit of chitty chat.
He hates chitty chat, but according to aunty, it’s good for business.
“Yes, yes, shut it, now,” he hushes at the cats, all of them gathered now in front of the door.
It’s because of them that he doesn’t realise it at first. Gaze still glued at his feet, Kenma opens the door without a second look. It’s only the shadow Kuroo casts that warns him, but it’s already too late.
“Kenma,” he says in a rough, deep voice. Kenma shivers, and can’t hold the urge of answering his gaze. There are a thousands of emotions painted in his dark eyes, truths and lies and Kenma’s reflection, as if he were a part of them too. “We need to talk.”
“I told you—”
“I know. Let me in.” Kenma does. Kuroo fills the room the same way he fills everything else: taking every particle of air and turning it into himself, into energy, into fire burning Kenma’s lungs and Kenma’s reasoning.
The cats meow at Kuroo, but stay around Kenma’s legs.
The cats are also a failure of Kenma’s reasoning.
“You have cats.”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t in town helping with the cats when we settled them.” It’s not a question, and Kenma doesn’t treat it as such. He answers Kuroo’s gaze because it has always been a magnet too sweet to fight against, and a wave of recognition flares in it.
“No.”
“Why do you have cats, Kenma?”
Kenma swallows. The heavy presence of his wall is a ghost at his back, Kuroo a tower of power caging him against it. Their magic tangles around them, and once again, Kenma wonders if Kuroo can sense it too.
“You know why.”
“I know why,” Kuroo whispers so close Kenma feels it more than hears it. Kuroo’s arms are now against the wall, right at his head’s sides. It’s as if Kuroo has become everything that builds this room, oxygen included.
Kenma breathes in. Deeply.
“But I want you to tell me.”
“That was not the deal.” Kenma’s voice is steady and low, but bubbles burn in his throat. The cats meow louder, and Kenma couldn’t care less. “You have to tell the truths out loud.”
“Not yours.”
Kuroo’s so close now the warmth of his lips is branding him. The sensitive curve of his ear, the skin of his cheek, the arch of his mouth. Kenma opens it, unbidden, and Kuroo’s eyes fall on it.
“Why do you have cats, Kenma.”
“I stole them,” Kenma blurts out, almost accidentally. “All of them. They’ve been here all along.”
“Why.”
There’s red and black and green and yellow now covering them, beating in sync, the same way their hearts are beating as if they shared their rhythm. Kenma’s eyes dart from Kuroo’s expecting gaze to the pretty colors their magics create when they collide.
“Why, Kenma. Answer me.”
“There were rumours,” Kenma whispers, shame tainting his magic and his voice. “About you. Marrying another kingdom’s someone to keep the peace.”
Kuroo says nothing, but Kenma can feel the warmth of Kuroo’s magic against his own, against his skin, in his lungs. There goes the most telling confession Kenma can manage, and yet, Kuroo stares at him as if he doesn’t understand.
“So you stole the cats.” Kenma nods. “To drag me here.” Another nod. “Why couldn’t you just tell me to come?”
“You know why.”
Kuroo shakes his head, and somehow that soft movement aflames Kenma’s rage.
“Yes, you do.”
“Please, tell me—”
“No. That’s not my truth anymore. You’ve known this. You’ve always known this.” Kenma bites his lips, and keeps the rest of the words inside of him, where they belong.
A second ticks. Kenma’s sure he’s blown up the only opportunity he’s managed to create in his whole life. Kuroo exhales shakily, and closing his eyes, lets his forehead rest against Kenma’s.
The threads of colors explode, so saturated they blind. Kenma doesn’t move. He wouldn’t dare to.
“I love you.” Kenma feels alive and yet weightless, the truth a beautiful pool of warmth that embraces them both. “I’ve loved you since forever.” Kuroo opens his eyes, but keeps them down, staring at the cats fumbling around their feet. “I love you but I left and then I didn’t come back when you needed me the most.”
“You were always here when I needed you,” Kenma musters, amazed by how easy it is to breathe, although Kuroo’s almost pinning him to the wall by now.
“No, I wasn’t.”
Kuroo tries to lean back, but Kenma’s faster. He grabs his shoulders and drags him back where he was, enjoying the heaviness of his presence. A smug smile plays on Kuroo’s lips, and Kenma lets an annoyed flare shine in his gaze. Kuroo’s muscles relax under his hands.
“You were ,” Kenma insists. “When my parents died, we spent every night for a fortnight speaking through crystals. I know you did space travel to make sure I slept through the night, although you were forbidden from doing so.” Kenma pushes his hands up Kuroo’s shoulders and around his neck. Kuroo’s so bend forward he’s almost at the same height as Kenma by now. “Your aunt took me because you told her. I know that. She showed me all the letters you wrote to her. When I opened my shop, you were in No One’s Land, fighting for our kingdom. And you still send me gifts. And thought of me.”
Kenma’s out of breath. His legs are a bit shaky, and Kuroo’s so close he can’t barely think of anything else but how well their magics mix together, and how bad he wants to see if their lips will too.
“I always know when you think of me,” Kenma confesses, and that, finally puts a shining and burning blush on his cheeks. The weight of Kuroo’s gaze is a caress in itself when it travels around Kenma’s face. “I— Do you see them?”
“See what?”
“Our magics.” Kuroo shakes his head, and Kenma tangles his fingers in his hair. Finally . Kuroo’s hands are painfully close to his hips, still palm flat on the wall. “They’ve always been akin, although they are opposites. I think… because they know each other… when you think of…”
“Kenma,” there’s a rush in Kuroo’s voice. Kenma cuts his words and stares at him, a shot of bravery and a cup of shyness. There’s fire burning in Kuroo’s eyes that sends shudders down his back. “Do you love me?”
The amazement in that question only deserves one answer. Kenma rolls his eyes, —he makes a show of rolling his eyes, so exaggerated he almost loses them somewhere in his skull—, and Kuroo’s chuckling, that arched smile Kenma likes so much, when Kenma jumps on his toes and finally kisses him.
It’s not a real kiss. Kuroo’s still laughing and Kenma’s still too short to do it properly. Still, when Kuroo’s smile softens, Kenma says, “I kissed you first.”
The tenderness of Kuroo’s lips it’s unforgettable when he says, “Yes. Yes, you did.”
Kenma also kisses him second, and third. He jumps and tangles his legs in Kuroo’s hips, and the mage just holds him, tight and close and finally here. Their magic is so charged Kenma’s skin is burning by the time their lips part.
Kuroo’s panting, but a smug smile takes over his lips. Kenma can’t even hold his tongue, when he blurts, “I wanted to kiss you before you went off to marry someone else.”
“Kenma.” Kenma shivers. Kuroo’s way of saying his name, as if it holds meaning, as if it’s a special spell only he knows, has always been Kenma’s undoing. “I’m not marrying anyone.”
“What.”
“I’m not marrying anyone,” Kuroo repeats, and the smile becomes an annoying smirk, the tone so arrogant Kenma has to lean back and glare at him with a wrinkled nose. “Who told you that?”
“We receive newspapers sometimes.” The biggest euphemism for gossip magazines. The truth finally filters through the thick layers of months of worry and wicked plans to drag back the Royal Mage, no less. “You are not marrying anyone.”
Kuroo’s smile couldn’t get wider. Kenma wants to hit it away, or just kiss it until it vanishes.
“No. But I’ll like it very much if I could kiss you again.”
Kenma hums. “If you must.”
“I feel I do.”
Kuroo’s a sigh from Kenma’s lips, when Kenma halts him. “Kuroo. I love you,” Kenma confesses, low and burning. “You’re not allowed to marry anyone else.”
Kenma’s heartbeat fills the silent room in the time Kuroo needs to draw a blinding smile. “Are you proposing to me, Kenma.”
“No.”
“You are!” Kuroo kisses his denial away, and again when Kenma frowns in disbelief. “Oh, Kenma, and to think I believed you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body.”
Kenma struggles in Kuroo’s embrace when Kuroo reaches forward, chasing his lips, the arch of his back that of a cat trying to be free. Kuroo chuckles, his amusement a caress against Kenma’s cheek. It’s as if the mere touch of his existence tames Kenma, for he stops dead in his arms. “Can I kiss you?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Maybe.” Kenma inhales deeply, feeling his soul with their magics, now impossible to tell where one began and the other finished. “Okay. You can.”
Kuroo does. And does it again. And again the next morning and the day after that. Somehow, Kuroo kisses Kenma every day for so long, one could forget time is a thing, and that it matters.