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Kenma and Shouyou do this sometimes. Shou will be restless at midnight, fast food places will be open far too late, and Kenma’s car has a sunroof that they can look through to see any stars that are threatening to poke through the Tokyo smog. Generally the universe aligns for them to sit, listen to music, drink shitty milkshakes and shiver slightly in the night air, car seats tilted right back. It’s small, and Shou’s trainer would definitely strongly oppose it, but it’s also everything; everything comfortable and safe and a word right on Kenma’s tongue that he’s just a little nervous to say, three months into - them.
All he knows is Shou’s face is shadowed beautifully in the dark and somehow he’s got milkshake on his forehead and he’s giggling like he shouldn’t have been asleep hours ago. As though he can hear Kenma’s thoughts, Shou turns his head to look at him, that unmatched smile taking over his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, flushing his cheeks more than his almost horizontal position already had.
“I feel as if I just woke up”, Shou explains happily, turning back to the sky. Kenma's mind stalls for a moment - Shou just says things like that sometimes - before he scrunches his nose and huffs out a laugh.
“Just woke up? It’s one in the morning, Shou.”
“Don’t laugh!” Shou retorts, although his own smile is wide.
“I mean like - like this is the first day of my life.” He turns to Kenma, as though that offers any explanation whatsoever.
“Like, I'm glad I didn't die before I met you.”
The sentence really offers no more clarity, but it does offer a catch in Kenma’s throat and a warmth in his chest.
“But - now I don't care. I could go anywhere, with you. and I'd - probably be happy.”
Shou turns once more to the sky, closes his eyes and promptly spills half his milkshake on the car seat. Curses fill the air, but Kenma can’t drag his eyes away from Shou’s, can’t utter a word (he will utter many words tomorrow when he rediscovers the sweet smelling stain while driving Shou to practice). Shou continues frantically smearing the milkshake in and making the mess worse, clearly trying to hold laughter in, before he realises Kenma hasn’t moved.
“Kenma?”
Without warning, Kenma leans over the centre console and throws his arms around Shou, his back twisted awkwardly, his face buried in Shou’s neck, milkshake spilling even more. Shou’s clearly taken aback, but his arms naturally wrap around Kenma, pulling him closer, into his warmth, his safety, his comfort. And maybe the word is still on Kenma’s tongue and physically laying it on the table is a little scary, but it’s also there, hanging in the air between them, and it’s real and it’s okay.
Shit, Kenma thinks.
Maybe this time it’s different. He breathes in Shou’s smell, slightly of their home’s hand soap and mostly of chocolate milkshake (which, thinking about it, is probably the now-soaked-in spill more than Shou himself).
I mean. I really think you like me.