Chapter Text
Its times like these where Ken can't help but to wax poetic. The faint blue glow of the TV dimly lights Momo's bedroom and the sound of the movie's selection screen repeats for what could've been the 5th, 10th, or 50th time. He's lost count at this point, too honed in on the feeling of Momo's breath on his shoulder every so often. Steady and soft, just like her.
She had fallen asleep during the second movie of their movie night, her head tipping gradually towards his shoulder as if they were magnetized to each other. He had sat stiffly at the first contact of it, but its been long enough now that he's relaxed... mostly. He doesn't dare move from his position, not wanting to wake her up on accident just so he can be more comfortable. He's perfectly content with his foot being asleep, so long as Momo is asleep too.
He lets himself wander into the thoughts that only feel safe to have in the blanket of night, safe from everything and everyone else. It comes first as a trickle, then as a flood, as the yearning hits him with an undeniable force. He feels carved out and hollow from the intensity of the feeling, the closeness of its solution making it even deeper somehow.
Despite it all, he can't bridge the final gap. Ken thinks of the brilliant joy he has from even having her in his life in the first place, and the thought of potentially losing it follows after. He's learned to deal with the pit in his chest that only seems to grow, but he thinks that the sudden loss of that joy would be worse. He now knows what having a close friend is like, and if he were to lose that, he'd mourn its loss all the more for knowing.
Momo's hair tickles the side of his neck, fishing him out of the darker depths of his thoughts. There's no point in mourning things that he still has after all, and its best to enjoy it while he's able to. He takes in the weight of her leaning into him and the warmth of her body next to his own, her steady breaths and the slight twitches of her face and hands while she sleeps, and he chases the hollowness out of his chest once more, putting it back into the box it constantly threatens to break out of.
The urge to sleep tugs on him, his eyes harder to open with every blink. He slowly moves to grab the TV remote next to him, so careful in his movements that the voice in his mind that sounds like Momo makes fun of him for being slower than a snail. With a quiet click, the TV turns off and the last source of light in the room dims to black.
Ken knows where her empty hand that lays on the blanket between them is as well as he knows his own name. He only spent an unspeakable amount of time staring at it just now, wondering what it'd be like to slip his hand into hers, twining their fingers together and going to sleep like that. He wonders if they'd stay like that until they woke up. He wonders if she woke up first, finding their hands locked together, if she'd let them stay like that.
He doesn't try.