Morning light

The stars had long since faded, but neither of them moved.

Kenma’s fingers were still lightly curled around Kuroo’s, his thumb brushing against the back of his hand in small, thoughtful motions. The air had gotten cooler, but the warmth between them lingered like an unspoken vow.

“…I don’t want this to change,” Kenma murmured, voice barely louder than the wind.

Kuroo turned his head slightly, his dark eyes soft. “What do you mean?”

“This. Us. Things always change when feelings get involved.”

Kuroo was quiet for a moment before squeezing Kenma’s hand gently. “Then we won’t let it.”

Kenma glanced at him. “You say that like it’s easy.”

Kuroo chuckled, low and warm. “Nothing with you has ever been easy. But it’s always been worth it.”

A tiny smile tugged at Kenma’s lips, the kind that only showed up when he felt truly safe.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s try.”

And under the soft glow of the fading night, with sleepy hearts and honest eyes, the two of them made their quiet promise. Kenma didn’t let go of his hand.

They sat there, wrapped in the last whispers of the night, the rooftop slowly being bathed in early morning light. It painted everything gold—the concrete, the railings, and the soft shadows under Kuroo’s eyes.

“I think,” Kenma started, hesitating just a little, “I’m scared of messing it up.”

Kuroo tilted his head. “You won’t.”

“But I overthink. I shut down. I get distant,” Kenma listed, voice quieter with each word. “What if one day, you get tired of all that?”

Kuroo leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Kenma’s. “Then I’ll remind you how much I like all of that—especially the part where you let me in anyway.”

Kenma let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You’re so cheesy.”

“And yet, here you are.” Kuroo grinned, pulling back just enough to see him clearly. “Still holding my hand.”

Kenma rolled his eyes but didn’t let go. “Shut up.”

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was full. Full of all the things they didn’t have to say out loud.

Finally, Kuroo stood, tugging Kenma up with him. “Come on. I’m taking you to get breakfast.”

Kenma blinked. “It’s like 6 a.m.”

“Exactly. The best time to get pancakes.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “You just want syrup.”

“I want you,” Kuroo said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “And syrup. Together. The perfect morning.”

Kenma gave him a flat look—but his cheeks were pink, and he followed Kuroo down the stairs anyway, their fingers still intertwined.

Maybe love didn’t have to be loud or dramatic.

Maybe, just maybe, it was quiet hands in the early morning, and laughter that echoed down empty stairwells.

And maybe Kenma was starting to fall—slowly, softly, in a way that felt exactly right.

As they stepped out into the quiet streets, the world still half-asleep around them, Kenma glanced at Kuroo from the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything—but the way his hand tightened just slightly in Kuroo’s said enough. For the first time in a long while, the day ahead didn’t feel so heavy.

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