The Galaxy is Endless (I thought we were too) | KuroKen

23

Kenma: it’s not a big deal (19:37)
Kenma: thanks for checking in (19:37)
Kenma: please don’t ring though, not in the mood to talk (19:37)

He didn’t even know what to say, even if he was to talk. He’d ended up seeing a therapist much as Akaashi had suggested, and even though she was a nice lady, and very understanding of his situation, he often found that there wasn’t anything he knew how to say to her, no way of verbalising what he was feeling.

No one understood him like Kuroo had. That was just a fact of life.

Akaashi: I understand. (19:39)
Akaashi: May I say something that could be overstepping? (19:39)
Akaashi: Kuroo would want you to make the most of every opportunity. (19:42)
Akaashi: But he’d also be proud of you. Koutarou agrees. (19:42)

Kenma huffed, putting his phone down. He appreciated what Akaashi was trying to do for him, all the things Akaashi had done for him in the past. Kenma loved him, he really did. But he was overstepping, really.

Though Kenma supposed he’d been letting Akaashi overstep into his life for over a year now, he shouldn’t suddenly be taking offence to it. It just didn’t sit well with Kenma.

Probably because he was beginning to realise that advice from anybody else didn’t feel like it did Kuroo’s.

Kenma ran a hand through his hair, tugging it out of it’s bun, his chest feeling more hollow than it had felt in months. He ached to reach out to Kuroo, to just have him there for a split second, a moment of reprieve to just feel better. To feel like he had a beating heart again.

There was one thing that maybe, just maybe, he could do to feel close to Kuroo again.

He hadn’t seen it in over two years now, but he was sure he still had it. He hadn’t put any of Kuroo’s things in storage yet (a by-product of being too unwilling to say goodbye, not ready to be alone). The chance that it was exactly where they had left it was high.

Kenma turned off the boiling water on the stove, not hungry anyway. He had something better to be doing. He shuffled to his bedroom, making a beeline for the wardrobe. The box he was looking for was untouched on the shelf, a fine layer of dust coating the top. It was mostly Kuroo’s stuff in it, Kenma hadn’t had a reason to touch it until now.

The star dome that Kuroo had once bought him was sitting near the top, Kenma didn’t need to look far to find it. He pulled it out, blowing the thin layer of dust off. Kenma held it close to his chest as he replaced the batteries, moving in silence, his motions sluggish.

He sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly mocking him for being cold and empty. That made two of them. It had been this way for a while.

Without any further hesitation, Kenma turned it on. The default purple colour immediately illuminated the room with the galaxy that had once been such a comfort.

“This is stupid,” Kenma mumbled to himself. He didn’t turn it off though, instead wrapping his arms around himself and settling in.

It worked, to some extent. Though it didn’t bring back Kuroo (and really, had he expected that at all?) it did bring back some of their fonder memories, memories that seemed to be a lifetime ago. Memories that usually pained Kenma a little now flowed to him easier, the pain in his chest subsiding.

“I miss you. I miss you a lot.” Kenma whispered to the galaxy that surrounded him. “I’m trying to keep going. For you. But it’s hard.” He blinked, pulling his eyes back into focus.

Kenma didn’t know why he was talking out loud. The thought of sitting and staring up at the stars in silence just didn’t sit well in his heart. He was so used to sharing a moment like this with Kuroo, who was so good at filling any silence with his light. Silence now was too foreign.

Silence was a reminder that Kenma was alone, no facet of companionship coming his way. Not that he would let anybody if they tried. Kenma had been colder over the past year, more detached than he’d ever been. “You’d want me to talk to people, wouldn’t you?” Kenma mused, pushing his own hair out of his face. Maybe tomorrow he’d force himself to reply to Akaashi properly. He was a decent place to start.

If Kuroo was there, he probably would have ruffled Kenma’s hair and told him he was proud of him for that. But since Kuroo wasn’t there, Kenma was only left with the phantom touch of fingers carding through his hair. Another pang to his heart.

He sighed, falling back to lay on the bed to watch the stars swirling around the ceiling. “Wherever you are now, I hope you’re doing well.” Kenma began to rub his own arm. “I’ll try to do well, too.”

Once upon a different time, Kuroo had asked Kenma where he thought people went when they died. Kenma had said they just did, they didn’t go anywhere. Kuroo had frowned that day, and said he didn’t like that. He proceeded to inform Kenma that people were made of 93% stardust (he’d joked that he thought Kenma was actually 100%, Kenma wished he’d kissed him for it instead of calling him dumb). He then told Kenma that he thought  when each person passed on, they turned into a star and joined the others in the night sky. That was why the galaxy was infinitely expanding.

Looking up at the stars dotting his ceiling, something in Kenma’s heart told him that Kuroo had been right.

The corners of Kenma’s lips quirked up, the closest thing he’d come to a smile crossing his face for the first time in a long time. “I love you.”

Under the light of a galaxy that was once theirs, Kenma could still feel as though Kuroo was still with him, even if just for a little while.

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