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bodyguard au 

"I'm quitting," Kuroo decides on the spot as he faces his boss. He hadn't intended for it to end this way. But he also hadn't intended to fall into a deep infatuation with the man who pays his rent. So he supposes things change.

"What?" Kenma looks up at him with narrowed eyes - though that's about the extent of anything resembling emotion that plays on beautiful features. His face could be etched from cold marble, long eyelashes and full lips carved in shimmering stone.

"I'm...quitting. My job. This job, being your bodyguard, I mean," Kuroo stammers helpfully, as if his proclamation wasn't evidence enough when he walked in here.

Kenma regards him with an unnamed emotion scrawled in honeyed eyes - it's masked by indifference, even a bit of slight intrigue, but Kuroo can see it clear as day. How it glows beneath the surface, amorphous and undefined.

"I'm sorry, you can't."

He's not really sorry, the cold-hearted bastard.

"What? Why not?" Kuroo bites his lip to retain some modicum of composure. Kenma goes back to signing expense reports, or in other words, completely ignoring Kuroo.

"Tetsuro, it says in your contract that you need to give me two weeks' notice so I can find your replacement."

"That wasn't in there!" Okay, granted, Kuroo only got through the first paragraph of his "contract" - really an NDA intermingled with some conditions and a cursory 'you can't sue us if you die' clause - because it was watching-paint-dry boring. But he's like, ninety-nine percent sure there was no waiting period regarding spur of the moment, life-altering decisions.

"Yes, it was. Did you even read your contract, Tetsuro?" Kenma studies him with golden eyes whose hopefulness - as if he's just waiting for Kuroo to set himself up for failure - doesn't match his disappointed tone.

Kuroo rolls his eyes folding his arms as if they can defend him from the assault of non-verbal cues Kenma is sending his way.

"I read part of it," he justifies lamely. "But it was like Terms and Conditions. No one reads that shit."

Kenma looks up at him as though he's the biggest disappointment this godforsaken world has ever produced - Kuroo has never wanted to melt into a puddle of nothingness more than in this moment. It's bad enough he has to be in love with his boss. The universe could at least give him a break by not making Kenma look fucking godly while he's hammering the final nail in Kuroo's coffin.

"Literally everyone reads 'that shit' Tetsuro. It's called being a functioning adult," the slap of Kenma's pen on polished mahogany is perfectly in time with him standing, suddenly, abruptly, without any regard for Kuroo's disintegrating willpower. "Maybe you'll know better for your next job."

Kuroo could be persuaded to hear the bitterness underlining otherwise emotionless words, might be able to see the slight disappointment that smooths itself across soft features and traces against the downward curve of pouty lips. He might and he might feel his heart hammer in his chest at the implications of dissatisfaction hiding in the crevices of his expression.

But Kuroo's brain instead makes a beeline for the words that leave those lips next,

"You have two weeks and then you can officially be rid of me."

-

"Am I getting paid for this?"

For a man who's the youngest CEO in the history of the Kozume dynasty, Kenma really has an odd way of showing his professionalism. Odd as in, they are laying on the floor of his office, Kuroo in a suit as is demanded, Kenma in his kitty cat pajama's that his great aunt gave him off his birthday last year.

"Overtime should cover it. If not I'll pay you out of pocket," Kuroo doesn't quite know why Kenma wants him here - it's not like they're even talking or anything, just laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. So he doesn't exactly know what he's even getting paid for.

But hey, this is basically free money, right? All he has to do is shut up and watch the eerie way the crystal chandelier in his boss's office sways completely unprompted - he'd suspected from the first moment he stepped in the place that Kenma's office is haunted. He's mentioned it, but Kenma always brushes him off with a dismissive scoff.

So he shuts up and doesn't question any further, because all he was really going to do tonight was go home and eat ice cream while watching The Notebook. Again. Look, he's a bodyguard for a man whose privacy's value is about on par with that of his life. It's not like he's even allowed to have a life.

Ice cream, Kuroo has found, is a fine replacement for friends.

"I don't want to run this company," Kenma says suddenly into the relative darkness, hugging his cat plushie to his chest, hiding the lower half of his face against it. Kuroo swallows where he lays because, oh. He wasn't expecting it to be this sort of night.

He's not the worst at emotional talks. His best friend is the most emotional human being ever born, but this is his boss. Isn't this a little awkward...or something? Kuroo keeps his mouth shut anyway, not willing to risk getting fired three weeks into his new, very well-paying, job.

"So why are you doing it?"

"Because I have to," that's the second saddest thing Kuroo's ever heard, right after, 'I don't love you...I'm sorry.'

Kuroo swallows the next words on his tongue, going them down with a big intake of air that he blows out as a sigh. He doesn't know what to say. Usually, he doesn't say, but that's because he's gotten used to Bokuto's 'just get it all out approach.' After someone says what they need to say, then he gives his advice, however bad it may be.

But talking back has never been his strong suit.

Thankfully - or not - he's spared the arduous task of having to respond by the words that take purchase in the space between them next.

"I'm gay."

The words are so soft they wouldn't be audible if anything but silence acted as their companion, and yet they hang in the air, pinned to the edge of Kuroo's conscious and subconscious mind. They are words to be mulled over on sleepless nights and rainy off-days.

But he still doesn't know what to say. Kuroo Tetsuro can overthink until the sun dips below the horizon, but the saying is another matter entirely, because words mean something. A hundred thousand idle thoughts can pass in the blink of an eye before they're gone into the ether, never to be seen again. But words stick, words are lasting, sometimes leaving permanent scars. And he might be smart, but Kuroo hates being responsible.

He doesn't want to be responsible for this, so he pivots, spilling a secret that's not really a secret at all.

"I'm gay too, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't."

Kuroo sighs, open and relieved - normalcy returns, somewhat. Not that he and Kenma are all that close, but as a man whose job is to pick up on things before they happen, Kuroo has a knack for figuring out what normal is before it needs to be presented to him on a silver platter.

"Good to know," comes out far more sarcastic than he would've liked. However, he's still too tense, too worried about fucking up further to ask if this was a major misstep or not.

And then there's a fundamental truth spilled into late-night stagnant air that smells like the old book lined up on Kenma's shelf and the scent of douchey, nameless colognes lingering from business deals long past conducted.

"Yeah, but no one cares if you're gay."

-

"Stop acting like a child, Kuro," Kenma narrows honeyed eyes at him in the backseat of the car, his expression morphed into that of puzzlement, as if he's trying to decipher exactly what his bodyguard is thinking.

Defensive as always, Kuroo takes the route of childish petulance, wrinkling his nose and pulling his lips into a pout.

"I'm not acting like a kid!"

Kenma looks doubtful, poking him on the arm with a lazy index finger that leaves a small dent in the veneer of his suit jacket.

"Yes, you are. I'm the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar company, I'm the one who should get to at like a brat," Kenma asserts as a building with shimmering marble columns and glows with golden light comes into view. "And yet here you are, stealing my thunder."

His voice is completely flat, but Kuroo can tell the sincerity of his statement - yes, he knows he's not acting much like an adult what with the forced 'two weeks notice' (that he will still assert is total bullshit, by the way). But he's still doing his job, and until they decide to stop paying him, that qualifies as enough, right?

God, he never thought he'd be so eager to lose such a perfect gig. It's too bad he had to land it in the first place - maybe he'll move in with Bokuto.

Kuroo weighs the pros - not having to downgrade apartments - and cons - having to be the third wheel whenever Akaashi comes over (which is a lot) - of moving in with his best friend as they pull up to the party Kuroo can't remember the name of. Some big function for CEOs and head execs to round up investors. It's being held at a museum because...Kuroo doesn't know. Do rich people like art?

"Get your shit together before we go in or I'll make it three weeks," Kenma threatens and Kuroo's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets - that has to be illegal, right? There has to be some kind of law about holding your employees hostage in their jobs.

"You can't do that-" but his complaint falls on deaf ears as his boss fiddles with the handle of the car. If it wasn't frustrating enough that he's not even allowed to quit his job, his boss won't even let him do it for the time he has remaining - the whole point of him being a bodyguard is that he's supposed to go everywhere first. You know, the sacrificial lamb in case Kenma gets shot at. "Jesus if you're not gonna let me quit my job, at least let me do it."

Again he is ignored as Kenma steps from the vehicle, Kuroo following behind, a useless shield. Whatever, it's not like he can get fired anyway. He already quit, now he just has to wait it out.

The atmosphere of the party is practically alive - though Kuroo supposes that's to be expected when you're rich and are going home to a mansion instead of a lonely studio apartment. Kuroo, as always, plays the part of the silent observer, trim and cleaned up nicely in a crisp suit but not flashy enough to draw the eye, facilitating his ease in being invisible.

He posts himself near the door with all the other nameless goons - there's practically an army of them, and he blends right in. Chess pieces - pawns most likely - for their overlords to move around and manipulate as they see fit. Kuroo never minded it. Although he does wish he was allowed to touch the food without being looked at like a leper - he gave up on trying with rich people a while ago.

Instead, he just stands and watches Kenma shake the hands of investors and businessmen three times his age. He's beautiful among a sea of gray and withered, subdued yet glowing - Kenma has absolutely zero social skills, but what he lacks in charisma, he makes up for in being brutally successful. Also pretty. People like pretty people. It's science.

Kuroo shakes his head, blinks up at the ceiling, and sighs as he takes a mental eraser to his thoughts - one and a half more weeks. That's all he has to get through before he can leave this job and this man behind forever. Things will get better then, he tells himself.

But, then again, everyone knows that things have to get worse before they can get better. Kuroo feels a hand grip his wrist, lanky fingers curling around his joints, and he knows, oh, this is worse.

Kenma stands before him, eyes wide and innocent as if he's not the devil himself in the body of an angel. Sometimes Kuroo wonders what possessed him to take his job, what part of him thought that it would be smart for his gay ass to take a job with an employer who looks like he just walked off mount Olympus. Sometimes he wishes he were any other nameless goon working for a crotchety old man with questionable morals.

At least then he might sleep at night.

Kuroo is snapped from his thoughts as Kenma drags him, pulling at his wrist like a bratty kid demanding attention as he guides them to some off-limits section of the museum. Weaving between the most notable faces in global economics - not that Kuroo actually recognizes them.

He follows along like the mindless servant he is. Follows his boss's lead as they duck under velvet ropes (clearly put up to discourage wandering) even though this will likely only end in them getting kicked out. Kuroo actually wouldn't mind. The alternative is that he just stands and watches business deals ensue.

"We are definitely not allowed back here," he mentions absently as though it will actually make a difference in what Kenma does - he's learned after a year and a half of working for this man that nothing he says ever really changes Kenma's mind once he's decided on something. He's stubborn like that.

"Well, it's a good thing no one's gonna know we're back here then," Kenma doesn't seem to know his way around this place any better than Kuroo does, but he leads with authority as if he does, dragging them down marble hallways until he seems to find a room he's satisfied with. "Plus, don't you think it's unwise to question your boss's decisions?"

"I already quit, it's not like you can fire me. So basically, I can do whatever I want."

"Whatever. You always do whatever you want anyway." That much is true. From the moment their chaotic employer-employee relationship started, both of them knew it barely resembled what it was apparently supposed to. Instead, it morphed into something of an off-beat friendship that twisted itself into a one-sided, horribly fatal attraction.

Shoot me, it would hurt less, Kuroo often finds himself thinking.

"What is this place?" Kuroo questions as Kenma pulls him into a room full of what look to be busts of famous old people - Kuroo doesn't do art, okay? Suspended on glass podiums that stand at various levels (probably based on monetary value), they glow with turquoise light from the completely pointless yet undeniably cool-looking koi ponds that hold them.

"I dunno. A room full of heads I guess," distaste for pretentious rich people stuff - like needlessly elaborate art exhibits - that's one thing Kenma and Kuroo have always been able to bond over.

"And why are we here?" Kenma plops down cross-legged on marble-tiled floors leaning against the glass edging of the koi ponds with little regard for his incredibly expensive suit.

"Because I was getting annoyed with the politics of money. Nowhere to eat my cookies in peace."

"Eat your what?" Kenma doesn't justify his question with a response, merely pulls two chocolate chip cookies from his suit jacket pocket - his tailor, Jamina, would be horrified. Kuroo, on the other hand, has to bite back a smile as Kenma wordlessly offers him one. "Wow, you're like a middle schooler."

"Do you want the cookie or are you going to be a jerk about it?" Kuroo just shrugs and takes it from him, sitting down next to him even though he knows it'll crease his (very expensive and not at all replaceable) suit. He's leaving soon anyway, might as well enjoy his time here.

"So...I take it you're gonna miss me?"

On some level, Kuroo wants to hear a solid yes. Yes, Kenma will miss him. Yes, his absence will be felt. Yes, he wasn't just a pointless blip on the map that left no mark, not even an impression. But he knows he won't get that. Because he is just a blip for Kenma, just a one-off soon to be followed by another. He's just a pawn to be moved, and someday soon, someone will take his place.

It stings, but the dull of it comes with the knowledge that his new life will be starting in eleven days.

"Yes." Is all Kenma says, and Kuroo falters. Because this isn't how it's supposed to happen. He is inconsequential. The whole uprooting of his life banks on that fact, he's giving up everything because he is nothing. But if he's not, then why is he doing this?

Kuroo bites into his cookie and it's utterly flavorless. He must be numb. These sorts of events are catered by the finest dining establishments in the country, so it can't be the cookie itself that tastes bland and vaguely chewy. Therefore, it is Kuroo. And it is his fault, just as are a lot of things.

He doesn't have any quips with which to come back. So he bites into his flavorless cookie, keeps his mouth shut, and watches marble heads float over glowing koi ponds.

-

"I feel like this is breaking some sort of law."

Kuroo stands in the doorway of Kenma's penthouse and, despite his boss's back being turned, he can practically feel the eye roll most likely directed toward him.

"Tetsuro, I'm your boss and you're my bodyguard. It's not breaking a law if I'm telling you to come in," Kenma turns around then, normally tense shoulders slumped with the familiarity of home. He's cute when he's not being uptight and moody. Whether consciously or not, Kuroo's teeth find his bottom lip, a subconscious reaction to (unsuccessfully) lower his traitorous heart rate. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to murder you."

Kuroo is infinitely thankful that Kenma saw that as fear and not what it was: a shameless once over of his very attractive superior.

"I mean, technically I don't know that," it's not that Kuroo doesn't want to explore Kenma's incredibly fancy (and much nicer than his) apartment, it's more that he knows he going to start developing an attachment if he does. And that's one thing you can never do as a bodyguard, no matter how much you like your boss.

Because at the end of the day, bodyguards die and CEOs forget about them. Feelings are just another point of weakness.

"You're literally trained in like, fifty different methods of hand-to-hand combat-"

"Fifty-six." That's kind of why they hired him, after all.

"-Whatever. My point is that I couldn't murder you even if I wanted to."

Kuroo considers for a moment, the urge to be a petulant brat pushing at his chest - look, he might as well have fun with this job. So far, he's hardly been a cooperative employee and yet he's still not fired. He wonders how far he can push it.

"Yes, but if you told me I had to let you murder me then I would have to do it. I mean, you're my boss and you could easily fire me."

"Oh my god- You're seriously more scared of being unemployed than you are of dying?" Kenma scrunches his nose as if he's never heard of a little thing called Crushing Debt™- actually, come to think of it, Mr. Heir To A Fortune 500 Company probably doesn't. Or at least has never experienced it.

"Rich Boy, some things are worse than death. Like living in an apartment with rats," but Kuroo steps in anyway - he didn't really have any plans anyway. I mean, he never does. The only time he even does anything other than eat dinner alone is when Bokuto demands his attention. And even that's only when Akaashi is busy or for some other reason, can't manage it.

Kenma just scoffs as he closes the door behind Kuroo, who slips off his shoes at the entrance like any polite guest would do.

"You know you don't have to do that, right?" Kenma looks at him like he's never seen a ritual so strange. Kuroo wrinkles his nose - okay, this is where a disconnect between the hyper-wealthy and the 'I'm still paying off bone-shattering college dept' makes itself known. Though, Kuroo would've thought, if anything, they would be in inverse positions.

He thought he was doing the right thing by not tracking dirt into Kenma's apartment? Rich people confuse him.

"But it's your...house...what?"

"I don't care that much. I have all hardwood floors and a cleaning service comes through once a week anyway," ah, rich people stuff.

"Oh a cleaning service," his tone wasn't meant to be mocking, but he's sure it comes out that was. He's been told he has an unintentionally sarcastic and mildly demeaning voice, not that he knows how to fix it. "Dude you're literally so rich, what the fuck." He muses as he rakes his eyes up and down the expensive are that sporadically decorates otherwise plain walls.

Everything in this place probably costs more than his rent.

"You have an interesting way of talking to your superiors," Kenma remarks absently, scrolling through his phone as he seemingly allows Kuroo free range of his apartment - look, Kuroo still has no idea why Kenma actually wants him here, but this place is certainly nicer than his, so he's not going to complain about spending his evening with an enormous TV, stainless steel appliances, and a stunning view of the entire city from floor to ceiling windows.

"You have an interesting way of talking to your subordinates."

Indeed it is a bit strange. Kuroo's never had a job so casual before. In fact, most of the time, it's decidedly the opposite.

"Why do you even want me here?"

"I'm paying you, do you have to know why?"

"Well, I mean, I guess not. But it'd be nice," Kuroo decides to focus his attention on the kitchen next, running his hands over perfectly polished counters so shimmery he can see his reflection in them.

"Why? Do you have plans?"

"Hah, right. You hired me specifically because I have no life," lonely people make the best secret-keepers. And if you're going to be keeping a watchful eye over someone every second of every day, you've got to be pretty good at it.

"Exactly. Plus, as long as it doesn't affect your ability to do your job, my personal life shouldn't matter to you," but it does, which is the damning part. Kuroo could lie and say he's completely detached from Kenma, but his mother always taught him that honesty is the best policy. Instead, he pivots, deciding that this is a subject to be picked apart another time.

"Alright Mr. Cold and Detached, have it your way."

Kuroo doesn't know it then, actually doesn't register until many weeks later, but from a singular edge case, there is born a routine.

Once a week Kuroo comes over, they order delivery (because Kenma can actually afford to pay the fee without setting himself back), and they watch whatever show Kenma deems most interesting at the current moment - most recently, the Mandalorian interspersed with Disney movies have held his attention.

Weird guy, good taste. But Kuroo doesn't mind because, honestly, even if it's a totally surface level arrangement - 'I'm your boss, do what I tell you' - the company is a nice change of pace. Plus, Kenma's place has central heating and really nice water pressure.

And then it becomes two times a week, then three, then five save for a few days when Kenma is traveling. And Kenma refuses to even acknowledge the notion that they're friends or that he enjoys Kuroo's company - because "Friends are a waste of time. I have a company to run." - but Kuroo is content all the same.

How could he not be? He gets to spend time with his hyper-attractive boss, watch Disney+ not on his own dime (which, if he had to pay for it, would mean he just didn't watch it at all), and eat free food. He sees himself as an absolute winner in this situation.

And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he has nothing to worry about.

I'm an impatient author at heart, so I'll just give you a little spoiler right now: He's wrong.

-

"Sometimes I wonder who's really your boyfriend here," Akaashi remarks absently, utterly uninvested in the conversation at hand as he folds himself under his blanket further and perches his book on his knee.

"I'm sorry Keijiii! But Kuro's having a crisis, he needs to know he's loved," Bokuto smushes their faces together as he holds Kuroo's limb body like he's a baby. Kuroo pouts in Akaashi's direction but goes unnoticed.

"You know, if you're really having such a problem with your feelings, it might do a lot of good to actually tell Kenma how you feel about him," Akaashi suggests, revealing that once again, he's superhuman in his ability to listen adeptly while also having no part in what's going on. If he decided to get away from that editing job of his, he'd make a great intelligence officer. "Otherwise they'll keep eating away at you until you're nothing but an emotionless husk of your former self."

Bokuto and Kuroo regard each other with mirroring expressions at the morbid comment. Kuroo holds up his hands in surrender, adjusting himself to an upright, cross-legged position.

"Hey, you're dating him."

"Babe, that was really dark." Akaashi shrugs in response, lifeless.

"You come to our apartment at three in the morning to complain, expect a brutally honest answer."

Akaashi Keiji is about as polite a man as you'll ever meet, but when he gets tired, he turns into one of three people: A) Sarcasm Akaashi, where every word out of his mouth is probably an underhanded compliment. B) Dry Akaashi, where he spares no pleasantries. Or C) Bokuto-Oriented Akaashi where he cries if his boyfriend is farther than three feet from him.

This is also why Akaashi Keiji doesn't get drunk. He is terrifying. Kuroo is terrified of him. Moreso than he is of Kenma, and that's saying a lot.

"Bo!" he whines.

"I know, I'm sorry, he's probably really tired." It's whispered like a secret, but the man in question sitting less than a foot from them is privy to it all. A drawn sigh escapes the former setter's lips, index finger and thumb pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, Kuroo. I just mean that you seem very hung up on this guy and maybe you need to get it out of your system. If you're leaving anyway, it can't hurt."

If there's one thing you can say about Akaashi, it's that, when he's not horribly sleep-deprived or inebriated, he gives really good life advice, especially considering he's only been in one relationship ever. But there's still that itch at the back of Kuroo's mind, the underlying defensiveness he can't shake.

"It absolutely can hurt. My reputation, my life, my soul," Kuroo huffs and flops back down Bokuto's lap, staring pleadingly at the ceiling as if it will provide him with the answers he seeks. Because it's a bitch and inanimate, it does nothing of the sort, but he can blame all his problems on it anyway. "You guys don't get it because you've never been in real-world relationships."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bokuto looks down at him, sadness shimmering in his eyes ready to be unleashed into tears at a moment's notice - honestly, Kuroo meant it as a compliment. He hastily leans up on his elbows and pats the spiker on the head, bi-colored locks ruffling under his touch.

"No, no, I didn't mean it in a bad way," he sighs. "I just mean like...you guys have a perfect relationship. You're high school sweethearts who love each other 'till your dying breaths, you're probably gonna get married on a beach at sunset or something. And you're probably gonna die on a hill in a flower field at the exact same time or some shit like that. I dunno what perfect people do."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and deflates against the arm of Bokuto's couch.

"My point is that you guys have like, the one percent of the one percent of relationships that literally walked straight out of a romance movie. Real-world relationships are messy and disappointing and this one doesn't even count as a relationship, because it's completely one-sided."

His speech concluded, Kuroo folds his arms over his chest and pouts, a petulant child.

Bokuto and Akaashi regard him with sympathy - silent, stagnant, wordless sympathy. It could be because they're both taking their time to process. But it's more likely because neither of them knows what to say to that undeniable truth.

The silence breaks with the gentle hush of Akaashi's voice.

"I understand," he whispers even though Kuroo knows he doesn't. How could he? Bokuto has loved him since their second year of high school, and he's loved Bokuto in return. Life isn't fair. "I mean, I guess I don't. But what I'm trying to say is that I understand you're in a tough spot. You just have to decide what's more important to you. Feeling better or walking away."

-

"I literally never would've thought you liked this movie."

Love Actually, Kuroo won't lie, is actually one of his favorite movies, like, ever. Turns out, Kenma likes it too - Kuroo will absolutely take every opportunity to tease his boss about this, unemployment be damned. They've had a good run, if Kuroo goes out teasing and prodding, he considers that a win.

"Excuse me, you're the big bad bodyguard. If anything, you're the stereotype of someone who thinks romance is stupid," Kenma's sprawled across his lap, and it feels too comfortable, too normal and right to be okay, but Kuroo stopped questioning it a month ago when he laid his head on Kuroo's shoulder for the first time. Wordless affection never meant anyone was in love. Right?

"Ah, or is the stereotype of the bodyguard who's actually a softie more of a stereotype than the bodyguard who's exactly what he seems like?"

"Don't get philosophical with me, Tetsuro."

"Why? You'll destroy me in a battle of wits?"

"No I'll elbow you in the dick because that stuff pisses me off, shut up and watch the movie," but he's smiling - probably under the assumption that Kuroo can't see him - and Kuroo thinks it might be the prettiest thing he's ever seen. It's hard to take such a threat seriously when Kenma is warm against his chest, soft hair tickling his chin, when he's letting Kuroo's arm rest around his waist like this is just how it's meant to be.

"Ooh, snippy."

"Shut up," there's a laugh in his hushed voice that gives it a honeyed edge. Kuroo can't bring himself to do much else other than bite his lip to quell the butterflies licking at his stomach lining with their wings. This can't be normal, it absolutely can't. for the sake of professionalism, he should stop and call of this - whatever this is.

But you see, Kuroo's never been a man of incredible willpower and the simple fact is that, he doesn't want to stop this.

When they reach the peak of the movie, the scene where everything comes together, where the storylines converge on themselves and knit together like the fabric of Christmas wonder this incredibly unrealistic yet true romantic movie is, Kenma looks...sad. There's no happiness or satisfaction, and it confuses Kuroo because, well, he's seen this movie a hundred times and every time he watches it, he always forgets how fulfilling the pinnacle scene is.

But Kenma just looks somber.

He looks like he's sitting behind that outsized mahogany desk, signing expense reports and making phone calls. He looks like there's a piece of himself missing, and it wells a cold feeling in the pit of Kuroo's stomach.

So he nudges the smaller man with his chin, resisting the almost overpowering urge to drop a kiss to the crown of his head.

"Why do you look sad? This is the best part of the movie."

"I'm not sad."

"Yes, you are. I can literally feel the angst radiating off of you," he watches Kenma scrunch his nose at the implication before his expression once again falls flatter than a board. Unemotional to a fault - Kuroo sometimes wonders if there was ever a time when his emotions didn't hide behind a mask of indifference. "What's bothering you?"

Kenma huffs and it's blatantly obvious that they're about to tumble headfirst into one of their trademark We're Not Arguing But It's Pretty Damn Close situations. If Kuroo pokes and prods enough, he'll get the truth out. It won't be pretty, and Kenma will probably be moody about it for a few days, but...

But he doesn't like it when Kenma's sad.

"Nothing is bothering me-" Lies.

"Liar-"

"I'm alone! Okay, Tetsuro? I'm alone," Kenma snaps, voice trailing off a the end as if he's just confessed to murdering someone. "At the end of the day, all I have is a job I hate, a bunch of paper, and this place that costs more than a mansion out in the country. Can you believe that bullshit?! I have zero friends, no love life, and no free time. It fucking sucks."

Kuroo swallows the lump in his throat. Silence mimics him and swallows them whole.

Kuroo wrinkles his nose as the image he had of this god in the sky cracking and exposing its hairline fractures. Kenma, for all his billions in cash, fancy penthouse, and a literal army of people bowing down to him in reverence, is still just a lowly mortal like the rest of them - Kuroo knows this, has used this fact to put a damper on his emotions running rampant since he first laid eyes on Kenma Kozume.

It doesn't make the truth any less shocking though. The sudden realization that Kenma Kozume - this man with everything, the world at his fingertips - is subject to idiotic human needs such as companionship is as heartbreaking as it is tender.

Because he's a god. He's supposed to be. But he sits here now and stares at the screen with gray melancholy and he just looks so vulnerable. He looks like a reflection of stormclouds in a broken mirror, their silver lining pretty enough to distract from the thunder that strikes beneath the surface.

Kuroo wants to hold him close - You're not alone.

He settles for words instead of actions even though actions speak louder. Right now, loud isn't the object, so right now, he just whispers,

"You have a friend." He says finally, his voice so quiet that it barely outweighs the sound of the TV playing muted in the background.

Kenma lets out a groan, a drop back to normalcy that sparks a comforting warmth in Kuroo's chest, forms the bud of a flower ready to bloom. He bites back a smile as he always seems to be doing around Kenma, stills his hand where it wants to rub soothing circles into the smaller man's waist - it's too tender, they should stop this affair, no matter how non-nefarious it may be.

"Oh my god," Kenma's head drops back to his shoulder and Kuroo can feel the warmth of their cheeks pressed together tingling in his fingers and turning his body into a human heater. He breathes in deep to calm his racing heart, expands his rib cage just to quell the tickle in his stomach, even if it's only momentarily. "I swear if you say you-"

"I'm your friend," Kuroo holds a hand to his heart, reluctantly slipping it from where it sits against Kenma's stomach - sadly, sarcasm takes precedence. "And frankly, I'm offended that you didn't think of me when you were giving your 'I'm a sad sack with no friends' speech."

There's an elbow inserted between his ribs and he chokes out a laugh formed of pure pain. Kenma grumbles something under his breath, only allowing the tail end of his sentence to become audible.

"...And I didn't call myself a sad sack. I said I was lonely, you asshole."

It's then that Kenma grabs at his wrist, re-positioning Kuroo's arm around his waist and leaning back against his chest in a way that has Kuroo ceasing his intake of oxygen as his brain tries to sort through this absolute mess of a situation. What is he supposed to do? Is he just supposed to act like this is normal behavior?

Being in a decidedly non-platonic position can pass for normal if they both ignore it, but actively seeking it out is another thing entirely, another thing that Kuroo was decidedly not prepared for.

And yet he doesn't say anything, because it feels too...nice. The butterflies in his stomach make a permanent home and the tickle in his chest is unscratchable but pleasantly uncomfortable, the warmth of his cheeks becomes bearable as he settles into a new state of normal. He knows he shouldn't, and in the back of his mind, he realizes just how bad this is for him.

But instead of pushing Kenma off, reminding him that this will ruin both their careers, being reasonable like Kenma is literally paying him to be, he just sits. And he lets Kenma play with his fingers and map out his knuckles.

He lets the soft saccharinity drown him, starve him of air. Willingly, he takes the last step off a cliff he'll have no chance of crawling back up and plunges into unknown territory.

-

"So...it's been two weeks," Kuroo's not wearing his suit.

Why should he? This isn't his job anymore, officially, starting at this very moment, it's perfectly fine for him to wear a t-shirt and jeans during work hours that no longer belong to him. The ache of knowing this will be his new normal is everpresent but slowly becoming bearable.

He could lie, say there's nothing to miss from this job because there was nothing in the first place, that the money wasn't good enough, that his talents were wasted. But since that's a lie, Kuroo's opted not to tell it, even to himself.

Instead, he acknowledges the vital truth that this, the loss of late-night talks and criticizing movies over pizza will be sorely missed. That Bokuto letting Kuroo treat him like a human chair doesn't come close to holding Kenma as he falls asleep at nine in the evening.

Yeah, it sucks. But life sucks sometimes.

"Am I...free to go? Or...?"

"No," Kuroo nearly drops dead on the spot, lips falling open in abject horror. He's actually going to be held fucking prisoner in this job? He's about ready to kick the door down and sprint for freedom, it'd certainly take less time than whatever bullshit is going on here.

"What the fuck?!"

"Tell me Tetsuro, why do you want to quit?" Honeyed eyes snap up to him, their intensity stealing the air from Kuroo's lungs unpoliced.

The question hits him like a train, brain stalling with what to say, words and excuses mashing together into incoherency. There's nothing but static white noise as Kuroo tries and fails to think of an answer that won't make him either sound pathetic or desperate, though he supposes he is both of those things.

"And tell me the truth. It's not like I can fire you," Kuroo relaxes - not because he is relaxed, more as a form of submission, I give up. He's not a quitter, not ever, he prides himself on that fact, but Kenma makes him a lot of things he's not. Makes him a sap, a true romantic, makes him a soft mushy gushy pile of please-don't-leave-me.

He makes him a quitter because quitting is the only way to end his own suffering.

Shoot me, it would hurt less, again.

There is no build-up, no long-suffering tension between them, no furtive glances or deep breaths in, just a silent resignation. This is what it's going to be like, then. He's going to go out with Kenma disgusted by his existence. He's going to move into an apartment with water damage because, between being in soul-shattering debt and having no steady source of income, he might as well live in a box under a bridge.

So he sighs, flicks his eyes to the ground, back up again, finally settling on golden irises that study him, too many or maybe not enough emotions swirling hurricanes throughout them.

"I like you. Like...like-you like-you. Like, I want to kiss you like-you."

He admits to the crime and, miraculously, he's not dead. He's not falling through the earth into the fiery pits of hell where he belongs, he's not falling apart and the world isn't ending. He's just...standing. Staring. And it feels good. And he owes Akaashi an apology.

But he doesn't want to stay because, despite the weight lifted from his chest and the high of confession coursing through his veins, he knows the downfall is yet to come. The inevitable rejection that will leave him walking out of here with a stone in his chest, teeth clamped down on his tongue to dissipate the sting behind his eyes.

The possibility of such a scenario becomes more likely by the second as Kenma just stares at him, expression unchanging, eyes wide as if Kuroo's just said the unfathomable - maybe he has and he's just too dense to realize it.

This life sucks. When can he have a do-over?

"So..." he clears his throat but his voice is still hoarse. In the end, the effort was useless. "Can I officially quit now?"

"No."

Kuroo swears in that moment to a god he doesn't know the name of that he's about to take a swan dive out of his boss's twenty-story office window just to make the pain end faster.

He cups a hand over his eyes as if not seeing Kenma will somehow quell his misery - it does nothing of the sort. When he's not looking at Kenma, he feels deprived, when he is, he feels like he's about to spontaneously combust. There's no good in between and it's slowly killing him.

"Why the fucking hell not?" He nearly sobs.

Distantly, he registers the sound of a chair being pushed back, footsteps on hardwood floors that squeak with the rubber soles of the only footwear Kenma doesn't refuse to wear - beat-up sneakers he's hat since high school. At first, people lamented about how it ruined his professionalism. But soon it became a part of his look, a defining characteristic for people to point to and say, 'that's just Kenma'.

There's a presence in front of him that he refuses to acknowledge, Kenma leaning on the edge of the desk in all his emotionless glory. But Kuroo doesn't look at him until there's a delicate hand tugging gently at his wrist, a silent demand for attention. The lump in his throat knots around itself when Kenma laces their fingers loosely.

"Because I like you too, Tetsuro," he nearly whispers, so soft that Kuroo wouldn't have heard it if there was another living being in the room.

Something soft blooms in his chest, warmth budding in springtime, the simplicity of starlight in darkness, curling its branches through his chest and lungs. And the tingling of his fingers is back, the numbing of his limbs, the beating of his heart so fast and unnatural that he thinks he might spontaneously combust because whatever this dumb fuzzy feeling is might just be the best thing he's ever felt.

He thinks if someone could distill this into a bottle and sell it that they might just be the richest person on earth. Because it's addicting and sweet and he wants to melt to liquid gold at the prickle of it under his skin.

Euphoria, maybe that's the word for it, perfection at its finest, formed most completely.

Which is amazing. Kuroo is not amazing. Instead, he is stupid, and all he says is,

"What?"

"Are you seriously going to make me say it again?" Kuroo tugs on his hand, a silent insistence that draws a sigh from Kenma as he gently pushes off the edge of a desk. He holds both of Kuroo's hands in his, a gesture so earnest that Kuroo wants to melt at the touch - maybe does, just a little bit. 

"Um...yes?" 

Kenma pinches the skin of Kuroo's knuckles between his fingers in retaliation and Kuroo wrinkles his nose at the offense. But the smile Kenma is clearly biting his lip to stop more than makes up for the momentary pain. 

"I like you, Tetsuro. Like, like-you like-you. Like I want to kiss you like-you," he repeats Kuroo's words, the smallest smile playing on full lips that Kuroo has to physically resist the urge to kiss away, instead rocking back on his heels like a kid who's too excited about something to contain their nervous energy.

"You're very poetic-"

"Oh my god, you need to stop talking."

Kenma seems to decide that suffices as fair warning before he's reaching up and pulling Kuroo down by the nape. 

He crashes their lips together and, if Kuroo thought he was melting before, he really is now. It feels so natural, their lips slot together like puzzle pieces, move in sync like they've been doing this for years. And Kenma tastes good, like warmth and sunshine, and a little bit like the bubblegum he obsessively chews to cope with the stress of carrying an entire company on those slouchy shoulders of his. 

Kuroo couldn't get addicted any faster, hooked on the way Kenma leans into him, cupping his face with both hands as if worried he'll miraculously disappear into thin air, thumbing over his cheekbones gently. Kuroo is so fond it physically hurts, the only way to relieve it appearing before him as he tangles his fingers into soft hair and parts Kenma's lips with his own. 

It's really quite a different experience, being so wanted by someone who means so much to you. It's so instantaneously fulfilling, so wholly satisfactory and amazing, that Kuroo wishes he could turn whatever this feeling is into a picture and hang it on his wall, a memorialization.

When they part, softly, slowly, Kenma continues to place languid kisses to his lips, each shorter and more chaste but equally as affectionate as the last, as if oxygen is a secondary concern. Kuroo adores it too much to put in words, so he doesn't try, instead lets Kenma take the lead when it comes to speaking. 

"Do you still want to quit?" Kenma looks up at him through long lashes, eyelids still heavy, blink rate slowed as if to allow time for him to immortalize every inch of Kuroo's face just in case he wakes up tomorrow and the bodyguard never existed.

Kuroo doesn't need to think about his answer. But in an effort to stay in character, he raises his eyebrows.

"Am I actually allowed to?"

"No."

"So you're going to forcibly pay my rent each month and make me spend time with you?" Kuroo rests his chin on Kenma's head, a gesture that feels only natural as the smaller man tucks himself against Kuroo's body. Warm beyond belief and giddy with the rush of adrenaline coursing through his system, Kuroo doesn't bother to hold back a smile this time, allowing it to paint itself across his lips in broad strokes. "Cruel and unusual punishment if I do say so myself but you know what I'll survi-"

"Jesus, shut up," Kenma groans, loud and petulant as he unfurls himself from Kuroo's grasp and insistently pulls at the bodyguard's muscled arms. Kuroo follows his lead with little resistance, allowing himself to be shuffled into place like a ragdoll as Kenma gives a forceful push to his chest. 

He falls back onto Kenma's chair limply, too sated and content to ask too many questions. He does ask one, but really, it's just for the hell of it, just to watch Kenma's face scrunch in that damn adorable way it does when he finds something unfavorable. 

"Ooh, are we having sex in your office?" Kenma narrows his eyes. 

"No, you're letting me sit on your lap while I finish signing these," he flops onto Kuroo's lap with a sigh and, honestly, Kuroo is grinning like a man who just won the lottery because he literally gets to snuggle Kenma Kozume for an hour while he finishes doing CEO stuff. This might just be the best day of his life. "And then we're getting ice cream." He adds, and Kuroo thinks that might just be the perfect end to whatever this day turned out to be. 

"Deal."

So yeah, Kuroo got hired, then he quit, then he did something that should get him fired, but instead, he got rehired- But it doesn't really matter. 

Because in the end, he got Kenma. 

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