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“…But then the boss comes back with medicine, so it turns out he wasn’t even mad at the guy at all; he was so worried for nothing! Except the stuff he got was actually for ladies! Like for when they get their periods! It was sooooo funny, the boss was so embarrassed, and —”
Kenma doesn’t really understand what Bokuto’s been going on about for the past ten minutes. Some new anime, of that he’s pretty sure. About someone’s boss. Beyond that, Kenma doesn’t have a clue what it’s about. It’s cold. So cold. The wind is biting at his cheeks and blowing snow right into his face — and what business does snow have being so bright? And cold? And so hard to walk in — and how the heck does it manage to get into his boots, now his socks are getting wet and his toes are so cold —
— and Kenma doesn’t really care, because the absolute delight radiating from Bokuto’s face as he talks is so…
…warm.
“Remind me again why we’re here of all places.” Hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, Kenma did his best to press even closer the wooden wall he was leaning against. No easy feat, considering he was wearing what felt like twenty layers of clothing — good for protecting himself from the skis and snowboards being swung around him, but not so great for fusing his body with the wall and thus escaping the nightmare he currently found himself in.
“Most people go to the beach for group trips, you know.”
“Oya, what’s this?” Kuroo turned away from the check-in desk to fix him with a signature teasing grin. “Did I hear that correctly? Does our Kenma want to go to the beach instead?”
“No!” huffed Kenma from the depths of his jacket collar. “But even the beach would make more sense than a ski resort. I don’t think any of us have ever gone skiing in our lives.”
Kai placed a hand on Kenma’s shoulder; though Kenma knew it was meant to be an apology, it didn’t do anything to make him feel better. “It was the only way we could compromise so that Kuroo and Yaku would stop fighting,” said Kai. Kuroo had already turned back to the concierge checking him in, so he didn’t see the scowl Kenma shot his way.
“How is skiing a compromise to camping and the beach?”
“Well, it’s in the mountains, which is what Kuroo wanted, and snow is frozen water, so Yaku gets what he wants, too. …Or something like that,” Kai finished with a chuckle. “I don’t remember exactly how Yamamoto explained it.”
“So this was Tora’s idea.” Kenma made a mental note to yell at him later — somewhere less crowded, and where there weren’t children dressed like rainbow marshmallows running around and screaming their heads off.
“Yep. Best idea he’s ever come up with, I think!” Check-in apparently complete, Kuroo returned to the group, his hands full of keycard envelopes. “OK, so everyone settle into your rooms and meet back here in the lobby in an hour. Akaashi messaged me a few minutes ago — apparently Fukurodani’s already here and they’re all out on the slopes. C’mon Kenma, let’s go!” With an expression that was much too cheerful for Kenma’s liking, Kuroo hefted his duffle bag onto his shoulder. “You’re rooming with me! Hurry up, we gotta go kick Bokuto’s ass!”
“You mean you have to kick Bokuto’s ass,” grumbled Kenma. He had absolutely no intention of setting foot on snow again until it was time to go home. The lodge’s Great Room looked quiet enough, as the majority of the guests were out skiing, or snowboarding, or doing other snow-related outdoor activities, as one did at a ski resort. As for Kenma, he would be holed up by the fire with his PSP and headphones, maybe a mug of hot chocolate too. He’s been stuck at this boss for almost a day now; if he absolutely has to be here for the next 72 hours, he’s determined to get something good out of it.
The streets of the village are generous and wide, and the crowds aren’t too bad today; Bokuto and Kenma have more than enough room to walk side by side. Yet somehow, Kenma finds himself drifting closer and closer as the two of them continue on their… not so much a “walk” as a “meander.” They stop every now and then to peek into a shop window that catches their (Bokuto’s) eye, and if Bokuto suddenly turns onto a side street, pointing excitedly, Kenma simply follows quietly.
It’s a bit funny now that Kenma thinks of it, but in the two years he and Bokuto have known each other, played against each other, spent weeks of training camps together, this is probably the most time they’ve actually talked to each other. There just always seems to be a net, or as is most often the case, a Kuroo between them. If there weren’t, would Kenma have noticed earlier how long Bokuto’s eyelashes are, and how they look almost like glass against the winter gloom? Did he always know that Bokuto has two older sisters, or is this really the first time he’s learning that Bokuto is the baby of the family?
Ah. His eyes are dotted with flecks of amber.
He’s so excited about the chance to play on a university team. Unsurprisingly, he’s already been scouted by a number of top schools. Kenma vaguely remembers overhearing him talking about it with Kuroo before; now, as he talks about it with him, Kenma listens carefully. Is there anything that could elicit the same sort of rainbow of emotions that he hears in Bokuto’s voice?
Probably not, is Kenma’s conclusion. So it’s nice that Bokuto is sharing his with him.
Bokuto’s fingers are so long; surprisingly elegant, even. His hands could easily engulf Kenma’s, if Bokuto were to reach out and hold them. He’d be able to map the planes of his palms, calloused and gentle.
Warm.
“We can head back to the lodge now if you’re tired,” Bokuto says to him. Their hands narrowly avoid brushing against each other. “Kuroo and Akaashi will probably be done by the time we get there.”
It’s colder now, with the late afternoon sun sagging lower and lower. The crunch crunch of their footsteps sound extra loud now — most of the earlier crowd have been chased away and indoors.
“It’s fine. We can keep going for a bit more,” replies Kenma, voice soft. The smile Bokuto gives him is soft, too.
It isn’t often that Fukurodani and Nekoma get an opportunity to hang out together for reasons not related to volleyball. So with Spring High over and no more club activities to take up the majority of their free time, Kuroo and Bokuto jumped at the chance to take advantage of the small window of time they had left. This ski trip that they planned as a result was meant to be a post-Spring High celebration, a sort of last hurrah for all the third years before they went their separate ways — hopefully to university, if all goes well with their entrance exams.
A small part of Kenma felt bad that, then, he wasn’t out there with everyone else celebrating and hurrah-ing, especially knowing how much Kuroo was looking forward to it. Though he would never say it outright, Kenma could tell that the thought of having to say goodbye to the team — his team — and one of his closest friends was beginning to weigh on him. He wanted to be supportive, the way Kuroo has always been for him.
But he also really, really hates the cold.
Kuroo, to his credit, didn’t seem to mind; he was probably even expecting it. After only a few minutes of half-hearted wheedling, his begging Kenma to pleeaaaaase come out and ski with them just for thirty minutes he SWEARS more for show than anything, he left in high spirits and with a promise to come collect Kenma for lunch.
He therefore wasn’t expecting to hear someone calling his name only twenty minutes later. He definitely wasn’t expecting that person to be Bokuto of all people. And he expected least of all for Bokuto to beg with a genuine earnestness for Kenma to join him, which Kenma didn’t really understand.
“Did Kuroo put you up to this?” Kenma eventually asked on a sigh, which caused Bokuto’s face to fall and pinch in a rare expression of hurt. This Kenma didn’t understand either.
“He didn’t ask me to do anything,” replied Bokuto. “I — I just want to hang out with you! You know, while we still have the chance! I’ve always felt bad because you’re Kuroo’s best friend but I never took the time to get to know you. We don’t have to go skiing if you really don’t want to! We could — we could go tubing, all you have to do is sit there! Or we could go for a walk in town, or something. Whatever you want. I just….” Bokuto has never struck Kenma as someone who could ever be at a loss for words — he always seems to have an abundance of them — but here he was, faltering, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I wanted to have at least one good memory of us to take with me to university. Like… just the two of us.”
He looked particularly boyish then; perhaps it was the blush creeping up his neck and blooming across his face, or the way he stared at his feet, too shy to lift his eyes and look directly at Kenma. It was so unlike the Bokuto he was used to, for a few moments, Kenma could only stare.
“Fine,” he heard himself say. “But absolutely no skiing.”
A sudden snow flurry, as well as their rumbling bellies, eventually shoo them back towards the lodge. Even as they squint through the fat flakes of falling snow, their pace is unhurried. Bokuto is quiet but still smiling, still soft — happy — and Kenma leans into the space, chasing its warmth. When their hands bump against each other (an accident? Does it matter?), he jumps, and is quickly comforted by the feel of elegant fingers entwining themselves between his.
For once, Kenma doesn’t mind feeling small or not knowing what to say. He doesn’t mind the numbness in his toes or the snow blowing into his eyes, or the ache in his legs or the fact that he still hasn’t killed the Cyclops in his game.
He thinks of his PSP, lonely and neglected, waiting for him in his and Kuroo’s hotel room.
It can wait a little longer. Kenma already has something better.