Work Text:
Sometimes, Kenma feels like he's teetering on the line between real and something else.
He grabs his things, puts on a face mask, leaves the house, gets on the train. He exists there as all others exist, a fixture in someone else's commute, someone who has a life somewhere, elsewhere. Not in here, not standing on the train, careful not to touch others much at all, lest he makes himself too real. The world wooshes by outside, where lives and time are real. Inside, there are links to the world, a phone in his pocket, but he's too abstract to be bothered. He knows he could reach out but why would he, what is out there, when he's barely even here.
The train stops, his feet moving in a long memorized way that has him in movement without thought. The station is more activity all around as he walks with the other nameless people, until the area is open enough that he's no longer carried by the waves of others. He stands, looks around.
"KENMA!"
And everything rushes at Kenma again, bright and real, noise in his ears, spring air on his skin, as Kuroo rushes towards him too.
"Kur-ooof!"
Kenma is engulfed in warmth as he's nearly bowled over, and Kuroo laughs too loud and squeezes him too tight, and it's absolutely perfect.
Then he shifts, curling over Kenma to speak directly in his ear, a whisper of familiar concern. "Where did you go?"
Kenma shakes his head, clinging to Kuroo, in Tokyo central station, at 10.37 on a Saturday. "I’m here now."