Kenma/Yamamoto, Confession
“So, yeah.” The air is heavy after Yamamoto’s confession. The weight of expectation, and hope, and fear hangs around him, and he straightens his shoulders against it. He’s always been strong -- this is a weight he can carry.
Kenma, in contrast, hunches down, hair flipping forward as he ducks his head against his shoulders and his thumbs fidget against his pockets. Yamamoto feels a momentary pang of guilt. He hates it when Kenma shrinks under metaphorical burdens either real or imagined, hates it still more when it’s his own fault. He trips over his own words in an attempt to take it back, take some of the heaviness of the moment back on himself.
“I don’t expect you to feel the same way, Kenma, I, I just -- I just needed you to know. I’ve been sittin’ on this for a long time. It’s like,” he gestures at his chest, at his heart, callused fingertips catching in the rough fabric of his sweater. “It’s real heavy.”
The uncertainty is far heavier than anything else. The hope. It’s getting harder and harder to shoulder until Yamamoto doesn’t think he can take it anymore. He knows that Kenma doesn’t return his feelings, he’s sure of that, but every time, he wonders… maybe...
Hope hurts. The rest is bearable.
“Tora,” Kenma says, voice quiet, hesitant, but still confident in its delivery. “I don’t feel the same way.”
And like that, Yamamoto feels a shift -- a release from the crushing pressure of forlorn hope, but replaced with the sharp, stinging weight of rejection. He babbles, hands akimbo, trying to balance.
“Yeah yeah, I didn’t figure, just, had to say it, ya know? Just had to make sure. I didn’t wanna make things weird with us -- and we’re good, right, this is all good still?” Kenma nods, watching him with sharp eyes. Yamamoto mimics the nod, feels like he should stop talking. Feels like the world is bottoming out around him and pulling him down. His mouth keeps speaking and he’s not even sure what it’s saying anymore. “Yeah, okay, good. ‘Cause I didn’t think you’d feel the same, but man. I had to know for sure, ya know? Didn’t wanna spend my whole life wonderin’. But I’ve been scared, ya know, ‘cause like, we’re friends. Didn’t wanna screw that up either. But I figured I... I’d rather take the chance than regret not knowing.”
He comes to an abrupt stop, ears burning, chest heaving.
“I’m sorry,” Kenma says. An apology, and an understanding.
The space between them feels wide, but Yamamoto reaches across it anyway. He places a hand on Kenma’s shoulder, and he feels lighter. Like something’s been lifted. “Nah.” He pulls forward, pushing the boundary, and Kenma meets him partway, leaning into the touch and trading one of his own, a light, friendly jab to the side. It’s friendly, open, comfortable, and even though it’s not what he wants in his heart and bones and soul, he knows, now. Yamamoto feels like he’s floating.