The Galaxy is Endless (I thought we were, too)

Chapter 19

Kenma was all too aware that Kuroo didn't have much time left.

It was written all over each of his features, heard in the beating of his heart monitor that only grew fainter each day. He was a shadow of the person he had been when Kenma had met him all those years ago; the shadows had extinguished all his light. His easy smiles now replaced with a hollow nothing that broke Kenma's heart every single day without fail.

But Kuroo hadn't said those three words to Kenma yet; something that he reminded himself every waking moment. So long as he didn't say them, it meant they had time.

The cruel tug at Kenma's heartstrings warned him that there wasn't much longer he'd be able to think that.

He tried to ignore it.

He was perched cross-legged on the bottom of Kuroo's bed, just watching him. Watching the laboured rise and fall of Kuroo's chest as each breath clearly pained him more than the last. It was only clear that he was awake through the subtle crease of his brow, the only way Kenma had learned how to read him in the last few months.

Kenma fought back tears that threatened to prick his eyes at the thought of what his soulmate was going through; what he must be feeling. Kuroo was the one in pain; and Kenma was the one being a baby about it. That didn't feel right. He didn't even know what to do. How powerless Kenma felt was becoming a burden increasingly hard to bear. No matter what he did or said, he couldn't make things better for Kuroo. He was useless.

He didn't want to say he was hopeless just yet, though.

"Kuro," Kenma called out. He didn't have a reason to do it, other than that same tug at his heart alluding him to the fact that it was the right thing to do.

Kuroo hummed, eyelids not even fluttering.

That was the first sign that it was worse than Kenma had even thought it was, worse than he was willing to admit.

"Kuro?" He called out again.

Nothing.

The faint beeping of the heart monitor was what Kenma was trying to focus on. A sure reminder that Kuroo wasn't gone, that he was still in arm's reach. That he was still here. That Kenma wasn't alone just yet.

It felt like an infinity before Kuroo finally spoke, his voice as fragile and shaky as a bird lost in a tumultuous tempest. "Kenma."

Kenma scrambled off the foot of the bed, instead sinking to his knees at Kuroo's bedside, grabbing his limp hand to alert him of his presence. "I'm right here, baby. What is it?"

"Kenma, it hurts."

And oh, how Kenma's heart shattered.

Not once had Kuroo faltered like this; not once had he complained about anything. He hadn't complained when he'd been diagnosed, nor when the symptoms had gotten the better of him, not even about how this was inevitably going to end. Despite what the universe had thrown at him, he'd handled it with an integrity that Kenma could barely comprehend. For Kenma's sake more than his own.

Kenma hadn't been fooled. He was hyper aware of the fact that Kuroo had spent more time trying to protect Kenma's heart than voice out his own struggles. No matter how many times Kenma had told him it was okay, he hadn't budged; as stubborn as he had ever been.

Kenma couldn't imagine how much pain he must be in to admit it.

"Do you want me to call you a nurse?" Kenma asked. There was nothing he could do to stop his voice cracking or bottom lip quivering.

Kuroo ignored his question; either as a 'no', or because he didn't have the strength to answer it, Kenma wasn't sure.

"Can I tell you now?" He asked it so gently, so softly, as though he were worried the mere act of asking would break Kenma's heart; destroy his world.

And so it would.

Kenma bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "No, no Kuro, please don't." He didn't try to fight the hot tears pricking his eyes that time, letting them spill out onto his cheeks.

A soft whine left Kuroo's throat. "I can't do this anymore." Each syllable was a slurred stutter, each a stab to Kenma's heart.

Was it selfish to ask him to keep fighting?

"Kuro..." Kenma didn't know what else to say, instead squeezing Kuroo's hand again. Kenma tried to blink away the tears welling up in his eyes, not wanting his vision of Kuroo to be obscured; not at a time like this. He stayed on his knees, a silent prayer that this would turn out okay.

"I'm sorry, kitten."

"Kuro, if- if you don't say it, it means we still have a chance, right?" Kenma's words were nonsensical babble, clutching Kuroo's hand in his own like a lifeline. "It can't be the end."

Kenma had spent countless months trying to prepare himself for the inevitable. He'd had countless conversations with himself, imagining every possibility, how he could handle it, what he'd say. But nothing could prepare him for the chilling fear of being faced with his worst nightmare.

"Please?"

Kenma would have been damned if he turned that down. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes turned down to look at the floor.

Was he ready to lose the one thing he couldn't replace?

Was he ready to lose his entire universe?

There was no way he was.

But denying Kuroo any longer would have been cruel, how could he ask someone he loved so much to be in pain?

He looked back up at Kuroo through his tears.

"Okay."

Kuroo's shoulders sagged in relief; as though he could finally release the weight of the world. Or at least, Kenma's world.

"I love you."

Kenma couldn't hold himself back after that. He'd waited so many years praying he'd never have to hear it that he had no idea how much he needed to. A guttural sob left his throat, followed by another, and another. His whole chest ached with a pain that made him feel as though his heart was being ripped in two.

Through his tears, he couldn't see the way his soulmark glowed a soft gold, signifying that it was indeed time to say goodbye.

All he could think of was the fact that his Kuroo, his star in the darkness, was fading away.

"Tetsurou, please," Kenma begged through broken sobs, swallowing any pride he had and letting it dissolve into a fresh wave of tears. "I can't do this without you."

He lightly squeezed Kenma's hand. Kenma looked up at Kuroo, and it was only Kenma could notice the light leaving Kuroo's eyes despite the trickle of tears trailing down his face; the life leaving Kuroo's features with each passing breath.

"Please don't leave me."

The words left Kenma's lips before he could process the true weight behind them.

But when he did, his entire universe shattered into unfixable pieces.

His sobbing turned into wailing, each cry wracking his body so violently that it could have broken him; he wished it did. "Say something, Tetsurou, please?"

Kuroo didn't hear that final plea.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, crying on his knees and clutching Kuroo's cold hand to his chest. He didn't know when the nurses came in, whether it was Kuroo's heart monitor that alerted them to what had happened, or if it was the volume of Kenma's sobs. He was far too lost in his own grief to process any of it.

He lost any coherency he had, not paying attention to the nurse that softly guided him out of the hospital room for the final time with apologetic coos. The second he was in the sterile, white hospital corridor, he fell back onto his knees, calling out for the one person who wasn't there to comfort him. He didn't care who saw him; who heard him, his thoughts were only Kuroo. Kuroo. Kuroo.

Kenma remained on the floor on his hands and knees, begging any god who was listening to bring Kuroo back to him.

None of them heard him.