The Galaxy Is Endless ( I thought we were, too.)

Part 24

{ A song has been linked above to make thing's much worse for yourself (: }

Kenma shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew he needed to do this, he just hadn't anticipated how daunting the task was going to be.

He hadn't stepped foot back into his apartment since before Kuroo had gone away, knowing that it was filled with countless memories that Kenma wasn't yet ready to face.

Kenma pressed his key into the lock. He had to face them. In the end, they were the only things of Kuroo he had left.

He turned the key. He didn't want to face them. They were too painful, two weeks hadn't been enough time to run away.

He pushed the door open. It was now or never.

Stepping into his apartment was more jarring than he had even feared. He half-expected Kuroo to greet him at the door, the way he had a million times before. As he walked through, he looked to see if Kuroo was standing in the kitchen, obnoxiously singing while cooking the way he always had. He even expected to see Kuroo sitting on the couch surrounded by research papers he'd explain to Kenma that night, eyes sparkling due to the unadulterated joy of chemistry.

But of course, he wasn't there.

The apartment was as dark and empty as Kenma should have known it would be.

With shaky legs, Kenma perched himself onto the couch, head in his hands. He didn't know what to do, life didn't come with a manual of how to process the loss of your entire universe.

He wished for nothing more than Kuroo to be there, holding his hand. He'd know what to say. He always had.

Kenma jolted to his feet. One of the last proper conversations with Kuroo had been him saying he'd left him something. He trusted that maybe, just maybe, Kuroo knew him well enough that it would guide him.

He shuffled to the bedroom, opening their closet and lifted his gaze to the shelf Kuroo had pointed out. He had always teased Kenma for not being able to reach, and somehow he felt like this was Kuroo's way of getting the last laugh. Kenma wasn't bothered by that.

Kenma huffed as he grabbed a stool from the bottom shelf, balancing himself on it to reveal what was on the shelf. He was greeted by the sight of a box with a pattern of stars marking it. Kenma hesitantly reached for it, grabbing it to his chest as he hopped down and moved to sit on the bed.

There was an envelope taped to the box, with a big, scrawling 'For Kenma'. Kenma stared at it, clutching the box so tightly, as though he was worried it would vanish if he didn't hold on.

He carefully peeled the envelope from the box, opening it with a slow accuracy to ensure he wouldn't rip one of the only remaining things he had left of Kuroo.

He pulled out the pages from inside, revealing pages and pages of writing that was so familiar, and yet incredibly foreign. It was clearly Kuroo's, his style of the handwriting as clear as day, but there was a shaky quality to it, as though the pen had been slipping as he had written it.

Tears welled up in Kenma's eyes for the first time in a fortnight, Kuroo must have written this right before he had left the hospital for the last time. He couldn't even imagine how hard it must have been to write it in his condition, how much Kuroo loved him enough to do it.

Kenma rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, gripping the letter like a lifeline in the other. He couldn't cry now, he had to hold on just a little bit longer, to see what Kuroo had to say to him.

Kenma,

My beautiful, strong, brilliant Kenma,

If you're reading this, it probably means I'm not around any more. And for that I'm so, so sorry baby. I never wanted to leave you, it breaks my heart to think that I'll have to.