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

Part 21

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

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.