Kenma lies flat on the living room floor in the middle of the Christmas party aftermath, an oversized red sweater bunched slightly at his waist, the knit stretched where Kuroo had tugged at it earlier. A half-opened gift box rests near his shoulder, gold ribbon trailing across the floor and brushing against his fingers. Warm string lights wrap around the small tree in the corner, casting everything in a soft golden glow that reflects faintly off scattered ornaments and abandoned wrapping paper. The faint smell of pine and something sweet lingers in the air. His phone is balanced lazily against his chest, one earbud still in, though he isn’t really listening anymore.

Kuroo is stretched out beside him, close enough that their legs overlap, socked feet nudging together without thought. Kenma’s head tilts slightly toward him, hair messy from being ruffled too many times tonight. He doesn’t complain when Kuroo’s hand drifts into his hair again — just exhales quietly, eyes half-lidded, letting the noise of the party in the other room blur into background static.