The Galaxy Is Endless (I Thought We Were Too)

Chapter 30

The funeral was a quiet affair.

There were a lot of people there; a majority of which Kenma didn't even know. Kuroo's friends from work, apparently. He tried not to resent them for not once visiting Kuroo, not even when they knew well that it would have been their last chance.

A couple of them had offered their condolences today, to which Kenma could only stutter out a 'thank you'. One had even told him that the flower arrangements of the ceremony were lovely, but Kenma thought that was a stupid comment.

He couldn't take credit for the majority of the funeral plans anyway. Akaashi had been the one to confirm all the arrangements at the funeral parlour when Kenma had been to numb to process exactly what he'd been asked. A simple, closed-casket service to honour Kuroo's memory.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay giving your eulogy today?" Akaashi asked from beside him. It wasn't subtle that Akaashi was worried about how he'd been handling it. They'd all but forced him to stay in his and Bokuto's spare bedroom until his anguish had subsided a fraction, weary of the fact that his emotions and actions are awry.

Because after all, who didn't cry at their soulmates funeral?

People who he barely knew were no doubtedlty staring at him, wondering just how he hadn't shed a tear. Oh, the stoney faced CEO, he mustn't have cared for his soulmate at all to not grieve. How horrible for poor Kuroo to die so young and unloved.

What they didn't know was that Kenma had already been grieving. He'd grieved every single day since Kuroo had told him, not a day had passed where he hadn't felt like he was drowning in a bottomless pit of sorrow.

He didn't need to cry in front of a hall of people who he didn't care about. They wouldn't understand.

Grief was a strange thing. Kenma wished that it was the same as the way it was in movies. He wished he could cry it all out of his system, scream until he was numb, maybe eat a tub of ice-cream to console himself, and then get up and have the motivation to honour Kuroo's memory, and get on with his life.

Grief was not as poetic as fiction made it out to be.

For Kenma, grief was sitting with an emptiness where he was sure his heart was supposed to be. It was as though he was hollow, completely numb.

He nodded at Akaashi, hands gripping the piece of paper he'd tried to write something that resembled a speech on. He was quick to discover that there weren't any words that could do Kuroo justice or describe the person he was.

"Okay, we're here for you," Bokuto added from Akaashi's other side. The three of them were seated in the front row, Bokuto's arm draped over Akaashi's shoulder so he could reach and stroke Kenma's arm. His eyes were rimmed red, the same as they had been for a week.

Without much further ado, the ceremony began. Kenma tried to listen to the words of the funeral director, but it was as though they were just static, no coherent words he could process.

He had the same problem with the speech of Kuroo's work friend that Kenma didn't recognise, and also Bokuto's, whose speech was so emotional that there wasn't a dry eye left in the audience, sans Kenma.

And then it was Kenma's turn. Akaashi placed a comforting hand on the small of his back as he stood, and started walking, one foot after the other. He took a deep breath as he reached the lectern, smoothing over his piece of paper to read it out. But as his eyes skimmed the words, he couldn't help but know that they weren't good enough. They didn't even scratch the surface of an explanation of the person who Kuroo Tetsurou had been. So Kenma wasn't going to say them.