Work Text:
Kenma found that whenever someone asked him, is anything wrong? Are you okay? He never knew what exactly they were expecting him to say.
Kenma hated in extremes. Too much attention, too many of Kuroo’s kisses, too many hands, too many bodies… His face grew hot, and his patience grew thin. No doting and his voice would crack as he pulled on shirtsleeves, his eyes watered… He felt grubby, begging, annoying. It was always absolutes, too many people and he’d pray to be able to leave. Yet once alone, he was empty and cold.
When Akaashi was kind enough to make him a cup of tea, Kenma groaned it was too hot. When Kuroo tossed the ball his way with a grin on simmering summer days, Kenma declined with one look at the weather report. Bokuto slung an arm over his shoulders as they walked down the hall, Kenma reminded him yes, he did have ears. And, yes, Bokuto-san, you are yelling into them.
He wondered, worried, overanalyzed. The thoughts plagued his mind: Did Akaashi think him ungrateful? Did Kuroo resent constantly getting stuck inside with Kenma? Was Bokuto annoyed, hurt, by his complaints?
He didn’t want something to be wrong with him. Kenma liked to be lukewarm. That was a safe way to live.
-
“Man, I’m gonna miss the chemistry test today.”
Kuroo’s small dejection cut through Kenma’s stomach sharp. It felt like his insides were stretching and constricting all at once. Through the fog of his cold, he repeated those words over and over again in his head.
This wasn’t the first time Bokuto, Akaashi and Kuroo would offer to stay home and care for a sick Kenma. Out of the four of them, the latter was the most prone to a nasty cold. They never complained - at least, Kenma never heard them complain. Bokuto would be happy to skip some boring math class and watch Kenma’s favorite anime anyday. Kuroo caring for Kenma was a given, and it had been since both of them could remember. And Akaashi’s area of expertise was making his homemade soup that could cure any ailment.
But today, Kuroo complained. It was brief, casual and easily unnoticed. Kenma’s throat was dry.
-
They hadn’t realized it until Akaashi stepped into the living room first to see a bundle of two-toned hair and blankets stationed unmoving on the sofa. Their small TV was on, volume low.
“When did you get up?”
A small shrug, scarcely detected beneath the mounds. Then a series of coughs followed.
Kenma managed to drag droopy eyes off the dim screen to watch Akaashi silently make his way over. The hand that brushed away his hair felt like ice and it stung briefly as Akaashi’s palm pressed against his forehead. A quiet sigh came after.
“You have a fever. I will go wake them up.” His voice was careful and polite. Akaashi never changed.
-
“You guys don’t have to baby me over a cold,” Kenma voiced, shifting beneath his tiny hideaway and peaking his head out, “It’s not a big deal, just go to school.”
The string of conversation between the three of them died down when Kenma spoke up. His voice was without a doubt scratchy, low and lacking constitution. He hated it.
It was true. Kenma didn’t need to be cared for. It wasn’t fair to force them to miss important lessons over someone like him, over something as silly as a cold. Kenma could handle himself. Even if the four of them have been inseparable since attending university, Kenma can find it in himself to manage alone if he had to. He can manage. He can survive. It’s fine. It’s fine.
Bokuto spoke first. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t mind staying home.”
Kuroo added on, “Yeah, really, it’s fine. Not much to do today, anyway.”
Their reluctance to agree with him just made Kenma nauseous.
Akaashi was surprisingly the one to pick up on it, “If Kenma-san doesn’t want us to, then we should respect that.” He finished as he set a freshly toasted piece of wheat bread on the coffee table, joined with a small cup of water. The toast was smeared very precariously with some honey. It was simple, but he knew Kenma liked the taste. Much more appealing than butter.
And that’s all it took for Bokuto and Kuroo to agree albeit reluctantly. Soon enough they were getting dressed and ready to leave. Akaashi was always the first up, his uniform was already neat over his shoulders, free of wrinkles and adding depth to his stern output.
“I’ll make soup for dinner. If you get hungry later, there’s leftover rice and vegetables in the fridge, just heat them up a bit. Don’t worry about the dishes, and make sure to refill that cup.”
Akaashi was nice. It felt nice to listen to his voice. He would make a good parent, Kenma thought.
It took about a half hour before everyone was back in the living room, sporting their school bags and pitiful looks in Kenma’s direction when he wasn’t paying attention. He felt the stares, anyway.
“Text us if you need anything, baby.” Kuroo was hovering over him, blocking his view of the screen. “We’ll be home soon.” A large hand reached to cup Kenma’s red cheek, regarded his runny nose and moist eyes. As the other opened his mouth to grumble something, Kuroo bent down further to plant a firm kiss. Kenma grunted. “You’re lucky I love your cute face even when it’s stuffed up and covered in snot,” He teased the smallest of his boyfriends. He was close, and warm and smelled good. Smelled like Kuroo.
The moment didn’t last long, though. “Good luck on that test,” Kenma hummed, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand before burrowing back into his nest and ending the conversation.
“Oh, haha,” Kuroo chuckled, straightening, “Right, thanks.” His gaze lingered, and his lips curled down for just a second.
After receiving kisses to each cheek by Bokuto and Akaashi, the three said goodbye. The door clicked shut firm and rang in Kenma’s ears. Sniffling, he reached for the box of tissues he brought with him when he came to make his new home on the couch earlier that morning. After that, he didn’t remember falling asleep.
-
Maybe it was the cold, or the fact that this was the first time in a long while that Kenma was alone, but he woke starkly. A cold sweat plastered his shirt to his back. The screen was still dim, the volume still low, playing an infomercial. A dark grey took over the blue morning sky and through bleary eyes Kenma could notice the raindrops on the windowpane. The air was still and stuffy. A new fog seeped into his head through his ears as white noise battered in his eardrums. Muddled, he shoved the blankets off and climbed off the couch. He felt bad. Gross, weird, uncomfortable. Didn’t know why yet, just did.
He clicked the lock on the large window and with dazed embarrassment, it took more effort than he thought to slide it open. And when he did, he realized it was still raining. A nasty wind blew in instantly, forcing Kenma to squint. Did he hear somewhere that a storm was coming? Possibly, he didn’t remember. Shutting the window, he backed up and stared for a while. They had a nice view of the small neighborhood. It wasn’t too far away from the university. There was a nice little convenience store down the block, too. It felt like a neighborhood you end up in as you get older. It felt stagnate sometimes. Like it was inside a bubble stuck on repeat, and only when he stepped out of its vicinity did he feel like time was moving at a quicker pace.
His head felt like a bubble. But instead of air, it was filled with water. It was heavy, refused to pop. Just sloshed around.
Another feeling washed up, and this time Kenma identified it. A jostling in his stomach. A warning for possible trips to the bathroom in the near future.
Turning away from the window, Kenma let his gaze fall instead on the piece of toast. It was cold by now, obviously. The honey didn’t shine anymore, and had soaked into the bread. Soggy toast didn’t sound too good, he concluded.
Checking his phone, he opened a text from Bokuto, asking how he was doing followed by an obnoxious line of emoticons. He texted back that he was surrounded in snotty tissues. He set his phone back down, and padded down the hall.
Their apartment had two bedrooms, one was significantly larger than the other, the latter they used as a guest room. The four of them shared a decent sized bed, and it was comfortable. Kenma liked cuddles, but on his own accord. Kuroo loved to spoon, Bokuto sprawled out, and Akaashi slept neatly, as he did with everything in life.
Sometimes, Kenma would change their patterns and sleep next to Akaashi. And every time he had, he would wake up the next morning with the other’s hand subconsciously holding one of his. It was small, cute. Kuroo was not that respectful. He would scoop Kenma up and wrap both arms around him and fall asleep against his hair. It was annoying, especially on hot nights, but Kuroo always smelled good. Bokuto likes to try and give everyone affection, and in theory, he’s successful, even if he gains a few jabs and complains throughout the night. Bokuto is always warm. And if Kuroo is being exceptionally suffocating, Kenma enjoys smacking a pair of cold feet onto his thighs. They all fit, it all works at the end of the day. Everyone is happy, safe and cared for.
And in the short time he is alone, Kenma remembers details clearly and aches. The air is a little less breathable without them, especially in their own home, that should otherwise be full of activity. He is back on the couch, this time wearing one of Kuroo’s t-shirts. To be precise, it’s more of a shared article of clothing now. First Bokuto accidentally wore it, and then Kenma put it on after a shower one night, and after that it just became a community shirt. It was Kenma’s favorite. Felt like a security blanket. And lucky for him, it had not been washed recently. It smelled good - a bit dusty, a handful of different scents of cologne and sweat.
The shirt was large, ended at his mid thighs, so he wore that over his underwear, and a fresh pair of socks. Tucking his knees into the fabric, he balled himself up again, and leaned against the armrest. Again, he didn’t remember drifting off.
A loud crash woke Kenma quickly, his heart already beating out of his mouth. Eyes impossibly wide, his entire body went stiff, pulse stammering.
Was someone breaking in? Would they have a weapon? Would they kill him? What would they steal? The TV? It’s not that great. Would Kenma have to beg for his life? Will the intruder allow him his last words? What would they even be? Something about how he loves his boyfriends? The intruder would probably laugh.
Another, louder crash stopped Kenma’s reeling thoughts in their tracks as he realized it was thunder.
How much of an idiot can one person be? Kenma was about to blurt out his will and testament over some thunder.
Though, today wasn’t his day. His body gave him no time to calm down before a familiar lurching in his stomach caused Kenma to double in speed toward the bathroom.
Barely making it to the toilet, his entire body coiled as he swung the lid up and retched. Tears welling in his eyes at the burning sensation clawing up his throat, he emptied his stomach. All of last night’s dinner heaved up as his abdomen clenched and caved in violently. Soon enough he was choking on stomach acid, the sour liquid even dribbling out his nose. Slowly, Kenma’s gut decided to give him time to breathe. His cheek fell against the edge of the toilet as he reached to flush, still coughing. Too exhausted to express his disgust, a low, hoarse whine drew out from his raw throat. He was completely emptied out, and alone. Slumped on the bathroom tiles, his lower lip began to tremble as hot tears bubbled up and poured down his cheeks. He wanted Kuroo, wanted Bokuto and Akaashi. He was pathetic. He couldn’t even handle himself being sick let alone being alone. He was pathetic, and he watched the tears drip into the toilet, making ripples in the water. He didn’t want to get up. But the taste in his mouth told him otherwise.
Brushing his teeth, Kenma could hear a fierce wind banging against the windows. And around the same time, the light overhead started to flicker. Spitting and rinsing his mouth, his lips now held a perpetual frown. His hands were shaking.
The trip to the living room proved difficult. His legs were wobbling and weak and his head was dizzy and his heart was still beating painfully and his stomach felt like paper.
Grabbing his phone, Kenma slumped to the floor in the middle of the room. The TV was now showing a garbled mess of static. This storm was getting worse. Pressing speed dial, Kenma raised his phone to his ear, aching to hear a familiar voice. Please, please, please.
Kuroo’s voice mail chimed loud and he was quick to hang up. Of course Kuroo wouldn’t answer. He’s in class, and depending on what time it was, he could probably be taking that test. He wouldn’t check his phone during class. And he shouldn’t, either. Kenma wouldn’t want him getting in trouble. But at the same time, he found himself wishing for an answer.
Should he really be trying to make Kuroo leave and come home? In the middle of class? What would his excuse even be? My pathetic excuse for a boyfriend is home alone and he’s pretty much five years old so I need to go babysit him. Something like that probably. Kuroo wouldn’t show it, but he would be annoyed, he would be mad. He would wish he never chose to live with Kenma. Had he known he was going to be such a handful, such a waste of time. God knows how he’s affecting Akaashi or Bokuto and his already flimsy school habits. What was he thinking?
Rain sprayed the glass outside, and after a bright spark of lightning, the TV turned off completely. It left behind a dull static buzz before the room went silent. All Kenma could hear was a constant ringing in his ears and the storm surrounding him. What was he supposed to do? Should he take a shower? Try to eat? Play his DS? Take another nap? What was supposed to happen now? His socks were itchy against his ankles. His hair was sticking to the back of his neck. Every time he inhaled he could feel his ribs rub up against the cotton of the shirt. His pulse hadn’t slowed, and instead quickened even more. He was staring at something, but he couldn’t tell what. What was he supposed to do? Without realizing, Kenma was starting to hyperventilate.
No, no, no, no. Stop. What will Kuroo think? Akaashi will be mad. Bokuto won’t smile like he usually does. Akaashi will regret staying together, Kuroo will wonder why he ever became his friend.
“Man, I’m gonna miss the chemistry test today.”
Kenma was clawing at the shirt that he remembered being very baggy, now constricting his chest so tightly. His throat was closing up, he was surely going to suffocate and die. His heart would beat too fast and suddenly burst. His bones will shake and tremble so fast that they will shatter. The wind will blow too hard and the roof will collapse. A beam will fall and go right through his chest. He won’t be able to call for help, won’t be able to reach his phone in time before he bleeds out. Or maybe lightning will strike and stop his heart in a split second, so fast he wouldn’t even realize it.
He retrieved his phone once again, touched the smooth surface. It felt weird, cold and unnatural. He didn’t feel safe. He called Bokuto.
“Hellooo? You need me to make a tissue run?” Bokuto’s voice was boisterous, maybe it was his lunch time. It sounded like the voice you hear when you die. But in a good way.
Kenma’s throat still felt like it was on the verge of closing completely, and he couldn’t find his voice nor the motivation to even try to speak. Instead he just shuddered and wheezed into the phone. His eyelids were heavy, he felt like he was about to overflow and spill out all over the floor.
The line was silent for a long moment aside for distant chatter.
“We’ll be right there. Focus on breathing okay? We will be there in 10 minutes, we’re on our way,” Bokuto’s loud tone was replaced, serious and knowing. He had experienced Kenma’s panic attacks before. He knew some of the worst ones resulted in him unable to utter a word.
It took Kenma a split second to think Bokuto was going to hang up, and he managed to straighten up, his other hand reaching to grasp the phone, “No!” He wailed desperately, “No, don’t hang up!” His legs tensed as he shifted into a crouched position, ready to run or give out, he couldn’t tell. His eyes were watering.
“I won’t hang up, I won’t.” Bokuto replied, his words very slow, “Listen to me. We are coming home, okay? Do not go anywhere.” Kenma could tell he was walking somewhere, and a door was swung open loudly. “Kenma? Are you listening to me?”
Kenma made a small, pitiful noise, slack jawed and given up.
“This storm is really intense, huh?” Another door creaked open, his footsteps a fast pace, “Did the power go out there, too? I’m getting Kuroo and Akaashi. I have to hang up to call them, okay? I love you, Kenma. I have to hang up and we will be home very soon, alright? I promise.”
Kenma began to shake his head, bottom lip quivering again, “No, no, don’t leave..” He babbled, rocking back and forth, “Please, Bokuto.. Please, please.”
It took a few more minutes, but Bokuto finally coaxed him to allow the call to end. And as soon as it did, Kenma felt hollow again, the silence carving him from the inside out, aching and shivering and in some sort of danger.
Hours seemed to pass, and Kenma bit at his fingernails with trembling vigor, crying against the side of the couch. More thunder cracked above him, and the clouds were so dark it must have looked much later than it really was.
Kenma waited his whole life to hear a jingling of keys outside the front door. Though at first they sounded like they had dropped, a fierce, hurried curse followed and soon enough the door was open. By then Kenma’s bones had already become stone, glued to his spot, face buried against pale knees like a crumbling statue.
Kuroo and Bokuto and Akaashi all stumbled in clumsily. Their footsteps sounded far away. And when Akaashi gently called Kenma’s name, even further.
A clap of thunder, not as loud as the previous claps, stirred Kenma out of his rigid state. He lifted his head, and his vision was full of his loved ones. They had taken careful steps toward him. In the back of his mind, he noticed the lights came back on. Everything was clear cut and detailed. He took in the crumpled tie of Bokuto’s uniform and the bag that Kuroo had dropped at his feet. He took in the worry creased into Akaashi’s features. And then all the crisp detail warped and contorted. Tears dripped from his chin and blotched his knees. Chest full with relief.
“Kenma, honey ,” Kuroo was very gentle, complying when Kenma had outstretched quaking arms like a child. He lifted the smaller body up, “Sweetie, kitten ,” He settled with just cooing the string of pet names into his ear as he let Kenma calm down at his own pace.
“It’s freezing in here,” Bokuto commented loudly, stepping back after he kicked his shoes off to turn on the heat.
Akaashi walked around the bundle that was Kuroo and Kenma to begin picking up stray articles of clothing off the living room floor. He recognized one of the shirts to be his own, though didn’t question it as he briefly disappeared to set the handful into their shared laundry basket.
Kenma was focused on everything at once, Kuroo’s voice, the warmth of his large hand rubbing into his spine. All the while, he was crying, vehemently, into Kuroo’s neck.
At some point, his wailing turned into apologizes.
-
For the third time that day, Kenma didn’t realize he had fallen asleep.
And when he woke up, time was slow and foggy. But in a good way, because the first thought that came to him was that something smelled good.
“Hey sleepy baby,” Bokuto’s voice was heavy and settled against his left ear.
Eventually, Kenma assessed that he was laying against Bokuto’s chest, sideways on the couch, the other’s large legs on either side of his lithe frame, keeping him safe, warm. A fresh, laundered blanket covered him, tucked up just beneath Kenma’s chin. Kuroo was sitting on the floor, propped against the cushions. He could only see the back of his head as he flipped through channels. Akaashi was in the kitchen, apron and all, sweating over a large pot of what he easily guessed to be his favorite soup.
As Bokuto announced that the sleepy baby has awoken, Kuroo craned his neck to give Kenma a small smile. “You slept for a while. Bokuto insisted he would lay with you even though he kept complaining that his legs are asleep.” The smile turned into a grin, as he reached a hand to tuck some tangled hair behind an ear, “Your fever died down, too.”
Everything was fitting back into place. The pace was a drowsy one, but it was steadily tethering Kenma back to reality. But there was still a gnawing that began to resurface.
“Kuroo,” Kenma sat himself up, and as he did Bokuto slid thick arms around his midsection, “Guys, I’m sorry, I..” He sighed, leaning his weight against the heat of the larger one’s chest behind him, “I shouldn’t have..” He trailed off, significantly when Akaashi stepped over, wiping hands on his beloved apron.
“You aren’t a burden to us,” Akaashi was firm, kneeling down near Kuroo, “We came to understand that was what you must have been thinking this morning. We should have realized your insecurities then, and I am sorry we didn’t. You should never have to apologize for the feelings and thoughts that you have.”
Kuroo nodded, and Kenma recognized a sense of guilt in his face. He frowned. “Kenma, you know I would skip any stupid test to take care of you.” He was earnest, resentful. The tan fingers that tucked his hair now occupied themselves with brushing a rosy cheek.
The churning feeling in his stomach was starting to fade the more he took in all their words. Their television was on again, and this time a familiar cartoon was playing, cheerful and vibrant in the background of their little heartfelt talk. Bokuto’s hands slid beneath the baggy shirt to rub Kenma’s tummy that he had not realized had been so sore until now.
Their eyes were fixed on him, but it didn’t make Kenma nervous. Their gazes were loving and safe. He was safe, he always would be.
“We all would, and much more.” Akaashi concluded, placing a hand to Kuroo’s back before he stood, giving Kenma a smile. “Now, dinner will be ready soon, are you feeling up to eating?” When he was given a timid nod in return, the dark haired man then bent to leave a lingering kiss upon Kenma’s forehead.
And time slowed down again. Not too slow. A nice pace, a comfortable stroll. They returned to their prior activities, then. Kuroo stretched to kiss Kenma’s lips once before he went back to watching the screen, letting his head rest against Bokuto’s thigh. Kenma proceeded to play with that timeless bedhead, fingers threading through untamed locks in such a way that made Kuroo hum loudly in appreciation. Bokuto nuzzled to the side of Kenma’s head, kept rubbing his tummy, soothing and consistent. A giggle rippled from his own stomach as he focused on the silly show. And soft clanking of bowls brought Kenma’s attention momentarily back to the kitchen. He watched Akaashi pour equal servings. Careful and neat, like always.
Kenma smiled.
“You know you guys are gonna catch my cold, too, right?”