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It is the ultimate irony, Kozume Kenma thinks, that he is good in an emergency.
The lights of the gym are bright as Hinata Shouyou collapses. He falls straight, heavy, a marionette with his strings cut. The sight is sickening, even though nobody on Nekoma actually knows Hinata Shouyou, and panic ripples throughout the room in thick waves.
They had not been playing when it happened. Karasuno had entered the gym for a practice match, strangers, and the small boy with orange hair grabbed the sleeve of a substantially taller boy with silver hair, whispered something, and crumpled.
Within three, two, one seconds, Kenma has moved.
A brief interlude, an interruption in the style of a memory:
Kozume Kenma is nine years old. When he tries to speak to people, he freezes.
Kenma doesn’t panic. The gym around him is in uproar, loud and fast and completely and utterly unhelpful. They crush, for lack of a better word, around the fallen boy. He is still silent, the eye of the hurricane, quietly oblivious to the storm around him.
Kenma, with a single-minded determination necessitated by the situation, elbows his way through the masses and to his side. He kneels carefully by the boy to do what he does best:
Assess.
Through the half panicked shouts of those in orange and black, he learns the boy’s name to be Hinata Shouyou. It’s not the best introduction, some part of his brain whispers, a part long deemed unnecessary and banished to the fringes of his consciousness. Morbid humor is wonderfully helpful until it’s not, and Kenma very much has something he would like to concentrate on right now.
He hastily identifies the captain, thank god for those jerseys, and calls out.
An interference:
A classmate greets Kenma in the hall. He tries to say something back, but can muster nothing more than a squeak. A dull static settles around his shoulders.
“Could you get some water?” He says, voice low and firm. “ And probably an adult. Maybe.”
At any other time, perhaps, the taller teen would have questioned the authority of this small stranger. But right now his teammate is on the floor, the gym is very loud, and anybody in their right mind would be overwhelmed.
Daichi Sawamura, eighteen years old and captain of Karasuno Volleyball Team, is in his right mind.
He does as Kenma says.
Kenma, meanwhile, concentrates on Hinata. He’s lucid, thankfully, confused but that is expected. Kenma carefully helps him sit up, letting the smaller boy cling to his arm as he regains his bearings.
Kenma hears him mumble something, vague and dazed, until he finally manages to squeak “Loud!”
Immediately Kenma whips his head to glare at the others in the gym. He’s good at expressions, has had plenty of practice communicating through nothing more than squinted eyes and raised eyebrows. He knows the effect he can have.
They shut up.
With the hysterics done, those in the gym are clumping back into their respective teams. Apart from the groups stand two people:
Kuroo Tetsurou, Kenma’s longtime friend, and a black-haired Karasuno boy with the jersey number nine. He is wringing his hands, taking steps towards Kenma and Hinata and freezing in rapid succession. His brows are set low, mouth twisted into an almost angry scowl.
Kenma knows this. Number Nine is frozen by indecision.
An obstruction:
It is his first year of middle school. He hesitantly walks towards a group of his new classmates, intending to introduce himself.
Something in his stomach shifts.
He thinks better of it. Maybe next time.
Or he’s lacking direction, or instruction, or proper motivation. It all boils down to the same thing, and Kenma knows what that thing is.
Kenma has struggled with indecision. Kenma despises indecision with every single bone in his body. It’s a personal vendetta, really, borne out of one too many uncomfortable experiences, and he is very much aware as to what is going on in Number Nine’s head right now.
He can do something about this. Kenma is good in an emergency, and Number Nine over there is experiencing an emergency in his own right. He’s reaching his own limit though, residual adrenaline wearing off and leaving him intimately aware of both the stares of the people around him and his own subsiding heartbeat as it retreats into his chest.
So he calls Kuroo over first. Hinata is still sinking into his arm, slipping back into drowsiness, and Kenma feels his nerves flare again as this guy he barely knows teeters on the edge of unconsciousness.
“Kuro,” he begins. “Can you get him over here?” He jerks his head in Number Nine’s general direction, arms still preoccupied with supporting Hinata.
Kuroo glances at Number Nine and then back at Kenma. Kenma can see the slight raise of his eyebrows, in interest and not confusion, because Kuroo knows Kenma, and Kuroo knows why Kenma does what he does. Even if they process things differently, fundamentally deviate right down to their bones, they often end up reaching the same conclusions.
So Kuroo calls.
“Oi, Number Nine! Get over here!”
The black-haired boy awkwardly jogs over, Kuroo’s instruction finally giving him somewhere to direct himself. He joins Kenma on the ground, a very uncomfortable four feet away, and glares at Hinata.
“My name isn’t Number Nine. It’s Kageyama Tobio,” he says. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand towards Hinata before pulling it back, forcefully clenching it into a fist at his side.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know,” Kenma says.
Kageyama scowls. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and inches just a touch closer.
“Why did he just fall?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he pass out? Did he not drink enough water? Is he sick? That dumbass, he could have gotten seriously hurt! Then how would we have been able to play?”
And Kenma thought that he was emotionally stunted. This Kageyama is on a totally different level.
Kuroo coughs awkwardly.
“Sorry to break it to ya kid, but shrimpy over there probably isn’t going to be playing anyways. He can’t even stand up on his own.”
Kageyama’s brows knit together, and his scowl etches itself even deeper into his face.
“What do you mean? Of course he’s gonna be able to play, he’s Hinata.”
Kenma is saved from trying to explain that willpower can only take you so far by the return of Karasuno’s captain, bleach-haired coach in tow and orange waterbottle in hand. The waterbottle is passed to Kageyama, who looks at in confusion and passes it to Kuroo, who finally hands it to Kenma.
Kenma nudges Hinata slightly until the boy once again regains some semblance of awareness. He wraps an arm around Hinata’s shoulders so he can sit up straight, and hands him the waterbottle.
“Take small sips,” he says. “Say something if you think you’re going to pass out again.”
Hinata smiles, much too bright for somebody who was just unconscious, and gratefully accepts the waterbottle. He effectually snuggles into Kenma as he drinks.
Something that comes between:
As Kenma grows older, he becomes more averse to physical contact.
A classmate goes in for a hug. He instinctively leans away.
It’s surprisingly nice, and that’s no good at all because Kenma isn’t supposed to enjoy physical contact.
Oh dear. This seems like a problem for another day.
Luckily, he’s saved from this uncomfortably- comfortable situation by Karasuno’s coach.
“Alright,” he grunts, hoisting Hinata up.
“Up you go. We’re gettin’ you to a nurse.”
They begin to hobble out of the gym, Hinata leaning heavily on his coach. Kageyama looks frustrated, annoyed as his friend is led away.
“That dumbass,” he says again, before stalking off to the rest of his team. The silver-haired boy from before asks him something, before laughing and lightly punching Kageyama’s shoulder. Or maybe not so lightly, judging by how Kageyama winces.
Kuroo, on the other hand, reaches out to pull Kenma up.
“C’mon, kitten,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“We’ve got some crows to beat.”
Kenma huffs and pulls his hand away.
“Don’t call me that,” he mumbles.
Kuroo is right, though, for once in his life. So for now, Kenma banishes Hinata Shouyou from his mind and concentrates on the game ahead.
~~~
Nekoma wins, but the victory is hollow. Karasuno is scattered, cohesive enough but missing an integral puzzle piece by the name of Hinata Shouyou. Kenma feels Hinata’s absence, misses the weight on his arm and senses Kageyama’s palpable frustration through the net. The oddest feeling crawls beneath his skin, an unwelcome sensation whispering that something is missing. The game was fine, Karasuno was good enough, but it was dull. Expected. Now there’s nothing wrong with dullness per say, but Kenma knows that Hinata had something else, something new and exciting to offer.
He missed something special.
He laments the loss quietly, working towards acceptance as he changes into his casual clothes. This isn’t the last time Nekoma will play Karasuno; Kenma will get the chance to play Hinata at some point. For now, he will just direct his attention to something easier, marginally more manageable, and frankly much easier to understand:
His phone.
He has to wait for Kuroo before he can walk home anyways, and god only knows where Kuroo has wandered off to. Although, if Kenma was coerced and begged and tricked into betting, he would say that he was antagonizing Karasuno’s captain.
That poor guy, with his steady build and reliability and warm eyes.
He’s absolutely Kuroo’s type.
So Kenma settles himself against the brick wall of the school, waiting for his idiot friend to get done trying to flirt. He bores quickly of his usual mesh of social media and instead downloads some shitty, low-quality word games.
He’s on the verge of getting bored of those too when somebody settles beside him.
An interruption of our interruption:
It is his third year of middle school. Somebody is talking and they are loud, loud, LOUD and they keep going and going and just won’t stop-
“Hello!” Hinata Shouyou says. “You’re Kozume, right? Ahh, thanks for helping me earlier! It was really scary, wasn’t it? I was feelin’ kinda dizzy and then WOOSH! I just fell! They said I was dehydrated, I think. That’s makes sense, I was super nervous, my stomach was all GWAAAH!!! It made it really hard to keep anything down. Anyways, it’s really lucky you were there, huh?”
Kenma is taken aback. Hinata is loud,in voice and manner and even genetics, judging by that bright orange hair. He is quite a bit to try and process. If he is being completely honest, prior experience dictates that Kenma should hate him; but as Hinata continues talking, he is faced with the realization that he just doesn’t. He can’t. Hinata waves his arms as he speaks and stutters on onomatopoeias, and then picks himself right back up and soldiers on. He throws himself fully into the conversation with boundless enthusiasm and comes across as horrifically, disgustingly endearing.
And, as Hinata continues his one-sided conversation, Kenma becomes more and more convinced that he was absolutely correct about him being something more. It lies in the breaks between his words, in the overwhelming determination spelled out by his rambles, by the way that the shadows catch in his eyes and skate over the planes of his face. Hinata Shouyou is a little strange, but he is inviting. Worthwhile.
A part of Kenma that is immediately judged extremely ugly whispers that Hinata as a person is so comfortable because he is a little strange. Just like it doesn’t matter if you’re speeding on a road as long as somebody else is going faster, it doesn’t matter if you are awkward in conversation if somebody else is worse. Or louder, or brighter, or anything as long as they are drawing attention away from yourself.
A definition, no longer a memory:
Decoy | /ˈdēˌkoi/ | noun
A lure, or a distraction
But this is not about Kenma alone, much less the voice in his brain.
Five minutes of conversation becomes ten, and then fifteen, and then twenty. In the midst of the quiet intimacy, Hinata melts into Shouyou, and Kozume to Kenma. Kenma has never really liked formalities anyways; forging connections is difficult enough without deliberately throwing a sheet of glass between yourself and your partner. Kenma would much rather not be held at an arm’s length, especially not by this person he could see himself coming to care for.
Shouyou presses into Kenma’s shoulder to point out all of the three-letter words in Kenma’s game, and Kenma bluntly tells him that most of those words wouldn’t even be worth playing. He does use some anyways, if only to hear Shouyou’s excited squeal everytime one of his suggestions earns a couple of points.
Kuroo finds them like that, Shouyou and Kenma curled up against a brick wall and caught up in their own little world. Any other time and any other place he would not have disturbed them, but time is a luxury and the three of them are flat-out broke.
“Hey, Shrimpy,” he says, lightly nudging Shouyou with his foot. “Your team’s gonna leave without ya if you don’t getta move on. Number Nine wasn’t looking too happy either.”
As if summoned, Kageyama rounds the corner. He spots Shouyou, and the tiniest expression of relief passes over his face.
“There you are, idiot! I told you not to wander off, and the second I turn around you’re gone!”
He marches over to Shouyou and wrenches him up. Gently, Kenma notes, and the hand Kageyama has firmly placed on Shouyou’s shoulder could almost be called steadying.
“I was fine, Bakageyama,” Shouyou mutters. “I just wanted to thank Kenma for helping me earlier. I was being polite, but I guess you wouldn’t know about that, huh?”
“I am plenty polite!” Kageyama snarls. He releases Shouyou and whirls to face Kenma. He snaps into a perfect, ninety-degree bow, directly horizontal to the ground.
“Thank you for helping earlier!” He bellows.
He straightens, and his hand returns to Shouyou, this time settling around the shorter boy’s arm.
“See? Polite! Now c’mon, dumbass. We have to go.”
“Fine,” Shouyou sighs, petulant. Childish.
“Just let me get Kenma’s number first.”
A return (like coming home):
Kenma would not say that this girl is a friend, but she is nice enough. Until she keeps asking and asking for his phone number and he doesn’t know how to say no.
Kenma doesn’t even hesitate to give Shouyou his number. He would like to unravel this mystery, and oddly enough the idea of a direct pipeline to Shouyou is a pleasant one.
The two of them leave, in a whirlwind of bickering and play-fighting, and Kenma is once again faced with empty space where there should be Hinata Shouyou. This time is different, though; there is a substitute for that empty space under the contact list in Kenma’s phone, and while Shouyou through sickly yellow emojis and too many exclamation points is no match for Shouyou with waving hands and bright eyes, it works well enough for now.
~~~
The next time they meet face-to-face is deliberate.
They had been texting for a while, on a daily basis; Shouyou, Kenma has found, will text about any event he finds even remotely worthwhile. Kenma knows much more about the Karasuno Volleyball Team than he ever wanted to- he hears a lot about Nishinoya and Tanaka and whatever god-awful scheme they have cooked up on any given day, he knows the exact date Shimizu Kiyoko asked Yachi Hitoka out, and he has been sent far too many pictures of Kageyama Tobio to even count.
Every now and then Shouyou will send a selfie, himself with a constantly-rotating roster of teammates, often Yachi or the silver-haired boy whose name is apparently Sugawara. Kenma always sends one back, camera-shy as he is, because it really only feels right.
Shouyou generally initiates conversation, and Kenma likes it that way, but every now and then he’ll find himself reaching for his phone to send an exasperated Kuroo’s being really stupid to his friend.
It’s nice and comfortable, predictable but that’s more than okay.
As time passes, Shouyou’s texts focus more and more on the upcoming training camp. The shift is gradual so Kenma doesn’t mind it, doesn’t dislike it as he would a sharp, jarring change. Instead, he joins Shouyou in making plans for him and Kageyama to stay at Kenma’s house for a day or two after camp. Kenma lets himself be carried by the waves of Shouyou’s enthusiasm as they joke, think up ideas that will not come to fruition by this training camp but are fun nonetheless. Kenma may be more refined than Shouyou, but he is no less excited.
(He would never say it, he has a reputation to maintain, but his own anticipation is building too, excitement at the prospect of getting to see Shouyou in action.)
Days progress just like that until the training camp is upon them. The second the doors of Karasuno’s bus open, Shouyou is tumbling out and right to Kenma’s side. Kenma can hear a faint wait up, idiot! from the bus, and he certainly knows who that is, but right now is for Shouyou and Shouyou alone.
Shouyou goes in for the hug, telegraphing his actions and giving Kenma plenty of time to back out if he would so prefer. He doesn’t, and ends up with a face full of Shouyou’s very orange hair and the wind knocked out of him.
Kenma is still confused, still doesn’t quite understand why hugs are okay from Shouyou but not from anybody else, but then again that looks like a problem for tomorrow.
They part, just as Kageyama comes barreling off of the bus.
“Don’t run, stupid,” he mutters. “Especially not off the bus. There are steps, and you have the coordination of a baby deer.”
“Oooohh, coordination,” Shouyou says. “That’s a big word, Bakageyama. Are you sure you know what it means?”
“Of course I do, I wouldn’t have used it otherwise! And like you’re one to talk, you failed our last test!”
“That was a math test, that doesn’t apply here!”
“Still!”
And again, they fall apart.
Kenma waits and waits until they piece themselves back into something resembling civil.
Once, twice, three times:
Kenma often wonders how many times you have to speak to somebody before you’re allowed to call them a friend.
They take too much time, drone on and on until their captain is calling for them to rejoin their team. Kenma feels a little touch of irritation worm and writhe beneath his skin, annoyance at not being able to speak with Shouyou for even a little longer.
Kenma’s patient, though. He can wait until later, if need be.
Besides, he finally is getting his chance to play against Shouyou. Talking can wait.
Shouyou and Kageyama leave, and Kenma gravitates back towards Kuroo. He has, right here and now, a job to do and some games to win.
Crows to beat, Kuroo would say with that stupid little grin of his.
“Alrighty, kitten,” Kuroo says as Kenma draws near. He pokes the smaller boy lightly in the arm. “Get your head in the game! We’ve got some crows to beat.”
~~~
They play. Shouyou soars.
Kenma was right, was so very right. Shouyou grows and evolves at such a rapid pace that Kenma’s head is left whirling and spinning in his wake.
And he loves it. Every second of disorientation, every little prick of unease or frustration fuels him, spurs him onwards, provides him with some genuine motivation.
Karasuno hasn’t won a single game yet, but they will. There will be no stopping them once they open the floodgates, and Kenma has every intention of taking on the deluge with nothing more than a fishing boat. He’s ready for a challenge in something other than a video game. He’s ready to have something to have to work for.
He’s so excited.
~~~
Afterwards, Shouyou talks. Kenma sits and listens, playing his DS and nodding along. Shouyou stands behind him as he chatters, pulling Kenma’s hair into tiny ponytails with hair ties he apparently keeps on hand for his little sister.
“And then he asked me to call him Tobio! I think we’re dating now, Kenma!”
Kenma pauses his game and twists to look at his friend, smiling.
“I’m happy for you Shouyou.”
And he is happy for Shouyou, because Shouyou feels a lot all at once, and he needs somebody to filter those emotions. Tobio will be good for Shouyou, is already good for Shouyou, and Kenma likes Shouyou so Kenma is happy. It’s simple, like a math equation.
They sit for longer, like their first conversation, but this time there is no awkward period of acquaintance and acquaintance alone. They can talk, laugh like the friends Kenma is becoming more and more sure that they are. And, as is becoming the pattern, they are interrupted by Kuroo.
Kenma’s longtime friend takes one look at Kenma’s hair and snorts. Kenma shoots him a look, daring him to comment, daring him to act as though he has a leg to stand on with that messy hairstyle of his.
He backs down, but there is still the inklings of a glint in his eyes and Kenma knows that he will be hearing about this later.
“Oi Kitten, Shrimpy, it’s time for dinner. You better get there fast or there’s gonna be nothin’ left.”
“Dinner!” Shouyou gasps. “Come on, Kenma, food!”
He tugs on Kenma’s hand, leading him towards the cafeteria. Kenma keeps his attention fixed on his game, trusting Shouyou to keep him from tripping. He doesn’t bother trying to remove the ponytails that stick up and around his face, framing it like a lion's mane, because something tells him that the moment he sat down again Shouyou would be behind him, chattering and with those hair ties he holds for his sister.
It’s nice to be able to think of Shouyou as a constant.
Discontent, unease, and everything in between:
Kenma does not like change. There is nothing more to it.
~~~
They continue, after dinner. Kenma’s hair had attracted some raised eyebrows, Shouyou’s presence at his side had generated some confusion, but it was still nice. Now they sit together on Kenma’s futon, in the otherwise empty quarters designated for Nekoma.
Shouyou has wormed his way directly into Kenma’s lap, the slightly shorter boy nuzzling into Kenma’s shoulder. Anyone else, Kenma thinks, and he would have been bothered by this, but Shouyou likes touch and Kenma likes Shouyou.
So he takes it a step further, lifts Shouyou’s arms up and drapes them around his own neck so he can pull the smaller boy flush against his chest. It's comfortable, somehow familiar, the way Shouyou stretches out his legs on either side of Kenma so he can push ever closer.
Never one for silence, Shouyou starts speaking. The low thrum of his voice resonates in Kenma’s chest as he quietly tells him about his sister’s growing interest in drawing, and how sometimes he sits and sketches with her even though he’s really no good at all.
“It’s fun though, and just because I’m no good doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try,” Shouyou says, like it’s a fact.
And that, Kenma thinks, is where they truly differ.
Kenma is flighty, fleeting, wants to belong to an excessive degree. He doesn’t want to stand out, wants to be one of many, a cog in the machine and a voice in the crowd. He wants to melt into the universe and be nothing in particular and nowhere at all, part of everything but absolutely nothing of substance or note or interest.
Shouyou is different. Shouyou is grounded, a focal point. His presence is heavy-handed, too much effort to ignore, bright and loud and excited. Shouyou exists in only one place, at only one time, with feverish enthusiasm and a single-minded purpose.
Kenma is content just to be, but Shouyou needs to forge on.
But there is nothing for Shouyou to figure out right now, no walls to overcome or mountains to climb, so instead he sits and talks quietly, lets Kenma thread his fingers through the soft strands of his hair. Shouyou leans into the touch, chases it as Kenma makes to remove his hand. He relents, burying his fingers again in Shouyou’s hair and gently nudging the other boy’s head beneath his chin.
Shouyou’s stream of words ebbs as he melts into Kenma’s touch, into the small circles that Kenma is drawing on his back. He tilts his head slightly to the side, rests his forehead in the crook of Kenma’s shoulder and tightens his hold around the taller boy’s shoulders. He lazily mirrors Kenma’s motions, running his fingers up and down the length of his spine as his breathing evens.
“Do you ever get tired, Shouyou?” Kenma murmurs. He doesn’t see how Shouyou couldn’t, because he thinks that being his friend would be absolutely exhausting.
Shouyou moves to pull back, instinctually seeking to meet Kenma’s eyes, but the other boy gently pushes his head back into the hollow of his neck. Eye contact is difficult, but this is not, and Shouyou’s hair is very soft.
“Whaddya mean, Kenma?” Shouyou says, voice slightly muffled.
Kenma’s never been very good with words, but he is going to try. This concept of exhaustion, of overextending and existing, seems instrumental, something that needs to be understood by the both of them before they can leave this room.
Drawing to a close:
Kenma finds it difficult to speak after being in a crowd. He gets tired and flustered, so he stutters.
“The world’s kinda big, Shouyou, and you’re a lot. Doesn’t it get exhausting? Having to maintain yourself?”
He removes his hand from Shouyou’s hair and instead clasps it with his other near the small of his back. Shouyou’s face is still hidden in Kenma’s shoulder, but he can imagine the scrunching of his nose as he processes Kenma’s words.
“I don’t think anything’s really complicated,” Shouyou finally says. “We all just like pretty things and that’s that.” He snorts a bit, moving again to rest his head against Kenma’s chest.
“Kinda like dragons. I think I would make a cool dragon, right Kenma?”
“Right, Shouyou,” Kenma agrees. And he doesn’t think that it’s that simple, because he does like pretty things, but he also likes pretty words, and pretty ideas, and feels like life moves too fast and gets sleepy at four in the afternoon, but maybe Shouyou is onto something.
~~~
For the third time they are found, and for the first time they are misunderstood.
Kenma knows that if this friendship continues as it is, then this will not be the last; the two of them will be under scrutiny, if not necessarily obviously than certainly in secret. It’s unfortunate, and he hates it, but people talk and talk and talk. When the unlikely trio of Sugawara, Lev, and Kageyama walk through the door, he feels his heart drop because he knows how this looks, and he knows the conclusions that will be drawn.
His eyes meet Kageyama’s over Shouyou’s shoulder and skitter away like two magnets forced together at the same pole.
Kageyama, though, isn’t accusatory, doesn’t even glare. Instead he picks his way through the laid out futons and bends down to lightly jab Shouyou’s side.
“I thought we were gonna practice after dinner.” He says.
Shouyou takes his time untangling his limbs from Kenma’s, as unconcerned as Kageyama, and Kenma is still reeling because oh my god there was nothing romantic about this but who would believe that holy fuck.
“We are, but I wanted to cuddle first!”
“You can cuddle after we practice. Now come on.”
Kageyama tugs at Shouyou again, herding him towards the door. They get halfway there, just past Sugawara who looks perfect as always and Lev who’s gaping like a fish, when Shouyou throws himself onto Kageyama’s back.
“You cuddle me, then!”
“Practice first!” Kageyama growls. He soldiers onwards, dragging Shouyou behind him. He grabs the smaller boy’s head and pushes, trying in vain to disconnect him from his waist.
“What the hell? Get off! Off!”
“Love me, already!” Shouyou shrieks as they break into the hallway. Their voices fade as they continue, and then it’s just Sugawara and Lev and Kenma and his fear.
“Wasn’t what it looked like,” he mumbles. “We really we’re just cuddling.”
“Don’t mind, don’t mind!” Sugawara laughs. “We all know how clingy Hinata can be. I remember when Yachi first joined the club, that poor girl. I swear, we all thought Hinata had somehow superglued himself to her shoulder.”
Yachi is the small blonde manager, Kenma thinks, the one who’s dating Shimizu Kiyoko, the one who featured in so many of Shouyou’s selfies. Kenma can imagine the way Shouyou attaches himself to her side, stealing hugs and forehead touches that would seem terribly intimate to any outsider but are nothing but comfortable to those involved.
Although if the way Sugawara was speaking is any indication, if the way the silver-haired boy appeared in so many of Shouyou’s photos is to be considered, than it is safe to say that Sugawara is privy to the same kind of treatment. It’s sweet, Kenma thinks, that Shouyou has so many people willing to accommodate him. He deserves it.
But people exist outside of their system, people like Haiba Lev who is still very confused.
Kenma finds Lev exhausting, his childish enthusiasm that bleeds into determination a stubbornly difficult combination. Lev also lacks nuance, subtlety, but he can hardly be faulted for that; somebody of Lev’s size must be terribly used to barreling through most any situation.
In any case, Lev stands now, confused, next to Sugawara and in front of Kenma.
“I thought we were picking up scary black-haired guy’s boyfriend?” He says.
“We just did,” Sugawara says, and Kenma gets the feeling that Sugawara already knows exactly where this conversation is going to go.
“The orange-hair guy?” Lev asks. “Wasn’t he just all over Kenma?”
If that isn’t the big-ticket question. Lev is confirming Kenma’s suspicions, the inklings of fear that trickle down his spine, the worry, worry, worry that cements the base of his skull.
Jealousy is ugly, Kageyama is frightening, and Lev can’t keep his ( big, jumping to conclusions ) mouth shut.
“That’s just Hinata,” Sugawara snorts, blasé as can be. “He likes to touch.”
Levs forehead wrinkles. His face twists, as though he’s trying to puzzle out one of the great mysteries of the universe, like he’s pondering a math equation that he just can’t solve. Kenma can almost see the gears turning (slowly) in the much taller boy’s head, but Lev is only stupid, not set in his ways, so he’ll figure it out soon enough.
“Oh!” Lev says. “I see! But Kennmmmaaa, I tried to hug you once and you hissed at me! Hissed!”
Kenma really does not have anything to say to that, anything at all, because he was confused by the very same thing.
Why, he asks himself, I wonder why, but Kenma knows.
It’s Shouyou, who is the exception to a great many things, to locked-up emotions and defined boundaries. Or it’s Kenma, who’s different this time, who is changing and softening and becoming so, so fascinated.
A revelation:
Resolve is paper-thin.
In any case, they have all said their part. Lev has had his thirty-second epiphany.
Sugawara exits the room, saying how he has to make sure those two don’t kill each other, and Lev soon follows, mumbling something about hugs and Yaku and short.
That boy is going to get punched.
After Lev leaves, it is quiet. Still.
All that’s left for now is Kenma, Kenma and an empty room full of futons and an unspoken promise that a boy with orange-hair and expressive eyes will brighten its walls again another day. And that promise sustains, extends, reaches its tendrils into every area of Kenma’s life and quails the uncertainty that lurks in corners and around walls. His brain hums and thrums and waits, waits for Shouyou to return.
A simple truth:
One way or another, everything comes to an end.
-FIN