Chapter Text
Kenma pushed open the white wooden door and the cool air rushed around him. It was laden with the scent of coffee and tinged with sugary syrups and pastries. The quiet chatter and steam from the espresso machine filled his ears. The worn floor creaked under his steps. Everywhere, customers sat in fluffy couches or at mismatched tables nursing a beverage. The early morning sun lit up the knickknacks and flowers set up around the room. While Kenma loved to sit and relax at the Crème Pot, today he was in a rush.
He walked past the large patches of sunlight, slightly disappointed that he couldn’t lounge in them; the morning was cold though the radios and TV prophesized a warm day. He queued up next to the pastry display and tried to peer into it to select his breakfast. Alas, a person shifted and blocked Kenma’s view of the precious sustenance. Damn tall people, he thought with a quick frown. He tried to lean around their broad shoulders to eye the goods to no avail.
At least there’s only him in line. Kenma gave up his attempts as the man in front of him stepped forward. He checked his phone; still ten minutes until class. Kenma’s lecture was in a nearby building but he was not in the mood for an early morning jog.
“Ah, hello. Can I have a grande iced caramel macchiato, low ice?” the man drawled, barely stifling a yawn. The dude didn’t even seem to have brushed his hair. How conspicuously messy.
While Kenma was far from fashionable but he had watched enough episodes of What Not to Wear and learnt a thing or two. He didn’t want to stand out but horrible fashion was a raging beacon of “Please look at me!” Kenma tried to balance his wardrobe between chic and mismatched but that didn’t mean he didn’t know a poor fashion choice when he saw it. For example, this man ordering another drink was wearing sweatpants (please keep those at the gym), a ratty t-shirt (in this cold?), and had some of the worst bedhead Kenma had ever seen. By the time he reached the flip-flops with socks, Kenma was internally screaming.
“And a venti green tea with soy milk…” The man droned on. Ew, soy milk, really?
Kenma decided that it was acceptable to space out for a while longer. He shifted as he picked up his previous train of thought. He was always afraid of what others might think of him or what he said so he tried to blend in. It wasn’t that he was bland or wanted to express himself; far from it. He had strong opinions on matters and wasn’t empty minded or blind to what was around him. It’s because of this hypersensitivity that he found it hard to express his thoughts.
“-half-caf, no foam cappuccino and uh…”
Knitting his eyebrows, Kenma checked his phone again. Three minutes to class! This loser has been ordering overly-detailed coffees for nearly ten minutes. What the hell is half-caf anyways?
By the time it was Kenma’s turn to order, he was five minutes late to class. The man turned away after paying and Kenma caught a glimpse of his face and his breathe caught in anger. Aw fuck he’s hot, how dare he be fucking hot. Fuck this, fuck my life, fuck my coffee. I can’t deal with all this without caffeine. He ordered a double shot of espresso in his latte and resigned himself to running to class with his breakfast in hand like some anime protagonist. He silently cursed the man and his attractive face while darting across the street to his biology lecture.
He burst into the giant hall panting. People were still milling about. Kenma thanked the gods that the professor was tardier than him. He chose his usual spot; not too close but not too far back as to arouse suspicion but decently far away from other groups of people. He pulled out his laptop and opened his notes just as the professor entered. He sipped his coffee and occasionally typed a bit of information or an explanation.
He still wasn’t used to the fact he actually had to give effort in class now. Until now, Kenma had glided along with solely his intelligence and sheer luck, somehow maintaining an A average. He was the dreaded combination of smart and lazy. It led to a lot of doodles in his notebook margins. Now that the topics were harder and more in depth, he actually had to study and he had no idea how to do it. Still, this was his sophomore year and he hadn’t failed yet so he must be doing something right.
After a tiring day of STEM classes, humanities-loving Kenma collapsed on his dorm room bed. The thin mattress was more like cardboard but the amount of cushions and blankets piled on top more than made up for it. His obnoxious roommate was suspiciously missing but Kenma didn’t care; he welcomed the quiet. He had had mac and cheese and apple pie for dinner and had no pressing essays or work due soon. Kenma was content. He relaxed into his comforter, curling up and hugging his pillow. He had fallen into a light nap when he heard the dreaded noise. Keys jangling, shuffling, the doorknob turning. Lev was back. He groaned into the fluff and tried to disappear. Maybe if he sank deep enough, Lev wouldn’t see him. Maybe even life and all his problems wouldn’t be able to find him.
“Hey, Kenma-san, you awake?” a hesitant voice asked.
Kenma ignored the question and pretended to be asleep.
Lev snorted and muttered, “He even sleeps like a cat.”
Kenma heard the tall man climb into bed and start typing, the soft sound of music coming from headphones, which meant, to Lev, it was loud enough to possibly damage his hearing.
Last year, Kenma had filled out his room request for a single almost as soon as the application went online. Though small, the room allowed Kenma a place to truly relax without worrying about others. However, this year, he completely forgot until the application was nearly due. Since it was first come, first served, Kenma and the other late applicants were stuck with each other, regardless of their preferences. This is how the gangly, loud, and Nancy Drew-level curious Haiba Lev ended up his roommate. Kenma tried for a transfer but no one else was willing to share a space with the half-Russian. Off-campus housing was unavailable for underclassmen so Kenma had to suck it up and deal with Lev and his shitty pop songs for a year.
“Too hot, hot damn…” Lev mumbled along to his tunes while gently bobbing his head.
You’ve been listening to that song since last week, aren’t you tired of it yet? Kenma mentally screeched, annoyed at Lev’s music choice and his own love of the song. Fuck my music taste.
Despite their blatant differences, the roommates got on rather well. Most days, at least. They both secretly like the same bubblegum pop songs the radio played until the record worn through. They both engaged in some casual volleyball, though Lev was much more into it and was on the team. They had similar tastes in video games and sometimes shared their systems and disks. However, Lev’s childish nature pushed Kenma too far some days. Whether it was a social meeting in their dorm or prodding Kenma with personal questions or stealing Kenma’s snacks, it usually ended up with one of them spending most of the day elsewhere. Kenma liked to escape to the lowest level of the library, where it was so quiet he swore he could hear his heart beat sometimes. Lev had a short, choleric friend who usually let him bum around until Kenma cooled down.
Kenma rolled over and peered at his roommate. Lev was still singing under his breath but was now reading a textbook, his silver hair glowing blue on one side from his computer. Feeling eyes on him, Lev looked up.
“Oh, you’re awake,” he noted with a smile.
“Unfortunately,” Kenma replied, words muffled by his comforter.
“Well, you can go back to sleep, if you want,” he shrugged. “I’m not having anyone over today because I’ve got a Russian quiz tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Kenma said but reached over for his phone. 6:48pm. Also low on battery. Too early to sleep at any rate.
He sat up and kicked aside his tangle of blankets. He selected his favorite red hoodie from his closet, one with a circle design with Amsterdam on it. He had bought it when his family visited the Netherlands a few years ago. He also pulled out large black case. With his height it lifted only a few inches of the ground. But, while large, it wasn’t that heavy.
“I’m going to go practice. See ya,” Kenma announced and opened the door.
“Later,” Lev distractedly muttered, staring intensely at something in his book.
A short walk later, Kenma was outside. The tree were half-bare, the remaining foliage a muddle of reds and yellows. Around their bases were piles of the dead leaves, the pretty warm colored ones mixed with the crushed green and black ones. The chilly wind blew the crispy nature across the yard, its grass dull green. Other students rushed back to their dorms or to the dining hall. A couple very brave souls donned exercise gear, jogging along the stone paths. It was dark but the intermittent lamps lit up the walkway well enough. Kenma ducked his chin in his hoodie and picked up the pace, heading towards the arts building.
Once inside, Kenma relished the warmth. The lobby was rather dull, this years’ art students yet to have decorated it. He climbed the stairs and walked past several rooms, most dark though one was blasting samba music. A strange class to hold at this hour but its participants looked amused as they tried to step correctly. Key word, tried. Finally, Kenma reached his favorite music room. It was small, somewhat soundproof, and far, far from anyone.
He unzipped the case and pulled out the large instrument. It was a cello. The wood was a bit worn and lost its luster but produced wonderful noises when tuned correctly. Kenma sat in a chair and slid the bow over the strings, moving up and down a quick scale. He closed his eyes and started playing a song from memory. It was Bach’s Suite No. 2 in D minor.
Kenma had been playing string instruments since second grade. His parents thought it a good idea to have him learn an instrument and selected the violin at first. Kenma excelled at his lessons, playing more marvelously than his parents could have ever imagined. Curious, the young Kenma tried out the viola and finally cello before settling on the latter. He loved the deep, resonant sounds it produced, from the sad melancholic to quick tunes that filled you with passion.
At first, his parents thought it cute but when Kenma started becoming serious about playing more difficult music, they began to worry. They knew their shy child could never be comfortable on stage nor wanted him to pursue that path; it would be a hard career to start and short lived. They wanted him to pick something more functional to study, like medicine or law. They grew to dislike his passion for the cello. As so, Kenma could only practice when they weren’t home and could never speak to his parents about new pieces he had mastered or a new song he composed.
Their disapproval seem to grow to cover all of Kenma’s hobbies; cello, video games, volleyball, composing, reading manga. They only wanted him to study. When they couldn’t see, he often had meltdowns from exhaustion and “poor grades.” He was unable to make friends, except a few short-lived acquaintances. He didn’t mind that; he didn’t want much to do with people in the first place. But dealing with all the pressure alone got to him sometimes. Even now, he was studying neuroscience at his parents’ demand. He found the topic interesting and didn’t mind studying it but he just wished his parents would support his other interests or at least see that he wasn’t a robot for them to mold and control.
Drawing out the last long note, his mind wandered elsewhere. Finally away from the oppressing reach of his parents, he played as often as he wanted and even earned money by teaching others string instruments. It was strange to be able to do as he pleased but refreshing. He still worried what others thought but now that was his only close concern as opposed to before when his parents watched his every move. Kenma still felt their presence as they paid for his school but at last he felt free of their daily judgment and disapproval.
Kenma was about to start Suite No. 3 when he heard voices outside the door. He froze.
“… Don’t want to be more…”
“… All for nothing?”
“We agreed at the beginning to…”
“… Changed. I didn’t mean to...”
“… I’m sorry…”
The discussion didn’t sound pleasant to Kenma but he was more nervous that they would enter his room. The voices tickled his memory but he could not place them. Perhaps they were in a class of his? To his relief, the voices faded as they continued walking presumably.
Kenma rolled his eyes and started another song. It was Secrets by OneRepublic. Unlike some other music snobs he’d met, he didn’t turn his nose up at modern popular music, even if rearrangements of pop songs were pretty simple. It wasn’t rare to find Lana Del Ray or Owl City or even the stray Nicki Minaj in his music library. Plus, he thought the song was apropos for the situation that had just passed. Silly college dramas. I won’t ever get mixed up in one of those, he scoffed.
He sung along quietly, closing his eyes as he played. Kenma found music helped keep that part of his mind occupied so that his normal processes could function better.
His mind ran too fast, noted too much, overanalyzed anything and everything.
Kenma practiced for more an hour, polishing a few pieces he had just learned. His phone told him it was 9pm and had 5%. He only needed it to check the time anyways.
He carefully put his old cello away, first wiping it down and then securing it in place. He folded his sheet music and placed it in the extra space in the case where he kept his rosin tin, extra strings, and other equipment. He quietly slipped out of the room and padded down the hallway, his weathered Converse occasionally squeaking on the linoleum floors. Even the samba class had cleared out ages ago.
He paused at the doors and gathered his courage. The campus was relatively safe but he worried nevertheless. Plus it was cold as fuck. He pushed open the door and darted into the dark, keeping an eye on other buildings and quickly peering into alleys before running past. It was only when he reached his dormitory’s stoop that he rested in the light.
He fished around his pocket for his ID card and keys. It wasn’t in his hoodie pocket so he tried his jeans. A chill settled into his stomach. It wasn’t there. He didn’t even have his wallet. He had left his key in his room. Shit. Putting his cello down, he used both hands to text Lev.
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
21:29
lev, can you open the door for me? I forgot my key
Kenma waited a minute, pulling his sleeves over his hands. No reply.
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
21:35
Srly lev come open the door
The wind was freezing as Kenma stood in his hoodie, gazing at the lit-up windows. So close but so far.
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
21:40
i s2g lev
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
21:40
plOX open the door
The messages were all unread. Not a soul walked past. Kenma’s anxiety shot up as if carried by the breeze. He called Lev twice but no one picked up.
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
21:45
wtf the fuck i left you in the dorm how can you not see your phone ringing
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
21:51
i hate u so much
Kenma swore loudly. Why me? Why today? I only wanted to play my cello a little.
His only other option was to go down to the main office and ask for another key, which would result in much embarrassment and stuttering. He wanted to avoid that as much as possible.
So he decided to wait. He would wait for another student to come along and beg them to open the door. That level of embarrassment he could deal with.
To: Leg Halibut
From: Kozume K.
22:01
u shit, im never letting u play my ddr again
With that message send, Kenma’s phone went belly up and died. No more messages, calling, or even games while he waited. He sank to the ground, leaning against the wall. It was cold and tugged at the fabric of his clothes. He pulled his hood on and hid his chin in the fabric. He watched the tree branches rock in the wind and leaves hit objects mercilessly before disappearing into the dark. He rethought many of his life choices.
Fifteen minutes later and still no sign of anyone. He had been waiting for nearly an hour at this point. He felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes but willed them not to spill. The last thing he needed was to be found crying outside. He sniffled from the cold, and only the cold mind you, and tried to calm down. He closed his eyes and lied to himself about how everything will be alright.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
Kenma’s eyes shot open and a tear fell. Shit.
“N-no, I just forgot my key,” he stuttered out the truth in shock instead of some half-assed lie. He looked away and tried to discreetly wipe his eyes.
“Aw, that sucks. But don’t worry, I’ve done that, too.” The ginger smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Hinata Shouyou!”
“Kozume Kenma,” he replied and took the hand. Hinata pulled him up easily even though he was short and wiry.
“So, what’s in the case?” Hinata asked, swiping his card and holding the door open.
“My cello,” Kenma said quietly, glad the boy either chose to ignore his sniffles or truly didn’t notice them. “I was practicing until just a while ago.” Not quite a lie but not quite the truth.
“That’s neat!” Hinata exclaimed, following Kenma into the mudroom. “I always wished I could play an instrument but I have a terrible sense of rhythm.”
Kenma cracked a little smile. He was happy to be inside, sure, but this Hinata person radiated an aura of joy.
“Thanks again for letting me in,” Kenma said. “It was nice to meet you, Hinata.”
The orange-haired boy waved away the formality. “Just call me Shouyou. I hope to see you around, though. Bye, Kenma!”
“See ya, Shouyou.” Kenma waved as the boy bounded down the hallway.
Hinata seemed like he had a lot of energy and Kenma truly wished to see him again. Perhaps they could be friends. He never had many of those and welcomed the idea.
Kenma walked down the quiet hallway to his room. The door was covered in memes, supplied by a certain Russian. Surprisingly, said door was unlocked. Lev was snoring into a textbook, page damp with drool. Studying, my ass. Kenma swore at his sleeping figure before changing out of his street clothes. He eyed his PSP and considered starting a new quest but his body had other ideas as he sank into bed.
Today was more eventful than an entire week. As he nodded off, he wished for the remainder of the week to go peacefully.
Boy, was he in for a big storm.