Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, when he is dancing, Kenma forgets that the rest of the world exists. It’s second nature to him now, as if the music and the moves are a part of his body, like breathing or blinking. And Kageyama’s playing is as beautiful and consistent as ever, never missing a beat, never holding on to a note for too long. It makes it easy for Kenma to lose himself in it.

When it is over, he holds his final pose as long as the applause lasts, and then, when the clapping trickles down to a few quiet scatters, he feels the world come back to him. It always aches afterwards because he’s too lazy to stretch properly beforehand, and he wonders if he will ever miss the ache once it’s gone.

Kenma doesn’t want to dance forever. If he had been born a few decades ago, he would’ve had to as a Five, but now that the caste system is dismantled, everyone is free to pursue whatever career they choose.

Not that it happens perfectly all the time. Case in point—his family is still relying on their previous careers as Fives. His mother is a singer and dancer. His father is a sculptor. They still teach him at a very young age how to dance, and maybe it’s the generations of dancing and performing that has genetically gifted him with a lithe and nimble body for it.  But Kenma wants something different for himself, so he enrolls in college part-time with the money that he earns. He can choose to be a teacher or an engineer if he wants, the jobs previously reserved for Threes, or pursue a simple job as a store clerk or secretary (caste Six).

A lot of people are motivated to move “up” in the world, even though the caste system doesn’t exist anymore, so no career is technically “better” than another, but Kenma is only interested in doing things that feels right to him. And although he is good at dancing, it doesn’t feel quite right. He’s still figuring out what it is.

Kenma glances around the room for Kageyama, wondering if he should wait for him. They like to walk home together, but the thought of possibly running into Haru makes him want to gag. He doesn’t need to run into his ex here. Especially since the last time they saw each other at one of these, Haru’s face was under the shirt of the son of some city officials in one of the vacant rooms.

He gives his friend a small wave and retreats into the powder room. He lets his hair out of its tight bun, feeling the tension in his head loosen as his hair falls down. He slips the small envelope containing his earnings into his bag and sets home, Kageyama’s soothing piano getting smaller and smaller as his feet carry him away from the party.

~

“Welcome home, Kenma.” His mom’s voice carries all the way into the genkan. She pokes her smiling face at him from the living room. “Hurry in or you’ll miss the special announcement!”

“Coming,” he calls, although he doesn’t change his pace at all. His parents are obsessed with watching the Reports, the weekly Friday news directly from the Palace. They like to keep up with the current events while Kenma can’t care less. He probably should, as he feels the unrest building and hears whispers on the street of possible civil disputes rising throughout the country, but he doesn’t really want to get involved in any of it. Even though the caste system is gone, the elitism and discrimination from it hasn’t gone away with it. And it doesn’t seem like the monarchs are doing much to quell the disputes other than saying pretty words like, “we’re aware” and “we’re doing our best to listen to you”. 

“How was work today?” His mom makes room on the couch for him. His dad waves from her other side.  

“Fine.” Kenma sinks into the couch, letting gravity pull him into it. It always hits him how tired he actually is when he sits down, as if his body is finally giving him permission for it.

“And how about…” Her tone is indicative enough without finishing the rest of her sentence.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes low. “I didn’t see him.” She is aware of his recent break-up with Haru. He didn’t want to tell her any details, but she knows that it ended on bad terms to say the least.

She hums appreciatively. Kenma turns his attention to his phone, playing a quick game as he waits. He feels his mom’s excited taps on his knees before he even hears the music to the Reports playing from the TV.

Reluctantly, Kenma puts away his phone and faces the screen. The announcer Aritaka Shishio’s smiling face greets them, microphone in his hand. His thick brows and spiky black hair fills the screen in its usually cheeriness. He always looks so happy to be doing his job. Kenma often wonders how much of it is real.

“Hello, good evening, citizens of Nekoma! I hope you’re all having a wonderful day. As we’ve alluded throughout the week, we have a very special announcement today from our very own Crown Prince. I know we are all excited, so I’ll turn it over to him.” He motions behind him, and the camera pans to the two royals sitting on their thrones.

One is King Kuroo Ichiro, in his elegant suit and decorated lapels. To Kenma, he always looks stern, his brown eyes seem to stare deep into your soul. His bushy brows are strewn together like he’s displeased. On his right, coming into focus on the TV screen now, is Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. He is almost a splitting image of his father, although his eyes are a warm gold and his black hair is an untamable mess, not at all the put-together image of a to-be King. But he’s tall and his shoulders are broad, like they truly are meant to carry the burden of a country.

Kenma doesn’t want to admit it, but the prince looks rather handsome. When he smiles, an easy but bright smile that shows the perfectly lined teeth, Kenma feels that “prince charming” energy radiates off him—though he would soon die before saying this to anyone out loud.

“Well, thank you, Shishio.” He bows before clearing his throat and continuing. “As you all know, as Crown Prince of Nekoma, I follow my father closely and aim to lead our country as well as he has.”

Kenma snorts under his breath. His mother shushes him.

“It’s a lot of responsibility, and I’m truly honored to be able to serve you all. However, before I can fully ascend and take my position, I feel that I need something—or more, specifically, someone—who will keep me grounded and steady outside of the realms of politics. I feel that it is time I search for my partner, my better half, and my voice of reason. God knows, I particularly need that.” He pauses, chuckling a bit at his own joke. Kenma can tell that he’s a dork just from that. The prince continues, “As my father had done, I will hold a Selection, and I invite you, the good men of Nekoma to apply to be a candidate. One man from each province will be selected, for a total of 35, but of course, I will only get the pleasure of choosing one of you to be my partner for the rest of my life.” He winks at the camera. And Kenma’s heart definitely doesn’t flutter at the gesture.

His mind, though, is busy racing at the news. A Selection. The prince is looking for the love of his life.

“Kenma—” His mother nudges at him.

“No.” He says quickly, even as the thought briefly crosses his mind. Very, extremely briefly. Then, all common sense and reason comes back to him.

“You don’t even—”

“Mom, no.” Prince Tetsurou is still talking on the screen, giving the age requirements, instructions, and deadlines to the application. Kenma is trying not to listen. He’s trying to ignore his mother’s hopeful and pointed look. “I mean, look at him.”

She rolls his eyes. “Oh yes, tall, dark, handsome. Totally undatable.”

“Dad’s right there!”

“You know, I’m with your mother always.” His father tuts. “But he is quite easy on the eyes.”

“Dad!” Kenma cannot believe he’s having this conversation with his parents. He cannot believe they’re even considering this. He sounds like a child when he whines, “I don’t want to be a prince.”

“Prince Consort.” His mother points out, her gold eyes still glittering mischievously. “Hardly the same thing.”

He groans, putting his head in his hands.

“All we’re saying, honey, is that it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“That’s what the Selection is for. Getting to know him.”

“I might not even get selected.” There’s no way he’s applying. No way.

“Then that’s the harm in applying?”

Kenma sighs, getting up from his spot on the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

His mother calls after him, clearly still not giving up her impossible pipe dream. “Applications close next week!”

“Good night.” Kenma says decisively as he walks away. He doesn’t even need to turn back to know that his parents are whispering to one another, his father going along with his mother’s crazy ideas.

But there’s nothing they can say to convince him to do it because seriously? A royal? Him? Never in a million years.

~

Kenma wakes up the next morning with a headache, a sign that today is already not going to go well. Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he sees that he has three missed messages from Haru. He groans into his pillow. He should’ve blocked his number.

Haru: Hey, Kenma. Was looking for you yesterday but couldn't catch you

Haru: Can we talk?

Haru: I will be by your side of town today. Please, then I’ll leave you alone.

Kenma knows he doesn’t owe him anything. They’ve only dated for half a year, and sure, that is the longest he has ever been in a relationship, even at the age of 23, but that doesn’t mean he was madly in love with him. But that also doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt because he felt the betrayal deep in his bones. Even now, just remembering that moment, Kenma feels off-balanced, like someone is repeatedly punching him in the guts, determined to make him fall down.

He had run out of there without saying a word. He could’ve yelled and screamed, but he knew the guests and host would’ve looked at him with disdain in their eyes and he never would’ve been hired again. And what would they do? Side with Kenma, an easily replaceable dancer that appears in their parties maybe three times a year? Or ignore the ordeal because Haru and his parents are the ones the parties are for anyways?

They had met at one of these parties. Haru had found him beautiful and captivating. Apparently, that is before he finds someone better. Someone who is more apt to be seen with him in public. Because although they’ve gone on dates, Haru has never once held his hand when they’re outside together. Kenma is sure he wouldn’t mind doing that with that boy whose parents are probably previous Threes or Twos, whose lips he just has to taste in the middle of Kenma’s performance.

They haven’t talked or seen each other in weeks, that should be enough, right? It’s pretty clear that Kenma wants nothing to do with him. Then, another part of him thinks that maybe they should just meet one last time, just to put this whole thing behind them. Kenma can tell him to fuck off in person and never look for him again.

Against his better judgement, Kenma types back a Yes.

His head throbs. It’s really going to be a terrible day.

~

Haru is sitting at their regular table at the restaurant. Presumably, he has already ordered his lunch too. Kenma would’ve worried that he got him something (he doesn’t plan to stay for the meal) if he thinks Haru had paid attention to what Kenma likes to eat. Looking back at it, their relationship had been doomed from the start. Maybe Kenma just likes the attentions and has ignored all of the signs telling him it’s a bad idea.

Like the voice in his head this morning warning against this meeting.

“Hey, Kenma.” Haru flashes him a smile. Kenma almost falls out of his chair. Something is different about the way he looks today. His skin, his hair…

“Are you wearing makeup?” Kenma squints, peering closer. He can see a sheer powdery substance on his skin and a faint blush on his normally pale cheeks. His brown hair looks good, although he always spends too long on it in the mornings. It’s styled a bit differently today, though, as if attempting to recreate an effortlessly beautiful look.

“Yes. So what?” He huffs, lips falling from his bright smile just a bit. “I wanted to look nice for the pictures.”

“What pictures?”

“For the Selection.” He says flatly, like it’s obvious. At Kenma’s blank look, he sighs, waving at him like he’s the one being silly and explains, “You have to take a picture when you go to turn in your application. How else are they going to know what you look like otherwise?”

“Right.” This must’ve been in the part of the Reports that he ignored last night. He bites back a smile and a comment that it might’ve been better for Haru to not do anything at all, but it’s none of his business if he wants to make a fool of himself on national television. Kenma clears his throat. “So, you wanted to talk.”

“Yes.” His expression turns serious. He gulps down some water before looking straight at Kenma, eyes grim. “I just want to say how sorry I am that you saw what I did a few weeks ago.”

“So, you’re not sorry you did it?” Kenma’s blood is beginning to boil. Here he thought he was getting an actual apology.

“I’m getting there!” A few people turn to look at his suddenly raised voice. Haru realizes his mistake and lowers it. “I mean, listen, I’m sorry, okay? I never meant for it to happen. I was drunk and he was flirting with me and putting himself all over me. Next thing I know, he was pushing me into one of the rooms and then—well, you know the rest.” He gives Kenma his best sorry eyes, a slow deliberate trembling of his lips. “I’m sorry, Kenma. Really. I hope you’ll forget all about this.”

Kenma feels nauseous. And he feels angry. He can’t believe he’s dumb enough to come here, expecting some civilized conversation and closure. He feels even worse than before.

He grits his teeth. “Just so you know—we’re over. Completely.”

“I know that.” The smile is back on his face now, as if the last minute hasn’t happened, as if that “apology” has fixed everything between them. “I hope I have your support when I get selected.”

“What? You’re not serious.” Now he really can’t believe what he’s hearing. What is crazier—Haru asking for Kenma’s support? Or him thinking he’s going to get selected? Or him thinking he can become any kind of good partner, much less to the prince? Kenma doesn’t feel any particular affection towards Prince Kuroo, but he will feel sorry for him if he ends up with Haru as his Prince Consort.

“Oh, I’m serious. When I get selected, it’s as much the people’s choice as it is the prince’s. Public perception is very important to the monarchy—”

The dots are starting to connect in Kenma’s brain as he’s choosing to ignore Haru’s careful choice of the words “when he gets selected”.

“So, you invited me here to make sure I don’t spread the words and ruin your reputation.” Kenma states, deadpan.

Haru grins again. This time, his brown eyes narrow just a bit, making Kenma shiver in his chair. “I always knew you were smart, Kenma.”

“I’m offended you would think so lowly of me. I wouldn’t have done that anyways.” He’s angry now for an entirely different reason. “But you’re delusional if you think it’s that easy to get selected. There are thousands of men in our province, Haru.”

He just shrugs. “Not many have my influence.”

“It’s a lottery system.”

He does it again. “Things tend to work out in my favor. With my luck, you’re talking to your future Prince Consort. I’ll make sure to mention you in favorable terms, too, Kenma. Maybe you can even perform at our wedding.”

Kenma is speechless. He doesn’t know what to address first. Then, he decides that he shouldn’t address anything at all. Really, he’s done here.

“Okay, well—” He stands up and starts to say Good luck, but he doesn’t want to say it at all. Not even sarcastically. “Bye.”

The waitress picks this precise moment to bring out Haru’s food. Kenma is correct in that he had not ordered for him. He stares at the man in front of him and is disgusted at himself for ever attaching his name to his, even for a little bit. And the thought of Haru appearing on his TV every Friday for the Reports for the rest of his life makes him want to say many profanities out loud.

Kenma doesn’t even like the prince, but he doesn’t deserve the unfortunate pleasure of knowing Haru, not even for a minute. Kenma also knows that Haru isn’t doing this out of love. He probably can’t love anybody but himself.

Before Kenma knows it, he’s heading towards City Hall to put in his application.

It’s more out of spite than anything. And Kenma is 99% sure he’s not going to get selected, but if there’s even a sliver of a chance that he can stop Haru from being selected, then it’s good enough for him.

He’s also conscious that he’s not doing this out of love either, but he can always get sent home, can’t he? The prince probably doesn’t want anything to do with him anyways.

Kenma waits in an exceptionally long line at City Hall. It extends the door and around the block. He almost went home looking at it, but he knows that if he did, he wouldn’t come back. Only the ugly image of Haru in a crown keeps him in his spot, reluctantly inching towards the front every few minutes.

Now that he’s here, he thinks that maybe Haru isn’t so crazy to put on make-up. Some other boys have too. Some are even wearing suits. Kenma is just in his simple T-shirt and jacket. He looks decent enough, he supposes, but it’s not like he’s really here to wow the prince after all.

Finally, when he gets to the front of the line, he fills out a form with his basic information. Then, just as Haru said, he is ushered to a room where a few photographers are snapping the headshots.

“You can use this mirror here before your photo.” One of them snags him and pulls him towards his station.  

“Thanks.” Kenma only realizes now that maybe it’s a terrible idea to come here on a whim. His face in the mirror is presentable, but his hair is partially dyed blonde with his black roots showing. It doesn’t bother him because he’s too lazy to dye it back, but he knows his mother always nags at him about how awkward it looks.

It’s too late now.

Kenma decides to take his hair out of its low bun. He feels like it frames his face nicer and will make him look more decent. Maybe Prince Kuroo would like that better.

He winces at his own thought. Putting down the mirror, he goes to the spot marked X on the floor and faces the photographer.

It’s really too late now.

“Smile!” And there goes the flash, almost blinding Kenma with it.

~

Of course, his mother is over the moon when she finds out that he put his name in the application pool. For the next two weeks, it’s all she talks about at home. What would happen if he got selected? What would happen if he fell in love with the prince? What would happen if—Kenma chooses to zone her out most of the time. It hurts his head to think about. And he also doesn’t want his own mind to start wandering in places it doesn’t belong.

Before he knows it, two weeks have passed and they’re sitting in front of the TV once again for the Friday Reports. Kenma is feeling uncharacteristically nervous tonight. He tries to calm himself down, telling his mind that it’s going to be over soon, and he can go back to never thinking about the Selection again, but it’s hard to do when his mom is vibrating with excitement right next to him. He’s half-hoping that someone gets selected in their province soon, so that she can relax and go back to being a regular person.

But try as he might, Kenma can’t stop the palpitations inside his chest.

It’s just like an exam. Or before an important performance. He reminds himself. They will announce someone else’s name, and it will be over soon.

The music to the Reports starts, and Kenma doesn’t need his mom to nudge his knees this time to get his attention—his eyes are already on the screen. The Kozume household awaits the news with bated breath. He supposes that a lot of households are feeling this way right about now.

It gives him a few seconds of comfort to know that Haru is feeling a bit nauseous, too, as annoyingly arrogant as he was that he would get picked.

Shishio and Prince Kuroo go through their little banter at the beginning of the segment. Kenma hardly pays any attention to it. He does note the bead of sweat decorating the top of the prince’s forehead, though, and his shaky smile.

It’s a grounding moment. A sudden, humbling realization that it is the prince’s life that is about to change too. Kenma feels for him.

Then, he’s back to feeling nervous as the screen flashes the application’s numbers on the screen in quick succession. The first man selected is from province one, a bright blonde with glasses and the name Tsukishima Kei. He smiles in his picture, but it almost looks forced, like he’s not entirely used to it.

“He’s pretty.” His mom hums next to him.

Kenma can’t find it in himself to say anything. Now he is really wishing that he isn’t selected because his picture with his badly dyed hair is about to be plastered on everyone’s TV across the nation. The thought alone is mortifying.

They go through each province, showing the picture and name of the selected, each of them with their own look and personality, evident enough through the quick snapshot that’s shown. Kenma allows himself to wonder which one of these is Prince Kuroo’s type.

He’s running the list back in his mind, trying to remember the ones he finds most attractive when, suddenly, his heart stops.

Kenma couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Oh god,” he mutters. How he even finds the strength to do that is beyond him.

Beside him, his mother screams, almost falling off the couch, “Oh, god! Kenma! Kenma!”

It’s his picture now shining brightly from their TV.  He’s grateful that he indeed did manage a small smile in it.

Although he can’t think or feel anything right now, even as the screen changes to show another man’s photo and name.

He’s selected. He’s going to the palace to meet and potentially marry the Crown Prince.

Chapter Text

There are about five people too many in Kenma’s house approximately twelve hours after the Reports announced his selection. The first woman that comes in the morning is a pretty girl with glasses named Shimizu. She has a soft voice and a calm demeanor, but that doesn't stop Kenma from feeling overwhelmed with the things she tells him. The first thing that comes out of her mouth is,

“We’re about to have a very long day together. Please cancel anything you have going on.” And after a split second, she adds, “And I suppose anything you have lined up for the next year. The Selection can go on for as long as Prince Kuroo needs it to.”

They’re still standing at his front door, and Kenma sees a few people exiting the expensive cars lining the streets, walking up as if they are invited. They’re probably with her, as they wait behind her holding various suitcases.

“Um, okay.” Kenma swallows, blinking at her. He’s about to ask who she is, but he notices the royal crest on her jacket, just behind a few strands of her long black hair, and realization dawns on him. He steps aside and motions for her to come in. He makes a mental note to cancel his next few performances and winces at the money he would lose and the classes he would have to make up.

The herd of men and women follow her in, about six of them, and Kenma suddenly realizes that his living room is much too small for this many people. He’s glad that his parents have left earlier this morning for work.

“Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. My name is Shimizu Kiyoko.” She holds out her hand. He takes it. “I’m one of the royal planners for the Selection process. I’m here to get you started and go over the contract with you.”

Kenma’s eyes flicker to the people behind her.

She smiles. “And these are my helpers. First thing we’ll need to do is your hair, so you’re going to have to decide whether you want it black or blonde.”

Kenma feels his face flush. Of course, his black roots would have to go. “I don’t care.”

Shimizu hums, her gray eyes scanning his face. “Let’s go back to your blonde. We can always redye it again at the palace when your hair grows back out.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, everyone moves all at once. Less than a minute later, Kenma is sitting in a chair in the middle of his living room with strangers’ hands all over his head, the smell of bleach filling his nostrils. He tries to say that they can move to the bathroom, but somehow a mini sink appears from within one of the suitcases.

“You just live with your parents, correct?” Shimizu asks, as if nothing has happened.

“Yes.” He tries to act like it’s completely normal for him to have his hair washed right now as he’s having his conversation, head tilted back to the ceiling.

Shimizu nods. She pulls out from her own briefcase a stack of papers. “I’m going to need to talk to them as well, but we’ll discuss your contract first.” She pulls up a chair and hands him a clipboard with the first few pages of many. He holds it up over his head so he can see. “As you know, when you submitted your application, you are agreeing to participate in the Selection. This means that for the duration of the process, you will live at the palace and follow all our rules. The only person who has the power to dismiss you is the prince. You are to stay until he chooses to let you go, and alternatively, he can send you home at any time. Theoretically, as I mentioned before, the Selection can go on as long as the prince needs it to, although it can end earlier—in the matter of days—if he wishes. You and your family, of course, will be compensated properly for your stay. The amount is written right there at the end of the page. Please feel free to read and initial where you see the highlighted parts.”

Kenma knows he should read this contract carefully, but his eyes automatically scan for the number. His breath catches when he sees the weekly stipend amount. It’s more than what he makes in half a year. His hand shakes as he initials next to it.

She goes on without waiting for a response, which is perfectly fine with him because Kenma isn’t sure he can say anything yet.

“This process will be televised and photographed, although there will be a large portion of the day when you won’t be on camera. All of the Selected are expected to attend every scheduled meal as well as the Reports every Friday.”

“Are we going to have to speak at those?” Kenma blurts out.

She nods. “The Reports act as an update to the Selection. You will have a chance to be interviewed during them and give your own thoughts to the process. Of course, we expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Kenma shivers. It really means Don’t embarrass us.

“If you are chosen as Prince Consort, you will be expected to attend the Reports weekly as well, so think of it as a good opportunity to get used to being in front of the camera.”

He almost forgot the entire point of the Selection is to become Prince Consort. He tries to school his expression into something neutral, like the idea of talking on live national television isn’t nauseating to him at all. Luckily, one of the men pulls at his hair, so he has an excuse to make a face without feeling bad.

Shimizu continues, “There will be etiquette lessons as well as history lessons throughout the week. If we have guests from foreign countries, you are expected to know them and greet them as if you are already a member of the royal court. This might seem like a fun, silly dating game, but I hope you remember that you could potentially become a member of the royal family, and everyone looks up to you. Prince Kuroo does have the final say, but that doesn't mean that public or outsider opinions, such as a foreign deity or the royal family from our allies, don’t matter. Do you understand?”

A weigh settles on his chest as the reality of his situation settles over him. He knows it’s not possible that he will end up Prince Consort, but as long as he is still a part of the Selection, the possibility isn’t zero.

A lump rises in his throat, but it’s too late to back out now.

Kenma nods, gripping the pen tight in his hand as he signs.

“Now, I need you to be completely honest with me for the following questions. We always find out later if you lie, so I wouldn’t try.” She holds his gaze. “Are you a virgin?”

“What?” He blinks. “Why does it matter?” He feels the heat returning to his face.

“It doesn’t to Prince Kuroo, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I mean, just why—”

“We just need to know if we need to run a few tests on you. STIs, STDs, things like that. Of course, we will do it regardless of your answer, but it’s good to cover our bases in case something unexpected comes up in your lab results.”

Kenma sighs. It’s looking like he can say goodbye to any sort of privacy he has ever had. Might as well get used to it now.

“I’m not.” He reluctantly answers.

Shimizu scribbles something down on her pad of papers. “And this is obvious, but I still have to say it. While you are a part of the Selection, you are forbidden to pursue any other relationship. Any romantic or sexual act with anyone not Prince Kuroo is considered treason and will be punished as such. That starts the moment you are Selected. Do you understand?”

He nods. Not that he’s planning on any romantic or sexual act with anyone soon, the prince included.

“Good.” She writes down more things. When she looks up, there is a gentle smile on her face. “I know this is a lot, but it’s going to be okay. Are you okay to continue or do you want to take a break?”

Kenma would rather they stop the process altogether, but that isn’t an option. The next best thing is to get this over with as soon as possible, so he can get back to his room and think about his poor decision-making skills.

“Let’s continue.”

For the next hours, they discuss everything under the sun on what he is and isn’t allowed to do. She explains the rigid routine he’s expected to follow in the palace, trying to cheer him up by suggesting that he will get to go on dates with the prince, as if that will make it all worth it. Shimizu’s helpers are finished with his hair by the time lunch rolls around, disappearing out the door without as much as muttering a word. He’s impressed by their efficiency, but he supposes that the royal palace only employs the best.

Fortunately for Kenma, Shimizu takes this as a good stopping point.  She shoves the piles of papers he has signed back into her briefcase. “I’ll let you take a break for lunch. We’ll come back here in about an hour.” She stands and exits out the door.

Kenma wants to ask what else they have to talk about, but he’s too relieved to be alone again to speak up. Stumbling back into his room, he collapses on his bed, feeling the tension drain from his body when it hits the mattress with a thump.

How he’s supposed to survive weeks of this, he doesn’t know. Maybe the prince will send him home early and he won’t have to endure more of it. Selfishly, though, the stipend flashes in his mind. That kind of life-changing money is enough to support the rest of his college education. If he can just make it through a good part of the Selection, he doesn’t even have to worry about finding part-time work afterwards. Though he suspects that being a Selected means he will be more popular too if he does need the money.

Kenma groans into his pillow. He chastised Haru before but he’s starting to do this for the wrong reasons, too.

A buzz from his phone saves him from any more self-deprecating thoughts.

Kageyama: hey. Lunch?

He supposes that Kageyama knows about him by now. Even if he isn’t an avid Reports watcher, the news always travels fast around his neighborhood, especially if a row of expensive cars is seen in front of his house earlier this morning.

Kenma wants to mope around more on his bed, maybe finally getting to play his video game, but seeing that this will probably be the last chance he gets to talk to his only friend, he types back an affirmative.

~

Kageyama appears at his front door a few minutes later with take-outs in his hands, the first person Kenma is actually happy to see all day. They find themselves on Kenma’s bed, trying not to let the pork buns fall apart on his sheets as they eat.

They’re both men of few words, so minutes go by without either of them saying anything. Kenma is perfectly fine with it, one hand maneuvering his DS buttons while the other holds the steaming bun.

After a while, Kageyama looks up from his phone and says, “When are you leaving?”

“Tuesday.”

His friend’s blue eyes scan his own, curious. Even though Kenma has known him for years, he can never fully know what Kageyama is thinking, but he’s assured that he’ll always be honest, sometimes brutally so. Kenma doesn’t realize it until this moment, but he cares about what he thinks. He holds his breath as he waits.

Finally, Kageyama nods and says, “Good luck.”

A snort escapes his lips. “I’ll need it.”

At this, his friend’s brows raise up, almost disappearing into his black hair covering his forehead. “I didn’t think you were going to be worried about this.”

“And why wouldn’t I be? Me? A royal?” The thought is enough to make goosebumps trail down his spine. “It seems absurd.”

Kageyama lifts a shoulder. “If I was going to have someone in the future king’s whispering ear, I wouldn’t be mad if that person was you.”

Something akin to pride and affection fills his chest. A smile tugs at his lips. Kageyama probably doesn’t know how much his words mean to Kenma. For him, it’s a fact. For Kenma, it’s one person who is in his corner. Well, other than his parents—but they’re biased, so they don’t really count.

For the first time, he feels like he might not completely fall on his face.

They go back to eating in silence. When Kenma hears the doorbell ringing, he silently curses as it means Shimizu has returned. He glances at his friend, knowing that it will be a while before they can see each other again. They can write letters, because Kenma will have his phone taken away, but neither of them is going to be inclined to do it.

Kenma walks him to the door, and before Kageyama walks out, he turns around and says, “I’ll watch you on the Reports.”

“Maybe I will return earlier than you think.” He jokes, more to alleviate the pressure he feels for himself than anything.

Again, with an unchanged face as if he isn’t saying the words that Kenma is secretly hoping someone will say to him even though he’s too scared to admit it, Kageyama says, “It’s okay if you don’t. It’s not too bad to fall in love with the prince.” A hint of a smile appears on his lips. “No one would blame you if you did.”

Kenma chuckles, shaking his head at the thought even as it fills him with gratitude to hear. Fall in love with the prince? Unlikely. If his experience with Haru is anything to go by, Kenma and the upper-class, the elites of society, don’t really get along. They’re just too different.

He opens the door to let Kageyama out. Shimizu’s shocked face appears as she almost runs into him. When he’s disappeared down the driveway, she whorls around to face him.

“Who was that?” Her face is grim, and her lips are drawn into a straight line.

“My friend Kageyama. He’s just here to say good-bye.” His voice rises slightly in defiant. She can’t assume that he’s already out here breaking the rules. He might be dreading this process, but he’s not stupid.

Shimizu lets out a small sigh. “You just have to be careful with any interaction you have with anyone. You may not notice it, but there are eyes on you now everywhere. People can spin the wildest stories. Trust me, they can be nasty.”

He feels his breathing slow, not realizing that he had gotten so worked up over being accused. But he knows there is merit to what she’s saying. He’s also reminded that his ex has friends in many places, and it wouldn’t be good if he wanted to make Kenma’s life miserable. He’s grateful that he finally blocks his number or God knows what kind of messages or phone call he would have to deal with right about now.

Kenma nods his understanding. Shimizu, pleased with his answer, walks back into his living room to resume discussion of his contract. With lead on his feet, he follows her, feeling the last resemblance of his previously normal life falling away with every step.

Fall in love with the prince? He’s going to be lucky if he doesn’t make a fool of himself in front of the whole kingdom.

~

Kenma’s parents are tearful when he says his goodbyes, and he would’ve let the tears fall from his own eyes too if he isn’t aware that there are cameras and people awaiting to see him in approximately two minutes. He can hear them even when he’s still inside, cheering and chanting his name all the way up and down the streets. His eyes burn, stinging at the corners, but he blinks them away.

“Ready?” Shimizu whispers beside him. She’s spent the last few days with him and his family, bringing them up to speed with what to expect. He’s grateful now to have her beside him as they’re about to leave for the airport.

He nods. Kenma takes one deep breath, relishing in the final minutes of his peaceful life, even as it’s crumbling apart right in front of his eyes. When he steps out those doors, there is no turning back.

He turns the doorknob and pushes out, letting the cheers roar in his ears and the flashes of lights blind his vision.

Out here, starting now, Kenma is a Selected.

~

Kenma is pushed into the limousine with Shimizu following right after him. When the door slams shut behind them, he can barely see with the spots dancing in front of his eyes. The rest of the world fades away, but the ringing in Kenma’s ears stays.

“Not used to crowds, are you?”

Apparently, he and Shimizu are not alone. Kenma blinks rapidly, trying to take in his surroundings better. Across from him is a tall, handsome guy with chestnut brown hair, a sly smile on his lips. His arms are folded across his chest as he appraises Kenma. On his other side is a girl with red hair. She and Shimizu immediately set off in their own conversation, so Kenma can only assume she’s another planner for the palace.

Towards the guy, Kenma just shrugs. Maybe he should be more social—they’re about to spend a lot of time together—but truthfully, he is still trying to catch his breath.

“Just think of it as a performance. You’re very good on the stage.” The guy sounds like he’s trying to be helpful, but it comes off haughty. A flare of annoyance flashes through Kenma.

Still, he has manners. Wait—

“You know what I do?”

The guy laughs. “Of course. I make it a point to know all my competitors before I meet them. It’s good to be prepared.” He leans over the space between them and holds out his hand, dark brown eyes glinting mischievously. “Oikawa Tooru.”

The hair in the back of his head stands up, but Kenma is never one to back down from a challenge. Despite how he looks, he really hates to lose. Though, he can’t help but think he’s somehow already at a disadvantage this round.

Regardless, he takes Oikawa’s hand and returns his tight grip.

“Kenma.” He hopes the same determination shows in his own fierce gold eyes.

Oikawa’s smile widens, showing his perfectly white teeth. He hums appreciatively and says, “I think I like you. We’ll have fun together, Kenma.” He emphasizes his name, dragging out the e’s.

He rolls his eyes. Kenma isn’t good at reading people sometimes, mostly because he tries to avoid looking at them in the eyes as much as possible, but he gets a feeling that Oikawa is exactly the opposite. He likes to test his boundaries. See how far he can push.

Clearly, the competition has already begun.

~

Kenma is about to ignore Oikawa by playing his game when he unzips his backpack to find that his console is missing. Before the panic fully sets in, he rips open every pocket and digs through every corner.

No. no. No no no. NO. His mind is screaming as his hands come up empty every time.

He’s sure it’s showing on his face now if they don’t already hear his rapid breathing and frantic searching, but he’s grateful no one is saying anything. Kenma’s about to go through his backpack for the third time when it hits him—the charger. He’s left it plugged into the wall, trying to push it to maximum charge to prepare for this travel day ahead of him.

Fuck.

Now how is he supposed to survive for months at the palace all alone? What are the odds that they would get him another DS? Or PSP? He dismisses the thought just as soon as it pops up. They’ll treat him well but not that well.

Kenma can barely feel the chair on his bottom and against his back. He already feels like he’s unraveling even as he’s just sitting there, thinking about the next few months. Or even hours.

He doesn’t get a moment of rest because the car jerks to a stop then. Kenma hears the distant sounds of shouts and cheers once again before the door opens, allowing the full force of it to hit everyone inside the car. The ringing in his ears starts again, and he briefly closes his eyes to escape from the camera flashes.  

Two men come in this time. One of them sits next to Kenma, and he looks just as terrible as Kenma feels inside. His face is pale, although a smile is frozen on his lips, like he is trying hard to look good for the pictures even though he isn’t used to it. The other man comes to settle next to Shimizu, nodding to the girls although he doesn’t join in on the conversation.

“Fuck.” The guy next to Kenma whispers, collapsing against the seat with his eyes closed. He runs a hand through his black hair, as if trying to regain some control over his body. “Are we supposed to get used to that from now on?”

Somehow, this breaks Kenma from his internal panic. Maybe he’s not completely alone in his freak-out.

“If we’re lucky.” He says. “Apparently.”

This makes the guy smile. He sits back up, his deep blue eyes finding Kenma’s face.

He’s pretty too. Kenma has half a mind to wonder how Prince Kuroo has “randomly” selected only beautiful men from around the kingdom. Then he wonders if he too is counted in that camp or if he’s the fluke.

“You’re the manga artist.” Oikawa snaps his finger.

“And you are?” The new guy looks across to his direction, a twinge of annoyance in his tone.

“The annoying guy who researched all of us.” Kenma answers. That gets him a chuckle from beside him.

“Hey! It’s not my fault I did my homework and you all didn’t.” He pouts.

“I’m Kenma, by the way.” He ignores him, turning his head to the side.

“Akaashi Keiji.” He nods, the smile still on his lips.

Kenma feels much better now with Akaashi next to him. In contrast to Oikawa’s demeanor, he seems genuinely kind. Not that Oikawa isn’t, but Kenma has a sneaking suspicion that he keeps his cards close to his chest, and that makes him harder to trust upon first impressions.

He lets Akaashi chat with Oikawa in his place, complacent to put on his headphones and fade into the background. It’s not his video games, but music from the airpod Shimizu gave him as replacement for his phone will have to do. Already, Kenma misses the comfort of his home. The familiarity of the things he’s used to.

All the way to the airport, Kenma taps his feet nervously on the floor of the car. A sinking feeling inside his stomach grows. Even as he tries to push the feeling away, he still feels the pressure inside him build and build. He just hopes he will be alone when it finally breaks.

~

The six of them are joined by another pair when they get to the airport. They all share a private jet straight to the palace. Kenma assumes that the other Selected is the tall guy with small, beady black eyes and short black hair. He only confirms his suspicion when the guy makes a beeline for Oikawa, the two of them clearly recognizing each other. He completely ignores Kenma and Akaashi.

Kenma doesn’t really complain because he doesn’t want to talk to another person anyways, but he can tell that Akaashi is annoyed as he watches the other two interact with pursed lips. Though he doesn’t say anything either.

After they land, Shimizu and the other planners lead them from the hanger up to the main area in the palace, and Kenma tries not to gape at the intricate design of the hallways as he passes through. Everything, including the walls and floors, is made from white marble and lined with gold. They can see their reflection on every surface.

Tall, white columns spring up from the floor to the ceiling, providing support. The hallways just go on and on, even as they turn the corners, it all takes on the same majestic, beautiful appearance.

There are various oil paintings hung on the walls, but Kenma doesn’t get a chance to marvel at them because he has to keep up with the crowd. He doesn’t want to get lost here. He’ll probably never find his way out.

Finally, they stop in front of a grand staircase with a red velvet carpet lining the center. Above it is a gorgeous gold chandelier shimmering away, sending specks of light across the walls and some on their faces.

Kenma suddenly feels very small standing here, his knees becoming weak. The silence around him shows that everyone is feeling just as overwhelmed.

He chooses to pay attention to one of the paintings on the wall this time, a portrait on the far side of the hallway. It’s far, but because of its size, Kenma can see it clearly from where he stands.

It’s a painting of the royal family. It’s an old portrait because there are four members of the family present—the King, the Queen, and their daughter and son. Kenma is now reminded that Prince Kuroo was never supposed to be the Crown Prince. His older sister was the Crown Princess, first in line for the throne, but she passed away, leaving him with the title and the responsibility at only eight years old.

Kenma was too young to know what that really meant, but staring at the portrait of the four of them now, with the prince’s round, young face staring back at him, he feels sorry for him. None of them would realize that they would not get to be a family of four just like that for very long. The princess would not grow up, even as her younger brother does, surpassing her teenage years into his adulthood.

He tears his eyes away as he feels the sadness swelling inside of him. He lets his long blonde hair cover his face, hoping it would hide the emotions on it. He really needs to be alone now as soon as possible if he’s just seconds from crying.

Unfortunately for Kenma, the other Selected have arrived, and he is now standing in a sea of thirty-four other men. He cranes his neck to look for Shimizu, the one person he has known the longest, but she is nowhere to be seen.

People are starting to introduce themselves to one another, Oikawa making the rounds and smiling as he shakes hands with everyone, while some, like Kenma, are warily watching from the side. Now he regrets not reading up on his fellow Selected, just so he has some sense of bearing on who anyone is.

What he really wishes for is his PSP, if he only he can—

A loud clap rings through the air, bringing all of their heads towards the source. On top of the staircase is, thankfully, Shimizu. Although it looks like she has changed into more formal wear, a black pantsuit. How she does that so quickly, Kenma will never be able to comprehend, but he lets out a relief breath at a familiar face at last.

Everyone falls silent as she speaks, her words echoing and bouncing off the walls.

“Welcome everyone to Prince Kuroo’s Selection. I hope you are all excited to be here. I know he is excited to meet all of you.”

Kenma can immediately feel the shift in energy as the prince’s name is mentioned. Whether they mean to or not, the men start to fidget with their hair and fix their clothes. He fights his own urge to tuck his hair back behind his ears.

Shimizu smiles, her glasses glinting as they hit the chandelier light just right. “Don’t worry, you will all meet him tomorrow morning at breakfast. He wants you all to have a chance to tour the palace and get settled in before officially meeting face-to-face. With that being said, follow me. I will show you the common areas where you will be spending your days, and we will end with room assignments.”

She leads them up the stairs. For the next hour or two, Shimizu shows them to the dining room, library, temporary classrooms, the garden, and the Men’s Room.

“This is where you will spend most of your time. You’re free to use it anytime there is no scheduled class to relax or study. Only the Selected are allowed in this room, though the prince can come in with your permission.” It was previously the Women’s Room, but ever since the Queen and Princess passed, the room was unused until this Selection. They are reminded that the Queen was once a Selected, and she, too, spent her days here before her position as Queen.

They glance around nervously at one another. Somewhere, in this crowd, is their future Prince Consort.  Mixture of eyes and emotions meet Kenma. They are all uncertain of one another. They can be friends, sure, but at the end of the day, only one of them will get what they came here for.

At the end of the tour, Shimizu leads them to the hallway that is the entrance to their living chambers. Each room is designated with a gold number engraved on the door.

“Curfew is strictly at 9:00.” She states, after reading off their room assignments. “Unless you are escorted by the prince, you are expected to be inside your chambers after that. Anything you need, there’s a bell inside your room that will notify your maids that you need their assistance. Any questions?”

No one speaks up or raises their hand. Kenma suspects that everyone’s brain is full from the day they just had. Even Oikawa looks like he’s relieved the day is over.  

“Good. Your maids are waiting for you inside your rooms. They will also get you ready for breakfast tomorrow. I will remind you again that you will be meeting the prince at breakfast as well as the king. What you choose to do with that information is up to you.” She lets the words hang in the air for a few seconds before continuing. “Good night. I will meet you all after breakfast for your first etiquette lesson.”

The crowd disperses as everyone scrambles to look for their assigned rooms. Kenma feels a tap on his shoulder.

“What room are you?” Akaashi asks.

“Five.” He can already see it from here, just a few doors down to the right.

“Hm. I’m eleven. I think I’m way down there.” He eyes the long corridor, and the men already taking off in that direction. “Well, good night. See you tomorrow.”

Kenma waves his goodbye, feeling the last of his social battery draining as he watches Akaashi set off down the long hallway. He makes his way over to his own door, seeing the shining five glittering atop the wooden door. Even the doorknob is gold and for a split second, he is nervous that he might just break it if he touches it wrong.

No matter, his resolve to finally relax wins over anything else at the moment. He pushes the door open and walks inside.

The room seems to stretch into the horizon, never ending. It might be the size of his entire house. On the right is a large bed with white bedsheets and cream canopy atop of it. On the left is a huge mirror and a wooden vanity.

Before Kenma can see the rest of the room, he notices two people standing at the foot of his bed, smiling brightly at him.

They both bow as he comes in, chirping cheerfully, “Welcome, Kozume-san. We’re happy to serve you during the Selection.”

The small guy with bright orange hair grins at him, almost bouncing on his feet as he walks over to greet him. “My name is Hinata Shoyou! Please let me take your coat.” He reaches for Kenma’s jacket, and he feels like he can’t refuse him, so he lets him tug it off his shoulders.

“And I’m Yachi Hitoka! Would you like me to start your bath for you?” The girl comes up to him, a small blush on her face. Her blonde hair is tied back into two small pigtails, swinging as she walks.

“Oh, um. No that’s alright. I can do that myself, really.” He waves them off. Right, he’s supposed to have maids. But the thought makes him feel uncomfortable. “And please call me Kenma.”

“Okay, Kenma!” Hinata says, hanging his coat in the closet in the back of the room. When he opens it, Kenma can see that the rest of his clothes have made it in there as well, along with a few items he doesn’t remember bringing. “Is there anything we can do for you today? Are you hungry?”

“Actually, I think I just want to be alone now, if that’s alright. I ate on the plane.” Correction, he picks at his food on the plane, but the last thing he wants right now is for them to fuss over him.

They look at each other nervously, as if doubting his words. Finally, Hinata shrugs and motions for Yachi to follow him out.

“Ring the bell if you need us.” She points to the spot on the wall where a tiny button sits by his bed. She still looks reluctant to go, but at Kenma’s nod, they both bow once again and head out.

At last, Kenma is alone. He expects to feel relieved. Happy. But all he feels is dread.

Now that he has a moment to himself, he’s more aware of the tightness and tension that has been building inside throughout the day. The exhaustion sets in, making his bones weak. And even in this huge room, he has never felt more confined. He paces around the room, restless, trying to explore it some more, as if that would make him feel less enclosed. Less like a bird in a cage.

The other side of the room is adorned with large windows and curtains, although they’re all drawn. He pushes the red fabric aside to see that the largest curtain actually leads to a balcony. He tries to open it—maybe some fresh air will do him some good, will clear the lump making its way up his throat—but the latch catches on something and doesn’t budge.

Maybe he can just open a window?

No. Somehow, he knows it won’t be enough. He needs to be outside. He needs to leave. But he’s trapped here. For God knows how long.

He feels a scratch on his throat and realizes that it’s him scratching at it this time, trying to catch his breath. The room is beginning to spin, and he feels like he should probably sit down now, but before he can fully register what he’s doing, Kenma is opening his door and bolting down the hallway.

Is it past nine? Is he going to get into trouble? Are they going to send him home tonight? Before anything even happen?

It’s bound to happen eventually though. Kenma was never meant to be here in this huge, beautiful castle. His place in the world is somewhere small and untraceable. His presence known on a stage for mere minutes until he is back into his obscurity, his safe little world.

It is not safe here. And Kenma isn’t meant for this.

Strong arms stop him before he can push the doors that he knows lead to the gardens. How does he remember that? Maybe all the practice with the mazes in his games have done him some good over the years.

This is just a game too, isn’t it?

A game where the price is your privacy and your life. The top spot is the being second most important person in the country. No big deal. It’s just a game—

“Sir, you’re not allowed to be here.”

“I just need some air.” Is he talking? How did he get the strength for that when he can barely breathe? “Please, I—”

“It’s past your curfew.” It’s a different voice but no less firm.

Maybe he shouldn’t fight. He should be a good boy. Isn’t he supposed to be an example for the rest of the country? Of his province? Is he embarrassing them right now? Do they know that he isn’t their hometown hero?

“Please, I just need to go outside for a minute.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to—”

“Let him out, gentleman.”

The arms that stop him immediately fall. And Kenma falls with them, almost slamming himself into the door if someone isn’t holding him back. Then, the double door is pushed open, and he feels the breeze on his face.

Oh. He gasps, his feet stumbling over one another as he steps outside.

The world rights itself somehow. The ground is steady underneath his feet. There is a soft wind blowing in his ear—cool, but too much so that his skin shivers.

Kenma opens his eyes and the sky meets him, its stars in constellation he can never name, and the air finds its way into his lungs. He breathes in deep, hurting himself with it but he doesn’t mind this pain at all.

“Are you alright?”

Kenma freezes. It’s that voice. He has heard it before.

Let him out, gentleman.

It’s deeper in person. Maybe his old television set and speakers cannot fully convey its range, cannot capture the exact way the syllables fall smoothly out his lips.

He turns and sees Prince Kuroo standing just behind him, his two guards glaring at them from the doors.

The prince is even taller in person. Kenma will have to look up at him if they were to stand side by side. His raven hair is just as messy, if not even more tonight, but his eyes—oh God. Kenma can definitely blame the tiny, grainy screen for the injustice in this one.

Prince Kuroo’s gold eyes are a dazzling shimmer underneath the moonlight. His brows are creased with concern, but Kenma is more struck at how he can look so beautiful just standing there. And he is immediately annoyed at himself for falling victim to the prince’s looks.  

“Fuck. I mean, I’m sorry.” He bows, lowering his head. He feels a warmth creeping up in the back of his neck and into his ears. His heart thunders against his ribcage, like a bird trying to break free. “Your highness, I apologize for my outburst. I—”

“Are you alright?” Prince Kuroo cuts him off by touching a hand on his shoulders, bringing him up. Suddenly, they are so, so close.

Kenma swallows and keeps his eyes low, his hair covering his face. He can’t stand to look at him again. He focuses instead on the prince’s black leather shoes.

“Yes.” It doesn’t sound at all convincing, shaky as it escapes his lips.

“Lying to your prince is considered treason.”

Kenma snaps his head up, his lips falling open.

“I’m kidding! I mean, I’m not but—ah, anyways, this is a bad time for jokes, isn’t it?” He laughs nervously. Kenma doesn’t know what he has to be nervous about. It’s Kenma who should feel like he’s making a fool of himself, which he so clearly is. “Let’s start over. I’m Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. And you are?”

Kenma’s brain has stopped working. He has never been one for smart or witty remarks. He has never been good at making conversations with strangers. Here, looking up at the prince, he truly curses his own shortcomings. He blurts out the first thing on his mind, “Not supposed to meet you until tomorrow.”

By all miracles, the prince laughs. It is loud and unrestrained, as if he really isn’t expecting it at all.

Kenma’s body relaxes, his breath releases in a slow exhale.

“Right. Yes, but we already broke one rule together.” He gestures at the guards and the open door. They’re looking away now, but Kenma can tell they’re still keeping one eye on the two of them outside. “What’s one more?”

Kenma chews on his bottom lip. Then he remembers that it’s Prince Kuroo who decides if he stays or goes. He makes the rules here, right?

“Kozume Kenma.” He bows. When he looks up, the prince is studying him again, his eyes amused. “You can call me Kenma.”

“Hm, Kenma.” Prince Kuroo repeats his name several times, as if trying to familiarize himself with the sound of it. Then he cocks his head, “How do you feel about breaking one last rule?”

“Should the future leader of our country be so cavalier with rules?”

He chuckles, shrugging. “Perhaps not. Didn’t I say I need someone to talk some sense into me?”

The prince is looking for a partner, for the love of his life. His confidant.

Kenma is sure that, “Well, that won’t be me, I suppose.” Because he has a hard time imagining he is who Prince Kuroo is looking for. His answer, at least, is satisfactory.

The prince smiles, beckoning for him to follow as he walks further away from the door. “Then come with me.”

~

Prince Kuroo leads him down the path to a smaller, more secluded area. He stops in front of a bush, but he reaches out with one hand. The ivy has grown all over the door, or maybe it’s designed that way. A creaky sound cuts through the air as the shrubbery reveals another path hidden behind it.

“After you.” He nods, allowing Kenma to slip in before him.

When Kenma emerges on the other side, he sees that they have entered a smaller garden with a circular gazebo at the center. With the bush and trees surrounding them, it almost feels like he’s entering a different world. He watches his steps on the stoned path as he makes his way towards the gazebo, careful not to trip as the only thing guiding him is the moonlight.

The only sounds he can hear are the crickets chirping around them and the knocking of rocks beneath their feet.

At the final step, Kenma sees that the top of the gazebo is covered in glass not wood, allowing him the full view of the moon. There are benches outlining the sides of the gazebo, and Kenma lets himself sit on of them, still admiring the sky above.

“This is a beautiful place.” He says as Prince Kuroo settles next to him.

“Isn’t it? It’s even better in the daylight. I’ll bring you back sometimes.”

It sounds like a promise. Kenma’s stomach warms at the thought. He hasn’t expected the prince to be so…kind. He also hasn’t expected to be so happy at the thought that they might be able to do this another time.

They sit for a moment together, just enjoying the silence and the cries of the crickets. After a while, Kenma hears a crinkling sound.

“Here.” The prince extends his hand towards him. Sitting on top of it is a small pastry wrapped in foil.

Kenma shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Just eat something. You’ll feel better. I always do after I cry.”

“I didn’t—” Kenma starts to say, but Prince Kuroo anticipates his response. He reaches for his cheeks, a thumb wiping away a stray tear. That’s when Kenma finally notices the crusting at the corners of his eyes. “Oh.”

“It’s alright.” His voice is surprisingly gentle. He’s still holding out the pastry, so Kenma takes it from him. As he bites into it, the prince asks, “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“You’re going to think it’s stupid.” Kenma can hardly explain it to himself without feeling crazy. And how can he tell him he never wanted to be here in the first place? Offending the prince when he is being so kind to him is not at all something he wants to do.

“Why is that?”

Kenma sighs. Maybe half of the truth won’t hurt him to confess. “I know the palace is massive, and I am lucky to be here, truly. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I feel like I’m in a giant cage. I know I’m crazy for feeling like this because thousands of men would die to be here in my place. I’m just still getting used to it.”

For a moment, Prince Kuroo pauses, not responding, and Kenma thinks he has fucked up again.

But then he says, in a voice that he is even more tender than before, “If someone goes seeking this life without so much as a doubt, I will call them crazy. Not you. I think it’s only natural to feel that way behind these walls, especially coming from your typical life where you can go and do anything you want. Believe it or not, I know what you mean. Even after all these years, sometimes, I can hardly stand it.” He laughs but it’s one without humor. “It is a beautiful cage, but it is a cage nevertheless.”

Kenma doesn’t know what to say back. Whatever he has thought of the prince—whoever he thought the prince is—the person sitting in front of him is anything but that. Maybe it’s the blanket of the night that allows them to be this honest to each other.

But Kenma does find himself feeling better after sitting here. And the finished pastry settles nicely inside his stomach. He had been a bit hungry, after all.

“Do you want to go home?” Prince Kuroo asks.

Somehow, he knows that if he wants it, the prince will grant it to him. Here is his chance to escape. His way out.

The answer slips out his lips faster than he can think, like a reflex.

“No.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” There’s a smile in his voice. How can he always sound so incredibly sincere? Has he always sounded this way from the screen of his TV and Kenma has never noticed? Is it only because he is in front of him now?

There are so many things running around his head, unmonitored. Kenma has always been a chronic thinker, and he’s starting to suspect that the Selection will only make it worse.

The man in front of him will only make it worse.

But he is also a puzzle for Kenma to figure out. And for the first time, he entertains the thought of falling in love with him without dismissing it outright.

Out loud, he feels his tongue slip again, as if propelled by Prince Kuroo’s own confession.

“I think I just need some time to get used to everything. I’m not usually around a lot of people, and today was overwhelming. And I left my video game console at home, so I really didn’t have anything to help me feel centered.”

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I can ask the guards to allow you to come here at night.”

“No, I think I’ll be okay.” He’ll have to find some way to get himself together. He already knows he’s going to feel overwhelmed again, and he can’t just run out here every time it happens. “It’ll just take time.” Then, he asks, “Do you come here often?”

Prince Kuroo looks taken aback to be asked about himself. He admits, “Not so much anymore. But when I was younger, I came here a lot hide from my tutors.”

Kenma arches a brow. “A rule-breaker and a troublemaker? Maybe I should worry about the future of our country after all.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll have you know I was an excellent student. I only hid because they never taught me the things I was actually interested in.” He huffs.

“And that would be?”

He answers without needing to think. “Science.”

They don’t talk about what it means. They don’t need to. Even Kenma knows that as the Crown Prince, it doesn’t matter what you want. It matters what you need to do for your country.

Kenma breaks the silence with a muttered, “Nerd.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault it’s interesting and is the basis of every living thing. I mean, every organic matter is made up of Carbon even though it’s all different composition? You and I? A diamond? Graphite? Not to mention the fact that we are never fully touching anything on a subatomic scale, even as our brains perceive it! I just think that…”

Kenma lets him ramble on for who knows how long even as the words start to not make sense to him from his limited education. It’s almost soothing to hear him talk, regardless of how much he understands. It’s clear that the prince is genuinely very interested in the topics, his eyes lighting up and his arms waving around excitedly. It’s probably been too long since he has talked to someone about this, unrestrained, so Kenma doesn’t stop him.

After a while though, he starts to yawn and is unable to stifle them quickly enough to hide them from the prince’s quick eyes.

“Ah, I should let you get back to your room. Big day tomorrow.” He starts to stand, leading Kenma back to where they came from.

The thought would’ve scared him a few hours ago. However, as he is walking back with Prince Kuroo, he is less nervous about it now. What’s the worst that can happen? He already humiliated himself in front of the prince and is somehow still allowed to stay. He even feels like they’re becoming friends, sort of.

The prince leads him back inside the palace but lets one of the guards, Officer Taketora, escort him back to his chamber. He walks with the other officer down a different hallway, seemingly getting an earful from him. Though from the look on his face, he’s not taking it that seriously at all, almost amused as he’s being lectured.  

When Kenma returns to his room this time, he feels much lighter, the room itself not closing in like before. He gets out of his clothes and slips into his familiar PJs, conveniently laid out on the sink counter for him already. Kenma collapses on his bed, feeling like he’s lying on a cloud more than any old mattress. It still doesn't feel quite right, but he can’t deny that his back has never touched a more comfortable surface than this bed and these sheets.

The day runs through his mind, all the way from his parents’ teary face and the flashing paparazzi lights to the gentleness of Prince Kuroo’s voice when he bids him goodbye.

Kenma doesn’t know how he feels or what he expects from this Selection, but something tells him that he wants to stay more than ever before. He survived the first day. Now, the real Selection begins.

It’s not too bad to fall in love with the prince. No one would blame you if you did.

Warm, golden eyes are the last things he sees as his own flutter shut.

Chapter Text

The next morning, there’s a gentle tap on Kenma’s shoulder that startles him awake. Wide brown eyes stare at him as he jumps up in bed, his heartrate skyrocketing. He rubs his eyes into their sockets then he blinks rapidly as he tries to focus on the smiling face in front of him.

Bright orange hair appears in his vision. What was his name again? Right.

“Hinata,” Kenma gasps, clutching at his chest. “Do you need something?”

The boy laughs, as if Kenma is making a joke. “I’m here for you. It’s time to wake up. We have to get you ready for the day! Yachi is running your bath, and I also laid out several options for your clothes today.”

Oh god. Is this going to be an everyday thing?

“Um, is this really necessary? I think I can get ready by myself.” He eyes the dresser, where Hinata has indeed picked out several outfits from his closet. There are also many pieces that he doesn’t remember bringing with him. 

“Nonsense! We want to help you look your best and make a good first impression with the prince.” Well, that ship has sailed. But Kenma doesn’t say anything.

Sighing, he gets out of bed. He figures he should let them do something or else they will bother him forever. “Fine. But I can bathe myself.”

Hinata laughs again, fake saluting. “We’ll wait for you out here. Oh! We took the liberty of sewing a few more items for you based on the measurements given to us by Shimizu. If you don’t like any of the styles, we can make you different ones.”

Kenma glances at the items on the dresser before heading to the bathroom. There are a few new shirts, sweaters, and pants. He can tell that they try to tailor them close to the types of clothes he already owns, albeit with much nicer materials. How long it must have taken them to do, he doesn’t know, but he appreciates the efforts.

“Thank you.” Kenma’s chest swells. Maybe he isn’t totally alone here after all.

He picks a cream sweater from the new clothes pile and a pair of red pants from home and heads to the bathroom. When Kenma is done with his bath, Yachi ushers him in front of the vanity. The two of them begin to work on his hair, this time completely ignoring his protests.

“Are you putting make-up on me?” Kenma leans away from Hinata’s approaching hand holding a threatening brush.

“Yes, but just a little bit.” He grins, still coming closer. “I just want to cover your dark circles.”

“I don’t have dark circles.” He pouts.

“You won’t when I get done with you.”

“Are all the maids this bossy or is it just you guys?”

“We just want you to look pretty!” Yachi says from behind him. She’s putting products in his hair that smell like lavender. “Not that you’re not already pretty, but you know, prettier.”

“Exactly.” Hinata nods enthusiastically. “When you marry the prince, you can thank us later.”

Kenma can’t say out loud that he has no intention of marrying the prince, but he doesn’t want to burst their bubbles on day one. Besides, now that he is sitting here, feeling Yachi’s fingers thread through his hair and Hinata’s gentle brush across his cheeks, it feels kind of nice to be taken care of. Though he does have to fight the need to nod off everyone five minutes because this is way earlier than his usual wake-up time.

Luckily, they keep to their words and don’t put too much make-up on his face. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Kenma can still recognize himself, although his cheeks appear smoother and brighter than they normally do, and his blonde hair takes on a pretty shine when the light hit it just so.

Bidding the two of them goodbye, Kenma makes his way down towards the dining hall. He expects to bump into another Selected in the hallway, but he doesn’t see anyone else. A fleeting thought crosses his mind that he might be late, but then again, his maids would’ve said something, so Kenma tries his best to keep his composure as he pushes open the door.

The dining hall is a big, open room with one long table in the middle and one at the very end. The end table is reserved for the royal family, its wood furniture carved into an intricate design. Above the tables are three huge golden chandeliers, giving the room a warm amber light.

Kenma notices that half of the Selected are already here. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that the seat next to Akaashi is open.

“Good morning.” He says as he slips in next to him.

Akaashi turns, pausing his conversation with a wild-hair boy to smile at him. “Good morning.”

The other man waves at him too, as if they are already friends. His black and silver hair bounces excitedly on his head as he leans to shake Kenma’s hand. “Hi! You’re Kenma, right? Akaashi was just telling me about you. You guys flew here together, huh? That’s cool. I’m Bokuto Koutarou.”

“Nice to meet you.” Kenma nods. He lets the two of them continue their conversation, not really interested in joining in.

His eyes scan the table in front of him where a mountain of food awaits. There’s a variety of breakfast food from both Eastern and Western cuisine and his stomach growls noisily. Kenma isn’t usually a big eater, but he supposes not eating much for an entire day will catch up with him at some point.

As he begins to pile food onto his plate, he examines each of the men at the table. At the far end, closest to the royal’s table, are Oikawa and the guy that ignored him yesterday on the plane, amongst a few other men he barely recognizes from yesterday. They’ve all seemed to put some effort into their appearance today as well, and Kenma is grateful that Hinata and Yachi have forced him to do something.

Across from him is the first boy selected. The blonde kid with glasses. He’s pretty tall in person, and like Kenma, he’s quietly eating his food, but his brown eyes scan the rest of the room with interest.

“Hey.” Someone says on Kenma’s other side as he sits down. He seems to be younger than Kenma’s age, but his face is kind. His wavy blonde hair is styled nicely, and his silk navy blouse brings out the clear blue of his eyes.

Kenma gives him a small nod.

“Did you sleep well last night? I feel like I hardly got any sleep. Too excited.” Okay, so he’s a talker.

Internally, Kenma groans, but he doesn’t want to make enemies on the first day, so he says, “I know what you mean.” Though he wouldn’t describe his feelings as “excitement”. Something akin to anxiety maybe. And apprehension. For the first time, though, he’s grateful that he has already met the prince or else he might be bouncing off the walls too with nerves. He wonders how Prince Kuroo will be in the light of day.

“I just think Prince Kuroo is so dreamy, you know? It feels unreal that we’re here.” The boy sighs happily. The grin stays on his face, and Kenma is reminded that there are people here who are genuinely in it to marry the crown prince. He feels immediately guilty that he has taken the spot from someone like him who really wants this.

What if someone in his province was meant to be the prince’s soulmate? And now he would never get the chance to meet him because the system has chosen Kenma instead.

He swallows his toast, although now it tastes significantly worse than before. He tries to focus instead on the conversations around him. More people pile into the room, and soon, all the Selected have arrived. The energy in the room is electric, voices bouncing off one another, adding to the excitement that has existed before.

Personally, Kenma feels his stomach begins to churn uneasily.

As Kenma watches each man interact, he catalogues each face into his mind. He will have to look back to see who everyone is later—maybe Hinata can give him the list of names. Though he doesn’t have a high ambition to win the crown, the competitive streak in him doesn’t want to hand over the win to anyone either. It’s a dilemma that makes his mind feel heavy because he isn’t exactly sure what he wants and why he’s here. And how long he plans on staying. Granted that the prince doesn’t kick him out soon, that is.

The double doors towards the front of the room swing open, and the conversations come to a halt. The room quiets down as everyone’s heads turn to look at the entrance, where the king is in the lead, followed by Prince Kuroo, and who Kenma presumes is his grandparents, the previous king and queen. They smile at the crowd warmly, perhaps reminiscing their own Selection.

Chairs squeak as the Selected scramble to stand up and bow, but the king holds up a hand, and they all sit down. It’s so quiet, save for the royals’ footsteps, that Kenma can hear Akaashi’s breath right next to him.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” The king begins, standing at the foot of the dining table, his booming voice commands respect and the attention of every single person. Prince Kuroo stands on his right side, and Kenma’s breath catches as they make eye contact. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he can see the tiniest hint of a smile on the prince’s face. What he knows for sure though, is that Prince Kuroo looks just as beautiful now as he did last night—maybe even more so in his official suit, broad shoulders and shining bright eyes, the very picture of a charming prince. 

“Welcome to our home. I hope you will enjoy your stay, although only one of you will be able to call it yours at the end of the Selection. Regardless, this is a special experience that only a few will be able to go through, so I hope you all take advantage and make the best of it. I know my late wife still recalled her Selection with a fond smile. Most importantly, I hope you will get to know my son,” he gestures behind him. “And get to know our way of living. Whoever it is that ends up by his side, I eagerly await to call you family of my own. For the time being, enjoy your breakfast.” He motions to all of them to resume eating. The king turns and walks up to his table. Prince Kuroo does too, helping his grandparents to their spots before returning to talk to the Selected.

There’s a spring in his steps, but Kenma notes a slight tremor in his hands. Is there any way he could be nervous?

His voice doesn’t show it though, nor does his face. He smiles broadly as he addresses them. “Welcome, everyone! As you can already guess, I’m Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. I can’t wait to get to know each of you personally in the weeks to come.” He winks. Kenma is pretty sure the boy next to him is going to faint. He fights the urge to roll his eyes, but he finds himself smiling. Does any of these people know how much of a nerd he is? “Please enjoy your breakfast. I will come by to speak with each of you shortly before your lesson this morning.”

“How am I supposed to eat? I feel like I’m going to throw up.” The boy next to him mumbles.

“You’re going to be fine.” Kenma reassures him. It’s a miracle that he can find someone more nervous than himself. “Just be yourself. The prince doesn’t seem that scary.”

“I hope you’re right.” He shudders. “I’m Nowa, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Kenma.” He gives him a small smile. He returns to his food, but his eyes, almost instinctively, search for Prince Kuroo’s face. He sees him talking to the men in front of the table. Oikawa is saying something in his ear that makes him laugh. Kenma tears his eyes away, feeling like he’s intruding on some private moment.

It’s stupid to feel any sort of way right now. He doesn’t even like the prince that way.

For the rest of the meal, Kenma chews the food and swallows without tasting anything. His mind swarms with anticipation as to when the prince will come by to him. His ears are perked up, trying to pick up information from the conversations around him.

Interestingly enough, he learns that Oikawa is a famous athlete. Volleyball or something like that. No wonder he’s used to being in front of flashing cameras and is oozing charm whenever he meets someone new. The other man that was on the plane with them is Daishou Suguru, a son of a wealthy aristocrat. He probably runs in the same circle as Haru and his family. No wonder he always looks like he’s looking at Kenma from the tip of his nose.

Then there’s another man here who is a model, a tall guy named Haiba Lev with silver hair and piercing emerald eyes. There are a few sons of previous Two’s and Three’s, although Kenma can’t remember all of their names. There’s stiff competition, each of them declaring how they want to win Prince Kuroo’s heart by flaunting their affection openly at him, touching his arm and batting their lashes, and Kenma certainly feels like he doesn’t belong here amongst all of them.

Kenma also learns that Bokuto and the prince know each other quite well before the Selection. He’s the son of an advisor who has served the King for over thirty years, so they’ve essentially grown up together. Bokuto seems less stuck up than Daishou and some other elites Kenma has met, though. Him and Prince Kuroo joke around casually with one another as the prince makes the rounds.

For his part, as Prince Kuroo gets closer and closer, Kenma acts like he isn’t paying much attention. He also tries very hard not to listen to Akaashi’s conversation. Somehow, it doesn't feel right to him to do so.

Finally, he feels a warm hand on the small of his back and Prince Kuroo’s voice close to his ear. It feels too intimate, and his face grows hot instantly.

“Hello. Who do I have the pleasure meeting here?” Of course, they’re going to do the dance.

“Kozume Kenma. Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.” He turns around, finding himself dangerously close to his face. Up close, he can see the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and smell his cologne, which is making Kenma feel a bit dizzy. He’s glad he’s already sitting.

Prince Kuroo chuckles at his response. “Kenma. That is a beautiful name. Fitting, for a beautiful face such as yours.” His voice is low and it’s so loud in here with all the voices. Kenma’s glad because he doesn’t want to have anyone listening to this.

If his face isn’t already burning up, it’s probably bright red now. “That’s so cheesy.”

“It’s called flirting.” Prince Kuroo doesn’t take offense to it. If anything, his grin widens, seemingly more amused than before.

“Well, stop it. It’s embarrassing in front of all these people.” He can see eyes on them in the corner of his peripheral vision. He knows the other Selected are trying to discreetly check out the other competitors, too. Everyone wants to know where they stand, after all.

Regardless, looking at the prince, he can almost pretend they are the only people in the room.

“You’re right. Let’s flirt in private.” He moves closer, so that his lips barely brush Kenma’s ears. He really doesn’t want this part to be overheard. “Go on a date with me.”

There’s a traitorous flutter at the bottom of Kenma’s stomach. “I’ll have to check my schedule.” He says back, cheeky. He knows he doesn’t really have a choice. Shimizu references this in his orientation. Whatever the prince wants, he gets. He had shuddered at it and at the implications. Thankfully, Prince Kuroo doesn’t seem to be that kind of man.

He laughs now at Kenma’s answer. “Well, I will be anxiously awaiting your response.” He fakes a bow—Kenma does roll his eyes at this, but only because he knows now that the prince can take a joke or two—and moves onto the next man.

Kenma tries to turn his ears off now too, because he knows Nowa is already nervous enough without the pressure of someone else peaking over his shoulder. It’s not hard, though, because all he can think about is a date with the prince.

Is he serious? Is that what he wants? Or has he been saying that all the men he just talked to? Not that he explicitly states that they will be going on this date, so maybe he was just joking too.

Kenma almost turns to Akaashi to ask, but he decides against it. It might come across as bragging, and he doesn’t want to turn against his (maybe) only friend.

When Prince Kuroo is finished with the rounds, talking to each of the Selected as promised, breakfast is nearly over. They have about ten minutes until they’re due for their first lesson with Shimizu, so many of them start to get up.

Before they can leave, Prince Kuroo addresses them again by clearing his throat.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for taking your time to talk to me this morning. I’m not sure if Kiyoko has mentioned to you all already, but we will be doing portraits tomorrow for the royal newspaper, so I will see you all then. Unfortunately, I have meetings the rest of today, but I will find time for us to see one another soon.” Dates. The word is unspoken, but they all understand it just the same. A wave of excited murmur washes through the crowd. “Before you head out, I would like to speak to a few men privately, though, if you all don’t mind. If you don’t hear your name, please make your way to the classroom.”

Prince Kuroo reads out six names in total, Nowa’s being one of them. Kenma can feel him stiffen next to him. The rest of the Selected begin to file out of the dining room, some looking anxiously back at the men who remain.

They don’t talk as they walk together towards the classroom. A fear gnaws at Kenma’s stomach. He doesn’t want his assumptions to be true, remembering the bright look on Nowa’s face, but he is rarely ever wrong if he has an inkling feeling about something.

The six men don’t return with them, even as Shimizu begins her lesson.

Unease spreads over everyone’s minds.

The cuts have already begun.

~

Shimizu spends four hours going over dining and social etiquette expected of a future Prince Consort. Kenma half-wonders if this morning’s breakfast was a secret test because it would’ve been useful to know before they eat in front of the royal family and possibly humiliate themselves. Fortunately, it seems like the only people who care about these formalities are older aristocrats and advisors and the occasional foreign dignitaries.

She also passed around a list of important people they’re supposed to know. Apparently, it would be bad manners to not recognize certain elites within the palace. A few men groan loudly at this, as the pages are thick and double-sided, but the few people who are used to this kind of expectation merely glance at the pile of papers. Kenma envies Bokuto right about now because none of this seems new to him, having grown up around the castle. He half-wonders if he is here for fun because if he truly loves Prince Kuroo, can’t they just get married without all the theatrics of the Selection?

Thankfully, they are released after lunch to study. A few of them do look like they’re actually doing it as they sit in the Men’s room, but many of them are just trying to relax, debriefing with one another about the day they’ve had.

“Prince Kuroo is much more handsome in person, isn’t he?”

“He has a way with words, too. I really feel like he listened to me, even in those quick minutes.”

“I hope we’ll get to go on a date with him soon!”

“He’s not going to pick someone like you, though.” At these harsh words, Kenma looks over. Of course, it’s Daishou and his pretentious tone, butting in to a conversation that doesn’t concern him. “What would you know about being his partner? He needs someone who understands the world of politics. Who can help him with the problems in this country. And your family were, what? A Four? Five? How are you going to help him run the kingdom?”

Kenma hates to admit it, but there is some truth to his words. Prince Consort isn’t an official royal by blood, but he would be expected to follow and manage the politics within the palace, as well as help shoulder the responsibility of the king. Sure, King Kuroo will have officials and advisors who directly help him run the country, but his husband will not be completely removed from his world either.

One of the other guy’s face fumes with anger. His silver hair almost standing up with the way his body is shaking. “What would you know about the problems the country is facing? You don’t even interact with people who you think are ‘below’ you, and they are the real people who keep this country afloat. You don’t even know what’s important to them or what they need to survive. I can hardly imagine how a spoiled rich boy like you is going to help our future king. And news flash, we’re the same caste now, like it or not.”

Kenma admires his courage. He doesn’t remember his name, but he’ll have to look him up later. 

Unfortunately, Daishou still has another mean bullet left to fire. He scoffs as he says, “Not for long.” Then, he gets up and quickly walks out of the Men’s Room.

The other guy follows soon after, and Kenma can only hope that they are both heading towards their own room. He doesn’t really want to witness a physical fight. Though he supposes he wouldn’t mind too much if Daishou’s haughty face is a bit bruised for tomorrow’s photoshoot.

As the two men exit, everyone else whispers quietly to one another. Between this and the cuts this morning, the Selection is already starting on a sour note.

“Exciting day, isn’t it?” Kenma hears on his right. Somehow during the commotion, Akaashi settled next to him on the couch.

“Too exciting for my taste.” He sews his brows together. Is it too early to go hide in his room now?

“That guy is an ass, though. I can’t imagine Prince Kuroo is going to keep him here for long.”

“What do you think of him? The prince, I mean.” Kenma doesn’t know what makes him ask this. He hopes they aren’t stepping on dangerous grounds.

Akaashi studies him for a moment, his deep blue eyes considering Kenma’s question. Finally, he says, “You know, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to have a friend here. It can get nasty.”

They both chuckle, remembering what just transpired.

“Let’s be honest with one another, as much as we can. I don’t step on your toes, and you don’t step on mine. Deal?”

Kenma was right about Akaashi. Straight to the point. No bullshit.

“Deal.”

Akaashi smiles at him. “So, you want to know what I think about the prince. I think that if we fall in love, it won’t be over a quick meeting at breakfast. At least, I think that the real thing should take time.”

Kenma chews on this for a minute. Then he says, “That’s true.” And he adds, “I think that he needs a better hairdresser.”

They share another laugh. Kenma feels warm and reassured with his new friend sitting next to him. He’s certainly not in love with the prince, either, but he finds himself wanting to know more about him. And he wants to know how the hell he has survived the first cuts.

After a few minutes of chatting, Kenma’s energy is officially shot, so he excuses himself to his room. Thankfully, his maids are not there, so he has some time to himself. When he walks towards the bed, though, he sees a package on the desk next to it.

A note sits atop the cardboard box, completed with the royal letterhead and beautiful cursive letters.

To Kenma,

I hope this is to your liking. I’m not familiar with video games myself, so I just told them to get the top five most popular ones. If you are unhappy with the choices, I can have them buy a few more. And maybe one day, we can play something together. You can teach me your ways.

Yours,

Kuroo Tetsurou

P.S. if I didn’t have the courage to ask you out at breakfast, take this as a formal invitation for a date with me. Say yes. Please?

Underneath the words are two squares, completed with a Yes or No scribbled next to them. Kenma barks out a laugh in the quiet room. He’ll have to respond to him later, but first…he turns his attention to the box.

Opening the box with shaking hands, he sees that the prince has indeed gifted him a brand-new DS, still enclosed in its original packaging. There is another smaller box that contains the five games he mentioned.

Staring at the gift in front of him, Kenma’s heart is beating against his ribcage, so loud that it roars in his ears. A smile tugs at his lips, and he’s glad no one is here to see it. They might accuse him of falling for the prince. 

~

Prince Kuroo doesn’t join them for dinner that night or breakfast the next day, but everyone is relieved to know that they will not be having morning lessons in favor of getting ready for their photoshoot. Hinata and Yachi are practically bouncing off the walls when Kenma says they have free reign to dress him so long as he doesn’t look too crazy. They even cut and buffer his nails, even though he’s pretty sure you can’t even see that in the pictures.

Yachi decides to put his hair in a low bun today, with two pieces framing his face. Hinata is gleaming with glee when Kenma doesn’t want to bite his hands off for putting eyeshadow on him. Not that Kenma is a really a stranger to make-up—he is a dancer, after all—but it never feels quite like himself.

But this is all a show, isn’t it? A performance of its own rights.

That morning, the Royal Reports (a magazine more than an actual newspaper) published its first updates on the Selection. They have pictures of the Selected leaving their homes and arriving at the palace. They also have shots of them eating breakfast the day before with Prince Kuroo captured talking to several Selected, namely Oikawa and Lev, who are already famous enough to gather attention on their own.

Kenma isn’t one to follow celebrity gossip, so he never picked up the magazine on his own accord, but he eyes the paper with interest this morning. The Friday edition will have his face on it, clearer than the tiny snippet they’ve chosen to share with him getting into the limo on Tuesday because each Selected with get their portrait with the prince printed on its own page. And the nation will get their first look at the future royal couple.

When Hinata and Yachi are finished with their pampering, Kenma is pleasantly surprised again at his reflection in the mirror. The suit they’ve chosen for him is a soft cream color, a maroon pocket square tucked on his left pocket. There’s just a hint of glittering gold eyeshadow on his face, perfectly bringing out the color of his eyes. Kenma’s pink lips are accented by the pink lip gloss Hinata have chosen that smells vaguely like strawberries.

“Thank you,” he whispers to them, slightly enamored by what he sees in front of him.

“You’re welcome! We can’t wait to see your picture!”

That’s right. He wonders what he would look like now standing next to the prince. Will he hold his own? Will they look like they are meant for each other? Or will Kenma look like a child playing dress-up?

He’ll find out soon enough.

~

The photoshoot takes place in one of their classrooms. All the tables and chairs have been moved so that the crew can set up their lighting and equipment. The backdrop is at the front of the room, facing the wall, so although you know who’s there with the prince, you won’t get to see what the pictures look like until they’re already printed.

That eases Kenma’s nerves somewhat. He wouldn’t want the rest of the Selected to stare at him while he tries his best to smile.

Glancing around the room, he sees that everyone else is also dressed to the nines. Akaashi has on a deep navy-blue suit that brings out the color of his eyes. Oikawa, annoyingly, looks perfect in his simple black suit, his brown hair falling perfectly around his face. The silver-haired guy from yesterday, Semi Eita (Kenma finally gets around to learning everyone’s names), has on a single stud in his right ear that somehow pulls his outfit together.

Before long, Kenma’s name is called out, and he makes his way towards the photographer.

Prince Kuroo stands waiting for him in front of the blue backdrop. There’s also a red velvet lounge chair and a lamp to complete the fake scene.  

Again, Kenma finds it hard to stop the fluttering in his chest when the prince smiles at him. The suit he has on today is similar to the suit he wore on the Reports when he announced the Selection with its various medals and tassels attached. His black hair is somewhat tamer now, swooping off to the side but still sticking up at its odd angles.

“Kenma!” He greets him happily.

“Your Highness,” Kenma bows, remembering his manners.

Prince Kuroo tsks at him. “Please don’t call me that.” He puts a hand on his heart, dramatically sighing. “It makes me feel so distant from you.”

Kenma fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only because the photographer is staring at them, and he doesn’t want him to get any wrong ideas about him being insubordinate. “Prince Kuroo, then?” He arches his brows, coming closer.

“Hmm. How about just ‘Kuroo’?” There’s a glint in his eyes that tells Kenma how much he is enjoying this.

Somehow, Kenma finds himself blushing. It’s not like he’s telling him to call him by his first name or anything, but it feels like he’s being given permission to address him as an equal. Like they are Kenma and Kuroo and not Kenma and the prince.

“K-kuro.”

The prince’s eyes light up. His grin widens as he says, “Yes. Perfect.”

Kenma can’t fight the blush now. It’s taking over his entire face in full force, making him feel hot in his suit. Yup, he really said, Kuro, which is admittedly not the same. But it pleases Kuroo somehow.

The prince holds out his arms, and Kenma looks at him questioningly for a minute before realizing that he wants to get into the pose. Right. The picture. They’re supposed to look like a couple.

When Kenma slides into the space on his left, Kuroo’s arms slip around his back and hold him close. He feels his body heat and smells again that intoxicating cologne. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he melts into the prince’s arms.

In his ears, Kuroo whispers, “You didn’t tell me before that you are a dancer. Will you dance for me sometimes?” It sends a tingle down Kenma’s body. He’s embarrassed even thinking about it, so deflecting the question will have to do.

He turns his head, looking at him from below his lashes. “You know, first you asked me to go on a date. Then you gave me a gift. Then you ask me to dance for you. If I don’t know any better, I would think that you like me or something.”

Kuroo laughs, his entire body shaking with the force of it. From up close, Kenma can see the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. When Kuroo looks back at Kenma, his expression is unreadable. Kenma wonders how long it would take for him to understand every crease in his skin, to memorize the different faces he has.

“Unrelated, but has anybody ever told you how smart you are?” Kuroo muses.

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re a flatterer?”

“How else will I get pretty men to go out with me?”

“Well, you’re the prince. I imagine that gets you plenty of dates. All twenty-nine of them, to be exact.”

A change flashes in his eyes then. So brief that Kenma thinks he must’ve imagined it because before he can even register it fully, the shine is back in his eyes. “You’re right. Time to abuse my power. No more using it for good. I demand—"

“Sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” the photographer clears his throat, making the both of them jump. “But we do need to take a few posed shots. We have more pictures to take after Kozume-san, after all.”

“Of course, my apologies.” Kuroo nods at the man. Then, to Kenma he says, “Look, now you got me into trouble.”

Kenma also forgot the purpose of this meeting. Has he really just been standing in the prince’s arms this whole time just talking? Like it’s normal?

“Don’t blame this on me. You were the one that wanted to flirt with me right now.”

They both turn towards the camera. The lights are already blinding Kenma’s eyes.

Kuroo mumbles to him one last thing, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to flirt with you any chance I get. Now, let’s take our picture, shall we?”

And the flash goes off. Kenma prays that he’s smiling because he’s not sure what kind of face he has on.  

~

After, when Kenma is walking away, he remembers the folded piece of paper inside his pocket. He holds it out to the prince before leaving.

“What—” He starts before recognizing the print that adorns the paper. It’s just a small piece, cut from the letter Kenma received the day before.

Kuroo doesn’t open it in front of him, just tucking it inside his own back pocket with a smile on his face.

Kenma bows before leaving, if only to spare himself from looking into the prince’s knowing eyes, but before he disappears behind the backdrop, Kenma sneaks a look anyways, unable to help himself.

The prince’s cheeks have taken on a pretty pink.

Selfishly, Kenma wants to be the only person who makes him look like that.

~

Kenma can tell that something is different during breakfast the next day. When he enters the dining hall, heads turn to look at him, then they all sharply look away. First, he thought it was because they’re all on edge due to the first Reports being later that evening, but as he’s sitting down at his usual spot, he sees Oikawa eyeing him with interest. Then, he raises his cup, as if giving him a toast, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“What is going on?” He whispers to Akaashi.

“You don’t know?” He smiles, clearly in on a joke that Kenma isn’t.

“Know what?”

Akaashi hands him a copy of the Royal Reports. “You should tell your maids to give you a copy in the morning. Just so it doesn’t catch you by surprise the next time.”

Seriously? Now he’s going to have to read a magazine first thing in the morning?

Annoyed, he flips through the pages. The portraits they’d taken the day before are already printed. As expected, each Selected get their own page. Their picture with the prince taking over most of it with information about each men printed below. It’s ordered by the province, so Kenma’s is towards the end.

He hates to say it, but most of them look really good standing next to Kuroo. Some, like him, are held in his arms, but some are taken on the lounge chair behind them, the two of them sitting or leaning against one another. Kenma can imagine that one of these photos can be made into a giant oil painting that adorns the hall.

Finally, as he flips to his own page, his heart stops. Of course. Now he understands why everyone is staring daggers at him this morning.

The posed portrait they’ve taken together looks like they’ve known each other for years, so casually holding onto one another. Their outfits complement each other well, and Kenma’s pocket square matches the exact shade of maroon Kuroo has on his suit. They’re both wearing a smile fit for their own personality, Kuroo’s is wide and bright and Kenma’s a shy and gentle one.

But it’s not just that picture that makes people angry at him. It’s because right below it, amidst the information about Kenma himself, is another picture of him and the prince. Kenma is the only one who gets two photos instead of one.

In this one, Kuroo is laughing, unabashedly with his head tilted back, and Kenma is looking at him with a look that can only be described as fondness. They look like the camera isn’t even there, like the whole world exists only in that space between them.

But it’s true, isn’t it? Kenma doesn’t even remember the camera flashes going off as the two of them talk, so wrapped up in one another.

“Your face is really funny right now.” He hears Akaashi snicker beside him.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He closes the magazine and begins to eat, even though his mind is racing.

“Don’t be embarrassed because we can all see that you like the prince.”

Kenma is about to say that he doesn’t like the prince, but he shuts his mouth. He is supposed to like the prince, isn’t he? Isn’t that the whole point of being in the Selection? And, well, he doesn’t dislike him, right?

And that look on his own face—it’s hard to deny.

What’s probably harder to deny, and more troubling to Kenma than ever, is the fact that, against the impossibility of it, the prince might truly like him back.

Chapter Text

Kenma’s eyes keep glancing at the royals’ table, but Kuroo doesn’t show up for breakfast today either. The king is there, speaking softly with his mother. Occasionally, they will look out into the crowd, appraising the Selected silently with unreadable expressions. Kenma wonders what they think of the pictures. He wonders if they see him as someone they could call their own, whether he could fulfill the spot by the prince’s side with grace and dignity or they could see that he’s way in over his head.

While the rest of the Selected act cold towards Kenma, Akaashi and Bokuto are in their usual high spirits, talking animatedly throughout the meal. Well, Bokuto is talking animatedly. Akaashi is listening and talking at a normal tone of voice.

Kenma doesn’t care about what the others think of him anyways. He only needs his one friend here. And the only opinion that matters is the prince’s. Though Kenma is starting to worry that he cares too much about what the prince thinks.

He manages to finish reading the rest of the Royal Reports after eating his food. Apparently, two men have gone on dates with Kuroo the day before as well. There are pictures on the following page, after the portraits—taken on the first day, one date is horseback riding, and one is a simple picnic in the garden after their photoshoot session. And Kenma feels relieved that the spot Kuroo had chosen for the picnic is not the one he showed Kenma. He hopes it remains something only he shares with the prince.

There’s also a twinge of annoyance when he sees the pictures though, and he can’t help but think that if he had said yes to Kuroo earlier, would he have made the paper again or instead of these two? On the other hand, maybe it’s good that he’s not putting too big of a target on his back. Still, he finds it unfair that he’s the only one receiving cold shoulders even though two others have literally gone on dates with the prince.

Kenma examines the pictures of the dates carefully, almost against his will, but he can’t seem to look away. They’re taken from far away, so the expressions on their faces aren’t clear, but Kenma can make out the men just fine without the caption underneath. Ushijima and Daishou.

Ushijima is handsome. Fine. He’ll give him that. Kenma doesn’t know what he sees in Daishou romantically. Maybe he acts differently when he’s with him—he hates that thought even more. But he also can’t help but wonder if Kuroo is strategic and political in his choices.

Ushijima comes from a prominent farming family that produces the majority of the country's wheat production. He works on the farm and has a hand in running the business side as well. In the people’s eyes, he would be considered a Four, not one from the upper elite of society, but not low enough that it’s shameful. Not that anyone would admit that out loud, but what would it say about the royal family if the prince marries a common laborer? It shouldn’t matter anymore, the non-existent caste system, but everyone still checks a box beside your name to determine where on the ladder you belong. Ushijima would please most commonfolk who want to completely abolish the meaning of the caste system, to rid of its impact and significant in people’s minds, while not ignoring the upper-class’ prejudice either.

And then there’s Daishou. He’s good looking enough to most people that it would make sense, but those who are officials or noblemen would know of his status upon hearing his name. It’s a good balance, a safe first choice for him to explore, if not too obvious. But choosing him would not make the people happy either. It would mean that the royal family still submits to the same regime, that they have once again chosen to ignore and forget the voices of those who struggle most in this country.

It shouldn’t matter at all where they come from and what they do. It shouldn’t matter to anyone beside the prince. It shouldn’t have any double meanings or intentions.

Maybe he just likes them. Maybe they hit it off.

It shouldn’t matter, but staring at the magazine and seeing already the commentaries that follow—both written in between the lines on the page and sprinkled in the conversation around him—Kenma knows that it does matter.

Everything matters.

It looks like Kuroo has a lot of choices between thirty-five men, but when it comes down to it, he doesn’t have many at all. No matter who he chooses, someone will be unhappy, even if they have no right to be.

What they need to do, really, is win the heart of the nation and of Kuroo’s. Write the perfect love story. Say the perfect lines. Play the perfect part. Don’t give anyone any doubt as to why you are chosen as Prince Consort instead of the guys standing next to you, regardless of your family and what caste you might have been. This is probably the reason why they dislike Kenma so much—the story between the prince and Kenma has already been started, captured seamlessly and effortlessly for everyone to see.

It’s not as easy as that, though. Because anyone can put on a smile for the camera, acting like they’re in love. You would have to also be the perfect choice in behavior and ideals. The weekly Reports would be another test they would have to pass, another opportunity for them to prove that they deserve that spot by the prince’s side.

Kenma doesn’t know if he has what it takes to do all that, but catching a glimpse of everyone’s worried faces in between the forced smiles, he breathes a tiny sigh of relief. He’s not completely alone in his panic. It’s beginning to sink in for everyone else too.

~

Shimizu’s class today covers how they should act for the Reports. She also shows them, briefly, the studio where it will be filmed later and runs through a list of tasks they need to prepare for—hair and makeup, mic assignment and sound checks, seat assignment on stage and camera directions. Somehow, it doesn’t freak Kenma out as much as he’d expected.

It’s another performance. Another game.

When she lets them go, Kenma suspects it’s only because she can tell only half of them are paying attention. Maybe it’s still the article this morning or nerves about the Reports. Maybe it’s just the fact that some of them do want to take fully six hours to get ready. Kenma can feel the restless energy, too, from the tapping of feet against the floor to the occasional sighs from various sources around the room. Some of them practically bolt out of there when given the chance.

Personally, he doesn’t want to get ready just yet. He doesn’t want to delve into the fact that he’s absolutely being interviewed tonight over that incidental photo either.

Kenma just wants to be alone with his game that Kuroo has so nicely bought for him. That thought makes him feel funny inside, and he wants to ignore that feeling too for as long as possible.

He finds a spot in the library where he can be by himself. He collapses against the beanbag chair in the far corner of the room. Before he can fully be content and immersed in the world in front of him, he hears footsteps coming closer.

Then, from above him comes a scoff and an annoyed click of the tongue. It’s scary how he already knows who it is without even looking up.

Just on cue, Daishou says, “You know I went on a date with Prince Kuroo.”

Refusing to make eye contact with him, Kenma says in a bored tone, “I saw. Congratulations.” He engages with the Mareep on his screen. Maybe he can catch it while having this conversation so it’s not a total waste of his time.

“Yet all everyone can talk about is that stupid picture you have with him.” He spits the words out at him. A rise of amusement almost tugs at his lips, but he keeps his face perfectly blank. It’s better not to give him any reaction at all.

“I can’t control that.” The Poke Ball shakes and stills with golden sparkles appearing next to it.

However, Daishou isn’t done with him. “I don’t know what kind of game you want to play, but I’m just telling you now, you’re not going to be the new Prince Consort.”

Kenma spares him one glance, quicker than a second before it’s back to his console. “Okay.”  

He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much but when Daishou lets out an exasperated sigh, it gets to his head a little.

“It’s frustrating to talk to you. You know that? How you make the prince laugh is beyond me.” He can see him folding his arms defensive across his chest, his cheeks beginning to flame.

“Thank you.”

“You—"

“Cornering him here just to bully him, really? Isn’t that low even for you?”

Between Daishou and his game, Kenma missed the footsteps coming this time. It’s that guy who argued with him yesterday. Semi. He looks at Daishou up and down, his lips pulled into a half-smirk.

“It’s none of your business what I do. Maybe I’m going to accuse you of stalking me if you keep popping up where I am.” Daishou raises his voice in response. He really is a sore loser. Kenma can’t imagine what kind of look he’ll have on his face when he doesn’t win this whole thing. “When” because he really can’t imagine Kuroo is going to commit the rest of his life with this jerk.  

Semi laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I have better things to do with my time than stalk a slimy guy like you.”

“Whatever.” Daishou throws up his hands and turns sharply away, his feet rattling the shelves as he stomps out of the library.  

The other guy turns to Kenma, eyebrows raised. “Was he bothering you?”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m not really scared of people like him. They just like to cause unnecessary trouble and it’s better to just ignore it.”

Semi’s brown eyes study Kenma’s face, as if matching his words to the micro expressions he wears. Finally, he muses, “You’re kind of cool, aren’t you?”

“Not really. I just can’t be bothered.”

“I see.” Then, before he walks away, Semi looks at Kenma over his shoulder, a hint of a challenging and a ghost of smile on his face. “By the way, I’m not going to lose.”

This time, Kenma doesn’t fight the smile that threatens to come on his. “Okay.”  

~

Hinata and Yachi insist that they’re only putting on more makeup on him than usual because the lighting washes out his face. Kenma knows better to fight them by now, and he’s also familiar with stage-makeup himself. The layers of powder and brush caking on his skin strangely make him feel safe this time, as if hiding him instead of showing him off like it’s meant to. It makes it easier to think of it as a performance. A posed, practiced, carefully presented version of himself. That Kenma can do.

Maybe he should thank Oikawa after all for his comment. Though they’ve hardly spoken to each other since arriving here. Like Akaashi and Bokuto, the other doesn’t seem as bothered as the rest of the Selected about Kenma’s picture. Though the reason is probably because he thinks his picture is the best regardless and not because of any goodwill towards Kenma.

He takes his seat in his designated spot, in the back but towards the middle of the stage—the aisle seat. Akaashi is in front of him and the half-Russian model Lev is next to him. He hasn’t talked to him much either, but that’s mostly by choice—the other talks too much for Kenma’s preference.

“I feel like I’m going to poop my pants.” He hears his shaky voice beside him.

“Please don’t.” Kenma grimaces. He eyes him, and even though Lev on some makeup, too, his face does look paler than normal. If he gets any paler, it’s going to be whiter than his ashy gray hair.

“Ugh, I can’t believe this is going to be broadcasted to every house. How does the royal family do this every week?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be used to cameras and stuff? Being a model, or whatever?” Kenma raises his brow. Maybe Lev isn’t a very popular one. He hadn’t heard about him before coming here anyways.

“I’m good with filming for commercials and runways. This is completely different!” Lev goes on to explain the processes of filming for those things, going to details that Kenma doesn’t intend to hold onto at all. Though talking about something that’s familiar to him is starting to give him some color back in his face, so Kenma doesn’t stop him either.

He nods along absentmindedly as his eyes search, once again, for the prince’s face. He appears not long before they’re supposed to start filming, smiling apologetically to the crew.

Kuroo nods to his father and gives a reassuring smile towards the Selected before taking his seat. They lock eyes across the stage, briefly, and Kuroo sends a wink in his direction.

Kenma looks away quickly, even as his insides flutter and fill up with warmth. He doesn’t know how Kuroo manages to do that—always making it seem like they’re in on a joke no one else knows about, that there are things between them, just between them.

“Alright gentlemen,” Shishio appears in front of them in his usual black suit. He grins broadly, holding out his arms like welcoming them home. “Ready for the nation to meet you?”

Many of them nod back, smiling with the same excitement and a touch of lingering anxiety on their faces. Lev gulps visibly beside Kenma. He can’t see Akaashi’s face in front of him, but somehow he’s sure that the other man has it together. And Kenma, feeling the heat of the lights hot on his skin and the rub of his sweater against his neck, allows himself a final moment of internal panic. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, Shishio’s back is to them, his mic held up to his lips.

A split second later, someone gives him the cue, and Shishio announces, “Hello, good evening, citizens of Nekoma! Welcome back to the Reports!”

The stage. The performers. The dance. The game.

It begins.

~

Thankfully, for the first half of the show, King Kuroo occupies the focus, giving his news of recent events and any changes they’ve made that week in accordance with the legislation and responses from local government. The prince gives his own report as well, as he’s beginning to take over some part of governing.

Kenma does his best to pay attention to the content, but the more he focuses, the more boring it becomes, and he’s fighting off sleep. He doesn’t know what he would rather happen—sit here and endure the Reports half-awake or being interviewed about how he’s supposed to be in love with the prince, knowing that millions of people are watching—including his own mother.

His dilemma is put to the test when Shishio puts on a particularly devilish grin on his face, leaning in close to the royal family and asking, “Now, let’s get to the real reason why those at home are tuning in tonight. Prince Kuroo, how’s the Selection going?”

“I was hoping you would ask me that.” The joy on his face is real this time. Kenma is sure of it—how? He doesn’t know, but there is a twinkle in his eyes that is unmistakable. “It’s been so amazing having all these amazing men here! I feel like I’ve just made thirty-five new friends.”

“Friends? Don’t you mean boyfriends?” Shishio chuckles. He lowers his voice just a tad, for dramatic effects. “Your Highness, between the two of us and the millions of viewers, do you already have a special person in mind?”

“Oh!” Kuroo laughs, waving his hands in front of his face. “I can’t possibly say that so early on. It’s barely been a week, and they are all so wonderful in their own ways. I’m really going to have to get to know them more. Though I have to say, some have already left quite an impression on me, but that’s all I’m giving you for now.”

Some have already left quite an impression on me. His words echo but just in the chambers of Kenma’s mind. His heart begins to race inside his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s afraid it’s him or he’s afraid it’s not.

“Oh? Well, I suppose a quick Selection is no fun now, is it?” Shishio teases. “Let’s go talk with our Selected and see how they feel. Maybe our viewers back home can get a sense of who have gotten your attention so far, my prince.” He walks over to where they are sitting. The camera pans over to them, following him.

Kenma is glad he’s in the back row, not completely in the view where everyone must be watching. His heart still doesn’t know the difference though, so it begins to pump blood to his ears. He grips the front of his pants to stop his hands from shaking.

Shishio stops in front of Ushijima, smiling at him. “Hello. Ushijima-kun, is it? A little birdy told me you had your first date with the prince this week.”

“Hi. Yes, I did.” Ushijima’s calm, deep voice comes through the set. Kenma doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s as cool as a cucumber, unbothered by the pressure of the situation. He carries a quiet confidence that Kenma secretly admires.

“What did you think of Prince Kuroo?”

Ushijima thinks about it, pausing for a second before saying, “He has good riding techniques. Clearly, his instructors taught him well.”

Shishio and a few others let out a small chuckle. Kenma lets out a small snort too at his response, feeling his body relax. Ushijima does not mean it any other way than what he said, but that doesn’t mean that everyone else will take it that way.  

“Right, yes.” Shishio clears his throat. “Anything else about Prince Kuroo?”

“He talks a lot I suppose, but I don’t mind that. He’s extremely knowledgeable in agriculture for someone who has never done it.”

Kenma sees Kuroo straighten himself up in the corner of his peripheral vision. It’s high praise from Ushijima, so no doubt he’ll feel a touch of pride.

“He talks a lot? I hope he didn’t hog all the conversation! Did your ears burn after a while?” Shishio seems to enjoy teasing Ushijima.

He shrugs. “Not really.” Ushijima enjoys missing out on said jokes.  

Shishio laughs at his apparent frankness, patting him on his shoulders. “Okay, thank you so much Ushijima-kun! I’m going to talk to this gentleman next to you. Remind us of your name?”

“Daishou Suguru, sir.” He tries his best not to show his annoyance, but Kenma can hear in his tone. This makes him feel better too.

He decides to tune out Daishou’s interview. Nothing he says is going to make him feel better and he would rather not hear about how he and Kuroo flirt with each other on their little date.

Kenma averts his eyes, and before he knows it, he’s looking at Kuroo again. He’s watching the conversation between Daishou and Shishio. Even though the focus isn’t on him, there’s another camera pointed in his direction anyways, just in case they want to capture his reaction.

As if sensing a pair of eyes on him, Kuroo glances upwards at Kenma. They make eye contact again. This time, Kenma doesn’t look away. Maybe he should have—what if someone sees this?

What would they see anyways?

Kuroo’s eyes seem to scan Kenma’s face for an answer. He must have found it, because he smiles and looks away first.

Kenma looks back just in time to see Shishio thank another Selected for his time. Apparently he has moved on from Daishou to someone else. How long has he zoned out? He has a split second to hope that Shishio would be going to someone else again before that hope is quickly squashed. He heads up the row. 

Shishio stands next to Kenma, smiling at him too like they’re a pair of old friends. “So, Kozume-kun, I save the best for last, tell me more about this picture we’ve loved since this morning. I mean, come on,” he puts a hand over his heart, sighing happily. “It’s sweet.”

There isn’t time for Kenma to think about what to say. He just says what comes to mind first. What feels true.  

“It was an accident, really. I didn’t realize the photographer had started taking pictures. We were just talking.”

“Aw, that’s so adorable. Now will you tell us what got him laughing so much?” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Um,” Kenma glances at Kuroo again and then back. He pulls a smile on his face, almost shyly. “I think that’s a secret between me and the prince. Maybe you can get him to tell you.”

Shishio turns around to face the prince, hopeful.

Kuroo laughs. “You heard him. It’s our secret.”

“Ahhh, of course.” Shishio shakes his head, faking his disappointment. "Tell me, Kenma, what do you think of our prince so far?"

Kenma opens his mouth to speak, but he finds that he doesn't know what to say. He looks over at Kuroo again, his steadfast eyes holding his gaze, and the words come this time more easily, "He's different than who I expected him to be."

"How so?"

He thinks of his secret garden. Of his game waiting for him unexpectedly in his room. Of his asking and not assuming. "He's more thoughtful." And then he adds, "And taller in person."

Shishio tilts his head back laughing, amused. “Well, I can attest that he is both of those things. Now, we can expect there to be a date between the two of you in the near future, right? Oh, look at that—well, that’s all I need to know!” The other man grins playfully. Kenma feels the blush taking over his face. He’s glad at least that it means he doesn’t have to speak up to confirm it. “I, for one, can’t wait to hear all about it next week! I’m sure our viewers at home feel the same way.”

Shishio begins to take his original position upstage, signaling to everyone the end of the Reports. “Prince Kuroo, looks like you have quite a choice to make. I mean, look at all these gentlemen!”

“I am one lucky man.” He agrees.

“Well, well, well.” He addresses the camera this time. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re enjoying our Reports this evening. I’m looking forward to seeing where this Selection will take us, and I hope you are too. I’ll see you all here next week for more updates.”

“Aaaand, cut! Great job everybody.”

With those words, Kenma feels the weight lifted off his shoulders. He would’ve sunk into his chair if it had a back. His muscles are tense and achy, as if he’s been holding tension in his body for so long.  

“Nice job, Kenma!” Lev smiles at him, his emerald green eyes shining underneath the studio lights.

“Thank you.” He nods.

“See? Not as bad as you thought it was going to be, huh?” Bokuto grins up at him from where he’s sitting beside Akaashi.

Honestly? “It wasn’t too bad. Although I do prefer if I didn’t speak at all.”

“Too bad you’re too popular for that.” Akaashi teases him.

“Popular” has never been a word Kenma associates with himself. He doesn’t know what to do what that information.

Kenma rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, when it’s your turn, I’ll give you some lovely moral support too.”

Akaashi just smiles back.

They all begin to file out of the studio. Kenma is proud of himself for not completely tripping over his words on air. It truly wasn’t that awful. Now, can he do it every night for the rest of his life?

~

Later that night, as Kenma comes out of the bathroom, having scrubbed himself clean of makeup, the tiredness of the day crashing into him in waves, he hears a knock on his bedroom door. He doesn’t answer at first because he assumes it’s either Hinata or Yachi, wanting to drop off something for him. However, the door doesn’t automatically open, and the knocks resume.

Puzzled, he walks over to the door.

“Oh. Kuro.”

He’s still wearing his clothes from the Reports in contrast to Kenma’s comfortable pajamas. He smiles softly at him, face etched with tiredness too.

“Hi. Are you heading to bed? Should I come back at another time?”

“No. I was going to stay up for a bit anyways.” It’s not completely a lie. Kenma is tired, but he probably has another hour of playing video games left in him. “Come in.”

The prince steps into the room, and Kenma closes the door behind him. Then, he briefly wonders if it’s allowed. Before his mind can wander down a rabbit hole, Kuroo speaks up,

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I feel like you were a bit uncomfortable filming the Reports.” His words are kind, but Kenma can’t help but wonder if he had done something wrong.

“Was I not good? Was it—” There’s a lump quickly rising in his throat.

“No, no,” he shakes his head quickly. “That’s not it at all. I just noticed that you were feeling a bit tense. That’s all. I’m sure no one else noticed. You did wonderful. I wouldn’t worry about that.”

No one else noticed. Kenma thinks. But you noticed?

He lets out a small sigh. “I was a bit nervous and anxious about the Reports, to be honest. It’s difficult for me to talk about myself in front of a crowd like that. I don’t—and I know it’s weird because I’m a dancer and I should be used to it, but I don’t love being in the center of attention.”

Kuroo looks at him, his gold eyes sympathetic. He says softly, “I understand. It’s hard to put yourself on display like that.” He runs a hand through his messy black hair. “Unfortunately, as a member of the royal family, I can’t avoid that sort of thing. It’ll follow you forever. The Reports. The pictures in the magazine. That’s just a given.”

If he becomes Prince Consort, that’ll be a given for him too. But neither of them says this part out loud.

The prince clears his throat. Then he says, “How’s the DS treating you? Is it alright? Do you need a different game?”

“No, thank you so much! It’s great! I don’t need something different.” He shakes his head. “I actually played all of these before, but I don’t mind re-playing them. It gives me a different perspective.” He asks tentatively, “Do you want to see the Pokémon I’ve gotten so far?”

Kuroo’s eyes light up. “Sure!”

Kenma leads him over to the couch at the far end of the room. As the game loads, Kuroo scoots closer to him and his cologne fills Kenma’s nostrils, somehow a comforting scent. He feels a warmth taking his chest, almost choking him with it as he tries to speak.

“So, this is my starter…” Kenma walks Kuroo through his Pokedex, showing him the individual ones. He doesn’t know how much Kuroo cares or actually retains, but he always nods and asks him questions when he shows him a particularly interesting one. He also explains the different components of the game.

“So you’re saying if I play Pokémon too, we can battle?” His eyes widen excitedly.

“Yes.” Kenma suppresses a smile. Sometimes, he forgets that the prince is just another man. Another boy.

“Oh, man. I wish I could! Maybe on our date, you can show me?”

“Date?”

“Oh, you still want to, right?” He has the audacity to look abashed. “I mean, in your note, you checked the ‘yes’—”

Kenma laughs. “Of course. After announcing it to the whole country, I think we should definitely go on our date. I just mean I have no idea when or what we are doing.”

Kuroo blinks. Then he hits himself in the face with the palm of his hand. “I totally forgot to tell you.” He peels his hand off, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry about that. This Sunday—do you want to have lunch with me in the garden?”

“A picnic date? Recycling your ideas already?”

He gasps. “No! It’s not the same at all. We only had snacks and tea. I’m bringing you a whole meal this time, Kenma.” He adds, “And dessert.” There’s a look in his eyes that means, you’re going to like what I have planned.

Kenma rolls his eyes, pretending to still be cross even though he was never really angry in the first place. He had been looking forward to seeing Kuroo’s garden in the daylight after all as promised.

“I suppose you’ve persuaded me.”

“Perfect! I’ll come get you at noon, and we can head there together.” He smiles, so giddy that it makes Kenma feel it too. Then, he stands to go. “Well, I’ll leave you to rest now, Kenma. Good night!”

He walks Kuroo to the door where the other lingers for a minute, not passing over the threshold for a second too long. A fleeting thought crosses his mind, is he going to kiss me?

But Kuroo doesn’t move for his lips. Instead, he grabs one of Kenma’s hands and plants a kiss on the back of it. A small, yet tender gesture. It leaves a tingle on his skin like an invisible tattoo.

Kenma feels more for him in that moment than anything he had ever done with Haru. As the prince disappears down the hallway, Kenma is still behind his closed door, trying to calm his racing heart.

Chapter Text

The Selected don’t have to take their meals in the dining hall during the weekends, so Kenma successfully avoids any unwanted social interaction on Saturday. Sunday comes too quickly, but at the same time, he catches himself glancing at the clock on his wall too often, willing the hands to move.

When Kuroo finally knocks on his door, Kenma feels himself physically jumping to move towards it. He feels ridiculous. He feels like he’s sixteen, about to go on a first date, not at all like someone who’s in their twenties. This desire to get to know the prince more—it surprises him every time he’s aware of it.

“Hi.” Kuroo smiles at him. His cream-colored knit sweater is half-rolled at the sleeves, fitting nicely with blue tailored pants. His hair is as wild as ever, swooping down to cover his gleaming honey-colored eyes. He looks, in this moment, less like a prince and more like a boy next door, someone Kenma could’ve really known in another lifetime.

“Hi.” Kenma tries not to sound breathless because he’s really just standing here, but his heart is already beginning to race. Why does it feel different today?

Kuroo’s smile turns crooked, apologetic. “I have to warn you, there are paparazzi on the grounds, but they’re instructed to stay far. They’re just going to snap a few photos, and then they’ll leave us alone. Sorry I can’t really call them off.”

It’s not ideal, but as long as Kenma doesn’t have to deal with them the whole time, it will probably be okay. He lifts a shoulder. “No problem.” He blinks up at Kuroo. “I guess I can pretend to like you for a few minutes.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh, and it echoes down the hallway. Kenma has half a mind to wonder whether the other Selected can hear him from their rooms and know.

“I would be so lucky,” says Kuroo. Then, he holds out the crook of his elbow, eyes asking for permission. It shouldn’t charm Kenma, but it does. He loops one of his hands through it, holding onto him. They leave behind the shadows of the hall and head towards the garden doors.

“So Kenma, tell me, how are you enjoying your stay here so far?”

“It’s good. I think.” His mind searches through the events of the week. It honestly feels like forever since he first arrived, although it hasn’t even been seven days yet. “Hinata and Yachi are very nice to me. The lessons from Shimizu aren’t too bad even if they are boring sometimes. It’s a bit weird for me to be with so many other guys 24/7, but it’s not so bad.”

“Good.” Kuroo smiles down at him. “I’m glad to hear that. I know your first night here was an adjustment.” The guards hold open the doors for them as they pass, bowing respectfully. The prince responds with his own nod of the head, thanking them in his own way. Kenma follows his example, nodding to show his manners.

This conversation and these doors. Why does it feel like it was forever ago? And is it possible that Kenma feels a little different than who he was the last time they were here? And the prince, he seems different too. Or maybe he just becomes who he has always been, and Kenma is just now figuring him out. 

“How is it going for you? Enjoying your twenty-nine boyfriends?” He arches his brows at him.

Kuroo chuckles, his cheeks showing just a hint of color. “I will admit it’s weird for me too. Knowing that I’ll marry one of you eventually? It’s a bit nerve-wracking.”

“Choose wisely. Some of us snore.” Kenma doesn’t snore. At least, he doesn’t think so. No one has ever said, and Haru definitely would’ve complained if that’s the case.

They walk around the garden, making a big loop to provide the reporters with enough opportunities for pictures. The prince’s eyes are scanning for the cameras, though it seems he has a sixth sense and picks them up quite easily. Years of practice have prepared him well for this. Kenma keeps his eyes on him because it’s just easier that way. He would just be more nervous if he saw them staring at him.

He tugs on Kuroo’s sleeve. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

Kuroo looks back at him, eyes curious. “Go ahead.”

Kenma chews on his bottom lip. “It’s about Bokuto. I mean, you guys seem so close. If you like him, why didn’t you just marry him? Why have this whole Selection thing anyway?” He doesn’t know if it’s out of line, but he’s almost positive Kuroo wouldn’t be mad even if it is.

The prince looks thoughtful, lips pursed, before answering. “Bo and I—we’re friends. I would even consider him my best friend.” He smiles kindly. “But we’ve never—I mean, I’ve never felt that way towards him before. We grew up together, and sure, there were moments where I thought about it because it’s not like I see a lot of kids my age right? But at the end of the day, he’s like a brother to me.”

“Then the idea of the Selection came up, and I was kind of terrified. Thirty-five men and what if I never met the one? What if I never fell in love with any of them? What if everyone that was selected hated me?” The anxiety and nervousness are evident in his voice. His eyes seem to glaze over, as if remember that version of himself. Thankfully, the smile is back on his face soon after. “Bo was kind enough to put his name in to ease my anxiety so that if by chance I didn’t find the one, there was a possibility that I could end up with him rather than someone I truly wasn’t compatible with.”

“He would do that for you?” The Selection is not a joke, something to be taken lightly. It’s a bargain for the rest of your life. Maybe Kenma should’ve thought about that too before applying for the Selection himself.

Kuroo nods, grinning. “He’s a great friend. And God knows how he got Selected but here we are.”

“You can still fall in love with him, you know. Different circumstances, different stressors—you start to see people in a different light.”

Kuroo looks thoughtful again, chewing at his bottom lip this time. “Maybe.” Then he shakes his head, his voice coming out at a lower tone than before, more serious. “I don’t think it’s going to happen though. Either way, I’m not worried about finding the one anymore.”

“Oh?”

The look Kuroo gives him then is so undecipherable. Maybe Kenma could’ve understood it if he’s not too afraid of what it means.

“I believe he’s here. I just need to convince him to fall in love with me too.”

~

When Kuroo is certain that the reporters have left, he circles them around the garden one last time before heading to the secret gate. He holds the door open for Kenma again, and he slips in just like last time.

Kuroo’s right. It is much, much more beautiful in the daylight. He can see every flower that dots the bushes, its soft pink color a contrast to the various shades of green. Even the stoned path is lined with multiple different flowers, each one reaching tall and competing for the sunlight and attention of its passerby with their own vibrant color.  There are small, white butterflies at their feet, bouncing from one plant to another.

The gazebo at the center is decorated this time with a set of wooden tables and chairs in the middle. On top, there’s a lacy white tablecloth, candles, and a bottle of wine along with their meal.

“It looks beautiful.” Kenma says as he sits down.

“Yes.” Kuroo agrees, smiling at him.

The prince has chosen light sandwiches for their lunch, in which Kenma is grateful for because he doesn’t usually have a big appetite, and he doesn’t want to seem rude if he can’t finish his food in front of him. They sip their chilled white wine, Kenma relishing in its sweetness, and talk about things that seemingly don’t matter. Even so, he finds himself having fun, and the wine is making his stomach feel warm and fuzzy.

Somehow, they get on the topics of Pokémon again, and Kuroo insists that he remembers all their names from seeing them just once the previous evening. Kenma enjoys watching him get them wrong.

“What is this one called?” He picks another one from his Pokedex. The little bird jumps out, flapping its wing.

“Um Raven Boy!” Kuroo says with too much confidence.

Kenma snorts. “No. Try again.”

“Hat Bird!”

He laughs. “It’s Murkrow.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.” He furrows his brows. He waves his hand at the screen. “Lemme do one more.”

Kenma tilts the screen away from him until he picks a proper one. “Okay this one. It’s kind of easy.”

“Oh, he’s cute. Bell Plant!”

Kenma arches a brow, impressed. “You’re close actually. Give it another go.”

“Green Sprout.”

He shakes his head. “Bell Sprout.”

“I was close!” He grins excitedly. “Told you I’m good at this.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. He holds out the DS for him. “Do you wanna try capturing a Pokémon? I can let you catch one.”

Kuroo claps his hands together. “Let’s eat desserts first! I think you’re going to like what I brought.” He reaches into the picnic basket and brings out a covered container.

The smell hits Kenma before he even sees what’s inside. The sweetness of the pastry and apples combined with a hint of cinnamon.

“Apple pie?” He whispers, eyes wide.

Kuroo nods as he finally reveals it. Its golden-brown crust makes Kenma’s mouth water. The prince cuts Kenma a slice a slide it onto his plate. “Only the best in the whole country.”

At home, Kenma can only ever get it on special occasions because it’s too expensive. He can hardly imagine what this one will taste like. He blows on it before finally feeling it melt inside his mouth. He might have moaned a little too.

Kuroo smirks next to him, pleased with himself. “Good, huh?”

“Are you kidding? You’ve been hiding this from me this whole time? Why can’t we have this for every meal?” Then, he sobers up a bit, wondering how on Earth Kuroo could’ve known about his favorite food. Unless…of course. “I guess the million questions Shimizu asked me before I came weren’t for nothing.”

Kuroo shrugs, unashamed. “There is a reason for all the madness we put you through.”

“What else did you secretly learn about me, stalker?”

“How else am I supposed to get to know you?”

Kenma looks around, incredulous. “Um. Like this? On a date?” Maybe Kuroo doesn’t know any better. His first date was probably earlier this week.

“Right. Well, okay—tell me something I don’t know about you then.”

Kenma racks his brain. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, but it’s hard to just say a fact about himself on the spot like that. “I have never broken a bone.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. Have you?”

“Of course!” He points to his left forearm. “I broke this arm falling off a tree. I broke my pinkie falling off a horse. I accidentally broke my nose sparring one time—”

“Geez maybe it’d be faster if you tell me what you didn’t break on your body.” He laughs. But the imagine of little Kuroo running around wreaking havoc is more adorable than he would’ve thought. “Okay now your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you and that I can’t find on a random gossip magazine.”

“Hmm.” He closes his eyes, a finger to his lips, deep in thought. Then, he snaps his fingers. “My hairstyle is actually bedhead.” He puts his hands to mimic the pillows around his hair.

Kenma blinks at him, “You don’t style it like that?”

“Why would I style it like this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you thought it made you look cool.”

“Nah. I’ve tried to style it differently, but it always escapes the hair gel. All the maids have given up on me.” He shakes his head. He looks back at Kenma, asking tentatively, “Can I actually ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“I know you’re a dancer, but what do you really want to do with your life?”

Kenma gives him an odd look. He didn’t expect that at all.

“Forgive me for saying this, but I’ve seen a few videos of your dancing, and you’re beautiful. I mean, truly breathtaking.” Kenma blushes. How much research did Kuroo do on him? “But I know your passion isn’t dancing. You look different when you dance than when you play games. I know it’s not the same because one is work and the other is pleasure, but still, I get the feeling that you don’t completely give yourself to it.”

Can he glimpse that from a couple of videos?

Kenma sighs. The question Kuroo asks him is the same one he has been battling with for years. “I honestly am not sure. I was enrolling in some college classes before I got here trying to see if something would interest me. I was thinking about game design or maybe something like that, but I hadn’t gotten far in my classes before I came here.”

Kuroo hums and says, “Can I ask why you dance if it’s not what you want to do?”

“My parents taught me how to dance at a young age. Even though the caste system is no longer, it’s still difficult to find a job outside of the caste you’re born in, especially if you are originally from a lower caste. They just wanted me to have something, some skill, so that if I wasn’t able to make it on my own, I had a way of taking care of myself. I don’t mind it really, but I do want to find something that I enjoy doing.”

The prince smiles at him, a slight sadness in his eyes. “That’s really admirable, Kenma, but I’m sorry to hear that the abolishment of the caste system is not working out the way it intended to. I mean, everyone is supposed to be able to choose what they want to do and be who they want to be now, but everyday I’m learning that it’s not the case.”

He shrugs. “I don’t have it that bad. A lot of it, I think, just takes time. Demolishing centuries worth of a social system is easy on paper, but it might take just as long to erase it from people’s minds as well.”

Kuroo’s face turns more solemn. “Yeah. At first, everyone was so happy. I remember my father telling me about the parties they throw when they eliminate a caste. Now, I feel like it’s getting worse every day, and people are becoming increasingly unhappy. We keep getting reports of riots all around the country—Ah, I’m sorry.” He breaks off. “We shouldn’t talk about that in the middle of our date. How unromantic of me to bring up my work in the middle of this lovely picnic we’re having.”

Kenma reaches out a hand to cover the top of Kuroo’s. He’s not usually a touchy person, but the urge is comfort him beats out.

“It’s fine if you need to talk about it. Maybe it is unromantic, but I don’t care. It’s part of your work—your life—and I don’t mind hearing about it. It affects me too. I don’t know how much help I would be as I’m not great with politics, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Kenma.” Kuroo picks up his hand and gives him another kiss on the back of it. His face slowly getting back its cheerfulness as he pushes another plate of pie towards Kenma. “Now finish your pie! It’s going to get cold!”

For the first time, Kenma thinks about this—about the fact that although everyone gets the chance to choose what job they want, Kuroo remains the only person that doesn’t get that choice.

~

The following week, Kuroo seems to rack up the dates quickly, going on one or two a day, judging by the pictures in the Royal Reports. He can only imagine the excitement the serial dates bring to the reporters, who are used to only getting crumbs and snippets of the prince. Now getting free reign to exclusives every day, they must be enjoying themselves for once. However, the more dates Kuroo go on, the more people are eliminated. By the time the Reports roll around next week, there are only twenty-three of them left.

Thankfully, because of the new developments, Shishio mostly left Kenma alone, having so many people he can badger and tease instead. Akaashi gets his first moment on air, and Kenma can’t help but be slightly jealous of his calm composure. He answers every question with grace. Though if he loses to him, he’d be fine with it. At least Akaashi is a decent person.

The following weeks go on just like that—Kuroo going on dates every other day, and they talk about it on the Reports. It seems that the dates have been going well because Kuroo only lets one person go, bringing the total to twenty-two.

Although the remaining Selected feel comfortable and happy having survived week after week, around the one-month mark, the Royal Reports brings a somber mood to the group as news of riots across the country make their way into the magazine, too big to be ignored. By this time, Kenma has kept up his habit of reading the paper before heading down to breakfast. Having read about the factory that burned down because the CEO refused to promote his formerly lower caste employees to managerial positions (even though they’ve worked there for years), leading to what could only be assumed as resentment and retaliation from his workers, Kenma doesn’t have much appetite for food.

Everyone at the table is the same, either staying quiet or speaking softly with one another. Even the sound of a fork scratching against a plate can make Kenma jump.

“They don’t have proof that he refused their promotion based on discrimination,” Bokuto points out. “I mean, it seems likely, but the solution isn’t to burn down the factory.”

“And they don’t have proof that the fire started out of retaliation and not an accident either.” Akaashi chimes in. His face is grim like he doesn’t believe his own words.

“At least no one is hurt, but now everyone is out of a job.” Kenma doesn’t see anyway to solve this situation. Who will take the fall? What is “right”? How do you enact justice on something like this?

“You play stupid games, and you win stupid prizes. That CEO shouldn’t have let his prejudice get in the way.” They all glance at Tsukishima, who sits across from them, usually saying nothing. Kenma tries to remember what he does for a living and comes up blank. He knows he’s gone to college, so it seems like he has some way to afford higher education.

“So what do you suggest we say to him? And the hundreds of workers that are now out of a job? It’s not just the CEO’s life that’s ruined because of this.” Bokuto says again, genuinely curious.

Tsukishima shrugs. He bites into a piece of bread as he thinks, his glasses reflecting the glare of the chandelier above. “I’m not saying it was a good solution. I’m just saying he can’t expect to be set in his own ways how that the world is changing—has already changed.”

“The older generation definitely has a harder time adjusting to the caste abolishment,” Semi chimes in, from a few seats down, having overheard their conversation. “I work as a civil servant in the housing division, and I see a lot of cases where former Eights, Sevens, even Sixes have a hard time moving into a different neighborhood. The landlords can artificially inflate the price when talking to them. It’s difficult to prove though, like this case.”

Kenma thinks about his own neighborhood, composed mainly of previous Sixes and Fives such as his family. It’s not unsafe or unsanitary in any way, but he can tell the difference between where he lives and where his clients live. The streets are better lit there, lined with expensive shops and restaurants. People are always out and about, well into the night—in contrast to his quiet neighborhood by the time dusk rolls around. Haru was never interested in coming over to his house either. Kenma always came to his. He can’t imagine living in a more dangerous place, having access to move, but being denied it without clear reasons.

He eyes the royal table, empty of its normal occupants. It’s one thing for them to receive the news and speculate about what to do. It’s another to actually be the ones responsible for it. He wonders when any of them will see the prince next.

~

The weeks following their first date, Kuroo has been making a habit of visiting Kenma at night. He doesn’t come every night, but it’s reliably three or four times a week. If Kenma’s lucky, they go on a date outside of that too, though both of them simply prefer the company of the other without the need to do or be somewhere special anyways.

And though he never asks, Kenma can’t help but wonder where Kuroo is the other nights he’s not with him. Still at work? Just in his room? With another Selected in theirs?

He knows Kuroo has every right to do what he wants, and he should absolutely go on dates with the other men that are there, but Kenma wishes he knows where he stands. Whether it’s worth it for him to get his hopes up or not.

He enjoys being with the prince, more than he thought he would. They talk about random things they each find interesting. They badger each other about their different childhoods. On some nights, when Kenma can tell that Kuroo has had a particularly draining day, they sit in silence, listening to the sound of Kenma’s game. This is about all Kenma can offer the prince, but is it enough?

Tonight, after the news of the factory fire, Kenma expects him not to come. He wasn’t around for any meals that day and neither was the King. It’s hard to imagine the prince will get an early day out of the office after something like that. Still, even as it’s past the time Kuroo normally comes by, Kenma stays up anyways. He just wants to play his game, and really, it’s not unusual for him to go to bed at odd hours to make progress on whatever he’s grinding.

The knocks come, so softly that Kenma thought he must have imagined it because he’s been thinking about Kuroo so much, but he walks towards the door and sees, on the other side, Kuroo’s tired, worn-out face smiling sheepishly at him.

“Sorry. Were you sleeping already? I know it’s late.” He’s still wearing his work clothes, which today consist of a white button-up shirt and slacks. The top few buttons are undone, as if he’s in the process of removing them before coming over. Or maybe he just likes to wear it like that, but Kenma has a hard time imagining how on Earth anyone can focus on a meeting staring at his open collarbones.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” And it’s never too late.

Kuroo follows him in. Kenma closes the door behind him, and they settle on the familiar couch. Today, Kenma doesn’t pull out his game like he normally would have.

“Do you want to talk?” Kenma asks tentatively, looking at the prince’s solemn face, staring at the ground in front of him.

Kuroo leans back against the couch, his eyes closed. One of his hands pinch the bridge of his nose as the rest of his body tenses. When he speaks, it sounds like a dam breaking. “I don’t—I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do to. The people want the caste to be eliminated, so we got rid of them. Now, they’re unhappy that we got rid of them. We can find solutions to fix this problem, fine, but what about all the millions of other things that are going to come up? How am I to protect the lower castes if, technically, there aren’t even lower castes anymore? But I can’t leave them so defenseless and desperate like this that they must resort to crime and violence and rebellion. We need something permanent. And I don’t know what that is. And I don’t want to fail them. To fail you.” His voice trails off into a quiet whisper at the end, and Kenma’s heart breaks at the shakiness of it.

He inches closer and sees that a trail of tears has made its way out of Kuroo’s shut lids, sliding slowly off the curve of his cheeks into his ears. He’s never been good at handling other’s emotions, worse at handling their tears, but something propels him to pull Kuroo to his chest, so he does.

Kuroo lets out a surprised sound when he feels Kenma tugging at his arms, but he relaxes into his body when Kenma wraps his arms around him, pressing his head into his chest. Kenma doesn’t know what to say, so neither of them says anything for a while.

Finally, Kenma says, “You’re not going to fail anyone, especially not me. I know you care about this country and the people do too even though they’re angry. As long as you keep trying to find the solution—as long as you’re trying to listen to their frustrations, you’re doing the best you can.” He rests his chin on top of Kuroo’s head, feeling the spiky black hair rub at his skin. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

Kuroo laughs a bit, but the sound is devoid of its usual humor. “You have more faith in me than I do myself.”

“So be it.”

They stay connected for a few more minutes before Kuroo pulls away from him. He wipes the last remaining tears off his face, and in a split moment, he is seemingly back to his perfectly composed self, his earlier anxiety tucked back inside.

“Thank you, Kenma. I needed to hear that at least someone believes in me.” Kuroo smiles at him gratefully.

Ah, Kenma understands, so it’s there. Not hidden at all for those who know how to look.

It’s another moment where Kenma feels like they are on equal grounds. Kuroo, despite being at the highest social standing in the country, never sees him as somebody below himself. Even with the dates, he’s sure that if he never said yes outright, Kuroo would’ve left him alone and maybe sent him home on account of them being incompatible instead of forcing him.

“It would’ve been easy for you to not care, you know. You could have pretended that you already did what they asked and just go on with your day. The fact that you know it’s not enough—not many people think like that, especially not noblemen.” Kenma hates thinking about Haru, but seeing Kuroo, it’s easy to compare them. It’s easy to see Haru’s faults in light of Kuroo’s strengths. “You might think you are unfit to be the Crown Prince, but I think you are doing much better than most.”

Kuroo stares at Kenma, his gold eyes so heavy with churning thoughts. “I never asked—and I guess partly because I’m afraid of the answer—but have you had experiences where you’ve been discriminated against because of your previous caste? If you are uncomfortable, you don’t have to share.”

Kenma purses his lips. “It’s not ‘instances’ really. I mean, not in a way that is outright.” He takes a deep breath before answering. “You know that I’m a dancer. Well, I usually dance at charity events or parties put on by my clients, who are usually noblemen, so people who would be previous Twos or Threes. They don’t treat me badly or anything, but I can always tell that I’m not an equal. I have my own entrance I go through and my own food that they provide for me outside of the guests’ food.”

“I dated one of their sons and he never said it, but he was ashamed of me. We were never seen together at the parties as a couple—he never invited me to one I wasn’t already working at and never introduced me to his parents. Then we broke up because he was hooking up with another guy behind my back. That is less about discrimination and really more about him being a shitty person, but still, the guy is probably the son of an aristocrat, so he would’ve been rather caught half-naked with him than holding hands with me in public, so that’s saying something.”

“Wow. I—I don’t even know what to say.” His voice is quiet. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

Kenma shrugs. “Like I said, I probably have it easier than most people. It’s just ingrained in people’s minds the separation of caste. It will take time to completely go away.”

Kuroo shakes his head. “Still, I think there’s something we can do at least to help move it along.”

“You’ll find it.”

“Thank you, Kenma. You’ve helped me with a lot tonight.”

Kenma feels warm under his gaze. “I’m glad. And, you know, it’s okay if you have to work. Don’t feel like you have to visit me every night because you think I’m lonely or something.”

“Oh, trust me—it’s not because you’re the lonely one.” How can he just say things like that? How is Kenma supposed to feel?

After a moment of comfortable silence, Kuroo slowly stands, walking towards the door. “I’ll leave you to sleep now. Thank you again for letting me crash your peaceful night.”

“No problem.” Kenma smiles at him. He’s about to close the door and bid him good night when Kuroo suddenly looks over his shoulder, pausing.

“By the way, your ex was an idiot. If you were mine, I would show you off to the world, and I never would have looked at anyone else ever again. Good night, Kenma.”

Kenma goes to say “Good night” back, but it gets stuck in his throat.

~

Kenma doesn’t see Kuroo at night for more than a week after that. He only sees him at the Reports and at mealtimes, and even then, Kuroo always rushes off half-way through to handle one crisis or another. From across the room, Kenma can see the dark circles painting themselves underneath his eyes.

The prince sometimes will stop by their table to say hi, making sure they don’t feel neglected or ignored, but it seems that he never has time to talk to each of them individually.

For his part, Kenma tries to will himself to sleep early at night, but he always tosses and turns in his bed, even as he’s put down his console, as though his body is waiting for something—someone. The sleepless nights are beginning to catch up with him too.

“You’re looking grumpier and grumpier every day, Kenma. Can’t sleep?” Akaashi looks at him through his pretty lashes.

Kenma grunts his response. It’s making him into a not very nice person to be around.

“Did you read the Royal Reports this morning?”

Shit. He didn’t. “No. Too tired.”

“Well, you should.” That’s never a good sign.

Kenma groans. He should’ve known better by now. It’s too late anyways. He thanks Akaashi and grabs the paper from him. He was expecting to see another fire or dispute. Instead, what’s staring back at him is a blurry picture of two people, pressed against the wall of the palace, in a position that can only be assumed as kissing. It’s on the front page, and only one person, really, is important enough to make the cover.

Kenma doesn’t expect to feel a physical pain in his chest, so visceral and sickening that it threatens to choke him. It’s a feeling he thought he had left behind months and months ago back at his hometown.

His mind is screaming at him not to look at it anymore, but his eyes are locked on the image. Someone’s hands on Kuroo’s shoulders, which are so broad that they cover everything, including the other person’s face. It looks like they aren’t aware of the cameras this time. Maybe that’s why Kuroo seems to be so careless, kissing like that as if no one’s watching.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to murder someone.” Akaashi’s voice seems suddenly distant.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to be jealous you know. I am too. I haven’t done nearly that much with Prince Kuroo yet. We haven’t even held hands.”

Akaashi is trying to make him feel better, and he appreciates it, but all Kenma can think about is who this person could possibly be. He takes a quick inventory of everyone who’s left. Many of them would be too tall to be covered like that by Kuroo.

People would probably think it’s him, given his height. The only other possible choices are Shirabu, who’s a friend of Semi, and Mirai, someone who Kenma has never talked to before. They both keep their face perfectly neutral and pleasant throughout the meal, and they’re not ones to brag, so Kenma doesn’t know if it’s even them at all. And he’s not about to ask.

The only real consolation he gets is that Daishou looks just as angry and annoyed at the front of the table as Kenma feels inside. Then, Kenma is disturbed at himself for relating to Daishou of all people.

He forces himself to read the rest of the paper. It doesn’t say anything other than speculations on who the man must be. There aren’t any other pictures either, other than that first one.

“He can kiss whoever he wants.” Kenma says, closing the magazine shut. Out loud, it sounds more petulant than he meant it to.

Akaashi chuckles next to him. “Say it again. Maybe I’ll believe you next time.”

“I’m fine.”

“I take it you haven’t kissed him either. I’m a bit surprised.”

“Why?”

His friend shrugs. “It seemed like he likes you.”

I thought so too. Kenma wants to scream out, but he keeps his mouth shut and shoves some food into it. Sure, he told Kuroo that it’s okay not to come to his room, but he meant it only if Kuroo is too busy with work. He thought Kuroo was busy with work. Now, he’s thinking maybe Kuroo has grown bored of him. Maybe he hasn’t come by because he’s spending his nights in somebody else’s room.

But really? What did he expect? A couple nice moments together, and he thinks the prince is going to choose him? Did he think that he was somehow going to have his attention forever? How did he think this was going to end? Him marrying the prince? Of course not.

Kuroo doesn’t show up to breakfast that day, probably knowing the rocking of the boat from the picture will only be worse if he’s there, but he does show for dinner. He does his usual quick chat with the group, and Kenma doesn’t meet his eyes.

He feels like a child, but he doesn’t know how to look at him without everything inside him spilling out.

The worse part is that Kuroo hasn’t even done anything wrong. He’s allowed to kiss someone else. He’s allowed to date someone else. He’s allowed to choose someone else. There are so many qualified men here who are more fit than Kenma to become Prince Consort.

Still, Kenma hasn’t realized it until now, but he wants to be chosen by Kuroo, and it hurts when he isn’t.

The rest of the day goes by in a daze, with Kenma barely paying attention to his surroundings or lessons. When Hinata and Yachi prepare him for bed, he lets them go even before curfew, ignoring their worried looks and protests.

He’s determined to go to bed early tonight. He’s not going to wait around for someone who isn’t going to come.

Before sleep can take him, however, three knocks come rapping on his bedroom door.

Chapter Text

Part of him wants to be petty. Part of him is so done with the day that he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and fast-forward to another day when the ache inside his chest is not pressing down on him as much as it is just there.

But there’s a larger, more convincing part of him that wants to see the prince, no matter how much it would hurt. Maybe he’s here to say goodbye, and Kenma would never have to see the inside of the dining hall again. 

Kenma finds the strength to climb out of bed. Behind his door is the person he most and least wants to see. Here is a face so familiar to him now—perhaps because he has never left his mind, perhaps because he’s always in the periphery of Kenma’s vision every time they’re in the same room together.

The prince stands in his rumpled white shirt and dark slacks. Kenma hates himself for looking at Kuroo’s lips, pink but cracked, as if he would see if there’s a difference. It doesn't matter, does it? He could’ve been kissing anyone all this time, and Kenma would be none the wiser.

An ugly, angry feeling bubbles in his chest, clawing its way up his throat. Kenma only barely catches it before it comes barreling out his mouth.

“You look terrible.” Because now that he’s not looking at his lips, now that he’s up close instead of across the room, he can see all the ways Kuroo has let himself go, as if he’s aged years instead of days.

“Kenma—”

“Did you even sleep? Or eat? I see you run out of the room every day with a piece of bread in your mouth. It’s not enough sustenance, you know. You can’t just run yourself to the ground wor—why are you smiling at me like that?” God, he looks stupid when he smiles. Stupid and beautiful.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Is his response, looking at Kenma with that same fond look.

If Kenma could scream without waking the whole palace, he would. He spins around and walks into his room. Kuroo closes the door behind them with a small click as Kenma goes on, feeling like he’s losing it with every passing second.

“I’m not mad. Why would I be mad? There’s no reason for me to be mad at you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re still allowed to be mad.”

Kenma faces him then, chest rising rapidly like he’s just ran a marathon. “And you’re allowed to kiss other people.” The words hang in the air, perfectly suspended above them like a time bomb about to go off.

“Kenma—” Kuroo’s face scrunches. His eyes and lips look pained, although they don’t have any reason to.

Kenma doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, if he ever did. The words that swirled in his head just come tumbling out his mouth like they have nowhere else to go. “No, it is! And you should. You should date other people. It’s the whole point! You shouldn’t just fall in love with the first boy you meet. That’d be silly. You—”

“Kenma.” Kuroo stops him with two hands on his arms, forcing him to look into his eyes. His words are low but firm. “I’d be mad too if someone I liked kissed someone else.”

He can read him like a book. Still, Kenma turns away from him, his cheeks burning, his blonde hair falling around his face. “I don’t like you.”

Kuroo has the audacity to chuckle, clearly not believing Kenma’s bad attempt at lying. “Well, I like you. A lot.”

“You can’t just say that and—”

“We didn’t kiss.” The words stop Kenma from resisting his grip. They stop the world from spinning around him.

“What?” Kenma finally turns towards the prince, eyes searching for the truth, or for a reason to believe him. He can say anything, can’t he? Kenma doesn’t have to believe it.

Kuroo grimaces, as if replaying the memory in his mind. “It looked a lot like it, but we didn’t kiss. He pulled me in, but I stopped it before anything could happen.”

“Why?” Kenma’s heart thunders in his chest. He doesn’t need to know, but he wants to know. The prince doesn’t even have to say anything, but he’s here—explaining. How many of the Selected has he—will he—visit tonight?

He lifts his brows. “Rule number one of being me, of being a royal? Always assume there are reporters watching you. Rule number two—know where the cameras are at all times.” Then, a tiny blush makes its way across his cheeks. “It would’ve been my first kiss, and I wouldn’t want the cameras to catch it just in case I’m bad at it. There was only one picture, wasn’t there? Because nothing else happened.” He opens then closes his mouth, clearly deciding whether he should say this last part.

“And?” Kenma prompts softly, wanting everything.

“And it wasn’t who I really wanted to kiss.”

Kenma closes his eyes, feeling the tension drain from his body. Maybe he’s a fool to believe everything the prince says. But maybe the look in his eyes just can’t be construed in any other way.

When Kenma opens his eyes again, he finds Kuroo still looking at him. The worry lines between his brows are more prominent, their indents are a semi-permanent part of his skin. Kenma reaches up with a hand and presses his thumb against it, rubbing in small circles. His chest still hurts, but it also feels full, like a balloon expanding.

“You need to stop scrunching your brows all the time, or you’ll get wrinkles before you’re thirty.”

“Okay.”

“And I meant what I said.” Kenma swallows. “It’s fine if you want to kiss someone else. I just don’t want to see it. And if you really can’t help it, you could give me a warning, that’d be nice.”

Kuroo looks like he wants to say something else but settles again with a, “Okay.”

Kenma can’t believe he got worked up over something like this—he can’t believe he got jealous over someone who isn’t even his to begin with. It’s the first time that he truly admits it to himself. He likes the prince. He likes Kuroo. It’s frustrating and terrifying. But it also feels nice.

A moment passes before he speaks, “When it’s just you and me, I forget that there are other people here who get your attention, too. And I—I guess it bothered me more than I thought to picture you with someone else like that.” Kenma’s voice is soft because he’s afraid of the feelings he put into them. Too much. Too soon. But they’re too big to sit inside his chest. Especially when Kuroo is looking at him like that. “Sometimes, I wish it was just me.” Sometimes, I wish I could just be yours. Kenma does bite his tongue then because that part is much too real for him to admit out loud. To belong to Kuroo is to belong to the prince—to belong to the kingdom. Kenma isn’t sure he’s ready for that yet.

Kuroo smiles at him, his own confession at the tip of his tongue too, “I know there are a lot of men here trying to get my attention, but when it’s just you and me, that’s when I’m happiest.”

He doesn’t say Kenma is his favorite. He doesn’t say I’m going to choose you. He doesn’t even say I love you. Because they’re not there yet, and they both know it. Kenma doesn’t love him yet, but he probably will. And somehow, looking at him now, he knows that Kuroo won’t be visiting anyone else tonight either.

He clears his throat, then says, “What I really can’t believe is how you’ve never had your first kiss.”

Kuroo’s face changes, its usual charm sneaking in. “Eh? Who am I supposed to kiss here? My father’s financial advisor? Well, I did try to kiss Bokuto once, but we missed our lips and poked each other with our noses.”

Kenma laughs, imagining that in his head. “I pity whoever gets to be your guinea pig then.”

“You think I’m going to be bad? I’ve read books, you know.”

This makes Kenma laugh even harder, tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes. “Oh god, books on kissing? Or books where the characters do stuff with one another?”

“Because you’re making fun of me right now, I’m not telling you.” He pouts, folding his arms across his chest, but Kenma knows it’s all for show. He’s not really upset the way his lips are resisting the upward pull.

“You can’t read your way into being a good kisser, Your Highness.” He wiggles his brows at him. “It takes practice.”

“Then teach me.” He says, completely serious now.

Kenma’s smile freezes on his face as his lips let out a single, “What?”

Kuroo’s lips curve into a smirk. “Teach me how to kiss. How do I get a cute guy to kiss me. You’d know, don’t you?”

He can’t be serious.

Kuroo’s eyes glance at Kenma’s lips, full of desire.

Oh, he’s serious.

Kenma forces himself to breathe.

“Of course I know.”

“Okay.” His smirk widens. He’s enjoying this. “I’m listening.”

“It’s not something I can just teach you. I mean, it’s hard to describe—”

“Show me?” His eyes are the perfect picture of innocent, if not for the mischievous glint catching the reflection of the chandelier above.

Kenma swallows. Then, a surge of confidence runs through him. Fine. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to make Kuroo compare every other kiss to him, to taste him on every single lip pressed against his whether he wants to or not.

“A kiss is a gift, you know.” Kenma begins, stepping closer. He sees Kuroo’s eyes dilate, sending tingles down his own body. “You can’t go around kissing just anyone. It’s another way to show love, to say I like you, I want you, I love you without having to say anything at all. If you do it right, that is. And if they do it right, you can taste it right back.”

They’re standing so close now that every breath they take makes their bodies brush against one another. Kenma can feel the air leaving his nose and wisping over his skin. Kuroo probably aches to touch him, with the way his hands tremble, but they lay at his sides, as if waiting for orders.

“I’m sure you can tell when someone wants to kiss you. They get really close, so close that you can see every imperfection on their cheeks. And they touch you—here maybe,” Kenma trails his hands over Kuroo’s lean arms, feeling his taut muscles under his touch. He moves them up to his shoulders, the way he remembers the guy in the picture doing so. It should’ve angered him again to think of it, but he feels nothing now. This is as close as he got. Kenma will not let it end here.

“And you—maybe you feel warm all over, maybe you feel electricity where your skin touches, and maybe you want nothing more than to press your bodies together, but you have to wait.”

“Why?” The whine that leaves his mouth is almost enough for Kenma to melt. He wants to break his own resolve and just kiss him senseless here, but he waits.

“It’s the anticipation that makes it good.”

“You’re killing me.” Kuroo gulps, still eyeing Kenma’s lips like he has nowhere else to look.

A tiny smile appears on Kenma’s lips. He’s right where he wants him. “You have to make him want you. You have to make him feel like he has to have you now if he wants to survive.” His hands trace all the way up his body, touching gently his neck and then his cheeks. “You want to tell him that every inch of him matters to you, that you would worship him if you could. Cup his cheeks. Put his hair behind his ears so he can’t hide from you. And then, it feels like the air is too thick for either of you to breathe, you pull him close and you just—close the distance.” Then he adds, “You won’t miss his mouth this way.”

Kuroo chuckles. He asks, softly, “What comes after that? How do I know if I’m doing it right?”

“After that, you try to tell him everything you want him to know with just your lips. And you’ll know when he clings tight to you. Like he doesn’t want to let go.” Kenma doesn’t even know where these thoughts come from. It’s as if being this close to Kuroo makes impossible truths spill out his mouth.

Kuroo moves then, one of his hands snaking around to press at the small of Kenma’s back, pushing their bodies together till nothing separate them but two thin layers of clothes. Kenma feels the heat of his body seep into his bones, a surprised gasp exiting his throat. He doesn’t get to say anymore than that because then, Kuroo uses his other hand to caress his cheek, so gently even under his calloused fingers that it sends shivers down Kenma’s spine.

Slowly, Kuroo pushes away Kenma’s bangs with both hands, the hair that has fallen over his eyes. Kenma can see him even more clearly now. His uneven breath. His shaky hands. His slightly parted pink lips. His eyes full of want. Kenma can’t look away from him. He sees Kuroo’s mouth moving,

“What if I ask if I can kiss him? You think he’ll think I’m a dork?”

He smiles, his words coming out in a whisper because they don’t need to be any louder than that. “Most definitely, but maybe he’s into that.”

“Hm.” Kenma can feel the vibration under his fingertips, hands now back on Kuroo’s broad shoulders. Kuroo’s hand finds his chin and tilts his head back, and Kenma feels the words with every cell in his body when Kuroo says, a feather away from his lips, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” the word is barely out when it gets swallowed again, caught in the kiss as their lips touch.

Kuroo, for all his talk of never being kissed before, kisses like he’ll never get to again. His hands are threading through Kenma’s hair and cupping the back of his head to bring them close. His lips, originally soft and hesitant, are now crashing into Kenma’s with endless hunger and impatience, wanting to taste every part of him. They’re soft and they’re warm and they feel like they’re meant to know Kenma’s this way and every way.

I like you, his kisses say, I want you.

For his part, Kenma’s grateful he’s still standing upright. His hands are gripping Kuroo’s shirt like he’ll fall or die if he isn’t this close to him. He’s aware that he’s making low, wanting moans in the back of his throat, but he’s too busy to care. His tongue touches Kuroo’s lips, and it slips in, sliding over the roof of his mouth and mapping every corner.

I want you, his kisses say, to want only me.

They kiss for what feels like ages, lost in the swirl of emotions that surrounds the both of them. When Kenma pulls away, Kuroo makes a distressing noise that makes him laugh.

“I need to breathe.” He says, hot breath grazing against his mouth. “You should too.”

“I just like kissing you. Can you blame me?” Kenma feels on his skin rather than see Kuroo’s lips curve into a smile, still attempting to pepper kisses on his face. “Why haven’t we been doing this all this time?”

Kenma pulls away so that he can see his eager face. “Because I told you. Kisses are a gift. That and I was waiting for you to make the first move. Who knew I should’ve just kissed you all along because you were too shy to do it?”

“I wasn’t shy! I just wanted to do it right. And well, I didn’t know how to do it right.” It’s endearing to see the prince, so proper in front of others to be blushing and breathless in Kenma’s arms. He’s glad there are no cameras watching. This moment is theirs alone.

“Well, I definitely can’t tell that was your first time.”

The prince’s eyes glitter. “Ah, I’m a natural.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “Don’t be too overconfident. It’s a B+ at best. Less tongue next time.”

Kuroo gasps. “You wound me! I’m usually an A+ kind of guy, but all it sounds like to me is that I get to try again. What is it they say—practice makes perfect?”

Who is Kenma to deny him of anything? Especially when he, too, can’t get enough of him. It’s Kenma who moves in this time, almost on his tiptoes to reach his lips. They slot against his like locks and keys.

Kenma tries to kiss his feelings into words, hoping Kuroo can understand him without having to say more. Kuroo’s hands grip his sides as his lips open for him.

Blood rushes through Kenma’s ears, but the words that he hears are, if you fall, I’ll catch you.

~

Needless to say, Kenma wakes up the next day in much better spirits. Even as his hips ache from the crescents Kuroo’s nails left behind, and his lips are swollen, the ghosts of Kuroo’s kisses linger on Kenma’s body like remnants of a beautiful dream.

“Good morning! I’m glad to see you looking happier today, Kenma!” Hinata greets him as he exits the shower, hair still dripping on the towels around his neck.

“I look happy?” Kenma eyes himself in the mirror, wondering if he had somehow been smiling without meaning to. He feels happy, but that doesn’t mean he wants it displayed for everyone else to see. “I look the same as I always do.”

“It’s just your eyes. Maybe you finally got good sleep last night.” Yachi says gently as she hands him the day’s Royal Reports.

Kenma takes it gratefully. He’ll not miss another one of these again.

“I think I did sleep a little better last night. That must be it.” It’s easy to sleep after you’re kissed silly by the prince, but they don’t need to know that many details about his life. 

Kenma flips through the magazine as Hinata and Yachi get working on drying his hair and putting his face together. It’s a wonder how seamlessly they work together now, Kenma trusting that they won’t completely change his appearance, and they know just how to get him to budge when he’s stubborn over a hair or makeup product they want to try.

The paper today has no more scandalizing pictures. There’s more speculation about the previous Selected’s identity from the day before but none that confirms anything. Many people do suspect it’s Kenma based on his build and previous interactions with the prince, and Kenma’s pleased that those who think it’s him do so in a positive light.

He doesn’t want to know who it is though. It wouldn’t do him any good now to think about who wants to kiss the prince. Doesn’t he? Don’t they all?

 As Kenma nears the end of the paper, he’s relieved to see there has been no more news of riots throughout the country, not those that are major at least. Maybe soon, Kuroo can have more time to spend outside of his office. He’ll need something to talk about at this Friday’s Reports after all.

When he closes the paper, Yachi is brushing the last of his hair, letting it fall nicely across his shoulders. “There. Perfect.”

“Yup. We’re rooting for you, Kenma! Go steal his heart today!” Hinata makes a fist with his hand, grinning, his orange hair fanning outward like rays of sunshine. He always says something of this nature every day.

Between the two of them, it really does feel like Kenma has his own cheerleaders. Today, he’s conscious enough to be grateful to them unlike the past week.

Bowing his head, he says, “Thanks for taking care of me. If I don’t end up here forever, I’ll remember you two.”

The both of them gasp, eyes widening.

“What do you mean you’re not ending up here?”

“Are you leaving?”

“No! I’m just saying in general I’m thankful for you two.” Kenma shakes his head, chuckling at their serious reactions.

“Phew. I thought the prince did something to make you want to leave.” Hinata breathes out. “He can be a provoking guy, but he’s truly a good person. He’s a good leader, too. Way less scary than the current king.” He lets out a shiver.

Yachi nods, her braids bouncing. “And we’d be so happy if you were to become Prince Consort. From what I hear about the other Selected, some of them aren’t very nice. Not even towards their own maids!”

Kenma pulls a face. There are certainly a few he can imagine feeling entitled towards their maids. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes, I know! That’s why we want you to win.” Yachi grins at him.

Then a thought enters his head. “What happens to you two if I win? I mean, will you get bonuses or something? I don’t really know how it works.”

They both shake their heads.

“We don’t really get bonuses unless you decide to give them to us, but if you win, you’ll have your choice of maids as Prince Consort. Naturally, people will promote their current maids—that’s what the Queen did—and if you do that, we’ll have a higher salary because we’ll be directly serving a royal. That’s why a lot of maids volunteered to serve the Selected, to have a chance to move up, so to speak.” Hinata explains.

“Is that why you both did it?”

Yachi nods as Hinata goes on, “Yes! Well, also I get pretty bored doing the same thing every day, so I wanted a challenge.” His voice goes soft. “Though maybe after this, I’ll try to find something different. I’ve spent my whole life here.”

“You mean, you’ve never lived outside of the palace?” The thought is unfathomable to Kenma.

“Many of us maids are born into it the way the caste system was before.” Yachi speaks up. “Even after it’s disbanded, it’s just easier to take after your parents, especially if you are born here and you grow up behind these walls. There was a strong sense of royalty, too, in our parents’ generation, so all we knew was how to serve the king. We can always leave, of course, but where would we go? What would we do? It’s a bit scary.”

“I see.” Kenma feels a bit sad now, knowing this. Compared to them, his life does seem more desirable. It feels he has more choices, although they should have the same options as he does.

“Don’t be sad, Kenma!” Yachi touches his arm. “I do like it here. To be honest, it’s the uncertainty on the outside that scares me more than anything.”

“Yeah.” Hinata sighs. “I just wish I know what it is I want to do. Something that really makes me feel happy and alive. Like ‘Whoosh!’ Or ‘Wahh!’ You know?”

Kenma nods, even know he doesn’t really know, but looking at them now, something akin to confidence and bravery courses through him. Words he isn’t sure he’s allowed to say but they feel like hope—something they all need.

“How about this—if I win somehow, promise me that you two will go out and pursue your dreams. Or just do something different. Something that you want to do. And once you’ve done everything and seen everything, if it still feels like home, you can always come back here.” By my side.

Four brown eyes stare back at him, twinkling with the tears that are now threatening to fall.

“It would be my honor!”

“I promise!”

Kenma smiles. He doesn’t know what it takes to be Prince Consort, but maybe it starts here, in the confines of his room.

~

When Kenma arrives in the dining room that morning, Akaashi gives him a funny look.

“What?”

“You look better today.”

Kenma internally groans. “You’re the third person to say that to me.”

His friend laughs as he butters his toast. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve suggested that maybe you got laid last night.”

“I didn’t!”

“I know.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. Maybe he’s shooting rainbows out of his ears in rays that are visible to everyone else but him. But there’s no way he’s telling anyone that Kuroo visited him last night. They would try to eat him alive.

“I went to bed early yesterday. That’s it.”

“Okay.” Akaashi wears a small smile on his lips, but he drops the subject.

On his other side, Bokuto peaks his head to say hello to Kenma.

“Kenma! We were thinking that since Prince Kuroo is so busy to go on individual dates, we should set up group dates so he can hang out with a few of us at a time. That way he doesn’t have to go on as many dates before Friday.”

It doesn’t seem like a terrible idea, although it would have to depend on who will be included in his group.

“Who are you thinking?” Kenma asks.

Bokuto’s owl-like eyes gleam excitedly. “Oh, just you, me, and Akaashi here. With the prince it will be four, and I think an even number is best.”

Kenma glances at Akaashi, who gives him a shrug and a, “I’m in if you are.”

Admittedly, it doesn’t seem like a bad group. He wouldn’t mind sharing Kuroo with these two at least. Not that Kuroo is his to share. He’s just saying it wouldn’t be bad to—“Fine with me.” Kenma says before his brain can spiral some more.

“Woo hoo! Awesome! I’ll tell him. It’ll be fun.” Bokuto grins at them.

Around the table, Kenma sees that everyone else is splitting into groups too and is relieved that he has his pick before anyone else can ask him. Tsukishima has declined every invitation, and Kenma doesn’t blame him. If it’s not for the fact that he’s friends with Akaashi and he’s almost positive Bokuto is not actually in the running, he would’ve said no as well.

Everyone is still buzzing with excitement when the double doors open, revealing Prince Kuroo following the king to their spot at the royal table. He looks better today, too, with a spring in his steps. To everyone’s surprise, he stays and eats the full meal then takes his time to talk with the Selected individually this morning.

Strangely, watching Kuroo interact with everyone else today doesn’t make Kenma feel jealous. Instead, he feels lucky to know him. He feels lucky to witness his charm up close, to see the ridiculous way he makes jokes and how some of them laugh back, half-nervous because they have no idea what he’s saying.

Maybe Kenma can afford to feel this way because he still remembers the way Kuroo kissed him last night, lips barely wanting to part even as he’s half-way out the door.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Kuroo settles on the empty seat next to Kenma. The prince grins at him like a kid on Christmas. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Kenma likes to call him that in public. He likes to see Kuroo’s brow twitch knowing what he would’ve called him if it’s just the two of them.

“So, I heard that you agreed to the group date thing.”

“Are you surprised?” Kenma tilts his head at him, suppressing a smile.

“To be honest, yes. I didn’t think that’s something you’re very interested in.”

Kenma shrugs. “I like Bokuto and Akaashi. They'll make sure to keep you in check if you try anything funny.”

The prince faux a gasp. “Are you insinuating that I’m not a perfect gentleman all the time?”

“I’m not insinuating. I’m saying it.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Mean.”

Kenma smiles. He lowers his voice to make sure the others can’t hear him. “But you like me.”

The prince laughs with a breathless, “I do.”

One of these days, Kenma should try to reign in his feelings, especially in public. But on a day like today, when he feels the palpable joy radiating off Kuroo, he wants nothing more than to keep him like this, laughing forever. 

When Kenma makes sure again that no one is listening, he says, “I like you too.”

Kuroo’s eyes round in surprise. Kenma feels his hand squeezed in his underneath the table. Once. Then twice. Then with a bright smile and a nod of his head, Kuroo moves on to the next Selected.

God. He doesn’t love him yet, but he’s so dangerously close.

~

Turns out, Bokuto and Kuroo are freakishly fast at arranging their group date. They’re set to see each other later that night, just shortly after dinner. Kenma doesn’t know what they’re doing. He doesn’t get any more instruction other than, “Be comfortable!” and a thumbs-up by Bokuto.

He has wanted to come in his sweats, but the look on Hinata’s face when he told him that earns him a permanent ban from picking his own outfits for the foreseeable future.

Now, he’s walking through the hall in a pair of blue pants so comfortable they could’ve been sweats but somehow are passable in Hinata’s standards and a simple white T-shirt. He feels slightly underdressed in the beautifully decorated and intricate hallway and is immediately glad he didn’t take his own fashion advice.

He’s even more glad when he sees a figure up ahead. Someone who he has seen many times before but always at a distance and never alone.

The king.

It’s just the two of them, and there isn’t anywhere for Kenma to run and hide. He tries to calm his racing heart and bows when he’s a few steps in front of him, keeping his eyes low.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” His voice echoes down the empty hall, thankfully hiding his nervousness.

“Good evening. Kozume Kenma, is it?” His voice is even louder up close, deep and firm, as if it could rattle bones with the force of it alone.

“Yes, sir.” Kenma raises his eyes to look at him and regrets it. There’s a coldness behind his dark gold that cannot be more different than Kuroo’s. They hide behind bushy brows and peppered hair. He looks intimating, towering over Kenma. He looks like a king.

“My son is quite fond of you.” Kenma isn’t sure if this is a compliment. It certainly doesn't sound like it coming from his mouth.

“I’m quite fond of him, too. He’s going to make a great king one day.”

The pause the king takes is so long that Kenma considers whether he had said something out of line. He opts to stare at his chest instead, knowing full well that his eyes are scanning Kenma’s entire body, as if looking for something wrong with him. He doesn’t like this feeling at all, but he can’t back down. He can’t walk away first.

Finally, the king speaks, “That is yet to be determined.” And he adds, “So is your value as Prince Consort.”

“My value?”

The king arches one of his thick brows, looking at him as if he’s stupid. Kenma feels his face burn, but he doesn’t dare look away. “Yes. Your value. What can you offer my son that others cannot? Kozume Kenma. Son of artists and performers. You’re one yourself and not even the best one at that. A position by his side is not merely something you can just step into. He will be the most powerful man in this country, and he will need to shoulder every burden alone. You have to be of use to him, to this country. Do you understand that?”

“Is that why you chose the Queen? Because she was of use to you?” Kenma should’ve slapped a hand over his mouth, but the words rushed out too quickly for him to do it. He remembers the Queen. She was beautiful. She was the daughter of a merchant.

The king squares his jaw, and Kenma is prepared for his head to fall off right there, but nothing comes. Instead, there are these words, “My son gets the final decision, but I will not let him choose wrong.” He picks up his steps and passes Kenma, a whoosh of wind sweeping through him like a slap across the face.

Even as the king is long gone, Kenma stands frozen in the middle of the hallways, clutching at his chest. 

~

Kenma doesn’t know how he managed to meet up with Kuroo after that conversation. What he really wants to do is go back into his room. Go back home. But he hates knowing that it’s exactly what he wants.

And isn’t it stupid? He has his own doubts about his ability to lead. Of course, the king will feel the same way. How could he expect something different from him? Why does it still make him so angry?

His head feels like a heavy cloud as he rounds the corner and sees Kuroo already waiting for him at their meeting spot. His eyes are strained on the family portrait, the oil painting Kenma had stared at his first day here.

When Kuroo turns around, it almost makes everything worth it.

Looking at his cheerful face, Kenma decides not to tell Kuroo about his conversation with his father. It wouldn’t do him any good.

“Hi.” Kuroo smiles at him. Then, with a quick glimpse around the hall, he leans down to give Kenma a kiss.

“Kuro! You can’t do that here. What if someone sees you?” Even so, his lips are already curved into a smile, mimicking Kuroo’s own.

“I checked first.” He points out.

“Still.”

Kuroo just grins at him, knowing full well he would do it again if given the chance.

As they wait for the other two to arrive, Kenma studies the picture behind Kuroo with him. Up close, he can see every brushstroke that turns into a piece of hair or a square of fabric. Up close, he can see just how alike Kuroo is to his sister, both with the same slim nose, the same gentle smile, and the same warm eyes. Up close, he can see that Kuroo is looking at her more than anyone else in the frame.

That stab of pain is back in his chest, as if he can feel what Kuroo feels, even though it’s probably not even a fraction of the real thing.

“Do you miss her?”

He nods, eyes still fixed on her face.

“You look like her.”

The corner of his mouth turns up just so. “I wish I could be more like her. She was born to be Queen, you know? And I mean that in every sense. She has always been sharp and quick-witted. She can see through a bad plan and a bad person. She always knows what to say and what to do. I wasn’t supposed to be the Crown Prince. It was always supposed to be her who would take over. If she was here—”

The king pops in Kenma’s head. His disapproving tone and judgmental gaze. Kenma thought it was reserved for him, but clearly, Kuroo has been on the receiving end of it for years.

“Don’t say she would’ve been better than you.”

Kuroo snaps his head back at him, his mouth agape.

Kenma shakes his head. “I didn’t know her like you do, but I know you. I think she would be proud of you.”

Kuroo is silent for a long time, his eyes falling back on the portrait. Kenma’s does too, just in case Kuroo doesn’t want to see him cry. After a minute, he wipes at his cheeks and say, “Not a lot of people know I should’ve been on the plane that day too.”

It’s Kenma’s turn to bring his head over in shock. The accident that killed the Queen and the Crown Princess. He doesn’t mean—

“We were supposed to go to Karasuno for to discuss our alliance. Our father entrusted my sister with that task, but he wanted my mother and I to come as well to get to know the royal family.” Kuroo keeps his voice low, trying hard to not to talk about it even though it seems he desperately needs to. “I refused to go. I always hated flying. They delayed the plane for an hour waiting for me before they took off. Sometimes I wonder if I had gone, if it would’ve been different. They said it was a malfunction with the plane, so it could have happened at any time, but still, I wonder…”

“It’s not your fault.” Because that truly is what he wonders the most. What rings in his head every time he passes this portrait. Every time he looks up at their smiling faces. And probably every time he looks in the mirror. “You couldn’t have changed the ending, Kuro, because it’s not your fault.”

“But if I had gone when they wanted me to—”

“You could’ve died.” The thought scares Kenma more than he thought it would. He doesn’t like to entertain it. “And I’m glad that didn’t happen. I’m glad you’re here.”

Kuroo looks at Kenma, and he’s struck, once again, at how human he looks, his feelings splattered across his face. His voice is almost awed as he says, “How do you always know what to say?”

Kenma doesn’t think that this is true. He never knows what to say. People never like what he has to say. Everyone but Kuroo.

“I just tell you what I think is true.”

Kuroo just smiles at him. “Thank you. I hope you’ll continue to tell me the truth.” And it remains unspoken that so many people tell me what they think I want to hear.

Kenma doesn’t know what to make of the prince and his father, of his family and his world—even as his feelings for him grows larger and larger every day, almost overwhelming him with it at times—but he knows that, “As long you as you still want me, I’m here for you.”

They stand and wait for the other two to come in silence, each with their own thoughts swirling inside their heads. Their hands brush against one another down by their sides, but not fully touching or linking, in case anyone else comes by.

This spot by the prince’s side—the king is right—it’s not something Kenma can just step into without thinking. Even here, he feels the weight of it on his shoulders. Is it something he wants to bear? Forever?

He sees Kuroo out the corner of his eyes and his heart squeezes.

Kenma thinks, although he’s unsure of forever, for now, he would like to stay by his side, even for a fraction of his time.

Chapter Text

Kuroo and Bokuto are giggling to themselves as they lead Kenma and Akaashi to wherever their supposed group date will be. They follow a stairway that Kenma has never been in before down to the basement.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re leading us to our death.” Kenma complains. He shivers the more they descend. It gets darker and colder, even though they only do down one flight of stairs.

“Seriously, can’t you just tell us?” Akaashi agrees, eyeing the stoned walls suspiciously.

“Someone very wise told me that the anticipation is what makes it good.” Kuroo turns around with a smug look on his face, winking at the two of them.

Kenma rolls his eyes, having his words used against him.

“Don’t you guys trust us?” Bokuto chimes in, grinning up at them, his owl eyes illuminating with the dim light on the wall.

Akaashi and Kenma share a look before saying, “Not really.”

“Hurtful words!”

“I’m wounded. That’s treason.”

Kenma laughs into his hand, careful to muffle the sound.

They don’t walk for long before the hallway opens up to a well-lit area and instantly, he feels warmer, and he’s hit with the most wonderful smell. Pastries and garlic and smoked meats and coffee and spices and anything you could possibly love in a kitchen. Sounds of pots and pans clanging against each other bounce off the walls as the chefs yell and people scuffle around.

Kenma’s stomach, even though he’s already had dinner, grumbles.

“So, we’re going to raid the kitchen? How romantic.” Akaashi remarks as they pass the many different rooms.

One is reserved for meats, the other for sauces, and desserts and pastries…etc, etc. No wonder they never run out of food here. There are teams of chefs and cooks dedicated to each room. Kenma even sees a flash of familiar orange hair in between the white uniforms. So, this is where his maids go during the day when he doesn’t need them. He wonders truly how many tasks they take up on outside of taking care of him.

Kuroo tsks. “We’re not raiding anything. Even my life is not guaranteed if I so much as touch a thing in there.” He nods towards the chaotic kitchen. “There’s a tiny kitchen at the end that we’re going to be using. They stock it with the basics, so we’ll have everything we need.”

“We’re cooking?” Kenma’s not sure what he’s more surprised of—their idea of a group date or the fact that Kuroo and Bokuto know how to cook. Especially Kuroo, who must have everything made for him from the moment he’s born.

“Not cooking.” Bokuto drapes an arm over Kenma’s shoulder, still wearing his excited grin. “Baking.”

~

It’s a modest kitchen at the end of the hallway, far away from the commotion of the professionals. Still, it’s probably twice the size of Kenma’s back home, and the oven alone looks like it would cost hundreds of thousands of yen.

They’re split into two teams for the cookie-making portion of the evening then switching for the cookie-decorating portion. Kenma is paired with the prince for the first part, and he’s surprised again at the ease in which Kuroo moves around the kitchen. Personally, he has never baked a day in his life, so he mostly watches in wonder and tries his best to follow his direction.

Bokuto and Akaashi seem to both be natural at baking, though they’re not quite as familiar as Kuroo on the kitchen set-up, frequently opening the wrong cabinets for things.

“So, baking, huh?” Kenma hands the prince the eggs, seeing him crack two of them in one hand into the mixture.

He smiles shyly at him from behind his black fringe. “The garden isn’t the only place I would hide from my tutors. After being kicked out of the kitchen, a few of the chefs took pity on me and brought me here. A few of the servants taught me how to cook and bake basic things.”

“Kuroo and I used to sneak down here all the time for snacks!” Bokuto adds proudly from across the room.

“I like to snack, too, late at night when I have to stay up late to work on one proposal or another. I didn’t want to bother my maids, so I learned a few tried and true recipes.” He gestures at the ingredients laid out in front of them. To think of it, he’s instructed Kenma from memory, down to every measurement. “I actually made the scones you guys had for breakfast that first day.”

Kenma racks his brain. “I don’t think I ate one.” He pouts.

“I know.” The prince chuckles. “I might’ve been watching you for your reaction.”

“Oh, they were good scones.” Akaashi muses. “Blueberry, weren’t they?”

“Yes!” Kuroo smiles brightly at him. “Thank you. I can make you more some other time.”

The two of them share a smile across the room. Kenma pokes at the prince’s arm to get his attention.

“When will I get to eat something that you make?” He lowers his voice and tries hard not to sound whiny.

Luckily, Kuroo finds this amusing, his eyes glinting at Kenma’s request. “Well, I’ve been learning how to make apple pies. Once I deem them acceptable, I’ll give you some.”

Good enough. Kenma knows he can’t be too demanding of him anyways because it’s rare enough that he has time to date twenty-something men. He goes back to handing Kuroo his ingredients.

The four of them make good time, and soon enough, they arrive to what Kuroo and Bokuto call the “fun part”.

The two of them rummage through a drawer before coming out with a box full of cutouts, laying it on the island in front of them.

“Feel free to cut the cookies into whatever shape you want. It’s more fun to eat a star than a boring circle cookie any day.”

“Yeah, last time Kuroo and I made dinosaur cookies! Though that took a long time.”

Kenma glances at the box of cookie-cutters, and then at the rolled-out dough in front of him. He has a better idea. He picks up a knife and begins his project.

After a few minutes, Kuroo peers over his shoulder and cackles as he sees the shapes he’s chosen. The sound is so loud and ugly that it’s charming, bringing both Bokuto and Akaashi over to his station.

“I-is that supposed to be me?” the prince says through tears. He points at the vaguely circular cookies with spikes coming out of the top.

Kenma grins, feeling quite proud of himself. “Yes. These are mini you’s. These,” he points at the other sets of cookies with slightly different spike patterns, “are Bokuto’s.”

“Woah!” Bokuto’s eyes shine as he inspects his mini-heads. “Where are you and Akaashi?”

“We have normal-looking heads, thank you very much. Not interesting enough to be cookies.” Kenma shrugs.

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be offended or flattered,” says Kuroo, his eyebrows raised.

“Thank you.” Kenma will take it as a compliment. His eyes trail over to Kuroo’s batch of cookies, where he has cut a few rectangular pieces with circles stuck on top. “Wait, are those Switch cookies?”

The prince grins, hands on his hips. “Fun, right?”

They inspect Bokuto’s cookies, too, and they see that he’s made some heart cookies and some of tiny people. His goal is to decorate them to look like the four of them. Akaashi’s cut out some stars, crowns, and various shapes of animals because he’s more interested in the decorating part. Kenma remembers that Akaashi works for a manga publisher, so he does have his creativity on his side.

As the four of them wait for the cookies to bake, they work on making the frosting. They use various dyes to make different colors for their soon-to-be work of art.

Kenma learns more about Bokuto and Akaashi in the meantime. Bokuto, surprisingly, has two older sisters. They are extremely happy that he’s a Selected because if he marries Kuroo, that means they’d be princesses by proxy. He looks mortified at the thought, though Kenma isn’t sure which part scares him more.

Akaashi, like Kenma, is an only child, though he’s moved out last year following his job. His family was previous Three’s, so he never had any trouble finding a job or a place to live. If anything, Kenma is pleasantly surprised that he’s so nice and forthcoming, considering his status pre- and post-caste abolition. He learns that Akaashi mainly entered the Selection because his parents want him to find someone to marry and it “might as well be the prince”.

Kuroo laughs at this, though he also teases him by saying, “You mean you weren’t secretly in love with me from the Royal Reports? You know I was named Bachelor of the Year three years in a row.”

Akaashi just rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore his comment.

When the cookies are done baking and have cooled enough to decorate, Kenma selects his cookies and moves over to Bokuto’s side of the room. He faces away from Kuroo and Akaashi, both for his own and Akaashi’s sake.

“So,” Bokuto starts, “should we make Kuroo look like he has a beard in one of these? I think he’d look hilarious.”

“Hm. I was thinking we’d make his hair blue.” Kenma says. “And blue eyebrows. And maybe a blue mustache.”

Bokuto pet his own hair, as though worried that Kenma would somehow suggest dying his hair blue too. “If this is what happens when you like someone, remind me not to cross you, Kenma.”

He rolls his eyes. His cheeks pink at the comment. Even though it’s not at all embarrassing to like the prince, he’s still getting used to it. And getting used to people knowing it.

They work in silence for a while before Bokuto clears his throat and says, “I heard you’re a great kisser.”

“What?” He almost squeezed all the icing out of his tube, making the blue squirt all over mini-Kuroo’s face like he’s a smurf. He lowers his voice, hissing, “He told you we kissed?”

Bokuto laughs at Kenma’s reaction. “He doesn’t shut up about you, Kenma. I’m surprised he hasn’t told me your exact weight and height, but only because I think he doesn’t know it.”

Kenma feels his cheeks heat up again and his entire body going warm, and not because he’s near a heating oven. He mumbles under his breath, “He’s so embarrassing. He better not say anything on the Reports tomorrow.” Kenma’s pretty sure if he’s named as someone who’s kissed him—unless there are others who have by then—someone (namely Daishou) will try to murder him or slip glass in his food. Not exaggerating.

“He’s smarter than that.” Bokuto reassures him. He pauses before saying, his voice completely serious now, “He really likes you, Kenma. I hope you continue to make him happy.”

“I’m not even sure why he likes me so much. I’m half-convinced it’s because I just happen to meet him first.” Kenma shouldn’t talk about their forbidden/technically rule-breaking first meeting, but at this point, he’s sure Bokuto already knows.

His suspicion is confirmed when Bokuto looks thoughtful and not surprised at his comment. He thinks for a few minutes before answering.

“I think you should ask him for his own reasoning. He’ll be happy to tell you, but—” His yellow eyes flicker up at Kuroo behind Kenma’s shoulders. “For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been the Crown Prince, and the Crown Prince belongs to the kingdom—his body, his mind, and his heart. He gives and gives and gives. Not just because it’s expected, but because that’s who he is. That’s why I put my name in, you know. There isn’t much you can give someone who, on paper, has everything. It’s the least I can do for him as a friend.” His eyes bore into Kenma’s. “I think he just needs someone to give to him for once before he gives all of himself away. You might just be that person.”

There it is again—what can he give to the prince? “You have a lot of faith in me. I don’t know how I can do that.”

Bokuto shakes his head. He turns his eyes downward to the crown he’s icing yellow. “You’re already doing it, Kenma.”

Kenma doesn’t know what to say, stunned, but it seems that Bokuto doesn’t need an answer.

He returns his attention to the blue Kuroo cookie in front of him. His hair is now more than half his face, so Kenma completely covers the cookie in blue frosting. Though at the end, he adds red hearts as his eyes.

~

When Kenma is almost done with his cookies, he looks up to see Bokuto wistfully looking over his shoulders. His chest tightens, knowing that look. He clears his throat and says, “Hey. Help me with this last one.”

Bokuto jumps, as if not even aware that he had been staring at Kuroo and Akaashi—namely, the latter.

Kenma pushes the tube of icing in his hand. He keeps his voice steady and low, “You should be careful.”

And they share a look—he could still belong to another. He could still belong to the prince, at the end of this.

Like it or not, best friends with the prince or not, nothing can happen. It’d be treason if it did.

Bokuto smiles weakly at him. “I know. Thank you.”

In the end, they give every Kuroo cookie a mustache and a beard, all in different colors. Bokuto makes their cookies version hold hands before they bite into their mini-heads. Akaashi’s cookies look the best out of all of theirs, so no one wants to eat those. Kenma takes some back to give to Hinata and Yachi, instead.

All in all, the cookies are indeed good, but holding Kuroo’s warm gaze across the room, he can’t help but think the company is even better.

~

 Kenma’s nerves for the following Reports run sky high, but fortunately for him, Bokuto’s assessment of Kuroo runs true—that and the fact that Kenma had practically bribed Kuroo with more kisses the night before not to reveal his identity.

“Am I not allowed to brag about you?” Kuroo says, nudging his nose into Kenma’s neck.

“Not if you want me in one piece, Kuro.”

He sighs and says, “Fine, but for that I get ten thousand more kisses.”

And he doesn’t quite reach ten thousand, but Kenma thinks they get pretty close.

Now, as Shishio grins excitedly in the prince’s direction, waiting for his answer, Kuroo winks at the camera and says, “I actually did not kiss the gentleman in the picture, but I did have my first kisses during the Selection process. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I would say it’s the best kisses of my life!”

“And there’s no chance you would tell us who it is, Your Highness?”

“Hm. A gentleman never kiss and tell.” Then he laughs, “That, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

Shishio slaps his knees dramatically. “Ah, well! What a shame. Still, I think I have some questions for these gentlemen here, if you don’t mind?”

“Please, please.” Kuroo gestures over to them.

Kenma tries to send him a grateful look. His heart only gets a second to rest, however, before Shishio appears in front of his own face.

“Kenma! We haven’t heard from you in a while. How are you enjoying your stay here?”

He’s aware that Kuroo’s eyes are on him. He’s also aware that the king’s eyes are on him. He straightens up and smiles.

“I’m having a good time getting to know my fellow Selected and of course, the prince. Every day, I learn something new about him.”

“Oh?” Shishio’s voice rises many octaves, his brows raised curiously. “Can you give an example?”

“Just yesterday, I learned that Prince Kuroo can bake. He made the scones we had for breakfast our first day here.” Then, maybe because he’s particularly feeling brave tonight, he says, “I hope I can do as much for him as he does for us and our country every day.”

Shishio awes and puts a hand over his heart. Kenma knows he’s said something right. “That’s very sweet of you. I think our prince really appreciates that. Thank you, Kenma.”

He nods, relief flooding his body as Shishio moves on to another Selected to interview. Lev jumps next to him, startled to have been picked, before saying something that makes everyone laugh. Kenma can barely pay attention to the other interviews though, because he feels the king’s harsh eyes on him for the rest of the Reports.

He keeps a calm look on his face even as the sweats collect in the back of his shirt, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. Still, he refuses to let him know he’s fazed by him. When it is over, it takes everything in him not to bolt to his room.

~

As another month goes by, the prince sends more people home, bringing the total down to 17. Though with time comes more conflicts outside the palace, and his visits to the Selected become sparce once again.

Kenma, reluctantly, spend a lot of time in the Men’s room with the remaining men during the day, though he mostly plays on his DS while the other men chat. Even Akaashi is feeling the boredom sometimes, getting up and sitting back down with occasional sighs and a new book. They've given up their studies by now because apparently there isn't much more to do until they reach Elite status. Kuroo would have to send at least seven more people home before that happens. 

One day, from across the room, Oikawa lets out a huge sigh. He practically sprints out of the room before coming back, his face suddenly brighter. In his hands, he holds a volleyball.

“Guys, I know I’m not the only one bored out of my mind. Let’s go outside! Who wants to play volleyball with me?” He scans the room, brown eyes like a puppy as he tries to tug at their heartstrings.

Bokuto’s hand shoots up in the air. “Me! That’s a great idea!” He turns around and pleads to Akaashi. “Akaaaaaaashi. Pleeeeease?”

The latter lays down his book, either falling trap to his eyes or he’s just that bored, and says, “Sure. Kenma? You coming?”

Kenma grimaces but gets up anyways. “I’ll come watch. I’m not playing.”

A few of the other men nod, too. Oikawa lets out an excited, “Whoopie!” Before skipping down the hallway to the outside. Kenma has never seen him that happy before. He shouldn’t be surprised though. How long has it been seen he’s played a proper volleyball match? Has he been practicing on his own? He must miss it. It’s probably not the same, but if Kuroo hadn’t given Kenma his game, he doesn’t know if he would survive this long without losing his mind.

Most of the men actually ends up outside, where Oikawa leads them to a sandy area with a net set up. According to him, this has always been here. Prince Kuroo showed it to him on their first date. The palace also has its own tennis court and swimming pool—all unbeknownst to Kenma.

He chooses a spot to sit on the grass as the men split into two teams. Bokuto apparently is the only other person who’s played before, albeit not professionally, so he and Oikawa become team captains.

Kenma had originally planned to play on his DS, but as the first ball is served over the net, he finds himself engrossed in the game in front of him. The concept is simple enough—don’t let the ball touch the ground—but it’s harder than it looks.

Oikawa is, unsurprisingly, good at his sport. The way he moves and manipulates the ball looks effortless. Kenma can tell that his team has an easier time getting the ball over the net because of him. Not to mention Ushijima is a monster with the ball. Kenma notices that he’s left-handed, which probably makes it harder to pick up.

Bokuto’s team isn’t doing badly though. A lot of them have good tenacity, always managing to stop the ball before it falls, even if they have to dive for it. They don’t look quite as polished, but they aren’t being severely beaten, so that’s saying something. Though the star player on this team is also its captain. Bokuto has incredible strength when he hits the ball over, and Kenma’s glad he isn’t on the receiving end of that spike.

Even though Kenma isn’t playing, he’s having fun watching and analyzing the game. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he feels someone sitting down next to him in the grass.

“I went to the Men’s room to find it completely empty. I thought you all gave up on me.” Kuroo says with a wide grin. “Why aren’t you playing?”

Kenma gives him a look that says, Are you seriously asking me that?, which makes him laugh.

“It looks fun.” He watches the men for a while, then lets out a low whistle. “Oikawa’s good.”

“You should go play.” He nudges him. “Bokuto’s team looks like they could use a star player.”

“You know what? I think I will.” Then he holds out his hand. His eyes blink at Kenma, wide and pleading. “But only if you come play with me.”

“What? No! I would be no good. I’ve literally never played before.” Kenma’s heart begins to race even at the prospect of physical activities, much less one in front of a bunch of people.

“You’ll be fine. It’s not serious.” He assures him. Then he bats his lashes. “Please?”

Kenma’s heart flutters. Damn him. Damn it all.

Against his will, his legs push him up and away from his comfortable position on the grass. His only reward is Kuroo’s arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight.

“Yay!” Then he hollers to the men as Shirabu’s about to serve, effectively pausing the game as all eyes turn towards him. “Hi everyone! Mind if we join you?”

Everyone choruses back a yes, though it’s mostly directed at the prince. Akaashi sees Kenma’s less-than-enthusiastic face and laughs into his hand.

“Kenma, you take my place. I need a break.” Akaashi tells him. Kenma nods and takes his position as he removes himself from the court, Bokuto’s eyes following him like a kicked puppy.

Tsukishima volunteers to leave as well, his glasses fogged up from exertion, and Kuroo takes his place. Before he leaves, he whispers something in his ear, which makes the blonde roll his eyes, though Kenma doesn’t miss the small smile on his lips.

Kenma chooses to ignore the unpleasant churning in his stomach.

“Wait, how is it fair that you guys get the prince?” He hears someone complain on the other side of the net.

“Why not? You guys have so many tall people!” Bokuto points out. “If we don’t have him, it’s just going to be me and Semi.”

That’s true. The other team has Oikawa, Ushijima, and Lev. Even Daishou is relatively tall. If they have Kuroo too, no matter how high Kenma tries to block, they’ll hit straight down over his head.

A few of them argue over the net a bit until Kuroo comes up with the compromise that he’d switch over after a few points in place of Lev. Kenma’s almost glad the arguing is over, but that means that they’d have to start now.

He glances around nervously until he catches Kuroo’s eyes.

You’ll be fine. He tells him.

And Kenma thinks that maybe he will be. After all, playing with Kuroo is not the chance they get very often. They all face the net, six sets of eyes facing one another.

Within seconds, he can feel the energy around them shift, serious all the sudden. But he understands why. The presence of Kuroo on the court, his back against his teammates and determined gold eyes against their competition—now, all of them have something to prove. Someone to impress.

Shirabu takes his position again and serves. Everyone starts moving like pieces on a chess board. The game plays on.

Even with added pressure, though, Kenma doesn’t mind playing as much as he thought. Sure, he’d miss the first few passes, the ball flying off at odd angles, but he catches on relatively quickly. Besides, they’re all amateurs playing pretend, so it’s not like the other team doesn’t make mistakes either.

As the match goes on around them, they’ve forgotten to switch Kuroo over, so Kenma gets to see him out of the corner of his eyes—his gleeful joy, his infectious energy. The more and more they play together, he more he wants to see him jump and laugh and hit a ball so hard it lands on the other side with a deafening thump.

Here is another side of Kuroo he gets to see. Not a prince, but one of them.

Everyone begins to loosen up too as they see the prince having fun. The tension breaks, and soon, there are cheers at every pass and point. Someone even gives Kenma a high-five, though his vision is slowly becoming blurry with the effort he’s put in. He really sincerely hopes he doesn’t get a fever after this.

When it’s his turn to serve, Kenma holds the ball in his hand, though he feels his knees wobbling like it’s going to give out. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but that’s when a gunshot rings through the courtyard.

~

Kenma doesn’t know how he knows it’s a gunshot. He’s never heard one in real life before, but it’s so loud and biting through the air, stilling everything, that it’s the only thought he has.

The prince reacts first, yelling out his direction as he points towards the closest door, “Everyone inside NOW! Follow a guard to the saferoom! Go! Go! Go!”

There are screams in the air, but Kenma doesn’t know who’s doing the screaming. His knees are still shaking but what he really wants them to do is move. He runs, spots dancing around his vision while sweats burn his eyes.

Another gunshot cuts through the air.

Kenma sees, in his peripheral vision, the red and blue in contrast to the green of the grass. Logically, he knows that he doesn’t have time. But it’s not about the game, it’s the fact that it’s the first thing Kuroo has given him that he can hold in his hand. He goes back for it, diving.

He feels the twist of his ankle before he hears the crack, pain shooting down to his foot. He puts his weight on it, trying to run again, but his left foot gives out on him.

“Kenma!” He hears in his ears a voice so familiar yet he’s never heard it this way before. He’s hoisted up on his feet as Kuroo supports his bad side. “Can you still walk?”

He nods, moving his feet a little easier now.

“Okay. We have to move fast.” Kuroo does his best to drag him along, quickening their pace. Occasionally, he looks behind them, but all Kenma can do is look forward and put one foot in front of the other.

They cannot get the prince. He thinks. I cannot be the reason they get the prince.

He urges his body to move faster and faster, even as the pain gets more unbearable.

Kuroo leads them to an unfamiliar set of doors, the locks clicking immediately behind them, and soon, they’re cloaked in darkness.

Kenma collapses on the ground as Kuroo feels around the dark, cursing as he hits something.

“Fuck. Where is it,” he mumbles, his breathing heavy. “Ah hah!” Another click and the room illuminates via a small handheld lamp, just bright enough for one corner of the room.

Kuroo uses it to walk around before finding another, turning that one on too. The warm amber light covers the tiny space they’re in.

The room is barebones. It’s just a smidge bigger than his bedroom back home, completed with one mattress on the ground, covered in dirty sheets, and a chest at the other side of it.

“This is one of our saferooms,” Kuroo explains, setting the lamps down beside him. “We have many within the palace, but this is the one I could get to first. It’s quite small, as you can see, so it wouldn’t have been big enough for everyone. I think they were all able to get inside though, so the guards will show them the way to the other saferooms. The rooms can only be unlocked with special set of keys, so once they assess that the danger is over, they’ll patrol every room and let us out.”

He eyes Kenma’s hands, still clutching his console tightly like his life depended on it. In a way, didn’t he just risk his life for it?

“You gave this to me,” he explains, his voice small.

Kuroo’s eyes soften in understanding. He says back, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Kenma nods. “Me too.” This is the time that his body reminds him that something is incredibly wrong, the adrenaline wearing off. He winces, feeling the throb of his ankle more than ever.

“Did you hurt your foot?” Kuroo’s voice is laced with concern. He inches closer, reaching out to inspect his leg.

“Yeah.” Kenma shies away from his touch, sensitive. Fuck. It really hurts.

The other man examines it for a few minutes, apologizing when he cries out in pain, then he gets up and walks towards the chest. He rummages around for a few minutes before pulling out a First-Aid kit.

“You probably sprained it. I’ll just immobilize it with a splint for now. Once we get out of here, we’ll get it looked at properly.” He also hands Kenma a pill. “Take this. It should take the edge off a little.”

Kenma gives him a look.

Kuroo manages a small laugh. “It’s nothing crazy. You think I keep illicit drugs in here? It’s just an Ibuprofen.” He begins to work on his ankle as Kenma dry swallows the pill.

He watches in amazement as Kuroo patches up his foot. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Run the country, apparently.” Kuroo sighs. “I’m not sure who’s raiding the palace, but I’m sure it’s not because they want to say thank you.”

“Does this happen a lot?” What he wants to know is, How much should I fear for your life?

Kuroo bites his bottom lip. “Truthfully, the last time it happened was before the caste system was abolished, so I don't know. It’s been a few decades at least since the rebels stormed the palace. We didn’t think we’d get here so soon.”

“So, things have gotten bad again, huh?” Kenma could’ve guessed from Kuroo’s absences, but the news hasn’t been that terrible these past few weeks. Maybe the media is just better at hiding it now.

“I’m afraid so.” Then, he smiles apologetically at Kenma. “I’m sorry I’ve gotten you and the Selected in this situation. It’s not fair that you’re all risking your life to be here.”

“But you’re risking your life too.”

“But it’s my duty. Not yours.”

Kenma aches, and it’s not the pain in his ankle this time. “Your duty isn’t to die for this country, Kuro. And we should be here. If we are to fully understand you and your life as Crown Prince, we should be here for the good and the bad.”

Kuroo looks at Kenma for a long moment, his face somber in the dim light of the room. He scoots closer to him, pulling Kenma to his chest. He feels and hears Kuroo’s racing heartbeat in his ear and these words,

“Next time, you run, okay? Keep running and don’t look back.” He pauses, his voice thick when he says, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Don’t let me find out.”

Kenma closes his eyes. He lets his arms wrap around Kuroo’s body, a reminder that he hasn’t lost him yet, and says, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

When Kuroo is satisfied that Kenma’s ankle is bandaged properly, he continues his exploration of the trunk in the corner of the room. Kenma makes his way over, too, limping, before Kuroo chastises him for moving around on his own. He slips an arm around his waist to support his weight.

“Thanks,” Kenma mumbles.

There’s enough supply in the chest to last them at least a week, more if they’re cautious. There are cases of water, canned food, blankets, flashlights, lighters, a bucket with a cover (Kenma really hopes they don’t have to use this), more emergency First-Aid materials, and a knife.

“It’s unfortunate we don’t have some ice for your ankle, but we should be out in a day, two, at most.” Kuroo reassures him. He can probably sense his distress in his paling face. “And all the stuff is really just for extra precaution.”

“Can we get out ourselves if we need to?” It’s less about the injury and more about the thought of being locked inside a windowless room. It makes his stomach churn uneasily. Kenma’s a homebody, sure, but he wouldn’t consider this the same as being in his room playing video games all weekend.

Fortunately, the prince nods. “Yeah. There’s a key in here to unlock it from the inside, but it’s preferable for the guards to let us out themselves just in case we’re still under attack.”

“I see.” He sighs. The knots in his stomach have loosened some, but he’s noticed that his hands have been clenched tight this entire time and his jaw hurts. Not to mention his ankle still throbs intermittently, reminding him of its state. He glances around the modest room. “I guess we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

At this, Kuroo smirks, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “You know, there’s only one bed. Let’s—”

“Oh, you can’t be seri—”

“Cuddle.” He finishes, his face the perfect picture of (faux) innocent. “What were you thinking?”

Kenma groans, rolling his eyes. “Insufferable. Can’t believe I’m stuck here with you.” But his lips have already curved into a smile on their own, against his wishes.

~

They dust the sheets before laying the new sets of blankets on it. Kenma tries not to imagine all the bugs that must be making themselves home on this mattress for the past—however long it’s been since someone’s been in here—but Kuroo seems to take it in stride, so he doesn’t want to complain.

There’s only one extremely flat pillow on the bed, so they end up rolling another blanket up to act as one. Kuroo volunteers to take it, but he winces when he tries to lean against it.

“Are you okay?” Kenma asks. It’s just now that he notices that Kuroo is looking unlike his usual self. Did he hurt himself too when he was running?

“Fine.” He smiles at him. The lighting here is terrible, but Kenma doesn’t miss that his face looks pained. He slides down on the bed on his side, abandoning his earlier effort to sit against the wall. After a moment, he says, “I hope everyone’s okay.”

“Me too.” Kenma lays down next to him, staring at the ceiling. He thinks about the other Selected. Akaashi and Bokuto. And his maids. A horrible thought crosses his mind. “The maids—they have a place to go too, don’t they?”

Kuroo nods, and Kenma can feel his soul return to his body. “Yes. They all know the routes to the saferooms and have been trained for emergencies like this. They’ll be okay.”

“Oh, good.”

“Hinata and Yachi—you care for them very much.” From the corner of his eyes, Kenma sees Kuroo smiling fondly at him. He’s too scared to look back because they’re so so close. Despite all his teasing, Kuroo still keeps a respectable distance between them, but Kenma would be lying if he says his body isn’t itching to be just a touch closer together.

“Well, they care for me.”

Silence falls over them like a heavy blanket. They’re lost in their own thoughts of what could be happening outside. Kenma doesn’t know what would be better—if the walls were soundproof or if they weren’t. He doesn’t want to ask either.

Even though neither of them says anything for a long time, Kenma feels as though he can hear the rumbling of Kuroo’s racing thoughts, can feel the weight of them in his own mind. Here is another moment he wishes he would know the right thing to say, but it doesn’t come to him.

Kenma turns to look at him, thinking that maybe something would dawn on him if he sees him, but he finds that Kuroo has already closed his eyes, his breath low and even.

They haven’t been here long—at the latest it’s the middle of the afternoon—but it seems all the energy has drained out of the sleeping prince beside him.

It’s the first time Kenma’s seen him like this, with the tension freed from his face, with his jaw slack, with his beautiful eyes hidden from view. The hair that falls over his eyes fans across the make-shift pillow.

Kuroo looks peaceful like this. Kenma feels at peace when he looks at him. Will this be his view every night for the rest of his life if he wishes? Well, it’s not up to him, is it? Is it?

The tiredness hits him too, all at once, and Kenma feels his own eyes closing.

~

The dip in the mattress wakes him first, but it’s not until he hears the rattling of pills in a bottle that Kenma opens his eyes. He blinks sleep away, and his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room. Kuroo is over at the corner, kneeling in front of the open chest.

Kuroo continues his search, shifting the items around in pursuit of something. Maybe he’s hungry? They’ve probably skipped dinner by now, although it’s hard to tell how much time has passed.

“What are you looking for?”

His voice startles Kuroo, whose shoulders jump at the sound. “Just some bandage, Kenma. Don’t worry. Go back to sleep.” He sends a reassuring smile over his shoulder.

It’s too late, though, because Kenma is suddenly wide awake. So Kuroo is injured after all. How could he have missed it? Was he shot? Kenma would’ve known if he was bleeding, right?

“Kuro, what’s wrong? Can I help?”

The silence makes Kenma think that Kuroo is regretting what he said earlier, but his back is to him, so he doesn’t know what kind of face he has on. When Kuroo finally speaks, his voice is so dangerously low and small that Kenma almost doesn’t recognize it’s him.

“I need you to keep this between us, okay?” He turns around, his gold eyes pleading. “No one can know.”

Kenma straightens himself up in bed, feeling tense all over. Not trusting his own voice, he nods. In the miniscule pause, a thousand things run through his mind, each more horrifying than the last. He doesn’t know what he expects Kuroo to share, but what he never sees coming is for him reach down to the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.

Kenma stares at his toned bare chest, not getting even a second to admire it. His is mind completely blank when Kuroo speaks to him again.

“I need you to take this,” he comes over and presses a tiny damp cloth into Kenma’s hand, “and clean my back.” He tries a small smile. “And be gentle. It stings.”

Kenma’s brain is trying its best to restart, the words Kuroo’s saying barely make themselves comprehensible to him, when he finally turns his back to him.

He feels like a thousand knives have found their way into his body, into his heart. He feels like he could’ve let out a feral scream, and it wouldn’t be nearly enough to describe the amount of pain he feels inside—the amount of pain Kuroo must have endured his entire life.

Because there, on his back, where his smooth, soft skin should be, lay countless raised bumpy white scars. They scatter across his body without care, without remorse. They’re uneven, in various stages of healing and grieving. There, on top of those, are more angry red welts. The brushes of a belt mark. They burn into his beautiful skin. They bleed and scab and punches Kenma in the face as he stares at them.

Kenma doesn’t need to ask how and who. He feels an unbelievable rage in his belly towards Kuroo’s father. He bites his tongue and tastes metallic iron. Still, he remains quiet.

With one shaking hand, Kenma dabs the cloth against his skin. He sees Kuroo’s shoulder tense with each touch, hears tiny winces escape from his gritted teeth, and wishes that he could take that hurt away from him too. But all he can do is dab and dab at the wounds as carefully as he can manage.

Be gentle.

How could you not be? How can there be so much evidence that someone has not been gentle with his prince? How can he be so gentle in return?

“They’re ugly, aren’t they?” He hears Kuroo’s soft voice, so broken that it breaks Kenma’s heart.

“No. They’re not ugly.” Kenma reaches for the antibiotic cream. He rinses his hands in sanitizer before he starts to dot Kuroo’s back with white dollops. “And neither are you.”

Kuroo shakes his head, keeping it low. “I’m sorry you have to see them.”

“Won’t I have to, eventually?”

A tiny snort leaves Kuroo’s lips. “Presumptuous.” Kenma’s glad he can crack a joke at a time like this. Then he says, serious again, “You’re only the second person that knows.”

And Kenma suspects that he wouldn’t have shown him if he really didn’t have to. “Who else?”

“Officer Yaku. He’s been with me the longest. I wouldn’t have told, but sometimes I really needed help when it’s—when they’re—” He’s trying to find a way to put in nicely, but nothing about this is nice. “A lot.”

“So not even Bokuto—?”

“Not even Bokuto knows.”

Kenma’s stomach feels heavy with the secret and heavy with the weight of his confession. How must it have been for Kuroo to hold on to this all these years? And how can Kuroo love so easily when it hasn’t been easy for him to be loved at all? Kenma feels like he’s bleeding too somewhere.

He’s done with the cream and can only pray that these scars will heal more gently than the last. But his job isn’t done. He suspects that the pain is what’s been making it uncomfortable for Kuroo to lay down. The rub of the fabric against his fresh cuts and the pressure—maybe there’s a way to bandage that up too.

“Wait one minute, okay?” He taps at his shoulder.

Kenma scoots closer to the first aid kit Kuroo’s laid out on the ground, examining its content. He settles for the larger patches and tries to cover the open wounds as much as possible. He lays small band-aids against some smaller spots. He’s not a medic or a nurse, but he’s satisfied with this at least.

“You can put your shirt back on.” He says when he’s done.

Kuroo complies, almost too quickly. Kenma doesn’t blame him. He probably feels too naked, too raw. When he turns to look at Kenma, his face is a mixture of gratefulness and shame. Though it’s not him that has to feel shameful.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says again.

And Kenma wants to say, Why are you sorry? It’s not you who has to be sorry, but all he can do is shake his head. He reaches for him and brushes the hair out of his eyes. After a while, he finds his words.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Kuro. Thank you for trusting me.” He feels his warm skin under his cold fingers, his burning face. “Didn’t I tell you I would be there for you? It includes this too, okay? This and anything else about you.”

“You want to know all my terrible secrets?” He hears Kuroo’s teasing tone, but they can’t hide all his insecurities from Kenma. Not anymore.

“How can they be terrible if they’re yours?”

Kuroo closes his eyes. Then, he lays his hands over Kenma’s, still on his cheeks. Kenma feels his breath brush against the palms of his hands as he says, “Call me Tetsurou.”

Kenma finds himself smiling.

“Okay, Tetsurou. Tell me all your terrible secrets.”

~

They settle back down on the mattress, but Kenma pulls Kuroo on top of his chest, so he doesn’t have to put pressure on his back. His heart is racing, being this close to him—the closest they’ve ever been.

Catching Kuroo’s questioning eyes, he says, “You were the one that mentioned cuddling. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”

Kuroo lets out a small chuckle, then he lays on top of him, his limbs wrapped around Kenma’s body and intertwining with his in ways Kenma can’t even begin to tell them apart. He rests his head on Kenma’s chest, probably hearing the thumps of his heart as it bangs against his ribcage. The weight of him is a comfort on its own, even though it’s Kenma who wants to comfort him.

Kenma runs a hand through his hair. He’s felt them before during kisses but never like this, mindlessly. It feels soft, despite its unruly detest for gravity. He waits for Kuroo to talk first.

His quiet voice cuts through stillness of the room, “He wasn’t always like that, but the plane crash—the loss of his most beloved people—has made him cold. He has high expectations of me as a future king, but sometimes I don’t meet them.” His voice grows softer as the sentence dies down.

“Still, you don’t deserve it. I hope you know that.”

“It’s not with everything all the time, you know.” He goes on, as if this makes it better. “And it’s been a while since the last time, but just recently, a lot of things have transpired. We put out one fire, literally, and another one comes up. Our country is more divided than ever, and we’ve heard rumors that the people are calling for the end of the monarchy. I don’t blame them, but it’s something he cannot let happen. And as a king, he knows there are things even he cannot control.”

“So, he controls you, is that it?” Kenma tries not to let the bitterness seep into his tone. It’s not what Kuroo needs right now. But it’s sickening to him that he would do that to his own son, who is probably the person who cares the most about this country.

The prince doesn’t answer his question directly. Instead, he says, “As the Crown Prince, I know there are things I cannot control. All of it really.”

And then something clicks. “The Selection. You didn’t want it, did you? It’s a distraction for the people—a dazzling show. You weren’t really looking for someone to marry.” It fits. They needed time to solve the issue in the country. The people were getting impatient and getting violent. They needed something to keep them occupied and happy—what better than to speculate on the life of their future king? Watch him fall in love in front of the whole nation? It’s not a bad plan, even if they have to sacrifice his future for it.

Kuroo lifts his eyes to meet his, frantic. “I swear to you that I haven’t been playing with your feelings, Kenma. I mean, yes, I didn’t ask for it, but when you all got here—when I met you, I truly—”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to explain. I wasn’t trying to say anything like that. I just meant that if it was up to you, it wouldn’t be now and maybe it wouldn’t be the Selection.”

He chews on his bottom lip. “Yes. I suppose that’s true, but it’s not like I could’ve met anyone my age without it anyways. And it’s fine, Kenma. I met you, didn’t I? And that’s worth the whole thing. Even if we don’t end up together.”

He can’t keep saying things like that. He just can’t.

Kenma feels his throat closing up, like all the feelings he’s held for him trying to come up all at once.

“You lost your most beloved people, too, Tetsurou, and that hasn’t made you cold.” Kenma holds his gaze, in awe of man in front of him. “If I have to be honest, I didn’t enter the Selection thinking I was going to be here, but I’m glad I met you too. Even if we don’t end up together.”

Kuroo gives him a small smile. He leans up on his hands to kiss him. When he pulls away, Kenma expects to see his usual lingering joy. Instead, he looks sad again, pensive. He lays back down on Kenma’s chest, so he doesn’t get a moment to dissect that it means.

After a beat, Kuroo says, “I’m going to say something but don’t say anything back, okay? I just want to say it.” And Kenma’s afraid he’s going to say he loves him. But it’s this, muffled into his shirt, “It’s okay if you don’t want this, Kenma. The crown. My family. The responsibilities. All of me. You’re here, and I’m very thankful, but it’s okay if you don’t want it forever. Take your time, and I’ll take mine too.”

How he wishes he would’ve said he loves him instead. At least that, Kenma can fathom a respond. But he has given him an out, so graciously and thoughtfully that Kenma feels an ache in his entire body.

In lieu of saying anything, Kenma plants a kiss on top of his head and holds him close, his complicated, wonderful, beloved prince. Though in his arms, he just feels like Tetsurou, a man he’s scared to want forever.

~

When Kenma wakes up the next morning, it’s because of a gnawing hunger inside his stomach. He feels a heavy arm on his body and turns to see Kuroo’s sleeping form next to him, still half-laying on his chest and half on the mattress. His black hair covers his face, haphazardly sticking out in odd angles. Kenma lets out a tiny laugh—he really wasn’t lying about his bedhead.

He wishes he can tell what time it is and how long they’ve been here for. He wiggles his legs, intending to sit up when a shooting pain in his ankle reminds him of its existence again.

Wait. His DS should have the time on it. If it hasn’t died already that is.

Kenma carefully removes Kuroo’s arm from his body, shifting it onto the mattress. He’s just ready to slip out of bed when the other man stirs. His eyes blinking the fog of sleep from them.

“Kenma?” He says, groggily.

“Morning. I think.” He sends him a tiny smile. “I was just about to check the time on my DS.”

Kuroo hums his responds. He rubs his eyes into their sockets as Kenma resumes his task.

The bright screen flashes on his face. The battery is red, but he can tell that it’s just after 6 AM. He relays this information.

“Want to eat something?” Kuroo suggests, getting up now. “I’m starving.” Right on cue, Kenma’s stomach lets out a loud growl, making the prince laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

They both make their way over to the trunk where the canned foods lay. It’s not a terrible selection and Kenma isn’t about to complain when he feels like his stomach is ready to eat itself.

Kuroo cracks open two canned tunas and hands him a few crackers.

“No more kissing after this.” Kenma mumbles, feeling the grime still on his teeth from yesterday.

“Well, I hope we get out soon then.” Kuroo laughs.

They eat their food in silence, but Kenma knows Kuroo’s thinking about what to do when he gets out of here. He never stops working, that man, every waking moment he’s thinking about next steps. Kenma can’t blame him, if the fates of millions of people rest on his shoulders, it’d be hard to ever turn that off.

When they’re done, Kenma holds up his dying DS and says, “Want to catch some Pokémon?” Because if they’re going to be stuck here, unable to do anything, maybe Kuroo can get a moment of peace.

He flashes a grin at him. “Show me how.”

They pass the time like that, sitting close on the bed like they would in Kenma’s room every night, except this time Kenma is watching Kuroo play. It’s amusing to see his clumsy attempts at the controls, his child-like excitement when the ball shakes. Kenma doesn’t care if Kuroo catches duplicates, he just lets him roam around the map, fighting every Pokémon on sight.

It won’t last forever though, Kenma estimates that they have at most another hour when suddenly, a chorus of thumps echoes through the door. His heart rate spikes, and he finds himself clinging on to Kuroo’s strong arms.

The door rattles then burst open, letting the light flood in.

A familiar figure appear behind it, his blonde mohawk making a distinct shadow on the wall as he grins at them.

“Your highness!” He greets, bowing. Relief floods his face and as though it is contagious, Kenma feels it too in his entire body.

“Officer Tora, thank you so much.” Kuroo nods his head, his princely demeanor back on. He helps Kenma up, handing his game console back to his other hand as he slips his arms around his waist supportively.

The guard pulls out a walkie-talkie and murmurs into it, “Officer Tora. Found the prince, over.” The staticky machine radios back a, “Copy,” not even a second later.

As they re-enter the outside, Kenma has to close his eyes to stop being blinded by the light, but the heat of the sun warms his face.

The prince turns to Officer Tora, his questions coming out in a rush, “How’s my father? The Selected? Did we lose anyone?”

“Your Highness, I’m glad you’re safe. The king is too. Everyone’s okay. With Kenma being the last Selected, everyone is account for.” He reports. “We did lose two guards and have one injured, but everyone else is okay.”

“I see.” Kuroo furrows his brows, no doubt thinking about the men who have fallen. He faces Officer Tora again, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for your hard work, Officer. I will go check on our guard in the infirmary and my father, but can you please take Kenma to my Dr. Naomi? He needs to get his ankle looked at properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before Kenma can even process the exchange, Kuroo presses a quick kiss on his cheeks before handing him over. He feels like he already misses him. It’s ridiculous.

“I’ll see you later, Kenma.”

“Okay.” He nods, leaning on the other man for support. He can’t help but think that Officer Tora isn’t as warm or as sturdy.

With a quick good-bye to both of them, the prince sprints back into the palace.

“Are you ready?” The guard asks Kenma.

“Yeah.”

They don’t talk as they make their way inside even though it’s a slow and slightly torturous walk because it hurts like hell if he puts even the tiniest weight on his bad ankle. After a few minutes of huffing from effort on both their parts, Officer Tora says,

“I’ll take you to your room and call Dr. Naomi there. It’d be too far to take you all the way to her place.” He explains. Kenma nods, glad they don’t have far to go if that’s true.

“She’s in the infirmary?” He distinctly remembers Kuroo saying he would head there, but they’re clearly walking in opposite directions.

“No. She’s the royal doctor. Reserved for the royal family.”

“Oh.”

Somehow, this makes Officer Tora laugh. “Yeah.”

Kenma is about to ask him what’s so funny, but something stops him in his tracks, the words swallowed back down. By the look on the other man’s face, he’s seen it already. Though it probably isn’t pretty to look at, no matter how many times.

They’ve reached the main staircase, the grand one next to the portrait of the royal family. The portrait still hangs on the wall, as majestic as the day it is hung. But it seems that the intruders have a message for the king. If Officer Tora isn’t holding him up, Kenma would’ve fallen to the ground out of sheer shock.

Across their smiling faces, written in bright red paint, are the words, “OFF WITH THEIR HEADS.”

~

Even after Dr. Naomi’s visit, Kenma can hardly get the image out of his mind. Now, more than ever, he wishes that he still has his phone so he can call Kuroo just to make sure he’s safe. And it’s not like he can expect Kuroo to check in every day. He’s a busy man, especially at a time like this.

He’s been ordered to be on bed rest, limiting the use of his ankle as much as possible. Dr. Naomi also gave him some ice, re-wrapped his ankle, and placed it on top of some pillows so it’s elevated.

With his DS charging, Kenma’s resigned to staring at the ceiling worrying himself to death until he realizes there’s still something he needs to do. He’s never done this before, but he’s grateful that the button is so close to his bed so he doesn’t have to walk to hit it.

Kenma doesn’t have to wait long until he hears padding footsteps outside his door and rapid knocks against the wood.

“Come in!”

He sees the flash of blonde and orange hair coming at him at incredible speed. He suspects they would’ve jumped on the bed to straddle him if he isn’t injured. They do the next best thing, which is to stop by the side of the bed and throw themselves at his body.

“Kenma!!!” He hears Hinata whales as his hair tickles his chin. “I’m so glad you’re okay!!”

“K-kenma! We were so scared for you! We heard the Selected were outside when it happened!” Yachi’s shoulders shake as she buries her head into his stomach, so he thinks that she’s definitely letting out some tears.   

He pats both of their heads, reaching a little to get to Yachi. “I’m okay. I’m glad you guys are too.”

And really, he wasn’t trying to ask for anything when hey rang the bell—just this, a view of their faces—but he lets them fuss over him anyways. Their combined chatter and usual excitement distract him from the fear in his heart. This, he thinks, will stay for a long time. As long as he still loves the prince, he can never get rid of this feeling.

~

In response to the recent raid, the Selected are permitted to take their meals inside their rooms for the next few days as they wish. The palace needs to be cleaned and put back together anyways. Though from his maids’ reports, there weren’t too many things broken or stolen. It seems they just want to send a message, put the unease right in the heart of the monarchy.

Kenma doesn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if they had come across the prince. Would they have shot him on sight? Or was this really just a warning?

He’s grateful to have the time to himself to ruminate on these thoughts. He doesn’t want to socialize, and his foot is a good excuse too for him to deny any outing or invitations.

Akaashi does come by to eat meals with Kenma in his room, though, and they discuss what they’ve missed from each other the past few days. Akaashi’s spent the raid in a much bigger room with the majority of the Selected. A few of them were so shaken that they’ve asked to leave.

“You were with the prince, weren’t you?”

Kenma nods. “The worst part was not knowing how everyone was, to be honest. I mean, alone time with him, sure, but it’s not like a vacation or something.”

Akaashi snorts. “Yeah, Daishou was complaining loudly about that. How you had an unfair advantage. Most of us ignored him, and he shut up quickly.  We weren’t even thinking about the Selection at that point.”

Kenma sighs. He collapses back onto his couch. “I wish there was something we could do to help Kuro. I’m so hopeless with politics though.”

At this, he hears a tiny chuckle from his friend.

“What?”

“Kuro?”

Shit.

His face makes Akaashi laugh harder. “That’s cute.”

“Shut up.” But what Kenma’s worrying about now is whether Akaashi is going to call him that too. An unexpected wave of jealousy crashes through him even thinking about it. He clears his throat and changes the topic, if only to taper the ugly feeling inside his chest. “So, we have to do the drills starting tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah. Make sure you request crutches from your maids.”

It’s another new thing they have to learn now—the paths to the saferoom just in case this happens again. Though it’s going to suck to do it with this leg like this. He would consider getting a wheelchair just to make it easier, but he’d die before he shows any weakness in front of Daishou. That bastard would take any chance to make his life miserable.

Kenma and Akaashi talk some more about other useless things just to make their situation seem more bearable, even though both of them are still a bit on edge. In his mind, though, Kenma is thinking about Kuroo. He glances at the clock and wills time to move. He silently prays to any entity that will listen to bring him back to him every night in one piece.

~

That Friday, the Selected get ready for the Reports. One can argue that it’s more important than ever to appear that Friday, not only to show their strength as a united front with the monarch but also to deter more rebels from attacking the palace. And for them, it’s also to see who will cave under pressure and who deserves to stay.

Personally, Kenma wants his parents to see his face, to know that their son’s alright. He knows they’ve sent words to all their families, but he should’ve asked if he could give them a call. Tonight, he’s thankful, once again, that he’s in the back row so that he can hide his injured ankle. His mom would fret about that for weeks.

Kenma’s never liked the Reports. Even after doing so many of them now, he still feels like the lights are too bright on his face and the mic packs too uncomfortable against his back. However, when he sits down amongst the Selected tonight and sees the royal family across the stage from them, he feels strangely glad to be here, a sense of camaraderie and completeness that he has never felt before filling his lungs.

He senses it, too, in the way every man is holding their shoulders back and their chests standing tall. Even Lev’s long legs are calm next to him, not bouncing as much in his usual nervousness.

When Shishio takes the stage, he smiles at them, and Kenma knows that he’s glad they’re all there. Alive.

Kenma takes a deep breath.

The show begins.

~

Shishio starts them off the way he always does—with a greeting and a joke. On cue, he pans over to the King, who stands this time to make his announcements. He goes through his usual updates and then, his voice changes, lowering a few octaves.

“Now, as many of you have heard, this week, there was an attack at the palace, at my home.  Two brave soldiers gave their life to protect us, and I would like to take a moment to honor Officer Suzuki Aoi and Officer Takahashi Rin.” He pauses. Kenma, shocked at his sincerity, finds himself holding his breath. The king continues,

“The perpetrators have been caught and are identified as part of a small radical group that currently stands against the monarchy. I will not name them here and give them any more power or recognition, which they so badly desire, but rest assured that they are dealt with. Now, I know that in the past few years since the last caste abolition, there is unrest amongst you. I’m not blind to your suffering and am working towards a solution that will benefit you all. Still, in the meantime, may I remind you that all acts against the crown are treason and are punishable only by death. You want me to hear you. I do. I hope you are listening to me in return.”

He lets his words hang in the air, staring straight at the camera like he’s speaking to the individuals behind the screen directly. Here, outside of his gaze, Kenma feels the words reverberate in his bones and is glad that he’s not on the receiving end of that look.

When the king sits back down, he motions for the Crown Prince. Kuroo stands and all eyes in the room fall on him, waiting with bated breath.

“I will take this incident for what it was—an attack on the principles in which we hold dear. Freedom. Justice. Unity. You’ve endangered not only my family’s life, but those of these gentlemen sitting across the stage from me and the lives of those who have lived and served my family for decades. That will not be forgiven.” Kenma finds that he’s hanging on to his every word, unable to look away even if someone were to beg him.

“But I will also not deny that it was also a direct cry for help from you, the people who feel as if you are so far removed from us. Like my father said, we are not blind to the pain and injustice you’ve endured outside of these walls. It’s not easy to rebuild a society, especially one that has been ingrained in generations. We see it, but it’s you all who are living it every day. Maybe it will take generations more to fix it, but I implore you for your patience. Something will change. As the Crown Prince, I promise that I will not rest until everyone in this country is proud and safe under this nation we’ve made. Let this serve as a reminder of my commitment to you and your faith in me. Together, we’ll overcome this.” Then, he bows his head humbly.

It's a different feeling to know that Kuroo is the prince to see the Crown Prince Kuroo Tetsurou in front of him. This—this is who he is. Kenma knows, watching him, he would follow him to the end of the world.

~

The program continues with Shishio asking the remaining men on stage what they thought of the attack. Bokuto goes first, and he echoes the sentiment of the prince. It’s rare to see him so serious, but Kenma is reminded that he grew up around the world of politics, too.

Next, it’s Semi. He takes on a more empathetic look, going further into Kuroo’s statement about the cry for help. As a civil servant, he must have seen many acts done out of desperation after all. Kenma can’t help but think that politically, he would make a great Prince Consort. He would know just what to do in situations like this given his experience and background.

Unsurprisingly, Daishou has something to say as well. As hard as Kenma tries to zone him out, his grating words itch his ears anyways,

“—need is to allow for more controls of public gathering and protests. Patrol the streets for activities. Groups larger than ten should be highly discouraged to meet. I think it’s incredibly dangerous because polarizing opinions can form and become even more radicalized among those who share the same beliefs.”

“But isn’t it more dangerous to silence the people?” The words slip out his mouth before he has a chance to stop them.

Shishio’s brown eyes flicker up to him with interest. “Oh? Care to say more about that, Kenma?”

His face begins to burn. He feels Daishou’s snake-like eyes threatening him, though that only adds more to his resolve. He swallows but continues.

“I mean, I agree that we don’t want more polarizing and dividing views. And yes, the more people who share the same views talk in an echo chamber, the more polarizing their views become, but I don’t think the solution is to stop the discussion.” It’s something he vaguely remembers from his college classes. He can’t believe it’s becoming of use right now in this way. He barrels on, feeling braver with every word. “Isn’t it more productive if we can talk to those who dissent our opinions? So we can, hopefully, meet somewhere in the middle? Though, again, I agree with you that protests can be dangerous and are not the place for such discussions. I just don’t think stopping them with force and restrictions is the solution.”

Daishou puts on a smile, although anyone can tell that it’s fake from the way his knuckles are turning white. “Great thoughts, Kenma.”

Thankfully, Shishio cuts in. “Wow, what an excellent debate among the Selected. Prince Kuroo, you’ve got yourself some strong allies in this group of men.”

The prince flashes a smile at them. “Aren’t they wonderful? Some of these men can outwit me any day.” He winks. Then he stands again. “I know I already spoke, but on that note, I do have an announcement to make regarding the Selection.”

Everyone around him shifts, eyeing each other anxiously.

“As we’ve talked endlessly this evening, the attack on the palace is something well beyond our anticipation of this Selection. Because of the concerns of safety, I have decided to narrow down the number of the Selected. Many of you have already guessed this if you’ve paid attention to the stage tonight, but I want to make it official. I am endlessly grateful for all the men that came for a chance for me to get to know them. They will forever have a place in my heart, but the ultimate goal of the Selection is for me to find the one, so goodbyes are inevitable.”

Kenma’s been so focused on the king and on Kuroo, on the heavy topic at hand this entire time. Now, finally, he is aware of his surroundings. It’s the first time that he registers the number of men left on the stage, so significantly smaller than when they first started.

Oikawa, Daishou, Ushijima, Bokuto, and Akaashi in front of him.

Tsukishima, Semi, Mirai, and Lev next to him.

Kuroo’s words ring in his ears, “I know you have already met them, but I hope you give the warmest welcome as I re-introduce them to you now. Meet the top ten gentlemen from my Selection—meet the Elites.”

Chapter Text

Even though it sounds fancy, life as an Elite requires a lot more effort on Kenma’s part. They start learning more about the different departments of their government than before, meeting with each advisor to talk about their roles one-on-one. They even attend a few official meetings with the king and Kuroo, though they mostly sit to the side listening in to the conversation (Kenma doesn’t know about anyone else, but his fingers itch for his game console, and his eyes threaten to shut out of boredom. He tries his best, though, for Kuroo’s sake). They’re expected to speak more on the Reports about current affairs as well, which always make his hands sweat.

With the palace recovering from the shock of the attack, Kuroo’s busier now, but having less men around means that he has more time to go on dates with all of them. It’s good because Kenma gets to see him more often. It’s bad because more than before, the morning magazine shows up with a sticky note on it with the pages he should avoid unless he wants to be in a sour mood that day. He doesn’t want it to bother him—the fact that Kuroo is becoming more intimate with other people—but it always does.

Still, when Kuroo sits down at their table for meals instead of at the front with his father, Kenma forgets why he’s mad in the first place. He watches him from across the table, lips still tingling with their goodnight kisses. Kuroo still visits him nightly, and Kenma keeps a First-Aid kit underneath his bed just in case his prince looks more uncomfortable when they end up together on the couch (he’s glad he hasn’t had to use it often, but he’s also glad he can be there for him when he does).

Kenma has perfected the art of looking at Kuroo from afar. Kuroo never sits next to him, always somewhere across the table, so he has a straight view of him every time.

Out there, in front of everyone, Kuroo is Prince Kuroo. He’s handsome, charming, and annoying at times. He laughs loudly and makes cheesy and nerdy jokes that the other Elites pretend to laugh at. Kenma rolls his eyes at him, trying to stop his lips from curving up too. But it also shocks Kenma how easily the prince gets along with the other men. He matches Oikawa’s flirtatious energy, and they spend endless time discussing volleyball. He always gets Ushijima to talk more than he normally does. He even makes Daishou seem like a decent person at times, which is a miracle all by itself.

It's during one of these meals that Kuroo delivers another announcement.

“No need to look so tense everybody,” he laughs, waving his hands at them. Kenma doesn’t blame anyone for the shift in energy as Kuroo stands up. It’s been a month without anymore eliminations and as much as they want to feel happy about that, they’re bound to be anxious about who would be next to go. “It’s good news, I promise.”

He clears his throat then goes on. “It’s almost approaching the six-month mark of you all being here. As fun as living here might be, I understand that it can also be very lonely at times. I’m not sure how long the Selection will go on for, but I also want you all to have an opportunity to see your family since it’s been such a long time.”

At the mention of his family, Kenma feels an ache in his chest. He’s talked to them on the phone recently, his mother talking his ear off for most of it, but all it does is remind him that he has never been far away from home for this long before.

“What better way for you all to see your family and for me to get to know them than have a giant party, right?” Kuroo grins at them, his wide smile infectious.

Multiple voices chirp up at once enthusiastically. The prince allows for their excitement to die down before continuing again, “I’ll announce the event on this week’s Reports, but your family should be getting the invitation no later than tomorrow. They should have all the details, and we’ll send out our helpers to help him with the travel—similar to what happened when you first get Selected. The party will take place in a month, which mean you’ll have plenty of time to plan it.”

Wait a minute.

Lev’s hand shoots up in the air. “I’m sorry. Did you say that we’re going to be planning this party?”

There’s a mischievous glint in Kuroo’s gold eyes. “Yes, I did! One of your duties as a future Prince Consort will be hosting the many parties for our foreign allies as well as philanthropic functions for the causes we support. I think this will be a good way for you all to get some practice and gain confidence in your skill. I, for one, can never say no to a good party.” He winks at them. “Kiyoko will of course be helping you all with the preparations, so don’t fret. She’s really good at what she does.”

They eye each other warily. The initial excitement of seeing their family is still there, but there’s also an element of apprehension.

Kenma, surprisingly, doesn’t feel nervous about this. Sure, they’re probably being graded on some level, but no one is setting them up to fail at this stage. He speaks up, surprising everybody around the table,

“There’s ten of us. There’s no need to be nervous. Knowing Shimizu, if we’re about to pick the wrong tablecloth or something, she’d let us know.”

Akaashi throws him a grateful look as everyone nods at his words.

Bokuto also breaks the ice by exclaiming, “Man, my sisters are going to be so stoked that they’re invited back! Good luck getting rid of them this time.”

Lev put his head in his hands. “Mine too.”

They all laugh, the anxiety ebbing away, replaced only with joy. Kenma shares a glance with Kuroo across the table. There’s always this too—why he doesn’t mind Kuroo never sitting next to him—every time they look at each other, he always feels like they’re the only people in the room.

~

In the comfort of his own room later that night, Kuroo nudges Kenma, making him look up at him. Kenma pauses his game at his inquiring brows, laying it down on the couch.

“What’s up? You have your thinking face on.”

Kenma frowns, slightly annoyed that Kuroo can read him so easily now. He was indeed thinking about something. “I don’t have a thinking face. It’s my normal face.”

The prince grins at him. “No, you do. It’s the face you make when you’re thinking really hard about something.”

“What does it even look like anyways?” He rolls his eyes.

“Really, really, cute.” Kuroo pinches one of his cheeks.

“Ugh. I don’t have that.” He bats his hand away, rubbing at the spot where he’s just been.

“Yes. You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Tetsurou!” It’s his trump card, and he knows it. It always makes Kuroo all flustered when he uses his first name, his cheeks turning pink. Kenma can only grin at his easy victory every time.

“No fair.” He pouts. Then he leans in, an arm draped across the couch behind Kenma’s back, and says, “So really, what are you thinking about?”

Kenma doesn’t want to bicker with him any longer, so he settles with the truth. He wants to bring it up earlier rather than later anyways.

“I was thinking about my friend Kageyama. He’s a pianist who used to accompany me a lot when I danced. Kiyoko hasn’t gone over vendors yet in her presentation today, but I’m assuming you guys have a list of screened musicians you used for events like these, right?”

Kuroo nods. “Oh, yeah. My father’s particular about who he hires for this kind of thing. You can bring him as a friend, though, if you want to see him.”

He doesn’t know if Kageyama would accept the invitation, but he does want to see him, so it’s worth a try.

“That’d be alright?” He asks.

“Of course,” Kuroo grins back at him. “I can have the invitation sent to him tomorrow. As long as you don’t go running off with him afterwards that is.”

Kenma arches his brows. “Oh, are you jealous?”

“Is that hot?”

“A bit.” Kenma admits. He squeezes one of Kuroo’s hands. Even though Kuroo is probably joking, there’s a tiny bit of truth hidden there somewhere. “But Kageyama and I hardly even hug in the years we’ve known each other, so I wouldn’t worry about that, Kuro.”

Kuroo’s face remains bright at his answer, his lips smirking as he moves in close. “Good. Then I guess he didn’t get to do this with you either.”

When their lips meet, Kenma doesn’t have the time or mind to think about anyone else but the man in front of him. It doesn't matter who Kuroo kisses outside of this room or how many photographs are floating out there as evidence of it. Here, he’d kiss him as if his life depends on it. There doesn’t need to be cameras for Kenma to know how Kuroo feels about him. He just hopes Kuroo knows how much Kenma feels for him too in return.

~

The preparation for the party takes up a large portion of Kenma’s time. From the minute he wakes up to the minute Kuroo strolls into his room at night, he’s poring over documents and design layouts and hundreds of samples of various things. The Elites pop in and out of the Men’s room and the library sporadically, each carrying their own tasks and headache. Kenma’s glad his ankle finally healed up, or else he’d have more annoyances on his hand.

What would it be like to have to do this on your own as Prince Consort? The royal planners would still be there, of course, but not having Akaashi or Tsukishima’s eyes for a second look would make Kenma more anxious over his decisions.

And that’s the thing about this party, too. It forces the Elites to trust and rely on one another more than before. They’re so intertwined with this project that it’s impossible to tease out who’s doing what or who’s more successful. It’s all the same in the end, anyways—they can’t fail. They’d all look bad. Not only in front of the royal family, but their own families as well. So, they’ve learned to work together, albeit begrudgingly on some people’s parts.

As the weekend for the party comes creeping in, the to-do lists start growing for the final tasks. Fortunately, that also means that it’ll be over soon, and Kenma can go back to lounging in the Men’s room on his DS. The men were complaining about being bored before, but he can tell they’re all ready to have nothing to do again but go on dates with the prince after this.

Still, the excitement over seeing his family again is brewing inside his belly. The night before they’re set to arrive, he finds himself unable to sleep, like a kid the night before a field trip.

He knows his parents would love Kuroo, seeing how excited they are just hearing about him, and Kenma can hardly describe everything that he is on the phone. He wonders what Kuroo would think of his parents. He’d probably adore his mother—everyone does. He hopes he’s a tiny bit afraid of his father, although no one ever is and Kuroo is in no position to be afraid of anyone.

He’s aware that Kuroo is meeting everyone else’s family, too, but he can’t help but feel the importance of his two worlds colliding. He wants it to go well.

The Elites are arranged to meet their families in the foyer next to the hanger, so they can greet them as soon as they land. Everyone’s standing, heads swiveling towards the doors every few minutes as if their family will arrive any faster if they check. As one family appears after another, the room is lit up with chatter and conversation, laughter filling the air.

It’s a great idea on Kuroo’s part. Sure, they’ve lived here for quite some time now, but it has yet to feel like home. Many of them probably missed home more than they realized, Kenma included.

When he sees his parents’ familiar faces appear, he hurries to be by their side, almost running into his mother’s arms.

“Kenma!” He hears her warm voice muffled into his shirt and her arms wrapped around his body. She smells just like home. “Oh, you look so good! I’m glad they’re feeding you around here.”

“Suzume, don’t be silly.” His dad’s voice chimes in. “I think he’s probably eating more here than he ever did at home.”

His mom finally let go of him enough for Kenma to look into his dad’s kind face, the same black-framed glasses around his eyes. Somehow, both of his parents look more aged than he remembers, their faces dotted with worry lines, their black hair peppered. Maybe this is just what happens when you don’t see your parents after a while.

“Hi, Dad.” Kenma’s eyes wander to the left of him, where his tall friend stands in silence, politely allowing his parents to have their moments with him. Kageyama hasn’t changed, but he sees that they’ve forced him into a nice blue turtleneck that brings out the colors of his eyes, his black hair perfectly styled. “Hey, Kageyama. Thanks for coming.”

He nods at him. “Long time no see. Thank you for the invitation.”

Staring now at the three faces in front of him, Kenma’s so thankful that Kuroo brought them here, a warmth spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body.

His mom starts inspecting him again, as if she’s trying to figure out what has changed about him. Kenma feels like the parts that have, she can’t easily see.

As the three of them catch up, Kenma glances around the foyer as everyone else hugs and kisses their loved ones. He sees Semi keeping a hand on his younger sister as she tries to get out of his grip to run around the room. Bokuto is trying not to look embarrassed as his sisters fuss over him. Everyone is buzzing with excitement as they’re reunited with their families.

In one corner of the room, Oikawa hugs his parents and someone Kenma assumes is his older sister, a tall woman with long, brown hair. There’s a younger kid seemingly uninterested in the events around him, holding a volleyball in his hand. He doesn’t think Oikawa has another extremely younger brother, so maybe it’s his nephew?

Kenma’s eyes, though, are intrigued by Oikawa himself. He usually looks cheerful, undisturbed, and he still appears that way today. Except for one thing—he keeps looking at the door, maybe expecting someone else to walk through any minute now. But the last families to come in are Tsukishima and Mirai, both with their parents and brothers (one older for the former and younger twins for the latter). The doors remain shut after that, but apparently that doesn’t stop Oikawa from hoping, his eyes always trailing back.

Kenma steers his attention away, but he tucks the moment back inside his head. He thought he had everything about Oikawa figured out by now—the man talks and talks—but it seems that’s not entirely true.

~

After their reunions, everyone heads towards the dining hall for lunch. Because of the size of their party, the big table the Selected normally sit at is replaced by ten smaller ones—one for each family. Kenma briefly wonders if the king and Kuroo would join them for this meal, but they never showed.

Somehow, it makes him feel more relaxed, knowing that he has this time to himself with his family and Kageyama. The three of them marvel at the food, and Kenma takes it upon himself to point out the rest of the Elites in the room. Though half-way through, his mother shushes him, saying,

“We know of them, dear. I think you forget you all appear on television every week.”

“And the magazines every day.” His dad chimes in.

Kageyama nods his agreement.

Kenma definitely did forget this part. He almost forgot why he’s here in the first place.

“Right.”

“Speaking of, you need to go on more dates with the prince.” His mother points out. “I hardly see any mention of you in the papers.”

Kenma doesn’t know how to explain to her that he technically hangs out with Kuroo every day. They just avoid the cameras, so it only seems like he never goes on dates with him.

Fortunately, and surprisingly, Kageyama comes to his rescue. “I think Kenma probably prefers to be out of the public eye. He and the prince seem quite close already.”

Okay, now how Kageyama of all people can figure that out, Kenma doesn’t know, but he remembers that it was Kageyama himself who told him, It’s not too bad to fall in love with the prince. No one would blame you if you did. Maybe his friend is secretly psychic.

His parents eye him, gauging his response to that assessment.

“We are close.” Kenma says, not wanting to give too much away. Although his love life is plastered for all to see anyways, he still finds it awkward to talk to his parents about it. “I made it to top ten, didn’t I?”

“That’s true. I suppose I just want more pictures of my son in the magazine. Is that a crime?” She smiles at him. “But everyone at home is rooting for you. I have people stopping me on the streets to congratulate me and gush about you. We’re all so proud of you, Kenma.”

“Us especially.” His dad gestures to the two of them.

If he wasn’t already close to tears seeing his family again, he certainly is now. It’s all he can do to stop himself from crying at the table. “Okay, okay.” He says, moving the plates of food closer to them. “Eat, eat. The food’s going to get cold. You too, Kageyama. The party is not going to be for a few hours, and there’s a lot you guys need to do to prep.”

They spend another hour in the dining room. Akaashi and Bokuto bring their families over to introduce themselves. Kenma’s parents and Akaashi’s bond over raising an only child. Bokuto’s dad smile at them, having already met them during one of the advisor meetings. His mom, though, is just as high-energy as Bokuto himself, her silver hair bouncing prettily in curls around her face as she talks animatedly.

Through the whole conversation, Kenma is trying his best not to get overwhelmed as Bokuto’s sister pounces on him, asking him every single question under the sun. Not even Kageyama, a non-Selected, is free from their grasp. It’s amusing to see his cheeks pink up though as they come ever closer to his face and asking him if he’s single.

When it comes time for them to disperse, Shimizu comes in to dismiss them. She escorts their families to their assigned quarters and reminds the Elites of their tasks before the party begins that night.

Kenma comes back to his room, already feeling tired, but the day is yet to be over. Yachi and Hinata are already present, setting up his clothes and running his bath.

Hinata pokes his head out of the bathroom and says, “Hi Kenma! We were told that we needed to send one person to help your friend get ready for tonight. Do you have a preference?”

Kenma muses. Originally, he wanted to send Yachi because she’s very nice. On the other hand, there are probably things the palace requires that Kageyama might not want to do, much like Kenma on his first day here. With Kageyama’s nature…In the end, he goes with, “Hinata—you get him ready. Don’t let his face scare you. That’s just what he looks like. He can be quite grumpy, but I think you can handle him. Do whatever you need to do.”

“On it!” Hinata grins. He fakes salute and then runs out of the room enthusiastically, his bright orange hair disappearing out of sight.

Maybe Kenma should give his friend a heads-up, but there’s no real way of communicating this to him. He hopes they won’t kill each other before the party even begins.

Chuckling to himself, he heads towards the bath.

~

Even though he only has Yachi helping him out, Kenma is ready with plenty of time to spare. His face is made-up perfectly, his cheeks dotting with blush and a hint of shimmer in the foundation. Half of his hair is put up in a small bun while the other half hangs delicately around his face. Yachi and Hinata also somehow had time to make him a new suit, so he’s wearing a sleek black suit with a deep red undershirt, the color of Nekoma’s flag. There’s a gold chain dangling from his lapel to his pocket that also brings out the colors of his eyes.

“You look amazing!” Yachi squeals as they admire him in the mirror.

“Thank you.” He smiles back at her. He hopes he’ll be able to catch Kuroo’s eyes with this. There will be more people in the room after all to divert his attention.

Kenma takes a big deep breath. He eyes his DS wistfully before heading out of the room. He tries to remind himself that after this weekend, he’ll get to relax.

The banquet hall is being decorated as Kenma walks in. There are tables lining the walls, making space in the center for dancing. Each table is draped with a champagne color linen tablecloth, adorned with a red floral centerpiece. The band is doing their sound checks under Semi’s supervision while Bokuto and Ushijima are helping the servers with the food set-up.

Kenma spots Akaashi in the corner of the room, laying the mini plates and folded napkins on the table, so he walks over to join him.

As the last of the Elites trickles in, each one of them picks up a task that still needs to be done. By the time Shimizu comes in for the final check-in, every single fork is where they should be, down to the millimeter. She smiles proudly at them through her glasses.

“Great job, gentlemen. I hope you’ll get to enjoy tonight with your family, you’ve certainly earned it. If anything comes up, rest assured that I will take care of it.” She’s wearing a beautiful black dress that sparkles every time she moves. Her black hair is up in a nice bun, accentuating the curves of her collarbone. “Oh, and I hope you all get a chance to dance with the prince. He’s been looking forward to it.”

Kenma can’t help but smile to himself. He hasn’t explicitly said this to Kuroo, but he has been looking forward to this, too.

~

“Something’s different about you.”

Kenma snaps out of his trance when Kageyama slips next to him. Hinata has done well with him, picking out a navy suit that brings out the blue of his eyes. His hair doesn’t have as many products as before, but it shines nicely, reflecting the chandelier lights. Kageyama was never one for stage make-up back when they were performing on stage, but today he has allowed for a touch of blush and a hint of lip gloss. Kenma wishes he could’ve been a fly on the wall when he met Hinata.

“Different how?” He tilts his head at him.

Kageyama studies him, trying to put what he thinks into words. He was never good at that. He was honest about his feelings only when he could name them.

“You’re confident, I think.” His eyes then travel across the room—towards the subject of Kenma’s constant infatuation. “And you did what you thought was impossible.” Fall in love with the prince.

Kenma follows his eyes. He’s been watching him all evening as Kuroo bounces from one person to the next, one family to another. He dances with the other Elites and even their siblings. Kenma couldn’t help but laugh when Oikawa’s nephew became his partner for two whole songs, his feet barely touching the ground as Kuroo spins him around.

“He’s not who I thought he was.” He says truthfully. I might also not be who I thought I was.

“You said that on the Reports.”

“So you did watch me?”

Kageyama shrugs, sipping his wine. “I said I would.”

Kenma diverts his eyes back to his prince. Kuroo is wearing a maroon suit today, almost matching the color of Kenma’s undershirt. His black hair is its usual madness, but that only makes him look hotter. Every time he laughs across the room, Kenma hears it and feels it in every bone in his body.

Kenma doesn’t know how it’s possible, but Kuroo looks good just standing there. He looks good talking to Akaashi’s parents. He looks good teasing Mirai’s twin brothers and chasing Semi’s sister around the dance floor. He suspects that he’s trying to get used to this version of him so that when he finally comes over, Kenma doesn’t immediately embarrass himself by jumping into his arms.

“You look good, by the way.” Kenma turns the attention away from himself. “I like this color on you.”

With that, Kageyama’s face turns into a grimace, an annoying yet amusing look crossing over his face that Kenma has never seen before.

“Hinata, was it? It was his idea. He’s so—so—I mean, he’s just—AGH!”

Kenma laughs. He knew this would happen. He’s definitely glad he didn’t send Yachi. “I’m glad to hear you guys get along so well.” He teases him.

“We would get along better if he wasn’t so stupid.” He mumbles, downing the rest of his drink. The pink tint of his cheeks has darkened just so. Kenma wonders if there’s something more than just the wine in Kageyama’s system.

“It’s only for tomorrow. Then you don’t have to deal with him again.”

At this, Kageyama blinks at him, his blue eyes wide. “Right.” Then, seemingly remembering where he is, he clears his throat and says, “Ah, I’m going to get more to drink. Want something?”

Kenma shakes his head and holds up his still full glass.

“Okay. Oh, and before I go.” He motions his head towards a corner of the room. “Those two have been looking at you weirdly for the last five minutes. Not sure what that’s about though.”

Kenma turns to see that his friend is referring to Daishou and an unfamiliar man. They’re standing in the corner and talking, but they look away quickly when they see that Kenma’s spotted them. He groans internally. He really would rather ignore this but seeing that he has to greet all the Elite’s families anyways, it would be rude if he doesn’t talk to Daishou’s.

“Thanks.” He nods at Kageyama before his friend walks away.

Before Kenma can lose his resolve, he heads over to where Daishou is standing. He’s wearing an emerald green suit with with white iridescent buttons. If they were friends, Kenma would’ve considered complimenting him on it.

“Hello, I hope you’re having a good evening.” He bows his head at the man. He doesn’t remember reading that Daishou has a brother—the only sibling he has is an older sister. Regardless, it’s better if he gets the words in first, just in case Daishou says something untoward. “I’m Kenma, one of the Elites. Very nice to meet you.”

“My name is Akimya Sai. I’m one of Suguru’s cousins.” He smiles at Kenma. His black hair swooping across his forehead, matching Daishou’s. Maybe this is something that runs in their family, too, but his smile gives Kenma the shivers.

“Why are you here?” Daishou narrows his eyes at him. It seems that he doesn’t even want to pretend to be cordial.

Fine. Kenma can cut to the chase too. “It seemed like you were talking about me. I just want to say hi. Put a face to the name.”

Akimya whistles. “You’re right. He’s feisty.” He leans in closer to Kenma’s face, making him back away out of instinct. The alcohol in his breath brushes fills Kenma’s nose unpleasantly. “Say, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

Kenma’s eyes glance over his face, noting the roughness of his skin and a mole at the edge of left brow. He’s certain he has never seen this man before in his life.

“I don’t think so.” He says through gritted teeth. 

The other man stands up again, scratching his head in the effort to wrack his brain. “No, I think we have. Your face—I just feel like—Oh!” He brightens, snapping his fingers. “You’re a dancer.”

“Everyone knows that, Aki.” Daishou shakes his head, unimpressed.

“No, no. He’s a dancer near my province.” He points at Kenma. “You used to dance at Haruki’s parties, didn’t you? I knew I recognize you from somewhere.”

A chill runs down Kenma’s spine at the mention of his ex. Somehow, as innocent as it might be, he doesn’t like that this guy knows him—knows Haru.

“That’s right.” He sips his wine. “Well, nice to see you again. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.” Kenma excuses himself as quickly as possible.

Daishou doesn’t stop him from walking away. Even as Kenma gets far away from the duo, the bad feelings about them follow him. He feels their eyes on him for the rest of the night.

~

Kenma’s patient is running thin. So much so that he doesn’t even want to look at him anymore. For a split second, he considers just heading back to his room and calling it a night. It’s been a long day, and he’s tired. And his parents are asking him too many questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and what’s the point of looking nice for somebody if they don’t even acknowledge you exist—

A warm hand rests on his shoulder as a familiar voice whispers in his ear, “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting.”

Kenma’s stomach makes a traitorous flip. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, not giving in just yet.

“Looks like you had fun out there.” It looks like he has danced with everyone except for Kenma. He hates that he knows this. He hates that he hates it.

“No. My fun has just now begun.”

Kenma allows himself to turn his head then to look into his eyes, his nose filling up with Kuroo’s cologne, sweet and comforting. Kuroo wraps an arm around his waist, and he melts into him.

Good. He thinks. Let everyone see you and me together at last.

“You certainly took your time, Kuro.” He can’t help the slight pout on his lips.

Kuroo smiles kindly, apologetically. “I wanted to make sure no one has an excuse to cut into my time with you and your family. Thank you for waiting, Kenma.”

He can sweet-talk his way out of anything. Kenma can forgive him for anything. Especially something as silly as this.

“Ready to meet my parents?” He lifts his brows.

Kuroo lets out a shaky chuckle. “A bit nervous actually, if you can believe it.” His eyes shifting anxiously on Kenma’s face. “I want to make a good impression.”

Kenma’s pleased with his response. He doesn’t think Kuroo has anything to worry about though. He tells him this. “Just be yourself.”

“Are you sure? It took you a while to like me.”

He laughs. “My parents are much nicer than me, I promise.” He gives the hand that’s around his waist a gentle squeeze.

“Alright.” Kuroo takes one large, final breath. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Kenma’s eyes sweep around the room for his parents. Last he saw them, they were by the musicians, chatting with them as they took their break. Now, they’re sitting down at a table, snacking on a plate of chips and red wine. Kenma tugs Kuroo towards their direction.

His mom, as expected, notices them coming first and nudges at his dad. They both make themselves presentable and are smiling broadly as the two of them approach the table.

“Mom, dad, I’m sure you already know, but this is Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. Kur—I mean, Your Highness, these are my parents.” Though Kenma wasn’t nervous before, he strangely is now. His heart flutters inside his chest and his hands are sweaty.

Kuroo bows deeply at his introduction. “Please feel free to call me Tetsurou, no need for honorifics Kozume-san.”

“Very nice to meet you at last, Tetsurou.” Kenma’s dad speaks up first. He holds out his hand, which Kuroo grasps in his own warmly.

“Yes, very. We’ve heard so much about you from Kenma.” His mom chimes in. “He’s right. You are much taller in person.”

Kenma would’ve put his face in his hands if Kuroo didn’t start laughing just then. He feels heat creeping up from the back of his neck, slowly taking over his cheeks.

“Well, I hope it’s all good things from him.” He grins at Kenma, his pretty gold eyes shine under the lights. “Personally, I’m very fond of your son. I’m glad he took a chance to meet me.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have enough good things to say about you. I almost think he’s not going to come home anymo—”

“Mooom.” Now he really puts his face in his hands. Yup. This was a bad idea. But in a way that he definitely did not expect.

She completely ignores his protest, however, and continues on. “He can be really stubborn at times, but he’s a good kid. If he ever gets his head out of his video games, I keep telling him, he’d go far.”

Kuroo finds this all too amusing, soaking in her every word. Kenma’s glad they weren’t actually meeting at his house, or his mother would’ve pulled out his baby pictures to show him.

“Oh, I know that he’s incredibly smart. Smarter than me probably.” He winks at him.

Kenma rolls his eyes. He needs to pull Kuroo away before his parents can say anything else incriminating. “Okay, everyone. That’s enough. Introductions over. I think he owes me something, and you guys can go back to eating.”

It looks like his mom is about to argue, but her eyes shine in understanding.

“Right, of course. Please come back to talk with us later, Tetsu.” She waves them away.

Kenma’s dad also gives him an encouraging thumbs-up as he ushers them from the table.

“Well, that was embarrassing.” Kenma mumbles under his breath as he holds onto Kuroo’s arms.

The other man laughs cheerfully above him. “They are nice. I would love to talk with them more and hear about all these things you’ve been saying about me, Kyanma.”

“They’re getting old. They probably don’t even remember.” He lies. Inside, his heart is thundering yet again. He looks around for Kageyama. He could do this without him, but he would rather have something familiar, especially if everyone is going to be watching them. He relaxes his grip on Kuroo’s arms once he finds his friend standing by the food.

“Kenma?”

He turns his eyes back to Kuroo, who has now realized that they’re in the middle of the dance floor.

“Yes?” His heart skips a beat.

“Is this—?” He gulps, a few beads of sweat travel down his forehead. It’s endearing how nervous he looks. Hasn’t he been doing this all evening? This should be easy by now.

Looking at Kuroo’s handsome face, his lips slightly trembling in anticipation, Kenma’s feels his heart settling. He grabs his hands and squeezes them, grounding them both.

“Yes. You weren’t the only one looking forward to this, you know.” Kenma admits, his voice low enough for only Kuroo to hear. He feels the room turning quiet as the eyes rest on the two of them. He keeps his squarely on Kuroo’s face. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all night.” The prince confesses. “Even when I was not with you, I was thinking about you. About this.”

Kenma smiles. He cocks his head. “Do you want to lead or should I?”

Kuroo’s breath hitches. He probably didn’t even think about the fact that Kenma could lead. It’s probably customary for the prince to lead. But yet, but yet the word that breathily escape his lips are, “You.”

Kenma finds Kageyama’s eyes in the crowd again, this time, he’s taking a seat down at the piano, a serene expression on his face. Kenma nods at him and repositions Kuroo’s hands. It’s a bit awkward because the prince is so much taller than him, his shoulders broader, but he makes it work.

He looks into those warm golden eyes.  “Ready?”

Kuroo’s body melts into his. “Ready.”  

It almost seems like Kageyama is listening to their conversation because the music begins softly, the first few notes ringing out clear in the noisy room, capturing everyone’s attention.

No. Perhaps it’s not the music that captures their attention. Perhaps it’s the way Kenma is leading Kuroo across the floor, as if they have been dancing together forever, as if they have always meant to be here, doing this. Perhaps it’s the way Kuroo is looking at Kenma, as if he cannot imagine a more perfect person in front of him, a more perfect partner for him.

As the chorus comes, it fills Kenma’s ears and drags his body along with it, his heart racing and trying to escape outside of his ribcage. He, in turn, can only hold on tight to Kuroo and bring him along for the ride. He has missed dancing. But he has also never danced like this, like his entire being is on fire, unable to contain the feelings inside of him. He suspects it’s less about the dancing itself and more about the man in his arms.

They spin around the dance floor as if they’re the only people in the room. For them, they’re the only people that exist. The only ones in the world.

He feels so weightless, never before has dancing with someone become as easy as breathing. But being with Kuroo in general is as easy as breathing. Kuroo always has a way of making him feel like they fit. It’s strange how someone so different from him can feel like just another part of him, so in tune that they fill in each other’s gaps, fitting as if they are one. Kageyama has said that Kenma’s done the impossible, but the truth is that Kuroo is the one who’s impossible.

Kenma doesn’t know if anybody is watching anymore. He doesn’t care. He only cares about Kuroo’s warm body pressing against his and his bright, shining face looking back at him, his love in his eyes.

He’s grateful that he’s leading. He’s grateful that he has to think of the next steps. If it was the other way around, the words inside his chest would’ve stumbled out right about now.

When the song ends, both of them are breathing heavily, their chests rising rapidly as they hold onto one another. There are cheers in the room, loud whooping. Kenma’s ears are buzzing too much to properly hear them, and his attention is fixed on Kuroo’s face, inches from his.

Kuroo’s breath tickles his cheek as he leans in to say, “I wish I could kiss you right now. In front of all these people.”

A smile tugs at Kenma’s lips. “You know you can’t.” Screw the rules. I wish you would.

Kuroo backs up so he can look at him fully. Kenma appreciates his blown-out pupils, his flushed cheeks. “I know. It’s killing me. Why do you think I never sit with you during mealtimes? I wouldn’t know how to control myself around you. It’d be too unfair to everyone else.”

Kenma doesn’t know how much is too much to feel for one person. Kuroo is adamant at testing his limits. This impossible man.

“Tonight.” He whispers, barely able to breathe. “Come to my room.”

Kuroo nods. “What about now?”

“Now? You dance with me again.” He gives him a sly smile. “You lead this time.”

Kuroo’s hands don’t miss a beat as they slide down to rest on Kenma’s waist.

They dance and dance and dance. The night goes on around them. Even as the others take another turn with the prince, all they see in front of their eyes, in full color, are each other.

Chapter Text

When Kenma retires to his room that night, his feet ache from all the dancing, the excitement of the day falling out of him in waves, leaving behind only the tiredness deep in his bones. Still, after he’s washed all the make up off his face, back in his comfy pajamas, his mind is wide awake. His fingers tap on his console impatiently as he waits for the familiar knocks to come on his door. 

There were plenty of people left at the party, so it would be a while before Kuroo follows suit. He would wait for him all night. He couldn’t sleep now even if he tried.

Seeing his family and Kageyama again has been good, but Kenma is reminded of his simple, comfortable life outside of the palace. He didn’t have to spend so much time on his appearance, making sure not a hair is out of place. He didn’t have to constantly watch over his shoulders every time he’s outside or near a window. He could’ve eaten anytime he wanted, when he wanted—though maybe as a Prince Consort, he could take meals in his room instead since there will be no other Selected to dine with? He’s not sure.

And what about his parents? Could they move to the palace with him if he’s chosen? Or would they be perpetually a plane ride away? He assumes they wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore, but that doesn’t mean they would live here. Now that he’s thinking about it, he wonders about Kuroo’s grandparents. He only saw them that very first day.

Kenma would have to forget about his college degree, too. He could probably learn and take classes online, but he wouldn’t have any use for that here unless it would be useful for politics.

It's a reminder that he would have to give up the life he has always known.

But Kuroo…there is something so overwhelming sitting on his chest when he thinks about Kuroo. He’s been thinking of him as his prince, his annoying, wickedly charming, handsome prince. Kenma loves the place by his side. He loves his easy grin, his endless chatter, and his mindless touches. He loves his dedication to their country, his constant drive to improve. It makes Kenma wish he could be better, too, so he can truly earn the spot next to him.

It's scary to love a prince. It’s not simple at all.

A little bit before midnight, Kenma’s startled out of his thoughts by the gentle knocks on the door. His heart, so attuned to what that means, starts to pick up inside his chest.

“Hi.” Kuroo’s tired, smiling face appears behind the heavy door, still in his suit. His scent is a strangely intoxicating mixture of sweat and cologne. Kenma can probably bathe in it all day.

“Hi.”

“Did I tell you that you looked beautiful earlier?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice.” Whispered in his ear while they were dancing. Again and again as he spun him around. Kenma’s cheeks flush with the memory.

“Well, you did.” Kuroo shrugs a shoulder, his eyes panning over his face. “You still do.”

Did Kenma ever tell him?

“You look handsome, too, Tetsurou.”

The effect is even better than he could’ve hoped for. Kuroo’s grin freezes on his face, his eyes widening just a smidge, blinking. He can see the redness creeping in from the back of his head up his cheeks, beautifully spreading over his skin.  

“You’re trying to kill me. It’s mean.” He mumbles.

They’re still standing at the door, taking in each other.

“I’m trying to be nice to you.” Kenma counters, amused.

“Well, knock it off.” He jokes.

Kenma arches his brows, coy. “Does that mean I can’t do this anymore?” What he has been waiting to do all night. What Kuroo has been waiting for, too.

Kenma pulls on the front of his shirt, dragging Kuroo into his room until their lips connect. The door clicks and locks behind him. Thank goodness because Kenma feels heat pooling at the bottom of his stomach, his lips trying their best to drink him in as if he needs him to survive. He’s getting dangerously close there.

They part, just for a quick second. Enough for Kuroo to say, breathlessly, “No. Never stop doing that.”

Kenma isn’t sure he can stop even if he tried.

When they kiss this time, it’s hurried. Rushed. Kuroo’s teeth clash into his lips as his hands thread feverishly through his hair. Kenma feels overwhelmed with how much he wants him. He’s dizzied with it. His hands roam across Kuroo’s body on their own, wanting to touch every inch of him, wanting to memorize every curve. He tugs his suit jacket off impatiently. It falls on the floor, almost tripping them with it as they back up to Kenma’s bed, still refusing to part their lips.

It feels both too real and unreal at the same time, when Kenma finally opens his eyes to see Kuroo towering over him, his elbows on either side of his face, his hips pressing firmly down against his.

Kenma’s heart has long forgotten its normal rate and rhythm, beating wildly out of range. When Kuroo’s lips connect to the long column of his neck, he arches to be closer to him, a silent plea to be taken apart.

There’s a desperate groan escaping his lips, followed by a grasp of surprise as he feels a gentle suck of his skin. It’ll be bruised there tomorrow. The thought only makes him want to tilt his head back more.

Kenma’s hands have travel all the way down Kuroo’s torso, stopping at the junction where his shirt is tucked into his pants. He slips his fingers in, just enough to set the shirt free. When his hand grazes at Kuroo’s bare skin, he feels Kuroo’s lips separate from his neck. The sudden contrast shocks him.   

“Wait I—” Kenma opens his eyes to see Kuroo’s face lifting from his, his eyes darting away as he sucks on his bottom lip nervously. “Sorry.”

Kenma reaches up to direct his gaze back to him with a guide of his hand. He feels the sweat collect under his fingertips.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s just,” Kuroo says in an exhale, “You know, I’ve never…” He trails off, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh, right.” Kenma’s forgotten all about that. He feels Kuroo’s weight removed from on top of him, sinking into the mattress by his side. “We don’t have to do anything, Kuro. It’s okay.” He reassures him.

Kuroo’s eyes meet his.

“I just want to make it clear that it’s not that I don’t want to. I do, believe me. I really do, but I’m just a little bit afraid, I think.” He pauses, his brows creasing in the middle. Kenma fears that the worry lines will be permanent wrinkles on his skin in a few short years. When Kuroo speaks next, it’s so honest Kenma can hear it in the roughness of his voice. “I mean, if we were to be together in that way, and I never get to be with you again, it would drive me crazy.”

Warmth spreads across his chest. Kuroo thinks too much. Here Kenma thought he was the only one who’s a chronic thinker.

Still, it’s fair to say. What would happen if he knew how he tasted and how he felt? What would happen if Kenma never had him like that again? To have him and to lose him—he doesn’t want to imagine what that would be like.

Out loud, he teases, “Are you suggesting that I would ruin you for other men? I’m not that good, you know.”

“You would be to me.” He’s too earnest for his own good right now. Kuroo, in front of Kenma, always wears his heart on his sleeves. It almost cracks Kenma’s heart opens right then and there.

“We can wait, Kuro.” He says gently. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing. We can just be here. Together.”

“Would that be okay?”

“Yes. Of course.”

They catch their breath, laying there next to each other on Kenma’s bed. It’s a good view to see Kuroo’s black hair fanning on the pillow next to his. To see his chest rising and falling rhythmically under his hand. To have him right here, within arm’s reach. The heat of his body is probably enough to sustain Kenma through any winter. He might never feel cold again if he gets to fall sleep next to him every night.

“Kenma, you—if you say the word now, I will send everyone home.” He didn’t use those specific words, but it might as well be a proposal.

Kenma’s voice is rough and thick when he finally gets the words out. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I know.” Kuroo smiles softly, looking down at him on his chest, the corners of his eyes wrinkling just so. “But I’m going to be honest, Kenma, I really like you. I feel more than that, but I know that’s probably scary for you to hear, so I’m not going to say it, but the way I feel about you is unlike anything I have ever felt for anyone. Unlike what I feel for anyone else here. I know you like me too, but I also know that this life with me has never been what you imagined for yourself. I get it. It’s your life too. I don’t want to trap you here if you don’t want to be.”

How does he always find the words that are imprisoned inside his brain? How does he just know all the things hidden in Kenma’s chest?

“But you can.” Part of Kenma wants to relinquish the choice to him. Force me to be here. End the Selection right now and just make me yours.

He’s afraid that he wants it too much.

Kuroo shakes his head, his hair rustling against the pillow cover.

“I don’t want you to stay because I order you to. Because I’m your Prince. I want you to stay because you want to. Because I’m your Tetsurou. You can stay as long as you want, Kenma, but if you tell me you don’t want this, right now, I’ll let you go. Or I can send everyone else home. The choice is yours.”

Kuroo got this whole thing backwards. It’s his Selection.

Kenma supposes that it means he has already selected.

“I think you’re right. I do need a little bit more time.”

“That’s okay. I figure that.” There’s no hurt in his eyes, though maybe there’s a twinge of disappointment. It’s brief, but it’s there. Kenma doesn’t blame him for that.

“Can I ask you something though?” Kuroo nods. “Why me? I mean, why do you even like me so much? Is it because we met first?”

Kuroo is silent for a while before he responds, thoughtful.

“I think about that sometimes, too, but it’s not so much that we met first more so what happened. I mean, I could’ve met anyone else first, and I don’t think I would’ve fallen for them the way I did for you.” They’re dancing around that word, but it hangs in the air in front of them. If only Kenma was brave enough to catch it in his hand.

He thinks of their first meeting. It feels like ages ago when he broke down, overwhelmed for an entirely different reason.

“Seeing me cry really did it for you? I didn’t realize you had a crying kink.”

“Shut up, I don’t.” Kuroo grins back. “The real reason, if you must know, is because of what you said.”

He pauses for a moment, trying to organize the thoughts running through his mind.

“You remember I told you that I was nervous about The Selection starting? Well, it was why I was pacing around that night. I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking how in the world I was supposed to find someone who was going to get me. How I was supposed to find someone who I could really trust and love and talk to. And how could that person ever want me back? I don’t want to sound pretentious, but I’m different than a lot of people. My life is different than a lot of people’s lives. I didn’t think that anyone would ever truly understand it.” He laughs, a quiet, reserved sound.

“But you, when I met you, it was like you spoke the words that have been ringing around in my head, waiting to be said out loud. Here was someone I had never talked to before, who had the same feelings I did. You didn’t know it, Kenma, but you helped me that night. You made me feel like this whole thing would be less impossible.”

Kenma has lost count of how often he’s thought the exact same thing about Kuroo. Just tonight, even, it’s a futile task to count.

“Yet you asked if I wanted to leave.” Kenma remembers the conversation clearly. “If I had said yes, I’m sure you would’ve let me go that next day.”

Kuroo shrugs. “Yeah. I would have wanted to have a choice. So, of course, I offered you one. It made me happy that you didn’t go. The more I got to know you, the more I fell for you. You’re funny. You’re smart. You treat me like a real person. You’re a very good teacher.” He winks, referencing their first kiss. Then, his face softens. “I just—I want to keep knowing you. More and more. It’s never enough.”

“Do you want to know why? I mean for me, why I l-like you so much?”

Half of Kenma wants to tell him. The other half feels like it’s too difficult to put it into words. But for him, he’d try.

Fortunately, Kuroo shakes his head. His lips curve in a half-smile. “No. When you tell me you love me, say it then.”

“Presumptuous.” Kenma rolls his eyes, though his heart races.

“Hopeful.” He counters.  

It’s louder than ever, the words in Kenma’s mind—I just want to be yours—but now, he knows the weight of them. How real they would sound out loud. How unready he is to commit to them, even if he so desperately wants to let them free. Kenma holds his tongue and lets his head fall against the crook of Kuroo’s neck.

“Is it okay if you stay the night?”

“It’s okay with me if that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.” He says, firmly. He feels Kuroo press a kiss at the top of his head.

For tonight, this will have to be enough.

~

Kuroo is gone when Kenma wakes up the next morning to Yachi and Hinata in his room. Even though it would’ve been nice to wake up next to him, Kenma doesn’t want them to ask any questions. Not that they would say anything untoward, but they’re already eyeing the bruises on his neck and giggling, so he’d rather not deal with any awkwardness with Kuroo here.

“Hinata, don’t forget you still have to get Kageyama ready.” Kenma points out. Maybe he doesn’t, but he thinks it would be a good idea, considering how odd his friend had acted last night.

At his words, Hinata let out a groan. “Oh, I know! I’m going there next. Hopefully we won’t spend thirty minutes on a shirt this time. He refuses to try on any of the ones I brought even though I told him all his shirts were unwearable. I mean, have you ever met someone so—arg! Ugh! WAH! You know?”

Kenma doesn’t know, but he doesn’t miss the way Kageyama had said the same thing about Hinata last night. Well, not in those exact words. Were they even words?

Yachi, who is applying the concealer on his neck, says in a low but amused voice, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, “He didn’t shut up about him all night. Kageyama this. Kageyama that. Apparently, he got to hear him play the piano at some point? He was pretty impressed, but I think he would rather die than to admit it to his face.”

Kenma lets out a chuckle. He had made the right decision yesterday then. Maybe, if Hinata ever decides to leave the palace, he’ll have one destination in mind.

True to his words, Hinata slips out a few minutes later.

Yachi finishes with getting Kenma ready. This morning, the Elites will be having breakfast together with their families—Kuroo said he would be attending—and their families will be leaving after that. Because of security reasons, they aren’t staying long at all. Kenma’s grateful to have all the time they’ve been given.

His parents look well-rested when he sees them at the table. Kenma wonders if he should try to get them a better mattress at home. With the money they’ve gotten from the Selection, they should be able to afford something nicer.

Kageyama, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to nod off mid-chew of his rice. 

“Rough night?” He arches his brows as he slides into the seat next to him.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs. It looks like he’s refused the make-up today, so there are two small patches of dark circles under his eyes.

“It takes a while to get used to being here.” Though Kenma isn’t exactly sure if that’s what Kageyama means.

He doesn’t have a chance to say more, though, because just then, Kuroo walks up to their table. Kenma knows he’s the prince and all, but he looks so cheery in the morning that Kenma briefly wonders if he’s a different breed of human than he is.

“Good morning,” he greets Kenma’s parents first before nodding to the two of them. “I hope you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh, yes! We slept very well. Thank you so much for having us.” Kenma’s mother smiles at him brightly. On their way up to their guest chambers last night, she was talking Kenma’s ears off about how much she loved Kuroo. Kenma was starting to wonder if he was going to be replaced as her son instead.

“It was my pleasure, really.” Kuroo touches a hand on his chest. “Please enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be walking around to greet everyone’s families, but I’ll make sure to stop by again before you all leave.”

Before he walks off, he sends a wink in Kenma’s direction, noting his high-collared shirt. Kenma just rolls his eyes and pretends that his cheeks aren’t slowly turning pink.

~

After a tearful goodbye—tearful on the part of Kenma’s mother, though he will say he notes his father’s eyes becoming misty as well—life at the palace returns to its mundane routine. As mundane as it can be, that is. Even though they were only here for roughly twenty-four hours, Kenma feels their absence with an ache in his chest. Maybe he should call home more often.

The morning after, however, the Elites find out that two people have left with their families. Ushijima being one, and Mirai being the other. The seats at the table keep shrinking, and they are reminded that at the end of this, there will be only one person left.

If they didn’t feel the weight of the Selection before, they certainly feel it now. If they didn’t feel the massiveness of this castle, the empty seats sure do a good job of reminding them of it.

The prince goes back to his busy schedule, alternating the days when he would make appearances at meals. The magazines, though they’ve plenty of materials about the party and their families’ visits, are starting to get impatient. There are speculations about whether the prince would finally make a choice, criticizing him for his indecisiveness.

Kuroo doesn’t mind this so much. It’s the last thing on his mind as more complaints flood in about disputes starting around the country again. As good and as distracting as the Selection can be, it’s just a small bandage to large, gaping open wound.  

“I think I have an idea on what to do next, actually.” Kuroo says one night in Kenma’s room.

“Oh?” Kenma looks up from his game at him briefly, and sees his thoughtful face. He doesn’t come every night anymore, but it’s still most days of the week. If he’s lucky, Kuroo will stay the night again, although he always leaves freakishly early in the morning. How is body does that is beyond Kenma’s comprehension. He’s always dead asleep as Kuroo slips out of bed.

“I’ve been talking to Semi about it a lot. He’s very knowledgeable in his work as a civil servant.” Kuroo says this as though it is a fact. Kenma knows he means nothing by it, yet he can’t help but feel discomfort inside his stomach, an ugly sort of feeling.

Kenma doesn’t say anything about it though. There’s no point. Kuroo has made his feelings perfectly clear. The only one dragging his feet is Kenma himself. Kuroo deserves to pursue his other options.

“When will you implement it? Or is this something that will take place over a period of time?”

“It’s not a solution, not really, but it should help. I’ll announce it at this Friday’s Reports. Ah, maybe I should just tell you?” It’s the first time that Kuroo seems excited about something related to his work for once, his eyes shining. How can Kenma say no to that face?

“Tell me.”

“It’s a combination of things that lead me to this, really. First there was the fact that we’ve been told, repeatedly, that we don’t understand the struggles you all face with the dismantling of the castes. In speaking with all the Selected throughout this whole thing, I think that it’s absolutely true. I mean, we get news and reports throughout the country, but nothing beats hearing it from you all directly, right?”  

Kenma nods.

“Secondly, another turning point for me was meeting your families.” Kenma lets out a surprised sound. He doesn’t know how this would relate. “Many of them come from the older generation and have a different perspective on the matter. I’m sure you didn’t discuss this with them, Kenma, but your parents have compelling thoughts about our current political climate. It’s conversations and information like these that make me feel like that’s what I need more of. And I also need the people to feel heard, so they don’t do something so drastic as storm the palace again.”

“How are you going to talk to the millions of people in this country, Kuro?”

“Town hall meetings.” He says, proud of himself. “It took a lot of convincing, and it’s going to be a logistics nightmare in planning and execution, but my father and I will hold town hall meetings throughout the country. Of course, the people invited will be selected and screened for security purposes, but we’ll emphasize the importance of including all seven of the previous castes and a variety of ages to diversify our attendees.”

“That’s—I mean, wow.” Kenma doesn’t know what to say. It’s a great idea. How they didn’t think of this before is a fault of the old tradition. But Kuroo’s right—it will be a logistical headache. “Which provinces will you visit?”

With thirty-five total, Kenma can’t imagine they would go to every single one. That would take too long.

A broad grin spreads over Kuroo’s face then. “Great question, Kyanma!” Kenma fights the urge to roll his eyes at the nickname. He fails. “Obviously, we can’t go to all thirty-five, but I think ten is completely doable.”

“Ten?” It sounds suspiciously like—

Kuroo’s gold eyes shine. “Yes. We will be visiting the provinces of the Elites, even if they’re no longer in the Selection. We’ll include the provinces nearby in the town hall as well, so hopefully, we’ll get close to representing the whole country.” Then he adds, “And that’s not even the best part.”

Kenma knows he’s only pausing for dramatic effects, just so Kenma can go, “What is it?” and egg him on. He’ll entertain him this time, but only because Kuroo seems so overly eager it’s almost cute.

“What is it?”

“When I go to your province, each of you will get to accompany me that weekend.” Kenma blinks at him, letting the words sink in. “You’ll get to go home.”

~

Kuroo announces to the rest of the Elite that he has important news to share on that Friday’s Reports and that they should all brush up on the local politics of their province. He doesn’t go into explicit details, though. Noting the confused looks on everyone else’s face around the table, Kenma can only infer that the only people who know are himself and Semi.

He certainly appreciates the heads-up, having only vague knowledge of his town’s noblemen and mayor. He doesn’t know what else Shishio might ask of them on stage, but he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself. It’s another chance, after all, for them to prove their worth to the nation and to the king—no matter how little of his favor Kenma wants to earn, he can’t afford to trip and fall in front of him either.

As he’s sitting in this usual seat on stage, going over the information in his head, Kenma hears,

“Hey, can you help me with this mic-pack?”

It’s Daishou, who has never asked him for help on anything before, who Kenma truly wants to avoid at all costs. He’s looking at him expectantly, and seeing as everyone else is either getting last-minute touch-ups or looking over their notes, Kenma sighs and follows him into the wings of the stage.

“Can you make sure it’s clipped on properly back there? I feel like it’s loose.” Daishou says, swiveling his body.

Kenma inspects it, giving the pack a little tug and feeling it firmly secured on his waistband.

“It’s all good.” He starts to leave, thinking that his job is done, but Daishou holds up his hand to stop him from getting too far. Kenma narrows his eyes at him. “What else do you want?”

In the darkness of the wing, Daishou gives him a smile that gives him the shivers, his hair parting in a way that it shadows over half his face.

“Great question, Kenma. Indeed, what do I want? I want to know how someone like you can get into the prince’s heart. He tries to be subtle, you know, but it’s annoying how often he looks at you when we’re all together. It’s disheartening to the rest of us, do you know that?”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem.” Kenma grits his teeth. “Maybe you should flirt better. Or ask him what he wants for once.”

“Oh? Is that it? Is that what you’ve been doing, Kenma? Giving him what he wants?” The implication is clear from the sneer in his tone. “See, I was disgusted with the way he let you lead that first dance at the party. I mean, how could he stoop so low like that? In front of everyone? He’s the prince, for god’s sake! I was trying to catch him afterwards when I saw him disappearing into your room that night. It’s clear, isn’t it? That you’re just whoring yourself out for him.”

Heat rises within Kenma’s chest, his palms aching from the way his nails are digging into them. Daishou doesn’t know anything at all, but he’s convinced he does. It’s infuriating.

“What we do is our business. Are you just jealous that you can’t get him to fuck you? I can give you tips, if you want.”

He can almost see smoke coming out of Daishou’s ears, his face and eyes darkening dangerously. His shoulders shake with his efforts to keep calm. But yet, he smiles, the light not reaching his eyes one bit.

“I don’t need advice from you. In fact, I don’t think you’re going to be here much longer. It’s a shame, really. Here we were becoming such good friends.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

Kenma laughs in disbelief. “What are you talking about? You’re going to push me down the stairs or something?”

Daishou waves his hand in front of his face. “I don’t need to do that when you’re going to willingly leave after embarrassing yourself tonight.”

“Wha—”

He doesn’t let Kenma talk. He backs him up into the curtains, his tall, broad shoulders towering over him, shielding him from view. Daishou’s voice lowers as he slips his hand into his jacket pocket, “Listen carefully because I hate repeating myself. What did I tell you before, Kenma? I’m the one who’s going to become Prince Consort, yet you’re determined to defy me at every turn. At the end of the day, I’m going to win. I hope you remember my cousin? Well, he recognized you long before you met at the party. What? Surprised? Our faces are plastered across TV screens and on tabloids weekly. Turns out, he and Haru are very good friends. And friends share things with each other, you know? Secrets. Pictures.”

Kenma’s head is swimming, his heart racing. He can hardly hear himself think.

Slowly, Daishou holds up a picture in front of his face. Kenma doesn’t need to look closely to see that it’s him and Haru, caught in a compromising position. It’s his face, mainly, that is in view, and it shows Haru’s backside. He was unaware of its existence. How fucking convenient for him. How many times did he—? That bastard. That asshole.

 “Ah, I wish you can see the look on your face. Not so smug anymore, are you?” Daishou grins mischievously. He tucks the picture back inside his jacket. “Fumble the Reports today, Kenma, and leave before the weekend is over. Unless you want this to be printed in every single magazine come Monday morning. Not even the prince can save your reputation then.”

With that, he leaves, humming to himself as he takes his seat on stage.

Kenma finds himself alone in the shadow, too stunned, too scared to speak.

~

Kenma doesn’t realize that he’s shaking until he feels Bokuto’s hand on his arm and sees his eyes snap into view in front of his face.

“Are you okay? You’re looking pale.” He furrows his brows, worried.

“I’m fine.” He croaks out. It’s usually hot in here with the stage lights, but Kenma feels so overwhelmingly cold. He has an urge to bolt out of here, but he can’t miss the Reports. He needs to be there for Kuroo. Still, what choice does he have? He’s going to lose him either way. “Let’s go. It’s starting soon.”

Whatever protest Bokuto’s about to say, he doesn’t get to say it. The assistant calls out for everyone to be on stage.

Kenma avoids his concerned eyes as he finds his way to his seat. He feels unsteady on his feet, as if he’s just gotten off a rollercoaster ride. His heart is still making its effort to leap out of his chest.

Flashes of the picture appear in his mind, against his will. He feels disgusted with himself, dirty, even though he knows, objectively, that he hasn’t done anything wrong. Still, the urge to crawl out of his skin is impossible to resist.  

“Are you okay?” Lev whispers to him.

Shit. If Lev notices, then Kenma is really not holding himself together at all.

“I’m fine.” He says for the second time. Thankful that it sounds a tiny bit more convincing this time around.

It’s too late to back out now. All he can do is wait for this moment to be over.

Kenma steals a glance at Kuroo across the stage and has to fight back a sob threatening to come out of his throat. Ah, this sight of him. He will miss this. At least he’ll have until Sunday to say goodbye.

Shishio takes center stage, and it begins once again.  

~

Kenma doesn’t remember Kuroo’s announcement. He doesn’t remember hearing it come out of his mouth or Shishio’s commentary or anything. He’s just proud of himself for not falling over on stage at all.

One minute, the lights come on, and the next, Shishio is standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Kenma, what are your thoughts on this? Are you excited to see your family again?”

“Yes.” He says. And I’m excited to have a chance to contribute to the positive changes to our country. It’ll be a good opportunity for the prince to get to know my province and the place I call home.

The pause is excruciatingly long. Shishio is trying to give him time to fill the silence. Kenma is biting the inside of his cheeks, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole.

“And remind me, who’s your mayor again?”

“I don’t know.” Matsushita Shoji.

Shishio gives him a pity laugh. “Ah, I’m sure you’ll learn all about him in due time, right? What about the issues in your province? Is there anything in particular you would like to address?”

“I—” the housing crisis. The crime rates. The fact that the nearest school is an hour away by car. The clear segregation of the upper-class neighborhoods and resources that come with it. “—am not sure.”

Kenma looks straight at the lights ahead of him. There are so many eyes on him, now, and he doesn’t know whose is worse. He can feel Shishio’s hand faltering from his shoulder and can hear the shuffling of his awkward stance as he decides what to do. Kenma hasn’t given him anything useful, and he’s been so kind as to lead him into many opportunities to prove himself.

His face burns with shame. His body is tense from anger. He’s afraid that if he’s asked one more thing he’ll burst into tears.

Thankfully, Akaashi, who rarely ever initiates any kind of conversation on air, speaks up, “I think it’s fair to say that our provinces share similar issues.”

Shishio, visibly relieved to have a way out, moves quickly to his side, continuing the discussion with him instead.

Kenma’s so grateful to him he can feel the tiniest bit of tension leave his body. Still, he knows that Kuroo’s eyes are still on him, willing him to look his way. He can’t.

He keeps his gaze unfocused and straight ahead of him. His mind wanders to how he’s gotten himself here. He really thought for a moment he could be someone who would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the prince, who deserves to be next to him.

It’s a ridiculous dream that he’s allowed to go on for too long.

After the Reports is over, Kenma exits swiftly to his room, dodging any questions or worries from anyone and everyone. That night, the prince doesn’t visit him. Part of him is relieved because how can he face him after that? Part of him thinks that he left his heart out there on the stage.

~

Kenma thinks about it over and over again. How can he get himself out of this trap? Even if he takes the picture from him, Daishou probably has copies of it at home with Haru. No doubt he’s the one who will show this to the press if Kenma doesn’t do what he wants. He can tell Kuroo, but will he believe him? He himself doesn’t have any evidence. Say, he somehow manages to get the picture from Daishou, he will notice it missing and alert Haru before Kenma can get a hold of the prince.

Maybe he can just tell Kuroo to send Daishou home. Kuroo said he would do that for him, didn’t he? But he would still have the picture at his disposal.

Kenma has nothing. Nothing but maybe the pity and trust of his prince. But he’s so afraid that he disappointed him so much last night with his answers. He was supposed to have his back. He was supposed to show everyone that he is the correct choice, every time. He doesn’t know if Kuroo will still feel the same for him, after that.

It’s easy, of course, to say that it doesn't matter, that maybe he still loves him no matter what. But Kenma knows now that it’s not the truth. All of it matters.

Kuroo didn’t come last night. Is that proof that he no longer values him? Maybe he’s rethinking everything. Maybe Kenma should take this as an opportunity to let him go. He isn’t sure if he wants to marry Kuroo and become Prince Consort. Why would Kuroo waste everything on him? Maybe he should take this as a sign to leave.

Kenma doesn’t say much as Hinata and Yachi get him ready for the morning. He doesn’t know if they watch the Reports weekly, but he doesn’t want to discuss this with them either. They can sense his bad mood, and the three of them are quiet the whole time.

Kenma still shows up to breakfast. He has some dignity left. He doesn’t want to give Daishou that satisfaction just yet.

Daishou stares at him across the table, his expression so smug Kenma really wants to go over there and punch it off his face. He has never been a violent person, but he understands the appeal now, somewhat.

When Daishou boasts about how he has a date with the prince after breakfast, Kenma thinks that he’s going to hurl his food all over the table.

“Kenma, wait.” Bokuto runs up to him as he exits the dining hall. He hands him a small piece of paper. Kenma recognizes the pattern on it immediately without him having to explain.

“He didn’t want to reject me himself?” He takes it from him, feeling a weight on his chest.

Bokuto arches his silver brows. “Now, I didn’t take you to be the dramatic one. Just read it, okay?” He bores his eyes into Kenma’s and strangely, he feels a sense of comfort.

He nods, continuing this walk back to his room. He opens it when he is alone.

The note is just one line.

Meet me in the garden at 1pm.

Chapter Text

Kenma arrives at the garden at 1PM on the dot. In his head, he has prepared a thousand scenarios. Kuroo will send him home. Kuroo will be disappointed. Kuroo will be angry. Kuroo will pity him. Kuroo will ask him a million questions he has yet to figure out how to answer. Kuroo will…

Although he knows there are things beyond his control, he feels so incredibly ashamed of himself. How was he supposed to know? Were there any signs that he missed? He knew Haru wouldn’t have been happy for him, but Kenma truly didn’t think he had the balls to do anything. Now, he realizes how wrong and naïve he was. Not just on this, but on the entirety of his relationship with him. To think that he was taking those sorts of pictures without Kenma’s knowledge and permission—what else was he capable of?

Kenma knows he did nothing wrong, but he feels impure. After breakfast, he went into the bath and scrubbed himself again and again. If Hinata and Yachi had any questions about the redness on his skin when they get him ready for the second time that day, they didn’t vocalize them. Hinata did try to raise his spirit by chatting his ears off, but Kenma was not in the mood.

How is he supposed to face Kuroo? What is he supposed to say to him now?

Kuroo is already waiting for him in the gazebo when he arrives. He stands, turning around to face him when he hears Kenma’s footsteps on the stone path.

Kenma tries to read the expression on his face, but he finds that he can’t today. It makes the knots in his stomach tighten. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this nauseous. Never in front of Kuroo.

Kuroo speaks up first, even before Kenma reaches him.

“Kenma, what are your thoughts on this? Are you excited to see your family again?”

It stops him in his path. The questions are so out of place. He stares at him, still in full sunlight while Kuroo is safely under the shadow. When Kuroo says the questions again, exactly as he said them before, it clicks in Kenma’s head.

The Reports yesterday. What Shishio asked him.

So, we’re starting with that, he thinks bitterly.

But there is no coldness in Kuroo’s tone, no hidden agenda. His face is a picture of calm and patience. His eyes bore into Kenma’s, prying for the truth, for the things he did not say, the things he desperately wanted to say.

“Yes.” He says, his voice slightly trembling the way he wouldn’t have dared to let it be on national television, but it’s just Kuroo here standing in front of him. “And I’m excited to have a chance to contribute to the positive changes to our country. It’ll be a good opportunity for the prince to get to know my province and the place I call home.”

Kuroo goes on. “And remind me, who’s your mayor again?”

His second response comes much faster. “Matsushita Shoji.”

“What about the issues in your province? Is there anything in particular you would like to address?”

“There are many things that I would like to be better in my province. The housing crisis. The crime rates. The fact that the nearest school is an hour away by car.” And he adds, “But the most important thing I believe is the clear segregation of the upper-class neighborhoods and resources that come with it. In my neighborhood, stores don’t open after dark, so if you happen to get home late from work, which many of our former sevens and eights—even sixes—still do, and need something, you’re out of luck. Sometimes, basic necessities like that can’t be afforded.”

Kuroo appraises him for a moment, taking in his answers. Kenma wishes he could read his mind. The seconds drag on, until he says,

“Final question.” He holds his gaze. “Do you want to go home?”

Kuroo has asked him this exact question, in this exact place, so many moons ago. Something has compelled Kenma to say “No” then. So much has changed between that moment and now. It has always been the prince’s Selection. Yet, yet, time and time again, he has given Kenma the choice.

It’s all so unfair to Kuroo. Kenma wishes he’s someone who is less selfish. The answer is at the tip of his tongue. The thing that pushes it out of his mouth is this, the prince’s soft voice, standing in front of the portrait of his once whole, happy family, his heart always sewn on his sleeve—I hope you’ll continue to tell me the truth.

Kenma can’t give him everything he deserves, but he can give him that at least.

“No.”

Kuroo’s face sags with relief. The tension in his shoulders drain as he breathes out, “I’m glad to hear that.”

The sincerity in his voice. The tiny smile on his lips. The way he is looking at him…Kenma is crying before he even registers it. He didn’t cry at all through this whole ordeal, even as his chest hurts and his skin feels raw, but standing in front of Kuroo, receiving his love even though he feels like he doesn’t deserve it breaks him more than he thought possible.

He hears Kuroo’s soft voice above his head, muttered into his hair, “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not mad at you.” When did he cross the garden to collect Kenma into his arms? All he knows is that one minute he is alone, and the world is blurry in front of his eyes, and the next, he is seeing the seams of Kuroo’s shirt. He is enveloped in his strong arms, feeling the warmth of them seeping into his skin, more forceful than the heat of the sun on his back. “I know you. I know you knew everything.”

Kenma shakes his head. “But you don’t—I mean, you don’t know why I—it’s not because I was nervous—”

He feels Kuroo’s hand on his head, his voice still that soothing tone, “I know, Kenma. I know.”

“You know?” Kenma pulls away for a minute to look at him. Even through the distorted images of Kuroo in his vision, he sees the understanding in his eyes. “You know. How?”

One of Kuroo's calloused thumbs wipe the tears trailing down his cheeks. The roughness of his finger juxtaposes the tenderness in which he rubs against his skin, light as a feather.

“Bokuto told me he might’ve seen something happen between you and Daishou before the Reports, so that night, I went and talked to him. Discretely of course, under the guise of, you know—” He grimaces, eyes pleading. “Don’t make me say it.”

Kenma starts to feel nauseous again. “Oh god. I don’t want to hear it.”

Kuroo clears his throat. “Yes, well, I didn’t really find anything suspicious, and he wasn’t letting anything slip through. He was happy last night, as you can imagine, but I just had a feeling he was still hiding something. I had to set up a date with him to get him out of his room.”

“This morning after breakfast.” 

“Yes.” Kuroo nods. “I wanted to make sure the maids had enough time to search. If they didn’t find anything, then I was planning on talking to you about it. I would’ve met with you here regardless of how things went with him, but luckily, they did find something that he was not supposed to have, and he confessed right away. He’s packing up right now as we speak.”

Kenma’s eyes have dried now, so he’s able to see Kuroo clearly again. Last night and this morning, Kuroo did everything he could to help Kenma, even without talking to him first.

I know you.

“You trusted me that much?” Kenma’s in awe of Kuroo, of the man that he is. He grips onto his biceps to feel the solidness of him in his arms. He’s real.

“What did I tell you?” Kuroo cocks his head, as if it’s obvious. “It’s you if you want it to be. And I know you, Kenma. You wouldn’t do that to yourself. To me.”

Kenma averts his eyes. “I don’t deserve you. I mean—” His heart rates spikes as he remembers something. “Wait, did you see the picture? Did you?”

It’s less than a second before Kuroo answers, but it still feels as though Kenma might’ve died if the words that come out of his mouth aren’t these,

“No. I burned it.” Kenma feels the tension leaves his body again as Kuroo continues. “I’m sure he had copies made, but I had my guards outside the palace dispose of those too. I made it very clear that if there’s even a tiniest whiff of that image or anything close to it circling around, then he, his family, and Haru’s family will never have peace again in their life.”

“Thank you.” Kenma breathes a sigh of relief. Even though many eyes have seen him in that position, he’s glad that Kuroo’s have not. He wants Kuroo to only see him in that way when they are finally able to be together, not through a grainy picture taken when he isn’t aware of it. Especially not while he’s spread himself for someone else.

At his silence, Kuroo says gently, “You know, you have nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t your fault. And from what I’ve gathered, you didn’t consent to that. It’s their crime, Kenma, not yours.”

It is a crime, isn’t it? In more ways than one.

“Are you going to prosecute them?”

“I should, and I want to, but I won’t unless you want me to. We can make it as big of a deal as you want.”

Kenma wants Daishou and Haru to pay for what they’ve done to him. Knowing what he knows now, Haru probably has done something like this to someone else as well. He feels angry and disgusted that someone like him is roaming around the streets without a warning to anyone else who might fall for his tricks. Yet, the thought of facing any sort of trial or even talking about this anymore right now tires him. He feels like he can barely get that picture off his mind. He doesn't want to be reminded of it again. Not yet.

“Can I have some time? I don’t know if I’m ready to have the whole thing blow up just yet.” He bites the bottom of his lips. It doesn’t feel right, but he also doesn’t feel brave enough to try.

“Of course.” Kuroo says easily. He doesn’t ask for any explanations. He just pulls him close to his chest again.

Kenma listens to Kuroo’s safe, steady heartbeat. He closes his eyes and remembers how good it feels to be in Kuroo’s arms. How he always feels like nothing can hurt him if they stay there together.

How long will he let himself stay?

~

Like last time, Kuroo procures a pastry from his jacket pocket and presses it into Kenma’s hand. He mumbles something about knowing he probably didn’t eat enough at breakfast and also about how he would feel better after. Kenma begrudgingly admits that Kuroo’s right on all fronts. He barely touches his breakfast from earlier, and all the crying exhausts him.

When he’s done, he expects Kuroo to go back to work. Instead, he holds out his hand and says, “Want to spend the day together? I want to show you something.”

As if Kenma has any other plans. He might’ve been packing right now if Kuroo hasn’t so brilliantly figured out everything.

“Should I be scared?” Kenma arches a brow. He half-wonders if Kuroo will finally force him to go horse-back riding. Many of the other Elites have. It seems like a princely and date-y thing to do. He’s been grateful this whole time that maybe Kuroo has forgotten to take him.

“Not at all.” Kuroo grins at him, squeezing his hand.

Kenma follows him out of the garden. As they make their way back, his eyes spy the smallest of movements from behind the trees. He’s gotten much better at spotting reporters in the bushes.

He doesn’t even want to think about what they will be writing about him come Monday morning. Well, maybe he should give them something else to fill the page.

Kenma stops in the middle of the path, startling Kuroo.

“What are you—Oh.” Kuroo’s eyes go from wide and confused to a twinkle of amusement as he sees Kenma looking at his lips, his body close. They haven’t done this in public before. Kenma has never had much interest in showing off, unlike some of the other Selected. Kuroo’s questioning voice proves just how out-of-character this is for him. “Are you sure?”

Kenma nods. In his head, he’s also thinking about how furious Daishou would feel to see this picture printed across the magazines instead.

He feels Kuroo’s soft lips come in contact with his own, a gentle brush like he’s afraid of breaking him. He always starts off like that, as if worried that Kenma will run off one of these days. Kenma likes to pull him impatiently so that they’re flushed together, as close as they can possibly be. Then his lips, his body, his everything melt into the kiss.

Kenma doesn’t know what kind of expression he has on, what kind of pictures they’ve gotten from this, but he hardly cares about anything besides Kuroo’s tongue sweeping the roof of his mouth and his hand flat against the small of his back.

They pull away reluctantly after some time, wishing that they’re in the comfort of their own room so maybe they can just continue to kiss and kiss.

Still, Kenma can tell that Kuroo is pleased, his cheeks a tiny shade of pink, his eyes shining. He hums happily as they make their way inside the palace. It almost makes Kenma want to do it again. Kiss him every day and everywhere, eyes and lenses be dammed.

The prince leads him through an unfamiliar hallway. Kenma vaguely remembers Shimizu mentioning that this wing is the royal’s living quarters and warns them not to wander here, hoping they’d run into the prince somehow.

Little did Kenma know that Kuroo would be showing him the way himself. Not that he’ll find his way back here by himself anytime soon. The path is confusing, up many staircases, passing through various turns. He supposes it’s for security measures.

“I’m sure you’ve already guessed,” Kuroo stops in front of a wooden door, pushing it open as he turns the knob, “but this is my room.”

~

Kenma doesn’t know what he expects. It’s everything and also nothing like he’s imagined. It’s larger than his own room, of course, but it somehow feels cozier. Kuroo’s bed is in the far corner, his sheets a dark navy blue. In the opposite side of the room is a TV and a brown leather L-shaped couch. There’s a desk and chair, too, with papers and books scattered across the top of them and various empty mugs.

What’s most impressive, though, is the line after line of shelves on the wall, the books an ever-ending piece of puzzle as they slot against one another, snug. Kenma wouldn’t be surprised if Kuroo says he’s read all of them.

Kuroo doesn’t comment as Kenma’s eyes study the room, scanning over every surface with curiosity. Everything here is a piece of him. Maybe a part of him that Kenma doesn’t even know yet. It’s not a grand gesture in a typical romantic sense, but Kenma feels so incredibly intimately close with Kuroo in this moment as he sees the traces of him in his own space.

A corkboard above Kuroo’s desk piques his interest. Kenma walks closer to inspect it.

He can’t help but let out a tiny laugh as he sees a picture of young Kuroo and Bokuto, awkwardly standing next to each other, their mouths open in an attempt to smile the way little kids do.

“Ah, that’s the day we met. Our moms insisted we took that picture even though we didn’t even know each other that well.” Kuroo chuckles behind him.

“Cute. You lost your front tooth in that picture.”

“Only I can make that work.”

Kenma can’t even disagree with him. He isn’t one to gush over little babies or children but seeing Kuroo’s cheeks make him want to squeeze him in his arms.

His eyes glide over the various notes and papers pinned on the board. There are various news articles about scientific discoveries, pictures of his family and Bokuto again, and many, many to-do lists overlapping each other. At the bottom corner of the board, though, is a picture that Kenma recognizes.

It’s their first picture together, taken for the Royal Reports that very first week. It looks like a real copy, not one cut out from the magazine. Kenma can see more clearly the blush on his own face and the genuine laugh on Kuroo’s own. Kuroo must’ve asked the photographer for his copy.

That’s not all. Right below the picture is a small piece of paper, torn from its original page, a mark clearly checking the box that says Yes below the words, P.S. if I didn’t have the courage to ask you out at breakfast, take this as a formal invitation for a date with me. Say yes. Please?

“You kept it.” Kenma says, staring at the evidence of their first week together. He doesn’t know if he’s referring to the picture or the note. Either way, he feels vaguely like he’s going to faint. How long has he been here as a part of Kuroo’s life? Something, someone that he treasures so much that he’s chosen to display him amongst his family and his most beloved memories.

“I like to look at it.” Kuroo doesn’t need to say why. He doesn’t need to say anything at all. But apparently, he’s not done. He tugs Kenma’s arm to lead him to a door at the far end of the room. “Come. This is actually what I really wanted to show you. I wasn’t going to today, but I had a feeling maybe you need some reassurance that I still l-want you.”

Kenma’s heart is beginning to pound against his ribcage. No, he’s not going to propose, but it feels so frighteningly close once again.

The door leads to another room. An empty one this time, save for some basic furniture. Its size rivals Kuroo’s own.

“This room belongs to the Prince Consort.” He explains. “I would’ve decorated it, but I think it’s better to let him choose just in case he’s particular.” The small laugh he lets out shows that he’s nervous, too.

Kenma bites back a smile. Somehow, looking at this vacant room, he’s less freaked out than he originally thought. It’s a sweet gesture. A gentle reminder.

“So, you’re saying I would be sleeping here? Shouldn’t we share a bed?”

“Well, traditionally, we don’t need to sleep in the same room. Now, it’s just nice for you to have for own space. We can always use mine and leave this for when you’re angry at me.” He shrugs then smiles sheepishly. “You know, hypothetically. If you were to live here.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. He examines this room, too, even though there’s not as much to show for it. He tries to picture himself living here. His stuff on these walls and scattered on this bed. For a minute, he can really imagine it, but it’s gone before he can fully grasp it.

He also can’t help but wonder whether Kuroo ever goes into this room and imagines someone else here. Did he ever daydream about the love of his life just behind this wall? Did he do it after he met Kenma?

“Let’s go back to my room, though.” Kuroo suggests after a while. “I set up some games so we can play together.”

Now that also gets Kenma’s blood pumping, his earlier thoughts vanishing. He follows him back into his room, closing the door behind him.

~

After the fifth round of Mario Kart, Kenma starts to forget about the day’s events. Kuroo, so freakishly good at everything, has a blind spot when playing video games. Kenma’s stomach hurts from laughing at Kuroo’s attempts to evade his own banana peels that he throws.

“You know, you’re supposed to avoid those.” He says after hearing Kuroo’s familiar groan next to him for the nth time.

“I’m seriously trying! But the more I try, the more I’m veering towards it!”

Kenma’s about to open his mouth to help him, when the knocks on his door make the both of them jump. Without waiting for a response, the door flies open, almost smacking into the wall with its force.

Kenma whorls around to see the king’s red, angry face coming closer. He hears the click of the remote and the TV goes silent just in time for his booming voice to come through.

“Tetsurou! Why did Nekomata tell me that you sent Daishou home this morning?” He stops in front of them, but his attention is fully on his son. Kenma’s afraid that the veins on his forehead will pop out any minute now.

“Because I did.” Kuroo says calmly. “As I recall, the rules of the Selection state that I can dismiss anyone I want, anytime I want. I don’t need to tell you why.”

Kenma feels his muscles tighten, his teeth grinding against one another. He’s not as big as the king, so he won’t be able to do anything, but he hates the way he looks down at Kuroo, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” King Kuroo spits out. “You’re so lovestruck for him, you don’t even know what’s good for you. Do you know how hard I worked to make sure that there are suitable candidates for you in that pool? Yet you insist on choosing poorly.”

Kenma’s head swims at the indication more so than his own honor being trampled on.

“What do you mean?” Kuroo slowly stands to face his father, his lips pursed in a straight line.

“Please. Do you think the candidates are actually all random? I had to make sure that they weren’t all duds.” He scoffs.

Realization dawns on Kenma and Kuroo at the same time. Though Kenma doesn’t have to luxury to react to that statement.

Kuroo’s words come rushing out, his voice rising with every word. “You mean you rigged it? I can’t believe it! How long were you planning on keeping that from me? What else? I did this whole Selection thing in the first place because you thought it was a good idea. Why didn’t you just pick someone for me then if you were going to control everything anyways?”

“Come on, Tetsurou. Don’t be like that.” He waves him off. “If I had picked someone, it wouldn’t be natural. The people would know. There’s no point then, is there? I just thought, like me, you would’ve chosen the sensible choice if I provided them for you. It’s clear you haven’t.”

The king chooses this moment to look at Kenma, who is standing up now just behind Kuroo.

“Leave him out of this,” the prince says quickly.

He rolls his eyes, almost bored at the sight of him. “What do you see in him anyways? You know that he only wants you because you’re a prince. He’s not like us.”

“Good.” Kuroo spits back.

“You’re being foolish. Blinded.” The king gets closer to him. “You need to think like a king, Tetsurou, not like any common pheasant. The people we have in our lives matter. Were you there yesterday? Did you not see how he fucked up? Imagine what people will say if he makes such a scene as Prince Consort. They won’t take us seriously.”

A mixture of anger and resentment shoots up Kenma’s chest. His lips hurt from biting into them, but he doesn’t want to get in between father and son. Still, he hates that Kuroo has to defend him.

“Father, the people already are not taking us seriously. I don’t think that me marrying someone who used to be a Three or a Two is going to make much of a difference. In fact, it’ll probably make things worse.” He shakes his head. Then, he stares into his father’s eyes. “I will remind you again. It’s my Selection. I alone will decide.”

“You—” His hand raises before the rest of the sentence can come out, but neither his words or his hand make contact with Kuroo. Instead, he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and clutches tight at his chest. He collapses onto the floor, face contorted in pain.

Kuroo’s face turns white as he rushes to his side. “Father? Father!”

“I’ll go get help!” Kenma doesn’t want to leave Kuroo as he sees the panic set in, but he knows what he has to do. His legs carry him out into the hallways as he yells for help at the top of his lungs.  

~

Kenma paces his bedroom more times than he can count in the last few hours. The floor probably is worn from his track. Even the game flashing in front of his eyes isn’t doing much to distract him.

Maybe he won’t get any news today. Kenma doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. He doesn’t like the king, not one bit, but he’s still Kuroo’s father, and he worries about Kuroo. He would’ve stayed by his side while he waited, but Kuroo had his guards usher Kenma back to his room. Now all he can do is chew on his dry lips until they bleed and feel his stomach churn unpleasantly as he tries to pass the time.

A little bit after two in the morning, when Kenma is just about to close his eyes for the night, he hears soft knocks on his door. Kuroo lets himself in just seconds later and joins him on his bed.

His face is grim, but his eyes are clear and unswollen.

“He’s going to be fine. Just an episode of angina. Chest pain.” He explains as he buries his face in Kenma’s chest, his body sinking in the mattress next to him. His voice drips with exhaustion. Kenma notes at how quickly the roles have reserved in less than 24 hours. “He’s going to be out of the office for a few weeks, though.”

“Does that mean you’ll postpone the town hall meetings?” He lets his hand thread through Kuroo’s wild hair.

Kuroo shakes his head. “No. I’ll just go to the first few on my own. More if Dr. Naomi feels like he needs it.” Then at a voice even lower, he says, “Worse case scenario, I’ll have to take over the crown by the end of the year.”

Kenma doesn’t want to think about what that means. How can a king run the country and hold the Selection at the same time? The answer is that he can’t. What Kuroo cannot say, and what Kenma understands, is that he’ll have to make his decision sooner rather than later. Time is moving much faster now than either of them has anticipated.

~

The news of the king’s sudden deterioration in health surprisingly brings a lot of sympathy from the people. They write to the palace expressing their condolences and hold vigils for him across the country. Despite the setback, Kuroo keeps his word and begins to make his preparations to go around for his visits to the provinces. It makes Kenma glad to hear that the perception of the royals has shifted somewhat, even if it’s only for pity. Selfishly, he feels relieved that this means Kuroo’s safety is not as much of a risk as before.

For his part, Kenma is taking his studies more seriously. Before advisor and state meetings, he tries to review the notes and memorize the agenda. No one will call on him to talk, but he at least wants to have the ability to follow the conversation. If he is to marry Kuroo, and soon, he doesn’t want to be woefully unprepared. The fact that he feels less anxious about Kuroo while he studies is also just a bonus.

However, it seems that his sudden motivation does not go unnoticed by his fellow Elites. Not just Akaashi and Bokuto eyeing his books in the Men’s Room, but also Semi, who comes up to him one day in the library.

“Can I help you?” Kenma asks, not taking his eyes off the document in front of him as he hears footsteps creeping up.

Even with his curtain of blonde hair obscuring his view, he knows it’s Semi by his worn shoes next to the table legs. What he doesn’t expect is this question,

“You love the prince, don’t you?”

Kenma’s head turns up to examine his face for hidden intentions. There’s no hostility there, but there is a hint of a challenge in his dark brown eyes. His silver hair sits neatly on top of his head. His looks have changed, too, since he’s been here, but Kenma’s glad to see that he has only grown into his features. His core hasn’t changed, not that he can see at least.

“At this point in the Selection, don’t you?”

Semi chuckles at his question and shrugs. He seems honest as he confesses, “I like him enough. He’s a good prince, and he will be a good king.”

It makes sense, given his background, so it’s a fact and not an accusation when Kenma says, “You care more about the state of the country and being by his side will give you just that.” Still, he can’t help but feel a little sad for Kuroo’s sake. Given what he knows from the king, he can’t help but think when did his Selection become less about Kuroo finding the love of his life? Has it ever been that way?

Kenma can’t fault the Elite standing in front of him though. He has his reasons, just like Kenma.

Semi arches a brow, his smile more wistful this time. “Selfish of me, isn’t it?”

Kenma can only sigh. Really, who is he to judge?

“I am selfish, too, in a way, but what you’re doing at least will serve some good purpose.” Semi thinks about the greater good. Personally, Kenma doesn’t know if he’s thinking much of anything that can be considered noble.

But finally, he gets to hear what Semi is really here to say.

“If the prince decides to marry for love, I’d happy if it’s with you, but like I said before, Kenma, I won’t lose. I don’t intend to just sit aside. This is me doing everything I can.” He’s referring to the town hall meetings. Kenma would be blind if he says he hadn’t noticed all the time Kuroo and Semi are huddled together somewhere these past few weeks, heads buried in their own little world. But Semi isn’t blind either. He’s seen Kenma’s efforts. “I see that you are too.”

Kenma hates to lose. He always has, but he reminds himself that this isn’t a game. He just nods and returns to his reading. He lets Semi’s retreating footsteps pull him back to his work.

~

Kenma won’t lie and say that he won’t miss Kuroo when he goes away. He’ll only be gone from Friday night to Sunday night. Still, Kenma just thinks that this whole castle will seem colder without him, even for that short period of time.

The first province he’ll stop at is Ushijima’s, the farthest from the capital. His rationale is that he’ll have to get over his fear of flying, and what better way than to get the worst of it over soon, right? Kuroo jokes, but Kenma can tell that he’s not excited about that aspect of it. If he could travel by car or train quickly across the country, he would opt for that any day. As it stands, many provinces will require him to fly if he wants to make it back by Monday.

And for his part, Kenma knows that the planes are fine. Countless of Selected and their families have flown home in the past few months—his own included. Yet, he finds himself constantly worrying about Kuroo and his safety. He doesn’t know if it’s Kuroo’s fears rubbing off on him or his own anxiety, but he can’t stop. Even in his sleep, he dreams about planes bursting into flames or the red paint spattered across the royal portrait in the hall, the threatening words stuck in a loop inside his head.

He wonders if he’ll have to live with this fear the rest of his life, too, regardless of whether he marries Kuroo or not. Will he always wonder how he is? Will he always wonder if someone’s out for his life? How can he live either way if he knows something can happen to Kuroo without him knowing it?

He’ll miss him, and he’ll worry about him. It’s so terrible to love someone so completely. Kenma knows he’ll just drive himself crazy with it, even if it’s just for two days out of the week.

When Kuroo comes to his room the night before he’s set to go, Kenma presses an object into his hand. It’s a small silver pin in the shape of a cat.

“What is it?” Kuroo traces the pin with his finger, turning it over in his palm.

“When I was young, I used to get really anxious before performing, to the point where I would feel nauseous, but I could never throw up. My parents gave me this as a good-luck charm of sorts. They said cats always land on their feet, so I should never worry about tripping over my own.” It’s a silly thing, but somehow, it worked. He would pin it underneath the last layer of his costume or tucked behind his collar. It got him on the stage every time. Even as he gets older, he will still wear it when he performs at important events. He brought it here with him, after all. “I want you to have it with you, like a piece of me is with you on the road.”

It's so cheesy and embarrassing, but it’s for Kenma as much as it is for Kuroo. He wants him to have all the luck he can get. He wants something to hold onto and know that Kuroo will be okay.

Luckily, Kuroo understands his sentiment.

“Thank you, Kenma. I love it.” He smiles at him, fingers curling around the object. “I promise I’ll give it back afterwards.”

Kenma shakes his head. “Just come back to me safely. You can keep anything you want.” He can’t be bothered to hide the worry in his tone.

Kuroo tucks the ring into a zipper pocket then nods his head towards Kenma’s bed.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Kenma was hoping he would say that. He eagerly leads them over.

“Wake me before you leave?” He says as they both settle under Kenma’s cover together, the action so easy now that they’ve done it so many times. But he knows Kuroo will slip out without him knowing in the morning. “I want to say goodbye.”

“I’ll be gone for two days. Going to miss me that much?” Kuroo teases him now, his grin boyish.

“Shut up. Just for that I’m kicking you out.”

“Then why are you cuddling me?”

“In a minute, I mean.” Kenma settles into the crook of his neck, feeling his breath brushing atop his hair. “Just you wait.”

He hears Kuroo’s laugh above him as his arms come to wrap around his body. Kenma feels his heart settles in his chest.

“I see. Good night, Kenma.”  

What Kenma means is, just you wait, any minute now I’ll lose it and tell you I love you. But Kuroo’s arms are so comfortable and so warm that Kenma falls fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Despite promising himself that he would focus on his studies while Kuroo is away, Kenma finds that it’s hard for him to concentrate. Every time he tries to sit down and read, the words dance in front of his face. His thoughts shift from the sentences to images of Kuroo. His stomach churns uneasily, as if he’s the one that’s thousands of meters above the ground.

He’ll have to endure nine more weeks of this. At least his province is scheduled to be in the middle, so maybe for the latter half, he’ll feel more at ease.

After an hour of frustration, Kenma leaves the library to wander around the hall. His head throbs unpleasantly, like his brain is beating against his skull. Maybe he just needs to move around, shake the nerves out of him.

Kenma decides to visit Akaashi in his room. It’s been a while since they’ve talked with just the two of them. Well, there’s a big chance that he will find Bokuto there, too, but he doesn’t mind spending time with him either. He owes a lot to him, anyways.

Akaashi answers his door alone, smiling gently at him.

“I figure you were going to come by at some point this weekend,” he says as he steps aside to let Kenma in. “Didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“Is it so wrong to visit my friend on a free day?” Kenma rolls his eyes, though he knows the meaning behind Akaashi’s words.

“No.” He chuckles. “It’s not wrong to miss the prince either.”

Kenma collapses on his couch, facing down. He feels the sofa dips on the other side as his friend joins him. He allows himself a moment of honesty. Outside of Kuroo (and his maids), Akaashi is the person he trusts most here after all.

He says softly into the air, “I didn’t expect to miss him so much. It’s so stupid, really. He’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Kenma has never felt this way before. Even when he first came here, he didn’t feel the absence of his parents in the tips of his fingers and with his entire chest. He didn’t ache with it, as though it would strangle him as the seconds tick on. And it’s not like he hasn’t spent days here without seeing Kuroo. There were plenty of times the prince didn’t make his appearance, but maybe knowing he was somewhere nearby gave Kenma solace. Or maybe he has grown just that much more in love with him. It’s a terrible thing—to feel someone’s absence as though they’re a piece of your soul.

“And he’ll be alright, you know. He has guards with him.”

And then there’s this aspect of it as well. Kenma cannot shake his worries for him, the fear that at any moment, someone will take Kuroo away to a place Kenma will not be able to follow. This, he knows, won’t go away after these ten weeks, and Kenma doesn’t know what to do about it.

How is he supposed to live the rest of his life worrying about one person? As long as Kuroo is the crown prince—and later, the king—his enemies will only grow, even as his supporters do, too.

Kenma groans, his eyes scrunching shut.

“Tell that to my useless brain.”

“If it’s dictated by your foolish heart, there’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid.” Then, with a quieter voice, he adds, “I know the feeling.”

Kenma peers at Akaashi through the curtain of his own blonde hair. Right. He’s forgotten that he’s not the only one dealing with the consequences of the Selection and the men their hearts have chosen to fall in love with.

He hasn’t explicitly talked about this with Akaashi, though. He has only indirectly discussed it with Bokuto, but time has passed since then, long enough for their feelings to solidify into something permanent. Kenma isn’t so far in his own head that he doesn’t notice the way they look at each other, the way they always gravitate towards each other in the crowd. They’re careful, he knows, but he’s more observant than most.  

“So, we’re finally going to talk about it, huh?” He sits up, almost relieved that he can focus on something else besides his thoughts about Kuroo for once.

Akaashi lets out a long sigh.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.” The him remains unnamed, but they don’t need to spell it out.

“When do we ever mean to fall in love?” Kenma certainly didn’t expect it himself.

His friend gives him a small knowing smile, his blue eyes soft as he looks at him. “True. He’s just—there’s something about him that’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I have never been fascinated with anyone before, but when I met him, I truly understand what that word means.” He chews on his bottom lip. “I tried to find my connection with the prince, but it never came. With Bokuto, I wasn’t even looking and there it—there he—was.” There’s a slight wonder in his tone, a sort of wistful yet elated realization.

It warms Kenma’s heart to see, despite knowing the legality of it. He can’t blame him one bit. It’s the sort of thing you can’t help.

Useless brains. Foolish hearts.

“What will you do?” Kenma asks him. Akaashi is clearly still in the competition as an Elite. Though the chance is slim, he can still be married to the prince.

“I’ll ask Prince Kuroo to send me home soon after the town hall visits. I’ve been a bit selfish staying as long as I had with no intention of becoming Prince Consort.” He grimaces.

Kenma thinks that everyone is a little bit selfish in their own way. Himself. Daishou. Semi. Akaashi and Bokuto. Everyone except Kuroo. When does he get to be selfish? When do his needs come first before everyone else’s?

Bokuto’s words repeat in his mind, He gives and gives and gives. Not just because it’s expected, but because that’s who he is.

One day, he might give all of himself away.

Kenma must be making some sort of face because Akaashi says quickly, “You know, Bokuto and I haven’t done anything. We haven’t even held hands or said anything like that to each other. It’s just sort of implied.”

He waves him off, although it’s cute to see him flustered for once.

“I wasn’t even thinking about that. I know you wouldn’t. You’re too smart to do something like that.” Knowing Daishou, he would’ve caught on and tried to use this against them, too. Kenma’s relieved that at least no one else is subjected to his sabotage.

“Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence,” says Akaashi, laughing softly. Then, he echoes Kenma’s words back to him, “What will you do?”

Too soon and the topic has changed to him again.

“To be honest, I’m still not sure.”

“Really?” Akaashi sounds genuinely surprised. “I thought with all your efforts, you would be ready to say yes any day now.”

“You’re acting like Kuro’s ready to propose.” Well, he is, but no one is supposed to know about that. Especially not another Elite.

At this, Akaashi lets out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. Kenma can only blink at him as he wipes stray tears from his eyes.

“Are you kidding? Kenma, let’s be serious for a minute. Daishou targeted you because he knew you’re the prince’s favorite, and he felt threatened. And even though we all danced with him at the party, he let you lead the first dance. He looked so happy everyone could see it. You weren’t there, but Bokuto’s sisters were about to cry because they thought he was going to lose. And also,” his blue eyes shimmer as he says these last few words, “Besides Bokuto, who has known him all his life, you’re the only one who calls him by his name and not his title.”

“I—”

Akaashi looks so proud of himself as he continues, his smile smug. “I know you try to use it in public, but it doesn't sound as natural as the rest of us. You have a nickname for him, too, and I’m sure he loves it.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny.”

His friend grins at him. “No need to confirm. I already know.” He arches his brows at him. “So? What’s holding you back?”

Kenma has thought about this a lot, so much that it should be easy for him to explain. Still, he finds it hard to put into words.

“As much as I think that Kuro is only a man, I can’t deny that he’s the prince. One day, he will be king. Being married to him isn’t going to be like being married to any other person. You’re familiar with the rules and responsibilities of the palace now, aren’t you? But it will only get worse, and the other Elites won’t be there. It’ll just be me. It sounds nice, theoretically, but I’ll have to give up some things, too. Normalcy. A sense of privacy. Your whole life will be on display, open to the public criticism and judgement. I think they like me fine, but in the people’s eyes, Semi or even Oikawa is a better pick because I don’t cater to their perception like they do.”

“You know he doesn’t care what other people think.”

“But he should. Just a little bit.” Kenma can’t believe he’s saying this, but it’s how he feels. “Our country is so divisive right now, and there’s so much hate towards the monarchy. He should do everything in his power to get the people on his side. I’m not saying it’s ideal, but that’s the way it is.”

There’s a beat, a pause, before Akaashi says, “You think you’re not fit to be Prince Consort, but that’s the kind of thinking Prince Kuroo needs by his side.”

“The king doesn’t think I’m fit to be by his side.” He can’t help the bitterness in his words. He doesn’t like the king for many reasons, but his disapproval sits heavily on his mind. He knows Kuroo loves him and will defy his father for him, but should he ask him to? What would it mean for their relationship in the future if Kenma became a part of their family? Is that just another thing Kuroo must endure?

“I’m sure Prince Kuroo has reminded you of this, but the Selection is his decision to make.”

“On paper, maybe. In front of the cameras, definitely. But it seems much more complicated than that.”

“I’m sure it is,” Akaashi says, voice full of understanding. “Everyone watches the Selection for a different reason. Everyone has their own perfect version of how it should end. But it doesn’t have to be complicated. What did the prince say? He wants to search for his partner and his better half. I think out of everyone, he deserves that.” Then he adds, “And I think that you deserve it too.”

 Kenma, truly, has no answer for that.

~

Kenma spends the rest of the day with Akaashi in his room. Then, they head to the Men’s Room together to watch the town hall broadcast with the rest of the Elite. His relief when he sees Kuroo on the screen is insurmountable. He’s glad that everyone else is too busy watching the TV to notice him. In Oikawa’s case, he’s too busy making jokes about Ushijima. Kenma doesn’t know the whole story there. He can’t tell whether he’s obsessed with him because he likes him or hates him. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

Then there’s that odd look Oikawa had on when their families came to visit. He’s yet to find out what it means. Oikawa seems like an open book, but he’s the one Kenma understands the least out of everyone here.

The group is less tense with Daishou gone, though, so Kenma finds that he doesn't mind spending time with everyone. They watch the Sunday morning broadcast together, too.

After dinner, Bokuto pulls Kenma aside before he can head up to his room.

“Kuroo’s getting in around 8PM.” He grins at him, his eyebrows moving up and down suggestively. “Just thought you should know.”

Kenma feels so caught, but Bokuto has always seen through him from the very beginning.

“Thank you.” Then he swallows and adds, “For everything. I feel like I owe you a lot.”

Bokuto looks taken aback at his gratitude, but he smiles warmly and says, “You’re welcome. You make Kuroo happy, and that’s good enough for me.”

There’s no one else in the hall but them, but Kenma lowers his voice before saying the next thing anyways. “Well, when you and Akaashi get married, I’ll dance at your wedding for free. We’ll call it even.”

He has never seen Bokuto’s face so stunned, so red that it reaches to the tips of his silver hair. Kenma can’t help but laugh, all the way back to his room.

~

Kenma finds himself walking towards the hanger a little bit after 7:30PM, too antsy to stay in his room. If he’s already pacing around anxiously, he might as well be productive. To his relief, no one else is waiting for Kuroo to come in other than Officer Tora. His other trusted guard, Yaku, is accompanying him during the trip. He’s surprised that Bokuto isn’t here, but he supposes he wants to give them some space. The king is still resting in his quarter, and Kenma assumes that he wouldn’t be here either even if he’s his normal self.

He shares a comfortable silence with Officer Tora. Kenma plays on his DS while the guard does push-ups on the ground or pull-ups using the door frame. It’s bizarre to Kenma that anyone would spend every free minute they have exercising, but he supposes everybody has their own way of releasing their anxiety.

Kenma knows he won’t be able to greet Kuroo every time he comes back. It’s the case today because Ushijima isn’t flying in with him. He’s glad to have this chance at least.

Thirty minutes pass by faster than he anticipates. He hears and feels when the plane comes in. The ground rumbles beneath his feet, shaking the earth. Even though Kenma stands pretty far back, he still feels the wind slapping against his face as the small jet lands, making a deafening thump as its wheels safely hit the ground. Kenma waits for the long, tortuous minutes until he hears the door hisses open, its occupants slowly emerging down the steps.

As Kuroo’s form appears, his unruly black hair poking out from behind the jet’s door before the rest of him, Kenma’s heart clenches inside his chest. He watches him walk the seemingly never-ending distance from the plane to where Kenma stands waiting for him.

“Hi.” Kuroo smiles, his face tired. Maybe he’s going to say something else cheesy or grossly romantic, but Kenma crushes him in a bruising hug before any word can come out of his mouth.

Kuroo’s briefcase makes a loud thud on the ground when he wraps his arms around Kenma.

Kenma is so relieved that he can cry. The corners of his eyes sting with the threat of tears, and he buries his head in Kuroo’s chest to hide it. Kuroo smells different today. He smells of wheat and grass and sweat. But he’s here. He’s safe. Kenma doesn’t care about anything else.

He feels Kuroo’s large, warm hand on top of his head.

“I missed you, too, Kenma.” He murmurs into his hair.

All Kenma can say through his throat closing is, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Kuroo chuckles and plants a kiss atop his head. “I had a kitten to keep me safe. And a kitten to come home to.”

Kenma doesn’t even have the energy to chastise him for that use of nickname. He just squeezes him tight in his arms, relishing in this moment before he has to let him go again.

~

Fortunately for Kenma, it does get easier as the weeks go by. Kuroo visits Tsukishima’s and Semi’s provinces next. And each weekend, Elites gather by the TV to watch the discussion that each town hall brings. Kenma can see the thoughts turning in Kuroo’s heads as he listens to his people, his ideas racing through his mind.

On the screen, each Elite that stands by Kuroo exudes their own power and projects a different image. Kenma doesn’t like to admit it, but he can imagine almost everyone with Kuroo. And although everyone in the room is aware of the competition between them, the atmosphere is supportive as they watch one of their own on stage. They don’t want to see anyone fail. There’s a camaraderie that exists now, that isn’t possible when there were more people (and when there were certain people) present.

Lev’s province follows Semi’s, and they’re all a bit surprised when Lev doesn’t return to the palace. Although he has done well in his own town hall, he feels that politics is too much for him to handle for the rest of his life. Kenma feels the loss more than he expects. Lev does occupy the space by his side during the Reports, and each elimination now feels more weighted than before.

Kenma tries his best to ignore the fact that even though they are in the top six, with Akaashi and Bokuto in their predicament, they’re in fact closer to top four.

He doesn’t have time to ruminate on that fact for too long, though, because Akaashi’s province is next, and before Kenma knows it, it’s his time to go home.

~

At the beginning of the Selection, Kenma thought that he would be heading home after the first week or two, ready to leave the palace, its residents, and that life far behind him like a peculiar chapter in the book of his life. He doesn’t expect that the next time he leaves to be a temporary visit to his hometown with the prince’s hand clasped tightly in his own, his head resting on his shoulder as he watches the clouds pass by outside the small plane window.

Part of him is scared that he will not want to leave the comfort of his childhood home if he’s reminded of the familiarity of it. Part of him knows that he finds a different comfort right here by the prince’s side.

Kenma feels unready to say yes, but he also feels like he will never want to say goodbye to him either.

Kuroo assures him that he has time. Kenma already knows what he wants, but he’s just not brave enough to say it yet.

He tries to push those thoughts aside and focuses on the fact that he gets to spend this weekend with Kuroo instead of being worried about him.

When they land at the airport, they rush through the crowd to the limo waiting for them outside. Kenma is reminded of that first day, walking from his front door to the car that takes him to this very same airport, how the paparazzi lights and delighted shouts of the people have overwhelmed him, sending his heart racing.

He still feels overwhelmed today as he meets the eyes of strangers, looking at him with awe and reverence he doesn’t know that he deserves, but Kenma feels well enough to remove his hand from Kuroo’s to shake theirs, to thank them for their support. The camera flashes on, but the lights don’t blind him as much anymore.

When they finally make it to the quiet safety of the car, Kenma feels much better with Kuroo’s shoulder pressing solidly against his own, his voice whispering, “You did great out there, Kenma. The people love you.”

Kenma squeezes his hand as he catches his breath. Spots dancing in front of his eyes to adjust his vision back to normal. It’s just the beginning of the weekend, after all.

~

They first make a stop at Kenma’s house, where security has already lined themselves around his yard. Kenma’s heart is thundering this time, not because of the crowd gathering outside, but because it just now hits him that Kuroo will see the house that he grew up in. He’ll have to make sure he doesn’t trip over that one floorboard his parents never bothered to fix.

“Only step where I step. Understand?” He arches his brows at him, seconds before they exit the car. He doesn’t want to be responsible for Kuroo spraining his ankle too.

Kuroo barks out a laugh at Kenma’s serious face. “Got it.”

Kenma’s parents greet him at the door, his mom pulling the both of them into a hug. Kuroo lets out a small sound of surprise as she squeezes the air out of both their lungs. Kenma’s dad watches from behind the doorframe with an amused expression on his face.

“Welcome home, Kenma.” He nods towards them. To Kuroo, he says, “Please make yourself comfortable, Tetsu.”

“Welcome, Tetsu,” his mom smiles warmly at Kuroo once she releases them. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

“Thank you so much for having me!”

“Are you forgetting who your son is?” Kenma rolls his eyes at the scene, stepping inside.

His mom tsks at him, still holding Kuroo by the elbow to usher him in. “Don’t be silly. We’ve missed you, too, but Tetsu’s our guest. You can make yourself comfortable, dear.”

Despite his words, it warms him to see how much his parents have taken to Kuroo. He feels happy to see him receive that kind of affection from a parental figure, even if it can’t ever replace his own.

As they enter Kenma’s house, he notices that most of Kuroo’s guards stay outside except for Officer Tora who follows them in. He trails a respectable distance behind them, bowing at his parents for his intrusion.

The smell of his mother’s cooking and his father’s clothes fill Kenma’s nose, but maybe because Kuroo is here, or maybe because Kenma hasn’t been home in so long, the familiar walls of his house look just a touch foreign in his eyes. It’s as though he’s seeing everything for the first time, even as the memories of his time here flood his thoughts.

In the living room, he takes in the old, worn-out couch and the small box TV where they watch the Reports every Friday evening. His father’s reclining chair sits in the corner of the room next to a small lamp. The kitchen is small, its counter scattered with mismatch plates and cups, enough space for only two people to move around in.

The small dining area sits right off the kitchen island. There’s a yellow tablecloth covering their round dining table that Kenma knows his parents keep buying to replace itself when the old one gets too dirty because they like that particular shade. Four wooden chairs are neatly assigned around the table with four plates and bowls set on top.

This is when Kenma notices that his parents have made lunch for the two of them. He’s not entirely sure of the schedule for the day, but he has a feeling Kuroo has planned for lunch elsewhere. Before Kenma can say anything though, Kuroo speaks up first.

“Your house is lovely.” He beams at his parents, the sincerity in his voice cannot be mistaken for anything else. “And I’m excited to try your cooking! Thank you so much!”

Kenma can see that his mom is practically bouncing with excitement. He has always been a picky eater, so she tries her best to push food towards him as much as she can. With Kuroo’s enthusiasm, she must be over the moon.

Kenma silently thanks him with his eyes.

No problem, he winks back. They sit around the table to share the meal together, every seat filled for once.

He feels Kuroo’s foot nudging against his under the table, like they’re teenagers trying to hide from their parents. Inside, his heart and his stomach feel full at the same time.

Kenma knows it’s nothing fancy like what they have at the palace, and the table is much smaller and not as grand, but he feels like this is the best meal he’s had in a long, long time. Looking at Kuroo next to him with his shinning eyes and full cheeks, he knows he agrees with him too.

~

After lunch, Kenma stays at his home to get ready for that afternoon’s town hall meeting. He could’ve stayed at the hotel with Kuroo, but he would rather stay here. Kuroo compromises by lending him Officer Tora.

He has to practically push Kuroo out the door and pry the old picture albums out of his hand, reminding him of the real reason they’re here. Kuroo laughs at him, and Kenma isn’t positive that he didn’t sneak a picture out of the photobook before he steals it back.

As Kenma sits down at his old desk, staring into his small handheld mirror he used to do his show’s make-up on with all the new, expensive things that Hinata and Yachi packed for him laid out in front of him, Kenma cannot ignore how much he has changed. His chair pokes uncomfortably under his butt. He never noticed how unsupportive it is for his back if he sits here for too long.

He can’t help but thinks that he has grown too big for his old bedroom. Perhaps too big for his old life.

Still, there’s a part of him that loves it here. A part of his heart singing in tune amidst the familiar space. He laughs at his old gaming console, still plugged into the wall where he’s forgotten it all those months ago.

Kenma hasn’t shown Kuroo his room yet—mostly because he isn’t sure of the state he’s left it—but he will before the weekend is over. Strangely, this thought makes him more nervous than having to appear in front of his townspeople later today.

The town hall meeting goes smoothly for the most part. Kenma expects to be drilled on more questions, given his last embarrassment in the Reports, but the people were more concerned with getting their thoughts to the crown prince than anything else. They line up in front of the microphone to ask their questions and share their thoughts. Some of them get too heated, but Kuroo manages to calm most of them down before anything escalates.

Kenma, although he’s told by Kuroo that Haru isn’t going to be in attendance today, scans the crowd periodically to search for his face, anticipating a jump scare. It doesn’t come. He breathes a huge sigh of relief when it’s over.

He knows he can’t fully relax yet. Haru will be in attendance for the following morning’s town hall, which sneaks up on him all too soon.

~

Kenma tries to keep an eye on Haru the entire time, but he loses sight of him when the town hall nears its end. He knows that Haru will not lose an opportunity to taunt him, however, so it’s over yet until he physically walks out of here.

He feels Kuroo’s hand tenses at the small of his back and knows that someone not at all welcomed is approaching them.

He looks up just in time to see Haru’s smiling face pushing through the crowd.

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Kuroo whispers in his ear, careful not to let anything slip. There are still nobleman and other participants around, mingling as they come up to the prince to say thank you.

“No.” Kenma shakes his head. He’ll have to face him one way or another, and it’s not Kenma who has to hide. It’s not him who did something shameful.

Kuroo’s arm wraps around his waist protectively, pulling him in just a tiny bit closer. He can feel the anger in the way his muscles tighten, even as Kuroo’s face shows not a hint of hostility.

“You must be Haruki.” Kuroo extends his other hand to him when Haru is close enough to say hello. “Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Your Highness.” He takes his hand, the corner of his mouth twisting uncomfortably as he feels the squeeze. His smile falters for a millisecond, but it’s enough for Kenma to feel a tiny bit of joy. “Thank you for coming to speak to us. We’re grateful for your dedication to our province.”

“Of course. And I have to see the place where Kenma grows up. That’s worth an entire trip on its own.”

At this, Haru’s eyes flicker to Kenma, who has not said a word. A fake smile is plastered on his face, too, to keep up the appearance with so many people around.

“Do you mind, Your Highness, if I speak to Kenma for a moment? There’s something I need to say to him.”

Kuroo’s hand tightens around his waist and Kenma knows he’s going to deny him, so he cuts in quickly,

“That’s fine with me.”

This surprises the two men, both staring at Kenma with wide eyes.

Kuroo relents, loosening his hold around him reluctantly. “I suppose if that’s what Kenma wants, it’s fine with me.” There’s a fierceness in his usual warm eyes, a coldness in his tone that Kenma doesn’t miss.

He reassures him with a nod of his head. To Haru, he says, “Let’s go somewhere more private.” And he leads the way outside to the courtyard, where there are less people gathering.

When it’s just the two of them, Haru’s façade drops just as quickly as it’s put on. His face turns into a sneer as he takes in Kenma’s appearance.

“You’ve done well for yourself.” He says, eyes scanning Kenma up and down. “I didn’t think you had it in you to seduce the prince, but I suppose you weren’t bad in bed.”

Kenma seethes, but he counts to three in his head before responding, his fingers digging into his palms as he tries to keep his cool. He can’t lose his composure. Not here. Not now.

“So, you’re here to congratulate me? After what you did?”

“What? Me?” He fakes an innocent gasp, clutching at his chest. Kenma really doesn’t know how he had fallen for him in the first place. There’s not a shred of beauty or goodness in him now. “Come on, Kenma. Don’t be like that. I was just helping out a friend.”

Kenma wants to laugh. He snorts at his answer. “By throwing me under the bus?” It’s revenge for getting one over on him. It’s a humiliation. It’s an invasion of privacy, of his body.

“You brought this upon yourself, Kenma. You knew I wanted to be Prince Consort, yet you still ran against me. How you got selected over me, I don’t know, but it can’t just be pure luck.”

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but I know that the universe doesn’t reward people like you, Haru. Not when you do terrible things to people without them knowing.”

Haru tilts his head back and laughs, a horrible, cold sound. When he fixes his eyes at Kenma’s again, he holds his gaze, even as his body shivers.

“You wanted to get in bed with me. You wanted me to fuck you. It’s my house. My room. I can film and tape whoever I want. You think you’re special, huh? Don’t be so full of yourself. You’re not even the best I’ve had.” His words spit out, angrily.

Kenma feels his heart in his throat, his blood like ice rushing through his veins.

“So, you’ve done this to others? You blackmail them too? Force them to do whatever you want?”

Haru’s smile is devoid of any real human emotion. “Yes. I run this town, Kenma. You’ll do well to remember that.”

Kenma lets out a long breath. He feels so good. So freed. He can’t help a smile of his own.

“Did you guys get all that?”

From behind the bush, a voice calls out, “Yes, sir.”

Oh. The look on Haru’s face. Kenma cannot wait to look at it again and again. He’s sure they’ve snapped plenty of pictures by now to capture this moment. One of them is recording this conversation, to be played across all the news station by tonight.

“What—” Haru’s head snaps around, bewildered. His face is drained of any color, and his mouth is opening and closing without releasing any sound. He looks like a mad man. He’ll probably be one soon.

Kenma looks into his eyes, hopefully for the very last time.

“I learned a little something from my stay in the palace. Rule number one—always assume there are cameras. Rule number two—know where the reporters are at all times. You’ll do well to remember that, especially when you’re talking to an Elite.” It’s a good look on him—horror and realization. It’s a sweet taste in Kenma’s mouth—justice. “Goodbye, Haru.”

He turns and walks away.

~

In the car on the way to his family home, Kenma tells Kuroo everything and hands him all the statements he wants to be released on his behalf regarding the whole situation. Daishou and his cousin will be reprimanded, too, but that’s nothing compared to the fall that Haru and his family will take after this. Aristocrat or not. Nobleman or not. He won’t escape his unscathed with the confession coming directly out of his mouth.

Kuroo stares at him in amazement and pride, and he bursts into laughter for such a long time that Kenma worries about his sanity.

“You’re so—Kenma, you—” He tries to say in between breaths, barely able to contain himself. “You’re awesome. Remind me never to cross you.”

Strange, Bokuto says the same thing, too, once.

Then, Kuroo presses light kisses all over his face, making Kenma giggle and squirm in his seat. He feels so weightless now that he can finally put all that behind him.

The next thing on the horizon, and maybe the most important thing, is the end of the Selection.

~

“Promise me you’re not going to laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a real reason.”

“What’s a real reason then?”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Stop stalling and show me your room, Kenma. I showed you mine!”

Kenma knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows Kuroo isn’t going to laugh at him. But the thought of being known in this way scares him. How did Kuroo do it so easily?

He looks into his eyes, still so patient even after he shows him every room in the house again, including their dimly lit, slightly scary attic. Kenma sighs and turns the knob to open the door.

He’s packed everything (yes, his console is safely tucked away in his suitcase this time) so there’s not much to see. Just his bed, his desk, his TV and gaming system, and a dresser full of old clothes. He doesn’t even have any decoration on the wall, only a calendar that he’s had since last year.

Compared to Kuroo’s room, there’s not much in here that’s worth looking at.

Yet, in the corner of his eyes, he sees Kuroo absorbing everything in front of him like he can’t get enough.

“Have you always lived here?”

Kenma nods. “Yes. My crib used to be over there where my bed is. Oh, I guess you can see the mark on the wall where I used to throw my toys to get my parent’s attention.”

Kuroo laughs. He comes over to examine Kenma’s desk, the little cup of writing utensils is the only notable thing laying on there.

“And you did your homework at this table?”

“Everyday.”

Kuroo gives him a smile. “Cute.” He walks over to Kenma’s bed next, eyes asking him for permission to lay down. Kenma nods again.

Kuroo’s limbs are way too long to comfortably lay on his bed, but he makes a satisfying sigh as he sinks into the mattress. It’s an odd sight to see him there, but his stomach warms. And it turns hot. Kenma locks the door before heading over to join him.

“You—” Kuroo’s eyebrows raise in question.

Kenma’s smile grows as he makes his way over to him. “Sometimes, I think about what it would be like if we met under different circumstances, do you? If you weren’t a prince. If you were just a boy, a friend, in my neighborhood.”

“Oh?”

Kenma crawls on top of him. He never would’ve imagined this, never thought it would excite him so much to see Kuroo in his room, on his bed, his wide eyes staring up at Kenma.

“I would sneak you into my room when my parents aren’t home. Or maybe my parents will love you too much to worry about you doing forbidden things to me.” He feels Kuroo’s hips under his own. They’ve agreed not to go far, but that doesn't mean they need to waste this opportunity to have some fun in his childhood bedroom.

“They don’t need to know.” Kuroo’s voice is low and rough, the desire swirls in his eyes.

He pulls Kenma down at the same time that Kenma lowers to his elbows to kiss him. Kuroo’s hands wander under his shirt, burning his skin with want everywhere he touches. They spend too long entangled with each other, but neither of them care. Kenma doesn’t want to miss the way Kuroo taste on his lips and the way he feels against his body. He wants to consume and be consumed by him. Now.

In his head, he hears, It’s you if you want it to be. He has to stop himself from wanting too much.

~

Kuroo wants to give Kenma the last few minutes with his parents, so he waits in the car while Kenma says goodbye to his family. To his surprise, neither of them are teary-eyed this time. They look almost excited as they hug him goodbye at the door. They share a undecipherable look that confuses Kenma.

Then, Kenma’s father presses a small box into his hand. The scene is so familiar to when they gave him the cat pin that Kenma feels like he’s seven again, about to go out on stage with a stomach full of nerves.

“This is from your grandfather, Kenma. He was a jeweler that gave up his caste to be with your grandmother as a five, but he always made the best jewelry.” His father explains. The square box weighs more in his hand than he thought possible. “I know it’s the prince who should propose, but if you love him, I think this will be fitting to give to him in return.”

“What if I can’t? I mean, what if I don’t—”

His mother shushes him before the panic sets in, cradling his cheek with her hand. “It’s okay if it’s not what you want. You can still give this to whoever you love, okay?”

“I didn’t say I don’t love him.”

His parents smile knowingly at him. He wishes they would just tell him what to do, the way they used to when he was young.

Instead, his father pats his head and says, “We were always worried about you, you know. Worried that you didn’t have many friends. Worried that you would feel too much pressure to perform well. Worried that you would be all alone in the palace. But you’ve grown, Kenma. We know you’ll make the right decision, whatever it is.”

“We’ll love you,” adds his mom, “whatever it is.”

He nods and thanks them. He pulls them into a hug this time, feeling unbelievably grateful for their words. Kenma tucks the box into his backpack and with a final wave, he exits his home.

He makes his way through the crowd and paparazzi alone this time, walking with his chin up towards the car where Kuroo is waiting for him. He heads back to his prince, to the palace, once again.

Chapter Text

Kenma’s hope of taking it easy when he returns to the palace vanishes. That following Monday, Kuroo announces that their neighbor Karasuno will be paying the royal family a visit the week after the town hall meetings end. It gives the remaining Elites roughly a month to prepare for their arrivals. Semi and Oikawa volunteer to be their guide and point-of-contacts for the weekend, while Kenma and everyone else will take care of the welcoming party.

In theory, it’ll be easier to manage now that they’ve had experience with hosting a party, but it’s much more work given that they have less people around. When they try to complain about this, though, Shimizu bitterly reminds them that it will only be one of them doing everything once the Selection ends, so they might as well get used to it now. Everyone keeps their mouth shut after that.

Kenma finds that he is almost glad for the distraction because it keeps him too busy to worry about Kuroo. Each week passes by without any hiccups, and his anxiety loosens its grip on his throat. Soon enough, they arrive at the last town hall, the capital. Kuroo is immensely relieved that he doesn’t have to fly for this one, only needing to travel by car. Kenma is immensely relieved that he has one less thing to worry about. Oh, how wrong he is.

~

Kenma knows immediately that something is wrong when Hinata jolts him awake. He’s gotten used to the sleep schedule at the palace by now and is usually up before Hinata and Yachi come to help him in the morning, so to have Hinata’s brown eyes in front of face is a red flag all on its own.

“What is it? Is he okay?” Kenma feels his heart about to jump out of his chest, all the worst-case scenarios run through his mind like a terrifying film reel.

“The prince is fine!” Hinata reassures him, though his smile shakier than it normally is. “He’s just asking for you. I’ll escort you to his room.”

“Why is he back to early?” Kenma pulls a sweatshirt over his head. It’s not formal wear, but he couldn’t care less right now since it’s the middle of the night. He’s more focused on trying to breathe at a normal rate again. His voice is almost breathless as he asks, “Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure.” He smiles apologetically. “I was just told to come get you. I’m sure he’ll explain everything soon enough. It’s going to be okay, Kenma.” He says it like it’s a fact, like he truly believes it. Kenma isn’t so sure, but it’s a good sign at least that Kuroo is alive, and the palace is quiet and still as they walk through the hall. If something truly bad happened, he would expect there to be more chaos.

It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel a knot at the pit of his stomach though. It gnaws at him every second that passes. As they get closer and closer to the prince’s quarters, Kenma feels like he’s lived a lifetime with the way his mind races.

After the gentle knocks at the door, Kuroo’s voice calls out for them to come in. Hinata simply bows and retreats back down the hallway. Yaku is posted outside his door today, and Kenma gives him a small nod before pushing the door open to enter the room.

Kuroo is sitting in his bed when Kenma walks in, a short girl with bushy brown hair by his side of the bed, carefully dabbing his arms with a damp cloth. He’s smiling at Kenma, his face tired, dotted with a small bruise on his left cheek and a few small cuts on his forehead. There are cuts on his arms as well, which the girl is carefully cleaning and bandaging up.

Kenma feels his heart squeezing itself inside his chest, as if trying to see how much pain it can endure before giving up completely.

He’s fine, he tries to tell himself, he’s here.

“I’m fine, Kenma.” Kuroo tells him out loud. He motions with his free arm, “Come here.”

It’s now that Kenma registers that he’s still standing by the door, frozen. He feels his feet picking up from the ground with Kuroo’s words.

The girl seems to be finished with her task as Kenma approaches. She gathers her things and quietly leaves the two of them. As she passes though, Kenma feels like her face is strangely familiar.

“That’s Akane. She’s my personal maid.” Kuroo explains, his lips quirking up into a smile. “And Officer Tora’s little sister.”

Ah. Kenma hums his response.

He eyes the chair she’s left behind, but he opts instead for the space on Kuroo’s bed to get a better look at him. Given that he’s talking and smiling, all the visible cuts cleaned, Kuroo’s probably alright for now. Still, Kenma lays a hand on his forehead, brushing away the black hair that has fallen in front of his eyes. He inspects every centimeter of his face, documenting the bruises and cuts into his mind, just in case something else happens to him when he isn’t looking.

Kuroo rests a hand on the one Kenma has on his cheek and he feels the warmth of it all the way into his bones. His warm honey-colored eyes are a different comfort all on their own.

“What happened?” Kenma finally asks, feeling brave enough to hear the answer.

Kuroo lets out a small sigh. “We got a report that someone threatens to ambush the morning town hall, so we decided to leave tonight, just to get ahead of it. Turns out, they expected us to do just that. Our security was able to shake many of them off, but one managed to crash into our car during the chase. Everyone is fine. No one’s severely hurt. Bokuto is recovering back in his room as well.”

“Is this the group that stormed the palace, you think?”

His brows furrow together as his lips purse in a straight line. “It’s possible, but they haven’t said anything about their affiliations yet. We’ve been making good progress with the town hall meetings, with several bills waiting to be passed, but it seems that there are radicals like them that do want to get rid of the monarchy completely. There’s no better way than going straight to the source, right?” He chuckles, but Kenma doesn’t find it funny at all.

“Are you okay? What did Dr. Naomi say?”

“I’m fine. No concussions. The cuts are from the car glass window shattering. I don’t even have any deep enough to warrant stitches, so don’t worry, okay?”

Nothing about this is okay. Kenma doesn’t know how to begin to “not worry” when Kuroo says there are people out there who are trying to end his life, but he nods anyways because there’s nothing else that he can say back.

With a tap of his hand against Kuroo’s thigh, he gestures for him to scoot over. Surely, he isn’t allowed to spend the night here, but Kenma is becoming more cavalier with the rules himself. Regardless, the only person that would care is the king, and he’s still resting in his quarters, unlikely to come barging in this time.

Kenma rests his head on Kuroo’s chest, wanting to hear his heartbeat under his ears, another reassurance that he really is still here. Safe. He feels Kuroo’s hand rubbing at his back, like he’s the one that needs it.

“It wasn’t a wrong move to do the town halls, Kuro.” Kenma says after a while, breaking the silence. “It’s not you they’re mad at. It’s the system. You just happen to be the face of it, and you’re doing the best you can.”

“I wish that my best was good enough. But it doesn’t feed people. It doesn’t automatically give them food and jobs and money and grace. It—”

“It gives them hope. I know it does.” How many people have come up to him, truly grateful that the prince wants to listen to their problems? How many people have said that it might just look like their luck will turn around? Kenma can only speak for those in his province, but he knows there are others around the country who feel the same way. “A small group of people does not speak for the whole country, Kuro. Don’t let them shake you.”

Kuroo’s warm hand ruffles the top of his hair, pressing him closer to his body.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “it might be terrible of me, but all I can think about on the way home is you. Even though it’s the middle of the night, I wanted to see you as soon as possible. I just knew you would make everything better. Is that selfish of me?”

Kenma shakes his head, his voice thick with his feelings. “Even if it is selfish, you can be as selfish as you want with me. Wake me. Drag me out of bed. I don’t care.” Tell me I have to stay here and be yours forever.

“Stay the rest of the night, Kenma,” is all he asks.

~

The Elite and the prince meet the Karasuno family bright and early next Saturday morning. Their Crown Prince is a friendly-looking man with short black hair named Daichi Sawamura, who greets Kuroo with a crushing hug. Kenma is surprised at how close they seem to be, their twinkling eyes and teasing remarks firing off the minute they see each other. Prince Daichi’s companion is his Prince Consort, Sugawara Koushi, who stands next to him with a gentle smile on his face.

Bokuto takes the lead in introducing the Elites, as he’s met the Karasuno royal family many times before in the past. Prince Daichi shakes Kenma’s hand eagerly, his dark brown eyes taking in his appearance. Somehow, Kenma’s less intimidated by him. His Prince Consort, however, seems to be looking into his soul.

“Very nice to meet you, Kenma. You can call me Suga.” He grins. His hazel brown eyes light up as he talks to him. The silver of his hair shimmers prettily in the sunlight. “Maybe we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future.”

Kenma’s face burns with the implication. He doesn’t know if other countries keep up with the Selection, but he’s sure that the royal family at least is up to date with foreign affairs. It’s a praise and a huge compliment to be acknowledged by another Prince Consort.

Before he can respond, Suga lets out a small laugh at his expression. “Oh, I can see why Kuroo likes you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you this weekend, Kenma.”

“Likewise,” Kenma nods, managing a smile back.

He notices that there are a few others who have traveled here as well. There are two guards, one with a bald head and a scary-looking face and one with a cheeky grin and a tiny tuft of blonde among his wild black hair, styled upwards in a spiky appearance. There’s another timidly looking man with greenish black hair and freckles dotting his cheeks. Prince Daichi introduces him as their youngest advisor, Yamaguchi Tadashi.

They all have breakfast together in the dining hall, Kuroo apologizing on his father’s behalf for his absence. It seems that he’s still feeling too unwell even to greet important visitors such as one of their strongest allies. Luckily, Karasuno doesn’t seem to take offense to this.  

Semi and Oikawa take on most of the talking, which Kenma is fine with. He does keep his ears open for the conversation, though, following along with their discussions. The Karasuno family has visited here many times, but it’s been a few years since they last visited. It’s the first time that Suga has been here as an official Prince Consort.

Kenma tries to study him, the way he carries himself. Suga possesses a different kind of charm than Kuroo does, a quiet dignity, but there’s also a playful glint in his eyes. He seems to complement his husband, who also appears kind but more firm, holding a seriousness that can only be described as a mark of a true leader. They look good together, and they seem like the type of couple who would make up for each other’s faults. He doesn’t remember how they got together, but maybe if it’s not too rude, he’ll ask Suga about it later at the party.

After breakfast, Daichi and Kuroo head to a meeting with a few officials in the palace. Semi and Oikawa once again pick up the task of entertaining their remaining guests, while Kenma and everyone else works on the last-minute details of the party.

In between all the tasks, Kenma would’ve forgotten to get himself ready if Yachi didn’t hunt him down and drag him back to his room. At least they have the routine down by now, not needing too much time to get him ready.

The suit they’ve picked out for him this time is a plain black suit, but they’ve given him a nice golden silk pocket square that complements his hair and brings out the color of his eyes. Yachi pulls his hair up into a low bun this time, letting some hair hang loose by his cheeks to frame his face. It’s simple yet elegant.

Both of them give Kenma their brightest smiles and two thumbs up before sending him on his way. Kenma knows he’s getting ahead of himself, but he can’t help but think he will really miss them one day. He knows their true place isn’t here in this palace.

As for himself, he’s still trying to figure it out.

~

Because the guests of honor are from Karasuno, many of the officials and advisors attend the party this time around. Bokuto’s father is here and has slapped Kenma on his back many times teasingly, his booming laugh bringing attention to the two of them more than Kenma would like.

Kenma surprises himself by speaking to almost all of the advisors present as well. They seem less scary and intimidating here than they did sitting around a conference table. He wonders what their thoughts are on the Selection, whether they truly care on way or another, or they just take it as a nice distraction from the other news on the screen.

Kenma finds himself caring the most about Nekomata’s opinion. He’s been around since the beginning of the king’s coronation, serving Nekoma for most of his life. He always wears a kind smile. He doesn’t say much, but everyone listens when he speaks. He’s the closest to the king, but Kenma never gets the impression that he is anything like him.

 “Wonderful party,” he nods to Kenma as he nears him. Nekomata is wearing a dark maroon suit, his hands clasped behind his back. His smile reaches his eyes, deepening the wrinkles on his skin. “You should all be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you.” Kenma feels a tiny bit of pride swells in his chest. He wants to use this opportunity to talk to him, to ask him for advice, but he doesn’t even know what to say, how to begin.

Sensing his predicament, Nekomata says, gently, “The Selection is getting close to the end, isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder where all the time went.” He glances at Kuroo from across the room. “I still remember him as a shy little boy, crying every time he has to sit in meetings with his father.”

“He’ll make a great king,” says Kenma.

Nekomata looks at him, eyes twinkling. “Yes, I believe so too. You’ll make a great Prince Consort.” He smiles knowingly. “If you want it.”

For the second time that day, Kenma’s cheeks burn, having been found out. Is it obvious? How many people know? Or are they just being kind?

In Nekomata’s case, however, he seems like the type that does not let anything escape him.

“Do you really think so?” Kenma feels like a child, seeking approval from his parents, but he can’t help it. He wants to know if he’s doing the right thing, if it’s something someone like him can handle.

Nekomata chuckles underneath his breath, amused. “Kenma, I’m not one to follow the drama and the gossip. I barely keep up with the Selection other than what’s shown on the Reports weekly, but I trust Tetsurou to choose wisely. I trust him with the kingdom, don’t I? It’ll be silly if I can’t trust him with this.”

Kenma’s stunned into silence. It’s not exactly a compliment, but Nekomata has given him and Kuroo something better—his trust. It feels like an even bigger honor.

“Thank you,” he says, making sure the words convey just how much it means to him.

Nekomata just nods and pats him on his shoulder, his touch gentle and warm. He leaves Kenma to his thoughts as he goes to greet the other guests.

Feeling suddenly tired of social interaction for now, Kenma remains in his spot. He grabs a glass of wine and observes the rest of the room from where he’s standing.

Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. Daichi and Suga are dancing with each other in the middle of the room, Suga’s laugh bouncing off the walls cheerfully, adding to the sweetness of the music. One of Karasuno’s guards, the baldie, is trying to flirt with Shimizu, although it seems like he’s doing a very bad job. His face is completely red, and she’s staring at him through her glasses as he struggles to get out his sentences. She’s wearing a tiny smile on her face, though, so the scene is honestly endearing to see.

Karasuno’s advisor Yamaguchi is engaging in a conversation with Tsukishima, the latter showing him more interest than Kenma has ever seen him. Yamaguchi laughs occasionally and for a minute there, it almost seems like Tsukishima almost cracks a smile.

“That’s almost a laugh in Tsuki’s book, you know. Very impressive.”

Kuroo’s voice turns Kenma’s attention towards himself. He’s walking over to him with a grin on his face, hands in his pockets. The cuts on his face are mostly healed or hidden away with make-up. He is also wearing a black suit this evening, his gold cufflinks shining pretty every time it catches the light. Despite the formality, Kuroo’s top button of his white shirt is exposed, showing off the column of his neck and just a hint of his collarbones.

Kenma feels his throat run dry and takes a sip of his wine. “That’s what happens when he finally talks to someone who’s funny.”

“You don’t think I’m funny?” He gasps, clutching his neck.

“I think you have other strengths.”

“Strengths, plural? You’re being nicer to me than normal today.” He winks at him.

Kenma rolls his eyes. “I’m surprise you didn’t immediately fish for compliments.”

“I’m sure you’ll let me know soon enough.” His voice is light, but his eyes say something different.

When you tell me you love me, say it then.

Kenma looks away from him, staring back out at the crowd. “Presumptuous again,” he mutters under his breath, his cheeks beginning to heat up.

Kuroo doesn’t say anything back, but he laughs under his breath. He moves in closer so that they’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Kenma can feel the heat of his body and he can feel his movement every time he breathes. It’s not much, but the intimacy of it warms Kenma’s insides.

They people-watch together from their corner. Kuroo will occasionally point out someone he admires or make comments on certain individuals he doesn’t, giving Kenma far more context than he ever got from the meetings alone. At one point, though, Kenma notices that Akaashi and Bokuto are at another corner of the room, sharing laughs and drinks. If he doesn’t know them, it would’ve looked innocent, but maybe because he knows too much, he wonders if Kuroo does too.

Kenma briefly glances up at Kuroo, who is staring at them with an unreadable expression. He doesn’t seem angry or sad, but there’s a longing there that Kenma doesn’t miss.

“They look cozy.” He says to Kenma, his voice strange.

“Who? Akaashi and Bokuto? Whaaat? They’re like brothers, best bud—”

Kuroo gives out a small laugh at this, cutting Kenma off. “Kenma, that’s nice that you’re trying to protect them and my feelings, but Bo actually told me a while ago. And Akaashi did too. He asked to leave, but I told him he could stay until after this weekend.”

“Oh.” He lets out a tiny sigh of relief. “You know, they haven’t actually done anything.”

“I know.” Kuroo nods. “Bokuto wouldn’t do that to me. In fact, if I asked him to marry me right now, he would.”

Kenma almost laughs at the absurdity of that statement. He says plainly, “But you won’t.”

Kuroo shakes his head, his lips pulled into a small frown. “How can I do that to my best friend?”

To lighten up the mood, Kenma teases him, “I thought I was your best friend.”

“I don’t have the word to describe who you are to me,” says Kuroo, sounding even more serious than before.

Kenma finds himself looking at Kuroo again, wanting to know what the look on his face means, wanting to hear his every thought. He can agree with him, though—how can he even begin to describe to someone who Kuroo is to him? He’s not just a friend. He can’t even be called a best friend. He supposes that Kuroo might just be the love of his life. Yet Kenma feels unready to say it.

“Will you come to my room tonight?” Kenma asks.

“Of course.” Kuroo smiles at him. This time, however, it feels a little different, laced with a certain sadness.

Before Kenma can ask him what’s wrong, Kuroo walks back into the crowd, the look gone from his face. Whatever Kuroo Tetsurou feels inside, the prince doesn’t have the luxury of it.

~

Kenma doesn’t have to wait long that night for Kuroo to come. He’s still getting ready for bed when the knocks beat on his door. His body is so attuned with it now that his feet carry him over even before he’s finished drying his face, dripping water on the floor as he walks.

Kuroo laughs as he sees Kenma with a towel around his neck, his face slightly damp even as he’s letting him in.

“Give me a minute.” He tells him.

Kenma finishes with his routine in the bathroom quickly before returning to Kuroo. When he gets out, however, he finds his room empty. A cool breeze at his ankles pulls his attention to his balcony, where he finds Kuroo leaning against the railing, facing the garden below. From this view, he can see outside of the palace as well, into the streets where other people live, their houses lit up in random patterns. Kuroo isn’t saying anything much, but his eyes dance over the scene in front of him. His country. His heart. His burden.

“Is everything okay?” Kenma slides into the spot next to him. He feels the gentle wind brush through his hair, but it’s not cold enough to make him shiver.

Kuroo’s face is half-hidden from him, his profile showing the slight curve of his nose and the downturn of his lips. Kenma wants to kiss the frown off his face. If only it could be that easy.

“It’s one of those night where I’m reminded of all the things I have to give up. Things that others can have without question or judgement. Like Bokuto and Akaashi. I know it seems complicated now because they don’t want to be accused of treason, but I’ll dismiss them one at a time, so it won’t be suspicious. Then? They’ll get to be with whoever they want.” His voice is soft and wistful, but Kenma can tell that he doesn’t like himself for saying these things out loud.

“You already know that this whole thing was never my idea. Was never meant for me to enjoy. My father even manipulated the drawings so he could be sure I had the choices he wanted me to pick. And I’ve given up my entire childhood to prepare for the throne, but I—” He chokes on his words. His voice lowers as he continues, “—I know that this is terrible of me to say, but sometimes I don’t want to be the prince. I just want to be me.” He turns to Kenma, a mixture of longing and pain in his gold eyes, “And looking at you, I just want to be yours. I wish I could be just that without all the baggage that comes with it.”

“Tetsurou…” I do. I do. I want—

“It’s alright, Kenma.” He cuts him off. “I know I put a lot on you tonight. You still have time. We both do.”

Kenma doesn’t know how true that statement is anymore. It seems like any day now, Kuroo will ascend to the throne. The people, even those unhappy with the monarchy, want him to officially take over given the overall success of the town halls and the prolonged absence of the king. Once that happens, he’ll have to pick his Prince Consort.

Kenma feels a giant lump sitting in his throat. He wishes he could just end it now and take away his pain, but given Kuroo’s current state of mind, he wouldn’t accept it from him tonight, wouldn’t want to believe it.

Instead, Kenma lays his head on Kuroo’s shoulder and loops his arm around his own, squeezing him tight. He feels the weight of Kuroo’s head on his own, resting there, too.

Eventually, though, they have to break from one another. Kenma’s eyes are beginning to close, and the wind picks up too much for it to be comfortable outside. Despite his hope, Kuroo doesn’t stay the night. He has to debrief with his father about the day and update him on the Karasuno alliance. They kiss goodnight at his door, a quick, gentle brush of their lips. As Kuroo walks away, it takes everything inside of Kenma not to run after him.

~

The rest of the Karasuno’s visit goes smoothly. They all attend a lunch in the garden the next day, where Kenma is seated next to Suga, who asks him everything there is to know about himself. Kenma does get to find out more about him and Prince Daichi, eventually. It turns out, their story is similar to Kuroo and Bokuto’s if only they had fallen in love. Suga is the son of their royal family’s teacher, tagging along with the prince’s lessons every now and then. They have fallen in love with each other slowly over the years and have made it official last year with a publicized courtship and a wedding for the people.

“It was easy for me to choose him because well, I’ve grown up surrounded by his lifestyle and politics. With the way my family is, I would never have escaped anyways, so I might well follow my heart, right?” He smiles at Kenma. “I’m sure different for you though and the rest of the Selected.”

“Yeah,” Kenma laughs lightly, “You can say that. It was quite an adjustment to be there.”

“And now?” Suga wiggles his brows at him. “Is it difficult to leave?”

“It’s—” Kenma spares a glance at the head of the table. Kuroo and Daichi are intensely listening to something Oikawa is saying, then the three of them burst out into laughs, wiping tears away from their eyes. They’re so loud that the table shakes, the glasses knocking into each other. Kenma wants to see that kind of look on Kuroo’s face forever, wants him to never have to cry again. “—Yes. I don’t know if I can walk away from him.”

Suga follows his gaze with a pleased smile of his own. “I know it doesn’t come down to a vote or anything, so my opinions matter extremely little, but for what it’s worth, I think you two are good for each other. You seem like someone who can keep him grounded. It’s a stressful job, leading a country. Sometimes all they really need at the end of the day is someone who would care for them when they’ve spent all their time and energy on caring for literally everyone else.”

It all sounds so simple when he puts it like that. Coming from a Prince Consort, it makes Kenma feel reassured that maybe it isn’t going to be all life-changing. It’ll still be Kenma and Kuroo at the end of the day, falling asleep and sharing their lives with each other. Maybe his life isn’t going to be what he has imagined for himself before, but it doesn't mean that it will be bad. And with Kuroo by his side, really, is it even possible for him to have a bad life?

Kenma continues his conversation with Suga for the rest of lunch and teatime. When it’s time for the Karasuno visitors to leave, Suga shakes his hand and says,

“It’s so good to meet you. I’ll see you later.” His hazel eyes shine as they look into Kenma’s.

With a smile of his own, gripping his hand warmly, Kenma says back, “I’ll see you.” It’s spoken like a promise he intends to keep.  

~

When Monday rolls around, it’s time for Kenma to say goodbye to Akaashi. He expects it to be just him and Bokuto here, but to his surprise, Tsukishima is also waiting in the hangar with his suitcases by his side. He gives them a quick nod and disappears into the jet without a lot of fanfare, his headphones around his ears.

Kenma turns his attention to the black-haired man in front of him. Even though Kenma knows it’s coming, he still finds it hard to imagine this place without Akaashi, his companion for every meal and lesson, his first friend in the palace. Again, it’s beginning to hit him that the empty space every Selected fill will never be replaced, their absence a permanent vacancy inside these massive walls.

“I’ll write to you,” says Akaashi, wearing a small smile.

“I’ll try to write back.”

“You don’t have to promise.”

And they both laugh.

It’s enough to know that between the two of them, the bond will never go away. Kenma’s sure that this won’t be the last he sees his friend, albeit he cannot guarantee when they’ll meet next.

Kenma watches as the jet takes the two of them back to their homes, Bokuto by his side. They’re both quiet, both feeling the loss in their own way.

Another week passes quickly, and this time, Bokuto is the one lugging his suitcases into the trunk of a black van, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, grinning at Kenma.

Kenma can tell that he’s dying to hug him, so he lets him. He feels the air squeezed out of him by Bokuto’s strong arms.

“Take care of him, yeah?” Bokuto says softly into his ear. “He’s our boy.”

Kenma pats at his back. “I will.”

And then Bokuto, too, departs from the palace. With that, over the course of two weekends, the number of the Elite has dwindled down to just the top three.  

Chapter Text

When Kuroo waltz into the dining hall this morning, Kenma can tell from his body language alone that something has changed. Kuroo’s shoulders are tense, and his hands are clenching and unclenching by his sides as he walks across the room. He keeps his face neutral, but there’s a gentle purse of his lips and a worry behind his normally bright eyes.

Suddenly, the rice in Kenma’s mouth tastes like ash. He wonders if Semi and Oikawa have noticed already, but they seem to be engrossed in their own conversation.

“Good morning, gentleman,” Kuroo greets them, sitting down at his spot at the head of the table. There are only four of them now, so Kenma is directly across from him with the other two at either side.

He studies Kuroo’s face and tries to remember last night’s conversation. Kuroo didn’t stay long. His work has picked up now that he’s back from the town halls with new proposals and plans to implement. Still, Kenma can’t say with certainty that something was amiss then. It must’ve happened after, or this morning, whatever it is. In one fleeting moment, Kenma thinks that the king has passed, but he dismisses that quickly.

“This may come as a shock to you, or maybe not, but my father’s condition has worsened.” Kuroo starts, halting everyone from their meal. They lower their forks and hands, listening so quietly that Kenma can only hear the hum of the air conditioning above them when Kuroo pauses. “At this point, it’s best if I ascend to the throne and officially inherit the crown. The coronation will be in two week’s time. I will announce it at this week’s Reports, but I wanted to let you all know. In case it changes anything.”

“I think you will make a great king,” Kenma finds himself saying in the silence. “I always have. Now everyone will get to know that as well.”

All eyes fall on him, but he can only see Kuroo’s clear golden eyes looking back at him.

It doesn’t change anything for me.

“Thank you, Kenma.” Kuroo smiles as if they are the only people in the room. For a moment, it truly feels like that.

“You have my support always, Your Highness.” Semi nods at him, breaking Kuroo’s eye contact with Kenma.

Kuroo laughs a bit, releasing a relieved sigh. “You know, at this point, you all should call me by my name.”

“Okay, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa winks at him, which earns him another chuckle from Kuroo. “We always knew this day would come. I know you’re ready for it. Though I thought the Selection would be long over before you become king.”

Semi clears his throat and asks, “While we’re on the topic, what will happen with the Selection? I mean, when will you decide?”

Kenma and Oikawa are interested in this answer as well. The attention is turned back to Kuroo, who looks like he’s been expecting this.

“With all the preparation for the coronation, I won’t make any final decision until it’s over. After that,” he looks up, meeting everyone’s eyes one by one, “I will probably decide within another two week’s time.”

A month. That’s all the time he has left. It’s generous, considering everything.

Kenma finds it hard to breathe suddenly. He wonders if the other two did too because no one says anything for a while.

“Did I freak you all out?” Kuroo asks, his brows scrunched together as he surveys all their faces.

“No, no!” Oikawa reassures him, waving his hands. They do seem a bit shaky, despite the grin he has on his face. “Just had to let it all sink in, you know? It’s been a long time coming. It just feels so real all the sudden.”

“Right,” Kuroo says. He gestures back to the food in front of them, pushing it forward. “Please resume eating! I’m sorry I dropped such news in the middle of your nice breakfast.”

“It’s all good news. I don’t mind,” says Semi. He begins eating again, but Kenma can see the gears turning in his head behind his eyes.

With everyone distracted with their own thoughts, Kuroo arches his brows at Kenma from across the table. You okay?

Kenma nods back. Yes. Are you? He must be freaking out too, no matter how well he appears. It’s one thing to know you will be king someday. It’s another to have a date etched in stone, every ticking second pulling you closer to it.

He shrugs. As good as I can be.

Kenma tries to give him a reassuring smile. If he could reach out with his hand or even his legs without anyone noticing or accidentally hitting someone else, he would. He’ll have to wait until tonight to talk to him.

Breakfast passes without anymore Earth-shattering news. When Kuroo leaves to start his work, Semi follows him, his lips opening as if he has something important he wants to say. It leaves Kenma and Oikawa alone at the table.

It reminds him of his first ever moment as a Selected. Just the two of them in the back of the limousine. Did he think they would end up here together? Certainly not. Though a lot of things he thought then did not come true.

“What?” Oikawa says, raising his brows questioningly when he notices Kenma staring. His caramel brown hair is styled perfectly, falling nicely over his eyes.

Kenma doesn’t know where it comes from, but the words tumble out of his mouth as if he has always known them to be true, “You don’t love the prince.”

“What?” He scoffs, offended. “Of course, I love the prince.”

“No.” Kenma’s sure of it now that he’s said it out loud. It’s obvious to him now. “You love volleyball. You even love milk bread. But you don’t love the prince.” He doesn’t want to start a fight. He really should just leave it alone, but he finds himself unable to shut up. Curiosity and the cat or whatever the saying is.  

“Fine.” He throws up his hands in defeat. “What’s love got to do with it? Are you trying to get in my head now, Kenma?” He holds his gaze, his brown eyes glaring at Kenma’s in a show of defiance. He’s a pretty boy, but he can look fierce if he wants to.

Kenma shakes his head. “No. On the contrary, I think you and Kuro get along great. I think he could be happy with you.” In all their interactions together, Kuroo is always laughing at something Oikawa says. He’s been talking more about volleyball, too. More than Semi, Kenma thinks Kuroo can be happy with Oikawa. He adds after a thought, fearing that their own laissez faire attitudes will now be multiplied instead of cancelled out by someone else, “Although I would be scared for the sake of our country.”

Oikawa relaxes his shoulder. He chuckles under his breath, eyes gleaming in interest. “So, what is this about then?”

Kenma’s not so sure, but there’s something he’s been thinking about lately. Maybe it’s best to go straight to the source.

“I should be asking you that, no? You don’t need prestige or fame. You have that already being a successful athlete. You don’t necessarily care about the civil cause.” And you admitted you don’t love the prince, though he leaves this out. It’s implied. “All I can think about is—this isn’t about running towards something. It’s about running away.” He remembers the weekend their families visit and Oikawa’s peculiar behavior. “Maybe from someone.”

Oikawa lets out a huge sigh. He takes a long sip of water before saying, “You’re scary, you know that? Daishou and Haru were incredibly stupid to cross you.” He shakes his head in disbelief, his lips turned up in a small smile.

Kenma shrugs. “Call it what you want. I’m just curious.” He looks down at his own hands, feeling the heaviness in his chest. His voice lowers as he says, “We all have things we want but are scared of.”

“And yours is the crown?” See, Oikawa has been watching too. Kenma knows he doesn’t miss a lot either with those sharp eyes.

Kenma doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He looks back at him, cocking his head, “And yours is?”

He gives him a wistful smile and an honest answer for once, “Just a boy who could’ve been the one.”

“Ah.” There it is. “Boys are stupid, aren’t they?”

Oikawa lets out a surprised laugh. “Aren’t we boys, too?”

“Exactly.”

They share a knowing, bittersweet smile. They’re both sitting here in the final three for the same yet completely different reason—love. The best and worst curse of all.

~

In the days leading up to the coronation, Kuroo’s visits become sparse. He begins skipping meals again, and Kenma takes every precious minute he has with him to remind him to at least eat when he works. Kuroo always smiles back and rubs his head, like Kenma’s the one who’s being silly.

Kenma uses his free time to study and to track the increasingly polar public opinions in the news. Some are excited. Some are enraged. Some couldn’t care less because they think nothing will change. The majority, though, do favor the prince over his father, so there’s a small weight on the positive side of the spectrum.

What he cannot ignore, however, is the shared belief that the people want to have more say in the government. He remembers at his own town hall, the common consensus is that they value being able to have their voices heard. He knows Kuroo is working on something relating to this matter, but the details aren’t something Kenma knows too much about. He’s sure Semi knows, though.  

With Akaashi and Bokuto gone, in his moments of loneliness, Kenma roams the castle. He traces the steps from the hangar to the main hall, then around to the dining room, library, and Men’s room. He follows his and Kuroo’s usual path out to the garden, ignoring the cameras and the reporter’s speculations. He sits in the gazebo and replays his many dates with Kuroo in his head.

“Do you believe in aliens?” Kuroo asks, staring up at the blinking stars.

“What?” Kenma barely dodges an attack on his game. He’s getting used to Kuroo’s random, out-of-this-world question. Sometimes, literally.

“You know, life on other planets.” He waves his hands in the direction of the sky.

“Of course, I do.”

“Oh, thank god. Here I thought I was going to have to send you home if you said no.”

“You’re kidding.” He snorts.

Kenma laughs to himself now. Kuroo was not kidding. He truly believes that there is life outside of their small planet, their universe. It’s endless, always expanding, he says. Kenma believes that his love for Kuroo is like that too—a universe of its own, always expanding and growing inside his chest.

Making his way back inside the palace, Kenma parades down unfamiliar corridors. He studies the paintings on the wall. He tries to memorize every passage. He even tries to enter locked rooms, just to see if he’s missed anything.

He doesn’t know if he’s cataloging everything in his mind so that he will never forget this place or he’s just preparing himself to live here for the rest of his days.

Sometimes, he wants to go back to Kuroo’s room. He wants to go, specifically, to the quarter that belongs to the Prince Consort.

Could he imagine Semi living there? Or Oikawa? Would they sleep with Kuroo in his bed? Or in that room, always keeping a wall and a certain distance away from him?

Though he doesn’t like to think of Kuroo sharing his bed with anyone else, it hurts him to think that Kuroo will spend his nights alone.

Would Kenma be alone too somewhere out there? Probably. He can’t fathom loving someone else after Kuroo. Thinking about touching or kissing someone else makes him want to gag.

Kuroo was wrong. It’s he who has ruined Kenma, making him sick to his stomach with thought of being with someone else.

He has known it for a while now, but as he peruses down the empty halls, looking for all its faults and all its ghosts, nothing scares Kenma more than the thought of not being with Kuroo. He would rather be trapped here in this beautiful golden cage, in this huge fishbowl with the country’s eyes on him, than somewhere safe but cold, never again feeling the warmth and weight of Kuroo’s body on his. He will live a million difficult lifetimes by his side before he lives another simple one without him in it.

He’ll have to tell him. Soon. If Kuroo hasn’t already changed his mind about him, Kenma wants to tell him he loves him.

~

Usually, after midnight, Kenma knows that Kuroo won’t be dropping by. Tonight, he tries to level up on his game. He tries to sleep. He tries to do anything but worry and worry about him. But it’s been three days, and Kenma’s not convinced Kuroo’s anything more than skin and bones and caffeine in his veins.

Suddenly, he remembers that while he can’t see him, it doesn’t mean he can’t do something for him.

Kenma rings the bell by his bed. Just as his fingers press on it, he remembers that his maids are probably already asleep by now.

Shit. He silently curses at himself.

Well, maybe they wouldn’t hear the bell.

His wish is futile, however, when he hears footsteps approaching his door just as he’s slipping a sweatshirt over his head.

Hinata’s cheerful face pokes in. “You called, Kenma?” He can see Yachi’s feet on the floor behind him as well.

“Sorry if I woke you guys.” He smiles apologetically. “But I was wondering if you could help me get to the kitchen? I don’t remember the way, and I want to make a snack.”

“Oh! Well, if you want food, we can make you something really quick—”

“It’s not for me,” he says, waiting for the understanding to dawn onto him. Kenma remembers during their double date (that’s what he’s calling it now) with Akaashi and Bokuto, Kuroo says he likes to eat a snack when he works late at night. Kenma will bet anything that he’s still up right now.

Hinata still looks confused, but thankfully, Yachi saves his head from exploding.

“It’s for the prince, right? We’ll help you, Kenma!” She smiles and waves for him to follow them. Hinata lets out a drawn out, “Ooohh,” quietly under his breath.

Kenma hopes, once again, that he isn’t breaking another rule. He’s supposed to have a curfew at 9, after all, but if he’s escorted by his maids, that’s fine, right? What will they do to him at this point anyways?

They lead him down the stairs and through the passage of the main kitchen area. Believe it or not, someone’s cooking something in there right now. He wonders if the palace ever truly sleeps. He does make notes of the directions this time, so that he won’t have to bother his maids next time in the middle of the night.

Once they arrive at the small spare kitchen, they ask what he wants to make.

He hasn’t thought about this yet. He can have them help him with cookies or some kind of pastries, but it might take too long, and it’s already so late. He settles instead for something savory but easy enough—egg sandwich.

Hinata bounces away to get him the ingredients while Yachi gathers the ones already available in the kitchen. Kenma vaguely remembers where the pots and pans are, so he fetches one to start boiling the water for the eggs.

While they wait, Kenma leans on the counter with his elbows and asks Yachi, “Have you thought more about what you want to do yet?”

She looks startled at his question, her brown eyes widening, but the blushing taking over her cheeks show him the answer just the same. Yachi tucks her blonde hair behind her ears and say, “I think I want to do something with art or designing.” She says softly. “I designed all your clothes, you know. I’m not sure if I’ll continue with that or not, but it’s a start. And I—” She bites her bottom lip, unsure if she should go on.

Kenma arches his brows, encouraging her. “Yes?”

She smiles shyly at him. “I might travel to Karasuno. Our visitors were so interesting! I think I want to see what their country is like. Not that I’m saying I don’t want to get to know Nekoma more, or that I don’t trust Prince Kuroo to be a good king, or something I like that! I just think that maybe I need a change of scenery. Not that I think our country is ugly—” She starts to ramble now, her words rushing out one after another.

Kenma puts up a hand to stop her from hurting herself. He laughs a little at her anxious expression. “No worries. I understand what you mean.”

Hinata chooses this time to return to the kitchen with a handful of stuff. As Yachi helps him place everything on the counter, Kenma asks him the same question.

His answer is a surprising one, “I want to learn how to play the piano.” At Kenma’s stunned expression and Yachi’s shocked face, he hurriedly says, “Not that my chubby fingers would be that good at playing, you know, so I might have to try a different instrument, but I think it’s cool to be able to make beautiful music from the tips of your fingers. It’s a little bit like magic.”

Kenma doesn’t have to think far or hard about what inspired this train of thought. Though he wonders how on Earth Hinata has seen Kagayema play. Maybe he was working during the party and Kenma didn’t notice. He sincerely doubts that though—it’s hard to miss his bright orange hair in a crowd. If Kageyama wasn’t away when Kenma was home last, he would’ve pressed him for the details.

“I think that’s great.” Kenma smiles at him. He’s intrigued to see what kind of music Hinata would make. It certainly won’t be the elegant kind that stems from Kageyama’s fingers, but it’ll most definitely be interesting. “Both of you, really. I’m excited to see where life takes you.”

Their beaming faces look back at him happily.

“And we’re happy for you too! It’s about time you marry the prince.” Hinata laughs.

“Hey, the Selection is not over yet.” He reminds him.

Yachi shakes her head. Her lips carry a knowing smile. “Are you kidding? Even I have seen the way he looks at you. It’s been over for months now. Since that first day, probably.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. He doesn’t respond, but he begins making his sandwiches. There’s not much to do, so the two of them just watch him, chiming in with their own chatter the way they do when they get him ready for every event.

He’s so genuinely happy for them. He’s so proud that they’ve chosen something uniquely their own and are brave enough to say it into existence—it’s the first real step before finally doing it.

Kenma can’t help but think, though, that he won’t get his own maids after they leave. He can’t replace them. It won’t be the same, and maybe it’ll help him regain some sense of normalcy having to get himself ready instead of being pampered by someone else.

At the end of the day, Kenma also has to remind himself of this fact, too—the Selection is not over yet. He shouldn’t get too ahead of himself.

It doesn’t take him long at all to make the sandwich. He silently thanks his mother for teaching him the recipe and all the time he’s had to pack this exact thing for lunch during dance practices and competitions. Kenma lays it on a tray along with a glass of water for Hinata to bring up to Kuroo.

Yachi helps him back to his room, and Kenma finds that this time, he easily falls asleep.

~

Kenma doesn’t expect Kuroo to come the next night, so he’s pleasantly surprised to see him at his door just a little bit after nine. He looks better than the Kuroo in his imagination. The circles under his eyes aren’t as dark, and when Kenma touches his face, his hands don’t meet hollowed cheeks and bones.

Kuroo kisses him before he even comes in, and Kenma tastes the sweetness of his lips for the first time in days. He’s like a flower that has finally been watered. A plant finally placed in the sun.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” Kuroo murmurs at his lips.

I am always thinking of you. Instead, he says, “You’re welcome.”  Kenma’s eyes glide over his face again to see if there’s anything else he has missed. He sees the same wrinkles and moles dotting his skin. He fights the urge to kiss every single one of them. They’d never leave this spot.

The corner of Kuroo’s mouth quirks up. “Can I put in requests for future snacks or…?”

Kenma rolls his eyes as they walk farther into his room. “You can request, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Ah, that’s fine. I’ll just be surprised again next time.” He smiles.

They settle together on Kenma’s couch. Maybe it’s the lightning, or maybe it’s the fact that once Kuroo sits down, his tiredness washes over him more than he expects, but Kenma can see his shoulders sag visibly as he sinks into the cushions.

On Kenma’s longest and hardest days, he can think of only a few things that make him feel better.

He stands up again and holds out his hand.

“Come over here for a minute.”

Kuroo’s eyes ask him silent questions, but he follows Kenma to his bed, nonetheless.

“Lay on your stomach.” He tells him, moving the blanket around so that he has a flat surface to lay on.

“I like it when you’re bossy.” Kuroo faces away from him, but Kenma can hear the grin in his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re obsessed with me, I know.”

Kuroo laughs, but he doesn’t deny it.

Kenma isn’t the best at this, but being a dancer, he knows a thing or two about sore backs and muscles. He suspects that if Kuroo’s hunched over at his desks all day, his necks and shoulders must be killing him.

“Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” He says before he begins, his hands dancing over the T-shirt overlaying his back. Last he checked, all of his wounds have healed and scarred over, so nothing should hurt, but he still wants to be careful.

The other man nods, his messy back hair bouncing as he does so.

Kenma starts with his neck first, his hands pressing down at junction where it meets Kuroo’s shoulders. He can feel the knots under his hands, doing his best to relieve all the tension stored there.

As Kenma continues his work down his back, he can’t help but think about the words trapped inside of his chest, all his feelings towards the man right in front of him.

What will happen if Kenma walks away?

Will Semi know how to take care of Kuroo when he has fever? Will Oikawa lay cooling cloths over his head?

Will they know to ignore him when he says he’s fine? Will they hold him when he finally admits he’s not?

Will they yell at him when he needs to take a break? Will they let him talk and talk and talk when he needs to get something out?

Will they love him? Love him despite not being in love with him?

Kenma’s eyes burn thinking about it. He thinks about Kuroo with his stupidly giant heart in these halls, all alone, wandering around in this huge place he calls home with no one who loves him under this roof.

He can’t do that to him. He won’t.

“Tetsu—”

Kuroo slinks his hand back around to rest it on Kenma’s, stopping him in his tracks. “Come down here, Kenma. Lay with me,” he says softly.

Kenma does.

When Kenma’s back hits the mattress, Kuroo maneuvers them so that he’s holding him to his chest. He can see every time it rises. He can hear every single beat of his heart. If he closes his eyes, with Kuroo’s strong arms around him, he will think—he will know—that nothing in his world can hurt him now.

“I’ve known it for a while now, Kenma.” Kuroo says. Kenma can hear the vibration of his voice against his ears. “I’ve been delaying my decision because, I guess I’m scared too, but I know what I want to do. I’m sorry for putting it on you. These past few days, you’ve cleared it up for me. A lot. You don’t have to decide, okay? I will.”

Kenma doesn’t know why, but he feels like he wants to cry. He swallows the words that have crawled their way up his throat, so heavy he thinks he might choke on it.

“Okay.” He nods. He feels Kuroo’s hand brushing through his hair and his chin resting on the top of his head.

How many more moments will he have with Kuroo like this?

Too many to count, he hopes.

But Kenma will not say what he wants to say. It has always been—and should be—Kuroo’s decision to make. His Selection. He doesn’t have much say in regard to the rest of his life, he should be able to choose who he will spend it with. 

Still, Kenma wishes he can say it to him once.

I love you.

He closes his eyes. He hopes it never comes—a morning in which the words die before they can even form their shapes on his tongue.

~

On the day of the coronation, Kenma can hardly breathe. He feels as though he is the one who will be crowned, although that cannot be further from the truth. He supposes everyone in the palace is feeling jittery, though. You can hear the walls vibrate from excitement and the hundreds of footsteps of officials flocking the halls. Even Hinata, who is already a ball of energy at baseline, is ready to bounce off the walls any second now.

Yachi has chosen for him a nice muted yellow suit with a pocket chain pinned with Nekoma’s flag on his left chest. She puts his blonde hair up again in a bun, out of his face. When Kenma looks at himself in the mirror, he feels a tiny bit of pride in knowing that he looks more and more like someone who could become Prince Consort every day. If he was to retake his portrait with Kuroo today, it could even be deserving of a framed spot on the wall this time.

Hinata and Yachi won’t be attending the coronation in person, but they’ll be watching alongside the rest of the kingdom. They wish him luck and send him out the door.

The ceremony takes place in the throne room, which Kenma has never been to before and has not realized the existence of until today. Apparently, it’s reserved only for special occasions such as this. It’s a huge room, almost the size of a banquet hall, but the thrones are placed at the front of the room, similar in orientation to how the Reports is set up. It now occurs to Kenma that the Reports studio probably mimics this place, not the other way around. The thrones here are made of real jewels and rolls of expensive red velvet fabrics.

The camera crews are already set up when Kenma arrives. He notes that Shishio and Oikawa are already here as well, chatting with one another at the front of the stage. Oikawa is wearing a pale blue suit which perfectly complements his skin. Kenma’s almost annoyed at how good he looks in everything. He glances around for the last of their trio, but Semi has yet to arrive. Thankfully, they don’t have mics today, so there’s no real rush to get here before it starts.

Kenma feels a hand dropping on his shoulder, making him jump. He spins around to see Bokuto’s shining face smiling brightly at him, his silver and black hair styled up in its usual spikes.

“Hi, Kenma! Long time no see.”

“Hi.” He smiles back, genuinely pleased to see another familiar face in the crowd. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“My father invited me.” He explains, still grinning. “Even if he didn’t, I can’t miss this, right? I would’ve found a way to see my best friend be crowned king.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you.”

Kenma lets Bokuto talk about all the things he’s done since leaving the palace, including but not limited to his letters with Akaashi. They haven’t made anything official yet since the Selection is still going on, but Kenma can tell that the stress of keeping it a secret has significantly abated once they’re outside of the palace and the direct spotlight of the Selection.

“We’re taking our time, you know? Now that we’re finally back to ‘the real world’,” Bokuto puts the phrase into quotation marks, “we want everything to progress naturally. What if we had forced feelings because we’re confined in here together?”

Kenma gives him a look. It makes Bokuto burst out laughing.

“I know, I know. That’s what I told him!” He says, nodding his head at him excitedly. “But I’m fine with taking it slow. We don’t need to rush anything. We have time.”

Kenma nods his agreement. He finds himself thinking about Kuroo and his comment about the freedom that he does not have compared to other people. Kuroo doesn’t get to take it easy. Even with Kenma dragging his feet the entire Selection, they still have known each other for less than a year. To be expected to marry someone during that time? It would be considered rare under normal circumstances.

After a while, Kenma notices that both Semi and Oikawa have found their seats on stage. He excuses himself from Bokuto and makes his way to his spot as well.

“Does anyone else feel weirdly nervous?” Semi mutters to them as Kenma takes the spot on his right. He’s wearing a nice silver suit, a shade darker than his hair. Kenma sees that on his left pocket, he has a Nekoma flag pin as well.

“Yup.” Oikawa agrees, letting out a relieved breath. “I thought it was just me.” Looking closely at him, Kenma can see his cufflinks are in the shape of their flag. He briefly wonders whose idea it is. It’s a good one, showing the three of them as a united front in full support of the Crown Prince. He won’t put it past Shimizu to come up with a brilliant idea such as this.

As everyone else finds their seats in the crowd, Kenma can’t help but gawk at the size of their audience. There are many familiar faces to him, given that most are officials, but he can see a few unfamiliar faces as well, no doubt other important figures throughout the country that have flown in for this. The mayor of his province is here, too, sitting in the back with the others. Kenma nods at Nekomata’s smiling face in the front row.

He doesn’t know how he can hear Kuroo enter with the chatter and noise of the room, but his ears pick up the footsteps from the other side of the stage. Kuroo is escorting his father up to his seat. King Kuroo looks aged, his hair has become thinner and frailer than the last time he’s made a public appearance. Still, he has the pride of a king written on his face and the way he carries himself, his shoulders tall and broad. The room seems to quiet down as he takes his seat—the last time it’ll be his to call his own.

Kuroo is wearing his maroon regalia, decorated with medals and gold strings all throughout. His shoulders fill out the suit nicely, and if it’s possible, he seems to have grown several inches, fully breaking in his royal attire. His face is full of emotions, etched with tension lines and a touch of nervousness, but there’s a glowing, hopeful look behind his gold eyes. It’s as though he’s seeing the future played out in front of him, something the rest of them do not see.

With a wave of his hand, the room falls silent, and the coronation begins.

It’s the king that takes the stage first with his speech, thanking his people and his country for their trust in him these past few decades. His voice echoes through the room in its usual command of respect. All eyes are on him, but Kenma sneaks a glance at Kuroo just behind him. For a brief second, their eyes meet, and Kenma gives him a smile and a nod of his head. He would’ve thought that Kuroo has missed it if not for the smallest curve on his lips in return.

Kenma should be paying attention to the king, who is still in the middle of his address. However, his attention is drawn towards the crowd in front of him at the hundreds of faces all looking in one direction, instinctively attracted to something out there.

Kenma sees the tiniest flicker of movement in the distance. It’s so small and fast that it’s a miracle he spots anything at all. He suspects it’s a myriad of things that make up this miracle.

It’s the culmination of his years of playing video games, training his eyes to attune to danger in the far corner of the screen. It’s the manifestation of his worst and biggest fear, having replayed in his head many times in preparation for this one horrible moment for everything to fall apart.

Kenma finally understands why he’s here, why he has to be sitting in this exact spot in this exact place, why his heart is beating for one specific person.

There’s a gun man. There’s his Kuroo on the stage.

Where is he aiming? Are there others in the crowd? Where are the guards positioned? How long will it take—

Gun man. Kuroo. Gun man. Kuroo. Gun man. Kuroo.

Gun. Gun. Gun.

I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.

Kuroo.

Kenma has never been first to volunteer or first to speak out. He never jumps off cliffs or rides the tallest rollercoaster rides. He doesn’t fight bears or lions. Kenma will never say that he’s heroic or brave.

Truthfully, in that moment, his body moves on its own. His mind screams at him to not lose him. Maybe he screams out loud, too. He can’t hear much over the sounds of shots firing through the air, ripping through the stillness and turning the king’s voice into terrified shouts from everyone in the room.

What will become of Kenma if he loses Kuroo? He hopes he never has to find out.

He runs and dives towards him. And the world goes black.

~

The night before the coronation, Kenma, already half-asleep, decides to drag himself out of bed. How Kuroo has gone all this time without blurting out his confession is beyond him. Kenma thinks he can’t go another minute.

He sits down at his desk and finds a piece of paper and a pen. The words flow out of him easily, rushed, barely having any time to dry on the page before another line follows. He writes as if he’s exhaling a long, drawn-out breath, his lungs aching when he reaches the end.

From his drawer, he finds the ring his parents have given him safely tucked inside its box. He slips it into the envelope. He seals it, feeling as though his entire heart is contained within this letter in his hand.

Kenma returns to bed, allowing himself to succumb to sleep.

This is what sits on his desk, awaiting delivery to its rightful recipient when the time comes.

Tetsurou,

As I am lying here in my room, all I can think about is you. Truthfully, you have never left my mind ever since the day we met. I have never met someone like you—and not because you are a prince, but because of your warm hands, eager heart, and the easy ways you’ve shown me how much you care for me.

I know I’ve been unfair to you. I’ve been scared of how much you mean to me and what my life would look like with you. Now, what scares me more is what my life would look like without you.

But I want—what I really want is for you to have the life that you deserve. Whatever you decide, whoever you choose to be by your side for the rest of your life, I will support your decision.

Still, I want to say it once, even though it might be too late. I want you to make your choice, but I also want to let you know mine.

I know your heart belongs to the kingdom, and that is okay. My heart belongs to you.

I love you, Testurou, so much that I think my chest will burst from the force of it one day.

I want to be with you. As your partner, your better half, and your voice of reason—even though, honestly, you are the better half of my soul. I just want to be yours, no matter what that life might look like. The crown, your family, the responsibilities—they do scare me, but I can handle all of that if I get to be with you. All of you. I want it all.

You told me that I should tell you my reasons when I finally say that I love you, but I would rather do it in person, even if you’re no longer mine. I hope that’s okay. I just would like to see your face when I say it.

I don’t really know how to end this except…I love you. That will always be true.

In this life of mine, my heart is yours,

Kenma

Chapter Text

When something happens that changes your life forever, sometimes you feel perpetually stuck at that age. Even as you grow older and taller, even as your voice changes to that of an adult, you’ll still feel like that version of yourself that stands helpless as the world crumbles around you, always just that small.

Kuroo’s life changes on a Friday evening when he’s eight years old. From one minute, he’s the Second Prince, getting scolded because he refuses to get on a plane, and the next, he’s the Crown Prince, meeting the blank eyes of his father through blurry vision, hearing these words out of his mouth, “Move into your sister’s room. It’s yours now. You’ll start following me tomorrow.”

Not a moment for Kuroo to comprehend that he’s lost his two favorite people in the world, the ones whose arms he falls into when he can’t sleep at night.

Not a moment for him to cry. Or scream. Or ask, “What will happen now?”

What will happen is already determined. He’s next in line for the throne. That’s it.

Kuroo still remembers the exact outfit he was wearing that day, the exact spot he was standing, the exact feeling of emptiness inside his chest. Perhaps it isn’t “emptiness” but a feeling so large that it was hard for him to comprehend at that time, so all he felt was nothing.

The palace staff works fast, and all of his sister’s things are moved out of her room by that night, replaced by Kuroo’s clothes and books. The room looks achingly bare even with all his things in it. Kuroo feels even smaller here, surrounded by the empty space his sister has left behind.

Gone was her comfortable purple duvet and the white canopy around her bed. Gone were the piles of paper she liked to draw and make notes on. Gone was her pair of glasses on the desk Kuroo used to try on to pretend to be more like her even though it made his head hurt. But her perfume and the smell of her strawberry shampoo lingers in the air. Kuroo supposes that’s something they can’t easily get rid of. The scent stings his nose and eyes, and he finds himself crying, his chest aching so much he wishes he can scream it all away.

It's impossible for him to think that anything can ever be okay again. He feels like he will always hurt somewhere in his body. Maybe that’s for the better. The pain means that he will never forget his sister and his mother, and that becomes a different, if not cruel, comfort on its own.

Kuroo doesn’t sleep in his new room for the first few months, though. It’s ironic, really. He used to climb into his sister’s bed all the time before, but now that he’s missing her the most, he can’t stand it. It doesn’t feel right to be there without her. Many times, he’ll walk towards his own room at the end of the day, already stepping into it before remembering that he doesn’t sleep there anymore. Sometimes, he considers climbing into his mother’s bed, but the thought of his father stops him.

In that instance when Kuroo’s life changes, he understands that his father’s has too. There’s an invisible switch that’s flipped, turning him from someone stern into someone unapproachable. And Kuroo also knows that his first thought when his father looks at him after hearing the news is, It should have been you.

He knows he’ll never be his sister, but what’s more is that he’ll never be his father’s daughter. Even before his father ever lays his hands on him, he understands that. The rest are just nails on a coffin.

He learns to be okay with it. He will never be good enough. He will always have to give up something because rightfully, he should’ve died that day with them or maybe instead of them. He should earn his life, earn his title. He will do whatever it takes to be deserving of living, of being the future king.

Kuroo truly believes that his life only amounts to that much. He doesn’t dare to wish for anything more. That is, until he meets Kenma.

~

In the first few months after his sister’s and mother’s death, Kuroo sleeps in the room meant for the Prince Consort. Because the room is technically not in use, the heat doesn’t work as well, so Kuroo has to stay under two sets of blankets in order to feel warm. The weight of it strangely comforts him.

For the nights that he’s there, sometimes Kuroo imagines that he is somebody else, just a regular boy whose life isn’t so complicated. Under unfamiliar sheets, staring up at unfamiliar ceilings, he almost believes it, but only before the mornings come again.

As Kuroo grows up, his loneliness seems to grow with him, ever expanding with no intention of shrinking into a manageable, forgettable size. He’s grateful for Bokuto, who occasionally joins him in his classes and dinners. His father even deems him a suitable enough influence to allow him to stay the night during weekends.

Still, even on the receiving ends of Bokuto’s brightest smiles and loudest laugh, Kuroo feels as though he will never understand him fully. Even though his friend has all the charisma and upbringing for a politician, he isn’t born for this life. Kuroo isn’t either, but Bokuto at least has a choice in the matter. One day, Bokuto will not be there for him anymore. Kuroo finds himself wishing for somebody on his side, someone who will always be within reach.

Some nights, even as he gets older and more used to the thought of his sister’s room being his own, Kuroo sneaks into the Prince Consort room when he can’t sleep. He would sit on the floor and stare at that empty room. He would wonder what it would be like to have someone here, just on the other side of his wall. Would they welcome him to bed? Would they look forward to talking to him at the end of the day? Would this room become truly warm one day with the presence of someone else who can be his companion for the rest of his days?

The prospect of him marrying has always been brought up in relation to how it will benefit Nekoma. Kuroo understands that he might have to marry someone for an alliance or through the Selection like his father. He doesn’t dare hope that love is something truly on the table for him because it may never come true.

A part of him longs for it, though. Even though he doesn’t dare to say it out loud in fear of wanting too much, he wants to feel loved again. When the Selection is brought up in the midst of the civil disputes, Kuroo feels so selfish that he even thought about finding love in the face of his people’s suffering. Then, he’s truly scared that no one will ever want him back. They want to be Prince Consort, sure. Want to be married to the prince, probably. But they wouldn’t want him.

And what if Kuroo never falls in love with any of them? Who’s to say that it’s a guarantee? Leave it up to fate? He’s not sure he believes in that.

But when Kuroo meets Kenma for the first time, looking into his clear, beautiful golden eyes, he feels as though anything can be possible. He wants to know more about this man standing in front of him, shivering under the dark blanket of the night. He has an urge to hold him and ask him why his eyes are brimming with tears. He wants to know why it feels like he has known him for a lifetime and not just for a moment.

He recognizes his face briefly from the list of men Selected. Kuroo wants to kick himself for not remembering his name.

Kenma is muttering and apologizing profusely in front of him, bowing his head. “Fuck. I mean, I’m sorry. Your highness, I apologize for my outburst. I—”

“Are you alright?” He cuts him off by touching a hand on his shoulders, bringing him up.

Kenma keeps his eyes low, letting his beautiful blonde hair cover his face. Kuroo wants to see his face again. He wants to tell him everything is going to be okay. Already, his heart aches for him.

“Yes,” he responds, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing, shaky as it escapes his lips.

Out of all the things he could’ve said, Kuroo says this, “Lying to your prince is considered treason.”

Kenma snaps his head up, his lips falling open, horrified. Now, Kuroo really wants to kick himself. What ever happens to his charm? Isn’t he supposed to be good at talking to people?  

He hurriedly tries to reassure Kenma. “I’m kidding! I mean, I’m not but—ah, anyways, this is a bad time for jokes, isn’t it? Let’s start over. I’m Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. And you are?”

What Kenma says next isn’t exactly untrue, “Not supposed to meet you until tomorrow.”

It rips a laugh out of Kuroo’s throat, so unexpected that it surprises even himself.

What Kenma should’ve said is, Someone who will change your life. Maybe that will be more accurate of a statement. Maybe Kuroo would’ve better prepare himself for the ways Kenma will weave into the fabric of his life. Maybe Kuroo would’ve known then to truly and wholeheartedly treasure every single second with him.

Still, even if he doesn’t know the extent of it, a part of him already knows that Kenma isn’t just another Selected, just a face in the crowd. Even without meeting anyone else, Kuroo knows that he wants to look for him in a sea of others.

Kuroo leads Kenma to one of his favorite spots, wanting to share a part of himself and hoping that it’ll somehow make him feel more at home and less overwhelmed.

The words Kenma speak that night feel as though they’ve been living inside of Kuroo, wishing someone would’ve released them and set them free. Kuroo is stunned that a complete stranger can feel in a couple hours what Kuroo has felt his entire lifetime. It makes him feel as though he isn’t so unreachable. That maybe he, too, has a chance to be understood, to be known, to be loved.

Kuroo holds his breath when he asks Kenma if he wants to go home. If he says yes, he will not keep him. He can be happy knowing that he’s met him. He can be happy knowing that Kenma is happy somewhere out there. But Kenma wants to stay despite his anxiety and despite his reluctance. Kuroo wonders if he, too, can feel something between them.

Kuroo would’ve stayed there in the garden all night talking to and listening to Kenma talk, but a yawn from him reminds Kuroo that it’s been a big day. He should feel tired, too, but he finds that he feels nothing short of elated. After Kuroo hands Kenma off to Tora, he gets an earful from Yaku for breaking the rules. He can’t even be bothered to bicker with him, though, because all he can think about is when he can see Kenma next.

He passes by his family portrait in the hall on the way to his room. He often stops to admire it. He likes to remember that version of his family, and he likes to think that sister is looking down at him from somewhere, smiling just as she does in that picture. Sometimes, he stares at her like she will give him the answer, like she will give him solace. It’s one of the few places left where he feels her presence.

Today, Kuroo whispers into the empty hall, looking up at her bright young face, “I think I met the man I want to marry. I hope he sticks around. I hope he wants me too.” Maybe it’s too much, too soon, but Kuroo has forgotten what it’s like to feel excited about something. He hopes that it’s okay for him to want this.

He falls asleep that night more hopeful than he has been in a long, long time.

~

Kuroo looks over every Selected’s file before meeting with them the very first morning. He smiles at Kenma’s picture with his half-dyed hair, his black roots showing at the top of his head. He’s a dancer. Kuroo will have to look up some of his performances in his free time. Maybe he’ll get lucky, and Kenma will dance for him? But that’s getting way too ahead of himself.

Kuroo does try his best to keep an open mind when meeting the other Selected. He reminds himself that he can’t get too fixated on Kenma because Kenma doesn’t seem like someone who would be very happy to be trapped here. Just because he wants to stay for now, doesn't mean that it won’t get too much for him later.

But as much as he tries to go on dates with other people, his mind will often wander towards Kenma when it gets a chance. And when he is with him, Kuroo finds that he can’t think much about anything else. It’s so easy to sit and be in his presence that time will pass without Kuroo knowing it.

It really comes down to this—Kenma doesn’t expect him to be anybody. Next to him, Kuroo never has to worry about being the prince. He never has to worry about being perfect. He never has to doubt whether Kenma wants him there.

Everyone wants something from him. Everyone needs something from him. Everyone but Kenma.

It’s scary to love someone so much so fast. And after revealing more of himself to Kenma in the safe room, and nearly losing him in the attack, Kuroo almost sends Kenma home. Kenma is so good to him, and he doesn’t deserve to be caught in this complicated, dangerous life. Part of Kuroo also wants to push him away before Kenma can decide that he doesn’t actually love him after all to protect his own heart.

Kuroo’s too selfish for that, though. He will take all the time he can get with Kenma, and when Kenma decides to leave, he will let him go. That and Kuroo knows it will hurt Kenma to be let go like that. Kuroo decides long ago that he will never lie to him, and he will never make his decisions for him either. He would be doing to Kenma what everyone has been doing to him his entire life. He knows how suffocating that is.

And then Kenma goes and does something so unthinkable as to ask him this in the middle of the dance floor, “Do you want to lead or should I?”

If Kuroo doesn’t know that he loves him before, he certainly does now. Kenma, with his golden eyes brighter than any star. Kenma, with his small, easy smile that makes Kuroo’s stomach turn over itself. Kenma, with the gentlest hands and softest lips…Everyone expects Kuroo to lead because isn’t he the prince? But with Kenma, he is just another person.

What will it be like to give your heart and your life to somebody else? Kuroo will give his everything to Kenma if he asks, if he wants it. He will get on his knees right now in front of everybody.

He can’t. The closest thing he can do is breathe and say, “You.”

Who else, if not Kenma? He feels like Kenma is the answer to every question he’s ever had. The key to every locked door.

Kenma holds his body close and spins them around the dance floor in the tune of an old, familiar song. If Kuroo is thinking clearly, he will know the name of it, but he’s much too concentrated on following the glint in Kenma’s eyes, on the ways his hips guide him and flush against him. Kuroo feels as though his heart is on fire, barely able to contain all the things he feels inside.

Dancing with Kenma is like dancing in a beautiful dream. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like everything is glowing around them, although Kuroo’s sure that it’s Kenma who’s glowing, whose presence just makes everything that bright.

Even though their position is a bit awkward at first with Kuroo being so much taller, as they swirl around the room, Kuroo can’t help but feel that they fit together effortlessly. In this and in every way, it’s strange how someone so different from him can feel like just another part of him, so in tune that they fill in each other’s gaps, fitting as if they are one.

Kuroo’s grateful that Kenma is leading because he doesn’t know how he would think of the steps with Kenma looking so breathtakingly beautiful in front of him like this. No camera in the world, no amount of oil paintings can capture the look on his face. Kuroo will just have to remember it forever. He doubts he can ever forget.

He wants so much for the song to never end. He wants so much for Kenma to keep him in his arms forever. He wants so much for them to stay indefinitely in this moment.

He doesn’t understand before—the concept of all-consuming love—but he knows now. His love for Kenma consumes him. If—when?—Kenma decides to leave him, Kuroo will never love again. He can only hope that he doesn’t. What Kuroo doesn’t plan for is how Kenma can be taken away from him regardless.

~

Akaashi’s lips are soft with a hint of shea butter. Kuroo feels the stickiness of his ChapStick on his lips and resists the urge to wipe it off in front of him.

Akaashi smiles even before their lips part, his voice whispering, “I won’t break, you know.”

Kuroo is too gentle with his kisses. He knows that. But he can’t kiss anyone without thinking of—

“Kenma won’t either. He’s stronger than he looks.”

He blinks at him. He feels like he’s been caught cheating even though it’s the point of this whole thing. He opens his mouth to say something but what?

Akaashi lets out a small laugh and releases him from his misery. He backs away, letting his hands fall from his sides.

“Oh please, maybe other people are delusional enough to think they still have a chance with you, but I know how it is.” He shrugs, not looking hurt at all.

It’s a couple days after their families visit. There are only eight of the Elites left now, so the numbers are dwindling down quickly. Kuroo is not so clueless that he believes everyone there loves him, but everyone who is still here is here for a reason.

“And you still kissed me?” Kuroo arches his brows at him. He considers Akaashi a good friend. He has a strong head on his shoulders. If he is to become his Prince Consort, he will have a strong, reliable person by his side.

Akaashi looks away at his question though. His blue eyes seem to look somewhere in the distance.

“I wanted to figure something out for myself.” He admits.

It’s not the first time they kissed, and Kuroo’s beginning to understand that they’ve been using each other for the same reason—to rule out a possibility.

“Do I want to know?” Kuroo suspects something already. Bokuto has mentioned it briefly to him, but truly, the less he knows the better. He trusts them both not to be stupid.

Akaashi turns his attention back to him. His expression is so serious that Kuroo is taken aback by it. He lowers his head in a bow and says, “I know I have no right to ask you of this because my purpose in the Selection is served. We are not compatible with each other, so you should let me go. But please, if I can stay for a few more weeks. I—there’s still something else I need to figure out. But I won’t do anything that will be considered treason, and if you wish it, we can get married. At any point. You can say the word.”

Kuroo waves his hands and motions for him to lift his head. “I won’t do that to you. I can let you stay but just be careful. I wouldn’t let anyone know of our conversation in case they try to use it against you.”

“I understand.” The relief is evident in his face. Kuroo can see the honesty and sincerity behind his deep blue eyes.

Kuroo smiles. “And I think Kenma likes you as a friend, so please look out for him.”

“Can I ask you something else? I don’t want to push my boundaries too much, so just say no if you don’t want to answer.”

He nods for him to continue.

“Why haven’t you—I mean, if you and Kenma love each other, why—?” He doesn’t finish the rest of his question, but Kuroo understands him all the same.

“I would if I think he would be happy here with me.” Kuroo feels a small pang on his chest as he says so. “But as of now, I don’t think he’s fully ready for it yet, and I don’t want to trap him here. Even if he loves me, I wouldn’t want to force Kenma to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Akaashi hums his understanding. Then he says, “I see what you mean by not wanting to force him here, but I do think you’re wrong on one count.” Kuroo raises his brows in interest. “I think he will be happy here with you. If you were to be married today, he would feel more happy than trapped. But I admire you for letting him choose.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Kuroo gives him a small smile. “Sometimes, I wonder if it would be better for Kenma if I let him go. Maybe he deserves to live a life unburdened with the responsibilities of a royal. But I’m much too selfish to do that.”

Akaashi shakes his head. “If he wants that, you and I both know he would be gone already.”

Kuroo lets Akaashi’s words comfort him. He resists the urge to protect Kenma from his world. Kenma’s allowed to choose what he can and can’t handle. Even before he sees how Kenma manages to deal with Haru and Daishou, Kuroo understands that there’s not much of anything he can’t do.

Still…still, as the gunshots echo through the throne room, and as Kenma’s frantic, wide eyes meet his from across the stage, Kuroo wishes he had sent him away from this place. He should be at home in his small and simple bedroom, his hands tapping away at the buttons of his gaming console. Far and safe.

Kuroo watches Kenma hurl towards him, and in that split second, he feels as though he’s eight again, the world crumbling and crashing down around him. Kenma hits his body, slamming him into the ground as the bullets hit him. Kuroo feels his blood on his clothes and in his hands, soaking everything it touches. His vision is blurred with his tears and his voice is hoarse from screaming. Someone wants to drag him away into a safe place, but he holds onto Kenma’s limp body with a vice-like grip.

He understands that he could die at this moment, and he couldn’t care less.

Take me instead. Take me. Take me. Take me! He begs and yells and prays. Take me. You can have anything—everything—just not him!

Just not him.

Kuroo learns when he was eight that everything he holds dear will soon be ripped out of his hands. He learns that he shouldn’t want too much, love too much, wish for too much. At twenty-four, he learns this lesson again.

~

Kenma’s hair is soft despite the amount of bleach it’s undergone. Kuroo doesn’t understand how that works. It always smells nice like apples and peaches. It glides through his fingers easily. When they lay together in bed, Kuroo will bury his nose in it, wanting to take in as much of him as possible. It’s a good morning if Kuroo gets to wake up with Kenma’s blonde hair tickling his nose, fanning across his face.

Now, Kuroo wakes up to a cold and empty bed. His first thought is Kenma, but he’s not right beside him anymore. These mornings, it’s routine to let his eyes swell up as his hands feel around for a body that isn’t there. The cool mattress meets his hand, empty and vacant. His chest feels heavy as though an elephant sits on top of it.

Kuroo closes his eyes and remembers those bright and sunny days in Kenma’s bed, with his arms around him and his soft snores filling the room. He feels the tears roll down to meet his ears, soaking his pillow. He lets them run and run until there’s nothing left. Well, there’s always tomorrow.

Kuroo used to be really good at getting up early in the morning, his body primed for it. Now, even as the sun escapes through his curtains, he finds it hard to pull himself from sleep. Even then, he’ll lay here until Akane or Yaku comes to get him.

What’s the point of getting up early now? Kuroo is no use to anyone like this.

Sometimes, as he lies there in his slowly brightening room, Kuroo will recite Kenma’s letter in his head. He hears Kenma’s voice so clearly, as though he’s reading it to him.

Truthfully, you have never left my mind ever since the day we met. I have never met someone like you—and not because you are a prince, but because of your warm hands, eager heart, and the easy ways you’ve shown me how much you care for me.

When he first finds Kenma’s letter in his room, addressed to him, Kuroo can’t read it all without stopping because he can no longer see the words in front of him and he can’t risk his tears smudging the pages. He’s read it so many times now that he no longer has to look at it to know what it says.

If it isn’t for Kenma’s letter, Kuroo doesn’t know how he can find it in himself to go on. What else will be holding him together? How is Kenma still taking care of him even if he’s not here?

I know your heart belongs to the kingdom, and that is okay. My heart belongs to you.

Today, it’s Yaku who knocks on his door, disrupting him from his thoughts. He barges in without permission, but this isn’t unusual. They’ve known each other for close to a decade now, more like siblings than a prince and his guard. Not that Kuroo’s a prince anymore.

“We need to get you ready.” He stands by Kuroo’s bed, brown eyes staring down at him patiently. His brown hair is neatly combed. His tone is casual, as if everything’s okay. Nothing is, but Yaku is good at making things normal.

Kuroo doesn’t say anything back. Sometimes, he can’t.

“You know what day it is, don’t you?” He says as Kuroo slowly gets up and moves towards the bathroom.

The days do blur together, but Kuroo won’t forget this. It’s hard to forget a funeral even if Yaku's black suit doesn't give him another hint. 

He nods.

“Will you be alright to give the eulogy? Nekomata can if you don’t—”

“I can.” Kuroo shakes his head. He should do this at least.

Yaku purses his lips but doesn’t say anything further. They get Kuroo ready in his all-black attire. It’s been a while since he’s faced the public. It’s been a couple weeks after the attack during his coronation and one week since his last announcement. Looking in the mirror, Kuroo can hardly recognize himself. Kenma would yell at him if he could at the state he’s let himself come to. He doesn’t look like a prince, much less a king. His hair is worse than normal, and the bags under his eyes rival that of a racoon. His skin looks like it has lost all its color.

It's the best he can do for now. Kuroo can’t bring himself to care more about it. It takes everything in him to just breathe, to put one foot in front of the other without completely falling to the ground. They’ll have to be okay with this version of him.

“Are you ready?” Yaku says to him from his spot at the door, half out of the room already.

Kuroo nods. How ready can you be for something like this? But there’s nothing left to do but move forward.

It’s time to bury his father.

~

Kuroo doesn’t cry at his father’s funeral, even as he gives his speech. Truthfully, he has prepared for this moment the second he sees him collapsing on the floor of his room months ago. Maybe he’s a horrible son for not crying about it, but there’s nothing more for Kuroo to give to him other than a final goodbye. He had been inconsolable at his sister’s and mother's funeral, but he suspects that he has run out of tears for his father by the time he turns sixteen. He will miss him, but he feels as though he has grieved the loss of his father long ago. The king that they bury today is a different person altogether. Though maybe he can finally give up the hope that his father will return to the person he once was.

Burying his father, lowering him to the ground, is a complicated and terrible task. His grandparents have been targeted and killed during the attack as well, so Kuroo is officially the only person left in his family, the last one standing. And he wouldn’t even be here if not for—

He can’t think of him. Not now.

There are cameras ready to capture his every breakdown. He can’t give them anymore to feed on. He has given enough.

Kuroo shakes hands with many people, hearing their words of condolences in one ear and letting it go out the other. It’s for them to say more than it is for him to hear it. He lets the words be a distraction from the thoughts racing around in his head. And Kuroo excuses himself before they can talk about Kenma. Even with Bokuto, Kuroo can’t mutter his name. He won’t let him say it either.

I just want to be yours, no matter what that life might look like. The crown, your family, the responsibilities—they do scare me, but I can handle all of that if I get to be with you. All of you. I want it all.

Kuroo should’ve told him that night. Maybe they would’ve had more time together. Maybe—

“Tetsurou.” He feels a large, warm hand on his shoulder. Nekomata’s voice breaks him out of his train of thoughts. He sees his familiar smiling face look up at him. “Come to my office. I think you’ve had enough of this, hm?”

Is it that obvious?

Kuroo nods, grateful that he can finally be away from the wave of sympathetic and pitying eyes.

They walk together through the hall in silence, their footsteps echoing against the wood floor. Kuroo feels more relaxed as the voices behind them get smaller and smaller.

You told me that I should tell you my reasons when I finally say that I love you, but I would rather do it in person, even if you’re no longer mine. I hope that’s okay. I just would like to see your face when I say it.

Kuroo wonders what face he has when he first read the letter. He wonders what face he has now. Kenma wouldn’t like to see it, he knows that much.

“Sit, sit.” Nekomata gestures to the couch in the middle of his study. It’s a good-sized square room. The walls are lined with bookshelves. There’s a huge window at the back wall and a set of wooden desk and chair in front of it where Nekomata likes to get most of his work done. In the middle of the room is a set of couches facing one another with a large mahogany coffee table in between. Nekomata starts to pour Kuroo some tea he has already prepared as he takes his seat across from him.

Kuroo has spent many hours in this room over the years. Somehow, he still remembers being a little boy, his feet barely touching the ground as he sits on this very same couch. Now, his long limbs force his knees to run into the table in front of him.

“I know you already told me to take care of it, but I just want to be sure.” Nekomata pushes the cup of tea towards him. “The rebels. They will go on trial next week. You don’t want to be there?”

Kuroo has thought and thought about this. He can still feel the stickiness of Kenma’s blood on his hands, can remember the smell of iron even as he tries to rub his fingernails clean of it. He remembers his pale face and the coldness of his skin as he lays in his arms.

If he was to see the rebels again, there’s no telling what he would do to them. His hands will be drenched of blood yet again.

He was able to hold himself back with Daishou and Haru because he knew Kenma would want to handle them himself. Now? He’s not so sure of his self-restraints.

He shakes his head firmly, his nails digging crescents into his palms. “I’m sure. I trust you.” Nekomata will be impartial. He will be fair and just. Kuroo can’t say the same for himself.

The old man nods. He sips on his own tea.

Kuroo waits for him to say that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t. He probably knows how useless the words are.

How can anything be okay ever again?

He picks up the cup and lets the warmth of the tea travel down his throat. They don’t talk further, and Kuroo is grateful again for his mentor. There’s nothing to say, is there? There’s nothing Kuroo wants to hear either. What he truly wants, Nekomata isn’t the one to give it to him.

When they finish the pot of tea, Kuroo’s stomach is warm, but his brain feels drained. Even as the small amount of caffeine enters his system, his eyes feel so heavy they can barely open.

And as though he truly is a kid again, he lays down on Nekomata’s couch and falls asleep. He hears Kenma’s voice, but it’s just his imagination, a distant dream.

I don’t really know how to end this except…I love you. That will always be true.

In this life of mine, my heart is yours,

Kenma

Kuroo wishes he had a chance to tell him that his everything already belongs to him, in this life and beyond.

~

“How can you be so warm?”

“Huh?”

“Your body, like, exudes heat. It’s freaky.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining when you put your cold hands and feet under my shirt!”

“Well, I have to use you for something.” Kenma giggles. Then, because Kuroo reminds him of it, he sneaks his hands underneath his sweatshirt.

The sudden coldness makes Kuroo’s skin shiver, goosebumps spreading all over his arms.

“You can adjust the heat in your room, you know? You don’t have to be cold all the time.” Kuroo rubs at his back, trying to generate more heat for him. It’s a wonder how Kenma can still be cold in long shirts, pants, socks, and under his thick comforter.

“Nah.” Kenma shakes his head. “I like it better like this.” He scoots just a touch closer to Kuroo’s body so that his head is right next to Kuroo’s chest, snaking his arms around Kuroo’s body.

Kuroo wonders if he can hear how fast his heart is beating.

In this position, Kuroo can rest his chin on Kenma’s head. He feels Kenma’s legs slip in between his, entangling them together as though he wants it to be impossible to separate them. Kenma’s cold feet rest on his ankles. He’s stealing his heat from him everywhere they touch. Kuroo doesn’t mind.

And Kuroo also can’t help but agree with him. He likes it better like this, too.

~

When Kuroo is jolted awake next, his cheek sticks to the brown leather couch as he tries to peel himself away. Nekomata is gone, and the room is cloaked in darkness. He must’ve passed out for a few hours.

It’s Yaku again that appears in front of his face, his brown eyes wide and wild this time as they stare into Kuroo’s. He only says two words, but they’re enough to clear the sleepy fog from Kuroo’s eyes, sending Kuroo flying out of the room and running down the hallway frantically.

He hears Yaku behind him, trying to catch up. Maybe he’s saying something else too, but there’s no time. There’s nothing else that matters but this,

“He’s awake.”

Kenma. His Kenma.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, when he is dancing, Kenma forgets that the rest of the world exists. It’s second nature to him now, as if the music and the moves are a part of his body, like breathing or blinking. The song that’s playing is as beautiful as ever, though he can’t be quite sure he’s heard it before.

When it is over, he holds his final pose as long as the applause lasts, and then, when the clapping trickles down to a few quiet scatters, he feels the world come back to him. It always aches afterwards because he’s too lazy to stretch properly beforehand, but today, he finds that it doesn’t hurt anywhere on his body. There’s a weightlessness that’s new and so unreal that he thinks if he jumps too high, he might truly fly away. He doesn’t test this theory.

Kenma opens his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar room, all white with no interior. No lights although it’s bright enough for him to see. And no people. Who had been clapping for him? How did he get here?

He feels like he should be scared, but he isn’t. There’s a sense of calm that washes over him, a promise that everything will be okay.

Still, he can’t help but wonder what he’s doing here and how long he’s been here.

Kenma stares down at his bare feet, wiggling his toes to test how they feel against the strange floor. Solid. Firm. Everything is white, including his loose tank top and tights. The materials feel soft on his skin. He has never seen this outfit before. He certainly has never worn it for any of his dances.

Isn’t there something he needs to do? Something he needs to say to someone?

If only he can remember what that is. Maybe it’s not so important now if he can’t remember it.

The song starts again, different from the last. Now, Kenma’s sure he has never heard this melody before, but his body responds to it as though he has practiced this a million times. He will know what to do if he just allows himself to lose himself in it. He knows it will pull him into a place as beautiful and serene as the sound.

Somehow, he also knows that he doesn’t want that. Not yet.

Kenma balls his hands into fists and starts walking. The music follows him, but he’s determined to go where the sound is quietest. He needs a moment to think. It’s not loud, by any means, but he feels as though its allure is a dangerous, irresistible temptation.

Almost out of habit, he reaches up to his hair and pulls out his hair tie. His black hair falls down, released from its tight hold on his head. He feels the tension drain from his scalp, but as he watches the black strands fall past his collarbones, an uneasiness creeps in, sending goosebumps all over his skin.

This isn’t right.

His hair is blonde. Not naturally, but lately. Seeing the stark contrast of the black against his pale skin is a jarring jolt of surprise.

Kenma picks up a strand of hair, rolling it in between his fingers.

Why had it been blonde? Right. He dyed it once because someone had made fun of him for him. When it grows out, he had to dye it back to keep a uniform look. For the palace.

His chest aches, so much that Kenma has to lay a hand against it to ease the sensation.

What is this feeling? How can he miss someone he cannot remember? How can he feel so much about someone he does not know?

But Kenma knows him. He knows that there isn’t anyone else in the world who knows him like he does.

A flash of wild, messy black hair. A pair of golden eyes so soft he could get lost in them. A voice so, so familiar and warm Kenma thinks he might just cry upon hearing it.

Who are you? He wants to scream. He tries, but nothing comes out. The music is beginning to play louder now, which makes it hard for Kenma to make out what’s in his head and what isn’t. But almost to the same degree, the feeling inside his chest grows.

Kenma has never experienced this before, the sensation that his heart will burst open from it. He knows it’s something reserved for this one person, for this one man. He also knows he cannot find him here in this white-lit room. And if he follows the music, he will be released from it.

To feel nothing at all. What would that be like? The heaviness on his chest will ease. The feelings will pass. Kenma will feel as though his body and his mind will be his alone. He wonders what will become of his heart.

Still, even though it will be impossible, he feels like he will miss him regardless. Miss him and miss him. As though they are so intertwined now that there doesn't exist a part of Kenma that is not also his.

“Sorry,” he finds his voice now, whispering it to the empty room. “But I can’t.” Maybe it’s nonsensical to give up peace, a place where he can rest, but it’s also as simple as this…

He can’t go where Kuroo isn’t.

The music dies down, and Kenma says goodbye. It’s time for him to go home.

~

It’s disorienting when he wakes up. He has no idea how much time has passed, but judging by his parents’ crumbled, relieved faces and the amount of people fussing over him as soon as he opens his eyes, he reckons it’s been too long.

Something hurts. Everything is heavy. His limbs feel weak.

They keep asking him a lot of questions like, “Do you know your name? What year is it? Where are we right now?” They want him to grip their fingers, move his eyes, and lift his arms and legs. He thinks what he’s doing is satisfactory enough, even though he feels he’s not nearly as strong as he could’ve been.

There’s also a shooting pain in his back that makes any real movement impossible. When Kenma grimaces, he can hear his parents’ sharp intakes of breath. He wants to reassure them, but he finds that it’s too much effort to say much more than what’s asked of him.

Still, Kenma wishes they would all leave him alone. He’s getting tired by the second and no one seems to tell him anything he wants to hear. Like,

“Where’s Kuro?” He manages to croak out when there’s a lull in the questions.

It catches everyone by surprise to hear him say something unprovoked. They all stop to look at him, as though he’s an alien. An unfamiliar doctor peers down at him with her brows scrunched together. Her curly black hair hangs down, almost touching his arm. This isn’t Dr. Naomi.

“What was that, Kozume-san?”

“The prince. Or king. Where is he?” He asks again, annoyed that he has to repeat himself because it seems to be taking all of his strength.

His mother appears by his side, her kind, worried face smiling at him. She caresses his cheeks, drawing the hair away from his eyes. “Tetsu’s fine. He’s just busy at the moment. We’ll let him know you’re awake.”

Kenma knows he should believe her. She would never lie to him, especially about something like this, but he can’t seem to shake the fear that they’ve managed to kill him after all. He won’t feel at ease until he sees Kuroo right in front of him.

“Can I see him?” His throat is so dry and hoarse from disuse. He sounds like a child, desperate in the way it comes out, but there isn’t any other way he can feel right now. He needs to see that Kuroo’s okay with his own eyes. He needs to feel him with his own hands, hear his heart beating with his own ears.

The doctor speaks up this time, her firm voice leaves no room for argument, but he can tell she’s trying her best to not let him down.

“We’ll need to run a few tests to make sure you’re okay. Then, while we wait for the results to come back, we’ll get him, okay? He’s fine. If it makes you feel better, you can watch the livestream from earlier today while we do everything we need to do.”

“Livestream?” He blinks at her, not comprehending her words. There aren’t too many events that they would livestream for. The town halls and the coronation are examples of them. Maybe he has to redo this coronation because the first one has been interrupted?

Her face softens at this. She says in a gentler voice, “The previous king’s funeral was earlier today.”

A pang shoots through Kenma’s chest, as though a bullet has grazed him yet again. He doesn’t care about the king’s death. He just wishes he could’ve been there for Kuroo. He cannot imagine how he has managed all these weeks by himself. The thought of it alone makes Kenma want to run to him. if only he has the strength to do that now.

It’s fine, he convinces himself. The faster all these tests and things are done, the faster Kenma can get to him. He sinks into his mattress.

He nods and allows the doctor to resume her questions. The nurses flood into his room once again, tugging at all the wires attached to him. Kenma does his best to follow their directions, though his mind is elsewhere.

He hopes that the worst is finally over.

~

It’s well into the evening when everything is done, and everyone who needs to talk to Kenma has asked him everything they can possibly think of. From the doctors, he finds out that the bullet that hit him fortunately misses his spine or any vital organs. He’ll have weeks, if not months, to recover to full function, but it’s nothing physical therapy and time can’t fix. They’ve removed the bullet from his back, though the pain is something he’ll likely always experience.

Kenma’s braced himself for worse news, so he isn’t upset by this. It’s a small price to pay for Kuroo’s life.

After it’s all over, he sends his parents away as well because although this is an extremely nice hospital room, they should sleep in a comfortable bed now that he’s woken up. That and he would rather be alone when Kuroo swings by. He knows he has made them worry a lot about him, so he’ll have to make it up to them once this is all over. His father jokes that he won’t be allowed to leave the house anymore, and Kenma’s only half-convinced he’s kidding.

Kenma sips on his juice box and plays on his DS while he waits for Kuroo to come, his eyes flickering towards the door every few seconds. He has the option, but he decides against watching the livestream. He doesn’t want his first look of Kuroo to be through a screen. He’ll be patient until he gets here. He doesn’t know if this hospital or wherever this place is located is attached to the palace, so it may take time for Kuroo to get to him. That’s the only thing that keeps him from jumping out of bed now and pacing down the hall to look for him.

It’s been a long, long day. Even though he’s only been up since noon, the pain medication they’ve given him is making him very tired. As time drags on, Kenma has to fight the urge to drift off to sleep.

For one terrible second, Kenma has a thought that maybe Kuroo doesn’t want to see him. Maybe he’s engaged or married to someone else. It seems that the Selection is over, and it has been weeks since the event of the coronation according to everyone, so Kuroo would’ve made his choice by now. Maybe Kuroo has always meant to choose someone else and now he doesn’t know how to face Kenma after what he did because he feels guilty.

He wouldn’t put it past his parents to hide this fact from him if that’s the truth. He should’ve asked them for more information before they leave. Maybe he can ask the nurses? But hearing this news from them instead of Kuroo feels wrong.

Kenma’s mind begins to race, making his heart rate pick up too. He tries to calm himself down so that the alarm on the monitor will silence itself. The beeping doesn’t help his anxiety one bit.

It’s fine, he tells himself for what seems to be the millionth time that day. He should be okay with the fact that Kuroo is with someone else. Didn’t he tell him that himself in his letter?

Oh god. He hopes Kuroo has read his letter. He hopes something reaches Kuroo in these days that Kenma isn’t with him physically.

Either way, Kenma will have a chance now to tell him he loves him. That’s all he wants. That and the fact that Kuroo is alive. Everything else is just a bonus.

Loud, fast footsteps echo in the hallway outside of his room, not quite running because he suspects the nurses will throw a fit no matter who it is, but quick enough that Kenma cannot imagine who else will be in such a hurry to see him.

His heart squeezes inside of his chest. Every cell in his body tingles with excitement.

Finally.

The door swings open. Although Kenma has been awake for hours, he finally feels alive once more.

Kuroo’s large frame takes up the entire doorway. He stands in his all-black suit, panting with effort. A multitude of expression passes across his flushed, handsome face—stricken, relief, worry, happiness, love.

From where he’s sitting up on his bed, Kenma can see his sunken eyes and his swollen lids, the way his forehead wrinkles and how his cracked pink lips slowly trembles. But he relishes in seeing Kuroo’s chest rises and falls and the sturdiness and broadness of his shoulders. The familiar spikes on top of unruly hair and the way it swoops over part of his eyes are unmistakably him—at least that has not changed.

For a moment, they both just stare and take in one another. The humming of Kenma’s IV medication the only noise other than their breaths. And then Kuroo’s voice, a quiet, broken sound cuts through the silence, “Why did you do that?”

Because if you die, that would be the thing that kills me.

Kenma says it in a way Kuroo would understand, “Because if I lost you, I don’t know what would happen to me.”

His own words parroted back to him makes his face crumble into pieces. They drag tears from his eyes, flowing down his cheeks as though crying alone would rid him of any pain. Kuroo hurries to Kenma’s side and buries his head into his shoulders. Kenma wraps an arm around his body, the other making its way into his hair, cradling his head there and keeping him close.

They cling to one another, both checking that the other is alive and well and that this isn’t some elaborate dream they hope to never wake from.

Kenma closes his eyes and breathes in his familiar, comforting scent. His fingers curl into Kuroo’s expensive suit, feeling the solidness of his body underneath him.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

Kenma would do it again. He would run and jump and dive towards him as many times as fate would force him to. If he could be reassured that the heart beating now next to his would be spared, nothing would stop him from doing it.

As though he’s reading his mind, Kuroo says into his shoulder, “Never do that again.”

That’s something he cannot promise. “Don’t get shot again then.”

“Kenma.”  

He smiles and scratches his head. Kuroo’s weight on him is almost too much, and he’s afraid that his IV will be pulled out if he keeps crushing him like this, but he also doesn’t want to let go. He holds him tighter.

“I’m okay.” What he really means is, I’m okay now that you’re here.

“Kenma.” Kuroo says his name again, as if that’s the only thing he can think of right now. And also, this in between his sniffles, “I love you. Please don’t ever—I mean it, Kenma. I love you.”

Are you engaged? Are you married? Should you be saying that to me?

Are you mine?

Oh, he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I love you, too. So much.” His throat tightens. He can feel it everywhere in his body. It’s deep in his bones. It’s everywhere he touches. “I would do it again, Tetsurou. For you, I would.”

Kuroo’s voice is soft and sad as he says, “I thought I would never get to say it to you.”

Kenma knows exactly what he means. He can’t see his face, so he just squeezes him tighter in his arms. The doctors should’ve brought Kuroo Tetsurou if they really wanted him to do his strength test. He feels like he’s crushing him right now, but Kuroo just holds onto him, too, just as tightly.

“I’m okay,” Kenma repeats. “I’m here. I love you.” How he was so scared of saying it before. How easily he can say it now. How he never, ever wants to stop saying it. “I love you.”

Kuroo pulls away then, just enough to look at his face. Kenma gets to see him up close, too, like this. Nothing beats seeing Kuroo just centimeters away from his face, his blurred edges a vision Kenma wants to be a witness of forever.

“I know,” he whispers. “I read your letter.”

“Oh.” Kenma’s about to ask him about the Selection when Kuroo moves in closer and captures his lips.

There’s a new, intense sense of desperation when their lips touch. They kiss like they can be saved by it, the answers to every life problem embedded deep in the other’s tongues. Kenma presses his body up and against him, not wanting to leave any space in between. There has been too much space lately. No more of that.

He feels Kuroo’s stubble rubbing against his chin, liking the roughness of it, a reminder that this is real. Kuroo’s hands rake through his hair and pull him in, cupping at the back of his neck. Kenma melts into his lips, his entire body feeling so alive with every second their lips touch.

On Kuroo’s lips, Kenma can taste the saltiness of his tears. He can taste all the days they’ve been apart and the pieces of himself he’s given to him. He can taste his devotion, his love. There is no one else. There will be no one else.

When they have to separate and catch their breath, they lean their forehead against each other’s. They breathe in the same air, so fortunately so. Kenma feels the day’s tiredness washing over him, his eyes wanting to stay shut. Stars and a whole galaxy dance behind his lids.

The fact that Kuroo’s here is an answer, but he wants to know—he needs to know.

“The Selection—is it over?”

“Yes.” Kuroo breathes out.

“Does that mean—? I mean, are you—?” He wishes he can get his words out, but Kuroo can always understand him, right? He knows what he wants to ask without Kenma finishing his sentences.

Kenma only realizes that his eyes are closed still when he feels Kuroo pepper kisses all over his face gently. His cheeks. His brows. His chin. The top of his nose. The space next to the corner of his lips.

“I love you, Kenma. No one else.” He says in between kisses, his voice a soothing tone. “Go to sleep, okay? And I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Will you be here? Will you stay? Kenma feels his consciousness slipping away. It’s harder now to fight off the tiredness. And the fact that Kuroo’s arms always have a way to lure him to sleep doesn’t help matters.

“Of course, Kenma.” He hears, somewhere in the distance. “You and I—nothing will come between us again.”

Kenma succumbs to it. Sleep comes too easily, too quickly in the arms of his love.

~

Kuroo is hunched over, halfway on Kenma’s bed and half on his chair, when Kenma wakes the next time. Even if he isn’t the one in it, Kenma knows it must be a terrible, uncomfortable position to be in for hours. Kenma doesn’t have the energy to yell at him, but he nudges him awake all the same.

Kuroo’s tired, red eyes blink up at him as his head lifts out of his folded arms. There are indents all over his cheeks, the marks of time.

Kenma pulls him closer, tugging at his long sleeves and gesturing with his head the space beside him on the bed. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but they would fit.

Kuroo walks around his bed to the other side. He carefully lowers the armrest so he can get on. The armrest clicks back into place, and the already thin mattress dips as his weight drops onto the bed, but it only pulls Kenma just that much closer to him, so he doesn’t complain.

Kenma feels Kuroo slots himself next to him, his head in the crook of his neck, his soft breathing tickling his skin. He falls quickly back to sleep again with Kuroo pressed close to his body.

~

When Kenma is awake again, properly, he finally gets to know what happened after the events of the coronation. The attack is another, last-minute attempt to get rid of the monarchy. A few more guards have lost their lives along with the previous king. Kuroo would’ve lost his, too, if Kenma hadn’t done what he did.

“You know, Nekomata wants to give you a Medal of Honor.” Kuroo tells him, his face breaking into a huge smile. He’s back in his chair by Kenma’s bed as Kenma eats his breakfast.

“Oh, god. Please don’t.” Kenma frowns. That would be the last thing he wants. Wait—“Why does Nekomata want to give me a medal? Isn’t that something you should do? Aren’t you the king now?”

“Right. That.” Kuroo laughs, almost shyly. “I guess I should tell you.” 

Kenma is more confused than ever as Kuroo strides across the room to get his computer. He opens it up to a video that is not unlike the set-up they had for the coronation. Kuroo is wearing the exact same outfit, but his face has changed, hardened as though haunted. There are also two guards on the stage just behind him and Nekomata directly to his right. There are no Selected to be seen. This is clearly a different day. If Kenma can fathom a guess, he would say that besides the camera crew, there are no more audience members. They wouldn’t run that risk twice, after all.   

The Kuroo on the screen speaks a few seconds after Kuroo encourages Kenma to press Play.

“—know my Coronation was cut short, but by law, now that the King has passed on, I inherited the title and full responsibility of King of Nekoma. It is an honor and obligation I have spent my whole life to deserve. Still,” he pauses, “I fear that it’s something I cannot do on my own. It’s evident through my conversations with you all across the country that what is best for you is to have the power to speak for yourselves. For the decisions to be in your hands. I will never know what it is like to be in your shoes. The changes and laws that I make have not, and will not, affect me the way they do to you. I think it’s in your best interest that you have more power in the government of your country.”

Kenma’s head spins. He cannot mean—

“As King of Nekoma, I hereby announce that we will become a constitutional monarchy. The throne will no longer be your governing body. As of today, my dear and beloved advisor Nekomata Yasufumi will be appointed interim Prime Minister, and elections will be held within two year’s time. We have always been living under someone else’s reign, myself included. I think it’s time for us all to take our own lives in our own hands. Here’s to a future that is bright and warm and deserving of all of us. Thank you.” Kuroo bows his head to the invisible audience, and the video cuts off to black.

He didn’t realize that’s something that they could do, but, “You had to wait to ascend to the throne to that, didn’t you? Your father would never allow it as long as he was still king.”

“Yes.” Kuroo sighs, closing the laptop with a softs snap. “I struggled with the decision for a long time, too, because I didn’t want to seem like a coward. I didn’t want to just run away because I didn’t want to be king. But I want to do what’s best for our country.”

Kenma shakes his head. He reaches out to grab his hand. “I don’t think anyone who watches that will think that you’re a coward. It’s a brave thing to do what no one else is willing to do.”

Kuroo smiles at their intertwining fingers. “Thank you, Kenma. You always know what to say.” Then, he looks up at him, his gold eyes gleaming with joy. “But you know, this means that by default, the Selection is over. There’s no need for me to find my Prince Consort anymore.”

“Oh.” Kenma hasn’t made the connection yet in his head. Technically, Kuroo is still the king, even though the title doesn't mean as much as before, but he’s right, with all the changes, there’s no need for him to rush into a marriage. His heart begins to race at the implications. “So, what does that mean for you?” For us?

Kuroo’s smile turns soft. He turns Kenma’s hand over and kisses the back of it, just as gentle as that first night outside of his room.

“I means that I can be with whoever I want. And I know this is probably backwards considering everything, but I hope that if you still want me, I’m here. We can date, and wherever that takes us in the future, I’ll be happy to be by your side.”

Kenma’s chest swells with happiness. This. This is what he wants all along. The chance to be with Kuroo.

“So, you’re asking to be my boyfriend?” He teases him, unable to help himself. A grin spreads all over his face.

Kuroo’s face turns pink. “Well, yes, but it’s so embarrassing when you put it that way.”

“Hm.” He fakes thinking to himself, a finger on his lips. “I’ll have to think about it. Thirty-four exes is a lot, you know? I don’t know how I feel about tha—”

Kuroo tackles him in his bed, rubbing his chin on Kenma’s collarbones in a way that he knows will tickle him, sending Kenma into a fit of giggles.

“You’re such a brat sometimes, Kenma.” He says, no malice in his voice. He laughs in his neck.

Kenma, barely catching his breath in between his laughs, says, his voice going high pitch with the vowels for dramatic effects, “But you looove me. And you want to be my boooyfriend.”

Kuroo resorts to tickling him with his hands now, careful not to dislodge any of his monitors and wires attached to his skin. Kenma’s heart sings with happiness as the laughs are forced out of his mouth. The unrestrained joy is unmistakable on both their faces.

They have time, and they have each other. There’s nothing more to wish for than that. 

~

Over the next few weeks, Kenma gets many visitors who come when they hear the news that he’s woken up. Kagayema comes shortly after his parents return home for a week. He brings a lot of games for Kenma to play while he recovers, and Kenma’s touched by the gesture. They play together in his hospital room. Sometimes, he gets Hinata to join them, just to get more entertainment for himself and to watch the two of them argue as they both lose to him, fighting for second place.

Most of the Elite have come to see him—even Ushijima, although they hardly ever talked to each other before. Bokuto and Lev cry the most, to the surprise of almost nobody, but Akaashi is the one who holds onto him the longest.

Daishou sends him a flower bouquet, but he doesn’t come. Kenma thinks this is the best possible outcome of this situation. He still isn’t entirely convinced there isn’t anything wrong with the bouquet, so he sets it far across the room from his bed.

Oikawa doesn’t come either, but he calls over the phone. He sounds happy, and he promises to meet up with him after Kenma is released. Kenma will have to hold him to that, curious at his newfound joy.  

Semi is the last of the Elite to visit him. Unlike everyone else, he has not left the palace but is instead staying to learn under Nekomata and help with electing a new Prime Minister. Many people have dropped his name as a possible candidate, but he remains tight-lipped about whether he wants to officially run or not. Looking at each other though, they are both happy that they’re where they’re both meant to be.

As he transitions out of the hospital and back to his room, his maids have also stopped by to help with his daily activities again and physical therapy, even though it’s completely unnecessary. They, too, cry a lot when they see him for the first time in his hospital room. It almost seems like he might’ve died the way they clung onto him, but he can only pat their heads and let them do it. It’s scary to almost lose someone. He’s glad they’re also okay given that he knows servants are not given priority during the attacks. As Kenma settles into his own room again, they seem to shift seamlessly back into their old roles, although there’s less make-up and hair this time around to Kenma’s relief. They more or less just hang out together in his room.

“I know it’s not technically the same as me winning the Selection, but you guys still have plans to go out of the palace, right?” Kenma asks them one day as they carry food into his room.

“Yes!” Yachi nods, smiling. She sets the tray down on his coffee table. “We just wanted to make sure you’re all set first before leaving.”

“You can go now, you know. I’m basically fine.” It’s not untrue. He can do most of the things by himself, even if it takes him much longer and he does require assistance while walking. He doesn’t want to be the thing that holds them back.

“That’s true. You have Kuroo-san to help you anyways.” Hinata winks at him.

Kenma rolls his eyes. It’s true that Kuroo is less busy now that he’s given up his position, but he’s still involved in the transition of power. He probably won’t be fully free until a new, proper Prime Minister is elected in the next two years. He does, though, use every opportunity to sneak away to help Kenma with physical therapy until Kenma tells him he’s being more distracting than helpful.

“Don’t worry about us, Kenma.” Hinata reassures him, waving his hands in front of his face, his orange hair bouncing atop his head. “We’ll leave when you leave. Wouldn’t it be fun? To set off together?”

It’s just like Hinata to think of everything as fun and as an adventure, but Kenma can’t help but agree this time. Their lives will be completely different once they leave here, all three of them. And he’s also happy that he will not have to know the palace without these two. Like with Kuroo, he suspects it wouldn’t be as bright.

Though Kenma is glad to be leaving the palace soon, he is also aware of all the things this place has given him. The love of his life, for one, and these great friends, for the other. He’ll always be grateful to have stepped foot in here. The decision that changes his life for the better.

Now, as the two of them sit down to share a meal with him, he will treasure these last few days he has with them until eventually, they all set off on their own path.

~

These days, Kuroo no longer has to hurry out of bed before the sun is up, so Kenma wakes up slowly with him pressed right next to his side, the heat of his body doing its best to keep him warm. They’ve taken refuge in Kenma’s room because he likes the familiar environment, and Kuroo just wants to be with him now at every possible moment.

And it’s good, so so good to wake up enveloped in Kuroo’s strong arms instead of an empty bed with an indentation on his pillow. Kenma can get used to this. He thinks he’ll be too spoiled now. Who gets to wake up happy every day? It’s unheard of.

Kenma feels Kuroo pull him closer to his chest, his back to him. By the movement alone, he knows that he’s awake.

“Good morning,” he yawns, clinging onto Kuroo’s arms in front of him. He makes no real effort to move. He kisses the moles on Kuroo’s arms and traces patterns on his skin, connecting the dots.

“’Morning.” Kuroo says on top of his head. He plants a kiss there. Then his fingers run through his scalp, as if looking for something. His voice is curious as he says, “Your black hair growing out. Are you going to dye it back?”

Kenma considers it for a moment. Should he? Hinata and Yachi have always done a good job keeping up with the task for him for the past few months but once was enough for Kenma. He doesn’t want to keep doing it if he doesn’t need to.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head. “It’s too much work.”

Kuroo chuckles. “I remember your application photo. Very cute. I’m excited to see you with black hair.”

Kenma remembers the picture himself and cringes inwardly. He’s glad Kuroo thinks it’s cute. That’s not the word he would use to describe it. He can’t believe everyone across the country has seen that picture of him.

Well, to be fair, over the last year, there have been more pictures of Kenma out there than he would care for. They would keep coming, as long as he’s with Kuroo. Their privacy will never be fully returned to them, even with Kuroo’s new status. He finds that this doesn’t bother him as much anymore. Perspective and all that.

Their lives will look very different though outside of this palace. Kuroo’s especially. He wonders how Kuroo feel about it.

They’re a couple days out from their departure from here now that Kenma is officially discharged from all medical supervision. Kuroo will have things he needs to do and help Nekomata with, and can still live here if he wishes, but he chooses to leave the palace behind for the next successor, the to-be-elected Prime Minister. He says it doesn’t feel right for him to live here anymore.

Even if Kuroo was to do nothing, he’s still paid a monthly stipend in this constitutional monarchy. In all of his true fashion, of course, he doesn’t want that. He says he wants to live as much of a normal life as he can. Get a college degree. A job. Though all those things will be significantly easier for him given his name. Even the apartment he’ll live in is paid for by his family funds. Regardless, it’ll be a different life for him out there. For them both.

Kenma shifts so that he can see his face. Kuroo smiles down at him, his brows raised in a, What?

“How are you feeling about leaving? I mean, I know you want to, but it’s still going to be quite an adjustment.”

Kuroo’s face turns pensive, his bottom lips pulled into between his teeth. “I’m a bit nervous of course. I have never been on my own before. There’s a certain comfort you take in rules and rigidity, you know? There’s always a schedule to follow, something I know I’m meant to do. Now, I’ll have to make my own decisions. It’s daunting, to say the least. But no one’s lives will be dependent on me, so there’s a relief in that, too.”

Kenma nods. Changes are always scary, even if they’re the changes you’re making for yourself.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to study?” Kenma asks him, changing the topic to a lighter one. This is probably what Kuroo’s most excited about. He’s spent days researching all the majors available at Kenma’s college. Kenma tries to tell him he should apply to different one, but Kuroo doesn’t understand why he would want to do that. Apparently, the point is that they’ll get to go to school together. Kenma only relents when Kuroo says that he can always pursue a higher degree afterwards if he’s not satisfied.

“No! There are too many options, Kenma. How can there be that many subjects in the world? It’s impossible to choose!” He cries.

Kenma laughs at his distressed face. He’s happy that this is now Kuroo’s biggest problem. He pinches one of his cheeks in between his fingers. “You’re such a huge nerd. Becoming king definitely would’ve stunted your potential.”

“You should stop making fun of me and help me choose.” He pouts, jutting out his lower lip. “Or else you’re going to end up with a bum who has no job.” There’s no threat in his words though. Realistically, Kenma knows Kuroo will have no problem getting any job. He’s too smart to let anything pass him by and too ambitious to stay home and do nothing.

Kenma chooses to tease him anyways. “What if I like the idea of you staying home? You can be a stay-at-home husband. Cook all my meals for me while I’m at work. Clean the house.” He tries not to picture Kuroo in a cute maid costume. Now that’s an idea for a later time.

Kuroo’s eyes widen as his lips break out into a huge grin. “Husband? Oh, who’s presumptuous now, huh?”

Kenma rolls his eyes, his lips wearing a smile of its own. Kuroo has given him back his grandfather's ring for now, with the promise that it will be returned to him in due time. They both know that they’re in no rush. They want to enjoy the time they have with each other.

Kenma will know when the time is right for him to ask Kuroo that very important question with the ring, if Kuroo doesn’t beat him to it first.

He lays a hand on Kuroo’s cheek. He presses a soft kiss on his lips before saying, “Really, though, are you going to be okay in a tiny apartment? It’s going to be much smaller than this, you know. You might hit your head on a door frame.” He’s only half-joking. His own house seemed small when Kuroo was there. He wonders if the one-bedroom they’ve picked out will be enough. It’s probably even less than the size of Kuroo’s room right now.

He doesn’t hesitate before saying, “I know it’ll be different. Maybe even difficult at first. Who knows?” Kuroo looks into his eyes. “But as long as you’re there, Kenma, I don’t care.”

Kenma smiles against his lips. Of course, the most important thing. Perspective and all that.

~

The last few days in the palace have gone by fast. Kenma is sadder than he would’ve imagined leaving this place. It has grown on him, somewhat, and it has allowed him to grow. The memories he’s made here will be with him for the rest of his days, irreplaceable. It’s where he falls in love, after all.

The night before they leave, Kuroo and Kenma take a walk around the garden. They say goodbye to the spot where their story begins. Nostalgia is heavy in both their hearts, Kuroo’s especially with all the years he’s had with this place.

In the morning, they leave by plane, in the same hangar that Kenma arrives in, the same one where he stands with knots in his stomach waiting for Kuroo to return from the town hall visits. Kenma doesn’t know what he expects, but he certainly is speechless at the amount of people waiting in this space to say goodbye.

He isn’t too surprised though. It seems as though the entire palace staff are here to send the final farewell to their beloved king. Not a single pair of dry eyes can be spotted. Even the ever stoic and collected Officer Yaku has tears streaming down his face. Kuroo embraces him like a brother. Officer Tora is next. He piles on to the hug, no decorum, no manners, exactly what Kuroo needs from his two most trusted men. More guards that Kenma recognizes but doesn’t know the names of join in, creating a huge group hug. It warms Kenma’s heart to see how much Kuroo will be missed.

There are also other servants that Kenma doesn’t know here as well. Kuroo takes a long time to shake their hands and hug each of them, giving his thanks. Kenma doesn’t rush him, his own goodbyes to Hinata and Yachi already done earlier that morning probably takes just as long with just the three of them.

For Kuroo, he understands that this is a beautiful golden cage that has trapped him, sure, but it is also the only place he has called home his whole life. The place where he grew up. The last place he lived with his family. These walls have seen all of his growth and all of his tears. The place that raises him and haunts him all the same. He’s saying goodbye to his life as he knows it. Kenma doesn’t doubt that a part of Kuroo would pocket it and take it with him on the road if given the option.

When Kuroo is done, he walks to where Kenma stands waiting for him. He intertwines their fingers together. Kenma sees that everyone is bowing, their heads lowered. His eyes swell up with tears, knowing that they will not move from their position until the two of them leave.

Kuroo might not be King in all of its sense of the word, but he has the heart and respect of the ones who matter most. For them, he will always be the one that Nekoma owes its bright future to.

Kenma owes his future to him, too.

“Ready? You have everything?” Kenma smiles at him. They’ve reached the point of no return. Kenma isn’t scared. Even though they’re leaving here, he feels like they’ve finally arrived at this place they’ve always meant to be.

“Yeah.” Kuroo squeezes his hand gently in his, his eyes holding Kenma’s gaze like a prophecy fulfilled. “I have everything.”

They walk towards the plane together, ascending the steps hand-in-hand. As the jet takes them far, far away, neither of them looks back.