Chapter Text
The library hummed with a hushed energy, the kind that settles over a space in the first week of classes before the full clamor of campus life descends. Pages whispered as they turned, and the deliberate taps of laptop keys punctuated the stillness.
Hitoka drifted between the towering shelves, her sketchpad clutched protectively to her chest. Each day of her first week had felt like wading through a dense fog, the easy camaraderie of established groups a distant echo in hallways where she remained unseen. And Kuroo, her usual steadfast anchor, had become a fleeting presence. His days were a whirlwind of sports management panels, hushed travel meetings, and networking events, leaving her with snatched phone calls and hurried goodbyes.
She rounded a corner, her steps faltering as her eyes landed on a familiar figure.
“Kenma-kun?”
The characteristic slouch was unmistakable. He was tucked away at the far end of a corner table, the soft frizz of his dark hair a testament to the humid air outside. His dark hoodie was half-zipped, obscuring his neck, and the glow from his laptop screen painted soft shadows across the planes of his face. He was a pocket of stillness in a world of subtle motion.
Kenma’s fingers stilled on the keys as his gaze lifted. “…Yachi?”
A small smile touched her lips as she shuffled closer, the weight of her sketchpad a comforting pressure. “What are you doing here?”
“Finishing a code,” he murmured, his voice the same low drawl she remembered from Kuroo’s side. He offered no further explanation, his attention already threatening to drift back to the screen.
She leaned in slightly, her gaze tracing the intricate lines of code illuminating his display. Her chin rested on her hand, her blonde head tilted in curiosity. “Looks complicated.”
“It’s not.”
A brief silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rustle of paper. Then, she noticed the way his dark bangs kept falling across his eyes, obscuring his focus.
“Do you want me to fix your hair?” The question was soft, almost hesitant.
Kenma didn’t look up this time, his gaze fixed on the glowing lines. But a small nod was her answer. “I don’t mind.”
She moved behind him, the familiar star-shaped hair tie – a memento from Kiyoko-senpai – cool against her wrist. Her movements were careful as she gathered the soft strands of his hair, her fingers gently coaxing them upwards and securing them into a loose, unassuming bun at the nape of his neck.
“There,” she said, stepping back, a small sense of satisfaction blooming in her chest. “Now you’ll be super focused.”
He didn’t offer a verbal reply, but she saw a subtle shift in his posture as he straightened slightly. His fingers resumed their dance across the keyboard, typing with a renewed speed.
Hitoka eased back into the chair beside him, opening her sketchpad and attempting to review her design notes. But a heavy weariness clung to her eyelids. The warmth radiating from the table was oddly comforting, and Kenma’s quiet presence filled the silence without demanding anything of her. He simply was, a steady anchor in her swirling thoughts.
Her pencil stilled against the blank page.
A soft exhale escaped her lips, and moments later, her head lolled sideways, connecting with the cool surface of the table with a muffled thud.
Kenma’s dark eyes blinked slowly.
He turned his head, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.
She was asleep.
A soft, almost imperceptible snore escaped her lips. Her sketchpad lay open before her, a single, tentative line drawn across the pristine white. Her cheek was adorably squished against her forearm, a stray strand of blonde hair clinging to the corner of her mouth.
He watched her for a long moment, his expression still and contemplative.
Then, in a movement so subtle it was almost unconscious, he reached out a slender finger and gently brushed the stray hair away from her parted lips.
She didn’t stir, her breathing remaining soft and even.
Kenma’s hand hovered for a fleeting second longer before he slowly drew it back, letting it rest beside his keyboard on the warm tabletop.
He didn’t immediately return to his code.
Instead, he allowed the rhythm of her soft breathing to fill the quiet corner.
And for the first time since college had begun, a sliver of the ever-present exhaustion seemed to lift.
A soft, muddled sound escaped Hitoka’s throat as she stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to the harsh glare of the overhead lights. A slight stickiness pulled at her cheek as she lifted her head from her arm. She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Wait—did I just fall asleep?!” A flush crept up her neck.
Kenma’s gaze flickered towards her, his expression as placid as ever. “Yeah. For about twenty minutes.”
“Twenty?!” she gasped, pressing her hands to her warm cheeks. “Oh no… You must think I’m so out of it. I’m sorry, I’ve just been so tired lately. College is so much harder than I thought. Everyone already has their friends and groups and study partners, and I still end up eating lunch alone sometimes—Kiyoko-senpai’s so busy with her own things, and Kuro’s always somewhere across the country being cool and productive—” Her hands fluttered in the air as she spoke, her voice laced with a nervous energy.
Kenma watched her for a beat, his dark eyes blinking slowly.
“You don’t have to push yourself so hard,” he said quietly, his gaze steady.
Her frantic movements stilled.
“I’m usually in the library during break time,” he added, his voice carrying a casual tone. “If you… need company.”
Hitoka’s wide eyes lifted to meet his, her lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
A wave of unexpected gratitude washed over her. She reached across the table and gently grasped both of his hands, bowing her head over them in a dramatic gesture of thanks. “Arigato, Kenma-kun!” she exclaimed, her voice thick with relief. “You’re my first… real college friend!”
He stared at the top of her blonde head, the warmth of her hands a surprising contrast to the cool air of the library.
Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips. “Okay.”
Just then, the door to the study room swung inward.
“Someone’s having fun?” Kuroo’s voice boomed into the quiet space, laced with amusement.
Hitoka’s head snapped up, her face instantly brightening. “Oh—Kuro!”
She sprang to her feet, a sudden burst of sunshine and energy radiating from her—until her gaze landed on the two figures accompanying him.
A tall, charming guy with an easy smile and perfect posture.
And beside him, a striking third-year girl with a sleek, high ponytail and an air of effortless confidence. Both were dressed in crisp, clean layers that whispered of successful group projects and effortless competence.
Kuroo slung his bag casually over his shoulder. “This is Kaede and Tatsu. My groupmates for the sports business development thing.”
“Ah—” Hitoka’s posture stiffened slightly, her smile becoming a touch too bright, too polished. “Nice to meet you.”
Kenma rose slowly beside her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his usual air of detachment settling over him. “I’m Kenma,” he said simply, his gaze flicking briefly to the newcomers. Then, with a subtle nod towards Hitoka, “And this is—”
“Yachi Hitoka,” she interjected quickly, offering a polite bow. “First-year design student.”
Kaede tilted her head, her smile widening. “Wow, are you two a couple?” she asked brightly, her gaze flicking between Hitoka and Kenma. “You totally look like you match! Both blonde—like a perfect pair.”
Kuroo blinked once, his expression momentarily blank.
Then, a dry tone entered his voice. “No. She’s actually my girlfriend.”
A beat of stunned silence hung in the air.
“WHAT?!” Kaede and Tatsu chorused simultaneously, their eyes wide with surprise.
Kenma’s dark gaze flickered towards Kuroo, unreadable.
Hitoka’s eyes dropped to the worn carpet.
A faint twitch appeared at the corner of Kuroo’s eye. “Do I not give off boyfriend energy?”
Kaede was still staring at Hitoka, then at Kenma, then back to Hitoka, a flush creeping up her neck. “Oh no, I just—sorry! You two looked so natural just now.”
Hitoka offered a weak, nervous laugh. “Ahaha, no—Kenma-kun’s just helping me survive college. I was… well, I was ranting.”
Kenma simply nodded, his expression deadpan. “She does talk a lot when she’s stressed.”
Hitoka shot him a playful pout. “Kenma-kun!”
Kuroo’s gaze narrowed slightly—not directed at Kenma, but fixed on Hitoka with a silent intensity.
Tatsu clapped his hands together once, breaking the awkward tension. “Anyway! We should go print the materials before the panel!”
Kuroo turned his attention back to Hitoka, reaching out a hand and gently brushing his thumb beneath her eye. “You slept in the library again?” His voice had softened.
She nodded, a small smile returning to her lips. “But it was a good nap.”
“Let me know next time,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face.
Kaede looked between them again, her cheeks now tinged with a deeper red. “I’ll… uh, see you guys later!”
As Kuroo and his groupmates walked off, Kenma picked up his Nintendo Switch from the table and settled back into his chair.
Hitoka lingered beside him, the awkwardness of the misunderstanding still clinging to the air.
Kenma didn’t say a word.
But as she slowly sank back into her chair beside him, flipping open her sketchpad with a soft huff, he wordlessly slid the last piece of melon pan from his bag across the table towards her.
Her surprised gaze lifted to meet his.
He didn’t look up from his game. “For surviving the week.”
A genuine smile finally bloomed on her face.
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The walk back from the printing lab was punctuated by Kaede’s hushed apologies and Tatsu’s attempts at lighthearted banter.
Kuroo trailed slightly behind them, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a quiet contemplation.
He wasn’t angry. Not outwardly, at least.
But an image had lodged itself in his mind: Hitoka’s hands clasped around Kenma’s, her bright, unguarded smile, the trusting tilt of her head as she bowed her thanks. She had looked… connected to Kenma in a way that felt different, unfamiliar.
It’s stupid, he told himself. He knew Kenma. Understood his quiet nature, his preference for solitude. He wasn’t the type to make a move, especially not on his best friend’s girlfriend.
Still.
“She’s cute,” Kaede had remarked with a nervous laugh. “They really looked like a couple for a second there.”
They did, he admitted silently. Too natural.
Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe the late nights and early mornings were catching up to him.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was finally noticing the quiet corners of Hitoka’s life where he wasn’t the sole focus.
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The next day, Kenma hadn’t anticipated company.
His mornings were a predictable rhythm of silent coding before class, the lukewarm comfort of vending machine coffee, and the quiet anonymity of his usual corner on the library’s second floor.
He was halfway through debugging a particularly stubborn menu interface when—
“Kenma-kun…”
He looked up, his fingers pausing mid-tap.
Yachi stood before his table, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling in a pout so exaggerated it was almost comical.
“Yachi?” he blinked, a flicker of concern breaking through his usual stoicism.
She sniffled, clutching her tablet to her chest as if it held the answers to all her woes. “I got… scolded by our design professor…”
Kenma tilted his head slightly, a silent inquiry. “For what?”
“He said my design was too plain,” she wailed softly, sinking into the chair beside him with a dramatic slump. She thrust her tablet towards him, displaying her latest draft. “He said it doesn’t communicate anything. That it’s safe and boring and forgettable.”
Kenma carefully took the tablet from her outstretched hand, his gaze fixed on the screen.
The design was clean, undeniably so—perfectly symmetrical, meticulously balanced, adhering to a minimalist aesthetic. Soft blue tones and crisp lines created an impression of quiet order, almost to the point of sterility.
“What’s the theme?” he asked, his eyes still on the screen.
Hitoka swiped at a stray tear with the back of her hand. “A message you want to relay to your younger self.”
Kenma’s gaze lingered on the central element: a small, almost indistinct figure, faceless and curled like a comma in the center of a vast, empty room. The rest of the composition felt meticulously controlled, devoid of spontaneity.
“…It’s not bad,” he said, his tone neutral.
Her wet eyes widened. “Huh?”
“It’s clean. And… honest.” He paused, his gaze lifting briefly to meet hers. “But maybe that’s the problem. It’s like you’re whispering. If it’s a message to your younger self… wouldn’t you want her to hear it loud and clear?”
Hitoka sniffled, considering his words. “I guess…”
Kenma returned the tablet, his finger tapping the center of the design. “You don’t need to change the structure. But maybe… add something bold. A color, a line, a shape that doesn’t behave. Something that says, ‘I lived through this.’ Something unapologetic.”
Hitoka stared at her work, her mouth falling slightly open in contemplation.
“…That makes sense,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kenma glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a rare hint of something akin to understanding in his gaze. “You always try not to upset anyone. Even in your art.”
“I just… I don’t want to make mistakes.”
“Sometimes the boldest thing you can do is let yourself be wrong,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying a surprising weight.
A long silence stretched between them as Hitoka absorbed his words, her gaze fixed on her tablet.
Then, with a newfound determination, she reached into her bag, retrieved her stylus, and began to sketch directly onto the screen, right there beside him.
Kenma returned to his code, but he didn’t reach for his earbuds. He kept the quiet space open, a silent offering of companionship.
And when Hitoka leaned against his arm ever so slightly while erasing a hesitant line, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.
Kenma stretched languidly, his arms reaching above his head as a faint crackle of joints echoed in the quiet corner.
“I’m grabbing lunch,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on his screen.
Hitoka blinked up from her tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration as she experimented with a bolder color palette. “C-Can I… eat lunch with you?” The question tumbled out in a rush, and she stood a little too quickly, the edge of the table bumping sharply against her knee. “If… if that’s okay…”
Kenma paused his coding, his dark eyes blinking slowly as he considered her request.
Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he agreed. “Sure.”
A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips, a tension she hadn’t realized she was holding finally easing. She scrambled to gather her belongings, her movements quick and slightly flustered as she stuffed her tablet and pens into her pouch.
They walked together towards the bustling cafeteria, their steps falling into an unspoken rhythm. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but rather a comfortable understanding. Hitoka walked a step behind, Kenma not leading but somehow still guiding her through the crowded hallways.
At the counter, Kenma reached for his usual: a single melon pan and a small bottle of green tea. That was it.
Hitoka frowned slightly, her gaze lingering on his meager selection. “You always eat bread.”
“It’s the easiest food to eat,” he replied, tone casual. “And I eat really slow, so…”
She hesitated, then brought out her own full-sized bento from her tote bag.
Kenma blinked at it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, cradling the box. “For today. And yesterday. And probably tomorrow. Do you want me to treat you to anything?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
They found a quiet table outside, under the shade of an old tree on the edge of campus. Students passed by, but no one paid them much attention. Hitoka carefully opened her bento—neat compartments, color-coded food groups, small toothpick flags on the fruit slices.
Kenma unwrapped his melon pan.
“Do you want me to make lunch for you sometime?” Hitoka asked, picking at a piece of tamagoyaki. “As thanks.”
Kenma glanced at her, the breeze lifting his bangs just a bit.
“I make bentos for Kuro, but… he’s always too busy to eat them all. He tries, but…” she trailed off, trying to sound cheerful. “He’s really busy these days.”
There was something quiet in her voice that Kenma didn’t like.
He looked at his bread. Then at her.
“I haven’t had a homemade bento in a long time,” he said honestly.
She tilted her head and smiled at him. “Then it’s settled!”
She lifted one of the little red octopus sausages with her chopsticks and held it toward him.
“Wanna try this?”
Kenma leaned forward slightly and took it from her chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully.
“It’s good,” he said.
She beamed, her cheeks full from a bite of tamagoyaki. She didn’t speak. But Kenma could tell—she was happy he liked it. Not proud. Just relieved. Like making someone feel seen gave her something back.
And he realized he was hungry.
Not just for food. But for that.
For someone who noticed when he was quiet. Who smiled like he mattered even when he didn’t speak.
“Then I’ll make you a full one next time!” she said cheerfully, poking a piece of carrot into her mouth. “You need more than just bread, Kenma-kun.”
Kenma looked at her for a long moment.
“…Okay,” he said softly.