Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kozume Kenma is five years old when he plays with a doll for the first time. 

He's at a birthday for one of his cousins—which cousin, he doesn't remember. All he remembers is his father promising him that he'd play Pokemon with him tomorrow if he behaved for tonight. So he behaves. 

He wanders around for a bit, taking stock of his new surroundings. Usually, he would have stuck by his father, tried to see if he could play on his father’s Game Boy, but his mother told him to go play with his older cousins.

Kenma makes his way to the upstairs. As he walks up the stairs, a group of kids runs past him, laughing and talking. Probably his cousin and her friends. He vaguely recognizes one or two of them as his own cousins. Which cousin was this party for again? What was her name? Hiroka? Hiyori? He doesn’t remember. 

The kids are playing tag, screaming and shouting. Kenma stuffs his fingers into his ears, his small feet padding against the floor as he passes by them. They’re too loud. He doesn’t like all the noise. He runs into the first room he sees and shuts the door behind him.

“Hi there,” an unfamiliar voice says. “Is the party too loud for you too?”

“Huh?”

Kenma turns around to actually take a look at his surroundings. He’s in a room decorated with purple wallpaper with floral patterns. There’s a plush rug on the floor, and it cushions his feet as he moves. There’s a girl sitting on the rug, legs crossed, cutting up some pieces of fabric.

“Hi,” the girl says softly as Kenma startles away from her. “I don’t mind you staying here, if the party’s too loud for you. How old are you?”

“…”

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna,” the girl says, continuing to cut out her fabric pieces. “I’m your older cousin, Kenma-chan. But you’re kinda young, so you probably didn’t know me at first glance.”

She’s right. He doesn’t even want to be here. He feels kind of bad, that he didn’t even recognize his own older cousin at first sight. His mother always says that family is the most important thing, and that he should always respect his elders, no matter what.

“…”

He should speak up. Address his cousin with the proper respect. He doesn’t even know her name.

The girl sets down her work and smiles up at him. “I’m Kozume Himari, Kenma-chan. Nice to see you again. The last time I saw you, you were just a little baby. You’re…that would make you five years old now, right?”

Speak up.

“I am five years old, Himari-san,” Kenma mumbles, already turning away to leave. His mouth says the apology, automatically, like reflex. “I am sorry for disturbing you.”

He can hear the sounds of the other children shouting outside, their shrill voices echoing throughout the hallways. He’s already dreading all the noise when he goes out. But he has to just suck it up and deal with it: he’s bothered his older cousin long enough. 

“No, no,” Himari-san says, patting the ground next to her. “Stay, Kenma-chan. The loud noises bother you, don’t they? They bother me too.”

Kenma nods his head. Slowly. Hesitantly.

Himari-san smiles, holding up her pieces of fabric. “You wanna come help me? I’m making clothes for my dolls. Okasan showed me how to sew. I’m practicing.”

Obey your elders.

Kenma slowly walks towards his older cousin, sitting down on the rug, a good distance away from her. He’s still waiting for her to change her mind, for her to shove him to the side, to tell him to go away.

She doesn’t tell him any of that.

“Would you mind holding my doll, Kenma-chan?” Himari-san asks, picking up her doll and sliding it towards him. The doll has straight black hair, so perfect it looks like it was cut with a ruler. Her bangs fall just above her eyes, and the rest of it falls down to her waist. She’s wearing a simple white robe.

Kenma picks up the doll, rubbing a piece of her hair between his fingers. It’s silky smooth. Then he stops, before his older cousin can shout at him. He shouldn’t touch other people’s belongings without permission. 

Himari-san holds up the pieces of fabric, which Kenma now recognizes as the beginnings of a kimono. It’s bright blue, with green accents. She puts it to the doll’s chest, scrutinizing it with a squinted eye. “Perfect. Just like that.”

He holds the doll still as Himari-san makes a couple alterations with a pair of sewing scissors. She hums a song underneath her breath as she works, some song that he doesn't know, but it sounds… okay. It sounds so different from the other kids, with their loud shouts and shrill whines.

It sounds nice. Peaceful.

“Okasan bought me this doll when I was six because she said it looked like me,” Himari-san says, her voice low and soothing. She shakes her head as she talks. “But now I don’t look like her anymore. That’s too bad.”

Himari-san’s hair is short, curling around her ears. She runs a hand through it, untangling the knots. Kenma has never seen a girl with hair as short as that. 

“I think I look better like this, though,” his cousin says. She licks her thumb and index finger, before smoothing out a piece of thread and threading it through a needle.

“You look…” Kenma’s words stop halfway up his throat. He stares at the ground, willing the words to continue to his mouth.

“Hm?” Himari-san asks as she sews, a series of small and perfect stitches. The thread disappears into the fabric, almost by magic.

“You look…you look pretty, Himari-san.”

Himari-san gives him a sweet smile as she knots the thread. “Thank you very much, Kenma-chan. You know, you can stop calling me Himari-san now. Your face pinches up every time you do it. Just call me Himari from now on, alright? We’re close enough in age, anyway. I’m only eight.”

Kenma nods, slowly. “Okay. Thank you. Himari.” His words come out clipped, fractured. He shuts his mouth. 

“You’re welcome, Kenma.” And with that, Himari clips the thread and takes the doll back from him.

It feels weird, not attaching an honorific to the end of his elder cousin’s name, after he’s been told to do it for so long. He thinks it feels weird in a good way. And when his older cousin drops the honorific for his name, it makes him feel weird in a good way as well. 

Is this what his mother means, to feel respected?

"There we go," Himari says, pulling the kimono onto the doll. She straightens the doll's clothes, posing the doll just so. The doll looks pretty. Delicate. Fragile. "You want to look at some of the other clothes I made for her?"

Kenma nods, hesitantly. But less so, this time. 

And so Himari takes out a plastic bag full of doll clothes, ones that she made herself. They're brightly colored, and lovingly made. He counts seven in total. Skirts, dresses, mostly. There's another kimono, and it looks halfway done. 

"Okasan hasn't taught me how to make the clothes that I want to wear," Himari laments, tugging the blue kimono off the doll. "That's okay. I think she'll teach me eventually, if I ask enough."

Kenma makes a small noise of assent. Himari smiles down at him—when did she get so close?—and pats his head. 

"I talk a lot, huh, Kenma?" Himari asks, gently placing the doll's kimono into the bag along with the other clothes. Kenma shakes his head, vigorously from side to side, until his head feels like it's about to fly off. His cousin doesn't talk a lot. Not as much as the other children that are at the party. Not nearly as much. 

The shouting from the other children returns. It gets louder and louder. It sounds like a tidal wave, roaring, scary, and inevitable. Kenma clamps his hands over his ears as the sound slowly approaches them.

"HIMARI!" some kid shouts, flinging open the door. "IT'S CAKE TIME! EVERYONE'S WAITING FOR YOU!"

And in the face of all the loud noises, Himari doesn't bat an eye. She merely stands up, brushes off her dress, and extends a hand out to Kenma. 

Kenma doesn't take it. But he does reach a tentative hand out—because he wants to take his older cousin's hand. But would that be impolite of him? 

Himari makes the decision for him. She takes his pudgy five-year-old hand in her own, ruffling his hair with her other hand as she walks.

"You were forcing your little cousin to play dolls with you?" one of the nameless, faceless children asks, harshly. He bends down, sneering at Kenma, and the little boy flinches away, pressing his face against Himari's leg.

Kozume Kenma has always been small for his age, but he feels even smaller now. 

"I bet he doesn't want to play with girly things like that!"

"Yeah, that's sooooo boring!"

"Why didn't he come play with us? We were playing tag; he'd like that, right?" He recognizes this boy's face—he's another one of his cousins. He's still nameless, though. "You'd like that, right, Kenma-chan? You'd rather play tag, right?"

Kenma didn't think there was anything boring about it. He got to watch Himari sew, watch how she put her entire focus into each and every stitch. The room was quiet. His cousin's voice was soft. He would pick watching his cousin's sewing over playing tag any chance he got.

Aren't his family members supposed to be kind to him as well? Isn't it supposed to go both ways?

"I think Kenma had a very nice time," Himari says, swinging Kenma's hand back and forth. "He was very polite and respectful, and he helped me."

One of the kids, a girl, scoffs. "Really, Himari, playing alone all by yourself, on your own birthday? You're such a spoilsport."

"You're so lame, Himari," another girl says. Vaguely, Kenma thinks that Himari's friends and family are mean. And that's not right—Himari is so very nice.

"Sorry," Himari says quietly, walking past her. Kenma follows—he's holding her hand, he cannot do anything but follow. "You all just looked like you were having a good time without me."

All the kids laugh and jeer, pushing and shoving at each other. Kenma thinks that some of them are saying that he's a sissy, whatever that means. They all run off, leaving Himari and Kenma behind in their wake. 

"I really am a spoilsport, huh?" Himari asks as she slows her walking pace down for Kenma. "It's my own birthday, and I decided to just...play by myself, all alone."

"I..." Kenma says, and it surprises the two of them, himself more than his cousin. "I…liked helping you…Himari."

The biting words of Kenma's cousins fade away as Himari smiles down at him, like a calming salve for his wounds. She pats his back, continuing to lead him towards the dining room, where more noise awaits them. But here, it's calm. Nice. Peaceful.

"Thank you, Kenma."

—

Kenma learns, a year later, when he starts school, that boys are not supposed to play with dolls. 

No, boys bring action figures to school, and they re-enact fight scenes with them, and they throw them all over the place. Now, Kenma likes dramatic fight re-enactments as much as the next six-year-old boy. But he prefers it when the toys being used to stage these fights are not being thrown everywhere—thrown at him. He likes it when he has a gundam in his hand and Himari has a dinosaur in her hand, and they can clink them against each other and make their own quiet fight noises with their own mouths, without needlessly throwing them.

It’s not like the girls are any better, though. They make up complicated stories for their dolls, come up with characters, beginnings, endings. They laugh too loudly, making fun of each other all the time. They insult each others’ dolls and their clothes. Their words sound so mean. Kenma doesn’t want to be anywhere near them either. The dolls all look the same, anyway. And all the clothes look fine. He doesn’t get why they all need to be so…loud and annoying. He likes it when he's playing house with Himari, when he pretends to be the son and Himari pretends to be the mom and Himari asks, How was your day? and all Kenma has to say is Good. 

He wishes he could bring his dad’s Game Boy to school. He likes playing Pokémon. There’s a nice balance between action and storytelling. And there’s cool creatures, better than any action figure or doll. But video games aren’t allowed at school. And even if they were, his mother would never let him. 

So he just sits by himself during recess. Himari goes to his school, and she lives a ten-minute walk away from his house. He wishes Himari was his age, but she’s nine now, and the fourth graders have a different recess than the first graders. But Himari walks him to his home or her home every day, then stays with him until his parents come back from work.

“Kenma,” she says, one day, as they’re walking hand-in-hand back to her home. “Don’t you have any other friends besides me? Anyone your own age?”

Kenma shakes his head, looking down at the sidewalk. He counts the cracks as he carefully steps over them. Himari hums, a soft little tune as she swings their hands back and forth. Kenma feels bad that Himari has to be the one to walk him back home, every single day. She has friends her own age. She should be hanging out with them.

Family always looks out for each other.

“You’re my friend…” Kenma says, so quietly that his cousin has to bend her head down to listen to him. He quickly turns his head away from her, suddenly shy, and Himari laughs.

“You’re my friend too, Kenma,” Himari says, unlocking the door to her house. “Now, I got something new last night. Do you wanna see?”

“Uh-huh,” Kenma mutters, never letting go of her hand as he slips his shoes off. What could Himari have gotten? New shoes? Maybe a new bracelet? Himari shows him her jewelry sometimes, and sometimes she lets him wear some of it. It’s pretty, glittery, and sparkly. 

Himari leads up all the way up to her bedroom. She opens her drawers, taking out a small rectangular object.

Is that…?

“Your dad has one of these, doesn’t he?” Himari asks, turning it over in her hands. Kenma nods, staring down at the video game console. 

It’s a Game Boy. Except it’s brand new, shiny red. His dad’s Game Boy is gray, and there’s a weird sticky stain on the back that won’t come out no matter how much Kenma picks at it.

“Do you wanna play on it?” Himari asks as Kenma’s hands come forward to take it from her. Then he stops midway, his little hands curling into tiny fists. “Hey, it’s okay. I haven’t played on it yet. I wanted to play with you.”

“I…” Kenma glances up at his older cousin, who’s smiling down at him with that soft, sweet smile. 

He thinks about all the boys playing with action figures, and all the girls playing with dolls. He and his cousin are strange, he knows that much. He hasn’t met anyone else who likes playing with both boy and girl toys. 

They're weird. But they can be weird together. 

“Okay,” Kenma says quietly, and there’s soft happiness in his cousin’s eyes. She flops onto her bed, patting the space next to her. Kenma sits down next to his cousin. Himari puts an arm around his shoulders as she shows him the controls to the new game she got. They stay there until the sun goes down.

Kenma doesn’t realize it, but at the end of the night, he’s lying his head down in his cousin’s lap, eyes closing halfway as Himari combs through his hair with her fingers. 

Her touch is peaceful.

Kenma, for once, doesn’t mind it.

—

He makes his first friend a year later, at the age of seven.

"Looks like we have new neighbors," his mother says as she peeks out the window. Kenma stands on tiptoe, trying to see what his mother sees. He doesn't see anything, so his mother lifts him up onto a chair, to look out at the house that sits next to them. "And it looks like they have a little boy, around your age! Isn't that nice, Kenma? Maybe you can be his first friend here."

Kenma makes a soft noise of assent, nodding his head and leaning forward to see who the little boy next door is. But the family is walking around, shuffling around boxes, and Kenma can only see a tuft of hair, as black as a stormy night, before it disappears into the house.

"Maybe I should make something to bring to them," his mother muses as she takes out the bowls for dinner. She smiles down at Kenma, ruffling his hair. "Maybe cookies, or brownies. Kenma, you'll help me, won't you?"

Always help your elders whenever you can. Especially when they ask. Even when they don't ask. Do it anyway.

"Yes, mother," Kenma says quietly as he takes the bowls from his mother. 

He doesn't really want a new friend. He has his cousin. He has Himari. He has video games. He likes his tiny world—he doesn't feel like expanding it out further. 

And then the next day, they get a knock on their door, and Kenma comes face to face with the boy with hair as black as a stormy night sky. 

"We're the Kuroo family," the boy's father says as he holds out a box full of food to Kenma's mother. "We moved in next door and just came to say hello..."

He's got funny hair, is Kenma's first thought upon seeing the boy properly for the first time. 

The boy is standing just like Kenma, hiding behind his father's legs. A fluffy tuft of hair falls over his right eye. The boy's hair is long, not as long as his own hair, but long enough to hide part of his face. It's black, black like storm clouds, and it looks silky, and Kenma is reminded of a certain doll that stands on his older cousin's desk. But it sticks straight up in spikes, like the boy had dumped an entire bottle of hair gel onto his head before coming here.

He hears his mother accepting the box of food, watches her shake Kuroo-san's hand, and stares after the boy and his strange hair.

Then the door closes, and the boy with hair like dark storm clouds is gone.

—

He learns later that the boy's name is Kuroo Tetsurou, and at eight years old, he is only a year older than him—so he doesn’t have to use honorifics. He learns that Kuroo lived with his dad and his grandparents, all of whom worked. He learns that Kuroo's mother and father are divorced. He learns that Kuroo has a sister that's five years older than him, and that she lives with their mother in Osaka. He learns that Kuroo hasn't seen his older sister in a year, ever since their parents' divorce. 

He learns that Kuroo Tetsurou is a very quiet, very anxious, and very lonely boy. Even more so than him. At least he had Himari. 

He learns that the adults around him expect to be Kuroo's first friend.

When all of the adults that live in the Kuroo household were out of the house, Kuroo would come over to his house to play. The logic here was that since they were the same age, they would easily bond. 

Just because we're almost the same age doesn't mean we'll be friends, Kenma thinks as he brings Kuroo up to his room. Stupid adults.

They are both quiet, anxious, and lonely boys, but Kuroo has the excuse of being new to this area, and Kenma does not. Neither of them say a word as they silently stare at each other as they stand awkwardly. 

It's Kenma that finally speaks the first words. 

"Wanna play Virtua Fighter 4?" Kenma asks, gesturing towards his PS2. It was a gift from Himari and her family, for his seventh birthday. He played on it every single day. Sometimes alone, sometimes with his father, and sometimes with Himari. He's never played with another kid besides his cousin.

Kuroo eagerly nods, taking the controller Kenma offers him. Kenma sits down on his bed. Kuroo sits down next to the bed, sitting on his legs. Kenma boots up the game, and they spend the next few hours in comfortable silence, beating each other in combat. They don't speak to each other—Kenma has never once heard Kuroo's voice—but they play well together all the same.  

Alone, but together.

—

Many weeks pass by like this. Kenma sees Kuroo at school, but he's in the second grade, and Kuroo is in the third grade, and so Kenma rarely ever sees him. He hears his voice sometimes, in splintered phrases and fractured words when a teacher or a classmate calls for him. 

Kuroo's voice is low, soft—soft in a different way than Himari's. When Kenma listens to Himari's voice, it's soft like cotton, or like a kitten's fur. Substantial. Solid. Warm. Kuroo's voice is soft like rain, or a breeze of wind. Like Kenma will hear Kuroo in the distance, blink, and then Kuroo will suddenly disappear. 

He begins seeing Himari less and less. She's a fifth grader now—and it looks like she has more friends. But she still walks him home every day. And now, she walks Kuroo home as well.

"Goodbye, Kuroo-chan, goodbye, Kenma," she says, patting both of them on the back before she turns to leave. Kenma has been spending more and more time with Kuroo, and less and less time with Himari. If this annoys Himari, she doesn't show it. It's like trading in your bow and arrow for a sword in a videogame. There are different benefits to hanging out with Himari versus Kuroo. But there is no way to fully tell which one is better than the other. 

Him and Kuroo go up the stairs to Kenma's room. They take their positions, the same way they have been doing for weeks now, almost ritual at this point. They play a couple rounds of Virtua Fighter 4. Kuroo has gotten much better in videogames since becoming Kenma's friend—every now and then, he'll score a win on Kenma.

Kenma glances over at Kuroo, after he beats him for the fifth consecutive time. The boy's face is pinched in concentration, and something else. Something that Kenma quickly recognizes as boredom. Of course Kuroo is bored—they've been doing this exact same thing for two months. 

"Umm..." he says, breaking the silence. Kuroo startles to attention, glancing up at him. Even though Kuroo is the one who is older, Kenma is always the one who speaks to him first, always the one trying to make him feel welcome. "We play this all the time. Is there anything else you wanna play instead? We can do that."

Kuroo's mouth presses into a thin line, and his eyes go wide as he thinks over Kenma's words. Then he springs up, running out of Kenma's room—and by the sounds of it, down the stairs as well. Kenma distantly hears the front door open and then shut. Kenma is reminded of the stray cats that sometimes roam the neighborhood, the ones that skitter away at any loud sound, even the sound of his breathing when he gets too close. 

Great. You scared him off. 

There's the beginnings of resentment brewing in his stomach, foreign and sour. He doesn't want to have to be the one to start conversation with Kuroo, be the one to invite him into his house, be the one to reach his hand out to Kuroo. Because look what happened. He reached his hand out to Kuroo, and Kuroo ran away. 

Then he hears the front door open and shut again, and the sounds of Kuroo running back up the stairs, and the feelings dissipate. Kuroo appears in Kenma's doorway a couple seconds later, holding a volleyball in one hand, and an awkward expression of joy upon his face.

I meant video games, Kenma distantly thinks. 

—

They go down to the river that cuts through their neighborhood to toss the volleyball around. They have to step down the stairs of stone blocks to get down there, wobbly and unstable things, and Kenma worries he'll lose his footing at one point—he has to reach out a hand and plant it on Kuroo's shoulder for safety.

Kenma finds out that volleyball is to Kuroo as video games are to him. 

He also finds out that Kuroo can string together more than five words at a time, when he wants to. He also finds out that Kuroo becomes vastly more energetic and excitable, when he wants to.

And Kenma also finds out that Kuroo really, really wants to teach him volleyball.

“Ooh, close! Try putting your arms like this, though.” Kuroo curls his right fingers around his left fist, holding his hands out. As Kuroo so excitedly told him, this move is called a receive. “When you put your hands like this, the ball hits here and goes where you want!”

So he does know how to talk, Kenma thinks as he scrambles after the ball, catching it right before it falls into the river. A lot.

He throws the ball at Kuroo, and Kuroo eagerly jerks his hands up to receive. He explained to Kenma that receives were how volleyball players redirected the balls to where they wanted it to go. Kenma assumes this is what Kuroo was aiming for. 

But the ball just bounces off Kuroo’s wrists with a lame BAP!

“It’s not going where you want at all,” Kenma deadpans as the ball ricochets off Kuroo’s  wrists and lands into—

The ball goes directly into a nearby mud puddle, splattering the both of them with dirt and grime. Kuroo bears the brunt of it, but a lot of it ends up on Kenma as well. 

The two of them stare at each other for a little bit, and then—

Kuroo bursts out laughing. It’s the first time Kenma has ever heard him laugh—although, today, he has had a lot of firsts when it comes to Kuroo. 

Kuroo’s laughs are staggered, sudden, and loud. It reminds Kenma of a clap of thunder. Distant, varying in volume, but always there. 

And after a couple moments, Kenma joins in as well. 

He’s not used to laughing, not in front of other people. Himari has told him that his laughs remind her of the sounds a small cat makes, barely noticeable, but pleasant if you know how to look for them. 

“You’re filthy!” Kuroo manages to shout through his laughs. Kenma’s holding his hands over his mouth to keep the laughs from spilling out too quickly. 

“So are you!” Kenma shouts back. He can’t stop his laughter from spilling out—it just seeps through the cracks.

And then, for the first time—a lot of firsts when it comes to Kuroo today—Kuroo smiles, widely. It’s brief, and it’s blinding, and it’s pretty. 

And then, before Kenma can blink, it’s gone.

Kuroo’s laugh is like thunder, but his smile is like lightning. 

They stop playing after that, because Kenma whines about how his feet hurt from running around so much. Then he asks Kuroo to walk along the banks of the river. Kuroo agrees, and he doesn’t point out the hypocrisy of Kenma wanting to walk more even though his feet are tired.

It’s nice, walking along the banks of the river, Kuroo by his side. There’s nobody to bother him, not like when his class takes walks and all the kids push and shout. But the presence of someone else is nice, not like when Kenma takes walks by himself and his only company is his own lonesome thoughts. 

It’s nice, walking with Kuroo. Alone, but together.

A loud sound cuts through all the quiet ones. The meowing of a cat.

Kenma looks straight down and finds a small calico cat. It meows, licking its paw and flicking its tail. Kenma squats down, scratching the cat behind its ears. 

“It likes you,” Kuroo says with interest. He squats down, reaches his own hand out, and the cat rears its head away from him, leaning more into Kenma’s touch. 

“They don’t always like me,” Kenma says quietly, remembering all of the other stray cats that flinched away from his reach. "Normally, they run away from me."

Kuroo nods absently. “And that's why I like dogs better.”

Kenma thinks about how his cousin said that his laughs were like the sounds of a cat, and he can feel disappointment sinking heavily into his chest. 

—

"Huh?! Hey!" Kenma shouts, making Kuroo snap his head up in astonishment. Oh, right, Kenma has never raised his voice above a mutter or a murmur in Kuroo's presence. But Kenma's too worried about something else to worry about that. "Where'd all these little dots come from?"

He hadn't noticed them appear when they were playing volleyball, but they certainly weren't there before they started playing volleyball. They're small, almost like freckles, but his skin all along the underside of his forearms is a faint red.

"Huh?" Kuroo asks, shuffling over to peer at Kenma's affliction. Kenma expects him to get as worried as him. Kenma does not expect Kuroo to just say, "Oh, those? It's just a little internal bleeding."

Huh??? Internal bleeding???? Isn't that bad?????

The idea that he was internally bleeding somehow sounded really scary to him, but Kuroo made it sound like it was nothing. 

"They go away fast," Kuroo says, turning away. "Keep practicing and you'll stop getting them."

What makes you think that I will keep practicing?

But Kenma has to admit that Kuroo is pretty—brave? Is that the word? Intuitively, it feels wrong, because Kuroo is skittish and nervous, and always runs away from him during school. But seeing him talk about something scary like this so calmly—he must be brave, in some weird way.

"Hey, um…” Kenma says as they climb back up the concrete blocks, up to the street. “Why not find better people to play with?” He’d seen some of the kids in his class play volleyball, and there were some kids that played really well—surely, there were kids like that in Kuroo’s class as well. “Playing with a newbie like me has to be boring.”

“NOPE! NUH-UH!” Kuroo immediately shouts, startling Kenma. He shakes his head violently from side to side. “Playing with you isn’t boring at all! You learn quickly and you’re super smart!”

He’s talking more loudly than he has been, but he’s also shaking even more. He’s overcompensating, trying to hide his nervousness from Kenma.

He’s not doing a very good job at it, Kenma notes. He can see the tremor of Kuroo’s shoulders as he walks.

“Oh…” Kenma mutters as he walks next to Kuroo. “R—really?”

He’s nervous as well. Nobody has ever told him that he’s super smart. So he speaks more quietly. Maybe Kuroo won’t even hear him.

“I played on a team before…” Kuroo mutters, head tilted up in thought. “…but then I had to move.”

“Oh. Okay.” Kenma watches Kuroo shift the ball from hand to hand as they walk. How good of a volleyball player was Kuroo? He still thinks that it was a waste to spend a whole afternoon and evening trying to teach a total beginner to play volleyball. “But I think you could find more people to play with here, if you looked.”

Kuroo’s lips pinch together, and Kenma can already tell what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t wanna. It’s not fun being in a new place. I get that.

So he’ll leave Kuroo alone about this. Maybe he’ll change his mind. He probably won’t. If Kenma was in his shoes, if he was in a whole new place with only his video games to keep him company, he wouldn’t go searching for new people either. 

“H-hey, um,” Kuroo says suddenly, stopping the both of them in their tracks. “Do you have free time this Saturday?”

Or maybe Kuroo will change his mind.

“Yeah,” Kenma says, surprising the two of them even more. “I do.”

Maybe he will change his mind as well.

—

“Hrm?” his father asks later that night, during dinner, around a mouthful of rice. “What happened to your arms, Kenma?”

“It’s nothing,” Kenma says, and his parents exchange quizzical looks. He has never been the best with injuries. They must be wondering about his change of heart. “Just a little internal bleeding.”

His parents only look more confused at that, so he swallows down his salmon and explains, “Kuroo taught me how to play volleyball today. He said that they would go away if I kept practicing.”

“You’re going to take up volleyball?” his mother asks in interest. “That’s nice, Kenma-chan.”

Kenma’s skin prickles at the nickname. He’s been hanging around Himari and Kuroo too much, gotten used to being treated so casually. Himari doesn’t use honorifics with him, and Kuroo always just tugs at his shirt sleeve, or taps his shoulder, or says, “Hey, you,” to refer to him.

Right. He needs to know his place.

“Excuse me,” Kenma says, taking his plate to the sink. He hasn’t eaten dinner with his parents in a couple of nights. He hopes tomorrow, he can eat dinner with Kuroo. They watch cartoons when they eat dinner together. 

He walks up the stairs to his room, thinking over all the events that happened that day.

Volleyball was…was it fun? He’d much rather play video games over volleyball. But…it was nice hearing Kuroo laugh, seeing Kuroo smile. He saw a new side to his friend today. 

He flops onto his bed, closing his eyes. All that running around exhausted him. When he wakes up from his nap, he’ll brush his teeth and change into his pyjamas. When he wakes up, it’ll probably be late, but he won’t be tired. Maybe that means he can play video games after his parents go to bed. 

He dreams of a boy with hair like storm clouds, voice like rain, a laugh like a clap of thunder, and a smile like a strike of lightning.

He dreams of Kuroo Tetsurou, the boy like a living storm.

—

“You ready?” Kuroo asks, a couple of days later. He’s speaking loudly again, to hide how shaky his voice is. “Cuz here we go!”

His hand has been on the door handle for at least a minute. It’s trembling, but barely. “I mean it! We’re gonna go in there right now!”

Kenma resists the urge to roll his eyes. His friend is trying something new, and he’s nervous, and he needs to be the encouraging one even though he’s younger than him. “Then go.”

Kuroo sucks in a breath, gripping the door handle so tightly, Kenma's worried he'll break it off. He finally turns it, opening the door all the way. 

His friend has dragged him all the way to the gym near their neighborhood, and the sound of volleyballs hitting the ground greets him as Kuroo holds the door open. There are kids everywhere, running around, hitting balls, generally making a ruckus. Kenma resists the urge to cover his ears with his hands. His mother said he grew out of that years ago. 

I knew there would be more people playing this sport, if he looked for them.

Now he's gonna just leave me alone. Leave me for better people.

He should just start saying his farewells right now.

"What is this place?" Kenma asks instead. 

"It's a training camp!" Kuroo says excitedly. Kenma can see Hikarigayama Fighters on the shirt of one of the kids as he runs by. All of the kids here look a couple years older than them—probably middle schoolers. But occasionally, he'll see a kid their age run past, running after a ball, their short legs struggling to keep up with the older kids.

Whoever is the oldest rules, even here. 

"Ah, you're the new kids, aren't you?" one of the coaches asks, catching sight of them. Kuroo snaps to attention, eagerly nodding. Kenma watches a ball fly towards him and sail out the open door. Welp. He's not going after that.

"Come on in," the coach says, and so the two of them timidly follow. The coach brings them over to where a couple of other kids are practicing their receives. Kuroo is undoubtedly very good at it, much to Kenma's dismay. He’s probably just as good as the middle schoolers. Kenma is lucky if the ball even hits his arms correctly. 

You only learned how to do that a couple days ago, Kenma reminds himself as the ball flies off his arms and to the side. He said it would get better with practice.

He realizes, far too late, that he's actually committed to practicing the stupid sport.

It's for Kuroo, he tells himself. Because he has no friends. 

After what feels like hours—but what is really only fifteen minutes—Kenma glances over to what the other kids are doing. Some of them—the really tall ones—are doing a thing where they're slamming balls over the net. 

"That over there looks cool," Kenma says, pointing to get Kuroo's attention. Kuroo turns his head and body just in time to avoid getting hit in the face by a ball. "Why don't we do that?"

"Ooh! That's spiking! That is super cool!" Kuroo rushes over to Kenma, watching as the middle schoolers high-five each other. "But you can only do stuff like that if you're really tall."

Another unfair disadvantage, Kenma thinks as he watches the tall, tall middle schoolers soar above them. I can't help that I'm shorter, or younger. 

Whatever. I don't want to do spiking, anyway. They run around too much. I'm already tired, and all I did was stand still and bump a ball against my arms.

"Oh?" a gravelly voice speaks up from behind them. Kenma turns to look over his shoulder, finding a stooped old man slowly walking into the gym, his hands folded behind his back. "Why don't we lower the net, then?"

Huh?

"Oh, hey!" one of the coaches shouts. The old man raises his hand in greeting. "Coach Nekomata!"

He's a coach? A coach where? 

"The first and most important lesson to teach is how fun it is to succeed at something," the coach continues on. Is he talking to them? Regardless, Kuroo is drinking in the man's words, eyes wide. 

"It's been a while, sir!" the coach says as he runs up to the man. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I just happened to be passing by today, is all," the old coach chuckles. He walks past them, and Kenma automatically steps back to make way for him. He’s so very old, after all.

Respect your elders. He’s so very old, after all. Age begets wisdom. 

"Do what you love, and success will come." The old man continues speaking as he walks away. Is he still talking to them? "Have you heard that saying?"

Kuroo opens his mouth to respond, but the man is already out of earshot. Miffed, Kuroo closes his mouth.

It doesn't matter, anyway, Kenma thinks as he turns away, Kuroo following him. There's too many enemies against me for me to succeed. 

—

After that, Kuroo tries spiking the ball. 

He fails, his first couple of times. He doesn’t hit the ball at all, the ball flies directly into his face, the ball just lamely crashes into the net, the ball bounces right off the top. But after every time, Kuroo just gets back up and tries again. Kenma can’t understand how Kuroo finds the motivation to do that.

They lowered the net, Kenma notices. It’s been lowered, a couple inches down. Makes it easier for him, I guess. He’s still kinda just…failing at it anyway, without getting anything out of it. 

How come he doesn't give up?

And then, after many minutes of trying, Kenma looks up to watch Kuroo slam the ball over the net, the ball bouncing on the floor with a satisfying SMACK! Kuroo lands on the ground, staring at his hand in awe. 

Then he pumps his fist above his head and screams, “I SPIKED IT! I SPIKED IT!!”

It wasn’t even anything special. He just hit a ball over the net.

And yet, as Kenma turns his head to watch the stooped old man walk out the gym doors, he has a nagging feeling that his friend would remember this day for the rest of his life. 

—

Kenma moves into third grade. Kuroo moves into fourth grade. 

And Himari moves away. 

"What do you mean, you're moving?" Kenma asks in a bare whisper as he sits on his cousin's bed. Himari smiles, in that soft way of hers, as she sits down on the bed next to him. She runs a hand through his hair, untangling the knots.

“I’m about to start middle school,” Himari says gently. “My parents thought it would be a good idea to move now, so I don’t get used to a middle school here.”

“Where are you going?” Kenma whispers. “Where will you go?”

“Osaka.”

Kuroo’s sister is in Osaka, Kenma thinks. Maybe they can be friends. Never mind the fact that Kuroo’s sister is two years older than her—they’re both in middle school. They could meet.

I don’t want Himari to be all alone. Himari deserves good friends. Better ones than the ones she has here.

She deserves a friend better than me.

“Don’t cry, Kenma,” Himari says soothingly. Kenma hadn’t even noticed the salty drops of water running their way down his cheeks. His older cousin wipes away his tears as they come streaming down. “You can call me every day, and I’ll talk to you.”

“Who am I supposed to play Pokemon with now?” Kenma asks, sulking, turning his head away. His voice has dropped, low enough that Himari wouldn’t hear the shaking in his voice. 

“Don’t you play with Kuroo-chan everyday?” 

Kenma huffs, crossing his arms. “We just play volleyball. He likes playing volleyball more than video games, and I just always go along with him.”

“Oh? How come?”

“He’s older than me,” Kenma mutters. “Duh.”

Himari hums, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. “Well, ask him sometime. I’m sure he’d like to play with you. I’m older than you, and I like playing video games with you.”

“You’re the only one who does.” 

“Ah, don’t say that, Kenma.” Himari takes a strand of hair in her fingers. “Your hair’s getting long. Would you like to learn how to braid it?”

“When are you leaving?” Kenma asks instead. Himari only hums, her fingers already separating his hair into three parts. Both of them know that they don’t have much time left.

Kenma will miss Himari when she’s gone. He already misses her, even though she’s sitting right next to him. Tonight will likely be the last time he’ll ever see her face-to-face—at least, for a while. 

Her fingers are gentle, and her voice is soft. He tries to remember the feel and sound of both. 

“I’d like to give you a gift before I go, Kenma.” Himari ties off the braid, patting his shoulder. She stands up, rummaging through her dresser drawers. Kenma looks around her, at the full-length mirror that stands next to her drawers.

His hair looks—it looks nice, all tied back. He tilts his head from side to side, watching the braid swing back and forth. Still, he does feel significantly more anxious, with his field of vision so open. He doesn’t want to see everything. That’s why he’s been growing his hair out. And so tying his hair back kind of defeats the purpose—but at least he looks nice.

You kind of look like a girl.

He kind of…does look like a girl. But only from the back. He doesn’t have the face of a girl, unlike Himari, who has soft cheekbones and wide eyes. His face is sharper, his eyes narrower. He's looked at himself in the mirror; he constantly looks like he's on edge. Always on guard. Not handsome or anything like that. 

Girls are pretty, and he is not pretty.

Pause. Check inventory. 

Do you want to be pretty?

“Here we go,” Himari says, cutting off his train of thought. She places something in his hands, and Kenma tears his eyes away from his reflection to the thing he’s now holding. 

It’s the doll. The doll with hair as black as ink and skin as white as paper. The doll that Himari’s mom gave to her when she was six years old. That was about four years ago, right?

“I want you to have her.” Himari smoothes the doll’s hair back. “I’ll leave her clothes with you as well. Take care of her, alright?”

Kenma nods, slowly. Himari had never truly treasured the doll, but she cared about it all the same. And now she’s giving the doll to him. 

“Okay,” Kenma says, and he tries to remember the way his cousin braided his hair, the way his cousin sewed, the way she hummed underneath her breath. “Okay.”

“Don’t cry, Kenma,” Himari says, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. Kenma doesn’t hug her back, but he does hold the doll with both his hands, clutches her close to his chest.

“Not crying, Himari,” Kenma says, stubbornly turning his head away. 

He’s going to miss his first and his best friend. He’s sure that his cousin is the only person who would willingly choose to hang out with him. Himari is the only person who would choose him as her first choice. Kuroo wouldn’t—he only hangs out with him because he has no other choice. He’s going to be making more and more friends now that he has volleyball. Kenma won’t be his first choice anymore.

“You can name her,” Himari says, her voice low and soft. “I never actually named her.”

Kenma thinks. “Himari. What’s your favorite flower?”

“Hm. I suppose poppies are very nice.”

Kenma lifts up the doll, holding her at eye level. The doll smiles back at him, eyes perpetually closed. “Keshi. That’ll be her new name.” It’s unoriginal to name her after his cousin’s favorite flower, but nobody ever called Kenma creative, only smart.

Himari laughs, a soft, gentle thing. “Keshi it is. Funny, she looks more like you than she looks like me.”

Kenma nods, closes his eyes.

He tries to not think about how that simple statement makes him feel happy.

Pause. Check inventory.

Why does it make me feel happy?

Chapter Text

Kozume Kenma is ten years old when he dresses up as a girl for the first time. 

In his complete and utter defense, it's Kuroo's idea. 

"There's gonna be a neighborhood costume contest, and the winner gets a prize! There's a whole category just for partner costumes!"

"I don't want to be Kiki," Kenma says as Kuroo holds up the plain black dress. "No way. You be Kiki."

"But you said you liked Kiki!" Kuroo pleads as he shakes the dress towards Kenma. "And your hair is longer than mine! Please!"

Kenma scoffs. "Barely." Kuroo's hair is chin-length, while his own goes down to his shoulders. Both of them could be Kiki. "Why do you want me to be Kiki, anyway? What are you going to be?"

"Jiji, duh!" Kuroo points towards the small black cat as it scampers across his TV screen. "It'll be cool! I already have a black cat onesie!" 

"Why can't I be Jiji and you be Kiki? I'm smaller than you. It makes more sense."

Kuroo takes a second to ponder this, head bowed in thought. Then he says, "'Cause you're not a black cat, duh."

"What?"

"You're—you're like—" Kuroo waves around his hands wildly. "A calico! Yeah, a calico cat. 'Cause you're shy at first, but then you're really nice to people you get used to. And I'm a black cat 'cause I just...hide and watch people."

This makes sense. They're both really shy, but Kenma will talk to people if prompted to do so. Kuroo just stares at them before awkwardly flubbing out a response. But he's getting better, though. 

Black cats are bad luck. Kenma distantly thinks that Kuroo has been bringing bad luck into his life ever since he came into it. He plays volleyball now, and gets all tired and sweaty. He doesn't like playing video games by himself as much anymore. And now, he's being peer pressured into dressing up as a girl. 

"And besides, her name fits you! You're Kenma! Kiki, Kenma!" 

Pause. Check inventory.

Kenma raises an eyebrow. "I don't think you've ever called me Kenma before." The way Kuroo says his name is different from how most other people say it—the way he says it sounds like kyan-ma. 

He could have just said Kozume. But he didn't. 

Kuroo's breath seems to catch in his throat, and he hurriedly backpedals. "Uh—well, if you don't want me to call you that, I—I won't, but—uh—"

"You can call me Kenma," Kenma says. "It's whatever. I'm not gonna call you...Tetsurou, though, that's weird."

"Why?" 

It's because, soon enough, you're gonna be leaving me behind, and you're gonna get better friends, and so I shouldn't even bother to start calling you by your given name. Himari let me talk to her without the honorifics, but she's gone now too. 

"You're older than me."

Kuroo blinks. "Oh." 

"Get one of your new volleyball friends to be Kiki," Kenma says to change the topic, wondering if Kuroo already had a big red bow and black shoes ready for him. Even now, he can feel the list of excuses he had dwindling away. 

"I don't know them that well. None of them would want to be Kiki." At this point, Kuroo falls down onto his knees. He clutches the black dress between his hands as he clasps his palms together. "Please, Kenma, you're my only hope. Please?"

And Kenma can feel the last of his strength slowly slipping away. Kuroo seems to have a way with words.

Kuroo's eyes are boring into his, hazel-brown, and in the right light, Kenma would describe them as golden. There's an intensity there that reminds Kenma of black cats, and the eerie way they would stare at him as he crosses the street. 

They watch. They wait. 

They wait for that crucial moment to strike.

Kenma sighs. "Okay."

—

As it turns out, Kuroo does have a big red bow and black slippers for him.

"It was my sister's when she was ten," Kuroo says as Kenma tugs his shirt off. "It should fit you. Or it might be too big, but that's fine. She taught me how to sew, a bit, before she..."

Kuroo trails off. Kenma had almost forgotten that Kuroo had an older sister out in Osaka that he also misses. 

"Himari sewed clothes for her doll," Kenma says, to take Kuroo's mind off his sister. "I liked watching her do it. But I never knew how to do it."

His friend perks up. "I could show you! It's pretty easy, once you get the hang of it."

Kenma imagines needles, sharp and precise, a single prick to pierce his skin and draw blood, and decides against it. "Maybe."

As it turns out, the dress fits Kenma like a glove. They don't even need to make any adjustments with safety pins or anything like that. The dress fits in all the right places, and the sleeves fall down to the perfect length. Kenma does have leggings on—the October air will be chilly. 

"Great! I'm gonna go get ready now!" Kuroo claps his hands together before running off towards the laundry room to retrieve his black cat onesie. 

Kenma is left to stare at himself in the mirror. The dark fabric falls down to his knees, to his wrists. It flares out, draping across his skin. He moves his body, his arms, just to see the fabric swish around. He stares at his reflection with interest. 

He looked like a girl, with his long hair, and now with his dress, he looks even more like a girl. Interesting. 

I wonder if I…

Then he lifts one of his feet up, pivots, and watches the skirt billow out. 

It lasts for half a second, but a spark of—of something—flares up inside him at the sight. 

Pause. Check inventory.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

"Ta-da!" Kuroo shouts as he opens the door again. He's dressed in a black onesie that has a hood, with cat ears and yellow eyes. He flips the hood up, and he really does look like Jiji the cat. 

There's an anxious lilt to his voice as he speaks. 

Kuroo wants Kenma to think he's cool.

"Cool," Kenma says, turning his attention towards his accessories. There's a big red bow attached to a headband—it's held on with super glue, though, and it's slowly peeling apart. Kuroo seems to have prepared for this, and steps forward, glue in hand. Kenma then turns his attention to the black shoes.

"It's too big," he says as he slides the first one on. Kenma's feet aren't particularly small, but Kuroo's sister's feet must have been massive. Kuroo looks up from where he's gluing the bow back on, brow furrowed in concentration. 

"Uh..." Kuroo holds the bow against the glue as he makes his way over to his drawers. He rummages through it one-handed until he comes up with a fistful of socks. "Put these in your shoes?"

Great. Now my feet are gonna hurt even more, Kenma thinks as Kuroo tosses the bundle towards him. To the shock of them both, he manages to catch all the socks without dropping any of them.

"Your coordination's getting better," Kuroo crows as he sits down on the floor. "You've been practicing?"

"A little bit," Kenma mutters, mildly annoyed. He's annoyed that volleyball is actually helping him, in all the ways that Kuroo said it would. His coordination and balance are better. Those little red dots—internal bleeding?—don't come back as often. He's able to run faster, and for longer. 

It annoys him, because he still would rather play video games than play volleyball. You have to play volleyball with a team. You don't need a team when it comes to video games. 

Multiplayer games are overrated, anyway.

"Glue's dry," Kuroo announces as Kenma looks up. Kuroo very awkwardly places the headband on top of Kenma's head, straightening it. "There. All done."

"Mm." Kenma glances at his reflection again. On his head, the bow looks even more ridiculous and gigantic. He turns away to start stuffing his shoes with Kuroo's socks.

"We're gonna win first prize," Kuroo says as Kenma slips his shoes on. "Winner gets a whole bunch of candy."

"Mm-hm." Kenma stands up straight, brushing his dress off. He runs a hand through his hair, untangling the knots. He distantly thinks that Himari could have styled his hair to look more like Kiki, but she's not here. "Okay. How do I look?"

Kuroo grins, and there's something different about it. No longer like a flash of lightning, Kuroo's smile is now more sneaky. More cunning. It lingers for longer. "Good."

Like a black cat, Kenma thinks as he follows his friend out the door. 

—

They make their way to the building where the costume contest is being held—in the library that's a fifteen-minute drive away from their neighborhood. Kenma's mom drives them. She didn't look too happy about the fact that Kenma was—well, he was wearing a dress—but she brightened up when Kuroo informed her that it was part of their partner costume.

"I see," she says as she smoothly parks behind the library. Kenma opens the door, taking care to make sure that his dress doesn't snag on the seat. "Alright. Best of luck to the two of you."

"Thank you very much, Kozume-san!" Kuroo says as he hops out of the car. He lugs Kenma's broom out of the back seat for him, because Kenma also gets a broom for his prop. What joy. 

Kenma's mother reaches for his hand, and so Kenma takes it. They hold hands as they cross across the road. But his grasp on his mother's hand is loose and limp, so it's more like she's just holding his hand. She squeezes his hand, once, and that's his cue to intertwine his hands within hers.

He feels stupid. He turned ten a couple weeks ago. Surely he can walk across the road by himself, right? But there's cars and motorcycles and loud noises and…maybe his mother was right when she said there was a lot of scary stuff that she needed to protect him from.

But then Kuroo comes up from behind him and takes his other hand, placing his fingers over Kenma's, and Kenma thinks he would feel just as safe with Kuroo next to him. 

Pause. Check inventory.

Why does being around Kuroo make me feel safe?

He shakes his head as the three of them walk into the library. They look around for the room where the costume contest is being held. They find it. There's so many other children. Kenma's first instinct is to freeze, feet rooted to the ground, eyes darting around everywhere, taking stock of everything around him. 

There's kids shouting. There's kids running. There's kids shouting and running.

There's kids shouting and running and bumping straight into him.

"Sorry!" 

Four small children, dressed in what Kenma thinks are costumes from a Western TV show—Teletubbies?—all shove past him, so much so that he actually gets pushed a step or two back. Their brightly colored costumes are so eye-watering, they offend Kenma's sight on a visceral level. 

- 1 HP. 

I want to go home. 

But then he realizes what Kuroo's been doing this whole time. 

Kuroo has sidestepped away from the other children, standing directly behind Kenma. His eyes are closed shut, and he's drawn his hoodie over his face. All that is visible are his cheeks, which have face paint on them to look like whiskers. 

It might have been three years, and Kuroo may have managed to step out of his shell just the tiniest bit, but he's still scared.

So now it's up to Kenma to be the brave one.

"C'mon," Kenma mutters, nudging Kuroo. He points towards the elementary kids section, the biggest one by far. Hordes of kids are lining up, dressed in every single costume imaginable: witches, vampires, pumpkins, anime characters. "Let's go."

And then he offers Kuroo his hand. 

As Kuroo shyly opens his eyes, reaching his hand forward, Kenma realizes something. Something very important.

Maybe Kuroo also feels safe around me. 

+ 1 HP.

"Okay," Kuroo says softly, and there's a brief flash of a smile. Lightning. And then he laughs as Kenma brushes his hair out of his face. Thunder. 

"Have fun," his mother says as they walk towards the other children, hand in hand. 

—

"We're gonna win," Kuroo keeps muttering, under his breath. They're waiting their turn in line to get observed by the judges for their partner costumes. "We're gonna win, we're gonna win, we're gonna win."

"We can just buy candy if we don't win," Kenma murmurs back. Kuroo stops talking to himself, staring over at Kenma with wide eyes. 

"Yeah," Kuroo says, sounding noticeably more dejected. "Yeah, I guess we could."

Kenma shifts his broom around in his hands. Now he feels bad for even saying that. 

"Well. I mean, it's more fun if we win it," Kenma says, and Kuroo's head snaps back up. "Like in a video game. It's more fun if you earn an item. If the game just gives it to you, it feels too easy." 

Kuroo nods in understanding. "Yeah. Like a puzzle."

Puzzles have always interested Kenma. He nods his head as well. 

There's a tap on his shoulder. Kenma turns around to see who it is.

"Your costume's really cute!" a girl dressed as an angel gushes. She looks like she's a year older than Kenma, so Kuroo's age. "Your dress is beautiful."

Your dress is beautiful.

Beautiful.

+ 1 HP. 

She nudges her friend, who's dressed in a matching devil costume. "Isn't she cute?" Her friend nods in agreement, her devil horns headband slowly falling down her face as she does. 

Oh.

They think you're a girl.

And there's that weird feeling in his chest again. His heart is pounding. 

"Uh," Kenma says. He can hear his heart going thump thump, thump thump, rhythmic in his chest. He needs to correct them. Why doesn't he want to correct them? "I'm...not a girl."

The two girls blink down at him.

"Oh," says the angel.

"Why are you in a dress, then?" says the devil.

- 1 HP. 

Kenma jerks his thumb towards Kuroo—Kuroo's back to standing directly behind him, trying to hide behind him. "My friend wanted us to dress up as Kiki and Jiji. And he didn't have any friends that’re girls. So he made me do it." 

The angel and the devil nod, slowly. They don't say anything as Kenma slowly turns around. But they do say something as he stares straight ahead. 

"He's kinda weird," the devil's voice says.

"He's not...well, his friend asked him to do it," the angel's voice says.

"Yeah, but if my brother dressed up as a girl, I'd think he was...I dunno, gay, or something."

"You can't just call people gay!"

Kenma doesn't know what gay means, but it sounds mean. He decides he doesn't really want to know. 

"Don't..." Kuroo speaks up, and when Kenma looks over at him, he's hiding his face again. Behind his hair, behind his hood. "Don't listen to them. It was my stupid idea anyway. I think you look...nice."

"Thank you," Kenma says automatically. Kuroo nods, turning away. "I don't think...I don't think your idea was stupid." He swishes his dress around, turning back and forth. Your dress is beautiful. 

"I'm glad you convinced me," Kenma says. His voice is soft, soft enough that Kuroo would have to strain his ears to hear. 

"You're welcome," Kuroo says. His voice is loud, loud enough that everyone around them can hear.

They're both nervous. Just in different ways. Why is that?

Strange. But Kenma has always liked solving puzzles. 

This is no different.

"Hello there," one of the judges says as they finally make their way to the table. She smiles down at them, and Kuroo hurriedly recollects himself. Kenma just readjusts his bow and holds up his broom. "And who might you be?"

"We are Kiki and Jiji from Kiki's Delivery Service," Kenma says, because Kuroo has gone completely silent. He wishes he weren't the one talking, because his default tone of voice is bored. He gestures towards himself, then to Kuroo. "I am Kiki. He is Jiji."

"Yes, very nice," the other judge says. She surveys them, looking them up and down. "And your names?"

"Kozume Kenma," says Kenma.

"K-Kuroo Tetsurou," says Kuroo.

Still perpetually anxious, the two of them.  

"Have a good night, you two," the first judge says, and then they're ushered away. There's some more adults, managing some games where kids can participate and win candy. Kenma doesn't really want to do any of them. And Kuroo looks like he wants to participate, but Kenma thinks he won't do it unless he does it with him. 

So they're stuck. They just stand against the wall, awkwardly. 

"Kuroo," Kenma mutters and Kuroo turns his head towards him. "Do you wanna go home?"

"Uh..." Kuroo glances all around, at all of the kids who look like they're having the time of their lives. "I don't...know. Do you wanna go home?"

Kuroo doesn't want to go home. But Kuroo doesn't want to do anything Kenma doesn't want to do.

You're just holding him back.

- 1 HP.

"Do you wanna try one of the games?" Kenma asks, waving his broom towards what looks like a three-legged race. There's kids running around, falling over. It's the kind of game that requires coordination and trust.

Kenma has more of both now, thanks to Kuroo. 

Kuroo nods, eagerly, and so Kenma sets his broom against the wall and holds out his hand.

"C'mon," he says, and then Kuroo takes his hand. 

His smile is blindingly bright. 

Lightning.

+ 1 HP.

—

They don't end up winning the costume contest. The winner got a whole box of chocolate cupcakes. That's fine with Kenma: he doesn't like chocolate that much, and he also doesn't like cake that much.

But the two of them gather a bounty of candy from all of the games. They crush the kids at the three-legged race, and then Kuroo wins some more candy at a game where you have to toss balls into cups. Kenma makes a wager with some kids, and then cheats them all out of their candy by beating them at tic-tac-toe.

"It's not that hard to win at tic-tac-toe," he says as Kuroo unwraps his fifth candy bar. "You just have to...figure out what the other person's gonna do before they do it. And you always have to start first, and put your move down in the center."

"Yeah, but most other kids wouldn't have figured that out," Kuroo says, biting into his candy bar and chewing around the chocolate and caramel and nougat. "You're smart, Kenma. Like, really smart. Maybe even more than me.

That's a lie. Kenma doesn't know much; he only knows how to win games. Kuroo knows things about science, about how the earth orbits the sun, about how plants turn green, about how everything in their world works.

"You're older than me," Kenma mutters, and Kuroo goes quiet at that.

"Yeah, but..." Kuroo tilts his head to the side inquisitively. There's that look in his eyes again—black cat. "If you were my age, you'd be way smarter than me. I know it."

There's no way to prove whether or not that would be true—Kenma has just turned ten, and Kuroo is technically still ten, but he will be eleven by next month. 

Kuroo doesn't lie. He just speaks half-truths. 

"Thanks, Kuroo," Kenma says anyway. 

They continue walking around aimlessly. Kenma sees his mother a couple of times, but she's talking to a different person every time. Kuroo, multiple times, reaches for Kenma's hand. Kenma lets him take it every time. 

And for the first time, he gets the opportunity to really study Kuroo's hands. 

Kuroo's hands aren't smooth like Himari's, or his mother's, or his own. There's the beginnings of some callouses on his palm, and his skin is rougher, tanned from all the time spent out in the sun. It's bigger than his own, much bigger, so much so that Kuroo's hand seems to completely engulf his.

It's a nice feeling, holding Kuroo's hand.

Pause. Check inventory.

Should holding your friend's hand always feel nice?

He shakes the thought out of his mind with an actual head shake. He's never had any friends besides Himari. And Himari was a girl, and his cousin, and so it seemed kind of like a normal thing to do. And girls held hands with their friends all the time, he's seen Himari's friends do it before. 

He's never seen two boys do it. He and Kuroo are both boys. 

And Kuroo is not Himari. Kuroo is Kuroo.

And Kuroo has had friends before Kenma.

"Kuroo," Kenma says, and he doesn't even have to turn his head to know Kuroo is looking at him. "Did you hold hands with your friends before me?"

"Uh..." Kuroo doesn't seem to know how to reply. "I...no, no, I didn't..."

His grip on Kenma's hand slackens.

- 1 HP.

You made Kuroo feel awkward.

"Don't stop doing it," Kenma says quickly, and he can immediately feel Kuroo's grip tighten back up. "I...I was just curious, that's all."

"My sister used to hold my hand like this when I was scared," Kuroo mutters. "I thought...I thought I'd do it for you. 'Cause you don't like...loud places, or lots of people."

Speak for yourself.

I'm not that scared. It's you who's scared, more so than me. Are you just saying I'm scared so it makes you look less scared? I don't like loud places or lots of people, that's true, but I wouldn't...say I'm scared.

He glances up at his friend, but he can't see his face past his hair and his hood. His facial expressions are completely hidden, no matter what angle Kenma looks at it from. 

Kuroo Tetsurou does not lie. He only tells half of the truth. Did leaving out the other half make it a lie?

Kenma stares up at his friend and ponders this thought well.

Kuroo Tetsurou may very well be his most interesting puzzle yet. 

—

When Kuroo gets into middle school, he also suddenly gets way more annoying—ah, no, way more into volleyball.

"Kenma!" Kuroo shouts as he slams Kenma's door open. Kenma yelps, nearly launching himself across his bed. His DS clatters to the floor, and he hurriedly looks over the edge of the bed to make sure he didn't damage it. "Let's go practice!"

"Oh..." Kenma looks at his DS. It's not broken, but he did die. That's annoying, he'll have to go through the entire level all over again. And he doesn't particularly want to do that, picking his memory to remember every little trick. "Don't you have your new friends? From your team?"

Kuroo is now going to Hikarigayama middle school, and he's got new teammates, new friends. Surely, any of them would be better at playing volleyball than him. 

You're not his first choice.

"Yeah, but none of them live near us!" Kuroo looks so eager. He didn't look like that a couple years ago. He would have looked dejected and sad if Kenma said that to him a couple years ago. "C'mon, please? I never feel as happy as I do when I play with you! Pleaseeee?"

Kuroo's sweet-talking has gotten much better in these past few years as well. His way with words is getting better and better.

So Kenma sighs, snaps his DS closed, and says, "Okay, Kuro."

—

And it doesn't stop after that.

"Kenma! Let's play volleyball!"

"Kenma! Let's go!"

"Kenma!!"

"KENMA!!!"

By now, Kenma has learned to expect it when he hears the telltale footsteps of Kuroo running up his stairs, learned to start putting his video game away and getting ready to go out with Kuroo. He supposes he's in too deep now, when it comes to fulfilling Kuroo's demands. Just his bad luck. 

Kuroo brings DVDs of volleyball games over to his house as well, for them to watch. And those...well, those are much more interesting than actually playing volleyball.

His friend is interested in watching the ball go back and forth across the net, and he cheers every time the ball falls on Italy's side and boos every time the ball falls on Japan's side. 

Kenma is more interested in watching the players themselves. He watches how the players move amongst themselves, how they set themselves up, how they signal to each other where to go. He tries to figure out whether their plays will succeed or fail, based on how well their moves are able to mesh together.

It's almost as though he can see an invisible thread connecting all of the players together, and he watches as it tightens and loosens depending on how the players move. A save here, a block there. Japan seems to favor defense, while Italy favors offense. Italy had more points in the beginning, because they were so aggressive. Japan had less points in the beginning, but they're slowly catching up. Their players figured out how to combat the Italians.

And then he sees it. A move where the Japanese setter glances over to the right, and then with a deft move, sets the ball to the left. One of the hitters slams the ball into the ground, and the resulting spike shakes the ground. It's too late for Italy—all their blockers went towards the right. 

Just as the setter planned it. 

And then everything seems to click. 

"There!" Kenma shouts, startling Kuroo out of his sleepy stupor. Kuroo blinks, looking around with a confused "whuh?" before his gaze settles on Kenma. If he weren't so focused on the game, Kenma would have laughed at him. "Didja see? He saw!"

"Whuh?" Kuroo mutters again, but Kenma continues right on. 

"He looked over to the right for just a second, making you think he'd set it there, but then he put it up to the left!" Kenma points aggressively at the screen. Japan takes the set, and the whole match. "It's genius!"

Kuroo's confusion quickly turns to enthusiasm as he realizes that Kenma is finally taking interest in volleyball. His entire face lights up, and he laughs, smiling as he does.

Thunderclap. Lightning flash.

+ 1 HP.

"C'mon, that's enough watching games, let's go outside and play one!" Kuroo shouts, tugging at Kenma's arm. That is enough for Kenma to snap out of his volleyball-induced haze, back to his normal impudent self. 

"You were the one who brought those DVDs," Kenma grumbles, yanking his arm out of Kuroo's grasp. He scrunches his eyebrows together, lost in thought. "Oh, speaking of...remember the one you brought last week? Bring that one again."

"Huh?!" 

Kenma rewinds the DVD, back to the moment where Japan's setter made that genius move. He slows it down, tracking the movements of the man's head, his eyes, his arms.

Like a puzzle. An intricate puzzle, with dozens of moving parts. 

When you do it right, all of the pieces will click into place.

"Kenma!" Kuroo shouts, pausing the DVD, right before the ball hits the floor on Italy's side. "I really think you should be a setter!"

Kenma stares at the setter on the DVD player's screen, pointing to him, and then pointing to himself, a question in his eyes. Me?

He has been practicing with Kuroo, but he's mainly relegated to tossing balls for him to receive, or tossing balls for him to spike, or tossing balls for him to block. Sometimes, Kuroo will do the same for him, but Kuroo looks so happy playing the game, and Kenma always ends up hoping that Kuroo will forget to say, "Okay, your turn!" 

It's better that way. He gets to move less.

Me? A setter? 

"It's really cool!" Kuroo's still shouting, waving his hands around. "You get to be, like, the mastermind and stuff!"

The mastermind...!

+ 1 HP. 

Rather unfortunately, the thought of being a mastermind, being able to set up dominos and knock them down, make players move like chess pieces, put puzzle pieces into their proper places...that all sounds very cool to Kenma's eleven-year-old brain. Yes is on the tip of his tongue, even before Kuroo stops talking.

"Not only that, setters don't have to move around too much, either! It's a super awesome position!"

Kenma would later find out that this, unlike Kuroo's many other half-lies, half-truths, was just a complete and utter bald-faced lie. Setters, rather unfortunately, had to move around, like any other volleyball player. But Kenma is eleven years old, and he is sitting in his bedroom with his best friend, and—

Pause. Check inventory. 

Kuroo is not your best friend. 

He has so many other friends. He's gotten so much less nervous. He's just hanging out with you because you have no other friends.

He pities you.

He pities you because he's changed, and you've just stayed the exact same. 

"C'mon, let's go play outside!" Kuroo shouts, sliding off the bed and planting his hands on his hips. "You gotta practice! When you get into middle school, you can join the volleyball team! You can play with me!”

"Aww, do we gotta?" Kenma mutters, but he's already getting to his feet and following Kuroo out the door. 

—

Today, I'm going to play Metal Gear all day, Kenma thinks to himself as he rolls over in his bed and presses his pillow over his head. He fumbles for his DS, finally getting a hold on it by stretching his body into a pretzel. 

He can hear the front door open and close, and then his father shouting.

"Ah. Tetsu-kun!"

Kenma's ears perk up, and then his body seems to deflate. He doesn't want to go out and play volleyball today. Maybe if he pretends that he's sleeping, Kuroo will leave him alone, and play with his other friends. 

"Say, do you mind taking Kenma out with you to play soccer sometime? Maybe?" He can hear his dad's voice getting further and further away. He glances out the window, finding Kuroo's friends milling around below it. Despite himself, he shrugs off his blanket and makes his way down the stairs to eavesdrop. 

Silence on both his dad's and Kuroo's end. 

"But I don't think he wants to go, sir."

It's like he's a mind reader.

"I understand not wanting to go out sometimes," Kuroo's voice continues. "If he wants to go even a little, I'll definitely invite him along, but right now, I don't think he wants to at all."

- 1 HP.

He doesn't get why Kuroo's words make him feel bad. They're all true. 

Would you rather he lie to make you feel better? Would you rather he lie to your dad, saying that you're a really hard worker and you always give it your all when you play volleyball with him?

Because you don't.

"When he does want to do something, he tries as hard as he can, though."

Wait, what?

"So I don't think you have to worry." He can hear Kuroo speak more loudly, like he's more sure of the words he's saying. "I think he'll be just fine, Kozume-san."

"Aah, okay." Kenma can hear the front door closing, and so he turns away before either of them can notice he was there in the first place. 

Does he give his all when he actually wants to do something? He does, right? Like when he plays a game, he stays up late to try and finish a level he doesn't get. Or—well, now he wakes up early to play games, because his mom yelled at him and threatened to take away all his stuff if he stayed up late again. 

And the other day, with the volleyball DVDs…

"I really think you should be a setter!"

He kind of understood what that setter was doing, didn't he? 

He glances out his window, then at his DS in his hand. It's a nice day outside. The sky is blue, and there's a couple clouds in the sky. Kuroo and his friends will be spending the day together, playing soccer, and Kenma will be cooped up in his room, in the dark, playing video games. Just like he's always been.

He starts middle school in two months. He'll be with Kuroo again, at Hikarigayama. Kuroo's on that volleyball team. And if he joins…

Well, Kuroo would have gotten to him sooner or later. He would convince Kenma to join the team and play setter for him. It would have been all but inevitable. 

The decision's already been made for him. He'll play setter for Kuroo. 

—

“You really like watchin’ this stuff, huh?” Kuroo asks as they sit around the DVD player, watching the tiny people on screen run around. “You like watching volleyball more than you like actually playing it.”

“I don’t have to run around if I’m watching it,” Kenma mutters, watching the setter for Brazil perform a setter dump, the ball landing on Japan’s side. “You wanted me to learn how to play, didn’t you?”

“Your nose is basically pressed against the screen,” Kuroo says, pulling him back from the DVD player. “Don’t do that, you’re gonna get eye damage or something.”

“Boys,” Kenma’s mother calls as she raps on Kenma’s door. “Time to go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Kenma calls back, shutting off the DVD player. Kuroo sits on the bed, wrapping the blankets around his shoulders. Kenma was supposed to pull out the cot for Kuroo to sleep on, but he doesn’t really want to, and Kuroo never complains about it. They always just sleep in the same bed, in opposite directions. Yeah, sometimes Kenma gets kicked in the face by Kuroo, but he just kicks him right back. 

So they arrange themselves like normal, playing rock-paper-scissors to determine who gets to sleep upside down, with their head at the bottom of Kenma’s bed. Kenma wins this time, so he fluffs his pillow and lies his head down. 

“Goodnight, Kenma,” Kuroo says as he flicks the light off. He settles in next to Kenma, his body a warm weight at Kenma’s side. 

“Goodnight, Kuro,” Kenma says in response. The two of them shift around, getting comfortable, before descending into silence. That silence is broken when Kuroo speaks up again.

“Hey, Kenma.” Kenma gives a sleepy hum, telling Kuroo to continue. “My sister was telling me the other day about something. She said that everyone we’ll ever meet in our lifetime, we were fated to meet. We’re all connected by invisible strings, and those strings guide us to meet each other. And she said that…each of us has a soulmate as well. Someone who we’re fated to spend the rest of our lives with. And we’re connected to our soulmate with a red string, one that can never be cut or broken. Whatcha think about that?”

Kenma mumbles, “I dunno. That…kinda just sounds like fantasy thinking, anyway.” It doesn’t make sense to him, how everyone could be connected by invisible strings. Surely, there would be a way for them to be cut, right? “And everyone has a soulmate? What if…what if you don’t like your soulmate? What if you never find your soulmate?”

“The whole point is that you’re supposed to find your soulmate and like your soulmate,” Kuroo argues. “It’s the person you’re going to spend your entire life with.”

“But like…” Kenma rolls over, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with just one person? That sounds…kinda lonely.”

He can hear Kuroo shrugging from the opposite end of the bed. “I dunno. It sounds nice. Having one person that’ll just…get you, no matter what.”

“I mean, I guess it sounds nice.” 

If everyone was supposed to have a soulmate, Kenma wonders what his soulmate would be like. Someone who would like video games, probably. And…maybe someone who was quiet, someone who would know when to give him space. And maybe…

“Does your soulmate…have to be a girl?” Kenma asks. 

“I mean, probably,” Kuroo says. “If you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with your soulmate, it’s probably gonna be someone you’re married to, right? Why else would you spend the rest of your life with someone?”

That sounds…kind of lame to Kenma. Why can’t he just spend the rest of his life with a friend? Why does he have to be in love with somebody in order to live happily ever after?

“How do you know if you’ve found your soulmate?” Kenma asks, and Kuroo makes a thinking sound. 

“I dunno. Maybe you’ll just…know it. Deep down in your soul, when you meet them, you’ll know it.”

“Oh.” 

Kenma doesn’t know a lot of things, but Kuroo does. Kuroo would probably know when he’s found his soulmate, and then he’d leave Kenma behind for her. He would find someone that just gets him, better than Kenma ever could. Even though Kenma knows his favorite food, his favorite animal, his favorite game. 

Kenma knows Kuroo well, but not well enough to be his soulmate. 

And for some reason, that makes Kenma sad.

- 1 HP.

—

He starts middle school. And Himari comes to visit.

"You got a DS?" she asks as she untangles his hair in slow, familiar motions. Kenma nods as his fingers move of their own free will, making the character on his screen run around. He's missed his older cousin, more than he realized. He's eleven, and she's fourteen. 

"How long are you staying?" Kenma asks as his bangs get pulled back from his face. He saw the luggage Himari brought—it was a lot. 

"Just for three days," Himari says, tying his hair back in a braid. “There was a gas leak at my school, so we all got a week off.”

Three days? Then why was there so much stuff?

"Kuroo and you have gotten closer, yeah? Your mom showed me your Halloween costumes from last year, you looked really cute together."

"Oh." In truth, he's thought about that night a lot. "Yeah. I guess."

He wants to try wearing a dress again. Just to see what it would be like. Not like he'll have any opportunity to do that soon, though. He doesn't have any girl friends, and it's not like he can just go up to his mother and ask for a dress.

He's been trying to push all those thoughts down, but being with Himari just makes them all resurface back up again. Her hair is even shorter, not even long enough to brush around her ears. His hair has grown out—he had to fight his mom multiple times to keep it long. She looks more like a boy than he does, and he looks more like a girl than she does. 

He almost laughs at the irony. 

"Why do you...dress like a boy?" Kenma asks, the words falling out of his mouth before he can think to shut it. Himari laughs, softly.

"I like it better this way," Himari says simply. 

"But..." And here he takes more caution with his words, trying to figure out the exact right way to phrase them. "Why do you like it more?"

Himari shrugs. "Dunno. It just feels more right. I like wearing dresses and skirts and all that stuff, but...when I wear things like this—" She tugs at the hem of her oversized hoodie. "It just makes me more comfortable. Especially 'cause my chest started growing, and well..." Here, she ruffles Kenma's hair, shaking her head. "You'll learn about it when you're older, Kenma."

Kenma nods, turning his attention back to his game. He's at the stage where he can customize his avatar, and he hovers in between the options to select the character's gender. Boy or girl. Back and forth. Boy or girl.

"I..." He stares down at the floor, not even wanting to look at Himari's face as he speaks his next words. "It was Kuroo's idea for me to wear the dress. But...but I didn't hate it. And I kinda...want to wear it again. Himari, does that make me weird?"

He still has Keshi on his desk. She keeps watch over him as he does homework. Sometimes, he combs his fingers through silky smooth, inky black hair, trying to mimic Himari's hand motions. Even if the doll doesn't need her hair combed out, he still does it anyway.

It reminds him of what his cousin used to do.

"You're not weird," Himari says, in that soothing way of hers. "You're just like me. And I'm not weird, am I?"

"No," Kenma says very quickly. "You're not weird. But...but..."

Somehow, it feels different for him. He's seen girls that act more like boys before. He’s seen a lot of them, actually, girls that roll up their jacket sleeves and run around with the boys in the dirt. He saw them during recess, in elementary school. But he’s seeing them less and less now. Now, all the girls just sit around, or walk around slowly, talking with themselves. They wear their hair long, their jackets and skirts in perfect condition. They move more slowly. 

He’s never once seen a boy acting like a girl, just taking time to slow down and watch life go by.

He’s never once seen a boy acting like him.

"I...feel weird. For liking...the dress." 

He’s not like any other boy he’s seen. He feels like everyone else his age is passing him by, sprinting towards a finish line he can’t see. And he’s just shambling along, dragging his feet. 

He’ll be alone with his thoughts and feelings, forever.

- 1 HP. 

And then Himari smiles, wrapping her arm around Kenma's shoulder. "We can be weird together, then."

He’s overheard boys in gym class saying that boys are just naturally stronger, faster, better than girls in all sports. That it’s just nature. That’s a lie, he knows that much. Himari runs fast and hits harder. He’s seen her karate demonstrations at the dojo she used to go to when she still lived near him. She was at the top of her class, able to break a wooden block with just her hands. 

He doesn’t know of anyone stronger or faster or better than his older cousin.

If they’re all just running a race, and if Kenma’s lagging behind all the boys, and if girls are just naturally weaker than boys…

Well, then Himari and him are at the same spot, aren’t they? The worst of the best and the best of the worst.

“Okay,” Kenma mumbles, leaning into his older cousin’s touch. 

+ 1 HP. 

His finger moves by itself. 

Choice saved!

Congratulations! It’s a girl!

—

“Kenma,” Himari says, on the last day of her visit. “I have a present for you.”

Kenma hums in acknowledgment as he pauses his game and looks up at his cousin. “What is it?”

His cousin is pulling her luggage into his room, setting it down and unzipping it.

“I’m going to be visiting one of our younger cousins tomorrow,” Himari says as she opens her luggage. “You probably don’t remember her. But before I go, I thought you’d like this.”

And Himari holds up a mass of silk and fabric, holding it out to him.

A red dress, with ruffles and floral patterns. The perfect size for him.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” Himari says, packing up her luggage again. “You don’t even have to keep it. After I’m gone, you can do whatever you want with it.”

“I…” Kenma looks at the dress more closely. The dress is a dark red, with outlines of flowers drawn on it in white. He vaguely thinks they look like poppies. Keshi's namesake. 

It's beautiful. 

Kenma is not beautiful. 

And so he shoves the dress back, shaking his head. “Himari…Himari-san, I can’t.” The honorific slips out before he can stop it. He hasn’t called his cousin that since he was five years old. 

In the imaginary race in his mind, he can feel himself slowing down, coming to a near stop, letting Himari pass him by. 

Himari tuts, shaking her head as well. “Don’t be like that, Kenma-chan.”

And in his mind’s eye, he can see Himari purposefully slowing down as well, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him forward.

He remembers why he and his cousin don’t use honorifics with each other. They’re in the same boat. They’re on equal footing.

“I don’t want any of them anymore,” Himari says, an unfamiliar venom creeping into her voice. “I’m giving them all away. So—don’t worry about taking something precious from me, okay? None of these are anything special to me.”

She glances up and to the right, and Kenma can already tell what she’s looking at before he follows her gaze.

Keshi.

Was she not precious to Himari either?

Was he just a second option, just like the doll and the rest of the dresses?

- 1 HP.

"But—well, they might not be precious to me anymore, but they were once. Maybe now...they can be precious to you."

No. 

He's not a second choice. He's never been a second choice for Himari. He may be for everybody else, but not for his cousin. 

+ 1 HP.

“Has she been nice company while I’m gone?” Himari asks, standing up to make her way over to the doll. They no longer look alike at all. 

Keshi is starting to look more and more like Kenma as the days go by.

“Yeah,” he says, taking the doll off her shelf. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he stares at her face, and she stares back. And then they have a staring contest until he falls asleep.

Himari laughs, ruffling his hair. “Do you have a phone yet?”

“When I get into high school, I’ll get a phone.” This particular subject has been of much debate between his mother, his father, and himself. His father thinks he should get a phone when he goes into middle school, his mother thinks he should get a phone when he goes into college, and Kenma himself thinks he should get a phone as soon as possible. 

He’s beginning to learn he’s a bit obsessed with buying things he does not really need.

“That sounds like the right age to get a phone,” Himari says idly. “When you do get one, make sure to tell me. I’ve missed talking to you.”

“Me too.” His voice is a bare whisper again.

“But until then…” Himari strokes Keshi’s hair. “You should try talking to the doll and pretend it’s me.”

“I’m not doing that, Himari.”

Himari laughs, and it’s soft and warm, and Kenma wishes they could stay like this, running their own race, forever.

"Mind if I change her clothes?" Himari asks, and Kenma nods, rummaging through his drawers to find the plastic baggie full of sewn clothes. He opens it, holding it out to his cousin. She rummages through it, pulling out a red kimono. She slips off Keshi's yellow dress, replacing it with the red kimono. 

"Red looks good on her," Himari remarks. 

Her words are directed towards Keshi, but her eyes are directed towards Kenma. 

They're running their own race together.

+ 1 HP!

—

He does not try on the red dress. He shoves it into the back of his closet, shoves down all of his thoughts about wanting to put it on as well. 

He does, however, start talking to the doll.

“You’re right, Keshi,” he mutters to the doll as he erases his answers to his history homework for what feels like the fiftieth time. “Who cares about some old guys?” This technically isn’t a grade at all, just mere busywork while his teacher is on maternity leave. He doesn’t have to try at all.

So he just gives up on trying and pulls out his DS. He crosses his legs, hunching over it. More people than he can count have told him that his posture is absolutely awful, and he ignores them every time. 

His character in his videogame is still a girl. He hasn't felt any urge to change her back into a boy. He—for once—likes the change playing as a girl brings. It doesn't change anything about the game, but it's—nice.

He can't be a girl, not in real life, but he can be a girl in this video game.

Pause. Check inventory.

Do you want to be a girl?

And Kenma shoves that thought down as well. He's going to run out of space in his closet if he keeps putting all these skeletons in there.

And then he hears the front door open, and his friend's shout of "KYAN-MAAAAA!" and Kenma sighs internally. 

"Yeah?" Kenma shouts back, and his room door slams open. 

"Let's go out and practice!" Kuroo says, holding up his volleyball. Kenma looks up from his DS, sighing and shaking his head. 

"We already practice every morning," Kenma says sulkily. He's joined the volleyball team for Hikarigayama as a setter. He's not on the starting lineup, but he still has to do drills and laps like every other member. He doesn't like it, putting in all that work and not even getting to play. Kuroo and their coaches keep telling him that if he works hard, results will come, and he knows this.

He just wishes the results would come sooner.

"I don't wanna practice today." 

Kuroo groans, flopping onto his bed. "You're no fun." Kenma hums in agreement. His friend then rolls off his bed, thumping his foot against his closet. "You got any games in your closet?"

His closet.

"Don't open that," Kenma quickly says, but that only makes Kuroo reach for the closet handle even faster. There's a grin spreading across Kuroo's face, the one that reminds him of black cats, sneaking around, getting into places that should be nigh impossible to get into.

Bad luck. Bad luck.

"Oh? What, are you hiding something in here?" 

The dress is in there.

It's at the very back of the closet, it's all crumpled up, he won't even notice it—

But what if he does? 

What is he going to say?

"Don't look through my stuff, Kuro," Kenma says, staring up at Kuroo, DS and game completely forgotten. "I mean it."

The smile on Kuroo's face slides off, replaced by something that looks mildly like fear. Kenma continues to stare at his best friend, wondering if he can telepathically make Kuroo move away by sheer force of will. 

As it turns out, he can. Kuroo moves away from his closet, jumping back onto his bed and bouncing up and down. Kenma's body moves with the motions, getting jostled up and down. He feels a floating sense of relief, that he managed to evade such a horrible fate. 

And then Kuroo looks over his shoulder, at his videogame, and asks, "Why's your character a girl?"

Kenma's heart drops into his stomach. 

"I dunno," he says slowly. "I just...wanted to see what it was like. Being a girl."

Here is why Kenma likes video games more than reality. In reality, when you trip and you fall, you bleed. In reality, when you say something someone doesn't like, they get mad at you. In reality, when you make a mistake, the consequences are permanent, lasting, and non-reversible. 

Video games have no such flaws. When you take damage, you can drink a healing potion, and recover without a scratch. When you click the wrong dialogue option while talking to an NPC, it doesn't matter, because the feelings of an NPC are irrelevant. When you make a mistake in a game, you can just go back to your last save point, and start over with the new knowledge you now have.

You can start over. You can always start over.

You can't do that with reality. All choices made are etched in stone, even the ones that you didn't even get to make.

Kenma was born a boy, and so now the path he needs to go down has already been decided for him. He can't reset to his last checkpoint, he can't go back and change his stats, change what he was born as: a small, weak, little boy who has no good skills, no strength, no speed, and not nearly enough smarts to make up for it. 

Kuroo nods in thought, and for a second, Kenma feels a wild spark of hope, that Kuroo might be able to understand. "Yeah, I get that."

That spark of hope immediately fizzles out when Kuroo goes on to say, "It'd be cool to have, like, boobs and stuff. Hey—and we learned about gender in biology a couple days ago. I mean, did you know that what gender you are depends on your DNA and your chromosomes? And chromosomes—they're sooo tiny, they're smaller than all the pixels on your screen. They're so tiny, and yet all of them together, they make such a huge change. And because all of them add up, it’s nearly impossible to change your gender. And also—"

"You're such a nerd," Kenma says, pulling his blanket over his head as Kuroo keeps rambling on about chromosomes and DNA and nuclei. He doesn't want to hear any more of what Kuroo says about being a girl.

It all just reminds him that he'll always just be a small, weak, little boy, no matter what he does.

- 1 HP. 

He goes back to his character. She's tall, blonde, with elf ears and high-heeled boots, and a sword that's bigger than her. Her name is Hinoma. 

That'll never be him. 

"Hey! I'm not a nerd! I just know a lot of things!"

Kuroo continues talking, moving onto the more broad topic of cells, and how every single living organism is made up of cells. How even the smallest of things make an impact on everything.

Kenma thinks about himself. How he is small. How he has felt, for all of his life so far, that his meager existence has not mattered to anyone. He is a calico cat, not a black cat, and people may glance at him, but their gazes never linger long. 

He's reminded of why he has never called Kuroo by his first name, even though Kuroo always does. Holding his friend at arm's length, because he fears that Kuroo will not want to get any closer. 

"Hey! Lemme into your hidey hole!" And then Kuroo is lifting up the blanket and worming his way in, peering over Kenma's shoulder at his video game. It's dark inside here, the screen of his DS being the only thing illuminating the shadows. Kuroo turns to look at Kenma, fascination reflected in his eyes.

Kuroo is the only one now who looks at him. And the only reason for that is because he hides in the shadows with him. He steps in and out of the darkness, but he always returns.

+ 1 HP.

—

Kuroo is a good captain. He was captain for his second year, and now his third year as well. He pays attention to each and every one of his teammates, taking the time to individually assess his team's strengths and weaknesses.

Extremely unfortunately for Kenma, Kuroo seems to have a heightened opinion of his friend, and so he's been put as the starting setter for his second year. This is entirely due to personal bias, Kenma's sure of it, which makes Kuroo kind of a bad captain. Is this nepotism? Volleyball nepotism? He's not sure.

At the very least, he's not vice-captain or anything like that, so he can still get away with cutting practice. It's fine. 

It's fine, up until he locks himself in the storage closet and Kuroo himself comes to drag him out.

"Kenmaaaaaa," he whines as he wrenches open the door, despite Kenma's best attempts to block the door using his entire body and a broom. "Don't be like this, c'mon. Just a couple laps around the track!"

"I hate running," Kenma grumbles as he cracks his neck, rolling his head up to look at Kuroo. Kuroo's singular eye stares down at him as he grins, cat-like, hair falling in front of his face. "Too much work."

"I'll run with ya!" Kuroo bends down to grab him by the wrists, tugging him up to his feet. "And you can talk about all your video games with me while we run, 'kay?"

"Talking while running makes me even more tired," Kenma mumbles as he drags his feet, shuffling out like a zombie. But Kuroo's pulling him along, and he's already moving, and once he's started moving, it'll be harder for him to stop. Law of inertia, as Kuroo once said. So he might as well just start running while he's at it. 

So they make their way out to the track, and their coach yells at them for being late, and Kuroo waves it off, and they run over to all of the other kids. The vast majority of them greet Kuroo with some slaps on the back and some punches to the arm. Kuroo laughs with all of them as they begin to stretch and warm up.

The vast majority of them also glare and side-eye Kenma, muttering things that probably sound like, ‘he's so damn lazy,’ and ‘why did Kuroo-senpai pick him to be on the starting lineup?’

His guess is as good as any of theirs. He doesn't know what Kuroo sees in him. He's just a setter, and he's—he's fine at being a setter, but that just means that the other two kids that want to be setters could be just as good. 

He has to tie back his hair while he runs, and he can hear the other boys snickering. It's some third year benchwarmers, and while Kenma does not particularly enjoy playing volleyball, he knows enough about the sport to be able to judge a player's value by their stats. These players have little to no value. Their stats are all fairly low. Kuroo knows that. That's why he and the coaches didn't place them on the starting lineup.

So why did they put him on the starting lineup? What does he bring to the table? All he does is stand in one spot on the court and wait until the ball comes to him, then he passes off the ball as quickly as possible to the player he sees as the best option.

What value does Kuroo see in him?

"He looks so girly," one of the benchwarmers says, and Kenma scowls inwardly, taking the hair tie out of his hair just out of spite. "Why's he keeping his hair long like that, anyway?"

"Maybe he's a fairy," the other third year snickers. Kenma clenches his fist and wills himself to continue staring straight ahead. The coach blows his whistle, and they all begin doing their laps.

He keeps his hair long because he finds that he gets incredibly anxious when his field of vision is too large. He doesn't like being confronted with everything all at once, bombarded with sights and noises and other such things. He prefers to look right at the problems in front of him, solve them first, and then turn his attention elsewhere.

When you solve a puzzle, you don't solve it row-by-row. Well—Kenma supposes you could solve a puzzle row-by-row, if you were an idiot and wanted to spend an inordinate amount of time on a puzzle. No, you organize the pieces by color, by edge, and you go from there. 

But he takes his time with puzzles. He's so slow. Deliberate. 

Every other kid is leaving him behind in the dust. 

"Hey! Kenma!"

And then there's Kuroo, by his side, speed-walking. It's mildly embarrassing how Kuroo's speed-walking pace is the same as his running pace. 

"You good?" Kuroo asks, somehow managing to smile brightly while speed-walking. 

"Why did you put me on the starting lineup?" Kenma asks. His voice is a bare whisper. "There's a third year that wants to be starting setter, and a first year too. Egami has experience, and Kanemoto could bring something new. So why pick me? I'm just..."

He's not quite sure how to finish that sentence. I'm just not that great at volleyball? I'm just kind of okay at volleyball? I'm just a whiny little brat that slacks off at every chance he gets?

I'm just a person that followed you into this sport only because it made you happy?

Kuroo has the gall to look confused. "What? What do you mean? You're the best setter out of all of them!"

"That's not true, Kuroo."

"No—I'll show you what I mean later!" Kuroo's back to running, and Kenma—when did he start running alongside him? When did Kuroo increase his pace? "You're the best setter out of all of them, I swear it."

Half-lie, half-truth. Just like everything else Kuroo says. 

Kenma could find it within himself to argue back with Kuroo, to point out how he's always half-lying, tell him that he never really knows when to trust Kuroo or not, but he doesn't. Running tires him out too much for that. 

Kuroo somehow manages to continue talking while they lag behind all the other kids. His friend slows his pace down, intentionally keeping himself from running any faster. Kuroo talks about biology, about plants, about animals, about how fungi aren't really plants, they're more closely related to animals if anything else. 

Kenma may feel like a second choice so many other times when it comes to Kuroo, but right now—right now, with the captain himself lagging behind all of the teammates he commands, he feels like anything but.

—

"Look, here's what I wanted to show you," Kuroo says after practice, after Kuroo has convinced him to come over to his house. Kenma tugs his bag up his shoulder as he shuffles over to Kuroo. Kuroo's holding up his clunky laptop, gesturing Kenma over.

Kenma looks at the paused footage. It's one of their games, from the audience—Kenma knows that Kuroo's dad comes to every one of their games and records them with a camera and a tripod. 

"Okay," Kenma says slowly. What is Kuroo going to show him? Kuroo hits the pause button, and the frozen players melt back into motion.

It's the third set, and he can recognize this part of the video as the part where they begin losing. 

"I GOT IT!" Kuroo shouts and attempts to block the ball, but fails, letting the ball fall down to their side. Their other middle blocker manages to knock it back into the air, but he shouts in pain as he slides across the floor. One of their hitters receives the ball, sending it over to Kenma. 

Kenma himself is just standing there. He looks even more haggard on camera, posture slightly slouching forward, looking distinctly bored.

"KOZUME!" All of the players scream. Kenma doesn't even look fazed, glancing over at them with a weary eye. And then he puts his hands up, and he sets the ball to their outside hitter, and their outside hitter hits it over the net. They score, and the team erupts into cheers, but Kenma knows that the game will be over for them in a couple of minutes.

"Okay," Kenma says, not quite understanding what the point of Kuroo showing this to him was. "And...?"

Kuroo sighs, as though Kenma should have understood his intent through the power of telepathy, or something. He rewinds the clip, back to the moment Kenma's hands touched the ball. 

"Everyone was shouting and panicking," Kuroo says, pointing at all of their teammates. "But not you. You kept your cool and did what you were supposed to do. And your set got us a point." 

"That wasn't me that got the point. That was our hitter."

Kuroo now looks like he's about to tear his hair out. "Yeah, but Suzuki was only able to get the point because you put the ball up for him! You were the one that made it possible for us to even get the point! Everyone's moves connect together in some way. Look—" Here, he pauses the video on a very unflattering frame of himself mid-shout. "I failed to block the ball, and Watanabe saved the ball, and Ayase received the ball, and then you set the ball! All of us keep each other in check, and you—"

And now Kuroo is grabbing Kenma's cheeks, shaking his face back and forth. Kenma blinks, disoriented by how close Kuroo's singular eye is to his own. 

"You're the most important member of all. You're the mastermind. You—you see the game differently than the rest of us. You don't see it, 'cause you're—well, you're you, you can never really see your own face how everyone else sees it. But you get this look of concentration, like this—" Here, Kuroo scrunches up his face, so now it looks like he's mildly constipated. "You get like, really into the zone, and you ignore everything else. When the game gets too intense, and everyone starts panicking, you're the one that keeps your cool. You're—you're really cool, Kenma."

And Kuroo snaps his mouth shut, apparently done with his speech. He flushes red, letting go of Kenma's face and slowly turning away.

All that is echoing in Kenma's head are the words "You're really cool, Kenma."

+ 1 HP.

"Thanks, Kuro."

Even now, while he's being praised like this, he can't find it in himself to hold Kuroo any closer than arm's length.

—

He finally gains the courage to put Himari's dress on sometime during his last year of middle school. 

He's been hanging around Kuroo less and less, ever since Kuroo entered high school. He still plays volleyball. He was offered the position of vice-captain, since he's a third year now, but he declined. 

He's sure that the rest of his teammates wouldn't like it if he were in any sort of captaincy, anyway.

"Maybe he's a fairy."

He googled what that means, and he didn't like what he found.

You're not...gay. You don't want to kiss guys. You just…

Want to dress up in girls' clothes?

Maybe he really is a fairy. That would explain everything that's wrong with him.

He sighs as he stares at his reflection, watches it comb through its hair. The strands of hair go past his shoulders—it's longer than it's ever been. He really does look like a girl.

Just do it. Just get it over with.

So he strips his clothes off, never once meeting his reflection's eyes as he puts the mess of red fabric and ruffles on. He doesn't know how to put on a dress, and he definitely can't ask anyone else to help him with this. There's a bow he has to tie, in the back, and he fumbles with that for a good five minutes. Eventually, he gives up, looking at his reflection over his shoulder. He gets the bow to be passable, readjusts the off-the-shoulder sleeves, turns around, and…

He looks…

He's horrified to see that his reflection looks...off.

- 1 HP.

The dress is not a perfect fit for him in the same way Kuroo's sister's dress was. The ruffled sleeves are too big, and they are slowly sliding down his arms. The shoulder straps feel too tight, and they dig into the flesh of his collarbones. The skirt falls to his knees—he's sure it's only supposed to fall just to the middle of his thighs—and it swishes as he steps around his room. 

He never wears short sleeves or shorts if he can help it, and he remembers why—his limbs look like they fit wrong on his body. His entire body just looks...wrong, and if he can't change it, the least he can do is cover it up.  

If Himari were here, she would be able to pin it up, adjust it, make it fit perfectly on him.

But Himari's not here, is she?

It's just you. Just you, running your own race.

- 2 HP.

"Keshi," he says out loud, turning to the doll that sits on his desk. "What do you think?"

Keshi does not reply, as always. He feels stupid for even asking. Every time he talks to the doll, he imagines he's talking to his cousin in her place, so he tries to think about what Himari would say, what Himari would do, if she were right here next to him.

"I think it looks good on you, Kenma," his cousin would say. "If we just tucked this here, and pinned this up...now, now, don't cry, you look—"

Kenma stares at his reflection and wonders if such a beautiful dress would be enough to make him look beautiful in turn. Like lipstick on a pig. 

He tries to see the beauty in the broken cracks of his reflection. The dark red colors of the dress, and how it complements his pale skin tone. The soft edges of the ruffles, and how they make his silhouette look less jagged, less sharp.

Less like a boy. More like a girl.

There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he slowly collapses to the floor, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

He does look more like a girl, but not completely. It's like how the dolls in horror movies look so unsettlingly human, but not at the same time—Kuroo had told him that it's called the uncanny valley effect. He looks like he's trying so hard to look like a girl that he actually ends up looking less like a girl. 

He thought it would feel right, wearing this again, but he's just more confused than ever. 

- 3 HP.

Chapter Text

Kozume Kenma is fifteen when he paints his nails for the first time.

It's not his idea. It's Kuroo's sister's idea.

"KENMA! KENMA, KENMA, KENMA!"

Kenma grumbles, rolling out of bed. It's the week before school starts, and he intended to spend all of his free time sleeping, playing video games, and generally making the most of his last few days of peace. Of course Kuroo would wake him up at—he checks the time—nine AM on a Saturday. 

"What?" he calls back. His sleeping schedule has been flip-flopping back and forth between getting up early to play video games and staying up late playing video games. He supplements with naps and sleeping in whenever possible. It's a delicate cycle, and one that should not be disturbed. 

"MY SISTER'S HERE!" Kuroo screams, barging into his room completely uninvited. He yanks Kenma's covers off of him, rolling Kenma off his bed. 

"Your sister?" Kenma blinks, and it's with his early-morning brain that he realizes that Kuroo has barely ever brought up his sister. He doesn't even know her name. "She's back from Osaka?"

"Mhm!" Kuroo is now physically dragging Kenma up to his feet and shoving him towards his closet. "She came to visit before school started. And she's really excited to meet you, so go get ready."

"How does she know about me?"

"She's telepathic," Kuroo deadpans. "No, I told her about you, idiot." 

"Oh." He wonders what Kuroo told his sister about him. They haven't been at the same school for a year, so he can't imagine there's anything new to tell her. 

He's seen less and less of Kuroo over his last year of middle school. Kuroo made less and less attempts to hang out on the weekends, before school or after school, and so Kenma supposes that he's correct in his previous assumption: Kuroo has moved on. Kuroo has made new friends. Kuroo has left him behind because he is no longer the most convenient option. 

And that is perfectly fine with him.

He never held Kuroo that close to him, anyway. 

But Kuroo's here now, and he's always had a way with words, and a way of convincing Kenma to do things, so he gets dressed and follows Kuroo over to his house. 

"Nee-san!" Kuroo shouts as he opens the door. Kenma winces internally. As the years have gone by, Kuroo has become more and more accustomed to talking loudly, talking boldly—talking in general. Kenma himself has stayed the exact same, speaking only when spoken to, like how he was taught.

There's the closing of a door, and then Kuroo's sister is making her way down the hallway, tying her long, ebony-black hair back. 

"Tetsu," she says, sliding towards him on socked feet. Even though she looks older than him by a lot—maybe five years?—Kuroo is just the tiniest bit taller than her. She brushes the hair out of Kuroo's eyes, then ruffles his hair and messes it up even further. "No shouting, Dad's still sleeping."

"Sorry." Kuroo waves his hand towards Kenma, who automatically shrinks back. "Kaido, this is Kozume Kenma. Kenma, this is my sister, Kaido."

Kuroo Kaido has the same hazel-brown eyes as her brother, the same kind that seem to shine golden when the light hits them right. She smiles, offers her hand, and Kenma timidly shakes it.

"Very nice to meet you, Kozume-chan," Kuroo says, nodding her head. What does Kenma refer to her as? Just Kuroo? That'll get confusing. Kuroo-nee-san it is. "Tetsurou has told me a lot about you." She grins, teeth sharp like a black cat's, and Kenma can see even more of the family resemblance. "He says you're the best setter he's ever played with."

"Oh." Kenma looks down at his feet, shifting from one foot to the other. "That's...probably not true—did you know he lies a lot?"

"I do not!" Kuroo shouts, affronted. Kuroo-nee-san laughs, slapping her younger brother on the back. "Kenma!"

"It's true." Kenma doesn't explain how he knows that's true, how sometimes he texts Kuroo and asks what he's doing, and Kuroo will say that he's doing boring high school work, and then Kenma will look out his bedroom window to find Kuroo and his new high school friends in his bedroom, talking and talking and talking. 

The ratio to which Kuroo tells lies versus truth versus his half-lies and half-truths is becoming more and more uneven. 

It's fine, though. It doesn't mean anything to him. 

He has never held Kuroo that close.

- 1 HP.

But he's here with Kuroo, and Kuroo has told his sister that he is apparently the best setter he's ever played with, and now Kenma cannot tell if this is a lie, if this is a truth, or if this is half a lie and half a truth. 

"What do you wanna do?" Kuroo asks his sister and Kenma. 

This turns out to be a mistake on his part, as Kuroo Kaido ushers both of them towards the living room, where she turns on the TV and switches on some TV show, then sits down on the carpet and begins painting her nails. Kenma shrugs, sits down on the couch, and lets his attention be captured by the TV show, something about samurai and dragons. Kuroo whines from behind them about how boring and inaccurate this show is, but neither of them are paying attention to him.  

"She's soooo pretty," Kuroo-nee-san says as the lead actress comes on screen, dressed in an elaborate kimono and obi belt. Jewels of every color of the rainbow adorn her neck, wrists, and hair. She raises one hand, and the fabric of her kimono folds over gracefully, revealing the dozens of bracelets she's wearing. "Soooo pretty."

Kenma is inclined to agree with Kuroo-nee-san. The woman is beautiful, in an ethereal, elegant way, almost as though she transcends human standards of beauty. Like a goddess, or something.  If he looks at her face closely enough, he can see that she has thick eyebrows, narrowed eyes, sharp cheekbones, but that doesn't make her any less beautiful. 

"She's okay," Kuroo says, making a face. "You're prettier than her, nee-san."

Kuroo-nee-san laughs, waving her hand before realizing that her nails have wet nail polish on them. She is really pretty, with a heart-shaped face and big eyes. "I didn't mean it like that, Tetsu."

Pause. Check inventory.

What does she mean by that?

Does she want to...is she gay?

No, no—I'm just overthinking it, right? Yeah, just overthinking it. That's all.

"I'm gonna go get snacks," Kuroo announces, standing up, and Kuroo-nee-san only offers him a laugh in response. "This is boring."

"Suit yourself," Kuroo-nee-san says as her brother gets up. Kuroo wanders away. Kenma finds himself moving closer to Kuroo-nee-san. 

"Uh..." he says, not really sure how to start this conversation. "Your nails...they're..."

"Hmm?" Kuroo-nee-san asks, holding up her hand.

"They're...pretty."

"Oh! Thank you!" She dips her brush back into the nail polish, holding up her right hand. "Unfortunately, my right hand always ends up looking janky, 'cause I'm, well, right-handed." She holds the bottle up, holding it out to Kenma. "You wanna give me a hand and help?"

"Oh. Uh..." Kenma holds his hand up, then hesitates, holding it there. "I'm not...I've never painted my nails. Or anyone's nails."

"You'll be fine," Kuroo-nee-san says, blowing on her left hand. "Tetsu does this for me all the time, and if he can do it, you can definitely do it."

"Hey!" Kuroo shouts from the kitchen. He comes back with a bowl of popcorn, sitting down in between his friend and his sister. "Don't do it for her, Kenma, it's stupid anyway." 

"Hey!" Kuroo-nee-san shouts, in the exact same tone Kuroo himself used. "I beg your pardon, this takes ages to do. It's a form of art!"

"Yeah, it's a masterpiece for the first day, and then it's just gonna chip off slowly and look ugly." Kuroo shrugs, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, leaning over to look at his sister's nails. "Matter of fact, they look ugly now."

"You little—!" And then Kuroo-nee-san is lunging towards her younger brother, toppling the bowl of popcorn all over the table, and Kuroo is squealing and scrambling away. 

Kenma doesn't think Kuroo-nee-san's nails look ugly at all. They're bright red, with black polka dots. It reminds him of ladybugs. He wonders how she makes the little circles so perfectly. 

There's a knock at the door, and Kuroo takes that as his excuse to run away. Kuroo-nee-san sighs, scooping all the popcorn back into the bowl with one hand. Wordlessly, Kenma gets up to help her. 

"Thanks, Kozume-chan," Kuroo-nee-san says, sitting back against the couch. 

"Just Kenma," Kenma says before he can think about it. "Just...just Kenma."

Kuroo-nee-san chuckles, holding the bottle of nail polish out to him again. "Alright, Just Kenma. You gonna help me or what?"

Kenma's gaze strays towards the door. Kuroo is standing in the doorway, talking with two other kids. His friends from high school. He'll probably be occupied for a while. He won't see Kenma doing his sister's nails, and he won't make fun of him.

Pause. Check inventory.

Why do you care so much about Kuroo's opinion?

You are, after all, just second choice. 

"If you're Just Kenma, I can be Just Kaido to you, 'kay?" Kuroo-nee-san—no, Kaido-san— says as Kenma takes the nail polish bottle. "Thanks for helping. I could've done it myself, but it would've looked like shit. Ah—" She claps a hand to her mouth. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to swear in front of you kids. Don't repeat that."

"Okay." Kenma uncaps the bottle, watching the vibrant red polish drip down the brush in globs. "How do I..."

"Slide it against the lip of the bottle, so all the excess polish drips back into the bottle. Then just brush it onto my nails once or twice." Kaido-san holds her hand flat and still on the carpet, fingers spread apart. 

"Okay." Kenma moves slowly, deliberately. It feels like every bit of his body is concentrating on not messing this up, not getting any polish on Kaido-san's fingers, making sure every bit of her nail is covered up. Kaido-san's nails are long, not like Himari's. He finishes her index, middle, pinky, ring, and then her thumb.

"Sorry," he says as he's screwing the cap back onto the bottle. "I got some on your thumb." There’s a small smear of red on Kaido-san’s knuckle. 

"Eh? Oh, no problem. It'll just come off in flecks." Kaido-san blows on her right hand. Kenma supposes this is to make it dry faster. "You did a good job, Kenma. Tetsurou's never this neat."

Kenma glances back towards the door. It's left wide open, but he can still hear Kuroo's voice, talking and laughing, so he couldn't have gone far. "Thank you, Kaido-san."

"Just Kaido, remember?"

Kaido, as it turns out, is just like Himari. She seems to be willing to lower herself and elevate Kenma, forgoing the stupid societal niceties that everyone around them seems to value so much. 

"Okay, Kaido." 

"You want me to do your nails too?" Kaido asks, finally satisfied with how dry her nails are.

Kenma freezes. He would like to know what it was like to have painted nails, but, well…

"Yeah, it's an art form for the first day, and it's just gonna chip off slowly and look ugly." 

Kuroo's words echo in his head as he mulls Kaido's question over.

Pause. Check inventory.

Kuro won't care that much if it's his sister painting your nails...right?

"I saw how you looked up when I said she was pretty," Kaido says, nodding her head towards the lead actress. "And I saw how you were staring at her."

The character is dressing herself in a man's kimono, cutting her hair short, disguising herself as a samurai. She's saying that it will be better this way, if she hides who she is for the sake of the world. So the world won't turn on her, just because she's small, little, weak.

If I looked like her, I wouldn't have changed anything. She's beautiful. 

If I were beautiful like her, maybe I'd be happier in my own skin.

Pause. Check inventory.

What...?

"She's pretty," Kenma says, curling his hands inside his lap. "That's...that's all."

Kaido gives him a knowing smile, and he suddenly gets the vivid image of a black cat crossing his path, baring its teeth. Bad luck. "'Kay. All I have to say is that I wouldn't mind kissing her."

I was right.

"I want to—" And then he stops, because he's known Kuroo Kaido for a total of maybe four hours. How much can I trust her? Can I trust her as much as Kuroo?

Kuro and I have been friends for eight years now, and I've never called him Tetsurou once. But Kaido…

"I wouldn't...I wouldn't mind looking like her." Kenma stares down at the carpet as he mumbles these words. "Just...just to see what it would be like."

He reluctantly holds his hand out to Kaido. He can feel his fingers twitching as he does, almost as though there's something in him that wants and doesn't want at the same time. 

"Please. Kaido. If...it's not too much trouble."

Kaido grins, blindingly bright. Lightning. "Of course, Kenma. Black or red?"

Himari had said that he would look good in red, but he remembers her dress, and then he remembers Kaido's dress, the black one that he wore for halloween. He thinks about how his friend's sister's dress felt right and how his cousin's dress felt off.

He might look good in red in the future, when he's more sure of whatever he's feeling right now, but it doesn't feel right now. Black is shadows, and black is comfort. 

So Kaido paints his nails a solid black, and Kenma stays as still as he can to make it easier for her. Her movements are practiced, polished, completely at ease. "No need to be so tense, Kenma." 

"Sorry."

"No need to apologize either."

"Sorry."

Kuroo's voice has completely faded away. He probably ran off with his high school friends. He has forgotten about the two of them, but oddly enough, that's fine with Kenma.

He's just second choice. But so is Kuroo's own sister. 

Pause. Check inventory.

What does that say about Kuro, that he would brush his sister off for his friends? Isn't this the first time she's ever visited him here?

The front door opens and shuts, followed by the sound of Kuroo's whining. "God, they won't leave me alone!" 

"Your friends?" Kaido asks as she snaps the cap back onto the bottle. Kuroo is coming closer and closer, and it is then that Kenma realizes the damning evidence of something—something he wants to keep pushed deep, deep down—literally on his hands.

He has a split second to glance at his fingernails, painted a rich shade of black, before he shoves them into his hoodie pockets. For good measure, he flips his hood over his head, drawing the strings tight. Maybe if he makes himself as small as possible, he'll disappear entirely. 

"Yeah! They're great and all, but I told them you were visiting." Kuroo flops down onto the carpet next to his sisters, wrapping his arms around her torso. Kaido laughs, slapping her little brother on the back. "They're kinda dumb sometimes. Kept making fun of me for wanting to hang out with you."

"You are really dumb, but not because you want to hang out with me." Kaido preens, waving her ladybug nails in front of Kuroo's face. "You should always want to hang out with me. I'm awesome."

"It's just because I haven't seen you in the flesh for years!" Kuroo protests as his sister digs her nails into his scalp. "I could—I could leave right now!"

"Yeah, but you won't, will ya?"

And then Kuroo smiles and laughs, in the way that Kenma recognizes, a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder, and there is the Kuroo that Kenma used to know, a boy like a thunderstorm. 

Is this Kuroo's real self? Or is the boy who ran away to be with his friends the real him? 

It's getting harder and harder to tell. 

Maybe it'll all become clearer when Kenma joins him for high school.

—

He slips up, that night, at dinner.

"What's that on your hands?" his mother asks sharply, and Kenma reflexively curls his fists into his hoodie pockets. "Kenma. Show me, now."

Kenma does not take his hands out of his pockets, instead staring at his father. He tilts his head towards his mother, as if silently urging him to deal with his wife. His father says nothing, only turning his head away, like he always does when Kenma and his mother argue.

"It's just nail polish," Kenma says flatly, showing his mother his hands. "Kuro's sister visited, and she wanted to paint my nails. Just for fun."

His mother purses her lips in obvious disapproval. "How old is Kuroo-chan's sister?"

If he were to say that Kuroo's sister were younger than him, ten or eleven maybe, his mother might have let it slide. Unfortunately, if he lies, he'll be found out very quickly, so he just says, "Kaido is twenty."

He realizes his second mistake when his mother arches an eyebrow and says, "Kaido? Just Kaido? Kenma, you know better than to refer to your elders like that."

She told me to call her Kaido. 

"Kaido-san said I could refer to her by her given name," he mutters as he brings his dishes to the sink. He glances up at the clock. Eight PM, and he was planning to do schoolwork, but now he just kind of feels like crap. He'll play video games until that feeling fades away. 

"Your hair is getting rather long as well," his mother says, reaching forward to take a couple strands of his hair in her fingers. Kenma flinches away. They've had too many conversations about his hair length, how keeping his hair long makes him look unprofessional, how it takes so much time and effort to maintain, and how it also makes him look less like a boy. 

Kenma is fine with all of that.

"We should cut it," his mother says, and Kenma can feel his heart sinking. 

"No." Kenma curls his hand into a fist, flexing his fingers, staring at the color on his nails. Black, dark, rich. It looks nothing like it, but Kenma gets the image of a cat stretching its claws out. For protecting, for attacking, he's not sure which. 

"Just a bit shorter," his mother says, gesturing around his ears. "Down to here, Kenma-chan."

"Shoulders," Kenma says, not willing to be the first one to back down. "Down to my shoulders, or not at all." He could lock the door to his room, refuse to come out, and his mother would cave in eventually. But if he does that, then she'll stay angry at him for a very, very long time. And he doesn't want that.

He has to play his cards right. Appease his mother with some small things, easy things, and then he can get away with the things that really matter. 

But as he's gotten older, he's found out that his mother has started to push for more and more things. More time on studies. Less time on games, video games or volleyball or otherwise. Going to more family parties, interacting with his cousins.

He doesn't care about the rest of his cousins. None of them are Himari.

He misses Himari, in times like these. He doesn't know if Himari has gone through any of the things he's facing, but he has a sneaking feeling that Himari would know how to weather any challenge. 

He starts school soon. He knows this is prime time to start asking for a phone. He can cite entering high school as a good enough reason to get one. Tokyo is loud, crowded, and easy to get lost in. Nekoma High School is twenty minutes away by bus, and anything could happen in the time it takes to get to and from school. 

If he lets his mother have his way with his hair, just a bit, she'll loosen up. Give him what he really wants.

"Down to your chin," his mother eventually says, patting his head. He wants to move away from her touch, but he can't, or she'll strike back at him. "And we'll visit this later, don't think we won't, Kenma-chan."

He bites his lip, bites back his words. He's starting high school soon. He's not a child anymore, but he knows that he's as good as one in his mother's eyes. He never wants to go outside, he only spends time with a couple different people, he's shy and quiet and and little and weak. 

He's smart enough to know he needs to grow up, and he's foolish enough to think that he can remain in childish bliss for the rest of his days. 

"Yes," Kenma says, nodding his head. "Alright."

If all the pieces fit together in the correct way, he'll end up getting what he wants anyway.

—

"Is high school any different?" Kenma asks, an hour before he has to leave to get his hair cut. It's three days before the first day of school. Kuroo is over at his house. They're playing Mario Kart, with Kenma beating Kuroo at every turn. "From middle school, I mean."

"Uhh..." Kuroo sticks his tongue out in concentration, putting all his effort into trying to beat Kenma. It's a futile effort, because Kenma easily speeds across the finish line. "I mean...the work's harder and there's a lot more of it, but it's not that bad if you figure out how to study."

"Okay." Kenma has always been good at spacing out his time, portioning everything into neat boxes. He's never failed a class, but he's also not extremely smart like Kuroo. School itself shouldn't be much of a problem.  

"What about the people?" Kenma goes back to the main menu, and Kuroo checks his phone. His high school friends. "Do they get any nicer?"

"Ha!" Kuroo barks out a laugh, either at his phone or at Kenma. Kenma can't tell. "Yeah, uh, they mostly get better." He shuts his phone, returning his attention to the game. "Everyone gets a bit more mature."

"And what about volleyball?"

Kuroo perks up, mashing at his controls with renewed vigor. "The Nekoma team is so good, Kenma, you won't believe it! We got a lot of really amazing players, and it'll only get better once you get here! You'll probably become starting setter, because our starting setter graduated already. If not in your first year, then definitely in your second year, I know it."

"Hmm," Kenma mumbles, maneuvering around Kuroo's character. "I don't know about that, Kuro."

"Aw, c'mon!" Kuroo turns his head towards Kenma, completely ignoring the game now. "You're good, I came to your last match!"

"Did you?" Kenma can't remember who was at his last middle school match. They lost by their third set, but it was a close call. Everything was so chaotic, and all Kenma wanted after the match was to just go home. 

So Kuroo might've been there. But Kuroo might've not been there. And Kuroo didn't let him know beforehand, and so Kenma will never know what really happened.

"What was the final score?" Kenma asks.

Kuroo's eyes narrow, and he grins. Black cat. "Last set was twenty-five to thirteen. You guys lost. What, you don't believe me?"

That's not the entire story. But yes, something like that. 

So he knew the score. He could have just gotten that information from somewhere else, or asked his parents. That's easy to find out. 

"What did I look like?" Kenma asks, returning his attention to the game. This question will get him a better answer as to if Kuroo was actually there or not. “What was I wearing?”

Pause. Check inventory. 

Why do you care so much about whether or not Kuro showed up to your last match?

"Your jersey?" Kuroo says, bewildered. "What else would you be wearing?" 

Kenma just shrugs and returns to beating Kuroo's ass at Mario Kart. "Was my hair up or was it down?"

Do you care if Kuro saw you play without him? Did you wonder if he thought you got better or worse?

"Your hair was down for the first two sets, but you tied it up for the last set."

That's too specific. And that is indeed what Kenma did. His hair kept sticking to his face, because he sweats, and the only thing he hates more than having short hair is having long hair that sticks to his face. 

He must have come to the match. He must have seen Kenma play. 

He must have seen Kenma lose. 

Did it even matter if Kuro saw you?

Kenma is startled back to attention by the victory music of his PS2. Kuroo has won, and he's giving him a shit-eating grin. "Told you I came to your match. And also, I won."

"Was I any good?" Kenma asks, and he comes to a sudden realization as Kuroo meets his gaze. 

Kuroo does the same things as him. Tells the truth for the small things, so that he can get away with lying for the big things. Maybe not for this particular incident, but he does it for everything and anything else. That's just how Kuroo is. 

Black cat. Sneaking around, in and out of the shadows. Bad, bad luck. 

Kuroo's smile is feline as he looks over at Kenma and says, "You're the best, Kenma."

Tell the truth for the small things, so he can lie for the big things.

Am I a small thing or a big thing?

—

"Down to the chin," his mother says as the hairdresser circles around Kenma. "Kenma, are you entirely sure you don't want it any shorter?"

"Very sure," Kenma mutters, wishing he could play on his DS while this happens. But the fact that there will be hair everywhere is enough to deter him from doing that. 

Eyes on the prize. Just do what she says, and then you'll be able to get a phone. 

So the hairdresser, a nineteen year old with dyed pink hair, goes to work snip snip snipping away at his hair. How long has it been since he got his hair cut? A year? Maybe a year and a half? 

He watches as his hair gets pushed away from the front of his face. Everything gets trimmed into a nice, neat line that stops at his chin. When the hairdresser takes the bib off his neck, Kenma moves his head back and forth, feeling just how light his head feels.

It makes him feel lightheaded. Dizzy. Everything seems so much brighter, now that his shield has been ripped away from him. He notices so much more, when he doesn't want to notice them.

He notices how his mother smiles in quiet satisfaction as he bows his head down and accepts his fate.

She thinks she's won.

Act now. Make the first move. 

"There's been something I've been meaning to ask," Kenma says quietly as his mother finishes paying for his haircut. "Would...could I possibly get a phone, before school starts?"

His mother says nothing, only humming as she slips her credit card back into her wallet.

That's good. Not an instant no.

"As a safety precaution," Kenma says, folding his hands behind his back. "Nekoma's kind of far from our house."

"Alright," his mother says slowly. "I do suppose it would be good for you to have some way to contact me, in case of an accident." She turns to head out the store, saying nothing else.

No other stipulations or other terms. She's really just going to give me the phone.

This win is mine.

His head feels so much lighter. It's still disorienting. 

But the thing that's protected him for so much of his past is a small price to pay for what he wants for his future. 

—

"Himari," he says into his phone, two days later. He got his cousin's number after a very long and very convoluted game of telephone between his mother and his aunts and cousins. It's the last day of summer. He's going to make it count.

"Kenma!" Himari's voice is a welcome sound. Soft and welcoming and familiar. "How are you?"

"Good." Kenma holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he plays on his PS2. He is going to make the most of his last day of summer. He is going to play videogames and talk with his cousin as best as he can. "I start high school tomorrow."

"Oh, how exciting! You ready?"

"No."

"Fair enough, nobody's ever really ready for high school. Anything exciting happen to you over the summer?"

"I..." Kenma takes one of his hands off the controller to fidget with his shortened hair strands. "I got my hair cut."

Silence from Himari's end. The silence seems to stretch on, to the point that Kenma actually begins to get nervous. 

"You don't sound too happy about it, Kenma."

"I'm not," Kenma says flatly. With Himari, he has never felt the need to keep his guard up. He's both glad and mortified that Himari can see straight through him. "But it's okay. I have a phone now."

"Ah, I see."

"Anyway," Kenma says as he begins to play Final Fantasy XII. "I'm having trouble with this point in Final Fantasy, can you help me?"

"Sure, sure, where are you at?"

"I'm at the part where..."

The rest of his night passes in a haze of playing Final Fantasy, listening to his cousin talk about everything and anything, laughing until his sides hurt. It's not a bad way to spend the last night of his childhood. 

Well—Kuroo used to always spend the last day of summer with him. 

Would it be better if Kuroo was here?

Pause. Check inventory.

Does it even matter anymore?

—

He starts his first year of high school in the spring. He joins Nekoma's volleyball team. 

Kuroo told the truth. The players there are amazing. They play like second nature, their moves seamlessly connecting with one another. The school's motto is "connect", so Kenma supposes it's only fitting. 

Kuroo also lied. The people, and especially the people on his team, don't get any better.

They only get worse. 

"Hey, rookie!" one of the third-years shouts at Kenma, making him flinch. "Clean up faster! We can’t go home until you’re done.”

“Yeah!” another one of them shouts. “Quit messing around.”

The third-years are some of the worst people that Kenma has ever met. A senpai is just someone who happened to be born one or two years sooner than he was. Why do they like lording over people so much? It's just one or two years; they're not that much smarter, or that much stronger, or that much better than him. In a couple years, the age difference between them will be negligible. 

Wouldn’t it be faster if we all cleaned up together? he thinks, kicking his foot against the wooden floor. 

He gets it the worst out of all of the new first years. Because he's small, because he's weak, because he's little. He's an easy target. The list of things they come up with to make fun of him seems to be absolutely endless. Their coach is kind of lame as well—he doesn’t do anything about it. Nekoma had been good, up until a few years ago. Kenma can see why. He tried to make suggestions for strategy, and every last one of the third years shot him down.

This is why you don’t reach your hand out first. They’ll just slap it away. 

And Kuroo doesn't do anything about it.

Kuro doesn't do anything about it. 

Kenma goes down to the river after practice. He’s so grateful to whatever divine being controlling his life that tomorrow is the weekend. He crouches down, staring down at the river. It’s dried up a bit since he was a kid, and gotten way smaller. 

“Kenma.” Kenma doesn’t make any moves to move his head, but he already knows who it is. Kuroo comes out from the darkness, into his line of vision. “You’re a keen observer, and everything you suggest makes sense.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything for a bit. He just stares at the stream of water, watching as it ebbs and flows.

“But I don’t wanna say anything. Every time I do, the third years all tell me not to be a smart-mouth.” Kenma shifts around, readjusts himself so that he’s almost sitting on the ground. “They even made me run almost twice as much as the other rookies yesterday.”

Kuroo is silent for a bit as he stares into the distance with Kenma. “Those third years are all going to retire from the club soon,” he says, tapping his foot against the dry grass. “And rumor has it that Coach Nekomata may be coming back.”

Kuroo stares down at him, and for once, his ever-present smile is not there. “So no quitting, okay? The third years don’t have a clue, but the rest of us know how good you are. You’ll be a big asset to the team. I know you will.”

Kenma remains silent. 

“Why didn’t you tell them to knock it off?” he says eventually. “I swear, they never pick on the others as much as they do with me.”

"It..." Kuroo rubs at the back of his neck nervously. He never joins in on the teasing of the other first years, but he never stands up for them either. Some of the second years and all of the third years pick on the first years. "It happened to me too, during my first year. It's just hazing. It gets better once you push through the first couple of months. They get bored after a while. Just…hang in there, alright?"

So why don't you do anything about it? If you went through this, if you knew how bad it was when you were a first year, then why don't you do anything about it?

"I can't do anything about it, sorry." Kuroo shrugs, and Kenma feels an unfamiliar rage rise to the surface. "It's just—they're older than me, Kenma. I gotta do what they say, or at least, I can't actively go against them."

You're kidding me. 

Kuroo, the boy who seemingly knows how to talk to anybody and everybody, who always knows what to say for every situation, who lies as easily as he breathes—he can't do anything about it.

You're lying to me.

Why are you lying to me?

I mean, I get why you're doing it, though.

I'm just second choice.

- 1 HP.

“They better get better,” Kenma mutters as he kicks at a pebble. He watches it clatter along the grass. A small, pitiful thing, pushed around this way and that way by the universe’s whim. Kenma can relate. He feels the exact same way. He supposes that’s why he’s taking all his anger out on something smaller and weaker than him.

Does Kuro…does he enjoy seeing all the first years being pushed around, because now he holds a bit more power than them?

That’s…a bit messed up.

Of course, I can’t blame him for that either.

I’d do the exact same thing.

“So, jerk third-years aside,” Kuroo says, smoothly changing the topic. “How are you finding everything else about high school?”

“It’s…fine.” Because really, it’s all fine. The workload’s fine, the food’s fine, the classmates are fine. He can even play on his PSP during lunch. All of it is just…fine.

“Has anything exciting happened to you over these past few days?”

“No, not really.” 

A loud sound draws their attention as Kenma gets up. The two of them look at each other, confused, before looking down at the ground.

It’s a small stray calico cat. A vivid memory flashes through Kenna’s mind, of a summer evening spent chasing a ball near this very river.

It can’t be the same cat. It looks like it hasn’t grown a bit. But it walks right up to Kenma, and Kenma kneels down to pet it.

“Cats still like you, I see,” Kuroo observes. He crouches down as well, and the cat shies away from him. “And they still hate me. Y’know, I once fought with Yaku—you know Yaku, right? The short guy, our libero.”

He does remember Yaku. Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai are the only second years that don’t tease the first years. He has a favorable opinion of him. Kenma nods.

“Yeah, we were arguing over whether cats or dogs were better. Yaku said cats, I said dogs.”

Kenma remembers Kuroo saying how he always preferred dogs. He thinks about how their mascot is quite literally a cat. He thinks about how he’s always thought of Kuroo as a black cat, never a dog or anything of the sort. 

“Did you know that calico cats are almost exclusively female?” One thing that has not changed is Kuroo’s never ending abundance of random science facts. He spouts so many of them as they begin the walk back to their homes. “The gene for the calico coat pattern is connected to the X chromosomes, so female cats have a higher chance of being calico. Male cats can be calico as well, but that’s rarer.”

He thinks about how Kuroo once referred to him as a calico cat. He thinks about how sad he was when his hair was cut, how happy he felt when he put on nail polish.

Pause. Check inventory.

Does anything about that necessarily point towards you being a girl?

He doesn’t…want to be a girl. Yes, it would be nicer to be able to wear his hair long, wear nail polish, and wear dresses that will make him feel right in his own skin. It would be nice to be able to feel beautiful. 

But he sees how the girls at his school are treated. They get cat-called in the hallways. Boys make lists and rank the girls in their grade, from hottest to ugliest. They ask out the hot girls in droves, and dare each other to ask out the ugly ones. They talk about which parts of their bodies are the best.

Girls are treated badly. Kenma knows he’s lucky, being born a boy. He doesn’t have to go through all of that. 

Pause. Check inventory. 

Would you be willing to go through all of that if it made you feel comfortable in your own skin?

How would Kuro treat you then?

Kuroo is not entirely innocent. He doesn’t participate in the more lecherous games the boys play, but he never really shies away from them either. He’ll pick between two girls, who’d he rather date, and Kenma has seen the notes girls leave in his locker. He's seen Kuroo flaunting them to his friends. 

He doesn’t want to be fully boy or fully girl. He wants to reap the benefits of both, but he knows he can’t really do that. 

Pause. Check inventory.

Do the benefits of being a girl outweigh the downsides?

Yes.

Yes, they do—

“Bye, Kenma,” Kuroo says, and Kenma snaps back to attention. He’s standing on his front doorstep, and Kuroo is waving goodbye to him. Kenma raises a hand in goodbye, before turning away. The voices in his head are buzzing, screaming, and so, so loud.

The answer ringing in his head both excites him and scares him.

—

He searches it up, later that night, on an incognito tab on his computer. He does it late at night, just in case his mother or father walks in on him. Not that they've ever done that—he's always been vigilant about his privacy, and he's always been good about at least attempting his work before playing his video games. 

He locks his door anyway. What goes on in here tonight doesn't leave the four walls, ceiling, and floor of his room.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and forces his fingers to move. 

What does it mean if I want to be both a boy and a girl?

A Wikipedia link is the first to pop up. Transgender. He clicks on the link with shaky hands. 

A transgender (often shortened to trans) person has a gender identity different from that typically associated with the sex they were assigned at birth. The opposite of transgender is cisgender, which describes persons whose gender identity matches their assigned sex.

Is that you? Is that you?

That's you.

That's you, Kozume Kenma.

Kenma stares more at the words on his screen. He scrolls through the article, so fast that he can barely read anything. His heart is pounding, so much that it feels like it's going to burst out of his chest in a horrible explosion of blood and guts and gore. 

Should he start calling himself a girl now? 

Do you want to be a girl?

Stop lying to yourself. Stop telling yourself all of these half-lies, half-truths. 

You want to be a girl. 

He has never felt right in his own skin. For all of his life, he has wanted to keep his hair long, sit back and watch all of the other boys run past him at recess, shut out the world until the only things he can see are what's directly in front of him. 

The truth is staring him directly in the face. He can't hide—not behind his hair, not behind his shields, not behind anything.

You want to be a girl. 

His heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. His chest is heaving, he sees his tears fall down onto his table before he feels them. 

You want to be a girl. You want to be a girl. You want to be a girl. 

Where do I go from here?

He's smart, everyone says so, and he solves complicated puzzles for fun, just because he likes the challenge of doing it. There are hundreds of options when solving a puzzle—it's all a matter of which path you go down, which algorithm you decide to follow. 

But he's staring at all the possible options before him, all the paths he could go down, and all of them are obscured with fog. Should he tell someone? If he does tell someone, who should he tell? Himari, obviously, but who else? What can Himari do to help him? Should he just keep quiet about it? And then keep quiet for how long? The next year? The next five years? The next ten years? Will he end up taking this secret to his grave?

Which path is the right one?

His head slides down to his table as he buries his face in his arms, trying to staunch the seemingly never-ending flow of salty tears.

I don't know. I don't know. 

For once in my life, I don't know.

—

He can't think much about how he wants to be a girl, because he has to run. 

He hates running. There's a third year shouting at him, "HEY, ROOKIE! PICK UP THE PACE!" It's horrible. He hates it here. The sun is hot, and as they run through the sidewalks of Tokyo, it beats down into his hair, unforgiving and relentless. This is probably what awaits him in hell.

But...watching the scenery and letting his imagination roam while he's running...is actually kinda fun.

He glances over to his side, at the lake they're running around. It would be cool if that was a sea dragon's home, and any moment, it could burst out of the water. It would rear its head, slap its tail against the surface of the water, and swim underneath the road bridge. That would be cool.

Aha! Those vines. Kenma thinks to himself as he spies a cluster of green vines crawling their way up a building. Those are the ‘climb here’ sign! In his mind, he readies a grappling hook, preparing to climb his way up the building. I bet there's a treasure chest on this roof. I wonder what kind of—

"DETERMINATION! HOOOOOO!!"

His concentration on his nonexistent treasure is broken by the sound of someone screaming from behind him. He chokes on his own spit, turning his head, trying to figure out who on earth would be so cruel as to disturb his daydream. A boy with a mohawk comes zipping past him, screaming the entire time he's running. 

Doesn't that get tiring? Kenma thinks as the boy comes up to run next to him. Wait, he's a rookie too, right? He squints at the boy, trying to remember his name. What was his name again? Tora...Tora...meh. Mohawk guy.

"HEY YOU!" Mohawk guy shouts, turning his head towards Kenma. "YOU'RE REALLY SLOW!"

Well, duh, I know that already. No need to rub it in. 

"I'VE LAPPED YOU ALREADY, Y'KNOW!" Mohawk guy screams again, and Kenma is immediately reminded of himself shouting the exact same thing during an intense game of Mario Kart with Kuroo. What he wouldn't give to be playing Mario Kart right now. "LET'S SEE SOME MORE GUTS, HUH?! GUTS!!"

Kenma's only response is to just stare at the boy. The boy stares back for a second before speeding off, leaving Kenma in his dust. 

I don't like him, Kenma thinks to himself. Where does he get all that energy from?

There are people that are fundamentally different from Kenma. People whose stats have more strength, speed, and stamina than him, but lack the smarts that he has. There will always be an invisible wall between him and people like Mohawk guy. Communication is nigh impossible. There’s no point in attempting it, so he won’t even try. 

Besides, Kenma can see the invisible wall being built in real time, right in front of his eyes.  

—

He locks down the names of his teammates in his bestiary soon enough. His fellow first years are the easiest. The guy with the mohawk is Yamamoto Taketora—his train of thought was right after all. The guy that looks like he’s perpetually high is Fukunaga Shouhei. There’s Yaku Morisuke, the only person who’s shorter than him. There’s Kai Nobuyuki, who seems to be the only one who’s not absolutely insane about volleyball, just like him. Of course, there’s Kuroo.

And then there’s the third years. They all have names, of course—Kenma just chooses to not acknowledge them. Instead, he defaults to stupid nicknames that make him laugh to himself.

There’s their new starting setter, Iwaya, or Eyebrows, and their tentative ace, Masutomi, or Carrot-head. Kenma doesn’t like either of them very much. Iwaya is loud, and most of the time, he is the one shouting and chasing and cat-calling after girls to ask them out. Masutomi is quieter, but Kenma’s pretty sure he caught him looking up the skirts of first year girls, so he's actually worse.

Their captain is Shiro Kinji. And he is the worst out of all of them. 

“You will address me and your upperclassmen as Shiro-senpai and Iwaya-senpai and Masutomi-senpai, and so on and so forth,” Shiro had said on the very first day of practice. “You will address us with the respect we deserve.”

You haven’t even done anything yet to deserve my respect. Kenma had thought scathingly. 

"No first names," Shiro continues as he walks up and down the line of new first-years. "No nicknames. Not even a Shiro-san. We are your elders, and we will be treated as such. Understood?"

"Yes, Shiro-senpai," was the resounding reply. Kenma's voice was not among them.

"Understood?" Shiro had asked, standing directly in front of Kenma, lowering his head down so they were standing eye-to-eye. How kind of you, to lower yourself down to my level, Kenma had thought.

"Yes, Shiro-senpai," Kenma had muttered, and Shiro had pushed his glasses up the nose of his bridge, shook his white hair out of his face, and walked on. 

You're two years older than me. Kenma had thought. Maybe three, at most. You think a handful of years makes you any more knowledgeable than me?

It would have been better if Shiro wasn't knowledgeable at all. Then Kenma would be justified in thinking that he didn't deserve any of his respect. 

This is not the case. Shiro is incredibly smart, with a deep understanding of the game, and the skills to back it up. Begrudgingly, Kenma realizes that Shiro does deserve respect. Not because of his age, but because he is genuinely very skilled at volleyball.

It absolutely infuriates Kenma.

"He's good at the game," Kenma says one day, as he and Kuroo are standing on the sidelines of the court. "But he doesn't have to shove it down our throats every few minutes."

Kuroo chuckles, shaking his bangs out of his face. His hair has been getting a lot longer lately. "Yeah, that's our captain for you. He was really good in his second year as well—no wonder he became captain." His tone holds admiration, respect, awe: things that have never been in his voice when he talked about his junior high team.

Not even for Kenma.

Pause. Check inventory.

Do you want him to talk like that about you? Do you want him to praise you like that?

He'll never do that. Shiro is his senior. He's obviously going to admire him more than you.

You're just his junior.

"Yaku!" Shiro screams as Yaku gets in position to dig one of Masutomi's spikes. Yaku saves the ball, and Shiro whistles in appreciation as the ball soars over to the opposing side. "Good dig!" Kuroo smirks, nodding his head at his captain, before walking away when Iwaya calls his name. 

I wanna sit down, Kenma thinks as Kuroo walks away. 

"WOOOW! THAT WAS, LIKE, THE PERFECT A-PASS!" Yamamoto screams from next to him. "THAT'S NEKOMA FOR YA!"

Yamamoto seems to have no other volume besides screaming at the top of his lungs. Kenma has to wonder where on earth he gets all that energy from.

"A-pass..." Fukunaga mutters under his breath. "A-plus-pass..." Then he snickers out loud, startling both Kenma and Yamamoto. 

Fukunaga may be even more strange than Yamamoto. Kenma isn't sure which one he prefers. 

He turns his attention back to Shiro. He never wears his circular, gold-rimmed glasses whenever he plays; Kuroo once told him that he wore contacts. Kenma wonders how Kuroo knew that—then again, they all change in the same room, Kuroo could have easily just seen him do it.

Kuroo also said, “His eyes have gold flecks in them if you really look closely enough.”

Kenma wonders how on earth Kuroo knew that.

Kuro, did you know your eyes look golden as well, from the right angle, in the right light?

Kenma also wonders how on earth he knows this.

—

Kenma could have tolerated Shiro. He could have tolerated Shiro, if not for the fact that Shiro so obviously and so blatantly favors teammates. Eyebrows and Carrot-head especially. And this doesn't make much sense to Kenma, because Shiro seems, by all accounts, very logical and very intelligent.

Shouldn't he be able to tell when a person is just...a bad person?

But no—he watches Iwaya cat-call girls in the hallways, he watches Masutomi tail first-years, and he does nothing about it.

Worse still, he makes excuses for them.

"They'll grow out of it," Kenma hears Shiro telling their coach one day. "I assure you, sensei. You know how...ah, how careless boys can be at this age."

"That's stupid," Kenma says the morning after, to Kuroo, as they're walking to the bus stop like they do every day. "They're third years. Aren't they supposed to be the most mature out of all of us?"

"I've heard they've been friends for eight years," Kuroo says, kicking a pebble across the sidewalk, watching it skitter along sadly. "Y'know, it's...when you've been friends for that long, you start to make excuses for them."

Eight years is the same amount of time he and Kuroo have been friends.

Pause. Check inventory.

If Kuro began acting like that, what would you do? Would you tell him to knock it off? Would you say that he was just joking? Would you just stand there and do nothing?

Kenma stops himself, shakes his head, watches as Kuroo respectfully bows and steps out of an old woman's way. Kuroo's not like that. He's not...he's not ever going to be like that.

That's what they all say.

—

"Kozume!" Yamamoto shouts one day as they're pairing off for pass drills. "Just cuz you're best buds with Kuroo-san doesn't mean I'm gonna go easy on you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kenma mutters, staring at a spot roughly around Yamamoto's feet. "How's knowing Kuro related to this at all? This is just a regular pass drill."

Yamamoto does not give him a response as they line up across from each other. Their teammates shout "Ready!" as they all do the same.

Kenma can see Yamamoto's brow furrowing as they pass the ball to each other. Kenma knows that he half-asses everything in this club, but he also knows that his half-assing is just enough to be on par with everyone else's full effort. He's decent at passing. And he can see Yamamoto get more and more irritated with every successful receive he makes.

I'm on the team for a reason. I like the sport—or some of it—even if I don't show it.

Evidently, Yamamoto gets fed up with his bored face, spiking a ball directly towards his face. But Kenma follows the ball's trajectory easily, adjusts himself accordingly, and the ball lands right at his forearms. Perfect receive.

He would laugh out loud at the shock on Yamamoto's face, if he had any energy to.

I'm tired.

They keep going for a little while more, until Kenma gets the brilliant idea to do the exact same thing back to Yamamoto. He spikes the ball, and he's never been too great at spiking, but he catches the ball by the tips of his fingers. Yamamoto gets caught off guard, and he lunges low towards the ground in order to keep the ball in play. "Hey!"

Kenma heaves, returning the ball with a ferocity previously unknown. Yamamoto scowls, hitting back harder, faster, stronger. 

"Whoa, those two are really going at it!" Yaku shouts as Kenma and Yamamoto actually begin running back and forth to pass the ball between themselves. Kenma stares at Yamamoto through his hair, and he recognizes the look of determination in Yamamoto's eyes. Neither of them want to lose. 

There is an invisible wall being built between them, with a volleyball shaped hole being the only way they can see each other through it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kuroo pressing his lips together in thought.

If Kenma was tired before, he's going to be exhausted by the end of this practice.

—

"How about you put at least a little effort into working together, huh?" Kuroo asks as they walk back to the bus station later that night. 

"He started it..." Kenma grumbles. And Kenma had managed to end it—near the end, Yamamoto had failed to return the ball. Kenma collapsed on the ground promptly after.

"Okay. Yeah. I do like that whole ‘you picked the fight, but I'll finish it’ sort of attitude, but still." Kuroo shoves his hands into his pockets and stares up at the night sky. "Look. I'm not telling you to suddenly turn into an extrovert or anything. But he's in your class. You two are gonna be spending a loooot of time together."

Kenma only grumbles in response. He pulls out his PSP, logging back into his game. His avatar stares back at him. She's still blonde. She's still tall.

She's still a girl.

"Still playing that game, huh?" Kuroo asks, leaning over. Kenma only hums in response. His character runs around on screen, shooting goblins in the face with a bow and arrow. He's gotten pretty far—he thinks he's nearing the end. 

"Yeah." And Kenma is reminded of a conversation they had a couple of years ago. Kenma remembers it well, every word burned into his brain like a brand. It is what has stopped him from telling Kuroo all about his thoughts about possibly being...a girl.

He wonders if Kuroo remembers it at all. 

"How're you gonna get a girlfriend, playing video games all day?" Kuroo muses out loud as they stand and wait for the bus. 

"Huh?" This is enough to make Kenma glance up in confusion, up at Kuroo's unreadable face. Kuroo only grins, catlike, the rest of his face cloaked in shadow.

Bad luck.

"No need to try to deny it, I see you looking at the girls in the hallways," Kuroo says, that grin never slipping off. "So who's the lucky lady? Nakamura? Isayama? Kawamata? I can talk to them for you, if you'd like."

Kenma does not mention that the reason why he stares at girls is because he's wondering what it would be like to look like one of them. He has never really thought about romance. Girls were pretty, sure, in the same way that a particularly nice flower might be pretty. Boys were...well, Kenma's never really given much thought to that as well.

I don't want to kiss boys. Kenma shakes his head, making the long strands of his hair flap back and forth. I'm already weird enough. I already want to be a girl. I don't...I don't need to deal with that on top of that as well.

Ah, the nagging voice in the back of his brain says. But wouldn't it be easier, if you were a girl, and if you kissed boys as well? At that rate, wouldn't you just...be a normal girl?

"Not that interested in girls right now," Kenma says as his PSP's battery flashes, showing that it's low on charge. He shuts it down, stowing it in his backpack, then shoves his hands in his pockets and stares straight ahead. "And girls aren't really interested in me. But they seem to be interested in you, though."

He thinks about sweet words written on pink paper, he thinks about Kuroo smirking as he runs his thumb across the ink, and he thinks about how jealous he feels when he sees this. Jealous of Kuroo, that his life is easy, that people flock to him like stray cats begging for love, that he lives a normal life.

You are not normal.

You will never be like Kuro.

You will never be loved in the same way Kuro is.

Nobody will ever have you as their first choice. 

- 1 HP.

—

"Thank you for the game!"

Their first practice match, against Maruguchi, and they won with two sets. Eyebrows and Carrot-head sat this one out, at Shiro's request. Kuroo must have said something to Shiro, because Kenma got subbed in as setter. He walks with the second years as they go back to the changing rooms. 

"Yo!" Yaku shouts, punching his arm. "That was some nice setting, Kozume!" 

"Yes," Kai agrees. "It was consistent and easy to hit. Impressive for our first practice game."

Kenma shrugs. It's nice that his senpais think he did some good setting, but he didn't really do anything different from when he practices. He doesn't care enough about the game to deserve such praise. 

"Yeah! And I like that you had the guts to nail 'em with a dump, despite us being behind!"

The word guts reminds Kenma of Yamamoto. Didn't he shout that word a lot? And what exactly did guts mean? All Kenma thinks of when he thinks of guts is that stupid Operation game that Kuroo has, the one where you have to pick the bones out of the guy without touching his body.

And speaking of Yamamoto—Kenma turns around to see Yamamoto sulking on the floor. 

"Ah, well," Kuroo says as he helps Yamamoto off of the ground. "It was our first game. Stuff like that will happen."

"Yessir," Yamamoto mumbles. Are those tears in his eyes? Is he getting upset over a practice game? 

He actually looks upset as he passes by Kenma, wiping his eyes. Kenma feels like he should say something, shout something through the volleyball-shaped hole. Would his words even reach Yamamoto? The hole is so high up on the invisible wall.

"Goodnight, everyone!" Shiro shouts as they all finish packing up the equipment. "Excellent work today!" Shouts of "Night!" from all the other members answer him. Their captain smiles, readjusts his glasses, and waves goodbye to all of them. "Oh, and—Kuroo!"

Kuroo's head whips up. Kenma is almost annoyed at how fast he responds.

"Coach was calling for you," Shiro says simply, and then turns to walk out the door. Kuroo nods, before dropping his mop and immediately heading towards Nekomata's office.

Kuroo's words from the other day ring in his head.

"How about you put at least a little effort into working together, huh?"

It is with this thought in mind that Kenma puts up his mop, then goes off to find Yamamoto.

"Uh..." he begins, and Yamamoto doesn't even look behind him. "Hey, um...Yamamoto-kun?"

Yamamoto still doesn't turn around, but he gives a grunt in response. 

Invisible wall. Communication is nigh impossible, so he shouldn't even bother.

"Have you thought about maybe, y'know, letting a little of the tension out of your shoulders?"

As if in direct response to his question, Yamamoto tightens up his shoulders even more. "What? Like you?"

Kenma bristles. I didn't think you would be so aggressive; I'm just trying to give you some advice.

Maybe I'm just giving the advice wrong.

"It ain't that easy, y'know," Yamamoto continues, staring resolutely ahead. "I've worked really hard, and now I wanna show off what I can do." His hands curl up into fists at his side. "How am I supposed to just...loosen up and relax and stuff?"

Kenma doesn't even open his mouth to respond, but Yamamoto immediately follows up his words with, "No. Never mind. Don't answer that. I just didn't put enough guts and determination into it, that's all."

Something about his words agitates Kenma. 

You can't win a game just by believing in yourself hard enough.

"I think it would be more effective if you found some specifics to improve on, instead of falling back on vague concepts like 'guts' and 'determination'," Kenma says, all in one breath. He can see Fukunaga turn his head to glance at them in interest, and he can see Yamamoto's jaw clenching.

"I let the other team bait me," Yamamoto says eventually, and Kenma tilts his head in confusion. "I focused on the ball so much, I wasn't watching my surroundings. I tried too hard too often to make a tricky shot instead of just taking the easy one."

So he does know what he did wrong.

Why doesn't he just...say all of that?

"Huh?" Kenma says out loud. "Um—if you get all of that, why file it all under a fuzzy label like 'guts'?"

"It's because I didn't have enough guts that I screwed up!" Yamamoto shouts back. "I didn't practice with enough determination!" 

Kenma feels his own teeth clench.

Just trying to get stronger with no actual aim is just...stupid. So stupid. You're just wasting your time on things that don't matter, all while thinking that you're doing the right things to get better. 

"Overdoing it on stuff like running and weight training isn't determination—it's self-gratification." Kenma can see Yamamoto's eyes go wide, how he steps forward a bit. 

And then he steps forward a lot, grabbing him by the jacket collar and making Kenma choke a bit. "What about you, huh?! There was more than one save you could've made if you just got off your butt and ran!"

Well...yeah. Kenma thinks. But I was tired. Now that he puts that particular thought together, he realizes just how selfish that sounds. And even if I did make the save, it would've just been a lollipop of a free ball for the other team. 

Maybe it wouldn't have been if you had moved.

"Should we stop them?" Kenma hears Kai say. "This looks like it's going from constructive criticism to a real fight."

"Leave 'em be," Yaku says. "A good fight will let 'em blow off some steam."

Kenma has barely any time to register how his upperclassmen are just letting them duke it out in the middle of the gym before Yamamoto is grabbing him with both hands and shouting, "IF YOU DON'T SHOW ANY DETERMINATION AND GUTS IN PRACTICE, YOU WON'T IN A REAL GAME! I DON'T WANNA HEAR TALK ABOUT GUTS FROM A WUSS WHO DON'T GOT ANY!" 

His voice is so loud.

It's actually pissing Kenma off.

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP ABOUT GUTS ALREADY!!" Kenma screams back, surprising both Yamamoto and himself. "I HATE AMBIGUOUS TERMS!" 

When you're playing a video game, you need to know that there is a time to keep fighting and get the result you want, and a time to give up and surrender to live another day. If you keep attacking a boss without end, without changing anything that you're doing, you're only going to be wasting time and effort. There are times when you need to step back, assess what you are lacking, gain more resources, and come back a stronger person.

Kenma wishes he had the eloquence to say all of this out loud. Maybe then, Yamamoto would understand what he is saying, and the invisible wall would be able to be broken down. Instead, what he says is this:

"IT'S NOT LIKE IT'LL LET YOU STAY ALIVE WITH ONE HIT POINT!" He accompanies this gloriously insightful statement with a couple of slaps to Yamamoto's very confused face. This succeeds somewhat, as Yamamoto loosens his grip on Kenma's jacket, allowing him to wriggle free a bit. 

"WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!" Yamamoto screams back, thoroughly confused.

"Okay, you two, that's enough—" Yaku finally says, stepping forward to separate them with a smile on his face. "I think—"

Before he can do anything else, Kenma feels a sudden frigid chill run throughout the entirety of his body. There's the sensation of wetness spreading through each of his fingers and toes, and his hair is suddenly sticking to his face. Glancing at Yamamoto's now soaked face gives him a better impression of what just happened: someone has just thrown a shitload of water on top of them.

At the same time, Kenma and Yamamoto turn their heads around to stare at whoever decided it would be a good idea to throw a shitload of water on top of them. It is the first time they have ever done anything in sync together. 

It's Fukunaga. Kenma blinks, surprised. He hadn't thought of Fukunaga being the kind of guy to do something like this.

"Take it easy," Fukunaga says, with a dopey little grin on his face. "Dostoevsky."

"HUH?!" Yamamoto screams, while Yaku doubles over in laughter. Their senpai may actually need medical help, if the way he's holding his stomach and slowly collapsing to the ground is anything.

"Fukunaga, that was awesome!" Yaku manages to get out before curling up in the fetal position. Kai drags him up, shaking his head the entire time, but Kenma notices the small smile on his face. 

Yamamoto, meanwhile, has defaulted back to screaming.

"WHAAAAAA?! BRO! REALLY! HUH?! GEEZ, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START..."

It's...extremely funny, how Fukunaga just keeps smiling, even when Yamamoto screeches, "SERIOUSLY! WHO THE HECK IS DOSTOEVSKY?! WHAT'S THAT EVEN MEAN?! AND WHO DO YOU THINK IS GONNA MOP ALL THIS UP?!"

Fukunaga just snickers behind his palm. "Sorry."

"Hah!" All of the people around Kenma immediately turn to stare at him. He's aware that this is the first time he's laughed around them—probably the first time any of them have heard him shout, too. "You're kinda interesting, Fukunaga-kun."

"And what are you laughing for?!" Yamamoto waves his hands around as he nearly breaks his neck to look at Kenma. 

It is then that Kuroo picks that exact time to walk back into the gymnasium, a look of pure and utter confusion on his face. Kenma wonders what it all looks like from his perspective: himself and Yamamoto, drenched in water, Fukunaga, very obviously the one who threw water on them, and Yaku and Kai struggling to hold in their laughter.

"Whew..." Kenma mutters as he wipes the water from his brow. "I haven't shouted that much in forever."

Kuroo just looks very, very lost, but he just smiles and laughs, slapping Kenma on the back.

"I left you alone for five minutes!" he laughs out, leading Kenma to the bathroom. "Here, let's get you cleaned up."

"I tried that getting along with him thing you were talking about," Kenma mutters. "Tried talking to him."

"Maybe I should act as a mediator next time," Kuroo muses. He rips a bunch of paper towels out from the dispenser and goes to work rubbing them against Kenma's hair. 

Oddly enough, whenever Kuroo's fingers brush against his skin, Kenma feels like he's burning.

"Kuro," Kenma says as he stares at the two of them in the mirror. Kuroo has changed so much since they first met. He's so much taller, so much more eloquent, so much...better.

Kenma feels like he hasn't changed at all. He's just a clueless child, masquerading as someone older and wiser.

"Did you mean it when you said I could be starting setter?"

Kuroo hums as he pats Kenma's hair dry. "Of course. Didn't you see everyone praising you? I bet you could even take Iwaya-senpai's place as starting setter this year."

So it looks like Shiro got to Kuroo as well. Iwaya-senpai. Kenma slumps over slightly as Kuroo's hands leave his scalp. 

"Do you think Shiro will choose you to be captain next year?" he asks, and he can feel Kuroo's fingers tense up. 

"Ha! It's a bit early to be thinking about stuff like that," Kuroo says, and the brief moment of tension passes. "But it would be nice if he considered me."

"Well, Kai would be a good option too," Kenma says as he takes his jacket off and wrings the sleeves out. "But he's a bit too passive. Yaku might lose his temper too much, and then the team would fall apart. You're level-headed, and you know the best way to motivate our teammates. Objectively, you're the best choice for captain."

Kuroo's fingers go still again, but there's no tension in them. Instead, Kuroo runs his fingers through his hair, combing out all the knots and tangles.

This is comfortable. This is familiar. Kenma allows himself to close his eyes and lose himself to the gentle touch of someone putting him at ease. 

This is the Kuroo that he's known for the last eight years. 

"Thanks," Kuroo says, and Kenma can see his smile in the mirror. Lightning. "Kenma."

—

Kenma meets some of Kuroo's new friends at training camp. Apparently, Nekoma and three other Tokyo high schools have been partners for a long time, holding volleyball training camps with each other. And apparently, Kuroo met someone very interesting the last time they had a training camp.

"This is Bokuto Koutarou," Kuroo says proudly, gesturing to the boy with spiked up hair and frosted tips, and Kenma's first thought is: wow, his hair is really stupid. "Bokuto, this is Kozume Kenma. Kenma, this is Bokuto Koutarou. We've been friends since we were—what, eight?"

"You were eight, I was seven," Kenma mutters as Kuroo pushes him forward. Bokuto's holding his hand out, and so Kenma half-heartedly holds his hand out to shake. Bokuto immediately shakes it with both of his hands, in an ironclad grip that makes Kenma's eyes water. 

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto says, enthusiastically pumping Kenma's hand up and down in a handshake. The boy standing next to Bokuto has to put a hand on his shoulder to get him to let go of Kenma's hand. "Nice to meet 'ya, Kozume!"

"Just Kenma," Kenma says tiredly. The commute to Fukurodani was tedious and long, and all he wants is to faceplant into a cot and go to sleep. "Nice to meet you, Bokuto." 

"Kenma!" Bokuto nods his head in determination, planting his hands on his hips. Then he wraps an arm around the boy standing next to him, pushing him forward so that he stands right in front of Kenma. "This is Akaashi!" Bokuto says, but it sounds more like "This is Aghkashi!"

"Hello," Akaashi says, bowing his head. He doesn't make any moves to put his hand out, and so Kenma doesn't either. He bows his head back, and both Kuroo and Bokuto snicker. He feels like he's being set up on a playdate. “I am Akaashi Keiji.” 

"Dinner's about to be served!" Bokuto says, clapping Kuroo on the back. Bokuto is only a second-year, but he's huge. Kuroo and him are around the same height, but Bokuto definitely outweighs him by a lot. 

What does he do to get all those muscles? Kenma wonders as Kuroo and Bokuto start to do a very elaborate handshake. It lasts for a minute, and it involves a lot of fist bumping, palm slapping, and loud sound effects. It ends with the two of them bumping chests and screaming. 

"Bokuto-san, not so loud, please," Akaashi says, and Bokuto laughs and shuts up for all of thirty seconds. Bokuto ruffles Akaashi's hair before walking off with Kuroo, the two of them talking about...something, Kenma can't really hear what over all the enthusiastic shouting. 

"You're a first-year as well?" Akaashi asks, and Kenma gets an odd sense of deja vu. Akaashi’s voice is soft, familiar, even though Kenma is pretty sure that he's never met him before in his life. 

"Yes," Kenma says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Akaashi maintains his distance, never once getting too close to Kenma. They must be similar, as neither of them talk much as they keep walking towards the cafeteria. 

There's an odd sense of peace washing over Kenma. 

"What position do you play?" Kenma asks.

"Setter," Akaashi answers. 

So that's another thing that makes them even more alike. Kenma nods, wonders if they'll have some time during the week to compare strategies and exchange tips.

Then he pauses, and he blinks, and he wonders when on earth he became a volleyball nerd, like Kuroo. He shakes his head—actually shakes his head—and Akaashi stares curiously at him. 

"Is something the matter?" Akaashi asks, in that soft way of his. His voice is cold, blunt, but not hostile. Still soft. Kenma is reminded of the way all sounds are muffled in a snowstorm, the way that the snow scatters sound waves. Kuroo told him all about it. Kenma looks up into Akaashi's eyes, and he finds that Akaashi's eyes are evergreen.

"Nothing," Kenma says, breaking eye contact and staring down at the floor. "Just thinking, that's all."

Akaashi hums in acknowledgment, then nods his head towards Kuroo and Bokuto. "So you're friends with Kuroo."

"Yes, I am." Kuroo has gotten louder over the years, but Kenma has stayed quiet for all that time. It's easy to see how Kuroo and Bokuto became friends—the two of them seem like an echo chamber, only intensifying the other's shouts. 

People—girls especially—liked asking how he and Kuroo ever became friends. Kenma doesn't tell them that, once, Kuroo was just as quiet and shy as him. Similarities drew them together, and it might be differences that drive them apart. 

You always knew that would happen, though, Kenma thinks to himself as he watches Kuroo's and Bokuto's retreating backs. 

"Are you going to ask how that happened?" he asks Akaashi, and he fully expects Akaashi to nod yes, but the boy only shakes his head.

"Of course not. After all, Bokuto-san is my only friend." Akaashi fiddles with his fingers as he speaks, and it's something that Kenma can immediately recognize as an anxious habit. He bites at his split ends whenever it all gets to him. The similarities just keep on piling up. 

Akaashi pushes the cafeteria doors open, and leads Kenma through the crowds and crowds of people. Fukuroudani Academy is so much bigger than Nekoma—of course it is, it's a goddamn academy, the students there live on campus and stay in dorms. Akaashi and Bokuto must be loaded if they're able to stay here.

"What made you come to Fukuroudani?" Kenma asks quietly as they get their dinner. He's not sure if Akaashi can hear him over all the noise, but Akaashi turns his head almost at the same time he starts speaking.

Akaashi shrugs, bows his head towards the cafeteria lady, and then leads him towards the table where Kuroo and Bokuto are sitting. "I don't know. I just..."

And then his gaze wanders, and Kenma follows it all the way to Bokuto, who is trying to shove half of his dinner into his face at once. Bokuto catches sight of Akaashi, and he waves cheerfully towards him, face bulging like a chipmunk's. Akaashi nods his head, gives him a half-hearted wave back.

There is admiration and respect in Akaashi's gaze as he looks at Bokuto, that much is clear, but there's also a trace of something more. 

It could be awe. It could be something else. But Kenma is in no place to draw conclusions—he met Bokuto and Akaashi not even thirty minutes ago. 

"Bokuto-san is the one who drew me in," Akaashi says simply, and leaves it at that. "And I believe your friend wants you to sit with him." 

Kenma looks up, and Kuroo is indeed vigorously waving his hand towards him. So he shrugs, sits down across from Kuroo, and Akaashi sits down next to him, and it's frankly a miracle that there's enough space for them at all. There's someone unfamiliar to him—probably an actual Fukuroudani student, trying to enjoy her dinner, and so Kenma scooches more to the right.

Evidently, Akaashi is suffering from the same predicament, as he does the exact same thing. Their hips bump together, and Kenma looks up in alarm. 

- 1 HP.

If he makes Akaashi uncomfortable, right here and now, then that might affect the entire weeklong training camp. And Akaashi seems pretty close to Bokuto, and Bokuto seems pretty close to Kuroo, and so if he does something wrong, how will that affect Kuroo's opinion of him—

"My apologies, Kozume-san," Akaashi says, and Kenma turns his head towards him. Akaashi is staring straight into his rice, not even sparing a glance towards him. "I was not watching myself. Do forgive me."

He's so polite. 

+ 1 HP. 

He's like Kuro, except with Kuro, there's almost always an ulterior motive for him being polite.

Pause. Check inventory.

When did that start happening? When did Kuroo start only acting polite just to gain favors from other people?

"Not a problem," Kenma mutters, and Bokuto laughs.

"So nice, all the time, huh, Akaashi?" he asks. "That's gotta be tiring!" Though Bokuto does not say this unkindly, he says it very bluntly. Any other person could mistake him for being rude, on purpose or on accident.

Akaashi seems used to it, though. He just shrugs and says. "I can be mean to you, if you'd like, Bokuto-san."

"What? No! No, don't be mean to me—"

"You missed four sets in a row, after which you spent fifteen minutes sulking, and then I had to buy you a Calpico from the school store in order for you to restore your morale." Akaashi never even looks up from his food as he eats it methodically, bit by bit. "I believe it is the senpai who is supposed to take care of his kouhai, not the other way around."

"Aghashee!" Bokuto exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. Kuroo laughs at his expense, pointing his fork at him. "You're so cold, Akaashi!"

Like snow, Kenma thinks as Akaashi returns to eating his food and as Kuroo distracts Bokuto from his moping by stealing his pudding. Cold, soft snow. 

Akaashi interests him. 

Akaashi interests him very much. 

—

Akaashi is a very good setter. That much is clear. He's very much like Kenma, in that Kenma can almost see the gears in Akaashi’s head turning whenever he gets his hands on the ball. Calculating every path the ball can take, visualizing the outcome of every choice he makes.

However, he can see three glaring differences between himself and Akaashi.

Difference number one: Akaashi is way more anxious than Kenma is.

He hides it very well on the court, but Kenma notices the various ways it manifests off court. Akaashi has a habit of fiddling with his fingers, and he also has a habit of picking at the loose skin on his fingernails. He paces back and forth whenever he's not with Bokuto, then immediately stops when Bokuto comes back. And the few times he and Kenma have been left alone, Kenma has heard him muttering to himself, going over every play he did wrong. And that leads directly to—

Difference number two: Akaashi is way more serious about volleyball than Kenma is.

Kenma doesn't think he's heard a single topic of discussion besides volleyball from Akaashi ever since the training camp started. Bokuto is always talking about volleyball, and Akaashi always seems happy to indulge him. And Kenma has noticed how Akaashi seems to be perfectly molded to Fukuroudani's team—his strength and stamina are on par with the rest of them, even though he's smaller than the rest of them. Bokuto seems to trust him with every set he makes, and Akaashi seems to be able to draw out the best of Bokuto's potential. The difference between their teams is obvious—every member of Fukuroudani lifts Bokuto up, while every move the members of Nekoma makes connects with each other. And speaking of connection–

Difference number three: Akaashi is way more blunt than Kenma is.

Kenma himself is already pretty blunt, but Akaashi's straightforwardness borders on mean sometimes. Though he does seem to coddle Bokuto, he has no problems listing out every mistake Bokuto made during practice after they're done. And though Akaashi does this every night of the training camp, Bokuto still complains about how cruel he is. There's nothing cruel about Akaashi's words—he just doesn't sugarcoat them. And he does follow up all of the mistakes with a list of everything Bokuto did well in practice that day. Kuroo always laughs, glances towards Kenma, and nods his head towards Akaashi, as if saying, "why can't you do that?"

And speaking of Kuroo—

"You've been looking way more interested during practice lately," Kuroo remarks as they wait for the line for the vending machine to die down. "Something changed?"

"Mm." Kenma shrugs, puts away his PSP. "I guess I finally found someone that's just like me."

Kenma thinks he sees the smile on Kuroo's face falter for just the tiniest bit, but then he blinks, and it’s like it never left. "Ah. Akaashi, right?"

"Yeah. He's a good player." They make their way to the vending machine, and Kuroo drops in a couple coins. "His style is similar to mine, but it's different enough that it's still distinct. It interests me."

"Ahh," Kuroo says, nodding. "That makes sense. It's nice to see you getting along with Akaashi, you've...I guess you've barely had any friends besides me. It's good that you're making new friends."

"How's your bromance with Bokuto going?" Kenma asks, and Kuroo barks out a laugh. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Nah, nah. He's a great guy."

"You've been hanging out with him an awful lot this entire week." It seems like this entire week, Kuroo and Bokuto have joined at the hip, slapping each others' backs, punching each other in the arms, giving high fives at every possible opportunity. 

Something on Kuroo's face begins to shift. "Yeah—I mean, we're not, like, gay or anything."

That's odd. Nothing about Kenma's statement implied anything of the sort.

Pause. Check inventory.

Why would Kuro get so defensive about me thinking he's gay? I've never talked about that with him, and he's got no reason to think I would be rude towards him if he was. Does he have something going on with Bokuto? I doubt it, it's way more likely that Bokuto has something going on with Akaashi. I don't think their friendship goes past being platonic, but then why—

The thump of Kuroo's soda against the vending machine jolts Kenma out of his stupor. Kenma ducks down to grab it before Kuroo can.

"Nothing wrong with being gay," Kenma says, handing the soda over to him. Something else begins to shift on Kuroo's face—is it relief?—as he takes it from him.

"Yeah, 'course not." 

They start heading back to the room they're staying in. A couple of the Fukuroudani players are having a sleepover in their room—Bokuto and Akaashi are among them.

"Yo!" Bokuto holds his hands up, and Kuroo slaps them in a double high five. "Kuroo! My man!"

"Hell yeah!" Kuroo shouts back, and Kenma notices how Kuroo is the first to withdraw his hands. "My man!"

Akaashi rolls his eyes at his friend's shenanigans, and Kenma does the same. He sits down next to Akaashi, in the darkest corner of the room, and Akaashi moves his backpack out of the way. His things jostle as they're moved around, and some of them spill out.

"Oh—" Kenma leans over to help hand some of the objects back to him. A pencil bag, a wallet, a bottle of—

Is that nail polish?

"Is this...yours?" Kenma asks, his hand already curling protectively around the bottle of black nail polish. Why is it doing that? Why am I doing that?

"Yes." Akaashi holds his hand out for the bottle, and Kenma reluctantly hands it over. "Do you have a problem with that, Kozume-san?"

"Just Kenma," Kenma says. "And...no. There's no problem at all, I just thought that..."

"Volleyball players shouldn't be wearing nail polish?" Akaashi asks, and his tone is even more cold and detached than it normally is. "Especially male volleyball players?"

You finally find someone that's so similar to you, and yet your similarities are going to be the thing that drives them away.

He can see the invisible wall being built between him and Akaashi, brick by brick. He needs to stop it before it gets too high.

"I do it as well," Kenma says, and he can see the tension in Akaashi's shoulders loosening. "I haven't...done it in a while, because I don't have any of my own. But Kuroo's sister once painted my nails, and it was...nice. I want to do it some more, but I...don't have any."

Akaashi nods his head, turning the bottle over in his fingers. "I do it because I pick at my fingernails frequently. With this, I pick at the polish, and I don't do so much damage to my nails."

So they do the same thing, just for different reasons. Akaashi does it for practical purposes, and Kenma does it because he thinks he may be a girl. 

"You can have it, if you'd like," Akaashi says, and it startles Kenma into looking up. "I have another one back in my room."

"Oh. No." Kenma pushes Akaashi's hand back, shaking his head. There's somebody so similar to you right in front of you, offering to help you, and you're refusing him?

You know, for someone that goes to a school where the motto is 'connect', you're doing a really shit job at it.

"I..." Kenma hesitates, his hand outstretched. 

"There's no shame in liking things like these." Akaashi's voice is cold, but it is not unkind, and it almost feels soothing. Like an ice pack on a strained muscle. You don't know how tired you felt until there's something else to take away the pain. "Kozume-san."

"I told you, it's just Kenma," Kenma says, taking the nail polish bottle from Akaashi in one decisive swoop. 

The corner of Akaashi's lip twitches up, and it is the first time Kenma has seen him smile. It is soft and cold and comforting. Behind them, there's the sound of something crashing, and both of them turn around to see Bokuto cheering as he perfectly lands a water bottle upright. Kenma can hear the shouts of Kuroo as well, and he lets himself smile just the tiniest bit. 

"Call me Keiji, Kenma-san."

"Okay. Keiji. And you can drop the -san, too."

Keiji just shakes his head, zipping up his bag and leaning his head against the wall. "I can't do that, Kenma-san."

Keiji is just like him; they hold each other at arm's reach. Kenma defaults to using last names for others, while Keiji defaults to just slapping -san at the end of everyone's names. But where Kenma is afraid of people leaving him, and so he doesn't bother letting anyone in, Keiji seems to be afraid of people getting too close to him.

Similar, and yet different. 

Fascinating.

—

Their last day of training camp comes, and to absolutely nobody's surprise, Fukuroudani wins their final practice match. They throw a barbeque outside, taking advantage of the summer heat. Kenma spends most of the time in Keiji's shadow, letting him handle all the socializing while he plays on his PSP and eats rice. 

"You gotta eat some more, Kozume!" Bokuto shouts from directly behind him, startling him into nearly dropping his PSP. How is he able to sneak up on me like that? He's huge! Bokuto immediately busies himself with piling heaps of grilled meat onto Kenma's paper plate, and Kenma has to put his PSP down and use both hands to support his plate.

"Thank you, Bokuto, but I can't eat this much," Kenma tells him, but Bokuto just laughs and claps him on the back. 

"You're real nice, Kozume!" Bokuto shouts, ruffling Kenma's hair, but it feels more like he's getting a head massage. It feels kind of nice, actually. "I mean, you gotta be, 'cause you're best buds with Kuroo!"

"What was Kuro like?" Kenma asks as he nibbles on a piece of beef. "I mean, last year. During these training camps."

"Hm? Oh!" Bokuto shoves an entire piece of pork into his mouth, chewing whilst talking. "Well, he—" Then he chokes, and Keiji slaps him on the back with maybe more force than necessary. 

"Bokuto-san, don't talk with food in your mouth," Keiji says, handing him a paper cup of water. Bokuto downs the entire thing in one gulp before continuing on, not a care in the world. 

"He was really cool! Pretty good middle blocker!" Bokuto nods his head up and down enthusiastically, like a bobblehead. "He's so smart too! He knows so much about, like, science and stuff, he was telling me cool fun facts about owls all last year. Like, owls can turn their heads a hundred and eighty degrees, look—" And then Bokuto puts down his food, places both hands on his temples, and he—

"Bokuto-san, please do not snap your neck," Keiji deadpans as he places a steady hand on Bokuto's shoulder. "How will you stay our ace with such a horrible injury?"

Bokuto scoffs, gulping down the rest of his food. "I’m one of the top three aces in Japan! A little neck injury ain’t gonna hurt me!" 

Keiji shrugs, concedes, and polishes off the remains of his barbeque. He taps his fingers against his palm, and Kenma notices his nails are painted a glossy black. Keiji had given him a nail file and a bottle of nail polish remover in addition to the nail polish last night. He is both thoughtful and thorough. Kenma appreciates this greatly. "Speaking of, where is Kuroo-san?"

"I'll go find him. He's probably packing up." Kenma still needs to pack up as well, he keeps putting it off. He'll get to it eventually, he doesn't get why everyone keeps hassling him to do it. 

So he throws his trash away and gets to searching what feels like the entirety of Fukuroudani Academy for Kuroo. He's not hidden somewhere in the chaos of the barbeque, he's not in their room, he's not in the gym.

Where could he be?

"Tetsurou."

Ah, found him.

The person who called Kuroo by his given name sounds vaguely familiar, but he can't place who it is. But he turns the corner, his footsteps near silent, and he sees—

He sees something that he really doesn't think he should be seeing.

Their captain, Shiro Kinji, is the one calling Kuroo by his given name. He is standing in front of Kuroo, a hand cupped gently under Kuroo's chin, tilting Kuroo's head so that they are looking eye-to-eye. With his other hand, Shiro is holding Kuroo's hand, running his thumb over Kuroo's hand in slow, gentle circles.

Light glints off of Shiro's glasses, and Kenma can see what Kuroo means—there are gold flecks in their captain's eyes. 

"You did a really good job this week," Shiro says, and Kuroo's eyes are completely glazed over. Kenma knows the vast majority of Kuroo's facial expressions, can tell when he's being insincere and when he's being genuine. 

This is a look of genuine happiness and awe. 

There is a sudden spike of jealousy from shooting through every fiber of his body at the sight before him.

"Thank—thank you, Shiro-senpai," Kuroo stammers out. "I—you were amazing as well—"

"You'll make a good captain next year," Shiro says, and Kuroo's mouth drops open. Shiro smiles, lightly brushing his thumb over Kuroo's cheek. "I mean it, Tetsurou."

"Oh—oh, no, I couldn't possibly—"

"I'm not going to be around for much longer," Shiro says, and the sudden, persistent thought of I wish you weren't around at all arises in Kenma's mind. "You are the best candidate for captain, Tetsu."

Kuroo is slowly nodding his head, drinking in every last one of Shiro's words. "Shiro-senpai—"

"Just call me Kinji, Tetsu. I'll allow it. You're my favorite, you know that?"

Didn't you tell Kuro the exact same thing once before? Didn't you point out all the reasons why Kuro would be a better captain over Kai or Yaku? Didn't you have complete and utter faith in Kuro's abilities, because he's a good player, and not because he was your friend? Didn't you? Didn't you do that?

Why didn't Kuro listen to you?

Oh.

Is it because you're just second choice?

- 1 HP. 

Is it because Shiro is older than the both of you, and therefore wiser?

- 2 HP.

Is it because Kuro values Shiro, his captain, over you, someone he's just known since he was a kid?

- 3 HP.

And then Shiro leans forward to press his lips to Kuroo's forehead, and it's like a thousand red strings in the corkboard of Kenma’s mind suddenly light up. All of his incoherent thoughts suddenly connect together, why Kuroo admires Shiro so much, why Kuroo is so affectionate with Bokuto, why Kuroo keeps asking Kenma about girlfriends. 

Excuses, denial, and compensation. 

Kuro is gay. 

He couldn't have chosen a better person to fall for? An asshole like Shiro? Really? Was that the best he could do?

Kenma turns tail and leaves, trying to burn the image of his asshole captain kissing Kuroo on the forehead, and trying to forget the fact that he has never once called Kuroo by anything but his last name. Not Tetsurou, not Tetsu, nothing besides Kuroo.

He holds Kuroo at arm's length, because he is second choice, and he is sure that Kuroo will not want to come any closer.

Oh, but wait, a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispers. Don’t you call him Kuro? 

You hypocrite. You lying little hypocrite. 

You’ve already let him in. 

- 1 HP.

—

"Where's Kuroo?" Bokuto asks eagerly as Kenma returns. He had sprinted all the way back to the barbeque—it's one of the few times where he actually ran of his own free will. There was an irrational fear lingering in the back of his mind that Kuroo and Shiro would notice that he was there, and then—well, he didn't want to stick around long enough to find out what would have happened had he been found out.

"Couldn't find him," Kenma lies, staring at a spot directly above Bokuto's head. He's not that good of a liar, not like Kuroo, but his poker face is good enough. His resting face is a poker face. "He'll turn up later."

"Aww!" He does feel bad at the way Bokuto pouts and slumps over. Keiji just sighs and shakes his head. Everyone has begun cleaning up the equipment for the barbeque, saying their goodbyes. 

Keiji looks straight at Kenma with those evergreen eyes of his, and Kenma is startled by the sharpness in them. 

He knows I'm lying.

"Kenma-san." Keiji holds out his palm. "Your phone."

"Uh..." Kenma hands over his phone. Was Keiji going to smash it on the sidewalk for lying to Bokuto? He knew that he and Bokuto were close, but was he going to get mad for Kenma lying to him? 

No. Instead, Keiji presses a couple buttons and hands it back. "My phone number. Just in case. Call or text me at any time, and I'll respond as soon as possible."

"Oh." Keiji doesn't offer any more details besides this, but Kenma can read between the lines, interpret the meanings. "Thanks, Keiji."

Keiji is offering Kenma his support. There's no judgment in his eyes as he nods towards Kenma and then turns away to help his senpais clean up. Kenma holds his phone in his hand, staring at the new number. Besides his parents' numbers and Himari's number and Kuroo's number, his phone is empty. 

Did I just...make my first friend that wasn't my cousin or my neighbor?

I did. I really did.

Wow...connecting with others is...actually easier than I thought. 

+ 3 HP. 

—

When they get back from the training camp, they begin training for the Interhigh preliminaries. What fun. July ushers in a whole host of new challenges that Kenma must endure. Namely, running laps in the scorching sun.

"Let's go, let's go!" Iwaya screams as all of them run the track. Kenma feels like he's about to keel over and pass out. He vaguely wonders if this is what hell will feel like. 

Yamamoto zips past him, like always. Yesterday, he showed up to school with his mohawk dyed blonde. Oddly enough, Kenma thinks it suits him. Fukunaga isn't far behind him, which surprises Kenma. Maybe Yamamoto’s just slowing down very, very much. 

"Hey, slowpoke," Kenma hears, and then he feels a shove from behind. He stumbles forward, barely just stopping himself from falling on his face. Masutomi runs past him, snickering. Kenma stands there, just for a couple seconds, to catch his breath. 

He watches Masutomi and Iwaya catch up to Yamamoto and Fukunaga. They say something that make the other first-years slow down a bit, something mean, probably, but then they run off and leave Yamamoto and Fukunaga alone. They don’t bother to push them over or laugh at them. 

The third years really must hate him. 

"You good?" Kuroo asks as he runs up behind Kenma. Kuroo's on his last lap, while Kenma still has three more to go. Yet, he slows down, lets Kenma get his bearings, and resumes at a much slower pace so Kenma can keep up.

"They hate me," Kenma says bitterly, now running at an even more slow pace. "I don't understand why they do, though."

"Well—" And here, Kuroo seems to be conflicted between comforting Kenma and defending his senpais. "It'll get better next year. Once they're all gone. Iwaya-senpai and Masutomi-senpai are already saying that they're going to quit next week, in order to work on their grades. Shiro is…well, he’ll have to quit anyway, after the Interhigh."

"Good," Kenma mutters. Iwaya is their setter, and Masutomi is their ace, so those spots will have to be filled. He's the only one currently in the role of setter, so he'll be moved to the starting lineup. He's not sure who will fill the role of ace—Kai, maybe? Possibly Fukunaga?

But then he sees blonde hair come back into his periphery, and then he realizes it—no, Yamamoto will fill the role of ace. It only makes sense. He's been working the hardest out of all of them. 

So the starting lineup will look like this: himself as setter, Kuroo as middle blocker, Yaku as libero, Yamamoto and Fukunaga as wing spikers, with Yamamoto taking over ace, and—

Shiro as middle blocker as well. 

Kenma watches his captain as he slows his running pace, wiping the sweat from his brow. He's never really played with Shiro before—he's never really wanted to. He's lucky that Shiro's a blocker, he doesn't want to interact with him more than he has to. He doesn't know how Kuroo deals with him. 

Learn. Adapt. Overcome.

Man, screw this.

—

In the weeks leading up to the Interhigh, Kenma watches Yamamoto push himself even more. In the weight room, he watches Yamamoto pump the weights up and down while Yaku cheers him on. Meanwhile, he can barely push the weight above his face. It doesn't help that Fukunaga is his spotter, and he has a habit of eerily staring down Kenma while he exercises.

In practice matches, Yamamoto seems to go out of his way to receive passes that Kenma swears were meant for him. It's almost as though he's saying to Kenma, I'm not like you. If you work harder like me, then you'll be liked more by our senpais. 

Kenma never used to be a sore loser, but he certainly is one now. 

So despite himself, he pushes himself even more. Works on his receives. Works on his passes. Works on his serves. Works on his setting. 

And it all pays off when he and Yamamoto are put on different teams for a practice match. Kenma gets to reap the fruits of his labor and watch Yamamoto's faces of shock as he plays better than he's ever been. His serves have Yamamoto running to receive them. He fakes a spike but turns it into a set, sending it over to Kai. 

And the pièce de résistance: when he does a setter dump, right in front of Yamamoto's face. The ball and Yamamoto's jaw both seem to move in slow motion. 

It's perfect. But that's all of the energy Kenma has for today. 

In the second set, he starts slacking off even more. He tries not to move from his singular spot on the court, even when the ball comes flying by him. He has to stretch his entire body in order to not move, shout out a shaky, "Left," as he bumps the ball to the left.

"Kenma!!" Kuroo shouts from behind him. "No slackin' off! You could've gotten that one easily!!"

He noticed, Kenma thinks, because of course Kuroo noticed. He lingers in the shadows, watching everything. 

But to get that one, I would've had to move. Doing that is just so...ugh. I wish my arms were six feet long. I could be like that one pirate guy Himari talks about—Luffy. I bet Luffy would be a pretty good volleyball player.

Yamamoto is staring at him from across the net. There's no doubt in Kenma's mind that he still views him as a gutless creature. But Yamamoto's perception of his skills is slowly changing, bit by bit.

The invisible wall is coming down, brick by brick.

"Kenma-chan." 

Kenma spins around, glaring up at his white-haired captain. I hate his voice. I hate his voice so much. I hate him. I hate hate hate him.

"Good job," Shiro says, slapping him on the back, and Kenma would have liked it if his captain left it at that, but alas, he does not. "But straighten up. You will be a starting setter soon, and you will be representing Nekoma. We cannot allow any of our members to look so sloppy on the court."

Hate him. 

"Yes, captain," Kenma says, and he watches Shiro's lips flatten into a thin line. He's never once called Shiro Shiro-senpai besides that one time at the beginning of the year. But he can't be called disrespectful—Shiro is his captain, after all. 

He can't do anything about it until he's gone for good. 

So he watches as Shiro walks away, and he tries not to think about the sharp spikes of hate erupting in his gut as he does. 

This is one invisible wall that he wants to stay up, always. 

—

They go to the Interhigh preliminaries. Kenma sets. Yamamoto spikes. Kuroo blocks. It's the first game where Kenma is officially the starting setter, and Yamamoto is officially the ace. The practice the both of them have been putting in has paid off. 

There's a moment during the game where Kenma and Yamamoto make eye contact for the briefest moment. But despite the short time, Yamamoto jerks his head up, and Kenma nods, and he can see the threads connecting their moves together.

Kuroo receives the ball, sending it over to Kenma. Kenma sets the ball in a perfect arc, towards—

Towards Shiro. Yamamoto's eyes widen in betrayal, mouth falling open the tiniest bit as Shiro moves. The blockers on Maeyama's side all begin moving, clumping towards the middle to block Shiro. 

Kenma was counting on this. Shiro glances towards Kenma, nods, and then jumps to spike, but never actually touches the ball. The ball continues its trajectory, heading towards the left side of the court. Realization registers on Yamamoto's face, and he sprints towards the ball, slamming it down over the net. There are no blockers to go up against him.

It's a perfect kill. 

"YEAH! GREAT KILL, YAMAMOTO!" their teammates scream, and Yamamoto pumps his fist in the air, screaming in triumph. Geez, that was loud, Kenma thinks as he raises his hand to call for a timeout. 

"Our blocking is starting to get to their number one. He's probably going to try a dink soon," Kenma says as his teammates huddle around him. "He's aiming for the edges so much, they'll probably be out more often than not. Be careful with your judgment."

"Got it!" All of his teammates chorus before splitting off. Yamamoto catches Kenma's eye and nods before he stomps off. 

Inexplicably, Kenma thinks, I would hate to try and guard against Yamamoto's spikes. He doesn't always score, but when he does, it's a total kill. It'd be annoying to try and block those. 

Y'know, I'm really glad this guy's on our side. 

—

They end up losing the game. Kenma doesn't really care either way, but surprisingly—it looks like Yamamoto doesn't really care either. He thought Yamamoto would be upset, just like the very first practice match. 

As they're making their way into Nekoma's gymnasium, Kenma hears Yamamoto's footsteps stop.

"Hey. Kenma.”

Kenma turns around, and Yamamoto is there, arms crossed. His expression is aggressive, as always, but it's...softer, somehow. The harsh lines of his face have been dulled down. 

"You can call me Tora," Yamamoto says, staring him straight in the eyes. He has the eyes of a tiger, and Kenma hunches in on himself. "All my buddies do."

Kenma looks to the side, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

He could call Yamamoto by his given name: Taketora. He's fine with that. But a nickname?

Is he trying to get closer to me?

Select Dialogue Option: 

> "Okay, Tora."

> "Do I have to?"

Option two selected!

"...do I really gotta?" 

And then Taketora's running towards him, hands reaching for his neck, and then Kenma's kicking at his chest, and the two of them are screaming, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Fukunaga rushing towards them with a bucket of water. Kuroo looks on with a small smile, before turning away to help their senpais. 

There's huffs of laughter escaping Taketora's mouth as they wrestle each other to the ground, and Kenma allows himself to smile here and there, and distantly, Kenma can hear the sound of the invisible wall crashing down. 

—

The next day, Kuroo doesn't sit at their normal table in the corner of the cafeteria. Kenma sits down, turning his head around to see if he can catch any glimpse of him. He doesn't see any trace of Kuroo's ridiculous pointy hair, where could he—

He's sitting with Shiro. 

Kenma watches as Kuroo nods his head towards all of the third-years, then sits down right next to Shiro. Shiro smiles, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and loops his arm around Kuroo's shoulders.

Something sharp and hot erupts in Kenma's stomach. At the sight of Kuroo sucking up to all the third-years, at the sight of Shiro acting so close with Kuroo, he's not sure. Possibly both. 

Now that he knows what Kuroo feels for Shiro, what Shiro did with Kuroo, everything is different. It's like his vision is tainted blood-red whenever he looks at the two of them together. He should be happy for Kuroo, and he feels like a shitty person whenever he thinks about it too hard.

Lucky you, you get to be happy, and I'm stuck here, trapped in my own jealousy. 

He doesn't want to look at the revolting sight before him any longer, so he turns away and stares at his bento. He's not going to cry. He's not going to cry over something so—so inconsequential.

Pause. Check inventory.

This is concrete proof that Kuro does not care about you. Give up. Move on. Just—

"Hey, you?"

Kenma jerks his head up to look at the voice.

It's Fukunaga, staring at him with the wide-eyed look he always has. He's holding a tray of food, and—there's three girls trailing behind him. 

He hasn't hung around Fukunaga, in practice or out, but he's certainly noticed him in the hallways between classes. Fukunaga, despite how he barely talks—and when he does talk, it's some nonsensical pun or rhyme or joke, or just complete nonsense—is popular with the girls in their grade. Somehow. 

Or maybe it's because he doesn't talk, Kenma wonders as he watches all the girls chitter away, watches Fukunaga nod to everything they say. Maybe they just like having someone that'll listen to them and not judge them. 

"What it do, Scooby-Doo?" Fukunaga asks him, and the girls immediately erupt into laughter. Rhymes. Kenma doesn't join in the laughing, because he's not exactly sure if he's supposed to laugh with them or if they're laughing at him.

And then Fukunaga picks up Kenma's food, nods his head to the left, and then starts walking away. Kenma watches him, thoroughly confused. 

What the hell is he doing?

Fukunaga sits down at an empty table in the middle of the cafeteria—very close to where Kuroo and Shiro are sitting—and waves at Kenma. 

Does he...want me to sit with him?

Kenma, for all his analyzing of other people, doesn't know what on earth he's supposed to do in this specific social situation: where your teammate that you've barely talked to during practice and during class steals your food and invites you to sit with him during lunch. 

So Kenma gathers up all his things and makes his way to Fukunaga. The girls have disappeared, presumably to go back to the friends they normally sit with during lunch. Kenma sits down across from Fukunaga, and Fukunaga slides his bento back towards him.

"What is..." And here, Kenma half-heartedly gestures towards the two of them. "This?"

Fukunaga just shrugs, takes a bite of his onigiri. "Looked lonely. Lonely, lonely, lonely."

He snickers to himself, at something he's thinking, and Kenma continues to just stare at him. But he does continue eating his bento. Fukunaga takes out his phone, begins playing a mobile game involving taking care of cats. 

Kenma thinks. He thinks about how Kuroo told him to work on connecting with others, how he's going to be around his teammates for the next two years, so he should work on...talking to them.

It can't be more difficult to talk to Fukunaga than Taketora, right? Kenma thinks to himself as he watches Fukunaga's wide eyes dart around the screen. 

"So...uh..." Kenma says, and Fukunaga's tiny, tiny pupils dart up to look at him. "You like...cats?"

Immediately after saying this, he wants to punch himself in the face. Their mascot is a cat, they go to a school named Neko-ma—actually, no, wait, the kanji is completely different, it’s Ne-koma, it doesn't mean cat—and he's getting off-topic, and he's making a fool of himself.

To his surprise, Fukunaga perks up. "Paws-itively love them."

Okay. That's good. At least he didn't punch you in the face or laugh at you. He made a pun. Why is this connection thing so hard? 

And then Fukunaga flips his phone around, showing Kenma his cat game. "Wanna play?"

"Oh." He supposes all of his other teammates know that he's a gamer—he's always on his PSP whenever he gets the opportunity. Nobody has ever really bothered to ask him about his video games, though—they're all too focused on a different game. "Sure."

Fukunaga slides the phone over to him, then eats the rest of his onigiri. He stares at Kenma with wide eyes the whole time, gauging his reaction. 

It's a simple game where you manage the cats in your house, feeding them and cleaning them and customizing their rooms. Kenma doesn't really play these kinds of games, but it does make sense why Fukunaga would play them. He seems like the kind of guy that would enjoy calming games like these. 

"It's a nice game," Kenma says, sliding the phone back over to him. Fukunaga nods seriously. 

Suddenly, there's a loud stomping noise, and both Fukunaga and Kenma look up to see Taketora literally stomping his way towards them, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. 

"Hey!" he shouts, pointing straight at Fukunaga. "Why weren't you in our spot?! Lunch's almost over, ya know!"

They sit together during lunch? Kenma wonders. Where do they sit? He hasn't actually seen either of them in the cafeteria during lunch—he's always sitting with Kuroo, in the corner, on his PSP. Kuroo would tell him science facts, and Kenma would nod, and their arrangement would work out fine. 

It worked out fine, until it didn't. 

Fukunaga gestures towards Kenma magnanimously. "Hi, Tora. New blood," he says, and that only seems to infuriate Taketora even more.

"What the fuck, Shouhei!" Taketora screams, stamping his foot on the floor like an irritated toddler. "I waited for you for twenty minutes, and you didn't even text me!"

Fukunaga just shrugs. Kenma also did not know that Fukunaga and Taketora were close enough to call each other by their given names. Although—he had heard other people in the club call Fukunaga by Shouhei, so maybe Fukunaga also didn't care much about the naming conventions of their society. 

Taketora and Fukunaga begin bickering—although, it's more like Taketora shouts at Fukunaga, and Fukunaga just nods over and over again at Taketora. Kenma watches them, then lets his attention wander elsewhere.

It wanders right over to where Shiro and Kuroo are sitting. Shiro's arm is still wrapped around Kuroo's shoulders, but he's not looking at Kuroo. He's talking with Iwaya, and Kuroo is—

Looking directly at him. 

There's an expression on Kuroo's face that Kenma can't quite place. Maybe it's curiosity, maybe it's shock. Kenma returns the stare with a questioning sort of shrug. What are you looking at?

In response, Kuroo nods his head towards Taketora and Fukunaga, as if to say, Them? Really?

Kenma shakes his head and looks away. He's not sure what Kuroo's implying, because he's the one who encouraged him to become friends with them in the first place. He returns his attention back to Fukunaga's and Taketora's one-sided argument.

"And then you—" Taketora finally gives up on trying to argue with Fukunaga, throwing his hands up and flopping down on the seat next to him. Fukunaga raises a lazy hand and honest-to-god pets Taketora. Even more surprising, Taketora lets him, leaning into his side. 

"Don't you have any other friends?" Kenma asks quietly, and both boys' eyes land on him. 

"Nah," Taketora says, but there's less bite to it than normal. "My friends from middle school thought volleyball was lame. They're in soccer or basketball or whatever. They said volleyball's a girly sport! Which is stupid! Volleyball ain't a girly sport, it's a totally manly sport, and it's the best sport ever!"

"Oh." Kenma had never had any friends that looked down on volleyball, because his only friend was the one who got him into volleyball. "That...sucks."

Taketora scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "It's fine! It's...whatever."

There's an undercurrent of hurt as Taketora talks. Kenma wonders what it must feel like, to have people you thought cared about you turn on you for the stupidest things.

He thinks about Kuroo. He thinks about how Kuroo talks about girls. He thinks about how he wants to be a girl. 

He thinks about how awful it might be that Kuroo may turn on him if he ever finds out what Kenma is hiding. 

"You're my only friends," Fukunaga says, shrugging. He doesn't sound at all bothered by it. 

"What about all those girls?!" Taketora screeches, waving his arms around. "Those—you always have girls hanging off of you!"

"What girls?" Fukunaga asks, and Taketora looks like he's about to pull his hair out. 

"We're friends?" Kenma asks, drawing their attention back to him. So many changes in such a little amount of time. It was only yesterday that Taketora insisted Kenma call him Tora, and now Fukunaga's claiming that they're friends?

"Duh!" Taketora shouts at Kenma, leaning forward. Kenma leans back automatically. Both Taketora and Fukunaga are looking at him like he's said the most stupid thing ever. Except Taketora seems genuinely angry, and Fukunaga seems genuinely amused. "What, ya think we're not?"

"I..." Kenma stares down at his hands. What counted as a friend? How much time did you have to spend with someone until they became your friend? At what point did you go from being strangers to being friends with someone? 

Is he friends with Taketora and Fukunaga?

He thinks about his first ever friend, his cousin. What made him and Himari friends? The fact that they were related by blood? They spent a lot of time with each other? Kenma is not related to either of these two boys, but they do certainly spend a lot of time together. What else? What else?

They have a common interest, don't they? Volleyball. Is that enough to connect them together? 

That was enough for you and Kuro, wasn't it?

"Hey, hey," Fukunaga says, tapping the table in front of Kenma. Kenma glances up, startled. "Call me Shouhei."

Select Dialogue Option:

> "Okay, Shouhei."

>"We're not friends."

Option one selected!

"Okay...Shouhei."

And Shouhei nods, and Taketora huffs, and that is the end of that. 

I have made some very odd friends. 

But...surprisingly…

I don't think I mind them. 

—

Kenma talks to Keiji more and more, as summer turns into autumn turns into winter. He learns that Keiji likes classic literature, he always tries to eat onigiri two at a time for some reason, and he's the youngest first-year on Fukuroudani's team.

me: that's impressive

me: and you're already starting setter?

keiji: no. i am only the starting setter until our normal setter, yukimura-san, heals from his knee injury. i am the only other setter who is able to adapt to bokuto-san's play style. 

me: that's still really impressive

me: give yourself some credit

keiji: it's nothing significant. bokuto-san is currently one of the top three high school aces in the country. 

Keiji somehow always has the ability to sing Bokuto's praises every single time he and Kenma have a conversation. It's almost impressive. Kenma would have been mad if he wasn't ninety percent sure Keiji and Bokuto were in love with each other. 

me: fair enough

me: i mean bokuto's huge

me: like he towers over you when he stands next to you

keiji: my hands are larger than his. 

Kenma will not ask how Keiji knows that particular fact. 

me: anything else exciting happen today?

keiji: it is my sixteenth birthday today.

Kenma glances up at his calendar, alarmed. It's December fifth. Aren't friends supposed to remember their friends' birthdays? Had Keiji ever told him his birthday? If he did, did he just forget? This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Select Dialogue Option: 

> "Happy birthday!"

>"Sorry, I forgot your birthday, oops."

Option one selected!

me: happy birthday

keiji: thank you, kenma-san.

me: should i get you a birthday present?

keiji: there is no need. i did not tell you my birthday when we first met, and so you are not obligated to get me anything.

Despite this, Kenma gets on his laptop and begins searching for one of the classical literature novels Keiji was talking about. No Longer Human, by some guy named Dazai? Actually, he's not entirely sure this is classical literature, but Keiji had mentioned it one time, so Kenma's decently sure he would like it. 

me: im going to call you

keiji: go ahead.

Kenma punches in Keiji's number, holding his phone up to his ear as he scrolls through Rakuten. Keiji picks up almost immediately. 

"Hello, Kenma-san." Keiji's voice is as cold as ever. 

"Happy birthday," Kenma says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. It's not much—it's nearing eleven PM, and Kenma has no idea why either of them are still up. He can hear the rustling of pages through the phone, so he can assume Keiji is studying. He, meanwhile, is scrolling through Rakuten, trying to find the best copy of this Dazai novel. 

"Thank you," Keiji says, now scribbling something down. "Hopefully, I can finish the last of this chapter, with you talking to me."

"You shouldn't be studying on your birthday," Kenma says idly. "Did you at least have a good day today?"

"Yes. My senpai threw me a surprise party during practice. There was a cake, although it got smashed when Bokuto-san fell on it."

"Oh." That sounds like something Bokuto would do. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be. There's nothing you could have done. Besides, it tasted fine." 

"Still." He finally finds a copy of the book with a good-looking cover and a relatively decent price, and adds it into his cart. "I hope you had a good day, Keiji."

He hears Keiji laugh softly, and the sound of a book shutting. "This is a nice way to end my day, Kenma-san."

"Go to sleep," Kenma says as he turns off his computer and flops back onto his bed. He grabs for his PSP. He'll play a little bit, just before he goes to sleep. "How are your eyes not tired from all that studying?"

"I should ask how your eyes are not tired from playing video games so late."

Kenma sits up abruptly. With his sleep-addled brain, he looks around his room. Did his friend somehow manage to put cameras in his room? "Are you spying on me?"

"Just an educated guess."

"Okay, well..." Kenma shuts off his PSP, rolling over onto his side, placing his phone near his face so he can continue talking. "You first, Keiji. Take your own advice."

"No, you first."

"No, you."

"You." Keiji laughs softly, and Kenma can hear the rustling of sheets from the other side. "Goodnight, Kenma-san."

"Goodnight, Keiji."

And despite the cold in Keiji's voice, Kenma inexplicably feels warm. 

—

He hasn't touched the bottle of nail polish Keiji gave him, all those months ago. It sits next to Keshi, on his desk, like a purely ornamental object. The bottle of nail polish remover and the nail file sits there as well. 

"Keshi," he says to the doll one day, poking her in the face with his pencil. He nods towards the nail polish. "What do you think I should do with this?"

The doll does not say anything. He tries to imagine what Himari would say if she were here. Kenma, I think you should wear it if you want to. Do you want to?

He wants to. He supposes that's reason enough. "You make a compelling point," he says to Keshi. "But it might...mom might see it again, and get mad."

The doll doesn't nod her head—if the doll had actually nodded her head, he might have had to call an exorcist—so Kenma manually nods it for her. He tilts her head towards the nail polish remover, and then he feels stupid, because he's a high schooler and he's still playing with dolls. 

"Yeah, but, like—if I put the nail polish on just to take it off later, that kinda...defeats the purpose." He straightens Keshi up, spinning around in his chair. "Like, a waste of time and effort, just for what? Just to..."

Feel like a girl, even if it's just for a little bit? Ten, twenty, thirty minutes? Does it really matter that much to you?

Would it really make you feel okay?

"Fuck it," he mutters, snatching the bottle of nail polish off his desk. His hand seems to shake as he stares down at it—this should be such a simple decision, he shouldn't be so anxious about it. 

But he thinks of Himari, who would never in a million years judge him for this, he thinks of Kaido, who was the one who encouraged him when he was doubtful, he thinks of Keiji, who told him, "There's no shame in liking this."

He uncaps the bottle. And he begins to paint. 

His strokes are shaky at first. His hands tremble as he carefully brushes the polish over his nails. The hand he's painting over is unsteady as well—nothing at all like Kaido, who held still the entire time he painted her nails. The polish feels cool, on his nails and on his skin whenever he accidentally misses his nail. 

He finishes his nails, and he accidentally touches his thumb to his index nail, smudging it a bit. It's okay. It's all black–there's no imperfections to be seen. He does understand what Kaido meant when she asked for help with her right hand. He's right-handed, and with how shaky his hands are, he thinks that trying to paint with his non-dominant hand would just make a mess.

That's fine, he decides as he twists the cap back on. If it's his left hand, he can just shove it in his jacket pocket or hide it from everyone else. It's easier this way. 

Still, as he turns his hand in the low, soft light of his lamp, he can't help but smile.

It looks...pretty.

+ 1 HP.

—

So he goes about his day with his left hand shoved into his jacket pocket as much as possible. Nobody in his classes seem to notice. Nobody in his classes seem to care. He's perfected the art of going invisible. 

If Shouhei and Taketora notice during lunch, neither of them say anything. That might just be because Taketora rants the entire time about how his younger sister stole his pair of lucky socks and now he's going to fail his math test. Kenma and Shouhei are both quiet, but Taketora talks enough to make up for both of them.

They've eaten lunch on the stairs, near the locker rooms, for a good while now. It's nice—there's no athletes around, because they're all at lunch or classes, there's nobody else around to bother them, there's even an outlet for Kenma to charge his phone during the break. 

It's nice. Dare he says, nicer than even his lunch times with Kuroo.

But of course—everything goes to shit when they go to practice. 

Iwaya and Masutomi are there, despite Kuroo's statement that they were going to focus on their academics. But they're there, Iwaya is hollering at one of the cheerleaders that passes them, and Masutomi is screaming at Taketora and Shouhei to hurry up with their laps around the gym.

Their behavior irritates Kenma even more that he's friends with Taketora and Shouhei. He could just stand by while he only cared about himself, but now that he's friends with them—he can't just stand by. 

"Knock it off," he mutters quietly, more to himself than anything, as he passes Iwaya and Masutomi. They're all the way up in the stands anyway, there's no way they could have heard him. 

But—

"Hey~!" Iwaya says sing-songingly, before covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh—sorry! Thought you were a girl for a second, Kenma-chan."

"I wouldn't blame you," Masutomi snickers as Kenma forces himself to continue staring straight ahead. He tries to force his feet to move as well, but they don't obey. It's like his whole body is frozen stiff. "Lookit—he's even got nail polish on!"

How did he notice—how did he even see—aren't the stands too high up? How did he see that?

Kenma quickly clenches his left fist, covering it with his right palm. It's too late. The damage has been done. 

"KENMA-CHAN'S A FAIRY!" Iwaya shouts in delight, alerting the entirety of the gymnasium's occupants. "KENMA-CHAN PAINTS HIS NAILS!"

No.

No.

No.

"SHUT UP!" Yaku screams while he sets up the net. He points a finger at the two boys in the stands. "YOU'RE NOT EVEN PART OF THE TEAM ANYMORE, YOU QUIT! SHUT UP!"

"DIDJA HEAR WHAT I SAID?!" Iwaya screams back, cupping his hands over his mouth. "I SAID THAT KENMA-CHAN IS—"

"What's going on?" Kuroo asks as he walks into the gym, and Kenma's heart drops all the way down to hell. "Kenma?"

No. No. No, no, no, no. 

This can't be happening.

This can't be how Kuroo finds out. 

"Nothing," Kenma hisses, clenching his fist even more tightly. "Nothing's happening, Kuro."

"Kuroo-chan, this is hilarious, check it out—" And then Iwaya's running down the stairs, running straight towards them—Iwaya has always been one of the faster players, Kenma stands no chance even if he made a move to run away—and then his hand is closing in on Kenma's wrist. Kenma tries to fight, tries to wrench his hand out of Iwaya's grip, but it doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. 

He's older. He's stronger. He's better.

Kuro will listen to him over you.

His pitch-black nails are unfurled, bared so the entire world can see. 

So Kuro can see.

And Kenma does nothing to stop it. The other members of their team are beginning to gather around. No. No. No. Taketora. Shouhei. 

And then he sees Shiro's white hair among them, and he feels as though he's going to be sick. Shiro isn't saying anything. He's just staring at Kenma with mild disinterest. 

Not him as well. 

What is everyone going to think about me now?

"Look at him," Iwaya drawls, and he loosens his grip just enough that Kenma can ball his hand back into a fist and cross his arms. "Aww, aw, is he gonna cry? Kenma-chan, are you gonna cry? It's just a joke, Kenma-chan, what are you going to—"

"That's enough," Kuroo says smoothly, placing a hand on Kenma's shoulder. His face feels hot with shame, and he thinks he may actually cry. "Now, it's none of our business what weird things Kenma decides to do in his free time." Kenma looks up, glancing at Kuroo. He's staring straight at Masutomi. "I know that Masutomi-senpai gets up to some wild things in the locker room when he thinks nobody's looking."

And then Masutomi flushes red and tries to splutter out a response, and then Iwaya's laughing at him instead of laughing at Kenma, and then the rest of the team turns away. 

It's none of our business what weird things Kenma decides to do in his free time. 

It's not...it's…

It's weird. I'm weird, for liking this. Liking girly things. Wanting to be a girl. 

He feels hot shame in the corners of his eyes. He wipes his tears away before they can even fall. Kuroo has left his side, and now he's talking with Shiro. 

He didn't even say anything about it. That's good. That's...good, right?

Taketora. Shouhei.

What about them?

He glances up to look at his new friends, to gauge their reactions, to determine if he should just throw himself into the river so he can spare himself the misery tomorrow at practice. 

Shouhei is just...staring blankly ahead, as always. But that little, ever-present smile is gone. It's been replaced by a slight frown, which looks so wrong on Shouhei's face. Taketora, meanwhile, looks absolutely apoplectic, fists clenched, jaw tense.  

Their expressions could mean any amount of different things, a puzzle ready to be solved. For once, Kenma doesn't even want to attempt solving it. 

Kenma rubs his arm over his eyes and turns away. 

—

"So, like," Kuroo begins to say on their walk back home. "Why do you do...y'know."

He gestures vaguely to Kenma's left hand, and it only cements the idea that doing this at all was shameful. Kuroo doesn't even want to talk about it. He didn't even acknowledge it all throughout practice. 

"I don't know," Kenma says. "I just..."

He can't explain this to Kuroo, because to explain why he wears nail polish, he needs to explain how he desperately wants to be a girl. And he doesn't want to explain that, so he can't explain this. 

"Are you emo?" Kuroo asks, and—well, Kuroo has always known what to say. Kenma snorts, shoving him with his shoulder.

"You're more emo than I am, your bangs are covering your face." 

"Hey!" Kuroo brushes his hair out of his eyes, and that simple action reveals gold. "I talk with other people, at least!"

"I talked with Fukunaga and Yamamoto yesterday," Kenma mutters. "Like you said to do."

Kuroo goes quiet at that. "Yeah. I did say that."

Kenma has seen Kuroo eating lunch with Shiro, Iwaya, and Masutomi, and some other third-years during lunch. He seems...well, Kenma wouldn't say he seemed happy, because he always looked nervous when he was around them. But Kuroo seemed excited to be around people that were older than him, people who thought he was cool.

I thought you were cool, long before you met any of them.

Pause. Check inventory.

Does it matter to him that you think he's cool? Does your opinion of him matter as much to him?

"How's Shiro?" Kenma asks, and Kuroo immediately perks up.

"He's so cool. It's too bad that he's stepping down, 'cause we lost at Interhigh. He doesn't even think we're gonna get to Nationals."

"And you're gonna be captain." And here, Kuroo smiles, and it's blinding. Lightning. 

"I'm gonna be captain," Kuroo says in awed disbelief. Earlier that day, at practice. Shiro had announced his stepping down as captain, and his nomination of Kuroo as captain. Iwaya had already passed his position as vice-captain down to Kai, and Masutomi begrudgingly already passed his title of ace down to Taketora. Starting next week, Kuroo will be captain. Nobody objected. 

Shiro had said Kuroo was his favorite, after all. 

It's different, now that Kenma knows what's between Kuroo and Shiro. It's different, now that Kenma knows that Kuroo likes boys, and there's a lingering thought in the back of his mind saying, but what if? 

What if he just...accepts that you want to be a girl?

And there is another, much more persistent lingering thought that says, what if he doesn't? He treats you wearing nail polish like some unspoken thing. What if he goes further?

What if he just...leaves you?

Wouldn't it be for the better?

You are just second choice.

"I don't...mind the nail polish thing, by the way," Kuroo says as they round the corner, turning onto their street. "I mean...it's kinda weird, but if it makes you happy, you do you, Kenma."

You do you.

The wave of relief that washes over Kenma is almost overwhelming. Kenma lets himself lean into Kuroo's side as they walk up to his front door.

"Thanks, Kuro."

—

Kenma cannot state enough how much he hates Shiro.

His voice is so annoying, he thinks as he walks down an empty hallway and hears the sound of his former captain talking to someone. He had to deliver a note to the front office from his teacher, so he had to take a detour on the way to his normal spot to lunch. 

"Hey, Kinji! You still messing around with—with what's his name, Tetsurou?"

Kenma freezes in his tracks. This is not something he should be listening in on.

He moves closer.

"Yeah, he's a cute kid. Shame I'm leaving in half a year. It's been nice—he follows me around like a lost kitty. Or no—maybe a dog."

He takes out his phone.

"You're not even gay, are you?"

He texts Kuroo.

"Nah, I'm not. I'm just messing around with him."

Come to the fine arts hallway.

"Oh, damn! And he doesn't know anything?"

Why?

"Nah, he doesn't know anything."

Just come.

"Man, you're cold, Kinji. Damn cold."

Okay.

The cafeteria is near the fine arts hallway. It should take Kuroo only a minute to come here. He should be coming from the left side, so he shouldn't see Kenma. If he sets everything up just right, everything will play out as Kenma imagines it.

You're a bad person for doing this. Why don't you let Kuro be happy with him, just for the rest of this school year? 

I don't want Kuro to be happy with him. Shiro is lying to him. Shiro is using him.

Kuro deserves so much better than Shiro. 

"You...y'know, you do the do yet?"

Kenma presses the record button on his phone. 

"Oh, yeah. You should've seen his face, he was crying my name like a fucking baby."

He makes me sick. 

"He was like, "Shiro! Shiro-san, Shiro-san! I love you so much, Shiro-san!" Fucking hilarious, he thinks I love him, I—"

"Shiro-san?"

And then Kenma hears his friend's voice. Cracked, broken, raw. 

And it's only then that Kenma comes out of hiding. 

"Tetsu—Tetsurou—" Shiro's eyes are going wide, darting between Kuroo and his friend. For once, he looks caught off-guard. Kenma feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the sight. 

And then he looks at Kuroo.

Kuroo, for once, looks like he doesn't know what to say. There's complete and utter betrayal etched across his face, there's small sniffling noises escaping his throat as he wipes at his eyes. 

"What the fuck?" Kuroo demands, and the harshness of his words makes Shiro recoil. "Shiro-san, what the—"

"Tetsurou," Shiro says slowly, but Kenma can tell that he doesn't know how to approach the situation. He's trying to deny everything he said, but he has no way to. Kuroo arrived at the most crucial moment, and now all there's left to do is watch his downfall. "I can explain—"

"There's nothing to explain!" Kuroo screams, holding his head in his hands, and the thought of you did that to Kuro, you did that to Kuro, you did that to Kuro echoes throughout Kenma's mind. You ruined his relationship with his favorite senior. 

He lost his virginity to Shiro.

What does that have to do with anything?

The thought of the two of them doing that makes me sick.

"I thought...I thought..." And here, Kuroo just dissolves into full-on sobbing. "Shiro-san, I thought..."

Shiro steps forward, his hand outstretched as if to comfort him, but Kuroo slaps it away. Then he takes it a step further and slaps Shiro across the face.

"Kinji, I thought we had something special." Kuroo laughs, and it's like thunder splitting the sky, destructive and violent and angry. "But—I guess, thanks for my captaincy. At least I don't have to see you around anymore. Fuck you. Fuck you."

And with that, Shiro raises his hands in surrender, slowly backing away, back towards the cafeteria. His friend follows him, casting a fearful glance towards Kuroo. 

Kuroo takes in a shuddering breath, reaching for his phone. Seconds later, a message pops up on Kenma's phone.

I'm here. What did you need?

Kenma doesn't respond. Instead, he steps out of the shadows, placing himself directly in Kuroo's view. Kuroo's eyes flick towards him, then towards the place where he was standing.

"You called me here just to..." Kuroo stammers, and for a second, Kenma can see the scared little boy that he knew so many years ago in Kuroo. "Why? Why didn't you just..."

"He was using you," Kenma says simply. "You...you deserved to know he wasn't a good person after all."

"Maybe he wasn't a good person to you, because you always slacked off during practice!" Kuroo shouts, and Kenma startles. Why is he angry at me? "I know you didn't like him, but—but—"

"He's a bad person, Kuro," Kenma says quietly. He's not really sure what else he can say. 

"He was good to me," Kuroo spits out, pushing past Kenma. His voice is high, shrill, as though if he's loud enough, he can drown out the sound of his anxiety. "He was good to me, and...and that's all that matters!" 

"Were you ever even officially together?" Kenma asks, his voice low. He hopes Kuroo can't hear how anxious he is as well. He's overstepped. "Did he ever put you first, Kuro?"

Because Kuroo was the one who always put Shiro first. Even before Kenma. That is how much Kuroo valued his captain's opinions.

"Fine. Whatever." Kuroo balls his hands into fists, turning away from Kenma. "I'm...fucking—I don't know what I am, but I like guys. Or whatever. I didn't want you to find out this way."

Kenma has known this for a very long time. He isn't surprised, not in the slightest. "I know."

That takes Kuroo by surprise. "You—you know?"

"I saw him kiss you on the forehead during training camp."

Kuroo groans. "Great. You've known there was—something wrong with me since then?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Kuroo." Kenma doesn't know what to say. Kuroo thinks there's something wrong with him?

What is he going to think when he finds out what you've been keeping from him?"

"It's not..." Kuroo wrings his hands, his gaze wavering. "It's not...natural, Kenma. There's something wrong with me. Guys...aren't supposed to like guys. It's not—biologically, I'm predisposed to like girls, and if I don't, then...something's just wrong with me, fundamentally."

Well, if guys aren't supposed to like guys, then I guess guys aren't supposed to want to be girls either. 

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Kuro." Kenma doesn't know what to say, but he has to try anyway. What would Himari say? What would Kaido say? What would Keiji say?

"It's not about what you think!" Kuroo screams, and his voice reverberates throughout the empty hallways. "It's about what everybody else thinks, and it..." Kuroo buries his face in his hands, sinking down to the ground. "I don't know. I don't know, Kenma."

Kuroo is one of the most logical people that he knows. Kuroo is always searching for the answers to problems, he seeks out the solutions to things that are wrong, and he makes them right.

How is he supposed to explain to Kuroo that he doesn't need fixing, that he's not wrong in any way?

He doesn't get a chance, because then Kuroo is pushing past him, and the bell is ringing, and Kenma is left with a thousand things left unsaid on the tip of his tongue. 

—

Kuroo doesn't come to practice that day. Shiro is there, but he's noticeably more irritated than normal, and his eyes narrow when Kenma walks into the gymnasium. 

"You," he says, pointing directly at Kenma. He points towards the exit of the gymnasium, jerking his head. "I need to talk with you, now."

Kenma can't really disobey a direct order from his captain, so he follows him. Shouhei stares after him curiously, and Taketora opens his mouth to say something, but Kenma waves them off.

Shiro is standing against the doorway when Kenma exits, his arms crossed. Kenma can get a pretty good idea of what they're about to talk about.

"You were the one that ruined everything with Kuroo," Shiro says slowly, enunciating every word. "Now, why did you do that?"

Kenma feels so small under Shiro's gaze. He shrugs. "I've always known you're not a good person, Shiro-san."

"Shiro-senpai," Shiro corrects him.

I HATE HIM. I HATE HIM SO MUCH. 

He's good at the game. He's good at what he does. But he's not a good person, and Kuro has never been able to see that because he respects him too much. 

"Shiro-san," Kenma shoots back. "You were a good player, and I respected you, but—but this went too far. I care about Kuro. I don't want to see him hurt."

"Ah, so you're a freak like him?" Shiro asks, and he moves faster than Kenma can register. He grabs Kenma by the left wrist, rolling his jacket sleeve up. His captain sneers, and somehow the ugly expression seems right at home on his perfect face. "You gay? You're a fairy? Tetsurou was never—"

"Don't call him Tetsurou," Kenma snaps, yanking his arm out of Shiro's grasp. He tries not to think about the fact that he has never called Kuroo by his given name. 

Kuro would let you call him by his given name, if you wanted to. You could call him Tetsurou if you wanted to, and he'd let you do that. 

Do you want to do that?

"I'll call him whatever I want," Shiro snarls, stepping even closer to Kenma. "He thinks very highly of me, did you know that?"

Of course I know how highly he thinks of you; he looks at you like you've hung the goddamn moon, he chases after your praise like a dog, he hollowed himself out for you to like him.

Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. That's all he ever talks about anymore.

"I'll tell you one thing, Kozume." Shiro slams his fist against the wall, right near Kenma's head. Kenma flinches away, because he is still little, he is still small, he is still weak. "You don't belong on this team. You may have strategy, and you may have a sense for the game, but you do not have the determination to back it up. All of us can see that. Did you know Kuroo had to beg me to even consider putting you on the starting lineup? I wanted Iwaya to stay on, but Kuroo convinced me. Did you know that, Kenma-chan?"

Kenma doesn't have anything to say to that. It could be that Shiro's lying, that he's just saying that just to get under his skin. But it could be that Shiro's also telling the truth, and that Kenma didn't actually make the starting lineup with his own skill. Kuroo—and by extension, Shiro—was the one that got him here. 

He's only the starting setter because he was the only option left. 

He's just second choice. 

"Quit the team now," Shiro says in Kenma's ear, his voice low. "And everyone will be happier for it, I can promise you that."

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

Kenma doesn't even register the tears rushing down his face until they begin plopping down onto the tile floor, drop by drop, like the beginnings of a rainstorm. Shiro smirks, satisfied, before disappearing back into the gym. Kenma follows him on shaky legs, his steps slow, then quick as he runs past all of his teammates, straight into the gym's storage closet.

None of them notice how he's crying.

None of them care that he's crying. 

He shuts the door behind him, coughing as dust gets kicked up by his feet. He spins around, stumbling backward until his back hits one of the shelves. The door doesn't open. Good.

He doesn't want anybody to find him like this. 

It's dark inside the storage closet, but Kenma likes it that way. He's gotten so used to hiding in the shadows, anyway. He can stay like this. 

He stares down at his left hand, at the pristine black nails that he had painted not even two days ago. He feels sick when he looks at them, like he wants to rip them all out, tear into his own flesh and rip all of the wrong out of him.

You're not wrong, a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Himari's says. There's nothing wrong with you.

Kuro's the smartest person I know, though. He's right almost all of the time. And if he's right about this, then both him and I are wrong, somehow. 

He wants to call Himari, ask her what he should do about all of this, but he doesn't want to bother her right now. She's probably in cram school right now. His second thought is Keiji, but he's also in school right now, and he's also likely in volleyball practice as well. 

What can I do?

Kenma exhales a shaky breath, then pulls his hoodie over his head and pulls the strings tight. He wants to cry, but he can't get the tears to come out by themselves. 

Nobody comes to get him.

Kuroo doesn't come to get him. If this were a normal practice, Kuroo would be on his tail by now. But Kuroo's not at practice, and Shiro is captain, and nobody cares about him. 

Then a ray of light falls over Kenma's leg. He looks up, and he sees the closet door being opened a crack. 

"Kenma?" Taketora's disembodied voice asks. "You in here?"

"Come out of the closet," Shouhei says, and then he laughs quietly. 

The door opens wider, and then Kenma sees Taketora's blonde mohawk and Shouhei's wide eyes. The two of them step into the closet, and then shut the door behind them.

"What are you two doing here?" Kenma asks, his voice muffled by his hoodie. "Go away. Just—go away."

"Nuh-uh. 'Sides, we're just first-years," Taketora says as he sits down on the floor, criss-cross-applesauce. "Nobody's gonna care if we're missing for one practice." Shouhei nods in agreement, sitting down as well. 

"We got something to show you," Shouhei says, flicking his fingers out like a cat's. Kenma squints, trying to see what exactly Shouhei is trying to show him.

"What am I looking at?" Kenma asks, and he hears Taketora stand up, scream in pain, and then flick on the light. 

"I just bumped my head against the ceiling," Taketora hisses, rubbing his scalp. Now Kenma's surroundings are illuminated, and he can see volleyballs, practice jerseys, and other equipment lining the shelves. He can also see the fine layer of dust coating the floor. Ew. 

"Careful," Shouhei chirps. "You could lose the last of your brain cells if you knock your head too hard."

"Hey! I gotta lotta brain cells!" As if to emphasize his point, Taketora knocks a knuckle against the side of his head. 

"If you have to say you have a lot of them, you don't have a lot of them."

"HEY!" 

"What did you need to show me?" Kenma asks irritably. Did they really come in here just to bother him? Some friends they are. 

Shouhei merely smiles, holding up his hand.

Is that...?

Every single one of Shouhei's nails are perfectly manicured, painted a pale pink, with a white line on the tip. French manicure, Himari once called it. Some of the nails even have tiny gems glued onto them. 

"We heard what Iwaya was screamin' about yesterday!" Taketora shouts, and Kenma can see that his nails are also painted, a glittery teal. "And—and that wasn't cool! None of it was! Who cares if you like painting your nails! My sister wanted to paint my nails, and so I let her, 'cause it made her happy, and that's what a man does!"

"The manliest," Shouhei agrees, slowly nodding his head. "My classmates wanted to paint my nails. So I let them. They're funny."

"I'd let pretty girls paint my nails, if they wanted to!" Taketora shouts, and Kenma has to repress a snort. "But—but none of them want to! Shouhei, how do you do it?!"

"Do what?" Shouhei asks innocently, and Taketora screeches angrily. 

"I..." Kenma unclenches his fist, staring down at the black nail polish. What would it look like if he painted all ten of his nails? What would it look like if he added glitter, like Taketora's, or tiny jewels, like Shouhei's? What if…

Just what if…

"Don't tell anyone else what I'm about to tell you," Kenma says, his voice low. Taketora and Shouhei lean in closer, hanging onto his every word. "I mean it."

"I can keep a secret!" Taketora shouts, at the top of his lungs. 

Shouhei just nods, miming his lips being zipped closed.

"I..." Kenma buries his face in his knees, wrapping his hands behind his neck. Is he really about to do this? Is he really about to speak these words into existence? 

Pause. Check inventory.

Are you sure you can do this?

Select Dialogue Option: 

> "There's something wrong with me."

> "Nevermind, forget I said anything."

> "Go away."

> "I want to be a girl."

Option four selected!

"I want..." Kenma mumbles, and Taketora and Shouhei lean in even closer. 

"I want to be a girl."

And then he clicks through all his other dialogue options, rapid-fire, before the other two ever get a chance to respond. 

"There's—I know there's something wrong with me, I know I'm a freak, but—"

- 1 HP.

"Ugh, nevermind, forget I ever even said anything—"

- 2 HP.

"Just—just go away!"

- 3 HP.

He buries his face in his hands, not wanting to look up and see the reactions of his friends. He wants to stay here in the darkness, where it's safe, where nothing is ever certain. 

Kuroo told him about Schrodinger's cat, where you put a cat in a box with radioactive poison, or something like that, and you lock the box. The radioactive poison or whatever had the potential to kill the cat. Until you opened the box and looked inside it, there's no way to know for sure if it was alive or dead. Therefore, until the box was opened, Schrodinger's cat was both alive and dead simultaneously.

That's how he feels right now. Until he opens his eyes and looks at his friends' faces, they can both accept and reject him simultaneously. 

He wants to stay like that forever. 

"Hey," Taketora says, shaking Kenma a little bit. "Kenma. Kenma, are you—are you okay?" 

His voice is softer than Kenma's ever heard it. 

He has never sounded like this before. 

And that realization is what tips Kenma over the edge, finally prying his hands off his face and looking up. His face is wet with tears, and it feels hot with shame. 

Concern looks very, very wrong on Taketora's face, but Kenma knows that's the only logical conclusion that can be drawn. Taketora looks concerned, Kenma wants to be a girl, and the world is ending. 

And because Kenma never really knows what to say in any situation, what ends up happening is that he and Taketora just end up staring at each other in silence. Taketora half-lifts his hands up, as though he wants to give Kenma a hug, but neither of them make any moves to do anything.

It's Shouhei that breaks the silence.

"We're all freaks," he says, and—well, that doesn't really make Kenma feel any better, but it certainly doesn't make him feel any worse. "We're all a little freaky. Freaky-deaky."

"Shut up with your rhymes!" Taketora shouts, making a sudden move towards Shouhei to shake him by the shoulders. "Kenma needs—fuck, what does Kenma need?"

And that—that little bit of familiarity, with Shouhei saying something nonsensical, and Taketora screaming at him, and Kenma not understanding what it all meant—that is enough to make him feel better. 

"Oh my god," Kenma manages to choke out through his cries and his laughter. "You are the stupidest people I've ever met."

"Wha—hey!" Taketora protests. "We're trying to help you here!"

Kenma laughs—he laughs so hard he cries, and he finally sits up straight. 

This is better than he could have ever imagined. 

"I don't...I'm trying to figure all of it out myself," Kenma says softly. "I don't know...I don't know what would help me now. But I think..."

"You want us to call you a girl?" Shouhei asks, tilting his head to the side, his ever-wide, ever-curious eyes seeming to bore into Kenma's soul. "Okay, sister from another mister."

Taketora nods, aggressively. "I can do that!" he shouts. "I can—I can ask my sister about this! Yeah! She can tell you all about bein' a girl!"

Kenma laughs a bit more. His friends are trying to help him, in the only ways they know how to. Shouhei says something ridiculous, and Taketora screams and shouts. 

"Only when we're alone," Kenma whispers, and his friends nod in agreement. "Only when we're alone, you can call me a girl."

"'Course," Taketora says in determination. Shouhei grins. 

And Kenma stares down at her nails, at the beautiful way they shine in the light, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, there are people who would accept her for who she is after all.

"Thanks, you guys. For being my friends."

+ 3 HP.

Chapter Text

Kozume Kenma is sixteen when she dyes her hair for the first time.

And it's all because of Tora. 

Now, she has grown to appreciate Tora as a very strange friend, over their first year of high school. He's been decently good about calling her a girl in private, when they eat lunch together, and calling her a boy everywhere else. He does slip up sometimes—calls her a girl when they're with the rest of the team, accidentally calls her a boy when they're hanging out at each others' houses. But he always corrects himself every time, and Kenma is grateful for that. She knows that it's...complicated, all this gender business. It's no wonder why Shouhei just defaults to calling her "Kenma" every day, in every situation. 

Her hair has gotten longer, long enough that her mother has started complaining about it again. Kenma knows that she'll have to hold out a little bit longer. She'll have to start thinking about things she wants, things she'll bargain for in order to snip off inches of her precious hair. Not too many inches—she still likes it long. 

She still likes her hair long, she still likes playing video games, and she still likes the darkness.

Which is how Tora walks in on her in a dark classroom, during one of her breaks after school, and promptly starts screaming.

"WHAT THE—GEEZ, DUDE!!" Tora shrieks, pointing at Kenma wildly. Kenma glances up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. It really is getting long. "DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR HAIR, WOULDJA?!"

"What do you mean?" Kenma mutters as she goes back to playing on her PSP. Her hair has always looked like this, throughout the entirety of their first year of high school. She doesn't get why it surprises Tora now. 

"YOU LOOK LIKE THAT FREAKY GIRL IN THAT ONE HORROR MOVIE!" Tora screeches, waving his hands around. “YOU’RE SCARIN’ ME!”

Oh.

Oh.

Something that feels—hot and good and comforting flares up in her chest. 

She knows who Tora’s talking about. Sadako from The Ring movies. Sadako's a girl. A girl from a horror movie that looks really creepy, runs around, and kills people, but still a girl. 

She actually looks like a girl now. And that thought alone is enough to make her smile to herself. 

"Not my problem..." she says, actively fighting to keep the smile off her face. Tora probably doesn't realize how his comment is actually a compliment in disguise. 

"WHEN YOU STAGGER AROUND WITH YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT, EVERYBODY LOOKS, Y’KNOW!" Tora says, and then that stops Kenma's train of thought immediately. "IT MAKES YOU STICK OUT!!"

Stick out. Stick out. Stick out.

Shit. That's not good. 

If she sticks out with her long hair, people will think she looks like a girl. That's what she wants, for people to think she's a girl, but—

The world doesn't actually know she's a girl. All they see is a boy that looks like he wants to be a girl. And rumors spread quickly in their school—if this gets out, this will go far past people thinking Kenma's a sissy. 

They'll think there's something wrong with her.

"I need to change my hair immediately," Kenma says, and Tora splutters in surprise. "What should I do?"

"Cut it?" Tora asks, and Kenma immediately shakes her head. "Right, 'cause, uh, my sister said most girls like having long hair. Uhh...dye it?"

"What color?" Kenma asks, putting her PSP away and walking out the door. Tora trails after her, arms crossed across his chest. "What's the easiest color to change my hair to?"

"Hmm..." Tora thinks for a moment before shouting in triumph. "Dye it blonde! Bleach it! Like what I did!"

Kenma watches Tora proudly smooth a hand over his blonde mohawk, and she sighs out loud. "Then people are gonna think I'm matching with you, and I don't want that."

"HEY! What's wrong with matching with me?!" Tora shouts in offense. 

"I don't wanna match with anyone. Especially not you."

"You’d be the perfect match-a," Shouhei's voice suddenly says, and both Kenma and Tora spin around in surprise. Shouhei is standing directly behind them, eating matcha-flavored Kit Kats. 

Tora turns his attention to Shouhei, shouting at him for sneaking up on them before demanding that he share his Kit Kats with him as repayment. He doesn't seem to have noticed that, this entire time, Shouhei has been holding out his Kit Kat bag for Tora to take.

Kenma thinks. She has to cut her hair back to chin length soon—it's inevitable, her mother's getting onto her more and more. Maybe she can leverage this. If she mentions that she wants to bleach and cut her hair, her mother will be more receptive to the blonde hair. The cutting doesn't have to be at the same time as the bleaching, but, well—

I need to fix this as soon as possible.

—

"How're you enjoying your second year?" Kuroo asks as they walk back home, like routine.

Kuroo had changed, after the day Kenma found out he was gay. He started hanging out with his male friends less and less, and started hanging out with girls more and more. Kenma can guess his line of reasoning—he was scared that other people would catch on to the fact that he was gay or bisexual or whatever, and so he overcompensated.

Oddly enough, he still talks to Kenma daily. He never brings up what happened that day. Kenma supposes that Kuroo's doing this because she knows the truth—he wants to stay on Kenma's good side, so there's no hope of her leaking his secret.

Kuroo never spoke to Shiro again. 

In some way, I guess he only hangs out with girls. He just doesn't know it. Kenma thinks as he walks next to Kuroo. Kuroo seemed to have gone through a growth spurt over the past few months, and now he absolutely towers over Kenma. It just emphasizes how tiny Kenma is compared to his teammates.

"I like my coding class," Kenma says idly. She likes playing video games, and so it would also make sense that she would like creating video games as well. "It does look like I have to code everything in English, though, so that's a pain."

"Ah, well, you gotta practice your English somehow," Kuroo says with a coy smile. 

Kuroo has changed a lot since that day. The base of their relationship—walking each other to and from school, hanging out every other Saturday at each others' houses—has not changed. It's the finer details that have. Kuroo has stopped telling Kenma anything and everything about his life, only speaking about it when Kenma asks. And since Kenma rarely ever asks, Kuroo rarely ever talks.

In a way, it's almost as though Kuroo has been doing the same thing as Kenma this whole time. Holding each others' at arm's reach.

Kuroo knows that he's just a second choice for Kenma as well. 

"How was...what's her name, Yamada-san?" Kenma asks, just to fill the silence. Kuroo had been spending his lunch with different girls every day, and Kenma has overheard him offer to tutor them in subjects like biology or chemistry. His words had carried an undercurrent of something more, hinting at something else. 

Kenma knows what Kuroo does in his free time with girls now. It sickens him to think about. 

But it sickens him even more that Kuroo did that for his first time with Shiro.

"She's cute," Kuroo drawls. "Might date her, who knows."

Kuroo goes through a girlfriend every two weeks—that's the maximum amount of time Kenma has noticed Kuroo will hang onto a girl before breaking up with her. He can imagine why: he's trying to rid himself of Shiro's touch by sleeping with as many girls as possible. 

It's not the best plan, but Kenma won't call him out on it. He'll just follow the red thread of Kuroo's fate, see where it goes. 

"G'night, Kenma." Kuroo smiles, his hair falling over one of his eyes, and Kenma distantly thinks, black cat.

He wonders when he will be able to see the living thunderstorm of a boy return. 

"Night, Kuro."

—

"I want to bleach my hair," Kenma announces that night during dinner. He has a feeling his plan will work—especially because his mother started bleaching her own hair a couple months ago in an effort to make herself look younger. 

To his quiet delight, his mother nods. "Trying something new?"

"I just want to see if I would look more like you, okasan." 

Her mother smiles, all sharp teeth and predatory intent. "Oh? Kenma, you really know how to flatter me. Does this mean you'll get your hair cut soon?"

Kenma shrugs, standing up to put her dishes in the sink. "I guess so."

His mother ruffles his hair, her smile never leaving her face as she does. "Good boy, Kenma-chan."

Both of those nicknames, one after the other, makes Kenma feel like she's about to vomit. She's not a boy, and she's not a kid. 

"Could we bleach my hair tonight? I don't have any homework to do." Kenma knows she's taking a risk, saying this, but she has to make the change to her hair tonight.

How many people already have their suspicions about me? How many more will have them if I don't change something

"Of course," her mother says. Kenma narrows her eyes at that—her mom's giving in far too easily. "If you'll do this one little favor for me, Kenma-chan."

Fuck.

I miscalculated. Agreeing to cut my hair won't be enough. This isn't enough to please her. I messed up.

What Kenma likes most about video games is that, when you make a mistake that you don't want to haunt you for the rest of your playthrough, you can quit back to the menu and go back to your last save file. With the knowledge you now have, you can avoid making the same mistake, over and over again. 

You can't do that in real life. Kenma stares down the boss in front of her, trying to figure out the best strategy to approach it. Should she be aggressive and favor offense? Should she step back and favor defense? Should she run away from the situation entirely and favor evasion?

"One of your cousins is getting married in the summer," her mother says. "We can get your hair cut before then, and then we can go tuxedo shopping for you. You'll need a good tuxedo at some point, after all. Sounds good, Kenma-chan?"

Kenma doesn't want to do any of that. She has nothing against tuxedos, but they're so tight and itchy. She hasn't tried on any dresses since the red one in middle school, but that wasn't a particularly good experience either. If a tuxedo is too tight, and a dress is too revealing, then which one would she choose?

Well, if she had to be uncomfortable and feel wrong in her own skin, she'd pick the option that at least made her look pretty. She'd rather just stay in a hoodie and sweatpants, but neither of those constitute formal attire. 

"Okay." She forces the words through her teeth. Whatever it took to get her hair changed by tomorrow. She wishes that it wasn't so hard to feel right in her own skin. She can't imagine how hard it would be if it was the other way around—if she were a girl wanting to be a boy. 

Then again, if I were already a girl, I don't think I would want to change.

And girls that look like boys exist already. Like Himari. 

A sudden thought connects in Kenma's mind.

Is Himari like me?

But she can't think about it now, because her mom is ushering her to the upstairs bathroom, with hair bleach in hand, and her father is staring after them curiously. Her mother flicks her own blonde hair out of her face as she sits down, and Kenma vaguely wonders if she'll look like her mother after this is done.

She doesn't know how that would make her feel. She wants to look like a girl, but she's not sure if she wants to look like her mother. 

But then her mother is telling her to sit down in the bathtub, and she's cracking the can of hair bleach open, and then there's no other thoughts in her head besides, here goes nothing. 

—

So she's blonde now. 

Her mother is very pleased with the results, and even more pleased that she agreed to go clothing shopping with her in the summer. Ah, well, that's in four months from now, she's got plenty of time to push that out of her mind.

Her teammates, on the other hand…

"What's up with you—" Kuroo stops himself midsentence as he stares at her. He tilts his head to the side, observing her new hairstyle from every angle. "Your—" He vaguely waves his hands around, seemingly at a loss for words. "That," he finally finishes, pointing at her hair. 

"Tora said it stood out, so I dyed it," Kenma mutters, running a hand through her newly blonde hair. She likes it—likes it a lot more than she thought she would. It's pale gold, like the color of the sun in the early morning. And she doesn't match with Tora at all, which is a nice bonus. 

"Um, I think he meant for you to get it cut..." Kai says, and Kenma represses a shiver at the thought. 

"Can’t. I get nervous when my field of vision is too open..." Kenma mutters, looking down at the ground. Her teammates do not have anything to say to that. Do they think she's stupid for thinking that? Do they understand where she's coming from? Well, none of them say anything, so she can assume both are true at once. 

"Hmm, but y’know..." Kenma can hear Kai muttering from the sidelines. "In this group…it actually does make him fit in more."

"Yeah, there's a guy with a mohawk and all," Yaku says, nodding in agreement. 

Tora comes crashing into her, digging his knuckles into her scalp and whooping loudly. "You've really gone and done it, huh?!" He seems almost angry—she distantly thinks that she pulls off the blonde look better than him. 

"He's blonde!" one of their new first-years, Inuoka, shouts as he comes over to gawk at Kenma. 

"He’s definitely fitting in more than when he first joined the team," Kenma hears Yaku saying.

"Though that doesn’t have anything to do with his hair," Kenma also hears Kai saying.

I...I don't stand out.

I...fit in?

And when she takes a good look around and considers it—really considers it, she does realize that she's not the weirdest looking person there. Not by a long shot. Kuroo's and Inuoka's hair are done up in spikes, Tora's got a blonde mohawk, Shouhei is...Shouhei. 

She doesn't stand out at all. I fit in with the rest of them.

Kenma's heart begins to soar at the thought.

+ 1 HP.

"Still, having to keep dying the roots is gonna be a bit of work," Tora says, hands on his hips. He's still mad that I'm a better blonde than him. 

"Meh, that’s a pain," Kenma murmurs, fidgeting with a couple of strands of her brand new hair. "I’ll just let it grow out."

"Goin’ for the ‘pudding’ look, huh?" Tora asks, and Kenma briefly wonders for a second if Shouhei's nonsensical language has rubbed off on him. But, no—she realizes that he's talking about one of those pale yellow pudding cups with caramel on the top. Sounds tasty. I'd like one right now.

Kenma just shrugs, pulling out her PSP. Kuroo chuckles, patting her head and ruffling her hair. "Get off, idiot," she says, batting away Kuroo's hand with one of her own. 

Kuroo grins, his one eye not visible from where Kenma's standing. Black cat. "I like it a lot, Kenma."

Distantly, Kenma realizes that this is the tone of voice that Kuroo uses to compliment girls in the hallways. This is the tone of voice that Kuroo uses to flirt with girls in the hallways.

Insincerity. Bad luck.

- 1 HP.

—

She’s still not used to being a senpai to the first-years. When she was a ninth grader, in junior high, all of her underclassmen tended to avoid her. They all clustered around Kuroo, because he was their captain, and he was the cool, tall one. Next to him, Kenma looked positively plain by comparison. 

But now…

“Wow! Kozume-san!” their new middle blocker, Inuoka Sou, shouts as she sets a ball to Tora. Tora slams the ball over the net, earning their team the winning point for their practice match. “You’re so cool! How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Kenma mutters as they all break off to begin cleaning up the gym.

“That—that thing!” their new libero, Shibayama shouts as he waves his hands around. “That thing where you make us think you’re setting it to the right, but you actually set it to the left!”

“Oh.” Kenma just shrugs. “I just…look towards the right when I set to the left. That makes you think I’m setting it to the right. Gets you confused.”

“Whoa,” both first-years chorus as they stare—Inuoka stares down, Shibayama stares up—at him with stars in their eyes. 

“So cool,” Shibayama says before he stands up on tiptoe to unhook the net. “Kozume-senpai, you’re so cool. You’re like the mastermind of our team!”

They think I’m cool?

That’s…certainly a change of pace from the previous year. But she doesn’t particularly like how they’re calling her Kozume-san and Kozume-senpai. All it does is remind her of last year, and how she was forced to address her seniors with honorifics they had done nothing to earn.

I didn’t do anything to deserve their respect. All I did was…do what I’m supposed to do.

“Hey, Inuoka, Shibayama,” Kenma says, and her underclassmen immediately snap to attention. “Don’t…don’t call me Kozume-san or Kozume-senpai. Just Kenma is fine.”

Both of the boys blink, then cheerfully give her thumbs ups. 

“Okay, uh, Kenma!” Inuoka says, before running away to go haul the cart of volleyballs back into the storage closet. Shibayama nods, grins, and then runs after him.

“Popular with the kids, aren’t you?” a voice says from behind Kenma. 

Kenma doesn’t even have to turn around before she’s saying, “Not all of us can be as charming as you, Kuro.”

Kuroo chuckles, tilting his head to look down at her. “That’s a good thing, y’know? Means you’re finally starting to come out of your shell a bit.”

“Mm.” She twists a strand of her hair around her finger, staring blanky ahead. “They’re alright. I don’t…think I’ve done anything particularly impressive to deserve any of it, though.”

“You’re, like, the center of our team,” Kuroo says, ruffling her hair. “You’re our only setter. You’re a valuable commodity, y’know.”

Pause. Check inventory. 

Kuroo referred to me as valuable. 

But also as a commodity. 

Something special, but something that can be easily replaced as well.

“The heart of our team,” Kuroo finishes—evidently, Kuroo was talking while Kenma was not listening. “That’s what you are, Kenma.” 

Kenma just sighs, bending down to pick up a volleyball that’s rolling across the floor. “Thanks, Kuro.”

And Kuroo smiles—and for an instant, it’s blinding. Lightning. 

Is he coming back to me?

The boy like a living thunderstorm?

“No problem, Kenma.”

—

It's late April when Kenma gets this text from Keiji:

keiji: hello, kenma-san. bokuto-san and i, as well as bokuto-san's friend, and a friend of bokuto-san's friend, are going to be going to a shopping mall this saturday. there will be a promotion for a manga that the friend of bokuto-san's friend likes at the mall.

Kenma has just woken up—it hasn't even been two minutes since she woke up. She stares blearily at her phone screen, trying to make sense of the words that Keiji is sending her. Bokuto's friend? Bokuto's friend's friend?? Why is he sending her this so early in the morning??? It's—she glances at the time—eleven AM on a Saturday, far too early to think. 

me: who's bokuto's friend??

me: and bokuto's friend's friend???

keiji: bokuto-san's friend is ushijima-san. ushijima-san's friend is tendou-san. both are from miyagi prefecture, in sendai. 

keiji: i am also friends with tendou-san, but i believed it would be more amusing to refer to him as a friend of a friend of bokuto-san.

me: i forget that you can be funny sometimes

She can just see Keiji snickering on the other end of his phone. 

me: okay so you, bokuto, ushijima, and tendou are going to a mall next saturday

me: why are you telling me this?

keiji: i would like for you to come with us as well. 

That wakes Kenma up pretty well. She rolls over in her bed, sitting up straight and checking her calendar. Her mom would probably let him go—she doesn't have many tests or anything for the next week, and her mom would be pleased to see that she has more friends besides her volleyball teammates. 

me: why do you want me to come?

keiji: the manga promotion is for black rock shooter. tendou-san likes the manga, i am fond of the light novel, and i believe you enjoy playing the video game based on it. hence why i am inviting you. 

keiji: bokuto-san wanted to tag along, and then ushijima-san also wanted to tag along, so it really grew out of proportion.

Select Dialogue Option: 

> "Sure."

> "Nah."

Option one selected!

me: sure

keiji: you can invite kuroo-san as well, if you want to. bokuto-san would be happy to see him again. 

me: i'll check with him

Kenma exits out of her messaging app, dialing Kuroo's phone number. She holds it to her ear as she heads over to her computer to mark this new event on her calendar. 

"Uh—hello?"

"Kuro," Kenma says, tapping her nails against the mouse. "Akaashi's—"

"Ah—uh, fuck—"

"Kuroo?" another voice asks, and a dead weight drops in Kenma's stomach. 

Kuroo has a girl with him. 

Kuroo has a girl with him. 

"Are you seriously on the phone right now?" the girl asks, her voice teasing. "While we're like this?"

Kenma hears sheets rustling, and the sound of someone letting out a sharp, breathy gasp, and it confirms all of Kenma's suspicions immediately.

"Nevermind. Goodbye." And before Kuroo or the girl can say anything else, Kenma hangs up.

me: kuro can't come

me: it'll just be me

keiji: alright. i look forward to it then.

—

"Hey, uh, Kenma," Kuroo says the next day as soon as Kenma opens her front door. "About yesterday—"

"It's okay," Kenma says, brushing past him, not even looking at him. If she looks at him, it'll only make everything more awkward. "It's...it's fine."

"Okay," Kuroo says, nodding his head slowly. Kuroo's losing his touch. Kenma can see right through him. "Yeah—yeah, okay. Just—sorry that you caught me at a bad time. I was..."

Having sex with a girl? Kenma thinks scathingly as she shoves her hands into her pockets. Stop thinking. Stop thinking about that. Stop thinking about how your friend has been hooking up with girls he barely knows—he can do whatever he wants in his free time, and it's not your place to judge.

If you were born a girl, would you be one of those girls crying out Kuroo's name in his bed?

Pause. Check inventory. 

That's a really, really weird thought to have about your best friend.

Do you want to be one of those girls crying out Kuroo's name?

Kenma shakes her head, blonde strands swooshing in her face. Kuroo stares at her curiously, before brushing his own black hair out of his eyes. 

"You ever think about what it was like when we were kids?" Kuroo asks suddenly, as they come to a stop at the bus stop.

"Mm, yeah." Kenma stares down at the sidewalk, trying to remember her childhood. 

It feels like simultaneously a thousand years and no time at all since she first met Kuroo. Kuroo, who was shy and anxious and nervous. Kuroo, who had a voice like rain pattering against a window, a laugh like a clap of thunder, a smile like a flash of lightning. 

She wonders when the last time she saw that boy was. She wonders if she will ever see him again. 

"Some things stayed the same," Kenma mutters. "But a lot of things changed."

Including you, she doesn't say. Not including me, she doesn't say.

"Oh, yeah." Kuroo stretches his arms above his head, folding his hands behind his neck. "It was a lot simpler back then."

"Yeah," Kenma agrees. 

She tries not to think about how so many things have changed. Kuroo Tetsurou, messing around with girls, and Kozume Kenma, wanting to become a girl. 

—

Kenma gets to go to the mall on Saturday, on the condition that they go shopping for the tuxedo for his cousin's wedding before she hangs out with Keiji. After all, his mother reasoned, there's a very good formalwear store in that very mall. And his friends wouldn't be too angry if he was late, right? And better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later, right?

"Oh, so handsome!" her mother squeals, squishing her cheeks in between her palms. "You look so cute, all dressed up like this."

"Whatever," Kenma mutters under her breath. The fabric of the tuxedo is stiff, and she can't move her arms or legs very well. "Are we almost done?"

"You need to pick out your tie," her mother says, gesturing to all of the ties laid out on the racks in the store. Kenma is already shrugging off the tuxedo jacket, changing back into her hoodie. "Do that, and then we'll be done."

There's a lot of different colors laid out on the racks, and Kenma scrutinizes them. She tries to think about what Himari would say, if she were here.

Red's a nice color on you, Kenma.

"Let's go with red," Kenma mutters, picking up a red silken tie. Red, black, and white—she's just going with her school colors. Well—she does like her school colors, sue her. She picks out the first tie she sees and hands it to her mother. Her mother grins in satisfaction, leading her over to the cashier.

"See? That wasn't so bad," her mother says, unaware of the fact that the past hour had been akin to torture to Kenma. "Now, how about we—"

"Akaashi says he's here," Kenma says, pulling out her phone before her mother can rope her into more shopping. Keiji had said nothing of the sort, but her mother can barely work her own phone, so she won't ask questions about technology. "Can I go now?"

Her mother hmms, then takes the bag holding the tuxedo and tie and dress shoes—because she also insisted that Kenma get dress shoes for the wedding—and pushes it into his hands. "These are your responsibility now, Kenma."

Kenma groans internally. Now she'll have to lug around a heavy bag while she follows Keiji around the mall. Great. Just what she needed.

"Okay," Kenma says, pulling the bag up onto her shoulder. "I'll see you at five."

Her mother waves at her as she hurriedly exits the store, phone open and Keiji's phone number at the ready.

"Where are you?"

"Second floor, food court, because Bokuto-san wanted to get a snack first. Where are you?"

Kenma looks around at her surroundings. Where is she? She finds a sign that says "FLOOR ONE" and besides it is an elevator, so she does the logical thing and makes a beeline for the elevator. There's a very tired mother with a screaming toddler and a baby in a stroller in front of her, so she lets them go in first. 

She goes up to the second floor, looking around for any sign of the food court. She doesn't spot any sign of the food court, but she does spot—

"Kenma!" And then, from literally nowhere, Bokuto appears, waving his hands above his head. Had he gotten even bigger since the last time they met? Keiji appears behind Bokuto, giving a significantly less enthusiastic wave than his friend. Had he gotten even smaller since the last time they met? No, maybe Keiji has stayed the exact same, but he looks even smaller because he's next to an even bigger Bokuto. 

Boktuo runs towards Kenma, and before she knows it, she's being grabbed in an absolutely bone-crushing hug. "Kenma-san," Keiji says to her while she's fighting for her life to breathe. 

"How've you been, it's been ages!" Bokuto shouts excitedly, ruffling her hair. "I like the new hair too, it looks sick!" 

"You're matching with Bokuto-san," Keiji drones, and Bokuto nods excitedly. 

"No, I'm not," Kenma mutters. He can see two other people coming up behind them. Are they the friends Keiji mentioned earlier? As they get closer, Kenma can see—

They're also huge. One of them has flat, olive-green hair and an equally flat expression. He's just slightly taller than Bokuto, and he somehow manages to be even more intimidating than him, despite how he's slightly less muscular. The other one is about Keiji's height, and he's skinny and lanky. His hair is bright red, stuck up in spikes. He has the same perpetually high look that Shouhei has, and he grins down at Kenma as he walks towards her. 

"This is Tendou-san," Keiji says, waving his hand towards the red-haired boy. Tendou waves at her, leaning down to stare at her. "And this is Ushijima-san." Ushijima does not wave, but he does nod his head towards them. 

Kenma takes a moment to wonder why the fuck she surrounds herself with so many tall people. She feels like a dwarf walking among giants. 

"C'mon, 'Kaashi, introduce us properly," Tendou says, leering down at Kenma with a very creepy smile. He looks like—who was that weird American clown guy? What was his name? Pennywise? Or wait—this is the friend that reads manga, right? He also looks like that one weird pedophile clown—

"You look like Hisoka," Kenma says before she can stop herself, and she braces herself for Tendou to get mad at her. 

But Tendou only tips his head back and laughs, showing off every one of his teeth. “I like this one, ‘Kaashi!”

“This is Kozume Kenma,” Keiji says, and Kenma waves shyly to Tendou. “He does not read much, but he has played the video game inspired by Black Rock Shooter.”

“I read,” Kenma says, mildly offended.

Tendou crosses his arms, grinning and nodding his chin towards the rest of the mall. “Should we be off, then?”

Keiji claps his hands together. "Yes, let's go. I believe the store is in the right wing of the mall. Bokuto-san, will you be fine with Ushijima-san?"

"Yep!" Bokuto bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. "Me and Ushiwaka will be a-okay!" Ushijima nods, and then the two of them march off in the opposite direction. 

"How did you two meet?" Kenma asks as Keiji begins to lead them towards what she assumes is the bookstore. "I mean...we're in Tokyo, and you're all the way out in Miyagi..."

"I showed up in 'Kaashi's dreams as his sleep paralysis demon," Tendou says, a lazy smirk playing around his lips. "And I kept bothering him until he became friends with me."

"Tendou-san is the most annoyingly persistent person I know," Keiji says, and Tendou lets out a faux-offended gasp. "Besides Bokuto-san." 

"Saying that your beloved Bokuto's annoying? Damn, 'Kaashi!" Tendou laughs, slapping Keiji on the back. "That's cold, even for you!"

"We met through Bokuto-san and Ushijima-san," Keiji continues, as though Tendou never said anything at all. "Bokuto-san and Ushijima-san faced off at Nationals in their first year of high school. They became friends after that. Ushijima-san and Tendou-san are teammates, I believe. When I came to Fukuroudani, Bokuto-san introduced me to Ushijima-san, and Tendou-san by proxy."

"You don't gotta be so formal, 'Kaashi! Lighten up!" 

Tendou walks kind of funny, with his back hunched over and his hands in his pockets. Kenma has been told that her posture is horrible, but this guy is way worse. At the very least, Kenma feels less strange with Tendou around. It would be hard to look weirder than a guy with bright red, spiked up hair, a weird stare, a funny walk, and a voice that's louder than the Tokyo traffic. 

Compared to Tendou, a 'boy' with long, blonde hair is nothing. 

Although—both of them look kind of strange when compared with Keiji. Keiji has black, wavy hair, a perfectly normal habit of fiddling with his fingers, he stands upright—actually, no, Keiji also slumps over slightly when he walks. He seems perfectly normal up close, but he slumps when he walks, and he also has perpetual eyebags and a thousand-yard stare.

We all just look like a bunch of zombies, Kenma thinks to herself as they shuffle through the crowd in search of the bookstore. 

"Ahh, there she is," Tendou coos as they approach the entrance of the bookstore. There's a large cardboard cutout of the main character, a girl with black hair and a fiery blue eye. "She's like a daughter to me."

"She's five years younger than you," Keiji says. Kenma just nods in agreement. She doesn't care much for the storylines of stories—she's more interested in the part where she gets to shoot at enemies. 

They push their way through the bookstore, and a large table of merchandise awaits them. Tendou immediately makes a beeline for the manga piled high on the table, while Keiji moves to the back to search for the light novel. Kenma does not see any video games in this bookstore's vicinity, so she just sticks with Keiji—

Where is Keiji?

She whips her head around, back and forth, trying to search for Keiji amongst the sea of people. He's nearly six feet, he should be easy to pick out. But where is he?

It's then that Kenma begins cursing Keiji's average-looking appearance as she pushes through the throes of people, trying to find her friend. There's probably dozens of other five-foot-eleven-inch boys with wavy black hair in this damn bookstore. 

All the noise and movement of the bookstore make it feel like the walls are beginning to close in on her. She's grateful for her long hair, her shield from the outside world. But—wait—she's not going to have it for much longer. Her haircut wasn't today, it's scheduled for two weeks from now. She should be grateful that she still has it right now, in this moment, but it's going to be gone soon. 

The bag holding the tuxedo and tie meant for her begins to feel heavier and heavier in her hands. She's going to have to go home and hang this in her closet, and they're going to be staring at her every day when she opens her closet, same as the red dress her cousin gave her years ago. Constant reminders of what she's trying to run away from, what she's trying to run towards.

Running, running, running. So much running. Running by yourself, running your own race.

I hate running. 

I just want to lie down and close my eyes and have everything go quiet. 

"Hey—" Suddenly, there's someone leaning down, and Kenma opens her eyes to see red. "Kozume, you good?"

Tendou is crouching down, meeting her gaze with his own. His eyes are still wide, but they're widening out of concern this time. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Please," Kenma croaks out, and Tendou holds out his hand for her to take. She tightens her grip on her bag—when had she sunk down to the floor? When did she close her eyes? 

The flurry of movement and sound from the bookstore fades away as Tendou drags Kenma outside. They walk for a couple paces, Kenma never looking up from the floor. They stop, and Kenma still doesn't look up. She can't look up, she can't face the look of disgust she knows Tendou will give her. 

What does it matter if he's disgusted by you? You don't even know him. And you still care what he thinks?

You're so lame.

"What kinda bubble tea do ya want?" Tendou asks, flicking through his wallet. 

"Oh—me?" Kenma finally startles, glancing up. They're at a bubble tea shop, standing up at the counter. When did they get here?

Tendou rolls his eyes good-naturedly. He doesn't seem disgusted at all. "No, the other person with long blonde hair that’s also named Kozume Kenma. Yes, you, silly. What flavor do ya want?"

"Uh..." She scans the bubble tea menu, all of the characters blending together. "I don't know. Just...get whatever."

"Peach it is," Tendou says cheerfully, handing a wad of bills to the cashier. "And a matcha for 'Kaashi."

"Akaashi drinks matcha?" Kenma asks as Tendou steers her towards one of the tables. She doesn't know much about Keiji's eating and drinking habits—besides the fact that he likes eating onigiri two at a time for some reason. 

"Mhm!" Tendou's fingers fly across his phone, presumably texting Keiji and demanding his whereabouts. "How he does it, I don't know. It tastes like grass. My boyfriend says that matcha tastes good, but he also likes drinking coffee black, so I don't trust him."

"You have…?" 

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

Tendou smiles again, but this time, it looks vaguely more threatening. Like a predator's snarl, a warning. Instead of widening, his eyes narrow. "Yeah, I got a boyfriend. You cool with that?"

"Of course," Kenma says quickly. "I just...never heard anyone say it out loud before. Most people don't."

She thinks back to Kuroo, and how he looked like he was going to throw up at the mere thought of admitting that he liked boys. But here's Tendou, saying it to someone that he's barely met. 

"Yeah, well." Tendou stretches his arms above his head, cracking his back on the chair's back. "I'm not most people." He grins once more, and Kenma gets the image of a wild animal baring its teeth. Stay away, it seems to say. "I'm a monster, dontcha know?"

"It's not...natural, Kenma. There's...something's just wrong with me, fundamentally."

And it's then that Kenma's eyes flick from Tendou's face to Tendou's hands. 

To his nails.

To his dark red nails.

"I..." Kenma stumbles over his words, trying to figure out what exactly he should say. "I do that too." She points lamely at Tendou's hand. "Paint my nails, I mean. Keiji gave me his black nail polish."

Tendou laughs, holding his nails up to the light. "You like 'em? My friend Semi-Semi did them for me. He's pretty cool, I gotta introduce him to 'Kaashi. What do they have in common—ah, they're both setters! I mean, Semi's actually our pinch server, but he used to be a setter."

"I'm a setter too," Kenma says, and Tendou laughs again. She wonders how Tendou can be so expressive, all the time. He shows all his emotions on his face, something that her mother has told her she needs to get better at. But not too much, because then people will think that she's not normal. A freak.

"Yo, holy shit, what's your number?" Tendou asks, leaning forward. "Maybe y'all can start a group chat full of just setters."

He wants my number? I guess...he probably wouldn't care if I told him…

No, what am I thinking? I don't even know him.

- 1 HP.

"Are you not a setter at, uh..." It's then that Kenma realizes that Tendou hasn't told her where he and Ushijima go to school. 

"Shi-ra-to-ri-za-wa," Tendou says, sounding out each individual syllable of his school. "Academy. And not to toot my own horn, but..." Kenma wonders how Tendou's face doesn't hurt as he smiles once more. "We're pretty damn good. Where're you from?"

"Nekoma," Kenma says. "You probably wouldn't know us."

"You're right, I don't!" Tendou nods his head before jerking it towards the counter. "That's our stuff. Be right back."

Kenma nods, then stares at Tendou as he saunters up to the counter, drops some coins into the tip jar, and carries their bubble tea back to their table with one hand. He's very strange. The door to the boba shop opens and closes, and then Kenma hears, "Sorry, I got lost in the bookstore."

"It's okay," Kenma says as Keiji sits down next to her. "Tendou got us drinks."

"I need to pay him back, then," Keiji says, immediately taking out his wallet. Tendou tuts as he sits back down, pushing Keiji's hand back. 

"Nuh-uh, I'm your senpai, and I'm going to pay for you if I want," Tendou says, planting Keiji's matcha in front of him. "Now be an appreciative kouhai and drink your leaf juice."

Keiji sighs, but uncaps the lid of his matcha and begins drinking. He flicks through the book he probably bought while Kenma and Tendou were having a heart-to-heart about being freaks. Tendou tilts his head until it's parallel to the table, then stabs his straw through the plastic with one deft movement. Kenma just sticks the straw into the cup and sips. Peach tea isn't so bad.

"I apologize for leaving you in the bookstore," Keiji says suddenly, and Kenma looks up mid-sip. "It was not my intention. I invited you, and I left you behind."

"It's okay," Kenma says, shrugging. "There were a lot of people. Not like I was expecting you to hold my hand during the entire thing. I'm glad you got your book."

"Still. I'm sorry." Keiji snaps his book shut, closing his eyes and taking a long sip of his matcha. He looks exhausted, and not just because of the eyebags. If Kenma stares at Keiji's evergreen eyes long enough, she can see that Keiji's eye movements are more lethargic. Like it's taking everything in him to even keep himself awake.

Select Dialogue Option: 

> "Are you okay?"

>"You look awful."

Is Kenma close enough to Keiji that she can ask about his personal health? Is that a thing she can do? What if he gets offended and brushes her off? She can clearly see that something's wrong, but it's in Keiji's nature to deny it. 

So why even bother asking?

Action canceled.

"Ushiwaka says he wants lunch," Tendou says, standing up and nudging his chair back into place. "Oh, and he says that he and Bokuto picked up a surprise."

"What sort of surprise?" Keiji asks, a hint of suspicion making its way into his voice. 

Tendou grins, mischief written all across his face. "I think you'll like it lots, 'Kaashi."

—

The surprise is a goldfish. Keiji does not, in fact, like it lots.

"Bokuto-san," Keiji says, and it looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel or have a heart attack. "Why on earth did you think this was a good idea?"

"Taking care of the goldfish will help train us to be good parents in the future," Ushijima says, and it's the first time Kenma has heard him say anything out loud. His voice is flat, like everything else about him. 

"I named him Keisuke!" Bokuto says cheerfully. The goldfish is orange, swimming around in a plastic tank that has nothing but water inside of it. It's notably swimming very slowly. Kenma thinks she could swim faster than it. 

"We are going to take turns taking care of him," Ushijima says. He looks down at the goldfish swimming around in slow circles. "We will see if we can nurse him back to health. He looks rather sickly."

"He looked lonely!" Bokuto finishes, crouching down to stare at the goldfish happily swimming around in its small plastic carrier. "He was the last one in his tank, Akaashi, we had to give him a proper home!"

"What home?" Keiji demands, looking like he's about to start tearing his hair out. "Both of you live in boarding schools, neither of which allow pets. How were you even going to trade him off? You live in completely different cities—Tendou, stop laughing!"

"This is the best fuckin' purchase you've ever made, Ushiwaka," Tendou laughs, clapping a hand onto his friend's—boyfriend's—shoulder. "Oh my god. I can't—" Tendou doubles over in laughter, holding onto Ushijima's shirt for support. Ushijima doesn't make any moves to hold Tendou up, but he does seem to soften at Tendou's touch. 

Keiji shakes his head, dropping his head into his hands. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't believe you're my captain."

"Hey!" Bokuto protests, snatching the plastic tank from Ushijima's hands and showing it to Keiji. "I named him after you!"

"You can't keep a plant alive, how were you going to keep a fish alive?!"

"Akaashiiiii!" Bokuto whines, trailing after Keiji as the younger boy paces back and forth. "So mean, Akaashi!" 

Kenma just stares at the scene before her, wondering what kind of ridiculous, convoluted side quest she managed to trap herself in. 

"My sisters can take him," Tendou says as he manages to claw himself back up to a standing position. "They came here with my mom. I'm sure they'll be just thrilled."

"Ooh! Okay!" Bokuto excitedly holds the tank above his head. "You hear that, Keisuke? You're getting a home soon!"

"Bokuto-san, please do not drop the fish, you're going to kill him," Keiji mumbles, reaching up to steady his captain's grasp on the tank. "I would prefer for you to not have the blood of an innocent goldfish on your hands."

"'Kay, Akaashi!" Bokuto shouts, and despite his absolutely exhausted look, Keiji lets out a single, soft, laugh. 

Like snow. 

"For the record, I would have let you take the fish back with us," Tendou says, nudging Ushijima in the side with his elbow. "We could've named it our team's mascot."

"We already have a mascot, and it is an eagle. And I would not trust you with any living organism as of right now," Ushijima tells Tendou matter-of-factly. "You killed one of my succulents with your negligence." 

Bokuto laughs at Tendou's crestfallen expression. "Damn! He got you there!" 

I could take the fish home, Kenma thinks as they all begin walking towards the food court, with Bokuto shouting about how he's really hungry. There's space at home, and I don't have any siblings that could kill it.

What, are you joking? You can't even take care of yourself, how are you supposed to take care of a whole pet?

"Would you like me to carry your bag for you?" Ushijima asks, and Kenma startles—when had he walked up to her? When did Keiji and Bokuto and Tendou move on ahead of them?

"Uh," Kenma says eloquently, hiking the bag up her shoulder. "No, it's okay. Thanks."

"You have been carrying it around for what I presume is the entirety of our mall trip, about three hours." Ushijima's staring straight ahead as he speaks. "I would imagine that you are tired. Also—and forgive my words—you seem significantly weaker than me."

Well, that's certainly true. I guess if...if he wants to carry it for me, then I could...give it to him? And he won't mind?

"Okay. Thank you." And Kenma hands the bag over to Ushijima, who takes it easily. He nods, once, eyes never meeting Kenma's own. 

In some way, that comforts Kenma. Like Ushijima's not looking too hard at her, just content to take everything at face value. It's a nice change of pace after so long feeling like everyone's eyes were on her, staring into her soul, no matter what she did. 

If only Kuroo were kind of like that. Like—if I told him I was a girl, he'd just accept it without any questions.

If I told him there was nothing wrong with him, he'd believe it.

He'd value my words. 

Pause. Check inventory.

He does already value my words, but only when it comes to volleyball. Only when he’s sure that I know what I’m talking about.

I want Kuroo to value everything I have to say, no matter what it is. 

—

They go to a training camp in early May. Kenma thinks it's far too early to begin training so hard, but of course she goes.

But it's all the way in Miyagi. They're going there because they're going to be playing a team called Karasuno, the crows. Apparently Coach Nekomata, their current coach that's been pulled out of retirement, and Karasuno's former coach had a rivalry. That rivalry translated to their players, and eventually, Nekoma and Karasuno became full-fledged rivals.

"The sins of the father," Keiji says through Kenma's phone as she's packing for the camp. "Or, when there's a rivalry between two people, the people they associate with become rivals by proxy. Even though they had nothing to do with the original rivalry."

"Cool," Kenma hums. "Sucks that I'm trapped in the rivalry, though."

"Indeed. But I imagine that if we were to ever go up against each other, we would have a rivalry as well. Not because we are rivals, but because I am friends with Bokuto-san, and you are friends with Kuroo-san, and Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san were rivals first—"

"Stop talking, I can't concentrate," Kenma says as she throws the last of her clothes into her luggage and zips it shut. Finally. She's done, and now she can put all her attention towards playing video games. 

"I hope you have a good time at the training camp," Keiji says, completely ignoring her request. "Perhaps you'll meet someone who will become your eternal rival. A rivalry born out of admiration for the other, not a rivalry based on the past."

Kenma flops onto her bed, booting up her PS2. "Kinda doubt it. I don't...I'm not as big of a volleyball fanatic as you, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. Speaking of, how's Bokuto?"

"Ah, Bokuto-san has fallen out of the top three nationally ranked high school aces." Keiji sounds genuinely sad as he says this. "He is still in the top five, but he has been mildly depressed about this as of late."

"Oh. That sucks." Kenma doesn't have the brainpower to come up with more to say, because she's battling orcs in a dungeon. "Who's the top five aces, then?"

"The rankings fluctuate, but I believe the general ranking goes like this." Kenma can hear the rustling of paper. She wonders if Keiji has written down notes for volleyball, like he does for every other subject. She's seen his handwriting: precise, small, and neat. Her own is also small, but smudgy. It looks fine from a distance, but bad up close. 

"At number one is Kiryuu Wakatsu of Mujinazaka High, based in Kyushu. At number two is Sakusa Kiyoomi of Itachiyama Institute, based in Tokyo. At number three is Ushijima Wakatoshi of Shiratorizawa Academy, based in Miyagi—"

"Ushijima's nationally ranked?" Kenma asks in interest. That would explain why he and Bokuto seemed to get along like a house on fire. When they went out for lunch, all the two of them would talk about was volleyball. Why is everyone she meets obsessed with volleyball?

"Yes, he is. At number four is Bokuto Koutarou—" Are Kenma's ears fooling her, or does Keiji sound much more fond when he says Bokuto's name? "Of Fukuroudani Academy, based in Tokyo. And finally, at number five is Ojiro Aran of Inarizaki High, based in Hyogo. Those are the top five high school volleyball aces."

"You've really done your research, huh?" Kenma asks as she opens a treasure chest and gets a lot of gold. "That's just like you."

"Of course. Bokuto-san expects us to get to Nationals again this year. As vice-captain, I have to be prepared for everything."

"Hmm." Lately, Kuroo has been talking more and more about going to Nationals. Kenma thinks that it's probably his wishful thinking as captain, because their team is—

Well. Their team is actually pretty good this year. Having Coach Nekomata as their coach has made all the difference. And it doesn't hurt that Kenma actually likes her teammates more this year. The annoying third-years are gone, replaced by much nicer third-years: Yaku, Kai, Kuroo. Kenma can tolerate them. And the first-years are very nice and respectful: Inuoka, Shibyama, Teshiro. 

"We've gone to Nationals before, with Coach Nekomata's help. We can do it again."

Kenma doesn't have to do anything. She's just the setter. She's not the one making all the genius plays, only the one setting them up. People care less about the setters than they do the spikers. And it's easy to see why—spikers get all the glory, when they slam the ball over the net, pump their fist, and scream. Keiji once referred to Bokuto as a shining star, and Kenma can see why. 

Kuroo is not a hitter like Bokuto. He's a middle blocker, first and foremost. But he's still captain, and he still values Kenma's opinion when it comes to constructing strategies. Even though she’s not vice-captain, that’s Kai.

I wouldn’t want to be vice-captain, even if he gave me the role. 

"Hey, Keiji," she murmurs, shutting off her PSP. She'll have to remember to charge it in the morning. This is more important. "What else do you know about high school volleyball?"

"Oh, finally getting a hold of your senses?" Keiji teases. "About time."

"Just thought it'd be nice if Kuroo doesn't shout at me about not being prepared for practice matches," Kenma mutters, taking out her phone and opening her notes app. "Besides, we got a training camp with Karasuno tomorrow. You got anything on them?"

Keiji chuckles softly, and Kenma can hear more page flipping from the other end. "I'll see what I have."

—

As it turns out, Keiji does not have much on Karasuno. All that he has is that they used to be good, but now kind of suck, similar to Nekoma. Which is fine. Kenma just has no new information for Kuroo, which she already expected.

What she doesn't expect is getting lost in the middle of fucking nowhere in Miyagi. 

Hang tight, Kuroo texts her. I'm gonna try and find you. 

"Aw, dammit," Kenma mutters as she pulls out her PSP. She forgot to charge it, because she stayed up late talking to Keiji, and then overslept and was almost late to training camp. She puts the PSP back, pulling out her phone and playing a much lower quality mobile game. It's not as good as her PSP games, obviously, but it's a time-killer.

She hears a soft meow, and she glances down at her feet.

It’s a small calico cat, and Kenma is abruptly taken back to when she was seven years old. This one looks a little bit older, with a chunk of its ear torn out. But it still looks relatively healthy, and it glances up at her curiously as she plays on her phone.

I guess some things never change. 

"Hi!" she suddenly hears, and she jerks her head up at the announcement. "Whatcha doing?"

"Huh?" Kenma asks out loud. There is a boy running towards—towards her? He has fluffy, bright orange hair, and an enormous smile on his face. 

"Ummm...uh..." she mutters, glancing between her phone and the new, strange boy. "Being lost?"

"Really? So you're not from around here?" the tangerine boy asks, turning his head to glance at Kenma. Kenma quickly turns her head so that she doesn't have to see the tangerine boy stare at her. 

"No," Kenma says, returning to her shitty mobile game. 

The two of them stay in silence for a couple moments more, the only noises being Kenma's shitty mobile game. 

Why isn't he going away?

"Is that fun?" the tangerine boy asks suddenly, squatting down so that he can see Kenma's shitty mobile game better.

"Huh?" Kenma asks, thoroughly confused, glancing between her phone and the tangerine boy's face. He's very close. "Uhhh...not really." She presses a button on her phone, and the phone lets out an annoying deedle ding! "It's just a good way to waste time."

"Oh, really?" Tangerine Boy asks, still squatting down. His eyes move around, to Kenma's phone screen, to her feet, to her bag—

"You play volleyball?!" Tangerine Boy screams in delight, startling Kenma.

"Huh?!" she asks, thoroughly confused. Is Tangerine Boy psychic?

"Those shoes!" he shouts, pointing to her bag. She turns her head to see that it's become unzipped, and her volleyball shoes are peeking out. "They're volleyball sneakers, right?!"

"Oh, uh..." She really doesn't want to talk about volleyball with this total stranger. She doesn't really want to talk about anything with this total stranger, actually. "Yeah."

But for some reason, she can't stop herself. Something about this boy makes conversation flow so easily, like she doesn't even have to try. Tangerine Boy will just talk and talk, regardless if she talks back.

"I'm on a volleyball team too!" Tangerine Boy shouts. "I'm Hinata Shouyou!"

Kenma stares at Hinata, dumbfounded. He just...wow, he just skipped a lot of steps that you normally do when you first meet someone.

Wait, should I tell him my name as well?

"Kozume..." she mumbles, staring down at Hinata's feet. 

"Kozume?" Hinata asks, now jumping to his feet. "Is that your first name or your last name...?"

"Kozume Kenma..." Kenma mumbles, still staring down at Hinata's feet. He seems kind of small, smaller than her. That's surprising—he must be a libero, if he's a volleyball player.

"Oh, Kenma, huh?" Hinata asks, completely disregarding the use of her surname. In some odd way, it makes her heart lighter. She doesn't even have to say, "it's just Kenma" like she always does. She could probably call Hinata by his given name. 

+ 1 HP. 

"Yeah," she says.

"Me too! I'm a first year." Ah, that explains why he's so tiny. "You?"

"Second year."

And at her words, Shouyou immediately straightens up. "Whoops!! You're my senior! I'm sorry, sir!" 

And the light feeling in her chest begins to fade away. She remembers what it felt like, having to constantly address her seniors with respect, even when they had done nothing to deserve it. She's not deserving of such respect—she's known this boy for all of ten minutes. And—

"I'm sorry, sir!"

Oh, yeah. 

She still looks like a boy.

- 1 HP.

"It's okay. Forget about it," she says, staring straight ahead. "I don't care for that, um...senior-junior stuff in sports." She looks back up at Shouyou, who's staring at her with curious brown eyes. "It's all stiff and formal."

"Oh. Really...?" Shouyou asks, scratching the back of his head. They both descend into uncomfortable silence.

Did he want to call me Kenma-san? I haven't even done anything to deserve his respect. 

"So, um...do you like volleyball?" Shouyou asks, trying to salvage the situation. 

"Meh?" Kenma mumbles. She's really not good at conversation. "I'm just kinda playing it. I don't hate it...I just don't like getting tired and sweaty and stuff."

"Some friends of mine play on the team though," she continues, fidgeting with her fingers. She must've picked up some nervous habits from Keiji. “And I think they'd be kinda upset if I wasn't there."

"Huh," Shouyou says thoughtfully. "I think you'd have way more fun if you learned to like it." 

She's reminded of Kuroo, when he was younger. The boy standing in front of her shares the exact same expression as the boy back then: the same excited eyes, the same eager grin. She's reminded of when volleyball was more of a game to Kuroo, rather than a sport. 

"Eh," Kenma says. "I'm only going to be playing through high school anyway."

"What position do you play?" Shouyou asks, shifting around on his feet. He seems to just be overflowing with energy. It makes Kenma tired just looking at him.

"Setter," Kenma says. 

"Wow, really?!" Shouyou shouts, another wave of energy seeming to wash over him. "You're totally different from our setter! He's more like 'GRAAAH!' and 'HRRRGH' all the time!" This is accompanied by Shouyou curling his fingers into claws and waving them around, stomping all the while. 

"Oh," Kenma says simply. What is she supposed to say to that? What kind of setter does Shouyou have?

"By the way, I'm a middle blocker!" Shouyou says, now putting his arms above his head and waving them around, mimicking the actions of a middle blocker.

"Ah," Kenma says simply. She knows what she could say to that. 

Select Dialogue Option: 

> "That's cool."

>"Aren't you too short for that?"

"Yeah, it's really weird, isn't it?" Shouyou asks, canceling Kenma's actions before she can even choose one. "Middle blocker is supposed to be a position played by all the tall guys."

Kenma stares at him. 

She's reminded of an eight-year-old Kuroo Tetsurou, saying, "Ooh! That's spiking! That is super cool! But you can only do stuff like that if you're really tall."

She's reminded of far too many days and nights practicing with Kuroo, throwing the ball for him until he was able to barely spike it over a net. She's reminded of how much hard work and love Kuroo put into this sport, and now she feels kind of guilty that she didn't do the same.

Hinata Shouyou's energy is infectious. It makes her feel like she should try harder.

But you're not going to try harder, are you?

You're just gonna stay the same way that you've always been. 

- 1 HP.

"Yeah, it is, I guess..." Kenma says, pressing her fingers together. Keiji's habits have really started rubbing off on her. "...but it doesn't seem weird to me." 

After all, she's a player that's not really interested in volleyball. Somehow, she's managed to become the starting setter for Nekoma. Somehow, she's able to see things in the game that others don't. And somehow, she's managed to create plays that bring out the best of her teammates' abilities. 

So a short first-year somehow becoming a middle blocker doesn't sound too far-fetched.

"I get that kind of thing at tournaments a lot too," Kenma says, staring down at her hands. "People look at me like, 'Setters are supposed to be the smart guys. What's he doing there?'" Referring to herself as he feels wrong, but it's what's necessary. "I mean...I'm not a gifted athlete or anything." 

"Huh!" Shouyou says, bouncing from one foot to another. "So is your team any good?"

"I dunno." Kenma has to think about it. They've certainly improved from last year, but she doesn't really know if they're good. "I hear we used to be really good, then we got really bad." She sits up straighter, thinking over her next words carefully. 

"But the team we've got now..." She stares Shouyou straight in the eyes. She thinks about all the hard work her team has put into the sport—Kuroo, Kai, Yaku, Tora, Shouhei. "I think it's pretty good."

"Um..." Shouyou startles back, and that takes Kenma by surprise. She hadn't...meant to be intimidating, or anything. "W—what's the name...of your—"

"KENMA!" a familiar voice shouts, and Kenma turns her head to stare up at the familiar face. Her knight in shining black armor has come to rescue her. 

"Ah," Kenma says, moving to put her phone back in her pocket. "Kuro."

"Um!" Shouyou tries to say, probably wondering what school she goes to. 

"Gotta go," she tells Shouyou as she stands up. As she does, she notices the small words printed on the tangerine boy's shirt.

Karasuno High School. 

We're going to be playing them in the practice match.

"See ya later, Shouyou," she says as she waves goodbye. She runs to catch up with Kuroo, barely hearing Shouyou say, "later...?"

"Quit wandering off," Kuroo says, planting a hand on her head and ruffling her hair. 

"Sorry," Kenma says, nudging him in the side with her elbow. "Was trying to find you guys."

"Well, we got a practice match with Tsukinokizawa in like two hours," Kuroo says, slapping Kenma on the back. "And a match with Karasuno soon as well. We gotta pick up the pace."

"'Kay."

They walk in silence for a couple more paces, before Kuroo says:

“You’re not…friends with that guy, are you? I’ve never seen you talk to someone you’ve never met before…you barely talk to the people you know.”

“I guess that’s true…”

Pause. Check inventory.

That's true. I've never talked to anybody I hadn't met before. But talking with that Shouyou guy...it felt so easy.

What does this mean?

“I don’t get it either.”

—

They head to Tsukinokizawa for their practice match. Nekomata tells them that they'll play Tsukinokizawa, have an hour of rest, and then drive up to Karasuno High, where they'll stay for the night until they play Karasuno. 

As soon as they step out of the bus, on Tsukinozawa's grounds, Kenma hears the whispering.

"Whoa. They really came all the way from Tokyo?"

"Doesn't their setter seem kinda short?"

"Yeah. And he looks really skinny too."

"Maybe he's their backup."

"Are these guys supposed to be good? I've never heard of them before."

"What was their name again? 'Neko' something?" 

It's the last comment that stings the most, despite the other ones being all about her. She doesn't care about what they say about her—it's all the same things. She's too short, she's too skinny, she's too small. She's not meant to be an athlete, and she knows it. 

But her team? Her team's dedicated, hard-working, fully willing to commit to their school and return it to their former glory. Her team's good. She knows that much. 

"That short and skinny kid you're talking about," Kuroo begins to say as he steps forward, into the doorway. "Is no backup. To us..." He takes another step, and Kenma realizes just how tall and intimidating Kuroo sees to the average person. He's the biggest player on their team by far. 

"He is our spine, our brain, and our heart," Kuroo finishes, staring the opposing team down with a cocksure grin. Black cat, Kenma distantly thinks. "So don't make a habit of underestimating him, 'kay?"

Their opponents flinch away, quickly nodding and running to their side of the court. Kenma stares up at Kuroo, who's staring down at her as well. "What?" he asks, still smiling. "Can't I come to our best player's defense every once in a while?"

"I'm not the best player," Kenma mutters as she looks down at her shoes. "Not even by a long shot."

In the distance, the referee's whistle blows. Kuroo jerks his head towards the court, grabbing Kenma by the wrist. "Let's go. C'mon, brain."

—

They win the game against Tsukinozawa, easily, in only two sets. 

"They don't have a single stand-out star on offense or defense," Kenma overheard their opponents say at the end of the game. "So how the heck are they that good?!" 

Kenma glanced at them, and all of the kids who were talking about how she was short and skinny earlier nervously looked away. She'd be lying if she didn't feel some sense of satisfaction at the outcome of the game. 

That's what you get for talking shit like that. 

"Nice job out there," Kuroo says, holding out his palm for Kenma to high-five as they stand outside the gymnasium. Kenma slaps it with lackluster enthusiasm. "We really showed them, huh?"

"I guess we did." Kenma mutters, tugging her jacket back on, despite the heat. "C'mon, bus is waiting." 

She's roasting in the sun's heat, her own sweat, and now her jacket's thick fabric as well. But it makes her feel safer, like a layer of armor. She doesn't want to take it off. She follows Kuroo onto the bus, and then quickly scoots past him to get into their seat first.

"I call window seat," she says, and Kuroo just laughs. 

"It will be quite a while before we arrive at Karasuno, about an hour and a half," Nekomata says from the front of the bus. "When we get there, we will unpack and then we will rest. You did well out there, excellent job."

The rest of the bus replies, "Thank you, coach," and then they all return to their own devices. Kenma stares out the window, watching as the bus slowly backs out of the parking lot.

And then she feels a warm weight against her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she asks, turning her head to find Kuroo resting his head on her shoulder. She slaps at him with her hands. "Get off."

"Comfy," Kuroo says with mirth in his voice. "And 'm tired. Do this favor for your captain, yeah?"

They've done this before, mostly when they were younger. Kuroo fell asleep more easily—or maybe Kenma just had a higher tolerance for staying up late and getting up early. When they would stay up late into the night, watching volleyball games, Kuroo would drift off to sleep, slumping against Kenma's shoulder. At that point, Kenma would stay as still as she could, trying not to wake him. 

They haven't done this since middle school. After all, for all of last year, Kuroo sat next to Shiro on bus rides. 

"'Kay," Kenma mutters, and Kuroo smiles before shaking his hair over his face and closing his eyes. "Goodnight, Kuro."

She takes out her phone, but after a couple minutes, she finds that she doesn't really want to play the game. Her left hand is blocked by Kuroo's body, and while she could play with just her right hand, she doesn't particularly want to. And this shitty mobile game isn't really that fun. 

So she just puts her phone away, slumping against her seat. Kuroo is still sleeping, which surprises Kenma. He's a really light sleeper, most of the time. When they were younger and had sleepovers, whoever fell asleep first was slapped awake by the other. More often than not—in fact, she can only remember a single time when she was the one who fell asleep first—Kenma was the one slapping Kuroo. 

But right now, she doesn't really want to slap Kuroo awake. He looks nice like this. Peaceful. Somehow, all the jagged edges of his face have smoothed out in sleep, making him look younger.

So Kenma leans her head over to the left, resting her cheek on Kuroo's head. She closes her eyes. Kuroo's hair is soft, a suitable pillow for the remaining hour of this bus ride. 

She falls asleep very easily. 

—

"So!" Tora shouts later that night, once they've gotten to the dormitory at the Karasuno General Sports Park. "In two days, we're supposed to be having a showdown with that legendary Karasuno high school, right?"

The third-years are all out getting dinner for them, and so the only people in the dormitory are the second-years and the first-years. Kenma doesn't look up from her PSP as Tora shouts—finally, she can charge it properly. Shouhei is just staring blankly at Tora, snickering quietly as he does. The first-years are staring up at Tora, giving him their full attention.

"Now, the big question I have about our—supposedly—fate rivals is..." Tora pauses for dramatic effect. "...DO they or DON'T they have a hot chick for a manager?! I bet one Häagen-Dazs that they don't have one!"

"Aww!" Inuoka shouts, leaning forward. "I think it would be cool if they had one, so I'll bet one Häagen-Dazs that they do!"

"I'll bet one too!" Shibayama pipes up.

"WHAAA?!" Tora screeches, and Kenma prepares to throw her blanket over her head if things get too loud. "DON'T YOU TWO HAVE ANY BRAINS?! WE DON'T HAVE A HOT CHICK MANAGER, SO THEY SHOULDN'T EITHER!"

"Aww..." both Inuoka and Shibayama mutter. Kenma snorts. She doesn't have any idea why they trust Tora's words, of all people. No offense to Tora.

"THE ONLY WAY I'LL FORGIVE THEM IS IF THEY DO IS IF SHE'S AS HAIRY AND UGLY AS A GORILLA!" Tora declares, slamming his fists onto his thighs. "BUT ON THE TEENY-TINY OFF CHANCE THAT THEY HAVE A SUPER-HOT, GORGEOUS SUPERMODEL OF A MANAGER, I WON'T FORGIVE THEM FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!!"

Kenma peeks her head above her blankets to find that Tora is crying actual tears over this matter. Shouhei is not even trying to hide his giggles at this point. 

At this point, Tora leaps up and runs towards the window. He opens it, screaming out the words, "YOU'D BETTER BE READY, KARASUNO!! I'LL MAKE YOU PAY!!"

"SHUT UP, YAMAMOTO!!" Kuroo shouts as he comes back into the room. Yaku dumps packaged yakisoba buns onto the floor, and the first-years excitedly dive for them. Kenma crawls out of her blankets, sitting cross-legged on her mattress and reaching for a yakisoba. Her damn PSP is still charging, so she takes her phone with her. 

"Hey, Kenma!" Tora shouts, turning around excitedly. "What do you think?" 

Kenma pauses. Tora has known Kenma is a girl for a while now, but he doesn't know about Kenma's romantic preferences. To be honest, Kenma herself doesn't really know. If she likes girls, like she's expected to, she would look like a normal boy who likes girls to everyone else. She'd be normal. She'd be fine. But she knows she's a girl, and so she would know that she's...what's the girl version of gay? She'd be whatever that is. If she likes boys, she would look like a boy who likes boys, and therefore, she'd look gay. But if she knows she's a girl, then she'd just be...normal.

This is all very confusing, and she'd rather not think about it for too long. 

"Meh?" Kenma mutters, looking up from her phone. "Don't really care either way."

"Heh!" Tora huffs triumphantly. "I figured you'd say that!" 

"Still..." Kenma looks up. "I'm kinda looking forward to it. Our game with Karasuno."

From the brief interaction she had with Hinata Shouyou, she can tell that Karasuno was sure to be interesting—if they were all like him. Something about him intrigues Kenma, the way he seems to be filled with an incomparable love for the sport. She's played with Kuroo, and other volleyball freaks, but she's never played against  someone like that.  

And at that, all his teammates let out a scream of shock. 

"WHAT?!" Tora's back to screaming his lungs off. "MR. NO-ENTHUSIASM-FOR-ANYTHING HIMSELF IS LOOKING FORWARD TO A GAME?!"

Kenma can see the microflinches Tora does as he uses he and him for her. She's grateful that he doesn't seem to particularly like calling her a boy. Still, they have to keep this up for appearances.

"Yamamoto!" Kuroo shouts, throwing his pair of dirty socks at Tora. "If you have this much energy left, do you want me to give you extra laps?"

"Urk!" Tora immediately sits down, letting Kuroo's black socks hit him square in the face. "My bad!"

—

Two days later, at 8:50 AM on the dot, they begin lining up for the fabled practice match with Karasuno. Kenma stares at all the other players, taking into account their heights, their builds, and their faces. There's a guy with a shaved head, who could be Tora's doppelganger with how loud he's shouting. There's a short guy with spiky black hair, with a tuft of blonde hair hanging in front of his face. There's a guy with black hair and bright blue eyes, with crossed arms and a scowl on his face. There's—

A boy with bright orange hair, staring up at the gymnasium in awe.

Hinata Shouyou.

"LINE UP!" Karasuno's captain shouts, and Kuroo does the same. All the Nekoma members shuffle around to stand in a neat line. Kenma stands at the very end of the line, hands clasped loosely behind her back.

"BWAH?!" Shouyou shouts, moving his head wildly as he stares at Kenma. All of their other team members turn, in sync, to stare at him. 

"LINE UP FOR THE GREETING!" Karasuno's captain shouts again.

"NICE TO MEET YOU!" the rest of Karasuno's team screams.

"THANK YOU FOR HAVING US!" Nekoma's team screams back. As soon as they're done, the players break rank, heading into the gymnasium.

"Kenma!" Shouyou shouts, running towards her. 

"Ah," Kenma says, slowing down so Shouyou can catch up to her. 

"Y—you're on the Nekoma team?!" Shouyou shouts.

"Hm?" Kenma mumbles. "Yeah."

"Aww!" Shouyou looks genuinely distraught at this, and Kenma almost feels bad. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You..." Kenma stares down at her feet as she tries to think of a good response. Why hadn't she told him the moment she noticed he was from Karasuno? She had the opportunity to, when Shouyou asked if she played volleyball. "Didn't ask."

Wow. Amazing conversational skills. 

"But when you left, you said 'see you later', right?" Shouyou demands, leaning in closer. "You knew where I'm from!"

"Yeah. Your shirt had 'Karasuno High School' written on it."

Shouyou makes a strange "Ulg!" noise as Kenma points to his shirt. 

"Hey, hey, hey!!" Tora shouts from behind Kenma, reminding her very much of Bokuto. "What business you got with our setter, eh?"

Something in Kenma's chest goes soft at the fact that Tora's here to beat up Shouyou, in the incredibly unlikely scenario that he fought with her. Maybe she's getting better and better at this friendship thing.

"Hey," she says as Tora puts on the most threatening glare he can muster.

"Um!" Shouyou squeaks, taking a couple steps back. "I—I'm sorry—"

"Him?" another voice asks, coming up from behind Shouyou. It's Tora's doppelgänger, the guy with a completely shaved head. "What about you, huh? What business do ya got with our rookie?"

"Tanaka-san?!" Shouyou yelps as Tanaka steps forward. Kenma steps back as well. She'll let her friend duke it out with his doppelgänger.

"Wha'choo lookin' at, punk?" Tora demands, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. 

Tanaka huffs and does the same thing. "You, city slicker, you tryin' ta start somethin', huh?" 

City slicker? Kenma wonders as she watches the two of them make ridiculous faces at each other. From next to her, Shouyou whips his head back and forth. 

"The game is what's going to be starting, Tanaka," a silver-haired boy says as he steps forward. "We're here to play them, not fight them. And stop calling people 'city slicker'. It's lame."

"Yamamoto, quit picking fights with everybody," Yaku says, stepping forward as well. "It makes you look dumb." He looks towards the Karasuno player, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry about that. Some of our guys can do embarrassing things."

"No, no, I apologize," the silver-haired Karasuno player says, making some placating motions with his hands. "That was an embarrassing thing for one of ours to do too."

Both Tanaka's and Tora's faces go slack as they meekly lower their heads in shame.

Kenma's wondering what on earth she got herself into by associating with Shouyou, but a sudden "HWAAA?!" from Tora distracts her. She looks up, and finds—

Karasuno does have a lady manager after all. And she's drop-dead gorgeous. Kenma can't stop herself from staring at her. She's got bluey-black hair, dark eyes, and a mole at the corner of her chin. Her body is perfectly proportioned, and Kenma's struck with a sudden sense of longing.

I wouldn't mind looking like that.

And then she looks over at Tora, who is also staring at Karasuno's lady manager for a completely different reason. The manager bows her head towards him, and he looks vaguely like he's been struck by Cupid's arrow, straight through the heart.

"G—g—girl!" Tora manages to get out. "Manager! HOT!! AUGHHHHH!!"

Somewhere behind her, Kenma can hear Inuoka and Shibayama cheering: "Woot! They have a pretty girl for a manager! We get Häagen-Dazs!" 

"YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!!" Tora shouts as he turns tail and zooms past Inuoka and Shibayama, paying no heed to their cries of, "Ah! Taketora-san, don't run away!" 

Tanaka is just blankly staring at the scene in front of him, which Kenma can fully relate to.

"Hey." One of the Karasuno players, the one with black hair and blue eyes, walks up to Shouyou. Kenma takes that as her cue to start walking away, but slowly enough that she can still eavesdrop on the conversation. "How come you know one of the Nekoma players?"

"I ran into him when I was out jogging the other day," Shouyou replies. "He said he's their setter."

"Setter?" the other boy asks, and Kenma can't see his face, but he can tell by Shouyou's startled, "Gah!" that he must be making one of those scary faces. Interesting. 

He walks into the gymnasium, over to where Kuroo and Karasuno's captain are shaking hands. The rest of their teams file in, shouting and running around.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kuroo's saying, holding his hand out to Karasuno's captain. "Here's to a good game."

"Same here," Karasuno's captain says, grasping Kuroo's hand tightly in his. "Let's have a fun game today."

They stay in that hand-holding position for entirely too long. From where Kenma's standing, it looks like they're trying to break the other's wrist. Finally, they separate, turning to their respective teams.

"LET'S GO!" both of the captains shout, and their teams answer back with a roar.

Nekoma vs Karasuno, Kenma thinks as they all huddle up. The long-awaited grudge match is about to begin.

"Remember," Kuroo says, putting his fist forward. All of the other members put theirs forward as well, forming a circle. Kenma doesn't, so Tora forcibly takes her hand and puts it in the circle. "We are blood. Never stop flowing. Keep moving. Keep bringing in the oxygen. So that our 'brain'—" And here, everyone glances towards Kenma. "Can operate at his best."

And then Kuroo raises his fist and screams, "LET'S GO!" and everybody else—barring Kenma—screams, "YEAH!"

"Kuro, can't we please stop with that speech thingy?" Kenma asks, poking at Kuroo's arm. "It's embarrassing."

"Why, what's wrong with it?" Tora asks, nudging Kenma with his elbow. "It's all about establishing the mood, bro!"

"It's a great way to get us pumped and ready to play," Kai says, and that does a very effective job at shutting down the conversation entirely. 

"See?" Kuroo asks, turning towards Kenma with a smug smile. Black cat. "C'mon, let's go."

And so the game begins, but not before the members of both teams trash-talk each other from across the net. Kenma watches Shouyou exchange some words with Inuoka before she steps forward to talk to him.

"Y'know," she says, shaking her hair out of her face. "When you asked about our team, I said I thought we were good..."

Shouyou tilts his head, giving her a questioning expression. "Yeah." 

"But that's not because I'm on it," Kenma says, glancing towards her teammates. "It's because we're together."

Connect. That's our school's motto. That's what we've built our entire team on. 

We've got a solid foundation, with players that know each others' moves inside and out.

What about you?

Shouyou gives her a blank look, before the referee blows the whistle, and Kenma goes to the back to serve. She tosses the ball high, serving the ball right to the court's corner. It's not very strong, but it does its job well.

She can see Shouyou and the other members of Karasuno gawking at her, and she smiles internally. 

Let's get this game started.

—

Several minutes later, she's realized that she's maybe—just slightly—underestimated Karasuno. Shouyou and that black-haired setter have this—weird freaky quick attack. Shouyou can hit the balls that the setter gives to him with his eyes closed.

She's never seen that before.

It intrigues her.

"Wow," she says in the brief moment before Shouyou passes her. "That was surprising." All Shouyou does is offer her a laugh before running away.

She stands there. Takes everything in. Observes.

Strategizes.

There's something interesting about Karasuno's setter. He's exceptionally talented, unlike anything Kenma's ever seen. Certainly different from herself, because she's not a talented athlete at all. But his overwhelming talent seems to be the only thing holding Karasuno together. 

She watches the other players as well. The tall, blonde guy with the glasses is a good middle blocker, but only because of his height. The captain with solid digs and receives. The two hitters that take turns scoring points. The libero that can do freaking somersaults to keep the ball in the air. 

She watches, and she observes, and she takes dozens of mental notes in her mind.

And then Nekomata calls a time-out. "That one's bad news," he says immediately.

"Coach?" Tora asks in confusion.

"That one..." Nekomata nods his head towards Karasuno's numbers nine and ten. Who is he talking about? The hitter or the setter? "...is a monster."

"Do you mean number ten?" Yaku asks, probably thinking about the way Shouyou hit the ball with his eyes closed. 

"Number ten flies around like a super-human, yes," Nekomata says. "But I'm talking about their setter." 

Everyone immediately turns around to glance at Karasuno's setter. Nekomata continues on. "In that freakishly fast quick of theirs, he zings that ball directly under his hitter's palm right at the top of his swing. That's some precision control." 

"However." Nekomata claps his hand together. "That isn't a set he can use with just any hitter. The hitter must have absolute trust that the ball will be where it should be in order to make what is essentially a blind jump and swing."

Nekomata shakes his head. "That one's a prodigy, no two ways about it. Not much we can do about that—nope, not much at all." It's times when Nekomata gets like this that Kenma wonders if he was better off retired. "But! Just because they have a prodigy or two on their team...doesn't mean they're guaranteed to win."

And then he glances towards Kenma. Kenma hesitantly steps forward, hands clasped together.

"If Shouyou is the core of their offense..." she says, her voice low. She hopes that her observations are all accurate. Her team is depending on them. "Then...all we need to do is stop him.

"Shouyou?" Tora asks, while Shouhei stares at him. "Who's Shouyou?"

"Their zippy little number ten," Kuroo says, jerking his head in the tangerine boy's direction. 

"Oh!" 

"If there's no telling where he's gonna go and we can't catch him," Kenma continues. "Then we need to narrow down the area in which he can move." She looks around at her teammates' faces, watching them to see if they understand the words she's saying. "After that, it's just a matter of chasing him down. Inuoka."

"YESSIR!!" Inuoka shouts immediately, snapping to attention.

"You're the quickest guy we have, right?" Kenma asks, the question rhetorical.

"YESSIR!" Inuoka shouts again. "THANKYA, SIR!!"

"I think anybody who sees that super-fast set of theirs for the first time is gonna be surprised. I was." Kenma glances towards Shouyou again, watching him laugh with his teammates. "But..."

She pauses. This is so much talking. 

"There are game levels that look impossible the first time you see them too. But the more you play through them, the more you practice...the more you get used to them."

Inuoka stares up at her, and Kenma can see the gears turning in his brain. Nekomata nods in satisfaction.

"For example, their number nine and number ten...are like a monster and his club." Nekomata nods at all of them as he turns away. "If you want to beat the monster...first, you take away his club."

Kenma sneaks a look at Kuroo, who is grinning with pride. She gives out her instructions to the rest of her teammates, telling them to shift over to one side, then getting Inuoka to chase Shouyou down, one-on-one. Everyone of them tells her what a good plan she's made as they run back onto the court, and she sighs with relief. She hasn't had to think that hard about a play in a while. 

Hinata Shouyou. You are so interesting. 

So, so interesting.

They continue playing. Inuoka fails to block Shouyou's spike, but only barely. Then he taunts Shouyou from across the net, shouting, "I'm not too bad at a quick either, y'know!!" and that's Kenma's cue to put the next step of her plan into motion. 

"And I'm not a bad blocker either, y'know!!" Shouyou shouts as the ball comes directly to Kenma's hands. 

Good. Make him think that we're gonna do a quick attack similar to theirs. He's going to put his hands up, expecting a spike, when actually…

When the ball touches her hands, she gently pushes it over the net. She can see the confusion dancing in Shouyou's eyes as he mutters, "Huh?" 

And then their libero's diving for the ball, fast, but not fast enough to save it in time. He screams in frustration before stomping away.

A setter dump. Kenma doesn’t normally do these, but for Shouyou, she had a feeling it would be necessary to fool him. 

After a few more plays—during which, Karasuno’s setter goes up to spike the ball and land a line shot—Kenma notices their middle blocker watching him. The tall, blonde guy with glasses. Not bottle blonde like Kenma, naturally blonde.

She tries not to think too much about a former captain with pale hair, wiry glasses, and an intense stare. She needs to pay attention to how this boy is staring at her, and how she can try to evade him. 

He caught onto the dink earlier. He's the clever type. He watches. Analyzes. He's the total opposite of Shouyou. 

But she pushes those thoughts to the back of her mind as the ball comes back to their side. Tora passes the ball to her, and now she needs to focus on who she needs to set the ball to. She doesn't move an inch as the ball glides towards her. 

Who should I put it up for this time? 

Behind her, Kai dashes to the right. She glances towards him, making it very obvious that she's glancing towards him. She looks back towards the middle blocker, and she can see his thoughts plain as day: he's going right.

She puts her hands up. She watches as the blonde boy runs towards the right to block the spike he's expecting to come. 

"Nope," she says out loud, directing her words to the boy. "Left." 

The boy doubles back towards the left, but it's too late. Kuroo has already slammed it over the net, with Karasuno's number five being barely able to receive it. 

Thought so. He was watching. Recovers fast too.

The game continues on. All of her teammates run around her, working overtime to make sure she barely has to move. Kuroo's words ring in her head.

Remember. We are blood. Never stop flowing. Keep moving. Keep bringing in the oxygen...so that our "brain" can operate at his best.

She really does owe everything to her team. 

Kenma sets the ball perfectly, and Kuroo slams it down to the ground. With that, they've finally managed to catch up to Karasuno, eighteen to eighteen. Their team has played this level enough times to figure out the tricks, start chipping away more and more at the bosses' health. 

In front of her, Inuoka puts his hands up, finally stopping Shouyou from spiking the ball. He lets out a triumphant cheer as the referee blows his whistle. 

Twenty five to twenty two. The first set is theirs.

Show me what other tricks you have up your sleeve, Hinata Shouyou. 

"Kageyama," Shouyou says, stepping towards their setter. That must be his name. "Give it to me again."

So, so interesting. 

Inuoka is on fire, stopping yet another one of Shouyou's attempted spikes. From the sidelines, he hears Karasuno's advisor saying something about how "It's a human wall that breaks spirits."

And despite all that—

Shouyou's smiling.

The sight of it sends a shiver down Kenma's spine, and there's a strange fluttery feeling in her chest. 

Hinata Shouyou. Just who are you?

Shouyou calls to Kageyama. "Put the ball up for me one more time!" And Kageyama does. But this time—

This time, Shouyou opens his eyes. This time, Shouyou opens his eyes and misses the ball.

Oh.

Oh, he's getting ahead of himself. He's unsure. He doesn't know what to do. 

Slowly, but surely, we're chipping away at his health.

Kenma allows herself to smile as Karasuno calls their second and final time-out.

Hinata Shouyou, you are the most interesting puzzle I've found so far. 

I want...I want to take you apart and then put you back together, piece by piece.

Karasuno returns. They keep on playing. And just like Nekoma's been studying Karasuno, Karasuno goes on to study Nekoma. And eventually—

Shouyou gets around the block and slams the ball down onto the floor. It's a powerful shot, and it's a damn clever one too, but it goes out of bounds. 

Fascinating.

"Whoa." Inuoka breathes out a gasp before turning to stare at Shouyou through the net. "Shouyou, that was awesome!!"

"Again," Shouyou says, wiping the sweat from his brow. He's very nearly out of breath, but the sight of it spurs Kenma on even more.

Just a bit more. Just a little bit more.

We're so close.

"Kenma, cover!!" Inuoka shouts as he manages to barely save the ball.

"Tora," Kenma says as she receives it, sending it over to her friend.

"BRING IT!!" Tora screams, running over to spike the ball. Shouyou, Tanaka, and their captain sprint over to block it. They successfully do, and Tora screams in irritation as it falls down to the floor. "DAMMIT!"

Luckily, Kai swoops in at the very last second to bump it, keeping it in play. 

"KAI-SAN, GREAT SAVE!" Inuoka shouts.

"Nice," is all Kenma has to say. 

"KENMA!" Tora shouts as the ball comes drifting towards her again. "GIVE IT TO ME AGAIN!!"

"'Kay," Kenma mutters as she bumps the ball, sending it over to Tora. She's very glad that she's not a hitter—she would probably be dead if she had to do all the running around that Tora and everybody else did. 

"Even if everybody says I've only got average strength...I..." Tora huffs as he jumps up, his hand meeting the ball. "AM STILL NEKOMA'S ACE!! GRAAH!!"

The ball grazes against Tanaka's arm, thumping against the floor on Karasuno's side of the court. Tora screams in triumph, pumping his fist into the air. 

They change rotations. Kenma goes up to serve. 

She sends it towards Shouyou. And she smiles to herself as Shouyou makes some vague gestures with his hands. He doesn't know whether to do an underhand dig or an overhand pass. 

And so he ends up receiving it with his face.

He looks like a dork, Kenma thinks as she watches Shouyou fly back. Tanaka ends up getting the ball, spiking it over the net. They're seventeen to fourteen, and they're still in the lead.

Not a big enough cushion, Kenma thinks as the ball comes flying over to her again. She glances over at Kai, and then Inuoka, and then nods her head imperceptibly. 

Kai comes running up on her left, hand outstretched to spike the ball. Behind her, Inuoka runs to her right. Pipe attack. 

Instead of sending the ball over to Kai, she sends it behind her, to Inuoka. Inuoka furrows his brows in concentration as his hand makes contact with the ball, sending it—

Straight into Shouyou's hand. 

He saw that. 

Kenma follows Shouyou as he staggers back, shouting. His teammates are all behind him, shouting about how he can't be hogging all the glory for himself.

They change rotations again. Now Kuroo is up at the front, with Inuoka at the back. Kuroo hasn't had an opportunity to get up to the front all game, but now…

Kenma smirks to herself. I'd like to see how Shouyou tries to deal with Kuroo.

"Inuoka has a good seven inches on you, and you still manage to give him a run for his money," Kuroo purrs, staring Shouyou down. "Not bad, shorty."

Kageyama pulls Shouyou back, whispering something into his ear. While they do whatever that is, Kuroo leisurely puts his hands up, regarding them with a cool eye. 

Evidently, Kuroo doesn't regard them well enough, because Shouyou and Kageyama manage to get another one of their freak quick attacks past him. All he can do is blink at them. Kenma feels like slapping him across the neck. Aren't you supposed to be our captain?

She hates to think about it, but—

Shiro would have seen that coming.

"Man, they're amazing," Kuroo says, glancing sideways at them. "I guess that's what people mean when they call someone 'superhuman.'"

He looks back at Kenma, as if gauging her reaction. She gives him her very best disappointed look. "Let's go get that ball back," he declares, and then they're up and moving again.

Well, Kuroo doesn't move.

Everyone else does. Kuroo, Kai and Tora swarm the net, taking all of Karasuno's blockers by surprise. She can see them scanning the court, trying to predict which of the three will be the one to spike the ball over. 

At the very last second, Kenma pivots, locking eyes with Shouhei. He tilts his head to the side, as if asking a silent question. Me?

Kenma nods, imperceptibly. You.

She sends the ball towards the back, and Shouhei is already jumping to meet the ball. All three of the blockers take the bait, allowing Shouhei to send the ball straight to the middle of the back row. It hits Shouyou square in the face, technically keeping the ball in play. Kenma's own face aches in sympathy as Shouyou goes splat on the court, falling on his back. 

"Free ball!" someone shouts, and Yaku receives the ball. He sends it over to Kenma, and everyone begins swarming her once again. She moves on instinct, sending it up for Kuroo to spike. A simple quick attack, one they've done a hundred times before. Kuroo falls down to the ground, nodding at Kenma with pride. 

The ball flies over to Karasuno's side, bouncing off Tanaka, then their libero, then over to their ace. Their ace spikes it over the net with little resistance, only for Yaku to receive the ball. It flies back to Kenma—maybe she should consider becoming a benchwarmer, this is exhausting—and she puts it up again. 

She makes eye contact with Kuroo, and she realizes what her captain wants her to do.

Back when they were in middle school, when Kuroo was a third-year and Kenma was a second year—much like they are right now—Kuroo insisted on learning how to do a delayed spike. The way Kuroo described it was like this:

"See, you run up and then fake like you're going to jump, but instead you stop. Then all the blockers bite on the fake, and you jump up afterwards and spike!"

Kenma had responded with this:

"Huh? That doesn't make much sense."

But Kuroo had insisted. He always did have a way with words.

"If we try them and practice them a lot...then one day we'll be able to do them when nobody else can! We might not be able to pull them off now, but if we keep practicing all kinds of attacks...then by the time we reach high school, the two of us will have a whole arsenal of ultimate attacks!"

This is it. Their ultimate attack. Kuroo fakes his jump, watches the blockers' reactions, and then jumps up to perfectly spike the ball over the net.

Kuroo raises his hands in triumph, and there's a flicker of pride in Kenma's chest as she sticks out her hand for Kuroo to high-five. Her friend grins as he slaps his palm against hers. 

I guess he was right after all. 

They hit the twenty-point mark first. Kenma can feel herself beginning to wind down, which is fine. 

This game is practically theirs. Karasuno's morale should be reduced to mere bits by now. 

But that doesn't happen. Instead of Karasuno coming to a screeching halt, their coach begins to scream—

"GO AT THEM WITH ALL THE SPEED AND POWER YOU'VE GOT! USE EVERY WEAPON YOU HAVE AND ATTACK!!!"

Oh no.

They call a time-out. Nekomata tells them to keep calm and stay connected. Karasuno gains one point. Nekoma gains one point. Back and forth, back and forth.

Karasuno gains one point. One more point for Karasuno, and they'll be at a tie. 

I think enough time has passed that I can do this again…

Her skills have recharged once more. The ball sails towards her, and Inuoka follows it, hoping to spike it over the net. Sorry, Inuoka. She prods the ball over the net with a bink! as the ball grazes the net's edge and lands down on the ground. 

"IT'S NEKOMA'S MATCH POINT!" somebody screams. "ONE MORE AND THEY WIN!"

One more and we win.

Karasuno's captain spikes the ball over the net, grazing Kai's fingers. Twenty four to twenty three. Karasuno's ace rotates to the front. He slams the ball over the net, and it falls through Tora's fingers. Yaku digs it, sending it all the way back to Karasuno's side by mistake. 

"Crap!" Yaku shouts, grinding his teeth together. "Sorry, guys!"

"ASAHI!" Karasuno's captain shouts. "SMASH IT RIGHT BACK OVER!"

Karasuno's ace—Asahi—smashes the ball right back over. Shouhei barely manages to dig it, but it goes straight back over to Karasuno. Another free ball. 

And Kenma can see, clear as day, that Shouyou and Kageyama are about to do their freak quick attack again. It flies past Inuoka's hands, and Kenma can't see it, but she just has to hope that Yaku keeps the ball in play. 

"DID WE DO IT?!" Karasuno's advisor shouts, sounding absolutely terrified. Like the weight of the world rests on this singular game.

Nothing's weighing on this game. It's just a game. 

Just a game…

But Kenma's heart hasn't raced this fast in a while. 

The ball sails over to Kai, who barely manages to keep it up. The ball is falling towards the ground, and then—

And then Kenma finds herself on the floor, her hand the only thing keeping the ball from touching the ground. She swings her arm as hard as she can, shooting it all the way to Karasuno's side. 

Free ball. But it's still in play, and that's what matters. 

That is...if Karasuno can keep it up as well.

In slow motion, Kenma watches as the ball falls down to the ground, on Karasuno's side, with a final-sounding thump. Karasuno's libero dives for the ball, but gets there far too late.

And then Kenma's lifting her head up, staring at the other side, and Yaku and Tora are sprinting towards her, shouting about how she got them the winning point, and how they won.

They won. 

I didn't even do anything that special, I just knocked the ball to the other side of the net, but…

We won.

"KEN-MA! KEN-MA! KEN-MA!" Tora screams, slapping her on the back. Yaku does the same. Shouhei is staring at them, while Kuroo is just smiling down at her. Inuoka jumps up, cheering her on as well. 

"LET'S DO THAT AGAIN!" Shouyou screams, and Kenma feels something inside her wither and die. She distantly thinks it might be her soul.

I think that might have been the most exhausting hour of my life. And we have to do more of it?

"Of course! That's exactly what we plan to do," Nekomata says, and Kenma distantly wonders if life would have been better if he stayed in retirement. "After all, this is a practice game. Practice means you get to do it again and again."

Kenma groans out loud, and Kuroo just slams his hand on her head and chuckles.

"C'mon, brain," he says, handing her a water bottle. "We got this."

—

Two hours later, and Kenma feels as though she's ready to just keel over and perish. 

"AGAIN!" Shouyou screams, and Kenma has to wonder just how he has so much energy. Where did all of it come from?

"YOU HAVE BEEN RUNNING AROUND LIKE A MANIAC THIS WHOLE TIME!" Nekomata screams from where he's sitting, as he points towards Shouyou. "HOW CAN YOU HAVE ANY ENERGY LEFT?!"

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Karasuno's coach shouts, grabbing Shouyou by the scruff of his neck. "Enough is enough! Besides, they have a train to catch."

"If you want to play us again," Nekomata says, approaching Karasuno's coach and Shouyou. "It'll have to be in a tournament."

Kenma groans, this time internally. Nekomata's using that dreamy voice again, the one he uses when he goes off on long spiels about glory and whatnot.

"On a national stage...in front of a huge crowd...under lights on a big court...in a giant gymnasium filled with swirling emotion."

Nekomata grins, and Kenma can see the youth that still lingers on his face. "It'll be the greatest 'dumpster battle' that anyone has ever seen."

Kenma is then reminded of why it's called the dumpster battle. 

Because we're just cats and crows...fighting in a dumpster.

We're not terrible. But we're not good, either. 

"Let's play again, there," Nekomata finishes, still smiling. The entire gym responds with an emphatic, "YES, SIR!!"

"GATHER UP!" both Kuroo and Karasuno's captain scream, and everyone comes running towards them. They line up, say, "thank you for the game!" and shake hands. Nekomata addresses Karasuno, praising them and offering them some advice. 

And then they're cleaning up the gym, and then they're preparing to go home. 

Kenma glances at Tora as he trails after Tanaka, hands in her pockets. Tora approaches his doppelganger, who immediately begins squaring up like they're about to fight. A few minutes pass by, during which both of them look at Karasuno's lady manager, and then they're clasping each others' hands in a tight handshake. 

Well, Kenma's not going to ask what that's about, but she supposes that it's good that Tora made a new friend. 

There's a tingling feeling at the back of her neck, and she knows that somebody's looking at her. She shifts to the side to see Kageyama staring at her with a scary intensity. He's hunched forward, like he's about to take a step forward, but he doesn't make any moves towards her.

She remembers Shouyou saying,"You're totally different from our setter! He's more like 'GRAAAH!' and 'HRRRGH' all the time!" 

This must be what he meant, Kenma thinks to herself as she quickly turns and shuffles away from Kageyama. While she's doing that, she can see Inuoka and Shouyou jabbering about something in a language that barely sounds like Japanese. 

And then she sees Kuroo. Kuroo, who's talking to the tall blonde middle blocker with glasses. He's probably just offering tips about blocking.

Don't think about how much he looks like Shiro, don't think about how much he looks like Shiro, don't think about how much he looks like Shiro. 

She turns away before she sees anything else. 

Shibayama is being intimidated by Asahi, and Kai is caught up in conversation with Karasuno's captain. Karasuno's libero is staring at Yaku, who's with the silver-haired Karasuno player. 

That was…

Kinda fun?

She had to move around a lot more for this match...but she also had to think a lot more, come up with strategies on the spot, and see the game objectively this entire time. Not that any of it was too hard, but—

I guess it was alright.

And then clean up is done, and Kuroo's walking towards her, gesturing for her to follow him out the doors of the gymnasium. She sees Tora and Tanaka clasping hands, the two of them genuinely crying.

"What are they doing?" she asks, pointing over her shoulder. 

"No clue." Kuroo shrugs, looking just as confused as she feels. "Try not to look at them."

"KENMA!" 

She hears the tap tap tap of Shouyou's footsteps, and then he's there, staring up at her. Her face feels hot—which is weird, because they stopped running around an hour ago. Kuroo stares down at Shouyou, then turns to go and talk to Karasuno's captain. 

"Back when we met up on the road the other day," Shouyou says, bouncing from foot to foot. "You said you didn't really like volleyball all that much, right?"

"Huh?" Kenma mumbles. "I guess, yeah."

"What about now?" Shouyou's bouncing up and down on both the balls of his feet now. "You won all those awesome games! What do you think now?"

"Um...it was..." Kenma stares down at the ground. Was it fun? I don't know. "...okay. I guess."

Shouyou shuts his eyes tightly, sucking in a breath. "Next time..." he begins, and Kenma raises an eyebrow. Will there be a next time? Will we both be able to get to Nationals?

"We're gonna make you play real hard...and make you get really determined. But we're gonna win. And then..."

And here, Shouyou squeezes his eyes even more tightly, clenching his fists and shouting. "WE'RE GONNA MAKE YOU SAY 'IT WAS REALLY FUN' OR 'IT WAS A HARD LOSS' OR 'WE'RE GONNA GET YOU NEXT TIME'! SOMETHING—ANYTHING OTHER THAN JUST 'IT WAS OKAY'!!"

Kenma stares, wide-eyed, at Shouyou as he screams these words. 

I didn't realize...he cared so much about making sure others had fun while playing. 

He must really love this sport. He probably loves it even more than Kuroo. 

"Okay," Kenma says, trying to tamp down the fluttery feeling inside her chest. "I'll look forward to it."

Shouyou nods in determination, then turns tail and runs back to his team. Kenma glances over to Kuroo, who is currently clenching Karasuno's captain's hands with both his own. Then she glances over to their assistant coach, who is also clenching Karasuno's coach's hand tightly, looking like he's trying to break it. 

Jeez. Maybe I don't want to fall in love with the sport that much.

"LINE UP FOR THE GREETING!" Kuroo and Karasuno's captain bellow when they finally let go of each others' hands. 

"THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE GAME!" all of them scream as they wave goodbye to each other. Kenma half-heartedly waves at all of the Karasuno players before stepping into Kuroo's shadow and following him to the bus. 

"So," Kuroo says, placing his hand on Kenma's head. He's been doing that more and more lately—Kenma doesn't really know why. "Have fun?"

"Why does everybody keep asking me that?" Kenma mutters, pulling out her phone. Kuroo can steer her in the right direction if she's going to trip over something, since his hand is already on her head anyway. "It was fine. It was just like every other match."

"You did great out there!" Tora shouts, slamming his hand on Kenma's left shoulder. "That's our brain for ya!" Shouhei trails behind him, hands clasped behind his back. He looks like an old uncle, or something. 

"Stop calling me that," Kenma murmurs, now playing Tetris on her phone. "It's a stupid nickname."

"Spine, brain, heart," Kuroo says, counting off all of the things he's called her. 

"Head, shoulders, knees, toes," Shouhei says immediately afterward. 

"Turn up your nose and strike that pose."

"Heyyy, Macarena!" both Kuroo and Shouhei say in complete sync, and Kenma and Tora exchange confused looks.

"What—?" Tora asks, gesturing in confusion between Kuroo and Shouhei.

"American song," Shouhei says, grinning. "God...bless America."

"They definitely say that in America, yeah," Kuroo says, nodding slowly. 

"I bet they have smokin' hot girls in American high schools," Tora mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. "In all the American movies, the girls are hot."

Kenma does not have any opinions about America. All the best video games are Japanese-made. She cannot name a single good American-made thing. Maybe apple pie, but she’s not sure if that’s American either. 

The boys around her then descend into a conversation about what kinds of girls are the hottest as they get on the bus, and Kenma shrinks away. She doesn't want to take part in a conversation like this, especially when she doesn't know who she likes, who she doesn't like, or what she is.

"Kuroo, long hair or short hair?" somebody asks.

"Long!" Kuroo shouts, laughing. Kenma glances at him, through her strands of long hair. 

"Kuroo, big boobs or small boobs?" somebody else asks.

Kuroo has to think about this a bit more. "Small." Kenma then looks away, down at her flat chest. 

If I was a girl...like if I was born a girl, not whatever I am now…

Would Kuro like me like that?

Pause. Check inventory.

Why are you wondering whether or not your friend likes you romantically?

I just…

As I am now, Kuro values me. He values me as a friend. He values his girlfriends less, because he moves on from them so quickly. They’re just a fun time for him, nothing more. 

I want to be born a girl, but...the trade-offs would be really clear if I was born a girl. I wouldn't be friends with Kuroo. Kuroo might like me if I were born a girl, but he wouldn't value me like he does now. 

Girls. Boys. Benefits. Trade-offs. Value. 

All of this just makes my head hurt. 

Why do I make so many problems for myself?

—

In June, Kenma gains another problem in the form of one of their newer members. 

He's tall. He's got silver hair. He's got bright green eyes. He's half Japanese, half Russian. 

His name is Haiba Lev, and he is the biggest pain in Kenma's ass. 

"KENMA! KENMA-SAN, KENMA-SAN, KENMA-SAN!" 

Kenma can see the potential in Lev. All his stats are so high, it would be stupid of Nekomata to not put him into the starting lineup. If they can train him correctly, he could become an even better blocker than Inuoka. 

There's one problem. 

Haiba Lev is so unbelievably bad at volleyball. 

Even when Kenma puts up perfect sets for him to spike, he somehow misses the ball entirely, or weakly smacks it over the net, or lets it hit him smack in the face. She feels like she's dying every time she has to put balls up for him. She briefly wonders why she ever took up Kuroo's offer to become a setter, or why she ever took up his offer to play volleyball at all.

That damn liar.

Nekomata announces they're going to do a practice match with Kunihira High School in two weeks. Kenma thinks this is a bit strange, considering how they have a training camp with Fukuroudani coming up very soon, but what's even more strange is that—

"Lev, you're going to play in that match."

"WHAT?!" is the collective response that arises from the others—Shibayama, Tora, Kai, and even Coach Naoi. 

"Really?!" Lev squeals. "Just leave it to me!"

Naoi tries to talk Nekomata down from it, but fails. Kenma can see where the two of them are coming from. On one hand, there's little to no chance that they'll be able to get Lev whipped into shape by the time of the practice match. On the other hand, if they do manage to whip him into shape, Lev might become one of their most valuable assets.

Kenma's on Nekomata's side up until the coach says, "Kenma, make some time and give Lev some tosses." 

"I can't," is Kenma's immediate response.

"What do you mean you can't?!" Lev shouts.

And then Nekomata's dismissing them, and Naoi is running after him, and Kenma is staring confusedly into thin air. 

"You heard him," Kuroo says, shrugging and grinning before walking away. Kenma briefly curses him in her head for ever convincing her to play volleyball.