Chapter Text
Kenma might bottle up euphoria if he could, as fleeting as it tends to be. He thinks if he were to put it into a little glass bottle, it’d be glowing, so luminous you couldn’t look for more than a few seconds. It’d glow bright and yellow, and he’d hold it close to his heart.
It would contrast the dark greys and blacks of sadness, of the crushing anxiety he felt when realizing this was life long , of realizing that ‘coming out’ was an always thing, never one and done. It would -- no, it did outshine the anxiety, but sometimes just barely. He’s Kenma, isn’t even sure he was ever anything else, but it seems so.
He’s Kenma, but not everyone sees it as so. His parents admire him as their only child, as their pride and joy, as their daughter. As Katsuko, which he decidedly is not.
He stands at the end of his bed, overlooks the light blue of his bedsheets, shakes the stringy hair away from his forehead. He knows his bedroom well, but at times he feels foreign standing in the middle of it, especially that day.
“Katsuko!” his mother calls from the kitchen, sounding impatient.
He doesn’t bother answering, just emerges from his bedroom with a soft expression on his face and one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Katsuko, your hair,” she says mournfully, pushing a piece out of the way. “You’ve got to get yourself presentable.” She pauses, sighs, steps forward a moment, face softening.
He sighs, nearly telling her his hair definitely isn’t the worst part of his appearance, but bites it back and says “yeah, thank you,” before heading back into his bedroom.
He walks past the dresser, tucks his hair up into a barely acceptable bun, and slings his bag over his shoulder. Tetsurou will be waiting to walk to school with him, and he’s not going to leave him waiting.
His mother stops him on the way out, clicks her tongue and adjusts his shirt before sending him on his way. She’s always preening, fixing, as if she’s got nothing else to do -- in a way, she hasn’t. She hasn’t got any other children, hasn’t got many hobbies. Kenma is her passion, they both know this, but she tends to be a bit overbearing, so he’s glad to get away from her.
“Tetsurou has practice after school!” he says on his way out, door closing before his mother can voice her protest.
He’s welcomed into Kuroo’s with open arms, the third year offering a warm “Kenma, hello!” His volleyball bag is hung off of one shoulder, compact so it can be easily stowed away on the train ride. It’s like this every morning; Kenma goes off to meet Tetsu just after seven, the two walk to the train, come back home together.
“Are you coming after?” Tetsu asks softly, leaving a large set of footprints behind in the snow.
“Yeah, think so,” Kenma agrees. Family friends are coming down from Misawa to visit, but he’d like to spend as much time away as possible. It’s an excuse if nothing else, one he can easily grasp at.
“Hey, Kenma?”
Kenma pauses for a moment, looks up with a doe-eyed expression.
“Do you wanna come to mine tomorrow?”
Kenma mulls it over for a few seconds, nodding and offering a quiet: “that’s fine.” He doesn’t know that his mom will let him while they have guests over, but it would be worth a shot.
As it turns out, he’s not allowed after all. His mother reprimands him for even bothering to ask the question in the first place. His father gives a stern glare, and when he drags his heels into the carpet, unwilling to go to his room and get dressed, they’re not pleased.
Somehow, in unison, they both say “Kozume Katsuko!” and his mother adds a quiet, “immediately.”, leaving their son to walk off to his room rather dejectedly.
The sound of his previous name rattles in his skull, filling all the nooks and crannies of his brain. The resounding ‘oh’ sound at the end is grating on him at best, sickening at worst. He stands in front of his bedroom, giving a soft sigh as he tugs the shirt over his frame.
God, Kenma’s soft. He’d been narrow as a child, almost boyish, ironically, but as he aged he filled out and softened. His hips became a bit rounder, wider, and he gained a layer of fat on his chest, even his cheekbones rounding out slightly.
He could take up volleyball like Kuroo, sharpen him into straight lines and sudden dips, like Kuroo, but it’d never be the same.
Everything he isn’t, Kuroo is: strong, capable, likable, angular and stiff in the right places, an athletic build from years of playing volleyball. Kenma’s none of that.
Breathe, he tells himself. Grit your teeth. Open your eyes. Shove your feelings down down down until they dissipate into... nothing.
“Katsuko!” his mother calls again, voice losing any touch of softness. “Right now!”
He sighs once more, forces himself to tread lightly down the wooden floors of their hallway. “Sorry mom, dad,” he offers, not meeting their eyes.
They both smile apologetically in the direction of their guests; Hiroji Hatsuo, who, to the best of Kenma’s knowledge, used to work alongside his father, as well as his wife and their daughters, Akari and Makiko.
His mother had been delighted, excitedly explained that Makiko was just about Kenma’s age -- three months shy -- and that perhaps they might be friends.
Kenma hates boasting, hates being boasted about, but he’s long since learned that the acceptable dinner conversation for half-acquaintances, half-friends are comparing your children's’ accomplishments, though he doesn’t think he’s got many.
“Katsuko’s practically ready for college now, isn’t she?” Hatsuo asks. Kenma tunes him out.
He offers up polite smiles when his mother gives him the appropriate looks, occasionally nods to agree with whatever she’s saying about him; true, untrue, he doesn’t care. Everything he says is at least partially untrue these days.
Finally, finally, the conversation shifts to ten year old Akari, the limelight off of Kenma, who sinks back into his seat.
“Katsuko,” his father says under his breath, prompting his son to fix his posture once more, making himself presentable.
He’d rather be at Kuroo’s, anyway, rather be on Kuroo’s bed or on Kuroo’s couch or at Kuroo’s table, eating dinner with his parents.
He’ll leave at the soonest chance he gets, dash off to his room and hide away for the night. The adults will converse and laugh, and they’ve got two kids anyway, so they can entertain each other.
His parents must know somewhere deep down how bad he wants to be gone, because they keep dinner going another hour and a half, bordering on two. Kenma’s started faking yawns, letting his eyes tear up ever so slightly as he asks to be excused for the second time that meal.
He’s allowed this time, slowly walks down the hallway and collapses onto his mattress, pulling his phone close.
His fingers press softly, dialing the familiar number.
“Kuro?” he asks after the third ring.
“Kenma, hi!” the older boy says, sounding quite pleased.
“Kuro, I might- I might come over,” he says, words tripping clumsily out of his mouth. “Uh, when my parents… when they go to sleep.”
“Mm, that’s fine,” Tetsurou agrees. “I’m studying, could use some company.”
Kenma nods, not realizing Kuroo can’t see him, exactly. “Okay,” he says after a long pause, holding the phone to his ear. Tetsu breathes on the other line, even, steady, consistent, until he says, “text me before you come, okay?”
Kenma voices his agreement, setting his phone off to the side. It makes a satisfying chime when he plugs it in, head falling against the pillow.
He guesses he’s got another hour to go before his parents are asleep, an hour and fifteen to be sure they’re truly out, as well as their guests. They seem to be getting their younger daughter ready for bed, anyway.
He sighs, glancing up at wall directly facing him, a picture of his mother holding him as a child tacked onto the wall -- by her, nonetheless, but Kenma never minds.
“You’ve got to tell her” something nags deep inside him. Before he can second guess it, he stands, forcing his legs to carry himself out to the kitchen.
“Mom?” he asks quietly, one arm across his stomach.
“Hello, Katsuko,” she greets, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you unwell? You’re pale,” she notes, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
He pulls away and shakes his head, just says “no, not unwell. Uh, can I-” he coughs awkwardly, forcing himself to continue. “Could I maybe talk to you?”
She smiles that strange comforting smile only a mother could manage, pulls him aside into the front hall, one hand affectionately brushing a stray hair out of his eyes.
“Such a beautiful young lady,” she admires softly. Kenma gives an involuntary shudder. “Now, what did you want to talk about?”
“I’m-” he begins, cutting himself off. “I’m a… I’m nervous about Thursday,” he chokes out; another lie. “I have… it’s a test. Um, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Night, mom,” he says hurriedly, ducking around her.
She’s left confused in his wake but caring nonetheless, lingers and lets her perfume linger in the hallway for a few moments before returning to her tired house guests.
Kenma’s chest heaves, practically. He doesn’t know what got into him just then, practically telling her while they’ve got company . It’s surely unacceptable.
She peeks in when he’s faking sleep -- he can tell that it’s her by her quick breathing and light footsteps -- and closes the door, heading off to bed herself.
It’s twenty, then ten, then five, and eventually two minutes when Kenma stands, floorboards creaking. He grimaces as he steps into his sneakers; they shouldn’t be in his room anyway, shouldn’t be worn in the house, but he’s just going to be wearing them for a moment indoors, and it’s not like his mother is there to tell him to remove them.
to: kuro
i’m going now
from: kuro
you know where to find me, kenma.
Kenma steps on light feet, approaching Kuroo’s family’s house, six down from his.
to: kuro
i’m outside
Tetsu is there in what seems like an instant, quietly letting the door creak open. “Gotta be a little quiet,” he remarks, inviting Kenma into the house alongside him.
“Kuro,” Kenma croons, practically melting into his friend’s arms. It’s been such a long day, leaving Kenma beyond ready to decompress. Being around Tetsurou is a surefire way for him to relax.
He lingers for a second before walking off to the bathroom, gripping the sides of the basin with white knuckles.
He sighs, says “Kozume Kenma,” aloud, watches his name roll off his tongue. He grins, exposing his slightly crooked teeth to his reflection, and repeats: “Kenma.”
“Ke-e-nma,” he repeats, dragging the ‘e’ sound out through his teeth. It feels like much more of a complete name than Katsuko. Kenma encompasses all he wants to be; he wears it well.
Tetsurou makes a point to slip Kenma’s name into conversation wherever possible, knowing it reassures his friend, makes him feel strangely validated, and when he slips out of the bathroom with a shy smile, Tetsu greets him by name again.
“You’re on edge,” Tetsurou says, frowning. “Why?”
Kenma shrugs, tugging a bit at the hem of his sweatshirt. “Nothing.” A lie. Again.
Tetsurou frowns, raising an eyebrow as if to prompt Kenma.
The younger boy doesn’t budge, just lets his eyes wander to Kuroo’s bedroom door. He doesn’t meet Kuroo’s gaze, just lets his own cast down to his feet.
He can tell Kuroo’s about to ask again, so for the second time that night he steps around, into Kuroo’s bedroom, sitting up on the edge with his legs crossed.
“Kenma…” Tetsurou tries, stretching. The third year swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. He shakes his head, just asks, “do you think you’ll tell her soon?”
Kenma shrugs; he doesn’t think so, and there’s no way Kuroo understands what it’s like. They’re always talking about their daughter, their only child, their pride and joy. Kenma’s not , but if he were to tell them, it would never go well. He doesn’t know exactly what might happen, but it’d never be good, so that was enough to keep him quiet.
“They’ll know eventually, you know,” Kuroo says with a quiet sigh. “If…” he trails off, leaving the thought at that. This is the complete opposite of what Kenma needs.
He abandons that approach completely, settling in on one he thinks might be more helpful.
“Try telling me,” he says.
Kenma’s confused and it shows in the lines etched into his forehead. Why would he tell Tetsurou when he obviously knew?
Tetsu elaborates, “like I was your mom or your dad.”
Kenma lets his lips part from the tight line they’d formed, his hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”
Kuroo sits as well -- he’s not going to press, making Kenma uncomfortable, but he’d like to at least attempt to make his friend feel better.
Kenma takes in a sharp breath, feels the air sink into his lungs, stay awhile, leak back out once more. “I’m not-- I’m not a girl,” he finally says, voice slightly wobbly.
It’s Kuroo he’s talking to. Not his mother or father, so he has no reason to be nervous.
“I’m not a girl,” he repeats, a bit stronger this time. This sends tiny jolts throughout his spine. “I’m a boy , Kuro. I’ve never not been… a boy. It’s-”
Tetsurou nods, practically beaming. “You are a boy,” he affirms, noting the way Kenma’s cheeks are flushed. He can tell Kenma’s a bit embarrassed, that he should stop before it gets too much for his friend (he’s close to that point, anyway).
The smaller boy pulls his PSP out of the bag he brought along; he won’t stay overnight, he’ll go when it’s time for Tetsu to go to sleep, but he’s never without it in any case.
“Thanks, Kuro,” he says absently, leaning against the wall. His chest is a bit tight and his cheeks are hot, but nothing is too bad now that he’s away from home, away from it all. Kuroo’s always there when he needs him to be, somehow, and Kenma has never ceased to find that amazing.
Tetsurou nods, reaching for his own backpack on the floor. It only makes sense -- he said he was working on assignments before Kenma came over, so he’d probably like to get back to that.
The two sit in silence for some time, Kenma skillfully maneuvering to play his game and Kuroo quietly finishing up his homework, save for the occasional groan or sigh on Tetsurou’s part, until Kenma’s so deliriously tired that he actually lets himself fall asleep against the wall, game dropped on his lap.
It’s 6:28 when he wakes up in Tetsurou’s room with a sore neck and a sharp pain in his chest, groaning softly. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but he’d been so completely exhausted that he hadn’t been able to wake up.
He hadn’t woken up on his own, either. Tetsurou’s mother had come in to wake her son for school, and exclaimed “Kozume!” upon seeing her son’s guest, causing him to wake rather suddenly. She wasn’t angry , of course, just a bit surprised.
He sits up almost immediately, blinking slowly up at her. She looks apologetic for startling him, gives a soft smile and just says she wasn’t aware Kuroo had a guest. It’s never a big deal for Kenma to be over here, which is a nice change of pace from his own home, of course.
She leaves him to wake Kuroo, who looks so utterly peaceful that it’s almost painful for Kenma to do so, but he reaches out anyway and sort of shakes him awake, shuddering at how it’s actually quite painful to take the deep breath he does when Kuroo squints up at him.
“Hey, Kuro,” he says, relishing in the way his voice is deepened slightly from sleep. He hadn’t meant to stay the night, but it’s certainly too late to go home, so he might as well stay.
Tetsurou stretches slightly, pulls the blanket over his head for a moment (his bedhead still peeks out at the top), and sighs before pushing the blanket off once more, legs swinging over the side of the mattress.
The older boy rubs at his eyes, squinting at the sunlight beaming through the window. “Are you..?” he trails off, yawning. “Are you staying to eat?”
Kenma sort of shrugs; he assumes so, but he’s not going to impose on Kuroo, who reaches for the clothes set out on his desk before plodding off to the bathroom.
He comes back dressed and looking slightly more awake, takes a quick glance at his volleyball shoes and his bag, and sits back down on his unmade bed, running a hand through his tousled hair to try and calm it, unsuccessfully.
“Akihito-nii is visiting,” he says, stifling a second yawn. “You’ll see him if you stay.”
Kenma just nods at that. Akihito is older than Kuroo by four years and Kenma by five, and Daishin is only one year younger than Kenma, so he gets on well with Kuroo’s brothers. He’ll stay, decidedly; his parents have likely discovered he’s not there anyway, and if that’s the case, they’re thoroughly displeased, so he’s not going back any sooner than he has to.
Standing, he stifles a yawn, stuffs his PSP back into his backpack, and shuffles down the hallway. As Kuroo had said, Akihito and Daishin are at the table, both plates piled high with breakfast. He offers a quiet good morning to Kuroo’s brother’s parents, passing up on little more than tea and a bowl of rice for the morning, somehow unable to find an appetite.
Breakfast is mostly uneventful -- Kuroo comes a few moments later than Kenma, but Akihito is the center of attention, and Daishin is buzzing excitedly (he’s been a morning person for as long as Kenma’s known him). He can’t say he minds the chatter, just observes the difference between this and his own near silent mornings until breakfast is over.
It’s comforting and Kenma soaks up as much of it as he can, knowing his parents are going to be incredibly disappointed at him when he returns home, more likely than not.
“What’s gotten into you, Katsuko-chan?”
Kenma blinks up at his mother, wide-eyed and unmoving. “Nothing,” he says after a long pause, realizing she won’t lay off until she has her answers.
She clicks her tongue for a moment, turning from where she stands in the kitchen. He can tell she doesn’t believe him, but he’s most definitely not in the mood to get into it.
“Katsuko,” she repeats, slightly more firm. “You aren’t yourself . Your father and I-” she shakes her head, losing her trail of thought. “Do you need help?” she finally asks, expression softening.
“No.”
She’s exasperated. Kenma knows this, and yet he won’t do anything to alleviate it.
“Where’s my daughter?” she sighs, looking towards Kenma. “Where’s Katsuko? Where’s my… My happy daughter?”
She’s affectionate. Not accusing, not blaming, just genuinely concerned and affectionate. Normally, Kenma would have smiled at this, felt a bit warmed from the inside at her sweet words, but they make his stomach churn, today.
“I’m… here,” he tries, shrugging. It’s the best he can do, he thinks.
“Katsuko, dad and I want to help, but you--” she breaks off, waving her arms uselessly, “you need to be able to tell us how to.”
“It’s fine,” Kenma insists, turning his attention away from his mother and out the window.
“Kozume Katsuko!” she exclaims, clearly fed up. “You don’t… you never act this way!” She seems sad, almost, and if there were any other circumstances, Kenma might be able to force himself to be slightly more concerned.
She sighs, almost woeful, says: “I don’t want you going to the Kuroo house this week. You’ll stay home.”
Kenma can feel his jaw clench, shoulders tensing. He wants to fight it, wants to tell her it’s unfair, but he’s so utterly tired of fighting, so he just gives a defeated sigh and nods, letting a couple stray hairs fall in front of his eyes.
“I do this because I care, Katsuko-chan,” she says, quiet this time. And maybe, Kenma thinks, he won’t understand because he doesn’t have children of his own, but this definitely doesn’t seem like something that’s caring. It’s quite the opposite.
He picks up his bag, swings it over his shoulder with a quiet groan, and treads up to his bedroom, dropping the backpack by the door and leaning against his desk.
He pulls out his phone, exhausted. It’s on seventeen percent but he can’t be bothered to get the charger from across the room, lets his fingers move gingerly across the screen until he has something he’s properly satisfied with.
to: kuro
i can’t come over this week.
to: kuro
my mom won’t let me.
from: kuro
that’s terrible.
Kenma reads the text, rereads it again, and a third time before shutting his phone off, setting it on the floor beside him. His stomach growls, prompting him to get something to eat, but he ignores the urge; getting food means going to the kitchen and facing his mother, and he’s in no mood for that.
He’s on the mattress for a long while, acutely aware of the hunger pangs he’s feeling, of his binder pressing into his ribs, and he stands, positioning himself in front of his window.
He stands there for a brief period of time, watches blades of grass sway in the wind, watches the clouds move languidly throughout the sky, just sighs.
He laughs dryly for a moment, pads silently across his bedroom floor until he’s in front of the mirrored closet doors. His sweatshirt comes off carefully, leaving his binder and his sweatpants on. He’s not bad looking, objectively, but he’s not particularly good looking, he thinks.
His eyes fall over the gentle curve of his chest, even with the binder. He still recalls putting it on for the first time, the way it squeezed him tight, pieced him together in a way that he felt somewhat complete. He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous to be this attached to a somewhat tattered piece of cloth, but it’s enough for him. It’d been so uncomfortable, (still was, sometimes), had squashed and pressed all of the soft, rounded parts of his chest in, had been put on every morning for the past year.
He shakes his head, pulling an old t-shirt over it and letting it fall over his shoulders, turns away from the mirrors and turns to his bed.
It shouldn’t get to him, realistically. His parents don’t know so he can’t expect better of them. But he does, somehow. He’ll have to tell them, despite the sick feeling he gets when he thinks about this being forever, about the fact that if they can’t wrap their head around it, life is going to become exponentially more difficult than it currently is. It’s worth it, though. It has to be. There has to be something for him to grasp at; something to hold onto.
He’s tired. Kenma’s so absolutely tired of fighting this fight, something he’d never even had a choice in. But everything is a bit too much today, his mom bit too loud and the dinner she’s made a bit too hot and Kenma a bit too on edge.
It’s all too much.
His mother asks for his attention quietly, over a steaming bowl of ramen, looking up tentatively.
In lieu of a response he looks up at her, quirks one eyebrow.
She seems to think for a moment, just asks: “how was school today, Katsuko?”
Something inside of Kenma just snaps, just breaks and shatters into no less than two dozen pieces, and he feels a bit like his intestines are all twisted into one and other, like he might be sick at the mention of his old name.
He doesn’t ponder over it, doesn’t give himself a chance to stop the words from traveling out of the confines of his mind and tumbling out over his tongue and his teeth, falling onto the floor in front of him.
They come quick, almost silent.
“I’m…I’m not Katsuko.”
She doesn’t look angry or upset, merely perplexed. She rests her chin in the palm of one hand, coaxing her child to continue. And he has to, has to like his life depends on it.
He feels like someone is grabbing him from the insides with two hands, pulling hard and splitting him in two, pushing in on his stomach until the words stop clattering around his skull, until they come out into the empty air.
“I’m not your daughter,” he says, weakly. Despite how quiet he normally is,he knows he has to continue if he’s got any chance of having her understanding. He’s just glad his dad’s working late, so he has to face only her. “I’m a boy, mom. I… I have been. I-- I’ve always been a boy.”
Once he starts speaking, it’s as if he can’t stop, despite the thoughts inside his head (stop! bright and red and flashing and this is a terrible idea). “I- um, I’m… Kenma?” he says, though it presents itself as more of a question.
And then all at once, the hands he felt previously rip him totally open, leaving him vulnerable and there and as much as he’s willing his feet to run, they’re cemented onto the ground, unwilling to move.
Her eyes seem to grow infinitely wider, like in the programs Kenma used to watch as a child; they practically bug out of her head. She’s the very face of shock.
“Katsuko…” she whispers.
“Kenma,” he deadpans, gaze shifting to the floor.
“Your father and I can get you help for-” she stops, gesturing wildly, “for this. We can help .”
Her words burn. Suddenly, her own hands are among those Kenma previously felt along him, tearing once more. He’s open. He’s completely and totally open, gaping, in the middle of his kitchen.
“I don’t need help,” he says bitterly. He doesn’t. He needs them, needs them to be okay with this.
“Where did this come from?” she asks, almost helplessly. “You never showed any indication, Katsuko-chan.”
“Kenma,” he snaps, places his arms across his chest as if to hold himself together. He shrugs; it didn’t come from anywhere, it just always was, whether or not she knew.
She stands from the table, lets her spoon clatter down, just shakes her head. He doesn’t know whether to be worried about her newfound silence or not, but he can’t imagine it’s positive.
She doesn’t give him another glance, just follows through down the hallway to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Maybe it’ll be okay (even if that’s him reaching), maybe she just needs time to process. It’s all maybe, but it’s also all Kenma has.
He stands in the kitchen, looking completely dumbfounded, like she’s just slapped him (she might as well have, the way he’s feeling). He’s trying to get himself to move, but he just stays, just stares down at the kitchen floor for what might be thirty seconds, might be three hours. He truly doesn’t know, couldn’t guess if his life depended on it, until he gathers the strength to go to his own bedroom.
Stupid , his thoughts say. Stupid, reckless ; two words that don’t describe him in many, if any other situations, but two words he feels so deeply in his core. Stupid and reckless and careless , but there’s nothing he can do to take it back, and rather than mull it over, he sinks into his bed, reaching for his phone.
to: kuro
i told my mom
Tetsurou will probably ask if it went well or not, but Kenma doesn’t think he can quite answer that -- it didn’t go bad, or as bad as it could have, but he wouldn’t call it good, exactly. It was a strange middle ground, one he wasn’t quite comfortable with.
He sighs, sets his phone down beside him. It vibrates once and then twice and still a third time, three texts more than likely all from Tetsu. He can’t be bothered to read them, let alone reply. That conversation alone completely drained him. He shudders to think he’ll have to tell his dad as well.
Kenma’s no sooner back from school than he’s sat at the kitchen table, shoulders slightly hunched. His mother has decided they need to spend more time as a family, but she certainly hadn’t said anything about Kenma not having his headphones in, so that’s what he’s taken to.
He hasn’t bothered to turn anything on, but everyone’s mostly quiet. His mom’s chopping up vegetables for dinner and his dad’s washing dishes, neither of them paying him much mind. (It’s ironic, because he’s right there and for as much as his mother said she wants him around more, she’s not doing anything about it).
“Did Katsuko have a productive day at school?” his father asks.
Kenma’s mostly disinterested but listens to the conversation somewhere in the back of his mind, yawning slightly.
His mother pauses and looks up from her cutting board, offering a small shrug. “She doesn’t tell me about anything these days.”
His father hums his agreement, just shakes his head. “She’s always at the Kuroo house, isn’t she? We hardly see any of her.”
Kenma doesn’t look up, but he’s acutely aware of their conversation now -- he pulls his hood over his head but doesn’t move much otherwise, careful to listen to every word.
“I told her--” his mom casts a glance in his direction, cautious. She continues: “I told her I don’t want her going over there for the time being. She…” She breaks off, shakes her head, swallows what seems to be a lump in her throat.
“She what ?” his father asks. “She’s not with Tetsurou, is she?” Kenma can practically see his father’s face reddening. “I’ve always had my worries about that-”
“No! No!” his mother is quick to exclaim, shaking her head. “No, she isn’t.”
His father relaxes for just a moment before asking, “what is it, then?”
His mother visibly tenses up, shaking her head. “She says she-”
Kenma looks up suddenly, removing one headphone and asking: “did someone say ‘Katsuko’?” The scared expression on his mother’s face is laughable, almost, and she quickly shakes her head.
“No,” she says. “Your father and I were just discussing work.”
It’s almost alarming how easily she lies, compartmentalizes her face as to mask her emotions. If Kenma hadn’t known, he would have believed her, probably.
He shrugs, puts his headphones back in -- still without the music, lets them resume their conversation.
“She told me…” his mom continues, her voice hushed, “she’s a boy. Kenma--”
Kenma takes in a sharp breath, feeling those same hands grabbing at him and pulling once more, leaving him empty. His father isn’t speaking but his face has reddened and he’s dropped his dish towel. None of those are good signs.
He finally speaks, turning to Kenma. He just says: “Katsuko, you need to clean your room.” His mouth is a tight line and his forehead is creased in concern.
Kenma raises one eyebrow, half tempted to instigate his father.
“It’s Kenma ,” he says defiantly -- he hates that it’s this, that simply existing as he is is an act of defiance against his parents. It shouldn’t be this way.
“To your room,” his father repeats. “It’s atrocious.”
‘It’s not’ is what he wants to say, but doesn’t. Both he and his father know very well that his room is far from atrocious, but he’s not in the mood for an argument and makes his way down the hall to the last door on the right, slamming it hard behind him.
So what, he’s being difficult? So what, he’s a bit upset? So what, his father’s angry? None of it matters, not really. He picks up his phone, scrolls to Kuroo’s contact, presses ‘call’. It’s all muscle memory.
“Kenma, hi,” his friend greets after the fourth ring.
Kenma can kind of hear Tetsu’s younger brother in the background, but he can’t really make out any words. He forgets to reply to Tetsu’s greeting, just stands in the corner of his room with the phone pressed against his red cheek.
“Kenma?” Tetsurou presses, prompting a reaction from the younger boy.
“Oh, Kuro,” he says, nearly having forgotten. “Sorry.”
Kuroo sees through it, as he usually does. He asks, “what’s wrong?”
Suddenly, all too suddenly, Kenma doesn’t think he wants to recount his encounter with his parents, doesn’t want to tell Tetsurou about it. But he’s the one who called, and it would be awfully pathetic of him to hang up.
Kenma half mumbles something like “never mind” under his breath, but Tetsurou doesn’t fall for it. (Kenma had doubted he would).
“Did you tell your dad?”
“No.” It isn’t a lie, exactly.
“Then what?”
“My mom. She, um, my mom-- my mom told him,” Kenma says, forcing the words out one by one. He doesn’t think he needs to tell Tetsurou that it didn’t exactly go well. He knows Kenma enough to be able to identify the slight wobble in his voice.
“Do you need to come stay the night, Kenma?” his friend asks tentatively. “Akihito-nii is back at school. You could stay in his room, or mine, or-”
“Kuro,” Kenma sighs, shaking his head. “No. She won’t… She won’t let me go to yours.” Or anyone’s, more than likely.
“Well,” Tetsurou starts, pausing to think, “did she say anything about me coming to you ?”
“No,” Kenma admits. “But-”
“It’s settled then, Kenma!” Tetsu says triumphantly. Kenma can practically envision the smile on his face due to the way he sounds. “Am I coming tonight or tomorrow?”
Kenma sighs, unwavering. He fully expects Kuroo to relent, but he doesn’t, just stays on the line.
“Tomorrow,” he finally says. His mother has an event to go to and his father works night shift, so he’ll have more than enough time to be with Kuroo, enough time for him to be out before Kenma’s mother is back home. It’s so unlike him to sneak behind their backs, but he supposes that things are different now, as unfair as that is.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kuro.”
Tetsurou affirms this, reminding Kenma once more that if he needs a place to stay, he’s welcome at the Kuroo house; he’s like another son in their eyes, which is a comfort to him. His mom won’t be thrilled, but Kuroo was right; she never said he wasn’t allowed at their house. He’s willing to take the consequences to see Kuroo again.