Work Text:
“SERIOUSLY, THAT’S THE THIRD HONMEI CHOCOLATE you received today,” Kuroo comments, mildly in awe as he watches the first year girl run away with her ears red, a box of rejected chocolate clutched tightly in her hands. It’s not that he believes Kenma wouldn’t get any gifts on Valentine’s day, but with how quiet and solitary his friend tends to be, he can hardly be blamed for his surprise.
Kenma spares him a glance before returning to his PSP. “Didn’t you have seven girls chasing you around today?”
“But only one that matters,” Kuroo responds, sticking his tongue out.
“Yeah, those poor girls,” Taketora laughs, shaking his head. “They had no idea they were setting themselves up for heartbreak.”
Kuroo scrunches his nose. “You say that like I’m a player, but really, I’m just a lover boy. Anyway, when did this conversation become about me? We were talking about you!” He wraps an arm around Kenma and ruffles his hair. If there’s one thing Nekoma’s team captain likes doing, it’s annoying his best friend.
“Leave me alone,” Kenma protests with a glare, digging his elbow deep into Kuroo’s ribs and making him yelp in pain. But it’s too late—his character in the game has already died. “Look what you did.”
“Honestly, I’m even more surprised that those girls don’t know,” Yaku comments as he tucks his neatly folded track jacket in his locker. “About Kenma, I mean. He’s not exactly hiding it.”
He’s right; Kenma really isn’t hiding anything. You see, Kenma Kozume has a crush. And a serious one, at that.
No, it’s not on a classmate. Not a neighbor, or a neighbor or someone from school, and definitely not anyone he’s ever met in person—at least not yet.
It’s a streamer. Which, in Kenma’s defense, isn’t that strange. People develop crushes on celebrities all the time, don’t they? Actors. Singers. Idols. Athletes. Why would a streamer be any different?
“It’s not strange,” Kuroo would assure him. It wasn’t always that Kenma felt self-conscious or hyperaware about what people thought of him, but when he did, he would go to his best friend for assurance. And the thing with Kuroo was that he would always be supportive—before giving him that look.
“What?” Kenma would then say.
“Nothing,” Kuroo would respond. “It’s just that… the problem is you’re too obsessed with her.”
Was he, though? Kenma would always wonder. Sure, he watched every single one of Zemu’s streams, and sure, he knows her schedule better than his own classes. And sure, he doesn’t have to see her to recognize her voice, and sure, he has accidentally stayed awake until three in the morning because she decided to “just do one more game”. But that didn’t mean he was obsessed with her.
He’s just very, very, very, very interested in her. And there is a huge difference between that and obsession.
It’s not like he can help himself, either. How can he, when Zemu is so… Zemu?
For a gamer, her appeal isn't her skill but the complete lack thereof. Despite labyukeki's fame, she is astonishingly, almost impressively terrible at video games. At first, Kenma's interest was fueled entirely by morbid curiosity. He found the whole thing ridiculously absurd. How could someone call themselves a gamer and be so catastrophically bad at games? But then he found himself laughing at her streams, and he kept coming back for more.
Eventually, he realized he wasn't tuning in just for the comedy anymore. He admired her persistence—the way she threw herself at every challenge without letting failure discourage her, no matter how many times she stumbled. It was strangely inspiring, how she always refused to quit, and returned to try and try again as though failure was no threat at all.
How can you fault Kenma for falling for a girl like that?
“You should send her a Valentine’s Day gift,” Kuroo suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Aren’t you supposed to do that next month?” Taketora says, scratching his head.
“Why does it matter? That’s a stupid rule.” Kuroo rolls his eyes. “If you ask me, you should be giving gifts to the people you like everyday. Besides, I think it’d be a sweet gesture.”
Yaku lets out a loud laugh and claps the captain on the back. “Okay, lover boy.”
“What’s wrong with what I said? Traditions are nice and all but they aren’t laws,” Kuroo grumbles. To Kenma, he continues, “Think about it. Who knows? You might make her really happy.”
Kenma does think about it. He thinks about it when they leave the clubroom to eat convenience store pork buns, and he thinks about it when he and Kuroo walk home in silence. He thinks about it when he climbs up the stairs to his room and changes into a fresh set of clothes.
He keeps thinking about it as he tunes into her stream for the night, up until she ends it and he’s left staring at the blackened screen of his computer.
And the more he turns it over and over in his mind, the more he starts to… warm up to the idea. Kenma, being as reserved as he is, has never been the type to do something like that. Some people might even call him self-centered, but that isn't quite true. The reality is that he simply knows what matters to him. He knows his priorities, and more importantly, he knows exactly how much time and energy each one deserves.
He's never been the sort of person to go out of his way for someone unless he genuinely wanted to.
Which is why it comes as such a surprise that he's even considering this.
Because never, in all his life, had Kenma imagined that one of his priorities would become finding the perfect Valentine's Day gift for a stranger on the internet—a stranger he happened to admire far more than he probably should.
So this is how Kenma Kozume has decided to end his day: scouring the depths of the internet in search for the perfect gift for his beloved Zemu.
It’s 3AM when he finally finds it. Chocolates hadn’t been good enough. Flowers would wilt in the mail. In the end, he settles on two pairs of hair clips: one shaped like an apple, the other like a slice of apple pie. Both are decorated with lace and satin ribbons. They’re pretty—delicate, even—and immediately remind him of her. Kenma has noticed that she likes this sort of thing. Whenever she streams, she's always dressed in cute outfits, adorned with little ribbons, lace, and other charming details that suit her perfectly.
It arrives at his doorstep only a few hours after he places the order, and Kenma spends the rest of the time trying to wrap it perfectly.
It shouldn't be this difficult. It's a small box. People wrap gifts every day without turning it into a strategic operation, yet somehow he manages to waste three sheets of wrapping paper before producing something that looks remotely presentable. Even then, he keeps staring at it, smoothing out creases that barely exist and adjusting the ribbon by fractions of an inch.
The note, which he randomly decided in the middle of his gift-wrapping operation that he must write, takes even longer. He starts over four times before finally writing:
Happy Valentine's Day.
I know this is kind of an unconventional way to give someone a gift, and it's probably not a very traditional Valentine's Day present either, but I hope you like it anyway.
- Kodzuken
It’s short and simple, but it’s the best he can come up with. It’ll have to do—at least it’s not too embarrassing. He had thought long and hard about how to sign it until he eventually decided on his gamertag. It’s only fitting, isn’t it? He wanted something for her to remember him as, but not so personal that he would scribble down his name for all the world to see.
By 10AM, the package is tucked securely under one arm as he makes his way to the P.O. box address listed on her profile.
It's ridiculous, really. He's not confessing. He's not proposing marriage. He's just dropping off a gift for a streamer he likes watching. So why does it feel like he's about to step onto a stage in front of thousands of people?
Kenma swallows.Then, before he can overthink it any further, he completes the delivery—and just like that, it's done.
All he can do now is wait.
The conclusion to his little side quest comes around a week later. She’s doing one of her nightly streams and Kenma, of course, is tuned in. His heart nearly stops in his chest when she reappears on camera, struggling to drag a mountain of packages into frame. Boxes of every size tumble around her chair as she lets out a dramatic groan.
"Okay," Zemu says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Today I want to do something a little different. I thought it'd be fun to open the gifts you guys sent!"
Kenma's stomach drops. Instantly, his eyes dart to the pile—somewhere in there are two apple-themed hair clips and a note that had taken him twenty minutes to write and a week to stop regretting. The rational part of his brain reminds him that she receives gifts all the time. There are dozens of packages stacked around her. The chances of his being opened tonight are low.
The irrational part of his brain—which, unfortunately, has been gaining more influence lately—watches every box she picks up with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb. For nearly an hour, she opens gifts: plushies, mugs, a handmade bracelet, ridiculously large stuffed animals that nearly knocks over her microphone. One gift after the other, she gives the camera a wide grin and thanks every sender.
Gradually, Kenma feels himself relaxing. Maybe she really won't get to his tonight, after all.
Then she reaches for a small package wrapped in pale pink paper and tied with a red satin ribbon, and his entire body goes rigid.
No way.
No. Way.
"Oh, this one's cute," she says excitedly.
It’s his gift. Kenma recognizes it instantly, palms sweating profusely. He watches as she carefully unties the ribbon, unfolds the paper, and pulls out the small box hidden inside.
"Hm?" As she opens it, the apple clips slide into her palm, and it’s like the whole world has gone into slow motion as her face lights up Kenma’s computer screen. “Oh my gosh! Guys, look at these—they’re so cute!” She holds them up to the camera, turning them so everyone can see. The satin ribbons sway beneath the tiny apples and slices of pie. “I love them! Whoever picked these out knows me really well and has good taste."
Kenma can feel the distinct burning in his ears, the warmth spreading quickly to his cheeks. It feels as though every eye in the stream has suddenly turned toward him, thousands of invisible gazes prickling against his skin like needles. Rationally, he knows that's impossible. Nobody knows who he is. Nobody is actually looking at him.
And yet the room suddenly feels too warm and stuffy. He glances around the darkness of his bedroom, feeling silly but also acutely aware of his own embarrassment. Should he open a window or two?
Finally, Zemu notices the folded note tucked beneath the packaging. "Oh, wait! Guys, there's a message."
As she opens the folded paper, Kenma’s soul leaves his body. "Happy Valentine's Day," she reads aloud. "I know this is kind of an unconventional way to give someone a gift, and it's probably not a very traditional Valentine's Day present either, but I hope you like it anyway."
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Aw, thank you, Kodzuken! You’re so sweet, whoever you are. I love your gift so much! Oh, wait guys, I know this username; it’s always in the chat! Kodzuken, are you here now?” She steps closer to the screen to monitor the chat, squinting.
Kenma nearly falls out of his chair.
The chat explodes, and while everyone else is busy spamming emotes and demanding she put the clips on immediately, Kenma can only sit there, staring at his monitor with his face buried in one hand as his heartbeat threatens to punch its way through his ribs.
“Hmm.. I don’t see them,” she concludes. “Maybe they’re not here today. Oh, well! If you’re watching this as a past broadcast, then thank you! I love your gift so much~”
After putting on the clips, she returns to the mountain of gifts waiting beside her, moving on to the next package with the same enthusiasm as before. Meanwhile, Kenma sits frozen in front of his monitor. Part of him wonders whether he should have let his presence be known. Maybe he should have said something in the chat when she looked for him.
But as he watches her continue through the pile, occasionally reaching up to adjust the apple clips now nestled in her hair, those thoughts gradually fade away.
In their place settles a contentment so simple yet intimate that he is caught off guard by the sheer force of it. He likes seeing her happy.
No—that's not quite right.
He really likes seeing her happy. Every smile, every laugh, every excited reaction sends a strange sense of satisfaction blooming in his chest, especially if it’s something he himself evoked. It's rewarding, knowing that for a brief moment, he was responsible for one of those smiles.
And maybe that's why, despite all his earlier embarrassment, some part of him is already wondering what gift he could send next. Little does he know that this won't be the last package. Or the second-to-last.
Before long, sending her gifts will become a habit of its own—a side quest he never quite manages to abandon. He'll spend hours browsing online stores, searching for things that remind him of her, all for the chance to see her smile at something he picked out. All for the chance to hear her thank him, to hear her say his name, even if it's only his gamertag.
For now, though, Kenma simply leans back in his chair and watches the stream, warmth lingering in his chest as she laughs at something in chat, the apple clips still resting in her hair.