
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3833143.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Tsukishima_Kei_&_Yamaguchi_Tadashi, Kuroo_Tetsurou/Tsukishima_Kei, Minor
      or_Background_Relationship(s), Kozume_Kenma_&_Kuroo_Tetsurou
  Character:
      Tsukishima_Kei, Yamaguchi_Tadashi, Kuroo_Tetsurou, Tsukishima_Akiteru,
      Yachi_Hitoka, Kozume_Kenma, Kageyama_Tobio, Hinata_Shouyou
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Eating_Disorders, Internal_Conflict, Mental_Anguish, Heavy_Angst,
      Psychological, Friendship, Slow_Build, Slow_Burn, Family_Issues,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Implied/Referenced_Suicide,
      Implied/Referenced_Domestic_Violence, Implied/Referenced_Homophobia, Sad,
      Platonic_Relationships, Minor_Tsukishima_Kei/Yamaguchi_Tadashi,
      Depression, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced_Self-Induced_Vomiting,
      Internalized_Homophobia, Mental_Health_Issues
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-27 Updated: 2016-01-30 Chapters: 4/? Words: 9114
****** and flowers might wilt when we walk past ******
by nahiko
Summary
     You don’t eat because you’re not hungry, you don’t eat because you’re
     not hungry, you don’t eat because you’re not hungry.
     (you don’t eat because you tell yourself you’re not hungry)
Notes
     Title comes from Walking Disasters, by The Wombats. Also, I like
     figures of speech much more than I probably should, and tags will be
     added as (and if) the work progresses.
     This was supposed to be a short story about Tsukishima being too thin
     (he's almost underweight), but when I realized, there was already a
     plot and a whole background of nothing but angst. This has been
     standing on my draft for a while now, since I heavily considered not
     writing it (eating disorder is a theme that hits dangerously close to
     home to me), but in the end, I figured out I couldn't let it there
     for too long. The idea wouldn't leave me alone, and I'm too stressed
     with school to deal with my own struggles right now.
     If I do end up writing a second chapter (I don't know if I'll be able
     to finish this), it won't be in second person POV anymore.
     Please, forgive me for any typos and for my bluntness. If you think I
     should tag anything more, just let me know.
***** Chapter 1 *****
You don’t eat. You don’t eat because you’re worried. You don’t eat because
you’re not hungry.
(you don’t eat because other kids give you weird looks and maybe if you stop
growing up you’ll stop being stared at, maybe if you stop growing up you’ll
stop standing out, maybe you’ll stop, maybe it’ll stop, maybe, maybe)
 
===============================================================================
 
Yamaguchi shares his lunch with you and you thank him, thank him, but you’ll
never tell him you think about his freckled face with a smile on your lips when
you’re going to sleep — because he makes you feel as if it doesn’t matter, as
if it doesn’t matter, he accepts you, he admires you, he‒
 
===============================================================================
 
You don’t eat. You don’t eat because everything you try to put on your stomach
is coming back up your throat, and you don’t like the acid taste at the tip of
your tongue. You don’t eat because you’re not hungry.
(Akiteru’s eyes are haunted by the lies he told you, and you’re haunted by the
lies he told you, too, but you close up your face and pretend it doesn’t
happen)
 
===============================================================================
 
He tries and tries and tries but you’re hurt, you’re young and you’re hurt, and
all your childish dreams were shattered in front of your eyes because Nii-san’s
a liar, he’s a liar, liar, liar, he was lying, everything he told you — nothing
but lies and lies and lies, the stupid little brother who could not, can not,
will not stand the truth.
 
===============================================================================
 
You don’t eat. You don’t eat because just looking at the food makes you
physically ill, makes you wish you could rest your head over your arms and stay
like that all day, all day, pretending your stomach isn’t turning, your heart
isn’t sinking, pretending you’re not feeling as if nothing will ever matter
anymore because you trusted him you trusted him he betrayed you god you hate it
so much.
(but you love him so much, you love him so much because he’s your brother and
he’s your hero, he’s the one you would always look up to, he’s the one you
wanted to be, you admired him, you loved him, you love him and it just hurts so
much you want it to stop)
 
===============================================================================
 
Yamaguchi offers to share his lunch with you (again), but you don’t want him to
— stained hands you washed up on your own tears, the salty taste of blood from
when you bit your own mouth trying to hold in the sobs; he doesn’t deserve the
mess you are, because that’s what you are, maybe were, will always be.
 
===============================================================================
 
You don’t eat and mom says you’re too thin. You don’t eat and dad says you’re
growing up too fast. You don’t eat and Akiteru watches you from afar, and a
part of you wonder if he knows.
(you’re sure he knows, he always knows, but you pretend he doesn’t, and he
wants to make it up to you somehow so he pretends he doesn’t and both of you
act as if it’s not happening)
 
===============================================================================
 
You know he knows because he tries buying your favourite strawberry cake from
the bakery down the street and you eat it, you eat it because you want to eat
it, you want so much, you want to forgive him, you want him to forgive you, you
want to stop hurting — but you throw it up when no one’s looking for you, and
your stomach is empty again, and you feel even worse than you did before,
because Nii-san’s eyes are hopeful and you don’t have the heart to tell him
it’s not working, you don’t have the heart to talk to him.
 
===============================================================================
 
You don’t eat. You don’t eat because you’re not hungry, and you hide in the
word of chords of the first song that broke your heart. You don’t eat because
you’re not hungry, and your handwriting is the best in class from the amount of
times you scribbled your favourite lyrics in your math books. You don’t eat
because you’re not hungry, and you order and reorder your dinosaur figurines on
your shelf, again, again, again, until you feel they’re good enough (they’re
not and you have to do it again).
You don’t eat because you’re not hungry, you don’t eat because you’re not
hungry, you don’t eat because you’re not hungry.
(you don’t eat because you tell yourself you’re not hungry)
 
===============================================================================
 
It doesn’t matter what were your reasons before — you still grow up to be
taller and taller, thinner and thinner, long slim legs and pale arms, and you
hate it so much, hate it so much, hate it so much you want to scream until you
have no voice anymore until you can rip your heart out of your chest because
maybe then it’ll start making sense and you’ll stop hating hating, hate is
tearing you apart.
 
                                      xxx
 
You feel the sun rising before its rays of sunshine trespass the thin fabric of
your curtains — with the beginning of the day comes a restlessness that settles
in your bones, your body aching, your eyes burning as if you spent the night
crying (you didn’t, but you didn’t get any sleep, either). In the back of your
mind, you wonder briefly what time there may be, but you have no wish to search
for your cell phone, or to sit and stretch your arm off under the blanket and
get the clock on your bed table.
You’re not comfortable, but you don’t want to move, not yet. The perspective of
today isn’t appealing, and your heart stutters. You’re resisting the urge to
crunch your face, to turn your hands into fists and dig your nails in your
palms with as much anger as you can make yourself feel right now.
You don’t want to. Don’t want to get up. Don’t want to go to school because you
hate it, you hate it so much, and you don’t even need a reason to — you know
how high school works, you know what to expect, and you have no wish to deal
with annoying classmates and homework and responsibilities. Most of all, you
don’t want to face another day with all the burning hate consuming you, making
you angry and spilling venomous things to the very end at the tiniest bit of
provoking.
You’re not even sorry anymore. Everything you wish you could do right now was
to stay — until night comes again and again and again and the whole world
explodes or whatever.
 
(whatever, whatever)
(you skip breakfast that morning)
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Yamaguchi Tadashi was a boy with pink coloured cheeks and a laugh
     that, for anyone you could ask for, resembled sunflowers and
     blossoming sakuras and lazy spring afternoons laying on the grass.
     (but that was before he started to break)
Chapter Notes
     I AM THOROUGHLY CONFUSED. Like. Wow. The amount of times I stared at
     the laptop screen, asking myself whether someone really had read the
     story, or if it was just some sort of strange dream (I have a lot of
     those), is alarming. You are amazing ( p_q) all of you (∗∕
     ∕•̥̥̥̥∕ω∕•̥̥̥̥∕)
     Now, talking about the chapter. When you read it, you'll see that
     Yamaguchi thinks about Tsukishima a lot. It wasn't my intention,
     since this chapter was supposed to focus on Yamaguchi only, but then
     I realized that I couldn't write about him alone. Tsukishima is an
     important part of his life, and his friendship means a lot. Previous
     chapter, it also wasn't my intention to let Yamaguchi so "out of
     vision", but since I was already writing in second person pov, I
     wanted to focus on Tsukishima's feelings more, which doesn't
     necessarily imply how he sees people around him.
     Also, just in case this gets anyone confused, the story follows the
     Japanese Education System. In other words:
     Elementary School:
     1st grade: 6-7 years
     2nd grade: 7-8 years
     3rd grade: 8-9 years
     4th grade: 9-10 years
     5th grade: 10-11 years
     6th grade: 11-12 years
     Junior High School:
     1st grade: 12-13 years
     2nd grade: 13-14 years
     3rd grade: 14-15 years
     High School:
     1st grade: 15-16 years (current time)
     2nd grade: 16-17 years
     3rd grade: 17-18 years
     Still, if anyone gets confused, you can ask me.
     In regards the past of the characters, I'll try to write bit by bit
     the canon divergences, but if you think anything could be better
     explained (considering a few things I'll still write more about),
     just tell me.
     Aaand, information, information: a few tags were added. (and the
     typos keep hiding from me help)
     P.S.: I don't know how to socialize. I'm the awkward potato at the
     corner of the room. Please, forgive me.
Yamaguchi Tadashi was a boy with pink coloured cheeks and a laugh that, for
anyone you could ask for, resembled sunflowers and blossoming sakuras and lazy
spring afternoons laying on the grass — a laugh that resembled fireworks and
happiness and colourfully painted canvas spread all over the floor. He had a
kindness in him, something different, something special, that used to drawn
people closer, that used to make other kids want to play with him and his
parents smile like if he was their own miracle.
That was before, of course. Before kindness somehow started meaning he was
weak, before other boys he knew didn’t want to play with him anymore, before he
started getting mocked and stared at. It was before uncle Hideki died in a car
accident, and aunt Yamoto started drinking; before dad stopped showing up on
lunch and diner because of his work, and mom cried and cried, and then took
sleeping pills not to wake up.
That was before Yamaguchi started to break.
 
===============================================================================
 
He met Tsukki — Tsukishima, at time — when he was ten and crying in boy’s
bathroom after some kids pushed him to the ground and told him he couldn’t play
with them because they were playing boy’s games (which was stupid, because
everyone was playing, and not only boys).
Tsukki was from his class, the tallest kid in it. Yamaguchi never had really
talked with him, but he knew Tsukki had a bad way with words, because more
often than not, the teacher would pull him out on a corner and talk to him in a
quiet, hushed tone, while some more sensitive kid cried for something he had
told them with that bored voice of his. That being said, Yamaguchi also knew
that Tsukki was quite lonely, even though he didn’t seem bothered by it — when
his words didn’t scare anyone away, his height did.
It was easy being intimidated by him, and Yamaguchi could understand the
feeling. He just wanted to cry his eyes out and be alone, and perhaps never
come to school again, and he had not been expecting to be caught by none other
than the least probable person to care.
Surprisingly enough, though, when Tsukishima spotted him, he stopped by and
stared at Yamaguchi in a mixture of curiosity and boredom.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, more kind of demanded, as if Yamaguchi owed him
answers.
Tadashi hated him in that moment. Hated him for being so indifferent, for being
so cold, for being so apparently full of himself that he thought Yamaguchi owed
him anything when they never even did talk.
But the hatred disappeared as soon as he looked at the blonde through eyes full
of tears, and couldn’t really find his voice to tell Tsukishima to go away. He
had never liked being unfair, and if he lashed out on Tsukishima just because
he was angry, he surely would regret it and feel guilty later.
Not wanting to add another thing on his list of reasons why he didn’t want to
ever set foot in school again, Yamaguchi shrugged off, and expected Tsukishima
to go away.
He didn’t.
“Was it Sora and the other boys?” Tsukishima asked instead, and Yamaguchi
caught a glimpse of what might have been a tentative worry.
Everyone knew about him and the other boys from class. The other kids, who
didn’t care, and the teacher, who said it wasn’t meant to hurt him, that they
were just boys growing up and feeling the necessity of being rough with each
other, that Tadashi should just brush it off and live his life, that (Yamaguchi
hated her).
It was no use answering, then, since Tsukishima already knew, and he wasn’t in
the mood to talk.
There was another moment in which none of them said anything.
“Pathetic.” Tsukishima finally stated in a quiet tone, and Yamaguchi didn’t
know whether it was directed at him, or the other boys.
He didn’t want to know.
(they sat together next morning class)
 
===============================================================================
 
Yamaguchi had his first heartbreak when he was twelve. There was this gorgeous,
gorgeous boy (he had told dad it was a girl) from his class, and he had big,
beautiful blue eyes, and messy brown hair that he was always running his hands
through (it looked so soft). But said boy didn’t want anything with him (not
that anyone else did — maybe, just maybe, Tsukki; they had been hanging out
together for a while, but he still couldn’t really say), and made it clear. A
lot of times. Kind of. It wasn’t even that Yamaguchi liked to suffer (he
didn’t), he just felt like that boy was the one. A lot of people think alike
when they first fall in love and there was something that kept him crushing,
crushing hard, even when he cried until he fell asleep every night — the words
echoing in his head, how weak and alone he was, how no one cared, no one would
ever care about him.
He knew it was stupid to think he wouldn’t face cruelty, but Yamaguchi had
hope. He clutched to it, and hid it deep down his heart, believing that things
could be better, that they could (believing that the hard eyes would turn soft
somehow, and it would stop hurting).
They didn’t, and his first kiss was stolen just to prove a point — they called
him names and they made him feel so stupid, so stupid, so hopeless, so used, so
worthless. He had been so delusional, all that time, and the raw, naked truth,
made him bleed inside, made the tears climb their way out of his eyes, running
through his cheeks, made him empty.
But they laughed. They laughed as he quietly cried, and the other kids laughed
too, and he wanted to run away, wanted torun away, but his feet somehow managed
not to let him, somehow managed to get him stuck to the ground, as if they were
chains, grinding him, binding him, holding him down as his childish hope and
heart were torn apart.
That was when Tsukki walked in on the scene, his pacing slow, his hands hidden
in his pockets. Yamaguchi expected him to laugh too — they weren’t friends, not
really, after all, and even though Yamaguchi liked him, he knew Tsukki was mean
on a good day, and more than cruel on a bad one.
But instead of laughing, Tsukki, tall and thin and usually indifferent Tsukki,
punched the boy (the boy with the dark locks, the messy brown hair, the big
blue eyes, the boy that Yamaguchi was crushing on)  in the face and told the
others to fuck off.
(and because he was taller than the tallest of the kids from their class,
because he didn’t mind what they told him no matter how cruel they could be,
because he had cold, sharp anger building up in his golden eyes, no one wanted
to try and mess with him)
Yamaguchi stared at him in mute shock, as waves of thankfulness drowned him,
and didn’t knew whether to take the chance and run away, or to hug the blond on
impulse — he ended up doing none, since Kei turned to him, grabbed his arm, and
started walking away with slightly furrowed brows.
It was the one time another person stood up for Yamaguchi — he told himself it
was the last time he needed someone to.
(Tsukki’s eyes were softer than they had ever been)
 
===============================================================================
 
2nd grade came and gone, and Yamaguchi didn’t make any new friends. Not that he
didn’t try, but it didn’t make him any desperate to know that people still
didn’t want him around. He had Tsukki, be it on the good or bad days, and that
was okay.
For a while.
It was okay until work started stressing dad (again). It was okay until
Yamaguchi entered the kitchen late at night to find his stepmother crying
(again, again, again). It was okay until he had to hid his face between pillows
("he’s just a kid!") to stop the screams.
It was okay until the day Tsukki stared at him with concerned eyes and
Yamaguchi shrugged it off with a smile (he’s so clumsy, how would anyone hit
their faces in a drawer, anyway?). And Tsukki didn’t believe it, not for a
second, but he was never good at making Yamaguchi tell him things he didn’t
want to tell.
Eventually, it got better. But every night, when he went to his bedroom, his
bed, and tried to sleep, Yamaguchi would still feel the ghosts of the bruises
dad’s hand had left. Every night he would be haunted by his stepmother’s silent
sobs as she caressed his hair.
He was a boy, dad had said, a boy, a boy, not a girl, and he should act like
one. And Yamaguchi couldn’t understand why his voice could make him sound so
angry, when he still looked so scared. His words were empty, and they didn’t
make any sense.
Yamaguchi’s stepmother had told him it was her fault. Hers, hers, and only
hers. If only she had kept her mouth shut! But, oh, no… No, no, no, she had to
tell… She had to tell and make dad angry, and…!
Yamaguchi couldn’t see what was of so wrong about it all. It was just Tsukki.
His best friend — Tsukki, with curly hair and golden eyes. Just Tsukki, with
pale hands and, oh, so much hate, confusion, just so much hidden under his
skin. When did Yamaguchi get it so wrong dad started to want them to be apart?
Tsukki never didanything. They didn’t talk about 5th grade, Yamaguchi didn’t
have any reason to do so, and even though Tsukki never seemed to be bothered by
the fact that Yamaguchi had kissed a boy, he never seemed interested in kissing
Yamaguchi, either — and it was… Okay.
But… Maybe... Maybe Tadashi was just broken. It would make sense, right?
Because broken pieces don’t fit anywhere. They don’t belong (just like him). He
could be lost in his own mind, waves and waves of thought that betrayed him
over and over and over at night —broken, broken, broken.
 
(he had wanted to ask Tsukki; to tell him about his doubts, about his fears,
about dad, about everything — he had wanted Tsukki to hold him again in that
way that made him feel safe, and he had wanted Tsukki to shrug it off and say
"I don't mind what your father says", and he had wanted Tsukki to say they were
still going to be together no matter what)
(he never asked for any of those things)
(2nd grade came and gone, and Yamaguchi cried himself to sleep)
 
===============================================================================
 
3rd grade started, and Yamaguchi’s worries came back full force — but not about
himself, never again about himself.
Tsukki had high cheekbones and too pale skin, bony shoulders and bony fingers,
his frame thinner by day. Yamaguchi didn’t think he even realized it, even when
his body trembled and his lips lost all color, even as his knuckles turned
white as he clung on to the nearest surface, trying not to lose his balance.
Tsukki didn’t realize a lot of things. The way his eyes often were dull, his
mind somewhere else, the way he wore the scowl stuck on his face like if he
wore a shield. It could be the music — his earphones, that he cherished, were
big and expensive ones, treated with as much as care as he could master, always
safely close —, but Yamaguchi felt like that wasn’t the case.
Then, he learned not to ask.
Not that Tsukki reacted aggressively, or cruel in any way. But the way he
widened his eyes and his whole body froze, the way disgust and betrayal and so
much hate filled up his iris, how his fingers twitched and yet he didn’t move —
he looked more fragile than he ever did, and it frightened Yamaguchi; it
frightened him to see his friend, whom he thought was so strong, so
unreachable, look like if Tadashi could tear him to pieces with his words.
Instead, they just stared at each other for what felt like an impossibly long
amount of time. Eventually, though, Yamaguchi’s eyes fell to the floor.
He wasn’t able to face the shame slowly blending to Tsukki’s face. He couldn’t
face the utterly loathing in there — he didn’t know, he didn’t know, was Tsukki
starting to hate him or himself? Both of them were equally heartwrenching
possibilities.
“Go away”, Tsukki finally spat, bitter.
Yamaguchi shook his head.
“What…” his friend seemed to choke on his own words. “What do you want, uh,
Yamaguchi?”
There was another minute of silence.
“Tsk. Go away”.
“Tsukki…” Yamaguchi rose his head, tentatively reaching to his friend, but
Tsukki snapped his hand away.
“Leave me alone!”
“T‒”
“I said to go! Don’t you hear a word I say? Leave me the fuck alone!”
Yamaguchi didn’t move.
He could see hate slowly starting to eat the rest of patience Tsukki still had.
He could see it in the way his lips shut tightly, his own hands turning to
fists, his shoulders tensing. But he could, more than see,sense sadness, too,
radiating off him, and knowing he was hurting made Tadashi wish he could
understand.
He could not.
But Tsukishima Kei was his friend, perhaps the only person that, even when
mean, didn’t make Yamaguchi feel like he didn’t deserve to be loved. Tsukishima
Kei was a boy who had icy golden eyes and a smirk permanently plastered on his
face, and he didn’t deserve to be exposed in his vulnerability for anyone to
see, especially if he didn’t want them to see — and Tadashi loved him.
Then, he didn’t mind when Tsukki looked at him with nothing but blind rage and
opened his mouth to twist his tongue in an attempted to do the only thing he
could to protect himself: frighten him with his carefully picked words bathed
in venom.
He really didn’t mind, not when Tsukki’s hands clutched to his shirt,
trembling, as he muttered, still trying to make Yamaguchi go away.
“I hate you”, he had said, his voice quiet and breaking, threatening to fail,
“hate you, hate you.”
(broken, broken, broken, Yamaguchi’s mind had whispered back)
 
3rd grade started, and Yamaguchi had found his best friend throwing up in one
of the bathrooms of their school.
(3rd grade ended, and they didn’t talk about it)
 
                                      xxx
 
He is up before the alarm clock starts ringing. Earlier than needed, indeed,
but he feels better this way — as if waking up before the settled time has
anything to do with gaining control over anything in his life.
Yamaguchi closes his eyes and thinks over the possibility of skipping first day
of school. He knows he can’t, because he would never let himself, but it’s good
to pretend for a moment. It almost manages to make him feel good — attempting
to lie and tell himself this time will be different.
It’s never different.
Yamaguchi sighs, but rubs his eyes nonetheless and catches his bag, heading to
the kitchen in the first floor.
“Morning”, he tells his stepmother, and she greets him with a warm smile,
having just finished putting up breakfast on the table. “You could’ve waited.”
he comments, softly, sitting on the first free chair. “I would’ve helped.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry about it, dear.”
She sits on the nearest chair, and takes his hand between hers.
“How are you?”
Dad is nowhere to be seen, and Yamaguchi doesn’t hear any sound coming from up
the stairs.
Somewhat hesitantly, he tilts his head and smiles at her.
“Nervous.” Yamaguchi admits.
“Don’t....” it’s her time to hesitate. She looks a bit distressed, as if trying
to decide what to do before finally settling for “You’ll be okay.”
This is the closest thing Yamaguchi will have as a comfort. Neither of them
have ever been any good at words.
It’s nice to know she cares enough, though.
“Thank you, mom”.
 
(he folds a few toasts in a napkin when she’s not looking, and hides it in his
bag)
(later, he remembers, he’ll need it later)
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Tsukishima’s almost afraid that one day he’ll push too hard and
     Tadashi will stop searching for him.
Chapter Notes
     First and foremost, I wanted to thank you all for the feedback on the
     last chapter (///∇///) I’m still an awkward potato sitting at the
     corner, but I’m a happy potato (ignore this talk about potatoes)
     I’m literally at the beginning of the story, and already thinking
     about how it’ll end. Can it be considered a good thing? I hope it
     does.
     Anyway.
     A bit more of Tsukki. He’s a character I really like to write about,
     even though most of time I feel like I’m getting an introspective
     version of him and forgetting the scenario. It may have happened
     here, too (why is so hard to write a conversation). Also, regarding
     how he feels about people around him... It's a bit (lot) complicated.
     I proofread it, like, three times already, but I always manage to let
     something slip because formatting is hell someone save me. If you
     find anything, please, tell me?
     [also, a few tags were added. this chapter has a potential trigger
     warning for implied/referenced self-induced vomiting. please, beware]
See the end of the chapter for more notes
He woke up one day to find out he didn’t know who he was anymore. Like the
feeling you get when you first start to forget the dream you just had — a
slight sense of loss, and confusion, yes, but mostly nothing.
Nothing. That was what he felt when he stared at his own eyes in the mirror —
absolutely nothing. There was something nagging at the back of his neck,
telling him something was missing, but he couldn’t figure out what. Didn’t even
try to.
It wasn’t that he was sad — he wasn’t. But for the first time in years he
didn’t smile to his mother when she put the cereal bowl in front of him, her
eyes soft and loving. For the first time in a while, he put on his earphones
and didn’t as much as glance to Yamaguchi when the other boy talked to him.
He had to fight off the numbness his body felt drowned in that day. It was a
struggle to write down what the teachers said — he gave up. It was hard to try
and pay attention to the classes — he gave up. His hands were cold when he came
back, and yet, he couldn’t make himself hide them in his pockets, like he
always did.
Even the stuttering happiness (it was happiness, it felt like happiness) which
used to make him twitch his lips upwards, just a tiny bit, when Yamaguchi
smiled at him, didn’t show up (Yamaguchi smiled harder that day, his freckles
showing on his crimson cheeks when he took Tsukishima’s hands in their own, and
held them tightly — he was warm, but Tsukishima’s hands were still cold).
He had thought his stomach would drop like it ever did when he and Yamaguchi
had to go different ways on the road — it didn’t. He knew they would meet
tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and the day after that — but Tsukishima
still wondered what it would feel when, one day, he had to come home alone. He
wondered how it would feel when he got to school and Yamaguchi wouldn’t look at
him, smiling at other people, talking to other people, making the loving
friends he always did deserve.
Tsukishima watched his friend go, and wondered whether he would feel lonely —
because he could be angry, too, he could hold tightly to Yamaguchi because he
hated it when Yamaguchi did stupid things (like leaving him behind). He would
be frustrated for sure. But it was scary not to know if he would close himself
off from everyone and tell the world he didn’t need anyone, anyway, or if he
would hate himself from doing something so atrocious that made Yamaguchi leave
him.
He couldn’t find an answer. Tsukishima stared, he did, at the empty road for
what felt like forever. No magic happened that afternoon — no words made their
way into his head, no certain comfort, and Yamaguchi didn’t suddenly read all
the feelings Tsukishima had been trying to find inside himself and came back.
There was just him, and the cold.
And then he started walking again, slowly, even though he didn’t feel like it,
even though he knew there wasn’t going to be anyone home.
That day, Tsukishima re-ordered his dinosaur figurines so many times he started
feeling nauseous. Usually it made him calmer. But mom called him to diner, and
his lips had trembled, and his hands started shaking, and his eyes started to
sting.
He went to eat anyway (when no one was looking, he hid in the bathroom and
threw up until his stomach started aching).
But he didn’t cry. Not when he hit his forehead in the sink in an attempt to
wash his mouth from the disgusting taste in his tongue. Not when he bit his
lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Not when he clutched on to his chest, and
his heart felt like it had been ripped apart.
Tsukishima didn’t want to cry, and he didn’t cry. He stared at himself in the
mirror again — and he saw nothing. Felt nothing.
(it was like falling when you don’t know how deep is the hole, like falling
when you can’t even see where you fell from — it was slipping through his
fingers so fast, yet, Tsukishima couldn’t understand)
And then he came back to his room, and sat in his bed, and stared at his (bony,
bony) hands, and asked himself why he even tried.
 
(Tsukishima woke up one day to realize what it meant not knowing how to move on
with your life)
                                      xxx
Yamaguchi is the first one he sees, waiting on the usual spot where their paths
cross, and Tsukishima can’t help the fondness that assaults him for a moment.
He’s quick on drowning the feeling, as for he’s used to doing it often, but the
soft warmness at the bottom of his heart remains.
Tsukishima hates it. Hates how, even after all the years they’ve been friends
(friends, friends, not acquaintances, and he can’t understand how it can
possibly be real), Yamaguchi still manages to make him feel like this. It’s not
good. It could never be. He’s just stupid, it’s just stupid, and Yamaguchi
doesn’t have the right to make him feel like this. Yamaguchi doesn’t have the
fucking right — yet, here he is, waving animatedly while Tsukishima wishes he
could come back inside home and swallow in the blessed numbness he’s been
feeling since last vacation started. It’s just so much easier than to deal with
all the shit he knows he’ll have to face (it would be so much easier just to
give up already).
“Hey, Tsukki!” he doesn’t answer, but Yamaguchi’s been hanging out with him for
a whole five years; he knows better than to expect Tsukishima to be anything
but grumpy this early in the morning. “Why didn’t you answer me yesterday? We
could’ve gone buying materials together. It would’ve been fun.” for a moment he
does seem disappointed. “But that’s okay! We have the whole day yet, after we
finish classes! We could hang out after school, what do you think? Go to that
CD store you like and look around.”
Tsukishima doesn’t really wishes to go anywhere after school — anywhere but
home, this is. Even the prospect of buying new CD’s (music never tires him,
it’s the only thing that never tires him) isn’t appealing enough, and that must
say quite a lot about him. What kind of person can’t be passionate even when
it’s about the things they like? Apparently, him.
“What class do you think you’ll be?” Yamaguchi continues, bringing Tsukishima
back to reality.
Hopefully some that doesn’t have a lot of people. Tsukishima shrugs. As long as
they leave him alone, he doesn’t really care. It’s not like he’s searching for
company, or friends, or anything. These kind of things are troublesome, and
he’s too fucked up already — Tsukishima knows it’s not normal, he knows, deep
down, that something about him is wrong (broken, broken, he’s broken), he just
can’t bring himself to care anymore.
Besides, dealing with others makes him ill. The obligation to talk, to open up,
to bare his soul to strangers who most likely don’t even care about him; he
doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need people to look at him sideways. He’s
comfortable enough with hate, despise, with having others put him aside because
he should think about the things he says or people might get the wrong idea,
butpity is something he’ll never swallow (never, ever, ever, ever).
“Have you thought about a club you want to be in already?”
The simple question is like a bucket of cold water. Tsukishima feels his body
freezing, and Yamaguchi takes a few steps ahead before noticing no one’s
walking with him anymore, and turning his head to look at him in reasonable
confusion.
It’s stupid. Really, really stupid. But the word volleyball dances at the tip
of Tsukishima’s tongue, and he feels crushed under the weight of the raw truth.
Does he want it? After everything? It’s useless. Absolutely useless, and if
Tsukishima really thinks he can play, he’s more of an idiot than he thought
himself to be. What’s the use, anyway? There’s always someone stronger, someone
better, and doesn’t matter how much you try, you won’t make it through. You’re
going to be defeated, you’re going to fail, again, again, again and again and
again.
Having hope has broken his brother’s heart, and it’ll break his, too, if he
lets it.
“Tsukki?”
Angry at himself for letting it get to him, Tsukishima starts walking again —
just to stumble upon his own pacing as a wave of dizziness hits him.
Christ. His whole life is a fucking joke.
“Hey, hey, you okay?” Yamaguchi approaches him, his hand reaching to
Tsukishima’s back, as if to hold him if anything happens (it won’t, itwon’t).
Tsukishima shuts his eyes for a second and clenches his fists, suppressing the
growing nausea. Something inside his head hurts, as if someone’s hitting him
repeatedly — it’s probably going to blow fully in a few hours, and leave him
with headache for the rest of the day —, and his knees feel dangerously wobbly,
as if his legs are going to give up.
(he’s so weak, so weak, pathetic, disgusting, weak)
“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi’s voice is a tone lower than it was before. “Did you eat
anything before leaving home?”
He says it like he’s telling a secret, and it’s on instinct that the “Shut up,
Yamaguchi” leaves Tsukishima’s mouth, ruder than necessary. Tsukishima knows
it’s not fair, but he never claimed to be nice — besides, it’s not Yamaguchi’s
fucking business whether he’s been skipping meals or what.
Yamaguchi smiles softly at him, probably already used to it, before pushing his
bag off his back and searching for something within it (Tsukishima refuses to
feel guilty, he refuses, it’s not his fault, he never asked for this, he never
wanted this, Yamaguchi didn’t need to do anything, it wasn’t his obligation,
nor his responsibility, and Tsukishima’s so tired, so fucking tired, he just
wants it to stop).
“Here”, apparently oblivious to his conflicting thoughts, Yamaguchi hands
Tsukishima what looks like a square wrapped up on too much napkins. “I brought
some toasts from home. I was planning on eating them during breaks, but we can
share them now.”
Liar. Tsukishima’s stomach twists painfully.
Yamaguchi hates it when his notebook gets dirty. Why would he wrap up any toast
in a napkin and risk it to leave crumbs everywhere in his bag? Besides, henever
eats during break. Liar, liar, liar. Tsukishima wants to call him out on it —
he hates it when people lie to him, and he hates it even more when Yamaguchi
lies to him —, but can’t build up the courage to do so.
(apparently, he can’t build up the courage to do a lot of things)
(he accepts the toast anyway)


 
There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and Tsukishima wants to throw up.
The toast was so good. Usually, whatever is that Yamaguchi brings him (he
always shares, he always shares) tastes good, but this time — just the right
amount of melted butter, the crispy edges, even the texture of the bread; it
was still warm, and he was salivating the moment he bit it for the first time.
It feels so wrong. It feels so wrong, and he’s so fucking selfish — because he
had wanted to take it, a part of him craved for it, just like he craves for
tiny bits of affection every day, even though he knows he does nothing to
deserve Tadashi by his side. He wasn’t even hungry, and it didn’t matter if
Yamaguchi wasn’t going to eat it — it was still his, and he wasn’t supposed to
feel like he should be sharing his things just because… Just...
Tsukishima shuts his eyes, and his hands shake at his efforts not to hold on to
his stomach as tightly as he can. It takes all he has not to stop there and
then, midway, and puke out his guts.
Just make it stop. God, just make it stop.
 
He doesn’t say anything, and Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything, but they both
know.
(his friends eyes are sad, and it hurts)
 
 
===============================================================================
 
He manages to keep the food down.
For a while.
When they enter the school, the corridors are full of other new students, and,
somehow, Yamaguchi manages to get lost (he refuses to think he was the one to
run away, because he didn’t, didn’t, didn’t) and before he can even think about
it, Tsukishima’s feet carry him to a direction he knows to be completely
different than the one he should be taking — his head hurts, his legs hurts,
but he keeps walking, walking, walking, and the bathroom to where he goes is
blessfully empty.
 
(his eyes sting, and his mouth still tastes bitter)
(Tsukishima tells himself it doesn’t matter)
 
Yamaguchi finds him anyway, because that’s what he always does. While
Tsukishima washes his mouth (and the door is closed, the door is closed, how no
one realized the door is closed yet?), Yamaguchi rests his hand at his back,
motioning it softly, his lips hesitating over the words (it’s okay, it’s okay,
it’s not okay).
It brings no comfort at all, but Tsukishima isn’t going to tell him that.
 
(he’s almost afraid that one day he’ll push too hard and Tadashi will stop
searching for him)
 
 
===============================================================================
 
“What class did you get?” Yamaguchi tip toes, trying to see the paper sheet
Tsukishima holds higher than his own vision line.
“Four.”
He can practically feel Yamaguchi beam with joy — “I got four, too!” — and he’s
going to be damned if he tells himself if he’s not at least a tiny bit
relieved. 3rd grade of Junior High was the only one where they didn’t get the
same class, and boy, had that been (annoying, bad, terrifying, lonely) a
nightmare. Not having Yamaguchi by his side meant Tsukishima had to socialize,
to talk to other people — people that usually stuck to the same phrases he’d
heard too many times over his life, phrases that he couldn’t hate more than he
already did.
(he’s so tall — were his earphones expensive? — why doesn’t he smile? — jeez,
he’s a meanie — how does one read his name, anyway? — is it Hotaru? —
Tsukishima Hotaru-san? — will he play on the basketball team? — he should
totally play on the basketball team.)
Tsukishima had no patience to deal with that, and he didn’t want to. The same
goes to the current situation — and it’s not like he’d been scared they would
be on different classes again, no, he wasn’t, but deep down, he knows he
doesn’t want to be alone. He wants Yamaguchi to be with him, because Yamaguchi
isn’t hard to deal with, because he likes (oh, god, oh, god, god) Yamaguchi,
because it’s easier (to breath) when Yamaguchi’s with him.
At least he’s not (being selfish) alone on the thought; his friend looks just
as relieved as him.
 
(all things considered, Tsukishima understands)
(he’s still haunted by Tadashi’s hollow eyes and bruised cheeks, sometimes)
 
 
===============================================================================
 
Tsukishima doesn’t quite know what to do when the bell finally rings.
Objectively, he should go to class, of course, but he doesn’t feel like doing
it — Yamaguchi seems uncomfortable, too, passing his weight from one foot to
another, and then prodding at his pockets, his lips twisting slightly, and it
must be the first time through the day he shows how nervous he actually is.
The sight pulls something at Tsukishima’s chest. He’s good at reading most of
people, but Yamaguchi’s always been something else entirely. In everything he
does, finding out his reasons is hard — in the few times Tsukishima gets to see
this side of him, this fragile part of Tadashi that normally doesn’t show, he’s
at a loss as for what to do. Tsukishima’s never been an affectionate friend,
and trying to show some kind of comfort surely would be embarrassing for both
of them — so he does nothing but to stare at the floor himself, trying not to
let his expression twitch in a scowl. Absentmindedly, his hands search for his
pockets — and then, in the left one, he catches something.
Square wrapped in too many napkins, one of the toasts Tadashi shared with him
is still there (Tsukishima’s heart feels heavier than it ever did).
 
“Yamaguchi.”
“Yes, Tsukki?”
“Do you want to share?”
 
(Yamaguchi’s eyes brighten and he smiles, and Tsukishima can’t help but to let
his own lips turn slightly upwards, in a way he knows no one but his friend
will realize it’s also smile)
(it doesn’t feel like a lie — for the first time in what seems like forever… it
feels... good)
(he wouldn't mind that much getting used to the feeling)
Chapter End Notes
     A random thing before I forget: I have exams starting next week. This
     means... I'll (probably) be procrastinating in regards of writing
     stories and pretending I won't be curling up under my bed asking
     myself what I'm doing in the first chance I get.
     It also means I have no idea when I'll be updating again, but I bet
     you already guessed that.
     Though, I think this bimester won't be so stressful. a person can
     always hope
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     It’s so hard — so hard to put a smile upon his face, to talk, to feel
     good, to be okay —, and it’s so tiring to be so sad all the time.
Chapter Notes
     So... I have no idea how this happened. I had the beginning of the
     chapter and it was something completely different than it is now —
     but then, in the middle of the thing my muse said something along the
     lines of "hey, but watch this", and I proceeded to write 2k words
     that are about... Kenma and Kuroo. They were supposed to show up
     later on, yes — but I am still confused as to how this happened.
     Anyway.
     I would like to thank every single one of you for commenting on the
     last chapter, and for not giving up on me, even though I tend to take
     eons to update. someone please hit me I need to get my shit together
     I hope this chapter won't disappoint you, specially after... Eight
     months? I'm sorry.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Kenma was six, almost seven, when, one day, one Kuroo Tetsurou moved on to the
next door. Kuroo was different — different than any other person Kenma had ever
seen. Starting from his hair, which stuck to every possible direction, a part
of it falling over his right eye, to the way he so enthusiastically started
coming to Kenma’s house every other day and demand the younger boy to play with
him.
See, Kenma had never been a people person. He wasn’t good at interacting with
them, and he didn’t try to be. Yet, whenever Kuroo burst through his door, a
smile on his face and a new game for them to try, Kenma felt happy. He felt
happy because maybe he wasn’t good enough, maybe he didn’t try hard enough,
maybe he came off as not caring about anything, but Kuroo never called him out
on it. Kuroo, even though already good at pushing everyone’s buttons, never
made him feel like he needed to be anyone, or anything, but himself.
Sometimes, this is the first thing that comes to Kenma’s mind when he wakes up.
Because it’s so hard — so hard to put a smile upon his face, to talk, to feel
good, to be okay —, and it’s so tiring to be so sad all the time. But even when
all he wants to do is to shut off the world, Kenma knows he’s not alone. He has
Kuroo, with cat-like eyes and a beautiful smile and a soft heart (Kuroo, who
thinks more than people give him credit for, who’s kind, who doesn’t ever push
him to do things he really doesn’t want to, who lets Kenma rest his head in his
shoulder whenever things don’t feel quite right — and Kuroo knows, because he
always knows when it comes to Kenma), and he has a whole volleyball team who’s
there to trust him even when he doesn’t trust himself.
He, then, wouldn’t call himself an unlucky person. More often than not, what
Kenma has is enough to make him try again, even if he doesn’t feel like it.
(more often than not, it’s enough to make him think he’s worth something)
 
===============================================================================
Kuroo looked like he should own the world, or the galaxy, or, hell, the whole
universe. Or — okay, maybe not really, but he sat at Kenma’s side by the bed
with his stupid, stupid bed hair, and Kenma’s heart swelled up inside his
chest.
For a while, there was only silence between them — silence except for the
muffled action sounds coming from Kenma’s game. And Kenma could’ve lived like
that forever — nothing but the only person who really got him and quietness,
and the comforting feeling of the console in his hands —, but Kuroo was never
one to let silence grow until it became uncomfortable, so he broke it, his
voice low, so low Kenma (who wasn’t brave enough to look up to his best friend)
could’ve pretended he didn’t even hear it.
“Is this the new game you were talking about that last time?”
Are you okay , was what Kuroo seemed to ask. Do you want to talk about it. Is
it fine if I stay here with you . And Kenma knew the boy would leave him alone,
if he wanted it. He knew Kuroo would leave without hesitating, without asking
why, without demanding Kenma to tell him what was wrong — because it was easy
like that, to Kuroo; especially when it came to Kenma. And he also knew Kuroo
would be there the next day, to smile softly at him and try and talk about
games again. Tentatively, quietly, so out of character of him — because Kuroo
Tetsurou isn’t made to be quiet and insecure; he’s made to shine and smile and
be loud and laugh, and he’s made to be happy (he wasn’t made to sit by Kenma’s
side on days like that and pretend it didn’t hurt him, that the distance didn’t
hurt him, that Kenmadidn’t hurt him).
Kenma wanted to tell him to go away.
“I’m tired”, he whispered instead, letting his head fall on Kuroo’s arm, and
Kuroo hesitated for barely even a second before putting his hand over Kenma’s
own shoulders, giving the boy time to get away if he wanted to (he didn’t).
It felt good — to have the soft warmness cradling up his body. Kenma didn’t
feel cold, not particularly, and he knew it was selfish, but he embraced the
warmness nonetheless — and Kuroo didn’t let go, his cheek resting on Kenma’s
head, his eyes certainly closed, his fingers trembling slightly.
“I… I know.”
(he didn’t, really, but it wasn’t Kenma’s place to tell him otherwise)
 
===============================================================================
Junior High was hell — in all possible senses of the word.
It wasn’t that Kenma hated it — he couldn’t work himself up to do a thing as
tiring as to hate —, but he certainly despised it. The older guys who thought
that having been born one or two years earlier gave them the right to act as if
they were better than anyone, the fragmenting classes who made the whole school
divide into groups according to things they had in common and dislikes, the
teachers who kept trying to make him blend amidst the sea of blank faces and
who kept judging him silently for every single thing he did — Kenma despised it
all.
It was all just so, so stupid.
Knowing he would be alone in 3rd grade didn’t help. Kuroo was, quite possibly,
the only thing that still made him get up every morning and go to train — get
up every morning to face the same people he didn’t like, and who didn’t like
him, either. The volleyball team didn’t even needhim, as for Kenma wasn’t fast,
wasn’t strong, didn’t have the best stamina. He had a good game sense already,
but what? He was just a kid, it wasn’t like they would let him play.
But Kuroo had been so enthusiastic about the whole thing, so stubborn on having
Kenma to play by his side — Kenma couldn’t turn him down.
(not that time, not when everything felt bad enough already)
As Kenma’s whole life had been nothing but fate’s jokes, of course it could get
worse.
It all happened in the middle of 2nd grade. He was 14 at time, and called in
sick one day, the first time since childhood. That same day, Kuroo got into a
fight with another kid, and came to Kenma’s house later that day with a split
lip and a bruise starting to form on his cheek.
Not that Kenma could’ve helped him — he had always been a scrawny kid —, but
seeing his best friend that way made his stomach drop.
Kuroo said nothing. His knuckles were red from places where the skin had been
torn, and he kept furrowing his brows in a way Kenma, who had already known him
for years then, knew that meant he was angry. He didn’t even flinch when Kenma
touched his mouth with as much care as he could muster, a drop of blood
staining his fingertips, asking quietly if it hurt.
Kuroo had always been a loud kid, but, that day, he was quiet.
 
Kenma didn’t think much of it that time. Kuroo wanted to be alone, so that was
what Kenma would do: leave him alone. After all, his best friend always did
respect when he wanted nothing but to stare at the walls in his bedroom in
silence, or to play his games without having to say a word.
Eventually, though, he started getting uneasy. Kuroo started getting distant.
And that was the first time since they met that they willingly spent so much
time apart. It wasn’t that Kenma didn’t try — he didn’t care about a lot of
things, but he did care about Kuroo —, it was just that Kuroo wouldn’t let him
get closer.
It was the only time they fought. It wasn’t pretty, it didn’t felt good, and
Kenma didn’t know whether to be mad at himself for not doing something before,
or to be mad at Kuroo for not trusting him enough to talk about whatever was
that was bothering him (he could doubt a lot of things, but if there was one
thing he should never doubt, was Kenma’s loyalty and love for him).
Kuroo seemed frustrated, and his hands trembled. He didn’t raise his voice, nor
did Kenma, but it still just managed to make things worse. But when he finally
snapped, turning away, his feet starting to drag him out of Kenma’s room, Kenma
did hold his hand, his chest heavy, his eyes burning.
He felt as if the ground had been stolen from under his feet. He felt like he
couldn’t breath. But more than that — he felt sad because Kuroo was sad, and he
didn’t know what to do.
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”, were the words that left his mouth.
And Kuroo’s shoulder had slumped. And he didn’t say anything — none of them did
—, but when Kenma hugged him, hiding his face in Kuroo’s back, Kuroo didn’t
push him away.
 
(“Kenma”, he had whispered later. “Would you still love me if I was broken?”)
(“Yes”, Kenma had answered. Yes, yes, yes.)
(“You’re not broken”, he had wanted to say, but he didn’t — because he knew
that sometimes you don’t need people to tell you you’re wrong; you just need
them to tell you they’ll be there no matter what)
 
Kenma didn’t ask about it after that day. He knew Kuroo would come around,
eventually, when he felt comfortable enough to do so.
And it was okay.
It was okay.
 
(3rd grade was still hell, and he wanted to leave the volleyball team)
(Kuroo convinced him that it was still worth it, and Kenma didn’t)
 
===============================================================================
One week before High School started, Kuroo came to Kenma’s house late
afternoon, and he was more anxious than Kenma had ever seen him. There was a
brief moment in which Kenma felt his chest tighten, worry washing over him —
but then Kuroo lifted his eyes to face him, and tried a smile, and he knew that
for the time being, there wasn’t any reason to be scared.
They went to Kenma’s room in silence, and when Kenma sat on his bed, Kuroo sat
beside him.
“Will you be okay?” — was the exact phrase that left Kuroo’s lips. There was so
much more, though, so much more (in how his hands gripped his knees and his
eyes glance briefly at Kenma before settling on something else and then coming
back, in the heavy line of his shoulders and his dry lips, his furrowing brows,
the deliberate calmness of his tone — “will you be okay” he had asked, when
everything in him screamed i don’t want to go i want to stay let me stay i want
to be by your side let me stay let me let me, and things Kenma couldn’t
possibly start to decipher — things he didn’t know if he could, secrets carved
deep down Kuroo’s soul, hidden from curious prying eyes).
“... Yeah. Yeah, I will.” it wasn’t just an answer — when it came to this, it
never was.
I will hang on. Alone. It’s okay. Go. I’ll be here still. Don’t be afraid.
It’ll be okay.
 
(the rest of the year was spent thinking of that night — of promises he didn’t
want to break, and how something was left unsaid)
 
===============================================================================
On his first year of High School, Kuroo’s second, Kenma finally understood —
the secret, the secret Kuroo tried so hard to hide, to protect, to avoid and
erase, erase, erase.
 
There was this boy who used to come to watch the training of the team —  a year
older than Kuroo, bright smiles, dark red hair, a deep voice —, and Kenma
didn’t mind him much; not until the day he found he and Kuroo both kissing in
the locker rooms.
And everything clicked into place. And Kenma wondered why didn’t he ever
realize — why didn’t he ever think about it —, when he was said to be so
observant, so good at reading people, so good at guessing them — wondered why
couldn’t he even see this if Kuroo Tetsurou was his best friend since he could
remember.
Kuroo noticed him first, and his immediate reaction was to push the other boy
off of him, his eyes widening.
(“Kuroo?... Oh. Right. I will... Leave you two alone to… Talk.”)
Kenma didn’t feel betrayed. He knew. He looked at his best friend’s face, and
he knew — the anxiety, the self-loathing, the fear of judgement, of what others
would think or say. Kenma knew how Kuroo felt — like he didn’t belong, like he
was wrong, like he was broken because he didn’t fit , because he couldn’t
accept himself.
“Kenma, I‒ I can explain.” Kuroo’s expression didn’t change. His voice sounded
tense. Kenma didn’t want to let him jump to wrong conclusions, not when he knew
that it was most likely for Kuroo to think of the worst possibilities first,
but the other was fast to beat him. “I’m sorry. I’m, I really am, I just‒ I
understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore but, please‒ I’m sorry.”
“Kuroo.” Kenma wanted to hold him. To protect him from himself, to protect him
from the world — nevermind Kuroo was almost seven inches taller than him. “It’s
okay.”
It’s okay. I still love you. You’re not broken. You’re my best friend.
There was a moment of hesitation.
“Ain’t you… Ain’t you disgusted?”
Kuroo sounded almost afraid to be hopeful. As if Kenma could ever — as if he
would ever — turn his back on him.
He couldn’t deny, he was a little freaked out — not because he saw Kuroo
kissing another boy , though, but because Kuroo was his best friend , and Kenma
didn’t want to see Kuroo kissing (he could barely stand his own parents being
all lovey-dovey, he definitely didn’t want to know about the taste of someone’s
lips, thank you very much).
“No. I’m not.” it was true — it always was when it came to Kuroo.
 
(Tetsurou held him tighter than he’d ever had before, his arms around Kenma,
and he shook)
(Kenma made him promise to never keep secrets again — not if he was hurting)
 
(when the year ended, so did Kuroo’s relationship — Kenma spent an entire night
cuddled right beside his best friend, his arms around Kuroo’s waist, hearing
him talk about his ex-boyfriend — howhappy he was, how sad he was, where did
they go wrong , where did they go right)
 
                                      xxx
 
It’s six and something in the morning when the knock comes. Kenma rises from
his sitting spot — the ground — to open the door and reveal Kuroo and his usual
bedhair.
(There’s no hesitance in his smile. No nervousness at the way his hands hold
his bag. No fear underneath the glint in his eyes.)
“Ready?” Kuroo asks.
Kenma blinks at him for a moment before nodding.
“Yeah.”
Yeah. He is.

(with Kuroo by his side, he muses, he would probably be ready for anything)
Chapter End Notes
     I won't even say anything anymore. The next chapter (which I had
     started before the muse said hello) is at 200 words only, and I have
     no idea how long it'll take for me to finish it. I'm sorry.
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