#hky

When it was released, he was quick to get it. The money didn’t matter anyway; it was your concept skin, your own art.

The hero loads in with your skin equipped, and Kenma doesn’t say a word. But he plays them immediately. No warm-up match, no practice round.

He just locks them in and streams like normal, conversing with his fans and dealing with toxicity on the game (he beats their ass with how good he is)

@——- :“LOLOL so quick to get it”

@——- : “Bro switched mains??”

@——-: “Wait is that the new skin?? Looks clean af.”

@——- : “THIS BITCH IS SO DOWNBAD FOR HIS WIFE???????”

Kenma doesn’t answer. He just tugs his hoodie sleeves over his palms, pushes his glasses up, and keeps playing—a little quieter than usual, a little more focused.

Every time the skin’s idle animation plays, he stops to admire it. Who wouldn’t when your art comes to life; the glowing detail in the gauntlets, the expression you painted onto the hero’s face. Oh how he adores it.

It’s yours, and he loves it.

He likes that when he’s stuck on a long stream, when your studio is quiet down the hall, when he can’t see you or touch you, he still has this. Something you made. Something that came from your hands.

That night, he pads into your shared bedroom long after midnight. You’re already half-asleep, curled up with your phone, replying and updating clients— the blue light casting soft shadows on your face.

“You saw it?” you ask, voice groggy but sweet.

He nods, climbing into bed beside you. “Yeah.” Immediately turning off his switch to be beside you and hold you in his arms.

A pause. Then softly, he mumbles into your hair. “I’m only using that hero now.”

You blink. “What? Are you really switching mains? I mean, they’re really not meta-”

“don’t care.” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. “It’s yours. That’s enough.”

You laugh against his chest, warm and a little shy. “You’re so biased.”