#kozume

kenma hates sweating. he hates running, he hates anything that makes his heart beat faster than when you so much as say his name. but for some reason—some deranged, love-fueled, no-good reason—he’s been doing push-ups.

and the playlist? oh, the playlist is criminal.

“for when y/n breathes near me.”

forty-seven songs. a mix of lo-fi beats, dramatic anime openings, one (1) taylor swift song he refuses to admit is there, and suspiciously upbeat tracks that sound like he’s trying to summon motivation from a higher power.

kuroo found it once.

"bro. bro." he said, looking at the screen like it was a sacred scroll of emotional damage.

kenma just stared back blankly. “don’t.”

"‘for when y/n breathes near me’?! this sounds like a religious experience, not a playlist!"

“i said don’t.”

he deleted it that night. and then made it again an hour later. with better cover art.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the truth is, kenma’s been spiraling. not in a dramatic, pacing-around sort of way—no, he spirals quietly. the kind of spiral where he blinks and realizes he’s been staring at your instagram story for ten minutes straight, just because your coffee had a heart in the foam.

he doesn’t even like coffee. but now, every time he walks past a café, his chest tightens like it’s a side quest he can’t unlock without your permission.

fukunaga found out about the playlist too. because of course he did. kenma accidentally connected his phone to the team’s bluetooth speaker during warm-ups. the gym echoed with “daylight” by taylor swift.

“yo, kenma,” kuroo grinned, already a menace, “you manifesting her or what?”

kenma turned red enough to power a small village.

“it was on shuffle,” he muttered.

“shuffle doesn’t explain the playlist title.”

“it’s— it’s for running.”

“uh huh,” kuroo said. “running from what, your feelings?”

it took three more months before kenma could make eye contact again.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

but here’s the thing: you notice. not the playlist (god forbid), but him.

the little ways he tries. the way he lingers by the vending machines after practice, pretending to scroll when really he’s waiting for you to pass by. how he brings extra drinks “just in case” you forget yours, though he phrases it like, “uh, i got two, you can have one, whatever.”

how his hand trembles when yours brushes his. how he still opens his games mid-conversation, but his thumb doesn’t move—just resting there, eyes flicking up at you like you’re something fragile and electric all at once.

you never tease him for it. instead, you smile that warm, easy smile that makes kenma feel like his ribcage might short-circuit.

“you’ve been working out?” you ask one day, half-teasing, half-genuine, after noticing the faint definition on his forearm.

he freezes. he doesn’t blink.

“uh,” he says intelligently.

you giggle. “you look good.”

and that’s it. that’s the moment his brain blue-screens. if love were a video game, you just entered god mode.

he goes home, collapses face-first onto his beanbag, and immediately opens spotify. he adds three new songs. the playlist is now titled

“for when y/n breathes near me (deluxe edition)”.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the next practice, kenma forgets his headphones.

it’s over for him.

fukunaga smirks the moment he realizes. “uh oh. no music today?”

kenma grunts.

“guess we’ll just have to motivate you the old-fashioned way,” kuroo chimes in. he cracks his knuckles like a cartoon villain. “what would y/n think if your arms didn’t look good enough?”

kenma’s head snaps up like he’s just been hit with a buff potion.

“shut up.”

“nah, come on, kenma,” kuroo continues, way too pleased, “you’re doing this for love, right?”

“he’s so in love,” fukunaga singsongs.

“shut up!” kenma yells again, voice pitching higher than he’d like. but his push-ups suddenly look perfect.

kuroo whistles. “look at that form. pure devotion.”

fukunaga nods solemnly. “if you don’t marry y/n, i will. think about it.” (YES FUKUNAGA PLS, MARRY ME)

kenma’s face burns. “you guys are—” he stops. no point arguing. his pulse is already running faster than his mouth.

the thing is… he kind of likes it. the thought of you watching. cheering. maybe smiling the way you do when he gets a serve right.

so he keeps going. push-up after push-up, until his arms shake and his vision blurs, all while imagining your voice saying, “you look good.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you find out about the playlist by accident.

you’re hanging out at his place, both sprawled on his bed, your head resting against his shoulder as you scroll through tiktok. he gets a notification from spotify. a little banner slides down from the top of the screen.

“now playing: ‘for when y/n breathes near me (deluxe edition)’”

you blink.

he freezes.

the silence is deafening.

“...kenma.”

“delete me,” he mutters immediately.

you bite back a smile. “that’s— that’s so cute.”

“no it’s not.”

“it is!”

“it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s literally romantic.”

“no it’s— wait. really?”

you nod, smiling softly. “you made a whole playlist because of me?”

his cheeks turn pink, his eyes darting away. “i just— it helps me focus.”

“on what?”

“...breathing.”

you laugh so hard he hides his face in his hoodie.

but when you tug the hood down and press a kiss to his cheek, he swears the world glitches. time stutters. his heart restarts like an old console warming up again.

you whisper, “you don’t need music, you know.”

“huh?”

“i’m already here.”

and just like that, kenma forgets how to exist properly.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

later that night, kuroo texts him.

kuroo: heard you finally confessed

kenma: i didn’t confess

kuroo: you literally made her a playlist

kenma: it wasn’t for her

kuroo: the title says “for when y/n breathes near me (deluxe edition)”

kenma: shut up

he turns off his phone, rolls over, and smiles into his pillow anyway.

your laughter still echoes in his ears. your handprint still lingers on his heart like a soft static charge.

kenma isn’t the type to chase grand gestures or loud declarations. he’s the quiet type—the kind who falls in love silently, completely, like it’s something coded deep into his system.

but when you text him goodnight with a pink heart, he opens spotify and renames the playlist one last time:

“for when y/n exists.”

no irony. no embarrassment. just truth.

and maybe, if you listen close enough, you can hear him smiling between the beats.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: we’re on the verge of breaking up AND HE DOESN’T WANT TO RETURN MY HARDCOVER UZUMAKI MANGA, FUCK MY LIFE. I LOVE THAT BOOK 😭 I ALREADY GIFTED HIM ALMOST ALL OF THE VOLUMES OF SOLO LEVELING (the other ones were out of stock)

<taglist>

@lsirria @cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @trulyylee @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @sleepykeijiii @briestrom94 @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi@evilari111 @rabbitcola @nivabiva @miilsa @katzline @asthmaticasma @meonelixir @michexoxo @pelicanpizza @harlisangels @x3nafix @knkzshx @zzzviix @meikstv @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifi_ @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @wensurr @emotiandon @alyriaschoenheit

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

You giggle, glancing at his stream on your third monitor, watching him struggle with his words, face dusted with pink. Switching your attention to your chat, you smile at the chat messages flying in.

"Come on, don't do that to me," he mutters, getting his focus back on the game.

Smiling, you shake your head slightly, muting yourself briefly to talk to your chat, laughing at how many people are enthusiastically agreeing or questioning you. You don't respond to any of the questions, just smiling at them.

A while later, you glance at your chat and a certain question jumps out at you. "Hey, Kodzu."

He hums in response to you, taking a sip of either water or some other drink in a G-Fuel cup.

"Are we ever gonna meet up in person?" you ask, repeating the question asked to you in your chat.

He chokes a little on his drink but manages not to spit it everywhere, placing the cup back down. He stumbles over his words for a moment before his response comes. "I'd like to."

You giggle, looking at the chat messages coming in calling you guys cute, saying they ship you guys, or expressing jealousy of either one of you.

"Yeah? I'd like that a lot, Kodzuken," you whisper in a jokingly flirty voice. The look on his face makes you laugh.

Not long later, you both say goodbye to your chats and end your streams. You and Kenma stay on the Discord call once the streams are finished.

"So," you smirk, leaning forward with your head resting on your hand "When are we meeting in person?" you ask teasingly.

He rolls his eyes at you. "You're such an asshole sometimes," he says before ending the call.

With a smile, you lean back in your gaming chair. Only a moment later, the door swings open, your boyfriend walking in.

"You know what calling me cute and stuff on stream does to me," he complains, pouting slightly.

Laughing, you hold your arms out to him. "I know, I know, but I just can't resist! You're way too cute!"

He shakes his head but walks over to let you hug him anyway, even though he doesn't hug you back. "If you keep acting like that, they're gonna figure out we've been dating for ages," he says, hiding his soft smile in your hair.

Your gaze drifted over to the empty gaming chair: The broad figure that had been slumped there last night no longer present. Was practice still in session? You lifted a finger, gently poking Kenma’s forehead to push his head away from you. The setter grunted in retaliation, a soft frown etched in his sleep, arms tightening instinctively around your waist. But after a moment of stubborn prodding, his grip loosened; and with a soft huff, Kenma rolled away, curling into himself as he settled back into sleep. 

Mochi was no different. Nose nuzzled under Kozume’s arm at your sudden awakening. Normally, you would’ve been in complete shambles at the scene you had found yourself in. The way your body entangled itself with a boy you had only met the other night. It was diabolical, really, how your figure betrayed all sense of reason. And if you had half a mind, you’d have scolded the innate motion. But your focus was on Kuroo, and the brisk opportunity to survey your phone for any inclination to his disappearance. Which seemed to be a bit harder to divulge than thought… because your phone was spammed with countless messages from the Karasuno team; Tanaka’s video, Nishinoya’s explanation of his receive, and a bizarre question for you in the groupchat. Yet there was nothing from Tetsuro. No update on a training that ran longer than intended. 

Was the noise outside… Kuroo?

Slowly, you lifted yourself away from the comfort of Kenma’s bed, feet padding softly across the wooden floor until you pressed the side of your face against the cool glass of the window. It was difficult to make out anything beyond the faint glow of the streetlamps — their light barely stretched across the pavement below, leaving most of the courtyard swallowed in shadow. If Kuroo was out there, though, standing at his towering six-foot-two, he should have been at least somewhat easy to spot.

But no — the courtyard remained frustratingly a mystery. 

Which meant the only confirmation you’d get was to leave the complex. Trudge down the enclosed stairs, creep along the edge of the building, and come face-to-face with whoever had been relentlessly pounding against the apartment. For all you knew, it could’ve been a serial killer. Some unhygienic creep lurking outside the complex, just waiting to put his grubby hands on the first unfortunate woman he found wandering into the dark.

Yep — what a great plan you had. A quick way to get yourself wiped from existence. 

Though, was it really surprising that you ignored every condensed knot in your stomach, every scream in your body telling you to turn around as you descended the outer stairwell? No. Truthfully, it was the very thing you’d do, hand held out on the railing out of habit as you squinted through the gloom. If you made it this far, stuck in somewhere unknown, surely your luck wasn’t going to run out that soon.

So, when you pushed open the metal door at the bottom of the building, stepping into the night while you followed the faint glow of the vending machine, you weren’t all that surprised to see Kuroo there.  

Sweat glued to his temples, droplets sliding from his chin each time he sent the volleyball crashing against the already brutalized wall. Frankly, you felt bad for the inanimate object. But Tetsuro didn’t seem to mind. Each resounding smack against the concrete was a reminder of just how strong he’d gotten over the years.

The captain’s hair was a mess, the usual wild spikes flattened by sweat from the intensity of his practice. Every swing of his arm pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders, muscles shifting beneath it from countless hours spent training. And each grip to the ball displayed the veins that protruded from his hands. 

There was something almost… volatile about the way he moved. 

“Guessing practice wasn’t enough?” The captain stalled from your voice; the round object, which was once glued against his palm, slipped between his grasp. 

His head tilted to the right, idle eyes narrowed in your direction. The displayed expression resembled something closer to pique. And if you had to guess, Kuroo wasn’t all too pleased with your abrupt interruption. But he responded, nonetheless. “Did you wake Kenma?” 

“Hm?”

Tetsuro’s usual playful tone was replaced with something closer to a bite. Your heel positioned itself slightly behind, body prepared to make a swift exit in case he ushered you away. Did something bad happen at school?

Kuroo’s eyes scanned your newly found stance and, for a brief moment, scolded himself at how outlandish his remark was. There was no need to drop the habitual smugness he possessed. The astute rush of adrenaline when he saw the two of you never warranted anything more than a laugh. 

But he couldn’t put aside the frustration that coursed his veins — for some unknown fucking reason. (wow, was Kuroo an idiot)

“Just forget it,” he picked the volleyball back up, tossing it in the air and spiking against the wall once again. “With prelims around the corner, I just want to keep the good momentum.” 

Honestly, you found his words hard to believe. How could he lose that impetus? It seemed like he ate, drank, and breathed the sport. But you didn’t know him — not really. And you couldn’t be sure how invested each player was in this tournament. “I think sleep is important too y'know. To be able to keep up with the exercise.” Kuroo muttered something under his breath; a sly remark, but you didn’t take much notice. Your eyes were glued to the reddened palm of his right hand, a sting that surely had to be agonizing in the cool night air. “I can start taking the gaming chair.” 

“What?” 

“It seemed uncomfortable,” you noted, voice low. “And if I’m staying until preliminaries… and you end up crashing at Kenma’s sometimes, you’d probably need somewhere a lot… comfier.”

The captain’s eyes widened, a small crease between his brows as he stared at you in disbelief. Surely, he didn’t hear you correctly: Staying? For the past twenty-four hours, the only thing you’d seemed concerned about was finding your family. Figuring out how to get back to wherever you came from. But if you were staying until preliminaries… Well, that was four weeks away. 

His heartbeat picked up without warning, adrenaline rushing through him so quickly it almost felt embarrassing. Tetsuro’s imagination betrayed him instantly — late nights lingering longer than they should, the quiet comfort of sharing the same space, you curled up somewhere in his apartment when it was too late to reach Kenma’s. God, he could already picture you drowning in one of his shirts again — What the fuck? Focus, Kuroo. “You’re staying… Here?”

“Oh.” You ran a hand through your hair, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Kenma suggested I transfer to Nekoma. Maybe even become the volleyball manager for preliminaries. Crazy right?” 

Four hours. Kenma had spent four hours with you alone and somehow he’d already convinced you to stay; to attend Nekoma high. Kuroo honestly couldn’t decide whether he should feel impressed… or irritated. “Huh,” he huffed, ball spinning within his grasp. “Did Kenma threaten you? Did you lose a bet?” 

“Well, it’s not final,” you said. But who were you kidding? You were already planning a sly way to forge documents if need be. “Wait… Does Kenma bet on games?”

Kuroo perked a brow, spiking the ball one last time before he tucked it under his arm. “No, he doesn't." 

There wasn’t much to say after that. No thread of words that could follow his declaration. Really, you couldn’t tell if it was his way of wanting the conversation to end. His own subtle hint that your presence was a hindrance on his patience. But apparently, you sucked at reading the room. So you stayed, shifting on your weight as the vending machine hummed louder through the thick silence. 

“So, Nekoma’s manager,” Kuroo’s abrupt continuation made your head tilt, irises dilating up at the tall captain. “Guess that would mean you’d be seeing a lot of us.” He took a few steps forward. “Think you could handle the disorganization? We have an overnight training next weekend. And Lev’s involved, so… statistically speaking, things are going to explode at some point.”

“Yeah… kind of sounds fun.” 

The thought alone made blood rush to his head. His bicep tightened around the volleyball as the mere idea settled further in his brain: It wasn’t just excitement — at least, not the kind he felt before a match. This was lighter somehow, gradual in power, like a candle set under a curtain before he even realized the fabric had ignited.

Endless imaginations formed within the right hemisphere of his brain: You perched against the gym wall, you tallying how many receives Lev butchered, you trailing behind the team in overnight travels, complaining about how cramped everything was.

Kuroo slacked his jaw, suddenly aware that he’d been staring at the volleyball far longer than intended. Weird. He popped the ball out from his arm, rolling it around both palms to shake the odd clutch in his chest. Still, the thought lingered — Tetsuro would be seeing a lot of you. Because if you were really sticking around Nekoma for that long… Well, there’d be a lot of idiots around. And someone would probably have to keep an eye on you. 

His gaze flickered toward the apartment building behind you — Kenma included. Though he’d never admit that part out loud.

Fuck, did this mean he’d have to convince the academic offairs office to line your classes up with his? “Manager’s a pretty important job,” he released the constant roll of the ball against his hands, slamming it into the ground with increasing force. “Do you know anything about volleyball?” 

“Well,” your head flit to the side, allowing the shadows to cover the faint sheen of red that brushed your cheeks. “I’ve watched it before.” Then, without much thought, you rambled out of complete ignominy. “I know there’s… a blocker — wait, no three? Yes, cause three people are in the front. Then there’s the little one,” oh you really should stop talking. Especially, because the next words that slip your mouth with way too much confidence, are in fact pitifully inaccurate. “And the two in the back are divers!” 

Kuroo’s eye twitched. 

And momentarily, he truly thought he’d lose it. Never once had he heard someone call the right back and left back divers. Sure, they received the ball and helped with defense. They were solid players, the ones that allowed the setters and blockers to feel at ease whenever an iron wall was missed. But just because they dived for a few balls, didn’t exactly make them divers. 

“Let me stop you right there,” he breathed in, chest puffed outwards before he broke into a fit of laughter: A sound that only a hyena would make. “First, never say that in front of the team. Two, you’ll be handling stats for each player,” Kuroo’s shoulders eased, but the faint chuckles kept sputtering out of his throat every few seconds. “After each scrimmage, practice, game — you’ll be in charge of giving us our callout.” 

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Maybe being manager wasn’t the best idea. “Oh.”

But Tetsuro noted the drop in your shoulders, the crane of your neck as your head focused on the few loose pebbles on the ground. He knew your once hopeful notion came crashing in an instant. Except that was the very thing the captain tried to avoid. Strangely, he wanted you in his classes. He wanted you watching every time he stole a point. “As captain, I’ll make it a priority to teach you. That way, stats won’t be so difficult.” He tossed the ball forward. Your hands shot up on instinct, catching it clumsily against your chest. “Think of volleyball like chemistry. Right elements, right timing… boom. Instant reaction!” To him, that was a sufficient explanation to the intensity of the team sport. But your reaction led him to believe he wasn’t the best of metaphorical tutors. “Why don’t you come to practice tomorrow? It’s a good way to learn and to get to know the team.” 

Kuroo was right. If you so desperately strived to transfer schools, the least you could do was get on their prized teams good side… it wouldn't hurt to have the coach’s recommendation either. So what if a few documents were missing, if a responsible adult vouches for you, surely they’d have to agree. Especially if you were assisting victory for their very own bragging rights.

“Deal.” 

The captain huffed in acknowledgment, a feign nonchalance in his stature as he pulled his phone from the floor. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best of moves, throwing you deep in the lion’s den of the Nekoma chat, introducing you to some of the most tumultuous group of boys past midnight. If he had thought in advance, taken into account a random number thrown into a pile of constants, maybe he would’ve made a different decision. 

Or perhaps he had thought it meant you couldn’t flee. Everyone now had your number, a way to insert themselves into your reluctant decisions. And boy did they waste no time, illimitable dings of replies punctual as ever. 

What Tetsuro didn’t know, however, was the fact that your phone rested against Kenma’s spine. And Kozume wasn’t exactly the most fond of the vibrations. He stirred, eyes cracked open halfway. “Hmph.”

The setter turned his head toward the empty spot beside him, golden eyes now narrowed at the faint glow of the phone screen lighting the dark. The notifications kept appearing one after another. Group chat messages. A lot of them.

He exhaled slowly and reached out, fingers languidly dragging your phone closer before reading the lock screen. (wow, he really had no boundaries in terms of privacy) And to his surprise, the chat title was the very thing Lev had created in the past week. 

Huh — Kuroo had added you. That was fast.

His gaze drifted away from the phone as the room slowly came back into focus. That’s when he noticed something. The weight beside him was gone — the space had cooled, the crumpled sheets where you’d been curled earlier now flattened. 

He pushed himself up a little, glancing around the room: The chair was empty, the door wasn’t fully closed, and faintly, from outside, were inconsistent thuds. Kenma slipped out of bed, trudging the same route you did before, forehead pressed to the glass as he took in the weak circles of streetlight.

He couldn’t see; but he could hear the atrocious laugh of Kuroo. Of course he was outside. And of course he had managed to get you alone again. As pitiful as his flirting was, girls always seemed to stray around him. 

Maybe it was his hair? No, Kenma couldn’t find that feasible. There was no way his friend's spikes gave him brownie points. You probably just couldn’t go back to sleep; yes, that sounded more factual.

Kenma pushed himself away from the window, stomach flopping onto the comforter of his bed while Mochi repositioned. Huh, maybe a text wouldn’t hurt. Just to be sure.

♡ Tanaka and Nishinoya after practice texts ♡

♡ Karasuno's... strange question ♡

♡ Nekoma chaos ♡

₊˚⊹♡

author's note: why is writing Kuroo so difficult. Like how do you make him smug but also awful at flirting lol. Anyway, here's a short little chapter to set-up your school transfer! (the overnight training... going to be absolute drama and chaos I can't wait for you)

Also, I'm still writing for my requests! It's been a busy week, so flipping between the two!