#kozume

he pauses, lips curving into the smallest, softest smile— the kind that’s just for the camera and maybe a little for you. “good girl, huh? that’s sweet.” he lets it linger for a beat, then adds, gentle, “i like the imagination. you guys are creative tonight.”

they’re eating it up. the teasing shifts, predictable as clockwork.

rankedwithkenmawhen: no gf to say that to?? spectatingmyhusband: lonely kenma canon parasociallystable: dw dada i can be ur gf <3333

he reads the last few silently first, eyes scanning, then exhales a soft, fond sound— like he’s smiling at an inside joke.

“you keep saying i’m single like you’re trying to manifest it,” he says, voice light, teasing without bite. he tilts his head, golden eyes catching the ring light just right. “what makes you so sure?”

the chat stutters for half a second— then explodes.

respectfullyunwell: ?? WAIT HE DIDN’T DENY IT apple.creampie: KENMA HAS A GF??? ilovegamerhands: PROOF PLS KING verifiedkoduzukenobserver: PROOF OR BAN

he doesn’t laugh at them. doesn’t brush it off like a joke. he just lets his gaze settle on the camera like he’s talking to a friend who’s being adorably clueless.

“so… you really think i’m single?” he asks, soft, curious, almost gentle. no mockery, just that quiet invitation to keep going, to dig deeper if they want.

the chat goes nuclear— screaming, crying emojis, frantic “SHOW HER THEN” and "MUST BE PROPAGANDA," and donations flying in with hearts and question marks. he doesn’t give them anything concrete. just that same small, warm smile as he reaches for his drink, takes a slow sip, and lets the moment stretch.

“interesting,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something softer, more private. “guess we’ll see how long that theory lasts.”

he stretches then— lazy, hoodie riding up just a hint at the waist—and gives the camera his usual wave.

“alright, degenerates. thirst tweet hour’s over. behave yourselves tonight.”

the stream cuts to black, and the room goes quiet except for the low hum of his pc fans winding down. you hear the familiar creak of his chair as he pushes back, the soft shuffle of his slippers on the floor, and then the door to your room easing open.

kenma slips in without knocking and immediately spots you on the bed, propped against the pillows with your phone still in hand, one eyebrow arched like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

he doesn’t say anything at first. and watches you with that half-lidded, golden-eyed stare that’s equal parts tired and amused.

you break first, because of course you do.

“so,” you say after a moment, voice carefully neutral, “i see you decided to soft launch me to several dozen thousand people tonight.”

“they were being annoying,” he says simply, dropping onto the bed beside you. his thigh presses warm against yours. “figured i’d give them something to chew on.”

you set your phone aside, shift so you’re facing him properly, knees bumping his hip. “oh, you gave them something alright. i think all your thirsty fangirls are screaming crying right now."

“they’ll survive.” he says, voice low, almost lazy. he reaches out, hooks two fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugs you an inch closer like it’s nothing.

you lean in a little, voice dropping to that playful murmur you save just for him. “so… are you going to hard launch your beautiful, sexy girlfriend tomorrow, or are you gonna keep dangling the carrot and let them beg for crumbs?”

he hums, thoughtful, thumb brushing idle circles against the skin just above your shorts. “could be fun.” his gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up.

your pulse kicks up— not nerves, just heat, anticipation, the thrill of knowing exactly how chaotic he’s willing to let things get when he’s in this mood.

“that's bold,” you say, grinning. “you sure you’re ready for that level of degeneracy? they’re already feral tonight. tomorrow they’ll be even worse with visual confirmation.”

"i'm used to it by now. wanna show off my pretty girlfriend to everyone."

he kisses you then— slow, unhurried, like he’s got all night and tomorrow’s stream is just bonus content. when he pulls back, his voice is a murmur against your lips.

“better get some sleep. s'gonna be a nightmare tomorrow.”

you laugh against his lips, low and sure. “you’re the one who poked the hornet’s nest, babe. don’t act like you’re not excited.”

and tomorrow comes fast.

by the time he starts stream the next day, you’re already settled: pink gaming chair dragged right up next to his black one, close enough that your knees brush his when you shift.

he doesn’t announce you. doesn’t even look at the camera when he hits “go live.” just leans back, a can of coke in hand, and says in that deadpan drawl, “hey, chat. got company today. also known as yesterday's biggest dono 'kodzukenkink'” he raises his hands briefly, putting quotation marks around the username.

canonicallydownbad: HE WAS BEING FR ??????? kneesweakforkozume: KENMA SOFTLAUNCH TO HARDLAUNCH IN 24HRS??? certifiedkenmasimp: HOLY FUCK SHES GORGEOUS

you don’t flinch. just tilt your head toward him, smirking, and wave once. the donations start pouring in like someone opened a faucet. hearts, crying emojis, “MARRY ME BOTH OF YOU”, “KENMA-SENSEI SHOW US YOUR WAYS”.

kenma glances sideways at you, the tiniest curve to his mouth, then back to the screen. “chill,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. he’s enjoying this. “she’s not going anywhere. be normal for once.”

they’re not normal.

they never are.

the questions come fast, overlapping, shameless.

verifiedkoduzukenobserver: IS SHE THE ONE U CALL GOOD GIRL 💔💔💔💔😭😭😭😭 kenmasbedhair: bet she’s the reason you end stream early sometimes 💔💔 hecanruinmykda: does she make you whimper kenma hiswifiwife: Q&A SESSION STARTS NOW TELL US KING

you laugh— clear, bright, unbothered— and lean closer to his mic just enough for your voice to carry. “you guys are so nosy."

kenma’s ears go faintly pink, but he doesn’t pull away. instead he sets the drink down, and turns his chair toward you a fraction.

“they’re asking if you’re the one,” he says, voice low, almost conversational, but his eyes are locked on yours. “the good girl thing.”

you arch a brow, leaning into his touch. “am i?”

he doesn’t answer with words. just lets his gaze drop to your lips, then back up, slow and deliberate.

chat loses what little composure it had left.

apple.creampie: NOT THE EYE SEX???? spectatingmyhusband: HELLO? ARE WE INTERRUPTING SOMETHING parasociallystable: ATP JS BEND HER OVER THE DESK ALREADY 💔😭 certifiedkenmasimp: I SECOND THAT kneesweakforkozume: we need an onlyfans yesterday

kenma reads the last one aloud, voice dropping into that velvet register they all lose their minds over. “'we need an onlyfans'.” he pauses, lets the silence stretch, then looks straight at the camera. “keep talking like that and i’ll bend her over this table right now. you want that?”

the sidebar turns into a wall of yes yes YES YES caps-lock and barking drooling emojis.

you feel the heat crawl up your spine— not embarrassment, just raw want. you shift in the pink chair, thighs pressing together, and meet his eyes with a slow, challenging smile. “y'know, babe, you're threatening both them and me with a good time.”

he exhales a soft laugh, then— “alright,” he says to the camera, voice flat but laced with that quiet amusement only you ever get to hear fully. “enough foreplay. we’re playing two player obby on roblox. you degenerates can behave or i’m ending stream early.”

you watch your tiny blocky avatar spawn on top of his on a floating pastel platform suspended over an endless sky, cheerful music chiming through both your phone speakers and his headset at the same time. the title screen proudly announces two player obby. you're playing on your phone while he plays on his pc, streaming his screen for his viewers.

"ooh, get ready to lose, kenma."

"(y/n).. we're supposed to work together to get to the end."

then, your avatar jumps.

misses.

falls directly into the void.

the oof sound effect plays through your speakers.

kenma exhales a quiet laugh beside you, shoulders shaking faintly.

you glance sideways at him. “don’t laugh.”

“i didn’t say anything,” he replies, which is technically true, though the amusement lingering in his voice makes it worse.

his avatar waits patiently at the edge of the platform while yours respawns, blocky arms lifting stiffly as you try again. the controls on your phone feel slightly delayed, thumbs tapping carefully as you line up the next jump.

you make it this time.

barely.

“okay,” you mutter, leaning closer without realizing, concentration pulling your brows together. “this game is stressful.”

“you’re supposed to jump when it moves,” kenma says, tone calm, eyes flicking between his monitor and the corner of his screen where chat scrolls endlessly.

“i am jumping.”

your character slips again, teetering dangerously before regaining balance at the last second.

chat explodes in celebration like you’ve achieved something monumental.

you’re both leaning into your screens, trading quiet commentary. “wait, stand on that button,” you mutter. “got it,” he replies, voice soft, focused. your characters sync up effortlessly, and it’s nice. domestic. almost normal.

almost.

then the chats starts creeping back.

jokingly, of course.

certifiedkenmasimp: bend her over when she dies again kneesweakforkozume: lmao co-op but make it 18+ canonicallydownbad: kenma if u die she has to ride u on cam apple.creampie: we’re kidding… unless 👀 respectfullyunwell: SPICY CONTENT OR RIOT

your eyes glance up to the chat and you immediately smirk, a mischievous idea now planted in your head. "woah. your fans really want you to fuck me on live. y'sure you don't wanna give your sweet fans what they want?"

kenma reads a few silently, lips thinning. you catch the exact second his patience snaps— not dramatic, just a quiet click. he pauses the game mid-level, and looks up directly into the camera.

"you guys really don't know when to stop," he sighs.

apple.creampie donated 500$! "kenma if you hate us so much just fuck your gf on stream and end our suffering 😒"

he doesn’t speak right away.

just reaches, wraps those long fingers around your wrist, tugs once—sharp enough to make your breath hitch— and pulls you right between his spread thighs so your ass bumps the edge of the desk, facing him.

“sit.”

you start sideways like a coward. but he lifts you up, spins you until you’re sitting on him proper— facing the camera, thighs forced wide with his knees, with your back glued to his chest. you let out a small yelp from how rough he was.

chat loses its fucking mind instantly.

he doesn’t even glance at the spam. his left arm snakes around your and his right hand dragging slow up the inside of your thigh. his middle finger traces the soaked seam of your shorts, presses just hard enough to make your hips twitch like a needy little bitch.

“look at them.” kenma's chin jerks toward the monitor. “they've been begging to watch me ruin you nonstop. and you—” his fingertip circles your clit through the cotton, slow and mean, “—you've been egging them on.”

you try to hide your face but he catches your jaw and forces it right back to the lens.

“eyes on camera, slut.”

two fingers shove under the fabric, sinking in knuckle-deep and curling right into your g-spot. your whole body jolts.

“fuck—kenma—” you try to bite your lips to keep your sounds in,

“shut up.” his thumb presses your clit in tight, nasty little strokes. “already dripping down my hand like a desperate whore. don’t act shy now.”

his chat is actual chaos. half keysmash, half straight-up “please fuck her on stream” donos lighting the sidebar on fire.

he repeats one comment, deadpan.

“‘bend her over when she dies again’.” he lets out a tiny dry huff. “so fucking predictable.”

fingers scissor once, twice, then rip out. you whine like you’re dying.

he drags those slick fingers straight to your mouth, pushes them past your lips.

“clean your mess.”

you do as he says— tongue swirling, tasting yourself while thousands watch you choke on his fingers.

“good girl,” he breathes, almost sweet. then, “such a filthy attention whore.”

pulls them out with a wet pop, smears the spit and slick across your thigh like he’s marking territory, then grips your hips and stands— lifting you like you’re nothing.

he folds you over the edge, tits mashed to the wood, ass up, face inches from the camera. ring light catches every bead of sweat, every flutter of your lashes, every tremble.

he yanks your shorts and panties down— fabric tangled around your thighs like makeshift cuffs.

with his fists in your hair, he yanks your head back so the camera gets the perfect money shot: lips swollen, eyes glassy and nearly fucked-stupid already, drool at the corner of your mouth.

“look at them,” he orders, quieter, darker. “let them see the face they’ve been paying to wreck.”

he pulls his sweatpants and boxers down just enough— blunt head nudges your entrance, fat and hot, rocking there just to make you feel how thick he’s gonna split you open while the entire stream watches.

“say it.”

“haah, fuck me.”

“louder. make them hear how bad you need it.”

your eyes flick to chat— pure depravity, begging in every language.

“fuck me, kenma— please— fuck me on stream—”

he slams in, one long, brutal stroke that punches the air out of your lungs.

your mouth falls open in a silent scream. he doesn’t let you breathe, just sets a punishing rhythm— deep, mean snaps that make your palms slip on the desk every time his hips slap your ass.

“keep looking at the camera,” he orders when your head tries to drop. hair yanked back harder. “let them see your pretty face while i use this cunt.”

tears prick your eyes— not pain, just the overwhelming stretch, the exposure, the sick thrill of being their porn.

his free hand snakes around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing fast and filthy until your thighs are shaking like you’re gonna collapse.

“clenching so fucking tight,” he mutters, almost to himself. “you love being their camslut?”

you can’t speak— just broken, pathetic moans every time he bottoms out.

he folds over you, chest to your back, lips brushing your ear.

“come for them,” he whispers, voice pure command. “show the chat what their money bought.”

you shatter.

your whole body seizing, mouth wide in a soundless wail as you gush around him, vision blurring white. he fucks you through every pulse, relentless, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, legs trembling so bad he has to hook an arm under your hips to hold you up.

only then does he let go— few more thrusts before he buries balls-deep and fills you with a low, guttural groan the mic eats right up.

silence for a beat. just both of you panting.

then he pulls out slow, lets you slump boneless over the desk, and finally— finally— ends the stream.

god bless any loved ones who joined Just Chatting | Things Got Weird expecting wholesome gameplay.

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!