Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

Tetsurou glances up from where he’s pushing a firetruck through the grass. Hajime’s standing over him, rubbing at the side of his nose, streaking dirt across it. He’s missing one of his front teeth, and there are band-aids all over his elbows and knees. Tetsurou tells him all the time to be more careful, but, well . . .

“Daishou’s about to make fun of Tooru again, so I’m going to go hit him. You don’t have to come with me, though.”

He’s pretty much hopeless at this point.

“Oh.” Tetsurou looks over to where Tooru’s sitting some feet away, playing with his alien figures. Daishou Suguru’s standing beyond him, watching him with a smirk, as he whispers something to one of the other boys. Tetsurou turns his gaze back to Hajime. “Do you have to hit him?”

Hajime heaves a long-suffering sigh, like the weight of the world is on his eight-year-old shoulders. “If I don’t, he’s going to say something mean to Tooru to make him cry. I hate it when he cries. It’s so annoying.”

“Well . . . okay.” Tetsurou doesn’t know what else to say to prevent this, so he simply sits back and watches, as Hajime storms over to place himself between Tooru and Daishou.

“Hey! You gotta problem?!” he shouts, arms crossed over his chest.

Tooru raises his head, eyes widening, as he looks between Hajime and Daishou. Tetsurou slowly stands, clutching his truck with both hands. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, but the thought of running over and stopping it makes him feel like an elephant is sitting on his chest, so he just watches from his vantage point, as Hajime storms up to get in Daishou’s face.

“I said do you gotta problem?”

Daishou sneers, pointing at Tooru behind Hajime. “He keeps talking about how his parents were abducted by aliens and that they’re coming back to get him. They’re not, you know.” He turns his frown onto Tooru. “They left you here on purpose because they didn’t want you.”

Tooru’s lower lip trembles, his large brown eyes filling with tears. “That’s not true! They’re coming back!”

“They’re not!”

“Hey!” Hajime snaps, grabbing a handful of Daishou’s shirt, bringing his other hand up in a fist. “You keep talking shit you’re gonna get hit!”

“He thinks he’s better than the rest of us just because his parents might still be alive! But he’s not better than us! He got left here just like you and me and everyone else!”

Tetsurou frowns. He might not have the courage to fight the bullies at the orphanage, but he can’t just stand by and do nothing. Moving forward, he kneels in the grass next to Tooru, picking up his hand and holding it tightly. Tooru squeezes his hand back, though his eyes are fixed on Hajime in front of them.

“What does it matter what he thinks, huh? Mind your own business!” Hajime yells, shoving Daishou down into the dirt.

Daishou falls, gritting his teeth. He looks like he’s about to stand and tackle Hajime, when a loud voice booms across the backyard from the house.

“HEY, HEY, HEY! What’s going on out here?!”

Daishou jumps to his feet and runs over to where Bokuto Koutarou stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. He flings his arms around the man’s waist, burying his face in it. “Hajime is being mean! He pushed me down for no reason!”

Tetsurou feels his face grow hot with anger at the false accusation. “That’s not true,” he says, but his voice is too soft to be heard over Daishou’s friends yelling in agreement.

Bokuto looks over to where Hajime’s standing with his hands in fists at his side. He sighs. “Hajime-kun, did you push Suguru-kun?”

Hajime lifts his chin. “Yes, sir, I did!” he declares loudly. “He was saying mean things about Tooru!”

Bokuto places his hand on Daishou’s head, looking down at him with raised eyebrows that make his face look even more comical than usual. “Suguru-kun, were you saying mean things about Tooru-kun?”

Daishou screws up his face like he’s about to cry. “No! I wasn’t!”

Hajime scowls. Bokuto glances between the two boys, tapping his chin in thought. “We will definitely have to talk about this later,” he decides. “For now, though, I need you all to go back inside and wash up. We have a new friend coming today! And I want you all to look your best to greet him, okay?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san!” the chorus of children in the backyard cry out, each abandoning their various toys to head for the house.

Hajime reaches down to snatch up Tooru’s hand, pulling him to his feet and storming into the house with him in tow. Tetsurou stands more slowly, approaching Bokuto, as the man gently pulls Daishou’s arms from around him and pushes him inside. He waits until Bokuto’s alone in the doorway before reaching out to tug on his sleeve.

“Um, Bokuto-san,” he says softly, biting his lip.

“Ah, Tetsu,” Bokuto’s eyes are kind as he looks down at him. He crouches so he’s at eye-level with Tetsurou, tilting his head to the side. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Tetsurou nods. “Daishou was saying mean things about Tooru-kun,” he says, glancing down at his hands in front of him. “Hajime-kun was standing up for him.”

“I figured that’s what happened,” Bokuto admits, reaching up to pet Tetsurou’s head gently. “But you know fighting isn’t the answer, right? Next time, come get me right away when he says mean stuff, and I’ll put a stop to it.”

Tetsurou nods. “I know. I will.”

Bokuto smiles. “Good. Thank you for telling me the truth. Go on and wash up, now. We’re going to have a special dinner to welcome our new friend!”

Tetsurou nods again, hurrying inside and up the stairs to the room he shares with Tooru and Hajime. Tooru’s sniffling, as he buttons up his shirt, and Hajime sighs, stepping over to help him when he misses a button.

“You’re an ugly crier,” he says, shaking his head.

“N-No, I’m n-not. Y-you’re ugly, Iwa-chan,” Tooru protests weakly.

“It’s okay. I told Bokuto-san the truth,” Tetsurou says, stepping over and patting Tooru’s shoulder. “So Daishou should get in trouble, too.”

Tooru gives him a watery smile. “Thanks, Tetsun,” he says softly.

“Come on, stop crying.” Hajime says, rubbing his palms against Tooru’s cheeks to wipe away the tears. “You’re going to scare away the new kid.”

Tetsurou steps over to the dresser to pull out some nicer clothes, stripping out of his grungy ones to change. Behind him, he can hear Tooru giggling softly, making fun of Hajime’s choice of shirt.

“Orange looks bad on Iwa-chan,” he says.

“Shut up! It’s the only nice shirt I have, okay?”

“Mm, Iwa-chan should fight harder to get the good things from the donation box.”

“You’re the one who always pounces on it first! You want me to fight you?”

Tetsurou shakes his head at his friends, picking up a faded blue shirt, turning to hold it out to Hajime. Tooru’s eyes light up, and he snatches it from Tetsurou.

“Perfect, Tetsun! Blue will look much better on Iwa-chan!”

“Stop calling me that,” Hajime grumbles, but he strips off the orange shirt to pull on the blue one. Tetsurou has to admit to himself that it does suit him better, and Tooru coos over him, smoothing the material down over his shoulders.

“Iwa-chan is so handsome now~”

“Shut up,” Hajime mutters, gently slapping his hands away.

The tension from earlier seems to have dissipated, much to Tetsurou’s relief. He hates it when Hajime gets into fights, even when it’s on Tooru’s behalf. He wishes all of the kids in the orphanage could just get along, even though he knows that’s unrealistic. Daishou has been a pain ever since he arrived. Tetsurou knows he’s probably just missing his parents, but that’s no excuse to act like a bully. They all miss their parents.

He wonders what happened to the new kid’s parents. Did they die? Or did they have to give him up for some reason? He glances sidelong at Tooru, who’s attempting to fix his hair into some form of decency after spending hours playing outside. He knows his friend’s insistence that his parents were simply abducted by aliens and will be returning for him one day is a form of denial, but he never has the heart to confront him on it, especially since Daishou and his friends take countless opportunities to do it instead. Hajime knows it’s just a coping mechanism too, but he always defends Tooru’s right to believe what he wants. He and Tetsurou both know he’ll admit the truth when he’s ready.

Sometimes, Tetsurou thinks it’s worse to have parents that are still alive. At least Tetsurou knows his parents loved him, has good memories of them he can cling to when the ache in his chest grows too much to bear in the dark, lonely nights. Tooru was left in a basket on the doorstep of the orphanage when he was a baby, with nothing but a blanket and a note with his name. His parents left him, and Tetsurou knows that, deep down, Tooru hurts more than anyone else because of that.

“I hope the new kid is a cute girl!” Tooru exclaims, earning him a smack upside the head from Hajime. “Ow!”

“Don’t be creepy!”

Tooru rubs at his head. “Iwa-chan is such a brute! He’s never going to get a girlfriend with that attitude!”

“I don’t want a girlfriend, stupid! I’m a kid!”

Tetsurou rolls his eyes. “We’re going to be late,” he says, opening the door. The other two continue shoving at each other playfully, as they make their way down the stairs, Tetsurou following along behind.

Hajime and Tetsurou came to the orphanage two years ago when they were both six, and Tooru instantly latched onto them. Tetsurou’s not sure why, but he’s grateful every day that he’s had friends from the beginning, that he didn’t have to go through the transition alone. Bokuto-san is nice and takes care of them all, but he has so many kids to look after, he’s not really able to spend a lot of time with each one individually. When the nightmares plague Tetsurou’s mind in the middle of the night, Hajime and Tooru are always there to comfort him, and when Hajime’s mood grows sour for seemingly no reason, Tooru and Tetsurou are there to cheer him up.

And when Tooru insists through tears that his parents are coming back for him, Hajime and Tetsurou hold his hands and don’t say anything different.

As the kids line up to greet their new housemate, Tetsurou can’t help but wonder what happened to this newcomer’s parents, and if they’ll need someone to hold their hand too.

The short-haired case worker, wearing a pencil skirt and a blazer, steps in through the door with Bokuto, a woman Tetsurou doesn’t recognize. She’s holding the hand of a small child wearing a backpack and old, faded clothing. Their long black hair hangs forward, covering their face, as they stare at the floor. Bokuto turns to the kids waiting, gesturing.

“Kids! This is Kozume Kenma; he’s going to be living with us from now on! Kenma-kun, these are the kids of Fukurodani Orphanage. They’re all very excited to meet you.”

“Welcome home, Kenma-kun!” all the kids cry out in unison, bowing in greeting.

Tetsurou peeks up in time to see Kenma start and shrink behind the case worker’s leg, still avoiding anyone’s gaze.

He’s like me . . .

The case worker gently pries Kenma’s hand out of hers, crouching in front of him and touching his shoulder. “Bokuto-san has my number. You can call me at any time to talk if you need to, okay? But you’re safe here, I promise.”

Kenma mumbles something Tetsurou can’t hear, and Bokuto pats the case worker on the back.

“Don’t worry, Michimiya-san! He’ll warm up to the place!” He turns back to the kids. “Tetsu!”

Tetsurou jumps, not having expected his name. He steps forward cautiously, hands behind his back. “Um, yes!”

“Take Kenma-kun upstairs to your room, okay? He’ll be staying with you, Tooru and Hajime, and I expect you all to show him the ropes around here, got it?”

“Yes!” Tetsurou says with a nod, peering curiously at Kenma, trying to catch a glimpse of his face behind the curtain of dark hair. He hesitates before taking another step forward and holding out his hand. “Um, you can come with me, Kenma-kun.”

Kenma doesn’t take his hand, but instead grips the straps of his backpack, as he steps forward, eyes on his feet. Tetsurou isn’t entirely sure what to do with that, but since he isn’t protesting, he drops his hand and leads the way upstairs, instead. Bokuto dismisses the children and turns to talk to Michimiya-san again, so Hajime and Tooru follow along behind.

Kenma seems to shrink even further into himself, as Tooru and Hajime don’t hide their curious scrutiny at all.

“How old are you? Where are you from?” Tooru asks, as they step into the room.

Tetsurou grabs an extra futon out of the closet, laying it out beside his own.

“You can put your stuff here for now,” he says, gesturing to the futon.

Kenma doesn’t move from where he’s standing near the door, his knuckles turning white with how tightly he’s gripping the backpack straps.

“I’m Tooru, and this is Iwaizumi Hajime,” Tooru continues, undeterred. “That’s Kuroo Tetsurou.” He points. “We’re all eight. Iwa-chan’s parents died in a car crash and Tetsun’s died in a fire. Mine got abducted by aliens, so I don’t know my family name. How did your parents di—ow!” He rubs his head from where Hajime smacked him.

“Shut up, idiot! You can’t just ask him that!” Hajime seethes.

Tooru pokes out his lower lip. “I’m just curious!”

“What if it just happened? You’re so unsensitive!”

“It’s insensitive,” Tooru corrects haughtily.

“Don’t turn this around on me!”

All this time, Tetsurou’s been watching Kenma’s face, or as much as he can see behind the hair. His lips are pursed tightly, like he’s trying not to laugh . . . or cry? Tetsurou can’t really tell. Stepping around the bickering two, he stops in front of him and ducks his head, peering between the strands of hair. Two luminous gold eyes stare back at him, startling him with how intense they look. He bites his lip, suddenly unsure of what to say. He ends up just watching him, looking for anything that might tell him how Kenma’s feeling.

Kenma breaks eye contact first, his gaze shifting to the side. “Six,” he murmurs.

“You’re six?” Tetsurou asks, thinking he looks much smaller than that.

Kenma nods, lifting his head slightly and glancing around the room. He looks at the new futon Tetsurou set out, walking over to it. He sits down in the center of it, pulling off his backpack and setting it between his crossed legs, unzipping it to rummage through. Tetsurou goes over to kneel on his own futon beside him, watching curiously.

Hajime and Tooru are now arguing about how Tooru shouldn’t just go around talking about how Hajime’s and Tetsurou’s parents are dead either, and Tetsurou tunes them out, as Kenma pulls what looks like a 3DS from the bottom of his backpack. Still keeping his arms wrapped around his belongings, he starts up the device.

“Um,” Tetsurou hesitates, not sure if it’s creepy if he watches or not.

Kenma glances up at him, still half-hidden behind his hair. He looks kind of like that scary girl from a horror movie poster Tetsurou saw at the theater, but he doesn’t say that.

“You can watch,” Kenma offers, his voice still barely above a whisper.

Tetsurou grins tentatively, crawling over to sit beside Kenma, leaning against him just slightly to look down at the screen over Kenma’s shoulder. Eventually Hajime gets Tooru to concede (by sitting on him until Tooru calls “uncle”), and the two of them make their way over.

“Can we watch?” Tooru asks hopefully.

“No.” The curt answer is immediate.

“Rude!”

“Come on, dummy, let’s go help Bokuto-san make dinner,” Hajime says, grabbing Tooru’s sleeve and dragging him toward the door.

Tetsurou watches them go before turning toward Kenma. “They’re not that bad once you get to know them,” he feels the need to assure him.

Kenma doesn’t respond, so Tetsurou decides to drop it, feeling rather gratified that Kenma’s allowing him to stay and watch. Being rather shy himself, he still hasn’t made any friends at the orphanage other than Tooru and Hajime, and they’re closer to each other than they are to him. It feels nice to have someone choose him first.

“Just stick with me, okay? I’m not very strong, but I’ll look out for you,” he promises softly.

Kenma doesn’t reply, but Tetsurou’s okay with that, and he turns his attention back to the game.

Tooru frowns down at the carrot he’s chopping for the ramen Bokuto’s preparing. The man is whistling cheerfully as he stirs the noodles and gathers the various ingredients, apparently having no issue giving knives to two eight-year-olds to help him cut up vegetables. Then again, Tooru and Hajime both have proven to be very careful and helpful in the kitchen in the past, so maybe he just trusts them. That’s a nice feeling, but one that’s overshadowed by the thoughts plaguing him just now.

“Oi, what’s that face about?” Hajime asks from beside him, peering over at him.

“What face, Iwa-chan?” Tooru widens his eyes as large as they can go in his best “innocent” look. Hajime just frowns harder. He reaches over to flick Tooru’s forehead, to which he responds with a yelp. “What was that for?!”

“You’re being annoying,” Hajime says, shaking his head and turning to the green onion he’s chopping. “Is this about Kenma-kun not wanting you to watch him play his game?”

“He didn’t have to be so rude! We were trying to be friendly!”

“You asked him about his dead parents, how is that being friendly?”

Tooru pouts, knowing that’d been rather forward of him, but he’d wanted to know if the new kid’s situation was anything like his own. Had his parents died or were they simply . . . somewhere else for a while?

“I don’t get why he let Tetsun stay,” he grumbles, not about to explain all of that.

Hajime turns back to his green onion. “He was being nice to him.”

“I wasn’t being mean,” Tooru protests.

“Hey, hey, hey, how’re things going over here?” Bokuto comes over with a grin to inspect their work. “Very good! You guys are naturals!” He ruffles both of their hair, earning a squawk of protest from Tooru. He only laughs, picking up the pieces they’ve already cut and dumping them in the pot. “Chop up a couple more. We’re making extra!”

Hajime glances up at Bokuto. “Is Akaashi-san coming over for dinner tonight?” he asks hopefully.

Tooru frowns; another thing to sour his mood.

Bokuto beams. “Yep! So, let’s make sure we make this super tasty for our best benefactor, okay?”

“Okay!” Hajime declares, concentrating harder on his slicing.

Tooru sighs, taking as much care on his own just so he won’t be outdone, but not really caring either way if the ramen is “super” tasty. While he’s grateful for Akaashi’s generous donations that get him and the others nice things, he hates how Hajime looks at him whenever he visits. Like the guy’s a fricking superstar or something. Like he hangs the moon and the stars.

First Hajime with Akaashi-san, now Tetsun with Kenma-chan . . . He glowers down at his knife and carrot, a familiar ugly feeling twisting in his chest.

Logically, he knows that Akaashi won’t steal Hajime from him. The man is an adult, and Hajime’s crush is most likely just . . . intense admiration. It’s still annoying, however.

No, what’s really disconcerting at the moment is Tetsun and Kenma. Hajime and Tetsurou are both Tooru’s best friends, and it’s perfect because they both fulfill different needs. Hajime’s always there to fix things, to be the strong one, to fight Tooru’s bullies and make him realize when he’s being silly or irrational. Tetsurou’s the better listener, always there as a comforting shoulder to cry on without insulting him in the process. (Tooru knows Hajime’s just bad at expressing himself, but sometimes Tooru needs a blanket, not a hammer.)

The thought of losing that to the new kid . . . it makes Tooru want to march upstairs and yank Kenma away by his stupid long hair.

He’s not going to do that, of course. For one thing, both Hajime and Tetsurou would yell at him for it. Besides, Kenma’s not doing anything wrong. Not really.

Everyone rushes to the door when Akaashi arrives, because of course he’s bearing gifts for everyone. He sets the large box down for the kids to rifle through, crossing over to greet Bokuto. Tooru notices the way he smiles at their caretaker, the way his eyes follow him as Bokuto throws himself on the ground a moment later with excitement to look through things with the children.

Tooru wonders if anyone else knows Akaashi is in love with Bokuto or if they all just think he’s super generous out of pure kindness.

He pounces on the gifts himself, of course, and Hajime sets something aside for both Tetsurou and Kenma, because he’s a good person like that. Tooru’s eyes land on a pair of really nice sneakers, and he grabs them before Daishou can get his grubby hands on them.

“Hey! I was going to get that!” the other cries indignantly.

Tooru hugs them to his chest and sticks out his tongue. “Snooze you lose!”

“Bokuto-saaaaaan!” Daishou complains.

Bokuto sits up, his grin never faltering as he grabs Daishou and pulls him over to him. “I’m sure there’s something perfect in here for you, bud! Let’s look together!”

With Daishou properly distracted, Tooru skips over to where Hajime’s holding a blue shirt, a volleyball, and a small pair of socks with cat faces on them.

“The cat socks are for Kenma-chan?” Tooru guesses.

Hajime nods, glancing down at them. “I thought he seems kind of like a cat . . . kinda quiet and prickly but cute, you know?”

Tooru grins. “Which one’s for you then?”

“Oh, um, the shirt is for Tetsu, because he gave me his . . . the volleyball is for me.”

Tooru tilts his head. “You like volleyball?”

Hajime shrugs. “I dunno. I thought maybe we could all try it and play together,” he admits.

“That’s a great idea, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime’s tan skin grows pink, but he looks pleased.

As the kids gather around the table to eat, Tooru notices that Tetsun and Kenma still haven’t shown. Bokuto notices too, and he frowns worriedly.

“Has anyone seen Tetsurou-kun and Kenma-kun?” he asks the table. As everyone shakes their heads, Tooru thrusts his hand in the air.

“They were upstairs. I’ll go get them!” He hops out of his seat and runs for the stairs.

He finds the two exactly where he left them an hour or so ago, though Tetsurou seems like he’s starting to drift off some, his head resting against Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma’s still engrossed in his game, thumbs tapping back and forth quickly.

Now would really be the best time to tell Kenma to stay away from his friends.

“Dinner’s ready!” Tooru calls from the doorway, startling Tetsurou awake.

He rubs at his eyes, stretching his arms over his head. He moves to stand, holding his hand out to help Kenma up. Kenma ignores him, eyes fixed on his game. Tetsurou frowns, biting his lip and suddenly looking lost. Tooru sighs, stepping forward and planting himself in front of Kenma, his hands on his hips.

“Hey! It’s dinner time! You gotta come eat!”

Kenma curls inward, not moving. Crouching down, Tooru leans forward to peer into his face. “If you don’t eat, you’re going to die, and then you won’t be able to play any games at all,” he states factually.

Tetsurou kicks at him, but Tooru doesn’t budge. Kenma lifts his gaze, meeting Tooru’s. It’s the first time he’s seen his eyes, and the intelligence behind them surprises Tooru. He’s only six, and yet he looks like he can maybe get one over on Tooru if he wants. Well, Tooru isn’t going to let that happen. He’s not going to lose to a six year old.

“Maybe that’s what you want,” Tooru continues lightly. “Maybe you think you’ll get back to your parents that way, but I can tell you right now it’ll make a lot of people sad; Tetsun here too. Do you really want to make your new friends sad? Or do you not care about anyone but yourself? That’s really selfish, Kenma-chan.”

“Tooru,” Tetsurou hisses, scandalized.

Kenma stares at him, unwavering. Tooru matches his gaze, unblinking.

“I’m not hungry,” Kenma says finally, though he closes his 3DS.

Tooru doesn’t believe that, but he straightens. “That’s fine. You can sit next to Tetsun and make sure he eats his veggies, then. He’s really bad about that.”

Tetsurou makes a face. “That’s because they’re gross.”

“They’re good for you!” Tooru says, holding up his finger with his best “I know better than you” expression.

“Kenma’s not going to make me eat them, are you Kenma?” Tetsurou says hopefully, looking toward the new kid.

Kenma glances between them, blinking slowly. He moves to stand. “He’ll eat them,” he says with a nod.

Tetsurou looks horrified. “I thought you’d be on my side,” he says mournfully.

Kenma reaches out and takes his hand, still holding onto the game in the other. Tetsurou starts at the contact, looking down at their joined hands blankly before smiling shyly.

“I guess . . . I’ll eat mine if you eat yours,” he says after a moment.

Kenma nods. “Okay,” he says softly, leading the way out the door with Tetsurou in tow.

Tooru watches them go, not sure why it feels like he won and lost at the same time. He glances at the backpack Kenma left behind, his fingers itching to look through it to find out more about the mysterious little Kenma. In the end, though, he thinks of how hard Hajime will hit him if he finds out and decides he better not.

“Wait for me!” he calls, hurrying after the other two.

Chapter Text

Kenma stares up at the ceiling of his new room, listening to the soft sound of Hajime snoring beside him. Tooru’s on the other side of him, one arm flung out over Hajime’s chest as he sleeps with his mouth wide open, drool running down the side of his mouth. On Kenma’s other side, Tetsurou sleeps face down between two pillows, which he’s wrapped his arms around, smashing them against either side of his head.

It’s been hours since Bokuto told them it was time for bed, but Kenma can’t sleep. It’s strange, here. He’s used to being alone in his room, with everything dark and silent. He usually plays his 3DS until he falls asleep, but Bokuto took it from him and said he could have it back in the morning. So now Kenma’s just laying here, with nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

It’s annoying. He doesn’t want to think, right now. He’s avoided thinking too much about anything this whole time because he’s had the security and comfort of his games. But now as he stares into the darkness, the darkness peers back, and he can feel it crushing his chest.

Turning to the side, he stares at Tetsurou’s right arm. He’s tempted to reach out and shake it, wake him up so he can talk to him, tell him a story or sing him another song. After the lights went out, Tetsurou had gone around to each of them, kissing their foreheads and saying goodnight. Tooru asked him to sing, and Tetsurou softly sang a lullaby about jellyfish until Hajime started snoring, and they both fell into giggles. Tooru dropped off not long after, and Tetsurou’s face has been buried between the pillows ever since. Kenma thinks he’s asleep, but he’s laying so still, he might not be.

The stillness scares him, suddenly. Reaching out slowly, he lays his hand on Tetsurou’s back, waiting. When he feels it rise and fall, warm beneath Tetsurou’s sleep shirt, and feels the fluttering of his heartbeat, Kenma breathes a soft sigh of relief. He pulls his hand away, folding them underneath his head. He should try to sleep.

Closing his eyes, the silence seems even heavier. He’s just about to get up and try to find out where Bokuto put his 3DS, when he hears a soft whimper. Opening his eyes, he sees that Tetsurou’s arms have tightened around his pillows. He’s trembling, tiny sobs escaping. Frowning, Kenma reaches out once more, shaking his shoulder gently.

Tetsurou lifts his head, blinking slowly. In the moonlight from the window, Kenma catches a glimpse of the tears on his face. Sniffing softly, Tetsurou pulls his sleeve up to wipe them away, turning to look at Kenma.

“Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Kenma shakes his head.

Sighing, Tetsurou’s head drops down onto the pillows he now has gathered in his arms. Kenma can see where he gets his strange hairstyle, now. It’s sticking up every which way, except for the part that’s hanging over his eye. Kenma moves to brush it to the side so he can see Tetsurou’s full face.

Tetsurou gives him a shaky smile. “I’m okay,” he whispers.

Kenma scoots closer. Their noses would nearly be touching if Tetsurou’s head wasn’t propped up on both pillows.

“You’re not though,” Kenma murmurs, eyes fixed on his face, seeing the sadness in his eyes, the slight downward turn of his lips once the smile fades.

“I just have bad dreams sometimes. I’ll be fine.”

Kenma chews on his lip. He knows all about bad dreams. “Me too.”

Tetsurou wrinkles his nose. “Sucks, right?”

Kenma nods.

Tetsurou’s gaze passes over Kenma to look past him at where Tooru and Hajime lie sleeping. Kenma doesn’t know what to say to make him feel better. He hasn’t even fully processed what happened to him yet, he can’t know how to process anyone else’s bad thoughts and feelings on top of that. But still, he wants to help, somehow. Tetsurou’s nice to him, and there’s something about him that makes Kenma feel safe. Plus, he promised to look out for Kenma, despite doubting his own strength. Kenma’s been independent long enough to know he doesn’t need some random eight-year-old to take care of him. He knows how to take care of himself. But . . . it’s nice, to feel looked after, cared for. Especially since . . .

His chest hurts. He rubs his feet together absently, wiggling his toes in the soft material of the cat-faced socks Hajime gave him earlier. Moving his hand slowly, he finds Tetsurou’s in the dark and latches onto it. Tetsurou’s eyes fall back onto him, and he smiles again, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m going to go find my game,” Kenma decides after a moment. “You want to come with me?”

Tetsurou’s eyes widen. “But Bokuto-san took it.”

Kenma sits up. “I’ll find it.”

Tetsurou looks nervous, as he slowly sits up as well. “But . . .”

Kenma doesn’t wait for any more protests. He stands and makes his way silently toward the door. Opening it, he peers down the hall. There are three other bedroom doors, all closed, that contain the other kids in groups of four or five. Then there are the doors for the toilet and the bathroom. Downstairs, he knows is Bokuto’s room, another toilet, the living room, the kitchen, and the office. His game is probably in the office.

He heads for the stairs without waiting to see if Tetsurou has followed him. After a moment, he feels a gentle tug on the back of his sleep shirt. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Tetsurou standing there with wide eyes. His fingers tighten their grip on Kenma, and Kenma makes his way carefully down the steps.

The house feels even larger than before in the dark and stillness of the night. A floorboard creaks, and they both freeze, breaths caught in their throat, until a few seconds pass and nobody shows up to demand what they’re doing out of their room.

Kenma feels small. He knows he is small. The last few months his mom struggled to put food on the table, and Kenma grew thinner and thinner. He’s less thin now after a week of food being thrust in front of his face every five minutes. He’s not sure what’s up with adults and wanting to feed you when something bad happens. They did the same when his dad died several years ago. He doesn’t remember that time, he was too little, but his mom told him about it when he was old enough to understand what “death” meant.

Straightening his shoulders, he continues down the stairs.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Tetsurou hisses in his ear.

“Go back to bed, then,” Kenma says, making his way down the hall past the kitchen to where Bokuto’s office door stands.

Tetsurou follows. When Kenma tries the door and it doesn’t budge, the older boy makes a small noise that sounds like relief. Undeterred, Kenma turns and heads toward Bokuto’s bedroom.

“Kenma!” Tetsurou hisses after him.

Slowly, Kenma slides the door open and peers inside. Bokuto’s lying on his stomach on the bed in the center of the room, one arm slung out over the side. He’s snoring softly, and Kenma spots a keyring on his bedside table. His socked feet don’t make a sound, as he makes his way across the wooden floor. Bokuto doesn’t stir, even as Kenma lifts the keys and hurries back out of the room.

Tetsurou’s staring at him with wide eyes. “Are you crazy?” he asks.

Kenma slides the door shut behind him and doesn’t answer. He’s on a mission. He’s going to get his game back. Walking back to the office, he goes through the keys until he finds one that looks right. It fits into the lock and he turns it, sliding the door open with a satisfied smile. Tetsurou stands by the doorway, as Kenma begins to search the shelves and drawers for his console.

“You’re going to get us in so much trouble,” Tetsurou moans.

Kenma ignores him. The office is small, and there are stacks of papers and folders everywhere. Even on the floor, which he carefully navigates around to try and avoid messing anything up too noticeably. He’s not sure why Bokuto has so many hard copies when he has a computer sitting right there on his desk, but maybe he just likes holding paper. There are two simple chairs in front of the desk, and the wall behind it is covered with drawings various kids have made for their caretaker. Most are pretty bad, but Kenma guesses they all must like Bokuto a lot to put in so much effort for him. There are even some letters from kids who’ve gotten adopted. Kenma still can’t read very well, but he knows enough to see the words of thanks written on each one.

Curiosity seems to overcome Tetsurou, as he picks his way into the room, looking around at all the scattered papers. “He’s always going on about us cleaning our rooms,” he says, shaking his head.

“His bedroom was clean,” Kenma remembers. There actually hadn’t been much in Bokuto’s room, aside from his bed, a dresser, a bookshelf that held mostly photos and DVDs, and some work-out equipment in the corner.

“Still . . . how does he find anything in here?” Tetsurou bends to pick up a file, flipping through it absently before setting it back.

Kenma starts opening the drawers of the desk. One seems to be full of confiscated toys and electronics, and he shifts through this one hopefully.

“Oh.”

Kenma glances up, noticing the shift in Tetsurou’s tone. He sounds . . . sad? He’s standing on the other side of the desk, looking down at a folder that he’s opened on top of it. His face is cast in shadow, the moonlight from the window to the right of the desk illuminating only so much. He reaches over to turn on the desk lamp, squinting down at the papers in front of him.

“There’s a couple who want to adopt Tooru,” he says softly.

Kenma turns back to his search. “That’s good, right?”

“I guess . . . I mean. Yeah. It is.” Tetsurou sighs.

Kenma spots his 3DS. He grabs it, shutting the drawer and lifting his head to see Tetsurou chewing on his lip, as he stares at the file. Kenma walks around the desk, standing on his tiptoes to try and read what he can of it. He doesn’t understand most of the words, but he catches “bright child” and “very cute” and the family name “Oikawa,” which he thinks is a type of fish.

“Bokuto-san hasn’t mentioned anyone interested in Tooru,” Tetsurou admits, flipping through a couple more pages. “But . . . it makes sense. I mean, he’s always really charming during the open houses and all the couples that come like him. He’s really smart, too. It makes sense he’d be the first one of us to be adopted.” He shuts the file and adjusts it to look as it had before. “I just . . . didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

Kenma glances from the file to Tetsurou and back again. He doesn’t know what to say. He only just got here, and while he doesn’t like Tooru that much so far, he’s been Tetsurou’s friend for years. It’s obvious that the two of them and Hajime are close. Reaching up, he turns off the desk lamp before taking Tetsurou’s hand, leading him back out of the office. He goes about shutting the door and locking it, taking the keys back to Bokuto’s room where he found them.

Tetsurou says nothing on their way back to their room. He looks over at Tooru, who’s shifted in his sleep and is now laying horizontal across his futon, one foot laying on Hajime’s stomach, blanket tangled around his legs and hips.

“I’m not going to tell him,” Tetsurou decides after a moment, shaking his head. He sits next to Kenma, as he starts up his game. “He still talks about how his bio parents are out there somewhere and are going to come back for him one day. I don’t think he’ll like being adopted by someone else.”

Kenma turns his gaze to the screen in front of him, turning the volume all the way down. Tetsurou sighs and scruffs his hair absently, looking over at Kenma after a moment.

“Can I watch again?”

Kenma nods, scooting to the side to give Tetsurou room on the futon beside him. The older boy grabs one of his pillows, bringing it over to hug to his chest, as he rests his chin lightly against Kenma’s shoulder, watching the screen. It only takes a couple levels for him to fall back asleep, though, sagging against Kenma until he twists and gently pushes him down against the futon. Tetsurou curls around him slightly, the pillow a barrier between them, and Kenma leans back against it. By the time dawn starts to break through the trees outside, Kenma finds himself struggling to stay awake, exhaustion taking hold despite the fear of nightmares.

He saves his game, yawning hugely before shifting down the futon to lay his head against the pillow Tetsurou still holds. With his 3DS still clutched in his hands, he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep within seconds.

All Hajime knows about volleyball is what he’s gleaned from watching it on TV, but it doesn’t seem too complicated, and when Bokuto sees him practicing bouncing the ball off his arms out in the backyard, he excitedly comes over to explain some more of the game mechanics to him. Apparently, he used to play back in high school and college, and he lights up at the chance to teach Hajime everything he knows and even shows him the correct forms for the different moves and positions.

He then relays all this information to Tooru, Tetsurou, and Kenma, though Kenma has his nose buried deep in his 3DS, so he’s not sure how much the kid actually hears.

“I want to be the setter!” Tooru exclaims as soon as Hajime finishes.

“Why the setter?” Tetsurou asks curiously.

“That seems like the most important part!”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “They’re all important, stupid. There are six people on a team, and they all have to work together!”

“It sounds like fun,” Tetsurou admits with a faint grin. He glances over at Kenma. “What do you think, Kenma-kun?”

“No thanks.”

Tetsurou deflates. Hajime hesitates, not sure what to do. He doesn’t want to force Kenma to play, but he wants them all to play together as a team, and he wants Kenma to be a part of that team. He knows Tooru’s jealous of him, but Tetsurou likes him, and Hajime thinks the four of them could work together really well, if they give Kenma the chance.

“Well . . . we can start and if Kenma wants to join us later he can,” Hajime suggests for a compromise.

Tetsurou hesitates. “But it’ll be more fair if it’s two on two . . .”

“We don’t need him, Tetsun!” Tooru exclaims, hands on hips. “If he wants to be a party-pooper he can sit out!”

“Okay,” Kenma replies mildly, not taking the bait but focused on his 3DS where he sits in the grass, knees pulled to his chest.

“Hey, what are you playing?” Daishou sidles up to Kenma, peering down over his shoulder. Kenma’s shoulders rise reflexively. “Oh! I beat this one! It was super easy.”

Tetsurou frowns. “Hey, leave him alone,” he says, stepping forward. His sudden boldness surprises Hajime, and he and Tooru exchange a look.

Daishou puts his hands up. “I’m not doing anything!” He looks over at Hajime nervously. “What are you guys doing?” he asks, puffing himself up.

“We’re going to play volleyball,” Hajime says, twirling the ball between his hands. He really hopes Daishou doesn’t—

“Can I play?” he asks.

“No!” Tooru exclaims, shaking his head quickly. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t even know how to play.”

“Yes, I do! I heard Bokuto-san telling Iwaizumi about it,” Daishou insists. “You only have three people playing, right? So let me play! It can be two on two!”

Hajime hesitates. On the one hand it would be easier to play two on two, but on the other hand he knows if he lets Daishou play with them, he’ll start taunting Tooru or Tetsurou to try and mess them up somehow and that will end in punches being thrown and Tooru crying. Hajime hates it when Tooru cries.

“I’ll play,” Kenma says suddenly, standing. He closes his 3DS and slips it into his pocket.

Tetsurou lights up, grabbing his hand. “Yay! Kenma’s playing!”

“There. See? Now it’ll be three on two if you play and that’s not fair,” Tooru says haughtily.

Daishou’s face turns red. “You guys are mean!” he exclaims. “I hope the ball hits you all in the face!”

Tooru sticks out his tongue, pulling down on one eyelid to make a face. Hajime reaches over to slap his arm down. There’s no need to rub it in the guy’s face. Daishou might be annoying and rude, but after Bokuto spoke to Hajime about controlling his temper and being the better person when it comes to Daishou, he’s decided he’s going to try. So long as Daishou doesn’t do or say anything horrible that Hajime can’t ignore.

Tooru cackles, as Daishou storms off, and Tetsurou grins at Kenma, happily swinging their hands together, so Hajime guesses it all worked out. Daishou has plenty of other kids to play with anyway, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

They start off with basic drills that they’re all terrible at. The ball keeps falling on Tooru’s face when he’s trying to set it, Hajime continually misses his spikes, and the ones he does hit, either smack Tetsurou in the face when he’s trying to receive it, or go wild in the complete opposite direction Hajime meant it to go. Kenma tries to set for Tetsurou, but he can’t get the angle right, and whenever he tries to receive, he’s not fast enough to get under it, and he falls on his face multiple times.

After a couple hours of this, it’s clear they have a long way to go to improve. They’re covered in dirt and multiple bruises, but Hajime thinks they’re having fun. He’s having fun, at least, and from the way Tooru’s face lights up each time Hajime manages to hit one of his tosses, he can tell he is too. Tetsurou as well, he laughs with delight each time one of his receives connects, though it’s difficult to read Kenma. He’s frowning throughout but sticks with it, even after falling over and over again. Hajime admires that.

It’s a good distraction. So much of their playtime is unstructured, and Hajime always has to find something to keep his thoughts from wandering to unpleasant things. He likes to watch the bugs that crawl through the grass and up the fence, and he used to collect them in jars and keep them in the bedroom until Tooru insisted he stop because it was “gross,” and he hated how they “watched” him.

With no more bugs to collect, he’s been looking for a new hobby, a new activity to fight off the sadness that comes sneaking into his head when he least suspects it. Volleyball seems perfect. He’s active and engaged and it’s exciting and frustrating all at once.

Hours later they take a break, and Kenma declares he’s done for the day, plopping back down with his game. Sore and tired, the others follow suit, dropping in the grass around him. Hajime wonders if whatever middle school they attend will have a volleyball team. That’s quite a few years in the future, but he can’t help but mention it anyway.

“I think it’ll be really cool if we can keep playing together,” he says.

“Yeah! I’m going to be the best setter that ever was!” Tooru declares.

“I’ll block you every time!” Tetsurou grins.

“Not if you’re on my team! Then you’ll block for me.”

Tetsurou’s grin slips. Hajime watches curiously, as he flops black in the grass with a sigh. “We don’t even know if we’ll get to go to the same middle school. We might all be adopted by then.” He bites his lip.

“I can’t be adopted. My parents are still alive,” Tooru points out, tearing up a handful of grass to drop on Tetsurou’s chest.

Hajime sits beside Tooru, legs crossed and holding the scuffed and dirty volleyball in his lap. “Well, even if we do get adopted, we can still meet up and play together. There might be a class at the rec center we can go to. And if our middle schools have teams, then maybe we’ll get to play against each other. That could still be fun.”

Tetsurou glances over at him. “You think we’ll still be friends after we get adopted?” he asks.

“Of course, stupid,” Hajime says, reaching around Tooru to flick him gently in the arm. “I’m not going to stop being your friend. So, you better not either.”

Tooru grins, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s neck. “Iwa-chan is so loyal!” he exclaims, rubbing his sweaty face against his.

“Ew, you’re all sticky. Get off me,” Hajime complains, pressing his elbow into Tooru’s chest in an attempt to push him away. It’s way too hot for that.

Tooru continues to cling to him, laughing at his attempts to escape. Hajime lets go of the volleyball to grab Tooru’s arm, lifting it forcefully in order to slip out from under it. He shoves Tooru over into the grass, then, shaking his head. “You need a bath. You stink.”

Tooru sits up with a gasp. “I do not!” He takes a sniff of his shirt and wrinkles his nose. “Well, maybe a little.”

“We should all take a bath,” Tetsurou says, sitting up. “Come on, Kenma! Let’s go get cleaned up!”

Kenma heaves a sigh, like the thought of standing personally offends him. But after some needling from Tetsurou, he pushes himself off the ground and allows the older boy to take his hand and lead the way inside.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” Tetsurou calls over his shoulder with a grin.

“Ack! No fair! You got a head start!” Tooru scrambles to his feet and races after them.

Hajime looks down at the volleyball in his lap, giving it a small spin before setting it aside and standing to hurry after his friends. They end up play-fighting in the bath until the entire floor is covered in water and Bokuto yells, but even with that Hajime feels like it was a good day. He likes volleyball, and he likes the feeling he got whenever he managed to hit a toss Tooru sent his way. He holds onto that feeling and wonders how it’ll grow the more they play and the better they get.

One thing’s for sure: he definitely wants to see that excited grin on Tooru’s face again.

Chapter Text

Tetsurou doesn’t tell Tooru about the couple interested in adopting him. He’s not sure what would happen if he did, but he knows it probably won’t be good. He tries not to think of the file and its contents at all, focusing on volleyball and looking after Kenma. The former is more fun than he initially thought it’d be, and the latter is easier than he thought it’d be.

Kenma’s surprisingly resourceful and independent for a six-year-old. He proved that the night he snuck into Bokuto’s office, and everything that comes after that just makes it more obvious. He’s quiet and doesn’t seem to enjoy physical activities and avoids most of the other kids, but that doesn’t mean he’s weak.

Daishou tries to mess with him during one of their play times. They take a break from volleyball, and Kenma’s drawn out his 3DS, tapping away. Tetsurou sees Daishou approaching and watches warily, not sure what he’s planning.

“What game are you playing now?” he asks, bending over to peer at the screen.

Kenma hunches forward, away from him. Daishou’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’ve played this one too! I can help you beat that guy,” he says, before snatching the 3DS out of Kenma’s hands.

“Hey!” Tetsurou exclaims, but before he can even make a move toward them, Kenma’s punched Daishou right in the nose, snatching his game back in the same movement.

Tetsurou, Hajime, and Tooru all stare, completely stunned. It even takes Daishou a moment to register what happened. He blinks a few times, clutching his nose. Tears well up in his eyes, but Kenma turns back to his game without giving him a second glance.

“You hit me!” Daishou cries. “I’m telling!”

He runs off toward the house, calling for Bokuto.

“Kenma!” Tetsurou doesn’t know whether he should scold him or laugh, honestly.

Kenma glances up, noticing the three of them staring with a jolt of surprise. “What?” he asks softly, curling further inward.

“You can’t just punch people!”

Kenma blinks. Beside him, Tooru starts giggling. Hajime rolls his eyes and smacks Tooru upside the head.

“Don’t laugh,” he says.

Tooru pokes his lip out, as he rubs the back of his head. “But it’s funny, Iwa-chan! Who knew little Kenma-chan was such a tiger!”

Kenma wrinkles his nose at that. Tetsurou sighs. “Look, just . . . don’t do it again, okay? You’ll get in trouble, and Bokuto-san will take your game away.”

Kenma shrugs. “I’ll just get it back again,” he says, eyes falling toward the screen once more.

Tetsurou doesn’t have an answer for that. It hits him again that Kenma isn’t as helpless and vulnerable as he first appeared. It kind of makes Tetsurou wonder what good he can be to the kid. He doesn’t need protection, obviously, and despite being an orphan it doesn’t seem to bother him very much. Or else, he’s really good at hiding it.

It doesn’t take long for Daishou to return, Bokuto in tow. Their caretaker looks somewhat exasperated, but he smiles, as he crouches next to Kenma.

“Kenma,” he starts gently. “Suguru says you punched him. Is that true?”

“He took my game,” Kenma says, not looking up from this 3DS.

“It’s true,” Tetsurou says, determined to help in some way. “Daishou started it.”

Daishou shoots him a murderous glare. “I just wanted to show him how to defeat the boss guy!”

“I know how to do it,” Kenma says tightly, curling further into himself. “I’ve played this before.”

“You could’ve just said that,” Daishou grumbles, poking at his nose.

Bokuto rubs his hand over his hair. “Well, you can’t punch people, even if they do take your games,” he says, before looking over at Daishou. “You shouldn’t be taking his game, either.” He claps his hands together. “So! If both of you apologize, then we can put this behind us and do better in the future!”

“Why should I apologize! I was trying to help, and he punched me!” Daishou exclaims.

“I’m not sorry,” Kenma states, shaking his head slightly.

Bokuto’s smile looks strained. Tetsurou steps over to kneel beside Kenma, nudging him gently. “Just say it, okay?” he pleads softly, not wanting to see Kenma get in trouble when he does think Daishou sort of deserved it. It’s not like it was a particularly hard punch either. The kid isn’t even bleeding.

Kenma gives Tetsurou a side-long look that he can’t read. He turns back to face Daishou and Bokuto after a moment, though, and lowers his gaze to the ground. “Sorry.”

Bokuto’s smile relaxes. “Thank you, Kenma,” he says, before turning toward Daishou expectantly.

Daishou huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’m sorry,” he says flatly.

Bokuto sighs. “Well, I guess that’s as good as it’s going to get. If I hear of any more punching or stealing, though, there’s going to be bigger consequences. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Daishou mutters.

Kenma says nothing, simply turns back to his game. Bokuto ruffles his hair and Daishou’s before standing and heading back inside. Daishou sticks his tongue out at them all before running after him to enter the house. Tooru and Hajime make their way over to sit across from Kenma and Tetsurou in the grass.

“Is your hand okay?” Hajime asks Kenma seriously.

Kenma appears surprised by the question. He glances down at his hand before nodding. “I think so.”

Tooru grins. “He totally deserved it,” he says. He gives Hajime a nudge. “Better watch out, Iwa-chan! I might make Kenma-chan my new bodyguard.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “He can have you,” he says, getting distracted by a ladybug that lands on a weed beside him.

“Mean, mean, Iwa-chan’s mean,” Tooru sings, poking Hajime in the side and arm until he turns back around and swats at him, telling him to stop as Tooru laughs.

Tetsurou sighs, running a hand through his hair before glancing over at Kenma beside him. He’s turned back to his game, thumbs moving over the buttons resolutely.

“So . . . I guess you don’t really need someone to look after you, huh?” he says after a moment, as Hajime and Tooru start wrestling.

Kenma bites his lip. “I can take care of myself,” he says softly, almost apologetically, it seems.

“Yeah, I’m figuring that out,” Tetsurou says with a soft laugh, not sure why he feels so disappointed.

“But . . .” Kenma continues, leaning against him just slightly. “It’s nice to have friends.”

Tetsurou feels his heart swell in his chest, the disappointment fading away. He presses back against Kenma’s shoulder with his own. “You can count on us, Kenma!” he assures him. “We’ll be here for you, no matter what. Even if you punch a hundred people!”

Kenma’s lips twitch in a small smile. “Thanks.”

“What’s that about punching a hundred people?” Tooru asks with interest, lifting his head from where Hajime’s got him in a headlock.

“Nobody’s punching any more people,” Tetsurou says quickly, hopping to his feet. “Come on! Let’s play some more volleyball!”

Tooru wiggles out of Hajime’s grasp, scrambling upright. “Yeah!” he exclaims excitedly.

Hajime looks toward the ladybug, watching as it flies away before standing as well. “I’m in.”

Tetsurou thinks that with all the physical activity during the day, he’ll be able to pass out immediately once he hits his futon at bedtime. He certainly feels sluggish as he pulls on his pajamas and brushes his teeth. Tooru begs for a lullaby, so he sings one about flowers, watching as each of his friends settle in and close their eyes. He keeps the song short, placing his customary goodnight kiss on each of their foreheads, before climbing into his own futon.

As soon as he closes his eyes, however, the flames return. They flicker on the edges of his vision, and he can’t see through the smoke, can’t breathe. It burns his nose and down his throat, and he tries to escape on his own, running toward all the windows and the door, tugging at them, trying to get them open. But he’s too small, too weak. He can’t call out; he can’t scream for his parents. If he does, they’ll come for him and be trapped in here, too.

The fire rages all around him, closing in, until he’s curled into a ball in the middle of his bedroom floor, coughing and crying and suppressing the urge to yell for help. Even as the fire begins to consume him, he presses his lips together and doesn’t make more than a whimper.

“Kuro.”

A hand shakes his shoulder. Tetsurou flinches. No. No, go away. Go away or you’ll die, too.

“Kuro.” A more insistent nudge.

Tetsurou sniffles and opens his eyes. Kenma’s kneeling over him, peering into his face with a small frown. Tetsurou blinks away the tears blurring his vision. It takes some effort to peel his fingers away from his pillows, but he does, sitting up slowly.

“S-sorry.” This isn’t the first time Kenma’s had to pull him from his nightmares. Guilt settles like a rock in his stomach, and he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his pajama shirt. “Did I wake you up?”

Kenma shakes his head. “I don’t sleep much,” he admits softly.

Tetsurou frowns. “That’s not good. You can get sick if you don’t sleep.”

Kenma reaches out and pokes his cheek where a tear has escaped. Tetsurou remembers how he mentioned before that he also has bad dreams and sighs.

“I guess it’s pretty hard to sleep sometimes, huh?” he says, pulling his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

Kenma nods.

Tetsurou remembers something. “Hey, you called me Kuro. That’s not my name, you know. It’s Kuroo. Or Tetsurou.”

Kenma blinks at him. “Kuro’s easier to say,” he says simply.

Well, he can’t argue with that. Sighing, Tetsurou flops back down on his futon, staring up at the ceiling. He reaches down to grab his blanket, then, pulling it up under his chin. Kenma watches him silently. Tetsurou chews on his lip for a moment, still tired but afraid to close his eyes again.

“My parents died in a fire,” he says finally, wondering if talking about it will help. “My dad . . . he got me out, but then he went back in to get my mom. The whole house collapsed.” He makes a falling motion with his arm. “They got trapped. That’s what the firemen said.” He swallows hard. “I . . . I couldn’t move. I was in bed and I woke up with all the smoke and it was really hot and I just . . . sat there and screamed. If I ran outside, then my dad could’ve gotten my mom out right away and he might . . . they might . . .” He stops, as the tears begin to burn the corners of his eyes.

Kenma leans over him, frowning again.

“B-Bokuto-san says it’s not my fault. Akaashi-san says that too. But I just keep thinking about it and-and dreaming about it . . .” Tetsurou admits softly, his voice sounding tiny in his own ears. “I can’t stop thinking it is my fault.” He chokes back a sob, as it crawls up his throat. Closing his eyes, he folds his arms over his face. “It’s easy to pretend everything’s okay when it’s daytime and we’re playing or at school, but when I’m sleeping . . .”

He feels a tug on his blanket. Lifting his arms from his face, he watches in surprise, as Kenma climbs underneath it, laying down beside him and wrapping his arm around Tetsurou’s waist. He snuggles in close, burying his face against Tetsurou’s chest.

“I’ll be here for you too,” he says softly, mirroring Tetsurou’s words from earlier.

Tetsurou can’t help but smile, even as he sniffles and wipes his face on his sleeve. “Thanks,” he says softly, pulling the blanket up over them both, before turning into him in order to wrap both arms around him, pressing his forehead against the top of Kenma’s head, breathing in the sweet scent of his apple shampoo.

It eases the knot in his chest. Not fully, but enough to help him relax. He holds Kenma’s small, warm body close to his, feeling the steady beat of his heart, hearing the soft sound of his slow breathing. He does his best to match its pace, and after a while he closes his eyes.

The nightmares don’t return.

Tooru has a bad feeling in his stomach when Bokuto calls him into his office. It worsens when he sees the nicely dressed couple seated in the two chairs across from Bokuto’s desk. He stands when he sees Tooru in the doorway, grinning ear-to-ear as he beckons him forward.

“Tooru, this is Oikawa Daisuke and his wife Ichiko,” he introduces, placing his hands on Tooru’s shoulders. “They’d like to adopt you!”

Tooru hears the sound of rushing water in his ears, and he barely understands the woman, as she leans forward and smiles kindly at him. She has a cord of pearls around her neck, so they must be rich, but even knowing that, Tooru feels his entire body go rigid with fear.

“No. I can’t get adopted,” he says loudly, cutting Ichiko off. He doesn’t care if it’s rude. He has to stop this. He shrugs off Bokuto’s hands, turning to frown up at him. “My parents are coming back for me! They’re not dead!”

Bokuto’s expression falls. He moves to kneel in front of Tooru, placing his hands on his shoulders again. “Tooru, we don’t know if that’s true. These nice people want to adopt you. You’ll have a family, an older sister. I told them you like volleyball, and they said they could get you into a good school that has a volleyball club. This is a good thing, Tooru.”

“No!” Tooru wrenches away from him, not wanting to hear any of this. He clamps his hands over his ears. His heart’s racing, thudding against his chest so hard it’s nearly painful. “I want to stay here! I want to stay with Iwa-chan and Tetsu and Kenma! I want my real parents!”

Bokuto glances at the couple apologetically. “I’m sorry, I knew it might be difficult, but I didn’t think he’d react so . . .” He gestures helplessly at Tooru.

Tooru takes advantage of his divided attention and runs for the door. Bokuto calls after him, but he doesn’t stop until he reaches the backyard. He scans the area quickly before catching sight of Hajime by the fence, watching a line of ants make their way up one of the wooden slats.

“Iwa-chan!” he cries, rushing over and grabbing his hand. “We’re running away! Right now!”

“What? Why?” Hajime frowns at him, not moving despite Tooru’s insistent tugs.

“There’s people here,” Tooru gasps out through the tears that are already spilling down his cheeks. “They want to adopt me!”

Hajime stares at him, not seeming to understand the urgency of the matter. “Don’t . . . you want to get adopted?” he asks hesitantly.

Tooru rears back in horror. “NO!” he screeches. “I DON’T! MY REAL PARENTS ARE COMING BACK FOR ME! I HAVE TO BE HERE SO THEY FIND ME!”

Hajime winces, rubbing his ear with his free hand. “Tooru . . .” he says then, gently, and he has that look on his face, the same one Bokuto had before.

No, no, Iwa-chan. Not you too.

“It’s been eight years . . . I don’t think they’re coming.”

Tooru jerks his hand out of Hajime’s, anger burning through him now, replacing everything else. “How can you say that?!” he cries. He reaches forward, shoving Hajime’s chest as hard as he can. Hajime stumbles back but doesn’t fall. He’s stupidly dense. Tooru tries again. “You’re supposed to be my best friend! You’re supposed to believe me!”

“I am!” Hajime yells, grabbing Tooru’s wrists to stop him. His eyes are wide and frantic, like he doesn’t know what to do or what to say.

Tooru yanks his wrists away, turning and running back into the house, ignoring Hajime shouting his name.

Stupid Iwa-chan! Stupid Bokuto-san! They don’t get it! Nobody gets it!

His parents are coming back for him. They are! They wouldn’t just leave him. Why would they leave him? He didn’t do anything wrong. He was just a baby!

He runs out the front door, not even bothering to pull on his street shoes. His house slippers flop against his heels, and he stumbles a few times, falling onto his hands and knees, his palms stinging as they hit the sidewalk. But he gets up and keeps running, tears spilling down his cheeks in earnest.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he has to get away before Bokuto forces him to go with those people.

His vision blurs, and he doesn’t see the man in front of him until he runs face-first into his stomach. Tooru stumbles back, and the man catches his arm to keep him from falling. When Tooru raises his head, he finds himself looking into the concerned face of Akaashi Keiji.

“Tooru?” he says in his soft, calm voice. “What’s going on? Why are you running?”

Tooru feels his expression crumple. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s waist and crying heavily into his crisp button-down. He spills out everything between sobs, about how Bokuto wants to send him away with strangers, how nobody believes that his parents will come back, not even Iwa-chan, about how his parents have to be coming back, because they wouldn’t just leave him, about how he can’t be adopted because what if these people decide they don’t want him either? What if they drop him off at a different orphanage? He’ll never see any of his friends ever again.

He babbles and sobs and clutches at Akaashi’s shirt, not caring that just yesterday he didn’t like the man because of Hajime’s crush on him. Maybe he can change Bokuto’s mind. He’s the only one who could.

Akaashi’s hand comes down on the back of his head, stroking his hair gently, and before moving to his back, rubbing it in small, comforting circles. Tooru eventually runs out of words and tears, hiccupping softly as he stands with his face pressed against Akaashi’s stomach, shoulders shaking with each inhale.

“Tooru,” Akaashi says, then, moving back to crouch in front of him. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket (because of course someone like Akaashi would carry a handkerchief), gently cleaning Tooru’s face of tears and snot. “You know Bokuto-san wants what’s best for you.”

Tooru nods miserably. He does know that; he just thinks Bokuto’s way of finding what’s best for him is all wrong. Akaashi takes his arms in his hands, rubbing them slowly.

“I’m sure your real parents didn’t want to leave you,” he continues. “But not everyone has the means to take care of another person. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong or that you’re a bad person. It was just circumstances. They probably wanted what’s best for you too, even if that meant giving you to another family. You know Bokuto-san would never put you in a family he thought wouldn’t treat you well, right?”

Tooru nods again, swallowing hard.

Akaashi gives his arms a squeeze. “If you’d like, I can speak to these people who want to adopt you, make sure they realize how much Hajime and your friends mean to you. I’m sure they’d let you visit or let Hajime, Tetsurou, and Kenma visit you.”

Tooru blinks. “You think so?” he asks softly.

Akaashi nods. “They want you to be happy. They want to love you and take care of you, and isn’t that a wonderful thing? Out of all the little boys and girls they could adopt, they want you.”

Tooru sniffles. “But . . . what if I do something wrong or bad later, and they don’t anymore?” he asks in a small voice. He knows he’s not a perfect child. He can do his best, but he’ll make mistakes. He knows he will.

Akaashi tilts his head thoughtfully. “If you’re ever afraid of that, you can call me, and I’ll talk to you about it, okay? Even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

Tooru stares at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks skeptically, wondering what kind of angle Akaashi’s working.

Akaashi gives him a small, indulgent smile. “I know you distrust my intentions, but I do care about you children.”

Tooru narrows his eyes. “You like Bokuto-san. You want him to kiss you.”

Akaashi coughs, his cheeks glowing red, as he turns his face away. He takes a moment to regain his composure before he meets Tooru’s gaze again, and his smile widens. “I won’t deny that,” he says, shaking his head. “But just because I want him to kiss me, that doesn’t mean the things I do for you kids mean nothing.”

Tooru studies him for a moment, but he can’t think of another reason why Akaashi might give them gifts and donate so generously to the orphanage, if he’s going to outright admit to the Bokuto thing. “I guess I believe you,” he allows.

Akaashi bows his head. “Thank you,” he says, hiding another smile as he stands. “Now, can I walk you back? You won’t get very far in those shoes anyway.”

Tooru glances down at his feet and heaves a dramatic sigh. “I guess,” he says, taking Akaashi’s offered hand.

They walk back together, and Tooru wonders if Akaashi really means what he said before. If he’ll really be there to assure Tooru whenever he gets doubts about his new family. Truthfully, he’s intrigued by the thought of being rich and going to fancy schools with volleyball clubs. If he gets to keep Hajime, Tetsurou, and Kenma, maybe living with the Oikawas won’t be so bad.

He can always run away if his parents do show up again.

Akaashi releases him once they arrive at the orphanage, telling him to wait while he goes and talks to Bokuto and the Oikawas. Tooru takes off his dirtied house slippers, putting them in Daishou’s cubby and stealing his clean ones, since he’s outside in his street shoes at the moment.

He sits on the couch to wait, chewing on his lip and resisting the urge to sneak down the hall and eavesdrop. He’s seriously considering giving in, when Hajime comes down the stairs, rushing over as soon as he sees him.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says, out of breath.

Tooru frowns. “Why?”

Hajime stares at him like he thinks he’s stupid before shaking his head. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

“What?” Tooru starts in surprise, eyes widening.

“You wanted to run away, right? So let’s go. We’ll have to take Tetsu and Kenma with us, but I think they’ll be okay with it. I’ve already packed our stuff, we just have to get some snacks and then—” He cuts off as Tooru starts laughing. “What?”

Tooru just shakes his head, throwing his arms around Hajime’s neck and hugging him as tightly as he can. His heart feels like it’s about to burst, and he’s pretty sure he’s never loved anyone as much as he loves Hajime in that moment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hajime grumbles, even as he returns the hug.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong,” Tooru says, planting the biggest, wettest kiss he can on Hajime’s cheek as he pulls away.

Hajime scowls and wipes it off with the palm of his hand. “Gross,” he mutters, frowning at him. “Why are you being gross? Didn’t you want to leave?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay now,” Tooru assures him with a grin. “Akaashi-san is talking to the people. He’s going to make sure we can still see each other all the time.”

“But . . . what about what you said earlier?” Hajime asks, looking lost now.

Tooru keeps his grin, clenching his jaw some as he does. “It’s fine. I know my real parents probably aren’t coming back. But it’s okay. Because the Oikawas want me. They want me, Iwa-chan. So it’s okay.”

“. . . Sure,” Hajime says slowly, though he’s still watching Tooru warily, like he expects something else to happen.

But Tooru keeps smiling as hard as he can, thinking maybe if he smiles wide enough it’ll make him feel better. “I’m going to have a really big bedroom, and I’ll have you guys over for sleepovers every weekend.”

Hajime rubs the back of his neck. “Will they really let you do that?”

Tooru nods. “Akaashi-san will make sure of it!”

“So you like Akaashi-san now?”

Tooru shrugs. “He’s not so bad,” he allows.

“Tooru-kun.” As though they called him into existence, Akaashi appears at the entrance to the hall, beckoning to Tooru. “They’d like to speak to you.”

Tooru slides off the couch to stand, fluffing out his hair as best he can. “How do I look?” he asks Hajime, hoping he doesn’t look as though he’s been crying.

“Ugly,” Hajime says immediately.

Tooru sticks his tongue out at him, knowing he’s just being his regular rude self. Hoping so, at least. “No, I don’t!”

“Why did you even ask then?”

Tooru tosses his head back walks toward Akaashi with an air of confidence he doesn’t feel.

Everything will work out. If he believes it hard enough, it’ll come true.

Probably.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Hajime’s never spent a night without Tooru since he came to the orphanage. He was there when Hajime first arrived, all excited smiles and eager hands. Still somewhat in shock over the sudden loss of his parents and the broken arm he got from the accident, Hajime was frightened of this new place full of unfamiliar faces. But Tooru never left his side. He took his hand and showed him the best places to hide, the best toys to play with, and when Hajime cried at night from the pain in his arm and his chest, Tooru held him and soothed him with stupid stories about aliens that made Hajime laugh through his tears.

Hajime’s not sure why Tooru chose him to be his best friend, out of all the kids there. Maybe he saw in Hajime someone that needed a specific brand of comfort that only Tooru could provide. Maybe he just saw a broken kid and wanted to fix it. Either way, Hajime clung to Tooru, and his offer of friendship, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

Until now.

He knows he’ll get to see Tooru again. Both Bokuto and Akaashi told him, Tetsurou, and Kenma that the Oikawas agreed to let the three of them come over whenever they wanted to play with Tooru.

But he’s not here now, and that makes all the difference.

There’s no one to fight over the bathroom sink with. Tetsurou defers to Kenma, and Kenma hogs it until he’s done, but Hajime doesn’t feel right shoving Kenma aside to take his turn. Despite knowing Kenma can defend himself, he’s still a lot smaller than him, and besides he’d have to deal with Tetsurou too, and that’s not a fight he wants either. With Tooru, it was equal footing. They pushed and shoved and growled and laughed and none of it was meant to be cruel. It was just how they were.

But he doesn’t have that with Kenma or Tetsurou, so he just stands in the doorway, watching silently until Kenma rinses and spits and steps off the stool. Tetsurou gives him his turn, then, but there’s no satisfaction in that victory.

Dressing for bed is too quiet. Tooru isn’t there to whine about Hajime stealing the softer pajama bottoms or to preen in front of the closet mirror until Hajime tells him he’ll never get pretty just by looking at himself more. There’s no squawking, no whining, no teasing. Hajime never thought he’d actually miss Tooru’s whine, but the absence of it just feels . . . wrong.

And when the lights go out and Tetsurou sings his lullaby before giving them both his usual goodnight kiss, Tooru’s not there beside him, reaching for his hand, nuzzling his too warm face against Hajime’s neck. He’s so clingy when he sleeps, and it’s annoying, especially in the summer, but now there’s nothing beside him, and he shivers in the dark, his chest aching.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the tears reach his ears and tastes snot on his upper lip. He sniffles, wiping at it with the back of his sleeve. Hiccupping softly, he tries to stop. It’s stupid. Tooru isn’t gone forever. He’ll see him next Sunday for sure. But the ache just gets worse and the emptiness just gets deeper, and he can’t stop crying.

“Hajime.” A small hand tugs on the sleeve of his pajamas. “Hajime.”

Opening his eyes, Hajime turns his head to the side to find Kenma watching him. He can’t really see his expression in the dark, but his hand doesn’t let up on his sleeve, continuing to tug.

Hajime sniffs, glancing over Kenma to where Tetsurou’s sleeping, clinging to Kenma the way Tooru used to cling to him. He bites his lip, wondering if this is okay.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Kenma nods and tugs again. Sitting up, Hajime scoots his futon over until it reaches the edge of Kenma’s, which is pushed up against Tetsurou’s. He lays back down, then, pulling his blanket up over himself before hesitantly wrapping his arm around Kenma’s waist, above Tetsurou’s arm. Immediately he can tell why Tetsurou likes to cling so much to the kid. He’s small, soft, and warm, like hugging a cat.

Burying his face in Kenma’s hair, Hajime exhales shakily. Kenma pats his arm lightly before turning back into Tetsurou. They’re not Tooru, but it’s better than the nothing from before. Some of the emptiness in his chest retreats, until it’s just a ball instead of a gaping hole.

That’s how he spends his nights, now, curled up against Kenma’s back, holding him as Tetsurou does. At first Hajime worried Tetsurou would be jealous, as he wakes up to find Hajime clinging to Kenma, too. But he just gives him an understanding smile and doesn’t tell him to back off. Tooru would’ve. He gets jealous really easily.

But Tooru’s not here.

Sunday finally, finally, arrives. Tetsurou’s practically vibrating with excitement, talking more than he usually does as they go about getting dressed and ready for their visit. Akaashi’s taking them, so Hajime spends extra time on his hair. There’s just something about Akaashi that makes him want to always look his best. Tooru constantly teases him about it, saying he has a “crush” on the man, but that’s stupid. Hajime knows Akaashi’s way too old for him. Besides, he likes Bokuto. Everyone knows that.

But there’s nothing wrong with dressing nice.

The three of them get into Akaashi’s car, Bokuto apparently not worried at all that an adult male who isn’t their official caretaker is taking them out of the orphanage. But then again, Bokuto’s always trusted Akaashi more than just a regular guy. Maybe he likes Akaashi, too.

Tetsurou continues to chatter on about what Tooru’s new home and new family might be like, trying to get Kenma invested in the conversation, but he doesn’t lift his nose from his 3DS. Hajime’s stomach is too tied up in knots for him to give many answers other than soft grunts, so Tetsurou ends up directing most of his questions at Akaashi, who wouldn’t know much more about Tooru’s new house and family than they do, but he indulges the questions and answers as best he can.

Tooru runs out to greet them as soon as they arrive, grinning ecstatically and waving his hand above his head. He’s dressed in nice clothes, much nicer than any of the ones at the center, and he’s freshly bathed, smelling like citrus, as he tackles the three of them in a hug. He tries to wrap his arms around them all, but he can’t reach, so he gives up in order to hug them all individually.

“Hi! You’re here! Wow! I’m so happy!”

He hugs Hajime the longest, cutting off his air, as he squeezes as hard as he can. Hajime dishes it back, though, until Tooru’s cries out and wiggles out of his grasp, smacking Hajime’s arm reproachfully.

“You’re such a brute, Iwa-chan!”

“You started it,” Hajime retorts, his chest feeling warm and full despite his scowl. He stares at Tooru, drinking in the sight. It’s been less than a week, but it feels like it’s been forever since he saw him.

Hajime wants to take his hand and drag him back to the car, hide him in the trunk, and smuggle him back to the orphanage.

“Come see my room!” Tooru exclaims next, grabbing his and Tetsurou’s hands and pulling them into the house. “You too, Kenma-chan!”

Kenma follows along behind, looking less interested in the large, fancy house than the other two. He focuses on his game, Tetsurou holding onto his shirt to keep him with them, as they go through the wide open space of the front hall and living room. Hajime’s pretty sure he’s never seen a house this big. The orphanage isn’t the smallest, but it feels smaller than it is due to the amount of kids inside.

“Whoa, Tooru! This place is awesome! Your new folks must be really rich!” Tetsurou exclaims, taking it all in.

“They do pretty well for themselves,” Tooru says lightly, like he says stuff like that all the time.

Hajime frowns.

“Ta-da! This is it! My very own room!” Tooru bursts through the door to the bedroom, releasing Hajime and Tetsurou’s hands in order to go to the center of it and fling out his arms.

The room’s color scheme is pale green and white and there are a ton of alien stuff around, from movie posters to figurines to stuffed animals and even an alien printed comforter on his bed (which is an actual bed, not a futon). There’s a volleyball in the corner, and Hajime can see some books on volleyball stacked on the bookshelf against the wall. There’s also a desk and wheely chair, and a full walk-in closet.

“Wow, your new folks got all of this for you?” Tetsurou asks, going over to inspect the alien figures.

“Yep! Bokuto-san told them how I liked aliens, so it was already like this when I moved in,” Tooru admitted.

Kenma steps over to climb onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and resuming his game.

Hajime looks at everything and feels a slight pang in his chest. Tooru’s happy. He likes it here. That’s plain to see. And the Oikawas obviously care about him a lot already.

Even if Hajime could smuggle Tooru out of here, will he even want to go? Does he even miss them? With this new family and all his cool stuff, will Tooru forget about them? Hajime curls his hands into fists, wanting to punch something but knowing if he breaks any of Tooru’s new things he’ll cry.

Instead, he walks out of the room, leaving Tetsurou and Kenma behind. He wanders back through the house, catching sight of Akaashi and the Oikawas in the kitchen having tea. He doesn’t want to interrupt them, so he keeps walking, out onto the front steps of the porch. He sits down with a sigh, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands.

“Hi there,” a voice says from somewhere behind him. A girl, already in her teens and wearing a yellow sundress, sits down beside him. “Are you one of Tooru-kun’s friends?”

Hajime sniffs back the tears that were forming, regarding her skeptically. “Who are you?”

The girl smiles. She’s pretty with dark brown hair and big brown eyes, not unlike Tooru’s. “I’m Oikawa Suzume. I guess I’m Tooru-kun’s new big sister.”

“Oh. Hi.” Hajime doesn’t know what to say other than that. She’s one of the ones who took Tooru from him. He doesn’t want to think that, but he does.

This is stupid. I should be happy that Tooru’s happy. He deserves a good family.

“Let me guess,” Suzume says, tapping her chin in thought. She snaps and points at him. “You’re . . . Iwa-chan! Right?”

Hajime blinks at her. “I’m Hajime. Iwaizumi Hajime,” he corrects. “How did you know?”

Suzume smiles. “Tooru-kun talks about you all the time. He says you like Godzilla.” She gestures to the Godzilla shirt he’s wearing. “That’s how I knew you were Iwa-chan.” She tilts her head. “But why are you out here? Does Tooru know you came to visit?”

Hajime nods. “He knows. He’s showing our friends his room.”

“You didn’t want to go?”

Hajime doesn’t know how to answer that. “He just . . . doesn’t seem to need me, I guess.” He bites his lip, feeling silly for saying it.

Suzume’s smile softens. “Aren’t you his best friend? That’s what Tooru-kun calls you. He really misses you. He was so excited that you were going to come visit today.”

Hajime feels the knot in his chest loosen. “Really?” he asks hopefully.

Suzume nods. “So excited.” She nudges him gently. “You know, just because he’s been adopted, that doesn’t mean you’ve lost him. He wants you to be in his life still, and I bet he’ll do whatever he can to keep you.”

Hajime glances over his shoulder at the house. “I guess . . . I could see some more of his room.”

Suzume grins, standing and holding her hand out to him. He takes it, allowing her to help him up. Straightening his shoulders, he walks back into the house and over to Tooru’s room. He finds Tetsurou and Tooru playing with Tooru’s Star Wars action figures in the middle of the floor. A couple characters have been set aside.

Tooru looks up when he steps into the room, and his expression brightens. “Iwa-chan! You’re back! Where did you go?”

“Toilet,” Hajime says, moving to sit on the other side of him. He picks up one of the figures in front of him. “How come I have to be Chewbacca?”

“Because you weren’t here when we were choosing characters,” Tooru says, sticking his tongue out at him. “But I’m Han Solo, so we’re still best friends!” He lifts his figure’s hand for a high five.

Hajime can’t help but smile. He lifts Chewbacca’s hand in order to high-five Han Solo.

Still best friends . . .

Hajime hopes that never changes.

Hajime gets adopted next.

Honestly, Kenma sees it coming. He’s nice and polite and cute, and even though Kuro is all those things too, Kuro’s really shy and tends to hide within himself and not talk much whenever couples come over to get to know the kids. Hajime engages with them, talking about volleyball and bugs and Godzilla with a gap-toothed grin, and the couples fall in love with him.

Because he’s a good person, he feels bad about leaving Kenma and Kuro behind. He hugs them both tightly and promises to visit and have them over. He and Tooru are only a few blocks away from each other, so it’ll be easy to get together. That’s what he says, at least. Kenma’s not sure if it will. Once school starts again, Tooru and Hajime will go to the same one, while he and Kuro will be in a different one. They’ll get busy with homework and club activities and will no doubt grow apart.

But he just nods and agrees with Hajime’s insistence that they’ll stay together, because he doesn’t want to bring the mood down even more. He wants it to be true, at least.

It’s just him and Kuro now, alone in the room, their futons pushed together. Kuro clings to him so he won’t have nightmares, kissing Kenma’s forehead and singing lullabies softly into Kenma’s hair until he drifts off to sleep. Kenma lays in the dark, listening to Kuro’s heartbeat, his soft, quiet breaths, and selfishly hopes no one will adopt him.

It’s a terrible thing to wish for, especially later on when Kuro tearfully wonders why nobody wants him.

“New parents stop by all the time, but none of them pick me,” he says miserably, sniffing in the dark, as Kenma presses into his chest. “Am I doing something wrong? Maybe they know. Maybe they know it’s my fault that my real parents died and so they don’t want to risk it.”

“That’s stupid,” Kenma tells him flatly. It wasn’t your fault . . .

Kuro just sniffles again and doesn’t respond.

Kenma watches helplessly, as he tries so hard to get new parents. He learns a bunch of scientific facts to impress them. He smiles and laughs and cracks jokes to entertain them. He even tells the story of his parents’ death, with big fat tears running down his cheeks, to get their sympathy.

Nothing works. They either leave and never return, or they adopt a younger kid. Kuro cries himself to sleep, and Kenma holds him while guilt twists inside his stomach, making him feel like he’s going to throw up.

About a month after Hajime’s adopted, they start school. Prospective parents come to the orphanage less and less, and Kenma hopes that’ll be the end of Kuro’s torment, at least until the next wave comes through. Kuro likes school, so that helps cheer him up. He chatters about the new things he’s learned in class as they walk home together every day, holding hands and ignoring Daishou whenever he tries to walk with them until he runs on ahead and leaves them alone.

Bokuto calls Kenma into his office the day Kuro’s talking about the Akō incident. Despite the grisly end, Kuro seems really impressed by the forty-seven ronin’s loyalty and dedication to their master. He’s still talking as they enter the orphanage and take off their shoes, but he falls silent when Bokuto calls Kenma’s name, his face paling.

Kenma has a feeling he knows what’s going on, and he silently slips into his house slippers, walking over to Bokuto and entering his office with him. He can feel Kuro’s eyes on him until the door slides shut. In the two chairs facing Bokuto’s desk are a young couple. They smile at him, and Kenma frowns.

“No,” he says, before Bokuto can say anything.

“Kenma,” Bokuto pleads with a pained look.

“You should adopt Kuro,” Kenma tells the young couple. This should make the guilt go away. “He’s better behaved than me. He’s really kind and smart and he listens when you talk and tells cool stories.”

“I’m sure that’s all true,” the woman says softly. “But we want to adopt you, Kenma-kun.”

Kenma blinks. “Why? Because I’m cute? Kuro’s cute, too.”

The woman stammers a bit, glancing helplessly at her husband.

“Don’t you want to be adopted? We have a nice home, a modest income. We’ll make good parents,” the man says with a brief smile.

Kenma frowns again. “If you have to say that, you probably won’t.”

It’s the man’s turn to sputter, as Bokuto shouts his name in admonishment. Kenma just shakes his head. If they won’t adopt Kuro, then he’s not going to leave him behind. He knows what it feels like to be left behind. The ache in his chest reminds him every night. He won’t do that to Kuro. He just won’t.

“If you adopt me, I’ll just run away,” he warns them. “I was a latch-key kid. I had my first errand when I was three. I know how buses and trains work. I’ll run away every day. I’ll be too much of a bother. You should adopt someone else.”

The couple exchanges a glance, and Kenma knows he has them. They chose him because he’s always quiet and keeps to the background whenever new parents arrive, not wanting to be noticed. They want a mild-mannered child, one that won’t cause unnecessary trouble. Now with his threat, they’re second-guessing their choice.

“Thank you, Kenma. You can go,” Bokuto says with a sigh, obviously not understanding why he’s being difficult.

Kenma leaves. Kuro’s waiting for him by the stairs, anxiously tugging at the front of his shirt. “You’re being adopted, aren’t you?” he asks in a small voice.

“No,” Kenma shakes his head. “They’re going to choose a different kid.”

“Oh.” Kuro frowns. “How come?”

Kenma shrugs. “I guess I’m not what they wanted,” he says, taking Kuro’s hand. “Let’s go play volleyball.”

He pulls him outside, knowing that the game will distract Kuro. It does, and by the time they come back inside to wash up for dinner, the couple is gone. Bokuto pulls him aside, telling Kuro to go on before turning toward Kenma. He looks concerned, but before he can say anything, Kenma pats his arm.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to be adopted.”

Bokuto blinks. “Damn, kid! You’re pretty good at reading people, huh?” he exclaims, smiling faintly. “Can I ask why, though?”

Kenma glances toward where Kuro last stood. He’s gone now, but Kenma can hear the downstairs sink running. “I’m not going until Kuro does,” he says softly, ducking his head to hide behind his hair. “I’m not leaving him behind.”

He remembers how it felt, just before summer break, getting home from school to find he couldn’t open his door. He knocked and knocked and called out his mother’s name, but there was no answer. He sat down in front of the door to wait, thinking maybe she went out for groceries. They only had plain rice left, so it made sense.

He still doesn’t know how long he sat there, playing his 3DS. The sun had already set when a neighbor stopped by and asked him if he was okay. Kenma told him that his key didn’t work, and he was waiting for his mom. The man walked over to try the door himself. He tried calling Kenma’s mom, and they heard the phone ringing from inside. Worried, the man broke the door open. He told Kenma to stay put, as he made his way inside.

The next thing Kenma knew, an ambulance arrived, along with the police.

Kenma’s mom was gone.

Dead.

She left him behind with only a note that said she was sorry.

“Kenma-kun?” Bokuto touches his head, stroking his hair lightly. “Tetsurou will be okay if you get adopted. I’ll make sure to take good care of him, just like I do all you kids.”

Kenma doesn’t respond. When Kuro returns, he goes over to take his hand, giving Bokuto a pointed look from behind his hair. Bokuto sighs and holds up his hands.

“Okay, okay,” he says, stepping toward the kitchen. “Who’s hungry?!”

At the bellow, the other kids come running toward the kitchen, hastily sitting down and crying out various forms of “thank you for the food!”

Kuro doesn’t go immediately, though. Instead, he looks down at Kenma pressed against his side. “Are you okay, Kenma?”

“I’m staying with you,” Kenma mutters against his arm.

“Oh, uh, okay! You can sit next to me at the table,” Kuro says, leading the way.

That’s not what Kenma meant, but he’s not about to go into all that now.

Or later.

Or ever, probably.

Kuro doesn’t need to know the details. He just needs to know Kenma will always be here for him. No matter what. He’ll make sure Kuro is happy and healthy and lives a good life.

He won’t fail. He won’t leave. Never.

That night, it’s Kenma who kisses Kuro’s forehead before they go to bed. He starts in surprise before grinning.

“What’s that for?” he asks, reaching up to touch his forehead lightly.

Kenma shrugs, getting beneath the covers. “Just wanted to,” he says.

“Do you still want me to sing? Or are you going to sing to me?” Kuro asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kenma frowns. “No.”

“No, you don’t want me to sing? Or no you’re not going to sing to me?” Kuro pokes out his lower lip.

“I’m not singing.”

Kuro laughs. “I’ll sing then,” he says, laying down and wrapping his arm around Kenma to pull him close. Before he starts, though, he nuzzles his nose into Kenma’s hair gently. “This is selfish, but I’m glad you didn’t get adopted today,” he murmurs under his breath. “Do you forgive me?”

Kenma reaches up to flick his ear. “Don’t be stupid.”

Kenma can hear the smile in Kuro’s voice as he starts singing, this one about souls and hearts and watching them get snatched away, singing out for those souls and hearts to find their way back to the place where he is, and where he’ll stay until they do.

It’s a beautiful song, and Kenma can’t help but feel the ache in his chest returning. He hugs Kuro’s arm to him and closes his eyes. His soul and heart will stay with Kuro, and Hajime and Tooru’s will come back. Kenma will make sure they do.

He’ll keep them together, no matter what.

Chapter Text

Puberty is a nightmare.

Tetsurou’s whole body aches as he grows much taller in a very short amount of time. He’s getting hair everywhere, and his stink is horrible. He has to bathe every night and slather himself in deodorant every day to keep the smell from lingering. His face keeps breaking out, especially on his forehead beneath the hair that stubbornly flops in front, and his voice keeps cracking in embarrassing ways.

But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the hormonal changes. He gets irrationally irritated at small things that don’t really matter and while it helps to get his aggression out by playing volleyball, he hates how it makes him feel. He doesn’t like being angry.

And then there’s the morning wood. The first time he woke up with one, he sprung away from Kenma so fast he scraped his hand on the wooden floor and got a splinter in his palm. After that, he pushed their futons apart, much to Kenma’s confusion.

“We’re getting too old to sleep together,” Tetsurou reasoned. “Besides, we’ll have more room. We can divide the room in half and get a privacy screen. It’ll be better this way!”

Kenma didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t protest.

Tetsurou stops the goodnight kisses, too. He feels silly, kissing Kenma’s forehead like he’s a baby when the boy is twelve years old. Plus, it made him feel a little funny in his stomach, so it’s better to just stop. Kenma doesn’t seem happy about this either, but Tetsurou chooses to ignore it.

School is fun, at least. There’s a volleyball club at their middle school, and Tetsurou convinces Kenma to join him on the team. It’s clear Kenma doesn’t like it at first, but with some encouragement from Tetsurou, he gradually accepts his place in the team.

Tetsurou loves volleyball. He’s made new friends because of it, and it’s helped him come out of his shell a lot. Because he’s good at the game, quite a few of his teammates look up to him, which is a great boost of confidence. He grows particularly close to a pair of boys named Yaku Morisuke and Nobuyuki Kai.

They can’t replace Tooru and Hajime, though.

He and Kenma still do their best to make time to see their friends, despite their busy schedule of schoolwork and volleyball. They usually meet at Tooru’s house, because it’s so big, and watch movies they end up talking over, throwing popcorn and wrestling on the floor until the Oikawas have to come in and ask them to keep it down. Then they lay out on the floor and swap juicy gossip about their respective schools until they fall asleep.

It's only once a week, sometimes twice a month if things get busy enough, but they make a conscious effort to stay in touch. Bokuto even gives them a pair of older flip-phones so they can keep in contact via text. Tooru always overuses emojis and Hajime tends to leave them on read a lot, but it’s nice to have that thread still connecting them.

Tetsurou doesn’t get adopted. He tries not to let that bother him, but it does. The belief of inadequacy runs deep. He tries hard to be good enough. He gets good grades, does well in volleyball—hell, he’s even more sociable. But nobody wants the dork with bad skin. That’s what Daishou says, anyway. He tries not to listen. It’s hard not to.

The older he gets, the less likely it is he’ll be adopted. At fourteen, his window is rapidly closing. He doesn’t know what to do about it. Kenma says he should just be himself, but being himself is nothing. Nobody wants him as himself. That’s the problem. Maybe he should be more like Tooru. He was the first of them to get adopted, after all.

Then again, Tooru’s was little and cute and Tetsurou is . . . not that. He’s a gangly, awkward teenager now. He can understand why nobody would want one of those.

It’s graduation day.

Ending middle school and entering high school. Tetsurou’s accepted into Metropolitan Nekoma High School. Tooru and Hajime are going to Aoba Johsai, nicknamed Seijou. Tetsurou’s excited to start at a new school, especially when he finds out Yaku and Nobuyuki are going to Nekoma too.

The only thing is, he’ll be leaving Kenma behind.

He knows Kenma will be fine, he’ll probably even follow him to Nekoma, but the thought of moving forward without him makes his chest ache. He can’t tell if Kenma sad about it too. He’s always so quiet, hidden behind his hair. He’s good at saying what he wants or needs, but other times it’s like he withdraws into himself and that’s when Tetsurou feels the overwhelming need to protect him. Even if it’s just from whatever bad thoughts have come into his mind.

He's like this after the graduation ceremony, and Tetsurou bops him gently on the head with his certificate.

“Hey, chin up! You’ll be catching up to me in no time.” He grins, because he has to keep up appearances for Kenma’s sake. He’s absolutely fine and everything’s good.

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “In two years,” he mutters.

“Study harder and maybe it’ll only be one year,” Tetsurou says with a smirk, pretty sure that if anyone can skip a year it’s Kenma. He reaches out and tugs on the ends of Kenma’s hair. “Come on, don’t look so morose. We’re going to Tooru’s after dinner. He and Hajime graduated today too, so it’s going to be a party.”

Kenma’s expression doesn’t change. “No.”

“Not that kind of party. It’ll just be us, I promise.”

Kenma looks skeptical but Tetsurou’s always right so when they step into the Oikawa’s main living area and see only Tooru and Hajime, Kenma visibly relaxes.

“You’re here!” Tooru says, popping up from the couch with a grin and an exaggerated wave. “Just in time! We just put in E.T.!”

“I thought we were watching bad movies,” Tetsurou says with a laugh, stepping over to bump fists with Hajime. Kenma goes straight for the beanbag chair and pulls out his PSP (a gift from Tooru last Christmas).

“That’s what I said,” Hajime says, rolling his eyes. “But this idiot insisted on watching this first.”

“Are we still allowed to talk?” Tetsurou asks as he settles down into the second beanbag on the floor beside Kenma.

“Shhhh,” comes his answer from Tooru, as the movie’s credits end.

Tetsurou laughs quietly but settles in to watch. Throughout the movie, though, he can’t help but be distracted by his friends. It’s only recently that he’s noticed Tooru’s annoyingly clear skin, the dimple in his cheek, and then there’s Hajime with his striking eyes and muscles already starting to form on his arms. He thinks about them sometimes at night, unintentionally, and his body responds to even these innocent images in embarrassing ways.

He's even started noticing stupid Daishou. The way he sticks out his tongue and his sharp grin make Tetsurou feel funny low in his gut. He knows it’s just his hormones, but he’s surprised by the subjects of these attractions. He didn’t really think about preferences before, too focused on taking care of Kenma and staying in touch with his friends. But now, thanks to his body’s overly helpful hints, he’s come to the conclusion that yes, he likes guys. He likes them quite a lot.

But he’s not sure he wants to do about it. It’s not like it’s a very socially acceptable thing, though people do seem to be more open minded, these days. He can’t exactly go up to one of the many attractive boys at school and ask if they want to be his boyfriend, maybe kiss a little to see what it’s like. Honestly, the thought of confessing to anyone makes his insides curl up into a ball.

Besides, there’s nobody he really likes in that way. Not enough to date. But he also isn’t sure he wants to just kiss random people. It’s all so confusing.

He wonders if Tooru and Hajime are having similar experiences. He hasn’t brought it up because it’s embarrassing, but maybe they can go through this puberty thing together, supporting each other. That’s what friends do, right?

He glances sidelong at Kenma, who’s ignoring the movie and everyone else completely to focus on his game. He hopes that things will get less confusing by the time Kenma hits puberty. That way, Tetsurou will be able to help him through it.

Tooru allows them to start talking once the movie is over and they’ve put in some unrealistic slasher with lots of obvious fake blood and not a lot of dialogue. Tetsurou turns around in his beanbag and wraps his arms around his knees, looking up at Tooru and Hajime on the couch with a grin.

“You guys excited about high school?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

Tooru grins back. “Yes! It’s going to be awesome! There’s a volleyball club and we’re going to join, right Iwa-chan?” He turns toward Hajime excitedly.

Hajime nods, not as enthused as Tooru, but there’s a smile playing about his lips. “Yeah. Should be fun.”

“It’s going to be so much fun!” Tooru exclaims. “We’re going to be volleyball stars and we’ll have fans and people cheering for us and coaches scouting us . . . we’re going to be epic!”

Tetsurou laughs. “You really think you’ll have fans? Like, a fan club?”

“Of course! The girls love me,” Tooru says with a smirk, preening.

Hajime rolls his eyes and whacks Tooru with a couch pillow. “That’s because they don’t know your shitty personality,” he mutters.

Tooru squawks at the hit. “Hey! Rude and mean!” He sticks his tongue out at Hajime. “You’re just jealous that the girls don’t fawn over you!”

“I don’t want stupid girls fawning over me,” Hajime huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the couch and turning his gaze back to the movie.

“Do you think you’ll get a girlfriend in high school?” Tetsurou asks curiously.

“Probably,” Tooru says smugly, which causes Hajime to scowl. “I bet we’ll all have girlfriends! Since we’ll all be volleyball stars. Well, except Hajime. He’s too ugly to get a girlfriend.”

“I am going to kill you in your sleep,” Hajime warns.

Tooru just giggles.

Tetsurou bites his lip, looking down at his feet. He’s wearing the house slippers he usually slips on at the Oikawa’s. They have little panda faces on them, and they stare back at him with wide, encouraging eyes. He inhales shakily.

“Actually . . .” he starts, and something must come through in his voice, because Hajime and Tooru stop play-fighting and look at him. Tetsurou swallows hard, knowing he can trust them. They’re his best friends. “Um. I think . . . I actually like guys.” It comes out in nearly a whisper, but he knows they heard him.

Kenma’s thumbs stop moving over his PSP. Hajime and Tooru look down at him in surprise. Tetsurou can feel his cheeks growing warm in the ensuing silence, his stomach threatening to eat his heart. But then the quiet is broken by Tooru yelling his name and flinging himself off the couch to tackle Tetsurou in a hug.

“Ack! Watch it!” he exclaims, nearly getting kneed in the stomach.

“I’m so happy you told us!” Tooru exclaims, rubbing his cheek against Tetsurou’s. “You must’ve been really worried, huh? Don’t be! We love you!” He leans back and grins, patting Tetsurou’s shoulders. “You’re always going to be Tetsu, no matter who you like. We support you! Right Iwa-chan?”

“Of course,” Hajime says, though he’s frowning now as he looks at Tetsurou like he’s trying to figure something out.

Tetsurou can’t figure out the expression, so he turns back to Tooru, blushing some. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he says with a laugh, pushing Tooru back as he’s straddling Tetsurou’s lap now and his body likes it a little too much. It’d be horribly embarrassing to get a hard-on right now. “Thanks, though. I was kinda nervous.”

“You should never be nervous to tell us things, Tetsun!” Tooru insists. “You can trust us. I promise.” His grin shifts and Tetsurou suddenly feels uneasy. “So, this means we’ll have to find you a boyfriend in high school.”

Tetsurou’s face burns even hotter. “Absolutely do not do that,” he says, shaking his head.

“But it won’t be fair if we all have girlfriends, and you don’t have anyone! We can’t go on cute double dates like that,” Tooru says with a pout.

“Kinda insulting you don’t think I can pull someone on my own,” Tetsurou says with a weak laugh.

Tooru’s gaze scrutinizes Tetsurou in a way that makes him a little uncomfortable. “Hm. You’ll probably not be too bad looking once you finish growing and your skin clears up. What’s your skincare routine?”

“My what?” Tetsurou asks blankly.

Tooru’s eyes widen in horror. “Tetsun! Don’t tell me you aren’t washing and moisturizing your face!”

Tetsurou blinks. “I mean, I wash my face in the shower . . .”

Tooru yelps. “With what?!”

“Just regular soap?”

Tooru yelps again. “Unacceptable!”

He jumps to his feet, grabbing Tetsurou’s hand. “We are going to fix this right now. I’m going to show you how to properly wash and maintain good skin care. This is important! Not just for girls, I mean guys, but for yourself too! It’ll make you feel way better about yourself, you’ll see!”

Before Tetsurou can really protest, he’s whisked out of the room to the stairs, heading for the bathroom on the second floor. Tooru doesn’t release his hand, and Tetsurou can’t help but think it feels kind of nice.

Hajime watches Tooru leave with Tetsurou, exhaling an aggravated sigh. Tooru’s only gotten more annoying with age. Ever since they got phones, he texts non-stop even when Hajime’s trying to study or sleep, and then hangs all over him at school in front of all their classmates even though Hajime keeps telling to stop (and also to stop with the Iwa-chan but that’s kind of a lost cause at this point).

It's embarrassing. They’re not little kids anymore. They’re teenagers. Tooru shouldn’t have to cling to him as much, and Hajime shouldn’t need to take care of him anymore. Yet here they are, still the same as always.

Deep down, Hajime knows he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he didn’t have Tooru, though. Despite all the annoyances, he’s still Hajime’s best friend. He’ll do anything for Tooru. The problem is the irritating asshole knows it and exploits it constantly. Honestly, at this point he kind of hopes Tooru gets a girlfriend. Then she can deal with Tooru’s insecurities and tears and the annoying way he hides things that are bothering him until they blow up in his face.

Of course, that also means she’ll get to see his smile—the real one, not the “I’m hiding something” or the “I’m going to destroy you” ones—and feel his fingers in her hair and hear his off-key singing that should be grating but is kind of endearing.

She’ll get to experience the parts of Tooru that only Hajime’s known, and that thought kind of hurts.

He really doesn’t want Tooru to get a girlfriend.

Or a boyfriend.

He thinks of Tooru in Tetsurou’s lap just now and scowls at the stab of pain that hits his chest. He felt it then too. Irritating . . .

Hajime turns back to the TV, suddenly noticing Kenma and remembering he’s here too. He hasn’t resumed playing his game since Tetsurou’s confession. Frowning now for a different reason, Hajime slides off the couch to land on his knees next to the beanbag the younger boy is sitting in.

“Hey,” he says gently, not wanting to startle him.

Kenma turns his head to blink at him.

“You okay?” Hajime asks hesitantly, wondering if Kenma hadn’t known about Kuroo already. The two are pretty close, so the idea that Kenma didn’t know surprises Hajime. He figured out of anyone Kenma would be the first person Tetsurou told.

Kenma seems to shake himself out of something, a tremor passing over him. “Yes,” he says flatly, turning back to his game.

“Did you not know Tetsurou was . . .”

“Gay? No. He didn’t tell me.”

Hajime chews on his lip for a moment. “Is it . . . a problem for you?” he asks carefully, not wanting to assume anything.

Kenma huffs impatiently, like he thinks it’s a stupid question. Even so, he answers quietly, emphatically, “No.”

“Okay, but something’s wrong,” Hajime says. He can see it in the tension of Kenma’s jaw, the way his thumbs jam the buttons of his PSP harder than necessary.

“I just . . .” Kenma purses his lips, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. He hunches forward slightly, his dark hair swinging forward to hide his face. “If he likes guys . . . why doesn’t he like me?”

Hajime’s eyes widen. He stares at Kenma, curled into himself, obviously needing comfort, and Hajime has no idea what to say. He didn’t know Kenma felt that way about Tetsurou. Shit, does Tetsurou know? But no, no. If Kenma had confessed, then Tetsurou would have most definitely freaked out in some way. Good or bad.

“I . . . didn’t know you liked him like that,” Hajime admits. “Have you told him?”

“Of course not,” Kenma hisses softly through gritted teeth.

“Well . . . how do you know he doesn’t like you, then?” Hajime asks, a bit bewildered and wondering how he managed to land himself in this situation. He’s not good at advice like this. Tooru has had many crushes over the years and has lamented about them to Hajime in the past. He’s even had a few short-lived girlfriends in middle school which Hajime unfortunately had to hear about as well. Usually, Tooru’s the one that breaks up with them for some petty reason or another, so Hajime’s not great at dealing with the rejection side of things. He’s never had to before.

Kenma lifts his head, his features set into a weary frown. “He doesn’t act like he does,” he says. “He treats me like a little kid.”

Hajime can’t help but grin slightly. “I mean, you kind of are a little kid,” he points out.

Kenma shoots him a glare.

Hajime holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Not the right thing to say. Got it.” He sighs softly, running a hand through his hair and wishing he was better at this sort of thing. “Look, just because he doesn’t now, that doesn’t mean he won’t in the future, right? I mean, if you want to wait. You don’t have to. You deserve to be happy with whoever.”

Kenma doesn’t respond, just runs his thumbs lightly over the buttons of his PSP.

“Honestly, I don’t even know why everyone is so worked up about shit like relationships and girlfriends,” Hajime admits, wrinkling his nose some. “I’d rather focus on volleyball. Tooru’s getting better really fast. I gotta work hard if I’m gonna catch up.”

There’s nothing more satisfying to him than hitting one of Tooru’s tosses, honestly. He can’t explain the rush of it. There’s just something about Tooru’s complete trust in him, the sting of the ball against his hand, the echoing boom as the ball hits the court. It’s even better when it scores them a point. That sense of pride in himself and in his best friend is never higher than when he’s on the court with him.

Kenma’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t really like volleyball,” he says softly.

Hajime grins faintly. “Yeah, you were never really into it like us.”

“But . . . I think I might like it in high school. Maybe. If Kuro’s there.”

Hajime reaches up to ruffle Kenma’s hair gently. “Just do what makes you happy,” he suggests, thinking that’s really the best advice he can give.

He leaves Kenma contemplating that as he stands to head to the kitchen for some water. He can hear Tooru and Tetsurou giggling upstairs, and something grips his chest, squeezing tightly. Inhaling shakily, Hajime brushes aside the feeling and continues into the kitchen.

He returns with a glass for himself and for Kenma, and he’s just settling back into the couch when Tooru and Tetsurou appear, both wearing face masks that make them look like tigers.

“Don’t we look cute?” Tooru says with a grin, framing his face with his hands.

“We brought some for you guys too,” Tetsurou says with a matching grin, holding up the packages.

Hajime wrinkles his nose. “Hell no,” he says, shaking his head. They look slimy, and he doesn’t want to look completely ridiculous. He does have some shame, unlike these two jokers in front of him.

“Iwa-chaaaaan, it’ll be fun!” Tooru cajoles, taking one from Tetsurou and hopping on the couch. He kneels in front of Hajime, holding up the mask between them with another smile. “I-wa-chan,” he says, emphasizing each syllable. “Your face could use some care. Your pores are suffering!”

“Whatever. My pores are fine,” Hajime insists, rolling his eyes.

Tooru pouts at him, poking out his lower lip. On the floor beside them, Tetsurou has already convinced Kenma to wear one, and is leaning close over him, carefully setting the mask into place so that it lays correctly. Kenma’s head is tilted back, as he stares up at Tetsurou, and Hajime feels a pang of sympathy for him. Especially when Tetsurou clucks at him like an old auntie and brushes his hair out of the way behind his ears, complaining that it's getting too long.

“Iwa-chan! Don’t ignore me!”

“Sorry,” Hajime says, turning his attention back on the boy in front of him. The one who looks pretty even with that ridiculous face mask. It’s unfair and unnatural and Hajime kind of wants to punch him.

“See? Kenma-chan is wearing one. You can’t be the only one not wearing one, Iwa-chan, that’s lame.”

“You’re lame,” Hajime shoots back, but it’s half-hearted at best.

Tooru’s eyes gleam. He knows he’s won, and he’s really the most annoying person in the world.

Hajime snatches the package from him. “Fine. I’ll wear it. But no pictures!”

Of course they take pictures. Tooru almost posts one on Instagram before Hajime manages to physically wrestle the phone away from him. It’s a squabble that lasts for a good five minutes, and by the time they settle down (Hajime in possession of said phone), the movie is over.

“Should we get ready for bed now?” Tetsurou asks curiously around a yawn, his mask starting to slip down his face at the movement. “I’m exhausted.”

They each take turns in the bathroom getting changed and brushing their teeth before setting up the living room for bed, rolling out their sleeping bags. Tooru distributes pillows. Hajime notices how Tetsurou places his bag several feet away from Kenma. Kenma notices it too, but he says nothing, simply meets Hajime’s gaze with a grim expression before laying down.

Tooru, of course, always insists on sleeping right next to Hajime. He wiggles his sleeping bag as close as possible, despite Hajime’s deep sigh. Tooru doesn’t flip around the world anymore like he used to, but he’s still incredibly clingy.

“It’s too hot,” Hajime complains, even as Tooru snuggles in closer, tucking his head against Hajime’s shoulder. “Get off me.”

“Oh no, look, I’m already asleep,” Tooru sings lightly. “Too late now.”

Hajime lifts his elbow to jab into Tooru, shoving and kicking while trying to squirm away still in his sleeping bag. “Get off,” he growls.

“Ow! Iwa-chan is so mean!” Tooru makes a big show of sitting up and inspecting his body for injuries.

Across the floor, Tetsurou snickers.

“It’s not funny, Tetsun!” Tooru complains. “Iwa-chan manhandled me!”

Hajime’s face burns, and he sits up quickly. “Don’t say it like that, Shittykawa!” he says, while Tetsurou laughs even harder.

Tooru gasps, laying a hand on his chest. “What did you just call me?!”

“Shittykawa. That’s what you are,” Hajime grumbles. “Go to sleep!” He punches his pillow more for something to hit than to fluff it, laying back down.

“You have to apologize!”

“I don’t gotta do shit. Go to sleep.”

“I’m not gonna sleep until you apologize!”

Hajime sits up and grabs a couch cushion, flinging it as hard as he can at Tooru’s face.

“Ack!” Tooru falls over backwards onto his pillow. “Fine! I’ll just cry myself to sleep then because Iwa-chan is a mean mean ugly boy.”

“I don’t care.” Hajime’s used to Tooru’s antics by now. He knows when the other is actually going to cry. He never announces it when he does.

Sure enough, no real tears come, and Hajime lays back down, pulling his sleeping bag up over his chest. Silence falls before it’s broken by Kenma’s soft voice saying,

“Nice kill.”

They all burst into laughter.

The Oikawas come downstairs to scold them, but their soft giggles last into the night until one by one they fall asleep.

Chapter Text

It’s a pain being in love with an oblivious idiot.

It’s not that Kenma thinks Kuro is stupid. He knows that on an intellectual level Kuro is very smart. He graduates with high marks in all his classes, and Kenma sees firsthand how much time Kuro devotes to studying. He’s attentive to the needs of his friends, which ranks him high on emotional intelligence as well. He’s a great comforter and listener, and he makes friends easily because of these traits.

No, what makes him an idiot is that Kenma’s been in love with him since the day they met, and Kuro doesn’t see it.

At first, Kenma thought Kuro was just being kind, not pointing out Kenma’s crush because he didn’t want to hurt Kenma with the admission of his heterosexuality. But then, graduation night, he came out to all of them as gay, so what the fuck?

How can he not notice the way Kenma watches him? The way he listens to him? The way he allows the other to touch him? From the very beginning, Kenma’s put all his trust in Kuro. Back when Kenma had no one, Kuro held his hand out to him and Kenma took it. He’s held onto it this whole time. Does that not mean anything?

Apparently not. Apparently, Kenma overestimated Kuro’s care for him. There’s nothing particularly special about what he does for Kenma. He would do the same for anyone.

He’s just so fucking kind.

Kenma doesn’t like the ugly feelings that brew inside his chest in the middle of the night. He lays on his side and stares at the rice-paper partition Kuro asked Bokuto to get for them, blocking their view of each other. It’s a physical manifestation of what Kuro’s done to them. A wall. A barrier. A clear boundary.

He curls into a ball and pulls the covers over his head to play his PSP late into the night. It’s the best thing to distract him. Games have always been his escape. When his mother worked late and the empty apartment threatened to swallow him, or he didn’t have enough to eat so his stomach chewed on itself, he clung to his 3DS, and it provided a much-needed distraction.

Kenma doesn’t want to be angry at Kuro for his kindness. It’s a good thing. It’s what made Kenma fall in love with him in the first place. But damn. It feels like history is repeating itself.

The thoughts keep circling his head. His mother left because his love wasn’t enough to keep her with him. Will the same thing happen with Kuro? If Kuro doesn’t see and recognize Kenma’s love, will he lose him?

Kenma knows he should probably just tell him. But if he doesn’t return the feelings, then Kenma saying something could ruin things between them.

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t.

There’s too much at risk. If Kuro retreats because of Kenma’s feelings, then that’ll be worse than the pain of the current distance between them. At least Kuro still helps Kenma detangle his hair after a shower, still gives his shoulder encouraging squeezes before parting for school, still checks his forehead for fevers when Kenma isn’t feeling well.

If Kuro stops touching him, will Kenma even continue to exist?

It’s stupid. This whole line of thinking is stupid. It’s not like Kuro is his only friend. He has Tooru and Hajime, too. It’s just . . . the three of them have a bond that they shared long before Kenma came into the picture. So, it’s different. And Tooru and Hajime . . . they orbit around each other like the Earth to the Sun and the Moon to the Earth.

Kenma loves his friends, and he knows they love him too, but he’ll always be a little on the outside. A little bit of an outcast. He tries to make himself useful to them. He packs Kuro’s lunches for him, plays volleyball with him . . . he used to hold him when Kuro had his nightmares, but he’s not allowed to do that anymore either.

It’s irritating. Kuro’s boundary probably hurts him too, when he wakes up in the middle of the night gasping for air because he was back in that burning house. But whenever Kenma peers around the partition, Kuro waves him off, says he’s fine.

He’s not fine.

It’s stupid.

But Kenma doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Is that a new game?”

Daishou leans over the back of the couch, peering over Kenma’s shoulder at his PSP screen. Kenma frowns, lifting his shoulder and hunching down, trying to obscure Daishou’s view. He doesn’t hate the guy the way Kuro, Tooru, and Hajime seem to. Daishou’s never picked on him or needled him the way he does the other three. Mainly, he just leans too close and breathes too loud. Well, there was that time he took Kenma’s 3DS from him, but he learned never to do that again.

“Come ooooon, let me watch,” Daishou whines. “I’m so bored. No one wants to play with me. I even asked Kuroo-kun if he wanted to play volleyball, but he told me to get lost.” He frowns.

It registered to Kenma a long time ago that Daishou’s constant teasing and badgering was a result of a need for attention and probably loneliness. Kenma can understand that. Of course, that doesn’t make him saying mean things okay, but Kenma understands the urge to provoke people to pull their eyes to him. Doesn’t Kuro do the same thing when playing volleyball?

Sometimes Kenma thinks Kuro and Daishou are two sides of the same coin, reacting in different ways to their need for love and attention. Kuro pulls people to him while at the same time hiding his insecurities, never letting anyone close enough to see the real him, while Daishou pushes people away with his sharp tongue, even while coiled around them with a suffocating grip. Like the south poles of two magnets, constantly repelling each other because of their similarities.

“Don’t touch it,” he says finally, relaxing his shoulders.

He hears Daishou’s surprised intake of breath, and then the next moment he hops over the back of the couch, settling in beside Kenma. He leans against his shoulder, eyes on the screen.

“Watch out for that guy!” he says, pointing.

Kenma leans away with a frown. “I know,” he says flatly. “Don’t block the screen.”

Daishou curls his hands into fists. He’s still breathing too loud, but Kenma can deal with that. It’s not too terrible, sitting with Daishou. He still talks too much, offering advice Kenma doesn’t need or snickering at a bad move, but it actually starts being kind of . . . fun. He’s only ever played games with Kuro for an audience before, and he remains respectfully silent. Daishou’s enthusiasm, despite being annoying, makes Kenma want to do better.

“Hey! What the hell?”

Kenma lifts his head to see Kuro staring at him and Daishou sitting together on the couch, shoulders pressed together, cheeks nearly touching. His expression is one Kenma’s never seen before, twisted up in irritation and . . . something else. He doesn’t recognize it.

“Get away from him!” Kuro exclaims, storming over and grabbing a handful of Daishou’s shirt to yank him forwards off the couch.

“Ow! I wasn’t doing anything!” Daishou protests as he falls on his hands and knees. He gets up just enough to tackle Kuro around the waist, both crashing to the floor now.

“You were bothering him! He doesn’t like people that close!” Kuro insists, pounding his fists against Daishou’s back.

“He said I could!” Daishou yells back, pulling at Kuro’s hair.

“Bullshit! You’re a liar!”

Kenma sighs. Well. Good thing he just reached a save point. He turns off the game and stands, walking over to stare down at the two wrestling on the rug. Pursing his lips, he contemplates just walking away altogether. It’s Kuro’s fault for assuming and Daishou’s just made things worse by fighting him. It’d be a huge bother to try and break them up.

Then Daishou’s fist connects with Kuro’s nose, causing him to yelp with pain, and that draws the line.

“Stop it!” he snaps, raising his voice to get their attention.

Both freeze, Kuro with one hand over his nose, the other gripping a handful of Daishou’s hair. Daishou has his fist pulled back for another punch, his other hand twisted in Kuro’s shirt. They both look up at him, surprised.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on!” Bokuto charges out of his office, cellphone in hand. He sighs when he sees Daishou and Kuro, putting the phone back to his ear. “Sorry, I’m going to need to call you back.”

Daishou scrambles off Kuro into a kneeling position. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cries out reflexively, bowing over his knees repeatedly.

Kuro sits up, poking at his bloody nose with a petulant look. Bokuto shakes his head, hands on his hips.

“What am I going to do with you two?” he asks. “Out of all the kids I’ve ever housed, you two really take the cake! Why are you always fighting, huh? We’re supposed to be a family, here.”

“This isn’t a real family,” Daishou says angrily, tears welling in his eyes. “Our real families didn’t want us!”

Kuro just stares at the floor, standing slowly. He reaches for Kenma’s hand. Despite his exasperation, Kenma takes it.

“I see. So, if you reject the other kids here, they can’t reject you first, the way you feel your parents did?” Bokuto asks, not unkindly.

Daishou doesn’t respond, simply scowls at the floor, hands in fists on his thighs. Bokuto sighs and kneels in front of them, looking between the three boys.

“You all have been through so much,” he says, his expression dropping, like he can feel the weight of their burdens on his own shoulders. “But that’s why it’s so important that we come together and support each other.” He reaches out to lay one hand on Daishou’s shoulder, the other on Kuro’s. “You don’t have to be best friends, but this fighting has to stop. I’ve been easy on you both, because of the circumstances, but you’re teenagers now. There will be consequences from now on. Got it?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Daishou and Kuro speak in unison, subdued.

Bokuto looks to Kenma now, smiling. “Why don’t you help Tetsu-kun get cleaned up?” he says. “Suguru-kun, you’ll help me with dinner.”

Neither boy protests, and Kenma tugs Kuro toward the stairs to the bathroom on the second floor. Kuro doesn’t say anything, simply allows Kenma to lead. Kenma sets him on the toilet seat and rummages under the sink for the first aid kit.

“Was he really not bothering you?” Kuro asks softly after a moment.

“I would’ve moved if he was,” Kenma says flatly, still annoyed the whole thing happened in the first place. He finds the kit and opens it, grabbing some cotton and stuffing two pieces up Kuro’s nose without warning. Kuro winces. “Hold here,” he instructs, taking Kuro’s fingers and pinching the bridge of his nose with them.

Kuro looks back at him mournfully. “I’m sorry.”

Kenma turns away to snap the kit shut and store it back under the sink.

“I just . . .”

Kenma pauses, waiting for more without straightening from his crouch. He hears Kuro sigh from behind the cabinet door blocking them.

“He was sitting so close to you. I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

Shutting the cabinet, Kenma stands, turning to look at Kuro with a faint frown. “If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have let him do it,” he says pointedly.

Kuro’s eyes widen slightly. “So . . . you did like it?”

Kenma’s frown deepens, not sure what Kuro’s implying but knowing he doesn’t appreciate it. “It didn’t bother me. That’s not the same as liking it.”

Kuro’s brows knit together in confusion. “But—”

Kenma steps over and gently flicks Kuro between the eyes. “Stop overthinking it.”

Kuro sighs before lunging forward to wrap his arms around Kenma’s waist. Kenma stiffens, his heart leaping into his throat. He’s not sure where to put his hands, so they hover at his sides awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” Kuro says again, pressing his forehead against Kenma’s chest. “I got overprotective again. I know you can take care of yourself, I just . . . Daishou always said really mean things to Tooru to make him cry. I didn’t want that to happen to you too.”

Kenma huffs softly. “Have you ever seen me cry over something Daishou said?” he asks, shaking his head and finding the thought ridiculous.

“No, but . . . those bullies at school . . .”

Kenma purses his lips. He didn’t cry over those kids either, but he gets where Kuro’s coming from. His first year in middle school was difficult. He’s already braced himself for high school to be more of the same. It’s discouraging and tiresome, but Kenma’s been through worse. He didn’t realize Kuro paid such close attention to how that treatment affected him, though. It’s true that he often avoided sitting with the rest of the kids at lunch and was quieter than usual on the days when the taunting was bad. On those days, Kuro always made Kenma his favorite snack, but that wasn’t something out of the ordinary.

He didn’t make the connection before.

“Come on,” he says now, placing his hands on Kuro’s shoulders and pushing him back gently. “I’m fine. Daishou doesn’t bother me like that. He’s harmless.”

Kuro’s eyes widen and he gestures to his own nose incredulously. Kenma stifles a laugh.

“Well, harmless to me,” he says. “Besides, you started it.”

“Kenmaaaaa.”

Kuro’s whine just makes Kenma snicker. Kuro’s eyes brighten at the sound.

Kenma tells himself it doesn’t mean anything.

Tooru spins the volleyball in his hand, lifting it up and down to test the weight. He focuses his gaze on it, on the spot he knows he has to hit, and then looks across the court, to the other side of the net where he knows he wants it to go. Count of three. Inhale. Exhale.

He throws the ball into the air, watching its trajectory. He takes a step, then another, gathering his strength in his legs as he pushes off the floor and brings his arm back.

Smack!

His palm hits it at the perfect angle. As he falls, he keeps his gaze on its path. It soars through the air, heading for the net. No, above the net. Yes, yes it’s going! It’s—

It catches the top of the net, teetering, before falling pathetically to the other side. Tooru lands in a crouch, scowling. Not good enough.

“Well, at least it’d probably still be a point,” Hajime says. “They’d have to rush forward to try and receive it.”

Tooru huffs, blowing a strand of hair off his face. “That’s not good enough, Iwa-chan! It needs to break through and shatter their resolve!”

Hajime nods, tossing the ball in his own hands in the air before bumping it off his forearms a couple times, catching it again once it veers to the side. “So, keep practicing. You’re the only one on the team who can do a jump serve. I bet if you get good enough at it, they’ll use you as pinch server our first year, if not play you first string completely.”

Toor puffs out his chest, turning toward Hajime with a grin. “Aww, Iwa-chan! Are you complimenting me?”

Hajime frowns. “No, I’m saying you should keep practicing. You’re not good enough for first string yet.” He throws the ball at Tooru, who pokes out his lip as he catches it.

“Rude. I’ll definitely get first string,” he says. He steps back over to the corner of the court, spinning the ball in his hand again. He had the angle right, just didn’t give it enough power.

This time, the ball hits the other side of the court with a satisfying boom!, and Tooru grins triumphantly as he lands. It’s still not enough to unnerve anyone, but he’s improving.

“Hey, how late are you wanting to stay? I gotta get home for dinner soon,” Hajime says.

Tooru frowns faintly. He knows Hajime is doing him a favor by being here. Technically they’re on break, but Tooru wants to get more practice in before they start high school. It’s not enough that he’s already won an award for his setting, there is always room for improvement. He wants to be able to enter high school with enough skill that he has to be recognized. He’ll take the team to the National stage, and then hopefully go beyond that himself.

He wants to take Hajime with him. It’s Hajime who lit this fire in him in the first place, back at the orphanage. Before volleyball, Tooru didn’t really have a direction in life. All he did was sit around and play with his alien toys and wish for his parents to come back. Volleyball gave him purpose and Hajime gave him volleyball.

“Let me toss for you,” he says, not wanting Hajime to leave. His mom doesn’t like him to stay at the gym alone, so she’s only allowed the extra practice because his best friend is with him.

To Hajime’s credit, he grins and nods. Tooru knows he likes hitting his tosses. There’s a connection that’s almost tangible between them when he does. Tooru works hard on adapting his setting style to fit any hitter, and he feels satisfaction and pride when they’re able to connect, but with Hajime . . .

It’s like electricity.

Tooru takes his position in front of the net, Hajime moving further up the court. His eyes remain fixed on Tooru, bright and sparkling, and his lips stretch into a grin that’s taut with anticipation, as his knees bend. It sends a shiver down Tooru’s spine.

He turns his eyes to the ball in his hands, lifts it into the air, and tosses it.

The arc is high and perfect. Hajime flies toward it and jumps, smacking the ball down onto the other side of the court with an echoing boom! so loud Tooru thinks it might rattle his teeth. This is Hajime’s fighting power! It’s incredible.

“Again!” Hajime calls, grabbing a ball from the cart and throwing it toward Tooru as he runs around to get back into position.

Tooru laughs, delighted. They go through the same routine again and again, forgetting all about the time. Each time Hajime lands a hit, he calls for another toss, and Tooru sends one to him. Over and over. Until they’re both sweating and their limbs are aching, but neither of them can stop grinning.

He loves this.

He loves volleyball.

He loves—

Whoops. Tooru’s eyes widen, as the ball slips from his sweaty fingertips. Hajime’s already jumping, and he just barely saves it with the fist of his left hand, getting it just over the net. He lands off-balance, and Tooru’s rushing forward before he can think better of it.

He crashes into Hajime in his haste to catch him, twisting in mid-air to land on his back, cushioning Hajime’s fall. The other hits his chest, knocking the air out of him.

“What the hell, Shittykawa?” Hajime grumbles.

Tooru just laughs breathlessly. He can’t help it. He’s so happy. He wraps his arms around Hajime and squeezes him as tightly as he can. Almost immediately, Hajime’s wiggling out of the hug despite Tooru’s attempts to keep him close.

“Let me go. You’re so weird,” he complains, as he breaks Tooru’s hold and sits up.

Tooru keeps his smile even as a familiar ache blooms in his chest. He closes his eyes, shutting them tightly and trying to keep the memory of Hajime’s weight and warmth on top of him for as long as he can.

He can’t remember when he first realized his feelings for Hajime ran deeper than that of a best friend. It had to have been pre-puberty, at least, because becoming a teenager has only made those feelings more potent. Of course he likes the attention of the girls in his class, who wouldn’t? They’re cute and fawn over him and call him ‘Tooru-kun.’ Hajime never calls him anything cute like that.

Tooru tried to go on dates with these girls. He really did. But it only took one or two lunches with each before he admitted to himself he was unsatisfied and broke things off. None of them looked at him like Hajime does. None of them made him feel the way Hajime makes him feel.

Safe. Warm. Happy. Invincible.

Ever since the first moment Tooru laid eyes on Hajime back at the orphanage, there’s just something inside him that says ‘Mine’. He wanted Hajime as his best friend, and so he made him his best friend. He knows he can’t make him anything more than that, though. Not by force. He doesn’t want to force anything anyway.

He wants Hajime to return his feelings on his own. It won’t be real otherwise.

So, he’s trying to be patient. Okay, so maybe he attempts to help things along with physical affection, but it’s not like that’s anything new. He’s always been super touchy with his friends. Hajime can’t feel any pressure from that.

Not that Hajime has shown any interest in boys, but he hasn’t shown any interest in girls either. Whenever Tooru brings up the topic, Hajime tries to change the subject or talks about how he doesn’t want a girlfriend. He won’t ever mention why he doesn’t, and Tooru lets that give him hope. Maybe that’s ill-advised, but he can’t stop the longing.

He wants so badly for Hajime to be in love with him. Tooru wishes on the first star every night for it to happen. He used to wish on it for his parents to come back, but priorities change. Besides, the Oikawas have been really good to him. He loves them now, so his first star wish can go to Hajime. A wish for him to realize just how much Tooru loves him and to return that love in kind.

There’s a part of his brain that tells him he can always ask. There’s nothing stopping Tooru from grabbing Hajime by the hand and declaring his feelings.

Only . . .

If Tooru is wrong, what then? Already Hajime acts grossed out by Tooru’s affection. Maybe it’s playful, but what if it’s real? What if Tooru tears open his chest and gives Hajime his heart, and Hajime just stares at him and lets him bleed out?

What if he loses the one person who’s always felt like home?

Enough silence has passed, Tooru can feel Hajime shifting uneasily beside him. “Hey, you okay?” Hajime asks, worry creeping into his voice.

Tooru opens his eyes to see Hajime leaning over him, brows furrowed some. Tooru squeezes his eyes shut again. Please kiss me. Please kiss me.

“Oi. I saw that. You’re faking, aren’t you?” Hajime’s tone has changed to exasperation.

Well, it was worth a shot. He opens his eyes again and gives Hajime his best ‘everything’s okay’ smile before draping his wrist across his forehead. “Oh! I was waiting for a handsome prince to kiss me awake, but all that’s here is an ugly ogre. The horror!”

Hajime’s ears burn red. “I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens murderously, picking up a stray volleyball that has rolled back over to their side of the net and standing, poised to throw it down onto Tooru’s most sensitive bits.

“Ack! You wouldn’t dare!” Tooru scrambles to his feet, not about to risk it. “Horrible mean Iwa-chan!”

Hajime throws the volleyball and Tooru yelps, smacking it away. Hajime strides forward, eyes searching for another ball, and Tooru quickly runs around the cart to put it between them.

“It’s time for dinner, Iwa-chan! We have to clean up before we go, or coach will be mad!”

That makes Hajime stop, and he grumbles before redirecting to start gathering up the stray balls. Tooru grins, knowing Hajime’s respect for their coach would win out over his need to pummel him. Not that his hits are ever that hard or plentiful to begin with. Still, they’re firm enough to sting for at least a little while, so Tooru’s glad his distraction worked.

He starts work on tearing down the net, realizing as he’s putting it away in the closet that once high school starts, they’ll be in a different gym altogether. This is their last time together in this gym, and that feels important somehow. He holds the closet door open for Hajime to wheel the cart inside, and after he shuts it, he grabs Hajime’s hand before he can walk away.

“What?” he asks warily.

Tooru just smiles back at him. “I really liked playing here with you, Iwa-chan,” he says, trying and failing to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes.

Hajime’s eyes widen. “Why the hell are you crying?” he asks helplessly. “It’s not like we’re never going to play again.”

Tooru nods, sniffling. “I know, it’s just . . . we’ll never play here again.”

Hajime sighs, his shoulders relaxing. No doubt relieved that it’s just another one of Tooru’s sentimental moments and nothing he has to fix. He pulls his hand out of Tooru’s, sadly, but he rests his fist against Tooru’s chest instead, giving it a firm tap.

“Stupid,” he says, but there’s a smile playing about his lips and he speaks fondly. “That’s nothing to cry about. It’s not about where we play. It’s about who we’re playing with, right?”

Tooru can’t help but grin. Hajime’s so rarely sentimental, it always means a lot when he says things like that. If only it meant as much to Hajime.

“Right,” he replies with a nod, tapping his own fist against best friend’s chest in return, ignoring the ache spreading through his own, starting from the warm spot where Hajime’s fist rests.

Honestly, being in love is a real pain.

Chapter Text

High school’s so much better than middle school. Thanks to Oikawa’s skin care advice, Tetsurou’s acne clears up, and his growth spurt hits, which means he gets more attention from girls, but that’s fine because he has Yaku and Kai to buffer any potential confessions. He whispers his secret to them after volleyball one day, hoping they’ll be supportive, and they don’t disappoint him.

Honestly, things are really looking up! Volleyball is fun, classes are going great, and Kenma’s doing well in middle school. He’ll be following Tetsurou to Nekoma soon. He talks about lying about his age to get in even earlier, but Tetsurou thinks that’s a little drastic. He does miss seeing Kenma around school, but they still get to walk together thanks to the middle and high school buildings being so close.

Kenma waits for him at Nekoma’s entrance every day after volleyball practice and listens while Tetsurou tells him all about his day. He doesn’t share much himself, so Tetsurou has to pull information out of him, and it worries him when Kenma admits he doesn’t have any friends.

“One of the boys in my class said I look scary,” Kenma admits one day. He fingers a strand of his hair. “He said my hair and eye color make me stand out.” He shudders. “I don’t like it.”

Tetsurou thinks for a moment, tapping his chin. “I know! Why don’t you dye your hair? I bet if you bleach it, your skin and eyes won’t stand out so much.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

“I can help you!”

And that’s how Tetsurou ends up in the bathroom of the group home holding a box of bleach and staring at the back of Kenma’s head. He’s read through the instructions multiple times, but now he hesitates, loathe to touch Kenma’s hair with the chemicals, worried about what they might do to it.

“I know this was my idea, but your hair’s always been so pretty,” he says with a wistful sigh. “This stuff’s gonna damage it.”

“I don’t care,” Kenma says, nonchalant. “It’s just hair.”

“I know but . . .” Tetsurou carefully runs his fingers through the ends of Kenma’s hair. The strands slip through them like silk.

Kenma’s shoulders stiffen. “Kuro,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to give him a flat look. “It’s my hair. I can do what I want with it.”

“Okay, okay,” Tetsurou gives in, knowing Kenma’s right. He mixes the ingredients before brandishing the applicator brush. “Just know I’m doing this under protest!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Kenma complains.

Despite his words, Tetsurou takes his time with it, wanting to do a good job even with his misgivings. He carefully sections Kenma’s hair and pins it back, going bit by bit with painstaking precision. Kenma taps away at his PSP, not minding the time it’s taking. Tetsurou furrows his brow in concentration, tongue poking out the side of his mouth, as he does his best not to touch Kenma’s scalp, ears, or forehead with the bleach.

Finally, everything is covered, and Tetsurou places a shower cap around Kenma’s head. “If it starts burning, let me know,” he says, starting the timer on his phone.

He sits on the edge of the tub, watching as Kenma plays his game and bakes. Already he can see the lightened roots under the cap, blending with Kenma’s pale skin. It’s definitely going to help him stand out less, his features softened by the pale gold surrounding it. Tetsurou can’t help but already miss the striking appeal of his old look.

“The kids at school aren’t teasing you, are they?” he asks suddenly, wondering if the ‘scary’ comment had been just an observation or actual bullying.

“No. They pretty much just ignore me,” Kenma murmurs, eyes on his game.

Tetsurou doesn’t like that either. He frowns. “Is there anyone you like? I bet there’s gotta be some kids that enjoy gaming like you, right? Maybe a video game club?”

“There’s not really anything like that. Besides, I’m still playing volleyball so I don’t have time for other clubs,” Kenma says with a shrug.

“Well . . . are you friends with anyone on your team?”

“Not really.”

Tetsurou sighs. “Kenmaaaaa. I worry about you all alone at the middle school! You should try to make friends!”

“I have friends.”

“Me and Oikawa and Iwaizumi don’t count! We’re not in your year so we don’t get to see you as consistently.”

Kenma lifts his head. “You’re calling them Oikawa and Iwaizumi now?” he asks curiously.

“Ah, well,” Tetsurou laughs sheepishly, scratching the side of his face with a finger. “We’re older now, right? I mean, we’re turning sixteen soon. Seems a little childish to still call them by their first names in high school and stuff.”

“I . . . guess.” Kenma frowns faintly. “Are you going to start calling me Kozume?”

Tetsurou blinks. “Do you want me to?”

Kenma shakes his head, his lips pursed tightly.

“I won’t then,” Tetsurou assures him. “Besides, you’re younger, so it makes more sense.” He grins and pats Kenma’s head on top of the shower cap. He pauses, then, looking at the strands beneath the plastic. “The color’s coming out pretty well. We’re probably still going to need another layer, though.”

Kenma hums noncommittally.

They rinse out the bleach once the alarm sounds, and Tetsurou towel dries it before putting on another layer. This time they don’t need to wait as long, and Tetsurou makes sure to shampoo and condition Kenma’s hair this time as they rinse and wash the bleach out.

It takes a while to detangle, and Tetsurou cuts the ends off to help promote healthy hair growth despite what they did to it. He blow-dries and brushes the newly golden strands, taking a step back to observe his handiwork, unable to help but feel pretty proud of himself. There’s not a speck of black and the strands still feel silky beneath his fingers.

“Ta-da!” He gestures to the bathroom mirror. “What do you think?”

Kenma leans forward, inspecting his face. He does seem to disappear into the hair, which is a shame, but the smile that tilts the corners of his lips make everything worth it.

“Good job,” he says, looking up at Tetsurou. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Tetsurou says with a grin, reaching out to tug on the ends of the newly bleached hair. “It looks cute. Of course, you’re always cute.” His grin widens.

Kenma’s face turns red, and he averts his gaze. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.” Tetsurou laughs, taking Kenma’s cheeks in his hands to squeeze them together. “You’re the cutest kid in the world.”

“Shut up.”

Kenma’s skin feels flushed under Tetsurou’s hands, and he ducks away from him with a frown. Tetsurou lets him go, still chuckling as he goes about cleaning up the mess they made. The towel is ruined, and he hopes Bokuto won’t be mad. He bleaches and dyes his own hair to make those gray stripes, though, so it’s probably fine.

“Whoa! What happened to you?!”

Daishou’s voice makes Tetsurou rush out of the bathroom to find Daishou staring wide-eyed at Kenma in the hallway, mouth agape.

“Watch it, Daishou!” Tetsurou snaps. He knows he promised Bokuto to get along better with the guy, but just looking at his face irritates the hell out of him. It doesn’t help that he’s still staring. He steps in front of Kenma to block the view. “Don’t you got someone else to annoy?”

Daishou makes a face, sticking his tongue out at him. “You’re such an asshole,” he complains. “I was just surprised, that’s all!” He leans to the side to try and catch a glimpse of Kenma. “It looks nice.”

Tetsurou watches skeptically, unable to tell if Daishou’s being sarcastic or not, but he seems sincere, which is weird because Daishou never compliments anyone.

“Thanks,” Kenma mutters behind him.

“Don’t encourage him!” Tetsurou exclaims, grabbing Kenma’s wrist to tug him further down the hallway, away from Daishou and his snake-like eyes.

“You’re just jealous because your hair always looks stupid!” Daishou calls after him.

Tetsurou grits his teeth, glaring over his shoulder. “I can’t help the way my hair looks! It always sticks up like this!”

“It’s stupid!” Daishou says, sticking out his tongue again. “Just like your stupid face!”

“Is stupid the only insult you can think of? Laaaame,” Tetsurou taunts, smirking at how Daishou’s face grows red.

“Kuro,” Kenma admonishes softly beside him. He tugs on Tetsurou’s wrist. “I’m hungry. Make me a snack.”

Tetsurou wants to continue until he’s made Daishou cry for once, but he can’t resist the urge to care for Kenma. If Kenma’s hungry, he should fix that. With one last glare, he slips his hand down to take Kenma’s and leads the way down the stairs to the kitchen.

Thankfully Bokuto isn’t angry, though he’s surprised when he comes out of his office to find Kenma sitting at the kitchen table munching on apple slices with his new hair on full display.

“Whoa! That’s a new look! What prompted it?” he asks curiously.

“Wanted to,” Kenma says with a shrug.

Tetsurou frowns. Is he not telling the full story because it was bullying?

“Well, it looks awesome!” Bokuto says with a grin. “I love it! We match now!” He gestures to his own hair emphatically.

“No, we don’t.”

Bokuto laughs.

Tetsurou sends photos to Oikawa and Iwaizumi in their group chat.

[Oikawa]
SQUEE!!! our lil Kenma looks so so cute!! (๑ˊ͈ ॢꇴ ˋ͈)〜♡॰ॱ

[Iwaizumi]
what brought on the change?

[Kenma]
just wanted smth diff i guess

[Kuroo]
I thought it might fry his hair, but it turned out okay I think

[Oikawa]
ur gonna get so many confessions!!! girls love a bad boy w/ dyed hair! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

[Kenma]
ఠ _ ఠ

[Kuroo]
Oi! Shut up Oikawa!! Kenma’s not looking for any girlfriends

[Iwaizumi]
I don’t think Kenma really counts as a ‘bad boy’ either

[Oikawa]
(˃̣̣̥︿˂̣̣̥) neither of you see the vision!!! u should watch more shoujo anime!!

[Iwaizumi]
no thanks

[Kuroo]
Who has the time??

[Oikawa]
kenma-chan knows what i mean!

kenma-chan??? back me up!

kenma-chaaaaaaaan

[Kuroo]
He turned off his phone.

[Oikawa]
(╥_╥)

Perhaps Kenma’s lack of interest in getting a girlfriend should have concerned Tetsurou. He doesn’t really give it much thought, figuring Kenma’s taking his time to figure out who he is and what he likes. He’s seen Kenma stroking his fingers over skirts and dresses that come in the donation box, but he never chooses them. Tetsurou hopes he knows that he’ll support him no matter who he likes or how he dresses. He’s thought about bringing it up a few times, but he’s not sure how to broach the topic when Kenma seems so staunchly against talking about those types of things.

He never engages when Oikawa goes on and on about cute girls at Seijou or boys he thinks Tetsurou will find cute. Even Iwaizumi will make irritated comments or come to Tetsurou’s aide when Oikawa’s being particularly annoying, but Kenma remains silent or mutes their group chat when the conversation is over text.

Tetsurou really should have asked. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so blindsided when Kenma asks to meet him behind the high school on Tetsurou’s sixteenth birthday.

They have plans to meet up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi later that night, always celebrating their birthdays in a special party with just the four of them on Tetsurou’s, since his is the latest in the year.

The trees have begun to change color, orange and brown and yellow against the darkening sky as the days grow shorter. Kenma stands with his face half-hidden by the scarf wrapped around him, the tip of his nose red, matching the color of his cheeks. He doesn’t look Tetsurou in the eye, instead staring off to the side, as he clutches the strap of his school bag across his chest with both hands.

“I-I’m fourteen now,” Kenma starts, his voice muffled behind the cloth. “I’ll be starting my third year in April. So . . . I think I’m old enough now.”

Tetsurou stares down at him blankly, not sure where this is going but having a bad feeling about it considering where they’re standing currently, and the importance of the day Kenma’s chosen.

“Old enough for what?” he asks hesitantly.

Kenma inhales sharply, looking up at Tetsurou finally. “Old enough to confess my feelings,” he says.

The world tilts under Tetsurou’s feet. A deep, painful ache blooms in his chest, the vines wrapping around his heart and squeezing with thorns sharp and piercing. This isn’t supposed to happen. Kenma’s one of his best friends. Ever since he first laid eyes on the tiny, malnourished six-year-old, Tetsurou’s wanted to protect him, take care of him, help him through the loss of his parents because Tetsurou knew what it was like.

Never has Tetsurou ever wanted to hurt him or be the cause of any pain.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks weakly.

Kenma blinks and realization enters his wide eyes. Slowly, they cloud over with resignation, and he lowers his gaze to the ground between them.

“I thought . . . maybe you would return my feelings. Since . . . you like guys . . .”

“Kenma,” Tetsurou’s voice breaks. “I love you so much. You’re one of the most important people in the world to me. But I-I don’t . . . I don’t see you that way. I-I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

The silence that follows is agony. Kenma continues to stare at the ground, knuckles turning white around the strap of his bag, and the thorny vines wrapped around Tetsurou’s heart squeeze tighter, cutting into him, breaking the heart into pieces.

“Kenma . . .” He reaches for Kenma’s shoulder.

Kenma shifts away from him. “Why?” he asks softly.

Tetsurou swallows hard. How can he explain it in a way that won’t make things worse?

Kenma lifts his head, and unshed tears swim in his bright golden eyes. “You just said you love me, that I’m important to you. Why isn’t that enough?” he demands angrily. “Y-you used to kiss me and-and hold me and then you stopped and I-I thought it was because you were uncomfortable with it now that we were older, but you like guys! You told us you like guys. I’m a guy!” He grabs onto Tetsurou’s arms, fingers curling into his sleeves. “I-I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to see me, and I know I was too young before, but I’m really only two years younger, which isn’t that much! I’m old enough now!”

Tetsurou doesn’t know what to say. His own eyes burn with tears. It’s true that years have passed since Tetsurou first met Kenma as a little kid. Kenma’s grown up, is a teenager now, like Tetsurou, and it’s true that a two-year age gap isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things . . . but he can’t seem to shake the image of that terrified little six-year-old from his mind whenever he looks at Kenma. The thought of kissing him, of doing other things with him, feels wrong.

“I-I love you like a little brother,” Tetsurou says quietly, unable to look Kenma in the face. He stares down at Kenma’s hands instead, watching how they tremble as he clings to Tetsurou. “I’m sorry.”

Kenma’s hands fall away. His face lowers once more, hair falling forward to shield his expression. Tetsurou doesn’t have to see it to know how much he’s hurt him. He hates this. This is the last thing he ever wanted. Kenma’s so special to him, so precious, and maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s spent too many years doting on him, caring for him, and that’s why he still sees him as a little kid. But Tetsurou doesn’t know how to stop.

He wants to take care of Kenma forever.

“Kenma . . .”

But Kenma’s already turning away, running away. Away from Tetsurou.

Tetsurou doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at the blank wall of his high school. He feels cold, fingertips numb.

That was his first confession, he realizes.

That makes it worse, somehow.

He doesn’t think he can go home. Kenma needs space. Tetsurou will come up with a way to make it up to him, somehow. He has no idea what to do.

Has he just lost Kenma?

The sob escapes him before he can stop it, and he stuffs his fist into his mouth to stifle the sound. He can’t lose Kenma. He’s the only family Tetsurou has left. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have their own families now, are making their way into a bright future because of the support and love they have.

Without Kenma, what does Tetsurou have?

“Fuck,” he gasps out, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and stop the tears.

With nowhere else to go, Tetsurou makes his way to Oikawa’s. It’s the closest house to Nekoma, only a fifteen-minute bus ride. Oikawa’s good at cheering people up, with his humor and his generous affection. He’s also good at scheming, which means maybe he can help Tetsurou come up with a way to fix things.

It quickly becomes apparent this will not happen when Oikawa opens his door and falls on Tetsurou in tears.

“TETSUUUUN!” he wails. “This is the absolute worst day in the world!!”

Tetsurou’s inclined to agree, but he brushes aside his own woes to deal with the immediate issue. He manages to walk inside Oikawa’s room and shut the door with the other still clinging to him like an octopus. It takes a moment to wrest Oikawa off him, but when he does, Tetsurou sees the real redness of his eyes, the tearstains on his cheeks.

“What happened?” he asks worriedly, brushing the wetness from Oikawa’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Oikawa’s lower lip trembles. “Iwa-chan got a confession,” he whispers.

Tetsurou blinks. “He did?”

Oikawa nods, biting his lip. “By this really pretty girl in our class. Aoi-chan. She’s quiet and sweet with big brown eyes and freckles and-and Iwa-chan got all red and i-it’s not fair!”

Tetsurou frowns faintly. “You get plenty of confessions,” he reminds him. “Do you like this Aoi-chan girl or something?”

“No! But Iwa-chan likes her! I could tell!” Oikawa cries. He flings himself on his bed, grabbing his pillow and hugging it to his chest. He buries his face in it, shaking his head. “Everything’s going to be ruined. He’s going to start dating her and then he’ll be too busy to play volleyball, and he’ll stop coming over and-and I’ll have to smile and be nice because otherwise he’ll be mad and-and it’s going to be awful. Whyyyyy did she have to confess to him!”

Tetsurou sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “I mean . . . he is the strong, manly type. And he’s really kind and attentive. His eyes are a pretty color . . .”

Oikawa lifts his head and glares. “Are you in love with Iwa-chan too, Tetsun?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice.

“No, not at all,” Tetsurou says quickly with a rueful laugh. He rubs the back of his neck, frowning faintly as a thought comes to him. “Oikawa . . . are you in love with Iwaizumi?”

Oikawa stares at him for a moment before burying his face in the pillow again, not responding. It’s all Tetsurou needs to put the pieces together, however. It makes sense, when he thinks about it. Oikawa’s been possessive and clingy with Iwaizumi ever since Tetsurou met them. He thought it was just Oikawa’s personality, because he can be clingy with the people he cares about in general, but apparently there’s something deeper with Iwaizumi.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks then hesitantly.

“Of course not,” Oikawa scoffs, face still buried. He sits up after a beat, sitting against the wall and crossing his legs, hugging the pillow to his chest still. He rests his chin on it, staring despondently at the bedspread, patterned with constellations and tiny alien spaceships flying through the stars. “He’ll reject me, and that’ll ruin everything.”

Tetsurou feels that vine from before snake back into his chest, attacking what remains of his heart. So, a rejection really does ruin everything? Is that what Oikawa truly thinks?

“How . . . do you know he’ll reject you?” he asks hesitantly.

Oikawa sighs. “He always rejects me. Rejects my affection, my attention . . . he thinks it’s just for fun, so it’s fine, but if he knows it’s real . . .” He shakes his head. “Besides, he’s never shown any interest in boys, and he obviously thinks Aoi-chan is cute, since he got so flustered over her confession."

"But he didn’t say yes, did he?” Tetsurou asks.

“No. He said he had to think about it because he wasn’t expecting it. I tried to get him to tell me what he was thinking, but he brushed me off. He hides his feelings when they’re serious because he wants to look strong. So . . . there were feelings.” Oikawa hugs the pillow tighter.

“I’m sorry,” Tetsurou says helplessly, wishing he knew what to say to help Oikawa feel better. It’s a distraction, at least, from his own troubles, though the similar topic feels like salt in the wound.

“I just keep waiting for him to see what an awesome boyfriend I’d be! I’d make him bentos for lunch and paint his jersey number on my cheek during games and hold his hand when he gets anxious; I’d kiss him and make him feel good . . .” Oikawa trails off, his cheeks growing pink.

Tetsurou feels his own face growing warm as he realizes what Oikawa’s implying. “Have you . . . ever done that?” he asks hesitantly.

Oikawa shakes his head. “Have you?”

Tetsurou also shakes his head.

Oikawa frowns down at the pillow. “Iwa-chan will probably do it with Aoi-chan.”

“You don’t know that. He seems like the gentleman type,” Tetsurou says pointedly.

Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, but he can be a brute when he really wants something.” He sighs and flops over on the bed once more. “I wish he wanted me. I’m just as pretty as Aoi-chan. Probably even prettier!” He blinks up at Tetsurou with wide, wet eyes. “Don’t you think I’m pretty, Tetsun?”

Tetsurou blinks back at him. “Uh. I mean . . . yeah?” he fumbles the answer, not having expected the question.

“You do?” Oikawa asks hopefully, sitting up again.

Tetsurou swallows hard, staring back at Oikawa, unable to bring himself to lie or make fun when Oikawa looks so pitiful. “Yes,” he says with a nod. “You’re really pretty.”

Oikawa leans forward. “Do you think I’m attractive?” he asks softly. “In your opinion as a gay man?”

Tetsurou feels his blush spread to the tips of his ears. He sputters. “I-I mean, sure. Yeah. You’re . . . attractive. You know that already! You’re always talking about your looks.”

Oikawa presses his lips together, humming softly. “It’s different to hear it from someone else,” he says.

“I bet you hear it all the time from the girls at your school,” Tetsurou says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, from girls,” Oikawa says pointedly. “Not from anyone who actually matters.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

Oikawa reaches forward, pushing Tetsurou’s hair back from his face. He studies him for a minute, and Tetsurou isn’t sure what to do or say under the scrutiny. The room suddenly feels much too warm. He’s sweating beneath his shirt and jacket.

“You’ve grown pretty attractive too, Tetsun,” Oikawa observes. “You’ve got a bad boy look I bet people go crazy over at your school.”

“Not really,” Tetsurou admits. “I’m too busy with volleyball, and I think as soon as I open my mouth they realize how lame I am.”

Oikawa grins. “Spouting off science puns like a nerd?” he asks, snickering softly.

“Hey! Those puns are funny! It’s not my fault nobody understan—”

Tetsurou’s words get cut off, as Oikawa leans forward and kisses him. Tetsurou’s so startled, he reels back, falling off the bed. Oikawa looks down at him, his cheeks red, matching the darkening pink on Tetsurou’s own face.

“Wh-what was that?!” he asks incredulously.

“A kiss, obviously,” Oikawa says, but he looks nervous, chewing on his lower lip.

“Why did you kiss me?!”

“Because . . . I can’t kiss Iwa-chan and I’m sad,” Oikawa admits softly. “I just thought . . . I mean, you like boys and you think I’m attractive . . .”

“So, you thought I’d kiss you to help you feel better?!” Tetsurou stares up at him in utter confusion and shock.

“Can you?” Oikawa asks, his voice even smaller than before. “Y-you’re one of my best friends, and I . . .” His eyes fill with tears once more, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Please, Tetsun?”

“I don’t see how this will help,” Tetsurou admits as he stands slowly, brushing himself off. He looks down at Oikawa with a skeptical frown. He wants to help him, of course he does. But kissing his best friend because he wants to kiss someone else and can’t feels like a bad idea.

“It’ll help me feel less alone,” Oikawa admits, gaze falling to the floor.

Tetsurou’s chest aches. He thinks of Kenma, wondering if he feels alone. Tetsurou wants to be there for him, to hold him and comfort him. But knowing what he does now . . . he can’t do that. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be allowed to touch Kenma ever again.

The ache grows wider, deeper, threatening to swallow him whole. He feels hollow suddenly, like someone’s pierced into his chest with a shovel and dug a hole inside him. If he can never touch Kenma again . . . if Kenma never speaks to him again . . .

Tetsurou doesn’t want to feel alone either.

He kneels on the bed, grabbing Oikawa’s shoulder and pushing him back against the bed. He leans over him, looking down into those wide brown eyes with tears still swimming in them. Gently, he brushes his thumb against the side of one eye, catching a stray tear and wiping it away.

Oikawa really is incredibly pretty.

He bends down to kiss him, feeling Oikawa’s sharp inhale against his lips. It only takes a second for Oikawa to respond, though, pressing back against him, hand moving to cup the back of Tetsurou’s head, threading his fingers through his hair as he cradles him.

His lips are soft and warm and a bit salty from the tears. Tetsurou tilts his head to the side to get a better angle, their mouths fitting together more naturally this way. Oikawa’s tongue brushes his lower lip lightly, and after a brief hesitation, Tetsurou opens for him.

He’s never kissed anyone before. Not like this. Oikawa’s tongue is wet and squishy and warm, so so warm. It explores the inside of Tetsurou’s mouth slowly, and he can’t help but moan softly at the sensation.

“Do you like that Tetsun?” Oikawa asks softly, murmuring against his lips.

Tetsurou nods. “Yeah,” he admits somewhat breathlessly.

Oikawa smiles, but it’s sad and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Curling his fingers deeper into Tetsurou’s hair, he pulls him down, meeting him in another deep kiss. This time, Tetsurou decides to explore Oikawa’s mouth with his tongue, and the soft noises Oikawa makes sends heat rushing through him.

As Tetsurou rests against him, he can feel his body responding to the warmth of Oikawa beneath him. He’s only sixteen, so his body has betrayed him numerous times in inconvenient situations, but when he grinds his hips down against Oikawa’s with a sharp inhale at the friction, he can feel Oikawa’s reacting the same.

Tetsurou pauses, pulling from the kiss to look down at Oikawa. “I don’t . . . how far did you want to take this?” he asks hesitantly.

Oikawa bites his lip, swollen and pink from kissing. It’s distracting, and Tetsurou struggles to focus on Oikawa’s answer.

“I-I think I want everything,” Oikawa admits softly.

Tetsurou blinks in surprise. “Really? With me?”

Oikawa gives him a watery smile. “Who else am I going to do it with?” he asks. “I-I know you love me. That’s enough, I think.”

Tetsurou isn’t entirely sure, but looking down at Oikawa like this, with his entire body aching to continue, he can’t come up with a coherent rebuttal. Besides, he does love Oikawa. This is one of his best friends. And he’s right. It’s likely they won’t meet any openly gay men until university at the earliest, and shouldn’t their first time be with someone special?

He thinks of Kenma, suddenly, the tears in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks. No. No, he can’t think of him right now. It’s not a betrayal, because he rejected Kenma. There’s nothing between them like this and . . . Kenma doesn’t need to know.

There’s something wrong with that thought, but before he can contemplate it further, Oikawa pulls him into another kiss, desperate and hungry, and Tetsurou’s resolve falters. Then Oikawa rolls his hips up against him, and it shatters completely.

Hajime’s still reeling from the unexpected confession. He knows Nakamura Aoi well enough, they’ve worked on some class projects together, and he finds her pleasant and easy to talk to. He never guessed that she had feelings for him in that way.

It’s also his first ever confession, which comes with its own shock and awe.

Of course, then Oikawa has to go and spoil it with his obnoxious commentary.

“Someone confessed to you Iwa-chan?! Are you sure they didn’t mistake you for me?”

“Well, I suppose some girls like the ugly brutish types.”

“Are you going to accept? What about volleyball? If you start dating, you’re not going to have much time, you know. If you wanna treat her right, you’ll have to spend time with her!”

Hajime’s had a headache ever since.

He doesn’t understand what Oikawa’s so stressed about. He’s not going to give up volleyball for a girl, even one as sweet and cute as Aoi. Volleyball is more important than dating, especially if he’s going to keep up with Oikawa.

It’s just difficult to say no to a cute girl’s face, and Hajime’s never been great with words. He doesn’t want to hurt Aoi or lose her friendship. He’ll have to figure out a way to let her down gently, so he asked if he could consider her request. She seemed amiable enough, giving him a small bow and asking him to let her know by tomorrow because it took a lot of courage for her to speak up in the first place.

Which kind of makes Hajime feel worse about turning her down.

That can wait, though. They have a birthday celebration to get to. The Oikawas reserved a spot at their favorite restaurant, the one they go to every year, and Hajime’s just waiting for Oikawa’s text letting him know he’s ready to go so they can take the bus together.

Only Oikawa hasn’t texted him.

Frowning down at his phone, Hajime checks the group chat, wondering if Oikawa’s running late for some reason. Nobody’s posted anything since that morning.

[Iwaizumi]
we’re still meeting at the restaurant, right?

Crickets.

Frowning, Hajime makes his way over to Oikawa’s house. He seemed fine when they left practice, spouting off nonsense and talking a mile a minute as usual. They parted ways so they could shower and get ready, which really shouldn’t take this long.

Oikawa’s sister lets him in. She confirms that Oikawa’s not sick, which makes the lack of communication even more bizarre. Hajime storms up the stairs, his concern edging into irritation.

“Oi, Shittykawa! What gives?” he asks, bursting into the bedroom.

Immediately he freezes.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawks, shoving away from the other person in his bed and falling to the floor in a tangle of sheets.

Kuroo sits up, bare-chested and pale, clutching the remaining blanket to cover his private area.

They’re naked, clothes scattered on the floor around the bed.

Oikawa’s face is bright red, and he struggles to stand while still being trapped in the sheets.

“Iwa-cha—”

Hajime slams the door shut, spinning away to rest his back against it, his heart racing. What the fuck?

He has no idea what emotion he’s feeling right now. It’s an entire mixing bowl of them, jumbled together and overlapping. Confusion. Anger. Shock.

Pain?

The door flies open again, and Hajime stumbles to keep from falling over. Oikawa’s still wrapped in his sheets, standing there white as a ghost.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” he asks, stepping into the hall and quickly shutting the door behind him.

Hajime stares at him. “Are you fucking serious right now?” he asks, his voice tight.

Oikawa’s eyes widen. “Oh. The birthday dinner . . .”

“Yeah. I was waiting for you. So, it would’ve been great to be given a heads up that you were busy fucking our best friend,” Hajime seethes. The headache is back, pounding hard and fast against his forehead.

Oikawa flinches. “I-I forgot. I’m sorry, Iwa-chan—”

“What the fuck are you even doing?” Hajime asks, desperate to understand what the fuck is going on. “How long have you two been a thing?! Am I just an idiot? Have you been fucking this whole time?!”

“I-It just happened! Right now!” Oikawa insists. “I promise! W-we weren’t hiding anything from you . . .”

Hajime doesn’t know why he’s so angry. It’s not like Oikawa and Kuroo are doing anything wrong. But it just . . . it feels wrong.

He groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Iwa-chan . . .”

Hajime frowns at Oikawa from over his hands. “Kenma’s in love with him, you know,” he says flatly.

Oikawa looks stricken. “I . . . what?”

“Yeah. So. You’re gonna have to deal with the fallout of that now,” Hajime says, lowering his hands. “And don’t ask for my help, because I won’t give it.”

“B-but I mean . . .” Oikawa looks frantically from the bedroom door to Hajime and back again before lowering his gaze to the floor. “We don’t . . . have to tell him.”

Hajime feels sick. “I’m not keeping secrets from Kenma.”

“Y-You don’t have to keep it a secret! But if he doesn’t ask . . . we don’t have to tell him,” Oikawa says desperately. “Please Iwa-chan, I promise I had no idea.”

“You’re a real fucking piece of work, you know that?”

Oikawa flinches, shrinking back against the wall. Something in his expression gives Hajime pause. He won’t meet his gaze, the look of misery on his face completely sincere.

Shit.

Hajime heaves an aggravated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t know,” he concedes after a moment. “Neither does Kuroo, I don’t think. I know neither of you would do anything to intentionally hurt Kenma. So . . . I won’t say anything to him. But I won’t lie to him either. He’s an observant kid, so he’ll probably figure it out on his own. When that happens, I’m not taking sides. You two are on your own to explain it to him.”

Oikawa bites his lip, looking up at him with watery eyes. Without saying anything, he flings his arms around Hajime’s neck, clinging to him tightly.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” he cries, wetting Hajime’s neck with his tears.

Hajime sighs again. After a moment he wraps his arms around Oikawa’s back in return, holding him close. “You don’t have to apologize to me, dumbass,” he mutters softly. “You just . . . really caught me off-guard. I didn’t . . . realize you both were into each other like that.” He swallows down the lump in his throat, feeling it land like a pit in his stomach and sticking there.

Oikawa doesn’t respond, simply nuzzles his face deeper into Hajime’s neck.

“Oi,” Hajime says gently after a moment. “It’s okay if you like him. I mean, you don’t need my permission or anything but . . . I know Kuroo’s a good guy.”

“We’re not dating,” Oikawa mutters, pulling away finally. He wipes at his eyes. “It was just like, um, an experiment,” he says, his cheeks flushed red. “You know, wanting to know what it’s like with a guy . . .”

Hajime blinks. “Oh.” He doesn’t really know what to say to that. “Was it . . . good?” he asks awkwardly, not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Mm. I think so,” Oikawa says.

The door reopens and Kuroo slinks out, fully dressed now, looking shame-faced and guilty.

“Uh, look, Iwaizumi . . .”

“It’s fine, Kuroo,” Hajime says tiredly, waving him off. “Oikawa explained. I don’t really get it, but . . . it’s fine.”

Oikawa and Kuroo exchange a look that Hajime doesn’t understand, and it leaves him feeling somewhat off-kilter. He’s never been on the outside of an Oikawa “Look” before. It makes his stomach squirm uncomfortably.

“We should reschedule dinner,” Kuroo says, staring off at the stairs behind Hajime. “Kenma’s not feeling well, and, you know, considering . . .”

“That’s fine,” Hajime says quickly. “Sorry to hear about Kenma.”

“Yeah.” Kuroo still won’t look at him. Something’s off, but Hajime can’t put his finger on what. It’s frustrating. “Anyway, I should head out. See ya.”

He waves and beats a hasty exit before Hajime can say anything else. He turns back to Oikawa to find him watching Kuroo leave. The pit in his stomach grows larger.

“Oi,” he says, hitting Oikawa lightly on top of the head with the side of his hand. “You should get dressed before your sister sees you and starts asking questions.”

“Oh.” Oikawa blinks down at his state of undress before laughing softly. “Right.” He looks back up at Hajime then, face inscrutable. “Can you stay for dinner?”

Hajime figures there’s nothing else to do. He enjoys Mrs. Oikawa’s cooking, and they always make him feel like part of the family. He thinks he needs that warmth and comfort right now.

“Sure,” he says. “My evening just freed up.”

Oikawa giggles softly despite the depressing topic, and Hajime’s chest feels a bit lighter.

“I’ll be right back out,” Oikawa promises, ducking back into the bedroom.

Hajime leans against the wall to wait, arms crossed over his chest. Now that he’s had a moment to calm down and think rationally, he supposes this really doesn’t have to change the group dynamic. They all still love each other, despite each of their faults, and it’s not like it doesn’t make sense for Oikawa and Kuroo to fall in together, even if just for experimentation.

He does worry about Kenma, though. The poor kid has been pining for Kuroo for years. When he figures out what happened, he’s sure to be devastated, and Hajime’s not looking forward to when everything comes out.

Speaking of Kenma, Hajime remembers what Kuroo said about him not feeling well. Pulling out his phone, he opens his private DMs with Kenma.

[Iwaizumi]
hey. you okay? kuroo said to reschedule the birthday dinner because you’re not feeling well

There’s such a long pause before Kenma’s response, Hajime starts to grow worried.

[Kenma]
im fine

That’s clearly not an okay response, but Hajime hesitates, not knowing what else to say when Kenma obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

[Iwaizumi]
you know i’m here for you. whenever you’re ready just let me know and we can talk.

[Kenma]
(￣ー￣)ｂ

It’s not a super encouraging reply, but Hajime figures that’s all he can do right now. At least Kuroo’s on his way home. Despite the circumstances, he’s always taken good care of Kenma. He’s good at comforting people, too. Much better than Hajime.

“Ready!” Oikawa says, stepping out of the bedroom looking like a new man. There’s no sign of distress or tears on his face. His eyes aren’t even puffy anymore.

“How the fuck?” Hajime mutters.

“It’s my excellent skin care routine. Iwa-chan would also benefit from the effects if he ever listened to me,” Oikawa says, sticking out his tongue and holding up a peace sign in front of his eye. “Sadly, he prefers to be an ugly ogre.”

“I’ll hit you for real,” Hajime warns, lifting his hand.

Oikawa yelps and hops away, and Hajime fights a relieved smile. Oikawa seems back to normal now.

On their way down the stairs, Hajime suddenly remembers what he wanted to talk to Oikawa about after the birthday dinner. Since that’s not happening now . . .

“I’m turning down Aoi-chan’s confession,” he says.

Oikawa pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at Hajime as he reaches the first floor and turns to look up at him.

“Really?” he asks in surprise, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Hajime says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “She’s really cute and all, but I’ve only ever liked her as a friend, and besides you were right about the whole volleyball thing . . .”

“Iwa-chan! You’re not abandoning me!” Oikawa cries out happily, tackling Hajime around the shoulders and rubbing his cheek against his.

“Get off, dumbass! Of course I’m not,” Hajime huffs, irritated that Oikawa ever doubted that. He shoves Oikawa away from him, wiping at the foundation that’s now on his face. “We’re going to Nationals, aren’t we? There’s no time for dating. We still gotta beat Ushiwaka over at Shiratorizawa and it’s gonna take a lot of practice to do that. I was thinking we could do some extra drills after practice, try to get the rest of the team on board, and then . . . what?”

Oikawa’s watching him with another incomprehensible expression. Hajime observes him warily.

“What’s with that face?” he asks, gesturing.

“I’m just . . . really happy Iwa-chan wants to keep playing volleyball with me,” Oikawa says, lighting up with a bright grin.

Hajime turns his gaze away, not entirely sure why his stomach is squirming again. “Idiot. I promised you I would, didn’t I?” The tips of his ears feel warm.

Oikawa holds out his fist. “Let’s go to Nationals, then. Together!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Hajime says, but he bumps his fist lightly against Oikawa’s, unable to contain his own grin now.

Things might be changing, but he still has Oikawa and volleyball, and that’s all that matters.

Chapter Text

Kenma’s out of breath by the time he reaches the house. Still, he manages to climb the stairs and reach his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Bokuto must hear it, because he enters the room a few minutes later, knocking lightly.

“Kenma-kun? Is everything alright? Where’s Tetsu-kun?” he asks worriedly.

“I don’t fucking care,” Kenma spits angrily.

“Whoa, language,” Bokuto says, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair. He looks down at where Kenma lays curled up on his bed, clutching his PSP like a lifeline. After a moment he sits on the edge of the bed and pats Kenma’s foot gently. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Kenma says sullenly.

He feels like an idiot. He knew Kuro only saw him as a little kid, but after his birthday he thought, maybe, he’d be able to make Kuro see how grown up he was. Of course he ended up just crying like a baby, so the whole thing failed.

“Kenma-kun,” Bokuto presses. “Obviously something happened. You can talk to me. Whatever it is, I can fix it!”

Kenma snorts softly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knows Bokuto means well, but this isn’t something he can fix. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Recalling the embarrassing incident alone makes him want to curl further up into a ball and die. He can’t believe he actually begged like that. How pathetic.

“Well, I suppose I can’t get you to talk to me, but know that I’m here, okay? It’s my job to take care of you kids. I worry when you’re not doing well,” Bokuto says, earnest and kind, like always.

Kenma feels bad for acting so rudely when he knows Bokuto’s just trying to help. He forces himself to sit up.

“I’m fine,” he says. After all, it’s not like he’ll die from a broken heart or anything. He just has to get over it somehow. Push through. Shit happens and it sucks, but somehow Kenma always gets through it.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on them. Besides, it’s not like Kuro completely rejected him. He doesn’t return his feelings, but he still loves Kenma, doesn’t he?

Any second now he’s going to come bursting through their bedroom door, apologizing profusely and offering anything to make it up to him. Kenma will get him to buy him some apple pie and a new game for his PSP and things will probably return to normal. Kenma can ignore the pain. He’s good at that. He’s had lots of practice.

Kuro doesn’t burst through the door. Minutes stretch into hours, and Kenma gets a text from Hajime talking about how Kuro canceled the birthday dinner.

Well. That’s fine. Kenma’s not in the mood to celebrate anyway.

But Kuro still doesn’t come home.

Kenma even leaves the bedroom, wondering if Kuro’s hiding downstairs, avoiding him because he feels so guilty. But there’s no sign of him anywhere. Kenma frowns, staring at Daishou who’s sitting on the couch trying to play with a ball and cup, swinging the ball on the string to get it into the cup. He manages to do it more times than not, looking pretty satisfied with himself.

Kenma’s not sure how long he stands there before Daishou looks up and notices him.

“Holy shit! Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been standing here.”

“Geez, you’re pretty creepy, standing there without saying anything. What do you want?”

“Have you seen Kuro?”

Daishou makes a face. “Gross. No. I don’t keep tabs on that guy.”

Kenma sighs. “It’s been hours.”

Daishou frowns. “He didn’t come home with you?”

Kenma hesitates before shaking his head.

“How come?”

Now it’s Kenma’s turn to make a face. He walks over to the couch, slumping down as he takes a seat in the corner. He doesn’t want to tell Daishou about his failed confession, but it’s not like he has anyone else to talk to about it. Besides, he gets the feeling Daishou will be mad at Kuro on principle and Kenma could use the solidarity.

“I kind of . . . confessed to him today,” he admits, picking at a string hanging off the arm of the couch and avoiding Daishou’s gaze. “He rejected me.”

“Really? Huh. I kind of thought you were already dating, not gonna lie,” Daishou says.

Kenma frowns over at him.

Daishou raises his hands. “Hey! It’s a fair assumption! You’re always together and he’s super protective of you and kinda creepily obsessed with you . . .”

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “He’s not obsessed. He just likes taking care of me.”

“Well, why did he say no then?”

Kenma heaves another sigh. “He said he sees me as a kid. He loves me, but like a little brother. Sucks.”

Daishou rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah. I guess I can see that.”

Kenma glares.

Daishou laughs. “What? You want me to get all indignant on your behalf? I don’t give a shit if the two of you are together or not. You guys are fucking annoying.”

Kenma huffs, getting to his feet. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Forget it.”

He turns to leave, but stops short, surprised, as Daishou grabs his hand. He stares down at it for a beat before lifting his gaze to find Daishou looking at him intently.

“For what it’s worth, Kenma-kun, I don’t see you as a kid,” he says, his lips tilting in a slow grin.

Kenma blinks at him, not sure what brought that on and a little nervous that Daishou’s still holding his hand. He can see the wheels turning in Daishou’s head and it’s curiosity that makes him stay, waiting to see what Daishou has to say.

“If you’re mad at him for breaking your heart, I can help you get back at him,” he offers. “I hate that guy. If you want him to suffer, I’m down.”

Somehow Kenma doubts Daishou actually hates Kuro, but the offer is tempting. He tilts his head to the side. “How?”

Daishou’s grin widens. He strokes his thumb across Kenma’s knuckles. His skin is dry, like a snake’s, and it’s not entirely pleasant, but Kenma doesn’t pull away. Yet.

“Remember how angry Kuroo got when I when I was watching you play that game? He hates it when we’re close. So how about we start dating? Not for real, of course; I’m not gay. But it’ll sure get him mad and maybe he’ll see you’re not a little kid anymore too. It’s a win-win. What’d’ya say?”

Kenma stares at him, surprised. He wasn’t expecting that kind of idea. Daishou has a point, though. It will piss Kuro off to see Kenma and Daishou together. But will it make Kuro see Kenma as someone to be desired? As someone worth pursuing? Or will he just pout and complain but allow it to happen?

He imagines Daishou like a dragon, stealing away a princess who then waits for her prince to fight the dragon and win her back. He doesn’t doubt Kuro would fight a dragon for him, but in the end will he declare his love and ask for Kenma’s hand in marriage? Or will he just pat him on the head and tell him not to go playing around with dragons?

It’s a plan that might not work, but Kenma’s tired of being coddled and treated like he can’t take care of himself. Maybe he needed it when he was a baby, or when he first came to the orphanage, but he’s fourteen. He doesn’t need it now.

“Okay,” Kenma says, and now it’s Daishou’s turn to be surprised.

“Really? I didn’t think you’d go for that.”

Kenma shrugs. “If it’s not real, then it’s fine. But we can’t just be together out of nowhere. Kuro will know I’m just trying to get back at him and won’t take it seriously.”

“Okay, so what do you suggest?” Daishou asks curiously.

“You have to court me,” Kenma says, pulling his hand out of Daishou’s finally.

Daishou’s nose wrinkles. “Court you? Gross.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “It won’t be believable if we’re just all of a sudden dating. You have to show interest in me. And then I’ll, you know, soften up to you over time until I accept your feelings.”

Daishou still doesn’t look convinced. “Sounds like a lot of work for something that’s not even real.”

“It’ll make Kuro mad,” Kenma reminds him.

“I’m gonna court your fucking ass off,” Daishou changes his tune immediately with a sharp grin. “But I’m not spending a lot of money on you. I just got a part time job and I’m saving up to get my own place once I graduate.”

“You have to spend some money.”

“If I’m gonna spend money, then I want something in return!” Daishou exclaims.

Kenma sighs. “I don’t have a job.”

“I don’t mean pay me back like that.” His grin turns devious and Kenma’s instantly wary. He taps his lips. “I want a kiss each time I buy you something. Kuroo don’t gotta see it, since we’re starting off slow and everything, but I want a reward for being so gentlemanly.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “That kind of ruins the point of being a gentleman,” he says flatly. “Why do you even want a kiss if Kuro’s not going to see it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Daishou asks, widening his eyes in an attempt to look innocent. It’s a failed attempt. “You’re just so cute, Kenma-kun. You’re the perfect person to practice my kissing on for when I actually get a girlfriend. You look enough like a girl for it to work, I think.”

Kenma scowls. “Now who’s being gross,” he mutters, wishing his cheeks didn’t feel so hot.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you don’t need the practice too. Don’t you wanna be a good kisser when Kuroo finally realizes his feelings for you?” Daishou gives him a sly grin, reaching around Kenma’s waist to tug him closer.

He’s making good points, unfortunately. Kenma doesn’t like it, but he gets the feeling that being a clumsy kisser will just make him look even more like a kid to Kuroo. He doesn’t want that to happen.

“Fine. But you better buy me good shit,” he says finally. “If I don’t like it, I won’t kiss you.”

“I love a challenge,” Daishou says, eyes gleaming.

Kenma really hopes he doesn’t regret this.

Kuro doesn’t return until Kenma’s already in bed for the night. He does his best to sneak in, tiptoeing through the room. He stumbles into their dresser, though, cursing under his breath.

Kenma sits up. “Kuro,” he calls.

There’s silence for a moment before Kuro peeks his head around the partition.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” he asks, eyes downcast.

Kenma hesitates. It hurts, looking at him and remembering how things went, but he also can’t bring himself to be angry when Kuro looks so dejected.

“Where have you been?” he asks instead of answering.

Kuro shuffles his feet some against the floor. “I just . . . went out. Sorry if I worried you.”

Kenma curls his hands into his blanket, clutching tightly. “Kuro . . .”

“I was going to tell you tomorrow, but I might as well say it now . . . but I’m really sorry, Kenma. I . . . I never wanted to hurt you.”

It’s difficult to know how to respond. Kenma is hurt, but he hates seeing Kuro like this. He shoves his feelings down, as deep as he can, wondering if he stifles it hard enough they’ll disappear.

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Kuro lifts his head, frowning faintly. “Don’t do that,” he says sharply, startling Kenma. “Don’t dismiss your feelings. I know I hurt you. If . . . if you hate me, then hate me. Don’t pretend for my sake.”

Kenma inhales shakily. “I don’t hate you,” he says softly.

Kuro approaches hesitantly, dropping to his knees beside the bed. He presses his forehead against the mattress beside Kenma’s leg. His hands come up to clutch the blankets, so close but not yet touching.

“I-I can’t live without you, Kenma. I’m sorry that I’m so selfish. I know I’m asking too much, but please . . . I-I need you.”

Kenma swallows hard, wondering if he should have expected this outcome. For as larger than life as Kuro can seem, he’s still just a boy who lost his parents in a fire and blames himself for it. Who is terrified of losing anyone else he loves. For a moment, he can understand how Kuro can look at him and see the little six-year-old Kenma used to be.

But Kenma isn’t that six-year-old anymore, and he wishes Kuro would realize that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kenma says softly, tentatively reaching out to push his fingers through Kuro’s hair, resting his hand on the back of his hair.

Kuro’s shoulders shake, his fingers gripping the blankets tighter. A sob escapes, startling Kenma.

“Hey,” he says with a faint frown. “Kuro . . . why are you—”

He stiffens, as Kuro suddenly lurches forward, wrapping his arms around him in a suffocating hug. Kenma can feel warm tears leaking onto his neck and soaking his pajama shirt. Exhaling slowly, he rests his hand against Kuro’s back, the other still buried in his hair.

“I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be,” Kuro sobs quietly against him.

Kenma’s struck by the smell of beer on Kuro’s breath. His mom would drink beer sometimes to unwind after a long day. Kenma would find her passed out on the couch when he woke up the next morning and had to make his own breakfast. Who the hell gave a sixteen-year-old beer?

He pets Kuro’s hair and rubs his back for a minute longer before sighing.

“Kuro. Pull yourself together,” he says as firmly as he can.

Kuro sniffles and leans back, wiping at his messy face with the palms and back of his hands. Kenma reaches over to grab some tissues that sit beside his bed, using them to dry off the spots Kuro missed, before wiping off his hands from the snot and tears as well. Kuro hiccups softly, and in the dim orange light peering in from the cracks in the window curtains, he looks eight years old again.

“Stupid,” Kenma mutters, dabbing at his eyes with a fresh tissue. “I promised that I’d stay with you, remember?”

Kuro’s eyes widen. “You mean . . . from back when we were kids?”

Kenma nods. “I meant it. It sucks to get rejected, but . . . even if you never fall in love with me, I’m staying with you.”

Kuro bites his lip, his eyes filling with tears again. Kenma wrinkles his nose, as Kuro buries his face in his chest, hunched forward as he holds onto Kenma’s pajama shirt.

“You’re a clingy drunk,” Kenma says, shaking his head even as he moves to lay down, tugging Kuro so that he’s lying beside him, head still on his chest.

It’s reminiscent of how they used to sleep, back on their small futons on the floor of this room, with Tooru and Hajime beside them. Kenma’s chest aches, and he strokes his fingers gently against Kuro’s arm.

“It’s not fair,” Kuro mutters softly. “I’m the one who hurt you and here you are comforting me. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Kenma says truthfully. If he gets to hold Kuro like this, he doesn’t care about the circumstances. He pets Kuro’s hair gently. “Go to sleep. You’re going to have a headache tomorrow.”

Kuro groans, nuzzling his face in Kenma’s chest. “Bokuto-san’s going to kill me,” he moans.

“We’ll just tell him you’re sick.”

Kuro doesn’t scold him about the lie. His breaths slowly start to even out and within minutes he’s snoring softly. Kenma stares up at the ceiling in the dark, not sure how his life came to this and wondering if it’s really worth the bother. He should just stop having feelings for Kuro. He stopped feeling sad about his mom, so it should work.

Only . . .

Kenma bites his lip, the gnawing, hungry monster rising from the pit of his stomach, climbing into his chest, sitting on his lungs. He’s being crushed. It’s hard to breathe. Reaching for his PSP, he turns the volume down and stares up at the screen. He focuses on the dialogue boxes, on the familiar twists and turns of the map, the battle encounters with various creatures.

Slowly, the monster on his chest crawls away, burrowing deep in his gut once more. He doesn’t know why it keeps escaping at the worst times. He’s getting tired of pushing it back over and over.

She didn’t love you enough. That’s why she left.

Kuro doesn’t love you back. He’ll leave too.

He pushes the thoughts down, down to be gobbled up by the monster in his stomach. He shuts the door and locks it, and it’s only then that he’s able to fall asleep, the PSP slipping out of his fingers to the side of his pillow, his arm falling to wrap around Kuro’s shoulders.

“I’m staying with you,” he murmurs before the darkness claims him.

Tooru’s conflicted. On the one hand, sex with Tetsun was fun, if a little awkward at first. They hadn’t gone all the way, both too nervous for that and without the proper tools to do so, but the stuff they did do felt really, really good. On the other hand, Iwa-chan’s reveal about Kenma’s feelings for Tetsun makes him feel guilty. Especially because he’s not sure if it changes anything for him.

He wants to keep doing things with Tetsun. For that single hour, his mind was blissfully silent. Yes, it would be better if it was Iwa-chan, but Tooru loves Tetsun too, if not in the same way, and the distraction was worth it. Probably.

But he knows Iwa-chan’s right. If Kenma finds out, and he does have feelings for Tetsun, then this might ruin their friend group dynamic.

Tooru determines he should find out for himself if it’s true. He doesn’t think Iwa-chan was lying, but maybe he just misinterpreted something Kenma said. The guy is clueless when it comes to love, so it’s possible.

They reschedule the birthday dinner to the following week, and once the four of them meet outside the restaurant, Tooru reaches out to tug on Kenma’s sleeve, while the other two continue inside.

“Kenma-chan, stay and talk to me for a sec,” he says, trying to smile in a way that doesn’t look like he’s up to something

Kenma looks up at him warily, so that failed.

Tooru decides to get right to the point. “Are you in love with Tetsun?” he asks, leaning forward to get a closer look at Kenma’s face.

Kenma’s eyes widen, almost imperceptivity, but Tooru catches it in an instant. He snaps his fingers in triumph.

“Aha! So you are,” he says, proud of himself for guessing correctly despite the complications this brings.

“Shh,” Kenma hushes him, glancing toward the front of the restaurant, a light blush rising to his cheeks.

It’s pretty cute, though Tooru realizes it doesn’t really help the situation. He taps on his chin lightly, not entirely sure what to do next. Now that he knows the truth, can he manipulate things so nobody gets hurt? He hasn’t gotten the sense that Tetsun harbors feelings for Kenma in that way or even knows about Kenma’s feelings for him. He certainly didn’t give anything away last week.

Then again, now that Tooru thinks about it, he has no idea why Tetsun suddenly showed up at his house that day. He was so wrapped up in his own woe, he forgot to ask. Tetsun hasn’t brought anything up either so maybe it was nothing?

Or maybe . . .

“Have you told him?” Tooru asks curiously, eyes still fixed on Kenma’s face.

Kenma lowers his head, blocking his face from view with his hair. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t see me like that.”

Tooru feels a twinge of sympathy in his chest. He hesitates, glancing toward the doors of the restaurant, seeing Iwa-chan and Tetsun inside speaking with the hostess. They both pause, glancing to the side, before turning to look back. Tooru raises his hand with a grin, waving them off.

“Unrequited love is tough,” Tooru admits absently, watching as Iwa-chan nods and continues to their table with the hostess. Tetsun hesitates a moment longer, eyes trained on Kenma, before he turns and follows.

Kenma says nothing in response, but he doesn’t seem surprised at Tooru’s roundabout admission. Tooru wonders if he should have suspected Kenma would pick up on his feelings for Iwa-chan, considering how perceptive the other is. Still, it’s a little annoying that he doesn’t get a reaction, wondering if everyone except Iwa-chan knows. Is his best friend really that dense?

Tooru heaves a giant sigh. “Well. It can’t be helped, you know? We can’t change people’s feelings for us, no matter how badly we want it to be possible. The best thing to do is to move on. Find someone else to like. I’m sure it won’t be hard for us. I mean, look at us. We’re the best looking and most talented of the group.” He gives Kenma a grin, flipping a peace sign up by his eye.

Kenma stares back at him, unamused. Tooru forces a laugh, draping his arm across Kenma’s shoulders.

“I know you and Tetsun have been basically inseparable since you came to us, so it must be hard for you. I sympathize. If you need any flirting tips, I’m here for you! We’ll make a heartthrob of you yet!” He ruffles Kenma’s hair.

Kenma ducks away with a frown. “I don’t want that,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t have to try and cheer me up, Tooru. I’m fine.”

“Oh? Really?” Tooru asks with a tight smile. “Hm. You must be better at compartmentalizing than me.”

Kenma says nothing. Tooru gets the feeling Kenma’s not as ‘fine’ as he claims. The kid’s always been good at hiding his emotions when he wants to. Tooru’s not sure he’s ever seen Kenma cry even once. It’s probably not healthy to bottle all those feelings inside, but Tooru knows he’s not really in a position to lecture him about it.

He certain now that they can’t let Kenma find out about him and Tetsun. At least, not until Tooru is sure Kenma’s moved on. He’s still young and has high school ahead of him. Surely, he’ll meet some nerd who’s cute and loves video games and everything will be solved.

Tooru hopes so, at least.

“Oi! You two coming or what?” Iwa-chan pokes his head out from within the restaurant, frowning at the two of them in confusion.

“Awww, Iwa-chan, do you miss us?” Tooru asked with a teasing grin.

Iwa-chan’s face grows red. “Get your ass in here or I’m telling the server you’re allergic to shellfish.”

“Ack,” Tooru laughs, heading for the door. “Okay, okay, we’re coming.”

Iwa-chan huffs and ducks back into the restaurant. Before Tooru can open the door, he feels a tug on his sleeve. Turning, he looks down to see Kenma looking up at him seriously.

“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “Hajime really loves you.”

Tooru smiles, a genuine one this time. “I know,” he admits. He’s not sure if that makes it easier or harder.

They enter the restaurant and meet up with Iwa-chan and Tetsun at their table. Kenma slips into the seat beside Tetsun before Tooru can consider where he wants to sit. He narrows his eyes briefly, not sure if that was for Kenma’s benefit or his own. Still, he doesn’t mind sitting next to Iwa-chan. In fact, he prefers being as close as possible, even if Iwa-chan pretends he doesn’t like it.

He hopes he’s pretending, at least.

If Iwa-chan notices anything off about Tooru, he doesn’t let on. Things feel awkward at first, before Kenma huffs loudly and tells everyone to stop acting weird, which causes Tetsun to protest so dramatically, it makes Iwa-chan snicker, which sets Tooru off, and soon the tension breaks as they all fall into laughter.

Of course, things are okay between them. They’re a family. Despite the changes and the hormones and the anxiety, they all love each other. That’s never going to change; Tooru is certain of it.

He tries to ignore his attraction toward Tetsun in the following days. Tetsun doesn’t initiate anything with him, he barely even talks to him, so Tooru tells himself to focus on volleyball. At least he knows that will never let him down or abandon him.

Until it does.

Perhaps it’s karma that causes him to land badly on the court during a practice match. He’s in the air, chasing after a ball that went wide after a messy receive. He tries to get under it, to set it toward Iwa-chan. He manages to toss it, but then he crashes to the floor, his knee twisting under him, and white-hot pain shoots through his leg. He screams.

He doesn’t remember much of what happens after. The court erupts into chaos, his teammates rushing toward him. He hears Iwa-chan’s voice, feels his familiar hands on his shoulders, and he leans into the touch, burying his face into Iwa-chan’s neck as the pain continues to burn.

The next thing he knows he’s lying in a hospital bed, his leg wrapped and extended in front of him, hanging in some kind of sling. His brain feels foggy, and he blinks a couple times as his surroundings slowly register. He’s hooked up to beeping machines, the blanket covering him feels scratchy and uncomfortable, and Iwa-chan is slumped in the chair beside the bed, eyes closed.

Immediately, Tooru’s own eyes fill with tears. His mouth feels dry, and it takes him a couple tries to croak out Iwa-chan’s name.

Iwa-chan’s eyes snap open, and he quickly gets out of the chair, stepping over to the bed.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice sounding strained. “How are you feeling?”

“Weird,” Tooru admits. He blinks down at his suspended leg. “What happened?”

“You tore some ligament in your knee,” Iwa-chan says, running a hand through his hair. “Your parents are talking to the doctors . . . fuck, Tooru, you scared the shit out of me.”

A laugh bubbles out of Tooru before he can suppress it. He doesn’t know why it does. Iwa-chan’s eyes widen some with alarm.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks desperately. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously, I’m not!” Tooru exclaims, gesturing to his leg. His laughter fades to hiccups, as tears begin to slip from his eyes. “I’m being punished. This is because I had sex with Tetsun when Kenma’s in love with him.”

Iwa-chan frowns. “That’s stupid,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re not being punished.”

“Volleyball is all I have, Iwa-chan! If I can never play again . . .”

“Don’t think like that. You’ll be fine. Probably need to do some physical therapy, but then you’ll be able to play again.” Iwa-chan’s voice is firm and reassuring, and he reaches out to grip Tooru’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It . . . might take some time, but you’re the most dedicated player I’ve ever seen. You’ll play again.”

Tooru hiccups softly again, taking Iwa-chan’s hand from his shoulder and pressing it against his cheek. It’s hard to believe his words but just having him here helps.

“Besides,” Iwa-chan mutters softly. “Volleyball isn’t everything you have, dumbass. You have me.”

Tooru’s breath catches in his throat. He lifts his head, and Iwa-chan looks away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“I just mean, like, you know, me and Kuroo and Kenma . . . your parents and sister . . . people who love you.”

Tooru grins slowly. “Did you just say you love me?” he asks, his heart skipping a beat. He knows Iwa-chan probably doesn’t mean it like that, but just hearing it makes his chest feel warm and full and like maybe the future isn’t as bleak as feels right now.

Iwa-chan’s cheeks grow pink, which delights Tooru even more. “Shut up, you know what I mean,” he says, shaking his head.

Before Tooru can ask what does he mean, his parents and the doctor enter the room. Iwa-chan steps back, his hand slipping out of Tooru’s, and he feels an ache replace the warmth in his chest, even as his parents fuss over him, his mother taking his face in her hands to kiss his forehead.

The doctor goes over his recovery plan, and his parents schedule him for physical therapy. They all seem optimistic that he’ll be able to play volleyball again if he takes care of himself. Tooru’s distracted, watching Iwa-chan back away toward the door, his breath catching, afraid the other will leave. Their eyes meet from across the room, and Tooru tries to beg Iwa-chan to stay with just his gaze. Iwa-chan seems to get the message because he hesitates before nodding, once, and he moves back to sit in the chair.

Tooru feels a wave of relief and can’t help but smile.

They release him after his follow up appointments are scheduled, Iwa-chan riding with them back to the Oikawa house. Tetsun and Kenma are waiting there, and Tooru feels more relief when Tetsun grabs him in a tight hug.

“Iwaizumi texted us what happened,” he says, pulling away and looking at Tooru worriedly. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need help inside? Stairs might be difficult, huh? I can carry you.”

Tooru’s dad chuckles. “We’ll set him up in the guest room downstairs,” he assured them. “No need to worry about stairs for now.”

Tetsun nods, looking relieved.

Iwa-chan steps forward to wrap his arm around Tooru’s waist despite the crutches he’s using. “Let’s get you inside,” he says, his voice oddly gruff.

Kenma tugs Tetsun out of the way, and the two follow the group inside. Iwa-chan helps Tooru hobble over to the couch, grabbing a pillow and dragging the low table closer to prop his leg up gently.

“Set alarms on your phone to remember to take your meds,” he says then.

“Iwa-chan, are you my mom?” Tooru asks with a faint grin, thinking it’s pretty cute that the other’s helping him so much.

Iwa-chan frowns irritably, picking up another couch pillow to smack him in the face with it.

“Ack! Assault on the injured!” Tooru cries, throwing his arms up to shield himself.

Kenma sits down next to him, holding out his old 3DS. “I thought you might get bored while you’re resting,” he says, not looking at him.

Tooru takes the game console carefully, knowing how big of a deal it is for the other to share this with him. “Thanks, Kenma-chan. I’ll take good care of it,” he promises.

Tetsun sits on the other side of Kenma, looking across at him. “Whatever you need, just let us know, okay?” he says earnestly.

Tooru nods, suddenly feeling a lot better than he had when he first woke in the hospital room. Despite the obvious unpleasant situation, he still has his friends, just like Iwa-chan said. He has confidence that, with their encouragement, he’ll get back on the court before long and still take his team to Nationals. He won’t accept anything less. He’ll make them all proud of him.

His parents want him to get his rest, so they ask his friends to come back to visit tomorrow. Before Tetsun can leave, Tooru grabs his wrist.

“Are we okay?” he asks hopefully, biting his lip.

Tetsun looks down at him, conflict evident in his gaze, and Tooru suddenly realizes that Kenma must have told him about his feelings, otherwise he surely wouldn’t be this tense around him. Right? There’s no other reason why he would avoid him, surely. The sex had been fun and good, hadn’t it?

“Yeah of course,” Tetsun says softly.

“Then stop avoiding me. Please,” Tooru begs softly. “I miss you.”

Tetsun sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I miss you too,” he says. He pulls his wrist back, just enough to take Tooru’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “Sorry. I’ve been in my head about shit. It’s not your fault, I promise.”

“It was fun, right? I mean, what we did . . .” Tooru keeps his voice low, not wanting his parents to overhear him.

Tetsun smiles and nods. “Yeah, it was,” he assures him. “We’re good, Oikawa, I promise. I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay . . .” Tooru really hopes he’s telling the truth.

Tetsun pulls away, joining Kenma at the door, who waves briefly before the two leave. Iwa-chan continues to linger, watching with an unreadable expression.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says after a moment of silent staring.

“Okay,” Tooru says with a nod.

“Take your meds. Don’t stay up too late.”

Tooru grins. “Yes, Mom.”

Iwa-chan rolls his eyes. “Just do what the fuck you need to do to get back on the court, okay? No shortcuts, no overextending yourself. I’m gonna be watching you, so you better take care of yourself.” He points at Tooru. “Or I’ll kick your ass.”

Tooru laughs, his chest feeling lighter. He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Goodnight, Iwa-chan.”

Iwa-chan lowers his hand, hesitating a moment longer before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Night . . . Shittykawa.”

Despite the nickname, Tooru smiles.