Chapter Text
“You’ll understand, one day,” Kenma’s mother tells him as she heaps dinner onto his plate. “Having a Soulmate is about more than being able to see colors.”
“They’re a life companion,” his father chimes in, looking at his mother with an expression of open adoration. “Someone that you share experiences, emotions, fears, hopes, and dreams with.”
Kenma wrinkles his nose at the grey mass of food on his plate, poking at it gingerly with chopsticks. He told his mom he wasn’t really that hungry, but she always serves him too much anyway. Something about being a ‘growing boy.’ He’s twelve, and already thinks he’s heard enough talk of Soulmates to last him a lifetime.
The anticipation hangs thick in the air, his parents waiting for Kenma to react, to acknowledge what they’re saying. Kenma ignores it. They’ve said the same things before, and honestly, Kenma isn’t convinced that having a Soulmate wouldn’t be … terrifying.
From a young age, Kenma has avoided eye-contact. Even before he knew about Soulmates and seeing in color, he was shy and preferred looking at his Velcro shoes to his classmates’ faces.
Thinking it would encourage him socially, the family pediatrician suggested that Kenma’s parents have the Soulmate talk with Kenma a little early, but focus on the seeing color part to draw him out. At first, Kenma was intrigued by the nebulous idea of colors. What were they like? What did they do? How could they already exist but he couldn’t see them?
For about two weeks, six-year-old Kenma would go around grabbing his classmates’ faces and stare them down, trying to make the colors appear. The other students didn’t understand what he was doing, and he wasn’t able to explain colors any better than his parents had.
“They fill in the spaces with… brightness,” Kenma said, “instead of grey.”
His classmates tilted their heads and scrunched their eyebrows in confusion.
“Let’s ask Ama-chan!” A girl with spikey pigtails suggested after a beat of silence.
Their teacher, Ama-chan, was more than a little concerned that her six-year-old students were asking about Soulmates and colors. This was a topic that most schools, if they even taught it, waited until puberty to officially address.
“I’m not trained for this!” Ama-chan had told Kenma’s mother at a parent-teacher conference. “He’s disrupting the class with these topics, and I don’t find it appropriate for children so young. What you teach Kenma-kun at home is your business,” she said, pursing her lips, “but please keep it out of the classroom.”
Kenma was sat next to his mother on a little plastic chair, swinging his legs gently while the adults talked. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong, why Ama-chan was scolding his mother, but he figured it must have been something bad. He didn’t look up from his shoes the whole time.
At home, Kenma’s mother sat him down once more and told him he had to stop trying to make the colors appear.
“They’ll come on their own,” she said. “You just have to look at people normally,” she said gently. She tilted his chin up until he reluctantly raised his eyes to his mother’s face. “See? Just like this.”
Kenma averted his eyes as quickly as he could.
His mother sighed. “Do you understand, Kenma? I know it’s confusing, but do you understand that you can’t talk about this at school anymore?”
He nodded.
“You’re a good boy, Kenma. I’m sorry that this… Well, I’m sorry that this was so confusing. Now go wash up for dinner, alright? Your father will be home any minute.”
Kenma’s social experiment officially forbidden, he reverted right back to avoiding eye contact and not speaking to anyone for long periods of time. He couldn’t talk about the colors anymore, so he didn’t have much to talk about.
Kenma watched, always a keen observer, but was careful to never make eye contact with anyone. If the colors were forbidden, then there was no reason to have a Soulmate.
As he gets older, his peers are all abuzz about Soulmates. Girls bat long eyelashes, hoping to catch an eye; boys try to out-brave each other by challenging others to a staring contest.
Kenma continues to keep to himself, head down and dark bangs grown out long enough to cover his face even more. He’s never been much concerned with his appearance, because quite frankly he doesn’t even want to make eye contact with himself in a mirror.
He’s vaguely aware of some of his peers claiming they’ve met their Soulmate already. These stories, if they’re even true, are so heavily embellished that Kenma can’t even begin to take them seriously. It does nothing but convince him even further that Soulmates are a waste of time and energy.
Partially to placate his parents, partially for something to do, Kenma joins the volleyball team in his first year of middle school. He’s not really sure why he does, but he knows his parents will leave him alone if he joins a club, so he wanders around to find a club that looks minimally social but convincing enough for his parents.
He’s about to sign up for the gaming club when a boy gently waves a flier in front of his face.
“Interested in volleyball?” he asks, the grin so big on his face that Kenma can hear it.
Kenma is really not interested in volleyball. He’s played in gym class, and it was alright, but he has no real interest in running around and getting sweaty voluntarily.
He’s about to move away when the guy, who’s actually pretty tall, talks to him again, quieter this time. “You seem observant. Focused. Those are good traits in a volleyball player. Have you played before?”
For reasons Kenma isn’t sure of, he replies. “Only in gym class.”
“Well, it’s never too late to start! I’m Kuroo Tetsurou,” he says to introduce himself. “I’m a second year middle blocker, and I’d love it if you joined our club.”
“Why?” Kenma asks, taken aback.
This guy doesn’t know him at all; it seems suspicious to Kenma that he’d be scouting someone quiet, scrawny, and not very tall to the volleyball team. Kenma carefully traces his eyes from the floor to Kuroo’s shoes, up his legs and torso quickly, finding his shoulders and picks a spot on Kuroo’s chin to look at. It’s a trick he’s picked up over the years to make people feel like he’s looking at them without him risking eye contact.
Plus, this way, he can see a little bit of Kuroo’s facial expressions and perhaps determine his sincerity.
“I told you,” Kuroo says easily, “you look like you’re in the zone. Intense eyes. We need some diversity on the team. Not everybody who plays volleyball is tall and muscular.”
Kenma feels a momentary panic when Kuroo mentions his eyes, so he looks away immediately, back down at the floor where it’s safe.
“Aren’t they?” Kenma recovers.
“Nah. It’s helpful to be tall if you’re a middle blocker like me, but liberos need to be low and agile, and setters can be any height as long as they’re good with their hands and have a good head on their shoulders. Spikers… well spikers are usually tall, but hey, believe to achieve.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“Eh, I guess, but it’s fun. I’m pretty competitive, so it’s exciting to fight for points and win matches!”
Kuroo is grinning again, or perhaps he never stopped.
Kenma is off-balance. He’s not used to having a conversation with anyone besides his parents or a teacher, but it’s more than that. Kuroo is talking to him like a normal person: no comments about how he won’t make eye contact, no jibes at his quiet demeanor. In fact, Kuroo almost seems to view these traits as a positive, somehow.
“Well, how about you take a flyer?” Kuroo suggests, extending the paper once more toward Kenma. “Come check out a practice, see if you have fun. I think you’ll like it, and I think you’d be good at it. I’ve got a good eye for these things, you know.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kenma finds himself agreeing.
“Great. I’ll see you there, first year!” Kuroo laughs.
Kenma almost asks how Kuroo knows he’s a first year, but thinks better of it. He supposes it’s pretty obvious. Kuroo moves on, looking for more potential volleyball players, and Kenma walks away from the gaming club table without picking up a form.
Sports really aren’t his thing, but he’s intrigued. Kenma’s not sure if it’s the volleyball or Kuroo himself that’s swaying his interest, but he figures it doesn’t matter. He’s joining a club to appear sociable: maybe, around Kuroo, he actually could be.
The gym is already set up for volleyball when Kenma arrives: nets are up, large baskets on wheels of balls are lined up neatly along the sidelines, and the bleachers have been pulled out for spectators.
Kenma finds a seat a few rows from the top of the bleachers so he can observe without really interacting with anyone. When he gets settled, Kuroo is already waving to him. Careful as always to not make eye contact, even from this far away, Kenma offers a weak wave back.
The coach calls to Kuroo to do something and Kuroo’s attention snaps back to the court.
Kenma watches the team do their warm ups, stretching, and a few drills. He watches Kuroo closest of all and muses that, to the untrained eye at least, he seems quite talented. Natural athleticism and height combined with skills he’s been developing for at least a year made Kuroo fun to watch. He’s flashy and a bit obnoxious, but Kenma is drawn to his energy and the focus he has for the sport.
After about an hour, the coach announces that official team practice is over for today, and that they’ll hold an open gym for anyone interested in the club but not yet a member. The team members will stay and socialize, instruct, and scout out promising players.
Kenma takes this as his cue to leave, since he doesn’t really know how to play the sport. Grabbing his bag, he tries to make a quick exit.
“Hey, wait!”
There’s no name, but somehow, Kenma knows Kuroo is talking to him. He stops, ducks his head down, and turns around.
“Aren’t you gonna give it a go?” Kuroo asks with that audible grin on his face again. His body language says confident, like he knows Kenma is going to give in.
“I don’t really know how to play,” Kenma reminds him.
“That’s alright. The basics are simple enough, and you’ll pick it up in no time, I bet.”
Kenma’s upper teeth tug at a loose piece of skin on his lower lip.
“If you don’t like it after five minutes, I’ll let you leave,” Kuroo bargains.
“You’re certainly persistent,” Kenma says, and it feels like he’s giving in.
“I told you, I’ve got a good eye for these things. C’mon, I’ll help you out.”
Reluctantly, Kenma puts his bag back on the bleachers and pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, following Kuroo nervously over to the court.
“Alright, first-year, let’s just start with a basic pass. I’ll toss it up to you, and you hit it however you want back to me. Sound good?”
“Kozume,” Kenma replies.
“Eh?”
“Don’t call me first-year. My name is Kozume. Kenma,” he adds.
“Alright then, Kozume-kun. You ready?”
Kenma shrugs noncommittally and adopts a stance similar to what he saw the team doing earlier. Kuroo tosses the striped ball up in the air, and Kenma watches it carefully. It arcs pleasantly to almost exactly where he’s standing, so he puts his hands up over his head and—
The volleyball lands directly on his nose.
“Ow,” Kenma whines.
"Are you alright?" Kuroo asks while attempting not to laugh, one hand covering his mouth and the other clutching his stomach.
“I told you I’m no good at this,” Kenma complains.
“That was just your first try! Give it another go,” Kuroo urges. “Hands a little closer together, and a bit firmer. If they’re too floppy it’ll just break right through your arms and hit you.”
“You don’t say,” Kenma says dryly.
“Here we go,” Kuroo announces, and Kenma takes up the stance again. Why is he doing this? He wonders as Kuroo lobs the ball in the air.
Again, the ball arcs right over his head, but this time he puts his hands so close they’re almost touching and makes them stiff as boards. The ball lands on his hands with a slap, bouncing only a few centimeters off his palms and dropping to the floor.
“That was closer!” Kuroo enthuses. “That time you were a bit too stiff. When the ball hits your hands, try to push back at it. Here, actually, why don’t you toss one to me and I’ll show you what I mean.”
He tosses the ball to Kenma, who surprises himself by catching it. He spins it a bit nervously in his hands, feeling the smooth leather under his fingers. It’s not heavy, like a basketball, but it’s not soft like he thought it would be.
Keeping his eyes on the ball, he tosses it up in the air as Kuroo had done, and watches as he positions himself under the toss, hands up and waiting. He then cradles the ball in his fingertips for a split second before straightening his elbows and pushing the ball back up into the air.
Kenma watches the movement carefully, and tries to surreptitiously mimic the motion.
The pass that Kuroo hit had gone straight up above his head, so he catches it and looks back to Kenma.
Kenma focuses his sight on the ball in Kuroo’s hands.
“Did seeing it help?” Kuroo asks.
“Guess we’ll find out,” Kenma says with an almost-smirk.
“That’s the spirit!” Kuroo laughs sincerely. “Alright, here we go. Third time’s the charm, and all that.”
Kuroo tosses he ball up and over to Kenma, and Kenma does his best to cushion the impact of the ball with his fingertips and launch the ball to Kuroo.
It makes it about halfway to him.
“Hey, there you go!” Kuroo says. “That’s what we’re looking for.”
“Sorry, I’m not very strong,” Kenma mumbles.
“That’s alright. If you join the team, you’ll get a little stronger just from drills and stuff. Plus, your technique will get better, and you won’t need so much power from your arms. There’s a whole art to setting, man.”
Kenma crosses his arms self-consciously over his chest.
“Whaddya say?” Kuroo asks after a moment. “Wanna keep playing?”
Kenma considers for a moment, then nods.
There are worse decisions he could make than joining the volleyball club.
By the end of the open gym time, Kenma has got a decent set figured out, tried a couple of receives, and managed to serve the ball over the net four times.
Kuroo is thrilled with his progress, and offers him a high-five before he goes.
“So, you gonna fill out one of those club forms, Kozume-kun?”
“I guess,” Kenma says with a shrug and wiping the sweat from his brow. Ick.
Kuroo grins. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then!”
Kenma nods, shoulders his bag, and leaves the gym.
He takes the long way home, and when his mother asks why he’s so late, he simply says that he joined a club.
“That’s wonderful, Kenma! Which club is it? Did you meet new people? Is it interesting? Do you like the advisor?”
He fixes her chin with a glare.
“Sorry, sorry, too many questions. But which club is it?”
“Volleyball,” he says after a moment.
“Volleyball? You went out for a sports team?” she asks, surprised.
“Mm.”
“I’m… Well, I’m impressed, dear. Good for you. When you’re feeling up for it, I’d love to hear more about it.”
“I’m gonna go do some homework,” Kenma says.
“Alright, I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
“Mm.”
Kenma jogs up the stairs and closes his door. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he pulls the club form from his bag. It’s a bit crumpled, so he smooths it out before filling it in.
The form is straightforward—name, class, prior experience, height—until he gets to the last question which asks what his goal is for joining the club.
What is his goal? He doesn’t think “appeasing my parents” is a reason he should be sharing with the coach and advisor, but he also doesn’t want to lie and say something like, “to get better at volleyball.”
He eventually goes with “to learn new skills,” because maybe socializing can count as a skill, and it’s the best answer he can think of that’s still truthful.
He folds the form up and tucks it back in his bag. He doesn’t really have any homework (he finished his only assignment on his lunch break), so he pulls out his DS until his mother calls him down.
She asks him about volleyball again, and he answers in the shortest way possible.
He doesn’t mention that he may have made a sort of friend.
Not yet.