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“No.”
“Huh?”
“I said no.”
Kuroo’s eyes never left up their intensity, staring Kenma down and locking him in place. Every move, every twitch, seemed to only make those golden eyes sharpen more, making him increasingly more uncomfortable with every passing second.
Kenma shifted again. “You can’t just say..no..” He trailed off, avoiding eye contact with one of the few people he trusted. This was a mistake. He should have commenced this break up down the street where he could flee to his house if things had gone south, but, well, he didn't expect things to end like this. He thought it would end on good terms, Kuroo might have been hurt but after a week or two he would have gotten over it. Because after all, why would anyone be heartbroken over him?
Now he was standing stock-still, regretting this more than he probably regretted anything in his life.
Kuroo looked ready to kill him
“Well,” Kuroo growled. “I just did. What are you going to do about it?”
Kenma shifted again, looking at his feet, the wall, at the computer, anywhere except-
His vision jerked as his chin was yanked roughly, now looking at the last thing in the world he wanted too. Their eyes locked, and Kenma felt a shiver travel down his spine at the intensity in his eyes.
“Was it something I did?” Kuroo asked, voice sorrowful compared to his frightening expression. Kenma frantically shook his head as much as he could with the painful grip. “No? Good.”
No, he corrected himself, that was the worst decision of his life.
“Grab your games and your phone.” Kuroo ordered, and Kenma was too terrified to disobey him.
Once his chin was let go, he stumbled and almost fell, but quickly scrambled up to his bag, feeling those golden eyes on him the entire time. Half-scared that Kuroo would break them, he hesitantly brought out the requested items.
Kuroo immediately snatched the phone, fingers sliding it off with a precise swip. Leaving the Vita and DS alone, Kuroo instead latched onto his upper arm with a grip that was sure to leave bruises, started dragging him to the far side of Kuroo’s room, and with a dawning horrified realization, his open closet. “Until you learn your lesson,” Kuroo began, voice deceptively bright. “And apologize to me, you're going to have some time to reflect on your actions.”
The only sign Kenma received was the grip on his arm tightening, before Kuroo swung and he was hurled into the closet, his back smacking against the wall with a loud cry, game systems clattering to the ground.
He slumped on his knees, dazed. He glanced up to once more meet those golden eyes, which still held that unfamiliar glint.
“And you won’t be leaving here till then.”
With a final click, the double doors swung shut.
Day One:
It wasn’t so bad at first.
Kenma had his electronics at the very least, and some clothes to use as bedding. The first night, after breaking out of his daze, he had desperately banged against the door, until Kuroo had told him with a sickly sweet voice, that under any circumstances, he continue to ‘misbehave’ and alert Kuroo’s parents to his situation, that he would break his legs, bone by bone, until he could never walk the same ever again.
Kenma shut up pretty quickly after that.
Kuroo was at school, leaving him locked in the dark closet. He had promised through the wooden doors that he would let him out tonight so he could pee and to feed him, and to stay ‘good.’
He left the room humming.
Kenma cried.
He couldn’t help it. His entire world was falling down around his ears, all crumbling away to closed doors and crazed golden eyes. The closet door wouldn’t give no matter how many time he shoved against it, the pressing never-ending darkness making him hyperventilate.
“I want to go home,” He sobbed, fist lightly knocking against the wood before he gave up and slumped to the ground.
Home didn’t exist for him anymore. It wasn’t like there was anyone there who would notice his disappearance anyhow.
He cried on and off for the better part of the day, having to check the time on his DS frequently. Kenma abstained from playing with the games, wanting to save the battery. Instead, he attempted to plan.
Kuroo wanted him to beg for forgiveness, for him to admit that he was wrong and for them to get back together. The reality of the situation was that Kenma wasn’t sorry, that he wasn’t wrong. When they had initially got together, two weeks ago, Kuroo had confessed and he simply thought Kuroo would get over whatever this was faster if he tried it out. But he had miscalculated, and Kuroo only seemed more in love with him by the day.
Kenma would have to lie his way out of this, and he was never a great liar.
Sighing, he leaned his head against the opposing cold wall. Kuroo kept his closet pretty clean, if bare, at the very least. A few coats were originally hung up, that Kenma had long ago dragged down to the far side to made sleeping at least a little bit comfortable. A couple of boxes were stacked on top of the shelf, but he already knew that all they were filled with were things Kuroo didn’t want broadcasted around his room but couldn’t bear to throw away.
There was a frightening amount of pictures of Kenma.
Said person jerked out of his musings when he heard the bedroom door open, and- “I’m home, Kenma!”
He didn’t respond, only curling up further into a fetal position. His bones seemed ready to tremble right off.
“Kenma?” Kuroo walked closer, before stopping in front of the doors. “Are you awake?”
The blonde whimpered.
“You are!” Crowned Kuroo, relief evident. “But Kenma….”
He stiffened.
“When I come home, I expect you to respond. Now Kenma.”
Muffling a sob, he ignored the tears running down his face and with as much strength as his trembling voice could muster, he croaked “Welcome home Kuro.”
Kuroo laughed, voice light as he walked away from the door. “There you go Kenma, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Just remember to respond every day, or else you’ll have to be punished.”
Kenma covered his mouth, quieting the sobs threatening to break out against the hopelessness of the situation.
Day Three:
The school was started to get worried, Kuroo told him cheerfully as they ate dinner together through the door. They had asked Kuroo about Kenma, for which he just said that the blonde wasn’t answering the door or his texts.
Kenma just pushed some more rice around his plate, staring with empty eyes at the small meal. He should eat, he knows logically, since he seems to have been limited to one meal a day, but he just couldn’t bring himself to.
It had been ninety six hours since he officially went missing.
The fact was the only thing he could focus on. He ate a tasteless bite when Kuroo’s chatter picked up, cueing him being closer to finishing his meal. He didn’t want to make Kuroo mad, having learned the hard way that even the smallest of things can set him off.
His wrist still twinges in pain, every now and again.
Kenma shoved some more food down when he heard the plate being set down. He didn’t even have to be told anymore on what to do, quietly sliding the plate through the crack under the door. If he was lucky, sometimes a faint light would leak under the door and illuminate the room enough that he could see his fingers.
When Kuroo left him to wash the dishes, he slumped over himself, bones aching. He had tried to get into the habit of walking back and forth to avoid stiffness, but it seemed almost inevitable against both his laziness and the small space. He thumped his head against the door, resisting the urge to cry again.
Day Seven:
It’s been a full week. It would have been hard to tell the changing of time if it weren’t for his DS, but against all his efforts it was slowly starting to die.
Kuroo was working on homework, leaning against the door. He made a couple of comments under his breath about the problem, before it goes back to silence and the quiet schitch-schitch of the pencil.
Kenma stayed quiet, absent-mindedly tapping a rhythm against his knees. He had a bath for the first time that week earlier that night, all the while in the dark. He had almost cried with relief when he heard the doors being unlocked the first day, only to be shocked into silence when all that greeted his sight was darkness. Kuroo was apparently trying something, but for the life of him he couldn't understand.
Regardless, he enjoyed the fresh air as much as he could and even tried to dally a little bit, before being dragged harshly by his hair to Kuroo’s ensuite bathroom. He had to do his business with the absence of his sight and Kuroo’s gaze never leaving him (which made him turn ten different shades of red, he could just feel it), before being dragged back into the closet, only to be kicked jarringly in the gut when he started to struggle.
The entire time, he never once felt the warmth of Kuroo’s skin.
After a week of those bathroom breaks came the bath, and with the bath came new clothes, his old ones being stuffed in the cabin under the sink. He put the clothes on, and was disappointed when he didn’t receive any long clothes to cover up with, but lived with the new short shorts and short sleeved shirt.
He was finding he lived with a lot of things recently.
The loneliness was new. It was as if every part of his body craved warmth, something that he didn’t think he had ever experienced wanting before.
Resolute, Kenma stayed silent, even if it felt like his whole body was breaking apart and ready to fly away any second.
Day Nine:
His DS died.
Day Eleven:
He cried again. There’s officially been a missing report filed for him, Kuroo tells him, gleefully. The entire volleyball club is worried.
There’s been no sign of anything from his family.
Of course not, Kenma thinks to himself as he roughly scrubs his face, who would give any fucks for a kid like him?
Day Fourteen:
Kenma asks for a charger. Kuroo laughs and ignores him.
Day Sixteen:
Kuroo’s mom enters the room while Kuroo is away at school. She hums a bit as she works on something, and Kenma’s chest aches at the thought of begging for help. Just one little rap on the door, and it would all be safe.
Then he thinks of Kuroo with his terrifying eyes the first day, and wonders if he would go as far as to hurt his own mother.
He thinks of the women who always made apple pie when he came over, who let him stay the nights that were bad, who mended his uniform when his own family refused to help. And-
Kenma doesn’t risk it. He can’t risk it.
He can’t risk Kuroo hurting the closest thing to a mother he’s ever had. Not after she had comforted him, hugging him close while he grieved over his own mother.
Day Eighteen:
“You know, Kenma, I think I rather like you like this. You were always so quiet and meek, so it doesn’t matter much to me when you’re like this. This way, you can never leave me. I’m the only one you can ever hear. How does that sound, Kenma? I think I might just keep you like this for the rest of your life, even when you do come to your senses.” Kuroo tells him nonchalantly over dinner.
Kenma doesn’t even have the energy to cry anymore, the unshed tears burning against his eyes as he takes another tasteless bite.
Day Twenty-One:
He wonders some days when the darkness of the closet seems to be pressing in, where it's just him and these four walls, if Kuroo was always like this, deep down. Somewhere that Kenma didn’t even know exist, hiding his true nature from him. Maybe it was something that only emerged when they started dating, this cruelty of his, or maybe it was when Kenma tried to break up with him.
Well, Kenma thinks to himself, head rolling tiredly, it’s not like it matters much. Kuroo was never going to let him out, was he?
Day Twenty-Three:
His Vita dies.
Day Twenty-Five:
He begs for forgiveness. He says he didn’t mean it, that he was just being self-conscious. Kuroo tells him it doesn’t matter much anymore, but he appreciates him realizing that he wrong.
Day Twenty-Eight:
Why did he try to break up with Kuroo in the first place? He doesn’t think he can remember anymore.
Day Thirty-Nine?:
Late at night, when the only things he can hear is himself and Kuroo’s deep breathing, he reminisces. He thinks about his childhood, feeling the sun on his face as it warms him, the chill from the air-conditioning fading as if brushed away by motherly hands, Kuroo’s bright smile as they ran. He thinks of an alley cat who hanged around a corner on Kenma’s way home from school, her delicate whiskers but prideful eyes staring at him as if to say What are you looking at human? Kenma, on nights where nothing left to amuse his mind but ugly flashes of fear and hatred, thinks of his mother.
She died when he was young, leaving him alone yet surrounded by people wrapped in themselves. They called him hideous names, hiding behind their facade of their ‘grief’. Barely, he can remember a woman's hands wrapped around his, always so so careful in a way that he had never known before. Her face was always a blur, but he can thinks she had kind eyes.
“Hush now dear one,” Was the only thing he can remember her saying, voice gentle despite the tilt of sadness, the voice of someone who was pushed too far one too many times before. Sunlight was casting her face in shadows, the faint chirp of cicadas in the distance. “Just polish that little face of yours and remember that mama will always loves you, no matter what happens.”
She killed herself a week later.
Kenma thinks that he misses her, even if all she is now is a fading mirage dissipating in the incoming storm.
Day Thirty-One:
Kuroo asks him if he wants to be let out. He does so so badly.
He begs, on his knees against the door, before the door slides open, a dark silhouette standing above him.
“If you want a reward,” He tells Kenma. “You have to work for it.”
With that, he starts to open his belt.
Day Thir-
Da-
Day *&))%$#^^@*#-
Day-
Kenma couldn’t stop shaking.
Day Thirty-Four:
Kuroo talks to him for the first time during his bath sessions, frown evident in his voice. “You’ve lost weight.”
Kenma shrugs, not sure he can even speak anymore beyond when Kuroo commands it. He had tried one day, while Kuroo was at school and the house was empty. But nothing came.
His throat aches. It’s not because of his disuse.
Kuroo must get the hint, because he continues on. “You got to stop being so picky with your food. Be grateful I’m even feeding you. I’m the only one in the world who would even notice if you’d die right now.”
He nods, and goes back to washing. There was nothing to argue against the truth, after all.
Kenma trips on the way back to the closet, limpy falling into the open closet, not having the will to even look up when hell’s deadly doors closed shut behind him.
Day Thirty-Five
Kuroo must have been truly worried, he mused, as the plate has more food on it than usual. He eats as much as he can, which hardly makes a dent into the size. Kuroo makes a disapproving noise when he passes it back over, but doesn’t comment.
Relieved, Kenma goes back to aimlessly laying on the floor, letting the faint trickle of light he has play against his raw fingers, stinging and bloody from constant chewing. Ever since his electronics died, he’d been keeping track of the days by a grain of rice he grabbed every day, stuffing it in one of the coats pockets and counting the grains out by touch whenever he was unsure of his place compared to the world, which was getting more common by the day.
Day Thirty-Nine:
It was during one of those bathing sessions that Kuroo’s mother had knocked on his door.
“Tetsurou, can you do something for me?” She asked. Kuroo spun around, and Kenma was sure that he was glaring even if he couldn’t see it. Kenma quietly ducked more under the water, the only signal he could give of “I’ll stay quiet.” Kenma couldn’t speak at all nowadays, besides the customary “Welcome home”.
With one more hesitant moment, Kuroo turned tail and stalked out, locking the bathroom door behind and walking to his own bedroom door to answer his mother. As soon as Kuroo was out of hearing range, Kenma scrambled out of the bath and to the sink, panic lighting his movements.
The window was too small to squeeze through, and the door was locked, but that wasn’t what he was searching for.
Hastily opening the cabinets by touch, he felt his face turn painfully into something he couldn’t recognize anymore when his hands ran along the familiar shape. It might have been a smile.
Without a moment of hesitation, Kenma tipped back the bottle of cleaner, and quickly gulped as much as he could in his limited time frame.
When Kuroo came back, the room was as it was with Kenma in the tub, swallowing back the blood his blistered tongue was trying to retch out.
Day Forty:
He woke with a puke-splattered front the next morning, and felt something in him break.
Day Forty-One:
Kuroo was disturbed at him yesterday, stiffly helping him remove his shirt and change into a new one. Even in the dark with only the barest of light to make out the silhouettes, his attuned hearing could pick up Kuroo slight intake when he opened the door after Kenma had knocked repeatedly for several minutes after waking up.
“Did I bring in a stomach bug with me?” Kuroo had muttered to himself, worry in every crevice of his voice.
Current day, Kenma fiddled with his fingers. Ever since his game systems died, he’s either spent his time when Kuroo was at school in a daze or bored out of his mind. He shifted his aching muscles a little bit, and stopped suddenly.
He was going to puke again.
Leaning over his knees, he retched as far from him as he could. It burned traveling up, spilling out of his mouth and choking him.
He gagged, even more coming up, though he was certain he had nothing left in his stomach to spew. Coughing, he leaned back after the burning ceased for a brief moment, but jerked to a standstill when he breathed in through his nose.
Iron.
Cautiously, he brushed his fingers around the edges of his mouth, smearing the liquid that had gathered leaked from his mouth and brought it up to his nose.
That iron smell, once vaguely familiar. He remembers childhood romps, Kuroo insistently pulling on his arm, always running faster and faster and faster till Kenma’s little legs just couldn’t keep up anymore, falling on to the hot pavement head-first. He remembers Kuroo blubbering that he was sorry, clamping his nose shut to prevent the blood from leaking out.
Blood. That’s what it was.
He just vomited blood.
Kenma couldn’t stop himself, and for the first time in what felt like years, he laughed. He laughed and laughed, snorts escaping from his nose as his voice cracked from disuse. Blood escaped, splattering his shorts and bare legs with faint droplets.
He succeeded! This nightmare was finally going to be over!
When his laugher finally calmed down enough, Kenma stared at the far wall again, this time with joy.
He was going to die, and he’s never been happier.
Day Forty-Two:
He could practically feel Kuroo’s worried gaze through the door. Kenma coughed a bit more into his hand as quiet as he could, before curling up again. He was so cold. Was he supposed to be this cold?
“You okay?” Kuroo asked, moving closer to the door.
Kenma lightly hummed. His throat was killing him, almost as if he swallowed glass instead of cleaner. He was pretty sure he had a fever, but he couldn’t tell anymore. Dear God he was so cold.
There was a bit of shuffling, before the door opened and a breath of fresh air washed in. Kenma gulped the air down, hunching down more. A cold hand pushed his overgrown bangs back and gently pressed against his forehead. He heard a sharp intake of breath. “You’re burning up!”
He laughed weakly, leaning more into that cold hand. Of course he was, he damaged his immune system. And his mouth. And his throat. And probably some vital organs.
Another laugh tore through his abused throat, choking him. He coughed up whatever was in his throat this time, spitting it out to the side.
There was a choke. “K-k-kenma?”
He hummed again. There was nothing to argue against the truth, after all.
Cold hands settled on each side of his face with cautious care. “K-Kenma, you vomited blood.”
He absent-mindedly patted one of Kuroo’s hand. He already knew that, silly.
Kuroo sounded like he was going to cry. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay kitten?”
He didn’t have time to respond, as the cold hands left his face and dived under his body, effortlessly hoisting him up.
A rush of vertigo hit him, and he choked once more, turning his head away from the broad chest to vomit again. He’s pretty sure he got some on Kuroo’s feet despite his efforts, but he was getting too tired to care anymore.
The tiredness was setting in, the long nights where it nothing existed but him and his thoughts dragging him down. His neck lost its strength, his head rolling against every slight movement Kuroo made.
The last thing he knew before the tiredness threatened to overwhelm him was Kuroo’s panicked voice.
Day-:
Blood filled his mouth, every time he puked it out more seemed to bubble out of his ruined throat, waking him from his restless sleep and running down his chin.
Sometimes, Kuroo was with him, Sometimes he wasn’t. Kuroo’s voice had a wavering note in it when he heard it, his silhouette shaking slightly as he grasped desperately onto Kenma’s hand, a praying man seeking salvation.
“Please,” He heard once when he had waken to vomit from his restless sleep. “Kenma, please, get better. I promise I’ll be better, this won’t happen again. I was just trying to make you realize how much I love you. Why couldn’t you just get that all I wanted was for you to know that I could take care of you better than anyone?”
Quieter, “I love you so much I can’t even breathe without you.”
Kenma drifted off.
Periodically, he would be jostled enough to wake him, carefully setting him on the floor as Kuroo’s silhouette changed ruined sheets. Other times it would be to a face buried in his neck whispering desperate pleas.
During his waking hours, his heart would skip a couple of beats painfully in his chest, burning his chest as if someone had dropped a match in the pit of gasoline known as his mind. He laughed occasionally, when he thought about his situation. Kuroo always startled whenever he did that, hands flapping against his from where he was playing with his cold, so cold fingers.
One time, Kuroo had asked him a peculiar question after a laughing fit that had only caused him to spew all over his chin.
“Why are you laughing?”
Kenma lolled his head, faintly wishing he could see his face. He licks his lips, tasting the incoming words like the humidity of an approaching storm, speaking his own words for the first time in months.
“Because I’m going to see mama, aren’t I?”
He laughed over the beggining of Kuroo’s anguished sobs.
Day-
So much time has flown by already. He can feel himself fading at times, dissipating like mama did. He sometimes calls for her when his chest feels close to exploding under an invisible weight, squashed like a lone orange that had just wandered too far away from home under a stranger’s boot.
Kuroo promises him things in whispered breath when the morning is early, when the night owls go to bed but the early risers have yet to arisen. He talks of promises where Kenma can go outside, can see the sun, can play his games, can talk to people again, as long as he gets better.
It sounds too good to be true.
The sheets always feel wet under him nowadays, and either because of the blood or the paralyzing numbness that has traveled slowly from his soles and over the course of time all the way to the base of the spine, he doesn’t know.
He can taste the storm now, burning his tongue with the flashes of thunder, rain water washing away his past and starting anew. He is dancing in the rain, arms raised and eyes closed as to enjoy the chaos that descends upon him.
From time to time, he finds himself sitting on his porch like he did when he was young, legs dangling off, not yet long enough to brush the wildflowers growing there. Mama is there too, calmly brushing her hands through his hair into aimless, little braids.
“I didn’t want for you to come to me this early,” She says, voice sorrowful. She holds his hand, delicately manicured nails against his bitten ones and scabbed fingers. “Do you know why I did it?”
Kenma doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he can.
“Come now, dear one.” She encourages. “You polish that brain of yours and figure it out.”
When he wakes up, it's with tears dripping down his face.
The days drip endlessly into each other as Kenma drifts more and more into that haze that surrounds him. He wants to hurry up and be free, not in this suffering, this agony , anymore. His stomach is constantly cramping, as if he had anything in his stomach for it to be upset about.
He laughs and chokes on his own sins.
Then he’s with Mama again, her encouraging words begging him to use that brain dear one I believe in you but then he's with Kuroo’s who hunched over him with cruelty etched in his voice yet grief dropping from his face. Then he’s with Kuroo, but more innocent, laughter riding the wind as the ocean waves come takes them away- the alley cat staring at him with judgement yet not, seeming to ask what do you want human? and he can't answer he can't he’s drowning in the waves and he doesn’t want to die.
He doesn’t want to die.
Mama laughs, and finally he can see her face through the haze.
Her eyes are just as kind as he thought they would be. She has little crow feets from happiness, and the shape of her face reminds him of himself.
“See?” She says, like he just cracked the code.
“Yeah,” He says, voice hoarse, and then he’s no longer a child. It’s him, awkward limbs and all. “I’m never going to see you again, are I?”
She laughs again, hands reaching out. He falls into her embrace, relishing another person's warmth. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, dear one.”
Mama, no, Mother , he’s no longer a child hiding behind her skirts, whispers in his ear, but with Kuroo’s voice. “Live.”
And then he surfacing from the waves, the eye of the storm circling overhead, blinded by the sunlight.
No, he corrects himself, as he opens his eyes, it was never sunlight.
Kenma screeches, tearing at whatever was holding him down, throwing his hands over his face in a futile effort to protect his eyes. They burn, they burn so much. He can feels sobs tearing at his throat, only to slide and get stuck around something trapped in his throat. He expects blood, but nothing bursts.
Their is the sound of running footsteps, and then multiple voices comes into hearing range. He flinches, not used to this much stimulation, thinks briefly that what about Kuroo ? before there’s a small prick and then he’s gone.
He hears voices as he drifts in and out, faint mumblings that his brain can’t process all too well.
“-vitamin D deficiency, bones are weak-”
“-severe internal bleeding-
“-swallowed cleaning product?-”
“-eyes unaccustomed to light-”
“-chance of survival low, kidneys failing-”
Kenma drifts.
When he wakes, the lights are off, leaving nothing but the now comforting darkness. Why was he ever scared of the dark to begin with?
There is a presence by his side, one that he grew accustomed to over the months. His hand feels wet yet oh so warm, warmed by a lovers touch.
“I love you,” Kuroo sobs. Unspoken, Kenma knows that he found out about the reason for the internal bleeding. He wonders if he’s thinking of that day on repeat, remembering every action, every move he made, wondering if he didn’t leave Kenma alone for that briefest second how things would be different. Good, let him worry.
“Why?” He asked, voice raspy. Why did you break me like this?
Kuroo cries louder, bring the back of Kenma’s hand to his forehead, begging for forgiveness for a crime unforeseeable, something the fates had never planned for them. “I was so consumed by my jealousy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry. I only wanted you to love me the way I loved you. I’ll do anything as long as you live, I won’t come near you again, I’ll do anything you ask of me for the rest of your life, I swear. Just please, live .”
Kenma closed his eyes. It was a bit too late for apologies now, wasn’t it?
Oh well, there was nothing to argue against the truth, after all.