Chapter Eight: Kenma II
Not having his stomach burning was something that Kenma thought would be weird to think about. Weird to miss. He remembered all at once how to open his eyes, and did so. Shoyo's room. It was much brighter during the day time, obviously, but less lived in. There was no heat radiating off of the walls, despite the beams of sun pulsing through the flicking curtain beside him. Oh. Not the room, that's me. He pulled Shoyo's blanket around him, wondering when it had been pushed off. His phone was drawn to his hand, a warm familiar weight in an unfamiliar bed. Shoyo's bed, he reminded himself. Unlock. A message from his mother, not long ago, probably why he woke up, aside from the missing heat.
"Call me when you get up. Don't waste your summer sleeping." It's warmer than her usual messages, he can't figure out why when his brain isn't working properly. Call me. He never really calls his mother, or his father for that matter, it's a little strange. Taking a train for four hours for an apple pie would also look strange. Not that his mother knew about they train. Or the pie. Or Shoyo. Shoyo.
A flick of the blankets revealed no bright, bright hair, or a too big sweatshirt, or pale skin, or a rice-spitting-rival. I should have guessed. Rises with the sun. The bedroom, and house at that, was oddly quiet for one -maybe two- sunshine child -children- to be awake. He sighed, scooted back, levering himself up on his elbow.
An average person would probably have spotted Shoyo earlier, a bright shock of orange hair against a clinically white wall. Kenma was not a normal person, admitted to himself after years of observing othernormal people, so it took him a moment. He blinked. Then yawned. Then blinked again. Shoyo is in the corner.
That sent a buzz up his legs, making them feel bloodless but pulsing at the same time, the blanket, Shoyo's blanket, was thrown off his body. The shock of morning chill didn't faze him as much as it normally would have as he approached the corner of the room, Shoyo's room. "Shoyo?" His voice was quieter, lower than usual, wondered if Shoyo had heard him. No response. Remain calm. He didn't know about Shoyo's sleeping habits, he could be the one freaking Shoyo out.
Shoyo's body was moving, breathing, barely noticeable through the amount of fabric covering his entire frame. He cleared his throat, "Shoyo?" He asked, just a little louder. The boy on the floor jerked, his head flipping up to reveal a pale-faced Shoyo, who looked up at him with pupils wide enough to draw notice. Shoyo didn't speak to him, just stared at him, his body now shaking, his nostrils flaring with loud, uneven breaths. Kenma stepped forward, and Shoyo leaned back, his pink arms pulling his knees closer to his shivering frame. Pink.
Kenma's head tilted as he observed Shoyo, the other's arms were shuddering almost too much to get a good look at them, but the build up under Shoyo's fingernails told him all he needed to know. Shoyo scratching himself. In a corner. He swallowed, actually uncomfortable for the first time since discovering Shoyo in the corner.
Shoyo's eyes followed him as he got closer, the white of his eyes getting larger and larger as the brown of his irises got smaller and smaller. "Shoyo?" He asked, realizing that that's all he's said since he discovered the other. In the corner. With scratches.
Shoyo made a weird noise as Kenma settled next to him, almost like a yelp. "Are you okay?" He wasn't expecting an answer, or even acknowledgement, to his question, but Shoyo made another noise, then his face was hidden from view again. His body shaking even harder than before. A series of small noises escaping the ball of too big hoodie, Is he crying?
He'd never seen another person cry before, never had the action directed at him. I should... do something? His hand froze over Shoyo's vibrating head. Not there, recalling all of the times Shoyo had flinched from having his head touched. He could feel Shoyo's heat through the hoodie, rubbed over his shoulder, hoodie fabric shifting with his hand with each shift.
"It's okay." It'll probably be okay, but less is more, even he knew that. "It's okay, Shoyo." He murmured again, then made his own noise as his body was suddenly too hot. Shoyo's arms were around his neck, the raw, damaged flesh knotting around him, Shoyo's lap was in his, their chests pushed together, making breathing very difficult when Shoyo's body kept convulsing against his. He rubbed his hands over Shoyo's back, the heat too necessary to his existence to pull away from. More words spilled from his mouth, combinations he never thought he would use.
"It's okay, Shoyo."
"You're going to be alright, Shoyo."
"Please stop crying."
It felt like hours before Shoyo slumped against him, breathing becoming much easier even with the weight on top of him. Realistically, it couldn't have been more than an hour, but he really wished he had brought his phone with him to check on Shoyo. Having something in sight but unable to grasp it.
He wondered what Kuroo would say about it, You chose a person over your phone? He'd probably laugh then, and then hug him. He sighed into Shoyo's collarbone. Noticed that was also red and raw. Sighed again. Chalky rice, mix-matched eyes, flinching from contact, crying, scratching. There was no logical connection that he could draw from that. Wondering if Shoyo would say anything once he calmed down. He doubted it, for some reason. Shoyo seemed like an open person, invited an almost stranger to his home, but this seemed like something they'd never speak about again. Something that would be kept in dark thoughts. It was comforting, in a way, realizing that Shoyo was a person, just like him. Had feelings other than happiness and competitiveness. Had something other than volleyball on his mind.
He wouldn't admit it to himself, but he was interested. Interested in another person and their innermost thoughts. Something he couldn't just read from them after looking at them. Shoyo wasn't what he looked like a first glance. The sun wasn't always shining and he felt sick for being interested in the sun's shadow.
"Shoyo?" He asked, sometime later, there was a hum, then a sniffle. "I'm sorry." It was quiet, Shoyo's voice ragged from crying. Shoyo had been crying, and he's sorry? Kenma swallowed, taken aback. "It's not your fault." He didn't know that for certain, couldn't even fathom what wasn't Shoyo's fault, but it seemed like something his mother would say, a mother would say. "I'm sorry." Shoyo was shaking again, and Kenma didn't think he could handle any more crying or uncomfortable breathing.
"Tell me." His voice was harder than it probably should have been, but if it worked, it worked. Shoyo's spine tightened under his hands, "I-I'm- I dunno, I'm just..." A stab of guilt pieced his gut, maybe he had been too hard, "Please tell me." He said, softer, after Shoyo didn't speak up again. "I'm just- really scared." Scared. Shoyo was scared. Why? Shoyo was bright enough to make demons hide and he was scared. "Why?" He asked, an edge in his voice that he didn't want. Shoyo spluttered again, sniffling in an almost pathetically, another stab of guilt. He really isn't used to situations like this.
"Why?" He repeated a little while later, voice calmer this time, his palms rubbing against Shoyo's bare back. Wondered when they had gotten there. "I'm... I dunno." A mumble, right against his ear, Shoyo's face still hidden from him. Scratching. Fear. Doesn't know. He sighed silently, Shoyo was so overwhelming that it scares him.
"It's okay, I'll protect you." It was a lie, but it sounded like the truth, even to himself. Physically, he couldn't even protect himself, let alone another person; but, maybe that's not what Shoyo needs. His fingers push into the space surrounding Shoyo's spine, the flesh under skin is firm with stress. He tries to fix it.
Shoyo melts against him, answering his soft words with hums of acceptance. It's much later that Shoyo pulls back, his skin screams too soon as the chill settles against him. Shoyo faces him, but their eyes aren't meeting up. Tear tracks glisten down his cheeks and Kenma wants to touch them, fascinated for a reason he can't explain. "I'm sorry." Shoyo says, as if his crying were something he could control but failed to. Kenma's throat is too tight to assure Shoyo that that fault is not his. He pulls his hand from the skin on Shoyo's back and settles it on the other's cheek. He rubs softly, the dried tears fall under his fingers and disappear. Both of Shoyo's cheeks are red by the time he's done, and he's not sure if it's entirely from his rubbing.
He leans forward, almost pushing Shoyo over, forcing their eyes to meet. Shoyo's are almost black under the shadow of his bangs, a red rim swirls around his eyes, matching the color of his cheeks. "It's okay, Shoyo." He finds his voice all at once, and the other's name rolls over his tongue strangely, sacred, and strange. He's not sure he likes it.
"Shoyo." He says, testing it out again. Same feeling. Shoyo's eyes seem to pull into focus, he pulls back, Kenma's arms prevent it. "Are you okay?" Shoyo takes his time to answer, or takes his time to register the question, Kenma isn''t sure which. "I'm not sure," his voice is clearer than it had been earlier, but equally as quiet, "I woke up and I was just- really scared." He paused, then whispered, "I couldn't breath." Kenma nodded, growing more curious, not wanting to push, does so anyway. "And these?" He asks, his hands settling on Shoyo's arms where they're still wrapped around his neck.
Shoyo's gaze shifts away from his, "I'm not sure." Kenma knows it's a lie. Wonders if Shoyo knows that he knows. "I'm better now, I think." There's a smile, the big, bright fake one that he gave yesterday. Kenma nods, then pushes at Shoyo's hips. The other boy gets off of him, offers him a hand. Kenma doesn't look at the red, red marks on Shoyo's arms as he takes it. The height difference is much more obvious now that they're standing, it's only a handful of centimeters, he knows, but Shoyo is shrunken down, not as bright.
His hand is on Shoyo's head before he can help himself, he pats three times, cringes. "Your hair is greasy." It's an observation, not a joke, but Shoyo laughs, He didn't flinch. Shoyo moves away from him, opens a set of drawers and pulls out clothes, his eyes still not looking at him, even if they shouldn't be. His lips roll. "You should cover those." It's out of his mouth and he wants to hit himself. Shoyo looks down at his arms, his cheeks heat up, and his hands are shaking. Shoyo pulls out more clothes, then leaves the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.
He sighs, and pulls his phone back into his hand, calls his mother. Her voice is different than the last time they spoke over the phone. "Good morning." It comes out clipped, his voice taking on odd tones without Shoyo here. Isn't sure why that is, "Are you okay?" She asks, and almost makes him laugh, "I think so." It's a loaded statement, hopes his mother doesn't catch on. She does. "You... think so?" He can almost see his mother's face, lips rolling in distaste, eyes narrowed in challenge. "Yes." He doesn't want to talk about it. "And why is that?" She pokes, he sighs. "My friend, he-" She cuts him off, "Which friend?" She doesn't know Shoyo, so what's the point. "Hinata... Shoyo." He sighs, away from the phone. "What's wrong with him?" He's almost offended with the question, Wrong and Shoyo don't settle well in his stomach. "I'm not sure. He was crying; scared." He doesn't bring up the scratches. "How long?" Too long. "I'm not sure, found him like that." Her tongue clicks, "Found?" He likes how that's what she chooses to focus on. "I woke up and he was like that." She hums, "Probably just a panic attack." He hates how casually she says it. Probably. Panic Attack. Shoyo. "Maybe." He mumbles, disinterested in his mother's opinion on Shoyo's well-being. "Anything else?" He hates how she can read him, even over the phone, "No." He lies. She hums again, "How long are you staying? You brought clothes for church clothes, right?" He remembers specifically writing in his note that he had church clothes, "Just the weekend, and yes." He can hear her nod, "Are his parents home?" I haven't even met them. Shoyo didn't even say what his father did. "No." He says, not sure if it's a lie or not. "I'd like to meet this new friend of yours." The topic changes so quickly he can't help but wonder what his mother is getting at.
He's not sure what to say besides No. He could like, I think he'd like that, Shoyo might even like his mother, but doesn't want either of them to realize that. "Maybe one day, he lives in Miyagi." Shit. "Miyagi? That's a little far for a sleepover, don't you think?" He does not think that, there was apple pie, no distance could keep him. He doesn't tell his mother that. "He's good company." He defends, she hums again, "Except for the crying and fear, right?" She sounds amused now, Kenma's teeth almost grind. "Of course."
"Can I speak with him?" He knows it was coming, sighs for too long, "He's bathing right now." Her tongue clicks, and Kenma almost smiles, "I can wait." He sighs again, he's not versed in the slightest at Shoyo's bathing habits, so it could be a very long conversation. Thankfully, it's not long before Shoyo's door opens again, "My mom wants to talk." It's a warning to them both, Shoyo's hair is dripping, and flat against his head, which is smaller than Kenma thought it would be under all that hair. He offers the other the phone, Shoyo blinks, then again. "Uh-Okay." He nods, drips of water flicking onto the carpet, taking the phone from Kenma's outstretched hand.
"Hello?" He watches Shoyo's face as his mother speaks with him, there's a frown, followed by, "I'm better, thank you." Oh fuck. Shoyo's eyes meet his, parts of Shoyo's face is still red, and he's not sure why. Suddenly Shoyo's face crinkles up into another smile, Fucking shitting- "I'd love to." This smile that is directed at him is smaller than his other ones, but it looks real enough. Love to what? He's almost mad at Shoyo and his mother, but he's more curious about what they're talking about, about what's making Shoyo smile like that.
The conversation doesn't last much longer, Shoyo pulls the phone from his ear, stares at the screen for a long time, then hands it back to him. Kenma puts it to his ear, his mother says her goodbyes and she sounds too happy to be healthy. A shudder runs up his spine as he hangs up.
"What did she say?" He asks after a while, not able to hold it in any longer. Shoyo looks up at him from over his shoulder, he's crouched over, one leg being pulled into a pair of shorts. "She asked about mypanic attack." Kenma's heart freezes, "Told her I was fine, then she wanted to meet me." Shoyo's lips rolled as he pulled on his shorts. A shirt -long sleeved- rolls in between his hands, "You better have an apple pie waiting for me next weekend." There's a smile and Kenma wonders if he could ever see Shoyo as anything but the crying child with scratches all over his chest and arms.
"We'll see." He means to say No, because he's never cooked a pie before, he's tried but never done so successfully. Shoyo's smile brightens though so he might have to learn, if only for his sake, "I dunno if I can last four hours on a train, though." Kenma nods, he can't quite picture Shoyo sitting still while on public transport.
There's another meal on the table when they leave Shoyo's room, Kenma sits across from Sako-san, her gaze landing on him briefly before studying Shoyo. "Make sure you eat your rice, Shoyo." It's weird, hearing someone's given name spoken with such a tone, Shoyo doesn't look fazed though, just stares at the rice bowl with a concealed grimace. "Big brother! Big brother! I helped make breakfast!" He forgot Natsu existed, forgot how annoying her voice was. "You did?" Shoyo asked, his voice and smile rising slightly. "I helped Sako-nii with the eggs!" She squealed, his stubby hand pointing at Japanese omelettes. "Wow, Natsu, they look really good." Shoyo looked nice, interacting with his sister, almost felt bad that he hated small children.
Shoyo made really loud noises as he eat his omelette, giving his little sister what Kenma thought to be, an undeserved Five Star review. The eggs were way too salty, Shoyo didn't even grimace at that, just kept smiling, until he bowed, spitting the eggs and rice into his napkin. Interesting.
The meal drags on, more so each time Natsu feels the need to scream at Shoyo, then at him, and he looks up, trying to shift his face into a smile despite the salt burning his tongue. Her smile is bright and natural, unlike Shoyo's version of it. He bows slightly, then hesitates, it's not weird to call children by their given names, but he's never made a habit of it. "Thank you... Natsu-san." She giggles, despite there being nothing to laugh at, and then stares at him for the rest of breakfast. He knows it's customary to offer to help clean, but he's never cleaned another person's dishes before and wasn't sure how he should do so. Shoyo found his hesitancy funny, and he would have said something rude if it weren't for the way Shoyo adjusted his sleeves. He dropped his glare and picked up a sponge.
"Ready to go?" Shoyo asked after the dishes were washed and both of their hands were wrinkly, "Where?" he asked, slightly apprehensive. "Practice!" A volleyball was thrown in his general direction and he was very thankful that Shoyo was built small. He caught it, and spun it around, Shoyo's eyes flicked to the ball, and his mouth turned into a thin line. Interesting. He stopped the ball, did it again, Shoyo's eyes still on the action. He was about to object to doing any unnecessary physical effort, but Shoyo just smiled at him and he couldn't say no. He wondered if Shoyo knew that he was a manipulative mastermind. He had to know, wouldn't have convinced Kenma if he didn't know all the tricks. His eye twitched at that.
He sighed loudly for Shoyo to hear, then nodded, changed from his pajamas into shorts and t-shirt under Shoyo's smile, grabbed his phone, and was led out of the door without another word. Shoyo pulled him into the same store as yesterday, Karasuno's coach sat behind the counter, same book and same bored expression as yesterday. Shoyo hopped up to the counter, "Two meat buns!" He squawked. Kenma blinked, they had just eaten, well, he had just eaten while Hinata pretended to eat. Did Shoyo only eat meat buns? Did the rice really bother him that much?
That information sat uneasily in his stomach, the old man gives Hinata a weird look and then gave Kenma a different look, "You can't have meat buns everyday, dummy." But there's a bag placed on the counter, Hinata digs into his pocket but the old man shakes his head, "Just make sure you eat something." It's spoken quietly, seriously, Shoyo's head tilts to the side, "R-right," Shoyo's voice is different, almost like when he had cried but not quite, "Thanks, coach!" He chirps a second later, Kenma can hear the smirk before it's turned onto him. Bright, blinding, fake.
He nods to the coach, who looks him over again, then nods, "Now get out." He looks away, but he can feel the old man's eyes on him when Shoyo pulls him from the store. Shoyo digs into the bag and shoves the entire, steaming concoction into his mouth before offering Kenma his. He shakes his head, Shoyo really needed to eat, but Shoyo just shakes the bag in front of him, insisting. He wondered how Shoyo's other friends thought of him, the bright smiles, could they see through it? The crying, had they witnessed it? The scratches, did they know? He didn't know what he would think of any of the Karasuno members if they had known about these things. Hatred, he settles on as he watches Shoyo eat the other meat bun.
He almost feels it, too, after Shoyo makes him set for him for almost an hour. He's sweating and it's gross, but Shoyo keeps smiling and he keeps tossing. He hates himself for getting caught up in that bright smile. "Maybe we should stop." Shoyo says long after they should have stopped, he doesn't look that worn out so he must be doing so for Kenma's sake. He's never been so conflicted, but he's thankful of the mercy from the smaller male.
"So, how should we spend the rest of the day?" Shoyo asks, another one of those smiles on his face that means nothing but trouble.