"𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇"

❝🌸❞・𝟻

Kenma didn't know how he felt about the conception that he was a shy, quiet person.

Yes, to people who were strangers to him, he would come off that way. Nothing except mumbling and downturned eyes, escaping their judgemental gazes. That was the Kozume Kenma that most people knew.

But there was also the Kenma who was comfortable with people enough to show his more passionate side. To see the sparkle in his eyes; to hear the elevation of his voice when he spoke about something he truly cared about. He was sure in moments like that, he even reached the volume of Bokuto. Or so he had been told.

One person who had been witness to every single one of Kenma's louder moments was Kuroo. He was there when he got so into a video game that he yelled when he lost his last life, he'd been there to see Kenma scream across a volleyball court when he thought Nekoma was about to lose nationals, he'd been there to celebrate the excitement of Bouncing Ball Corp's first partnership.

Maybe it wasn't the experiences that had allowed Kenma to act in such a way, perhaps it was actually the fact that Kuroo was there. That was the only connection Kenma could make between moments such as those.

Perhaps that was why he wasn't surprised at his public outburst; he couldn't be surprised if his subject area was his main passion in life: Kuroo Tetsurou.

"It's fucking bullshit, Akaashi." Akaashi's eyes widened at Kenma's volume over his mug of tea. He hadn't yet been privy to a moment like this, but Kenma didn't care. He wasn't about to ease him into it.

Akaashi sighed, placing his mug back onto the table of the small cafe they were residing in. "I can't imagine what it's like for him. For the both of you."

Kenma ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. He didn't think he had the words to even convey to Akaashi what it was like. He didn't think there were even words to explain it.

"It's genetic, yes?" Akaashi asked, calculating eyes staring directly at Kenma, asking him to talk about it, but careful not to push the boundary of what was polite to ask. Kenma didn't care about that boundary.

"His mother had ALS too, if that's what you're asking," Kenma said, eyes staring down at the table. He'd never had the chance to meet Kuroo's mother, a disease had ripped her away from the world before she'd even had a chance to watch her son grow up. But he'd heard stories. Stories about how she was the kindest woman both Kuroo and his father had ever known, how she'd always sing Kuroo to sleep as a child, how she'd always find something to smile about in any situation. Kenma had often thought that the stories he'd told reminded him of Kuroo, their similarities in personality too stark to ignore; something Kuroo had always taken pride in.

ALS was one similarity he could have lived without.

"I'm sorry." Kenma's grip tightened on his mug of hot chocolate at Akaashi's words. Condolences were not meant for the living, but Kenma wasn't about to fault Akaashi for trying. He wasn't eloquent enough himself to be critical.

"How's Bokuto taking it?" Kenma was well aware that Bokuto had known what was happening before Kenma did, even if Kuroo didn't explicitly tell him that. He knew Bokuto was the one who'd taken Kuroo to the earlier doctor's visits, promised to be there until he was ready to tell Kenma, and then still be there anyway.

That's where he was today, at least. He'd said he wanted to take Kuroo to some restaurant that they'd always held 'bro night' at, for old time's sake. It was good for the both of them to catch up and have fun while they could.

It also gave Akaashi the proper chance to catch up with Kenma, something he himself had promised Kuroo that he would. Not that Kenma was supposed to know that, either. Kuroo was just ridiculously transparent.