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At first slowly and patiently, but then in the most abrupt and uneasy way, the university student allows the tips of his fingers to hit the phone screen quite hard. Dismayed at not getting the answers he hopes for, a growl escapes the softness of his lips, one of his feet slapping against the ground before returning his gaze to the redhead who stands a few steps away, wrapped in endless blankets that basically cover his entire body.
“Thanks, Kenma, but I don’t think I need this many—”
“More blankets! You got sick because of me.”
Truth is, he’s not entirely wrong.
Calling himself distracted is one thing, but being careless enough to not check the time, not checking the pouring rain through the window, and worst of all, not remembering that his friend Shoyo has to spend the night with him— that’s a whole different story. As a result of that misfortune, Kenma now appears prisoner of his own guilt, not having the heart to reprimand the redhead for not charging his phone to let him know he’s outside his house. All by himself. Soaking wet.
“Don’t tell anyone you got sick, I don’t want anyone from the National Team to come here and lecture me for no reason.”
“For no reason?”
An incoherent mumbling seems to be what prevails in the room, a small and embarrassed smile that is now exposed on the lips of the student as he takes a couple of steps in the direction of his friend and takes a seat next to him, but on the floor. Is this the first time he’s experienced a frantic need to have, not just anyone, but an exact person beautifying his visual field? Probably, and perhaps it can be explained by that incessant throbbing behind his ribs while observing the slow action of the clock hands, which is increasing with the coming and going of fortuitous thoughts and inquiries that come to his mind when a dark mantle covers the horizon and Kenma falls exhausted on the arms of Morpheus.
And now, Shoyo has to go the extra mile to even guess what that whisper is saying. But, of course, no one has ever prepared him to what he’s about to listen from his friend’s lips.
“How do you feel about baby food?”
Shoyo decides to give him the benefit of the doubt, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes a bit as if he wants to give Kenma time to rethink what he just said. But he doesn't let that much time go by, genuinely worried that his friend can come up with an even worse scenario.
“I’m 22 years old, Kenma.”
How could the redhead know that all the information his friend has collected has been based on apparently The Best Mom Blogs That Keep It Real About Motherhood? In addition, it may be necessary to clarify that due to Kenma's frustration and little patience, even imagining that he has passed the first page of the Google search engine seems like an illusion. That’d be too much to ask, and this is nothing but a crisis.
“Fine, I’ll call Auntie.”
“Auntie?”
But before he can do or say anything about it, Kenma finds himself unlocking his phone to make a call. Later that night, Shoyo learns that Kenma has this person on speed dial and turns out to be one of his neighbors. Supposedly for emergencies. And this is supposedly the biggest emergency of all.
“Auntie, I need your help. It’s important.”
“What’s up, sweetie?”
“What does a sick person eat?”
“Oh, God. Kenma, dear, are you sick?”
“Well, not yet. But my friend is.”
“That’s not good. I will make you some soup for your friend and also you. Did you eat today, honey?”
Silence.
And perhaps some more incoherent mumbling.
“DID YOU EAT TODAY, KENMA?”
“No.”
“That’s not good. Eat something, dear.”
A nervous laugh seems to end the call, or so Shoyo is convinced when Kenma takes the phone away from his ear and watches him again from the ground.
“My neighbor will come to leave us food so you can recover properly and I don’t get myself killed.”
“I appreciate it, but wasn't it easier to order some take out?”
“And make the delivery man come here in the pouring rain? No, no, I will not let anyone else get sick because of me.”
“You’re too kind. You know that, right?”
That’s the thing with Kenma, life hasn’t always offered him the opportunity to make new friends, those presences in his life always find the exit door somehow, and although he used to think of that as a lesson to put a barrier between himself and others, it’s quite difficult not to give all his energy and honesty to that person who gives him a few minutes of his time. And now, that person is Hinata Shoyo. But even cultivating a friendship with honesty and energy takes time, and Kenma knows that waiting isn’t something that he is willing to endure. An action that isn’t good at all judging by his impatience, a bittersweet verb with infinite meanings within his life. How much he always cursed himself for making others wait too; his indecision, his fear of failure, his long and dense reflections after having acted without thinking.
But Shoyo doesn't judge him at all. Because he has made the same mistakes the same number of times. In his eyes, working in such a wonderful bond as the one they share means giving in. It means allowing mistakes to happen and mending his actions. It means leaving aside what might bother the other with the intention of avoiding a crack, no matter how small, in the dynamics they have. With the intention of feeling the heart of the other pump with as much or more intensity than his own.
And after all, he's willing to do it for Kenma.
The former Nekoma setter realizes this when trying to hide a shade of pink that now remains decorating his cheeks, a feeling of frustration that grows within his being and he finds himself pulling small strands of hair in a futile attempt to distract his mind from getting images of the redhead. Even without looking at him, he knows perfectly well that Shoyo is watching him with those big, curious eyes. Bright and immersed in an adoration that could be homologated to the one he has for volleyball if Kenma thinks about it enough and allows the more illusory side of him to make its appearance.
“So you haven't eaten today?” Before hearing any complaints from the brunette, Shoyo explains again. “In my defense, the conversation was overheard.”
“In my defense, I didn't realize it was this late. But I drank a couple of cups of coffee.”
He says it with a pride that is troubling to the volleyball player, tilting his head to the side as he carefully drapes the blankets over his body and hides part of his face in them.
Kenma has convinced himself that any drink that contains caffeine as its main ingredient is supposed to be the elixir of life, keeping him awake until the wee hours of the morning to start and finish a series of projects and advance as far as possible, but Shoyo is there to remind him of the importance of abolishing such habits.
He doesn't do it with yelling, nor with threats to his parents like Kuroo does. Instead, Shoyo just laughs out loud.
And it makes all the sense in the world.
Every little laugh that rises from his throat has a different effect on Kenma. At first it’s surprise. Then curiosity, perhaps with a hint of excitement. The excitement mutates into a kind of eagerness unable to put into words, but which translates into a soft smile that curves his lips and forces his shoulders to relax for the first time that day. Let all of him relax, Shoyo's laugh being a soothing natural as well as extraordinary, something to which he has become accustomed and he has no intention of letting go for anything in the world.
“Please eat something, Kenma. Take care of yourself, don’t get sick.”
Each word coming from the opposite lips was honesty and concern, and while the boy explains how harmful it was to live on a single drink like coffee, he feels the need to look away with a hint of shame on his cheekbones. Would it be the heat or the modesty to look carefree?
Kenma doesn't have time to say something about it, least of all to move a muscle. And then, two seconds pass and his attention falls on his own hands, whose fingers are now being held by Shoyo’s to give them a little squeeze.
To say that it’s the first time that Shoyo takes his hands is a big lie, he has done it on more than one occasion and always with the same intention: to allow his own touch to calm the most latent anxieties of him and those moments of uncertainty.
It’s supposed to be a custom of yesteryear times where his presence was the only accessible one. It wasn't strange that he hugged himself at night when he was younger, wanting to get someone else's body heat that never materialized on his head. So was noticing how he fiddled with his fingers nervously, since simple human contact used to reassure him, even if it came from himself. Perhaps that is why his fingers intertwined with those of others give him such a quota of serenity, instinctively allowing his thumb to begin caressing the back of the other's hand with such a softness that a chill tortures a path from the tip of his feet to the finest strand of hair on his head. All of this because of a simple touch.
"Do you feel better?" Kenma asks in a whisper.
“Do you?”
A giggle embellishes Kenma's face, tinted by the lights that caressed his skin with the yellowish and orange tones of the room.
“I do now. Thanks, Shoyo.”
Kenma is deeply grateful to find the understanding that his companion gives him with each sigh and thin silence that calms the storm. To him, Shoyo is such a bright and delicate gem in his poor clumsy hands, but this time he is not afraid at all. He thus confirms it once he raises his chin a little to appreciate his face, to discreetly lose himself in what has been taking his sleep lately.
“Come here, Kenma.”
At first, confusion is tattooed on his features, allowing silence to fill the room for a couple of seconds. And it's not until the redhead offers a little place under the colorful blanket that Kenma's smile intensifies, nodding frenziedly and leaping to the opposite side, settling on the couch and the blankets draped over his shoulders.
He carefully allows Shoyo's head to find its place on his shoulder. It’s incredible how someone else's sigh is presented as the most beautiful melody ever heard, Kenma wanting to remain like that for the rest of the night, for the rest of his life perhaps. And he perfectly knows that his dearest friend can take care of himself and that he doesn’t need him at all, at least, not the way Kenma thinks he needs him. In all honesty, Kenma couldn’t care less about feeling necessary for someone or assuming that someone considers him as important, as even relevant in someone’s life. But if the volleyball player Hinata Shoyo is somehow involved in the situation, absolutely everything seems to change drastically and all his schemes are going to collapse to raise new buildings where the redhead's attention seems to be the only thing that helps him sleep at night without a miserable worry hovering over his head.
After all, he is accompanied by someone who demands nothing more than to be himself; It isn't necessary to pretend, nor to keep his composure or strive to be perfect. Shoyo knows Kenma isn’t perfect. And he loves him just like that.