Qualifiers for nationals were four days away.
There was a tangible, heightened energy in our practices. Everyone was going all out.
We were getting kicked out early today, because our coaches decided it was essential for us to rest our bodies after the intensive work we had been doing.
We were forced to swear we would genuinely use the time to restore, which was fine by me.

The physical drive distracted me from how I felt, but not entirely.
There were times when I would catch Kuroo's eye and feel my stomach flip. It took me out of the game, often causing me to fumble in some way.
I wasn't about to be the cause of our team's loss.
I just had to tell him.

The movie theater in our neighborhood, United Cinemas Toshimaen, was doing a special restored showing of Akira Kurosawa's Yojimbo,
a black and white 1961 action/ comedy about a samurai during the collapse of feudal Japan.

I hadn't seen it, but Kuroo once spent two train rides trying to explain to me that the movie was actually about the dangers of Western capitalist influence.

I, of course, did not follow the discussion whatsoever.
But it was something he enjoyed, and I enjoyed him enjoying it.

I would ask him to the movie.
We would go. I would buy his ticket.
When he dropped me off at my house, I would tell him from my doorframe so that I had a quick escape route.
I would keep it simple.

Kuroo. I like you as more than a friend. This is something I've realized, recently. I don't want to talk about it, or talk about how you feel about me.
I just wanted you to know so I can stop feeling so shitty.
We can discuss it after we win nationals.
Or never.
See you tomorrow.

I had rehearsed that statement in the mirror over a hundred times, until the words were just words and they couldn't affect me.
They were simply sounds.
Noises my mouth could make.

Everything had perfectly timed out for this to be able to happen today.
That way, I would be ready for practice tomorrow, and for our game on Friday.

I finished lacing up my sneakers.
"Hey, Kenma. How are you feeling?", Kuroo asked, stretching, causing his shirt to ride up.

For the love of god.

"F-fine. Are you doing anything, tonight? Our movie theater is showing a restored version of Yojimbo and I was wondering if we could..."
I shrugged, letting the sentence hang, my heart pounding.
Kuroo's face lit up.
"That sounds SO COOL!"
Some of the air rushed back into my lungs.
"Unfortunately, I can't. I wish."
He sighed, looking down.
"I've got a date promised, since we've been so busy lately with the extra practices."

My mouth shaped into a small "o" as I felt my well constructed plan break into small pieces around me, shards tinkling to the floor like glass.

Oh.

After saying goodbye to Kuroo, I shuffled through courtyard, Yamamoto and Lev kicking their heels behind me.

"You wanna come with us to get meat buns, Kenma?", Yamamoto whistled.

I smiled, weakly.

"I'm ok. I'm tired. Thank you, though."

They nodded, glancing the corner.

I was stupid. I was dumb. Bokuto's advice was dumb. Telling Kuroo and being rejected would only make everything worse. It was my own fault, opening myself too much, becoming attached to him.
I was so, so damn mad.
There is a satisfaction in bitterness, in isolation.
I was mad at myself for breaking my own rules.
Being alone allows for a continuation of the way things are.
Being anyone's anything only allows for the possibility of that title's removal.
I was so exhausted of risk.

I was
So
Exhausted.

"Hey, Pudding Head!"
A familiar voice yelled gleefully, yanking my backpack strap. I stumbled, near fell, but then he grabbed my wrist.

Not the damn time, Hitoshi.

"Ahhh, sorry about that." He pulled me to my feet, roughly, as his friends gathered, laughing at the way I shuffled.
Their voices surrounded me like an echo chamber.

I felt the snap, like the long withstanding tension released from a rubber band.
It shook me out of body, so that the words and motions that spilled out of me could flow freely, without rational process.

"I am so fucking tired of you."
I said, jabbing my fingers into his chest.

"Who even are you? Some lonely, unenlightened fuck that wants to inhabit the high school bully trope so that they can feel like their miserable little life has an inkling of meaning?"

Hitoshi stepped back, a mixture of shock and confusion.
I wanted to keep going. I stepped closer, staring up, the words spitting out of my mouth.

"I don't even know you, you just keep showing up randomly for no reason.  What is your deal, huh?"

People were starting to look.
Hitoshi grabbed my fingers roughly, pushing them away, "You can't-"

But I could.

"You are pathetic. And sad. And unoriginal.
You're also childish as fuck. This whole thing may have worked out for you when you were in grade school, but now you just look like a fucking idiot, and everybody thinks so."

Hitoshi and friends looked at me, slack jawed.
"Kenma, Kenma, Kenma-"
I heard Yamamoto yell warningly from amidst the gathering observers as a fist whistled through the air.
I ducked, narrowly.

Screw it.

I balled my hand into a fist, sending one back, catching his nose. There was a sickening crunch.
Hitoshi sputtered backwards, cupping his face, "What the FUCK is your problem?"
Tears stung in his eyes

His friends quickly sprang at me.
Well, it's as good as time any to die.

"HEY."

They froze, looking behind my head.
Shit.

"Would anyone care to explain what's going on here?"

The vice principal loomed over us, scowling deeply.