The days are getting longer.

The sun is out for longer, and Kenma can feel the warmth of the sunshine seep in through the windows and the walls, warming him up a little bit more than he would have appreciated.

He keeps his windows open now, letting Pudding come and goes as he pleases. While Kenma's appreciative of the company his cat keeps him, he figures it would be better if he got a bit of outside exposure.

If Kuroo was here, he would have called him a hypocrite.

"Can't satisfy everyone," Kenma says to himself, taking a long sip out of his juicebox as he pads up and down the passageway. His legs are starting to cramp up from the continuous hours of tucking in his legs like he was at some sort of tea house, but he couldn't blame himself for sitting in the exact same position for the past three hours. It's not like he exactly has freedom of movement during an exam.

Two weeks have passed since Hinata Shoyo left for Brazil. And in those two weeks, Kenma hasn't ever experienced such loneliness before.

Granted, while Hinata was still in Japan they didn't hang out as much, due to their differing schedules. But Kenma still found time to call up and check up on him, and come to a few of games, treating Hinata to dinner later.

Kuroo often pointed it out, how Kenma gave more effort into being there for Hinata than his other friends. And while Kenma had argued that he cared for his friends equally but in different ways, Kuroo had given him a sly look.

"You have a favorite, Kenma," Kuroo says, as he muses over the science journal Kenma bought for him the other day. "Everyone does. My favorites are you, Yaku, Kai, and my mom. It's only natural for you to have a favorite too."

"I don't," is Kenma's curt reply, crossing his arms in front of his chest indignantly. "I don't like having favorites."

"Heh. Sure."

Keeping favorites meant giving all your attention to them, prioritizing them above everyone else you interacted with in your life. It sounded like a whole lot of work that Kenma doesn't want to deal with. But he can't help but wonder if it's true for him and Shoyo.

He decides to step outside, thinking that maybe a change of air will do some good for him. Maybe clear his head, help him air out his thoughts in a more understandable manner.

It's late afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky. Despite its position, the light it emits is one that gives Kenma a sense of fluttering warmth, a kind that Kenma has only ever felt from one person.

Let's not think about him right now.

With small steps, Kenma descends the staircase, heading into the modest garden he maintained. One of the more surprising hobbies he had picked up after leaving school was gardening and looking after the flowers-the other being knitting and embroidery, which Lev had been so shocked at he nearly fainted-that he planted in little trays and hanging boxes, which took up the face of one of the outer walls of the house.

In the spring of his first year at university, he had planted peonies and hyacinth along the borders of the western and southern walls, delighted in their dusky rose and lilac hues that developed after a couple of weeks of dedication. As the year went on, he had planted all sorts of other kinds as well, like daffodils and bluebells around the pathway that led to the small greenhouse he had put up during the winter. His interest didn't just lie in flowers; Yaku had introduced him to wall-creepers and the such, and Kenma was happy to include them around the exterior of his house, allowing them to snake into the kitchen and hang along the railings of the staircase.

As he walks around this little Eden of his, sipping away at his juice box, he notices that the bushes that border the neighbor's wall need trimming. He makes a mental note to get to it when he's done with the assignments he still has left.

A message pops up on his phone screen, the little notification bell snapping him out of his flower-induced euphoria. He almost drops his phone into the flowerbed before him, catching it as it falls mid-air. He smiles inwardly, thanking his setter instincts. If Kuroo was here he'd be chastising him, telling him all those morning practices were worth it.

Kenma looks at his phone, scrunching his nose in disgust. It's from his company, Bouncing Ball Co., regarding a meeting they're planning to hold in a few hours. They're asking whether he'll be able to attend or not.

While Kenma is the CEO, sometimes he wishes he had a twin who could be bothered to attend these meetings for him. Kenma does care about his company, but not enough to sit through two hour pixelated meetings where someone's pressure cooker is going off every five minutes.

With more reluctance that he's ever felt-even more than when Nekomata-sensei had told him to spend a couple of more hours with Lev to help time his spikes-Kenma sends a quick message, saying that he'll see them around seven that evening.

The sun has lowered some more, casting a warm orange glow on Tokyo. From his house he can see most of the city below, including the metro line and a couple of private housing communities. He used to be a part of that world, one that functioned twenty-four seven, every hour of the day and every day of the year. A city that never slept, even when most days exhausted the fuck out of you.

It was tiring, that was for sure. But Kenma would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. He missed the availability of convenience stores at 2 AM, when he had been up too late gaming or watching a livestream on YouTube. He missed the rides home on the metro line, where Kuroo would talk to him about whatever happened during the day while Kenma gave him an attentive ear, gaming away on his own console.

Life was simpler then. Probably the only worry on his mind was whether he had enough sleep to deal with whatever it was school threw at him the next day.

The sun continues its slow descent as Kenma plops himself down on the soft grass, feeling the droplets of the evening dew soak through the fabric of his clothes. The city down below is starting to come alive, with street lights begin to glow brighter and brighter as time passes. Billboards and LED advertisement boards light up, turning on in a timely sequence, a myriad of colors mixing in with the day's haze. Traffic is beginning to build up, the usual rush-hour pile up that was expected at six in the evening.

The community where Kenma lives in is a posh one, no doubt. It's quieter here compared to the neighborhood he used to live in before, with the occasional tumult of children playing in the park nearby. People here walk their dogs and hold garden parties in their backyards during the weekends, minding their own business. A quiet life where it's everyone to their own.

A world on its own.

Checking the time on his phone and seeing that he had only fifteen minutes until the meeting is about to start, Kenma heads for his house reluctantly. The peace and tranquility that he's experienced today would have to wait for another time.

*

It's very tempting to not reach for the steamy bowl of udon on the side while one of the managers discusses their budget.

Kenma looks at it longingly, the monster in his belly growling with hunger. He glances at the screen, where a middle-aged man in formal wear and glasses is reading off a notepad. Maybe he could sneak a bite-

"Ah, Kozume-san," pipes up the spectacled man, looking up from his notepad. Kenma scrunches his nose in disgust, looking to the side. "Hinata Shoyo's monthly allowance; have you come to a set amount?"

"Uh..." Kenma begins, as his hands fumble around his desk, trying to find the sheet of paper he had written down his proposed amount for the allowance.

The spectacled man-Kenma couldn't bother to learn his name, he'd forget it anyway-waits patiently as his boss pulls out a piece of paper from under a stack of books, looking very satisfied with himself. Brandishing the paper in front of him like a newly acquired weapon in an RPG game, Kenma watches the spectacled man read the paper, leaning in closer to the screen as his eyes expand and contract like a spring under pressure.

He clears his throat before sitting up straight, adjusting his tie and shirt as he does so. "Kozume-san," he begins, but Kenma knows what's going to happen with that with that tone of voice. "Isn't 50,000 yen per month a bit too...much?" He gives him a questioning look.

"Given the current state of the exchange rate," Kenma replies, placing the paper on the desk before him and adjusting his posture in his chair, "It's adequate to live comfortably in the city center. After all, you're the one who suggested he stay in the city center."

"You're the one who suggested a beach condo, Kozume-san..."

"Completely irrelevant. We're past the point of unnecessary spending," Kenma interjects. He decides to shut up the thing inside him which won't stop making noise with food, and reaches over for the still warm bowl of udon by his side. Saying his thanks, he begins to eat, as the spectacled man on the opposite side of the screen shakes his head tiredly.

"I have extra money that I don't need. It's not like I'm giving my life savings," Kenma explains, slurping down a large portion. His insides are warm and satisfied, and the beastly growling has been subdued. Victory.

"I understand that, Kozume-san, but maybe you don't have to shower him with this much money, considering that he's only been in Brazil for two weeks and not two months. Might I suggest a slightly smaller amount, something around 5,000 yen?" The spectacled man's eyes are brimming with expectation.

"No." Kenma looks at him directly. "He hasn't even found a job yet. How do you expect him to live properly?" Kenma questions, setting the now half-empty bowl of udon down. "50,000 yen per month covers his basic expenses. His mom's already given his college fund to cover his accommodation, so we don't have to worry about that for the time being. Shoyo has some money from when he did part-time coaching while he was still here," Kenma adds, now crossing his arms. "That should be enough for him to fund whatever mode of transport he plans on using during his time there. Brazil isn't exactly the country everyone makes it out to be; it's a lot harder to live there than it is here."

The spectacled man sighs in resignation, and a brief feeling of satisfaction flows through Kenma's body. Second victory.

"Alright. I'll pass it on to the financial manager," is his reply, as he begins to stack away his own papers, placing his little notepad from before on top of the neat pile. "Thank you for joining us today, Kozume-san," the spectacled man says, giving him a small smile. "Please enjoy your meal, and have a good evening."

"You too." Kenma gives him a small nod in respect, and promptly hangs up. He goes back to his udon, playing around with the noodles with his chopsticks absentmindedly.

Pudding has returned from his adventures around the area, and has now clambered through the open window and settled down on a stack of books related to coding. He meows in greeting, and Kenma reaches over to scratch him under his chin.

"Why are you the only sensible person I know after Yaku-san and my mom?" he murmurs, as Pudding purrs in response, before licking the tips of Kenma's keyboard-worn fingers with his rough tongue. Noticing that his cat has his eyes on an untouched piece of chicken sitting in his bowl, he picks it up with his chopsticks and feeds it to Pudding, who opens his mouth eagerly.

Kenma smiles softly, as Pudding stretches out and leaps off the stack of books, padding out of the room and into the direction of the laundry room. Kenma had remembered to leave out a basket of warm towels for him to come home to, and know he's going for the comfort of those now.

It's nine o'clock now, and Kenma can't help but sigh. He didn't expect the meeting to go on for two hours, but he's glad it's over and done with. In the morning, he'd get the email of approval from the financial manager, and he could start transferring money into Shoyo's account.

I wonder what he's up to.

It should be nine in the morning now, but Kenma wouldn't be surprised if Hinata was still asleep at this time. He knows he would be.

Maybe I should call him.

It's something Kenma's considered doing the past two weeks, but instead resorting to texting because he wasn't so sure if his friend would be comfortable with it. Kenma doesn't even call his own friends from school or college.

"You have a favorite, Kenma."

"Shut up," he whispers, wanting Kuroo's words out of his head. "There's no such thing as having favorite people."

Favorite people are too much work. He has enough work as it is.

He stretches out his legs, which are tucked underneath his body as usual. He figures they'll probably go numb one of these days and cease to function with all the sitting he does. His eyes go to his phone wallpaper, which is a picture of him and Shoyo at nationals; Kenma in his No.2 Nekoma jersey and Shoyo's in his No.5 Karasuno one. It had been their last match together before Kenma left for college.

He had changed it only recently, after he had noticed that Shoyo had adopted his number, which Kenma had worn during Shoyo's first year of playing volleyball in high school. When Kenma had remarked that his number had changed, Shoyo had only given him a large smile.

"Something to remember you by," was Shoyo's explanation. "I'll miss standing opposite you on the court, Kenma."

Something to remember you by. Kenma stands up and heads into his bedroom, turning on the room light before opening the wardrobe door. He reaches for the black and orange jersey hung up on the rack, which is next to Kenma's own white and red own. He takes it down, sitting down on the floor as he does so, his hands running over the large number five emblazoned on the back. Shoyo's last name is etched at the top, in small, white letters.

He'd been given this the weekend that followed their last match together, when they had dinner at a sushi bar somewhere in Tokyo.

"I have another one anyway," Hinata says, as he hands him the bag. Kenma takes it with hesitation. How could Shoyo give him something that obviously meant a lot to him?

"Don't worry about it. I'm getting a new one next year as well because this one is kinda tight and restricts my arms, plus it's itchy." Hinata chuckles, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "It's...uh...something for you to remember me, if we don't see each other for some time."
"Why does everyone talk to me like they're going to pass away?" Kenma whines, but his cheeks are flushed, mirroring Shoyo's. 'Probably the alcohol.'

Hinata laughs, a clear sweet sound that rings in Kenma's ears pleasantly.

A laugh that Kenma can hear in his head to this day. A laugh that's sweet and sharp, like the played strings of a harp. Like wind chimes in a cool summer's breeze, or small bells that hang from his mom's doorpost.

Kenma holds it up, the soft fabric light in his hands. The faint scent of cinnamon and caramel wafts through his nostrils, and he can feel that feeling of fluttering warmth resonate within his body. He breathes in and out slowly, trying to get as much of that scent in him.

His heart is beating at a quicker pace than before. It's not long before all that's in Kenma's head are memories of him and Shoyo together.

Matches. Training camps. Dinners. Late-night texts. Shoyo excitedly talking about a game Kenma introduced him to. Walks in Miyagi whenever Kenma visited, Shoyo taking him to the new arcade that had been installed in the town center, and to the noodle house right after. How Kenma had shown Shoyo around when the latter visited Tokyo during the summer, taking him around to the Shibuya Crossing and watching him jump around with glee, infecting Kenma with a kind of happiness he hasn't felt before.

Kenma clutches the jersey tighter, holding it close to his beating heart. The loneliness that resides in him since Shoyo's departure is clawing away at the fibers of his heart, tearing him apart a thread at a time.

There are no tears forming in Kenma's eyes; his heart is so incredibly hurt that he can't muster the need for tears. So he sits there, clutching Shoyo's jersey to his chest, rocking back and forth.

Hinata Shoyo had been ripped away from Kenma before he got time to fully appreciate and cherish the boy.

With a heavy sigh he stands up, getting to his feet slowly. He hangs up the jersey, letting his fingers trail across the fabric one more time before he closes the wardrobe door. He exits the bedroom, switching off the light as he does so. Funny how something so small as a jersey was able to eat away at his mind.

He heads back to his gaming room, perusing through the books stacked in their cases. A text notification pops up on his phone screen. It's from Shoyo.

Do you wanna play Super Mario Bros? I'm bored. - Sho

"You have a favorite, Kenma."

"Everyone has favorites."

"I don't."

Well, Kenma thinks, a smile forming on his face as he settles into his gaming chair for probably the fifth time today. He pulls out his console from the drawer. It's not too late to make exceptions.