SWEET TALK ; hq one-shots.

_𝗗𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦 ft. 𝗸𝘂𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻

[ university student kuroo tetsurō & 3rd-year kozume kenma ]
= status : 2223 wrds , may 2021

"being a third year sucks." kozume kenma mutters as he adjusts his red and white striped tie, glaring at his own reflection. yeah, he definitely doesn't recognize this kenma. black hair taking up half of his dyed blonde tied back into a low bun, a black hair clip holding some of his bangs back. a black rented no-vest tux and his own dress shoes.

"oh, c'mon kenma! lighten up, it's prom! anything can happen!" yamamoto taketora exclaims, shaking kenma's shoulders. his scowl only grows. "who knows? maybe your lonely ass can finally land a girlfriend!"

kenma rolls his eyes as he follows fukunaga shōhei out of taketora's room.

the three 3rd-years agreed on meeting there before going to prom together. had any of them gotten dates, this wouldn't have been the plan. unfortunately, shōhei didn't bother, taketora got shot down by everyone he asked out, and kenma... well, kenma avoided everyone as much as he could the week prom was announced (which was the week before) because some people actually liked him and wanted to ask him out. other than tetsurō, kenma knew himself the most and that he probably would've made them cry when he rejected them.

the walk to school is short and silent, though the closer and closer they got to nekoma high, the louder the music seemed to become.

"i can still back out, right?" kenma mutters as they step into school property, eyeing the brightly lit screen of his playstation portable and his avatar gunning mechas down.

"not really. mandatory." shōhei answers slowly with a sigh. their world history teacher stops them at the entrance, taking their attendance before letting them into the main hallway. he, too, looks like he's not enjoying himself—kenma can sympathize.

taketora pushes his fellow 3rd-years ahead, yelling over the music playing throughout every speaker about living their last days in high school up and making every moment count.

they stop at the entrance of gym 1, already across the threshold, felt streamers greeting them with a soft slap to the face. colourful lights dance around them, music still blaring, students running in and out of the large and overly decorated room. kenma's nose scrunches in disgust at the mixed scents; sweat from dancing (kenma isn't actually sure if what his schoolmates are doing could be considered dancing), food and punch, and the slightest hit of alcohol. someone must've spiked the punch. so that actually happens, not just in movies or tv shows. not like he was gonna drink it in the first place—he hasn't the faintest idea what punch is made of.

kenma pushes his way through the crowd, friends trailing behind him, and sits down at the table furthest from the commotion, all the way in the corner. he sighs at the dirty ground. this is the gym the club uses for practice and this is it's condition? the clean-up committee better do it good.

level up!

kenma stares at the words popping up on his psp, the dark green and gray mecha robot avatar denting with every 20 hit points he skillfully lands.