Haikyuu imagines

Play Better- Kenma

You didn't mean to end up sitting next to Kenma Kozume.

It just... happened.

The professor shuffled the seating chart after midterms, muttering something about "group balance," and suddenly you were staring at the side of Kenma's head as he slid into the chair beside you. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Headphones resting around his neck. Eyes already glued to his phone.

You almost laughed when he flinched slightly as you sat down.

"Sorry," you whispered automatically, even though you hadn't touched him.

He glanced at you, eyes sharp and assessing, like he was deciding whether you were a threat or just... background.

"...It's fine," he said, quietly. Neutral. Polite. Distant.

That should've been the end of it.

But then the professor announced partners for the semester-long project.

"Kenma Kozume and-" he glanced down. "-Y/N."

Kenma froze.

Slowly, he turned to you again.

"Oh," he said.

Not annoyed. Not angry.

Just... surprised.

The first few weeks were awkward in a quiet way.

You met at the library. Sat across from each other. Shared Google Docs without really talking. Kenma typed fast, efficient, barely looking up. You filled in notes, asked questions, tried not to feel like you were intruding on his carefully constructed bubble.

Then one day, as you packed up your bag, you noticed his screen.

It wasn't notes.

It was a game.

You tilted your head. "Is that... Monster Hunter?"

Kenma paused.

Slowly, his eyes flicked up to you.

"...You know that game?"

Your face lit up before you could stop yourself. "Yeah! My cousin used to make me grind levels for him because he hated the early quests."

Kenma stared.

Actually stared.

"...You played?" he asked.

"Yeah," you shrugged. "Not competitively or anything. I'm terrible under pressure."

Something shifted.

He didn't put his phone away.

Instead, he turned it slightly so you could see.

"This build's outdated," he said. "But it's good for beginners."

That was the moment.

From then on, studying turned into talking.

Talking turned into sitting closer.

Closer turned into routine.

You started meeting before class. Sitting together without it feeling strange. Kenma would explain game mechanics in that low, careful voice of his, eyes lighting up just a little when you actually listened.

Sometimes, he invited you to watch him play.

Not online.

In person.

You went to his place one evening, sitting cross-legged on the floor while he played, controller loose in his hands. Kuroo lounged on the couch, pretending not to watch you watch Kenma.

"You've got a fan," Kuroo teased once, grinning.

Kenma ignored him.

But his shoulders tensed.

Games became a thing.

Not just his games.

Your presence.

You sat in the stands during practices sometimes, doing homework, occasionally looking up when he glanced your way. You started noticing patterns - how his focus sharpened when you were there, how he relaxed during breaks when you smiled at him.

Then one morning, you didn't show up.

You texted him.

sorry - sick today. probably shouldn't come in.

Three words appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

okay.

That was it.

You stayed home. Slept. Barely checked your phone.

You didn't know that Kenma played like absolute garbage that day.

He missed reads. Hesitated. Got caught staring at the empty spot in the stands where you usually sat. Kuroo noticed immediately.

"Dude," Kuroo muttered during a timeout. "What's wrong with you?"

Kenma didn't answer.

He didn't answer when Kuroo called his name again either.

By the end of practice, Kenma hadn't looked at his phone once.

That scared Kuroo more than anything.

He followed Kenma out.

"You didn't even bring your Switch," Kuroo said carefully. "That's not normal."

Kenma stopped walking.

"...She's sick," he said.

Kuroo blinked.

"...Oh."

That night, Kenma stood outside your house.

Hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. Hair slightly messy like he'd run here. He stared at the door for a long time before knocking.

You opened it, wrapped in a blanket, eyes tired but surprised.

"Kenma?"

He swallowed.

"You didn't answer my message," he said quietly.

"You just said 'okay,'" you frowned.

"...I didn't know what else to say."

You stepped aside immediately. "Come in."

He sat on the edge of your bed while you curled up beside him, careful not to touch.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then Kenma said, barely above a whisper, "I play better when you're there."

You blinked.

He turned toward you, eyes serious in a way that made your chest tighten.

"I don't like when you're not around," he continued. "It messes with my focus. I don't know why. I tried to ignore it."

Your heart pounded.

"Kuroo says it's distracting," he admitted. "But I don't think that's bad."

You laughed softly, tears burning unexpectedly. "Kenma..."

He reached out - hesitant - and took your hand.

"I want you at the next game," he said. "Please."

Your throat tightened.

"...Okay."

He exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks.

And when he smiled - small, quiet, real - you realized you were already gone.

Completely.

For him.