breaking and entering (yandere! Kuroo x fem reader)

32 || clueless

Oikawa tried to keep himself busy after having alerted the authorities about both your and Iwa's disappearance. There was nothing else he could do but wait.

And so, he waited. For weeks, he waited.
His composure was enviable.

Impatience was, however, starting to seep through the cracks of his stoic mask - it showed during practice, in school, even at home. He maintained aggressive perfection in every aspect of his life: in his serves, grades, in the maniacal precision in which he finished his chores. But he was irritable. Almost all the time.

He snapped when caught off guard, flipping off teammates or brushing past teachers, scowling at his mom before guilt inevitably followed. He'd catch himself, and would make up for it with rivers of apologies.

Truth was, he was tired. And he was even more tired of performing perfection, especially when he struggled to keep himself together. He needed a break: he had completely given up on the idea of going to nationals, not without his best friend, and not without you cheering for him from the stands.

In the quiet of his dark room, he intently listened to the heaviness of his sighs.

It was another one of those nights. He braced himself for another exhausted morning, dark circles now permanently weighing his complexion down.
Oh well, they were making him mysterious - that's what the fangirls had declared. He couldn't care less, but the cookies the girls baked were an incentive to keep playing nice.

He rummaged through his backpack, finally finding another neatly packed batch of cookies in an elegant plastic wrap. His impatience was, in fact, also manifesting as late night nervous snacking.

Oikawa plopped back down on his bed, his hands probing the cerulean duvet for his phone. The cold screen glowed under his fingertips, and he could finally set up his doomscrolling station for the night - destination being his phone gallery.

He skimmed through the most recent pictures, and all the way back to when you had first become Aoba Johsai's manager. The same video echoed again in his room, probably even his walls could recite the audio back to him now.

"And here we have our lovely manager," his voice shrilled, the camera shifting messily to you, "say hi, (N/n)-chan!"

You smiled timidly, more like pursing your lips, hoping for the awkwardness to pass.

"Say hi!" he exhorted.

"Oh, sure. Uh- hi." You waved at the camera, your awkward smile turning more into an amused grin.

"Oh, just so pretty! So, (N/n)-chan, who's the cutest on the team?" he pointed the camera back at himself, wiggling his eyebrows as he waited for your answer. The camera swung back to you, your face visibly turning red, "It's me, (N/n)-chan! C'mon, say it!" he then whined, too absorbed into his own tantrum to notice that you were eyeing someone specific.

"Oi, Shittykawa! Stop harassing the manager and come serve!"
There he was, your 'cutest on the team', shouting loud and clear in the familiar angry tone he reserved for Oikawa.

"Iwa-chan, I'm interviewing her!" the brunette fired back.
He then pointed the camera back at you, and skillfully dodging one of Iwa's harsh spikes, he yelled"Goodbye for now, beautiful! I'll be back!"

The boy giggled, not giving himself time to stagnate in the memory. He scrolled to the next one: face buried in your hands, you had pushed your physics book out of reach, too tired to keep studying.
And the next picture depicted you sleeping on your desk, said physics book used now as a headrest.

His gallery was filled with you: in fragments, in embarrassment, in quiet beauty.
Iwaizumi appeared often too, half-caught in the background, always pushed out of frame by Oikawa's whining - now the boy wished he had let his best friend linger in the backdrops.

Oikawa had starred every live photo that had even the faintest resemblance of your voice or Iwa's. He had been replaying them with unhealthy longing, often catching himself crying as he heard your voices resonating in his room.

And this time as well, the wetness spreading on his shirt preceded the realization of his stinging eyes. He didn't stop it. Oikawa let himself feel the ache of yearning, tightening his hands in soft fists to wipe those tears away.

Iwa would be back soon. You'd find safety in Oikawa's arms soon. It was just a delay in your story.

And for the night, that hope was enough.

Kenma still struggled to shake Kuroo's room out of his thoughts. He found himself running to the police station before being able to process what to tell them.

The shrine, the drugs, the walls - where to even begin?
No, he couldn't say that. Not like that, without becoming part of it himself.

Breaking and entering.
The words alone made his stomach tighten. He wasn't supposed to be there. He knew that. And yet, he had been, and he couldn't tell on himself.

Not when the real criminal was still out there somewhere. Possibly with you.

Beneath that panic, the boy battled with something uglier that kept surfacing.

He remembered the way Kuroo looked at you. The way his attention folded inward, narrowing until nothing else existed in the room. And he remembered himself watching it.

At the time, he had called it disturbing. Wrong. Obsessive.
But now, that memory didn't feel neutral anymore. It felt personal.

He had envied you more than he liked to admit to himself: the ease with which you existed in that attention, the way it seemed to belong to you so effortlessly.

And that envy had slowly reshaped itself into something sharper, ill-willed.
What you displayed as hesitation, Kenma began to read as something deliberate. Chosen, controlled. Like a puppeteer watching from above.

He struggled to catch his own breath as he finally stepped through the door of the police station.

He scanned the small place for the first free police officer, and when he finally found one, the words flowed out of him before he had the time to refine anything into something safe.

He mentioned the car first. Then Kuroo's absence from school. His voice sounded flat, almost rehearsed, as if he were reporting someone else's life.

The officer on duty didn't react much at first. Just wrote things down, pen scratching swiftly against paper in a rhythm that made Kenma increasingly aware of his own heartbeat.
It wasn't until Kenma added, almost too quickly, that there had been prescription drugs in the house - hidden, and most definitely misused - that the man finally looked up.

A long pause, not dramatic.
"Where did you see that?" the officer asked.

Kenma hesitated, "In his room," he said, and immediately hated how certain he sounded.

The pen stopped moving.
For a second, Kenma thought he had said too much, that the entire story had collapsed right there on that cheap plastic desk.

Then the officer exhaled, tore off a sheet, and stood. "Alright," he said. "We'll look into it."

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

what's going on??? another update?
we're approaching the end of the book everyone. Hopefully I'll be able to end it before the end of this year. If i procrastinate on my exams enough maybe even before the end of the summer.
Also i'll try to keep the chapters a little shorter
ily all, keep slaying xoxo