kuroo x reader
anime | haikyuu!!
[ warning ; mentions of death and grievance. read at your own discretion. ]
"I'M REALLY SORRY, Kuroo-san,"
"It's fine."
"Give me a call if you ever want to talk to someone, okay?"
"... Yeah."
"Okay... I'll be going then. Again, I'm really sorry for your loss."
"..."
"Yeah."
It was a rainy day. Everywhere he went, he could see umbrellas of all shapes and colors moving across the busy streets of another morning. The sidewalks were wet and puddles were quick to appear as it gathered on dents on the cement. He could hear the buzzing of people along with the crashing of the persistent drops of water from the gloomy skies that enveloped the entirety of Tokyo. The weather report wasn't wrong this time. It was indeed, the start of the rainy season.
Kuroo didn't like it. He used to, but now he lost all reason to find it appealing. You loved the rain, so much that you would sometimes call him at the break of dawn saying that you won't go to school today, because you'd rather stay inside and do your own thing. He sort of just went along with it at first, but eventually learned to see what you found so beautiful about water-filled pots resting on windowsills, the patter of rain against the roofs, the chilly weather, and the blue, gloomy atmosphere the day would have. But now that you were gone, he felt insulted whenever he would see the clouds darken. Ironically, you died on a rainy day.
When his volleyball team went to your funeral, Kuroo was sitting in the middle, his back against everyone else in the room, looking as if every last bit of his spunky personality was drained off him. He wore mismatched socks, sported greasy, messy hair, and had dark, purplish circles under his eyes. He was pale. Perhaps paler than the body in the coffin before him, if you were to compare. If you were to look at his eyes it would only be a pair of eyes with no ounce of life or whatsoever. This was not their captain, nor the third year they previously knew. This was a body that was merely existing as he sits in front of the very being he considered to be his life—you.
—
"Tetsurō," his mother yelled from downstairs. "Kozume-san is here!"
"Oh, you don't need to call him down, ma'am," the yellow-haired boy said quickly, shaking his head. "It's fine. Really."
The woman's posture fell. A faint but sweet smile graced her dry lips, and a sigh tumbled from her mouth. It was clear from her eyes and skin that she grew to be restless upon weeks and weeks of tiptoeing around her son, careful as to not set a trigger in his head and cause a breakdown.
Kenma was told to sit down and given a bowl of rice cakes and tea as a sign of a conversation. He didn't particularly like to talk—much less to a friend's parent—but it was the least thing he could do for Kuroo. "How are you doing, ma'am?"
The missus fidgeted with her fingers when she sat down. "Honestly, I don't know," her voice lowered down into a whisper, careful as to not be in earshot of anyone else.
"Everything is tiring to put up with, but I have to, because my son is suffering quietly. He may seem like everything's normal, but I know he's going mad inside his head. And then he's also preparing for college, but... I don't want him to. Yet. Not when he's like this."
