|| KUROKEN ONESHOTS ||

We are the blood

Kenma hated mint flavored foods, and he hated Kuroo's ugly gym shorts, but, most of all, he hated this time of the year.

"Do you think this time they'll pick us?" Kuroo asked him, the bright light of the August sunset painting his face orange.

Kenma closed his eyes, letting a drop of sweat dribble from his brow to his eyelashes, focusing on catching his breath. He was so tired of this. "I don't think the odds are in our favor."

They were sitting in Kenma's backyard after their daily afternoon training, and Kuroo was, as usual, talking about getting into their high school's volleyball team.

Like every school, Nekoma High had its rumors. Rumor had it, the chemistry lab was haunted by the ghost of a clumsy student. Rumor had it, teachers used underground shortcuts to get from one classroom to another. Rumor had it, the principal's office was actually a storage room for his collection of voodoo dolls.

Kenma thought all of that was bullshit. Kuroo didn't, but wasn't interested in finding out for sure if any of it was true.

Coach Nekomata wasn't a rumor; he was a Legend. Rumor had it, he only ate Toffees. Rumor had it, he was prone to getting drunk on week days. Rumor had it, he had a criminal record.

Kenma knew all of that was bullshit. Kuroo seemed to think so too, but he also seemed to be interested in him nonetheless.

Kenma couldn't blame him: coach Nekomata, if nothing else, was very, very real. He had been one of the best Japanese volleyball players when he was their age and he now coached Nekoma High's boys' team. Team was an understatement – cult was probably closer to the truth. Every year, Nekomata allowed Nekoma High's students to sign an application to get into a list of possible new members of the volleyball team. Every year, ten boys got randomly extracted from this list to take part in a selection, and if Nekomata deemed you worthy, you got in.

Kuroo, Kenma had learned when he was twelve years old, wanted badly to be deemed worthy.

He was confused as to why anyone, Nekomata or Kuroo, would take volleyball that seriously.

There was no way of knowing the number of members he would choose. Kuroo said it depended on how many he had chosen the year prior, on how many he needed, if he needed any at all. Rumor had it, last year Nekomata had chosen all ten of the boys.

Kuroo knocked his knobby knees, bare because of his dumb gym shorts, together. "I know," he sighed. "I know."

That sigh was the main reason why Kenma hated the Summer. The Summer got Kuroo's hopes up, and Kenma always had to deal with what came after. This Summer would be the worst, probably: soon Kuroo would turn eighteen. It was his last year of high school.

It was his last chance.

"I'm sorry," Kenma said. "I think the odds are in your favor. Nobody wants to get into the volleyball team anymore, anyway. They all think basketball is cooler."

That was a lie. They both knew everyone wanted to get into Nekomata's team, but Kenma had noticed Kuroo didn't mind it if he lied a little bit. Not when the aim was so clearly to cheer him up.

"It's fine. I don't care that much," Kuroo said as he offered Kenma his mint flavored popsicle. That was also a lie.

"Sure you don't." Kenma gagged at the popsicle. "Gross. Take it away from me."

"I said it's fine," he repeated, and sighed again. "Even if I got extracted, I wouldn't make it past the selection anyway."

Kenma shot him a glare. He was so tired of this.