Back to Tokyo~

Chapter one (until i figure out a name)

Tokyo, Japan. Saturday,8:43 A.M

Kenma POV:

I lay in my queen sized bed, my parents both on a business trip. They had taken my brother with them, he was going to get his name set up in the school system. I didn't want to go with them, so I was left home alone for two weeks. The specific two weeks before summer break, so it was boiling over here.

I started shifting around in my velvet, silky, tea colored bed sheets. My white bedside table shone in the morning light, bouncing off my alarm clock, and conveniently shining in my eyes. As I twisted around to check the time, arms wrapped around my waist. I jumped, yelling and pushing the arms off of me.

I thought I was alone at the time, but I was wrong. My 'loving boyfriend' (who had decided the best way to confess was by kissing me, ON STREAM!) had snuck in through my front door, he had a spare key. I wasn't too surprised, especially when I heard him chuckling. "Good morning to you too," I sarcastically greeted him from my spot on the floor.

"Sorry, too much?" He asked, grinning from my bed. "As long as whatever you're wearing are pijamas I don't care" I replied, walking over to my window. It was my second year of high school.

I was alone for the last two weeks of school, plus the rest of the summer as I had so generously been informed by my mother. "Alright germaphobe," He rolled his eyes. "What are you wearing anyways?" He asked, getting out of bed and stretching.

"Uhhh..." I murmured, looking down at myself. "Your T-shirt and random shorts I found in my drawer?" I answered, making my way out of my bedroom. "Are you planning on sleeping with me for the rest of the summer?" I asked, smiling at the tall,raven haired, nerdy boy.

"Jokes on you, my parents and yours went to Vermont together. They took my little sister and I assume your brother?" He asked, catching up to me in my kitchen. "Ah, I see. What about your older sister?" I returned the question, making us each a cup of coffee. I never understood how Kuro could drink such sweet coffee. I never liked putting sugar in my coffee, even when I was a kid I remember only putting whipped cream on it.

"Oh right, she went to college, she's staying the summer in Europe." He answered, taking the coffee I offered him. "Ohh, okay." I replied, sitting on our kitchen island. "Well, it's Saturday, We live in a big city, and we have our whole houses to ourselves. What do we do first?" He asked, picking me up off the counter. "Have you been eating?" He asked me, worried.

"Uh, yeah, why?" I returned his question, nervous. I had been diagnosed with severe anxiety and minor depression in my eight grade, which had led to eating disorders and frequent Anxiety Attacks. This led to problems gaining weight.

For example, I was 15 years old and weighed 78 pounds. My nine year old cousin weighed more than I did. It was really unhealthy, which is why I always wore baggy clothes, to make myself look normal. I never liked going to the beach or anything, I had to wear a swimsuit.

Most of my friends supported me and helped, while others pushed me away and told me to talk to them whenever I was 'normal'. Kuro set me down, asking again. "How much have you been eating lately?" He questioned, a sterner look on his face. I felt my breathing get heavier, but I tried to calm it down.

"About a bowl of rice a day," I finally admitted. "Yeah, well now that you have me here, you'll be getting proper care." He said, determined. "What do you mean?" I asked. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that your anxiety and depression are from your parents. Not to mention the several PTSD breakdowns you've had over the past year. The amount of meds you're on is just about equal to walking through a gas station and taking a huge sip of gas from each tank." He stated.

"That was a really weird comparison to my meds," I laughed. "That's the thing, everyone's worried about you. Here, follow me." He walked back to the kitchen, walking over to my medication cabinet for my mental disorders. "Take these bottles and pills and stuff out of here and count them." He ordered, helping me up onto a stool so that I could reach the cabinet. On it, it had a big label that my mom had plastered on it that read "KEN-KEN'S HAPPY MEDS" as if I were some kind of child.

I opened the cabinet and started sorting out my bottles of pills, stress relieving chewing tablets, sleep medicine, and bandages for cuts on my arms. I began laying them out on the kitchen table. "Name them all," he told me. I listened and named them all as he patiently sat next to me. There were 6 boxes of Tylenol, three bottles of Advil, five little ibuprofen containers, my antidepressants, bandages and antibiotics for the cuts and bruises I had, and another box full of things for my anxiety and PTSD.

"See? Your medicine cabinet looks like a pharmacy!" He raised his voice, making me flinch. I never was a big fan of loud noises, my ears would what someone would call sensitive. It was a curse and a blessing. He immediately apologized for yelling, hugging me onto my couch.