Cena inicial
The gym is filled with the echo of volleyballs hitting the floor, shoes squeaking, and whistles blowing. Kenma moves through drills slower than usual, his posture slightly hunched. He clutches his stomach briefly, hiding it from the other players. His eyes glaze over for a moment, and his breathing comes a little uneven.
Across the court, Kuroo laughs at a teammate’s joke, claps his hands, and demonstrates a move. He glances at Kenma only briefly, not noticing the subtle signs: the pale skin, the tight grip over his stomach, the slow, careful steps.
Kenma wipes his forehead, mutters something under his breath, and sinks to the floor during a break, leaning against the wall. He groans softly, hoping no one hears.
Kenma sits alone at a table, head down, earbuds in. The chatter of students fades into the background as he rests his face on his folded arms. His tray of food untouched. Occasionally, he shifts uncomfortably, pressing a hand to his stomach.
Kuroo enters with the team, laughing and carrying a tray loaded with food. He notices Kenma for a split second but thinks he’s just lost in thought.
KUROO:
Hey, Kenma! You coming with us?
Kenma lifts his head slightly, forcing a small shrug.
Kenma shakes his head.
Kuroo nods and walks away, assuming everything’s fine. Kenma sighs, lowering his head again, eyes closing briefly.
Back in practice, Kenma moves with extra caution. He skips a jump during a drill, grimacing, and wipes sweat from his pale face. His teammates exchange glances, but nobody says anything.
Kuroo runs past him, encouraging the others. “Keep it up!”
kenma groans in frustration as he follows behind the others. He takes a small break behind the bleachers. Leaning against the cold metal.
beads of sweat drip from his four head into the ground. He groans quietly, rubbing his tones stomach with a grimace. He swallows, muttering to himself
KENMA: this is stupid he said softly but boldly.
YOUR PORTRAY KENMA*
