@visactoris || sc. || for kyoko !
which is to say, kenma is strategically positioned in a corner pressed up against the wall in one of the changing rooms where he can’t be easily seen from the door. mostly he’s hiding from kuroo, or yaku or someone that kuroo might send to find him, because if kuroo finds him he might make kenma practice more, which is horrible, or he might send kenma home, which is nearly as bad because it’s absolutely freezing outside and therefore if kenma steps outside he will die.
he was practicing. he was even working with lev, headache-inducer that he is. but he could feel the telltale signs creeping up on him even as he positioned set after set, the dragging feeling in his limbs, the shortness of breath, the pressure in his head from more than just lev’s too-enthusiastic voice. the ill feeling mingles with the sweat turning cold on his skin and gives him an all-over clammy sensation that he’s pulled his hoodie on over his t-shirt to combat.
when, inevitably, the door widens and footsteps approach his corner, kenma buries his face deeper in his hoodie at first, as if that will render him more visible. but alas, life is not that kind. when he does peek his eyes out, though, it’s pants he sees, not bare legs and gym shorts, and he follows the sight up to see -- not kuroo, after all.
“. . . i don’t feel good.” he offers, muffled against the collar of his hoodie as he goes back to staring at the air in front of him. maybe kyoko’ll just let him stay back here until practice ends. maybe.