Chapter Text
Sometimes, when he is dancing, Kenma forgets that the rest of the world exists. It’s second nature to him now, as if the music and the moves are a part of his body, like breathing or blinking. And Kageyama’s playing is as beautiful and consistent as ever, never missing a beat, never holding on to a note for too long. It makes it easy for Kenma to lose himself in it.
When it is over, he holds his final pose as long as the applause lasts, and then, when the clapping trickles down to a few quiet scatters, he feels the world come back to him. It always aches afterwards because he’s too lazy to stretch properly beforehand, and he wonders if he will ever miss the ache once it’s gone.
Kenma doesn’t want to dance forever. If he had been born a few decades ago, he would’ve had to as a Five, but now that the caste system is dismantled, everyone is free to pursue whatever career they choose.
Not that it happens perfectly all the time. Case in point—his family is still relying on their previous careers as Fives. His mother is a singer and dancer. His father is a sculptor. They still teach him at a very young age how to dance, and maybe it’s the generations of dancing and performing that has genetically gifted him with a lithe and nimble body for it. But Kenma wants something different for himself, so he enrolls in college part-time with the money that he earns. He can choose to be a teacher or an engineer if he wants, the jobs previously reserved for Threes, or pursue a simple job as a store clerk or secretary (caste Six).
A lot of people are motivated to move “up” in the world, even though the caste system doesn’t exist anymore, so no career is technically “better” than another, but Kenma is only interested in doing things that feels right to him. And although he is good at dancing, it doesn’t feel quite right. He’s still figuring out what it is.
Kenma glances around the room for Kageyama, wondering if he should wait for him. They like to walk home together, but the thought of possibly running into Haru makes him want to gag. He doesn’t need to run into his ex here. Especially since the last time they saw each other at one of these, Haru’s face was under the shirt of the son of some city officials in one of the vacant rooms.
He gives his friend a small wave and retreats into the powder room. He lets his hair out of its tight bun, feeling the tension in his head loosen as his hair falls down. He slips the small envelope containing his earnings into his bag and sets home, Kageyama’s soothing piano getting smaller and smaller as his feet carry him away from the party.
~
“Welcome home, Kenma.” His mom’s voice carries all the way into the genkan. She pokes her smiling face at him from the living room. “Hurry in or you’ll miss the special announcement!”
“Coming,” he calls, although he doesn’t change his pace at all. His parents are obsessed with watching the Reports, the weekly Friday news directly from the Palace. They like to keep up with the current events while Kenma can’t care less. He probably should, as he feels the unrest building and hears whispers on the street of possible civil disputes rising throughout the country, but he doesn’t really want to get involved in any of it. Even though the caste system is gone, the elitism and discrimination from it hasn’t gone away with it. And it doesn’t seem like the monarchs are doing much to quell the disputes other than saying pretty words like, “we’re aware” and “we’re doing our best to listen to you”.
“How was work today?” His mom makes room on the couch for him. His dad waves from her other side.
“Fine.” Kenma sinks into the couch, letting gravity pull him into it. It always hits him how tired he actually is when he sits down, as if his body is finally giving him permission for it.
“And how about…” Her tone is indicative enough without finishing the rest of her sentence.
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes low. “I didn’t see him.” She is aware of his recent break-up with Haru. He didn’t want to tell her any details, but she knows that it ended on bad terms to say the least.
She hums appreciatively. Kenma turns his attention to his phone, playing a quick game as he waits. He feels his mom’s excited taps on his knees before he even hears the music to the Reports playing from the TV.
Reluctantly, Kenma puts away his phone and faces the screen. The announcer Aritaka Shishio’s smiling face greets them, microphone in his hand. His thick brows and spiky black hair fills the screen in its usually cheeriness. He always looks so happy to be doing his job. Kenma often wonders how much of it is real.
“Hello, good evening, citizens of Nekoma! I hope you’re all having a wonderful day. As we’ve alluded throughout the week, we have a very special announcement today from our very own Crown Prince. I know we are all excited, so I’ll turn it over to him.” He motions behind him, and the camera pans to the two royals sitting on their thrones.
One is King Kuroo Ichiro, in his elegant suit and decorated lapels. To Kenma, he always looks stern, his brown eyes seem to stare deep into your soul. His bushy brows are strewn together like he’s displeased. On his right, coming into focus on the TV screen now, is Prince Kuroo Tetsurou. He is almost a splitting image of his father, although his eyes are a warm gold and his black hair is an untamable mess, not at all the put-together image of a to-be King. But he’s tall and his shoulders are broad, like they truly are meant to carry the burden of a country.
Kenma doesn’t want to admit it, but the prince looks rather handsome. When he smiles, an easy but bright smile that shows the perfectly lined teeth, Kenma feels that “prince charming” energy radiates off him—though he would soon die before saying this to anyone out loud.
“Well, thank you, Shishio.” He bows before clearing his throat and continuing. “As you all know, as Crown Prince of Nekoma, I follow my father closely and aim to lead our country as well as he has.”
Kenma snorts under his breath. His mother shushes him.
“It’s a lot of responsibility, and I’m truly honored to be able to serve you all. However, before I can fully ascend and take my position, I feel that I need something—or more, specifically, someone—who will keep me grounded and steady outside of the realms of politics. I feel that it is time I search for my partner, my better half, and my voice of reason. God knows, I particularly need that.” He pauses, chuckling a bit at his own joke. Kenma can tell that he’s a dork just from that. The prince continues, “As my father had done, I will hold a Selection, and I invite you, the good men of Nekoma to apply to be a candidate. One man from each province will be selected, for a total of 35, but of course, I will only get the pleasure of choosing one of you to be my partner for the rest of my life.” He winks at the camera. And Kenma’s heart definitely doesn’t flutter at the gesture.
His mind, though, is busy racing at the news. A Selection. The prince is looking for the love of his life.
“Kenma—” His mother nudges at him.
“No.” He says quickly, even as the thought briefly crosses his mind. Very, extremely briefly. Then, all common sense and reason comes back to him.
“You don’t even—”
“Mom, no.” Prince Tetsurou is still talking on the screen, giving the age requirements, instructions, and deadlines to the application. Kenma is trying not to listen. He’s trying to ignore his mother’s hopeful and pointed look. “I mean, look at him.”
She rolls his eyes. “Oh yes, tall, dark, handsome. Totally undatable.”
“Dad’s right there!”
“You know, I’m with your mother always.” His father tuts. “But he is quite easy on the eyes.”
“Dad!” Kenma cannot believe he’s having this conversation with his parents. He cannot believe they’re even considering this. He sounds like a child when he whines, “I don’t want to be a prince.”
“Prince Consort.” His mother points out, her gold eyes still glittering mischievously. “Hardly the same thing.”
He groans, putting his head in his hands.
“All we’re saying, honey, is that it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“That’s what the Selection is for. Getting to know him.”
“I might not even get selected.” There’s no way he’s applying. No way.
“Then that’s the harm in applying?”
Kenma sighs, getting up from his spot on the couch. “I’m going to bed.”
His mother calls after him, clearly still not giving up her impossible pipe dream. “Applications close next week!”
“Good night.” Kenma says decisively as he walks away. He doesn’t even need to turn back to know that his parents are whispering to one another, his father going along with his mother’s crazy ideas.
But there’s nothing they can say to convince him to do it because seriously? A royal? Him? Never in a million years.
~
Kenma wakes up the next morning with a headache, a sign that today is already not going to go well. Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he sees that he has three missed messages from Haru. He groans into his pillow. He should’ve blocked his number.
Haru: Hey, Kenma. Was looking for you yesterday but couldn't catch you
Haru: Can we talk?
Haru: I will be by your side of town today. Please, then I’ll leave you alone.
Kenma knows he doesn’t owe him anything. They’ve only dated for half a year, and sure, that is the longest he has ever been in a relationship, even at the age of 23, but that doesn’t mean he was madly in love with him. But that also doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt because he felt the betrayal deep in his bones. Even now, just remembering that moment, Kenma feels off-balanced, like someone is repeatedly punching him in the guts, determined to make him fall down.
He had run out of there without saying a word. He could’ve yelled and screamed, but he knew the guests and host would’ve looked at him with disdain in their eyes and he never would’ve been hired again. And what would they do? Side with Kenma, an easily replaceable dancer that appears in their parties maybe three times a year? Or ignore the ordeal because Haru and his parents are the ones the parties are for anyways?
They had met at one of these parties. Haru had found him beautiful and captivating. Apparently, that is before he finds someone better. Someone who is more apt to be seen with him in public. Because although they’ve gone on dates, Haru has never once held his hand when they’re outside together. Kenma is sure he wouldn’t mind doing that with that boy whose parents are probably previous Threes or Twos, whose lips he just has to taste in the middle of Kenma’s performance.
They haven’t talked or seen each other in weeks, that should be enough, right? It’s pretty clear that Kenma wants nothing to do with him. Then, another part of him thinks that maybe they should just meet one last time, just to put this whole thing behind them. Kenma can tell him to fuck off in person and never look for him again.
Against his better judgement, Kenma types back a Yes.
His head throbs. It’s really going to be a terrible day.
~
Haru is sitting at their regular table at the restaurant. Presumably, he has already ordered his lunch too. Kenma would’ve worried that he got him something (he doesn’t plan to stay for the meal) if he thinks Haru had paid attention to what Kenma likes to eat. Looking back at it, their relationship had been doomed from the start. Maybe Kenma just likes the attentions and has ignored all of the signs telling him it’s a bad idea.
Like the voice in his head this morning warning against this meeting.
“Hey, Kenma.” Haru flashes him a smile. Kenma almost falls out of his chair. Something is different about the way he looks today. His skin, his hair…
“Are you wearing makeup?” Kenma squints, peering closer. He can see a sheer powdery substance on his skin and a faint blush on his normally pale cheeks. His brown hair looks good, although he always spends too long on it in the mornings. It’s styled a bit differently today, though, as if attempting to recreate an effortlessly beautiful look.
“Yes. So what?” He huffs, lips falling from his bright smile just a bit. “I wanted to look nice for the pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“For the Selection.” He says flatly, like it’s obvious. At Kenma’s blank look, he sighs, waving at him like he’s the one being silly and explains, “You have to take a picture when you go to turn in your application. How else are they going to know what you look like otherwise?”
“Right.” This must’ve been in the part of the Reports that he ignored last night. He bites back a smile and a comment that it might’ve been better for Haru to not do anything at all, but it’s none of his business if he wants to make a fool of himself on national television. Kenma clears his throat. “So, you wanted to talk.”
“Yes.” His expression turns serious. He gulps down some water before looking straight at Kenma, eyes grim. “I just want to say how sorry I am that you saw what I did a few weeks ago.”
“So, you’re not sorry you did it?” Kenma’s blood is beginning to boil. Here he thought he was getting an actual apology.
“I’m getting there!” A few people turn to look at his suddenly raised voice. Haru realizes his mistake and lowers it. “I mean, listen, I’m sorry, okay? I never meant for it to happen. I was drunk and he was flirting with me and putting himself all over me. Next thing I know, he was pushing me into one of the rooms and then—well, you know the rest.” He gives Kenma his best sorry eyes, a slow deliberate trembling of his lips. “I’m sorry, Kenma. Really. I hope you’ll forget all about this.”
Kenma feels nauseous. And he feels angry. He can’t believe he’s dumb enough to come here, expecting some civilized conversation and closure. He feels even worse than before.
He grits his teeth. “Just so you know—we’re over. Completely.”
“I know that.” The smile is back on his face now, as if the last minute hasn’t happened, as if that “apology” has fixed everything between them. “I hope I have your support when I get selected.”
“What? You’re not serious.” Now he really can’t believe what he’s hearing. What is crazier—Haru asking for Kenma’s support? Or him thinking he’s going to get selected? Or him thinking he can become any kind of good partner, much less to the prince? Kenma doesn’t feel any particular affection towards Prince Kuroo, but he will feel sorry for him if he ends up with Haru as his Prince Consort.
“Oh, I’m serious. When I get selected, it’s as much the people’s choice as it is the prince’s. Public perception is very important to the monarchy—”
The dots are starting to connect in Kenma’s brain as he’s choosing to ignore Haru’s careful choice of the words “when he gets selected”.
“So, you invited me here to make sure I don’t spread the words and ruin your reputation.” Kenma states, deadpan.
Haru grins again. This time, his brown eyes narrow just a bit, making Kenma shiver in his chair. “I always knew you were smart, Kenma.”
“I’m offended you would think so lowly of me. I wouldn’t have done that anyways.” He’s angry now for an entirely different reason. “But you’re delusional if you think it’s that easy to get selected. There are thousands of men in our province, Haru.”
He just shrugs. “Not many have my influence.”
“It’s a lottery system.”
He does it again. “Things tend to work out in my favor. With my luck, you’re talking to your future Prince Consort. I’ll make sure to mention you in favorable terms, too, Kenma. Maybe you can even perform at our wedding.”
Kenma is speechless. He doesn’t know what to address first. Then, he decides that he shouldn’t address anything at all. Really, he’s done here.
“Okay, well—” He stands up and starts to say Good luck, but he doesn’t want to say it at all. Not even sarcastically. “Bye.”
The waitress picks this precise moment to bring out Haru’s food. Kenma is correct in that he had not ordered for him. He stares at the man in front of him and is disgusted at himself for ever attaching his name to his, even for a little bit. And the thought of Haru appearing on his TV every Friday for the Reports for the rest of his life makes him want to say many profanities out loud.
Kenma doesn’t even like the prince, but he doesn’t deserve the unfortunate pleasure of knowing Haru, not even for a minute. Kenma also knows that Haru isn’t doing this out of love. He probably can’t love anybody but himself.
Before Kenma knows it, he’s heading towards City Hall to put in his application.
It’s more out of spite than anything. And Kenma is 99% sure he’s not going to get selected, but if there’s even a sliver of a chance that he can stop Haru from being selected, then it’s good enough for him.
He’s also conscious that he’s not doing this out of love either, but he can always get sent home, can’t he? The prince probably doesn’t want anything to do with him anyways.
Kenma waits in an exceptionally long line at City Hall. It extends the door and around the block. He almost went home looking at it, but he knows that if he did, he wouldn’t come back. Only the ugly image of Haru in a crown keeps him in his spot, reluctantly inching towards the front every few minutes.
Now that he’s here, he thinks that maybe Haru isn’t so crazy to put on make-up. Some other boys have too. Some are even wearing suits. Kenma is just in his simple T-shirt and jacket. He looks decent enough, he supposes, but it’s not like he’s really here to wow the prince after all.
Finally, when he gets to the front of the line, he fills out a form with his basic information. Then, just as Haru said, he is ushered to a room where a few photographers are snapping the headshots.
“You can use this mirror here before your photo.” One of them snags him and pulls him towards his station.
“Thanks.” Kenma only realizes now that maybe it’s a terrible idea to come here on a whim. His face in the mirror is presentable, but his hair is partially dyed blonde with his black roots showing. It doesn’t bother him because he’s too lazy to dye it back, but he knows his mother always nags at him about how awkward it looks.
It’s too late now.
Kenma decides to take his hair out of its low bun. He feels like it frames his face nicer and will make him look more decent. Maybe Prince Kuroo would like that better.
He winces at his own thought. Putting down the mirror, he goes to the spot marked X on the floor and faces the photographer.
It’s really too late now.
“Smile!” And there goes the flash, almost blinding Kenma with it.
~
Of course, his mother is over the moon when she finds out that he put his name in the application pool. For the next two weeks, it’s all she talks about at home. What would happen if he got selected? What would happen if he fell in love with the prince? What would happen if—Kenma chooses to zone her out most of the time. It hurts his head to think about. And he also doesn’t want his own mind to start wandering in places it doesn’t belong.
Before he knows it, two weeks have passed and they’re sitting in front of the TV once again for the Friday Reports. Kenma is feeling uncharacteristically nervous tonight. He tries to calm himself down, telling his mind that it’s going to be over soon, and he can go back to never thinking about the Selection again, but it’s hard to do when his mom is vibrating with excitement right next to him. He’s half-hoping that someone gets selected in their province soon, so that she can relax and go back to being a regular person.
But try as he might, Kenma can’t stop the palpitations inside his chest.
It’s just like an exam. Or before an important performance. He reminds himself. They will announce someone else’s name, and it will be over soon.
The music to the Reports starts, and Kenma doesn’t need his mom to nudge his knees this time to get his attention—his eyes are already on the screen. The Kozume household awaits the news with bated breath. He supposes that a lot of households are feeling this way right about now.
It gives him a few seconds of comfort to know that Haru is feeling a bit nauseous, too, as annoyingly arrogant as he was that he would get picked.
Shishio and Prince Kuroo go through their little banter at the beginning of the segment. Kenma hardly pays any attention to it. He does note the bead of sweat decorating the top of the prince’s forehead, though, and his shaky smile.
It’s a grounding moment. A sudden, humbling realization that it is the prince’s life that is about to change too. Kenma feels for him.
Then, he’s back to feeling nervous as the screen flashes the application’s numbers on the screen in quick succession. The first man selected is from province one, a bright blonde with glasses and the name Tsukishima Kei. He smiles in his picture, but it almost looks forced, like he’s not entirely used to it.
“He’s pretty.” His mom hums next to him.
Kenma can’t find it in himself to say anything. Now he is really wishing that he isn’t selected because his picture with his badly dyed hair is about to be plastered on everyone’s TV across the nation. The thought alone is mortifying.
They go through each province, showing the picture and name of the selected, each of them with their own look and personality, evident enough through the quick snapshot that’s shown. Kenma allows himself to wonder which one of these is Prince Kuroo’s type.
He’s running the list back in his mind, trying to remember the ones he finds most attractive when, suddenly, his heart stops.
Kenma couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Oh god,” he mutters. How he even finds the strength to do that is beyond him.
Beside him, his mother screams, almost falling off the couch, “Oh, god! Kenma! Kenma!”
It’s his picture now shining brightly from their TV. He’s grateful that he indeed did manage a small smile in it.
Although he can’t think or feel anything right now, even as the screen changes to show another man’s photo and name.
He’s selected. He’s going to the palace to meet and potentially marry the Crown Prince.