Your personal Tumblr journey starts here
Kenma Kozume had never been good with change.
He liked things predictable. Safe. Video games had taught him that if he kept his strategy consistent, if he memorized the patterns and played smart, he could survive anything. Life was just another game to him—one where he preferred to stay in the background, keep things stable, and avoid unnecessary risks.
But nothing about this felt stable. Nothing about this felt safe.
Because you were leaving.
Kenma sat on the floor of your apartment, legs crossed, a cardboard box in his lap. Around him, the room looked smaller than it used to, packed with boxes stacked high, shelves stripped of their usual clutter. The air smelled like old books, packing tape, and a faint trace of your perfume, and for the first time since he had known you, your space didn’t feel like home anymore.
Maybe because it wasn’t. Not for much longer.
You had been a part of his life for so long that he barely remembered what it was like before you. Since childhood, you had been there—first as a quiet presence at his side in elementary school, then as the only person who could sit with him for hours, gaming in comfortable silence. You never questioned the way he was, never pushed him to be anything other than himself. And as the years passed, you became his constant, his safe place, his person.
And now, you were leaving.
“So, you’re really going, huh?” His voice was quiet, neutral, but even he could hear the strain in it.
You looked up from where you were sorting through a pile of miscellaneous things—old letters, tangled earbuds, random trinkets you had shoved into drawers over the years. You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. It’s happening.”
Kenma’s fingers curled around the edges of the box. He had known about this for weeks now, ever since you told him about the job opportunity in another city. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He had told himself it wouldn’t change anything. That you would still text him, call him, visit when you could.
But now, with everything packed up and your walls bare, the reality of it all settled like a weight in his chest.
He had never thought about a life where you weren’t here. Where he couldn’t just send a message and have you show up at his door an hour later with takeout, where you weren’t sitting beside him on his couch, watching him play through whatever new game he was obsessed with that week. Where you weren’t just…
Here.
You sighed and flopped onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m kind of freaking out,” you admitted, voice light, almost playful. “New place, new people, new job. It’s exciting, but also terrifying.”
Kenma swallowed. He should say something. Something encouraging, something that made it sound like he was happy for you, like he wasn’t falling apart inside.
“You’ll be fine.”
You turned your head to look at him, and for a second, he thought you could see right through him. That you could tell he was barely keeping it together. But then you smiled—soft, familiar, warm.
“Thanks, Ken.”
He nodded, looking away. He focused on the box in his lap, on the way his hands clenched the cardboard just a little too tightly.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He had never needed to say anything before. He thought you just knew—that you had always known. That there was no rush, no deadline, no moment where he would run out of time. Because you were always here.
But now, you weren’t going to be.
And Kenma realized, too late, that he had never even given himself a chance.
The packing took hours, and Kenma stayed through all of it. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else, anyway. He helped you sort through things, separate what you were keeping from what you were leaving behind. Every item had a story, a memory attached to it. The hoodie he had lent you once and never got back. The game controller he had bought for you so you could play co-op with him. The tiny cat figurine you had won at a festival and insisted looked just like him.
All these little things that made up you.
All these little things that reminded him of what he was losing.
He wasn’t good with words. He never had been. He wasn’t like Kuroo, who could charm his way through anything, or Bokuto, who could wear his heart on his sleeve without fear. Kenma had always been quiet, reserved, hesitant. But when it came to you, his feelings were loud, screaming inside him, demanding to be acknowledged.
But he had never said anything.
Because what if he did, and you left anyway? What if it changed everything? What if losing you as a friend hurt worse than losing you to distance?
“You should take this,” you said at one point, holding out an old, well-loved game case. “We never finished it together.”
Kenma stared at it, then at you. “Then take it with you.”
“I don’t have my console anymore. Sold it.” You grinned sheepishly. “New city, new start.”
His grip tightened on the game. He didn’t like that answer. He didn’t like any of this. He had never been an emotional person, but right now, something bitter sat at the back of his throat, something wrong.
You were leaving. You were letting go of all these things, of this life, of him—and you were acting like it was just something that had to happen.
Kenma had spent years convinced he had all the time in the world. But time was up. And for the first time, he didn’t know what to do about it.
It was late by the time everything was packed. The apartment looked empty now, stripped of everything that made it yours. You stretched, yawning, then turned to him with an expression that was far too casual for what this moment felt like.
“This is it, huh?” You nudged his arm lightly. “One last night before I go.”
Kenma’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to nod. “Yeah.”
“Hey.” You tilted your head, watching him. “Are you okay?”
No. No, he wasn’t. Because this wasn’t fair. Because he should have said something sooner. Because he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that tomorrow, you wouldn’t be here anymore.
“Yeah.”
You frowned, unconvinced, but you let it go. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. Kenma stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, before his body reacted on instinct, arms lifting to hold you back just as tightly.
“I’m gonna miss you, Ken.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to memorize this—the feel of your arms around him, the warmth of you against his chest, the way your head fit perfectly against his shoulder. Trying to ignore the aching thought that this might be the last time.
He wanted to say don’t go. Wanted to tell you to stay, that you didn’t have to leave, that he—
But he didn’t.
Instead, he whispered, “Me too.”
And he held on for as long as he could.
Atsumu Miya has experienced a lot of victories in his life.
Winning nationals in high school, standing on a podium with a gold medal around his neck, putting on his MSBY Jackals uniform for the first time—all those moments were huge. Defining. Things he’d worked his whole life to achieve.
But none of them compare to this.
None of them feel like the world just tilted sideways, like something fundamental in his chest just snapped into place.
All because of you.
But before that happens, he’s just living his normal life—coming off a grueling practice, shoulders aching, hair still damp from the shower he took before leaving the stadium. It’s not unusual for him to swing by your place. He’s been doing it since you were kids, long before volleyball was more than a game he played with Osamu in the backyard.
Back when you were there to keep him and his twin from going at each other’s throats.
He still remembers it so clearly—one of their first real fights, barely more than kids, fighting over a volleyball like it belonged to one of them more than the other. He doesn’t even remember what was said, just that he and Osamu were practically nose to nose, hands gripping at the ball like it was life or death.
And then, you appeared. Huffing, exasperated, already tired of their nonsense even at that age. You didn’t yell at them, didn’t try to make them share.
No, you just showed up with a second ball and tossed it right between them.
“There,” you said, hands on your hips, watching them with that unimpressed look you still give him when he’s being stupid. “Now you both have one. Can we play now?”
It was such a simple thing, but from that moment on, Atsumu couldn’t imagine life without you in it.
Through middle school, high school, and even now, with Osamu off running his shop instead of playing, you’re still here.
So he doesn’t hesitate to knock on your door, doesn’t even think twice about it. He’s just tired—wants a break from the noise of his own place, maybe some food if you’ve got anything lying around. You always let him crash, let him just be without the weight of being a pro athlete pressing down on him.
But the second the door swings open, everything changes.
Because you’re standing there, looking at him like this is just any other visit, wearing his jersey.
His mind shuts down completely.
The MSBY Jackals jersey. His number printed on the back. His last name stitched across your shoulders.
And worse? You're a mess. Hair disheveled like you just rolled out of bed, mismatched socks pulled halfway to your shins with a pair of his old shorts—ones he barely remembers giving you, but you always claimed were comfier than your own clothes. The jersey is oversized on you, hanging loose around your frame, the sleeves slipping past your shoulders.
It shouldn’t make his stomach flip like this. Shouldn’t make his chest tighten, heat rushing up the back of his neck like he’s some dumb teenager who’s never talked to a girl before.
But it does.
He stares. Blinks. Forgets how to function.
"Is that—" His voice cracks like a loser, and he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. "Is that my jersey?"
You blink at him, then glance down, pulling at the fabric as if you just noticed what you’re wearing.
“Oh.” You inspect it briefly before shrugging. “Yeah, it is. I got it after your first game. I had to have your number.”
Atsumu feels like he just got hit with a full-speed serve to the chest. You had to have his number?
Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything.
And that somehow makes it worse.
Atsumu short-circuits.
Because you mean it. And you don’t even realize what it’s doing to him.
His brain is stuck on a loop.
You didn’t even realize it was his. You put it on without thinking. You’ve been wearing his number all day, and it wasn’t a big deal to you. But it is to him.
His ears burn. His entire face burns. His heart is pounding in his chest, so loud he swears you can hear it.
You frown, tilting your head. "Tsumu? You okay?"
No. No, he is not.
Because suddenly, he gets it.
This feeling in his chest, this weird tightness, this warmth that’s always been there but never quite like this—it’s been building for years, hasn’t it? And he never noticed.
But now, staring at you in his jersey, standing in his doorway, looking at him like you always have, like you belong here—
It finally clicks.
And it wrecks him.
His mouth opens, then closes. He should say something. He should say anything. But what the hell is he supposed to say? That seeing you in his jersey makes his entire body feel like it’s overheating? That the thought of you buying it because you wanted his number is making his brain malfunction? That he suddenly doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just go back to normal after this?
He swallows thickly. His hands clench at his sides before he forces himself to shove them into his pockets. "Yeah. I—uh—guess it looks good on ya. Or whatever."
You give him a look like you don’t believe him. Like you know something’s off. And he knows you—knows you’re about to press, about to dig in and make him talk about this sudden identity crisis he’s having.
Which means he needs to stop you.
"Anyway," he blurts out, pushing past you and into the apartment like nothing just happened. "Ya got anything to eat? I’m starvin’."
You let it slide, just like you always do, shaking your head as you close the door behind him.
But Atsumu?
He knows he’s never letting this go.
Because this isn’t just some passing thought, not some weird, fleeting moment of confusion.
This is real. This is big.
And for the first time in his life, Atsumu Miya is terrified.
Worse? He thinks he might like it.
And that might just be the scariest part of all.
https://youtu.be/x6f3ZUYb8Ao
Going over a lot of things going on & some comment reactions
Then he offered me a drink
“the fuck you doing here?” 3 said surprise that 4 walked into the same bar as he was slowly becoming an alcoholic at.
“puzzles left with the kids” 4 said sounding like he was about to burst out crying right then and there.
“damn I didn’t even know you two were married.” 3 replied. It was all his more than drunk brain could condor up.
As 3s words slowly sinking into 4. 4 started starts violently sobbing. To the point he fell to his knees with his face in his hands muttering about how he was probably brainwashed during the sighting of the marriage certificate, if he just had treated leggy better, if it just had been acting, if he hadn’t been so stupid.
3 in a drunk and desperate attempt try to console his friend, took the bottle he was currently drinking and handed it to 4.
“You want…” he looked better in bottle and tried to read the label. Pripps Blå? He has to start looking at what he’s stealing “… some preps blah”
“literally anything” 4 said gladly taking the haft full bottle downing it without the single thought. 4 ordered more alcohol and stayed drinking with 3. By ordered I mean 4 asking and 3 stealing it for them both, 4 noticing, but not caring to complain.
Now sober 4s sadness, had turned into wasted 4s anger.
“How could he take Beeg away from me?! He has my last name! Puzzles wasn’t even in the picture by then!” 4 screamed angrily. 3 moved a little away from 4 to avoid 4s screaming in his ears, but stayed in the barstool next to 4.
“Sure, I gave him baths without his permission and left him outside for one episode and he murdered the mafia! BUT HE IS STILL MY SON!” 4 slam down the empty bottle and 3 started thinking about who had drunk more. Unsure based on the fact, he got there earlier, but 4 was much more of a quick drinker. He was happy that no one else was in the bar to noticed him stealing or 4s outburst.
“I wish I could just show him. I’m not a bad dad! He’s an evil tv. I want him to die! He tried to kill me multiple times! How did he get custody? I tried to kill him once. ONCE!” 4 screamed now grabbing on 3 shoulders. 3 had completely zoned out 4 rambling long before, now forced back in. Wow he was too drunk for this, they both were. 4 had the crazy in his eyes like from the IGBP incident.
Why did 4 marry puzzles after that?
Why was 3 getting scared from 4 faces, but flustered from being so close to insane 4?
It’s definitely the alcohol. Ain’t no other way. Right? Snow trapped jump scare. Gosh he needs to sober himself up. 4 too.
3 should get them both water.
“Only on the weekends?! WHAT THE HECK DOES SHE MEAN ONLY ON THE WEEKENDS?!” 4 pulls 3 close fast tightening his grip on 3 shoulders only to yell about puzzles some more. Fuck, 3 came here to drown his feelings not discover new ones, not only to mention he couldn’t slip away to get them both water. 3 should not be attracted to the deer his friend is crying about his ex husband. 3 doesn’t want to be 4s shitty rebound ether. 3 decide to just end it.
“Woah 4, you’re way too drunk, I’ll get us both water.” 3 says hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. Especially with how offended 4 looks that 3 cut him off.
“What!” 4 says loosening his grip on 3
“It will help with the killer hangover you’ll have tomorrow.” 3 says hoping 4 will let him go.
4 let him go without a word just staring at him, looking to drunk to read.
3 comes back with 2 liters of water. Hands one of them went to 4. 3 starts sipping on his own while watching 4 trying and fail to down his.
Once they’re both done, they head out to the parking lot. 3 was a little more sober, since all the water cleaned his insides and probably since he stopped drinking way before 4 as well. 4 was still way too drunk to be left alone.
4 was sitting fumbling straight to his car, 3 starts rationalizing it in his head. Okay fine.
“I’m going to drive you home.” 3 stated
“What no I have my car here!” 4 protested
“I’ll help you pick it up tomorrow” 3 bargained
4 again with that same drunken unreadable expression stumped into 3s passenger car door, smearing his spit on the window.
Unlocked his car and helped 4 in. Before getting in himself hoping his tipsy driving would get them home safe, or else 4 was never going to see his children again.
It was only first when they pulled up to Coffee N' Bombs that 3 realized 4 had fallen asleep. Ain’t no way in hell 3s carrying 4s heavy ass to the casual. Those his ‘‘evil lair’’ even have a second bed.
Fuck, it’s just 4 it ain’t like they’re gonna fuck. Snow trapped jump scare. Wow he’s tipsy. How did he even manage to Drive home. It doesn’t matter.
3 gets out of the car and unbuckles 4 carrying him in before locking the car. Then carrying 4 to 3s ‘’secret evil lair’’ then removing 4 shoes and hat before placing him on the bed. 3 took the time to do his nightly routine before joining 4 on the bed.
Hoping they aren’t that hungover tomorrow.