Chapter Text
Yeah, it was cold.
It was cold and Kenma, as with most things, hated it. Though Kenma did much prefer the cold to the heat; The cold was crisp, clean. The heat blended everything together into one big, messy sweat-blob. Definitely not Kenma's style.
Rain drizzles delicately from the clouded sky, allowing a mesmerizing sheen to coat the asphalt beneath the occasional street lamp. The moon didn't dare make an appearance tonight, not with the event taking place just down the road. The smell of the rain calms Kenma's oddly jumpy nerves. Kenma wasn't typically skittish, he was usually able to keep a level head and stay observant of the situation. But---tonight was different.
The shoulders of Kenma's tux were a bit wet, which sent chills down the skinny boy's small body. He had a small form, one that was agile, and usually able to fit through narrow places. He reminded himself, and many, many others, of a cat in this way. Not to mention Kenma's prominently feline-like features.
He, in no way, was a cat—-he just resembled one so fiercely that it’s not like you couldn’t recognize it.
This exact reason was what made it so easy for the boy to slip through the slender window propped open in the back of the building. Obviously, someone had made a simple, yet vital, mistake by leaving the opening available.
Kenma was sure it'd get whoever did it killed, but that wasn't Kenma's problem, so it wasn't his concern.
After adjusting his sleeves and checking up on the 9 mm pistol he has strapped to his ankle, he wanders out of the bathroom he'd landed in and out into a hallway.
Yeah, Kenma didn't really know where he was going, but he wasn't too worried about that. Kenma was never really worried about anything, to be honest.
Kozume Kenma suddenly finds himself walking into a room stuffed full with people. Mostly men, but a few women wander around, wearing elegantly designed dresses.
From a street-view, this was nothing but a run-down warehouse. But on the inside, down a level, this was an intricate ballroom, built to harbor banquets for Tokyo's most elite mafia groups. He knew because Kenma was just a boy when this was built, running around these hallways, while his father talked plans on the design of the building. Kozume Kenma knew practically every in and every out of this warehouse.
Kenma lines the outer edges of the ballroom, fulfilling his known role as the wallflower he is. He watches everyone from a distance, gathering new intel.
To anyone else, they'd feel terrified being stuck in a room full of A-list mafia families. But Kozume Kenma was not just anyone.
Kenma was the son of who would be called the "king" of the Japanese mafia within Tokyo.
The name? Satsujin.
Kenma, however, hasn't been a part of his own syndicate since he was sixteen. He's eighteen now.
And as far as anyone in the Japanese mafia was aware, Kozume Kenma had been dead for two years.
So, keeping a low profile was essential for Kenma in this crucial moment to gather intel.
Kenma often slithered into these events, just to keep tabs on new mafia groups that happened to pop up. It was important to keep himself educated about this particular thing, so he knew which areas to avoid.
Plus, no one could ever recognize Kenma now unless they paid especially close attention. The teen had died his hair blonde after being proclaimed "dead" two years ago, and while it may have grown out a bit, it still provided cover. That paired with a spurt of puberty caused Kenma's features to age well within the past couple of years.
Some would call him hot, others would say handsome. I'd say both. (Oops.)
A waiter comes wandering by, offering Kenma a glass of champagne. He turns it down, never having been one to drink. Alcohol had the tendency to make people sloppy.
And Kozume Kenma was anything but sloppy.
Lazy? Sure. But sloppy? No.
"Hey." Kenma looks up, mildly startled. Kenma was always observant, but he never expected someone to actually talk to him at one of these events. When was the last time he had a conversation with someone?
Kenma hadn't had many friends being the son of Kozume Hideaki, big-scary-mafia-boss-guy. And he sure as hell didn't make any friends after being proclaimed "dead" by his own father.
Dead people didn't have friends.
Oh, right---people usually answer when greeted. "Oh, hello." Kenma replies, quietly, looking up at the person.
He immediately recognized the man as Kuroo Tetsurou, leader of the Nekoma syndicate. He knew of the Nekoma group, they were quite powerful. Kenma would even say they were pretty dangerous.
"I've always hated these things." Kuroo laughs lowly, his eyes grazing the audience for anything interesting to look at. He found nothing, so he turned his attention back to the one thing that had actually managed to maintain his interest: Kenma.
Kenma had never been one for small talk, but then again, he was supposed to be dead. So, I guess it only made sense to try to act at least a little unlike himself. "Then why do you come?" He questions, looking up to meet eyes with Kuroo.
Kuroo's breath hitches in his throat. Kenma's piercingly golden eyes were mesmerizing, beautiful beyond anything Kuroo had ever had the privilege of seeing. His blonde hair really emphasized the color, and the black roots at the top of his head accented them perfectly. The boy's features reminded Kuroo of, as you'd guess, a small kitten. And boy, oh boy, was Kuroo falling for him.
Kuroo shrugs, "Not like any of us have a choice, do we?" He smirks. Kenma, without reaction, just looks out over the crowd. Kuroo skips over Kenma's apathetic response, determined to hook Kenma in, "So who are you here with?"
Kenma knew what Kuroo was asking: Which mafia syndicate was he a part of? Karasuno? Tatakai? Fukurodani? Aoba Johsai?
He only shrugs in response, adding a quiet, "I'm alone." Kuroo also knew what this meant: Kenma was, as far as he knew, a private assassin. A hit man, if you will.
Private assassins were often hired by various different groups to take a head. There were no dedications to specific syndicates, no ties. Transactions consisted solely of killing and money. No blurred lines.
What Kuroo didn't know was that Kenma wasn't a private assassin.
Don’t get him wrong, Kenma had no problem with killing. He just hated how messy it got. So much work to pick up after.
Kuroo nods, somehow even more pleased by his response; Kenma being a private assassin meant Kuroo didn't have to deal with the politics of having him as a significant other.
Kuroo would have him either way, but the red-tape of syndicate politics would've made it more stressful than it would've had to be. "What, not gonna ask me?" Kuroo adds after a silent moment.
Kenma shrugs again, "Why would I ask for information I already have?"
A smirk crosses Kuroo's face. Boy, was this guy sassy. "You know who I am?"
"We both know there's no one in this room who doesn't." Kuroo had to admit, the boy was rather quiet. However, contrary to his calm attitude, he didn't seem meek at all. In fact, while he held a reclusive and almost unnoticed presence (perfect for a private assassin), when you paid attention, you could notice a very confident aura surrounding him. He existed with a sense of power buried underneath.
And Kuroo was falling for this part of Kenma.
"Well, regardless of whether you know my name or not, I'm Kuroo." He reaches a hand out for Kenma to shake. Reluctantly, the smaller boy takes it. Kenma didn't care for touching people, really. They were often sweaty, and gross. "And you areeee?" Kuroo drags on.
Kenma squints at Kuroo, "I'd rather not." Kuroo nods, disappointed, but understanding; Private assassins typically refused to share their names, or provided code names for jobs. It made it easier for them to go under the radar if something went wrong. "But you can call me Neko."
Kuroo recognized that nickname; It meant cat, playfully close in title to Kuroo's mafia syndicate: Nekoma.
"Alright, Neko." Kuroo smiles at him, "So what do you do for fun?"
Okay, so maybe Kuroo was out of shape with this whole "dating" thing. He never found anyone interesting enough to really look into. Well, not until he saw Kenma.
Kenma playfully raises an eyebrow at the Nekoma leader, "Seriously?" He gives a small laugh, but the miniature bout of noise feels like music to Kuroo's ears. At that moment, Kuroo makes it his specific goal to hear that laugh again.
"I'm trying my best, okay?" Kuroo laughs, raising his eyebrows at the boy. "I don't do this a lot."
"Do what?" Kenma asks quietly, looking rather small from Kuroo's tall perspective. Sure, he seemed fit, but his thin figure made him look rather vulnerable to Kuroo.
"Flirt with people."
Kenma almost tenses, but manages to keep his carefree attitude, "I'd gladly help you practice." He almost slaps his hand over his own mouth. It was a visceral response, one Kenma hadn't even processed before he said it. He cannot be flirting with Kuroo Tetsurou right now. He can't afford to, not when he's supposed to be dead.
A spark of excitement lights in Kuroo's eyes, but Kenma doesn't quite catch it---he's still focusing his attention around the room to maintain his own safety. If his true identity is compromised, he'll actually be dead this time. "Here," Kuroo starts, gently grabbing Kenma's elbow.
Kenma flinches, surprising Kuroo. He gives him a bit of a concerned glance, but Kenma chooses to ignore it.
The Nekoma leader nods his head to the other side of the room, where the rest of his syndicate is gathered. "Come meet them." Kuroo offers.
Kenma really shouldn't get involved with these groups again, and he really shouldn't try to push through that group of people. He always got lost in crowds, it's just what happened. Crowds always made Kenma panic.
Kuroo grabs Kenma's hand, guiding him through the mess of people. Thank god for that.
"Bokuto." Kuroo greets formally, obviously trying to keep his facade up around the rest of the mafia. Before, they’d been rather secluded in a corner of the room, away from the prying, judgemental eyes of politics.
"Ey, boss." Bokuto nods his head at Kuroo.
"Boss." A few other people wander into the circle.
Kenma's immediately on edge. Way too many people for his preference.
"Guys, this is Neko." Kuroo gestures to the boy standing beside him. "He's here by himself, so I figured I'd introduce you guys." It was good for a private assassin to have many connections. That way, it was fairly easy to find work, so long as you were good at your job.
"Nice to meet you, Neko!" Bokuto smiles widely at Kenma, reaching his hand out for a handshake. Again, Kenma reluctantly takes it.
Yeah, Kenma was gonna need a good, long shower after all this touching.
Each of the group introduces themselves. Kenma recognizes a few of the more well-known syndicate members, like Daichi and Bokuto, but others aren't as recognizable.
"Nice to meet you." He murmurs quietly. Kuroo smiles down at Kenma, wondering how he managed to look even cuter.
Suddenly, Kenma's eyes land on one specific man making his appearance on the other side of the room. "I have to go." He looks back up at Kuroo for the slightest of seconds before darting away with only the agility a feline might be able to harness. His nickname fit well.
"Wait, Neko!" Kuroo calls, leaping after him. "Will I see you again?"
Kenma turns around, giving Kuroo an unreadable look, "No."
Kuroo never thought one simple word could bring him such grief.
Kuroo turns to his syndicate, "If any of you ever come across Neko again, he'll be under our protection, you got that?"
A shot suddenly rings through the air. Everyone ducks down, and the majority pulls out their own weapons for defense. The only one who didn't duck had been Kenma, who now stands like a deer caught in the headlights at the entrance of the banquet hall.
A few people gasp, heads turning in Kenma's direction. "Is that...?" Someone whispers.
Curiosity strikes in Kuroo. Who was Neko, actually?
One more shot rings out, aimed right beside Kenma's head. The fear in his eyes is undeniable, and an unfamiliar protective nature overcomes Kuroo.
That's when the...unexpected...happens.
Out steps Kozume Hideaki, known well as the king of the Japanese mafia. We all tense, the aura of his authority weighing heavily on all our shoulders. "Kenma?" His voice rings out, rough and aggressive.
Kenma? Kuroo thinks, Kozume Kenma?
Kenma's eyes widened even more, if that was somehow possible. Kuroo's eyes meet Kenma's gorgeous gold ones, and one could sense the regret flowing through the smaller boy. Unfortunately, it only took that small distraction for all hell to break loose.
Three more shots pierce the air, and Kenma darts out of the room. "Daichi, Bokuto—get the car. Nekomatas, protect Neko." Kuroo orders his syndicate. They all nod, moving into their dedicated positions.
Kenma shoots down the hall, eyes trained for the bathroom he'd managed to slither in through before. His feet skid as he drifts to a stop in front of the restrooms. The door slams shut just as he climbs over the top of the last stall, wiggling through the window.
Once out, he leaps to the ground and books it down the alleyway. He hears a door slam open behind him, then shouting and a few more bullets speed past his ears. The sound is ear-splitting, earning a wince from the boy as his ears ring loudly.
Kenma rounds the corner, freezing in his place when he finds himself standing directly in front of a car, the headlights bright in his eyes.
"Neko, get in!" Kenma squints past the obnoxious lights, finding Kuroo sticking his head out the window. Someone yanks him back inside, probably not wanting him to get himself shot.
Something pierces Kenma's left shoulder from behind, forcing him to lurch forward onto his knees. White-hot pain explodes all over his body, and he suddenly finds himself being dragged into the back of the vehicle in front of him.
"Neko, hey!" Kenma's eyes shoot open at his nickname being called.
"K-Kenma-" The boy stutters out, "Just Kenma..."
Kuroo smirks, "Alright, Kenma, we're gonna get you some help."
"N-No," Kenma sits up, sluggishly trying to open the door. Daichi was driving, while Bokuto had his head sticking out the sunroof, shooting at the cars chasing them. Daichi shifts into reverse and speeds backward out of the alleyway, making a sharp turn and shifting into first gear.
They're gone in an instant.