Chapter Text
Kenma blinked as the dark warehouse slowly came into focus. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. All he knew was his wrists were tied behind his back, his legs were tied to a chair, and his jaw hurt like a motherfucker.
He turned his head, trying to take note of his surroundings, when a chair shifted across the room. His breath caught in his throat but he did his best to remain calm, staring towards the shadowy figure in the corner.
“You’re finally awake.”
Kenma’s heart tightened in his chest. Because he knew that voice. He’d known who it would be, and yet hearing him here–seeing him in his element…
Hurt more than he could ever have predicted.
“It really was you, Tetsurou,” Kenma muttered with difficulty, realizing his voice was shot from going unused. Or perhaps, from overuse. The taste of iron in the back of his throat had him convinced he must have been screaming at some point.
“Of course it was. Who else would be skilled enough to pull off all of those heists?”
Kuroo slank closer, his shadowy presence gradually reaching the dim lighting high above them. Dressed head to toe in the signature black suit, Kenma knew there was no doubt about it. Kuroo was the Black Cat.
“I had hoped you were smarter than that,” Kenma spat, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t going to let whatever complex emotions were flooding his center get in the way of keeping his head.
“Hate to disappoint,” Kuroo smiled, though there was a sort of pain to it Kenma didn’t know how to interpret.
Step by step, Kuroo inched closer, his eyes sharp and analytical, as if assessing his weak points. Kenma reminded himself that the Black Cat may be a thief first, but he was raised by the most dangerous crime syndicate in all of Tokyo. So he was a killer, too.
“What do you want from me? There’s no point holding me here alive. Either let me go and I’ll go to the police, or kill me now.”
Kuroo laughed, raising a brow in amusement.
“Not even going to bargain a little? Seems you really do have a death wish.”
With his body bound and his life in the hands of his childhood friend and almost-lover, Kenma felt his sanity slipping and tossed his head back as a laugh of his own echoed through the warehouse. He could feel the shift in Kuroo’s composure, feel his mask slipping. Finally, Kenma caught his air and slowly his head lowered, his eyes burning as he met Kuroo’s, testing a smirk on his lips.
“Does that bother you?”
Kuroo’s brow was tensed with the effort to keep his features from shifting in reaction. The only indication he was stalling lay in the flitting of his dark eyes between Kenma’s frightening gaze and the binds around his limbs.
“I admit, I had hoped our game would play out a little longer,” Kuroo finally spoke, stopping right before Kenma and crossing his arms over his chest.
Kenma tilted his head down towards the ground with a sour grin, a few strands of his long hair falling into his eyes.
“Then you shouldn’t have ended it,” Kenma scoffed, his eyes tracing Kuroo’s fitted black pant legs for clues about where they were, where he’d been.
“I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for that part. You see, the boss man wasn’t too happy with you telling everyone what we were up to behind the scenes.”
Kenma noticed heavy creases around his kneecaps, implying he’d been seated for a long time. How long had he been waiting for him to wake up? Why had he sat still all that time? Perhaps there was a little more of Tetsurou in the Black Cat than he wanted to admit. The thought only pissed Kenma off further, knowing he could still follow through with orders he didn’t agree with.
“So you’re just following the old man’s orders? Like a little lap dog? Not what I expected of the elusive Black Cat.”
Kenma didn’t have a chance to take another breath before the barrel of a handgun drove his chin upward, meeting Kuroo’s stark, fiery gaze, that smirk hidden layers deep beneath a stone-cold expression that Kenma could only assume was the last thing his targets saw before meeting their end. But Kenma couldn’t stop now. If this was the last chance he had to get his anger at this betrayal off his chest, he had to do it now. So he lifted his eyebrows in amusement, tilting his head to the side of the barrel.
“What? Did daddy say shoot?”
A second later, the world blinked black and purple and blindingly white as the barrel of the gun slammed into his jaw, his skull singing. By the intense fire building along that spot on his jawline, he had a pretty good idea what had caused the pain he’d woken up with.
He started to turn back towards Kuroo but didn’t get a chance to speak as Kuroo raised his heel and struck under the front of the chair, throwing him backwards towards the solid concrete floor. And Kenma had no limbs free to slow himself or to brace for impact.
First, his fingers hit the ground, near cracking against the stone. Then, the chair crushed them a second time, and by the shooting pain that tore through his body, he was certain he’d broken a few of them. The air flew from his lungs at the landing and he heaved a cough, the bloodied sore spots in his throat from earlier spraying from his lips.
As if it wasn’t enough, the chair tilted to the side, yanking his appendages against his binds, tearing through his skin. His skull crashed against the concrete, setting his vision white and spinning as he tried to stay conscious, feeling fresh blood somewhere inside his mouth.
“He told me not to touch you.”
Kenma’s vision started to blink back as he felt Kuroo’s breath on his cheek, his leather dress shoe pinning the chair in place as he leaned over him.
“Still think I’m a lapdog?” Kuroo hissed.
Kenma finally caught sight of his intense gaze, taken aback by the lack of venom in his wide-eyed stare. Tears rimmed the edges of his eyes, as if he’d been about to cry.
“No, I think you’re an idiot,” Kenma grunted, surprised air even filled and emptied from his lungs.
The words snapped Kuroo from his state, bringing that smirk back to his lips as he let out a quiet chuckle.
“Well this idiot, is going to save your life. So you’d better have a little more faith in him.”
With that, Kuroo stood, straightening his suit and running a hand over his messy dark strands. Kenma had little choice but to watch in a state of utter confusion. Kuroo glanced back down at him over his shoulder, and his eyes were dark and serious. But not scary.
“Bold words for a man who nearly took it already,” Kenma coughed, trying his best to not look as pathetic as he felt so far beneath him on the concrete.
Kuroo only leaned down, flicking his nose with a gentle thumb movement, grinning.
“Nearly.”
Kenma had to take his focus from that smug grin, glancing instead at the cuts and bruises along Kuroo’s knuckles. The patterning of the lacerations made him believe it was unlikely he’d gotten the marks from punching anything living. Likely something made of glass, capable of shattering. Seemed even the Black Cat was capable of losing his cool from time to time.
“How do you expect me to have faith in a notorious liar? If anyone knows the extent of your deceptions, it’s me. You don’t really expect me to fall for your tricks so easily, do you?” Kenma spoke, meeting Kuroo’s eyes, only to find him glancing lower than eye level at the blood dotting the corner of Kenma’s lips. At the end of his sentence, Kuroo’s eyes flicked back up, narrowing as another cocky grin creased his features.
“Exactly because you know me best. I’ve given myself a new job assignment. And there’s no job the Black Cat doesn’t finish.”
With that, Kuroo lightly kicked the side of the chair again, looking up as if finding some sort of camera monitoring their interaction. And suddenly, all of it was starting to make sense to Kenma.
It was another performance.
And as he watched Kuroo exit, slinking away to the darkness, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement at the realization that struck him.
The Black Cat would perform one last heist in the syndicate.
And the object he intended to steal this time, was Kenma himself.