People are strange things, Kenma realises, ever since early on in childhood.

They scheme, cheat, and lie all in the same breath as they care, devote and love.

Kenma thinks it isn't so bad, if they didn't hurt someone else as they did so.

With that knowledge, Kenma finds it hard to pinpoint people, who are made of so many different experiences, so many different memories, to associate them with a single item.

How was a single, possibly insignificant inanimate or animate being, supposed to encompass all that someone really was, could be?

So Kenma learns to associate people with feelings instead.

It's much, much easier when it's those he's close to, those he finds interesting.

(soft hands and a softer voice, heavy eyelids and heavier smiles.)

Akaashi Keiji, is in a word, comforting.

Every time Kenma finds himself in the other's calming presence, he can't help repeating that one word over and over in his head.

Akaashi's presence reminds him of something that isn't quite here nor there, something ever present but unable to be grasped with bare hands.

It's feeling is not unlike Winter's cold embrace when you first step out of the house, the odd, lovely sensation of it biting your cheeks till they turn red.

There's solace to be found there, at the presence of the very definition of the thin crack between lonely and alone.

Often Kenma finds himself reaching out for Akaashi's hand for a squeeze, to ensure his friend hasn't slipped out the crack and fallen down the crevice of utter loneliness.

The urge roots from a special kind of grace Akaashi carries themself with; crisp and hauntingly elegant.

It's much like walking on eggshells, only with Akaashi, Kenma always gets the feeling he's watching out for the extra knives that disguise themselves as words, hidden under the thin layers he delicately treads on.

("There's always a home here for you." Kenma whispers, fingers curling loosely around Akaashi's as the latter weakly smiles through their tears and softly, hoarsely thanks him, other hand clutching a paper two marks from perfection.)

(for Akaashi, things feel different, as it always does.

there's a tinge of special to everything Akaashi does,
something that makes Kenma smile and curl his toes in his socks,

a laugh bubbling at the back of his throat.

at times Kenma wonders if Akaashi knows

knows how special they are

even without their straight 'A's and perfect attendance)

(bubbly laughter and bubblier smiles, shaky breaths and shakier knees)

Oikawa Tooru is, Kenma finds, very hard to describe in a word; the closest he can get with his limited vocabulary would be "whimsical".

Despite his brash and carefree facade, there's an unexpectedly, crudely harsh side to him.

His presence is an odd mix of wistfulness, autumn's chill and the feeling of raindrops on one's skin, covered with a thin layer of faux bravado and genuine roguish smirks.

It's lulling and gentle, with fierce and vibrant undertones, the very definition of a rushing creek and its relationship with nature.

Often Kenma finds himself itching to press his palms against Tooru's cheeks, to rub out the invisible bruises with his thumbs that are blooming over the corners of Tooru's lips from how hard he tries.

There's a knit between Tooru's brows that hardly ever goes away, even when he grins and cheers, even when he lands a perfect service ace.

Maybe it stems from his overzealous nature, maybe it stemmed from being in the shade of an undominated wall, deprived of the warmth of the sun for far too long.

("It's okay." Kenma wants to whisper. But the silence between them always wraps around them both like a snug blanket, and to break it would allow the cool air into their warm haven, freezing everything they've delicately built, so Kenma nudges closer to Tooru, curls into the arm Tooru wraps around him and allows his actions to speak louder than his words.)

(Tooru is kind, kinder than anyone Kenma's known,

just not to himself.

at times Kenma wonders if Tooru knows

knows that he's good enough.

and that he'd always been,

always will be.)

(bright eyes and a brighter future, dark shadows and a darker past)

Kageyama Tobio is, frightfully delightful, with a heavy emphasis on the first word, and a heavier emphasis on the second.

It's funny, Kenma thinks, how many people are afraid of this boy who struggles to find words even more than Kenma does, who chokes on his words more often than he does on his food.

It's even funnier, how his typical presence is completely unalike when in a court.

Usually domineering and terrifying as the dead of the night, Kageyama has a strangely tender air about him otherwise.

Much like a sticky, uncomfortable feeling of sweat plastering your shirt to your back, yet oddly at ease with the feeling at the thought of lazy summer holidays and ice cream, one unknowingly gets used to and loves the sensation that serves as a reminder of better things as days go pass.

This weird analogy would be how Kenma would describe Kageyama's being as a whole.

Good things often come hand in hand with bad things after all.

Often Kenma runs the pad of his thumb underneath Kageyama's eye, murmuring an excuse of an eyelash or dirt, when really, he's wiping away tears that Kageyama does not allow fall, that Kageyama's does not even know are there.

Tears that are born from an irreparable wound in his heart that has not yet healed because the person himself has hardly forgiven himself for what caused it.

("You've done a good job, well done, it's okay not to try so hard, and thank you for doing so all the time." Kenma wants to whisper to Kageyama at times, using his age as a footstool to pat Kageyama's head comfortingly, to reassure the younger setter that his efforts to change have not gone to waste.)

(Kageyama tries, tries, and tries some more,

the shine in his eyes never dulling.)

at times Kenma wonders if Kageyama tires,

if he knows

that he's been forgiven for a long, long time,

that there was nothing to be forgiven for in the first place.)

(gentle eyes and gentler touches, firm looks and firmer words)

Sugawara Koushi can only be described by mischievous smiles and the phrase "never judge a book by it's cover".

Despite looking thin enough to be broken in half by a strong wind, the steel within Suga ensures that he stands tall and proud for a long, long time to come, no matter the adversity.

Suga's presence is the pleasant mix between the warmth of the sun and the chill of an afternoon rain shower, comforting and refreshing all at once.

That one split second, where the temperatures are all just right and all feels right with the world.

It's the feeling of sitting by a crackling fireplace, as the warmth soaks right down to your bones, a shiver of content running down your spine.

It's the feeling of being called for dinner, of long distance calls, of laughter being shared across a dining table.

It's the feeling of home.

Often Kenma leans into Suga's touch, to feel like a perfect fit to a jigsaw puzzle just a second longer, and Suga always indulges him, head rubs and hugs always lingering seconds longer than need be.

("Thank you for everything." Kenma whispers into Suga's arms, curling tighter into the hug, and he feels the upwards curl of Suga's lips atop his head, the pats on his back, knows there's always a home for him, here.)

(With Suga, there's no fear in speaking,

only encouragement and beaming smiles

at times Kenma wonders if Suga knows

that everything he does for Kenma makes him want to cry.

acceptance from someone as kind as he is

makes you want to, sometimes.)

"Helloooo? Kenma? Anyone home?"

Pausing his train of thought to focus on the hand rapping on his head, Kenma looks up to see a mildly pissed Tooru pouting at him.

"Again! Not listening to me again! Honestly, Kenma!" Tooru huffs, crossing his arms.

"Don't be like this Oikawa." Suga said, raising an eyebrow at Tooru's childish act and elbowing him in his side. "We've heard that story about Iwaizumi-san millions of times already anyway."

"Was something on your mind?" Akaashi murmurs, as Kageyama pops his head out from the other side of Akaashi to give Kenma a concerned look.

"I was just thinking about how strange people are." Kenma mumbles, barely audible.

"Well, I suppose people are strange things," Suga muses, playfully side eyeing Tooru who feigns a shocked gasp and lays a hand over his heart. "But isn't that what makes them, them?"

Kenma hums in agreement, letting Suga's words roll around in his head.

That's fair, Kenma finds himself thinking.

After all, the best people in Kenma's life are all a little strange, and Kenma wouldn't have preferred them to be anything else.