Finally got around to finishing the prequel to Colors, so here's your background!

"Kenma!"

The boy looks up, seemingly unsurprised by his visitor. Kuroo is at his window, pushed up on his tiptoes and struggling to get in. Kenma doesn't bother getting up though, he's been sick all morning, which is likely why Kuroo's come over, so he stays in his bed.

"You weren't at school today," Kuroo says, falling in a heap on the floor. He stands up quickly, raking a hand through his messy hair before grinning brightly.

"Sick," Kenma mumbles, pausing his game as he shifts to sit up.

"You contagious?"

"Don't think so, my head just hurts."

Pleased with the answer, Kuroo flops down beside his friend, rolling onto his back so he can actually see him. Kenma looks a little worse for wear. His dark hair looks messier than usual, and his eyes seem a little bloodshot.

"Can I tell you what happened at school today?" Kuroo asks after a stretch of silence.

He knows Kenma likes the quiet, and he knows that Kenma's mood tends to switch rapidly, sometimes he'll beg Kuroo not to make a sound, other times he'll encourage him to fill the empty space.

It's a good day though, Kenma nods and burrows down into his bed, pulling the blanket up to his face so only his eyes show. Kuroo thinks he looks like a curious kitten, peeking up like that. He keeps his thoughts to himself however and launches into his story.

Kuroo is half way through the day when he notices that Kenma has gone stiff. He stops immediately, trying to remember if he's said anything particularly troubling. He's still learning what sets Kenma off, luckily it hasn't progressed to a full blown attack yet.

He remembers seeing Kenma's first attack. The younger boy had dropped to the sidewalk, curling in on himself. He'd been crying, his hands pressed over his ears and shaking. It had scared Kuroo half to death. Kenma had told him before that he didn't like being touched so he hadn't known what he was supposed to do. There hadn't been many people out that day so he sat in front of Kenma and sang to him. After all, it was what his mom did for him when he was sad, and though Kenma wasn't sad, far from it probably, it was the only thing for Kuroo to do.

"Hey, Kenma, you okay?" he asks softly, prepared to move off the bed if Kenma needs more space.

"'m fine," Kenma mumbles, pushing himself on shaky arms to sit up properly.

"No you're not. I'll be quiet if you need me to," Kuroo says immediately, scooting back a little.

"I'm fine, really Kuroo, I just- just give me a minute?"

Kuroo nods and looks away from Kenma, knowing the smaller boy will likely not relax if he feels there's attention on him. It's slow going, but Kuroo's picked up on some things, learned a bit about what makes Kenma tick, and the proper responses.

But there are still things Kuroo doesn't understand. He knows Kenma is uncomfortable in crowds, in noisy situations, the part Kuroo doesn't understand is how all of that makes Kenma shut down. He doesn't understand the crying and the panic and the shaking that happens. He understands that Kenma doesn't like to be touched sometimes, and that during other times it's okay, he understands that sometimes Kenma doesn't like talking. But Kuroo doesn't know how to figure out when it's okay to touch, when Kenma will respond to his questions. He doesn't know when Kenma suddenly shifts from being 'okay' to 'not okay' to 'about to start panicking'. Asking Kenma if he's okay when Kuroo suspects he might not be takes energy from the smaller boy, energy that he often won't have if he's about to have an attack.

And that bothers Kuroo.

He's supposed to know, he's Kenma's best friend, he cares about him.

"I'm okay," Kenma says after a few minutes. His muscles are still tense, and it looks as though he's run his hand through his hair a few times, but he does look better.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Still."

They're both quiet until Kenma clambers up reach into his nightstand drawer.

"New game," he says simply, passing the case to Kuroo. It's a silent request to set up the console, a request that Kuroo follows without hesitation. He gets it started then returns to the bed. Kenma's already sitting on the edge so he'll be able to hold the controller without worrying that he'll accidentally tug the cord out of its port.

There's a sizeable gap between where Kenma is sitting and the rest of the bed, likely meaning that Kuroo should leave some space between them when he sits down.

So, no touching.

It's a racing game, Kuroo's pretty good at these, enough that Kenma's victory isn't one hundred percent assured, which makes the experience more fun for the both of them.

Kenma's perfectly healthy come the weekend, and Kuroo's positively delighted. Usually, they'll hang out inside, the more controlled the environment is the less likely Kenma will panic. But they go to a park.

It's fairly early in the day so there aren't a lot of kids. Besides, Kenma likes the swings. And Kuroo likes being outside. He also likes seeing Kenma smile, no matter how small of a smile it is.

"You wanna go to my house after this?" Kuroo asks.

They've been swinging for about ten minutes already. Kuroo's swinging about as high as he can without fearing he'll fall, and Kenma's barely got any height, just moving languidly back and forth.

"Sounds nice," Kenma mumbles. Kuroo barely hears him but he pieces the two words together without much trouble. He jumps when his swing as at its full height, and gracefully touches down. He twists, overdramatically giving Kenma a sweeping bow and a bright smile.

Kenma drags his feet until the swing stops and he stumbles off, returning Kuroo's smile with a quiet grin.

The walk goes well, Kuroo fills the empty noise with empty chatter, if only to keep Kenma's attention with him.

It's fine.

It's fine until Kenma's crouched on the ground, hands over his head. He's not shaking, but he's breathing too fast and he's ducked his head.

Kuroo stops immediately and drops to the ground, kneeling in front of his friend and worrying too much.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I didn't know you wanted- I'm sorry, I'll be quiet, just, please calm down."

He can hear soft sniffling, and he starts worrying more. He hates this. He hates that he can do this to Kenma, he doesn't want to be the reason Kenma's crying.

"Not your fault," Kenma mumbles. His words are muffled by his knees, and by his tears, but Kuroo hears him.

"Yes it is, I'm sorry." Kuroo wants to hug him, but he can't, he doesn't know if Kenma will panic more if he's touched

There's a few people on the sidewalk but Kuroo waves them past with a weak smile. He tries not to talk but apologies slip past his lips every so often. His own hands are shaking, fighting against the instinctive urge to pull Kenma to his chest and hold him until this passes.

It doesn't take long, Kenma rocks back off his knees to sit on the sidewalk. He's sucking down air like a dying man, flexing his fingers and crying slightly.

Kuroo lets Kenma stand on his own, unwilling to make anything worse by touching him.

"I-I'll walk you home," he says quietly. Kenma nods and as they begin walking he grabs onto the back of Kuroo's shirt. Kuroo takes in a stuttering breath and chances looking back at Kenma, but the other is looking at the ground, stumbling behind him.

They're absolutely silent on the way to Kenma's, Kuroo's practically worried a hole through his lips to keep from talking. They walk up to the door and Kenma lets go of Kuroo's shirt, wringing his hands instead. Kuroo's turned around when Kenma calls out to him.

"Tetsurou."

He freezes, turning back around before Kenma can misinterpret his silence for discomfort.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Then Kenma's inside, the door shut and Kuroo's left standing in front of Kenma's house with a dazed expression on his face.

It's a Thursday night when Kenma's okay with touch. Kuroo's sitting cross legged, back to his headboard with Kenma tucked to his side. Kenma's attention is wholly focused on the game in his hands, and certainly not on Kuroo, who's watching curiously from over his shoulder.

Kenma mutters something under his breath as his character dies and Kuroo scrunches his eyebrows. The game begins again and Kuroo eyes the health bar along the side of the screen. It's green, but the more damage Kenma's character takes, it changes from yellow, then red when he dies again. It only takes one more try for Kenma to beat the level and advance onto the next.

"We should do that."

"What?" Kenma doesn't bother looking up from his game, or even pausing it, but at least he doesn't sound irritated with the interruption.

"The health bar."

At that, Kenma does look up, game paused.

"What are you talking about?"

Kuroo rakes his hand through his hair and sucks in a breath of air.

"For you. Like, green is a good day, and red is when you feel an attack coming on, and yellow's in between. We can use it like a- a mood gauge? I can't tell when you're feeling anxious until it's too late and I don't want to be the reason you end up having an attack, just because I was too stupid to realize you weren't feeling okay." He wants to say more but Kenma puts a hand on his knee.

"Good idea."

Kenma willingly puts away his game and turns so he's facing Kuroo instead of leaning on him.

It takes roughly an hour, and then some, but they manage to work out the specifics of each color. Kenma figures out which feelings specifically correspond with each color, and reassures Kuroo that he doesn't have to freak out if Kenma tells him it's a yellow day.

"What about if you do have an attack?" Kuroo asks, thinking back on all the times he'd only be able to sit idle while Kenma wore himself out. He wants to be able to help, and the only thing he knows that helps is music, but he doubts that he'll serenade Kenma out of an attack.

"I have medication," Kenma mumbles, "I just forget to take it when I start panicking."

"I can do that! I can give it to you," Kuroo says quickly.

"I have headphones to, at home, I usually have them in reach, music drowns it out...for the most part anyways."

Kuroo nods like it all makes sense.

"If I have an attack in public, my mom usually picks me up and carries me away, if it's bad I'm too out of it to notice," Kenma's working his bottom lip through his teeth, and he hasn't stopped wringing his hands since he started talking, but it's progress.

"I can do that, I can carry you, you aren't heavy."

Kenma grins quietly and Kuroo wants to hold his hands, to let him know that he's okay, but he doesn't know if Kenma is still going to be okay with touching after their conversation. So he voices his concern.

"Just ask," Kenma mumbles.

It's not exactly the answer that Kuroo wants, he was thinking something like color coded stickers, but then again, Kenma wouldn't like that idea very much.

"Right, I can do that," Kuroo waits until Kenma looks up at him, "I can do that too."

Kenma's anxiety kicks up a bit in junior high, as if the school related stress isn't enough, he agrees to join the volleyball club with Kuroo. On his part, Kuroo learns to spot the more subtle warning signs of Kenma's panic. He'll stick closer to Kuroo, his eyes will get shifty, his breathing picks up ever so slightly. This all, of course, leads to the more major indicators; shallow breathing and shaking hands, Kenma bites his lips and sporadically squeezes his eyes shut before clapping his hands over his ears.

By Kenma's second year, Kuroo can figure out what color the day is just from a simple glance over, he's still working on touch though. That's another matter entirely, and it's impossible to tell when Kenma's okay with it. So he usually just leaves it up to Kenma, asks occasionally. He double checks on colors throughout the day as well. Kuroo finds himself asking a lot more questions than he used to. He asks simple questions like if Kenma wants to walk on his left or right side, if Kenma is okay with Kuroo sitting down while the other stands, he asks if Kenma's 'okay' probably fifty times a day.

Kenma tells him that it's a red day, and he doesn't come to school for three days. Kuroo's left stunned, at a loss, because he's practically useless for those three days. Kenma comes to school on the fourth day and Kuroo asks. It's red, but it's not attack red, it's just red. Kenma can't handle any unnecessary input, put keeps a hand latched onto Kuroo's shirt whenever they're together. They walk home that day and Kenma doesn't speak a single word, but he follows Kuroo to his house. His eyes are closed the entire time, diverting all his attention to the feel of the fabric between his fingers, focuses on that so he can't be bothered with anything else. He hardly feels his feet hit the sidewalk.

Kuroo's worried, but at least Kenma isn't crying.

Days like that become an uncommon occurrence. Kenma doesn't talk on these days, answers in nods or shakes of the head, and wrings his hands until the skin is irritated. When he's okay with touch, Kuroo massages lotion into the damaged skin, mumbling something that may consists of 'please' and 'I'm sorry', while Kenma stares blankly at his friend.

But there are green days.

Green days are Kuroo's favorites. Kenma will smile, and he'll be okay. He might get a little unsettled walking down the street but otherwise, he's totally present. Touch days become less common though, and Kuroo slowly gets better at recognizing those days to, though he lets Kenma initiate contact just in case. On green days, Kenma allows Kuroo's absent hand in his hair, or he'll link their arms when they go walking. Green days are Kuroo's favorite because Kenma allows affection, in moderation of course, but Kuroo doesn't mind.

It's a little exhausting, keeping up, but he knows it's worse for Kenma. It's worse because Kenma's got alarms and sirens wailing in his head, screaming at him about a nonexistent threat, a danger.

Kenma's absolutely wiped out after his attacks. He's light headed, and his hands shake afterwards as his muscles spasm and deal with the aftermath. He's dehydrated and it hurts him to breathe. He gets headaches, and random spots of numbness. His legs wobble and he gets sleepy.

And half the time, Kuroo can't even pick him to take him some place more comfortable, lest he spark another attack. When Kenma does allow himself to be picked up, he wraps his arms around Kuroo's neck, and he'll cry softly. Kuroo will run his hand through Kenma's hair until the smaller boy falls asleep, or he'll hold Kenma in his lap. Sometimes, Kenma wants to feel a tight comfort and, after Kuroo's carried him home, they'll lay down and Kuroo will wrap him up in a hug. Other times Kenma will scream if Kuroo's hand so much as grazes him, so Kuroo keeps a noticeable distance until Kenma's legs stop shaking. Once he's okay to walk, Kenma will hold onto Kuroo's shirt or, if that's made of the wrong material, his belt loops.

But, all things considered, they're doing better.

Kuroo gets better at handling the attacks, he can get Kenma's medication bottle open with one hand. He has Kenma put together a playlist of songs, ones that are the most helpful in helping him drown out the panic. He reads up what he can about anxiety, and buys Kenma an almost ridiculous amount of fidget toys so he won't hurt his hands.

Kuroo makes it a habit to give Kenma as many positive affirmations as possible, verbally until he's able to convey them in a smile. Kenma tries to let Kuroo know how he's feeling as often as possible, even if that means texting him at three in the morning when he's on the verge of the beginning of an attack. There have been nights where Kuroo comes running all the way to Kenma's house, just to sit with him and calm him down.

It had been a yellow day, and a no touch day, but Kenma's sleeping over, his pills and headphones within reach. They've dragged Kuroo's blankets off his bed and laid them on the ground, layering them with Kenma's sleeping bag and whatever other blankets they could snag from around the house. Kenma's borrowed one of Kuroo's shirts; he'd had a small attack earlier in the day and had sweated through his own. The whole selection process had taken nearly ten minutes, Kenma felt all of Kuroo's shirt, rubbing the materials through his fingers before finding one that suited his preference, before he found out the shirt felt too heavy, and he'd choose again. They've gotten themselves comfortable on the blankets and are simply waiting for fatigue to set in. Kuroo's got a clip on light attached to a book as he reads. Kenma's at his side, tapping away on his handheld. It's fairly quiet, Kenma's turned off the music on his game to eliminate any unnecessary noise, the only other sound is the light rain tapping on the window.

Kuroo almost, almost, jumps when Kenma's head drops against his shoulder. Curious, he glances down to the boy at his side. Kenma's still playing his game, eyes riveted to the screen as he moves his character rapidly through the levels. He makes no acknowledgement to the fact that he's just claimed Kuroo's shoulder as a pillow.

So Kuroo doesn't do anything.

It doesn't take long for Kenma to start getting tired, given his attack earlier Kuroo's surprised the smaller boy hadn't passed out earlier. Kuroo puts away his book and Kenma follows suit, closing his handheld and setting it aside.

Kuroo lays down slowly so Kenma's head doesn't loll off his shoulder. Kenma's only response is to tug his blanket up to his ears and move closer to Kuroo. The blanket provides a barrier between their bodies, and that seems to make Kenma comfortable, so Kuroo pulls his own up higher.

"Goodnight," Kenma mumbles into his pillow.

"Goodnight, Kenma."

"I love you."

Kuroo's eyes, previously heavy with sleep, snap open. Kenma is perfectly still, and it's likely that he hadn't meant to say that last bit at all. That last bit. Oh, that last bit, Kuroo wants nothing more than to pull Kenma closer and pepper his neck with kisses. But he can't do that. So he closes his eyes again and hopes that his silence hasn't caused Kenma any unneeded anxiety.

"I love you too."

So, Kenma may or may not be the character I project onto the most. But honestly, he's just really comforting to write, I'm not gonna lie.