Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kuroo grins at his breakfast. Today is the day. 

For centuries, the windows in the Nekoma have shown the same view. An endless black, dotted with the stars of the galaxy they have been passing for all of Kuroo's life. There has only been the blackness of space, ever since the ship left Earth behind.

This is all the crew has ever known. All their parents had ever known. They were told never to hope that they would be the lucky crew to finish the mission their ancestors had started. And yet, today, a new pale blue dot fills their windows. SP300. For the first time since their ship had set off from Earth, they have a planet suitable for life. A place to rest.

Home. Their new home. Kuroo slurps with gusto. He just graduated, he finds out what his placement is today, and they’ve found a planet to call home. Everything is working out perfectly.

Kai scowls at him from across the table. “You could at least pretend to be nervous about job assignments, for the rest of us.”

Kuroo laughs, “Why, Kai, what’s there to be nervous about? It’s not like we can change anything now.”

Yaku elbows him hard, but Kuroo doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a wince.

“Besides, does it even matter what our assignments are—I mean, she’s right there,” Kuroo says, gesturing to the wall. There turns SP300, filling the entire screen that shows the view outside the ship. For a moment, all three friends stare at the planet just outside. 

Then the chime of every single KScreen simultaneously fills the mess hall, and all conversations around them come to a stop.

“The assignments,” Kai mutters, as Kuroo scrambles to get his KScreen out of his bag. He knows he scored near the top, especially in biochemistry, but that doesn’t guarantee any specific assignment. He could get stuck in the arbours, or worse, medicine. His screen freezes, and Kuroo resists the urge to scream. Only a select few are chosen to go down to SP300 to prepare for their landing, and he studied so hard.

“Secondary school teacher,” Yaku says, sounding very satisfied with himself. “Over in Wing B, though, it could be worse.” Yaku, despite his nagging, had less of a reason to worry about his assignment than Kuroo does. Everyone knew where he’d get assigned. He'll do great at whipping the brats into shape. Kuroo wishes he had the same certainty.

Finally, his screen loads, and he clicks the message at the top of his inbox, willing his fingers not to tremble.

Tetsuroo Kuroo, 

Congratulations on completing your education and on passing the Assignment Examination! On behalf of the Bridgemen, we are pleased to inform you that you have scored highest in several sections, placing you first rank overall. Due to your incredible aptitude and dedication to the Nekoma, you have been assigned to the Kodzuken Project. 

Please report to the Bridge immediately for more information on your role.

The Kodzuken Project. 

Kuroo blinks.

He’s never heard of the Kodzuken Project before. 

He rereads the message again, but the words don't reorder themselves. First rank. Kodzuken Project. His brows furrow in confusion. It has to be important. Just because he’s never heard of it, doesn’t mean it’s bad. He bites his tongue. First rank, and still not assigned to Planetary Exploration.

Hopefully it just means that the Kodzuken is even better, and even cooler. It must be important, if he’s being asked to come immediately.

“I have to go,” Kuroo says, standing, his breakfast only half-eaten. “See you later,” Kai shoots him a curious look before returning to the conversation that had sprung up at their table, his friends too distracted by their own assignments to notice his odd behavior. Kuroo turns to leave the mess hall, dumping his tray and sending one last look at SP300, swirls of clouds dotting her surface, before entering deeper into the ship. Whatever his assignment, he has something even greater to look forward to.

Soon.

--

Contrary to the stereotypes found in Old Earth movies that Kuroo loves to watch with Kai and Akaashi, Nekoma isn’t a warren of exposed steel pipes and hydraulic doors. In reality, plants are better at producing oxygen than anything humans could manufacture and pump around. Thus, the halls of the Nekoma are, quite simply, lush. 

The hallway he follows to the central tower is lined with Epipremnum aureum, and the air is heavy with moisture. Bright lights embedded in the ceiling, and windows spaced evenly, creating spots of darkness in the otherwise oppressively bright hallway.  Kuroo speeds past other workers and ducks under a hanging vine. Highly efficient, simple, sustainable.

And most annoying, Kuroo thinks, for anyone tall. 

The walk to the Bridge isn’t far, but Kuroo rarely visits the area. He had resolved himself to never interact with Bridgemen as a kid. Despite his stellar record, they always seem…cold to him. He never took an interest in politics or status on board; Kuroo has his friends and would much rather dream about playing on a beach with them, or learning about tectonic plates. In the lifetime of the Nekoma, 4 planets were deemed almost-suitable, but passed over, due to tectonic plates. Kuroo, frankly, thinks they’re a lot more important than what this-or-that pin on one’s uniform can mean.

Nevertheless, he soon finds himself at the Bridge, a cluster of other recent grads slowly filling in to join him, taking in the bustle of the highest room on the ship. It's not as large as Kuroo had assumed. Spikey plants send long leaves trailing down from where they’re affixed to the top of cabinets, and computer terminals fill every corner of the room. Important-looking people can be seen concentrating on the many screens. They are higher-quality than the ones in the cafeteria and halls and offer a view of SP300 so crisp Kuroo can make out each individual cloud wisp on the surface. 

“Kuroo?” A steely voice calls out, and Kuroo looks up to see a slight man searching the crowd, taking a step forward and raising one hand.

“Here," he says, hyper conscious of the way the man looks him up and down, the array of shiny metals lining the breast of his uniform. 

“You’re on special assignment,” the man says without further introduction, his eyes still probing, “Come with me.”

With that, he turns, and Kuroo can only follow, leaving the Bridge proper behind as they descend into a warren of offices, long planters of bamboo lining the narrow hallway. Kuroo shivers as the fronds whisper against his skin.

“My name is Kazutoshi, I’ll be in charge of you,” he says, coming to a sudden stop in front of a closed door. Kuroo almost trips over him, feeling overgrown in the small hallway. He turns sharply to face Kuroo. "This is a very important assignment, given only to those whom we trust the most, those who dedicate themselves to the goals of the Nekoma," He shoots Kuroo another probing look.

Kuroo nods and opens his mouth to affirm their choice, but Kazutoshi barrels on, “You’ll be looking for discrepancies or trends in resource consumption for the Kodzuken, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.  There are logs from previous workers on the Kodzuken Project that will be able to guide you. If you have any questions, my information has been added to your contacts.” 

Kuroo peers into the room as Kazutoshi flings the door open: a single desk, a single computer. “Sir?” 

Kazutoshi looks up, already turned around to head back to the Bridge. “Yes?” 

Kuroo takes a deep breath, not wanting to sound like an idiot, but Kazutoshi has told him nothing of substance. “If I may ask, what is the Kodzuken project?” 

Kazutoshi attempts another smile, but his eyes stay cold, “Ah, Kuroo, I’m afraid that that is classified. Just...trust that you have joined a very important part of this organization, and our success depends on your absolute dedication to this role. All of your studies have prepared you well, so … focus on what you do know, and don’t worry too much about what you don’t.” 

And with that, he closes the door, leaving Kuroo alone.

Kuroi walks around the desk, noting the thin layer of dust covering the keyboard. How welcoming. Maybe this is some sort of test? Or hazing?

He logs onto the computer and navigates over to the recently opened files. The last user was meticulously organized, and Kuroo feels something within him perk up a little bit at the sight of the well-organized system. Kuroo is good at problem-solving, he was top of his class. Kazutoshi may be unhelpful, but Kuroo has taught himself entire subjects before, he can figure out exactly what the Kodzuken project is, and do it better than anyone else.

For Nekoma. For SP300. 

Kuroo begins investigating, making notes on his screen every so often, earmarking where the last user had pulled the system files, which Kuroo is unsurprised to see are heavily redacted. It would have been fascinating, Kuroo assumes, if there were any context as to what exactly he is working on.  Kuroo squints at a report, six-month description of energy usage for Kodzuken from the previous year. It reminds Kuroo a little bit of the reports they studied in ecology, tracing the shape of the graph.  Hibernating animals looked like this: the slow decline of resource utilization, combined with the occasional spike of energy. Interesting, but ultimately useless without context. Kuroo just has to keep looking. The answer has to be in one of these reports, though there are thousands. Kuroo can only hope he finds the right one before he has to retire. He curls himself closer to the screen, almost pressing his nose against it.

By the time it is time for him to log off for the day, Kuroo is thoroughly exhausted. The work isn’t hard, it is almost insultingly easy, but everything about his new project is just….strange.

Kuroo can only hope it will get better with time. He will make it better, he promises himself.

--

Kuroo wishes his office had a window. At the very least, then he would be able to daydream more effectively while waiting for the months to pass. Despite his best efforts, his job remains stubbornly…nothing. Boring, easy, and insultingly slow.

He turns his eye back to the newsletter on his KScreen. Six Months Until Expected Landing. The title blares, with accompanying photos of SP300’s surface beckoning to him. A message from Akaashi pops up, complaining about his boss, but Kuroo swipes it away. At least he's not the only one suffering.

The Kodzuken Project. What a stupid name for the most boring assignment on the entire ship. It has been almost a month since he started, and absolutely nothing of interest has happened. Every day, he comes in, says a quick hello to Kazutoshi and the other Bridgemen then scurries to his office. Kazutoshi never bothers him, or acknowledges the reports that Kuroo sends to him, and the other Bridgemen have never introduced themselves to him. Kuroo feels invisible, forgotten, working on a project that doesn’t even make sense.

He rolls his chair back slightly, trying, once again, to guess what on the ship could have energy usage similar to this. He knows that there are algae tanks kept onboard that create additional oxygen for them, in case of an emergency. Maybe that's the Kodzuken Project? He frowns. It still doesn't explain the secrecy.

Kuroo already has the beginnings of a headache forming,  the words before him blurring. He’s been working for too long, and not making any progress. He rolls his neck, looking left, right, and then up, when he sees it.

A paper stuck to the ceiling. Folded sharply, intentionally, right above his desk. The corners of the room have pots of Dracaena, tall leaves sending shadows across the ceiling, but the paper is placed just so. Anyone who sat at the desk and looked up would be unable to miss it. 

He stands, reaching up to grab it, before gracefully clambering onto his desk to reach. 

It's a note, handwritten. There aren't too many pens on board, but what's written piques his interest even more.

Under the desk. Right corner. – N.M.

Well then. This is something interesting. He gets off the desk before ducking under it instead, eying the right corner. It’s dark, and for a moment, Kuroo thinks he’s been played a fool, before his eyes adjust enough to make out a slightly grey object stuck to the black underside of the desk.It comes off easily, and Kuroo can’t help but gasp at it: a USB. A real one, like from the textbooks about old tech.

Don’t be their fool. Kodzuken deserves more. – N.M

He pulls the second note off the back of the USB, and with some fumbling, locates a hole on the back of his computer he can stick it in. Is this why all the technology in the office is so old?, he wonders as he waits, jiggling his knee impatiently.

A file opens itself, and, with a single glance to the door, Kuroo leans in close to read it. 

To whom it may concern,

I assume you are a worker on the Koduzuken project. I am as well; though I regret to say I don’t think I will be here much longer. I am here to tell you the project is not what it seems. The Bridgemen are not having you monitor a potential home planet for suitability, or agriculture rooms, or whatever lies they have told you. Koduzuken is one of us. Don’t believe what they tell you about him.

I have attached the notes from previous workers as further evidence. I am not well enough to save him, but you must. I don't have time, but I trust that you will do what is right.

Good luck

– N.Y.

Breathless, Kuroo scrolls, eyes widening as he takes in the statistics on his screen. Unredacted reports, detailing Koduzuken: REM cycles, respiration rates, and scanned-in notes that appear to detail mood, though the scan is too blurry for him to see it properly.

Kuroo feels sick, his sight blurring.

Kuroo loves Nekoma. The Bridgemen are a little stern, yes, but surely they wouldn’t—

But what else could they be monitoring? Not algae. A human, though? A prisoner?

He opens the document again. Pages and pages of notes on macronutrients, kidney function, the type of information you would only care to monitor on a…person.

At the end of it all, there is simply this: 

Staircase at the end of the hall. All the way to the bottom. Room 0002.  Don’t get caught. 

Kuroo stands, fumbling to pull the USB out of the back of his computer, watching as the file closes itself. 

There’s no way it’s true. It’s a prank. One of the Bridgemen having a good time, Kuroo tells himself, thumbing the smooth plastic covering of the USB.

Kuroo pulls a hand through his hair, swearing quietly. He has to go. He has to see. Just to prove to himself that the Kodzuken Project is exactly the do-nothing job he already knows it is. He'll take the route it describes and find nothing. Algae tanks or seed storage or room for computer servers. Not a human. These files are a prank, they have to be.

He glances back at the door before crouching down, hiding the USB back in its place. Just in case.

--

Kuroo is a rule follower. Though he might enjoy poking fun at his friends until they're red in the face and ignores his barber's advice, in general, he lives life trying his hardest at anything an authority asks him to do. Sweat slicks his back at the thought of someone finding him doing something that he hasn't been told to do. 

But he needs to know. He can’t pretend that he hasn’t seen the notes or wondered what makes the Koduzuken Project such a big secret. Kuroo walks to the hallway, trying to appear casual. The bamboo rustles, the only sound other than the distant laughter coming from the Bridge. The stairway is there, hidden behind an unmarked door, just as N.Y. promised. No alarm goes off when Kuroo pushes it open, holding his breath for Kazutoshi to spring out from behind a planter. The hallway is empty at this time of the day; most workers are eating lunch or have their doors closed. Kuroo carefully steps onto the stairs, and begins the climb down.

He’s never been to Floor Zero. It’s more of an urban myth kids are told in primary school than a real part of the ship. Below the offices, the workshops, the farms. Below the fish tanks and the water recyclers, all the way at the bottom of the ship. Where they keep all the information on how to start over on a new planet. Where kids who don’t brush their teeth go.

Finally, Kuroo reaches the bottom. A hallway stretches before him with no doors as far as he can see. Long, woody vines snake along the floor, curling up over each other. Some end in dried stumps with sharp edges. A path wanders through them, leading past a turn and out of Kuroo's sight. This is not server storage, Kuroo surmises, not the long, still banks of computers that navigate the ship that Kuroo had always assumed would be down here, the rare times he thought about it since childhood.

He slowly proceeds down the hallway. The air is heavy down here, and Kuroo can almost feel the weight of the ship above them resting on his shoulders. It feels like he walks the length of the ship before he reaches a door with a large ‘0002’ painted on it.

Kuroo takes a deep breath and opens the door, squinting as light floods the hallway.

Room Two is much brighter than the hallway had been. Light shines down from an unseen source; a room much larger than Kuroo anticipated from the entry. The strange woody vines snake along the floor and walls, intertwined with wires that hang in great coils, almost obscured by the dark leaves.

For a moment, Kuroo feels light with relief. Room 0002 isn’t a medical facility with subjects strapped down, nor is it a prison cell. It’s just a room full of overgrown plants and some old wiring. It's all a joke, a flight of delusion. Kuroo's overactive mind searching for connections where there are none.

And then a figure stands up in the middle of the room, turning towards where Kuroo is standing in the open door.

Oh, fuck.

The man is slight, hunched over on himself, wearing only a set of red sleep clothes, but that’s not what catches Kuroo’s eyes. Kuroo's eye is drawn to the man's head. His hair, dark, fine, and straight, is mixed with pale yellow. Almost as if it had been bleached halfway down his head. But the strands are not hair, no. As Kuroo takes a step closer, he sees how the yellow is thicker, longer, gathering at the nape of the man's neck and twisting down his back, past his legs, coiling amongst the vines on the floor, matching perfectly the rest of the wires that cover the room.

No.

The man turns to face Kuroo fully, and despite his horror, Kuroo feels the tug in his gut when his eyes meet the inquisitive golden gaze of the other man. Kodzuken. 

“What do you want?” the man asks, tilting his head to the side, causing the wires to shift as his hair falls to the side. His voice is soft, with barely any inflection at all. He sounds bored, though he takes a few steps closer to where Kuroo is standing, the wires dragging on the floor with his movement. Fine boned hands reach to tug them closer to him, giving them slack before they tug on the connections in his skull.

“Um–” Kuroo stutters, gaze catching on how the man is barefoot.

“Who are you?” he blurts out, taking another step forward, almost tripping over the stem of a large leaf, batting it out of his way. 

The man frowns, tangling his fingers together in front of him. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice pleasantly deep and a little rough, like he had just been asleep. He blinks slowly, and Kuroo is suddenly very aware of his ill-fitting suit and hair that he hadn’t even looked at in the mirror that morning. This man, Kodzuken, has an intensity to him, a gravity that tugs at Kuroo's chest.

Kuroo cocks his head to the side, trying to get a closer look at the way the wires were connected to him.“I mean, a name would be nice. That’s how these things tend to be done,” Kuroo says, easy as anything, despite the way his heart is thundering. “For example, I’m Kuroo Tetsuroo, and I’m a worker on the Koduzoken project—” 

At this, Kenmma stiffens and takes a step back, hurt flashing across his face, before his face slides into a distant neutrality, like a mask slipping into place. He breathes harshly, turning to look down his nose at Kuroo, quite a feat considering his diminutive stature. 

“You’re here to work on the Kodzuken project? This is the Kudozuken,” he says, gesturing at his body. “Do whatever it is you’re here to do.”

Kuroo scratches the back of his head, “Ah, well,” 

The man sits down, tilting his head to reveal the back of his neck, ignoring Kuroo. 

“I’m not really here in an official capacity, you see,” Kuroo continues, circling around the man, Kodzuken, to sit in front of him, “I was just sort of curious.” 

Kodzuken doesn’t look up. “Curious,” he repeats. 

“Yeah, about your whole…deal,” Kuroo says lamely.

The man is silent.

Kuroo is of half a mind to ask Kodzuken why he’s down here. If he needs help. But he can’t imagine that he’ll suddenly get chatty if Kuroo pushes more. He’s still sitting, still as a statue, ignoring Kuroo. Kuroo stares at him. His clothing is wrinkled, like he’d been sleeping before Kuroo had come in. The wires must be how he’s being monitored, Kuroo realizes. Maybe a security system to prevent him from escaping?  

“Well,” Kuroo begins, as the man continues to stare at the ground. It’s like he’s waiting for something, Kuroo thinks, taking in his posture, the tilt in his head that reveals where the wires flow under his skin. Something sick settles in his stomach at the defenceless man. 

Something is very, very wrong here, and Kuroo feels incredibly unprepared. Algae tanks. He thought he was looking after kelp.

“Well, it was, uh, nice to meet you,” Kuroo finally says, and Kodzuken doesn’t even flinch. “I'd better be going, though,” Kuroo continues. “Glad to meet you, Kodzuken.” 

He carefully stands and begins to walk his way around the vines and wires that criss-cross the floor, stopping at the door to take one last look at Kodzuken, barely visible. He turns to place his hand on the door when Koduzken calls out. “You know, you’re not supposed to see me if they didn't send you.” 

Kuroo freezes, and Kodzuken, against all odds, keeps talking, “I hope nothing bad happens to you,” he says distantly, like he’s already accepted that it will. “You’re a lot nicer than who they normally send.” 

“I’ll be back,” Kuroo promises, “nothing bad will happen to me.” 

There is no response.

--

Kuroo barely remembers his walk back. In the blink of an eye  Kuroo is staring at the reports that printed while he was gone. He notes a spike in several of the components he’d been monitoring. Of course, Kodzuken would have had an increased heart rate and respiration: a strange man with crazy hair burst into his room. Who knows the last time Kodzuken even talked to someone else.

He’s a fucking human. A man, though really he can’t be much older than Kuroo, maybe even a few years younger. Kuroo leans back in his chair, willing the white paint of the ceiling to give him an answer. He can’t remember ever seeing a pair of golden eyes around. Then again, the ship is large, and who knows how long Kodzuken has been held prisoner. Maybe his entire life. 

Kuroo doesn’t even try to sleep that night. 

None of the reports were dated in the USB, and whoever N.Y. was didn’t provide much help Kuroo thinks the next morning, eyes tight and full of crust after hours of poring over them. No explanation of why Kodzuken is down there, only endless confirmation that he is. Useless, Kuroo surmises, after meeting him. 

Kuroo shudders, remembering how the man looked at him, something haunted and dark in his eyes, regardless of their light color. Thinks of Kazutoshi and his slick smile and evasive answers.

Kuroo bangs his head against his desk. 

Does this make him evil? Does he need to say something? Do something?

Does he need to save Koduzuken? How would he even begin to do that? 

The questions overwhelm Kuroo, and he collapses into his chair.

No answers come to him. 

What he needs is more information, Kuroo decides, when another hour of poring over the information and pacing has passed fruitlessly. And that means going to see Koduzuken again.

--

It’s almost a week before Kuroo feels prepared to face Kodzuken again. A week of normal breakfasts with Yaku, of trying to avoid speaking with Kazutoshi as much as possible. He will never know more if he doesn't speak to the man again. He has a plan this time. He’s prepared himself, and yet, as he sneaks down the empty hallways, he almost doesn’t believe that the stairs will be there.

They are, and so Kuroo begins the descent.

Floor Zero is as creepy as he remembered. The vines are as thick and knobby as the trees in the ship's arbor. Kuroo doesn’t recognise them, unlike most of the species on the ship. They are alien to him, and Kuroo suppresses a shudder when the rough edge of one snags on his clothing. He brushes it aside, glancing up at the lighting alcoves; half of them are dark. He quickly makes his way down to the singular door in the long hallway. Kuroo knocks once and feels quite foolish when there is no response, and opens the door.

Kodzuken's room is unchanged. The vines stretch up the wall, intertwining with the wires that Kuroo knows trap the man here, gathering in thick piles on the floor, the air damp and heavy.

“Hello?” Kuroo calls out and is greeted with silence. 

He takes a tentative step forward, scanning the greenery for any signs of the prisoner, but the room is still, not even a breeze to ruffle the oversized leaves. “It’s Kuroo again. Just to chat.”

He wonders if perhaps he’s going crazy. If there actually is never a man trapped in this room or if he’s just the first person to have a mental break after less than six months in an office job. “Hello?”

A flash of movement catches the corner of his eye, and Kuroo spins, locking eyes with Kodzuken, who’s sitting against a wall, legs halfway pulled up to his chest. The other man freezes, and all Kuroo can feel is relief that he isn’t going crazy and that nothing bad has happened to the other man. 

He smiles, or at least tries to, and runs a hand through his hair, everything he had planned to say leaving his mind now that he’s actually face-to-face with Kodzuken again. Kodzuken finishes the movement that caught Kuroo's attention, linking his arms around his legs and hooking his chin over his knees. He blinks wide golden eyes at Kuroo. 

“You’re back,” he says blankly, like it really wasn’t all too interesting if Kuroo came back or didn’t. 

“I am,” Kuroo breathes, coming to sit on the ground a few paces away from Kodzuken, taking care not to trample or tangle any of the wires twisting around him like a tangled ball of yarn. “I have, I have questions,” he stumbles over his words. 

Kodzuken only blinks at him again. “I didn’t think they would let you back,” he says offhandedly, staring past Kuroo instead of at him.

“They don’t know I’ve ever been here,” Kuroo admits. It’s clear to Kuroo that whatever relationship Kodzuken has with his captors, it isn’t good. “Who are ‘they’?” Kuroo asks.

Kodzuken’s gaze focuses, eyes narrowing at Kuroo as if he didn’t expect him to ask such a stupid question. “You know,” he says and lifts one hand to wave approximately at where Brigmen pin their medals and awards, “those guys.”

Kuroo waits. Kenma doesn't elaborate, not even when Kuroo catches his eye. They stare at each other for a long moment, before Kuroo breaks, and Kenma huffs out a tiny laugh. 

Kenma is frustratingly unflappable, but Kuroo prides himself on being able to annoy anyone into doing what he wants. He grins wide, showing his teeth the way Bokuto sometimes does. “What did you do to piss them off so much?” he asks, conspiratorially. 

Kodzuken’s eyes widen, just a little bit, before he tilts his head ever so slightly. A tumble of wires falls from behind his ear. Kuroo feels analyzed by the way Kodzuken is staring at him, like the man is seeing through his skin, seeing all the way down into his brain, his organs. 

“Oh,” Kodzuken breathes, “you really don’t know,” 

Kuroo laughs at that, as obnoxiously as he can. “That’s what I’ve been telling you,” he says, watching as Kodzuken uncurls, standing to take a few hesitant steps closer to Kuroo. Even when he's standing above Kuroo, looking down at him, Kuroo feels… safe. He feels safe with Kodzuken, even when every logical impulse tells him he should be wary.

“How are you here?” he asks, voice suddenly sharp. 

“Hey, you’ve got to answer my question first,” Kuroo protests. “Why are you down here?”

Kodzuken rolls his eyes, and something in Kuroo sparks at that, at how normal it is for someone who’s so abnormal. 

“I don't have to do anything,” Kodzuken says, and the spark grows, warmth rushing through Kuroo's veins. He likes Kodzuken, he decides. The other man is fun. Kodzuken demands again, “How are you here without them knowing about it?”

He moves behind Kuroo, further into the room. Despite Kuroo's original assessment, the room isn’t much larger than one of the gardens upstairs. It’s much larger than any of the berths upstairs, Kuroo can’t imagine having this much space to himself. It must get lonely. Kodzuken ducks behind some of the vines that drape from the ceiling Kuroo stands to follow him to a corner of the room that almost resembles a regular bedroom, a clearing with a futon and a small cupboard. 

Kodzuken flops down onto the futon, golden eyes still trained on Kuroo, who settles himself on the floor once more. It seems that Kodzuken is unwilling to answer questions, but maybe…

“I’m not one of them, but I work for them,” Kuroo says. “I’m a scientist. I was put in charge of monitoring, well, you."

Kodzuken blinks and says nothing. “Not—I didn’t know that it was you-you, a person,” Kuroo finds himself rambling under the weight of Kodzuken’s gaze. “It was really just a bunch of numbers, biochemical information that I was supposed to keep…steady. I didn’t know it was you until... Well, it's a long story. But I learned that I had been misled. And so, I came looking,”

Kodzuken lets out a whoosh of breath, and Kuroo can’t help but wink at him, amused by the shock that has leaked into his expression. “I don’t like other people knowing stuff I don’t,” he says by way of explanation. 

“So you came looking,” Kodzuken repeated. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo sighs softly. “I thought you were algae, to be honest. I didn’t expect…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, glancing over to see if Kodzuken will explain what exactly Kuroo has found. A prisoner? A medical experiment? 

“It makes sense,” Kodzuken mumbles instead. “It actually explains a lot that they have someone monitoring me.”

Kuroo waits this time, because it’s clear that Kodzuken won’t be provoked into sharing anything he doesn’t want to. 

“So they didn’t tell you anything about me?” Kodzuken asks, snapping his gaze up to meet Kuroo’s.

“No.” 

“The reports about me you sent were redacted? So you thought I was algae?” Kodzuken repeats, and Kuroo can tell he's just putting all the pieces together in his mind but confirms it anyway.

"It was just biological data. People are a lot like algae on that level." Kuroo defends himself. "But, yes, nothing but the raw data."

“And you,” Kodzuken pauses. “You never thought that you’d find something like this?”

What is this? Kuroo wants to ask, but he holds his tongue, meeting Kodzuken's gaze. “No.”

Kodzuken slumps in on himself. Without thinking, Kuroo reaches out to pat him on the arm, almost shocked at how soft and warm the other man is. How human. 

It takes him a moment to remember himself and withdraw his hand, nervous to look up and see Kodzuken's reaction to the sudden touch.

Kodzuken speaks, wrinkles appearing between his eyebrows as he carefully chooses his words. “I… am not dangerous.”

Kuroo nods, “I believe you.”

“But you wondered if I was? That's why you think I’m down here?” The other man's tone is neutral, like he won't judge Kuroo at all for being suspicious of him or his motives.

Kuroo doesn't say anything. 

“It’s dangerous for me to be up there,” is all Kodzuken says, but there’s something dark and bitter in his gaze. “I have to be kept… separate.”

And that… Kuroo looks at the other man, how frail he is. He doesn't seem sick, and surely this isn't a medical quarantine, but Kuroo asks anyway. “Is it dangerous for me to be here with you?” He asks. 

“No! I-it’s more like,” Kodzuken starts and stops, frustration leaking into his voice. “I can’t—You can be here, but,” 

“It’s okay,” Kuroo says, smiling at Kodzuken, who has an adorable flush covering his cheeks. “If I can be here without it being dangerous, I’d like to keep coming.”

Kodzuken’s eyes narrow. “They won’t like that.”

Kuroo laughs, loud after the hush of their conversation. “They’ll never know.”

Kodzuken smiles, and it feels like victory. Kodzuken stares down at his lap, seemingly content to just sit with him. 

For some reason, Kuroo just… trusts Kodzuken. He has no real reason to, he muses. Kodzuken could be lying to him, but Kuroo just…doesn’t think he’s that type. Something about his posture, his narrow shoulders hunching over on himself, his fingers and toes always moving. It seems like Kodzuken is bored with being in his own body. And yet, he doesn’t want Kuroo to free him. In fact, it's almost eerie how resigned the other man is to being alone down here.

Kuroo takes a look at the other man, who is literally twiddling his thumbs, sitting on his futon with a faded flower duvet on it. The wires pile around him, shifting among the black strands of his hair.

Kodzuken said it was dangerous for him to go upstairs, but not for Kuroo to come see him. It's clear that someone (Kazutoshi?) visits him. Kuroo looks over at the other man, whose every breath is being tracked by the ship. Why? Why all the effort? Why the wires? He’s not sick; Kuroo knows he’s perfectly healthy, but maybe there’s something else? Maybe he can’t be unwired, and that’s why he can’t leave? But why would the reports be redacted? 

Kuroo loses his train of thought as something more important comes to the front of his mind. “I hope it won’t be too dangerous for you to come planet-side with us when the time comes,” he says, idly. If Kodzuken is wired into the ship, it might take a lot of work to unwire him, Kuroo thinks, before the sound of shifting makes him look up. Kodzuken has moved into a crouch, every line of his body tense.

“What?” Kodzuken bites out, and when Kuroo meets his eyes, “Planet-side? What do you mean, planet-side?”

“SP300,” Kuroo says stupidly, “The planet? Did no one tell you we’ve found a home? We should all be moving down in a few months.” 

“No.” Kodzuken says slowly, “No, that can’t be right.”

“Did they not tell you?” Kuroo asks. Kodzuken curls further up on himself, eyes unseeing, lips moving, but no sound comes out.

"Kodzuken?" Kuroo asks, but Kenma ignores him.

Understanding dawns on Kuroo, “Are they going to leave you here?” He can barely whisper as he looks helplessly at Kodzuken, the prisoner, wired into the ship that will soon be left behind.

Abandoned.

--

Kodzuken is fucking terrifying. It’s not that he’s physically intimidating or even has that strong of a personality. He practically blends in with the plants that fill his room. No, what makes Kodzuken terrifying is that it’s clear that he cannot be convinced to do a single thing he doesn't want to do. Kuroo returns to his office after an hour of trying to coax more information out of him, to no avail.

Kuroo had needled, prodded, and poked, but after Kodzuken learned that they were parked above SP300, there was nothing Kuroo could get out of the other man. Kodzuken had only curled away from Kuroo, his mind clearly far away from his body. He hadn’t said another thing.

And so, Kuroo left, threatening to come back the very next day, which Kodzuken also ignored. As he walks back to the sleeping quarters, he finds his feet taking him in a very familiar direction.

Kuroo is privileged to know lots of different types of people. But despite his extensive social network, he never developed a friendship with someone who would be perfect for ‘I realized my new job is actually monitoring a prisoner that's been stuck at the bottom of the ship, and my boss doesn’t know that I know, and also the prisoner is kinda cute and also impossible to hold a conversation with’ type situations. 

Yet, he finds himself outside of Akaashi's door without consciously choosing to go to the other man.

Akaashi is very, very smart, if nothing else. 

“Kuroo,” Akaashi greets when he opens the door. They were never super close, living in different berths, but they often took classes together.

Akaashi takes one long look at Kuroo, then sighs, “What’s wrong?”

Kuroo pauses, then pouts. “Maybe I’m just here to see a good friend and rival?” he asks. He doesn’t think he looks that bad. Akaashi is his friend! He’s allowed to just pop in for a chat.

Akaashi looks unimpressed. “You have been distant lately. Lev texted me asking if you were in the clinic when you didn’t show up to dinner twice in a row.”

Kuroo cocks his head, “Why did Lev ask you?”

Akaashi shrugs, but the corners of his mouth have a distinct upward tilt. “I, apparently, know everything.”

Kuroo snickers, before it occurs to him that he is here for almost the same thing, and shudders that he and Lev have a similar thought process. 

Akaashi continues, “And seeing as you would only be this serious if you were literally dying or the ship was crashing, I imagine that something is very, very wrong.”

Kuroo collapses onto the spare chair in Akaashi's berth, the rest of his berthmates out. Akaashi takes a seat at his desk, spinning his chair to look at Kuroo. 

“I have…learned some things about the ship,” Kuroo starts. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he realizes that he’s doing the thing he’s been told will be considered treasonous if he does. 

He thinks about the look on Kodzuken's face, how bitter he looked when he said he wasn’t allowed to be around the crew of the ship, and how terrified he looked when he learned that they had found a planet. But Koduzoken hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with who he is or what’s going on.

“Kuroo,” Akaashi says, not unkindly, “spit it out.”

“I found a person.” Kuroo says and watches Akaashi begin to smile before realizing what he said, the implications, and rushes out, “No, not like that. Like, a prisoner. The Bridgemen are keeping a prisoner.”

Akaashi sits up. “A prisoner?” 

Kuroo nods, a bit frantically. “Not like—he’s not a criminal, he’s not even—they’re not even keeping him in any type of cell. He's, like, wired in, and my entire job is just monitoring him, making sure that he’s getting enough nutrients. I went and I found him, and he’s just alone in the bottom—”

He takes a calming breath and stares at the floor. It sounds insane when he says it all at once. “You have to believe me.”

Akaashi is silent for a moment. "A prisoner," he repeats, and then after another long moment, “I thought the bottom floors were all server storage.”

Kuroo breathes a sigh of relief. Akaashi doesn’t think he’s crazy and doesn’t think this is some type of prank. Suddenly knowing that he can share all of it, everything he's been thinking about for the past week, lifts the incredible weight he’s been carrying off his shoulders. He sits up a little straighter, already feeling like the situation is less hopeless. Everything is better with a team, especially if Akaashi is on it.

“It’s all the way at the bottom of the ship," Kuroo says. “Floor zero.”

Akaashi nods slowly. “You’ve been there? Multiple times?” 

“Twice. Once, just to see, I found some documents from previous workers explaining that my job was… bad. That I was doing a bad thing,” Kuroo closes his eyes, thinking of Koduzuken. “Akaashi, he's our age. He’s got wires, thousands of them, all fused into his skull, it seems. The first time, I didn’t even know what to say to him, but he was so…”

Kuroo pauses again, trying to describe Kodzuken, “Flat. He was sure that the Bridgemen sent me, and then sure that because they didn't, something bad was going to happen. But he wasn’t worried about it. It was like he had seen it all a thousand times before. He wasn’t happy, but he also wasn’t sad. And then, I went back the second time, and he was the same. Just so… detached. From everything.”

“Until..?” Akaashi prompts, a small frown marring his face. 

"Until I told him about SP300,” Kuroo confirms Akaashi's assumption. “He freaked out, I could tell, but he just ignored me until I left.” Kuroo shudders, remembering the fear in Kodzuken’s eyes, how he had collapsed in on himself. “I think he’s going to be left behind,” Kuroo whispers. 

Akaashi is silent. They sit for a moment, both pondering being left alone on the Nekoma, as it slowly decays into space junk, the lights turning off, then the oxygen, and finally the heating, as the engine dies. 

“That’s why he acted that way, you believe. He thinks once we are all planetside, they’ll leave him here.” Akaashi summarizes. 

Kuroo slumps in his chair, “He’s not dangerous, Akaashi, you have to believe me,”

“I do,” Akaashi says, and Kuroo feels a surge of gratitude at his friend's trust in him. He should have told Akaashi weeks ago. He needs an ally in this mess he's gotten himself into.

“We need to free him,” Kuroo states. It's as simple as that.

After a moment of contemplation, Akaashi acquiesces, “If they're going to leave him? I agree.”

Kuroo doesn’t have a plan, and he is aware that Akaashi isn’t asking him for one. He has only thought as far ahead as seeing what Kodzuken looks like without the white wires flowing alongside his hair, and nothing else. 

He hopes that if he just… sneaks Kenma upstairs and introduces him to enough people, the Bridgemen won’t be able to whisk him away again.

“He’s important to you,” Akaashi observes. For some reason, Kuroo flushes. “Already, you care a lot about him.”

“I… no one deserves to be alone, like he is,” Kuroo says. There's so much more he can say about Kodzuken. His smile, the fiery side of him that came out when he realized he was going to be left alone, and his wry humor that Kuroo has only seen flashes of, hidden behind the apathy. Hidden, all alone at the bottom of the ship. 

They need to get him out. There is nothing else they can do. 

“Tell me more about these wires,” Akaashi says with a small smile, pulling out his KScreen and a tablet pen. “We don't have that much time.”

--

When Kuroo leaves, he is given instructions: wait for Akaashi's opportunity to visit Kodzuken with him, not tell his berthmates, and absolutely not to visit Kodzuken alone. His orders are very clear. They make complete sense. He knows Akaashi is working on a plan. He knows it's going to be brilliant. 

He also knows that Kodzuken is all alone. He knows that the Bridgemen’s plan is to leave him once they all go planetside. The lights will go out, he’ll stop getting nutrition, he’ll be all alone, for real.

Kuroo finds himself on the staircase down, yet again.

Kuroo can’t leave Kodzuken alone. There's something that draws Kuroo to him, beyond the sense of injustice he feels at how the other man has been trapped. 

He’s always dreamed about what his life will look like once they’re planet-side. How it will feel to be beneath the heat of a star instead of the electric lights, how it will feel to be enveloped by an atmosphere, to step out onto solid land, and to know that he’s home. 

Recently, those dreams all include Kodzuken, free of his wires, and standing with him, playing with their friends. It feels like Kodzuken, with his small smiles and sparse words, is lodged firmly in Kuroo’s head.

Is it stupid to miss talking to a man you’ve only spoken to twice? Kuroo doesn’t care. 

The journey to Floor Zero is quicker every time. Kuroo wastes no time on knocking this time. He barges into Kodzuken’s room, quickly parting the sea of foliage hiding Kodzuken’s futon.

He’s here, sitting in front of his futon; a deck of cards lying in front of him. A game of shogi is abandoned at his side, the pieces well-worn. Kuroo can’t help but smile, thinking about Koduziken playing against himself. 

He looks up at Kuroo, and like a star being born, a small smile spreads across his face. 

“Kuroo,” he says and nods once before returning to his game. 

Kuroo sits in front of him, watching as he lays the cards out. Kodzuken barely takes a moment to glance at each card before putting it in its proper place.

“Kodzuken,” Kuroo responds, catching Koduken’s gaze through his bangs. 

“That’s not my name,” he says, ducking his head lower, gathering all the cards into a neat stack and shuffling them. 

“What is your name then?” Kuroo asks after a beat. 'Kodzuken' doesn’t sound like a person’s name, now that he’s thinking about it. He is assigned to work for the Kodzuken Project, which means keeping this man alive. Surely this man is Kodzuken, correct? 

The man in question doesn’t respond and begins to play his game again. 

“Mmmmm, is it Ren? Aoi? Sota?” Kuroo guesses, grinning as Kodzuken frowns deeper at each one. “Maybe your name is also Tetsuroo, and now you’re feeling embarrassed because we can’t both have the same name.”

“Tetsuroo is a dumb name,” he mumbles, “and why aren’t you guessing family names?”

That’s a good question, actually. Something about Kodzuken, alone here, trapped, his existence playing cards with himself, reduced to redacted reports only seen by him—he deserves to be known by a personal name. Kuroo wants to call him by a personal name.

The silence stretches on a moment too long, and Kuroo huffs out a laugh, sidestepping the question. “Don’t suppose it’s Morisuke, right? That’d be pretty messed up.”

“Kenma.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo breathes, tasting the syllables on his tongue, “Ken-ma. It suits you.”

“Kuroo doesn’t suit you,” Kenma (Kenma!!) says, and Kuroo laughs, delighted. It might be the first time Kenma has expressed a strong opinion, and it’s about his name. 

“What should I be called instead?” Kuroo asks. “I don’t suppose you think I should be called Kenma, too?”

Kenma scrunches up his nose, gathering the cards up again, already done with another game. 

“Kuro,” he says, and the name hangs between them for a moment. 

Kuroo cackles. 

“That’s just my name!” Kuroo protests.

“No, it’s not. It’s better.” Kenma says, shuffling the cards once more. 

“It’s just my name, but lazy,” Kuroo decries, clutching at his chest. He hopes Kenma will keep playing along with his antics, this is fun. “It’s my name, but you got bored halfway through and gave up.”

“Okay, Kuro,” Kenma says, and Kuroo is cackling again, eyes catching on the crinkles that form in the corners of Kenma’s eyes when he smiles. 

“Why are you here this time?” Kenma asks, and Kuroo doesn’t really have a good answer to that.

I missed you. It seemed wrong to be laughing with my friends when you were here alone. I saw you didn’t sleep much last night. I wanted to see if you were okay.

“Thought you might like to have someone to talk to,” is what Kuroo says instead. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Kenma shrugs, shuffling the cards lazily. “No?”

Oh. 

Kuroo reaches over to pull the shogi board over, ignoring Kenma's cry when he moves the pieces back to a starting position. “Well, surely you get tired of playing against yourself all the time.”

Kenma leans forward, his gaze suddenly incredibly intense. “You know how to play? Are you good?”

Kuroo lost every single game he played against Nekomata after turning ten years old, but Kenma doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve played a lot,” he decides, ignoring how suddenly Kenma is smiling with teeth, sharp little incisors poking past his very pink lips. 

Kuroo shouldn’t think about how pink Kenma's lips are. He's noticing things about Kenma this visit. Things he shouldn't be noticing, like the crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiles and the color of his lips. He quickly turns his attention back to the pieces in front of him, unwilling to dwell on that line of thought.

Kenma moves first, and Kuroo counters with a ginshō at random. “Have you ever played against a person before?” he asks. Kenma sticks his tongue out, just a bit, focusing on the board. He likes games, Kuroo realizes. It’s the most… alive that Kenma has been, besides the very human fear Kuroo saw when he told Kenma about SP300. 

“That’s not a subtle way to ask if I’ve been here my entire life,” Kenma says dryly, moving his piece forward. “The answer is no, though. I used to be free-roaming.”

“How long have you been here, then?” Kuroo asks, trying to remember the rules. Kenma seems very, very confident. He presses one of his fuhyō forward. He just needs to be good enough to keep the game going; he’s trying to win what is happening above the board. 

“A long time,”

“How long?” 

Kenma is silent, frowning at the board. A wrinkle forms between his eyebrows when he does, and Kuroo feels… something dangerous looking at it. He moves his piece forward. Kuroo counters immediately, barely even glancing at what Kenma did. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenma says, and Kuroo scoffs. 

“So tell me. If it doesn’t matter,” he says, and Kenma rolls his eyes. 

“I don't have to. And I don't want to either.” His eyes slip back to the game in front of them, moving his narikyō in a way that Kuroo isn’t sure is legal. 

That's okay, though. If Kenma wants to play dirty, Kuroo will too. He changes tactics. He can bait some information out of Kenma if he just plays the long game.

“Okay then, you don't need to tell me.”

They play in silence for a few turns. Kenma smiles, eyes sharp, when he promotes the keima he had moved close to Kuroo's ōshō. 

Kenma is much, much better at shogi than Kuroo is.

“Is there anything you miss then, from when you weren’t… here?” Kuroo asks, moving to capture one of Kenma’s fuhyō, taking pleasure in how the other man frowned down at the board. He’s pretty sure that fuhyō was a bait, but Kenma doesn’t seem to like losing even a little.

“Apple pie,” Kenma says, and the answer is so random that Kuroo bursts out laughing. He slaps his hand down on the ground next to him, rattling the board. 

“Hey!” Kenma protests, but Kuroo interrupts him. 

“Apple pie?” he asks, feeling incredibly warm, like he’s been wrapped in a blanket. “You’re here,” he gestures around, “and what you miss the most is… apple pie?”

Kenma looks at him, unimpressed. “Yes.”

To his horror, Kuroo feels a flush building on his cheeks at how earnest Kenma is. It's… cute.

“I don’t have to eat,” Kenma explains, looking at the ground, suddenly nervous. “Which is fine! I don’t like having to eat. But it means that I don't get to taste the things I like. Like apple pie. Or peaches.”

Kuroo immediately thinks about the nutrition charts that he maintains. How they’re perfectly formulated to maintain the human body, nothing more and nothing less. There is no room for personal preferences for a human being, only what is biologically necessary.

He’ll have to ask Bokuto to sneak him some apple pie. Maybe Kenma can be bribed into giving more information with the threat. The entire business of freeing Kenma will be easier if Kenma is even a little cooperative. Kuroo knows well that everyone loves flattery—being given one's favorite food. 

Apple pie could be the secret to unlocking the whole puzzle.

Or maybe Kuroo just wants to see Kenma happy, he considers, looking at the other man. The fascination that Kuroo has with Kenma is rapidly turning into affection. The thing Kenma misses most in the world: a pastry.

“It’s your turn,” Kenma intones, and Kuroo moves a random piece, eyes never straying from Kenma.

After a moment, Kenma bursts out laughing. 

“What?” Kuroo asks, wide eyed.

Kenma giggles. “You just checkmated yourself.”

The flush gets worse. 

“Will you believe me if I say I haven’t played since I was a child?” Kuroo pleads, trying to sound cool and missing by a mile, but Kenma doesn't call him out on it. 

He lets out a small laugh and says, “Well, you probably have more to do than play shogi.” His words are gracious but his shit-eating grin is anything but. 

Kuroo flops over onto the ground, shifting one of the vines out from under his back and flopping it onto the board, pushing the pieces into disarray. 

“I’d also say you were much more focused on failing to interrogate me than playing the game,” Kenma teases from somewhere above Kuroo. He pouts exaggeratedly, reveling in the giggle that Kenma lets out. 

They sit in a comfortable silence while Kuroo tries to think of clever ways to get more information out of Kenma before deciding that Kenma is too smart for any of that. 

“Will you tell me why you’re down here?” Kuroo asks quietly. He doesn’t expect Kenma to actually answer. He stares up at the ceiling, at the way the leaves make shadows as they sway ever so slightly. Kenma shifts, lying down as well, careful to keep the length of the board between them.

“I’m really smart,” Kuroo says and hopes that he doesn’t sound desperate, even though he is. Akaashi thinks that the wires are electrified somehow, beyond just keeping tabs on all of Kenma’s biometrics. Remove the wrong one, and Kenma won’t stay alive long enough to whimper. “Why are they keeping you here? Why are you a secret?”

Kenma sighs but says nothing. 

Kuroo thinks about taking him upstairs and getting to play other games with him, with all of his berthmates. There are gyms upstairs, and Kuroo hasn't played ball since he took the placement exam, but it would be fun to play those types of games too. He thinks about feeding Kenma apple pie and all the sweet treats he could ever desire, watching his little tongue sweep crumbs from his lips.

“I don't want you to think differently of me,” Kenma states. Then, hesitantly, with something like wonder in his voice, he asks, “Are we friends?”

Kuroo immediately wishes he hadn’t just been thinking about Kenma's tongue. “Yes. We are.” He leaves no room for argument.

“Oh,” Kenma says. “You’re my first friend in a really long time, then.”

Kuroo doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Only— 

“If you could, would you leave?”

Kenma laughs, its sound cruel. “It’s stupid to even think about that.”

“No, Kenma,” Kuroo protests, sitting up to look at Kenma, “I, if you don’t want to be down here, I don’t care why you’re here. You shouldn’t have to be trapped here, playing games with yourself.”

Kenma is silent. 

“Things are changing, Kenma.” Kuroo explains further, “We found a home, Kenma. Whatever reason they have for trapping you here, Kenma, you must have been a child. It shouldn't keep you from coming with us.”

“Planet-side?” Kenma asks quietly. “After we land?”

Kuroo scrunches his brow at the clarification but nods enthusiastically. He can’t help the awe that sneaks into his voice. “Yeah. Think about it, Kenma, the new report they sent out—there are oceans and seasons. Mountains too, apparently the whole planet is full of mountains. We’re going to be able to go skiing and swim in the ocean.”

He sighs, spreading his hands out in front of him. “Think about it, running for as long as you can and never running out of ground, not just round and around the same hallways. Think about going somewhere that no one else has ever been before.” He grins, despite himself. “Home. It’s going to be our home. No more sailing endlessly through space; it’s going to be home.”

Kenma turns onto his side, curling in, despondent, “You’re really excited about SP300, aren’t you?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, “I am. And I want you to be there too, Kenma. Think about it.”

They stay like that for a moment. Kenma is silent, eyes closed, half curled in on himself. “It… would be nice,” Kenma says, something incredibly sad coloring his voice.

Kuroo stands. “I’ll be back,” he says, looking down at Kenma, hair and wires spread out on the ground like a halo. “And Kenma, if you want to come with us, I’ll find a way to bring you with me. I promise.” 

Kenma smiles at him, “I… thank you.” After a beat, his smile shifts, brighter, his eyes scrunching to form little wrinkles. He’s painfully earnest.

“Bring a game you’re not shit at next time you come to visit.”

Kuroo laughs, taking his leave.

It takes him a long time to stop thinking about that smile. 

--

The first thing Kuroo feels is the sand. It's impossibly soft between his toes, perfectly warm, and Kuroo sinks into it a little, walking along the beach. The beach is endless: white sand, blue water, bluer sky, and the sun shining down on him. He can walk along this beach forever and never arrive back at this spot. 

This is home. This is SP300. Kuroo knows it is. He breathes deeply, bringing the salty air deep into his lungs, as the wind whips his hair around his face. He is so, so happy. 

His friends are here too. Kai is standing close to the waves, foam licking his ankles, and as soon as Kuroo notices his presence he waves at Kuroo, holding something aloft. Before Kuroo can decide if he wants to go and see what it is, though, he is distracted. The sand shifts beneath his feet as Bokuto races by, Yamamoto hot on his heels. Their shrieks of laughter are whipped away by the wind, no walls to cage it in. 

It's the most perfect, secure feeling in the world, standing on this beach. Kuroo knows that he has had many days like this and will have many more. He knows that this is home and everything is perfect. 

Something small and cool slips into his hand. Another hand. Kuroo looks to see Kenma standing next to him, holding on tight. This is perfect.

Kenma isn't looking at him, he looks up, tracing the birds that are soaring above them, free. With his head tilted back like this, Kuroo admires how the black of his hair shifts into the white.

For a moment, Kuroo wonders why Kenma's hair is white, but the worry drifts away when Kenma turns to look at him, a wide smile gracing his face.  They're walking along the beach and don't need to say a single thing. Kuroo knows that they're both listening to the waves crash. Kuroo squeezes his eyes tight, trying to hold onto this feeling.

Kenma stops him, reaching out to hold a piece of fruit to his lips. A peach, sun-ripened and dripping juice down Kenma’s wrist. It is the sweetest thing that Kuroo has ever tasted. Until, a moment later, Kenma turns his golden eyes up to Kuroo, and he leans down to kiss the other man, pressing the sweet taste of the peach juice into Kenma's mouth. This, too, is perfect. 

Kuroo's eyes fly open, his mind trying to right itself. He is lying down in his dark berth, alone. It wasn’t real. He’s still on the Nekoma. The warmth of the dream fades as Kuroo struggles to kick his blanket off, replaced with a dull ache. Kuroo squeezes his hand tight on nothing before reaching his fist up to rub grit from his eye. 

The feeling of Kenma's lips on his lingers. Kuroo rolls over, pulling his sheet over his head. 

It's just a dream, Kuroo tells himself. It doesn't need to mean anything, but Kuroo knows he's lying to himself. If he woke up from a dream of kissing Akaashi or Yaku, the absurdity would only make him laugh. Waking up from a dream of kissing Kenma, Kuroo wants to dive back into his pillow, just to feel Kenma’s warmth again. 

Kuroo can be honest with himself: he wants.

Each time he sees Kenma, it feels like he discovers more that he wants. Kuroo wants to be close to him, wants to make him smile, and wants to feel the softness of his skin. Kuroo wants to free Kenma, which is honorable, but he also wants… so much more than that. 

He closes his eyes. Sits up and slips his feet into his slippers and walks over to the sink in their berth, dragging a hand through his hair as he contemplates his own reflection. What he wants doesn't matter. He doesn't know if Kenma returns those feelings, though he thinks the answer is 'no.' Kenma only wants a friend. Kuroo can be that for him, no matter what he dreams of.

Akaashi asked to meet him for breakfast; he has a plan for how to free Kenma. That's what Kuroo needs to focus on. Not the color of his eyes, or the way his lips move when he smiles, or the sharp edges of his humor.

When Kenma is free, maybe Kuroo can entertain these dreams. Let himself try, and let Kenma reject him. But for now, he has work to do.

--

Kuroo has never been down to visit Kenma late at night. The ship dims the lights at night, simulating the cycle of a planet around a star for optimal sleep quality: it appears that Floor Zero is exempt. The light is harsh, as it always is, and Kuroo squints at the brightness when he pushes open the door to Kenma's room. Kuroo’s gift, carefully smuggled from the mess hall after a few special requests, is still warm. Kuroo has very high hopes for this trip.

Kenma is curled up on his futon, but his eyes are open. Kuroo doesn’t know if it's just the late time of night, but the gold is especially hypnotizing to him, like he’s been trapped in amber as Kenma watches him come to sit. 

“Kuro,” he yawns. “It’s night.”

He yawns again before pushing himself into a seated position, pulling the duvet over his shoulders. Kuroo is continually impressed by how he moves so gracefully without tugging on the wires, but Kenma seems absolutely attuned to them, never tripping on them or tangling them as he moves.

He blinks slowly, and Kuroo smiles at him. He’s just… cute. So cute. Kuroo's heart squeezes in his chest when Kenma returns the smile, despite the confusion that still colors his expression.

“It was time sensitive,” Kuroo explains, placing the small box down between them. “I called in several favors to get this done,” he boasts, pushing the box towards Kenma. “Open it!!”

Kenma sits up, the drowsiness replaced with an intent curiosity, and reaches to take the box. Kuroo delights at the gasp that he lets out at opening it, the way that Kenma’s eyes brighten. 

“What,” Kenma breathes, and Kuroo grins even wider; the other man is almost trembling in excitement. 

“Well, you said it was the thing you missed the most,” Kuroo crows as he pulls a spoon from his pocket, passing it to Kenma. He wastes no time in taking a bite of the perfect slice of apple pie, courtesy of Bokuto. Kuroo watches intently as he brings the spoon up to his lips.

Kenma moans, eyes slipping closed as he chews slowly, and Kuroo flushes deep and dark at the look that Kenma gives the pie once he opens them again. Kenma immediately goes in for a second bite, to the same effect. Kuroo wouldn’t mind if Kenma looked at him like that, that is for sure. 

“It’s good,” Kenma says in a small voice, after his fourth bite. “It’s really good.”

Kuroo grins, “I know they treat you like some sort of machine or computer. Your nutrition profile is perfect, but you deserve to have something tasty every once in a while,” he explains. “I did tweak your sugar content for tomorrow, though, just so nothing gets too out of whack in the reports. I don’t think the Bridgemen are paying attention, but it would be silly to be caught over something like a pie.”

Kenma only nods enthusiastically, taking precise bites, like he’s caught between eating it all at once and wanting to extend the experience for as long as possible. He even eats in a cute way. Kuroo suddenly realizes that he was wrong about getting caught. The way Kenma looks, licking over his lips to get every last crumb, holding the box like it’s something precious—it would be worth it, if he gets to make Kenma this happy. 

But he’s going to give Kenma something even better than apple pie. Freedom. The ability to go and get apple pie whenever he wants, to eat anything he desires instead of perfectly formulated IV drip nutrition. 

“Thank you,” Kenma says, once every crumb has been cleared. 

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Kuroo says, brimming with false modesty. “It’s this kind of thing that makes us human, you know?”

It is the wrong thing to say. Kenma freezes, hands still holding the box, eyes going glassy. Kuroo reaches a hand out, but before he can make contact, Kenma shudders, almost violently. Unseeingly, he whispers, almost to himself more than to Kruoo, “…it makes us human.”

He puts the box down, mechanically, before looking at Kuroo, carefully controlled. “I,” He takes a deep breath. “I am human.”

Kuroo nods, not wanting to interrupt. It seems like Kenma is having an epiphany, hands clenched white around his duvet. “I’m a human,” he repeats, “I like to eat sweets, and I like to play games and,” his voice catches. “Kuro, I don’t want to—”

He doesn’t finish his thought, but Kuroo understands perfectly what he can’t say. Kenma is a human, regardless of the trash that the Bridgemen have been telling him. He’s a human, and he shouldn’t be here all alone. He should be upstairs with the rest of the crew. Kenma is not some monster that should be kept locked up and hidden away. 

Kuroo reaches his hand out again, and it surprises him how quickly Kenma grabs it. His skin is soft and warm, and Kenma gasps quietly at the contact. He holds on tight, eyes trained on where their skin is pressed together. 

“I have a friend who knows a lot about computers,” Kuroo says, and Kenma nods, still clutching his hand. “I told him about you, and he also thinks that it's unfair that you’re down here. He wants to come and take a look at this.” Kuroo reaches out, emboldened by how well Kenma has responded to his previous gesture of physicality. He touches his hand to the wires where they curl at Kenma's shoulder, enamored by the little squeak Kenma lets out at the contact. “He can figure out how to get you out of this without hurting you.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says, tensing up, and Kuro withdraws his hand quickly, missing the warmth immediately but unwilling to make Kenma uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have overstepped his boundaries, not when he knows how he feels and how Kenma… doesn't. 

“I don’t think you understand,”

“No, Kenma, it doesn’t matter what they told you,” Kuroo interrupts. “We’ll figure out a way to get you upstairs safely. I promise. You’re right. You’re human. Just like me, and there is no reason for you to be down here,” he says, before taking the box still clutched in Kenma's hand and standing up. 

Kenma looks conflicted but lets the box go, letting Kuroo coax him into lying down and pulling the duvet over him. All of a sudden, he looks very, very young.

“I’ll be back,” Kuroo promises. “Akaashi, you'll like him. He’s going to help us get you out of here.”

“Okay, Kuro,” Kenma says, still frowning, and Kuroo can’t help himself, reaching out to smooth his thumb over the crease between the man’s eyebrows. 

“I’ll be back,” Kuroo repeats, as Kenma closes his eyes, hand still held out to where Kuroo’s had been holding it.

--

It’s a quick walk back to his berth, the hallways almost entirely deserted at this time of night. Kuroo stops once he gets to his wing, the familiar vines swaying slightly in an invisible breeze, staring out at the blue face of SP300. Clouds swirl below them, and Kuroo can’t help but sigh. They look… fluffy. A bit like Kenma, wrapped up in his duvet, blinking slowly at Kuroo.

He’s in so deep. 

All he wanted was a job exploring their new home, and now he hardly follows the news about the planet. His entire world has narrowed. It feels like everything is on hold until he can free Kenma. 

He’s quiet as he enters the berth, blinking in surprise at the day lights. Everyone should be asleep at this time of night. 

Kai and Yaku sit at the table in the center of the room, both snapping to attention as Kuroo opens the door. 

“There he is,” Yaku says, and Kai smiles, gesturing to the chair next to him. 

“Guys?” Kuroo questions, but takes a seat anyway. “What’s up? It’s pretty late.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Yaku says, staring at Kuroo very intently. “Where exactly were you, Kuroo, at this time of night?”

“Ah.” Kuroo’s  mood sinks rapidly as he flounders for a reasonable place to be at past midnight. “Well,”

Kai smiles at him, but there’s something… worried about it. Kuroo has been acting pretty suspiciously, he realizes. Sneaking around, out late. 

A surge of fondness for his oldest friends hits him. Always looking out for him, making sure nothing bad happens. He opens his mouth to tell them this, but before he can, Yaku points an accusatory finger. “What’s their name?” 

Kai lets out a deep sigh. “What happened to ‘subtle’?” he asks Yaku, who rolls his eyes. Nonetheless, both of them turn to Kuroo expectantly, expressions bright and open.

Kuroo's eyes go wide as he realizes what they think is going on. 

“Oh, no, no, guys… it’s nothing like that,” he says, reaching to scratch the back of his head. Yaku and Kai frown simultaneously. “I’m just… working a lot.”

Yaku snorts, an exaggerated pout marring his features, “Should have known you were too lame to actually get a secret boyfriend. Or girlfriend.”

“You know you could tell us if there is someone,” Kai probes, and Kuroo suppresses a wince. “Even if it’s not super official or anything! We’re your friends and all that—”

“I know I could, but I promise, it’s nothing,” Kuroo says, turning to gather his sleep clothing. “You’ll be the first to know if something does, okay?” And with that assurance, his oldest friends begin their own nighttime routines, talking quietly. From the glances they both throw his way, Kuroo can guess the subject of their conversation.

Kuroo climbs into bed and, without meaning to, presses his secret into his pillow. “Kenma,” Kuroo whispers, irritated at how soft his own voice sounds. “His name is Kenma. But… you guys… really are getting the wrong idea.”

Sleep finds him quickly. He dreams of a blue sky, and the stability of a planet beneath his feet, once again.

--

With Kenma on board, it's only a matter of days before Kuroo and Akaashi are creeping through the hallways of the ship, Akaashi laden with a bulky-looking toolbelt. Kuroo is just thankful that the Bridge and its offices are out of the way for most casual crewmembers. Kuroo brings them quickly down the secret stairs to Kenma’s jail, the route through the thick vines coming easily. He's practically vibrating, though he can't say if it's with excitement or apprehension. He’s so close to having Kenma be free.

Kuroo opens the door to Kenma's room, and there he is, sitting on the ground, a game of cards spread out in front of him, hair and wires swept over one shoulder. 

“Kuro,” he says, and Kuroo can’t help but feel the spread of warmth hearing his own name from Kenma's mouth. 

“And friends,” he says, letting a grin slip onto his face, as Akaashi peeks over his shoulder. “We’re getting you out right now.”

Kenma only stares, mouth open in a small ‘o’. Akaashi offers a simple greeting, immediately setting himself up next to the closest pile of wires. After a moment, Kenma returns to his cards, though Kuroo doesn't miss the way he glances at Akaashi. He can tell Kenma is tense, nervous about the new presence, so Kuroo doesn't attempt to make conversation with him. Instead, Kuroo joins Akaashi on the floor, watching as his friend sorts the wires.

“Are you going to be able to do it?” Kuroo asks under his breath. He had done his best to describe the wires to Akaashi, but their plans hinged on Akaashi actually being able to unplug Kenma without harming him. Akaashi had been clear: if one of those wires goes into his brain, well. Kuroo doesn’t want to think about that. 

Akaashi is silent for a moment before smiling, just the smallest bit. “Well, I brought the right tools, at least.”

Kuroo can’t help the smirk that grows even wider. To someone as cautious as Akaashi, that’s a ‘yes’.

Akaashi continues, “It is weird that they’ve decided to keep him… like this. Why not just lock the door?” 

Kuroo hums. It’s a question he’s been asking himself for weeks. Why hide him down here? Why lie that this is where they keep the servers? And why lock him up in such an odd way when it’s clear that Kenma isn’t dangerous and was never going to try to leave on his own? 

“I don’t think that matters,” Kuroo says. “What matters is we’re getting him out.”

Akaashi nods, moving to where the wires drape from the ceiling down to the floor, grabbing a handful, and beginning to look through them. Kuroo leaves him to it, walking over to sit next to Kenma.

“Ready to be free?” Kuroo asks, feeling strangely nervous. 

Kenma nods, curling his legs up to his chest and resting his cheek on them. Kuroo finds it unbearably cute, the way his cheek gets squished against the knobby bone. He looks unbelievably stressed, probably thinking about what will happen if it goes wrong. Kuroo wants to comfort him, but before he can, Akaashi calls out for him, “Hey, Kuroo, come over here for a second.”

Kenma clenches his eyes closed and seems to curl into an even tighter ball.

“Oh?” He says, walking up to Akaashi.

“Kuroo, I don’t think these are decoys,” Akaashi says, thumbing a handful of wires in his hand. “They all have currents running through them, I assumed they were mostly inert, but that isn’t true.”

Kuroo blinks at him. Akaashi sighs. “This is a bit more complicated than you led me to believe. Not only do they all have currents, some of them are input, and some of them are fiber optics, which is extra weird. I wonder if he has a chip installed somewhere, like in his brain.” Akaashi says, quickly sorting the wires in his hands into separate groups, “We can do those last. But I think this one should be fine; it seems like it’s just an output wire.”

Akaashi holds out a single wire, pale and delicate now that it has been separated from the others. He procures a very sharp pair of shears from somewhere, and suddenly it all seems too real. Kuroo takes a step forward, as Akaashi positions the shears around the wire.. There's something we don’t know, his instincts scream at him, but as he opens his mouth, Akaashi closes the shears around the wire, and with a quiet ‘snip,’ the two parts fall to the floor.

For a moment, nothing happens. Kenma doesn't cry out in pain, he doesn’t faint, and Kuroo thinks, maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The floor beneath them lurches sickeningly to the right, and they fall, tumbling to the floor. Something is wrong, and Kuroo clenches his eyes closed, waiting for the impact, rough bark sliding along the tender inside of his wrist as he scrabbles to hold onto something stable. 

It feels like it lasts forever, but finally, the movement ceases. 

A siren goes off in the distance.

Kuroo hardly dares to breathe. A second siren joins. 

Kuroo stares at the cut wire at his feet, then looks at Kenma. The man is curled into a ball on the floor, eyes tightly clenched, and everything starts to come together. 

He crawls over to Kenma, sinking his hand into Kenma’s hair, feeling the wires, their subtle mix of different sizes. Kenma stiffens under his hand but doesn’t pull away. Kuroo's mind is a whirlwind of the thousand details he's been ignoring. Kenma has thousands of wires directly into his brain, every possible biometric monitored for any change. He's been kept a secret from the rest of the ship because it was too dangerous for him to be with them. In the empty bottom of the ship where they all had been told all the ship's navigation data, everything from Old Earth, was kept—

Oh.

“The ship isn’t big enough,” Kuroo mumbles, running his hand through Kenma’s hair, careful not to disturb the white wiring. There’s so much of it, his hair appears more blonde than brown, winding up into great cords that disappear into panels in the ceiling. Kuroo furrows his brow, thinking.

“The ship isn’t big enough,” Kuroo says, louder. “All of that information, an entire civilization's worth of information, it would take a server room larger than the ship to store it all. Physical discs aren’t efficient enough at storing data. Think, are there any servers in the entire ship? All the navigation data, all the operations of keeping this ship flying for generations, across galaxies. Where are the computers? What about everything we will need to know once we find a suitable planet? Where are they keeping it all?”

Kenma’s skin is so soft, paler than even the rest of them, blushed at his knees, his elbows, and the tips of his ears. He’s so human—except—

Kuroo feels like he’s finally realized the final puzzle piece. 

“There are a couple of servers in the Bridge, as well as local storage for each unit but,” Akaashi says, eyeing Kenma and Kuroo.

Kuroo lets out a shaky laugh because it’s so obvious he was just thinking. “Kenma,”

“Don’t,” Kenma says, clearly guessing what Kuroo has figured out. He shakes his head, dislodging Kuroo's hand. “It’s not. I chose it. I wanted it.” 

“Did you know it would be this, though?” he says, because Kenma hadn’t told him for a reason: to protect Kuroo from his own horrifying reality of The Nekoma. Kuroo brings his hand up but can’t quite touch the other. “Kenma, you should have told me.”

“Context, please,” Akaashi says, drawing Kuroo’s attention away from the man in front of him.

Kuroo straightens up. “There’s no computer language that could contain the vast amounts of data needed to run this ship,” Kuroo repeats, voice shaking. “But biological systems are so much more efficient than any server could hope to be. You can store more data in a single gram of DNA than in a dozen archeobytes if you’re smart about it.”

He stares down at Kenma, unable to process what he’s uncovered, willing Kenma to tell him that he’s wrong. Kenma remains silent.

“You don’t need to program a thermoregulation system if you have one that can get cold or hot exactly when a human would. You don’t need to monitor oxygen levels when a body will release thyroxine whenever there isn’t enough oxygen,” Kuroo lists, as his friend begins to understand, “and you don’t need servers and servers of information when you can hijack someone’s DNA to store it all. All the navigation systems. All the travel logs. Everything The Nekoma has ever done. All the information we might ever need for when we find home. Weather patterns for farming, where to mine for materials, how to construct buildings, it could all fit in a few cells worth of DNA.” 

Kenma buries his face in his hands.

“You’re our brain,” Kuroo whispers, “You’re our brain, until they decide they don’t want you anymore.”

Kenma shakes his head. He’s trembling, Kuroo realizes, and takes a step back. “They’re going to leave you.” Kuroo can't stop talking. Tears roll down Kenma’s cheeks. “Th-they actually think you’re just a part of the ship, Kenma. They’re going to abandon you.”

Kenma speaks, robotically, “I did my job, didn’t I? Found a home for you?” Kuroo aches to reach out to him as Kenma swipes at his own tears. He looks up at Akaashi, who looks even paler than usual, eyes wide.

“We’re bringing you with us,” Kuroo says. “You’re going to come home with us, too.”

“How?” Kenma asks. It’s not a rhetorical question or a plea for reassurance. That isn’t Kenma's way, Kuroo has already learned. He looks between the two of them. “How could you? If you unwire me, we all die.”

“We’ll figure something out, Kenma, I promise,” Kuroo repeats, and Kenma shakes his head, confident. His eyes are dry again, and his voice is clinical.

“It’s okay, Kuro. I chose this. I’ve lived it for a lot longer than you have.” He stands and retreats back to his bed, swiping a deck of cards from the floor as he does.

“Ken—” Kuroo begins, before Akaashi puts out a hand, standing as well.

“You haven’t spent a lot of time with others, Kenma,” he says calmly, and Kuroo watches as Kenma tilts his head, his hands stilling their anxious shuffle. Akaashi tucks his tools back into the bag they came from, before taking a single step to the door. “I forgive you for not understanding the situation.”

Kenma stiffens, mouth opening wide, forehead crinkling. “Wh-—

“Kuroo believes in himself, and his people, more than anything. It’s admirable, how much he thinks anything is possible if you are willing to try. You have Kuroo on your side. If you think you can scare him off, you don't know him very well,” Akaashi continues, and Kenma flushes a deep red. “But I do. He protects his own.”

Kuroo moves towards Kenma, careful to leave some space this time. Kenma won't meet his eye, but his fingers resume their anxious shuffle as he asks, “Really?”

“Yes,” Kuroo says, empathetically. “We’ll start working on a way to get you out of here, Kenma,” Kuroo follows up as Akaashi begins to pick his way back to the hallway. “Just because they think you’re a part of the ship, just another thing to control and use, doesn’t mean you are. I know you.” He crosses over to Kenma, crouching down to look at him eye to eye. “You like apple pie and winning and hate puns and waking up. Those are wonderful, wonderful human things about you. And I don’t care what they did to your DNA or how exactly they’ve wired up your neurons. The human part of you is the most important part.”

He stands and follows Akaashi's lead, not giving Kenma the time to respond. “I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll get you out of here.”

Chapter Text

Kuroo is wide awake. The texture of the paint above his head is enchanting, little swirls that remind Kuroo of the ridges of Aglaonema leaves in the dining halls. He's been staring at it for so long his eyes burn, but he can't sleep.

Kenma is the ship. Kenma is the ship. The mystery of why Kenma can’t be free, why he had to stay hidden away, is as simple as it is incredible. They can’t let around others, Kenma gets sick, a simple fever, and he’ll boil them all alive. He's the ship.

It feels like, as many times as Kuroo repeats it to himself, he still can't fully accept it. Kenma is the ship. No wonder he couldn't tell Kuroo why he was being imprisoned: Kuroo wouldn’t have believed him. He would have looked into those golden eyes and written Kenma off as a madman.

But Kuroo felt the ship falling beneath his feet. Kuroo has walked through the empty halls that should hold the ship's computers. It's true. 

Kenma is the ship.

But, Kuroo reminds himself, he is also a human. He also deserves freedom to run on the beach, laugh with his friends, and dream about a future beyond the four walls that have trapped him for so long.

Kuroo promised Kenma the world, literally, but, as he stares at the ceiling of his bunk, he has no idea how he’s going to free the other man, no matter how badly he wants to.

Kuroo doesn’t sleep a moment all night long, as he turns the question over and over in his mind. When he drags himself to work, he is unsurprised at the mountain of printouts waiting for him, so numerous that some had fallen onto the floor. There is also a summons from Kazutoshi for an emergency meeting at noon. Kuroo’s KScreen has no announcements on it, no explanation from the Bridgeman as to why the ship had, for just a moment, started to fall. 

Kuroo falls into his chair and tries to make sense of the numbers in front of him. As soon as he things he has a lead, it evaporates. There is no easy explanation for all of the spiking values, the wildly fluctuating heart rate, the drops in conductivity. He closes his eyes. Kuroo needs a battle plan, the numbers alone tell a damning tale. He needs to be crafty, to spin a distraction. Kazutoshi thinks he’s stupid, that he’s loyal and good at school, and that’s it. They think that they’re older and cleverer than he is. Kuroo just needs to play dumb, and it’ll be okay. He dives in, carefully selecting the readings that will best aid him in convincing the Bridgemen that it was a fluke. The morning passes slowly, and by the time the meeting rolls around, maybe Kuroo can pull this off.

He walks slowly to the meeting room, taking note of coworkers who normally stay in their offices huddling together whispering urgently, their conversation covered by the sound of the bamboo leaves rustling. He doesn't need to hear them, to know they're talking about the previous night, the fall.

Kazutoshi sits at the end of the long table in the boardroom they have summoned Kuroo to, along with several other men bearing many medals on their chests. None of them smile. Kuroo bobbles a small bow as he enters the room, his chosen reports clutched close to his chest.

“Kuroo,” Kazutoshi says, his voice cold as steel, as a slimy smile spreads across his face. “We have some questions we hope you can answer for us.”

“Ah, yes,” Kuroo stumbles over his words, only acting a little bit. He’s just a bumbling numbers guy. A nerd. Nothing seditious or scandalous. “The reports were highly variable after the incident last night,” he continues, putting down his papers. 

The men stare at him, and Kuroo averts his gaze, shuffling the papers around on the table before pushing the stack in front of Kazutoshi.

“Well?” Kazutoshi asks, after a long pause. “What exactly happened?”

“Ah, well, I think that, potentially, something shook loose last night,” Kuroo says, pointing down at the piece of paper in front of Kazutoshi. “See here, there’s a blip,” indicating when we cut the line, “and then, there’s a much larger one here,” where Kenma had a panic attack, “and then it stabilizes again,” Kuroo points to the graph, taking a moment to look at the Bridgemen as they lean close to look at it. None of them seem suspicious of him specifically, other than Kazutoshi. He meets the other man's gaze and gives a small smile, “This is all very indicative of what one would expect when some writing shakes loose or begins to fail. It was a dramatic effect, but I assure you that the, er, substance of Kouzuken is fine.”

Kazutoshi studies the paper for a moment longer before pushing it away. The man is frowning, brow furrowed in thought. The other Bridgemen grab at it, but Kuroo knows, it all comes down to Kazutoshi. Kazutoshi frowns, and Kuroo’s heart sinks. He’ll never have a chance to see Kenma free, to see him smile without being distracted by the wires that wrap around him. All of Kuroo's friends will be caught, punished, and locked away. Kuroo will have failed.

Kazutoshi opens his mouth when a giggle rings out from the far side of the table. Kuroo turns, and one of the Bridgemen he hasn’t paid much attention to, just another suit that strolls around the halls, lets out a relieved sigh, “Oh, it’s just the wire! God, this ship is getting old!”

The tension breaks as the rest of the Bridgemen begin to laugh. Kuroo can hardly breathe. After a moment, Kazutoshi joins in, though his gaze never leaves Kuroo. “I suppose it's a good thing we're leaving this ship behind soon,” he says, and the Bridgemen laugh even louder. Hesitantly, Kuroo joins in, trying not to hear the threat in his words.

Kenma is safe.

He's dismissed, after a while, and wanders the halls. The idea of returning to his office seems impossible now with his new insight. He looks at the ship with new eyes. Each rattle of the fans pumping air through the ship is the same as watching the rise and fall of Kenma's chest. The false gravity that holds him to the floor is akin to Kenma gripping his hand. 

For the first time in his life, Kuroo drifts down the halls of his home, ignoring the windows that show the stars, much too enamored with the twinkle of the lights that line the hallway. 

Kuroo can’t leave Kenma on the ship, but Kenma is the ship. If he thinks about it too long, he starts to get dizzy, staring out at one of the growing rooms he’s stumbled into, endless rows of saplings, all getting ready for their new home.

He eventually ends up back in his office, but doesn't even open his computer. He wants to go and visit Kenma. He wants more answers, but he also misses the slighter man. The defeated posture, the loneliness in his voice as the left last night, the memory wrecks Kuroo. He wants to comfort him, or distract him, or just be there with him. Despite this burning need, he controls himself and simply returns to his berth after work for another night of sleeplessness.

On the third day, he can’t wait any longer. The Bridgemen sent out an announcement to everyone on board regarding their loss of power, filled with promises that the problem had been fully resolved. If it's dangerous to go and see Kenma, it feels equally dangerous stay away. Kuroo doesn't trust the Bridgemen, and especially not Kazutoshi.

Kuroo isn’t sure what he expects when he approaches the staircase. Will it be locked? Will there be guards? If there are guards, who would it even be? Kuroo isn’t a fighter, he's a scientist. He couldn't win, if there is someone there, guarding Kenma. He turns the hall as casually as he can, and all of the air leaves his lungs, as if he’s been punched. The door is gone. The door is gone. How is that even possible? 

There’s no guards, so Kuroo rushes forward, the bamboo rustling around him as he takes in the stretch of empty hallway. It takes him only a second to notice that there seems to be more planters, before he cackles, immediately slapping his hand over his mouth. 

In front of the door, there’s a new bamboo planter. The tall stalks obstruct the entire door, the fronds thick enough that at first glance. Kuroo expected the worst, and all they gave him was a planter to push out of the way. Kuroo shakes his head as he scotts it to the side, Kazutoshi must think he’s an idiot or a coward, if this would be enough to deter him. Or, perhaps, he believes Kuroo’s story? He seems like he’s too crafty to directly confront Kuroo, and Kuroo has more pressing things to worry about than what his boss is or isn’t planning.

Kuroo has to make sure Kenma is okay.

The air feels different from the last time he was down here, still heavy with the sound of Kenma’s terrified voice. It’s louder down here, closer to the engine, and the hum fills Kuroo with dread. What if Kenma is hurt? What if the bamboo was a decoy, and they actually have done something directly to Kenma?

He encounters no more obstacles, but Kuroo's heart is pounding when he gently opens the door to Kenma's room. Kuroo quietly calls out, “Kenma?”

The room is silent and still. Even the leaves seem frozen, and the wires that scatter the floor don't seem to lead in any particular direction.

Kuroo takes a step forward, mind racing. There’s no way they moved him, not when Akaashi couldn’t even cut one wire without almost dire consequence. They can’t have hurt him, Kuroo hopes, not when they’re all dependent on Kenma, but then, why isn’t Kenma—

“Oh,”

It’s soft, so soft that it could be mistaken for the sound of air in the vents or the sound of leaves ruffling against each other. Kuroo, despite himself, has spent a lot of time training his ears to listen to any slight sound Kenma makes. His eyes snap in the direction of the sigh, and Kenma is there. Curled up against the wall that the door is on, a quilt wrapped around himself, golden eyes trained on Kuroo. 

“You came back,” Kenma says, and Kuroo can’t help his desperate laugh as he hurries over to Kenma, lowering himself to sit next to him. 

“Of course I did. There's nothing, no one, Kenma, of course I did.” Kuroo babbles, but Kenma interrupts him.

“One of the Bridgemen came to visit,” Kenma says, eyes sliding away from Kuroo. “He asked about you.”

Kuroo freezes. 

Kenma continues, “He asked if anyone had visited me or if someone had been trying to talk to me somehow. Or if I had heard or seen anything strange outside. Told me that he had suspicions.”

His gaze slides back to Kuroo, the smallest smile on his lips, “I lied.”

Kuroo breathes again. Kazutoshi doesn’t know. Kenma protected him. “Did he believe you?” 

Kenma rolls his eyes, “I’m nothing but a computer to him. They don’t think I could be capable of lying.” 

“Right,” Kuroo says, reaching to scratch at the back of his head. Kenma’s gaze slides away from him to stare somewhere in the middle of the room. Kuroo doesn’t actually know how to bring up everything. He stares at Kenma, curled so small under his quilt, and yet, so powerful. He's of half a mind to just ask Kenma if he wants to play shogi and pretend nothing has changed, but they don't have time.

Before Kuroo can figure out how to bring the topic up, Kenma fearlessly dives into the heart of the matter.

“I was going to tell you,” Kenma says, anxiety filling his gaze again. His golden eyes shine with something desperate, but he speaks quickly. Kuroo strains his ears to hear Kenma’s voice. “I was going to tell you as soon as I got a chance, but I didn’t want you to think I was lying or that it was hopeless. I didn't want you to stop coming.”

“It’s okay, Kenma, I believe you,” Kuroo says, heart breaking at Kenma's assumption that Kuroo would abandon him as well.

“I’m sorry, Kuro,’ Kenma mutters. “I should have told you as soon as I knew you were a good guy.”

Kuroo stares. That was what was bothering him: hiding it from Kuroo? It was completely understandable, from Kuroo's perspective. “Sure. Apology accepted. I mean, it would have been nice to know before we tried to free you and potentially killed all of us, but,” Kuroo flounders again. There’s just so much he doesn’t know. But the most pressing question seems to be, “Kenma, how long have you been… trapped here?” 

Kenma curls up even closer, wrapping the quilt tighter. “It wasn't always like this.” 

“That’s not an answer.” Kuroo points out, and he can see Kenma pout, pulling the quilt tight around his shoulders, like he isn’t the one controlling the temperature in the entire ship. The entire time Kuroo’s been alive, he realizes, feeling suddenly dizzy. “Since the beginning?” 

Kenma nods, and Kuroo leans back. It was just a confirmation of what Kuroo already assumed, but it was still staggering. For generations and generations, Kenma has been on the ship. Kenma probably lived on Old Earth, Kuroo thinks, and for once, he finds he has no interest in learning more about where their ship originated. “And have you always been… here?” 

Kenma nods, “It used to be good.” 

Kuroo remains silent and Kenma continues, nostalgia coloring his voice. “It was a huge honor, right? The ship couldn’t leave unless someone volunteered to do it. Everyone knew that it was a huge sacrifice. People would visit me all the time. The first generation would do their best to include me in everything, telling me all about what was happening on the ship.”

“And then?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma scoots down, lying on the ground.

Kenma is silent for a long moment.

“They got old. They died. And their kids were… different. More suspicious of me. Jealous that I had lived on Ea—Old Earth, and jealous that I would get to live planetside again. They couldn’t really see that I was also human, I think,” he says, softly shaking his hair to hang in front of his face, even as he voices his observations clearly. 

“And they saw… how I was. When Hi-my friend died.” Kenma says, grief heavy in his voice. “I think it scared them that I had so much control over the ship and still…”

Kenma’s voice trails off, but Kuroo nods. 

“But,” Kuroo prompts, afraid to move a muscle, afraid to disturb Kenma in any way, who has been carrying the weight of the Nekoma all alone. He longs to reach out and hold his hand, but it isn't about what he wants right now. It's about Kenma, who doesn't feel the way Kuroo does.

Kenma closes his eyes, “People didn’t want to remember me. And the Bridgemen were… keeping me safe, I think, keeping me away from people so that I couldn’t form attachments like that again. I’m just a computer, a breathing server, you know? It’s safer this way.” 

“That’s…” Kuroo began angrily, but found himself unable to find the right word to describe it. Evil. Torture. Absolute Bullshit. 

“We have to fix this,” is what he says instead. It doesn’t matter why Kenma was trapped away. Whatever horrible explanation the Bridgemen have doesn’t mean anything to Kuroo. What matters is that Kenma, human no matter what sacrifices he made, shouldn’t be punished for the crime of loving his crew. 

The very thing that let the Nekoma fly at all, Kenma's love and sacrifice, is a gift, not a burden. Kuroo needs to give Kenma back what he has given the rest of the Nekoma: a chance to live.

Kenma shifts to stare at him, “You’re not giving up?”

“We never give up,” Kuroo says, “We never ever give up, not until it’s over.” 

Kenma smiles at him again, a real one this time, “You’re very…”

“Inspiring?” Kuroo fills in, and Kenma scrunches his nose up. 

“I was going to say delusional,” Kenma responds, and Kuroo’s heart flutters. “What do you even plan to do, throw a revolution? The Bridgemen aren’t likely to just change their minds because you ask them to.”

Kuroo nods. “If that’s what it takes, that’s what we’ll do.” He pokes at Kenma until, grumbling, the other man stands up. “But first we have to get you out of here.”

“You still want to?” he asks, blinking wide, golden eyes at Kuroo. Kuroo’s heart breaks at how Kenma is still expecting Kuroo to leave him here. He doesn't care how long it takes, someday, Kenma will believe him. Kenma scrunches his nose again, and Kuroo has to keep resisting the urge to smooth his thumb over it. “I don’t even think it’s possible. The ship's oxygen monitors, temperature, all the navigation and stability sensors… it’s all me. I can’t be unplugged. You saw what happened.”

Kuroo nods, looking up at Kenma, then around at the room he has spent decades in. Crumpled up on the floor, his quilt has a Kikkō pattern on it, quite ironically, the plants are so overgrown some of the leaves are as wide as Kuroo is tall. Kenma looks so delicate, skinny arms reaching to hold himself, but Kuroo knows he is so strong. Kuroo paradoxically wants to keep Kenma, hoard him, and also sing his praises down the halls so everyone knows how much this single man has given to their ship. Kenma deserves to be celebrated for all he’s done for Nekoma, not locked away.

But the actual question of 'how' to reach this goal remains. “I don’t know how either, but we’ll think of something. I just have to message Akaashi and…” Kuroo trails off. Message Akaashi on his KScreen.

“Kenma, do you have access to the KScreens? The K is for Koduzuken, right?” Kuroo asks.

Kenma furrows his brow, “Yes? I mean, it’s all encrypted, I can't see the message, but I have general access, but,”

Kuroo stands up, interrupting him, “I have to go—I figured it out, I think. I hope. I need to talk to Akaashi.”

Kenma takes a few steps back, almost tripping over the edge of his quilt, “Huh?”

Kuroo grins, “They’re wireless, Kenma!”

--

“This isn’t stupid,” Akaashi says, half of a KScreen spread in front of him. Next to him, Yaku is practically vibrating, and Bokuto has a wide smile spread across his face. “This actually might be smart,”

“Hey,” Kuroo protests. 

“Hey, hey,” Bokuto mimics, reaching an arm out to crush Akaashi to his side, “and if there’s anyone who can pull it off, it’s you!”

“How long will it take?” Kuroo asks as Akaashi effortlessly pushes Bokuto off him to lean over the rough plan Kuroo has drafted. 

Any amount of time feels unbearable. Kuroo has been extra cautious with his habits now that he knows Kazutoshi is on to him. He hasn’t been back to visit Kenma in almost a week. Kuroo misses him, but he can’t risk it. But that doesn’t mean he has been wasting his time. 

He's gathered a full team this time.

Telling Bokuto had been a choice, certainly, but Kuroo knows he can’t do this alone. Bokuto is loud, but he also has a strong sense of justice. He won’t report them or try to stop them, especially with his boyfriend involved. If Akaashi is involved, Bokuto will give his all to the mission's success, no matter what.

He had taken it well, or as well as anyone could. Upon learning why Kenma is trapped, the isolation he’s being kept in, he began planning what he would do with ‘his new best friend’ as soon as he was free. As expected.

“It might take a while,” Akaashi says. “The program itself will be simple, but the vast quantity of information Kenma is transmitting to and from the ship is daunting. Especially when we don’t exactly know which wire is doing what.”

“How long?” Kuroo asks. He can wait days. He can even wait weeks, as long as it means that Kenma will be totally safe. Akaashi avoids his eyes.

“Two months, maybe?” Akaashi says. “It’s hard to say.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Kai states, another ally that Kuroo had recruited. “We’re going to start moving out of here in a month.”

Their little ragtag group sits for a moment in silence. Even Yaku has nothing to say.  Kuroo stares down at his own hands, thumbing over the ridge of his nail. There has to be a solution, Kuroo just needs to find it.

“Would that be helpful to know?” Kuroo asks. “If you knew what each wire did, would it be faster?”

Akaashi nods,“If I knew which wire did what, it’d be child's play. Yaku could teach his students how to do it. That wireless tech is all over the ship, it would only take a few hours to implement.” 

Kuroo leans back. That type of information has to be stored somewhere. Surely, at some point in the long history of the ship, maintenance had been required; Kenma had even mentioned it.

“If he's all-knowing and all that, can't we just ask him?” Yaku asks, reaching the same conclusion as Kuroo. “It’s got to be in there somewhere,”

This could be the solution. 

Kuroo nods, grabbing the disassembled KScreen from Akaashi. “I'm thinking the same thing. Kenma is the server, anything that happens on the ship, he knows about.”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow, “You’re going to go visit him again?” 

Kuroo shakes his head as Yaku comes around to peer over his shoulder as best he can. “I think I have another way. Maybe. Something I’ve been meaning to try.”

He pulls up the messaging app, staring at the blank screen. Kenma said he had access to the KScreens in some fashion, but the messaging system is encrypted. He needs to find another way. He closes the messaging system and opens a browser instead. If the information sent is encrypted, then Kuroo can’t send Kenma a message. He needs to send Nekoma a message and hope that Kenma gets it. 

He navigates over to a dead page, where they used to post open times to play in the gardens. Kuroo goes to edit it, a trick Akaashi taught him a few years ago. It’s not hacking so much as… unsupervised additions. Great for pranking teachers, and hopefully:

Kuroo: Can you see this? 

“Do you think that'll actually work?” Yaku asks sceptically, and Kuroo can only shrug, putting the screen down in front of him. Akaashi is right, it's risky each time he goes to visit Kenma. He has to hope this works. 

“If not, we'll find another way,” Kai adds. He smiles at Kuroo, ever a stable presence, and Kuroo feels a surge of gratitude for his friends. “We have to get Kuroo his man, after all,” he adds, and Kuroo flushes. Kai and Yaku had immediately taken to teasing Kuroo about his android boyfriend, and the worst part is, they weren't even wrong about how Kuroo felt about Kenma. He wishes Kenma was his android boyfriend.

He stares at the screen. Waiting for a reply that doesn't come. For many long minutes, they wait, making idle chatter around Kuroo. Finally, the screen flashes.

Error_System_Admin: how

Error_System_Admin: oh

Error_System_Admin: this is almost smart

Kuroo takes a deep breath, and Bokuto cheers behind him.

“I like him already,” Yaku comments as Kuroo types out a response, ignoring the press against his back as they all squeeze in to see the small screen. He resists the urge to cover the screen to keep them from seeing what Kenma is saying.

Kuroo: Can they see this?

Error_System_Admin: No. It’ll just look like you were bad at troubleshooting this page and getting system prompts in return.

Kuroo smiles.

Kuroo: Hi :> 

Error_System_Admin: ew

Error_System_Admin: what do you want

Kuroo rolls his eyes. How ungrateful, for someone who’s literally trying to free him. He also ignores the snickering behind him. Good to know that Kenma will be a hit with his friends.

Kuroo: Do you have the blueprints of your wires? Like what goes where? 

Error_System_Admin: yes

Kuroo: Can you send them to Akaashi? He’ll know it’s you. Just…drop them in his KScreen.

Error_System_Admin: done

Kuroo smiles, turning to look at Akaashi, nose already buried deep in his own KScreen.

“Will it work?” Kuroo asks and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when Akaashi answers with a silent thumbs up. 

Bokuto gives another whoop and begins to dance around the small berth, dragging Yaku into his dance with him. Kuroo can’t get too excited, he reminds himself. Nothing relating to Kenma is ever simple or expected. He navigates back to where he had been talking to Kenma:

Kuroo: We have a plan.

He gets no response, but that’s probably better, though he wishes he could keep messaging Kenma, asking him how his day is or if he misses Kuroo. Kuroo misses Kenma, his snark, and how easy it was to sit in silence with him. Even how focused he got when placing his cards in competition with no one. Instead of sending this, he puts his screen facedown on the table and turns to help Akaashi.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon.

--

Kuroo stares up at the pothos that line the corridor outside his berth. His friends are inside, but Kuroo doesn't want to join them just yet. He craves something else, the company of someone else. 

Kenma.

Kuroo heaves a sigh, reaching to pull a dried leaf off of one of the vines that hang closest to him. He needs to free Kenma. It’s the minimum Kenma deserves, to walk among the people that he protects, to be loved by them. And Kuroo is so sure that Kenma will be loved, once given the chance. He can’t imagine that anyone could get to know Kenma and not adore him. Watching his berthmates, Akaashi and Bokuto, the admiration they have for him already, without even meeting him, is clear. It's what Kenma deserves.

Kuroo adores Kenma. He wants to spend his days with Kenma, just being around the other man. Kuroo twirls the dead leaf by the stem. When he thinks of the future, where Kenma is free to spend his time as he wishes, with whomever he wants, Kuroo can't help the pang of fear it brings. He doesn't know if Kenma will choose him.

Some of the most wonderful times Kuroo has ever had in his life have been in Kenma's prison, playing games or just talking with the other man. Kuroo wants that forever. But it shouldn’t be about what Kuroo wants, it should be about Kenma. 

He can’t free Kenma just to trap him again. It’s clear that Kenma is shy about others. Kuroo could drape himself around Kenma, offering himself as the security the other man clearly wants, but wouldn’t that make him as bad as Kazutoshi? Hiding Kenma away, managing him, all for his own desires?

No.

Kuroo can’t do that. He has to free Kenma from his wires, from the Bridgemen, and also from Kuroo's own adoration. Kenma needs to be free; it’ll be the most important thing Kuroo ever does. He can’t do a half-way job.

He stands up and begins the walk along the path leading to Kenma. He ignores the windows that he passes, the stars, SP300, and his own heart. He’s not here to act as Kenma’s friend. Though he hopes, savagely, that once Kenma is established, he’ll still want to be Kuroo’s friend. 

Kuroo can’t imagine living alongside Kenma, knowing how he looked the first time beating Kuroo at shogi, how he slowly opened up to Kuroo despite everything he’s been through, and no longer being the person Kenma reaches for. He can’t imagine having to watch Kenma choose someone else. As a best friend, and especially as something more. Kenma will have options, and Kuroo can’t take that away from him, even as Kenma is the only one for him. But Kuroo can’t think about that now. He has a goal, and he will accomplish it.

He pauses outside the door, kicking at one of the most stumpy vines that line the hallway. Nothing on the walk down seemed disturbed, but that was also true the last time Kuroo visited. He doesn’t know if Kazutoshi has gone to visit Kenma again, but after a minute of silence, Kuroo deems it okay to open the door and step inside. 

The same plants, the same twisted vines, the same Kenma wearing the same rumpled sleep clothes. They’ll need to get him something else to wear once Kenma is freed. Maybe something from Yaku will fit, or one of Kai’s other friends. He pushes away the thoughts of Kenma in his clothing, pushes away the warmth that it brings.

Kenma looks up and smiles before his eyes slide away. He’s a bit flushed, the tips of his ears red, and Kuroo burns to know why but doesn't dare ask.

“Hey,” Kenma says.

“Hi,” Kuroo says. He stays standing. He’s just here to deliver information, though it was clear from Akaashi's tone that he assumed Kuroo would message Kenma. Kuroo just… wanted to see Kenma. He can be honest: he wanted to see Kenma and make him smile. While he still has the chance. He just can't indulge too much.

“Akaashi has a plan to get you out,” Kuroo says, still hanging by the door. “Bo, you haven’t met him, but he’s going to create a bit of a distraction upstairs so that Akaashi and Inouka can come down and get you. In two days, unless something changes.” He doesn't know what to do with his hands or where to look. He should have just sent Kenma a message; there was no reason for him to come down here. No reason other than wanting to see Kenma, to make sure he’s okay. 

Kuroo shifts his weight from foot to foot, aware that Kenma is staring at him intently, seemingly trying to dissect him with his eyes.

Kenma nods. “Okay.” He seems to be waiting for something.

Kuroo casts around for anything to talk about to prolong his visit. “Um,”

“Yes?” Kenma asks, taking a step closer.

“Have you been feeling okay?” Kuroo asks lamely.

Kenma shrugs, still eyeing Kuroo, like a puzzle he’s so close to figuring out. Finally, he shrugs. “I think they're messing with my hormones. I feel super floaty all the time.”

Kuroo shudders. He hasn't been paying too much attention to the reports the last few days, too focused on missing Kenma. He wouldn't put it past Kazutoshi to try something.

Kenma frowns at Kuroo's reaction. “Not the first time it's happened, Kuro. I've lost whole years before.”

Of course, Kenma is used to it, barely even seeming bothered by Kazutoshi messing with his hormones like a doll. The urge to rip Kenma out of this place, damn the consequences, rises up in him, and he forces it back down. Patience. He needs to be patient. 

He takes a step back, beginning to make his exit and mumbling a goodbye, at the same time Kenma begins to speak, “Do you want to play a game?”

“I better go—”

Their words overlap before they break off, staring at each other. “Ah, that’s fine,” Kenma mutters, blushing. Kuroo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to the sight of Kenma. He wants to say yes, but he needs to start separating them, just a little. To protect Kenma and protect his own feelings.

“Can you come and play some other time?” Kenma asks, plaintively.

“Ha, I mean once you’re free, you can play with anyone you want,” Kuroo forces himself to laugh. Kenma doesn't join in.

“Is that a ‘no’?” Kenma asks, and Kuroo looks up, for just a second, to see Kenma staring at him, something like hurt mixing with the confusion on his features. Kuroo looks away. “If you don't want to play with me, just say so.”

“No, it's just, ” Kuroo stumbles over his words. He sighs, missing the way Kenma curls in on himself at the noise. “I can’t right now, but I will once you’re free.” If you even still want to, Kuroo finished the thought in his head.

“Okay,” Kenma says, and then, suddenly, moves to stand up, walking quickly over to Kuroo. 

‘Kenma,” Kuroo says, then Kenma slides his small hand up Kuroo's shoulder, standing so close, gazing up at him. “I should,” Kuroo takes several steps back. Kenma furrows his brow, opening his mouth to speak again, and Kuroo needs to leave before he does something drastic, like kiss the words out of Kenma's mouth.

“I, yeah, I better go,” Kuroo says, glancing around the room, at his own shoes, anywhere but where Kenma was standing, staring at him. Kuroo turns around, not waiting for an answer from Kenma.

It's better this way.

--

The time Kuroo spends outside of Floor Zero always passes quickly, but it seems like only a second has passed before Kuroo is gathering himself to make the trip down to see Kenma. Only this time, he hopes Kenma will be leaving with him.

“Nervous?” Akaashi asks, glancing over at him.

“No,” Kuroo answers too quickly. He takes a deep breath, pulling the bamboo plants out of the way. He had placed it at a slight angle last time, and it seems no one had moved it. Kuroo can’t even feel relieved by that, not when the real challenge is still in front of them. “I know that you have a plan, and I have full trust in you,” he says, projecting confidence. Akaashi has enough to worry about without knowing about how awkward their last conversation was, if it could even be called that. They had brought Inouka with them as well, chosen for his quickness, but they still had hours of work ahead of them. Worrying about the awkward tension between the two of them was a waste of precious energy.

Akaashi nods as they step onto Floor Zero, Kuroo trailing behind for once. “It’s okay to be nervous about what it’s like when he’s free, you know,” he says, seeing right through Kuroo.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kuroo bluffs, and Akaashi doesn't call him out. HE hums and Kuroo can feel all of his judgement without Akaashi needing to say a single word. They push open the door to Kenma's room, Inouka practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

Kenma is waiting for them. For once, the wires aren't trailing all around the room but gathered into a neat pile, coiled next to Kenma. Kuroo's heart speeds up, watching the way his lips curl up shyly as he looks at Inouka and Akaashi, only to freeze when the smile slips off his face when Kenma faces him.

“Hello, Kenma,” Akaashi says, dropping his bag on the ground next to the pile of coils. “Any more secrets we should know before we do this?”

Kenma shakes his head, and Inouka bounds forward, kneeling down beside Kenma. “Hi! I'm Inouka! I work on this type of IT stuff upstairs, so you don't have to worry about anything, okay? We’ll need to put the routers on each of the wires, and then we’ll cut them once the signal has been established,” he explains, already digging his fingers into the mass of wires at Kenma’s neck, fearless.

Akaashi joins him, tapping away at his KScreen. “We’ll be working in the back of your head first, Kenma, and work our way to the front.”

Kenma nods, tilting his head much the way he had the first time Kuroo came to visit. “How long?”

“An hour, maybe? We’ll be super, super fast,” Inouka says, already pulling out the supplies: thin end caps that will go on the wires and shears for when it’s time to cut them. He murmurs a question to Akaashi, who responds, leaving Kuroo to stare at Kenma. He doesn't have a technical job to do, he's just here to be supportive. Kuroo comes and sits cross-legged in front of Kenma, careful to keep some distance between them. Kenma looks at him but doesn’t say anything, as they stare at each other, then his eyes dance away. Kuroo wants to speak, but he can't find the words to do it, still staring at the slope of Kenma's neck.

Inouka, thankfully, narrates as he works, preventing the silence from becoming overbearing as he chatters about how they will separate the wires, add on the routing device, and then, one by one, crimp and finally cut the wire. 

“Ready?” Inouka asks Akaashi after they’ve prepared the first wire, holding the cutters in his hand, poised to cut. After a moment of looking at his KScreen, Akaashi nods, and before Kuroo can react, Kenma has reached out to grab onto his hand, holding it with surprising strength, eyes tightly closed. 

Kuroo squeezes his hand back, just as Inouka cuts, the remains of the wire falling to the ground.

No alarms go off. No Bridgemen storm the room. 

“It worked?” Kuroo asks, and Akaashi nods. “It worked.”

Inouka lets loose a cheer, “Okay! Kenma, you are officially controlling the irrigation systems in the greenhouses remotely! Let's do the rest of them!”

Kenma's hand squeezes his tight, and Kuroo, despite himself, can’t let go. Whatever little tiff Kenma and he had, they'll work it out. He feels light, like he could float away without Kenma holding him down. It worked.

Inouka and Akaashi work quickly, and the pile of disconnected wires grows around them. Kenma’s hand stays in his, and his gaze stays lowered. After a few minutes, Kuroo finds himself talking, wanting to distract the man in front of him.

He talks about the berthmates that Kenma hasn’t met yet, the best ways to distract Lev, or to tease Yamamoto. He tells Kenma all the things he wants to do with Kenma once he’s free, about all the places on the ship they can go. The words come quickly. Kuroo has thought about it a lot.

Kenma says nothing in return, but his hand grips Kuroo's, even when both their palms become slick with sweat as Akaashi and Inouka work.

“Okay, we’re done with all the electrical now,” Akaashi says, breaking into Kuroo’s monologue. “You're officially wireless, Kenma.” 

“Is everything normal?” Inouka asks, holding Akaashi's KScreen, “It all looks normal.”

“It all feels the same,” Kenma confirms. “I don’t know what ‘wrong’ would feel like.”

Kuroo chuckles. “There would be a lot more sirens, I think.”

Kenma nods, eyes unfocused, “I can still feel the ship, but it’s a little…farther away now. What else is there to do?” Kenma asks, head still bowed. 

Kuroo swallows, he knows what’s left. He squeezes Kenma's hand. “You’ve been fed through a tube, too, you know. Can’t exactly have you carrying that around.” 

Once Kenma is free from that tube, no one, not Kazutoshi or Kuroo, will be able to mess with his hormones. It's the last thing to separate Kenma from freedom. Though his connection to the ship will remain, he’ll never be able to be controlled or manipulated again.

Kenma swallows as Akaashi holds it up, almost identical to the others, only it’s clear. “This one will tug a little bit, okay, Kenma? Are you ready?”

Kenma’s grip turns impossibly tighter, nails digging indents into Kuroo's hand. “Yeah, I am. 

Akaashi twists it and tugs, moving quickly to press a bit of gauze to the entry point.

Kenma lets out a long, slow breath, slowly releasing his hold on Kuroo's hand.

Kuroo runs his fingers over Kenma's knuckles, “Is that okay?”

Kenma turns his face up, looking at Kuroo through the mess of wires that hang at chin length, swaying with the movement as he nods. Kuroo swallows hard, aware of how close they are, how now Kenma is free and can choose anything he wants, and how he’s still holding onto Kuroo's hand.

Inouka's voice breaks through, “Ready to go upstairs, Kenma? Everyone is really excited to meet you.”

Akaashi nods, flipping his KScreen closed. “I’m all done. Kenma, congratulations,” He pushes his glasses up, eyebrows drawn close together, “And… thank you. For everything you have done for Nekoma.”

He turns around immediately, busying himself with piling the wires in a slightly different manner, and Kuroo hides his laughter in his hand.

“Anything you need?” He asks, and Kenma wordlessly tugs him over to the pile of his stuff, handing the rare thing up to Kuroo as he sifts through it. His cards, his packed-up shogi case, and a particularly soft shirt before picking up a final object, holding it close to his chest.

Kuroo shuffles the items in his hand, “I can—”

“No, that's okay,” Kenma says, clutching the object, an orange notebook. Kuroo realizes, “I’ll carry this one.” 

Kuroo nods easily, though his eyes linger on the book as the four of them begin to pick their way over the vines to the front of the room, the messy sprawl of handwriting on it that doesn’t seem in character with who Kenma is, “Your notebook?”

Kenma shakes his head. “Not mine. Someone important to me, though.” He takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about him sometime.”

Kuroo doesn’t say anything, his throat suddenly tight. They slowly make their way to the door, while Inouka and Akaashi pack their supplies.. The room almost looks like what Kuroo thought he would find months ago. Empty, the woody stems of the vines twisting across the floor, mixing with wires that lead to nowhere. Kenma is slight but warm, pressed into his side. 

“Ready?” Kuroo asks, and Akaashi opens the door, Inouka bouncing ahead. 

Kenma nods, and for the first time in a long time, steps outside of room Two, finally free.

-- 

Akaashi splits off from them with a single nod, and Inouka moves to see if there are any late-night snacks in the cafeteria, leaving Kenma and Kuroo alone.

It’s a subtle thing, a shiver of his fingers as he points Kenma in the direction they will take back to his berth. Kenma is free. His eyes never linger as they walk back to Kuroo's berth, moving from the branches of bamboo and closed office doors, to peer down the endless hallways that split off into residential wings. It's the first time Kenma has seen the ship he's been protecting, and he takes in each and every part of it. Kuroo watches as his eyes widen when he spies a window and SP300, the subtle way that his breath catches in his throat. 

“Wow,” he breathes, “it looks like Earth.”

“Does it?” Kuroo asks, looking over his head. “I thought Old Earth had continents. SP300 is 20% more ocean than Old Earth was.”

Kenma makes a dismissive noise. “I always thought an alien planet would be purple or something.”

Kuroo chuckles. “Nope. Blue water, liquid water, is the first thing we look for for habitable planets” He pokes Kenma in the side. “Someone didn't pay attention in school, I see.”

He can't see it, but Kuroo is pretty positive Kenma is pouting. “I paid attention. Sometimes.” 

Kuroo laughs, and tentatively, Kenma joins in.

“Do you think they'll like me?” Kenma asks once the moment has passed, still leaning to press his forehead to the window.

“Who?” Kuroo asks, taking a step back from where he had been pressed close to Kenma. He looks angelic, the remaining wires blending into his hair, cut off just above his shoulder, framed by the blackness of space. He turns slightly, shooting Kuroo an exasperated look

“Everyone,” Kenma breathes. “I didn't have a lot of friends before.”

“People will love you,” Kuroo says. “Even if they take a while to get used to the whole idea of you, the wires, whatever, after they get to know you? Everyone will love you.”

“Do we even have a plan?” Kenma asks, looking him directly in the eye. “For introducing me to everyone?”

Kuroo blinks, the directness surprising to him, “Um.”

“I don't think I can just start eating breakfast with you without there being lots of questions,” Kenma says, waving to the wires that mix in with his hair, flashes of black among the white.

“I don't have a plan,” Kuroo admits. “I thought I might think better on my feet? It didn’t seem like it was a priority at the time, not with you down there.” He scratches the back of his head. Kuroo just sort of figured that once Kenma was free, the next steps would become clear.

Kenma nods, thinking. “Maybe I can just stay in your berth forever and not have to meet anyone” he says, faking a serious tone. Kuroo reaches out to flick him in the shoulder. 

“Absolutely not. We didn’t work that hard just for you to be antisocial on purpose,” Kuroo teases back. This is nice, just hanging out with Kenma. He hopes he’ll still get to do this sometimes, when Kenma has found other people he likes more than Kuroo.

Kenma moves to start walking, grabbing Kuroo’s hand as he does, pulling Kuroo with him. Kuroo looks at the hand grasping his, surprised, then back at Kenma, who avoids his gaze, blushing furiously. Kuroo adjusts his grip, sliding their fingers together, and they begin to walk. 

He hasn’t considered it before: Kenma has probably been touch-starved for a long time. Even platonically holding hands is more contact than he’s had in generations. It makes shame curl in Kuroo's belly at how he wishes the touch was more than friendly. 

Kenma nods slowly, then more timidly, he asks, “I suppose I’m about to be introduced to people right now?” His eyes slide away from Kuroo to focus on the door behind him. 

“Just a few,” Kuroo says, squeezing Kenma’s hand.

“And it’s just your friends?” Kenma asks, and Kuroo nods. 

“They’re going to love you,” Kuroo promises. “Yamamoto will lose to you once and then keep requesting to play until he beats you. Inouka, well, he already loves you. Lev is going to think you’re the most amazing person he’s ever met. All of them will.”

“And you’ll be here the entire time?” Kenma asks, gazing up at Kuroo. He looks like he’s asking Kuroo another question, but Kuroo can't  say what it is. 

Kuroo gulps and reaches to open the door. “I’ll be here as long as you want me to be,” he promises and ushers Kenma into his berth. 

--

“You look tired,” Lev blurts out, peering down at Kenma, who squirms underneath the attention. “Is that because you’re used to running on electricity? Is Kuroo going to have to plug you in at night?”

He looms over Kenma, while the rest of Kuroo's berthmates have at least had the manners to give him  some personal space. Still, all of them look at Kenma with unabashed interest. Shibayama looks ready to whip out his KScreen to start jotting down notes. 

“He’s tired from a long day, idiot,” Yaku says, rolling his eyes and yanking the younger man away from Kenma, who looks grateful. “And he just realized that Kuroo isn’t the only idiot on the ship.” Lev pouts but retreats, and Kuroo can’t help the way his stomach flips at the way that Kenma looks at Yaku, gratitude apparent. He knew it would happen. Kenma would find people other than himself to be friends with, but he didn’t expect it to be the first new person he speaks to once he was freed. At least Yaku is his friend, so Kuroo will still get to be around Kenma.

“Don't worry, we aren't all as bad as Lev and Kuroo,” Kai says, smiling at Kenma from across the table. “Kuroo told us you like games? There are some new ones that some students whipped up. Yaku has been teaching us to play. Want to watch us do a practice round?”

Kenma's eyes go wide, and he nods vigorously. Kai and Yaku direct the others into a game, diverting their attention onto the homemade game board that has been produced. Kuroo sits to the side, a little too far off to see what's going on, as Kenma leans close to hear the rules.

This is good, he tells himself, moving to pop open his locker to dig out clean sheets while Kenma laughs at Yaku and Lev, with Kai and Shibayama occasionally interjecting. Kuroo listens as he puts together the spare bunk for Kenma. He doesn’t talk much, but his occasional comments are clever, as expected. In the time it takes for Kuroo to make the bed, Kai has promised Kenma a shogi game, and Inouka has made him laugh quietly into his hand three times. He fits in here, like Kuroo knew he would. 

A wave of anger crests within him as he remembers how the Bridgemen convinced Kenma he wasn’t human, that he didn’t deserve to have this companionship that he so clearly enjoys. Sure, he's a bit quiet, and he stares at you a bit too long before speaking, but he was so blindingly human, so easy to love. His berthmates accepted Kenma as one of their own immediately. Other than Lev, they are all happy to ignore the wires that ran through Kenma's hair. Instead, they're discussing the food Kenma needs to try again or games they’re sure they could beat him at. The only mention of Kenma's predicament was exclamations at how cruel it was that Kenma hadn't been able to try any of the sweets on board.

Kuroo smooths his hands over the completed bunk. He can go back and join them, but he suddenly feels the day's events weighing down on him. Kuroo slips into his own bunk instead. A part of him had hoped, maybe, that Kenma would cling to him the way he had when first meeting Akaashi. But clearly, Kuroo didn’t need to worry. He listens  to the laughter fill the room as he closes his eyes. He's unable to stop himself from straining to hear Kenma’s quiet giggle in the mix.

Kuroo has barely settled into his blankets, though, before he hears the soft sound of footsteps approaching his bunk, turning to see Kenma standing there, brow furrowed. 

“Are you sleeping?” He asks, his mouth twisting down. 

“Long day,” Kuroo offers, turning over to look at Kenma more fully. “I put the bed together for you,” he says when Kenma doesn’t leave. 

“Oh,” Kenma says, shoulders slumping. “I thought…”

Kuroo feels the smile slipping from his face. “Is there something wrong?”

Kenma quickly shakes his head, “No,” he says. But he doesn't leave, standing over Kuroo, swaying slightly.

Kuroo waits for him to find the words for what he says, admiring him. The new length of his wires is cute, accenting his jaw and the line of his neck.

Kenma takes a deep breath and quietly asks, “Do you want to play shogi again with me tomorrow?” A blush spreads across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Kuroo feels a blush of his own surge across his face and sinks his teeth into his tongue to prevent it from blurting ‘yes.’ He knows that Kai wants to play with Kenma, and since Kenma is so smart, he’ll probably be a better match against Akaashi than himself. Kenma might want to play against Kuroo, but what he needs is to find people like him. People who aren't just the guy who happened to find him first. That's all Kuroo is. He happened to find Kenma first. Anyone else would have done the same thing if they had been first.

He bites deeper into his tongue, gaze sliding away from Kenma's face.“I have work tomorrow,” he says instead, looking anywhere but Kenma's face as he says it. “You should play with Kai, or maybe Yamamoto, he’s at work right now, but he’ll be around in the morning.”

“Ah,” Kenma says, voice small and hurt. “So—okay.” His voice is strange, mechanical, and Kuroo feels like he’s making a mistake, but he knows it’s better this way. 

“I’ll have time later,” Kuroo says. “We’ll play again sometime.”

“Yeah, sometime,” Kenma repeats, then, “Goodnight, Kuro.”

“Goodnight, Kenma,” Kuroo echoes and tries to tell himself he’s just finishing what he started: freeing Kenma.

--

Kuroo wakes up early the next morning, swinging his legs out of his bunk long before his alarm. He might go for a run, or something, just to get out of the berth. He knows he needs to give Kenma space, but it doesn't make it hurt less. Inouka and Yamamoto came in when the rest of them were sleeping, seemingly not having noticed or cared that someone was occupying their spare bunk. 

Or, he should be occupying their spare bunk, but when Kuroo blinks the sleep out of his eyes, he sees Kenma sitting on the floor in front of the door, staring at him. Kuroo glances over at the bunk he set up for Kenma, sheets rumpled by sleep but abandoned by the man staring him down. 

“G’mornin’,” Kuroo slurs, and Kenma nods once, eyes tracking Kuroo as he walks over to the sink and begins to get ready for the day, unblinking.

“Is everything okay?” Kuroo asks when the man doesn't respond, looking at Kenma in the mirror. 

After a long pause, Kenma shakes his head, and Kuroo freezes. Is Kenma feeling unwell? He looks fine, grim, but not ill. Did something happen after Kuroo went to bed last night? He trusts his berthmates, and surely nothing too bad could have happened if Kenma is still sitting here, safe. Maybe something is wrong with the ship? Does he need to message Akaashi?

Kenma’s voice interrupts his racing mind, nose scrunching in distaste as he picks out his words. “You’re being weird ”

Oh. 

Kuroo laughs nervously. Kenma’s frown grows more pronounced. “Ever since you figured out,” he gestures to his new hair, the tangle of wires, “it's.” He stops, glaring at the floor in front of him.

Kuroo steps forward, and after deliberating, settles on the ground across from Kenma, wiping toothpaste from his lips.

“I haven’t had to do this a lot,” Kenma mutters. “It’s fine, you know I’m not angry, I’m just sort of.” Kenma scrunches his nose again.

“I'm sorry, Kenma,” Kuroo says, though he isn't quite sure what he's apologizing for, the guilt filling his chest, heavy and indistinct. Whatever it is, he'll stop immediately if it makes Kenma feel that disgusted. Kenma frowns at the apology. 

“Don't patronize me,” he mumbles, straightening up to glare at Kuroo, despite his previous claim of not being angry. “I just think it's kind of shitty to lie to someone about wanting to be their friend and then drop them the first chance you get.”

“I'm not—"

“Yes, you are,” Kenma interrupts, holding his fingers out as he counts, “You won't meet my eye, you started ignoring me as soon as I met your berthmates, and when I asked you to spend time with me, you made up some stupid excuse. It's like as soon as you realized I was going to be able to walk around and meet other people, you've been so excited to not talk to me anymore. I'm not stupid, Kuroo.” He flushes, his hand dropping back down to his side, “I don't care, alright? If you don't want to be my friend, that's fine, but it was really shitty to lie about it.”

“I didn't,” Kuroo says, entranced by the man in front of him, puffed up like an angry tiger. Kuroo would never be brave enough to be as honest about his feelings, but Kenma is fearless, glaring right at him. “I didn't lie.” The words slip past his lips.

“Then why are you ignoring me and avoiding me, and why do you look so sad anytime I'm around?”

Kuroo feels himself flushing as well. “Because I'm selfish! Okay?”

Kenma furrows his brow. “What does that even mean?”

Kuroo sighs and leans his head against the wall. “I'm selfish, alright? When you were all wired up, I had all of your attention all the time, right? And I really, really liked it. I liked being the most exciting thing. And I don't want your feelings or habits from then to have to be what happens now.” He studiously avoids Kenma's gaze. “I don't want to drop you, Kenma, not at all. The opposite, in fact. But you shouldn't feel like just because I was your first friend on board, I have to be your closest. Or whatever,” Kuroo finishes lamely, closing his eyes as the silence drags on.

“You're so stupid, Kuro.” Kenma finally says, but his tone is soft. “Do you think I volunteered to become a computer because I liked people so much?”

“Uh,” Kuroo stammers, but Kenma pushes on.

“I don't like people. I like playing cards by myself, and sleeping, and sitting quietly, and you,” A finger jabbed into his arm. “Interrupted all that.”

Kuroo barks out an incredulous laugh “That's one way of putting it,”

“But! You're… God, Kuro, I like you the most! I like you enough that I really almost killed us all because I didn't want to disappoint you and tell you that you couldn't just start snipping wires! Enough that I actually started wanting to be a real person around you again!”

"You could have reacted that way to anyone, I'm literally the first person in generations who's treated you like a human!"

"Exactly!" Kenma exclaims "Exactly! You saw me when I didn't think of myself as human. When no one did. You cared about me. You sat with me. You brought me apple pie. That's the kind of person I want!" He shuts his mouth so quickly Kuroo hears his teeth click, shaking his hair in front of his eyes. He continues sheepishly,  “—want to be my friend. That's the kind of person I want to be my friend. Or whatever. I don't need to meet all these other people. I already know that I like you the most, okay?”

“Oh,” Kuroo says softly. Kenma still wants to be his friend.

Kenma makes an aggravated noise.

“I'm sorry,” Kuroo continues, and, hardly daring at his own audacity, reaches a hand out to grab at Kenma's. Their fingers feel so right, holding onto each other. “I didn't want to be another cage for you. I wanted to give you space to be your own person.”

Kenma grips his hand. “I am my own person again, thanks to you."

Kuroo turns to gaze at Kenma, taking in his blunt eyelashes framing golden eyes. Kenma stares right back at him until Kuroo breaks. Kenma has been so honest with him; Kuroo needs to be honest with Kenma, too.

“I lied again,” Kuroo breathes, and now he's clinging onto Kenma's hand, “I'm selfish with you because I don't just want to be your friend.” I want… I like you differently than that,”

“Oh,” Kenma says, still studying Kuroo's face as a blush spreads across his cheeks. It's a bit excruciating, but Kenma deserves to know the whole truth, not just the parts that are convenient to Kuroo. He's going to treat Kenma differently, better than the people who have come before him.

“I… you're very beautiful. And I admire you a lot,” Kuroo says. “There are a lot of other things I could probably say if you… if you would like me to say them."

Kenma pulls his hand back into his own lap, and the loss of his warmth spreads across Kuroo's entire body. Kenma doesn't leave, though. Not yet.

"It's okay if you don't want that, if you just want to be my friend. I also am very, very happy to be your friend," Kuroo says, waiting for Kenma's rejection. Hopefully, he hasn't messed everything up. 

For a long while, Kenma studies his own hands. Kuroo feels frozen in time, waiting for Kenma to reject him, watching as the man he admires so much finds the words to tell him 'no, thanks'.

He knows that Kenma will be kind. He also knows that it doesn't take anyone this long to accept a love confession, only to deny one.

"I haven't thought about that," Kenma finally says, a small smile dancing across his lips.

"Thought about what?" Kuroo asks nervously.

"You reciprocating my feelings," Kenma says, looking anywhere but at Kuroo.

"Oh," Kuroo breathes, staring at Kenma. Reciprocating, as in, Kenma likes Kuroo too. As in, they both like each other.

They sit like that, frozen, for a long time. Kuroo's mind feels stuck, stuck on Kenma's smile and the way he said it so simply. Kuroo feels like maybe they should be kissing right now and isn't at all opposed to the idea, but he feels rooted to the floor. 

"So, what now?" Kuroo asks, instead of asking 'are you sure?' like he wants to.

Kenma tilts his head to the side and slowly reaches his hand out into the middle ground between them. Kuroo grabs it, interlacing their fingers in a motion that is becoming familiar. 

"Whatever we want," Kenma says, looking down at their hands between them. 

"Kissing?" Kuroo blurts out and then tries to yank his hand back reflexively, but Kenma holds tight. This results in Kenma sliding across the floor closer, which Kuroo would be very happy about if he weren't currently focused on how stupid his big mouth is.

Kenma is wide-eyed, raising his other hand to cover his mouth as he laughs. 

"Or, uh, going on a date or something romantic and cool," Kuroo blusters, ears hot. "And then kissing, in a very romantic way,"

Kenma giggles at him some more before falling silent, his expression suddenly serious again. "I was actually going to say, whatever your experience, um, we'll probably need to go a little slow," He ducks his head, and it's Kuroo's turn to hold on tight as Kenma tries to pull his hand away. "I’m still learning to be a person again. I haven't felt like a person in a really long time, and I don't really know how to do it anymore. I don’t think I’m ready for anything fast."

Kuroo smiles at Kenma, tracing his thumb over the other man's knuckles. "Whatever you need. I, um, don't have any experience, actually. So we can both figure out how to do this together."

Kenma snorts. "I could tell," he snickers, and Kuroo lets the conversation flow to the less serious topic. Some other time, they can talk more, but right now Kuroo just wants to luxuriate in Kenma’s attention.

"What does that mean!" he gasps as Kenma scooches closer, glancing up at him to gauge Kuroo's expression before leaning his full weight onto Kuroo's side. 

"Kissing!?" Kenma imitates, with more excitement in his voice than Kuroo had ever heard before. "You looked very excited at the idea."

"I am very excited at the idea," Kuroo grumbles, reaching a hand to pet the top of Kenma's head, where it was more hair than wire. 

"Yeah?" Kenma says, turning his face towards Kuroo. Kuroo is suddenly very aware of how close they are and how easy it would be to dip down and kiss Kenma.

"Yeah," he breathes. 

"Well," Kenma says and reaches up, softly pressing his lips to the corner of Kuroo's mouth. The kiss is chaste but lingers as Kuroo memorizes the feeling of Kenma's full bottom lip against his own.

When Kenma pulls back, the tips of his ears are red. 

"Kissing," he repeats softly. 

"Lots and lots of kissing," Kuroo promises and leans back in. Before he can reconnect their lips, a growl rips through the room. They both look down at Kenma's stomach, and Kuroo can't help but laugh. "But maybe breakfast first. Are you hungry?"

Kenma furrows his brow, "Maybe? I haven't had to pay attention in a long time."

Kuroo groans, standing up and pulling Kenma up after. "Well, you'd better start paying attention again." Kenma pouts harder, and Kuroo ducks down to kiss his upper lip, moving slow enough that Kenma can move away if he wants to. He doesn't.

"I'll be right back," Kuroo promises. "And we can talk about the next step of the plan, okay? We need a plan on how to make sure the Bridgemen are dealt with."

Kenma nods and takes a step back. "And more kissing."

Kuroo grins. "And more kissing."

--

Kuroo doesn't wait for Kazutoshi to come to him for perhaps the first time since he started this assignment. He was desperate to please, blindly trusting the Bridgeman in anything they said, but now, Kuroo strolls confidently into Kazutoshi's open office. The confidence from knowing that Kenma is behind him makes Kuroo stand tall.

Kazutoshi seems to be expecting him, quickly putting his keyboard aside as Kuroo steps close to his desk, ignoring the lone chair that Kazutoshi has for his guests. Compared to the rest of the ship, the offices of the Bridge are barren. Only a single spiky plant sits behind Kazutoshi, pale green and white leaves matching the blinding artificial interior of the rest of the room. 

"Kazutoshi," Kuroo greets, not even willing to incline his head an inch.

"Kuroo," Kazutoshi says. He smiles at Kuroo, skin stretching around his mouth with visible effort. "I had suspected that you would come talk to me about your assignment one of these days." He rubs his temples, pulling at the thin skin. "Some of my fellow Bridgemen are willing to accept the first solution to any problem, but I knew that your explanation of 'loose wires' was a sham. You're incredibly smart, Kuroo. Smart enough to put together the pieces, but not smart enough to fool me."

Kazutoshi pauses, and Kuroo flexes his hands, breathing through the spike of anger and how incredibly condescending his boss is. "You should have come to me as soon as you understood the… delicate nature of the situation. You should have never gone in search of Kozuduken on your own—"

"Kenma." Kuroo interrupts. "His name is Kenma."

Kazutoshi blinks. "His name doesn't matter, Kuroo," he says. "He is a part of Kodzuken. He made a choice, long ago, to serve this ship, to serve humanity, and the being you've seen down there may still have a human body, but is… Koduzuken is just a part of the ship, Kuroo." His mouth turns down sharply, "As I'm sure you figured out with your little stunt a few weeks ago."

Kuroo scoffs, "You really think that just because he decided—"

"Yes," Kazutoshi says. "I know things that you don't, Kuroo. You think that his humanity needs to be saved and nurtured. For your safety, for my safety, for everyone's, it needs to be squashed, Kuroo. A human can't live the way he does, all alone, carefully preserved, and watch everyone around him get to get old, fall in love, and then die, and still want to follow through on his promises. Promises that he cannot break without dooming us all and this mission."

Kuroo, despite himself, leans closer. Kenma, lovely, loving Kenma, deeply human Kenma even after being denied it for so long. Kenma, who pleads for extra kisses and snorts when he laughs. This is the justification for all the injustice he has experienced. This is the other side of the story that Kenma has only begun to tell him. Despite himself, Kuroo is curious. The first crew on board knew Kenma and loved Kenma. They recognized the sacrifice he had made for them. Kazutoshi knows why they began to hide him away.

"He's too human, too emotional. I've read the files of when the original members of the crew died." Kazutoshi laces his fingers together in front of himself. "It's a kindness to him to keep him from that type of grief over and over again."

Kuroo thinks about the faded notebook that Kenma had been so careful to carry with him. The way he had shied away from Kuroo at first, 'for his safety.'

Kenma simply loved too much.

"And SP300?" Kuroo asks, raising an eyebrow, "Sure, maybe your argument makes sense when we were in transit, but you are going to abandon him."

"It is an unfortunate side effect of that," Kazutoshi says with a shrug. He doesn't care; it's so obvious in the line of his shoulders, in the way he smiles at Kuroo, slick and practiced. "He signed up for—"

Kuroo can't help but scoff, almost forgetting the role he’s supposed to play. "So because he signed some papers on a drowning planet generations ago, you’re going to leave him to die? You can't ignore that he's human, whatever he has been wired into."

"Yes, Kuroo, we can," Kazutoshi says, "because we don't have another way to fly this ship and land and complete our mission without him as the ship's server and navigation system. There is no other way. If you want to go down planetside, he needs to stay exactly where he is."

"Exactly where he is, huh?" Kuroo says, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. "Say, sir, have you noticed anything different about the ship the last few days?" 

Kazutoshi furrows his brow, "…No,"

Kuroo grins, and it's all teeth. Any pretense of a timid new employee has been dropped. "Maybe if the Bridgemen hadn't spent the last few generations hiding Kenma from the crew, hiding in fear of the emotions of someone who loves this ship more than all of you combined, you could have figured out what it took me and a friend a week to do." He stands, glad to use his height to tower over the other man, "Because Kenma would never abandon the ship, no matter what." He tosses a spare router onto the table, pushing it a bit closer to Kazutoshi, who looks between it and Kuroo in confusion.

"He's wireless." Kuroo sneers. "Just like the KScreens. It took us two hours. And now, Kenma, my friend, is sitting on my berth, playing cards."

Kazutoshi splutters, "That's not—!"

"Oh, but it is," Kuroo says. "I didn't come here to ask you questions. I came to offer you a plea deal. When I first figured this all out, I thought you might be evil, to do what you were doing, trapping a man, hiding him away from the world." He snaps his gaze back to Kazutoshi. "But I see now you're just a coward. Afraid of Kenma, afraid of the future, afraid of anything." He scoffs, "You were the only one with even a slight suspicion of me when I failed to free Kenma the first time, so I can only assume that your fellow Bridgemen are even more cowardly than you are." 

He pauses. Kazutoshi says nothing, but a slight grimace passes across his face: Agreement. 

"How do you think our crew will feel when they see what you've been doing? What you’ve been hiding from them? I can give you a taste of that, my berthmates all have expressed nothing but horror and disgust at what you have done to Kenma in the name of their safety. Some of them would love nothing more than to beat their anger into you." Yamamoto, especially, has been prolific in describing how he feels the Bridgemen should be punished.

Kazutoshi pales. 

Kuroo pushes it home, "Either I walk out there and tell everyone on board what the Bridgemen have been doing, showing them the reports, showing them the room, the jail where Kenma was kept, and, I assume, watch as our crew throws you out an airlock, or—"

"Or?" Kazutoshi gasps out. 

"Or you, and the rest of the Bridgemen, agree to some terms." It had been a group effort to come up with the terms. Some (Bokuto, Kuroo) would have been quite satisfied with showing everyone exactly what Kenma had been subjected to. Others (Kai, Inouka, and, most importantly, Kenma) thought it better to just… let the story disappear. 

Kenma wants to forget it ever happened, it seems, and Kuroo is here to make that happen. Kazutoshi's agreement is the last step. 

Kazutoshi eyes him, and Kuroo waits for the older man to take the bait. "What are the terms?" Kazutoshi asks after a long moment. 

"You act like you have a lot of choice here, but that really isn't true," Kuroo sneers, sitting back down again. "It's quite simple, actually. You announce that to promote new beginnings on land, none of the Bridgemen will be filling any type of supervisory role and instead will be working to help build and grow our new home." Kuroo couldn't help his smile from growing sharper, this is his own contribution to the plan. Men like Kazutoshi have no place in their future home, much less running the place. All that Kenma asked was, "And, today or tomorrow, you reveal that Kenma Koduzuken, the brain of the Nekoma, has been reawakened after a generations-long sleep, where he lent himself to the ship as we approach our final destination. You tell them that the particularly brilliant Kuroo Tetsuroo, who has been in charge of his care, has discovered a way to make him wireless. And that Kenma is still able to take care of his esteemed role as the ship's main computer for the final days of our long journey, and we should all be incredibly thankful for the role he has played. We introduce him to the crew; he lives like the rest of us, and in a few weeks, he joins us down there." He waves his hand at the window, SP300 below them, whorls of clouds covering its surface.

Kuro waits for the plan to sink in, then, quietly, "He came up with the idea. He'll lie, hide what you put him through,  just because he is kind."

'It's better than you deserve,' Kuroo doesn't say but wishes he could. 

"Fine," Kazutoshi says, after a tense moment. "I agree to your terms and will do my best to communicate them with the others, but,"

Kuroo cackles, "There is no 'but' here, sir. Either all of you, together, or we see exactly how the rest of the crew finds out how you've been lying to them,"

Kazutoshi sighs. "I will… explain the situation to them. I will make sure they understand."

Kuroo nods. He trusts that Kazutoshi knows that Kuroo is serious about his threats and will follow through. He turns to leave but is interrupted by Kazutoshi behind him.

"I met him, you know,"

"He told me," Kuroo says, tilting his head to look at the other man.

Kazutoshi stands as well, eyes far away. "I remember he seemed so young the first time. I couldn't believe it, even though I knew he was much older than I was. Even though I knew what he was capable of doing. I just… did my best to forget it."

He turned to gaze at Kuroo eye to eye for the first time, something almost like respect lighting up his expression. "You're a pretty remarkable young man, Kuroo, to see Kodu—Kenma for who he is." 

Kazutoshi pauses again, his next words seemingly carefully chosen: "I hope that it's people like you who are chosen to run things down there."

And then he's gone, striding past Kuroo out into the hall.

Well, Kuroo thinks, there's an idea.

--

CREW OF THE NEKOMA

On behalf of the Bridgemen, we would like to extend an invitation to you all. As you have all been made aware, Kenma, the heart, soul, and brain of the Nekoma, has been taken out of his sleep as we prepare to journey down to SP300 together. Please join us in this opportunity to thank Kenma and celebrate with snacks!

“I don't want to do this,” Kenma whines, face smushed into his pillow. “I didn't volunteer to become a computer so that I would have to spend time with people.” 

He rolls over, and Kuroo feels fond as his bicolored locks fall around his shoulders. “Everyone will know I'm me. No one else is walking around with wires sticking out of their head. I don't need to be 'introduced!’”

“Don't worry, I'll protect you from your fans,” Kuroo teases, reaching out to tug on one of the strands. Kenma, somehow, pouts even harder. 

“I don't need protection,” Kenma says, stiffly turning his nose up at Kuroo. After a moment, though, he adds, “You're not going to go off doing something else, right?”

“I'll be right by your side all night,” Kuroo promises. And however long after that you want, he adds to himself, before crawling into bed next to Kenma. 

They haven't done much of anything, taking it slow at Kenma's request, and also just because of how busy they've been.

Kuroo is almost shocked at how well the news of Kenma's existence was accepted. Kenma has been quietly attending meals in the cafeteria, and no one seemed to notice the extra person on board. Everyone is too excited to land; it seems that as long as Kenma's 'awakening' was a sign of that date getting closer, it didn't demand any attention. 

It almost didn't sit right with Kuroo how for granted they seemed to take Kenma. But that’s what he wanted, to slip back into a normal life. Looking at the man lying down next to him, Kuroo still feels nothing but wonder at how extraordinary he actually is.

Kuroo raises his arm over his head, and Kenma takes the opportunity to shift closer to him, curling into Kuroo's side, head resting on his arm. 

This is about as far as they've gone. Closed-mouth kisses and cuddling. Lots and lots of cuddling, and yet, it's still not enough. The feeling of Kenma pressing close to his side fills Kuro with a warm contentedness that he’s grown addicted to—feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his skin. Even the drag of the plastic tips of Kenma's 'hair' is pleasant. 

“That's a lie.” Kenma pouts. “You're going to be off doing future-captain stuff.”

“It’s not a lie!,”

“Yes, it is.” 

“It's not going to be Captain, we won't be on a ship,” Kuroo finishes, smirking down at his partner. He’s not even trying to be a leader, but Kuroo had taken Kazutoshi’s words to heart. He cares about their home, their planet, and he wants to make sure that it’s being run in the right way. He’s willing to work to make it happen. 

“Emperor, president, chief, whatever,” Kenma replies. “You're going to leave me to fend for myself.” 

Kuroo pokes him in the shoulder. “I would never,” he promises. “I'll be sure to include you in all of my conversations. I'm sure everyone will love to hear what the heart of the Nekoma thinks we should do about everything, ask lots of follow-up questions, and request you start coming to the meetings with me.” 

Kenma makes a horrified face at the idea of more socializing and buries his face in Kuroo's shoulder. “Can't we just skip?” he begs. 

“Nope!” Kuroo responds cheerfully. He runs his fingers through Kenma's hair. “They really won't be as bad as you think it will be,” he says softly. 

“I know,” Kenma responds, breathing warmly on Kuroo's bare shoulder. 

“Most people will say hello and then immediately get in line for the food.” 

“I know,” Kenma repeats, even more petulantally.

“And,” a smile grows across Kuroo's face, “even if I'm too busy talking about what structuring we should have down there for the exploration phase vs. long-term settlement, you won't be alone.”

“I know,” Kenma breathes, shifting to gaze up at Kuroo. “Kai, Yaku, and Yamamoto are all going to be there, right?”

“Right by your side, fending off invasive questions or boring small talk all night long,” Kuroo promises. 

Kenma nods, “My friends.”

Kuroo's breath catches in his throat. “Yeah,” he says, indescribably happy at how different Kenma's life is than a few months ago. “Your friends.”

“And then after that we get to come back here and play shogi.” Kenma continues, “And you're not going to go to any meetings, or go talk to other berths, or anything at all. Just us, all day.”

Kuroo laughs, leaning down to nuzzle at Kenma's cheek, “If that's what you want,” he promises, before softly kissing the other man. 

“It is,” Kenma says, his gaze sharpening, “And maybe we can, you know, try some other stuff. Alone, back here. While everyone else is busy at the meeting.”

Kuroo freezes as a slight hand wanders to rest on his lower stomach, pressing gently. He groans, reaching down to pull the hand up to safer territory. “You are just trying to distract me. We’re going, no matter what tricks you try.”

Kenma giggles, innocently batting his eyelashes. “It almost worked though,”

“No it didn't,” Kuroo protests, pushing the other man off of him before he makes a rash choice. 

“Yes, it did,” Kenma teases. “I could feel your heartbeat.”

Kuroo doesn’t dignify that with an answer, instead throwing his dirty shirt at Kenma's head, ignoring the outraged squawk his boyfriend makes. Tonight, the rest of the ship officially meets Kenma. Tonight, Kuroo argues for his vision of the next stage of their community.

Tonight, the future begins.