Broken Memories (BokuAkaKuroKen)

30

I'd just like to start this part out with a real quick note. If you haven't noticed its been a little while since I last uploaded and for that I'm really sorry. On a different note I have checked back in periodically to see what's been going on and reading all your comments. Thank you for everyone that has left something I've really enjoyed reading through them all. The last thing I have to say is that I'm not 100% sure everything will match up correctly. I wrote these last 3 chapters based off of the notes I had written months ago. So it should all make sense but if it doesn't that's why.

And now without further ado the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy  (:

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The boys sat and waited for Kenma in the office. During their wait, Akaashi told the older boys about the one time he brought up the door to Kenma. It was strange because of how upset Kenma got since Kenma never gets upset. Kenma point-blank yelled in his face to drop the subject and slammed the studio door in his face. Sometime later, Kenma ended up apologizing, but neither of them ever brought the subject up again.

Out of the three of them, Kuroo was totally in the dark but Bokuto at least remembered asking Akaashi about it when he got a tour of the building. So he at least knew what Akaashi was referring to.

After some time and many refilled cups of coffee, the door to the office creaked open. A timid and unamused Kenma walked inside towards his desk, not giving much attention to the other boys. He walked to his desk and placed something into the top drawer, and Akaashi could have sworn it was a key.

Kenma turned his head towards Akaashi "You have class". It wasn't a question. Kenma knew Akaashi had class that day but instead was sitting in their shared office.

"I know, but I was worried about you," Akaashi responded. He could hear the faintest oh come from Kenma before he moved towards the hall door.

"I'm alright, you didn't need to skip class." With that, he walked out of the office. Frankly, none of the boys could believe that he was alright. They were still waiting for Kenma to come to them, but they were losing patience. All they wanted was to help.

...

Kenma was walking down a familiar path. He wasn't sure where he knew the place from, but it left him feeling melancholic. The area was calming, and a cool rain pattered down on his body. He continued down the path trying to draw out the locked memory. His feet felt cold, and he looked down at them only to see them in a puddle of red. His whole body ran cold, and he attempted to move away to no avail.

The puddle grew into vines and attempted to drag him down into the ground. Kenma wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He was trapped in the rope until everything turned black.

...

Kenma shot up from his bed, his breathing short as he scrambled out from under the covers. He scrambled through his dresser and threw on the first sweater he could find. He rushed from the apartment and down the street, not minding the blistering cold snow on his bare feet. His body was moving on its own as if entranced.

He fumbled with the keys to the gallery entrance until he managed to open the door. Kenma rushed into his office and forced his desk open. It didn't take long to find what he needed before he ran out of his office and up to the second story of the building.

When he made it to the door secluded from everything, he halted and took a deep breath before inserting the key into the lock. He twisted the key until he heard a soft click.

His grip tightened around the doorknob before turning it and opening the heavy door. He pushed open the door to reveal a quaint apartment. It was bigger than Akaashi's but not oversized. There was a beautiful large window that allowed the moonlight to flood into the living room and kitchen. Kenma crept into the room, being wary of all his surroundings.

There was an array of paintings and photos scattered around the whole area. Kenma walked to a box next to the staircase. He rummaged through its contents ensuring to not damage any of the contents in the box.

Kenma bit his lip as a picture of a familiar path met his eyes. His dream was a near-perfect replica of the image. Kenma flipped the photo around and looked at the title on the back.

"The Night We Met"