Chapter Text
For a moment, all is quiet. There is nothing but darkness here; no sound, no light, nothing. One may call it peaceful, if they didn’t know any better. And as of now, He didn’t know better. This, as far as He knows, is all that there is to him. Peace and darkness.
Suddenly, there is light.
It’s followed by the sound of clicking and thumping, and then He’s flooded with too much of everything. From sound to touch, taste, smell, and vision; it all becomes too much. But then it’s followed by feeling – God , too many feelings! – and suddenly he’s screaming. His voice is strained but still loud enough to shake the room around him (God, he can’t even concentrate on his surroundings).
As suddenly as it had all happened, everything went black again, and He sunk back into the void of unconsciousness.
“Alright, let’s try this again,” comes a voice, but He still lay in darkness. There’s nothing around; nothing he can see or touch. Just nothingness filled with the sound of a tired voice.
“Kenma, can you hear me?” says that voice, but He doesn’t know who this Kenma is. Regardless, He doubts he’d even be able to respond, what without a body and all. Well, at least He thinks he doesn’t have a body. “Do something if you can hear me.”
He does nothing.
“Shit. Okay, let’s add another one.” And with that, He’s able to see again.
The feeling isn’t overwhelming. It’s bright, yes, but nothing like before. Nothing like having everything pushed into you at once until you are filled to brim and spilling over with something that is just too much. This time He can take a moment to focus without having to bear the weight of, well, everything.
At first, his gaze lies on a ceiling. Metal , He thinks, without knowing exactly how he knows, but he’s sure that the roof is made of it. Its patchy but holds up nicely. Next, his gaze drifts downward until He is faced with a man, hair messy and covering one part of his eye. He looks almost dead, a sickly pale, as if he hadn’t slept in a good while, but what really catches his attention is the absolute relief in his eyes as they bore into his own. They’re hazel, he notices, with a hint of gold glinting in them, pupils thin, something He’d probably find intimidating if the man didn’t look so worn out.
“Kenma,” breaths out the man in a voice so quiet He was almost positive he’d made it up. If it wasn’t for the man repeating himself, voice shaky and uncertain, He’d have been sure that he’d heard nothing at all.
Right now, He can’t do much, what with only two functions, but he can blink, so he does just that, and watches as the man nearly collapses over himself to move closer, doing something to his body before moving back, watching intently (almost excitedly) as He is finally able to move again.
He starts by slowly turning his head, that way he can get a better glimpse of his surroundings. His vision is at its prime, and it takes only a quick scan of the area to collect an overall image. It’s messy, papers and tools thrown haphazardly everywhere. There is a worktable in the corner of the room, piled with an array of things such as pencils, metals, wood, etc. Things that didn’t mean much to him as of now. A door resides on one end of the wall, near the worktable, and on the wall next to that is made of nothing but windows which He can see now is letting in most of the room’s light.
He lets his eyes stop on the man from before. He’s still staring, doing nothing but scanning His body, and it makes Him uncomfortable.
He scowls and pulls himself upward, granted clumsily, and stares the stranger down.
It does nothing to deter him. In fact, it seems to encourage his staring and he moves closer.
The messy-looking man brings a hand out to fiddle with his torso (He notes how he can’t technically feel this man’s hand) and pulls back just in time for something to click inside his head.
“Kenma,” says the man. “Can you speak?”
He opens and closes his mouth once, twice, three times before pouting. Words were escaping him, what with his muddled head, so he opts for his second-best option: making a random-ass noise.
“Mmh,” He hums.
Suddenly, the disheveled man jumps.
He’s on his feet, moving backwards, mouth agape and staring at Him like one would stare at a full moon. His movements turn into pacing and eventually excited rambling, most along the lines of, “Holy shit, Kenma,” and “Fuck, holy shit, it worked! You work!”
Needless to say, it was creeping Him out. So much so, He used the little power he had to croak out his second sound of the day:
“Stop.”
The man goes wild.
Three days after his awakening, the A.I. had learned a couple of things: one, how to speak, two, that the messy-haired man from before is named Kuroo Tetsurou, and three, his own name is Kenma Kozume.
Now, the two of them sat in Kuroo’s dining room, both on opposite ends of the table, in awkward silence as one eats and the other charges.
“Kuroo,” Kenma begins, breaking the awkward silence in favor of gaining more information; but before he can continue, Kuroo interrupts him.
“Kuro,” he says, mouth full of food. “Call me Kuro.” And under his breath, “That’s what you used to always say.”
This strikes Kenma as odd. “Used to?”
Abruptly, Kuroo - Kuro, Kenma thinks, as if it makes much of a difference, – stops eating, eyes focused downwards. Slowly, he raises his gaze to land on Kenma’s own, and for a brief moment Kenma notices that he looks almost guilty.
There’s a breath of silence between them, but Kenma knew better than to let it linger for too long, so he asks again, “What do you mean by used to?”
Kuroo grimaces at that and looks away. He stares down at the floor, seemingly contemplating something, before looking back at Kenma. He smiles then, almost sadly, and opens his mouth to speak.
“Kenma Kozume used to be my best friend.” There’s a pause as Kuroo takes in a deep breath. He once again looks down at his half-empty plate, biting his lip. Then, Kuroo looks back up and smiles. “But he’s dead now.”
There’s quiet, and then Kenma’s one good eye widens in shock. The place where his heart would be begins speeding up and the gears clicking in his head spin faster, his thoughts going haywire.
Kenma is dead. There was a real Kenma Kozume, and he’s dead. And now I’m him. But not really him, just a copy. I’m a fake. A fake. I’m not real.
Not real.
Not real…!
Kenma malfunctions and shuts down.