Your name was trending again, attached to Kenma’s in the now-familiar fashion. The rivalry both of you had leaned into was a monster neither of you could tame anymore.

You beat his record in a speedrun and your laugh, bright and full of confidence, felt like a taunt. The chat already joined in: Kenma’s slipping; looks like someone is better than the king now. He knew better than to take it personally but it was hard when the line blurred.

Except, he wasn’t mad. He was captivated. It wasn’t hate, rather something softer, something he wasn’t sure he had the courage to name.

He stayed quiet, let the internet think he hated you while hiding the way his chest ached whenever you smiled. The facade was easier than admitting he cared. He could handle being the villain of your story if it meant staying in your orbit.

But then, you snapped.

It happened during a collaborative stream. A joke from him, biting in tone, had landed wrong. He hadn’t meant it—hadn’t realized it cut deeper than the surface-level banter. You went quiet, face unreadable, and logged off mid-stream. The silence after was suffocating.

Kenma stared at the empty screen, dread pooling in his chest. He replayed the moment over and over, each iteration worse than the last. By the time he managed to type out a message, his hands were shaking.

You didn’t respond right away, but hours later, a soft ping startled him. He hesitated before clicking. It was just you in a quiet room. You talked about the pressure, the expectations, how exhausting it was to play into the feud when things felt so much more complicated.

His voice was quiet. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that.” He leaned back in his chair. It was just Kenma, fumbling through his thoughts. Your silence was louder than any reply, but when your character moved closer to his on-screen, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

The feud was over. What came next was something only the two of you could write.