Ultimately, he had considered himself to be a pro in a lot of things. An improvement from his middle school and high school days.

Video games? He could do that with his eyes closed. Stock trading? It was basically high risk and high reward. College life? Pretty manageable.

But asking someone out on a date? It sure felt like he reverted back to being a middle schooler.

Video games were easy — just think of one strategy and stick to it. But a person? No, people were far too abstract, way too complicated for someone like him who hadn't even considered dating up until now. He couldn't just think of a better way to ask, do he just out right blurt out that: Hey, I want to know you on a personal level. Let's go on a date.

But then again, maybe Kuroo Tetsurou, his best friend, was right all along. Maybe he should've just taken the correct route — be himself and ask you out. No complicating things, just straight up tell you.

But honestly, it was easier said than done.

Be himself?

You’ve always been someone he watched from a careful distance, the way he would repeatedly observe his mistakes on a difficult level before retrying (except you were, in fact, not a game but a person — which, inevitably, complicates this even more). And this wasn't because you intimidated you, though maybe you did, a little, but because you felt real in a way most things weren't. Real meant there was no walkthroughs, no optimal build he could easily search up on the internet, no reset button if he ever fucked up.

Real, admittedly, would mean responsibility.

Kenma had noticed you during his first class back then. It was basically hard not to considering you stuck out like a sore thumb, anxiously quiet and following one of your friends like a baby duckling. It's also in the way you lingered sometimes after class, the small habits you probably didn't know you had (like shaking your knee up and down when you were antsy of the time), the subtle shifts in your mood.

He imagined saying it a hundred different ways and hated all of them. Can we go out? Too stiff. I’ve been noticing you in class. Too weird. Wanna go out? Too casual. His chest tightened at the thought of your reaction—not rejection, exactly, but disappointment. Sure, he could consider you an acquaintance, maybe even a friend especially after you had unceremoniously (it just happened) become his duo in one of the games you two realized you two play together.

But the idea that you might look at him differently afterward, the quiet equilibrium he’d grown used to would shatter, made his fingers curl up to his sleeve. Worst case scenario, playing duo would no longer be an option. And he wouldn’t be able to use video games as an excuse to hear your voice anymore.

Just be honest, dude. Kuroo would say, like honesty was not the most terrifying thing out there.

Kenma exhales, slow and measured, grounding himself steady the way he does before the match starts. He reminds himself he's not that middle schooler anymore, that he’s faced losses far more than an awkward moment, that risk has always been part of anything worth keeping.

“Ban that champ,” He says into the mic. “He got buffed this latest patch, so his cooldown skills are much faster to spam.”

The words come out automatically, muscle memory taking over where nerves falter. His eyes stay fixed on the screen, hands both on keyboard and mouse. Strategy is somewhat easier than vulnerability.

“Use any champion you like.” He adds, after hearing you ask him. “I told you before it doesn't matter if you get bronze. I’ll carry you, so just pick whoever you like.”

Maybe that confession can wait a little longer.