#one official release of run for roses hashtag PLEASE

[jboh-art]

[🐣] get your ass to MIXXTOPIA rat nao

[bluejohsai]

YOUR OWN RULES AND STORY — KOZUME KENMA.

with the continuous grapple of people's mindsets and the ongoing battle of blaming the victims and not the harassers, i incorporated it through the words of this scenario because as what i have read in the trending hashtags of my country, this toxicity needs to stop.

i have experienced similar things like the one i wrote for this scenario but it involved my school uniform, a crowded bus, and sometimes just walking down the street. please, take time in being brave because what we wear doesn't define us and it isn't in the slightest, an invitation for people to become disgusting pigs.

Having Kozume Kenma as your boyfriend had its perks and downsides.

The downsides definitely pertain to his occasional tendency of becoming aloof, which you had no trouble with handling, seeing as you both started dating when you were in high-school. From the first time you met him, his own choice of being distant towards others intrigued you, one reason for your interest being his captain of the volleyball club. For such a social role in a club, the members chose him to be their ringleader (a thing that he has no say on because his best friend and the previous captain insisted to the coaches to have his ‘promotion’).

You both met when the previous manager of the volleyball club decided to search for someone who would take over her position once she graduates, introducing you to the volleyball club right after knowing you. It was a normal lunch period and you were inside your classroom when one of your classmates asked if you had any participated clubs. Being a carefree student, you still didn’t apply to any clubs and mainly because you were only a first-year. And the next thing you knew, you were whisked away by a pretty upperclassman, who introduced herself as the manager of the volleyball club.

You had no idea what conundrum you just entered.

At first, you carefully asked for the permission of the pretty upperclassman that you wanted to start once your second-year rolls in. You didn’t expect her to nod fervently with a huge and beautiful smile on her face, which made you feel small for some reason.

That afternoon, you also met Kenma, noticing how he wanted to melt into the background, making sure to never meet your eyes.

And when the third-years graduated and bid their goodbyes, Kenma was chosen to be the club’s captain, a notion that he so blatantly rejected yet accepted (albeit reluctantly) and you were now the club’s official new manager. For the first few months, you managed to make him utter more words than he had ever said to another member. You both enjoyed each other’s company and taking the time to actually get to know him; learning about his favorites and deeply understanding him as a person. Kenma also followed Kuroo’s advice on lessening the coldness he carefully wrapped around his heart and by doing so, he started liking you more than he intended to.

Now, both of you are in a relationship that lasted for three years, and the perks in dating him just keep piling up, overpowering the downsides. For instance, Kenma would always take the time in making sure you were truly taken care of; whether it be picking you up from your last class, cooking for you every other day, or having you on his lap while he plays some games with his friends (a feat that he disdainfully expressed, thinking that he wouldn’t see the members of the volleyball club anymore). He would also go out of his way to help you study for some of your subjects or even leave an unexpected kiss on your forehead, cheeks, or neck.

The naked truth, he is an amazing boyfriend.

It was a fair afternoon and Kenma was waiting on one of the benches of the Medical Sciences building, his phone opened to some random game that he downloaded to pass some time.

“Kenma!”

The two-toned boy looked up from his phone and regarded you with a fond look, his eyes softening and lips stretching in a minuscule smile at the sight of you. Three years and here he is, still having butterflies at the reality of you dating him.

“Hey, how’s class?” he asked you, staring down at you while taking your heavy backpack from you and replacing it with his own. This habit initiated when he started walking you home during high school — you exchanging bags since he only carried little things in his backpack, making it weigh like it was nothing. Once you have his backpack on, he noticed the bright stare you gave him, earning a low chuckle from him. Taking your hand tenderly and intertwining them, Kenma started walking. “Excited for our Korean barbeque night?”

You smiled widely at him. “We had another quiz earlier and we have to pass our labs tomorrow so I guess this will be one of those caffeinated nights,” you cheekily replied at him. “But I know that our Korean barbeque night will make up for it.”

Kenma flashed a serene smile. “Want me to help you? I think it’s going to be my free night tonight.”

You looked at him disbelievingly, raising one eyebrow. “You’re not streaming tonight?”

He shrugged, looking down at you with a small half-smile. “Figured that you need some company while you finish your lab.”

The two of you then waked out of campus and into the busy streets of Tokyo, your conversation never ending until the both of you stopped in front of an intersection. Waiting for the signal to cross the street, Kenma took this as a time to play with your hand.

“Hey, Kenma,” you called out, feeling his phone vibrate from your back. “Someone’s calling you.”

Kenma looked at you, released your hand from his hold, and opened the front compartment of his backpack. He softly smiled as you started bouncing subtly as if you were listening to an imaginary beat but his smile quickly vanished when he saw a man inconspicuously standing too close at you, his phone right below your skirt. The golden-eyed boy narrowed his eyes at the suspicious activity but he felt anger boiling when he noticed that the man’s phone screen depicted a front camera, your short cycling shorts in view. Without any rational thought, Kenma slapped the man’s arm, making the older guy’s phone fly from his hand, shocking the people surrounding you.

“Hey!” the man shouted, his eyes blazing as he faced Kenma, who was looking at him with a dangerously blank expression. “What’s your problem, man?!”

The two-toned boy rose an eyebrow. “My problem is that you were taking inappropriate pictures of my girlfriend,” he menacingly stated, nearing the man with pounding footsteps. Now directly in front of the man and even though he was centimeters shorter, Kenma clutched the collar of the man’s shirt in a vice grip. He glared at the man and lowered his voice in a deadly warning, “Delete it.”

You couldn’t pull Kenma out of the way when the man pulled back his arm and punched Kenma hard on the side of his face, knocking him to the ground. “Your girlfriend asked for it! Dressing like a slut in public places—”

Though slightly hazy from the punch, Kenma did something that he probably would never dare if he was younger, thinking it was too much work and would probably give him a bruised knuckle. He mustered all of his force and punched back the man, earning him the sight of a nosebleed. For such an unfit person, Kenma managed to make the man tumble to the sidewalk.

This brewed an unwanted fight on the sidewalks of Tokyo.

Now here you are, waiting for your boyfriend in one of the lobby chairs of the police station. You chewed on your lip as you run your fingers on top of your bag, which was given to you while a police officer ushered Kenma inside to be interrogated. Your mind was muddled with conflicting thoughts, starting with that perverted man who managed to take a photo of your short-covered thighs. Heck, you were wearing one of Kenma’s sweaters tucked in one of your favorite skirts. It was a normal day for you to dress up and now this happened. Your lips curled in disgust at the audacity of the unnamed man to take a picture of you, your gut boiling in anger.

For what felt like hours, the door to your left opened and Kenma strode towards you with a busted lip and bruised cheek, a female police officer following close behind. You stood up and placed your hand gently on Kenma’s face.

“Let’s get you fixed up at home, okay?” you whispered to him, your eyes probably teary at the sight of your boyfriend grimacing.

Kenma covered your left hand with his right one and regarded you with tender eyes dripping of concern. “What about our barbeque night?” He then groaned, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry for ruining the night you’ve been looking forward to all week. I promise I’d make it up to you.”

“No, it’s not your fault, Kenma,” you retaliated, your eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Come on, I’m going to bake an apple pie once we get home.”

But before you could pull Kenma toward the exit of the police station, the female police pfficer stopped you. “Young lady,” she started, her expression quite troubled yet she painted a faux smile on her lips. “I think you should stop wearing revealing clothes and you should be more careful next time. Don’t wear this kind of provocative skirt when in crowded places—“

“Are your brain cells on the brink of extinction?” Kenma asked in his leveled voice, his eyes cast directly at the police officer.

“Pardon—?”

“This kind of mindset is one the reasons why our world never flourishes,” he sarcastically stated, never leaving your side while shooting his jabs at the police officer. “There will be no harassments if there are no harassers in the first place. So you’re basically implying that people get raped and sexually-harassed because of the way they dress? This is a new year and there are still people who think like that? Stop blaming the victim, then, and do your job right. You just let that perverted man go without a second thought.

“And one more thing,” he breathed, his grip on your hand tightening, “my girlfriend can wear whatever she wants.”

After that, every time you would go to class or just buy something from the mall, you would take time in making sure you never wear shorts or skirts again. Your mind was anticipating all kinds of scenarios just like the one you experienced so you only don jeans and long-sleeved shirts these days and with Kenma’s observing eyes, this didn’t go unnoticed.

One day, already dressed and preparing your breakfast, Kenma sluggishly walked out of your shared room, making a beeline towards you. He wrapped his arms around you and snuggled against your neck, his hair tickling your face, making you giggle at the adorable antics of your boyfriend. Never lifting up his head from you, Kenma only hummed against your neck while placing small kisses here and there every other minute.

“You’re wearing jeans again?” he asked on your neck, his breath making you shiver pleasantly. Bothered by it, Kenma lifted his head from your shoulder and replaced it with his hands, turning you around into facing him, your whines of burning the bacon following afterward. “Hey,” he gently called out to you in his soft-spoken voice, his hands planted on your cheek, “don’t let what that good-for-nothing policewoman and perverted bastard did get to you. I’m not saying that you don’t look good in jeans, I’m only reminding you to wear what you feel like wearing. It’s not your fault, okay?”

A smile slowly replaced the pout on your lips. Standing on your tip-toes to have your face level with Kenma’s, you placed your lips on his in a heartfelt kiss. Kenma didn’t waste a second in closing his eyes and deepening the kiss, your lips in a slow waltz with each other’s. Nipping your lip before pulling away, Kenma never increased your distance with each other as he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if relishing this intimate moment with you.

Kenma called your name softly. “It’s your body so make your own rules and go spend hours in choosing what to wear. I’m only asking you to stay strong and face them without fear. No matter what you wear, know that you’re doing it because of you and never because of them.” He paused to kiss you on the forehead. “I love you and I’m so proud of you.

“So don’t let them define who you are because the [Name] I know is her own story.”