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Kise Ryouta thinks he knows love.
There’s the kind of love that comes from parents – the strong, unwavering and gentle kind that feels like a touch of cool breeze on a hot summer day, the kind that warms your insides on a cold winter night, the kind that makes you want to be spoilt and demanding because you know this love will never go out. And there’s the kind of love between friends and teammates – the kind that acts somewhat like a shadow, not as prominent as the other kinds but definitely there: when you’re down and your hoops miss, when you study for a test and fail it bad.
Love from fans is another story, although the passion and affection isn’t any much less than the rest – they wish him luck for every match, they bring him home-made bentos when they think he’s not eating well enough, they photocopy their cute handwritten notes because they think his modelling job may have deprived him of time to study, and it’s not a bad kind of love at all. It’s sometimes suffocating, and they make him feel like he’s entirely exposed to them, but the glimmer in their eyes when he takes their gifts with a genuine smile makes his heart warm.
And then there’s him. Kuroko Tetsuya flits by his everyday life like an idle moth – the kind that stays on your windows for a few minutes before flying away, the kind of wait that makes you hesitant and strangely nervous.
Kise remembers the first time they met. Momoi had brought him to the first gym in Teiko, and if Kise wasn’t looking for him, he might never have seen him at all. Kuroko is the ‘shadow’, Midorima had explained out of annoyance one night after practice, as Kise watches Kuroko drag the big mops around the court, he’s different.
But Midorimacchi, Kise insists, is it even okay to be this different in basketball?
Midorima exhales in exasperation, lowering his red bean drink to his lap. Hell if I know. You should ask him that.
Kise knows the number of nights Kuroko spends at the first gym after practice, trying to get his shoots in but failing quite spectacularly. He’s heard rumors from some classmates about the supposedly haunted gym and how there are sounds of someone playing basketball every night, but Kise knows better than to comment. Kuroko has no presence after all. He drops his bag at the entrance, toes his shoes off and walks into the gym.
“Yo, Kurokocchi.”
“Hello, Kise-kun,” Kuroko greets politely, the dull thud of the basketball against the floor in the background. “Did you leave something behind?”
“Eh?” Kise asks, “No, I’m here to wait for you.”
Kuroko tilts his head quizzically. Kise chuckles inside – he must be really tired to be showing his feelings so outright. “Then, did Akashi-kun task you to clean up after I leave? I can clean up after myself, so Kise-kun can—”
Kise takes big strides until he’s face-to-face with Kuroko and watches as Kuroko falls silent. “Nope, Akashicchi did no such thing. I’ll be waiting, Kurokocchi.”
After Kuroko locks up the doors to the gym, they take a big detour to Maji Burger and Kise watches in fascination as Kuroko gulps down a large cup of milkshake within minutes. The walk home consists of idle chat and mindless chatter, and Kise has no idea why he specially came to walk Kuroko home, but who was he to deny himself of his sudden urges, right?
When Kuroko waves to him with the slightest hint of a smile clinging to the corner of his lips when they’re at the junction where they go separate ways, Kise stands rooted as he watches Kuroko turn and walk away, watching the silhouette of his back get blurred by the warm orange lights from the lamp posts above.
Kise realizes that with Kuroko, he watches a lot. With other people, it’s always him being watched – being Kaijo’s star player and a rising model has given him lots of attention and focus and he’s used to being stared at and ogled at, but with Kuroko, he’s always the one amazed. Kuroko doesn’t watch him like other people do, Kuroko doesn’t look at him with longing and admiration and doesn’t (always) respond to his affection, but Kise is the one who watches.
Kuroko loves spending his Saturday afternoons at the neighborhood library near his house, cooped up in a corner of the building with a pile of new books by his feet. Kuroko has a weird habit of scrunching his nose when he reads – in distaste, or affection, he doesn’t know, and Kuroko likes to separate the vegetables from the meat when they go out to eat sometimes. Kuroko doesn’t like sweets (with the exception of the vanilla milkshake), but he loves sour candy – Kise calls him a masochist, but Kuroko had hit him on his head with his book with a bad roll of his eyes. Kuroko likes to observe people from afar, writes down notes about people: how they behave and how they behave around people, and Kise has flipped through his notebook once. There were many notes about many people – about how Aomine scratches the back of his head when he lies, about how Akashi works when he plays on the court, about how Midorima closes his eyes when he gives in.
In that book, there was no Kise.
“Ne, Kurokocchi,” Kise starts, one day when they’re out for dinner after a joint practice match at Kaijou, “remember that notebook when you wrote down weird habits of everyone?”
Kuroko’s eyes widen marginally, and he doesn’t look at Kise. “My observation notebook. Yes, I still have it.”
“I was just wondering… why wasn’t I in that book? You’re so unfair, Kurokocchi. You observe everyone except for me.”
There’s silence as Kuroko stares at his food and says nothing for a while, and Kise begins to wonder if he’s said the wrong thing.
“You’re… hard to figure out, Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, taking a sip of his drink.
“Huh? What are you saying, Kurokocchi,” Kise frowns, “people say I’m easy to read, I’m an open book. What do you mean I’m hard to figure out? Did you get sick of trying to figure me out? Kurokocchi!”
Kuroko winces at the volume and jabs a tomato from his salad angrily before throwing it into Kise’s plate. “You should learn to wait for people to finish before adding in your comments, Kise-kun.”
“I’m sorry,” comes the muffled apology.
“Anyway,” Kuroko continues, “you’re hard to read because you’re so open, Kise-kun. You’re always bright and honest and sincere it’s hard to know whether you’re being you or not. While I was thinking that through, I got lazy so I didn’t write them down.”
“So you got bored of thinking of me,” Kise concludes, stuffing his mouth with a spoonful of soup.
It’s quiet again, and Kise can hear Kasamatsu yelling bad jokes at Seirin’s captain at the neighboring table before Kuroko replies. “At least I’m not bored of you, Kise-kun.”
There’s a low burn of something at the pit of his guts after that, but Kise convinces himself it’s just the aftereffects of the hot soup.
Kise has to thank the gods that the Kaijo team gets along well with the Seirin team so that they speak of crushing each other before each practice match and end up having dinner together while betting who could hold their burp for the longest time, so that Kise can spend more time with Kuroko.
Kise knows the way Kuroko’s fingers curl when they make a pass, knows how wonderful his hair looks under the gym lights when he does a magical drive, knows how surreal he looks after a game at the line-up, hair tousled and lips parted in panting. Kise knows how breathtaking it is when Kuroko looks at him from across the court, knows how stupid he sounds when he brags about his Kurokocchi to his teammates, and knows how painful it is to only watch when Kuroko is so beautiful.
“Kise-kun,” Kuroko calls, waving a hand in front of his face, as Kise gets pulled out of his reverie. “What were you thinking about?”
They’re out shopping for shoes, because Kuroko’s pair had been ruined by Nigou a few days ago, and Kise’s mind’s just wandering.
“Mmm… nothing much… hey, Kurokocchi, what would you do when you like someone? How does it feel?”
“Why would you assume I know such things, Kise-kun?” Kuroko asks, tucking his book into his bag.
“Well… since you observe people so much… I just thought you’d know, Kurokocchi. Well, if you don’t, just pretend I never asked, okay?”
Kuroko stops walking and lets out a long exhale. They’re in the middle of a subway station, and they’re supposed to take trains that head to different places, because Kuroko has practice in an hour and Kise has his photoshoots to take care of. It’s a season of high demand. Kise turns around, tugs on the sleeve of Kuroko’s jacket, but Kuroko doesn’t budge.
“Kise-kun… if I liked someone, I…”
Kise freezes in his tracks. Kuroko doesn’t say anything after that and the frown on Kuroko’s forehead makes Kise’s heart flutter. “Hey, Kurokocchi, you don’t have to think that much over it, okay?” He concedes, carding his fingers through Kuroko’s pale blue hair. The strands feel impeccably soft in between his fingers, and he helps to smooth out a stubborn knot.
Kuroko shoots a dirty look at Kise before petting his hair down, then walking in front of Kise. “Since Kise-kun is in love, I was just trying my best to help.”
But you’re not helping at all, Kurokocchi.
You’re making it worse.
The trains that come in the next five minutes are not what they’re going to take, so they sit at one of the benches at the platform in comfortable silence. “Kurokocchi… rhetorically, if you were in a relationship with someone, how would you like them to treat you?”
Kuroko blinks twice, and he keeps his gaze locked on his shoes. It’s the pair that Kise bought for him as his birthday present a few years back. It makes Kise happy.
“I… haven’t thought about that, Kise-kun.” Kuroko clears his throat, and Kise is about to retort but Kuroko clamps a hand over Kise’s mouth. “I haven’t finished, Kise-kun.”
Kise has to pretend his heart isn’t threatening to leap out of his ribcage, pretends the tips of his ears aren’t hot and red and pretends he isn’t so much in love with the boy in front of him right now.
“I don’t know,” Kuroko says, after he lowers his hand. “I just want a simple life, spending time happily together. You’d feel happy doing anything with the person you like, right?”
Kise thinks about getting smacked on his head by the spine of a book, about waiting in the harsh winter breeze outside Seirin High School as he waits for practice to end, about spending time in the library watching someone else read books, and thinks about shopping when he doesn’t need clothes at all. “Yeah, you’re right.”
The last time Kise had seen Kuroko cry was back in middle school, when they’d beaten Kuroko’s friend’s school as a joke. Now that he’s crying again, Kise’s at a lost for what to do. If he wrapped his arms around Kuroko right now, would he push him away? If he gave Kuroko tissues, would he take it? If he cried with him, would it lessen his pain? Kise frowns, and pushes Kuroko’s head against his chest. “Kurokocchi,” he says, and realizes how frail he sounds. “Please don’t cry. I don’t know why, but when you cry, I hurt too.”
Kuroko laughs, a weird, tinkling noise in autumn, and Kise pulls away, puzzled. The tears sticking to Kuroko’s eyelashes are sparkling in the warm evening sun, and his lips are curled up and it makes him look so ethereal Kise thinks he might fade into the sun rays if he let him go right now. “Kise-kun, you’re stupid,” Kuroko chuckles, and puts his hand on Kise’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Kise splutters like he’s burnt, and realizes the proximity of them both. Kuroko’s flush against his body and his hand is on Kise’s face and Kise realizes that he wants nothing more than this; to be this close, and the desire burns him from inside out –
He leans down to press his lips to Kuroko’s. Kuroko’s lips are badly chapped and the corner of his lips taste like salt and sadness and Kise wants to wipe them all away. Kuroko’s hand falls from Kise’s face in shock and Kise wonders if he’s done the wrong thing but Kuroko clutches at the hem of Kise’s uniform and tilts his head further up. Kise presses Kuroko against the wall and swipes his tongue across the seam of Kuroko’s closed mouth. Kuroko shivers, and Kise’s knees bump clumsily into Kuroko’s as he takes the chance to pry Kuroko’s mouth open and sucks on his tongue languidly.
“Ki-Kise-kun,” Kuroko manages in between kisses, and Kise steals a glance to see Kuroko absolutely debauched, lips red and swollen and shirt wrinkled and hair messed up and Kuroko reaches up to throw his arms around Kise’s neck and pulls him down for another kiss. Kise leans down to kiss the base of Kuroko’s neck, and feels Kuroko quiver in his hold.
Seeing Kuroko so spontaneous and willing gets Kise’s insides burning as his hands shake when tugging on the soft hairs at the back of Kuroko’s head. “Close your eyes, Kurokocchi,” Kise whispers as he kisses the drying tear tracks away, and presses soft kisses on both of Kuroko’s eyelids. “You don’t have to be sad again, Kurokocchi. I won’t allow you to be sad.”
They’re in Kuroko’s room when it starts to rain just before they’re leaving.
“Kurokocchi,” Kise whines as he watches Kuroko pull on an extra sweater, “are you sure we’re gonna cancel the amusement park date? Waaaah, and I was looking forward to holding hands when we go on the rollercoaster~”
Kuroko walks over to pinch Kise’s cheeks – an oddly affectionate gesture as he smiles gently. “You’re not paying attention, Kise-kun. Didn’t I tell you before? Everything is lovely when you’re with the one you like.” He turns away after he speaks, but Kise throws himself onto Kuroko and engulfs the shorter boy in a tight hug on the futon.
“Ah, I just got confessed to by Kurokocchi! I thought such things only happened in my dreams!”
Squirming to turn around in Kise’s hold, Kuroko frowns and elbows Kise in the guts. “Don’t decide such things by yourself, Kise-kun. Besides, you dream about that?”
Kise feels his face getting hot, and he splutters, trying to explain himself but Kuroko leans up to kiss Kise on the lips. “You’re too noisy, Kise-kun.”
“Kurokocchi,” Kise starts with a devious smile, and Kuroko suddenly feels uneasy. “I think we should just spend the day at home,” he says, reaching down to slide a hand under Kuroko’s shirt. Kuroko shivers at Kise’s cold touch but slowly melts when Kise tugs his shorts down and begins stroking Kuroko lazily.
Later, the rain stops when Kuroko rolls off Kise tiredly and Kise sits up with a yawn. “It stopped raining,” Kise says. “We should go get dinner later.”
“I’m sticky so I’m taking a shower, Kise-kun.”
Kuroko stands up, but Kise follows suit and hugs Kuroko from the back. “Let’s shower together, Kurokocchi. It’ll be faster.”
Squinting, Kuroko shoves Kise away and smiles. “I think we might waste more time like that.”
He walks to the bathroom and Kise falls back onto the futon, watching as the bathroom door shut close and listening as Kuroko hums a soft tune from inside. It’s been years since Kise first watched Kuroko, and it’s been years since he’s fascinated by Kuroko, and it’s been so many years that he’s been in love with Kuroko, but there’s just something that never changes.
Kise picks up the same old notebook sitting on Kuroko’s cabinet, and flips through the newer pages. Kuroko still observes people to the most miniscule detail, how Kagami picks the sesame seeds away from the top bun of his burgers, how Kasamatsu gets flustered over girls, how Momoi still gets excited over popsicles because of Kuroko, and how Murasakibara only uses red-colored hairbands to tie his hair up. At the last few pages, though, he notes that Kuroko has notes about him. About Kise Ryouta! He reads on and finds out about things he never knew about himself, about the types of food he likes and dislikes and wonders how the smaller boy manages to classify all these information, how he manages to collect Kise’s entire life and put it into three pages in a small notebook.
There are many kinds of love, Kise muses, the love out of formality and the love out of sincerity, but there is nothing that beats love like this. The kind of love that makes you feel happy even standing outside Maji Burger in the winter wind, waiting for someone else to get a drink inside, the kind that makes you feel happy you’re alive, the feeling akin to a sunflower towards the sun – absolutely drawn – the kind that makes you unable to look away.
Kuroko walks out of the shower in a towel and gestures for Kise to go on next.
Kise stands up, and closes the distance between them to plant a kiss on Kuroko’s forehead. “I love you, Kurokocchi.”
Kuroko’s face pinks a little as he clears his throat, and Kise’s not going down without a reply.
“I love you too, Kise-kun.”
This kind of love – that makes your chest constrict and your heart pumps so hard like it’s dying and when your ears are loud with the sounds of your own heartbeat and it’s just so hard to breathe.
Kise Ryouta thinks he finally knows love.