Chapter Text
(Headline: Miyuki Kazuya to defend title against Kuramochi Youichi)
They set the date earlier in the day, just a few weeks from now.
A couple of articles have popped up in Kazuya's newsfeed as he stands in the locker room, waiting to go, waiting for someone before he can, and the articles catch his attention, remind him of what's on the horizon.
"Thought you didn't like readin' news about yourself?" Kazuya knows who's behind him without having to turn and confirm it, knows there's only one person who touches him like this—so familiar, hands on his back, standing on a bench behind him in the locker room of the training facility to hook his chin over Kazuya's shoulder and lean closer.
"Maybe I do it in private," he jokes, leaning back, unconscious, almost. He wonders when it became like this, so natural to touch like this. But if anyone asked, he can't really remember. It's been too long. "I'm giving my ego a boost."
He snorts, soft puff of breath near Kazuya's ear. "Like you need any of that."
"I might. I hate to admit it, but if I'm fighting you, it won't be so easy." He turns around. Their eyes meet and he offers Youichi a cheeky smile
"Finally, the damn acknowledgement I deserve."
(In the ring, Youichi is Kuramochi. Kazuya's long-time rival, but here and anywhere—everywhere—else, he's just Youichi, Kazuya's best friend and a lot more than that, really. Always. Always.)
"You alright?" Youichi looks at him, eyes concerned. He gets this look a lot. Kazuya knows not to expect it in the ring—a place where they're supposed to be fighting against each other with the goal of winning for themselves—but sometimes he'll catch a glimpse of it even there, too. It's in Kuramochi's nature to be gentle, careful. Even though he's got a mean punch and can hook someone in the face like the best of them. His hands are vicious in one setting, tender in another, the contrast stark.
Kazuya guesses maybe he's lucky enough to see, to experience both.
"I'm just thinking."
"Never a good sign," Youichi teases, toothy grin on his lips, arms around Kazuya's neck as he steps off the bench, feet landing on the ground instead. He's the one looking up at Kazuya now, tilting his head up to see his face now that they're back to their normal heights.
Kazuya slips a hand under Youichi's sweatshirt, pinches his side in retaliation for the jab. It's a playful, teasing gesture, just like the tone of the entire conversation's been so far, but...
There's something a little heavier on Kazuya's mind. Something he can't forget so easily.
"The last time we had a match..." He trails off. Swallows. Tries again. "Last time I hurt you..."
(He remembers it too well, even though it was months and months ago. They get cuts and bruises and injuries, bleed all the time. That's just part of the sport, part of the job. They're used to it.
But hurting someone you care about, even if that's something you both signed up for, is something completely jarring.
He still remembers watching Youichi—because he's Youichi that moment, no longer someone Kazuya’s fighting, but someone his heart and mind go into panic mode over instead—go down when he hit him. Kazuya vaguely recalls the ache of his own hand from the hit, but that had been out of his mind fast. It's the same as when he watches Youichi's fights from the sidelines and Youichi takes a bad hit—try to remain composed, collected, while feeling anything but that.
It's like he's helpless while there are people bustling around, tending to Youichi's injuries and Kazuya can't do anything about it. He can't take the pain away, only inflict it. Can only give—)
"If you're thinking about that again, stop." Youichi's pulled his arms from around Kazuya's neck, choosing to reach a hand up and cup Kazuya's cheek instead, somewhere in the moment. "It happens."
It happens. Youichi had told him the same thing back then, when Kazuya had gone to see him in the hospital. Concussion and facial fracture, the doctor had said. Kazuya had been afraid to go and see him at first, fearing what he'd find. He was afraid to see how badly he hurt Youichi. He was afraid of what Youichi might say, of what he might think, of what this might mean.
(But the first thing Youichi had done when Kazuya walked into the room was smile at him. Smile at him and ask how his hand was—like that was the important thing to be concerned about. Kazuya still remembers how guilty he felt, how afraid he was of hurting Youichi, how it could have been worse than this and he would've been responsible for that. But—)
"I'm just... worried," Kazuya finally answers. "It's not like I enjoy hurting you."
"I hope not." Youichi shoots him a grin. "And I feel the same. But if you hold back because you're afraid of what happened last time, so help me—"
"Don't worry about that. If I give up my title to anyone, it won't be you." But he squeezes Youichi's hip, asking for a promise. Please be careful.
Youichi tangles his fingers in Kazuya's hair, touch gentle, even as he says, "I'll take it from you, then." But Kazuya knows Youichi well enough to understand that he's agreeing, while also asking him the same. You too.
"I'd like to see you try!" They'll be okay. "Good thing you have a hard head."
"My hard head is gonna kick your ass!"
Kazuya can't hold back his laugh. "I don't think that's how it works?"
"Shut up." But Youichi's laughing too, smiling as he pulls Kazuya down and into a kiss.