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He sits there, the lights too bright, the cameras too close, the sounds to loud.
He wants to say what his heart is wailing, but to his horror, he finds that it is the same thing his brain is screaming.
He has to…
If he is to have a chance, then he needs Kenny to-
But Kenny is...Kenny, and how can Kota even think about this whole mess like that-
Why does this have to be so…?
He wonders if this is all his own doing. If Tanahashi-sama was right about him throwing his talent away and wasting his potential. Kota had never regretted a thing that he has done in a ring, but he can’t help but wonder now, if that was what drove him to this point. Would it have been better though, if he thought he could still end this simply? If he had the confidence in his victory to say that he could do away with this heartache in under a mere half hour?
When did he surpass me?
(that is an ugly thought, and he boots it out of his head with a viciousness that leaves him shaken)
Kenny had always told him that because everything came to Kota so effortlessly, one day he would find himself outstripped by the people who had to scratch and claw for every little bit of skill that they had. Kota had dismissed that, partly because he had never cared about being the best, and partly because he knew Kenny was really saying that one day he would be better than Kota.
Now Kota looks at it a bit differently. Re-examines what Kenny said, looks at it in a different light. He doesn’t just hear the words echoed in his mind and immediately roll his eyes, ignoring something that might be important. He supposes that that means he has grown up a bit in the time since then. They both have really, which is what has him thinking on those old words.
Because maybe Kenny had had a point. Perhaps Kota got his boyfriend's intent all wrong, in his haste to disregard what he did not want to think about.
Maybe it wasn't a warning at all, maybe it was a plea. Maybe Kenny had been begging him, in his own cryptic roundabout way, to stop messing around quite so much and take at least their future seriously.
Kota feels a spike of bitterness towards himself and towards the Kenny of yesteryear. It was as if Kenny had thought Kota wasn't serious about Their Dreams. It was as if Kenny thought that Kota would let himself fall behind and didn’t even care about trying to stay apace with each other.
“Kenny.”
No use sitting here and stewing.
“What’s up?” Kenny doesn’t even put the fucking weight down, and Kota fights down the spike of annoyance. He gets up from the apron and slowly makes his way over to his partner.
He must take too long, because Kenny looks up, a question in his eyes. Kota continues his walk, hesitating only slightly when Kenny’s eyes shift a bit, a confused but intrigued look on his face. Kota realizes what he must look like, the way that he has been stalking towards his lover, eyes laser focused on those thick biceps, watching the way Kenny’s muscles flex and shift as he strengthens them -for Their Match, which makes it both better, and so much worse- so Kota flashes him an apologetic smile and tries his best to keep his gaze locked with Kenny’s.
Kenny meets his gaze easily, finally placing the weights on the floor, dusting himself off and giving himself a shake, like he is trying to physically jolt himself out of whatever track of thought those few seconds put him him. He flashes Kota a reassuring if confused smile, reaching out and slapping an arm around Kota’s shoulders when Kota gets close enough.
Kota feels bad, briefly, but this is clearly a conversation that he needs to have. He is unsure how much help sex would be for them right now anyway. They’ve been dodging strategically around that for a few days now, which is about as tortuous as it is relieving. Kota makes a mental note to bring that up later, before Budokan. It does need to be addressed, just maybe not at this moment.
“What do you need, Ibu-tan?”
It feels good to have those lips utter that sweet, sweet nickname, so much so that at least for a moment, most of Kota’s negative emotions wash away under the warmth of their bond. He snuggles closer, fingers splayed across Kenny’s ribs and trailing around his torso, resting themselves firmly against a tightly coiled spine and tense nerves.
Kota fights down the pang of sadness that pierces his warmth filled bliss. The fact that Ken-tan is clearly Alarmed, though he is doing his best to not show it, sends Kota into a babbling tither before he can stop himself.
“I hate that we have to fight.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Kenny replies, relaxing just a bit, his other arm coming up and carding through Kota’s hair. Kota leans into the motion, sighing.
It’s the way they have started all of these Conversations, lately. Even since Budokan was first announced (and of course it would be there. what Kota wouldn’t give to be re-banned immediately, to spare them both this terrifying experience) they have had at least three of these, terrible and heart wrenching each one of them. Cathartic, in a way, yes, but harsh truths are never easy to swallow.
“At least we will finally get that Wrestle Kingdom match we've both wanted for so long.” Kenny says it with a faux casual tone, his voice cracking with something like sadness laced excitement.
“Yeah, but I would have preferred that to be as a tag team-” Kota blinks and stops talking, surprise overwhelming him and rendering him mute for a moment. He stops nuzzling into Kenny’s palm, turning and pulling away a bit so that he can look into those stormy, panicked eyes.
“Uh,” Kenny blathers when he is nervous, and his nervousness only makes Kota more stunned into silence. A repeating cycle, just like so many other things with them recently. “I mean, if you beat me. And Naito fucks off. And then you’d have to beat Tana. If Tana can haul his old carcass across the finish line, that is. Although, you couldn’t beat him last year, so-”
Kenny flinches and looks even more panicked, now with a layer of guilty self loathing blanketed over the top of all the rest of his confused emotions. He opens his mouth, looking about ready to dig himself even deeper into this particular self-laid trap, so Kota spares him. He press two fingers to Kenny’s lips, shivering only slightly at the contact. Kenny’s eye widen, and then his face does That Thing and his eyes grow dark and intense, until Kota leans his head back, staring determinedly at the ceiling until all his blood stops rushing into his ears and his dick.
Now is not the time for that.
It will definitely need to be the time for that later, or else their match at Budokan will turn into something similar but very inappropriate.
“Kota, you can’t start a serious conversation with me and then send me all these goddamn mixed signals. I’m dying here. Give a man some mercy!” There is a touch of desperation in Kenny’s voice, threaded through the playful teasing.
“I am sorry. I’m doing my best to focus,” Kota winces as his voices wavers, but he plows on regardless, managing to finish his thought. “Everything is very… distracting.”
“You are always distracting.” Kenny says it like it is a immutable fact, just like he had said-
Kota frowns, deep and irritated, his earlier train of thought kicking his libido out of the conversation as quickly as it had entered. He pulls the rest of the way out from under Kenny’s touch, brushing his fingers briefly along Kenny’s forearm when his lover seems reluctant to let him go.
“You said that we would get our Dome match, like it was a sure thing.”
Kenny feigns confusion, widening his eyes and playing at cluelessness. Kota narrows his eyes and Kenny’s charade falters a bit.
“Yeah…?”
“But like you said, a lot of things have to happen in order for us to get there.”
“Uh huh,” Kenny is talking to the ground now, having dropped the coy act entirely in favor of defeated mumbling and scraping his hands down his sweaty face.
Kota lets the anger up, although honestly he feels about a step away from crying at the moment. “I couldn’t do it last year. I couldn't even beat Tana for the Intercontinental Title, like you said.”
Kenny shakes his head, trying a sardonic smile and ending up looking more resigned than anything irreverent. “Get to the point Ibu-tan. I have another set that I need to-”
“You don’t need to. You are the greatest wrestler in the world.” Kota indicates the big shiny belt, settled haphazardly in Kenny’s bag over by the door. “You beat Okada. You-”
“I’ve never beaten you.”
Kota stares at Kenny’s retreating back, mouth hanging open in shock. Kenny had uttered those words so casually.
And yet…
While Kenny had said ‘I’ve never beaten you’, what Kota knows he meant (through knowing Kenny for years and being intimately acquainted with all of the lies and half truths that Kenny tells himself) was ‘I will never beat you ’.
It makes Kota angrier than he expected.
“Don’t just walk away after dumping that bullshit on me. Are you serious?” Kota seethes, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he holds himself carefully in place, so that he can’t force Kenny into this conversation.
He is sorely tempted to do just that (to make Kenny Look At Him), but holds himself back anyway.
Kenny turns back around at Kota’s words, swiping a towel off of a nearby chair and scrubbing at his face with it, perhaps to spare himself having to look at Kota.
“I’m sorry.”
Kota softens without meaning to, huffing, a mixture of hurt confusion and annoyed fondness swamping him. It makes it hard to choke anything coherent out, but he tries his best anyway.
“Sorry for what?” Kota doesn’t know why he is pushing this. He can clearly see how this is agonizing for Kenny, and yet he trudges on like Kenny’s feelings on the subject don’t matter. “Sorry that you let that slip or sorry that you’re letting your feelings for me dictate who the winner of the match is before it’s even started?”
It’s Kenny’s turn to look offended. He throws the towel down and whirls around, looking mutinous. “What the fuck? Don’t throw that in my face, how the hell-”
Over the line. Okay.
Kota moves forward, tentative. Kenny shuts up, cuts himself off and holds himself still, just watching. Kota reaches out an tugs on Kenny’s shirt hem, not a demand but a request. Kenny slides closer, softening just as easily as Kota had, all the fight draining out of them both with simultaneous gusts of air.
“That was a mean thing to say. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” Kota breathes, leaning his head into Kenny’s space, but not resting it against Kenny’s shoulder, though he desperately wants to.
Kenny heaves a breath that seems to suck all the animosity out of the room, leaving only the grief and anticipatory dread. “I know. I didn’t mean- well. I did. I’ve never-”
“You have everything,” Kota whispers, part pride, part bitterness.
“Yes, I do,” Kenny says, grabbing Kota’s arm with a rough sort of tenderness, rubbing a thumb across the skin of Kota’s inner elbow, the motion making Kota’s stomach do moonsaults. Kota closes his eyes, because there is no way to be angry and bitter and resentful in the face of that truth, in the shelter of those adoring eyes.
Kota feels small and petty and foolish for even having these convoluted emotions about their upcoming match.
“I don’t mean to-” Kota screws up his face, trying to articulate what exactly he is feeling, “I am not as sure of myself as you are of me. And vice versa, I suppose. As usual.” Kota sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then thinks better of it and lowers his hand, sticking a finger through the belt loop of Kenny’s ugly, puke-green khakis and tugging.
Kenny moves forward a bit more enthusiastically than their tenderly slow movements so far. Kota rocks back, Kenny’s unexpected weight against him catching him off guard, but not to the floor. Which is not something he should be thinking about right now, but it's hard to think of anything else with Kenny’s hand closing around his elbow, still stroking the tender skin there and his breath so close to Kota’s face.
“I get it. It is really, really, really Complicated. You’re not the only one who feels it. I can’t stop thinking about Budokan. This one and… the last one.”
They both flinch and then protectively draw closer to each other, the reminder of the beginning of the end for them an old, patched over wound that is still tender to the touch.
“I don’t want to fight about this. I started this conversation all wrong, and now I don’t even remember what I wanted to tell you. I think I just wanted some reassurance-”
Kenny is reaching up with his free hand, going to cup Kota’s face before Kota even finishes his thought. Kota catches the hand and laces their fingers together, looking at their union and fervently wishing that this could be the only way they touched each other, every time they touch each other. Only with kindness, never with pain. Kota squeezes until his fingers strain and Kenny squeezes back, matching him, and Kota aches for simpler times, even as they lock gazes and share soft smiles.
“-but I was angry at myself for wishing you misfortune, so I kind of turned it into a fight. I should have worked through my anger at myself first, then brought it up to you. I don’t want to fight about this,” Kota repeats it, determined to show Kenny that Kota is not angry with him. Or at him.
“I don’t want to fight you, ever,” Kenny says sincerely, his voice thick with defeated despair.
Which brings that whole mess to the forefront again, and Kota searches Kenny’s anguished expression before he even bothers asking.
“Do you not want to fight me because you think you’ll win or because you think you won’t?”
Kenny’s face scrunches up in a way that makes Kota’s heart hurt, and he realizes after a moment that Kenny is about to cry. “I can’t.”
Kota shakes his head, genuinely confused, “I thought you wanted to win.”
Kenny makes a frustrated sound, and Kota feels like the worst partner in the world as Kenny swipes at the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, “I do. Of course I do. I want to win every single match that I participate in,” It sounds like a lie, like Kenny is regurgitating the things he knows he has to say, that he has to want to win. Kota almost calls him out on it, but Kenny talks over him, “That’s true. I want to win every match. That doesn’t mean that I don’t also happen to not want to win This One. But I have to,” Kenny nods to the belt, something resentful in his eyes as he looks at the adorned leather.
“Not that it really matters. I can’t beat you anyway, so yeah. Like I said, at least we get our Tokyo Dome moment,” Kenny is trying for cheerful, but only gets about halfway there. He is clearly trying to lighten the mood, but there is too much assured truth in his words, too much years old lingering self esteem issues, too much of Kota’s shadow lingering across Kenny’s skin for the words to filter through Kota’s ears in the irreverent way Kenny wants them to sound
Kota shakes his head, giving up on trying to talk Kenny out of this line of thought. Once Kenny Omega has decided that he is a failure and The Worst, there is no talking him out of it, “Greatest wrestler in the world,” Kota reminds him, despite himself. Some habits die hard, he supposes.
“Only because you left.”
Kota stiffens at the barely coherent, mumbled words. He snaps his head up and watches the horror dawn on Kenny’s face. Kota lets his arms fall without protest as Kenny lurches away, spluttering apologies.
“No, wait, fuck. That’s not- what I meant was…” Kenny runs a hand through his hair, making the sweaty strands stick up at all angles as he flushes and stumbles his way into a frazzled mess.
Kota tries to calm the hurt radiating through him at the reminder of some of their more stupid decisions, sorting through his befuddled mind to find that he is more hurt for Kenny at this moment than he is by him.
“Kenny, you had nothing to do with my injury or me getting burnt out-”
Kenny stops freaking out long enough to make a doubtful face and Kota holds up a hand to stave off any protests, “Yes, I was hurt and angry with you. But I was also burned out and tired and physically exhausted. I needed the break as much from you as I did for my own sanity, and it was only partially because you were a impossible to be around then.”
Something like relief passes through Kenny’s eyes, and Kota wonders how long Kenny has been convincing himself that he is soul determining factor in Kota’s ‘tragic fall from grace’, as Tana-sama so eloquently puts it.
Kota can’t help but roll his eyes at everyone’s melodramatics.
“Don’t patronize me. I am an adult, my decisions are my own. You did what you did and I did what I did. Not everything is about you, you absolutely ridiculous man.”
Kenny nods wordlessly, a hesitant smile playing at the corners of his lips as he scuffs the floor with his ragged sneakers. “Noted.”
Kota watches him bite off an apology and feels relief wash over him. There are only so many times one should apologize for the same things, and Kota and Kenny had apologized for pretty much existing already, so…
“Don’t you ever think about it though? What would have happened if I hadn't fucked you over?” Kenny asks, his tone abruptly harsh. Kota wants to sooth the self loathing. He can hear it in Kenny’s voice, the need for someone (Kota preferably) to drag him through the mud, let him atone for his sins against his idol and soulmate.
Kota doesn't like that tract, hates that Kenny feels that way, hates the implication that he could ever think Kota capable of doing such harm (although Kota knows that Kenny never expects it, asks because he cannot help it, not because he thinks he will get the absolution of blood that he seeks. another form of torment he heaps on himself that Kota hates) and Kota wonders if they are both struggling with the same thing, but in very different ways.
“Yes. I think that was what was bothering me, in fact. I don’t know what would have happened if you had not… done the thing that you did. I was winning, so maybe I would have… but then what would have happened when I left? I was so tired. Of everything, not just how distant we were. We were already… we were never going to just talk to each other back then,” They both flinch again, and Kenny draws cautiously closer, lacing their fingers together again, “...so I don’t know. I don’t know what would have happened, and I think that is what is most frustrating.”
Kenny nods, although he looks like he wants to apologize for the three millionth time (approximately) so Kota just pulls him in swiftly, dragging him closer with their joined hands. Kenny walks forward, his reaction when he realises that Kota wants him close over enthusiastic as usual. Kota plants his feet this time, so that when Kenny surges forward (unaware of anything other than the heat of their skin), Kota is able to stay upright. Kenny does manage to knock them back a few steps, Kota’s legs bumping into the apron.
Kota plants a hand over Kenny’s heart, trying his best to stay in the present and not get lost in the sirens call of those eyes that hold all sorts of distractions. Kenny is rubbing his thumbs into Kota’s palms, and it’s a testament to their training regime that even his hand muscles are sore.
“I guess we’re just gonna… I don’t know what to do with these fucked up feelings?” Kenny says it honestly, clearly trying to tamp down on the huskiness in his voice, coughing a few times and trying to straighten his spine so that he is not bearing down on Kota quite as much.
Kota shrugs, because honestly he actually feels better now that he got all of that out there between them and figured out why he was so upset in the first place. He feels lighter, like he unburdened himself of years worth of heartache. He doesn’t know who will win in that fateful arena, but he does know that even though it will hurt, and that they will hurt... “Just feel them. I’m not going to hold it against you.”
Something clears on Kenny’s face, like he just realized something. “I’ve been saying it constantly, like a madness mantra, but we’re going to be okay. We can do this. I love you.”
Kota smiles into the kiss that follows “Not as much as I love roman candles,” He says, just to be a brat and watch Kenny get a scandalized look on his face. Kota squeezes their hands together, brings them up to his lips.
“Nothing to do now but wait for the fall.”