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“What are you doing this late?” Yukio stands at the threshold, gaze cold even though he feels like dropping to his knees and crying. He squeezes the jacket in his hand intensely, hoping it would make the emotions fade away.
The blond doesn’t reply, instead he shoots another three pointer. Form perfect and swift except the injured leg, yet lacking the boy’s usual enthusiasm. The ball goes in, the loud noise echoes in the empty court.
Ryouta looks at his face. Eyes a bright amber, he watches the upperclassman. “The same could be asked to you.”
“I’m the captain,” Yukio growls. He tries hard to maintain his “violent upperclassman” status, although scolding the first year feels heavier than ever on his chest. “Of course I am going to stay until late. Unlike you, I had actual things to do.” Ryouta’s brows raise. Yukio suddenly feels like the boy knows that he, the very leader of Kaijou, watches the last Seirin match all over again. Over and over again, thinking of how different it could go, what would have happened if he passed to Yoshitaka instead, what would have happened if Hyuuga missed that shot. If that boy Kagami hadn’t been such a monster. Most of all, if he had been a better captain. “You are only making your injury worse. You are still the ace. Take better care of yourself.” He continues.
Ryouta scoffs. “Nonsense. I have to practice if I want to win.” Yukio clearly hears the rest of the sentence even though the blond doesn’t word it. To win against Kagami. To win against Aomine.
“You still have time. Two long years ahead of you.” The captain walks closer to his underclassman. His fists shake. He quickly stuffs them in his pockets, afraid that the other will notice.
“And you have none.” Ryouta’s voice gets louder and louder. Yukio sees pain so evidently in his beautiful face, the faded shine of his eyes, well-shaped brows in a frown, twitching. “You don’t even have one year ahead of you. We lost. It was your last and we lost. I don’t care about how much time I have. You don’t have any,” His distraught expression is gradually replaced with a crestfallen one. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can still attend practice like it’s nothing.” Ryouta glances at him, eyes all watery.
Yukio stays silent for a while. “You really are a dumbass. Do you think I don’t care?” Without thinking much, he grabs the first year’s white t-shirt, soaked after hours of training. “Do you think I have come to terms with defeat? Are you really that dumb?” Ryouta unbinds his lips as if to speak, yet not a single sound comes out. “You have no idea what it means to be the captain.” He pulls the boy closer, tugging at his collar. He hears the blond gulp, hesitant. “The whole team is down. Everyone is trying to gather up the broken pieces. You are not the only one devastated. You are merely a stranger to defeat, that’s why. Don’t talk so highly as if you have an idea. Our pain, as the third years, is much more heavy. You said it yourself. We don’t have anything ahead of us. That’s why it hurts even more.”
Out of nowhere, Ryouta starts sobbing. Stiff shoulders rise up and fall down, rhythmically. He presses his forehead on Yukio’s shoulder, a daring act considering the older boy’s temper.
The two stay like that for a while, until Yukio doesn’t know how long it’s been. Thirty seconds? Two minutes? He strokes the back of Ryouta’s neck, short, blond strands of hair tickling his palm. “I know the pain,” His voice comes out soft and quiet, as if Ryouta is a fawn and Yukio is trying to approach him without being scary. “I do. Don’t cry.”
His words don’t help, the crying intensifies, Ryouta wraps his arms around the captain’s shoulder. Yukio feels overwhelmed, their difference in size a little too big to ignore. “I told you not to cry,” He says, his eyes slowly tearing up, chest burning. “Please don’t cry.” He feels like he’s talking to himself. He eventually gives in to the aching of his eyes, tears streaming down, hands unable to reach his face to wipe off. He hugs Ryouta back, seeking the comfort and warmth.
“I’m sorry,” Ryouta speaks as he pulls himself away. “I ruined your shirt.” He looks down, eyes red and swollen.
“I might have ruined yours too.” Yukio responds. “It’s okay.”
The ace smiles for the first time in a while, eyes slowly regaining their original sparkle. “I can’t believe you’re not kicking me right now.” His tone is almost mischievous.
Yukio goes red, frowns “Soon.” Ryouta smiles even wider. “Not now though.” He starts walking towards the locker room, pulls the other along with him. The first year clings to him, plants a kiss on his cheek. All he gets in return is a pause and a hum afterwards. And the hint of a smile, unnoticeable, but apparent to the blond.