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Kuroo never expected to win Nationals.
Nekoma wasn’t anywhere close to being one of the strongest teams at the Interhigh tournament. Sure, they had improved greatly over the past three years he spent on the team. Managing to get to the third round was amazing in itself, and it’s not like Karasuno greatly overpowered them. Each team fought hard until the very end; it just so happened that fate was not on their side. Even if Nekoma had beaten Karasuno, Kuroo knew they would have lost eventually. He just wished it didn’t happen so soon.
The soft click of Kenma shutting his bedroom door snapped Kuroo out of his thoughts.
“My mom offered to buy us takeout,” Kenma said, moving to sit beside Kuroo. “I told her you wanted grilled mackerel.”
Kuroo smiled, wrapping one arm around the younger. He felt Kenma lean into the touch, resting his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. “You’re the best,” Kuroo sighed after a moment of silence.
“You would’ve asked for it anyways,” Kenma shrugged.
“You know what I mean,” Kuroo said. The blonde hummed in acknowledgement.
After Karasuno’s loss to Kamomedai, Kenma had invited Kuroo to spend the night. They had a habit of going over to each other’s houses when they were upset, and this habit only increased as the two got closer. Though Kuroo had managed to stay composed in front of his teammates, Kenma made the request regardless. Despite his inner turmoil, the notion brought warmth to Kuroo’s heart- a warmth that always seemed to be present when they were together.
“Do you wanna play a game with me?” Kenma asked, craning his neck to meet Kuroo’s eyes.
“As long as I get to win,” Kuroo joked, though the words instantly brought a pang to his chest.
Kenma’s nose scrunched. He shifted out of Kuroo’s embrace and went to his shelf, shuffling through the expansive collection of games. Kenma pulled out a disk and inserted it into the Wii, grabbing two controllers before heading back to his spot.
“Mario Party 9? Really?” Kuroo asked, eyeing the logo on the homescreen.
“It’s the only thing you have a chance at,” Kenma smirked, “But that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.”
“Oh it’s on, Pudding Head,” Kuroo laughed, selecting Luigi as his character.
The two played for a good thirty minutes, only stopping when Kenma’s mother returned with their dinner. They ended up tying, both winning three minigames each.
“You definitely cheated on that last round,” Kuroo groaned as they walked to the kitchen. Kenma just rolled his eyes.
“And whenever you won, you weren’t?” He asked, sliding his legs under the kotatsu.
“Of course not!” Kuroo huffed, pressing one hand to his chest. “I am a man of honor, unlike someone else here.”
“Shut up and eat your mackerel,” Kenma said with no real bite to his words. Kuroo laughed, following the younger’s instructions.
After a meal filled with half-hearted bickering, the pair returned to Kenma’s room. Kuroo plopped on the bed with a sigh, head half-resting on a pillow. He closed his eyes, exhaustion from the match finally setting in.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Kenma said, hovering beside the bed. Kuroo felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted was to be alone, as silence would only invite negative thoughts back into his mind.
As if sensing his hesitation, Kenma added, “I’ll try to hurry. You can take one in the morning if things are too much.”
“Take all the time you need,” Kuroo replied, though his heart wasn’t in the statement. Suddenly, he felt the light touch of lips on his forehead. Kuroo peeled his eyes open; a soft, golden gaze meeting his.
“You’re not alone, Kuro,” Kenma mumbled, giving his lips a quick peck before leaving the room completely.
Kuroo’s eyes closed once again, mind drifting off to a replay of the match. There were so many moments that could have gone better, if only he had tried a little harder. Got to a spike one second faster, read the movements of his opponents more accurately, not called for a toss all the times he did- all of those could have led to their win. Kuroo thought he gave it his all, but if that were the case he should have won. All those small victories at training camps and practice matches meant nothing now. Kuroo felt like a failure. He was a pitiful excuse for a captain. His teammates trusted him to lead them to victory, to fight through every match and come out on top, yet he let all of them down.
Kuroo barely registered Kenma’s return to the room. A distant part of him heard the door open and close, but his senses were preoccupied with the weight of self-loathing.
Suddenly, Kuroo felt the warmth of another body sliding into bed beside him. He wanted to react, but he felt too drained to do any more than look at the ceiling. Upon doing so, Kuroo felt a dull sting. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill out.
Kenma’s arms slowly wrapped around Kuroo, pulling the older male close.
“It’s okay, Kuro,” Kenma whispered. “I’m here. You can let it all out.”
A sob racked Kuroo’s body. He buried his face into Kenma’s chest, fists clenching the thin material of his t-shirt. Warm tears flooded down his cheeks, dampening the fabric underneath.
Kenma slipped his right hand over Kuroo’s. His fingers curled into the side of Kuroo’s hand, drawing slow circles on his palm. It was a simple gesture, but it gave Kuroo the ability to steady his breaths, the gentle movements coaxing him back to reality.
“I’m so sorry,” Kuroo whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to speak. “We could have won. There’s so much I could have done differently, but I didn’t. I needed to try harder, but I couldn’t, and now-”
Kuroo was cut off by another wave of tears. He felt Kenma’s hand slowly unwind his own, sliding their fingers together. Kuroo gave him a soft, appreciative squeeze.
“You did amazing, Kuro,” Kenma reassured, caressing Kuroo’s thumb with his own. “You did so well.”
“You don’t understand,” Kuroo mumbled, his head turning to face their interlaced hands. “This was my last match at Nekoma. I won’t be able to play with any of you ever again. I may not even make my university team. God, this could have been my last match ever, and I blew it. I should have done so much more for you, for everyone.”
“Kuro, look at me.”
Kenma adjusted his position so that the two were eye-to-eye, faces mere centimeters apart. Kuroo flicked his gaze to Kenma, eyes trailing over his concerned features.
“I meant what I said. You aren’t a failure. If anything, it’s my fault we lost.”
“Don’t say that,” Kuroo said. “We all got our sweat on it. You didn’t choose to let it fall.”
“Now you know how I feel,” Kenma replied, drawing a weak laugh from Kuroo. The younger male smiled faintly. He pulled himself closer into Kuroo’s body. They were now chest-to-chest, legs intertwined and foreheads touching.
“Sure, we didn’t win,” Kenma continued, “but that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with losing sometimes.”
“Doesn’t mean I wanted to,” Kuroo said, his body starting to tremble. He opened his mouth to continue, but choked up before he could utter a single word. Another stream of tears fell down his face, landing on the pillow beneath them.
“I wish I could stand on the court forever.”
The words were barely audible, but to the two of them, it felt like a scream. A loud, desperate cry for an answer that could never come.
Kuroo’s eyes closed in shame. He gripped Kenma’s hand as if it were his lifeline, face stinging as tears trickled onto the pillow underneath. A soft palm suddenly caressed Kuroo’s cheek, thumb tracing his under-eyes, removing the tears that had gathered there. Kuroo relaxed into the touch, a shaky sigh escaping from his chest.
A warm pair of lips pressed against Kuroo’s forehead. They pulled away after a short moment, though they connected with his skin once more, finding their place on Kuroo’s nose. The pattern continued until every part of Kuroo’s face had been touched by Kenma’s affection. When the younger tried to back away, Kuroo’s eyes opened once again. They instantly met with Kenma’s, the latter’s gaze filled with nothing but love.
A smile formed on Kuroo’s face. His free hand moved to cup Kenma’s cheek, pulling the younger even closer than before. The corners of his lips upturned slightly, light pink dusting his cheeks. Kuroo’s breath hitched.
“Beautiful,” Kuroo whispered, his thumb tracing the outline of Kenma’s lips.
“Just kiss me already,” Kenma mumbled.
Kuroo didn’t have to be told twice.
He closed the distance between them, their lips slotting together perfectly. Kenma immediately kissed back, squeezing Kuroo’s hand gently. Their mouths moved slowly and in sync, the remainder of their pent-up emotions flowing into each other through the contact. Kuroo’s hand slipped into Kenma’s hair, prompting Kenma to pull their faces closer. At some point Kuroo’s tongue ran over Kenma’s lips. The younger male accepted his request, inviting his lover to deepen the kiss even more.
Though the scene may appear to be a simple moment of intimacy, to the two of them it meant so much more. The kiss was a confession of sorts; the slow, gentle contact revealing all they want to say. Apologies and forgiveness, fear and reassurance, bitterness and love; all conveyed without the need for a single word.
After several moments, the pair broke the kiss, returning to their earlier position. Their foreheads leaned against each other, limbs intertwined and hands interlaced. Kuroo’s tears had finally ceased, replaced by a soft smile that only revealed itself during moments like this.
“Thank you for everything, Kenma,” Kuroo said, squeezing his hand lightly. “I love you so much.”
Kenma pressed a soft kiss to his lips once more in response. He nuzzled his face in the crook of Kuroo’s neck, positioning himself comfortably in his embrace.
“I love you too,” Kenma whispered. “You did so well.”
A peaceful silence surrounded them, accompanied only by the faint sounds of breathing. As the pair slowly drifted off to sleep, Kuroo found himself realizing how much lighter his heart felt. His tears had dried completely, the dull sting in his eyes the only indicator they had ever been present.
Kuroo never expected to win Nationals. But with Kenma in his arms, sleeping soundly against his chest, part of him feels like he’d won first prize after all.
