Work Text:
There were a lot of things Kurita loved. He loved American football most of all, of course, he loved playing and practicing with all his new teammates and competing in real games with an actual full team for the first time in, well, ever. He loved eating, and loved most all foods, and especially loved the snacks Mamori prepared for practices and games, and most especially loved the fact that he could enjoy these snacks with his teammates. And of course he loved his teammates, every single one of them, even when some of them didn’t always want to show up to practice. There were many other things he loved too, like school (even though he wasn’t especially good at the academic side of things), and a good night’s sleep, and the way the air was really clean and still and clear in the early morning, and his parents and weight training and the new expanded clubroom and changeroom and many, many other things.
But for all the things Kurita loved, he’d never been in love .
Well, not until now. Not until, after a few years of spending almost every day in the company of one Hiruma Youichi, Kurita finally realized that he was in love with his best friend.
It was a gradual thing, really. It went from wanting to be around Hiruma because the other boy liked football as much as he did, to wanting to be around Hiruma because they were practicing football together, to wanting to be around Hiruma because they were genuinely really good friends. He came to enjoy Hiruma’s company, despite the sorta illegal things and the definitely immoral things and all of the guns, until he was at the point where he found those things to be questionable but endearing parts of Hiruma’s personality. Hiruma was an important person, one of the most important people in Kurita’s life, and he looked forwards to every day they could spend together, in class and at practice and on the weekends and at games and any time, really. Because they were friend, best friends, and teammates.
But then one day as practice wrapped up, with the sun beginning to set behind the school and the last bright rays illuminating the field, Kurita had looked up from the place he’d been sitting on the grass, drinking the last of the water from his water bottle, to see Hiruma standing in the center of the feild, smiling as he watched Monta catch a long hail-Mary pass. And Hiruma had laughed, taking off his helmet to run a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing his bangs back from his face, and Kurita had felt a strange feeling in his heart and he’d thought, out of the blue, he’s really handsome . And then he’d found himself looking up and down his friend’s body, thinking how good he looked in his football uniform, wide shoulders and thin waist and long legs and a great throwing arm. Kurita had never had these sorts of thoughts, ever, and it was weird, and confusing, and sort of nice, and his heart had stopped for a second when Hiruma had turned to look at him and smile at him, all but glowing in the late day sun.
And Kurita had thought, later that night when he was lying in bed trying to wrap his head around everything, that oh, maybe this wasn’t just friendship. Maybe it was different. Maybe it was... more?
And then a few days later, sitting in the clubroom, with Hiruma’s thin arm slung around his shoulder as the demon proudly showed the team a few more plays he’d concocted, Kurita realized that, yes, he was most definitely in love with his best friend.
Oh no. Now what?
…
It was morning practice, the dew still heavy on the grass and not yet burnt off by the rising sun. And it was one of those days, where for no reason in particular, Kurita was slightly distracted. It was annoying, it really was, the last thing he wanted was to be distracted while playing football, while practicing with the other linemen and helping them to get even stronger. The only consolation was that he was distracted by Hiruma, and of all the things to get distracted by, that was one of the best options.
He’d had a dream last night, nothing too out of the ordinary, just something along the lines of the Devil Bats competing at the Christmas Bowl. It was a dream he’d had many times before, but this time, amid fluffy white snow and the deafening cheers of the crowd as Taki of all people scored the winning touchdown, Hiruma had, with a laugh, pulled Kurita down by the front of his jersey and kissed him.
He sighed, lifting his helmet up a bit to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. He glanced across the field, his gaze naturally finding its way to Hiruma. The demon had his gun slung over his shoulder (after having emptied the magazine at Sena) and was turned to the sidelines, where Mamori was chastising him. Hiruma hand-signaled something at her, and she, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, hand-signaled back. And then Hiruma laughed, and Mamori sighed, shaking her head, and Kurita couldn’t stop his heart from hurting just a bit.
Hiruma and Mamori got along really well, despite their differences, and despite how much they antagonized each other. Kurita was happy about it, because Mamori was a great team manager and Hiruma really was a handful and so it was nice that someone had the confidence to stand up to him and keep him in check. And so Kurita felt really, really guilty that seeing them get along this well made him just a little bit jealous. He didn’t want to but... he did.
Because Suzuna (and a couple others) speculated that Hiruma and Mamori had a thing. And as much as it made absolutely no sense and didn’t seem even remotely possible, at the same time, it made perfect sense and seemed entirely probable. Hiruma was handsome and Mamori was very pretty and they were both hard-headed and multitalented and so, so smart. And Kurita, well, he wasn’t exactly... those things...
“P-practice!”
Kurita blinked, and looked down to see Komusubi standing beside him, a look of concern on the small lineman’s face.
He smiled, sliding his helmet back down. “Sorry, I was just distracted. No, nothing’s wrong, I’m just a little tired this morning. Don't worry.”
Komusubi nodded, still looking concerned, but said nothing else as they went back to practicing. The sun was high on the horizon by now, and it was late enough that there were students filtering into the schoolgrounds for other clubs that had morning activities. Practice lasted for about another hour, and by the time it ended just about everyone had noticed that Kurita was distracted. Most of all Hiruma, of course, who gleefully waved his gun around threateningly every time Kurita made a little mistake. Mamori chastised him for that, of course, and Kurita assured her it was fine, don’t worry, it’s okay, everything’s okay.
But then and Hiruma tugged him down by the front of his jersey to tell him to stop fucking up, and Kurita almost had a heart attack, and yeah, maybe everything wasn’t okay.
…
It didn’t happen often, no, it rarely ever happened, but Kurita couldn’t fall asleep.
Sure, sometimes he didn’t sleep when he was really excited or super worried about something. But he didn’t have anything like that to worry about or look forwards to, tomorrow was just another school day like any other. And everything today had been normal too, a normal day of school and practice and a nice big supper and a tiny bit of homework and a bath, but now he was lying on his back in the darkness of his room staring at the ceiling unable to drift off like he normally did.
After far too long of lying there with no change and no progress towards falling asleep, Kurita sighed, throwing off his blankets and getting up. Making his way through the silent halls, he crept into the kitchen. On the counter was a small container of cookies, which Mamori had baked for an after-practice snack and then given Kurita the extras. Picking up the container, he opened the back door to sit on the back steps, looking out at the temple’s yard.
The night’s cool air was a comfort, a breath of fresh air, and with a smile Kurita opened up the container and ate a cookie. The food was a comfort too, and he popped a second cookie into his mouth.
It wasn't that he was especially worried about anything, not any more than the usual. Maybe it was just compounding, building up day by day until here he was, a little too stressed out to sleep. A little too caught up in his own mind and thoughts and feelings.
He ate another cookie.
Hiruma was his friend. His best friend. A guy. A guy who’d never shown any interest in anybody, really, in a romantic kind of way. Or, a guy who sort of seemed to have a thing with the team’s manager. A guy who was really, really important to Kurita, and who he didn’t want to lose a relationship with. And, unrelated, a guy who was sort of a terrible person who no one in their right mind would find themselves loving with all their heart.
He ate another cookie.
He didn’t like having to worry about things like this. He didn’t like all this thinking, and speculating, and stressing. He wanted it to be easy, simple, straight-forward, just playing the game he loved with his best friend, no other considerations to take into account.
He ate another cookie.
If only he didn’t like Hiruma like this. If only he still looked at Hiruma as a friend would, and everything would be far, far easier. If only.
Ah, he’d finished the cookies.
“What are you doing?”
Kurita jumped, shaken out of his thoughts, and looking up, over his shoulder, he saw his dad standing in the doorway, a stern yet neutral look on his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s rare.” the man replied, coming over to stand beside his son, and then, after a short moment of silence, sat down. “Are you okay?”
“Huh? Oh, me? Yeah, of course I am.”
“Lately, you seemed troubled.”
Kurita couldn’t help but smile nervously. Was it obvious? “I guess.” he mumbled.
“If it’s about American Football, I can't help much, but-”
“It’s not.”
“Oh?”
He could hear the surprise in his dad’s voice, which was entirely fair, because when did he ever really pay much attention to anything besides football?
“Is it... is it about school? You know it’s okay if you don’t get the best grades.”
“I know. But it’s not that either.”
“Then what’s wrong, Ryoukan?”
He sighed, looking at his hands. He didn’t really want to talk about it. Especially not with his dad, who he always assumed was far too serious to talk about these sorts of things. But at the same time, well, he did, he did want to talk, he wanted to get it all off his chest and out of his mind and maybe, maybe sharing it with someone, anyone, would help. “I think... I think I’m in love.” he said, voice very soft.
There was a long moment of silence before his dad replied, speaking slowly, his continued surprise evident in his tone, “Well, you are in your last year of high school already, so that’s not too surprising. It’s about time that you... you had some sort of interest in... others.”
There was a sense of shakiness in his dad’s words, of unsurety and maybe a bit of embarrassment. Maybe he was just as uncomfortable talking about this sort of thing as Kurita was. Well, that made Kurita feel a little bit better about the whole thing. Maybe it would be okay.
After another moment of silence between them, his dad continued. “Who is she? Does she come to your games?”
Kurita felt his heart drop. Ah, well... “I guess, yes, technically, but...” his voice was barely audible at this point, “it’s not a she ...”
“Oh.” and then, a little slower, lower, full of realization, “ Oh .”
He didn’t want to look at his dad. Or hear what he’d say next. He wanted to run away, or hide, but he wasn't fast enough and where on earth would he hide? He could only sit there, tense, staring at his hands like they were the most interesting and important thing on the planet and dread whatever was going to happen next because he had absolutely no idea how to judge what was coming.
Kurita felt a soft pressure on his knee, and he jumped, and he tore his eyes away from his own hands to see his dad’s hand resting gently on his knee. It was just a simple little thing, a light pressure that he barely felt, but it was enough, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. It would be okay. He was sure of it. Whatever happened next, unspoken between them he knew that his dad was in some way supportive and at least not incredibly disappointed in him. And for now, well, that was more than enough.
“Is it someone on the team?”
Kurita had the feeling his dad already knew the answer to that question, and maybe even who the teammate in question was, but he replied anyways. “Yeah.” he said, “It’s...”
He knew his dad didn’t like Hiruma. He’d said it, not straight out but in a roundabout way many times. That Hiruma, he’s not a good influence, Kurita remembered him saying way back in middle school. I hope his “behavior” doesn’t rub off on you too much. And, maybe you should make some more friends, after the first time Hiruma had broken into the house in the middle of the night (and it was for a valid reason but Kurita didn’t know how to explain that to his dad). And, well, Kurita couldn’t argue against his dad, Hiruma and his dyed hair and piercings and collection of guns and general demeanor wasn't exactly the sort of person you’d want your child hanging out with. But still.
“It’s Hiruma.” he said, voice again so soft he barely even heard himself.
“Ah.”
“I’m sorry.” he found himself saying.
“Sorry? What on earth-?” His dad’s tone had changed to a different sort of surprise, “Don't apologize.”
“But... you don’t like him.”
“I know, but that doesn’t... I mean, I’m not exactly happy, but... yes, I don’t exactly think he’s a... a...” Kurita could see his dad struggling for a nice way to put it, and then eventually give up, “Well, all that matters in the end is that he makes you happy.”
“Oh. Really?”
His dad looked up at him, a rare, kind smile on his lips. “Of course. I’m your father, I... I just want you to be happy.”
Kurita could feel tears forming in his eyes, and he leaned down to envelope his dad in a crushing hug. “Thank you!” he sobbed, “I was so worried that you’d, oh, I don’t know! Disown me!”
“I would never.”
And, feeling his dad hug him back, and pat him gently on the arm, Kurita knew that it would all be okay.
Well, maybe not entirely okay. Because he still had to decide what to do with his feelings.
…
“So what’s wrong with you?”
Pausing in his set-up for practice, Kurita looked up to see Musashi walking across the field towards him, kicking tee in hand.
“And don’t say nothing,” Musashi continued, “Because I won’t believe that.”
After a moment of wondering if he should pretend he didn’t know what Musashi meant, Kurita sighed, deflating. Was it really so obvious? Did everyone know??
As if reading his mind, Musashi said, “If you let this, whatever it is, get to you anymore, other people will start to think something’s up too.”
Oh, that would be the worst. It was bad enough that he’d accidentally ended up talking with his dad about all this (even though it had been a good conversation in the end, it had still been supremely embarrassing and awkward). Maybe talking to Musashi would be fine, because it was Musashi and the kicker was a close friend and pretty reasonable, all things considered. But anyone else... he didn’t want Suzuna prying, that was for sure, she was too good at digging up drama. Or Mamori asking, because she was so nice he might accidentally end up actually telling her everything. Or, worst of all, Hiruma forcing it out of him at gunpoint.
“Stop worrying and do something about it.”
Leave it to Musashi to be blunt about the whole thing. “I know I should. But...” well, there were a multitude of buts, “I just don't know what to do.”
For a moment Musashi just looked at him, expression maddingly neutral, before bending down, scooping up a couple balls, and heading towards the goalposts. Then, calling over his shoulder, he said, “They’re just friends.”
Kurita blinked. “Eh?”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“Huh?”
“Just tell him already.”
“What?!”
Musashi smiled, “I’ve known you both for years.” he said, “I definitely know you both well enough, so trust me on this.”
And Kurita would have asked him what on earth he meant by that, but by now they were no longer the only ones on the field, and Musashi was still walking away, and Hiruma’s cackling could be heard as he strutted onto the field, a new and frighteningly large gun in hand.
...
He was the only one left after practice, everyone else being already changed and on their way home for the night. Well, except for Hiruma, who was changed but most likely in the clubroom, either thinking up new plays or planning some sort of extortion. Had Kurita purposefully gotten changed far slower than normal, and then told Komusubi he had things to do so the little lineman couldn’t stay over at his place tonight? Of course. He’d decided that, after a long time of deliberating and procrastinating and a second sort of awkward conversation with his dad, he was indeed going to tell Hiruma how he felt.
Kurita sighed as he slipped his school uniform jacket back on. Even just thinking it, that was enough to almost scare him out doing it. The emotions were coming and going like waves, a bit of resolute confidence quickly chased off by fear, then another bout of confidence drowned by an even bigger wave of apprehension. He’d been in the changeroom, alone, for about twenty minutes now, fretting over everything and getting absolutely nowhere. It was exhausting, really, a different kind of exhausting than what he felt after a grueling practice.
He sighed again, straightening his tie. Well, he’d get nowhere if he just stayed here all night, and eventually he’d have to go home and eat. Grabbing his bag, Kurita left the changeroom with as much confidence as he could muster.
Gently, he pushed the clubroom door open, and sure enough, Hiruma was in there, all alone, sitting on the counter with one long leg crossed over the other, fingers gliding over the keys of his laptop. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and a small smile spread over his lips when saw that it was Kurita in the doorway.
“I would have thought you’d have headed home for supper already, you fucking fatty.” Hiruma grinned, continuing to type all the while.
“Uh, well, I was going to, but, well, I...” oh, gods, any plan that he’d made, any coherent string of words he’d planned on saying was gone, completely gone, replaced with nerves and the threat of messing up and ruining everything and somehow accidently collapsing the cohesion of the team in the process.
Hiruma raised an eyebrow expectantly. “What?”
Nope, he couldn’t do it. Maybe some other day. “A-actually, I'm just going to go home-”
In a split second Hiruma had a gun leveled at the door and a few bullet holes appeared in the doorframe, only a few inches from Kurita’s head. “If you’ve got something to say to me, then say it.”
“O-okay.” Well, this was doing nothing to make him not feel as if he might pass out from nerves.
Hiruma gestured with his gun, and Kurita obeyed, closing the clubroom door and coming farther into the room. After a moment of standing there, awkwardly, he sat down on one of the chairs. He was only a couple feet from Hiruma, and trying desperately to avoid eye contact. The floor was suddenly extremely interesting.
Maybe he could make a run for it.
The cold, hard metal of the barrel of a gun poked him in the stomach, and looking up, Hiruma was now standing directly in front of him. Sitting like this, Kurita was just about at eye-level with the quarterback, and the intensity of those eyes were scary, like Hiruma was staring directly into his brain and reading his thoughts.
Though that wouldn’t be very useful at the moment, because there was not a single coherent thought in Kurita’s head, just a jumbled mess of panic.
“What’s wrong with you?” Hiruma asked, leaning down, very close, so that their faces couldn’t be more than a foot apart.
“Uh.”
“Spit it out. I haven’t got all day.”
There was a softness in Hiruma’s voice that wasn't usually there, a little bit of the demonic act dropped to show real concern despite the harshness of his word choice. It had been a long time since Kurita had heard that softness, and it was immensely comforting. He could feel his shoulders relax, and he sighed. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe he could do this.
“I... just wanted to tell you something.” he whispered.
“Oh?” Hiruma raised an eyebrow, looking both surprised and intrigued. “How interesting. What is it?”
“Uh.”
“Kurita...”
“I like you.”
For one long, infinitely long moment, Hiruma held his gaze, eyes cool and steady and face impressively void of emotion. Then the boy nodded, very slowly, understanding exactly what Kurita meant. “Ah.” he said, and stood up, backed up, looked away, slinging his gun over his shoulder.
Unlike Hiruma’s impassive expression, Kurita knew that he was not putting on a stoic front. His face was hot, burning, and he could feel himself sweating under his school uniform. And, for whatever reason, there were many to choose from, he could feel tears forming in his eyes. He couldn’t look at Hiruma anymore, he stared back down at the floor, at his feet, and Hiruma’s feet. He waited for Hiruma to say something, anything, or do anything, absolutely anything, the silence was the worst, and it stretched out far too long, it could have only been ten seconds but to Kurita it felt like ten minutes or even hours. But Hiruma did nothing, only shifting slightly, delicately, from the heels to the balls of his feet.
To stop the tears form falling, more than anything, Kurita looked up, timidly, up at Hiruma, who was still standing in front of him but turned almost entirely around so that Kurita could only see the back of his head and barrel of his gun and the tips of his ears, which were, surprisingly, tinged bright red.
Oh.
More curious than anything, Kurita asked. “Are you... blushing?”
Hiruma whipped around to face him, and the demon’s entire face was flushed red, all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Yeah, I am!” he reached out, poked Kurita in the chest with a long finger, “You think I wouldn’t? My best friend just confessed to me, you think I’m just going to, like, not? Just laugh it off, or not react at all, or some shit like that?”
“Yes...?” he had sort of expected that to maybe happen. Or maybe have this written down in the Threat Notebook for future blackmail materiel.
“Well you thought wrong, you fucking-! Fucking idiot!”
Like this, blushing and stuttering, Kurita was reminded that Hiruma really was a normal person deep down, not a completely evil demon like he often portrayed himself as. He couldn’t help but smile, just a bit, despite how nervous he continued to be.
“What’s that stupid fucking smile for?” Hiruma snarled.
“N-nothing! It’s just that you’re, uh... human...”
“Of course I fucking am! You idiot!” He hissed, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
Oh no. It was the worst possible outcome. Hiruma seemed angry. The tears were back, threatening to fall. “Sorry.” Kurita whispered, voice shaky, on the verge of breaking.
Hiruma glared at him, and if possible his face was even redder. “Don’t apologize!” he held his gun upright, cocking it menacingly, “Don’t fucking apologize! What are you apologizing for?!”
“Um... for confessing to you. When... when you obviously don’t like the thought of...” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “this.”
“I never said that!”
“Said what?”
“Never said I didn’t like...this.”
The clubroom fell silent, still, neither boy moving for a long, tense moment. Kurita didn’t know what to say, or what to do, or what Hiruma really meant. Was everything okay? Was it not? What did that mean? What was happening? His brain couldn’t process it well enough, especially not when he was this tense and emotional and stressed and Hiruma was standing so close and looking incredibly... cute with that blush. So, he asked, tentatively, “What?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Huh?”
“Get it through your thick skull.” Hiruma reached out, once again poking Kurita in the chest, “I like you too.”
Oh. Oh. Ohhhhh . Kurita could feel the tears that had been forming finally fall, down his cheeks to soak into the collar of his uniform. “R-really?”
“Yes. Really. God, don’t cry, you fucking...” Hiruma sighed. “Don’t fucking cry.”
“I’m sorry, I'm just... just so happy!” Kurita sobbed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I was so worried! I thought...I just... I never would have thought...!”
A small smile made its way to Hiruma’s lips. “Yeah, of course you wouldn’t have. You’re an idiot, after all.”
“But then why... why were you, why are you all... all this? All angry, and flustered?”
Hiruma frowned, more of a pout than anything else. “I never expect you to just come out and say you liked me too. I was unprepared. Really unprepared.” he looked away, seeming at least a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t now know to react.”
Well, Kurita was sure that he too would have had no plan on how to react to being confessed to by his best friend. He probably would have just tried to run away.
“But anyways.” Hiruma smiled, demeanor changing completely as he tossed his gun to the side. He nudged Kurita’s knees apart with his foot and stepped forwards, slotting himself between larger’s legs so that they were just about chest to chest.
This close, Kurita was sure Hiruma could feel his heart beating like crazy, hard and fast and threatening to burst out of his chest.
“Now that you built up to courage to fucking say something.” Hiruma leaned in, so close, close enough that their lips touched, and he kissed Kurita.
It was, well, Kurita didn’t have anything to really compare this too because this was most definitely his first kiss and he didn’t know what it was supposed to be like or feel like or any of that. But Hiruma’s lips were soft, if slightly chapped, and he tasted of sugarless gun, and Kurita could feel his heart soar and all that worry melt away and he hadn’t ever felt weightless but maybe this was what that felt like.
After a long, slow, perfect moment Hiruma pulled back, smiling ear to ear. “Heh. I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
Years? “You... you should have said something.” Kurita breathed , a little overwhelmed by the kiss and that little bit of information.
“I wasn't going to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because when have you ever cared about anything besides football?”
Well, that was fair enough. And he’d felt the same way about Hiruma, because when had the quarterback of the Devil Bats ever shown any interest in anything besides football (or extortion or guns or money or power or fun)?
“Whatever.” Hiruma continued, “That doesn’t matter anymore.” he grabbed Kurita’s tie, pulling him forwards, “Shut up and kiss me again.”
And Kurita did, of course he did, reaching out tentatively to place his hands on Hiruma’s hips, holding him close. Hiruma hummed appreciatively, encouragingly, as he wrapped his thin arms around Kurita’s neck, leaning into the kiss, resting almost all of his body weight against the larger. Weight that Kurita could easily take, all but lifting Hiruma off the ground, their bodies flush. Kurita could swear he could feel Hiruma’s heartbeat, just as fast as his own. He tightened his grip, wrapping his arms around Hiruma’s waist and hugging him.
Everything was going to be okay.
Hiruma chuckled into the kiss, and then bit down on Kurita’s bottom lip, just hard enough to be a surprise and leave tiny pointy-teeth marks but not hard enough to hurt. “Alright, now go home already.” he said, pulling back from the kiss, back from the embrace, “It’s late as hell and I have things to do.”
Would Kurita have loved to stay here longer, maybe spend all night with Hiruma in the clubroom? No, not like that! He certainly wasn’t mentally prepared for anything like that. No, just be together, just the two of them, and talk, and maybe kiss a bit more because he could definitely do that again.
But they could take things slow. It had taken them years to get to this point, a little longer wouldn’t hurt anybody.
He stood up, pushed the chair back where it belonged, and headed out.
“Hey.”
Hand on the doorknob, Kurita looked over his shoulder. Hiruma was once again sitting on the counter with his laptop, one leg crossed over the other. “Yeah?”
“Tomorrow after practice, I’m going to be doing some recon. You should come.”
“Recon? On who? Where?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh. Okay.” And, after a beat of silence. “I’ll come.”
Hiruma smiled, and said, “It’s a date.” and it took Kurita until he was halfway home to realize that yeah, it really was.
...
The next day, after practice, they took the train downtown. It rained a little bit, but that was okay, and while walking around Hiruma pulled Kurita into a fancy little pastry shop and actually paid for the snacks instead of threatening the owner (though Kurita had the feeling he didn’t want to know where the money had come from). And Kurita had no idea what sort of recon Hiruma was doing, or if maybe that wasn’t really the point of this little trip, but it didn’t matter, because on the train ride back, while talking about the upcoming game, Hiruma leaned up against him, head on his shoulder, and held his hand, and everything was perfect.