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Him and Ryuusei were an imperfect match.
It was a realization that Kuon came to easily; at one point it could have been called an epiphany but now it was simply a reminder that lulled on in the back of his mind, acting like more of a dull headache than anything.
Him and Ryuusei were not meant to be together.
They were not made to be together, every quirk of Ryuusei seeming to clash directly with Kuons’ own. He was loud and boisterous, which Kuon might have found incredibly attractive and endearing in his teenage years (see: his ex-boyfriend Raichi) but now, with a fair amount of retrospect Kuon decided that overconfident assholes were not his type and Ryuusei was just that. He was overconfident (though it was sort of justified being that he was a J1 league striker but still—modesty never hurt anyone), immature, and rude; if Kuon tried to describe him any more he would end up stringing together a string of curses for lack of a better term.
Ryuusei was just the fucking worst and shit he was running his hands through his hair—
“You know, Wataru,” Ryuusei whispered, his lips slightly touching his ear “If you find me irritating you sure have a funny way of showing it—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kuon said breathlessly, pulling Ryuusei down with one arm (the other was busy making sure that Kuon didnt slip and fall off of his fucking desk because Ryuusei was hellbent on ruining everything in Kuon life—his paperwork included), “ Please stop talking.”
“Got it.”
Kuon wasn't sure how he got in this position. Well actually, he was—Ryuusei walked in, Kuon rolled his eyes, Ryuusei complained about his position in the formation for the upcoming game, Kuon rolled his eyes again, and then they were making out. Still, Kuon allowed himself to believe that he had absolutely no part in the incredibly compromising scenario that he was participating in. He allowed himself to believe that he simply slipped and fell into Ryuusei’s arms (ignoring the fact that he was already sitting when Ryuusei walked in, making it impossible for him to slip and fall anywhere but semantics) because the truth was much more bitter.
It was whatever. Kuon was thinking too much about it when all he really needed to do was sit back and enjoy the moment that him and Ryuusei were having, whatever that moment was because at least, for all the negative traits that Ryuusei held, he was at least a half decent kisser.
“You have to go,” Kuon sighed, breaking apart from Ryuusei and glancing at the time on his monitor, “Practice starts in 20. And I have a meeting.”
Kuon shuddered thinking about spending two whole hours talking about the team's budget and uniforms with Reo Mikage and the Peanut Gallery. It was dreadful, and Kuon honestly had no incentive to leave but he enjoyed his job (despite putting it on the line every single time he looked in Ryuusei’s direction) so he had to draw the line in the sand somewhere.
“Five more minutes,” Ryuusei hummed against Kuon’s neck, kissing his way down to his collar. Kuon felt a shiver go down his spine, his mind and his better judgment slowly starting to fog.
Kuon shook his head.
It was always like this.
It started the same and it ended the same too. Stolen glances from across the locker room, quick witted quips at the others expense, slight brushes of fingertips when passing; it was a game with no winners or losers. He never took time to dwell or expound on it—that's just the way it was with them and as long as Kuon gave Ryuusei the thrill that he longed for that would be how things stayed between them.
He was replaceable.
At some points he was delusional enough to think he wasn't— fallacious enough to think that every kiss had some sort of meaning to it, some hidden emotion that wasn't there the last time—but he never allowed himself to exist in that fantasy for too long. Ryuusei was bored. Kuon was willing.
There was no future, no expectation of Ryuusei to suddenly confess his feelings for Kuon and tell Reo Mikage and every single chairman above them to fuck themselves cause they were in love because he simply was not and he would never be.
“Hmph,” Ryuusei pouted, combing through Kuon’s hair with his fingers, “Your hair looks horrible though. You should probably brush it first.”
“Yeah, that's your fault. No one told you that you had to touch it all the time,” Kuon scoffed, patting his head, “Ugh—you’re the worst. How do I look now?”
Kuon looked up at Ryuusei, waiting for an answer.
“You look beautiful,” Ryuusei smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair out of Kuon’s face.
Kuon shook his head, walking past Ryuusei.
“You’re so full of shit.”