Chapter Text
Winter Cup, January, the Generation of Miracle’s Third Year of High School
Akashi drew in a deep breath. And again. And again. He did not allow his breath to get faster, sharper, shallower, because he was an Akashi. Akashi’s did not fail, and they certainly did not get nervous.
Except . . .
None of the rules ever applied when it came to Kuroko.
Ever since his first year of high school, ever since Kuroko had defeated him (perhaps even saved Akashi from himself), he had always subconsciously thought of Kuroko as the one exception to all rules. Kuroko was the person who had taught him he could lose, and yet Kuroko was also the person who had believed in him even when he lost his way. Part of the reason he fell in love with Kuroko was Kuroko’s unwavering faith in him, of course.
After all this time, it was their third year of high school. Tomorrow would be the day of the final match of the final Winter Cup of his entire high school career.
The dates of each match shifted each year and so did the players. The final match even fell on the anniversary of last year’s Winter Cup semi-final. He could remember the day of the semi-final like it was yesterday, mostly because it was the day he had told Kuroko that he loved him and asked Kuroko to date him. The day Kuroko had said yes . . .
~
Winter Cup, January, Second Year
“Wow!” Hayama exclaimed. “I really thought Seirin might win for a second there!” He was bouncing in his seat with excitement as the players down on the court bowed towards each other. But Akashi couldn’t look away from the court, even as the rest of his team chattered around him about the match and their opponents in the final: Kaijo.
It had only been a year, Akashi mused, and yet the world has changed so much from first year. Last year, he hadn’t even gone to Kuroko’s games against Touou, Senshinkan, and Meisei during the the Tokyo Championship League during the Interhigh.
That meant that, oddly enough, now was the first time in a long time that he had actually seen Kuroko lose in an official game. He lost all the time when playing pick-up games with his Teiko ex-teammates or practice games against Seirin, but Seirin's determination and skill really was something to see in official games.
When Akashi and Kuroko had played with Teiko, of course, they had always won. And Seirin had won the Winter Cup last year. Although Kagami had left for America earlier this year, it was only after he and Kuroko had led Seirin to an Interhigh victory over Touou. It was still sometimes strange to think about Kuroko as the one who was victorious over all of their friends (even if only through sheer determination).
Kuroko had always been so determined to show him and the others that passion and fun and not victory and loss were what mattered in basketball.
But despite his attitude (or because of his attitude), Kuroko had been the victor more often than not recently. “It was pretty crazy how Junpei-chan and the rest of Seirin put up such a fight against Kaijo, even without Kagami,” Mibuchi enthused. The weird back-and-forth Hyuuga and Mibuchi had of despising and admiring each other in equal measure baffled most of their teammates, but Akashi could understand disliking and yet still admiring the person who had been your downfall.
Losses were always difficult to deal with. Winning did not mean nearly as much to Kuroko as having fun while winning did. But a loss would still hurt him. And this loss in particular clearly reminded Kuroko of Kagami’s absence. Akashi could see it in Kuroko’s face, even from far up in the stands, that the doubts that plagued Kuroko were re-emerging from the darkness—that he was wondering if he was good enough without his light, and if, despite all his effort, being a shadow meant not being enough.
Seeing that look on Kuroko’s face made Akashi think of all the times when Akashi had felt something similar after his own losses. Losing to Aomine in the Interhigh had hurt in a very different way than losing to Kuroko in the Winter Cup. But getting to play with his team at Rakuzan and his Teiko ex-teammates again always reminded him of the fact that his strength actually came from helping them and all of his new friends play better and grow.
He had even learned that it didn’t matter if he felt that he was weak for losing. Because they were the ones who made him strong—and, in turn, he made them strong. Perhaps he was slightly like Kuroko in that way . . .
However, he remembered feeling the worst, the deepest, the most, late at night in his lonely dorm room. (His other self hadn’t wanted to share space, and Rakuzan had accommodated the Akashi heir’s demands.) And he remembered how, in a moment of clarity and confusion, he had called Kuroko. He felt troubled by his own weakness, his want to reach out, even as the phone rung. But when Kuroko picked up the phone, despite how late it was, he found himself not talking about his worries with Kuroko but simply talking to him as if they were back at Teiko. The two of them just chatted about their teams, their friends, their lives, and their classes. And Kuroko never pressed on why these calls so often happened late at night.
It was the first time he had reached out to someone else when he felt . . . uncertain. But in a way, it almost felt natural to do so. If last year had proven anything, it was that Kuroko was his equal in basketball. Somehow, Kuroko had even become a different kind of equal, a different kind of exception: someone he had let slip through his sky-high walls before he had even realized it had happened.
Maybe (probably) it was even better now than it had ever been at Teiko, if only because they were now on equal footing. Eventually, he ended up calling Kuroko during the moments when Akashi wasn’t busy, just to talk. And then one day, Kuroko had called him first instead. Their calls became more and more common, a daily fixture that happened far more often than just when Akashi was distressed.
Those first calls, though, were the ones he treasured the most. They were the ones where Kuroko had wordlessly comforted him, without ever knowing that was what he was doing for Akashi. Or maybe he did know—Kuroko was perceptive like that.
Most importantly, though, he recognized that look on Kuroko’s face from his own face in those moments he had doubted himself. Remembering how much Kuroko had done to help him, he couldn’t help but feel the instinctive urge to do the same for Kuroko. But . . . there was where Akashi faltered. Aside from his intelligence, Akashi had always considered his best trait to be his confidence. And yet now when it suddenly disappeared on him, he found himself at a loss for what to do. Would he be able to help Kuroko? He was unsure. He wasn’t good at dealing with emotions even now. Should he help Kuroko? Was it his place to do so? He wasn’t confident of the answer . . .
But no, that didn’t matter. Kuroko was his friend and his rival despite the distance between their schools and homes. And Kuroko had taught him that even if he may fail, he must always try. His confidence returned after a mere heartbeat of indecision.
He rose to his feet calmly, grabbing his jacket from his seat and draping it over his shoulders. Mibuchi raised an eyebrow at him in slight confusion. “Sei-chan? Are we going to talk strategy already?”
“No, relax for now. I will return later, and we will go over how we will defeat Kaijo in greater detail. I simply have someone to meet.” A look of surprise passed over Mibuchi’s face at these words. Akashi had been more empathetic towards his team since his return to himself last year and especially after his other self had permanently left during the Vorpal Swords vs. Jabberwock game. But that did not mean he was any less precise or exacting about training and strategy. Those things usually came above all else.
“I see,” Mibuchi mused, glancing back down at the court and wondering if maybe he meant to talk to one of his old teammates. Perhaps he wanted to trash talk—Akashi’s version of trash talking, anyway—Kise? “Good luck with your meeting!” He waved brightly, before turning to indignantly snap at Nebuya for choosing to burp loudly in his ear. Nebuya just ignored him with the ease of practice, turning back to Hayama.
Akashi felt his lips tilt up as he surveyed his team. Mayuzumi was gone and graduated (Akashi kept in contact with his senpai, much to Mayuzumi’s displeasure at his “intrusions”), but he still had his Kings. And he certainly no longer felt the need to try and replace Kuroko, now that he had Kuroko’s friendship back.
They were all friends now, just as much as they were teammates.
~
Reaching the bottom of the stairs and ducking into the area where the locker rooms were, Akashi could hear the sounds of celebration echoing from where he assumed Kise’s team was changing. Heading down the quieter-sounding hallway, he soon spotted a few of Seirin’s team members waiting outside a locker room. They were much quieter than the rowdy bunch they usually were, but that was to be expected. Noticing the lack of loud yapping, he wondered where Nigou was. Or rather, which spectator had been tricked into sneaking Nigou into the stadium this year by Kuroko.
In the noiseless hallway, the sound of his approach was obvious. Without Kagami there and given Kuroko’s invisibility, Akashi supposed that his oddly bright hair did rather stick out even more than it once did around them. (His typical overwhelming aura and bright white uniform probably contributed as well.)
“Hello Akashi-kun,” their coach, Aida, greeted him. Out of their team, he was probably the most familiar with Aida (besides Kuroko himself) as he had coordinated with her when they were organizing joint training camps and practice matches in the past. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?” She was clearly trying to remain cheerful but wasn’t succeeding very well.
“I was actually looking for Kuroko, if you know where he is?” The eyes of Seirin’s captain, Hyuuga, narrowed at him suspiciously. He supposed that, given his behavior the prior year, Hyuuga's suspicion was deserved. Akashi thought that he’d developed decent enough relationships with his ex-teammates’ teams this past year, but memories of the past still lingered, especially after a loss like this. The way that Furihata was clearly still wary of Akashi now spoke to that. Akashi was just glad Furihata no longer shook when standing near him, even if the shaking occasionally returned after experiencing his ankle breaks in a game.
“Why are you asking?” Hyuuga questioned.
“I merely wanted to remind one of my greatest rivals that I expect to face him again in the finals next year,” Akashi let his gaze pass over the rest of the team, causing most of them to stiffen and glare back at him. They were likely expecting to be dismissed as a hindrance or talked down to, still distraught and oversensitive over their loss, so Akashi could forgive their anger. Returning his gaze to Hyuuga, he smiled lightly. “That goes for all of your team, actually.”
A slight intake of breath could be heard from among them. He wasn’t sure who had gasped, but that didn’t truly matter; what mattered was the fire returning to Seirin’s eyes, even as he watched. His gaze returned to Aida. She was grinning fiercely. “Just you wait, Akashi-kun! We’re going to knock your socks off!”
Akashi couldn’t stop a slight laugh from escaping. The tension that had appeared with his arrival started to dissipate at the reminder that he was their rival, but not their enemy. “Kuroko wandered off down that way to take a moment for himself,” Hyuuga explained, jerking his thumb down the hallway.
“I see,” Akashi murmured, moving to continue on and search him out.
“And Akashi-kun?” Aida called out to him after he had passed the team. He turned back to arch an eyebrow at her. “Do me a favor? Remind him that we’re proud of him.” Enthusiastic exclamations of agreement rose from the rest of Seirin. Akashi’s smile returned, slightly brighter this time.
“Of course.” He inclined his head and strode away.
~
The sound was so slight that Akashi wasn’t sure he’d heard it at first. But as he slowed down, he heard it again to his right. Faced with a nondescript door that probably led to yet another darkened locker room in a hallway full of the exact same thing, but also relatively certain that Kuroko was in there, he almost hesitated again.
But Akashi’s didn’t hesitate, so he soldiered on, pushing the door open with a gentle hand.
As the light from the hallway sliced through the room, it fell upon Kuroko. He sat on the floor against the far side of the lockers. His knees were tucked into his chest, his arms crossed over his knees, and his head in his arms. The only way Akashi could tell that the tiny sob he had heard moments before came from the boy in front of him was the way his body still shook, minusculely. He stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut and leaving them both in the darkness.
He made his way across the room, stopping before he reached Kuroko to pull his jacket off and drop it on one of the locker room’s benches. Carefully and quietly, he sat down next to Kuroko. Only an inch from touching him (an inch that somehow felt unsurpassable), the phantom’s heat felt like an inferno in the darkness. As Akashi's eyes adjusted to being in the shadows, he could see Kuroko’s head lift and his blank eyes gaze up at Akashi. If he was shocked to see Akashi here, he certainly didn’t voice any surprise or even seem startled.
But if the lights had been on, Akashi was sure that (as implacable as Kuroko so often seemed) Kuroko’s eyes would have been red-rimmed. If the lights had been on, he likely wouldn’t have exposed his eyes to Akashi so easily, if at all. But it was easier to reveal such a weakness in the dark.
“Do you remember when I first called you after my loss?” Akashi started, conversationally.
Kuroko’s voice was slightly hoarse, but nevertheless he answered, “Of course, Akashi-kun.”
“I was never sure if you figured this out or not—but the first few times I called you, I was calling when I felt . . . distressed about my loss.” Kuroko’s head jerked slightly, though Akashi wasn’t sure if his surprise was due to the idea of Akashi being distressed or the fact that Akashi had actually admitted this weakness aloud. Perhaps Akashi was feeling braver in the dark too. “Talking to you helped me greatly. If you ever have need of something like that, you need only call.”
Kuroko lowered his head back to his arms, staying silent. Akashi stayed seated beside him, unsure if he should (if he could) offer more than that, but willing to try.
After a few more moments, Kuroko’s quiet voice spoke up again. He seemed far louder than he usually did in the dark and quiet room. “The third years are going to retire soon. This was their last game.” Akashi was certain there was more Kuroko wanted to say so he kept quiet, waiting patiently. “So they told us who they wanted to be the next captain.” Akashi couldn’t have held in the slight intake of breath, almost a gasp, even if he had tried. He could clearly see where this was going. “Me.”
He had been Kuroko’s teammate, rival, and captain for years. And yet somehow, despite his other self’s claims of being absolute, he had never imagined that he and Kuroko would meet on the basketball court as rival captains.
“They said that I was the calmest under pressure, had the most experience on the court, and had a good grasp of our strategy and other teams’ strategies too. They said that they trusted that the team would be in good hands with me. The others all agreed.”
As Kuroko spoke, it made more and more sense to Akashi. It had clicked the moment Kuroko said it. Who else on the team had Kuroko’s calmness, experience, and passion? And these words just solidified the idea.
Kuroko drew in a shuddering breath, one that was at odds with the detached voice he was using to describe his senpai’s words. “But . . . it should have been . . .”
Oh, of course. Kuroko was feeling Kagami’s absence more acutely than ever due to the recent loss. Kuroko’s own anxieties were loud monsters that anyone would find it difficult to conquer. And his teammates at Teiko, Akashi among them (to his shame), had told Kuroko for years that he was insufficient on his own. That he couldn’t be as strong a player as they were (“much less be the captain of a team” being the natural extension of those unintentionally but deeply cruel words). While those wounds had started to heal, especially after the Generation of Miracles’ reconciliation, they were still there. They bled, even now.
“If my other self and I had our own way, we would have kept you in the shadows forever.” Despite being no louder than a murmur, the words were dangerous and true. They felt deafening loud in this silent room. Beside him, Kuroko’s breath seemed to stop, and Akashi couldn't stop himself from reaching out and placing a hand over Kuroko’s where it rested atop Kuroko's elbow and knee. Kuroko’s skin felt cold, and yet Akashi’s fingers felt inexplicably like they grew warmer where they touched Kuroko’s skin. “But we were wrong to do so. Wrong to think that was possible.”
Kuroko’s breath left him in a rush. Akashi spoke as clearly as he could to voice truths that had been unsaid for too long. “You carved a place for yourself among Miracles, Kuroko, and helped forge your team into champions. Your teammates told me to remind you that they are proud of you. As am I. But if you have any brains at all—which I know you do as you have outwitted even me in the past—you already know all this. You are stronger than I ever imagined in the past—and stronger than even you imagined. You deserve this. And you will do this duty justice.”
In the ensuing silence, Kuroko’s gentle, strained laugh was shaky. “‘Outwitted even you.’ So humble,” he murmured, before going silent and then glancing up at him. “Is Akashi-kun a poet now?” He turned his hand over to grasp Akashi’s. That simple movement spread the warmth Akashi felt to the rest of his hand. Akashi could not hold back a slight laugh at the thought of him writing poetry. Still sitting next to Kuroko, he leaned towards him just a bit. Now, the insurmountable distance of an inch felt tiny in comparison to the lure of Kuroko’s warmth in the chilly locker room.
“Only for Kuroko,” he joked.
Kuroko’s huff of air was enough of a laugh for Akashi to feel accomplished. As they sat, their sides still not quite touching, he felt comfortable with their silence and their closeness.
Kuroko’s silence, however, felt more contemplative. “I lost,” he said finally.
“Yes,” Akashi agreed firmly.
“I still love basketball.”
“Yes.”
“I have the third place game tomorrow against Shuutoku.”
“Yes.”
“I may lose again.”
“Quite possibly.”
“This year and the next, I’m going to lead my team to victory.”
“You can certainly try to beat me.”
Kuroko’s huff was more annoyed this time. “I apologize for my earlier misconception. Akashi-kun is clearly a smart alec, not a poet. My mistake.” A warm glow of amusement filled Akashi’s chest in a way he wasn’t sure it would if anyone else had said those words to him. God, he loved Kuroko.
The thought almost made him freeze. It should have made him freeze. It should have made him gasp or choke, his breath should be trapped in his throat!
But it didn’t. Somehow, it wasn't a shock at all. It was just so perfectly true that it slid neatly into place alongside every other fact of his life. In fact, it suddenly made many of his decisions from the last few years, particularly his emotional ones, make infinitely more sense to him. He breathed out, relaxing into this truth, this startling emotion.
He was an Akashi, and Akashi’s did not waver. They were not uncertain. They went after what they wanted. And Akashi was certain he loved Kuroko. He probably had loved Kuroko for a long while, maybe ever since his loss this time last year. Or even before then. That was that. All he could do now was confess. The worst thing that could happen to him was rejection.
Year after year, Kuroko had always proven to him that he would believe in Akashi, be his friend, and help him—even when Akashi was the kind of person he hated most in the world. Compared to the pain he and his other self had inflicted on Kuroko, him being in love with Kuroko was nothing but a speed bump that they could get over when he was rejected. If he was rejected, technically, yes. But Akashi had never been so certain that he would fail in an endeavor.
He had never been so determined to succeed.
Kuroko’s warm weight settling into his side broke him out of his thoughts. Kuroko’s jersey-covered body was warm in a way his skin was not, but that warmth and contact brought to Akashi’s attention the slight shivers that wracked Kuroko’s body.
“You’re finally coming down from the adrenaline of the game, and you are freezing while doing it,” he scolded lightly. “This cold floor is not doing you any favors. Let’s get you out of here.”
Kuroko voiced a soft protest as Akashi attempted to stand. “But I’m comfortable here,” he insisted, his sore muscles showing themselves in the slow way he readjusted his legs.
“You can find another place to rest,” Akashi said with finality, getting to his feet, but leaving his hand in Kuroko’s. When Kuroko dallied, he reached out and grabbed Kuroko’s other hand, using them to pull Kuroko to his feet. He released Kuroko’s hands to grab his jacket from the bench and, turning back to Kuroko, draped it over his shoulders to warm him up. Akashi’s eyes had now adjusted to the darkness, and he could see much more clearly now. He could see how Kuroko was slightly startled by this action and, now that they were facing each other, could see Kuroko’s long lashes as he blinked, covering his bright eyes for only a moment.
In this moment, he was struck by how much he wanted to kiss Kuroko.
But he also knew that this was the wrong time. He should be patient. Retaking one of Kuroko’s hands in his own, he pulled Kuroko towards the door. Kuroko followed him easily enough, despite his derisive murmur of, “Mother hen.”
Akashi chose, diplomatically, to ignore that.
When he finally opened the door, Kuroko stopped behind him. The bright light of the hallway made them both wince. Akashi turned back to look at Kuroko, who was still standing in the door’s threshold. Kuroko was illuminated by the light and framed by the darkness, slightly red tinge to his eyes and all. Akashi couldn’t help but think that he had never seen anyone look so beautiful. There was a slight hesitation in Kuroko's eyes, however, as he gazed at Akashi—as if, perhaps, Kuroko wondered if Akashi's words had been things Akashi could only say when hidden away in the dark. If in the light, they were to remain unspoken
“As I told your teammates,” Akashi said gently, tugging lightly on the hand clasped in his hand, “I came here to remind one of my greatest rivals that I expect to face him in the finals next year. Captain to Captain.” A small but brilliant smile burst into being on Kuroko’s face as he let Akashi tug him into the light.
When Akashi moved to step away from Kuroko and drop his hand, Kuroko held on tight, refusing to let him go. Akashi’s eyes widened as Kuroko took a step further into his personal space, reaching his free hand up to cup Akashi’s cheek. Frozen, wanting dearly to relax into the cold hand whose thumb rested on the apple of his check and yet uncertain if he should, Akashi could only watch in awe as Kuroko gazed up into his eyes. “Seijuurou-kun,” Kuroko said warmly, “thank you.”
Seijuurou breathed out a word, a name, that his mouth had spoken many times before, and yet he himself had never said. “Tetsuya . . .” As Tetsuya continued to look at him so warmly, he couldn’t help but wonder, cynically, if hearing “Tetsuya” from Seijuurou’s lips made Tetsuya search his eyes for a flicker of gold.
But these cynical musings distracted him just enough that when Tetsuya’s lips finally touched his own, it was a whole new shock. A welcome one, but a shock nonetheless. As a gentle heat spread through him, filling his head with blessed nothingness, he found he no longer had the room to think of such bitter thoughts. Not when all his thoughts were occupied with Tetsuya, Tetsuya, Tetsuya . . .
It seemed that the patience he had decided on earlier had been thrown out the window. Though that was Tetsuya’s fault really. Responding as gently and as passionately as he could, he returned Tetsuya’s kiss with fervor. He lifted his free hand up to hold Tetsuya’s neck and caress his skin. Feeling Tetsuya’s mouth against his and Tetsuya’s tongue reaching out to brush against his lips, Seijuurou melted into it, following wherever Tetsuya may lead him.
When they broke apart, he rested his forehead on Tetsuya’s. For once, he was grateful for his relatively short height. He was beyond thankful that he could have this moment where his breath mingled with Tetsuya’s, experiencing this moment of euphoria as he stared at the man he loved while that man was in his arms and wearing his jacket. If he could have this moment (one he had never known he could have), who was he to stop himself from saying the words that wanted to escape his lips so desperately?
“I love you,” Seijuurou whispered into the space between them, as if it was a secret he was sharing.
“I love you too,” Tetsuya whispered, gazing into his eyes. Then he released Seijuurou’s hand to wrap both of his arms around Seijuurou’s middle and bury his face in the crook of Seijuurou’s neck. Seijuurou’s hands hesitated for a moment, unsure where he should rest them. He could not remember the last time he hugged someone. But slowly, he wrapped one arm around Tetsuya’s shoulders and the other around his waist, dropping his nose into Tetsuya’s hair to inhale Tetsuya’s smell.
The pungent smell of Tetsuya’s sweat invaded his nose first, but Seijuurou could smell the sweet scent of vanilla (Tetsuya’s shampoo most likely) lurking underneath it. He looked forward to hugging Tetsuya again and having the chance to smell just that far-sweeter smell. He could certainly do without smelling the sweat again. He jolted slightly, realizing he had to make sure he was allowed to do this again.
Tetsuya felt his movement and turned to gaze curiously up at Seijuurou. Seijuurou hesitated again. This was all unfamiliar territory for him. But he had told himself he would go after what he wanted and so he would. “Tetsuya, would you do me the honor of going out on a date with me?” Wait, he wanted more than that! He wanted it all, everything Tetsuya would give him. “Would you date me and be my . . .” boyfriend was too juvenile a word, “partner?”
Despite the breath of anticipation caught in his throat, he was very proud of the fact he managed to force the second part of his sentence out of his mouth. He still wasn’t the best at understanding friendships and relationships.
Tetsuya’s eyes shone with warmth and amusement that only a select few, Seijuurou being one of them, could read from his expression. The corners of his mouth pulled up slightly. “Yes, of course. There’s nothing I want more.”
Seijuurou could feel a wider smile breaking free on his own lips, but he could care less about trying to stop it or hide his happiness. And, for once, he felt safe enough to voice his thoughts. Leaning down to press a more chaste kiss to Tetsuya’s lips, he murmured, “You have no idea how unbelievably happy that makes me.”
And he was proud to say that moment was one of the rare times he managed to make Tetsuya blush, even if it was only slightly.