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Practice hasn’t officially started yet when Kuroo arrives, but a lot of the team members are already warmed up, excited for their first steps onto an Olympic court. Kuroo is least surprised to see Hinata and Kageyama there, already working on their quicks.
“Kuroo-san!” Hinata bounds over to give Kuroo a sweaty hug.
“Hey, Chibi-chan. Long time no see.”
“Yeah!” Hinata looks around, as though Kuroo is hiding something behind his back. “Is Kenma here?”
“Hm? No. I’m here for business, not pleasure.” That’s sort of true—Kuroo has the access to get in here because of his job, but he’s mostly just slacking off. “I assume he’s working too. Or sleeping.”
“That makes sense!” Hinata says. “He’s coming to the game tomorrow, though, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” Kenma bought tickets for every game until the final—even if Japan probably won’t make it all the way there.
“Cool!” Hinata finally realizes that Kageyama has been boring a hole in both of their heads with his eyes the entire time they’ve been talking. “Well, gotta go! See ya!”
Kuroo waves him off. He finds a spot to sit down and enjoy being courtside again, listening to the sounds of squeaking shoes.
It’s a fairly normal interaction with Hinata—saying hello, discussing their mutual friend—so Kuroo doesn’t think much of it. But it keeps happening.
“Ugh, you’re here,” Yaku says when he arrives for practice. “Where’s Kenma?”
“Kuroo-san, any chance Kodzuken-san is here too?” a colleague of Kuroo’s asks at lunch. “I wanted to go over some of the details of the streaming contract with him…”
“Hello, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says when Kuroo joins him in the stands. His pet mangaka is beside him, frantically drawing the action on the court. “Is Kozume-san with you?”
“Nope,” Kuroo says. “Just me.”
Akaashi looks disappointed.
Kuroo feels like he’s going crazy by the time they arrive at dinner and Bokuto requests a table for five.
“There are only four of us,” Kuroo points out.
“Oh? I just assumed Kenma was coming.”
“Why would you assume that?” Kuroo asks once they’re at their table, settled in with three beers and a water. “Why has everyone today assumed that? We’re not actually joined at the hip, are we?”
“Uh, yeah?” Bokuto says. “Usually, yeah.”
“I’m here to work,” Kuroo insists.
“Yeah, but isn’t he doing some kind of video thingy?”
“Not for your practices.”
Bokuto shrugs. “How would we know?”
“Um, sorry,” Udai says, “but who is this again?”
“Kozume Kenma,” Akaashi says. “You met him once—the streamer? He played setter for Nekoma when we were in high school.”
“Oh, right,” Udai says, nodding.
“Yeah,” Bokuto adds, “he’s Kuroo’s boyfriend.”
There’s a thunk as Kuroo’s glass hits the table.
“What!? Bokuto, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Oh, do you say partner?”
“I don’t say anything, because we’re not together!”
“You’re not?” Kuroo shakes his head. “But I thought—you moved into his house!”
“Yeah. As a tenant!”
“But you—I mean…” He glances at the others.
“Oh, I, uh, have to pee,” Udai says.
“I’ll come with you,” Akaashi says. He shoots Kuroo an apologetic look before he goes.
“Dude,” Kuroo says, “what the hell?”
“I’m sorry!” Bokuto says. “I just thought, when you moved in, that it meant—”
“Well, it doesn’t.”
“But you… you still love him, right?”
Kuroo is really regretting having told Bokuto that. “Yes, I do, but you better not have said anything—”
“I didn’t!”
“Not even to Akaashi?”
“Well… I didn’t mean to. But he had already guessed anyway!” Great, Kuroo thinks. “But I didn’t tell anyone else, I promise.”
“Good,” Kuroo mutters. As long as Kenma doesn’t know, he can deal with a little embarrassment.
“So when are you going to tell him?” Bokuto asks.
“I don’t know, never?”
“Seriously?” Kuroo shrugs. “But he obviously loves you.”
“As a friend. It’s not the same, and telling him isn’t worth ruining what we have.”
“You don’t know that it would ruin it—”
“And you don’t know that it wouldn’t.” Kuroo takes a long drink of his beer. “I appreciate the encouragement, really, but I’m not telling him. At least not anytime soon.”
“Okay.” Bokuto has learned over the years how to let things go, but he still seems concerned.
“Don’t worry about my problems,” Kuroo says as Akaashi and Udai return to the table. “Worry about the Olympics, and how the team is going to win.”
The thing is, they do win. They win four out of five of their preliminary games, putting them at the top of their pool. It’s better than they thought they’d do, but still within reason—the Italian team underperformed, which gave them a bit of a boost.
What they didn’t expect was beating Argentina in the quarterfinals and making it into the semis. Argentina was a bad match-up for them. They had a team of very tall players, alongside having poached one of Japan’s best and brightest. But despite their advantages, Japan just played better. They took the match 3-1.
When Kuroo said he was never going to tell Kenma how he felt, he meant it, but that was before he watched the games. Before he witnessed a miracle happen on the court with Kenma at his side, unable to look away.
Before he started feeling like anything is possible.
When the game is over, Kenma leaves, and Kuroo goes to oversee the press coverage with a promise to bring home dinner. He decides as he watches Kenma walk away: he’s going to tell him tonight.
When he gets home, Kenma’s watching tape of the Brazilian team, Japan’s next opponents. “You didn’t get enough today?”
“I’m evaluating,” Kenma says.
“And?”
His eyes don’t leave the TV. “They have a chance,” he says. “A small one, but it’s there.”
“Glad to hear it,” Kuroo says. “When you’re done evaluating, come eat.”
Dinner is karaage from the takeout place down the street. Kuroo vacillates between picking at it and staring at his plate, too nauseous to eat.
“Are you okay?” Kenma asks.
“Yeah, of course.” Kenma narrows his eyes in disbelief. “I’m fine, really. There’s something I want to talk to you about, but it can wait until after dinner.”
“Is it bad?”
“No.”
“Then tell me now.” He slides out from the table to face Kuroo. “If it's not bad, there’s no point in waiting.”
“There’s also no point in rushing.”
“There is, because I’ll worry otherwise.” He can be so stubborn. It’s normally one of the things Kuroo likes about him.
“Alright,” Kuroo agrees. He sets his chicken down and wipes his trembling hands on a napkin.
There’s nothing to do but say it. “Kenma, I love you.”
Kenma’s eyebrows shoot up, then even out as he smiles.
“I know,” he says, “and I love you too.”
“No, I—” This is exactly what Kuroo was afraid of. “I mean, I’m—I’m in love with you. I have feelings for you.”
“I know,” Kenma says slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “and I love you too.”
“You—you knew?”
Kenma nods.
“For how long?”
“Since you moved in,” Kenma says. “Or maybe before.”
Kuroo moved in six months ago. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You’re normally very forward about the things you want, so I assumed you weren’t ready to talk about it. It wasn’t a big deal to wait.”
“I—I wasn’t ‘not ready,’ I was terrified,” Kuroo says, although he’s not sure those are different. “You’re the most important person in my life, and I couldn’t stand the thought that I might lose you.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Kenma says, frowning. “I’d never leave you.”
“Because you love me,” Kuroo says. He was so focused on the fact that Kenma had seen through him that he almost forgot the other part. “You really love me?”
“Kuroo, don’t cry.”
“Too late.” He wipes his face and reaches out to stroke Kenma’s cheek. “I really get to hold you, and touch you?”
“You do those things anyway,” Kenma says, but there are tears in his eyes too.
Kuroo moves closer. “I really get to kiss you?”
Kenma flushes, finally looking as flustered as Kuroo feels. “Yes,” he whispers as he leans in.
Later, once they’ve kissed so much that Kuroo’s mouth hurts, and their dinner has been forgotten on the table, they lie flat on the tatami, Kuroo’s head on Kenma’s chest.
“How long have you loved me?” Kuroo asks.
“I don’t know. Always, I think.”
“How long have you known?”
“High school.”
“Me too,” Kuroo says. “God, I’m so dumb.”
“Nah. Like I said, I didn’t mind waiting.”
“Well, I did!” Kuroo rolls over. “There are so many things we can do now…”
“We can sleep,” Kenma says. “The semifinals are in the morning.”
“It’s not like we’re playing.”
Kenma kicks him. “Kuroo.”
“Fine.” Kuroo stands up and stretches, then helps Kenma up. “Do you really think they have a chance?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Kuroo takes his hand and leads him to bed.
They have a chance now too. There are victories all around.