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Kise was still, his mouth only moving when Yukio threw himself back, suddenly back to himself and aware of the fact that he just kissed Kise.
Yukio scrambled off the bed, hot embarrassment welling up inside him and strangling any excuse he could make. Kise stayed on the bed, motionless, lips still parted, expression pleased, and eyes bright like they were when Yukio put down his guitar. Like Yukio hung the moon, even though all he did was play a slightly difficult chord to get Kise to shut up about never having heard him play.
Yukio didn’t understand how Kise could be so calm after he trampled on their friendship with his stupid feelings. He didn’t understand how Kise’s expression could stay so soft when Yukio touched his cheek and kissed him.
The kiss wasn’t even long, just a press of lips, but that was enough. Years of self-control lost in barely a heartbeat.
Yukio’s lips prickled, a soft longing underneath the embarrassment of losing control of himself.
He wanted to kiss Kise again.
He felt sick.
“I have that effect on people,” Kise offered suddenly. His tone was light, but not pitying. Not sympathetic or apologetic. He even laughed a little, bashfully, with his blond hair falling into his eyes. “I knew Kasamatsu-senpai wasn’t immune to my charms.”
Shaking his head, Yukio started. “Kise—”
Kise nodded, like he understood what Yukio was saying. Yukio didn’t even know what he wanted to say, other than to apologize for kissing him and putting him in the unfair position of holding Yukio’s heart.
“It’s fine,” he said decisively, folding his hands in his lap. “Kasamatsu-senpai got caught up in the song. I pushed you to play for me, I’m sorry. I can’t take no for an answer.”
It was a repeat of Yukio’s scolding over the years when Kise would tread too close to his carefully composed boundaries, the boundaries that were supposed to protect both of them. Without them, he would have let Kise in entirely and let him upend his entire life and build it anew around himself. So Yukio had to be careful.
As it was, Kise was already a part he wasn’t willing to let go of entirely. Yukio had been holding onto him since high school. But Yukio couldn’t take the escape Kise was offering him.
“No,” he interrupted, looking at Kise until the other man looked back at him, “Kise, I like you. I kissed you because I like you.”
The silence between them stretched. Yukio put a few more steps between them.
- - -
Yukio spent every day since that kiss in his apartment, leaving only for school or his tutoring job. He avoided his guitar. He did his best to avoid thinking about Kise and the rejection, with limited success. By the time the weekend came, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to interact with Kise. Skipping the weekend game without an excuse wasn’t possible—Kise aside, one of his bastard friends (Moriyama or Imayoshi) would needle him about it and figure out it had something to do with Kise because his eyes would always drift to Kise anyway. Yukio was weak.
He wasn’t worried about Kise blabbing. Yukio also didn’t expect Kise to avoid him. As much as Kise insisted that he didn’t let people tie him down, once Kise chose someone—found them worthy, found them interesting, cared about them—then that person was Kise’s. You wouldn’t know when, how, or why, but it would happen, and that was that.
Once Kise decided Kaijou was his team, he claimed them wholeheartedly, keeping them tethered to him in some way, whether it be through daily updates in the group chat or frequent get-togethers. Since the kiss, Kise kept up his updates, calling out Yukio when Kobori posted a bird’s nest with mother and chicks, and Yukio didn’t react to the photo.
To a degree, all the Generation of Miracles embraced their new teams. Through their friendship with each other, their respective teams ended up building friendships with each other. And that resulted in weekend basketball games at the Tokyo courts.
Honestly, he was more worried that Kise would normalize it. Act like it wasn’t a big deal, that male friends kiss all the time, it’s some interesting type of skinship, he’s a model, he’s used to people forgetting themselves around him, honestly, Kasamatsu-senpai, strangers confess to me, it’s just part of the job.
Maybe that’s why it wasn’t a big deal. Yukio was just one confession in a sea of confessions.
It might be smarter, less painful to put some space between him and Kise so Yukio could forget the kiss and shut the door on his feelings. So they could return to how it was, when Yukio was one of the few people whom Kise could trust.
Yukio couldn’t do that. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to either, because the thought of pushing Kise even a little bit away left a knot in his chest.
He was Kise’s friend, his old captain, his senpai. He was Kise’s, and so Yukio knew that meant Kise was going to do whatever he needed to do to make it normal.
He was Kise’s. But Kise wasn’t his.
Yukio was going to make this normal for Kise. He could be normal.
- - -
Kise beamed at him when he set his wallet and keys on the bleachers. His hair was dark and curling with sweat, flyaways in every direction, as he kept pace with Aomine. Even while following the other player’s hairpin pivots and dekes, Kise sunnily waved at Kasamatsu and called out for him.
“He was talking nonstop about you,” Miyaji muttered in between gulps of water. He swapped out with Sakurai, who was looking more and more annoyed whenever Aomine refused to pass to him. At least Kise was a little more gracious, sending the ball to Nakamura every so often. Yukio figured Aomine was mostly waiting to see when Sakurai would snap at him. “That you ignored him all week, so you had to play on his team and one-on-one with him.”
Yukio’s heart thumped. He covered it with a snort. “Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to piss off Aomine?”
“Senpai, we’re playing next!”
“Kise, for fuck’s sake, we’re playing now .” Aomine made his point by passing to Sakurai, who immediately scored a clean 3-pointer between Nakamura’s arms.
Kise made an outraged noise, hands immediately going up as Aomine swiped at his hair. “Let’s play again.” He shoved one hand in Aomine’s face.
“There’s one court, idiots. Let someone else take a turn,” Yukio snapped. He pulled his left leg into a quad stretch, counting down in his head as Kise started towards him.
He wasn’t ready.
“We’ll play next, then,” Kise insisted, mirroring Yukio and stretching his own quads. Yukio kept his eyes trained forward, ignoring the soft grunt of exertion next to him as Kise started stretching his shoulders.
Be normal. Be fucking normal.
“Are you still doing those stretches for your ankle and calves?” He asked softly. He switched legs.
“Yup. And the doctor says everything is looking good.” He can feel Kise’s eyes on his face. “Hey, senpai, can we still go get dinner later?”
Not will, but can. Yukio closed his eyes. Exhaled with his stretch. I can make this normal. “Yeah. Ramen?”
Kise’s smile was a precious thing, tender and warming his eyes in a way that made Yukio’s breath catch. He looked away quickly, fumbling as he stretched his triceps. Cheerfully, Kise continued, “Great, I found this new place for us.”
Yukio didn’t answer. His heart was sitting somewhere in his throat.
- - -
The steam curled around Kise’s face, fogging up the glasses he threw on to avoid his fans. Eventually, he pushed them up to his hair when they almost fell into his bowl of ramen, saved only by his chopsticks knocking them aside. He yelped, scrambling for the frames, and Yukio laughed. It felt normal, Kise pouting at him and Yukio tapping his ankle with his foot in apology. Mollified, Kise returned to his ramen, slurping up the noodles, and Yukio only got stuck on his mouth briefly when broth lingered on his lower lip, and Kise licked it off with a quick flick of his tongue.
Yukio ducked his head closer to his own meal. He barely looked over when Kise prodded at his food with his chopsticks. “Bite?”
“Mooch,” Yukio muttered. He looked away while Kise helped himself to his food, like he always did, because senpai always orders something delicious. What’s your secret, senpai? Hey, senpai— “Come on, brat, you have your own food.”
“Mmm, but senpai always orders something delicious.” They had gotten seats at the serving counter and had ended up moving closer together thanks to a couple of salarymen taking up the rest of the space. Their shoulders brushed together. Kise’s thigh was warm against his. When he looked from the corner of his eye, he could count Kise’s eyelashes. He could turn his head and—
Be normal.
Once Kise was done trying his food, Yukio pulled his bowl closer. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. “Eat your own food.”
They finished their meal in silence.
- - -
Maybe the ramen incident did something to Kise because their walk to the station was quiet. Kise didn’t prattle and bounce alongside him, jostling Yukio when he wanted to make a point or be dramatic. At one time, Yukio would’ve been grateful for the restraint. Kise could be too much, sometimes, but it was charming, too. Even before Yukio loved Kise, he could recognize that Kise was special in that way.
Kise probably remembered that Yukio was in love with him.
“Can I still come over?” he asked.
“Right now?” If Kise asked, Yukio would say yes, because he truly had no self-preservation.
“Generally.” Kise fiddled with his pockets. He added. “You can tell me no. I can be mature, Kasamatsu-senpai.”
Yukio hasn’t been able to say no to Kise in years, but—“I’m not worried about any of that.” And Yukio meant it. He thought back to Kise twisting his fingers at Yukio’s graduation, pinning the corsage to his chest. Kise’s head was lowered, expression focused. Yukio had wanted to trace the curve of his cheek, smooth away the pinched look. You should’ve just slept, he had thought, instead of worrying about unnecessary things. He had repeated the sentiment out loud when Kise complained that his senpai brushed off his compliments. Yukio had been ready to wipe away Kise’s tears if he cried. “I wasn’t worried back then, I’m not worried now. Stop fishing for compliments.”
Kise laughed faintly. “I’m not fishing.” His eyes seemed distant for a moment. “Maybe I just want to remind you that I’ve grown up. So, maybe . . .”
He trailed off, expression a little lost. He looked back at Yukio, gaze searching like he was hoping Yukio could finish the thought. Catch the pass, make the shot. Kise always looked at Yukio like Yukio could have his back.
To be fair, Yukio did. He thought about teenage Kise hunched in front of him, saying goodbye at graduation. He hadn’t cried, but he had watched Yukio with damp, sad eyes. It had been satisfying to watch Kise grow and mature, and Yukio knew that even if he hadn’t fallen in love with Kise, he’d still be here with him.
“I told you, I’m not worried about any of that.” He ruffled Kise’s hair, tugging at the ends like he usually did.
Despite returning his smile, Kise didn’t quite meet his eye.
- - -
Yukio relented and went to a mixer with Moriyama. While he still wasn’t the best at striking up conversations with women, Yukio managed not to embarrass himself. He managed to get a phone number from a sweet-faced girl with long hair.
He also managed to hit it off with another of the guys at the mixer. They swapped numbers after Yukio mentioned the weekend basketball games and Momose revealed he played basketball for his university team. Yukio figured he’d extend an invitation eventually.
Instead, Momose invited him out for dinner.
And Yukio got the text while Moriyama and Kise were on either side of him. The ding of the message drew both their attention away from the movie Kise brought.
“Who’s Momose?”
“Dinner?”
Moriyama blinked at Kise. “Why is that the weird part? All of us get dinner all the time.”
There was a mutinous edge to Kise’s expression, his jaw going tight. “Well, that’s us,” he explained. “This is Momose. Who is Momose, Kasamatsu-senpai?”
“Uh, just this guy,” Kasamatsu swiped away from the message. He held his phone out of Kise’s reach. It was getting easier to be physical with Kise, so long as he ignored the way his heart would clench whenever Kise brushed against him. Honestly, interacting with Kise was easier if Yukio just ignored himself. “I was thinking about inviting him one of these weekends to the courts. He plays basketball.”
Moriyama glanced at Kise. Kise smiled. It was perfectly blank, picture perfect. Yukio blinked.
“He’s a nice guy. I met him at the mixer.”
“Well, you should text him back, Kasamatsu-senpai,” Kise said brightly. He settled back into the couch. He hummed. He pawed through the chips. “It’d be rude to make Momose-san wait.”
Unsettled by Kise’s sudden change in mood. Yukio looked at Moriyama, who was now looking between him and Kise, eyes narrowed. He locked his eyes on Yukio. What did you do? He mouthed.
Yukio sighed.
- - -
“I kissed Kise,” Yukio said tiredly as soon as Kise flounced out the door, still humming, all theatrics and a reminder to respond to Momose-san.
Moriyama stared at him. “No, that can’t be it.”
Yukio closed his eyes. He thought about Kise waving goodbye with his eyes closed. “Yes, Moriyama. That is it. I kissed him, said I liked him, and he just stared at me.”
“No, that can’t—”
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He wasn’t sure which revelation Moriyama was struggling with, and the ache he could ignore when Kise was in reach was making itself known again, only this time in his head. “I can’t do this right now,” he said. “Which part do you refuse to believe? That I like men, or that I like Kise?”
“First of all, all of us have had a crush on Kise at some point,” Moriyama retorted. He raised a hand when Yukio raised his eyebrow. “The kid has a modeling contract for a reason, and honestly? It was really cute when he said he loved our team and wanted to keep playing with us. I know at least two second-stringers confessed to him. That part isn’t weird. As for the men thing . . . not that I knew you did, but I figured it would be Kise, and he’d confess to you and—”
The whiplash between a supportive Moriyama and Moriyama bullshitting him made Yukio sit up. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Yukio,” the other man said, his tone sympathetic. “You could’ve told him to walk into the ocean, and he would’ve. He could barely look you in the eye after we lost to Touou. He pinned your corsage. He called you after the game with Jabberwock. We saw him go into the zone, but he only talked about it with you. And he looks at you like—”
“Don’t.” Yukio’s voice shook, a cold anger filling his chest. “We were there for him, and he was there for us. Don’t take all the ways he was vulnerable and cared, and—” Yukio couldn’t even finish his sentence. He thought about Kise’s silent tears, the way he curled his hand in Yukio’s jersey, the way he could barely stand. “Don’t do that, Yoshitaka.”
Moriyama looked defeated. “I’m not, Yukio. I’m not. But Kise wasn’t crying for me or Kobori at graduation. He didn’t shut down because I got a text from a guy I met at a mixer. Can you just talk to him?”
“If Kise felt the same, at any point,” Yukio said quietly, “he would have said something.”
“Just talk to him,” Moriyama repeated. “Please?”
- - -
Kise was normal at their monthly dinner catch-up, squishing himself between Yukio and Hayakawa, and regaling them with his new television pilot. He stole Yukio’s food and played coy when Hayakawa offered him his own plate for Kise to graze from. Yukio hid a wince each time Kise’s elbow knocked into his side, when his hair brushed against Yukio’s face whenever he leaned over and tried to steal from Nakamura’s plate. His sweater’s neckline was stretched out, “fashionably” torn so Yukio could see the cut of his collarbone, the slope of his shoulder. If Yukio leaned over, he could put his mouth to Kise’s pulse.
Yukio ignored Moriyama’s pointed looks.
The cool night air was a brief reprieve until Kise decided to follow Yukio home. Normal Yukio would allow it, and wouldn't twitch when Kise sprawled out of his sofa, his hipbones peeking out above his trousers. Normal Yukio might look, might even linger on the warm strip of Kise’s belly, and his heart would skip a beat, and then race when Kise would make himself comfortable. Yukio’s apartment was an extension of his own, after all. Kise had his own spot on Yukio’s couch, his own coffee in Yukio’s cabinets, and he took it upon himself to make sure Yukio had some variety of greens to go with his protein-heavy meals.
Yukio knew they were probably on the wrong side of codependent. And, again, the healthy thing would be to put space between him and Kise, until Yukio could stop yearning.
How did he ever think he could get over Kise Ryouta? He couldn’t even avoid falling in love with him.
Yukio sighed. Kise was watching him closely.
“How was dinner with Momose-san?” Kise asked. He even tilted his head. “You should bring him tomorrow. Momoicchi finally convinced Murasakibarracchi to come by. He’s on break from pastry school.”
“I’m not bringing Momose anywhere. Stop being weird.” Yukio knocked Kise’s legs off the couch. He took a steadying breath when Kise immediately draped them across his lap after he sat down. “Kise.”
Kise looked back at him, mouth set in a polite smile. His eyes gleamed. Yukio felt frayed, a slow frustration building up in him.
“I’ll be on my best behavior. I want to meet the guy after my senpai’s heart.”
Yukio pinched Kise’s knee. Kise huffed. “I mean it,” he said. “He could be the love of your life, and you’re just—”
The snap was sudden, quick, and the words spilled out like a knot unraveling. “Just let it go, Kise!”
When he finally looked over, Kise’s eyes were bright, wet. He looked furious. “Fine.” He got to his feet and rushed to the door. Yukio caught him shoving his feet into his shoes.
“Why are you upset?” Yukio demanded. Weeks of trying to be fucking normal and protecting Kise’s feelings were exhausting. He felt raw, peeling back, and the aching love he had for Kise swelled and conflicted with his anger. It eventually won, flowing over the anger until it was a quiet thing. Falling in love with Kise had happened so slowly that Yukio never questioned the way his feelings shifted. He had looked at Kise one day, chin resting on his fist while Kise told him about the bakery outside his Paris hotel, and thought that he always wanted to see Kise happy, even if it was over something as simple as pastries. Of course, Yukio’s love was always going to beat out anything else.
He grabbed Kise’s arm when he turned away, but Kise kept avoiding him. He almost stumbled over his untied laces. Tears slid down Kise’s face. Yukio ached. Softly, he added, “I was the one who got rejected. Why are you crying?”
Kise shook his head, still looking away. Yukio brushed some tears off his face, but they fell harder. Yukio murmured, “You’re such a pain. Troublesome brat,” Despite being so tall, Kise looked like a kid, snotty and sniffling. Yukio cradled his cheek, wiping away another tear with his thumb. “Your nose is dripping.”
“It’s not.”
“Yeah, it is,” Yukio teased. His chest hurt, but he smiled when Kise nuzzled into his hand. “It’s so gross.”
Kise covered his hand with his. Finally, he looked at Yukio. Stupid Kise and his stupid pretty face, even wet and covered with snot, even with red-rimmed eyes. Yukio loved him. After everything, how could he not?
“I don’t want you to date Momose.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I don’t want you to get over me.” Kise held fast when Yukio tried to move his hand away. “Don’t walk away again, Kasamatsu-senpai. I messed up by letting you do it once already.”
“Kise,” he kept his voice steady. He warned, “Even you’re not that kind of asshole. Let go.”
“I was so happy when you finally kissed me,” Kise continued, bright-eyed. His mouth trembled. “I thought you had finally realized that I, I—I was so obvious, senpai. But then you looked miserable.” His voice cracked. “You kissed me, you said you liked me, and you looked miserable.”
Yukio thought back to that day. Kise on his bed, expression so soft. Despite the flicker of hope he felt, he shook his head. “You laughed it off. You didn’t say anything back when I said it. Don’t put this on me, Kise.”
“I’m not, I promise. I told you I messed up,” Kise said quietly. “I just like you so much, Kasamatsu-senpai. I didn’t want to say anything unless I was sure. I didn’t want to tie you down with my feelings. But I know I messed up.”
With each word, something precious swelled in Yukio’s chest, settling warm and heavy around his heart. Hearing that Kise had some of the same fears that kept Yukio quiet over the years wasn’t what Yukio expected, but it was comforting in a way. Emboldening, too.
He’d have to listen to Moriyama, and he and Kise would have to talk about this. About them. But it was undeniable that, at the end of the day, Yukio was Kise’s. And it turned out that Kise was Yukio’s.
Kise quieted when Yukio brought up his other hand to his face. He gently rubbed away some wetness under Kise’s eye.
“Hey, Kise,” he said, still gently stroking his thumb across Kise’s skin. “I like you.”
Kise smiled, slow and sweet, his eyes crinkling at their corners. He leaned into Yukio.
Yukio loved him.
“I like you, too, Kasamatsu-senpai.”