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Here is a secret: Kise Ryouta is a piece of shit.
Nobody knows that, obviously. If anybody does, word will spread like wildfire and he will be hated. Or jobless. Possibly both.
Now, he can't have that, can he? He may be a bit rotten inside, but he likes his profession (most of the time, anyway), so he pretends. And Ryouta is one hell of an actor, mind you. Tilt his head and flash that smile. Scrunch the corners of his eyes—no, not that hard. Maybe a coy wink somewhere. There, perfect. Charming and innocent.
It's a disease. The kind that spreads throughout his body, a slow-working poison that he takes in small doses and fills him enough over time that there is plenty to spill. Cry any harder and maybe it will stream down his cheeks.
He can almost picture it: his body a mere vessel in the shape of a broad-shouldered athlete deliberately filling to the brim with resentment, boredom, some ugly jealousy, and a little pride.
For the first time in his life, Ryouta wants it to overflow.
If Ryouta could describe himself in one word, it would be 'listless'. His fans would beg to differ, of course. They have always, after all, liked to categorize him as handsome, cheerful, friendly, and talented. Perfect.
Well—he is handsome. He's beautiful, even. He didn't spend the last 10 years checking himself out in the mirror every morning for nothing.
Still, he's listless. High school came and went. Friendships started and ended. The fans don't waver, though, which he would be annoyed about if it doesn't help pay the bills. If anything, people seem to follow him even more. Kise Ryouta is not a braggart. He does not exaggerate things when they matter. He knows for a fact that he's famous until now. Especially now.
He's in college—in an extremely prestigious university at that. He is majoring in Civil Engineering. He doesn't know why. He didn't even know one shit about it before he enrolled, but being an absurdly fast learner means he aces all his subjects as long as he reads all the material he needs.
It's extremely annoying. He had hoped it would give him a little more challenge. Math is a bitch despite his tendency to be good at everything, yet he's appalled at mastering it in such a short period of time. It's not even funny.
"Oi, Kise-san, are you even listening to me?" He turns to the annoyed face of a random girl. He doesn't remember inviting her to his spot, which is a pretty secluded bench near the gymnasium, but here she is anyway. Ryouta doesn't even know her name, nor does he care to.
Kise Ryouta is an asshole. He had hoped people would see that behind his amazing body proportions. Another point for Being Disappointed But Not Surprised.
He hums, pointedly staring in front of him, at nothingness. God, even breathing is boring. He hasn't had time to prod into the basketball team here. After high school, everything just . . . stopped. He still loves the sport, of course. He doubts anything could change his mind about it, but he's in a slump. He doesn't know why. Prodigy Kise Ryouta doesn't have fucking slumps.
(The truth is, he realized something after high school. Something not exactly shocking but still managed to hit him right in the chest anyway. A sobering fact he refuses to acknowledge, even when months have already passed.)
"I'm sorry," he says, uncaring that he sounds anything but. He stands, tilting his head in the way that catches the light and makes him look ethereal. He knows it works because the girl is blushing and gaping at him. He curls his lips into the fakest—but most adorable, as per the fans' opinions—smile. "I need to go." It's a personal record how fast he knows the moment his aesthetics win over her.
He really, really, hates his face sometimes.
"I-is that so? Okay, then! See you tomorrow!"
Without another word, Ryouta walks away, face slipping back into the mask—no, not mask; mask is that stupid smile he gives everyone at least 13 hours a day. More like slipping into that exact expression of boredom he's been feeling ever since he graduated high school. Finally something real.
Kise Ryouta is listless and he wonders how long he could endure being fucking sick of his own life.
They say success is what makes a man. Ryouta isn't sure where he heard it (probably from his parents, because they love reminding him how magnificent he is), but it doesn't take long before he realizes they're all empty words.
After all, he has every proof to show—countless trophies and medals gathering dust in boxes somewhere (nobody could blame him if the only medals he wants to display are the ones from playing basketball), flimsy certificates for things he doesn't even like doing, pictures and gifts and money. Mementos upon mementos that mean next to nothing when he thinks about its importance in the grand scheme of things.
Because who is Kise Ryouta when you strip away all those achievements? Those successes that most people would kill for?
(Spoiler alert: the answer is nobody. Kise Ryouta is nobody without the glitter and sparkle of victory.)
He glares at his laptop as if it could cure the disease that's taking over his soul. It's another school night. He doesn't know what day it is, has forgotten to give a fuck. His manager has everything under control anyway, so life should go smoothly as always as long as Ryouta behaves.
Behaves. Like he's a dog. He's been told countless times that he portrays quite a picture of an excited puppy when he's happy.
(He can't remember the last time he did that out of his own accord. If he closes his eyes, he could recall the flash of blue, the lightest and most beautiful shade he's ever seen and— nope, he's not going there. It's been years.)
His phone is ringing. A scowl is already wrinkling all his precious skin down when he realizes it's that specialized ringtone booming in his room.
"Yo, senpai."
Kasamatsu Yukio sounds like he's been carrying the burden of the world like Atlas. A normal day, then. "Would it kill you to show a little enthusiasm?"
Ryouta scrolls through an essay due tomorrow, eyes half-lidded with boredom. He wonders what would be the professor's reaction if he submits a poorly-written work. "Eh, too much effort. How are you doing?"
"Are you asking because you actually give a damn or is this pleasantry?"
He couldn't fake the laugh that follows even if he wants to. The former captain of Kaijou is really something, after all this time. He's one of the few people Ryouta had kept in contact with after high school. He thinks Kasamatsu is working an office job these days. "Hey, I do give a damn about you, senpai. Wouldn't have answered if I didn't."
"Gee, that's great," he deadpans. "Nobody can contact you, it seems, but everybody's planning to meet up sometime next week. Just the team when you were a first year."
They both pretend there isn't a question between those lines. "Why not the entire—no, nevermind, I'm about to ask something stupid."
"Don't you always do that already?"
"Hey!"
"Whatever, Kise." Kasamatsu sighs, but he's smiling. Ryouta knows this because the former captain is a fluff ball in reality. An intense fluff ball, but okay. "You won't be there, will you?"
He opens a tab on Instagram. "I don't think so. College stuff." Aomine posted a dumb selfie with Momoi. Ryouta could bet his modeling career that the former manager was behind all that. He scrolls past.
"Try to sound more convincing next time."
"You're not gonna force me to attend?"
"They'll be expecting you, no doubt, but it's up to you."
Nothing's up to me anymore, he thinks. Not bitterly, because even that takes too much effort lately.
"I'll think about it," he says, knowing full well that he's already thought about it. At the end of the day, showing up is better than concocting some half-assed reason for skipping. He could just pretend he has another appointment if they start playing basketball. "Send me the address and all that formal stuff."
Kasamatsu snorts. "Always the party person."
Ryouta rolls his eyes, turning off his laptop. "Bye, senpai."
"Yeah, yeah. Take care, kid."
Ryouta hangs up, getting up from his chair just to collapse in his bed. It must be just past 10. He doesn't remember the last time he ate, but he's not hungry and—oh yeah, isn't it a bit too quiet here? He reaches over and connects his phone to the bluetooth speakers, closing his eyes as classical music fills his space.
He sleeps with erratic violin chords and piano keys ringing in his ears, grateful that it's enough to silence his thoughts tonight.
The thing with being Kise Ryouta is he's a tad bit too unrealistic. Like God forgot to pour a milliliter of humanness when He made him.
It's the reason why people are drawn to him, Ryouta thinks. Years and years of being around them teaches you the important parts. People are mesmerized, attracted, to something they can't reach, to someone who looks and feels and sounds like a dream. Magnetic, many had called him. The blond prodigy is magnetic and utterly beautiful.
Maybe this is why Ryouta is always surprised when Kuroko Tetsuya barely gives him a glance. Middle school, high school, and now —as Ryouta, for some unfathomable reason, ends up in the playground he went to ages ago, back when he tried to recruit the phantom to Kaijou. Ryouta is watching his steps for one second and the setting sun angles just right and he catches the blue and. . .
(Kuroko Tetsuya is still as breathtaking as Ryouta remembers.)
Ryouta stares. Of course he does. It's been years; he's entitled to this. Just once. Kuroko meets his gaze for one blink before settling on the ground, but it's enough for Ryouta. It always is.
"Kurokocchi," he finds himself saying. A whisper of the past. Completely lacking the cheer and whine that used to accompany it.
"Kise-kun."
(It's been years. It's been too long, too fucking long, but Ryouta walks to him anyway, because he's not people, and he's drawn to something human, someone real.)
He sits beside him, on the slightly rickety bench. A rundown basketball court sits beside them, separated by a fence. The sun fills the world with orange, bathing everything with warmth and memories.
"I did not expect to see Kise-kun here," Kuroko says. He's wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants, Ryouta notices. He couldn't quite look away, not when he could blink and Kuroko could disappear from his sight, like he's never been there.
"Me neither." He doesn't smile, but a weight is lifted off his chest and he hopes he understands why. "Hey, Kurokocchi."
"Yes?"
"How are you?" Are you doing well? I heard you took up Education. I don't know what university you go to, though. I never asked. I don't want to look for you again, like I did when you were in Seirin.
"I'm fine, Kise-kun. How about you? I always see Kise-kun's face everywhere."
Ryouta smiles this time. "Well, this face is in demand. And very expensive." He adds a wink because it feels weird to be—real again.
Kuroko stares at him. "I see Kise-kun hasn't changed much."
There's a moment when Ryouta suddenly feels like drowning. He laughs because he thinks he'll cry if he doesn't. "Kurokocchi hasn't as well, yeah?"
"I suppose."
Silence. Ryouta wants to ask, wants to open the jar of worms and let everything spill. He wants to chatter the evening away, maybe invite Kuroko to dinner, but. No. He can't. Not anymore.
"Is Kise-kun alright? You've been quiet."
"Ah." He flashes a perfect smile, closed eyes and upturned lips like he's shy. "It's been a while since we saw each other, Kurokocchi. I'm not sure what to talk about."
In retrospect, he should have known someone like Kuroko will know something's wrong, but Ryouta is stupid around him so he's convinced he has Kuroko fooled. "I tried to contact you."
Something stops and it feels like Ryouta's heart. "Yeah?"
Those familiar wide blue eyes, blank and scrutinizing. Ryouta doesn't want to look away. "I've been calling Kise-kun, but he does not answer. Did you change numbers?"
"Oh, yeah. Some fan managed to find my old one," he says with a slight chuckle. He doesn't say anything else, ignoring the obvious implication of their conversation. Kuroko merely watches him in return. Ryouta thinks he looks good. Still petite and fragile. On the outside, anyway. He knows for a fact that Kuroko is tougher than he looks.
Kuroko purses his lips, though he doesn't look disappointed or condescending. "Will Kise-kun willingly give me his new number or do I have to beg?"
"I'm curious as to how you'll do that," he jokes, already reaching for Kuroko's phone. His fingers feel like lead when he types in his contact. "I'll pick up anytime."
"Kise-kun is busy."
"I'm never too busy for you, Kurokocchi." Fuck. Abort, abort. He's so stupid. Years of no communication and he goes on full-flirt mode. Crap.
He opens his mouth to back up his mistake, anything to hide the blush on his cheeks, but Kuroko shakes his head, standing up. "I will call or message, then. Kise-kun should not answer if it's an inconvenience." He bows, the sun bouncing off like an afterthought on his hair. "I'll be going. Nigou needs to be fed."
"Sure, sure. Tell him I missed him." Ryouta waves a hand, smiling like the golden boy he is. "It was nice seeing you again, Kurokocchi."
Kuroko looks like he wants to say something important, but nods instead. "Kise-kun should take care of himself. Let's meet again." With an eerily empty gaze, he whirls around and goes on his way, leaving Ryouta slumping on the bench, a defeated sigh falling off his lips.
In another world, Ryouta does not let Kuroko walk away. In another world, he takes the shadow's hand and asks him to stay. In another world, Ryouta chases after what he wants, like he really means it.
But this is the real world, and Kise Ryouta lets the only real thing he knows slip through his fingers. Again.
(At the end of the day, it's wiser to let things go before he could forget how to stop holding on.)
In his last year of high school, things went downhill for Ryouta.
Thinking back, he knows he couldn't have changed anything, and maybe that's for the better, because how could he expect something would turn out differently when he never found out what was wrong in the first place?
The first year with Kaijou was a rollercoaster. Seirin won the Winter Cup, to everybody's surprise. Ryouta learned the meaning of defeat, of teamwork. The first year was painful and sobering and . . . freeing.
They trained the following year, intent on earning their place among the top again. It hadn't been easy—Ryouta was a strong basketball player and everybody knew it, but his being a formidable ally and foe wasn't enough to bring them victory. Ryouta formed bonds in his team. He was their ace. Word spread that he could even be a captain.
In the Inter-High finals, he met the rest of the Miracles again. Akashi was as dominant as ever, although he had looked complete inside, like a finished puzzle, finally (Ryouta totally pretended he didn't notice the redhead casting curious glances at Kuroko during the brief meeting). Midorima was carrying a garlic necklace as his lucky item. Murasakibara gave them his favorite chocolate bars. Aomine cracked stupid jokes that only he and Ryouta laughed at. Kuroko stopped all arguments and friendly banter with his monotonously deadpan tone.
Ryouta was happy, even though all six of them felt Kagami Taiga's absence one way or another. Kuroko didn't find another light, but maybe he found something in Seirin that made his shadow stronger anyway.
In the end, Rakuzan placed first. Seirin was second (the whole thing was like a miracle, but Kuroko always delivered when he promised to win). Kaijou was third, thanks to Ryouta beating Aomine with the Zone and his Perfect Copy.
In the last year of high school, Ryouta was invited to an interview on TV. They asked him what his plans were when he graduated, what course he would take.
It was a normal question. So normal and practical that Ryouta wondered why he never stopped to think about it. Kids his age would have probably shrugged and said some bullshit answer to sound cool and mature, but all Ryouta could do that time was fake a laugh and rub the back of his head like the dumbass he was and said he was still deciding.
Most people most likely forgot about that interview, but Ryouta went home that night feeling like somebody doused him with cold water.
Yeah, what was his plan?
Basketball was fun. One could make a career out of it. Kagami certainly did, training to join the NBA and all. Basketball was fun because it challenged Ryouta, gave him a team to lean on, but was it enough?
(It wasn't. He should have known it wasn't.)
For what it's worth, he did try to embrace it. Tried to imagine living without holding the ball again, without running across the court, without the thrill of winning or losing.
Kaijou won the Inter-High and Winter Cup that year, mainly because Akashi dropped his captainship and Kuroko quit his team in favor of acing their studies. Midorima didn't play as hard because he focused on his preparations to take Medicine in college. Murasakibara was nowhere to be found and Aomine—somehow, Momoi managed to convince him not to play in the finals to study for college entrance exams.
Ryouta reached the top with his team, but it felt hollow without his friends, his rivals.
Basketball was fun, but it wasn't worth it. Ryouta was left alone at the top, left behind by his friends who found their identities outside the court, who found more important goals to reach, followed more realistic and ambitious paths to the future.
In conclusion, Ryouta was a winner in the court and a total loser in life.
He might have a modeling career, fans who would do anything he wanted, money he didn't know how to spend, but he didn't have a purpose.
It's been two years since he last held a basketball.
He is nowhere near what he's looking for, until now.
(The problem is he doesn't even know what he should be searching for.)
The first time Kuroko calls, Ryouta is in the middle of the Kaijou basketball team reunion.
His former teammates welcome him with open arms, ruffling his hair and teasing him about his disguise (it's not his fault that a black cap and yellow aviators have always been effective). At one point, Kasamatsu ends up kicking him in the shin for making sarcastic remarks, which in turn cracks everyone up.
Ryouta takes a sip of his drink, watching Hayakawa, Moriyama, Kobori, and the other guys chatting among one another. It feels like coming home, in a way. No matter what happened in the past, Ryouta truly cherished his camaraderie with these people.
Still, he couldn't do anything when Moriyama fixes him with a curious gaze. "Oi, Kise, why haven't you been playing basketball in uni?'
Letting out a nervous laugh to stall, Ryouta clenches his fists under the table. "I have to focus on more important things at some point, you know?"
"Are you saying basketball is not important?"
The apology is already at the tip of his tongue, freezing when Ryouta glances at his former teammates and sees them waiting for his answer. He hears the blood in his ears, the erratic pumping of his heart. Beads of cold sweat roll down his back. He glares at the table, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.
Fear.
But why?
Kasamatsu holds up a hand. "Guys, we—"
Ryouta's phone rings and he doesn't even look at the caller ID before he's bolting from his seat and out of the door.
"Kise-kun."
"Kurokocchi," he answers, breathless.
A pause. "Is this a bad time, Kise-kun?"
"No!" Ryouta braces himself on one of the nearest poles. "No, it's perfect." He glances behind him where the door of the restaurant remains closed. He can't believe he almost had a meltdown there. It's pathetic. "Why did you call?"
"Is Kise-kun alright?"
No. I feel like drowning. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just leaving the Kaijou team reunion, so you called at the right time."
"I see." Ryouta closes his eyes and tunes out his surroundings, choosing to focus on Kuroko's steady breathing instead. "Do you want to meet up?"
It's been more than a week since that time in the playground. Ryouta looks up at the sky, at the slight orange tinge of the remnants of the sunset. He wants to. God knows how much he wants to see him again.
"Yeah," he says. "Tell me where."
Kuroko is already there when Ryouta arrives. Kuroko had arranged their meeting in a café near Ryouta's university, much to the blond's surprise.
"Kurokocchi," he greets, taking the seat across the other man. Kuroko is wearing a Seirin jacket on top of a white shirt, looking not a day older than when he had been a first year. "Been waiting for long?"
"No." Kuroko pushes a cup toward Ryouta. "I ordered your favorite milkshake. I hope Kise-kun doesn't mind."
A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I don't, thank you." He takes a careful sip, hesitant to intake anything when he feels like he could throw up anytime. Saying goodbye to the Kaijou guys wasn't difficult, but Ryouta didn't miss the guilty and suspicious looks on their faces. He didn't want to seem weak in front of them, not when he used to be their ace, not when he was supposed to be their little prodigy.
Kuroko keeps watching him, his plate of blueberry cheesecake untouched. "Kise-kun has changed."
It takes everything in Ryouta not to flinch. "How can you say that, Kurokocchi?" he asks with a pout. He has to pull this off. It's bad enough that he lost his cool in front of his former teammates. "Am I not cute anymore? I knew all those seminars will show on my face eventually."
"You're acting," he says, still in that monotonous voice, blue eyes sharp and assertive. "Kise-kun never acted around me before."
"Hey, that's mean." Breathe. You can do this. "Did you call just to judge me?"
"Of course not." Kuroko takes a spoonful of his cake, pushing it to Ryouta after with a small nod. "I figured Kise-kun wants some company."
Defence coats his skin before he could stop it. "What makes you think I'd want your company?"
It's only mildly irritating that Kuroko doesn't even blink. "Would you like me to leave?"
(In another world, Ryouta chases after what he wants, like he really means it.)
"I don't know," he murmurs, looking at his lap.
"Kise-kun doesn't smother me with hugs like he used to everytime we saw each other. He doesn't whine and stick himself to me. He doesn't talk a mile per minute." Kuroko stares at him and Ryouta is mesmerized. "Kise-kun hasn't been fine since high school."
"You can't fix me, if that's what you're thinking." Ryouta glares at his milkshake. "This isn't some cheesy anime."
"I wasn't planning to."
Ouch. "Okay."
Terse silence descends upon them. Ryouta looks at his friend and hopes Kuroko doesn't see that Ryouta could barely hold himself together. He came here with the intention of escaping from the stifling shackles of his past, but Kuroko starts breaking his walls down out of nowhere, like he's suddenly an expert on Ryouta's life.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," Kuroko says. "I've been meaning to spend time with you for a while now."
"Why?"
"Kise-kun disappeared after high school."
For a moment, Ryouta wants to protest. No, I've always been here. You were the ones who left . "I was busy."
Maybe Kuroko woke up on the wrong side of the bed and wanted everybody else to be as miserable as he felt, because that's the only reason why he would keep talking like this. "You changed your contacts. You moved to a new apartment. You stopped playing basketball. Your direct messages in social media are turned off. The only other way to see you is through magazines."
"You must be angry if you're suddenly speaking like that, Kurokocchi."
"I'm not angry, Kise-kun."
"Has anybody told you that you're a big liar?" Ryouta pushes down the panic and fear, deep and deeper until there's enough space for faux confidence and annoyance. "What do you want me to do, then? You've seen me. I'm fine."
"Why do you keep on avoiding us? Akashi-kun and the others wanted to know how you're doing."
Rolling his eyes, Ryouta scoffs. "If Akashicchi really wants to, I think he's powerful and rich enough to find me in five seconds." He shoots Kuroko the blankest gaze he could muster. "They don't care about me, Kurokocchi, and that's fine. Everybody has a lot on their plate. What's forgetting one person, right?"
A stare-down, then: "Kise-kun is hurt."
"Screw you," he hisses, leaning in with a cursory glance around. His disguise is useless if people can hear him. "I don't know what your deal is, but I'm done." He's infuriated seeing Kuroko's neutral face. "I'm done, Kuroko. I don't know what you're expecting, but I'm not the same person who used to push himself onto people who don't want anything to do with him." He stands, snatching the milkshake from the table because he deserves a little treat for putting up with shit after shit today. "Thank you for today. Goodbye."
He doesn't know what hurts more—that Kuroko doesn't say anything or the fact that Ryouta doesn't want to leave.
One of the things Ryouta likes about being a part-time model (yes, he turned down a full career because he's tired of wasting time and energy on something he's not completely fond of) is that he doesn't have to pretend like he gives a damn about anybody. He's not expected to know everyone's name, or accept any invitations. He merely has to show up, follow instructions, play pretty, and leave. Rinse and repeat.
He just arrived home from another shoot, exhausted in every sense of the word. He had to argue with the hairstylist to leave his hair alone or he'll turn down the project altogether. He didn't care that it put the whole staff in a sour mood, or that his almost shoulder-length hair didn't fit the stupid fabulous college kid theme. He wasn't in the right headspace to act like he gave a fuck.
Sighing, he strips for a quick shower. His face feels icky with makeup (can you believe they sprinkled him with glitters? How was that relevant to the theme?) and his mouth is strained from smiling and smirking for hours. The things he does for money.
He connects his phone to the badass speakers set up in the living room and plays classical music. The water is cold and he could barely hear the notes from here, but he closes his eyes and lets his shoulders slump.
It takes him more than ten minutes to get rid of all the makeup on his skin, and an extra five to put on moisturizer.
A towel is wrapped around his waist when he walks to the kitchen, opening one of the cupboards to get a pack of microwaveable instant noodles. The staff offered food for everybody in the shoot, but he didn't have enough face muscles willing to play nice, so he packed up and left with a hurried 'thank you'.
He changes into a pair of the baggiest pants he could find as he waits for the microwave oven to ring. It's late into the night and he probably shouldn't play music this loud anymore, but it's better to listen to haunting piano notes than face the silence around him.
It's been a few days since he last saw Kuroko. The phantom didn't try to message or call again. Ryouta is torn between relief and irritation because wow, it only took a handful of scathing words to push him away.
Shaking his head, he leaves a small towel on his head and eats his noodles on the sofa, ignoring the slight pull of the leather on his bare torso.
If my fans found out this is how I live, they're going to drop me faster than light, he thinks, cursing when he burns his tongue. The next track is a prelude by Bach. Ryouta sighs and stares into nothingness, ignoring the darkness of his apartment. It's still bare even after almost two years of moving in, no posters and polaroids unlike his room from high school.
It's pathetic. Everything about this—the music, the atmosphere, him —is pitiful. He doesn't feel like Kise Ryouta, but rather a mere silhouette in contrast to what used to be the source of light.
He supposes he should be used to it by now. After all, there's no one to blame but himself that he turned out like this. Unmotivated and without direction. Being a prodigy is a distant past. Perhaps it's true that when you're 20, you become as normal as everyone else. Heck, he hasn't even done his homework that's due tomorrow yet. Some prodigy he is.
He rises to discard his trash when the doorbell rings. Frowning, he strides to the door without much thought. Maybe he should be more nervous about it since it's close to midnight already and he isn't expecting any guests, but he's a college student and therefore fearless at the wrong moments.
"Who's—"
Kuroko blinks at him, blue eyes bright in the darkness of the night and his black hoodie. "Good evening, Kise-kun."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Would Kise-kun invite me inside? I can explain."
Ryouta considers shrieking until Kuroko scrambles away, but he's not that much of an asshole. "Come on," he hisses.
"Doesn't Kise-kun feel cold?"
"Cold? Why would I—" He glances down at himself. Oh right, he's still shirtless.
He does not sprint to the closet for a shirt. Nope.
Kuroko is seated on the sofa when Ryouta comes back. He turns on as much light as he could without blinding anybody. It's harder to see the phantom with dim lighting and Ryouta doesn't want to have a heart attack today.
"What are you doing here?" he asks again, settling beside him because there's no other furniture left. "How did you find me?"
"I asked Akashi-kun."
"Oh, you're chummy with him now?"
"Kise-kun does not need to be jealous."
"Jea—hey!" Heat fills his cheeks. "You better stop wasting my time, Kurokocchi."
"Kise-kun is not busy at the moment." Kuroko purses his lips. "Momoi-san needs a model for her photojournalism class."
Ryouta's brain is having a whiplash. "What? She's studying to be a journalist? Well, that makes sense, I guess . . . But why are you here if she's the one who needs me?"
Kuroko looks at him like the answer should be obvious. "I wanted to see you."
Oh.
Ryouta gapes like the smooth talker he is. "Well, um . . ." It's bad to flirt while being dead inside, Ryouta. "I—"
"Kise-kun probably doesn't want to see me. I apologize for my unprompted personal attack in the café. It has come to my attention that I should have searched for a common ground first so that we could have had the chance to enjoy our time together instead of instigating an argument."
"Why—" do you sound so hot "—are you talking with fancy language?" Ryouta runs a hand through his damp hair, wondering if he fell asleep at some point while eating soggy noodles. "I feel like we're having two completely different conversations."
"I came because I was worried." One of these days, Ryouta will die because of Kuroko's candor. "If Kise-kun is comfortable, I would like to be friends again."
"Did you miss me that much?" he jokes, feeling zero humor at the moment.
"Yes." Ryouta more or less jumps when Kuroko's cold fingers touch his wrist. "I want to help Kise-kun."
"I don't need help, Kurokocchi."
"I want to make Kise-kun smile again."
Wide-eyed, Ryouta meets his friend's earnest gaze. Kuroko is the embodiment of neutrality most of the time, but his eyes are sincere. Always. "Excuse me?" His knee is jerking up and down in that way people find annoying. "What are you talking about?"
(In another world, he takes the shadow's hand and asks him to stay.)
"You don't have to decide immediately," Kuroko says, rising to his feet. Helplessness claws at Ryouta's throat. "I'll be going."
Kuroko is almost out of the door when Ryouta bolts from his position. "Wait."
"Yes?"
"I . . ." Maybe it'll be alright. He can do this. He can reach out for once. "Do you have an appointment tomorrow morning?"
"I'm free until lunch."
"Okay." Deep breaths. "Would you like to stay? For coffee?"
If he had been standing a little nearer, he would see Kuroko's small smile. "For the night?"
Relief escapes Ryouta's sigh. "For the night."
"Hey, Kurokocchi."
"Yes, Kise-kun?"
"Did they really miss me?"
"Do you know why we weren't there that last year?"
"You chose your priorities."
"We did, and we thought you loved basketball."
"I did."
"We were wrong, though. We didn't reach out."
"It wasn't your fault."
Kuroko blinks at him from the rim of his cup. Classical music is still playing, although the volume has been turned down. "It wasn't, but we were friends."
"Were we?" Ryouta raises a brow, stirring his half-full cup for the sake of it. "I was under the impression that you just tolerated my existence, and the others saw me as the golden boy who could copy all their moves."
"We were friends," he insists. "I cannot speak for the others, but I saw you as a friend."
Ryouta smiles bitterly. "I see." He doesn't. His memories of "friendship" with Kuroko Tetsuya consist of him clinging onto the phantom like a koala, screaming into his ear, cracking one-sided jokes. Forced. Desperate. Kuroko doesn't even reply to his texts.
"You're doubting it."
"I'm sorry if all I can remember is you sticking to Kagamicchi every time I visited Seirin." He shrugs. "Can't blame you though. I was repulsive and pushy."
"Do you want to see the others?"
"What's the point?" It's past midnight now. He has a class two hours before noon tomorrow. His homework is nowhere close to finished. "We're adults now. There's no basketball match to use as an excuse to meet anymore."
Taking one large gulp of his drink, Ryouta gets up and walks to the bathroom. "I'm gonna brush my teeth. There's an extra toothbrush here for you. Leave the cups in the sink."
This is a mistake, he thinks, glaring hard at his reflection. What was he thinking? He should have just let Kuroko leave. He's still the same Kise Ryouta—lonely and fucking desperate for company.
"I'm sorry, Kise-kun."
Ryouta startles and clutches at his chest, narrowing his eyes at Kuroko. "What the fuck? Give a man some warning next time," he says, words muffled because of toothpaste.
"I've been here the whole time."
Ryouta rinses his mouth, shaking his head. "Liar."
"I'm sorry," he repeats, and he isn't talking about lying or creeping up beside him. "You didn't change. You just matured. It's a good look on you as well."
With a sigh, Ryouta walks past him. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" I'm still alone. "Follow me to the bedroom when you're done; I'll lend you some clothes. I don't have a guest room or extra futon so we'll share the bed."
Ryouta sits on the bed, shoulders taut with tension. It's just Kuroko. He shouldn't be nervous.
But he is. He's nervous for a number of things, though none of them is directly about the blue-haired boy for a change.
He lies on his back just as Kuroko enters. Ryouta would have failed to notice him if not for the door opening loudly. Kuroko eyes the space for him before reaching out with his palm. Ryouta shoots him a curious sidelong glance, smiling when he sees his phone. "Thanks," he says, taking it. "Forgot it was still connected to the speakers." He nods to the direction of the closet. "Just borrow anything you want there."
"Thank you."
Fisting the front of his shirt, Ryouta heaves an inaudible sigh. He has no idea what he's doing, why, of all times, he's decided to act like this. It's been two years. Being hung up on the past is ridiculous.
Here I am anyway, he thinks, wanting to laugh at the irony.
It's quiet when Kuroko settles next to him. He fits in like a glove, sliding in between the sheets like he's made for it, the only indication that he's moved at all is the quiet rustle of the fabrics. Ryouta stiffens, staring hard at the ceiling. It's warm where Kuroko brushes his arm against his, gentle and soft.
(He wants to touch.)
"We meet every month for street ball," Kuroko says when it's proven that neither of them is close to sleeping. "The next match is in three weeks, when Kagami-kun visits."
"Okay."
Silence. Ryouta is hyper-aware of the heat beside him, of the unspoken request—or question, because Kuroko doesn't really ask for favors, especially not from Ryouta.
"Do you want to join?"
Ryouta swallows the lump in his throat. "Do you want me to?"
For a man who supposedly has an extremely low presence, Kuroko sure knows how to demand for attention. He props an elbow and rests his head on his palm, peering at Ryouta. The blond clenches his jaw but meets his gaze nonetheless.
"Will it change your mind if I say yes?"
"Maybe." He wants to, of course. He wants to accept the invitation so much, especially when it's being dangled in his face like this. He wants to reach out and grasp it with hungry fingers, but . . . It's pathetic. It's a very Kise Ryouta move, to gravitate towards people and friends who don't even like him when it's not about basketball.
Kuroko stares at him, blue eyes wide and bright like he's dissecting every blink Ryouta makes. Knowing him, he probably is. Ryouta holds his ground. Maybe minutes have passed, maybe seconds, but it doesn't change the fact that it's just the two of them right here and Ryouta's heart is pumping, erratic, and he wants to touch to see if Kuroko would push him away again, like he always does and—
He wants Kuroko to chase him, just this once.
What if he doesn't? Kuroko has never chased anybody before, not without the intention of bringing them down, so how dare Ryouta, the person Kuroko has rejected over and over again, hope that it'll be different this time around?
"I want you to join," Kuroko says, voice even like they're talking about the weather, like he isn't making Ryouta's breath hitch with the way he's looking and looking and looking.
Ryouta's answer is a breathless whisper, a silent murmur of what exactly is haunting him. "You never wanted to before."
"I want it now." He leans in and for a split second, Ryouta wants to close the distance. "Isn't that what matters?"
"You're so unfair, Kurokocchi."
"I know."
"You can't do this to me." It sounds like a plea. In the darkness, it's obvious which of them has the upper hand all along. "You can't just—" push me away for years and expect me to come running when you ask me to "—barge in and tell me these things."
"I know," he repeats, shifting so he's seated instead. "But I'm doing it anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I care."
"You never did," Ryouta insists, and there's a certainty to his words, a sureness that only comes from facing rejection time and time again. "We had all those years together and we both know you never gave a fuck about me."
Ryouta sees it—that exact moment Kuroko agrees with him. It's a big slap in the face, the biggest one yet.
"You should go," he says, turning away. He can't believe he fell for that again, fell for Kuroko. He should have known better.
"It's hard to catch any transportation at this hour."
"That's not my problem." A little bite in his words, a little force. Make it cold. Good.
"Kise-kun, it's not—"
"I don't care!" He's not crying. Not anymore. He's not that stupid crybaby anymore. He sits up, biting on his tongue so he won't feel the ache in his jaw from keeping his tears inside. "I'm not doing this tonight, Kurokocchi. Leave before we do something we'll both regret."
It's only for a moment, but Kuroko has a tender look in his eyes. Ryouta wants to hide from it because it hurts seeing, like Kuroko finally realized what will make Ryouta relent, what will make him weak.
"Stop running away, Kise-kun."
"I'm not," he says. His voice breaks. He hates it. He hates it. He's so weak. After all this time, he's still so fucking weak. "I'm not running away."
"You are." Kuroko touches him and it burns. The fire seeps into Ryouta and he absorbs it like the desperate man he is, his veins burning with something that oddly feels like need. For what, he doesn't know. Kuroko is cupping his cheek with his long fingers, cold despite the heat in Ryouta's blood. "You have to stop. I'm here."
"You aren't supposed to be."
"I'm here though." Ryouta closes his eyes, the tears falling the moment his eyelashes touch his skin. Fuck. He should have known better. "Sleep, Kise-kun."
"Ryouta," he says, begs. "Please call me . . ." A vice grip encloses his heart and squeezes hard. Kuroko wipes all his tears away, but the pain doesn't go away. It spreads inside his chest until it's everything he could do to breathe. "Please."
"Ryouta," the shadow murmurs, pulling Ryouta down so his head rests on his lap. "Sleep, Ryouta."
The prodigy relaxes as Kuroko combs his fingers through his blond locks, falling into the illusion of safety, of friendship, even if it hardly eases the weight in his chest.
The next morning, Ryouta wakes up to Kuroko cooking fried eggs for breakfast. Neither of them comments about the blond's puffy eyes. Kuroko is wearing one of Ryouta's baggy shirts, and it swallows his tiny frame perfectly. Ryouta has the familiar urge to wrap him in his arms, like he used to.
"Good morning, Ryouta."
Ryouta almost drops his glass. He swallows. "Good morning."
"I'm sorry." The way Kuroko says it makes Ryouta glance up. Kuroko has his neutral face on, but his eyes are bright and earnest.
Ryouta waves a hand, walking back to his room. He does need to cram for his homework, crying or no crying. "All you've been doing since we met again is apologizing."
"I understand that I've overstepped many times."
With a snort, Ryouta places his papers on the kitchen counter and sits on a stool. "You wouldn't be Kurokocchi if you're not offending anyone."
"But you're my friend." Kuroko sets the table, missing the way Ryouta flinches. "I don't like hurting my friends."
"Believe me, you've done enough of that," he grumbles, the words escaping like a stab instead of a joke like he initially meant it to be.
Kuroko steps back and performs a perfect 90° bow. "I cannot change my past actions towards your genuine advances, but I'm asking sincerely this time. Please give me another chance."
Ryouta ignores the pounding of his heart. Much to his displeasure, crying last night did help. He feels lighter, like a sudden headache wouldn't knock him over. He has mixed feelings about Kuroko's presence in his apartment, but he doesn't want to think about it today, not when he woke up for the first time since forever without the eerie silence ticking in his ears.
"Why are you making me sound like a pervert? I gave you hugs without malice, Kurokocchi." He serves himself some food. "Stop bowing, dammit. Let's eat."
Kuroko sits across from him, blinking owlishly. He resembles his dog Nigou so much that Ryouta almost laughs. "Does this mean that you're accepting my apology?"
"I don't have much choice, do I? You're going to annoy me as much as I annoyed you back then."
"Ryouta-kun." That again. Stop it, you fucking useless heart. "I think you're under the impression that I won't respect your decision. If you can't forgive me, I'll take that and leave you alone."
"Mou~ why do you make everything so complicated?" he complains, a little surprised that he almost sounds like his old self. "We're friends! After last night, I doubt I could show my face to you without being your friend."
Kuroko doesn't respond, but Ryouta thinks he's smiling. Inside.
"Does Momocchi really need me for her project?" he asks after a moment of silence.
"Yes. We can meet her later if you're free."
"How about tomorrow?" Meeting Kuroko is one thing, spending long minutes answering Momoi Satsuki's questions is another . "I have to submit a few papers today."
Kuroko shrugs. "It's up to you." He sips on his coffee. "I need to be somewhere by 10. Do you want to do something before that?"
"My homework," he says, frowning at his papers. "If you're expecting more. . ."
"It's fine. I took a lot of your time last night. I can help you, if you would like?"
"Right, you want to be a teacher, don't you?" Ryouta focuses his attention on the smaller man, raising a brow. Talkative Kise Mode on. "When did that happen, by the way? I thought you used to flunk school."
Kuroko purses his lips like such a statement is absurd. "I did fail a lot. My parents want me to be any kind of doctor, so I'm studying to be a doctor in education at the moment."
"Because it's easy?"
"Because I like teaching people."
"Huh." Ryouta props an elbow on the counter and places his chin on his palm. "Must be nice doing something you like."
"Doesn't Ryouta-kun like engineering?"
He doesn't mask his mild surprise. "How did you know that's what I'm studying?"
Kuroko finishes the last of his breakfast. "Browsing through the convenience store's magazines had become a habit of mine."
Ryouta squints at his friend. Years could pass and he could still tell when Kuroko bullshits his way through stuff. "You should really blink at least once when you tell a lie if you want to look natural."
A begrudging pause. "I was curious."
"About me?"
Kuroko stares him down in that patronizing and disinterested way only he could pull off. "Yes, Kise-kun. I was curious about you."
A smile makes its way to Ryouta's lips, and not the small ones that became the usual these past few months. No, this is a full blown sunshine smile, the kind that he had always reserved for Kuroko. "Hey, Kurokocchi—"
"On second thoughts, I think I should go," he says, hastily piling up their plates. Ryouta couldn't remember the last time Kuroko made a joke, but this, right in front of his eyes, is one.
He's doubling over with laughter before he could catch himself, waving his hands in an attempt to placate the blue-haired man. "No, no, stay there, Kurokocchi."
"You're teasing me, Kise-kun."
"Back to formalities again?" Ryouta wiggles his eyebrows, and in that moment, he realizes two things:
One is that being with Kuroko Tetsuya had always felt like this—blunt words and jokes hidden behind seemingly flat statements, lingering stares and exasperated gazes.
Two, Ryouta had forgotten that it could feel good with Kuroko. That it isn't always rejection and being pushed to the side because he isn't the preferred friend.
Kuroko shakes his head, though his eyes are alight with amusement. He looks beautiful in Ryouta's shirt, small and pale and perfect. Ryouta will let him leave later, just like he had always done in the past, but he will hold onto this image frozen in his memory—the way Kuroko looks like every bit of the future Ryouta wants to have.
True to his word, Ryouta meets Kuroko the next day so they could go to Momoi's house together. Momoi had texted Ryouta the night before with a rather excitable greeting and an instruction to bring at least two sets of casual wear.
With Kuroko's silent nature and Ryouta's new-found comfort in shutting his mouth, the train ride passes by quietly. It's when they're walking through the entrance of a private subdivision that the blond speaks.
"You gave my number to Momocchi, didn't you?"
"I did," Kuroko says with a nod. Not for the first time this morning, Ryouta tries hard not to stare. His friend is wearing a loose black v-neck shirt and skinny jeans, highlighting the blue of his hair. Oh, and he has earrings for some reason. Damn. "Ryouta-kun, please look where you're going. You might trip."
"Since when do you wear earrings?" Ryouta blurts out because: one, Kuroko Ever-So-Formal Tetsuya just called him by his first name and two, that small hoop around his right ear is driving Ryouta insane.
"Last year." He stops at a three-storey house, hand poised to press on the doorbell. "Why? Does it look weird?"
He doesn't seem to be particularly interested in whatever opinion Ryouta has about his fashion sense, but the blond answers anyway just as Momoi's familiar voice calls out from inside the house. "Nah, it suits you, Kurokocchi." More than suits you, he wants to say. In fact, I want to tug it with my tee—
"Ki-chan, Tetsu-kun!" Momoi Satsuki looks as pretty as ever with her shiny pink hair and doll-like eyes. She lets out a sound between a giggle and a whine before throwing herself at Ryouta.
"Woah, Momocchi," he says, catching her. He glances at Kuroko in question, though the latter merely blinks at him.
Momoi steps back and walks inside, beckoning them. "Come on. I'm so glad you made it, Ki-chan. It's been so long since we hung out!"
Yeah, well, I can't say that's purely my fault. Ryouta gives a wide smile because it's obvious she just wants to have stupid small talk. "I'm happy to help you out, Momocchi. What's your project about?"
He ignores Kuroko's raised brow. So what if Ryouta is purposely avoiding topics around himself?
They settle on a large sofa, watching as Momoi comes back from the kitchen with a DSLR camera around her neck and a tray of drinks on hand. "It's about promoting LGBT relationships."
Ryouta almost loses his grip around his glass. "What."
Color rushes to Momoi's cheeks as she waves her hands. "I-I'm not assuming your sexuality, Ki-chan! I thought you knew!" She pouts at Kuroko. "Tetsu-kun, you told me you'll find a partner."
Ryouta whirls to face said man, who is wearing the most deceptive poker face. "Momoi-san, I did find someone. I just forgot to mention the theme." To Ryouta, he says, "The theme is showing the normalcy of LGBT relationships and that people should stop with the stigma."
"What," Ryouta repeats. He shakes his head to clear his weird thoughts. "It's fine, Momocchi. I don't mind stuff like this."
Momoi looks like a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry, Ki-chan. You can back out."
"It's okay." Ryouta fixes his gaze at a spot on the floor and takes a steadying breath. "I'm bi."
Silence.
Momoi sighs in palpable relief. "Thank you, Ki-chan. I'm lesbian, if you're curious!"
Ryouta frowns. "I thought you've always liked Kurokocchi."
"I thought so too, but I realized I like Tetsu-kun because I think he's really sweet and kind, not because I'm attracted to him . . . like that."
"I see." Nope. Ryouta does not feel relieved. No way. "I'm happy for you, then!"
Before an awkward pause descends upon them, he and Momoi turn to Kuroko expectantly.
Kuroko returns the attention with an unamused roll of his eyes. It's a dangerous thing to combine with his outfit today. "I don't see why my sexuality is of any importance."
"But—"
"Momocchi, can we start now? I have another shoot by 3 PM." He doesn't, but drastic measures must be taken if it means getting out of here unscathed.
"Oh, okay. We can start right here. Ki-chan, your hair is so long! Do you mind removing your hair tie for a bit?"
Humming in response, Ryouta undoes his half-ponytail, letting his hair fall on his shoulders. Momoi claps and shoots him a delighted grin.
Kuroko shifts closer to him. "Momoi-san, we don't have to do . . . explicit shots, right?"
It's difficult to tell if Momoi's face is redder than Ryouta's.
"No, Tetsu-kun! This is strictly PG! The whole university will see it when we hold the gallery, you know."
"I understand. I was just making sure."
The shoot goes without a hitch. Ryouta unconsciously slips into his model persona, all perfect angles and what kind of person do you want me to show the camera? Momoi lets him take the reins with the poses, admitting that she's not as experienced as Ryouta. Kuroko is pulled in the current without a single complaint, even going as far as suggesting that they take a domestic and intimate shot.
Ryouta thinks he should be concerned at how indifferent he feels the whole time. Maybe, in the past, he would be elated to work with Kuroko. He does like looking at him even now. After all, it isn't everyday that he gets to see Kuroko all styled and gorgeous. Still, the idea of modeling dampens his mood altogether.
At least I'm not being interrogated, he tells himself. Momoi being busy means she won't even think to ask stupid questions.
Coincidentally, it's when he's thinking this that Momoi begins her nosy probing. They've just finished lunch (delivery, because Momoi could grow older and older and she still can't learn how to cook) and Ryouta is itching to leave.
"Say Ki-chan, how have you been? I couldn't contact you at all! I tried finding your information, but nobody seemed to know how to reach you!"
Ryouta flashes her a tight smile. "I constantly change my number because of the fans, Momocchi."
"That's a shame." She ties her hair in a messy bun, oblivious to Ryouta's constipated expression. "Everybody misses you! You should really come to the monthly streetball. Can you believe Midorin is going to be a doctor? Akashin is always the top of his year! By the way, I think Dai-chan will drop by in a while. Do you want to wait for him?"
"No," Ryouta answers in reflex. "I have somewhere to be soon," he adds, because courtesy and all.
"How about you, Tetsu-kun?"
"I'm fine, Momoi-san. I'm sure Aomine-kun wouldn't miss us too much."
Momoi looks stump for five seconds before she's onto Ryouta again. "Ki-chan, why don't you tell me what you've been up to instead? I've been wondering why you quit basketball when everybody thought you're going to continue in college!"
Ryouta grits his teeth, already feeling shitty that he has to be the one to ruin that pretty smile on Momoi's face. "It's a long story."
"Surely it won't take an hour? Please, Ki-chan, I'm curious about what happened to you." Cue puppy eyes that do nothing but increase Ryouta's discomfort.
Lie your way. "Well, the thing is—"
"Momoi-san, Ryouta-kun and I need to go. I will escort him to his next shoot."
Momoi blinks like she doesn't know if she should be more surprised that Kuroko called Ryouta by his first name or that he said the last sentence at all. "Oh, okay."
Ryouts counts one to ten and tries to even his breathing. "Good luck on your project, Momocchi." He stands and instinctively grips Kuroko's shoulder when he almost loses his balance. He does not look back to hear the former manager's response.
Kuroko catches up with him after a few minutes. Ryouta totally startles when he registers another person panting next to him, although he covers it up with a cough. Damn Kuroko and his shadow tendencies.
He's half-hoping that they could board the train without having to talk about what happened at Momoi's, but he's with Kuroko and that man doesn't know subtlety if it hits him in the face.
"Are you okay, Ryouta-kun?"
"Yeah," is the automatic response. He sounds fine, too. His superb acting skills really come in handy.
Of course, Kuroko doesn't buy it. Of course. "If you want to talk about—"
"I don't," he snaps, giving up on putting some distance between them. Kuroko could speed walk like a pro if he wants to. "Can't you see that I don't want to talk about it? And even if I do, why would I talk to you?"
He's being unnecessarily mean, he knows. He's being an asshole on purpose, and for what? To see if Kuroko would look hurt? To see if he could break as easily as Ryouta? It feels like a slap when Kuroko just nods at him. It feels pretty fucking terrible. (And painful, although Ryouta would rather die than admit that to himself.)
"I'm sorry." Kuroko's words are almost lost in the buzz of the station. Ryouta wants to miss them, wants to hear the wind instead of that monotonous voice that will only say things that will hurt, but his ears are always tuning in with Kuroko, always so goddamn curious. "I didn't mean to overstep. Do you still want to ride the train together, or would it ease your mind more if we leave separately?"
I don't know. Stop making me decide when it includes you. The train arrives. "It doesn't matter to me," he says, because he's weak. Because he can never say a flat No in Kuroko's face, no matter what happens. He will lie again and again if it means not rejecting Kuroko.
And maybe Kuroko knows this, that Ryouta is the kind of person who's all tell and no show, that he's a coward when it comes to people he genuinely cares about, when it comes to Kuroko, even after all these years. Maybe Kuroko knows this because when Ryouta steps on the train and looks behind him, Kuroko is still standing on the platform, a pale hand raised in a small wave.
And Ryouta knows too, that he can't be hurt for the things he did to himself.
Ryouta wakes up and he knows what day and month and year it is for a change. He attends his classes without a single complaint and even gives real smiles to the fans he passes by.
He does his homework on time and cooks a proper dinner. He ignores his manager's call and goes to sleep at 10 PM after a long, hot shower.
He feels like he's on autopilot, but it's a good day nonetheless, one that he would forget in a week when his stupid thoughts start taking over again. He still lives in the moment, though, because it's rare that he's this present, this grounded.
He finds it's easier when he does not think about the two unread messages on his phone.
Kuroko is wearing The Look™ when Ryouta answers the door four days later. It's the glint in his eyes, Ryouta thinks. The glint that says, Let me in or you're going to have to punch me in the face to make me leave.
Scowling, Ryouta walks back to the sofa, not bothering to see if Kuroko followed. He knows he will. Kuroko is not the kind to stay idle after having his text messages ignored for five days.
Ryouta goes back to munching potato chips. He needs an outlet if he wants to survive this inevitable conversation. Knowing Kuroko, Ryouta would have to change names and move countries before he gives up.
"Just spit it out," Ryouta says after a long silence. He thinks Kuroko would fidget beside him if he were the type to make unnecessary movements.
"I won't apologize this time."
"And?"
Kuroko full-on glares. "Ryouta-kun, I thought I told you to stop running away from your problems."
He is not in the right mood to deal with this shorty's bluntness. "So? I wasn't informed that I have to listen to you."
"Are you going to keep being a dick for the entirety of this exchange?"
"Excuse me?" His brain is torn between oh my God, Kuroko just said dick and Kuroko just called me a dick. "You're the one who barges in my place without warning—"
"—If you just read my messages, you—"
"—can't expect me to welcome you with open arms—"
"—then just listen. You don't have to speak—"
"—and now you're calling me a dick when—"
"Ryouta!" Kuroko is breathing hard, like he just ran three laps around the court. Ryouta blinks at him in surprise. Never, in the six or seven years they've known each other, had Ryouta heard Kuroko yell before. "Just listen to me for a moment. Please."
He finds himself nodding. "Okay."
"Okay," Kuroko echoes. They sit in silence for a while. Ryouta clenches his fist around the bag of chips, suddenly feeling very stupid. As if he never outgrew his childishness from Teikou and Kaijou. "I care about you, Ryouta-kun. I know you've been having trouble with—life, yourself. I know you're not okay and we left you. I don't have any right to bother you after everything, but I'm telling you now that I'm here and I just wish you'd believe me."
"I can't," Ryouta says in a quiet murmur. "How can I believe you when . . ." When all I've ever been certain of when I'm with you is the fact that you'll never choose me?
"Say it. Say what you really think, Kise-kun."
"I don't want to hurt you." It's bullshit. It's bullshit. Ryouta wants to speak his mind so bad, wants to let it all out even if he knows his words will sting. He wants to be honest for once, because Kuroko asked, because he's always known when Ryouta lies.
Kuroko's lips twitch in a sad smile. "We both know you don't mean that. Not at the moment."
He's right. Of course he is. For all the ridiculous number of times he's pushed Ryouta away, Kuroko sure knows him a lot better than most people.
"Why can't you just ignore me like you used to?" Ryouta says, face turned away in an attempt to have some semblance of privacy. "I don't understand what's so different now. We've never been the best of friends, Kurokocchi. We both know that. We just existed together inside a basketball court, and now that neither of us is in that path anymore, I don't get why you suddenly found it appropriate to reconnect again."
"I have my reasons." He shakes his head at Ryouta's questioning stare. "This isn't the time for that, not for the whole truth anyway."
"Is this the part where you say it's all a dare?" Ryouta jokes, shoulders slumping despite himself.
"Of course not. I'm appalled that you think so lowly of me." Kuroko clears his throat. "Well, considering everything I've done in the past, I suppose I'm not in any position to complain."
Ryouta doesn't respond. What can he say anyway? That it's fine? That he got used to it in the end? The last one might be true, but he will not dig a deeper grave for himself. Not anymore. He will not invalidate his feelings again just to spare Kuroko's.
"I never planned on fixing you," he continues. "You might not believe me, but I kept tabs on you these past two years. I wanted to contact you, but I didn't know what to say since our relationship has always been . . . unique."
"All I'm hearing is you making excuses," Ryouta blurts out.
Kuroko does not look particularly offended. "I know. I was wrong. If I really cared so much, I should've talked to you a long time ago. I think I might be too late now."
"It's not like I'm saving the world every other day, Kurokocchi." He loosens his grip on the chips and pops one in his mouth. "No such thing as too late."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I don't know what you want to hear from me," Ryouta admits. He thinks they're well past hiding the true meaning of their words behind stilted pauses and subdued smiles.
"I only want you to be honest with yourself."
He laughs. He couldn't help it. It's pathetic, he supposes, that it sounds hollow. "Oh, I'm honest with myself, Kurokocchi. Wanna know what I really think about myself?" This is it. The one time he won't pull out anger and irritation and call it 'defense'. "I'm a fake. A fucking fraud. I'm nothing without basketball. You know the worst thing? I can't even stomach holding a basketball anymore. It's so fun; it's the only thing that ever made me feel alive, but now I can't even look at it without remembering how useless I am if I'm not wearing a jersey."
Kuroko is so quiet that if Ryouta tries, he would forget he isn't alone. He glares at the floor, the words tumbling out of his mouth like it couldn't leave fast enough. "I'm back to who I was before—before Teikou. I'm that person again, only worse now because I know what I used to have, what it felt like to have friends and rivals and goals, and I'm awfully aware that I don't have that anymore." He forces himself to look at the 6th phantom man, wondering how everything became so messy, wondering if he could take it all back, if he wants to take it all back. "So, yeah, I'm not broken. I'm just fucked up and privileged and I hate myself everyday for not being content with what I'm given when I have it better than most people.
He slumps on the sofa, drained and done. He welcomes the hole in his chest like an old friend. This is it. This is really it. Kuroko could stomp on his heart again and Ryouta would barely bat an eyelash.
"Your problem has got nothing to do with me," Kuroko says. Ryouta hangs his head, letting his hair cover his face in case his eyes suddenly decide they want to cry (God, he hopes not). "Still, I want to stay by your side. Permanently this time. I can't solve your problem for you, but I can promise that you won't be alone again when you face it."
"You're so fucking corny," he says, choking on his words. Tears stream down his cheeks because they're traitors like that. "I can't believe you can say that with a straight face."
"I have one more," Kuroko announces, like he's about to crack a joke and not say the words Ryouta had only dreamt of hearing. "Someday, I will tell you why I said these things, but right now, the most important part is you know that I want to be here when you're too tired to feed yourself or too indifferent to even try. I want to be here when you're bored, when you want to whine about college." It's ridiculous how Ryouta's heart is pounding so hard even though Kuroko's face is as blank as ever, like he's talking about getting dinner. "If you'll let me, I won't push you away ever again."
(At the end of the day, he's the kind of person who's never been afraid to hold on.)
"Hey, Kurokocchi," he croaks, unashamed of his blotchy face. He tucks his hair behind his ears and wipes his snot with the hem of his shirt.
"Yes, Ryouta-kun?"
"Can I call you Tetsucchi?"
It's a split second, but Ryouta catches that beautiful smile and locks it in his memory forever. "Of course."
Ryouta nods, calming himself. Nothing really changes from here, he realizes. It's not as if he suddenly found his purpose, or that he can promise not to hate himself and his life again, but—
Kuroko reaches out, taking Ryouta's hand in his. Ryouta startles and gapes at his friend, who merely gives him a raised brow.
"Tetsucchi," he calls after a long moment.
"Yes?"
"Can I hug you now?"
—but he's not alone, and he could allow himself to believe that now.
"Anytime you want, Ryouta-kun."
Nothing changes, not really, only that there's a Kuroko Tetsuya where a hole used to be. Ryouta is surprised at how one person's presence (however shadow-like it could be) could change his routine.
They don't see each other every day, with them preoccupied with college and life in general, but Tetsuya makes it a point to text or call every single night, asking Ryouta questions and reminding him to take care of himself. Ryouta, in return, floods him with messages throughout the day, happy every time Tetsuya replies when he thinks he would be left on read.
Nothing changes, not really, but Ryouta finds it a little easier to whine and shriek like he used to (only around Tetsuya, but don't tell him that) without beating himself up for being pathetic.
"Hello?"
"Kasamatsu-senpai."
"Oi, Kise. What's up?"
"Can you gather everyone sometime? I'd like to eat dinner with all of you again."
Everybody is staring at them.
Ryouta tries not to fidget under their gazes, clenching his fists inside the pockets of his hoodie. Tetsuya is still beside him, although that isn't surprising. It's a little cold to be staying outside, the sun giving more light than heat. Ryouta wants to go home.
It's Midorima who snaps out of it in five seconds flat, pushing his glasses up his nose. "It's nice to see you again, Kise."
"Midorimacchi," he greets. If that's a grimace on his face, nobody comments.
Maybe, just maybe, it's a mistake to come.
Kagami walks to them, a basketball tucked under his arm. He slaps Tetsuya's back and nods at Ryouta. "Oi, Kise. You're looking good. Nice hair."
"Thanks, Kagamicchi. I see America is treating you well." It's true, too. Kagami is radiant, like he could do those super jumps a hundred times in a row. Ryouta moves to tug at his hair, but lowers his hand when he remembers that it's no longer at shoulder-length.
Aomine shakes his head and continues dribbling the other ball, smoothly sidestepping Akashi before taking a perfect shot. "Took you long enough, asshole."
"Language, Daiki," Akashi says, flashing Ryouta a serene smile. The former Rakuzan captain looks freakishly smart as always, his elegant disposition not quite changing after all this time. "I'm glad you decided to join, Ryouta. I hope we all enjoy ourselves today."
"I don't know if I'll play, Akashicchi."
Murasakibara raises his head from where he's silently eating a chocolate bar on the bench. "Eh? Why not?"
Tetsuya stands by Momoi who is taking pictures of them like a paparazzi. "Momoi-san, stop that." The former manager jumps in surprise, whining at Tetsuya's low presence.
Ryouta stares at his former teammates, wondering if he would just ruin their dynamics. He wants to apologize, wants to explain himself for disappearing, even though he is technically innocent. The others (minus Momoi and Tetsuya) are still watching him, like they're expecting him to tear through the awkwardness on his own. They probably are, knowing them.
He pushes past his nerves. He can do this. They aren't strangers. "Guys—"
"I'd like to apologize," Akashi says. Ryouta only mildly gapes at him. "I will naturally address the elephant in the room, which is your absence. Or rather, ours. You don't have to say anything right now, Ryouta. I believe we all failed you as your former teammates and friends."
Aomine slings an arm around Ryouta's shoulders. "Yeah, let's set the drama aside for now. We can talk about deep shit later." He ruffles the blond's hair. "Unless you're in a hurry?"
"N-no." Not anymore. Ryouta couldn't mask his confusion when Midorima hands him a wooden guitar keychain. "Why—"
"Your lucky item for today. Kuroko mentioned that you'll be here."
Ryouta glares at Tetsuya, who is conveniently yards away. "You said they didn't—"
"I share a separate group chat with Midorima-kun and Takao-kun, Ryouta-kun. They're the only ones who knew."
"Why would you be in a group chat with those two?"
"Well—"
"Wait, Ryouta-kun? " Aomine explodes beside Ryouta. "When did that happen?" Akashi smirks like he knows all the secrets in the world. Murasakibara stops eating. Kagami is crushing Tetsuya's head, as if the truth will suddenly explode from his brain. Midorima is frowning.
The flash from Momoi's camera catches their attention. "Why don't you guys play now, hm?"
"That's a great idea, Momoi-san," Tetsuya says, already taking position in the middle of the court.
Aomine runs after him. "You're gonna have to explain that later, Tetsu."
"I don't have to explain anything to you, Aomine-kun."
"That's bullshit—"
"Daiki, what did I say about your language?"
"Be quiet or I'm going to crush all of you."
"Hey, you should all treat me to some burgers after this. I was on a strict diet in America for some reason."
"Shut up, Kagami. You're only allowed to make demands if you can stop my threes."
"Nobody can stop your shots, you green-haired bi—"
"Taiga, I will not tolerate that mouth of yours as well."
Ryouta sits beside Momoi, a fond grin tugging at his lips as he watches his friends. It's been so long, yet it still feels like everything is the same. He thinks that's how basketball connects them—they are different people now. He is certain of that after seeing everyone together again. They're older and wiser and mature. No more petty grudges and promises of revenge. No more surpassing one's abilities. Still, every single one of them fits like puzzle pieces in a basketball court.
They are different people now, and maybe that's for the best, because Ryouta isn't the same golden boy from before either. Maybe this time . . . No, definitely this time, they will understand the whats and the whys of the decisions he made.
Momoi keeps score while Ryouta calls out the violations like a pro. Tetsuya, Midorima, and Akashi are on one team, extremely towered by Aomine, Kagami, and Murasakibara. As expected, the smaller team makes up for the lack of height by being fast and, in Tetsuya's case, invisible.
Tetsuya scores a shot with Akashi's help and—like a movie, the shadow meets Ryouta's eyes, his blue hair now golden where the sun hits him. It's a split second, just like it always is with him, and Ryouta catches it with the precision of someone who's used to fleeting beautiful moments.
A few weeks ago, Ryouta would've turned away and hid, but he basks in Tetsuya's smile this time, because today is a great day and they are surrounded by friends. Because today is another day that Ryouta could be thankful for, despite everything.
This is the real world, and the truth is Ryouta makes a lot of mistakes and says the wrong words and assumes things. The truth is he's a little drunk with the bottles of secrets he keeps hidden in his heart. The truth is he's a little bit in love and confused and scared and happy, like he couldn't catch each page of his life fast enough to write a full paragraph, to dissect his emotions, but—
For the first time in his life, he lets it overflow.