Chapter 1: Staged
Glancing at the clock, Kise grabs his bag and heads towards the door of his hotel room. "I can't show up late for my last photo shoot," he tells himself as a means to instill a sense of responsibility.
With his love for basketball increasing steadily in the last couple years, he has decided to put his modeling career on indefinite hold in order to focus on the sport. Publicly announcing his hiatus had proved difficult, since the countless responses from despondent fans fill him with guilt. However, he knows that he has a duty towards himself to pursue his own desires.
While reaching for the doorknob, a soft knock emanates from the other side. Kise opens the door without hesitation, a soft gasp passing through parted lips as he identifies the visitor.
"Hi," the blond greets. "We haven't seen each other for a while." He hesitates before cautiously adding, "I thought you were upset with me."
The guest laughs in response. "Upset with you? No. I admit things got awkward the last time we spoke, but that wasn't my intention. I'm sorry that things got out of hand."
Pursing his lips together, Kise tries to decipher whether the other's words are sincere.
"I come bearing a peace offering," the visitor says presenting a water bottle. "It's half water, half coconut water."
The blond relaxes. "Just the way I like it." He accepts the gift, removes the lid, and takes a swig.
"Do you have a moment?" the guest asks. "I just want a couple minutes to clear the air. I'd feel better knowing that there are no misunderstandings between us."
Kise mentally superimposes this impromptu meeting with his planned schedule. "I was heading out for my last photo shoot. If I take a cab instead of public transport, I can still make it if I left fifteen minutes later." Backing away from the door, he gestures for the other to enter.
The guest follows Kise's lead. "So your last shoot is today, huh? Part of me thinks that you giving up your modeling career is such a shame. You're so popular."
"I feel bad about disappointing my fans, but I don't have the time or energy to continue modeling and playing basketball. I like being part of Kaijou's team, and the challenge of playing against tough opponents excites me in a way modeling never did."
Having no other explanation, Kise merely shrugs and takes another drink. As he heads towards the couch within the room to continue the conversation, dizziness washes over him. With his head spinning and his limbs feeling uncharacteristically heavy, he stumbles towards the television stand dropping the water bottle in the process. He desperately attempts to steady himself by clutching at the wooden frame.
"What's wrong?" the visitor asks heading over.
"I'm not sure," Kise manages seeing spots against closed eyelids. "Call an ambulance, please," he slurs. Slipping to the floor, darkness consumes him.
Kise wakes feeling impossibly disoriented. Blinking dazedly, he forces his gaze to focus straight ahead, where friends, family, and co-workers gather. The somber mood hanging over the crowd causes his stomach to churn with dread. As he takes a step forward to confront those closest to him, he feels a tug on his sleeve. When he turns around, he fears he has lost his mind.
"Grandpa?" he asks dubiously. "It can't be; you're dead."
Relief washes over his grandfather's age-wisened features. "Grandpa," he repeats. "Oh thank goodness. I often have trouble with people your age. When I appear as a beloved pet, I have a lot more explaining to do."
Lips turning downward, Kise says, "You're not making any sense." He pauses as movement catches his peripheral vision. With a sinking heart, he switches his gaze back towards the group of people realizing that they all don black clothing and miserable expressions. Then, the oddity of his grandfather's words crash down on him like a spring thunderstorm, and the truth dawns on him. Dully, confirms his suspicions, "I'm dead, aren't I, Grandpa?" His frown deepening, he questions, "Are you even Grandpa, I mean beyond visually?"
The spirit in front of him explains, "I've taken the image of your grandfather, because he is the deceased being closest to you. That's the rule; it's supposed to aid the recently departed with the transition. You can continue to address me as "Grandpa" to make things easier, though."
"Transition?" Kise questions.
"To the afterlife," the other supplies matter-of-factly.
With a crooked smile, Kise says, "I guess I have no choice but to accept that I'm dead. That really sucks; I had so much more I wanted to do."
"If it makes you feel any better, kid, I was rooting for you."
Cocking his head, Kise asks, "What do you mean?"
"Your death wasn't certain," the other spirit confesses. "Some deaths are more predictable than others, and we weren't sure you were going to die until you did."
With an affronted sniff, Kise accuses, "That's a mean thing for you to say, admitting that I could have escaped death. What kind of afterlife transition specialist are you?"
"Everyone's a critic these days," the other ghost comments exasperated.
Kise plans on saying more, but a disturbance amongst the living captures his attention. "What's happening now?" he wonders gliding towards the center of the action with his appointed companion trailing after him. Disquiet ripples through him upon spotting a young man with a microphone followed by a cameraman.
"Tabloid reporters are crashing my wake," Kise whispers horrified. "What happened to respect for the dead?"
"Apparently, that's a luxury unavailable to the popular model Kise Ryouta," the other comments dryly. After a pause, he casually adds, "Especially when your death is surrounded by questionable circumstances."
"What do you mean by questionable circumstances?" Kise exclaims indignantly. "I didn't do anything wrong. Someone came to see me." He tries to recall his last moments, however, his mind only provides fuzzy recollections. Hesitantly, he adds, "Something happened, and I never woke up."
"You don't remember?" the other asks sympathetically.
Screwing his eyes shut, Kise tries once more to piece together fragments of his memory, but the task proves more difficult than grasping at tendrils of smoke. "I'm pretty sure someone did something to me," Kise supplies slowly, "I was murdered, but I can't remember what happened. Why can't I remember?" Frustration builds at his inability to recall his final moments, but before he can demand that the ghost with his grandfather's image provide him with an answer, the tabloid reporter distracts him.
With the microphone shoved in Kasamatsu's face, the reporter states, "You were the captain of Kaijou's basketball team last year, so you must have known Kise pretty well."
Kasamatsu moves forward wordlessly, brows knitted in anger, with Moriyama following close behind.
Upon being ignored, the reporter tries another tactic. "Can you comment on the fact that Kise died of a drug overdose. Were you aware he was using?"
"What!? How is that possible? I've never… I-I would never…" the blond stammers shock and rage keeping him from completing his thought.
The other ghost reassures him. "I know. You're generally a good kid, but with your cause of death being officially ruled a drug overdose, your reputation is ruined. Everything you've achieved in life will be forever tarnished." He whistles. "Someone must have really hated you."
Offended, Kise denies the accusation. "That's not true! I loved people, and people loved me back. I was loved."
"Loved enough that someone staged your death as an accidental overdose?" the other challenges.
Unsure how to answer the question, Kise ignores his spirit companion in favor of focusing on his old captain's response.
"I'm mourning the passing of a good friend and former teammate," Kasamatsu tells the reporter in a low tone. "You should be ashamed of yourselves. Now get that camera out of my face before I put my fist through it."
The other's fury on his behalf touches Kise.
Although the pair from the tabloid abandon questioning Kasamatsu, they look for others to ambush.
The blond grins as Kuroko passes unnoticed. He snickers as the reporter attempts to approach Midorima, Akashi, and Murasakibara only to turn tail upon receiving scathing glares from all three.
When Momoi approaches, her eyes red and her breath hitching on soft sobs, apprehension floods Kise's system.
"What was your relationship with the deceased?" the reporter asks the pink-haired girl.
"Huh?" she responds dazed and unfocused. "Pardon?"
"You're a pretty girl. Were you Kise's girlfriend?"
"What? No!" she proclaims flustered. "Ki-chan is a dear friend." Recognizing the incorrect usage of the present tense, her expression fractures, and she corrects herself softly. "Ki-chan was a dear friend."
"You called him Ki-chan, huh?" the reporter comments. "It sounds like you two were close, close enough to know that he was using drugs, right? Are you sure you were only friends?"
Fresh tears form in Momoi's eyes as she processes the accusatory questions. Attempting to defend both Kise and herself, she protests, "Ki-chan and I were only friends, and he would never use drugs. Never, never, never! I know what the news said, but they're wrong."
"Momocchi," Kise whispers knowing that his words will not reach the intended recipient. "I'm so sorry that you have to go through this because of me."
A familiar voice, low and commanding, cuts through the conversation. "What's going on here? Don't you have better things to do than to pick on a grieving teenage girl?"
"Aominecchi," Kise whispers a shiver running down his spine. Reflexively, he closes his eyes, unprepared to face the other in his current state. After taking a deep breath to calm himself, his eyelids flutter open, and he simply gazes at the love he has left behind. Bittersweet emotions wash over Kise leaving his heart in tatters.
The interruption redirects the reporter's attention towards Aomine, and the questions pile up. "Who are you? How well did you know the deceased? Can you comment on his drug use?"
"It's none of your fucking business who I am and how close Kise and I were. But, I can say this; Kise would never touch drugs. He had too much respect for himself and for basketball to mess his body up with that shit."
The response, although gruff, insinuates a personal connection, which only encourages the reporter. "You sound pretty confident in your assessment of Kise. Why? Did you two have some sort of special relationship?"
With anger radiating from Aomine, Kise has a sinking feeling about how this situation will play out. "Don't do it," he advises even though he knows his warning falls on deaf ears.
"You're so goddamn noisy," Aomine snaps. "This is Kise's wake. Kise…" A rare vulnerability flashes in cobalt-colored eyes.
The blond immediately understands the meaning behind the other's unfinished statement. Aomine merely wants to express emotions of loss and mourning. Although unspoken, the statement, "Kise is gone," hovers over Aomine like a turbulent storm.
As much as it pains Kise to see Aomine in this anguished state, he watches with morbid fascination as the other struggles with acknowledging his passing.
Instead of letting grief consume him, Aomine focuses on righteous indignation. "How dare you disrespect Kise like this!" With his unparalleled agility, the blue-haired male easily snatches the camera from its user and swiftly throws the electronic device to the floor. The sound of metal crunching and glass breaking resonates. Before either the cameraman or the reporter can react, Aomine's fists fly, and they both end up on the floor limbs sprawled awkwardly.
"Dai-chan!" Momoi exclaims grabbing onto her childhood friend's arm with a look beseeching him to calm down.
As people gather around the commotion, the tabloid reporters finally process what has happened. They begin demanding compensation for the broken equipment and threatening to call the police regarding the violence. However, Kise finds himself unable to concentrate on the scene; only Aomine draws his attention.
"Who's going to be there to understand Aominecchi now?" the blond whispers moisture prickling against his eyelids. "Momocchi can't do it by herself, and I'm not there anymore." Verbally stating these concerns causes reality to sink in, and tears slip down his face one after another like rain down a windowpane.
"That's your biggest concern?"
The question startles Kise, who had forgotten about his spiritual escort. Wiping his eyes with clumsy fists, he responds, "Yeah. I'm dead, but Aominecchi has a future ahead of him. I'd feel awful if this incident ends up derailing it. I've always known how special Aominecchi is, and now I have no choice but to hope someone else will come along with the ability to see what I do." With a sad sigh, he corrects himself. "I suppose I should say "I did" instead." Sorrow, helplessness, and misery pull Kise towards despair.
"You two were in love," the other ghost finally deduces.
Managing a watery smile, Kise forces himself to answer with good humor, "Duh, Grandpa." He sticks out his tongue. With a sad sigh, he continues, "But it's over; I'm dead."
A thoughtful look crosses the other spirit's face. "What if it doesn't have to be over?"
"What do you mean by that?" Kise asks his pulse quickening at the suggestion.
"I told you before that your death wasn't certain. Up until the end, there was a timeline accounting for your survival."
"Can you rewind time to give me a second chance?" Kise asks.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple. Because you are dead, this outcome would likely repeat itself. I can send you back as you are now. You'll have the ability to communicate with one person in hopes of saving your own life. I must warn you that this option poses a risk. You have no way knowing how the altered timeline will proceed. Perhaps the one you're desperately trying to return to won't fall in love with you the next time. However, this is all I can do for you. If you choose to go back to the past, I'll be rooting for you. You're a good kid, and you would have done so much more with your life given the opportunity."
Kise ponders the offer. Could he endure existing as a bystander in a world where he and Aomine may never fall in love? After some hesitation, he forces himself to cling to optimism. 'We've fallen in love with each other once. It will happen again, because I won't accept any other reality.'
Before uncertainty has an opportunity to resurface, he says, "Send me back to Aominecchi."
"Really? You want to haunt him? I know you love him, but you have more dependable friends than him."
"Don't underestimate Aominecchi," Kise warns. "I have faith in him, but if I fail and end up dying again, I would regret having spent my time with someone else."
"Ok. Per your request, I'm sending you back. Best of luck, kid."
Before Kise can ask any of the multitude of questions he has about his spiritual time travel, the scene in front of him fades.
As if emerging from heavy slumber, Kise gradually becomes aware of his surroundings. Blinking, he takes in the sight of a familiar room until his gaze settles on a sleeping Aomine. 'I know where I am. I just don't know when I am.'
He studies Aomine's features, which still show youthful roundness in the cheeks and jaw. 'Middle school,' the blond assesses. Then a more troubling question poses itself. 'How do I communicate with Aominecchi?'
Unconsciously, Kise extends a hand towards the other. When his fingers slip past Aomine's form, he thinks, 'Of course I can't touch him. I'm dead. I don't belong in this timeline, but I have to make the most of this opportunity. So, please, let me get through to him.'
The blond reaches for the other again and creates the illusion of contact. 'It looks like I'm touching Aominecchi's cheek,' he marvels tears springing to his eyes. 'Being like this is enough for now. I don't know how to talk to him yet, but I'll figure it out.'
Sitting down Kise concentrates on everything he can perceive, from Aomine's steady breathing to an innate awareness of Aomine's consciousness, which glows like a healthy flame. Instinctively, he pushes his soul into the barrier that separates Aomine's mind from him and is transported to a different location.
Kise welcomes the sight of Aomine happily shooting hoops. Excited, the blond rushes towards the other. "Aominecchi!" he cries barely able to resist the urge to throw his arms around the other boy.
The enthused greeting stops the blue-haired boy in his tracks. Palming the ball, Aomine shoots a puzzled look as he dubiously repeats, "Aominecchi? What the heck is that?"
The doubt and unfamiliarity in Aomine's response unsettles Kise. "I…ummm," the blond trails off trying to come up with a suitable explanation. Finally he asks, "What grade are you in?"
"I'm a first year in middle school," Aomine replies.
"Thank goodness," Kise breathes, relieved that his worst fears, a world where he never discovers basketball, is not yet a reality of this timeline.
The blond's reaction causes Aomine to survey him with a curious expression. "I'm really not sure why I'm dreaming about someone I've never met. My dreams don't usually include strangers."
"You know you're dreaming?" Kise asks surprised.
"Yeah," Aomine answers. "I can still tell whether or not things make sense when I'm dreaming. Since your presence makes no sense, I must be dreaming."
"Huh, so you can reason in your sleep," the blond muses impressed. Shaking his head, he focuses on the purpose of his return. "I have something important to tell you, something that's hard to believe, but it's the truth. I've come from the future. I'm going to die, and you're the only one who can help save me."
The blue-haired youth surveys Kise with a thoughtful expression. "I'm sorry that you're going to die, but I don't know who you are, so I don't know how I'm supposed to help you."
Kise's heart drops to his stomach at the other's dismissive but pragmatic response. Panicked, he wonders, 'How can I expect someone who doesn't know me to care about my impending doom? How do I carve an impression on Aominecchi's subconscious?' Taking a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves, he discovers the perfect answer as his gaze focuses on the basketball nestled in Aomine's hands.
"Let's play one-on-one," Kise suggests. "First one to score three baskets wins, okay?"
Aomine's features light up. "You play basketball?"
Laughingly, Kise responds, "Sure do. I'm pretty sure I'll win, too."
"Really?" the other asks grinning at the prospect of a challenge.
With perfect copy at his disposal, Kise systematically shuts down this Aomine, nearly four years his junior.
Pure joy dances in Aomine's eyes after the match. "Let's play more!" he exclaims.
"I'd love to, but no can do," Kise replies noticing their surroundings wavering. "This world is starting to feel unstable. I'm guessing you're going to wake up soon."
"That stinks," Aomine comments disappointed. "But, I'm excited that I'll be meeting such a fierce competitor sometime in the future. Hey, before I wake up, can you tell me your name?"
With an eyebrow raised, Kise sets the condition for his compliance. "If I tell you, you have to promise me you'll remember it."
"Sure," Aomine agrees easily.
With a smirk spreading across his face, the blond answers, "I'm Kise Ryouta. You don't know me yet, but you will. I'm going to make you fall in love with me."
Author's notes: So this idea has been swimming in my head since last summer. I put it on hold, because I wanted to focus on Contact at the time. (I'm terrible at multi-tasking.) The premise of this fic introduces challenges that I've never had to deal with before. I'm both excited and scared to take them on.
Many thanks to Analineblue and Winter_of_our_Discontent for encouraging me to keep writing. Without their support, I would never have the courage to start something like this, which is definitely outside of my comfort zone.
I hope you all enjoyed. Until next time. =)