notes I figured it was time for a KnB fic.
cadence;
There was probably a time when Kagami was different from the members of the Generation of Miracles. But if there was, then Kuroko doesn't remember much of it; the memories comes to him in smatterings, like lost puzzle pieces made of cheap cardboard covered in dust and cobwebs, found in places no one really cared about anymore.
.
For the fourth time that week, something drags him from the bowels of sleep and thrusts him from his dreams into a fear-inducing state of sleep paralysis. For what seems like long, taxing minutes, Kuroko rises from the depths of his dreams and struggles to open his eyelids with a sort of dreading feeling lingering in his stomach. It's still early in the morning, but he drags his feet out of bed anyway and walks across the cold, wooden floor to the washroom. He brushes his teeth with a mechanical sort of diligence and washes his face with the same languid movements as every other morning.
He pauses only once to stare at his own reflection in his mirror. Tilts his head to one side, and the the other. Crinkles his nose and runs a hand through his bedhead. Closes his eyes, and then opens them again.
He doesn't quite know what he's looking at when he does it, but at the same time, he's making sure. He's okay. He knows himself like rain knows wet, like desert knows heat.
Heaving a sigh, Kuroko folds his hand towel over the sink and waits until seven thirty to leave the house. The walk to Seirin isn't far for him, but it feels much longer than it actually is and it doesn't surprise him much when the bell rings before he arrives at the gate. Mumbling a forgotten apology to the teacher waving the other students in, Kuroko slips through the gates and through the front doors, changing his shoes and walking slowly to his classroom.
He's already in his seat when Kagami's loud footsteps ring down the hallway and get louder as they approach the room. "M'sorry I'm late," he grumbles, swallowing two pieces of bread he'd already shoved into his mouth. He pushes his way to his seat and slumps down in his chair, exhausted. "Boy, am I tired."
Kuroko hesitates. "Good morning, Kagami-kun."
Kagami flinches. Remembering Kuroko, he swivels around in his chair and gives him a cheeky grin. "Yo, Kuroko." He turns back around and digs through his bag for his lunch; bread isn't all that filling for breakfast, after all.
Kuroko's gaze lingers for a few seconds longer, before sliding his textbooks out of his bag. Today, when the teacher misses his name during attendance, he doesn't raise his hand to let him know that he's present. Nobody notices either, when Kuroko is looking out the window instead of keeping his eyes trained on the blackboard. Kagami's deep chuckle rumbles during class only once, but it echoes in Kuroko's mind, over and over until all of the background noises have been drowned out and have been dissipated, into the subtlety of the atmosphere and even beyond then.
.
The synchronized sound of Hyuuga's yelling and Riko's whistle signify the end of afternoon practice. Kagami slams his last dunk into the net right before the buzzer sounds and stalks off the court with a huff, throwing a towel over his head and sitting down on the bench to cool himself off. Beads of sweat have already accumulated on his forehead, his neck. Kuroko is sweating just as hard—if not harder—and takes his own seat across from his teammate, running a hand along the back of his neck.
Kuroko shoots one last glance at Kagami and turns away, unable to look at his face.
Kagami is strong. Even though the distance between them is small, Kuroko feels as though the two of them have been placed on the opposite sides of the world, and that someone had forced them out of place, into a new, unfamiliar position. At first, it made sense to balance the two of them out. They worked well together as a unit, exchanging unspoken words and creating an understanding that was meant for no one but the two of them.
"Hey," comes Kagami's rough voice.
Kuroko gives him a sidelong glance before responding appropriately. "What is it, Kagami-kun?"
"You... didn't pass today."
"I am well aware of this."
"Why?"
Kuroko stabs at his juice box with a straw, poking carefully at the aluminium foil before sliding it in. "I didn't think you would notice," he says, and although it is not a lie, he knows that it is not the answer Kagami is searching for.
Kagami barks out a short laugh. "Wouldn't notice, huh," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Good one."
Kuroko gives him a pointed look. "That's not what I meant."
Kagami continues to chuckle under his breath. Then he clasps his hands together, bows his head, and stays like that for a very long time. "I know," he says finally. Kuroko says nothing back.
Kagami is strong. Kuroko knows this; he knows it well. Even so, Kuroko pretends everything can still be okay—and it feels like it, too; Kagami is still scared of No. 2, still terrified of Riko's training regiments. It doesn't feel like anything has changed.
"Does it really matter," Kagami says when Kuroko tells him, voice laced with boredom and an attitude that tells him he couldn't care less. He cracks his neck, shoots Kuroko a bored look, and slings his bag over his shoulder, prepared to head home.
"It does," Kuroko says aloud to the room, after everyone's left. "It matters more than anything."
No. 2 barks from where he sits and wags his tail. After a while when Kuroko still hasn't moved, he whimpers and pads out the door.
Kuroko watches him leave, and realizes he is alone.
.
Aomine is honest but cruel.
He laughs in Kagami's face and grins devilishly across the court, slapping him on the back and congratulating him with some sort of honour that makes something in Kuroko's stomach twist.
"You're one of us now," he tells Kagami, seemingly overjoyed. "Congrats."
Kagami's confusion shows on his face. Kuroko holds his breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," Kagami says slowly, clutching his towel in his right hand.
This time, Kuroko's own eyebrows narrow. "Aomine-kun," he warns.
"Do you know how many times you've passed the ball during this game, Kagami? Bet you weren't aware of it, eh? How many times have your teammates had to struggle behind you, trying to catch up for the sake of the momentum of the game?" Kagami's eyes grow wider as Aomine's grin glints with a twisted sort of satisfaction.
"I—"
"Do you know what you are, Kagami?" Aomine's eyes widen this time too, his fingers closing over his knuckles with a sickening crack.
Kagami freezes in his place, and grinds his teeth, hard. He doesn't move as Aomine slinks around him with ease, doesn't flinch even as Aomine bends so that his mouth is right near Kagami's ear.
"You're a monster," he whispers, grinning with all of his teeth. "You're a fucking monster."
Kuroko's breath clogs in his throat.
.
When he was younger, this is what Mother used to tell him, stroking his hair and holding him close: if Kuroko's body was some sort of landscape, he would be dry but fertilized, covered in flower buds that had been strong-willed enough to persevere and push through harsh conditions.
But instead, he is just a boy—too thin and too bony, scattered with bruises that mark his weaknesses, pointing them out, one by one. Too scrawny to be anything more than something weak, resonating from deep in the cartilage hollows of his bones.
In the end, he gathers his strength from the others around him.
It's pathetic, when he really thinks about it. It hurts (just a little bit, because no one cares enough for him to hurt a lot) for him to know that the only chance he has to shine is through the darkness.
.
Kagami is oddly quiet during practices all through the next week. His head bows low and he doesn't try to dunk anymore, lets go of all his strength all at once. He doesn't object when Riko makes him clean up and grunts in response when No. 2 crawls close to him and whuffs, looking at him with such raw honesty that it makes Kagami look away. He becomes lifeless; a giant mass of heavy weight stumbling across the court trying to support something he is no longer able to hold together.
"Kagami-kun," Riko says, eyebrows furrowing. "Why have you been so out of it?"
Kagami gives her a blank stare, opens his mouth as if to reply, and then shuts it, curling his lips up in a scowl.
"Kagami-kun?" She steps closer to him, reaching an arm out. "What's—"
His head swivels around and Riko lets a gasp escape her lips, steps backwards in surprise. Her arms curl protectively around herself and her gaze flickers. Something wavers in the air, and both Kiyoshi and Hyuuga step forward, concerned.
"Kagami-kun," Kiyoshi begins, frowning. "There is something bothering you."
"No there isn't."
"There is something bothering you," he repeats. He gives a sidelong glance to Hyuuga, who's got his hand on Riko's shoulder.
"...No, there isn't," Kagami says again. His face is downcast and his fists are clenched. But Kiyoshi Teppei is not the type of person to push matters farther than they are meant to be. Kuroko watches quietly from the sidelines as the other freshmen gather and murmur to themselves.
Kiyoshi looks at Kagami, observing him for a while. Then a small, quiet smile makes its way to his face. "Then that's all right," he says, scratching the back of his head. "Just wanted to make sure."
The expression on Kagami's face is almost relief. "Sorry, Coach," he mutters sheepishly to Riko. "I... didn't mean to surprise you like that."
Hyuuga withdraws his hand, though not without giving Riko a last reassuring pat on the head, and she sighs, uncrosses her arms. "It's fine," she murmurs, giving a little sigh and shaking her head. "I shouldn't have pressed you." Smiling thinly at him one last time, she turns to the other members, shooing them out of the gym.
Kuroko follows Kagami out of the gym and into the boys' change room. He watches Kagami stare hard at the rusted metal hinges holding his locker intact. No. 2 whuffles from his designated corner, but Kagami makes no reaction.
"Hey," he finally says, looking at Kuroko from the corner of his eye. "Kuroko."
Kuroko shifts quietly.
"Did you know this was going to happen?"
Kagami's gaze upon him is so intense that Kuroko almost looks away, intimidated. He doesn't pretend not to know what he's talking about, however, and looks directly into Kagami's eyes.
"I thought you'd be strong enough to overcome it," he admits quietly.
Kagami slams his fist against his locker. "I'm not fucking Superman," he growls, heaving breaths. "I'm not—fuck, Kuroko, I'm not as strong as think I am. I can't—I can't—"
"I believed in you."
"Then why the hell don't I believe in myself?"
His breaths are short and raspy, and for a minute, Kuroko thinks that he is crying. He isn't though, and he isn't angry, either. Kagami's mouth is wide open, gasping for breath, his head dipped low and his palms against the lockers. It's as though they anchor him to his sanity, even when everything else has gone. Kagami, like this, is the scariest Kuroko has ever seen him.
"Your love for basketball cannot stem from anyone else but your own," Kuroko says quietly. "I hope you will realize this soon."
Before Kuroko leaves, he hears Kagami chanting to himself.
"I'm weak," he hears; Kagami's whispers are loud and unintentional. "I'm so, so fucking weak."
Kuroko pauses at the door. No, he thinks. No, you are not.
He keeps the light on for Kagami and steps into the shadows of the night.
.
Grief once felt so strange, seemingly taking over the chemistry of the body to live uninvited in the bones, fades as time passes. It lingers, only arising in moments of realization that once again, you haven't thought properly of what it is that has gone missing. Then, with tremendous precision, it hits you where it hurts the most, in the memories you haven't realized you miss.
Kuroko's memories take him back to the beginnings of middle school at Teikou, when everyone had started out as people with dreams too vast, too far out to be attained. In the beginning, Kuroko had started out like everyone else, where love was the base of every interest and motivation ran in the veins of every student, like blood, like something needed to keep you alive.
But even as middle school carried on, the people around Kuroko lost their interests, lost their motivations in the middle of trying to become someone. Kuroko might have been selfish in middle school, but Kuroko's love for basketball was his own. And in the end, that's why he left; by the time the basketball team hit their last year, the motivation that had once been so strong had ceased and slowed, even as Kuroko's own ran strong.
The transition into high school started out the same. And then, Kuroko met Kagami and it couldn't have been the same anymore, because it wasn't the same if it was going to repeat, once more.
And he didn't think it would. But it did.
.
"Kagami-kun," Kuroko calls out to him. His voice wavers, but it doesn't matter much if no one hears it.
Kagami keeps his back turned and grips the basketball tighter.
"Do you like basketball?"
The wind stills in the one moment.
Kagami shoots. The ball swings easily into the net. "I don't know anymore," Kagami admits. His shoes squeak on the court as he dribbles the ball. He shoots again; doesn't smile, even when the ball goes in. Kagami is broken, Kuroko realizes. Kagami has lost his direction, has lost all sense of right and wrong.
He uncrosses his fingers.
.
"You were right," Kuroko says to him.
Aomine's laughter, in that moment, is something Kuroko will never be able to forget.
.
In the end, Kagami succumbs to all of his weaknesses.
And Kuroko—
Kuroko could do nothing.
Owari
2010.09.15