(all my titles sound the exact same im so great)
this was meant to be published for the BPS' Misdirection Challenge, but I had great issues with it, so I changed my plans at the last moment. for how long i have kept this lying finished in my drafts, one would think I solved its problems by now. I did not of course, but I'm pretty sure I either publish it like this or I simply don't. everything is a metaphor or maybe not we will never know
.
It's five hours and twenty-three minutes before the end of the world and no one knows it yet. Tatsuya gets off at his stop while staring at the screen of his cellphone, whose top corner highlights an unordinary lack of field. Inconvenient, as soon he will have to find Taiga among the always packed floors of the subway; but when he looks up, he observes an odd absence of rowdy crowds on the train's platform – a few people descending; even less boarding. Jogging down the stairs and out of the ticket gate, he spots easily enough a head of dark red hair waiting for him.
Smiling in anticipation he approaches Taiga, who is leaning against the wall, typing some message on his cellphone. At the call of his name, Taiga gazes up and greets him as both their phones flip shut and into their pockets.
They make their way towards the exit chatting lightly. Curious, Taiga asks why twenty-two hours before the end of the world Tatsuya came to Tokyo for the end of the week, but the answers he gains are generic and laconic. He doesn't prod, just as Tatsuya expected him to. He wants to keep that story for later.
"So, where are we going?" Tatsuya asks at last, and Taiga emits a low noncommittal sound as his fingers drum on the strap of his gym bag – one that means nothing much but 'I didn't plan further than basketball'.
"Basketball court?" says Taiga. Tatsuya smiles again.
.
.
There is a fair share of truths Tatsuya has avoided disclosing to Taiga. They cover various degrees of importance: from being the one who accidentally stepped on Taiga's bird-shaped papercrane in his room in L.A. (a memento from his grandmother) and not the house's cleaning lady as Tatsuya had lied later; to the fact that he may harbor feelings towards Taiga strongly diverting from the brotherly kind that Tatsuya oh-so-ironically turned into a concrete reminder dangling everyday in silver colors from both their necks. Feelings that Tatsuya has stopped trying to block out of his head more than three thousands hours before the end of the world (when the end had yet to be a thing – when there had only been some foreshadowing). Their origin goes farther back than such meager amount of time – the day when they came back to stay, on the other hand... that's a whole different matter. One that Tatsuya is determined to face with the stoic passivity of a rock in the stormiest of seas.
.
.
When they play, Taiga always sends in a successful dunk with a broad, cheeky smile. Tatsuya has always liked that, Taiga's childish excitement for basketball, and tries not to think too much of the times he was the one who robbed Taiga of that. It is all in the past now, anyway, as well as something that even taught Tatsuya an important lesson.
Taiga jumps again, right arm stretched too high above Tatsuya's fingertips for him to even dream of touching the ball, already falling to gravity and under the hoop's rim.
When his feet touch the ground again, Taiga's are doing the same but far from their starting point, so close to Tatsuya's space that he staggers back to avoid the collision, only to lose his balance backwards. He would have fallen if it weren't for Taiga's arm instinctively shooting forward to grab his wrist, pulling him back on a stable stance. With their arms bent between their chests, Tatsuya's free hand goes to grip Taiga's arm instinctively.
"Thanks," says Tatsuya. Stepping back, the warmth fades from his palm and wrist too soon.
"Yeah." Taiga's voice sounds distracted. He retrieves the ball with a distant look in his eyes.
Stretching an arm above his head, Tatsuya proceeds back to the midst of the court. "Cool dunk, by the way."
Taiga follows, bouncing the ball from one hand to the other as he walks. "Yeah," he brushes it off once again. A small frown mars his forehead.
The end of the world is three hours and forty-eight minutes away and it exists only in a few people's mind as a possibility when Tatsuya throws a glance at him, narrow-eyed, before his eyebrows quirk up into a fake thoughtful expression.
"Although I am wondering if you even remember how to shoot a three-pointer. It's been a while since I saw you score with one, bro."
"Bro," Taiga retaliates with a challenging inflection, effectively snapping out of whatever mental palace he was shutting himself in. "Pretty sure I can win this even with a three-pointers only rule."
"Well well, getting competitive, aren't we?" Tatsuya falls into stance in front of Taiga, knees bending low and hands splayed out, ready to react . "But aren't you forgetting who I am?"
"A soon-to-be sore loser?"
The ball bounces on the floor once more as Tatsuya's mouth falls ajar in fake indignation. "I will wipe the floor with you, little brother," he predicts.
"Come at me, then," Taiga answers, cracking a defiant grin at him..
.
.
Tatsuya has witnessed plenty of friendships fall to pieces. A peculiarity of their friendship is that it has been one of those. He may have seen it rebuilt but Tatsuya still remembers the details of its slow descent from good to really bad, then back to a respectable okay: how selfish he had been about his own pain, how guilty he had felt when he had realized his mistakes – how slowly Taiga started to act like his old self around him again, finally paying no more heed to the worst parts of their past.
He has to wonder if things would be different, any way easier and more acceptable, had he spared himself the curse of labeling their bond as something more since the very start. Tatsuya chuckles, because the irony is a killer, and because only part of him (the one he tries to never listen to) regrets it: observed from a different angle, this is only another stone that holds him back by the ankle from committing any other mistake as mindlessly as the first time.
"What?" Taiga questions.
Two hours and fifteen minutes before the end, Tatsuya looks out of the fast food joint's window as if he expects the answer he's searching for to be written on the pane. But there's only an early autumn day going on outside, with its still green leaves fighting off the oncoming cold, and Tatsuya is glad to have cut some time off his schedule in the city to spend time with Taiga. Inside the restaurant, there are few people being served by workers that Taiga says he's never seen around before, even if he comes there almost everyday.
"Nothing. Just thinking that it can't be as terrible as you make it out to be."
"It is," Taiga complains grumpily, even pausing from devouring hs hamburger to spare one more comment about this.
"Adorable," Tatsuya coos, then watches Taiga splutter around his mouthful of food, acquiring a darker shade of color. If because of the coughing fit or the shame, Tatsuya doesn't know, but he enjoys the sight nonetheless.
"No," says Taiga. "For real, Tatsuya, he's evil. You think he's all tiny and innocent, but... he's not. It shouldn't be hard to believe, considering the bunch of friends he has."
"You mean you?"
Taiga's glare is eloquent enough, but for the sake of dismissing any doubt he also adds, "The weird bunch."
"I repeat," says Tatsuya placidly.
"Shut up!"
"All things considered, Taiga," says Tatsuya smiling thinly. "I do think you got out of it with the best deal, given your nature. I can't imagine you dealing with someone like Atsushi without developing an ulcer."
It's not clear if Taiga is being so uncharacteristically tactful as to offer him a supportive grimace, or if his face is getting spasms at the mere idea of a role inversion. "Is yours as bad as it looks?"
Tatsuya gives a light shrug of shoulders while eyeing pensively the greasy cheese sticking out of his burger. "Nah, it's not that bad. It's just a case that needs some good persuading skills. Which I have."
"I thought yours were only limited to girls. Since… you know," Taiga trails off, vaguely, then gestures at his entire face with his tenth hamburger. "Your brooding face."
"Was that supposed to make any sense at all," inquires Tatsuya, but Taiga only answers by taking another huge bite of food, to which he sighs half-heartedly. "No, it's all about establishing a solid reward system. Really, it's like taking care of a baby." He hums as he catches a bit of sauce on his upper lip with a flick of tongue. "Except. A two meters tall one."
"As I said," Taiga comments. "As bad as it looks."
"I think it's a good match," Tatsuya defends, as his focus slowly wanders away from the conversation and runs aground on different shores. He wonders what Kuroko thinks of having to endure someone as hot-headed as Taiga. How much Kuroko knows about Tatsuya now that it's their second year of high school together. If Taiga ever talks about him.
.
.
It's an hour and nine minutes to the end of the world and unbeknownst to Tatsuya, he is mentally listing down all the times Taiga ever showed any sign of reciprocating his feelings to the rhythm of the left seconds ticking by. A not so long list, nevertheless more than Tatsuya could have hoped for (in fact, they are more than he wishes for) and it's ingrained in his memory, unfading – a constant guilty proof of what he might be missing.
But Taiga's feelings have never been the main incognita of the problem; they have barely ever truly mattered. Some would call him cold-hearted, but whether that's true or not, Tatsuya is confident in this one choice of his (on some days more than on others. On the days he's cities away from Taiga, his choice is particularly easy to handle). He is sure this all should be treated like the wait for a storm: close himself in a refuge, and let it end. Tatsuya has never openly asked, but somewhere along the lines, he convinced himself that Taiga must be sharing the sentiment. If that wasn't the case, shouldn't have something happened by now?
"Bill phoned me the other day," Tatsuya says fluidly in English without even realizing it, at first. They've been switching back and forth all day, different topics accompanied by their own mandatory language.
"Bill who," asks Taiga, frowning. A plain, smooth rock twirls between his thumb and middle finger. After trying the movement out a few times with his wrist, he throws it.
"Bill Harris," says Tatsuya, eyes following the jumpy path of the rock on the flat surface of the river. "How many Bills do we know?"
"Like, twenty?"
"Really?" Tatsuya's brows furrow in doubt. "Isn't that just you being really bad with names as usual? There was a time when you thought everyone's name was Jack."
"Whatever," Taiga grumbles. "How is he? It's been months since we've talked."
"He's good. Applied to a uni in L.A. He says he misses having us around."
Taiga snorts, sporting a judging frown. "Sure, because he misses having Alex around."
Tatsuya refrains from agreeing aloud to that. "I told him you won the Nationals, last winter," he says. "Said he wasn't that surprised, since he's heard that japanese basketball level is pretty low. He thought it was obvious that the best would be one of us here."
Picking up another rock in his hand, Taiga grins down at it before throwing it, farther than the other. "What did you answer?"
"What can you even say to that," Tatsuya says with a passive tone. "I laughed, of course."
Taiga's laugh is short and barely stifled, so abrupt that it robs Tatsuya of one of his own. From there, it's like having broken a dam. Soon, they're both laughing helplessly on the riverbank, Tatsuya burying the lower half of his face under the hem of his hoodie as Taiga crouches down to the ground. From the outside, their outburst probably looks a bit hysterical (and it partially is) but there's no one around to witness that. In fact, no one has been around all day. The river is the only thing that barely makes a noise to counter their laughter, but the traffic on the near bridge is unusually silent. When the laughter slowly subsides, there's a light air hanging between them and while he traces random circles in the soil with the sole of his shoe, Tatsuya realizes he often feels this content and at ease, in Taiga's presence.
"Low level," Taiga snickers with a new raspiness. "I'm gonna send him a video of the Winter Cup finals."
Humming in agreement, Tatsuya sends a rock into the river as well. It sinks under the water with a sonorous plop. "Don't worry, I already sent him a picture of my team. With measures."
"Did he cry?"
"I hope so."
As Taiga coughs one last chuckle that had been left stuck in his throat, Tatsuya can't help his mind from losing itself in its usual, alarming speculations – of a future where he and Taiga are the right kind of 'something more'.
But even in the airy atmosphere and with a cheerful heart, Tatsuya still believes that the stake is far too high; the dangers of turning what they have into unwanted awkwardness or worse are too real to risk it.
Fleetingly, a question flies by his thoughts: what would it take him – them – to act on their feelings? He smiles bitterly to the sun as he thinks that it would probably have to come down to the end of the world. The very last second of it, with no moment afterwards that could ever be ruined by that. No worries, no expectations, no consequences. Just the single perfect moment, and then, nothing else.
.
.
Eight minutes are left and somebody now starts thinking that the end of the world might be nearing, when Taiga sits down beside him on the grassy earth and rests his elbows on his knees. Tatsuya basks with closed eyes in the soft sounds of the river and the fading warmth of the sun.
"I've been thinking of where to apply after high school," says Tatsuya at some point. "I was unsure whether to go back to America or not."
"Meaning that you've decided now?"
Tatsuya sighs. "I guess so."
There's a second of silence, some brushing through patches of grass before Taiga's voice inquires, "And?"
At that, Tatsuya opens his eyes, and looks right at Taiga. "I came to check out a university in Tokyo, yesterday. It seems to be pretty good. I've been looking more into it, but... I think I'd really like to attend that one."
"Oh." Taiga stares for a moment, taken aback. For once, Tatsuya is not sure what to make of Taiga's reaction, until he states a moment later, "That's cool."
"Yeah." Tatsuya's mouth twistes into a smile. It's a bit smug, Tatsuya knows it, but he can't get it off his face. "Aw, you look happy."
"What? No, I." Taiga glares shortly, before surrendering with an eyeroll. "I mean, duh, I'm glad that you won't, you know, go back to the other side of the world. I thought that much would be obvious."
"Aw," Tatsuya repeats, quieter, just to piss Taiga off. He succeeds.
"More than that, I will be very close," he cuts in once he's heard enough of Taiga's embarrassed ranting. "Same city again."
"Yeah. It's pretty great," says Taiga. He's smiling as well, now.
They sit side by side in amicable silence for a while. Two minutes before the end of the world, Tatsuya glances furtively at Taiga in hopes of figuring out what exactly he's thinking about him coming to Tokyo to stay. It feels like they're building the premises to fall back into old routine, old days. It doesn't feel wrong; Tatsuya welcomes it – he welcomes anything that would help them keep the status quo, carve it into stone. But a few seconds later Taiga is not smiling anymore. In fact, he's glaring holes into his knees, lips thin and jaw tense.
"What are you thinking," Tatsuya asks aloud, too curious and eager to talk. It's ten seconds away from the end, and someone is now certain of that.
Taiga's frown deepens for a moment, before it shifts to an uncertain grimace. "I was..." he starts, only to chop the sentence down to a final "Er." and a rising flush in his cheeks.
"Give me a sec to get this," Taiga tries again, growing redder by the second as his hand goes to cup the back of his neck and if Tatsuya didn't know what that meant, he wouldn't be worthy of calling himself Taiga's brother. All of a sudden, he regrets posing the question.
He can see it with painstaking clarity, Taiga's unexpected process of working some courage up, going over previously reharsed words in his head, ready to have them roll off his tongue at command, hopefully not too rushed but direct to the point and what Tatsuya almost feels then is a spark of betrayal. He knows the fault is only his; he tells himself he should have taken Taiga into account a bit more – Taiga who acts on impulse, who never thinks of things thoroughly properly – but he really thought they would have gotten through their sea of unspoken truths together. Nothing had transpired during the day, so why now of all times?
Maybe he had spoken one word too many in the past. "Don't run away, Taiga" – and, fact: Taiga is not, and Tatsuya might not be the only one who has learnt something from their shared past. It is Tatsuya's mistake to have carelessly believed it had been the same lesson for the both of them.
But when Taiga turns, facing him with the determined face of a man finally confronting his destiny, Tatsuya realizes it's not about past or present; it's about how flawed the very core of his own certainties and stability always. How easily this kind of feelings (their feelings) could turn anyone into a wild card. One moment, one thinks they're so sure of their choices, that some things definitely matter more than others – but suddenly there's a tiny, casual skid in perspective, a newfound proximity, and everything looks different under its light; so the next, they're acting on impulse, irresponsibly, driven by the hope that maybe they're just being too pessimistic. (That after all, it will all end well.)
"Tatsuya, I..."
So, Tatsuya ponders as he sets a hand down on the grass, who knows, it could be that their end of the world has come. A part of him hopes it; because of that, Tatsuya leans closer, reckoning that he can allow himself one more mistake in his life, and take the freedom his pounding heart gives him to label it as a leap of faith.
It's two seconds away from the end of the world and Taiga has stopped talking, catching on the fact that his words aren't needed anymore – not right now. All the more, he chooses to lean forward as well. They're close now, so close that their lips could touch at any moment and when they do
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
inspired by the end of the world
thank you mayas. keep publishing great calendars