Fanfiction, Kuroko no Basuke.
Drabble, Imayoshi x Hanamiya.
Word count: 861
Warning(s): Shipping of Bastards, possible OOC, sexual themes
Shoichi wakes up blinking the morning sunlight from his bleary eyes. He reaches across the bed to fetch his glasses, knowing that the space next to him is already vacated. As expected, the other side of the blanket has long been devoid of human warmth. Adjusting his glasses while giving a catlike stretch, he rolls onto his side to catch sight of a fully-dressed Makoto on the other side of the bedroom. Shoichi chooses just to watch the younger boy go through his daily routine of watering and maintaining a meticulously-kept flower box hanging out the window. Blooms of all sorts spill out of the cubicle, leaves, petals and vines transcending their intended boundaries and creeping onto the walls of their owner's apartment. Shoichi hates those flowers with a burning passion.
"Morning, Hana-chan," Shoichi trills with a sing-song tone and a disingenuous smile. Propping up his cheek with a hand, he watches Makoto's reaction- or rather lack thereof- as the younger male sets his spray bottle on his desk without so much as a glance towards the naked man in his bed. It is only after he has finished tending to his precious flora that he pays any mind to his guest.
"I have class until noon. I want you gone by then," are his uncaring instructions before Makoto hoists his bag onto his shoulder and exits the room. Shoichi waits for the sound of the front door opening and shutting before he breathes out a soft sigh. Clambering out from under the sheets, he inspects the ache of his muscles and scratch marks on his back from last night's proceedings before starting to look for his clothes.
The first time, the both of them had been heavily inebriated, and Makoto's apartment had been the closest to the bar. Shoichi remembers little of that time other than pushing his junior up against the wall of the outside corridor, rutting against each other like animals, nipping the younger boy's lower lip until he drew blood, and the way that Makoto's hands had tightened in his hair at the pain. The ensuing morning had begun with a passive-aggressive note of complaint pinned onto the apartment door, and he'd had thought that was the end of it. Of course, when Makoto had crawled into his lap the next week while the two of them had been studying together, it was clear that Shoichi had been mistaken.
Makoto's malicious and willful behavior in bed manifests itself as long red claw-marks down Shoichi's back, or in countless welts all over his shoulders from where the younger male's nails have dug in too deep. On more than one occasion has Shoichi had to conceal rings of dark bruises surrounding his neck or painful bite marks, and it is at times such as these that he wonders if this arrangement is more trouble than it's worth. But Shoichi, human as he is, cannot deny the appeal of hearing Makoto yowl and hiss from pain and pleasure, seeing the younger boy's back arch sharply off the mattress at the moment that he slides the tip into slick, tight warmth. These are the things that keep him susceptible to Makoto's advances time after wretched time.
Sometimes, after fucking, Makoto will curl up like a cat next to Shoichi in post-coital embrace, and fall asleep in the older boy's arms. Shoichi always does his best to not let these instances bother him.
These brief displays of genuine affection always dissolve with the morning sun, up to the point that Shoichi half-suspects that they are merely tired delusions that his mind has conjured to torment him with. Makoto is never there when Shoichi wakes up, and it is often that the older male is left only with nebulous scrawled notes instructing him to get out of the apartment as soon as possible. The few times that he is able to see his host in the morning, Makoto has been cold and unsentimental, any and all traces of passion from the previous night having completely disappeared.
In the end, Shoichi is always left by himself in a bedroom that would barely look inhabited if not for the few books propped on the shelf and the august presence of the window box. The wildly branching leaves and flowers seem to take up all the air in the room, making the space feel much smaller than it really is. Looking at the bright orange lilies, the proudly standing hydrangeas, the smiling sunflowers and subdued geraniums, Shoichi can almost imagine them smirking at him in a way not unlike their caretaker.
Shoichi has watched Makoto quietly maintaining the well-being of these weeds many times, whether it be replacing the soil, adding drops of fertilizer, or sometimes even bringing the flower box inside during particularly violent storms. It strikes him as sadly fascinating that Makoto may perhaps show more concern for these flowers than he does for any human being.
Shoichi is dressed in five minutes and gone by six, exiting the bedroom while making a noticeable effort not to look at the flower box. Shoichi really does hate those flowers with a burning passion.
(a/n) This takes place in a future college!AU that may or may not be expanded further upon in other drabbles, hence Hanamiya having his own apartment. Forgive me for the gratuitous application of several of my SAT vocabulary words.