[crossposted from ao3]
a/n: another attempt to write in english, haha, please kindly correct me if you find any error and i will happily, also appreciatively, revise it ;w; this is actually a draft i've written quite some time ago but had never published it until now ;w;
Kuroko no Basuke © Tadatoshi Fujimaki and I'm not gaining any profit from writing this fanfiction
1: stillness of the room
Tetsuya is beautiful.
While 'beautiful' may not be the right word to describe a man, and if Ryouta dared to say it out loud Tetsuya would just give him that long stare of un-amused look, the blonde still think of him that way.
Tetsuya's hair is in the lighter shade of blue, just like the sky on a bright summer day (in terms of color, wouldn't Ryouta be the sun? Just see how well they complement each other), slightly disheveled as his head is resting on the satin pillow. His eyes are gleaming like a pair of aquamarines, bright in hue and when they glimmer Ryouta gets reminded of the sparkling surface of the vast blue sea. Those orbs, too, like the ocean itself, hold layers of mysteries, silently alluring curious sailors to discover the treasure they've hidden. And Ryouta is sailing his ship, searching for what is within.
Now Tetsuya's eyes are closed, concealing the beauty underneath the eyelids. Even so, he still looks endearing. His thin eyelashes, his porcelain white cheeks, his thin lips. Ryouta knows he could watch him in this state and not realizing eternity had passed. He brushes his hands on Tetsuya's forehead, sweeping the bangs off his eyes, caressing his cheek (it feels not too warm, yet not too cold), gently tracing his lips with the tip of his forefinger, then lays a gentle kiss in between his eyes. Ryouta smiles, though fully knowing that Tetsuya is not seeing him.
He lets out a silent sigh. At this very moment, Ryouta has to admit that he cannot actually make out Tetsuya's expression. Is it joy? Is it sadness? He seems so calm, but is his heart the same? As he lays there, mouth forming a straight line and forehead off of furrows, Tetsuya just appears to be regularly sleeping—while that's not true, and Ryouta realizes it. If only, he mulls, there is something he could do. Yet Ryouta has done all he's capable of, and he knows that there are just things in the world that still won't work out, no matter how deliberately you devise a plan, no matter how hard you work. Maybe that green Midorima was right—man might try all he could, but God would decide—maybe he was right after all.
Down his chin, a perfectly white collar enveloped Tetsuya's neck, shirt buttoned up and completed by a carefully knotted tie, which color of black matches the exact deepness of his suit jacket (as good as new, freshly taken from the cleaner by the station just the other day). It is so black that it almost like implying to the name of the wearer, Kuroko Tetsuya; the shadow, the Generation of Miracles' shadow. But to Ryouta, Tetsuya was never just a shadow.
He's more than that, he's everything. He is the darkest corners of Ryouta in which he hides all of his most ugly desires and worst ego, he is the true blackness found in the bottom of a well where Ryouta will climb down when the world becomes too chaotic, he is the galaxy, who pulled and absorbs and swallows anything—Ryouta's heart, Ryouta's mind, Ryouta's being. Tetsuya is the genuine black, and no, a mere shadow of half-hearted vividness simply bears no comparison to him.
The blonde reaches for Tetsuya's hand, which are folded up just above his stomach, holding a bouquet of peonies on his chest. Even as Ryouta give a light squeeze to the back of his hand, Tetsuya is still not moving for even a single twitch. He doesn't say, but his stillness is as if screaming that he cannot be bothered.
Time looks like it's freezing for him. There, in where neither words nor sounds can reach, Tetsuya lays deeper and deeper (but still he's not sleeping) in his own universe. Sometimes, Ryouta imagines what it's like to be on that side, where the light of the outside world ceased and darkness enfolds; maybe it'll be like wandering through a labyrinth, or getting lost in the woods, or maybe more similar to leaping from clouds to clouds. But Ryouta never really knows; because he couldn't enter the place Tetsuya is in, because the gates were closed before he could follow, because maybe he's just not worth of it yet.
He removes his hands from Tetsuya's, then exits through the front door of their apartment.
Ryouta didn't say goodbye, because he didn't need to, because every tiny bit of him were left in the very same room Tetsuya is in, because he simply couldn't ignore the home and love they've been trying to build for the past three years.