That's it. Murasakibara is going to shoot.

Himuro can see it now, the desperation on Seirin's faces, eyes wide and anxious. Three seconds left, there will be no time for a comeback. This is the final shot, and they all know Murasakibara will make it.

Three

Two

Himuro knows he is going to witness a beautiful shot. It's the last one, after all. Murasakibara raises his hands, delaying it for the last second -

One

And before he knows it, the ball is gone. A flash of blue - Kuroko, that bastard. Himuro's eyes widen, he steps forwards, but there is nothing he can do from so far away, with so little time. The ball hits the floor and rolls away.

Kuroko - that bastard. He smiles as he lands, blue hair flying, eyes like sapphires. Its as if he's saying not bloody likely.

Himuro grits his teeth, takes another step forward, but the buzzer sounds.

The game is lost.

"I'm going to quit basketball."Murasakibara says as Himuro passes.

He smiles distantly regardless, not totally convinced. His head feels light. Murasakibara quitting basketball? He would have done it long ago if he wanted to. Atrocious. Unfair.

There is a somewhat shiny quality to the plains of his Murasakibara's face, like glittering diamonds rolling down a pale white slope. He actually perspired, Himuro thinks to himself. He feels so dazed and confused from his conversation with Kagami, the numbers on the scoreboard, everything, he can't think straight.

As he picks up his bag, his chest tightens. The incredulity of it all, of this final and utter defeat makes it hard to breathe. Even now, after it's over.

He feels cold; he's shivering. He was still composed even if disbelieving when talking to Kagami. Now he can barely hold himself steady under the mountain of frustration and bitterness that is welling up in his heart

"It's disappointing that I couldn't crush them," Murasakibara continues. Is it just Himuro, or is Murasakibara's voice shaking? Everything is shaking, in fact, and although he is sure his face is as calm as ever, his fingers tremble along with the turbulence of his heart.

Himuro deosn't reply, simply sucks in his breath, bites the side of his cheek.

"I must have underestimated Kuro-chan."

Grit.

"What's the point of trying when we were going to lose?"

Clench.

"I'm gonna quit."

Hiss

The breath that leaves Himuro's parted lips is shaky. It's only a step away from the locker room, so he shoves the door open brusquely and shakes his mop of damp hair over watering eyes. He can hear his teammates footsteps in a very distant, tinny quality.

He just lost. Is this for real? Even after training so hard during practice, getting Murasakibara to be the least bit wiser about his diet choices, he lost. Even after perfecting his mirage shot after countless hours of toiling, he lost. To Kagami Taiga, a brother he wished he never had.

The colours on his shoes are swirling, he feels dizzyingly light as the first teardrop rolls down his cheek, dangles at the apex of his chin. The locker room is quiet as it fills up but the buzzing in his ears intensifies.

"Himoru; look - Murasaki -"

It's Okamura. Himuro pushes away the large hand patting his shoulder, but Okamura's grip tightens, he leans down and whispers.

"He's crying."

The hot exhale of air condenses quickly on Himuro's ear. He almost loses his train of thought the moment he hears this sentence.

Murasakibara - crying? Crying, Himuro thinks to himself incredulously.

He doesn't believe this for a fraction of a second. When he looks up, it seems like no one does either. But there it is in broad daylight. The whole room must be shaking along with the giant shoulders like miniature earthquakes, suppressed sobs that are compressed right down to his clenched toes.

It's not like they care too much about this new development in their teammate anyways. Wei Liu is already packing up. Fukui is leaning against the wall, the Adam's apple in his neck moving continuously as if he's trying to swallow all that disbelief. They had walked out onto that court believing in Murasakibara, in the team, in Seirin's relative weakness, and most importantly in themselves.

But what has it all come to? Himuro looks down to his hands and flexes his fingers. Again. Hard work lost to talent.

Damn it all. If only Kagami wasn't such a little goody about being his brother this defeat would not be nearly as painful. But right now, the disappointment nearly rips him apart.

"Himuro," Okamura says.

He shakes his head. "Leave me alone for a moment."

"Himuro," Okamura repeats, his large hand coming to rest on Himuro's shoulder.

"What?" he says. Himuro stands, back facing Okamura, wiping his tears on the back of his hands. When Okamura doesn't reply, he repeats his question irritatedly.

"What?"

It's good, this steady tone of voice. Although his insides are shrivelling up with bitterness, he blinks several times until his eyes are clear. Pushes the hair out of the way and breathes in deeply. Exhales, and he nearly loses it again. Nearly, but he scrabbles back onto the precipice and struggles to control his wild feelings.

"Tatsuya Himuro…" Okamura says. His voice is very gentle yet stern. Himuro flexes his fingers in annoyance - he doesn't need to be treated like a child.

"What?!" Himuro growls as he turns, and as he does so Okamura releases his grip.

Okamura is smiling faintly, even if his eyes are dull and his smile is wavering ever so slightly. "Good job," their captain says. "You did all you could."

Himuro tries to return the smile, but he can't. It riles him up, really. The fact that he did all he could but he wasn't good enough.

"You too," Himuro replies. And at that moment, he breaks. All he could was not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.

Not good.

Enough.

He must have been sobbing quietly earlier for now even Wei Liu looks up in surprise. He's crying openly, now. It's not like he can stop himself.

"You scored twenty five points - you did really, really well," Fukui adds. "I only scored eighteen myself."

He's grinning. Himuro wonders how he can grin so openly in a situation like this. But Fukui reaches forward, palm open, face shining with sweat and the white of his teeth

"We'll crush them next year - with or without this guy," Fukui huffs, smiling even wider as if he's trying to see how wide it can go, resting his palm on Murasakibara's head. This gets a laugh from Okamura.

Himuro's still crying, but there they all are, rubbing his head, poking at him playfully, their smiles too wide, eyes too shiny - how? He feels so tortured yet so strangely light, as if he's a puppet and his strings have been snipped off. Instead of falling to the ground, he's rocketing into the air. He's so light he can't even really feel his fingertips anymore - his spirit is halfway out of his body. He feels like a huge, warm balloon is swelling inside of him at a dangerously fast pace.

"Don't cry, Himuro," Wei Liu says. "We aren't going anywhere."

Tatsuya Himuro cracks open, wide, completely, spills himself onto the grimy floor. He has no idea where his tears - this bitterness, this anger, is coming from, but as his tears trail down his cheeks as silently as they can, all feeling leaks out of him.

He feels so light. Dangerously. Their hands and too-wide smiles plaster all over his wounded heart and his eyes leak the tears that need to be shed.

This feeling is familiar, once. Himuro flexes his fingers again and forms a fist. Those were his tears that day - a swift punch, leaving him heaving and wild eyed. It was only a punch, but still. The lightness remains. A feeling that his being is going to float off and disappear forever.

But why are they not crying? Their lips tremble and their eyes stay open for far too long before they blink, yet they do not cry.

Fukui slings and arm around Himuro. "Don't give up, next year we'll win this game."

Himuro can't help it. He's smiling senselessly.

"Sit down, Kohai," Okamura pushes Himuro down onto the floor. And now he's laughing so hard he might start crying all over again. Their feelings swell until they reach the ceiling and vanish. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

It's a while before Araki enters the locker room, a clipboard in her hand, but by then Himuro has returned to his senses. He still feels light on his feet, robbed of his victory and his feelings. But Murasakibara is eating his junk food, and their captain has his arms thrown over his teammates, and Himuro has never felt lighter than this before. It is not a good feeling, because it feels like he is a weightless puppet, pulled apart by the wind.

However, he is grounded. His eyes are flints of steel, sharp as a dagger. He has heard that Kagami forced open the gate to the Generation of Miracles. He knows he himself is but a normal teenager - he has pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and he has always remained so.

His eyes fix on the solitary basketball lying in the corner of the room, he smiles. It is a smile too wide for a person in control of his feelings.

However, he is grounded. Their hands and their too-wide eyes plaster the wounds in his heart.

Himuro glances at Murasakibara, who said he was going to quit basketball.

Not bloody likely, he thinks. He stands.

He feels lighter than air, but his determination grounds his feet to the floor and his hands to the ball. Whether he wins or loses, this is all he needs.

Not bloody likely, Tatsuya Himuro thinks, and as he pushes the hair from his eyes as they glint a steely grey.

And he smiles.