Fanfiction, Kuroko no Basuke.
Drabble, Imayoshi x Hanamiya.
Word count: 737
Warning(s): Shipping of Bastards, headcanon backstory, possible OOC, suggestion of past relationship
Enjoy the match?"
The words hit the air between them like a bullet, cracking the tense barrier of silence that's permeated the entire hallway. Makoto's gaze shifts, as if he'd suddenly remembered something, and he dismisses the rest of his team with a wave. "I'll catch up with you guys" are his only instructions, and save for several curious looks cast over shoulders, his orders go unquestioned. Shoichi almost envies the control that his junior has as a captain- god knows that he'd never be able to get Aomine or Wakamatsu to obey him like that.
Now they are the only people in the stadium corridor. Makoto's glare is guarded, wary of any sudden tricks that Shoichi may or may not try to pull, and the Touou captain can't help but think it resembles a cornered animal. Shoichi knows that he need not repeat the question and continues to observe the younger boy's reactions. Surprisingly little has changed in two years, at least on the surface. Makoto's hair is slightly longer, he's grown marginally taller, and his expression still holds a hint of that unfathomably irritating sneer at all times.
"I came here to see Seirin get crushed."
Makoto's tone is crisp, as sharp and cutting as the words he speaks. As he holds his gaze to against Shoichi's, his eyes tell stories of anger spiraling in many different directions at once and the biting shame of defeat endlessly battling for dominance. Both are emotions that Shoichi is familiar with, and knows to expect from Makoto at a time such as this. But what pleases Shoichi the most is that amid the unfocused rage is a seething message of I hate you.
"So you didn't come to watch me play, Hana-chan?"
The trademark Imayoshi Smile is plastered all over Shoichi's face, simply because he knows how much Makoto hates it and how little of his mind it allows the younger boy to read. Despite his genius, there is a limit to the Uncrowned King's powers of analysis, and Shoichi has always, always been the one to manipulate and test those limits. He watches the subtle stiffening of Makoto's back and the way that Makoto's fingernails almost cut into his palm, the way they used to dig into Shoichi's shoulders. Makoto's lip curls upwards in a snarl, but the corners of his mouth turn upwards as if smirking.
"Well, I guess you played well enough, Shoichi."
For a moment, Makoto's expression loosens into a reluctant smile, breaking his stare to look at to the side. Shoichi's smile falters, because all he sees before him is a beaming, bratty little middle-schooler, not the Spider of Kirisaki Daiichi, and it jolts him, just slightly. He recovers quickly, but not without the realisation that Makoto may in fact, have learned several new tricks since they last spoke. By this point, Shoichi is more familiar with Makoto's little habit of dishonesty than the shorter boy would prefer, so he knows perfectly well what's coming next. However, for a mere second, Shoichi allows himself to entertain the notion that Makoto's smile may be genuine.
The predicted sneer and statement of, "as if I would say that, dumbass" follows as expected, and Makoto's eyes almost light up at the brief flash of something that crosses Shoichi's face.
"This was your last match with Touou, wasn't it?"
Makoto throws this out into the conversation with a flippant air, even stuffing his hands into his pockets in a show of disdain. This sort of comment in addition with the fresh wound of defeat and the pain of longing would break a normal person, but no one is better than Shoichi at defying the will of others. Makoto knows that this attack won't get a rise out of his senior.
Shoichi's smile stretches wider, and he nods in response. "I'm graduating this year after all," he reasons with a casual shrug. The words do have their sting; Shoichi is still human after all, but he's adept not showing it.
There's a short hesitation before Makoto turns on his heel, presumably to meet up with his teammates. Shoichi doesn't even need to look to know that he's smirking as he leaves. The younger boy's footsteps echo throughout the empty hallway, growing softer as he travels further away. Watching Makoto's retreating form, Shoichi is somehow reminded of a graduation that took place on a spring afternoon several years ago.
(a/n) And for some reason, I was listening to IU's 'Good Day' the entire time I was writing this. heh.
