A/N: This is just a one-shot story for Akashi. I may develop this into an extended story in the future. This story is about winning and losing, and the realization that life isn't just about that.
This story is dedicated to everyone who has experienced failure at some time in their lives, and has gotten back up, and continued onwards.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroko no Basket.
For as long as she could remember, he had always been there.
Always in front of her, always unreachable. He was the wish that never came true for her, the dream that always slipped through her grasp.
He was always that one step ahead, never faltering in his path, never turning back to glance over his shoulder.
He was perfection itself- he never lost. And she always did.
Every time she felt like he was almost within her reach, as if just one more step would let her touch him, she fell, and when she got back up, fighting the pain, he was already far away.
He never fell, and she always did.
For as long as he could remember, there was always victory, and there was always success.
In his life, there was just no space for failure. Even thinking about losing was unthinkable to him. Winning was a part of life, something that had always been there.
She never won. And he always did.
It was impossible for him to fall. He would not accept a mistake, and mistakes were for the weak and lonely.
For her, mistakes were what held her up. Every time she lost, the hatred she felt at her own failure was what spurred her on, what forced her shaking legs to continue.
She always made mistakes. And he never did.
For as long as she could remember, he had never come second.
In everything he did, in everything he touched, there was only room for first place. To him, victory was a requirement- something that was an expectation. For him, coming second was not even a choice- it was impossible.
He always came first, and she never did.
It seemed as though he was uncatchable. In his life, he had always been the one to lead, the one who strode ahead alone, with no one to follow.
It must have been lonely, to walk a path where you have no one in front of you, no one that you can trust. It must have been hard, to know that to trust was to look back, and to look back was to fall.
She always followed him. And he never followed anyone.
For as long as he could remember, she had always followed in his footsteps.
He never glanced back, because to do so would be to admit his weakness. He was not weak, and so he would not look back at her.
He never looked back. And she always did.
To draw close to another is to let your guard down. He could never afford to make friends, because he could not lower his guard. It was a sacrifice that was worth the pain.
She couldn't bear to stand by herself. When she was alone, the hateful thoughts, the twisted voices, would overtake her, screaming and shrieking.
He always stood alone. And she never did.
For as long as she could remember, she would always cry tears of hatred and grief.
Those wracking, burning tears were what kept her sane, what made her look up with new determination and struggle to her feet again.
He would never cry. To weep was to flaunt your vulnerability, and if there was one thing he hated, it was to look weak. He was not fragile, so he would never shed tears, not ever in front of anyone, including himself.
She always cried tears of pain. And he never did.
She would always hide from others. She couldn't bear to have others look at her mockingly, derisive whispers searing her ears. Call it what she would, she couldn't take the jeering silence, the laughing pain.
He never hid, because there was nothing to show. His face was devoid of any feeling, and that was what shielded him from others. His very lack of emotion was what protected him from feeling the pain of others talking, behind his back, just within hearing.
She always ran away. And he never did.
For as long as he could remember, there was always him, and there was always them.
He stood alone, and he would not allow anyone else to join him. Everyone was an enemy, and by coming closer, he pushed them further away. He was his own ally, and he knew no other.
She would never be able to take the pain of being one against others. She was weak, and she couldn't bear to be by herself, as others formed an alliance against her. She always had to have others around her, and without them, she had no will.
He was always by himself. And she never was.
He always saw everything that was to come before it ever did. To know was to win, and to win was to live. Nothing escaped him, and without his foresight, he would not have been the person he was.
She never saw things coming until it was too late. Impulse and recklessness were two of her weaknesses, just as they were her greatest strengths. She could not look ahead, because her eyes were still caught by her own steps and struggles.
He always looked ahead. And she never did.
For as long as they could remember, they had always walked together.
In time, she would realize that to follow him was to force him even further away.
Sooner or later, he would understand that sometimes to win is to walk alone, and to lose is to walk together.
And one day, maybe they would see that walking together is always never wrong.
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