Yo. Someone gave the idea of a prompt of "What if the Mira!Gen paired off" and then I thought "I should write that shit". And this came about. I have no idea the pairings or what's really going to happen outside of vague images in my head that have yet to turn into anything remotely solid; if anything they'll vanish with the wind. Oh well. I hope you enjoy.

Autonomy in Symbiosis

On the first day of what Kise hopes to be the beginning of the rest of his life, he's ripped from his sound slumber, both abruptly and painfully, as a deathly accurate hand smacks the back of his head.

Kise yelps into his pillow, hand fisting into his sheets. He sits up with a groan; gut sinking as he hears the clear and controlled voice of the most terrifying person he knows.

"You have a photo shoot tomorrow Ryouta-kun, please remember it this time. If you skip it for basketball again ... well," and Kise's manager grins in an unsettling way, "I don't have to tell you the consequences, do I?"

Kise shivers at Tanaka's sharp stare and menacing smile. "No! I'll remember this time. I promise!"

"Good."A terrified Kise never fails to make Tanaka complacent.

"Why do I even have a photo shoot? It's my first week of school. I want to familiarize myself first." He's excited for this year. Adrenaline, the kind that seizes him when he works the catwalk among flashing cameras, thrums through his chest at the thought. Kise hasn't looked this forward to anything in a long time.

"I didn't know you were so attached," Tanaka drawls. "You always appeared to be so bored of school before. Always sighing like the simpering brat you are. Oh woe is you."

"Why did I get you as my manager?" Kise wonders, once again. And once again, he feels his modelling self-worth shrivel from its blooming state to a dried-out shrub.

Tanaka continues to stare on uninterestedly at Kise's withering form. "I'm your manager because the company gave you to me. It's because I'm one of the best. And, for some inane reason, they consider you a shining star, or some other equally ridiculous notion."

Kise hates waking up to Tanaka. He hates even more that this is biweekly occurrence.

Tanaka cleans his glasses with an iron pressed black cloth, rubs his eyes with a sigh, and places his glasses back onto his fine boned face. "I keep you around because they pay me well. Lucky you. After all this time I almost think of you as a pet dog. The sort you pity. The sort you become resigned to take care of because they'd drown in their own drool otherwise. Wait," he pauses, placing a well groomed finger on his clean shaven face, "I wouldn't pity a mentally challenged dog. That's silly. It must be the money," he concludes with a nod.

'Tanaka is a fantastic manager, the best,' Kise reminds himself over and over again. He chants it in his head in some vain attempt to convince himself that this suffering is worth it.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow. Promptly and on time," Tanaka continues to speak. "Enjoy your first day of school and try not to make a fool out of yourself. I do hate press management. Almost as much as I hate famous brats." Tanaka gives Kise one last despairing look before snapping his agenda closed, brushing imaginary dust from his suit, and leaving; striding out of Kise's bedroom and apartment, like a flash flood leaving his pride in ruins.

Kise's been awake for less than ten minutes and he already feels like crying. Not to be discouraged, he remembers the words spoken to him near the end of the last school year. Those sweet words that continue to fill him with hope in the form of a promise.

"Kise-kun," Kuroko had said. His eyes set on something Kise couldn't see, so vividly blue, and filling every part of him, flooding into parts unknown. "I'd like to play with Kise-kun in high school."

Kuroko had said, "I will help you defeat Aomine-kun," with his voice like a steel wire pulled taut enough to draw blood.

Kuroko had said, "I will become your shadow," without a shadow of a doubt stirring in the burning coals of his irises.

"I will get you to the top," he had said in that deserted basketball court, the sun sinking beyond the horizon and bathing the stretching landscape a burning golden; yellowing Kuroko's face and letting Kuroko's shadow stretch towards a strewn, over worn basketball.

Kise smiles at the memory, hugging his pillow close.

Kise doesn't know Kuroko's motives, but that doesn't matter. Not to Kise. Whatever Kuroko's reasons are for splitting away from Aomine can be kept a guarded secret. That's irrelevant.

Kuroko's approach to basketball is honest; it reflects the open honesty Kuroko embraces when it comes to his heart. It's something Kise's always respected and admired.

Kise knows Kuroko will always stay honest to himself, even if he isn't perfectly honest with Kise.

But that's okay, because that means Kuroko doesn't expect Kise to be perfectly honest with him either.

Murasakibara enters the gates of Shuutoku High with a bag of wasabi-flavoured chips in one hand and his empty school bag in the other.

He grins crookedly, feeling a bit like a ninja on a mission. This is, of course, if his mission is to sneak around with the whole purpose of getting caught.

But that's what makes everything so fun. Sneaking around without the effort of being stealthy: that's a winning situation if you asked him.

But as the day moves on, with every tick of the clock and his every slump from class to class, he finds himself increasingly disappointed. Worse than that time last week when the store ran out of milk candy. The day's almost over and he still hasn't caught a single sign of Midorima. Which is absurd; his height and hair colour are obnoxiously eye catching. And Midorima's obnoxious all on his own even without taking into consideration Midorima's own height and hair colour.

Murasakibara bites down hard on his green tea Kit Kat bar. This day is turning out to be boring. He's already moving to his final class, some subject he can't bother to remember at the moment, already used to the stares and whispers of, "Isn't this a first year corridor?" and "Whoa! So tall!"

Room 1-3, he reminds himself as he follows the hoard of sheep like students. He wishes they were more like real sheep; less loud and annoying, going so far beyond the realm of boring until he wants to crush their very existence.

There's a particularly grating giggling girl two students ahead that he glowers at, the corners of his mouth tugged down, before a flash of green catches his eye.

'There,' his eyes light up and narrow in, 'Mido-chin,' he thinks. Midorima walks as pompously as ever: chin tilting up in, jaw line slanting to arrogance, glasses perched high on his nose, and his expression filled with bored superiority.

It's the most interesting sight all day, and Murasakibara wants to see more.

He swings his step to the side; barely catching Midorima's attention, a mere split second, but it's enough.

Midorima's body, head, and eyes all swivel towards Murasakibara in an instant, on guard. His face is frozen with surprise.

With his glasses on, the forest green of Midorima's eyes are less vibrant, but the enraged shock filling them doesn't diminish at all. It magnifies instead, as the angles of his drawn in brows contrast with his sharp bold frames.

Murasakibara feels absolutely giddy under that furious but confused gaze. Looks like his horoscopes didn't prepare him for this.

"Long time no see, Mido-chin," he says around a grin. "Treat me well this year, too."

"You ..." Midorima whispers, snaps his mouth closed and blinks once, already starting to compose himself.

Well, that's no fun. Akashi said he could disorientate Midorima as much as he wanted, and it's been such a long time since Murasakibara has had this much potential for fun.

"Bye bye for now," he murmurs, directing a lopsided smirk Midorima's way. Taking the deliberate final bite of his chocolate bar, he leaves Midorima dumbfounded in the corridor, ducking into his classroom. He tosses the candy wrapper into the rubbish bin with perfect aim.

Touou High falls short when compared to Rakuzan: the larger class sizes, the adequate teachers that aren't quite exceptional, less funding, and a lower percentage that graduate to Tokyo University. But there's not a single regret in Akashi's mind. If anything, the stale, stifling air of the principal's office leaves the taste of victory on his tongue.

"You've been most understanding, Sensei," Akashi says, offering a sharp-toothed grin. He gathers the sheets of papers spread out before him on the principal's bulky mahogany desk. In a swift motion, Akashi taps the end of his paper pile on the desk, aligning the edges to straighten the stack, and slides them neatly into a red folder that he quickly tucks away.

Everything about the principal is pale. From his hair, an aging white, to his dull grey clothing that sits too big on his wraith-like frame. His skin is like old and yellowing paper, crinkling in weary lines, cracked with a story that hollows his cheeks and adds weight to the bags under his eyes.

His eyes though, and Akashi is pleased just seeing them, are a whole other story.

"Understanding am I?" quips the principal. His eyes glitter danger, amusement, and something that Akashi understands intimately as a fond form of hatred. "Dear me boy, you say that almost like I have a choice in the matter."

"You make me sound so vile, in some backhanded way I'm sure you didn't mean to imply."

Ding dong. Ding dong, chimes from the PA system.

Akashi doesn't even blink, ignoring the sound that signals the beginning of the first class. Ding dong. Ding dong. "I'm just asking you a favour. From one top student who's guaranteeing your school a certain amount of ... prestige, to a very excellent principal."

"Our basketball team has been reputed for years. And we've acquired the ace of your old team, Akashi."

"And I am the captain of that ace. I use the present tense, because despite what your coach and captain do, they won't be able to control Aomine. He's not theirs." Aomine doesn't acknowledge being Akashi's either, but that matters very little. Aomine has understood what he has or where he belongs. Not until it's gone at least, and even then Aomine doesn't know how to cope in a healthy way. "He won't jump because you tell him to. His relationship with authority is tentative at best."

The principal raises a pale, wispy brow. His smile miniscule, but there. "And he'll jump if you tell him to?"

"I won't tell him anything. He'll jump because I will it, the exact height I want because I've calculated it. He'll even land where I want because the result will be the only option I've left for him. Aomine will jump believing it to be his own choice. Aomine's mine like he's no one else's." Not entirely true, but Akashi executes the lie smooth as polished marble all the same.

Kuroko Tetsuya has always been the exception.

"Impressive, I'm sure," says the principal. His hands come together, cushioning his chin as he leans further over his immaculate desk. "But Aomine will play all the same. I've agreed to your conditions because of your tainted promises, but don't pretend you're doing the school a favour. I have a feeling that the glory you bring us in basketball won't compete with all the headaches you'll cause."

Akashi shrugs. "All of your Touou's glory revolves around athletics, does it not? I'm sure the reputation will improve tremendously if you schooled a student that ranked within the top ten in the nation."

"Akashi," drawls the principal, eyes like ever-consuming black holes set securely in his washed out face, "I've seen your test scores, and while impressive, they only qualify to be in the top hundred of the nation."

There's something about the principal's face has Akashi's nerves singing. He's waiting for something. Expecting something. It's the kind of expression his father wore all the time around his beautiful and cold mother. It's something he's always distantly admired; the cunning, flower cut word dance they perform.

Shame he's learned to outperform the both of them years ago.

"Sensei," Akashi begins, voice a careful mix of humility and masked silver spoon arrogance, "you strike me as a misunderstood, but sharp individual. So I'm sure you'll come to understand me."

"I'm sure I'll come to understand you as well as you like."

"Yes, well." Akashi can't argue with that. He'll either learn to love this man or despise him. Which way he'll go, Akashi doesn't know yet, but he'll have fun all the same. "You'll come to understand that I don't like to play all my cards at once. I may keep a trick or two up my sleeves."

The principal snorts, a hint of a laugh escaping between his lips. "Boy, I knew that the moment you said a few of your poisonous words. What cards you're holding and how many tricks, cheats, you have hidden away is a story of another sort. Now," he gives Akashi a hard look, "I don't like dancing with those I have no chance of winning against. So you be on your way with your dirty victory and leave me to contemplate your demise."

"You're a charmer Sensei."

"I hardly feel like I should be called 'Sensei' by you. Call me Nikaido-san. And if you don't rank in the top ten for first national mock exam, I'll have you owe me a favour."

"Well, we can't have that, Nikaido-san. If I owe you a favour, that means I've lost, and I don't lose. The winners are the ones that receive the spoils, after all."

Nikaido hands Akashi a sheet of paper after signing it with a precise flick of the wrist. "Here's your slip to transfer to class 1-F." He frowns. "If you wanted to be in the room farthest from Aomine, you should have requested class 1-A."

"Oh, I know," Akashi says, pocketing the slip, "but I won't frequent his classroom's corridors. This class is the farthest from the stairwell that leads up to the roof. It's a terrible habit of his, skipping out on things in favour of waiting around on the roof." It's subtle, but Akashi wears the expectant expression of someone who's just told a joke and is waiting for a reaction.

Nikaido brings out his own paperwork, but his ear leans towards Akashi. Akashi is a master craftsman with his wording and phrasing; meaning coiling into his every sound, his every silence. The significance of what he says is often never realized, but Nikaido's craft has always been listening. "Waiting you say?"

"Yes. Waiting. Waiting without realizing he's waiting. How disappointed he'll be when he realizes that what he's waiting for is no longer his."

"How disappointed he'll be when he realizes he's still stuck with you."

Akashi flashes an appropriately cocky grin, and turns to leave. From the corner of his eye he sees that Nikaido eases back into his paperwork, steadfastly erasing away any hint of meeting Akashi. Willing any trace of him to disappear.

Akashi often has that affect on people, but he can't help but admire how Nikaido does so out of annoyance and practicality, while most do so out of fear.

Rakuzan's principal, Akashi recalls, was soft like a wet sea sponge; ego bloated from the accomplishments of his students, girth soaking up the juices from heavy pot roasts and wine fine, sucking up to Akashi with gaping holes in his every action. Nikaido with his sharp ears and slow dry wit just cements the benefits of this new plan.

'Tetsuya,' Akashi thinks as he strolls back into the halls of Touou, 'you set this all in motion; the next move is yours. So let's play.'

'My plans are going a bit astray,' Kuroko acknowledges when leaving the gym. 'It is salvageable, though.' Kuroko remembers Kise's darkened face from ten minutes ago, when Kise had popped in on the skills assessment. 'At least, it will be if I can find Kise-kun before he does more harm than good.'

The halls are empty when Kuroko winds through many passages to the main gym where the regulars are. It's the athletic wing of the school. Trophy cabinets line the walls, displaying the proof of the school's hard-earned victories. They alternate with the framed pictures of the different teams, all beaming back widely at Kuroko.

Kuroko picks up the pace, his muscles cooling down and starting to ache. Tryouts are never rewarding for Kuroko. They exhaust him without ever displaying his true talents.

The sounds of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls are absent as Kuroko nears the main gym door. There's the murmur of chatter instead; higher and lower tones depending on the speaker.

Kuroko grasps the handle and pushes. He's not at all surprised when no one turns towards him.

Kise's there. His face is set like stone, all foolishness and flightiness dismantled as he faces down another boy. "I don't care what Hayakawa told you, Sempai, Kuroko-cchi should practice with us."

The boy Kise addresses is flanked by two other players. He scowls fiercely at Kise, hands twitching to lash out, but he reins in his anger. "Don't think that you can dictate the team because of your 'Generation of Miracles' title. I'm the captain. And you're lucky enough that I sent one of our members to go assess that first year for you."

"I didn't want you to check on Kuroko-cchi, I wanted you to bring him here."

The boy on the captain's right takes a step forward. "I don't know why you're was'ing time talking to him Kasamatsu. The 'irst year he recomme'ds sucks. Couldn't si'k a single basket."

"That's not-" Kise takes an aggressive step forward. "That means nothing. That's not how he plays."

"He plays like shit is the bottom line," growls the captain. "If I'm listening to anyone it's Hayakawa, not you." He gestures to the boy flanking his right. "I'm gonna force your friend to resign from basketball anyways. I'd be doin' him a favour."

Kise's eyes blaze, something frightfully hot and dangerous burning everything he sees to ash. "You'd do what?"

'This isn't good.' Kuroko doesn't think twice before rushing over to the crowd.

"You 'ot a lot of balls for a first 'ear," snorts Hayakawa.

"That's it. I'm – Ouch! Wha?" Kise flails, turning in every which direction. "Kuroko-cchi? When did you get here?"

'Where the hell did you come from?' crosses everyone else's minds. Kasamatsu almost had a heart attack.

"Kise-kun," Kuroko says sternly, "You don't need to protect me. I can prove myself through my own abilities."

"But Kuroko-cchi. They just don't understand yet. It'll be so much better once they let me explain."

"Kise-kun, you should know better than anyone that talk is cheap. I know very well that you thought little of me until we first played together."

"Yeah, well ..." Kise's cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Kuroko startles Kasamatsu when he abruptly turns and dips his head in a polite bow. "I apologize for the grief Kise-kun has caused you. But I ask you to reconsider expelling me from the basketball club. I'll show you what I can do using the correct means." Kuroko's voice is unfailingly polite, but his eyes are set like diamonds in a marble statue.

Kasamatsu blinks like a stunned sheep for a couple seconds, before a grin appears on his face. "This first year's got a lot of balls as well, but unlike that idiot over there," he waves a hand towards Kise, "you've got some brains as well."

The boy on Kasamatsu's left interjects, "Wait, Kasamatsu. You're not going to let him stay in the club, are you?"

Kasamatsu shrugs and pats the boy on the back. "Kid's got a nice pair of eyes, Moriyama. I want to see what he can do." He turns to Kise, face falling flat. "If I see that kind of attitude again, I'll run you through so many drills you'll wish you never started playing basketball. You got me?"

Kise says nothing, mouth pressed in a severe line.

Kuroko rolls his eyes and smacks Kise on the back of his head. Kise refrains from crying out this time, but his sulk is obvious.

"Yeah, I got you."

"Good. Now go see the coach in his office. He wants to see you." Kasamatsu nods to the two other regulars at his sides. "Come on, let's get outta here."

The three head towards the change room, Hayakawa crashing shoulders with Kise along the way.

"Kise-kun, you should've known better," Kuroko admonishes in the quiet that follows. He turns to leave without seeing Kise go stiff at his words. "I'll wait for you outside."

Ten more minutes pass before Kuroko and Kise leave the school together in silence.

The warmth from the sun has faded, leaving the earth chilled and the sky dark. Kuroko shivers a little, and zips up his jacket. He glances at Kise, who is still sulking, eyes set on the cold concrete of the sidewalk. They almost reach their parting point when Kuroko speaks.

"Thank you for trying Kise-kun."

Kise looks up at him. "Kuroko-cchi?"

"Your method was wrong. But I understand." Kuroko sees Kise's wide, hopeful eyes, and sighs around a smile. "I'm not mad at you, so please stop pouting."

Kise beams widely at Kuroko, eyes tearing in relief, and throws himself at Kuroko as if he's going for the world's most emotional maul.

"… Kise-kun, I can't breathe."

"Shin-chan, you keep looking at the doors like you're expecting someone," Takao says to Midorima halfway through the first practice. Takao's smile turns sly. "You're not expecting your girlfriend are you? But then, I guess some guys just have all the luck. Being a basketball genius and having a special girl. Sounds like the life. I don't suppose you'd share?"

Midorima doesn't bother to watch as he scores another three-pointer. He turns towards Takao. "It's Midorima," he corrects with a sniff, using the middle finger of his left hand to push his glasses higher up on his nose. "And there are no girls. A girl at this point of time in my life would be a complete waste of time." Kise brought to light what a nuisance girls were a long time ago.

"Fine, fine. No girls then," Takao says with a sigh. "You're no fun."

"Good. Now leave." Midorima twists to grab another ball from the bin, takes a step back, and shoots again. He does this again and again, taking a step back each time. It's only when he's shooting from three-quarters of the court away from the basket that Midorima is reminded of Takao's increasingly annoying presence.

Takao whistles. "Wow, Shin-chan. I don't think you've missed a single basket all practice. Guess you're one of the Generation of Miracles for a reason."

"I don't miss," Midorima states with all the conviction in the world. Or at least, with all the conviction of someone that believes wholeheartedly in his lucky item of the day; a potted petunia.

"Basketball should be fun this year. You're interesting. Just the thought of trying to keep up with you." Takao grins, but it's more smug than anything. Midorima is starting to hate that grin. "We'll be good friends."

"I don't want to have anything to do with you. All you need to do is pass me the ball."

"So you think you can win it all on your own?" Takao raises a brow and laughs. "You're gonna win like that, are you? For an interesting guy you sure have such a dull way of playing basketball."

"As long as you pass me the ball, victory is assured. That's what's important. I'm more than enough."

Takao's eyes suddenly narrow, then brighten with a smirk, like he's just found out some scandalous news and loves every second of it. "You did it again."

Midorima frowns. "Did what?"

"Look at the door."

"I can't look at the door? You shouldn't seem so surprised. If anyone has you in their presence they'd want to find the closest exit."

Takao doesn't take the bait, stays right on track in hopes of seeing Midorima squirm. "Who are you expecting? You've been eyeing that door so often I'm going to die of curiosity."

"Good. Just die then."

"I'll find out one day," vows Takao, deciding that maybe he should leave. Midorima has started to eye blunt objects, and Takao wants to live to annoy another day. "It must be important if they're riling your feathers up like this."

"You're imaging things." Midorima watches Takao's retreating figure. A large headache settles in the front of his skull.

Midorima wishes he were imaging things, but he'd know that tall looming figure anywhere. Murasakibara-kun is attending his school, which is an unusual move for him. This means that Akashi is involved. And when Akashi gets involved, someone always ends up unhappy.

Aomine dreams. He dreams of basketball stadiums with harsh lighting and harsher, starker shadows, swallowing the crowd while their cheers pierce his ears. He plays against a team of faceless ghosts, intangible, the ball passing through them like they're made of moonlight.

His teammates are made of that moonlight as well, their reaching fingers failing to grasp the ball.

Aomine sails through them, not even bothering to dodge. There's no point when they can't touch him. It's so boring. He can just stroll to the net with his eyes closed. The phantom players dodge and dash around him, their presence loud and eye-catching even when they don't utter a sound.

Aomine pulls off a slam dunk, crashing through two players during the move.

Phantom players aren't supposed to be this way. Calling for attention yet accomplishing nothing. They're supposed to be the opposite, just like...

No, don't think about it.

He shouldn't think about it.

And Aomine doesn't think about it. He doesn't think about anything as he rages through all the players; whipping the ball through their non-corporeal forms, swinging through them with sweat stained arms.

In Aomine's dreams those moonlight players manage to stare at him from faceless bodies. Aomine grins back savagely, his eyes so very bored.

"Aomine!"

Aomine's eyes snap open to blue sky with wisps of clouds trailing along in parallel lines. He rubs the sleep out of them. Fatigue still mists over his mind, making the sun too bright, and the wind too cold. He's been here too long. Lying on the concrete has made his back go stiff, his shoulder blades feel like hinges long overdue for oiling. He slowly blinks, propping himself up on his elbows.

The sun glares at him from behind a familiar head. "Aomine!" Momoi repeats, fists on her slim hips, looking entirely unimpressed with him. She scowls. At least, he assumes she is. It's hard to tell with her face shadowed like that, but with the way she's lording over him, it's a safe assumption.

Aomine yawns. Her scowl is nothing new.

"Aomine, are you listening to me?"

"Quit your yappin' Satsuki. I hear you, I hear you." He pulls himself up into a sitting position, back hunched over his bent knees. "Man, I'm sleepy."

"Did you skip class? It's the first day."

"And it was hella dull. The part I went to anyways." First period sounded like 'blah blah blah' to him. Going to class after that would've just been a stupid.

"Do you even know what time it is?" she asks with accusing eyes.

Aomine doesn't know why Momoi asks questions she already knows the answer to. She already knows she's going to get mad. He can tell. Her grim mouth is just waiting to tear into him. "I dunno. Dinner time? I'm starving."

See, she's angry. She's fuming. Aomine doesn't know why she still bothers.

"It's time for basketball practice. It's been twenty minutes since it's started. You're already late for the first day," she reprimands.

"Yeah?" Aomine brightens. "It's still that early? That means I have enough time to grab a bite to eat before that special on Reon Kadena is aired." Chick is freaking hot.

"You, Aomine-kun, are marching straight to practice. This. Instant."

Momoi punctuates her point by bopping him none too gently on the head.

Aomine yelps. "Geez Satsuki. Don't you have other things to do? Like scout out the other schools? I thought that's why they let you butt in as manager even though you're only a first year."

"Coach told me to lay off the scouting for a couple weeks." Momoi makes an unpleased sound. "He won't tell me why."

Aomine scoffs, starting to get on his feet. "You're just mad that you can't spy on Tetsu at that crappy whatchamacallit school he went to."

"Tetsu-kun," Momoi says his name like a dream, before her face shatters. "Stupid Aomine! If I didn't worry so much about you all the time I would've gone to Seirin. I don't remember why you can't remember the name of Tetsu-kun's school." She sighs. "But a high school romance with Tetsu-kun." She flushes prettily at the thought, a hand cupping her cheek. "I could die happy."

"Right ..." Man, she still has it as bad as ever. He makes to leave the roof, when he finally gets a look Momoi's face in the sunlight. Aomine halts. A flare of white hot anger surges in the back of his mind. "Satsuki," Aomine growls, "what happened to your face?"

"Eh?" she startles, before understanding dawns. Her expression quickly morphs into one of cool ease. "It's nothing Aomine-kun. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it my ass," he shouts, taking her face into his large, tanned hands. Aomine rakes his eyes over her purpling cheek, a cut sliced down to her lip. "I'll kill them. Who did it?"

Momoi's mouth goes firm, before she sighs and it becomes something softer. "I can take care of myself, Aomine-kun. It's already been dealt with."

Momoi tries to move, but Aomine holds firm. "Satsuki."

"I promise it's been dealt with. The old team manager and her friends weren't happy that I took her position. They accused me of using certain ... assets of mine to get the position. My greatest asset is my mind; you know that. And I put it to good use. I researched everything about the team the moment you told me you were attending Touou, including her. She won't be touching me. Not after I made it clear that I knew all about her afterschool activities in the red-light district."

Momoi moves again, this time succeeding.

"If she ever tries anything again ..." Aomine threatens.

"If she ever tries anything again, I'll deal with it again," Momoi challenges him.

Aomine is taken aback, and then bursts out laughing, drawing a smile out of Momoi. "Okay, okay, I got it. With an attitude like that I don't know why you haven't bagged Tetsu yet."

For some reason Aomine can't fathom, Momoi looks sad, wistful, and accepting all at once. "You should know best of all," she says quietly to herself, lost somewhere in the folds of her mind. Blinking, she finds herself again. "You should call him sometime to see how he is. He'd like that."

"I won't." Aomine's reply is immediate, curt. He doesn't want to think of his old partner at present. "He made his decision." And before she can say anything else, "I'm going to practice."

He makes a speedy retreat, leaving Momoi standing alone on the roof.

"You made his decision for him a long time ago," she whispers to the wind.

Not a clue in merry hell where this fic is actually going. Not AT ALL.