Disclaimer: Kuroko no Basuke is not my property. (One can wish)
'She needs a new journal. The one she has is problematic. To get tot the present, she needs to page through the past and when she does, she remember things, and her new journal entries become, for the most part, reactions to the days she regrets, wants to correct, rewrite.'
- Dave Eggers, How the Water Feels to the Fishes.
To the Five-coloured Rainbow after a Miraculous Blue rain,
Yet with no pot of gold in the end.
20, 5, 2, 15, 24
- The Dedication Page of 'Phantasmagoria''
Written by Kagami Teruna
XX94
Pitch-black Darkness.
So depthless in its colour, it rivalled the darkest of obsidian hidden beneath the earth, hiding hot, boiling lava beneath its hard exterior. So dark as if the sun had never touched the place, that no light would ever grace it, hidden beneath the tiled and cemented roofs in a deep alcove where no Gods would bother to influence.
Kuroko glanced around the room in confusion. The impending silence was deafening – her mind pleaded for relief, for distraction against this all-too-familiar scenario, trying to shake off the memories that she had abandoned in that graveyard of ghosts - but to no avail. Her mind cried for comfort, for something, for anything to stop those wretched memories from repeating in her head, from surfacing once again.
She tried to move. She tried to find a light source. But to her horror, she only met resistance from rusted shackles that bound her, that refused to let her go. She yanked against them forcefully, praying that it would break off due to their neglected condition. However, they held strong, far from breaking. The flakes of rust scratched against her wrist – skin that was an unnoticeable shade lighter than the rest of her skin – the friction causing red to appear on pale colour.
"You will receive your retribution…."
She clenched her eyes shut tightly, her frame already shaking subconsciously. She turned her head to the side and leaned against the cold wall.
'No… No… No…'
She knew the voice. Even with its raspy and distorted quality. She knew.
She heard the listless dragging of feet across the dark floors, smelt the odour of decaying matter infiltrate her nose, felt the looming presence of him. Every moment seemed to drag out into eternity, yet, with so much time, she couldn't move a step. Seemingly so much time that a second seemed inconsequential when all she ever did was stand there and drown in fear. Let her murky waters take her breath and fill her mind, soaking every inch of skin like curse. She was rooted the ground, like coils of weed wrapping around toes and limbs, at the mercy of the slow moving figure.
Why wouldn't her feet move?!
She pounded her legs with her shackled hands, biting her lips so hard that it drew blood.
Why did her legs feel so weak when she needed them to work the most? Why did it feel like her muscles that she had trained for so long dissolved into jelly – solid without sustenance – when they had been put through hell for the same reason? Why did she allow herself to be controlled like this, time and time again, showing weakness?
"Move!" She yelled out desperately. She spoke the same word repeatedly almost as if it were a prayer.
"Please fucking move…." She whispered hoarsely, her eyes reddening as she hit her legs feebly once more.
Her breath hitched. She could suddenly feel the shrivelled skin pressing against her bare shoulder and the parts where bone met skin. She could feel stale blood brand like scalding iron, the disgusting brown liquid marring her skin and sinking through her pores, tainting her body. She could feel the immutable fear surface, coursing in her blood like some kind of disease.
"You will receive your retribution…" It cackled.
She felt the slimy, smelly saliva splatter onto her, its cold breath fanning against her hair.
Like a mechanical doll her head twitched back front to witness the horrible scene that she had seen far too many times, suppressing the urge to cry out.
The wretched features of her nightmarish figure had no clear face. Everything was messed up – there was no clue where the lines started and where it ended. The eye would twitch sporadically in different directions and often changed colours. Maggots could be seen crawling in the cracks of rotting flesh, parts of meat drooping to the extent of disrepair. Torn and tattered clothes covered the vile figure, much of it sodden with dirt and splinters of wood.
"No!" She cried out in anguish as she squirmed.
Hot, angry tears filled her eyes as she felt similar hands creep up from the ground, not missing an inch of skin as they scratched and gripped. They left marks with their jagged nails and hand prints as they tried to pull her down into a deeper abyss. It dug into her like metal, like cloth, its texture rough and unforgiving. She could make a futile attempt to brush off the violation but the hands too many to number. She hated it.
Hated the rough skin that brushed against her, making her old scars more obvious. Hated how they were her reminder, of corpses, of fires and regrets. They grabbed onto her and ruined her, unrelenting, pushing her towards the brink of hell she knew all too well. One that she once fell into and so agonizingly climbed up with but of sanity and nothing she could call herself.
She didn't know how long it went on for as they clawed at her, tearing away any semblance of fabric on her and her dignity. She was so tired, craving relief that she would not receive. Tired of the nameless faces that she would see, distorted by illusion and yet not losing its haunting effect. Tired of the different expressions of agony, hatred and the whole spectrum of negativity that was reflected onto herself.
Pleading did nothing. Tears – whether water or blood – the different compositions of matter, would not drown out her torment. Struggles to them were merely obstacles they would conquer and leave her in more misery. They took joy in her misery and drank her tears like fine wine, and indulged her so much that she didn't want to call this body, this broken vessel that she was, her own.
But she sobbed. She sobbed so hard that her lungs felt like they were on fire, so much that every word stayed, choked like a lump in her throat. That her involuntary screams from old pains would tear through, leaving her feeling worse. Like the glinting deposit would descend –
And then something in her snapped.
#####
Kuroko Tetsuya woke up with a start.
Her chest heaved as if it was painful to breathe. Teal blue hair pasted to her sweat soaked body. She clutched onto the blanket like it was her lifeline, refusing to let go although it was sweltering heat and she can feel liquid trickle down her cheeks. She couldn't make out what were tears and what was sweat as they mingled together, imparting a salty taste on her lips.
'Pathetic.' Her mind scorned between strangled breaths.
How many times had it already occurred? How many times had she woken up like this, tortured by the memories that she promised herself by day would never haunt her?
Her lips curled further downwards. Too many times.
The feeling of helplessness still clung to her like a leech. There were things she wanted to accomplish, wanted to do, but the burdensome load pressed onto her chest and her limbs. She didn't feel like moving. She didn't want to care. She didn't want a purpose. She didn't - wouldn't -
But she forcefully threw aside her blanket, shoving her feet off the bed dangling it at the edge of the mattress for a few seconds before she allowed skin to touch the cold marble floors. She shrank back from the difference in temperature, walking out after she touched the floor with the tip of her toes a few more times. She changed into more decent clothing and fashioned her hair into a high top-knot bun at a strict pace, not even bothering to spare a glance at the hanging mirror to look at her own presentation.
Suddenly wanting fresh air to pacify her frazzled nerves, she padded out of her room towards one of the many balconies.
Gently, Kuroko pushed open the balcony door, as if she was afraid that she might wake someone by being too loud. Even though she knew that she had purposefully picked a room that was one of smallest and the furthest away from company due to her recurring nightmares, part of her couldn't help but be cautious. No one needed to hear her screams. No one would care.
She stared unblinkingly at the crescent moon that hung in the sky with the stars as its backdrop, resisting the desire to close her eyes. Just as she was capable of burying, the memories of old were capable of surfacing. Kuroko knew if she closed her eyes, the images would flit behind her eyelids in a series of obscure flashes, reminding her once more of the terrifying nightmares that plagued her.
If forgetting was easy, she wouldn't be like… this.
She would not be awake at this god forsaken hour when dawn had barely broken.
She would have been standing on their side, even if her place was in their shadows, being their listening ear and most impassioned anchor. But she was not.
There was no escaping the phantoms of the past that swirled around her, and she could only hope that even if it was just a bit, it would get easier. That remembering would not bring a grimace on her face or anger that was her type of hot branding iron. She yearned to not feel the need to heal, she wanted to move on and not just survive.
A sequence of soft footsteps immediately stole her attention, making her back tense. The blue-eyed practitioner brushed her fingertips against the dagger fashioned into her sleeve, her mind wondering if it was yet another person out to take her life.
Kuroko discarded the thought the instant her mind processed that the sounds the person made were familiar. Perhaps quieter than before and more evenly paced, but definitely someone she had known and scrutinized long enough to note their mannerisms.
"Kise-san?" She called out lightly without turning around.
A soft chuckle answered her question. "Nothing ever really escapes your observation does it, Kurokocchi?"
Instead of turning to reply, she only tapped the railing next to her as a gesture for Kise to come and stand beside her. He quickly complied, adjusting the sword sheathed at his side so it wouldn't knock against the railing.
Silence enveloped them for minutes, the pair allowing themselves to enjoy the beauty of the night. The air was still with no bitter breeze, their scenery seeming like it was captured in a motionless frame other than the stars that would move ever so slowly. Their eyes glazed over the treetops and the gardens, tracing over the smooth figure of the fountain. Their world was dark, so dark that they could scarcely make out the silhouettes of the guards that stood beneath them.
"This reminds me of the time during the revolution you know." Kise laughed, breaking the quietness.
Her fingers tighten on the railing momentarily. "Does it?"
Kise nods cheerily, his eyes hazy. "You usually wouldn't be able to sleep at new places on the first night, remember? You would be up and awake, pacing and paranoid, making an inventory for possible escape routes and places to hide. Somehow, it became tradition for all of us to stay up on the first night in any hideout, huddled by the fire and just…. Talk."
Seeing Kuroko's lack of reaction, he continued. "We would talk about anything and everything but the revolution. What we would have chosen as our careers, our favourite foods, our new discoveries with every place we've been to. Super pure and happy times." He halted momentarily, his expression becoming miserable. "And incredibly naïve."
"But they were happy." Kuroko repeated. Kise nodded, sighing.
A look of bitterness flashed across her face. She did wish that she was young all over again. While life had been hectic and dangerous, she wouldn't have changed it for the world.
But while that year had been sinfully sweet in some ways, it was the beginning of their almost imperceptible change. Hearts became frozen, gazes suspected everything at every turn. Old ambitions were utterly destroyed by the reality of revolution – the lives sacrificed, the blood split, the time invested – they were just not the same as they were. Like how they effected change, the change affected them.
"Everyone changed when you disappeared, y'know?" Kise whispered roughly, kicking the railing slightly in frustration.
"I know," Kuroko sighed softly, a specific memory of their domineering figures flashing.
"Especially Akashicchi…. He became a man possessed with perfection in everything. He became demanding—"he brushed his fingers through his hair while searching for the right word—"Almost intolerable." Kise allowed his arm to hang limply at his side. "But we can't fault him for it. Out of all of us, he loved you the most. He treasured you like a little sister he never had, and grieved like a brother who had lost."
Pain became more evident on his features as the blond-haired king struggled to keep his emotions in check. It flickered back and forth from negative to neutral, his long-standing act cracking.
"Imagine how shocked we were when you finally informed us that you were alive after three years, Kurokocchi! Did it really have to be from an acknowledgement page on a book you wrote? Couldn't you have been more direct?"
"There was no way I could face all of you then," muttered Kuroko softly, causing Kise to lean in.
"What?" Kise asked, unsure if he heard the right thing.
The teal-haired lady brushed off his question. "What is the time right now?"
He fished out his pocket watch, not pursuing the meaning behind the sentence although he was burning with curiosity. He would be patient for answers just like he was asked to be. While agitation filled him not to be in the know, he knew that Kuroko would never change her nature of divulging information unless she wanted to. She was serious, a trait that influenced from her father and her quiet nature from her mother made her mysterious all the same.
"Its half past five," he informed.
"The rest will wake up soon," she murmured, trying to recount their old habits of waking up. "I suppose your patrol is done for the night?"
He couldn't help but smile brightly. "That's correct, Kurokocchi!"
"Remember when we first met and I didn't believe you could be a regular?" Kise eased into another topic.
"You were quite adamant for a change of mentors."
"And then the little game we played to prove me wrong?"
"Your looks of shock were amusing," Kuroko replied in a matter-of-factly tone.
The blond man pouted at that. "And that's all you remember?"
"Other than you being obliterated?"
"Stop being so mean, Kurokocchi! You're one of the first to ever insult me like that!"
She pursed her lips. "Kise-san, are you affirmative of that?"
Kise sent her a withering glare.
"Shall we head downstairs?" She proposed, giving him a way out from humiliation.
Kise nodded eagerly, offering him his arm to her as if it was his second nature. He blushed slightly when she raised her eyebrow, as if to question when she had been a proper lady from the day of her birth. He dropped his arm, opting to open the balcony door instead and they descended the stairs to see a ghastly sight.
"Do you think they tripped on the stairs while trying to get something going and knocked out?" Kise whispered after some time, wrinkling his nose when the acrid scent hit him.
"No, they're just idiots." said Kuroko, using her toes to poke the two unmoving figures.
She questioned how her present and past light ended up together in such a sorry state. With both of them equally domineering and stubborn, she couldn't fathom how they would quickly become drinking buddies, sharing stories till late night and getting outrageously drunk. Yet, here they were in all their glory, surrounded by bottles of empty liquor, some shattered and the pair were lying on the stairs, snoring lightly and looking like a hot mess. Aomine's shoe was at the bottom of the stairs and soaked in what she presumed was alcohol. Kagami was no better with his pants pulled halfway and awkwardly down his thighs. Both of them had their buttons undone and shirts untucked, their hair dishevelled like someone brushed their hair with a rake. She wondered what happened to the jacket that the dark-haired king wore the day before, then decided that some things were best left unknown, seeing how her attendant's hand clutched onto his shirt.
"An impromptu sexual escapade?" Kise wondered out loud, his imagination heading down a dangerous path.
The blue-eyed lady sighed inaudibly. "Kise-san, they look too drunk to even think about that."
"True..."
"How are we going to wake them up? They're both heavy sleepers."
"A cold bucket of water?" Kise immediately suggests.
"If Kise-san is willing to clean up, I am not opposed to the idea."
"Sure."
And as if they were falling back into an old routine, his yellow eyes lit up, grabbing her arm to lead her towards the kitchen. She flinched away from his touch and withdrew her hand like she was burned, her pale digits grasping the spot that he had touched. She looked away with apologetic eyes, not allowing his hurt gaze to affect her. They were still a lighter shade the last time she checked although they were not red.
They walked in silence as he led her down the twists and turns of the hallways, the smell of food and sound of clattering cutlery becoming more pronounced as they inched closer. A scullery maid gasped when she saw the King around the bend of the hallway that led to their destination, freezing for a moment before she bowed hastily. "Is there anything Kise-sama requires?"
Her companion merely asked the maid to drop the formality and lifted a finger to his lips with a mischievous smile plastered on his face, as if they were keeping a dirty little secret between both master and servant. The maid blushed furiously at his gesture, hurrying away to attend to her tasks in fear of reprimand. Her head, however, was still very much in the clouds after catching a glimpse of the attractive and charismatic regent.
"Kise-san, you should stay outside." Kuroko murmured before she lifted the latch to open the door, earning a pout from said person.
She pushed him aside gently and fixed her posture, pushing the door and striding in as though she was one of the staff, picking up two buckets and casually filling them up with water. No one noticed her while she continuously filled her apparatus with the scoop and not a single person hustled into her as she carried it out. The phantom passed one bucket to him the moment she was out of the door, abruptly wishing that someone would see the King of Kaijo doing meagre chores.
The pair took a slightly longer time to return to the stairs, careful not to spill any water on the expensive Persian carpets. As the distance grew shorter, Kise gained a bounce in his step, struggling with the urge to swing the bucket in anticipation of their reactions. Kuroko pursed her lips to suppress her smile from her partner-in-crime's childishness but she did not attempt to ruin his fun. It was rare to see him like that, she thought, and she was going to just live in the moment and pretend.
Hauling the bucket of water to their chests, Kise mouthed a countdown. Both of them tipped their buckets simultaneously onto their heads, the water trailing down the stairs and splashing on them, but the setbacks were not enough to deter them from their little prank.
The gurgled choke from both men as they spluttered awake did not go amiss. The pair clapped their hands on their mouth to stop their chuckles, their eyes trained on the two sword maniacs that were rousing.
"Holy shit, I thought I just drowned." Aomine croaked. His dark eyes blinked furiously to clear his vision of any water, even swivelling his head a little to rid of any in his ear.
"You're too loud, Ahomine." The other moaned, clutching his head. "If you don't shut up, you're going to think you're in the ocean when I'm done with you."
Silence prevailed in the main hall for a few seconds. And then someone lost it, bursting into fits of laughter while his partner faced the wall, her frame shaking with laughter.
The two sober men groaned again.
...
PART I END
Mad thanks to The SapphyreLily. My critic and the person that tends to listen to me rant at times.
Thank you for the follows, favourites and reviews. They are the fuel that makes me write :)