Author's Note: For some reason, I forgot to post this even though I wrote it like a year ago! This was originally written for a KnB x Free! fanzine. My other story, The Colors of Spring, is a semi-sequel to this story. Hope you enjoy!

Spring and Shadow

Kuroko had never been fond of the water. When he was eight, he nearly drowned, cementing his dislike for any body of water where he couldn't see his feet. Even now, he had mixed feelings about the ocean. On one hand, he could admit that the waves, with their rhythmic push and pull, were calming in a way. On the other hand, his stomach still clenched at the sight of the cerulean blue before him — a beautiful color, but a color that hid an unspeakable darkness that no light could penetrate.

It was spring, and spring was supposed to be the time of beginnings, but Kuroko didn't feel like there was anything beginning. In fact, even though he wasn't in the water, he felt that same sense of drowning. Actually, he realized that he'd felt like he was drowning ever since . . .

It had been a long time since Kuroko had visited the ocean. For Nigou, it was probably his first time, judging by his wagging tail and lolling tongue. His paws carved paths into the soft sand, and he jumped in and out of the shallow waves lapping the shore.

At least he's enjoying himself.

Personally, Kuroko would rather have stayed at home, using the time to get in more practice with his team. But his grandparents grew up near the ocean, and they insisted on taking him on a Golden Week vacation, especially since he was now in his third year. Although they didn't say it, Kuroko thought that another reason they'd taken the vacation was to get him away from basketball.

It'd been half a year since Kagami had left for America, and Kuroko still wasn't sure how he felt. His basketball felt stilted; he kept misjudging his passes, the ball failing to reach the next person. Seirin had barely made it past the previous Winter Cup preliminaries, which should've made Kuroko more determined to win the next tournament, but even the approaching Inter-High failed to spark a light in him.

(Maybe because he didn't have a light anymore.)

He didn't know how long he sat on the beach, watching the ocean, but eventually, he stood up, ready to call Nigou and leave. But before he could open his mouth, someone walked right past him.

It was boy with black hair, taller than Kuroko and maybe a little older as well. For a moment, Kuroko could do nothing but stare as the boy began to pull off his shirt, seemingly oblivious to the person standing a few feet away from him. (Kuroko wasn't sure if he was being deliberately ignored or if he hadn't even been noticed in the first place.) The boy shed the rest of his clothes with smooth, efficient movements, revealing swim trunks and a muscled form underneath. He stretched briefly, then began to wade into the water.

It must be freezing, Kuroko thought. But the boy seemed to embrace the feel of the water, his whole body relaxing, and dove into a clean freestyle.

For some reason, Kuroko didn't leave, but stood and watched the boy swimming in that unfathomable blue.

An hour later, the boy finally breached land again, shaking the water from his hair. His form was slight, not at all like Kagami's towering demeanor, but he still possessed the lean muscles of an athlete. His gaze fell onto Kuroko, who was holding an exhausted sand-covered Nigou.

His eyes were a deep blue, a rare shade that only a few could hope to have. If Kuroko and Nigou's eyes were the color of the sky, then his were the ocean below. His expression was hard to read, even for Kuroko, who was well-practiced in the art of deciphering emotions (even if his own emotions were still a bit foreign to him). He wasn't frowning, but he wasn't exactly smiling, either. Content? Peaceful? No. The closest Kuroko could get to describing it would be . . . tranquil.

Kuroko never considered himself an outgoing person, but he felt a sudden urge to speak to this boy. Almost like the urge he felt when he first challenged Kagami to a one-on-one. That unexplainable need to just know . . . who is this person?

Somehow, Kuroko found himself speaking. "You only swam free."

Kuroko was not an expert on swimming. However, even he knew what the four basic strokes looked like. When he swam at school, he often chose backstroke, because it allowed him to keep his face above water.

There was a miniscule flare of surprise on the boy's face, a microexpression that most people wouldn't have caught.

"Yes," the boy said after a moment. "But not anymore."

Kuroko didn't know what he meant, so he continued. "Are you a professional?" Those effortless, practiced moves were not the strokes of a casual swimmer. Plus, the boy had swam for nearly an hour without stop. Although the ocean wasn't choppy today, the currents must still be more difficult to swim in than your average pool.

If the boy thought this conversation with a stranger was odd, he didn't show it. Or, perhaps like Kuroko, he wasn't good at expressing emotion. In Teikō, Kise had often teased Kuroko and Murasakibara, saying they only showed excitement when it come to basketball or food, respectively.

"I'm a student at Hidaka University," the boy answered. Like his face, his voice carried little emotion, but it wasn't unfriendly. "But I want to enter that world."

Hidaka was a famous athletic school in Tokyo. It actually wasn't far from Kuroko's home, so he'd been considering applying there. It was a dedicated school, focused on unlocking the potentials of its athletes and sending them into that world.

Kuroko wanted to speak more with this boy, but as it was, he was not a natural conversationalist. At times like this, he envied Kise's easy amiability, Akashi's polished communication skills, or even Kagami's straightforwardness.

"I'm in my third year of high school now," he managed to say. "Would you recommend Hidaka?"

"It's a sports school," the boy said. "Are you planning to go into collegiate sports?"

The question threw a pang through Kuroko.

What was Kagami doing right now?

Japan was seventeen hours ahead of California. A glance at the sky above him told Kuroko that it was around noon, so Kagami was probably just finishing his daily mountain of burgers. They'd exchanged emails a few times, but Kuroko hated using a computer screen as a means of communication, and Kagami's grammar was atrocious to read. While Kuroko mostly wrote about how Seirin was doing, Kagami told stories of his experiences in America and how the new team he was a part of was so challenging. Of course, Kuroko loved reading about a different basketball world, but a part of him . . . was also so, so jealous.

Kagami was working as hard as he could to stand at the national level, and Kuroko had no doubt that he would someday reach those heights. But once again, Kuroko had that feeling — that Kagami was going somewhere far, far away, just like the Generation of Miracles, and this time, Kuroko wouldn't be able to catch up to him.

Kuroko wanted to keep playing basketball forever, but he wasn't fool enough to believe that he was good enough to be a pro player. His special abilities weren't nearly enough to propel him into that world; they were merely magic tricks, surprises that, once unwrapped, quickly lost their glamour.

Which is maybe why he reached out to the boy before him — because every stroke he saw was filled with confidence and purpose. He wanted to know what drove him. What allowed him to be so . . .

Free.

Kuroko steeled himself and said, "I play basketball."

"I know someone —" was it Kuroko's imagination or did the boy just scowl? "— he plays basketball at Hidaka. He seems to think it's a good program."

Kuroko had done his research on Hidaka and knew it was a very good program indeed, but what he wanted to know was . . . would it be good for him?

At this time, Kuroko's social battery was nearly drained, and he didn't feel enough resolve to push the boy for the answer he wanted.

So, instead, he said, "Will you be here tomorrow?"

The boy blinked. "Until the end of the week."

"I'll come watch again," Kuroko said.

For the next few days, Kuroko returned to the ocean the same time every day to watch the boy swim. Neither of them talked much, but there was an oddly comfortable atmosphere between the two that didn't require words.

On the last day of vacation, Kuroko finally gathered the courage to ask what he wanted to know. The boy — whose name he still didn't know — had just finished another hour of cresting through the waves, but rather than looking tired, he appeared invigorated, his eyes alight and his body humming with energy. It was like the water itself gave him life; much like a good basketball game used to do for Kuroko.

After observing the boy for a week, Kuroko had never once seen him falter with his strokes. And so, on this final day, Kuroko put aside his doubts and asked —

"Why do you swim?"

The boy didn't seem put off by the blunt question, but replied easily. "Because I want to."

The statement was said with such certainty that Kuroko had to take a moment to process it.

Because I want to.

What did Kuroko want?

What did he want?

What —

The answer was so simple, so blindingly right. Kuroko felt like he was staring into the sun, like that moment when he realized that Kagami's light might just be the answer.

The boy continued and even though Kuroko hadn't said anything outright, he seemed to sense what was going on. "If you want to play basketball, you should do it. Or . . ." He paused. "My friend Makoto's a swimmer, too, but he's decided to become a coach instead. Because he still wants to be close to the water."

And because he's not good enough to compete. Kuroko heard the unsaid statement, but instead of feeling disheartened, he felt lighter inside.

That's right. I don't have to be a pro player to play basketball. I could be a coach, a referee — even if I'm not a competitor, I would still be a part of the game. And in the end, that's all that matters.

Kuroko felt a fire in him that he hadn't felt in months.

Suddenly, Kagami's face — which, to Kuroko's shame, had been getting blurrier every day — popped into his mind's eyes with stunning clarity. He was saying something to Kuroko and even though he didn't know the exact words, Kuroko understood.

All this time, Kuroko thought he'd been left behind. By the Generation of Miracles. By Kagami. But that wasn't the truth. The truth was that all those people had been . . . leading him. Leading him to figure out his own path, to make his own choices, and to carve out the life only he could make.

Feeling buoyed, like the anchor holding him back had just been lifted, Kuroko turned to the black-haired boy.

"My name is Kuroko," he said. He bowed slightly, even though that movement was hardly enough to show his gratitude. "Kuroko Tetsuya. Thank you for your words of advice."

Once again, the boy showed surprising discernment, nodding knowingly. "Nanase Haruka," he said.

Perhaps he had once gone through a similar plight, had been helped by his friends, and was now passing his experiences on. And maybe one day, Kuroko would be able to inspire someone, too. Like the Generation of Miracles inspired Kagami. Like Kagami — and now this boy — had inspired him.

Haruka. Haru. Spring.

Kuroko let a small smile slip onto his face.

Maybe spring really was the beginning of new things.

"I'll see you at Hidaka next year," he said.

A/N: So if you didn't know, "Haru" is a homophone for the Japanese word for spring, though in reality, Haru's full name, "Haruka," is written with the kanji that means "far off" or "distant." And then, obviously, Kuroko refers himself to a shadow throughout the show. Kuroko is spelled with the kanji for "black child," while Tetsuya is spelled phonetically in katakana. The word "kuroko," though, also refers to stage ninja, i.e. the people wearing black who do the behind-the-scenes and set stuff in theater. So, that's where the title comes from! I hope you enjoyed this small piece featuring two of my favorite sports anime. Thanks for reading!

~ J. Dominique