The young man in my memory has never seen a corpse before, neither was he expecting to.

He left home with a vibrant, loud-spirited and long-suffering friend, who turned up five minutes late and argued with him about who would pedal the cart today. The young man in my memory, consumed with their collective bad fortune in today's Oha Asa, tried and failed to argue his friend into carrying Scorpio's lucky item for the day (ironically, a bicycle helmet – God is clearly having a fucking laugh today), and ended up throwing it at the living room wall in a fit of rage. Already running late for their university team's practice game, the two young men bickered and sniped at each other. The young man in my memory stubbornly parked himself in the back of the cart, arms folded in defiance, and his long-suffering friend began to pedal, muttering irately to himself as he pulled out into the street.

The young man in my memory has never seen a corpse before.

As such, he is entirely unsure how to react now that he finds himself next to one.

Panic hits before emotion, as it so often does. The heart-stopping panic of noise, of momentum, and of flying out of the cart head over heels. In the back of his mind, he is loosely aware that the car had collided with the bicycle first and had clipped the front of the cart – as such, it is centrifugal force that has thrown him from the cart. The panic turns to pain when he notices that his left hand now hangs perpendicular to the forearm to which it is attached. He can see blood and the protrusion of bone, and all comprehension beyond that is drowned by his screams.

And as he screams, he notices that he has been thrown just eight feet from a corpse. One that bears an unnatural resemblance to the friend he had been arguing with just moments before. The young man in my memory has never seen a corpse before but is able to identify it as such without much thought – while the enormous pile of blood pooling around the head and neck goes a long way, it is the eyes that confirm it. Open, empty, wide enough to swallow the sky. He is in too much pain to process who this corpse may once have been, but finds that he feels no need to scream anymore. The pain becomes ice, the panic becomes shock...

It is only long after the street has been cordoned off, the paramedics have been and gone, and the young man from my memory looks up at the descending relief of a mechanical ventilator that his best friend finally becomes a corpse.

"Fujiko picked me up from the hospital."

I take a drink of my whiskey and find that I have finished it. Kuroko, only halfway through his milkshake, raises his eyebrows ever so slightly.

"I assume you knew Fujiko before the accident?"

I nod, brows furrowed and eyes not leaving my empty glass.

"Yes... I am still not entirely sure what she was to me – she was the friend of Takao's girlfriend's best friend, and practically lived in the library where I studied. A truly strange woman, even then. She used to sneak into my lectures from time to time, just because she was interested in some of the cases. We weren't especially close, but her number was saved above my mother in my phone, and when I texted my mother to ask her to pick me up from hospital, I was so drugged up on painkillers that I texted her instead. She turned up in her shitty little pickup truck, and... well, I suppose that was the start of our relationship."

Kuroko takes a comically loud slurp on his milkshake.

"I see... Midorima-kun, when did you quit the basketball team?"

"I never officially quit... but I never went back. The accident... well, I would probably have ended up quitting the team regardless, but the accident changed everything. I broke both bones in my wrist, open-displaced fractures, and... well, I still have metal in there, and by the time I regained the use of my left hand, there was no point in returning just to spend every practice relearning how to shoot. Not without Takao there..."

Kuroko nods his understanding, although the sadness in his eyes is clear.

"When did you pick up basketball again?"

I shake my head, standing up and taking my glass.

"I never did. I need another drink; do you want another milkshake?"

Kuroko ponders for a moment, and then shakes his head.

"What are you drinking?"

"Irish whiskey."

He chuckles.

"That actually does sound very much like you. The luck of the Irish?"

I nod, smiling despite the heavy memories in my head.

"The luck of the Irish. Are you having one, or have you got work tomorrow?"

He smiles.

"I'd like to try a whiskey. It's an inset day tomorrow, and I have a day off because what's the point in being a deputy head if you can't get out of mandatory training occasionally?"

I nod and walk back up to the bar. Benjiro greets me with a grin.

"Two Teeling Small Batch?" he asks.

"No ice, drop of water."

"Coming right up. How's it going?"

I think for a moment, glancing back towards Kuroko.

"I... Well, I think. It is good to talk."

"Good man."

"It's ironic... if Takao had not died, I do not believe I would have married Fujiko."

Kuroko makes a face as he takes the tiniest sip of his whiskey.

"Why not?"

I shrug, and drink.

"Fujiko and I got on well enough as acquaintances, but looking back, I believe a great deal of what attracted me to her came from her reaction to grief... She was... She still is, to be fair to her, one of the best listeners I have ever met, but also one of the least sympathetic people I have ever known, and... that was what I needed. She would always listen but would never care. And once I had calmed down, she would give me a squeeze on my shoulder and tell me to get on with it. 'The world didn't die with him', she used to say, and then we'd go and smoke and talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. She... She's an orphan, herself, and she always told me that grief was one of the most self-indulgent emotions. So instead of thinking about Takao, I'd think about her, and... We started dating, and we planned a life together, because she liked to have a plan, and I desperately needed that kind of direction. I finished my degree, we got married, and I began working at the firm. I was promoted comparatively early in my career, won a great many complex property cases, and made an awful lot of money."

Kuroko nods, still listening intently.

"Do you miss him?"

"Who, Takao? I... I never particularly gave myself the chance to think about him. Grief was an indulgence, and by the time he started preying on my mind again, too many years had passed... it seemed insulting to dwell on it after all that time."

"But do you miss him?"

I lower my eyes.

"I... Yes, I miss him. Of course I do. Especially now. Kuroko, I am alone all the time, if I'm not here, and I keep checking my phone to see if he has sent me any irritating messages and then I realise that I will never see his name flash up on my phone again."

Kuroko's eyes are filled with sympathy, and just a little confusion.

"Why are you alone? What about your wife? Your son?"

I let silence hang between us, allowing him his obliviousness for a little while longer. I take a deep breath. I take an even deeper draught of my whiskey, polishing off half the glass. The burn warms my whole body.

"I... I left them."

I watch his eyes widen in shock, and quickly explain myself.

"Not like that, I didn't just go out for a pack of cigarettes and not come back. No... Fujiko cheated on me. Is cheating on me. I do not blame her, but the fact remains that she has broken our legal contract by fucking another man for the last year and a half, and he is still very much involved in her life. Her's and my son's. It... At the same time that I discovered this, I was fired without references from the firm, and I have seen the life I lived reduced to absolutely nothing. I have left her the house... and two of the cars, and all the furniture, and... and my son. She may be legally at fault for the impending divorce, but it is a fact I am a terrible husband and father, and Hiro is far better off living with her. And that... that is why I am here, working in this bar, living in a hotel, and utterly, indescribably miserable almost every waking moment of the day. I..."

I take a deep breath and reach into my pocket for my pack of cigarettes.

"I'm not okay, Kuroko. I am a homeless, joyless, lonely bartender, and I'm not okay."

Kuroko is silent, eyes never leaving my face. He steeples his fingers under his chin and things, and I find my craving for a cigarette only grows stronger. I am about to stand, when he speaks.

"I'm sorry."

He means it, and much more besides – the sorrow he feels for the way that my life turned out is clear in the tremble of his voice, and I think for a fleeting second that as much as I never thought of Kuroko as a friend, it is entirely plausible that he always thought of me as such. And even if that proves false, I know for a fact that he has always been kind.

We both let the silence engulf us for a moment, and then Kuroko stands up.

"You want a cigarette."

It isn't a question, and I pull a straight from the packet with a slight smile.

"You always were observant, Kuroko."

He grabs a very fine (and far-too-large) coat from the back of his chair – a grey D'Urban Single Breasted Short Coat from their 2016 collection, if my memory serves me – and envelopes himself in it. If it only fit, it would suit him very well.

"I like to think I can notice almost everything about you, Midorima-kun. I'm not sure that years change that."

I put on my coat and we walk out into the crisp, fresh air. I look back, and notice Benjiro smiling fondly after us.

I wake to the vibrating of my phone, and the pauses between each buzz are too long to be an alarm. In all honesty, I'm a little surprised to be waking up in the hotel, as I don't remember returning here after last night. After Kuroko went home, Benjiro decided to clean the beer lines, which, he insists, requires three pints of each draught beer to be pulled through. His excuse was that he needed to make sure the lines were cleaned before his day off, as he didn't trust his manager to do it. And so, for want of a better word, we got drunk, and for the life of me I cannot remember a single thing that we talked about. I have a vague recollection of Benjiro smoking a joint out of the double doors, and of us both scrabbling about on our hands and knees after I knocked two glasses of beer all over the floor, but the rest has clearly been deemed 'unnecessary data' by my brain.

Ah yes, the phone.

With a somewhat melodramatic groan of exertion, I stretch and throw my hand at the bedside table until it finds metal and glass, and look at the screen. Futile. I really cannot see anything without my glasses. Rather than put even more effort into finding my glasses, I bring the phone to me ear and take the call.

"Who is it?"

"Good morning, Midorima-kun. Did you sleep well?"

It's Kuroko, and he sounds entirely too happy for this time of morning... whatever time of morning this is.

"Kuroko..."

Shit, my voice sounds like sandpaper.

"I think I slept a little too well... what time is it?"

"Half past nine in the morning. I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

Damn it.

"I think you know the answer to that, but if you did not wake me up, I doubt anything would have. Did you need something?"

I fancy that I can hear his smile down the phone.

"I did. Play basketball with me."

"What?"

He chuckles, and I can imagine him sat in a comfortable chair, grinning up to his eyes.

"I really enjoyed seeing you last night, and I've woken up excited and unable to sit still. Come and play basketball with me."

I had forgotten that for such a kind and unassuming person, Kuroko can be incredibly direct when he wants something.

"I told you, I haven't picked up a basketball since..."

"Since the accident, I know, and frankly that's a crime, Midorima-kun. Come and play basketball with me."

I sigh in exasperation.

"No thank you. Besides, I am otherwise engaged today."

"No, you're not."

He's correct, but I am hardly going to give him that satisfaction.

"How would you know?"

A chuckle from the end of the phone, and then a pause.

"Because your curtains are closed, Midorima-kun."

I shoot bolt upright in bed.

"What the fuck, Kuroko?"

"I've just parked outside the court, and you're clearly still in bed. I've brought you a bento, so get a shower, come eat breakfast, and play basketball with me."

Before I even know what I am doing, I'm out of bed, juggling my phone from hand to hand as I begin to pull my clothes off (of course I fell asleep in my clothes).

"Did it not occur to you that I do not want to play basketball?"

He scoffs, for want of a better word.

"Of course it did. But I knew that if I didn't nag you, you would probably stay in bed with a hangover all morning, and then forget we exchanged numbers and spend your days off alone in a hotel room, alone and miserable, forever. So instead, come and play basketball with me."

I put the phone on speaker as I wrestle with my boxers, looking around frantically for a towel. My brain is still adamant that I'm going to stay in bed, but clearly my body has other ideas.

"You really are an arse sometimes, Kuroko."

"Yes. And you're just as much of a tsundere as ever. So... are you coming?"

I frown intensely, and glance up at the clock on the wall.

"Absolutely not, I..."

I trail off, and let out a frustrated groan.

"Fucking hell, fine! Give me twenty minutes."

"Good... By the way, I checked Oha Asa for you. You're ranked third, and your lucky item is a red necktie. I've got one in the car."

I hang up so that I don't have to say thank you, but I can't help a small smile.

Arse.

Kuroko is already shooting free throws when I arrive at the court (strong takeaway coffee from the hotel bar in hand), and to my amazement he's making almost all of them, with a decidedly standard shooting form – bend at the knees, extend to full height, and a high release point. And even his handling of the ball as he collects the rebounds and dribbles back to the free throw line appears comfortable. Sure, he's decidedly average, but even average seemed unattainable for Kuroko during the days we played together. He grins at me as I walk over, and points to the bench at the courtside.

"Your bento is there for you, Midorima-kun. Thank you for meeting me."

I take a sip of my coffee, displeasure clear on my face.

"You did not give me much choice, parking outside my hotel like a stalker."

He smiles, not at all apologetically, and shrugs.

"I wanted to see you, and I know you well enough to know that it takes a not inconsiderable effort on my part to make that happen."

He takes a shot that spins around the rim before dropping through the hoop, and I chuckle slightly.

"You have improved, Kuroko."

He sighs heavily, and nods.

"It only took me the best part of two decades, and all. Once my misdirection began to lose its effectiveness, I had to become average in order to still enjoy my basketball."

I remember when this started – our third year of High School, after Izuki Shun had graduated, Kuroko had moved to the second-rotation point-guard for Serin, and had, for want of a better word, rather sucked.

"It is good that you didn't stop practising."

He nods and takes another shot.

"I love basketball. I can't imagine not playing, even if I'm no good to a team."

I sit down, and peel open the top of the bento.

"Do you still play with a team, Kuroko?"

He shakes his head, putting the ball down and coming to sit next to me. He pulls a bottle of Gatorade out of his bag and takes a long drink. I begin to eat, and the food is not unpleasant.

"Not outside of the Teiko practises, and even then, I'm mainly coaching. No, the last time I played in any kind of team was last year, and that was just a little 'pub-league' thing."

"What do you mean?"

Kuroko smiles, and runs a hand through his hair, fixing a couple of strands that had broken free of his gelled combover.

"Last year, Benjiro-san from the bar put together a team of regulars for a mini-tournament with some of the other bars in Tokyo. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to do it again this year, especially now you're working there."

Of courseit had something to do with Benjiro.

"It certainly would not surprise me; he's already invited me to play with him twice."

Kuroko laughs, and takes another drink.

"He clearly doesn't know you well enough yet."

I roll my eyes.

"I think it is more that he has a good-enough understanding of social boundaries to not park outside of my hotel and nag me until I say yes."

"It hardly took me long..."

We trail off as I eat, until the bento is finished, and Kuroko has had enough to drink. And then, after so many years, it is time to play basketball. Kuroko dribbles up to the baseline and offers me a smile.

"Take it easy, and let's see if we can't get your shot back."

I suppose if we must start somewhere, it would be best to start in the corner – I refuse to sully myself my shooting layups, and if I have retained any kind of muscle memory since the accident, it will be the three-point shot.

I look from the hoop to Kuroko, who looks unbelievably happy, and it is, I hate to admit, infectious. His pass hits my hands perfectly, the slap of the rubber feeling immediately like home. I bend my knees and raise my hands. And for the briefest, fleeting moment, the basket looks wide enough to swallow the sky.

(Author's Note: This chapter took a lot out of me to write, and so many bits were discarded, re-written, and edited within an inch of their life. Getting Midorima to have an emotionally honest conversation is honestly like trying to get Murasakibara to share candy. I am, however, beyond happy with the result. Thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to read this story, and a very special thank you to Arise and awaken, for the first review of the story – you made my day, and motivated me to get off my arse and keep writing.

If all goes to plan, the next chapter will be a fair bit more eventful than those leading up to it, and should feature an appearance from at least one of the Generation of Miracles. Please do drop me a review if you like the story, as these give me life, and I will ALWAYS reply.

Keep living,

melodramaticglassescharacter)