Scorpion

Throughout most of his young life, Kuroko had often been told he was hard to read.

Shortly after that, Kuroko decided to start being more blunt or direct with the things he felt and the things he wanted. It did not help that he was particularly and distressingly unnoticeable.

All of Kuroko's important people had different ways of expressing themselves. With his perceptive disposition, Kuroko had mastered the intrinsic ticks and tocks of the people around him.

Akashi had been the hardest to understand; Kuroko suspected he would never come to fully immerse himself in Akashi's space. But learning to pick up on the quick bursts of anger and the polite lip twitches of cold pride had to occur quickly, as if the reaction itself had to become second nature. Akashi held his emotions behind his eyes. Sensing malice before it struck became a way of life.

Murasakibara ate his feelings. He ate spicy chips when he was feeling snarky and confident. He chewed gum when he was hiding nervousness. Kuroko knew dark chocolate was patience and sensitivity. Murasakibara's palate was his subtle extended hand, his own subconscious expressionism. Kuroko was never afraid of hurting Murasakibara, as the giant's snack of choice was a non-confrontational flag.

Aomine and Kagami were too similar for their own liking. They carried themselves in their own bodies. Anger in their shoulders, disgust in their noses, anxiety in their fingers, passion in their lips. Learning them was a slow process, but Kuroko felt he had all the time in the world. His two other halves were parts of him he never wanted to live without; he wanted to keep counting the times Kagami's pencil tapped the desk as he read and re-read the question on the test. Kuroko wanted Aomine to smile at him with all his teeth and ruffle his hair even on days when he felt repulsed by his own skin.

Midorima never liked him. Kuroko never really tried to press friendship harder when it clearly was not wanted, but he wanted to take the parts of the other boy that he wanted for himself. He did not care for pretentious discipline, but Midorima had a desireable confidence and an empowering sense of self-preservation. It was the vocals that Kuroko wanted. Midorima had the ability to tell anyone exactly what he wanted and did not. Midorima used his words better than anyone Kuroko knew. He stood up for himself and there had been too many times in Kuroko's life when he had not done the same for himself.

"Please don't do that."

The painfully tight arms around Kuroko's chest loosened, but did not retreat. Kuroko was not comfortable with people hugging him, least of all those who he did not know very well. He said it simply, not intending to be rude or embarrassing or prude, in fact, breathing a sigh of relief and silently rewarding himself for speaking his mind. Kise did not know about his issues with constriction so it was not his fault for trying to be friendly. Kuroko hoped that one day he would be alright and let Kise hug him after a game.

The team was waiting for the train back to school, the orange of the sun slowly bleeding into the rest of the sky. Kuroko had been happily savoring the sweetness of his popsicle when Kise lunged at him, aggressive and playful while the rest of the team stood comfortably apart from each other.

Kuroko felt the palm on his collar bone and stopped breathing. Slowly, almost too slowly, Kise pulled back his arms. Kuroko turned around to explain—

Kise's eyes were like a stab in his side. The blond did not look wounded in the slightest. Kuroko did not understand the expression on Kise's face. Instead, Kuroko saw a languid disappointment in Kise's shoulders, he saw a crude harshness in his eyes, and he saw the blue stain of a popsicle concentrated in a particularly sharp crack in Kise's lips.

And yet, the words were: "I thought you would be glad they let you off the bench."

Despite Kise's endearing charisma, Kuroko learned that his team mate could be brutally determined and easily agitated. For all the patience Kise seemed to have when dealing with girls who followed him around and never listen to what he had to say, a broken shoelace could noticeably rile him; any offhanded comment was returned with a snap.

Kuroko had never once seen Kise be genuinely cruel. He wondered once if Kise even knew he had the ability to hit someone where it hurt the most. But then Kuroko took more notice of Kise's back-and-forths with Aomine, saw the sort of respect the two had for each other. Aomine bossed Kise around like he was a child who he knew would one day grow up to be someone important. Kise never lashed out, unprovoked. He only spit back something nasty if he felt somehow threatened.

Kuroko decided to push this to friendship. He wanted to keep standing up to Kise, so he could get stronger.

It was not until, halfway through the game that Kuroko was subbed in. Kise shrugged it off, but as Kuroko stood up, in one swift motion slapped his palm against Kise's unintentionally outstretched hand.

Kise nearly flinched but then Kuroko saw his own small smile on Kise's face.

Inspired by a horoscope.

Personally, I think writing Kise as sort of over-the-top whiny is super annoying and you can't deny that he has some bite to him.

xoxo