Given that this chapter is content-heavy, I decided to glean it for tangible mistakes, then post it.
Hope it's transparent!

FF doesn't allow inserted web addresses, so I had to truncate Kuroko's. Dammit.

EDIT: Corrected dates and times because my math blows. 1975 has become 1976.

11:10 AM

Aomine's thumb hovered over the keypad of his slider phone. It was his third reissue. His primary through middle and high school in Japan had been a standard flip phone. With the Bureau in Russia, he obtained a bar model. Before departing to the States, commissioner Imayoshi provided him a slider. Not too different from what he was accustomed to and still analog, as he preferred it. His fingertips were too bulky for those tiny smartphone touch pads, anyway.

For the umpteenth time he raked the message he'd punched out after locating a secluded place to wait out the lunch period. As he'd found out from the impatient little imp possessing his third period teacher, remaining in the classroom for recess was forbidden. He sat behind a bank of classrooms just out of earshot of the babbling quad where he'd woven through a horde of bustling peers. He had moved quickly and efficiently to reduce detection. To their credit, everyone was so riveted to their own conversations that his journey was seamless. The prickly wall he reclined against was no substitute for the rooftop of Tōō Academy in Tokyo. But it was quiet and empty and it would have to do until he could vet other acceptable hangouts.

His finger slid to cover the backspace key, his confidence still recovering from earlier. Again he proofread the email.

To: Tetsu (sixthman31)

Sub: [Empty]

Hey. How're you? You wouldn't believe this, but I've been such a good boy at the Bureau that Imayoshi sucked up to the Kaizer and they offered me some paid vacation. They're letting me finish out high school but while I'm on paid suspension in America, they're asking me to help weed out Pyros' new body. Pretty crazy that after so long the paragon's signature suddenly spikes up like that. I know it wouldn't mean much for me to continue school after thirty some-odd years but I know she wouldn't have let me live down being a drop out. And I know I shouldn't have been so stupid before and it means nothing now but I'm sorry. So very sorry. For everything. I need you to know that I never would have

His heart clenched uncomfortably and he slid the device closed. He pressed the cancel button—a collapsed handset—and an alert popped up. This message has been saved as a draft, the unit announced. When it disappeared, he studied his mail draft box laden with a bevy of other unfinished correspondences. All addressed to Tetsu. He'd first touched American soil five days ago and spent the downtime while the commissioner sold his doctored information to his chosen institution attempting to diagram a proper email. He scrolled down, gleaming the introductory bits to each conversation and that ugly self-deprecating feeling twisted his gut.

He couldn't blame Tetsu. He was stupid and selfish and a freakin' idiot. And though he knew he did not deserve it, he hoped that, one day before he died, Tetsu would forgive him. Somehow.

It'd been a while since they'd spoken but it hadn't stopped him from wanting to apprise his old friend of his improvements. He'd come a long way from the bastard he became in middle school and the later-evolved lone wolf he instigated in high school. And he wanted Tetsu to know that he'd changed. If only he could summon up the nerve to send a damn email.

The hand holding the device dropped to this lap and he rolled his head onto his shoulder, breathing an exasperated groan. What the hell was wrong with him?

Aomine started as the phone chirped repeatedly and it took him a few seconds to realize someone was calling him.

He brought the receiver to his ear. "Yeah?"

"You don't have to sound so annoyed, Aominecchi," came a familiar pout.

"Kise?"

"Wow, did you even look at the display before you answered? What happened to that ringtone I assigned for myself on your phone?"

He snickered, Kise's voice flooding out his dismal thoughts. "New phone, idiot. America doesn't support Japanese phones, let alone Russian models."

Which brought to light a question. How did Kise retrieve his new number? Perhaps if he allowed the blond to yammer long enough, he'd find out how his contact information was solicited.

Kise gasped dramatically. "No way, you're in America? How'd you swing that?"

Aomine pulled the device from his ear and the sensor brightened the screen to reveal the time. 11:15 AM. "Why're you still up? Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Kise," he warned.

"I may have had one coffee too many and I can't sleep. And I may have heard from a few sources how an upstanding Bureau detective earned himself a generous gift from Casimir's commissioner and the Kaizer."

There it was. He may not be a person-of-interest who warranted a network of lies to protect his whereabouts, but privileges awarded by the Kaizer were not broadcasted. Especially when the awardee was a re-institutionalized man like himself. He had an idea of how his old friend attained his phone number. And he had to say he was impressed at the depth of Kise's sleuthing.

"You know, you kiss a lot of ass for pretending to be a straight man," he said.

Working as a model and living before a camera lens facilitated how easily Kise was accepted as a popular idol in Japan despite that his fair features did nothing to represent the people of his country. Especially if fabricating a false sexual identity was part of the job description. By now, Aomine believed that leading the double life had become as routine for Kise as brushing his teeth in the morning. It hadn't been in middle school, though. Back when they had been romantically involved. Just two dumb kids riding the rails of their prepubescent hormones and stumbling to avoid contact in public. Tolerating a society's dismissal of anything other than blatant heterosexuality for the sake of brightening young women's lives was something Aomine'd secretly admired about his old friend. Had Kise expatriated and returned to his motherland to be among other Wind Apparitions, freedom of romantic pursuit beyond sex and gender would not be a problem.

But the blond was anything if not dedicated then.

So the same would stand true today.

Kise's voice adopted a familiar playfulness. "I'm hurt, Aominecchi. I have connections, you know."

He could not resist. "However illicit they may be."

"What, have you investigated them?"

"No, but now I might."

"Don't abuse your badge," Kise scolded.

Aomine laughed, his joviality roping the other along. Then the moment deflated.

"So, what did you hear?" he asked.

He heard some rustling and imagined his friend curled up under the sheets looking much like a caterpillar breaching its cocoon.

"Just that you were put on paid vacation and shipped off to the United States. Imayoshi's not so forthcoming for the guy that signs his daughter's magazines."

Of course the leak was Imayoshi. As a close friend and long-time co-worker of his father, Imayoshi was intimately aware of Aomine's upbringing. Including his relationship with Kise. Reaching the commissioner from beyond the country required careful string-pulling and favors rendered, the countermeasures erected to sift out potential threats and provide a modicum of privacy. Doling out something as harmless as a phone number did not fall under the category of national security. Not when every other investigator, ones far more seasoned than he, was sniffing out the same scent he was.

"More of that ass kissing," he muttered.

"So where are you? What's it like?"

He contemplated venting about the morning he'd had. Cornrows' overbearing exposition followed by a detour to meeting a tiny fierce woman and her goliath assistant all concluded with uncomfortable repeat introductions to his classmates. It was a spinning tale, to say the least. But he wasn't sure he was ready to divulge the emotional strain he'd sustained so far because Kise couldn't sympathize. His friend was a Tokyo native like himself, stationed in Kanagawa prefecture. Referring to Kise as a social butterfly wasn't even remotely acceptable. The guy started flapping his lips before he cut his first tooth and hadn't stopped since. Loved for his good looks and impeccable adaption to any skill he attempted, Kise was considered a treasure to be protected by just about everyone he came into contact with. He adored his friends, demonstrating it with an honorific that most awardees hated but adapted to. They'd attended Teikō together with Tetsu and despite Aomine's downward spiral, he was happy to call Kise his friend.

But Kise Ryouta was accepted. His blond hair and amber eyes went without question. No one whispered about his one pierced ear or gossiped about his superior height. Even if the ditz walked into a situation he didn't naturally fit into, accommodations would be made so he was comfortable.

Aomine was never allowed that privilege.

He decided to shorthand it. "Florida's pretty nice. Still hot even for October. No uniforms in the public schools here and apparently there's a demand for police officers to secure the buildings."

Kise hummed thoughtfully. "I always heard that Americans are rowdy. But police?"

"I'm not gonna bother understanding it. I'm here to finish high school not to unlock the psychology of state-reinforced conformity."

The line went quiet and he wondered if he should break it.

"That's great, Aominecchi. Only one more year to go, right? I'm so excited."

He scoffed and scratched his nails through his short hair. "Don't be. American teenagers have four years of high school, not three and won't graduate until late May. Since I didn't complete my senior year there, and my grades weren't so dazzling, they enrolled me as a junior here instead of a senior."

Silence again. Then, "Maybe that's why cops are there."

He thought back to Cornrows' bruised mug. If kids were throwing punches at each other in the hallways, then maybe.

"So," Kise said. "Have you spoken to Kurokocchi since you got out?"

He gripped the phone hard, staring into his lap. That was not something he'd thought about in the last six years. And for good reason. Pinning the phone against his shoulder, he scrunched up the sleeve of his right arm. Hidden on the inside of his bicep was a shady tattoo of a little girl. A bust in profile, with hands raised in prayer, the index fingers pressed to the lips. Infantile wings peeked through long whipping hair. Faded strokes of yellow dashed the petals of the child's flower crown, slipping forward on the brow though the head was tipped up as if seeking an invisible sky. His thumb caressed the girl's ink-dusted cheek and his chest hollowed as the memory threatened to invade him.

He'd never planned on accenting his body. It was meaningless and superficial, he'd thought. Abusing the body's natural beauty with the blemish of ink, caricatures of misused symbols and impulsive obsessions. History, what portion he'd actually remembered, provided that ink was earned for accomplishing a deed, whether nefarious or honorable. Meant to convey a message of one's status or achievements. Or to boast one's crimes. And that's what this little girl meant, didn't it?

He didn't have to think hard.

Thirty years in Casimir Penitentiary told him so.

He thought back to what Imayoshi had said. Your penance has been satisfied.

Hardly. His sin was unforgiveable and so long as he carried her on his arm, he would never be so naïve as to believe it could be.

"Aominecchi."

The soft interruption jarred him back to reality and he adjusted the sleeve to conceal the mark.

"I heard you, baka." He hadn't meant to let irritation to wiggle into his voice.

If the insult affronted Kise, the other didn't reveal it. "He transferred back then, you know. To Kaijō with me."

That seemed out of character for Tetsu. Definitely not something that his parents and grandmother would have allowed, given that Kanagawa lay just short of an hour from Tokyo. And that was by car, which Aomine knew Tetsu's parents couldn't have afforded to shuttle him to and fro in, as they were working people themselves. Was Tetsu living with Kise now?

As if sensing his curiosity, Kise continued on, saying, "He'd said staying at Tōō was painful."

No shit.

"Does he still play?"

"Still a sixth man on the weekends."

He heard the smile and wanted his friend to elaborate but remained quiet. Knowing that Tetsu hadn't lost his love of the sport pleased him. The only thing they had ever mutually understood, agreed upon, and were best compatible together at was basketball and to think that his own emotional disharmonies would have dissuaded his friend from ever picking up a ball again would have crushed him.

"The captain takes his side and lets him punch me if I get too noisy," Kise was saying and he wanted to smirk at the applied sneer but couldn't.

Staying at Tōō was too painful.

Imayoshi's words came to mind again and he scowled.

"Aominecchi."

"What?"

"To answer your hidden question, yes. Kurokocchi is living with me in Kanagawa. Not because he's running away from you or Momocchi in Tokyo." The voice deepened, carrying a depressed lilt. "He almost dropped out , y'know. He was really upset and said he felt alone, even around the guys on the team. I mean, he's still pretty reserved here but he's doing exactly what you are now. Going through the motions and honoring his promise to Momocchi. Just like you."

He wanted to speak but couldn't find his tongue, pressing it against the roof of his mouth to suppress welling emotion.

"I'm happy for your successes, Aominecchi. But if you can, try reconnecting with Kurokocchi."

He hummed affirmatively.

Kise's usual buoyancy returned. "Promise you'll stay out of trouble and I might send you some of the new Mai-chan photobooks that have come out over the last thirty-six years."

He doubted Horikita Mai was still posing, but said anyway, "Might, my ass. You better."

Kise chuckled. "Oyasumi, Aominecchi."

The line clicked off.

Feelings conflicted inside him as he lowered the phone, watching the screen darken the email draft box that the call interrupted. He'd been building the cache for the last six years and always debated with himself about his right to send them. Bad blood remained between he and Tetsu and they spoke little after that afternoon in 1976.

The only black mark that existed on Aomine's record.

He didn't want to disappoint Kise. But he still couldn't overcome the anxiety that came from hovering over the send key and the questions that came pouring with it.

What if he ignores it?

What will he say?

Does he hate me?

Aomine didn't want to know.

And if he didn't reach Tetsu, he never would.

...

11:30 PM

October 18, 2012

Kuroko padded to the bedroom next door. He'd turned in shortly after dinner, completely exhausted from a strenuous afternoon of endurance drills. Once the weekend rolled around, he hung up his apron and pressed Kanagawa Daycare polo and donned the jersey of the neighborhood association basketball team. Retired from reigning Kaijo's Blue Elites for thirty years, coach Takeuchi, with the interest of a dozen veteran players, corralled together a team. Practices were scheduled every weekend, pickup games decided through cooperation with other associations in the prefecture. Feelings of post-Winter Cup glory snowballed the effort of preserving high school friendships and maintaining contact into a public competition. Insufficient practices demanded a short season between a mutually agreed tournament once a year, to be held in the fall. Coaches with glowing reputations pulled the necessary strings to allow the use of their home school courts when appropriate. Those not as ingratiated with their former supervisors were deferred to outdoor courts. Retaining their championed title, the Blue Elites were due to face off last year's victor in the coming weeks and drill intensity had escalated. The coach's grandson, an auger-eyed fellow, suggested sourcing individual weaknesses and striving to improve them. Team play had been Kaijo's dogma, and little more than thirty years later it continued to dominate.

Poor endurance was always Kuroko's greatest inadequacy and for the sake of completing more than one quarter simultaneously, he'd been tested with several exercises designed to prime his legs and lungs for the task. Even as a sixth man at Teiko, a starter at Tōō, and a regular at Kanagawa University, his body was frail. But he pushed and exceeded his own limitations to the point of nausea and collapse. To some his dedication was misguided. To others impressive and they opened the doors necessary for him to transform from an unimportant third-stringer to a starting player.

He'd been asleep for little over three hours. Until snippets of his neighbor's animated conversation breached the wall separating their rooms and roused him. Still bleary with fatigue, he'd rolled over to read the glaring red light of his alarm clock. Annoyance grabbed him instantly. What the hell was Kise doing awake, on the phone, at this hour?

If he was regaling the captain with another fan encounter, Kuroko was not bailing him out of the consequences again. Kasamatsu didn't suffer that nonsense in high school and definitely wouldn't now.

He rapped his knuckles on the door before nudging it open. The living arrangement was old enough to allow the intrusion, Kise's persistence wearing down Kuroko's reservations. He still sustained the courtesy to one's privacy. Something his friend of forty-two years did not.

"Kise-kun, I'm trying to sleep."

The blond poked his head up from a lumpy comforter, no trace of fatigue upon his eyes. An apologetic smile appeared and Kise rolled and sat up.

"Sorry, Kurokocchi."

"You'll make Kasamatsu-san angry if you pester him." Why was he wasting time chiding him?

Kise waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not that stupid."

He said nothing, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorjamb.

He allowed the silent question of then who was it to hang in the air until Kise perceived it.

But the blond simply stared back.

He frowned. "You going to share who it was?"

Kise's expression faltered for a moment as if surprised by the inquiry, then relaxed as he said, "Aominecchi."

Did he hear right?

The blond seemed to sense his doubt and wiggled his phone in display. "Heard from a friend that he was given paid vacation and a reassignment. I just called to corroborate because it's hard to believe Aominecchi would work hard for anything outside of basketball."

"Is that right?" he said, disappointed that he couldn't dial interest into his tone.

He was too distracted by his racing thoughts.

Last he'd understood it his old friend was working with the Bureau in Casimir, the Lightning's longstanding Russian capital. Six years ago after his release from the penitentiary. When had Aomine been transferred? Did something happen? Why hadn't Aomine told him?

He stopped himself there, knowing he was out of line. He knew damn well why he'd fallen out of touch with the other.

That afternoon in 1976. A day that never left him. It was one of few moments when Kuroko had lost himself to his emotions and only after he'd pulled back and reflected did he understand how he'd impugned Aomine's feelings. By then it was too late to matter. He and Aomine were half a continent apart with no means of contact. Feelings were raw and jumbled and the thought of seeing the other beyond a plate-glass barrier in a prison jumper discouraged Kuroko. All he'd wanted then was for Aomine to say something. Even if Kuroko became the object of blame for his friend's incarceration. Anything. He knew better, though. He resolved, then, that time would disintegrate the memory of their association and somehow absolve him of his guilt. It did not and he lived every day for the last six years since he heard of his friend's return to Casimir degrading his cowardice.

"He's in America now." He refocused his attention on Kise, seeing that his roommate appeared unaffected by his feint. "Says he's decided to use his reward from commissioner Imayoshi and the Kaizer to finish high school."

Aomine had earned such an honor? Impressive.

No. It was fantastic news.

And more than he ever would have expected out of his old friend.

But were they to remain friends, even now?

Kise's voice dipped to a whisper. "How long has it been?"

Kuroko's eyes fell onto a pair of silk pajamas crumpled on the floor as he retraced the time, finding his chest squeezing in shame. "Far longer than I should have allowed."

"I'll give you his new phone address."

His gaze shot up. No mischief shone in the blond's eyes and nothing about his face betrayed the declaration as a joke. In that same moment, he was both relieved and apprehensive. He would be lying if he said he hadn't imagined a reality where he and Aomine reconciled, overcoming the gloom of their past. Yet there were also times where he simulated the antitheses of their reunion. Wherein his old friend would disparage Kuroko for his selfishness and for perpetuating their separation by victimizing himself. There were nights where he stressed himself into unbearable headaches, only able to find sleep after nursing a cup of chamomile tea. Sometimes Kise would assist by stroking his hair as the drink's soporific effects took hold. Never speaking. Understanding the source of Kuroko's pain yet allowing him to cope without unwanted interference.

"I still have it," he mumbled, unable to keep eye contact with Kise.

He couldn't allow his friend to read through him. He was not prepared to answer the series of questions to be provoked by Kise's curiosity. A deep breath steeled his nerves and he pushed off the doorjamb.

"Get some sleep," he said, grasping the doorknob. "I'm not making excuses for you tomorrow if Kasamatsu-san rails your poor performance during practice."

Kise moaned dramatically and collapsed onto his pillows, long arms falling open. "Don't say that."

"Good night, Kise-kun."

Before he sealed the door he heard a garbled, "Night, Kurokocchi," as his friend burrowed into the sheets.

When he reentered his bedroom and returned to the tepid warmth he'd left behind, he knew sleep would not come easy.

His mind was swimming with uncertainty.

For years the guilt of what he'd done to Aomine trapped him in a fantasy where he was reviled in his old friend's every thought as an indelible anathema. He was haunted that he'd burnt that bridge, abandoned on a desolate island within a vast sea. Forever isolated from the mainland to be ravaged by time. But vestigial supports remained, weathered posts and weakened planks anchored by frayed tethers taunted by the waves to follow but did not obey.

And maybe that was a sign.

That Kuroko could still salvage the wreckage and rebuild what he thought he'd destroyed.

Kise championed a similar situation, when his and Aomine's relationship was challenged with subjectivity and conceit. Time and maturity had allowed wounds to heal and feelings to evolve. It was Kise that took the first step to assessing the damage, to confront Aomine of their dissolution. Perhaps it was the blond's silver tongue or the result of a shady bribe, but they maintained their friendship. The past did not matter and it was buried.

And that's all Kuroko wanted now.

For Aomine to be back in his life.

As his best friend.