Don't own it

Chapter 2: The First Tale – Midorima Shintarou

Shintarou had always been quiet; observant. He'd rather spend his time in solitude than waste it on meaningless gossip, or otherwise uncomfortable social interactions - he'd never had the knack for catching the flow and tone of other's conversations, and he'd come to terms with his inadequacies early on. So when he'd been partnered up with Takao Kazunari, the only other freshman good enough for the first string of Shuutoku's basketball team, he'd been more than a little dismayed. The point guard talked non-stop, and it was full of the pointless nothings and obscure jokes that drove Shintarou spare. For the first week or two he was sure Takao would end up dropping the sport entirely, or that he would end up killing him in a fit of rage. It was a particularly tense moment when Takao decided, for no apparent reason at all, to dub him Shin-chan. It was not to be borne. No matter how much talent the boy had on the court - and Shintarou grudgingly admitted that while he was no Akashi, he did have potential - it could never make up for the sheer annoyance of Takao's chatter.

Yet by the third week Takao was not only still hanging in there, he had been elevated to being a core member of the starting squad. Now that it was unfeasible to engineer the death of the only point guard in school with any real skill, Shintarou resigned himself to selective deafness. It didn't help that they were in the same class, and that their teacher was an alumni of Shuutoku, and had even played basketball during his time here. Their sensei sat Takao directly in front of him, in an order to build team unity. Shintarou could have strangled the man. Now all day long, it was Shin-chan, Shin-chan, Shin-chan! Still, he was gradually getting used to his teammate's effervescence, and the discovery of Takao's special skill had only helped matters.

The team had noticed their point guard's uncanny ability to precisely judge where every player on the court was, as well as the ball, and the most likely threats. He had never telegraphed a pass, and had more steals than the rest of the team combined. Yet it was not until the practice where Takao had sent him three uninterrupted passes in a row - the last was when Shintarou had been triple-teamed by their three senpai- that Shintarou figured it out.

Mom calls it the hawkeye, Takao had laughingly informed him, ducking an arbitrarily thrown pineapple. It was less than a month in and the freshman were already somewhat used to their upperclassmen's eccentricities. And just you wait, Shin-chan. I'll show you how useful it can be.

In the meantime, the entire team learned that Takao was currently in possession of his Uncle's rickshaw when Ootsubo-senpai came in from a meeting with Nakatani-sensei and asked about the contraption parked outside, tethered to the back of a bike. Takao had laughingly (was the man never serious? Shintarou suspected some kind of malfunction in his parasympathetic nervous system) owned up to it, and spun some tale of delivering his mother's old couch to a neighbor? Relative? Shintarou couldn't be bothered to listen to all of it. Truthfully, it was more shocking that anything Takao said penetrated at all, given the usual nature of his blithering. This time, however, he found himself comparing his weight to that of a couch, and calculating the endurance of his teammate's calf muscles. If Takao was going to drive him half mad with his inane chatter, and impede on his extra practice time, he might as well make it worth his while. Yet how to tell Takao that he had just become his personal servant? For the first time since they had met, Takao made Shintarou smile...although it was only when the ace considered being drawn about in a rickshaw.

A week later, however (after their servant-master relationship was firmly established and Takao's legs had bulked up nearly ¼ inch in diameter) he had been forced to acknowledge his teammate's dedication and inexplicable challenge. I'll throw you a roaring pass, he had promised, when it was just the two of them after practice. Shintarou had been too confused to do anything other than look at him oddly, and for the first time realized that while he may not understand Takao, the man certainly wasn't being silly. The awareness made him uncomfortable - after all, he didn't understand Takao about 80% of the time. How much of him was truly worthless? Shintarou had already owned his social inadequacies, and was forced to (grudgingly) admit that Takao was a social butterfly. Perhaps it was not that Takao was ridiculous, it was that Shintarou was simply too socially uneducated to understand?

The next morning's interaction (some twittering on his lucky item, of all things. Takao had grown acclimated to his lucky items quite early on, although he never passed up the opportunity to laugh at them. Still, Takao's scolding him on the impropriety of waving around an unopened pack of boxers seemed a bit much coming from the man who by third period was wearing one of them on his head) cured him of all his fears. Takao was an idiot, albeit with enough talent and dedication that made him just worthy of Shintarou's notice. That isolated moment of maturity was just that, and not likely to happen again. After all, there was very little chance of Shintarou's recognizing him, especially off the court.

...

Then came the day he discovered Takao was a Scorpio. It had begun like all the others: morning practice; a quick shower in the locker room; the team making fun of his lucky item (the fools). Yet this time, Takao had only picked up the stuffed owl, and mused thoughtfully. His little sister was a Cancer, apparently, and he thought she would find something like this cute. Where had he gotten it? Oh, the crane game, of course. Then, with a small smile, he had asked what the lucky item was for Scorpios.

Shintarou had been taken aback. He had known Takao for almost three months, now, and spent what felt like excruciating amounts of time with him. Yet he had never asked about the boy's zodiac sign, and their positions as point and shooting guard alone warranted that. Mortified, he had told him - a toothbrush - and then assured him that Scorpios were ranked 5th today, and he had nothing to worry about.

He hadn't understood why Takao's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, nor why Miyaji eyed them dangerously. He also didn't understand why a small knot of tension in his shoulders loosened when Takao thanked him. Of course, it was a good thing that Takao was a compatible - a highly compatible - star sign with his own. Perhaps it was the reason why the point guard was still alive, even after all the embarrassment and annoyance he had put Shintarou through. Yet why would Takao's being a Scorpio make him want to smile? It was ridiculous. Ridiculous.

The inexplicable good mood lasted through lunch, when on his solitary way to the rooftop - the one time they spent apart, as Takao would often eat with friends from other homerooms - he overheard students whispering about him. Oddball, and Giant, and most cutting, Freak. Others would ask: does he always have those little toys with him? What is he, five? Shintarou had long grown used to those comments; by this time they were simply another layer to his environment, like white noise in the background of an old film. What he was not used to was his teammate hearing them, as Takao's smiles acted as an unknowing buffer to the most vitriolic whisperers. Yet today, Takao had been passing through in the opposite direction. Upon hearing the not-so-whispered asides, he had glanced up at Shintarou's face the way he would on the rare occasions he would miss a shot, and spun right back around. Mind your own business, he had told them, angrier than Shintarou had ever seen him. But if you have something to say, you'd best be prepared to say it to my face. Stunned, Shintarou hadn't resisted when Takao dragged him up to the roof, where he'd spent the remainder of his lunch period asking him odd questions about how long such bullying had gone on, and why hadn't he stopped them, and why hadn't he told him? It was this that brought Shintarou back to his senses. Why would I tell you? He had asked, and was still too flustered to make his tone as severe as he would have liked.

Takao had simply shook his head and mumbled something along the lines of stupid Shin-chan. I'm that easy to ignore, am I? Don't be such a tsundere. ...stupid Shin-chan. After that, however, Takao ate lunch with him everyday, fobbing off his other friends with his characteristic good humor, and a hastily slung arm around Shintarou's shoulder.

He always waited an extra moment before shrugging it off, assuring himself that the only reason he let it hang there was because the angle of it would undoubtedly be painful.

...

These state of affairs continued, and by the time the Winter Cup rolled around (their first, just to set the story straight), there was no more helping it. Takao had wedged himself so firmly into Shintarou's life that he no longer made any attempt to get him out. He told himself that it was simply an extension of their master-servant dynamic, but there were times when he forgot about that for hours at a time. Practicing on outdoor courts after dark, watching basketball tapes in the clubroom after school, studying and lounging at Takao's house after practice, and even excursions to procure lucky items all became something else when Takao was involved. Practice became fun, and he found his lips twitching into momentary smiles that flattened back down when Takao's hawkeyes honed in on them. Watching recordings and studying became...well, in a word, more useful than doing so on his own, as Takao was surprisingly intelligent, and Shintarou became used to considering his opinions. And lucky item runs became all out shopping trips, where Shintarou would find himself thrust into a changing room with modern outfits he would never be allowed to wear home, and grudgingly admitted that thanks to his uncommon stature, he looked quite good in a waistcoat and tie. Not good enough to warrant Takao's snapping pictures of him like he was some kind of model, but still. It was flattering, to say the least.

All throughout, Shintarou had become so immured to Takao's silliness and non-stop talking that it began to feel strange when it wasn't present. On the rare occasions that Takao missed school - once for a cold, and the other to attend his grandmother's funeral - felt long and boring and slow, even though nothing had changed but the lack of Takao's presence.

Basketball practice those days was more of a relief than usual, as here it was impossible not to admit how Takao's absence affected him - especially in terms of practicing their special move. (Shintarou had broken down and told first his partner, and then their team of Akashi's mastery, and of his own special ability. Takao had been notably subdued, and it was enough to vaguely worry Shintarou, who had come to regard the point guard's perky cheer as an immutable law of the universe. Yet he had come back the next day with a light in his [hawk]eyes that Shintarou hadn't seen since the day he had told Shintarou he'd make him acknowledge him. There must be something we can do, he had said. Whatever it is, I will do it. We will beat him. We will win.)

Yet at that point there was no time or energy left over to reflect on how large Takao's presence was in his life. The Winter Cup came and went, and the initial preparations and subsequent heartbreak were enough to chase all the thoughts of Takao's wide smile and slanted eyes out of his head. For a time, there were only the thoughts of failure and another chance and wondering if this was how backsliding felt to occupy himself.

...

It was a month after that terrible Winter Cup that Takao beat him him on a test for the first and (hopefully) only time in their high school careers. Shintarou had been mortified - the rolling pencil had let him down! So much so that Takao had beaten him by two whole points! And Cancer had ranked noticeably higher than Scorpio on that morning's Oha Asa broadcast! He had pouted all that morning, although no one had noticed but Takao. His partner had retaliated with his saddest faces and whiniest pleas, practically clinging to him as they moved from classroom to classroom. (C'mon, Shin-chan! Tell me what I did wrong! I can't apologize if I don't know what it is I did! Pllleeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Princess Shin-chan!) But Shintarou had held firm, only once noting the improbability of Takao beating him on an exam that he hadn't even studied for.

All at once, Takao's whinging demeanor disappeared (the little snake), and an odd, almost regretful expression passed over his face, like a cloud below the sun. Yet then he had shrugged and said in his most matter-of-fact tone that his ex-girlfriend in middle school had tutored him on the subject, ad nauseum. (It would be weirder if I hadn't beaten you - not to mention the rest of the class. My ex spent hours on this one subject, as it was the only part of the curriculum I couldn't understand, and she was determined to get me into the same elite school as her. Didn't happen, of course, as here I am, with Shin-chan. Playing basketball. With Shin-chan. Is this why you've been mad all morning? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll beat me on the next one. But let's never fight again, ok, Shin-chan? Shin-chan? C'mon, smile for me, Shin-chan!)

Shintarou hadn't known what face to make. The thought of Takao with a girl - with anyone else, really - had never occurred to him. For some reason, he couldn't make sense of it. Unsettled, he had murmured something that he hoped was appropriate, although by the veiled concern in his partner's vaunted eyes he wasn't sure he had succeeded. It was proven when Takao's head tilted to the side and he responded. Miss her? Not really. She was a good girl, but it was a long time ago.

Ah, Shintarou had adroitly responded. (So that was what he had said? What was he, a middle school girl?) And you don't miss being a boyfriend? Oh Asa only knew what he actually meant with that, because Shintarou's head was spinning and all he could focus on was his left index finger, and how there was a slight, imperfect overlap in his taping. That would annoy him all day, no doubt, yet it was safer to focus on that than Takao and his knowing eyes, and the way they made him this discombobulated.

The point guard seemed to understand, however, as he huffed a little laugh as he slumped over Shintarou's desk (as he was prone to do, and it annoyed Shintarou as well but just this once he'd let him get away with it because he was feeling charitable and quite possibly losing his mind). Miyaji-senpai really needs to stop putting ideas in your head, Shin-chan. Don't listen to him about this kind of thing. Having a significant other is nice and all, but now isn't the time - especially if you really liked them. 'Cuz then you'd want to spend all your time with them, and there'd be no way to make that work between basketball, your studies, and hanging out with me, because obviously that's important too, even if you keep calling me your servant when we go out in public… He kept going, but Shintarou had been friends with him long enough to know when it was safe to tune him out. Besides, he needed to think. This was an unexpected level of maturity for Takao, especially when faced with their senpai's endless whining about the wonder of the female body, and illicit companionship. The fact that Takao had come to terms with himself emotionally and perhaps sexually as well was unnerving. It simply did not fit with the boy who smirked and simpered; hung upon Shintarou's body like a trained monkey, and gossiped like a middle-aged housewife. Nor did it reflect the prankster that would tempt fate just to laugh at his and his senpai's shocked expression, even when it ended in (both of them) running for their lives from pineapple missiles. No, he could not imagine that Takao with someone, holding her hand and professing his love, opening doors on dates, and studying with her and sneaking kisses - if not more - in the safety of his bedroom.

Yet there was a side of Takao he could imagine doing those things, and it was the Takao that looked him dead in the eye and told him he would work harder than him, throw him that roaring pass, and make Shintarou acknowledge him. And if this ex-girlfriend had seen that… Well. Just the remembrance of Takao acting as such to him made his heart thump irregularly against his ribcage, and heat flood his cheeks. It would have been devastating to her.

Shintarou was unable to focus for the rest of the day, and was incapable of taking any notes at all. He missed 6% more of his shots than usual, and while the rest of the team was mollified by excuses (lies) of a sore elbow, Shintarou was not. Why should it matter that Takao had once had a girlfriend? All the current girls in their class sighed over him constantly, nancing on about how perfect he was, and how calm, considerate, and charming he was, not to mention patient, as he spent all day with Midorima-kun. He was, they claimed, the very definition of a high spec boyfriend (whatever that silly term denoted) and if he hadn't made it quite clear already that he had no time for relationships (no offense to anyone of them, of course) they would have all confessed in droves.

Shintarou had long come to terms with Takao's inexplicable popularity. The existence of an ex-girlfriend was something different, however, especially as she had liked him enough to try and drag him along to whatever high school she had attended, and he had liked her enough to try. That betokened not just knowledge that Shintarou had never desired to acquire, but skill. Takao, apparently, was a good boyfriend. Oha Asa knew why, but that pissed Shintarou off.

...

Annoying as not understanding was, he would have been better off had it never gone any further. Yet knowledge had come crashing down the night he'd gotten The Drunk Call, wherein he'd witnessed yet another side of his partner, and learned something horrifying about himself in the process. It was made at 1 AM on Sunday morning, and had Shintarou not worried about his phone's ringtone waking the entire house he would never have answered it. As it was, the following conversation boiled down to this:

Shin-chan! Are you home?

It is one in the morning!

Great! I'll be right there!

Knowing Takao's persistence and proclivity to ring the doorbell far more times than was strictly necessary, Shintarou clothed and seated himself on the front doorstep. Although it was a warm night for the season, he still shivered sporadically. With every shiver he planned Takao's demise. It would be talked of for years, of that he was sure. Yet every third shiver was of anticipation, rather than rage or cold. What could Takao want with him at this time, when he was quite obviously intoxicated? Had he wanted to see him that badly? Or was it only something stupid? He couldn't get his hopes (what hopes?) up, as there was absolutely nothing to hope for. By the time he spotted Takao stumbling up the walkway to his house, however, he was half beside himself, and when he was close enough to spot his partner's goofy (handsome) smile he was unsure of whether he wanted most to hit him or hug him.

Takao took the decision away from him by hurtling headlong into his chest and wrapping his arms around him in his best impression of a barnacle. Shintarou winced and reflexively began prying the smaller boy off of him, ignoring the odd little song Takao was singing to the tune of that atrocious Yankee Doodah song they had learned in English class the other day (Shin-chan is the tallest man, Shin-channnn, Shin-channnn, Shin-chan is my favorite man, Shin-chan is the beeeest) before he was struck by a cloying, feminine, floral scent. Perfume. Takao was doused in (some woman's) perfume. Judging by the late hour and level of inebriation, there was only one explanation: he had attended one of those speed dating things his classmates were always going on about, and he had clearly...oh, how did they say it...got lucky.

Shintarou's heart crumpled inwards on itself, and for a long minute or so he was paralyzed from a cocktail of shock, grief, and the urge to run away. It was only when Takao reached up with unsteady hands to poke at his chin (What's wrong, Shin-chan? Please don't...don't make that face! Tell me what's wrong! Shin-chan!) that he regained his senses, managed to shove Takao away, and stumbled back into the house.

Through a minor miracle, Takao had accepted defeat and left without waking the entire Midorima household. Yet the damage was done. In either hand he held the broken halves of his heart, without ever having realized Takao had access to it in the first place. In his characteristic way, he did not question when he had fallen in love with him, nor why. It had happened, despite his best efforts, and therefore was the will of the gods. Why the gods thought it best to begin with a broken heart was beyond him, but at least he could take this cold comfort - Takao was a heterosexual man. At least he had not been turned down for anything he could control.

No, what concerned him most was what he could now do. Telling Takao was out of the question - it would destroy their friendship, as well as their team dynamic, and Shintarou would never let that happen. Additionally, his family was painfully traditional. Western clothing - save the school uniform and business suits - was strictly off limits, as were non-Japanese meals, and any/all talks of studying abroad. (Basketball was only allowed as he had begun it without telling them, and by the time they realized what he was actually doing after school the middle school guidance counselor had assured his parents that participating in this particular school club would go a long way towards elite universities' acceptance.) Therefore desiring men was clearly out of the question. Perhaps it was for the best that his...interest did not reciprocate.

(It did not keep him from laying awake at night, however, remembering the cadence of Takao's voice, nor the strength in his arms, the stretch of his shoulders, the silk of his stylishly cut hair, the myriad expressions in his quicksilver eyes. Worst was when he dreamed of Takao's determination, reliving the days he had shown his strength as a man, not just as a friend. I'll throw you a roaring pass, and, we will beat him. We will win. Those times, the compulsion to hold him was overwhelming, and he feared for his composure the whole following day.)

The next day Takao had shown up at his house, with a rare solemn expression and rickshaw at the ready. He had pedaled to school in silence, and the lack of his usual chatter was deafening. Shintarou's nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and when Takao had turned to him upon arrival with that determination that made Shintarou tingle, the ace took drastic measures. Buy me shiruko and all is forgiven, he had said. Holding Takao's searching gaze had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, but he had decided that it was all worth it. He would never get what he wanted, just as he would never crack jokes with ease, or smile without fear of being judged. But he would keep Takao, come hell or high water. Even if it meant lying to both his partner and himself, and even if it made him - in the long run - miserable.

…

Things had gone on in the natural way, and if Shintarou tended to be slightly more difficult on mornings when Takao had turned his cell phone off the night before, and was exhausted the next day, neither of them remarked on it. Those time were few and far between, however, and for the most part they regained their equilibrium with little fuss. Shintarou didn't worry about being awkward, as he had always been such - although he did worry about the desire to monopolize every moment of Takao's time. It was all he could do. He could never bring himself to touch Takao, as that had always been his partner's province (The month following The Drunk Call had been one of the most frustrating times in his life, as Takao suddenly became careful about how often he touched him, and the first day Takao slung his arm up and over his shoulder and just stayed there for at least a minute caused his entire body to suffuse with joy. He could only hope his point guard had not seen his smile.) and that was both a blessing and a curse. Now, he wanted Takao to touch him all the time. Even more, he regretted that he'd not established a habit of casually touching him. Why had he never smacked him upside the head before he had fallen in love? Even that would be preferable to simply watching and wanting him!

Little changed, although they very carefully never spoke of girlfriends - or even girls - again. Everything was basketball, or lucky items, or families, or their mutual friends (if the Generation of Miracles, Kaijou's point guard and half the Seirin team could be considered as such) or anything else that could not be skewed from the platonic. Shintarou was grateful. Although they never spoke of The Drunk Call, Takao understood that certain lines could not be crossed. So even though Shintarou's heart still throbbed whenever Takao was charming with any of the young ladies in their class, they were still friends.

It was painful, sometimes. And he certainly was not doing everything he could do. But it would be, as he had told Kuroko the last time they spoke, much worse to have nothing at all.

…

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…

The teacup lay in Kuroko's hands, empty and long forgotten. His eyes were wide, and if he had been slightly less well-bred, his mouth would have been hanging open. That...was not what he had expected. That was romantic. "I think Midorima-kun is pursuing the wrong profession. He should write novels. I am moved."

"None of your sass, please. I was honest. And thorough." Midorima shivered. "Painfully so. I will never speak of this again. I think I'd rather die, first."

Kuroko set his cup down, feeling a little guilty for being ambiguous. "I was serious. My story pales in comparison to yours. Now I am sure that you will not enjoy hearing it."

"Impossible. Besides, we agreed: a tale for a tale. Let me order a refill and then you shall begin."

Kuroko winced when Midorima turned. He feared that his tale, on the heels of Midorima's heartfelt exposition would appear...well. Raunchy. Finally realizing just how embarrassing this whole venture was, he sank a bit lower in his seat, wondering if it would be forgivable to use misdirection and run away.

Yet just then the waiter appeared with another helping of shiruko, and Kuroko's chance passed. It wouldn't have been honorable, anyway. Across from him, Midorima stirred his drink and then brought his attention back to his teammate. Kuroko was struck by how calm he was being about this. Had his old shooting guard really matured so much in only a few years? And was this Takao's doing as well? "Well?"

Knowing that no one would believe Midorima should he choose to betray his confidence, and that it was upon Midorima's own head if he offended his tender sensibilities, Kuroko began. "It all began with a lie.."

…

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...

Takao's Shin-Chan song is to be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle.

...

I'm not sure where this came from, but I hope it's not too jarring a juxtaposition with the first chapter. There will be 3 more of these (Kuroko, Kagami, and Takao) interspersed with 2 more incidents (like the first chapter), so if you really like what you just read, you're in luck! If not, well. Damn.

Either way, let me know what you think :)