A/N: Here's the second chapter of CoL, fresh off the press. Do enjoy and please review! :D

Crossroad of Life

[ . . . 2 . . . ]

[ . . . a mad crow calls the lonely dove . . . ]

Birds of a feather will flock together.

― Martial, Epigrams

Kuroko arrives at Shibuya on a cold Wednesday morning, at ten-forty-eight am on the twenty-second of December. Even if a decade passes by, he will definitely remember the exact day, time and date that marked the very beginning of the moment that will lead to a great change in his life.

Shibuya is exactly what he remembers; the overcrowded population, assorted colors, traffic jams, different trends, the smell of delicious food from roadside stalls and constant noises from the traffic lights. Then there is also the endless chattering of school girls with their friends, businessmen on their phones, families and carefree teenagers looking for fun. To put it simply, it was a lively and deafening city.

He has been here a few times to indulge himself in the latest arrivals from his favorite authors, but the idea of living in such a loud and bright city did not cross his mind at all. Now that he was here though, he somewhat wanted to rethink his decisions, but then again, that was the beauty of it, him, of all people, living in a place known for its nightlife activities.

They would never even think to find him here and although Kuroko wanted to fancy the idea of them knowing him really well, they, in fact, did not at all. Beyond basketball, vanilla milkshakes, books and the camaraderie found between people who wanted to be the best team in Japan, they didn't know what he liked, what he disliked, where he lived, who are his parents, the type of books he liked, his music taste or what he even did in his free time that didn't involve basketball or reading. Without basketball, none of them would've met, nor would they even speak to each other in the first place. Connection was important and without it, friendships would never be made and "fated" meetings would be null. That was how the world worked when it came to human contact and Kuroko knew it very, very well.

That was why he wanted a break, an escape from the reality that was forged by basketball. He wasn't a big whiner or a sore loser when it came to things he couldn't control or stop, but he was just sick and tired of his life being dictated by broken friendships, memories of his hellish third year at Teiko, a single bond of a "light" and "shadow", the lost of his first friend and an orange ball that he equally love and hated. He just wanted to wash it all away like dirt off feet, as simple as that.

So, instead of dwelling on the past, he chose to strive and move forward, away from the people that he called friends and teammates. While the method he chose to do so was extremely selfish and basically no regards for the people he will obviously hurt, especially when he has just managed to get his old friends back and won a war against his ex-captain with his new comrades, he has been hurt enough times ― be it from his friendship with Ogiwara that would never be mended, making Momoi cry twice, the feeling of being a stranger amongst cold geniuses, Haizaki throwing his shoes into the incinerator and being forced to quit the team, the loss of a second best friend and being stuck somewhere in between the past and the present, not exactly in that order ― that he had every right to be a downright uncaring jerk.

Sure, it was a pretty lousy reason to use in justifying himself, but Kuroko was satisfied being the bastard this time around because he had enough of being indirectly pushed around for caring too much. He just wanted to be dead to emotions and tears.

This is it, Kuroko decided in his mind, with a voice that was of cold, steely determination. This time, I'll be free.

He walked with the crowd, blending in, walking along the crossroad.

. . .

. .

. . .

An hour or so has passed since his arrival and so far, nothing has changed, except for the fact that he was in an old, obscure coffee shop, seated in one of the dimly lit backseats, at the food district of Shibuya. There weren't many people inside, with only two businessmen discussing about their latest shares, four women having a heated debate about the best kind of boyfriends, an elderly couple enjoying their coffee together with the occasional inputs of casual conversation and a man typing away on his laptop. This was a hobby of his; to eavesdrop on the unsuspecting, observe their actions and find out about the little details of a stranger's life. In a way, it was fun, to see others going in and about on their daily lives with the most trivial sort of things, especially when you learn little facts that not even that person's friends know and sometimes, create the facts.

For example, one of the businessmen, the one with the dark red tie, is about to have a divorce. The wedding ring on his hand was not as well-taken care of as it should be, since the polish was fading and the ring looked like it was slipped on rather carelessly, because the little diamond was facing a little bit to the right rather than the middle. His tie was also hastily tied, unwashed and not ironed, judging by the creases that weren't smoothed out and a small dark patch at the corner, probably a coffee spill from lunch break or an alcohol spill from partying with his co-workers. Usually, those who were married had their wives tie their ties everyday and wash it for them, commonly on a weekly basis.

Then, one of the four woman, who was giggling in an awfully annoying way, is actually a victim of abuse, either verbal or physical and maybe from an abusive boyfriend. Sure, at the moment, she didn't seem like the type and looked like any young woman should be; beautiful, confident, happy and carefree. What others wouldn't have noticed, is the fact that her eyes constantly turned left and right, flitting across the room, as if she's scared if something will hit and hurt her. Her left arm's knuckles, which is on the table, rap against the table in a systematical continuous way while her other arm is hugging herself in a slight protective way, showing that she's nervous. Lastly, she quivers slightly whenever she wants to voice out her opinions, often hesitating to say them and readjusting her collar before she spoke (like she was too indecent or lascivious, but she was wearing a turtleneck and long jeans with boots that showed no skin to ogle at, unlike her friends who wore dresses, short skirts and high heels), before changing it to "it's nothing" or a shake of the head.

There wasn't much to observe when it came to the elderly couple and the tired-looking man, except for the fact that the former were from good homes, judging by the clothes they wore and the latter was probably working away for an incoming deadline.

Enough of observations though, he berated himself for unintentionally procrastinating as he sipped his milk tea (he absolutely detested the strong taste of coffee) while looking through a few flyers about flats, condominiums and rented rooms. He didn't have anywhere to stay in Shibuya currently, so finding a home was his top priority and he hoped he would be able to find it in, at least, the minimum of five days. Staying at a hotel was demanding and he didn't want to waste the money he had access to, which was his parents' bank account, despite having enough in there to buy a mansion, three four-star hotels and purebred horses.

Kuroko hasn't found any that was worth it as of yet. Most of them were overpriced and the rents were unreasonable, especially when they were the same as the ones found in other parts of Tokyo, but less costly. Finding a new place to live in would be a hard task, but not impossible. What would be hard, though, would be comparing them to his old apartment, which was perfect.

He finished the last of his drink in one gulp and left the money on the table, since it would take him a long time to get the attention of a waiter or waitress. Moping around in a coffee shop would do him no good, so it was best he left to the addresses on the flyers to ask for more specific details, since he couldn't ask over the phone. Prior to arriving in Shibuya, he left his cellphone in his old apartment on purpose and broke his SIM card into half to avoid angry messages and worried phone calls.

The teal haired male got up and left.

. . .

. .

. . .

"Sorry, the price can't be haggled." a gruff man said with a stern voice, repeatedly pointing at the price he stuck on the gate. "It's set."

Kuroko bowed politely. "Alright, thank you for your time." He left the area, taking out the one the last flyers he had to cross out the address, marking that he already went to the place.

None of the places he went to were suitable for him. Most of them were rundown (desperate, but not that desperate), had electrical issues, too expensive or had technical difficulties every once in a while (water would run out at random times, electricity was scarce and hinges of doors were rusted enough to break), which left a bad taste in his mouth. He wasn't expecting a perfect cupcake among the dozens, but he needed a home that he felt was comfortable to live in.

He wished luck was on his side today.

The wind blew harshly, making Kuroko stumble forward clumsily and release the three flyers from his grasp into the air, flying along with the flow. Kuroko stood there awkwardly in mid-pause, unsure whether if he should break into a sprint to get them back or just let them go. Good thing a person came to his rescue, letting Kuroko withhold any unnecessary actions.

A man walked in the line of Kuroko's sight, getting closer with the two flyers he managed to salvage from the wind. "Are these yours?" he asked with a perfectly carved out smile.

Though Kuroko knew better ― that smile was fake, judging by the way it never reached his eyes and just one look at his eyes were enough to make him feel nauseous and disturbed in the worst of ways.

The unknown man had eyes that pierced through the depths of his soul, in such a way that tore it all apart and was able to see all the good and bad he's committed in his life, which, frankly, unnerved him. He disliked people who thought they could see a person's true colors just because they managed to piece the fragments of a baseless idea together. Kuroko absolutely detested arrogance befitting a corrupted judge and purposeless pride (often called The Hubris in Kuroko's mind), so he hoped that this deceptively kind stranger was not what he was currently picturing.

In spite of that, this wasn't the problem. What frightened him the most though, was the color of his eyes.

They were of a reddish-brown, but the light reflected on them made the pair look like an eerie shade of red.

. . .