"We have a big test for Modern Japanese coming up," Kagami said.

Kuroko nodded.

They were standing on a bridge again, leaning over the rail to stare down at the fast-flowing water. Kagami had a piece of scrap paper in his hand that he was tearing into small pieces. He dropped them down into the river one by one and watched the water carry them away. He knew it was littering, but he didn't care.

"I'm not good at Modern Japanese," he said. "Or any Japanese."

Kuroko hummed. "You've gotten much better since you came back to Japan. Don't put yourself down, Kagami-kun."

"I know my capabilities. I'm probably not going to do well on the test."

Kuroko said nothing. It was like he'd run out of energy. Kagami glanced sideways at him, then ripped off another piece of paper and dropped it into the water. He watched the tiny scrap of white being seized by the dark blue current and carried away.

Kuroko hadn't complained about the littering, either. He just stood there at Kagami's elbow, watching the water with him. Kuroko was still as energetic and devoted as ever during basketball, but everywhere else it seemed like he had shrunk into himself. He was conserving energy any way he could.

Kuroko hadn't combed his hair this morning. Ordinarily, Kagami would neither notice nor care. Today he did, though.

Whatever was going on was getting worse.

"Hey," Kagami said, trying to sound as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Would you help me?"

Kuroko held very still for a long moment. "Help...you?" It was as if he'd never heard the words before.

Kagami refrained from rolling his eyes. "With Modern Japanese. You're good at it. Would you help me study?"

"Hmm." Kuroko's hands fidgeted on the rail.

"Please? It would really help me out. We could go to my place, take a train so we get there faster and have time. I know you have to get home in the evening, so I won't keep you long."

But I'll at least make you eat something, he vowed silently. You've lost weight, Kuroko. What the hell is happening to you?

Kuroko was quiet, staring down at the water. Kagami abandoned his last scrap of paper and turned to face him. He was intensely bothered by the continuing silence, but he tried not to let it show.

"You don't have to." Kagami nudged Kuroko's shoulder, trying for a friendly, jocular tone. His voice came out quiet and serious despite his best efforts. "Kuroko? You can say no. Just give me an answer, c'mon."

Kuroko held still for a moment longer. Then he slowly, slowly turned his head to look up into Kagami's face. "I do...want to help you."

Kagami broke into a wide, relieved smile. "Cool! So can you come over tonight?"

Kuroko shook his head. His eyes slipped away again. "Not tonight. But...tomorrow? You could come to my place. It's closer to school."

Kagami grinned even bigger. This was a better outcome than he could have hoped for. "Yeah, great! I'll bring snacks, okay?"

Kuroko nodded. And that was that.

Kagami spent the evening making all of his best onigiri recipes. He felt like a little kid excited to be visiting a friend's house after school. He'd never been to Kuroko's home, and he'd never thought he would get the opportunity to see it. Finally, finally, he was going to learn more about his best friend, about his family and his life. What would it be like? Kagami couldn't wait to find out.

His hopes were high. Probably too high. But he'd never even dreamed that Kuroko would respond this well. He knew how reserved Kuroko was—it must have taken a huge effort for him to be this vulnerable. For him to open up this window into his life and let Kagami inside.

Now Kagami just had to figure out how to leverage that to get Kuroko to tell him what was wrong. Who was hurting him. How Kagami could make it stop.

Kagami tried to hold it in. He did his best to expend as much energy as possible during basketball practice to try to burn off some of the extra. He jumped higher, dunked harder, and yelled louder than he usually did. The team responded, matching Kagami with their own enthusiasm and joy. Even Kuroko smiled.

Still, Kagami was practically vibrating on the train to Kuroko's. He chose to stand, holding the grip-handle and looking around at the bored commuters, the unfamiliar scenery. Kuroko's face held a slight smile as he watched Kagami bouncing on his toes like an over-excited puppy. Kuroko chose to sit, though, resting his head back against the window. Kagami didn't miss how exhausted he looked, the dark rings of fatigue circling his eyes, but he didn't comment on it.

Kuroko led the way from the train station to a nice-looking apartment complex, Kagami close on his heels the entire way. Inside, Kuroko stopped at a plain door like any other in a long, brightly lit hallway, then turned a key and moved inside. He stopped in the entryway and slipped off his shoes, while Kagami lined his up neatly alongside, and they padded into the apartment. Kuroko hit light switches as he went, making a path of light as they moved into the darkened rooms.

Kuroko didn't call out to greet his family on arrival. The place was dark and quiet before they came. Kagami frowned, looking all around. "Do you live alone, too? You never said."

Kuroko shook his head but didn't elaborate. He was moving quietly but steadily toward a goal, his gait never wavering. Kagami kept pausing behind him, stopping to stare around as he did his best to take in every detail of Kuroko's home.

The apartment wasn't completely unlike Kagami's, really. Too big, too modern, too plain for most Japanese sensibilities. Here and there were little homey touches—a beautiful green pot in an alcove, a chair with a blanket draped over it as if to invite a nap, a houseplant spreading dark leaves in a corner. But all of these mementos of domesticity seemed old and neglected, as if covered with dust even though no dust was in evidence. Most of the furnishings were ugly and utilitarian.

In the hallway right outside the main room, Kuroko halted for a moment and looked at a picture on the wall, one of only a few Kagami had seen in the entire place. Kuroko held so perfectly still and silent that, for just a moment, it seemed like the entire world had been dropped into a deep, cold pool of water with not a ripple to be seen. Then he moved on, but Kagami paused where he had stood so he could look at the picture, too.

It was a family photo, preserved under glass. Kuroko, many years younger, leaned down toward the camera with two adults grinning over his shoulders. The woman had light hair much like her son's and an expression that radiated peace, while the man seemed tired and careworn, but no less happy to be with his family. Kuroko...Kuroko was radiant.

Kagami had never seen Kuroko smile like that. Broad and bright and beautiful, showing all his teeth, his mouth open as if he'd been captured in the throes of laughter. Had Kagami ever heard Kuroko laugh? Ever?

He didn't think so. Kagami couldn't remember for sure, but he thought he would have noticed something like that.

A small noise from the main room broke him out of his reverie, and Kagami stepped away from the photo. He halted in the doorway of the main room, suddenly apprehensive as a thought occurred to him. Kuroko knelt at a low table in the middle of the room, setting out books for their study session.

"Oi, Kuroko..."

Kuroko looked up, then blinked as he noticed Kagami's sudden tension. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

Kagami glanced from side to side. He'd found the quiet of the empty home unnerving before, but now it was downright creepy. "Where's Nigou?"

He had completely forgotten about the dog. Kuroko hadn't brought Nigou to basketball for quite a while—since before this mess began?—and once Kuroko started acting strange, all other concerns had fled Kagami's mind. Not that it really mattered. Kagami still would have leaped at the opportunity to visit Kuroko's house, even if he'd remembered that he would have to fight through his phobia of dogs.

Instead of brightening up at the mention of his beloved pet, Kuroko looked away. "Nigou isn't here."

"What?" Kagami took a step into the room, compelled by the distress in Kuroko's closed expression as well as his own shock. "Where is he?"

"I asked Aomine-kun to take care of him for a while. He grumbled, but he did it. Aomine-kun is a kind person, really."

"I know that. He still won't let me give him back his shoes. Says they're mine now and he doesn't want my foot stink on his stuff." Kagami crossed the rest of the distance and sat across from Kuroko. He set his things on the table, taking special care with the box that held the onigiri. "That's a lie, though. If he cared about foot stink, he wouldn't play basketball."

Kuroko managed a smile at this, though it was small and sad. His eyes were heavy-lidded and weary. "Aomine-kun is a good friend."

Kagami nodded. Aomine had proved himself to be a loyal and generous friend by his actions, not by his words. That didn't explain what was going on, though.

"But why did you ask him to take care of Nigou?" Kagami asked slowly, carefully.

A spark of mischief lit in Kuroko's eyes. It was good to see. "Well, I couldn't ask you to do it, could I?"

"I'm glad you didn't," Kagami retorted. "But c'mon, Kuroko. Why..."

Kuroko shook his head and looked away again, trying to close off that line of inquiry. "It's only temporary."

Kagami's fingers tightened on the box of onigiri. He was beginning to despise Kuroko's gift for misdirection, at least when it came to personal matters. This wasn't a basketball court. And Kagami wasn't the enemy, dammit. Why was Kuroko hiding from him?

"Kuroko, please tell me..."

"It's temporary." Kuroko met Kagami's eyes for a brief moment, sharp and firm. He was slamming the lid on the conversation and shoving it away from himself as forcefully as he could. "Let's study Modern Japanese now. You're worried about the big test coming up, aren't you?"

Kagami sighed and gave in. "Yeah, yeah. I'm worried about the test." He couldn't abandon the pretense now, or Kuroko might shut down completely.

And he really did need to study. Once they cracked open the books and got into it, Kuroko turned out to be an effective tutor. He was soft-spoken, but firm and knowledgeable, and he'd always had a talent for connecting with Kagami, meeting him where he was and walking alongside. Kagami still didn't enjoy the process, but he had to admit that a lot of the kanji were pretty cool and interesting. If he was ever going to get good at Japanese, this was the way it would happen.

Early on, Kagami fetched a plate from the kitchen and set it between them on the table. He continually filled it with onigiri from his box. Whenever there was a moment, he nudged the plate toward Kuroko. Sometimes he put an onigiri directly in Kuroko's hand.

"Try the tuna-mayo, it's a classic," he'd say. Or, "This is teriyaki chicken. Not traditional, but they liked it in LA." Kuroko ate absently in between teaching Kagami about kanji and their interpretations. Of course, Kagami ate plenty, too.

All in all, it was a pleasant time. Kagami revelled in the opportunity to hang out with Kuroko, even though it revolved around academics. Kuroko seemed relaxed and at ease, too, his shoulders loose and his face as open as it ever got. And he smiled a lot, more than Kagami had seen in quite a while, even during basketball.

The quiet, empty apartment still felt strange and austere, but they had created their own little circle of light within that cold environment. Kuroko made tea, and Kagami's onigiri seemed inexhaustible. Neither noticed how much time was passing. Kagami could have stayed there for hours, and Kuroko seemed no less content.

Then came a sound that shattered it all, like a castle of spun glass collapsing at a touch. It was a small sound, muffled, distant. But it seemed very loud for all its simplicity and mundanity. It was the sound of a key in a lock.

Kuroko went still the moment the sound reached them, piercing their bubble of light and letting in the cold and the darkness in a slow leak, steady and unstoppable. The smile ran away from Kuroko's face like a frightened mouse, and Kagami stared at him in astonishment. Kagami's voice cut off in the middle of a word, the thread of what he'd been saying lost.

Kuroko jumped to his feet as if he'd been burned, then almost swayed where he stood. His eyes, wide and round, sought the clock on the wall. "It's late," he murmured.

Kagami started to push to his feet, but Kuroko spun and pinned him with a stare. "Don't move." His voice was a bark of command, or as close as Kuroko could get to that sort of tone, and Kagami stopped where he was. Kuroko's eyes softened, but only a little. "Please, Kagami-kun. Whatever happens, whatever you hear, please just stay where you are."

"Wait, what do you mean? Whatever I hear? What are you talking about?" Kagami started to rise again, but Kuroko waved his hands as if pushing him down from several paces away. Kuroko's face was so distressed that Kagami froze, unwilling to cause him more pain.

"Please. Please stay where you are. I'll take care of this. And keep quiet." Then Kuroko rushed down the hall toward the sounds of the door opening and someone stumbling inside.

Kagami sat back on the floor. His heart was pounding. He'd never seen Kuroko look so...frightened. He would do his best to obey Kuroko's request, though. If that was all he could do, just be still and be quiet, then he would do that.

But he strained his ears, listening as hard as he could. He heard a body thump into a wall somewhere near the door, too large to be Kuroko's, as if the person hadn't been able to stand straight anymore. He heard a groan and a mumbled complaint in a man's voice, too muffled to make out the words. Then Kuroko's soft, padding footsteps completed their journey to the entryway, and Kuroko spoke.

"Father. Welcome home."