AN: I made a tumblr tag for this story, and it's linked in my profile. Check out the adorable art by haikyuusetters.
Midorima Shintarou knew something was off from the beginning. Since when did Aomine call him for favors? Why had he been so vague and secretive? And why did Kuroko even need their help to move his things? If his family was moving, surely his parents would have made arrangements. Midorima had agreed to come out of curiosity as much as out of any desire to assist. He'd said that Takao was coming because Takao would come whether he was invited or not, just like he pushed his way into pretty much every other aspect of Midorima's life.
The group that met on the street outside Kuroko's apartment building was even odder than Midorima had expected. Kise and his senpai, Kasamatsu, weren't much of a surprise, because Kise would jump at anything Aomine asked him to do. Midorima didn't know Kasamatsu well, but he suspected that he was Kise's unofficial babysitter.
But Aomine's former captain had come, too. Midorima never would have guessed. Imayoshi smiled at them all indiscriminately, looking somehow sinister with his eyes almost shut behind his glasses.
Aomine looked uncomfortable, scowling around at all of them as if he hadn't been the one to gather them together in the first place. Aomine was an amazing basketball player, but he had no leadership skills whatsoever. Midorima was shocked all over again that the guy had taken the initiative to do something like this.
It was Imayoshi who broached the subject on everyone's minds. He leaned his shoulder suddenly into Aomine's, knocking him off-balance, and just grinned when Aomine spread his stance to compensate and turned a glare on him. "Time for you to explain, my precious kouhai," he said lazily. "We're all very eager to know what exactly is going on here. You told me that my skills would be necessary in order to intimidate a bad person for the sake of Japan. You cannot make such a grand statement without explaining yourself."
Aomine looked nauseated. But he straightened his body and raised his chin, his eyes hard. "I can't tell you the details," he said to all of them. "But it should be enough for you to know that Tetsu's father is worthless, and he can't live with him anymore. The guy might try to prevent us from doing what we came to do, and we can't have that. But all we need to do is get in there, pack up Tetsu's things, and get them out. Is that enough to be going on with?"
Most of them looked thoughtful. Imayoshi and Kasamatsu nodded. Kise, though, was wide-eyed with dismay. "Is Kurokocchi's father in the Yakuza or something?"
Aomine grit his teeth. "I told you I can't give you the details. Please respect Tetsu's privacy. I just need your help for an hour or two, and then you can go back to your fun Sunday activities."
Kise did not look satisfied. But Kasamatsu smacked his shoulder with a warning look, and Kise subsided, giving in. Midorima shared a look with Takao. Neither of them were satisfied, either. But they would go along with Aomine for now.
Aomine led the way onto the elevator and down the hallway to the correct door. There, Imayoshi shouldered his way to the front of the group and stood next to Aomine as he knocked. Imayoshi was all but bouncing on his toes, eager to fulfill the role he'd been summoned for.
After a minute or two, they heard noises behind the door. Fumbling with the lock, a low complaint in a rough voice. Midorima felt himself tense all over. What kind of man was Kuroko Tetsuya's father?
The door opened and a haggard face appeared. Midorima deflated slightly, his shoulders loosening. This man was shorter than any of them, though still taller than his son. He was slight and hunched, dark bags under his tired eyes, his hair in disarray.
He stared at them rudely. "Who are you?"
Aomine stepped into his line of sight. "Kuroko-san, it's Aomine Daiki. Tetsu's friend, remember? We've met once or twice."
The man looked him up and down, his eyes dismissive. "Oh, you. Why are you here? Tetsuya isn't home."
Aomine's hands clenched into fists, visibly trembling. Kasamatsu's sharp eyes missed nothing. His hand shot forward from the back of the group and grabbed Aomine's arm, preventing him from doing something he would regret.
Aomine drew a shaky breath and offered Kuroko's father a pained smile. "We know he isn't home. We came to fetch his things for him."
The man pulled his head back, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Like hell I would ever..."
"Kuroko-saaaaaan!" Imayoshi launched himself forward and wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders to drag him into the apartment. "Kuroko-san, your breath is so fragrant! Please come and share allllll your secrets with me! You must show me the marvels of your liquor cabinet!"
"What... What the hell...!" Kuroko's father struggled to escape that iron grip, but Imayoshi's arm only tightened.
Imayoshi hauled the man past the entryway and into the apartment proper, chattering cheerfully all the while, asking him what he'd been up to and demanding he share his treasures. Kuroko's father growled and huffed and fought him, but was completely overwhelmed by Imayoshi's strength and force of personality. Imayoshi looked back over his shoulder and beckoned for the others to come in and complete their business while he controlled the problem.
Aomine didn't need a second invitation. He kicked off his shoes in the entryway with no heed for propriety, and led the way straight as an arrow to Kuroko's room. Midorima took only slightly longer to remove his shoes, separating them fastidiously from the others'. His long legs carried him swiftly after Aomine, though he looked around as he went, trying to take in the details of Kuroko's home.
It was...rather an austere place. And the atmosphere was strangely heavy. Midorima found that he didn't like it much.
It was not a place of good fortune.
Aomine halted in the doorway of Kuroko's room so suddenly that Kise ran straight into him with a squeak and bounced off. Kasamatsu caught him and pushed him upright with one hand. Aomine turned around to face them, his cheeks flushing dark red. "I...forgot to bring boxes."
Midorima rolled his eyes. "How completely unexpected," he said. He held up the package he was carrying under his arm and prompted Takao to do the same. "It's a good thing you asked me to come."
Aomine's face lightened in relief, though his eyes remained serious. He gave Midorima something like a respectful nod. "Yeah, it is."
Midorima blinked. Aomine had sounded completely sincere. After a moment to absorb this, he tipped his chin toward the room. "Shall we get started, then?"
Aomine nodded and moved into the room, and the others fanned out behind him. Midorima knelt in the middle of the floor and started assembling the flat-pack boxes he and Takao had brought, but his eyes kept straying, looking around and taking it in. At first glance Kuroko's room seemed ordinary, like that of any other high school boy obsessed with a singular sport. But the more he looked, the more he noticed things that were...off.
The posters on the walls were of basketball players, naturally enough. Stars from both America and Japan were displayed with equal prominence. They were placed with a precision and attention to detail that suited Kuroko's careful nature. But one of them had been ripped in half, as if someone had tried to tear it off the wall with their fingernails. The pieces of the broken poster still hung on the wall from the corners where they'd been taped.
Why would Kuroko leave something like that? It didn't seem like him. If one of his posters was damaged by accident, surely he would replace it at once. And he most certainly wouldn't leave the pieces hanging on the wall.
Had it happened after he left? Had his "worthless" father come in here and destroyed a poster for some reason? It defied common sense.
Was Kuroko's father not only an uncouth drunkard? Was he also violent?
Kise and Kasamatsu took one of the assembled boxes over to Kuroko's bookshelf and started stacking books neatly inside it. Midorima watched them for a moment, saw how one shelf of books was perfectly organized, every book in its place, sorted by author and title. Another shelf of books had been swept onto the floor and lay in an unruly pile, some of them with pages bent and spines cracked.
There were marks on the wall where the surface should have been pristine. Smudges. Gouges. None bigger than a human fist.
Aomine stood by Kuroko's dresser. He had started to pull clothes out of one of the drawers, but now he was standing, staring at the articles on top of the dresser. Normal things, for the most part, a brush, a hand mirror, a phone charger. And some bottles. Midorima could read them from here. Antiseptic. Salonpas spray. A packet of Eve A ibuprofen, almost empty.
"Shin-chan..."
Midorima looked to the side. Takao stood next to him. His face was paper-white. He was holding the trash receptacle that had been in a corner of the room. The rim was held loosely in his fingers, drooping dangerously and about to fall, as if he had lost feeling in his hands.
Midorima looked inside. There was a small pile of white and brownish-red...things...in the bottom. Slowly, carefully, he reached inside and pulled one out. It was a gauze bandage, stained with dried blood.
Why was Kuroko keeping antiseptic and painkillers on his dresser. Why had someone taken violent hands to his room, to the possessions he tended so carefully. Why wouldn't Aomine speak more clearly about the difficulties here.
Midorima dropped the bandage back into the trash can. Slowly, carefully, he stood. Every joint in his body had begun to ache, his knees, his shoulders, every knuckle in his fingers. He was sixteen, and he felt like an old man. He walked over to the closet and slid the door open. The normal items were there, uniform shirts and jackets, trousers, casual clothes for days off. Some hangers stood empty—Kuroko had taken a few clothes when he left. Most notably, his Seirin jersey was missing.
Of course. Of course Kuroko wouldn't want to leave his jersey here. Whether or not he knew that he was never coming back, he wouldn't have been able to leave the most precious thing he owned in this place.
Midorima shoved the shirts and trousers aside, one by one, pushing the hangers toward the middle of the closet. He didn't know what he was looking for until he found it, but somehow, he already knew it was there. And yes, there it was. There it was. Hanging on a hook on the wall. A strap that might have been a belt once, but the holes were ripped, and the edges of the leather were cracked and worn. It was thick and heavy and long, not at all suitable for Kuroko to wear. The buckle was massive, and the metal edges of it were sharp.
Midorima took it down and held it in his hands. This strap had seen a lot of use. He pulled the length of it through his fingers. There, yes, almost hidden against the dark brown of the leather. Reddish-brown stains. Midorima's finger paused, pressing hard against one ugly blotch. His vision was beginning to gray out at the edges.
That uncouth, violent man hadn't even seen fit to cleanse his instrument of torture. And he chose to leave it in Kuroko's room, where it must remind Kuroko every day of the agony he must endure whenever his father was in the mood to punish him. Hidden in his closet, where no casual visitor would see it, but still there. Right there. Always there.
"Shin-chan..." Takao's voice was small and thin. He was standing at Midorima's elbow, looking at the thing he held. He was trembling, on the edge of tears.
Midorima looked at him. Then he looked at Aomine, who stood by the dresser, stock-still and staring at him with his expression frozen in anguish. Kise and Kasamatsu were still working on the books and hadn't noticed yet.
"This..." Midorima said. His hand had begun to shake. He stared down at the strap he held, and his fingers closed around it, white tape standing out against the dark brown, the dark red. "This..."
"Yeah," Aomine's voice was choked and almost inaudible. "I know."
"Midorimacchi?" Kise had noticed. His voice sounded far away. Scared. Young. So very, very young.
Midorima turned to face him, the strap held out in his hands like an offering to a terrible god. Kasamatsu blinked, his mouth dropping open. "What... What is that..."
Midorima walked over to them, slow and careful. He placed the strap in Kise's hands. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
"Shin-chan... Shin-chan... Shin-chan!" Takao was at his heels. Every repetition of his name was more and more worried. Midorima kept walking. He steps quickened as he went, faster and faster, until he was almost moving at a run.
Imayoshi was still talking to Kuroko's father, his arm wrapped heavily around his shoulder as he leaned over him, keeping him pinned in place. He heard Midorima approaching and looked up, his glasses glinting. He didn't even twitch when Midorima seized his captive's collar and pulled the man toward himself, just let go and allowed Midorima to drag him stumbling over the floor.
"How many times?" Midorima asked through gritted teeth. They were so close that he could see the dull shine of the monster's eyes, looking up at him with the distant stirrings of something like fear buried in the depths of his hungover brain. "How many times, you bastard? How many times?"
Kuroko's father blinked and rubbed a finger under his nose. "How many times what?" he asked.
"How many times did you beat him? How many times did you torment him with that strap? How many times did you make him bleed?"
The man's eyes slid away, and a sneer curled his lip. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. I know you do." Midorima shook him, desperate to elicit some response. Desperate to make this creature feel even the tiniest portion of the rage and grief that gnawed at his gut and burned his heart. Kuroko's father accepted the rough handling, flopping around like a rag doll in Midorima's hands.
Midorima's fingers tightened on his shirt. He shouldn't punch him. He shouldn't. It would be bad for his fingers.
"How many times?" he asked again. "How many times did you make him suffer and weep tears of pain? How many times did you ignore him when he begged you to stop? How many times did you listen to him plead for mercy, then give him none? HOW. MANY. TIMES."
"I still don't know what you're talking about. Nothing like that ever happened in this house. My son is a good boy. I wouldn't hurt him. You're talking nonsense, you idiot child, and if you don't let go of me, I'm going to call the police."
"Shin-chan, Shin-chan!" Takao was hauling on his elbow, his fingers so tight that the grip was beginning to hurt. Midorima held on to the man for a moment longer, his entire body shaking with pent-up fury, then abruptly let go. He spun away and stood with his head down, panting. Takao held his arm and just kept saying his name, soothingly now, trying to help him calm down.
He looked up and saw Kise and Kasamatsu. Kise was crying, and it was ugly. It was the worst thing Midorima had ever seen. His female fans would be shocked. He could lose his modeling contract over a face like that. Kasamatsu had his arm wrapped around him, holding him up as his knees shook and wavered, but he didn't look much better.
Midorima turned back to Kuroko's father. He stood between Aomine and Imayoshi, who were careful not to touch him. That sneer still painted his lips, long and thin and disgusting. He was pleased with himself. Pleased. Midorima could barely stand it.
"How many times?" he echoed, his voice high and whining, mocking Midorima's pain. "How many times, how many times? What a stupid little boy you are. What stupid little boys you all are. As if I could keep track."
Midorima hauled off and punched him in the face as hard as he could.
Midorima spent a lot of time working on his arms, his hands. Strength-training for his biceps, flexibility for his forearms, accuracy for his fingertips. His arms had to be fine-tuned to the point of impossibility to let him make the kind of shots he routinely did, hefting that heavy basketball the length of the court to thread the hoop with a surgeon's precision.
So it was a very, very good punch. Every single second of work and effort and time he had ever put into his hands was absolutely, completely, and totally worth it.