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Towards the tail end of senior year, they play one of their last practice games of the season, a three-on-three with the underclassmen. It’s a hard game, physically demanding. By the time they’re back to the bleachers and panting, Kuroko has already sweat what feels like a whole litre. So, when Kagami holds out his own water bottle, Kuroko isn’t even grossed out by it. He simply holds it to his mouth and drinks. Kagami’s sweat tastes salty around the rim, and it reminds Kuroko of middle school and indirect kisses.
Kagami tilts his head and squints through the sunlight. “You good?”
“Yes,” Kuroko says, wiping his mouth with the front of his shirt. He returns the bottle, watching Kagami tilt his head back until he blocks the sun out from hitting Kuroko’s face. It’s not intentional. Nothing ever is with Kagami. You couldn’t give him a button or make him a bento to signal some kind of truth to him. You’d have to spell it out, in no unclear terms, in simple, returnee-friendly Japanese. I like you. Please go out with me. Please walk our dog with me for the rest of my life.
“We should go get a burger later,” Kagami yawns.
Kuroko blinks. “Only if it’s just a burger.”
Kagami turns over his shoulder to glare at him. “My flight isn’t for another two months!”
Kuroko squints at the sudden light flooding his vision. “Alex-san warned you to watch your diet,” he reminds him anyway.
Kagami grumbles half-heartedly under his breath, but it’s a futile effort. He returns to his earlier position, hands outstretched behind him, shoulders hunched. The sun is out of Kuroko’s eyes again.
“Can’t believe we won’t be doing this next year,” Kagami says lightly. “No more morning practice, no more drills.”
“You’ll still have drills and morning practice.”
“I know that,” Kagami defends. “It’s just…you know.” He turns to Kuroko, a strange expression on his face. “It won’t be like this.”
“Yes,” Kuroko agrees quietly. “You’ll be in another timezone.” 16 hours behind Tokyo, a whole other world away.
Kagami contemplates the math of that for a while and Kuroko lets him, their gazes absently settling on the underclassmen, who are picking up balls and throwing them back in the bin. Kagami’s hand is still a few inches away from his, but Kuroko opens his palm, wondering what Kagami would do if he gave it to him.
“You know the guy Alex showed my tapes to? The coach?” Kagami mutters, wiping a line of lint off the edge of the stairs with a finger. “He’s not like the rest of ‘em. He’s good.” He looks up at Kuroko, his eyes strangely vulnerable.
Kuroko says nothing—doesn’t know how.
“You could send him your tapes, too,” Kagami continues. “We could show him. We could show him what our basketball looks like.”
It’s a pipe-dream, the kind of journey 15-year-old Kuroko would have egged 15-year-old Kagami to join him on. Kuroko pictures throwing a bunch of clothes in his suitcase and packing an English dictionary just in case, a fish out of water swimming in Kagami’s bowl for four years—just like Kagami had lived in his for three.
“I don’t know any English, Kagami-kun,” he jokes instead.
Reality takes over the feverish craze in Kagami’s eyes and he looks away sheepishly. “No, you’re right. It was a stupid idea, nevermind.”
Kuroko bumps his shoulder to Kagami’s gently, drawing his gaze back. Kagami raises a brow, to which Kuroko opens his palm, bold but completely innocuous. Kagami looks down at his hand and scoffs. Then, he picks up his bottle cap and drops it onto Kuroko’s palm, his own hand coming down to press it into the pale skin. Their fingers lock and Kagami’s palm sandwiches it in. When he lifts it off, there’s a faint circle on Kuroko’s palm.
“C’mon.” Kagami grins. “Let's go get a burger.”
+
Aside from that one conversation, Kagami gives no indication at all that he’s aware of time passing—of time hurtling towards them like an oncoming train. Three years ago, it had seemed so far away. Now, they’ve reached some inevitable sort of end that Kuroko has been trying not to think about, one way or another.
He fails.
The underclassmen throw them a send-off party a couple of days after graduation. Calling it a party is generous. All they have is a carton of beers that Asahina bought from the store—the only one among them who could pass as a 20-year-old—and some low music. Kagami has to start packing tomorrow, and his landlord’s already given them a few warnings, so he lets the festivities go on for a few more hours and then gently gruffs at them to start heading home.
“We hope you liked the party, senpai!” Yagi says at the door, bowing. Beside him, Asahina grunts, and it’s almost nostalgic looking at them, but Asahina is not Kagami and Yagi had never been Kuroko, so any and all resemblance is entirely wishful thinking on Kuroko’s part—that foolish hope of a legacy being carried forward in some way.
Still, when Furihata says, “You know, they still remind me of you two,” he can’t help but laugh a little, while Kagami rolls his eyes. They walk Furi to the end of the road together, nothing but absolute silence between them, and then they walk back, their hands in their pockets. Neither of them say anything about Kuroko heading back, even as they wave to Furi from a long distance away.
Kuroko wonders if Kagami will be lonely when he moves back to LA. He shuffles closer to Kagami almost unthinkingly. Their arms brush, and Kagami says nothing, their feet guiding them back upstairs.
It’s when they’re finally inside that Kagami says, “You know, I uh.”
Kuroko retrieves a cool water bottle from the fridge but doesn’t move to open it. Across the room, Kagami fidgets, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, uncomfortable.
Is this it? Kuroko thinks. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been waiting for it for a while now, resenting Kagami for every second that passes by, resenting the urgency for not creeping up on Kagami sooner.
“I—uh,” Kagami continues, meeting his eyes. “We…” He makes a funny sort of gesture with his hands, so Kuroko sets his bottle down on the counter and walks up to him.
“Yes, Kagami-kun,” he says.
Kagami brushes a hand over his cheek, and then his mouth comes down on Kuroko’s, hard, unskilled. Another hand braces itself on Kuroko’s neck, thumb digging into his pulse point. Kuroko waits, then lets his fingers climb up the fine notches of Kagami’s spine in response. Kagami winces at their coolness, but he doesn’t pull away.
“How’d you know…” he trails off, uncertain of what to call it. Out of breath.
Kuroko smiles mischievously, ignoring the hard, fast beat of his heart. “I can read your mind, Kagami-kun.”
Kagami scoffs. It’s almost inevitable, the way they head to Kagami’s room and fall back into his bed after that. It’s something Kuroko has been thinking about all summer, but when it arrives, it takes him off-guard anyway. Everything is hot and strange and too much, his fingers on Kagami’s shoulders, Kagami’s mouth on his neck, on his mouth, their bodies finding odd and clumsy ways to fit against one another. Kuroko doesn’t even breathe until it ends, afraid of disturbing the balance, of—of ending things.
But it ends anyway. Kagami doesn’t roll off him, but he does shift his weight, his hand pulling at Kuroko’s chin until their gazes lock.
He squints. “Hey.” His voice is low, rough.
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
Kuroko’s stomach drops. It’s a phrase no one ever really thinks to use in Japanese, though he supposes the nuance is lost on Kagami, even as his own head spins dizzy and out of control.
Dummy, Kuroko wants to scold, the way he usually would.
He presses his mouth to the corner of Kagami’s instead, feeling Kagami’s lips purse against his. This is the problem, Kuroko thinks, with translation. Everything arrives from the other end off-balance and in half-measures. A near miss, a basketball hitting the rim and harshly bouncing away. They’d done three years like this, and Kuroko hadn’t wanted anything else. Now Kagami has to go away, forgetting what little Japanese he knows and replacing it with the directness of English, the audacity of it. I love you.
“Come visit me in LA,” Kagami switches back to Japanese, familiar, almost petulant, his thumb running over the line of Kuroko’s hip.
“I will,” Kuroko says, kissing Kagami’s brow.
Kagami frowns. “I mean it.”
“I will,” Kuroko says, softer this time.
Kagami draws back, satisfied.
+
The Generation of Miracles has always, for better or for worse, lacked subtlety, which is why Kuroko suspects they walk on eggshells around him in the weeks after Kagami leaves. Momoi is the worst offender, and when Kuroko won’t break, she sends Aomine instead. Aomine, of course, only watches him warily as they walk together, like he’s expecting Kuroko to burst into tears at any moment.
“Aomine-kun,” Kuroko says eventually, his patience wearing thin. “I’m fine.”
“I know you’re fine,” Aomine says quickly. “I’m just wondering if you’re..fine…”
“You can tell Momoi-san I was in better spirits today than I was last week,” Kuroko suggests. “I suppose that’ll get her off your back.”
“Shut up.” Aomine elbows Kuroko in the arm. “I came to hang out because I care too, you know.” The confession, it seems, is too much for him, and he kicks a pebble aside with more force than necessary. “Ha! What was Kagami thinking anyway, going off like that out of nowhere.”
“Kagami-kun was always going to go back to America,” Kuroko reminds him. It’s the same thing he’s had to remind everyone about, even though everyone thinks he’s the one in denial.
(Though he suspects half of Aomine’s bitterness is pure jealousy. He’s not eligible yet, so he’s got a whole year to kill in the B League before he can actually chase after Kagami).
Luckily, no one else really says anything after that. Momoi just sends him increasingly pointed texts about talking about one’s feelings and leaning on one’s friends. Kuroko adores her, but he thinks he prefers Aomine’s methods instead—which is to just play street ball until they drop out of exhaustion. And then play some more.
Kuroko expects that to be the last of it, but towards the end of the month, his grandmother blindsides him. They’re weeding together in her garden, hands soiled and sweaty, when she carefully sets her things down and says, “It’s been a month, ne?”
Kuroko doesn’t bother keeping up the pretenses he would have with Aomine or Momoi. “Yes.”
She gives him a knowing smile. “Have you spoken to him?”
Kuroko shakes his head. “No.” They’ve exchanged a sparse amount texts of course, but it’s already less than what Kuroko has let himself get used to over three years. “It’s better this way. I don’t want to distract him from his training.”
His grandmother laughs. “You’re so serious, Tetsuya.” She nudges a gloved hand against his cheek, like he’s very little and just returned from elementary school in a sulk. “Besides, I’m sure he misses you too. You two were such good friends, and he was so fond of you.”
“Yes,” Kuroko croaks, feeling an unexpected rush of tears at her tender summation of their friendship. Kagami was fond of him—quite openly—and it digs something raw open in Kuroko’s chest, the idea of there being witnesses to it. That it was real, for however short of a time it had existed, Kagami coming here for sleepovers, the model boyfriend grasping for what little polite speech he knew and praising Kuroko’s mother’s cooking. Kuroko goes to bed that night burying his head in his pillow, homesick, even if he’s never been anywhere else but Japan.
It’s not just his house, either. Every part of Tokyo holds a memory Kuroko has with Kagami. A Maji Burger down the street. A shoe store at the bend of a traffic light. Every time Kuroko walks Nigou down the block where Kagami used to live, Nigou totters towards the stairs with a routine entitlement. When Kuroko holds him back, he simply thrusts his nose out, sniffing, curious. There are new smells now in the apartment where Kagami used to be. Nigou whines, and they keep walking. Eventually, Nigou will forget he ever used to run up those stairs.
Kuroko takes a picture and sends it to Kagami anyway. It’s slightly blurry, his hand on Nigou’s leash, Nigou with two paws on the front steps to Kagami’s apartment. Kagami will see it sixteen hours later. Kuroko will see his response the next day.
“He’s not dead,” Midorima says bluntly, when they meet up for coffee later on.
“I see Midorima-kun is as tactful as ever,” Kuroko volleys back.
Midorima says nothing. Kuroko orders a vanilla latte, and then asks after Takao.
“We have no plans to attend the same university,” Midorima continues in the same tone, but Kuroko senses a strain.
“And basketball?”
“I have no plans to play for a team that is not Shuutoku,” Midorima replies.
“It’s nice to see Midorima-kun softening up,” Kuroko says with a smile, licking the sugar-sweet latte off his own mouth. “I suppose I’ll have to thank your former teammates, if I see any of them out and about.”
Midorima purses his lips and lets Kuroko’s comment pass by unacknowledged. “What I meant to say earlier,” he says, with a careful amount of deliberation, “is that your bond with Kagami is not so shallow for a good amount of distance to disrupt it.”
“Yes,” Kuroko agrees.
“So quit moping,” Midorima concludes. “It’s unbecoming.” He stands up and leaves the café briskly. Kuroko watches him open his umbrella and join the dense Tokyo crowd heading elsewhere.
He orders himself another vanilla late.
Hahahaha, comes Kagami’s text, the next morning, when Kuroko is still in bed and blinking blearily at his phone. What a dumbass !
Coming from you, Kuroko returns easily, then watches his screen. A minute passes. Then another. Kuroko sighs.
He supposes the next text will arrive when he’s getting ready for bed.
+
After a little deliberation, Kuroko settles on literature as a major and promptly moves in with Ogiwara, who, by some stroke of fortune, enrolled in the same university. His energy outweighs Kuroko’s when they’re moving in their things, but Kuroko is happy about rooming with an old friend. They live as bachelors do, with the bare minimum of food in their kitchens and clothes in the laundry. Ogiwara wakes Kuroko up in the mornings for class. Kuroko prods Ogiwara to call home on weekends. It’s a decent arrangement, even though Aomine considers this development a betrayal to both him and Kagami.
(“Aomine-kun will be leaving soon enough,” Kuroko reminds him. “I couldn’t possibly have roomed with you, and neither did I want to.”
“Cruel, Tetsu,” Aomine returns anyway.)
When Kagami finally returns to Tokyo, it’s for winter break. He’s a few inches taller, a couple of shades more tan. Members of Seirin drop in from different parts of the city to meet him despite their busy schedules, crowding up the back of an izakiya somewhere. It’s a long table, and everyone talks over each other, but Kuroko feels content, his knee pressed to Kagami’s. Kagami keeps touching him in one way or another, even when he’s talking to someone else—warm fingers against his nape, an arm around his shoulders, index and middle fingers drumming on Kuroko’s knee, thumb nudging and folding Kuroko’s ear. Little reminders that he’s aware Kuroko is here, even if he’s paying attention to someone else.
The members of Seirin carry on as usual, like Kagami’s casual touches are par for the course. Four generations of Seirin are here, and it had never occurred to Kuroko that they’re obvious to all of them. Hyuuga and Riko ask Kagami the most questions, hounding him about America and his studies and his travel plans. Kuroko already knows the answers to all of these, so he contents himself with pressing against Kagami’s side while Kagami tries to keep up.
When Riko hears he’s leaving in two days, she’s instantly startled. “Bakagami!” she shrills. “Have you even started packing for your trip back? What if there are things you need? Have you even shopped?”
Kagami looks sheepish, shrugging. “I just wanted to meet you guys first.”
“It’ll be fine,” Hyuuga intones, placating Riko as always. “Just make a list of things you want to take.”
“And remember,” Kiyoshi jokes, “Kuroko doesn’t count.”
The entire table laughs. Kuroko flushes, ducking back to hide himself. Kagami rolls his eyes, but his hand returns to curl around Kuroko’s thigh, thumb running along dangerous territory. That night, Kuroko takes him back to his apartment, and Kagami kisses him, rough and urgent and needy. His mouth is just as hard and clumsy as it was before, and it pleases Kuroko with a rush, the possibility that he hasn’t been practicing with anyone else. It’s almost exhausting, the intensity with which they kiss and scrabble at each other’s clothes. Kuroko’s jaw is sore by the end of it—to say nothing of other parts of his body. Kagami holds him down like he’s a man on a mission, groaning out incoherent phrases against his throat. Kuroko makes a mental note to apologize to Ogiwara in the morning.
When they’re done, Kagami draws back and takes the room in like it’s the first time he’s properly seeing it. There are pictures of Seirin, Teiko, Nigou and his family hanging on the far wall, and a calendar with a different NBA player for each month, but spare these, his room is tidy. Impersonal.
“My room’s pretty much the same,” he notes, stretching his arms above his head. “No roommate, though. Guy dropped out or something. Everyone says I’m lucky.”
“Mm,” Kuroko murmurs, trying to stay awake.
Kagami notices, smiling a little when he returns to bite Kuroko’s shoulder. “Stay awake, dumbass. I came all this way to see you.”
“Kagami-kun is jet-lagged,” Kuroko complains. Not to mention all their other activities, which had put plenty strain on Kuroko’s near-nonexistent stamina.
Kagami groans and gets off him with a sigh, content to just rest his head underneath a folded arm. Kuroko’s budget bed isn’t big enough for both of them, but he doesn’t complain. Kuroko sidles up to him anyway, taking refuge in his warmth, his heat. Kagami’s free hand lands wordlessly on his head to ruffle his hair, making Kuroko sleepy.
“I wish I could,” he says a little later, like he’s mainly saying it to himself. He leans down to check whether Kuroko is awake. “Take you, I mean.”
Kuroko looks up innocently. “You already took me.”
A deep blush colors Kagami’s cheeks as he jabs Kuroko’s forehead with a finger. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
Kuroko feels his eyes getting heavier, lids drooping. “Put me on your list,” he murmurs incoherently, falling asleep. The last thing he hears is Kagami huffing out a chuckle, his fingers returning to Kuroko’s hair.
In the morning, Kuroko wanders out in half-daze, half-panic, bleary eyes adjusting to the dim light as he searches for Kagami. When he hears laughter, his feet carry him to the kitchen, where Ogiwara is standing with his back to Kuroko and fumbling with the toaster. On the other side, Kagami leans against the counter, arms crossed and amused. He smiles when he catches sight of Kuroko. Ogiwara notices the change in his expression and turns over his shoulder.
“Ah! Tetsuya,” he says cheerily. “Get in here and switch the toaster on, will you? I was going to give Kagami-kun some toast, but I have no idea how this thing works.” He turns to Kagami. “He’s a genius with it, really.”
Kagami snorts. “Graduated from making eggs to making toast, huh.”
Kuroko jabs him, then smartly sidesteps the both of them to make toast. They sit and eat together, Kagami and Ogiwara making small talk about Tokyo weather and university basketball. Like Midorima, Kuroko too has dropped basketball out of sentiment, but Ogiwara still plays, which means Kuroko will sometimes catch a game to cheer him on. All things considered, he believes this to be a positive role-reversal.
Kagami’s Japanese accent starts to sound more natural as the morning wears on, but Kuroko is sure all progress on this front is sure to disappear by the time they see each other next, whenever that’ll be. If Ogiwara heard anything the previous night, he doesn’t let on, chatty and good-natured as always. Eventually, they part ways, having to walk back to Kagami’s hotel so he can pack for his flight tomorrow.
“That guy seems nice,” Kagami says, stretching his arms up to work out kinks in his shoulder. Kuroko tells himself it would be irrational to get a bigger bed when he’ll be graduating in a few years. “It’s good you have him, as a roommate I mean.”
“Ogiwara-kun can get a little messy at times,” Kuroko admits. “But he’s very reliable.”
Kagami looks at him a little strangely. “You, uh…”
Kuroko arches a brow, puzzled.
“You guys…I mean,” Kagami starts, then stops. Shrugs. “Ah, I don’t know what I’m talking about, never mind.”
They spend the rest of the day shopping for things Kagami can take back. Some of the items are for Himuro, who, like Kagami, is back in Los Angeles, but for non-basketball reasons. Kagami grumbles and groans about typical Tatsuya, but he shoves the various products into his cart anyway.
“I suppose it’s good,” Kuroko says.
Kagami looks confused.
“That you have him with you,” Kuroko adds in explanation, mirroring what Kagami had said earlier about Ogiwara. “I was worried you might get a little homesick.”
Kagami shakes his head with a small laugh. “Yeah, Tatsuya isn’t exactly the best pep-talker for that kind of stuff.” He keeps walking on, relying on the motion of the cart to keep him sailing through the aisles. “We don’t see each other all that much, anyway. Just holidays and weekends and stuff.”
It’s a lot more than I see you, Kuroko wants to say. He doesn’t.
Kagami leaves that night on a flight back to Los Angeles, and Kuroko goes back to the apartment he shares with Ogiwara.
It’s not like Midorima said. It’s not the distance, or any particular doubt Kuroko has in Kagami’s feelings for him. It’s simply the orientation of their lives. For three years, Kuroko had been a pit stop in Kagami’s journey towards greatness, but this is a walk Kagami has to walk alone, no matter how briefly they once walked together. Kuroko knows that. Back then, he launched himself towards the sun with a reckless kind of abandon, knowing his time in the light was tenuous. Kagami, on the other hand, is going to shine forever.
Kuroko wants that for him. More than anything he’s ever wanted for himself. Even if their relationship at Seirin began with selfish intentions, Kagami has always given him more than enough. Kuroko wants to do the same for him.
That’s just all there is to it.
+
Spring arrives, and Kuroko’s mood thaws enough for him to set aside his feelings and visit Momoi, who is, for the first time in the entire history of their lives together, apart from Aomine. He’s not sure what he expected, but a clean apartment and some light humming isn’t it. Momoi looks light on her feet, perky even, her hair pulled up into a messy bun. And as is her way, she makes no remark of his avoidance of her—instantly forgiving, and of course, all-knowing. There’s a reason Kuroko doesn’t let himself be seen by her the way he would with someone like Aomine or Midorima. She’s the smartest person he knows.
Nevertheless, Momoi chats amicably with him about college and all her classes (which sound intimidating). As with most conversations between them, the topic eventually pivots to Aomine, whose absence has taken more getting used to than Kuroko expected.
“Do you miss him?” he asks her genuinely.
“Sometimes,” Momoi confesses, tucking hair away behind her ear. “I mean, we grew up together; it's always going to feel weird to me that we live on two different sides of the country now. I'm always thinking—did he eat? Is he taking care of his injuries?” A rueful smile touches the corners of her lips. “But he needs this, you know. And I'm just happy he's happy.”
Kuroko frowns. He’s never necessarily had the luxury of worrying about Kagami, who was independent enough to take care of himself and hadn't ever needed the round-the-clock supervision Momoi had given Aomine. Still. The lack of routine doesn’t seem to faze her. She seems happier, lighter.
“Are you happy?” Kuroko dares to ask.
She smiles shyly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to think so, Tetsu-kun.”
Kuroko smiles back. For all of Aomine’s charms, looking after him was a full-time job that no one but Momoi could’ve handled with the grace she did. When Kuroko points it out, she laughs.
“Well, maybe I can finally go on dates, now that I don’t have to worry about hauling his ass to practice every morning,” she acknowledges, a little light of mischief in her eyes.
“Aomine-kun has entrusted me with making sure you’re well-protected from sleazebags, Momoi-san,” Kuroko reminds her, ducking instinctively when she tries to swat him.
“You better not,” she threatens sharply, jabbing him with a finger. “Seriously, I need to get laid by the end of this year, or I am going to go crazy.”
Kuroko laughs.
“Maybe I can find someone for Tetsu-kun too.” She shoots him a calculative look, her tone slightly questioning.
Kuroko’s laughter softens into a smile. “I already did this year, Momoi-san.”
Her brows raise. “Did you.”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Where Kise or even Midorima would have blushed or spluttered, she seems undeterred by his deadpan, levelling him with a steady gaze. “I suppose I’ll finally have to applaud Kagami for something, then.” Her voice softens when she glances back at him. “Have you made any plans yet? For the future?”
Kuroko shakes his head, and her eyes grow sad but understanding.
“There are programs,” she says, carefully picking up copies of magazines off the table to make herself look busy. “I’m sure Alex-san would help with applications. English, translation, that sort of thing.”
Knowing Momoi, Kuroko is sure she probably has a spreadsheet of exactly which programs they are—and how many of them are near or within LA. All he needs to do is ask.
“I don’t know if I could just follow him around,” Kuroko says gently. Like a shadow, he doesn’t say, but he smiles wryly, knowing she’d understand.
Momoi’s face turns soft with uncertainty.
“Even if I wanted to,” Kuroko begins, “I can’t hold him back. This is his time.”
Momoi doesn’t smile back, but she does reach out to squeeze his hand in silent understanding. It’s too much to admit, the possibility that he’s nothing and no one without a partner. He’s too stubborn for that, too determined to build something for himself, however weak and meagre it might be. However ready he is to send it all out the window the second Kagami returns. Momoi might have grown ten pounds lighter in Aomine’s absence, but Kuroko sometimes feels like he might vanish entirely without Kagami. It’s a dangerous thought.
“Besides,” Kuroko says, nudging her shoulder. “I’d miss Momoi-san too much.”
Momoi snorts. “Careful there, Tetsu-kun. You might just give a girl the wrong impression.”
“It’s not the wrong impression if it’s with you, Momoi-san,” Kuroko says sincerely, almost wincing at the fact that he sounds like Kise.
Momoi winces too. “Well, I’d tell Kagami to sleep with one eye open, but I think your grandma likes him way more than she’d ever like me, so I should quit while I’m ahead.” She pats his thigh and moves to pick up their snack bowls.
“She does,” Kuroko agrees, getting up to help her. “But that’s not to say I don’t know anyone who would appreciate Momoi-san the way she truly deserves.”
Momoi glances over her shoulder, curiosity piqued. Kuroko makes a mental note to slip her Ogiwara’s number and follows her into the kitchen.
+
The first time Kuroko gets to go to Los Angeles, it’s because of a call he gets from Alex in the middle of the night.
“Hey, kid,” she says, her Japanese thick and heavy. “Remember me? Alex? Taiga’s cool teacher from LA?”
“Hello, Alex-san,” Kuroko murmurs.
“Shit, what time is it? Did I wake you up?”
He sits up. “It’s alright. Is something the matter with Kagami-kun?”
Alex laughs. “He’s fine. Just a bit—sad puppy vibes, you know?” she says in English. “He wanted to come back to Tokyo for a bit, but he’s got to practice through break, so he’s a little bummed out.”
“Kagami-kun didn’t mention wanting to visit,” Kuroko says, squinting at his calendar.
“He wanted to surprise you,” Alex teases. “Who would’ve thought—Taiga, a romantic? Not me, for sure, but that kid is full of surprises. Anyway, because I’m a cool person and because he’s been driving me a little crazy, I figured we could turn the tables on him and have you surprise him here instead. How’s that sound?”
Kuroko blinks, wondering if he’s really hearing her right or if he’s misunderstood her jittering half-Japanese. “Alex-san, it’s…” He calculates his days off, a checklist instantly forming in his head: Text Riko to watch Nigou while he’s gone. Ask Momoi if she wants anything from LA. Let Ogiwara know he’s free to bring girls over. Pack. Visa.
“I’m free from the 18th to the 25th,” he says finally.
“Haha! I knew you’d be down.”
“But Alex-san,” Kuroko butts in. “I wouldn’t want to be a distraction. If Kagami-kun needs to practice…”
“Relax, it’s fine,” Alex says gently. “He’d be a lot less lonely if he had you to come home to at the end of practice.”
Kuroko’s heartbeat picks up. “Alex-san. Has Kagami-kun been having problems…?”
“He’s just a little homesick,” Alex continues, in that same, gentle tone. “So get down here already. It’s about time, you know?”
Kuroko agrees—if only because the thought of Kagami being sad pulls at his heartstrings with a new urgency. Planning the trip after that is only a matter of co-ordinating with Alex, who knows Kagami’s schedule well enough. The weekend before his flight, Kuroko visits his parents and teaches his grandmother how to FaceTime. He’s never gone without seeing his family for more than a few days at a stretch, never set foot anywhere outside the country, so there’s a bit of a buzz around the house before his departure. His mother is excited, his father is skeptical, and his grandmother—
His grandmother just smiles at him like she knows.
“I should be back by the 25th,” he says again, avoiding eye contact with them. “I won’t be gone long.”
“Be careful,” his dad warns. “Don’t wander around during your layover.”
“Wear sunscreen,” his mother reminds him, stuffing his suitcase with a bottle of it.
Kuroko smiles at the tenderness of it all, the importance they’ve ascribed to his trip. As the only son and grandson, he’s always been the center of attention here—even if he’s pretty much invisible everywhere else. It’s a dynamic that had surprised Kagami the first time he was here, the richness of his home life, the joy of it. A part of Kuroko wondered if Kagami had been expecting him to be just as lonely as him, raised by a single dad in a new land, desperate for belonging, desperate for approval. But Kuroko had lived in Tokyo all his life, and Teiko had never been an underdog.
“Enjoy your trip,” his grandmother tells him, cupping his cheeks fondly. “Don’t forget about your baa-chan.”
“It’s just a few days,” Kuroko reminds her. “I’ll be back soon enough.”
Neither of them mention that it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything.
+
After finally clearing customs and leaving a frankly overstimulating LAX, Kuroko is ready to call an end to his first trip to Los Angeles.
Alex laughs, ruffling his hair fondly. “God, you really haven’t changed.” The back of her car is a mess, duffel bags, socks and sports bras strewn across the seat, but she seems to know where everything is, and Kuroko does feel relieved to see a familiar face, so he doesn’t mind it all that much.
Outside, the unfamiliar streets pass them by in a whizz, a stereotypical portrait of Los Angeles that he’d seen in the rare Hollywood movie or two. The expanse of the city is seemingly limitless, stretching out into highways and boulevards that all lead to nowhere familiar. Kuroko wonders what Kagami felt the first time he landed here, back when he was little, back before he got used to heading out into the unknown. He’ll be used to living out of his suitcase in a few years’ time too, if things go well. It’s a little disconcerting to think about.
The neighborhood Kagami lives in is a place called Colby Avenue, which is actually not that far off from where Alex lives.
“Though I doubt your guy will let you out of his sight long enough for a visit,” Alex murmurs under her breath, and Kuroko valiantly fights down a flush to gaze outside the window. A street lined with palm trees and sand-colored houses stares back at him. None of the buildings are higher than two stories, and the sunlight is almost blinding for an autumn day.
Alex leads him through the apartment block and lets him in. “He’s at the gym right now,” she reads from her phone, lazily nudging the door open with her foot. “I’ve told him I came over to hang, so he’s probably going to be expecting me instead of you.” She grins.
Kuroko bows. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“Of course!” Alex gathers his face up in her hands and kisses his cheek. “Anything for my little student. I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll be by later. Call me after you two are done saying hi, okay?” She winks, leaving out the door the same way she came in.
Kuroko rubs his cheek absently, then decides to explore the rest of the apartment. Kuroko has only seen a spare wall or two in the background of the rare video call between them, so most of the layout is unfamiliar to him. A kitchen. Two bedrooms. A decent-sized bathroom. The beds inside look well-made and tempting, but Kuroko resists the urge to fall asleep. Spare the squawk of birds outside, the apartment is quiet. A little lonely. Kuroko washes his face in the bathroom, then finds a socket to charge his phone and text everyone he forgot to update, even if it’s well past midnight in Tokyo right now.
He’s right in the middle of finishing up a text to Momoi when the front door swings open with a bang.
“Alex!” A familiar voice booms in English. “What did I tell you about leaving the door open?”
Kuroko glances up in time to see Kagami come in through the doorway, his hair messy and sweaty, clothes glinting with the freshness of a workout. When he catches sight of Kuroko, his eyes go wide, water bottle raised halfway to his mouth.
“Boo,” Kuroko says, with a little wave.
Kagami continues to stare at him, slow, confused, mouth slightly agape like several thoughts are running through his head. Then, he says, very coherently: “What the fuck.”
“That’s rude, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko begins, but Kagami is already throwing his towel and bottle to the floor and walking towards him with his arms open, almost toppling Kuroko when they’re finally within each other’s reach. Kagami’s arms around him tighten, smelling of sweat and deodorant until he’s all but crushing Kuroko within his grasp. It’s a desperate embrace, one that honestly concerns Kuroko a little, but the familiar heat of it is enough to drown out everything else, so Kuroko simply hugs him back around his tree-trunk waist and sighs, nose pressed into Kagami’s shoulder.
One of Kagami’s palms runs up and down Kuroko’s back like he’s not quite sure Kuroko is here, the other wrapped around his waist. Under Kuroko’s ear, his heartbeat is fast and hard, like Kuroko’s own, until he slowly pulls away.
“Kuroko,” he murmurs, then pushes back into Kuroko’s space for a kiss. Kuroko closes his eyes, trusting, his fingers digging into Kagami’s biceps as their mouths brush. Kagami tastes like sweat, like his energy drink, like the air of Los Angeles itself, heat and humidity radiating off his body in waves. Kuroko can hardly breathe before Kagami changes the angle of their kiss, wet and insistent and overeager. Like a puppy.
Kuroko smiles.
“What?” Kagami smiles back. Kuroko feels it against his mouth, right before Kagami pushes in to kiss him again. “What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing,” Kuroko tells him honestly. “You.”
Kagami pulls back to stare at him, eyes heavy and low-lidded, and then he smiles again. “Okay.”
He lets Kuroko go, heading back to pick his towel and bottle up, a little sheepish when he realizes there’s an energy drink puddle on the floor. He doesn’t ask how long Kuroko is staying, what time his flight back is, just accepts the fact of Kuroko’s presence in his living room for what it is, for however long they have it. Kuroko watches him mop up his mess and head to the kitchen, envying his fluidity, his ability to change with the tides and keep soaring, no matter what the circumstances.
Kagami yanks a cabinet door open. “You hungry? Alex feed you anything on the way here?”
Kuroko walks up to the counter and rests his chin on his palms. “No.”
“No as in you’re not hungry, or no, she didn’t feed you?”
“Both,” Kuroko says simply.
Kagami huffs and flicks water onto Kuroko’s face with his fingers. “Dumbass.” He pulls things out of drawers and makes himself a sandwich, wolfing it down until the crumbs speckle over his cheeks. Then, he makes Kuroko one too, passing it over on a plate. It’s a PB&J, the savory-sweet of it rich on Kuroko’s tongue as he takes slow bites.
“I do hope you’re still making dinner later, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko says when he finishes, then ducks out of the way when Kagami tries to jab him.
“I need to shower,” Kagami decides, washing his hands and surveying the bags Kuroko’s left by the doorway. “You want the guest room or you want to room with me?”
“With you.”
Kagami glances up at him. “Guest room’s bigger than mine, if you’re tired.”
“I’m okay.” Then, a thought strikes and Kuroko is suddenly cold. “Unless Kagami-kun…”
“Don’t be stupid,” Kagami cuts him off, avoiding eye contact to stare down at his hands scrubbing each other under the foam. “It’s not a big deal.”
It’s presumptuous, Kuroko realizes, the way they are around each other. There’s a boyish possessiveness, an entitlement to space and time that hasn’t really left either of them. Kuroko imagines a distant future, maybe still in Los Angeles but in a different apartment, two girlfriends between them—a pretty model, or a singer or an actress for Kagami, and a typist or a school teacher for him. Two different worlds colliding for a holiday visit, both girls privately befuddled that they’d ever known each other in the first place.
(And then there’s the other future, where the only things between them are their joined hands and a dog leash, distance thinned like folded paper. There’s no telling what city this future is in. Perhaps a dream state where poverty has ended, and so has disease, and nobody is ever happy all the time, but they certainly aren’t very sad either.)
Kagami heads to the showers, and Kuroko heads to his bedroom, face buried into his pillow on the side of a bed no one else occupies at the moment but him. When Kagami returns, he ambles around with his shirt off, closing drawers and throwing his clothes into a laundry basket. Kuroko watches him, anticipating his arrival, wondering if they’ve ever shared a bed like this for more than one night. Eventually, Kagami finishes the last of his errands and slides in.
“When did you plan this?” he asks, running a hand through Kuroko’s hair.
Kuroko leans into his touch. “A few weeks ago. Alex-san said you were feeling homesick.”
Kagami makes a noncommittal sort of noise but continues touching him.
“Are you?”
Kagami’s hand pauses, his eyes narrow and contemplative.
“Not anymore,” he says finally.
Kuroko leans up to kiss him, just a quick brush of their mouths together, and Kagami indulges him, one hand against his cheek.
“What do you want to see when you’re here?” he asks when they pull away from each other. “There’s Universal, or Hollywood. We could drive up to Anaheim this weekend, too, if you wanna go to Disneyland or something.” He frowns. “How long are you staying?”
“A week,” Kuroko assures him. “And I want to play basketball with Kagami-kun.”
Kagami laughs. “Okay.”
And kiss. And touch. Kuroko could spend the whole week in bed, but he reckons he should make the most of his trip when he’s here. “I don’t mind anything,” he tells Kagami. “You decide. Your schedule is more important.”
“School’s closed up for break, but you could come see the campus tomorrow,” Kagami suggests. “We could get lunch after, go to Venice Beach or something.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll go to Disneyland on the weekend.” He grins. “It’s much better than the one in Tokyo.”
Kuroko prods his cheek. “Rude.”
Kagami laughs, tackling him until they both roll under the sheets, legs tangled, arms tangled, hearts beating together.
Kuroko spends the rest of the week role-playing as a tourist, letting Kagami take him around campus and show him different sites around the city. When Kagami has to practice, Alex shows him around instead, chatting amicably with him and stopping him from getting run over by the rush of oncoming cars. Kagami cooks for him every night without fail though, their legs knocking into each other under the table as they sit down to eat, heart brimming with things they know better than to say. If time is an hourglass, Kuroko realizes that these might as well be the last specks of sand they have like this. There’s a desperation to the way they touch when they go to bed, but they wake up calm in the morning anyway, like they’ve forgotten all the revelations they had the night before. In Kagami’s bathroom mirror, Kuroko is a mere haze, not fully realized. A little steam and it’s like he isn’t even here, even with his toothbrush sitting next to Kagami’s and his soap sitting on the wall holder. In a few days’ time, it’ll be like he never was.
On one of the last nights in LA, Kuroko finally video-calls his family, a proof of life sort of thing. Kagami sits on the other side of the bed, barely out of frame, watching him as he tells his father what he saw and updates his mother on how much he spent.
It’s his grandmother who asks, “What’s Kagami-kun up to? Is he there?”
Kuroko tilts the camera until Kagami shifts into view, smiling when Kagami says, “Hey! How are you?”
“Kagami-kun, is that really you? My, but you’ve gotten taller.”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Kagami laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to give this guy some tips too, before he gets back.” He elbows Kuroko, and when Kuroko huffs, he slides his hand down out of frame until their fingers lock, pacifying.
“Well, I doubt I’ll return any taller, but I do suppose I’ll be a bit more tan,” Kuroko states, squeezing their fingers together. Grandmother beams, wishing them both a goodnight and laughing when they wish her a good morning right back. When Kuroko hangs up, he pushes his phone to the desk with one hand, keeping the other still in Kagami’s hold. Kagami glances at him out of the corner of his eye, sleepy, fighting to stay awake.
“What’s everyone in Japan up to?” he yawns, running his thumb over Kuroko’s.
“Midorima-kun has started medical school,” Kuroko reports.
“Mm.”
“Murasakibara-kun decided to stay back in Akita and do culinary arts.”
“Yeah, Tatsuya told me about that,” Kagami says.
“Kise-kun toyed with going to flight school but ultimately decided being a full-time model suited him better.”
Kagami frowns. “Damn. You know, that guy could’ve had real league potential.”
“That is high praise coming from Kagami-kun. I’ll be sure to let him know you said that,” Kuroko deadpans, then swerves out of the way to block Kagami’s hand from hitting him.
“Don’t tell Kise I said nice things about him!” They stare at each other. Kagami’s frown deepens. “What’s that bastard Akashi doing?”
“Akashi-kun is in business school,” Kuroko explains. “He…seems to have made significant breakthroughs with his new therapist.”
“How significant are we talking?”
“We email weekly,” Kuroko tells him. “He seems a bit—reflective. When we discuss the past.”
“Figures that those guys would bring you up in therapy,” Kagami snorts.
Kuroko glares down at him disapprovingly. Kagami shrugs.
“I set Momoi-san and Ogiwara-kun up,” Kuroko continues. “But we haven’t told Aomine-kun yet. Momoi-san is very busy with school, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with his reaction until they’ve settled.”
Kagami whistles. “What’s she doing? Stats?”
“Data science.”
“Aomine’s going to blow his lid,” Kagami tells him. “You know that, right?”
“Ogiwara-kun will be good for her. Besides, Aomine-kun himself is quite busy making waves in the B League.” Kuroko looks down at him. “I suppose he’ll be joining you here, in another year. The scouts are already making offers.”
Kagami makes a face.
“Kagami-kun, please don’t pretend you aren’t excited to see Aomine-kun.”
“Can’t you come instead of him?” Kagami grumbles.
Kuroko laughs softly, bending to press a kiss to Kagami’s forehead. “Not unless I grow three feet in the next few days.”
“Damn. I told baa-chan I’d try, but that’s a lot, even for me,” Kagami says.
Kuroko picks up his pillow and whacks him. Then, he presses the pillow onto Kagami’s shoulder and settles his head down on it with a sigh. Kagami’s hand lands on his head and smooths his hair down. The repeated motions make Kuroko sleepy, content.
“Kuroko?” Kagami says after a while. “You still awake?”
“Yes, Kagami-kun,” he murmurs.
“I’m going to go for the draft next year,” Kagami murmurs back.
Kuroko’s heart stops for a second. He knew it was coming, logically, but the notion of time presses down on him, the urgency of it. He tilts his head up to look at Kagami’s face.
Kagami looks strangely vulnerable, even in the dim light.
“As expected of Kagami-kun,” Kuroko says eventually, his tone light. Inviting vulnerability. Inviting confession.
Kagami takes to it instantly, relieved. “It’s going to be so fucking tough, though, I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to cut it,” he confesses in a rush, like he’s been waiting to say it to someone. Like it’s been eating him up on the inside.
“It will,” Kuroko agrees slowly. “But Kagami-kun can handle tough things.”
Kagami averts his gaze.
“Kagami-kun,” Kuroko insists. “You are the most special player I know. You can handle it.” He tilts Kagami’s head down until they’re locking eyes. “Besides, we have both learned what a challengeless game can do.”
Kagami frowns. “Yeah.”
“Just play your basketball,” Kuroko tells him. “The rest will find its place.”
“Our basketball, you mean,” Kagami corrects him quietly, his frown deepening as his hand spreads over Kuroko’s chest. “When I play, I’m gonna be playing for us. You know that, right?”
Us. Kuroko lets the word roll over his tongue indulgently. “Yes,” he says, with a small smile.
“Gonna make you proud,” Kagami says, strangled, almost questioning. “Gonna make—all the people who got us here proud.”
Kuroko looks up at him. “Yes. You are.”
Kagami licks his lips, looking like he wants to say something else. “I just,” he starts, almost embarrassed. “I wish we could still…”
Kuroko holds in a swallow, a heavy ache pulling at his chest. He decides to spare Kagami the pain and finishes his statement for him. “Maybe someday. If we’re lucky.” He smiles. “But for now, you have big things ahead of you.”
Kagami’s eyes narrow, the uncertainty of their future together playing out in front of them. He looks like he’s about to protest, like he’s about to insist that he can drag Kuroko’s dead weight with him between time zones. Kuroko wishes he loved Kagami a little less. Maybe then, he could have actually taken Kagami up on his offer.
But as it stands, their story must go a little differently. A long time ago, Kuroko had asked Kagami what being in the Zone was like, and Kagami had said that it was almost like being underwater, except there was a guy there, standing at a threshold that led to somewhere great. Everyone assumed the guy was in the way, that he had to be defeated to push through the gate. But Kagami had always had the feeling that it was the opposite. That if you were worthy, the guy himself would let you through.
(“What did he look like?” Kuroko had asked, a little teasing, a little skeptical. Kagami had turned to him, eyes narrow and voice quiet, and said, “He looked like you.”)
“I’m letting you through,” Kuroko says now, ever-so-softly, watching Kagami’s eyes widen with surprise. “I want this for you.”
Kagami’s face sobers like he understands. Like he wants to say what he did that summer but knows better now. It’s a sign, Kuroko thinks, of his maturity in their time apart, his growth. A sign that Kuroko has done the right thing, even if it is very much the difficult thing.
“I’m gonna crush it,” Kagami promises, returning to a familiar version of himself, strong and determined and white-knuckled.
“Do your best,” Kuroko says, leaning up to kiss him.
+
They hadn’t cried that night—on the night of their break-up, as Kuroko likes to think of it now—but they had come close. The day Kuroko is leaving, Kagami declines to join him and Alex on the drive back to the airport, his eyes red-rimmed and unhappy when they’re saying goodbye. Kuroko thinks it’s just as well.
“O-kay,” Alex mutters at the dead silence between them. “I guess we’re off then.”
“Bye,” Kagami says roughly.
Kuroko nods at him and gets in, unwilling to try saying anything else as he straps on his seatbelt. Kagami stands with his hands in his pockets by the porch for a long time, even as the car drives off, his image getting smaller and smaller in the window until he disappears from view entirely. Kuroko’s chest tightens. He doesn’t cry.
Alex turns the radio on, switching the blare of pop music over to something quieter. Kuroko stares down at his hands. Wonders if Alex should have stayed back with Kagami, just so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Kuroko could have taken a taxi. His English has improved a lot.
“You okay?” Alex asks, sliding a glance over at him.
“Yes,” Kuroko says quietly. Then, “Alex-san, please—please be with him. Kagami-kun doesn’t admit it, but he is a very lonely person. I don’t just want his career to flourish, I want him to be happy in his life as well.”
Alex’s face softens sympathetically. “Yeah, I think it’s going to take a while for him on that front, kid. Trust me.”
Kuroko looks up at her, curious.
“He didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head.
“A couple months after he first moved back, Tatsuya came over to his apartment—just to hang out,” Alex explains. “They had a couple of beers, watched a game or two, just like they always do, and then…” She hesitates, like she’s not sure how much she should say. “Tatsuya tried to kiss him. Maybe he had a change of heart from the old days, I don’t know.”
Kuroko licks his lips. “I see.”
Alex looks at him. “Taiga didn’t kiss back. Said he still loved you. Tatsuya asked him if he’d change his mind about that any time soon, and he said no. Tatsuya doesn’t like to admit it, but he was pretty shocked by Taiga’s response, you know? Neither of us have ever seen Taiga like this before.”
We don’t see each other all that much, anyway. Just holidays and weekends and stuff, he remembers Kagami saying, then remembers his strange behavior, the morning after. Had Kagami thought something similar had developed between Kuroko and Ogiwara as well?
He almost wants to tell Alex to turn the car back around, even though they’re supposed to be broken up now, and Kuroko is not supposed to be making any kind of declarations of loyalty.
“I feel the same way about him as well,” Kuroko says slowly. “It was a mutual decision.”
“And a smart one,” Alex agrees. “You two are too young to be racing off to the church any time soon.” She makes a face. “Racing off to the altar? You’re not Christian, are you? Anyway, I told Taiga the same thing.”
Kuroko lifts a brow. “I see.”
“He got pretty mad at me, but I think he knew deep down I was right,” Alex says, then gives him a sympathetic look. “Look, I know it sucks, okay? I’ve had some pretty life-changing break-ups, too. Taiga says what you guys have is different, and maybe it is, but right now, you two are doing the right thing by focusing on school and finding your feet. In a few years’ time, maybe when he’s settled in the league, and you know what you want to do—and you both are still in love—you can get a nice condo in Calabasas with plenty of room for me and that cute little dog.”
“He’s not little anymore,” Kuroko tells her, trying not to think about a few years’ time or still in love. “And thank you, Alex-san.” He smiles. “That sounds nice.”
“Well, what do you know?” Alex grins. “He said the same thing.”
+
It happens a bit suddenly, but after a short story of his gains traction in a local magazine, Kuroko’s professor encourages him to write some more.
The story in itself isn’t anything remarkable—a stream of consciousness narrative he’d written shortly after the break-up, when he’d still been feeling a lot of acute feelings and had nowhere to put them. Reading it back, Kuroko is almost embarrassed by the melodrama of it, but he spends the rest of the month hunched over his laptop anyway, slipping watermelon pieces to Nigou, who occasionally presses a wet nose to his knee for attention.
Summer slips by this way. With Ogiwara spending more and more time at Momoi’s, Kuroko has resorted to writing in their living room, with NBA highlights playing on the TV behind him. Occasionally, a flash of red will paint the corners of his room, and Kuroko will look up to see Kagami, sweating, intense, a predator-focus on the ball as he breaks out into a dash or waits for a pass. His movements are precise, deeply trained to fit the routine of his team, but they are familiar nonetheless. Whenever the camera stays on him for long enough, Kuroko catches the twists in his expressions—the triumphs, the frustrations, the fears. He categorizes them all. Kagami will ask later, a little apprehensively, about how he was. Kuroko wants to give him an honest review.
This has mostly been the extent of their conversations, after Kuroko returned from the States. Kuroko might share an interesting article or clip he found discussing Kagami’s career. Kagami might ask if he caught the game—what he thought if he did, what he thinks of the team’s strategy. Sometimes Kagami might call, just to talk about an opponent he’s facing in the upcoming week, and how he feels about it. On occasion, Kagami might even send a selfie with Aomine, in the event that they’re in the same state for a game or a promotional event. It’s not unusual. They’ve always been friends before they were anything else.
In any case, his writing keeps him occupied through the summer, and Kagami’s games occupy him. It’s only in late August, when Hyuuga and Riko announce their engagement, that Kuroko realizes they’ll be seeing each other soon. Sooner than soon. Hyuuga confirms that Kagami will drop by before training camp officially begins, and that he’ll likely be here by the first week of September.
“Seirin is so sweet, ne~” Kise teases, loosening his tie and lifting his beer glass up until the liquid sloshes dangerously over the edge. “The captain and the coach, Kagamicchi and Kurokocchi. They’re like a little family over there.” He sighs. “I wish our team had some couples like that! Being an uncle to a cute little kid would be so good for my image.”
Kuroko adjusts Kise’s grip on the glass firmly. “Kagami-kun and I are no longer together. And Kise-kun is very vain.”
“I agree,” Midorima intones. “It is foolish to hope for a situation like Seirin’s. Most people do not end up with the people they date in high school.”
“Ah! But what about you and Takao-kun?” Momoi chirps from beside Kise, plucking a cherry off her drink and popping into her mouth.
“Takao and I did not start seeing each other until very recently,” Midorima reminds her, a slight flush to his cheeks.
“But you met in high school,” Kuroko points out.
“That does not count.” Midorima crosses his arms, like his point is good enough to block off any rebuttal.
“Ahhhh,” Kise sighs. “Why does Midorimacchi get to have a high school sweetheart and not me?”
Midorima gives Kise a distinct look of disapproval.
“Kise-kun could have had a high school sweetheart if he did not break up with all the girls he dated in high school,” Kuroko says.
“Ah, but that’s true for Kurokocchi too!” Kise slings an arm around Kuroko’s shoulders and pulls him close until their cheeks brush. “If you hadn’t broken up with Kagamicchi, you two could’ve been like Midorimacchi and Takao-kun.”
“Ki-chan,” Momoi chides sternly.
Kuroko gently dislodges Kise’s arm from around his shoulders. “My situation with Kagami-kun is very different from Midorima-kun and Takao-kun’s situation.”
Kise clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance is hard, huh? I don’t think I could do it, either.”
“Kise,” Midorima scolds. Their group suddenly falls silent, even as the rest of the diner continues to chatter.
“It’s alright, Midorima-kun,” Kuroko says, sliding out of his seat and bowing to the others. “I apologize, but I need some air. I’ll be right back.” He turns around to exit the diner without waiting for a response.
“What? What did I do?” he hears Kise say from behind him.
He’d been meaning to just take a break by the alleyway, but his feet somehow end up carrying him all the way home. By the time he reaches his apartment, he can’t even be bothered to change. He just sits down and starts writing, like he’s in a trance of some sort, paragraphs spilling out in irrepressible bursts.
When he sees Kise’s I’m sorry Kurokochiiiiii texts, it’s almost past midnight, and Kuroko feels a twinge of guilt. In all honesty, he’d forgotten about their interactions at the bar earlier, but he makes up his mind to spend some one-on-one time with Kise later in the week. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Kuroko is still just—sensitive.
Kise is easily forgiving the next time they meet, showing up to a nearby basketball court, still in his work clothes. They talk about their friends and Kise’s recent contract, before the conversation pivots to Kise’s recent break-ups.
“Sometimes I think I’m running out of time,” Kise confesses, with an uncharacteristically glum sigh that he tries to play off as a joke. “Being single is a good look for me now, but what about when I retire? Who am I going to have then?” He tilts a needy, wet gaze up at Kuroko, who sighs, aggrieved.
“Kise-kun, I am more than happy to reassure you of our friendship, but I do wish you wouldn’t fish for it in such an obvious way.”
Kise brightens. The rest of August passes on. Kise agrees to stop digging into things that Kuroko doesn’t want him to dig into, just as long as Kuroko will come with him on group dates so they can hang out more. Kuroko doesn’t think either of them will find their soulmates with Kise hanging on his arm like a persistent shadow, but he humors Kise nonetheless, just to get some fresh air in between writing spells and spend time with an old friend. Meeting new people has always been a favorite hobby of his, and group dates are replete with people—with normal people who did not spend 1/4th of their lives intensely obsessed with basketball. It’s a different world altogether. Kuroko talks to bashful girls with desk jobs, most of whom look surprised that Kise and Kuroko went to the same middle school—and had somehow still managed to stay friends.
(“Call it trauma bonding,” Kise says to them, shooting Kuroko a mischievous wink.)
In September, the Hyuuga-Riko wedding draws former members of Seirin from all across the country, tucked away at one long table. Some, of course, drop in from other countries, standing tall and stiff under the press of their formal clothes. As always, Kuroko spots Kagami first, then waits for Kagami to sense his presence. When their eyes catch, Kagami takes a startled breath. For a second, they stare at each other little uncertainly, trying to figure out what the most appropriate way of greeting each other is.
In the end, Kagami comes over for a hug. “Hey, Kuroko.”
Kuroko smiles, folding himself into the familiar embrace. “Kagami-kun. You’re already sweaty.”
Kagami whacks the back of his head lightly. “Idiot, it’s like a thousand degrees out. I’d forgotten how hot Tokyo gets.”
The tension settles. They linger by each other’s side throughout the event, the unusual heat of Tokyo spreading from Kuroko’s knee to Kagami’s, neither of them willing to move and relieve it. But that’s about all the touching they do. Kuroko spends most of his time talking to Yagi and Kiyoshi, while Kagami tries to get a quiet Asahina to volunteer more information about his life. In any case, Kuroko is pleased that Kagami had enough time to fly down and relax. There are plenty of pictures to mark the occasion, Hyuuga looking gruff and bashful, Riko looking content and pleased as they order the others around. Seirin reunions are always like this—familiar, familial, like Kise had said. Izuki makes cheekier puns than usual, Kiyoshi delivers a speech about love, and everyone pretends like they don’t see Hyuuga tear up just a little at the end of it. Somehow, in some way, everyone knows that this is the first real grown-up incident in all their lives. There will be more weddings to come, with a few baby showers and high school reunions added to the mix down the line. And, of course, the biggest of all, Kagami’s important game days. But this is the first, and in turn, the most memorable. As with everything else in Seirin, Hyuuga and Riko lead by example.
At the end of the wedding, when the sun is slowly starting to set on the venue grounds, Kagami asks if Kuroko wants to drive him back to the airport, one hand rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
“The car’s a rental,” he explains. “I’ll need someone to return it for me.”
“Of course, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko replies.
If Hyuuga and Riko think anything of the fact that they’re leaving together, they say nothing of it, standing by the gate together to say goodbye to the last of their visitors. Kuroko and Kagami wave to them, smiling when Riko barks at them to get going so Kagami won’t miss his flight.
In the car, Kagami lowers his seat to a full recline, sighing and groaning when his back finally settles. “Argh. Can’t believe I’ve got to get back to training tomorrow. My back is killing me.” With a busy season ahead, Kagami had only been able to fly in that morning—with the promise that he’d fly back home the same night.
“Still,” Kuroko says. “It was very nice of you to come.”
“I wouldn’t miss senpai’s wedding,” Kagami grumbles, but his mouth is relaxed, hands tucked behind his head, now that the tie around his neck has been loosened. In the passenger’s seat, he looks comically large. Every time they’ve been in a car together in LA, Kagami has usually been the one who drives. In Tokyo, Kuroko takes the train pretty much everywhere, so this is a nice middle ground. Outside, buildings slowly emerge into view, the long drive to the airport littered with various shopping districts and industrial areas.
“Asahina-kun seemed quieter than usual,” Kuroko notes. “Did he say anything about what he’s up to?”
“He’s trying for the Euroleague, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know yet.”
Kuroko’s brows lift, pleased. “This is news to me.”
“He called me for advice a couple of months ago,” Kagami snorts. “Would you believe that?”
Kuroko smiles. “He has always thought very highly of you. I imagine that feeling has only grown, seeing you go pro.”
Kagami’s cheeks turn pink. “What did Yagi say?”
“He might be moving back to Tokyo soon,” Kuroko tells him, then glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Apparently, this is the first time they’ve spoken in months.”
“Huh.” Kagami considers that for a moment, then rolls his shoulder flippantly. “Well, they were never like us.”
It’s exactly the kind of nonchalant thing Kuroko expected him to say, even though they—Kuroko and Kagami—haven’t talked all that much in the last few months either, spare basketball-related matters. Kuroko lets it pass without comment. Kagami tries to find a comfortable angle to slide into his seat again.
“Aomine came over a few weeks ago,” Kagami says, moments later, sounding sleepy. Kuroko wonders if he’s trying to distract himself from thinking about the long flight ahead of him.
“How was he?”
“Oh, you know. He had that shoulder injury, so he was whinier than usual.”
“Momoi-san told me about that,” Kuroko says. He had looked up clips of the fall after his conversation with her, concerned, but the injury hadn’t seemed very serious, so he'd bombarded Aomine with memes and funny edits of his fall instead.
Kagami tilts his head towards Kuroko. “He was wondering when you’d stop by.”
Kuroko smiles. “Ah. He must be more bored than I thought.”
Kagami laughs. “There’s really not much to do when we’re not playing, y’know. I don’t even go out these days. Too many people in your face. It’s annoying.” He turns to Kuroko and scowls. “I had to move out of my apartment too,” he complains. “Security reasons. Apparently, I’m kinda famous now.”
It’s Kuroko’s turn to laugh. “Kagami-kun. You play a popular sport, on a very popular team. Did you not realize that earlier?”
“Not until I got asked for a picture at a Whataburger,” Kagami grumbles. “I was so surprised, I didn’t even smile. I probably looked like a huge jackass.”
“Well,” Kuroko smiles. “It’s important to stay humble, so I'm pleased Kagami-kun’s fame has not gone to his head.” He glances at Kagami, trying to do his part in keeping Kagami awake. “Tell me about the new house.”
Kagami suddenly becomes gesticulative. "It's this gorgeous place down by the Palisades," he says. "I moved in a couple of months ago 'cause I got a sweet deal on it, y'know. Opens to this private beach, real pretty. Only problem is that a lot of people walk their dogs there all the time."
Kuroko gives Kagami a look. "That does not sound like a problem, Kagami-kun."
"I'm scared of dogs! You know that!"
"If I got to see adorable pillows on legs every day, I would be grateful," Kuroko says.
Kagami opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, like he thinks the better of it. "What's been up with you?" he asks instead.
"I have been going on group dates with different girls at Kise-kun's behest."
Kagami arches a brow, amused. "Oh, yeah?"
Kuroko arches one brow back. "Kagami-kun, I know it's been a while since we agreed to take a break, but I was expecting more of a reaction from you."
Kagami snorts. "What, you wanted me to be jealous or something?"
"No," Kuroko lies.
Kagami stares at him. Kuroko adamantly keeps on driving. The silence sits between them for a second.
"I'd have been more jealous," Kagami admits slowly, "if you were going out with a guy, I guess. But. This is kind of like you and Momoi, right?"
Kuroko says nothing. On the one hand, he supposes he understands. Three years of sequestering themselves to basketball courts, locker rooms and training camps has meant that most boys they know haven't had a chance to spend as much time with girls. This has never really bothered Kuroko, and for obvious reasons, this has never bothered Kagami either. Not as much as it did some of their teammates. But the flip side of this is Kagami's skewed estimation of Kuroko's attraction to girls. Inside jokes he might've shared with Aomine have always left Kagami high-strung, but a date with a girl isn't a big deal. Kuroko isn't sure whether to correct him or spare him the anguish.
"What about Kagami-kun?" Kuroko asks instead. "I do hope someone has managed to take even a quarter of your attention off basketball."
"Nah, I don't—I told you earlier, right? I don't get out much," Kagami starts. "I'm not into girls anyway, and it's hard to find any uh—you know. In the scenes where I hang out. I'm not sure if I even—" He trails off, scratching his cheek. "Even if I did, I still—I mean, it's tough to find someone who'd put up with the lifestyle, right? I don't know anyone in LA who loves basketball as much as I do, and with a job like mine, you'd have to be pretty, um. Invisible. To avoid the media and stuff." Kagami glances up at Kuroko and then looks away.
Kuroko tightens his grip on the steering wheel, if only so he doesn't pull over and climb into Kagami's lap. He doesn't know if it's better or worse like this. A part of him thinks, maybe it would've been for the best if they'd never kissed at all, that night in Kagami's apartment. But a bigger part of Kuroko knows that this is exactly how he's lived his life all long: taking what little time he gets in the sun over a life in the eternal cold.
+
When one of his books suddenly starts gaining attention out of nowhere, Kuroko is suspicious.
It's not that he doesn't trust in his own writing. Between now and the time he first began, his stories have found a moderate enough audience. The ones about basketball are especially popular with children (and Aomine, he supposes, who called him in the middle of the night once to demand if one particular piece was 'about him.'
"I never tell anyone how to interpret my work," Kuroko had replied slowly, amused, "but if it resonates with Aomine-kun, I am glad to hear it.")
In any case, it's not just him. His agent is confused too. It takes two days to track down the source of this sudden surge in sales, and the result doesn't help clear up the chaos. It's a glowing review in The Times, in English, ending with a vague hope that the copy will get a translation soon. When his agent conveys this to him, Kuroko looks the writer up out of curiosity, only to realize that all of their past affiliations and organizations have one thing in common: Akashi Enterprises. Akashi Enterprises is a major investor in the Times as well, which, at least, starts to clear up how this all happened in the first place.
Akashi-kun, I must say, I don't appreciate being handed out favors, he can't help but type out. He knows Akashi harbors some guilt about certain incidents that transpired over the course of their middle and high school years. But is guilt reason enough to throw some light on Kuroko's middling writing career? Kuroko is unsure. He sends the email in hopes of hearing an explanation, at the very least, while his editor scrambles to find a new designer and meet the increasing demands of various bookstores across Tokyo.
Kuroko's family, on the other hand, is delighted for him. They send him pictures of the framed article, and his father asks him if he'll be able to quit his copywriting job, now that he'll have royalties coming in. Kuroko doesn't know. He never expected anything like this.
Kuroko. It was not a favor, Akashi's succinct email says, a few hours later. I simply enjoyed the book and recommended it to the right acquaintances.
Kuroko frowns. It's too late to argue now, but Akashi's move creates somewhat of a stir. His agent is mildly miffed at him over the sudden attention, but somehow, he starts getting invites to book fairs over the course of the next few months. Kuroko declines most of them, except the appearances scheduled at middle and elementary schools. It's always a delight to meet children, to keep an eye out for the shy ones who linger in the back of any crowd. He likes talking to them, making them feel seen.
He's at an event like that on a mid-summer day when his phone buzzes in his pocket, an unexpected notification. Kuroko briefly checks it and sees that it's a call from his mother, making a mental note to call her back after he gets home. An enthusiastic group of middle school teachers form a crowd around him, asking if it's not too much for him to talk to the basketball club kids after his meet-and-greet. He forgets about the call entirely.
It's only when he gets home later that night and begins swiping through his notifications that he remembers it with a sudden jolt. There are three missed calls from his mother in his call log, and the alarm bells in Kuroko's head start to go off instantly. Mother never calls that many times in a row. Not if he's at work. Not if it's not important.
Kuroko dials her number. "Mother," he says, the second she picks up. "I apologize, I was at work all day. Is something wrong?"
There's a brief beat of silence, a weighted hesitation. Kuroko frowns.
Then his mother's hushed voice comes through, and his world goes suddenly still.
+
After the funeral, Kuroko stays with his parents for a few days and fields a flood of calls and texts that come through to his inbox. He's not sure how his friends found out. Maybe Riko, who is watching Nigou for him, told someone, who told someone, who...
Kuroko closes his eyes. It doesn't matter. He doesn't think he could have spent even another second in his empty apartment, anyway, so staying here is the next best thing, even if his parents don't seem as cut up as he was expecting them to be. If anything, they walk on egg-shells around him. His mother keeps giving him things to eat, and his father stops by his doorway every few hours, awkward and lingering like he's not sure how to console Kuroko. In a strange, almost comical way, Kuroko is reminded of the summer after middle school, when his mother had cooked and his father had lingered in the same way they're doing now. It had been his grandmother who broke the spell, climbing up the stairs to his room and sitting down with him—just so he wouldn't have to be alone. When he realized that summer that he wanted to go to Seirin High, she'd been the first person he told. With her gone, there's no one to share silences with. No one to tell good news to. Kuroko loves his parents dearly, but his grandmother had been the one to raise him, those summers when it was just the two of them in the house and his parents were working. She had been the one to send him to the playground and make friends, even if he was insecure about his own invisibility.
He's not sure how to go on without her. His parents seem at peace. At 91 years old, his grandmother had already lived a full life and seen far more than she expected to see. Kuroko isn't trying to be greedy. He just misses her.
As the days pass, however, the dark cloud hanging over their house slowly begins to dissipate. His mother's cooking returns to its normal fare. His father stops lingering. Kuroko, however, still feels numb, an anxious ache in his chest that won't go away. Having canceled most of his events for the month, he spends his time in his childhood bedroom, checking his messages but not really replying to any of them. Momoi, Kiyoshi-senpai, Ogiwara, all expressing a similar tone or sentiment. An email from Akashi.
The oldest notification is from Kagami, a simple: hey. u okay?
Kuroko scrolls.
Ok, ur probably not. stupid thing to ask, the next message reads.
i heard the news from coach, says the next one. just wanted to check in on you.
Kuroko scrolls again until the screen hits the last block of text. i kno u probably want space right now, it says. but i'm here for you okay? you know that, right?
Yes. Kuroko does know that. Grandmother had met Kagami several times since the first time he came over. She had liked him a lot, praising his hearty appetite and cooing over him, even if he was infinitely taller than her. Kagami had liked her too, somehow sensing she was the life of his family — the one Kuroko was closest to. He can almost see those days play out now if he closes his eyes — him, Kagami, his grandmother, sitting around in the backyard and laughing about nothing. About everything. Grandmother had never outright asked Kuroko anything, but Kuroko had a sense that she knew. She could be mischievous and gentle, but she was also observant, sharp as a whip when it came to reading people, even in her old age. There's no secret Kuroko could've kept from her that she wouldn't have already known. It breaks Kuroko's heart down right in the middle, the thought that she knew—and that she approved of them anyway.
With almost a blank curiosity, Kuroko checks social media. A dozen videos pop on his feed, most of them clips and posts about various NBA games. Kagami's face stands out, the glisten of sweat on his cheeks, the tension around his eyes. He's as determined as he always is during the game, but in all of the post-match pictures and videos he looks uneasy, distracted. Kuroko's stomach drops.
"How are you?" Riko asks gently, when he goes to her apartment later that week to take Nigou back. "Do you want us to keep him for a bit longer while you settle things with your family?"
Hyuuga claps his shoulder. "We don't mind."
Kuroko shakes his head, feeling an overwhelming gratitude for his former teammates. "Everything is settled," he says quietly. "Besides, I think I'd feel better about going back to my apartment if he was sleeping beside me."
Riko and Hyuuga's faces twist with sympathy.
"You know," Hyuuga begins. "Kagami's been calling us every day, asking about you."
Kuroko averts his gaze, feeling the back of his throat ache.
"Think he's just worried," Hyuuga continues. "But man, it's driving me a little crazy."
"Junpei!" Riko scolds.
Kuroko smiles, just a little.
Riko turns back to Kuroko, her expression gentling. "You should go stay with him for a few days. Get away. A change of place might help with the grief."
"I'm fine," Kuroko protests weakly, even as he appreciates her pragmatic refusal to sugarcoat the situation.
"It's not just for you," Hyuuga says. "Think about Kagami. He's got to wait for news from us, and the timezones can't be making things any easier for him. If you're with him, at least he can see for himself how you're doing."
Kuroko hesitates, recalling the tense firmness in Kagami's face, the concern in his texts. Guilt overwhelms him deeply, along with the sadness that Kagami might be grieving a little too.
"It'd make us feel better too, knowing you're with him," Riko adds, then moves back with a decisive nod. "We'll keep Nigou for a few weeks longer. You just focus on taking time for yourself, and let Kagami handle the rest, okay?"
Kuroko nods, unable to hold himself up with strength any longer. When he goes back and tells his parents, they seem relieved. His mother helps him fold and pack things for his trip, remarking how nice the weather must be in LA this time of year, how nice it would be for Kuroko to catch up with an old friend. His father tells him to be careful with his passport, to put it back where it belongs after he's done showing it. Kuroko keeps glancing over his shoulder, expecting his grandmother to come in any minute and pinch his cheek or his ear. And then he remembers, and he has to swallow back the ache.
Eventually, someone from Kagami's team sends him a PDF of his ticket, but Kagami himself doesn't say anything. Kuroko suspects he's been busy with his end-of-season commitments, which, admittedly, does make him rethink the trip, but in the end, he gets himself to the airport anyway and numbly goes through the motions. By the time Kuroko is in his seat, his eyes are hot with tears, the whir of the plane's wheels blurring in his vision. It's his first time flying business class, and if the circumstances were different, he would've definitely teased Kagami about such an ostentatious expense, but all he keeps thinking about is how Kagami must've instructed his people to make this journey as comfortable as possible, that he must've had a part of his mind on this, even while he was trying to focus on everything else.
Eleven and a half hours later, Kuroko finally lands in LAX, groggy and feverish, even if he slept throughout the flight. Kagami is waiting for him in an oversized hoodie, his eyes wide and anxious, like he's trying to spot Kuroko before Kuroko spots him. When their eyes catch, Kagami mutters his name, throwing his arms up to swallow Kuroko into a tight hug. Kuroko goes willingly, his face pressed into Kagami's upper chest.
"Kuroko," Kagami says again. "I'm so sorry."
Kuroko just burrows more into Kagami's embrace. Kagami holds him tighter, one hand stroking the back of his head, his nose pressed up against Kuroko's temple. They stay like that for a moment, no need for words, for meaning. Eventually, Kuroko pulls away, and Kagami snaps into action, hefting his luggage and throwing it into the back of his car.
"You wanna stop and get something to eat, or you want me to take you home?" Kagami asks, adjusting his rearview mirror. Then, his hands settle on his lap, and he stares at Kuroko like he's waiting for a response.
"Home," Kuroko replies belatedly. Kagami's eyes crease with concern, but he says nothing, pulling out of the lot with one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of Kuroko's seat. "This is a nice car, Kagami-kun."
Kagami's eyes draw back to Kuroko again, and he smiles a little. "Oh yeah? You like it?"
"Mm."
"It's a little dinged on the side though," Kagami tells him. "Aomine wanted to test drive it, last he was here. Bumped into a stop sign. Still hasn't paid me any compensation, the dick."
"Kagami-kun is so greedy," Kuroko teases.
Kagami reaches out to fake-punch Kuroko's ear, then bops Kuroko's knee gently and retreats his hand. The warmth of his brief touch lingers on Kuroko's skin. He'd almost forgotten what this longing tastes like, but it returns with a rush, almost dizzying. He wants to crawl into Kagami's warmth, his glowing presence, until he's whole again. For now, he just settles on leaning his head against the carseat and letting the smooth swish of the car lull him to sleep.
He wakes up about an hour later, when Kagami shakes his shoulder. "We're home," he says gently, almost apologetically.
Kuroko rubs his eye and follows him out of the car. Even in his daze, Kuroko recognizes that they're somewhere beautiful. A line of palm trees race down the block, swaying against the gentle ocean breeze. Behind them, a large black gate covers the entire estate, but Kuroko's eyes catch the stretch of white sand somewhere beyond, glistening in the pale moonlight. Kagami rolls Kuroko's suitcase up towards the front door, and Kuroko numbly follows him into a large house, squinting when everything comes to life under the glare of overhead lights.
"I'm home," he says, out of habit more than anything.
Kagami gives him a funny sort of smile, then moves around to flick on more switches. Kuroko walks over to the patio and takes a little breath when he realizes it has a lovely view of the beach. Dark, still water lines up against the clear sand, an endless stretch on either side of the horizon. Kuroko wonders if Kagami surfs here, or ever takes a late night run along the waterside. Suddenly, his own legs crave the push.
"Pretty, right?" Kagami comes up to him, shaking him out of his daze. "Bit big for one person, though." He looks sheepish about that.
"It's yours," Kuroko says quietly. "You worked hard for it."
Kagami's expression shifts. "Yeah," he sighs, setting his hands on his hips. When his gaze returns to Kuroko, his concern is obvious. "You want me to show you to your room? You had a long flight."
"Okay."
They venture deeper into the house, and Kagami shows Kuroko to a guest room with a bathroom attached. Kuroko washes up, humming to himself as he unpacks his toiletries. He'd packed rather vacantly, leaving most of the organizing to his mother. At the thought of her, he picks up his phone, then thinks the better of it and sets it down.
When he comes back outside, Kagami is sitting on the edge of his bed, hands outstretched behind him. Kuroko realizes he's changed out of his airport clothes and into a large shirt over baggy shorts. It's a familiar sight. Kuroko is filled with an unbelievable warmth just looking at him.
"Hey," Kagami says softly.
"Hello, Kagami-kun." Kuroko strides into the room, then decides, "I want to go for a run on the beach tomorrow."
Kagami laughs. "Okay."
"I don't know if I brought any running shoes."
Kagami shakes his head and stands, coming up to Kuroko to ruffle his hair. "We'll get you a pair."
Kuroko closes his eyes, wanting to lean into the touch. Wanting to melt into Kagami until they're inseparable. But Kagami only lets the ruffling go on for a few more seconds before pulling away.
"Get some rest," he decides. "We'll talk tomorrow."
"Okay," Kuroko replies, even though he's not really sleepy. Maybe it's the jet lag, maybe it's the new location, maybe it's that he's probably exhausted himself of all the sleep in the world, but he stays up for a long time, listening to the waves crash against the shore, grounding himself with the thought that his grandmother must be at peace now—wherever that is, whatever that means. Emptiness expands within his chest, gnawing at him, and he has to hug his pillow tight, if only so he doesn't get up to go to Kagami's room and hug him instead. Somehow, he eventually manages to fall asleep.
In the morning, Kuroko ambles into the kitchen and sees Kagami standing over the stove, making breakfast.
"Hey," Kagami says, sensing his presence instantly as he glances over his shoulder. "Morning."
"Good morning, Kagami-kun." Kuroko stands there for a while, staring at the long line of his back, the base of his hair where his roots are coming in darker. Kagami moves around his kitchen with the lazy grace of someone confidently rooted in their surroundings, cracking eggs and opening cabinets with ease.
"What's cooking?" Kuroko asks, coming up to the breakfast counter.
"Eggs and bacon with a side of fried mushrooms," Kagami tells him, gesturing at him to sit down. "You need to eat. You've lost a lot of weight."
"Yes, mother," Kuroko says obediently. Kagami glares at him over his shoulder.
They eat breakfast together out on the patio, and Kuroko valiantly attempts to wolf down the various side dishes Kagami keeps pushing towards him. Bread and butter, orange juice, mashed potatoes, a bowl of fresh fruits.
"I might go into a food coma," Kuroko notes.
"You've barely touched anything," Kagami returns, unimpressed, but Kuroko knows he'll eat all the leftovers if he bats his eyelashes cutely enough.
The weather is nice outside, the sun glinting high up amidst a cloudless sky. A few locals wander around the sand, but it's nowhere near as crowded as an average city beach.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Kuroko looks up at the sudden question, but Kagami is staring out into the horizon instead of looking at him. His expression is unreadable.
"Kagami-kun..."
"You don't tell me anything," Kagami continues, a quiet accusation. "I gotta hear it from Coach, or from Momoi." He turns back to Kuroko, a little wounded. "Thought we were 'sposed to rely on each other."
"I'm sorry," Kuroko says. "I didn't..."
"Want me to worry," Kagami grouses, kicking Kuroko's ankle lightly. "It's my job to worry about you, idiot. When were you going to tell me your book's been doing well, too? I had to hear about that from Aomine."
Kuroko ducks his head. "It's embarrassing."
"What's embarrassing?" Kagami growls, leaning forward in his seat to pinch Kuroko lightly. "Don't act all innocent now, I can see through it."
Kuroko spends the rest of the day indoors, trying not to fall asleep. Kagami keeps warning him that his jet lag will never get better if he does, but he's got to wrap up something at work, so he knows his warning has fallen on deaf ears and that Kuroko will most definitely hit the bed when he leaves. With the current season finally coming to an end, Kagami doesn't have any games lined up for the next few weeks, which means he's relatively free, all things considered. He seems relieved about that, even as he grouses that Kuroko better be awake by the time he returns. Kuroko falls asleep regardless.
When Kagami comes home, dusk has fully fallen onto the house by the beach. Kuroko receives an earful about going back to sleep, but when Kagami realizes he's tuning out most of it, he sighs in annoyance.
"I'm going to drown you one of these days," he says. "I don't care if I go to jail for it."
Kuroko bats his eyelashes up at him.
"Stop that." Kagami prods his head with a finger. "Anyway, I got you something when I was out." He dumps a brown paper bag on Kuroko's lap.
Kuroko pries it open curiously. "What is it?"
"Shoes," Kagami explains. "Said you wanted to go for a run, right? It's nice out."
Kuroko casts a gaze out beyond the patio and towards the beach. "Yes."
"Hurry up, then. Let's go."
Kuroko puts his new shoes on and follows Kagami out to the beach, taking a deep lungful of ocean air in when they hit the sand. It's been a while since they've gone running together, but he's determined to keep up a steady pace. Kagami matches his speed, then goes slightly past it, urging Kuroko to try harder, to push past his own limitations like he always does. Their feet hit the ground in steady unison, a chorus of sweat and ragged breaths carrying them along the coastline. Kuroko doesn't know how long they keep it up for, or how far, but the burning ache in his muscles feels good. Feels exhilarating. For the first time in weeks, he feels alive.
"This is nostalgic," he wheezes, when they finally stop.
Kagami lets out a shaky laugh, lifting his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face and his ears. "Yeah." He nods at the sand behind them as if to tell Kuroko to sit down. "I come down here for a run every now and then."
"It's nice," Kuroko says, sitting down close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off Kagami's body.
"Makes me remember training camp."
Kuroko smiles. "Yes."
"Coach's terrible food..."
"Izuki-senpai's puns...."
"Yagi throwing up in a bush somewhere because he got carsick during the bus ride."
They catch each others' eyes and laugh. A nice breeze rustles the trees around them, keeping their bodies cool, even as lines of sweat begin to drip down their foreheads and backs.
"I know the circumstances aren't ideal," Kagami says slowly. "But I'm glad you came, Kuroko."
"Me too," Kuroko replies quietly, then looks up at Kagami with a little hesitance. "What Kagami-kun said earlier...about me not relying on you. I hope you realize that it's not even remotely true. I may not say it all the time, but being by your side—even for just a little while—makes me feel better. It always has."
Kagami glances at him out of the corner of his eye, elbows resting on his knees.
"I only hold myself back because—" Kuroko braves past the hitch in his throat. "Your dreams are important to me."
Kagami presses the brunt of his palm to his eye. "Shit, I know. I know," he says roughly. "I just feel so stupid sometimes, because I came all the way here to do this thing, but I still need you, I still call you for every little thing, but you—you're like, the strongest guy I know. You're always holding yourself together, it just pisses me off that I can't do that for you anymore."
"You do do that for me," Kuroko insists quietly. "You're my best friend. My best partner."
"You're mine too," Kagami replies, a little strangled.
"I like you," Kuroko tells him, then tips his chin down for a kiss. The urge is too powerful.
Kagami's eyes go wide for a split second, but then his mouth softens, and everything slots into place, his hands gripping the back of Kuroko's head with a sudden desperation. It's been a long time since they've last kissed, but the rhythm arrives to them with ease, the hard, bruising kisses they leave as they tilt their mouths in the right direction. Kagami's mouth is wet and sweat-laced, but Kuroko pulls him in deeper, his thumb tracing the hollow dip in Kagami's cheek. Kagami makes a little noise into Kuroko's mouth, then pulls away.
"Kuroko," he breathes.
"Let's go back inside," Kuroko replies.
An almost electric current passes through them when they slip back inside, hands trembling when they reach for each other. Kagami's blunt nails dig into Kuroko's hips, scratching until Kuroko tilts up with a gasp, their mouths catching each other again. Every part of Kuroko is on fire, and it's not just the adrenaline from their run. They barely get out of their shoes, and everything is slippery with sweat, but when Kagami pushes him into the mess of sheets in his bedroom, everything is just perfect. Kuroko wills himself to part his legs, even as the rest of him is distracted by Kagami, by Kagami's mouth on his. When their hips finally align, Kagami pulls away and rests his nose on Kuroko's cheek.
"Kuroko," he breathes. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Yes," Kuroko says instantly, tilting his gaze so they can lock eyes.
Kagami gives him a look. "You're not exactly in the right frame of mind right now."
A little wave of protest rises in Kuroko's chest, which answers the question as to exactly what kind of frame of mind he's in at the moment. He curls one hand around Kagami's chain. Tugs. "I want you."
Kagami acquieses, like he can't help himself, his mouth catching Kuroko's with another soft kiss. Something about Kuroko's words must set him ablaze, because he doesn't ask again, just falls into Kuroko's embrace with a renewed vigor.
"Let me take care of you," he murmurs, his voice quiet against Kuroko's throat. Kuroko sinks his fingers into Kagami's hair and pulls him back into a kiss. For the longest time ever, their mouths part and retreat, little swipes of tongue filling Kuroko with an inexplicable rush. It's only when they lose enough breath and every part of Kuroko feels swollen that he realizes Kagami is waiting for an answer.
"Yes," Kuroko replies simply, touching Kagami's chest until his fingers travel, of their own accord, down Kagami's shoulder and towards his hand. When their fingers lock, it's like a last wall falls away, the space between them finally closing. They fuck like that, slow and rough and needy, Kagami losing rhythm every time their mouths are within kissing distance. Light spills everywhere, and Kuroko has to cant his hips just to absorb its warmth, just to touch its all-encompassing heat. It's never been like this anywhere else, with anyone else. Without a doubt, this is his once-in-a-lifetime. He knows it. He's sure of it.
Kagami looks down at him like he's thinking the same thing
+
A few hours later, after they've showered and had sex again, Kagami brushes his fingers through Kuroko's hair, thumb stroking the curve of his ear back and forth, back and forth. Outside, it's almost dawn, pale light coming in through the curtains. Kuroko hadn't realized it until now, but there had been a tightness in his chest up until this point, and it's somehow dissipated.
"I wasn't expecting that," Kagami says. It's the first real thing they've said to each other in hours.
"I did jump you very suddenly," Kuroko agrees, then peers into Kagami's face. "Did you mind it?"
Kagami snorts. "No."
Kuroko relaxes even more, settling his head over Kagami's shoulder. For a while, neither of them say anything, a calm silence descending over them.
Then, Kagami says, with a little hesitance: "Did you mean it? When you said you feel better with me?"
Kuroko digs his chin into Kagami's pec and gives him a look. "Of course. I wouldn't lie to you."
Kagami nods like it's confirmation. Kuroko lifts a hand up to stroke his double-eyebrow.
"You know I'm pretty settled now," Kagami says, holding onto Kuroko's wrist. "Unless they trade me—which I don't think they will—I'm going to spend the rest of my career here. In LA."
"Mm."
"But, uh," Kagami gnaws the inside of his cheek. "Once I'm done, I was thinking of moving back. To Tokyo, I mean."
Kuroko's eyes widen in surprise, his heartbeat suddenly kicking up again. "I wasn't aware of this development."
"You know how it is," Kagami grumbles. "Don't wanna get ambushed when I'm out eating a burger."
Kuroko smiles, amused.
"Besides, maybe I wanna coach, back home," he continues. "Can't see myself doing the whole pundit circus anyway."
"Your media training has always been lacking," Kuroko agrees.
Kagami smacks his head lightly, then gentles his hand and flattens it across Kuroko's cheek until their eyes are locked again. "Will you wait for me? If I give you a timeline?"
Kuroko stomach flutters. He doesn't tell Kagami that a part of him has been waiting, even as he—however half-heartedly—tried to find love again. There's a minute where an older, more stubborn version of himself rises up in protest, but Kuroko can't find it in him to suppress it. He's tired of holding his cards to his chest, of waiting for the right time, the right moment to lay it all down in front of him.
"Me, you, and Nigou?" he asks slowly.
Kagami makes a face. "I guess there's no escaping the mutt. But, yeah."
Kuroko buries his face into Kagami's bicep, face hot. It's the future he's been hoping for, subconsciously, no matter how much he's tried to focus on the present. But there's a tiny problem.
"I can't wait that long," Kuroko admits. Kagami looks a little pained, so he quickly adds: "I don't want to wait that long."
Kagami's expression clears. For a second, he looks confused, then comprehension makes itself home on his face.
"Of course," he breathes, sitting up. "Kuroko, of course."
"It's only for a few years," Kuroko defends. "And only if you're okay with it. I don't want to intrude—"
"Don't be stupid," Kagami says, gripping his arms like he's afraid Kuroko will change his mind if he gives him even a second more to think. "I want you here. I always want you here."
Is it supposed to be this easy? Kuroko bites his lip. "I suppose I could consult with my editor over Zoom."
"We'll convert one of the guest rooms into an office," Kagami says quickly. "I mean. You can write from anywhere as long as you have internet, right?"
"Yes."
"Nobody uses that room anyway. And I can get someone to buy stuff for the dog," Kagami rambles. "Leashes, food, that sort of thing. We'll probably need a permit to fly him here, but someone else can handle all of that if I make a few calls..."
Kuroko leans forward and kisses him mid-speech, overwhelmed by an inexplicable fondness. "We can cross that bridge when we get there," he says simply.
"Yeah," Kagami breathes, a little awestruck when he stares back at Kuroko. "Yeah. Let's do that."
+
Their routine doesn't change much after that, spare a few tiny improvements. For one, Kuroko moves his things into Kagami's room, their toothbrushes settling into the same cup holder. For another, they enter somewhat of a honeymoon phase, making out lazily any chance they get, whether they're cooking or watching Netflix or taking a walk down the beach. Throughout the week, Kagami keeps glancing over his shoulder as if to check if Kuroko is really there, and frankly, Kuroko is in disbelief as well.
Other things slowly slot into place, too. Kuroko eventually gets around to replying to his backlog of emails and texts, though he doesn't mind it as much with Kagami tucked into his side, a heavy weight. It reminds him of high school, of sitting on Kagami's couch and reading novels while Kagami watched TV or ate a snack.
("What's this one about?" Kagami used to ask, back then. Or, Kuroko's favorite: "Is her name really Banana?")
"What are you working on?" Kagami asks now, humming when Kuroko tells him about an unfinished draft, or an idea he's been playing around with, his fingers scratching Kagami's nape. "I read your books, you know," he says, turning his head to look up at Kuroko from his resting place on Kuroko's shoulder. "They're always sad."
Kuroko suppresses a smile. "Do you think so?"
"A little. I liked the basketball ones, though," Kagami consoles him, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
"Of course." Kuroko actually smiles this time. "Maybe next time I will try my hand at a romantic comedy."
"No way," Kagami says. "Aomine's gonna know you wrote it about me. He'll never let me live that down."
Kuroko laughs. "Kagami-kun is very presumptuous."
Kagami scowls, a little uncertain. "What does that mean?"
Kuroko considers explaining the meaning of the word, or the nature of imagination, or the idea that writing is a skill and a craft, a technique that one must hone, much like basketball. That passion alone isn't enough, and art may be a mirror, but only a distorted one.
But in the end, he realizes that everything he knows about love, he knows through his love for Kagami, so maybe Kagami is not wrong in this regard.
Kuroko presses a kiss to the top of his head. "It means cute."
Kagami flushes. "Oh."
"You are cute."
Kagami flushes more and averts his gaze. "Shut up."
Kuroko returns his hand to the top of Kagami's head, scratching circles gently over the mess of hair. "I miss Nigou."
"Don't say you miss the dog while you're touching my head, dumbass!" Kagami roars. But he settles into Kuroko's touch anyway. For a while, he allows Kuroko the silence, jabbing at various buttons on the remote, flicking through different channels and murmuring with disinterest with each passing show. Then, he says: "Hey."
"Mm?"
"How are you feeling now?"
Kuroko pulls his gaze away from the screen and blinks, confused by Kagami's concerned tone. Then the reminder returns, a dull ache that still throbs in his chest, a vivid flash of hurt and memory.
"I still miss her," Kuroko admits.
"Yeah." Kagami's throat moves with a swallow.
"But I know she would want me to be happy." Kuroko looks down at Kagami and tries to smile. "I am happy."
"That's good," Kagami says softly, sliding his hand under the sheet so he can curl it around Kuroko's. "I'm glad."
Kuroko squeezes their fingers together. "Me too."
The days wear on and time creeps up on them, no matter how much they've been spending it in leisure. Kuroko begins looking at flights with the vague realization that there's a lot he has to organize when he returns home. Kagami, on the other hand, pulls an adorable puppy face at even the mention of Kuroko returning, which does, admittedly, put a damper on the entire agenda.
"Do you really have to go?" he asks with a small frown, tipping Kuroko's chin up so they can look at each other.
"I have to talk to my parents," Kuroko tells him gently. "And I want to say goodbye at the shrine, but. I'll be back soon."
Kagami slumps. "Okay."
Kuroko leans up and kisses his nose. "Don't be sad."
"I'm not," Kagami says.
Kuroko kisses him again, this time on the mouth.
"I'm not," Kagami says again. He means it this time. "I love you," he whispers in English, his face earnest when their eyes meet.
"I do too," Kuroko says in Japanese. He’s made his peace with the middle ground.
+
When Kuroko returns to Japan this time, he's almost lightheaded with feeling, a persistent disbelief lingering despite himself. This time next week, he'll be back at the airport. This time next month, he'll be on a beach in Los Angeles. This time a few years later, he'll be in Tokyo, except this time, Kagami will be beside him. Ultimately, it won't matter which city they're in, or how long they'll be there. All that matters is that they'll be there together.
Kagami keeps sending him pictures during the wait, disregarding all of Kuroko's rebukes about timezones and sleeping schedules. Kuroko deletes the pictures of dinner and dusky skies, but he saves the ones of Kagami at the gym. He'll need them after all, even if the wait between reunions is hardly that long, this time around. Neither his parents, nor his former captain-and-coach express any surprise over this announcement, but both parties seem relieved when Kuroko promises to return soon enough.
At the shrine, Kuroko leaves his grandmother's favorite flowers and prays, apologizing that he'll be unable to visit as often in the coming years, but that it's for a good reason - a reason she would've approved of. After that, he stops by the publishing office to review the new book cover designs his editor shows him, with all sorts of fancy formatting he hadn't really anticipated. There's a space on the jacket of the cover now, and his editor implores him to approve of an updated block of text to really reflect his profile as a writer. Kuroko continues the tradition of keeping his face anonymous, but he gives his editor a stamp of approval over the rest. The chance to thank Akashi will arise soon, as will the chance to bid a proper farewell to the rest of his former teammates.
For now, Kuroko just focuses wrapping things up and booking his one-way ticket back to Kagami.
+
Kuroko Tetsuya is a writer from Tokyo, Japan. Known for his sharp wit and poignant writing style, several of his works have been translated to English, covering themes such as victory and loss, presence and isolation, and the transcendental force of love.
Currently, he lives in Los Angeles with his partner and his dog, Nigou.
~ the end.