[kuroko no basuke] untitled thing
untitled
no pairing/kuroko-centric (hinted kuroko→aomine)
g. 1,000w
what if the rain washed away what we were?
It was raining.
Somewhere deep down inside Kuroko’s heart, he thought he knew. He thought he knew, and he’d deal with it when it comes his way. Akashi had told him that, too, and he hadn’t put much thought into it. The Generation of Miracles may be just a name for them, but a team is still a team, no matter how you put it.
The whistle blows. The game stops, and the coach stares at Kuroko. It unnerves him for a bit. “You didn’t make a pass today, Kuroko. Not one.”
From behind, Kuroko can hear Midorima complaining to Kise about the rain, about how he hates rain, and Kuroko fights back a small smile and looks in front. The coach is not reprimanding him. He’d acknowledged Kuroko’s different basketball style from the start, ever since Akashi had recommended him into the first string, and so did the rest of the Miracles, but from here, Kuroko can see the questions swimming in his eyes. He says nothing, and turns back to look at the court. Except Akashi, they’re all gone. “I know,” he finally answers, staring at his shoes. “I’m sorry.”
It was raining. Akashi’s hair is soaked and sticking to the sides of his face as he slings his towel over his shoulder. “Kuroko,” he says, right before Kuroko leaves the changing room. “I need to talk to you.”
Kuroko guesses he should’ve seen it coming.
“I’m guessing you know why you aren’t making any more passes, right?”
Kuroko nods.
“The strength of the team is unrivalled. Yet, it’s not the scariest point of the team. The unbounded potential of each member is what scares you, is it not? Sometimes, when they don’t pass you the ball, you think, are they too strong for me now? Do they not need me anymore? What if one day they can simply play without me? Have you thought of that, Kuroko?”
He’s right. Kuroko says nothing.
“Surprisingly, I’m glad we’re going to graduate soon. Any more time together and conflicts will be bound to arise, right, Kuroko?” Akashi asks, but there’s no curiosity in his eyes. Somehow, Kuroko already knows, and Midorima always tells him, but there’s it - over and over again. Akashi Seijuurou is always right.
“If there’s nothing else… I’m going, Akashi-kun.”
When Momoi looks him up the fourth time in two weeks, tugging on his sleeve and crying over Aomine skipping practice, Kuroko senses that there’s something wrong. Something wrong has always been happening, ever since that day Akashi talked to him, but for Aomine to skip practice…? He pulls on his running shoes, and heads out after Momoi.
To put it bluntly, if not for Aomine, Kuroko wouldn’t have made it this far. Kuroko remembers the first time they’ve met - when the lights were too dim for anyone to spot Kuroko, when Momoi had shoved Aomine into the court because she was too afraid. They had trained day after day together, like that, just the both of them, and they’d made a promise together.
We’ll play on the same court together one day, Tetsu.
During the first match Kuroko took part in, he’d screwed up. Aomine had forgotten his wallet during the break and when he ran after Aomine to return it, he’d overheard Aomine pleading with the coach for him to not remove Kuroko from the first string. Imagine if that were to happen. Imagine if Aomine hadn’t helped him then…
The wind blows, breaking Kuroko out from his reverie. Kuroko waves bye to Momoi and picks up his speed as he heads to where Aomine is at.
Deep down inside, it hurt when Akashi told him those words, because they rang true and familiar in Kuroko’s heart. It’s painful, like salt on an old wound, and it’s suffocating, like a balloon with too much air trapped inside, threatening to burst any moment. Aomine was strong. In fact, all of them were way too strong. Kuroko knew that there will come a day where they don’t need him anymore, wouldn’t need him to pass the ball around to score. But the fact that it had come so fast had thrown Kuroko off his axis.
“…I don’t even remember how to receive your passes anymore,” Aomine mutters. Are those tears in his eyes? Kuroko can’t really tell as the raindrops pelt onto Aomine’s hair and shoulders and face mercilessly. Kuroko can feel the rain dripping from the tips of his hair, but they feel too light to be significant. What’s heavier is Aomine’s gaze on him. “Coach said I don’t have to attend practice anymore, right? As long as I win? Tetsu, is that bad?”
“Aomine-kun…” Kuroko starts, but he finds that he doesn’t know what to say to Aomine anymore. It’s been too long since they’d talked, too long since they’d been spending time together. Friendship doesn’t dull, they say, but Kuroko knows, teamwork does. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Aomine-kun. I don’t know what to say.”
The both of them stay silent as the rain continues to fall. Aomine picks up his bag, and promptly runs away in the rain, water splashing under his shoes. Ah? Those shoes are… that pair Aomine bought when he dragged Kuroko out for basketball equipment shopping the other day. Kuroko watches his back shakily, and lets the first tear fall after Aomine turns into another street. “Idiot,” he breathes as he sinks down to his knees, “your shoes will spoil.”
It’s still raining.
The cars drive by in a whizz from the expressway just above his head, and Kuroko stares up into the grey sky, wondering how the day had gone from a sunny one to this. There’s no use moping around here, is there? He yanks his bag up and takes a step out from the shelter. He thinks the tear streaks on his cheeks should’ve dried up by now, so that Momoi doesn’t ask him too much when he gets back, but as the rain slips past his cheeks again, he thinks the rain tastes a little salty.
guess who went overly emotional tonight lol i couldn't help it i just kept staring at aomine crying and i cried and i guess i just found myself on the aokuro ship and 那些年 is my aokuro song i don't care
yeah i kind of lied this was pretty much aokuro in my head i just couldn't articulate that
tl;dr yeah just ignore this whole thing i just needed to vent somewhere i'm sorry it had to be here
no pairing/kuroko-centric (hinted kuroko→aomine)
g. 1,000w
what if the rain washed away what we were?
It was raining.
Somewhere deep down inside Kuroko’s heart, he thought he knew. He thought he knew, and he’d deal with it when it comes his way. Akashi had told him that, too, and he hadn’t put much thought into it. The Generation of Miracles may be just a name for them, but a team is still a team, no matter how you put it.
The whistle blows. The game stops, and the coach stares at Kuroko. It unnerves him for a bit. “You didn’t make a pass today, Kuroko. Not one.”
From behind, Kuroko can hear Midorima complaining to Kise about the rain, about how he hates rain, and Kuroko fights back a small smile and looks in front. The coach is not reprimanding him. He’d acknowledged Kuroko’s different basketball style from the start, ever since Akashi had recommended him into the first string, and so did the rest of the Miracles, but from here, Kuroko can see the questions swimming in his eyes. He says nothing, and turns back to look at the court. Except Akashi, they’re all gone. “I know,” he finally answers, staring at his shoes. “I’m sorry.”
It was raining. Akashi’s hair is soaked and sticking to the sides of his face as he slings his towel over his shoulder. “Kuroko,” he says, right before Kuroko leaves the changing room. “I need to talk to you.”
Kuroko guesses he should’ve seen it coming.
“I’m guessing you know why you aren’t making any more passes, right?”
Kuroko nods.
“The strength of the team is unrivalled. Yet, it’s not the scariest point of the team. The unbounded potential of each member is what scares you, is it not? Sometimes, when they don’t pass you the ball, you think, are they too strong for me now? Do they not need me anymore? What if one day they can simply play without me? Have you thought of that, Kuroko?”
He’s right. Kuroko says nothing.
“Surprisingly, I’m glad we’re going to graduate soon. Any more time together and conflicts will be bound to arise, right, Kuroko?” Akashi asks, but there’s no curiosity in his eyes. Somehow, Kuroko already knows, and Midorima always tells him, but there’s it - over and over again. Akashi Seijuurou is always right.
“If there’s nothing else… I’m going, Akashi-kun.”
When Momoi looks him up the fourth time in two weeks, tugging on his sleeve and crying over Aomine skipping practice, Kuroko senses that there’s something wrong. Something wrong has always been happening, ever since that day Akashi talked to him, but for Aomine to skip practice…? He pulls on his running shoes, and heads out after Momoi.
To put it bluntly, if not for Aomine, Kuroko wouldn’t have made it this far. Kuroko remembers the first time they’ve met - when the lights were too dim for anyone to spot Kuroko, when Momoi had shoved Aomine into the court because she was too afraid. They had trained day after day together, like that, just the both of them, and they’d made a promise together.
We’ll play on the same court together one day, Tetsu.
During the first match Kuroko took part in, he’d screwed up. Aomine had forgotten his wallet during the break and when he ran after Aomine to return it, he’d overheard Aomine pleading with the coach for him to not remove Kuroko from the first string. Imagine if that were to happen. Imagine if Aomine hadn’t helped him then…
The wind blows, breaking Kuroko out from his reverie. Kuroko waves bye to Momoi and picks up his speed as he heads to where Aomine is at.
Deep down inside, it hurt when Akashi told him those words, because they rang true and familiar in Kuroko’s heart. It’s painful, like salt on an old wound, and it’s suffocating, like a balloon with too much air trapped inside, threatening to burst any moment. Aomine was strong. In fact, all of them were way too strong. Kuroko knew that there will come a day where they don’t need him anymore, wouldn’t need him to pass the ball around to score. But the fact that it had come so fast had thrown Kuroko off his axis.
“…I don’t even remember how to receive your passes anymore,” Aomine mutters. Are those tears in his eyes? Kuroko can’t really tell as the raindrops pelt onto Aomine’s hair and shoulders and face mercilessly. Kuroko can feel the rain dripping from the tips of his hair, but they feel too light to be significant. What’s heavier is Aomine’s gaze on him. “Coach said I don’t have to attend practice anymore, right? As long as I win? Tetsu, is that bad?”
“Aomine-kun…” Kuroko starts, but he finds that he doesn’t know what to say to Aomine anymore. It’s been too long since they’d talked, too long since they’d been spending time together. Friendship doesn’t dull, they say, but Kuroko knows, teamwork does. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Aomine-kun. I don’t know what to say.”
The both of them stay silent as the rain continues to fall. Aomine picks up his bag, and promptly runs away in the rain, water splashing under his shoes. Ah? Those shoes are… that pair Aomine bought when he dragged Kuroko out for basketball equipment shopping the other day. Kuroko watches his back shakily, and lets the first tear fall after Aomine turns into another street. “Idiot,” he breathes as he sinks down to his knees, “your shoes will spoil.”
It’s still raining.
The cars drive by in a whizz from the expressway just above his head, and Kuroko stares up into the grey sky, wondering how the day had gone from a sunny one to this. There’s no use moping around here, is there? He yanks his bag up and takes a step out from the shelter. He thinks the tear streaks on his cheeks should’ve dried up by now, so that Momoi doesn’t ask him too much when he gets back, but as the rain slips past his cheeks again, he thinks the rain tastes a little salty.
guess who went overly emotional tonight lol i couldn't help it i just kept staring at aomine crying and i cried and i guess i just found myself on the aokuro ship and 那些年 is my aokuro song i don't care
yeah i kind of lied this was pretty much aokuro in my head i just couldn't articulate that
tl;dr yeah just ignore this whole thing i just needed to vent somewhere i'm sorry it had to be here