ezyl
in
pillowcased
[kuroko] theory of the totoro pillow
title theory of the totoro pillow
pair midorima/kise/aomine, a little momoi and bits of kuroko to lighten it up
rated pg-15 OP as shit
warnings for present tense, artsy fartsy run-on sentences, colorful language, gay slurs that i would never use, rude tbh, references to league of roflegends, 2channel user aomine, a lot of negativity because life is terrible to kise and kise is terrible to life
summary No love lost.
notes kise is maybe crazy, but i wouldn't call it ooc?? i don't expect anyone to read this because it is my first real fanfic in a horrendously long time oh no what is writing how the heck do you do it
( Have you ever been in love before?
Falling at first sight, like in the movies?
Spent the entire night talking on the phone?
Bragged to the entire world? )
Sometimes Kise comes around to watch television. He flicks through the channels without really listening to the news reporter declaring domestic terrorism or the boy singing love songs to his classmate or the girl in the swimming pool screaming for help, makes himself instant coffee without really paying attention to the water boiling, takes his socks off and throws them into Midorima's dirty laundry basket. Fucks around with the clock and without keeping track of time, jokes without laughing himself, laughs when he's not joking.
Sometimes he loads the laundry himself, thinks about electrical circuits and the quickest way to off the annoying voice in the back of his head, reality entertainment notwithstanding. The washing machine turns by itself and outside the birds keep chirping.
Most of the time, however, he plays videogames. He lets himself loose and forgets about basketballs hoops, melds his fingers into the computer keyboard and keeps his headset hanging over the larger half of his brain, love and fever slammed into one billboard. Counts the number of times he dies on one hand, the number of health potions he consumes and the number of enemies he slays on the other. He yells at everyone on the internet and feels better about himself when they retaliate. When he gets bored of that he sleeps in Midorima's bed. He uses Midorima's pillow as a blanket and Midorima's blanket as a pillow, and he wakes up with his hair in a mess and his head full of really fucked up ideas.
Like what if. Like what if Aomine was here, what would he do. Like what if it was Aomine who was stopping around here all the time. Like what if he was Aomine and some gorgeous bitch like Momoi would agree to have sex with Kise. Or like maybe. Like maybe Midorima needed a refrigerator. Like maybe he needed to slice his heart down to a manageable size. Like maybe if Kise had worked hard enough in his last year of high school he could have tested into a better university, and he wouldn't be stuck playing videogames and watching magical shoujo anime all day.
But those are just fucked up ideas, after all, and Kise already has too many of those.
"And what would you do if Aomine was here," says Midorima, "would you confess your feelings and try to drag him off to a love hotel?"
"Wow fuck that," says Kise. "Who do you even take me for?"
"Anything Momoi can accomplish, you can perform five times more extravagantly."
"Yeah well you're a fucking faggot."
Midorima pushes his glasses up his face. His nostrils flare. "That was rude, Kise."
"But it's true. Now get out."
"This is my apartment, Kise, not yours."
"Fuck off."
"I hope you don't try to kill the neighbour's cat," says Midorima. He's polite enough not to add the word again at the end, but that barely softens the sentiment.
"Get out."
Midorima gets out.
He gets out, because he is Good Guy Midorima. Good Guy Midorima doesn't play videogames or rage at people on the internet because he is Good Guy Midorima. Good Guy Midorima still goes on runs every day at 7pm, lifts weights at the gym on weekends, takes showers before midnight because he cares about his neighbors. Good Guy Midorima doesn't wrap his arms around odd conquests and dump them into his bed in the middle of the night. Good Guy Midorima is practically asexual, or at least that's what Kise thinks, and he only thinks because he is not Good Guy Kise. He is Scumbag Kise and he doesn't need to understand, because Good Guy Midorima understands for him. It's a pretty good arrangement.
"Hold still," says Momoi, extending her right arm and positioning her camera phone toward the sunlight. She flops an arm over Aomine's shoulder and flashes a big bright grin. Click. Flips her phone immediately around to examine the results. "What'd ya think?"
"Instagram worthy," Aomine grunts, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. The sun shines bright and there's no visible shade near the park bench they're sitting on, so he cups one hand over his forehead and prepares for sunburn.
"That means nothing, you know," says Momoi. "Fucking everyone posts fucking everything on Instagram now. People post dumb pictures of their feet on Instagram. Totally weird shithole."
"You shouldn't swear so much, Satsuki. Doesn't suit you."
"How's that's for you to decide, huh? I'm twenty years old and I can buy my own alcohol. Fuck you I can say whatever I want."
"That's wonderful," says Aomine. "You are so wonderful." He leans his head back against the edge of the park bench. His mouth is dry and his back kind of hurts but Momoi's wanted to go out and have fun like this for a long time so he doesn't dare complain.
They share a moment of silence, stewing in the sunlight.
"Ne, Dai-chan, what are you thinking about?"
"Nothing much."
"You sure about that?"
"Well, I'm kind of thirsty. D'you want anything to drink?"
"I'm OK. Why don't you get something for yourself? I see a vending machine over there by that tree."
"Hm."
"It's even an oak tree."
"I see."
"Don't you wonder how I know it's an oak tree?"
"Why is that?"
Momoi lights up. "I can tell because of the shape of the leaves, you know? They're like hands. No serrated edges. I'm taking a course in arboriculture at Aoyama Gakuin. They have these super prestigious online courses and everything."
"That's pretty exciting."
"I know right?"
The wind blows against the walls and the window frames rumble in response, threatening the life of Midorima's feeble cable internet. Kise doesn't look up from his game. He's clicking frantically, pinging points on the minimap and glaring at his invisible teammates on the other side of the computer monitor. They're losing, and quite terribly. The enemy has already pushed past the second tier of their defenses, stolen all the necessary buffs on the map and acquired the gold for superior item builds. Kise types and curses at the same time, feels no remorse for calling them the worst names he can possibly think of because every single cocksucking motherfucker on his team deserves it. Except for himself, of course. He is always the exception.
The surrender vote goes out in another three minutes, and his team forfeits the game, four votes to one.
"Hey," he hears Midorima say behind him, when his fingers have finally stopped shaking, voice too close to sweep over Kise's head. "It's raining outside."
He doesn't say anything.
"Can you hear the thunder?"
He can't.
"You should probably turn the computer off. It is inauspicious to leave electronics running during a thunderstorm. And also rather lethal."
"I'm OK, Midorimacchi."
"You are not OK," says Midorima, his tone implying that he is ready to present other circumstantial evidence besides the ones applicable to Kise's current predicament. "Look, you just lost that game, see? Time to take a break. Come on. Take a walk with me outside."
"..."
"I've only got one umbrella, though, so I suppose we'll have to share."
"Hey Dai-chan, have you seen Kise-kun recently?"
"Not recently. We don't talk that much, actually."
"You guys were so close back in grade school, ne."
"Hm. We were, weren't we?"
"What happened to that?"
"Nothing happened, really."
"...But that's just it, isn't it? Nothing happened."
"Should something have happened?"
They talk about school and movies and books and girls, sweeping skirts and turning tides and different colors in the coppery streets. There is still rain, but it's not heavy enough to make Midorima regret his proposition for a walk. He holds his umbrella upright at a ninety-degree angle, level to the ground, the pointed tips one foot above Kise's head. The umbrella is wide enough for both of them, but they crowd together anyway; Midorima keeps his fists unclenched and Kise keeps his gaze level with the puddles on the ground. They talk about girls and books and movies and school, formulaic teaching and recent birthday parties. Midorima maintains a brisk pace and Kise follows him despondently. He doesn't remember the last time he's been outside, but it's windy and cold and it does more than tickle his bones. He's kind of still heartbroken but he doesn't want to admit it, and Midorima's more than eager to avoid this particular route in the conversation, if only for a short while.
"You've lost weight," Midorima says, at length. "I've made sure to buy food for you everyday, and yet you're significantly thinner than before."
"Maybe it's because you need a refrigerator," says Kise.
"Why would you ever need a refrigerator? Isn't it ideal to buy fresh produce every day and eat it before it rots away in storage? Micro-shopping. I'm sure you've heard of it."
"Nope."
"Beyond that, how do you think the human race managed it for the last few centuries, when there wasn't any electricity to run a refrigerator?"
"The fuck kind of logic is that," says Kise, and then he laughs. "You sound like an old man, Midorimacchi. Can't believe you're the same age as me. You're a real fucker, you know that? I mean I--" A pause. He realizes that he hasn't sounded this happy in weeks.
Midorima doesn't notice, and even if he does he pretends not to. "You realize that I'm younger than you, right? And I prefer to call it 'living timelessly'."
"'Timelessly.'"
"Simplification of the subject matter. Micro-management relieves the daily burdens that many people bear, given that the tasks are smaller and much more routine-based. Works like digestion."
"Are you talking about stress-reduction?" says Kise.
"Precisely." Midorima shifts the umbrella to his other hand to adjust his grip. "It is better for young people to maintain a manageable level of emotional anxiety. You, in particular, bear a lot of stress."
"Me?" Kise snorts derisively. "Now what kind of stress could I possibly be bearing? I'm not attending a prestigious university like you. I used to be 50 percent muscle and 50 percent fluffy, but I'm pretty much 100 percent fluffy now. I'm past my prime, man. All I do is fucking play videogames all day."
"Well...your looks are still satisfying enough for modelling," Midorima says. "I guess."
"Still. Doesn't mean I've got any stress."
"That's not true."
"I don't feel any stress at all~"
"No," says Midorima, exasperated. The umbrella slips a little in his grip and a couple of raindrops land on Kise's hair. "I wasn't referring to that kind stress. I meant that shit you've been going through in the last month with Ao--"
"Oh god no," the smile fades from Kise's face. "Don't go there. Please."
"But it's t--"
"Don't fucking say it."
Kuroko doesn't bother to give him the silent treatment. He defers Kise's options in a graceful manner, connects them together with his fingertips before plodding about the perimeters by himself. He also has this cool thing where he allows his shadow to conduct a conversation; it's only slightly nerve-wracking to be on the receiving end, but whatever. It's not like Kise cares.
"You're not paying any attention to me again," Kuroko tells him. "I can feel it."
"That's not a hard thing to do, Kurokocchi," he smiles wide. "No offense to you. Or your cute face. You are too cute, have I told you that?"
"Only like a thousand times," says Kuroko. "Whatever makes you happy. I've got no problem with it."
"No problem, therefore no resolution."
"No resolution, huh," says Kuroko. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"None at all. Even Midorimacchi agrees. He's surprisingly subtle about it, though. I wonder if he knows that."
"You don't have to be so upset all the time," Kuroko says. He's dipping a toe in the muddy water now, and his voice strains a bit on the other side of the telephone line. "You could be happy."
If Kuroko was here in person, Kise would have ruffled his hair. "I'm very happy with the way things are," he says instead, "I don't know what you're talking about."
He hangs up twenty minutes later and pads over to the bedroom, curls up in Midorima's bed. His head begins to hurt, and outside the sun rises.
It goes on like this for a while.
It was a film based on a true story. The girl attended law school because she was victim to early impressions of the glamour and romance sampled through Legally Blonde, the only difference being was that she was Japanese and her hair color was naturally black. She went the salon for the first time when she was a first-year in senior high school, and it just so happened to be the salon that a ruggedly handsome ex-attorney worked at; the narration explained that his job description basically consisted of bleaching the heads of young girls who were victim to early impressions of the glamour and romance sampled through Legally Blonde. He was a thin young man who kept his words to himself and his hair spiked in what was questionably fashionable. He played pachinko with salarymen on Saturdays, was a fan of Gatsby products, and stayed up on weeknights to watch variety shows on FujiTV. What made him truly spectacular, however, was how he hadn't changed in years, not even a bit.
What followed was of course a brilliant love story about how the girl discovered the ex-attorney's past and how he was robbed of his badge in the prime of his career, a la Phoenix Wright, how she decided to redefine her reasons for becoming a lawyer because of this weird type of romantic vengeance, how she began to date her hair stylist, how she became tipsy one night, how he didn't take advantage of her in her state of intoxication, how she was embarrassed and relieved at the same time because she believed that He Was The One, how painfully ironic it all was, how the stores closed after happy hour, how she was sexually assaulted by a jealous co-worker at her new law firm, how the narration had cheekily described it as a consequence of being a pro bono pretty girl, how her feelings and interest in all humans with penises disintegrated at that moment, how she never told anybody about the incident, how she became decidedly unhappy, how she quit her job, how she became an alcoholic, how she didn't brush her teeth for two weeks straight, how she broke up with her boyfriend, how she continued to hold the world in contempt, the end.
"Well," says Aomine, "that escalated rather quickly."
"But it sounds like a good movie, doesn't it?" says Momoi. "What do you think, Kuro-chan? Points for realism?"
Kuroko lifts his head up from the grass. "I dunno...sounds a tad too depressing and PTSD-y for me..."
"Also the part where she started carrying a Swiss army knife to defend against any guy that got too close to her," Aomine adds. "Kind of puts you off, doesn't it? What if she becomes a serial schlong slicer?"
"Oh," says Satsuki. "Didn't even think of that."
"But I guess makes sense why she would, getting assaulted is probably horrifying," Aomine says, scratching his arm. "Still, Justin Bieber would be sad. One More Lonely Girl in the World."
"She could prefer women too, you know, that's not out of the question either," Momoi points out.
"In which case my opinion of the movie would change drastically," says Aomine. "For the better."
Kuroko smirks. "Throw in some lesbian love scenes and he's completely sold."
"Haha, you're a funny one," says Aomine. "What's a 'pro bono pretty girl' supposed to be, anyway?"
"It's an archetype that they use a lot in legal dramas. Hotshot female lawyer tumbles out of the law school chute, lucky enough to land a low position in a big law firm because that's how the story usually goes, but there's always some asshole who's jealous of her looks or her brains or something, so the newbie gets shuffled over to pro bono. You know, like the shit cases that no one wants because it's basically unpaid civil duty compared to the big money-making lawsuits."
"I see."
"So the pro bono pretty girl works for a while, reluctantly taking the cases. But after a few inspirational people, generally limited to one per episode installment, she becomes deeply affected by what she sees in the Real World, having had to interact with all the low-income government head cases filing for divorce settlements or landlord compensations because their houses burned down, et cetera et cetera. As the pro bono pretty girl, she's stereotypically really fucking sentimental, you know? So she she goes all seishun amigo and defends them with her clear and beautiful emotions, becomes the heroine we all wanted, and when all's said an done, she gets some stupid commendation from her handsome superior. After that is when all the shit goes down. Hubris, you know?"
"How come I've never heard of this archetype before?" says Kuroko.
Satsuki rolls her eyes. "Haven't you watched Hokaben? Pro bono pretty girl 101."
"Don't think Kuroko likes the lawyer stuff," says Aomine. "I mean it's weird enough that he fancies Nishikido Ryo."
Kuroko frowned. "What's wrong with Nishikido Ryo? He's got a nice face. Plus we're the same height. That never happens."
"Whatever," says Aomine. "Kagami's gonna want to have a word with you on that one."
"Better him than you," says Kuroko, and he leaves it at that.
Aomine walks into the hair salon later that day and sits down without being invited to. He picks up a magazine without reading the cover and holds it upside down without realizing it because he's examining himself in the mirror. The sky outside is bright, but the lights in the salon appear brighter and perhaps he is looking at stars.
"I would like to bleach my hair blonde," he says in a loud voice, and then he waits.
A moment later he hears footsteps and he looks back down, pretends to read his magazine for the sake of pretending.
"It's upside-down," says Kise. "Your magazine is upside-down."
Aomine doesn't look up. "How much does it cost? Going blonde."
"15,000 yen."
"You shitting me? That's a lot of money."
"We're a high-class salon," Kise shrugs. "Can I recommend that you get streaks, instead? There's a discount on that today. Plus I don't think you'll look too good with your hair completely blonde, anyway. Your skin tone isn't fair enough for it."
"Yeah, like you ever cared about whether or not I looked good at all," Aomine says underneath his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just do it. I'm walking out of here today with blonde hair."
"You got it, boss."
Midorima exits his college classroom at noon sharp. He takes his time walking to the main building, making absolute sure to measure out his steps exactly and not step on any cracks in the pavement. It is a rare occurrence today, that he had decided against carrying a charm with him to ward off misfortunate tempers. Today's lucky item is a Totoro pillow, but Kise had taken Midorima's Totoro pillow and soiled it by punching its guts out and throwing it into the street earlier this morning, in a fit of disgusted post-game rage. Having already defiled the pillow, Midorima could only assume that carrying such an object would only increase his inauspicious aura.
(What a stupid fucker.)
He climbs the stairs two steps at a time, counting backwards from ten in the back of his head. The sky is bright, but the lights in the main building appear brighter and perhaps he is looking at stars. There is a physics exam later in the evening, and he's only studied three quarters of the necessary materials. It's more than enough to earn a passing grade, but he likes it when people believe that he's impressive. He takes a minute to weigh out his priorities, and decides to forego his weight training today in order to spare some time for reading the exam material. Although there's a narrow margin, it's probably worth it. He's still thinking about this when he narrowly avoids running into somebody at the top of the staircase. He reaches out his arms at the last minute to avoid collision, and he ends up swatting the air.
"Oops, sorry," says Kuroko, having sidestepped Midorima's hands to reach the other end of the bannister. "I didn't see you there, Midorima-kun."
"And I'm never able to see you," Midorima says irritably, momentarily caught off guard. "What else is new?"
"Yeah," says Kuroko, "that happens. I'm sorry?"
Midorima sighs. "Never mind, I knew it was gonna be an unlucky day for me from the start."
"Ouch." says Kuroko. "I actually wanted to talk to you."
"So." Kise clears his throat. He stirs the pot of bleaching cream with one hand, other hand searching through the drawer for a brush. He comes up with a handful of large hairpins, and scatters them on the same tray as the pot of bleach. "How have you been?"
"I'm doing well. Wanted to bleach my hair."
"Yeah," Kise says. "I can see that."
Aomine is sitting with his back straight, his head completely still and his arms folded calmly across his chest. "And you?"
"Me?" Kise stops stirring the bleaching cream, picking up the hair pins instead. His fingers reach for Aomine's hair, and he starts to pin them up separately. There isn't much hair on Aomine's head anyway, but it's longer than the last time Kise's seen it, and much less bristly under his fingertips. The small tufts of Aomine's hair he's pinned up look like a child's weak attempts at making pigtails. "What about me?"
"I mean you. How have you been?"
"Oh. I've been OK."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
It's kind of awful seeing him like this, Kise suddenly thinks. It's not even awkward so much as it is terrifying. He's done pinching up Aomine's hair now, having made sure that he didn't do it too tight. He doesn't want to cause Aomine any pain. Takes a deep breath. "I'm going to begin now."
"Go ahead."
He dips his fingers into the bowl.
Kise dated an American awhile back, during the days he spent at a California training camp for basketball. The weather was always very lovely there and San Francisco in the summertime wasn't nearly as sultry as he'd expected. He met the American like this, next to a tennis court he'd walked past on an odd day in the rain. A wet tennis ball had flown in front of his face and he'd caught it with his fingertips. His reflexes were praised and he was subsequently invited to participate in a game, despite being a terrible tennis player, and then there was an umbrella and Peet's Coffee and then a weirdly-sexualized game of billiards and of course everything came together rather fast, as he'd come to expect with Americans, he was in a hotel bed with a box of lubricated condoms sitting on the nightstand, his shirt pulled up above his neck and the waistband of his underwear chafing against a stupid erection. He barely spoke any English.
He had sex thirteen times over the next five days, and he fell in love with the American just as quickly. The American's his skin was dark and his teeth were white and straight and he taught tennis lessons to high school students as a part-time job over summer vacation. He had a passion for basketball and marijuana, he was a fan of David Foster Wallace and he preferred carrot juice over orange. He enjoyed telling Kise stories about his hometown in Florida, even though most of them were likely made up. He also possessed a large cock.
Kise dated this American for a month before his training camp was finished and he had to leave for Japan to attend another year of university. He almost considered staying in America, but it was fortunate inconvenience for both him and the American. They broke up their relationship over a nice dinner in a Persian restaurant, had perfunctory sex in the backseat of the American's hybrid SUV, and the next day they shared a short farewell at the airport, right before the baggage check station.
"I'm glad I met you, I had a lot of fun," the American told Kise. "How do you say 'goodbye' in Japanese, again?"
"Aishiteru yo," Kise replied.
"Say that one more time?"
There was a small smile on his face, Kise remembered. It made him happy and unhappy at the same time. "A-i-shi-te-ru-yo."
"OK then, a-i-shi-te-ru-yo, Ryota."
"Thank you," Kise told him in Japanese. "That means a lot to me."
"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Midorima asks. "Can it wait? I've got an exam in five hours and it is imperative to my social reputation that I perform well on it." He flipped a page in his notebook, and Kuroko's face begins to flicker in the corner of his eye.
"It'll be quick," Kuroko says hurriedly, snapping Midorima's attention back to himself by stealing the notebook over the desk. "I just have a question."
"God, you're annoying," Midorima frowns. "Give that back."
"You're going to fail your exam anyway," Kuroko insists. "Just talk. I know you don't like me very much either way, but I still think we should talk."
"You're right," Midorima sighs, and he leans back in his chair. He tilts his head back and stares up at the lofty ceiling of the library. "I don't like you at all. Totoro pillow where?"
"Midorima-kun, you like Kise-kun a lot, don't you?"
He keeps his head balanced, parallel to the library's roof and his eyes start to water a bit from the strain. The lights are bright in this room as well, and he almost wishes that it was darker and raining again, so that he can carry one umbrella and let Kise share it with him. "What difference does it make who I like?"
"But you do like him, don't you? It's kind of obvious. He's been staying over at your house quite a lot, or so Satsuki-san tells me."
"Well. She's generally very reliable when it comes to intel, isn't she?"
Kuroko leans forward across the desk. He still has Midorima's notebook in his hands and this time it's almost impossible to ignore him. "So?"
"...Yeah." Midorima says finally. The beams in the ceiling are actually quite elegant, viewed from this angle. "I do like him."
"And do you think Kise-kun likes you back?"
There are carvings in some pieces the wood, if you squint at the beams, but it's rough and not particularly refined. Perhaps it was designed by a graduate student in the architecture department. "Does it matter if he likes me back or not?"
"It does," says Kuroko.
"And why is that?"
"Because he has blonde hair."
Midorima snorts. He tilts his head back and looks Kuroko square in the eye. "Don't be cryptic, Kuroko. Doesn't suit you."
"Hey man, I have no idea what you're talking about," Kuroko looks genuinely surprised, but he's always been pretty good at pulling that face. Midorima isn't impressed, and Kuroko goes on anyway. "Plus I want to help you."
"It's OK," says Midorima. "There's no room for the golden rule. He's never going to get over that idiot Aomine, and you know and I know that it's been going on longer than just last year. Way longer."
"We do?"
Midorima pushes his glasses up his nose and heaves a big, complicated sigh. "Kuroko, think about it. We've known each other since we were kids, plus we were all on the same basketball team. Momoi Satsuki is not the only observant one."
"But..."
"There was you, there was me, and Akashi probably had an idea too. Locker room stories. Junior high. Pre-pubescent sexual frustration, oxymoron intended. I have green hair."
"Now you're the one being cryptic," Kuroko smiles. "Thought we were going to have a serious conversation. And I still want to help."
Midorima straightens up in his chair and snatches his notebook from Kuroko's hands. "Listen carefully. Over the years, I have perfected the art of living in solitude. It's not difficult to understand, is it? The old Totoro doesn't change its ways. Besides, I prefer the noble act of jerking-off whilst stoically wallowing in self-pity."
"I see," says Kuroko. "What was that about the Totoro again?"
"Freudian slip," Midorima replies. "Goodbye, now."
Half of Aomine's head is covered in white bleaching cream. Kise is using the brush as an applicator, but his fingers smooth over the hairlines as well, tangling in Aomine's locks of hair and scraping at the roots just above his scalp. The bleach is heavy and it burns against his bare skin. Aomine's eyes are closed and his shoulders are squared; he's ready to run down the salon station as if he were on the basketball court. His fingers are curled up into balls and Kise doesn't know what he's thinking about, but it must be something happy and noncommital, the way Aomine always is. Scumbag Kise wants to punch the wall and rip up another one of Midorima's pillows, but his hand is burning and it's game over already, because he's never played well, even now, even after seven hundred and fifty normal wins.
Aomine opens his eyes and stares into the mirror. His gaze locks onto Kise's fingers, and he stands up suddenly from the chair, turning around and knocking the bowl of bleaching cream off the tray.
"What are you doing?" Kise says, alarmed.
"Better question," Aomine says, his voice low. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"W-What do you mean? Sit down, dude, look what you just did to the bleach. Man, now I've got to make more."
"Forget about the fucking bleach. Why aren't you wearing any gloves?"
Kise looked down at his hands. The fingers that had been smoothing over the bleach the whole time was burning a raw red color, and he could feel the sensation tingling through his skin. A small smile crept onto his face. "It's no big deal. Must have forgotten. Hey, wai--"
"Forgotten. You piece of shit," Aomine growls, grabbing Kise by the hand that wasn't bleached and marching him to the sink. He jerks the spigot violently with one hand, and water rushes out of the pipe. "You're a lousy liar, Kise, now put your goddamn hand under the tap."
"Aomine, please let go of my hand," says Kise. Water gushes over his knuckles and the white cream slides off slowly, the drier parts of the bleach flake and take bits of his skin with it.
"Not until this shit is all gone. I'm done. You are never touching my head ever again, you fucking idiot." Aomine's hand is still clenched tight around Kise's wrist, his fingers rough against Kise's skin and burning just as heavily as the bleach on Kise's other hand.
"Let go of my wrist."
"No, fuck you."
The water swirls in the drain, wispy and slightly translucent from the cream. Kise watches it slide down the porcelain of the sink.
"Aominecchi, please let go of me."
( I'm sure you've had a broken heart
Hated them as much as you loved them
Ripped up letters you didn't read
Deleted the phone number you will never forget
Celebrated anniversaries by yourself
Burned all the photographs
Thought every song about heartbreak in the world was yours
)
ugh i can't this was meant to be a funny story wadafa happen
yeah so basically aomine left the hair place with half of his head bleached and kise's hand got better after a few hours and midorima ended up fucking kuroko on top of the library table because they are cryptic and sexual like that and satsuki is one badass motherfucker who knows about all the goddamn trees in the forest the end
supplementary notes:
(1) beginning and ending samples are courtesy of epik high (/watch?v=1RTl3HXK_NI)
(2) so apparently japanese people don't really use instagram (favoring an app called PICK instead) but i wasn't sure if anyone cared enough to research it. oooh look at me, sacrificing random cultural tidbits for the sake of english localization hohoho
(3) hokaben is a good lawyer drama, i recommend it and i totally don't have a colossal crush on kato shigeaki no way hombre
(4) oh yeah aishiteru doesn't mean goodbye in japanese it means something else n b d
(5) i miss having internet friends please talk to me anybody T_T follow me on tumblr?? my name is transferrals next round of shots all on me
(6) thanks for reading! i like reviews :3
pair midorima/kise/aomine, a little momoi and bits of kuroko to lighten it up
rated pg-15 OP as shit
warnings for present tense, artsy fartsy run-on sentences, colorful language, gay slurs that i would never use, rude tbh, references to league of roflegends, 2channel user aomine, a lot of negativity because life is terrible to kise and kise is terrible to life
summary No love lost.
notes kise is maybe crazy, but i wouldn't call it ooc?? i don't expect anyone to read this because it is my first real fanfic in a horrendously long time oh no what is writing how the heck do you do it
( Have you ever been in love before?
Falling at first sight, like in the movies?
Spent the entire night talking on the phone?
Bragged to the entire world? )
Sometimes Kise comes around to watch television. He flicks through the channels without really listening to the news reporter declaring domestic terrorism or the boy singing love songs to his classmate or the girl in the swimming pool screaming for help, makes himself instant coffee without really paying attention to the water boiling, takes his socks off and throws them into Midorima's dirty laundry basket. Fucks around with the clock and without keeping track of time, jokes without laughing himself, laughs when he's not joking.
Sometimes he loads the laundry himself, thinks about electrical circuits and the quickest way to off the annoying voice in the back of his head, reality entertainment notwithstanding. The washing machine turns by itself and outside the birds keep chirping.
Most of the time, however, he plays videogames. He lets himself loose and forgets about basketballs hoops, melds his fingers into the computer keyboard and keeps his headset hanging over the larger half of his brain, love and fever slammed into one billboard. Counts the number of times he dies on one hand, the number of health potions he consumes and the number of enemies he slays on the other. He yells at everyone on the internet and feels better about himself when they retaliate. When he gets bored of that he sleeps in Midorima's bed. He uses Midorima's pillow as a blanket and Midorima's blanket as a pillow, and he wakes up with his hair in a mess and his head full of really fucked up ideas.
Like what if. Like what if Aomine was here, what would he do. Like what if it was Aomine who was stopping around here all the time. Like what if he was Aomine and some gorgeous bitch like Momoi would agree to have sex with Kise. Or like maybe. Like maybe Midorima needed a refrigerator. Like maybe he needed to slice his heart down to a manageable size. Like maybe if Kise had worked hard enough in his last year of high school he could have tested into a better university, and he wouldn't be stuck playing videogames and watching magical shoujo anime all day.
But those are just fucked up ideas, after all, and Kise already has too many of those.
"And what would you do if Aomine was here," says Midorima, "would you confess your feelings and try to drag him off to a love hotel?"
"Wow fuck that," says Kise. "Who do you even take me for?"
"Anything Momoi can accomplish, you can perform five times more extravagantly."
"Yeah well you're a fucking faggot."
Midorima pushes his glasses up his face. His nostrils flare. "That was rude, Kise."
"But it's true. Now get out."
"This is my apartment, Kise, not yours."
"Fuck off."
"I hope you don't try to kill the neighbour's cat," says Midorima. He's polite enough not to add the word again at the end, but that barely softens the sentiment.
"Get out."
Midorima gets out.
He gets out, because he is Good Guy Midorima. Good Guy Midorima doesn't play videogames or rage at people on the internet because he is Good Guy Midorima. Good Guy Midorima still goes on runs every day at 7pm, lifts weights at the gym on weekends, takes showers before midnight because he cares about his neighbors. Good Guy Midorima doesn't wrap his arms around odd conquests and dump them into his bed in the middle of the night. Good Guy Midorima is practically asexual, or at least that's what Kise thinks, and he only thinks because he is not Good Guy Kise. He is Scumbag Kise and he doesn't need to understand, because Good Guy Midorima understands for him. It's a pretty good arrangement.
"Hold still," says Momoi, extending her right arm and positioning her camera phone toward the sunlight. She flops an arm over Aomine's shoulder and flashes a big bright grin. Click. Flips her phone immediately around to examine the results. "What'd ya think?"
"Instagram worthy," Aomine grunts, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. The sun shines bright and there's no visible shade near the park bench they're sitting on, so he cups one hand over his forehead and prepares for sunburn.
"That means nothing, you know," says Momoi. "Fucking everyone posts fucking everything on Instagram now. People post dumb pictures of their feet on Instagram. Totally weird shithole."
"You shouldn't swear so much, Satsuki. Doesn't suit you."
"How's that's for you to decide, huh? I'm twenty years old and I can buy my own alcohol. Fuck you I can say whatever I want."
"That's wonderful," says Aomine. "You are so wonderful." He leans his head back against the edge of the park bench. His mouth is dry and his back kind of hurts but Momoi's wanted to go out and have fun like this for a long time so he doesn't dare complain.
They share a moment of silence, stewing in the sunlight.
"Ne, Dai-chan, what are you thinking about?"
"Nothing much."
"You sure about that?"
"Well, I'm kind of thirsty. D'you want anything to drink?"
"I'm OK. Why don't you get something for yourself? I see a vending machine over there by that tree."
"Hm."
"It's even an oak tree."
"I see."
"Don't you wonder how I know it's an oak tree?"
"Why is that?"
Momoi lights up. "I can tell because of the shape of the leaves, you know? They're like hands. No serrated edges. I'm taking a course in arboriculture at Aoyama Gakuin. They have these super prestigious online courses and everything."
"That's pretty exciting."
"I know right?"
The wind blows against the walls and the window frames rumble in response, threatening the life of Midorima's feeble cable internet. Kise doesn't look up from his game. He's clicking frantically, pinging points on the minimap and glaring at his invisible teammates on the other side of the computer monitor. They're losing, and quite terribly. The enemy has already pushed past the second tier of their defenses, stolen all the necessary buffs on the map and acquired the gold for superior item builds. Kise types and curses at the same time, feels no remorse for calling them the worst names he can possibly think of because every single cocksucking motherfucker on his team deserves it. Except for himself, of course. He is always the exception.
The surrender vote goes out in another three minutes, and his team forfeits the game, four votes to one.
"Hey," he hears Midorima say behind him, when his fingers have finally stopped shaking, voice too close to sweep over Kise's head. "It's raining outside."
He doesn't say anything.
"Can you hear the thunder?"
He can't.
"You should probably turn the computer off. It is inauspicious to leave electronics running during a thunderstorm. And also rather lethal."
"I'm OK, Midorimacchi."
"You are not OK," says Midorima, his tone implying that he is ready to present other circumstantial evidence besides the ones applicable to Kise's current predicament. "Look, you just lost that game, see? Time to take a break. Come on. Take a walk with me outside."
"..."
"I've only got one umbrella, though, so I suppose we'll have to share."
"Hey Dai-chan, have you seen Kise-kun recently?"
"Not recently. We don't talk that much, actually."
"You guys were so close back in grade school, ne."
"Hm. We were, weren't we?"
"What happened to that?"
"Nothing happened, really."
"...But that's just it, isn't it? Nothing happened."
"Should something have happened?"
They talk about school and movies and books and girls, sweeping skirts and turning tides and different colors in the coppery streets. There is still rain, but it's not heavy enough to make Midorima regret his proposition for a walk. He holds his umbrella upright at a ninety-degree angle, level to the ground, the pointed tips one foot above Kise's head. The umbrella is wide enough for both of them, but they crowd together anyway; Midorima keeps his fists unclenched and Kise keeps his gaze level with the puddles on the ground. They talk about girls and books and movies and school, formulaic teaching and recent birthday parties. Midorima maintains a brisk pace and Kise follows him despondently. He doesn't remember the last time he's been outside, but it's windy and cold and it does more than tickle his bones. He's kind of still heartbroken but he doesn't want to admit it, and Midorima's more than eager to avoid this particular route in the conversation, if only for a short while.
"You've lost weight," Midorima says, at length. "I've made sure to buy food for you everyday, and yet you're significantly thinner than before."
"Maybe it's because you need a refrigerator," says Kise.
"Why would you ever need a refrigerator? Isn't it ideal to buy fresh produce every day and eat it before it rots away in storage? Micro-shopping. I'm sure you've heard of it."
"Nope."
"Beyond that, how do you think the human race managed it for the last few centuries, when there wasn't any electricity to run a refrigerator?"
"The fuck kind of logic is that," says Kise, and then he laughs. "You sound like an old man, Midorimacchi. Can't believe you're the same age as me. You're a real fucker, you know that? I mean I--" A pause. He realizes that he hasn't sounded this happy in weeks.
Midorima doesn't notice, and even if he does he pretends not to. "You realize that I'm younger than you, right? And I prefer to call it 'living timelessly'."
"'Timelessly.'"
"Simplification of the subject matter. Micro-management relieves the daily burdens that many people bear, given that the tasks are smaller and much more routine-based. Works like digestion."
"Are you talking about stress-reduction?" says Kise.
"Precisely." Midorima shifts the umbrella to his other hand to adjust his grip. "It is better for young people to maintain a manageable level of emotional anxiety. You, in particular, bear a lot of stress."
"Me?" Kise snorts derisively. "Now what kind of stress could I possibly be bearing? I'm not attending a prestigious university like you. I used to be 50 percent muscle and 50 percent fluffy, but I'm pretty much 100 percent fluffy now. I'm past my prime, man. All I do is fucking play videogames all day."
"Well...your looks are still satisfying enough for modelling," Midorima says. "I guess."
"Still. Doesn't mean I've got any stress."
"That's not true."
"I don't feel any stress at all~"
"No," says Midorima, exasperated. The umbrella slips a little in his grip and a couple of raindrops land on Kise's hair. "I wasn't referring to that kind stress. I meant that shit you've been going through in the last month with Ao--"
"Oh god no," the smile fades from Kise's face. "Don't go there. Please."
"But it's t--"
"Don't fucking say it."
Kuroko doesn't bother to give him the silent treatment. He defers Kise's options in a graceful manner, connects them together with his fingertips before plodding about the perimeters by himself. He also has this cool thing where he allows his shadow to conduct a conversation; it's only slightly nerve-wracking to be on the receiving end, but whatever. It's not like Kise cares.
"You're not paying any attention to me again," Kuroko tells him. "I can feel it."
"That's not a hard thing to do, Kurokocchi," he smiles wide. "No offense to you. Or your cute face. You are too cute, have I told you that?"
"Only like a thousand times," says Kuroko. "Whatever makes you happy. I've got no problem with it."
"No problem, therefore no resolution."
"No resolution, huh," says Kuroko. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"None at all. Even Midorimacchi agrees. He's surprisingly subtle about it, though. I wonder if he knows that."
"You don't have to be so upset all the time," Kuroko says. He's dipping a toe in the muddy water now, and his voice strains a bit on the other side of the telephone line. "You could be happy."
If Kuroko was here in person, Kise would have ruffled his hair. "I'm very happy with the way things are," he says instead, "I don't know what you're talking about."
He hangs up twenty minutes later and pads over to the bedroom, curls up in Midorima's bed. His head begins to hurt, and outside the sun rises.
It goes on like this for a while.
It was a film based on a true story. The girl attended law school because she was victim to early impressions of the glamour and romance sampled through Legally Blonde, the only difference being was that she was Japanese and her hair color was naturally black. She went the salon for the first time when she was a first-year in senior high school, and it just so happened to be the salon that a ruggedly handsome ex-attorney worked at; the narration explained that his job description basically consisted of bleaching the heads of young girls who were victim to early impressions of the glamour and romance sampled through Legally Blonde. He was a thin young man who kept his words to himself and his hair spiked in what was questionably fashionable. He played pachinko with salarymen on Saturdays, was a fan of Gatsby products, and stayed up on weeknights to watch variety shows on FujiTV. What made him truly spectacular, however, was how he hadn't changed in years, not even a bit.
What followed was of course a brilliant love story about how the girl discovered the ex-attorney's past and how he was robbed of his badge in the prime of his career, a la Phoenix Wright, how she decided to redefine her reasons for becoming a lawyer because of this weird type of romantic vengeance, how she began to date her hair stylist, how she became tipsy one night, how he didn't take advantage of her in her state of intoxication, how she was embarrassed and relieved at the same time because she believed that He Was The One, how painfully ironic it all was, how the stores closed after happy hour, how she was sexually assaulted by a jealous co-worker at her new law firm, how the narration had cheekily described it as a consequence of being a pro bono pretty girl, how her feelings and interest in all humans with penises disintegrated at that moment, how she never told anybody about the incident, how she became decidedly unhappy, how she quit her job, how she became an alcoholic, how she didn't brush her teeth for two weeks straight, how she broke up with her boyfriend, how she continued to hold the world in contempt, the end.
"Well," says Aomine, "that escalated rather quickly."
"But it sounds like a good movie, doesn't it?" says Momoi. "What do you think, Kuro-chan? Points for realism?"
Kuroko lifts his head up from the grass. "I dunno...sounds a tad too depressing and PTSD-y for me..."
"Also the part where she started carrying a Swiss army knife to defend against any guy that got too close to her," Aomine adds. "Kind of puts you off, doesn't it? What if she becomes a serial schlong slicer?"
"Oh," says Satsuki. "Didn't even think of that."
"But I guess makes sense why she would, getting assaulted is probably horrifying," Aomine says, scratching his arm. "Still, Justin Bieber would be sad. One More Lonely Girl in the World."
"She could prefer women too, you know, that's not out of the question either," Momoi points out.
"In which case my opinion of the movie would change drastically," says Aomine. "For the better."
Kuroko smirks. "Throw in some lesbian love scenes and he's completely sold."
"Haha, you're a funny one," says Aomine. "What's a 'pro bono pretty girl' supposed to be, anyway?"
"It's an archetype that they use a lot in legal dramas. Hotshot female lawyer tumbles out of the law school chute, lucky enough to land a low position in a big law firm because that's how the story usually goes, but there's always some asshole who's jealous of her looks or her brains or something, so the newbie gets shuffled over to pro bono. You know, like the shit cases that no one wants because it's basically unpaid civil duty compared to the big money-making lawsuits."
"I see."
"So the pro bono pretty girl works for a while, reluctantly taking the cases. But after a few inspirational people, generally limited to one per episode installment, she becomes deeply affected by what she sees in the Real World, having had to interact with all the low-income government head cases filing for divorce settlements or landlord compensations because their houses burned down, et cetera et cetera. As the pro bono pretty girl, she's stereotypically really fucking sentimental, you know? So she she goes all seishun amigo and defends them with her clear and beautiful emotions, becomes the heroine we all wanted, and when all's said an done, she gets some stupid commendation from her handsome superior. After that is when all the shit goes down. Hubris, you know?"
"How come I've never heard of this archetype before?" says Kuroko.
Satsuki rolls her eyes. "Haven't you watched Hokaben? Pro bono pretty girl 101."
"Don't think Kuroko likes the lawyer stuff," says Aomine. "I mean it's weird enough that he fancies Nishikido Ryo."
Kuroko frowned. "What's wrong with Nishikido Ryo? He's got a nice face. Plus we're the same height. That never happens."
"Whatever," says Aomine. "Kagami's gonna want to have a word with you on that one."
"Better him than you," says Kuroko, and he leaves it at that.
Aomine walks into the hair salon later that day and sits down without being invited to. He picks up a magazine without reading the cover and holds it upside down without realizing it because he's examining himself in the mirror. The sky outside is bright, but the lights in the salon appear brighter and perhaps he is looking at stars.
"I would like to bleach my hair blonde," he says in a loud voice, and then he waits.
A moment later he hears footsteps and he looks back down, pretends to read his magazine for the sake of pretending.
"It's upside-down," says Kise. "Your magazine is upside-down."
Aomine doesn't look up. "How much does it cost? Going blonde."
"15,000 yen."
"You shitting me? That's a lot of money."
"We're a high-class salon," Kise shrugs. "Can I recommend that you get streaks, instead? There's a discount on that today. Plus I don't think you'll look too good with your hair completely blonde, anyway. Your skin tone isn't fair enough for it."
"Yeah, like you ever cared about whether or not I looked good at all," Aomine says underneath his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just do it. I'm walking out of here today with blonde hair."
"You got it, boss."
Midorima exits his college classroom at noon sharp. He takes his time walking to the main building, making absolute sure to measure out his steps exactly and not step on any cracks in the pavement. It is a rare occurrence today, that he had decided against carrying a charm with him to ward off misfortunate tempers. Today's lucky item is a Totoro pillow, but Kise had taken Midorima's Totoro pillow and soiled it by punching its guts out and throwing it into the street earlier this morning, in a fit of disgusted post-game rage. Having already defiled the pillow, Midorima could only assume that carrying such an object would only increase his inauspicious aura.
(What a stupid fucker.)
He climbs the stairs two steps at a time, counting backwards from ten in the back of his head. The sky is bright, but the lights in the main building appear brighter and perhaps he is looking at stars. There is a physics exam later in the evening, and he's only studied three quarters of the necessary materials. It's more than enough to earn a passing grade, but he likes it when people believe that he's impressive. He takes a minute to weigh out his priorities, and decides to forego his weight training today in order to spare some time for reading the exam material. Although there's a narrow margin, it's probably worth it. He's still thinking about this when he narrowly avoids running into somebody at the top of the staircase. He reaches out his arms at the last minute to avoid collision, and he ends up swatting the air.
"Oops, sorry," says Kuroko, having sidestepped Midorima's hands to reach the other end of the bannister. "I didn't see you there, Midorima-kun."
"And I'm never able to see you," Midorima says irritably, momentarily caught off guard. "What else is new?"
"Yeah," says Kuroko, "that happens. I'm sorry?"
Midorima sighs. "Never mind, I knew it was gonna be an unlucky day for me from the start."
"Ouch." says Kuroko. "I actually wanted to talk to you."
"So." Kise clears his throat. He stirs the pot of bleaching cream with one hand, other hand searching through the drawer for a brush. He comes up with a handful of large hairpins, and scatters them on the same tray as the pot of bleach. "How have you been?"
"I'm doing well. Wanted to bleach my hair."
"Yeah," Kise says. "I can see that."
Aomine is sitting with his back straight, his head completely still and his arms folded calmly across his chest. "And you?"
"Me?" Kise stops stirring the bleaching cream, picking up the hair pins instead. His fingers reach for Aomine's hair, and he starts to pin them up separately. There isn't much hair on Aomine's head anyway, but it's longer than the last time Kise's seen it, and much less bristly under his fingertips. The small tufts of Aomine's hair he's pinned up look like a child's weak attempts at making pigtails. "What about me?"
"I mean you. How have you been?"
"Oh. I've been OK."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
It's kind of awful seeing him like this, Kise suddenly thinks. It's not even awkward so much as it is terrifying. He's done pinching up Aomine's hair now, having made sure that he didn't do it too tight. He doesn't want to cause Aomine any pain. Takes a deep breath. "I'm going to begin now."
"Go ahead."
He dips his fingers into the bowl.
Kise dated an American awhile back, during the days he spent at a California training camp for basketball. The weather was always very lovely there and San Francisco in the summertime wasn't nearly as sultry as he'd expected. He met the American like this, next to a tennis court he'd walked past on an odd day in the rain. A wet tennis ball had flown in front of his face and he'd caught it with his fingertips. His reflexes were praised and he was subsequently invited to participate in a game, despite being a terrible tennis player, and then there was an umbrella and Peet's Coffee and then a weirdly-sexualized game of billiards and of course everything came together rather fast, as he'd come to expect with Americans, he was in a hotel bed with a box of lubricated condoms sitting on the nightstand, his shirt pulled up above his neck and the waistband of his underwear chafing against a stupid erection. He barely spoke any English.
He had sex thirteen times over the next five days, and he fell in love with the American just as quickly. The American's his skin was dark and his teeth were white and straight and he taught tennis lessons to high school students as a part-time job over summer vacation. He had a passion for basketball and marijuana, he was a fan of David Foster Wallace and he preferred carrot juice over orange. He enjoyed telling Kise stories about his hometown in Florida, even though most of them were likely made up. He also possessed a large cock.
Kise dated this American for a month before his training camp was finished and he had to leave for Japan to attend another year of university. He almost considered staying in America, but it was fortunate inconvenience for both him and the American. They broke up their relationship over a nice dinner in a Persian restaurant, had perfunctory sex in the backseat of the American's hybrid SUV, and the next day they shared a short farewell at the airport, right before the baggage check station.
"I'm glad I met you, I had a lot of fun," the American told Kise. "How do you say 'goodbye' in Japanese, again?"
"Aishiteru yo," Kise replied.
"Say that one more time?"
There was a small smile on his face, Kise remembered. It made him happy and unhappy at the same time. "A-i-shi-te-ru-yo."
"OK then, a-i-shi-te-ru-yo, Ryota."
"Thank you," Kise told him in Japanese. "That means a lot to me."
"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Midorima asks. "Can it wait? I've got an exam in five hours and it is imperative to my social reputation that I perform well on it." He flipped a page in his notebook, and Kuroko's face begins to flicker in the corner of his eye.
"It'll be quick," Kuroko says hurriedly, snapping Midorima's attention back to himself by stealing the notebook over the desk. "I just have a question."
"God, you're annoying," Midorima frowns. "Give that back."
"You're going to fail your exam anyway," Kuroko insists. "Just talk. I know you don't like me very much either way, but I still think we should talk."
"You're right," Midorima sighs, and he leans back in his chair. He tilts his head back and stares up at the lofty ceiling of the library. "I don't like you at all. Totoro pillow where?"
"Midorima-kun, you like Kise-kun a lot, don't you?"
He keeps his head balanced, parallel to the library's roof and his eyes start to water a bit from the strain. The lights are bright in this room as well, and he almost wishes that it was darker and raining again, so that he can carry one umbrella and let Kise share it with him. "What difference does it make who I like?"
"But you do like him, don't you? It's kind of obvious. He's been staying over at your house quite a lot, or so Satsuki-san tells me."
"Well. She's generally very reliable when it comes to intel, isn't she?"
Kuroko leans forward across the desk. He still has Midorima's notebook in his hands and this time it's almost impossible to ignore him. "So?"
"...Yeah." Midorima says finally. The beams in the ceiling are actually quite elegant, viewed from this angle. "I do like him."
"And do you think Kise-kun likes you back?"
There are carvings in some pieces the wood, if you squint at the beams, but it's rough and not particularly refined. Perhaps it was designed by a graduate student in the architecture department. "Does it matter if he likes me back or not?"
"It does," says Kuroko.
"And why is that?"
"Because he has blonde hair."
Midorima snorts. He tilts his head back and looks Kuroko square in the eye. "Don't be cryptic, Kuroko. Doesn't suit you."
"Hey man, I have no idea what you're talking about," Kuroko looks genuinely surprised, but he's always been pretty good at pulling that face. Midorima isn't impressed, and Kuroko goes on anyway. "Plus I want to help you."
"It's OK," says Midorima. "There's no room for the golden rule. He's never going to get over that idiot Aomine, and you know and I know that it's been going on longer than just last year. Way longer."
"We do?"
Midorima pushes his glasses up his nose and heaves a big, complicated sigh. "Kuroko, think about it. We've known each other since we were kids, plus we were all on the same basketball team. Momoi Satsuki is not the only observant one."
"But..."
"There was you, there was me, and Akashi probably had an idea too. Locker room stories. Junior high. Pre-pubescent sexual frustration, oxymoron intended. I have green hair."
"Now you're the one being cryptic," Kuroko smiles. "Thought we were going to have a serious conversation. And I still want to help."
Midorima straightens up in his chair and snatches his notebook from Kuroko's hands. "Listen carefully. Over the years, I have perfected the art of living in solitude. It's not difficult to understand, is it? The old Totoro doesn't change its ways. Besides, I prefer the noble act of jerking-off whilst stoically wallowing in self-pity."
"I see," says Kuroko. "What was that about the Totoro again?"
"Freudian slip," Midorima replies. "Goodbye, now."
Half of Aomine's head is covered in white bleaching cream. Kise is using the brush as an applicator, but his fingers smooth over the hairlines as well, tangling in Aomine's locks of hair and scraping at the roots just above his scalp. The bleach is heavy and it burns against his bare skin. Aomine's eyes are closed and his shoulders are squared; he's ready to run down the salon station as if he were on the basketball court. His fingers are curled up into balls and Kise doesn't know what he's thinking about, but it must be something happy and noncommital, the way Aomine always is. Scumbag Kise wants to punch the wall and rip up another one of Midorima's pillows, but his hand is burning and it's game over already, because he's never played well, even now, even after seven hundred and fifty normal wins.
Aomine opens his eyes and stares into the mirror. His gaze locks onto Kise's fingers, and he stands up suddenly from the chair, turning around and knocking the bowl of bleaching cream off the tray.
"What are you doing?" Kise says, alarmed.
"Better question," Aomine says, his voice low. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"W-What do you mean? Sit down, dude, look what you just did to the bleach. Man, now I've got to make more."
"Forget about the fucking bleach. Why aren't you wearing any gloves?"
Kise looked down at his hands. The fingers that had been smoothing over the bleach the whole time was burning a raw red color, and he could feel the sensation tingling through his skin. A small smile crept onto his face. "It's no big deal. Must have forgotten. Hey, wai--"
"Forgotten. You piece of shit," Aomine growls, grabbing Kise by the hand that wasn't bleached and marching him to the sink. He jerks the spigot violently with one hand, and water rushes out of the pipe. "You're a lousy liar, Kise, now put your goddamn hand under the tap."
"Aomine, please let go of my hand," says Kise. Water gushes over his knuckles and the white cream slides off slowly, the drier parts of the bleach flake and take bits of his skin with it.
"Not until this shit is all gone. I'm done. You are never touching my head ever again, you fucking idiot." Aomine's hand is still clenched tight around Kise's wrist, his fingers rough against Kise's skin and burning just as heavily as the bleach on Kise's other hand.
"Let go of my wrist."
"No, fuck you."
The water swirls in the drain, wispy and slightly translucent from the cream. Kise watches it slide down the porcelain of the sink.
"Aominecchi, please let go of me."
( I'm sure you've had a broken heart
Hated them as much as you loved them
Ripped up letters you didn't read
Deleted the phone number you will never forget
Celebrated anniversaries by yourself
Burned all the photographs
Thought every song about heartbreak in the world was yours
)
ugh i can't this was meant to be a funny story wadafa happen
yeah so basically aomine left the hair place with half of his head bleached and kise's hand got better after a few hours and midorima ended up fucking kuroko on top of the library table because they are cryptic and sexual like that and satsuki is one badass motherfucker who knows about all the goddamn trees in the forest the end
supplementary notes:
(1) beginning and ending samples are courtesy of epik high (/watch?v=1RTl3HXK_NI)
(2) so apparently japanese people don't really use instagram (favoring an app called PICK instead) but i wasn't sure if anyone cared enough to research it. oooh look at me, sacrificing random cultural tidbits for the sake of english localization hohoho
(3) hokaben is a good lawyer drama, i recommend it and i totally don't have a colossal crush on kato shigeaki no way hombre
(4) oh yeah aishiteru doesn't mean goodbye in japanese it means something else n b d
(5) i miss having internet friends please talk to me anybody T_T follow me on tumblr?? my name is transferrals next round of shots all on me
(6) thanks for reading! i like reviews :3