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Kuroko leaned against the bottom level of Kagami’s apartment building, two cups of tea in his hands as he did every morning, waiting patiently for Kagami to arrive. The alluring sight always made Kagami’s heart thump in an uneven but not unpleasant pace, and when that tender smile, slight but present, accompanied a soft, “Good morning, Kagami-kun,” Kagami could hardly contain his glee or his need to push Kuroko against the wall and seize those lips in a true “good morning” fashion.
Something was wrong today, Kagami knew immediately, and an uneasy feeling sent his stomach roiling. Kuroko waited for him like every day, but instead of somehow balancing both cups and his book, Kuroko watched the passersby. Even that wouldn’t set off Kagami’s alarms—Kuroko spent many a time with Kagami at Maji Burger just staring out the window in comfortable silence—but today, Kuroko wore a crestfallen expression, his frown so predominant it drew a tiny line under his chin. His eyes were half-lidded, like they were about ready to drift shut at any moment. And then they did, and his soft face contorted like he was in tremendous pain.
So Kagami greeted him with caress of the cheek, elated when Kuroko didn’t flinch, before lifting his chin and taking those lips in a quiet but thoroughly embrace. Too short, Kuroko pulled away, but Kagami wouldn’t let him, pressing him back against the wall and continuing for a full minute before pulling away with a gentle brush of Kuroko’s shoulder.
“You are not usually this aggressive, Kagami-kun. At least, not in the morning.”
“And usually you’re not…sad. What’s up?”
A furious blush had taken Kuroko’s cheeks, but that darkness returned full-force. “I’m fine, Kagami-kun. Thank you for your concern.”
“But you’re not fine. I just saw you—”
Kuroko’s hardened expression sucked the words from his tongue, his lackluster eyes so desperate for Kagami to stop talking that he did. But there was a heartfelt plea there, buried deep in Kuroko’s soul, and he pressed up on his toes to whisper, “Call me ‘Tetsu.’” A deep, rosy red color filled his cheeks. “For today. Please.”
What is it? Kagami silently begged. Please, tell me.
But instead, he dipped his head and whispered against the shell of Kuroko’s ear, “Tetsu.”
Kuroko hid his face in Kagami’s shoulder for a full minute, allowing his embarrassment to subside, until he finally pulled away and whispered, “Thank you, Kagami-kun.”
“Um…you’re welcome…I guess…?”
Kagami followed as they headed off to school, allowing a smile to overtake his face when Kuroko’s hand slipped into his.
“It’s…it’s nothing I did, right?” Because he could have done something and not know, and according to everyone, he was a—
“Bakagami,” Kuroko said, but Kagami took great pride in making his boyfriend smile for the first time that morning.
It didn’t last, and despite Kagami’s persistence, Kuroko refused to say why he sat with his eyes down, a frown permanently crafted upon his usually serene face.
And then it happened—during practice. The first-years were losing only by three points, which was pretty spectacular since Kiyoshi kept blocking Kagami and Kuroko’s passes were just a hint off, a little to the left or to the right where they used to find Kagami’s fingertips perfectly.
But the door to the gym slammed closed, echoing eerily over their energized shouts and rapid breaths, and as one, the team seemed to sense the change in temperature, the sudden foreboding that swept through the room like a massive gust. Even Nigou whimpered from the sidelines and jumped into Kuroko’s bag.
A simple student stepped toward the court in a white and light blue hoodie and pants, and Kagami’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the person.
Riko, however, did not. “Hey, you! You can’t be here during—”
The hood came off, revealing the offensively bright red hair of Akashi Seijuro.
The ball fell from Izuki’s hand, bouncing with ominous thumps until it slowly rolled to a stop at Akashi’s feet. His eyes met no one’s until they landed on Kuroko who, with a click of his tongue, walked forward with hesitant obedience.
This was what Kuroko dreaded, Kagami realized. He knew Akashi was coming.
No one, not even Riko, dared to speak until the emperor picked up the ball and held it. “You didn’t come to court today, Tetsuya.”
Call me “Tetsu,” Kuroko had asked.
Why, Tetsu? Kagami silently pleaded. Why is he here? Why has he come for you?
With the two so close, Kagami realized how similar Kuroko and Akashi looked, their hair styles, their builds. It was eerily uncanny. “I didn’t think you would notice.”
Akashi’s maniac smile was a frightening mix of affection and malice. “I am the one who noticed the power within you before all others. I will always notice you.”
And then Kuroko did something Kagami would never have imagined. His face contorted in a spiteful scowl, and he bit off, “Then Ashaki-kun must notice I have practice. I will come when Coach dismisses us.”
That sadistic smile never wavered, but he refused to relinquish the ball. “It does not matter what you do here. You will always bow to me, Tetsuya.”
Enough. Kagami didn’t even know his feet were moving before his hand fell to Kuroko’s shoulder, and he stood side-by-side against the Emperor. Behind him, he felt the presence of the entire team as they joined him.
“He won’t bow to you again. Whatever power you have over the other Generation of Miracles and—”
Kagami saw it, despite Akashi not even looking directly at him—a flash in his orange eye, and suddenly, Kuroko was in front of him, arms out to his sides like protection from Akashi’s wrath.
“I will join you once Coach dismisses practice, Akashi-kun.”
His voice was strained, raw in a way Kagami had only when they were alone, but instead of lust, he only heard the undeniable fear within it.
Then Akashi’s smile returned, and Kuroko grunted when he received the ball. “I anticipated your disobedience, Tetsuya. I will allow it…today.”
Like a good subject, Kuroko bowed. “I appreciate Ashaki-kun’s understanding in this matter.”
Akashi stepped to the side, as if he knew Mitobe had come up behind him, and spun to avoid even facing him. He left without acknowledging Riko or any other member of the team.
Silence engulfed the court before Kagami spun Kuroko around.
“What the hell was that, Tetsu? Why did the Great Emperor Akashi decide to grace us with his—”
Despite the sarcasm, Kuroko’s blush returned with the use of his first name, but he only turned to Hyuga and bowed deeply. “I am sorry, Captain. I did not think Akashi-kun would come today. He’s…been different, the last year.”
Hyuga shifted his glasses before sharing a quick glance with Kiyoshi. “Why was Akashi here to see you?”
“We have a yearly appointment.”
“For what?” Kagami demanded.
Kuroko’s hand brushed down Kagami’s forearm, an innocent but a simple touch that failed to calm the wild tiger wanting to claw out Akashi’s eyes. “I will be fine, Kagima-kun. Thank you for your concern, but it is unwarranted.”
“It sounded like he wants to kill you, Tetsu.”
“Ashaki-kun will not hurt me,” he assured. “I would fear for Kagami-kun more than me if you were to accompany me.”
“What does he want with you?” Kiyoshi asked, glancing to the door where Akashi left.
“To prove once more that his abilities are superior to mine.”
“I don’t believe that’s really necessary.” Riko threw her arm about Kuroko’s shoulders. “But you don’t have to bow to him, Kuroko.”
“I do, and I will,” Kuroko whispered. “I always will.”
“Why?” Kagami demanded, but Kuroko only threw him a quiet smile and then headed back out onto the court. For a brief second, Kagami thought his grin was actually…joyful.
This left a beat of uncomfortable silence in the gym before Riko blew her whistle and recommenced practice. Surprisingly, the first years won by double digits after a burst of energy and accuracy from Kuroko’s passes.
After practice, Kagami was determined to join Kuroko to his appointment with Akashi, as was the rest of the team, their quick showers and changes speaking volumes louder than their words. But by the time they were ready, Kuroko was missing, his bag, his clothes, and even Nigou gone, too.
Kagami dashed outside to see if he could catch Kuroko before he got too far, only to be met with the remaining four Generation of Miracles plus his brother.
“Where’s Kuroko?” he seethed, his muscles flexing before he noticed the downcast eyes and discomforting fidgeting of his rivals. A nervous energy vibrated through the former teammates, and it was downright…weird. The only one who seemed as dumbfounded as he was Himuro.
“What’s going on here? Or do I not want to know?”
Aomine was the first to speak, pushing off the railing he sat on and stuffing his hands inside his pockets. He glanced at Kagami, then the rest of Seirin as they exited the gym, before tapping his sneaker toe against the concrete walkway.
“That might have been the brightest thing you’ve ever said, Bakagami.”
“Shut up and answer my question.”
“You’ve technically asked three, Taiga,” Himuro laughed, but it was humorless and quick. “And these guys are going to take us to Kuroko-kun.”
“And you don’t want the answer to any of them,” Midorima replied, cradling a jar of pickled ginger, “but you’re going to get them anyway.”
“What’s with all the—Hey!”
Kiyoshi’s entire hand palmed Kagami’s hand, ruffling his still wet locks. “I think if we stop asking questions, we’ll find the answers.” Kiyoshi’s calm voice cut through Kagami’s resistance, even if he still fumed internally, but his shoulders slumped in surrender.
Kiyoshi elbowed Kagami in the side as Aomine looked at his former teammates, who all agreed with quiet affirmations. With a huffed sigh, he motioned for Seirin to follow, and they headed out.
Kagami quickly caught up to his brother and whispered, “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”
Himuro shook his head. “None. Even Atsushi hasn’t said anything…or eaten anything.”
“Geez…”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t worry, Kagamicchi,” Kise adjoined with a forced smile. It was a pathetic attempt of solace upon his usually bright. “We’re just going to see a basketball game. It’ll probably be the first one you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kagami snapped, but Kise shrugged.
“You’ve never seen basketball played before today.”
Kagami snorted but didn’t reply. Please. He came from the States where everyone picked up a basketball at one time in their lives. He played against giants and monsters. He took on the Generation of Miracles, the very people he walked next to now. He was shamelessly called a “basketball idiot,” by his teammates and himself. What did that jerk Kise mean he’d never seen a basketball game before?
And why the hell was Midorima carrying a jar of pickled ginger? Maybe he could get one answer.
“The horoscope is not favorable for Aquarius today, so I brought this for Kuroko.” When Kagami just gaped, Midorima added, “Akashi doesn’t like pickled ginger. You could say it’s his Kryptonite.”
Midorima was now bringing stuff for his boyfriend? And since when did Midorima even like or care about Kuroko? This was getting out of hand, and Kagami was about to explode when they came to an outside basketball court. For a moment, Kagami thought he was back in L.A. with the concrete turfs and the wars he used to play with his bros. In fact, even the court looked to be in a hard-up section with a mixture of hoodlums and gang members lounging around the sides, along with a good number of middle and high school kids watching the matches. They almost couldn’t get a space, but a certain section of people moved after one look at the Generation of Miracles, like they knew greatness approached, and suddenly, he and the rest of Seirin stood right next to the metal fence.
Kuroko’s first shout widened Kagami’s eyes, and he watched, utterly flabbergasted at the sight before him. It was a two-on-two game, as fierce and intense as Kagami had ever seen, and on one side defended two men, his height, perhaps taller, taking on two young players—Akashi and Kuroko. What the hell?
So he said as much. “What the hell, Kise? What the hell is going on here?”
“Shh. Just watch.”
“But!”
“Just watch!” the rest of Seirin hissed, and Kagami grumbled, crossing his arms and following the game.
“Games” were more precise, and as the night drove on, Kagami found himself more and more confused. Akashi was…normal? Well, above average in his play, as Kuroko and he took down opponent after opponent, but he smiled and not that creepy, psychotic grin that freaked Kagami out every time he saw the dude. And Kuroko wasn’t afraid of Akashi now. In fact, they seemed almost…familial, like he and Himuro. When Akashi scored a basket, Kuroko threw up a hand, and they slapped as they traveled back down to play defense. As the offense team tore down the court, Akashi took a moment to sling an arm about Kuroko’s shoulders, whispering plays into his ear—or snide comments, if the stifled laughter and genuine smile on Kuroko’s face gave away their secret.
Then the duo was fierce again, taking control of the game within two passes of the offense, Kuroko stripping his mark of the ball and throwing it down court. Akashi was there in a second, glancing backwards like no player should ever do.
In fact, he slowed and took position on the top of the three-point arch. What was he waiting for—and Kuroko was there, just ahead of his player. A single bounce pass put the ball perfectly in Kuroko’s hands.
And he scored. Effortlessly. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d never done with Seirin. In fact, Akashi scored the majority of the points, but he always waited after two or three, passing the ball to Kuroko in a perfectly-rhythm’ed play that made Kuroko not good but excellent. In fact, Kagami hated to admit it, but if Izuki passed this good, they could create the Generation of Miracles in Seirin.
Was that what happened? Akashi created the Generation of Miracles by bringing out the best in every player? Why hadn’t he done that with Kuroko then? Why hadn’t he made Kuroko a scorer like the rest of them?
“Because Kuroko didn’t want to be a product of Akashi. He simply wanted to play with Akashi, and by the time he realized he needed to be more, it was too late,” Aomine whispered, as if he spoke louder, he’d ruin the concentration of the game. “He couldn’t save Akashi.”
Kagami rolled his eyes. “Look, I know I’m not the brightest guy here, but stop talking in riddles, bastard! Didn’t Akashi teach Kuroko his style?”
“Yes. Kuroko wasn’t good enough to make it on first string without some sort of power, and passing was his ticket. Once he was there, though, Akashi could have made him the best player out of all of us, but Kuroko never wanted that. He was content simply playing on the team until…”
“His eyes,” Izuki finally muttered, shaking Kagami’s arm with urgency. “Look into his eyes!”
And Kagami saw the two thoroughly blood red pupils, not Akashi’s one red, one orange combination.
The Akashi the Generation of Miracles knew, the real Akashi, had come to play.
Kise was right, as much as Kagami hated to admit it. This was basketball, so intimate and well-coordinated that it was a dance only two highly skilled performers could accomplish. It seemed as if Kuroko and Akashi could read each other’s minds, the trust involved so profound it was indescribable. He could only hope he and Kuroko looked like this on the court, but somehow, he knew even they could never hope to reach this level of play.
Akashi and Kuroko took down opponents after opponents, grinning with the same bright, innocent, conniving smiles every time a new set of challengers stepped onto the court.
“When Murasakibara almost beat Akashi, Akashi literally went insane,” Kise explained, his eyes watching with jealous amazement as Akashi stole the ball and threw it to Kuroko, who blazed down the court. “The person we knew became locked in himself, allowing a darker, harsher version to take over, so he would never lose.”
Kuroko passed the ball to Akashi at mid-court, allowing Akashi to go for the shot.
“And this is Kuroko’s fault how?”
Akashi swished it.
Kuroko had never looked so happy as when Kuroko smacked his shoulder into Akashi’s, and the older boy tussled his hair in return. It physically hurt Kagami to know the treasure that was locked inside Kuroko, a treasure his boyfriend had never allowed him to see. Even when Seirin won, even when they were alone, he’d never seen that smile so carefree, and he wanted to make Kuroko that happy. He’d make Kuroko that happy, even if he had to give him up to Akashi to make it so.
Aomine sighed and smacked Kagami across the back of the head. “Tetsu was never as good as Akashi. He couldn’t be, but if he had been…then maybe Akashi would have tasted defeat before Murasakibara almost beat him. Maybe he could have stopped the Emperor from being born, like their mother had when she was alive.”
“Their mother?” Kagami repeated. “Testu’s last name is Kuroko.”
“No, that’s the nickname we gave him in middle school for his role on the team.” Midorima’s incredulous look would have been funny if Kagami wasn’t feeling so stupid. “His last name is Akashi. Seijuro is Tetsuya’s older brother by thirteen months. They’re in the same grade because their father put Kuroko into school a year early to get him acclimated to the challenges in life.”
As if to punctuate the truth, Kuroko’s shout blared across the court, “Nii-san!”
Akashi dove forward in a crushing drive, but the defensive player jumped in front of him and kept steady with Akashi’s pace.
“And he always thought it was his fault,” Kise continued, a melancholy tone infecting his voice. “If he had played his hardest with Akashi instead of becoming the phantom sixth man, then maybe he could have helped Akashi. Maybe he could have stopped the Other Akashi from every existing, but…”
The defensive player wouldn’t allow Akashi to pass, and Kuroko wasn’t fast enough.
Kagami had never seen Kuroko so desperate as he ran forward, trying his hardest to get there before…what? Something was happening; Kagami could feel the ominous tension in the air. He heard the collective breath the Generation of Miracles took.
Kuroko was never good enough, could never be good enough.
An ankle break dribble thundered throughout the court.
The Emperor returned.
And Kuroko collapsed to his knees a step behind where his brother once stood.
As the ball entered the hoop with as much force as it always had, the defense let it drop to the ground. They, too, sensed something had changed as Akashi took deliberate and slow strides up to his brother, who hadn’t moved from where he collapsed on the court, utterly broken, tears sliding down his cheeks and tumbling to the pavement.
Kagami stood, frozen by the Emperor’s unwelcome presence in such a carefree environment, until he whirled toward the Generation of Miracles, who all once more mourned the loss of their friend.
“You knew this was going to happen today. Tetsu knew, too. How the hell did you?”
Aomine shrugged. “Our Akashi comes back once a year, on the anniversary of his and Testu’s mother’s death. We…We don’t know why. Maybe to comfort Testu? But he returns, and every year, Tetsu loses his brother all over again.”
Kagami growled—what kind of bullshit was this?—but Himuro stopped him. “Let them be,” he whispered.
“But—”
“If this were you and me, would you want Kuroko to interfere?”
Kuroko had. Kuroko refused to throw out Kagami’s ring and then returned it, urging him to speak to Himuro again, so Kagami threw off his brother, heading onto the court.
Kuroko raised his tear-stained face, muttering something too low for Kagami to catch, and Akashi seemed to think the remark was funny but contained his laughter behind a smirk. “The next time I see you, it will be at the Winter Cup finals.”
“How do you know Seirin will make it?” Kuroko asked, a subject still on his knees.
Akashi walked past his lower form, though Kagami thought it was through the seemingly invisible Kuroko. “Because no brother of mine would do any less.”
The fans and players abandoned the court now that the games were over, leaving only Seirin and the Generation of Miracles. Kagami, the self-proclaimed idiot, even knew better than to put out his hand, and instead, he dropped to his knees in front of Kuroko.
Kuroko ducked his head even further, his wet bangs shielding his eyes. “You shouldn’t fall to my level, Kagami-kun. Please stand. I will in my own time.”
Kagami refused. “What did you say to him?”
Kuroko wiped his tears with his black wristband, though they disobeyed him and continued to fall. Nigou jumped from his bag, whining and rubbing his head against Kuroko’s hands until he petted him. “I told him I would find him one day.” The palm of his hands dug into his face. “Our mother always made sure Nii-san was all right, and she always saw me. And now…it’s my fault.”
Kagami’s big hand slammed down upon his head. “You idiot. It’s not your fault your brother went insane, and if you say it again, I’ll kick your ass. Now come on. Get up.”
Kuroko shook his head, but then Aomine and Kise were on either side of him, lifting him to his feet. “Get up, Tetsu. You’re done serving Akashi.”
“Are you?” Kuroko asked, his face as angry as Kagami had ever seen it.
Aomine blinked, sharing a brief glimpse with the other Generations of Miracles, understanding tangible in their gazes, and he nodded. “Yes. His tyranny will end, and you will bring the real Akashi back.”
“And we’ll all help you,” Hyuga proclaimed, placing a comforting hand on Kuroko’s shoulder.
That seemed to calm Kuroko, who suddenly looked very exhausted as he sucked in labored breaths from running on Akashi’s level and from his own sobs. Then Izuki threw the ball to him. He caught it, spinning it around in his hands before Kagami dashed to the basket. The pass was perfect, as perfect as he’d seen Akashi and Kuroko share, but then Aomine was there, ready to stop him.
They broke off into two teams, scrimmaging long into the night, sharpening their skills, pressing each other harder than they ever have before. Riko took times coaching both sides, the Generation of Miracles genuinely listening to what she had to say, before Murasakibara put a hand on Izuki’s head and muttered, “I want to crush you.”
Izuki laughed. “Against your forehead like a soda can or in your hands like a bag of potato chips?”
Though it wasn’t particularly funny, Kuroko must have been too tired because he chuckled, and Kagami couldn’t help but smirk. Good. Kuroko was finally coming back to himself, and like he should have guessed, basketball was the key. Basketball had a different meaning to Kagami, a basketball idiot who simply played to better himself and fight challenges. For Kuroko, it was a bridge, a connection to his brother, to friends, and to Kagami himself, and he understood that now.
When they finally broke, Kagami brought Kuroko back to his place, practically dragging him with one arm around Kuroko’s neck and the other around his waist.
“You should have told me, idiot, and you should be able to walk on your own after a match!” he scolded, though he really didn’t mind carrying Kuroko. He was light, despite all his muscles, and Kagami enjoyed the feel of Kuroko’s warm body against his side, even if they were both slick with sweat and grime from the games.
He almost thought Kuroko wouldn’t reply, but then, Kuroko’s soft voice fluttered up from under his arm.
“I didn’t want Kagami-kun to know I’m not strong enough to make him number one in Japan.”
“What are you talking about? After what I just saw today—”
“You saw what Akashi-kun is capable of making me into, not what I am capable of doing myself.”
They were steps away from Kagami’s door, but he pushed Kuroko against the wall, keeping him standing with his hands against Kuroko’s shoulders. “Shut up. I watch you play every day, and I saw nothing today that you haven’t done a million times for us.”
“Except score.”
A smile found Kagami’s face as he leaned in close, taking in the rich scent of Kuroko’s skin, and it scared him how much he wanted to lick the sweat dribbling down Kuroko’s cheek. “Leave that to me.”
Then, that smile, the one he saw upon the court, crossed Kuroko’s face, and the jealousy of Akashi, the fear, dissipated when Kuroko wrapped his arms about Kagami’s neck, burying his fingers in Kagami’s sodden mop. “Kagami-kun is very confident in his abilities.”
“You have to be in America.”
“Then perhaps you can show me some of those abilities tonight—er, tomorrow morning.”
Kagami’s face brightened, and he caught Kuroko’s lips in a passionate embrace. He dipped his face and pressed it against Kuroko’s neck when Kuroko’s hands drew him close and tugged on his outer jacket. “Thank you, Kagami-kun.”
“For what?”
“For sharing this burden with me.”
Kagami-kun pulled back suddenly, seeing the raw, vulnerable cast shimmering in Kuroko’s eyes, and he realized this is what kept them from achieving that bond, that level of trust that Kuroko had with Akashi. And now that Kuroko revealed this to him, to accept and hold with him, nothing—not even the Emperor himself—could stop them from winning the Winter Cup.
He caressed the side of Kuroko’s cheek and leaned close to whisper, “Thank you for sharing it with me…Tetsu.”
*^*^*
…I’ve lost. It’s the first time since the day I was born…
So this is defeat…
But because of that, I think…I’m glad I played basketball, and…
…I was able to find you…
*^*^*
This was too weird, even for Kagami. Sure, he and Tatsuya fought all the time, and on the court, it was even more intense. But Akashi had been one sick bastard, threatening to gouge his own eyes, making his teammates kneel for him, manipulating people into giving him captain-ship, and yet, he sat across from Kagami at Maji Burger, the fifth time in as many number of months since Seirin won the championship. He acted like the quintessential big brother, ruffling Kuroko’s hair and whispering something about Kagami—he was sure because of that evil smirk on the bastard’s face. Kuroko just smiled, sipping his milkshake with a loud slurp, and Kagami rolled his eyes. It better not be like this for the rest of their high school years.
But Kagami wouldn’t begrudge Kuroko any happiness. His boyfriend looked completely relaxed, his eyes sparkling with an innocent mischief that he never had before. At least Akashi’s eyes were back to being one color and instead of that creepy orange-red combo.
Then, Kagami almost choked on his burger when he felt something nudge the inside of his thigh and press against his groin.
“See?” Akashi laughed. “I told you he would like it.”
“Cut it out!” he squirmed out of reach of Kuroko’s foot and seized the burger he’d thrown to Akashi when he sat down. “You are no longer allowed any of my burgers.”
“Really? Aren’t you being childish…Bakagami, was it?”
Kagami narrowed his eyes. It was one thing when his boyfriend and friends called him that, but Akashi, the Emperor of Rakuzan High, the captain of the Generation of Miracles—uh huh. No way. Wasn’t happening.
He was about to tell His Majesty that when Akashi took a loud sip of Kuroko’s milkshake and made a face.
“Tetsuya, will you get me a chocolate milkshake? Thank you.”
Kuroko clearly hesitated before standing. “I like my boyfriend’s eyes, Nii-san.”
“So do I. They are quite lovely for a half-breed’s.”
Okay, that was it. No one insulted Alex but him, and she wasn’t even his biological mother.
“Be nice, Nii-san,” Kuroko chastised. “Alex-san is Kagami-kun’s sensei, and she’s very special to him.”
Akashi’s smile to Kuroko was so touching, even Kagami’s heart squeezed, and Akashi patted his brother on the thigh. “I promise to be on my best behavior, Tetsuya.”
Kuroko’s admonish was not enough, Kagami decided. There was a line, and Akashi crossed it, and Kagami was all ready to give him a piece of his mind when Akashi casually took back the burger, like it was his to take with right.
“Kagami-kun, I can be your very best friend or your worst enemy. You may choose which.” He took an elegant bite, though Kagami fought the roar of laughter when a spit of ketchup fell from the bun and onto Akashi’s white jacket.
“I…may choose?”
“Well, yes. As you know, our father is very strict, but through my…rehabilitation, he has been more…kind but still firm. He has always been more lenient with Tetsuya, but my little brother is still a treasured member of the family. The baby even, if you will. If I were to explain to my father the nature of your and Tetsuya’s relationship, I can assure you those late-night study sessions and unsupervised sleepovers would cease to occur.”
You bastard.
“And, of course, I believe this goes without saying, but I will say it nonetheless. While the…’other Akashi,’ as my friends have called him, is no longer here, I assure you I can channel his blood thirst if you ever harm my brother.” He smiled that maniacal grin again, minus the eerie orange eye. “So you understand, I can either be your best friend, sneak you into my brother’s room on certain weekends and offer ironclad excuses to our father, or I can gouge out those beautiful eyes my brother loves so dearly. It will be your choice, I assure you. Oh, thank you, Tetsuya.” He accepted the plastic cup with a tender smile to his brother and slipped loudly.
Kagami couldn’t even process, couldn’t even fathom what Akashi had just divulged before Kuroko glared pointedly at his brother. “Nii-san, did you break Kagami-kun while I was away?”
“I simply offered my friendship. Is it my fault that he is so inept?”
Nigou growled from Kuroko’s bag, but Akashi threw him a piece of burger. Within moments, the dog was whining in Akashi’s lap, licking his fingers and then his face.
Kagami, himself, growled, “Traitor.”
At the amused look on Akashi’s face, Kagami forced a rather pathetic smile, and Akashi just patted Kuroko’s cheek.
“I think your boyfriend just accepted my friendship, Tetsuya.”
And that’s how Kagami became best friends with Akashi.
The End