Chapter Text
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows,
And what’s on the other side?”
–The Rainbow Connection
For several days afterward, Kuroko thought it was a dream.
Not the moment when he passed the ball to Kagami, to score the final basket in the Winter Cup championship. Not the part where his team all stood together to receive the trophy. Not even the part where Akashi came up to him and said that it was his victory, with tears shimmering in his red eyes. (Though that had been surreal as well—mostly because Akashi-kun seemed like a different person again.)
No, the dreamlike part happened later. After the reporters and photographers stopped swarming around them, Seirin’s team headed toward their locker room. Most of them were already chatting with friends and family who attended the game. They had been so eager to congratulate the players that they tracked them down in the halls of the arena.
It happened then, as Kuroko passed by a side hallway. A flash of color flickered in his peripheral vision. He turned to look, only to have his heart jump into his throat.
His former teammates stood in a corner—the five members of the Generation of Miracles. Even in the shadowy hall, they resembled a rainbow, with their heads clustered together. They looked as though they were talking. Now they all looked at him, and Kise waved and gave a strained sort of smile, and Aomine nodded in that gruff way that said, “Get over here.”
At which point Kuroko whirled around to find Kagami, to let him know where he was going. But his partner was talking with Himuro and Alex, and he didn’t want to interrupt. So he slipped away from his new team, alone, to rejoin the Generation of Miracles.
The five of them had more presence than ever, somehow. As Kuroko stood among them, he felt the difference even more keenly than before he won the championship. He was still a shadow, and they were all brilliant lights.
One thing had changed: he could no longer read their expressions. Back when they were teammates, Kuroko had memorized every nuance of emotion, the meaning behind each subtle movement of their eyes and mouths. He’d been able to read all five of them, most of the time. Now he didn’t recognize the looks on their faces.
More proof of the distance that still stretched between them.
They were standing together, though, even after everything that had happened. They had specifically called Kuroko over, to talk…
No, don’t think that way. Don’t expect anything. Whatever happens is fine.
You’ve put them through enough.
“Hey, Kurokocchi! Congratulations.” Kise gestured to the medal around his neck. Kuroko touched it without thinking. The metal chilled his palm.
“Thank you,” he said. He couldn’t tell if he was managing a smile or not.
He felt transparent. Not in the way he usually did, like he’d faded into the background and no one could see him. Instead, with these five familiar pairs of eyes trained on him, Kuroko felt as though his skin had become as clear as glass, so they could see straight through it. Like they could see the way his heart was racing, and all the scarred and broken places, the shape of his most secret hopes…
The things he still wanted.
He couldn’t read them. But maybe they could read him, too well. He swallowed, and his pulse pounded in his ears.
“It was a great game,” Midorima added, much to Kuroko’s surprise. Aomine grunted, apparently in agreement.
Kuroko opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. Especially when one of his opponents was standing right there. His lips twitched a few times, before he decided to just repeat himself. “Thank you.”
He took a breath, trying to slow his unsteady heart. He was so physically exhausted that he was surprised it could still pound so hard.
There was a pause.
“So, um…” Kise bit the corner of his lip, then just laughed. “Huh.”
“This is kind of awkward, isn’t it,” Murasakibara said, in his droning voice.
Aomine gave a dry smile. “‘Kind of’?”
“We haven’t all been together like this since—well, before we graduated from Teikou,” Midorima said, adjusting his glasses. They all knew what he had been about to say: “Since Kuroko quit the basketball club.”
“Well, except for that one time a week ago,” Kise chimed in, making an obvious effort to sound cheerful. Then his face paled, as he apparently realized his mistake.
The image of a pair of scissors filled Kuroko’s mind, and he flinched. He wasn’t the only one, either… A twitch of movement drew his gaze, and he looked to see Akashi wearing a distinct expression of discomfort. The captain’s face was nearly colorless, creased with tension. Kuroko had never seen him look so ill at ease before.
Their eyes met. Once again, Kuroko noticed that Akashi’s irises were both red, just as they had been during his first two years at Teikou. Akashi was the only person who hadn’t spoken yet, Kuroko realized. Which was extremely strange, for him.
All at once, Kuroko felt the urge to say something. He didn’t know what, but the impulse tugged at him too strongly to ignore.
Before he could open his mouth, Midorima coughed into his hand. “Well, anyway. We had no intention of keeping you, Kuroko. You must be on your way to celebrate with your team.”
“Oh. Yes, I believe that is the case. Though I don’t know where we’re going…”
Kuroko let his voice trail off. Words blinked inside his brain, like a tiny string of lights—words he already knew he couldn’t say. It would have been too cruel, given the circumstances.
“You could all come too.”
He gave an uneasy sort of shrug, and left it at that.
There was another pause. In the silence, a few of the others exchanged looks over his head. Kuroko noticed right away—he was used to observing what tall people were doing, even when they thought he couldn’t see—and was about to ask what was going on, when Kise spoke again.
“So.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “We were talking, and uh… There’s this pretty good coffee shop near here. The owner has kind of a thing for me, I guess, so I get all the free drinks I want. My friends, too. I mean, it’s not like we have to go there, but that makes it cheaper. Like if we want food and stuff? But we could do something else…”
Kuroko blinked, confused, while Aomine rolled his eyes.
“You’re babbling, idiot.” He turned to Kuroko. “We were talking about hanging out sometime. Maybe after New Year’s. You wanna join us?”
Kuroko stared up at him, then at everyone else. He was careful to control his expression.
“Yes, I would like that,” he managed to say. He knew his voice sounded odd. Tight, and a little higher than usual. “If—if that’s all right.”
“Pff, obviously.” Aomine gave his most careless shrug. Somehow, Kuroko couldn’t help thinking of the last time Aomine had addressed him, with such forceful passion, in the same voice that now sounded so casual…
“Damn it, Tetsu! Kagami! You guys won against us, didn’t you? If you can’t even defeat Rakuzan, I’ll go after your heads!”
“We should make sure we all have each other’s numbers, in that case,” Midorima said, in his no-nonsense way. He took out his cell phone. “So we can decide on a date and time later. Have any of you changed numbers?”
“Hmm? You kept our numbers in your phone, Mido-chin?”
Midorima’s face gave an odd sort of twitch. He turned to eye Murasakibara. “And what exactly would have been the point of deleting them?”
“I don’t know. It’s just kind of surprising, is all.”
Midorima’s face twitched again, but then Akashi spoke up for the first time. “I haven’t changed my number. The rest of you haven’t either, I believe?”
Kuroko remembered how Akashi had contacted them, on the first day of the Winter Cup. Clearly, Midorima wasn’t the only one who had kept their contact information.
“Nah.” Aomine had already whipped out his cell. “Hey, Kise. Send me that coffee shop’s address, would ya? In case I forget to ask later.”
“Oh, sure.” Kise unlocked his phone and started typing. “Hang on a sec, I just need to look it up.”
Kuroko had tried to imagine this moment once or twice—tried to picture what it might be like, if it actually happened someday. But he had never been able to. Now he understood why. The conversation was so ordinary, at least on the surface. Yet a dark pressure swelled beneath each word, a tension that Kuroko could feel, shivering on his skin.
All six of them knew how significant this was. But no one wanted to acknowledge it out loud.
Still, it was better than nothing. Much better.
“Okay, I sent it to everyone,” Kise said after a moment. “You too, Kurokocchi.”
“Thank you,” Kuroko said. He dug around in his bag for his phone. Sure enough, there was a mail notification on the screen. “Message from Kise-kun.” Kuroko had received the occasional mail from Kise since leaving Teikou, but it still felt a little strange to see the notice, as though he had gone back in time.
Aomine snorted, inspecting his screen. “You still use way too many emoticons.”
“That’s just my signature!” Kise said. “I didn’t put any in the message.”
“Isn’t that weirder, though?” Murasakibara also gazed down at his phone. “Because then there’s a line of happy faces under every mail you send…”
“He’s right,” Midorima said. “It’s weird. And that’s why I don’t like getting your ‘good luck’ mails, by the way. Since you asked before.”
Kise just huffed. “I don’t want to hear about being weird from you, Midorimacchi.”
There was a soft noise, something like a hum. It was a laugh, Kuroko realized. Akashi’s laugh, to be precise—a gentle, refined chuckle. Kuroko hadn’t heard that sound for well over a year, probably closer to two.
“Well.” Akashi was smiling. “I suppose the meeting place is settled, then?”
The rest of them murmured in agreement. Kuroko sensed that he wasn’t the only one gaping at their former captain.
“And we’ll be in touch for the rest,” Akashi added. He glanced at Kuroko, with an almost hesitant look. As though he wanted something, but didn’t know how to ask for it. Again, Kuroko was strongly tempted to speak up…
“Kuroko! Hey!”
Kuroko gave a jolt, and turned to the source of the sound. Across the hall stood Ogiwara, his childhood friend. He gave a wave and came closer—then stopped, as though he had just noticed that Kuroko wasn’t alone. (That had always been the odd thing about Ogiwara-kun. He seemed to be able to see Kuroko without much trouble. Even when he was standing among the Generation of Miracles.)
Kuroko glanced back at his former teammates. A few of them eyed Ogiwara—again, Kuroko couldn’t read their expressions, or begin to guess what they could mean—but Aomine was watching him. He sighed, and nudged Kuroko on the shoulder.
“Go on, Tetsu,” he said. “We’ll see you later.”
Kuroko hesitated. He looked to Akashi, who gave a nod. “Please, go join your friend. We’ll meet again soon.”
Somehow, the way he said it hit Kuroko in the chest, with an unexpected burst of emotion. He felt his face break into a smile. The kind of smile that was rare for him, one that stretched the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, all right,” he managed to say. “Please excuse me, then. For now.”
He turned and hurried down the hall, to where Ogiwara stood. Ogiwara grinned at him, with that sunny smile that Kuroko remembered so well, and moved toward him. Suddenly they were both running, like the distance between them couldn’t close fast enough. Then they were laughing and hugging, and Ogiwara was ruffling his hair and Kuroko was punching him lightly in the shoulder, because he didn’t know what else to do.
“I had no idea,” he said. “No idea you’d come here. Why did you? After everything—”
“Because I wanted to see your win,” Ogiwara said, with simple certainty. “I read your interview in Monthly Basketball. You weren’t in the photos that much, but I could tell you were a lot happier with your new team. I was glad. And I knew you guys would make it to the finals.”
He hesitated for a moment, then scratched the back of his head.
“Sorry I didn’t show up earlier,” he said. “I was going to call you, but I kind of chickened out.”
“Please, don’t apologize.” Kuroko shook his head. “And you’re glad? What about me? Are you really—I mean, the basketball—”
“Yeah, I’m playing again,” Ogiwara said. “I took some time off from school clubs, but I kept doing local stuff. Y’know, for fun. I joined my high school team a few months ago.”
“That’s great,” Kuroko said. “Really great. I’m…. I’m relieved. After what I did—”
His voice shook. Ogiwara rested his palm on top of Kuroko’s head.
“Hey, cut that out,” he said with a frown. “No more blaming yourself, okay? You always do that. Everything’s cool now.”
Kuroko managed a nod. “Yes. Okay.”
He took a breath, trying to steady himself. In the pause, Ogiwara looked away, to somewhere past Kuroko’s head. He had an odd expression on his face—a bit tense, but more like he was searching for something. Kuroko followed the line of his eyes, only to see the remaining members of the Generation of Miracles going their separate ways.
Kise waved at Kuroko again, as he passed by them in the hall. Murasakibara was already gone, and Midorima was talking on his phone as he marched toward one of the exits. To Kuroko’s surprise, Akashi stood right where he had left him; he was watching Kuroko intently. Then he turned and disappeared through a side door, vanishing into the night. Kuroko swallowed, unable to shake the feeling that something was troubling the red-haired captain.
Aomine was still there, hovering in a corner. Suddenly Kuroko realized Momoi was with him. She was talking to Aomine, with a rosy smile on her face. She glanced at Kuroko, and her smile widened and her eyes shone. Kuroko felt himself smile back at her. As though they were both thinking the same thing…
It’s going to be all right now, isn’t it?
She waved a bit, then mouthed, “We’ll talk later.” He nodded, and she took Aomine by the arm and led him away.
Ogiwara watched them leave.
“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmured. “The ice is all melted. That’s good.”
He squeezed Kuroko’s shoulder. Kuroko stared at him, wide-eyed. He had wondered if Ogiwara still remembered that, if he had any idea how that simple sentence had changed the course of his life:
“I was powerless against those icy eyes, but Kuroko can face them again and melt them someday.”
“I have to thank you,” Kuroko said, the words spilling out in a rush. “Because of what you said back then.” His voice caught, as the memories flooded into his brain, but he shook his head and kept talking. “I was going to quit. I didn’t want to play basketball ever again. But when your teammate told me what you said, I changed my mind. If you hadn’t said those things…”
He cupped a hand to his forehead. His eyes were stinging, to his embarrassment.
“I was going to give up on them,” he whispered.
Ogiwara’s expression softened. He looped an arm around Kuroko.
“Hey.” He rubbed his elbow. “Don’t ever do that, okay? Don’t give up on them, no matter what. They’re important to you. Anyone can see that.”
Kuroko managed a smile. Because it was true. Painfully so. And maybe there was a chance that it wouldn’t be as painful anymore.
Anything seemed possible now, really.
“Besides, they’re not bad guys,” Ogiwara added. “I knew that much from the start.”
Kuroko’s mouth slipped open. It seemed unthinkable, given what Ogiwara had been through, that he could say something like that. And with such warm conviction, as though he had never once doubted it. Even though he’d never met the Generation of Miracles personally. (Unlike Kuroko, who believed the same thing, because he had spent three eventful years in a basketball club with them.)
“How could you possibly have known?” he said.
“Because you told me, remember?” Ogiwara chuckled, like the answer was obvious. “You told me all about them in your messages. You would never talk about a bunch of jerks like they were your friends.”
He glanced down the hall. His face darkened, as though he was remembering something.
“Anyway, I could just tell,” he said. “Even when I was playing against them. Something was off. I’ve met bad people before. They mostly just seemed… Well, miserable, I guess.”
Kuroko gazed at him, marveling. No matter what Ogiwara said, most people wouldn’t have bothered to notice that a bunch of arrogant, invincible players who had mocked them were in pain. They certainly wouldn’t have cared enough to mention it to anyone later, or hope their situation improved—whether those players were friends of a friend or not.
Kuroko was starting to wonder how he knew so many miraculous people.
Ogiwara brightened then, and Kuroko couldn’t help thinking of a sunlit sky. It had been raining for such a long time, he thought. Ogiwara pulled him into another hug.
“You did it, Kuroko,” he said, beside his ear. “You’ve won. Trust me, you’ll see.”
Kuroko’s throat tightened. He knew what Ogiwara meant, instinctually somehow, and it had nothing to do with clinching the championship. For a moment, he was worried he might actually burst into tears. He forced himself to laugh instead, even as a few drops escaped. If this really was a dream, he hoped he would never wake up.
“Do—do you want to come with me?” he said, wiping at his lashes. “My team is going out to celebrate. They would be honored to meet you. I… I told them about you.”
“Good, that means no awkward explanations, then.” Ogiwara’s eyes twinkled. “Are you kidding? Of course I want to! I can’t wait to meet all of them. Especially that Kagami guy. The two of you are close, right?”
At the mention of Kagami’s name, Kuroko felt his chest swell with warmth.
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “Very much so.”
“So—is he—?” Ogiwara raised his eyebrows, in a suggestive sort of way.
Kuroko blinked. “Is he what?”
Ogiwara looked at him for a moment. Kuroko could have sworn he seemed amused, like he was about to reveal some kind of gigantic inside joke. In the end, though, he just shrugged.
“Never mind, it’s nothing.” He thumped Kuroko on the back. “Come on, we should find your teammates. They’ll be missing you.”
Kuroko was about to say that his team probably hadn’t noticed he was gone, but then he stopped himself. He realized, all at once, that they most likely had noticed his absence. They were used to looking for him—and they would want to make sure he was there with them, now more than ever.
Somehow, that thought made him happiest of all.
End of Part One
Up Next: Kuroko meets with the Generation of Miracles, as promised. Will it go smoothly, or bring up nothing but bad memories?