It was difficult, sometimes. He was always unseen, unheard, except by those precious few who bothered to pay attention. Like a ghost, almost. And by virtue of that fact, much of his younger years had been filled with self-entertainment, self-teaching, and many other singular pursuits. Ogiwara had pulled him away from that singular, lonely existence, shining brilliantly, laughing and cheering as he fell just a little bit in love with Ogiwara's light and the sport that had brought him that light—basketball.
And eventually, things started looking up for him. He met so many people, people who smiled and brought light to his life, and he fell just a little bit more in love with the sport that had brought so much light and life to his lonely existence with every new light that shone upon him.
Yes, basketball had brought him so much—he was grateful, and for a moment he wondered if there was a God or deity out there; if they were, he was certainly incredibly grateful. But as days passed, what had started as a puppy love, a devotion to a mechanism that brought light and life and joy to him, gradually became something he honestly loved with every facet of his being.
The swish of the net, the squeak of shoes on the court…it inspired something fierce and bright, like fire, in him.
They shone, like stars, their warmth almost impossible to bear, and he wondered if that light was somehow being absorbed into his being, making him lighter, happier, less lonely. It was wonderful.
But it wasn't to last.
After all, the stars that burned the brightest were the quickest to die, and soon they were all spiraling away from him, their light burning even more fiercely as they raced ahead, like shooting stars that he would never—could never—keep up with.
It left him feeling cold and dry and empty, and he vaguely wondered if he would ever be able to catch up to them, stop them from going out in a vicious and gorgeous blaze of terrible glory, outshining everything else before their final death even as he slowed, unable to do anymore than chase after their shadows.
And it hurt, and for the first time, as he realized the true consequences of their actions, he hated the very thing that he had so loved. Because as it had brought him life and light, it had ripped those very same things away, callous and cruel.
And for a long time, his world turned lifeless, cold and monotone. And he wondered if anyone would miss him, would even notice that he wasn't around anymore if he let himself fall that last bit. But he didn't; even in the darkness, he couldn't find it in himself to end his miserable, lonely existence.
And then came Seirin.
He didn't even know what had possessed him to join a club for the very thing he now hated so very much, but he thought that perhaps it was the thought of being able to catch up to the bright—supernova bright, his mind whispered treacherously—lights that had so callously abandoned him before that pushed him to do it. Or perhaps it was red-head who blazed so fiercely that he was almost painful to look at, to be around, who reminded him of Aomine, of the rest, so very much, that pushed him into it.
He did it on impulse.
Except that impulse decision, that choice to pick himself up, to move forward, was the very best decision he ever made.
And now, as he walked, brightness in his heart and light in his step, joy in his life and no longer so alone, he wondered if he would ever be able to shine as brightly as they did.
And they shone, all around him, so warm and welcoming and strong.
But, he thought, even if he never did shine quite so brightly, he liked to think that at the very least his heart gave off a soft shine. A glow, a warmth and light that no one could ever take away from him.
Because even if everything turned to ashes and crumbled away like so much dust in the wind, he would still be shining. He would still have his own light. And perhaps that would be enough, to keep him from that dark place.
But somehow, he didn't think he'd need it. Seirin was unconventional, they were a team in a way that he'd never known before. They were family.
And Kuroko could live with that. He could do more than live with that.
Because it was enough. It was more than enough.
It was warmth and light and life and joy, and his loneliness and fear and pain melted away like mist in the morning sun.
Because he was seen.
Because he wasn't forgotten.
And to them, he wasn't a ghost.
He was a brother.
And they were brothers and sisters to him.
So…here's another one.
And again, I have absolutely no idea where this one came from. I was watching KnB amvs on Youtube and ended up writing this.
And it's angsty. Kinda.
Forgive me for torturing Kuroko like this?
Oh, and please leave a review?