title mercurial
pair aominekiseaomine & a small touch of riko and midorima
rated pg-15 gg life
warnings tense fuckery and delicious incongruities, reappearance of 2channel user aomine
summary World growing older, gaps growing smaller.
notes a kind of prequel to theory of the totoro pillow, but this story can probably stand alone idk. i can't sleep and i dun wanna study for finals because engineering sucks so here's some bad fanfiction! this one's been eating at my mind forever




The key to winning it all is not dying before it happens, or so it was how Takeuchi-sensei had preached it to them, eighteen young gentlemen, Kaijou's finest, fists curled and teeth bared and visions held crisp against the sky. Keep all of your options open. Disengage when possible, deflect unnecessary damage, trick opponents into thinking that they are stronger than you and then strike when they least expect it. It was all very Sun Tzu, and none of it intentionally accusatory, but the players were all aware of the requiem underlying his verbosity, regardless of its sentiment.

Someone raised a hand. "We're not fucking pussies," said number 15, "We go ham front and center and overwhelm them!"

"Yeah," another guy chimed in, number 13. "This is Kaijou. We are strong independent players who don't need no cowardly tactics."

Takeuchi cleared his throat.

"Then prepare to get owned," said Kasamatsu, "and talk to the starters on the team if you've got a problem with it." He had placed emphasis on the word starters, acknowledged his desire to watch the world burn, and crossed his arms over his chest. The other second years grumbled, and Kise suppressed his laughter because Kasamatsu was doing that thing again with his eyebrows where he started looking like Rock Lee.

"Take this sport seriously," Takeuchi-sensei said wearily. "Enjoy your life on the court. It's a precious one."

Three years later, it's all Kise can take away from that summer.




Aomine kisses him slowly, his lips smooth against Kise's throat. His fingertips are rough and thankfully thoughtless, erasing what's left of the drumbeats sliding over the thin walls and onto the floors. Kise digs his fingers into Aomine's hair, sees soundwaves float through the dark, and contemplates writing a nonfiction book about platonic love and precious lives lost on the court. There's not much time left in the evening and he's already had a couple beers to pass it by, but there's a rule against stuff like this written somewhere and he is vaguely aware of it, if only subconsciously.

"I never did forget about the Winter Cup after that," he says, and the soundwaves in the room begin to tear apart the curtains. "I don't think I ever will."

"What the fuck," Aomine mutters, his voice muffled between kisses, "stop thinking about that stupid nonfiction book and touch my goddamn cock. I'm not going to be hard for you forever."

Kise smirks. Pieces of his thoughts are sliding over the tip of his toes. "How'd you know I was thinking about that stupid nonfiction book?" Aomine says nothing and kisses him again, on the mouth and this time with tongue, and he breathes in deeply, pauses a second to gather his thoughts. Aomine's hands are distracting now, one is sliding over Kise's back and the other is loosening the buttons on his shirt, and he almost isn't able to finish his next sentence. "You never cared about my hobbies very much, anyway"-gasps a bit when Aomine bites into his skin-"...and that's going to a leave a mark, Aominecchi."

"Like you care."

"I do care," says Kise. "I've always cared."




But he's got a funny way of showing it, or so it was how he reminded himself, as he took Aida home from the party and into the cracks of the daylight. He's got a funny way of showing it all the time, raining rooftops rolling windows relentless reconnaissance aside, he's got a real funny way of showing his affection. There was a thunderstorm that day, or so he recalled, and Aida honestly wasn't the type to be nonchalant, but there had been a fantastic fairytale-esque quality to all of it between the hours and that's what he'd tried to forget, but never could.

After, Aida informed him of the reason why she'd come home with him from the party and into the cracks of the daylight, and he could barely bring himself to feel sympathetic.

"He's marrying the girl in his faculty at Todai," she told him. She was in her bra and panties, a thin cigarette dangled from her fingertips and he wondered, briefly, if she ever wanted to star in a black and white film. "Invitation came in the mail yesterday. June is a lovely month for wedding receptions, isn't it, Kise-kun?"

"Certainly is, Riko-chan," he said, and he'd smiled very bright. "Perhaps we could attend Hyuuga's wedding together. Would you care to be my date?"

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "I totally would, you know. But."


"But I'm not ready to hurt him that much yet. It would only hurt me more, you see."

"I see."

"And honestly, me and you, we don't like each other, or at least not in the right kind of way. Skipping past the irony, it's really kind of cheating, isn't it?"

He flopped back down into the messy bedsheets and pretended to care. "You wound me. I thought we had something real here."

"Sure you do."

"You know me, Riko-chan, I could be a killer boyfriend."

She smiled. "Tell that to Aomine-kun."

(He doesn't smile back.)




Only Aomine doesn't understand why. He merely does this annoying thing where he ploughs forward and makes believe at the most inopportune times. It's a nice skill to have for a semi-pro player on a college team, but for the most part it makes Kise wonder why Aomine isn't doing something better with his life. This wasn't a show where some fancy American team would come pick him up. This wasn't even real life.

"I heard from Aida."

"What did you hear?"

The room is a strange world underwater. Pages separate from the books on his shelves and his computer blinks in Morse code and any ideals are hidden in the dusty crates behind the basketball court, three years past, eighteen young gentlemen, fists curled and teeth bared and visions held crisp against the sky.

"Do you ever think," says Aomine, "do you ever think that I could become unreasonably jealous? Like, has this concept ever crossed your mind? Like maybe I'd find something better than a piece of shit like you?"

Kise shrugs. "You're not homicidal. That's good enough for me."

Aomine's eyes are wide with incredulity. "Fucking-"

"You're serious," Kise says, and it is at this moment that he realizes how small the gap between him and Aomine has become. "You can't be serious."

"Do you see me running off to join Johnny's Entertainment? Satsuki actually sent in an application for me, last month. Said I was perfect material for it, right down to my sexual orientation."

"Don't do it, Aominecchi."

"Oh but I could," Aomine says slowly, and he really thinks he's got the upper-hand, now. "I could do it. You should hear my singing voice. I'll sing you an Arashi song right now. I spent all week going through their discography. Fuck, I could even star in a basketball drama. Better than that Yamashita bastard any day of the week."

"There's something wrong with you, my god," says Kise.

"No," says Aomine. "Can't you see that there's something wrong with you? Actually no let me just spell it out for you, then. I'm angry. Why the fuck do you have to go around and fuck every other living thing in your vicinity? And If I'm not good enough for you, why do you still keep coming over all the time?"

"You're asking for the impossible," says Kise. "You know this already. I have commitment issues."

"Can you just nothave any when you're with me?"

"You can go and find some girls to fuck, too, Aominecchi, I wouldn't be against it."

"This isn't a goddamn pissing contest."

"I don't even know how to respond to that," says Kise. "It was bad enough, but now you're just flinging wild accusations. Give me a kiss, Aominecchi."

Aomine growls. "Fuck you too."




He was left alone for a while after that. Aomine didn't respond to his calls and texts, chose to employ third parties for any necessary contact, walked out and left the door open on several occasions. He tried to reason with himself and postulated that perhaps there were different avenues of interest for different people, only it was difficult because there was still a small part of him that cared too much. He wondered why he cared so much. He began to question the validity of his actions and his thoughts curdled up in light of the situation; the police box on the corner became hostile with time and he wasn't really ready to write a nonfiction book about platonic love and precious lives lost on the court, was he?

It was during the third time that a pissed-off Midorima showed up at his doorstep, that he'd begun to understand.

"You will fix this with him," Midorima told Kise, "before I do something that all of us may regret. I am perfectly capable of accomplishing more than simmply delivering hate mail, as I am sure you are aware. And Murasakibara might be OK with this arrangement, but I am certainly not."

"I can't do it, Midorimacchi," said Kise, "I don't know why. I just can't."

Midorima pushed his glasses up his nose. His nostrils flared. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Kise."

"You're supposed to disengage," he said quietly.


"Disengage. When possible. Deflect unncessary damage, trick them into thinking that you're weaker than them and strike when they least expect it." He's just babbling now, but he can't help it. "And piss them off when they're behind so that they never gain an advantage on you."

Midorima stared at him. "For god's sake, Kise, life is not basketball."

"I never said it was."

"You just did. And I won't offer you any free penalty shots."

He swallowed. "Maybe just a few?"

Midorima pursed his lips. "What do you mean?"

"Can I stay over at your place for a while?"

A pause. There was some sort of conflict in Midorima's eyes but it was probably rude to comment. Kise held his breath, instead.

"...I'll arrange a spare key for you."

Midorima shifted his gaze, and Kise felt the gap begin to widen again. He smiled instead. "That would be nice, I think."

"I hope that you'll work it out, one day."

"Me too."

The book would have to wait.



...and nothing was resolved that day

but thanks for reading!
comments are much appreciated. :)