Chapter Text
There were a number of things Kuroko regretted in his life, and being a starship officer usually was not one of them. Especially since he had been grounded on this planet for the past handful of years, the senior lieutenant of the station operations.
The orders for his immediate return to his home ship and report to his commanding officer had come in that morning as he had been eating breakfast, delivered by one of the young officers. Kuroko had calmly thanked and dismissed them, keeping his composure until the door to his house—the house he had built together with the native people of the planet—was closed.
Being grounded was one of two things: a death sentence or a career maker. Kuroko had never really been certain which of the two his commanding had meant for this assignment to be, but he had put down roots. Given up on travelling the stars on wild journeys, like the ones Aomine talked about in his messages.
He had been, in his own way, content.
He had obediently packed his things, made his goodbyes, and left the station on a shuttle that smelled of too-old, filtered air and tried not to panic at the feeling that he would never come back to this beautiful planet.
<Welcome back aboard, Lieutenant Kuroko,> the neutral tone of the ship’s AI said as he stepped through the airlock, slightly out of sync with the brusquer greeting of the officer on standby.
“Welcome back aboard the Tenebris, Lieutenant,” she said, giving a cursory salute. The petite Auxiliary soldier at her shoulder saluted in perfect unison with her but stayed quiet. “I trust there were no issues with your travel here?”
“None, thank you, Officer,” he replied smoothly, following them out of the airlock, the weight of his uniform—too warm, and rarely worn down on the planet—was more comfortable in the cool air, but strangely unfamiliar. He adjusted the collar as he followed at the officer’s heels to where no doubt the captain would be waiting to receive him.
<Thank you,> he replied silently through his adapter’s channel to the ship AI. Unnecessary, perhaps. But the Tenebris had always treated him well, even if he hadn’t wanted to be called back.
Kuroko was regretting his career choice more and more.
“Captain,” he said. Stolid, polite. He was certain only the Tenebris was picking up on his agitation, since he and his captain had never been particularly close, so she had never learned the certain tics that would give his true feelings away. The AI had voiced its gentle recommendation of visiting the medical bay if he could not lower his currently alarmingly elevated heart-rate. “All due respect, but I cannot accept this order.”
“Unless it’s a dishonorable discharge from service you’re wanting, Lieutenant, you don’t have a choice in the matter.” She exhaled through her nose and made an aggrieved gesture towards the chair Kuroko had refused upon entering her office. “Just sit, Lieutenant, and I will explain.”
“All due respect—”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant. Sit.”
He sat, controlling his breathing purposefully and looking just past his captain’s face to the blank wall beyond. As upset as he was, no good could come of angering Aida Riko.
“I know you’ve been planet-side for a while now, so I let the matter slide. I have more important things to deal with than assigning Auxiliaries to grounded officers. But now there’s a push from Central Command that nobody can afford to ignore. This isn’t just about following standard procedure, Lieutenant, it’s a matter of security.”
Kuroko continued to stare at the wall. Unless Central Command was planning on starting another war, there were no security threats he could think of. “May I speak freely, Captain?”
“You may.”
“I do not agree with Central Command, and I do not agree with the practice of keeping the Auxilliaries."
“All due respect, Lieutenant,” she said dryly but not, Kuroko thought, without sympathy, “but the Auxilliaries fulfill a purpose that have allowed us to progress as far as we have.”
“I’m not saying I’m not grateful. But to take the bodies of the dead—”
“And give them new purpose is wrong? We’re not doing anything they haven’t agreed to. They chose to donate their bodies upon termination of life.”
That doesn’t make it right, Kuroko wanted to snap, but he held his tongue, knowing that no matter how much he argued it would do no good. But of course they chose to donate their bodies; there was a silent pressure from the government that was impossible to ignore--a civilians duty to serve. And with a monetary incentive for those who signed up, it was little choice at all for most families. For the past centuries, a proper burial, be it cremation or entombment, was a privilege belonging only to the very wealthy.
“It’s the standard procedure,” the Captain repeated, leaning back in her chair as though sensing the battle was won. “If you didn’t want to deal with Auxiliaries, you’re in the wrong field, Lieutenant. You will receive your Auxiliary companion tomorrow.”
“And my assignment?”
“For now, you will resume normal duties upon the Tenebris. I will notify you of any further details.” Kuroko nodded his understanding, and she nodded back. “Dismissed.”
He stood, still boiling with emotions and left the room. No one seemed to notice his presence in the halls which suited Kuroko just fine as he walked, letting the ship AI guide him back to his assigned quarters; after five years, he had forgotten how unbearably alike all the hallways looked on the ship.
“Tenebris,” he said, aloud since he was in the privacy of his room, “have the details of my Auxiliary assignment been made public record?”
<They are not public record, but your status gives you the appropriate access. Would you like the details directly imported or sent to your mail?>
“Mail, if you don’t mind.” He had never fully gotten comfortable with extensive reading on his port, the one that allowed the words to scroll within the privacy of his own eyes. Once the small notification hummed distantly in his adapter, Kuroko called up the information on the screen embedded in one of the four walls.
There was little enough to be had, beyond physical stats, the standard photograph, and a name. If the Auxiliary had been previously assigned to other officers, the records were either beyond his access or wiped clean. That was not what gave him pause.
It was the smile. Soft and barely there, but Kuroko could see the very natural, gentle upturn of his lips. While Auxiliaries commonly retained some of the personality they had from their previous life, their capacity for feeling and expressing emotions was severely affected. This translated to most of them never shifting their facial features from blank neutrality.
Kiyoshi Teppei looked very human.
He had been human, of course. The radical factions that spoke out about the creation of the Auxiliaries as the desecration of life would say otherwise. The military classified them as weapons, the same as they would a sidearm. He had seen officers treat their Auxiliaries as such, but he had also seen them treated with the same respect as a human.
Kuroko wasn’t sure what he believed about their humanity. But he had wanted no part in having an Auxiliary companion, not since his disastrous first assignment.
“Tenebris, is there no other information available about this Auxiliary?”
There was the briefest of pauses. <I have given you all the information your security level allows, Lieutenant Kuroko.>
That was that, then.
He made a small gesture and the screen went dark again. He took a few more calming breaths in the silence of his room, taking his fond memories of the planet he had left behind and filing them neatly away to deal with later. He did not look to the door that led to the adjoining room meant for his Auxiliary.
<Lunch is now being served in the officer’s hall,> Tenebris said. It was the standard notification, one spoken through the adapters of all officers on-board, but it was enough to pull Kuroko from his downward trailing thoughts.
“Thank you,” he said. Unnecessary. But when he collected his lunch, his dispensed tray held a very good approximation of the sweet vanilla drink he had become enamored with, planet-side.
It was difficult to sleep. The soft whirring of the starship’s machinery was different than the noises the station made, and certainly different than the noises his little house had made. Even if not for that, Kuroko suspected the impending meeting with his new Auxiliary companion would have kept him awake.
If nothing else, it gave him extra time to straighten out his horrendous bedhead.
He received the notification shortly after breakfast, the Tenebris alerting him of his captain and his new Auxiliary awaiting him in one of the briefing rooms. Kuroko walked at a sedate pace, taking the time to further steady himself and make sure he did not slip in front of his captain. When he entered the room, his eyes were drawn immediately to the large figure with his back to him, then to his captain who had a cup of tea in hand.
“Ah, Lieutenant, right on time.”
“Good morning, Captain Riko,” he responded smoothly, keeping his gaze fixed on her. She gave him an intent once-over that made him wonder if the quiet rumor about her visual implants were true, that she really could read nearly as much as the ship’s AI could from one look. He sincerely hoped not. There were enough officers on-board that saw more than they should.
“This here is your new partner, Auxiliary Kiyoshi Teppei.” She gestured to the man standing at the window and he turned after a beat.
The smile was much the same as in the picture, but Kuroko was taken aback by just how warm the expression was. How it reached his dark brown eyes like he was completely human. He stepped forward towards Kuroko, looming over him in a way that set Kuroko’s teeth on edge, no matter how warm and pleasant that smile was.
“Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Kuroko,” he said, unmistakably with good cheer, giving him a sloppy salute instead of a bow. “I’m Kiyoshi Teppei.”
“He’s just come out of stasis for the first time in a hundred years,” the captain said, making no effort to conceal the amusement in her voice. “Please try to be patient as the kinks work themselves out.”
Kiyoshi laughed. Kuroko tried not to startle at the sound—he had never met an Auxiliary that laughed, not like that, not in a way that was natural and brightened its features like that—but knew he was staring. “I feel like a man reborn!” Kiyoshi said, patting his left leg. “The Medical bay kindly fixed me up with a new prosthetic and everything.”
“I’m speaking with the Lieutenant, Auxiliary,” Riko said mildly.
He bowed his head with a smile. “Of course, my apologies for the interruption, Captain.”
The captain set down her teacup. “As I was saying, your Auxiliary is fresh out of stasis, so the adjustment period for your teamwork may be longer than the usual. I’ve already scheduled a private training room for your use through the week, so see to it that you use that time wisely.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Any questions?”
Kuroko had several questions, including but not limited to who he must have pissed off at Central Command to end up with this kind of Auxiliary.
“Captain, I was unaware that Auxiliaries from that long ago were still considered usable,” Kuroko said instead. If Kiyoshi was bothered by his comment, it didn't register on his face.
She seemed troubled by that comment, however. Her expression shuttered, going as carefully blank as his own.
“This is…a special case, you might say.” Her gaze went distant in a way that Kuroko knew meant she was calling up data commands through her port. “I will have some files forwarded to you that should explain some of it. But I will warn you, Lieutenant, that what you read in those files is not to become the topic of conversation on my ship. Is that clear?”
As if there was anyone on this ship he wanted to share things with anymore.
Perhaps that was unfair of him. None of the other Teiko students were assigned to the Tenebris, but many of the former Seirin trainees had been kind enough. He inhaled slowly and exhaled slower.
“Perfectly clear, Captain. Thank you.”
A few more words were exchanged, meaningless pleasantries. Kiyoshi Teppei followed him out the door and walked beside him, shortening his long strides to match his. It was like having an overlarge dog at his side—an unfamiliar one that may or may not snap at him. The Auxiliary kept turning his head this way and that, taking in his new surroundings with rapt and enthusiastic attention.
Thinking of dogs made him think of Nigou, whom he’d been forced to leave in the care of the station he had left so recently. Kuroko counted up and down from one to ten in his head, ignoring the strange looks a few of the other officers they passed in the halls gave him. Him and Kiyoshi.
“I’ll be needing to go to Medical again,” Kiyoshi announced abruptly, just slightly ahead of the notification that pinged softly into Kuroko’s port. A readjustment to his prosthetic, to fine-tune the workings now that it had been attached for a 24-hour period.
“Yes, I just received notification.” Only a lifetime of veiling his emotions kept the peevish tone from his voice. Kuroko paused, taking a moment to orient himself and figure out where the nearest lift that could carry them to the lower decks was. A large hand, warm, settled between his shoulder blades with all the delicacy of a bird alighting upon a branch.
Kuroko flinched and the touch withdrew. An impression of warmth remained behind, making his skin tingle where his hand had been.
“Sorry for startling you. There’s a lift nearby that we can use.” Kiyoshi opened his mouth, probably to say where or to more impertinently say he could lead the way, then shut it, his soft eyes lidding.
<Down this hall and turn left at the first junction,> his voice murmured right into his head, his actual lips still even though they twitched further upward when Kuroko nodded at him.
Kiyoshi never did fall into step behind him as was the standard position of all modern Auxiliaries, instead walking beside him as a fellow officer might. For all that Kuroko had been lacking an Auxiliary for years, he couldn’t shake the unnerving sense of having his back exposed—nor the feeling that whatever hundred-year-old habits Kiyoshi had were not a mere matter of kinks to be worked out as the Captain had claimed.
“How did you lose your leg?” Kuroko asked. It had been hours since they had taken the lift down to the Medical bay; the prosthetic was having compatibility issues with the rest of Kiyoshi’s considerably older wirings and the fine-tuning had turned into more of a major overhaul. The Medical officer working on it was a newer recruit, bright-eyed and very eager to work with such an unusual Auxiliary. Kuroko could see him working with great focus across the room.
Kiyoshi shifted slightly on the bed he was sitting on, his impossibly large hands coming to rest on his thighs. He flexed the foot of his right leg, making the absence of the other leg, starting above the knee and down, more apparent.
“You didn’t have time to review my file?” he asked, his voice mild with only the faintest hint of disapproval. Or maybe disappointment. Either way, it rankled at him that a century-old robot-human hybrid was casting judgement on his time management.
“I did. The file didn’t mention your leg.” Nor had the Tenebris, though he could hardly blame the ship’s AI for not bringing up such a minor detail.
A tension Kuroko hadn’t noticed bled out from his shoulders.
“Strange.” Kiyoshi let out a small laugh but the sound was much different than the laugh he had let loose in the briefing room. Those hands curled into the dull blue fabric of his uniform. “Usually there’s an overabundance of information in personnel files. I keep forgetting I was asleep for too long.”
By sleep, he had to be referring to his long period in stasis. Kuroko had never heard any AI refer to it as such.
“It’s more a matter of access than the times changing,” he offered, not caring for the grim set of his Auxiliary’s jaw. Kuroko now wished he had let the silence remain instead of trying to satisfy his curiosity. “I’m only a Lieutenant, after all.”
“The mysterious sixth Lieutenant of the Teiko Generation of Miracles, the one they called the Phantom.” Kiyoshi turned his gaze to him, smile all but gone and something a little too keen in his gaze. “It’s a fine rank to hold, Kuroko, especially for one your age.”
It appeared that he wasn’t the only one digging around in records for information, but Kiyoshi had been much more successful, clearly. Kuroko looked away, wishing he had something to occupy his hands.
“Ah, and now I’ve upset you. Was it because I called you Kuroko? Lieutenant just seems so formal.” Kiyoshi’s voice was back to his gentle lightness, but when Kuroko glanced his way, his face was far from gentle and there was a coiled tension in his spine that reminded him of a predator.
“I’m not upset,” he lied blandly.
“Your vitals say otherwise. Although I’ll warn you in advance, you’re more likely to hurt your hand than my face if you throw that punch.” Kuroko forcibly unclenched his hands and spread them flat on his thighs, palms coated lightly with sweat. He hadn’t even realized. Kiyoshi’s smile returned but didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re in Medical though, so I suppose it’s the opportune place, if you wanted to.”
He resisted the urge to close his eyes and instead focused on the broad sweep of Kiyoshi’s eyebrows. “I’m not going to punch you, Kiyoshi,” he said.
“What a relief.”
The Auxiliary did not sound the least bit relieved.
“You never answered my question,” Kuroko pointed out.
“My leg? It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all. Do I call you Kuroko or do I call you Lieutenant?”
Kuroko sighed, glancing towards the Medical officer and wishing he would just finish with the leg already. It was long past lunch and at this rate, they would never make it to the training room today. And Kiyoshi’s evasion of his question didn’t pass by him.
“Just Kuroko is fine, aside from formal situations.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them.
“I must remind you of him. Ogiwara Shigehiro. His file is still linked to yours, so I read about what happened. I’m sorry.”
This time, Kuroko did close his eyes. “Don’t,” he warned, soft and low.
More silence. The ship whirred around them, just below the sound of the medical machinery chirping and beeping through the bay.
“There was an incident,” Kiyoshi said conversationally, as though he had never brought up mention of Kuroko’s first and what he had hoped would his last Auxiliary companion. “Before I became what you see now. My entire training squad was out doing a routine scouting mission planet-side and was gunned down by unknown hostiles. By the time our commanding officers and the medical unit made it to us, we were all long gone. My leg couldn’t be saved. The rest of me was considered salvageable.”
Kuroko looked over but Kiyoshi had leaned back and closed his eyes, his body poised in unnatural relaxation. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest told him the man was still breathing.
“You didn’t have to tell me.”
“I didn’t,” Kiyoshi agreed.
“Your team,” Kuroko ventured after a few moments passed. “Are they all like you now?”
“There’s nobody quite like me, Kuroko,” he said. The words suggested playfulness but the tone fell too flat for it. “We were all reborn as Auxiliaries, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He wondered if they, too, had been dragged out of stasis, but kept that thought to himself. Instead he consulted the files that Captain Riko had forwarded to him through his port.
The information within answered none of his questions about Kiyoshi’s origins, and why a century-old Auxiliary was being pulled out of stasis instead of him being assigned newer one. There certainly wasn’t a shortage. Frustrated, he skimmed through all the words one more time, trying to see anything that stood out. There were references to a special tactical squad, but in the past tense. Was Central Command trying to rebuild that? If they were, surely there were more qualified officers to hand Kiyoshi off to. In any case, there was no war ongoing. There was no need for such a thing.
The medical officer returned, chattering happily away about how he had switched the wiring and the required maintenance information to Kiyoshi. Kuroko closed the files and blinked a few times to clear his vision. There was an unpleasant twist in his stomach as he watched Kiyoshi being fitted with his new leg—all silver and pale grey metal and plastics. The ones that resembled human flesh were more expensive, and considered unnecessary for beings that weren’t strictly categorized as human or alive.
Leaving the Medical deck was a relief. The air on any starship was always sterile and cool, but the air in Medical was less tolerable to him, carrying the faint, metallic scent of blood and electricity.
Kuroko tapped the button for the second training deck where their room was reserved and Kiyoshi frowned, speaking to him for the first time since they exited the Medical bay doors.
“You haven’t eaten lunch yet, Kuroko,” he said, almost scolding.
“I’m not hungry.” Maybe he was. His insides felt all twisted up, trying not to think of the peaceful planet he left, trying not to think of why Kiyoshi was now his new companion, trying not to think, desperately, of Ogiwara.
“You haven’t eaten in over six hours.” Kiyoshi reached over him, clearing Kuroko’s command and tapping the button that would take them to the dining hall. “Even if it’s something small, you should eat.”
“Stop checking my vitals, Kiyoshi. I’m aware of my condition.” Kuroko could smell him in these close quarters, something both sweet and cold. He reached for the screen again and Kiyoshi moved to block it.
“It’s my job to check your vitals. You can’t expect the Tenebris to spend all her time getting after you when she has an entire ship to run.” He was smiling again, bouncing a little in place as he tested the strength of his new leg.
“Please move aside, Kiyoshi. Captain Riko has assigned us a training room and I fully intend to—”
“I have to eat too, you know. Maybe you’re not hungry, but I am.” He tipped his head to one side, strands of his ashy-brown hair slipping over his face. If it grew any longer, Kiyoshi would need to tie it back. Did his hair even grow? <Please,> he added through the adapter. The lift was already moving, the motion all but imperceptible except for the vague feeling of the air pressure changing minutely around him.
Kuroko didn’t respond with either argument or assent, and Kiyoshi relaxed, shifting back so he stood by his side.
“I wonder if Tenebris knows how to make sweets. There were these maple candies I used to love. I bet she could figure it out.” He started humming softly to himself, an unfamiliar tune that nonetheless tugged at Kuroko’s heart, bringing about a feeling of nostalgia that eased the anxious twisting in his belly.
There were three things Kuroko knew for certain as he settled into his bed that night, never having made it to the training room at all.
One, Kiyoshi being brought out of stasis was a signal that Central Command was up to something suspicious.
Two, Kiyoshi was more masterful at manipulating people than he was.
Three, Kuroko wanted nothing to do with Central and Kiyoshi alike.
He deliberately focused on the darkness of the ceiling above him so he wouldn’t be tempted to look towards the door that Kiyoshi was behind.
<If you're having difficulty sleeping, I can get you a pill from Medical.>
Kiyoshi's voice, filtered right into his head, made him go tense and he glanced to the door. It was shut, plain and unassuming as ever. It made him long for the wood slats of his planet home, the fuzzy companionship of Nigou sleeping by his legs.
<Stop monitoring my condition,> he said back through the adapter, letting the note of mild irritation slip into the words.
A bubble of laughter echoed in his head, so lively it was hard to believe it hadn't been done outwardly. <We're connected, you and I. I can't help it.>
<I urge you to try.> He hesitated slightly, turning on his side so he didn't face the door. <It’s a dermal patch now, not a pill. Most things are.>
<Is it really? Fascinating. I'm sure that must be good for the older folks. My grandparents would have loved it, that's for sure.>
Kuroko held his tongue about the expense of the patches for those outside the military's care, thinking of the pain patches he sent home for his grandmother's arthritis because all his family could afford were homeopathic remedies from the local apothecary—still effective, but it didn't have the potency of government drugs.
Kiyoshi was silent, in his head and beyond the door, for long enough that Kuroko began to drift off.
He dreamed of an iron cage and a man dressed in shadows, singing.
Morning was a strange affair. Kiyoshi ruffled his hair upon seeing his bedhead after slipping in through the connecting door, fully dressed, cheerful and bright-eyed. Kuroko didn't care for that, slapping his hand aside, although not before noting how much restrained power his fingers held. He accompanied him to breakfast, and his near constant conversation was a new but not entirely unpleasant thing. The other officers eyed them both, refraining from commenting on the oddity of his new Auxiliary. Mitobe and his small, talkative Auxiliary, greeted him from across the table, as did a few of the other former Seirin trainees. Kuroko refrained from extended conversation with any of them, not fully comfortable with the crew after being so long planet-side.
Then came the training room.
Kiyoshi’s entire face brightened as the training room settled into the usual basketball court Kuroko had always favored for days when he didn't feel up to combat. Start slow, Captain Riko had warned. Build a rapport before attempting higher level simulations.
“You play?” he asked eagerly.
“I do,” he confirmed. A tiny smile formed on his face before he could stop it, his mind calling up memories of the good times with his fellow Teiko trainees, then later Kagami. They were unstoppable together.
“I was so afraid the game would have died out while I was sleeping!” Strange that he should refer to his hundred-year storage as sleep instead of what it really was. Or maybe that’s what it had felt like, to him. Kuroko had never asked any Auxiliary what it felt like. He scooped up the basketball that had appeared, spinning it between his hands with a familiar grace. “I’m glad.”
A soft notification pinged through his adapter and Kuroko’s smile faded. It must be urgent, to bypass the training room walls.
“I have to take this,” he apologized, gesturing towards his head. Kiyoshi nodded. He seemed too distracted by the court and the ball in his hands to pay Kuroko much mind.
“I’ll just warm up until you’re ready then?”
“Please do.”
Kuroko let the message scroll across his vision. It wasn’t urgent at all, not really, and Kuroko was just about to ask Tenebris to make sure the training room’s blocking system was fully functioning when he saw the origin of the message.
The same planet he had been forced to abandon not but two days ago.
He let the words scroll, slower this time. It was just a standard-issued report, the same he got all the time when he was living on the station. They must not have removed him from the security listing planet-side, or perhaps someone had kept him on purposefully, knowing that he would want reports on the status of the station and the native inhabitants they were assisting.
It was short, but he read it twice. All was well, it seemed. The station was still trying to clear Nigou to come up to the ship, with little progress so far. The required documentation was extensive. With a sigh, he closed the message and blinked to clear his vision properly.
Instead of calling out to him, Kuroko watched Kiyoshi dance across the floor, avoiding invisible opponents. His body was built for the game. Even though his smile was smaller than usual, Kiyoshi shone with joy and energy, and Kuroko didn’t think he had ever seen him more alive than in that moment. Or more beautiful.
Perhaps he could feel Kuroko staring or maybe he had glanced over coincidentally, but Kiyoshi grinned and waved a hand at him.
“There’s no trouble I hope?”
“No.” Nothing I’d care to discuss with you, at any rate. “Nothing worth mentioning. You play quite well, Kiyoshi.”
He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. His skin was flushed and his chest moved easily with his breaths. "It comes back easier than I thought. My team and I, we used to...I don't suppose the training schools still have the sports divisions anymore?"
"Not for basketball. Not officially," he amended. There weren't enough interested people to make it official, but that didn't stop the trainees from playing after-dark. Or even the officers. "I had a team, in school."
"And now?"
Kuroko shrugged, heart sinking with a pang of loneliness for Kagami's exuberant presence, for the dysfunctional company of his Miracle companions. Or Momoi, who had left them all sooner than anyone liked, offered a captainship halfway through her last year of training. Aomine had followed after her after their graduation, as all of them expected. Akashi vanished to the perilous borderlands with a captaincy of his own, leaving the rest of them to disperse, connected by threads thin as spider-silk.
“Sometimes the officers play.” Kuroko rarely did, with Kagami transferred to a newer, bigger ship that saw more action. It was too difficult for people to catch his passes. Too difficult for people to see him, instead of through him. “Or they did, when I left for planet-side duties.”
“Perhaps we should see about getting a little team of our own started,” he said with a smile.
“What about your team, Kiyoshi?” He lifted his hands so he could pass the ball. He did; the slightly gritty texture of the basketball, the gentle sting as it met his palm and the hollow ring it made upon contact—it all felt like coming home.
“We were pretty good,” Kiyoshi said, even though Kuroko hadn’t asked.
“You played in a division?”
“Yes. Complete with tournaments.” There was something unreadable in his expression. Kuroko dribbled a few times, and even though his ball handling was average at best, Kiyoshi seemed transfixed by the movement, his soft brown eyes never wavering.
“Did you ever place?”
“First.” He sounded neither proud nor humble about it. In fact, he sounded quite sad. “Every time, we took first. They called us kings.” He reached out and stole the ball in a graceful movement, spinning away with it to drive towards the hoop. Kuroko didn’t press the issue as they played, but secretly thought there was indeed something noble about Kiyoshi, something kind and stalwart.
They weren’t keeping score. It was just friendly play. It was just a way to build a rapport and a working relationship.
It was Kuroko’s loss, 22-10.
The walk back to his rooms was quiet, the curious glances of the other officers towards him—towards Kiyoshi and him—itching more than the sweat drying on his skin.
“You play well, you know, Kuroko.”
“So do you,” Kuroko replied after a few moments, not certain if he was trying to be flattering or sarcastic.
“I mean it.” Their elbows brushed and he felt a small shock run up his arm through the brief point of contact. “You’re well-suited to being the foundation of a team.”
<Something tells me maybe you were, once,> he added through the adapter.
Kuroko didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he could.