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almondinflowerThe More You Stay the Same
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
readerofasaph
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Summary: The one in which Kuroko is a girl, obviously.
Characters: Light Kise/Kuroko, Miragen ensemble.
Wordcount: About 4000 words
Kise was keenly aware that if he were behaving this way at a photoshoot, say, or even in a classroom, his recurrent actions would be interpreted as stalkerish and creepy at worst, or, at best, fuel for a new flurry of gossip and and tabloid articles. This being basketball club though, his behaviour was apparently entirely normal. Or at least Aomine had assured him it was normal. Constantly staring at Kuroko was, according to Aomine, the ubiquitous and universal initial reaction to being surprised to death by the small boy's presence half a dozen times a week. Even Akashi had done it to begin with.
“You'll get used to it,” Aomine said casually. “After about three months you're only a little bit startled instead of feeling like you're about to have a cardiac arrest.”
It'd taken Kise the better part of a fortnight to learn how to track Kuroko from one end of the auditorium to the other without losing sight of him. The worst part of it was that Kuroko had no standout features whatsoever. He was about the same height as the entire (populous and extremely average-looking) third-string, his face was normal and uninteresting, his gait was normal and uninteresting; and he had no tics or quirks of dress or body language or facial expression which one could reliably use to identify him with. It was hard enough noticing Kuroko when he was standing alone under a spotlight in the middle of the court; the moment he was in a crowd, finding him was completely impossible.
Not that the difficulty of the task had stopped Kise from trying. Some days the goal of overcoming misdirection loomed as large and urgent in his mind as did the objective of defeating Aomine. Besides, staring at Kuroko had over the weeks proved to be a surprisingly restful activity. Kise was used to piquant beauties and striking makeup and people who, one way or another, made careers out of being more attractive and noticeable than the person next to them. Kuroko made no demands on one's visual attention. Kuroko was a sight for sore and exhausted eyes.
He'd been gazing at Kuroko so intensely and for so long that by the time he noticed the difference he thought that he was imagining it. It was true that Kise had, by dint of professional experience, an above-average eye for physical detail: lighting, bone structure, the particular effect of certain colour combinations on the human figure. It was equally true, however, that Kuroko was so unimpressive that half the time Kise couldn't actually remember to his own satisfaction a single detail about Kuroko's features, whether it be hair or eyes or fingers.
Still though, watching Kuroko fail miserably at layup after layup this particular afternoon, Kise felt like he would have remembered this: the odd position of Kuroko's centre of gravity, the way the basketball club uniform draped across Kuroko's torso in a manner that was unflattering but nevertheless gave off the impression of curves...
After five minutes he was dead certain of it: Kuroko had hips.
Kuroko came off the court after having missed ten shots in a row and Kise went over to stare at him up close. Again the usual problem with Kuroko's average average face; Kise never could quite remember the specifics of his cheekbones or his philtrum or indeed whether Kuroko's complexion had been quite this smooth and poreless last week.
Nevertheless he was fairly sure that Kuroko's skin wasn't meant to be that good. Not even Kise's skin was that good, and Kise's agent received sponsorship offers from manufacturers of moisturiser and toner at least twice a month.
Kuroko looked at him with the usual understated and inquiring look. Kise tried to keep his wits about him.
“Kurokocchi,” he said out loud, “have you always been a girl?”
#
Akashi cancelled practice – apparently an unprecedented circumstance. According to the third-years Akashi had once insisted on continuing practice right through a genuine fire alarm, on the rationale that the fire had started in the home economics classrooms and the firefighters would extinguish it well before the flames spread to the sports centre.
An emergency meeting was immediately called, to which Akashi was the last to arrive as per usual. The remaining five of them were left waiting in the club room, looking at each other, looking at Kuroko, who sat on a stool in the corner wearing a perturbed expression. (Or rather what on Kuroko's face passed for a perturbed expression. Kise still had a long way to go as far as deciphering Kuroko's emotions was concerned.)
Aomine finally broke the silence. “Well, I thought it'd come out eventually. Didn't expect it to be you who'd figure it out first though, Kise.”
“You knew?” asked Kuroko, turning startled eyes on Aomine. (To be more accurate, he locked gazes with Aomine in such a way as to immediately exclude everyone else in the room.)
“Your Ignite Pass is a fraction slow,” said Aomine, balancing a basketball on the end of his foot for emphasis. “Not much slower than usual, I doubt Akashi would have spotted it for a few days. But yeah, I noticed.”
They continued to communicate wordlessly and Kise was being torn between blinding unfocused jealousy and the desire to tell them to get a room, when Murasakibara thankfully interrupted by walking over to Kuroko.
“Are you really a girl, Kuro-chin?” he asked, reaching out to pat Kuroko's head and shoulders. “That's so weird, you don't even look a girl at all.”
When he'd first joined the club Kise had suspected Murasakibara of pretending to be that dumb just so he could get away with totally inappropriate behaviour. He'd since learned that Murasakibara really was that much of an idiot, but watching Kuroko sit placidly there while Murasakibara did the usual outrageous things, it was hard not to suspect desperately clever and ingeniously hidden ulterior motives. Murasakibara was inquisitively running his fingers down Kuroko's spine, continuing to munch food as he went, his hand sliding down to examine the small of Kuroko's back, and travelling lower still--
The shadow of Akashi appeared in the doorway. “Atsushi, you're going to get breadcrumbs all over Tetsuya's uniform.”
Thus reprimanded Murasakibara retreated, leaving Kuroko's hair mussed and his jumper rumpled and it was official, Murasakibara was the teammate Kise hated the most.
Akashi sat down in a large and authoritative-looking desk chair that appeared to have sprung into existence from nowhere for no other reason than to be sat in by Akashi. Akashi seemed tired. He also appeared like he wasn't entirely sure what to do, which really was a new look for Akashi.
“I'm waiting to hear your side of the story, Tetsuya,” Akashi said mildly.
Kuroko shrugged. “There isn't much of a story. I woke up on Sunday and I was like this, that's all.”
It perhaps said something about the nature of the Teikou basketball regulars that this explanation was accepted as wholly adequate and complete. Akashi looked Kuroko up and down, using those ridiculous eyes of his presumably, evaluating height, weight, proportion, potential.
“You'll need to double your upper body training if you want to keep playing in matches,” he said. “Okay team dismissed.”
#
It was Midorima who brought up the question of which change room to place Kuroko in.
“We are not putting him in the girls' change room,” Aomine said flatly. “Satsuki would eat him alive.”
“I do fail to see how being eaten alive by the entire male section of the basketball club would be preferable,” pointed out Midorima. Midorima had been insufferable on the matter of Kuroko's supernatural transformation. His insistence that the answer lay in the stars had resulted in no fewer than three official meetings called for the exclusive purpose of analysing this month's Aquarius horoscope. (It was unusual for Akashi to be this indulgent of Midorima's foibles, but not being able to explain Kuroko's condition clearly weighed heavily upon their captain.) So far the only enlightenment Kise had received was that Mercury was in retrograde and Geminis were having a terrible week.
“If the two of you don't mind,” said Kuroko – and the polite tone of his words belied the way Aomine and Midorima simultaneously stopped short and blanched in fear – “I'm not going to be eaten alive. And I'd rather keep using the boys' change room, if it's all the same to you.”
With that Kuroko wandered into the aforementioned room, leaving Aomine, Midorima and Kise to huddle on the bench outside. Practice had run past dinner time and they desperately wanted to shower and go home, but none of them felt particularly comfortable – or safe – joining Kuroko under the current circumstances.
“He was already frightening enough without being female,” muttered Aomine. “I mean my life was already complicated enough between Satsuki and him as a boy. I might not survive to win Nationals.”
“He's kept up surprisingly well with training,” Midorima said. “He hates push-ups, he's always trying to skimp on them when Akashi isn't watching. But he's been doing all of them this week. Weights, too.”
“He's completely wasted as a chick,” grumbled Aomine. “He just wears the same clothes and doesn't do his hair and he's even flatter than Satsuki. The only difference is that he moves kind of funny on the court.”
“Momochi's in the middle of a growth spurt,” said Kise. “Anyway, Aominecchi, I think you're illustrating precisely why Kurokocchi is going to murder you.”
Kuroko was indeed as non-descript in a female body as he was in a male one; but then again, this was exactly the most physically appealing thing about Kuroko. Aomine did have a point about the hair though.
It was a good half-hour before Kuroko emerged wearing everyday (boy's) clothes. Clearly the one female trait he had acquired was that of taking forever in the bathroom.
Kuroko didn't even seem to be wearing a bra, although to be fair, as far as Kise could tell Kuroko didn't really need one.
“Kise,” Aomine said in a pained voice, “in case you'd forgotten, I'm the dickhead in this group. Plus if Tetsu kills us all Akashi will probably resurrect us and make us play as zombies at Nationals. Just saying.”
#
Momoi Satsuki remained very sincerely, very demonstratively, and very confidently in love with Kuroko.
“You do realise he's now a girl,” Aomine pointed out, as Momoi tightened her arms around Kuroko's shoulders in affectionate embrace.
“He's only a girl on the outside,” Momoi reproached. “Tetsu-kun is still a boy, of course, just as he's always been. You're just too chauvinistic to see it.”
The four of them were having lunch together outside. To be more accurate Kise and Momoi had by great effort discovered Aomine and Kuroko eating lunch together and had sat down to join them. Kuroko looked about as annoyed to see Kise as Aomine was to see Momoi, which Kise counted as progress.
Momoi had given Kuroko a bento, which now lay open and untouched on a rock. (To hear Aomine tell it, Kuroko had developed food poisoning from Momoi's bentos thrice before finally conceding that Momoi's cooking could not be eaten, not even out of the finest feelings of obligation and courtesy.) Momoi herself was eating a cafeteria-bought sandwich.
Aomine looked at Momoi snuggling her head into the crook of Kuroko's neck, and stood up. “I'm leaving,” he said. “If I stay for another five minutes my need to imagine lesbian fantasies is going to outweigh my need to stay alive.”
Kuroko hurled a blackened boiled egg (Kise had no idea how Momoi managed to burn hard-boiled eggs) at Aomine's retreating back. Without turning around Aomine evaded, caught the egg in midair, and flung it back at Kuroko at twice its original velocity. Aomine always gave Kuroko as good as he got. Kise envied that about Aomine. Kise could never quite get past the urge to hold something back with Kuroko, even knowing that Kuroko hated it.
Kuroko stared down at his own shirt, now covered in smushed egg white.
“Dai-chan is such an idiot,” Momoi complained, releasing her hold on Kuroko. “I'll see if I can borrow a shirt from the sewing club, they usually keep extra uniforms.'
“I've got a spare, don't worry about it.” Kuroko rose to his feet, looking a little pained. Being a girl seemed to be getting to Kuroko. There were dark rings around his eyes and his attack on Aomine just now had been downright weak. Kise contemplated Kuroko for some five seconds before realising what was going on.
He followed Kuroko to the second-floor boys' bathroom, which had the predicted side-effect of annoying Kuroko.
“While I can understand the reasoning behind your actions,” said Kuroko, “I am really quite insulted by them. Can you stop trying to bodyguard me?”
“Akashichi's orders, sorry.” Kise was surprised that Akashi had seen the need for it, but there were quite a number of first-stringers who were jealous of Kuroko's spot as a regular, all of them taller (though not meaner) than Kuroko. “But I honestly came beceause I had something to say.”
Kuroko looked up at Kise with the usual combination of patience and exasperation.
Kise gulped, took comfort in the fact that Kuroko's first impression of him had already been so bad that anything that took place forthwith would be an improvement, surely – and forged ahead. “I know for a fact that Momochi keeps heating pads in her locker,” he said. “But if you'd rather not talk to her about this, the school infirmary does stock them. I could approach the school nurse and fake a muscle strain. It wouldn't be hard.”
There ensued a dead silence, during which a gaping chasm repeatedly failed to appear in the floor despite Kise's fervent wishes for it.
Finally Kuroko spoke. “Kise-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“As your instructor, I don't suppose I could ask you to jump off a cliff and expect the order to be obeyed?”
“If I said yes,” Kise asked, “would you mourn me at my funeral?”
Kuroko sighed. “Just get me the damn heating pad,” he said, disappearing into a toilet stall and slamming the door behind him.
#
Kuroko's episodes of PMS were – relative to his usual lack of decipherability – glaringly obvious to the basketball player's eye.
At least, they were glaringly obvious to Kise's eye. Midorima and Murasakibara were oblivious as usual, and Aomine either knew why Kuroko was being so snappish and didn't care, or didn't know and didn't care. It was Akashi's reaction that was interesting to watch, however. Akashi seemed unsure how to approach the new and transformed Kuroko. It was entirely possible that this was the first time in his life Akashi had ever been at a loss.
“Tetsuya,” Akashi called out, just as Kuroko sent a particularly vicious pass spiralling towards Midorima.
“Yes?” answered Kuroko, turning a chilly gaze upon their captain.
You could almost see Akashi thinking, which was fascinating. Akashi's brain never worked that slowly.
“Just focus on coordinating with Daiki for today, since that's our major strategy for the upcoming match. All right, continue.” Akashi wandered off to the exit. “I'm going to observe the second-string practicing,” he said to no one in particular.
Midorima visibly relaxed upon hearing that Aomine was to bear the brunt of Kuroko's newfound brutality. Aomine of course remained unfazed. Aomine retained perfect partnership with Kuroko despite the latter now being a girl. Just an hour earlier he'd followed-up Kuroko's tap pass with a tap pass of his own – straight into the basketball hoop.
Now that he didn't have to worry about getting his fingers broken by the new, feminine, and improved Ignite Pass, Kise eased into his usual habit of looking for Kuroko on the court. It was harder finding Kuroko when he was actively using misdirection, but Kise had grown better at it over time and he felt a certain amount of accomplishment at the fact. Besides, he still liked scrutinising Kuroko's face.
Short hair and incorrectly gendered uniform aside, Kuroko appeared about as average as a female as he had as a male. Not pretty, not ugly, just a girl. At Kise's best estimate Kuroko would look completely appropriate and unremarkable in a dress and some eyeshadow and barrettes, not that Kuroko was giving any of them a chance to do this. (Momoi had asked and been shot down.)
The sudden appearance of the basketball in Kise's hands completely derailed his train of thought.
“Pay attention,” said Murasakibara, giving Kise an ugly look. “Kuro-chin's not the only one who passes, you know.”
An angry Murasakibara was almost as frightening as a female Kuroko. Kise winced and tried to focus on practice.
#
After about six weeks Kuroko gave up voicing protest at being escorted to the bathroom every single day. Kise felt genuine surprise at the discovery that Kuroko could, after all, be worn down into defeat.
“I wouldn't have picked Akashichi for being more stubborn than you,” he said, leaning against the row of sinks with his arms folded lightly across his chest.
Kuroko muttered something about not being able to deal with “Momoi-san and Akashi-kun and Aomine-kun”, as he coated his hands in pink gel from the soap dispenser. Out of habit Kise continued to stare at Kuroko's face while Kuroko was washing his hands.
Kuroko appeared exhausted. It had occurred to Kise quite early on that no matter how flummoxed the rest of them were at Kuroko's inexplicable change of sex, Kuroko had to be the one bearing the lion's share of stress. The shadows under Kuroko's eyes had become semi-permanent and were now as close to a distinguishing feature as Kuroko ever possessed. His hair seemed to be growing faster now that he was a girl and now he had an untidy fringe hanging floppy and unfashionable across his brow. Kise kept at least three different brands of hairspray in his locker. Kise didn't even know where to begin broaching the topic of hairstyles with Kuroko.
“If your fringe gets any longer it's going to interfere with practice, you know,” Kise said as Kuroko held his palms upward beneath the hand dryer. On perfect cue an unruly lock of hair fell right into Kuroko's left eye. Kuroko gave a little toss of his head, trying to get his fringe to settle into place without having to remove his hands from the warm air jets.
Kise made a noise of exasperation. “Let me,” he said, reaching out to brush the offending lock out of Kuroko's eyes. Once he'd done that though the sheer awfulness of Kuroko's haircut struck him, a stronger offense to the aesthetic senses from up close than it was from afar, and he ended up spending two or three minutes trying to rearrange Kuroko's hair to his own satisfaction. By the time Kise had finished fiddling with the loose and careless strands Kuroko had long since stopped drying his hands and was just standing there in front of Kise.
Really very close in front of Kise; Kise didn't think they'd ever been in quite that much physical proximity before.
He was close enough that he could hear Kuroko's careful, measured breath; close enough that he could see Kuroko's eyes glance quickly, reluctantly up at Kise before casting downwards again.
Kise paused, a little frisson of shock running through his body. He wondered if he'd misread, and then decided that he hadn't; and then wondered what to do about it.
Attraction counted for something, Kise knew, but it didn't necessarily mean much. It didn't mean that someone liked you. Sometimes it didn't even mean that they wanted you.
On the other hand this was Kuroko, who never showed any openings to anyone who wasn't Aomine, and who was – something to Kise, at any rate, although he hadn't figured out exactly what sort of something. And it wasn't like Kise could possibly make a bigger idiot of himself than he already had in front of Kuroko, multiple multiple times.
He leaned down, his fingers tracing a path from forehead to chin, and Kuroko didn't pull away, and then Kise leaned lower still, and the two of them met.
Kuroko's lips hinted at vanilla popsicle, which was annoying because it reminded Kise of Aomine, but mostly he didn't taste of anything at all, just Kuroko himself, curious and calm and endlessly fascinating to Kise. And for a moment Kuroko did respond, briefly but unmistakably, before pulling back in the recoil Kise had expected; they broke apart, and stared at each other.
It was bare vulnerable anger that Kuroko showed him in that instant, and Kise had never seen Kuroko look at anyone like that before, not even Aomine, and whatever something Kuroko was to Kise, it had just suddenly become a lot more of a something.
He opened his mouth to say sorry, and found that he couldn't, because he really really wasn't. But Kuroko pre-empted all conversation anyway by pushing past Kise and out into the corridor, shutting the bathroom door behind him with a furious bang.
#
He lay in bed that night contemplating whether it would be worse to die being tortured to death by Kuroko, or Aomine, or Momoi. He decided Aomine was the most frightening option. Aomine would sentence Kise to death by basketball, forbidding food and drink until Kise managed to beat him one-on-one, which of course was impossible. Kise would waste away from dehydration or possibly the heartbreak of continuously losing.
He took consolation in the fact that Kuroko probably wanted Aomine to know about today's events even less than Kise did.
#
“You're a boy again,” said Akashi. He seemed unsure whether to be relieved or confused.
“You can play normal basketball again,” Aomine said. “Not that the weird passes weren't kinda cool too, but hey. I missed the old you.”
Midorima attributed the new turn of events to Saturn and the solar eclipse, Murasakibara asked Akashi for more Pocky, and all in all, practice went on as usual. Even Kuroko seemed to be treating Kise perfectly normally, which really was too cruel. The very least he could do was act a little meaner than usual to Kise. Anything, just so Kise knew he was getting some sort of reaction out of Kuroko.
He had to resort to following Kuroko home after practice, which was always a tricky proposition given the number of fangirls he had to evade on the way. Kuroko deliberately complicated matters by going into a power-walk the moment he spotted Kise trailing his steps.
Well, it wasn't as if anything about Kuroko had been easy or simple, even right from the beginning.
“Kurokocchi,” he began, when he'd finally caught up and was fairly sure there was no one else on the street within earshot.
“Yes, I changed back after what happened in the bathroom, if that's what you want to know,” said Kuroko flatly.
“Oh,” said Kise.
“I guess I should say thank you, but...I'm sorry. I can't really manage that right now.”
“You don't have to thank me.” Kise would have felt indignant if it weren't for the damn butterflies in his chest, whirling around and pretty much ruining anything cool he could have thought of to say. “I didn't do it to help you.”
“Then why?” asked Kuroko, stopping at the corner of the footpath and turning his head up to face Kise, his gaze meeting Kise's face-on. Honest, straightforward Kuroko, always perfectly true and direct and yet always holding hidden some part of himself, a side he only let Aomine see, or Akashi sometimes.
Kise wanted to possess that part of Kuroko as much as he'd ever wanted to possess anything in his life, whether it was the latent desire and fury he'd seen yesterday afternoon, or the simple faith Kuroko showed Aomine, day after day, match after match.
But the fact that he wanted it didn't mean that he'd have it, or that he should. Or could. He'd taken something from Kuroko yesterday, though, and he wanted to give something in exchange.
“If you were really a girl I wouldn't have kissed you,” said Kise, in that moment tacitly offering up truths that Kise himself wasn't quite, at present, ready to face head-on. And if Kuroko didn't understand, then – well, that was fine. Kise wasn't sure he entirely understood himself either.
Kuroko seemed to get it, though. “Oh,” he replied in a small voice. Kise watched Kuroko mulling things over in his mind, the two of them standing still at the edge of the street, alone save for the occasional housecat and inquisitive sparrow.
“I think I can thank you now,” Kuroko spoke finally. He bowed in a typically formal manner. “I'm very grateful for your helping to change me back.”
And if there were no promises in his voice, there was no rejection either. It wasn't as much as Kise might have wanted, but it was more than he'd feared. It was enough for him to work with. Or at least to live with.
“You're welcome, Kurokocchi,” he said, smiling. “I'm glad you're back to being you. Welcome back.”
Author:
readerofasaphFandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Summary: The one in which Kuroko is a girl, obviously.
Characters: Light Kise/Kuroko, Miragen ensemble.
Wordcount: About 4000 words
Kise was keenly aware that if he were behaving this way at a photoshoot, say, or even in a classroom, his recurrent actions would be interpreted as stalkerish and creepy at worst, or, at best, fuel for a new flurry of gossip and and tabloid articles. This being basketball club though, his behaviour was apparently entirely normal. Or at least Aomine had assured him it was normal. Constantly staring at Kuroko was, according to Aomine, the ubiquitous and universal initial reaction to being surprised to death by the small boy's presence half a dozen times a week. Even Akashi had done it to begin with.
“You'll get used to it,” Aomine said casually. “After about three months you're only a little bit startled instead of feeling like you're about to have a cardiac arrest.”
It'd taken Kise the better part of a fortnight to learn how to track Kuroko from one end of the auditorium to the other without losing sight of him. The worst part of it was that Kuroko had no standout features whatsoever. He was about the same height as the entire (populous and extremely average-looking) third-string, his face was normal and uninteresting, his gait was normal and uninteresting; and he had no tics or quirks of dress or body language or facial expression which one could reliably use to identify him with. It was hard enough noticing Kuroko when he was standing alone under a spotlight in the middle of the court; the moment he was in a crowd, finding him was completely impossible.
Not that the difficulty of the task had stopped Kise from trying. Some days the goal of overcoming misdirection loomed as large and urgent in his mind as did the objective of defeating Aomine. Besides, staring at Kuroko had over the weeks proved to be a surprisingly restful activity. Kise was used to piquant beauties and striking makeup and people who, one way or another, made careers out of being more attractive and noticeable than the person next to them. Kuroko made no demands on one's visual attention. Kuroko was a sight for sore and exhausted eyes.
He'd been gazing at Kuroko so intensely and for so long that by the time he noticed the difference he thought that he was imagining it. It was true that Kise had, by dint of professional experience, an above-average eye for physical detail: lighting, bone structure, the particular effect of certain colour combinations on the human figure. It was equally true, however, that Kuroko was so unimpressive that half the time Kise couldn't actually remember to his own satisfaction a single detail about Kuroko's features, whether it be hair or eyes or fingers.
Still though, watching Kuroko fail miserably at layup after layup this particular afternoon, Kise felt like he would have remembered this: the odd position of Kuroko's centre of gravity, the way the basketball club uniform draped across Kuroko's torso in a manner that was unflattering but nevertheless gave off the impression of curves...
After five minutes he was dead certain of it: Kuroko had hips.
Kuroko came off the court after having missed ten shots in a row and Kise went over to stare at him up close. Again the usual problem with Kuroko's average average face; Kise never could quite remember the specifics of his cheekbones or his philtrum or indeed whether Kuroko's complexion had been quite this smooth and poreless last week.
Nevertheless he was fairly sure that Kuroko's skin wasn't meant to be that good. Not even Kise's skin was that good, and Kise's agent received sponsorship offers from manufacturers of moisturiser and toner at least twice a month.
Kuroko looked at him with the usual understated and inquiring look. Kise tried to keep his wits about him.
“Kurokocchi,” he said out loud, “have you always been a girl?”
Akashi cancelled practice – apparently an unprecedented circumstance. According to the third-years Akashi had once insisted on continuing practice right through a genuine fire alarm, on the rationale that the fire had started in the home economics classrooms and the firefighters would extinguish it well before the flames spread to the sports centre.
An emergency meeting was immediately called, to which Akashi was the last to arrive as per usual. The remaining five of them were left waiting in the club room, looking at each other, looking at Kuroko, who sat on a stool in the corner wearing a perturbed expression. (Or rather what on Kuroko's face passed for a perturbed expression. Kise still had a long way to go as far as deciphering Kuroko's emotions was concerned.)
Aomine finally broke the silence. “Well, I thought it'd come out eventually. Didn't expect it to be you who'd figure it out first though, Kise.”
“You knew?” asked Kuroko, turning startled eyes on Aomine. (To be more accurate, he locked gazes with Aomine in such a way as to immediately exclude everyone else in the room.)
“Your Ignite Pass is a fraction slow,” said Aomine, balancing a basketball on the end of his foot for emphasis. “Not much slower than usual, I doubt Akashi would have spotted it for a few days. But yeah, I noticed.”
They continued to communicate wordlessly and Kise was being torn between blinding unfocused jealousy and the desire to tell them to get a room, when Murasakibara thankfully interrupted by walking over to Kuroko.
“Are you really a girl, Kuro-chin?” he asked, reaching out to pat Kuroko's head and shoulders. “That's so weird, you don't even look a girl at all.”
When he'd first joined the club Kise had suspected Murasakibara of pretending to be that dumb just so he could get away with totally inappropriate behaviour. He'd since learned that Murasakibara really was that much of an idiot, but watching Kuroko sit placidly there while Murasakibara did the usual outrageous things, it was hard not to suspect desperately clever and ingeniously hidden ulterior motives. Murasakibara was inquisitively running his fingers down Kuroko's spine, continuing to munch food as he went, his hand sliding down to examine the small of Kuroko's back, and travelling lower still--
The shadow of Akashi appeared in the doorway. “Atsushi, you're going to get breadcrumbs all over Tetsuya's uniform.”
Thus reprimanded Murasakibara retreated, leaving Kuroko's hair mussed and his jumper rumpled and it was official, Murasakibara was the teammate Kise hated the most.
Akashi sat down in a large and authoritative-looking desk chair that appeared to have sprung into existence from nowhere for no other reason than to be sat in by Akashi. Akashi seemed tired. He also appeared like he wasn't entirely sure what to do, which really was a new look for Akashi.
“I'm waiting to hear your side of the story, Tetsuya,” Akashi said mildly.
Kuroko shrugged. “There isn't much of a story. I woke up on Sunday and I was like this, that's all.”
It perhaps said something about the nature of the Teikou basketball regulars that this explanation was accepted as wholly adequate and complete. Akashi looked Kuroko up and down, using those ridiculous eyes of his presumably, evaluating height, weight, proportion, potential.
“You'll need to double your upper body training if you want to keep playing in matches,” he said. “Okay team dismissed.”
It was Midorima who brought up the question of which change room to place Kuroko in.
“We are not putting him in the girls' change room,” Aomine said flatly. “Satsuki would eat him alive.”
“I do fail to see how being eaten alive by the entire male section of the basketball club would be preferable,” pointed out Midorima. Midorima had been insufferable on the matter of Kuroko's supernatural transformation. His insistence that the answer lay in the stars had resulted in no fewer than three official meetings called for the exclusive purpose of analysing this month's Aquarius horoscope. (It was unusual for Akashi to be this indulgent of Midorima's foibles, but not being able to explain Kuroko's condition clearly weighed heavily upon their captain.) So far the only enlightenment Kise had received was that Mercury was in retrograde and Geminis were having a terrible week.
“If the two of you don't mind,” said Kuroko – and the polite tone of his words belied the way Aomine and Midorima simultaneously stopped short and blanched in fear – “I'm not going to be eaten alive. And I'd rather keep using the boys' change room, if it's all the same to you.”
With that Kuroko wandered into the aforementioned room, leaving Aomine, Midorima and Kise to huddle on the bench outside. Practice had run past dinner time and they desperately wanted to shower and go home, but none of them felt particularly comfortable – or safe – joining Kuroko under the current circumstances.
“He was already frightening enough without being female,” muttered Aomine. “I mean my life was already complicated enough between Satsuki and him as a boy. I might not survive to win Nationals.”
“He's kept up surprisingly well with training,” Midorima said. “He hates push-ups, he's always trying to skimp on them when Akashi isn't watching. But he's been doing all of them this week. Weights, too.”
“He's completely wasted as a chick,” grumbled Aomine. “He just wears the same clothes and doesn't do his hair and he's even flatter than Satsuki. The only difference is that he moves kind of funny on the court.”
“Momochi's in the middle of a growth spurt,” said Kise. “Anyway, Aominecchi, I think you're illustrating precisely why Kurokocchi is going to murder you.”
Kuroko was indeed as non-descript in a female body as he was in a male one; but then again, this was exactly the most physically appealing thing about Kuroko. Aomine did have a point about the hair though.
It was a good half-hour before Kuroko emerged wearing everyday (boy's) clothes. Clearly the one female trait he had acquired was that of taking forever in the bathroom.
Kuroko didn't even seem to be wearing a bra, although to be fair, as far as Kise could tell Kuroko didn't really need one.
“Kise,” Aomine said in a pained voice, “in case you'd forgotten, I'm the dickhead in this group. Plus if Tetsu kills us all Akashi will probably resurrect us and make us play as zombies at Nationals. Just saying.”
Momoi Satsuki remained very sincerely, very demonstratively, and very confidently in love with Kuroko.
“You do realise he's now a girl,” Aomine pointed out, as Momoi tightened her arms around Kuroko's shoulders in affectionate embrace.
“He's only a girl on the outside,” Momoi reproached. “Tetsu-kun is still a boy, of course, just as he's always been. You're just too chauvinistic to see it.”
The four of them were having lunch together outside. To be more accurate Kise and Momoi had by great effort discovered Aomine and Kuroko eating lunch together and had sat down to join them. Kuroko looked about as annoyed to see Kise as Aomine was to see Momoi, which Kise counted as progress.
Momoi had given Kuroko a bento, which now lay open and untouched on a rock. (To hear Aomine tell it, Kuroko had developed food poisoning from Momoi's bentos thrice before finally conceding that Momoi's cooking could not be eaten, not even out of the finest feelings of obligation and courtesy.) Momoi herself was eating a cafeteria-bought sandwich.
Aomine looked at Momoi snuggling her head into the crook of Kuroko's neck, and stood up. “I'm leaving,” he said. “If I stay for another five minutes my need to imagine lesbian fantasies is going to outweigh my need to stay alive.”
Kuroko hurled a blackened boiled egg (Kise had no idea how Momoi managed to burn hard-boiled eggs) at Aomine's retreating back. Without turning around Aomine evaded, caught the egg in midair, and flung it back at Kuroko at twice its original velocity. Aomine always gave Kuroko as good as he got. Kise envied that about Aomine. Kise could never quite get past the urge to hold something back with Kuroko, even knowing that Kuroko hated it.
Kuroko stared down at his own shirt, now covered in smushed egg white.
“Dai-chan is such an idiot,” Momoi complained, releasing her hold on Kuroko. “I'll see if I can borrow a shirt from the sewing club, they usually keep extra uniforms.'
“I've got a spare, don't worry about it.” Kuroko rose to his feet, looking a little pained. Being a girl seemed to be getting to Kuroko. There were dark rings around his eyes and his attack on Aomine just now had been downright weak. Kise contemplated Kuroko for some five seconds before realising what was going on.
He followed Kuroko to the second-floor boys' bathroom, which had the predicted side-effect of annoying Kuroko.
“While I can understand the reasoning behind your actions,” said Kuroko, “I am really quite insulted by them. Can you stop trying to bodyguard me?”
“Akashichi's orders, sorry.” Kise was surprised that Akashi had seen the need for it, but there were quite a number of first-stringers who were jealous of Kuroko's spot as a regular, all of them taller (though not meaner) than Kuroko. “But I honestly came beceause I had something to say.”
Kuroko looked up at Kise with the usual combination of patience and exasperation.
Kise gulped, took comfort in the fact that Kuroko's first impression of him had already been so bad that anything that took place forthwith would be an improvement, surely – and forged ahead. “I know for a fact that Momochi keeps heating pads in her locker,” he said. “But if you'd rather not talk to her about this, the school infirmary does stock them. I could approach the school nurse and fake a muscle strain. It wouldn't be hard.”
There ensued a dead silence, during which a gaping chasm repeatedly failed to appear in the floor despite Kise's fervent wishes for it.
Finally Kuroko spoke. “Kise-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“As your instructor, I don't suppose I could ask you to jump off a cliff and expect the order to be obeyed?”
“If I said yes,” Kise asked, “would you mourn me at my funeral?”
Kuroko sighed. “Just get me the damn heating pad,” he said, disappearing into a toilet stall and slamming the door behind him.
Kuroko's episodes of PMS were – relative to his usual lack of decipherability – glaringly obvious to the basketball player's eye.
At least, they were glaringly obvious to Kise's eye. Midorima and Murasakibara were oblivious as usual, and Aomine either knew why Kuroko was being so snappish and didn't care, or didn't know and didn't care. It was Akashi's reaction that was interesting to watch, however. Akashi seemed unsure how to approach the new and transformed Kuroko. It was entirely possible that this was the first time in his life Akashi had ever been at a loss.
“Tetsuya,” Akashi called out, just as Kuroko sent a particularly vicious pass spiralling towards Midorima.
“Yes?” answered Kuroko, turning a chilly gaze upon their captain.
You could almost see Akashi thinking, which was fascinating. Akashi's brain never worked that slowly.
“Just focus on coordinating with Daiki for today, since that's our major strategy for the upcoming match. All right, continue.” Akashi wandered off to the exit. “I'm going to observe the second-string practicing,” he said to no one in particular.
Midorima visibly relaxed upon hearing that Aomine was to bear the brunt of Kuroko's newfound brutality. Aomine of course remained unfazed. Aomine retained perfect partnership with Kuroko despite the latter now being a girl. Just an hour earlier he'd followed-up Kuroko's tap pass with a tap pass of his own – straight into the basketball hoop.
Now that he didn't have to worry about getting his fingers broken by the new, feminine, and improved Ignite Pass, Kise eased into his usual habit of looking for Kuroko on the court. It was harder finding Kuroko when he was actively using misdirection, but Kise had grown better at it over time and he felt a certain amount of accomplishment at the fact. Besides, he still liked scrutinising Kuroko's face.
Short hair and incorrectly gendered uniform aside, Kuroko appeared about as average as a female as he had as a male. Not pretty, not ugly, just a girl. At Kise's best estimate Kuroko would look completely appropriate and unremarkable in a dress and some eyeshadow and barrettes, not that Kuroko was giving any of them a chance to do this. (Momoi had asked and been shot down.)
The sudden appearance of the basketball in Kise's hands completely derailed his train of thought.
“Pay attention,” said Murasakibara, giving Kise an ugly look. “Kuro-chin's not the only one who passes, you know.”
An angry Murasakibara was almost as frightening as a female Kuroko. Kise winced and tried to focus on practice.
After about six weeks Kuroko gave up voicing protest at being escorted to the bathroom every single day. Kise felt genuine surprise at the discovery that Kuroko could, after all, be worn down into defeat.
“I wouldn't have picked Akashichi for being more stubborn than you,” he said, leaning against the row of sinks with his arms folded lightly across his chest.
Kuroko muttered something about not being able to deal with “Momoi-san and Akashi-kun and Aomine-kun”, as he coated his hands in pink gel from the soap dispenser. Out of habit Kise continued to stare at Kuroko's face while Kuroko was washing his hands.
Kuroko appeared exhausted. It had occurred to Kise quite early on that no matter how flummoxed the rest of them were at Kuroko's inexplicable change of sex, Kuroko had to be the one bearing the lion's share of stress. The shadows under Kuroko's eyes had become semi-permanent and were now as close to a distinguishing feature as Kuroko ever possessed. His hair seemed to be growing faster now that he was a girl and now he had an untidy fringe hanging floppy and unfashionable across his brow. Kise kept at least three different brands of hairspray in his locker. Kise didn't even know where to begin broaching the topic of hairstyles with Kuroko.
“If your fringe gets any longer it's going to interfere with practice, you know,” Kise said as Kuroko held his palms upward beneath the hand dryer. On perfect cue an unruly lock of hair fell right into Kuroko's left eye. Kuroko gave a little toss of his head, trying to get his fringe to settle into place without having to remove his hands from the warm air jets.
Kise made a noise of exasperation. “Let me,” he said, reaching out to brush the offending lock out of Kuroko's eyes. Once he'd done that though the sheer awfulness of Kuroko's haircut struck him, a stronger offense to the aesthetic senses from up close than it was from afar, and he ended up spending two or three minutes trying to rearrange Kuroko's hair to his own satisfaction. By the time Kise had finished fiddling with the loose and careless strands Kuroko had long since stopped drying his hands and was just standing there in front of Kise.
Really very close in front of Kise; Kise didn't think they'd ever been in quite that much physical proximity before.
He was close enough that he could hear Kuroko's careful, measured breath; close enough that he could see Kuroko's eyes glance quickly, reluctantly up at Kise before casting downwards again.
Kise paused, a little frisson of shock running through his body. He wondered if he'd misread, and then decided that he hadn't; and then wondered what to do about it.
Attraction counted for something, Kise knew, but it didn't necessarily mean much. It didn't mean that someone liked you. Sometimes it didn't even mean that they wanted you.
On the other hand this was Kuroko, who never showed any openings to anyone who wasn't Aomine, and who was – something to Kise, at any rate, although he hadn't figured out exactly what sort of something. And it wasn't like Kise could possibly make a bigger idiot of himself than he already had in front of Kuroko, multiple multiple times.
He leaned down, his fingers tracing a path from forehead to chin, and Kuroko didn't pull away, and then Kise leaned lower still, and the two of them met.
Kuroko's lips hinted at vanilla popsicle, which was annoying because it reminded Kise of Aomine, but mostly he didn't taste of anything at all, just Kuroko himself, curious and calm and endlessly fascinating to Kise. And for a moment Kuroko did respond, briefly but unmistakably, before pulling back in the recoil Kise had expected; they broke apart, and stared at each other.
It was bare vulnerable anger that Kuroko showed him in that instant, and Kise had never seen Kuroko look at anyone like that before, not even Aomine, and whatever something Kuroko was to Kise, it had just suddenly become a lot more of a something.
He opened his mouth to say sorry, and found that he couldn't, because he really really wasn't. But Kuroko pre-empted all conversation anyway by pushing past Kise and out into the corridor, shutting the bathroom door behind him with a furious bang.
He lay in bed that night contemplating whether it would be worse to die being tortured to death by Kuroko, or Aomine, or Momoi. He decided Aomine was the most frightening option. Aomine would sentence Kise to death by basketball, forbidding food and drink until Kise managed to beat him one-on-one, which of course was impossible. Kise would waste away from dehydration or possibly the heartbreak of continuously losing.
He took consolation in the fact that Kuroko probably wanted Aomine to know about today's events even less than Kise did.
“You're a boy again,” said Akashi. He seemed unsure whether to be relieved or confused.
“You can play normal basketball again,” Aomine said. “Not that the weird passes weren't kinda cool too, but hey. I missed the old you.”
Midorima attributed the new turn of events to Saturn and the solar eclipse, Murasakibara asked Akashi for more Pocky, and all in all, practice went on as usual. Even Kuroko seemed to be treating Kise perfectly normally, which really was too cruel. The very least he could do was act a little meaner than usual to Kise. Anything, just so Kise knew he was getting some sort of reaction out of Kuroko.
He had to resort to following Kuroko home after practice, which was always a tricky proposition given the number of fangirls he had to evade on the way. Kuroko deliberately complicated matters by going into a power-walk the moment he spotted Kise trailing his steps.
Well, it wasn't as if anything about Kuroko had been easy or simple, even right from the beginning.
“Kurokocchi,” he began, when he'd finally caught up and was fairly sure there was no one else on the street within earshot.
“Yes, I changed back after what happened in the bathroom, if that's what you want to know,” said Kuroko flatly.
“Oh,” said Kise.
“I guess I should say thank you, but...I'm sorry. I can't really manage that right now.”
“You don't have to thank me.” Kise would have felt indignant if it weren't for the damn butterflies in his chest, whirling around and pretty much ruining anything cool he could have thought of to say. “I didn't do it to help you.”
“Then why?” asked Kuroko, stopping at the corner of the footpath and turning his head up to face Kise, his gaze meeting Kise's face-on. Honest, straightforward Kuroko, always perfectly true and direct and yet always holding hidden some part of himself, a side he only let Aomine see, or Akashi sometimes.
Kise wanted to possess that part of Kuroko as much as he'd ever wanted to possess anything in his life, whether it was the latent desire and fury he'd seen yesterday afternoon, or the simple faith Kuroko showed Aomine, day after day, match after match.
But the fact that he wanted it didn't mean that he'd have it, or that he should. Or could. He'd taken something from Kuroko yesterday, though, and he wanted to give something in exchange.
“If you were really a girl I wouldn't have kissed you,” said Kise, in that moment tacitly offering up truths that Kise himself wasn't quite, at present, ready to face head-on. And if Kuroko didn't understand, then – well, that was fine. Kise wasn't sure he entirely understood himself either.
Kuroko seemed to get it, though. “Oh,” he replied in a small voice. Kise watched Kuroko mulling things over in his mind, the two of them standing still at the edge of the street, alone save for the occasional housecat and inquisitive sparrow.
“I think I can thank you now,” Kuroko spoke finally. He bowed in a typically formal manner. “I'm very grateful for your helping to change me back.”
And if there were no promises in his voice, there was no rejection either. It wasn't as much as Kise might have wanted, but it was more than he'd feared. It was enough for him to work with. Or at least to live with.
“You're welcome, Kurokocchi,” he said, smiling. “I'm glad you're back to being you. Welcome back.”
