
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1649636.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroko_no_Basuke_|_Kuroko's_Basketball
  Relationship:
      Kiyoshi_Teppei/Murasakibara_Atsushi
  Character:
      Murasakibara_Atsushi, Kiyoshi_Teppei
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-18 Updated: 2014-05-31 Chapters: 10/? Words: 10843
****** Conscious And Unconscious Competence ******
by thural
Summary
     >team dad & big baby explore the limits of each others' patience
     using huge yaoi hands among other things
     okok for real: this is a story about murasakibara atsushi and kiyoshi
     teppei becoming who they were meant to be, and also coming on who
     they were meant to come on
Notes
     might not actually be the parody fic one set out to write
***** The day before the operation. *****
He came in the afternoon before the operation. Himuro was with him, carrying a
premature get-well bouquet of lilacs and greenery. It was Murasakibara, though,
who filled the whole doorframe and came right up to the bed. He had a slow,
dumb, mean look on his face and he rolled his eyes down at Kiyoshi Teppei the
way crows size up a place to land. Dangling from his arm was a bag of snacks
from which he munched freely without offering anything to anyone else.
Himuro put the flowers on the table near the door and murmured some kind of
well-wishing to Kiyoshi.
"Thanks, Himuro."
Murasakibara stared down at him from the other side of a crunchy chocolate-
dipped cookie. Kiyoshi stared back mildly from beneath his thick brows.
"I heard," Murasakibara finally said, when the silence had persisted long
enough to be uncomfortable, "Maybe the surgery could make it worse." The
sentiment rolled off his tongue pleasurably.
Kiyoshi answered with a clear, warm smile, unperturbed. "I'm gonna play again,
don't worry."
Murasakibara dug around in his bag and pulled out another cookie. In his huge
hand it looked absurd, like the toy treats they make for little girls. Gently
he balanced it upon the kneecap of Kiyoshi's elevated leg.
"I'm gonna go play right now, is that all right?"
Kiyoshi tucked a hand behind his head. "Have a good game, Murasakibara."
"Not that I care." Came the reply, grunted over Murasakibara's shoulder as he
turned to go. Himuro managed to look apologetic or scandalized, and said a
proper farewell with a bow before he chased after his teammate. Once they had
gone Kiyoshi took the cookie off his knee and put it on the side-table, and
went back to staring out at the fresh afternoon sky through the window. A game,
huh. Yosen was playing a spring exhibition game. He wondered where they would
be in a year. But he, Kiyoshi, would be far behind by that point.
The visit had cheered him up. He figured that had probably not been the point,
which cheered him up even more. That big ape was still upset. Even if it took
two years of training to get back to where he started, he'd still built the
team that beat Murasakibara Atsushi. He'd come back from this.
That night Yosen won by a near shut-out, 94-8, but Kiyoshi wouldn't hear about
it until a few days later.
***** Recovery, day 9 *****
"Welcome back."
The reply to this friendly greeting was a blank look, droopy-eyed and fatuous.
Murasakibara slowly studied the updated Kiyoshi Teppei, a substantial portion
of whose leg was now bandaged and hauled up by a winch rather than merely
resting on a pillow. It looked permanent. Murasakibara rummaged around in the
bag on his arm and took out a package of strawberry-flavored Socky, which he
opened and began to work his way through methodically.
"Ahh," He said, his stare sliding over to the side-table. "Still have the
cookie."
He managed to make the word last an additional syllable and sound extra
childish. Co-oo-kie.
"Yeah. I kept it for luck." Kiyoshi smiled.
Ignoring this, Murasakibara continued. "Did it hurt?"
"I haven't tried it yet!"
Murasakibara frowned, persisting. "How much did it hurt?"
"I heard you won your game the other night."
"Eh? Oh, that. It was boring."
"How did Kamata score three times against you?"
The frown became mutinous and Murasakibara turned away from the bed. Kiyoshi
thought (privately, with a sense of triumph) that he'd made short work of him,
but Murasakibara merely clamped a paw around the chair in the corner of the
room and dragged it over to sit in. He slouched, and his lavender-colored hair
dangled in his sleepy eyes.
"Long shots."
"There was one from inside, too."
"Got distracted."
"So you're not good with long shots."
Murasakibara chewed thoughtfully and stared out the window over Kiyoshi's
hauled-up leg. "We won anyway." Then he looked back at the prone, comfortable
guy who filled the hospital bed. He wasn't as big as Murasakibara himself but
he wasn't too small. He looked relaxed and stupid with his leg up. He looked
calm. It occurred to him that this conversation hadn't pissed off Kiyoshi at
all, while he was vaguely irritated, like he had an itch on his foot.
"Isn't it a four hour trip from Akita, Murasakibara?"
"Coachy found us a trainer," He smiled suddenly like this was the biggest joke
in the world. "Staying in Tokyo for the next two weeks to do drills. She wants
to win this year."
"Do you think you're gonna?" Kiyoshi said, with a serious and amused smile in
response.
Murasakibara let his eyes travel openly along the body of the injured center
and iron heart of Seirin. "We're going to do better than you are."
"You're going to have to train every day if you want to beat Seirin."
Murasakibara snorted and began to stand up.
"I mean it. Work hard every day. Then you'll win."
"Giving advice to your opponents?"
"Just remember it when you lose again."
"We're not going to lose again, Kii-chin.... haha, Kiichin."
But he did not sound so sure.
When he left Kiyoshi turned the television on and flipped to a sports channel.
Women's golf. He thought about how Murasakibara would be the only reason that
Murasakibara wouldn't go pro. He was a natural, like Aomine. Guys like that
were born to play. It seemed like a waste somehow that he didn't take himself
seriously. Then he sent Riko a text message to tell her about the visit and the
trainer and that she should think about getting some things ready.
***** Recovery, Day 12 *****
The next time Murasakibara came, it was late; Kiyoshi had watched the sun set
already, and the clear sky revealed a handful of stars. The TV was on, but
muted. He was attempting to do homework.
Attempting in that he was propped up in bed on several stiff white hospital
pillows with a pre-calculus book open on the bed next to him and several
handouts balanced precariously on his lifted leg and a notebook upon his
undamaged thigh, a mechanical pencil in his hand, a concerned frown on his
face, and a lot of meaningful-looking scratches on a page, but he had something
south of no clue at all about what he was doing, and Hyuuga wasn't here to at
least console him that he wasn't getting it any more wrong than anyone else. He
was committed to getting it "done" if he couldn't get it right, and the fuzzy-
brained and heavy grind that followed made him want to reach for the night
nurse bell and complain that his pain medication was too strong.
The nasal whine that announced Murasakibara's arrival was a relief, even if he
did come in saying, "Kii-chin the honor roll student..."
He wore a white tee with a logo on it and loose, long shorts, a kerchief tied
around one wrist, the habitual bag of snacks hanging from his forearm, and
slung over his shoulder was a duffel bag. Easily he slouched up to the bedside,
ignoring Kiyoshi's greeting and dangling his eyes at the work in progress.
"Hoh..."
"Eh? Hoh what?"
"Made a mistake." His substantial forefinger stabbed at the page where Kiyoshi
had expanded (attempted to expand) the term (x+9)(y+17)².
"What's a mistake about that?" Despite a little defensive bristling, he hadn't
said it with any real heat. He was inclined to gentle annoyance. Besides
nothing about Murasakibara rewarded a sharp attitude in the first place.
"Ehhh, you don't know?" Murasakibara wore an expression like a sunburst through
a storm as he picked up the page and held it in both hands, high out of reach,
and read it. Smugly he rumbled, "Kii-chin made a lot of mistakes..."
"Hey, give that back."
"Gonna fall off the honor roll."
"That's why I said you should give it back. So I can fix it."
Murasakibara glared down at him. Triumph had rearranged his lazy eyes and
mumbling lips into something sharp and strange, as if someone had wiped away a
thick layer of dust from him. Abruptly he released the page, which fluttered
down to Kiyoshi's lap. Then he slung his snack bag onto the bed next to
Kiyoshi's good leg, dropped his duffel on the floor, and went off to get the
chair he'd pulled up last time. "I have to do some homework too."
"You don't have a desk at your hotel room? C'mon," He complained, rearranging
his papers and rubbing his temple. "I have to get this done tonight."
From the chair, Murasakibara rifled through his bags and pulled out a couple of
books: Calculus I Of Real Variables and Kinematics: With Industrial
Applications. Kiyoshi's eyes widened.
"It's boring." He said, with an air of finality. Probably, if he had gone back
to the hotel after practice, he wouldn't have bothered with doing it. But in
Kiyoshi's hospital room it's not like there was anything else to do.
He was surprisingly diligent while working at Kiyoshi's bedside. His
handwriting was childish and he had, and used without any apparent shame, a
variety of super sentai-themed pencils, but he proceeded level and even through
his calculus. Kiyoshi had given up trying to protest pretty quickly; then,
after watching the incongruous sight of Murasakibara Atsushi wrapping his mitt
around a Gecko Super Power Man pencil, he turned his attention back to his own
work, and continued to hack away at his algebra. There was something calming
about the presence of his huge guest. It wasn't a friendly feeling or
companionable; more like the feeling of watching the water of a lake. That same
sense of some gigantic natural order at work, unaffected by anything else.
Whatever it was, he felt like he might finally be making some progress.
It must have been a half hour later when he finally beetled his brows and
scratched behind his ear with the tip of his pencil, more to get Murasakibara's
attention than to relieve an itch. But Murasakibara was apparently focused.
"Hey."
"Yeaaahhhhhhhh?" Came the drawled reply. He did not look up from his page.
"Maybe you could check my work."
"I thought you wanted me to go awaaaayyyyy." He had a spiteful toad-like grin
on as he said it.
Kiyoshi did find him bizarrely repellent and funny at that moment. It was
exactly because he was on the verge of shouting at Murasakibara to actually go
away that he slipped free of his growing irritation and instead answered, "No
way. You're always welcome here. You bring snacks."
He snatched Murasakibara's open bag of shrimp chips and helped himself to a
handful.
"Oi..." Breathed Murasakibara incredulously, the toad-like grin vanishing. "Hey
hey... Those are my..." He was having trouble with the words, as it had
literally never before in his life happened that someone took something from
him.
Kiyoshi ate another one. "These are good. Thank you, Murasakibara."
"You can't take my chips!"
"Hey, here's my homework. Just tell me what's wrong, ok?" With his unchipped
hand he pushed the papers forward.
On any other day Murasakibara would have just wrestled the bag of chips back
but Kiyoshi was injured, and despite how mean he was and how little he usually
cared, Murasakibara had the same sort of pious awareness of the wounded that
certain animals have, and it was impossible for him to imagine mauling Kiyoshi
properly at that moment. Instead he bitched, "Kiiiiiii-chiiiiiiinnnnn... you
stole my chips..." as he picked up the homework.
"I'll get you another bag," Kiyoshi beamed, his good humor completely restored.
"...I'll give you money and you can get your own bag."
===============================================================================
He had to curl up in the hotel bed so his ankles didn't dangle off the bottom.
Tucked in and cozy, hovering near sleep, he thought about the events of the
day: tutoring, practice, Kiyoshi and homework. He'd beat Kiyoshi at homework
today. He'd beat him at something else soon, he thought. He'd beat Kiyoshi over
and over again until he won everything. Sort of frustrating that they couldn't
play basketball for a long time. The crisp laundered smell of the hotel sheets
got to him and he grew darker and darker until he passed out of consciousness.
His last thought was of Kiyoshi Teppei eating his shrimp chips.
***** Recovery, Days 14-23 *****
Chapter Notes
     finally some dicks getting touched
     oopsies
He didn't come every day, but he was regular in his patterns and habits, and
Kiyoshi thought he was beginning to understand them: Murasakibara would arrive
late, in clean casual clothes, with snacks and homework, and stay for two or
three hours. He was making the trip for this purpose and only this purpose; it
wasn't en route to something else. If other Seirin players happened to come by
at the same time, or be there when he arrived, he would snort at them in
contemptuous greeting and otherwise ignore them.
Twice he brought (of all things) a 13x13 travel board for Go. But he barely
knew how to play, and it appeared that his strategy was to rely on Kiyoshi
knowing even less about how to play. Their games could not be said to have a
victor and their adherence to rule was questionable. The best part was
Murasakibara trying to hold the pieces in a professional way, pinned between
index and middle fingertips, but as it was a travel board, the pieces were
magnetic, and small, and they jumped out of his grip and stuck at random.
Kiyoshi laughed himself silly the second time it happened, when Murasakibara
argued that it was somehow completely intentional. Aside from Go, he stuck to
homework only. Kiyoshi helped himself to the snacks and gave Murasakibara
pocket change in return. They didn't talk much.
One night Kiyoshi turned his friendly smile up to Murasakibara and said, "I'm
glad you came by."
Murasakibara didn't answer. He just stared at Kiyoshi for a long time,
expressionlessly, and then left. He didn't come the next night, nor the night
after. Kiyoshi counted the days in his mind and thought it would be a few more
until Murasakibara left Tokyo; he wasn't worried, but around 8 or 9 o'clock on
the night of the third day, he did start to feel restless, and it was difficult
to concentrate on his English textbook. But he was getting unbandaged soon and
could go back home and start on physical therapy. He watched the stars and more
of the interminable golf and baseball on the TV and bounced a racquetball off
the window a few times - Riko had brought it for him, and she said it was so he
could work on his grip, but it was a little too small to be a good trainer, so
he mostly just played solo bed-bound handball with it. An unsatisfying and
hazardous game. He fell asleep early.
The next morning he was awakened by the soft click of the door opening and
closing. As he took a deep breath and began to arrange himself in bed for the
visit of, he supposed, some nurse, he heard a familiar nasally whine.
"Hoh, Kii-chin still asleep."
"I'm up," He mumbled, dragging the sleep crust out of the corners of his eyes
and arranging himself on the pillow. "Murasakibara?"
"Heyyyyy."
Something warm dropped onto Kiyoshi's chest. When he managed to get his brain
around it, he found that it was a McDoodles bag, grease-spotted and smelling of
breakfast sandwiches. Looming high above, with a weird grin: Murasakibara. He
didn't have his duffel today, apparently, and he was dressed for practice. He
poked a hand into the bag and rummaged freely to obtain a paper-wrapped egg
sandwich for himself.
"It's too early." Kiyoshi groaned, and flopped dramatically back on the pillow
and threw an arm over his face, and tried to climb back into the cozy mental
haze of being not awake. Murasakibara munched, unperturbed, and surveyed
Kiyoshi's prone body. Leg still up. Head still on pillow. The blankets were
pushed low on his waist, nearly past his hips. Kiyoshi was wearing a white tee
and green running shorts. Perceptible within the sheen of the shorts was a
sluggish semi. He made a funny sound, laughing and/or snorting around a
mouthful of breakfast.
"What." 
A strange sensation, prickling and opportunistic, curled slowly around
Murasakibara's thoughts. He felt like being mean without malice, or malicious
without cruelty. He just wanted to mess with Kiyoshi a little. It was more an
act of instinct than planning when he reached down and gently prodded Kiyoshi's
dick with one finger. "You've got one of those," he said.
Kiyoshi went very still, his arm still over his eyes. He spoke in a careful,
controlled tone of voice that Murasakibara had never heard from him before.
"...Get your finger off my junk, Atsushi."
A rising malevolence, a fascination, moved Murasakibara's hand for him. Not
off, but on, completely covering. He curled his whole palm over Kiyoshi's dick
over his shorts. He could feel its weird tender semi-softness and the heat of
Kiyoshi's body. He did not know why he was doing this. Kiyoshi had called him
by his first name. "That's better?"
A deep red flush travelled up Kiyoshi's neck and he trembled. Inexplicably he
burst into laughter. "I'm..." He tried to talk through his own giggling. "I'm
going to give you.... ten minutes... to get your hand off my dick.... or else!"
But he'd wound up his good leg to kick Murasakibara's hand away, and he dragged
the blankets up in a spasm of activity and threw the McDoodles sack off the bed
and put a pillow over his hips. The joke had taken him helplessly and out of
panic he couldn't stop it.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" He finally exploded, kicking at Murasakibara
as well as he possibly could. The winch groaned and jangled. His smile was not
friendly now. "Go away!"
Murasakibara had watched all of this with a dull, lifeless eye and slack mouth,
accepting Kiyoshi's blows without attempting to guard himself. He felt like
someone else was piloting his body from far away. Kiyoshi looked flushed and
humiliated, livid, but the feeling Murasakibara had about this was warm, like
the moment of accidentally pissing your pants: pleasurable heat before disgust
and shame set in. He was the one who was humiliated, not Kiyoshi. He didn't
even know why. It wasn't his semi. Like a dull, plodding beast he stumbled away
from the bed and picked up the McDoodles bag.
"So-rries." He said in a sing-song voice over his shoulder as he left. 
He never came back to the hospital.
***** Rehabilitation: August, Kiyoshi *****
Spring eased into summer and buried the incident in an abundance of leaves and
popsicles and sunsets and physical therapy, and Kiyoshi, now a senior, was on
hand to play assistant and manager to the Seirin High basketball team.
By the time midsummer rolled around he was off crutches, though still walking
with a cane. Riko badgered him incessantly about resting, but he couldn't stand
to sit, and he was neither too proud nor too wounded to bring towels or hold
her clipboard while she shouted or discuss strategy and training plans with
her. She was surprised at what a quick study he was; he was surprised at how
much she knew. He had this peculiar approach which reminded her of her father
at times and at others of Suzuki, the perpetually relaxed PE teacher and
sponsor of the kendo club.
For example, during beachside training in July, Kagami and Hyuuga were starting
to get pretty arrogant about running on sand. Kiyoshi got up at who knows what
early hour one day and went down to the beach with a bucket and soaked an
entire quarter-kilometer of sand. Riko wanted to scream at him when she saw it,
but he'd also put two chairs and an umbrella in the center of it, and he filled
a tall glass with lemonade from a pitcher as the team came tumbling down to the
sea.
"Well, I thought it would be fun if you did some more running today," He said,
filling up a second glass. "Run around a little bit, see what you think."
The wet footprints struck deep and stuck, leaving an uneven surface for the
next guy. There was no tide to wash them away. It was a cool morning and a long
time before the sand would dry. The result was a brutal workout for the ankles.
Taiga's shins were aching within fifteen minutes.
"You call this fun!" He shouted, wobbling dangerously as he came to a panting
halt in front of the coach and her diligent assistant.
"I'm having fun." Kiyoshi smiled, refilling his lemonade. Riko had her shorts
hiked up and her long legs slathered in tanning lotion, and nothing much to say
except orders for another lap.
That was Kiyoshi's way, indirectly direct and skillful. She quickly came to
rely on his intuition without asking for explanations, just as he supported her
and learned from her without hesitation.
The season began with a pair of easy victories for Seirin that left a
bittersweet taste in Kiyoshi's mouth. Only Riko and Kuroko saw it on him,
though; for the rest of the team, who had not spent as much time with him
lately, he was the same pleasant, happy guy on the bench as he had been off it.
It couldn't be helped.
She grabbed him one day in late August as he left class.
"Kiyoshi! Shuutoku is playing tonight, and you're coming with me to watch."
"Wha--?" He allowed her to seize his wrist and drag him. To be honest, he had a
weakness for being bullied by her. Her tender care was so...
"They're undefeated so far." She interrupted his thoughts.
"So are we. So?..."
"They're playing Yousen, that's why I'm saying you need to come with me to
watch."
He came to a dead stop in the hall and leaned heavily on his cane. A feeling of
slithering uncertainty.
Riko turned, querelous. "What's wrong?"
"Why would I care who they're playing?"
She frowned mightily and marched behind him to shove at his back. "Don't you
want to see how Midorima will pierce the Shield of Aegis?? What's wrong with
you!"
"Ah-ah Riko, don't shove me like that! I'm wounded! Wounded!" She didn't notice
how he seemed to relax instantly as soon as she spoke, how her words had
restored to him the use of his limbs.
Would Murasakibara be there: probably. It didn't mean anything. a process of
calming rationalization followed: that was months ago, and he was no longer
lying in a hospital bed, anyway. If his heart was still uneasy, well, it was
still worth checking out the competition. It had just been some weird one-off
thing. Hard to feel anything about it but a little awkwardness. It would do him
good to watch Midorima's graceful long shots sail over the heads of Yousen's
defense.
They took the train to Shuutoku with Hyuuga in tow.
***** Rehabilitation: August, Murasakibara *****
Yousen took control of the ball immediately and decisively and Himuro sprinted
easily down the court like he was alone to drop a two point shot. He grinned,
turned, and loped back as Shuutoku took the ball and tried to get up. Midorima
was still on the bench and, though the Seirin contingent was behind him, it
seemed pretty clear that he and his coach were drawing a bead on what Yousen's
game plan was. Riko thought, that's smart, watching. Yousen's good at defense
but they can get lazy.
Murasakibara was there. He loomed beneath the basket with his head dropped and
his big shoulders relaxed. Kiyoshi found to his relief that there was nothing
weird about seeing him. In fact, seeing him like this, on the court, in his
usual way, it was easier to remember him as the generally benevolent snack
vendor.
He shambled to the point of Shuutoku's approach and slapped the ball out of the
hands of Takao the way a kid slaps a toy out of another kid's hands. Shuutoku
recovered, and the attempted shot that followed got blocked easily by Liu.
That was how it would go for the entire first quarter. Shuutoku never scored.
It was 0-15 Yousen when Midorima came in the game. Riko and Hyuuga both sat
forward: now it's going to get interesting. Kiyoshi answered Hyuuga's excited
grin with a grin of his own, but his thoughts were on Himuro. Himuro and
Midorima were really similar, he realized. Similar technique, similar approach
to the game. Similar willingness to work til they dropped. Midorima was touched
with genius but he was also a pretty eccentric guy. Himuro wasn't the greatest
player but he had a way of making his will felt. If I put one of them on a
team, it would be...
From halfway across the court Midorima set up, his back coiled like a spring,
and made a shot that Yousen had no chance of blocking.
Midorima.
Murasakibara might as well have sat down and picked his nose for the next five
minutes. Yousen's offense scrambled to become the anti-Midorima strike unit but
he rode them with his long, tireless stride. Every time the ball was in his
hands he threw in another effortless basket. Himuro darted around him like a
hummingbird, fighting for an opening, fighting to make one, just as
indefatiguable, shining with sweat.
Murasakibara trotted lazily back and forth under the basket, where there was no
threat at all, and threw the ball to Himuro a lot. At the end of the second
quarter the score was 15-19.
"I'll go get some drinks, Riko."
"Sit," She said decisively. "Hyuuga will go. Right?"
"...Right.. Uhh, what do you want, Kiyoshi?"
"Oolong tea!"
Hyuuga scrunched and wiggled out of the full-up row of seats, apologizing
freely to all the knees he assaulted on his way out. Even as long-legged and
athletic as he was, there was no helping the crush. Like most high school
basketball games in the Kantou region this one sported a capacity crowd. Even
in the secord tier of the bleachers, Riko, Kiyoshi, and Hyuuga were surrounded
by cheering fans.
"Hey, Kiyoshi, what do you think?"
"Himuro's working hard."
"Himuro? I guess he is. Liu's gotten a lot better at passing."
"...I guess he has, huh! Look at Himuro and Midorima though."
"Eh?"
He told her about his thoughts. Down on the court, the teams were filing off to
their locker rooms, and the glare of lights and the heat of many bodies gave
off a sense of lifting excitement like a hot wind. As Hyuuga came bumping back
up through the row with drinks, Kiyoshi watched Himuro trot up to
Murasakibara's side.
He grabbed the center's arm and flung a hand up towards the stands.
Murasakibara turned. Himuro pointed up into the second tier of bleachers, to an
area high up behind Shuutoku's bench, while talking. Kiyoshi felt his neck
stiffen involuntarily.
Murasakibara looked up and searched the stands. He said something to Himuro,
who said something back. Then they walked away together towards the exit to the
locker room. As he left Murasakibara held up one hand just for a moment.
"Hey, Kiyoshi!" Hyuuga complained, thrusting a bottle of cold oolong tea in his
face. "Pay attention!"
"What? Oh. Thanks, Hyuuga!" He took it and pressed it to the side of his neck,
then the other side. Hyuuga folded himself back into his seat, grumbling, while
opening Riko's lemon soda for her before handing it to her.
The second half of the game began with a noticeable change in position.
Murasakibara came forward for the tip off. There was some subtle change in him.
Though his head was still bowed as he plodded up to the center, there was a
different feeling in his movements, a tension in place of his usual pulled-
taffy dumbness.
When the ref came up with the ball his head lifted immediately. He had a sharp
look, Kiyoshi could see it even from the stands: the same one as he'd seen in
the hospital room, the first night they'd done homework together. He was facing
off against Takao and Takao was still a meter away when Murasakibara slammed
the ball towards Himuro. What followed was a kind of play that nobody had ever
seen before.
Murasakibara was on the offense, but he walked, or took maybe one or two quick
steps, and never ran. He didn't hustle or bend, he never threw his arms up to
block. Nevertheless he would appear wherever the ball was, like he'd just
ambled up to it on a clear sunny day, and he'd stretch out his hand and grab it
and course up-court with it to dunk. He showed up in front of Takao as if it
was an accident and just stole the ball. When he jumped, he hung in the air,
like he wasn't even in a hurry to fall. It looked slow and casual but there was
something brutal about it, something totally devoid of "play." It had the
heaviness and inevitability of fate. Before anyone realized what was happening
he'd scored 8 points in 4 minutes.
Midorima was still a problem. Giving Murasakibara a wide berth, focus in his
eyes, he and Takao would wrestle away the ball when they could, and he was
still throwing those cruel, impossible long shots. He was shaken, though, and
began to miss more frequently. Shuutoku was suddenly fighting for its life.
Murasakibara's most-hated thing: weak things who don't know when they're
beaten. The fluttering and struggling animal passion, the pretense.... he hated
it. But his hatred had a name.
By Midorima's fifth or sixth shot Murasakibara got pissed and began to track
him, ignoring any orders from Araki at the sidelines, ignoring even his own
teammates. He faced off against the annoyance, his hands spread at his sides
and a darkness hanging in his eyes. Midorima's cool irritation shone through,
and you could see him sizing up a shot right where he stood, three-quarters of
the court away from his basket.
He's going to pass...! Riko thought, clutching Hyuuga's arm.
Midorima faked the shot and flowed easily into the pass, which was aimed at new
second-year with bristly black hair. Murasakibara must have bought the fake: he
launched himself upward powerfully, and then, as the ball shot to the side, he
dangled one hand down the way he might dangle a hand in a stream. He caught the
ball, set up, and shot it all in one terrible midair movement.
It dropped through the hoop and the crowd got to its feet. Midorima paled and
stumbled back. Murasakibara approached him with his usual stupid-face smile and
said something that made Midorima turn and walk away without a word.
The rest of the game was a formality. The final score was Shuutoku 24, Yousen
87.
Hyuuga and Riko and Kiyoshi got up and left as soon as the game was over, but
the well-dressed white man two rows behind them and a little to Kiyoshi's left
stayed for a little while after. He was sending text message after text message
on his phone.
***** Tidal pool, palm tree, a distant future day *****
Chapter Notes
     just cuz im putting in these here yaois doesn't mean you get to stop
     reading the rest of the story, ok??
     (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ
     plus you have to find out what happened just before this which i am
     not going to tell you yet.
He awoke to find Murasakibara dangling above him, staring at him,
expressionless and warm. Kiyoshi didn't know what to do about it yet, not while
his body was still emerging from sleep, so he stared back. Though he must have
registered some confusion because Murasakibara mumbled, "'Zt a problem?"
Kiyoshi shook his head. "Just something I have to get used to." Like palm
trees, he thought. This was what everyday life was going to be like now.
Murasakibara's mouth turned down at the corners and he began to shift away.
Kiyoshi had to grab his shoulder.
"Hey, hey, I said it was ok."
He felt the thick muscle bunch under his hand, and Murasakibara's long arms
coiled around him, around his waist and under his shoulders, digging between
him and the sheets. He was dragged into a heavy embrace. Murasakibara's chin
came to rest on his shoulder. Light, soap-smelling tendrils of lavender hair
had ticklishly scattered over Kiyoshi's face, and he brushed them back into
place before heaving a sigh and folding an arm over Murasakibara's back.
"I like you, Atsushi." He said.
At this Murasakibara's arms tightened, and he crammed his face against
Kiyoshi's neck. "Teppei... Teppei..." His hot breath, mingled with his
strangely hushed and intimate crooning, stroked against Kiyoshi's skin and
curled up in his ear. Murasakibara kissed him with bird-like delicacy, out of
embarrassment, though when Kiyoshi slid a hand into his hair and petted him, he
swallowed up Kiyoshi's throat in his hot mouth and sucked at him and Kiyoshi
groaned at the gravity of pleasure and if he didn't do something there was no
limit to how long it might go on. He imagined himself with a hickey the size of
a fist and grinned as he shoved Murasakibara back.
"If you're going to be like that, do something about this." He grabbed
Murasakibara's hand and pushed it down to his hips.
Compliant, thick fingers fumbled around with the cotton of his boxers and
Murasakibara slid a hand into the slit. He found Kiyoshi's hard-on and tucked
his hand under it to curl around, and held him. A complaint sounded,
"Greedy..." Kiyoshi shivered as smooth lips brushed his ear. "Kii-chin is
greedy."
Entertained, indulged, Kiyoshi tried to buck against the warm grip which
abundantly enclosed him. But he felt the lips at his ear curl, and
Murasakibara's hand rode Kiyoshi's hips and left him without friction. 
"Atsushi..." He warned, or asked.
"Do what you like," Murasakibara replied. "It won't make a difference."
Kiyoshi threw himself back against the pillow with a sigh of patient
frustration. He could wait, if that's how this was going to be. And as soon as
he looked to be fortifying his position, Murasakibara tucked an elbow under
himself and rose up so he could watch as he began to stroke Kiyoshi off.
As his whole hand, palm and fingers and curled joints and all, softly searched
the length of Kiyoshi's dick, Kiyoshi admitted silently that he'd gotten
better. His attempts had a negative heft: rather than figure out what Kiyoshi
liked, he seemed to work of off previous error, to avoid what caused pain or
irritation or disinterest. It was different than when he touched himself,
racing happily to the places and paces that got him off the quickest;
Murasakibara crept along his flesh gracelessly but deeply attentive and patient
to the point of perversity. Even the caution of this approach, so close to
diffidence, aroused him now. He relaxed and held lightly to Murasakibara's bulk
and his handsome, regular features were arranged in an expression of simmering
enjoyment.
Murasakibara grinned helplessly. In his hand he had the most sensitive part of
Kiyoshi, the part where outside and inside were the most thinly separated, the
hard and silky part, the humid part that made Kiyoshi's cheeks flush and his
friendly eyes warm into liquid color like honey. Kiyoshi responded to him like
this, so easily, as long as he was careful not to fuck it up. He felt un-hungry
with Kiyoshi's hands at his shoulders and Kiyoshi's quiet strength organized in
his direction. He stroked without force or rushing, letting Kiyoshi sift
between his fingers, feeling the subtle movement in his belly or the brush of
curly hair at the side of his hand. This wasn't fast enough, he knew.
"Hey, Kii-chin..." he muttered, flopping his free hand up so he could lay the
back of it against Kiyoshi's cheek. "I want to make it more slippery, is that
alright?"
 "Uh-- yeah. Wait, let me take these off..."
Murasakibara kissed him, his hand suddenly curled snugly around Kiyoshi's cock
like a hug. He ran his tongue along Kiyoshi's lips but then, without waiting
for a response, he detached and picked himself up and bounded off the bed
towards the bathroom area. Kiyoshi watched him go - Murasakibara was still in
his pajama pants, and the broad taper of his back ending in the low waistband
of pink flannel pants with a yellow rubber ducky print had not stopped
entertaining him yet - before struggling out of his boxers and, as well,
sitting up to strip off his white t-shirt. He spread out comfortably on the
bed; Murasakibara returned with the little bottle of hotel hand and face
lotion. 
Kiyoshi's long, elegant, bare body -- Murasakibara was not a man with an
aesthetic bent, nor a connoisseur of sexual attractiveness. The splendid sight
of Kiyoshi Teppei naked was wasted on him, as his opinion of Kiyoshi would not
change very much if he were not so beautiful, and yet he recognized, distantly,
that he liked looking at Kiyoshi, and the more he looked, the more he wanted to
look and touch. Kiyoshi would let him. 
He had a raging boner but it concerned him not at all as he climbed onto the
bed at Kiyoshi's feet and picked them up, one after the other, by the ankles,
to lick and kiss his heels, his shins, his knees, the insides and outsides of
his thighs. He dragged his tongue up Kiyoshi's erection and sucked at his
flexing belly and his nipples and then, in the midst of Kiyoshi's happy
groaning, he collapsed on top of him and sucked his mouth open and demanded his
tongue.
"Teppei..." The soft chant started up again. "Teppei, Teppei, Teppei, Teppei,
Tep-pei..."
Kiyoshi tangled his legs with Murasakibara's and slid his hands up
Murasakibara's back. He could feel Murasakibara's unnaturally big dick against
his stomach, hot and urgent. That was when Murasakibara tipped his heavy body
off to the side and started dumping lotion into his hand. He would still duck
down from time to time, still chanting, interrupted only by his kisses eating
up Kiyoshi's ears and chin and mouth and neck, even the pulse of his throat.
Within moments his slick fingers closed around Kiyoshi's cock again and Kiyoshi
arched up and clawed at him, gasping. His face was tight with want.
The firm rhythm Murasakibara set was adequate, barely. "Faster," He asked
through his teeth, but nothing changed much. Murasakibara's hand slipped over
his dick in a cloud of artificial vanilla scent, fast enough and hard enough to
push him closer and closer to orgasm, but just short of satisfying. Even with
his eyes squeezed shut he could feel the weight of Murasakibara's dark violet
gaze on his skin. But it no longer embarrassed him the way it used to.
"Atsushi...!" He hissed, bucking, almost there, painfully close...
At that moment Murasakibara's touch lifted completely, leaving Kiyoshi's naked,
rose-red dick shining with lotion and completely unbothered.
Kiyoshi opened his eyes. He couldn't help but laugh at the serious focus on his
partner's face. Incredulously he asked, "What are you doing?" 
In reply Murasakibara closed his hand around him again, and he touched lightly
now, slower than he had before. One corner of his mouth lifted. The hang of his
hair threw shadow over his eyes against the morning sun.
"Jerk..." Kiyoshi muttered, closing his eyes again, focusing on the sweet lick
of being touched. This time as he neared orgasm he kept it quiet, and the
tight, compact grind of his ass against the sheets revealed how caught he was.
Close.... closer....
Again Murasakibara pulled his hand away.
He could ignore his own hard-on because he was taken with the sight of Kiyoshi
in need: flushed, openly expressive, shaking and crying out, vulnerable and
struggling. Something about it touched him in a nameless place, like the stroke
of a feather against some sensitive internal membrane, and he thought with
genial sadism that he would look at it until he was tired of looking at it or
until Kiyoshi stopped looking like that. He figured he had some time.
Kiyoshi, on the other hand, got pissed. Anger darkened his clear gaze and he
started to coil up with tension beneath Murasakibara. "Stop it. Come on, if
you..."
The huge fist clutched him again and he sucked in a hard breath and reached up
to grip the pillow beneath his head. With his other hand he reached down to
hold Murasakibara's hand there, where it felt so pleasurable, where it urged
him up to the peak once more...
Murasakibara flipped his grip, grabbed Kiyoshi's wrist in his slippery hand,
and dragged it up and over his head. 
"Don't fight." Like a warning to a squabbling child, like an urgent and dark
plea to a lover. He went back to work, his long fingers dipping down to snuggle
Kiyoshi's balls and tug gently at them at the bottom of each stroke. Kiyoshi
gave up and started to thrust openly against the pressure. His face was red.
His soft, messy brown hair was touched with dampness at the temples and he
arched and strained beneath Murasakibara. When long moments passed at the edge
of unfulfilled need, Kiyoshi felt a cord of despair tighten around his throat.
His helpless thinking communicated itself to the lost expression that bunched
his brows and loosened his tight jaw.
What Murasakibara thought of this, Kiyoshi would not know, because his eyes
were so tightly closed. But the warm pulse of breath over his face and the warm
mouth that encompassed his own told it, the sudden swiftness of Murasakibara's
hand admitted it. He brought Kiyoshi to the edge once more and --
Again the dropped hand, and Kiyoshi felt like crying as Murasakibara's weight
moved away. He tried to sit up in anger but a strong hand pushed him back down,
and Murasakibara rose over him, and settled his big shoulders between Kiyoshi's
thighs. Without warning he gathered up Kiyoshi's dick and closed his mouth over
it.
Teased past control, Kiyoshi could only submit. He threw a leg over
Murasakibara's shoulder and thrust up into his warm mouth, and Murasakibara
grasped his powerful hips and steadied him as he let Kiyoshi fuck his mouth.
Within seconds Kiyoshi arched, threw his head against the pillow, and flung an
arm up to his face so he could bite his forearm to muffle the gross noises he
would otherwise make. The relief of it was so intense he felt tears spring to
his eyes. Murasakibara nursed him through his orgasm and then hung out too
long, sucking at his oversensitive dick, until Kiyoshi grabbed at his hair and
pulled it with a shaking hand.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and came up to collect Kiyoshi in
his arms.
Kiyoshi punched him in the shoulder, and again in the back with a pounding
fist. Not as hard as he could have. "Asshole..." 
"Ow." Murasakibara hugged him more closely and hid his smiling against the side
of Kiyoshi's head.
"Atsushi..." He muttered, ticked and pleasurably exhausted, still breathing
hard. His hands crept up almost involuntarily to hold Murasakibara. 
"Kii-chin," came the answering rumble. Murasakibara nuzzled him. "I'm
huuuuungry."
Kiyoshi was silent for a while. Still recuperating. Annoyed and affectionate in
equal measure, eventually he said, "Give me five minutes to figure out how to
walk again. We'll go get breakfast." Then he added, before Murasakibara could
feel too victorious, "After a run."
***** Rehabilitation: October, Kiyoshi *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The first time the nickname ever appeared in print was about a month after the
Shuutoku game, in an Akita paper, where the reporter claimed it was already
being chanted by the home crowd. Within a few weeks it got into general use
whenever Yousen played and sometimes even when they didn't. One day Riko and
Kiyoshi opened the local paper to the sports sections, meaning to flip to the
column covering high school games, only to find a giant picture of Kagami in
flight right on the front. They were huddled up on a bench outside, next to the
tennis courts, to enjoy a little autumn sunshine and the crisp changing leaves
on a cold morning. So when Riko shouted in recognition, the students passing by
turned to glare at them.
The article that went with the picture opened with the sentence, "Seirin High
School power forward Kagami Taiga is one of an elite new basketball
aristocracy."
"Really?!" Riko spouted. She nearly dropped her cup of tea and scrambled to get
her hands back around it.
It went on to describe "just some" of the young players who were "opening the
eye of the world to the potential of Japanese basketball." Aomine was there,
and Midorima, and as it was a local paper there was a full paragraph on Taiga
(which Kiyoshi thought was pretty well-deserved) and another one about Seirin
as a team. Riko was mentioned as the manager and Kiyoshi was named coach, which
made him wince, and he only managed to cool Riko down by sending a correction
right_away by email to the author.
Murasakibara was also listed. "One player on everyone's mind this year is
Yousen's center, Murasakibara Atsushi. A towering 211 centimeters, he's the
all-around ace with major defensive and offensive power who has led Yousen to
an unbroken string of victories. Yousen fans call him Ukiyama for his midair
stunts."
Riko looked surprised. "'The floating mountain'... That's quite a nickname."
"Can't say it doesn't suit him," Kiyoshi replied.
It couldn't be disputed, not after what they had seen at Shuutoku. Riko still
had nightmares about that unreal block and shot. How do you stop a player like
that? So far all she'd come up with is make sure he never gets the ball. Speed,
unpredictability, tight passing: she was taking care to emphasize these in her
training plan at every opportunity.
The article ended without mentioning Kuroko - unsurprisingly. But it also
didn't mention Akashi or Kise. The term "Generation Of Miracles" never came up
at all. Maybe it was because Kagami wasn't a part of that, but maybe it was
because some of these players were becoming bigger than what they did in junior
high. The thought gave Kiyoshi pause.
He began to think for the first time maybe in his life that some of the people
he had played with were going on to bigger things in the world of basketball.
They'd trained hard, played hard, proved their talent... would they go on to
play college ball? For a guy like Kagami, that was a no-brainer. And past that?
Aomine was definitely capable of going pro. He'd be playing in the NBL* for
sure, maybe even before he finished college. Midorima had a gift, and he could
probably do a lot with it if he nurtured it. With a twinge of vertiginous
unease he realized that he personally wouldn't be going anywhere. Not pro, not
college, not even the floor of his last Winter Cup.
He thought, too, that he'd dedicated so much of his heart and head to the game
of basketball that he'd lost sight of the sport of basketball. He knew how to
play and how to make his team better, but he didn't know anything about what it
meant to be a pro. No matter how many NBL or NBA games he watched, he didn't
know anything about what seemed like a mountain of money, movement, planning,
dealmaking.
"Riko?"
"Mm?"
"What were you going to do in college? I just realized I never asked you."
"Ehh? Of course, I'm going to coach basketball." She said it with determination
and certainty as she set aside her phone (text message to Kagami about his
newfound fame and how he should not let it go to his head.) (But also
congratulations.)
He laughed, fixing her with his sincere brown eyes. "Come on, Riko, you can't
study 'coach basketball' in college."
But there was no answering laughter nor any hint of doubt. She had a plan;
she'd worked it all out a while ago. There was no question in her mind about
it. "I'll study sports physiology. And coach basketball. What about you,
Kiyoshi?"
"...I don't know," he said slowly, feeling out the truth of it. He'd always
agreed he'd study whatever his grandparents wanted him to study, which was
currently medicine (grandma) or civil engineering (grandpa.) In reality his
focus had been completely consumed by getting the Seirin basketball team on its
feet and pushing them to be number one in Japan. That had been what mattered.
That's why he did his homework. That's why he'd gotten out of bed in the
morning. Building the team, being with the team.
Riko shot him an appalled glare. "What about entrance exams! What about
planning for your future!"
"I'm applying to Tokodai and stuff like that."
"Kiyoshi! You sound like you're not taking this very seriously at all!"
"Well," He managed to grin. "I'll have to start."
But no matter how he flattered or teased her in the midst of her shouting after
that, he couldn't shut out the quiet emptiness in his own mind. He had no idea
what he wanted to do if it wasn't basketball.
===============================================================================
Two days later, Seirin racked up its fifth consecutive victory in a fast-paced,
high-spirited game that culminated in a stunning pair of back to back baskets
from Kuroko, of all people. The article had been good for morale, and Kagami,
true to form, had not let it go to his head. Not that he ever had a chance, as
Riko rained demands down upon her "superstar" (he quickly understood the term
to mean "target.")
As for the competition, Yousen was top: ten games, ten wins. Rakuzan had lost
Akashi for a two weeks to a tour of European colleges, and was down three games
because of it. That was the size of things heading into the Interhigh
preliminaries.
Chapter End Notes
     * the National Basketball League (NBL) is the recently-created major
     Japanese pro basketball league, roughly equivalent to the American
     NBA. There's an additional Japanese pro league called bj league which
     I could not possibly include with a straight face.
***** Rehabilitation: November, Murasakibara *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Akita_Interhigh_Preliminaries
Game 1: Yousen vs. Akita Technical High School
Score: 101 - 0
Murasakibara "Ukiyama" Atsushi dominates scoring in all quarters. With a new
2m+ freshman, Watanabe Yasutaka, assisting Liu, the Yousen Shield Of Aegis
maintains its defensive prowess. The regional competitor is not known for its
sports program.
Game 2: Yousen vs. Araya High School
Score: 123 - 18
Araya gets a bye and advances to second round automatically. Coach Araki lets
Murasakibara off his leash, allowing him to score as much as he wants without
including other team members in his play. He racks up an impressive 89 points
singlehandedly. Yousen's new defensive tactic: just get Ukiyama the ball.
Semi-final: Ugoushima High School vs. Yousen
Score: 2 - 81
With a stronger defense and one player dedicated to nothing but grabbing any
potential Yousen rebounds, Ugoushima is at least able to contain some of the
damage Yousen wreaks. Murasakibara breaks the basket on a dunk and manages to
hit this very same rebound-dedicated member, which results in the Ugoushima
possession that leads to their single successful basket of the match.
Final: Yousen vs. Akitakougyou High School
First quarter
Jump ball. Murasakibara leapt for it and punched it nearly into Himuro's hands.
As his feet touched the earth once again he felt the court. Vibration in the
parquet. The pressure of a shout from 8m away. The pressure of a warm body
existing 3m away. These were not conscious thoughts and hadn't been for years.
A sneaker squeaked and he felt, that's where it's going to be. So that's the
way he went.
Two players crowded like flies around Himuro. He was boxed in near the line. A
third player dashed in front of Murasakibara to halt his progress. He
recognized the Akitakougyou center, a junior named Konoe, with a narrow face
and rubbery onion in his sweat.
"Scuse me." Murasakibara mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the
other. It almost worked; Konoe's eyes widened as he visibly fought the habit of
politeness. Murasakibara pivoted around him on one foot, extended one long arm
behind his back, and received Himuro's pass with pleasant ease. Just to show
off a little he passed to the new Yousen power forward, Hanamura Kenji, who was
unobstructed as the focus was so intent on Murasakibara and Himuro.
Hanamura missed and Liu was there to grab the rebound and throw it back to
Murasakibara. Murasakibara felt the ball smack his hands and thought without
much heat about Konoe as he loped towards the basket. Konoe was shorter than
the center that should have been here. Weaker, didn't have the same grip.
Didn't hold on to the game the same way. The floating mountain lifted himself
into the air for a slow-motion dunk. He didn't even have to look at where Konoe
was going to be, because Konoe was like every other center he'd played this
season. He'd be standing in the wrong place. Akitakougyou wouldn't get the
rebound.
Everyone would break beneath his hand.
 
Second quarter
 He felt it in the heat of the lights and in the collection of movements of the
Akitakougyou team. They clustered and swirled. Again he thought of insects and
the irrelevance of insects. Walk past them like a path next to a pond and swat
them away. 
He was getting ok at a kind of dribbling he'd never bothered with before,
between the legs. He danced away from a defender and fired off a pass that
rocketed far down the court. This whole game was happening in slow motion, like
every other game in the prelims, like every other game of the season. The
sensation of boredom did not touch his heart, which was full of white flames
and the scent of disinfectant. He perceived the slow roll of eyes and the gleam
of fatigue on Konoe's face and he smirked ostentatiously. 
 
Halftime, fifteen minutes
He didn't see anyone particularly important here tonight except his sister.
 
Third quarter
 His long fingers stuck to the ball and dragged it out of its course. A clean
steal. The shape his hand made in the air was like tsu and at the end he
exploded past the shocked Akitakougyou point guard: a fabulous leap,  3 or 4
meters of hang time. At the end of the dunk he hung on the basket and the
audience shouted for it to break. It didn't, and he didn't care. The point
guard fell back, demoralized, with a white gloss on his dark face.
Akashi must feel like this: knowing the end of everything. Knowing what's going
to happen. The tension of the court, the velocities of the players, the
impatience to score, the sweat of terror from future failures: he could feel it
all, a low background hum. Like the keening of insects it could be ignored.
 
Final quarter
Score: Yousen 98, Akitakougyou 0
 
Emerging from the locker room, Murasakibara handed his bag of snacks and his
duffel to the tall, slim girl with cocoa-brown hair to her waist. This was the
Yousen validictorian, Hirano Aiba, captain of the women's volleyball team and
already scouted for modelling. She took it, and also his jacket. He muttered
something about the game to her, and she lifted her serene and beautiful face
to him and said something congratulatory back. They strode down the hall like
the natural champions they were. As they rode back on the Yousen away bus he
let her lay her head across his lap as he toyed with her long hair and looked
out the window. Himuro dribbled in the bus aisle.
Interhigh was in two weeks.
Two weeks to Seirin, the Tokyo-area prelim victors.
Chapter End Notes
     * yall I am assuming j-school basketball goes by FIBA rules and not
     US varsity high rules (or NBA rules.) I assume this on the basis of
     "because."
***** Rehabilitation: A Day In Late November *****
 
                                     6 am
                  Kiyoshi                              Murasakibara
The alarm went off. A large hand shuffled
its way out from the folds of the quilts
and sheets to slam the snooze button, hang
briefly on the edge of the nightstand, then
crawl back into the warmth of sleep. This
process repeated at 5 minute intervals
until 6:45, at which point Kiyoshi threw     Murasakibara Atsushi was asleep.
off his covers with tremendous energy, sat
up, and picked up the clock to study it
thoughtfully.
He was 15 minutes late to meet Hyuuga for a
morning run (Kiyoshi to accompany on
bicycle.) Panic ensued.
 
                                     8 am
                  Kiyoshi                              Murasakibara
Hyuuga and Kiyoshi arrived at school.
Hyuuga was red-faced and sweaty; Kiyoshi,
carrying both their bags, pedalled
alongside serenely, satisfaction upon his
handsome face.
"Good morning, Kiyoshi-kun!" "Hey,            Murasakibara Atsushi was asleep.
Kiyoshi!" "G'morning Kiyoshi!"                
All received with his habitual smile, wave,
and greeting in return.
"...Do they not even see me??" Hyuuga
complained.
"Maybe they don't recognize you." Kiyoshi
beamed back.
 
                                           10 am
                                   Kiyoshi                                     Murasakibara
                                                                                Murasakibara
                                                                                could still
                                                                                feel the
                                                                                warmth of
                                                                                his bed
                                                                                redolent
                                                                                about his
                                                                                flesh.
                                                                                (A little
                                                                                over an hour
                                                                                ago his
                                                                                mother had
                                                                                stormed in
                                                                                to tear the
                                                                                covers from
                                                                                him,
                                                                                shrieking
                                                                                about
                                                                                school. She
                                                                                threw the
                                                                                curtains
                                                                                open and
                                                                                flung his
                                                                                school sack
                                                                                at him hard
                                                                                enough to
                                                                                sting.
                                                                                For
                                                                                breakfast he
                                                                                drank a
                                                                                quart of
                                                                                chocolate
                                                                                milk in a
                                                                                single go
In English class, Kiyoshi Teppei stood at his desk and read Nothing Gold Can   while
Stay, by Robert Frost, aloud. While his accent was pronounced, he managed all   standing in
the words without difficulty, and even injected a little drama into the final  front of the
line.                                                                           open fridge,
A pang in his heart. He seated himself and stared out the window.               ignoring the
                                                                                ongoing
                                                                                blistering
                                                                                scolding she
                                                                                directed at
                                                                                him. She
                                                                                then
                                                                                insisted on
                                                                                driving him
                                                                                to school in
                                                                                the delivery
                                                                                car. For the
                                                                                entire drive
                                                                                she fumed,
                                                                                malevolent
                                                                                and red-
                                                                                faced.)
                                                                                Now seated
                                                                                in history,
                                                                                he declined
                                                                                to pay
                                                                                attention to
                                                                                the long
                                                                                list of
                                                                                World War II
                                                                                battles. The
                                                                                names and
                                                                                dates failed
                                                                                to penetrate
                                                                                his thick
                                                                                dreaming
                                                                                sludge and
                                                                                he stared
                                                                                out the
                                                                                window.
 
 
                                            12 pm
                                   Kiyoshi                                      Murasakibara
                                                                                 Aiba rested
                                                                                 her empty
                                                                                 bento box on
                                                                                 his stomach.
                                                                                 Murasakibara
                                                                                 did not
                                                                                 notice, as
                                                                                 he was
                                                                                 dozing in
                                                                                 her lap with
                                                                                 one of her
Innocent Kiyoshi had no idea what he was in for when he pulled copies of         fashion
Careers_And_Careering:_A_Manual, 5000_Jobs_For_The_Future, Castaway_In_A_Sea     magazines
Of_Jobs, and Don't_Not_Have_Fun:_How_To_Get_The_Job_You_Love_(And_Keep_It)       spread over
from the library shelves.                                                        his face.
Hopeful and earnest effort became mild incredulity, then brow-runching open      She set
dismay, then a hesitance, a fearfulness to turn the page. Each page contained    aside the
the promise of payoff after years of long hours, thankless ass-kissing,          little jelly
abasement, shit work, and of course the job duties proper, each one of which     cup she
sounded worse than the last. They were all written in the same general tone,    packed for
which called to mind the puppets on instructive shows for little kids:           her dessert
relentlessly peppy and simple. On one page he was exhorted to treat the          to give him
customer to every consideration, including freshening their water in a timely   once it's
fashion, and on the next page he was told, in exactly the same smiley bare-     time to wake
faced way, to obtain an advanced degree in architecture.                         him up.
Kiyoshi frowned and reluctantly redoubled his efforts, feeling as if he had      Without a
stepped into a wilderness.                                                       word of
                                                                                 complaint
                                                                                 she chatted
                                                                                 with her
                                                                                 friends over
                                                                                 his
                                                                                 slumbering
                                                                                 bulk.
                                                                                 Her perfume
                                                                                 smelled like
                                                                                 cherry-
                                                                                 flavored
                                                                                 candy floss.
 
                                             4 pm
   Kiyoshi                                       Murasakibara
From the
dubious
comfort of a
folding metal
chair, Kiyoshi
watched the
Seirin
basketball
team practice,    After a 5km run with the team, Araki had Murasakibara drill on shooting from
shouting        all over the court. Good timing. He had finally started to wake up around 3.
encouragement.
He was able to
help out with
some passing
drills. They
left him
feeling
tremendously
pent up.
 
                                          7 pm
                                 Kiyoshi                                   Murasakibara
                                                                            After
                                                                            practice the
                                                                            team went
                                                                            out for
                                                                            dinner
                                                                            together.
                                                                            Murasakibara
                                                                            sat next to
                                                                            Hanamura,
                                                                            the forward,
                                                                            and tried to
                                                                            get him to
                                                                            fuck up on
                                                                            flipping the
                                                                            okonomiyaki
                                                                            without
 The physical therapist manipulated his long leg with two fingers tucked   actually
under the knee.                                                             jarring his
"Seems about like last week. Have you noticed any changes?"                 arm.
"...Not really." He couldn't keep the note of worry out of his voice.       Hanamura was
"You haven't been putting stress on it, right?"                             impervious
"No."                                                                      to cracks
"Okay, we're going to do some exercises with the bands today." He           about his
released Kiyoshi to dig into the cabinet at the side of the room, and       basketball
pulled out a couple of long, thick pink elastic training bands. They        ability, his
looked like big loops of bubble gum and Kiyoshi found them pleasantly       dating
ridiculous.                                                                 habits,
                                                                            whether
                                                                            there was a
                                                                            famous
                                                                            person in
                                                                            the next
                                                                            booth,
                                                                            whether a
                                                                            bee was
                                                                            about to
                                                                            land on him,
                                                                            pretty much
                                                                            anything
                                                                            Murasakibara
                                                                            could think
                                                                            of. Mission
                                                                            failed.
 
 
                                                                    10 pm
                               Kiyoshi                                                              Murasakibara
Next to the futon was a little lamp shaped like a folded leaf and the   In a late night cafe a white man with sandy blond hair and a rough
light shone through it with a warm amber glow. Kiyoshi bent over and    face said in fluent, heavily accented Japanese, "How's it going,
set the tray down first, then sat himself on the floor, elaborately     Atsushi?"
careful to not bend his knee.                                           He'd gotten used to being called by his first name by these people
He pushed the tray close so Grandma could reach it without much         quickly. Aside from a twinge of annoyance he didn't even notice it
effort. It wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself, but he felt   now. "Does it matter?" He sucked down another huge gulp of his float.
better about it if he could take care of her even in a little way       "Ha ha. Listen, how're you doing? Do you need anything? Still have
like this. She grinned at him and took her cup, a thick blanket over    some left from last time?"
her legs, her back still straight. Grandpa didn't drink tea at night    "It's okay."
but he lay in the other futon propped on a buckwheat pillow and one     Chris Wright winced. Murasakibara Atsushi was possibly the deadest
hand tucked under his head.                                             prospect he'd ever met up with in his life. It was useless to chat him
Because of his appointments and after-class work this was the only     up. He didn't make conversation. He never talked about his family or
time they would have to talk about their days. Grandpa complained       anything else. He didn't seem to notice or care about anything. 
about the incredibly noisy landscaping tools used by the neighbors.    It was a different story on the court, he knew that. He wouldn't have
"That loud but do they offer to let me use it? No!"                     put up with this shit if it was the same guy on-court as off-court.
Grandma asked Kiyoshi to rinse the sprouts (and turn over the           But he'd been to the games. He was a believer. Just a pissed-off one.
pickles, groused Grandpa) before he left in the morning. And she read   "Aa. There's something." The twang of Murasakibara's whine cut in.
about his team today - though she stopped talking there. At some        "Yeah? You know I'd love to help you out."
point she had gotten the idea that Riko and Teppei were fated to        "Birkin bag. I need a Birkin bag."
marry; she treated this as an inevitability, and as a consequence she   Chris' face fell. "...That's kind of a stretch, Atsushi. Those are
was strangely unable to say anything nice about Riko ever.              like..." He did the quick calculation in his head. "That's like a
Kiyoshi talked about the short chapter he'd read on civil engineering   million yen or something."
in the library that day and also about what a nice clear day it had     "My girl wants one," Murasakibara answered in a tone of deliberate
been.                                                                   ennui.
 
 
                                             Midnight
      Kiyoshi                                        Murasakibara
                        When he got home, Dad was watching TV (some variety show he wasn't paying
                       attention to) and reading the sports page. He must have won at the track,
                       since there were two big cans of Asahi already drained on the table and a
                       third one in front of him. He had stripped down to his white undershirt and
                       popped open his pants button and put on his wooden massager sandals. A big
                       man with a perpetual grimace who gave off the feeling of amiable dirtiness,
                       like an unswept but hospitable room.
                       Murasakibara wandered over to the fridge and helped himself to an Asahi.
                       There were two more cans left. He sat at the low table with his dad and
                       watched the TV without much interest. Two idols were competing to see who
 Kiyoshi Teppei was  could slip and slide across a plastic sheet covered with whipped cream with
asleep.                their wrists and ankles bound. ("Daring Escape!", the segment was called.)
                       Dad nudged the rest of the paper his way, like he would care about
                       something like that. He didn't, and pushed it back so it would annoy the
                       old man's elbow. When the old man fussed and shoved it out of the way,
                       Murasakibara's mouth slanted slyly.
                       "D'you finish all your homework."
                       "Yeah."
                       "Home late."
                       "Yeah."
                       When Murasakibara finished his beer he got up, pitched the can into the
                       recyclable trash in the kitchen, and went to bed.
 
 
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