Chapter Text
Kise Ryouta wakes up completely only once Akashi’s done talking. The soft tone on his ex-captain’s voice is disturbing enough on its own, but today carries with it a terrible news, one the blond teen is not ready to process after a late, long photoshoot the night before, or ever.
For a moment, the only thing he can hear is his own struggling respiration, a beep echoing inside his ears, and his own pulse rushing through his veins. He feels dizzy and his room looks blurry and unreal and dreamlike somehow; his body is almost weightless, and he can’t move it to anything other than to grab the phone tighter on his shaking hand. The Emperor sighs, nervously, from the other side.
“Ryouta”, he starts, “I want you to breathe”.
“I…”, the model tries to say, “I don’t…”
“I am very serious about it…breathe”, the captain insists, and there is something so sad about the way he orders it; something so similar to a cry, to a prayer, he can’t stop himself from tearing up. “I’ll send a car for you”.
“I’ll take a taxi”.
“It will be one, Ryouta”, he states, like it’s the most obvious thing. And it is, in a way, he knows his friend hates not paying for his own things. “I want you to calm down and listen to what I’m saying”.
“Ye…yeah…yes, I’m alright. I’m…”, he knows he must be sounding like a fish out of water, desperately trying to stay alive with all the oxygen is gone. His hands feel cold and his chest hurts, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear whatever Akashi is about to say.
“Everything will be okay”, Kise wasn’t expecting that. From all the things the Miracles’ captain could say, this is not what he was hoping for it to be. It sounds like a bad thing when he says it; a bad thing because it’s good for them. “Did you hear me? Everything will work out eventually. We’ll get through it, we always do”.
What if it won’t? he wants to ask. What would happen if this were how they pay for their sins? What if karma finally reach them and they are giving back what they took from other people on those games? They weren’t good kids back then, they were monsters not only because of their talent, no, that was different; the things they did for fun were straight up cruelness, and not having any friends is not enough as a payment for everything they were doing. The Copycat knows Akashi knows what he is thinking but won’t say anything in order to keep him as calm as possible, which it’s not much but it’s something, nonetheless.
There is this long silence in the call, a terrifying, loud silence, and he thinks he has never heard something so deafening before. But it’s not just silence: it’s his blood rushing inside, his lungs fighting, the tears falling down his cheeks, and Akashi’s sighs, and he knows the Emperor doesn’t know what to say for the first time in his life.
“You’re having a panic attack”, he hears through the phone, realizing just now how loud his respiration is. “Please, abstain yourself from having a heart attack as well, Ryouta. That would be a terrible shame, having to divide the team on two hospital wings”, it makes him laugh. A short, sad laugh.
“I’ll go pick up Kurokocchi”, Kise says.
“No, no. Don’t worry about that, I am sure Taiga has it under control”, the captain exclaims. “The car is outside. No more than 10 minutes, Ryouta”.
As soon as his friend hangs up, he throws himself to his nightstand and searches for his pack of cigarettes –the one he hides from the world– and lights up one. It’s a horrible habit he picked up at the beginning of his last year at Teiko, after intensive photoshoots and training sessions that left him stressed out and tired. He tries to keep it to a minimum, strictly necessary, and never when he knows he’ll see his friends or his team soon enough for them to smell it. Kise believes that one is necessary now.
He walks around the room nervously, and doesn’t even bother to pick up clothes or shoes or a fucking charger; just puts on the first thing he finds –his team’s uniform– and runs out the door without saying anything to his parents when they yell at him.
The car is outside his house, parked on the opposite side of the street, and the driver has his door open. The man, who looks like an ex-yakuza, doesn’t say anything nor smiles at him, just limits himself to open the door for him and closes it in silence. The trip is horrible, exhausting, and there is not enough air in the car for him to breathe; before he realises, he starts sobbing, crying his eyes out in the back sit, and letting out animalistic growls he didn’t know he could make.
He cries and cries and cries all the way to the hospital, thinking about how Aomine must have looked on his bedroom’s floor, and how desperate Midorima must have felt, and how scared everyone must be. However, the feeling of this being karma doesn’t abandon him; it stays there, eating him alive like a bunch of maggots under his skin, making loud noises inside his brain that only remind him they were the monsters in so many lives. The model wonders if there is someone out there that are happy this happened, that they are finally paying for every wound they caused; the Miracles –unbreakable, uncontrollable, glorious gods– are bleeding on the floor and they brought this to themselves.
Ryouta’s mind dances around Aomine’s figure as he jumped with the basketball in one hand and a big smile on his face, and the wonder that was, seeing him flying up like it was the easiest thing on earth, so effortlessly talented that he could devour the world with no problems. Without being conscious of it, he has built his life on that memory, on that Aomine; for the last few years everything in him has been because of that moment, because of that beautiful, perfect monster who gave him everything he has and loves, and now, he’s almost gone.
People usually think he’s so open with everybody, so honest and kind, but he knows that’s not true, not in the way they think, at least. The Copycat is fairly sure of who he is, of who he was and is capable of being: he’s a liar and a pick, overconfident and cruel, he’s a Gemini, as Midorima points out; he cries on command and smiles with no effort, but the lies and cruelness have no place here, not when the world is falling apart and catching on fire and the only thing they can do is watch. In the car, he lights up another cigarette and closes his eyes.
The hospital is completely blurry, he is not sure of how he went from there to Kagami’s apartment. He remembers his friends’ arms around him, the weight of Murasakibara’s body on top of his; he knows he cried on Kuroko’s shoulder and hold Momoi between his arms. He knows he saw Aomine.
Walking into his room was hell, even with the King next to him, looking as pale as the Ace did; the image made him want to vomit but he resisted the urge and gave his friend a little smile. He couldn’t move too much nor get to close, standing there with his hands together and shaking slightly.
“Hi”, he murmured.
“Hello there”, Daiki sighed.
“Aomine…”, Midorima said, sounding like he was suffocating. “I’m…I…”, nobody could have blame him for stuttering; he saw it all, he found him, and for a moment, Kise thinks, he feels like he’s seeing a ghost.
“I’m okay”, their friend stopped him. “I’m okay”, he repeated.
“We know you are”, the blond assured him. “We were so scared out there, Aominecchi. I’m so glad to see you”, he’s a good talker, has always been, and there is a strange sense of comfort in letting out words he does in fact mean to say; telling the truth, in his profession, is a bad idea.
“So, everyone is here”, Aomine whispered to himself, closing his eyes for a second, hoping the answer is a no.
“Well, yeah, of course”.
“Fuck”.
“Akashi and Murasakibara flew here”, the shooter added.
“Mura hates airplanes”, the Ace pointed out, making the other two look at him with surprise eyes. It was, it is, ridiculous to think Akashi wouldn’t have moved mountains for him or that Murasakibara wouldn’t have taken a helicopter to get there. It is sad to think Aomine truly believes his friends would not go all the way to hell for him. “Don’t look at me like that! He’s not the most flexible person we know!”
“Everything looks fine”, Midorima sighed, ignoring everything, and grabbing the papers next to his friend’s bed. “I assumed they are not done with the testing results and, if they are, I will have to suggest a few things”.
“Oh, I bet you will”, he laughed, and for Kise it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
Aomine sounded so alive in that moment, the whole world got out of his throat and flew out in the most gorgeous way; he felt it vibrating on his chest, dancing around the room, and he wanted to pretend it wasn’t in the context they were in. So, he did, he pretended they were somewhere else, somewhere normal and happy, somewhere they have already been in years before when everything was better.
He allowed himself to move closer, his hands brushing against the white sheets, still shaking; resisting the urge to run away and burst into tears again, he fixed them on top on his friend’s stomach, flattened them so they look neat from the outside, even if there is a small, almost unnoticeable blood stain on them. When he’s about to put his hands back together, Daiki stops him.
The Copycat knew the Ace wanted to make a comment about how horrible he looked –he knows he looked awful, there is no reason to pretend he didn’t–, maybe touch with a finger one of his puffy cheeks or red balloon-like eyes; Ryouta knows his friend enough to know what he wanted to do, what he was biting down in order to keep the situation as in control as possible, and he hated it. He likes Aomine loud and mean and borderline cruel, he likes his honesty when he says he looks bad on the shirt he picked that one time, he likes it because it makes the times he calls him pretty all that much real.
The fingers felt cold when they reached for his wrist, cold like a dead man would be, but also wonderfully warm in every other sense of the word. Dark blue eyes searched for his every time he tried to look away, and the hand around his wrist bone was placed so nicely, pressed down ever so slightly, he thought he might die any second.
“Come closer”, the Ace said.
“What for?”, Kise cocked his head a little, confused.
“Come on, just do it, don’t be a baby”, and he obeyed, because he’s not a baby, but it proved to be a trap once again, like many times before since they were 13. With two fingers, Aomine grabbed as much of his blonde hair as he could and pulled down.
“Auch! Why did you do that?”
“He’s a five-year-old, Kise, we talked about this”, Midorima answered for him, unamused, from the end of the bed.
“We did?”
“By ‘we’ I meant the adults on our friend group and Murasakibara”, he corrected himself, fixing his glasses. “I always assumed you find it quite flattering”.
“Mmh? He just pulled my hair! Why would I…?”
“There is no time for this today, as it should be perfectly obvious”, the shooter shrugged, making the model frown and the patient sighed with a smile. “I’m glad you are feeling better, all things considered”, in a single movement, a pen basically flew from his hand and landed perfectly on Aomine’s. “Virgo’s lucky item for today. That’s what I was doing in your house earlier today”.
“Midorima…”, the teen called.
“I’ll visit you again tomorrow”, for a moment Kise thought he was going to touch him, to put their hands together and leave tiny caresses with his tapped fingers, but it didn’t happen. “I will wait for you outside”, he said to the blond teen.
“Mido”, Aomine tried, almost breathless. “Hey, Mido, I’m…”, but the King didn’t turn around to look at him nor asked what he wanted, just walked out and closed the door behind him.
“Let him go, he had a…rough day”.
“I didn’t know it was him”, he closed his eyes. “I mean…I remembered someone, I knew someone was there, but I wasn’t sure who until Satsuki confirmed it. I guess it makes sense”.
“Why?”
“The doctor said the tourniquet saved my career”, Aomine smiled, sadly.
“And your life”, Kise whispered..
“And my life”, the boy in the hospital bed repeated in a very low tone, like he was saying a bad thing, like surviving was the last thing on his mind, especially compared to his basketball career; the career they were taught to love and adore more than their own lives.
Ryouta imagined what Aomine would have said if he was permitted to be honest under his circumstances; he imagined it even when he was still there, next to him, letting him tighten his grip around his wrist. And he knows him enough to read through the expression on his face, to see behind the way he gives little, charming smiles at people like the good mommy’s boy he is –because Aomine might be a prick, but Daiki is always a good kid in public with his mom–. So, he knows Aomine was thinking about how stupid living sounds without basketball, or even worse, he was thinking about how useless he would be without being able to play in the way he does.
The thing about Teiko is that it takes more and more as time goes on. It will still be eating them after they graduate high school and there is little to nothing they can do to stop it, and if the Unstoppable Ace himself was thinking about how much better he would be dead than talentless, is because everyone in the team feels the same way.
Nobody wants to talk about it, nobody wants to say it out loud –and no one ever has–, but everyone has thought about it at some point or another. Picturing themselves as something other than gifted children –monsters, people would say– is unbearably painful to do, torture even, and a everpresent threat for them, after all the end can come in any form: an aching finger after a pass bad received; a slippery floor after the rain; a twisted ankle, everything can ruin them forever, and that knowledge breathes into the back of their necks every day.
They were taught they were priceless as they are and, therefore, useless in any other way. In Teiko, you were either a winner or nothing at all, and there are two people who fell into it more than the rest: Akashi and Aomine. Kise can only theorise, of course –he got in last, he has time–, but Aomine has it engraved in his bones, the message is clear on his head: Aomine Daiki can only grow, can only shine brighter and brighter, because anything else is treason, anything else is failure.
Even in the desire to die, the fear comes first, and if there is something Kise knows is they would have lost Daiki forever if the razor he used cut in a little deeper, a little more to the left, and touch the wrong nerve just enough to take the talent away, because life is nothing without it.
“Kise? Kise, are you okay?”, he heard Kagami call him when they came back to the waiting room, putting his hand on his shoulder with a worried look on his face.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just tired”, he answered, snapping back into reality. “I wanna sleep a little, ‘cause I have a photoshoot later”.
“You are not going, Kise”.
“It’s not like I can call and cancel whenever I feel like it, Midorimacchi”, he crossed his arms on his chest and gave him an upset look, like the ones he gives to his sisters. “I don’t wanna go, but it’s my job”.
“I respect your professionalism, but you’re fucking insane if you think you can go and work like nothing happened”.
“Of course I can”, the Copycat exclaimed, offended. “It won’t take long, I can be done in an hour if I do a good job, and I always do a good job”.
He was lucky Akashi wasn’t there to hear him play tough, he doesn’t even want to imagine his mismatched eyes on him with that horrible furious light they get when he’s angry –or slightly displeased–, he wasn’t strong enough to deal with that, not even now years after the first time he saw it.
The model takes a lot of pride out of his job, out of how much time, effort and blood he has put on it since he was five, against his teachers’ recommendations and his mother’s relentless attempts to convince him to quit; he’s not a quitter, he never was, just as he did with basketball he gave everything he had until he got better. Now he knows it’s compulsive and unhealthy but it’s too late to backpedal. Aomine, of course, has a lot of opinions about it.
The Ace used to say –back in middle school– that he didn’t understand what was wrong with sleeping and eating and not overworking yourself to death. Kise remembers his growls and eyerolls when they talked about his job. Since they were back on speaking terms, he has also started to agree with Midorima about how weird it was for some photographers to want him to be shirtless or a little too naked for someone his age; he even fought with one and punched him in the face that one time he went with him to a photoshoot. The guy put his hand on his waist a little too tight.
Aomine Daiki is a gentleman when he wants to be.
He remembers, as he walks around murmuring things he can’t even understand, that was his idea to come to Kagami’s house, even though he’s not sure why he said that instead of one of his sisters’ or Kuroko’s. Maybe he wanted neutral territory, maybe he wanted to be as far from his beautiful memories as he could; in any case, they are here now, with Midorima’s grip around his wrist, pulling him towards the couch so he can finally stop putting Momoi nervous.
Maybe it was a bad idea after all , he thinks as Akashi’s back tenses in a defensive position, and Aomine’s voice –the one that lives inside his head at almost all times– produces the loudest laughter, mocking Kagami from the hospital between chuckles. It’s not that the Ace truly dislikes Kuroko’s new light, in fact he likes him a lot, it’s just that…he IS Kuroko’s new light, with all that entails, and it might be jealousy, or guilt –and nobody will ever understand the extent of it more than Kise–, or healthy, masculine competition.
The Emperor’s voice is a knife every time, it has been for years now and the Copycat can’t even begin to imagine what this must be for Kagami, seeing the emptiness of the mismatched eyes, the furious tone on his calm voice, especially this being the first time he’s in front of it. Not mentally-ill Akashi; not psychotic, out of his mind, basketball monster Akashi, just furious, heart-broken Akashi Seijurou standing there, being confronted with something Kise doesn’t think it’s true at all, but most certainly sounds like it is.
“I’m just saying that you kinda lost it at some point, and that made everything worse”, Seirin’s Ace says, and he feels his own soul leaving in panic, in nervous rage.
“It was very lonely for everyone!”, he yells, hearing his shaking voice come out desperate, jumping and trying to get close to Taiga, but Midorima catches him by the forearm faster than he can move and pulls him back to the couch.
The model can feel Kuroko’s eyes on him; big, blue eyes scanning him up and down as he whispers something to Murasakibara. He hates making people worry about him, even if most of his friends think he loves attention, and he does, he won’t lie about him loving being loved, but not in that sense, not in the pity kind of love. He thinks in how much he would like to have Aomine there to bring a little of his horrible sense of humour to the situation, to calm down Akashi with a joke, with a whisper about not letting Kagami win this round or whatever; but he’s not here, he’s at the hospital and they are here watching the world burn. And their Captain might be a psychotic monster but it is out of love and fear and regret, and he can hear it in his voice and see it in his hands and Kagami will never understand what that is with the certainty that they have.
Akashi Seijurou loves Aomine Daiki. Akashi Seijurou loves him and Midorimacchi and Kurokocchi and Murasakibaracchi and Momoicchi with the same force as he did before, and is controlling himself from cutting Taiga’s throat just because Tetsuya likes him too much, but there is a thin line separating him control for exhaustion.
Kurokocchi begs, the Copycat can hear it, for him to stop; but the Ace won’t listen.
“I’m his captain”, Akashi finally says firmly, in what he knows is an attempt to keep the control of the fight, to assert dominance in front of a boy who refuses to stop the torture. “He answers to me; he listens to me; he is my responsibility, and I will not act like he isn’t”. It’s true, that’s how it works, before and now, as soon as Rakuzan lost he went back to be the mind and ruler of the Miracles, and nobody complained.
“You are not a team anymore”, is the final stab.
“Please”, Momoicchi begged. “Please, stop it”, Kise knows she’s talking to Midorima but the teen can’t move.
“Can you put your dog on a leash, Kuroko? This is going to fucking far”, the shooter growls at the shadow, desperately, because they all know what’s coming next.
“I’m still his captain, just like before. That’s not going to change. And….”, the cruelness on his voice tells them everything they need to know to guess what’s he’s going to say, and the model covers his eyes with his hand. Himuro is there to hear how his name will come out like poison out of the Emperor’s mouth. It’s a horrible thing, word after word of knives and bullets and resentment from both sides, and he can’t do anything but sit there, with the King’s hand tightly around his arm, holding him back.
“You said you take care of each other”, Kagami shrugs, like he has a death wish, “since when? Because as far as I know, you are the first one to throw them under the bus and leave them to rot there”.
“This isn’t a good idea, Kagamicchi”, he knows his voice is thin and weak, like he can’t breathe.
“Jesus Christ, Kise, you can’t tell me he has been doing a great job. He didn’t do it in Teiko either”, Ryouta hugs his knees so fast he hits himself on the chest hard enough to hurt, closes his eyes, not sure of what he is afraid of. He has never felt this scared before, as fragile as this, and the shame is not enough to stop him from crying.
Everything’s blurry again, and it takes a moment for him to realise Kagami is kicking Akashicchi out of the apartment –which it’s understandable if you ask him, but whatever–, but by the time he processes it completely he’s already standing and passing things around with the rest of his friends. They move around coats and jerseys because summer isn’t quite here yet, touch each other’s hands in secret caresses when they pass next to each other and he can’t help but to think he doesn’t have a real place to crash for the night except letting Akashi pay for a room. Midorimacchi’s house is out because, well, his father is an asshole that calls him ‘fairy’ every now and then by ‘accident’; Momoi’s father isn’t home and she doesn’t have the keys, his sisters are probably sleeping by now and Kurokocchi’s house is off limits because he hates to bother his grandma this late.
He shouldn’t have insisted that much about Kaijo, he thinks, making his parents move was a bad choice under this horrible new light, and he’s so thankful when Kagami lets them stay again, with that much regret and tiredness in his voice.
They all sigh when Akashi says ‘okay’ with his winning smile, letting things fall back to their places as if they weighed way too much for them to carry. The model sits on the floor, between Midorima’s legs and rests his head on his friend’s thigh, closing his eyes; for a moment, he can feel the familiar sensation of taped fingers on his nape –the context was so different those other times– with an endearing carefulness.
“Alright”, Takao claps one time. “I think we can start eating soon, no? It’s late”, the Copycat can see the weirdly careful smile he has, an almost alien expression on his face.
“I need to go to the store and buy things for Mine-chin’s cake”, Murasakibara exclaims, passing a hand through his hair. “I need it to be done by morning, and the cookies”, he sounds almost ashamed.
“I will go with you. I need air”, Midorima stands up, almost kicking him out of the way. “I can’t handle this apartment anymore”, if it was supposed to be a whisper, Midorimacchi fails terribly.
“I need a couple of things too, I’ll go with you”, Momoi joins.
“Won’t you prefer us to bring them instead of going out?”
“I’m not a child, Midorin. I can buy my own things”, she almost yells, and the shooter steps back quickly, like someone just pulled out a gun, and looks down, almost too afraid to confront the girl’s furious eyes.
Momoi is angry at everything now, and it’s not even about Akashi, it’s about how much of her life is at risk at this very second. Midorima is wise when he steps back, and when he opens the door for her with a small bow.
When Himuro doesn’t leave, with Takao’s voice echoing around on its usual cheery tone, he knows something is wrong but can’t put his finger on it right away. It always takes him a little longer to read through Takao, maybe because he’s too much of an actor, too much of a model, like Kise himself is. And he knows Midorima knows because he searches for answers in his eyes too, but a smile calms him down.
“Should we follow them?”he asks in a whisper, but Kuroko has already vanished behind Takao, Kagami and Himuro down the hall.
Akashi and he are the only ones in the living room now, and it’s always a little weird when that happens. The Emperor passes his arms around him for a second, and presses him on a weird hug, warm and uncomfortable, and it brings a calmness to him that almost destroys him.
“How are you doing?”, Akashi asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I should have asked sooner, my apologies”.
“It’s okay”, he shrugs. “I’m good. Tired, though”.
“It is understandable, Ryouta. You should sleep a little, I will wake you up for dinner”.
“Not hungry”.
“I am not asking you”, he raises an eyebrow, and then he fixes his blond hair with one finger, putting it back in its place. “I need you to cooperate, Ryouta, I really do”.
There is a weird sense of weakness in the way Seijurou speaks that makes Kise’s back tense in surprise; he never thought he would miss the Emperor in the way he does now, but he can’t blame Akashi for that, can’t blame him for this small expression of the desperation and fear they all have inside. And it’s probably because they’re alone now, no one’s there other than the two of them, both liars and survivors on their own right, but there’s just so strange the way the captain touches him in a soft caress, how loved he feels under his hand, and how much he wants to show him the same.
The Copycat doesn’t want to cry anymore, his body wouldn’t be able to handle the tears without it turning into screams. .
“Takao-kun is terrifying sometimes”, Kuroko says, when he reappears from the hallway, as if it was enough explanation.
“He must be”, Akashi laughs. “Shintarou does have a type, after all”. He does.
“He’s nice”, he says, almost defending him. “I like him”.
“We know, Ryouta and that’s more than acceptable”.
It’s not like he needed the approval to like Takao. They’re friends, after all, and talk all the time about boys and basketball in the most vain ways possible, it’s nice to have someone to do those things and not be mocked. Sometimes Kise lies, he must admit it, about Teiko mostly; he lies about things he knows Midorima hasn’t told his boyfriend, because there are moments, slices of that part of their lives that can rapidly turn into horror stories, and he’s not sure Takao can handle it without murdering someone. and there are still wounds too infected for him to stab them open again.
The model lets himself fall on the couch, tired, and the shadow imitates him. There is something about Kuroko, he’s not sure what, that makes him feel safe; and yes, of course he knows Tetsuya is mean and cruel and won’t win a physical fight any time soon, but still, he lets himself pass an arm around his waist and hides his face on the curve of his neck like a child would with a parent. In a way, the shorter teen occupies that space for him, being his mentor, being the one who walked him into the group, being the one who forgave him for the horrible thing he did on that last game against that friend of his –he still has no idea what the guy’s name is and that somehow makes it worse–. He can barely breathe at this point, and his body is struggling to keep together what his mind already gave up to try; his sanity, usually strong by the years of hard work in modelling, is now breaking apart.
Akashi, still standing, touches his hair again on a careful caress with an almost insecure hand, and it suffocates him, the touch is a hand around his throat and he’s can’t keep doing this anymore.
“I need to go to the bathroom”, he says, jumping from the couch. “And I need to call the coach”.
“I already did that, Ryouta, there is no need for you to do that”.
“It’s my responsibility, right? I mean, you always said that, Akashicchi”.
“Yes, I did”.
“Go to the bathroom then, Kise-kun”, Kuroko sighs, making him wonder if he knows he’s about to break into pieces as soon as the door closes.
“Are you okay, Kise?”, Kagami asks, from the kitchen. He likes Kagami, he has always liked Kagami a lot. “Do you need something?”
“Oh, no, no, no, please. I’m more than fine, Kagamicchi, don’t worry”, the Copycat smiles fakely, feeling both Kuroko and Akashi’s eyes stabbing him in the back.
Kise Ryouta is a good liar to everyone but the Miracles, even with that, he has managed to pass a few lies here and there over the years, but now he knows he’s not fooling anyone but Kagami in that room. He can feel Himuro’s eyes following him as he walks and Takao sighing tiredly, but more than anything, he feels Akashi forcing himself not to look, like he knows there is nothing to do to avoid what’s going to happen.
Aomine would be so mad at him, he knows, he would be so…disappointed and angry to see him like this. The Ace was never a fan of crybabies and complainers, never understood how depression, and pain, and suffering worked on other people, people worse at pretending and convincing themselves they’re fine. He used to say he didn’t get why people get so overpowered by their own emotions, and thinking about it makes the model feel even worse, because the person he knew would never cut open his wrists in an effort to end the pain, would never bleed out on the floor.
As he closes the door behind him, he thinks in Teiko again, in the things they did, and in how sooner or later those things come back to haunt them, to hunt them, to eat out of their bleeding bodies what they have take from others and he knows, as well as he knows himself, there are so many things they stole from people they didn’t even met, whose names vanished right after the game, and they got out of there, victorious as always. His theory is precisely that. They are paying. They have to be, because his Aominecchi wouldn’t do this to him.
He notices he’s crying when Kagami knocks on the door, and only then he realises he’s been scratching his face with his fingernails; he can’t stop somehow, doesn’t have the strength to do it, and the only rational thing the Copycat can think of is yelling at the worried boy outside to leave him alone.
There is guilt in his voice, he knows, and it’s impossible to hide even under the sobs and tears he lets out, but the truth is he doesn’t know what part of everything they have done he feels guilty of, but he just knows he is guilty. He knows he did things he’s not proud of, broke hearts he will never help heal; he knows he left a part of his humanity in every court he has ever step on, and that he is a monster, and no talent in the world, no good action, will take away the harm he has done, and maybe losing Aomine is how they pay.
“Kise, I’m gonna break the door if you don’t open”, Kagami says softly, trying not to scare him. He probably thinks he’s about to open his wrists too, he might be trying to remember if there is something sharp in the bathroom, or with his ear against the door, waiting for the mirror to break, but Ryouta only sobs, only cries his eyes out because he wishes he allowed himself to do it sooner, because this is horrible and he simply can’t believe this is happening.
Kagami’s body lashes against the door. Once. Twice. The lock breaks the third time, and hits the model on the leg when it opens. Kagami isn’t his friend, is no one’s friend except Kuroko’s, still he runs to him, sits on the floor and tries to calm him; calls his name carefully, but he won’t listen.
“Come on, stop it”, he tries grabbing him by the forearms, but he pushes him away. “Stop it, Kise, you’re hurting your face”, and all he gets is a painful cry, so loud it makes his head hurt. Once he starts screaming, yelling and crying loudly and desperately, he can’t stop.
He cries.
And cries.
And cries.
Even if he doesn’t know what part of all of it is making him do it.
He cries.
And yells.
And begs to be left alone.
But Kagami doesn’t leave, not even when they both see Kuroko standing on the hallway with his big, worried, teary eyes on them, confused, unsure of what to say. The taller teen just grabs him firmly by the wrists, pulling his hands off his face, begging him to stop, to calm down a little so they can talk; but Kise doesn’t want to talk, he wants to go insane, to let the pain out in a shameful way, so he kicks, over and over again, trying to force him to let go. He won’t stop fighting, he never does. If there is something he has always been proud of is how impossible it is to make him stop trying his hardest. Kise Ryouta never stops fighting. That’s why he is who he is as a model, as a basketball player, as a miracle.
“Kise”, he hears, Midorima’s voice rushing into the bathroom and pushing Kagami away with one hand. “Kise, breathe. For the fucking love of God, breathe”. Breathing meant a lot back in their last Teiko days, when he was barely keeping it together with small moments of ‘I might die of pain’ here and there; ‘breathing’ became one of the words he heard more coming out of the Shooter’s mouth, until he got tired of him and stopped coming when he called. It’s comforting hearing it again with the same tone, severe yet warm, hands on his shoulders and bright green eyes looking at him like there are still some of the boys they were inside them.
The sounds coming out of him are smaller and smaller as the King guides him through the panic attack, careful and gentle, giving almost imperceptible caresses on his neck and arms. There are no questions to be made, there is nothing to be said at all, so they sit in silence for a while, trying to recover their breaths.
“Excuse me”, Shintarou says, because of course he does, as he stands up.
The next thing he hears is his friends’ voices discussing something –him– in the living room.
“I left for less than 20 minutes”, Midorima exclaims, he can imagine him with his arms crossed and his eyes filled with something in between rage and concern. “20 minutes! You couldn’t kept an eye on him for 20 fucking minutes?” Kise can’t hear the answer to that, but he knows it’s Akashi. “No, no, no. Don’t talk like I’m asking for much! How is it possible that fucking Kagami was the one with him?”, silence, again. “HE LOCKED HIMSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND NONE OF YOU…God, Akashi, he could have hurt himself”.
Kise covers his ears, finally realising listening to this is a bad idea. He hates when his friends fight, let alone fight about something related to him; the blond teen has never been a fan of causing trouble –other than fighting with Aomine–, after all trouble can get you fired, can get you kicked out of the team or give you a black eye, which he can’t afford to have.
“Kise-kun”, Kuroko calls him from the door. “Kise-kun, come on. Let’s get you to bed”.
He obeys in silence and allows the shadow to hold his hand and guide him to Kagami’s bedroom. The discussion continues in the background, but he decides to ignore it for a while; he isn’t awake enough to deal with it.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know”, Tetsuya interrupts him. “I know, Kise-kun. You’re just nervous”.
“I usually control my nerves a little better”, he lets out a bitter laugh.
“No one blames you”, the shorter teen assures him. “They just need to blow off some steam, and God knows Midorima-kun won’t let it be with you”.
Aomine would, he thinks. In a way, it would make it feel better; his voice always makes him feel good, even when he’s being mean, even when he’s accusing him of something that was someone else’s fault. Aomine was always like that.
He lets himself fall on the bed, the dark room making him sleepy. Kuroko whispers something he doesn’t hear, but it doesn’t matter, nothing does anymore. The model closes his eyes and falls asleep. A small part of him begs to not wake up.
The Copycat does wake up, at 3 am; his face puffy from crying, head hurting like someone is hitting him with a hammer, and not totally sure about where he is and why he’s there.
Voices are still coming from the living room, with the fight long forgotten now the sounds are just part of sad conversations about the past, better times that most of them barely remember. The door is half open, letting in a soft, distant light that invites him to go out and join them, but he doesn’t move, he can’t; his body is too tired and ready to give up, something he would never say out loud to any of his friends.
He closes his eyes and pretends, only for a second, the voices are something other than what they are; laying there, he transforms them into a place he recognizes as a saturday during their second year in Murasakibara's house. He fell asleep, that he remembers, on the couch during movie night and Aomine carried him to bed, when he woke up, he could hear the laughter coming from the other room, the music and the joy in their voices; the talking non-stop about basketball and gossip. He pretends he’s there, inside that beautiful memory, until the steps get too close to the room.
“...you are doing?” He hears Kagami outside.
“I’m going to wake him up, Kagami-kun”, Kuroko answers, he can see their feet as shadows under the door. “He needs to eat”.
“He needs to sleep”, the taller teen shrugs, Kise guesses.
“Kise-kun has a very weird diet, as you can imagine considering his job, and our main concern now is that he eats what it’s given to him”, the Phantom player explains, “he will rest later. So, please, as much as I appreciate how much you care about him, remove yourself from the door”.
Kagami doesn’t fight it, nobody ever does when it comes to Kuroko. The once distant, soft light is now all around him, making him cover his eyes out with his forearm.
“Kise-kun”, the shorter teen calls him. “Kise-kun!”
“Mmh”, he growls as an answer.
“Murasakibara-kun heated up a meal for you”, Tetsuya informs him.
“Not hungry”.
“He’s not hungry, Kuroko, leave him alone”.
“I’m sure Kise-kun wouldn’t like to waste the meal you and Himuro-kun so kindly cooked for us. Right, Kise-kun?”
Nobody questions Kuroko, ever, and maybe it’s because they all feel guilty about the things they did that resulted in so much pain for him, or maybe it’s because Akashi is slightly scared of him, which makes the rest of them scared too. The answer is never clear but it doesn’t really matter, because he stands up either way, struggling to walk half-asleep, and do what he’s asked to do. He also knows Kagami doesn’t understand why, even if he’s a victim of the Kuroko effect too, for a very different reason, of course —they all know the guy is in love with him—.
Akashi smiles at him when he sees him get back to the living room, even when Ryouta looks like a ghost of his past self. There is a sweet smell in the air, fresh cookies and chocolate flying around them, carrying both hope and sadness in it.
The dirty dishes in the kitchen let him know everyone already ate, and the plate on the table tells him they expect him to do it too without complaining.
His relationship with food was a whole thing back in Teiko, when he ate so much less than he does now; Aomine never liked it, never understood what was the big deal with not being skinny, why the size of his jeans was a thing to worry about. He used to say the blond teen looked weird with his ribs showing a little under his muscular figure.
Aomine never approved anything he did when it came to his job.
Aomine was always very confused about it.
“Eat, Ryouta”, Akashi says behind him. “Tatsuya, Kazunari and Taiga worked very hard on that”.
“It would be impolite, as it should be perfectly obvious”, Midorima adds
“I will”, Kise answers shyly.
“Just eat what you can”, Himuro smiles, eyes falling on him like he just overstepped several lines.
Himuro is the prettiest boy he has ever seen. From his eyes to his figure, he is a magnetic force with the face of an angel, and if there is something he knows about is beauty. However, the guy has too much teeth for his liking —too brave for his own good. Too stubborn to know his place on the hierarchy the Miracles are—; he fails in something Takao has always understood: There are situations in which you don’t get to have an opinion.
Aomine, of course, would think it is hilarious. His sense of humour is a little twisted and cruel and the line between them it’s never really clear. Kise laughs for himself when he imagines Daiki’s voice whispering ‘the guy has a dead wish’ into his ear.
Kuroko sits next to him to make sure he eats, and at this point it would be dumb to keep fighting the situation, so he obeys and does it slowly, with his friend’s hand touching his shoulder.
“Is it good?” Kagami asks.
“It’s fantastic”, he admits.
“You are certainly talented, Kagami”, Akashi adds, “I’m sure Daiki will say the same”.
“Oh, he won’t”, the redhead smiles. “You wouldn’t be able to torture that out of him if you tried”.
“You think he’ll like the cookies, Aka-chin?”, Murasakibara asks, getting a little smile as an answer.
“I am more than sure he will”, he answers.
There is a forced sweetness in the air, a strange kind of support-group-like feeling he does not like at all, but he can’t say anything about that.
So he doesn’t, not when he finishes eating nor when they stumble their ways into bed —or the floor, for some of them—; he follows instructions in silence, walks when he’s asked to, talks only when speaking directly, and then, hours later, remains quiet when he hears Murasakibara crying from the bathroom.
The morning comes slowly and he can’t sleep, but doesn’t stand up either. Akashi is sleeping on the couch next to him and Himuro and Murasakibara, Midorima and Takao sleep together in the guest room, and Kuroko, Momoi and Kagami share the bed in the redhead’s room. There is nowhere to hide here, not locked doors —especially since the bathroom’s door is now destroyed—, nowhere he can go and be away from everyone else. The sound is nice, though; their snores and breathes and half-said words echoing around him like they’re at training camp again. He liked those, back in the day, when they spent the night talking and playing and singing like crazy. He wishes Aomine was there to hear this type of sound again too.
Midorima is the first to wake up —no one will blame Akashi for sleeping 10 minutes more—, as he goes out for a run early in the morning. Murasakibara, surprisingly, goes next and wakes up the Emperor when he moves things around in the kitchen.
“Ryouta, you can sleep on the couch now”, Akashi murmurs into his ear at some point, staying there until he finally moves.
He lies there, watching them, and it’s impossible not to notice how much in peace Akashi looks with the Titan, how they move in sync and how much in denial they both are for pretending the chemistry isn’t there. Atsushi passes his big hand through the other teen’s hair, touches his hand while passing next to him, how they whisper and giggle even when the world is falling apart. It’s incredibly sweet to see.
Kagami follows, saying something about Kuroko being exhausted and still sleeping; it must be uncomfortable to be there with only those two as company, so Kise decides to join them.
“When can we visit him, Akashicchi?”, the model asks, getting a little smile as an answer.
“Whenever we arrive”.