Chapter Text
It probably started with eggs over rice mixed with shoyu dashed on top. That is, until weeks later, his brother complained about eating raw eggs, so Shuuzou tossed the bowl in the trash and started over.
He uses his laptop more for cooking than for school. Those blogs updated by those stay at home moms are now his new best friends. He browses it during homeroom period, taking mental notes on what to eat for the next meal.
His classmates have caught him bookmarking an easy recipe for spaghetti once.
“What are you making now, mom?” one asked, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Shuuzou shrugs it off, flicks him in the face.
“Fuck off.”
Over time, Shuuzou adds recipe by recipe to his repertoire.
One night, he feels ambitious. Shuuzou decides to make a fusion of curry and hamburg; it recommends milk. He doesn’t have milk since Hiro drank the last drop, from the lip of the carton like an uncouth brat.
Shuuzou uses water instead.
It ends up tasting just how it should be.
“Shuuzou, I’m sorry, I’ll be back late today too, can you make dinner for your brother and sister when you get home?”
“It’s okay, I understand,” he says, studying his basketball shoes and kicking rocks against the wall. “How’s dad?”
“He’s doing better, he’s still on antibiotics but…”
“Captain!” a distant voice says. A frantic club member runs up from the side. It’s probably Haizaki again, probably provoking like he always does.
“I have to go. I’ll take care of things at home, so make sure dad eats all his medicine. I’ll see you later.”
Shuuzou has a clipboard that is thick with student information. There are over a hundred members in the club. That’s more than two hundred sheets. It’s thick, and sectioned into three clipboards.
During the first week of school, Shuuzou spends lunchtime memorizing everyone’s name in the first and second string.
Not many of them make the cut. They drop out mid-month.
Akashi takes care of the third string though, and he is always keen on recommending members that are ready to advance.
With conviction, Akashi says Kuroko Tetsuya.
He doubts him at first, but says All right.
Captain and vice captain often sit at the forefront of their growing army. Near the stage. they pick and choose their nominations.
“You’re not focused today,” Akashi says suddenly. Shuuzou blinks, and he remembers Akashi is there beside him.
Shuuzou clears his voice. “No, I’m just. Thinking.”
“I see,” Akashi says; he doesn’t look convinced, but there’s nothing Shuuzou owes him. “Well, I believe Takayuki Souichiro’s performance has declined in the last three weeks, I’ve heard that he’s skipped practice several times.”
Shuuzou drinks from his bottled water. “Hm, I’ll talk to him.”
Then, he says: “If he continues to slack, move Kinoshita up to the second string starting next week.”
“Understood.”
After practice, he keeps Takayuki back as everyone leaves. The second year is unsettled; he knows why Shuuzou is leveling a blank stare at him.
“I don’t see what’s wrong, it’s not like we get to play in the official games anyways,” Takayuki scoffs before Shuuzou can say anything.
“You’re right,” Shuuzou agrees. Official games are meant for the first string; this guy is far from competing anywhere near their level. “Doesn’t mean you can slack off.”
Takayuki curses under his breath. It reminds Shuuzou of Haizaki. And if this was Haizaki, a quick punch to his crown would set him straight.
But this is not Haizaki.
This is not someone with talent.
Teikou does not take anyone less than a soldier.
“Look, I’m sure you hear me say it all the time, but if you wanna stay here, you work for it.”
Shuuzou strides to the door, following the lines of the light filtered from the high ceiling. “If not, you’ll start next week in the third gym.”
He lets the door close behind him, cutting off a fucking bast— in the making.
Next week, Takayuki hands his resignation papers. Shuuzou says nothing, the core team is unharmed. His dad’s cold gets better.
That’s all that mattered anyways.
A recipe online suggests using eggplants, but he knows there’s a sack of potatoes on the counter. Shuuzou reasons that baked potatoes have the same edible value as eggplant.
Eggplants for potatoes.
Kouko dissects it by stabbing her chopsticks straight through the middle, sticking up from the mound of rice. He flicks her lightly on the forehead—because you only do that when you’re praying to the dead. So stop it.
At the end of dinner, there are more mashed potatoes than trash in the bin. Shuuzou has much to learn, it seems.
“Nijimura, was there any reason for you to be sleeping in class?”
“I was studying for my history test last night,” he lies, arms stiffly tucked behind his back. He’s rehearsed this a million times last year when his hair was shimmering gold, and a few times now since it’s returned black.
His teacher rocks back in his reclining chair and taps his roster. Shuuzou doesn’t lie often, but he can’t admit to finishing homework at three in the morning.
“You’re the basketball captain, aren’t you? You’re to be an exemplary model for your underclassmen. This kind of behavior is inexcusable. You had a questionable track record last year; what kind of parents do you ha—”
He bows, torso almost parallel to the floor. Shuuzou frowns, voice carefully still. “I’m very sorry. I’ll be careful it doesn’t happen again.”
Perfume, pinned hair, light shade of lipstick, his mother stands in front of the mirror trying to recognize herself so she can fix her blouse.
Behind her, Shuuzou flips through his math homework and scowls at the set up: #1 comprises of 5 equations.
Problems within problems.
“You’re fine. Go, before you miss the train.”
She’s nervous: smoothing her skirt down, and mumbling phrases of business Japanese to herself.
It is very nice to meet you, may I ask you to give me the opportunity, I would really love to expand my business skills because the last she’s learned them was twenty-some years ago in high school.
“Right,” his mother says and picks up her briefcase. She walks toward the door to what would be the 10th interview that month. “I’ll be home late.”
“Be careful,” Shuuzou says and means it. “I’ll make sure the two babies get their homework done.”
She opens her mouth, Shuuzou doesn’t even need to look at her, “And I’ll have them sleep by eleven, I got it. You’ll be late.”
“Then, I’ll be going now,” she says sheepishly, and leaves.
“Dad, can you sit up a bit, I’m gonna change your pillow.”
“It’s about time,” he says, breathily. Shuuzou waits as he feels his dad’s hand, feeble, grip his arm and lean close to him. “The nurses don’t come by a lot; it was starting to stink.”
“That must suck,” Shuuzou says. There are so many pillows on the hospital bed, most of them brought from home.
It’s the most chaotic assemble he’s ever seen. Shuuzou holds a pillow case that is polka dots, pink and mint green. It’s Kouko’s favorite.
“How’s school so far?”
Shuuzou unfolds another pillowcase for another pillow—square, bland. This one is from his bed set, gray stripes and white circles. “Well, I’m not blonde anymore.”
“Son, I may be sick but I’m not blind.”
For the first time that day, Shuuzou cracks a near-smile. “No, I mean—I don’t get into trouble anymore. School’s great. I’m the captain of the team now.”
“You? A captain?” His dad’s laugh is punctuated with deep coughs.
Shuuzou waits.
“Hard to believe, huh?”
Pillowcases changed, Shuuzou folds them up and throws them in the bag. He’ll have it washed and brought back a week later.
“I’m proud. You’re good as a captain,” his dad says, eyes closing. He’s tired. Shuuzou was barely there for five minutes.
Visit, wash, dry. Rinse, repeat.
Closed doors, stack of papers of resignation.
He doesn’t say anything but Shuuzou hears him breathe. A soft sigh, slow, through his nose.
Pen scratching; Akashi separates papers into stacks. He doesn’t say anything.
Akashi sits with his back straight, his eyes downcast as he reads; he divides them between the useless and the useful—for persuasion.
Shuuzou listens. The clock ticks, the hand flickers to five. Just a few more days until the weekend, he thinks.
A few more practices.
A few more visits.
The team. The family. The hospital.
Juggling, like a clown with torches.
Shuuzou reads.
It’s almost a carbon copy of applications but the other side of the coin.
Name: Kinomoto Akihiro
Class: 2-D
Reason for quitting:
Useless. Kinomoto only joined to impress, but impressed no one; it was the fifth-month mark and he had gone nowhere.
Shuuzou cards the paper to the left.
“Hey, mom, what’s for dinner today?” his classmate laughs—fuck off, shut up.
Name: Shun Kenji
Class: 1-B
Reason for quitting:
Useless. Shun spent more times in the arcades than at practice. Talentless despite Teikou’s harsh training.
Shuuzou tosses the paper to the left.
“Shuu, I’m hungry,” Hiro complained—I know, I know. Let me finish this question first.
A throb in the base of his neck; it’s been there for a while. Shuuzou squeezes his eyes, fingers pinching between his temples.
Shuuzou, take care of your
This kind of behavior is inexcusable
How’s school
He opens his eyes again; reading continues.
Name: Nijimura Shuuzou
Class: 2-A
Reason for quitting: so fucking tired
“Nijimura-san.”
The pen stops scratching; Akashi looks up from his papers and his stacks. He doesn’t say anything.
Shuuzou blinks again.
It’s a different name, a different class, the last line remains blank.
“I’m all right,” Shuuzou says, curtly, frown setting in.
Akashi considers him carefully; he doesn’t look convinced, but there’s nothing Shuuzou owes him. “I didn’t ask if you were.”
Shuuzou’s lips quirk, what a cheeky kid. “Good, because that’s none of your business.”
Akashi looks at him, there’s something welling up in him, words perhaps. His lips are gently opened. A dip in his brow—but he decides against it.
Pen scratching; Akashi doesn’t say anything.
“Nijimura. It’s your dad,” his coach says during practice, but Shuuzou knows what that means.
Squeaking shoes and the net swishing become a distant sound in his ears. He nearly stumbles. “I’ll—” Shuuzou says, mouth numb, pushing past the coach to the locker rooms. “excuse myself for today.”
His calves burn as he bikes, to the station. He shoves it carelessly into the parking rack and almost forgets to lock and take his keys.
The Yamamote line comes nearly every five minutes, and he waits.
“He fell, the tubes detached,” his mother says, voice shaky over the phone. “They didn’t notice until it was critical, but it’s okay, it’s okay— the doctors say he will be all right.”
And waits, and waits.
The after work hours are the busiest on the train, he’s shoved in and shoved out by the crowds.
It’s dark when he arrives, unchanged from his basketball clothes, bag slung over his shoulders. He’s heaving, there never was much air in the first place, was there?
“They’re hungry,” his mother explains with Hiro and Kouko near her arms. She wears no makeup, the dark rings under her eyes are even more prominent. “We’re going to the cafeteria.”
“I’ll—wait here,” Shuuzou says, sinking into a seat on the bench.
Exhaustion, relief.
He sits there, burying his face into his hands and he breathes. One, two, three, four—breathe. Hold—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
Breathe.
He hears a tap at the far end of the hall, and he lets go of his breath. Akashi stands there, Nijimura’s book bag hangs from his shoulder next to his.
He shouldn’t be surprised considering how he only grabbed his duffel bag.
“You didn’t have to bring that to me,” Shuuzou says, voice quiet. Akashi is in his uniform, crisp and wrinkle-free.
“Coach was worried,” Akashi says, and takes Shuuzou’s wordless invitation to sit beside him.
I was worried, Shuuzou hears him not say.
Thinking back, only Akashi paused to look when the coach called Shuuzou over. With one look, Akashi knew.
And isn’t that frightening.
Shuuzou dips his head, lets out a long sigh.
Akashi waits, quietly.
He doesn’t need comfort. He hates pity. Shuuzou knows he can’t say it’ll be all right when sometimes it isn’t.
“Just this once and then forget about it,” Shuuzou mumbles, leaning down until his head rests against Akashi’s shoulder. It’s small, almost fragile but the weight Akashi carries surpasses his.
Shuuzou breathes, it rattles his rib cage.
He feels a hand rest on the nape of his neck, gentle fingers carding through his hair. His touch is firm, alleviating.
“This never happened.”
“It hasn’t been officially decided yet,” Akashi says, face impassive, voice even blanker. It’s night, close to six. Shuuzou resists flicking him in the forehead then and there.
“It’s already been decided, you heard it,” he says. “…Does it make you uncomfortable?”
A beat passes, Akashi blinks slowly. The shadow crosses over his eyes. “…No, I’m just a little worried about Nijimura-san.”
There’s nothing for you to worry about, he doesn’t say. Instead, Shuuzou laughs. “I thought so.”
And he turns, Akashi is far behind him, watching.
Shuuzou walks down the corridor.
Away from basketball, to the homework he’s left unfinished on his desk, and into the kitchen where his mother once was
“It’s in your hands now, Captain. I’m counting on you.”
with an apron, he takes out from the fridge, ingredients for tonight’s curry.
This is just how things are.
Milk instead of water.