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*Hyperion: world's tallest tree, measuring a staggering 115.7 m ( 379.7 ft).
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Kagami Taiga is dead.
It was safe to say that nothing would ever be the same when news of the sixteen-year old basketball star ascent to Heaven hit his ears. It was terribly hard to grasp onto such affrighted words, placed together almost painstakingly so, causing a chilling ache to swell, astronomically so, inside of him, especially when all of the circumstances are taking into consideration.
And even harder still when that person was one he had taken such a life-changing interest in. An interest that, with hardly any warning, came tumbling like a cataclysmic avalanche.
An interest that, without any real purpose, prospered, rising to unimaginable heights that compete with that of *Hyperion.
An interest that, when truly taking into thought, went beyond that of normalcy and bordered into that which is wholeheartedly unexplainable, distorted and fragmented and yet so clear like summer skies.
This interest, reaching its ultimate fruition, came into the vicinity whose protocols stem from care and hope, need and want, and the ever known presence of unyielding love.
And why, why did he have to fall in love with such an idiot, go for someone people kept comparing him to, even in the smallest of details. He loved himself but he didn't think he loved himself. But he guesses that none of that matters anymore, no, it doesn't...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
His head is smothered in choking flames and his heart is mutilating itself at practice but he still attempts to do what is needed of him.
The only female in the room eyes lock onto his and he can't stand it, that look, open pity and mind-numbing sympathy. He wants to puke. He wants to disappear. He wants to crawl into the deepest part of himself and forget, forget everything.
He refuses to make eye contact afterwards and stills tries to shrug it off but it is obvious when he stutters to a stop in a middle of a play, when he freezes as the ball is passed to him, when his eyes barrel out of focus as he shoots...and that's only if he is able to hold the ball, which is at its absolute bare minimum; he can barely process just having the orange globe pressing against his skin without flinching.
Everything about it is a constant reminder of what isn't, the worst of them all being its color. So bright, practically glowing, like the look in his eyes when he's all into the game, in the zone, carefree and absolutely elated, those eyes, neon orbs of life and love, those eyes that he'll never see shine again.
Everyone takes notice and truly they do try their best to help, to do something, anything to get their ace to a better, healthier, state of mind - one that's not shattered and trying to heal itself with futile results. It is done out of compassion, with unselfish reasoning, but he lashes out at them all the same. Broken words screaming - crying -, cursing - dying -, foolishly retaliating without end.
Because he doesn't lIke how they're treating him. Because he doesn't like knowing that nothing can stop it, nothing can remove the torment festering in his soul because the one person he didn't even know he needed, the one person he never expected to care for, his light, his first love, that of which is greater than all else, is fucking gone! Gone and never coming back, no one can...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
There is no comfort in the little activities he's used to doing because those same little moments are ones once shared, a slow sedate pace at first, as seldom sometimes turn into habitual always.
Passing the court by his place is the source of the shivers traveling up his spine, rattling him to his core, threatening to break every bone in his body.
So he runs, runs from the stupid court, runs from those fucked up feelings, runs, as far as he can, as hard as he can, as much as he can.
Runs from the befores and the what ifs because there are only no mores. He'll run and he'll fail...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
He doesn't go to the casket viewing. The reason is simple...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
Kuroko calls him at some point, informing him of the time and place of the event he's been dreading. It is a request that he brings or wears something of red. "It is...it was his favorite color," Kuroko had explained, voice chipping on ends, trying to hold it all in one piece. There is no response to this, just the clattering sound of his phone slipping from his hand.
No response, just the silent formation of tears that come in a dawdling trickle before cascading down his cheeks on flooded waves of hate and regret and sorrow and fear and heartache and disembodiment, wrapped in a throbbing sensation of complete and utter misery.
No response, just the harrowing cradle of his head in shaking palms before the pain lulls him into a slumber.
And what are dreams anymore, just those things that exist only in fairy tales or, at best, a night time hallucination. There is no longer a definition of dream in him nor does he have the chance of finding one. There is only a bleak forever unfinished despondency, a sky with no stars left to surround him in this isolated desolation where he can't even escape and pretend this is all some kind of spasmodic elaborate delusion. He can't dream...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
He goes through the funeral without looking at anyone. He's standing besides Kuroko and is up in front with all the beloved family members and friends. He hears people crying and knows at least two of them are Momoi and Riko but he can't take it upon himself to care. The speaker preaches about life-everlasting and the fire that he'll keep burning in all their souls so long they live; preaches and words of reassurance and love that fall on deaf ears. Too busy, mentality occupied with what lies within in his hands, in front of his face, to be known for all but meant just for him.
The funeral program holds an image of the two of them, arms clinging, wrapped around each other, grinning, sweaty, and tired, after a game, with a written statement by Kuroko taken from their position, once hidden in that inner plain of solidarity, secretsy and trust.
"He wanted you to know that he loves you and was waiting for the right time to tell you".
It is his first time knowing of these feelings; it is a crushing, crumbling, splitting, tearing, burning, an evermore fracturing confirmation on his soul. A perpetual pain, a forever open wound he cannot endure...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
He rides with the family during the funeral proceeding, eyes never losing focus on that picture, on those words.
His family is silent, grieving to themselves with such tragedy. He knows he should say something, anything because it's the right thing to do, because it will help them all, because if someone like him, someone who was so important to the deceased, can have some kind of closure, then maybe, just maybe there'll be hope.
But he can't bring himself to do so, if he were to open his mouth, those words, whatever words he would try to combine and construct in an attempt at forming some kind optimistic assurance, will rise in his throat and die on his tongue, because what is there to say when they all already know? It is obvious at how flawed he'd be, how fraudulent he'd sound, an imitation of himself, it's obvious...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
His mother, destroyed by the passing of her child, clouded mind to what is right in front of her, asks of him to say a just few words as they're about lower the casket. The nearly inaudible creaks of the pulleys pound against his ears like rockets shooting off beside him. The feeling engulfing him so surreal because this is real, this is it, and he's never coming back.
He opens his mouth, chapped lips and dry tongue struggle to put something together, something, something, something.
"I love him too." It is said without past tense, uttered in remembrance. This is all he can say because it is all he can think about, all he can hold onto, that statement is all he has...
Because Kagami Taiga is dead.
Pale eyes look upon their friend with a storm of emotions. How long have they been there, kneeling at the freshly done grave. Rugged fingers tip-toeing along the smooth stone in a monotonous manner. Slow creeping, as if it's settling in his gut for the first and final time. Kuroko tries to make his steps even and his stride slow, physically mourning by such simple movements because he is, he too is hurt by such events. He lost one of the closest friends he's ever had.
Standing behind the power forward, he stays silent as he watches the fingers make their roundabout on the stone's lettering. The funeral ended over nine hours ago. It went dark two hours back.
It takes another hour before he can speak.
"It's going to rain."
"I don't care."
Voice dull like an overused knife.
"I don't want you to get sick."
"I don't care."
Voice blank like a new canvas.
"I...I'm sorry, I know it hurts."
"...."
Silent, like the vast aperture of space.
The fingers stop, pads falling into the craved letter "K", as they turn to the fair-haired child, the only one he has made an effort to even look at for the past week.
His eyes are blackened by loss.
His face paled by grief but empty, vacant, like his soul.
Kuroko heart squeezes in his chest; he can barely stand it, seeing him like this, knowing such a kindred spirit has been destroyed. But he knows, better than anyone else that there is nothing he can do. Because without the other here to push him, without the other here to make him stronger, to show him sights he's never seen before, to be here with him in that special way only the two of them could create, without him here to love him so unconditionally...he can't be, he just can't, he's not him and he never will be again.
Because without Aomine Daiki, a victim of a drunken hit and run accident, Kagami Taiga is dead.