Chapter Text
The members of the Seirin high school basketball club didn’t entirely know what they expected of their first training camp with eccentric players like Kuroko and Kagami added to their lineup. If anything, they kept their expectations low because they knew that one or both would be separated a lot of the day, if Riko’s muttered plans were anything to go by.
What they had not considered, was learning more quirks about Kuroko and Midorima over the course of their stay at the beach. The two miracles had told their respective teams that they did not like each other, and their captains shared resigned looks as the teams realized they were stuck in this situation together. What were they meant to do with two of the more stubborn miracles, despite both being the most hardworking, in one place together?
It had been amusing at first, the way Kuroko’s bed head stuck in an untamable mess and the way Midorima shrieked despite being the one in the building who knew Kuroko the longest – or maybe something else had happened, but they could only make out Kuroko’s name at the end of the sentence and none of the five who entered the cafeteria would elaborate on what happened in the hallway.
Instead of separating, as the players thought the two pairs would do, both teams were surprised to watch the tired Teiko graduates settle side by side in an empty table between the schools.
“Your bed head is still terrible, Kuroko. You will need to fix it before you start training.”
An unusual sentence to the shooting guard. In the past, he simply helped Kuroko fix it or Akashi would not have let them onto the court, but the familiar action had no place between them today. They belonged to different schools and he would not be affected by the phantom’s unruly appearance.
“Ah, sorry, Midorim-kun. I know it’s distracting, but I forgot my brush. I was hoping to ask Kagami-kun if he would be willing to share.”
Before the giant red head could respond, Midorima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and decided to at least offer an alternative solution. It would give him some use out of a personal mistake, after all.
“There will be no need. I happened to accidentally pack two hair brushes this trip. You may use the other one.”
Everyone perked at the statement. Midorima what? How does one accidentally pack two hair brushes? The Shuutoku shooter turned his head away, trying to ignore all the stares as Takao started to chuckle, no doubt realizing what happened before Kuroko spoke.
“Ah, thank you, Midorima-kun. Old habits are difficult to break, but your preparedness has saved me once again. May I ask – does this mean you brought your usual three bags to camp with Shuutoku?”
The green haired miracle sniffed and stiffened. Of course, Kuroko would take the chance to ask if he packed for the other miracles as well. He hadn’t meant to bring the bag, honestly, but he had already packed it out of habit and brought it with him before he could remember that none of his ex-teammates would be there for once. The taller student lowered his head and nodded, almost like a scolded child.
“… I think Akashi-kun would be rather touched if he heard that.”
Silence settled over the cafeteria as the two miracles descended into quiet at the statement. It wasn’t until Takao and Kagami reminded the duo that they were there to eat that the spell of silence broke. No one was shocked the second time the two sat together, though it was strange to see the two stiff teens eat together and exchange small pleasantries regarding each other’s families and hobbies.
“Do you still play the piano?”
“Yes, are you still practicing origami?”
“Not as much, I have been working on my magic tricks again.”
When the teams finished and Kuroko followed Midorima to the Shuutoku rooms, Takao and Kagami couldn’t help but follow. Some of the Seirin and Shuutoku regulars also couldn’t help but follow with the strange interactions that they were seeing between the two formal first years.
It irked Midorima. Couldn’t he prepare so that his team played at their best? What was so wrong with that? Until he remembered, once again, that Kuroko was not his teammate despite how easily the six fell into their team dynamics when found together. None of them had gotten along easily and the five had split willingly, but their friendships revolved around these understanding differences and basketball.
The team members following the unusual pair gawked when Midorima selected the suitcase with the miracle items – the largest of the three – and had to pull out several items before finding the light blue hairbrush he had specifically bought the aquarius when first learning of his semi-forgetful nature.
Out came several boxes of granola bars (for when Murasakibara was cut off by the coach and became grumpy), a tube of name brand skin cream (Kise never packed enough and panicked when he ran out), training menu copies (in case Akashi needed to review previous data and Midorima was the vice-captain so he had to do something), and a pair of weights (because if Aomine complained of being bored while Kuroko needed rest, he could get his boredom out by turning his arms into lead). There were even some products for Momoi, ranging from air freshener (for complaining of the smell when all six were still too tired to shower yet) to mace (because Momoi insisted on making store trips while the six were occupied and none of them wanted her to be without protection).
“Ah, here you go, Kuroko. Just do as you usually do.”
With a nod, the phantom thanked the taller miracle, before turning and dispersing the small crowd by heading to fix the unruly hair.
Each day followed a similar pattern from there. One or the other would do or not do something that led to the two teams learning more strange and personal facts about both. If there was any question as to whether the two had actually been friends before high school, there was none anymore.
“Kuroko, you have to eat your vegetables. I swear, you’re as picky as Murasakibara.”
“Be quiet, Midorima-kun. We could have this discussion again when there are green beans on your plate.”
“Midorima-kun. You can practice after you bathe, or do you want to smell like Aomine-kun?”
“Kuroko, I don’t want to hear that from the one who spent several minutes vomiting in the middle of practice.”
“Kuroko, I went to the vending machine. Here. They had your favorite sports drink.”
“Ah, thank you, Midorima-kun. I got you a fresh towel since you left.”
“Midorima-kun, you left your phone outside. What would you have done if your mother tried to call?”
“I’ll endeavor not to leave it again, Kuroko. Have you remembered to call your grandmother for the night, yet?”
With as much as the two said, they showed twice as much begrudging care in their actions.
When Kuroko inevitably trained so hard that he threw up, Midorima was unfazed in midst of the panic of the teams. If anything, his face portrayed more exasperation as he walked over to his bag and pulled out a spare water bottle, crackers, and a bottle of medicine… from his own bag.
When the practice teams got frustrated with Midorima’s blunt advice – heavily meant to be helpful, it just never sounded right when he phrased it like the subpar performances were the fate of the stars – Kuroko would intervene and translate before even Takao could react.
When practice was over and Kuroko lied on the ground, exhausted, and his teammates could not find him because he had honestly been too nauseous to run drills or practice matches the last fifteen minutes, Midorima would bring Kuroko’s items over to him and prop the boy against the wall (because at least then he wasn’t spread out in such an undignified manner).
They checked on each other when one had to take a call, they made sure the other ate all the food on their plate (and a healthy balance at that), and they helped push each other and their teams to practice harder than either miracle had been able to for months.
It was almost pleasant to the rest of the high school teams. Kuroko couldn’t exactly terrify anyone when Midorima was around because it was like every one of the miracles had near sixth senses for the boy. Midorima reigned in his selfish requests because Kuroko would always appear to remind the shooter that he was being difficult. It didn’t stop the occasional argument, but having the two together made them less imposingly strange miracles and more quirky, awkward teenagers.
On the morning of Seirin’s last day at the lodge, Kuroko returned the brush that started the strange back and forth their teams watched with curiosity. Takao leaned over his part of the table and towards the miracles.
“As fun as watching all of this has been, are you two sure you’re part of different teams now? This week has been hilarious, though, seeing everyone’s faces – I’ll be sure to use some of the info I’ve learned about Shin-chan, Tet-chan.”
“Don’t call Kuroko so formally, Takao.”
“Eh? But you don’t use honorifics with him, I don’t see what’s wrong with me calling him Tet-chan.”
“Because, Takao-kun, it uses my first name instead of my last name. But I do not mind, Midorima-kun. It’s nothing like Kise-kun’s nicknames.”
The two miracles shared an agreeable(?) silence as they commiserated over their shared memories of the excessive blonde. In typical Kuroko fashion, it was the phantom who broke the silence first.
“I think you have a good team, Midorima-kun. They’re strong and you’ve already learned a lot from each of them.”
Midorima sniffed while Shuutoku regarded the phantom in slight shock. Were they getting approval from the phantom? They didn’t necessarily need it, but it did make each member straighten their backs at the hidden praise from someone who knew how difficult the shooting guard could be.
“Of course, they do. Shuutoku was the perfect choice for me.”
Kuroko turned his own head to the side and gave a soft snort, which the teams had learned was the phantom laughing.
“Seirin is good for you.”
Everyone perked at the admission from the green haired player.
“I did not choose poorly for myself, either, Midorima-kun.”
The taller player followed a similar snorting laughter pattern as the phantom before he continued.
“I suppose you did not, Kuroko. You already showed in our previous match that you would stop them from following a similar path than we did, even with force. Do let me know if they need the reminder again.”
Takao slumped from his perch.
“You couldn’t just say ‘I hope they take care of you’? You had to turn a heart felt goodbye into a threat?”
Both miracles wrinkled their noses at the point guard in front of them. One with a look of derision and one with a blank face that sparkled with amusement.
“I don’t think this is really goodbye, Takao-kun.”
Midorima nodded as both bumped shoulders, trying to make it look like a mere loss of balance, but everyone knew it was otherwise.
“We’ll see each other later.”