Asymptote

Asymptote.

Kuroko had never been good at math. Average, sure, but never particularly good.

And yet, that word wouldn’t leave his head since the math lesson that had just ended. The ballpoint pen twirled between the fingers of his right hand as the word echoed in his mind like the chorus of a summer hit.

Asymptote.

The classroom was empty; he was the last one left, unable to take a single step out of the room, paralyzed by the weight of his own deafening thoughts.

Asymptote.

Asymptote.

His relationship with Kagami had been an asymptote. That was an appropriate way to describe it, wasn’t it?

It had started slowly; at first, they hadn’t even liked each other much. He had been interested only in Taiga’s strength, wanting to use it against the Generation of Miracles, while Kagami, in turn, had seen him as just a strange kid—weak and fragile, unworthy of his attention. A tepid beginning, a curve lazily inching toward the limit.

Day by day, they had become partners on the basketball court, teammates who could rely on one another as if their lives depended on each other’s. The curve picked up a little speed, but still, nothing too impressive.

Then they had become friends, spending more and more time together outside of practice. They talked, joked, studied strategies to use on the court, and then laughed and laughed and lived. Now it was starting to get interesting, wasn’t it? The limit was getting closer.

And then the confession. Of course, it had been Tetsuya who had mustered the courage to confess his feelings to Taiga, because the latter had always been both too pure and too clumsy to connect with his emotions enough to realize he had been hopelessly in love with Kuroko for months.

The first kiss, the first date, followed by a thousand other kisses and a thousand other dates.

Their first time.

Now the curve was racing forward, fast and relentless, toward the limit, toward a “Happy Ending.”

But here’s where things had started to get dangerous.

Too fast, too much. Almost unbearable.

A frantic rhythm, a constant blur of moments where they were two and moments where they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

And then.

Then…

The first fight.

The fear of being discovered, because many would never understand.

Stealing moments of tenderness hidden from the entire world.

And so, the race had begun to decelerate.

That alone should have been more than enough of a red flag about how it would end, how an asymptote never— never! —reached its endpoint.

Now the curve had started moving again in such a tediously sluggish way that Tetsuya had struggled to distinguish the end of one day from the start of the next.

And then the phone call, just before the game against Jabberwock.

America wanted him back. The NBA awaited Kagami with open arms, and who was he to claim him for himself? To kill the other’s ambitions, to call him his, to clip his wings and cut the strings that held him up?

And so he had let him go.

The curve kept moving, but it wasn’t getting any closer to the limit; it never would again.

Asymptote.

He shook his head, forcing himself to return to reality, because retracing the steps of a relationship long over was pure self-torment, especially so soon after the end of everything—it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since the other had left.

He took a deep breath and stopped twirling the pen between his fingers. Classes were over, but he still couldn’t find the courage to head to the locker room, change, and start practicing with the rest of the team. The mere thought of it left him gasping for air. How could he ever practice basketball again when being Taiga’s shadow on the court had become more natural than breathing? How could he, now that he knew they would never again share the court?

For a moment, he lost his breath, and his fingers gripped the desk so tightly that his fingertips turned pale from the strain.

Slowly, only when he was sure he could breathe again, he let go, discovering he felt a deep sense of nausea.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t.

He stood up and began walking toward the school’s exit, wanting only to go home, lock himself in his room, listen to depressing music, and cry.

Tetsuya’s feet carried him slowly down the hallways, his mind barely registering the path he took.

He found himself outside without a clear memory of how he had gotten there and took a deep breath of late-summer air as the sun kissed his skin.

When was the last time he had taken the chance to bask in these sensations, when he usually couldn’t wait to run to the gym and practice until sunset?

He felt the warmth of the sun, and it was a pleasant feeling—it almost reminded him of Taiga’s hands, always so warm.

At the same time, his stomach churned, because that sensation reminded him too much of something he would never have again. And because, the closer he got to the school’s main gate, the more he felt like a coward.

What was he going to do? Skip every practice from now on? Quit the team?

He shook his head slowly, without much conviction—partly because his resolve was too weak and partly because he felt physically drained.

He placed a hand on the metal gate, tracing its edges with his fingers and finding it colder to the touch than he had expected.

What to do? Cross it and be a coward? Turn back, apologize for being late, and move on with his life?

Deep down, he already knew the answer. So he withdrew his hand and ran back the way he came.

Their relationship might have been an asymptote, but that simply meant they would never have their happy ending—not that their lives had stopped rushing forward.

They were an asymptote, but they kept moving.