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Takashi doesn’t like talking about his past.
Mostly it’s just filled with painful memories, hope torn away and cruel words and fists thrown at him. His friends, Tanuma and Taki and now Nishimura and Kitamoto, they know the most damning of his secrets. They know the hurt he’d endured, the things he can see.
But there’s one more secret that Takashi holds close to his chest. He can’t talk about it. It still hurts too bad, even three years after the event that splintered them all apart. Takashi was barely there for a year. He’d gotten lucky; when the relatives he’d been staying with reached their limit, the cousins he was passed on to lived in the area, allowing him to stay at that school. Looking back, he almost wishes that he had moved far away and was unable to finish the year. But that’s not how it worked out, so all he can do is hold these memories close and try to forget about them at the same time.
But sometimes, circumstances force those memories to the forefront of his mind. Like this: Nishimura, lighting gripping Takashi’s wrists and looking at him with a pleading expression.
“We can play a two-on-two with you,” Nishimura explains eagerly. “Me and you verse Atsushi and Tanuma!”
Takashi has long since grown past the habit of flinching at familiar names, but here, on a court, with the promise of the ball calling to him like a siren’s song, he can’t fully hide the wince. Nishimura catches it, of course, because he’s always been observant in a way that makes Takashi feel like he’s an onion being peeled. He doesn’t say anything, though. He doesn’t press.
“I’m really no fun to play with,” Takashi says quietly. And he’s not. He’s not a shadow, he’s not a light, but he’s got his own style of playing. He doesn’t like it very much. Not anymore.
“That’s not the point, though!” Nishimura drops Takashi’s hands, and Takashi has only a moment to mourn the loss of the warmth before hands are gripping his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if you suck. We’re not playing to win, we’re playing ‘cause it’s fun!”
“Not…playing to win?” Takashi repeats. “Yes, but…” He feels lost. He’d been somewhat better adjusted than the others, but the motto had been drilled into him as hard as everyone on the team, even if he wasn’t strictly a part of the team. Oh, they’ll protest, call him one of their own, but he was less in their group than even the shadow was.
Nishimura frowns. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s your choice.”
Takashi wants to say no. They don’t deserve the brutality of his playstyle. But…
“I’ll play.”
Nishimura whoops. Kitamoto grins widely, bouncing the ball a few times.
“Alright! First to ten?” he asks, hooking an arm through Tanuma’s. Taki giggles, off to the side and holding sensei.
“Sounds good,” Tanuma agrees. He’s smiling too. They’re all smiling. A deep pit of guilt opens up in Takashi’s stomach.
They get into position. Taki calls out for them to start. Takashi bolts, swiping the ball and dribbling around Kitamoto to reach the hoop. He slams the ball down, the echo of the bounce filling his mind. Squeaky shoes and calls of encouragement and insults thrown across the court flash across his vision and he blinks. He’s not sure how he looks. Blank? Detached? Apathetic, maybe. It never got as bad for him as some of the others, but he was still impacted.
Nishimura’s shout is what jolts him out of his reverie. “Holy crap, dude! That was incredible!”
“It really was,” Kitamoto says, his eyes wide with awe. “I didn’t know you could shoot like that.”
Tanuma knocks a shoulder against Takashi’s in a silent agreement. Taki cheers from the sidelines. And then a voice, one that Takashi hasn’t heard since middle school besides his nightmares, coolly says,
“Sloppy.”
Takashi stiffens, ice freezing his veins. Nishimura spins on his heel, glaring.
“Excuse you?” he snaps. “Who the hell asked for your opinion, asshole?”
“Satchan,” Kitamoto sighs, but other than that, he stands stony-faced behind Takashi.
“You should stay out of others’ business,” Akashi-kun says. Takashi finally turns around, flinching at the sight of those too-familiar eyes. He's seen the broadcasting of the Winter Cup, and he has Tetsu-kun’s texts and pictures, but seeing two red pupils instead of a yellow one…it’s more than a little reassuring. It’s the people he’s with that surprises him the most, though.
“You should take your own advice,” Takashi says quietly. He steps in front of Nishimura and tilts his head at his former captain. “Akashi-kun.”
There’s a flicker of a frown that passes Akashi-kun’s face, but Daiki cuts in first.
“Yo, Takashi,” he greets, messing with Takashi’s hair. Takashi steps out from under him and shoots him a glare. “Been a minute.”
“Yes,” Takashi agrees. “Hello, Dai-kun. Has Tetsu-kun gotten through to you?”
Daiki raises an eyebrow. “How’d you know?”
“We kept in touch,” Tetsu-kun says, his blue hair popping up next to Takashi. Nishimura swears, Kitamoto yelps, and Tanuma flinches at the sudden appearance. Takashi smiles.
“Tetsu-kun,” he says.
“Hello, Takashi-kun,” Tetsu-kun replies, smiling back. “Don’t be too hard on them, okay? They’ve changed.”
Takashi dips his head in acknowledgement and lets his gaze sweep over the rest of the new arrivals. There are a few new faces mixed in the rainbow of the Miracles; those must be the new partners.
“Midorima-kun, Atsu-kun, Kise-kun,” he says with a short bow. “It’s nice to see you all. And you must be Kagami-kun, yes? Tetsu-kun’s told me about you.”
The tanned redhead blinks. “Uh, yeah. Who’re you?”
“My name is Natsume Takashi. I went to Teiko Middle School.”
“He was one of us,” Kise declares, bounding forward and wrapping an arm around Takashi. “He left around the same time Kurokocchi did.”
“I’ve never heard of you,” Kagami says with a scowl.
Takashi turns to Tetsu-kun. “You were right,” he says, not elaborating further. He doesn't need to. Tetsu-kun knows what he means. Turning back to the others, he explains, “I wasn’t a Miracle.”
“Yes, you were,” Midorima says, pushing his glasses up with a bandaged finger. “Don’t think so low of yourself.”
“Natsuchin was a Miracle,” Atsu-kun agrees around a mouthful of chips.
“Swallow before you talk,” Takashi scolds. “And no, I wasn’t. I was never officially part of the team.”
“Officially, maybe,” Daiki snorts.
“Ooh, ooh!” Kise lets go of Takashi to clap. “You two should play! One-on-one. Aominecchi could use a good butt kicking.”
Kagami gapes. “You can beat Aomine?”
“Takashi-kun is the only one that can defeat Aomine-kun regularly,” Tetsu-kun explains. “He’s the strongest of us all.”
Takashi shakes his head before Tetsu-kun has even finished speaking. “I’m not. Really.”
Tetsu-kun frowns at him.
“Don’t be stupid, Shi-chan,” Daiki says, digging his knuckles into Takashi’s skull.
“I told you to stop calling me that,” Takashi says irritably. He smacks Daiki’s arm. He steps back into the safety of Nishimura and Tanuma and Kitamoto and Taki. They’d been oddly quiet since the conversation had started, but Takashi doesn’t dare look at them. His worlds are colliding and he doesn’t like it. Everything’s collapsing.
Sensei bats at his ankles and he bends down with a sigh to pick him up. He’s heavy. Spoiled. Takashi should tell Touko-san to stop feeding him so much.
“Damn, that’s a fat cat,” Daiki says. Sensei growls at him.
“Sensei,” Takashi chides. “Keep this up and I won’t buy you sweet buns.” He shouldn’t anyway. Sensei had gotten drunk again the other night and left Takashi to deal with the guests that had popped up by himself.
“You call your cat sensei?” Midorima asks skeptically.
“Yes,” Takashi answers blankly.
“Takashi-kun,” Akashi-kun says. “Play Daiki-kun. One-on-one.”
“He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” Tetsu-kun says, unknowingly echoing Nishimura’s words from earlier. And like earlier, that is what solidifies Takashi’s choice.
He gives sensei to Tanuma and picks up the ball. “Tetsu-kun says you’ve changed,” he says to Daiki. “You’ve kept on playing and improving. I haven’t.”
The court clears. Daiki stands in front of Takashi. Akashi-kun, by an unspoken agreement, takes on the role of referee. He whistles, short and sharp, and Takashi and Daiki explode into action.
It’s so easy to slip back into his old mindset. Victory at any cost. He dunks and he shoots and he keeps scoring and Daiki keeps failing to block him. Oh, he gets in a few baskets of his own, but it’s nothing compared to Takashi. Takashi is fast, reflexes homed from a lifetime of running for his life. He's not as unnoticeable as Tetsu-kun, but he's invisible in his own way, even on the court. When Akashi-kun finally calls it, Takashi is panting, sweat discoloring his clothes as he attempts to catch his breath.
There are eyes on him. People are looking at him.
“Good game,” he offers to Daiki. “You’ve gotten very good, Dai-chan.”
Daiki heaves, hands on his knees. “Fucking shit, Shi-chan,” he mutters. “You haven’t even picked up a ball for, what, three years? And you still— ” He cuts himself off with a groan.
“I see what Akashi means,” Midorima says, eyes narrowed at Takashi. “You really have gotten sloppy.”
“I’m out of practice, that’s all,” Takashi replies faintly. “I’m sorry, but I should be going. Tanuma, Taki?”
Tanuma presses himself to Takashi’s side, a solid and steady presence. He reminds Takashi of Daiki in very few ways, but they are the ways that count. Daiki and Tetsu-kun were the two that Takashi was closest to. The three of them together were unstoppable. But then the Miracles started to change, and Takashi changed with them because he was so scared of being left behind again, and Tetsu-kun didn’t change but none of it mattered because Takashi was shipped off the day after the game.
He’s a hypocrite, disliking the others’ ways of playing while carefully cultivating a similar style himself. But he can’t help it.
“Ooh, did Touko-san make curry?” Taki asks, slipping her hand into Takashi’s clammy palm.
“Wh—no fair!” Nishimura complains, draping himself over Takashi’s back. “I want curry!”
Kitamoto takes the front. They box Takashi in like they’re shielding him. Takashi appreciates it, he does, he just doesn’t understand. Didn’t they see what he did? Didn’t they see how horribly arrogant Takashi is?
The chatter carries Takashi out of the court and into the street. He’s boxed in but he’s not trapped, it’s not claustrophobic, and Takashi doesn’t
get it.
He opens his mouth and then closes it. He owes them an explanation, he knows that, but what should he say?
“Hey,” says Nishimura, always the first to pick up on Takashi’s mood changing, no matter how miniscule. Takashi wonders at it, at having someone know him so well. Another part of him fears being so well known, even to one of his closest friends. “You good?”
“...Teiko was not a good experience,” Takashi says.
Nishimura frowns, stopping in place. “You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to.”
“I know, but…I want to,” Takashi says, struggling to find the words. “I do, really.”
“Let's wait until we're at your home,” Taki says definitively. A rush of warmth fills Takashi, because he knows she chose her words on purpose.
“Right,” he says, because what else can he say?
Touko-san greets them with her usual smile and ushers them inside before pushing plates of food into their hands.
“You really don't have to go to all this trouble,” Takashi says, red creeping up his ears.
“Don't be silly,” Touko-san says cheerfully. “I want to! And you're still much too thin. Really, Takashi-kun, you need to eat more!”
Nishimura snickers. Takashi burns red, but it's a good burn. He's never had someone fuss over him like Touko-san does. It feels nice, and he doesn't ever want her to stop.
He drags them up to his room, and they all sit in a circle.
“Teiko’s motto was victory at any cost,” Takashi says. He's going to dive right into this, he'd decided. He doesn't know how else to do this. “I joined when I was in my third year and they were in their second. The six of them were known as the Generation of Miracles. They're fairly famous in the middle school-high school basketball circuit.
“I got along best with Tetsu-kun. We were both quiet and a little bit outsiders. He's the first person who never judged me no matter what. He's why I started basketball.”
.
“You should give it a try.”
Takashi didn't startle, because he'd known the other boy was there the whole time. The gym was empty except for the two of them. Takashi had only come in because he'd forgotten his jacket during PE, but he'd been drawn in by the fire in the other's eyes as he shot basket after basket, even when he missed over and over again.
“No thanks,” Takashi said, clutching his jacket to himself. There was a chance that this boy was a youkai, low as it was. He could never be too careful. “I'm no good at sports.”
The boy held out the ball, unheeding of Takashi's words.
“Just once,” he pressed. His eyes were the same shade of blue as his hair. Takashi debated the pros and cons of just leaving right then and there, but it wasn't like he was eager to go back to the house, so…
Hesitantly, he took the ball. He was a ways from the hoop, but he didn't move closer. He draped his jacket over his shoulder and held the ball, testing the weight. Eyeing the basket, he knelt, jumped up, and let the ball fly out of his hands.
He didn't care whether it went in or not, but he still watched as the ball fell neatly through the net.
“That was amazing,” the boy said. “My name is Kuroko Tetsuya. I'm a second year.”
“Natsume Takashi,” Takashi offered. “Third year.”
“Will you consider joining the club?” Kuroko asked.
Takashi shook his head. “No. I have no interest in playing.”
That never changed. But he started spending time with Kuroko, who quickly became Kuro-kun and then Tetsu-kun after Takashi had found him sick and stayed with him until school ended, and walked him home after.
He never wanted to play basketball. He had no interest in the sport. But Tetsu-kun had started bringing Dai-chan, who, as it turned out, Takashi had gone to grade school with when they were children. The memories were faint, but he remembered Daiki sticking up for him and saving him from bullies. Under their combined efforts, he'd quickly been added to team practice.
He never joined officially. But he was faster than all of them, and was the only one who could beat Daiki, and none of them batted an eye when Takashi would take off running or yell at air or flinch at nothing. They stuck by him, so Takashi stuck by them.
Until their egos started going to their heads and they became distant. Takashi tried to talk to Daiki, but all Daiki would say, over and over, was that stupid phrase that had become his motto. They all stopped going to practice. Akashi’s eye turned gold. Everything was falling apart.
Tetsu-kun was the only one who remained normal. Takashi tried to help, but all he could do was stay by his side as the light slowly drained from his eyes. The worst part was the game against Meiko.
Takashi had only just then gotten a phone, so he was able to exchange numbers with Tetsu-kun, but the day after the game Takashi was shipped off to another city, and Tetsu-kun wouldn't respond to any of his texts. Takashi grew increasingly worried, but then, months later (Takashi had moved three times by then), Tetsu-kun finally responded.
It was a short message. Concise. All it said was: I'm going to beat them.
But it was enough. Takashi had faith in his friend. They kept up a regular correspondence after that, and though Takashi was never able to tell him about youkai, Tetsu-kun grew to be his most precious friend.
.
“And then I moved here and met all of you,” Takashi says, ducking his head. “He's still precious to me, but so are you all.”
Taki hugs him, her face tucked into Takashi's neck. Takashi freezes, like he does every time he's hugged, but he loops an arm around her even so.
“That's…heavy,” Nishimura says. His eyes are wide and worried. “They fixed the score? That's such a dick move.”
“They crushed so many people,” Takashi murmurs. “And the worst part was they never even realized what they were doing.” He shakes his head. “Tetsu-kun says they've gotten better. I believe him, especially after just now, but I don't think I can face them again. Not yet.”
“That's okay,” Kitamoto says. His eyes are gentle. “If you don't want to see them again, you don't have to. If you want to talk to them, you can do that whenever you want to. You make the choices here.”
“And we'll be here,” Tanuma says. He looks defiant. “No matter what. We're here for you, Natsume.”
Nishimura and Taki chime in with their own agreements. Sensei even climbs onto Takashi's lap and nuzzles against him.
“Thank you,” says Takashi. His throat feels oddly dry. “I don't…I don't know what to say.”
“You don't have to say anything,” Tanuma says. “We already know.”
And they do know, don't they? They know him. Not even Tetsu-kun knows him the way they do.
The conversation moves on, but Takashi doesn't join in. He can't muster up words. But that doesn't matter. Not here, not with them. Because they include him anyway, and they somehow do it in a way that doesn't pressure Takashi at all. He really doesn't know what he's done to deserve this. But he knows better than to voice it. He doesn't need to do anything.
Taki settles more comfortably against his side. Nishimura claims his other side, nearly sitting on his lap. The contact is grounding. He slips his hand into Nishimura’s, and Nishimura doesn't even blink.
Takashi doesn't forget about the encounter. But he does relax. He'll text Tetsu-kun in a bit, set up a meeting. For now, though, he pipes up with an interjection and doesn't fear rebuttal. A debate starts between him and Tanuma, and he isn't scared of rejection.
Takashi smiles, and small as it is, it's real.