Ship: Kise/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 418
***
Kise knows how easy it is to hide behind a pretty face, a laugh or a smile that isn’t quite so real but enchanting anyway. He knows sleight of hand, sleight of voice; he knows all of Himuro’s tricks and yet, there are parts of him that Kise can’t see through no matter how much Kise turns up the charm and tries to needle them out of him. It’s vexing; Kise’s not patient and he’s not used to dealing with people resisting more than a token amount. But then, if he knows how Himuro operates it goes both ways to an extent.
Himuro doesn’t call him on it; he pushes back with the sense that there are teeth that he’s hiding, guarding; Kise’s daring him to bite and draw blood, show what’s under this porcelain mask. Himuro defers, demures, pushes again, but he’s going about it all wrong. For someone like Kise, that’s only going to spur his determination on. Maybe other people leave well enough alone, but Kise’s just going to keep chipping away, pulling back like he’s digging in his heels at tug of war.
Himuro lets him stay over at night, falls asleep first, shadows of his lashes on his cheek (he’s let Kise see his other eye at least, but that seems to make him even more inscrutable, tricky like a layered puzzle, simpler at the crust of it). He drapes his arm over Kise’s waist, and it means nothing when he turns away in the morning.
Kise wakes up, cold with a dry throat; Himuro’s sitting up and he freezes like a feral cat at the top of a wall, just a microsecond before he oh-so-carefully pretends to relax. Kise’s sick of this shit. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, pulls the covers away from Himuro and wraps himself in half. Himuro looks tired, leaning on tense arms, light from the street casting streaks across his face.
“We’re never getting anywhere if you don’t let me in,” Kise says, leaning his head on Himuro’s shoulder.
Himuro’s body is still tense, as if in releasing it everything would crack, and maybe it would; maybe he’s held together with cheap glue.
“Everything about me’s boring,” says Himuro, a lie so unconvincing Kise’s almost impressed he’d tried it. “What if I don’t want you to get tired of me?”
His tone is too light, a loose piece of paper flying away in the wind.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 418
***
Kise knows how easy it is to hide behind a pretty face, a laugh or a smile that isn’t quite so real but enchanting anyway. He knows sleight of hand, sleight of voice; he knows all of Himuro’s tricks and yet, there are parts of him that Kise can’t see through no matter how much Kise turns up the charm and tries to needle them out of him. It’s vexing; Kise’s not patient and he’s not used to dealing with people resisting more than a token amount. But then, if he knows how Himuro operates it goes both ways to an extent.
Himuro doesn’t call him on it; he pushes back with the sense that there are teeth that he’s hiding, guarding; Kise’s daring him to bite and draw blood, show what’s under this porcelain mask. Himuro defers, demures, pushes again, but he’s going about it all wrong. For someone like Kise, that’s only going to spur his determination on. Maybe other people leave well enough alone, but Kise’s just going to keep chipping away, pulling back like he’s digging in his heels at tug of war.
Himuro lets him stay over at night, falls asleep first, shadows of his lashes on his cheek (he’s let Kise see his other eye at least, but that seems to make him even more inscrutable, tricky like a layered puzzle, simpler at the crust of it). He drapes his arm over Kise’s waist, and it means nothing when he turns away in the morning.
Kise wakes up, cold with a dry throat; Himuro’s sitting up and he freezes like a feral cat at the top of a wall, just a microsecond before he oh-so-carefully pretends to relax. Kise’s sick of this shit. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, pulls the covers away from Himuro and wraps himself in half. Himuro looks tired, leaning on tense arms, light from the street casting streaks across his face.
“We’re never getting anywhere if you don’t let me in,” Kise says, leaning his head on Himuro’s shoulder.
Himuro’s body is still tense, as if in releasing it everything would crack, and maybe it would; maybe he’s held together with cheap glue.
“Everything about me’s boring,” says Himuro, a lie so unconvincing Kise’s almost impressed he’d tried it. “What if I don’t want you to get tired of me?”
His tone is too light, a loose piece of paper flying away in the wind.
“The only thing I’m tired of is this,” says Kise.