Ship: Kagami/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 403
(tatsuya comes to the wrong conclusions a lot tbh)
***
It’s better off this way. Both of them are better off this way, with nothing and everything between them. Every time Tatsuya closes his eyes he sees Taiga, holding back, trying to lose; Taiga, shackled by his place next to Tatsuya. He doesn’t need that; he doesn’t need Tatsuya holding him back, not when he’s this fucking brilliant of a player, not when he maybe could have blown past Tatsuya a long time ago and maybe he’d been holding back the whole time, subconsciously, out of respect for the same role Tatsuya’s been trying so hard to protect, the same role that destroyed itself, and any bond between them.
It had been a chain, the one around their necks, the one Tatsuya slides, guilt in his eyes, over toward the jeweler; the question of why he’d want to repair such a cheap thing does not fall from her lips but Tatsuya sees it on her face. It hadn’t been cheap, their bond; it had come with the price of that kind of limit. The price Tatsuya had paid for it was the price it took to dissolve it, his fist and Taiga’s face, the words that were almost as irrelevant as they were important. Either way this had ended, they couldn’t be brothers; either way Tatsuya is unworthy of that kind of title. Regardless, even.
(He pushes down the thoughts of how his feelings have been less than brotherly for a while, the way he has to look up slightly to see Taiga’s face, the baby fat falling away from his cheeks, the muscles defining themselves more daily, the confidence in his hands, larger by the day, gripping a basketball.)
This is what he had to do; this is what had to happen. Tatsuya repeats it to himself, again and again; it doesn’t make it hurt any less (he deserves to hurt; he deserves to feel the pain for Taiga all over again). But still, repeating it doesn’t make things better for Taiga, wherever he is out there. It doesn’t stop basketball from feeling empty, Tatsuya feeling alone on the court no matter who’s on his team, more alone than if he’s just playing by himself, going one on one. It doesn’t stop the shots from feeling like they don’t matter, just blankness falling through the hoop, insubstantial, like maybe the way this bond was all along if it was so easily erased.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 403
(tatsuya comes to the wrong conclusions a lot tbh)
***
It’s better off this way. Both of them are better off this way, with nothing and everything between them. Every time Tatsuya closes his eyes he sees Taiga, holding back, trying to lose; Taiga, shackled by his place next to Tatsuya. He doesn’t need that; he doesn’t need Tatsuya holding him back, not when he’s this fucking brilliant of a player, not when he maybe could have blown past Tatsuya a long time ago and maybe he’d been holding back the whole time, subconsciously, out of respect for the same role Tatsuya’s been trying so hard to protect, the same role that destroyed itself, and any bond between them.
It had been a chain, the one around their necks, the one Tatsuya slides, guilt in his eyes, over toward the jeweler; the question of why he’d want to repair such a cheap thing does not fall from her lips but Tatsuya sees it on her face. It hadn’t been cheap, their bond; it had come with the price of that kind of limit. The price Tatsuya had paid for it was the price it took to dissolve it, his fist and Taiga’s face, the words that were almost as irrelevant as they were important. Either way this had ended, they couldn’t be brothers; either way Tatsuya is unworthy of that kind of title. Regardless, even.
(He pushes down the thoughts of how his feelings have been less than brotherly for a while, the way he has to look up slightly to see Taiga’s face, the baby fat falling away from his cheeks, the muscles defining themselves more daily, the confidence in his hands, larger by the day, gripping a basketball.)
This is what he had to do; this is what had to happen. Tatsuya repeats it to himself, again and again; it doesn’t make it hurt any less (he deserves to hurt; he deserves to feel the pain for Taiga all over again). But still, repeating it doesn’t make things better for Taiga, wherever he is out there. It doesn’t stop basketball from feeling empty, Tatsuya feeling alone on the court no matter who’s on his team, more alone than if he’s just playing by himself, going one on one. It doesn’t stop the shots from feeling like they don’t matter, just blankness falling through the hoop, insubstantial, like maybe the way this bond was all along if it was so easily erased.