Ship: Aomine/Midorima Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 536
***
The future is always uncertain; both of them know there are no guarantees. That’s why Midorima prepares so much for every future scenario he can, practice and lucky items and studying hard for every test. This game, this day, might just carry more weight for his future than others, and he can’t just bank on the possibility that it won’t. He has to take some gambles, of course, but if he calculates the risk and skirts it well, then it doesn’t feel like a gamble at all.
Everything about this relationship has been a gamble, though; it’s the free fall of a confession and the tentative grasp of hand in a hand, noses bumping when they kiss, words stumbled and stuttered over like fawns learning to walk in a rocky clearing. It gets better and smoother, but they’re always going to hit something along the way, no matter how hard they work, no matter how well they fit together out of muscle memory.
“Am I doing the right thing?” Aomine says.
It’s the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue for a week, the question Midorima’s been too impatient to not give him more than ample room to say, but whose answer he’s a little afraid of.
“I’m not sure,” he says, even though he’s been thinking about it since Aomine had said he was going to go pro.
“I mean,” says Aomine, and then stops. “There’s nothing else I want to do, you know? It’s always kind of had to be basketball.”
Midorima nods; for someone who’s claimed his ambitions lie in science or medicine since grade school he knows better than most people would think, his own selfish goals (firm blocks, three-pointers climbing higher than the beams of the roof) have increasingly taken a front seat, and while he hadn’t turned down a seat at a national university he had considered going to a private college known for its basketball program a lot more seriously than his parents would be comfortable with.
“I know you know,” says Aomine.
Midorima opens his mouth, bites his lip, and then opens his mouth again. This isn’t a proposal he’s thought about making lightly, but—they’ve ended up in the same city for now, but this is just a stopgap for Aomine, a year until he goes to China or Spain or even the NBA (Midorima would have had to see worse with glasses than without not to notice all the scouts at the Touou games). And then what? Basketball, together, someday? Midorima has absolute faith he can make it anywhere Aomine can, that he can put aside his other ambitions for this.
“Do you want to take a break? See where we are in a few years, maybe.”
Aomine’s face contorts, twists ugly like food in a blender. “Shintarou.”
He sounds like the wind’s been knocked out of him; Midorima’s not sure if he can reach out now or if that would just hurt, slice Aomine open more. It's Aomine who reaches for him first, pulling him into a hug, and his answer isn’t clear. Midorima’s fingers tighten in the soft fabric of Aomine’s shirt, and for now he just lets the moment be.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 536
***
The future is always uncertain; both of them know there are no guarantees. That’s why Midorima prepares so much for every future scenario he can, practice and lucky items and studying hard for every test. This game, this day, might just carry more weight for his future than others, and he can’t just bank on the possibility that it won’t. He has to take some gambles, of course, but if he calculates the risk and skirts it well, then it doesn’t feel like a gamble at all.
Everything about this relationship has been a gamble, though; it’s the free fall of a confession and the tentative grasp of hand in a hand, noses bumping when they kiss, words stumbled and stuttered over like fawns learning to walk in a rocky clearing. It gets better and smoother, but they’re always going to hit something along the way, no matter how hard they work, no matter how well they fit together out of muscle memory.
“Am I doing the right thing?” Aomine says.
It’s the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue for a week, the question Midorima’s been too impatient to not give him more than ample room to say, but whose answer he’s a little afraid of.
“I’m not sure,” he says, even though he’s been thinking about it since Aomine had said he was going to go pro.
“I mean,” says Aomine, and then stops. “There’s nothing else I want to do, you know? It’s always kind of had to be basketball.”
Midorima nods; for someone who’s claimed his ambitions lie in science or medicine since grade school he knows better than most people would think, his own selfish goals (firm blocks, three-pointers climbing higher than the beams of the roof) have increasingly taken a front seat, and while he hadn’t turned down a seat at a national university he had considered going to a private college known for its basketball program a lot more seriously than his parents would be comfortable with.
“I know you know,” says Aomine.
Midorima opens his mouth, bites his lip, and then opens his mouth again. This isn’t a proposal he’s thought about making lightly, but—they’ve ended up in the same city for now, but this is just a stopgap for Aomine, a year until he goes to China or Spain or even the NBA (Midorima would have had to see worse with glasses than without not to notice all the scouts at the Touou games). And then what? Basketball, together, someday? Midorima has absolute faith he can make it anywhere Aomine can, that he can put aside his other ambitions for this.
“Do you want to take a break? See where we are in a few years, maybe.”
Aomine’s face contorts, twists ugly like food in a blender. “Shintarou.”
He sounds like the wind’s been knocked out of him; Midorima’s not sure if he can reach out now or if that would just hurt, slice Aomine open more. It's Aomine who reaches for him first, pulling him into a hug, and his answer isn’t clear. Midorima’s fingers tighten in the soft fabric of Aomine’s shirt, and for now he just lets the moment be.