Ship: Hanamiya Makoto/Imayoshi Shouchi Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: tags omitted Other Tags: tags omitted Word Count: 458 words
Little bit of classisms, also known as ‘our dates aren’t usual’.
***
“Makoto-chan,” Imayoshi said under his breath, staying closer to the younger boy. “ARe you sure you aren’t lost?”
Clever as Hanamiya was, he was also proud. Imayoshi wouldn’t put it past Hanamiya to refuse to admit that he was lost just because he didn’t want to be shown as fallible.
“I’m sure,” Hanamiya said, hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket and his shoulders slouched. He’d tied his hair back in a half-ponytail, keeping it off his face, and painted his eyebrows to be uniformly thick. “I’ve been here before.”
The dark streets and gangs of scowling youths did nothing to convince Imayoshi that they weren’t lost. What sort of club could be in this area that was worth them going to? They were more likely to be mugged or murdered than have a good time in this particular part of the city.
Not all of the street lights were working, casting black pools of darkness onto the sidewalk. Each time Imayoshi stepped into one of them, he felt a little colder. Hanamiya had supplied Imayoshi with clothes for this excursion - beat up blue jeans, a sleek black motorcycle jacket and gloves - that changed Imayoshi’s appearance vastly but Imayoshi felt like a lamb in a wolfskin.
It wasn’t a sensation he was familiar with, nor was it one he liked. These dark streets had no respect for the rule of law; he had no power here, no ability to set his schemes into motion and watch the corpses wash up with the tide. The people here followed different rules and spoke a different tongue; in one city, there were many worlds and these people were as alien to him as if they had come from the stars.
They’d knife him before he could convince them not to, and Hanamiya would end up killed too because of his stupid overconfidence.
Imayoshi took a deep breath, ready to tell Hanamiya that the night was over and they’d find a club in a district where it wasn’t suicide to just walk the streets - and then suddenly Hanamiya stopped in a battered iron door.
“We’re here,” he said triumphantly, tilting his head up and flashing a smile at the hidden camera in the doorframe. It was well concealed but Imayoshi spotted it easily even before Hanamiya made its placement so obvious.
When the door swung open, it revealed black velvet, low lights, a mahogany bar and a lot of men in suits with guns.
Yakuza. And it was too late to run now. They would’ve all seen his face.
“Come on, senpai,” Hanamiya said as the guard at the door frisked him. He smiled maliciously, eyes alight with an unholy glow, “Everyone’s dying to meet you.”
FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Word Count: 458 words
Little bit of classisms, also known as ‘our dates aren’t usual’.
***
“Makoto-chan,” Imayoshi said under his breath, staying closer to the younger boy. “ARe you sure you aren’t lost?”
Clever as Hanamiya was, he was also proud. Imayoshi wouldn’t put it past Hanamiya to refuse to admit that he was lost just because he didn’t want to be shown as fallible.
“I’m sure,” Hanamiya said, hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket and his shoulders slouched. He’d tied his hair back in a half-ponytail, keeping it off his face, and painted his eyebrows to be uniformly thick. “I’ve been here before.”
The dark streets and gangs of scowling youths did nothing to convince Imayoshi that they weren’t lost. What sort of club could be in this area that was worth them going to? They were more likely to be mugged or murdered than have a good time in this particular part of the city.
Not all of the street lights were working, casting black pools of darkness onto the sidewalk. Each time Imayoshi stepped into one of them, he felt a little colder. Hanamiya had supplied Imayoshi with clothes for this excursion - beat up blue jeans, a sleek black motorcycle jacket and gloves - that changed Imayoshi’s appearance vastly but Imayoshi felt like a lamb in a wolfskin.
It wasn’t a sensation he was familiar with, nor was it one he liked. These dark streets had no respect for the rule of law; he had no power here, no ability to set his schemes into motion and watch the corpses wash up with the tide. The people here followed different rules and spoke a different tongue; in one city, there were many worlds and these people were as alien to him as if they had come from the stars.
They’d knife him before he could convince them not to, and Hanamiya would end up killed too because of his stupid overconfidence.
Imayoshi took a deep breath, ready to tell Hanamiya that the night was over and they’d find a club in a district where it wasn’t suicide to just walk the streets - and then suddenly Hanamiya stopped in a battered iron door.
“We’re here,” he said triumphantly, tilting his head up and flashing a smile at the hidden camera in the doorframe. It was well concealed but Imayoshi spotted it easily even before Hanamiya made its placement so obvious.
When the door swung open, it revealed black velvet, low lights, a mahogany bar and a lot of men in suits with guns.
Yakuza. And it was too late to run now. They would’ve all seen his face.
“Come on, senpai,” Hanamiya said as the guard at the door frisked him. He smiled maliciously, eyes alight with an unholy glow, “Everyone’s dying to meet you.”