Ship: Imayoshi/Hanamiya Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 466
***
Makoto’s a liar, habitual, impulsive; it had taken Shouchi longer than usual to figure out when he’s lying and when he’s not, or when he believes what he’s saying even if it’s not necessarily true (like the hatred and loathing he claims to have for Shouchi; Makoto’s a decent liar but he’s best at fooling himself, the way his eyes follow Shouchi on the court and the way he waits to talk to him betraying the—not necessarily admiration, but something like that, deep inside). Sometimes Shouchi calls him on that shit; sometimes he’s too tired of it; even if these aren’t battles anyone wins he’s got to pick them (and it’s funny how carefully Makoto sees him choosing them, when really it’s when he feels like it, when he thinks he can get to Makoto a little more than usual, nothing more than that).
Makoto’s a liar; he’s got a hell of a lot more than two faces, one for every person he’s with, juggled seamlessly as if he’s showing off his intellectual prowess (as if he needs to, but Makoto wouldn’t be himself if he weren’t a showboat). He’ll fuck you up, pretend to be someone he’s not, but if you look closely enough you can see him before he stabs someone else in the back, gets them pushed out like everyone on the basketball team, like the old coach, like the teachers who for some reason unknown to them dislike him (he makes them uneasy, but they say he seems like a good kid).
He’s worse by high school, whirling around and striking people in the head, knee, chest, shoulder, taking them down like a system, like a catalogue full of check-marks, one by one, his five little accomplices standing behind him. Shouchi's smart enough to know that Makoto’s not pulling the strings completely; they listen and respect him but they’re their own kinds of agents of chaos and violence, the difference in a game.
Somehow, Harasawa ropes the Touou kids into an exhibition after the season, the group of them, now captained by Shouichi, against the group of kids led in every sense by Makoto. Shouichi starts out wary, but Makoto seems as if he’s still pretending to hate Shouichi, muttering things under his breath.
Shouchi can see him coming but he can’t stop it, the crack of his ankle against Makoto’s foot, the way Makoto stares him in the eyes. He falls to the floor; the pain is sharp and it’s probably a sprain, only a few weeks, maybe—but Makoto’s smirking.
“I’m honored you respect me so much.”
The smile turns into a scowl, and then the fakest look of concern Shouichi’s ever seen as the ref rushes over.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 466
***
Makoto’s a liar, habitual, impulsive; it had taken Shouchi longer than usual to figure out when he’s lying and when he’s not, or when he believes what he’s saying even if it’s not necessarily true (like the hatred and loathing he claims to have for Shouchi; Makoto’s a decent liar but he’s best at fooling himself, the way his eyes follow Shouchi on the court and the way he waits to talk to him betraying the—not necessarily admiration, but something like that, deep inside). Sometimes Shouchi calls him on that shit; sometimes he’s too tired of it; even if these aren’t battles anyone wins he’s got to pick them (and it’s funny how carefully Makoto sees him choosing them, when really it’s when he feels like it, when he thinks he can get to Makoto a little more than usual, nothing more than that).
Makoto’s a liar; he’s got a hell of a lot more than two faces, one for every person he’s with, juggled seamlessly as if he’s showing off his intellectual prowess (as if he needs to, but Makoto wouldn’t be himself if he weren’t a showboat). He’ll fuck you up, pretend to be someone he’s not, but if you look closely enough you can see him before he stabs someone else in the back, gets them pushed out like everyone on the basketball team, like the old coach, like the teachers who for some reason unknown to them dislike him (he makes them uneasy, but they say he seems like a good kid).
He’s worse by high school, whirling around and striking people in the head, knee, chest, shoulder, taking them down like a system, like a catalogue full of check-marks, one by one, his five little accomplices standing behind him. Shouchi's smart enough to know that Makoto’s not pulling the strings completely; they listen and respect him but they’re their own kinds of agents of chaos and violence, the difference in a game.
Somehow, Harasawa ropes the Touou kids into an exhibition after the season, the group of them, now captained by Shouichi, against the group of kids led in every sense by Makoto. Shouichi starts out wary, but Makoto seems as if he’s still pretending to hate Shouichi, muttering things under his breath.
Shouchi can see him coming but he can’t stop it, the crack of his ankle against Makoto’s foot, the way Makoto stares him in the eyes. He falls to the floor; the pain is sharp and it’s probably a sprain, only a few weeks, maybe—but Makoto’s smirking.
“I’m honored you respect me so much.”
The smile turns into a scowl, and then the fakest look of concern Shouichi’s ever seen as the ref rushes over.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” says Imayoshi. “I’m pretty good.”