Ship: Murasakibara/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 429
***
“What would you think of yourself if you were someone else?”
It’s the kind of question that falls from Murasakibara’s lips sometimes, seemingly simple, actually getting at some other kind of point that he’s trying to make, more obliquely. He’s been talking around Himuro’s self-image lately, the kind of thing Himuro’s sick of thinking about and doesn’t want to talk about, but as much as he pulls away Murasakibara pushes and prods more. As if it’s a game, not a settled subject.
It’s hard not to think about the question as he walks back, Murasakibara at his side, the constant crunch of potato chips under his teeth, as much as he doesn’t want to. He’s only thought of himself as another person as a what-if, if he were like Taiga, like Murasakibara, like Alex, if he’d had that kind of raw power to harness. If he were that person, he could like himself, maybe, if he wasn’t an insufferable jerk about it (but then he might like himself anyway). He’d hate himself if that self was another person, if he’d had all the talent but still fucked up everything the way Himuro always does, if his luck hadn’t made him magnanimous.
And, as he is, there’s not much to like. He’d been an okay kid, sharp resentment and bitterness in him even then but tempered by stupid optimism that’s long since faded. The only people who love him are the ones who love that part of him, the person he no longer is, the person who’s long since gone. The people who think they like him are the people who only see the parts Himuro shows them, the likable or the illusion of that, at least. And Himuro can’t help but hate them, for idealizing this person he’s not, even though that’s what he wants to see. A paradox.
Murasakibara’s seen too much, and he likes Himuro anyway. He’s a frustrating person, immense talent half-wasted, but off the court and in practice he’s not a bad person to have around. Himuro doesn’t hate him, not at all. He doesn’t have the deep rivers of bitterness toward good people inside of him that Himuro does; he’s not chasing something futile; he’s not made of want for things he can’t have. He’s not nearly as fucking pathetic as Himuro is, still stuck in this rut.
“The same as I do as I’m myself,” Himuro says, unlocking the door to his room.
Murasakibara’s hands curl around Himuro’s wrists, squeezing, a nonverbal rebuttal before he captures Himuro’s mouth in his.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 429
***
“What would you think of yourself if you were someone else?”
It’s the kind of question that falls from Murasakibara’s lips sometimes, seemingly simple, actually getting at some other kind of point that he’s trying to make, more obliquely. He’s been talking around Himuro’s self-image lately, the kind of thing Himuro’s sick of thinking about and doesn’t want to talk about, but as much as he pulls away Murasakibara pushes and prods more. As if it’s a game, not a settled subject.
It’s hard not to think about the question as he walks back, Murasakibara at his side, the constant crunch of potato chips under his teeth, as much as he doesn’t want to. He’s only thought of himself as another person as a what-if, if he were like Taiga, like Murasakibara, like Alex, if he’d had that kind of raw power to harness. If he were that person, he could like himself, maybe, if he wasn’t an insufferable jerk about it (but then he might like himself anyway). He’d hate himself if that self was another person, if he’d had all the talent but still fucked up everything the way Himuro always does, if his luck hadn’t made him magnanimous.
And, as he is, there’s not much to like. He’d been an okay kid, sharp resentment and bitterness in him even then but tempered by stupid optimism that’s long since faded. The only people who love him are the ones who love that part of him, the person he no longer is, the person who’s long since gone. The people who think they like him are the people who only see the parts Himuro shows them, the likable or the illusion of that, at least. And Himuro can’t help but hate them, for idealizing this person he’s not, even though that’s what he wants to see. A paradox.
Murasakibara’s seen too much, and he likes Himuro anyway. He’s a frustrating person, immense talent half-wasted, but off the court and in practice he’s not a bad person to have around. Himuro doesn’t hate him, not at all. He doesn’t have the deep rivers of bitterness toward good people inside of him that Himuro does; he’s not chasing something futile; he’s not made of want for things he can’t have. He’s not nearly as fucking pathetic as Himuro is, still stuck in this rut.
“The same as I do as I’m myself,” Himuro says, unlocking the door to his room.
Murasakibara’s hands curl around Himuro’s wrists, squeezing, a nonverbal rebuttal before he captures Himuro’s mouth in his.