Ship: Nijimura/Himuro Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED Word Count: 434
***
He’d fucked it up. Royally, so to speak, if Tatsuya’s in that kind of mood, which he really, really, isn’t. The story always goes like this, the beautiful princess in the pumpkin carriage with the matching glass slipper—except he’d stumbled and fallen in his haste (dancing in glass is hard enough, but running, his fault he’d stayed too damn long) and now the matching slipper is shards in his hand. There are shallow cuts in his palm; they’ll sting when he has to clean tomorrow. He deserves it, for fucking this up, his one chance, the prince smiling so softly at the man he’d thought was so beautiful in splendor, the man who now wears rags and has no way of getting home.
The mouse-horses have scampered off, probably food for some cat or wild animal; his feet are bare but his soles are tough. He’d made it to the shadows; the prince is probably standing at the top, waiting to be whisked away by some other beautiful person, his momentary preoccupation with the almost fairy tale broken. Perhaps he’ll see this as a rude prank, a twist. Keep the glass slipper as a lark, when Tatsuya’s smashed this one to dust.
“Excuse me?”
Fuck. The prince. Crown prince Shuuzou (Shuu, he’d let Tatsuya call him that, Tatsuya had let himself be that bold), acting as regent in his ill father’s place; this is his night of fun, to choose a suitable spouse, the child of a potential ally, someone powerful. He shouldn’t have followed; where are his bodyguards?
“You tripped; I thought you might be hurt.”
Tatsuya turns; it’s obvious now he’s dressed in rags, his feet are bare, his hand is bleeding; he looks every bit the part of pathetic street urchin.
“Your hand!”
“It’s nothing,” says Tatsuya. “Please, I’ll never get home in time. I’m needed there.”
Shuu looks him up and down, and then nods. “Okay. I’ll take you back.”
“From your own party.” Tatsuya lets the skepticism fall from his lips; he might as well mouth off to royalty while he’s at it.
“Not my scene anyway,” says Shuu. “I’ll fix your hand, lend you a pair of shoes—hey, that sounds. Ugh.”
Shuu runs his hand through his hair, and then looks at Tatsuya again. It’s like they’re back under the lights, and Tatsuya’s wearing gorgeous clothes, and he’s not cut up and covered in glass and pumpkin seeds.
“Please let me take you home?”
(He’ll see; he’ll know—he already knows, though; if they get back quick they’ll get there before Tatsuya’s missed.)
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke
Major Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Other Tags: TAGS OMITTED
Word Count: 434
***
He’d fucked it up. Royally, so to speak, if Tatsuya’s in that kind of mood, which he really, really, isn’t. The story always goes like this, the beautiful princess in the pumpkin carriage with the matching glass slipper—except he’d stumbled and fallen in his haste (dancing in glass is hard enough, but running, his fault he’d stayed too damn long) and now the matching slipper is shards in his hand. There are shallow cuts in his palm; they’ll sting when he has to clean tomorrow. He deserves it, for fucking this up, his one chance, the prince smiling so softly at the man he’d thought was so beautiful in splendor, the man who now wears rags and has no way of getting home.
The mouse-horses have scampered off, probably food for some cat or wild animal; his feet are bare but his soles are tough. He’d made it to the shadows; the prince is probably standing at the top, waiting to be whisked away by some other beautiful person, his momentary preoccupation with the almost fairy tale broken. Perhaps he’ll see this as a rude prank, a twist. Keep the glass slipper as a lark, when Tatsuya’s smashed this one to dust.
“Excuse me?”
Fuck. The prince. Crown prince Shuuzou (Shuu, he’d let Tatsuya call him that, Tatsuya had let himself be that bold), acting as regent in his ill father’s place; this is his night of fun, to choose a suitable spouse, the child of a potential ally, someone powerful. He shouldn’t have followed; where are his bodyguards?
“You tripped; I thought you might be hurt.”
Tatsuya turns; it’s obvious now he’s dressed in rags, his feet are bare, his hand is bleeding; he looks every bit the part of pathetic street urchin.
“Your hand!”
“It’s nothing,” says Tatsuya. “Please, I’ll never get home in time. I’m needed there.”
Shuu looks him up and down, and then nods. “Okay. I’ll take you back.”
“From your own party.” Tatsuya lets the skepticism fall from his lips; he might as well mouth off to royalty while he’s at it.
“Not my scene anyway,” says Shuu. “I’ll fix your hand, lend you a pair of shoes—hey, that sounds. Ugh.”
Shuu runs his hand through his hair, and then looks at Tatsuya again. It’s like they’re back under the lights, and Tatsuya’s wearing gorgeous clothes, and he’s not cut up and covered in glass and pumpkin seeds.
“Please let me take you home?”
(He’ll see; he’ll know—he already knows, though; if they get back quick they’ll get there before Tatsuya’s missed.)
Tatsuya nods.