Ship: muraskibara/himuro Fandom: kuroko no basuke Major Tags: none Other Tags: none Original Work:link by kiyala Word Count: 582
***
If being too happy classified as a crime, Tatsuya would be guilty as charged. He smiles too easily, these days, genuine and freely given away; he laughs like he's trying to trap the sound into bottles, gifted to anyone who would listen. If being too happy was considered a sin, he'd have a spot reserved for him in several circles of hell, though that doesn't stop him from gorging on the feeling until he's almost sick with it. The sun shines brighter, the birds sing sweeter, and he drinks it all in without fear of excess or consequence.
At least, not for a little while. Not until this happiness—excessive, euphoric, tooth-rotting—strikes him as wrong, and he's always been good at talking himself out of taking things he doesn't deserve.
It starts simply, when he's on the couch with Atsushi: Atsushi's head in his lap, his fingers sifting through Atsushi's hair as his free hand holds up a book, their breaths the only sound in the room as they exhale in tandem, the silence occasionally broken by the crunch of a lollipop as Atsushi tires of a flavor and reaches for another. Contentment settles in Tatsuya's chest, but something else slithers around his ribs alongside it. It stutters his pulse. It asks, who told you you could have this?
He's long outgrown arguing with his own demons, or he thought he has, because he finds himself responding, Atsushi did.
Foolish of him to hope it would end there, because the voice continues, snide and knowing, he doesn't know the worst of it. Tatsuya knows the voice is lying, now, but he's paralyzed by it, forced to listen when it says, how long until you fuck this up?
I won't, he replies, a promise both to Atsushi and himself—but the voice laughs, dragging him through every memory that proves otherwise. This was when you let your pride get the best of you. This was when you were too angry to see things rationally. This was when you were too jealous to realize what you had.
The voice doesn't give him time to process it; it goes on to demand, what makes you think you're allowed to be happy?
"Muro-chin?"
Tatsuya blinks. His fingers have stilled in Atsushi's hair, and he's been staring at the same passage of text for several minutes. He pulls a smile to his lips, setting the book down. "What is it, Atsushi?"
"You were spacing out. It looked like you were thinking too hard again." Atsushi frowns, lollipop and all. "Stop it."
"If only it were that easy," says Tatsuya, before he can help himself. Atsushi opens his mouth as if to ask him to explain, but in the end he doesn't. Tatsuya's not certain he'd have the words for him if he did. He tugs his smile wider, rubber made to snap. "It's nothing. Want to order takeout?"
"Mmkay."
As Tatsuya brings the phone to his ear, his eyes land on a picture frame across the room, a photograph taken on one of their earlier sightseeing dates. Atsushi's smiling in it, which is rare in itself, but then Tatsuya is too, his grin without guilt or reservation.
How long until you fuck this up? the voice had asked him earlier, and his defenses have lowered enough that he entertains the notion. He looks at their faces, impossibly happy, and is the one to ask himself now:
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, T
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Original Work: link by
Word Count: 582
***
If being too happy classified as a crime, Tatsuya would be guilty as charged. He smiles too easily, these days, genuine and freely given away; he laughs like he's trying to trap the sound into bottles, gifted to anyone who would listen. If being too happy was considered a sin, he'd have a spot reserved for him in several circles of hell, though that doesn't stop him from gorging on the feeling until he's almost sick with it. The sun shines brighter, the birds sing sweeter, and he drinks it all in without fear of excess or consequence.
At least, not for a little while. Not until this happiness—excessive, euphoric, tooth-rotting—strikes him as wrong, and he's always been good at talking himself out of taking things he doesn't deserve.
It starts simply, when he's on the couch with Atsushi: Atsushi's head in his lap, his fingers sifting through Atsushi's hair as his free hand holds up a book, their breaths the only sound in the room as they exhale in tandem, the silence occasionally broken by the crunch of a lollipop as Atsushi tires of a flavor and reaches for another. Contentment settles in Tatsuya's chest, but something else slithers around his ribs alongside it. It stutters his pulse. It asks, who told you you could have this?
He's long outgrown arguing with his own demons, or he thought he has, because he finds himself responding, Atsushi did.
Foolish of him to hope it would end there, because the voice continues, snide and knowing, he doesn't know the worst of it. Tatsuya knows the voice is lying, now, but he's paralyzed by it, forced to listen when it says, how long until you fuck this up?
I won't, he replies, a promise both to Atsushi and himself—but the voice laughs, dragging him through every memory that proves otherwise. This was when you let your pride get the best of you. This was when you were too angry to see things rationally. This was when you were too jealous to realize what you had.
The voice doesn't give him time to process it; it goes on to demand, what makes you think you're allowed to be happy?
"Muro-chin?"
Tatsuya blinks. His fingers have stilled in Atsushi's hair, and he's been staring at the same passage of text for several minutes. He pulls a smile to his lips, setting the book down. "What is it, Atsushi?"
"You were spacing out. It looked like you were thinking too hard again." Atsushi frowns, lollipop and all. "Stop it."
"If only it were that easy," says Tatsuya, before he can help himself. Atsushi opens his mouth as if to ask him to explain, but in the end he doesn't. Tatsuya's not certain he'd have the words for him if he did. He tugs his smile wider, rubber made to snap. "It's nothing. Want to order takeout?"
"Mmkay."
As Tatsuya brings the phone to his ear, his eyes land on a picture frame across the room, a photograph taken on one of their earlier sightseeing dates. Atsushi's smiling in it, which is rare in itself, but then Tatsuya is too, his grin without guilt or reservation.
How long until you fuck this up? the voice had asked him earlier, and his defenses have lowered enough that he entertains the notion. He looks at their faces, impossibly happy, and is the one to ask himself now:
how long?