real title: Bokushi とOreshi Reversal

notes: two ways to read it: if you know Japanese, you read it as Bokushi tō Oreshi Reversal, because とmeans 'and'. So relatively speaking, it's Bokushi and Oreshi's Reversal. Similarly, you can also read it as Bokushi to Oreshi Reversal, as in Akashi's journey from Bokushi to Oreshi that ended up in a reversal.

a/n: this was written because 1: fuck chapter 264, and 2: i can't cope with my feels. i cried halfway writing this chapter because i am a sissy fan who needs a support group in case rakuzan loses the match, and i just. idk. if you guys like this little oneshot, do leave comments about your feels too (and how chapter 264 ruined your life), and come cry together with me. i need more people to cry with.

i: shine, bright morning light

On Mother's day, Seijūrō stands by his mother's bedside as the doctor closes her eyes.

He doesn't shed any tears. Big boys don't do that. Seijūrō sets his jaw firmly and balls his little hands, shoulders square and eyes narrowed. His father mulishly listens to the man in white, face stewed into an indecipherable expression with his hands crossed over his lap, nodding every once in a while. The silence is overbearing as the clock ticks. Seijūrō looks at her bald head out of curiosity; Stage IV of cancer has consumed her beauty wholly, even to the roots of her flaming hair. Her withering life spins out of control like a blunt needle scratching a broken record, and he's held her hand through the cold nights of starless skies, listening to her noiseless pain.

Seijūrō is a benevolent boy and he lets her die out of mercy.

So he yanks the plug to her life support and allows nature do its job of returning her to her essence.

ii: now in the air, the spring is coming

Elementary school is tedious.

He's learned everything from his butler, Tanaka, who tutors him everything that he needs to be educated on. As the future head of the Seijūrō household, he learns to count thousands of hopeless wishes and reads through fantastic tales of freedom that he'll never clutch in his feeble hands. That's just how it is. Seijūrō grows up being distinct from others, and he knows it well. His very presence parts the sea of children in the hallways, who are pressing sticky kisses to their parents' cheeks, carrying bright promises in their eyes that'll be shaded by adulthood in the future, and Seijūrō stifles a smile at the thought of it.

He's been slapped for such an affectionate display by his father's own hand.

So he never bothers to.

He's been cell-shaded from the start.

Seijūrō's scores are 500/500 for the exams, he runs 100 meters in just 13.4 seconds, and he never fails to outshine everyone else in every single angle thrown by the school. By the time he's twelve, crimson bangs brushing over his brows, giggly girls have started to push scented letters into his grasp. He sees the glittering heart stickers littered over the surface and his name written in bubbly hiragana—せいじゅうろう is far cuter than 征十郎 at their imbecilic level, that's for sure—and chucks them into the nearest wastebasket so that he doesn't carry any of their perfumed disease with him.

Love is a weak bond that others forge to establish themselves within one another, and Seijūrō doesn't need it.

Just like how he doesn't need his mother to go on, nor his father.

iii: sweet, blowing wind

Teikō's an apt choice for a middle high school.

At the end of a waxed hallway sits a classroom, the table on the furthest right hand corner is his. Originally, he would've protested at such a disadvantageous location that is less than ideal for an exemplary education. But a boy, his neighbour, quickly becomes a remedy to the situation. He's quiet—Seijūrō likes quiet ones—and he's less than average. Falling over during the first day of P.E.? Ridiculous. Vomiting into the trash can after they've been told to run three times around the field? Priceless.

But Seijūrō's learned that he is different from the rest of them—no, not different like Seijūrō, but different unlike Seijūrō. He's never good in anything, a bookworm with the stamina of an actual worm, but his fighting spirit glows warmly in the sunlight.

"Good morning, Akashi-kun."

"Good morning, Tetsuya."

He's the only person Seijūrō tolerates, and that speaks volumes for itself.

iv: singing down the hills and valleys

"Your marks have been declining, Tetsuya."

A crumpled piece of paper is smoothened out on the scratched desk, 45% scrawled in red sits in the corner of the dog-eared page.

They're both 14 now, the age where boys are steadily developing through puberty at a measured pace, but the blue boy still remains a weedy creature sitting erect in his seat. It's the day after their mid-semester test, where the teachers have finished marking through their horrid papers of wormlike squiggles and kanji with missing strokes. Seijūrō's already finished analysing his few mistakes to be reassured that he won't commit the same crime again. He is the Akashi Seijūrō, and he'll never make errors from things he's learned before. Though most unfortunately, the same cannot be said for his desk mate who sits in front of him, staring bleakly at his results.

"I find it hard to cope with maths." Tetsuya scratches his cheek, abashed. Short baby bangs brush across his forehead when he looks up at Seijūrō, and the redhead finds that he likes the desolate look wading in those cornflower blue eyes, contrasting with the radiant pinks flushing Tetsuya's cheeks. "Tsukishima-sensei's methods of solving the algebraic problems don't make sense to me."

Out of mere curiosity, really, Seijūrō's fingers dance on the edge of the boy's paper.

He doesn't pick it up to nitpick at the glaring mistakes from the second line itself.

"Perhaps it is essential for you to understand that there is no such thing as a fixed method to answer the question," he says. "Much like life, there are many other ways you can reach your endpoint. Have you tried seeking other workings to see if they fit your understanding?"

"Yes, but… I will look childish if I do them, because it goes through the steps one by one. Everyone else is already shortening their working, and I—"

"There is your mistake, Tetsuya," Akashi tutted, shaking his head. "By imitating others, you cannot build your own foundation. Succumbing to peer pressure, the desire to be seen as someone able enough to formulate the same working as them, are you? Does it really matter? By following their reckless footsteps, you're doing nothing but losing marks. In the end, you're helping no one, not even yourself."

At his chastising words, Tetsuya has the decency to look ashamed of himself.

Good. This is what Seijūrō likes. Whenever he makes a solid point, it whirls all words away from the reedy boy and renders him subjectively quiet, reduced to a whirring machine processing his command. Over the span of a year and a half, Tetsuya's admirably coping with his knifelike words skinning him alive to shed his naivety. This time, Seijūrō has succeeded yet again in changing his stance on life. Afterwards, over the course of a few days, Tetsuya will surely exhibit miniscule changes—no, nobody else will notice them, except for the carver Seijūrō himself, and it's an enthralling process that he loves watching.

He adores control.

To control his life is out of the question.

But at the very least, he can control someone else.

"Thank you very much, Akashi-kun," Tetsuya finally says, gathering his papers—

And Seijūrō wins yet again.

v: keep your eyes on me

It's nearly spring now, the days are getting warmer by the second. Soon, they'll be leaving Teikō, graduating like birds gifted with permit to finally spread their wings.

"Where will you be going, Akashi-kun?"

"Kyoto," he simply hums, because it's been decided that Rakuzan will be a perfect host for his illustrious talents in both brains and basketball. "What about you, Tetsuya? Will you be here, in Tokyo?"

"I'm... not sure."

There's obvious hesitation in his words.

"Why?" Seijūrō asks, not out of curiosity, but he's purely invested in making the little shadow say the words he's been longing to hear. I can't be here alone without Akashi-kun, take me with you, I'll be lost by myself, they're all circulating his thoughts, and he knows there is some truth to his desire. No, it is not because he is weak and he needs Tetsuya to exert his proof of existence, rather, it is Tetsuya who is fragile and needs assistance from Seijūrō to hold his hand and guide him through life, one step at a time.

After all, Seijūrō's been by his side for three long years.

So if Tetsuya wants to tag along, then he's considered giving an empty room in his family home in Kyoto for—

"I want to school in Seirin—"

Seijūrō blinks.

"—even though they're new, their basketball team is interesting, and it's more affordable," Tetsuya says slowly, dipping his toes into the boiling water of Seijūrō's thoughts. "I don't have anywhere to stay in Kyoto, and I don't think I'm elite enough to be accepted there. I have no choice but to stay so... this will be the first time I'll be separated from Akashi-kun."

"No."

The words fall from his lips faster than his mind processed.

He cannot leave.

His heart is a mess.

"You will be given accommodation in my family home in Kyoto, where you will be living with me. You will be coming with me to school, and we will join the basketball club together. Excess expenditure will be covered, so your family has little to nothing to be worried about," Seijūrō states, raising his chin defiantly, eyes glowing like the savagely ravenous ones lurking in the darkness. Tetsuya swallows hard, his hand grips the nearby concrete until bony white knuckles protrude, yet Seijūrō doesn't care that he's shoved the shadow's opinion right down the wastebasket.

Akashi Seijūrō will not be defied.

He will stay right where he belongs.

"But Akashi-kun—"

His father will not know of this solicitous arrangement. He doesn't come back often anyway, just for courtesy check-ups to ensure that Seijūrō stays, not strays. The family house has many dark corners to let shadows bleed into darkness, and he's sure Tetsuya will fit in just fine. The servants will be silenced; they will not breathe a single word of this to anyone. Nobody needs to know about the extra mouth needed to be fed. Nobody needs to know of a room's new arrangement. Nobody, no one.

None will know of Tetsuya's existence.

"That is final, Tetsuya."

Except for him.

vi: now we're on the edge of hell

Rakuzan isn't remotely exciting.

He's been elected as the Student Council president, as expected, and chairs the status of captain of their prestigious basketball club. They've prostrated before his might, knowing that they can never challenge his superiority, and what solidifies his status is how the teachers even crumble before his slicing words. Being 16 isn't a challenge at all, rather, he feels like he's been 16 ever since he was 6, so everything comes to him naturally as he's been doing this all along.

Why, Seijūrō even lives up to his father's expectations.

How exciting.

How exciting indeed.

Once the old man is ancient enough to start having coughing problems, Seijūrō thinks there is no problem arranging for a hospice to take him in so that Seijūrō can gather the Akashi companies in one fell swoop. What was it about returning affection to his parents who've worked hard for his sake? No, he's sure he's never heard of it. Seijūrō never thrived off familial love as per what their textbooks glorified, with how parents are the ones who mould the future generation. He is his own man, his own king, his own army, and he will be the ruthless dictator and the benign god at the same time.

Seijūrō is the judge, and Seijūrō is the sinner.

"Akashi-kun."

The scion looks up from his shogi board, frowning at the interruption done to his game. "What is it, Tetsuya?"

The blue-haired beauty strolls into the classroom and drops into a seat closest to Seijūrō, holding something sickly scented in his hand. An envelope, Seijūrō distastefully realizes. Cutesy kanji decorates the thick paper, complete with glitzy stickers and gaudy embellishments, and he doesn't need to look any further to know what the contents are. Definitely nothing educational, not even close to a letter of challenge, that's for sure.

"Someone told me to pass this to you," Tetsuya says bluntly, sliding the poison on the table. He's dispassionate, used to the fact that everyone uses him as a mailman for Seijūrō's love letters, as though their proximity with one another will definitely soften the redhead's diamond heart to a spongy state. "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to turn her down. Akashi-kun definitely doesn't like these things."

"Indeed I don't," he murmurs silkily, lips twitching. "You can throw it away, Tetsuya. I have no use for it."

Here is where the shadow starts to knit his brows together, exhaling softly. He's always been sentimental, pillow soft, summer warm, everlastingly glowing to contrast Seijūrō's fiery flames. "Won't you look through it, at least? To throw it away, unopened, is such a waste."

"Why?" Seijūrō asks, not out of curiosity, but he's purely invested in hearing how Tetsuya struggles to explain himself through empathy with others. The diluted shadow slips on dainty female heels to comprehend their struggles in writing love letters with cheap coloured pens, how they shake and stammer when facing the object of their affections, and it purely fascinates Seijūrō because he does not feel the need to be others when they cannot behim.

So why does he need to fathom them when they cannot fathom him?

"Because it's courtesy, Akashi-kun."

"Courtesy to whom, exactly? To them?" Seijūrō presses on, eyes half-lidded. A shogi piece drops, clattering on the desk.

To his credit, Tetsuya's startled, eyes wide, a single bead of sweat trickling down his temple. "Well—"

"—or should I do courtesy to myself?" Seijūrō cuts him off, binding their words.

He seized Tetsuya by the throat, made him retch out all those incredibly benevolent thoughts, chopped off his fondness for others. And so, Seijūrō sets out on his meticulous task to carve the teen into perfection once again.

"You see, Tetsuya, love does not matter to me. I've stopped receiving my parents' love years ago, and it never affected my victory, or my progress in life." His voice takes on a harder edge, he's aware of how Tetsuya's frown is growing deeper, yet he won't stop. "Ultimately, it's all about winning. I have never known of defeat. You know that my words are absolute, you've seen the proof countless of times when you're with me. I will win, and there will be no stopping me."

But it seems that Tetsuya hasn't heard him at all.

His blue, blue eyes are unfocused, hazy, yet they're still transfixed on Seijūrō.

And from his lips, Seijūrō hears a question that he's never thought of before.

"But... who will win your heart then, Akashi-kun?"

vii: dear my love, sweet morning light

It's spring again, the birds are tweeting sweetly in the air, a musical medley to accompany the sakura trees that will bloom verdantly.

Tetsuya's hunched over a rusted railing, bunching his hands together in the semblance of a praying man, but no reverent words are uttered. He stares at the overlooking track field, the emptiness providing solitude to him. It's quiet. He's been a fickle one lately, no smiles, all sighs, avoiding Seijūrō's eyes even as they talk. It isn't the grades that have gotten him down; Seijūrō's made sure that he tutors Tetsuya to ensure his exemplary excellence, and it most certainly isn't about the quality of life he's leading as he's following Seijūrō's footsteps, showered with luxury on equal footing as the scion himself.

So what is it?

"I'll return to Tokyo after we graduate, Akashi-kun."

Oh.

"I'll be returning as well, since the Kyoto home no longer serves any purpose for me," Seijūrō agrees, nodding. He joins Tetsuya's side, folding his hands over his chest, and picks apart how Tetsuya doesn't do anything but to blink at his statement. "I've no doubt that your family will be overjoyed to see you again, considering that you'll be graduating with distinction. The certificates you've collected from your active participation in school activities will surely make them proud, Tetsuya."

"I wouldn't have joined them if you didn't ask me to, Akashi-kun, so the credit goes to you."

As humble as ever, his Tetsuya's words strikes a chord in his heart, the steady thrum of pleasure uncoiling from within.

"We will still be able to see each other during the break, but it won't be as often as before," magnanimous Seijūrō continues, eyeing him sharply. "With my father's death, I have to finish reshuffling the company, and after order has been restored, then—"

Tetsuya jerks back, tasered, a brittle expression deepening the lines on his face. "When did your father die, Akashi-kun?"

Normally, Seijūrō despises people who interrupt his words and wouldn't hesitate to remind them of their place, but Tetsuya is Tetsuya, Tetsuya is always forgiven, no matter what he does. So he goes on, unaffected. "Last month. It sets me back a few hundred thousand yens, but it's for a worthy cause."They demanded nothing less of 750,000 ¥ for a thorough job, and they cleaned up well after themselves so it's a job well done. "Nothing you should be worried about, Tetsuya. What you should be concerned about is the university that you'll be enrolling into."

"I… see. Yes."

"I'll be selecting a university that has a strong basketball team for us. There's no doubt that we'll both be accepted, seeing that Rakuzan won the Winter Finals for three years in a row under my orders—"

"—I'm sorry, Akashi-kun."

And Seijūrō forgives him again for the interruption.

But not for what's coming up.

Tetsuya turns. He bows, rigid. The supple curve of his spine is bent in front of Seijūrō like his words are weighing him down around his neck, and he doesn't straighten up even after the lasts of his words echo around the field. "I'll be returning to Tokyo by myself because I don't plan to enrol in the same university as you. For the time being, I want to work part-time in a kindergarten to give me some experience before I enter Fukuyama City University to get a first class certificate in childcare. I don't think we'll cross paths."

So that's what it's all about?

This can be fixed.

Tetsuya can be fixed.

At least, that is what Seijūrō tells himself. He clenches his fist tightly, blunt nails etching hopeless half-moons into palm, and wets his lips. "If that is what you want, Tetsuya, then I will allow you to. However, you will—"

"—I won't, Akashi-kun," Tetsuya speaks up, the shadows on his face darkening. He, too, balls his hands inside the pockets of his blazer, and his neck is fraught with what Seijūrō recognizes as restraint. "I want to do things on my own this time. I'm grateful for everything you've done, from Teikō to Rakuzan, but I think our paths are too different. You've sheltered me enough, Akashi-kun. We can't be together forever, even though I want to."

"Then what's stopping you?" Seijūrō shoots back, incredulous, the slow gurgling of his anger only kept at bay with how this defiant being is Tetsuya, not anyone else insignificant to him. "You've done well in following my orders for seven years, Tetsuya. Surely you can do more than that."

He cannot leave.

"But I can't." The beauty in blue looks away, edging backwards. He's trying to get out of Seijūrō's grasp with every step he takes. "I want to have a life of my own, now that I'll be an adult. You should let me go, Akashi-kun."

"Why?" Seijūrō asks, not out of curiosity, but he's purely invested in hearing how Tetsuya will explain himself for his unspeakable act of infidelity. You have stayed by my side for years, you cannot abandon your post, you are betraying me, they're all circulating his thoughts, and he knows, he knowsTetsuya's empathy will reach his senses sooner or later.

No, it is not because Seijūrō is weak and he needs Tetsuya to exert his proof of existence. It's because he will stay right where he belongs.

By his side.

"Because it's courtesy. Not to you, but to me." Tetsuya's answer slaps him across the face, hard, yet he picks up his signature Japanese politeness again with a deep bow. "Thank you for everything until now. I'll remember your kindness, for as long as I live. Take good care of yourself, Akashi-kun. Goodbye."

Kuroko Tetsuya walks away with his spine straight, unperturbed, never to look back again. He abandons Seijūrō just as easily as abandoning a kitten by the roadside, like how he has absolutely no love to give—

Oh.

Oh.

That's what it's been all along.

Seijūrō's withering life spins out of control like a blunt needle scratching a broken record, and nobody will hold his hand through the cold nights of starless skies, listening to his noiseless pain.

viii: wait for me, you've gone much further

Yoyogi isn't far away from Akasaka.

On days where he gets off from work early, Seijūrō finds excuses to let his driver take him past the Yoyogi Kindergarten. At three in the evening, he'll see flickers of blue when Tetsuya brings the children out to play on the grounds. On the days when it rains, he winds down the window under the pretence of inhaling some fresh air, not so that his ears can hear how Tetsuya speaks loud and clear inside the classroom, trying to pacify the toddlers and children alike when they can't have fun outside. And more often than not, Seijūrō spends an hour, two, three, just finishing up his paperwork inside his car with his tablet on his thighs, comforted by the lulling rain and the familiar voice.

His driver never questions him; he just does his job, quiet, like how Seijūrō likes the quiet ones.

Like Tetsuya.

When the twilight drops into his lap in broad rays, amaranthine skies washed out with midnight blacks and gleaming ambers, parents will come and pick up their children by the gates, and Tetsuya, alongside others, will always see them off with a wave, a hug, a kiss on the cheek. And none of them are slapped for such an intimate display. It's a good thing, really. As the lasts of the children leave the premise, the teachers begin to lock up the place, and Tetsuya folds his apron into his bag before hoisting it over his shoulder, bidding farewells with that proper Japanese politeness that he's renowned for.

It's an unspoken signal for his driver to move along when Tetsuya leaves, like a stranger's car coincidentally moving on the same road every day at the same time. Rinse and repeat: days flew into weeks, weeks bled into months, and the cycle goes on and on, where the journey of life continues without waiting for Seijuro to catch up.

Akashi Seijūrō does not cry over spilt milk, no, he finds no remorse in what he's done to Kuroko Tetsuya.

But Akashi, Akashi knows his mistakes well, and he's finished analysing them to be reassured that he won't commit the same crime again. He'll never make errors from things he's learned before. Not now, not ever.

Akashi is a benevolent man and he lets Kuroko live out of mercy.

Perhaps, that same courtesy is the best for the two of them.

ix: too far

Nowadays, Akashi lets himself slip from the tightrope every once in a while.

He does things he's never done before, like what other normal humans do: hoping, wishing, praying, dreaming. Sometimes Akashi dreams of another world where he is mellow, bending sweetly yet firmly like a weeping willow tree, where his hands didn't unplug his mother's life from the start. He imagines life at Teikō with friends in a basketball team, purely enjoying the game for what it is, with no expectations to be met at every corner like a STOP sign. He fantasizes different outcomes of meeting Kuroko and finds that he likes best if he accidentally discovers Kuroko's ability in an isolated gymnasium with a friend of his overlooking, because that is where indirect friendship starts to bloom.

Yet, he knows much of reality and how it harpoons his dreams into the desolated sea.

With how his family as it is, whatever it is, wherever it is, no matter how many lives he lived, he'll wind up broken sooner or later.

And sometimes, it's better to break now than later.

Because later means that he'll succumb to mounting pressure from his father's chiding words, having to live up to unrealistic expectations that chips away at his crumbling sanity. Akashi's relationship with Kuroko is flimsy, a bubblegum stuck on a shoe's sole, so he thinks it's best that Kuroko went away during his final stages of teenage years than tearing apart right in the middle of his puberty in Teikō. At the very least, Akashi comforts himself with the figment of knowledge that he knows not to lash out at others and becoming a horrible, horrible adult like how his late father was.

In the end, everyone comes and goes.

Akashi learns to accept it as part and parcel of life. He copes with knowing the things that he loves will not necessarily love him back. And someday, he wishes that he will return to Kuroko's side, not Kuroko to his, and undo what's been done to him. To repair the damages.

Until then, until he's gathered enough courage to step out of the battered shell, Akashi chooses to stay here.

epilogue

It is Kuroko who stumbles upon him on the streets, and he's as polite as ever.

"Your hair's gotten long again, Akashi-kun," the slighter man says, kind, even when he knows Akashi is the antagonist who wrecked his life during its vital development. "You look well, even though it's been three years since we last met each other. How have you been?"

"As fine as I can be, Kuroko." The redhead chuckles, wryly smiling. "The same can be said to you. Nothing's changed, not even your height."

A pout. Young adults shouldn't do that, it's unbecoming, but Kuroko's different. Different, unlike him. "I grew three centimetres, if you're wondering."

"Only one centimetre for each year then?" Akashi teases, rubbing his nape to ease the imaginary lump lodged in his throat. "That is quite an achievement, I suppose, seeing that—"

"It's not like you've done much growing yourself, Akashi-kun," Kuroko chimes in, but he's smiling underneath the warm glow of the Sunday morning. "I can still reach your forehead."

—and he's always forgiven.

Always. No matter what the circumstance is.

"We can always continue our argument over lunch, if you have nothing planned ahead of you," Akashi suggests, though dropping hints is always harder than what people make it seem. Pointing down the street, towards a quaint-looking café that overlooks the road, he continues, "I have lunch reservations over there. They serve some delicious Western dishes, and those milkshakes that you love. If you join me, it'll be my treat, of course."

Akashi treats him cordially. There is no more forcing, no more will and more of if.

And observant little Kuroko knows. "I'd love to, if you don't mind the company. Shall we go together, Akashi-kun?"

"Yes, let's."

Perhaps certain repairs cannot be done drastically, but it's okay.

Akashi has all the time in the world to undo his mistakes in Kuroko, and that's all he ever wanted. To rebuild the trust between two humans after he tore down the wall. Someday, he can make Kuroko see that he isn't the blistering fire any longer, just dimmed down to where the flames are perfect enough to warm someone, not to scorch. And maybe someday, just someday, he'll tell Kuroko that he wants the man's new cellphone number.

Love is a weak bond that others forge to establish themselves within one another, and Akashi needs it.

Just like how he needs Kuroko by his side again.

/end