Marginal

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: yeah I dunno how I feel about this; I was uncomfortable writing these guys alone let alone together so please let me know if the characterization is bad

Sitting on the bench and acting as manager now that he can't play gives Kiyoshi a new appreciation for the dynamics of the team. Even though Kiyoshi's technically the manager, Tsuchida's really Riko's right hand man and they've developed a good rapport. Kawahara and Fukuda are the weird kind of inseparable best friends and they mostly talk to one another. They let Furihata into their conversations, but he's really third-wheeling it, the extra guy when they need a tiebreaker but unimportant for who he is (and he doesn't talk all that much in the first place). Talking to Kuroko can be kind of like talking to a brick wall and besides he's always being subbed in and out for some starter or other. So Kiyoshi's the odd guy out, and Furihata seems to feel a bit of relief-he's no longer the only one who doesn't quite gel in this situation.

So they talk, mostly about opponents, and Furihata's probably handling more of the managing work than he is right now to tell the truth (he keeps a very neat and precise box score, and Kiyoshi's not even sure how he keeps track of the plus-minus even though Furihata patiently explains it over and over again that you write the jersey numbers down of everyone on the court, and that symbol is for the scorer and this guy gets an assist and the plays go so fast but he still manages to catch every rebound and every pass and holy shit he keeps track of every play, scratching down the numbers without looking (6-8(left around the defender)-4 red, attempted 3, rebound blue 7-11-5(fake left, fake left, fake right, finally passing)-11, foul, writing the numbers down before the referee even signals it when all this happened behind the other team's centre and Kiyoshi couldn't even see the ball from this angle). It strikes Kiyoshi as a bit odd how different his scorekeeping style is from his playing style how it's not really steady but just a constant stream of motion, and how Furihata forgets to be afraid and loses himself in the action in front of him that he's not taking part in. (Kiyoshi loses himself in watching games, too, so much that he forgets to keep score and tries to glance down to the paper and then back up and then someone has scored and he has no idea how. This is part of the reason Furihata keeps score.) Kiyoshi envies him that a bit. Watching is hard and his whole body aches with longing even when he's immersed in the secondhand action, and he sees the shot spin the wrong way off a player's hand and he knows he could have taken a better shot (and he would have passed in that situation anyway).

"He should have passed," Furihata mumbles distractedly, almost to himself.

"To the open number 5, right?"

Furihata's caught off-guard (did he forget Kiyoshi was there?), staring at him like a deer in the headlights. Then he realizes the game is still going on. "Oh, I've missed a play…"

"Rebound 6-5 us." Izuki's moved up the court but hasn't passed or shot, is stalling for time so the team can get into a comfortable formation. Furihata's eyes snap back to the court and his pen moves furiously against the paper.

"Anyway," Furihata says, as usual more comfortable talking when he doesn't have to make eye contact, "5 was in a bad position. The angle's awkward. He should have passed to 8."

Kiyoshi can't really tell, still a little bit unused to this vantage point. When he watches basketball on television, they show the whole court or some kind of aerial shot of half the court for the most part and when he watches other schools' games he's usually up at the top of the bleachers where he can see everything, and when he's playing he's in there and then he knows which angles are hard and which are easy for which players, who to block and force to go left, who he doesn't have to guard as closely, but when he's not there, when he's not in the game and feeling the pace and the atmosphere, everything looks different. He's getting used to it, but it's still so odd and everything is in the way and too far.

The other team calls a time out. Seirin's up by seventeen in the last minute of the third quarter; if they're going to mount a comeback or at least make some attempt to do so they had better start soon. The Seirin players are all out of breath as they wordlessly chug their water. Riko nods.

"Kawahara, Tsuchida, you're in. You two," she gestures to the starting forwards. "Out."

Furihata jots all of this down, something that does not escape Riko's notice. She smacks Kiyoshi on the head with her clipboard. "Hey, useless manager, don't make the kid keep score."

Koganei peers over Furihata's shoulder at the scorecard between gulps of water. "He's really thorough. I don't think he's left out a pass or anything."

"Whatever," Riko says. "As long as the scorecard gets done, I guess it doesn't really matter."

Furihata actually looks kind of happy about getting to do the box score, which is honestly okay with Kiyoshi. He clearly gets a kick out of all that stat stuff. Actually, Furihata looks kind of adorable when he's focused and Kiyoshi can't help but reach out and pat him on the head. Furihata squeaks and tenses up again, suddenly overcome by the small and unexpected gesture, fingers trembling as he writes the numbers. Kiyoshi has an awfully hard time focusing on the game at first (he's more than kind of adorable, holy hell), but then Furihata starts speaking softly again, commenting on the plays and Kiyoshi gets caught up in Furihata's observations. Putting the reserve forwards in was a good idea; not only are Kagami and Koganei getting tired but swapping them out has hammered in the realization that they can't relax now. Seirin wins by thirteen, and the team agrees that it's one of the more solid games they've played lately.

They're walking to the train station together in an awkward clump, with Kiyoshi and Furihata trailing a little bit behind.

"You're really into stats and that sort of thing," Kiyoshi says.

Furihata looks up at him and smiles. "Yeah. They're so interesting. There's so much you can learn from them and so much you can explain with them, and you can try and figure out how to measure an effective player—it's an impossible task, but all these advanced statistics can really paint a clearer picture."

"But does it really matter?" Kiyoshi stretches his arm out in front of him. "I mean, can't you manipulate them to serve whatever purpose?'

Furihata shrugs. "You can do anything with numbers, but as long as you have the formula and use the real data and real results you can tell if the measure is worth anything."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. What is it they say? Ball don't lie?"

Again, Furihata shrugs.

"Hey, Kagami! Help me out here."

Kiyoshi gets into a rather lengthy discussion about idioms with Kagami, and Furihata walks quietly beside them until they reach the train station. Still, this conversation marks the most Kiyoshi has ever heard Furihata talk. He seems comfortable talking about statistics, and he's comfortable talking about them with Kiyoshi, something that for some reason makes him deliriously happy.

Kiyoshi's kind of bored. He goes to the library with a bunch of his classmates with the intention of doing their math homework, but he's the only one (as usual) who gets anything done so he leaves the group as they're still on question three and they don't really need his help (their slowness is due only to their collective penchant for gossip and tendency to procrastinate.

He doesn't really go to the library much; he likes to eat and that's not allowed here and he's not a big reader or one of those kids who does extra research. There are places in the library he's never been; it's actually a much bigger room than it looks like from the outside. There's two people making out in one of the back aisles in the fiction and poetry section (today's not the right day to look for twentieth-century poetry anthologies for sure), but most of the aisles are deserted. It's a lovely day; almost everyone is outside. They may have a point, Kiyoshi decides, but he'd better look down the last aisle just in case there's something there.

Furihata is trying his best to knock a book off the shelf with his elbow so that it falls onto the stack in his arms that's almost up to his chin. He keeps knocking his elbow against the wooden shelf, though, and the book does not move. He's focused on the task and does not notice Kiyoshi until his large hand reaches out and taps the book.

"Is this the right one?"

Furihata nods. Kiyoshi places the book on top of the stack and as Furihata's about to thank him Kiyoshi swiftly presses his lips to Furihata's.

The books come crashing to the floor. Furihata is shaking nervously, biting his lip where Kiyoshi kissed him. He opens his mouth but does not shout, does not even speak. He just breathes, and the flush on his face starts to fade. He stands on his tiptoes and attempts to kiss Kiyoshi, but gets the side of his neck instead of his lips. But Kiyoshi doesn't mind.