Author's Note: For NaNoWriMo I wanted to do something decidedly different from all the shorts I had done thus far, and the result of which was this. It took a long, long time to complete which is why I'm only now starting to publish it. I wanted to be able to finish something and be able to go back over it with a fine-tooth comb and fix any plot holes. Also a huge thank you to the people who beta'd for me, supported me, and helped me complete this. Your help was invaluable to me!

I hope you enjoy!

maybe you were the ocean

when i was just a stone

chapter one

"It's a little late to have a conscience now."

Her hands curl into fists at her sides, and she can feel herself trembling beneath that harsh gaze of his. "I followed you up until this point," she concedes, "But... it's wrong. I can't do it anymore. The injuries before were minor—but that player... his knee... what if he doesn't recover?"

He cocks his head. "Is that my problem? He's garbage—they're all garbage once they have been broken."

One glimpse at his face and she can see that ever-present smirk curling up on his lips. To her horror, he seems to be thoroughly amused. It is almost as though he feels proud—as though he considers this an accomplishment. She shudders at the thought, swallowing a lump in the back of her throat. "I... I can't do it anymore."

Those cold eyes gaze at her for a moment, and the amusement slowly dissipates, replaced by a look of boredom instead. "You're running away?" Even his voice has grown frigid as ice.

"Think of it however you want. I... I'm going to apologize to their coach, and I'm going to see if there's anything I can do to make amends." Her chin dips toward her chest as she averts her eyes from him. After hesitating for a moment, she spins around and starts toward the exit of the locker room, only to be seized by the arm. She chirps in surprise at the strength of his vicegrip.

"Kurosawa," he whispers from beside her, the warmth of his breath caressing the shell of her ear as he leans toward her. "Maybe I should break you, too?" Suddenly his fingers constrict tighter on her arm, his knuckles turning white.

Gritting her teeth from the pain, she tries desperately to wrest herself away from him to no avail. Somehow she ends up being spun around, her feet stumbling and nearly giving out from beneath her. When she jerks her head up to look at him, she finds herself disconcerted by the menacing look on Hanamiya's face.

"There's no way I'll say that, dumb ass. You're already trash. There's no fun in breaking someone like you." Contrary to his words, he is still wearing a manic expression as his lips peel back in a terrifying smile. Although he gives the front of being disinterested, the grip he maintains on her arm conveys an entirely different meaning—a warning that beneath the pretense, he is not above going to any extreme.

"J-just let me go," she stutters, still struggling to pull herself away.

He cocks his head to the side, gazing down at her condescending as he suddenly releases his hold on her, dropping his hand to his side. "Go on," he says, shooing her. It's almost as though he's encouraging her to challenge him. She does not doubt that—because she knows, better than anyone, how much he relishes crushing people.

Hastily, she staggers out of the locker room. Although she can feel herself seizing up with fear at the thought of defying him, her conscience will not allow her to drop the matter. An apology—at the very least... without him knowing... she needs to apologize the victim.

—

The sound of footsteps approaching her desk coaxes her to open her eyes, blinking back the heaviness of sleep that lingers. Yet while she awakens, she makes no outward movement to alert those around her. Instead she listens in on their conversation.

"Hey, I don't think that's a good idea."

"What's the problem? She fell asleep here, I just wanna see what's under her hair. Don't you think it must be some horrible disfigurement?"

His guess is not entirely inaccurate. All the same, she does not feel inclined to allow them the pleasure of the truth. So Tomoe straightens herself, ebony locks falling asymmetrical across the right half of her face, shielding it from view completely.

In the same moment that she sits up, the guy who had been approaching her has his hand outstretched. He freezes when he realizes that she is not, in fact, sleeping, and remains standing there with his arm awkwardly hanging mid-air. His jaw drops agape, eyes rounded—not unlike a deer in the headlights.

Tomoe cocks her head at the man, her bangs shifting across her face but never revealing what lies beneath. "Did you want something?" she asks in a low voice, the bored expression on her face indicating her lack of interest.

"Tch, never mind." Appearing annoyed, the man turns his back, shoving his hands into his pockets and stalking back toward the desks near the front of the classroom where his friends are standing.

A quick glance at the clock tells her that the lunch period has yet to pass. There is still some time to kill. Pressing a hand to the surface of her desk, she lifts herself out of her seat. Strolling down the aisle, she notices how the group of guys all seem to turn their eyes to her, as though watching with a sense of paranoia as she passes.

There seems to be some odd rumors circulating about the school. Maybe it's her uncanny appearance that has started them—her hair chopped so unevenly, and her bangs purposefully groomed to hide the entire right side of her face. It is an oversimplification to call her ugly. Her face, at least as much as is visible, is actually quite attractive. It is her sloppy way of dressing coupled with her odd hair style and eccentric behavior that coaxes her classmates to steer clear.

A peal of laughter echoes through the hallway, and as she rounds the corner, Tomoe runs straight into the source. But it dies out quickly as soon as the two girls, from which it originated, spot her coming their way. They turn their heads, eyes averting as though pretending not to see her as she passes.

Almost as quickly as she enters the cafeteria, she nearly runs headlong into someone else. While she does manage to halt herself before impact, a crushing force slams down against her foot. Aside from a grimace, she makes no other outward sign of acknowledging the pain.

"Ah... I seem to have to stepped on something," a voice remarks. Murky brown eyes regard her condescendingly as he tilts his head back, a smirk spreading across his face. "But it's only trash."

She stubbornly refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm, and while Hanamiya clocks her for some kind of reaction, there is only disappointment to be had. When he realizes that she will not bend under his tactics, he merely clicks his tongue and passes her by, finally alleviating the pressure of his own foot which had been crushing hers. But it is his presence more than anything else that is so oppressive to the point she feels like she is suffocating, and she only realizes that she was holding her breath once he is gone.

Any appetite that existed prior to running into him has been squashed along with her hopes of making it through the day without encountering him. And maybe her poor reputation has more to do with Hanamiya's occasional appearance around her more than anything else.

Her hands rest as trembling fists at her side, but soon loosen as she resigns herself to returning to the classroom. It is not the first time that she has skipped eating lunch. It certainly won't be the last as long as she is at Kirisaki Daiichi.

The rest of the day proceeds in much the same manner as any other; she sits at the back of the class, gazing out the window and tuning everything else out as teacher drones on. It's impossible for her to pay attention; Hanamiya sits just a few seats over. And while he never pays her presence any heed, the mere image of him is enough for her stomach to knot up, and the nausea is overwhelming.

As soon as the afternoon bell rings, signalling the end of the school day, she nearly sprints out of the classroom to avoid any possible confrontation. Although for the past year, they have scarcely spoken a word to one another. They are nearly strangers, save for the accidental encounters such as the one that happened at lunch time.

It was just bad luck, she assures herself bitterly as she yanks her shoe locker open, hastily drawing her loafers out and throwing them to the ground. It is not an exaggeration to say she rushes out of the front doors faster than any of her peers, her bookbag dangling loosely in her grasp as she runs through the front gate of the school.

After several minutes of straight out sprinting, she tentatively casts a gaze over her shoulder, relieved to see no one has followed her. It is pure paranoia, Tomoe realizes. Everyone in school ignores her. And yet, she suspects that at least Hanamiya would not so easily ignore her if he knew where she went after school.

—

"Ah, you came to visit again today." A large, goofy grin breaks across his face as he holds up a bag of caramel popcorn, popping one into his mouth. The crunch of it is audible and he seems quite content as he munches away.

Tomoe lingers near the door, watching the brown-haired man with a weathered expression. "You're eating that again," she remarks in a quiet voice, seeming to indicate disapproval.

"That's a scary expression," he tells her somewhat jokingly as he holds the bag out toward her. "Do you want some?" His head tilts with the question and the smile on his face widens. If Hanamiya can be compared to a creeping darkness encroaching upon her, then this man is the light that holds him at bay.

"Sure..." Her voice is quiet and almost seems to melt away in the silence of the room. She hesitantly crosses the distance that exists between them, approaching his bedside with her hand outstretched. Digging into the bag, she withdraws a small handful, pressing them one by one past her lips.

"Ah, you're even wearing your uniform today," he remarks. His eyes seem to be drawn to her school bag, which she is still holding at her side.

"I was in a hurry." That is not entirely a lie at least. "How was your therapy today?"

He scratches at the back of his head, chuckling. "It seems like I'm making good progress, but the nurses still nag that I'm pushing myself too much. If they have any say, I'll probably be resting in here longer than usual before I can go home."

"You need to listen to them," she scolds him.

"Of course, of course." Although he outwardly agrees, his words just seem to be his attempt to placate her and passify her anger. He outstretches his large hand, patting her gently on the head. "My days of therapy should be over soon, anyways."

"You're that eager to play again?" The moment the question escapes her lips, she turns her gaze down, tightly gripping the single caramel kernel still left in her hand. There is an audible crunch as it is smashed against her fingers—a sound similar to the one she heard that day. The image still haunts her. The moment she closes her eyelids, she relives it all over again.

The crowd is jeering, egging on the two battling teams. The scoreboard has left everyone on edge, particularly Tomoe. She clasps her hands together, gaze swaying to the opposite end of the court. Other than a few reserve members, she sits alone on the bench—watching from the sidelines.

The moment she hears that sound of snapping fingers, her heart sinks. She is no stranger to the tactics that Hanamiya employs. And everything plays out in slow motion—especially the echo of something akin to an audible crack. Maybe it's just her imagination, but from the anguished cry that follows, she can tell that the pain on the face of their opponent is definitely real.

"Tomoe-san?"

She blinks away the image of Kiyoshi's face contorted in pain. It seems so radically different from the grin that he is giving her now. And her heart settles a little. "I was just thinking about something." Uncurling her fingers, she glances down at the crushed piece of popcorn in her hand, and quickly dumps it into her mouth, chewing once before swallowing.

"I've been getting a lot of texts asking about my progress," he confides, reaching for his phone. He flips it open and holds it out toward her. There is a long history of recent texts—all from a name that Tomoe vaguely recognizes as the coach of Seirin's team.

"She must be anxious for you to return."

"Mm, I hear there are some pretty promising new members this year. There won't be a repeat of last time—we'll make it to the Winter Cup."

Talking about basketball makes her feel a little uneasy, but it's unavoidable. Her lips twitch, as though trying to force a smile, but it looks more akin to grimace than anything else. Realizing it's futile, she finally speaks the question that has been weighing on her mind. "Teppei-san. What happens if... you run into..." Her voice trails off, her words strangled, as though it's impossible to even utter them.

"We'll play it out on the court like we always do," he says with a laugh, as though not even recognizing the strain on her face.

"Right..." Her gaze drifts back down to the ground.

Something warm caresses her arm. When she looks over to see what it is, she realizes that he is grasping her wrist. Surprised, her head jerks—their gaze meeting. "You have to come watch me play again," he tells her.

There is a short pause before she says, "I will." There is no indication of whether or not she wants to. Maybe it doesn't matter. Their conversations are always awkward and stilted like this, with him doing the majority of the talking, and her dreary demeanor bringing a damper to everything.

"Even if we play Kirisaki Daiichi?"

Her blood nearly runs cold at the mention of them, and she blanches. "I..." The thought of Hanamiya discovering that she has been visiting him since their decisive match last year makes her want to run—to escape. She knows the repercussions would not be merely a scoff or a harsh word thrown in her direction.

No, if Hanamiya knew it would be much, much worse.