a/n: day 1033 - i am still shit with grammar. forgive my lack of grammatical understanding and just enjoy the "quality" plot? reviews would be greatly appreciated!

Recently, Seijūrō's appointed a new boy as his servant.

His name is Kuroko Tetsuya and he's quite peculiar. A meagre thing of sixteen years, he barely sprouts up to the height of normal teenage males. According to what Seijūrō's analysed, his pastime includes reading novels on the backyard steps, feeding a stray patchwork dog that lives in his manor's compound, and (he's not tooting his own horn, really) serving Seijūrō. Bones too brittle, skin too pale, eyes too dull, Tetsuya's everything that's too feeble, but his fighting spirit is certainly admirable. After all, Seijūrō's inclined to think highly of anyone who's served his constant stream of demands without going all mouthy on him by the end of the day. Tetsuya's already wedged in a certain standard of sorts.

On good days, Seijūrō enjoys observing Tetsuya as he trots from one side to another, adjusting miniscule details to please his master. He keeps tucking stray bangs behind his ear, twitchy fingers pulling up a slipping glove. Black tailcoats swish about with every sway of his hips and firm footsteps dance a broken melody on the waxed marble flooring. Tetsuya probably knows that Seijūrō likes observing him as he sips tea from a Meissen teacup, but he never says anything. Nothing, not a sound, subdued. Even as their eyes meet more than once within the span of an hour, he doesn't even show any signs of discomfort.

So Seijūrō goes about with his day and relishes how Tetsuya submissively kneels on the floor in front of him, ready to shine his master's shoes.

Today's a good day.

Today's a good day, as good as it could get, until the late evening news announced that the heir of the Akashi estate got shot in the head by a random gunman. But nobody's mentioned the mysterious body they've found in the woods.

Recently, Seijūrō's appointed a new boy as his personal assistant.

His name is Kuroko Tetsuya and he's a homely creature of twenty-four years. So delicate the flesh that moulds him, yet unyielding like a willow branch. Seijūrō knows that the boy—still a boy, always a boy to Seijūrō—likes to spend time until the eleventh hour in the company. But it's only recently that he's discovered how Tetsuya devours novels to pass his time. Even after everyone's evacuated the grounds and left the building despairingly desolate by 7.00 p.m., he's still glued on the chair. Fingers poised over the spine of his latest literature fixture, Tetsuya's gaunt eyes obediently follow the trail of printed ink on fine paperback.

Sometimes, Seijūrō catches Tetsuya whispering words, words and strange murmurings under his breath. He pores over and over and over those books in his wake, pressing them to his chest in a silent prayer like it's a tribute to a foreign god. How he drowns himself in a sea of ardent emotions abstractly conveyed by an author is beyond Seijūrō's comprehension at times, but to each their own. After all, Tetsuya's by no means a slacker and he performs well in areas that the redhead doubts he could. There's no reason to call him out then, is there?

So Seijūrō gets up from his armchair that night and bids farewell to Tetsuya, who bows from his counter, and enters the lift.

Today's a good day.

Today's a good day, as good as it could get, until Tetsuya hears a terribly loud crash from the lift shaft and later on in the midnight news, it's announced that the Akashi Zaibatsu will be taken over by Seijūrō's father once again due to the sudden tragedy. But nobody's mentioned the strange body they've found in an alleyway nearby.

Recently, Seijūrō's appointed a new boy as his fashion coordinator.

His name's Kuroko Tetsuya and he's a delicate teen of nineteen years, muted, docile, clad modestly in classy Burberry and Vera Wang. His colleague, Kise Ryota, chirps that Tetsuya's hobby is reading novels. But other than that, he doesn't do much of anything else. Tetsuya's easily content with ghosting about the Akashi walls, rolling clothing racks over Persian carpets, and pinning cloths into place on weathered mannequins of Seijūrō's size.

It used to be that Tetsuya would be seated at his working table in Seijūrō's dressing room and they only meet whenever it's deemed necessary. But quite recently, Seijūrō discovers that he needs Tetsuya more than he thought he would, so Tetsuya's been given new orders to grace Seijūrō with his presence at the dining table. Breakfast, lunch, seldom tea and most definitely dinner, they chat with one another about business and delegating tasks—and on rarer dates, the topics veer right off the track and into basketball, where they have a common ground to establish.

So that night, right after dinner and clipped farewells, Seijūrō exits the dining hall and goes upstairs to his bedroom, ready for a bath before bedtime.

Today's a good day.

Today's a good day, as good as it could get, until Tetsuya goes into his room the morning after for fitting sessions and finds that Seijūrō's collapsed in his shower with crusted blood smearing his chin, succumbed to poison. But nobody's mentioned the odd body they've found in Kanagawa's train station tracks.

"Spin the time backwards, forwards, as much as you want. I'll defy fate to be together with him once more, even if the odds aren't with me."

"Please let me into your life, Akashi-kun."

At the strong age of twenty-six, the company long left behind to his father's able ruling, the family forgotten and caked in dust within the confines of square frames, Seijūrō lives and breathes by himself now.

Some say that he ran away from his responsibilities, others gossip about his isolation as though it's a good omen.

Whatever. Contentment is what Seijūrō attained after he sheds the persona of the Akashi heir and their scandalized words mean nothing to him. Instead of shouldering the burden he wants no part in, he strays from the road and paved a new walkway. One that led into a career as a professional shogi player instead of a bigshot conglomerate CEO. Seijūrō's made many formidable enemies along the way; some from his parent's business rivals who're hell bent on smashing him wherever he goes, and others owing to the fact that Seijūrō is an excellent player who could rival Yonenaga if he were still alive.

"I was only lying to myself when I watched you walk away during the last day of our high school," Tetsuya goes on, stealing Seijūrō out of his reverie. Fingers curling into his capri pants and knuckles whiter than paper, sheer desperation shines in his eyes. Seijūrō's used to seeing how Tetsuya struggles to catch a flirefly of hope during their frolicsome basketball days, but this is the first time he's seen it out of a match. "Back then, I was afraid that I would be a bother to Akashi-kun," he grits his teeth, shaking his head, "but I'm wrong. Akashi-kun is very important to me."

And right now, he's giving Seijūrō the same look.

The same look hushedly whispering of Seijūrō as his glimmer of hope.

His last glimmer of hope.

But Seijūrō's not one who'll be easily pleased at such subservient words. Particularly not after what has transpired between them.

"So desperate, Tetsuya?" he taunts, cocking a brow and not making it easy for him. It riles Tetsuya; his shoulders square and his chin lowers, but Seijūrō's not quite done yet. "I won't deny that you've captured my interest back then, but that was eight years ago. Feelings can change, especially when you left without saying a single word to any of us." And by us, he needn't elaborate any further. It's obvious from how Tetsuya winces that he's guilty of his infamous disappearing act, where neither one of the Generation of Miracles knew of his whereabouts. Steely cold, Seijūrō reminds, "You are aware that many things have happened during those years, yes?"

"I know..." Tetsuya whispers, so pained, so raw, so ruined until Seijūrō wonders if something has occurred to the man until he's so brittle like this. Powdery blue eyes cast aside, gazing at the potted plants littering the Japanese landscape Seijūrō has so meticulously manicured, and the briefest of smiles graze Tetsuya's lips. "I did not wish to be a hindrance to Akashi-kun because of our difference in status, so I wanted to live on my own first. I want to establish myself in this world without anyone's help so that nobody will accuse me of riding on your coattails," he explains, breath hitching. "But over the years, I've become more intimidated of your success in the news, Akashi-kun. Not only had you left your family's business, you're an internationally acclaimed shogi player. Comparing myself as a lowly kindergarten teacher to you, I'm ashamed of coming to see you," he wryly smiles.

Seijūrō tilts his head to the side, catlike. "Really," he drawls.

"Yes, Akashi-kun," Tetsuya answers without an inch of hesitation, strong, unwavering determination rolling off in waves around him. "But I've made up my mind. I didn't want to lose Akashi-kun, who found me and shaped me when I was young. Aomine-kun gave me your address in Kyoto when I called him, so I quit my job to be here with you." Teeth sinking into bottom lip, Tetsuya murmurs, "I want to be by your side once again, Akashi-kun."

Well. That's an interesting turn of events. Akashi can't help himself but to blink, comprehension gradually dawning its implications inside his mind.

"You quit your job just to be with me, here?"

"Yes, I quit my job just to be with you, here," Tetsuya parrots with slight mirth. While normal people would cower in fear of mocking the emperor, he's already smashing through the hurdles by force. Something unnamed in him has changed; Seijūrō could see how it's whisked Tetsuya into a desired consistency to form the man sitting before him today, yet he doesn't know what it is. It's Tetsuya but not Tetsuya, the shadow without a shape, and the thought would've scared him if he isn't Akashi Seijūrō.

Because shadows could be whatever they liked.

And if Kuroko Tetsuya wants to be his lover, then he could.

"Do as you please," is all Seijūrō says, turning away to end the conversation.

But he can't deny it—it's a good day today.

Ever since Tetsuya's arrival, Seijūrō finds out that he hardly needs to perform any house chores.

Laundry? Check. Watering the plants? Check. Dishes? Done and done. Menial tasks are Tetsuya's game now, from dusting the Heian area tapestries in the reading room, wiping the floorboards with a cloth and liquid cleaner, to cooking—though really, their staple food now revolves around boiled eggs, or any variant of it (and Seijūrō intervenes after he feels the adverse effects of breakfast, lunch and dinner of eggs, eggs, and more eggs. How eggciting.) To Seijūrō, it's like they've achieved a form of dynamic ecosystem, where Tetsuya maintains the manor's cleanliness whilst Seijūrō works for the 'family'. The unbroken cycle revolves around the pair with surprising ease, he notes.

One would've thought that Tetsuya would flee after a week of mulishly lingering in Seijūrō's abode, but he flicks through the days with enthusiasm and it's such a sight to behold.

For Seijūrō, who's accustomed to waking up by means of birds chirping in the courtyard, it's now a change to hear footsteps dawdling about here and there in front of his bedroom, where Tetsuya contemplates the consequences of waking him. They eat breakfast together, watch the morning news on Saturday, and on events where Seijūrō has to leave for competitions, Tetsuya's always there to see him off at the entranceway with 'good luck' on his lips.

And sometimes, Seijūrō's thoughts linger on Tetsuya's lips more than he should have.

Tetsuya, as everyone knows, loves reading.

"Your collection of Orwell and Murakami's books is extensive," Tetsuya says, and he no longer hides the happiness in his eyes as he picks out a copy of 1985. "And there are many other titles that I haven't heard of," he adds after examining Lolita, "but I'm not sure where I should begin to read. Will Akashi-kun recommend me something?"

That noon, Seijūrō spends his time with Tetsuya in the reading room. It's one of the many moments in their new life where it intersects with one another; Seijūrō plays games against himself while Tetsuya reads, just like the old days, only set in the newer times. From his spot, Seijūrō cradles a battered tome of The Devotion of Suspect X and places it in Tetsuya's gentle grasp when he approaches.

"If you like mystery, this is your book," he says, a pleased smile gracing his lips.

Tetsuya accepts it with both of his hands and examines the cover. He blinks, bemused, and flips over the back to read the summary. "I wonder why I haven't come across this in the bookstores," Tetsuya muses after a while, breathing softly as he presses the gift to his chest like a child. He's excited over a book, Seijūrō realizes, and it's just cute how the other man begins leafing through the pages with readiness. "Thank you, Akashi-kun, I'll get started on it right away."

It's a book about mystery, but to Seijūrō, it's an even bigger mystery why Tetsuya puts up with him.

Tetsuya likes staying cooped up in his house, it seems.

He hasn't complained once, nor did he insinuate any desire of going out.

At times, Seijūrō fixes his gaze on the man's nimble build and wonders why things have changed oh so suddenly. It isn't just his life anymore; it now includes Tetsuya in the mix. His Tetsuya seems comfortable—too comfortable with hanging the laundry sheets and reading pieces off Seijūrō's shelf. It is as though he knows this is what he'll subject himself to for the rest of his life, and never once did he mention about any lingering regrets of work and suspended freedom.

Seijūrō, on the other hand, believes that he shall let Tetsuya do as he pleases for now. In time, Tetsuya will scamper from his life much later on, or so he coaxes himself to believe. But two weeks into their dysfunctional relationship of sorts, there still aren't any signs of it happening yet. Tetsuya is eager to put his hands and body for Seijūrō's usage, even though Seijūrō doesn't command him to.

Oh well.

Seijūrō's a patient man and he spent eight years waiting for the ghost of Tetsuya to return, so more waiting couldn't possibly hurt him.

So he'll wait.

Wait to see if Tetsuya would leave him again.

"What are you watching, Akashi-kun?"

"The news," he answers flippantly, motioning for Tetsuya to take a seat beside him. The pale man gratefully complies and shoots him a smile from the corners of his eyes, something that Seijūrō finds hard to miss, and his hand reaches out to turn up the volume. The newscaster, a pretty woman in her late twenties, goes over the details of her paper, and Seijūrō easily summarizes the content for him. "They found a burned body in an apartment in Tokyo last week and they took it to the hospital for an autopsy since there weren't any identification on it. But now, it seems to be missing." He pauses, letting the woman prattle on for a few seconds, before continuing, "I couldn't imagine how they've misplaced a cadaver, or why anyone would steal one, don't you agree?"

Tetsuya blinks, staring intently at the plasma television as he mulls over Seijūrō's words.

He doesn't reply.

The manor is silent, save for an ongoing interview played on the news channel. Seijūrō finds it amusing that Tetsuya's paying rapt attention to the news more than everything else at the moment. Hands on his knees, blank eyes engrossed with the visual entertainment, and head tilted to the side as though he's thinking hard about something. This Tetsuya is Tetsuya yet it isn't Tetsuya, but maybe the years have fermented him with maturity, and Seijūrō wonders if the others knew of this particular Tetsuya who's with him. Perhaps they do, perhaps they don't, and either way Seijūrō couldn't really care less. After all, if they hadn't contacted him, then it's wise for him to presume that they've kept in contact with their loveable shadow.

A full minute passes with the inspector reassuring the public about how they'd catch the killer before Tetsuya speaks up again.

"I wonder how Kise-kun and the others are doing in Tokyo," he simply says, and leaves it at that.

Sometimes, Seijūrō catches Tetsuya staring out of the windows.

In a trance, the man presses his fingertips against the glass panes as his dead eyes gaze off into the misted chasm of his thoughts. He could stand there for a full hour, whether in the early mornings or the darkest nights, and Seijūrō ponders if Tetsuya's in a fix of sorts. But he wouldn't ever know. Eight years is a long gap, the memories are rusted and dusty, and he recalls spending a full year after graduation to consider whether he should utilize his family's strings to dig out Tetsuya's whereabouts.

But everyone knows he didn't, how he bit into restraint and never brought the matter up even in conversations. Winter Cup's defeat was still fresh in his memory at that time and it cracked the old Seijūrō to pieces, forcing him to rebuild himself anew. And the new Seijūrō didn't want to probe into another's scars. He respected Tetsuya's disappearance, and in the end, he left the matter to rot behind his head. But now, with how things are changing drastically, the problem resurrects itself.

After the third week and sixth day, on a night where the stars shone the brightest and the moon eeriest, Seijūrō witnesses Tetsuya repeating the peculiar act.

Tetsuya stands in front of the same window in his pajamas, soft, delicate, so faint and transient like the shadow he is. Pastel whites highlight his cheekbones, settling like dimmed sparkles on his mussed hair, highlighting the slick of his lips. Seijūrō remembers how Kise prattled on and on about how lovely his Kurokocchi is—Seijūrō could never see eye-to-eye with Kise at that time, but he thinks he agrees with Kise now.

But then it all slows down to a halt when Tetsuya lowers his head, a droplet trickling from his eye.

Seijūrō doesn't remember how he gets from Point A to Point B, but it takes him a full minute to digest how he traces the salty path with his tongue and kisses the corner of Tetsuya's eye, cradling his cheek softly and burying his nose in the crook of Tetsuya's neck. He hears a gasp from those lips he's never kissed before and an urge to stifle it wells up in Seijūrō. He backtracks to Tetsuya's face and litters soft presses of his lips on Tetsuya's forehead, nose, cheek, so chaste and so coquettish. It's painful, the transition from something innocent to downright indecent, but Seijūrō savours the plush warmth of Tetsuya's lips as he bites into Tetsuya's lower lip and sucks on his tongue. A hand on his nape secures him in place and the other presses down into his side, mapping the curve of his form and curling into his pliant flesh.

And when they part, it's all heavy breaths and a low groan from Tetsuya, whose flushed cheeks tempt Seijūrō to do more.

Tetsuya's startlingly indecent and vocal underneath the façade of a prim Japanese man.

"Please, one more—" he gasps, broken, and who's Seijūrō to resist when Tetsuya begs. Pleasure is no stranger to Seijūrō and he's had his fair share of escapades, though nothing as impressive as Kise's or even Aomine's. But then again, it's sufficed to make Tetsuya teeter on the brink of ecstasy with how deliriously sensitive he's getting. Eyes squeezed shut, head tossed back on the pillow, and teeth biting into scrunched sheets to stifle his moans, Seijūrō loves seeing how he could undo Tetsuya, unlace him for all that's worth it.

A third finger presses into the slick, tight heat to stretch Tetsuya further and he arches from the bed with a high whine, his hard cock dripping more precum on his sticky abdomen. They're beyond salvation now, drifting in the trifling pleasure of bringing each other off, and Seijūrō thinks it's just so lewd how Tetsuya rocks back against his fingers, so lost and drowning with each thrust against his prostate. Trembling pale skin specked with red blossoming bites, Tetsuya shudders and his lips utter mixed prayers of please and faster, and Seijūrō just brings his thumb over to tease the slit of Tetsuya's cock.

"Aka—don't—" Tetsuya pleads, but no matter how he says no, his body's responding too fast for him to stop. He comes with a hoarse moan and Seijūrō lets him ride out the rest of his pleasure with gentler strokes as his orgasm wrecks him, making his body a mess of trembling limbs and hitched gasps. It should be a sin for someone to look filthily erotic like how Tetsuya is—cum splattered over his chest, peaked nipples and glazed eyes all too heady with arousal—but Seijūrō likes how Tetsuya weakly reaches out to interlace their fingers together, and his lips—

"—Akashi-kun," he groans, feverish, "please—"

A begging Tetsuya is better than a crying Tetsuya, Seijūrō thinks to himself before devouring Tetsuya's lips.

They shouldn't be at it like hormonal teenagers.

Yet they are, as though they want to make up for all the lost time.

Tetsuya's always pliant, always polite, and Seijūrō's always patient, always considerate, so ignoring Tetsuya when he comes over to hug Seijūrō from behind whilst asking to be taken is just beyond any sane man's ability to refuse. Doing it in the entranceway? Kinky, but Seijūrō doesn't care if anyone walks in—God forbid Kise Ryota to make one of his special surprise appearances, but neither one of them bothered to lock the door or even keep their voices down (case in point, Tetsuya's awfully vocal moans).

"Is this your new form of wishing me good luck? By doing it right before I leave for a competition?" Seijūrō huffs, pinching and scratching Tetsuya's nipples until he cries out at the repeated lashings of pain and pleasure. But it certainly doesn't stop him from grinding his ass against Seijūrō's crotch, pressing the promising bulge against the cleft of his ass and slowly making it damp. Tetsuya's body is so honest in his needy state unlike his owner, and it betrayed where he wants to be fondled, grabbed, squeezed and bruised.

Everything Seijūrō ever wants is to slam Tetsuya against the wall and fuck him senseless; apparently he's getting his wish today, so kudos to whichever celestial being that heard his silent prayer. Given that they have ample time together now, Seijūrō supposes that it won't take long for him to come up with something else entirely new for them to try out. Surely Tetsuya wouldn't be protesting, not that he's able to during sex.

"H-Here—" between pants and heavy gulps of air, Tetsuya bares his neck and Seijūrō artfully takes the invitation to bite on the exposed flesh, inciting the other to arch into the sharp sensation. "Harder, Akashi-kun—" he breaks off into a keening whine when Seijūrō marks him and all is lost.

Seijūrō likes how he could render Tetsuya wordless just by putting his hands on him, likes how Tetsuya twists and writhes with each fervid touch, likes how sticky Tetsuya's thighs could get from all the dripping precum, likes how fast Tetsuya could climax because he has no control over himself, likes how carnal things could get from the way Tetsuya nibbles on his lower lip. Hands braced against the wall, cheek pressed against the cool surface—just everything about Tetsuya occupies Seijūrō's mind and they invade his senses with countless thoughts of debauching Tetsuya.

So Seijūrō guides himself to Tetsuya's stretched entrance and nudges in, slow, calculating because he doesn't want it to hurt, but Tetsuya just loves to tread on his string-thin patience by eagerly pushing back and—

"Akashi-kun," he groans, pressing his forehead against the back of his hand, and the lasts of Seijūrō's inhibitions snap.

One of his hands circle the base of Tetsuya's leaking cock and grips it tightly, tearing another agonizing whine from Tetsuya as he jerks into the touch and not finding any gratifying contact. It's purely maddening with how Tetsuya's lashes flutter and his mouth hangs open at the realization, chest rising and falling in a marathon for air, and he fruitlessly thrusts into Seijūrō's unrelenting grip that isn't going to let go anytime soon.

"So desperate, Tetsuya?" Seijūrō exhales with a menacing glint in his dichromatic eyes, and oh god the moan he wrenches from Tetsuya's throat sends electric sparks down his spine. "You know that I will not play nice when you don't. Until you repent," he smiles, full of depraved intentions, "don't expect to find release."

And he slowly, just so slowly, slips inside the tight stretch of Tetsuya's body, and fucks him long and hard.

Seijūrō's name is in the papers again.

Tetsuya reads it in quiet awe, visibly pleased with his lover's accomplishment, and reaches over to peck Seijūrō on his cheek. Normally, Seijūrō would've scoffed and wave off one of his many successful plays, but he doesn't bother with it this time. He's delighted, yes, but what delights him the most is how Tetsuya scans through the front page over and over again as though he's witnessed a miracle—and there it is again, Tetsuya's signature move where he clutches the paper tightly to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut and just not letting go.

And before Seijūrō realizes it, his lips have already moved.

"Why do you always do that, Tetsuya?"

Only a moment of silence before the other man looks at him in the eye and smiles benignly. "Because it's you, Akashi-kun," he answers, as though that explains everything in Tetsuya's world.

To Seijūrō, it's an incomplete sentence, but Tetsuya's already fishing out a pair of scissors from Seijūrō's many hidden compartments and begins a surgery on the oaken table, dissecting the newspaper and detaching the contents for archiving purposes.

Perhaps Seijūrō doesn't understand the wholeness of Tetsuya's world yet, but he has years ahead of him...

... so he'll try.

After productively making Tetsuya come for the third time that night, they curl up together on the bed in a post-coital exhaustion.

In some days, Seijūrō's fingers would thread through Tetsuya's hair and lazily pet him to sleep. He'd allow Tetsuya to rest because it's his fault for exhausting the man to hell and back, but today's different. Tonight, tonight of all days, the shadows are thicker and they drape over him like velvet cocoons. Seijūrō isn't discomfited with how unusually suffocating it is and neither is Tetsuya, but the chill is somehow gloomily stronger. Strange, but he draws up the comforters all the same and ensures that Tetsuya is nestled in them comfortably.

"Thank you, Akashi-kun..." Tetsuya yawns, his voice laced with sleep.

"You're welcome, Tetsuya," Seijūrō curtly replies, patting his other half. "Get some rest, you deserve it."

A feeble smile graces Tetsuya's lips at the comment and he reaches out to intertwine their fingers together, something that he enjoys doing even though Seijūrō's bristled a few times at the intimacy of their unspoken relationship. However, instead of getting some well-deserved rest, Tetsuya's voice, dulcet, whispers in the deafening silence of the night.

"May I ask you a question, Akashi-kun?"

Seijūrō nods, piqued. After all, who is he to refuse what Tetsuya wants, especially when it's only a measly question? At his agreement, Tetsuya wastes no time in leaning forward and nudges their forehead together. It's sickeningly sweet, like they're re-enacting some high school drama of illicit homosexuality, but with how heavy Tetsuya's eyes are, Seijūrō's cutting remark dies in his throat.

"Akashi-kun," he begins, soft, softer, softest in his nature, and his fingers clutch at Seijūrō's as though they're his lifeline, "we won't ever part from each other, right?"

Silly question, really. There are no passionate love letters or breathy confessions of a broken heart, but the contextual clues are everywhere. For Tetsuya to be this insecure, something must have happened before. Surely something must have happened. Seijūrō doesn't know what's on Tetsuya's mind but if he needs reassurance about how this would work out, then he supposes he should give some. Though in what sort of form, Seijūrō doesn't really know. For all that misconception about what they have on seductively rich snotty bastards, romance is positively not what Seijūrō majors in.

But he supposes words would suffice for now.

The ring would have to come later.

"No, we won't be separated, Tetsuya," Seijūrō reassures him, feeling the balmy warmth of Tetsuya's forehead against his, and enjoying the gentle breathing of his lover. "You have chosen to be by my side and I will not let you walk away just as easily like before."

A pause.

Tetsuya lowers his eyes and gingerly places a kiss on Seijūrō's lips before pulling back, gauging his reaction. "If something were to happen," he tries again, brows knitted together, "just if something happens... Akashi-kun, do you trust me?"

Trust?

"You're behaving strangely, Tetsuya," Seijūrō says, and he tries not to let the worrying note slip into his tone. "After all these years, you are starting to doubt me? I am always right, and I am never wrong in putting my faith in you. Unless, of course, you're suddenly devising a plan to turn tail and run for it, then you should be worried," he adds thoughtfully.

Tetsuya laughs but his voice shivers and for a moment there, Seijūrō thought that the cold got to him. The redhead wraps his arms around Tetsuya and pulls him closer than ever, putting his chin on Tetsuya's head. Openly showing his affection isn't what he's used to, but he suspects he should make a habit of it now, especially when Tetsuya suffers from moments like these. Now heavy breathing fills the air, so uncharacteristic, and Seijūrō presses his fingers against the sharp indents of Tetsuya's spine in an effort to calm him down.

"Akashi-kun, I don't wish to leave you," he mumbles into Seijūrō's chest, pressing his lips against the beating heart, so close until Seijūrō could feel Tetsuya's lashes brushing against his skin. "Will you stay with me forever?"

A clingy Tetsuya is a rather cute Tetsuya, Seijūrō thinks, and he ruffles his lover's hair.

"I cannot grant you eternity, but my entire life would be sufficient," Seijūrō promises, returning a small kiss on Tetsuya's scalp. "Will that be good enough for you, Tetsuya?"

He nods. Always a yes from Tetsuya, never a no. Reverent, his lips kiss the sharp jut of Seijūrō's collarbone and he asks again, "Wherever we are, we will still be together, right Akashi-kun?"

"Of course." It's starting to get tiring now with how relentlessly stubborn Tetsuya is with all the questions, but Seijūrō supposes all those years must've dented his ego to an extent. It can't be helped. Perhaps this would serve as a lesson for him to get started on those romance books. Or maybe not. "Now get some sleep, Tetsuya. You are going to exhaust yourself if you keep going."

But Tetsuya doesn't know of exhaustion.

He just stares into Seijūrō's eyes like they're mirrors to his soul.

And then it happens.

Coagulating shadows slither over Seijūrō's vision and his limbs go lax as though he's a stringless marionette. No matter how hard he tries, his nerves refuse to respond to his commands. They're not his any longer. His body is not his any longer. His consciousness is not his any longer. Not anymore, not ever again. Pushing, tugging, squirming, the formless darkness is just letting him sink through the mattress, and a nauseatingly strong sense of vertigo tugs through his innards. Seijūrō chokes on the suffocating blackness of it all and struggles to break free from the onslaught, but a cold hand on his wrist says he couldn't. He shouldn't. So he wouldn't.

The last thing Seijūrō sees are Tetsuya's blue eyes glowing bright even amidst the shadows.

"Then let's go, Akashi-kun," he says—

—and is that a smile on his lips?

"This time, Akashi-kun is willing to stay by my side. I'm glad."

Kuroko Tetsuya likes how his Akashi does nothing but to sit on the chair, waiting for a chance to escape.

A chance that will surely never come, but Akashi always had been a big dreamer so no harm done.

Now, the cycle has been broken. Instead of a dynamic ecosystem, it's an endangered ecosystem where Akashi lives together with him; he's the extinct species and Kuroko is trying to conserve him. Within this setting, it isn't a hard feat, really. Kuroko's quaint little mansion sitting by a river, far away from civilization, is perfect for making a contained environment for his Akashi to live. If Akashi's bored, then Kuroko could give him books—novels, rare scriptures, novel dark arts, anything for him to devour. What about visual entertainment? This world of Kuroko's lacks modern technology, but they can always come up with a game or two to pass the time. Akashi would be so good at archery if he learns it, or so Kuroko thinks.

After all, they have all the time in the world to themselves now, don't they?

Kuroko waves over a teapot and the porcelain drifts steadily through the air before pausing in front of a cup. It tips its head and an amber stream gushes out—tea, a special sort of tea that'll numb Akashi's pain in this world. His own concoction, he can proudly say. In Kuroko's own mug, a chipped piyo design, there are traces of this morning's milkshake in it. But no matter how hard Kuroko tries to make it the best drink he's ever had, it still couldn't replace Kagami's own homemade vanilla shake, topped with banana slices and caramel drizzle.

Well. Kagami's gone now, so no use waxing sentimental.

"Please drink, Akashi-kun," Kuroko goads, tilting his head to the side. "If not, it'll get cold."

Akashi laughs.

It's dry, cracked, an unpleasant sound to Kuroko's ears, but he still loves how Akashi speaks to him as though he's everything that matters in the world.

"The more I drink your tea, the more I'll forget," the redhead says with half-lidded eyes. Akashi knows, as expected of the emperor, but it isn't as if Kuroko's trying to keep it a secret. The light in Akashi's eyes are dim, like flickering lamps threatening to go off any moment now, but he is still cocky, still sure of himself as the corners of his lips tug into a smirk. "I've never thought you'd result to something this low, Tetsuya."

No matter how hurtful it is, Kuroko still loves Akashi with all his heart.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean."

So the best he could do is to deflect the blow with feigned ignorance.

Akashi gestures at the entirety of his surroundings and plants a deceitfully surprised look on his face. "You mean you cannot explain why you've stolen me from my world? And why you've stolen the other Tetsuya's place? Or rather," his tongue sharpens and Kuroko feels himself skinned alive with Akashi's words, "all of the other Kuroko Tetsuya you've met?"

"They're all myself, Akashi-kun," he says in a fraught need to defend himself. The last thing he wants is for Akashi to despise him. Not after all that effort. Not ever. "I have the right to them as much as they have to me."

"But you've killed my Tetsuya," Akashi says, bordering on a growl, and his fingers dig into the plush satin of Kuroko's armchair. Dichromatic eyes have never flashed with so much of revulsion before and a stab of guilt wedges itself into Kuroko's heart, but he steels his nerves and hears Akashi out. "You invaded the other worlds and replaced each and every Kuroko Tetsuya you've come across, simply because you wanted to be by my side. And when the timing's right, you'd whisk me away. It would have been touching, Tetsuya," he scoffs, lips curling distastefully as though he spat out poison, "if you hadn't killed your other selves without mercy."

It hurts.

It hurts so much.

Kuroko wants to breathe but he thinks he has forgotten how.

Akashi has always been a bit of a sadistic lover and he gets off on seeing the torment on Kuroko's face, but it's all changed now. No matter where he searches, he'll never find the same Akashi he's lost. Because he's dead. He died, rotted, just like the shy milkshake vendor Kagami, perverted blacksmith Aomine, lazy patisserie Murasakibara, over-achiever performer Kise, crabby doctor Midorima, vivid seamstress Momoi—everything and everyone died, leaving him behind, always leaving him behind in the end.

"You don't understand, Akashi-kun—" he breaks off, screwing his eyes shut and willing the scarlet flashes of his lover to just go away. "You're all that I have with me. I cannot live in a world without Akashi-kun."

But Akashi's dispassionate, blasé even towards those hearty words of love. He eyes Kuroko in displeasure even though he's clad in the most majestic robe that Kuroko could afford, and doesn't hesitate to hold his chin parallel to the ground even when he's the captive. Such is Akashi Seijūrō's nature, and it is what draws Kuroko to him in the first place, in all the worlds.

"As the supposedly feared shadow magician in this world, you're surprisingly sentimental," Akashi deliberately mocks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine then. You can keep me for as long as you want if it pleases you. But you should know that because of your curse as a black child, my death is approaching faster than ever. I will die because of you," he chuckles, shaking his head and letting the choppy bangs obscure his piercing gaze, "just like how everyone died because of you, Tetsuya."

Kuroko flinches at the familiar term.

Black child. Shadow magician. One who cannot be without the other. His friends, the village, the town—they all died because of him. Even Akashi Seijūrō, even the man who adores him without an inkling of hesitation inside his heart, cannot fight the death that comes along with their love.

"So tell me, Tetsuya," Akashi begins, grabbing an apple and rolling the plump fruit on his palm as he surveys the extent of damage he's done; "just what on Earth will you do once I die here, right beside you? Just because you've taken me here as a willing lover, it does not mean ourlove can defy your accursed fated tragedy."

It hurts.

It hurts so much.

It has hurt Kuroko so much in the past until he doesn't think of the consequences anymore.

He's stopped thinking and started wanting to live instead. It's the basic human instinct; shut out the pain and get on with life. For years and years and years, one cycle after another, he's haunted his other selves as murderers, disposing of their bodies and stealing their identities without a hitch. It's all second nature to him now, a bad habit that refuses to be broken. So what else could he do but to become a slave to love, a slave to desire, a slave to his habitual yearning of wanting to have Akashi in his arms again? Any Akashi would do—he'll learn to love Kuroko just like they always do eventually, and the feeling Kuroko gets when he's called Tetsuya is just beyond euphoria.

In the end, all he does is to straighten his posture and deftly fashion his robe into its proper place, putting on a quiet little smile that all of the Kuroko Tetsuya are oh so infamous for.

"Don't worry, Akashi-kun," he says, always pliant, always polite, "I'll come and find you in the next world."

/end