Shatterproof

Disclaimer: Kuroko no Basuke does not belong to me, and I am in no way associated with the franchise. I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc.

A/N- I'm playing with choppy tenses that I don't portray very well again...sorry if it's annoying or confusing. And this was probably too music-centric..But, thank you very much to the additional favs/follows/reviews! And of course, Made2352 and Cloudie-Skye, for giving me motivation!

Chapter 4: Requiem

Midorima-kun and I didn't always get along. But even though our personalities and-as Midorima-kun so often preached-blood types were severely incompatible, even we had found level ground. But by a cruel hiccup of fate, it seems as though even that was not meant to be...

A pitiful sound echoed through the drafty Teiko music hall. Strangled notes erupted from the elegant, mahogany instrument. I wondered if the soundproof walls muffled the tortured wails, if only by a bit.

Dutifully applying pressure to the black and white keys, I managed to produce the final notes of a wobbly melody. Looking at my pale fingers, I pressed my lips together in contemplation.

Being a beginner sure was rough. But for me to practice right now was essential. The semester's end was coming up soon, in a month. Also...if Midorima-kun was working hard, then so would I.

After all, it's only natural to give your all for a hobby you love, right?

After positioning my hands over the keys once more, I focused on the first few notes and inhaled. One more time.

There are rumors circulating around, of the haunted music hall. Frantic whispers and hushed voices tell of a stoic, silent ghost that shuffles through the vacant hallways. It is rumored to have nearly no presence, nor any other distinguishable features. They claim that the only way to detect its person is the way hairs will stand on end upon your neck, and the eerie chill that races through your spine when you realize that you are not alone.

But there are a few flaws in these accusations.

First of all, something is off about the ghost's mannerisms. Despite a thorough evaluation from varied sources, "it" doesn't portray any of the typical characteristics so commonly seen in everyone's beloved anime and manga.

There aren't any ear-splitting shrieks, forlorn wails, or infuriated howls. Neither are there any chants of evil incantations, words of a tragic tale, or persuasive commands urging them to commit injustices.

Instead...there was nothing.

The Teiko student body is convinced that they are being haunted by a mute.

Another strange feature is that the spirit doesn't seem at all...invasive. Although some timid students practice in the rooms with a queasy apprehension, fearful of an unexpected visitor, none ever comes. They breathe a sigh of relief each day as they escape unscathed. Those who walk down the halls with tight lips and fists clenched soon learn that they had nothing to worry about. The more thrill-seeking students, needless to say, are always most displeased. Some of them try to coax it out with lures and taunts on a regular basis.

But this in this case, it's hard to find even if you're looking for it.

The final controversy is the matter of its unlikely schedule. After all, what kind of vengeful spirit haunts in the morning, of all times? Yet, the students can vouch that the earliest one in the halls during the morning is indeed the ghost. Well before classes, the sound of plinking keys can be be heard from the smallest practice room.

Isn't light fatal to specters?

Taking into account all of this, Teiko has reached a unanimous conclusion.

The phantom that they are being haunted by was some kind of washout. To be an outlier in even the spiritual community is an unfortunate verdict indeed.

It seems that there is only one trait it has that belonged to the typical ghost. No matter who you ask or what you see, the phantom is always, always alone.

I tire of hearing the old rumors again.

It didn't take me long to figure out the identity of this "phantom" they so spoke of. They started last year, when I first began to pursue music in the practice halls, and have been getting more audacious and ridiculous as the months pass on. They bother me somewhat. It's not the jabs at my appearance and personality-rather, it's the unnerving feeling of knowing that you're being watched.

I'm not quite used to it.

But I don't have the heart to correct the pair of chattering students walking beside me.

I continue on my way to early morning piano practice. I don't have much time each day before basketball practice, but half an hour should be enough.

I locate my usual room-the least spacious one in the farthest back corner of the hall. We don't reserve these rooms, it's the earliest arrival that has the privilege of picking. Even so, I like this somewhat desolate room. It's cozy, in a familiar sort of way.

Opening the thick, hardwood door, I step onto the thin carpet with a gray checkered pattern. The space consists of a venerable grand piano, its bench, and a table beside them on which you can put your things. The lighting is a bright white, courtesy of the rectangular fluorescent panels above me. I can sense the faint aroma of cinnamon, overlaid with a pleasant flowery scent. Every week the staff arranges a different flower species in the porcelain vase that rests upon the table.

This week it's...an aromatic sprig of lavender heather flowers.

Pleasant.

Then I almost chuckle, realizing another fallacy in the "phantom" rumors.

I am not alone. I am never alone.

My stoic companion never misses any of my practice sessions.

I wish a good morning to Midorima-kun. As usual, I receive no reply.

Plopping on the piano bench, and feeling the worn leather deflate beneath my weight, I begin.

Last year, I had found myself in a bit of a dilemma. When I had been summoned to the counselor's office late one day after school, I had thought nothing of it. Coming into his office and carefully weaving the hectic flurry of fallen papers, I sat in the seat opposite his desk. He gave a surprised start when he finally noticed me, after rifling through his chaotic file cabinet for a few minutes. He smoothed his disheveled hair and took a sip of coffee. What he said next troubled me.

"Kuroko-kun, it's about time that you started worrying about your credits...particularly your fine arts ones."

Those were the words that I had dreaded.

I knew that I would have to take a fine arts class eventually. But I had put the commitment off, not feeling interested in any of the options.

"Kuroko-kun, you still have another year of middle school after this, so I'm not forcing you to take the class now, but...many students end up saving it until the very end and forgetting about it. It's not healthy to procrastinate, Kuroko-kun. More importantly, if you end up enjoying what you choose this year, you'll still have time to pursue it next year."

Having concluded his lecture, he laced his fingers together and gazed expectantly at me. Waiting patiently a few moments for me to weigh his advice, he then asked another question

.

"So, what will your choice be?"

I replied that I would need a few days to think, at which he gladly obliged. He shook my hand as I walked out the door.

Of course I had attempted most of the fine arts courses before, during my first year at Teiko.

At the dawn of the first semester, I was enrolled in a fundamental art class. My handling skills with the supplies was mediocre enough, and I had a basic understanding of art theories. My teacher praised my imagination, claiming that it had a lot of potential. I was obedient in the quiet classroom, and dutifully worked.

The real problem lied in my actual art.

It was technically "correct" and visually "appealing" to my teacher, but she still looked worried upon seeing it.

She told me that it lacked one of the most important properties of art- emotion. Then, she met my eyes and inquired what exactly I had been feeling when I made the work.

And I...had no response. I had been bored almost, lacking the passion it took to convey a sentiment and sympathize with the viewers. My thoughts had been mechanical, focused on making progress. Wasn't that what I was instructed to do?

My teacher only shook her head mournfully, telling me that I'd be welcome back in her class once I'd found what I lacked.

And thus, that course only lasted two weeks.

The second semester, I opted for a theater class. This I was a little less uncomfortable doing, namely because I wasn't used to drawing attention to myself. Nonetheless, I tried various different roles, and discovered my innate talent as a stagehand. I was assigned to many lighting and rigging positions, as well as a few moving props in plays. I was using the same tactic that I would later learn to use during basketball- accentuating the greatness of the main contenders by lurking in the shadows.

But there were many skilled third-year stagehands, even if I was doing exceptional for a rookie. I was dispensable, and was rarely needed for performances.

What the teacher was truly scouting for was fresh acting talent.

My weak presence obviously couldn't garner much attention, and my expressionless manner of speaking wasn't made for delivering lines. It all came down to the fundamentals of my person, which I couldn't change even if I wanted to.

The crestfallen expression on my teacher's face told me enough.

I only occupied that class for three weeks.

Reminiscing over these past exploits, and knowing that I wasn't ready to pick up either class again, I realized that I was left with only one choice.

The next day, I quietly entered the counselor's office and told the somewhat bewildered man my choice.

I would take music starting the second semester.

It's essential to warm up before playing, even if it's only for a few minutes. I methodically curl my fingers, beginning to feel blood rushing through them despite the chilly disposition of the practice room. Rotating my wrists, I do my best to loosen them before playing. Finally, I roll over shoulders once, twice, then three times. There. That should ease the tension a bit. Midorima-kun only watches.

The counselor was pleased to make the necessary arrangements. He explained that since I was only a beginner, immediately participating in one of the school music groups would be difficult, especially in the middle of the school year. So, he proposed the other alternative of a music course.

It was an independent study structured class, in which the only thing I would need to do is reserve a practice room and perfect the pieces assigned to me. My grades would be determined by random assessments of progress by the teacher, and the final exam would be a performance at the end of the semester. It sounded simple, but considering my status as beginner, it also qualified me for another one of the programs.

Both the highest band and orchestra currently had an integration program, where a top music student from there would partner up with a beginner, and tutor them of the fundamentals for their respective instrument. The student tutors would not be compensated, of course, but it was a good experience for those wanting to pursue the music field.

I nodded to sign up for both, as the counselor fervently scribbled notes on my documents.

"Ah, yes, Kuroko-kun. What instrument are you planning to play?"

I paused, because I honestly hadn't given that any consideration. Then, I was struck by a sudden memory. Strong arms lifted me up, and a string of soothing, soft-spoken murmurs were whispered into my ear as a woman with hair like mine sat at a bench. I heard a gentle melody, and a soft plinking of keys.

Keys.

I told the counselor that I would like to play piano.

Sifting through files and skimming a list of names, he breathed a sigh of relief. He confirmed that there was a student who had applied that played piano, and that our first session would be held the following week, during class.

For some reason, I was a bit apprehensive.

I pull a piece of sheet music out of my folder, and almost set it on the stand before thinking better of it. I'll play by ear today. Flashing a glimpse at the key signature before I begin, I note that it's in a-minor key, with three-four time at an andante tempo. I briefly remember the struggles it took me to learn the terminology, and then recall its meaning. So, a melancholy piece with a walking pace... almost as if it was written to be a mournful tune.

But that's just ridiculous. I made so many meaningful memories with this piece, not to mention that it's Midorima-kun's favorite.

I'd never been to our music hall before, so I had a bit of difficulty locating it. But after arriving at the isolated building, I strode purposefully through the white-tiled halls until I reached a petite room near the very end.

I took a steady breath before swinging open the door and encountering my counselor, who was discussing with my soon-to-be tutor.

I caught a glimpse of telltale emerald hair. I didn't even need the thin-rimmed glasses and bandaged left hand to prove my intuition.

"Good afternoon, Kuroko-kun! This young man will be your tutor. His name is Midorima-kun."

My teammate and I faced each other, as I wordlessly held out my hand. Moving his lucky item-a life-size crab figurine-to the other hand, he took it, and mechanically shook. I could tell that whatever initial alarm he had about me had faded upon realizing the reality..

.

He would have to put with our celestial incompatibility for another class period, during the entire semester.

We introduced ourselves curtly, but didn't bother to engage in any idle chatter. We were all too familiar with each other.

Despite looking a little concerned, the counselor soon departed and left us to our own devices. An awkward silence blanketed the air, punctuated only by the sound of our breathing.

"Kuroko. Have you ever even looked at a piece of sheet music before?"

I responded with a blunt denial.

Midorima-kun blinked, then looked at his lucky item again as if to reaffirm that he had the correct one. After concluding its authenticity, he looked up again at me with a stern gaze.

"Then we have a lot of practicing to do."

Midorima-kun spent the whole week explaining to me basic music theory, demonstrating with the piano all the while. He drilled me relentlessly every day with notes, rhythms, and Italian terminology that I vaguely understood. I was constantly assessed over my comprehension, and before I knew it, I ended up studying just to keep up with Midorima-kun's rigorous instruction. The only thing that kept me sane was the calm granted by the lingering presence of aster flowers.

The following week, Midorima-kun decided that I try some practical application.

I placed my fingers cautiously on the monochromatic keys and examined one of the warm-up exercises. It's what Midorima-kun called an arpeggio, consisting of three pitches-most are quarter notes, some are pairs of eighth notes.

I began.

I had actually timid about playing out loud for the first time. I was nervous, concerned about my initial skill level-having never been blessed with any fine arts talent.

But sitting on that piano bench, and organizing my thoughts, I also recalled something else. Someone had said that the earliest stages one undergo as a musician are the most crucial. It's in those moments that a spark is ignited in your soul, in those moments that it's like tasting a refined refreshment for the first time-by virtue of its lingering presence on your tongue-and in those moments when you feel an rapid sensation in your ribcage, which is the brand on your heart that binds you to music forever. It's a time such as that when you lose yourself in a space so peculiar that it's almost ethereal, and that you feel obliged to check your pulse to make sure that you are indeed, still you.

Music could be spectacular.

And that rush was exactly what I felt when my fingertips descended upon the glassy keys.

I concluded the warm-up and turned to Midorima-kun, inquiring about the quality.

He was speechless for a moment, and his hands clenched and unclenched, before he finally answered.

"Kuroko...I didn't even know that the piano could make a sound that horrendous."

I snapped out of my delusion, and recalled what my music had actually sounded like, rather than what I had felt at the time. The verdict was, to say the least...not good.

I take my position in front of the piano and begin the quiet, humble opening of the piece. My fingers press the keys with vigor as my hands glide over the broad expanse. My mind, too, is preoccupied, by counting the rhythms. The notes that are released from the piano in turn seem almost tangible to me, and I had the strangest urge to pluck them out of the air and admire them if I could.

"We have a few things to work on," Midorima-kun explained, readjusting his glasses. He then went on about my incorrect posture. I was given a detailed explanation about how the way I positioned my hands and shoulders weren't proper, and how my fingers needed to have more elasticity.

We would have to improve upon that for the next few weeks.

Midorima-kun believed in demonstrating by example. When I didn't understand a posture, he would sit down beside me, showing my his own stance. He would then ask me to replicate it, taking my hand and arranging my fingers himself if necessary.

Midorima-kun and I had never had such deliberate close contact before. His eyes were so frigid, but his hands were reassuringly warm.

He also addressed the issue of rhythm. Supposedly mine was solid, but Midorima-kun wanted it to stay that way. I remember endless sessions of commands; notes and rests before would swim before my eyes. Before I knew it, I couldn't distinguish left and right anymore, but had perfect sense of a sixteenth and eighth note. It was only a matter of time before it integrated into my everyday life, and a tapping foot or drumming fingers would lead to a one-toned symphony.

And the counting. Every waking hour, I could hear the echoes of Midorima-kun's unyielding voice reverberating off my eardrums. It seemed that I had a more difficult time recalling the counts than I did remembering the tenor of my teammate's tone.

Midorima-kun really did have such a pleasant voice. It was worth getting drilled all the time if that meant that he would finally talk to me.

Days and weeks passed by like this, until I stumbled upon a paradox.

I asked Midorima-kun why he was so eager and attentive to teach me, when we never cooperated in anything else.

"...You work exceptionally hard, Kuroko. It's one of your redeeming qualities."

I blinked for a second, startled. A heavy silence condensed in the air, and we just stared at each other for a moment. All thoughts of music slipped my mind.

Midorima-kun had just complimented me.

But then I remembered, our mutual respect and admiration for each other. Our relationship as comrades was purely professional, and Midorima-kun was simply reinforcing that. But then he turned to me and cast a stern gaze, although it almost seemed a bit...halfhearted.

"It's because you value my advice that I'm willing to put up with you. Now, back to work."

Midorima-kun had turned his face then, but for a moment, I saw a flash of emotion in his eyes that confused me.

If I didn't know any better, then I'd say that it was happiness.

The only soul that shared my secret was the delicate lotus blooming in the room.

The piece I play escalates to a fervent crescendo, melancholy and wistful all at once. My nimble fingers tap the keys with the delicacy of a mourning waltz. Clipped staccato resonates in my ears, as detached and lonely as the reminiscent of a tragic tale.

But I'm not in the least bit sad.

Almost unexpectedly, the final exam performance neared.

Midorima-kun's lessons became more demanding than usual, especially once I received my composition. We practiced increasingly harder each day, as the stress and tension built to unstable levels. Neither of us let it show, of course. Midorima-kun stayed mature and collected, as I remained as impassive as ever.

When Midorima-kun noticed the title of the composition, I saw something flicker in his eyes. His expression nearly softened for a moment. But when I inquired why, he reverted back to his trademark countenance and dismissed it as nothing.

One of the major features of the song was one of the Italian terms. It was a...D.C. al Coda? At my clear lack of comprehension, Midorima-kun scoffed and readjusted his spectacles.

"Really now, Kuroko. I've taught this to you before. Once you reach the "end" of the song, you return the beginning, and play until here," Midorima-kun indicated, pointing to a symbol with a bandaged pointer finger. "Then, you skip the rest of the song and play the coda." He gestured to a isolated string of notes at the very bottom of the page. "The coda meant to be a special ending."

I nodded, silently absorbing the information. But why would anyone need a "special ending"? Were they not satisfied with the first...?

The rest of the piece was exceedingly difficult, with an unfamiliar key and time signature. I had never worked with a-minor or six-eight time before, and it showed. It was as though the jumble of notes and rhythms were taunting me, challenging me to master them.

I accepted.

After all, Midorima-kun had taught me well.

The tempo of the melody drops an inkling, as the dynamic fades to almost a whisper. A lulling, haunting tone overtakes the piece, as mysterious and thought-provoking as a well-kept secret. My breathing steadies as I deliberately grow quieter with each drawling note.

Is it the calm before the storm, or the humble solitude of the aftermath?

When the countdown until the performance dwindled to a mere week, Midorima-kun began doing something unexpected.

I'd shuffle into the music room, set down my things, and notice a checkered scarf on the piano bench.

When I glanced to my companion with clarification, he averted his gaze, seemingly embarrassed. Fidgeting uncomfortably, he explained.

"It's Aquarius' lucky item for the day. You'll need it if you want to put on an adequate performance."

I accepted it graciously, thanking him and placing wrapping the scarf securely over my thin shoulders.

He lightly huffed, but I knew that he didn't mean it.

I smiled at the stephanotis flowers in my periphery.

The night of my exam arrived, and I waited in the chilly performance hall for my turn, seated quietly on a wooden bench backstage. I scuffled my crisp pant legs together awkwardly, and started tapping my foot in anxiety. My eyes seemed to view everything with a dreamlike, cloudy filter, as this whole experience was a ruse. My ears started to conceive every sound as a distorted, irrelevant murmur. I clenched my fingers on them to quell their shaking, and breathed on them to keep them warm.

Footsteps, voices, and people bustled around, making last-minute preparations, but it didn't perturb me in the least. I was distracted-queasy with trepidation, but determined nonetheless

.

But then I remembered something. I glanced down at my neck, where a cotton checkered scarf rested securely-despite the administrator's "formal attire" themed protests.

I clutched it tighter.

Midorima-kun's gift somehow always gave me warmth.

Then, almost daring to hope, I took a few timid steps toward the edge of the stage. Drawing back the heavy velvet curtain, and sneezing with the dust produced from it, I scanned the audience.

I saw a familiar face.

And very faintly, smiled.

There, as critical and stoic as ever, stood Midorima-kun. Leaning against the wall, wearing casual clothes and those ridiculous sunglasses, he checked the time, as if he were impatient for the performance to start.

So he was with me after all.

He didn't notice me staring at him, but I decided not to call attention to myself. Something told me that he would get embarrassed.

When my turn came, I walked carefully and deliberately onto the polished, brightly-lit stage. Inhaling deeply, I bowed to the daunting crowd and was greeted in turn by polite applause.

Turning and stepping to the grand, I hesitantly take a seat on the leather bench. I arrange my posture the way that Midorima-kun taught me, rested my fingers upon the welcoming keys, and focused intently.

And then it began.

From the moment I began to play, I was struck with the oddest sensation. My muscles..knew exactly what to do. My body was moving on its own, performing with an articulated precision without me giving even a second thought. I felt light-floating, as if this body wasn't quite my own.

I was free.

And thus, certainly there was a use for all of my excess energy, for the physical and mental buildup of anticipation that I had so faithfully stored for this day.

Of course.

I felt a familiar gaze on my back, and instantly realized what I had to do.

I remembered my art teacher's words, telling me that I couldn't express myself.

I remembered my theater teacher's words, telling me that I would never get anyone's attention-that my voice would never be heard.

And finally, I remembered my loyal companion, who was perhaps a bit fonder of me than I thought he was, and whom I owed for patiently giving me a push and allowing me to get this far.

I would play for him.

I channeled all of my emotions into my performance, a myriad of feelings that words couldn't hope to express. I put my voice into the notes, I weaved my soul into the rhythms, and I wore my heart on the barely conceivable smile that I had the entire time.

I hope that he heard I was grateful that he tutored me.

I hope that he heard I would never forget our lessons.

And...I hope that he heard that I was glad to become his friend.

The song concluded as the final note echoed faintly through the hall, dying on the acoustics of the wind.

I turned to the audience, and was met with thundering applause.

And Midorima-kun finally smiled.

Needless to say, that was one of the happiest days of my life.

The next day, Midorima-kun and I met in that isolated practice room, one last time. Our partnership was over, as was the semester's end.

"You performed satisfactorily enough so, here."

Midorima-kun handed me a sheet of folded notebook paper. I opened it, and after skimming the contents, my eyes immediately widened. I read it again just to verify.

"It's a recommendation for you to formally enter one the middle-tier orchestras starting next year. They only grant it to those who do exceedingly well during the independent study class, and get approval from their instructor. In your case, that would be me."

He stopped for a moment, and with considerable effort, continued.

"Congratulations, Kuroko."

He then made to walk briskly out the door. I stopped him, catching him by the wrist. Slowly and solemnly, I told him this meant that we would probably never get to practice together anymore.

He stiffened, before quietly admitting, "I know. But you don't need me anymore, Kuroko. We both know that."

I dropped my gaze, thoughtfully, before I held out my hand.

I told Midorima-kun that it was a pleasure to work with him.

He shook it, and curtly replied, "As was my duty as a professional."

But the split-second prolonged grip on my hand told me otherwise.

Striding out the door, Midorima-kun called out something.

"My mother wrote that song, Kuroko. Take care of it."

I only bowed my head in response, as I watched him leave. Before I left the practice room myself, I tucked a sprig of the sweet pea on the table into my pocket.

My hands flutter around once more for the last few measures of the piece. The tone is the embodiment of a declaration, a promise of sentiment to days long past. It is the send-off to a companion's journey, a wish to keep communication despite the distance between the two.

It's a letter to the you that has moved on.

I sigh contently and glance at the piano once more. You know, some people name their instruments, to achieve a closer emotional bond. This piano, which I've been playing faithfully since last year...I've named Midorima-kun.

I'm always relaxed in Midorima-kun's company. There's a reassuring quality whenever I'm in its presence. It always practices with me every day, and we share so many meaningful memories. Sometimes I talk to it, and every time, it sympathizes.

After all, its namesake is a very important person to me. With a companion like this, who could ever get lonely?

I focus once again to prepare for the next portion of the melody. I've reached the "end", but perhaps there's more?

I breathe as my mind's eye leaps to the top of the mental sheet music in my head. To the very top of lines and measures of this gentle, repenting piece.

I've returned to the beginning, Midorima-kun. To the room where a surprisingly caring person and myself met, talked, and became companions. To the place that I discovered a piece of myself that wasn't there before-or perhaps it just needed a flash of inspiration. This is where I forged a bond with someone that was unexpectedly just like me.

I begin the lilting, peaceful opening once more and continue to ponder. Midorima-kun allowed me discover something wonderful, and he's experiencing success now too, in the highest tier orchestra. It's not that I wasn't satisfied with our ending.

But sometimes I wonder what could've been.

If we kept playing together, if things had perpetually remained the way they were in those golden days...what would've become of us now?

Would we still be this distant if we hadn't moved onto better things?

What a bittersweet success.

But there's one thing, a final thought, that strikes me.

This story hasn't ended yet.

We've yet to see what awaits us in the coda.

Maybe, in an ideal conclusion, Midorima-kun will return. He'll hear me in this somber practice room, playing a requiem meant for his ears alone. He'll recognize the yearning timbre of this significant tune, and answer my wish. I'll greet him with a long overdue smile, which I know that he'll return in his own, roundabout way.

I can only hope that fate is generous enough to heed my prayers.

A/N- The next chapter will have the heterochromatic noble, Akashi!