In the baking oven of August, the bus driver wiped his brow.

As he waited for the regulars to arrive, he leaned against the bus stop sign, wishing desperately that the driver uniform had been white instead of black. The sun's rays pounded upon him like a drummer's hands. Bugs danced around him, persisting even as he swatted them with a half-hearted wave, biting him, landing on his bald head. The edges of leaves glimmered hazily in the wet rays of the sun. The clouds skirted on the edges of the sky, the sky so blue that it made you want to drink it, gulp it down.

The bus driver's glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them up, and then he saw Torada-kun running down the hill to the stop.

The bus driver loved this quiet town and liked to think he knew everything about it. He'd been the driver for seven years after all; he should know routes, the people, the essence of this neighborhood and its town.

For instance, Torada-kun was a sophomore at X college and lived in the house across from where the Kurokos used to live. The near-invisible house had been vacant ever since it had been sold in June.

Torada-kun stayed up late to study and woke up early. He never needed to run to the bus stop, but he always did, fearing that arriving too late would cost him dearly. The bus driver could see him running now. As Torada-kun puffed to a halt, the bus driver greeted him.

"Hello."

"Hi," Torada-kun said breathlessly. He hauled his bag back up his shoulder from which it had fell and wiped the sweat off his nose. "I'm not late am I?"

The bus driver chuckled. "No."

"Great."

Torada-kun was a good kid, the bus driver knew. Torada-kun worried about his neighbors even if he didn't know them that well. The bus driver nodded to himself as the sun laughed a burning laugh. For instance, Torada-kun had seen the child from the Kuroko family leave late at night after his parents had fought and had asked the bus driver to look out for him—he was named—what was the child's name again? The Kuroko's only child; the boy, Torada had elaborated once, whose hair was bright blue; a beautiful bright blue that threw everything else into the shadows; the boy who had tragically…

"Hiro, good morning," the old lady from the yellow house greeted. "You should stand in the shadows."

"Fine, I'm fine. Good morning," the bus driver responded.

Shadows.

Funnily, that reminded him of the name.

Kuroko Tetsuya.

The bus driver liked to think that he knew everything there was to know about this town, but somehow, he could not for the life of him remember a boy called Kuroko Tetsuya… After what he'd heard about the boy, though, the bus driver knew that if he could, he would give the child a great big, albeit sweaty, hug.

The bus driver checked his watch, under which he could feel the sweat collecting. 7:43. A ridiculous time for such ridiculous heat. Yamamura-san would be coming next.

Yamamura-san was a doctor at the hospital, a very good doctor, the bus driver knew. But even the greatest of doctors must fail at some point or another. The bus driver knew; once Yamamura-san had come stumbling on the bus in the middle of the day as drunk as could be because he had lost one of his patients. But he succeeded more than he failed. And besides, that loss had not been the doctor's fault. It was the fault of whoever was stupid enough to turn off the ventilator machine keeping the comatose patient alive.

After Yamamura-san came huffing and puffing onto the bus, the bus driver heaved himself up the steps and cranked the engine. With a groan, the bus pulled away from the curb and trundled down the hill to the next stop. A lone man was waiting there. He nodded his head as he boarded the bus.

"Morning, Ichiru-san."

"Good morning."

"Bad day?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You usually walk to Seirin, don't you?"

Ichiru rubbed his nose.

"I do, don't I?"

The bus driver followed the haggard-looking man with his eyes using the mirror at the front of the bus. In May, Ichiru's guardian had passed away after two years of coma. The bus driver heard rumors about it—he'd never gotten the chance to ask Ichiru himself, the man always looked so tired and sad these days. Some said it was a murder; others said that Ichiru let go of his guardian himself.

The bus driver hummed to himself as his bus hummed around him.

His next stop was at a grand hotel—he never understood himself why such a shabby bus would be permitted to humble itself before a mighty hotel—and this was where some form of variance was injected into his life. He never knew what he would get from the hotel.

Today, there was a large group waiting at the stop, a rainbow of colors that greeted the driver. They held black blazers and wore black slacks with pops of colors as their dress shirts. The bus driver grinned wryly at them; he, too, was once a fine strapping lad who looked dashing in a suit and tie. It was how he got his wife, after all. He glanced at the silver ring on his finger before directing his attention to the group boarding his bus.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"Good morning."

"Where to?"

"The cemetery, if you could."

"That's the last stop."

"Please remind us as it approaches."

He nodded at the redhead with the yellow eye and then pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

He loved his life as a bus driver. He liked to think he was driving a bridge around. It made him happy.

He heard whispers of their voices just barely above the conversation of the bus. Ichiru seemed to know the group.

The next top was Torada-kun's university. Torada-kun weaved his way through the colorful group, saying "hi," and "sorry," and "excuse me," in a rush.

"Good-bye, Torada-kun."

He suddenly felt a very odd chill run down his back as Torada-kun hopped off. The redhead with the yellow eye had moved up to the front of the bus, just behind the bus driver.

"Excuse me, but," the boy said, "what was his name?"

Normally, the driver would ask why, are you planning to assassinate him, are you stalking him, do I need to call the cops, but there was something in the boy's voice that was soothingly authoritative. So, he answered, "Torada Shiro."

"Do you see him often?"

"Every weekday."

The redhead rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and pen. He scribbled something quick on it and handed it to the bus driver.

"Please give this to him."

With no other words, the redhead returned to the back of the bus. The bus driver took a quick glance at the paper.

Thank you for looking after Tetsuya.

Tetsuya, that name again. So these people knew him as well?

Ichiru left at the next stop. With a tight, curt wave to both the bus driver and the foreign group, Yamamura-san practically flew off at the hospital stop.

"Whom are you visiting, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked the only female of the group.

"Oh…" she said. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. "Just… a person of the family name Kuroko."

"Kuroko… Well, this is your stop. Take care."

"Thank you."

"Thanks."

"Please don't forget," the redhead with the yellow eye said.

"I won't."

"Thank you."

The group went ahead, slinging their blazers over their shoulders as the bus behind them rumbled away.

It was an uphill grassy slope from here with a thin gravel path cutting into it. The sun had veiled itself with a cloud, but the heat had not abated. The cicadas grated away. Dragonflies flitted in the air. The trees creaked. The grass rustled. The air was stifling.

They were nervous.

They arrived, finally; time was not kind enough to allow them to swallow their anxiety. They stood, mute, as if they were at the edge of the world and all that was ahead of them was a black void, a cliff that dropped into nothing. They stood, mute, because they knew they had to take the first step forward in order to ever make any steps back. They stood, mute, because after the first step, there would be no more.

Finally, because time was also kind, it prompted Akashi Seijuuro to softly say:

"Hello, Tetsuya."

The cicadas creaked, the trees grated, the dragonflies rustled, and the grass flitted in the wind. The wind kissed the clouds. The clouds nipped the sun. The sun embraced the sky. And the sky was painted white by clouds as the boy opened his sky-blue eyes and said:

"Good morning."

In the distance, like a bell tolling in the mountains, they heard the bus rumble as it made its way back to its starting point.

When Kuroko opened his eyes, there was light.

It seemed a silly thing to state, that there was light upon opening the eyes—but it was the truth. There was light. Light, which Kuroko had not seen in so long a time; light that jabbed his eyes gleefully before he shut them again from pain. Light was all he saw; light was all he knew for a few moments before he realized that he was painfully, and perhaps regrettably, alive.

Too tired to face the light, he turned to sound. It was faint and fuzzy, and it felt as if his ears were unbalanced, one side louder than the other, and then suddenly, a ringing claimed one ear before moving to the other, and then back again. He wanted to shake his head to clear it, but he felt too weak, so instead he listened to the steady beeps. What they were, or where they came from, he didn't know, not yet.

There was a sharp, yet muted odor in the air. Kuroko cast his mind around slowly, groggily, trying to put a name to the scent. He couldn't. The words wouldn't rise. He was having difficulty remembering anything: where he was, what he was, why he was—it was like there was a wall in his mind, and he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to scale it.

He opened his eyes slowly this time, letting them adjust haltingly. Once they were half open, he felt exhausted. With great effort, he managed to move them around to see where he was. White walls. Metallic boxes to his side from which the beeps emanated. Tubes leading, as far as he could see, towards himself. White sheets. A window. Trees. A sky so blue that he wanted to reach out and touch it. Feel it. Tear it down and scream at the blackness behind it. Because, instinctively, he knew that blueness was a lie; he knew that beauty belied maliciousness, and he knew he hated it, just as he knew he hated himself—

A nurse came in at that moment and saw him crying. Gasping, she ran out of the room and returned with a rather harried doctor, who burst into a smile upon seeing Kuroko's eyes—albeit filled with tears—open and turned towards the window.

"Kuroko-kun!" the doctor said, but the words flowed through Kuroko's ears without being registered. He was rattling off something about the location, date, time—things Kuroko didn't care about, because all of a sudden, that wall in his mind had crumbled and he was remembering things he'd rather have forgotten forever—remembering things that made him curse whoever had tethered him to life.

No more tears fell.

A thought occurred to him. During a pause in the doctor's waning speech, Kuroko opened his mouth experimentally and tried to speak. Something garbled, nonsensical flew out of his mouth, and he snapped it shut. Opened. Tried again. Words came, but in a mangled sentence that was as similar to the Japanese language as a cow was to a snake.

He closed his eyes, feeling trapped in his immobile body.

I have to live.

"We actually consider this recovery to be a great success," the doctor said quietly as they watched Kuroko sleep. "He woke up talking—nonsense at first, I will admit, but then, he said one coherent sentence—more of a question."

The Generation of Miracles and what had been Seirin High School's basketball team were crowded around the door, which the doctor had taken pains to prop open with a plastic door jamb. Upon receiving news of Kuroko's awakening, those who had run to make sure he was safe went and tore through the hospital, demanding to see him. With a stern look and words, the doctor had warded them off and waited till they had calmed down before leading them to where Kuroko rested.

Seeing him now, he looked no different than when he had been comatose. But what had they been expecting? For him to be awake, talking, walking around, fully functional as if he had never fallen into a year-long sleep? They could wish, they could cry, they could scream, but it would not be so.

"More of a question? What was it?" Akashi said, not taking his eyes off Kuroko. "What did Tetsuya say?"

The doctor hesitated, as if knowing that they were all morbidly caught between wanting to know and wanting to stay oblivious. "He said… 'Is someone taking care of Nigou?'"

Hyuuga closed his eyes; Kiyoshi tried to smile but failed miserably. Kagami strode into the room and, with a shaking hand, touched Kuroko's hair lightly.

"Yeah, you dumbass," he said hoarsely. "Of course people are taking care of Nigou. Dumbass. Dumbass."

"It was a relief for us," the doctor said. "It means that this is one less thing Kuroko-kun will have to relearn."

"Relearn…?"

The doctor sighed heavily. "It varies spectacularly from patient to patient. There are some cases of people waking from 19-year-long comas able to immediately speak and write and walk around, but these of course are rare cases. More often than not, recovery from a coma includes intense rehabilitation and relearning everything you have ever known. Many people cannot even speak when they first awaken. Kuroko-kun is lucky."

'Lucky'—what a strange word to associate with a boy who had been so unlucky.

"Do you know how much Tetsuya needs to… relearn?"

"Not yet," the doctor said. "But it looked promising. He seemed to realize he was in a hospital. We don't know how much he's aware of though. He fell asleep right after asking about that number two.

"I'm going to have to warn you," the doctor said sternly. "We don't want to overwhelm him. We moved him into a quieter room so that there would be no sensory overload and so that we could keep a closer eye on him. So, when he wakes up again, I don't want any loud noises or crying or anything of that sort. Keep calm, don't let him know that anything might be wrong with him. Many comatose patients, upon waking, are extremely emotionally unstable. Please don't be alarmed if he shows any behavior uncharacteristic of him. I know this is hard to ask of you, since I can tell he is someone very important to you all. But please, for Kuroko-kun… do this much.

"I'll leave you to it, then," the doctor said, ushering them in. "But please try not to touch any of the buttons. That's how a patient earlier this afternoon died…"

Shocked, they snapped their heads around. "What?"

The doctor smiled wryly, a little angrily even. "It isn't related to you… but I'm so fantastically angry I couldn't help mentioning it. Just hands off the machines."

With a bow, the doctor left, leaving them in the quiet room.

They exchanged glances uneasily.

"That… do you think it was related…"

"Maybe they got the wrong person?"

"It is a possibility," Akashi said heavily. "I will look into it. But for now, because there is nothing we can do to abet the situation, do not fret over it. Instead…"

His eyes drifted towards the motionless figure in the bed.

"Do you think he'll wake up again soon?" Kise said longingly. His tone turned hesitant, a worried expression rising to his face. "Do you think… he'll be mad at us…?"

"We won't know until he wakes," Akashi said softly. "Until then, don't strain yourself by worrying over it, Ryouta. The rest of you, too," he added. "Don't speculate."

A phone began to ring; Kiyoshi picked it up. "Hello? Ah, Izuki? Right, Kuroko was moved…"

He stepped out of the room. Hyuuga looked at the remaining people with a searching gaze.

"We're expecting a story, you know," he said, noting how many of them flinched. "We've been suspecting something's been going on… especially by the way Kagami's been acting lately. We didn't press, because you seemed to know what you were doing, and it had something to do with Kuroko. But, don't try to hide it anymore. After calling us up and saying that Kuroko was in trouble, you can't… When the rest arrive, they'll be wanting an explanation, too."

Seeing their reluctant faces, Hyuuga sighed.

"We're Kuroko's friends, too, you know. We care about him just as much as you do. Grant us at least that much, won't you?"

You owe us at least that much.

It lay upon Akashi to reply. He closed his mismatched eyes, feeling tired, very tired.

"Just give us time," he said quietly. "Give us time and it will all come forth."

"We're really very sorry about this, Ichiru-san. Normally—no, rarely—never—well, these things usually are impossible in the hospital, but—"

"Just tell me how much I owe," Ichiru cut in in a very hollow voice. "Just tell me what I owe and leave me alone. Please."

Holding onto his guardian's hand, Ichiru kneeled down next to the bed and put his head down. "Quickly."

"Ah—well, that—you see, you needn't pay—"

"Tell me what I owe already!"

The doctor stumbled a little and bowed his head. "Under the name of Akashi, the payments have already been made. For your guardian and for the boy you've been caring for. So—sir, you don't need to pay. I—I'll leave, now. And… my deepest condolences. We will make sure to catch whoever—"

"Enough already, just—"

Without another word, the doctor hurried out of the room, leaving Ichiru to grasp his dead guardian's hand as if he were trying to drag him back from the afterlife.

When Kuroko next opened his eyes, it was to see many faces he had never wanted to see again.

Momoi hugging herself in the corner, her eyes pinned to Kuroko; Aomine in a chair, skimming through a magazine; Kise, with half his body leaning out the window; Murasakibara eating snacks as usual; Kagami snoozing against the wall; and Akashi, whose eyes he met first. He watched them widen, saw his mouth open, heard him say in a voice he'd never heard Akashi use:

"Tetsuya!"

Kise backed out of the window so fast that his head banged against it.

"K-Kurokocchi! How—are you—can you—"

Aomine grabbed Kise roughly before the blond could take Kuroko into a bone-crushing hug. Momoi smiled at Kuroko waveringly.

None of them knew what to say.

So they who could stand, stood, and he who could only lie, lay. No words passed between them. The clock tiptoed forward. Kuroko was so silent that they thought he had died.

And through that silence, Kuroko knew that they knew. They had found out. They had all figured out his red truth, the red truth on his blue.

His heart trembled.

So he said it. He said the words they thought they'd never hear.

"Why am I still alive?"

They didn't know what to say, or if there was even anything to say as Kuroko Tetsuya closed his eyes and turned his face away to the window where the clouds loftily drifted past in a cheerful daze.

He said in a whisper so dry that it scratched their skins, "I wanted to die."

Momoi was trembling. Akashi was white. Aomine's skin was several times paler than it should have been. Kise fell to his knees next to Kuroko's bed. Time slipped by.

"Don't say that, Kurokocchi," Kise pleaded. "Please, don't say that."

"But it's the truth." His voice was like dead leaves scraping the ground. "I want to die."

He began to cry. But it was worse than normal crying, because it was Kuroko, always-emotionless Kuroko, whose tears were running down the sides of his face. And it was voiceless. Because they could tell Kuroko didn't know what he was even crying about. Kise latched onto Kuroko's hand with such force he thought he could hear Kuroko's bones creak, but Kuroko said no more words.

How would he face them now that they knew? How could he face them? He was—he was dirty, now. He didn't deserve—I feel dirty—they couldn't touch him—Disgusting—he didn't want to sully—he didn't mean—I want to escape—what if they rejected him again—

Can someone help me?

He didn't deserve help. He, who had been too weak to live, who had let himself be raped—

He didn't deserve help.

"You're going to be okay," Kise was saying. "Kurokocchi, you're going to be okay."

Akashi took three steps to the bed before halting unnaturally. He turned and retreated to the doorway.

"You will recover, Tetsuya," was all he said before he left the room.

"Please go," Kuroko said in that scratched-up voice. "The rest of you—Please—go."

"Kurokocchi, listen," Kise wheedled.

Kuroko struggled to sit up. Kise put a hand behind his back to support him, his fingers accidentally catching under the fabric of Kuroko's shirt and touching Kuroko's skin.

Kuroko stiffened, feeling something unpleasant slither down his spine.

He felt like vomiting.

All of a sudden, he was incredibly, unbearably frightened.

—the sickening sound of skin on skin—his own voice—sickening, disgusting pleasure—pain—soiled—sticky, hot, filthy—

"…Kurokocchi…?"

Kuroko's eyes found Kise's as Kuroko's breaths picked up speed, became shallow, frightened, constricted. Kise was shaken to the core; the sickness, the fear, the distrust in Kuroko was all hammered into Kise by Kuroko's eyes—just with one look, Kise knew—

"Oi, Kuroko!"

"Tetsu—calm down—hey!"

They could barely call them breaths now, what was coming out of the boy whose fists were clenched in his hair. They could barely call that sound coming from that boy's mouth Kuroko's voice. It was so weak, so defenseless, so broken—

"Please, stop—no—"

In a whirlwind of white cloth and black tie, the doctor rushed in. He took one look at Kuroko, another at their stricken faces, and a final one towards the door.

"I'll have to ask you to leave," he said as gently as he could. "You may come back later."

They watched the door close in front of them, then looked at each other.

"He'll… be okay, right? It's going to be okay… He'll get better…"

And it was a painful recovery, so painful that Kuroko wanted to die again. Learning to speak, learning that his limbs were not just lumps of rubber hanging uselessly at his sides, learning how to hold a spoon, learning to stand, learning to sit—to have to relearn what he once had taken for granted was so painstaking—so painful—brought back the pain for which he had nearly died to escape. Every struggle was a reminder that he had to live again.

Don't give up now they said to him. Whispered, murmured, pleaded. Please, don't give up. We're here for you this time. Lean on us, hate us, love us, curse us, do what you will, but please don't leave us behind again.

It wasn't just learning how to do those everyday things. He also had to learn to trust again.

Kuroko wasn't quite sure he would ever be able to learn that.

But, they tried. They tried so very hard to help him learn.

Kise came every day, without fail. Kuroko had become accustomed to hearing the nurses squeal at around three o'clock every afternoon. More often than not, Kise was dragging Midorima in tow, who looked extremely hassled, but nonetheless shook his head and let slip a small smile every time he saw that Kuroko was alive. Kuroko couldn't tell whether he was annoyed at them, but he knew that he was not glad to see them. They were overly nice, too sweet, too eager to please him that more often than not, he would give a sigh of exasperation and turn his face away. He ignored the hurt curve in Kise's smile, the dimness of Midorima's eyes.

Every so often, Takao would come along with Midorima. Kuroko didn't mind that so much; Takao was an expert in turning awkward situations into something to laugh at.

Once in a while, Murasakibara would bring him his favorite vanilla milkshake. He'd pat him on the head and then settle down on a chair and take up his new favorite hobby—staring at Kuroko. As if he thought that Kuroko would vanish like a shadow if he took his eyes off the boy—was he still a boy?—for even a second.

Aomine and Momoi liked to drop by on weekends. Momoi fussed over Kuroko like a mom—mother, where are you?—and Aomine at first tried to crack jokes before realizing that they had no effect on Kuroko. After that, he took to arranging and rearranging the small collection of books Kuroko had accumulated from gifts. And, when no one else was around and when he thought Kuroko was sleeping, Aomine took to leaning his head back and closing his eyes to keep the tears from falling. But Kuroko wasn't sleeping. He was kept awake by the sound of bit back tears and the word sorry.

Stranger still was Akashi, who would come in and simply read a book for hours and then leave without saying anything but good morning, Tetsuya, are you doing well? and I will see you later.

He liked it best when the entirety of Seirin came to visit. They were noisy, too lively, but he enjoyed it because it was natural, if you counted out Kagami, who still looked at Kuroko through eyes filled with conflict. It was like an entire family had come to visit. They made hot-pot once, keeping Riko far away from the food, almost force-fed Kuroko. And then, once in a blue moon, they made him smile.

Hyuuga and Izuki snuck in Nigou a few times. The warm dog with its fur and sky-blue eyes was so comforting to Kuroko that he cried. Kiyoshi smiled—too sad, don't smile sad smiles—and rested his hand on Kuroko's head as the boy—a man, now—buried his face in Nigou.

It felt so like home.

He was too grateful to his team, which treated him no differently even after having heard the truth. His truth. The one truth he'd always wanted to hide, so much so that he fought to die for it.

"Hey, Kuroko," Kiyoshi said abruptly one day as he was peeling an apple for his ex-teammate. "This may be an odd question, but—"

"Let's face it, Kiyoshi," Hyuuga said, "Half the things you say are so odd that it's not even odd when you ask odd questions."

Izuki brightened up. "The oddity audited the odd class for auditor—ow!"

"Don't even start, Izuki," Hyuuga said menacingly. On the other side of the bed, Koganei cackled as Izuki rubbed his head sullenly. "Anyways, Kiyoshi, what was your question?"

Kiyoshi held out the plate of apple pieces to Kuroko. "Could you divide these up among us for me, please?"

There were six people in the room, including Mitobe and Koganei, but only five apple slices. Wordlessly, Kuroko gave every slice away, leaving behind an empty plate.

Kiyoshi stuck his apple in his mouth and continued. "We're planning a trip to Mt. Fuji with the old Kiseki no Sedai and Seirin, but we only have enough spaces for thirteen people, which means that one person will have to sit out…"

"I don't mind staying here," Kuroko said almost instantly.

Hyuuga and Izuki looked beyond perplexed, while Koganei and Mitobe exchanged uneasy glances.

"And…" Kiyoshi pointed to a book on the bedside table that had a red bookmark sticking out of it. "That book you've been reading, it seems interesting. Could I have it?"

Kuroko handed it over.

"Have you finished it?"

"Not yet."

"But you like it, right?"

"I find it very interesting."

"Can I keep it?"

"If you'd like to," Kuroko said.

"Hey, Kiyoshi—"

Kiyoshi silenced Hyuuga with a quick gesture. He set the book on Kuroko's bedside table and leaned forward.

"Kuroko, you don't give yourself very much importance, do you?"

Kuroko's eyes darted to the window.

"Hey, Kiyoshi!"

Kiyoshi ignored Hyuuga. "I see. It's not just that." Kiyoshi reached out. Kuroko flinched. But Kiyoshi kept his hand moving. Kuroko instinctively shut his eyes.

He was enveloped by something warm. Something kind. Some sort of skinship that wasn't, for once, terrifying.

Kiyoshi held Kuroko close, one hand on the back of Kuroko's head, the other one around Kuroko's back.

"You're not bothering anybody by existing, Kuroko," Kiyoshi whispered. "You don't have to live your life like this, sacrificing anything you might want. You think you're a burden—no, you think you don't deserve anything, don't you?"

Kuroko said nothing.

Kiyoshi drew away, holding Kuroko at arms' length. "I'll just tell you this one thing, Kuroko, and you can make something out of it yourself…"

Kuroko waited until they left before he closed his eyes. He felt something slip down his face—felt it land on the back of his hand—felt it run down the side to make a damp spot on his blankets.

Day by day, Kuroko had led a conflicted existence. On one hand, he didn't want to ever be close to anyone. On the other, he was so afraid—terrified—that his friends might leave him. Kuroko knew he had done wrong, and because he was a bad person—awful, dirty—he tried to make up for it by being as good a person as he could. He knew his friends could vanish at any given moment, so he tried his best to never do anything bothersome.

Kiyoshi had seen it all…

But did that phrase mean he mattered? Did it mean… it was alright for him to be there?

Did it mean he wasn't doing everything wrong?

Thank god I met you, Kuroko.

Midorima had been standing at the door with his arms folded across his chest for ten minutes. Takao looked from him to Kuroko nervously, scratching his cheek as if to say, should I be here?

Every so often, Midorima would shoot Takao a look that threatened, I'll kill you if you leave.

Midorima stared at Kuroko, who stared back at him. Midorima hated to see Kuroko these days. The boy—a man, now—was too thin. His cheeks were too hollow. His skin was too sallow. And that sky-blue gaze was no longer the same. It flinched at every sudden movement, wavered at decisions, buckled under stress. It was no longer the strong, determined gaze that Midorima knew belonged to that boy, Kuroko Tetsuya.

Midorima cleared his throat several times before speaking.

"I wanted to say that in the past there were several things I may have said, which could have been untruthful or otherwise damaging or unjustified. I wish to retract those statements now and stipulate that I no longer have feelings that align with my previous ones. In fact, I—"

"Shin-chan, sorry to interrupt," Takao said. He looked pointedly at Kuroko, who was staring blankly. "But, you're not making any sense."

Midorima cleared his throat again.

"What I mean is—back then—" He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I said some things that were—incorrect. And, what I really mean is—I apologize. This—this is your lucky item," he said, quickly setting down a wallet that must have been hundreds of dollars. "Don't get me wrong, Kuroko," he said, suddenly stern. "I despise you as an Aquarius. Our signs do not get along. But—"

Takao slipped an arm around Midorima's shoulders, smiling slyly. "Shin-chan's too embarrassed to say this, but what he really means is that he cares for you a lot as a person."

Midorima looked extremely miffed, but he said nothing to negate Takao's interpretation.

"I've said what I wanted to say," Midorima said. "Let's go, Takao. And, Kuroko… Take care of yourself."

Midorima dragged Takao out of the room before the hawk-eyed man could tease him, but Kuroko still caught the edges of a mocking aww, Shin-chan, that was so sweet! from around the edge of the door.

[Kurokocchi—I can't meet you today, but I wanted to show you something. It couldn't wait, so I'm sending you the link. If you read this, I'll be really happy! But it's totally up to you.

And, I've been wanting to say this for a while, but…

I'm really sorry.

[link]

–Kise]

[link]

[Phantom11 January 24, 1:59

I was sexually assaulted twice. I won't go into details. I don't want to relive it.

He let me go. The first time, he said he would hurt one of my friends if I ever reported him. I started avoiding my friend after that, not wanting to get him into trouble.

The second time was today, just a few hours ago after I met a friend. I went… home afterwards, I think. I'm not really sure.

I feel dirty. Disgusting. I want to cleanse myself, but I can't. I can't stand this feeling; I can't look at myself in the mirror without seeing what was done to me. When I think about what happened, an inexplicable panic takes over me, and I almost hyperventilate, then I almost stop breathing. I tense up, and can't do anything for several moments until I finally regain control over myself. I feel so dirty. I want to escape. It's like I've been plunged into a place without light or even darkness—a place so empty that I want to escape no matter what it takes.

Can someone help me?]

Comments:

[Taseri Kiyou: What the heck? Youre disgusting. Why didnt you fight back? Why did you let him do that to you? I bet you provoked him! People like you who push the blame on the other guy are the worst. You should just disappear!]

[19928: ^ agree]

[290infinity: they just wanted to bang… no big deal, chill out]

[AnonA: 290infinity: If they wanted sexy times with you, they'll come to you with proper consent and knowledge and nothing before that, you overused excuse of a filthy toerag.]

[AnonB: i don't know what to say except i hope u alright, ok]

[1993yur: i bet you deserved it]

[AnonC: You certainly did not deserve it!]

[thriller45: IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.]

[993you: it is not your fault you didnt deserve it]

[900C: I feel so bad that I don't know what I can do to help you… but I'll pray for you. Stay strong]

[AnonD: The victim never asks for something of this nature. Those kinds of comments make my blood boil and make me also so so very sad.]

[778pinocchio: Love yourself. It sounds dumb and self-centered, but you have to remember to love yourself. No matter what has happened, value yourself, because that's the only way you can move forward after something like this.]

[9338forti: it's not your fault]

Read 539 more comments here

[…]

Reply here

[Phantom11: Thank you.

Taseri Kiyou—the real one. Thank you, too.]

"With regards to your father," Akashi suddenly said one cloudy day to Kuroko, who was sitting up and pretending to read a book. Kuroko was silent. Akashi watched him. Two minutes passed and Kuroko had not turned a single page.

"With regards to your father," Akashi said again. "What would you like to have happen to him?"

A pause. Then, "What do you mean?"

The words were numbed around the edges, as if Kuroko hadn't quite become master over the muscles that commanded speech.

"I mean that if I were to choose to look into his background, I am confident that there would be one or two things that could land him in jail," Akashi said. Or, if need be, he would certainly fabricate some. "My private investigators are waiting for my call. The decision hangs on you, Tetsuya. What do you say?"

Kuroko looked Akashi in the eyes.

"I…"

It was at an odd time when Midorima suddenly felt the urge to get up and make sure that Akashi wasn't doing anything strange. It was stranger still that he felt the need to check up on the independent, fearsome redhead, but when he got to the hotel, he was glad he had taken heed of Oha-Asa's advice to follow your instinct! Akashi was just finishing buttoning up a suit and had a look on his face that said he was ready to kill.

He didn't even spare a glance for Midorima as he swept past him, leaving a cold chill in the air.

Wordlessly, Midorima followed Akashi—taxi, follow that car—all the way to Kuroko's old house. Akashi knocked the door, and when there was no response, he calmly kicked it in and strode in. They found Taiyou in Kuroko's old room, cleaning out the bookshelf. The man didn't looked shocked, just looked degradingly down at Akashi.

"I looked into you, Kuroko Taiyou," Akashi said. His tone sent shivers down their spines.

"I've done nothing that'd give me time in prison," Taiyou said defiantly as if he'd been expecting this.

"I'm sure there are some things," Akashi said quietly, "whether you remember them or not. Or, should I say," he continued, even more softly as he closed in on the aging man, "whether you took part in them or not."

"That's fraud. Illegal," Taiyou said. "You couldn't do that."

"Couldn't I?" Akashi murmured. "You'll be surprised to find, Kuroko Taiyou, that it is within my ability to perform many tasks thought to be impossible. And, if it so happens to be within my desires, I would be willing to do even the illegal."

"Are you threatening me?"

Akashi smiled, but it was so cold that the fire in his eyes seemed like chips of ice. "A threat? No. This is what you would call a threat." He folded his arms across his chest, and as quick as lightning, the smile dropped from his face. A chill stole across the room. His eyes gleamed.

There was a flash—a thud—a pen quivered in the wall behind Taiyou. Blood slipped down the side of his face.

The volume of Akashi's voice dropped. "If I so desired, I could end your life."

Midorima could tell that the man was fighting to open his mouth, to throw a retort, but fear was overcoming him. Akashi, still, no matter how much he had changed, was—frightening. Even more so, now that he had incredible power after inheriting the Akashi company. That move had come as a surprise to everyone who knew that Akashi was opposed to following his father's footsteps. But it was a choice made willingly, a choice made so as to be able to support Kuroko to the fullest extent—support that began with paying the cost of keeping Kuroko on life support for a year.

As of now, it seemed as if Akashi had no regrets—and in any case, Akashi seemed to be sure of what he was doing and what he wanted to do. At times, like now, he seemed to enjoy the influence his name carried.

"I told this to your—I hate to say—son. I told him I could do this for him, if it was what he wanted. This… father of his, I could make him vanish. All Tetsuya had to say was a simple 'yes.'

"But, do you know what he said to me? Despite all that you did to him? Despite the fact that you, the father, abandoned your son, abandoned your family, left Tetsuya to rot? Despite the fact that you deserve no mercy, no pity, no kindness—do you know what Tetsuya said?"

Akashi looked down upon Taiyou with the coldest eyes Midorima had ever seen.

"Don't hurt him. Family is family, and he's still my father."

Taiyou looked up at Akashi, and for the briefest moment, Midorima thought that perhaps, finally, it had reached the perverse man just what sort of harm he had done for his son—but—

Taiyou laughed—

"Stupid until the end."

"Despicable," was the last word Akashi said before he swept out of the room. Midorima made to follow, but he paused at the door, casting a final look over his shoulder at the man whose eyes were the same as Kuroko's. How disappointing it was that two men of the same blood could be so radically different.

Midorima pushed his glasses up and said, "If you make any move that we deem to be harmful to Kuroko, we will know. And I'll warn you now…" he turned so that he could no longer see Taiyou—he hoped it was the last he ever saw of that man— "that there are many of us who would eagerly grab any chance to destroy your life."

Taiyou said nothing, and Midorima was glad. He left the room that used to belong to Kuroko. Akashi was waiting for him outside of the house.

"I would have been more than enough, Shintarou," Akashi said. "There was no need for you to come."

Midorima only smiled.

"I didn't want to read that the heir to Akashi Corp. was implicated in murder in tomorrow's headlines."

Akashi's eyes narrowed, but Midorima continued.

"If something like that were to happen, I would rather that headline include my name as well."

Akashi could only let the faintest of smiles brush across his lips.

"Stop being such a wimp, Kagami, and get in there!"

Riko hissed like a cat, jamming her foot into Kagami's back, but the redhead just wouldn't budge. It was like Kiyoshi and Mitobe's two years of coaching how to screen had all culminated in this moment to help Kagami hold his ground against Riko. The door was so close that it irritated Riko, but Kagami was just so wimpy—why did he have to be such a strong wimp?!

"Kagami, you haven't had a serious conversation with Kuroko since he woke up, and everyone can tell that it's killing you!"

Kagami flinched as Riko beat him about the head, but he didn't budge. That strong idiot.

"What's the matter with you?" she crabbed. "Why are you acting like such a wussy now?"

"It's just," Kagami mumbled. "I don't know what to say…"

"Since when did this redheaded, hot tempered idiot ever plan out whatever he was going to say, huh?" Riko lectured. She dug her fist into his head with venomous glee. "Since when did you ever plan out anything, huh!?"

"Ow! Ow, stop, okay!" Kagami rubbed his head reproachfully and grumbled. "I get it."

As if he were walking to the gallows, Kagami opened the door to Kuroko's room and, with a last fleeting glance that read oh god what am I doing please save me now back at Riko, entered the room.

Riko smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands.

Inside, Kagami wilted and squirmed uncomfortably in his spot. Kuroko was looking at him with a mildly intrigued expression. Finally, when Kuroko could no longer stand the awkward suspense, he said very mildly, "Yes?"

"Ah. Well. Uh. Hi, Kuroko," Kagami said lamely. He could have kicked himself for his stupid introduction and just about did. "Well, you see. Uh."

In dismay, Kagami watched one of Kuroko's eyebrows rise.

"Well, I mean… what I mean to say is that… well." In a great rush of who-gives-a-crap-I'm-screwed-anyways, Kagami bowed so fast and hard that he nearly cracked his skull against his knees and shouted, "I'm sorry!"

There were a few moments of very poignant silence. Kagami wilted even more, but kept his nose touching his knees for fear of seeing what expression Kuroko would be making. Not that he should have much to fear, since, well, it was Kuroko, and as far as they all knew, Kuroko didn't make many faces.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Kuroko said, and Kagami could hear the very faint trace of amusement lacing his monotone voice. "Please straighten up."

Obeying, Kagami rearranged himself into a normal standing position and looked anywhere but at Kuroko as he said, "I have a lot of things to, uh, be sorry for."

He knew Kuroko was looking at him in a way that meant what?, so he cleared his throat and continued.

"Sorry for not, uh. Looking for you hard enough. And not seeing that you needed someone to be there for you. And sorry for not paying enough attention to you. And sorry for not realizing anything. And sorry for being such a… shitty friend. And I wanted to tell you that… Nothing is your fault."

"Nothing is your fault either, Kagami-kun," Kuroko said. "I don't blame you or any of the rest of you for the things that happened to me."

"But you don't blame yourself either, do you?" Kagami blurted out. He wanted to slap himself. Why was he so incapable of doing anything but saying stupid things?

As if he were commenting on the weather, Kuroko said very mildly, "I used to. But, I think I'm moving away from that point, now. But I do wish that all of you would stop blaming yourselves for not knowing what was happening to me. After all," he said, his voice turning a little wry, "I did work very hard to keep the truth concealed. I would have been rather disappointed in myself if you all had figured it out."

"Wait…" Kagami said slowly. "Does that mean… you're alright now?"

And perhaps that was the question Kagami regretted asking the most, for Kuroko only looked at him in a way that suggested he wanted to say I do not know. Kagami suddenly realized that now was the time to leave. He gave Kuroko the quickest hug in the history of hugs and power-walked as fast as he could out of the suddenly suffocating room. Outside, he found Riko with one ear to the wall. Hastily, she jumped away and whistled lamely.

"How was…" Riko trailed off upon seeing Kagami's expression. She broke into a wry smile and patted him comfortingly on the forearm, the highest part of Kagami she could reach without looking extremely stupid or taxing herself.

"He's getting better, and that's more than we can ask for," she said.

"How's that more than we can ask for?" Kagami said frustratedly. "More than we can ask for is asking for everything bad that ever happened to Kuroko to have never happened at all. That's more than we can ask for."

Riko smiled sadly as Kagami stormed away. She cast a long look at the door before turning around and leaving the site herself.

Months later, Kuroko found himself at the peak of physical recovery.

A sort of hush swept into Kuroko's ears. He walked slowly down the hall, with the doctor matching his pace patiently. The nurses nodded their heads with smiles; the patients in wheelchairs eyed him in envy and in joy; the double glass doors swept open for him in a respectful salute.

The sun greeted him with all the warmth it could muster on that crispy day of clear blue skies. Kuroko felt, for the first time, its raw warmth, not the filtered sort that came in through his window. Smelled for the first time in over a year the wildness of the winds. The squirrels chittering in the walkway made way for him as if he were royalty; the yellow and red leaves fluttered down as if he were in a parade; and the cosmos flowers bowed to him under the September wind as he prepared himself to take his first step outside. Here it was, the culmination of all his efforts.

He lifted his foot.

Passed it across the barrier.

Set it down.

Breathless.

How does it feel? he vaguely remembered hearing someone say to him. Is everything fine? No pain?

He turned his tongue in his mouth, trying to remember the lessons he'd taken on speaking. He smiled. Felt his lips move. Heard his voice come out, clear and pure.

Yes.

It feels wonderful.

The winds tossed dry leaves playfully over his bare feet. He directed his toes, taking delight in the fact that he could see them respond with a pleasant wiggle. He picked one foot up, then set it down in the grass, feeling the blades prickle, tickle him.

Life.

Kuroko Tetsuya was no longer a boy; he had not been a boy since the age of seventeen. Nineteen, now, he threw his head back and grinned like a child up at the blinding sun. Raised his hands. Hi-fived the sky. Calmed down and thanked the doctor.

He was alright. He was going to be alright.

"So, Kuroko, why did you call me here?" Kiyoshi said, folding his arms. He couldn't help but smile; Kuroko looked more alive than he had in the past few months.

"Kiyoshi-senpai," Kuroko said—sounded more alive, too— "I've always known that if there was anyone I would tell, it would be you. I've said it before, but I will say it again—I don't have an older brother, but I think you are as close as it can get. So, if it won't trouble you too much—"

"Ah-ah, Kuroko, what did I say about that?" Kiyoshi said, shaking his head. The corner of Kuroko's mouth lifted. Kiyoshi ruffled Kuroko's hair. "You can tell me anything and stop worrying about troubling me."

"It may be long…"

"I'll listen to anything you have to say."

So Kuroko told Kiyoshi everything—everything he could remember about his red truth he had been trying to suppress for so long. Even though Kiyoshi knew the entire story already, and although Kuroko was already safe and sound, it was all he could do to stop himself from scooping Kuroko up and hiding him away somewhere where he would never be hurt again.

Kuroko looked up from where he had been staring the entire time he'd narrated, and Kiyoshi saw insecurity in his eyes. He realized how hard it must have been for Kuroko to pour forth the story in its entirety, and how worried Kuroko must be now—and how much Kuroko needed for Kiyoshi to accept him. Kiyoshi could have laughed; it was ridiculous to think that he wouldn't embrace Kuroko despite what had happened to him. None of that was Kuroko's fault; none of that changed the fact that Kiyoshi—and the rest—still cared for Kuroko deeply. But, Kuroko couldn't see it—or he could see it, just couldn't fully, concretely believe it. It was a journey for Kuroko to learn to trust again, and he still hadn't quite reached the end.

So, Kiyoshi said nothing. Simply raised his fist. Like he was saying, hey, you made it through, you're alright now.

He watched Kuroko's eyes fix upon it in a puzzled expression. Watched his lips lift into a smile. Felt Kuroko's fist tap against his. Then he wrapped Kuroko up, hugging him as best as he knew how. Like he was saying don't worry, I'll always be right here.

Right here.

No matter what.

Kuroko booked the first flight out of Japan with the money accumulated from the get-well-we're-concerned gifts from the relatives he'd never seen. It was a quiet trip; nobody knew he had left except for his doctor, who gave him a pat on the back and a stern look that said I want you back alive and well, and Kiyoshi.

He'd made Kiyoshi promise to not tell anybody where he was going or when he was leaving, and Kiyoshi understood. Kuroko needed a break—for how long, he didn't know, but Kiyoshi would wait. Kuroko didn't go back to his house, didn't visit his father who, as far as he knew, had not even once visited his son. He bought new clothes, a new bag, and arrived at the airport in a black hoodie and black jeans. Kiyoshi came alone to tell him goodbye. Told him to eat well, take care of himself, and grow a few inches.

And then, Kuroko was out of Japan, to the states, to California.

He stayed there for almost a year.

There, he found a part-time job as a waiter. His boss, a woman in her late twenties and with curves to die for, asked him about his past life one day over cups of hot chocolate. He left out the red truth of his life, but said he was from Japan, taking a break from—well, Japan. She looked him over with her sea-green eyes. Nodded.

"And I'm supposed to believe that's it?"

Kuroko started. His eyes met hers.

"I'm sorry?"

Bethany was her name, and she became almost like a mother to him. She had black hair, which she pinned up, and sea-green eyes Kuroko thought he would never forget, even if he went blind.

"You have the look about you," she said.

"The look?"

"You know," Bethany said. "The one where you can tell…"

Kuroko looked at her questioningly. She shrugged.

"You know. Just, you can tell when a person's been through a lot. Like you. You like to… mask it, and you do it very well."

Kuroko felt exposed. "How can you tell?"

She shrugged again.

Before he could ask, she stood up. "Come on. You want an education, right? You're probably piss-poor and dumb, so I'll help you out."

She showed him how to enroll in courses online. She tried to get him to move into her house to help him save money, but he politely refused. He didn't want to depend on her—on anybody—that much. He worked hard to make up for the hole that was two years of his life, and he did well.

"You should go back," Bethany said suddenly one day. Kuroko looked up, question in his eyes. "To Japan, I mean."

Kuroko quietly set a cup onto a tray and readjusted his uniform. Bethany had once told him that if she were a few years younger, she'd be all over him because that was just how smoking hot he was. He wasn't sure whether she was just being kind or being serious. Not ever having put on much weight after moving out of Japan, he was scrawnier than ever. But at least he had grown a few inches.

"I suppose I should," he finally said after looking at the cup long enough to memorize every scratch. "Next month, maybe."

Next month turned into the month after, and even that turned into another month. He knew Bethany was worried, but he didn't think about it much. More often than not, one of his co-workers would find him sitting on the veranda outside, staring into the distance, where he knew Japan lay.

His birthday came and went quietly. He was twenty, now.

Bethany's 28th birthday came and went with a bang. While drunk, one of her employees asked whether Kuroko was still a virgin. Kuroko didn't know how to respond to that.

Because, he really didn't know.

His English got better, enough to rival Kagami's. He could say This is Japanese lunch time rush! with barely any accent at all. He was always very polite. He didn't get too close to anyone and never let them do more than tap the very surface of his being.

One day, while he was putting away the dishes after a long night, Bethany clicked into the room with her heels and slapped him on the head.

"Out with you," she said, thrusting something into his hand. "I don't care what's holding you back, but it's not healthy. I don't like it. If you don't come to terms with yourself, you're never going to move forward."

"I have come to terms with myself," Kuroko said quietly. He looked down at his hands and saw a plane ticket. To Japan.

"No, you haven't. You're at that impasse where you delude yourself into thinking you have, but you really haven't," she snapped. Her eyes turned soft, and she pushed Kuroko's overgrown hair out of his eyes. "You need a haircut. I think you'd look really hot with the sides trimmed a bit. With your hair spiked up or something."

"I would be unrecognizable."

"You'd be hot. But, please, Tetsuya," she said. "Just go."

She bought him a black suit that was perfectly tailored and a light blue dress shirt that matched his eyes. He cut his hair the way she liked it. It made him look older, more mature. He wasn't sure if he liked it. He packed his bags. She told him she had bought a one-way ticket and that she didn't expect to see him back here again. He nodded. Said thank-you-for-taking-care-of-me-goodbye. She gave him something to wear on the flight—a black vest and slacks and blue button-up—and hugged him tight before he boarded the plane.

And because he'd never let anyone grow too close to his heart, he left without shedding a tear.

Japan hadn't changed, but what did he expect? He smiled a little, shaded his eyes with a hand, oblivious to the heart-in-eyes looks women were shooting at him. He pulled down his vest, feeling himself breaking into a sweat under the summer sun. Suitcase in hand, he booked a cheap hotel room and fell back into bed. The heat was strong enough to permeate through the window.

He hoped autumn would fall in soon.

Kiyoshi had been the last person he'd seen before leaving Japan, and it felt right to let him be the first person to see after returning. Kuroko knew it was summer break in most schools and remembered Kiyoshi's address well. He donned the clothes Bethany bought him and shortly found himself in front of a door belonging to an average-sized house.

Kiyoshi hadn't changed at all, Kuroko was amused to see. The bushy eyebrows wiggled up and down in bafflement as Kiyoshi tried to figure out who it was on his doorstep.

"Kuroko…? But his hair was different… and he was shorter… are you perhaps… his long-lost twin?!"

"No," Kuroko said, bowing. "It's me. Kuroko Tetsuya."

Kiyoshi laughed and slapped Kuroko on the back so hard that it brought tears to his eyes. "Kuroko! It's been way too long…"

Hands on hips, Kiyoshi stepped back to look Kuroko over. He broke into a grin.

"Still shorter than me, heh. Izuki's here, I hope you don't mind…"

Kuroko nodded, and Kiyoshi let him in.

"Izuki, we have a guest!"

"Who?"

Izuki was in the living room, fanning himself and drinking water. As soon as Izuki laid eyes on Kuroko, he spat out the water in his mouth and scrambled to his feet.

"K-Kuroko!" he choked out, his gasp a product of choking on water and shock. "K-Kuroko, you—you're—you—Jesus!"

"Kuroko's Jesus?" Kiyoshi said, looking astonished. "Kuroko, I never knew!"

"You idiot!" Izuki, Kuroko was stunned to see, was crying. Izuki hugged Kuroko so tightly he thought his ribcage would collapse. "God!"

Kuroko didn't know what to say, so he gingerly hugged Izuki back.

"You're finally back—god, you're finally back."

He hadn't heard those words for so long that they sounded foreign in his ears. He rolled his tongue around them, tasting them, and smiled faintly.

"I guess… I'm back."

Kiyoshi invited him to stay for the night, and Kuroko gladly accepted. Izuki kept poking Kuroko, as if amazed that Kuroko was actually sitting right there in front of him. A little while later, Hyuuga burst through the door, Koganei, Mitobe, Furihata, Tsuchida, and Riko right behind him.

"This," Hyuuga said in a strangled voice as if war was waging inside him. He held a box out to Kuroko. His arms were trembling so badly Kuroko was afraid they would vibrate right off. "This is my precious… my child… my antique figurine collection…"

"Hyuuga!" Riko groaned, turning red from embarrassment. "How did I ever think to date such a guy…"

"You're together now?" Kuroko said, eyebrows rising.

Hyuuga and Riko turned a matching shade of red but did nothing to deny it. Koganei cackled in the background, and Riko took that chance to relieve her embarrassment by beating Koganei senseless.

"But Kuroko, if… if I give you this," Hyuuga struggled to say. "If I give you my precious children, will you promise not to leave like that again?"

"This is unlike you, captain."

"Idiot!" Hyuuga barked, straightening up. He slapped his hand across Kuroko's head. "When someone's offering you his life and soul, you don't say things like that! Do you know how worried I was when you went and vanished off the face of the earth like that? And how much I beat Kiyoshi up to get him to tell me where you were?"

"I had a broken arm at one point," Kiyoshi said as if commenting on the weather.

"That was Riko, not me," Hyuuga said. He coughed violently as Riko shot him a death glare. "A-Anyways, point is, Kuroko… Don't do that again."

"If you even think about pulling a vanishing drive like that on us again, I'll quadruple the training," Riko said gleefully. "I know I'm not your coach anymore, Kuroko-kun, but don't doubt me when I say I'll make you do four times the training we did in high school. It'll be like making up for lost time!"

Kuroko immediately said, "I won't do it again."

"Now, now," Kiyoshi said as Koganei whimpered and Mitobe quivered at the terrifying thought of a quadrupled training regime. "What do you say to some good old-fashioned hot pot?"

"Only if Coach doesn't cook!" Koganei piped. Mitobe made frantic motions. "Mitobe says he'll do all the cooking, so Coach, please don't!"

"H-Hey! I've improved, you know!"

"That's a lie."

"Hyuuga!"

"Lies… A defibullator saves lies."

"Izuki! That was terrible!"

"Oh, look, it's Nigou!" Kiyoshi said as the rest bickered behind him. Nigou was just coming through the dog-flap at the bottom of the front door. Upon seeing Kuroko, he tackled so hard that Kuroko fell over.

"He's grown," Kuroko said fondly. "A lot."

"Like you!" Kiyoshi grinned.

After a hectic dinner, Kiyoshi pulled out all the blankets under the roof of his house and laid them out. Nobody was allowed to leave under Riko's decree, and Kuroko was all too willing to comply. Such liveliness was now foreign to him, and he wanted to experience all he could.

Long after the rowdiness quieted down, Kuroko was still awake. In the darkened room, he sought the words he knew he wanted to say. He waited, because despite being the type to say anything, however cheesy it was, he still felt a little embarrassed—less about the cheesiness and more about how long it had taken him to figure out what he had wanted to say all this time. So, finally, when he thought everyone was sleeping, he said aloud in the dark room, "Thank you for everything."

What he got was unexpected: Riko, who had been lying beside him, shoved him hard, and everyone laughed. He was glad the room was dark; he thought that, for once in his life, he was blushing.

"Idiot," Hyuuga said, and that alone sufficed for everyone.

With a smile, Kuroko finally fell asleep. It was long before anyone else even stirred from their sleep when he left early in the morning, leaving a note that read:

Please tell the members of the Generation of Miracles that I'll be waiting at the cemetery today. And tell everyone that I'll be back so that they don't worry.

'Home,' in tangible form, was now an empty house with a 'for sale' sign stuck forlornly in the lawn. Kuroko stood on the pavement outside, just looking for a while. When finally, a force inside him nudged him, he took the first steps forward and halted at the door. It looked the same as ever—an unassuming, white door. He laid a hand on the handle—opened it—smelled the mustiness wafting out.

As he moved through the house, there was a solid nothingness that settled over his mind like a blanket. The floorboards creaked. The furniture was gone, now. The door to his room was closed, like a box that had been labeled DO NOT OPEN and left under the bed to collect dust. He left that untouched for now. Kuroko ran a finger along the countertops of the kitchen, brushing off the dust at the end, looking at the path he left behind. He took his sleeve and wiped the whole thing off. The dust fluffed up and danced in the sunlight tumbling in through the window.

Returning to his room, he grabbed the doorknob with a firm grip and opened the door.

For a moment, he blinked; the room was so empty that it hardly looked as if it had been lived in. The hardwood floors had been scrubbed and left alone until a layer of dust had settled down. The bookshelf was gone, the books along with it; his closet had been emptied; and his bed—that bed—was nowhere to be seen. The only relic it had left behind were four, darkish squares in the wood where it had stood.

Kuroko released a breath he did not know he had been holding. He remained there for a minute.

When he left, he let the door stay open.

The bus driver greeted him as he boarded the bus, a rarity to Kuroko, who was used to passing by invisible. He felt a curious gaze upon him; he wasn't surprised. He knew the bus driver well; he had been the man who had driven this bus for seven years. And he was aware that the bus driver hadn't the faintest idea of who Kuroko might be. The bus driver had always been a curious man, Kuroko remembered. He moved to the back of the bus, oblivious still to the heart-filled gazes the smitten were shooting at him, and waited for the last stop.

With a quiet 'thank you' to the bus driver, he hopped off. It was still early, but the sun was unforgivably hot. He made his way up the stone steps and weaved his way around the tombstones in the grass.

One of these could have been him.

But, for now, it wasn't so.

A spot in the shade chose him, and so, he wandered over to it, tapping a gravestone lightly as he passed by. The engraved name, Kuroko Kano—mother—beamed up at Kuroko in the sunlight. He settled down, thanking the shadows for the break from the heat, folded his arms behind his head, and watched the clouds pass by. After a while, he grew tired and let his eyes close.

In the distance, he could hear the bus cough as it approached and came to a halt. He listened to it rumble away back to its starting point and to the echoes that reminded him of a bell tolling in the mountains.

Then, he heard the footsteps and knew that time was indeed unyielding. He heard them stop, heard them shift in discomfort under the heat and in front of him. Heard them breathe.

"Hello, Tetsuya."

He opened his eyes and saw them standing before him, looking as awkward as awkward could get.

"Good morning." He looked at each of them as he sat up. "You look awfully formal today."

He could tell they wanted to say something, but he didn't want to hear it—not yet, anyways. He motioned at them to sit down, and warily, they sat, not knowing what to expect.

Kuroko could hear his blood pumping, his heart pounding, but he drowned it out with a smile. In a quiet, tentative voice, he said, "If it doesn't trouble you too much… could you listen to my story?"

After the longest silence he'd ever experienced, Aomine finally said in a constricted voice, "Fuck. Took you long enough."

Kuroko smiled the faintest of smiles. "I am sorry."

Under that tree, in those shadows, there was no anger as Kuroko told his story. When he'd finished, there was only silence again.

Kagami, for lack of anything appropriate to say, said, "So… did you like America?"

Kuroko shrugged. "It wasn't bad. But to be truthful… I didn't realize how much I missed hom—"

The word stuck in his throat oddly, because he suddenly envisioned that empty house in the stretch of lawn sitting lifelessly on the corner of the street. He could feel them staring, but it was a struggle to even open his mouth again.

"How much you missed home?" Momoi said gently.

Kuroko nodded. "I was about to say that, but then I realized—I don't really have a home anymore, do I?"

"The hell, Tetsu," Aomine objected.

"That hurts, Kuro-chin," Murasakibara said. "Even though I give you snacks, you still don't know?"

"Isn't there that saying 'home is where the heart is?'" Kise said with a watery grin.

"Perhaps rather than saying 'heart,'" Midorima said, pushing his glasses up, "you could say 'family.' And before you define family as blood-related, is that really how you feel?"

"Who do you consider as family, Tetsuya?" Akashi intoned quietly. "Where does your home lie?"

Kuroko couldn't get the words past his throat. Hot temper flaring, Kagami scowled in frustration and leaped to his feet.

"This is taking too long, you idiot! Do I have to answer for you?" He grabbed Kuroko by the arm and hauled him to his feet, the others following suit. "This is where home is!" he said fiercely, punching Kuroko in the chest, right above his heart. "Home is here!" Kagami swept his arm out. "Well," he said, abruptly realizing they were in a cemetery. "Minus the graves and dead people. But, that's besides the point. Because, you're here with us. This is home. You're home now."

You're home now.

Kuroko didn't realize he was laughing until he felt the tears drop from his face. Aomine and Kagami both hit him on the back of his head, sending him flying forward, where he was caught by Murasakibara, who ruffled his hair. Kise and Momoi were laughing, too, now, laughing so hard that they cried, and though Midorima called them both idiots, he had to turn away to hide his smile. Kuroko was wiping his tears, which were falling so thick and fast that he couldn't see, and trying to figure out whether he was crying or laughing—but did it matter? Did it matter there under the sun, in the shade?

It felt inappropriate to laugh amongst the gravestones, above the dead, but they couldn't help it. One of those could have been Kuroko. But for now, it wasn't so.

And for that, they were too thankful for words.

Kuroko was going to continue to live.

With a start, Kuroko wondered when I want to die turned into I have to live and when that had turned into I want to live, and when even that had turned into I am going to live. He could have laughed at himself—and he did—because his answer was staring at him right in the face. Upon returning to Japan after almost a year, I have to live turned into I want to live. And when he reunited with those whom he held closest to his heart—that's what you call family, right?—and when he found himself in their presence—this is home—that phrase I want to live turned into an unfaltering resolution of I am going to live.

I am going to live.

"Thank you," he managed to say in between his crying and laughing. "Thank you so much for letting me live."

"Idiot," Aomine said. "We're the ones who should be saying thank you."

Aomine held his fist out with a grin that was so pure it was reminiscent of his middle school days. With a competitive glare, Kagami knocked it away with his own outstretched fist. Kise bounded forward with a let me join!, and dragged a disgruntled Midorima with him, who only needed the slightest force to make him raise his fist. Murasakibara stretched his arm over their heads to join, and Momoi, in a rush of excitement and joy, grabbed Akashi by the wrist and pulled him forward.

And under that sky of pure blue, Kuroko laughed and tapped his fist against theirs.

Aomine slung his arm around Kuroko's shoulders and punched him lightly.

"Isn't there something you're forgetting to say, Tetsu?" he said, grinning.

"Something I'm forgetting?"

"When you come back after a long day, you idiot," Kagami snorted. "What do you usually say?"

"Ah," Kuroko said, and never had he felt so free or so happy as he did at that moment. "That's right."

And finally, he said the words he hadn't said in over two years:

"I'm home."

I would first like to express my thanks and gratitude to everyone who has stuck with this story through its ups and downs. This has been an invaluable experience for me. Thank you to those who have shared their stories; thank you to those who have criticized; thank you to those who have read; thank you to those who have listened; and thank you to those who have understood. This chapter marks the end of Nineteen: A Truth of Red on Blue.

This (very long! Over 13,000 words!) chapter is made up of bits and pieces that are bridged together by the first and final scenes (and the bus). Recovery can be bumpy, broken, difficult, and sometimes you have to work hard to make each part you gain of yourself come together. It's up to you to decide whether Kuroko has recovered fully. This was so difficult to write, and it took so long—but I hope it's satisfactory and makes up for the long wait. It's a pretty cheesy ending, but hey, I tried my best.

Forgot to mention this in the first update, but in the comments below Kuroko's post, the comments from Anons are all taken from reviews readers posted. Just my way of saying thanks for the support, and thanks for being wonderful.

By the way, the pun Izuki says is not mine. I don't get it either, but it came from Pungents (lol).

I know it was not a perfect write; I know there are passages that could have been better written and ideas that could have been more effectively conveyed. I am still learning, and I always will be, and I want to thank everybody who's been part of that learning experience. I will try my hardest to incorporate what I've gained and to become not only a better writer, but also a better person.

Please, value yourself and stick to your beliefs. Be strong and look for happiness. Be kind to yourself. Stay safe.

Thank you again for your support and kindness.

Love and luck from this grateful author,

hokkyokukou