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Momoi called Kuroko up, incredibly excited. “Tetsu-kun!” she cried into the phone, half-deafening him. “Tetsu-kun! You won! You won!”
“Pardon?” said Kuroko.
“Your story!” said Momoi. “Your story won the top prize! I knew they’d love it! I knew!”
“My what,” said Kuroko, hand beginning to clench on his phone. “My what.”
“Your story!” said Momoi. “Dai-chan was just reading it, and- oh, Tetsu-kun! It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever read in my life!”
“Your life,” said Kuroko.
“Yes!” said Momoi. “Boku No Basuke- so wonderful! So accurate! So much basketball! And all the judges agreed!”
“The judges,” said Kuroko, head beginning to spin.
“Even Dai-chan loved it,” said Momoi. “He was reading. He told me I had to read it too, and he was right! I loved it! I hope you don’t mind that I sent it in, but I knew you would never take this step on your own.”
“Aomine-kun,” said Kuroko, beginning to simmer. “Momoi-san, where is Aomine-kun?”
“Next room,” said Momoi. “He said I should call you to tell you the news before we came over with some of my special celebration cake.” She paused. “I think he’s climbed out the window, isn’t that strange? Dai-chan? YOU DON’T HAVE TO EAT THE CAKE IF YOU DON’T WANT TO, IT’S FOR TETSU-KU- Tetsu-kun? Tetsu-kun? Hello?”
.0.
Later, when Kagami was called by Momoi to come and drag Tetsu-kun and Dai-chan off each other because Tetsu-kun was going to kill him and Dai-chan was going to hurt himself laughing, he got the whole story.
“How the hell did he even get into your laptop,” said Kagami.
Aomine snorted. “Yeah, like it was hard to guess his password,” he said. “You should be thanking me. I edited your stuff, jazzed it up a bit- gave it to some people to read- voila.”
“Some people?’ said Kuroko, making an extended attempt to break out of Kagami’s hold and claw Aomine-kun’s eyes out.
“A few,” said Aomine. “I didn’t send it off, anyway. That’s her. All her.” He threw Momoi under the bus without remorse. “You should see Ryou’s illustrations, really. They’re not half-bad.”
Momoi glared at him and kicked his ankle. “Dai-chan, I thought that Tetsu-kun gave you his story to read. I didn’t think you stole it from him.”
“I didn’t steal it,” protested Aomine. “It was just sitting out there on his laptop for anyone to find!”
“You wrote a whole book?” said Kagami. “About us?”
Kuroko coloured very faintly. “About Seirin,” he said. “About our first year as a team.” He glared at Aomine. “Which was private.”
“Yeah,” said Aomine. “Weepy moany emo stuff, mostly. I cut most of that out, and added in the basketball and the good stuff. You know, I should get co-author credit on this. Isn’t there a prize? Where’s my share?”
“I’m going to kill you,” said Kuroko.
Aomine sniffed. “That doesn’t seem fair at all.”
.0.
“A basketball drama?” said Kyoko.
“Boku No Basuke?” said Kanae, looking at the slim dust jacket of the novel.
Manager Sawara nodded. “For both of you,” he said, enunciating just right. This was always key with the Love Me section, the delicate balance. Director Kurosaki had been adamant. He wanted these two for the roles.
“You know Ishibashi Hikaru, right?” said Sawara. Start small. “He’s been in talks to play Hyuuga, the captain of the basketball team.”
Kanae raised a delicate eyebrow. Kyoko dithered. On one hand, she did like Hikaru-san. On the other, he wasn’t really an actor, and her work with Bridge Rock, while lovely, wasn’t a reason to take on a job that Moko clearly didn’t want. She cast a shy look sideways. Even though it would be so nice to work with Moko-san again. They’d touch hair and twine fingers and play wonderful friends. They would be wonderful friends. Such wonderful friends…
Kanae tried to force Kyoko’s face away from her with her hand, using two when one wasn’t enough. Nevertheless, she kept her famous air of aloof beauty. “And?” she said, semi-politely.
“Uesugi Hio is down for the main character,” said Sawara. “You know him, don’t you, Kotonami-san? He’s been in very much demand for roles recently, but he’s looking over this one in order to increase his range and repertoire.” This one was at least a little bit of a fib. Since his growth spurt, Hio really had been in demand, and he really was looking for character roles, challenging roles. However, it had also been privately whispered that he would dump all that in a red hot second to work with Kanae Kotonami. They had such regard for each other as acting professionals. Already, Kanae was perking up, and Kyoko, too. LME had this season’s hit in the bag. “It’s shaping up to be a very good project,” he said. “And the novel, of course, was a runaway success. Four reprints, an illustrated hardcover version and a manga, so far.”
Kanae couldn’t help it. Hio? If he was interested… it might not be as useless a project as it initially seemed.
Kyoko was already turning towards the mountain of material. Let me at them, the tiny voices seemed to whisper. Let me at the role. We will devour it. We will engulf it. We will be her. Sawara-san tried to ignore them.
“And,” said Sawara, with the air of laying down a trump card. “Tsuruga-san is down to play Kiyoshi Teppei.”
.0.
“So you see,” said Kise, “They’re hoping that the established actors will cover for the idols or talentos or models they’re pulling in to play basketball.” He puffed out his chest. “The director is into realism for the basketball. Tsuruga Ren does his own stunts too, so he’s up for it.”
Kuroko meaningfully slurped his milkshake at Aomine. Aomine ignored this. Momoi nodded encouragingly at Kise. Kagami chewed his burgers. Kuroko, silently, dared Kise to keep talking.
“I only agreed because it was Kurokochi’s story,” said Kise angelically. Aomine and Kagami stifled laughter, on pain of death. “My manager’s been pushing for me to increase my appeal, and you know it’s just a mini-series, so I thought, why not?”
“Yeah, pretending to be me during a game,” said Aomine. “Big step for you, big step.” He elbowed Kise.
“I was going to play me,” said Kise. “I mean, you know, the me in the drama. And then someone showed the director a video of Aominechi playing basketball.” Kise’s shrug of his shoulders said, more eloquently than mere words, what the director’s reaction to that must have been. “They made me and Fuwa Sho switch roles after that.”
“Who’s he?” said Momoi.
Everyone looked at her silently. “Momochi,” said Kise, sweatdropping.
“Even I know he’s an idol,” said Aomine. “The models in their interviews never shut up about him.” He sighed. They never did. You’d think that idols would have better taste than to fall for other idols.
“I love Prisoner,” said Kagami, as if admitting to a deep and dark secret- as if they didn’t know about his ridiculously expensive headphones and sound setup.
“I enjoyed his latest album,” said Kuroko.
“Can he play basketball?” said Momoi, pursuing the important information.
“Can he act?” said Kagami.
“He’s not as good-looking as Kise is,” said Aomine. Everyone turned around to stare at him. He glared at them. “I see him on the covers in the magazine racks, okay?”
Kise leaned back in his seat and beamed at all of them. Kise really had gotten only more good-looking as they’d gotten older, and his non-basketball career persisted in taking off despite all his efforts to the contrary. “I don’t know if he can act,” he said. “But he can’t play basketball. And he’s kind of short.” A wave at his shoulder height would have gotten him a good kicking from Kuroko, except that Kuroko was staring somewhat suspiciously at Kise’s face.
“You don’t like him,” said Kuroko.
Kise smiled and sipped his diet soda. “Hey,” he said. “You guys free next week? The co-stars want to take a look at you for their research.”
.0.
To be fair to Sho, he could indeed play basketball. It was just that, against two national-level high school athletes and Tsuruga Ren, he wasn’t doing all that well. Sakuraba Haruto (playing Kagami Taiga) was at least just about as bad as Sho and Hio were at handling the ball, but Tsuruga was dunking, and Kise was bouncing from side to side, occasionally doing ridiculous trick shots under the guise of preparing for his character but really (obviously) just showing off.
“Well,” said Kise Ryouta to Uesugi Hio. “At least, you know, it doesn’t matter if you’re bad at basketball? Kurokochi is terrible.”
Hio glared at him, colouring. “I’m not bad at-“ he said. “I’ve been acting, that’s all! My after-school activity is acting. I never joined any clubs!”
“You’re very good for a beginner,” Kise tried to soothe him.
“Beginner,” muttered Hio, and tried once again to dribble past Kise and pass to- to someone, anyone, to Sakuraba, who looked determined and yet useless.
Kise sighed. Just like Kurokochi.
Kanae watched the ‘actors’ run up and down the court, and despaired for womankind. “What kind of woman would volunteer to be a sports team manager?” she said, nearly breaking her clipboard in two. “Who would want to waste their life watching boys chase a stupid ball up and down the court? At least if the girl went and joined a sports team of her own it would be because she loved the sport. Waste of youth! Such stupid feelings! What a pathetic character! Of course she’s in love with the protagonist! Only a man would write someone like her!” Kanae continued to steam.
“You can see how much she does love basketball, though,” said Kyoko, who had actually, perhaps unwisely, met and interviewed Aida-san. She’d been so touched. Aida-san’s goals and dreams and ambitions- boys, yes and sports, but also friendship and camaraderie and mentoring! It had been beautiful, beautiful! Kyoko had been moved to a pink-clad puddle of tears. “And Aida-san’s interest is-“
“She turns up to their team practice in a bikini,” said Kanae. “Extra bouncy.” Oh, she was sure the press were going to be crazy to get set shots of that. She flipped through the copy of the manga she had been given. “Look at this,” she sneered to Kyoko. “Look at how she’s drawn. Has this mangaka ever even seen a real woman? The same pig did the illustrations for the novel, too.” Sakura Ryou? A man, obviously.
“Well, if you look at how Aida-san is drawn, it’s more-“ started Kyoko, conciliatory. These girls were still so much more pure and wonderful than her, and she couldn’t fault the pure emotions all around in the story. Why, didn’t she herself want to throw herself heart and soul into acting? Did not the very thought of quitting drive a spike of mingled pain and horror and relief into her soul? If she could have hated it, she would have. If they could have hated their loves, they would not have been in love in the first place; would not be in love now. Such was the nature of their feelings. Such was the nature of the smile that graced Kiyoshi Teppei’s face, the complicated tilt of Aida-san’s eyebrows, the strength of Tsuruga-san’s shoulders- wait. What? Oh, Tsuruga-san. Already, drawing on the heart and soul of the shounen sports story. Magnificent. Unimpeachable! Annoying! And- wait , annoying? Annoying? SHO.
“Flat,” Sho was muttering, who had very definitely not been listening, very very definitely not hanging around the three-point line not trying to listen to Kyoko and her friend talking. “Just like you.”
With difficulty, Kyoko’s little friends were held back by the avalanche of sparkles emitted by Kise-kun and Tsuruga-san. Sho… Sho was right there… so close… so far… so sparkly… Shooooooo….
“I hope you’re all free to meet my friends later,” said Kise, shining so infernally brightly, rivaled only by Tsuruga-san’s gentlemanly incandescence. “I’d really enjoy that, Fuwa-kun, Mogami-san, Kotonami-san.” Sho bristled. Kise was younger than him, better-looking, more popular. He didn’t even actually do anything. He was just pretty for a living. Sho hated his guts.
“I so deeply regret I cannot join you,” said Tsuruga-san. Kyoko actually felt the skin begin to crisp off her flesh as he glowed at her and the back of Fuwa Sho’s head. Hio-kun, behind them both, stared aghast at his so-called co-stars. Were they all crazy? Was he the only sane one? When would he fall to the curse of show business? Was he like this now, and did not know it? “But I have my prior meeting with Kiyoshi-kun, and his university is quite far away.”
Kyoko felt her eyes once again fill with tears. Because Kiyoshi-kun was still on a strict rehabilitation schedule, he had had very few opportunities to demonstrate his style of basketball to Tsuruga-san. Tsuruga-san himself was enormously busy, and even though Kyoko herself had devoted hours to Aida-san- her gym, her coaching, her basketball, Moko herself had asked Kyoko to come along with her on this trip- to stop Moko from murdering Sho and stuffing his body into a trash compactor. (This was a desire that Setsu would have smirked at, and Mio, but they all knew too that this death and disposal was too swift and merciful for Sho’s demise. His suffering would be far greater.) And of course- of course- once Moko had made such a request- expressing the desire for Kyoko’s actual physical company, such joy Kyoko had never known! Such friendship!- Kyoko could only hope to fulfill Moko’s every desire, despite having to work in the sad and dejected face of her obligation to Tsuruga-san. There was simply no way she could ever have accompanied him, not when Moko needed her! He had to understand.
Ren, naturally, had known better than to press his luck against Kanae.
Sakuraba just quietly cursed his manager. He had actual practice, of course, and couldn’t go. But the rest of the team was never going to let him live down basketball.
.0.
Probably the most inauspicious part of their meeting with each other was the moment when Mogami Kyoko threw her arms around Momoi Satsuki and Kanae at once, buried her head in Momoi’s ample bosom, and then burst into tears. Oh, she knew about all of that, all the pain and heartbreak that came from being tied from practically birth to an idiot like that, an idiot like Sho, vastly selfish and self-satisfied arrogant bastard, the so called childhood friend!
Kanae said to Momoi, “it's very nice to meet you.” Presentation, after all, was important. Just because Kyoko was determined to be unprofessional, overdramatic and overall just Kyoko, there was no point in her doing the same. As the only real actors in the entire group, Kanae felt she and Hio-kun, at least, should try to stand up for their profession as a whole. Hio-kun, however, was having enough trouble just trying to find his subject. Kanae would have to do.
Kise beamed around the gym. Kanae had never seen so many tall people all at once, as tall as Tsuruga-san, or even taller, and as muscled and sleek . Perhaps this was how Kyoko felt all the time. She could see Fuwa and Hio-kun being awed, getting intimidated and then getting irritated at both emotions. Kanae noted these emotions with the cool professionalism of the observer of human nature.
Momoi petted Kyoko’s back hesitantly. It was possible that Kanae owed the artist an apology. He had not in any way exaggerated the size of Momoi's assets. If anything, he had underplayed them.
Kyoko could see Sho’s fingers twitching. She shot him a death glare for even having the thought pass through his head. If he dared… if he tried… her wrath would raise mountains. She even glared hotly at Aomine Daiki and Kise Ryouta (playing him, playing that sorry excuse for a childhood friend, and slouching just like him already, smirking just like him. Kise-kun was really quite dedicated. The actress part of Kyoko was touched. The woman’s side of Kyoko-) Poor Moko- er, Momoi. Forced to put with idiots like this… forced to be there- forced to be unable to ever truly let go- a spiraling black hole of despair opened beneath their feet. Momoi and Moko tried to ignore this as much as they could.
“You’re going to be played by a grade-schooler,” said Aomine to Kuroko, upon introduction to Hio. “Aren’t we supposed to be in college in this thing?”
Hio flushed again. “I’m in junior high,” he said.
“Junior high and still taller than you,” said Aomine, aware that he might as well get in his fun now, while Tetsu wouldn’t murder him in front of strangers.
Kuroko ignored all this. “I’ve been very impressed with your work in the Kindaichi adaptations,” he said to Hio. “You have had a very varied and successful career.”
“Thank you,” said Hio. Composed, yes. He hadn’t been able to figure out what Kise had meant when he said, lack of presence. Certainly it had been difficult to know that Kuroko Tetsuya- celebrated author- had been there when they were first introduced. Certainly it was difficult to get a read on him even now. Hio, however, was going to play this role or die trying. He wasn’t about to lose to even Tsuruga Ren in acting experience and chops. Kanae had made her opinions on the matter very much known.
“I don’t watch dramas,” said Kagami.
“Tetsu likes that detective shit,” said Aomine. “Eats it up.” He snorted. “Like-“
Kuroko, lightning-fast, elbowed him in the gut. Aomine doubled over.
Kise slung an arm around Hio’s shoulders and grinned at him. “They have such a wonderful friendship,” he said. Everyone stared at him like he was crazy. “Fuwa, you want to try playing some real basketball? I promise we’ll go slow.”
Sho bristled. “No need,” he said, “We’ve been practicing, haven’t we?” He thrust back his shoulders. What was with these mutants? Were they really Japanese? It was pissing him off. “Show me what you’ve got.”
.0.
Even Kyoko stopped sobbing to watch Aomine Daiki and Kise Ryouta play basketball, their bodies flashing up and down the court like the most beautiful kind of dance, amazing, incredible, impossible. Kise was doing something he called Perfect Copy, and at each – what was the word, basket? – they turned around and did it all over again, in mirror images. Aomine-kun was moving like a monster, like a god. In the refraction of this brightness even Kyoko’s little demons shriveled up and cried, evaporating in the face of genius. It would not be difficult, she thought, and could not help herself, to love someone who could move like that. Who could love like that, as they all clearly loved basketball. That was what she had seen in Aida-san’s face, the ghosts of glory. Kyoko’s heart raced, and with it, Aida-san’s. She could see it now- Kiyoshi Teppei and Hyuuga Junpei, all of Seirin’s members, fighting strong and brave for the heights they wished to reach, and Aida-san, watching with her heart in her hands. Working just as hard any of them, wanting it for them more than she’d ever wanted anything for herself, and wanting it better, because it was also for herself.
Kanae watched the look on Momoi’s face as she watched the boys play basketball, and thought, ah. Yes.
Fuwa just looked incredibly put out.
“So that's why the director wants me to play Aominechi,” said Kise.
Kagami rolled his eyes. “They’re not going to try doing Midorima?” he said.
“The magic of camera angles,” Kise said. “I’m doing some of the shots, but really, Midorimachi was deemed too unbelievable, so they’re toning him down.”
They both looked at Aomine, throwing baskets without even looking at the hoop. “…and not that guy?” Kagami said.
Kise shrugged his shoulders, and smiled.
.0.
“Yes, like that,” said Kuroko, as Hio darted in-between Kagami and himself, finally getting the timing right for the tap pass.
“Oh,” said Hio, pleased. “You know, Kise-kun implied you’d be much worse.”
“Oh?” said Kuroko, as Kise froze in the act of wiping his face.
“Something about you being terrible?” he said, in the same blank tones. He was really picking up Kuroko’s expression and speech patterns.
“Really,” said Kuroko.
Kise began to sweat. “K-Kurokochi, it’s not- I didn’t mean- at that point in the story, you were-“
“Get back onto the court, Kise-kun,” said Kuroko, bouncing the ball which Aomine discreetly threw to him. “Now.”
.0.
The viewing party, as Momoi decreed, took place in Kagami’s apartment, but because everything now took place in Kagami’s apartment, up to and including study sessions, impassioned declarations of love, and a great deal of uninvited, unappreciated mooching, Kagami just took this in stride. He merely set out the snacks, set up the drinks, and made a mental note to apologise to the neighbours again.
The main body of them arrived in a group. Kuroko and Kise had received advanced viewing copies, but they had been annoyingly closed-mouthed about them, and instead insisted on watching it along with the rest of the hoi polloi. Momoi had faithfully followed the development and advancements in the filming, more out of a sense of duty to Boku no Basuke than anything else- though she had become quite a huge Mogami Kyoko fan. This year’s Interhigh had come and gone, but Boku no Basuke was airing before the Winter Cup. Lucky it was, too, or Kagami had vivid visions of their entire acquaintance descending upon his house to mock. Takao had already sent a mail saying he planned to record it, at least, since Shin-chan was protesting he had absolutely no desire to watch it. Akashi, Tatsuya and Murasakibara couldn’t get away from their practices, but had promised to watch nonetheless. After the call from Akashi, Kuroko had dropped his phone onto the ground, crushed it under his shoe, and then reduced it to shards. Seirin’s first-years had been very impressed.
As the opening credits flashed on screen, Kuroko gave a delicate little shudder. Shadows of Your Former Self, it said.Damn Aomine-kun and his so-called ‘section titles’. Did that phrase even make sense? Did it? Sentimental twaddle.
“You know,” said Kise, “The producers wanted to cut those out? But no way was that going to fly, the audiences were really hot on staying true to the source material.” Kise sighed, happily. “You wrote a literary masterpiece, Kurokochi.”
“LIterary masterpieces usually don’t bring up quite so much art of boys fucking each other,” said Aomine. Kuroko kicked him in the back of the head, but missed.
Momoi blushed a delicate pink, like she hadn’t indexed the folders and bought prints and changed Dai-chan’s wallpapers everywhere. Aomine had retaliated by printing out the fanart of the hot springs confrontation which hundreds were dying to see immortalised on film, but then Satsuki had squinted at it and said, “Oh, no, that’s very inaccurate- we were sort of pressed up really close, you know, like this- and we were naked-” and then Aomine had had to go away and take several cold showers before he was fit for human company again. Round two: Satsuki.
“Yes,” said Kise, smugly, “But I always top.”
“You’re playing Aomine,” said Kagami, who was bombarded with daily emails from Alex overflowing with age-inappropriate glee and attachments Kagami no longer dared to open. “He’s the one they always have top.”
“I’m topping Fuwa Sho in all the RPS,” said Kise. “That has to count for something.”
“I don’t think it helped you kept leaning on him and patting his head in promotional shots,” said Kuroko. At least Kotonami-san had not been too effusive towards Hio-kun... off-set.
“You’re just angry that Fuwa called you ‘the poor man’s Aomine Daiki’ in his twitter post when he found out he had to switch roles with you,” said Momoi.
Kise’s smile was pure- Kise, all that languid wickedness and sly self-possession. “Look, it’s starting,” he said. “Kagamichi, it’s you!”
“I can’t see Tetsu-kun anywhere,” said Momoi.
“Next to the bins, head stuck in a book,” said Aomine, pointing Kuroko- well, Hio- out.
“Story of my life,” muttered Kuroko. They all tried to pet him at once.
.0.
Ren paused, mid-interview, which was such a shock that his manager and Kyoko immediately began twitching, paralysed with fear.
“Er, Tsuruga-san?” said the interviewer, timidly.
Ren shook his hair out of his eyes, eliciting sighs. “Yes, I heard you,” he said. “I was merely considering how to phrase my answer.” He smiled. “I- well, of course it was a challenge playing Kiyoshi Teppei,” he said. “But what touched me most deeply about the character was that he loved what he did so much he was willing to risk injury for the sake of it- and yes, to answer your question, I did feel like I empathize with him.” He gazed soulfully into the camera.
“I too,” he said. “I too feel the same way about acting. I throw myself heart and soul into my roles, despite setbacks in my past and my own physical limitations. So at its core, I found Kiyoshi-kun’s dedication and courage very easy to convey.”
Because he doesn’t eat, said Kyoko’s little voices. He doesn’t sleep! He’s the demon king, the demon king of the night! And he’s so unhealthy! He should be watched day and night and scolded like a naughty dog, or he will never take good care of himself!
When she snapped back to reality, it was to the sound of Hikaru-san saying, “- there’s always the feeling of intrusion into such a close relationship of childhood friends, but I think that it becomes obvious that Kiyoshi-kun becomes an integral part of Hyuuga’s and Riko’s relationship. It’s really those three who form the core of the Seirin basketball team.”
(Bridge Rock had not quite known how to break it to Hikaru that a battle royale was steaming between fans of the drama- who shipped Kiyoshi and Riko with a passion, fans of the manga, who shipped KiyoHyuu with mountains of x-rated doujin, and fans of the book, who alternatively argued for pure shounen feelings and filthy orgytastic threesomes. On the whole, the other two felt it was better not to try, mostly because Hikaru had spent half the drama looking at Tsuruga Ren with a mixture of suspicion and worship, eyes wide and wondering as Tsuruga slammed past him with the ball, and now they shipped it.)
Tsuruga nodded at Hikaru. “Of course,” he said. “In real life, childhood friends tend not to be so intertwined throughout the course of their lives. Take Kotonami-san’s character- Mogami-san, do you agree?”
As Kyoko went off into an impassioned rant about the purity and sincerity of Momoi Satsuki’s basketball feelings and put-upon life, Ren relaxed on the couch and beamed at the world. There really was something to be said for the attitude of the book fans... perhaps something about the furious tilt of Fuwa Sho’s wonderfully expressive eyes, or the way his clever, talented mouth worked when the singer was holding back invective. Kiyoshi Teppei had been an excellent role to take.
-end-