"You're removing me from the starting lineup?"

Midorima almost falters. He looks way, unable to bear being the one that had to deliver this news. It hurts more to realize that Aisaka isn't directly asking him why.

Aisaka sits there, quiet, eyes wide, hands clenched over the side of his desk.

Midorima offers the reason anyways.

"Akashi wants to make better use of Haizaki's skills in matches from now on," and it's a practiced reasoning Akashi told him to repeat word for word, "you will not be Haizaki's substitute-- but you will be our trump card."

It's not hard to guess.

Akashi isn't doing this because he's worried about Aisaka's wrist worsening-- of course, he was concerned, but to freak out this far was just exaggerating. Midorima chants the reason in his head and quickly understands that Akashi's put a lot of thought into this.

Akashi had been planning to propose this idea much longer ago. The wrist injury was just an excuse.

There was something in Aisaka's play style that made him valuable as a player-- not in the same explosive way as Aomine or Midorima-- but as an abrupt, surprising force to swerve the flow of the game in trying times.

Like a pinch hitter, or clutch shooter-- that's where Akashi will use Aisaka in a game. That's where Aisaka's talents would most bloom, or so Akashi believes.

Aisaka looks torn by the end of Midorima's explanation. The green-haired boy simply turns around, clutching his lucky item between his fingers and trying not to show the world how he regrets telling the boy the news.

Being taken off the starting lineup for his own junior-- maybe it was degrading. Maybe he thought the whole trump card thing was bull. Midorima wouldn't blame him for thinking that.

"I understand."

Midorima doesn't like the smile on Aisaka's face. He usually finds his smile warm and oddly endearing-- but now, they were just irritating. So irritating-- because that's not his face. That's nothing like him--

Midorima doesn't let himself be angry.

He doesn't have the right to be angry.

-

"Saka? It's rare that you're calling me-- are you crying?"

"I'm not."

"Oh god, who? Saka, you better tell me who and what they did--"

"It's nothing, really! Just--"

"Is Kuroko there? Does Kuroko know?"

"I'm really fine."

"You wouldn't have called if you were."

-

"I'm depressed. Tetsuya, buy me a milkshake."

"Yes, yes," Kuroko eases into his seat, setting down an icy strawberry milkshake in the space before him.

Aisaka grabs it like a zombie, sluggishly tilting his head aside and bringing the cup down under the table so he could drink just like that.

"It's not like you've fallen a string, cheer up," he offers half-heartedly, "and if you drink like that, you're going to spill it."

Aisaka lifts the cup onto the table again, and makes a dying, strangled noise that Kuroko discerns is a refusal to obey. What a handful.

"In the course of less than four months, you've made it to the first string, got a uniform, became a benchwarmer, then a starter, then a sub. You should be proud of it," Kuroko tries again, "I'm sure your dad's overjoyed either way."

Kuroko wonders if Aisaka permanently rooted his head into that table, because he doesn't budge at all. Kuroko's out of things to say, so he looks at the boy worriedly.

Ogiwara texted him about this sobbing mess of a human a while back, but Kuroko honestly isn't the right person to ask. Only the red in his eyes are left, but Aisaka is far from fine.

Then Aisaka springs up like a broken pen. He slaps himself on both cheeks.

Watching it, mildly horrified, Kuroko sips on his milkshake.

"Yosh!" Aisaka pumps a fist, "I ain't going down here!" he declares, a little too loudly. People stare, then look away. Kuroko is glad he's semi-invisible.

"On the range of one to let's-go-to-the-arcade, how much do you need my presence right now?" Kuroko offers.

"Something like nine!" Aisaka declares, a finger pointed at the boy. "And damn that Haizaki, this is war!"

"I'm sure Haizaki-kun didn't have much to do with the decision."

And immediately, his head is back on the table.

"They're bullying me!" he sounds like he's going to cry again, and Kuroko has his phone on Ogiwara's number just in case. He seriously can't take more of this--

"Well, maybe I should've expected it," Aisaka sounds tearfully drunk at this point. There's a song in his voice as he sniffles into his sleeve, takes another sip of his milkshake, and blinks a little harder.

"Don't say that, you know you're stronger than Haizaki-kun in skills alone," says Kuroko, searching for tissues before he soiled his sleeves further.

"I might be," Aisaka takes the tissues gratefully, "but I'm not a miracle."

"You don't need to be--" Kuroko stops himself from saying anything else. That wasn't a response to him-- that was Aisaka's mumbling.

"I think we're missing something. Either orange, or yellow," Aisaka says, "gray isn't a colour of the rainbow, so Haizaki isn't a miracle either. That's why he's such an asshole, he's cannon fodder."

There's a very heavy sigh and Kuroko hesitates, bringing his phone down slowly so he wouldn't disrupt the boy and make him realize he's speaking out.

"I guess no matter what, what has to happen will happen, even if I interfere," Aisaka's voice is slightly below a whisper, "is that why I have this wrist? The gods up there are telling me not to make a mess of the flow of things?"

Kuroko moves in to stop him. He wraps a hand around the glove of Aisaka's wrist, "help me practice?" he asks, "there's an outdoor court nearby."

As if he hadn't been mumbling at all, Aisaka smiles.

"Of course."

-

Surprisingly, the one to object to Aisaka's new role on the bench was Haizaki.

"Aisaka works better with Aomine!" was his reason.

But Akashi was firm-- and everyone knows that with Akashi's position as the vice captain, no one could defy Akashi unless they had a solid way to prove him wrong.

"Aisaka works well with Aomine and Murasakibara," Akashi agrees, "but individually, our abilities are strong enough on its own. As we've seen in past matches, we can obtain a team balance not at all lower in grade than if we had Aisaka instead."

That makes perfect sense.

If they can do it and avoid the risks, why not? They won't get any weaker, they'll individually get stronger, and Aisaka won't have as much pressure on the court.

It's a win-win situation.

Aisaka listens to them discuss it this time, and he relents. He puts a hand on Haizaki's shoulder, and manages to thank him.

"It's fine, Haizaki!" Aisaka tells him as Haizaki puts on the number eight and steps out into the court, "I'll stay here-- and if it's gets too hard out there, just know I'm here to pick up after you!"

One of these days, he's going to bring Haizaki to tears.

But for now, Haizaki pushes his number thirteen jersey into his hands, and basks in the light of a gym. He wasn't going to let them all down now.

-

"Hey, Aisaka."

Aisaka is the type that got along with everyone, so it's no surprise that he doesn't really have a best friend of sorts. Aomine trains like a madman, Midorima is stubbornly not not not attached, and Murasakibara is disinterested in anything except sweets.

He has a great friend in Kuroko, but them being in different strings unfortunately meant they saw each other less.

"What, Nijimura?"

Nijimura was the only one that Aisaka ever tried to tack an honorific on. He was also the only one to receive permission to take it off, but everyone else followed suit anyways.

Sitting by the bench during practice, Aisaka takes a breather while Nijimura joins him.

"I was thinking..." the senior says, "among our monster six, are you the leader?"

Aisaka gawks in displeasure, "of course not!" he says, because that was a stupid question, "it's obviously Akashi."

And Nijimura actually blinks in surprise.

"Akashi's the one that thinks up plans, and coordinates our next course of action," Aisaka can't believe Nijimura would ever think otherwise. "It's why you made him vice, right?"

Nijimura hums, acknowledging the thought "That may be true, but in my point of view, they're like a bunch of rabid dogs and you're holding the leash... like a pack of lions and you're the zookeeper; the fairy in a dragon's den; like a bunch of delinquents and you're that one old granny they love and respect--"

"What is that even supposed to mean?!" Aisaka can't help the retort.

Nijimura stares.

Aisaka stares back incredulously.

Nijimura decides, "you're like their Mama."

"Nijimura, clench your teeth."

"Wait, wait, no violence on the cour-- oof! ...ow! You seriously punched me?"

-

When Aisaka plays with Kuroko, it's slow.

It's slow, but so addictive and so beautiful. Kuroko doesn't fire a sharp, fast pass like they would usually ask of him-- it a soft, high pass that drifts in a stable arc.

At the pinnacle of his jump, the ball would only be at Aisaka's chest. His fingers curl over the leather of the ball-- and for a moment, they hover together.

It's a tap, but it looks more like a gentle push.

Aisaka simply leads the ball on its way into the hoop, as if he were scooping up a handful of water from a lake and spilling it across a wildflower.

It's a ridiculous style of basketball, but that's exactly how he became the first string's trump card. Kuroko wonders how it really is when Aisaka doesn't slow down for Kuroko.

They pass the ball between themselves, and sometimes Kuroko would shoot. When he misses, they laugh. They chase each other around the court with the ball between them, and although this was training, they have so much fun.

"It'll be okay, Tetsuya," Aisaka pats him on the shoulder, "you're a miracle. You'll come around, definitely."

Kuroko blinks at that. He isn't too sure what to make of it.

"I'm glad to hear that you believe in me so much," Kuroko says, unsure, "you might have more hope for me than I do myself."

Aisaka knows that Kuroko will come around. He will, soon enough, bloom into a creature that leaves everyone in awe. Until then, if he was to stay weak, so be it.

Fate was a thing that didn't change easily, after all.

"People are saying that you and Aomine are a great match," Kuroko brings up, "I might become a burden, y'know."

Aisaka scoffs, "basketball isn't played by two people! If we're the ultimate duo, you just have to come in and make us the ultimate trio!"

"I don't think it works that way--"

"Then let's make it that way!"

Kuroko looks at the boy like he'd just proposed a childish plan of world domination. He doesn't believe him in the slightest-- but maybe, just maybe.

Just maybe, it can happen.

So he smiles, and lets Aisaka pull him along his road.

-

"Hey, Basketball Club's Mama," someone hollers from the front door of the classroom, "Murasakibara is arguing with the Disciplinary Committee again!"

"Hello, is the Basketball Club's Mama here, because Akashi just got sent to the principal's office and the principal walked out crying."

"Excuse me, are you the Basketball Club's Mama?" this time it's a girl, and she sounds scared, "someone tried to hit on Momoi-chan so Aomine-kun is-- and then Haizaki-kun got involved and--"

"Basketball Club's Mama! Aomine's not doing his cleanup duty!"

There's something evidently wrong yet so hilariously right with the situation. Nijimura walks into club and is greeted with the sight of the century.

All of their first year idiots (five, sans Aisaka) were kneeling down before the indigo-haired boy. They sported a big bump on their heads, and were all looking at the ground as Aisaka glared them down.

He has them perfectly tamed, Nijimura thinks, as expected from the Basketball Club's Mama--

A hand crashes sharply into the wall beside him, and suddenly Aisaka's face is two inches away. He looks absolutely livid, and Nijimura's smile freezes.

"Hi, Nijimura," Aisaka beams in the world's most unromantic kabedon, "do you happen to know who spread around the Basketball Club's Mama rumour?"

Nijimura thinks that even Akashi can't be this scary--

"What... will you be doing with that information?" he asks.

Aisaka just smiles back.

Nijimura spends the next hour kneeling down as well, in line with the rest of the idiots.

"Oh no, Mama's mad," another third year whispers, "Coach Sanada, you better fess up or we're all dead."

"But it suits him," the coach whispers back remorsefully.

-

Thinking back, perhaps Kuroko was a little selfish.

All he ever thought about was himself. He wanted to be included, and Aisaka was kind. So kind, Kuroko never really bothered to ask how Aisaka was doing on his end.

After all, Aisaka was always so happy. Everyone always relied on him and everyone ran to him in times of trouble.

...did he have anyone to run to in times of trouble?

When did it become so matter of fact, that people just assumed that Aisaka was perfectly fine?