"Tetsu, why're your results better than mine?"

"Because Hiroto-kun is very scary."

Aomine and Kuroko sits down at a table at Maji Burger's, the former wolfing down a burger and the latter sipping on his vanilla milkshake as he texted.

Aomine groans, tossing a paper over his shoulder.

Kuroko, unaffected, looks at Aomine again.

"How has Hiroto-kun been in club?" he asks, and there's worry in his tone. It's not a casual, conversation-starter-- and Aomine understands.

The tanned male straightens, a sternness in his posture. He's not sure what to say.

Instead, he asks, "what do you notice?"

And the temperature in the area falls. Kuroko's hands tighten on his milkshake, and his phone is put on the table, closed.

"He's upset about something," he says, "he's not telling me what, and he doesn't think he should ask anyone for help."

That's the kind of person Aisaka was. He hated asking for help, he wanted to be independent even more so than he was allowed to be and it was so stupid. He didn't like relying on people-- what was wrong with relying on others?

"He's not skipping practice, but he's only doing the bare minimum. That isn't like him at all," Aomine breaks it out of him, "he's... I hate to admit it, but he's gotten great enough that I can't call myself his rival anymore."

That makes Kuroko lift his head.

"Aisaka's the strongest in the club right now. No one can defeat him," Aomine says, "and I think that makes him feel lonely."

Lonely?

How on earth do you deal with a problem like this?

"He promised to wait for me," Kuroko says, sounding as if he were hurt, "do you think I'm forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do?"

Do you think Aisaka still wants to play basketball?

"It's not your fault," Aomine looks away, "it's a little hard to explain... but I think I understand what he's going through."

Kuroko pauses.

"Because, like him, you're strong and talented?"

Aomine winces. He wouldn't have phrased it that way-- it sounded much too proud of him. Kuroko was a weak player and Aomine was a strong player-- they both loved basketball and trained with all their might. The only difference between Kuroko, Aomine, and Aisaka was talent.

"Yeah," Aomine chokes out of him, his appetite lost, "Aisaka is at the peak of his talent right now and... because of that..."

Kuroko takes over. "He's drowning," he says, like it means something, "he's drowning in it."

Aomine's fist tightens.

Aomine feels it too. The sense of having everyone around him cower in despair, the realization that while he rose in the ranks, his comrades would decrease.

It hurts him already. He only has Murasakibara and Nijimura to stand up against in a one on one now. Aisaka has no one. Aomine clings to the edge of the next step, but he still doesn't have enough strength to join Aisaka up there.

It scares him.

He's drowning in it. Yeah, and no one is strong enough to help him out.

Aomine puts down his drink and breathes out, shakily. It's cold, the air conditioning a little less than much too freezing, and Aomine hates it. He hates it, everything.

Kuroko stares at him with that conviction, that desperate almost-angry look he always had against bullies-- he doesn't touch his vanilla milkshake.

"Please don't give up yet," he pleads, "I don't like to admit it, but... I think you're the best partner for him right now--"

"Tetsu," Aomine interrupts, and it's sharp, "I'm trying, okay? But just think about it--"

He trails off, as if something in Kuroko's eyes makes him hesitate, almost cry-- he doesn't. He looks away sharply.

(Just think about it. No one wants to be where he is now. I can't-- I can't.)

Kuroko remains silent.

They spend a quiet moment, and then they both leave the store, never speaking beyond a simple goodbye for today.

-

After the festival, things were a little shaky. Rumours spilled like milk across the halls, and the usual awed murmuring became unpleasant gossip.

His reputation took a blow, but that's to be expected. Some people blame Haizaki for the change, and that's a little amusing to hear about.

He takes a basketball, balances it on his right hand-- and tries to shoot a one-handed throw.

He fails.

He drops the ball, and clenches his wrist with a sharp hiss, waiting for the pain to fade.

(This is stupid.)

He can't shoot with his dominant hand. He can't even do anything remotely skillful with this hand.

And yet, he was the strongest?

Was he just too strong or were middle schoolers just too weak for him?

(I mean, he was a veteran NBA player. It would only make sense that his experience brought about so much of a difference in skills.)

Standing in the court, empty and quiet at night, Hiroto feels too big for the world.

This side of the world was too small for him.

(He's standing in front of a tall, tall wall.)

(Maybe if he took a step back, he'd be able to see what lay beyond it.)

(Maybe, if he looked from a different angle, he could see something new.)

That's the only way he can get his passion back.

-

"So, what's with the long face?"

Jousuke sits down beside him.

Brooding on the couch, Hiroto sighs. He stares at his hands, to the uncovered wrist, and wondered why he ever worried about it.

His wrist was a handicap necessary to even things out for everyone else, wasn't it?

"Is your wrist giving you problems in basketball?" Jousuke asks worriedly, an arm snaking over his son's shoulders, bringing him closer.

Hiroto shakes his head.

"Just..." he hesitates to way-- what if his father looked down on him for it? It was such a petty worry over nothing. "Basketball is getting boring."

I'm getting sick of my hobby.

After a moment to deliberate, Jousuke asks, "why?"

Hiroto bites his lip. He pulls his knees onto the couch and to his chest, never looking up.

"Everyone's weak."

He leaves it at that.

And Jousuke took in the answer with understanding, slowly trying to decipher the meaning behind it.

"Is that so?" He says, as if he knew what was going on, "then..."

He leans in, and whispers into Hiroto's ear.

"Do you want to skip grades? Or do you want to move somewhere with a stronger basketball community?"

Hiroto jumps, surprised by the suggestion.

"The frog in the well knows not of the world," Jousuke quotes, "if that's how you feel... then we can go somewhere together. Somewhere you can spread your wings and fly."

Let's go out into the world, and see how small you truly are.

Biting back a tear, Hiroto leans into his father's chest and laughs.

"We don't have that kind of cash, idiot," Hiroto says without a spell of mirth in his tone.

He's smiling wide and happy now, so Jousuke only smiles back in response.

-

"I'm going to try a little harder," Aisaka says to Kuroko.

They're at the outdoor court, for the first time in many months. The night is still young, the street lights flicker, and the basket clutters when the ball bursts through the rim.

"Hurry and make it up here, Tetsuya," he says, "you and Aomine make a good combination. I wanna have a two on one with you two against me!"

Kuroko's still breathing heavily from the exercise, so he only manages a weak nod. Well, he thinks, at least he's cheered up now...

"What about your talk with Ogiwara?" Kuroko tests the waters, only to immediately regret it when Aisaka's face falls.

It was a worrying conversation, after all. Almost embarrassing now that it was over-- after all, a phone conversation and he cried? Is he dumb?

"I'll wait," Aisaka tells him, looking at his hand.

Kuroko doesn't smile back.

Aisaka's face is painful to look at, because there he was, forcing himself to even smile, forcing himself to believe this was the best course of action right now.

He's climbing up the highest mountain in the world, and he's far ahead of everyone. The top is still far away, and everyone else is distant beneath him.

"I'll wait for you two to come up here with me-- then we'll go the rest of the way together."

(Because I don't want to climb up alone.)

(I really, really don't want to be up there on my own.)

"So hurry up, okay?" Aisaka tells him, and Kuroko feels his heart wrench.

Aisaka knows there's so much more out there for him, somewhere beyond the ranges of this school and this prefecture. Somewhere in a higher circle-- that's where he can really fly. Now, he's a bird trapped in a cage, longing for a wider sky.

But he can't fly. He doesn't have that kind of privilege. So he's stuck down here, not knowing what he could do. For what reason should a bird in a cage learn how to fly better? There was no point, he was not born for that purpose.

Right now, Aisaka is forcing himself into a standstill just to tell himself he still has some sort of a meaning in this world.

So Kuroko trains harder, harder, harder. He practices longer, more than anyone-- because no matter what, he wants to make it before the last of Aisaka fades away.