Chapter Text
Snip. Snip. Snip.
The sound of scissors stood out amongst the sea of chants, footsteps, and pants. It was another day of training for the basketball players at Teiko Middle School, and even with their golden generation in place, no one dared to slack off—no one but those of the Generation themselves had a right to.
Thus, standing by Momoi, Kise Ryota felt it was odd to hear such noises.
He wondered who it could be, humming a tune as he fidgeted in place. Even as his blood slowly ran cold and murky dread bubbled in his gut, Kise didn't attempt to search for the source. It wasn't important, just a pair of scissors in a wide open space with people running around half blinded by sweat and exhaustion.
Nothing much else to hear.
Snip. Snip. Snip
“You're moving a lot, Kichan.” Momoi tapped on Kise's arm with her pen, eyes softening in concern. “Do you want to rest by the side?”
“No, no. It's alright, Momoicchi!” Kise waved her worries away with a smile. “Akashicchi told me to come and get my head back into basketball. I can't let him down!”
She hummed at his reply, lips lowering into a small frown. “Alright then, but I'll send you away if it gets too much. Your health is important!”
He laughed at her exaggerated pout and stance, eyeing her waving clenched fist with faux worry. “Roger that, Momoicchi!”
Kise was glad for her presence. With Kuroko gone, he thought there would be no one sane left. Yet, here Momoi Satsuki stood. Even as she didn't agree with them or worry about their futures, she stayed. That was all Kise could ask for.
Snip. Snip. Snip
When the sounds stayed constant, consistent, and loud without any consequences from either shouting coaches or Akashi's stare—where is he anyway?—, Kise finally decided to let it slide. It wasn't a concern of his what people decided to do during training. He, too, was a player himself after all, and he understood the desire to slack off.
Just because of a simple mistake and ten points short of his quota, Akashi had punished him with additional training. It would seem excessive to others, but Kise believed Akashi was simply trying to keep them entertained. To make sure no one left the sport they collectively enjoyed, loved, and admitted was what brought them together.
Kise respected Akashi for that, just one of the many things he deserved to be looked up to for.
Snip. Snip. Snip
He rubbed his arms when the chill crawled up his spine, and his eyes started roaming the large gymnasium. Usually, when he thought of his friends, it would be accompanied by warmth and a smile. However, Kise couldn't muster up a single one of those reactions, his hair standing on end.
Snip…
The sound was now ringing in Kise's ears, like blaring horns to a deer, his eyes widened, and he froze in place. He forced a wave of nausea down his throat, and a hand came up to his mouth. His mind started to race, and his breathing quickened.
Momoi's gentle touch registered as a distant thought, her words were surely kind, but they couldn't penetrate the scissors that remained. He watched her mouth fall open, fully grasping his shoulders in her hands as pink hair swerved back and forth, shouting for help.
Snip…
“Momoicchi,” Kise found himself with a smile, hands grasping over his heart. “I guess I should've listened, huh?”
“Now's not the time for this!” Kise read from her lips, and a bunch of garbled nonsense was lost to blurry vision and dizziness.
He could still laugh, vibrating with boundless amusement as the crowd gathered at Momoi's cry. They had him seated on the floor, back straight, as they poked and prodded him before shooting Momoi questions. Kise could only observe, not even sure of what was happening himself.
Momoi was really a treasure to the team.
“Just a cold and minor heart attack,” Kise joked when they looked at him. “I think I’ll be fi—”
CRACK.
Then, silence.
All joy was sapped from Kise, and he watched the color leave his view, poured onto the floor in a puddle of muck and goo. Momoi immediately rounded on him, cupping his face and words spoken in a rush, too fast for Kise to read.
He just sat there, like a marionette with its strings cut. Kise couldn't move.
He didn't want to.
“Ryota.” A clear voice broke through the fog.
It was commanding and firm, a hand rested on his shoulder equally as strong, gripping tightly till his bones ached. Pulling him away from Momoi's touch, Kise was forced to look up at red hair and mismatched eyes.
“Akashicchi…” he whispered with a whine, as if wondering where his captain—his lighthouse—had been.
Akashi smiled at his dependence and patted his head. It was a comforting touch, grounding and absolute in his hazy view and thoughts. He returned the smile, albeit strained, and the pat turned to ruffles.
“I apologise for the delay, Ryota.” Akashi's eyes seemed to glow amongst the shadows of the crowd, staring down at Kise to an almost curious degree. “Now, let's play basketball again, shall we?”