(ENG) KUROKO NO BASKET ONESHOTS

BOY LOVE? BOY LOVE!

The coordination, the baskets, the stops, the dribbling... everything goes according to plan, until I catch an expression on Hanamiya's face. It's an instant, a flash – but definitely clear. Before I can even formulate a thought, my body moves on its own. One leg follows the other, my arm tenses, my fingers stretch. But it's too late. Takao's body is on the ground, pain radiating to his face as he brings his hands to his ankle.

"Takao!" – exclaims Miyaji, followed by our other teammates who run to surround him.

"Are you okay?"

"It hurts a lot, actually, Otsubo-san."

He tries to maintain his nonchalance, but he's obviously holding back tears with all his might. As a never-felt-before anger spreads within me, I approach Takao and lift him in my arms, taking him away from the court.

"Sh-Shin... chan...."

I don't speak, I wouldn't even manage if I wanted to: right now, the only words that'd come out of my lips would be insults to that damn Hanamiya that made him fall badly on purpose. I take him to the infirmary, lay him on the bed and look angrily at the bruised swelling around his ankle, to then see his absolutely astonished face, with a rosy tint on his cheeks. Before embarrassment takes over, I entrust Takao to the nurse and go back to the gym: it's time to annihilate Kirisaki-Daiichi.

***

(Pov: Takao)

Just like that. Without saying anything, he picked me up and took me to the infirmary. He had a furious look, but he seemed worried: I could sense it from the way he made me lie down that he wasn't angry with me for falling into Hanamiya's trap, but that he was angry with him for what he had done to me. With this thought I felt my face become hot, so much so that I doubted that I had a fever, as well as a painful ankle. And just when I expected him to say something, he went out with the same silence with which he brought me here.

"Let me take a look," says the nurse, abruptly interrupting my flow of thoughts.

"Y-yes... Here, it's here." – I add, pointing where it hurts.

She slowly moves my ankle up, down, rotates it, all to test how painful it is: needless to say, I feel a knife stabbing me at every movement.

"I think it's a bad sprain." – she notes, taking gauze and ointments from a cabinet – "Keep it at rest and go get checked in the hospital as soon as possible, to make sure there's nothing broken."

I nod, watching her bandage me with the utmost care. What can I say... I didn't expect it and I expected it at the same time. It's the kind of situation where you think, "It won't happen to me." But it did.

"It could have been worse, let's put it that way." – I comment to myself as soon as the nurse leaves the room.

I lie on the bed trying to get comfortable, but in addition to the rigidity of the mattress I am incredibly restless. I can't help but think about what Shin-chan did for me a while ago, and especially how he did it: nothing common to his normality, to the way he treated me for more than a year and a half. I am taken aback, in all honesty, and curious to know what's happening now on the court. I turn around to see a pair of crutches, hop on my healthy leg, grab them and get out of the infirmary.

As soon as I open the door leading to the gym, the noise coming from the stands almost deafens me. I try to understand what's happening, and my eyes lay on him: Midorima Shintaro steals the ball from the opposing captain and releases a lightning-fast triple to say the least from over half court. With my mouth wide open I observe the glow of his eyes: the glow of the Zone. While I stand petrified watching, Shin-chan runs around the field at a speed never seen before, stops any shot from our rivals and without leaving the opponents a moment of breath, he shoots as soon as he gets the ball in his hands. The final score? 116-60.