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Once a basketball idiot, always a basketball idiot

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“We’re married now,” Kuroko said.

Aomine spat out his drink.

His spluttering caught the attention of the rest of the Generation of Miracles, who came over to see what was going on.

Patiently, Kuroko repeated over the sounds of Aomine choking to death on the floor, “Kagami-kun and I are married now.”

There was a pause as everyone present tried to parse that.

“What.” Akashi pronounced the two syllables without inflection, like a decree rather than a question. For once, no one present reminded him to tone down on the emperor-like attitude, which still occasionally popped up during periods of stress, and had earned Akashi the nickname of The Crocodile when exams had rolled around. “How.”

Kuroko peered at Akashi in vague concern. “Well, when two people love each other very much, sometimes one of them would purchase some jewellery, and then go down on one knee –”

“Yes, Kuroko, we’re aware of that, thank you.” Kuroko blinked back at Midorima, who resisted the urge to push his spectacles up his nose at the intense scrutiny. “I think what Akashi wanted to know is, how did that happen when same-sex marriage is illegal in Japan?”

“And why weren’t we invited to the wedding?” wailed Kise, finally throwing in his two cents.

“Why would anyone invite you?” everyone still coherent asked simultaneously.

Kise joined Aomine on the floor.

“I went to visit Kagami-kun last month to celebrate his NBA qualification,” explained Kuroko, and they all nodded. This, they knew. “Apparently, America just legalised same-sex marriage in all fifty states. Kagami-kun proposed. I accepted. We got married before I flew back.”

They contemplated this turn of events.

“That… seems a rather spur-of-the-moment decision,” ventured Midorima finally.

Kuroko shrugged. “It’s Kagami-kun.” And certainly, that did explain everything.

“Atsushi? What do you think?” Akashi asked, possibly half-hysterically. It was hard to tell with his face wiped clean of all expression.

Murasakibara contemplated the situation for a moment, and then fished out an unopened bag of sweets from his bag and presented it to Kuroko with the solemnity of an offering. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Murasakibara-kun.” Kuroko glanced down the packet of Choco Babies with mild interest. “But I don’t think either Kagami-kun or myself can get pregnant.”

Murasakibara gave this pronouncement the grave consideration it deserved, and then held out a packet of Kiss Mints instead for a trade.

Aomine groaned piteously, possibly to remind everyone that he was still there. A shadow fell over his prone form, and he knew before hearing the voice that it was Midorima. One foot nudged against his side, surprisingly gentle. “Oy, you still alive?”

He rolled to his feet, lobbing the half-empty drink packet in his hand in the direction of the nearest bin. It went in, naturally, barely rattling the lid. “Oy, Kise, one-on-one. Now.” Anything to get out of this conversation.

At the sound of his name (and the thought of basketball), the blond bounced back to his feet. “Wait, Kurokocchi! What do we call you now? Are you supposed to be Mrs Kagami Taiga? Or is he Mrs Kuroko Tetsuya?”

Kuroko turned his blankest stare on Kise.

“Kise-kun… whatever you’ve been using is fine.”

Kise opened his mouth again, so in the interest of warding against more no-doubt inane questions, Aomine threw a basketball at his head. Kise ducked automatically, and belatedly Aomine remembered that Kuroko was standing right in the line of fire.

Then he had to leap aside as Kuroko punched the ball without batting an eyelash, using his entire body to defuse the sheer amount of spin Kuroko put into the Ignition Pass: Kai before it could break his wrist. In that split-second of distraction – Kuroko had been irritated, judging by the amount of force in the pass – Kise had already blown past him, elbow thrown backwards in a Copy of Eagle Spear that Aomine avoided by the skin of his teeth.

He turned around, and Murasakibara was looming in his personal space like an unyielding mountain, hand stretched out towards his face. Aomine let himself fall into the automatic flinch at finding someone so close to him, his centre of gravity dropping rapidly even as the ball swooped through his legs with barely a thought, attaching itself to his left hand as though magnetised. Murasakibara didn’t move from his position, and he could sense Kise coming back for another steal from behind. He was off-balance, and not in a good position to dribble, not with these two marking him.

A smirk flitted across his face. So they think they have him cornered?

Instead of correcting his balance like they no doubt assumed he would, at the last second Aomine twisted his body until his torso was almost parallel to the ground, and casually flung the ball in a high arc. Murasakibara instinctively jumped for it, but the ball curved just out of his reach on its upwards arc. Aomine knew without looking that the purple-haired giant was probably scowling down at him, but his eyes didn’t leave the basketball even as he hit the ground with both palms to break his fall.

Kise cannonballed past him like a shooting star, but he would never make it in time.

Nor would Akashi, who simply couldn’t jump high enough even if he had predicted Aomine’s actions – which wasn’t actually a given, since most of him had been blocked by Murasakibara’s sheer bulk up until the last moment.

But there was one person who could catch a pass at such a height.

Aomine grinned fiercely as Midorima raised an unimpressed eyebrow, though the green eyes remained fixed upon the goal hoop at the other end of the court. Standing slightly further to the side than Akashi had been, Midorima had had a better vantage point to witness Aomine’s actions, and this in turn meant he had a fraction of a second extra to react – the difference between victory and defeat when one was up against the Emperor Eye.

The ball thudded solidly into Midorima’s hands in midair, and even as he was falling to earth his expression was serene.

The High Projectile Three took an eternity to fall, swishing through the net with the barest rustle, and landed on the ground with the finality of a referee’s whistle.

“Well,” Aomine said brightly into the silence. “Looks like it’s a three-on-three then.”

It only went downhill from there.


“Ne, Midorima,” Aomine began after the impromptu basketball match, towelling himself dry.

“No,” Midorima replied without looking up from re-taping his fingers carefully. “I am not flying to America to marry you.”