#also i got rly offended by something she said the other day abt my gift (tho she didnt know it was for her) so idk im not rly feeling it idk

[floralbfs]

anyone else like sad but not sad but sad

[cheswirls]

[ i rly wanted to write smth for them that was short n quick n then i thought ‘oh bt what abt this small supporting cast’ and then it grew a lil but its still a short oneshot tho longer than intended.. anyway, heres kurosemi. no knowledge of to aru is necessary for comprehension. ]

“this plant smells good.”

semi knows exactly what plant kuroo is referring to, because it’s the only semblance of one in the quad. “what? that plant is fake.”

“oh?” kuroo pauses, bending down to sniff again, semi doesn’t know. “did you spray it with something or . . ?”

he stops writing when his hand jerks, a stray line of red ink stretching two centimeters farther than it should. his head snaps up away from the offending mistake so he can direct his anger in a glare at his research par- affiliate. “stop joking around!”

kuroo’s expression properly adjusts. the slant on his eyebrows is heavy -they’ve become so straight it would be possible to balance small objects on them. semi’s not entirely sure where the analogy comes from, or why he thinks it’s appropriate to the situation, but he doesn’t bother to take it back, even if he’s the only one hearing it.

anyway. kuroo deadpans. complete with a deep frown. he reaches a hand up to pluck one of the daisy’s petals, and it comes off easy, much to semi’s utter shock. “this,” he says, with as little inflection as possible, “is not plastic.”

•

semi devolves into panic, but it’s the first time kuroo has seen the plant, so a bit of explanation is necessary to garner any sympathy. unable to concentrate on anything else, semi moves the thick notebook he’s been scribbling in for the better part of an hour until it falls on the floor, half-buries his face into his ink-stained hands, and starts rambling just loudly and just coherently enough for kuroo to understand.

semi is a workaholic. his one-track mind is on his research. he can’t take care of anything but himself, and barely manages that at times. he’d acquired the house plant as a gag gift, because he couldn’t kill something that was fake. and, true to form, he’d had the daisies for five months without lifting a finger to their care.

five months.

but they were alive.

they were alive in perfect condition.

understandably, after hearing all this, he garners kuroo’s sympathy.

kuroo panics.

•

kuroo tetsurou is born in tokyo. academy city piques his interest, but he can’t see himself being a test subject. he works hard at school, and works hard at university, and only then does he apply for a graduate school inside the walls. purely for research. he is in no way a subject, nor does he desire to be.

semi eita is born in the northern tohoku region. academy city was constructed in the capital of the country before he was born. his interest was fleeting, but a chance encounter his third semester in undergrad changes that. he applies for a research position inside the special ward and is granted the transfer his fifth semester of undergrad. he is not interested in subjecting himself to strange drugs or practices, or in trying to raise his level at all. he’s not an esper.

and yet, somehow, he’s kept a small houseplant alive for five months with absolutely no conscious care. he thought it was fake, for crying out loud. the thing was only good for looking at, and that was only on particularly bad days.

semi eita is stressed.

•

“of course they found out,” kuroo grumbles, looking up to cast daichi a particularly scathing gaze. he reaches across the counter to wrestle the espresso from daichi’s fingers and downs the shot in one go. (the wrestling is not necessary, nor is it true; daichi had been handing him the shot to begin with; he simply took it with a minimum amount of nervous fumbling.) “i haven’t seen him all week.”

daichi retrieves the shot glass and holds on to it, reluctant to refill it. again. “won’t that hold up your research?”

“it already is,” kuroo admits. “not like it matters; not like they care. semi’s an important specimen. they’ll do what they want.”

“and what he wants?”

kuroo casts him another dull look and makes grabby-hands at the shot glass daichi has regrettably refilled. again. he passes it off.

“doesn’t matter much anymore,” kuroo mutters, chucking his shot right after. the words aren’t necessary to say aloud, and yet he does anyway, so daichi figures he must feel a particular sort of way about the whole thing.

•

“i don’t think it’s that bad,” yachi tells him, a couple weeks later. “sure, it can be intense, but it’s a lot of fun, too!” she smiles, sunny, as if contrasting kuroo’s deep-seated scowl. 

but here was the thing about yachi hitoka. she had been here the longest out of any of kuroo’s friends. she went to middle school here. she was level two. her esper powers were, to an average person, out-of-this-world impressive.

here was the thing about yachi hitoka. she’d grown up here. she was a success. she wanted it.

(kuroo thinks about semi, coming home to kuroo’s place instead of his own, eyes rimmed with red and hands shaking and teeth chattering, unable to fathom being alone in the dark and alone in his own thoughts and alone with all the shadows that could morph around him and alone to dwell in the negative emotions and painful memories and dreaded terrors of what was next, next, next-

semi, alone with the daisies to watch him from the corner.)

semi had kept a plant he thought was not real from dying, somehow. being an esper was not a dream of his. developing esper powers was not a desire. subjecting himself to what the city deemed necessary was in no way part of his plan when he showed up several years prior.

yachi hitoka started the power development curriculum at eleven.

semi eita was forced into it at twenty-four.

semi had kept a plant alive; some nights kuroo wished he had never mentioned it.

•

nine knocks come at rapid succession on his front door. kuroo knows this, climbing the stairs to said door, because only one person knocked like that these days.

also, because he had stopped near the top step to watch semi do it, surprised to see him there before kuroo himself, surprised at a lot of things and not surprised at all, all at once

semi is barefoot. today, he’s not breathing in odd intervals. his natural hair is more pronounced at the roots than the last time kuroo had seen him. he appears to be clean-shaven, unlike the last time kuroo had seen him. his eyes are wild, when he finally catches sight of kuroo behind him; his eyes fade to calm, when he finally catches sight of kuroo behind him.

he steps forward, bare feet loud on the floor, and kuroo has him wrapped in a hug before he’s even made it the rest of the way up the stairs. 

(he marvels at how, for just a brief moment, they stand at equal height)

semi never wants to talk about it. kuroo isn’t a therapist, and on some level, doesn’t think he can handle it. doesn’t think he can withstand the boy he loves breaking apart in front of him.

but sometimes semi writes. just as a release for his thoughts. to keep from having them pent up. and it helps, he tells kuroo.

sometimes kuroo reads them. sometimes, even rarer, he’ll read them all the way through.

it’s more of the same, usually. needles and strange drugs and pain pain pain that they insist will fade. electrodes and wires and brain experiments and nerve tests and practical experiments and live tests and plants and small animals and human cells and

semi collapses into kuroo and cries pathetic tears for someone suffering so much. kuroo feels helpless. all he can do is pull the boy he’s in love with close and whisper in his ear things he thinks are comforting. all he can think is that he has to be brave, for them both.

there’s not a name or classification for eita’s esper power.

eita. kuroo pauses on that thought. ah, i see.

kuroo runs his callused fingers through eita’s two-toned, choppy hair. he skims over fresh raises in the skin, tries not to tread too close to skull anymore. eita stiffens but relaxes quicker, burying his face more firmly in kuroo’s chest.

kuroo gets brave, bending close.

“eita,” he whispers. “you’re safe here. no one is taking you from me. you don’t have to grip so tight.”

eita’s grip grows slack, then tightens over the course of kuroo’s words, then releases entirely. he lifts his head, eyes huge and wet and fixed on kuroo and kuroo alone.

“eita,” kuroo says again, raising a hand to cup his face, run a thumb under dried tear tracks. 

eita bends closer, sucks in a breath, releases it against kuroo’s lips.

kuroo acquiesces.

•

“this is a dream,” semi mutters, glancing up from the results again. across the way, kuroo lifts his face from the microscope.

“this is dull.”

semi scoffs. “i meant overall. being here. doing this.” with you, he doesn’t say. “being here,” he says again.

“you’re running out of words.”

“hey.”

kuroo looks up again. semi has that look. the one that makes kuroo want to draw him close, call him ei-

“come over tonight. you haven’t seen my new place yet.”

kuroo hums, pretending to think it over. “got anything exciting?”

“no.” semi snorts. “i’m here all the time. no use in exciting. you’ll be the best thing there.”

the turn of phrase does something to kuroo’s heart that has him agreeing.

• 

kuroo has never called eita eita. 

kuroo is an only child. the one other person he’s ever addressed by their first name is daichi. semi eita is semi eita. research partner. assistant. what have you.

but it brings eita comfort, in a world of suffering, to be called such.

so kuroo calls him eita, and some days he lies and says it will all go back to normal. some days he believes himself when he says everything will be okay.

the daisies sit, unblemished. fresh. alive and well.

eita festers in kuroo’s arms.

•

semi nudges him on the way there. “actually, i have a couple decorations. housewarming things. flowers.”

“oh! that does sound interesting.”

“don’t get your hopes up. it’s all plastic.”

•

one day, eita’s esper ability gets a name:

repair.

kuroo laughs. what irony.

eita laughs, and bends close to suggest a synonym.

kuroo near chokes when he says tetsurou so easily.