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writetomyheart2020-04-16 10:19 am
defiancebyfire.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2020-04-16 10:19 am
[team three] limitless
kuroko no basuke, loveless AU. first meeting of Akashi and Midorima.
Memories of their first meeting are vividly committed into Shintarou's mind, despite the entire affair being nothing but awkward. Sacrifices were most often found first, the presence of their paired Fighter unit taking from as short as a day's notice to as long as several years before manifesting. And yet when Shintarou starts attending Seven Moons, it is to the news of his Fighter having already been enrolled for about two years, though they are apparently roughly the same age.
The sight that greets him upon entering the dormitory is a space almost bare of belongings, though the tidy bed covers and pillowcases indicate that his roommate must be occupying the half of the room by the window. Shintarou fixes his gaze over at the unoccupied shelf beside what he assumes to be his bed, smiling to himself—his books are able to have a proper home. Only a third of the closet space is filled with clothes, and it seems Shintarou's Fighter prefers traditional wear to modern clothing.
“You are here.”
The voice—quiet, authoritative, absolute—surprises Shintarou. He turns around, and what catches his attention the most is his Fighter’s flame red hair and eyes, the latter as steely and calculating as his voice. Clad in a grey kimono and deep rust red hakama, he looks out of place with the rest of the school, but fits perfectly with the atmosphere of their small, shared living space.
“I’m Akashi Seijuro,” the boy continues, tone suggesting that he’s merely offering a bit of information without the expectation of a reply. He can’t be more than fourteen, but his aura already exudes such power. Shintarou remains silent for a few moments, like an animal assessing its rival. The boy, Akashi, turns his lips up in the slightest bit of a smile, seemingly satisfied with Shintarou’s reaction.
Deciding that a bow would be too formal, Shintarou instead extends a handshake.
“Midorima. You may call me Shintaro, if you wish.”
“Call me Sei, then.” Seijuro takes the hand offered to him, grip firm and no-nonsense.
There is a slight itch on the inside of Shintarou’s forearm, covered by the sleeve of the shirt he’s wearing. He knows it isn’t the electricity one feels when acquiring his or her true name—he got his six years ago, after all. He wonders where Seijuro’s name is written, perhaps the small of his back, or maybe on his arm as well?
He’d like to know if Seijuro remembered how they had met back then, if he had felt the same invisible pull for the longest time after it had happened.
you’re up next,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faded_lace 👍🏼
Memories of their first meeting are vividly committed into Shintarou's mind, despite the entire affair being nothing but awkward. Sacrifices were most often found first, the presence of their paired Fighter unit taking from as short as a day's notice to as long as several years before manifesting. And yet when Shintarou starts attending Seven Moons, it is to the news of his Fighter having already been enrolled for about two years, though they are apparently roughly the same age.
The sight that greets him upon entering the dormitory is a space almost bare of belongings, though the tidy bed covers and pillowcases indicate that his roommate must be occupying the half of the room by the window. Shintarou fixes his gaze over at the unoccupied shelf beside what he assumes to be his bed, smiling to himself—his books are able to have a proper home. Only a third of the closet space is filled with clothes, and it seems Shintarou's Fighter prefers traditional wear to modern clothing.
“You are here.”
The voice—quiet, authoritative, absolute—surprises Shintarou. He turns around, and what catches his attention the most is his Fighter’s flame red hair and eyes, the latter as steely and calculating as his voice. Clad in a grey kimono and deep rust red hakama, he looks out of place with the rest of the school, but fits perfectly with the atmosphere of their small, shared living space.
“I’m Akashi Seijuro,” the boy continues, tone suggesting that he’s merely offering a bit of information without the expectation of a reply. He can’t be more than fourteen, but his aura already exudes such power. Shintarou remains silent for a few moments, like an animal assessing its rival. The boy, Akashi, turns his lips up in the slightest bit of a smile, seemingly satisfied with Shintarou’s reaction.
Deciding that a bow would be too formal, Shintarou instead extends a handshake.
“Midorima. You may call me Shintaro, if you wish.”
“Call me Sei, then.” Seijuro takes the hand offered to him, grip firm and no-nonsense.
There is a slight itch on the inside of Shintarou’s forearm, covered by the sleeve of the shirt he’s wearing. He knows it isn’t the electricity one feels when acquiring his or her true name—he got his six years ago, after all. He wonders where Seijuro’s name is written, perhaps the small of his back, or maybe on his arm as well?
He’d like to know if Seijuro remembered how they had met back then, if he had felt the same invisible pull for the longest time after it had happened.
you’re up next,
faded_lace 👍🏼