#kasakuro

The thing about Tetsuya is that he disappears without notifying anyone—yes, he’s got low presence and yes, he’s quiet but it’s still unnerving how he gets ideas and goes wandering off. Yukio’s awfully glad he’s not Tetsuya’s father—well, for a number of reasons, but especially because losing your kid in a crowded grocery store has got to be worse than losing your oft-wandering boyfriend. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He turns back to the shelf, pocks up a couple of different jars of mustard. They’re both reasonably-priced, but which is the best ounce per ounce? Yukio sighs. He wants to move on; he’s wasting time here and Tetsuya will find him anywhere but he has no idea what he’s getting or where he is.

“Yukio-san?”

“Where the hell were you?”

“I was getting the milk,” Tetsuya says, depositing the cartons into the shopping basket.

Yukio reaches out and ruffles his hair. He doesn’t really have the heart to yell; and after all it’s Tetsuya.

“Tell me where you’re going next time, okay?”

Kuroko is the perfect kouhai—not too loud or too moody or too narcissistic (although truth be told, Hayakawa, Nakamura, and Kise are good kids when it comes down to it). He’s quiet and diligent and even if he’s still not very skilled he plays his role well and does what’s asked of him. On the other hand, Kuroko’s way too damn cute for his own good, so it’s probably better that he plays for another team (not to mention how overbearing Kise would be if that were the case). Still, it’s hard being in different cities and being busy all the time; they rarely get to see each other.