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A knock on the door startled Midorima out of his reading.
Standing on his doorstep, covered in snow, was Aomine Daiki. He was dressed in shorts and a tank top, utterly unsuitable for the howling winds that had picked up in the past hour or so.
“Get inside, Aomine, what the hell are you doing out in this weather?” Midorima rushed his former teammate inside, closing the door against the March blizzard.
“And dressed like that? Do you never check the weather? Is it even possible for you to go outside without Momoi dressing you?” As he spoke, Midorima was rushing around his apartment, putting a kettle on the stove to boil, shoving a chattering Aomine onto the couch, and getting a pile of blankets out of the hall closet.
Aomine sat on the couch and shivered, staring blankly ahead. Midorima stopped and stared at him, distracted by the ace’s stillness.
“Aomine?”
There was no response.
“Damn it, Aomine, tell me if you’re all right.”
Aomine gave no indication he’d even heard him.
“Fuck,” Midorima hissed quietly. This was bad. His pre-med prep seminar mentioned something about shock, and weather, and--hypothermia? Maybe?
For all that Midorima spent a large amount of the time he spent in Aomine’s company wishing death on the other Miracle, he didn’t mean it. Not really.
Midorima knelt on the floor, pulling off Aomine’s wet shoes and socks. He grabbed the largest, fluffiest blanket he could find and wrapped it around Aomine, forcing his shaking hands around it to hold it in place when it was about to slide off. His lack of response was really starting to unnerve Midorima. Even at his most slothful, Aomine was never still. Not like this, anyway.
Hesitantly, Midorima placed a hand against the other player’s cheek. He was ice cold to the touch, but immediately leaned into the warmth of Midorima’s hand. It was the first reaction he’d had ever since he’d come in--maybe the first thing he’d actually done since he managed to find his way to Midorima’s apartment.
Midorima sighed and sat down next to Aomine. Vaguely, he remembered stories about Arctic explorers sharing body heat to stay alive.
Carefully, ready to pull back at the slightest sign of any violent reaction, he slid his arms around the frozen player. Aomine melted into his arms, curling up against his chest and burrowing closer as if to gather every scrap of warmth he could.
Midorima squawked as cold fingers and a colder nose pressed against bare skin, but he didn’t flinch too far away--there wasn’t much place to go when one had a lap full of Aomine Daiki. Good god , the boy was heavy. What did he eat? Bricks?
Sighing, Midorima resigned himself to an awkward few hours--at least until the blizzard had passed.
Aomine woke up slowly, safe and warm cushioned against hard muscle. The last he’d remembered, he’d been playing on his favorite street court...
The one near Midorima’s apartment.
Shit. Was he…?
As unobtrusively as possible, Aomine slit an eye open. The hand wrapped around his arm was covered in very familiar taping.
Aomine closed his eyes as he tried to think this one through. He remembered the temperature dropping, and ignoring the wind picking up in favor of just one more basket, just one more-- He’d finally quit when the snow started falling more heavily. If he’d gotten caught out in the storm, if would have made sense to try to reach Midorima’s apartment rather than go all the way home.
Which still didn’t explain how he went from point “A” to point “being cradled in Midorima’s lap.”
Aomine peeked back up at the shooter’s face, which was slack in sleep, leaning against the back of the couch. His long eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, glasses sliding low on his nose.
Ah, fuck it. Time to figure all this out later. For now, Aomine closed his eyes again and resolved to enjoy the moment while it lasted.