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Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star.
It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
Maybe the star doesn’t even exist anymore.
Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.
--Haruki Murakami
Ten.
It takes ten years and four for Kise Ryouta to find the person, only ten seconds to fall in love.
He has never expected that meeting his love will hurt—a basketball hitting the back of his head—and when he turns around, his gaze lands on sun-kissed skin the color of bronze, a shock of hair the color of deep blue ocean. He has never expected to be caught off-guard by the husky lilt on the boy’s tone, as Kise’s name rolls out from his lips with enthusiasm and familiarity, like he's known Kise for a long time. He certainly hasn't counted on being drawn towards the basketball gym—to where the boy headed—and see said boy battle out several opponents with quick, calculated, almost graceful movements as he strides about across the court, ball in hand, bouncing against the ground in a rhythmic tempo. Kise stands rooted to the spot, seconds turning into minutes. Within him, a spark is lit; soon, it’s a wildfire blazing as he watches the boy pull his weight and spring into the air, slamming the ball effortlessly inside the hoop with a smooth and quiet swoosh. He catches the boy’s expression and it holds the light of the sun.
Kise is captivated.
“I’d like to join the basketball club!” Later, Kise tells everyone in that gym. He’s never been so sure of anything in his life.
Nine.
For the nine, unbearably long school days he’s waited, the in-between two weeks before he finally gets to join first string.
Kise is a little disappointed, a little exasperated that he has to start from the ground up before he can join the regulars, before he can finally play with the blue-haired boy (and well, with the rest).
He learns that the boy’s name is Aomine. Right after third-string practice, Kise hasn't failed to drop by the first string gym to watch the regulars—they always put on extra time, always staying longer and Kise can’t help contain the excitement he feels, whenever he sees how passionate and devoted his teammates are. And then his eyes stay glued to the tanned teenager for the rest of the time, picking out moves, techniques, style. Sometimes, Aomine just steals his breath by simply dunking a ball.
Kise admires from afar and it’s like looking up into the skies of endless blue-- Aomine, talent and all, seems too far, too high, too unreachable. Yet it fuels Kise’s desire to be good enough to share the court with Aomine someday soon.
When his time finally came, Kise manages to keep a cool exterior, schools his features just enough so he won’t look too giddy and stupid when the team manager ushers him to the first string gym, but deep down, his heart drums with exhilaration. Finally, the time has come.
“That’s amazing.” He hears Aomine say. Kise’s heart flutters a little inside his chest.
Eight.
Eight weeks later, Kise finds himself well-assimilated into the club, into the sport. Practice can be grueling, but basketball has been anything but dreary—he’s quite sure he’ll stay for a long, long time, maybe, even for good. There are lots of new things to learn, Kise’s got a huge room for improvement, the mechanics of the sport always posing a challenge to him. Not to mention, he has to work doubly hard if he wants to keep up with Murasakibara, Akashi, Midorima and Aomine. Especially with Aomine, who seems to be getting stronger and faster every day.
In eight weeks, Kise gets to hang out with a rather eclectic crowd of people, and he finds them infinitely more interesting than the bimbos who always crowd his social space, fawning even over the smallest things he does—Kise could be rolling his eyes at them and these fan girls would still be worshiping the ground he walks on.
In eight weeks, he’s played his first official match with lanky, little Kuroko showing him a valuable lesson, enough for him to pay the teal-haired teen a considerable amount of respect despite Kuroko’s below par basketball skills.
In eight weeks, he’s played countless one-on-one matches with Aomine and has never won a single game.
Play. Lose. Repeat. His teammates throw him sorry looks and Kise is well-aware that the others misconstrue him as a masochist already, because why would anyone want to be repeatedly beaten to the dust by the Ace of the Generation of Miracles?
Yet Kise gets up every time, a smile tugging on his lips, as he looks up at Aomine and declares, “one more”.
What they don’t understand is how every defeat pushes Kise to discover more of his potential. Because if he wants to get better, he has to go against the best.
Aomine just smirks, throws Kise the ball and puts on a defensive stance. There’s even a hint of amusement in his ocean-blue eyes and for whatever it means, Kise finds himself wanting of a way to overcome, finds it endearing even, finds himself drawn to the fire more than ever.
Seven.
Kise thinks and comes up with reasons:
Aominecchi is mean.
Aominecchi is loud, and headstrong, and just likes to fool around. He loves provoking people, Kise particularly, and when Aominecchi is in detention, it’s most likely that Kise ends up in detention as well.
Aominecchi is lazy--he likes to sleep, likes to skip cleaning duties, likes to run late for practice. What an irresponsible jerkface.
Aominecchi swears a lot.
Aominecchi is an idiot, his grades are miserable. (Not that Kise’s are any better).
Aominecchi just loves smacking his head, pushing him, throwing him the ball too hard when Kise’s not looking. Not a day passes by without Aominecchi and him bickering, trading bruises and bumps here and there, and it’s sometimes bothersome because Kise likes to keep his body and face (especially his face) flawless.
Aominecchi is just plain annoying.
Kise stops on the seventh. He has plentiful more reasons to hate on Aomine but he cannot bring himself to add more, just as he considers other things as well.
Because Aomine may be all of the above but childishness aside, he actually has a kind heart. He’s very protective of Momoi, he’s been a steadfast support to Kuroko, and sometimes Aomine even shows a bit of concern for Kise, too, coaxing him to eat more “or you’ll be dead weight the team if you're too weak” and carelessly throws off comments like, “your eye bags make you look uglier, Kise. You should sleep some.”
Aomine is fun. He’s a concentrated bundle of energy that cannot sit still. He’s reckless and spontaneous. Adventure sings in his veins that when Kise hears the call, he just can’t help but be pulled and lured into some irresistible exploit with Aomine. Even if it lands them both into trouble.
Aomine is honest. Often, he’s an idiot who blurts out things without thinking. But he doesn’t sugarcoat, doesn’t just say things to please anybody.
And Aomine’s not bad-looking. Not at all.
The mess of contradictions that is Aomine Daiki. Kise ponders these things in his heart most of the time, maybe so much more than he’s aware of. Lately, his daydreams are filled to the brim with the blue of Aomine’s eyes, the sharpness of Aomine’s smirk, the storm that’s born on his skin where Aomine’s touch has accidentally or intentionally made contact.
No, Kise tells himself.
No, he pleads with himself. Because he can’t be falling in love with Aomine.
The realization terrifies Kise.
Six.
Unstoppable, precise, effortless as always. Kise marvels in awe, a stare lingering a tad bit too long at the wearer of jersey number 6, after he scores another basket despite having been marked by three of the players from the opposing team.
Before Kise’s feet move in step closer to the Teiko Power Forward so he can voice out a compliment for the Ace, Aomine has already rushed to Kuroko’s side to give the Phantom Sixth Man a fist bump. Kise watches as the two share meaningful smiles, the clarity of the message traded across is almost glaring despite the lack of words.
As Aomine became the brightest point where all of Kise’s fantasies, hope and admiration come together, Kise also has soon become aware of his rightful place in Aomine’s world. Aomine’s light is blinding indeed, but not blinding enough for Kise to unsee where it shines at.
It’s Tetsu. Always at his Tetsu.
They’re light and shadow after all, inseparable like the yin and yang.
Kise is often told he’s beautiful. It’s not quite strange when people say he’s bright, talented, special. Yet when he looks at Kuroko, Kise sees everything that Aomine wants; Kise looks at himself in the mirror and sees that he’ll never be enough.
There are times when he’d be willing to give anything just to be in Kuroko’s shoes.
While Kise often finds himself at the receiving end of Aomine’s profanities, there’s never a single harsh word for Kuroko. While Aomine pokes fun at Kise’s skills despite his enormous improvement since that day he started playing, there’s always fond encouragement for Kuroko, who is perpetually stuck with an abysmal aim and weak stamina. While Kuroko always gets friendly taps on the shoulder, casual fist bumps and resounding high-fives, Kise gets kicked, smacked, hit by the ball and laughed at.
The more he sees, the more Kise understands love for what it is--it's within those words he cannot say out loud, that dull ache in his chest, the incessant longing that pools on the edges of his eyes while chasing after the bright streak of light that Aomine leaves behind. Love, Kise learns, has become the smile he wears to hide away the pain.
Five.
It’s been five days since Kise had decided to keep his distance. The sudden break from his usual routine leaves a strange, hallowed feeling within the confines of his heart, but at the same time, he’s washed over with relief, knowing that he’s stopped himself in time before more damage is done.
To keep the hurt at bay, he signs up for more modeling gigs and tells his teammates that he’s swamped with work so he’ll have an excuse to cut basketball practice shorter and leave school as soon as possible. During lunch, Kise gets to sit again with the bimbos who melt at his feet with just a bat of his eyelash, who laugh at the corniest joke he tells. He lets himself laugh a little too loudly at his own joke, without sparing a glance at the table where he used to be, where the famed Miracles are. He’s stopped sending funny memes or random messages to his teammates and only speaks to any of them when spoken to. Kuroko he can handle but dealing with Aomine is an entirely different matter. Kise stays as far as he can, promises himself that he’ll never sit beside the ace during the classes they share, vows not to ask for a one-on-one again, even if it kills him not to.
It can’t be helped, Kise reasons with himself, that he has to shut off his friends at the basketball club, while being fully aware of the unfairness of his decisions, especially to Aomine and Kuroko. Though he’s grown to love basketball so much, Kise contemplates that the best course of action is to quit altogether, because everything and everyone reminds him of the pain he wants to get away from.
He’s fading.
It’s better this way.
In a short span of days, Kise lets all the bridges burn slowly, slowly, leaving behind a trail of numbing emptiness at its wake.
Making up some stupid excuse to skip basketball practice later, Kise finds Nijimura-senpai right after first period, tells his senior that he’s feeling a little bit under the weather. The Captain gives him a probing stare, Kise almost chokes out into confession as he’s sure senpai sees through his lie, but thankfully, the Captain has let Kise get away without asking questions.
Time dragged on. Last period took forever to end. At the sound of the final bell, Kise gets up from his chair, straps up his bag over his shoulders, but before he can step out of the classroom, somebody has grabbed his right arm.
Aomine demands for Kise to stay, fingers gripping the blond’s skin while he glowered at everybody else to leave the room immediately.
Four.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Aomine’s question resounds against the four walls of the empty room, making Kise reel, the shock of this sudden confrontation almost constricting him. Kise peers up at the other boy under thick lashes but he can never hold Aomine’s gaze for too long. He swallows the lump in his throat, opens his mouth to say something, but Aomine cuts in, as if reading his mind.
“And don’t you dare give me that ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about’ crap. Get to the point.”
With naked panic settling at the pit of his stomach, Kise stalls. He keeps glancing at his shoes, lets his fingers fumble at the hem of his uniform before whispering, “I’m just busy with work, is all.”
The reply comes by way of a familiar snort.
Kise bites his bottom lip. With nothing more to say and nowhere else to go, he wishes so badly for the ground to swallow him up.
And Aomine waits and observes Kise with impatient eyes. Between them, a tensed silence stretches for seconds, for an eternity too long.
Finally, Aomine lets out an audible sigh like a huge weight has to get off from his chest, too.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Aomine says quietly, making Kise’s head snap up. “Sorry, I’m mean… and I said a lot of stupid things to you before. And for all the times I hurt you…”
“Just don't…” there’s an obvious break in Aomine’s voice as he lets the last of his words hang, like it’s taking him such effort to pull their meaning out of his mouth. "I wish you'd stop running away from me.”
Oh.
With emotions astir, Kise gives in, lets himself break down, tears pouring like rain down his cheeks.
“…Not Aominecchi’s fault…” Kise mumbles, lips quivering. “…it’s me.”
He finds the courage to finally meet Aomine’s eyes, finds the strength to admit the truth without holding anything back.
“I’m in love with you, Aominecchi. So, so much. But it’s Kurokocchi that you like so… yeah.”
The pain of saying it all out loud makes Kise weak on the knees, he holds on to a nearby chair to steady himself. Desperate to find even a morsel of comfort in the silence that followed, Kise lets the revelation sink in between him and Aomine, as he tries not to mind the dull ache that begins throbbing in his chest.
But Aomine, though caught off-guard, has to say otherwise, his own feelings becoming a jumbled mess as he rushes out to explain that Tetsu’s just his friend and nothing more, that he’s annoyed at Kise for making stupid assumptions and jumping hastily to conclusions, and also quite sorry that Kise reads them that way.
Three.
Aomine launches into a mouthful of words but Kise hears the only three that matter.
“I love you.”
And he says it again and again, stealing Kise’s breath away, luring Kise’s feet to dash into Aomine, making him fall with abandon into Aomine’s waiting arms. And among other things, Kise is grateful that Aomine has let him sob on his chest, because right there Kise finds rest as warm arms circle around him, a reassuring hand finding its way to gently stroke the back of his head.
Two.
The two of them are idiots in love, this, Kise is sure. He lifts his head and meets Aomine’s face with a smile. Happiness sweeps across Aomine’s features too, as he thumbs softly on the skin under Kise’s eyes, wiping away his tears.
“If only you told me sooner,” Aomine tells him with a smirk, their faces only inches away from each other.
“Excuse me, but you should’ve said something too,” Kise shoots back.
“Are we bickering again?”
“We’re not.”
One.
Aomine presses one kiss on Kise’s lips—quick and obviously in want of experience: chaste, gentle, but intense enough to lift Kise's feet a little off the ground, making his heartbeat roar in his ears, making everything dissolve away, making time halt into stillness.
When he meets Aomine’s eyes again, Kise lets himself stare just a bit longer as he commits this moment in his memory, basking in the bright light that has ultimately lead his heart...
Home.