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They’re about to graduate, and Kise’s humming the tune of some cheesy Christmas song that’s stuck in his brain, if a little off-key.
‘It’s April, you moron,’ Aomine grunts, but the offense lands empty, and so does his voice. He’s tired from being forced to study all day – Satsuki quite literally locked him in his bedroom until he agreed to at least open his textbooks – and now Kise dragged him out in the dead of the night – “Aominecchi, it’s only eight thirty” – to take him to their new favorite place right after the streetball court in town: the beach.
It’s April, and the car’s a little drafty with the window rolled all the way down on Kise’s side, but it’s not actually cold anymore. Kise’s shirtsleeves are even rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned skin, soft, barely-there blonde hair and the ropey muscles of his forearms, dancing a little each time he pulled on the steering wheel, his movements still jerky and uncomfortable with lack of practice.
It’s the bony wrist that Aomine rests his eyes on, the joints connecting the enticingly muscular forearm to the hand with all the veins bulging and visible on the back of it. He’s seen those arms do incredible things before: slamming basketballs through hoops against opponents bigger and more talented than he was, charming girls with just a few gestures to the point where even Aomine felt mesmerized, dribbling the ball at such incredible speed that the human eye could barely follow…
Aomine is no stranger to what Kise’s hands could do. Watching him drive is a relatively new experience, but as such, he’s intent on memorizing each detail about it, just like he memorized how he handled the ball and how he put his hair behind his ear when he was nervous. After all, it’s not like he can do that when Kise’s done and moved to Kyoto to live with his sister and enroll in the fanciest university he could find there.
‘Did you say something, Aominecchi?’ Kise chirps the way Kise usually chirps, high and cheerful and it used to hurt Aomine’s ears, but now it hurts a little differently. It tugs on his heartstrings because he knows that one day, which isn’t even that far now, he will be only hearing it every two months on the phone. Maybe if Kise will be generous enough to drop by and say hello when he comes home for Christmas, but that’s a big “if”.
‘Stop butchering Christmas carols in spring.’ Aomine speaks like his voice has one volume: yelling in a library and whispering in a concert, but he can make himself heard whenever he wants to. But only when he does. ‘It hurts my head and your dignity. Not exactly a win-win situation.’
He misses the way Kise pouts, but not how he quiets down. He feels like an asshole, slips lower in his seat, and turns on the radio until he finds something he likes less than Kise’s singing, but more than most of the top hits. He settles for something he tolerates over the silence.
Knees propped up against the dashboard, Aomine feigns sleep – it’s easier, than dealing with Kise’s nonsense, and all the other nonsense that comes with him. Sinking back into his seat, he listens as Kise turns off the ignition, sighs and gets out of the car. His sneakers mutedly creak on the gravel outside as he walks around the front to Aomine’s side. The door opens on his side, and there’s a beat of silence – Aomine genuinely wonders what made Kise stop in his tracks, wait ten seconds before pressing two of his knuckles into Aomine’s shoulder gently.
‘C’mon, Aominecchi.’ he pleads softly, but with a playful tone to his voice. Aomine doesn’t bring himself to open his eyes yet, but he can practically hear the smile that’s plastered on Kise’s face. ‘You’re way too old for play-pretend, it’s not even cute anymore.’
Aomine opens one narrow eye just to glare at him, expression softening at the enticing sight of a bottle of beer in Kise’s extended hand. (Those hands those fingers.) He reaches for it, grunting as he hauls himself out of his folded position, pins and needles prickling his calves as the blood rushes back into his legs.
The air is slightly chilly, but still not enough to rise goosebumps on their exposed skins, or to make them want to cover up or get back inside the car. It smells of saltwater and beer and flowers, the promise of spring hanging rather heavy around them. Aomine figures it shouldn’t feel as bad as it does, because spring is a good thing, but in their case, it means separation. And he doesn’t-
He doesn’t want to let Kise go yet. Not when he still has so much to tell him.
‘Hey, listen,’ he croaks, throat dry as he fiddles with the metal frills of the cap, failing to notice Kise’s bottle opener on the hood of the car.
Why is it so hard to find the words when they matter the most? Aomine looks over to the sea, and even though it’s been a while since he took a swim there, he clearly remembers how it felt to swallow saltwater, to have it stuck in his throat, to feel pressured by the waves that had the strength to drag him as they pleased.
That’s how it felt to fall in love with Kise, back then. Like a wave that struck him square in the chest, golden eyes instead of white seafoam. All it took was one disgruntled glare to stop Aomine in his tracks, and the years of effort and grace and sheer power and beauty to keep him rooted where he stood, right beside him.
‘Aominecchi?’ Kise says softly, sliding down from where he was seated on the hood until his feet touches the ground. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Why – ‘ Aomine starts when he finds his voice again. It sounds small, even to his own ears. ‘are you leaving?’
‘What do you mean, why?’ Kise laughs, a little strained and fake. The way he does whenever he’s uncomfortable. ‘I told you. I want to be closer to my sisters.’
‘That’s bull, and you know it.’ He finally takes hold of the bottle opener, occupying himself with popping the cap off to at least seem uninterested. After all these years, he’s aware of his own defense mechanisms: and now wonders if Kise knows his, too. Does his chuckle sound fake to him at times like these? ‘You’re running away from something, I can tell.’
Kise winces, straightens his back, and tries to stare him down. Another line of defense, intimidation right after pretending.
‘And how exactly can you tell?’ his voice is bitter, hurt. He probably didn’t expect this conversation to happen tonight, but it’s foolish to plan ahead with Aomine. The man has a mind of his own.
And so does his tongue, apparently, because it just found the words it’s always been dying to say, ‘Because you’re not the only one who spent all this time observing me.’ They come out a little crooked and wrong, but they’re there. Out in the open.
They seem to baffle Kise, too, to the point of gaping and staring stupidly. He’s still beautiful, but god he reminds Aomine of a dumb fish in this very moment.
‘What?’
‘Jesus, do you ever listen?’ Aomine snorts, taking a swig of his beer. It tastes like lemonade, because Kise refuses to drink anything that’s not at least a little sweet or fruit-flavored. ‘Your awareness must be close to zero if you really think I didn’t have my eyes on you too.’
Kise blinks. Kise takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to prevent an incoming headache, and exhales like a deflating balloon.
‘All this time?’
Aomine stops, thinks, nods. He’s trying to find a good excuse to de-escalate the situation, to back down last minute and call Kise names for believing him. But he’s not sixteen and cruel anymore: Kise deserves to know, and Aomine doesn’t want to live with a what-if that heavy. Besides, Kise’s leaving soon, and there’s not much of their friendship to ruin anymore.
‘All this time.’ he whispers, and because he doesn’t know any other way, bluntly asks: ‘Am I the one who makes you want to run?’
Kise makes a choked sound in his throat, and he turns the other way, but not before Aomine could catch a glimpse of his pinched expression, the way he shut his eyes to try and stop the tears, or the way his mouth trembled. It breaks Aomine’s heart, but he just smiles through it.
‘Why didn’t – ‘ Kise starts, trying to sound angry but his voice shakes and he fails miserably. ‘Why didn’t you just say anything – ‘
‘Could ask the same from you.’ Aomine shrugs. His eyes are fixated on Kise’s hands, the way they cover his face, run his fingers through his wind-tousled hair.
‘We’re both so stupid.’ he whispers, and that eases the tension that’s hanging heavy between them, at least for Aomine it does. He snorts, covering up a disbelieving laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Your face.’ he says with ease, but moves closer with care. The way he slides his elbow up Kise’s shoulder is familiar, but not the way he brushes strands of golden hair behind his ear: it feels foreign, too gentle for the boys they used to be. Kise winces like he’s in pain, but Aomine knows better than to assume that. Instead of fussing and worrying, he offers a reassuring smile, and a glance that strokes, burns along Kise’s perfectly shaped mouth.
‘You really – ‘ Kise tries, but the words die in his throat. Reverence and fear in his eyes, like he’s afraid of the question as much as the answer.
‘Yeah.’
‘And it’s really – ‘
‘Yeah.’
Kise laughs, and it’s a little bitter with it, with how they spent so much time just circling around each other, too scared to make a move, and it’s almost too late now. But Aomine’s there, sturdy as he is and he rubs his thumb behind his ear, and he smiles a little too sadly, and he leans in a little too hopefully.
Good thing Kise’s in love with him, has been since he was second year in Teiko, begging for something to ignite something in his soul, because now: now he leans in too, and it’s a little too eager, and they both taste like beer, but they also taste of the fire Kise’s been craving all his life. His hands – delicate yet strong, elegant yet rugged, perfectly soft with a few inevitable callouses – slide up Aomine’s jaw, holds him in place as he takes his mouth and claims it, and Aomine – finally, finally – gives back as good as he gets.
That night, under the white glow of the full moon, Kise promises to call every day, and Aomine decides to believe him. That night, while slow waves roll against the shore, Kise shows him constellations on the sky, but Aomine can’t stop looking at his hand.