Archive of Our Own

The pop and flash of the camera bulbs were overwhelming, even after so many years in the spotlight. Kagami squinted against the brightness as he tried to catch a glimpse of the speaker. The number of bodies made the room sweltering, and he thought he could feel his dress shirt starting to stick to him.

“Mr. Kagami, I believe I speak on behalf of everyone in this room when I ask, what’s next?” The reporter’s face was painfully earnest, and it was a standard question. Kagami almost felt bad for not having a proper answer to give her.

“Honestly?” Kagami responded with an apologetic smile and a shrug. “I’m not entirely sure. I think I knew at the beginning of the season that this would be it, but when you’re in the thick of the games, it’s hard to look to the future. You’re just thinking about the next basket, you know?” And if in the darkness of his apartment, he closed his eyes and saw concrete canals, thick ropes of telephone wires, and a pair of dark, glittering eyes, it was no one’s business but his own.

An older reporter politely raised a hand for a follow-up question.

“You say that you knew as early as the beginning of the season. Was that in response to the back-to-back injuries from last year?”

Kagami’s manager had warned him someone would ask. He supposed it wasn’t a big deal, but he still didn’t enjoy divulging his physical shortcomings.

“Not directly, but a little. My recovery times are getting longer and longer. My trainer says the more I push it, the more likely it becomes that I’m risking a bigger and more permanent injury,” he explained. “I’m not ancient for an NBA player, but sometimes you realize you’re just out of time. Better to go out on my own terms, and take a little better care of my health.”

The reporters fell silent, having caught the wistfulness in the athlete’s voice. It was sad, Kagami supposed, for them and the fans as well. They’d been reporting on “The Japanese Tiger” for almost twenty years now. He’d dug his heels in about the nickname for the first few years, but he’d quickly realized the American media was a difficult beast to wrangle.

The lull in the press conference didn’t last long, just long enough for the reporters to find their next questions. This one, too, was one Kagami was expecting.

“Can you confirm that your exit from the NBA is unrelated to last year’s scandal?” Kagami stared the man down over his microphone, willing the man to sweat as much as he was under the hot lights. You could hear a pin drop in the press room. He wasn’t a fresh-faced rookie anymore, getting rocked by shock value questions. He was pushing forty, and didn’t have any more time or patience for nonsense than back when he was starting out.

“If kissing my then boyfriend on the cheek is scandalous, you and I have been watching some very different American media,” he finally responded, lifting his eyebrows. He could make light of it now, but at the time it was a media firestorm. His team had already known his preferences, but the news had rocked the NBA’s media world for weeks. “And no. Liking men and my damn joints falling apart are two different things.” The room noise swelled as everyone began to talk at once. It wasn’t new information, but admitting it aloud still set people off. His manager was going to chew him out for swearing on television, but that’s how he felt about it. His body reaching its limits and ending the career of a lifetime hurt far more than any shitty nosy reporter.

“What else do ya got?” Taking a swig from his water bottle, Kagami squared his shoulders to give the public the answers they wanted.

--

“You’re looking pretty grim at your own party, boyo.” A heavy hand rocked Kagami’s shoulder, and a familiar body settled into the booth beside him with a quiet grunt. Kenny McClaine was probably the only player on the team that could get away with that nickname; he was the oldest player by three years. “Still can’t believe you beat me out the door. Now I’m going to be the only bag of bones around here.” The veteran flashed him a quick grin.

That’s what Kagami liked about McClaine. He was comfortable with his own decisions, and was upfront about it. Which is why Kagami also knew he was sticking it out to pad out the nest egg for his twin daughters.

“If you’re a bag of bones, there’s no hope for the rest of us, man. You still move better out on the court than half the team.” Kagami had to shout to be heard over the noise. His farewell party faded to a dull roar in the background. The team, managers, and their significant others easily filled the back room of the restaurant, and then some. In the back corner, he could see some of his younger teammates egging each other into doing some dangerously green shots at the bar.

“Nice of you to say. Sorry ‘bout your own joints, though. I would’ve loved to play with you for another couple of years. You’re fierce out there.” McClaine wiggled his big eyebrows and casually lifted his fingers in a bit of a claw motion. That was definitely a tiger joke.

Kagami socked the man’s shoulder for his trouble. “Don’t even start, old man,” he warned. His semi-offensive tiger status was a constant source of enjoyment for the rest of his team.

“Aw, just messing with you.” The other athlete smiled unrepentantly, stretching his long legs with a groan. “But seriously, man. Going to stick around? It’s been 20 years, we loud Americans must have grown on you at some point. You could come to my kids’ graduation. They’d love to see their classmates falling all over themselves over you.”

He supposed he could avoid the question with the press, but not really with a friend. “You Americans, huh? I’ve lived most of my life here, y’know. I haven’t lived in Japan full-time since I was fifteen. I’m sure they barely think of me as Japanese.” He knew that wasn’t strictly true. Japan was quick to claim him, in the same way the US was quick to label him as an exotic anomaly despite his childhood in LA. He’d never given up his Japanese citizenship, though, and he wasn’t sure he could answer if someone asked him why.

McClaine hummed thoughtfully, watching their teammates migrate to the karaoke machine. One of the more resourceful parents had brought a box of Lego, and a group of kids had taken over one of the tables and was building a Lego fortress. “I know that, but...you’ve got some wandering feet, y’know? Never really seemed settled. I know you’ve dated some, but I don’t think you ever brought anyone around. And I don’t think it’s just because of the nosy press, either. You don’t have anything on your apartment walls, and you moved there years ago, man.”

It’s not like he didn’t have a point. It was hard for Kagami to put his finger on why. None of his relationships stood the test of time, and he’d never felt completely at ease in Chicago. Maybe it was the winters. LA and Tokyo didn’t have the same thick snowfall the Midwestern city did.

They sat in silence for a bit, content to watch the room. “Well, think about it. And don’t be a stranger, okay? Monique and the girls love your weird-ass eyebrows.”

“Says the man who doesn’t even have any,” Kagami shot back, though McClaine was already shaking his head as he levered himself to his feet. With another affectionate body-rocking clap to Kagami’s shoulder, he left the man to his thoughts.

--

“I always liked McClaine. Good laugh. Gives you just the right amount of shit.” Alex kicked Kagami’s thigh from where she was lounging at the other end of the couch.

“You just like having someone to gang up with me on,” the younger man groused, giving her a gentle shove back. There was a time when he would’ve kicked her right off the couch, but they were getting a little too fragile to horse around like they used to.

“Someone’s got to keep some life in there. If we weren’t around to bust your chops, you would’ve gone the way of your old ghost friend.”

“What, Kuroko? No way. That kid’s power’s ridiculous.” As if he could call him a kid, now that him and the rest of the Miracles were all similarly grown adults with real jobs. Except Aomine. That guy was a basketball idiot just like he is. Or was, rather. Kagami realized he was quietly grinding his teeth at the thought, and quickly forced himself to relax his jaw.

“I don’t know, Kagami. You’re always on fire on the court, but…” Alex trailed off, looking at her student appraisingly. Kagami squinted back, trying to figure out where she was going with that. It was unusual for Alex to hold back. “You’ve kind of been fading. You’re quieter than you ever were, and I don’t think it’s because you’re getting older. I don’t think living alone is good for you.”

Kagami snorted, giving her thigh another prod with his foot. “I’ve lived alone virtually my whole life,” he pointed out, lifting his eyebrows at her. He was good at it, too. He had his routines, his hobbies. He had friends over, and caught up with Himuro every once in a while.

“That’s sad, kid,” Alex said bluntly. “I’m a grouchy old lady, and I still have a family to go home to.” Ouch. Kagami glared at her.

“Dude. Not everyone wants a family. Or even a partner.”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean...people still need people, y’know? And up until now, you’ve always had a built-in crew with your team. Without practice, without the games, the scheduled get-togethers, who do you have? Me? McClaine? A bunch of kids you played basketball with in Japan almost twenty-five years ago?”

Kagami shuddered. Had it been that long? It didn’t seem like that much time had passed. The fight for Seirin’s championship was one of the crowning achievements of his high school life. Even after all this time, the Miracles loomed larger than life in his mind. Their pressure was inescapable, though their rivalry had settled into a tenuous friendship over the years. For most of them, anyway. He willed away the ghostly feeling of a pair of strong hands shaking his own, fingers lingering against his wrist.

Instead, he took her hands in his own in mock seriousness. “Alex. We are so old.” Alex yanked a hand free to chuck a couch pillow at his head.

“You’re way too young to be lumped in with me, boy!”

--

His brother didn’t laugh it off as he thought he would. Himuro’s hair had grown out over the years, and he kept it pulled back from his face. So Kagami had a very close (if somewhat pixelated) view of whatever diabolical scheme his brother was plotting through his computer screen.

“Would coming home be that bad?” The hair on the back of Kagami’s neck rose. That was a dangerous tone. That was Himuro’s there’s very much a wrong answer to my question tone.

“I guess I am overdue for a visit.” Kagami felt guilt settle into the back of his mind. “You know I didn’t want to keep disrupting my PT routine here. I just wanted to eke out that last bit of time,” he admittedly quietly. “I do miss you all.”

“Oh, all of us?” Himuro’s face did something complicated. Kagami scowled back at him. It’s true that even his previous visits had involved a little avoidance of a certain blue-haired professional basketball player.

“I’m over it. Seriously.” Kagami did his best to look earnest.

“Fine. Prove it. Come for Hanami. The news is projecting it about four weeks out for the Tokyo region. That’s plenty of time to get your fancy athlete life wrapped up.”

“It’s just a visit,” Kagami insisted.

“Taiga.” Himuro looked down at his brother over his nose, eyes gleaming dangerously even five-thousand miles away. “For twenty years, the only photo you’ve had up in your sad, empty Chicago apartments is a photo of Seirin. Come home.”

--

Kagami’s life was full of busy-bodies. He never thought he had a particularly docile personality, but somehow he always ended up getting wrapped up in his friend’s schemes. Which, of course, was why the last person he wanted to see was hanging out of the tiniest van he’d ever seen, hollering at him from across the train station plaza.

Much like Himuro, the years had been good to one Aomine Daiki. Kagami hadn’t seen him in ten years, but his face looked much the same barring a few fine lines. He also looked ridiculous, his huge frame folded up in the small white vehicle. The side of the vehicle proudly announced “Muramuro’s Bakery!” with a small drawing of a shiba inu happily devouring a pastry.

Kagami stood frozen with his giant suitcase, nearly blocking the stream of train station passengers from the stairwell. Memories flooded his mind, vivid images he’s sooner put behind him.

The lights of the zone flickering on dark eyes, lean body twisting as it evaded its opponents. Aomine laughing on the court, his face alive with the challenge of the game. The fleeting heat of his body as he slipped past to score.

Kagami blinked fiercely, banishing the memories. He debated whether he wanted to pretend he didn’t know the blue-haired man. Kagami was keenly aware that the pain he’d expected hadn’t come, but he still felt a small twist of awkwardness churning in his gut. That being said, he’d faced down the American sports media for the last twenty years. He could handle a little awkwardness.

“Suitcase in the trunk.” Aomine jerked his thumb towards the back of the van as he neared the vehicle. Kagami was keenly aware of the eyes burning into the side of his head as he loaded his suitcase and slipped into the passenger seat. They now looked even more ridiculous, two tall men folded up in the tiny van.

“God. How does Murasakibara fit in this thing?” Kagami picked up one of his legs and tried to wedge it more comfortably in the wheel well. Aomine cut a glance at him before snickering and turning back to the road.

“As if Atsushi would bother getting a driver’s license. Himuro or the part-timer takes care of any catering or deliveries.”

“And the part-timer is...you?” Kagami looked at Aomine somewhat suspiciously. The last he heard, Aomine was still playing ball. Some tiny part of him ached at the realization that he’d tapped out earlier than his rival. He’d never questioned his own assumption that their careers would always sync up. Aomine reached out one long arm and shoved his shoulder without looking away from the road.

“Cute joke. As if I’d quit the B.League to shuttle around pastries.” He fell silent for a moment, and Kagami took the opportunity to take in the sight of Tokyo slowly passing around them. The bakery’s neighborhood avoided the core of the city, and was largely residential. He soaked up the familiar shapes of the electrical poles and zig-zag rhythm of the street gutters. The chaotic twists of the roads and thick concrete walls soothed some of the stress of the journey.

“Actually, Satsuki’s oldest is working with ‘em. Unlike her mom, she’s pretty good with the baking stuff.”

Kagami vaguely remembered Kuroko sending him some photos. “Rina-chan?”

“Nah, Mana-chan. Rina-chan’s the youngest.” Aomine ignored the incredulous look from Kagami. Was that fondness in his voice? The red-haired man settled back against the van window, trying not to focus too closely on how Aomine might have changed over the years.

“How’d your season go?” He didn’t, after all, want to say that he’d been following along.

The corner of Aomine’s mouth twisted. For a moment, he looked like high school Aomine, about to spit his the only one who can beat me is me line. “Fine. We won. Some good games, some not so good.” He didn’t elaborate, and Kagami didn’t ask. Another long silence permeated the van.

“I, uh, heard your retirement was pretty exciting,” Aomine finally muttered, still not looking away from the road. Kagami gave him a cool glance, trying to assess which part he meant.

“Not really. Loads of us have our joints give up before anything else,” he finally responded, not rising to the bait. If that was not the answer the other man was expecting, he didn’t push the topic. They spent the rest of the drive in silence, only broken as Aomine pulled into a small alley beside a small magenta shopfront. He cleared his throat.

“I gotta get to practice. Keys go on the hook by the counter.” Aomine jabbed his chin in the general direction of the bakery and tossed the van keys to the other man. Kagami waved a tired thanks as he slid out of the van and wrestled his suitcase inside the bakery. It was an abrupt ending to an uncomfortable ride, but he supposed that was an Aomine thing to do, through and through.

The sweet scent hit him first, powerful vanilla with the slight bitter undertone of coffee. Murasakibara and Himuro had chosen a cheerful yellow for the interior, and a small daffodil decorated the center of each of the few small tables. The space wasn’t large, but it was comfortable.

“Look what the panther dragged in.” Himuro appeared from behind the counter, wiping his hands on an apron before yanking Kagami down into a hug. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he murmured. That was probably the only apology Kagami was going to get for the awkward van ride. He pushed away just to press their foreheads together.

“Welcome home, brother.”

Kagami nodded silently, a bit overcome. After twenty years in the U.S., it wasn’t unusual for him to receive hugs. But he wanted to soak up every moment of this one.

“Heyo, Kagachin,” was Murasakibara’s simple welcome. The big man was bent in concentration over something behind the pastry case, but one hand waved lazily in greeting.

“I’m back.” Kagami finally stepped back and sighed, making a show of looking around the space. “Looking nice. Am I your first customer?” He received a well-earned jab in the ribs for that one.

“That’d be me, Kagami-kun.” Kagami jumped at the calm voice behind him, releasing a respectable shriek. He whirled to find a pair of familiar blue eyes. Kuroko had probably aged the least out of all of them, retaining his baby-face though he was just as old as Kagami. Dressed in a simple suit, he looked even more bland than he ever did. Only the small smile lingering on his lips separated him from his high school self.

“Kuroko!” Kagami went in for a hug before remembering who he was dealing with. Clearing his throat, he simply held up a fist. He received another smile and a fistbump for his trouble. “Good to see you, man.”

“Likewise, Kagami-kun.”

There was a lot to catch up on. Kuroko kept in touch with most of the old Seirin group (“You’ll see them all at your welcome party his weekend. Prepare yourself for Hyuuga’s bad facial hair.”) as well as the Miracles. (“Kise-kun is on a flight in from Paris, but he’ll still try to be there.”)

Kagami wasn’t surprised to hear everyone was doing well in their own way. Kuroko himself hadn’t pursued a glamorous life, but he’d still snagged a respectable editing job at one of the smaller Tokyo-based publishers.

“And of course, Aomine-kun you already ran into.” Kagami could read the quiet apology in the other man’s face. Kuroko was the reason they’d spent so much time together during that fateful visit, after all. Himuro had been mid-move at the time, so Kagami had crashed at Kuroko and Aomine’s shared apartment. It hadn’t been as ideal an outcome as hoped. He sighed, flapping a hand.

“It’s fine. It’s been ten years, after all. And it isn’t as if I didn’t know he was a bit of an asshole before we decided to get a little too involved.” If Kagami was being honest with himself, he’d gotten very involved, but time was a powerful healer.

Kuroko and Himuro exchanged a glance over the table, but didn’t protest.

“Well, he’ll be around between his practices, so that’s good to hear.”

Kagami squinted at them, once again wondering how much ten years had changed his old rival. It was hard to imagine Aomine regularly eating dainty cakes.

“Are you telling me the great Aomine Daiki spends his free time hanging out in a bakery?”

Another flurry of looks passed between his friends, and Kagami felt a burst of frustration. Looks like they’d been practicing their telepathy in his long absence.

“Aomine-kun moved out from Kuroko’s after you two broke up, and got a fancy place in Shibuya. We didn’t see much of him until he suddenly gave it up and moved here last year once we started setting the shop up. But now he’s only four blocks away and seems to spend most of his time here or at Momoi’s.” Kagami rarely saw his brother bewildered, so he felt his curiosity pique despite himself. He gave a low whistle.

“Damn. Never would have pegged that guy as settling down.” He also wasn’t sure he could even describe what happened as “breaking up”, as afterwards he had to question whether he’d been the only one who thought they were dating.

Kuroko stirred his coffee silently, mouth compressed into a thin line. It had been a while, but Kagami still recognized his thinking face.

“I think, like you, Aomine-kun is realizing that his professional career is winding down. He’s been obsessed with basketball since he was old enough to stand on a court. Maybe he’s realizing he has to start thinking about what the rest of his life will be like,” Kuroko mused quietly. The table fell silent, until Kagami let loose a short, shocked laugh.

“Well, if he figures it out, tell him to let me know.”

--

As Kuroko promised, everyone made Kagami’s welcome party, including a very jet-lagged Kise (“As if I’d miss the opportunity to see Kagamicchi!”). Age had not made the Seirin team any quieter, either. Kagami could hear Hyuuga lecturing the old bench crew from the other end of the table. At least until Riko appeared on the scene and doled out some judicious throttling. Everyone had a few more laugh lines than the last time he’d seen them. Teppei and Momoi had kindly lent out their home, so their children (one of which was the assumed “part-timer”) were also in attendance, but it was obvious the high schoolers were used to their parents’ strange basketball friends. They quickly engaged Murasakibara in a fierce debate about different types of frosting. Kagami wasn’t even sure he’d seen Murasakibara show that much emotion about anything, ever.

“It’s always nice to have an excuse for a reunion,” Kuroko remarked quietly from somewhere below Kagami’s ear. Kagami jumped, but managed to swallow down his shriek this time. “They did miss you, though.”

Kagami was not sure what his face did in response to that. “I’m a little surprised to hear that. It isn’t like I was here that long, or even that I’ve visited much,” he admitted quietly, watching the easy camaraderie around him with a sharp pang.

“I keep everyone updated. And most of them followed your career, anyway. You lived a lot of our dreams for us.” Kuroko responded simply.

“Dreams, huh.” Kagami heaved a sigh, taking another sip of his beer and subtly stretching his legs beneath the low table. Even now, relaxed with a light buzz, he could feel the ache in his knees and hips. Kuroko inclined his head, not bothering to elaborate. It was obvious in the fact that only two out of their whole group had continued pursuing basketball as a career. And of course, Kagami didn’t want to disrespect that by whining about how he thought he’d have longer than this. Twenty years is more than most athletes get. He just thought he’d feel more ready, at the end of all of it. “I’m going to get some air.” He gave Kuroko a weak smile before levering his body up from the table and slipping out to the yard.

Kagami admired the dark simplicity of the yard. He’d never imagined the pink-haired analyst and their dependable iron heart growing a garden together. Much less having a pair of high school-age daughters. It was a far cry from watching Momoi tackle Kuroko back in their youth. Spring was already setting in, but Kagami could still see his breath against the dim gloom of the Tokyo sky.

A quiet cough interrupted his thoughts. “They still going hard in there?” Kagami didn’t have to check to recognize that deep rumble. He sighed. He couldn’t catch a break.

“As hard as a bunch of basketball fiends pushing forty can,” he answered with a wry laugh. He tucked his hands into his jacket and turned to where Aomine was seated on a low garden wall, long legs casually stretched out before him. “Not your scene anymore?”

Aomine gave a dark chuckle, scuffing a foot into the dirt. “Satsuki and her kids are really the only ones that like me. Don’t want to ruin the party.”

Kagami’s mouth flattened as he stared down the other man. Self-pity was not a good look on the basketball pro. Though he should remind himself of that, as well. “That can’t be true. Tatsuya said you’re around all the time.” He gingerly took a seat on the opposite wall, testing to see if it’d hold his weight.

“Yeah, well. For this occasion, it’s true. They haven’t all chewed me out, but most have at some point. For how I treated you.”

Oh. So they were finally going to talk about this, ten years later? Kagami clenched his jaw against the memories pushing at the edge of his mind.

Late nights sprawled on Kuroko’s couch, watching back-to-back American and Japanese basketball games, talking plays and techniques. The comfortable press of long legs tangled with his own. Aomine’s scowl in the dim light whenever they watched his own old matches.

“And how did you treat me?” Kagami could hear a dangerous edge to his voice. He desperately wanted to know if Aomine had understood his own actions, after all these years.

The other basketball player didn’t respond, though Kagami could just catch a flash of downcast eyelashes in the gloom. Regret, but maybe still unable to talk about it. Kagami heaved a sigh, wondering what he had expected.

“Well, if you still can’t-”

“I’m sorry.” Aomine cut him off, finally opening his eyes to peer through the gloom at him. “I know I’m usually always an asshole, but I didn’t...plan to be this time. I know being confused is no excuse for what I did, but please believe that I’ve regretted it.”

That was more than Kagami expected, honestly. “Before or after everyone chewed you out?”

Aomine grimaced, twisting his hands in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “Some time after,” he admitted.

It made sense. Kagami had wondered for some time after, himself, whether Aomine had truly understood how his actions had seemed. The constant requests for one-on-ones followed by a casual dinner at some hole in the wall. Late nights watching quiz shows to try and beat out Kagami’s jet lag. Three weeks of awkwardly complimenting Kagami’s cooking and, most surprisingly, asking him about the previous NBA season. Even Kuroko had confided to Kagami that he had shared Kagami’s assumption that the B.League player was flirting with him.

He’d even been sure they were dating. They talked about it before he’d left to return home to the U.S., comparing time zones, setting up plans to keep talking, trying to find a spot in Aomine’s own busy schedule for him to visit. Kagami had to admit he hadn’t thought the long distance through, but he thought they’d had a genuine connection. That at least basketball would tie them together across the great ocean distance. But maybe that’s the power of Aomine Daiki, he thought bitterly. A deep and pervasive confidence that drew in those around him. And when the texts and calls started dropping off, Kagami had chalked it up to the beginning of the season.

The first days of the tabloids, with shots of the dark-skinned athlete draped with women, screaming out about the athlete disappearing on his latest bender dashed any hope that the other player was merely busy. Frantic texts to Kuroko revealed that he hadn’t seen his roommate in over a week. Countless unanswered messages and a complete lack of explanation were the final nail in the coffin. He was half a world away, in the middle of his own competitive season. There wasn’t much he could have done.

And so, Kagami had done what any professional would have. He put away his phone, and threw all his energies into the season. He stopped reading Japanese sports news, and took longer and longer to respond to Kuroko’s updates. He babysat McClaine’s daughters, and spent his time working to make sure Aomine was just a blip on the radar of his thirties.

“When did you finally come home after that?”

Aomine was silent for a moment. “Tetsu finally tracked me down three weeks later. I wasn’t in good shape,” he finally responded.

You and me both, buddy, Kagami though with a dark curl of humor. It was worse than that, though. Kuroko had confided that his coaches had almost kicked Aomine off the team. Luckily, it wasn’t like Kagami hadn’t been old enough to have learned some caution. He hadn’t been in love, though he knew it was a matter of time. Maybe it was best, then, that things had ended as he did. It was hard to imagine them now, a retired NBA player who was firmly out, and a man who couldn’t handle the fact that he’d spent a month dating his old (male) rival without going off the deep end.

“Well. I can’t say it wasn’t a shitty thing for you to do. It did mess me up for a while,” Kagami finally said. “But I’ve dated some better people since then, so.” He didn’t mean it to be an insult. They both acknowledged that Aomine wasn’t always a great person.

“Cheek kiss guy?”

Kagami’s eyebrows, all four of them, flew up. “You read American tabloids? How?”

He was fairly sure they didn’t translate those into Japanese.

“I did want to play in the NBA. I properly studied some English.” Aomine sounded sulky, as if anyone should have known that he had skills outside of basketball. Kagami stared at him, incredulous. Aomine cleared his throat. “I saw what you said a few weeks ago. You haven’t changed much, huh. Still annoyingly honest.”

Kagami still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Aomine, of all people, was following the details of his personal life. Some of the other Miracles he could imagine, but Aomine showed such little interest in his surroundings even after Seirin had knocked him out of his funk.

“Yeah, well. At some point you get tired of assholes running around saying and doing whatever they want.” Kagami could see Aomine flinch at his words, but didn’t feel much sympathy. He was a grown man who could deal with the consequences of his actions.

After a moment, Aomine nodded and chuckled faintly. “I guess I can understand that. You should’ve seen some of the trash they wrote about me’n Satsuki back in the day. Thank god she started seeing that ridiculous vice claw Seirin player when she did.”

Kagami couldn’t contain his curiosity. “How’d they get to know each other, anyway?”

“Tetsu.” Aomine sounded particularly all-suffering.

There was a beat of silence, and then both of them broke out into quiet laughter. The air was still tense, but their breath bloomed in the dark, intermingling as the cheerful chatter continued from inside.

--

It wasn’t quite the apology and explanation Kagami had hoped, but it was something. However, it still didn’t explain why Aomine showed up at the bakery the following week with a basketball under his arm, demanding a one-on-one. Kagami could tell he wasn’t the only one perplexed by this; Himuro and even Mana-chan’s face reflected his own puzzlement. Murasakibara didn’t even bother looking up from his delicate sugar work, content to let any drama flow around him.

“You remember that I retired on the heels of a bunch of injuries, right?” Kagami responded slowly, as if the other man had somehow forgotten.

“Excuses, old man. Though I can go easy on you, if you want.” There was a strange gleam in those dark eyes, something old and familiar. A challenge.

Kagami stared up at him for a long time. One one hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go down this road again. On the other hand, it had been ten years. He knew better than let it get out of hand. He snapped his laptop closed. He was still getting prying emails from American news outlets; anything would be more pleasant. And if the idea of playing ball with Aomine again made his chest tighten in anticipation, that was no one’s business but his own.

“Who are you calling old? Tatsuya, watch my stuff. Someone’s asking for a beating.”

Both athletes missed the pained looks that passed between the remaining cafe staff as they headed out the door, already bickering about match rules.

--

“Are you sure about this, Kagami-kun?” Kuroko was leaning on the window of Himuro’s small kitchen, watching Kagami painstakingly arrange their Hanami bento. Kagami had initially learned to cook for survival, but he’d genuinely enjoyed expanding his skills as he traveled around the states with his team. Of course, traditional Japanese food still had a steep learning curve, so he had to acknowledge that the bento contents were a bit...non-traditional.

“I mean, I don’t really know if pickled vegetables should be touching the stewed kabocha, but it’ll probably taste fine,” Kagami answered, his brow furrowed with concentration. The silent minutes ticked by before he looked up to catch Kuroko’s frustrated expression.

“Kagami-kun.”

Carefully tucking the last piece in place, Kagami stacked the layers and began wrapping the furoshiki. He knew what Kuroko was asking. He exhaled noisily, wiping his hands on the kitchen cloth. “You tell me. You’re the one that lived with him. You’ve been watching him these past ten years. Am I in for an encore, or is this something else?”

Admittedly, it was a very familiar pattern of behavior. The one-on-ones, the dinners, the laughter. The main difference was that Kagami knew when to cut those dinner chats short, or when to beg off an evening game of 21. It almost seemed easier than it had some ten years ago. Maybe because Kagami himself was starting a new chapter in his life, and had very little to lose.

Kuroko frowned faintly, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “It’s true I’ve been here,” he began slowly, “but Aomine-kun has been...unpredictable these past few years. He doesn’t behave as I expect. He recovered a bit of who he used to be after the Winter Cup, but even so he’s been a very single-minded and selfish man.”

Kagami huffed a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“However,” Kuroko continued, “He’s been very helpful lately. Momoi-san has been delighted that he spends time helping Rina-chan with her homework. He helps Himuro-kun with deliveries, as well. And hauls rice for the old man running the rice shop next door. It seems like when he’s not at practice, he’s with one of us. He didn’t seem to go out, or date, or even play much streetball outside of his practice.”

Aomine, not pursuing basketball? “Is that a good sign, or a bad one?” Kagami couldn’t say he knew what to make of this news. It was incredibly hard to picture the prickly man voluntarily helping around the community.

“I’m not sure. But we’ve all changed as we’ve aged. Maybe he was a late bloomer.” Kuroko had his thinking face on, though Kagami had to admit it didn’t look that different than his default expression.

Kagami was tempted to ask more about this new Aomine Daiki, but Himuro chose that moment to crash through his own apartment door, already struggling to get out of his apron.

“Mana-chan’s all set up downstairs. Flower time,” he yelled, already moving down the hall to change out of his work clothes. Kagami and Kuroko looked on in bemusement. Suddenly, Himuro stuck his head back out into the main room. “Also, Taiga, Okamoto-san next door is moving in with his daughter next month, and he said he’s going to be renting the upstairs. You know, if you want to stick around.” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully, and then was gone again.

“I guess we’ve all changed a bit as we’ve aged,” Kagami remarked as he began to pack up their lunch, thinking back on how difficult high school Himuro was. Love and pastries had been good for his brother. If only he could find his own winning combination.

--

Time didn’t seem to move normally around Aomine Daiki. They’d played basketball all afternoon, Kagami only realizing the time when he could no longer see the threads on the ball. His shirt was drenched, and he could feel his hair sticking to the back of his neck. He’d been taking it easy to not aggravate his joints, but even “easy” around Aomine was more than enough to wear him out.

The other man propped the ball up on his hip and scrubbed at his face with a towel. “Dinner?” He looked winded, shirt equally soaked through.

“You think anyone would let us in?” Kagami gave a breathless laugh and pulled at his sticky jersey. The cool night air felt incredible.

“Guess we overdid it. A little.” Aomine smirked, still taking deep lungfuls of air. Their playing wasn’t as intense as when they’re younger, the quick back and forth giving way to slower, more tactical gameplay. But still just as challenging.

“You don’t have any other mode. I can’t believe you can still move like that.” Kagami took another few turns around the court before falling into some loose stretches. He was going to be feeling this tomorrow.

“Only on special occasions,” came the flip response, as if Aomine himself didn’t play professional basketball.

They stretched in silence as darkness fell in full, leaving the court lit only by the distant streetlights. Kagami could feel his body cooling down, and couldn’t repress a shiver as the evening chill set in.

“Seriously. I think I have some ingredients at my place. I’m a decent cook, now.” Aomine had picked up his discarded jacket, carefully not looking at Kagami, but something in his voice still put the man on guard.

Kagami pulled out of his final stretch, shaking out his arms as he reclaimed his own jacket. The immediate exercise fatigue was starting to wear off, and he could feel his thoughts slowly starting to connect properly. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he responded finally. Not when he’d gleaned so little from the motives of this new Aomine. He paused, considering how candid to be. “I’m getting too old to be someone’s little side-experiment.”

The invitations, the furtive looks, the complete disregard for personal space. He was generally an idiot in this department, but he noticed last time and he certainly was going to notice this time. Aomine was many things, but subtle he was not. Kagami also wished they’d stop having important conversations at night. His eyes strained to read the other man’s face in the evening gloom.

Aomine rolled the basketball in his hands, shifting his weight unconsciously as if his body still wanted to play. “I knew what I was doing,” he suddenly blurted out. “I knew I liked men, and that we were dating. I wanted us to be.”

The words lay heavy between them, Kagami slowly processing them until they finally sunk in. His leading theory after their breakup had been that Aomine had suffered some sort of gay panic once Kagami was no longer present, and it had escalated in all sorts of awful ways. His second theory was that the man had never considered them more than a convenient fling. This, however, sent both options down the drain.

“What, so you just didn’t have the guts to dump me when you got tired of me?” Kagami realized his tone was nothing more than a low snarl, but what little empathy Kagami may have had for the other man evaporated. Without conflicted sexuality feelings on the table, the other man’s actions appeared that much more callous. “Dammit, some part of me felt bad for you, and you just--” He couldn’t take it. He shook his head in disgust and made to leave.

“Wait! Wait. I didn’t mean to just-” Aomine’s voice failed. Kagami openly stared. He’d never seen the smooth, laid-back Aomine this rattled. The low voice faded almost to a near whisper. “I watched your game with the Lakers, that year. Right around that time.”

Kagami’s brow furrowed, struggling to remember exactly what game he was talking about. Nothing memorable jumped out at him. “So?”

“I’d watched so many of your games, but it had never felt like that. You were magnificent. And I just couldn’t stop watching you play.” Aomine’s hands twitched at his sides, as if chasing an imaginary ball. “I desperately wanted to be there, on that court, with you.”

The garden was dead silent. Kagami had countless theories about what had been going on in Aomine’s brain that day, and the following ones. He’d had months of stewing about it, wondering what if. Never in his wildest dreams was this the outcome.

“Let me get this straight. You treated me like shit, dropped communication, and decided to go on a news-worthy bender because you watched a basketball game and realized you were in love with me?” It defied belief. In fact, he really couldn’t believe it. “No way. No way. Not after all these years. You were almost thirty years old. And you could have had me. You did have me!” Kagami nearly shouted the last words before he snapped his jaw shut, gritting his teeth against the angry words fighting to get out. He could see the other man’s hunched shoulders and wondered, vaguely, if this was the price of single-mindedness.

“And I ruined it,” Aomine ground out the words as if they physically hurt him.

Kagami couldn’t find words, his mind still racing a mile a minute. He sat down heavily on the courtside bench, pressing the back of his head against the cool chain link fence. The metal felt real, even if nothing else that was being said did. “I guess you did.” His head was starting to hurt, the cocktail of anger and frustration bubbling up.

“I know you were avoiding me, after that. But this time Tetsu said you were coming back for good-”

Kagami snorted humorlessly. Why was everyone so convinced this wasn’t a visit?

“I thought maybe I’d get another shot.”

The red-haired man could feel Aomine’s gaze on him. He knew better to look back. He’d done an admirable job of resisting the other athlete’s magnetism, but everything had just gotten complicated. Some vicious part of him wanted to snarl at the other man, demanding what gave him the right to ask for another chance. He reminded himself that it was petty, to want to hurt the too-proud Aomine Daiki. Especially when his own heart had long since healed over.

“Look. I need to think about it. And figure my own life out.” He pushed himself up. “Thanks for the game.” He lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave and left, the opposite direction to his new place (and also Aomine’s place). This fresh revelation needed some walking off.

--

It needed a lot more than walking off. Kagami spent an inordinate amount of time not thinking about Aomine’s confession, and poured his efforts into a host of suddenly-very-important tasks. He decorated his new apartment, putting up photos (see, Tatsuya!). He started helping downstairs at the rice shop. He signed up to volunteer at the basketball youth club at the local community center. As a result, he ended up learning a lot about rice and all-ages basketball, but not very much about what to do about one Aomine Daiki.

“High schoolers are unbelievable. Riko was a saint,” Kagami lay with his head pressed to the bakery case, hands clutching at his hair.

“I’m sure you Seirin players were much worse than anything you’re dealing with, too,” Himuro none-too-gently levered Kagami up so he could wipe the counter beneath his face. “We wanted to crush you all. Only being my beloved brother saved you.”

“You were awful. You didn’t even want to be my brother for some idiotic reason. Broke my damn heart.” Kagami straightened to give Himuro a proper glare. It was true. Handing Kuroko his ring had been one of the most heart-wrenching experiences of his young life.

“Eh.” Himuro shrugged, unrepentant, and began sorting receipts. “But speaking of broken hearts.”

Kagami’s glare intensified. He didn’t want to talk about this.

“Yes, Kagami-kun. I did notice Aomine-kun hasn’t been around at all.” Both Himuro and Kagami jolted as Kuroko appeared before them. He placed a handful of bills on the counter. “One vanilla milkshake, please.”

“Kuroko, we don’t even serve that.” It was an old protest, and an empty one. They all heard Murasakibara turn on the blender in the back work area. Kuroko gave the pair a faint, pleased smile.

Kagami thought the subject had successfully been changed, but both of his friends swiveled expectantly towards him. He gave a cursory glance towards the door to confirm that there were no other customers before relating his last encounter with Aomine. Both men seemed as stunned by the revelation as he was.

“And I haven’t figured out where to go from here.”

Kagami felt some faint satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one caught off guard about the motive behind Aomine’s actions. Himuro whistled. “I knew he was emotionally stunted, but this level is unbelievable.”

Kuroko’s brow was furrowed, as if he was untangling a deep puzzle. He only roused as Murasakibara appeared at the doorway with his shake.

“Kagachin made Aominechin like something other than basketball?” He mused curiously. “Strange.”

The group of them stood and digested that concept.

“It explains why he’s actually been...involved,” Himuro tapped at the glass case as he thought it over. Kuroko still looked deep in thought, even as he slowly consumed his milkshake.

“I don’t think I can take credit for that. I think Kuroko was right. That it’s actually the basketball,” Kagami remarked. He explained as three quizzical stares met his. “Being a pro athlete is a deeply consuming career. There’s a certain amount of inherent selfishness built-in. You are more or less saying that the loved ones in your life will always have to conform to your schedule and priorities. When you no longer have that structure, you suddenly have to reconsider what’s meaningful.”

There was a long pause as his friends stared at him in various states of surprise.

“Kagami-kun has grown a lot.”

“Oi! You don’t have to look so shocked!” Kagami growled, hands shooting out to mess up Himuro and Kuroko’s hair. Himuro fought back, leading to an impromptu scuffle behind the counter.

“Mm. So, what’s Kagachin going to do…?” Murasakibara drawled, ignoring the roughhousing. Kagami huffed, finally releasing Himuro from a headlock.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been the second person,” he admitted.

“Second?” Kuroko tilted his head.

“I didn’t want people to approach me because they were fans, so I asked out all my boyfriends. I was always interested first. I’ve never been the one trying to decide how I feel, or whether to pursue the relationship.” Kagami explained, shifting uncomfortably. And even then, it hadn’t ever been like this. He hadn’t prepared to deal with a potential partner in the throes of a love crisis.

Kuroko chewed thoughtfully at his straw. “I’ve never been interested in anyone like that, but I imagine if it ever happened, I would be similarly surprised by my own feelings.”

“Hard to imagine you dominating the tabloid scandals, Kuroko,” Himuro responded drily. Kuroko tipped his head slightly in acquiescence.

“It’s true. But I know Aomine-kun very well, and when he decides he’s all in on something, he’s very...compelling.”

Kagami shook his head in disgust. Aomine was compelling even when he wasn’t deciding on something. Which was part of the problem. “I’ll think about it.” He scowled as he read the skepticism in his friend’s faces. “Properly!”

--

He did think about it properly. He thought long and hard about his new life in Japan. He rifled through photos of his exes, considering where things had gone wrong. And where they’d gone right. He lingered over the painful memories of the time after Aomine cut him out of his life, and thought about playing with the man the month prior. He thought so properly about the whole thing that even Okamoto, the rice shop owner, noticed.

“That scowl’s gonna stay on your face, kid,” he observed one day. “And then you’re going to end up as handsome as me.” Okamoto gave him a toothy grin, emphasizing the deep crags lining his face. He’d generally seemed more cheerful since moving in with his daughter.

Kagami carefully loaded the two thick bags he was carrying into their small handcart. There was an elderly couple a few blocks down that always ordered delivery. “With a face like that, you look like you’ve lived a good life,” he answered simply. “How’d you do it?”

Okamoto seemed taken aback by Kagami’s serious response. They tended to keep things light as they worked, trading jokes and barbs throughout the day. “A good life, hm?” He squinted, slowly rubbing gnarled hands together as he considered the question. “I don’t think there’s a fail-proof recipe for that. I took opportunities where I could. Helped others where I could. Always paid back what I borrowed. Loved my wife and children as best I could. And still, I can’t say I was always happy.” Thin shoulders twitched in a shrug. “But I’ve lived a full life. Great heights, great falls. Moments I’ll remember for the rest of my days, and whole years that were forgettable. But I’ve had some good love. And good rice. And a grandkid, soon.” He winked. “Can’t complain.”

Kagami couldn’t say whether the old man’s words were helpful or not. It seemed unavoidable to live a full life, sometimes. He’d moved half a world away, started a new life, and he still couldn’t escape the complexities of living.

“I have a feeling you already know plenty about great heights, with those legs of yours.” Okamoto gave Kagami a hearty smack with one bony hand. “But maybe not so much about how to categorize rice. Those are the wrong order for Tanaka-san.” Embarrassed, Kagami quickly went about fixing his mistake. And, before he thought better of it, he typed a quick text and dropped his phone into his apron pocket.

Kagami: interested in coming over to watch some of my old high school games? also, we probably should talk.

Great heights, great falls. One side effect of living a specialized life was everything sounded like a metaphor for basketball to him. But it still set his mind whirling. It’s true he couldn’t jump as high as he used to, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t bring himself to jump at all. In that regard, he was still a basketball idiot.

--

He didn’t check his messages until he got out of the bath after his shift. Beneath his invitation was one unread response.

Aomine: i’ll come by after practice.

The nerves hit immediately. Kagami cleaned his already clean apartment. He chopped vegetables for dinner, and then the ingredients for the rest of the week. He folded and re-folded the day’s laundry. Lastly, he agonized over what he wanted to say.

The light of the day had vanished from the sky before Aomine finally knocked on his door. His hair hung down from a post-practice shower, but his limbs looked tense, one hand clutching a tall bottle of sake. Kagami vaguely realized this might be what a nervous Aomine looked like.

“Come on in.” He took the bottle and put it aside. This was one conversation they needed to have without any extra help. He busied himself in the kitchen to give Aomine a moment to look around the main room.

“Is this the same table from when you were in high school?” The man gingerly folded his long limbs as he took a place at the head of the table. Kagami started in confusion before he remembered that Aomine must have seen it at Kuroko’s birthday party.

“Yeah. I’d given it to Tatsuya when I left Japan, and he’s had it all this time. It was his house-warming gift. I kind of think he’s making fun of me. Somehow.” Kagami shot the table a suspicious glance as he placed two water glasses on the table before taking his own seat. The temptation to make small talk and ask Aomine about his practice was tempting. But Kagami had always been bullishly straightforward, and he wasn’t going to back down now.

“You are an idiot,” he finally announced. Aomine froze, glass halfway to his mouth. It was clear that was not the opening he expected. “And you did a pretty shitty thing the first time we did this. I wondered for months whether I’d read you wrong. Whether it was something I did.” Kagami smiled thinly. “I don’t feel like I have a good reason to forgive you.” He sighed. “But ten years is a long time.”

It was a long time to hold on to anger. He probably couldn’t have had this conversation even five years ago. But at some point, it was hard to remember the fresh hurt of it. And it was easier to concentrate on the differences in the man in front of him now.

Aomine didn’t say anything, and simply stared back, eyes wide, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kagami drained his own water to steel himself.

“As for whatever this is...I have some things that need to be said. First, I’m well-known, and I’m out. If you want to date me, you have to know that I won’t hide. I don’t mind being discrete, but people around you will quickly realize. So please consider that.” The red-haired man paused, gathering his thoughts. “Second, I think this is our last shot. If you still can’t be open and communicate with me, I’m not interested in playing mind games with you. And if it doesn’t work out, we can’t avoid each other. We’re part of a community. So another thing to keep in mind.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?” Aomine’s eyes looked oddly bright, mouth pressed in a thin line. He sounded incredulous. “Or yourself? Because I’ve had ten years to think about it, and I kind of think this is it for me. I tried, all right? I tried to date other people, and it was just…” Aomine’s expression took on a desperate air. “Having you right in front of me, I can’t look at anyone else.” The two men stared at each other, letting the quiet confession linger between them. Kagami wanted to reel, even though Aomine had said as much before. Seeing his pained expression in the bright, unforgiving lighting of his apartment hit harder.

“I-” Kagami licked his lips. “I just want us to have a real shot this time.”

“I’ll say it now, and again and again. It’s all fine. It’s all...I can handle it. This time.” Aomine looked away, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment.

“Okay,” Kagami responded simply, taking in Aomine’s red face. It vaguely occurred to him that making the other man blush was unusually satisfying.

“So, uh.” One tan hand had found his wrist, loosely wrapping elegant fingers. Kagami could feel his chest tighten. “You gonna let me try again?” The hand was slowly making its way up the red-haired man’s arm. He could track the rough calluses as they brushed past his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. They remained frozen like that, staring at each other. Kagami could feel the heat from the other man’s hand sinking into his skin.

Kagami gave the barest nod when Aomine sagged against him like his strings were cut, pressing his face into the other man’s shoulder. He could just feel the man’s breath tickling his collarbone. “Thank god,” Aomine sighed. “I thought I’d lost the only chance I got.”

Kagami carefully lifted an arm and pulled the other man against him. It was a strain; he’d never dated someone the same height and bulk as him. Aomine Daiki was not easy to move. It was a strange feeling, he had to admit, seeing the other man in such a state. As long as he’d known him, Aomine had always been a bit too cool. He didn’t recognize this vulnerable, desperate man.

“Considering we’re about to watch my high school tapes, you may regret it. I had a growth spurt and a very awkward phase.”

“Didn’t look that way to me,” muttered Aomine in response, finally sitting up to better face the TV. Kagami stared hard at the other man before turning to set up the VCR. Was that a compliment to his high school self?

“Guess it was good enough to beat you.”

Aomine scowled in response.

They spent the rest of the evening howling at Kagami’s awkward U.S. high school uniform (“It kept flying up all the time, I swear! You’d think they’d make ‘em longer considering how stupidly tall everyone was.”) and discussing how his gameplay had changed over the years. It was as if they hadn’t just had a high-pressure conversation about the future of their tattered relationship. They talked and talked until dinner and dessert had been eaten, and until they finally ran out of tape.

Kagami woke up pressed awkwardly against Aomine’s side, both of them partially slumped over the couch arm. The windows were still dark, and his kitchen clock flashed with an obscenely early time. He could just make out a smattering of empty dishes lining the table in the subtle glow of the TV. His back and neck ached from the uncomfortable sleeping position, and his left arm was definitely asleep. Slowly, he tipped his head up to see that Aomine fared just as badly, his head awkwardly resting on his own shoulder. His long limbs folded up in a position that made Kagami’s joints hurt just to see it. His couch wasn’t made for two giant men, an oversight he would be remedying as soon as possible.

It was strange, to see a sight he’d waited on for ten years. The other man’s face was lax in sleep, softer than he’d ever seen it. It didn’t have the intensity of that first time so many years ago, but Kagami had to admit that falling asleep together on the couch, fully clothed, felt strangely intimate. He carefully settled back into Aomine’s side, the man sleepily muttering as he unconsciously wrapped an arm around Kagami’s shoulders. There was time yet, until the morning. And then they’d see if they could make this thing work.

--

Epilogue:

Momoi threw Aomine a retirement party. There were fewer Seirin members in attendance, but it was still just as loud. Kise and Aomine had spent most of the party bickering good-naturedly (“just because I spend more time acting than exercising doesn’t mean I’m getting soft, Aominecchi!”). Kagami spent the time hanging out between Kuroko and Himuro, watching his partner give the actor a hard time.

“Aomine-kun is taking this better than I expected,” Kuroko mused quietly.

Kagami chuckled quietly in response. “He’s a little less graceful about it behind closed doors. But you’re right, it hasn’t been too bad.” There had been some blow-ups, Aomine lashing out when the anxiety over his imminent retirement mounted, but largely the man had been handling it. And when he couldn’t, they would work it out on the closest basketball court, passing and shooting until the exhaustion and sweat banished any lingering fears.

Kuroko didn’t respond, and Kagami glanced down to see that intense stare peering up at him.

“You two have been good for each other,” Kuroko spoke with quiet conviction.

“Much as I hate to agree, he’s right. Aomine’s always been one heck of an intense guy. I didn’t know he could make things work off the court, but,” Himuro shrugged. He saw the pair the most, as they still lived next door to the bakery. “Maybe you’re the only one who could match him.”

Kagami scowled at them for digging into his love life, though he couldn’t disagree. Whatever it was that made them good rivals made them good partners, now that Aomine (and to some degree, Kagami himself) had sorted his shit out.

“He’s not so bad,” he finally allowed, feeling his face heat up. It had been years, but somehow he still felt some awkwardness discussing his feelings with other parties. Aomine, surprisingly, had been the more open one once he’d settled into the relationship. He’d casually planted a kiss on Kagami following one of his team’s nationally-televised games, sending the Japanese media into a whirlwind of speculation. Kagami should have guessed he would be an all-or-nothing sort of guy.

“Yeah, and you aren’t so bad yourself,” the deep voice came from behind the trio. One hand fell heavy against the back of Kagami’s neck. “Kise’s decided we need to work this out on court. See you in a bit?”

Kagami tipped his head back to look up at his partner, lifting one eyebrow in response. He didn’t even have to say anything.

“I’ll take it easy,” Aomine muttered sulkily, before dropping a kiss on the other man’s cheek and heading out to get his jacket.

At some point, everyone had streamed out of Momoi’s home to head to the nearest basketball court. Kagami lingered a bit, cleaning away some of the empty glasses and bottles to give the hosts a break when they got back. When he finally pulled on his shoes, Aomine was waiting casually by the door, hands tucked into his jacket to ward off the late winter chill. Dark was threatening to fall; they wouldn’t be able to play for long.

“Don’t you have a reputation to defend?” Kagami asked, falling into step beside the taller man.

Aomine simply snorted. “It’s Kise,” was his simple answer. They walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks.

“I used to dread this,” Aomine finally said. Kagami didn’t have to ask what he meant. He’d been through it all himself. “But watching you live your life these past few years has made it a little easier. You don’t seem less happy than when you were playing.”

He wasn’t wrong. Kagami himself had to admit that though his lifestyle had changed drastically, he didn’t miss the adrenaline and anticipation of the season like he thought he would. The dull ache of something missing had faded to a pleasant nostalgia over the years. “You and I are different people, Daiki. But I do believe there’s-- don’t laugh -- more to life than basketball.”

Aomine’s mouth twitched suspiciously. “Such wisdom from someone who still spends most of his time coaching basketball.” He saw the elbow coming, and danced away as he finally let loose the suppressed laugh.

“Oi, other basketball idiots shouldn’t laugh!” Kagami demanded hotly, making a half-hearted attempt to chase the other.

“Who’s an idiot? I’m still a professional, at least until the end of the month!” Aomine crowed and ducked the other man’s grab. Kagami made a frustrated sound and put on a burst of speed. “Too slow, Bakagami.” Aomine gave him a wide grin before side-stepping his lover and hip-checking him into a nearby hedge. He swooped in quickly, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist, grin still firmly in place.

It was a familiar dance, at this point. Two giant ex-stars tussling in the quiet Japanese streets, following their own pattern of affection. The Japanese media had thoroughly raked over their story years ago; there wasn’t much more scandal they could cause at this point.

“I’ll win next time. Retirement’ll make you slow,” Kagami murmured cheekily, watching the fire flare to life in the dark blue eyes. Aomine Daiki would always be a proud man with a competitive streak. Not that he himself was any different. Aomine narrowed his eyes at him; by now, he knew he was being baited. With one quick glance to make sure the street was quiet, he pressed Kagami into the bushes to kiss him within an inch of his life. And Kagami let him, giving back as good as he was given. He wanted to chase that familiar, lean body as it broke away.

Aomine offered a hand to pull his dazed lover out of the bushes, gesturing towards the court with his other. They could see their friends running on the court, catching golden light in the setting sun. “C’mon. We’ve still got time to play.”

And he was right, they did.