Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

New York City on Christmas Eve is a madhouse.

There's a distinct charge in the air, a rip-roaring tide of energy that infects everyone with that sort of obliviously irritating happiness - that is, until they enter a department store and turn into snarling, no-holds-barred devil incarnates willing to bowl anyone over for a discounted pair of shoes or some upcharged toy that everyone's going nuts over. Unfortunately for Aomine Daiki, he's right smack dab in the middle of the rumble, swallowed whole into the chaos of last minute Christmas shoppers fighting tooth and nail for things they probably wouldn't have looked at twice if it wasn't the day before Christmas.

Every year, he tries to convince himself it'll be different - that this year, this year he'll get everything done just so he wouldn't have to power through the stupid lines and the hoards of pissed off people set on cleaning the stores out.

Aomine grumbles at the thought as snow begins to fall, white flurries floating through the air in that movie-magic way that makes him roll his eyes. He tugs his beanie down and readjusts the hood of his sweatshirt, muttering under his breath and cursing himself for not wearing a warmer jacket before he left his house. Not that he ever pays attention to the weather reports or thinks these things through anyway. He relies on Momoi to do most of the thinking, common sense not his strong point with anything he ever does.

As if on cue, his phone startles him and he knocks into a man directly in front of him when he finally manages to squeeze through the revolving doors of the department store. "Shit, sorry," he mutters, pulling out the device and loosening the scarf bundled around his neck before he swipes the screen to answer. He scowls at Momoi's overly bubbly smile on her contact icon, his brows pinched together as he barks into the phone's mouthpiece. "What?"

"Dai-chan! I'm glad I caught you! I need a favor."

Momoi's voice on the other end of the line sounds sickly sweet and it's all Aomine can do not to openly grumble. He's not in the best of moods and doing anyone any sort of favor isn't high on his priority list, even if the person asking just so happened to be one of his best friends.

He weaves in and out of the sardine-packed crowd and shoots a glare at one customer who elbows him as she hurries by. Then he spots it: a pair of black gloves he's been needing, but has been too lazy to buy until it became too cold to put it off anymore. And as luck would have it, there's just one pair left. "I'm busy."

"Aw, come on. It won't take long. I just need a ride into the city to pick up a few things."

"I'm already here. Had some last minute shopping to do and it's fucking crazy. I hate Christmas." He accidentally shoves a patron against one of the counters on his mad dash to get to the gloves and barely sputters an apology before the guy scowls at him and disappears. Finally, he reaches the small section where the assortment of gloves are hung and makes a grab for the ones he's got his eye on. "Hey, it's hard to talk when I'm trying to navigate through this goddamn-"

"Oh, sorry! Were you- I mean, I was just grabbing them and I didn't realize you were, too-"

Aomine pauses mid sentence, his hand on the tips of the gloves' fingers when his gaze meets a pair of golden eyes sheepishly staring at him. "Call ya back," he says, vaguely aware that Momoi's still talking before he hangs up. The other guy stands in front of him, pressed against the accessories counter and holding on to the fingertips of one of the gloves. He has one of those smiles, bright and warm and surprisingly genuine even amidst the sea of increasingly frustrated customers bumping into him from all directions. There is a strange glow in his eyes, rich amber that reels Aomine in and renders him momentarily speechless. It isn't a usual occurrence for Aomine to ogle the same sex; his tastes normally lean toward women with racks big enough to probably be used as floatation devices. It perplexes him in a way that comes out of left field because the guy is definitely not female and, more importantly, lacking the chest size Aomine is known to appreciate. But still - he can't deny what's right in front of him and the guy is definitely easy on the eyes in the most obvious ways.

He opens his mouth to speak, but not before he blinks his odd confusion away. With his hand still on the merchandise, he eyes Pretty Boy's hand on the upper portion of the gloves and chuckles. "It's my bad, seriously," he says by way of greeting and he wonders for a moment how someone not female could be so stupidly attractive. He quickly lets go of the accessory in the same instance Pretty Boy releases his own stake on the item, and the guy laughs, the sound clear and easy on the ears despite the nervousness behind it. Even in the din of voices around them, the laughter carries through the noise, strong and lilting. Aomine is instantly captivated.

"No, no, that was all me. You had it first," Pretty Boy says, sweeping his blond hair aside. His mouth curves into another one of those unpretentious smiles and Aomine finds he has trouble steering his gaze away. Pretty Boy gestures to the gloves again. "You take them."

"Can't do that. You had 'em, fair and square," Aomine counters, hands up in the air as he casually shrugs. The gloves are nearly forgotten until a man comes out from somewhere behind him to grab them. Fortunately for Aomine, his reflexes are quicker and he snatches them off the rack, the man glaring at him over his shoulder as he shoves another shopper aside on his way back into the frenzied crowd. Aomine turns back to Pretty Boy and dangles the gloves like a prize. "Look, I even saved them for you. You gotta take 'em now or the rescue would be for nothing."

The blond chuckles and raises a brow, a hint of mischief behind the appraising gaze. He seems to be contemplating Aomine's statement despite the brief wariness he shows as his eyes flicker from the gloves to Aomine's face. "We can't have that, can we?" he asks, pursing his lips. "How about I make you a deal? You let me buy you coffee and dessert, and I'll make sure your rescue services weren't a total waste."

Aomine quickly glances around the store, debating whether to take Pretty Boy up on his offer or finish the rest of his Christmas shopping. On one hand, the invitation gets him out of the stampede-ready crowd and gives him a chance to see if his sudden interest goes beyond the instant attraction that still has him wound up like a toy on a department store shelf. But on the other hand, Momoi would give him an earful for never getting anything done and showing up to her Ugly Sweater Christmas party empty-handed. He shrugs, mind made up as soon as Pretty Boy bites the corner of his lip in anticipation and Aomine's stomach flips at the sight. Fuck it. Everyone's getting giftcards. "Yeah, okay. I can do that. But only if you'll let me get the dessert."

"Deal." The smile that follows is blinding and, for a moment, Aomine wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

"So, who were the gloves actually supposed to be for?" Pretty Boy asks before he spoons a glob of Frozen Hot Chocolate into his mouth. "I bet it was for a girl. It's a good present to get, the cashmere gloves. Girls like cashmere."

"How do you even know that?" Aomine laughs through his own mouthful. He's shoveling the contents of his "Can't Say No" sundae into his mouth like he's never had ice cream taste so good before, the selection made by Pretty Boy himself when asked what his favorite sundae is out of the various options that make up the restaurant's dessert menu. It's better than he expects and it's enough to quell his grumbling about how he should have ordered the Strawberry Fields sundae instead.

"I work around clothes a lot," comes the response. Pretty Boy grins and casually shrugs, toying with what remains of his dessert with the tip of his spoon.

Aomine eyes him in that appraising sort of way, noting the way Pretty Boy is dressed and concluding that it is a little nicer than most guys he knows. "You work at a department store or something?" he asks, trying to keep the conversation casual instead of just staring at the guy the entire time.

"Something like that, yeah." Pretty Boy purses his lips like he means to say more, but refrains and takes the last bite of his ice cream instead. The chocolate confection dribbles down from the corner of his mouth and it's all Aomine can do to keep his eyes from Pretty Boy's lips, especially when his tongue darts out to catch the debris. Pretty Boy seems to have noticed the attention because he sweeps his tongue over the part of his lips in that purposeful way that makes Aomine gulp, almost seductive but done subtly enough that he could just be trying to get the sticky residue left by the ice cream. "Do you always stare so intently when you're having dessert with someone?"

"Only when the dessert's really good," Aomine answers without thinking. He flinches and chuckles nervously, his palm coming to rest at his nape. He's startled to find it warm, a tingling sensation prickling his fingertips from the change in temperature. He doesn't mean to stare, not really, but Pretty Boy's face is expressive, interesting, and Aomine finds it difficult to consciously make an effort not to look at him in a way that might border on uncomfortable. "So, you won't tell me your name or what exactly it is that you do. Huh... let's try something else then." He taps his spoon against his lips, brows furrowed together while he reaches for something else that doesn't encroach on Pretty Boy's personal space. "How'd you find this place? I've been here a few years and never really heard of it. I might've passed by it a few times, though, on my way to shoot some hoops, but I can't remember. There's an indoor gym I use nearby when it's too cold to play outside."

Pretty Boy perks at the mention of basketball. "You play ball? Hm, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You look like you could play," he says, face alight with interest. "And I found the shop the first time I was in the city.  We were looking for a dessert place and I really liked the name."

"Right. Serendipity. It sounds weird, but maybe that's just me." Aomine nods, polishing off his own dessert and gratuitously licking off whatever was left on the spoon. "What's it mean, anyway? The shop's name?"

"It means 'a happy accident'. Pretty cool, huh? Kinda like how you were there to save my gloves from that guy that tried to mow you over."

"He really wanted those gloves," Aomine remarks, idling for time when he sees the crowd in the shop slowly thinning. It dawns on him that they've stayed longer than he intended, the clock reading just before midnight. There's a part of him that tries to pretend the seconds aren't ticking by, aren't counting down to ending one of the most relaxed nights he's had in a long while. He doesn't want it to end just yet, but their desserts are finished and the waiter keeps wandering by to check if they needed anything else.

Pretty Boy seems to have noticed, too, because he gets up after the tenth time their waiter passes, and shoulders on his jacket. "It's getting kinda late. I should get going." He pauses while Aomine stands and shrugs his hoodie back on. Without warning, he steps forward and gives Aomine a hug. It's one of those nice hugs; genuine and squeezed tight like he means it, like they've been longtime friends instead of meeting only a few hours before. It's a nice feeling and leaves Aomine with a mixture of warmth and a saddened realization that this unexpected meeting is now undoubtedly coming to an end. When Pretty Boy pulls away, he's flushed and wearing a grin that holds Aomine's gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "Thanks for rescuing my gloves."

Aomine idly scratches his cheek and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curling and uncurling while he mulls over an excuse to extend their time together. "Yeah, no problem. Thanks for the coffee and dessert. Wish you'd have let me pay for it, at least."

Pretty Boy shakes his head. "It's okay. Maybe you'll get a chance to pay me back someday." He gathers his things, turning toward Aomine with another smile that turns him to butter, and leaves the shop with a wave of his hand.

"Of all the rotten luck," Aomine mutters as he exits after him, "I didn't even get his name and number."

The air is biting when he gets outside. Pretty Boy is nowhere in sight, much to Aomine's chagrin, and he grumbles at his misfortune that he's let the guy go without at least scoring a way to contact him again. All around him, people are hurrying, feel shuffling against the snow-covered sidewalks while they navigate through intersections still busy despite the late hour. It's one of the reasons Aomine loves the city; Manhattan never sleeps and there's always life going on everywhere even with freezing temperatures at odd hours of the night.

He pulls his beanie out of his back pocket and tugs it on, his hood following after it. It isn't until he's almost to the subway station that he realizes he'd been wearing a scarf that he definitely isn't wearing now and he stops abruptly, his hand dragging down his face with a sigh. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he mutters, glancing up at the sky only to find that the snow had begun to fall again. He trudges back the way he came, shoes scuffing the sidewalk at random instances of irritation, and grumbles all the while trying not to think about how his momentary lapse has distracted him enough to forget one of his only defenses against the chill now permeating through his thick sweatshirt.

The shop is nearly empty when he arrives and he spots the server from before who looks at him with an expression he can't quite calculate. The man points toward the other room where Aomine was previously seated, his encouraging smile confusing him as Aomine follows the direction given and walks back to grab his scarf. He scrapes by one of the chairs in the middle of the aisle and rounds the corner only to stop dead on his feet when he spots a familiar face.

Pretty Boy stands there, gaze wide with poorly hidden surprise, his mouth agape at the sight of Aomine. He holds up the small bag containing the infamous gloves with one hand, Aomine's forgotten scarf in the other, his cheeks dusted pink from the cold. "I forgot these," he says sheepishly. An impish grin curves his mouth as he steps forward to drape the warm material over Aomine's shoulders, his gaze unwavering while he winds it snugly around Aomine's throat. "It looks like you forgot this, too."

Aomine takes advantage of the new opportunity and matches the grin. "You wanna go somewhere?"

"Where do you want to go?" Pretty Boy cocks his head to the side, curiosity brimming in his amber eyes.

Without hesitation, Aomine answers, "Anywhere."

"Yeah, okay," the blond says, his grin widening to a brilliant smile. "Let's go somewhere."

"Somewhere", it turns out, is farther than Aomine anticipates. Two blocks into their walk, the snow starts to really come down, coating the sidewalk and the both of them with fresh white powder. It's by luck that the subway is still running late enough for them to catch a ride on the M line, Pretty Boy eyeing the platform and the arriving train with a look of marked interest.

Aomine is baffled with the way the blond's eyes drink everything in with a sort of strange wonderment and he chuckles, the sound low and barely muffled, before he steps off the platform and onto the train. The car is empty save for a few scattered patrons sitting at the far end from where they enter, and Aomine nods over to a pair of seats across from the sliding doors. "What's your deal with the train?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"You're looking at everything funny. It's just a train, you know."

"Oh! That!" Pretty Boy exclaims, his laughter bouncing off the walls. He looks a little embarrassed, his expression making Aomine feel somewhat guilty for putting him on the spot. "I'm sorry, it's just that... I've never been on the subway before."

At the admission, Aomine's eyes widen and he scoffs before he can stop himself. "You're shittin' me. Never?" 

It's a rare thing to meet someone who's never taken the train when the majority of the population relies on it to get around various parts of the city. He wonders if Pretty Boy, like some of the other players in his training camp, prefers to take a cab out of convenience. It's not entirely out of the ordinary, but cabs cost a pretty penny and it has Aomine wondering how someone who works at a department store could afford the daily rides.

"Nope, never." When Pretty Boy glances over and glimpses Aomine's expression, he flinches before quickly recovering. "Is that bad? It's not like I never wanted to; it's just been something I've never had to do."

Aomine's interest piques, but before he has the chance to ask another question, their stop is announced as the train hisses to a complete halt. "C'mon, princess," he teases as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He motions toward the exit with a dip of his head, mouth quirked into a grin and a chuckle suppressed when Pretty Boy follows behind him.

The platform is empty; the florescent lights overhead flicker and throws corners and crevices into shadowed relief, their footsteps echoing through the enclosed space until they reach the stairway leading up to the open street and into the chilly night air. There are still people milling around, their pace hurried as the snow continues to fall. Aomine's steps quicken and it isn't until they're nearing their destination that he realizes how close in proximity they've become. While he normally isn't one to accept a breach of his personal space, he finds that he doesn't mind this time around, and bites back the tang of disappointment when Pretty Boy steps away as they approach the gym. 

Aomine suddenly halts when he sees the sign detailing the hours of operation and he reaches out to jiggle the doors without any luck. "Crap, I thought they'd still be open," he says, turning around, his expression apologetic. 

"Are you going to let that stop you?" There is a glint in Pretty Boy's eyes as he tilts his head to the side. His lips are quirked just enough to elicit a reaction in Aomine's gut; the beginnings of an excitement he hasn't felt in a long while. There's a challenge there, both in the enunciation of the words and in Pretty Boy's body language, and Aomine has never been one to back down from a challenge.

Aomine chuckles. "You're just full of surprises, aren't ya?" He spots the small alleyway to the left of the building and an idea comes to mind. Without thinking, he grabs hold of Pretty Boy's hand and tugs him along, checking to make sure no one is around to see them sneaking away toward the back entrance before they duck into the narrow space. The alleyway smells faintly of garbage and Aomine wrinkles his nose at the stench, cringing as he steals a glance at his companion. Pretty Boy's expression looks even more disgusted than Aomine anticipates, though it isn't enough to mask the excitement exuding from him, his fingers grasping Aomine's even tighter as they neared the chain-link fence that leads to the rear of the building. Aomine is the first to let go, grabbing hold of the creaking metal. He begins to climb, the ascent smooth and it takes just a few seconds before he's hoisting himself over, jumping down with little more than a quiet scuff on the pavement. "You know, you really don't have to-"

Before he can finish, Pretty Boy has already scaled the fence, his grip sure as he echoes Aomine's previous movements, landing next to him with ease. Aomine's jaw hangs loose at the hinges, disbelieving and more than a little impressed. Pretty Boy smirks and raises an eyebrow with a smugness that could rival Aomine's on his best day. "You were saying?"

Aomine clears his throat and shakes his head, barely managing a mumbled, "full of surprises..." before sets off toward the padlocked door. 

"Now what?"

"Hold on, jeez, I'm getting to that part." Aomine pokes Pretty Boy's forehead with the tip of his finger before he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket. Opening the small zippered compartment, he pulls out a key and throws Pretty Boy a smirk as he manages to undo the lock. "You didn't think I'd come here without a plan, did you?" he asks, stepping aside to let his companion in before following behind him.

"I don't know, you seem pretty surprised that they were closed when we got here. This gym's nice though; almost as nice as the one I use near my place."

"Which would be where, again?" Aomine's reaching; every personal question that could point to Pretty Boy's identity has been shot down, even if the blond has revealed other things like his favorite movie or a particularly funny story about how he pierced his ear back in middle school. 

"Ah... uh..."

"I know, I know, off limits, right? Can't blame a guy for trying," he says as casually as he could. He hopes his trying to hide both his disappointment and rising frustration with wanting to know more about his mystery companion is working, but something about the expression Pretty Boy wears tells him otherwise.

"Your efforts are duly noted. You're not offended, right?" Pretty Boy asks, following behind Aomine as they enter the indoor court, shrug off their jackets, and set their things on the sidelines. "I just, I don't know, we're having such a good time and I'd really rather keep it how it is."

There is a hint in his tone, somewhat pleading and for a moment, Aomine is thrown off by it. His curiosity is still at an all time high and the more Pretty Boy dodges his stealthily dropped questions, the greater his need to know becomes. But he understands the hesitation as well; he's been on that side of the fence too many times with people trying to get in his personal space like they had that right and he's enjoying himself too much to fuck up the unexpectedly nice night he's having. So instead of responding to what might potentially be an awkward response anyway, he heads into the storage closet to retrieve one of the spare basketballs, and returns with the ball slowly dribbling at his side. The dull thuds cut through the silence and echo throughout the large space, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the sound. 

"And how is it?" Aomine asks mid-pass. A smirk curls his lips, his smugness radiating off him in a way that usually intimidates his opponents. But not Pretty Boy. The smirk is returned in kind as Pretty Boy catches the pass with ease and instantly, Aomine's fingers tingle in anticipation. 

"Nice, comfortable," Pretty Boy answers without hesitation, dribbling the ball so naturally that Aomine is momentarily transfixed by it, distracted enough that he barely has time to register Pretty Boy's actions when he steps up his game and drives past him. The ball sails through the air in an effortless layup. "I don't want to ruin it."

"How would telling me your name ruin anything?"

"Just," he starts, sighing before he pauses as though trying to find the right words to say. "Haven't you ever had something really good happen, something that you can't really explain, that you weren't expecting, but it does and you want to just experience it? Without any ties, without putting labels on anything?"

Aomine picks up the ball and pivots around Pretty Boy while he mulls over the questions. His shoes squeak against the floor and he feels his muscles warming up with each step, each stretch of his limbs. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm just trying to figure out why you're so hellbent on not giving me anything when you said so yourself that you're havin' a good time." Pretty Boy gets in his face to block, but Aomine is too quick, too seasoned with years of street ball experience and high school tournaments to let it deter him, and soon the ball swoops through the net using one of his signature shots: formless and unorthodox and leaving Pretty Boy speechless.

"I guess you can say I'm trying to test fate," comes the response just as Pretty Boy sees through one of his fakes and steals the ball. His momentum works against him, however, and when he lurches forward to shoot, his foot catches on the tip of Aomine's shoe. He stumbles before skidding across the floor with his ass in the air. 

Laughter bubbles in Aomine's gut despite his attempt at holding it in and he doubles over, much to Pretty Boy's chagrin, one hand clutched against his stomach. It takes him a minute to realize that Pretty Boy is actually hurt, but when he does, he's next to him in a flash, knee bent against the floor to leverage his weight while he grunts from the effort of helping the other guy to his feet. 

"Guess fate's telling you it doesn't like to be tested," he jokes before slinging Pretty Boy's arm over his shoulder and helping him limp toward the sideline. He runs back to the storage room, basketball in tow to put it away, and returns with a few items from the small first aid kit he finds in one of the dusty shelves. "That was the best nosedive I've ever seen, though. Even if it did nick that pretty face of yours."

Pretty Boy pouts in response, a comical feat as it is with his head tilted back to stop his nose from bleeding out. "That wasn't as dazzling as it looked in my head."

"Still pretty dazzling to me," Aomine says without thinking. He feels the heat ignite when he realizes what he's said and he turns away despite the hold he still has on the cotton balls now plugged into Pretty Boy's nose. "Yeah, uh, I mean, it would've looked less stupid if you hadn't planted your face on the court, but guess I was just fated to win, huh?" He stands, completely aware of the the way the warmth lingers on the tips of his ears, and begins gathering their things. He motions toward the door. "C'mon, I think we're done with the one-on-one for tonight." 

"I could've played some more and probably beat you, too," Pretty Boy grumbles on their way out. Even with his injury, he moves with a sort of cat-like grace and Aomine nearly runs into the door before he catches it, sheepishly mumbling about how the stupid thing swings too fast sometimes. "You could just admit that you were staring, you know."

The teasing comment gives Aomine pause and he tries to save a portion of his dignity to no avail. "I was trying to make sure the cotton balls didn't come out of your nose. Don't be an idiot," he mumbles, half wishing he hadn't just given Pretty Boy more reason not to give him what he's been skirting around all night. "Someone's gotta watch out for you, right?"

"If you say so." Pretty Boy casually shrugs like it's no big deal, but the impish glint in this eyes doesn't go unnoticed.

Soon enough, they're back at the subway entrance, and Aomine is still no closer to getting anywhere that points to a way for him to keep in contact with the blond. "So, we're back here again," he begins lamely, breaths coming out in visible puffs as he scratches his cheek. He chuckles, more to keep the mood light and the pressure off than out of any real amusement. "Can't believe my luck."

"What does this have to do with luck?"

"I dunno, everything? Or nothing, I guess. Just that," he says and pauses, momentarily distracted by the freckled dots on Pretty Boy's neck just as he's about to wind his scarf again. "Hey, you know you have Perseus on your neck?"

Pretty Boy looks confused, his gloved hand coming up to touch where Aomine is blatantly staring. "I have what on my neck?"

"Not what," Aomine corrects, "who. It's this greek warrior who was half god, half human. He saved this girl, Andromeda, from some badass monster the gods sent to eat her. Cetus was its name I think. One of the Krakens."

Pretty Boy's lips twitch into smile and he shakes his head. "And you say I'm full of surprises."

Aomine shrugs, slightly embarrassed that he's let out his inner geek in front of someone he barely knows, but something about it feels right, feels natural. And the thought pushes back his previous reservations. "I thought the story was pretty cool. Anyway, Perseus ends up saving her and they end up together. The gods honored them by making them into star constellations so they'll always be that way: together, even if they're just lights blinking from a million miles away. That's some bonafide fated shit, if you ask me. But it's all just a bunch of stories."

Something about what Aomine says has Pretty Boy worrying his bottom lip, which does nothing for Aomine's self control in not asking for his name and number again, but before he can revisit the subject, Pretty Boy digs into his pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill and a pen. "Write your name and number on this."

Confused, but somewhat glad that things are starting to look up, Aomine obliges and does as he's asked. "Now what? You got mine; what about yours?"

"Hmm... you're right," Pretty Boy muses, his head swiveling around to find nothing but a snack stand with a small table next to it filled with secondhand books across the street from where they're currently standing. "Hold on a sec." He crosses toward it, picks one of the books at random, uses the five dollar bill to pay for it, and sticks out a hand to hail a cab.

Aomine realizes what's about to happen and he makes to walk over just as the cab eases to a stop in front of the blond. "Wait, wait, wait, hold up-"

"I'm gonna write my name and number on this," Pretty Boy says and holds up a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. "Then, first thing tomorrow morning, I'm going to sell it to the first used book store I see. When it ends up back to you, maybe you'll be more of a believer in fate than something that's 'just a bunch of stories'. Or maybe that five dollar bill will end up making it back to me so I can call you. Either way, it's fate, right?"

"Seriously?" Aomine calls out, arms stretched out at his sides to further emphasize his frustration. "This is bullshit."

But Pretty Boy only smiles, throws him a knowing wink, and gets in the vehicle. Aomine is pretty sure there's no way in hell he's ever going to see him again when the cab slows and the window rolls down. Something comes flying out and only when he catches it does Aomine realize it's the bag from the department store. 

"Hey!" Pretty Boy says with a breathless smile. "It's Kise. My name is Kise." And just like that, the window comes up and the cab drives away, leaving Aomine with nothing but a lone black cashmere glove and a name etched permanently into his memory.