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“Satsuki, remember how you used to pinch your face when you tripped and fell so you wouldn’t cry, because seeing you cry would make me cry too?” Aomine asks, apropos of nothing, and Momoi blinks, blinks, blinks; stares at him in askance, at his big, puffy coat, a strangely serious expression on his face.
She wrinkles her nose, and he’s stopped walking, and these days he’s smiling again, but sometimes, in moments like these, he still feels so far away: “You’re saying that like you’re going to say it made me look ugly, Dai-chan, don’t you dare!”
“It did,” he says with half a grin, easing something inside of her however wry it is, but before she can punch his arm for the insult, he adds, “I love you, you know?”