Chapter Text
Oh, have you ever imagined Daiki Aomine falling for someone first? Like, having a crush that turns him into such a pathetic loser that, for the first time in his life, he actually has to try and do something to impress someone, to catch their attention as much as he can. To woo them over with every kind of tactic he has.
But knowing Aomine means knowing that he does not want to be someone else just for someone to like him. He would rather be his real self, even if his crush is going to hate him, than put on a false image just to win someone's heart. It is such a pathetic attempt and Aomine haha, he would never do such a thing.
So who exactly does he like and how did he come to like that person?
Hmm, well. It all started on that one day. He had just woken up from one of his usual naps after skipping classes, and it was just the right time for school to be over.
Usually, he would walk home with Satsuki, her bag still in class, but he could not find her anywhere. Asking other students he knew, he found out that apparently she was at the gym exchanging a few words with the managers of other clubs or something.
He groaned in annoyance as she always insisted on leaving school together, but now she had ditched him for some random task. But despite feeling irritated and lazy, Aomine still went to grab both his bag and hers as he headed to the gym to find her. Better urge her to finish her work quickly so they could head back because he was starving to death now.
But never in Aomine's mind had he expected this.
The moment he slid open the door of the gym, he already heard a loud thud of something hitting the floor. It sounded way too heavy and full of strength as the rubber texture came into contact with the perfectly polished floor.
Huh, weird, because today was not the basketball club's schedule. So who was using it?
Yeah, that was just how Aomine was. He did not give a single fuck about the other clubs available in school and somehow considered the gym to be his club's territory only, not even thinking that a day without practice for them was actually the time for another club to be active.
So he slid the door open a bit more roughly than usual, his face still slack with sleep as he had to hold in a yawn while calling for Momoi. But before the words could leave his mouth, something hit him right in the middle of his face and almost knocked him over.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!
He almost screamed out as his hand immediately reached up to cover his face, especially his nose, because that hurt like a bitch. He almost fell over from the sensation, his skin stinging as he felt like that fucking ball had just knocked his soul out of his body.
His eyesight blurred a bit as his other hand held onto the side of the door to stop himself from falling over. He immediately groaned in pain as everybody in the room panicked in surprise as well.
Momoi noticed it too as she was standing off to the side talking with someone. She turned her head immediately only to see Aomine with his hand over his nose and mouth, looking like he had just been hit by a car.
“I'm so sorry!! Are you okay?”
You rushed to the tall boy's side as you tried to check on him.
He still seemed not to have processed what had just happened as he blinked so slowly, his eyebrows knitted together so tightly that even you felt like your breath got crushed in it.
Fuck, fuck!
You saw crimson liquid begin to drip out between his fingers, seeping across his skin like a cobweb. It was such a messy sight that your eyes widened. That must have hurt.
You were so panicked that you did not even know what to do or think before you reached for the sweatband on your wrist.
“Please hold onto this for a bit!”
You spoke to him as you almost stumbled over all your words, feeling your hands shake slightly.
And the boy in front of you did not say anything as you just shoved the soft fabric against his nose to keep the blood from bleeding out more.
His hand held onto it instinctively. He did not even mean to do that. He was not even really listening to your words.
But somehow your panic just made him move along with you.
“Y-you should sit down.”
You tried to guide him to lean against the wall as he had already slid down to the floor.
You could see how nasty that hit must have been because every time he moved, his eyebrows twisted more and more. And soon the crimson color seeped into the fabric of your sweatband as it soaked the material in that darkened red.
You immediately rushed to the bench nearby the court to grab a clean towel from the basket before quickly returning to his side.
The sound of your shoes squeaking on the polished floor only seemed to make your heart beat harder as you knelt in front of him, removed the sweatband, and replaced it with the small towel in your hand.
Your club manager and Momoi also quickly walked over when they saw the scene. You caught sight of a few drops of blood on the floor beside you from the corner of your eye as you kept cursing at yourself in your head.
“I'm sorry, it must have hurt. I didn't know someone would open the door like that.”
You try to apologize and explain as the boy just blinks slowly while he looks at you, seeing how your voice is shaking, the anxiety, worry and panic appearing on your face so vividly.
He cannot help but look at you for a few moments too long, far longer than the side glances he usually gives people.
And Momoi, kneeling next to you and worrying as well, has a nagging edge lacing her tone as she speaks up.
“Idiot! Why did you open the gym door without any warning like that?! It's dangerous, you know?”
She scolds him, almost like a mother throwing a tantrum, and even you are a bit shaken by the tone of her voice.
“I didn't know there was some club, fu-”
The tall boy is answering the pink-haired girl in front of him, but soon he groans in pain and hisses through his breath. That shout is enough to aggravate whatever wound he has right now. The blood keeps bleeding out as you immediately reach out and hold his head still.
“You shouldn't move like that, just keep your head in this position for a bit.” You try to stop him from moving around, considering how much blood keeps dripping out, afraid that you might have hit him too hard.
“It's just some bleeding.”
His tone is lower now when he finally notices your face a bit more up close.
He does not move away from your touch though, and just keeps his head still in place like you told him to. Even Momoi is surprised by how much “less rude” Aomine is today, her jaw almost dropping to the floor.
You see the red already soaking through the white fabric of the towel in his hand as you help him hold it under his nose, preventing more blood from dripping onto his lip. Your free hand lifts up, helping him massage the bridge of his nose as his breath hisses once again and he curses under his breath.
“It'll stop the bleeding so bear with me for a bit.” You quickly explain, even though the tall boy seems to be groaning from the pain you are adding to it.
He still remains still and lets you massage his nose. Your manager quickly goes to grab a first aid kit while you help Aomine stop the bleeding.
And in that moment, all you focus on is being as gentle and as effective as you can be. This random person just got hit in the face by a ball you had just spiked, and that is not good at all. You feel so horrible, so you try your best not to hurt him any further.
And in that moment, you do not even notice how his deep blue eyes are focused only on your face, on the way your hand gently holds the towel, on how your fingertips press against his skin, leaving behind such a burning warmth.
Or how your face is a bit too close to his and he can almost feel your warmth and your breath radiating around him. And earlier, when you used your sweatband to help him keep the blood from splashing everywhere, he could also smell such a nice scent that he could not quite put his finger on.
Do girls always smell this good?
He does not know because he has never really paid attention to any girl at all (only one with big boobs though). Hell, he even considered the only girl around him to be Momoi since he was born until now.
This is the first time he has ever been this close to any girl other than Momoi, and even Momoi is not this close to him.
At least she has never spiked a ball at his face, so...
“Dai-chan!”
Momoi calls out, snapping him out of whatever thought has made him space out and grow dazed.
“Can you stand up? We should go to the infirmary to check that out. It looks really nasty.”
She continues as his gaze shifts a bit to her face.
“I'm fine.”
He only lets out a short answer as he notices how you have already moved your hand away.
Only for a brief moment, he feels like your warmth is no longer radiating against him. The absence of your touch suddenly feels so alien to him as his eyes lower a bit to look at you better.
“No, you're not! Look at how much blood there is!”
She continues to nag him as he just leans his head back against the wall.
“Fine, fine, I'm going, jeez.”
He almost groans it out as his hand holds the towel in place and he slowly stands up.
You also move from your place as you watch him stumble his way out of the door. You want to go after him, to call out to him or something, but he walks so steadily as if that hit from the ball did not affect him at all, as if he seems as clear as daylight.
You stand in your place, unsure if you should follow, but then you feel Momoi's hand on your shoulder as she quietly speaks to you.
“He'll be fine, don't worry.”
She gives you a small reassuring smile as your eyes flicker over to her.
You still feel bad though.
“It's not your fault, I will go check up on him with Momoi.”
Your manager talks to you before she soon steps out of the room with Momoi as well.
All three disappear at the end of the hallway, leaving you alone in the empty gym that seems so unusually quiet.
You sigh heavily as you look around, planning to return to your training.
But then you notice some droplets of blood on the floor. If it is not cleaned properly, it will stain, and someone might step on it. So you grab a mop from the storage room and clean the floor.
As you do, you notice your sweatband now dirty and stained with a darkened red color at the corner. You crouch down and pick up the fabric as you sigh once again.
It is one of your favorite bands after all.
Now you have to throw it away.
.⋆.⋆.⋆
You did not get the chance to ask for the guy's name (too panicked to even remember his to be more specific), nor did you know if his condition was serious or not, but when your manager returned, she did not say anything at all. So maybe... it was not that bad, and you were really overthinking it.
Though he seemed like a big guy, you still felt guilty. You wondered what you should do, but bringing some warm pads with you, the kind that normally helped with swollen ankles and wrists after your club activities, felt like the best idea.
Though you had no idea who he was or what his name was, you could tell that he must be from the basketball club of your school, considering how he came over yesterday to find Momoi, and Momoi was their manager, was she not?
It was just your guess after all.
You were not in the same class as any of them to ask any questions, and you normally did not really pay attention to students from different classes either, so you had zero clue who he was in order to apologize properly.
But soon your guess was confirmed immediately.
It was the afternoon, and you had your club activity as always. The closer you got to the gym, the louder the noise seemed to be.
Huh, weird, normally your club was never this noisy, at least not this early on.
Because you tended to arrive early to warm up and prepare the balls and net for the others, sometimes helping the manager around a bit if she needed it.
But today was oddly noisy as you slid the door open and stepped inside.
And the noise was clearer now as you heard the sound of shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The rubber made hard contact with the floor and echoed across the space.
You peeked inside a bit, unsure if you should step in.
But seeing your manager already there with some of your teammates, you immediately stepped inside.
You looked across the court to see that half of the gym had been divided by a large net stretching all the way up to the ceiling. Your school had always had a large and spacious gymnasium compared to other schools, but this was the first time you had seen the court divided like that.
You only gave the other side of the court a brief look before walking over to your manager.
“What’s up with that net?”
One of your teammates seemed to be talking with the manager as she also seemed confused by the divided state of the court.
Your manager smiled a bit tiredly as she answered.
“Well, we have to share the court with another club for a while now.”
She tapped the pen in her hand against the schedule notebook in her other hand.
“Apparently, since both the volleyball and basketball games are happening next month, they have to increase their training schedule.”
She continued slowly as she sighed heavily.
“And after a long negotiation with their manager yesterday, we came to terms that if we divide the court, we do not have to adjust our schedule and both clubs can still have our own space.”
Another teammate of yours, who was sitting at the nearby bench while tying her shoes, groaned a bit.
“I know the gym is large, but isn't that a bit inconvenient? A bunch of boys, and they're so loud!”
Her words earned a huff from your manager as she lightly patted the notebook in her hand against the girl's head.
“Don't be rude, they're minding their business and so are we. Just don't come too close to the dividing net and you'll be good.”
You only heard the teammate groan a bit as she could not protest any further.
“How long do we have to share the court with them though?”
One of the short haired girls chimed in and asked as she appeared out of nowhere behind you.
“I'm not sure, until their next match... could be longer.”
Your manager seemed a bit helpless about that too, but a deal was a deal.
And you actually did not think sharing a gym would affect your club activity either.
The sound of the ball squeaking against the buffed floor had seemed to blur into the background a moment ago, but you could not help glancing that way a bit.
On the other side of the net, you saw a group of boys on the court as they seemed to have started their training session a while ago. Everybody seemed focused on the game. You could not even see the ball anywhere as you could only hear the sounds, the bunch of tall dudes moving around really blocking your view of almost everything.
They all seemed focused on their own club activity as you shifted your gaze back when you heard the coach's voice.
“Alright, everybody gather around!”
.⋆.⋆.⋆
Your team just focuses on training as you all do not really pay much attention to the boys on the other side of the court.
At least not until break time, when you are standing at the edge of the court with some of your other teammates. Or to be more specific, the one who also happens to be your classmate.
You never really knew how the two of you became friends despite having nothing in common but playing volleyball. But Yuki has always been a very outgoing and enthusiastic kind of person. Everybody believes that once you become second years, she would likely be the captain or vice-captain of your team.
Even though she is only a first year, her crowd control, observation skills, and thoughtfulness toward the other members of your club have already earned her a lot of goodwill, and you feel the same about that.
When you found it hard to get along with your classmates the first time you enrolled in high school, knowing that you two were in the same club, she was the one who asked your homeroom teacher to switch her seat to the one next to you so the two of you could talk a bit more and get to know each other.
So it is safe to say that the two of you are attached at the hip.
You rarely go anywhere without each other at all.
Even though you two do not always share everything together, so far she is the closest friend you have in high school.
As you are standing there and observing the others having a practice match, you feel someone nudge the side of your arm, and you shift your attention to her.
She is a bit shorter than you as she lifts her head up and gives you a smirk.
And oh, you know that smirk always means trouble, so you just raise your eyebrows in confusion over what she has in mind this time.
“For the last time, I'm not gonna try-”
“I haven't said anything.”
She cuts through your words before you can even finish your sentence.
You had tried various positions in volleyball back in junior school, and eventually you settled as setter because your coach said that you fit that position best.
And Yuki, as a hitter, always wants you to set for her, constantly sometimes even coming up with some crazy attack move, and you always have to sigh heavily and decline every time because she almost sprained her ankle once trying one of those crazy attempts she had in her head.
Yes, she is very fun to be around, but sometimes she gives you a heart attack with how impulsive and reckless she can be.
“I know what you're gonna say, and I'm not gonna do that attack with you again.”
You huff a bit as you answer her, and she just pouts a little at your words.
“Never said anything about that either.”
She nudges you again as she suddenly lowers her voice.
Making you have to lean down a bit to hear her better, as if she is telling you classified information.
“What? I can't hear you.”
You ask her as she gets up on her tiptoes.
“There is this guy that keeps staring at us from the other side.”
Her voice is low, but it is still enough for some of the other girls around you to hear as they all turn to look at the other side of the court.
“Ah! Don't you all look back like that, he'll notice!”
She tries to signal them but the ponytailed girl just looks at her and smiles.
“Let them stare, didn't we also stare at them earlier?”
The girl says with a casual shrug as the others seem to agree with her.
But Yuki does not seem to think the same as she shakes her head in disapproval as if she knows better.
“No, no, that's a different kind of stare, we were just curious. But that guy is really eyeing over here.”
She emphasizes it as she uses her fingers to widen her eyes.
“Piercing into your soul, as if he's looking for or... at someone.”
You roll your eyes as she looks so overdramatic, and you just sigh a bit helplessly through your nose.
“Seriously, Yuki, focus on our team, not some boys. Do you have your eyes on someone over there? Is that why you're paying so much attention?”
Some of the girls tease her as you can see the tips of her ears reddening a bit out of embarrassment.
“I'm being serious! He definitely looked this way!”
She insists as she points at each of you while asking,
“Tell me, which one of you girls caught his attention, huh?”
“We didn't even notice anyone was looking until you pointed it out. Shouldn't we be asking you that question?”
You speak up as she groans out.
“He's definitely not looking at me, I'd know if he was!”
She continues to argue as you and the other girls laugh a little at her reaction.
“Oh really, what does he look like?”
Someone asks in a teasing tone.
“Yeah, is he handsome?”
Someone else chimes in.
“Is he tall?”
Another question gets added as Yuki now seems genuinely frustrated because the girls are clearly just teasing her and making her look over at those boys again to answer them.
“You all, they're the basketball club, everybody is tall and built like a fucking brick wall!”
You can almost hear the annoyance in her tone as she sighs heavily while the other girls just giggle a bit.
For a moment, all you hear is their little chitchat and conversation.
Just very normal, casual things as they seem to have already thrown whatever Yuki mentioned earlier to the back of their minds.
“Uhm-”
You see how Yuki turns her gaze slightly as if she is looking at the other side of the gym again, and her eyes seem to widen a bit as she pats your arm lightly, but before she can even say anything…
The net behind you suddenly trembles.
Not just a small sway from the draft of the gym doors, but a distinct, noticeable shake, the thick mesh rippling in a sharp line from top to bottom as if someone had just knocked against it from the other side.
The metal frame gives a faint rattle.
The sound is enough to make all the girls stop talking at once. Their laughter cuts off mid conversation, heads turning in near perfect sync toward the source of the disturbance.
“Hey.”
Long fingers curl around the upper edge of the net, pressing into the corded line above it. The net dips slightly beneath the weight of his hand, the mesh tightening where his knuckles rest.
And then you hear such a low and deep voice. It is somewhat familiar, as if you have heard it somewhere before, and you lift your gaze up to meet those dark deep blue eyes, the same pair that you saw yesterday in this very gym too.
Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, almost stunned at him suddenly being here. You had guessed he would be in the basketball club, but you never imagined he would approach you first, nor that he would have any reason to.
And even before your brain can process it, the words already roll off your tongue first.
“Hi...”
You greet him back quietly, skeptical as you are unsure why he is even here.
Well, not here in the gym, he has his own club too, duh, but more like why he is suddenly standing in front of you and disrupting you and your teammates' conversation.
The other girls exchange looks with each other before they all shift their gaze back to you and the tall boy in front of you, divided by the net in between as his large hand rests above on the net a bit.
Your eyes shift slightly to capture his features a bit better. You remember the face, of course, you just met him yesterday and it is indeed hard to forget his face too.
He has striking features. A sharp jawline for a boy his age. Deep blue eyes that seem to hold a vastness of something.
He is tall, very tall, built like a damn tree. You are unsure about his exact height as the people around you normally are not that tall either.
When he stands among his teammates, everybody looks tall, so you did not notice him at first glance.
But now, when he is right in front of you, he seems to loom over you, tower over you, as even the bright light above seems to be shielded away by his silhouette.
And of course, maybe that is just your imagination.
And the air around him, there is something about it that you cannot quite put your finger on.
The kind that makes people feel intimidated but at the same time is laced with some slack, laid-back attitude.
Like someone who does not need to prove anything because he already knows exactly who he is.
His face does not show much expression. And that somehow makes him even harder to read.
You cannot help but wonder why he is calling for you.
Did he want to fight you over what happened yesterday?
But he said he was fine though you are not exactly sure.
And only in that moment do you notice that he has a bandage over his nose...
Oh...
It must have busted from that.
Definitely not a good sight, and you know it hurt like a bitch too because you have had balls hit your face a couple of times.
Not as hard as the one you hit at him yesterday, but even that was enough to make your face swell and sting for over a week.
You cannot imagine how nasty and messy his nose must have been since yesterday.
“Your nose...”
You are unsure what to say or how to approach it because you are still a bit embarrassed by what happened yesterday.
But the boy notices your awkwardness as you see the corner of his lips slowly curve up into something of a deep smirk.
Oh.
He is indeed good looking, but it seems to become even more so when he expresses more emotion.
And somehow that smirk just adds more to his cockiness and boyish side as you are unsure if you should continue.
But he already speaks up first.
“It's nothing, just some bleeding.”
He talks about it so casually as if the one who winced and groaned yesterday was not him.
And maybe he just wants to keep his image, you know boys your age always somewhat have their egos high, so they do not want to come off as weak in front of anyone, especially a bunch of strange girls.
“I have something I need to give you, meet me after club ends.”
He speaks as if he is only here to announce it, not request it at all.
As if he is ordering you and you have no option but to agree and go along with him.
You almost tilt your head in confusion.
But before you can answer him properly, the coach calls for his team to gather on the side of his court.
You are unsure what the man says because every sound seems to blur away when you still have not processed everything that just happened.
But the tall boy already slowly pulls his hand away from the net as he steps back slightly. The mesh springs back slightly into place.
He only gives you a brief look that somewhat lingers before turning his back and walking toward where his team is gathered.
And you just stand there, a bit in disbelief over what and why he just talked to you, and everybody around you seems to feel the same as their eyes nearly pop out and their jaws almost drop to the floor.
Especially Yuki when she grabs her hands so tightly around your arm as she shakes you slightly.
“What the hell?! Since when did you know someone from the basketball team?”
She asks, almost interrogating you as your head even feels a bit dizzy from the sound of her voice.
“Wow, we didn't know you were that sneaky.”
Some girl teases you as the others just smile so subtly, but you notice.
“I-it's not that. I don't know him.”
You do not even know how to explain it properly as their teasing makes you stumble over your words a bit.
“Then explain why he asked you to meet him after club?!”
Yuki chimes in as she grips your arm tighter and shakes you even more violently now.
“Yeah right, boohoo, liar, he's so handsome too. What's his name?”
They gather around you as they begin to bombard you with all kinds of questions.
“Enough, I don't know his name or who he is!”
You answer as you break away from their circle.
“I just happened to... accidentally spike a ball into his face yesterday.”
You explain as they gasp and seem even more enthusiastic now as they lean closer.
“Oh no, poor boy, you hurt his handsome face like that?!”
They seem to want to tease you even more as you almost want to dig yourself a hole to hide in.
“No wonder he wants to talk, you're so dead, girl.”
Some short haired girl giggles.
“Ssshhh, what if he just wants to ask her out?”
Another chimes in to tease.
“Break time is over! Team, gather now!”
The coach's voice rings through the space as you almost breathe out a heavy sigh of relief as all the girls have to let you go and return to training.
And as you step back to your team, you only glance back to the other side of the net briefly.
From this distance, you can only see the side of the boy from earlier, only slightly, as other people stand around him and he seems to lean down to listen to the coach with the others.
And in that brief moment, you almost think you see his gaze seem to meet yours from the corner of his eyes.
But you soon turn away as it is not something you noticed clearly.
.⋆.⋆.⋆
So when you got off from your club activity, planning to walk back home with your friends, they were talking about the upcoming exam as you walked behind them. Yuki noticed how you were a bit absent-minded as she nudged her elbow against you.
“Shouldn't you hurry up?”
You gave her a puzzled look as she rolled her eyes.
“You have a date duh.”
Her voice was so loud that it caught the attention of the others as you quickly clasped your hand over her mouth.
“Don't be silly!”
You stopped her words in time, but some of your teammates had already circled around you as they chimed in.
“Yeah right, suddenly a tall handsome boy just wants to talk to you, definitely nothing going on at all.”
“Please stop teasing me,” you sighed heavily as you pushed through them and headed straight to the school gate.
Trying to ignore or avoid anything they said, you did not let it get to you because you tried not to overthink anything. Even when you were unsure what exactly that guy wanted to tell you, you would rather not think too deeply into that anyway. It just made everything more awkward than it already was for you.
And as you got close to the gate, you already saw a tall figure looming right outside. Even in the dark of night, you could still somehow make out his silhouette. Was it because he was tall? Or was it because there was indeed something very standout about this guy? You were unsure, but that was how you felt about him. Seeing him earlier, even divided by a safety net, or how he stood with the other tall club members, he still somehow seemed to be the most highlighted and significant among them.
But it was not like you had never seen someone tall before, maybe not boys most of the time, but in your field of specialty there were many girls your age who were quite tall too. They mostly stood out in each of their own ways. You rarely really paid attention to other clubs, or at least besides the female clubs you did not really pay attention to others, so that might be the reason why you were a bit caught off guard by their build.
So you did not really think much... well, because what exactly should you feel nervous about? It was not as if he was going to beat the crap out of you or something... at least you hoped so.
He really did give off some delinquent vibes, but you did not want to judge anyone by their appearance.
So you just steadied your pace and walked right outside the gate, and he seemed to notice that as you saw his head turn slightly, his deep blue eyes meeting you right at the corner of his gaze.
Leaning against the wall so lazily and slackly, he somehow still looked like he could move a mountain, his gym bag slung over his broad shoulder as he had his phone in his hand.
You did not say anything, just stared at him like that as he too looked at you through his half-lidded eyes. As if he could not care less about anything around him. His body shifted a bit heavily as he stood straight back up and turned to face you completely.
His gaze was so still and indifferent, or more unamused, but somehow you felt like his eyes were scanning all over you, flickering as if he was trying to dig something out, looking for something that was worthy of his attention.
“Sorry... again, about... your nose.”
The silence seemed a bit too tense and awkward as you felt like if you did not speak up first, he would not either, like he would spend the whole night staring at you like that as it made you feel a bit uneasy. So you did not know what else to say but apologize again, with your hand behind the back of your neck, trying to flatten the unease inside you.
But as your eyes sneaked a glance at his face, trying to see whether he would have any reaction, at least something different from the blank expression he seemed to wear so often on his face.
“Ah, that.”
Suddenly his voice echoed in the space as it caught your attention even more.
A deep low tone, such short words he gave out, but you could still hear the roughness around the edges. Deep enough for you to sense the natural confidence in his voice, but also carrying some carelessness and laziness behind it.
It indeed suited his image.
Because you did not really pay attention when he spoke to you earlier. It had only been a few brief words, or you had been too caught off guard to even notice anything.
But now you could hear it more clearly.
And added to that unbothered tone, what caught your eye most was the smirk that slowly formed at the corner of his lips. The thin line now pressed into a slightly deeper grin, he carried himself with such cocky confidence while also not seeming to give anyone a second thought.
“It's not something serious.”
He continued as you could see the white bandage still covering his nose and you could almost see the corner of his fang when he spoke.
Okay... it was good that he was not seriously hurt or anything.
Then... what did he want to talk about?
As the question ran through your mind, you saw him tug something out of the side pocket of his track pants as he handed it to you.
You had noticed it, his hands were pretty large... well at least larger than most people you had known and seen before, but in basketball you were not so sure...
Seeing how the packet seemed so small placed in his palm somehow made you feel a bit pressured now as you faced him.
But you were a bit confused about what he gave you and why he was even giving you anything.
And as if he noticed your question, he spoke up.
“Your sweatband. I dirtied it.”
His way of speaking was always so short and cut right to the chase as you lifted your face up to look at him more clearly.
“Oh...”
You let out a surprised sound as his other hand rubbed at the back of his neck.
He seemed awkward, or more correctly, not used to this kind of etiquette, you supposed.
“Satsuki kept nagging me about getting a new one for you, so I did.”
He continued as your gaze flickered over his face and then back to the packet in his hand.
Yeah, your sweatband, it was one of your many favorite pairs. But you had to throw it away because cleaning it would be too much of a hassle, and after all, it was quite old and frayed anyway. It was about time for you to replace it with a new pair.
But it was not about the state of the thing itself, more about the memories bound to it.
You had had it ever since the first time you played volleyball, so yes, it was very important to you in some way.
But at the same time, you had learned to leave some memories behind, as they deserved to remain in the past rather than be carried forward without the actual object accompanying your path anymore.
But then you noticed the packet in his hand.
He had picked the same color as the old pair you had.
Even the design somehow resembled it.
You wondered how he had noticed it when that moment had passed so quickly and briefly as well.
If you had been hit in the face by a ball and were bleeding, you could not have cared less about anything else around you.
You did not take the packet from him immediately.
Instead, you turned to unzip your gym bag and took out some heating pads you had prepared beforehand, then handed them to him as well.
“Here.”
You spoke up as he raised his eyebrows, a bit skeptical about your sudden action.
“It's for your nose. If it's swollen, you can press it against it before going to bed.”
You explained, though you did not even know what you were doing anymore.
Was it too much?
Like, he was a stranger after all, you did not know him that well.
But at the same time, you felt like it was the right thing to do.
You were just unsure how to approach it, and fortunately for you, he had already sought you out first.
For a brief moment of silence, his blank expression slowly shifted as his smirk grew a bit deeper at the corner of his lips.
“I'll take them then.”
His words seemed laced with a light chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he took the pads from your hand.
His fingertips touched your skin so briefly, but you felt like they could leave a burn mark as you wondered how his body temperature could be so high even when he was dressed so lightly at night like that.
Even after some club activities, it still felt abnormally higher than most.
But you did not say anything as you also accepted the packet from his hand.
Then something clicked in your mind as you lifted your head up immediately to meet his deep blue gaze again.
“How did you know my name?”
You clearly heard him call your name earlier when he accepted the pads.
It was so subtle you almost missed it, but now you realized why it had not sat right with you.
The two of you had not even had a proper introduction, and he should not even know your name.
He looked unbothered and unfazed by your question as his hand lifted to point at something by your side.
Your eyes followed the direction of his finger and landed right on the name tag attached to your gym bag.
Right.
Everybody in your club had name tags on their bags so they would not get mixed up with each other.
How could you forget that?
Did this guy really make you that uneasy that your brain could not even function properly anymore?
But before you could say anything else, the tall boy had already turned on his heel and started walking away, his shoulders slightly hunched in a leisurely manner as he gave you some careless wave over his shoulder.
But before he could get far, your hand had already reached out and grabbed the fabric at the back of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.
You almost stretched his shirt as his head slightly turned around, seeming a bit annoyed by your sudden action as you asked out,
“I haven't learned your name.”
You quickly let go of his shirt as you realized how rude your action was.
That made you panic a bit because your hand seemed to move on its own when he turned away like that.
And he just threw you a smirk before turning his head back forward, his back facing you as his voice echoed in the air, the cockiness still laced around it even when he was already leaving.
And you just stood there a bit dumbfounded.
“Aomine Daiki.”
And that was the only sound that lingered in your mind.
.⋆.⋆.⋆
Aomine Daiki.
Aomine Daiki.
Did that name not sound a bit familiar?
But you really did not know anyone with that name, or at least have any impression of it.
Not until you accidentally heard your classmates talking during break time.
About the ace of your school's basketball club.
Aomine Daiki.
One of the members of the Generation of Miracles.
Scouted by Touou Academy when he was still in Teikou Junior High.
And following him here was Satsuki Momoi, a brilliant genius in data analysis who used to be their manager.
No wonder the name sounded familiar.
You really should keep yourself updated on this kind of news, should you not?
After all, they were somewhat celebrities in your school in some way.
It was not exactly news that your school scouted talented players, it had been around for quite some time and you had also been a case of scouting too.
They seemed to value individuality, which you had pretty much questioned before enrolling because most of the sports clubs that were strong in your school were teamwork sports as well.
But at the time, you did not think much about it because Touou Academy had years of well known reputation for its strength in the sports field, and for a person like you, that was enough for you to accept their offer.
But you still felt like not every scouted member was the same after all.
It was not that you viewed someone as better than the others, but more specifically, you viewed yourself and others as being in very different positions and lights.
Because everybody had a different way of playing, and sometimes their passion and philosophy did not align well.
It could affect the whole team negatively.
And you were glad that had not happened in your volleyball club.
At least... not yet.
You had heard about Aomine a couple of times, through some student gossip or some news on the school feed.
But other than that, you believed that the two of you would never have anything in common or align enough to even cross paths.
You were not even in the same class.
More precisely, you did not even think you were in the same building.
Well, it was none of your business.
You thought you would never cross paths with him again as the two of you had nothing to do with each other.
.⋆.⋆.⋆
At least that’s what you think after a week has gone by. You indeed never come across Aomine ever again because you never see him on the other side of the court while his teammates train and practice so hard. You don’t even see a single strand of his hair at all.
And maybe that’s better.
You always stay late to practice alone when no one is around. It is a bit inconvenient when you have to share the court with another club. But still, that doesn’t really stop you from staying a bit later than the others.
The gym feels different once everyone leaves. Without the usual noise of shoes screeching against the floor, teammates calling for passes, and balls constantly striking the court, the entire place feels strangely hollow and still.
Only the low hum of the fluorescent lights fills the air above you, occasionally flickering faintly. The polished wooden floor reflects the harsh white light overhead, making the empty court feel colder than it should. Even your own footsteps sound louder than usual, echoing softly every time you move.
As you are practicing your spike, you take a quick step forward to adjust your footing, only for the sole of your shoe to drag strangely against the floor. Your movement catches awkwardly, throwing off your balance for a split second. Your ankle twists slightly, and your body jerks forward so suddenly that you nearly pitch face first onto the polished wood.
A sharp breath leaves your lips as you instinctively throw one foot out to steady yourself, arms flinging out for balance. The ball slips from your grasp in the process, dropping from your hands before bouncing loudly against the floor.
The repeated sound ricochets through the empty gym, each bounce sounding far louder than it should in the silence, almost as if the space itself is mocking your clumsy mistake.
You freeze there for a moment, shoulders tense, your pulse skipping unpleasantly from the sudden stumble. Heat creeps beneath your skin despite being completely alone. It is ridiculous to feel embarrassed when there is no one here to witness it, yet the feeling lingers anyway.
Slowly, you lower your arms and glance down at your feet, trying to figure out what even caused that.
Your shoelaces have become frayed. The once tightly woven material has started to unravel at the ends, fibers splitting apart into uneven strands. It happens all the time when the protective tips, aglets, fall off or when the laces rub against the eyelets.
Normally, you have to change your shoelaces frequently, but even once a month is already considered a lot. Lately, though, you might have been practicing over schedule, causing them to fray faster than usual. And now that you remember, those shoelaces you bought in an emergency were not exactly good quality, becoming worn far more easily than the type you usually buy.
You walk back to where you placed your bag on the floor right next to the divider net. Sitting down, you unzip your bag to find some spare shoelaces, planning to change them. You don’t want to waste your time tomorrow just because of some shoelaces… some shoelaces that could affect your whole training, practice, pace, match and everything else.
Suddenly, a loud thud behind you makes you stop whatever you are doing.
The sound feels unnaturally loud in the empty gym, cutting through the silence so abruptly that it sends a jolt through your system. You slowly turn your head, gaze shifting over your shoulder until it lands on a familiar tall figure standing near.
He somehow looks even more out of place here than usual, standing beneath the harsh overhead lights like he owns the entire space. Tall, broad shouldered and very annoyingly relaxed. His athletic build is obvious even through the loose shirt clinging slightly to his frame, the fabric darker in some places with sweat. His skin has a warm bronze tone that contrasts sharply against the bright white lighting, and his dark blue hair looks slightly messy, strands sticking damply to his forehead as if he has either been moving around or simply cannot be bothered to look put together.
And this eyes. They are deep blue and so sharp. They hold this lazy sort of confidence, almost bored, yet somehow still intensely focused whenever they settle on something or someone.
Like right now.
His hand grips the divider net loosely, fingers curled around the frame while leaning part of his weight against it. The metal creaks faintly under the pressure, making you wonder if he is going to snap the thing in half by accident.
You wonder what his problem is and why he keeps appearing randomly everywhere.
And why is he here at this hour? You have never seen him stay around during his own club hours, let alone after them. So why now?
“Oh, it’s you.” He speaks, a smirk lazily pulling at his mouth.
Even his voice sounds too loud in the quiet gym. A bit low and rough, carrying easily through the empty space.
The light behind him is irritatingly bright, making it difficult to fully make out his expression, though somehow that only makes him more imposing. More like some inconvenient obstacle that appeared solely to ruin your peace.
“I was wondering which douche was here at this hour,” he continues casually, like insulting people is a normal greeting. “Hardworking, aren’t you?”
You stare at him for half a second before looking away again with a quiet internal sigh, returning your attention to your bag as you continue searching for the laces.
“Oi, I’m talking to you.”
His voice echoes off the high walls, bouncing around the gym and drilling straight into your ears.
You have already been overstimulated enough for one day, and somehow his mere existence seems dedicated to making it worse.
“Shouldn’t you be practicing more too?” you finally ask as you find the spare laces. “Considering you’re the ace of the team, Aomine.”
That seems to catch his attention more than expected.
His brow lifts slightly, and the corner of his mouth curls upward with something amused.
“So you did your homework.”
You finally glance up at him again.
His hair sticks damply against his forehead, and from this distance you can faintly notice the subtle sheen of sweat along his neck and jawline.
He shifts slightly, leaning more of his weight onto the divider net, shadow stretching longer across the floor until it nearly reaches your shoes.
“You’re quite popular. It’s hard not to notice,” you answer in a casual tone as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.
He does not look particularly impressed by that answer. His gaze drifts briefly across your side of the court before returning to you.
“Hmm, can you even practice alone?”
The sudden question catches you off guard. You had honestly assumed he would lose interest and leave by now.
You follow his gaze across the empty court. The safety net has been put away, and all the volleyballs are neatly stacked in the cart near the corner. The emptiness only makes his presence feel more noticeable somehow, like he is taking up more space than one person reasonably should.
“Depends on which position you play and what you’re practicing.”
“What were you practicing then?” he cuts through your words with another question.
He seems unusually curious today, which is unsettling all on its own. You did not expect him to have any interest at all, let alone ask anything remotely meaningful.
“Spiking...”
You hesitate slightly. Unfortunately, saying that aloud only reminds you of the unfortunate incident involving your volleyball and his face.
His grin widens immediately, as if reading your thoughts.
“Like the one that sent a ball right to my face?” he asks, sounding a bit teasing and a bit unserious, making you want to clasp your hands around your face and dig yourself a hole to bury yourself deep below.
“It does not always happen...” you argue weakly.
Your eyes flicker over his face for a moment, noticing he has already removed the bandage. His nose looks perfectly fine now, not nearly as swollen or bruised as before. You find yourself looking a little longer than intended, checking if there is any remaining damage.
“If you’re that worried, you can look a bit closer.”
His tone is unbearably unserious.
You stand up almost immediately, slinging your bag over your shoulder, deciding you are absolutely not entertaining that.
“You seem free. Why are you not practicing?” you ask instead, trying to redirect the conversation.
That makes him laugh.
A deep laugh spills from him unexpectedly enough to make you nearly flinch. It bounces off the walls just like everything else in this cursed gym, somehow making the entire room feel even smaller.
He looks at you like you have just said the dumbest thing imaginable.
“I don’t need to do something that meaningless.”
He turns slightly, pressing his back fully against the divider net, arms loose at his sides, confidence practically radiating off him in waves. It is the kind of confidence that borders on arrogance so shamelessly that it almost feels offensive.
It makes you want to kick him in the shin just on principle.
“How so? You can’t practice alone?” you ask, genuine curiosity slipping into your voice. Not about basketball exactly but about him. About why he carries himself like that, like someone who has already decided the world has nothing left to offer him.
He always carries that laid back attitude, never showing up to practice, yet somehow he is still the Ace. Not just the Ace, but one who seems completely secure in that position too, as if there is not a single person capable of threatening it.
So there has to be a reason behind that.
Is he really that good?
Or is he just arrogant?
You don’t think it is the latter though. Or at least, you do not know him well enough yet to make that kind of judgment.
And apparently, that question of yours is funny enough to pull an even louder laugh out of him.
It rings through the gym so sharply that your brain almost feels like it vibrates with it.
“What?” you ask, wondering what is so funny about your question. You genuinely do not know.
Aomine exhales through a grin before straightening slightly. Then he turns back toward you, blue eyes narrowing with clear amusement.
“Do you even know what position I play?” he suddenly asks, facing you properly through the divider net.
Your eyes flicker toward him.
There is something deeply unsettling about the way he looks at people. Not necessarily threatening, not outright aggressive, like he is always fully aware of the effect he has on others. Like he walks into every interaction already assuming he has the upper hand.
Even now, with nothing more than a metal divider and a mostly empty gym between you, it somehow still feels like he is challenging you.
And even when you are not on the same court as him as his opponent, you still somehow feel as though he is constantly challenging everyone around him.
“No...” You pause before immediately defend yourself. “Right, I don’t know anything about basketball but I doubt you know much about volleyball either.”
That only seems to amuse him more.
Yes, you really do know next to nothing about basketball. At least not enough to know how they actually play, what positions exist, what their techniques are or what skills each role requires.
Surprisingly, you have never really come across many people who play basketball before. You have met those who play different types of sports, but most of your attention has always been on volleyball, so you suppose you never really paid much attention to other sports around you.
Everything else tends to blur around the edges.
And yet somehow, now you are standing here talking to one.
And his smirk only grows deeper as he speaks.
“If you want to know, I can show you.”
He leans in slightly against the divider net, and the metal frame shifts under his weight with a faint rattle.
You see it shake slightly under your gaze. It almost feels as though he is some kind of panther on the other side of a cage, waiting to break free and lunge at you.
“And maybe,” he adds, voice dipping lower with casual amusement, “you can show me yours too.”
And somehow, despite every reasonable instinct in your body telling you to reject this entire interaction and go home, you still hear yourself agreeing.
Which is exactly how you somehow end up on the other side of the court.
On his side.
Yeah. Somehow you actually stepped into the basketball club’s half of the gym, crossing past the divider net so now there is no metal barrier separating you anymore.
That fact alone feels strangely significant.
Even though both sides of the gym are divided equally, theirs somehow feels bigger and more open. Maybe it just feels that way because you are hyperaware of where you are.
You honestly did not even think before accepting his offer.
Maybe because you technically have nothing else to do.
Maybe because you are curious.
Which is honestly the more embarrassing answer.
You have never really had any interest in other sports before, until you met this boy, you suppose. You do not even know anymore. It feels as though your body just moved on its own before your brain had time to catch up.
You place your bag on a nearby bench and straighten your posture, trying to regain at least some composure.
“So,” you ask, looking at him directly, “what exactly are you going to show me?”
Aomine bends down to grab a ball that had been left abandoned on the floor.
Their court is left so messy that you cannot help but wonder if their manager ever gets mad and scolds them the way your manager would.
Aomine, however, seems entirely unbothered.
He spins the ball effortlessly on one finger, showing off just a little as he looks at you, and not for a single second does that smirk ever leave his lips.
“Do you know how to throw?” he asks, like this is basic universal knowledge everyone should naturally possess.
“No.”
You answer flatly.
Surely that should be obvious. You literally just admitted you know nothing about basketball. You do not even fully understand the rules, let alone whatever proper throwing technique apparently exists.
But before you can say anything else, he suddenly throws the ball your way, and you instinctively reach out to catch it just in time. Or more specifically, he throws it so lightly that you would have been able to catch it even if you had only held your hands out.
Holding a basketball in your hands feels very strange. It seems heavier and larger than a volleyball, and the friction feels completely different too. The surface is much rougher against your palms compared to a volleyball, and you stare at it as if it is some kind of alien creature instead of just a ball.
“First time touching one?” Aomine’s question pulls your attention away from the ball in your hands, and you look back at him.
You glance up at him.
“Not first time... second time.”
Because that only earns another laugh from him, making you want to throw the ball right back at him. But before you can even react, he has already approached you.
He steps right behind you and points toward the hoop, your eyes naturally following the direction of his finger.
“Can you aim for that?”
You hear his voice right behind you, making you turn your head slightly to briefly meet his eyes before shifting your gaze back toward the hoop.
Will you make a joke out of yourself now? You did not even know what to do as you held the ball up.
A little hesitant, a little unsure, a little clumsy, as you did not even know how to stand or where to place your feet.
Once again, you heard a mocking laugh behind you, and you turned around to glance at him. He nearly doubled over, holding his stomach as he laughed like a maniac.
“You know, you're such a horrible mentor,” you said, trying to make him stop laughing. “Stop laughing.”
But he continued for a bit longer before finally straightening his back slightly. When his eyes met yours, you could almost see tears at the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard earlier, making you sigh heavily.
He then placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you back toward the hoop. His other hand lifted your arm, seeming to help you get into the right position.
His shoes slid between your legs as he nudged your feet farther apart.
“Do not shrug your shoulders so much. Stand the way you usually do during whatever practice you call that.”
His voice rang beside your ear. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, only to see his gaze fixed straight ahead at the hoop.
“Your dominant foot should be slightly in front of the other one. Keep your knees slightly bent.”
It took you a while to realize he was seriously teaching you how to shoot properly, and you followed his instructions, adjusting yourself into the correct stance.
His large hand caught your elbow as he moved it slightly.
“Your hand placement is correct, but your elbow should form more of an L shape.”
He continued, speaking so quickly that if you were not also an athlete, a normal person probably would not have been able to keep up with even half of what he was saying.
As he guided you, you somehow noticed the position felt slightly similar to when you prepared to spike.
“When you release the ball, do not put too much pressure on your wrist. Snap your wrist forward.”
You listened closely as his breath seemed to drift closer with every word he spoke. But soon, his warmth and presence no longer surrounded you as he stepped back and gave you some space.
“You can try now. Throw it.” He smiled with an almost irritating level of confidence as he stood beside you.
Still in position, he picked up another ball from the court and effortlessly tossed it into the hoop with perfect precision, as if he did not even need to aim. As if it were pure instinct carved into his skin, bones and the back of his mind.
And maybe, with Aomine, that was true.
“Do not follow the ball with your eyes. Pick a target and lock onto it,” he said, gesturing toward the hoop in front of you.
You followed his gaze to the tall pole ahead. It was so high, much taller than most regular hoops you had seen before. Maybe that was because most people on his team were ridiculously tall.
Somehow, you felt a little uneasy and nervous.
Not because you were afraid of messing up. After all, you had never tried basketball before, so not knowing what to do was normal. Even if you accidentally threw the ball somewhere far from the hoop, no one else would really care.
But you cared.
You were the type of person who cared deeply about achievement. It was not that you needed to do everything perfectly, but you hated the feeling of failing at something. So whenever you did anything, even something random or meaningless, you still gave it your all.
And right now, as you felt the weight of the ball in your hands, it almost felt like the weight of your own effort resting on your shoulders.
Even if this was just some silly little attempt to someone else, you still wanted to do well, even if the ball never made it through that basket.
Whatever happened, you tried to steady yourself.
You inhaled and exhaled softly, your eyes fixed on the hoop ahead as you let his words sink in.
Lock onto a target. The rim or the backboard or what??
You were thinking far harder than necessary, and the boy beside you seemed to notice.
“Do not overthink it.”
Your eyes didn’t leave the hoop, so you wonder if he knows you’re still listening closely, because it is indeed good advice.
“Start by uncoiling your legs and hips. You can keep the ball in front of your face or above your head,” he continues as you listen closely once again.
“Release the ball just before you reach the highest point of your jump. The ball should roll off your fingertips, not your palm.”
He may seem like he talks a lot, but most of what he says is very simple and easy to understand. You wonder if it’s because he is also simple minded like you that he is able to explain things so easily, or if it’s because he likes basketball enough for it to become such a normal part of his life that it feels as simple as breathing to him.
You have no answer for that yet, so you just follow what your body tells you to do. You make a jump as you snap your wrist, letting the ball roll out of your hand so smoothly that even you are surprised by it.
However, you’re unsure if it will hit the hoop, so your eyes stay locked on where you want it to go, but you don’t know exactly what direction the ball will take the moment it slips out of your hand.
And to your surprise, to your clearly unexpected delight, it falls right into the hoop so smoothly, not even touching the rim, just straight into the hoop, and you almost have your jaw drop to the floor the moment the ball comes in contact with the polished floor and bounces back, creating such a loud thud that echoes through the space.
And for a moment, the sound thuds almost as loudly as the heartbeat in your chest.
You can’t help but laugh at the scene as you clap your hands together and almost skitter in excitement. You turn to the boy next to you as you point at the ball now rolling across the floor.
“You saw that?! I shot that, it fell in!”
You sound too excited, almost like a kid who just got their favorite snack, and you only realize how enthusiastic you sound when you see the smile on Aomine’s face. And when his eyes narrow, you stop yourself slightly, a little embarrassed by your own reaction.
“Not such a horrible mentor, am I?” he asks and yes, still with that cocky tone, he once again speaks to you.
And you… okay, you’ll give him that.
“Or maybe I’m just lucky,” you correct him as he chuckles softly.
“Your posture still needs some improvement though.”
He suddenly speaks up as he picks up another ball nearby and steps closer to you.
Lifting your arm again by your elbow, he continues to speak.
“It’s important that your elbow-”
But before he can finish his sentence, someone peeks inside the gym through the door and speaks up.
“Oh, I thought someone was here. It’s you, Aomine, oh...”
He seems caught off guard as he pauses slightly when you turn your head to meet a pair of glasses.
Isn’t he the captain of the basketball club?
Fuck!
He is already surprised enough seeing Aomine here so late. For what? Practicing? Damn, he can’t imagine that.
But then he is even more caught off guard when he sees someone else with him. A girl, no less, and not Momoi. This is such a rare sight to see. And based on his quick scan over the two of you and the bag on the bench, aren’t you from the volleyball club? Since when did Aomine manage to pull someone like that, and how? Standing that close, what kind of relationship do you two even have?
But he quickly regains his composure. It’s not his business to pry, is it? He reads the atmosphere better than anyone, after all.
“Remember to turn off the lights and lock the door before you leave, yeah!”
That’s all he says to the two of you before quickly walking away, almost vanishing before you even have time to process anything.
Did he misunderstand something? You have no idea.
But someone catching the two of you alone in the gym does make you feel a little flustered, and you immediately step away from Aomine.
He cocks an eyebrow in confusion when you suddenly pull away, but he doesn’t stop you or anything.
“It’s late. I think I should leave now.”
Yeah, you’re running away. Because you let your curiosity get the better of you for a moment, and now you only realize how careless you’ve been this whole time. But as you turn to walk away, you trip over your own feet and almost fall over.
Thankfully, you don’t end up face planting on the floor beneath you as Aomine reaches his hand out just in time to catch you by the arm, preventing you from falling.
And that only adds more to your embarrassment as you don’t know where else to look except down at your feet, only to realize.
Fuck, right! Your freaking shoelaces. You were supposed to change them earlier.
And Aomine, watching you nearly scramble away only to trip over your own feet, follows your gaze downward and notices your frayed shoelaces, the culprit behind how you almost kissed the floor.
“Want me to help with that?”
And his question once again catches you off guard.
.⋆.⋆.⋆
And that’s how you end up sitting on the floor, looking at the boy in front of you, who is now changing the laces on your shoes.
His hands are quick, so quick that you can barely catch what he’s doing. Though you’re not surprised, because he must be used to it. Everybody has to change their shoelaces once they start playing any sport, after all. And for a guy who has been playing basketball for that long, it’s probably just a daily routine to him by now.
“If you lace it like this, and tie it this way, then you can tuck the rest inside. It makes the fit a bit tighter, and it’s less likely to get frayed too.”
It’s a good tip, one you’ve never known before, as you watch his fingers work quickly while he finishes tugging the laces neatly back into your shoes.
“Did you learn that in junior school?” you ask without even thinking. You’ve let your intrusive thoughts win a lot lately, and you almost bite your tongue the moment the question slips out.
It’s not because you’re curious, you tell yourself. It’s just that asking him something feels right in the moment.
He just smiles as he answers you.
“Yes, but not in Teiko.”
And that answer only raises even more questions in your head, but this time you stop yourself just in time. You almost want to ask when he learned it, but it feels like it’s none of your business, and like you’d be prying too much into his life.
So when he finishes lacing your shoes, you take them back from him and put them on, only for him to make a small comment.
“So you use them.”
And your gaze follows his until it lands right on your wrist, where the sweatbands sit neatly in place.
It’s the pair he gave you. You didn’t really see a reason not to use them after all. They’re comfortable, and you need sweatbands anyway.
“Well, you gave them to me. Shouldn’t I use them?”
You genuinely have no idea why you using something he gave you seems that surprising, but he doesn’t answer at all.
He just lets out a small chuckle as he stands up and walks back toward the court. Picking up the ball from the floor, he doesn’t seem like he’ll be leaving anytime soon.
The squeaking sound of the ball echoes as it comes in contact with the floor.
You suddenly feel like you’ve disturbed some kind of sacred moment of his, and decide to leave the room before him.
-To be continued-