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The court was still humming with the ghost of their footsteps when they finally left it behind.
The chain-link fence rattled faintly in the evening breeze, cicadas filling the silence they’d carved out with the rhythm of dribbling and breath and bodies colliding. Sweat clung to their skin, shirts damp, lungs still catching up—but neither of them said they were tired.
They never did.
Kagami spun the ball once more before tucking it under his arm, shooting Aomine a look. “You were slower today.”
Aomine scoffed, hands shoved lazily into his pockets. “You wish. I just didn’t feel like crushing you too hard.”
“Yeah? Funny, I don’t remember losing.”
“That’s because your memory’s selective.”
Their shoulders brushed as they walked, neither moving away.
It was easy like this—words thrown like light punches, never meant to land, always meant to keep the other close.
By the time they reached Kagami’s apartment building, the sky had slipped into a deepening blue, streetlights flickering awake one by one. Kagami dug for his keys, but paused.
“…Huh?”
A box sat neatly in front of his door. Medium-sized, taped carefully, his name written across the top in familiar handwriting.
Aomine leaned in over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
Kagami crouched, flipping it slightly to read the label. “…From my dad.”
There was a small shift in his voice—subtle, but there.
Aomine noticed. He always did.
“America, huh?” he said, lighter than the moment. “What’d he send you, a whole cow?”
Kagami snorted. “Shut up.”
But he picked the box up a little more carefully than necessary.
Inside, the apartment greeted them with quiet warmth—faint traces of spice lingering from earlier meals, the familiar hum of a place lived in. Kagami set the package down near the table, rolling his shoulders.
“I’m cooking,” he said. “You smell.”
Aomine stretched like a cat, completely unbothered. “That’s because I was carrying you the whole game.”
“Go shower.”
“Bossy.”
“Go.”
Aomine clicked his tongue but grabbed a towel anyway, wandering toward the bathroom like he had all the time in the world.
“You better not burn anything while I’m gone,” he called out.
Kagami was already tying an apron around his waist. “Just get out.”
The door slid shut behind Aomine, and the sound of running water soon followed.
Kagami exhaled softly, rolling his neck once before getting to work.
The kitchen came alive under his hands—oil heating, the sharp scent of ginger hitting the pan, pork sizzling as it met the heat. He moved with practiced ease, cutting, flipping, seasoning without hesitation. It grounded him, in a way basketball didn’t. Different rhythm. Different kind of focus.
Still intense. Just quieter.
Steam curled into the air as the sauce thickened, rich and savory. He tasted, adjusted, nodded to himself.
By the time the bathroom door slid open again, the meal was nearly done.
Aomine stepped out, hair still damp, a loose shirt hanging off his frame and sweatpants slung low on his hips. He looked…comfortable. Softened, in a way only Kagami ever really saw.
He leaned against the doorway, watching.
“…Smells good.”
Kagami didn’t look back. “Obviously.”
Aomine smirked. “Didn’t know you could cook something that didn’t try to fight back.”
“Keep talking and you don’t get any.”
“That’d be a tragedy.”
Kagami plated the food anyway.
They ate at the table, shoulders occasionally knocking under the small space, chopsticks clinking lightly against bowls. The buta shōgayaki was warm, rich, just a little sharp with ginger—comfort food done right.
Aomine took a bite, then another, slower this time.
“…Not bad.”
Kagami shot him a look. “Not bad?”
“I mean, I’ve had worse.”
“Then go eat worse.”
Aomine grinned, lazy and sharp. “Nah. I like this.”
There was something in the way he said it—something that lingered longer than the words.
Kagami huffed, but there was no heat in it.
They fell into that familiar rhythm again—trading barbs, stealing bites, the quiet comfort of shared space settling between them like it belonged there.
When they finished, Kagami stood, already gathering plates.
Aomine made a half-hearted move to help.
“Sit down,” Kagami said immediately.
“I can wash dishes.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Tch. Rude.”
“You’re bad at it.”
“I’m not bad, I just don’t care.”
“Exactly. Go.”
Aomine raised his hands in surrender, laughing under his breath as he backed away. “Fine, fine.”
But as he passed behind Kagami, he leaned in—
A quick, easy press of lips against Kagami’s cheek.
Soft. Casual. Like it meant nothing.
Like it meant everything.
Kagami froze for half a second before snapping back, elbow nudging him away. “Oi—what was that for?!”
Aomine was already walking off, grin widening. “You looked annoying.”
“You’re annoying!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Kagami turned back to the sink, ears faintly red, muttering something under his breath that definitely sounded like “idiot.”
Aomine just chuckled.
The TV flickered to life in the living room, channels flipping one after another without much interest. He sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over the back, completely at ease.
Behind him, the quiet clatter of dishes eventually faded.
Then footsteps.
Kagami appeared, freshly showered now, hair slightly damp, dressed in loose, comfortable clothes. In his hands—the package, and a small box cutter.
He dropped onto the couch beside Aomine, close enough that their thighs brushed.
“…Let’s see what he sent.”
Aomine glanced over, interest flickering.
“Hope it’s not something lame.”
Kagami smirked faintly, setting the box between them.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
The tape split cleanly beneath the box cutter.
Kagami folded the flaps back—and immediately lit up.
“No way.”
Aomine glanced over from where he was half-sprawled against the couch. “What?”
Kagami started pulling things out one after another, expression growing brighter with each item.
“Dude, he sent snacks.”
“…That excited over snacks?”
“These are American snacks,” Kagami corrected like that explained everything.
Honestly, with the way he looked right now, maybe it did.
Kagami sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, surrounded by brightly colored wrappers and boxes that looked aggressively loud compared to Japanese packaging. Aomine leaned forward slightly despite himself, curiosity poking through his usual lazy demeanor.
“…Why are the colors so intense?” he muttered.
Kagami ignored him completely.
“Oh, man—he sent these too?” Kagami dug deeper into the box with growing enthusiasm, pulling out another package. “I haven’t had these in forever.”
There was something boyishly unguarded about him right now.
Not the fiery ace everyone knew on the court.
Not the stubborn, sharp-tongued idiot Aomine loved provoking.
Just Kagami.
Homesick in small ways he usually never admitted.
Aomine watched him quietly for a second longer before clicking his tongue. “America really eats all this stuff?”
Kagami looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying,” Aomine drawled, eyeing a neon-colored package suspiciously, “you guys deep fry everything.”
“We do not deep fry everything.”
“You deep fry butter.”
“…Okay, that’s fair.”
Aomine snorted.
Kagami grinned back at him before arranging the snacks across the table like treasures.
“Okay, so.” He pointed one by one. “These are sweet. These too. Those are kinda salty. And these—” he held up a bag proudly, “—are elite.”
“Looks like chemicals.”
“You look like chemicals.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Kagami just laughed under his breath.
Aomine found himself staring for a moment.
He liked this version of Kagami.
Loose around the edges. Happy in a quiet, uncomplicated way.
It made something warm settle low in his chest.
Kagami rummaged again before suddenly making a triumphant noise.
“Oh, hell yes.”
He held up a small plastic-wrapped golden cake.
Aomine narrowed his eyes immediately. “…What is that.”
“A Twinkie.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s amazing, shut up.”
Kagami unwrapped it carefully, almost reverently, before taking a bite.
And immediately melted into the couch.
“Mmn—”
Aomine barked out a laugh. “Oi, don’t make weird noises over a snack.”
“It’s been forever,” Kagami mumbled around another bite, eyes half-lidded in genuine bliss. “God, this is so good…”
Cream filled the center of the sponge cake, sweet and artificial in the way only childhood comfort foods could be. Kagami chewed slowly, savoring it like he was tasting a memory more than a dessert.
Then he turned suddenly toward Aomine with unmistakable excitement sparkling in his eyes.
“Get ready to love me some more.”
Aomine rolled his eyes instantly. “That confident, huh?”
“Just trust me.”
Kagami held the remaining half of the Twinkie up toward his mouth expectantly.
Aomine stared at it.
Then at Kagami.
Then back at the suspiciously yellow sponge cake.
“…If this tastes horrible, I’m blaming you.”
“It won’t.”
“You sound too sure.”
“Because I’m right.”
Aomine sighed dramatically before leaning forward and taking the offered bite from Kagami’s fingers.
Soft sponge.
Sweet vanilla cream.
Artificial as hell.
But—
“…Huh.”
Kagami straightened immediately. “Right?!”
Aomine chewed slowly, brows lifting almost imperceptibly.
It was sweeter than most Japanese snacks. Richer too. The cream was ridiculously smooth, the cake absurdly fluffy.
Honestly?
Pretty good.
His eyes flicked toward Kagami, who was watching him with embarrassing eagerness.
“Good, right?” Kagami asked again, unable to help himself.
Aomine swallowed before giving a reluctant nod.
“…Yeah. It’s good.”
Kagami beamed like he’d personally invented the thing.
“There’s more in the box,” he said excitedly, already reaching for another snack. “Okay, next you gotta try—”
Aomine shook his head with a quiet laugh, sinking deeper into the couch as Kagami enthusiastically continued sorting through the pile.
Maybe American snacks were ridiculous.
But seeing Kagami this happy?
Yeah.
Aomine could get used to it.
-------
The coffee table was steadily disappearing beneath wrappers.
Not because they were demolishing everything—far from it. The box still looked ridiculously full—but because Kagami kept opening things with the enthusiasm of someone rediscovering buried treasure.
Aomine had long since abandoned pretending he wasn’t interested.
He sat sideways against the couch now, one knee bent, lazily scanning the spread while Kagami dug through it like a kid on Christmas.
“So what’s that one?” Aomine asked, pointing toward a bright blue package.
Kagami glanced over. “Those? Sweet.”
“What kind of sweet?”
“Chocolate and peanut butter.”
Aomine paused. “…America really likes peanut butter.”
Kagami grinned. “You have no idea.”
“Hm.”
Aomine picked it up anyway.
A few snacks later, he was significantly more invested than he’d ever admit out loud.
“That one looks suspicious.”
“It’s sour candy.”
“And that?”
“Chips.”
“And that?”
Kagami looked over before snorting. “Those are basically sugar disguised as cereal bars.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“They are.”
Aomine clicked his tongue thoughtfully, still chewing on something sweet Kagami had handed him earlier. “Your country snacks are either insanely good or a health violation.”
Kagami barked out a laugh. “That’s part of the experience.”
“Horrifying.”
“Yet you keep eating them.”
“…Shut up.”
Kagami smirked knowingly before leaning deeper into the box again.
Then suddenly—
“Oh!”
His whole expression brightened.
“There they are.”
Aomine watched as Kagami pulled something from near the bottom with genuine excitement lighting his face. He held the bag up immediately like a prized discovery.
Bright red.
Aggressive flames splashed across the packaging.
Aomine raised an eyebrow. “…That can’t be good for a person.”
Kagami ignored him entirely.
“These,” he declared dramatically, “are legendary.”
Aomine took the bag from him, reading the front slowly.
“Flamin’ Hot… Cheetos Crunchy,” he read aloud.
“Yep.”
“Sounds painful.”
“They’re hot chips,” Kagami explained, shifting closer automatically. “Like—spicy. But not just spicy spicy. They taste really good too.”
Aomine eyed the unnaturally red chips pictured on the bag. “Those look radioactive.”
“They’re addicting,” Kagami continued like he hadn’t heard him at all. “Seriously, basically every American high school has kids eating these.”
“That sounds medically concerning.”
Kagami laughed again, shoulders shaking lightly. “Trust me.”
Aomine looked at the bag.
Then at Kagami’s extremely earnest face.
“…You really like these that much?”
“They’re my favorite chips.”
There wasn’t even hesitation in his answer.
That alone made Aomine curious.
Kagami took the bag back and opened it immediately, the sharp scent of chili powder and seasoning hitting the air almost instantly.
Aomine blinked. “…Whoa.”
“Right?” Kagami looked delighted already.
He reached in and grabbed one of the bright red chips, holding it up proudly before tossing it into his mouth.
Crunch.
His eyes immediately narrowed in satisfaction.
“Mmn. Yeah, these are still amazing.”
Aomine stared at him. “You say that about everything.”
“Because American snacks are elite.”
“You literally moaned over sponge cake earlier.”
“And I’d do it again.”
Aomine snorted under his breath.
Kagami reached into the bag again before holding a single chip toward him between his fingers.
“C’mon. Try one.”
Aomine eyed it cautiously.
“That red can’t be natural.”
“It builds character.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Still, he leaned forward and bit into the chip.
Crunch.
Immediately the seasoning hit.
Sharp chili heat bloomed across his tongue, stronger than he expected, layered with tangy cheese flavor and enough salt to probably preserve a human body for decades.
Aomine paused mid-chew.
Kagami was already staring at him expectantly again, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“Well?”
Aomine swallowed slowly.
“…Okay, those are actually good.”
Kagami pointed at him instantly. “I told you!”
“They’re ridiculous,” Aomine corrected, reaching into the bag for another chip anyway.
Kagami looked unbearably smug.
“You’re addicted already.”
“Relax.”
“You took another one before finishing your sentence.”
“…Shut up.”
Kagami laughed loudly this time, warm and bright and completely unrestrained.
Aomine rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth still lifted as he reached for another handful of chips while Kagami happily kept talking about random American snacks and school memories tied to them.
And honestly?
Listening to him ramble like this while sharing pieces of home—
Aomine thought he could stay here all night.
-------
The Flamin’ Hot Cheetos sat between them like a challenge neither intended to back down from.
By now, the coffee table was an absolute mess—half-opened boxes, crinkled wrappers, scattered candy, and a growing lineup of “favorites” Aomine had pretended not to like before immediately reaching for another bite.
Kagami noticed every single one.
“You keep eating those,” he said smugly, chin propped in his hand.
Aomine grabbed another hot chip straight from the bag. “And?”
“And you called them radioactive.”
“They probably are.”
Crunch.
“…Still good though.”
Kagami grinned victoriously.
The TV continued flickering quietly in the background, mostly ignored now. Some late-night variety show filled the room with distant laughter and overdramatic sound effects, but neither of them were really paying attention.
They had settled naturally into each other’s space sometime during the snack tasting.
Kagami sat sideways now, one leg stretched across the couch, shoulder pressed against Aomine’s. Aomine leaned back comfortably into the cushions, close enough to steal chips directly from Kagami’s hands whenever he felt like being annoying.
Which was often.
“Oi,” Kagami complained as another chip disappeared before reaching his own mouth.
“You were talking too much.”
“That doesn’t mean steal my food.”
“It does if I’m hungry.”
“You ate, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“And now I’m eating again.”
Kagami shook his head with a quiet laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”
The words came easy. Casual.
But they still landed warm.
Kagami huffed softly through his nose, unable to hide the faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Unfortunately for him, Aomine noticed immediately.
“There it is.”
“What.”
“That look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You do when you’re being soft.”
Kagami immediately shoved him with his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Aomine laughed quietly, the low sound rumbling easily from his chest.
Outside, the city had gone quieter. The apartment glowed softly under warm kitchen light, comfortable and lived in, carrying traces of ginger from dinner and spice from the open bag of chips between them.
The package from America sat off to the side now, still half-full.
There’d be more snacks for later.
More things for Aomine to try.
More stories Kagami would inevitably tell without realizing he was telling them.
Aomine glanced sideways at him.
At the familiar sharp eyes softened by sleepiness and contentment. At the flushed warmth lingering in his cheeks from spicy chips and laughter. At the way Kagami absentmindedly leaned into him without thinking twice about it.
Home, Aomine thought suddenly, didn’t always have to be a place.
Sometimes it looked like this.
A cramped couch.
Late-night television.
Too many snacks.
Kagami beside him, laughing over something stupid.
Kagami yawned suddenly, stretching his arms above his head before dropping heavily against Aomine’s side afterward without ceremony.
“Tired?” Aomine asked.
“Maybe.”
“You’re getting old.”
“Says the guy who almost died from one spicy chip.”
“It attacked me.”
Kagami snorted tiredly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Aomine reached over eventually, brushing red seasoning dust off Kagami’s thumb with an amused click of his tongue.
“You’re messy.”
“You ate half the bag too.”
“Yeah, but I’m naturally graceful.”
Kagami looked at him flatly. “You almost fell into a bush walking here.”
“That bush came outta nowhere.”
Kagami burst out laughing again, head dropping briefly against Aomine’s shoulder.
Aomine smiled before he could stop himself.
Then, quieter this time, he pressed a brief kiss into Kagami’s hair.
No teasing.
No smug comment after.
Just soft affection slipped naturally into the moment.
Kagami stilled for half a second before muttering, quieter than usual—
“…Idiot.”
But he didn’t move away.
Instead, he shifted even closer.
And together, surrounded by American junk food, crumpled wrappers, and the comfortable warmth of each other’s company, they let the rest of the night drift by slowly.