A/N: Hello to you all! This is the first time in years have I posted something here in . This is also my first KnB fanfiction, completely made randomly. Originally this is Aomine-kun's POV, but now I kinda look at this and now it seems pretty….general. If you don't like Aokuro, then the character you ship with Kuroko might fit.

This was literally just made Rated T for the word asshole. Oh and the Perfume thing is just a headcannon. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They rightfully belong to Fujimaki Tadatoshi

I hate your skin. It stays so translucent, a skin type every Japanese beauty yearns for. I hate how cold it feels, because I'm obliged to warm you up. I hate how smooth it is, because it tempts other men to cope a feel. I really hate your skin.

I hate your hair. It is the color of the skies I look at every break time, so I have no choice but to remember it. I hate its softness, because my fingers developed a habit of weaving through them whenever we spoon. I hate the way it sticks up, because whenever you sit beside me, I can catch a whiff of your shampoo. I really hate your hair.

I hate your scent. I hate the fact that you once used my perfume, making me smell myself on you. It felt like you were mine, and I were yours. I hate that your scent smells sweet, probably because of all the shakes you drink, or those popsicles we share whenever we bond. I hate that your scent is so familiar to me, I can practically distinguish you a mile away. I blame it on our shameless cuddling. I really hate your scent.

I hate your eyes. They are blue, wide, and innocent. They drive me insane. It makes me feel guilty by just looking at them, because I feel like I'll take away whatever purity they have left. I hate on how calculating their gazes are, because I feel them watching me, memorizing my every being. It makes me feel nervously happy. I hate their hobby of people-watching, because I'm driven by silent jealousy. I want them to focus only on me, but if you knew my thoughts, I know you'll call me selfish. I really hate your eyes.

I hate your smile. For some reason, you just decide to keep it away from the world, always wearing that creepy poker face. I hate the fact that when you show your smile to me, I become so giddy I swear I'd openly embarrass myself if you do it any longer. I hate that your smiles confuses me, because one smile of yours always contains countless messages on it. I hate that you show it to others, because it makes me realize that I'm not your only "dearest". I really hate your smile.

I hate your voice. I hate its evenness and on how calming it is. It renders me numb and lightheaded. I hate that little lilt of fondness whenever you talk to me. I feel like I'm someone special and I'll start getting these stupid, false hopes. I hate that I know every single meaning in the changes of your tone, because it exposes me of listening and understanding you every single time. I'm accused of being a horrible listener, you know. You always blow my cover. I really hate your voice.

I hate your stubbornness. It makes you think you're always right. I can't help but to think you're cute when you act all-knowing, so I let you get away with it. I hate that you used your attitude to save so many people, even yourself. You always managed to pull yourself out of obstacles; I'm almost envious of it. I hate that your stubbornness saved me from myself, and now I'm indebted to it, manipulated by it, even. I hate that it attracts me to you, this annoying attitude of yours. It makes me think that I've finally become a masochist. I really hate your stubbornness.

I hate your love for basketball. It reminds me I'm not alone, even though I've been insisting all this time that I like being a lone wolf. I hate how this love became fate that connected us. It's like I'm stuck in some cheesy shojo manga. I don't want my love for you to stay glittery and fictional like those things that fantasizing females read, I want it real. I hate how your love for basketball actually made that overused quotation: "Love overcomes all", come true. Now I'm right here, a living, breathing example and witness of your love for basketball. Your love saved me. I can't deny that, and I shouldn't deny that. I'm tasked to tell the truth because you made me your witness. Denying it is a sin. If I ever do, it really proves that I'm truly an asshole that broke your heart. The next time you will try to reach out to me with that love, I'll deny you. I don't deserve to play with you on the court anymore. I really hate your love for basketball.

Lastly, I hate that you are not beside me, listening to these words I've been meaning to say to you for a long, long time.

I really do hate everything about you. You messed me up too much, you know? I don't know the difference between like and hate anymore.