Chapter 2:

"Holy fuck is it hot." The plane touched down at LAX around 4:30 PM on a Saturday. Sunlight poured through the plane's tiny windows, and it didn't take long for the cabin to heat up despite every single AC vent being turned on max. Turning his phone off airplane mode, the weather updated slowly just to inform him that outside was a sweltering ninety-five degrees. Japan was definitely hot, there was no denying it, but Aomine seriously considered the thought of dying of heat stroke before he'd even stepped foot on US soil.

He wiped at his forehead, uncomfortably, pulling his arm back glistening with sweat. His seatmates looked around blearily as they fanned themselves with their t-shirts. All around him passengers shifted uncomfortably, and he caught snippets of irritated, flustered, conversation. The plane eventually parked itself and the announcement for disembarking sparked cheers of joy and a flurry of people struggling to get out as soon as possible. Aomine thanked his huge build at that moment as he clawed his carry-on luggage out of overhead storage without any hassle at all and managed to stand his ground as people pushed to get off the plane. He helped an older woman get her luggage down, as well as a man that was thin as a sheet of paper, both thanking him profusely through sleepy mouths. Eventually he made it off the plane, no worse for wear.

After collecting his luggage, four large bags in total, he called for a taxi and carted off towards his next destination: the university. Upon arrival, his eyes grew as large as dinner plates as he looked around. The place was absolutely enormous. Building upon building passed by as the driver headed towards his dorm, and large, grassy, yards filled in the empty spaces. Students milled about, though Aomine guessed that it was mostly foreigners and some early arrivals seeing as classes didn't start for another three weeks and the regular move in date for those living in the dorms wasn't until next weekend.

The driver pulled up to a building almost as tall as a small scraper and turned on his hazards. "Can I help you with your bags at all, sir?" He asked in a thick, unfamiliar, accent. Aomine shook his head, pulling at the door handle to let himself out. "Are you sure?" The driver gave him a kind, questioning, look. "That's a lot for one person."

He shook his head once again. Unfortunately, a lot of the stories that he'd heard about theft in the US had gotten into his head and he was hard pressed to trust someone that he'd only just met, especially some cabbie. "I'll figure it out." He hopped out of the cab and dragged one suitcase after another out of the trunk before handing the driver a hundred-dollar bill, letting him keep the change. The mans aged, lined face lit up and he thanked him, repeatedly. "Don't mention it." Aomine said, waving him off. As he drove away, the boy set to work figuring out how the hell he was going to get this all upstairs.

He struggled for about fifteen minutes, trying different formations of bags, when a girl appeared before him. Glancing up he frowned. She had a very distinct style, similar to a goth Lolita if he had to put a name to it. She was tiny, shorter than even Tetsu if he had to guess, and very petite though her platform boots had to add an extra three or four inches minimum. Her skin was pale, though it was difficult to tell with the long sleeves, and she had sharp green eyes. At the moment, they were fixed on him as he struggled. "Need some help there, buddy?" She asked, a voice deeper than he would've expected coming from her lips. There was no condescension in her tone, though there was no false cheerfulness either. She looked bored, as if she really couldn't have cared about his response either way. Her green eyes never left his face.

"I've got it." He replied, shifting one of the bags again as it threatened to fall over. "I don't need a girls help."

"Ooo, a misogynist, are we?" She mocked, expression not changing a bit.

Aomine searched his brain for a definition but found none. "Misogynist?" The word rolled off his tongue like a lead balloon.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "You don't think I'll be helpful because I'm just a girl, right?"

He straightened up, feeling drained physically, and mentally. "I never said that. I just don't need your help. I'll figure it out myself."

She put her thin hips on her waist and huffed impatiently, "Dude. I've literally been watching you struggle ever since that cab rolled away. What the hell were you thinking? Did you bring your entire bedroom with you? Where the hell are you from, the planet Jupiter?" She eyed him suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're actually an alien? Can you not return home so you had to pack your whole life into these-" She counted the suitcases "-five pieces of luggage?"

Her rapid-fire questions hit him one after another and he tried to keep up, though his sleep deprived brain made most of it out to be complete non-sense. He was not ready for this sort of interrogation the moment he arrived here, and if he was his usual self, he would have had something snappy to say in reply, but at the moment it took all he could to translate. "I'm not an alien. I'm from Japan." Dumb fuck, he wanted to add, but refrained.

"Hah!" She brazenly pointed a finger in his face, though her full reach only got to about chin height. "So, you are an alien!" She smiled triumphantly. "So, alien, do you want some help moving your alien shit or what? If you don't do something soon, you're going to start drawing attention to yourself." I'm pretty sure you're drawing more attention than I am, you little shrimp. He swatted away her hand.

"I'm not a fucking alien." He was about to introduce himself but stopped short. Why should he have to introduce himself first when she was the one who approached him? "What's your name shrimpy?"

Her pale skin flushed crimson. "Is that any way to talk to a lady?"

"I mean you basically called me a woman hater earlier, anyway, so what do you care?"

Caught, she was unable to respond. After a long moment she crossed her arms over her chest and said, confidently, "My name is Kaylee. Kaylee Jones. I'm majoring in economics. What about you, Alien?"

He glared at her, biting back a few choice words. "Daiki. Daiki Aomine. I'm in general studies for now."

"Pleased to make your formal acquaintance, Daiki." She held out a small hand and he took it, cautiously. "We don't get too many aliens here on planet Earth, but if you ever have any questions come find me. I'm up in room 418 but don't get any funny ideas. I'm family friendly in this household." Staring in disbelief, Aomine couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from within him. He was caught completely off guard, and this stranger was throwing him off his place. It was hard to keep up his walls around her, even if she didn't mean to do it.

Awkwardly still standing there holding her hand she eventually let go and grabbed the handle of two of his bags. "Put your carry-on on top of that one. I'll drag these two. The rest is up to you." She didn't wait for a response, heading quickly towards the front entrance.

Surprised, Aomine quickly loaded the bags together and chased after her, unable to utter a word of complaint. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to secure a friend on his very first day on campus. A blessing that he wouldn't immediately be aware of.

-x-

A few, uneventful days, passed by. Kaylee dropped by his second day and offered to give him a quick tour of the campus, or at least what was near-by and he gladly took her up on the offer. His body was stiff from traveling, and he was hoping to maybe find some outdoor courts within walking distance. He was itching to play.

Despite her short legs she moved quickly, buzzing from building to building and explaining what facilities were in each. She showed him the recreational building which she informed him had a revolving schedule of student lead work out classes that changed each semester. In the same building there was the pool which had free swim Monday through Friday for a few hours in the afternoon, and free swim all day on the weekends after ten since the swim team practiced before that. There were three large gyms, two cordoned off by mesh nets to indicate their boundaries, which were mainly used for the physical education classes, and the main, largest, gym which held bleachers for actual games. Above the double gym was a full-sized track that was surrounded by cardio equipment and a large stretching area. Tucked away in a corner, in its own room, was a large weight room with all sorts of equipment and free weights. It was packed to the gills as they passed by. "We have some sort of health education program here so the weight room is used for classes once in a while." She explained, waving a hand dismissively. "It's usually not too busy, though that depends entirely on what time of day you go." She moved on quickly, speeding through the rest of the building; pickleball courts, tennis courts, a rock-climbing wall, some dance classrooms. It wasn't interesting she told him. Nothing too special. Japanese universities could never. He thought, idly. Students were too focused on studying and clubs to take much interest in personal activities it seemed like.

They passed through a few courtyards, Kaylee flippantly pointing out the buildings with the food courts and library as though they were of no importance to her. She brought him, briefly, through the main hall building, the one which held all the meeting rooms and even a small movie theater that showed films one week at a time, free, to students. "When you go through orientation that's where they'll make you go." She nodded at the currently empty auditorium. He nodded. They scurried along through some of the different department buildings; he would have most of his classes in the three buildings closet to the dorms, he surmised, seeing as he didn't have a specific field of study yet. It would make life easy, at least for now.

Finally, they breaked for a snack, his companion guzzling down a can of some off brand energy drink and a nutritional bar. Aomine dug into a cold deli sandwich which, while satiating his appetite, left a lot to be desired. He sipped at a can of coffee, swishing it around a little as he tried to decide whether it was better or worse than back home. The two spoke infrequently between bites, comfortable in the silence, and once finished zipped through just two more buildings before Kaylee declared her exhaustion and demanded that she retreat back to her room. Aomine let her go without a single complaint, his patience meter running close to E. Not to mention that it was even hotter today than yesterday and he had stupidly decided to wear jeans. All he wanted to do was strip down to his birthday suit and lay in bed with the AC blasting.

The next few days were no better in terms of temperature and Aomine found himself channeling his inner hermit as he locked himself up inside, coming out only in time for meals and bathing, as well as the international student orientation he was forced to attend. Around his seventh day there, the air seemed to settle a bit and it felt cool enough to venture out. He'd managed to get his phone line all set up so he felt comfortable to wander a bit since he could Google translate if he needed to, and he had some sort of map on his phone that could get him where he needed to go.

Setting out, his headphones in with music blaring, he set out at a brisk jog to take in the surroundings all the while hoping to stumble upon some courts. After four miles, and no luck, he paused in the shade of a tree and tapped out basketball courts into the map app. It pulled up a huge list of places. He scrolled for a moment before grunting in frustration and adding outdoor to the search because most of the ones that came up were pay-to-play places, and he had a feeling he wouldn't find the type of basketball he wanted to play at those courts. The list shortened by a wide margin, and after sorting by distance, he found a court that he'd apparently passed, and not noticed, while running. Turning around, he headed back the direction he came.

A half mile up the road a sign for a park came into view and Aomine glanced around. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted a hoop, surrounded by a fence, in the distance. Taking out a headphone he approached, the sound of whooping and shouting growing louder the closer he got. When he was about a hundred or so feet away the players on the court came in to view; tall, gangly, and sun kissed, eight players moved swiftly over the concrete, a familiar speck of orange flashing in and out of view as it was dribbled and passed. He watched their every movement, eyes never coming off the ball. So focused on what was happening behind the chain-link fence, Aomine failed to notice the ninth person in the group who stood off to the side, leaning against a cracked green picnic table. The person watched him with interest as they sucked on the straw of an empty juice pouch.

"Oy." Finally, they called out. "Oy!" Aomine dragged his eyes from the court, scowling. "This is a private game." He spoke with a decidedly heavy voice; it wasn't deep, necessarily, but it sounded as though it dragged its way up from the depths of his chest before he even opened his mouth. His tone was nasally, and if Aomine was honest, unpleasant.

"If you wanted a private game," Aomine growled, "you should have played in a private place." His blue eyes narrowed, fists clenching at his sides.

The guy scoffed, eyeing him up and down with disgust. "The fuck?" He rose to his full height. His slumped form was misleading, and Aomine actually had to look up, even at a distance, to look at his face. This guy has to be close to seven feet tall. He gawked, though his face remained stern, sneering. "I said this is a private game so fucking get lost."

"This is public property; I can be here if I damn well please." Aomine straightened himself up and took a warning step forward. What was with this guy?

The guy paused, and then burst into laughter. The sound of the ball hitting the court stopped and suddenly all nine pair of eyes were on him as if waiting to consume him. "Public property? Boys. Did you hear that? This is public property." He mimicked Aomine's voice and burst into further laughter. "You must be new here, kid." He hissed. Now it was his turn to step forward, the gesture holding much more weight than his own had.

"Jayron, who is that punk? We're in the middle of a game." One of the other players called out, wiping the sweat off the face with the front of his t-shirt.

"I was just about to score, get him the fuck out of here. He's ruining my pace." Another jeered, sneering and showing off a mouthful of broken and uneven teeth. There was a tattoo on his bicep and, although he couldn't see it clearly, Aomine had a feeling he knew what it was and that he really didn't want to see it clearly.

Standing his ground, he crossed his arms over his chest and replied, loud enough for all to hear, "I'm here to play basketball, kid." He breathed the word with venom. "Seems like I'd have better luck at a children's party than I would here." The taunt was unjustified, but it served its purpose well. An uproar of noise followed the statement and the guy named Jayron closed the gap between them in just a few steps.

"The fuck did you say? You see, chink, this court belongs to us. We use it when we want to, and no fucking slanty eyed bitch is going to stop us." He grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled up until Aomine was standing on the balls of his feet. He wrapped his hand around the man's wrist but couldn't loosen his grip. "You wanna play basketball? Then go back to where you came from. Your third world country doesn't even know what real basketball is. And while you're at it, learn to speak English you little faggot." He carelessly let go of Aomine and shoved him away. "Stupid fucking illegals, coming to this country like they matter. Disgusting." That was the last straw. The growing anger in him bubbled over and he drew his fist back before swinging with all he had at Jayron's face. He made contact though the guy moved just in time to avoid any real damage. His knuckles skidded across his skin, drawing blood. Before either of them even registered what had happened Aomine was throwing his other fist after drawing his knee up in the taller man's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Coming back to his senses, Jayron threw his hands up to protect his face before counter attacking with a jab of his own, connecting with Aomine's ribs. A moment later the younger boy was sent back with a wild side kick aimed at his chest. Growling fiercely Aomine pounced and managed to grab him by the throat, fingers digging him. Jayron wrapped his absurdly long fingers around his own and pulled until he could breathe though Aomine kept pushing back until they toppled to the ground. His aggressor flailed wildly under him, nearly bucking him off a few times but failing. His temple throbbed, and he could feel the prescense of the other men on the court approaching. Derogatory names were being thrown at him left and right but he hardly registered them. All he could think about was choking this man out, watching as the light left his eyes. That was, until, he heard his name.

"Aomine?" The word floated through his brain like a dream. "Aomine, is that you? What are you doing?" It still didn't click and he dug his fingers deeper into the other man's flesh. He'd stopped flailing as his strength left him, but he still scrabbled at his fingers, his pale features turning more and more ghostly as his life force tried to leave him. "Ahomine stop, you're going to kill him for real. What the hell are you thinking?" He was ripped away from the other man. The moment his fingers were torn from his neck, he turned over heaving for air and coughing up bile. A gaze, darker than the midnight sky, glared at him. "Jayron, what the hell man?"

"Ka…ga…mi?" Coming back to his senses, the anger leaving his body like a flood, he turned his head to see an all too familiar figure standing behind him, dressed in a pair of shorts and a plain white t-shirt. "Oy. Bakagami." Red eyes turned to him.

"Don't look at me like I'm the ghost of Christmas past. Tell me what the hell is going on here, and why you're trying to choke this moron out? You were going to kill him." Kagami switched effortlessly into Japanese, much to the chargin of the other men now standing just a few feet away.

"This fucker attacked Jayron!" Bicep tattoo screamed, pointing an accusing finger at him. "He kept starin' at us so we tried to get him to leave." The blond on the ground nodded, still unable to form words. "We weren't doing nothing wrong."

"Shut up." Kagami turned an icy glare on the men, and to Aomine's surprise, they backed off. Turning his attention back, he held out a hand to Aomine who, after a long hesitation, took it and dragged himself to his feet. Once again in Japanese, Kagami urged, "Dude. What in the actual fuck? Why are you here? And why is this how I find you?"

Aomine brushed himself off, grimacing when his hand brushed over his ribs where the guy had landed a punch. "I just got here. I was looking for some local courts and then these dimwits attacked me. Spoutin' off some bullshit about this is a private game."

Kagami sighed and dropped his head into his hands. In English he sighed, "You guys are fucking idiots, all of you." They jumped to respond but a single look had them backing off once more. "All of you," he eyed the group, then the ringleader still huddled on the ground, and finally Aomine, "picked fights with the wrong people." Groaning, he threw his head back, placed his hands on his hips, took a deep breath, and then finally looked at all of them. "This here," he jabbed a thumb at the other boy, "is a friend… a rival… from high school. Those fools," he indicated the mass of players with his chin, "are other students at the college that I play with once in a while."

"They're racist pieces of dog shit." Aomine spit in Japanese, glaring without pause at them. They sneered back, baring their would-be fangs.

"Whatever your beef is, you should settle it how we all know to best. On the court." A chorus of disapproval sprung up.

"I'm not playing with no little chink that can't even speak English good." A different member muttered. A few others rose up in agreement.

"No worries. I'll play with him. Us against you."

"Two against eight? Are you making fun of us?"

"Two against six. Eights too many on the court. You can switch out players whenever you want."

"Taiga, are you on his side cause you're from the same shithole place?"

"So what if I am? Are you afraid to lose to a person of color?" Kagami taunted.

"There's no way you'll win. Not a chance in hell. Let's do this, boys. Jayron, you sit out." He couldn't even bring himself to nod.

"Kagami-"

"I'll explain later. For now, get ready. This is real streetball."

-x-

Aomine returned home a few hours later. Needless to say, he and Kagami won the game in the end, but the struggle was real. They played a lot more aggressively than he had expected, probably more so because of what he'd done, and their footwork was on a different level. Afterwards, Kagami spent some time explaining to both sides, and the men agreed to let Aomine play with them, acknowledging his skills in the game. He then explained to Aomine why he hung out with them, and informed him that the only one he really had to worry about was David, or bicep tattoo, and even then, as long as he kept his head down, he was in the free and clear.

Dropping into bed, Aomine breathed deeply and let the exhausting take over him. His reunion hadn't gone exactly to plan, though in reality there really hadn't been one in the first place, but now Kagami knew that he was here and they could start playing together, again. Although he wouldn't admit it, Aomine was looking forward to that more than anything else. Taking one long breath of air, he breathed out slowly, letting himself sink into sleep, not caring one bit about how dirty he had become.