A/N: I'm sorry its taken so long! Those who are still here, I'm grateful for you. And those who are wondering if they should keep up with a story that hardly updates, just remember, I will finish this because I know how it ends and love this story. So there is that!
Thank you again to all the reviews. I literally re-read them all the time even though my trash anxious ass struggles to reply.
You Were Conceived Next to a Tortoise Enclosure
And So Began…
We know, invariably, that Tsukino views Kuroko as her best friend. It is expected then, by the logic of equivalent exchange, that she is his best friend. She knows this to be an absolute truth. They had been together since they were three and Tsukino and she would see to it that they'd be together in their dying moments. Yes. She had it planned.
This was why the thought of Kuroko Tetsuya having another best friend filled her with unending rage.
"Who are you again?" asked Ogiwara, staring at the broiling entity before him.
There were few people who could elegantly carry both a frown and a smile at the same time with that subtle suggestion of pleasant threat creasing the eyes and lining the lips. Tsukino was not one of those people. The expression on her face was grotesque. It was the kind of expression that would visit absurdist playwrights' nightmares and reduce them to rocking back and force in an attic. Dead birds dropped mid-flight and landed in a pentagram around the beholder of such an expression. And children did not cry but retreated into caves and lived out the rest of their lives in isolation at such an expression.
"You will die by my hand," she hissed under her breath, her eyes so wide that each individual vein pulsed. "Your parents will never bury a body."
"Oh," said Ogiwara cheerfully, "You must be Tsukumo-san, right? Tetsuya's friend."
A warbling scream issued forth from the demon's mouth and Kuroko had to step between them before Ogiwara became a chalk outline and Tsukino a cautionary tale.
"I'm only kidding," said Ogiwara. There was a glint in his eye. "Of course, I remember you."
"That's what I thought, you-"
"You're the Tsukino Brothers' baby sister."
"YOU-"
BEEEEEEEEEEEEE- Technical Difficulties. Please standby -EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
"Ogiwara-kun, I think it might be best if Kame-san and I get going," said Kuroko, hooking his arms under Tsukino's armpits and dragging her backwards. Foam was dribbling down her chin and only the whites of her eyes were visible. "Let's catch up later."
The Nationals were only a week in and even the quiet respites he usually found in Tsukino were growing fewer and farther between as she threw herself violently into model city architecture. By now you all know that violently should be taken in a very literal sense when it comes to Tsukino. Last week, with the aid of Sakata and a portable karaoke machine, she had managed to convince the president of Teiko's Model City Club to allow her unfettered access to the clubroom and its supplies. The doctor said that one day he would be able to enjoy music again.
Today, on the long way back from the water fountain and quite by chance, Aomine found her snoozing at a picnic table. Hanging precariously between her folded arms and the edge of the table was a thick book with a severe picture of a church on the front cover. He dropped heavily onto the bench beside her. She did not wake immediately as he'd expected, a snot bubble inflating and deflating with her snores.
"Oi, Tsukino," grumbled Aomine, nudging her with his shoulder. The snoring continued.
Laying his head beside hers, he watched Tsukino meditatively. He felt a stillness here with Tsukino. No speeches. No lecturing. No pretending.
He gave a little puff that caused a strand of hair to tickle her nose. It wrinkled. Her eyes opened briefly.
"Dog breath," she muttered and closed them again.
Aomine stayed there until his break was up, at which point he shook Tsukino awake with the force of a jackhammer and dragged her into the warmth of the gymnasium where Midorima gave her a good telling off for sleeping outside in the middle of winter without a coat on. In fact, where was her coat, he demanded, pretending to only just have realised that she had been without one all week, and what the hell was she talking about of course he hadn't been the one slipping heating pads onto her desk when she wasn't looking?
Tsukino's insistence that her extraordinary growth spurt had rendered her winter coat too short and therefore unsuitable for an Amazonian goddess such as herself, did not mollify him, and Midorima promptly threatened to tell Sakata on her if she did not immediately rectify this. So, like the veritable grinch, she skulked from locker to locker, plucking garment and scarf alike off their hooks, amassing layer upon layer until finally, she emerged. Unlike the rest of the members, Kuroko, who had long ago accepted that he would one day find himself driving into the woods with two shovels in the back of his trunk, was not at all surprised to see Tsukino back on her shit.
A basketball, launched by a curious Kira, bounced mutedly off the thick padding where her stomach should have been located. Unperturbed, Tsukino stood, a monstrosity of many coats and miscellaneous knitwear, the bags under her eyes glowing sinisterly as she gave Midorima a slow, lazy grin.
The rotund Christmas pudding creature opened her mouth, no doubt with something devastating in mind, and-
"ACHOO!"
In all of living memory, or at least so far as their time at Teiko was concerned, no one had ever seen Tsukino Kame sick. And no one would, it appeared. The next day she was not in. The day after that, Hasegawa-sensei paused while reading the register and cast a speculative glance over the classroom. The day after that, he skipped over her name entirely.
Sakata blamed herself. It was her fault for encouraging all those showers. Who knew what so much concentrated hygiene could have introduced to Tsukino's fastidiously crafted immune system? She never should have interrupted such a delicate, if disgusting, balance, not without doing her due diligence first.
Kuroko, who was forced to endure these one-sided monotonous lamentations during their volunteer service at the library, tried to explain that it was normal, that while Tsukino did not get sick often, when she did, she tended to milk it for all it was worth, and there was nothing to worry about. Papa Tsukino was, despite appearances, a massive softie, and any time one of his children so much as sniffled, he would have them swaddled like a new-born babe, cold compress on their head, surrounded by mugs of herbal tea. And he would not hear a word about going to school for at least a full week.
Fortunately, his children did not get sick often, perhaps through sheer force of evolutionary fear. Ichiro, during a brief bout of pneumonia as a pre-teen, had, while on the mend, made the mistake of stepping out of his room for a glass of water in the middle of the night. It was one thing making your dad cry on purpose for money, and an entirely other witnessing him wrapped in blanket burrito solidarity outside your room reciting the one Shinto prayer he'd learned as a child under his breath while he stared fixedly at you until you retreated back into you room never to speak of it again.
They all had stories like these. They all had scars.
It was for this reason then that on the following Friday, Aomine found himself standing, fist upraised, before the Tsukino's front door. Nominated by Hasegawa-sensei (and protested by Midorima) to take Tsukino her schoolwork, he carried a folder in one hand, whilst in the other a carefully wrapped three-tiered bento made up of delicious fortifying soups that Sakata had prepared.
Before swim practice started, she had gone through each soup and its reheating instructions with Aomine whilst Midorima hid behind a nearby bin and took notes. When Aomine foolishly yawned in the middle of soup three's stirring requirements, Sakata fixed him with a look that he knew would haunt him in his dying moments. For the remaining ten minutes, Aomine memorised each word that dripped from her poisonous mouth like his life depended on it. Knowing Sakata, it probably did.
Having been forewarned, he knocked on the Tsukino's front door and took a wide step back. Several voices rose up inside, some jarred movement, a loud guffaw and the door flung open.
"Aomine-kun," Zinan exclaimed gleefully. His arm was locked behind his back by Ichiro, who was trying to both drag him backwards and defend against the foot his younger brother was aiming at his crotch. Zinan's eyes zoned in on the soup. "Oh, hey, look at that, you bought Tsukino some soup. How kind of you! I can take that off your hands if you'll just-"
Jerked back suddenly, Zinan was replaced by the imposing figure of his older brother, whose rectangular grin put Aomine in the mind of a letterbox. "Give me the soup."
There was another tussle and both boys ended up wedged in the doorway, their faces mushed together, the disconcerting stare of the elder brother moulding uncomfortably against the amiable rictus of the younger.
"Ichi-nii, come, don't be so uncouth in front of our guest," Zinan said through gritted teeth.
"The soup or your life, Giraffe-Boy," said Ichiro. One hand, which had been trapped in the doorframe, inched glacially towards the bento.
"Uh," said Aomine. He recalled Sakata's expression and moved it out of his reach. "I'm not supposed to let anyone-"
Both brothers were pulled suddenly backwards as if they had been sucked in by a vacuum leaving a darkness where they had once been. Aomine gulped as a different kind of imposing figure filled up the doorway and leaned over him. Papa Tsukino, eyes sunken, face pale, stared down at Aomine. And then he hugged him.
"You're a good boy," said Papa Tsukino, suffocating him in his giant chest. Aomine could hear the faint sound of sniffling as his oxygen was cut off.
Without releasing him from what eventually transformed into a sort of affectionate chokehold, Papa Tsukino dragged Aomine into the house like a limp noodle, shoving Ichiro's face away as he tried to make a flying leap for the soup. He led him to the kitchen where Mama Tsukino was cooking dinner.
"Good afternoon, Aomine-kun," greeted Mama, flashing a beautiful smile over her shoulder. "There's an empty pot for you on the side whenever you're ready. It's been cleaned per Riyeko-chan's instructions."
"Yes. Please inform her of our compliance," Papa Tsukino intoned grimly.
Without turning around, Mama Tsukino hurled an onion and hit Ichiro squarely between the eyes. "Peel that for me, Zi-chan."
Zinan stepped over his brother's prone body and picked up the onion. "Anything to help, mother."
"You're not getting any soup," said Papa Tsukino, releasing Aomine who fell gratefully against the kitchen counter.
"Perish the thought, father," said Zinan, twirling a knife in his hands. He winked at Aomine, who gave him a blank look in return.
"I mean it, Zinan. A soup has gone missing every day."
Recovering, Ichiro bounced into a standing position and thrust himself forwards. This time it was a watermelon.
"Your sister needs her soup to recover," said Papa Tsukino, tears welling in his eyes. "I've never seen her this bad before."
Even Zinan's good humour could not hold up against this and he rolled his eyes.
"Aw honey, you say that every time one of them gets sick," said Mama Tsukino, patting her husband's shoulder. "Remember what you did when Ichiro threw up last year?"
"He carried him inside the hospital screaming medic," Zinan explained. "We had to ban him from watching anymore Grey's Anatomy."
"What was wrong with Ichiro?" asked Aomine as he stirred the soup counterclockwise seven times on a medium heat.
"Kame bet he couldn't swallow a frog whole."
"Ah."
Eventually the men of the Tsukino family dispersed after only a slight edge to Mama Tsukino's tone, and Aomine poured out the soup into a ceramic tortoise shell bowl.
"She's on the third floor, dear. You can't miss it."
There was fake blood (or at least what he hoped was fake blood) dried down the steps of the attic ladder, a keep out sign with one of Tsukino's signature stick figure drawings at the entrance, and a decapitated doll's head hanging ominously beside it. Zinan's name had been scratched into its forehead. Yep, thought Aomine, exactly how he'd imagined it.
Tsukino's bedroom was less horrifying. It looked like the bedroom of any normal, untidy teenager, even down to the life-size cut-out of a childhood idol surrounded by a shrine of memorabilia. The glare Aomine shot Takeshi Kaneshiro was involuntary as he stepped over a pile of laundry and approached the blanket burrito hunched on the floor playing Xbox.
He placed the soup on the table with a loud clunk and loomed aggressively until his shadow cast enough of a glare on the TV screen that he was deemed pause-worthy.
A pink face made round by swelling and the swaddle of the blanket leaned her head back until it rested on his legs and looked up at him. She grinned.
"Yo, Tsukino," he greeted in a deadpan, fighting off the relief of seeing her for the first time in six days.
"Yo, Aomine! Wanna kill some zombies?"
He swapped her the soup for the controller and sat on the floor next to her, taking over her level and of course destroying her killstreak in an instant. She didn't seem to mind though, almost spilling her soup in excitement when he effortlessly took out one of the mid-level bosses.
"Be careful," said Aomine. "Or I'll tell Sakata."
Her face went pale. She gripped the bowl sturdily on her lap and for the remaining ten minutes, committed herself to drinking the soup with absolute focus.
He should have seen the belch in his ear coming.
Flinging the controller across the room he leapt onto her. "SPECIAL NOOGIE ATTACK!"
"GAK!"
Fortunately, Mama Tsukino's grip on her husband's elbow remained sturdy as the family sat around the dinner table. They all listened as the screams transformed into laughter. A knowing look dawned on Papa Tsukino's face and he relaxed back into his chair.
In the bedroom, Aomine scowled as he realised that his Special Noogie Attack no longer held the same sense of foreboding it once had. A hand reached up and gently ruffled his hair.
"Your hair's gotten longer," said Tsukino. The blanket had loosened, and her curls poked out of the sides. Her face was blotchy, her eyelashes were crusted with sleep, and her upper lip was shiny where she had rubbed it too much with a tissue.
"Haven't had a chance to cut it," lied Aomine, his face darkening as her fingers raked across his skull.
"It looks nice," she chirped.
"Thanks."
Then she yanked. "VENGEANCE IS MINE!"
Aomine cut his hair the next day.
Tsukino did eventually return to school. She had to sneak out of her bedroom window in the early hours of the morning to avoid waking up her father. He had set up a small futon beneath her ladder. Fortunately, Kuroko was there to break her fall when her foot caught in the guttering.
Old Lady Sumitomo witnessed the whole thing and had half a mind to tell them how shameful it was, a young lady climbing across the roof in a skirt to meet with boys. Then she caught sight of the boy in question. He was staring at her. Clutching the rosemary around her neck, she retreated hastily inside.
"What's with that face?" asked Tsukino, hiking her socks above her knees. "Did someone badmouth Sailor Mercury again?"
"No. Ichiro has learned his lesson."
"So," grinned Tsukino, hooking an arm around his neck. "You miss me?"
A carton of milk was thrust into her hands as they headed to school. "We talked every night on the phone."
"Yeah, 'cos who else is going to listen to those ridiculous conspiracy theories," said Tsukino, releasing him in favour of popping the tab.
"Kame-san, for the last time, Tasmania is a real place."
"Hah, and I bet Bugs Bunny is the president."
"You're going to fail the geography test."
"We have a geography test?!"
"You do. Fifth period. History test is first period. It's in the binder."
Kuroko did not break stride as milk shot from Tsukino's nose. Wheezing, she thumped her chest. Ah, yes, he was glad to have her back.
And he was not the only one it seemed. Upon entering the classroom, Midorima (he had been posting her lucky item through her letterbox every day), began lecturing her on the importance of proper winter clothing. Not far behind was Sakata with a small binder's worth of medical advice. She stood over Tsukino until she had finished reading it, despite the fact that their history test was about to start.
Then, three broken pencils and six peeled nails later, Tsukino slumped like a zombie behind her desk while their teacher collected in the papers.
"Don't worry about it," said Aomine as they headed to the cafeteria. There was a glazed look in Tsukino's eyes as she trudged forwards. "I never revise, and I always do okay."
"That's because Aomine-kun uses Momoi-san's notes to cram the night before," pointed out Kuroko.
"Despicable."
"Oh yeah, don't pretend like you didn't photocopy her notes last time, Midorima," said Aomine.
"Its okay, I made sure Kuroko revised with you each evening when you were off sick," said Sakata. "He has the best grades in History out of all of us after all."
"Actually," began Midorima, "You'll find that an average tally-"
"Wait. That was supposed to be revision?" exclaimed Tsukino.
"She thought they were conspiracy theories," explained Kuroko.
Wrenched to a halt by a pair of strong hands, Tsukino gazed into Sakata's dark, formidable eyes.
"Don't worry," said Sakata in what she was sure was a reassuring tone. "I won't give up on you."
"Thank-"
"And of course," said Midorima, appearing at Tsukino's side and pushing up his glasses ominously. "You'll need all the help you can get."
"Please give up on me."
Then she stepped through the cafeteria doors and was almost knocked down by Momoi's enthusiastic greeting.
It was like that all day; an affectionate smack round the head from Nijimura as he dropped a carton of vitamin c tablets into her tray, surreptitious fist-bumps from members of the first-string, smiles and well-wishes from the swim team. Most surprising of all was Oshiro, who deigned to give her a stiff nod as they'd passed by each other in the hallway. Tsukino, whose ability to articulate her own emotions was still stuck at the developmentary phase shared by toddlers, had to admit it was nice.
Of course, there was one person missing from this list of well-wishers.
But she had a plan. It was a good plan. A great plan. The best plan.
It was going to work, she thought to herself as she stood outside of the photography club that afternoon, vibrating like she was plugged directly into a socket. It had to work.
Knocking on the door she waited for it to crack open and wedged her foot in.
"Where is he?" she demanded. "Or the goldfish gets it."
"Dating? Really? She doesn't seem like the type."
"Yeah, but I heard she had a confession letter for him."
"What? No."
"Yeah, ages ago. It was in the shape of a heart."
"Do you really think Tayama-kun would return her feelings? He's such a… nice person."
"Why else were they leaving together? And, and! It looked like they were holding hands."
"Oh my gosh, could you imagine?"
"It's kinda cute y'know. Tsukino Kame, in love."
Aomine stared blankly into his locker as the worlds rolled over him, his basketball kit gripped tightly in his fist. His eyes focused on the box sitting neatly on top of the rest of his books. It was wrapped in delicate green tissue paper and was tied with a neat black bow.
"And here," exclaimed Tsukino, pointing towards the tall, miserable looking building. "Is where sixteen people were killed in one single night because some idiot forgot to replace the smoke alarm batteries and whoosh up it went. That was ten years ago and there's been tonnes of ghost sightings since. Oh, oh, look at this-"
The binder was once again thrust under his nose while a finger tapped eagerly against a newspaper clipping.
"Two businesses that moved in after the fire, two businesses went bankrupt. They say its 'cos of the curse. And if you turn to the next page, you'll see testimonials from six of the employees who claim-"
"Kame-san," said Tayama, placing his hand over the top of the binder and lowering it.
Tsukino's bright expression did not fade. "Yeah."
"Can you please remove the handcuffs?"
"Are you gonna run again?"
"No."
"That's what you said last time."
"I did say that last time."
"You see why I can't trust you."
"This is kidnapping."
"Yes. It is. Onwards!"
With each new location, or as those in the Occult business liked to term it, hotspot, Tayama Hitoshi could feel the urge to run lessening. Although it never entirely disappeared. No one could feel entirely safe in the presence of someone capable of giving a goldfish PTSD.
Tsukino had clearly done her research or at least forced herself to memorise Sakata's research. And it was extensive. A lot of these things Tayama already knew, being a seasoned follower of the dark arts naturally, but there were exciting little titbits here and there that he had not yet been updated on. No one was perfect after all, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that most of it was probably pure sensationalism from unaccredited sources. Also, Tsukino's ignorance did bring a strange sort of innocent enthusiasm to the retellings that injected some life back into the whole endeavour. He chuckled privately to himself.
The word 'sorry' had yet to materialise, at least in an audible sense. But he could feel it hanging around them like a shadow behind her smile. You might say the ghost of her guilt haunted them. God, where was a pen and paper when you needed it. That was genius. Tayama patted his pockets desperately and was met with a judgemental stare from two young women. Glancing down at Tsukino's hand which was now dangling near his hip, he could see why they were so affronted.
"I've been wondering, Kame-san, where did you get these from?"
"I found them," said Tsukino, scanning the binder, "in my parents' bedroom."
Tayama held up the wrist connected to hers by the fuzzy pink handcuffs. "Ah… any idea what they use them for?"
"Beats me."
His therapist was going to be so excited.
Tsukino came to a sudden halt and snapped the binder shut. Tayama was still staring at his wrist.
"The piss day resistance!" she exclaimed, flourishing her arm, and his with it.
A large neon sign buzzed and flickered lethargically above them. There was a ding, and a giggling couple walked out. They fell silent when they saw the two high schoolers handcuffed together. They hurried away quickly.
"Cool right?" said Tsukino, dropping their arms and swaggering forwards. "Let's check it out."
"A convenience store?"
"A haunted convenience store," corrected Tsukino, pointing conspiratorially at the haggard cashier.
"That's just a tired old man," said Tayama.
"He's twenty-two."
"No!"
They stared at him with a look of shared pity. The twenty-two-year-old, who had met Tsukino earlier that week and really wished he hadn't, sighed and held out a large, rusted key.
"Witness the terrible horrors that have plagued our convenience store for the last six years," he said in the deadpan tones of someone who was clinging to their last shred of dignity. "Please, keep your hands to yourself and no flash photography."
Swiping the keys, Tsukino led Tayama into a room behind the cashier desk with low, orange lighting. Most of the walls were plastered with talismans, while the rest were covered in the mad scrawl one would expect to find in the cell of a misunderstood genius. When Tayama peered closer he could see that visitors had been signing their names and writing crude messages along the lines of Akiyama is a man stealing bitch-M.A.
Incense burned with a cloying scent from the two holders on either side of an old, ragged door that seemed to grow larger the longer they observed it.
"Are you ready?" Tsukino asked eventually, placing the key in the lock.
"Wait."
She stiffened as he placed his hand over hers.
"Let's turn it together."
Tsukino's expression was wooden. "I'm not interested."
"I'm gay."
"What's your point?"
Tayama adjusted his glasses, opened his mouth to say something and then decided against it. There was a click as they turned the key together.
After Tayama had finished throwing up in the bushes outside of the convenience store, Tsukino walked him to the train station. Tears streamed down his face as he hugged her, an awkward feat considering their wrists were still chained together. Tsukino allowed the hug to happen to her. After what she had seen in that room, she welcomed the touch of a warm body.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Tayama whimpered in her ear. "You've changed my life, Kame-san. I'll never forget this."
She said nothing. She merely unlocked the handcuffs, watched him leave and headed in a direction. Any direction away from that thing. Along she trudged until she arrived at the open square where her favourite chip stand lived.
She was halfway through the queue when she spotted a familiar figure lying on the opposite side of the fountain, an arm across his eyes. So, she ordered two portions of chips and paid with the money she had stolen from Zinan's wallet that morning.
Aomine's mouth was screwed up in a frown and when she kicked his shin, he didn't move.
"Are you dead?" she asked in a dull tone. "Cos honestly, I think I've had my fill of dead people today."
Sighing, she grabbed his arm and yanked it away. Of course, he was stronger than her, so it didn't budge.
"Oi, Aomine, I got you chips."
"Go away, Tsukino," muttered Aomine.
"Go away, Tsukino," Tsukino repeated. "I bought you chips with my hard-earned money! Show some gratitude."
Aomine said nothing.
The hand that was on his arm stilled. A cold heat ran through her body that was more frightening than anything she had seen today. As a panicked thought caught hold of her, a flash of pink appeared in the corner of her eyes.
Click!
"What the-" Aomine raised the arm that had been resting on his eyes and stared at the fuzzy pink handcuff clasped around his wrist. He followed the chain to the upraised arm of Tsukino Kame. With the stubbornness a mule would be proud of, she glared at him.
"What kind of a thing is that to say to your girlfriend!" Tsukino exclaimed loud enough that people on the street stopped to look round. Loud enough, she hoped. She needed to be loud enough for him to hear her.
"You crazy-"
"EH! Crazy?! Did you hit your head or something?"
Tsukino was practically shouting now. The sheer enormity of her voice was overpowering the little signals in his brains that told him to fight back.
"Lower your voice," he whispered.
"Why should I lower my voice when my boyfriend is such an ungrateful piece of-mmph."
The hand clapped over her mouth was removed before she could even think to bite it, and Aomine held his hands up in surrender.
"Okay, okay," said Aomine. "Thanks for the chips."
"How about you give me all the money in your wallet, and we'll call it even," she said darkly.
"Eh? Do I look like Kise to you?" he snapped. "Or Tayama."
"Who the hell is Tayama?"
Aomine blinked. There was nothing but confused rage on Tsukino's face.
"Tayama Hitoshi?"
"Oh, that guy. Ah crap, I was calling him Timothy all day."
"Didn't you-" He stared at the fuzzy handcuffs. Understanding dawned. "You kidnapped him."
She looked only mildly ashamed. "Yeah, but its 'cos I wanted to make up for being such a dick to him."
"So you weren't confessing to him," said Aomine, talking more to himself now.
"Confessing? About what? I didn't do anything illegal. At least nothing he can prove."
Aomine was staring at something in the distance. Before Tsukino could follow his gaze, he'd already started running, Tsukino flopping behind him like a loose dog lead. Skidding to a halt beside a trash can, he thrust his arm, and consequently one of hers into it, and began a frantic search through the discarded rubbish.
"I just got my nails done, you bastard," Tsukino shouted, trying to hold her hand at a safe distance.
But Aomine wasn't listening. Triumphantly he pulled out a box covered in a brownish sludge that even Tsukino would think twice before licking. Tearing off the soiled green tissue paper, he inspected the cardboard underneath for any dings. When he was satisfied that its brief stint in the bin had not caused any internal damage, he let out a sigh of relief.
"What's that?" asked Tsukino, reaching for it.
"None of your business," he responded, holding it above his head with his uncuffed hand.
"You're asking for a beatdown."
"Oh yeah?"
There was a ghost of a smirk on his face when she jumped and swiped ineffectively at the space below the box. Even with heels she only reached his shoulders.
"How about this," said Aomine, lowering the box towards her perfectly coiffed hair. She ducked out of the way, patting her head self-consciously. "I'll let you see what's inside after I kick Inoue's ass tomorrow."
"Who the hell is Inoue?"
Stars practically sparkled in Aomine's eyes. "Kamizaki's power forward," he said as they returned to the fountain. "I've been looking forward to this match ever since the Nationals started."
"Don't let Zinan hear you talk like that," grumbled Tsukino, reaching for the chips she'd left on the side. "He'll get jealous."
Aomine placed the box carefully in his rucksack and smacked the chips out of her dirty hands before she could put one in her mouth.
"Last year I had to give it everything to beat him," explained Aomine, dragging her away as the seagulls descended. "And I bet he's even better now."
"Five second rule! Five second rule!" But Tsukino's screeches fell on deaf ears.
"I can finally go all out," Aomine said, letting out a relieved sigh. "This is gonna be fun."
…
…
…
Monster.
The locker door slammed shut. Aomine unseeingly stared into the middle distance. Someone patted him on the back in passing. It felt like hammer blows. Sweat dribbled down his forehead. Cold moved through his chest like a forest fire. There was a buzzing noise. High-pitched. It was getting louder. Sharper. And then something cut through.
"Aomine-kun!" exclaimed Momoi. "Just now, with Tetsu-kun, why did you-"
"Man, you're annoying," he muttered, heading towards the door. "I'm going outside for a bit. I wanna be alone."
No one tried to stop him.
You don't have a clue, do you? You have no idea what a-
The doors to the balcony crashed open. Aomine shut his eyes tightly. He did not stir even as he felt the familiar presence grow over his prone form. The stillness was gone.
"The only one who can beat me is me," came the deep, mocking baritone. "Is that supposed to be like a masturbation joke or something?"
"Go away, Tsukino."
"We already talked about this, Aomine, you can't talk to your-"
"You're not my girlfriend," he said coolly. "Just go away."
"I'm not going."
"Then I'll go," said Aomine.
Getting to his feet, he walked past the figure that seemed frozen in his peripheral vision. She didn't follow him, and he didn't look back.
Author's Note:
Can you guess what the title of the next chapter is? Hohohoho.
Yeah, can you tell that I really don't want to write the angst? I ended up swerving into fluffy areas entirely by accident although I am quite happy with the cuteness. And by the way I was never going to let the misunderstanding Aomine had about Tayama go on for long cos I don't love miscommunication as a plot device unless really justified. And it would be very easy for Aomine to realise that Tsukino has no romantic feelings for Tayama.
Alas, from now on the angst must be stuck to. I have a pretty tight plan to follow that has been thought out. Also funnily enough, I have already planned for post Teiko and honestly it is so funny/ridiculous in my head. I hope I do it justice.