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BANDS OF black AND blue
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1o : seeing you seeing me
Of all the things in the world he hates, the one thing that hits home is watching anyone else catch Kuroko's passes. It's a strange thing to feel, he knows, because Kuroko is a member of the team and in order to win, people outside of Aomine must be able to score. Despite his individual talent, Aomine Daiki is not stupid enough to think that he could've single-handedly led Teikou to victory. And so, what comes naturally is a need for other people to be able to intercept Kuroko's passes.
He understand this, and accepts it (however grudgingly).
After all, their captain has dictated the only in the game to be 'victory' - not 'good victory' or 'clean victory' or 'happy victory' even, just victory. And the word of Akashi is higher than the word of God when they're playing on the court, and Aomine will not be the one to disobey.
And still, he hates it when Kuroko passes to anyone else.
He trains himself to sprint faster, trying desperately to get closer to the basket so that he can guarantee a basket - so that he can guarantee Kuroko will pass to him - and still, oftentimes, Kuroko will pass to Midorima (for a promised three-pointer) or Kise (for a psychological attack).
It's for the sake of victory - he understands, he understands, he repeatedly assures Momoi, his captain, but never Kuroko himself (he never even bothers to ask). All the same, the fear still bubbles... that in the face of his own unquestionable talent, Kuroko might still, in some way or another, find him to be ultimately replaceable. So he trains and he trains and looks away when Kuroko looks at him, continues to find the sideboard particularly enthralling, even while Kuroko is making his way to Aomine's side.
"Aomine-kun," Kuroko greets, tilting his head sideways. Aomine chances a glance; he doesn't know why, Kuroko's stare is as unflinching and emotionless as ever. "You've been practicing too much," he says, raising his hands to cradle a blistered and bruised hand.
"Not really," Aomine weakly retorts, feeling the heat cloud around his cheeks. How is it that after so many games and teams and victories and (dare he mention them?) losses, it is Tetsu that manages to wedge himself deep inside Aomine's consciousness, to the point where he does not know how he ever played basketball without the other. But the answer is easy, obvious; because before Tetsu, he did not know about being partners, about being reliable and relying on someone else.
"We should get some bandages from the nurse's office," Kuroko continues, index finger absent-mindedly tracing the sweaty wrinkles etched into the other's hand. The tremors that run up and down his spine are absolutely nothing in-comparison to the heart-wrenchingly fond way Kuroko smiles at him, pressing his cool lips to the edge of Aomine's wrist.
"...I'm jealous sometimes," he whispers with the tone of a confessor as Kuroko loosely pulls him in the direction of ointment and bandages.
"Me too," Kuroko simply replies, flashing yet another one of his wry smiles, "It's strange... having to share your presence with the crowd," he continues, and Aomine flushes outright, because Kuroko is has always been too blunt (and isn't this why he loves him?). "But," he amends, opening the first-aid box to pull out a small bottle of lotion and a string of bandages, "I love basketball as much as Aomine-kun. If sharing on the court is how we'll win, I can hardly call it a sacrifice." He has, in that instance, absolutely nothing to say in reply.