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BANDS OF black AND blue
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12 : dog days of summer
"Whose turn is it to treat?" Aomine wheezes out, chest heaving and back pressed against the blazing-hot concrete.
"Mine," Kuroko replies, dropping his schoolbag on the space next to his teammate. "What flavor do you want?"
"Whatever you're getting," the other grunts, waving a hand, "It's... so... hot..." he flops his hand down in a particularly dramatic fashion, tongue lolling out of his wide-open mouth. Kuroko snickers, and Aomine pays him no heed. It's too hot to be embarrassed about looking anything like a dying dog. "Hurry up Tetsu," he moans, "I think I can feel myself melting into the ground!"
But by that time, Kuroko has already left.
Aomine blinks, before dismissing it - that is his partner's special ability after all: being able to fall so deeply beneath the radar, he's used to it.
It's one of those strangely hot days, he can't get the stench of the classroom out of his shirt (damn the school and their policy of forcibly handing out remedial classes in the summer of all times...!) and his own sweat is making the weather even more unbearable, sticking the edges of his clothes to one another. They had made plans to play basketball at the public courts only to find said courts completely deserted in the noontime sun.
"Are you awake?" Kuroko asks, prodding his friend's cheek with the stick end of the popsicle.
"Yeah yeah," Aomine drawls, raising himself up to sit lazily against the chain-link fence of the basketball courts. Kuroko hands Aomine his only-somewhat-melted popsicle before sitting himself down as well. "Ew, tapioca?" he complains, wrinkling his nose. "You have the weirdest tastes," he notes, before shoving the whole thing into his mouth.
Kuroko rolls his eyes when Aomine emits a blissful sigh at the cool sensation blossoming in his (no doubt overheated) mouth.
"Oh man, where is Ryou?" Aomine pipes up, remembering that their teammate also needed to take remedial classes.
"He has a photo shoot in the afternoon so he needed to leave school early."
"Aaaah seriously? He's got it too easy - the teacher's practically drooling over him anyways!" He passes a glance over at Kuroko, raising an eyebrow in-response to the other's grimace. "What? You don't think he's got it really easy?"
"Hardly," Kuroko reasoned, before grimacing again. "I just don't like tapioca."
It's a combination of Kuroko's straight face and monotone that causes Aomine to burst out laughing, popsicle stick clenched tightly between his teeth while he clutches his sides, snickering and howling. "But then why'd you buy that flavor?" he asks, wiping away a couple errant tears.
"It was the one closest to the counter," Kuroko mumbled, attempting to choke down the bizarrely flavorless concoction.
"Just throw it away if you don't like it so much," Aomine suggests, tossing his popsicle-less stick into the trash.
"It's alright," Kuroko simply replies, continuing to whittle away at the quickly-melting treat. Aomine watches - with a larger amount of fascination than he would ever admit to having - as the sticky white drops from the popsicle dribble their way down Kuroko's fingers. Kuroko pays no heed to his staring teammate, choosing to concentrate on maximizing the amount of popsicle consumed and minimizing the amount of popsicle tasted.
This, of course, leads to craned necks and arguably more awkward methods of eating.
"...Tetsu..." Aomine hoarsely whispers, feeling the buzzing heat blitz about his head, "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
"Other than regretting that I was the one who had to treat today?" Kuroko asks, raising an eyebrow. Aomine swallows, forcing himself to stand up and... stretch. Or do something - anything.
"There, finished," Kuroko concludes, while Aomine was seriously contemplating just going home and taking a nice long freezing cold shower. Then Kuroko wrinkles his nose again. "My hands are all sticky," he notes.
"That's what you get for taking so long to finish!" Aomine crows, picking up both their bags. "C'mon... it's way too hot to be walking around the streets."
"Alright."
"...Tetsu." Aomine sincerely hopes that the high-pitched quality in his voice is just a result of the heat (around him, not inside him, thankyouverymuch) or - better yet - his imagination. "What are you doing?" he croaks out, feeling his face overheat and a sudden weakness overcoming his arms.
"You know," the other starts - in an almost conversational manner - while licking the melted filmy-white substance from his hanfs, "I think I quite like tapioca now."
It's embarrassing, but Aomine passes out from a nosebleed then and there. Definitely because of the summer heat, he'll argue to his dying day.