#aomine

The late winter light slanted through the tall windows of Touou Academy’s main building like blades of cold steel, catching on the polished floors and turning them into mirrors. You adjusted the strap of your bag, the unfamiliar weight of your new uniform still stiff against your skin. Transferring midway through the year wasn’t ideal. Especially with the new faces, new rhythms, the quiet judgment of students who already had their cliques locked tight, but you’d faced worse.

A soft voice called your name from down the hall.

“You must be the new transfer! I’m Momoi Satsuki. Nice to meet you!”

She was a burst of pink hair and brighter energy, clipboard in hand, smile wide enough to disarm a warzone. Before you could even bow properly, she’d looped her arm through yours and was steering you toward the athletics wing with the confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times.

“I already talked to the teachers. You’re officially our new assistant manager! The basketball team needs all the help it can get, trust me. Especially with certain people.”

You laughed lightly. “I used to help out with the team at my old school. I’m not bad with schedules or stats. Should be fine, right?”

Momoi’s smile twitched even if it was just a fraction. “Mmm. Let’s get you settled first.”

The gymnasium smelled like polished wood, sweat, and faint rubber from bouncing balls. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of dribbles echoed off the high rafters like a heartbeat. A few players were already on the court, moving with a sharpness that spoke of serious talent. But the moment Momoi led you inside, every head turned.

A tall, blonde-haired boy with an easy grin jogged over first. “New manager? I’m Wakamatsu. Welcome to the chaos.”

Others followed with polite nods, curious glances. You introduced yourself, shaking hands, trying to memorize names. The atmosphere felt… normal. Intense, sure. These guys were clearly national-level. But manageable.

Then someone, maybe a second-year, muttered under his breath as he passed, “Good luck with Aomine.”

The temperature in the gym seemed to drop ten degrees.

Wakamatsu froze mid-step. A couple of players nearby exchanged grim looks like they’d just heard a curse spoken aloud. One of them actually shuddered.

Momoi sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “Yeah… about that.”

You tilted your head. “Aomine? Is he the ace or something?”

A short, explosive laugh escaped Wakamatsu before he could stop it. “Ace? That’s like calling a typhoon ‘a bit of wind.’ He’s the best player in the country, probably. And also the biggest pain in the ass Touou has ever seen.”

“He skips practice more than he shows up,” another player added, voice low like he was afraid the devil himself might hear. “Ignores Coach. Doesn’t answer texts. Shows up to games when he feels like it and still destroys everyone. We’ve lost count of how many managers have quit because of him.”

You blinked. “That sounds… exaggerated?”

The entire group stared at you with something between pity and awe.

Momoi patted your shoulder gently. “You’ll see. Just… don’t take it personally when he doesn’t even look at you. Most of us gave up trying years ago.”

You nodded politely, but inside you felt a small flicker of determination. People were people. Even geniuses had to respond to basic human decency eventually. Right?

Practice continued in fits and starts. You helped Momoi organize water bottles, jot down observations on player form, and familiarize yourself with the team’s current playbook. The boys were good, possibly scarily good, but there was an undercurrent of frustration in the air, like a machine running without one vital gear.

Then the gym doors slammed open.

The sound cracked through the space like a gunshot.

Every player on the court slowed, then stopped. The ball bounced once, twice, and rolled forgotten toward the sidelines. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, navy blue hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided the world could deal with it. Tall with the kind of lazy, predatory grace that made the court feel smaller just by his presence. His eyes, sharp and dark, scanned the gym with complete disinterest.

Aomine Daiki.

You felt it before you even processed his face: a jolt. Not recognition, exactly. Something deeper. Like the ghost of a memory brushing against the back of your mind and vanishing before you could catch it. Your pulse kicked up without permission.

He started walking which seemed more like prowling toward the benches, completely ignoring the coach calling his name.

Momoi nudged you. “That’s him. Brace yourself.”

You watched as he dropped onto the bench like he owned the building, legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded. The team resumed practice, but the energy had shifted. Tense. Waiting for the inevitable explosion or, more likely, total indifference.

You swallowed, clutching your clipboard a little tighter.

He’s just a guy, you told yourself. A ridiculously talented, apparently impossible guy.

But when his gaze swept across the court and landed on you for the briefest second, something in his expression flickered, it was too fast to name. Then it was gone, replaced by that same bored mask.

You didn’t know it yet, but the world had already tilted on its axis.

The miracle manager had arrived at Touou.

And the most untamable player in Japan had just seen the one person he’d spent years searching for.

The next morning arrived with the crisp bite of February air slicing through the open gym doors. Sunlight poured in, catching dust motes in lazy spirals above the court. You stood beside Momoi at the scorers’ table, clipboard balanced on your forearm, pen tapping a steady rhythm against the plastic. The team was already warming up with their occasional sprints, stretches, the occasional shouted insult that dissolved into laughter. It felt almost routine. Almost.

Until the stories started spilling out like water from a cracked dam.

Wakamatsu jogged past during a water break, wiping sweat from his brow. “So, new manager. How long you think you’ll last?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to say hello.”

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aomine’s chewed through three assistant managers this year alone. One lasted two weeks. Another cried in the equipment room after he told her to ‘stop breathing near him.’”

Momoi leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Last semester he skipped seventeen practices. Seventeen. Coach nearly had a stroke.”

You flipped a page on your clipboard, jotting down notes on shooting percentages. “Seventeen seems… excessive. Maybe he has a good reason?”

A collective groan rose from the players within earshot. One of them, a lanky point guard player named Imayoshi, actually stopped dribbling to stare.

“Good reason?” he echoed, deadpan. “His reason is usually ‘I felt like sleeping in’ or ‘street ball is more fun.’”

You laughed, assuming they were piling it on for the new girl. “Come on. He can’t be that bad. He’s still on the team, right? Must show up for games at least.”

Wakamatsu snorted so hard he nearly choked on his water. “Oh, he shows up for games. Shows up, destroys the other team single-handedly, then vanishes before the handshake line. We’re basically his personal cheering squad with better jerseys.”

Momoi flipped through her own binder, pulling out a chart that looked like it had been color-coded in a war room. “See this? Attendance record. Red is ‘showed up and participated.’ Blue is ‘showed up and napped on the bench.’ White is ‘didn’t show.’ It’s mostly white and blue.”

You stared at the chart. It was… bleak. “Okay. That’s pretty bad.”

“Welcome to reality,” Wakamatsu said, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to jolt you forward. “Just don’t expect miracles. We’ve tried everything—threats, bribes, group interventions. Kid’s a force of nature. You can’t negotiate with a hurricane.”

The rest of practice unfolded in that strange, fractured rhythm you were starting to recognize as “normal” for Touou. Plays ran sharp and clean when the ball moved, but there were long stretches where energy dipped, eyes darting toward the doors as if waiting for the missing piece. The ace-shaped hole in their lineup.

You threw yourself into the work anyway. By timing sprints, noting weaknesses in defensive rotations, helping Momoi reorganize the storage closet that looked like it had lost a fight with a tornado. The boys were surprisingly welcoming once the initial shock wore off. Teasing, loud, competitive… but they listened when you corrected a drill or suggested a different stretching sequence. It felt good. Familiar.

By the time the afternoon session wound down, the gym smelled of effort and faint victory. You were wiping down the benches when Coach stepped up beside you, arms crossed, expression carved from granite.

“Don’t waste your energy on him,” he said without preamble. His voice carried the weight of too many lost battles. “Aomine does what Aomine wants. Focus on the team that actually shows up.”

You straightened, meeting his eyes. “With respect, Coach… if he’s that good, he should be here. Right?”

A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Should be. Isn’t. Good luck changing that.”

As the players filed out, shower bags slung over shoulders and voices echoing off the walls, you lingered near the doors. The sky outside had deepened to bruised purple, streetlights flickering on one by one along the academy grounds. You told yourself the stories were exaggerated. Teenagers loved drama. A guy like that that is talented enough to carry a school’s hopes couldn’t possibly be as impossible as they claimed.

Right?

The thought followed you all the way home, lingering like an unsolved puzzle as you unpacked another box in your new room. A faded photograph on your desk caught your eye for a moment but you brushed it aside.

Just another Monday at Touou.

Little did you know the hurricane was already on its way.

The gym doors flew open with a heavy metallic bang that cut through the rhythm of bouncing balls like a blade. Golden afternoon light sliced across the polished floor, framing the silhouette in the doorway. Every head turned. Every dribble stuttered to a stop. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the kind of tension that preceded a storm.

Aomine Daiki had decided to grace them with his presence.

He strolled in with that trademark lazy stride with his hands buried in his jacket pockets, navy hair messy, shoulders rolled back like the entire world was simply background noise. Tall, sharp-featured, radiating an effortless, almost arrogant power that made the vast gymnasium feel suddenly cramped. His dark eyes swept the court once, indifferent, before he headed straight for the benches without acknowledging anyone.

The team reacted like they’d spotted a live grenade.

Wakamatsu muttered a low curse. Momoi’s pen froze mid-note on her clipboard. Coach’s jaw tightened so hard you could hear it from across the room. The usual practice chatter died into uneasy silence.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere immediately. Your pulse quickened despite yourself. This was the guy they’d been warning you about, the walking natural disaster. Up close, he looked every bit as intimidating as the stories suggested: lean muscle honed from countless battles, a gaze that could freeze fire, the kind of presence that dared the universe to test him.

You gripped your clipboard tighter, steeling your nerves. Just do your job. Heart hammering, you crossed the floor toward him, shoes squeaking softly against the wood. He’d already dropped onto the bench, legs sprawled out, one arm slung casually over the backrest as if practice was an optional suggestion rather than a requirement.

“Aomine-kun,” you said, keeping your voice calm and professional. “I’m the new assistant manager. Nice to meet you.”

He looked up.

For a long, heavy second, his eyes locked onto yours. Something flickered across his face, too brief and unreadable to name. The gym held its breath. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the dust in the air seemed suspended.

You waited, suddenly aware of how intensely he was staring. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t bored, either. Just… piercing. Like he was seeing straight through you.

Then the moment passed.

Aomine blinked once, slow and deliberate. The mask of lazy indifference slid back into place. He exhaled through his nose, almost like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.

“… Yeah.” he muttered, voice low and rough around the edges.

The single word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water.

You offered a small, determined smile, refusing to let the weight of everyone’s stares rattle you. “We’re working on some new defensive rotations today. If you’re staying for practice, we’d appreciate you joining in.”

Behind you, the team was collectively losing their minds in slow motion. Wakamatsu’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. Momoi looked one breath away from dropping her binder. A couple of players whispered frantically to each other, the words “what the—” and “no way” drifting across the court.

Aomine stared at you another beat, then pushed himself up from the bench with fluid, reluctant grace. He rolled one shoulder, cracking it loudly in the quiet gym.

“Whatever.”

He didn’t sound enthusiastic. He didn’t sound annoyed, either. Just… compliant. In a way no one at Touou had ever witnessed.

You nodded, turning back toward the court before the surrealness of the moment could fully register. “Alright. Let’s get back to it, everyone.”

As you walked away, clipboard in hand and focus already shifting to the next drill, the gym behind you erupted into barely contained chaos. Whispers exploded. Someone dropped a basketball with a loud bounce that no one bothered to chase. Wakamatsu looked personally betrayed by reality.

Aomine lingered for half a second longer, gaze following your retreating figure with an intensity he didn’t let reach his expression. Then he moved onto the court, joining the warm-ups without another word.

Practice resumed technically. But the energy had completely shifted. The untamable ace was participating. Voluntarily. After a single polite request from the new girl.

No one could explain it.

Least of all you, who simply thought he seemed a little less impossible than the legends claimed.

Practice unfolded like a fever dream no one at Touou had ever experienced.

Aomine moved across the court with his usual terrifying efficiency. Long strides eating up space, shots raining down from impossible angles, defensive slides so quick they left afterimages. But the real anomaly wasn’t his talent. It was the fact that he stayed. He ran the drills. He listened when you adjusted formations. He didn’t vanish midway through or sprawl dramatically on the bench like a bored cat.

The team kept stealing glances at him like he might sprout a second head at any moment. Wakamatsu nearly tripped over his own feet during a fast break. Momoi’s pen hovered uselessly above her notes, forgotten. Even Coach kept pausing mid-instruction, eyes narrowed in wary disbelief.

You, meanwhile, felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. Maybe the warnings had been overblown. Sure, he was intense but when you’d called out a correction on his positioning during defensive slides, he’d simply adjusted without complaint. No sarcasm. No walk-off. Just a low grunt of acknowledgment and flawless execution on the next rep.

He’s actually pretty cooperative, you thought, jotting down observations as sweat cooled on your skin. The stories must have grown taller with each retelling. Typical high school basketball drama.

As the final whistle blew, echoing sharply through the gym, players collapsed onto the floor or staggered toward water bottles, chests heaving. The air smelled of effort and polished wood, the late afternoon light now softer, painting long shadows across the court. Aomine grabbed a towel, wiped his face once, and headed straight for the doors without a backward glance.

Coach approached you slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and reluctant pity.

“Don’t get your hopes up, kid,” he said quietly, voice carrying the weight of repeated disappointment. “That was a fluke. Tomorrow he’ll probably skip entirely. Or show up late and leave early. Aomine does what he wants. Always has. Save yourself the headache and focus on the rest of the team.”

You wiped your hands on your track pants, glancing toward the exit where Aomine’s tall figure was already disappearing. Something stubborn flickered in your chest, the same determination that had carried you through the transfer, through new schools, through starting over again and again.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Coach,” you replied politely. But your feet were already moving.

The gym doors were half-open, letting in a rush of cold evening air. Aomine had one hand on the frame, about to step through.

“Aomine-kun!”

Your voice rang out clearer than you expected, cutting across the murmurs of the dispersing team. Every head snapped toward you. Wakamatsu froze mid-stretch. Momoi’s eyes went wide. The entire squad watched like spectators at a car crash they couldn’t look away from.

Aomine stopped. His shoulders tensed before he turned his head, dark eyes meeting yours across the distance.

The silence was deafening.

You jogged a few steps closer, clipboard tucked under your arm, trying to ignore the dozens of stares burning into your back. “Can you come tomorrow? We’re refining those zone defenses. Your input would help a lot.”

For a heartbeat, nothing. Just the faint hum of the overhead lights and the collective disbelief of twenty high school athletes holding their breath.

Then Aomine shrugged one shoulder, casual as ever.

“… Sure.”

One word. Delivered in that same low, unbothered tone.

The gym exploded.

Wakamatsu let out a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying animal. Someone dropped their water bottle again. This time it rolled all the way to the half-court line. Whispers turned into outright chaos: “Did he just—?” “No way.” “She’s a witch.” “I’m hallucinating.” Momoi actually clutched her clipboard to her chest like it was a life preserver, mouth opening and closing without sound.

You blinked, glancing around at the pandemonium with genuine confusion. “What? Did I miss something?”

No one answered. They were too busy staring between you and Aomine’s retreating back as he pushed through the doors and vanished into the twilight, hands back in his pockets like nothing extraordinary had happened.

Coach pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded like a prayer for patience.

You simply shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “See? He’s not that bad.”

The team looked at you like you’d personally offended every law of physics.

As you helped Momoi gather the remaining equipment, the whispers followed you like echoes. No one could explain it. The untamable Aomine Daiki had just agreed willingly to show up for consecutive practices. Because the new assistant manager asked.

You didn’t understand the magnitude of what you’d just done.

Not yet.

Morning practice the next day felt like stepping into an alternate universe.

The gym buzzed with the usual energy with balls bouncing in sharp staccato rhythms, shoes squeaking against the wood, shouting instructions cutting through the air. But underneath it all was a current of anticipation so thick you could almost taste it. Players kept glancing at the doors every few seconds. Momoi had her phone out, refreshing something obsessively. Even Coach arrived earlier than usual, arms crossed like he was bracing for impact.

You moved through your routine calmly, setting up cones for agility drills and double-checking the updated playbook notes. “He said he’d come,” you reminded Momoi when she shot you another worried look. “It’ll be fine.”

Momoi let out a nervous laugh. “You say that like it’s normal. Last time someone tried a direct request, he told them to ‘go bother someone who cares’ and left for three days.”

You shrugged, smiling. “Maybe he just needed the right approach.”

The doors slammed open right on time.

Aomine strolled in wearing the same lazy expression, track jacket half-zipped, hair still damp like he’d rolled out of bed and decided the world could wait. The entire gym went dead silent for two full seconds.

Then he walked straight to the court and started warming up without being asked.

Wakamatsu dropped the ball he was holding. It rolled sadly toward the baseline.

“No way,” someone whispered. “He’s… early?”

You didn’t notice the seismic shift. You simply clapped your hands once. “Alright, Aomine-kun! Let’s start with the zone defense adjustments from yesterday. Can you show the others that sliding footwork you used?”

Aomine glanced over, dark eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. Then, without a single complaint, he demonstrated the movement. The team copied him in stunned silence.

By the time the first water break hit, the running commentary had begun in earnest.

“Warm-up sprints next,” you called out, checking your clipboard. “Aomine-kun, lead the pace?”

He pushed off the bench he’d barely settled on. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he led the sprints. Full effort. No shortcuts. No dramatic sighs. The team followed in a daze, their usual groans replaced by disbelieving stares.

Wakamatsu jogged beside you during the next rotation, voice hushed like he was sharing state secrets. “Okay, new manager. Be honest. What did you do? Bribe him? Blackmail? Sell your soul?”

You laughed, genuinely confused. “I just asked. He’s actually pretty easy to work with once you talk to him directly.”

Wakamatsu looked like he wanted to scream. “Easy? Easy?! I’ve seen him ignore the principal during a school assembly!”

Momoi appeared on your other side, eyes sparkling with a mix of awe and mischief. “This is incredible. Hey, try telling him to help put away the equipment after practice. I need to see this with my own eyes.”

You raised an eyebrow but played along. When the session wrapped up and sweat-soaked players started drifting toward the locker rooms, you called out casually, “Aomine-kun, mind giving us a hand with the cones and balls?”

Without missing a beat, he turned back, grabbed an armful of equipment, and started stacking it neatly in the storage closet. The sight was so surreal that half the team stopped to watch, mouths slightly open.

Imayoshi leaned against the wall, adjusting his glasses with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. “I’ve seen miracles on the court. This? This is something else entirely.”

You dusted your hands off, smiling. “See? Teamwork makes everything smoother.”

The whispers exploded the second you stepped away to help Momoi with the score sheets.

“She’s got superpowers.”

“Hypnosis. Has to be.”

“Or she’s from the future.”

Aomine finished his task in silence, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he headed for the exit. But right before he pushed through the doors, he paused just long enough to glance back across the gym. His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he disappeared into the hallway.

You caught the look but misread it completely. Maybe he’s finally warming up to the team, you thought, a small spark of satisfaction warming your chest.

Behind you, Momoi was already plotting. “Tomorrow I’m using you as a weapon. If he ignores my texts again, I’m sending you after him.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “You guys are so dramatic.”

The team stared at your back like you were a walking enigma wrapped in a mystery.

Practice had gone perfectly. Aomine had participated fully. And no one, least of all you, understood why the untamable genius of Touou had suddenly decided the new assistant manager’s words were worth listening to.

The legend of the Miracle Manager had officially begun.

The rumors had already spread like wildfire through Touou Academy by the third day.

Students who had never cared about basketball were suddenly whispering in the hallways. Upperclassmen exchanged knowing glances in the cafeteria. Even the teachers seemed to walk a little lighter, as if the impossible had finally happened: Aomine Daiki was showing up. Consistently. Almost on time.

And it was all because of the new assistant manager.

You, of course, remained blissfully unaware of your growing legend. You simply did your job. Clipboard in hand, voice steady, treating the team’s ace like any other player who needed occasional direction. To you, he was intense, sure. Quiet in that brooding way. But cooperative. Almost… reliable?

Which is why, when he vanished midway through afternoon practice again, you didn’t hesitate.

“He’s probably on the roof,” Momoi said with a sigh, handing you a spare jacket. “He does that sometimes. Just… be careful up there. Wind’s picking up.”

You nodded, already heading toward the maintenance stairwell. The metal ladder to the rooftop access creaked under your shoes as you climbed, skirt fluttering dangerously against your thighs. The late winter wind whipped across the school grounds, carrying the faint scent of distant rain and cherry blossom anticipation. Your hair lashed across your face, and you cursed internally, one hand gripping the cold rungs while the other tried and failing miserably to keep your skirt from turning the moment into a comedy show.

Halfway up, the wind gusted harder.

A low voice suddenly cut through the air from above.

“Oi. Stop.”

You looked up. Aomine was already leaning over the edge of the rooftop, one arm extended down toward you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes narrowed at the way your skirt billowed wildly.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, voice rough. He swung a leg over and descended a few rungs with effortless strength until he was right above you. One large hand planted firmly on the ladder beside your head, the other reached down to tug the hem of your skirt down against your legs, shielding you from the wind’s mischief. His body blocked most of the gusts like a human wall.

Your face burned. “A-Aomine-kun, I can manage—”

“Shut up and climb,” he muttered, staying close, one step above you the entire way. Protective in that gruff, no-nonsense way that left no room for argument. His presence was overwhelming this close. The warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of sweat and cold air, the steady rhythm of his breathing cutting through the wind.

When you finally reached the top, he hauled himself up first then offered a hand, pulling you onto the flat concrete rooftop with surprising gentleness. You brushed your skirt down quickly, heart still racing from the climb (and from him).

The rooftop was quiet, empty except for the two of you and the distant hum of the city. Aomine dropped onto a weathered bench near the edge, legs stretched out, staring at the skyline like it owed him answers. A half-eaten convenience store onigiri sat beside him.

You sat a careful distance away, catching your breath. “Practice isn’t over, you know.”

He grunted, not looking at you. “Too loud down there.”

“You still need to work with the team. They’re counting on you.”

Aomine was silent for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched. “You gonna climb that ladder every time I disappear?”

“If I have to.” You smiled, determined. “Though maybe next time I’ll wear pants.”

He let out a short, surprised huff of laughter which was the first real one you’d heard from him. It transformed his face for just a second, making him look younger, almost approachable. Then the mask returned.

“Whatever. I’ll go back in a bit.”

You stayed anyway, the wind easing slightly as you talked about nothing and everything. The drills that needed work, how Wakamatsu’s form was improving, the upcoming practice match. Aomine listened more than he spoke, but he didn’t leave. And when you finally stood up, brushing off your skirt, he rose with you.

“Next time,” he said as you headed for the ladder, “just text me. Don’t climb in a skirt again.”

You glanced back, surprised by the protective edge in his tone. “Noted, Aomine-kun.”

Down in the gym, the team nearly lost their minds when the two of you returned together. Aomine actually rejoined drills without complaint. Momoi shot you a look that said we are discussing this later. Wakamatsu just stared like you’d tamed a dragon with nothing but polite persistence.

Later that evening, after practice finally ended, you caught a glimpse of something unexpected on your way home.

In a small neighborhood park lit by flickering streetlights, Aomine was playing street basketball. Alone. The ball moved like an extension of his body by dribbling between his legs with blinding speed, pulling up for impossible shots that swished through the rusty hoop every single time. No crowd. No pressure. Just raw, breathtaking talent poured out under the dim lights, his movements fluid and almost… lonely.

You watched from the shadows for a minute, hidden behind a vending machine. There was something beautiful and heartbreaking about it, the genius who dominated games but found peace here, in the quiet.

You didn’t interrupt. Not this time.

But the image stayed with you long after you walked away.

The untamable ace was listening. Slowly, inexplicably, letting you in.

And Touou Academy still had no idea how or why.

The following week at Touou Academy felt less like a basketball team and more like a poorly scripted comedy show with one very confused lead actress which happened to be you.

Word had spread beyond the gym. By Wednesday, random students were loitering near the entrance during practice just to catch a glimpse of the miracle. The vending machines near the gym mysteriously stayed stocked with your favorite drinks. Even the usually indifferent third-years gave you respectful nods in the hallway, as if you’d performed some ancient ritual to bind the school’s most feral asset.

You still didn’t get it.

“Aomine-kun, can you demonstrate the full-court press again?” you called out during morning drills, voice carrying clearly across the polished floor.

Without hesitation, he jogged to the center line, ball in hand, and executed the defense with terrifying precision. Long arms stealing invisible passes, feet moving like lightning. The rest of the team scrambled to follow, faces a mix of determination and lingering disbelief.

Wakamatsu collapsed dramatically beside you during the next break, sweat dripping, eyes wide. “This is the fourth time this week. Fourth! He actually ran a drill. Voluntarily. I think I’m having a stroke.”

You handed him a water bottle, amused. “He’s just participating like everyone else. You guys make it sound like I performed an exorcism.”

Momoi appeared like a pink-haired ninja, grabbing your arm with both hands and shaking it gently. “Please. I’m begging you. He ignored my last six texts about the equipment inventory. Can you just… tell him? Anything. I don’t care what.”

You sighed but couldn’t hide your smile. “Aomine-kun,” you called toward where he was lazily spinning a ball on one finger. “Momoi needs help with the inventory list after practice. Think you can stick around for ten minutes?”

He caught the ball mid-spin, dark eyes flicking to you. A beat of silence. Then a casual shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

Momoi made a strangled squeak of victory. The entire team froze mid-drink.

Imayoshi adjusted his glasses slowly from the sidelines, muttering, “This defies every known law of Aomine physics.”

The comedy continued after practice. While the rest of the boys headed for the lockers, Aomine actually followed you and Momoi into the storage room. He moved boxes without complaint, stacking them with that same effortless strength, occasionally glancing your way when you pointed out where things needed to go. Momoi kept shooting you wide-eyed looks behind his back, mouthing how?! every thirty seconds.

You simply organized clipboards, completely oblivious to the chaos you were causing. “See? It’s not that hard when everyone works together.”

Aomine’s low chuckle rumbled behind you. “You’re too nice to them.”

The comment caught you off guard. You turned, catching a glimpse of something softer in his expression before it vanished behind the usual lazy mask. For a second, the storage room felt smaller, the air thicker. Then he hoisted the last box onto the shelf and headed out.

That evening, the running gags escalated.

During a team meeting in the clubroom, Coach was mid-lecture about upcoming opponents when Aomine started drifting, eyes glazing over toward the window. Momoi nudged you urgently.

You leaned forward. “Aomine-kun, focus. This part’s important for your matchup.”

He straightened instantly, gaze snapping back to the whiteboard. The collective jaw-drop from the team was audible.

Wakamatsu threw his hands up. “I give up. She’s got him on a leash. A polite, well-mannered leash.”

You laughed it off. “You all exaggerate so much. He’s just… straightforward. If you explain why something matters, he listens.”

The team stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

Later, as golden hour painted the gym in warm amber light, you caught Aomine alone again near the doors. He was scrolling through his phone, but the moment you approached, he pocketed it.

“Heading out?” you asked.

He nodded. “Street ball. You coming to watch again?”

You blinked, surprised he’d noticed your quiet observation the other night. “Maybe. If you don’t mind an audience.”

For a fraction of a second, something almost like a real smile tugged at his lips. “Do what you want.”

He left, and you found yourself walking home a different route that evening, curiosity pulling you toward that same neighborhood park. The streetlights hummed to life as Aomine dominated the cracked outdoor court. No teammates. No pressure. Just him and the ball, moving with a raw, almost poetic intensity with crossovers that blurred, jump shots kissed by the fading light, the sound of the chain net rattling like distant applause. Sweat glistened on his skin. There was freedom in his movements here, but also a quiet solitude that tugged at something in your chest.

You watched from the shadows again, not wanting to intrude. The genius who could crush any opponent looked almost… human. Lonely in a way talent couldn’t fill.

When he finally finished and grabbed his bag, you slipped away before he could spot you. But the image lingered as you walked home under the streetlights.

Back at school the next day, Momoi cornered you in the hallway with a mischievous grin. “You’re officially my favorite weapon. Keep this up and we might actually win Nationals without Aomine threatening to quit every other week.”

You rolled your eyes, but a warm feeling settled in your stomach. Slowly, without realizing it, you were becoming part of this chaotic team. And Aomine was becoming part of your routine.

Neither of you knew how deep that pull would eventually go.

The practice match against a strong local rival hit like a thunderclap on Saturday afternoon. The gym was packed. With students crammed into the bleachers, rival team warming up with cocky energy, referees checking nets. Sunlight streamed through high windows, turning the court into a blazing stage.

You stood courtside beside Momoi, clipboard ready, nerves buzzing under your skin. Aomine lounged on the bench until the very last second, but when the starting whistle blew, something had changed.

He moved.

Not just with his usual overwhelming talent, but with sharper focus. Every cut, every steal, every thunderous dunk carried a different weight. When Wakamatsu missed a screen, Aomine adjusted instantly. When you called out a defensive shift from the sidelines, he executed it perfectly on the next possession. The rival team’s ace tried trash talk. Aomine shut him down with a vicious crossover and a three-pointer that silenced half the gym.

The score climbed fast. Touou was dominating.

From the bench area, the team’s reactions were pure comedy gold.

“Holy shit, he’s actually passing?” Wakamatsu whispered during a timeout, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Momoi clutched your arm so tightly it hurt. “This is your fault. In the best way. He’s never played like this in practice matches.”

You shrugged, smiling despite the chaos. “He just needed consistent rhythm. Everyone’s contributing today.”

Coach gave you a long, searching look during the break, muttering, “Whatever magic you’re working… keep it up.”

By the final quarter, the rival coach was yelling himself hoarse. Aomine hit a step-back jumper that kissed the glass and fell through, then immediately stole the inbound pass for a fast-break dunk that rattled the rim. The final buzzer sounded: Touou by 28 points.

The gym erupted. Teammates mobbed Aomine with slaps on the back, shouts of victory. He tolerated it with his usual lazy grin, but his eyes kept drifting toward the sidelines. Toward you.

You jogged over with water bottles as the celebrations died down. “That was incredible, Aomine-kun. Your timing on those defensive rotations was perfect.”

He took the bottle, fingers brushing yours for a split second. “Tch. Wasn’t bad.” His voice was gruff, but there was something almost warm beneath it.

The team noticed. Of course they did.

Wakamatsu fake-sobbed into Imayoshi’s shoulder. “She compliments him and he plays like Zone from the start. I complimented him last week and he told me to die.”

Momoi was already planning. “Next game I’m having her give the pre-game speech.”

You laughed it off, helping pack up equipment while the high of victory lingered in the air like sparks. The gym slowly emptied, golden light fading into softer evening hues through the windows. Aomine lingered longer than usual, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

That’s when you noticed it.

A small, worn charm dangled from the zipper of his gym bag with faded colors, cheap plastic that had clearly seen years of wear. It looked oddly familiar, like something from a childhood gachapon machine or a convenience store prize. A tiny basketball with a cracked smiley face. Something tugged at the edge of your memory, faint and unreachable, before slipping away.

“Cute charm,” you said lightly, pointing as he adjusted the strap. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

Aomine froze.

His entire body went still, hand shooting up to cover the charm in one swift motion, tucking it into a side pocket with surprising speed. For a moment, his usual lazy mask cracked. Something raw and guarded flashing across his face. His dark eyes met yours, intense and unreadable.

“… It’s nothing,” he muttered, voice lower than usual. Almost rough. He turned away quickly, shoulders tense. “Forget it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—”

He was already walking toward the doors, pace faster than necessary. “See you Monday.”

The gym felt quieter after he left. You stood there, staring at the empty doorway, that strange tug in your chest refusing to fade. Momoi approached, noticing your expression.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, shaking it off with a small smile. “Just… Aomine being Aomine.”

But something had shifted. The comedy of the untamable ace listening to you was giving way to quieter, heavier questions. Why did that silly little charm make him react like that? Why did his eyes look almost… hurt?

You didn’t know it yet, but the things Aomine carried in silence were starting to surface.

And they ran far deeper than anyone at Touou could imagine.

The victory high carried into the following week like a lingering echo, but something quieter had settled beneath it. Practices ran smoother than ever. Aomine still arrived with that signature lazy swagger, but he stayed longer, pushed harder, and started watching you when he thought no one noticed.

You noticed anyway. It was hard not to.

Monday evening found you at home, the soft glow of your desk lamp cutting through the dim room. Boxes from the move still lined one wall, half-unpacked relics of your old life. You’d meant to organize clothes. Instead, you found yourself digging through an old photo album your mother had tucked into the bottom of a storage bin.

Dust motes danced in the light as you flipped through pages. Grainy smiles. Birthday parties. A faded summer at the old neighborhood park. One photo in particular stopped you cold.

A group shot of kids on a rusty playground. You, gap-toothed and seven years old, stood in the center with your arms crossed triumphantly. Beside you, slightly blurry from motion, was a boy mid-laugh, holding a battered basketball like it was treasure. His face wasn’t clear, but the energy was unmistakable: loud, bright, unstoppable.

You smiled softly, tracing the edge of the photo. “Wonder what happened to that kid…” The memory felt warm but distant, like a dream you’d outgrown. You closed the album, setting it aside. Just another piece of childhood left behind in the moves, the new schools, the years that blurred together.

Across town, in a dimly lit room cluttered with basketball magazines and forgotten homework, Aomine stared at the ceiling.

The charm lay in his palm, the cheap plastic warmed by his skin. He rubbed his thumb over the cracked smiley face, the same motion he’d done thousands of times over the years. It had been his anchor through Teikō’s hollow victories, through nights when the court felt too empty and the cheers too meaningless.

She’d noticed it.

Of course she had.

He sat up, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. The frustration had been building since that first day in the gym. She was here. Real. The same quick smile, the same stubborn determination that once made a lonely kid feel seen. But she looked at him like a new teammate. Polite. Professional. Occasionally amused by his reputation.

No spark of recognition. No breathless “Daiki?” No shared secret pulling them back together.

He’d imagined this reunion a hundred different ways. None of them involved her treating him like everyone else did, another problem to manage.

His phone buzzed on the desk. A text from you, simple and straightforward:

New Manager: Don’t forget the film study tomorrow morning. Your matchup notes are on the sheet I left in your locker.

Aomine stared at the screen. His thumb hovered. Then he typed back, shorter than he wanted:

Aomine: Yeah.

He tossed the phone aside and stood, pacing to the window. The streetlights outside blurred. She was close now. Close enough to reach. But telling her… what then? What if she forced a smile and pretended? What if the guilt changed everything? What if the girl who once sat beside him in the dirt was gone, replaced by someone who only saw the arrogant ace everyone feared?

The thought carved deeper than any missed shot ever had.

The next afternoon, the gym carried a different energy. Lighter, but threaded with something heavier you couldn’t name.

You were reviewing stats with Momoi when Aomine arrived early and dropped onto the bench near you. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched as you organized the water station.

“You find anything interesting in those old boxes?” he asked suddenly, voice low.

You glanced over, surprised. “How’d you know I was unpacking?”

He shrugged, looking away toward the court. “You mentioned it once.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, actually. Found some old photos. Me as a kid with this blue-haired boy at a playground. Couldn’t even make out his face properly. Feels like forever ago.”

Aomine’s hand tightened around the strap of his bag. The charm was hidden safely inside now. He didn’t flinch outwardly, but the muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Sounds lame,” he muttered.

You nudged his shoulder lightly with the clipboard. “It wasn’t. He seemed fun. Loud. The kind of kid who’d drag you into trouble and make it the best day ever.” Your voice softened with nostalgia. “Wish I remembered more.”

He turned his head then, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. For a second, the gym faded. Just the two of you, suspended in something unspoken.

Then Wakamatsu’s voice boomed across the court. “Oi, Aomine! You actually early? The world ending or what?”

The moment shattered. Aomine leaned back, mask sliding into place with practiced ease. “Shut up and warm up before I make you.”

The team dove into drills, but the laughter felt a little forced. Momoi kept glancing between you and Aomine, brow furrowed like she was solving a puzzle with missing pieces.

Later, as practice wound down and the sky outside turned deep indigo, you caught Aomine lingering by the doors again.

“Street ball tonight?” you asked quietly, remembering the lonely grace of his movements under the park lights.

He paused, then nodded once. “You watching from the shadows again?”

Your cheeks warmed. “Busted.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Come closer next time. Not like I bite.”

The words hung between you, simple but charged. You smiled, something fluttering in your chest you couldn’t quite name. “Maybe I will.”

He left without another word, but the air felt different. Warmer. More dangerous.

Aomine walked into the cooling night, fists shoved deep in his pockets. Years of waiting, and now she was slipping into his present as effortlessly as she’d once filled his past. He was falling again but only harder this time while she walked beside him completely unaware.

The things he didn’t tell her were starting to weigh like lead.

And the longer he stayed silent, the more it hurt.

The library after hours was a different world with the hushed footsteps on creaky floors, the faint scent of old books and polished wood, golden desk lamps casting warm pools of light against the growing dark outside the tall windows. Most students had gone home. The basketball club, however, had invaded the far corner like a small, chaotic army.

You sat across from Aomine at a wide wooden table, textbooks and notebooks spread between you like battle lines. Momoi had “conveniently” disappeared ten minutes ago with a flimsy excuse about helping the coach. The rest of the team had scattered after practice, leaving the two of you in a pocket of quiet that felt dangerously intimate.

Aomine slouched low in his chair, long legs stretched under the table, one arm draped over the backrest. His math textbook lay open but ignored, pencil tapping an impatient rhythm against the page.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled, glaring at the equations like they had personally offended him. “Who needs this crap when you can just play ball?”

You tapped his notebook with your pen, smiling patiently. “You do, if you want to stay eligible for Nationals. Come on, Aomine-kun. Focus. This one’s not that bad once you see the pattern.”

He leaned forward reluctantly, shoulder brushing yours as he squinted at the paper. The contact sent a small, unexpected spark up your arm. You ignored it, circling a problem and walking him through the steps in a calm, clear voice. For once, he actually tried. His brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally muttering curses under his breath when he got it wrong.

After the third successful problem, you grinned. “See? You’re not hopeless.”

Aomine shot you a sideways look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Only because you’re annoyingly good at explaining it like I’m five.”

“Better than Wakamatsu trying to teach you last month. He said you threw an eraser at his head.”

“He deserved it.” Aomine’s low chuckle filled the quiet space, warm and surprisingly soft. It made the library feel smaller, the air thicker. For a moment, the usual lazy mask slipped, revealing something almost boyish beneath the arrogance.

You worked in comfortable silence for a while, the scratch of pencils and occasional page flips the only sounds. Outside, rain began pattering softly against the windows, turning the world beyond the glass into a blurred watercolor of streetlights and dark trees.

Eventually, Aomine set his pencil down and leaned back, studying you instead of the homework. “Why do you bother?” he asked suddenly, voice quieter than usual. “With all this. The team. Me. Most people would’ve quit by now.”

You paused, considering. “Because it matters. You matter when you actually show up. There’s something special about the way you play. Not just the talent. The way you move like the court belongs to you. I saw you at the street court the other night. It was… beautiful. Lonely, but beautiful.”

Aomine’s eyes darkened, something raw flickering behind them. His hand twitched toward his bag where the charm still hid, but he stopped himself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, meeting his gaze steadily. “But I want to.”

The rain picked up, drumming harder against the glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance, dramatic and low. For several heartbeats, neither of you spoke. The tension stretched, electric and unspoken with years of his memories crashing silently against your gentle present.

He broke first, looking away toward the rain-streaked windows. “Tch. Keep tutoring me and I might actually pass.”

You laughed lightly, the sound easing the heavy moment. “Deal. Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

As you packed up, Momoi reappeared at the library doors with suspiciously perfect timing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How’s the study date going?”

“It’s not a date.” you and Aomine said at the same time.

Momoi’s grin only widened. “Sure. The whole team’s been betting on when you two will finally admit it. Wakamatsu owes me money if it’s before Nationals.”

Aomine stood abruptly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Tell them to mind their own damn business.” But there was no real bite in it. He waited by the door while you gathered your things, then walked you partway home under the shared umbrella Momoi had “forgotten” to take back.

The streets glistened with rain. Neon signs reflected in puddles like scattered jewels. Aomine kept pace beside you, hands in his pockets, closer than necessary.

At the corner where your paths split, he stopped. “Text me when you get in.”

You blinked, surprised by the protective note in his voice. “I will. Thanks for today, Aomine-kun.”

He nodded once, watching you walk away until the rain swallowed your figure. Alone under the streetlight, he pulled the charm from his bag, thumb tracing the faded smile.

She was falling for him again, he could feel it in the quiet moments, the way her eyes lingered. But she still didn’t remember the boy who once promised to always come when she called.

The ache in his chest sharpened. He wanted to tell her. Every day the words climbed higher in his throat.

But fear kept them locked inside.

What if the truth broke the fragile thing they were building now?

The rain from the night before had left the air crisp and clean, carrying the faint promise of early spring. Touou’s rooftop was quieter than usual that afternoon, the concrete still damp in patches where sunlight hadn’t reached. You climbed the ladder carefully this time with pants, as promised, only to find Aomine already there, sprawled on the bench with his back against the chain-link fence, eyes closed against the pale blue sky.

He didn’t open them when you approached, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

“Skipping again?” you asked, sitting on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a careful distance between you.

“Needed air.” His voice was low, almost rough. “Team’s too loud today.”

You pulled out a small notebook from your bag, flipping to the page with his stats. “You still crushed those drills earlier. The team’s starting to look like an actual unit because of you.”

Aomine cracked one eye open, watching you with that piercing intensity that always made your pulse stumble. “Because of you,” he corrected quietly. “They listen when you talk. Even I do.”

The admission hung between you, simple but heavy. You felt heat rise in your cheeks and looked away toward the distant city skyline. “I’m just doing my job.”

“No. You’re not.” He sat up straighter, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. “Most people give up. You don’t. You climb ladders in the wind. You stay late to tutor idiots who hate textbooks. You watch me play street ball like it actually means something.”

You turned back to him, surprised by the raw edge in his tone. The usual lazy mask was gone, replaced by something restless and frustrated. “It does mean something, Aomine-kun. The way you play when no one’s watching… it’s different. Real. Like you’re chasing something only you can see.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Silence stretched, comfortable yet charged. The wind tugged gently at your hair. Below, the faint sounds of the school day continued. Distant shouts from the sports fields, the bell ringing for club activities. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world was miles away.

Aomine’s hand drifted unconsciously toward his bag before he caught himself and shoved it into his pocket instead. “You ever feel like you’re missing pieces of your own life?” he asked suddenly, voice barely above the wind. “Like something important got left behind and you don’t even know what it is?”

You thought of the blurry blue-haired boy in the old photo. The faint tug of half-forgotten summers. “Sometimes. Moving around a lot as a kid… a lot of faces blur together. Why? You sound like you’re carrying something heavy.”

He looked at you then. Dark eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t give. The moment stretched, thick with everything he wasn’t saying. You saw the conflict there, the way his jaw clenched like the words were fighting to escape.

For a heartbeat, you thought he might speak.

Instead, he stood abruptly, pacing to the edge of the roof and gripping the fence. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

You joined him, standing close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. “It doesn’t sound like nothing. If you ever want to talk… I’m here. Not as the assistant manager. Just… me.”

Aomine’s grip tightened on the metal until his knuckles paled. The frustration rolled off him in waves with the years of searching, the lonely courts, the stupid charm that had become his only proof that what they’d shared was real. She was right here, offering friendship, offering understanding, and he was too scared to reach for it.

He turned to face you. The wind whipped between you, dramatic and cold. Up close, you could see the faint scar near his jaw, the exhaustion hidden behind sharp eyes.

“You really don’t remember, huh?” he murmured, so softly you almost missed it.

“Remember what?”

He shook his head, forcing a crooked smirk that didn’t fool either of you. “Doesn’t matter.”

Before you could press, his phone buzzed. Momoi, no doubt demanding your return. The moment shattered again.

“Back to practice, Miracle Manager,” he said, the nickname carrying a new, private weight.

You walked down together, his hand hovering near your back as you descended the ladder, protective, always. In the gym, the team picked up on the shift immediately. Wakamatsu elbowed Imayoshi. Momoi’s eyes narrowed with knowing suspicion.

Later that night, your phone lit up with a text.

Aomine: Street court. 9pm. Come if you want.

You went.

The park was bathed in the warm glow of streetlights, the cracked asphalt court slick from earlier rain. Aomine played hard, pouring everything unsaid into every move. You didn’t hide in the shadows this time. You sat on the bench and watched openly, cheering softly when he sank an impossible shot.

When he finally collapsed beside you, breathing hard, sweat glistening, he bumped your shoulder with his.

“Thanks for coming.” he said gruffly.

You smiled, heart doing something complicated in your chest. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Neither of you spoke about the almost-confession on the roof. But the air between you had changed with thicker with possibility, heavier with everything still hidden.

Aomine walked you home again, the silence full of things he wished he could say.

He was falling harder every day.

And the fear of losing this new version of her kept the truth locked behind his teeth.

The streetlights hummed softly overhead as spring began to creep into the evenings, turning the air milder and carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from nearby parks. You walked beside Aomine after another late street ball session, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing without effort. His gym bag bounced lightly against his hip, the hidden charm tucked safely away, though its presence seemed louder than ever tonight.

“You were holding back less today,” you said, glancing up at him. The moonlight caught the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. “It looked… freer. Like you weren’t proving anything to anyone.”

Aomine shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, a low grunt his only immediate reply. But his shoulder brushed yours deliberately as you turned the corner. “Maybe I wasn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It had become something else lately. Full of glances that lingered too long and words that danced around bigger truths. Touou’s rumor mill had gone nuclear. Half the team now openly referred to your “study sessions” as dates. Momoi had started a betting pool. Wakamatsu claimed he’d seen Aomine smile during practice when you corrected his form.

You denied it all with flustered laughter. Aomine ignored the teasing with his usual cutting remarks. But neither of you pulled away.

The next afternoon, the shift deepened.

Practice had ended early due to a sudden rainstorm drumming against the gym roof like impatient fingers. Most of the team had scattered, but Aomine lingered near the equipment room while you finished logging stats. When you stepped out, he was waiting, umbrella in hand. His, of course, because Momoi had once again “forgotten” hers.

“Walk with me.” he said. Not a question.

You fell into step beside him under the shared cover, rain cascading around you in silver sheets. The academy grounds looked cinematic in the downpour. Puddles reflecting gray skies, cherry trees just beginning to bud trembling under the weight of water. Aomine kept the umbrella tilted more toward you than himself, his free hand brushing your arm occasionally as if to steady you on slippery paths.

At the old school courtyard, he stopped beneath a sheltered overhang. Water roared off the edges in miniature waterfalls. He leaned against a pillar, watching the rain, jaw tight.

“You’ve been different lately,” you ventured softly, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. “Not just with practice. With everything.”

Aomine’s eyes flicked to yours. The intensity there stole your breath that was carrying depths you couldn’t name. “Yeah. Guess I have.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. The words hovered, heavy and unspoken. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out the small charm, holding it between his fingers like it was both precious and painful. The cheap plastic gleamed dully in the dim light.

“This thing,” he muttered. “Been with me a long time.”

You leaned in, curiosity sparking. It looked so familiar—the little basketball, the cracked smile. A strange warmth bloomed in your chest, fragments of memory flickering like old film: a playground, a loud boy, a promise made with all the sincerity of childhood.

“I think… I might have had one like that once,” you said slowly. “Gave it to someone. A friend. Can’t remember who, though. It was years ago.”

Aomine’s hand closed around the charm tightly. His breathing hitched but you caught it. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher. “Must’ve been important to them.”

The rain intensified, thunder rumbling dramatically in the distance. Lightning flashed, illuminating his face for a split second. Vulnerable in a way the great Aomine Daiki never allowed himself to be. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the sudden gap you felt opening between you.

“Aomine-kun… whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and for a terrifying, beautiful moment, you thought the walls might come down. His free hand lifted halfway toward your face before he caught himself and dropped it.

“Tch. You’re too damn nice.” The words were gruff, almost angry, but his eyes betrayed him, full of years you didn’t know about.

The walk home after that was quieter. He stayed closer, the umbrella a small shared world against the storm. At your door, he waited until you were safely inside, then lingered on the street a moment longer, staring up at your window.

Alone in his room later, Aomine pressed the charm to his forehead, eyes closed.

She was remembering pieces. Slowly. Painfully slowly.

He had waited years for this. Dreamed of the moment she’d look at him and know. Now that it was happening, the fear was worse than the waiting. What if the new her, the one falling for him now, disappeared when the old memories returned? What if she pitied the boy he used to be?

He was in love twice over. With the girl from the playground who saw him when no one else did, and with the strong, kind young woman who had tamed Touou’s wild ace without even trying.

The storm outside mirrored the one inside him.

And still, he stayed silent.

The cherry blossoms had begun their tentative bloom, delicate pink petals drifting across Touou’s grounds like soft confetti in the breeze. The team was in high spirits after another dominant practice match. Wakamatsu was loudly recounting Aomine’s latest dunk to anyone who would listen, Momoi was updating stats with uncharacteristic cheer, and even Coach wore something resembling a satisfied smirk.

You and Aomine had fallen into a rhythm that felt dangerously natural.

After practice, instead of disappearing, he waited. Every time. Today was no different. He leaned against the gym wall, arms crossed, watching you organize the last of the water bottles. The golden evening light filtered through the high windows, catching on his navy hair and turning it almost ethereal.

“Street court?” he asked when you finally approached, voice low enough that only you heard.

You smiled, adjusting your bag. “Only if you let me play this time instead of just watching.”

Aomine’s smirk was sharp, but his eyes softened. “You’d get destroyed.”

“Try me.”

The park court was bathed in the warm hues of sunset, petals scattered across the cracked asphalt like nature’s confetti. Aomine went easy on you at first with lazy passes, teasing crossovers that he slowed just enough for you to attempt steals. Your laughter echoed across the empty park as you missed shot after shot, the ball clanging off the rusty rim.

“Terrible,” he declared after your fifth airball, but he was grinning, the kind that transformed his whole face. He stepped behind you, adjusting your shooting form with careful hands on your shoulders and elbows. His chest brushed your back, warm and solid. “Like this. Follow through.”

The contact lingered a second too long. Your heart stuttered. When you finally and barely sank one, he ruffled your hair roughly, almost boyishly. “Not bad for a manager.”

You swatted his hand away, cheeks flushed. “High praise from the great Aomine Daiki.”

He barked a short laugh, the sound rich and rare. The team would never believe this version of him existed.

Later, as the sky deepened to indigo and streetlights flickered on, you both collapsed onto the bench. Sweat cooled on your skin. Aomine’s bag sat between you, the charm partially visible again where the zipper had caught.

You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the small plastic basketball. “This really does look familiar. I swear I had one just like it. I used to tell people it was a lucky charm for lonely days.”

Aomine went completely still beside you.

Your brow furrowed as a fragment surfaced. A warm summer grass, a boy with bright eyes looking at you like you’d hung the stars. “I think… I gave it to someone who needed it more than me. A kid who got in fights a lot. He was loud and stubborn, but… he listened when I talked.”

The words hung in the cooling air. Petals drifted between you like slow-motion snow.

Aomine’s voice came out strained. “What else do you remember about him?”

You shook your head, the memory slipping away like sand. “Not much. Just that he promised he’d always come if I called. Or maybe I imagined that part.” You laughed softly, self-conscious. “Childhood stuff gets fuzzy after all the moves.”

He stared at the ground, fists clenched on his knees. The pain in his expression was raw for one unguarded second with the years of solitary waiting crashing down. Then the mask slammed back up.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Sounds like a dumb kid.”

You nudged him gently. “Whoever he was, I hope he’s doing okay. That charm clearly meant a lot to him.”

Aomine didn’t answer. Instead, he stood abruptly and offered you his hand, pulling you up with more force than necessary. His grip lingered as you walked out of the park, thumb unconsciously brushing your knuckles.

The team noticed the shift the next day.

During lunch, Momoi cornered you in the hallway with a triumphant grin. “So. You two are basically dating, right? The whole team’s been watching. Aomine-kun waits for you after every practice. He smiles. He even did homework without threats.”

You sputtered. “It’s not like that! We’re just… friends. Good friends.”

Wakamatsu appeared behind her, arms crossed. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. Yesterday during film study he was staring at you instead of the screen for twenty straight minutes.”

Aomine rounded the corner then, drawn by the commotion. He took one look at your flustered face and the teasing crowd and growled, “All of you shut up and go eat somewhere else.”

The team scattered with knowing chuckles. Momoi winked at you before disappearing.

Alone in the hallway, Aomine rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically awkward. “They’re idiots.”

You laughed, the sound easing the tension. “They kind of have a point though. We’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

He met your eyes, something deep and vulnerable flickering there. “Yeah. We have.”

The bell rang, cutting the moment short. But as you walked to class together, his shoulder brushing yours with every step, you felt the pull stronger than ever. Something important was hovering just out of reach, like a half-remembered dream.

That night, alone in your room, you pulled out the old photo album again. The blurry blue-haired boy stared back at you from the playground picture. You traced his figure, a strange ache blooming in your chest.

Daiki…

The name surfaced unbidden, faint as a whisper.

You blinked, shaking it off. Just your imagination.

Across town, Aomine lay awake, the charm clutched tightly in his hand.

She was so close.

And he had never been more terrified.

The Touou basketball team’s community outreach event had sounded innocent enough. A weekend exhibition game and youth clinic in the old eastern district. You hadn’t thought much of it until the bus rolled through familiar streets that tugged at something deep in your chest. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom now, painting the sidewalks pink and white, but the neighborhood felt like stepping into an old dream.

Aomine sat beside you on the bus, earbuds in but one side pulled out, his knee pressed against yours. The team had long stopped pretending not to notice. Wakamatsu made exaggerated gagging noises whenever you two spoke quietly. Momoi just smiled like she’d won the lottery.

The old park appeared as the bus turned the corner.

Your breath caught.

It was smaller than you remembered, the playground equipment rustier, but the same battered basketball hoop still stood at the edge, chain net swaying gently in the breeze. The bench where you once sat with a bruised, angry boy. The patch of grass where he’d first shown you how to dribble.

A strange pressure built behind your eyes.

“Everything okay?” Aomine asked, voice low. His hand hovered near yours on the seat.

“Yeah… just déjà vu,” you murmured.

The clinic went smoothly. Aomine dominated the exhibition game with his usual overwhelming talent, but he was different today. He seemed more grounded, passing to the kids more often, demonstrating moves with surprising patience. You watched from the sidelines, heart doing complicated flips every time his eyes found yours in the crowd.

After the event wrapped, while the team packed up and parents chatted with Coach, you wandered toward the park. Aomine followed without being asked.

The sun was setting, bathing everything in warm amber and rose. Petals drifted lazily through the air like slow snowfall. You stopped at the old bench, fingers tracing the weathered wood.

Aomine stood a step behind you, hands in his pockets, tension radiating from him like heat.

“This place…” you whispered. “I used to come here. With someone.”

He didn’t speak.

You closed your eyes, fragments rushing in faster now. Loud laughter. A boy with wild blue hair yelling at kids who’d tried to pick on you. The way he’d puff up like an angry cat when anyone called him troublesome. The way his eyes lit up when you listened to him talk about basketball for hours.

You turned to Aomine. “There was this kid. Stubborn. Always getting into fights. Everyone said he was a handful, but he was just… lonely. I told him that once. He looked so shocked.”

Aomine’s breath hitched audibly.

You laughed softly, the sound fragile. “I called him something silly. Dai-chan, I think. He hated it. But he always came running when I needed him. Promised he’d always show up if I called.”

The words unlocked something.

Memory slammed into you like a fast break.

Summer evenings. Scraped knees. The cheap charm pressed into a small, calloused palm. “If you get sad, hold this, okay?” A bright, gap-toothed grin. The sudden move. The tears you’d cried on this very bench because you didn’t even get to say goodbye properly.

Your eyes snapped open. You stared at Aomine for a long minute.

The navy hair. The sharp eyes. The way he carried himself like the world owed him nothing and he’d take it anyway. The protective hand on the ladder. The way he listened when no one else could reach him.

“Daiki…?” The childhood nickname slipped out, raw and disbelieving.

Aomine went deathly still. The mask shattered completely. Pain, relief, fear, and something deeper, all of it raw on his face.

“You…” His voice cracked. He stepped closer, towering over you but looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. “You remember.”

The charm. The promise. The boy you left behind without meaning to.

Tears stung your eyes as more pieces flooded back. From the fights he got into defending nothing and everything, the way he’d light up when you sat through his endless basketball rants, the last goodbye that came too suddenly.

All this time.

He’d been right here.

“You knew,” you whispered, voice breaking. “From the first day in the gym. You knew it was me.”

Aomine looked away, jaw tight, but he didn’t deny it. The weight of years pressed down on both of you under the blooming cherry trees.

The miracle manager and the untamable ace stood in the place where their story first began, the air thick with unspoken pain and the terrifying new truth blooming between them.

The cherry blossoms continued their gentle descent around you both, pink petals catching in your hair and on Aomine’s shoulders like nature itself was trying to soften the moment. But nothing could soften this.

You stood frozen on the old playground, the same bench from years ago now behind you like a silent witness. The exhibition event had long since wrapped up; the team’s distant laughter and the rumble of the bus engine felt worlds away. It was just the two of you, the fading sunset painting the sky in bruised oranges and deep purples, and the crushing weight of truth finally breaking free.

“Daiki…” you whispered again, the childhood name tasting both foreign and achingly familiar on your tongue. Tears blurred your vision. “All this time… you knew. From the very first day.”

Aomine didn’t move. His tall frame was rigid, fists clenched at his sides, dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on pain. The lazy, untouchable ace was gone. In his place stood the boy you’d once known that was carrying far too much for far too long.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I knew.”

The words landed like a physical blow. You took a shaky step back, hand pressed to your chest as if you could stop the ache blooming there. “Why didn’t you tell me? The first time you saw me in the gym… every practice, every rooftop talk, every late-night street court… You just let me treat you like a stranger. Like some project I had to manage.”

Aomine’s jaw tightened. For a second, he looked like he might walk away. Just like he always did when things got too heavy. But then something in him snapped. Years of silence, of searching empty playgrounds and scrolling through old yearbooks, of clutching that stupid charm like a lifeline, finally poured out.

“Because I was scared, damn it!” His voice cracked, raw and loud enough to startle a few birds from a nearby tree. He raked a hand through his navy hair, pacing a tight circle before stopping right in front of you. “I looked for you for years. After you moved, I kept coming back here every damn day like an idiot, thinking maybe you’d show up. Teikō, middle school, all those empty wins… I carried that summer like it was the only real thing I had. And then you just… appear at Touou? Smiling at me like I’m just another pain-in-the-ass player?”

He laughed, but it was broken, bitter. “I thought when you saw me, it’d click. That you’d remember the kid who promised he’d always come running. But you looked right through me. Polite. Professional. Like I was nothing. And I… I couldn’t risk it.”

Your tears fell freely now. “Risk what?”

Aomine stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint tremble in his shoulders. “What if you pretended? What if you only acted nice out of guilt? What if the girl who sat with me when everyone else called me a troublemaker was gone, and all that was left was someone who felt sorry for the lonely genius?” His voice dropped to a whisper, devastating in its honesty. “What if I wasn’t the same kid you remembered? I’ve changed. You’ve changed. I didn’t want the memories to ruin the person you are now.”

The wind picked up, swirling petals around you both in a dramatic flurry. You stared at him, heart shattering and reassembling in the same breath.

“All this time,” you choked out, “you were alone with it. The charm. The promise. The searching. While I just… forgot. I moved on like it was nothing.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, but his hand reached out anyway, hesitating before gently brushing a petal from your cheek. The touch was feather-light, trembling. “Don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault. We were kids. Life happened. I just… I couldn’t let go.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and sacred. The old park felt alive with ghosts. The laughter of two children, the quiet promise made on this very bench, the sudden goodbye that had quietly shaped both your lives.

You stepped forward and pressed your forehead against his chest, fists clutching his jacket. “I’m sorry, Daiki. I’m so sorry you carried it alone.”

His arms came around you slowly at first, then tightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish again. His chin rested on top of your head, breath shaky. “I fell in love with you twice, you know,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “Once when we were kids. And again these past weeks. Watching you handle the team. Climb that stupid ladder. Tutor me like I wasn’t a lost cause. You made me want to be better without even knowing why it mattered.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes shining. The sunset painted his face in gold, highlighting every sharp feature and the rare softness in his gaze.

“I think I’m falling for you again too,” you whispered. “The you from before… and the you now.”

Aomine’s breath caught. For once, the genius who always had the last word was speechless. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours, the world narrowing to just this moment under the blooming trees.

The confrontation didn’t end with grand declarations or perfect resolutions. It ended with two people standing in the wreckage of lost time, choosing each other anyway. The past and present colliding in the most beautiful, painful way.

Somewhere in the distance, the team was probably wondering where their ace and miracle manager had disappeared to.

They had no idea the real miracle had just happened.

The old park lay bathed in the soft lavender hush of twilight, cherry blossom petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered secrets from the past. The exhibition event had long ended, the distant rumble of the team’s bus fading into memory. Only the two of you remained standing beneath the same trees that had once sheltered two lonely children years ago.

Aomine hadn’t released your hand. His grip was firm, warm, almost reverent, thumb tracing small circles against your skin as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here.

You sat together on the weathered wooden bench, shoulders brushing, the familiar creak of old wood beneath you echoing like a sigh of relief from the past. Fireflies began to flicker above the grass, tiny golden sparks dancing in the cooling evening breeze. The rusty basketball hoop stood sentinel in the distance, its chain net swaying gently.

Aomine reached into his bag with his free hand and pulled out the small charm. The cheap plastic basketball, faded and scratched from years of silent companionship, rested in his palm like a fragile treasure.

He held it out to you.

“You told me to keep this,” he said, voice low and rough with years of unsaid words. “When I was sad. Back then. Remember?”

You took the charm carefully, fingers brushing his. The familiar weight sent another wave of memories crashing through you. The summer sun on your skin, a stubborn blue-haired boy with scraped knees, the serious way you’d pressed it into his hand like it could fix the whole world.

“I remember,” you whispered, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

A faint, crooked smirk touched his lips, but his dark eyes remained painfully sincere. “Did it work?”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “For you?”

“No.” His voice cracked slightly. He glanced away toward the old hoop, petals catching in his messy navy hair. “It didn’t. Not really.”

“Why not?”

Aomine swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “Because you were gone.”

The words landed heavy and honest between you, carrying the weight of every lonely night, every empty court, every time he’d rubbed that charm like a prayer. The wind picked up gently, swirling blossoms around you both in a cinematic flurry of pink and white.

You closed your fingers around the charm and his hand, pressing them both against your chest. “I’m here now, Daiki. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

He turned to you fully, towering even while seated, his usual arrogant mask completely stripped away. What remained was raw, vulnerable, and devastatingly real. The genius who needed no one had been waiting for someone—you—for far too long.

“Stay this time,” he murmured, the plea rough and unguarded. “Not just because of that summer. Because of us. Now. The way you make me want to show up. The way you see me even when I’m being an ass.”

You smiled through your tears, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was warm beneath your palms, sharp cheekbones and the faint scar near his jaw so achingly familiar now.

“I’m staying,” you breathed. “I fell for you twice too. The loud, lonely boy from the playground… and the impossible ace who listens when no one else can reach him.”

The world narrowed to just this moment.

You leaned in first, closing the distance with a kiss that had been years in the making.

It started soft. Then Aomine made a quiet, broken sound deep in his chest and pulled you closer, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed you back with all the pent-up longing, frustration, and love he’d carried alone. The kiss deepened under the falling cherry blossoms, passionate and cinematic, his hand tangling gently in your hair while petals continued their graceful descent around you.

When you finally parted, foreheads resting together, both breathing unsteadily, Aomine’s smirk returned.

“Took you long enough, Miracle Manager.”

You laughed, watery and bright, swatting his chest. “Shut up, Dai-chan.”

He groaned fondly, pulling you into his side. “Don’t you dare start that again.”

You stayed on that bench long into the night, talking quietly about everything. From the fights, the basketball rants, the sudden move, the years apart, the slow burn of falling for each other all over again in the present. The charm rested between your joined hands, no longer a symbol of loss, but of return.

For the first time in years, Aomine Daiki wasn’t carrying the memory alone.

And under the same sky that had once watched two children make a promise, they had found their way back to each other.

Monday morning at Touou Academy arrived with bright spring sunlight streaming through the gym’s high windows, turning the polished court into a golden stage. The air smelled of fresh rubber and anticipation. For the first time in recent memory, the entire team was early.

And so was Aomine Daiki.

He strolled through the doors at 8:45, gym bag slung casually over one shoulder, the small charm now proudly dangling from the zipper again. It was no longer hidden, no longer a secret. His navy hair was still slightly tousled from the walk, but his posture carried a new kind of ease. He dropped his bag, joined the warm-up drills without being asked, and even corrected Wakamatsu’s footwork with a surprisingly patient grunt.

The gym went dead silent for three full seconds.

Wakamatsu fumbled the ball, staring like he’d seen a ghost. “Okay, I’m officially dead. Someone check my pulse.”

Imayoshi pushed his glasses up, smirking. “Or we’ve entered an alternate timeline. Quick, someone ask him to run suicides.”

Momoi spotted you entering a few moments later and practically teleported across the court, pink hair flying. She grabbed both your hands, eyes sparkling with pure delight. “Finally! I’ve been dying for this day. You two owe me big time. Emotional support manager fees. Cake. Every single week. No negotiations.”

Your face heated up instantly. “Momoi, it’s not—”

Before you could finish, Aomine appeared beside you, sliding a possessive arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently into his side right there in front of everyone. The casual display of affection was so uncharacteristic that half the team pretended to retch dramatically.

“About damn time!” Wakamatsu shouted, pumping a fist. “We had a pool going for months! I lost money because of you two!”

Coach stood near the sidelines with his arms crossed, but the usual deep lines of frustration on his face had smoothed into something like quiet relief. “As long as you both keep showing up and the team benefits… I don’t want to hear about any drama. Aomine, keep this version of you. We might actually win everything this year.”

Aomine’s smirk was lazy, but his eyes were warm when they glanced down at you. “No promises on the drama. But yeah… I’ll be here.”

Practice that day was electric. Aomine played with focused fire, but he also passed more, encouraged the underclassmen, and most shockingly stayed until the very end to help put away equipment. Every time you looked up from your clipboard, his gaze was already on you, carrying that new, quiet intensity that made your heart skip.

During a water break, Momoi leaned in conspiratorially while Aomine was distracted. “So… how was the park? Did he finally spill everything? The charm? The dramatic childhood backstory?”

You smiled softly, cheeks warming at the memory of falling petals and that long-awaited kiss. “Something like that.”

Aomine returned, tossing you a water bottle with perfect aim before draping his arm around you again. “Stop interrogating her. It’s none of your business.”

Momoi just grinned wider. “It became my business the moment you started listening to someone other than yourself.”

The team erupted into laughter and teasing, the gym filled with the kind of chaotic joy that only came after a long, hard-won victory. As the session wrapped and golden afternoon light poured through the windows, Aomine walked you out, fingers loosely intertwined with yours.

At the gym doors, he paused, pulling you close for a moment. “No more secrets,” he murmured against your hair. “Not anymore.”

You rose on your toes and kissed him softly, quick, but full of promise. “No more secrets.”

The team catcalled from behind you. Wakamatsu yelled something about “getting a room,” and Momoi started planning celebratory team dinners. Aomine flipped them off without looking, but his smirk was genuine.

As you walked across the academy grounds together under blooming cherry trees, the past and present finally felt perfectly balanced. The lonely genius and the girl who once saw him clearly. The untamable ace and the miracle manager who changed everything with nothing but patience and heart.

Aomine Daiki had kept his childhood promise.

And in doing so, he’d won something far greater than any game.

Taiga Kagami

The exams were finally over and life was going to get easier again. Now you only had to focus on one thing: your sport. Over the last few years, you’d become something of a football idol among the younger generation. Hard work had got you there, much to the chagrin of your friends. And your crush, Taiga, too.

But now that you’d passed your exams and there was less sport and training, you’d suggested we let our hair down one evening and go out and have a party. Dancing until the night wore away… that was exactly what you needed right now.

You adjusted the hem of your dress for what felt like the hundredth time. This was so not your usual scene, as you got dressed. Normally, you lived in sportswear—breathable shorts, jerseys, track jackets. Everything about your life revolved around soccer: training, matches, stamina, discipline. Looking “dolled up” had never really been a priority.

But tonight? Tonight you wanted to let loose. To be free and feel alive, after all this hard work of the last few months. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see his reaction. To impress him a little, or more to take his breath away.

The black bodycon dress hugged every curve, sculpting your figure in a way you weren’t used to. The patent leather heels (borrowed from your sister) added just enough height to change your posture completely. You stood more upright, tall and definetly more confident. After all, you had a fir and trained body, that was ready to be shown off. Your decided to curls your hair into loose waves, that fell around your shoulders. A little soft but intentional casual look.

Oh and the red lipstick: A bold and striking cherry color.

You barely recognized yourself, as you looked into the mirror.

“…Okay,” you exhaled,“Too late to back out now. I got this!”

___ _ _ _

When you spotted Taiga outside the club, hands shoved in his pockets, looking mildly annoyed at the line. He’d slipped out of his basketball shorts and paired black jeans with a black shirt. He looked almost elegant. The slightly unbuttoned shirt, showing of his necklace, gave him a certain sexy allure.

Seeing him this was, everything felt normal. That was until he looked up to you. And immediately seemed to choked on air,“…Huh—?!”

You stopped in front of him, crossing your arms,“What’s with that reaction?”

He stared. Actually stared, like he would burn a hole into your body...

From your heels… up your legs… to the way the dress fit your waist… your hair… your lips. His face turned bright red in record time.

“Y-you—what—” he started, completely fumbling,“Since when do you look like that?!”

You raised a brow, trying to stay confident,“Like what?”

“Like—like—” he gestured vaguely, clearly malfunctioning,“That!”

You laughed,“Wow. Real smooth, Kagami. You really know how to compliment a girl.”

“I’m being serious!” he snapped, then immediately looked away, rubbing the back of his neck,“You just—y-you don’t usually—”

“Dress like up? Like a stylish person?” you teased.

“I didn’t say that!” he shot back quickly, even more flustered,“You always look fine, it’s just—this is—”

He glanced at you again, then paused. “…You look really good,” he muttered. That sentence hit you straight into your lovestruck brain.

“Thanks,” you said softly. He cleared his throat, still avoiding direct eye contact,“Yeah. I mean it.”

A small smirk tugged at your lips,“You gonna survive the night?”

“Shut up brat,” he told you.

___ _ _ _

Inside the club however, everything changed. The 2000s music was loud and blasting from every speaker in the room, the colorful lights flashing, the energy completely different from anything you usually let yourself indulge in. And you, you fit right in. It was perfect, you felt free.

At first, Kagami stayed close to you, clearly out of his comfort zone—but the more you relaxed, the more you moved, the more that confident, effortless side of you came out. Your hips swayed naturally with the beat, your movements sharp but fluid—athletic, controlled, but still undeniably fun.

He noticed. Hell he noticed immediatly. Like, how could he not?

From the other side of the dance floor, Taiga watched you, being completely locked in.

“…She moves like that too?” he muttered under his breath. You caught his eye and motioned him over. He hesitated, but then came anyway. Big mistake on his side. Because up close? It was worse, well you were worse...you looked so radiant and sexy.

The music pulsed through the floor, and when you reached for his hand, pulling him into the rhythm, his brain was officially out of office.

“You’re so stiff Taiga. Have some fun!,” you laughed.

“I am not—!”

“You are.”

“I just don’t dance like this!”

“Then learn,”You moved closer, guiding him just slightly—and that’s when it hit him. The proximity. The way the dress moved with you. The way you looked completely different from the version of you he knew on the field. Thinking about this, his face flushed again, but this time...it didn’t fade, like it did when you guys waited in line.

As the night went on, something in him shifted. He went from red totmato and shy little baby Tiger to well...less flustered? He was more… intense? You couldnt quite put your finger on it.

His hands settled more confidently at your waist, when the crowd got tighter. His gaze didn’t dart away anymore—it lingered. The gaze was filled, heavy and steamy??

By the time you stepped off the dance floor to catch your breath and maybe grab a drink, he was right behind you. Well he was close, too close one might say, but you didnt mind.

“…You did this on purpose,” he muttered near your ear. You turned slightly,“Did what?”

He leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, rougher now,“Show up like that. Dance like that.”

Your pulse jumped,“Maybe I just wanted to have fun.”

He let out a quiet huff,“…Yeah. Well, it’s working.”

You tilted your head, scooting closer to try to understand was he was saying in the loud atmosphere,“What is?”

His eyes met yours—and there was nothing shy about them now,“…You’re driving me crazy.”

Your breath caught. He hesitated for a split second, like he was deciding how far to go. Then leaned in just a little closer, voice low and heated. “…Didn’t think I could want it even more,” he murmured, “to take you somewhere quieter.”

That sent a sharp wave of heat through you. You swallowed, heart racing,“…Ka...gami”

He straightened slightly, like he’d realized what he said—but he didn’t take it back and he didn’t look away. Just scratched the back of his neck again, a faint flush still there—but his gaze steady.

“…Let’s just—” he cleared his throat,“You know, get some air.”

You nodded, trying to steady yourself,“…Yeah. Good idea.”

But as you walked out together...His hand found yours. A firm and very confident grip. The grip of a man, who definitely was not letting go and had a plan to where this evening was headed.

Daiki Aomine

You were a bit nervous. In a good way – the kind where you get butterflies in your stomach. The sun was slowly setting on that lovely Saturday evening. Lost in thoughts, you double-checked your reflection in the hallway mirror one last time.

The girl staring back wasn’t you. At least, not the "day-to-day" version most people knew.

Most of your time was spend at your school. It wasnt super easy being the top of every class. You wanted to become an engineer and you studied hard to do so. So at school, you were the girl in oversized track pants, plain T-shirts, hair usually tied back, eyes always glued to notes or a book. Lee-Ah, your best friend would say you were invisible. But you wanted to be, it was comfortable and you also liked this more under the radar laid back look.

You glanced at the clock: blimey, only 10 minutes left. You had to get a move on now. One last look in the mirror. Today? Tonight? The girl with the big tees and the trackpants was gone.

You went all out: Baggy charcoal pants hung low on your hips, paired with a sharply fitted cropped top that hugged you just right. A bold belt hung loosely around your hips. A silver chain with the number 3 rested against your collarbone, rings catching the light as you adjusted your Yankees snapback—worn backwards, of course. You looked… different.

Totally confident, you felt sexy and like a total heartthrop. You wouldn’t want to admit it, but you went all out with that outfit more than usual. There was more going on than usual when you were out shopping with Lee-Ah or doing something similar. Because maybe you wanted to see how he would react.

___ _ _ _

Your white and grey Jordans with the light blue soles carried you to the underground as fast as your body would allow. You definitely didn’t want to be late. Or maybe you did? It was like a scene straight out of a film… you were so caught up in daydreaming that you almost missed your stop.

When you spotted Aomine Daiki leaning against the meeting spot, hands in his pockets, looking bored out of his mind, you almost laughed. Some things never changed.

“Oi,” you called.

He glanced up lazily—and then froze. Like actually froze, mid movement. You stopped a few steps away, crossing your arms,“You good?”

No answer. His eyes dragged over you slowly. From your cap… to your top… to the jewelry… and back up again. His usual half-lidded, uninterested stare? Gone.

“…What the hell Y/n,” he muttered. You raised a brow in question,“That bad?”

He scoffed, pushing off the wall, walking closer,“Bad? Nah.” His gaze sharpened, something dangerous and impressed flickering there,“Since when do you dress like this?”

You shrugged casually, even though your heart was doing something embarrassing in your chest,“Since always. I just don’t bother for school.”

“Hah.” He stopped right in front of you now, close enough that you could see the shift in his expression—interest, real interest,“So you’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

“Didn’t think it was a big deal to be honest,” you simply replied. He let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck,“Yeah… well, it does. Even more so now.”

You smirked slightly,“You’re the one who never asked me out. So now wonder you never saw this sinde of me. I had to ask you out.”

“Oi, don’t start,” he shot back automatically—but there was no bite to it. If anything, he looked… amused. And still very much distracted.

His eyes flicked to your rings as you adjusted your cap again,“…Damn.”

You blinked,“What?”

He shook his head, a crooked grin forming,“I need to ask you out more often.”

That caught you off guard,“Excuse me?”

He leaned in just a little, hands slipping back into his pockets like he was trying to act casual—but his gaze gave him away. “Cause if this is what I get?” he said, nodding toward you,“I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

Heat crept up your neck, but you refused to let it show,“Took you long enough Idiot.”

He chuckled, low and lazy,“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky.”

But then—without warning—he reached out, lightly tugging at the chain around your neck, letting it fall back against your skin.

“…It suits you,” he added, quieter this time. That one hit harder than anything else. You looked away, clicking your tongue,“You gonna stand there staring all night, or are we actually going on this date?”

He smirked again, falling into step beside you.

“Relax,” he said,“I’m not wasting this.” As you walked off together, you could feel his gaze linger...completely, undeniably locked on you.

Ryouta Kise

You stared at your reflection, arms crossed,“…This is ridiculous.”

Normally, getting dressed meant pulling on soft shorts, an oversized hoodie, maybe fuzzy socks if you weren’t planning to leave your chair for hours. Comfort was your entire brand—long gaming sessions didn’t exactly call for fashion statements. As a professional gamer, comfort was key.

But tonight? Tonight you wanted to proof your long time friend and crush wrong. Whenever the two of you got onto the subject of fashion, Kise would laugh playfully and claim that you wouldn’t be able to dress well. At least not better than he dresses.

Tonight, you would proof Ryouta wrong. He had practically dragged you out to one of his model events. And somehow, you’d let yourself get talked into this. So this was your chance!

That also meant you had to play with the big guns: The navy blue suit fit like it had been tailored just for you and your georgeous body—sharp lines hugging your waist and hips, the blazer structured but still sleek. Underneath, instead of a blouse, you wore a delicate black lace bralette, barely visible unless someone looked closely… and the subtle glint of a golden body chain beneath it added just enough edge.

The look was elegant, yet it had a dangerous touch. It wasnt you, but that was exactly the point!

“…He better appreciate this,” you muttered.

___ _ _ _

Kise was already there, of course he was. What a swot! He was surrounded by people, a whole ocean of flashing lights and buzzing voices. Completely in his element. A natural celebrity.

You took a breath and stepped into the space. This took some confidence, as you werent used to such big crowds. At you e-sports tournaments, were less people.

It didn’t take long for him to notice you. And when he did, it was well...a very Ryouta reaction.

Mid-conversation, even mid-sentence he shifted all his attention to you. Completly ignoring his conversation partner,“…Eh?”

The person he was talking to blinked,“ Uhm....Kise-kun?”

He wasn’t listening anymore. His golden eyes were locked on you as you walked closer, heels clicking softly against the floor.

“Hey,” you said casually. Silence. Then he went crazy,“WOAH—!!”

Heads turned. You winced,“Too loud—”

“Y/n-CHI?!” he practically yelped, rushing over to you,“IS THAT YOU?!”

You raised a brow,“No, I just broke into this event dressed like this for fun.”

He circled you—actually circled you—eyes wide, sparkling like he’d just discovered something incredible. “WAIT—WAIT—since when do you dress like this?!” he asked, hands flying animatedly,“This is AMAZING! The suit—oh my god, it fits you PERFECTLY—!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sheer intensity,“I mean, yeah, I—sometimes—”

“And the color? Navy blue?? That’s, like, illegally good on you!” he continued, completely unstoppable,“And—wait—are you wearing—hold on—”

He leaned in slightly, eyes catching the subtle detail beneath your blazer. “…Is that a body chain?” he whispered, like he’d just uncovered a secret.

You smirked a little,“Maybe.”

He clutched his chest dramatically,“Y/n-chi… I think I’m gonna pass out.”

You laughed,“ God Ryouta, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious!” he shot back, then immediately beamed,“You look insane! Like—elegant but also super hot? I didn’t even know you had this side! I have to admit you surely know how to dress well....”

Your cheeks warmed slightly,“I just don’t dress like this at home.”

“Tragic,” he said instantly,“Absolutely tragic. I’ve been robbed.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand,“C’mon, c’mon—everyone needs to see this!”

“Wait—what?! Kise—!”

Too late. He was already pulling you along, proudly introducing you to anyone who would listen: “This is Y/n-chi!” // “Look at her outfit, isn’t it amazing?!” // “Right?! I know!!”

You groaned, half embarrassed—but also… weirdly pleased.He wasn’t just showing you off. He was proud. Which meant you had won.

___ _ _ _

Later that evening, you finally escaped to the terrace, the noise of the event fading into a soft hum behind you. You needed to catch a breath.

You leaned against the railing, exhaling,“Well, that was surely a lot.”

“Worth it,” Kise said immediately, stepping beside you. You glanced at him,“You’re still going?”

“Always,” he grinned. But then his expression shifted into something softer. His eyes traced over you again, slower this time. Appreciative, but less chaotic… more focused. “…Seriously, though,” he said, voice dropping just a bit,“You look incredible.”

You held his gaze,“You’ve said that like ten times.”

“I’ll say it eleven times more if I need to,” he shot back easily. You laughed quietly. A small pause settled between you. The night air was cooler out here, calmer—and the way he looked at you now felt different from inside. It made the air more electric between you.

He leaned in slightly, just enough that his voice brushed your ear: “…Damn,” he murmured,“I didn’t think I’d want to leave this event so soon…”

Your breath hitched slightly.

“…but this outfit?” he continued softly, a teasing edge slipping in,“would look even better off.”

Your face heated instantly,“Kise—!” This man was so shameless at times...but you also felt seen. Your friend and longterm crush had just confessed his feelings for you. He pulled back with a bright grin, completely unashamed,“I’m just saying~”

You shook your head, trying to hide your smile,“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re gorgeous,” he shot back instantly.

…Yeah. You definitely weren’t going back inside anytime soon.

Midorima Shintarou

You adjusted the slit of your dress and immediately regretted having legs,“…Why did I ever agree to this?”

Normally, your wardrobe consisted of soft fuzzy lounge pants, oversized sweaters (sometimes the ones Shin forgot at your house), and really whatever was closest to your bed. Being homeschooled had its perks—comfort was one of them. On the other hand, you’re also glad that the study sessions with Shin gave you a bit of a change of pace.

You used to hang out together back when you were still at his school. But since the English stream was discontinued, you’ve had to study on your own. You’d met him, and through him, his friends too. You’d been happy to have a connection in the real world. Until you fell in love with Shin.

Tonight was a theme party. Hosted by Taiga and Tetsuya. Invited were all of the the Generation of Miracles, as well as other team mates and friends. It was going to be huge.

And more importantly....You had decided to be creative.

The red satin dress shimmered under the light, hugging your body just enough to be elegant… and just risky enough to be dangerous and very sexy, yet tasteful. The high slit showed off your toned leg with every step. And your hair was neatly pinned into a bun. You felt like it made everything feel more refined.

Paired with subtle but very intentional accessories and some red heels...it was stunning. You looked like walking temptation.

Or, more accurately a red lotus. And you knew exactly whose lucky item that was today. You smiled to yourself,“…Let’s see how he handles this.”

This was your way of finding out, wether hed also harboured feelings for you.

___ _ _ _

When you arrived at Taigas apartment, it was already buzzing with energy: loud laughter, good music selected by Himuro and lots of chaos. And in between of it all, there he was.

Shintarō...He stood off to the side, posture perfect as always, glasses reflecting the light, holding what looked like a cup of liquid? (This was probably Takaos doing). He wore a rather sleek and trendy outfit, of course a red lotus charm hangs from his belt loop. Of course.

You walked toward him slowly,“…Shin.”

He turned, then paused. He adjusted his glasses, to hide what he was thinking. He opened his mouth, then paused again. Then there was a sound,“…What.”

You tilted your head innocently,“What?”

Silence. His gaze dropped—immediately catching the slit of your dress. Then suddenly snapped back up like he’d been burned.

“…What are you wearing,” he said flatly.

“A costume,” you replied sweetly, doing a small turn,“Do you like it?”

“…No,” he replied straight forward. You blinked,“Wow.”

“It’s highly inappropriate,” he continued, voice tightening,“The slit of that thing is unnecessary. The fabric is—” he cut himself off, clearly refusing to elaborate further,“You should cover yourself.”

You crossed your arms, amused,“You’re staring a lot for someone who doesn’t like it.”

“I am not staring,” he tried to defend himself. “You are,” you teased him. Clearly liking, where this was going.

“I am observing,” he stated. You stepped closer,“…Observing what exactly?”

He stiffened immediately. “…You are dressed as a red lotus,” he said, like that explained everything.

“Yes,” you said, leaning in slightly,“Your lucky item.”

He went still....like completely still,“…That is irrelevant.”

“Is it?” you hummed,“I thought lucky items were important to you.”

“They are,” he admitted.

“Then shouldn’t you… appreciate me a little more?”

A dangerous pause. His grip on his charm tightened,“…You are being troublesome.”

You smiled, slow and teasing,“Or maybe I’m being lucky.”

That did it. He looked at you again—really looked this time—and his composure cracked just a fraction,“…You should not say things like that in public.”

“Why?” you asked, completely shameless,“I’m just stating facts. I’m your lucky item tonight.”

His ears turned red,“…You are not an object.”

“Then treat me like something better.”

Silence. Suddenly, he took a step closer. A step that took him way too close. “…You are playing with probability in a very reckless way,” he muttered, voice lower now.

You raised a brow,“Oh?”

“…And I do not appreciate variables I cannot control.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said with the biggest grin.

That was the exact moment he snapped. He decisively. grabbed your wrist—firm, controlled—and turned,“We are leaving.”

You blinked, startled but not resisting,“Wait—what?! Shin—what about the party? I just arrived...”

“It has become statistically irrelevant.”

“You also just arrived here!,” you tried to get him to stay, as he dragged you out of the apartment.

“I have seen what I needed to see,” he said, voice lower.

“And what’s that?,”you asked. Now you were ready for war, you loved teasing him to the maximum. He stopped just briefly, glancing back at you—eyes sharp behind his glasses, expression far too intense for someone who usually lectured about horoscopes.

“…That my focus has been compromised.”

Your heart skipped,“…By me?”

“…Obviously.”

You grinned,“So I am your lucky item.”

He clicked his tongue,“Do not push your luck.”

But his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened slightly as he led you out. And as the noise of the party faded behind you, his voice dropped just enough to make your pulse spike. “…You will be held responsible for the consequences of this,” he muttered.

You laughed softly, stepping closer to him.

“Good,” you said,“I was hoping for that. Hoping I would get lucky tonight Shin.”

He adjusted his glasses again, this time, he didn’t even try to hide the faint flush on his face.

Akashi Seijuro

The ocean breeze felt different from anything you were used to.

The air was lighter, the ground beneath your feet was warmer. You felt free. You stood barefoot in the sand, staring at the reflection in your hotel window, barely recognizing the woman looking back at you.

At work/school, your world was sharp lines and structure—tailored blazers, pressed skirts, neutral tones. Everything about you was polished, controlled, intentional. Just as one would expect from the heiress of a multi-million-pound business.

But here? Everything softened. After the exams, Akashi asked you if you’d like to go on a short holiday to one of the seaside hotels run by the Akashi family. It came at exactly the right time. Between all the studying and working in the family business, there was little time for self-care. Akashi knew you just too well.

Your gaze fell once more on the woman in the window refelction. That woman wore a silky, sheer beach cover up, that flowed around your body. It was catching the wind with every small movement. Beneath it, your silhouette was impossible to ignore—curves outlined just enough to tease, not reveal. Showing hints of your swimwear. Golden body chains traced along your skin, glinting in the sunlight like delicate armor of a godess.

Your hair, usually neat and precise, now fell in loose, voluminous waves, a single flower tucked behind your ear.

You looked… stunning and dangerous, yet soft and elegant. It felt incredible. Like something out of a myth.

“…An ocean goddess,” you murmured under your breath. A small smile tugged at your lips,“Let’s see what he thinks.”

___ _ _ _

When you stepped onto the beach, Akashi was already there. He was never not prepared. Standing tall, composed as ever, the ocean stretching endlessly behind him. Even here, in a place meant for relaxation, he carried that same quiet authority—like the world naturally aligned itself around him.

You walked toward him slowly. When he heard the rustle of the sand, he turned. Not obvious to anyone else, but you, he had a little glitch in his mimic. It was unmistakable, he was taken aback. His sharp gaze swept over you, taking in every detail—the flowing fabric, the gold against your skin, the way you carried yourself so differently from your usual composed, businesslike presence.

Slowly a faint, knowing smile appeared and he approached you. Stopping just close enough.

“…Well, well,” he said, voice smooth as ever,“If this isn’t my goddess.”

Your breath caught—just slightly. You tilted your head,“Your goddess?”

“Mm.” His eyes lingered, not hurried, not careless—deliberate,“I had expected elegance.”

A pause,“…But this exceeds expectation.”

You smiled, stepping just a little closer,“Are you saying you’re surprised?”

“I am saying,” he replied calmly,"that I underestimated the extent of your… versatility.”

His gaze dropped briefly to the gold chains at your waist before returning to your eyes,"And I do not make that mistake often.”

You let out a soft laugh,“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” The breeze shifted, the fabric of your cover brushing lightly against his arm. He didn’t move away. He stepped closer.

“…You look like you belong to the sea,” he added quietly,“An untouchable, dangerous and yet tempting treasure.”

Your heart skipped,“Dangerous?”

“To anyone who underestimates you,”His voice softened—not weaker, but more intimate.

“And perhaps… to me as well.”

That was new. You searched his face, curious,“Since when are you at risk?”

He smiled faintly,“Since you decided to appear before me like this.”

Heat crept into your chest, but you didn’t back down.

“Then what will you do about it?”

A pause. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against the strand of hair near your face, adjusting the flower just slightly.

“Adapt,” he said simply. Your breath hitched. The moment lingered—charged, quiet, the sound of waves filling the space between words.

But something had shifted. His gaze seemed to darken, not losing its composure, but gaining weight. Intent.

“…This environment is becoming less suitable,” he murmured.

You raised a brow,“The beach?”

“The distractions.”

You smirked,“Am I the distraction?”

“…You are the only one that matters.” That sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could respond, he moved. One arm slipped behind your back, the other beneath your knees—and in one smooth motion, he lifted you effortlessly.

You gasped softly,“Sei what—!”

“Relax,” he said, already turning toward the hotel,“I have no intention of dropping you my little treasure.”

“You could have just asked me to walk!”

“I could have.” A small pause,“…But I prefer this.”

You stared at him, heart racing, the ocean breeze now replaced by the steady rhythm of his steps.

“…You’re being bold.”

“I am being efficient.”

You laughed under your breath,“That’s not what this is.”

His eyes flicked down to you, calm—but unmistakably intent. “No,” he admitted quietly,“…It is not.”

Silence settled between you again—but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said. As the hotel doors came into view, his hold on you remained steady, unwavering. Like he had already decided, there was nowhere else you were going tonight.

Atsushi Murasakibara

Usually, getting dressed meant grabbing whatever was clean—track pants, a loose T-shirt, maybe a hoodie if it was cold. Functional. Comfortable. Easy to ignore. Your training schedule meant you rarely had to dress up in your day-to-day life. Mornings were packed with school and afternoons with your volleyball training. After all, it wasn’t every day that you were selected for the national youth team.

But today... today was supposed to be special. Your crush had finally asked you out on a date, and you wanted to impress him.

You spent the whole of yesterday evening rummaging through your wardrobe trying to find something to wear. And today, too, there was a lot to think about: the weather, the venue, what you’d be doing… and after a quick call to your best friend Minnie, your outfit was sorted.

You almost didn’t recognize yourself: black ripped skinny jeans hugged you just right, the fabric torn in all the right places, shaping your legs—and yeah, your ass looked really good. The lace top added a soft, delicate contrast, hugging your torso while still feeling like you. The sheer fabric showing a little skin. Silver jewelry layered across your neck and wrists caught the light subtly, and the black arm gloves gave everything a gothic edge.

The kitten heels were the final touch—small, but enough to change how you carried yourself. The skinny jeans flared just enough at the bottom to stage up the heels.

You stared at your reflection for a second longer. “…Okay,” you muttered,“This is fine. I look fine...actually I look hot.”

___ _ _ _

Your crush, favourite little sweetie and snack lover Atsushi nicknamed Mura, was already waiting when you arrived—leaning against the wall of the bar you wanted to go to, lazily snacking on something, as usual.

Some things were predictable. He was predictable.

You took a breath and walked up,“…Hey Mura.”

He glanced over, half-lidded and uninterested like usual—and then paused mid-chew on his pocky stick.

The snack in his hand lowered slowly,“…Eh?”

You shifted your weight slightly,“What?” Shit, he didnt like the outfit? was it too much? Your thoughts ran wild.

He didn’t answer. His eyes moved—slow, heavy, taking you in piece by piece. From your heels… up your legs… lingering just a second too long at your hips… then to your waist, your top, your jewelry…

All the way back to your face.

“…That’s you?” he asked flatly.

You blinked,“Yes?? Who else would it be? Did you ask another girl out on a date????”

He frowned slightly, like he was trying to process something complicated—which, for him, probably meant he was,“…You look different.”

“Good different or weird different?,” you asked, getting nervous. He hummed, still staring. Then he took another slow bite of his snack, chewing thoughtfully,“…Both.”

You groaned,“Mura—”

He cut you off, stepping closer. And closer to you. You stiffened slightly as his shadow fell over you. Sometimes you forgot how towering tall he was. God, going on this date already had the worst start...

His gaze dropped again, more deliberate this time, less confused… more aware. “…Your butt looks nice,” he said bluntly.

You choked,“EXCUSE ME?!”

He tilted his head,“What? It does.”

Your face burned instantly,“Mura, you can’t just say that!”

“Why not?” he replied lazily,“It’s true.”

You covered your face for a second, trying to recover,“Oh my god…”

He leaned down a bit, eyes still fixed on you—but now there was something softer underneath his laziness. “…I didn’t think something sweet could get sweeter,” he added slowly.

You peeked through your fingers,“…What?” God, why was he saying shit like that?? You never had seen him flirt, so get to know this side of him, knowing he was this agressive....was shocking to be honest.

His expression didn’t change much, it never did really—but his voice dropped just enough to make your heart trip,“…and also be this sexy.”

That hit. Hard. Like really hard. Your heart sank deeper, this man was going to be the death of you. You froze completely, your brain short-circuiting for a second,“Y-you—what—since when do you say stuff like that?!”

He shrugged, completely unbothered,“Since now, I guess.”

Your heart was racing, and you hated how easily he’d done that to you.

“…You’re unbelievable,” you muttered.

“Mhm.”

There was a small pause. Then, unexpectedly, he reached down and lightly tugged at the lace sleeve near your wrist, inspecting the fabric between his fingers.

“…This is nice,” he said,“Soft. Like a mochi.”

“…It’s lace,” it just slipped out. Your mind was no longer able to think clearly.

“Mm.” His grip lingered just a second too long before he let go. Then he straightened, popping the last bit of his snack into his mouth,“…Let’s go.”

You blinked,“That’s it??”

He glanced down at you again, eyes still carrying that same quiet intensity,“…If we stay here, I’ll just keep staring.”

You flushed again,“THEN DON’T SAY IT LIKE THAT!”

He turned, already starting to walk, completely ignoring your embarrassment.

“…Hurry up,” he mumbled.

You followed—trying (and failing) to calm your heartbeat.

And the whole time, you could feel it, his gaze drifting back to you every few steps.