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The knock at the door has something familiar to it. It’s what makes Aomine get up to answer instead of simply yelling; he realizes, a split second before seeing the visitor, who it is. Tetsu. Tetsu’s standing before him, face unreadable, a bag in both hand. For a brief moment, he’s unable to breathe, but it goes away soon enough, as he's swept up by an incommensurable joy, a bit of fear, a slice of anxiety. He'd had no news from Tetsu since his visit, ten days ago. He has heard some – rumors, of course (Satsuki’s network definitely has its use), but not allowed himself to think about it, even less hope. There had been his whispered confessions, his forcefulness, his despair, Tetsu’s apology and staying the night, crouched on the bed next to him, not really staring but something close, not really believing. Not believing at all.
When morning had come, Aomine had left with his friend's new cell number in his pocket and a “See you soon, Aomine-kun”. He couldn’t imagine wishing for anything more, so he didn’t – when you don’t want, you cannot be disappointed, he thought.
Tetsu is at his door, a bag in both hands.
“Aomine-kun.”
After that, it’s a whirlwind with a bit of everything in it. There’s happiness in coming back to how things were before, when all was good and right in the world (save maybe for Shougo, but that’s a story nobody ever brings up – never), and happiness in slowly becoming a bit more; happiness in watching the pieces of the puzzle slide into place, at last, and happiness in finding a new purpose, even if what caused the issues in the first place didn’t magically disappear. They have time, Aomine thinks, and they’re together now.
“You failed him,” he still hears Akashi whispering sometimes.
He doesn’t intend to do that again, so Daiki puts everything he has in the sport, gets involved in the team, helps them progress, and even though he literally hates, hates, fucking hates it at first, with each second spent on the court with Tetsu, he retrieves a bit of what he had before. What Teikou stripped him of – no, that’s not right – what he left behind, what he gave up, what he forgot. It’s painful, twisted and more than one time, he just wants to run, far away, to never come back. He seriously considers the idea some nights, but the sight of Tetsu, fast asleep in the bed across the room, makes it all disappear. And so at some point it becomes easy again, and so does breathing.
___
“We trusted you. I trusted you.”
He doesn’t even twitch. There’s nothing in Tetsu's body language that betrays any kind of discomfort, of regret, of wanting to go back and do things differently. He’s as unreadable as ever, as well hidden, as secret and discreet. Aomine knows better. Aomine knows better, so he pushes when he can and pulls when it becomes unbearable, takes him to drown at his side and doesn’t let him go until he’s paralyzed with fear, unable to inhale correctly, unable to look at Tetsu without feeling anger and hurt and despair all over again. It’s for his own good, he says to himself, some mornings when he realizes that he doesn’t recognize the guy in the mirror. This is for him, to allow him to have more – more than me, even if it means Seirin and that red-haired kid: they trusted him once, he reasons, they’ll do it again.
(“You failed him.”)
Satsuki says that their playing is a thing a beauty. Daiki laughs it off, Tetsu doesn’t say anything (he never did), and he remembers what his face looked like when the bird-like guy from Seirin was talking to him. Expressionless. The usual. He knows better. Things that are blank and things that were erased are different, and now Aomine knows it. He learned that the hard way, so yes, he pushes and pulls and tries Tetsu’s patience and makes himself sick with guilt and self-hate at the idea of losing him again (but this is for him), but he’ll pay the price; if that's what it takes. Gladly. There's no point keeping to your side someone who doesn’t want to be there anyway, isn’t it?
_
“Aomine-kun.”
Tetsu hasn’t even finished to say his name and he already has all of Daiki's attention. The boy, his roommate, his teammate, his friend, his light, looks at him with intensity. He is an intense kind of person, but these days, there’s more. There’s lateness to training and not near enough homework to keep his grades above the treshold set by the school to be allowed to be in a club, mess in their room it didn't use to be, skipping enough classes to make him worry about attendance and – and it’s probably the worst - grimaces of disgust, when he enters the court, when he plays. Sometimes everything is good and normal (more than that), but often enough, Tetsuya feels as if he went back in time, before leaving Teikou, before Seirin, before –
He doesn’t understand until the match.
“Why would you do this?!”
Aomine remembers clearly the day Tetsu went against Atsushi. The latter had pushed, taunted, told him to go away, but Tetsu hadn’t yielded an inch, consequences be damned. He had known, deep down, that there was a lot more to his friend than what appeared, but knowing and seeing were two different things, and experiencing it... was another one altogether. He'd been waiting for weeks; he'd thought the storm would come sooner, but Tetsu was, apparently, more lenient with him than with just about anyone else, really. Abusing this – kindness hurt him all the more, but it was for him, and for him, Aomine would have done a lot worse. Like falling, fumbling, missing, giving the ball away and consciously (but discreetly) disturb the flow of the team, because if Aomine cannot play… if they cannot win…
He’s afraid. Fucking terrified as it is, heart clenched in fear and there’s a bitter taste in his mouth, like blood and vomit, but this is what he needs to do, because now he knows better. So if, one way or another, they lose to Seirin this time –
“Why, Aomine?”
Of course Tetsu has realized. He knew it could, would happen, and somehow it was part of the plan too, though not a part he cared to dwell on. He couldn’t. Despair swallows him as he lifts his chin and looks his teammate in the eye. There’s him, and, in the background, there’s the red-haired kid. The other one, the one who almost replaced him, who didn’t deserve Tetsu but somehow deserved him more than Daiki himself does, and still does, the one – who will have him, he’ll make sure of it. Because he remembers Tetsu's face as the kid from Seirin talked to him, the way he stood, still as death, the way he didn’t look at him for a long time after that, his mouth a thin line a moment after, the way –
“Because you have – you – you – you’re regretting it, and I don’t want to – I don’t –” he tries to say, but much like some months ago, the words won’t come out easily,
“I don’t want you to stay –” he starts again, and it’s the hardest thing he has ever done in his life,
“If you don’t want to be here, then – I don’t want you to be, to –” and there’s fury in Tetsu’s eyes, but he's dug his grave a while back now, and it’s too late already, so he continues,
“I don’t want to fail you again, so if you have to go, if you want to go, then...” oxygen is - failing him and he feels trapped, in this locker room where Tetsu took him during the half-time break –
“I never wanted to.”
Aomine sits on a bench near, and looks at Tetsu. Stares.
“And I don’t intend to.”
Inspires. Expires. Doesn't believe –
“When you talked to – this kid from Seirin, I saw – I saw, Tetsu, you were –” he tries to put it into words, but it has never been his forte.
“I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere,” the other answers while approaching him.
A moment later, Aomine can't help but look at the hand that took his. It’s strange. Foreign, but it feels good. There hasn't been anything since the day he went to Tetsu – never been anything since the – and he kisses him now, and it’s as slow and gentle as the first time, and, much like that time, he clings to him, almost punishing in his embrace, and that conveys more than many words could have. When they separate, there’s a gleam in their eyes, a bit of uncertainty, of not-knowing (for a change), of apprehension – a bit of everything, a bit of the other in them both. A bit of despair in Tetsu, at not having been able to see what was happening to Aomine –
“I failed you, didn’t I?” he says, and to Aomine it feels like a punch in the gut.
“I did!” he answers quickly, disbelief etched on his face.
There’s silence, for a long time, and then they don’t laugh, but still. It feels as if they’ve crossed an invisible obstacle, and it's exhilarating and worrying at the same time (because if it has been taken from them before, it could be taken again); and they stay like that, calm, not talking and not really thinking, until Satsuki comes to get them. The match isn't over, after all.
Seirin loses 103 to 35.