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“Aomine-kun,” Daiki can faintly hear Tetsu’s voice over the rain. “Let’s go back to practice.”
He couldn’t feel the strength to move at the mention of practice, especially after his last conversation with the coach. He should feel better at the sight of Tetsu—his best friend—but only anger bubbles in him instead.
“Why should I? For what reason would I need to practice?” The grin on his face didn’t match his internal turmoil, and it showed in the way it never quite reached his eyes. “I already win without even trying. Do you want me to crush our opponents even further?”
He almost didn’t recognize his own voice. It was as if he was watching himself from outside his body, not quite connecting with his brain as it should be. He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the grass. He doesn’t want to see Tetsu. He doesn’t want Tetsu to look at him.
“I understand how you feel, but—” At the words, the anger slowly piling up in Daiki’s stomach shot up all of a sudden, and he quickly got up, finally turning to look at his best friend.
How could Tetsu understand? How could he ever understand how he felt? They’re too different for that. They are—were?—light and shadow, nothing alike, and never will be.
His attempt at empathy made Daiki’s fists clench.
“Understand? Hah.” A bitter laugh left his lips. “What part of it do you understand? Huh? How could someone who can’t do anything by himself understand?"
“There are times where I get jealous of everyone. Including you, Aomine-kun—” Tetsu started. Daiki’s vision turned blurry from raindrops hitting him in the face, but he could still make out Tetsu’s blue hair, his equally blue eyes staring down at the ground and his gradually worsening expression as he spoke—But Daiki didn’t care, couldn’t bring himself to care. “It’s useless to feel grief over the impossible. That’s why, so I can pass with all my strength—”
Daiki cuts Tetsu off. Again. “Who is that pass supposed to be for?”
This time, Tetsu looked straight at Daiki. It was rare to see him with an expression on his face that wasn’t pure blandness or a faint smile.
The shock in Tetsu’s eyes, mixed with the tears threatening to spill out, made such an unnatural look on his face that Daiki prefers to look away. “You realize I can win against anyone by myself now, even without your passes?”
Daiki remembered the day he stopped receiving Tetsu’s passes as clear as day. But he blocked the memory away. He doesn’t want to think about games, he doesn’t want to think about the looks on the opposing players’ faces, who looked like their entire world had been shattered after they got crushed by the Generation of Miracles, Daiki thinks back of that name with irritation.
He doesn’t want to remember Tetsu’s hand left alone in the air, waiting for the fist bump that never came.
“From that day, I haven’t received a single pass from you. It was so recent, but it feels like the distant past already.” And he missed the feeling of playing with Tetsu, he missed the feeling of catching his perfectly coordinated passes, he missed feeling like he and Tetsu were one on the court.
We have nothing in common, but we get along when it comes to basketball.
He could hear his voice turning shaky the more he spoke. His eyes dared to look up at his best friend, who was still looking at him with those eyes that looked so strange on him. He was seemingly on the verge of tears.
The small part of him that wanted to hug Tetsu, and curse himself for ever making him cry—that part was hidden well, well inside of him. The rage in his heart mixed with something akin to numbness, left him unaware of how he should be feeling. How he would be feeling if it had been a normal day back in second year, if basketball didn’t bring him an unbearable sense of guilt, if he and Tetsu were still as close as they once were.
“I... don’t even know how to receive your passes anymore.” A faint smile took over his features once again–a smile so strained it might look funny in another context.
A tense silence shot over them, Tetsu was visibly shaking. Daiki couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, as they were both still under the harsh rain in nothing but their practice shirts, or from the tears that so clearly ran down his face. Or maybe both.
“Aomine-kun.” Tetsu’s eyes were open so wide, his bottom lip hetched between his teeth, his hands clenching into fists by his side— The ringing in Daiki’s ears made itself known to him in that moment, so much as he couldn’t figure out whether Tetsu was still talking to him or not.
Either way, he doesn't want to hear it. He really doesn't.