Chapter Text
It’s been three years since I last talked to Aomine. Words are spoken intermittently, like soon to be disconnected radio waves. The deep voice I hear brings delight to my ears. It felt nostalgic. But even as I felt it, I realized that we’d been separated long enough to make room for the nostalgia.
That fact made me want tear up a little.
“Oh please. Your voice is trembling.”
“Shut up, it’s because of the radio waves.”
-Three years ago-
The clouds looked as if a thick haired brush had streaked through the sky with loads of white paint. However, the sky far off into the horizon looked strangely flat.
There’s a lot of hills in Los Angeles. As I climb the steep hills and come to an opening, I can overlook the city below. The downtown buildings stick out from the ground like crystals, and far away, the Dodger Stadium’s silver lined dome reflects the sunlight as it puffs out of the ground.
The dry sand on the ground had some old beer caps buried into them like old fossils. This area seems to have been be loved by young adults over the generations.
Heineken, Pacifico, Blue Moon… Among the many brands, there was one beer cap that I recognized, with a black base and golden lining. Sapporo. I remember a long time ago, when Aomine and I had found a liquor shop in the neighborhood. It brought back nostalgic memories. We’d popped the cap of a Sapporo together. This cap may have very well been from that time.
Aomine and I traveled to the United States as soon as we graduated. We’d received an athletic scholarship from a basketball powerhouse in the West coast. We trained hard in college, and after graduation, we were drafted into the NBA.
We were given great attention as star players during college, and it became great news that two Asian players, with their disadvantages in size, were drafted into the NBA from a few of the top players in college basketball. This news was widespread through several different sports media. For the first few years, the both of us played on separate teams, but afterwards, we both transferred over to Los Angeles teams, Clippers then the Lakers. Because of that, we started to live together, and even after we were transferred to different conference teams, we spent some time together during the off season at this house over the hills.
As I went past the vividly pink flower garden, I caught a whiff of a sweet scent.
“I wonder what kind of flower this is,” Aomine asked. I guess he thinks the scent of the flower is pleasant as well.
“I don’t know,” I answered. Again, a heavy silence fills the air between us.
It doesn’t become uncomfortable when we don’t speak, and he answers me lightly when I talk to him. I love the Aomine that keeps that distance with me. And it also makes me scared when I imagine a time when that comfort suddenly disappears.
Losing it.
I can’t help but laugh at how I can feel so happy that I can fear for such a thing, so much that I actually let out a laugh.
“Haha, it’s such great weather, it makes me want to laugh.”
Aomine looks back. “Let’s buy lunch later and eat outside.”
I think back at the massive amount of time that it took for us to reach this relationship. We’d snarled at each other, hurt each other, and we’d get depressed because of the frustration.
Losing it.
I’m holding such a luxurious fear.
Aomine, walking in front of me, looks a bit smaller than the Aomine back then, when he was constantly playing games. But still, his lean muscles, stretching from his shoulder to hips, has a beautifully formed curve from years of training.
“It may be time to return to Japan,” Aomine had said two months ago. And right after that, it was followed up by his sudden retirement. This happened after the regular season, when Aomine’s team had just made it to the playoffs.
Aomine faced a great amount of reporters, who were shocked to hear his early retirement, with a serious face. But when one of the reporters asked him if he will continue playing basketball, he answered with a big, strong smile. That smile was the same smile he would give to me when he was facing a strong opponent. It was the smile that he would unconsciously make when battling a powerful foe.
I was relieved after seeing that face, and I decided to push him forward. Aomine’s still in a battle. He’s just going to have to open the next door.
“Who were you smiling at back then?”
When the camera caught his face, his eyes looked as if he was staring at somebody. I couldn’t help but ask him when we got home, and sat down at the dinner table. As he shoved loads of fried chicken into his mouth, he held out his hand in a “Wait” pose, and slowly enjoying the food in his mouth, he let out his opinion of the fried chicken.
“Tasty”, he said. “I guess I had some talent in cooking as well.”
“You only sliced the chicken. I was the one that technically did all the cooking.” I threw a piece of fried chicken into my mouth as well. As I chew through the fragrant skin of the chicken, hot grease spews out along with the deep flavor.
Aomine chugged a glass of beer, and looked at me straight in the eyes. “To answer your question,” he said. “Sorry, but I wasn’t looking at you.”
“Yeah, I know.” As I answered, he made a malicious grin.
“Hey, don’t sulk.” He flicked my forehead. “It’s not like I was looking at anybody."
Aomine continued, “When I started playing in the pro league, a lot more kids started talking to me. I think you’d know too, but ever since I was in middle school, there were some kids that were only as tall as up to my waist, gripping a basketball with their two tiny hands, saying that they love the way I play, and how they want to be a basketball player like me.”
Aomine let out a slight laugh, and made an awfully gentle face. “When I was their age, I loved basketball but hated to play. I never thought about the people who watched me play. But I’m recently starting to think…”
He looked out the window. There was a bright moon outside, in the middle of a dark, blank sky. We both stared at that perfectly round moon for several seconds. And again, our eyes met.
“I don’t think you can have the right to show up in front of those kids unless you can proudly say that you really enjoy what you’re doing, or about to do. That’s why I always play my hardest and enjoy it with all my might, no matter where I go, and who I play with. It’s not really for myself or for the team, but you know, doesn’t it make you happy if that inspires more kids to chase basketballs around? It just made me laugh when I thought about how I’m probably going to live the rest of my life playing basketball like this.”
He makes a smile as the orange light of the dinner table illuminates his face.
I felt proud. I felt proud of Aomine for thinking like this, and I felt proud of myself, eating fried chicken with a guy thinking like this.
---
6th match of the NBA finals. With 4 wins determining victory, the game began with 3 wins and 2 losses on Aomine’s team. I was watching Aomine’s last game from the stands. It would be a lie if I said that I didn’t wish to be the one facing Aomine on the court right now, but our team lost in the conference finals, despite making it to the playoffs. We weren’t able to make it to the finals.
On the day of the game, Kise, who came to take pictures for a magazine, and Momoi, who came from Japan for this big game, were with me. We could have watched the game from a VIP seat closer to the court, but I chose to watch from this seat, where I can see the entire court from a higher view.
Bright lights fill the court, and the American national anthem plays on the speakers. Aomine and I have listened to this song countless times after coming to America, and playing ball in the professional league. When I was young, I held my aspiration and longing in this song every time I saw a game on TV.
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave……
I see Aomine, silently listening to the melody of the song. I can feel the tension and nervousness radiating off of Aomine in the center of the court, which makes my body shake slightly.
The crowd breaks the silence with applauds and cheers. Aomine opens his eyes, and gazes at the opponent standing before him.
Tip off ― The ball is thrown into the air, as if it’s breaking the momentary silence that was created before the match.
The match began with a quick score for Aomine’s team, but the opposing team scored right after. The game continued, with both teams pressuring each other. By the end of the first half, the points were less than five points apart. Passes travel all over the court. The ball goes from one hand to another, as if it was destined to travel in that course. Aomine scores an alley-oop, and his teammates on the bench stands up in excitement, and the crowd throws their arms up into the air. The crowd goes wild. The enemy team doesn’t yield their offense, and scores a series of three-point shots to fight back. After the second quarter, the lead has been switched around more than 15 times, and the game enters the second half, leaving only a one point difference.
The third quarter was a repetition of the previous half. Both teams would pull ahead, and lose their lead over and over again to the other. With five minutes remaining in the fourth quarter, both teams were tied at 100 to 100. The game sped up without losing any of its heat, and the ball was passed around in unimaginable angles and directions, hurling into the hoop one by one.
Aomine’s stopped by the enemy defense line as he makes it up to the three point line from a drive. As he fakes the enemy defense line with a cross-over, he passes to his teammates over on the other side of the court. Like a thread through a needle, the ball travels through the enemy line, and reaches his teammates. By the time the ball reached his teammates, Aomine had already made it to an opening one step behind him. After the ball returned to him, Aomine passes to another teammate that had come up right behind his back. As the teammate received the ball from Aomine, he scores a slam dunk. The crowd gets filled with cheers. The crowd is technically in favor of the opposing team, but it’s as if that no longer matters. The crowd is cheering for both teams. I can’t help but stand breathless. My palms are getting hot. This moment, millions of people are watching this game, from the crowd, and from the camera, broadcasting to people across the world. The ball starts to move again, and it travels between the players wildly, but delicately.
“…It’s like a constellation.” Momoi mutters next to me.
“Right?” This is what I wanted to show you guys. Because we’re not next to the court, because we’re looking from the above, a play that looks as if starlight has been projected on the court. A straight orbit. Passes that look like stars tied together, a constellation.
“It’s beautiful.” Kise says. Aomine passes the ball to his teammates on the other side without hesitation. Another shot goes in. The screaming crowd all have bright smiles on their faces too, from the excitement.
“Wow, I can’t believe Aominecchi can play like that.”
Twenty seconds remaining. The crowd is so loud that even the commentators can barely be heard. Ten seconds remaining. A pass from Aomine travels across the court and lands in the hands of his teammate right below the hoop. But there stands the enemy center, with his towering body and aggressive eyes capturing everything. Five seconds remaining. A shadow dashes below the hoop like a shooting comet. The ball is thrown, and Aomine’s right hand receives it. Aomine dodges the center’s hand going for the block by switching the ball to his other hand. One second remaining. Aomine dodges the defense, and dunks the ball into the hoop at the same time the buzzer buzzes.
His teammates fill the court, as Aomine gets embraced by his teammates. The opposing players slaps Aomine on the back with a big smile on their faces.
“In terms of teamwork, Aomine’s team is said to be the best in the league” I say. Momoi’s wiping tears from her cheeks and looks surprised by my statement.
---
Aomine sinks his feet into the summer beach. There aren’t a lot of people here at Venice Beach, as the morning frost sets in the air. Along the coast, there is a street basketball court where Aomine and I used to play ball when we first came to America. After letting out a sweat, we’d play in the waves as we watched the sunset. Then we would spend the night at the beach houses, carelessly leaving sand on our feet. These are all stories from several years ago.
Through the frost I spot a city, slightly transparent-looking. The waves wash away my feet with piercingly cold water. Aomine is returning to Japan early tomorrow morning.
“Hey, you’ll catch a cold,” I yell out to Aomine. Each time the wave splashes at my feet, I feel my throat clenching because of the cold water.
Aomine responds with a half-hearted response, and instead of coming back, holds his hand out into the frost and stares towards the open sea. I hear the roar of a steam whistle in the distance.
“That’s a big boat.” Aomine looks back, and points across the ocean. I can’t see the boat, so I squint my eyes to make out what’s in the horizon.
“A-ah! Cold! My ass is wet!” A tall wave hits him from behind, and he comes running back to the sandy beach jumping and splashing in the wave. What’s a man near his thirties doing, overreacting to a wave? But it seems like he’s enjoying himself a lot.
Aomine’s usually this kind of guy. He’s honest to his emotions. That’s why I can empathize with him when he’s in a tough situation. I don’t really know about Aomine’s past, when he was alone.
“I’m going to save a game with you for later,” he murmured into my ear, as he pulled out his feet from the wave. I guess that’s how he interpreted my stare, as I watched his back from the seashore, not looking away even the slightest.
The footprints continue along the seashore. As he looked back at me, I felt like I saw another emotion in his face, aside from his generous smile.
“Let’s play together again, someday,” he says.
---
The time I spent with Aomine was like weaving a fabric textile, continuously folding in horizontal and vertical strings.
The small things that may mean nothing to me when I am alone, seems like they get illuminated with color when I’m with Aomine.
Aomine puts his hands on cheap sunglasses sold on the streets. It’s illuminated by pink highlights. He puts them on and looks at me. I can’t help but tell him that he looks stupid. As he frowns, he forces me to wear the same pair of sunglasses. We ended up buying two of the $3 sunglasses, and strolled through the boulevard with them on our heads.
It may have looked like Aomine and I were dating each other. The quality of time we spent together was probably stronger than that of any couple around town. Every time interviewers asked what our relationship was, we both say that we are rivals, and best friends. I always felt uncomfortable saying “best friend”.
But no matter how many times people asked the same question, we never answered that we are a “couple”.
We never really defined our relationship, and we never confirmed anything about it. We were just there for each other, as somebody important.
We are so close to each other, and yet we never stopped each other when the other one is leaving. This nameless relationship will probably disappear over time, and that’s how it should be.
That was our tacit agreement from 15 years ago, between the two of us.
And with that being said, after Aomine retired and left America, we never contacted each other for three years.