Aomine Daiki's Infatuation. - Aomine X Reader.

Beyond the Bus Stop

"Aomine, that's no reason to stop practising," I say, my voice persistent with challenge. I refuse to let him off the hook, even as his piercing blue eyes seem to burn holes right through my back.

He grumbles, his characteristic arrogance on full display. "Whatever. The only one who can beat me is me, anyway." His words drip with the same old cockiness, but I've come to realise it's just his way of hiding how much he cares.

He stretches, muscles rippling beneath his t-shirt, and strolls toward the gym doors with a lazy motion. "Hurry up. I haven't got all day," he calls over his shoulder. I scramble to my feet, confused by his impatience. Haven't got all day for what?

I shout, "Wait up, Aomine!" as he has already crossed half of the vacant academy campus, his steps deliberate and long. "I need to lock up first!" My voice reverberates beneath the pitch-black sky. He stops, exhaling a loud, annoyed huff, but waits anyway.

Fumbling with the keys, I jam the metal into the chrome lock and turn it clockwise, the click echoing in the chilly night air. I jog to catch up, my breath forming small vapours in the cold.

"Jeez, it's freezing..." I mutter, rubbing my arms. "By the way, Momoi told me there's an important game coming up. She'll go over the details tomorrow, so don't skip practice." My tone is firmer than I intended, but Aomine just shrugs, unbothered.

Suddenly, something soft and heavy lands in front of my face. I almost choked on a mouthful of fabric – a red and black, long-sleeved jersey, the team's colours. I blink in surprise, turning to see Aomine looking away, his expression unreadable.

"Are you cold or not? Just take it before I change my mind," he grumbles, his voice rough but tinged with concern. I don't argue. I slip the jersey over my shoulders, the warmth and his scent – sweat, cologne, something uniquely him – swirling around me.

"Thanks," I murmur as my cheeks begin to flush. The jersey is too big, the sleeves hanging past my hands, but I can't help but smile.

We walk in silence, our footsteps crunching on the gravel. I suddenly realise we've passed the bus stop. "Aomine, we missed the stop," I say, glancing at him.

He rolls his eyes but doesn't slow his pace. "It's late, I'm walking you home. I'm not about to let you get jumped or something." The words are blunt, but there's an unmistakable note of worry hidden in them. Since when did Aomine care?

"It's not that far; you really don't –"

Aomine smirks, leaning in just enough to ruffle my hair. "Pipe down, will ya? Has anyone ever told you you're a real pain sometimes?" His tone is teasing, but there's a spark of mischief in his eyes.

"Oi!" I swat at his hand, trying to fix my hair. "Takes one to know one! You know what they say –birds of a feather..." I retort, grinning as he lets out a low, amused grunt.

Before long, we reach my grandmother's home, its windows glowing warmly against the night. I stop at the gate, turning to face him.

"Well... this is me. Thanks for walking me home. You really didn't have to," I say, hugging the jersey closer.

He follows my gaze to the jersey, realisation flickering in his eyes. "Keep it," he says, almost sheepishly, but there's a hint of something else – pride maybe? – in his voice.

"Are you sure? These things aren't cheap..." I hesitate, wanting to be certain.

Aomine flashes a lopsided grin, tossing his head with mock arrogance. "Relax, I'll just snag a new one. Besides, you'll look way cooler cheering for me when I wipe the floor with the next team. Try not to get too distracted by how good I look out there, yeah?"

I roll my eyes, but the smile breaks through anyway. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Aomine. Like I told Momoi, there's always a chance you'll finally meet someone who can put you in your place."

"Impossible," he says, as if daring the universe to prove him wrong. He pivots, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder.

"Quit standing there and get inside." His tone is sharp, but there's a flicker of something softer as he says, "Night, [y/n]."

His voice hangs in the air long after he's gone, tracing a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the night's cold. Am I really falling for him? 'Hopeless' doesn't even begin to cover how tangled up I am.

All it took was a single jersey, heavy with his scent, and my name spoken like it mattered. I shake my head, a foolish grin spreading across my face. Yeah, I definitely need sleep. This mess can wait until tomorrow.