Aomine Daiki's Infatuation. - Aomine X Reader.

Between Calls and Comfort

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. I force myself to move, shuffling toward the elevator. The ride down is a blur – just the soft whir of machinery and the muted reflection of my exhausted face in the polished doors. When I reach the ground floor, the automatic doors part with a hiss. I hesitate, catching a glimpse of myself in the glass – guilt flickers in my eyes, the weight of leaving behind more than just the hospital.

As I step into the open air, a cold breeze stings my bloodshot eyes. I pat my pockets, searching for my phone, panic rising until I remember – Aomine still has it. And then I remember the gymnasium keys; the ones I was supposed to deliver to the head office today. I mutter to myself, "Brilliant. Just what I needed." My voice is barely more than a whisper, roughened by fatigue and stress. The ordeal with my grandmother has left me hollow, my body heavy, eyelids drooping with the threat of sleep.

The prospect of facing Aomine is almost unbearable, especially after I vanished without a word, leaving only questions and silence in my wake. I keep replaying the moment in my mind, wondering if he even noticed my absence, or if I was just another fleeting presence in his day. Did he care at all, or was my disappearance as insignificant to him as a missed text?

The thought gnaws at me as I slow my pace, my mind racing with imagined scenarios. Maybe he shrugged it off, too wrapped up in his own world to give it a second thought. Or maybe – just maybe – he spared a thread of compassion for me. I can't help but hope for the latter, even as I dread the confrontation that might come with it.

Maybe I should just take the day off. The thought settles over me, heavy and enveloping. As I make my way home, the wind weaves through my hair, cool fingers tugging at the strands and prickling my skin. Each step quickens, as if I could somehow outrun the gnawing anxiety twisting in my gut – a restlessness that builds with every block I pass. I try to focus on the rhythm of my footsteps, the muted thud of my shoes against the pavement, but the world feels distant, muffled by the weight pressing down on me.

I tilt my head back, eyes tracing the slow drift of clouds across the sky. I keep hoping I'll find some kind of comfort up there, but all I get is this dull ache in my chest – steady and stubborn, the kind that doesn't let up. Funny how it's not always the feelings themselves that trip you up, but the emptiness where you wish something was.

All I can think about is getting home, just making it through the front door, shutting out the world for a while. Maybe once I'm back in my own space, I'll be able to shake off this tight feeling in my chest. I just want to drop my bag, flop onto my bed, and let the quiet of my room finally help me breathe again. It's like I've been holding my breath all day.

When I finally step inside, the house feels cavernous, emptier than I ever remember. The familiar scent of my grandmother's perfume hangs in the air, sharper now, as if her absence has distilled every detail into something almost palpable. I move from room to room, each one echoing with memories: her reading glasses folded neatly on the side table, a half-finished crossword, the faded floral cushions indented where she always sat. Every trinket, every photograph on the walls seems magnified, their significance suddenly overwhelming. It's as if the whole house is holding its breath, waiting for her to return.

In this rare quiet, responsibility nudges at the edge of my mind – I need to call the Academy. I fumble for the house phone, my fingers cold and clumsy. My hand trembles as I dial, pressing the phone to my ear and waiting for someone to answer.

A click, then a familiar voice: "Tōō Academy, how can I help you?"

"Hi Miss Abe, this is [y/n]. I–I'm calling to let you know I won't be in today. Something happened at home; my grandmother was taken to the hospital," I manage, my voice shaky.