Send me “Show me love”… And I’ll generate a number from 1-30. All cute and fluffy!
14. My muse making an eyelash wish using one of your muse’s lashes
"Did you remember to take the small carry-all pouch?"
"It’s in there."
"And your phone charger?"
"Got that, too."
"Did you download the playlist I made for you last night?"
"Did it this morning."
"Both of them?"
"I know! I know! I’m just making sure you don’t forget me while you’re over there, doing the America thing. I even packed your lucky boxers!"
"…my what?!” Aomine asks, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he manages a barely audible mutter, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never actually called them that.”
"Well, they’re in there just the same!"
"Boarding call for all flights leaving from Gate A bound for Los Angeles. Passengers, please make your way to the terminal."
Kise’s pout is enough to break Aomine’s heart. It’s been weeks of it, all day long, even going as far as sending text messages with emoticons that resemble the pouting faces several times a day. Aomine thinks it’s going a little too far and he doesn’t get it.
Until the moment when he does.
Lips turning down into a frown, he sighs and drapes an arm to tug the blond closer. It’s moments like these he’ll miss, when Kise’s hair is soft and smells potently of the fruity junk he brings home samples of. When he feels the warm breath against his skin in time with the heartbeats he swears he can feel through Kise’s cotton shirt. It’s those things that hit him now, the eventual absence of them, even though tryouts are only for six weeks and he’ll be back in no time at all.
It hits him then, the meaning of Kise’s pouts, because suddenly whatever it is he’s been telling himself the last few weeks can’t make the hollowed feeling in his chest lessen. But he tries; God, does he try. Because if he lets himself give in to the pouts, Kise would never let him go.
And so, he tries.
Aomine pulls away from the blond, hand at Kise’s nape and leans in to kiss him. It’s a testament to his will power just how much self-control he’s managing because his lips brush across the matching pair, the gesture light and chaste, with a hint of melancholy brooding and lingering far longer than he means to. Aomine memorizes the curves of his tiers, the slight pucker they make when he attempts to maintain the contact, the taste of the cocoa butter chapstick he wears.
When he pulls away, the monotone voice rings through the speaker again to announce the second boarding call.
"I gotta go."
"I don’t want you to."
His eyes take in the golden gaze, bright like the sun, and his heart breaks a second time. It’s then that he notices the eyelash on Kise’s cheek, glaringly noticeable on his pale skin. Without thinking, he plucks it off and pinches it between two fingers.
"What is it, Aominecchi?"
"Oh? That means you have to make a wish before you blow it from the finger it sticks to!"
"You know I don’t believe in that shit."
"Tch. Come on… make the wish. For me?"
Aomine closes his eyes and tries to think of something. When he opens them, he blows the lash away and turns toward the terminal entrance.
"Wait! What did you wish for?"
"That’s not fair," comes the whine Aomine knows would follow. "I’d tell you what I wished for."
"Doesn’t matter. I didn’t need the wish."
"Why not?!" Kise calls out.
"Because you’re already mine."
He turns the corner leading toward the gate with a nonchalant wave of his hand, not bothering to look back, but entirely certain that Kise is still staring after him in dumbfounded silence.