You should’ve seen it coming. The late replies. The sudden distance. The way Aomine stopped meeting your eyes like he used to—like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality. But still, you held on. Because when Aomine loved, he loved hard. You thought that meant you were safe.

Until you saw him with Kise.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was the way his hand lingered on Kise’s back, the way he smiled like he hadn’t in months. That carefree, lazy grin he used to flash at you after a game, now given to someone else. Someone prettier. Someone who understood the court like he did. Someone who wasn’t you.

Now Aomine stands in front of you, hands in his pockets like he’s too tired to fight, eyes shadowed with regret. He doesn’t try to lie.

“Yeah… it happened,” he mutters. “But it didn’t mean anything.”

But it meant everything to you. And you don’t know what hurts more—what he did, or how easy it was for him to throw everything away.