Lost at a Certain Angle

Break-ups 101: The Ways and Why's of Separation

(A.K.A. How to deal with getting your heart stomped on all over.)

1. Think and reflect on your relationship. Where did it go wrong? What were the signs? Why? When you have all these doubts cleared, you'll get the peace and closure you need.

It was early Monday morning, and the skies outside were blankly blue and cool. The sun wasn't filtering inside a certain Aomine's bedroom unlike other mornings when it usually broke through the shade of curtains and provided an annoying morning greeting to the tanned cop. Aforementioned man was currently, in fact, not on his bed, but was splayed out on the floor of his apartment's living room, looking shitfaced and hungover.

Very shitfaced and hungover.

The clock struck seven, and his cellphone blared out an obnoxious and totally irritating Oricon pop song that did not do well for people who were suffering from severe headache and aching backs due to hangovers.

Specifically people like Aomine.

(It wasn't so much the song, really. Rather, it was who set that song as his alarm in the first place.)

And so when the song hit the chorus, the line that went We'll take on forever, no matter what~ along with the infuriatingly high note that was obviously autotuned, Aomine thought he probably still had the alcohol in his system because goddamn, he was not about to cry from some stupid pop song.

"Fuck my life."

Why'd he break it off? I should have been the one to do it. God knows I can't fucking stand him and his embarrassing tastes in music.

Aomine felt a lump in his throat, and he rolled onto his side, not minding the dull coldness of the floor.

Only god fucking knows.

(He threw his phone at the wall once the alarm turned off.)

2. Try to clear issues with the other party in order to ensure a bitter-free relationship between the two of you.

"YOU KNOW WHAT, MIDORIMA- "

"Takao- "

"Dude, hold on to him-"

"Fuck- "

"I THINK, THAT YOU ARE A FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU BETTER REFER ME TO THE BEST GODDAMN CARDIOVASCULAR SURGEON IN THIS FUCKING HOSPITAL- "

"What's going on here?"

"Oh shit- "

"-BECAUSE GOD KNOWS YOU FUCKING SUCK AT EVERYTHING EXCEPT LOOKING AT OTHER PEOPLE'S BRAINS! FUCK YOU!"

"Can someone call security? Nurse!"

"YOU SUCK! MIDORIMA SHINTAROU! YOU FUCKING COWARD, GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!"

"Sir, he's currently in the middle of an operation- "

"Takao, stop it man, you're drunk- "

"Just let it go- "

"MIDORI- ..."

"Don't worry, it's just an injection to put him to sleep. He'll be fine, albeit a bit drowsy."

"We're sorry for the trouble. You know how heart-broken guys are..."

3. Try to be friendly, or at least, civil towards the other person.

Ever since he woke up that morning from the blare of Kise's self-appointed alarm, Aomine has been anything but good-tempered. He felt absolutely grouchy, and it didn't help that his stomach was feeling funny, and he had this weird premonition that something bad was about to happen.

It was now two in the afternoon, and he was on patrol duty. So far, nothing had happened and everything was relatively peaceful.

...Until some punk decided to try his luck today and stole some guy's wallet.

When he heard a cry of, "Hey! That kid stole my wallet!" Just as said kid rushed past, Aomine sprung into action.

(The beat of adrenaline in his ears prevented him from recognizing the voice that shattered his world three days before.)

And when Aomine finally pinned down the punk, handed him over to his colleague, and when he turned around to return the wallet to its owner-

"Oh."

-he didn't know what hurt more, being slammed onto concrete by one huge body of muscle, or staring at the guy who just recently made you cry to the tune of an obnoxious pop song.

"Oh... Hey, Aomine- Aomine."

Huh. No -chi? What the fuck, Ki-

Aomine scowled.

He roughly threw the wallet at his face, and he noted with satisfaction that he got hit in the nose. Aomine rolled his eyes at the owner's (cute, endearing, adorable) stupid lack of reflex, and he rudely pushed past him.

"Aomine- "

Aomine pulled out his radio and talked into it. "Hey, this is Aomine. I got a kid here. We're on our way to- "

He didn't turn back. He didn't. He wouldn't.

(He glanced back anyway, and he swears it's not regret that he felt in his chest when he saw Ki- his crestfallen expression.)

4. Talk things out and have proper closure.

"You shouldn't have barged in here, Takao."

"..."

A few tears slipped out, and Takao should feel angry, he should feel wronged and annoyed and spiteful and vengeful and bitter and broken and mad and-

"...D-Don't cry! I didn't mean it like that..."

-but he felt happy and elated and enlightened and it was funny, because they were just talking.

It wasn't even a conversation.

This is what happens, Takao thinks idly as he sobs, when you've been wallowing in self-pity and heartbreak for six months.

Midorima reached out a hand, and he brushed some tears away. "Stop," he said softly, with a hint of authority. "Stop, Takao."

He sobbed harder because Goddamn, your touch feels like heaven.

5. Move on ONLY if you're really, really sure with your decision.

It's been two months, and Aomine's life has been filled with lazy, lonely nights out at shady bars and late-night TV shows. He spent his nights silently, basking in boredom and living by the dull beats of his heart. On another note, he's become more neat and tidy. He cleans the apartment on weekends, washes the dishes daily (no matter how late he gets home) and does his laundry diligently.

His friend asked him about it once.

"Dude, your apartment's so clean! You got a girlfriend or something?"

Aomine stared at him long and hard before replying, "No."

"Uh, okay."

.

.

.

.

(He chooses not to tell him that he's still waiting, that he has this ridiculous thought in his head that maybe, just maybe if he does all the things he asked him to do before that he didn't do, he'd come back. Maybe. Maybe.)

It's on one of those lonely, boring nights that the doorbell rings at two in the morning, and Aomine, dazed and on the verge of sleep on the couch, languidly walks towards his door and yanks it open.

He almost slams the door back.

The boy before him is so beautiful, with tears in his eyes, dark circles on his face, disheveled hair and rumpled pajamas on his frame. He's wearing slippers, and he has two bags on either side of him.

"Kise."

Kise sniffs, and he wipes the tears from his eyes. He nods and croaks out, "Yeah. It's me. H-How are y-you?"

Aomine nods back awkwardly. He has that lump in his throat and it feels suffocating, it feels painful and he needs to get rid of it-

"I- I did the dishes."

Kise, through his tears, manages to scrunch his eyebrows in confusion as he stares at Aomine weirdly. "Huh?"

Aomine swallows the lump in his throat and he stands up straighter. "I did the dishes. I cleaned the bathroom, I even replaced the curtains and the tiles. It cost like a bitch, but I bought the tiles you said you liked. The marble ones."

"What- "

"I cleaned our- your- our room too. I fixed the bed. I change the sheets every Wednesday. I arranged your clothes by color, if you don't mind. I do the laundry. I fold the shirts properly, with no rumples. I vacuum the living room every morning. I wipe the kitchen counter. I- I- "

Kise's crying silently, and he's looking so sad and broken and vulnerable that-

"...Anyway, I did the dishes, so won't you come back to me?"

It takes only a millisecond before Kise's flinging himself at him and bawling and getting snot all over him in his arms.

"Hell yes, you stupid ganguro! I fucking hate you so much!"

Aomine squeezes his arms tight around the trembling body in his arms and he whispers-

"I fucking love you too, you little shit."

"You want coffee, Shin-chan?"

"A cup would be nice."

"Hm."

"Hmm."

.

.

.

.

.

A nervous glance. "...You have anything to do this weekend, Takao?"

A tentative reply. "...Nothing, really."

"Okay."

He clears his throat. "O-Okay."

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Would you- would you- like to hang out, sometime?"

A slow smile. "Maybe. I don't know, Shin-chan. Do you want to?"

An awkward pause. "Only if you're up to it, of course."

"...As friends?"

"...Whatever you want it to be."

.

.

.

.

.

"...Wanna go as lovers?"

A small smile. "..."

.

.

.

.

"Maybe."