bluezone | Summer Spooktacular: Short Circuit (Reply)

From the very beginning, Aomine didn't like the withdrawn, insular, frequently absent yet faultless Tim Drake. The reasons at first were small and nebulous, mainly having to do with his own discomfort at the move to Gotham, the language barrier, the extremely shitty weather, and the even shittier basketball team that had nearly fallen over themselves in an effort to get him to join. He did, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he hated the city and he hated that the contract his parents - one Japanese, one Puerto Rican, both of them very skilled civil engineers - had signed would keep him here from the start of high school to all the way to its end. He got up surly and he went to bed surly and that meant that, at school, he was more than ready to find a reason to hate someone.

The first strike of Tim's: they were seated next to each other in nearly every class. It was plain bad luck that their subjects had so neatly lined up with one another.

The second strike: for whatever bizarre reason, Tim actually knew how to speak Japanese. That had put a quick end to Aomine's derisive comments to himself, especially when those flat, cool eyes would inevitably drift his way.

The third strike: his fucking attitude. His expression rarely changed and when it did, it was inevitably cold and unaffected, as if everything around him didn't matter, especially not the perpetually ill-tempered classmate that sat next to him.

The harassment was inevitable. A hard elbow or a knee as they passed each other, dropped books, spilled drinks, stolen lunches and supplies, nasty words spat in a language the teachers couldn't understand anyway, and a few confrontations where Aomine had tired to force a fight, despite better judgement and warnings. He was pent up, damn it, and if he was going to be stuck here, miserable and a thousand kilometers from all the shit that actually mattered to him, then somebody else, especially someone that just looked at him instead of fighting back, was going to be miserable, too. An outlet was an outlet, and everything else in his life actually benefitted from it, because with all his ire channeled toward Tim and Tim's expressionless face, his grades weren't so bad (shockingly) and his performance in games was as overwhelming as ever.

After three months, it was nearly routine, save for one thing: the absences.

Tim operated like any other sad loner with no friends, except there were days when he didn't show and nobody batted an eyelash. There were days when he left in the middle of class and nobody cared then, either. It drove Aomine fucking crazy. Why the hell could he just get away with it? Was it just his parent, or whatever? You couldn't live in Gotham and not know about Bruce Wayne, even if you made every effort not to pay attention, but it caused Aomine to bristle just the same, incised over an unfairness that didn't even technically apply to him.

That he would follow him one day was inevitable, too. The chosen day wasn't out of the ordinary; the afternoon was warm and breezy, pleasant with spring. There was still an hour of class, but a lie about using the restroom was all he needed to leave scant minutes after Tim had just gotten up and walked out.

He'd follow him, wherever he was going. He'd see it finally, whatever it was that he was doing.