Author's Notes: Wrote this after listening to The Beatles Long and Winding Road. I do plan to write a proper, non-angsty story for these 2 some day lol. Urm, I actually have I think 14 Kurobas fics that I have written beginning around July 16 or so. That is A LOT for me. I usually do not produce that fast. I have had someone translate one into Chinese and 2 people draw fanart of a couple of them. It's funny because last year I couldn't find anyone to talk to about Kuroko no Basket at all /cry. I am so, so, so happy the fandom has exploded like it has!

Oh, and if you are looking for all of those 14 fics, yeah, most of them are not here. Sorry. They are 100% smut so I'm not risking posting any new smexy stuff to ffnet. You can look on tumblr for The Pinkbook Pirate or livejournal for bexara if you want to read those! Thanks for reading this one, though, and all my other ones that are on ffnet! Love you and all your favorites, comments, follows, etc!

Storms always seem to arrive quickly. One moment, the world is still. The next, the very air itself is screaming as the heavens rip open and lash out in a violent fury. The truth, however, is quite different. Tempests rarely spring up from out of nowhere. They have usually been building, simmering, slowly gaining strength, sucking in wind and heat and moisture until they finally reach the point of no return and erupt in a magnificent display of thunder and lightning and pounding rain.

The storm roiling and shrieking around Aomine now is no different as he stands and waits and watches for the one whose small, strong hand he's finally going to take; whose warm, sweet mouth he is finally going to kiss; whose slender, beloved body he is finally going to hold.

And, the maelstrom twisting, rampaging and seething inside him is also the same. It has been for as long as he can remember.

For four, long, aching years the raging monster expands quietly. With every casual touch, every careless brush of cool, smooth skin, every rare smile and every single time they sync on the basketball court, the tumultuous beast feeds. It's been growing stronger, amassing a huge store of desperate longing and lust and aching desire. The storm is so big, so bloated by now, it threatens to consume him entirely, and yet it still hungers. It wants, needs, yearns for more, and all those cravings carry one name: Kuroko Tetsuya, the one he has now come for, the one he will now finally have, take, hold.

In those agonizing months when he loses his way, when everything is dark and no hope is in sight, there is a brief respite, but that relief comes with a price. He breaks the bond between them. No, not just breaks. He tears it, rips it to shreds, mangles it until there is nothing left tying Kuroko to him. It is an infantile gesture. A child lashing out in pain, hurting the one closest to him, and it works. They stop speaking, and then Kuroko leaves. The storm inside him banks, but never disappears, occasionally wailing out in despair at its missing source of heat and energy and life.

When they meet again, it all comes crashing, thundering, rioting back. The attraction, the passion, the unbearable need. But, there is someone new by Kuroko's side, someone in his place, and he can barely breathe as savage anger wraps around him like a cloying, hateful, black cloud. It's only later, when they face off for a second time, that Aomine understands why Kuroko has done what he has done, what he has sacrificed just to see Aomine smile again. In the center of that wild, howling tempest surging inside him, a place of perfect calm forms. He's not a genius at anything other than basketball, but even he recognizes the feeling, and the feeling is love.

So, now, with the lightning and thunder and rivers of rain boiling and surging and booming all around him and in him, with water rolling down his face, in his eyes, over his lips, Aomine stands vigil until that beautiful, pale hair appears and he takes an anxious step forward. Blue eyes the color of ice, the color of winter, the color of happiness, search for him, see him, and smile at him, even if the lips beneath stay serene and composed. Kuroko walks toward him, to him, and offers his umbrella, offers his hand, offers himself.

The wild, clamorous, turbulent disturbance beating at his heart, beating at his soul, beating at his very essence quiets, eases and he can breathe, he can smile, he can live again.

The storm clouds have finally, finally broken and, yes, he is able to see the light, the road, the way home again. Home. His home. A home named Kuroko Tetsuya.

"I'm home, Tetsu," Aomine whispers hoarsely.

"Welcome home, Aomine-kun," Kuroko replies softly, gently, affectionately. "Welcome home."