Title: Glass.
Author: SYNdicate 930.
Summary: AU. Drabble. "This is the last time." Aomine promises, but Kise knows better. "I didn't mean to." BEWARE, TRIGGER WARNING.
Trigger: Abusive relationships.

Note: I will let you know right now that I genuinely don't know if any of this can be considered a 'trigger' since abusive relationships isn't one of mine, but if it is yours then please, GET OUT. I'M WARNING YOU BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO CAUSE YOU ANY HARM OR DISTRESS OR SOMETHING oAo—! But, yeah.

-—

Aomine tells him he loves him. He tells him all the time.

It is a little past midnight. The white blinds are shut, hiding the unexpected hurricane indoors from the outside world. On the wooden floor lay broken shards of glass. They glimmer in the darkness under the moonlight that sifts between the blinds softly, sneaky. Chairs are knocked over, and there is the distinct odor of alcohol that makes Kise scrunch up his nose. He's never been fond of the scent of alcohol—Especially beer, that awful aroma and bitter taste unappealing to his senses.

The living room is dark—Kise can't see a thing. Everything flew by in a blur, flashing before his watery eyes. His milky cheeks are damp with freshly cried tears that he continuously wipes away with the back of his hand, the selves of his school mandated jacket soaked.

The silence beyond the clock, ticking away the seconds at its steady, calming pace, is eerie. He swears he can hear the echoes of all the yelling, and the sound of glass breaking—shattering into a million tiny pieces. Kise tries to clean up the mess he's left, but it's no use. The pretty pink vase that used to stand tall atop the overturned coffee table is broken beyond repair, but still he tries to piece it back together.

Like that'll do any good.

He only ends up hurting himself even more.

Seated against the far wall near the door, Kise stands up. He is exhausted in every possible way; his body is worn out, and his head can't seem to focus on what's just happened. At the same time, it's all he thinks about—From the moment he walks up the stairs to his room, and when he is looking in the mirror, staring at the bruises that line his arm. Slipping out of his jacket, he lifts up his white shirt. There are more bruises—Dark bruises. When his fingers brush against them as he lowers his shirt, he hisses, and staggers out of the bathroom towards the bedroom, turning off the light as he exits with his hand, weary.

The throbbing in his chest is painful as he heaves heavily to inhale, and exhale, the stillness of his bedroom calming him only a little. Kise doesn't bother to change into his pajames. He's too worried about him.

The idiot! What's with leaving so late at night? It isn't safe! While he could always argue, what with that considerable amount of strength and speed he possesses, Kise still stays up all night until he returns, praying to God that he's safe. Lying in bed, slowly easing himself onto the beat-up mattress slowly, dull honeys staring up at the ceiling.

He feels like an empty shell; hollow, and devoid of the life. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep. Kise dreams of the day they met. A basketball comes flying at him, and there he stands in all of his glory. Sweaty and just a tiny bit out of breath, Aomine recognizes him immediately. The energy in Aomine's dark eyes is contagious and ignites a fire in the pit of Kise's stomach, a once ever-lasting flame now reduced to an ember barely kept alive under a countless barrage of rain and harsh words.

Aomine willbe back soon. He always leaves to clear his mind, and always come back with an unclouded mind. It's almost as if he's returned home with his piece of mind, and apologies; apologies the model's heard time and time again—Like a song stuck on replay he knows all the words to by heart. Kise can probably recite them in his sleep if he wants to.

"This is the last time." Aomine will promise, but Kise knows better. "I didn't mean to."

"You never do." Kise would reply.

"I won't do it again."

"I know you won't." Kise would lie.

"I didn't mean any of what I said."

"I know you don't." Kise would convince himself.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Aominecchi…" Kise mumbles under his breath. He reaches out for him; for the illusion of him in his sleep, but the moment he does, the sunny sky above them turns into night and the smile he is wearing is replaced with a deep frown, and suddenly Kise is lying on the floor. Above him, Aomine stands with his fists clenched. The shining glass bottle in his hand can be seen in the corner of his eye, taunting.

He awakes in a cold sweat, with laboured breathing and tears streaming down his face.

The sound of footsteps downstairs brings him out of a shocked daze, and he rushes out of bed and down the hall, towards the dark staircase. He's back, and his heart jumps happily—He's back!

But as he catches him standing in the doorway, Kise looking over at the familiar, shadowy figure, his heart sinks into his stomach.

He's back.

There is no discernible expression on his intoxicated and red features, but Kise takes into account the small amount of light.

For a moment, they stare at each other. Though he can't see his eyes through the dark, the moonlight behind him casting a shadow over the face he's stared at and kissed and loved so many times in the past, Kise knows he's looking back, and at the mess between them. The broken glass is still on the floor, most untouched, the tips of Kise's fingers red with blood when he tried to piece back together what was broken, and some furniture lying on its back and side. It's almost like they've been raided.

"A-Aominecchi…" The door closes behind Aomine, and Kise watches nervously as he draws closer.

Kise knows he should run, but he doesn't. He is too conflicted to do anything more than stand there, and let the power forward's arms surround him. He is pulled into Aomine's chest, and he doesn't respond. Kise can't respond. It's all too confusing, and too alarmingly familiar.

The smell of Aomine's cologne and shirt, warmth of his body as he holds him tightly, muscular limbs that encircle his frame; the darkness and dimly lit living room, the sharp shining on the floor in his peripheral, the disgusting odor of beer on Aomine's clothes, and the painful beating of his heart—It's all too familiar, and the numbness in his arms leaves him unable to return the warm embrace, and incapable of pushing his lover away.

The soft whispering in his ear, the sobbed apologies that play with his emotions makes him choke on his breath. His puffy gold orbs are blurred by tears he can't wipe away, so he buries his face into Aomine's shirt.

"I'm sorry." He says, rubbing his back soothingly. The blonde's body tenses at his touch, but he's too inebriated to notice that the boy's scared—That Kise is terrified. "I'm sorry, you know I am."

The slur in his words—He's heard it so many times before, Kise can barely remember what he sounds like when he's sober anymore. Aomine asks for forgiveness, and suddenly it is silent. The drunken pleading is like nails against a chalkboard to Kise's ears. No one ever wants to hear the one they love like this.

"This is the last time." Aomine promises, but Kise knows better. "I didn't mean to."

"You never do." Kise replies.

"I won't do it again."

"I know you won't." Kise lies.

"I didn't mean any of what I said."

"I know you don't." Kise convinces himself.

"Did I hurt you?"

"You didn't." Kise replies, he's lying, and trying so hard to convince himself that it doesn't hurt at all. He ignores the rough throbbing of his bruises growing harder and harder the tighter Aomine holds him, like a scared child, afraid that Kise will disappear and never come back. But he should know by now. No matter what, Kise doesn't leave. He can't leave him. He absolutely won't leave him. "I'm fine."

Aomine tells him he loves him. He tells him all the time.

It is a little past three in the morning. The white blinds are shut, hiding the calm aftermath from the outside world. On the wooden floor lay broken shards of glass. They glimmer in the darkness under the moonlight that sifts between the blinds, sneaky. Chairs are knocked over, and there is the distinct odor of alcohol on Aomine that makes Kise scrunch up his nose. He's never been fond of the scent of alcohol—Especially beer, that awful aroma and bitter taste unappealing to his senses.

The living room is dark—Kise can't see a thing. His vision is blocked by the muscular chest he leans his face into, and judgement blurred by the sweet words that lull him into forgiveness. His milky cheeks are damp with freshly cried tears that he continuously wipes away with the back of his hand, slipping his hand weakling around Aomine's arms to wipe them away, the selves of his school mandated jacket soaked.

"I'll meet you upstairs, 'kay?" Aomine kisses him softly, and let's go to walk past him. He retreats to the bedroom upstairs, and, at the sound of the door closing, Kise falls to the floor sobbing on his knees. The aching of Kise's body is almost as unbearable as the weight around his heart that keeps him perpetually bound to the boy upstairs.

The silence beyond the clock, ticking away the seconds at its steady, calming pace, can't be heard, the sound of his own crying filling his ears. He swears he can hear the echoes of all the yelling, and the sound of his heart breaking—shattering into a million tiny pieces. Kise tries to clean up the mess Aomine's left, but it's no use. The pretty boy that used to stand tall atop the world is broken beyond repair, but still he tries to piece himself back together.

Like that'll do any good.

He'll only end up hurting himself even more.