Chapter Text
oo1. Twilight
Midorima always brings out the unexpected in Takao, even if he’s already a spontaneous young man by nature.
They’re on the way home from an extended practice, with their sweat-soaked jerseys jammed haphazardly into their bags (at least, that is the case for Takao, because Midorima always folds his neatly and puts it in a ziplock bag and then stashes it away on top of his books). Takao drags his feet, bone-tired, feeling every muscle in his body burn in protest to each movement he makes. Midorima, on the other hand, walks on with his back ramrod-straight, as if the five hours of gruelling training never happened. His strides are a little too long, a little too fast, and Takao struggles to keep up, bag bouncing on his shoulders.
“Shin-chan, slow down. I’m going to have to run if you continue like that.”
“Your unfortunate genetics are not of my concern, Takao,” Midorima says, but he slows down anyway, enough for Takao to slide into step with him. “I don’t even know why we’re walking instead of using the rickshaw today.”
“Hey, spare a thought for me,” Takao pouts. “My thighs are killing me after all those wall-squats.”
Midorima doesn't offer an answer, and they continue on. The sky is a cool blanket of rapidly deepening navy blue today, and if Takao uses a little bit of imagination, it would seem as if it was glittering. It’s summer, but there is a cool enough breeze blowing about that makes their sticky skin a little more bearable. But of course, everything is more bearable with Shin-chan around.
“Are you walking me home today?” Takao says hopefully, after they turn the corner of the street. Under the dull yellow of the streetlamps, Midorima’s eyelashes cast feathery shadows on the peaks of his cheeks, and the sight of it makes Takao’s toes curl, even if Midorima has an extremely disgruntled expression on his face.
“I should think not. My feet are blistering, and there are no buses that I could take back home from your place.”
“You could always stay over. It’s not like I don’t have spare clothes for you.” Takao’s probably pushing it at this point, wheedling at Midorima like that, but he doesn’t care. It’s been awhile since they had time to spend together, after the Inter-High.
“No.”
Takao harrumphs, but walks on, stretching his arms into the sky and occasionally glancing at Midorima. The taller isn't paying him any attention, and honestly Takao feels a little neglected. The street in front of them is long and dim and empty empty emp-
Something crackles into the night, and Takao jumps, hands immediately finding the crook of Midorima’s elbow for support. “What was that?”
“Some gravel that I kicked away. Now stop being skittish and let go of my arm, Takao, we’re out in the streets.”
“No way.” Takao clings on even harder, persistently now that he's had an opportunity to touch him, even when Midorima’s elbow stiffens and he tries to shake off his point guard. Eventually the green-haired boy gives up, and Takao happily rearranges his grip so that he’s holding onto Midorima’s forearm. He’s got his sleeves rolled up and Takao very much likes the feeling of warm, strong skin beneath his fingertips.
“I don’t know why you like to do embarrassing things like that, Takao. Have you no sense of preservation for your public image?”
“It’s not embarrassing if I’m doing it to you, Shin-chan,” Takao singsongs, headbutting the taller on the arm. “Besides, it’s dark and scary out. I need your protection.”
Midorima grinds his teeth audibly. “I am not walking you home, Takao.”
“Aw, come on Shin-chan. We haven’t spent time together in ages, and you wouldn't want me to make my way home all by myself in the dark, won’t you? You know how out-of-the-way my house is.” Takao cranes his neck up, sticking out his bottom lip as far as it would go.
“Stop that, it’s not a good look on you. And since you know full well how out-of-the-way it is for you, then you should also be thinking about how it is the same for me, as well.”
“Shin-chaaaaaaaan,” Takao whines, drawing out the nickname. He’s resorted to childishly gripping onto Midorima’s forearms and swinging it about like a petulant child, liking the way how the taller boy’s blush becomes more and more evident with each swing. “Please walk me home. Look at all the ugly shadows - who knows what’s hiding in them? If they jump out at me you wouldn’t have anyone to pass you the ball.”
“Stop whining, I said-”
Whatever Midorima wants to say has been cut off, strangled in his throat, as Takao stops in his tracks and reaches up to yank his head down so their lips can meet. Midorima is still straining against his grip, but Takao isn’t weak either, managing to hold the taller in place and brush their noses together. Midorima is fervently avoiding his gaze, and Takao feels the back of his neck heat up even more.
“You’re really cute, you know, Shin-chan. Just admit that you want to walk me home already.”
Midorima blusters, much to Takao’s delight. Maybe some day he’ll be paying for it in hell, teasing his boyfriend like that, but right now he’s having way too much fun. He’s not even the least bit ruffled by the dark of the night; messing around with Midorima just happens to be one of his favorite past times. “I do not.”
“Oh Shin-chan, just do it already. I’ll even give you my bed if you want, I know how much you hate sharing beds. My parents are out of town again by the way, just in case you actually want to share a bed.” Takao wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, and then bites back a happy sigh because why is watching Midorima have an internal struggle so cute.
“You’re going to sleep on the ground, on the other end of the room.”
“Shin-chan!” Takao squeals happily, and Midorima is almost knocked over again by the shorter jumping on top of him and clinging like a koala bear. For someone who’s claimed that wall squats killed his thighs, he’s not having a lot of trouble squeezing Midorima’s waist with his own legs. “I knew you just needed some time to admit it. You’re so adorable.”
“Get off me Takao.” Midorima attempts at being stern, pushing up at his glasses, but fails miserably because Takao just clings harder and kisses him on the cheek. Takao is just disappointed that it’s dark enough so he can’t see Midorima’s pretty skin light up.
“Just so you know, I’m probably going to climb into bed with you anyway later. I’ve always had an irrational fear of monsters under my bed.”
“That’s it, I’m going the other way.”
“Shin-chan!”
oo2. Burn
It’s really hard to believe that the two of them are the same age, Midorima and Takao. Midorima is a good six foot five, with seriousness that he incorporates into every aspect of his life that scares even his seniors at times. On the other hand, Takao’s head barely clears Midorima’s shoulder, standing at a five foot nine, and he’s often been given a good kick and a smack around the head for making too many inappropriate jokes or for laughing too loudly.
For the record, Takao Kazunari is the one person that Midorima least expects himself to find himself interacting with. Not that he has a choice, of course. He tends to lose that basic human right when it comes to Takao in general.
“Shin- Chan- ow-” Right now, Takao is violently fanning at his tongue, his chopsticks left abandoned on the countertop. One is on the verge of rolling off the table, so Midorima reaches over to grab it before it does. When he leans over, he also spots the culprit of Takao’s burned mouth lying on his left thigh. Disgusting.
“You’ve got omelette rice on your lap. You should probably clean that up before it stains your shorts.”
“Shin-chan, I’m sitting here with a burned mouth and all you can say is ‘clean yourself up’?” It’s quite hard to understand Takao when he has his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and Midorima can’t quite hold back a comment about him looking like a puppy in heat. Takao kicks him under the table.
“It hurts, Shin-chan. Help me.”
When Takao asks for help, he doesn’t mean for Midorima to sigh long-sufferingly and stick his fingers into his almost empty juice glass for some ice, and hold it in front of the shorter’s mouth. “Have some ice for the pain. See if you’ll be stupid enough to shovel burning food into your mouth again after this- Takao!”
The other, pretty much forgetting about his burn already, takes the ice from Midorima by sucking it in, his lips purposefully brushing against the tips of the shooter’s taped fingers. Midorima snatches his hand back, disgusted after Takao’s pink tongue slips out again to run itself up the length of his middle finger.
But there’s no denying the embarrassed hmph that escapes his lips when he pushes his glasses up, shaking his bangs in front of his face to further hide the blush skating across his face.