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Takao Kazunari, having been bestowed the honor of being a hawk-eye beholder, prided himself especially worthy of that particular gift (way more than that other point guard, that mere, eagle-eyed Izuki guy from Seirin, with his lame-ass puns, thank you very much), seeing as he was able to apply it in several aspects of his life, beyond basketball.
There was this one time he saved a family from being mugged by a group of thugs. Despite the darkness of the waning day, his sharp eyes zeroed in on the crisis even before the two-year-old clutched in his mother’s trembling hands could scream.
Well, okay, so Midorima was the one who pummeled the assholes with a single shot of the fifty-pound bronze antelope that happened to be the day’s lucky item (without even a single glance at their direction, because Shin-chan was disgustingly cool like that) upon Takao’s loud shout of, “Hey, dickbreaths!” And sure, Midorima got the special mention in the newspaper’s front page (with Takao’s name hardly a footnote in the damn paper— sometimes he does know how that Kuroko dude feels), but he still held on to the firm belief that Midorima couldn’t have done it without him.
(Midorima had adjusted his glasses and frowned very cutely when Takao pointed this out. “I was well aware of their presence even before they crossed the street, imbecile.”)
And beyond being the unsung Batman to Shin-chan’s annoyingly flashy Superman (“I do advise you to dispose of that that absurd analogy…Robin”), Takao could almost believe that his hawk eye could extend to psychological and emotional circumstances.
For example, he could see all sides of any situation, which is why Takao laughs.
He laughed when he was appointed the role of hoisting Midorima, the guy he resented back in middle school, up into the light of sports glory, a role taken from the sidelines and decidedly without the glory, because hello, his life was stupid as fuck, what’s new? He laughed when his dad got home piss drunk, same as usual, and looking like a complete loser with the confetti jammed up his nostrils, but he did manage to muffle his snickers when his mom cried. He laughed when he loves Shin-chan so much it hurts, and how he shouldn’t have even been surprised when Midorima turned him down when he said, real suave, “Hey, Shin-chan, I love you.”
Granted, Midorima probably thought that he was screwing around with him again. So maybe Takao shouldn’t take Midorima’s reaction to heart—that adorable, crimson face, as well as the resounding crack as Midorima hit him right in the jaw with deadly accuracy, as usual.
“What,” Midorima had spat, looking furious, actually furious, “the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“…I was kidding?” Takao offered meekly.
He expected Midorima to sputter and flail indignantly for a few minutes, which was tsundere for: “Yeah, I totally get you, man” or sometimes: “Takao, you’re being incredibly irresistible, I don’t think I can control myself from jumping you right now.”
So when Midorima towered over his mere five-foot-ten frame, eyes as cold and unfeeling as a catacomb, and perfectly composed, Takao finally realized that somehow, he had fucked up. Majorly.
“I,” Midorima spoke, “do not wish to ever see you again, with the obvious exception of basketball practice, for the rest of high school. Of course, I shall still continue to receive your passes, but—” Midorima looked at him with absolute distaste that sent Takao’s heart through his esophagus before lodging itself as a lump into his throat—“I would not put it past you to be childish and thereby completely dismiss professionalism.”
“Don’t worry,” Takao garbled out, still clutching his jaw, and the moment struck him as truly ridiculous, because the stick (or pole, it seemed more like) was so deeply embedded in Shin-chan’s ass that a simple “I love you” was apparently enough to get him to lash out. So ridiculous, that he began laughing.
“Oh, Shin-chan,” he gasped, tears rolling down his cheek and stinging his bruised jaw, clutching his stomach from laughter, “you’re a riot.”
Midorima’s fingers curled, and Takao, immediately catching the small movement, was prepared to duck, when Midorima’s entire body went slack. “I’m glad that you find such humor in this situation,” he said, voice becoming strangely subdued.
Takao continued chuckling, until he collapsed on the gym floor in a fit of hysterics. Midorima stormed off without another glance, and Takao’s giggles eventually dissolved into a puddle of snot and tears and his gross love for Shin-chan.
To be fair, it really was his fault. Anybody could guess that Midorima was emotionally constipated, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise.
Still, though… for that one moment, Takao was serious, the extensive range of his vision tunneling, seeing nothing but the sweat glistening on Shin-chan’s skin from practice, the flutter of his freakishly long eyelashes as he looked at Takao with that sexy disdain, and the way the crappy fluorescent lights hit Shin-chan’s hair, which, probably due to its weird color, actually shone instead of being tinted something garish, like with everyone else.
And when he said, gruffly, “There was a slight improvement to your passing technique, although as usual, you miscalculated the proper trajectory by a few inches,” Takao had (stupidly, of course) deemed it the best moment to confess.
He loved Shin-chan.
He wiped the snot from his face and trudged to the back, where the Shin-chan-less rickshaw was parked.
And then he sobbed like a fucking maniac as he pedaled home, horrifying passers-by and being a hazard to pedestrians within a fifty-foot radius of Shuutoku, until everyone was thankfully saved when Takao pedaled over a rock, lurched into the bushes, and stayed there for an hour, an hour that should have been, in his opinion, the rest of his fucking life.
The ridiculousness of the circumstances caught up to him, and he laughed.
The next day, Takao was putting on his jersey for practice when his locker was slammed shut, and he was suddenly cornered by his darling green-haired teammate with the overly friendly fists.
“What happened to never talking to me ever again?” Takao quipped, smirking slightly.
Takao watched, entranced, as Midorima flushed. “L-Look, I only did what any rational person would do after being ambushed in such a manner.”
“Aww, was that an apology?”
“Of course not, you fool,” Midorima said stiffly, finally regaining his composure as he glared at the point above Takao’s head. “However, after much deliberation, I am now cognizant of the fact that I…may have overreacted.”
“Apology accepted, Midorima-kun,” Takao said solemnly.
Midorima gawked. “Did you just…refer to me as ‘Midorima-kun’?”
Takao pushed his imaginary glasses up his nose bridge. “Yes, as befitting of someone whose acquaintance to myself only extends to ‘teammate,’” he said in his best Midorima voice.
Midorima scowled. “Okay, fine. Takao, I apologize.”
“I’ll forgive you…if you pull the rickshaw for a week.” Takao waggled his eyebrows in triumph. “Good deal to win back my friendship, huh, ol’ buddy?”
“Do not flatter yourself, Takao, into thinking that I would barter the welfare of my limbs for your second-rate companionship.”
“Call me Kazu-chan, and we’ll call it even. Or Nari-chan. Hey! I like Nari-chan.”
“Eat shit and die,” Midorima said pleasantly.
“What, it’s cute! Shin-chan and Nari-chan, it’s like—”
“Do you want to know why I reacted as I did?” Midorima burst out.
Takao licked his lips, surprised. “Hey, Shin-chan, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said, going for a gentle tone (or at least one that didn’t entail guffaws tossed at Shin-chan’s face). “I was the idiot, remember? It’s okay.”
Midorima paused, considering. He adjusted his glasses carefully, before ripping them right off his face. “No. I demand that you listen to my explanation.”
Takao nodded slowly. “Hey, Shin-chan. Aren’t you, like, totally blind right now?”
Midorima closed his eyes. “Not quite blind enough,” he groused. “Look, Takao…Kazunari.”
“Whoa,” Takao muttered under his breath.
“Kazunari,” Midorima said again, tasting the name, almost…savoring it. “Kazunari. My friend.”
Takao coughed awkwardly, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “Uh…okay, you punched me pretty hard, Shin-chan, but I’m not dying or anything—”
“You are one of my best friends,” Midorima barreled on, ignoring him. “No…you’re my only friend. There was not a single individual in whose presence I have felt truly comfortable, before I had met you. You have defined the very term of ‘friend’ in my perspective.”
Amazingly, Midorima said all of this with his eyes clamped shut. It was all very uncomfortable, and Takao had half a mind to slither away, but he really didn’t want to get socked again.
Besides…this little tirade of Midorima’s was giving him a bit of hope.
The unseeing Midorima stood silently. He fidgeted, his feet shifting away inch by inch, until Takao was facing his profile.
“I had reacted in that manner precisely because I had known of your tendency to…jest, even about something as serious as one’s emotions. That was why I had assumed that you were merely trifling with me, or mocking my feelings in some manner. But because I am confident that you do consider me as your friend as much as I consider you as mine, despite…despite the inconveniences, I am certain, that comes with enduring my company...”
Midorima’s shifting had reached the point where his back faced Takao.
No glasses, eyes shut, and not even facing him…that was the magnitude of Shin-chan’s fear of rejection.
And Takao completely understood.
At that, Midorima’s eyes slowly opened, and he stared intensely at the blurry, dark-haired boy he faced.
“What I wish to express is…how much I love you.”
There was a long, tense pause. Frustrated, Midorima reached out to grab Takao’s smaller hands, only to recoil in shock when he was inexplicably holding beefy, hairy knuckles between his fingers.
“Hey, look, Midorima, I’m flattered and all, but I’m still gonna have Miyaji throw pineapples at you if you don’t get your ass to practice.”
And then Takao was laughing harder than he ever had in his life, clutching his stomach as Midorima sputtered apologies to their incensed captain, for whom he had just professed his love.
“You two better be at the gym in five minutes, or I’ll make both of you run all the way to Timbuktu and back.” And with that, Otsubo stormed off, leaving the two alone.
Takao chuckled. “That was pretty lame, Shin-chan.”
Like those words were a trigger, sentence after sentence was spewed out of the flustered ace’s mouth. “Sh-Shut up, fool! I was joking. I did not mean a word that I had said. You truly are a terrible influence. I am leaving now.”
Before he could, though, Takao yanked his arm, grinning at the enraged squawk that emerged.
“Hey, say my name again, Shin-chan,” Takao said, in a voice that was clearly meant to be seductive and was also clearly failing.
“I refuse.”
“Say it and I’ll kiss you.”
Midorima now resembled a tomato, especially with his green hair. “I do not require such incentives.” Then he leaned forward and kissed him.
Or would’ve kissed him, if he wasn’t so completely blind to the world. Instead, his mouth landed right on Takao’s chin, lips grazing his bruised jaw.
Takao huffed. “Okay, I know I’m short, but that’s just insulting, man.”
Midorima replaced his glasses on his face and adjusted them accordingly. “Kazunari.”
And then Takao yanked him by the collar and kissed him properly, a few chuckles still escaping between their lips.