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At twenty-eight, Midorima Shintarou renews his passport and learns English to become fluent and gets his affairs in order and moves halfway across the world. In all his years, he has never left the borders of Japan, having passed an opportunity to study in China for a semester in high school to stay behind in Tokyo to help his sister prep for her high school entrance exams. But now she’s in college and his parents are so proud of him for getting his medical degree so it’s time to think about himself.
The first few days pass like a blur and a whirlwind as he settles in and parses out all the issues of moving in and establishing himself. After a week of putting down his roots, he starts work at the clinic several blocks from his west-facing apartment. It lets in a warm golden sunset every evening and sometimes when he takes a break from his work, he closes his eyes and lets the sun wash over his face.
About a month in, he rolls into a routine and begins to get greetings from the other people in the apartment complex and people who come into the clinic know his name - regrettably he has had to Anglicize his name to ease the harsh attempts at his name and has begun to go by Shin, which he thinks Takao would laugh himself into a cramp about - and he begins to see Akashi everywhere.
At first he doesn’t notice it but then once during a late dinner at the nice restaurant down the street after some overtime at the clinic, he runs his fingers over the deep maroon colored cloth napkin and thinks about how it looks like the color of Akashi’s hair in the morning and he jerks his hand away like he’s been burned. But then afterwards, when he makes himself a cup of tea in the afternoon - his mother would cry that he takes cream and sugar now - he catches a whiff of an herbal brew he remembers Akashi really liking and freezes. Since then, he feels like Akashi is everywhere, so much that he throws away a shirt after remembering that Akashi had worn it once and goes out to buy a new brand of shampoo after recalling the one that he has used for the past several years is a scent that Akashi had first bought for him.
It gets so that he visibly starts after hearing a voice that sounds like Akashi’s, down to the very grain and tone, but when he turns, it isn’t him, of course. He looks into a barista’s eyes and sees the same sort of hardness he remembers from Akashi’s eyes, but she’s smiling as she hands him his order as if she has a secret she wants to share with him but he’ll have to beg her first. He stumbles out of the cafe and almost trips over a nearby bike rack in his haste to get away. He goes on a date with one of the receptionists at the clinic, and it doesn’t really get romantic in any sense of the word but when she rests her hand on his forearm and thanks him for a good night, the way she says his name is reminiscent of the way Akashi would call for him in the kitchen for his his help to mince garlic, since Akashi was not as precise as he is. He goes into his apartment and wobbles to his bed and falls into a restless sleep.
He wakes up to several missed calls on his phone. He checks his messages, and two of them are automated voice messages from solicitors, one of them is a wrong number and a mumbling voice, and the other is Takao Kazunari, who says, “Hey, Shin-chan. You haven’t called Japan since you left. Your mom cries for you. Call back, yeah? But you call, because I don’t want to spend all my international phone calling card on you.”
Midorima waits two days and calls Takao. “Hello,” he says when Takao picks up.
"And I’m doing good, thanks for asking," Takao says. "Oh wait. You didn’t greet me with a scathing remark!"
"I’m not heartless."
"Yeah, well, tell that to your mother. She’s called me several times asking me if you’ve called me yet. You’ve got a network here, man! People who care about you here."
"Things have been busy here. I’m sorry. Tell her I’m sorry as well. I’ll call her soon."
"Okay, as long as you do. How’ve you been? Oh, yeah, before I forget, I’m supposed to pass a message to you from someone."
The vagueness raises an alarm. “I don’t want to hear it,” Midorima blurts.
"Really?" Takao sounds thoughtful, like he’s looking at the message in front of him and thinking about how to say it effectively. He doesn’t sound like he’s really listening to Midorima right now. "You might not like it, but you might want to know it."
"Perhaps. But I don’t want you to tell me. It’s nothing serious."
"Okay." Takao drops it, which is a character development that Midorima is grateful to have witnessed during their time together at Shuutoku. To his credit, Takao has always been pretty good at reading the atmosphere and reacting accordingly. "How have you been, then?"
Midorima thinks about how a few hours ago, he catches a whiff of Akashi’s cologne in the midst of a crowd and tries to forget about it but when he turns, he thinks he sees Akashi standing a distance away from him, looking at him, but when he begins to walk toward him, he disappears in the crowd. But that’s foolish. Akashi isn’t the type to follow anyone anywhere. He is pathetic. “Stressed,” he says, honestly.
When he was in high school, Takao managed to convince him to do something he saw on the internet, some stupid prank about taking a mouthful of cinnamon powder and not drinking water afterward. The dry mouth that resulted afterward was enough to shock him into speechlessness, and after taking Takao’s mercy gift of a bottled water, he decides never to listen to Takao’s absurd suggestions again. “Hey,” Takao says, gently, after the silence. “Maybe you should talk to him. Really. I mean, you moved all the way over there.”
"Mind your own business," Midorima warns.
"I am. And your business is my business." Takao’s grin can be discerned from his voice alone. "Five years is a long time."
After his call with Takao, Midorima waits for an hour and dials Akashi’s number. A stray thought tells him he’s being careless; he ought to call his mother first. Akashi does not pick up, as predicted, and he is directed to voicemail. Akashi’s voice is recorded in the same flat, soft voice he uses to address the general public. “My apologies for missing your call,” automated Akashi says. “But I assure you your message is important to me, so please leave your name and number and a short message and I’ll respond to you at my earliest convenience.” Midorima hears the beep and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to anymore. It’s foolish, his logic tells him. His number is recorded in Akashi’s phone as having called in the first place.
"Please let me alone," Midorima says finally and hangs up.