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72 months.
It had been 6 years.
Takao wondered how many times he can recompose this text before the universe would reach down and smack his phone right out of his hands.
He decided it’s probably an okay day to test his luck anyways.
[You should have warned |]
[Yes! Party time with |]
[Why didn’t you say |]
[Do you |]
He sat back on his heels on his balcony and stares out into the Tokyo skyline. He wondered if Midorima still ate miso soup with his pancakes. He wondered if it was still a touch too salty. He wondered if American habits had rubbed off in Midorima, or if Midorima was still as pale and pretty as when he left so long ago.
There were so many things he couldn’t convey, over text, over webcam, over short emails and the silences between words. It had been 6 years.
Looking down at his phone, he scrolled up and reread the message.
I’m moving back to Tokyo.
He leaned back and thought about it again. Finally, later, when he was tucked up in his comforter, warm and drowsy, he settled for his reply.
[I’m glad. I’m really glad.]
Send.
73 Months.
Takao didn’t go meet him at the airport.
He had intended to, but then the housing development on the West End was really coming down to the wire and his architectural firm was throwing themselves into a frenzy trying to finalize and print out the blueprints to present at the stockholder’s meeting at the end of the month. He had been swept along with it.
He sent customary and polite apologies over text to Midorima and threw himself back to work, burying his senses.
Later that night, he sees the photos when he’s taking a break from all the lines and angles and doors. He paused as his fingers automatically scrolled through his Instagram, his tired eyes not really seeing any of the bright images until he comes to a stop at the hint of green.
He scrolled up.
Momoi-san had, in her ever-growing magic powers, honed as the press secretary to some politician, managed to wrangle together a good portion of their middle school team, as well as some of his highschool teammates, as a greeting party. He thought he even spotted a few of Midorima’s undergrad classmates in the mix.
That banner “Paging Dr. Midorimacchi” was classically Kise, printed on slick paper and obnoxiously attracting the attention of everyone at the airport, despite the model’s incognito disguise of sunglasses, hat and scarf.
Some were absent.
Touou’s Aomine didn’t appear in any of the many, many photos that Momoi and Kise enthusiastically took and uploaded. He wasn’t surprised. He didn’t really follow the lives of Midorima’s old teammates after they had all graduated, all of them leaving the lights of Interhigh and Winter Cup behind in their collective pasts, but he caught little snippets through ripples in the pond. He still kept in contact with Kuroko and Izuki, and he was fairly sure he had seen on his facebook feed, something about Aomine joining the Japanese National team (to no one’s surprise).
Murasakibara was also conspicuously absent, but if he remembered correctly from the last reunion they’d had, the giant had moved to Paris to pursue the career of a Pastry Chef.
Miyaji-senpai didn’t make it either, but Takao thought he might be in Kyoto at the moment.
He scanned the photos, focusing on the various greeters. Apparently for people like Akashi Seijuro, it was easy to balance the role of being the CEO of a multi-national energy conglomerate and part-time professional Shoji player, enough that he had time to go meet his old classmate, in a suit so crisp, even Kise must have been impressed.
Kuroko, ever faithfully, managed to work himself into the background of every photo while Kagami laughed at something Kimura-senpai said.
Finally, he let himself really look at the subject of all these photos.
Midorima looked different. His face looked sharper, his hair short and parted on the right side, instead of the left. His glasses were definitely new, the more rectangular frame showcasing his eyes perfectly. Someone in the States must have taken him shopping.
The dark grey wool pea-coat he wore really suited him, as well as the sweater and tie he wore under it. Takao bit back a snort. Only Midorima would wear a tie on a seventeen hour flight. Takao had never flown so far before, only to Korea and China a few times and once to Singapore for business trips, but even on those shorter flights, he always made sure to wear his most comfortable old sweater and sweatpants.
Midorima would have to fly business, Takao mused. With his height and legs, he would never fit in economy class seating.
He let himself slowly linger over the photos, letting himself imagine the greetings and the chatter.
When he fell asleep at his desk, he dreamt, in the first time in a few years, in soft warm greens.
76 Months.
When Midorima left after that wonderful, short, fleeting year, they had both agreed to break up. The future was uncertain. The opportunities for Midorima to return to Tokyo during med school was few and far between, and the chances of Takao going to Boston was even slimmer. Takao had been offered an internship at the architectural company he’d been eyeing all through college and Midorima might stay in the States indefinitely to pursue oncology. It was the right choice, to leave their tender highschool sweethearts to memory and the past. It just hadn't felt like it.
He had learned to deal with it. Midorima had too.
He didn’t even know Kuroko was there until the other man tapped him on his shoulder. Takao barely avoiding spilling his beer into his ramen bowl when he jerked in surprise. After highschool, they’d all gotten better at sensing Kuroko but the man still took them by surprise occasionally.
Kuroko slid into the seat next to him.
“Hello Takao-san, how was your project?” he asked, politely.
Takao shrugged and took another sip of his beer.
“We got it done, it’s just now under review. Kuchiki-san’s the one who had to present and he said they seemed to react favorably, so all we can do now is wait.”
Kuroko hummed in sympathy, flagging down the waitress to make his own order.
They sat in silence for a moment after the girl had taken his order and whisked away.
“We missed you at the reunion dinner.” he remarked blandly.
Takao sighed.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I missed it. Of course Akashi-san could book a private room of such a ritzy restaurant on such short notice. My coworker nearly lost my mind when she saw the invitation, she said it took her husband a year of advanced booking to get the two of them a table.”
Kuroko pursed his lips.
“It was quite delicious,” he agreed. “Akashi-san surprised us when he revealed that Murasakibara-san is working there as the head pastry chef now.”
“Ah?” Takao lifted his head, happy for that thread of conversation. “That’s interesting, how was the food then?”
When they finally exhausted the topic of the food and Kagami over-eating as usual, they fell back into silence to eat, Takao pointedly dancing around the subject that he was sure Kuroko came here to discuss in the first place.
Finally, Kuroko patted his mouth delicately with the napkin, clearly finished with his own half-eaten bowl.
“Have you seen Midorima-san yet?”
Takao kept his expression and voice neutral.
“No,” he replied with false ease, “I’ve been pretty busy, and I’m sure he has too, getting acquainted with his new hospital.”
“I see.” A quick glance across the table just showed him Kuroko’s unreadable expression. Takao quickly averted his eyes and asked about the new puppy Kagami and Kuroko had adopted. Kuroko had a few photos on his phone which he obligingly showed Takao with undisguised affection in his voice as he recounted a story about Kagami attempting to give the little canine a bath for the first time.
After a little more bantering, Takao glanced at his watch and they both agreed they had to get home, Kuroko to grade some of his 3rd grader’s compositions and Takao to catch up on work emails.
Before they parted ways outside of the shop, Kuroko reached out to give Takao his customary fistbump, a habit neither of them had broken out of after highschool.
“It was good to see you Kuroko, however unexpectedly.”
“You as well, Takao-san.” Kuroko paused. “This may not really be any of my business, but I believe you really should see Midorima-san sometime in person. I know he would like to see you and I’m sure you feel the same way.”
With that, Seiren’s former Phantom waved and strolled off to catch his own train.
Takao could only shake his head ruefully. Only Kuroko.
When he’s at home and getting a glass of water before bed, he paused to stare at the glass in his hand. It was one of the only few that survived his moves and clumsiness, just one of his old glasses from IKEA. He wasn’t sure if they still sold cups with this pattern anymore. He glanced over to his phone again for the millionth time that evening.
Oh hell.
Picking up his phone, he walked back into his bedroom, water placed carefully on the bedside table next to the little globe he’s kept there for six years (and counting) and slid under the warm covers. It’s felt like deja vu.
With the shadows cast by the streetlamps outside, he opens up to a new message.
[Hey! How is the new workplace? Making friends? |]
[That dinner party looked fun |]
[How was the flight? |]
[Sorry for not being |]
[I’ve been |]
[Let’s go for coffee sometime.]
Send.
76 Months.
Without the glass of his phone to separate them, Takao picked out more details of Midorima’s appearance than he had noted in the photos he'd seen. Takao picked out faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines? Who had made Midorima laugh, while he was in America, Takao wondered. Maybe it was that Someone who also got him the glasses.
This older Midorima is familiarly different. He’s softer in a lot of ways, Takao noted. Better about replying to texts. Still despises sweeteners in his drinks. Smiles a little easier. No longer as high-strung. Eyes are a little sadder.
Takao wondered.
They chat about everything, about Boston, about Tokyo, about Midorima’s baby sister who entered University two years ago in the Engineering department. Takao catches him up on stories from Shuutoku reunions and Miyaji’s eternal love for pineapple. Midorima tries to describe some of the buildings in America to Takao and Takao wondered.
Did you think of me as much as I thought of you? Did you count the months and the distance?
This becomes a regular thing. Takao gets on the Hibiya line after work on Fridays, walks 4 blocks to the coffee shop and orders himself a cappuchino. Sometimes Midorima is already there nursing his plain matcha green or occasionally gunpowder green and sometimes he’ll stroll in a few minutes later. Hospital schedules are variable. Sometimes Takao can’t make it because of deadlines or Midorima can’t make it because of his shifts.
But mostly, this is a regular thing.
They start to catch up. Takao finds himself telling stories of insignificant little moments once they get past the big parties and events. He finds himself listening to stories about residency and puking and big American cities. Takao shows some of the photos he took in Singapore. Midorima has a few from New York.
A polite newfound distance keeps them apart through all of these. Takao no longer uses “Shin-chan”, old habit gone. Midorima primly keeps his hands folded before him through all of their conversations.
Still, Takao can feel himself slowly slipping back.
The squeak of his office door took him back to that old apartment he shared with Midorima for a year. They had some epic rows over the appropriate way to oil their front door hinges, but in the end, all their efforts were for naught. Some door hinges are just meant to squeak.
A street vendor selling takoyaki reminds him of habitual late night walks through the park down the block. They had gotten into that habit after the 4th month.
When he was supposed to be looking over the blueprints for the new set of high-rises a client wants to build in the newly-developed west side, he found himself sketching the crisp lines of a surgeon’s hands in the margins.
They were both slowly slipping back.
They memorized each other’s drink orders and started ordering for the other if they haven’t arrived yet. They start trying different places, going for lunch sometimes and even dinner. They sometimes go for drinks.
Midorima sends a congratulatory bouquet to Takao’s office after they win the bid for a big building project.
Takao tends to drop by with good coffee (Midorima has WORDS about the coffee machine in the staff room) and bento boxes when Midorima has an overnight shift.
Takao stops wondering because he feels he knows now.
Takao hears the stories of patients that make Midorima’s eyes so sad sometimes. Midorima tells him stories that make the corners of his eyes crinkle.
He knows when Midorima changed glasses and why (during his rotation, a child in pediatrics took a liking to them and was a tad too rough).
He doesn’t know that Midorima stops wondering too.
Neither of them really notice that their friends no longer bother to text them individually asking to meet up, knowing that Takao and Midorima usually show up to these social events together anyways. They both certainly miss the way their friends glance at each other and grin when the two of them get lost in their own threads of conversation.
88 Months.
After they both have a very busy run in February where they couldn’t find matching free time in their respective schedules, they decided to go for dinner instead to catch up. They text pretty constantly now. They live in opposite parts of Tokyo which makes meeting a more difficult thing but Takao feels like they’ve figured out a good alternative. Thankfully they work only a couple stations apart,
Dinner is at a little Okonomiyaki joint that Midorima favors. There aren’t a lot of good japanese restaurants in Boston, Midorima had explained, and when there were, they usually sold sushi and sashimi primarily. Okonomiyaki was something Midorima missed dearly.
They catch up on each other’s past month and Midorima tells more stories from his work. One girl was making a really great recovery. Chemo was working for her. He hoped that she’d be in remission soon.
Takao unconsciously reaches out to hold Midorima’s hand when Midorima breaks into a smile thinking about his patient. They both freeze at the contact.
Before Takao could snatch his hand back and make laughing excuses, Midorima catches his fingers and squeezes back, running his meticulous surgeon thumb over Takao’s knuckles.
Takao doesn't even breath, not daring to hope, his blood pounding.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
Midorima swallows visibly.
“This is more than, I think,” he replies.
They keep holding hands until the waitress comes back with their bill. Midorima foots the bill and Takao starts feeling like he’s 18 again.
When they step outside, using the crowds in Ginza as an excuse to press close together, Takao looks up at Midorima again.
“Is this really okay?” he asks helplessly. Midorima’s little nod and nudge of his shoulder reassures him.
“I think,” Midorima finally says, “I think that this has been going on for a long time, don’t you... Kazunari?”
Takao’s heart flutters at Midorima’s shy glance down at his shoes when his first name comes out of Midorima’s lips. It feels just right.
“Yes, you’re right,” he breathes. “I hadn’t noticed. How silly of me.”
“Your Hawk’s Eye must be getting rusty.” Midorima replies tartly.
“It must be.” Takao muses lightly, laughs bubbling up his chest. “I think I need to walk around and window shop for a bit to get some practice in.”
“I’ll accompany you, I suppose.”
Takao doesn’t even notice the giant empty square with the tent brightly lit in the middle until Midorima stills beside him. Craning his neck he sees it.
“Kissing Booth?”
He looks around, noting all the people gathered around looking at it as well. Movement from the tent catches his eye.
The front wall of the tent is a white sheet, with a light shining out of it, so one can perfectly see the silhouettes of the people moving around inside. The duo currently in the tent both lean forward to kiss, their shadows perfectly projected onto the outside wall for all the spectators in the square to see while they stay perfectly anonymous.
He hides a laugh when an enthusiastic girl who looks like she’s of college age drags her boyfriend to the opening in the back.
“The things people come up with, huh?” he looks back to grin at Shintarou.
“Indeed.”
They watch in silence for a couple moments, as people keep showing up, in beautiful anonymity. A mother kisses her child. Two children stumble in and kiss. Someone lifts up their significant other with Hollywood flare.
When he looks back up. Takao can’t help but trace his eyes down Midorima’s face again, with the lights of the streetlamps and storefronts illuminating the curves of his face.
His eyes linger on his mouth. He wants to kiss him.
Impulsively, he tugs on Midorima’s sleeve.
“Let’s try it too,” Takao said lowly. Midorima looked down at him, eyebrows raised.
“We aren’t teens anymore,” he replies confusedly.
Takao bites his tongue to suppress a laugh. No matter how open and free Americans are with their romantic affection, it hadn't really rubbed off on Midorima at all.
“I don’t think that matters.”
Holding Midorima’s arm firmly, he wove them through the crowd unnoticed and snuck them in to the tent.
When they finally get to the platform in front of the light, Takao feels a sudden shiver of nerves.
“Okay!” he said, swinging his arms with a mixture of excitement and sudden fear, “Alright, I haven’t done this in a while, I’m sorry if I’m rusty, Shintarou.”
Midorima smiled down at him, fondly.
“Kazunari, this was your idea.” he grumbled goodnaturedly. He reached out and gripped Takao’s chin gently.
“Oh.” is all Takao gets out before they are kissing. Midorima tastes like his dinner, warm and slightly chapped and so familiar and Takao doesn’t think anymore.
It’s quick and chaste but nonetheless, Takao is blushing and he’s pretty sure Midorima is too if he bothered looking. Instead, he tugs them both out of the tent, the darkness of the evening covering their identities and they keep walking until they’re on a quieter, more secluded street.
“Shin-chan,” he wails dramatically when they are alone. “That was so manly and cool, I almost swooned. I guess I’m the Princess now, huh?”
Still giddy with the rush, he lets this last bit slip out.
“I hope you won’t leave me to languish again to fight dragons in a faraway land.”
Please don’t leave me again. I’m so happy right now.
Midorima really has changed in his age. The old Midorima would have stuttered and blushed and averted his eyes. Instead, this Midorima just smiled crookedly.
“Don’t be silly, Baka-Takao,” he said softly, echoing their basketball days, “Why do you think I finally came home?”
Takao doesn’t have any words for him, but pulls him in for a hug, filled with unspoken things.
Only when they’ve said goodbye, stealing a kiss behind the pillar in the subway, does Takao think of something.
Flipping open his phone, he types without hesitation.
[I’m glad. I’m really glad.]
Send.
It was back to 0 Months.