Archive of Our Own ^beta

It is common knowledge that only Madararuis possess the ability to perceive each other and distinguish between their species and classes. It comes with their genetic heritage.

Takao is definitely not a Madararui: he is a normal person, a member of the vast majority of the population, the one that descends from primates and that some extremist faction of Madararuis calls ‘ monkeys’ in a derisive, derogatory way. And monkeys are supposed to be blind , deaf and mute regarding Madararuis (in his mind, he always chants the words: “ See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil… ” in the same melody kids are taught in kindergarten), but Takao can’t remember a time of his life in which he was not able to see other people’s spiritual forms. 

In Takao’s humble opinion, there is nothing wrong, of course, with being a monkey . It’s not like he could choose the genes he was born with. As far as his experience goes, though, the world has always been populated by humans who out of the blue could turn themselves into all sorts of amazing animals right in front of his eyes. 

*

At age six, he learned by experience that the transformation is triggered by the height of feeling: the more emotional the person, the easier it is for their spiritual form to manifest.

By age eight, both school and his mother had made it abundantly clear that it is indeed a very rude thing to do, to stare so blatantly at someone’s spiritual form. It is true that some people tend to be more unguarded than others and that a moment of weakness, a slip, can happen to anyone, but a spiritual form is something private— and having the ability to see them with such clarity doesn’t give Takao the right to ogle strangers or act as a voyeur.  

At age twelve, he is so used to the enhanced perception he has of people that he almost doesn’t notice it anymore, but he is also far more familiar with anything concerning Madararuis than his fellow monkey peers are.

***

During his second year of middle school, rumours of a so-called Generation of Miracles start getting spread around, and Takao’s classmates are all so obsessed with them ( everyone seems to be, at some point) that by extension—and despite himself—he learns pretty much everything about them too.

He learns that there were four of them at first, until another one joined the party.
He learns that there were whispers going around about an elusive sixth one that always seemed to escape people’s memory.
He learns that they’re all based in Teikou: and it couldn’t be any different, could it, since Teikou is the kind of high-profile academy where rich or prominent families would want to enrol their children. It’s the kind of school that you expect Madararui kids to attend, so the fact that a bunch of extraordinary heavy-seeds would materialize all in the same year is only a matter of statistics, based on such premises. 

What irks Takao the most is not really the echo that these guys are generating: people talk, and Takao is smart enough at thirteen to have a grasp of the way of the world. Even if their society didn’t revolve so much around finding a suitable mate anymore, it would not exactly be surprising that a handful of attractive and charismatic young men would gain such a following.
What makes his teenage self seethe with distaste (and possibly a touch of envy) is the fact that those idiots were so bored with schoolwork and proposals of arranged marriages that they decided to give basketball a chance in their spare time, and it turns out that apparently they are five fucking prodigies at the sport that is Takao’s life. How more unfair can the universe become at this point?!

He plays against them in the summer tournament during his third year, already full of frustration and resentment.

*

The Generation of Miracles mops the floor with Takao’s team, and everything is over before he even has the chance to understand what kind of typhoon has wrecked them.

He walks off the court that day thoroughly humiliated, proved wrong in every assumption he’s ever made regarding heavy seeds, and holding a grudge that he’s sure will fuel his actions for months to come.

On the locker room bench, as he waits for his teammates to finish their shower and get dressed (everyone takes their time and slacks off a bit, the normal consequence of such a devastating loss), a shiver runs through him, and Takao registers it as the same he experienced earlier on the court when facing the Miracles upfront. In the relative safety of his team’s locker room, he recognizes it for what it is: fear . Those monsters scared him shitless , so much so that twenty minutes after the final buzzer, his body is still trembling at the memory. 

It only takes a quick look around to see that every single one of his peers feels the same. It would be perfectly clear just by looking at their faces, but in the wake of such emotional turmoil, the lines between their human traits and their spiritual animalistic features blur remarkably. There’s no mistaking the downward ears, nor the tails tucked between their legs.

It makes him so furious that he positively sees red.

*

Teenage Madararuis are quite funny in retrospect, with adolescence being an extremely taxing period in terms of managing emotions. For young Madararuis it’s perfectly normal, in this stage of life, to occasionally lose control of their spiritual forms and embarrass themselves in front of those who, like Takao, are able to notice the slip. It’s not unusual for an Inugami to start wiggling their tail when the person they like comes near them or talks to them, for example. It’s definitely common for Nekomatas to swish their tail around when they’re annoyed, a far too common occurrence. 

Madararui toddlers, predictably, switch between their forms easily, but children learn to settle into their human body quite soon, all things considered, with only the occasional outburst caused by tantrums or significant, emotional events. The moment a kid starts growing into their adult body, though, is also the moment their spiritual form takes its definite shape, with a teenage Madararui undergoing two actual growth spurts at the same time. And contrary to what’s written in their biology textbooks (much like many things in life), the timing of said growth spurts hardly ever match. 

Takao learns by observation that heavy seeds, sporting the most imposing spiritual forms, have it worse than the others.

And that’s the impression he got from the Generation of Miracles.
Because the Miracles had looked, at first glance, like the most trained, most uptight Madararuis Takao had ever seen, as expected from perfectly educated Teikou gentlemen—with their auras in check and almost undetectable, in absolute control of their spiritual forms at all times—but the moment they got caught up in the game and allowed themselves to let down their hair a little, their massive spiritual forms would try to break loose and leak out for a few split seconds of uncoordinated, gut-wrenching terror.

*

Takao would never admit it, but in the weeks following the match, he wakes up more than one night to a cold sweat and lingering memories-turned-nightmares of raging buffalos, black panthers and golden-eyed lions.

***

He manages to get admitted at Shuutoku, and everyone around him is surprised, except for his mother, who ruffles his hair and winks at him knowingly. He has her eyes.

Shuutoku is a respectable institute, maybe a bit old in terms of facilities, especially if compared to the more modern schools of the prefecture, but solid in terms of education and extracurricular activities. It prepares its students for admission to prestigious universities, and its basketball team is good. For Takao, it’s enough.

The first day of high school brings along the uncontained excitement that comes with new beginnings: life is perfect, the future is full of promises, and there are amazing opportunities around every corner. Takao is the kind of person that enjoys life for what it is, and the conceptual liveliness of the first day of high school resonates with him soundly. It’s with such high spirits that he parks his bike in one of the allotted spaces and walks through the school gates well before the first morning bell rings. He feels so confident and joyous that he starts humming a tune on the stairs while hopping up the steps two at a time. 

It’s all like in his sister’s shoujo mangas, at least until the moment he slides open the door of his assigned classroom.

And finds out that Midorima Shintarou, First Shooter of the Generation of Miracles, is his classmate .

*

Even if Takao didn’t know him beforehand (which is absurd, since everyone knows him—or his hair at least), it would still be as clear as day that Midorima Shintarou is a Madararui, and a heavy seed on top of that. It’s written all over his haughty posture and in the way he looks (or doesn’t look, mostly) at the people around him. It’s in his physique, imposing not just because of his athletic prowess. It’s in his features, dainty and aristocratic in a way Takao’s will never be, with a finesse that many light-seeds try to emulate with grotesque results. It’s in the unmistakable aura he projects, so strictly under control and yet still strong enough for Takao to feel it coming off of Midorima in cold waves that give him goosebumps.

Midorima sits solemnly alone at the very back of the classroom near the window, not at all surprised by (or interested in) the empty seats around him that nobody dares to take. 

Except Takao does, out of pure spite, because he’s reckless and impulsive that way, and he came to high school wanting to have a good time , not to have the best years of his life jeopardized by this asshole turning up unexpectedly on his doorstep.

- Yo! Is this seat free?

Midorima turns towards him sharply, almost startled, and Takao is hit by what feels like an icy blast. Having already dealt with teenage heavy-seeds, he kind of expected it, although the more he lingers in Midorima’s presence, the more the impression he gets that everything regarding this guy (and therefore his rainbow friends) is completely out of proportion , even by Madararui standards. What makes Takao arch his brow, though, is not the instinctive reaction of mild surprise he got from Midorima but the way Midorima keeps staring at him without blinking, like he’s trying (and failing) to comprehend him. 

However, manners bred into him by generations of high-seed Madararuis require Midorima to answer direct questions, and he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would forego social etiquette. He nods and then looks away. At this gesture, Takao takes notice of two things: that Midorima’s fingers are inexplicably bandaged and that, despite all pretence to the contrary, he actually does have his head so far up his ass that he doesn’t even bother replying to monkeys properly. 

But then Midorima mutters a muffled ‘ Yes, go ahead ’ behind his palm, and Takao is a bit thrown back by the shivers he just got from the guy’s deep voice (a heavy-seed voice if he ever heard one) and by how his own resolve wavers the moment he picks up the uncertain undertone in Midorima’s words. 

Something about him is off , but Takao can’t figure out what .

So he drops his bag unceremoniously onto what has just become his new desk and flops into the chair beside his self-sworn archenemy with an aggravated sigh. He crosses his arms over the wooden surface and groans into them. The first bell of his high-school career hasn’t even rung, and yet he has already given into his thoughtlessness and dived head first into trouble. Perhaps his mother is right in telling him he has a natural disposition for masochism.

He tries not to think anything of the cumbersome presence on his left, or the few secretive glances that said presence sends his way during the whole day.

*

They’re halfway through their second lesson when it dawns on Takao that he doesn’t have the slightest inkling of what Midorima’s spiritual form might be. 

That and there’s a brightly coloured lamp desk beside Midorima’s pencil case.

***

- Yo, Midorima Shintarou!

- Hmm?

If there’s one thing that Takao’s mother has always told him—and it’s a teaching he’s made his own—it’s that problems have to be faced upfront because running away from them is pointless. Therefore, he runs straight into his newest source of trouble, ready to tackle it to the ground. 

- I’m Takao Kazunari. You’re gonna join the basketball club, right? I’m gonna join too, pleased to meetcha!

Up close, said source of trouble looks more like a brick wall.

- Why do you know my name?

A very thick brick wall.

- Bwahaha! If they play basketball, there aren’t many people who don’t know your name!

- Hmph.

Midorima Shintarou is a guy he can’t label. He holds the attitude and posture of someone that doesn’t appreciate having random people around, an issue he could be rid of if he projected his aura just enough to let strangers know he’s not someone to be messed with. But Midorima doesn’t. Even the faint trace of the spiritual form Takao perceived in class on their first day is gone now, and if Takao wasn’t as sensitive to such stuff as he is, he could almost mistake Midorima for a ‘ monkey’ himself. Which is completely absurd, of course. And since Takao has always been an inquisitive (sometimes to the point of rudeness) person, he already has the question on the tip of his tongue. But before he can utter a word, his eyes catch on the object that Midorima is holding in his left palm.

- …eh? What’s that?

Midorima shifts his weight almost imperceptibly. 

- …it’s today’s lucky item. From the Oha-Asa horoscope. It’s scotch tape.

Takao blinks. Twice. That’s the amount of time he manages to keep a grip on himself while his brain processes the information, not a second more.

- BWAHAHAHAHA! What’s with that!?

A muscle twitches right under Midorima’s left eye, but Takao is too busy laughing to feel threatened by it.

- Is something wrong?

It all comes stumbling out of his mouth without a filter, and really, he should probably work a little on his capacity to keep up appearances, but this guy is too much , too unexpectedly.

- And I didn’t mention it before, but what’s with the way you end your sentences!? It’s absolutely hilarious !

- Hmph .

Midorima doesn’t acknowledge him anymore and leaves while Takao has not yet recovered from the outburst. Oh well. That didn’t go as planned. Like, at all .

***

The first weeks of high-school pass by Takao in a blur of enjoyment (his classmates are cool and easy to get along with), fascination (he likes his new environment), trepidation (the lessons and club activities are challenging, to say the least) and gut-consuming frustration because he is forced to spend far too much time with Midorima for his liking.

Truth to be told, it’s hardly Midorima’s fault that they were assigned to the same class, that Takao picked the desk beside his and that he also joined the basketball team, but it’s easier to be angry at Midorima than at the universe’s twisted sense of humour.

It’s also very easy to be angry at Midorima when it turns out that he is an insufferable know-it-all who has the potential to run for top student of the school, and that his current talent on the basketball court can easily trump whatever memory Takao had of the matter. 

It’s impossibly easy to stay angry at Midorima when it’s clear that he’s a freaking weirdo, always carrying around wacky stuff and talking nonsense about horoscopes with that heavy verbal tic, and an arrogant jerk on top of that, never showering with the rest of the team and waiting for all of them to go away before even hitting the locker rooms.

It’s also fundamental for Takao to stay angry at Midorima every time he catches himself staring a second too long at the crazy trajectory of the basketball after he shoots it, or when his eyes linger on Midorima’s back while they change. 

The thing about heavy seeds is: they’re attractive . Nature engineered them to be so. Incredibly so. Being desirable to the highest number of potential partners is the only way they can make up for their genetically low fertility and manage to pass along their recessive Madararui genes. 

So, Takao tells himself, it has nothing to do with Midorima, specifically.

It doesn’t.

***

The first time Takao mutters it is shortly after having introduced himself to the basketball club and having rolled his eyes at Midorima for doing the same. Coach Nakatani splits up the recruits and veterans into teams, then makes them play short games in rotation to get an idea of each player’s characteristics and, above all, to make them warm up and get acquainted with each other.

A few seconds into their impromptu match, Midorima catches a ball and, predictably, shoots it right on the spot. The ball flies through the whole court in an impossibly high, impossibly neat trajectory and plummets straight down into the hoop without even touching the rim. By the time it reaches the target, the gym has become so silent that the swooshing sound of the net (of course the ball didn’t even graze the metal ring) feels as loud as a buzzer, and for Takao it’s middle school all over again, witnessing a talent so out of his reach that he can’t even dream of getting close to it.

- Fucking monster .

It’s spit out through gritted teeth, mostly to himself, but it’s still so loud that Midorima can and does hear him. The familiar muscle near his left eye twitches uncomfortably, and his lips curl in a snarl that shows the same amount of contempt Takao is sporting himself. 

- Don’t call me that .

It’s a low hiss as much as a growl, and Midorima murmurs it looking down on him while walking past, getting back into position to resume the match. 

Takao doesn’t feel guilty in the slightest. Quite the contrary. 

*

It’s not in his character to be openly antagonistic and spiteful, therefore he isn’t, not really. But he has always had trouble holding his tongue, so he doesn’t try too hard either. 

It escapes his lips again after the teacher brings them back the results from a test and praises Midorima for getting top marks. The class murmurs, but it’s Takao that lets the word ‘ monster’ drop when he sees the ‘100’ scribbled on the corner of Midorima’s paper.

Midorima clicks his tongue at him, too controlled and well-mannered to shout at him in class but nevertheless dripping with disdain.

When the lunch bell rings, signalling the end of the morning lessons, Midorima fishes a bento box out of his bag and stands up, taking with him the gloves he’s kept on the desk the whole morning and leaving the room in complete silence.

He comes back only a minute before the afternoon lessons start.

*

When Midorima leaves the room in a hurry at lunch for the fourth day in a row, Takao begins to feel a bit bothered.

*

A week later, he definitely feels guilty.

*

By the end of April, he realizes that maybe he has dealt with the issue the wrong way: it’s not like Midorima is going to stop attending Shuutoku and its basketball club anytime soon. And it’s not like he picked this specific school to annoy Takao, whom he probably doesn’t even remember.  Openly antagonizing Midorima would only spoil the precarious balance they are building as a team. Takao really wants to avoid that, because he’s in high school to play basketball and have fun, and brooding over a year-old loss is definitely not fun. Therefore he decides that hard feelings are not a healthy way to cope—or a healthy way to spend the prime of his adolescent life–and promises himself he’ll try to start anew the following day.

*

In the afternoon, after practice, he doesn’t leave the school grounds to go home but goes back to try and talk to Midorima. He finds him in the gym, still practicing by himself, sinking three after three. Takao has come to realize that sometimes—when he’s training alone like this and not expecting other people to be around—Midorima is so focused on what he’s doing that he loses track of his surroundings. Which is why Takao can lean on the gym door, stay there, and watch for several minutes without Midorima noticing. 

His form is flawless. It’s undeniable, and an understatement. He has internalized the basics beyond perfection. He shoots threes with an unwavering rhythm, movements repeated one after another without faltering, without swaying an inch. It should not be possible. It takes strength to send a heavy basketball across the whole court: Midorima’s body should start feeling the exertion at some point, but it doesn’t. After a day of school and double practice, his muscles still respond to his command like they did at dawn. This is where lies the difference between players like Midorima (and his peers) and guys like Takao: with bodies that go beyond the limits of what should be expected from them. Raw talent only comes after that, and that’s impressive too, how neat and infallible Midorima’s aim is, no matter what time of the day, no matter the pressure he’s under, no matter the area of the court he’s shooting from. It’s mesmerizing in the way natural wonders are, and for once Takao is not moved by any malicious intent when he lets his presence be known and speaks with enthusiasm.

- Still here, after all this time? And you made them all? Man, you really are a mons—

There’s a flash of green, and a basketball crushes into the wall at top speed, so close to his head that Takao can feel his hair trail after it. He knows perfectly well that such a projectile could (and should ) have smashed his face, and that Midorima missed on purpose.

- STOP CALLING ME THAT!

For a split second, Midorima’s composure crumbles, and Takao is able to see through it. By the time he blinks, it’s already over: gone are the ghost of fangs and the greenish hue that filled his field of vision, gone is the rumble that echoed in his ears, and also gone is Midorima’s uncoordinated posture. He stands straight as a rod in front of him, red in the face and painfully uncomfortable but still shaking with rage and forcing himself to not lower his gaze first. Takao breathes in and out quickly, too shocked to fight back. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t even mean to taunt Midorima this time. But the Madararui monster he just involuntarily insulted, the heavy-seed he just carelessly provoked, is still baring his teeth at him. He just showed he’s capable of beating Takao into a pulp, and the whole atmosphere is far too overwhelming for Takao to silver-tongue himself to safety with a laugh.

Therefore, he flees. 

*

The following day, he is bent on apologizing, but Midorima enters the classroom just in time for the lesson to start and sits down without sparing Takao a single glance.

Takao spends the whole morning trying to get Midorima’s attention, but it’s like whispering to a stone wall.

At lunch he anticipates Midorima’s path as the latter takes his lunchbox out of his bag, grabs the tennis ball that he’s kept beside his pencil case for the past few hours and moves to exit the room as usual. Today he finds Takao in front of the door, arms wide, blocking his way. Midorima’s eyes, Takao notices, are as hard as steel.

- Let me out.

- Please, listen to me. 

- You made yourself pretty clear. Move.

- I’m sorry !

Midorima looks taken aback for a moment and doesn’t reply. Takao takes it as a chance to get his point across.

- I didn’t mean to insult you last night. It was supposed to be a compliment , damn it, it just came out wrong. I just wanted to apologize, I… I’m not calling you anything like that ever again.

Midorima studies him for a while, and Takao does his best to hold his stare. Then Midorima nods, almost imperceptibly, and steps forward. Takao moves on autopilot and lets him go, watching him walk down the corridor.

When Midorima reaches the end of the hallway and starts climbing the stairs, Takao follows him.

He fights the urge to run up the stairs four at a time; instead, he keeps his distance and stays discreetly behind. It’s especially useful on the last couple of floors, where people don’t usually wander and therefore it is much more likely that Midorima will spot him. 

There’s no light on the upper floor, and the only gleam of it is the one filtering through the door that leads outwards onto the roof. Takao has never been up there—nobody has—because students are forbidden to, and therefore he expects to find Midorima at any moment now. Eating lunch while sitting alone on a dark and forgotten staircase seems kind of gloomy, but he can’t say he isn’t able to picture Midorima doing just that.

Except he isn’t. Because when Takao rounds the last set of steps and comes face to face with the roof door, Midorima is nowhere to be found, though the door is slightly ajar. Takao stares and almost immediately launches himself forward, wanting to know , but is stopped by the phone going off in his pocket. It’s a text from another classmate, reminding him that the special breads in the cafeteria are being sold like crazy and he’d better hurry up if he wants to have lunch at all. Takao curses between his teeth and turns around, already running to the cafeteria. 

Curiosity is a weakness of his, but it really can’t win against a sixteen-year-old’s hunger.

***

They don’t become friends after that, not by a mile, but maybe, just maybe, things start getting a bit better between them. Well, they stop getting worse, at the very least. That’s what Takao tells himself when Midorima stops turning his face away from him in class or during practice.

It’s only later that week that Takao thinks maybe they’re cool for real. He’s sitting on the bench, towel thrown over his shoulder and chugging a sports drink while they take turns doing dribbling drills on the court, testing Coach Nakatani’s new Training-Regimen-From-Hell. He’s considering dying on the spot, and it’s a testament to his exhaustion that he’s confiding such secrets to a pottery tanuki placidly stationed on the other side of the bench. It’s so big that Takao can look it in the eyes. Midorima has been adamant about having it around, and the bench is the closest the Coach allows. 

Takao is distracted but quickly wises up when he hears a shout coming from the court. At the same time, there’s the bouncing sound of a pass gone wrong. It’s a common occurrence in their gym at this hour, and since Takao has taken enough stray balls to the head to last a lifetime, he reflexively raises his arms to shield himself from the projectile that he’s sure is coming towards him. He’s not entirely wrong because the ball does indeed come towards his bench, but it misses him and hits the tanuki instead. 

Takao doesn’t know what sparks him into motion. Perhaps it’s the impending feeling that if the tanuki hit the floor and shattered, all hell would break loose (and he’d rather avoid that), or perhaps it’s just an instinctive reaction to an inconvenience he can prevent. Either way, he launches himself forward and manages to put his hands on the tanuki before it’s too late. Someone cheers in the distance, but apart from that there’s no indication that other people noticed his stunt. It is, indeed, nothing special in and of itself, but Takao feels the air behind him freeze, as if time stopped, but only in a select few square meters of the gym. A wave of pure, tense power ripples through him, and he takes a deep breath before straightening himself and gripping the tanuki tight. He turns around to face Midorima and is put weirdly at ease by the worried lines in the latter’s face because for once, the focus of the imposing Madararui is not him: it’s the tanuki. An easy smile blooms on his face as he hands the statue over.

- Here, all yours. Not even a scratch. I promise.

Midorima takes it with a stiff nod and looks away, and Takao sees his left arm jerk for an instant, as if Midorima was about to unconsciously push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

- Thank you.

Takao beams.

- Oh, ehi, why don’t we try putting it, I don’t know, under the bench? Like right beside the leg? And we can put some cones and spare balls around it to provide some cover? Maybe I should get one of the wooden steps. Or a couple of sports bags. Should I get yours too? Do you think shielding it a bit will somehow interfere with its luck? Is Tanuki-kun here someone that gets easily offended by something like that?

He has no idea what he’s talking about, but the words stumble out of his mouth like they always do, and Midorima is not looking at him like he wants to incinerate him on the spot, so maybe he’s doing something right? To his amazement, after having studied him for several solid seconds with an unreadable expression, Midorima nods in his direction again and steps forward.

- It’s probably for the best. The risk of it being damaged is too high to weigh other options.

Takao brings his hands at the back of his neck, elbows wide.

- Besides, wouldn’t showing such care be testament to our faith? We are trying to protect Tanuki-kun here. He should be happy we love him so much and reward us.

Midorima stares at him, blinking several times before speaking.

- …I don’t think it works this way.

Still he does make sure the statue is safely nestled against the bench leg, and not too crowded by the random stuff they used as a makeshift shield.

Afterwards, he doesn’t comment on the fact that Takao stays overtime to practice too, and he lets him wax lyrics of devotion to Tanuki-kun’s polished muzzle for having looked over them during practice and having helped them win the three-on-three matches.

*

- Shit. Shit, shit, shit… oh, shit!

At his left, Midorima sniffs disapprovingly, because of course Takao’s string of profanities is too inappropriate for a setting like their classroom–not to mention his delicate aristocratic ears. On a normal day Takao would roll his eyes at him and probably throw in some harmless teasing, but today is no normal day. They have a math test first thing in the morning, and Takao’s pencil case is nowhere to be found. Or so it seems after he’s emptied the whole content of his school bag onto his desk.

- Stupid little sister!

- What’s wrong?

It startles him a little because Midorima never asks him anything first, but when he turns around, there he is, slightly turned himself and eyeing the mess of books and notes in front of Takao. There really is no point in lying. Besides, Takao could use a chance to vent.

- My case is gone! I had everything in there! My calculator, my ruler, my set squares! My pen and pencils!

- …We have a test today.

- Yeah, Shin-chan, that’s like the whole point !

Midorima takes a sharp breath, and Takao realizes his mistake too late, but he has more pressing matters at hand.

- …It was quite mindless of you to forget them on such a day.

Takao slams a book on the wooden surface, more out of frustration than real anger.

- I prepared my bag last night before dinner. My younger sister asked me if she could borrow my four-colour pen after dinner. I told her to take it and put everything back the way she’d found it. Obviously , she didn’t. 

- You should—

- —have checked? Yes. Did I, though? No . End of story.

He stuffs all his notebooks haphazardly back into the bag, a hand already tangling in his fringe and pulling as he tries to find a way out of an abysmal grade he doesn’t deserve. Basic stationery he can manage. The rest, not so much. Too caught up in his mind, he doesn’t notice the movement going on beside the window until something touches his arm that he has to acknowledge. 

It’s Midorima, still sitting but holding out a plain-looking pencil case, the kind that fell out-of-date in the 40s, probably. 

- Here. Take this.

Takao does because that’s a human’s first reaction when they’re offered something, and his hands have worked the thing open before he even willed his mouth to ask. Inside, predictably, there are a couple of anonymous but brand new pens (a blue one and a black one), a mechanical pencil complete with a refill case, a pristine white eraser still wrapped in its paper. The wonder lies in the tiny calculator and mini-set of squares, ruler, protractor and divider. 

The adoration might be shining out of his eyes because Midorima feels the need to face the blackboard and push up his glasses.

- I have a spare set. It’s because I always try to be prepared for any kind of accident. They’re not the most practical to use, given their size, but I can assure you that at least they’re all perfectly functional.

- C—Can I really use them?!

Midorima nods, still looking ahead.

- But if my calculator stops working or my pen dries up, you have to give it back.

Takao hugs the pencil case to his chest, grinning like crazy and promising the moon and beyond, because who cares about consequences: he’s probably not going to fail the class!

- SURE! OF COURSE! Oh my god, I so owe you after this. Hey listen, really, think about some way I can pay you back because if I pass this test, it’s mostly thanks to the stunt you pulled right now. Shin-chan, you’re a saviour ! Shit, I can’t believe you even keep a spare battery for the spare calculator. What’s with you?!

Midorima doesn’t answer right away and just stares out the window, waiting for the bell to ring and for the teacher to come in and hand them their papers. When he replies, it’s in a low voice, much like an afterthought meant for nobody specific to hear. But Takao does anyway, because despite himself, he’s become quite accustomed to the guy who sits at his left.

- I have a little sister too.

***

A light thud, a pause, a swishing motion and the loud thumping of the ball once it bounces on the floor of the gym. A couple of seconds of silence, and the sequence repeats itself. It’s been like this for the past fifteen minutes. It will go on for another forty-five. It does as much every day of the week.

Another swish. Another perfect basket. It almost sounds like a lullaby. It certainly has become Takao’s twisted extra-training soundtrack. One can’t deny it has rhythm .

Thud. Swish. Bounce.

He looks up and follows the ball.

- Pfft…

The rhythm breaks.

- What’s so funny?!

It’s hard to put into words.

- Phew… it’s still insane, no matter how many times I see it! Plus… your shots are way too high! 

Midorima makes that face that means he’s totally unimpressed with you. It’s not exactly diverse from his default face, but Takao is starting to notice the difference. He doesn’t like to think too much about the reasons behind that.

- Shut up, don’t bother me.

- My bad, my bad. I don’t mean it in a bad way, really.

Midorima looks elsewhere and that too is a habit Takao has caught on, lately.

- Mph … still… what do you mean by this?

- Eh?

- Recently, whenever I stay behind, you do too. And during practice, it seems like you’re competing with me. Did I do something to you?

Takao feels a bit like he’s been caught red-handed, yet again, it’s not like he’s been entirely subtle. Not that he meant to, anyway.

- …well… yeah. But, as I thought, it seems like I can’t get you to remember.

Midorima looks at him with a questioning face and after that silly slip of the tongue, Takao feels like he owes him the explanation.

- In middle school, I played against you once. And lost. I was so frustrated that I kept practicing even after I retired – and then when I entered high-school, hell yeah! , I laughed. Because the guy I had vowed to defeat no matter what was standing right in front of me as one my own teammates. 

- …

And something feels different when he says it aloud, so much that it prompts him to go on and reach for new connections, uncovering truths in the meantime, uncomfortable ones that he’s been keeping hidden from everyone, himself included, for weeks. 

- So, it was pointless to keep holding a grudge. Rather, I wanted to make you recognize me. I guess that made me look like I was competing with you?

He doesn’t mention the sheer terror he and his team experienced going against the likes of Midorima, the wild roars that sometimes still haunt his nightmares. The bitterness of a total loss mingled with actual fear , stemmed from facing exceptional beings that could literally be described as forces of nature and that couldn’t completely reign in the raw power that ran in their veins. It doesn’t even feel real, to be this close to one of those people, to sit beside each other in class and stand together in the gym and chatting so randomly about silly stuff and more serious topics. Now that Takao thinks about it, he does have some trouble remembering what Midorima’s aura felt like at the time. What horrific images it evoked. He has distinct memories of hungry predators, of agile felines or untamed bison, of snakes ready to trick you into a false state of safety… but he finds it difficult, now, to connect any of those to Midorima and the few, unclear glimpses he got of his spiritual form.

His train of thoughts is interrupted quite abruptly.

- …why didn’t you say anything?

So abruptly and with the most absurd question he has received in a long time.

- …eh? Pffffth… Bwahahah!

- Why are you laughing?!

It’s astounding, really, how out-of-the world this incredibly smart, unbelievably talented, terrifically gifted idiot can prove to be.

-  What’s up with you!? You wanted me to say it?! Me?! “ I got pummelled by you but I worked hard afterwards, so please recognize me! ” or something like that?! Lame!

Midorima stands his ground but leans a little back on his heels and looks down at the basketball in his hands, saying nothing. Takao reads the body language clearly, and sighs.

- Well, I bet you don’t plan on doing that anyway. In fact, don’t recognize me yet: I’ll just practice more than you. It’s just something I decided to do by myself.

What he doesn’t say is that he has decided it right now, on the spot. But then he grins anyway, because that’s the effect basketball and a newly found resolve have on him.

- Before you know it, I’ll send you a roaring pass: remember it, Shin-chan!

Midorima keeps his eyes on the ball even after Takao has done with his little speech. When he lifts his gaze, his cheeks might be slightly more coloured than before (it could also be a trick of the light, though) but his face is as cold and hard as ever.

- …stop calling me by that excessively friendly nickname, Takao.

***

Days like this are the best.

- BWAHAHAHAHAHAH! What the hell is this thing?!?!

- …I don’t understand the hilarity. It is, obviously, a rickshaw.

- But why is it parked at the bike racks of the school?!

- Because that is where I left it this morning, upon my arrival.

- Is this, like, your lucky item of the day!?

Midorima pushes up his glasses, his movements stiff and clearly communicating he’s irritated.

- My lucky item of the day, as you very well know, is this potted maple . – It’s more a container-grown tree than a potted plant, and the wooden boards of the cart creak as Midorima puts the maple inside it – It would be impractical to carry it around by hand on long distances, therefore I attached the cart to the bike.

It’s impeccable logic, and at the same time the most ridiculous thing Takao has ever seen. And he lives in a world where his peers randomly turn into animals at the first strong emotion. Ridiculous things call for ridiculous ideas, and Takao is a master at those.

- Rock-Paper-Scissors.

Midorima raises a brow.

- What?

- I beat you at rock-paper-scissors, you carry me home in this thing. 

- What about your bike?

- ‘Sis stole it. Came on foot today. And don’t talk like you’re going to win.

Midorima pushes up his glasses again, but he wears a defiant expression behind the lenses.

- I never lose at rock-paper-scissors.

- You will tonight: en guard !

*

Takao loses. Miserably. 

When he drops Midorima at his house, loss still burning and pride hurt, he recklessly takes the rickshaw hostage announcing they will be playing rock-paper-scissors the following morning, so Midorima will have to pedal him to school. Midorima rolls his eyes at his bold statements but lets him take the damn cart home.

***

One of his classmates, Takeda, a light-seed and nervous-looking Inugami that always tries very hard to hide the fact that his spiritual form is a pug , approaches his desk shyly during lunch time.

- T-Takao-kun, t-there are some guys for you at the d-door.

Takao leans back in the chair to throw a glance and grins: his seniors from the basketball club are all waiting for him showing off their built and looking menacing, it’s only normal for poor Takeda to feel intimidated, Takao himself would be, if he didn’t know them.

- Thanks, Takeda, I’ll be right back! Oh, your tail is showing, by the way.

Takeda yelps and Takao chuckles and makes a show of prancing towards his seniors. Miyaji is already in a foul mood, but Takao has come to understand that’s his default temper. It probably comes with being a flight-seed serval in a team of huge guys, and therefore with the need to project aggression to assert dominance and gain respect. That, or Miyaji-san is simply very bad at managing his anger. Or he’s a sadist who takes pride in terrorizing his juniors. 

- Takao! Where the hell is Midorima?!

Takao instinctively looks back at Midorima’s empty desk and shrugs. He’s probably having lunch alone on the roof as usual, but it feels like a detail that it’s not his to reveal.

- Dunno, he tends to go eat on his own. Why?

Miyaji has an angry retort already on his lips, but is silenced by Ootsubo, who puts a large hand on his shoulder and holds him back. Takao likes Ootsubo, a big black bear who can be kind of scary when he gets too carried away with his captain-duties and who’s quite strict, but in a fair way. 

- The team is having an extra meeting before training starts: it’s about the Inter-High, so please be sure you both can attend. We are alerting everyone so that if anyone is on cleaning duty they can find a solution. Please, pass the message to Midorima as well, will you?

Takao makes a military salute.

- Will do, Captain!

Ootsubo nods while Miyaji rolls his eyes and bares his teeth. Kimura, a hard-working orangutan, throws an arm around his shoulders and steers him away, yelling back at Takao that he’ll chase with his family’s truck whoever dares to arrive late. Takao feels a bead of cold sweat running down his back.

He guess he could wait for Midorima to come down of the roof and talk to him later, but Midorima has taken the habit of getting back to the class while the bell is ringing, so if he does indeed need to talk to their class rep to ask to be switched out of cleaning for the day, it would be more convenient for him to know as soon as possible.

That’s the official version, which also takes into account Midorima’s eventual dislike for sudden change of plans or for having to interact with people in the few minutes between classes, but the bare truth is, of course, that Takao needed an excuse to go see what Midorima is up to, on the roof. He hasn’t given it much thought lately, always caught up with a few of his classmates discussing shows or trading cards and reticent to push his boundaries so soon after having found such a precarious balance with Midorima, but he can see a golden occasion when it’s so blatantly thrown at him, and given the circumstances it’s his duty to catch it.

He grabs his own lunch and tries to keep a low profile but fails miserably at some point and starts running up the stairs four steps at a time, only stopping in front of the roof door to catch his breath and compose himself. He doesn’t really know what he expects to find: he has a hard time picturing Midorima doing anything up here beside eating his lunch, but nobody would have given him accession to the roof for just that, no matter how influential his family is…
There is only one way to find out, and Takao snickers to himself as he takes a deep breath and pushes the door open just slightly, an image of Midorima training secretly in martial arts or capoeira on his mind.

The light is blinding, but even as he adjusts his eyes to the scorching sun there’s still nobody practicing capoeira in his field of vision. Pity. 

Actually, there is nobody in his field of vision, period , which is a little more alarming. Takao steps on the roof and in leaving the door slightly ajar notices a pair of keys dangling from the hole, with two straps attached: one is the standard school-one, with a tag declaring to what door does the key belong, the other is a tiny basketball hanging from a short chain. It makes Takao smile, and propels him to continue his search. He could call for Midorima out loud, but he feels like it would ruin the mood: the view from up here is indeed beautiful, you can see the school grounds and part of the neighbourhood, it’s quiet, and warm and there’s a pleasant breeze. He moves around silently, muttering Midorima’s name in a voice just loud enough to let his presence known, but nobody answers. He stops, at a loss, and scratches his head, then shrugs and turns around: since he’s already up here he might as well find a nice spot and enjoy his lunch.

And there Midorima is. Lying on the ground.
If it wasn’t for the dark green towel he’s sprawled on, one could think he felt sick, and get scared. But as Takao approaches him, there is no mistaking the deliberate nature of his stance. There’s the aforementioned green towel, wide enough to accommodate Midorima’s whole form comfortably. There’s the relaxed posture. There’s the jacket of their gakuran, neatly folded beside Midorima’s discarded shoes and socks (Takao is beginning to feel outraged). There’s the fucking pillow beneath Midorima’s head, and now Takao definitely feels outraged. All of a sudden it’s like it is his moral duty to just shake Midorima awake in the ugliest way possible, because that’s what teenage boys do to each other when they catch their peers napping – and he’s considering dropping the entirety of his water bottle over Midorima in the name of the idiocy that belongs to their age, but desists almost immediately.

Because Midorima is napping under the sun barefoot and in a short-sleeved shirt, mouth slightly open, his finished bento tucked away and a teaspoon that is today’s lucky item for Cancers in his left hand, resting on his stomach. He doesn’t hear Takao and therefore doesn’t move, and it’s the most unguarded Takao has ever seen him so far. In fact, he looks so relaxed and so deeply asleep that the lines of his body blur every now and then, a greenish hue tinging the air around him and shifting imperceptibly in the breeze or oscillating against it in response to Midorima’s movements. Takao knows that he shouldn’t be supposed to see this so clearly, that even Madararuis, sometimes, are not so sensitive to other people’s aura. He also knows that this is the closest he’s ever been to find out more about Midorima’s spiritual form. But minutes pass, and beside a couple of false alarms in which Midorima glows an ugly green in response to a persistent fly, nothing happens. Takao is curious, and a tease, but even he does understand when it’s time to back out of a challenge. Still, he finds it hard to look away, now that he has the chance to stare blatantly and openly at Midorima without risking getting caught. 

Takao never mulled too much over his sexuality. It’s a non-issue for Madararui people, since they’re genetically engineered to desire and be desirable to as many individuals as possible, but regular humans, in Takao’s experience, tend to stick to labels. Takao has never put one on himself, because he hasn’t really thought it through. He has eyes, he can recognize attractive people whatever their gender is, and he does have a penchant for dynamic, enthusiastic girls with long legs and short hair – but that doesn’t mean he can’t be pleased with what’s in front of his eyes. Which is a very handsome guy, tall and fair and whose shoulder-to-waist ratio in his opinion borders on illegal . He’s got used to Midorima’s 195 centimetres of height, but it’s still impressive to see him sprawled out and realize just how long he looks, like this – almost as if someone put him on a stretcher and pulled, but in a graceful way. His limbs are long, legs that go on for miles and proportioned arms, bony wrists and the most captivating hands Takao has ever had the chance to appreciate. He takes in the refined features, the naturally groomed eyebrows, the lashes, the thin lips. The neat line of Midorima’s neck just above the shirt. 

He looks like a banquet Takao could (and would) feast on, and he feels himself blush at the mere thought, his stomach turning on itself eloquently. And because Takao does indeed understand his limits, he shakes the inappropriate, impulsive, intrusive need to kiss that mouth and learn what it tastes like out of his mind. Then he takes a deep breath, kneels down, and whispers softly.

- Ehi. Sleeping beauty.

It takes a couple of attempts to get Midorima to crack an eye open, and Takao almost expects him to jump up and start yelling, but Midorima does neither of the two. He just rolls his head and stares at Takao with glazed eyes, visibly drowsy and, Takao would dare to say, almost drunk. If he’s surprised, there’s no way to tell.

- Shin-chan . If you doze off under this sun you’ll get burned.

- I’m wearing sunscreen.

- Are you, now?!

- The bottle is wrapped inside the jacket. 

- That’s really not the point, you know.

Midorima hums an agreement or who-knows-what and turns his head up again, as if Takao wasn’t even there, and unexpectedly, even. Takao doesn’t react well to being ignored like this. He jumps on his feet and stands between Midorima and the sun, feet on either side of Midorima’s hips, casting shadow over his classmate’s face. The answer is a low, slightly irritated, grumble. But at least Midorima is looking at him and actually seeing him, now.

- …what do you want?

- Our seniors from the basketball club called a meeting before actual practice. Attendance is mandatory, so if you’re on cleaning duty you’d better find someone you can switch with.

- It’s not my turn, today.

- Okay, then.

- …can you move away, now?

Takao blinks at him and doesn’t budge at first, but when it’s clear Midorima has every intention to go back to his nap, he yields.

- Alright, princess. Wouldn’t want to stand between you and the Sun’s kisses.

- Idiot.

- Ehi, does it bother you if I eat? It’s pretty nice up here and I haven’t had lunch yet, since I was looking for you.

Midorima doesn’t say anything, which Takao interprets as a permission to do as he pleases.

He has a bento too, today, courtesy of his mother’s lucky round of shifts this week, and he dives into it eagerly. It’s quiet for some time, while he enjoys the first bites of home-made food, but it doesn’t last long. On one hand he really does not want to disturb Midorima, but on the other, he’s too curious.

- Did they really agree on giving you the keys to this place so you could nap !?

Midorima opens his eyes and frowns. 

- No.

Takao makes an exaggeratedly outraged face and gasps.

- Did you steal the keys!?

Midorima barks

- Of course not!

- Then why do you have them? What have you told them?

Midorima sighs, and brings up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. It looks as if he’s weighing his options. In the end, he must have come to the conclusion that it’s less bothersome to answer Takao’s questions.

- My doctor recommends I expose myself to direct sunlight as often as I can. On this premises, the school allowed me access to the roof.

Takao almost chokes on his rice, because Midorima might look many things, but sick is definitely not one of them.

- Doctor’s orders? Are you ill ?! 

A muscle in Midorima’s forehead twitches, and Takao realizes that was a very rude question, even for him.

- I’m sorry, it’s not my business. I didn’t want to pry, I was just surprised, that’s al-

- No.

- Eh?

- I’m not ill. It’s not an illness . I just …it helps me feel better, sunbathing.

- Vitamin D and all that jazz?

There’s a moment of silence and then, to Takao’s surprise, Midorima actually chuckles. He likes that sound.

- …yeah, something like that.

Takao finishes his lunch, and at some point Midorima’s phone chirps what is clearly an alarm clock ringtone and he sits up, rubbing his eyes under the lenses and preparing himself to get ready for class again in a few minutes. It’s weirdly endearing, and Takao’s tongue has always been quicker than his brain.

- Shin-chan.

- What.

- Can I come have lunch here too, sometimes?

Midorima puts his socks on, giving them, and not Takao, his undivided attention.

- …why would you want to?

Takao pouts.

- Because it’s nice? I mean, it’s pretty quiet, and peaceful. It would be a nice break from our rowdy classroom. Plus, I like high places. And it’s so wide and open up here, it almost makes you feel like you could take off and fly away at any moment. I like it. And I’d like to come more often.

There’s silence, and he catches Midorima staring at him with an unreadable expression. Takao finds himself flushing, just a little.

- What? Sorry it got weird, I went on a tangent.

Midorima stands up, folding the towel and gathering the rest of his things. The towel, small square pillow and sunscreen go into a large shoebox that fits in a shelf unit right inside the door that Takao had not noticed before. The bento box, lucky item and keys will come back downstairs with Midorima.

- If it’s every now and then, it’s alright.

Takao can’t believe his ears.

- Really!? Like, you’re not joking?! I can come?!

Midorima rolls his eyes.

- Just let me sleep, okay?

- Deal! You won’t even know that I’m there, I promise!

- …well, that might be counterproductive. I wouldn’t want to lock you out on the roof on a Friday.

Takao watches him step down the stairs with his mouth open: …did Midorima just crack a joke at him!?

The same Midorima that, on the landing, notices he hasn’t moved and rises a brow at him.

- Classes are starting in a few minutes.

The tacit Are you coming? is so loud to Takao’s ears Midorima might have shouted it as well.

- Oh, right! Let’s hurry back, then!

The moment they sit at their respective desks, the bell rings, and the teacher greets them good afternoon.

***

Of all the things Takao expected, losing to an anonymous school like Seirin while having a Miracle on the team was definitely not on the list. And yet here they are.

And he was probably wrong to make a snarky comment or two about it, and to Midorima’s already upset face, on top of it, but he didn’t expect to come face to face with a fucking tiger on the court, it brought out flashbacks and thanks a lot but he’s had enough close encounters with huge, feral felines to last for a lifetime, in his opinion. 

It’s probably even harder on their seniors, since they’re third years and now their last chance lies in the winter tournament, but they don’t let it show, and they don’t let their frustration out on others. Takao finds renewed respect for them.

He runs into Midorima out of the sports hall, and doesn’t really like the way his stomach clenches at the sight of him drenched in water and with red eyes. Eyes that widen in surprise as soon as Midorima lifts his gaze and see that Takao is still around. 

- …what are you doing here?

The words might sound sharp, but they’re not, not really, because they’re delivered with the tone of voice of someone that never contemplated the thought that a teammate might want to stick around after a loss. Takao feels a little bit rejected: he thought that, by now, Midorima might hold a higher opinion of him…

- Waiting for you. Want to grab a bite?

Midorima looks like he’d rather refuse, but his stomach is quicker and betrays him by gurgling loudly. Midorima snarls and looks away, mortified. Takao bites his cheek to avoid laughing out loud (something tells him things are a bit too raw for that), but loses it when his own stomach lets the world know its state of emptiness.

- Bwahah! Dinner it is, then! Is okonomiyaki alright with you?

Midorima nods and lets him lead the way.

*

- It’s fine, we don’t have to play rock-paper-scissors tonight. I’ll carry you home.

*

The road is predictably empty, given the hour and the recent downpour. Predictable is also the silence that fell on them as a mantle. Takao feels a bit like it’s on him to break it.

- I’m sorry about the things I said earlier. They were uncalled for. And a little unsportsmanlike. Remember when I told you about the way your team single-handedly destroyed mine in middle-school? I think I’ve been a bit of a sore loser since then. Especially when guys like you are involved. 

- …guys like me?

- Madararuis. Heavy-seeds. Exceptionally gifted human beings. I have a hard time coming to terms with stuff like having a damn tiger running at me on the court. And then there’s yo- nevermind.

 - No. Go on.

Takao sighs in frustration and pedals with a little more force than necessary.

- Then there’s you, who actually belong with these guys, but don’t rely on your Madararui nature at all . I mean… I mean… I feel your vibes loud and clear , but it’s not the same as watching Ootsubo-san project his bear all over the rebound area.

- What are you trying to tell me?

Takao stops at that, and puts his feet on the ground. They’re on a wide street in a residential neighbourhood and there’s no actual danger of being run over a random car. He turns around to look at Midorima, who is stubbornly facing away.

- …why can’t anyone see your spiritual form at all?

Midorima pushes up his glasses, still awkwardly turned.

- Because I’m good at keeping it in check.

It’s starting to be frustrating.

- But why !? 

Midorima faces him, lines hard.

- That’s really none of your business.

- But Shin-chan…

- It’s unbecoming. And a very personal matter. I’m sorry my attitude might have cost us the game, but I do not feel comfortable baring myself to people like that .

It makes sense. It makes enough sense that Takao has to accept it as an explanation and drop the subject.

- Besides… doing everything I can to succeed and improve also means channelling my power during a game without letting my spiritual form loose. I’m working on it. I’m always working on it.

- I know that.

It’s true.

Takao sits back on the bike, foot propped up on the pedal and ready to push, when he hears Midorima whisper something at his back.

- Mh? You said something, Shin-chan?

Midorima bites his bottom lip lightly, thinking about his next words.

- I said that it’s preposterous, for you to inquire about my spiritual form, when you’re hiding yours as well. And way better than me. 

Takao scratches his head, confused.

- What are you talking about? What spiritual form?

- You haven’t just heard about them. The way you talk about our senior’s aura, about that Kagami’s… you see them. 

- I do.

- The way Madararuis do. 

- …actually…. I just have pretty good eyes, that’s it. I’m just a regular monk-

Midorima makes a face.

- Do not call yourself that. 

It takes Takao by surprise.

- …all right. Still, there’s no trace of Madararui blood in me. Not a drop, that I know of. If there were, and I was one, wouldn’t that make me… ah… what do they call it?

- A Retrograde. 

- Yeah, a Retrograde. But they’re, like, super rare, aren’t they?

Midorima nods, somehow chattier now that the topic has drifted to scientific territory.

- Yes, they are. But, indeed, you’re not a Retrograde. They smell different.

- Eh? How would you know that?

Midorima shifts in the cart, almost uncomfortable.

- Kuroko is one.

Takao does a double-take. 

- Kuroko !? Seirin ’s Kuroko?! 

- Yes.

- I knew there was something weird about him! Tell me more!

If Takao didn’t know any better, he’d say that Midorima squeaks.

- What?!

- Tell me more ! I’ve never met a Retrograde in my whole life! What’s his spiritual form like?

- I’m not talking about Kuroko Testsuya’s spiritual form with you!

- Is that why everyone seems to be so hung up about him!? Because he’s just that attractive to you Madararuis?! 

- …well, it’s a possibility…

- Are you attracted to him???

- What?! NO!!!

- Then why are you so hung up about him?

- It’s about basketball.

- Oh, that’s how they call it today, I see.

- It’s true! There’s history . 

- Do you mean an unrequited-sexual-attraction kind of history?

- I mean a we-all-went-to-middle-school-together-and-hang-out-as-a-team-and-were-friends-before-we-fell-apart kind of history. And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. 

- What’s his spiritual form like?

- I’m. Not. Telling. You .

- He’s a dog, isn’t he? A tiny black and white dog with big blue eyes. Like a husky pup, but cuter.

- Why are you asking me stuff if you already know the answer?!

- Ehi, but if Kuroko is a dog-type, then how come he has that tiger so wrapped around his finger?! It’s like a big cat, shouldn’t they hate each other on principle or something?!

- Please, refrain from speaking about Madararuis as if they’re actual animals.

- Can’t. It’s too funny. Think about all the jokes I could crack if I knew what your spiritual form was. 

- All the reason for me to keep it hidden, then.

- So mean , Shin-chan.

*

When they arrive at Midorima’s house, he insists on making Takao leave the cart, but the latter waves a hand reassuringly.

- No big deal. I’ll carry this baby home just fine. Thanks for the concern, though. Mh, what is it?

Midorima is checking the tape on his left hand, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a way that suggests uneasiness.

- You dropped the subject earlier. You don’t smell like a Retrograde, but you’re able to detect Madararui auras and notice details about spiritual forms with a clarity far above the average Madararui experience. It is unthinkable to believe a human could be so sensitive to these manifestations. 

Takao shrugs.

- What can I say? I come from a family of regular humans. But I’ve always been able to see the world from behind these… I don’t know, let’s call them special lenses? I think my parents had me checked at some point, but nothing notable came out. Eh, I’ll tell you this too: when I was a kid, I asked my Madararui friends if they could tell what kind of monkey I was, since they were always showing off their own features – you know, competing to see who had the longest tail and everything – but so far nobody has ever been able to tell. That’s how much of a flight seed I am, even as a monkey. I guess I’m as insignificant a human as you can find. Just with a wider field of vision?

- It is indeed not uncommon, for people with monkey ancestors, to have a very light, almost undetectable aura. Does looking at the mirror, perhaps when you feel distressed, do anything for you?

Takao chuckles and leans on the bike handles, arms crossed.

- You know, for someone who is so prickly and buttoned up when it comes to your spiritual form, you really do ask a lot of personal questions, Shin-chan.

Midorima flushes dark in the moonlight. Takao thinks it becomes him.

- I’m sorry. You are right. I have overstepped, forgive my rudeness.

Takao smiles. Just so naturally.

- It’s alright, I was kidding. I don’t mind chatting about this kind of topic. But to answer your question, no. Even with my sight, I don’t have a clue about my own spiritual form. I guess I really am nothing special on the evolution scale.

Midorima glows kind of green and when he speaks it’s on instinct, and without filter.

- You are special. 

It does funny things to Takao’s stomach. And, possibly, to his heart. Therefore, he jokes it off, because he has yet to learn how to deal with such feelings.

- More special than Kise? Who’s the one that projects his golden retriever looks in every direction and yet in reality he’s a pretty terrifying western tiger snake?

Midorima’s eyes go wide behind his lenses.

- You saw behind his dog appearance?

Takao nods, thoughtful.

- It was blurry, and at first I just blamed it on the game, you know? I’ve been using my eyes the whole match and everything… but once I understood what was going on, it was clear as day. Never seen anything like that, though. Is it a snake trick?

- Only partially. His parents are a dog-type and a snake-type. He is a snake at the core, but has inherited enough dog-type genes to pass as one without effort. Kise has a… unique talent for adapting his spiritual form to his wishes. 

- …you guys are really something…

- Kise effortlessly deceives Madararuis on a regular basis. To be able to pick on his secret so quickly… your sight really is exceptional. You’re exceptional.

Takao feels his own cheeks heat up. He pouts.

- It’s pretty useless if I can’t take advantage of it to find out what’s your spiritual form.

Midorima turns around with a grunt, pretending offence, and walks past the gate. Takao thinks he looks like a ruffled, disgruntled cat. 

- Good night Takao.

- Bwahaha! Sleep well, Shin-chan!

*

He doesn’t. He tries to, but he doesn’t. The beast in his chest feels too restless for something as trivial as ‘getting some sleep’, and if until a couple of hours before Midorima would have put the blame on their loss against Kuroko (it still burns), now he’s not so sure about it. 

It’s troublesome. And quite frightening.

A chill runs through his body and he berates himself for having been reckless and having stayed under the pouring rain in a t-shirt. It was an unnecessary, over-indulgent risk. He hugs the covers tight around himself, rolls in tem the way he did when he was little and needed warmth. 

Takao is warm.
His body radiates heat, especially after having undergone significant physical exertion – but it’s not just that.
It’s the smile, and the way it blooms so naturally on his face. It’s the laughter, and the way he never directs it to Midorima in a mocking way. It’s the eyes, and how they seem to see beyond everyone’s secrets, but without a hint of malice.  

He can’t name the feelings, doesn’t even know how to sort them out, where to start. But he thinks about Takao, about the way he looked when Midorima admitted he was special. 

And the monster inside him quiets. And he feels a little warmer.

*

Takao doesn’t fall asleep on the spot. He thought he would have, given the exhaustion, the disappointment and the extra leg training he threw in at the last minute, because he’s just that useless at rock-paper-scissors. But he doesn’t. He spends a lot of time lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, instead. He has learned, by now, that Midorima is the kind of guy that can say very embarrassing stuff with a straight face, because he’s tuned on different frequencies than the rest of the world, Madararuis included. But he didn’t expect himself to end up so tangled in them. Is this what it feels like, to be ensnared by a heavy-seed’s natural charm? Is this how everyone reacts to the likes of Midorima?

He can’t really make comparisons, though, because hardly anyone talks to Midorima, at school. And truth to be told, Midorima makes sure things stay that way. He certainly doesn’t run up and down Shuutoku’s corridors telling random people they’re special.

The thought makes his cheek heat up again and he buries his face under the pillow, screaming into it.

***

Training camp with Seirin is quite fun. Even funnier, it’s spending time with his team and Midorima outside of a strictly academic context, and in unusual hours. It’s a didactic experience, as much as an entertaining one, living for a few days among rowdy teenagers unable to control their spiritual form in the heat of the summer. Midorima might have a point when he says people shouldn’t refer to Madararuis as if they were actual animals, but it’s hard to take him seriously when Seirin’s starter line of dogs rolls around happily in the sand, or when their tiger can’t decide if he likes water or loathes it (he likes it, but it takes time). Or when Miyaji-san can’t really be bothered with swimming unless you physically throw him into the sea. Or when it turns out Kimura-san’s diet would consist for 70% of fruit, and it’s a collective effort to get him to eat proteins. 

Midorima doesn’t slip. Not that Takao expected him to, but it’s starting to be frustrating, in a sense – even though Takao loves challenges, and the goal for this training camp, apart from sucking up like a sponge all the basketball knowledge he can absorb, of course, is to memorize any sign of abnormal behaviour from Midorima. Admittedly, to pinpoint what constitutes ‘abnormal’ behaviour in Midorima’s case is a challenge in itself. Right now, the only clue Takao can work on is that Midorima apparently likes the ocean and definitely can swim. 

- Takao-kun is a very observant person.

In all of this, he has somehow managed to befriend Seirin’s shadow, who doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary.

- I like that I can never tell whether you’re joking or not, Kuroko.

- I meant it seriously. But I wasn’t referring to your comment about Midorima-kun’s habit of swimming in his spare time. That was rather idiotic.

- Ohi , it’s something .

- Kagami-kun spends most of his breaks either running or jumping. That doesn’t make him a hare.

- Do rabbit-type Madararui exist ?

- That’s not the point, Takao-kun.

Takao sighs loudly and leans back on the bench near the parking lot just outside their inn.

- Why does he have to be so mysterious about it anyway!?

Kuroko sips what Takao believes to be a vanilla shake. The smell is awfully sweet to his nostrils.

- It’s a private matter. 

- Our friends, and most of the human population, let’s be honest, don’t seem to mind that much.

- Many people also like boasting about their sexual prowess, real or ostentatious. That doesn’t make it less of a private matter. Midorima-kun is very modest.

- You’re modest too, and you’ve let your spiritual form slip more than once during our matches. I’ve seen at least twice, and that’s only today.

Kuroko blushes pink.

- I tend to lose my grip on it when I am somehow emotional or tired. I am not proud of it, but I can’t really help it.

- Because it’s normal !

- Midorima-kun is very good at controlling himself. I respect him for that. 

Why are all the Madararuis in Takao’s clique saying that? He merely thought it, but Kuroko picks it up and answers anyway.

- …because it is indeed quite hard for a Madararui to find a balance between their physical and spiritual form. That’s why everyone missteps sometimes. And for a heavy-seed like Midorima-kun, to have such a strong grasp on a spiritual form so large, it is quite the accomplishment. Especially at sixteen.

- …what happens at sixteen?

Kuroko doesn’t look like he is going to answer, but they’re still interrupted by one of Seirin’s first years, who calls for them saying that dinner’s ready. 

*

They share a room with the other rookies of Shuutoku, but when Midorima goes back after the evening bath, there is nobody inside but Takao, who is rummaging into his own bag.

- Yo! Shin-chan! Took you quite long!

- I lost track of time.

- Everyone is hanging out in the hall or around the place, wanna join?

- In a moment. You do not have to wait for me, though.

Takao nods in agreement, a wide grin on his face that grows even larger when he finds what he’s looking for. 

- Cards! Not my best deck but I think it can hold its own against a couple of Seirin guys, if our dear Sato-kun is half as good as he says he is! 

- I’m not familiar with the game.

Takao sits on his knees, putting back into his bag everything he has taken out while searching for his cards.

- Come watch, I can teach you! I think there’s also a couple of decks of regular playing cards going around, if that’s more of your jam.

Midorima moves towards his own mattress and bag.

- I enjoy playing shogi.

Takao whistles.

- Cool. I guess it’s not too easy to find people our age that are into it?

Midorima shrugs, the hint of a grimace on his upper lip.

- Not really. But those who do play tend to be extremely dedicated.

Takao agrees.

- I heard that Seirin’s captain is a big history nerd, perhaps he can be a worthy opponent.

- How are the two things even related?

Takao pouts.

- Can’t harm to ask, though, right?

He zips his bag closed and stands up swiftly, toying with the card deck as he walks towards the door.

- I’ll see you downstairs then, Shin-ch-

- Takao.

Midorima’s tone is serious, and Takao has no other choice but to stop and turn and pay attention.

- Uh? What is it?

Midorima looks like he wants to choose his words carefully, because evidently the matter is of much importance to him.

- What is, exactly, that you are trying to accomplish with your quest to uncover my spiritual form? 

Takao’s mouth goes dry. Damn Kuroko .

- Kuroko only confirmed what I already noticed and inquired him about. 

And damn his own habit to voice his thoughts aloud . Takao sighs. 

- It’s nothing serious, Shin-chan, really. More like an innocent jest in the name of my proverbial curiosity.

Midorima frowns.

- We talked about it, though. I do not find it funny. Please, stop.

Takao has to admit that Midorima did, indeed, explicitly tell him that he wasn’t comfortable revealing himself to people in such a way. But Takao didn’t think the subject was so sore to him. However he looks at it, though, he is in the wrong, so he raises his hands above his shoulder in an apologetic stance.

- You’re right Shin-chan, I’m sorry. I’m going to mind my own business from now on. Just… don’t be mad at me, please? I promise I meant no harm. And I didn’t want to upset you in any way.

Midorima looks down at his hands, clearly not over the matter but somehow satisfied enough with the apology he got. Takao feels like they’re not really done discussing it, though, and that if he drops the conversation now they might fall back into the routine of polite distance that he doesn’t miss in the slightest.

- Ehi, Shin-chan…

- Mh?

He picks his next words carefully, sitting on his mattress to show Midorima that he’s taking this is seriously, that he’s in no hurry to leave. That he’s okay with them spending alone time together.

- Without offense… what is it that bothers you so much about people knowing about your spiritual form? I mean… we took baths together, I have already seen you naked and you’re okay with it. What is it that makes this spiritual form thing so much different than that?

Midorima twitches involuntarily, as if he was expecting the question but felt bothered by it all the same. Takao is kind of relieved to see him lower himself down until he, too, is sitting cross-legged on his own futon, in front of Takao and yet still facing downwards, looking at his fingers for the words he’s missing.

- I was… born this way. It’s something I came into the world with. You did not get to pick your genes, and neither did I. I had no choice on the matter. 

It’s stating the obvious, to use an euphemism, but Takao suspects the digression is important, therefore he holds his mouth shut and nods. Midorima takes it as a clue to go on.

- Sometimes, I get the impression that… for all the talking and researching that is done about Madararuis, and spiritual forms, people tend to forget about what the real thing implies.

He looks up at Takao, then, and Takao feels like he’s been pierced by a fistful of green needles.

- You tend to do it too. Yes, you have the advantage of being able to see our aura clearly, which puts your experience with Madararuis above the average human one… but have you ever stopped and really talked to a Madararui about what it feels like, to find a balance between your physical and spiritual form? To make them coexist without succumbing to madness?

It sounds a little dramatic, even for a sombre type like Midorima, but Takao has promised himself to face the discussion seriously.

- To be honest, Shin-chan, yes. I did. I grew up among dog-types, mostly, and a neighbour of mine is a bear-type, although a little one. Plus, there are of course our classmates. And I’ve had a bad encounter with a snake-type, once. Despicable woman, really. What I mean is: I have always been a curious child, I asked questions all the time … and the Madararuis I was closer to were very chill with this whole spiritual form thing. They obviously had silly stories to tell about all those times they accidentally slipped and flashed someone with their canine bits, but don’t we all? I mean, many of them had equally embarrassing stories about times when they flashed strangers with their human bits, so… no, I never got the impression it was a hassle, for them. They sometimes complained about this or that feature, but in the same resigned tone you’d use on, I don’t know, your hair? The shape of your eyes? and all those things you’re born with and that make you… well, you . 

He shrugs.

- So I never got the feeling it was that deep. It wasn’t, for them.

- I see.

Takao feels like he has given him the wrong answer, because Midorima looks dejected, and withdrawn. One would say almost sad .

- Now that I think about it, Kuroko did mention something about heavy-seeds having massive spiritual forms, earlier, and how hard it is to host them in a relatively tiny body. Perhaps it changes from person to person? And this is why my acquaintances did relatively well? Because they were light-seeds?

Midorima makes an uninterpretable grunt and gets up without another word, passing by Takao and walking towards the door. Takao follows suit.

- Wait, Shin-chan! 

Midorima stops with a hand on the doorframe.

- We are indeed very different from each other. I do not wish my spiritual form to be the subject of inquiries and speculations. It might feel a mundane topic for many, but it isn’t to me. I quite enjoy your company, I wouldn’t want to have to cut ties with you because of this. So please , let it go.

That last admission would have been more than enough to convince Takao to scale Himalaya, but it’s probably the ending plea that does it for good: its meek and, dares he say it?, vulnerable tone puts him in the new and uncomfortable position of wanting to protect Midorima and his so fiercely preserved secret. 

He joins Midorima at the door and light-heartedly touches Midorima’s arm in what he hopes passes as a reassuring gesture.

- Alright Shin-chan, I got it. I promise.  

*

They make their way downstairs and Takao spots Midorima toying absent-mindedly with the large coin he’s kept with him all day.

- You know, you never really got to tell me what’s the matter with this lucky item obsession of yours. I get the tape on your fingers, I get the routine, I kind of get the superstition too, up to a point. I do it too. But why the lucky items, of all things? Why the need of always having them on your person?

Midorima pauses on the third-to-last step, coin trapped between the index and middle finger of his right hand. He makes it roll over his knuckles with a dexterity worth of a magician, until the coin disappears into his palm.

- They help me… stay focused.

- Focused on what?

Midorima doesn’t reply straight away, but when he finally opens his mouth Sato intercepts them at the bottom of the stairs and whisks Takao away in an impromptu strategy meeting before they challenge Seirin’s team in the ultimate playing cards showdown.

***

Seirin’s guys are indeed a lot of fun. Takao can’t pinpoint if it’s because they’re pack animals in an actual pack and it shows , if it’s because their leading alpha is the tiny human girl who’s their Coach or if it’s just because all of them, Shuutoku included, are a bunch of good-natured people who share a genuine love for basket – which makes them all part of a big gang. He plays a few rounds of cards, wins some, loses others – he also trades a few duplicates and has an insightful conversation with some of Seirin’s own rookies regarding the latest releases and their potential impact on game strategies. More than once he looks around the room and is pleased to see that Midorima is in his field of vision, even if he keeps to himself in a corner, reading a book whose title Takao didn’t bother asking. It would be even better, in his opinion, to see Midorima mingle with other people, for once – although when he does, answering Seirin’s Coach’s questions about his book and then actually discussing it with both her and Kuroko, it feels weird and it almost throws Takao off-balance. Of course he’s happy that Midorima sticks around, instead of staying locked up in the bedroom by himself. And of course he’s happy that he’s amicable with a former classmate and his team, because he’s been saying for ages that Midorima needs acquaintances… it’s just that, even in light of their previous conversation, seeing him talk so naturally with them only makes him wish that Midorima would talk to him more. Which is a pretty whimsical thing for him to say, given that he’s probably the person Midorima talks to the most, nowadays – he just can’t help but want more , and if he slides through the end of the evening acting slightly louder and rowdier than intended it’s just a testament to the good time they’re all having.

*

When they collapse in their futons with the other first-years of their team, Takao feels his heart finally slow down and it’s with a final sigh that he wills himself to sleep, turning his back on Midorima but never really stopping paying attention to his steady breath. 

He gets up once in the middle of the night, to go to the bathroom down the hallway, and it’s only when he goes back and moves to slide back onto his mattress that he notices: it’s summer, and the air is hot and humid. They’ve opened the windows, because that’s what hormonal male teens are bound to do when forced to sleep together in a tiny room, and still they’ve felt the need to kick all the covers aside and sprawl over each other’s beddings in various stages of undress to bear the heat. But not Midorima. Midorima’s only concession to the high temperature is foregoing the nightcap (that he has packed, Takao saw it) and wearing a short-sleeved shirt over his long pyjama pants. Midorima is also, very properly, covering his midsection and arms with the sheets. While lying at the very edge of his own futon and dangerously close to Takao’s. And exactly because he’s half-asleep and dumbstruck by the absurd situation, Takao doesn’t notice Midorima’s bandaged left hand on the slightly damp patch he’s left on the mattress until he’s right above it and almost on the verge of crushing it .

Hands pressed over his mouth in an attempt to not scream at the thought that he’s almost stepped on their Ace’s most precious fingers , he throws himself as far from Midorima as possible, which earns him a kick from Sato that he doesn’t even feel. From this distance, he can (maybe) regain his breath, but it’s hard to will his heartbeat back into normal, now. Not when he’s forced to lie so close to Midorima that he can actually count his lashes in the moonlight, and feel the ghost of his minty breath on his face. The open window carries inside the room an almost imperceptible breeze that brings to Takao’s nostrils the faint scent of Midorima’s soap and shampoo. It’s a smell he knows by heart, because they’ve bathed together several times at this point, but the context makes all the difference now. It would take so little, so very little, to lean forward and touch his nose to Midorima’s. To push a little further and reach out with his lips. It doesn’t even have to be the mouth – he could get by with whatever patch of skin, because Midorima’s skin is immaculate, and although Takao is no stranger to a healthy, unmarked complexion, Midorima as usual sets the bar so high it makes you question whether he and the likes of him are even real people in the first place. Takao knows, just from looking, that if he were to touch that skin it would feel smooth and soft under his fingertips, and probably cool, because one thing he has noticed about Midorima when they bump against each other during practice, is that even if he’s slightly sweating, his skin tends to not get too hot. Lucky bastard. 

It takes several moments of such musings, for him to realize the implications of his thoughts. It’s the kind of knowledge that has sat at the back of his mind for weeks now, but that he has promptly chosen to ignore, as every self-respecting teenage boy would do under these circumstances. He’s attracted to Midorima . In the same way he was attracted just last year to the captain of the girls’ athletic team, a lean girl his age from another class with legs that went on for miles, a chatty attitude and the voice of a singing bird. He had wanted that voice to sing for him, at some point, and he had learned the hard way what lust was, and how subtly and insidiously it mingled with feelings like admiration, respect and affection. He feels desire, to deny it now would be too big of a lie, and were this any other Madararui of the city, he would just dive in and go for it. But this is Midorima, classmate and teammate and maybe actually a friend – and the kind of person that keeps others at distance and never expressed an interest in intimate relationships of any kind. Midorima doesn’t do casual, not that Takao knows, and he’s in no position to ask anyway.

*

Midorima’s hand stays between them, within reach of Takao’s own fingers, but he knows that to take it, to touch it, would be too much of a stress to the already worn out self-control he has left. It’s late at night, he’s not thinking straight and he probably should have found the time to indulge in some private ministrations before going to bed: he usually does, back home, and he should have expected some backlash from the messed up routine. He turns away from Midorima, pants feeling tight and slightly uncomfortable, a tiny voice in his head asking when exactly he became so good at finding shameless excuses for himself. 

He spends the rest of the night facing Sato’s armpit. 

Man, he’ll fucking kill Sato in the morning.

***

The problem with having a worm in your head is, it never really goes away, even when you think it has.
It’s only physical attraction , Takao repeats himself every now and then. Like when Midorima’s shirt rides up during shooting practice, or when he lifts up the hem of his shorts to dry his palms. Having a crush is a hassle in times like this, because every mundane task suddenly becomes a Big Thing that affects the precarious balance you’ve found for yourself. If Midorima notices anything weird in Takao’s sudden need for privacy when it’s finally time to shower after a training session, he doesn’t comment on it. He probably welcomes it, now that Takao thinks about it – one little positive outcome out of this whole mess. 

It’s only physical attraction , he tells himself when they’re on cleaning duty after art class and it’s clear that the boxes of art supplies and unfinished projects won’t fit in the appointed racks, so they have to fall back on the higher shelves and Takao looks around for the three-steps ladder they usually keep in the corner, but Midorima just so casually takes the last box from Takao’s arms and stretches up to put it in place. Next week on “ I didn’t know I had a height kink ”.

It’s only physical attraction , he mentally groans when a hot-headed second year light-seed bear from the football club who picked a fight with him in the cafeteria over a yakisoba sandwich waits for him with a couple of Madararui teammates and it takes a strong wave of cold, green aura to disperse them.

- I can take care of myself, you know. 

- I don’t like bullies.

- Well, that was my fight and it makes me look like a sissy if you win them for me with your Madararui shit.

- They were using their Madararui shit as an advantage to intimidate a regular human. That’s disgusting .

- Whatever. 

He walks away, pride hurt and head’s a mess, because he has also noticed the way Midorima’s unblinking eyes flashed gold during the exchange and the way all of his muscles suddenly went tight and still. And how peculiar it felt to realize that, all of a sudden, there was someone around having his back, all the time.

*

He texts Midorima, later that evening.

From: Takao – 6.59pm
That was quite the impressive move with your spiritual form, earlier. You’ve become bolder, Shin-chan.

When he doesn’t expect an answer anymore, his phone chirps.

From: Shin-chan! – 8.57pm
It seems so.

*

From: Takao – 9.02pm
Ohi, I think I spotted a yellow eye earlier! Are you a cat?

From: Shin-chan! – 9.03pm
No.

From: Takao – 9.03pm
I bet you’re a cat. Seems fitting.  

From: Shin-chan! – 9.03pm
I’m not.

From: Takao – 9.03pm
I don’t think a tabby pattern would suit you though.  

From: Shin-chan! – 9.03pm
Takao.

From: Takao – 9.04pm
OMG YOU’RE A SPHYNX AREN’T YOU

SHIN-CHAN

I’VE CRACKED THE CODE
WHAT HAVE I WON

From: Shin-chan! – 9.04pm
Nothing! You’re wrong!

From: Takao – 9.04pm

YOU’RE A SPHYNX IT’S DEFINITE I DON’T MAKE THE RULES

From: Takao – 9.05pm
Takao sent [grumpy_s(p)hin(x)_chan.jpg]
TOTALLY LOOKS LIKE YOU!!!

From: Shin-chan! – 9.05pm
I’M OBVIOUSLY NOT A CAT!

***

They’re going one-on-one because Takao insisted he was tired of dribbling to himself and practice shooting. Which is true and legit, but maybe not his only motivation for requiring a more dynamic training session. 

He unapologetically bumps into Midorima for the fourth time in a row in the attempt of passing him to get under the basket. Midorima grunts and puts more effort into blocking him, shutting him down successfully. Takao snarls and kicks the ball away. Midorima frowns.

- You are being unnecessarily aggressive.

- Oh, come on! Playing with you it’s like going against a brick wall!

Midorima sniffs, reasonably irritated. Takao sighs, slightly deflated, and scratches his head.

- Look. I’m nervous. Christmas is not the best time of the year, for me.

- …why?

Midorima doesn’t ask personal questions, so it takes Takao by surprise. So much that he doesn’t even consider not answering.

- My dad left us near Christmas. Never really got to warm back up to the holiday after that.

- …I didn’t know it.

- You had no reason to. 

They tidy up the gym quietly and without speaking for a while, with no real rush to get the job done quickly. Weird enough, it’s Midorima to break the silence first, again. 

- I’m sorry. It must have been hard. 

Takao stiffens again, a little dumbfounded by Midorima’s atypical attitude, but he shrugs the comment off.

- To be honest, I don’t remember him much. I just hate that mum does. 

There are many things that can be said about Midorima and his character flaws, but intrusiveness in not one of those. He’s a solid presence you can’t help but feel, and one Takao has got far more used that he’d like to admit, but he gives space. Maybe it’s born more out of social awkwardness and emotional self-consciousness than out of real tact, but as long as it makes him feel comfortable Takao doesn’t really care. In fact, he voices more of his thoughts out loud, just because he can.

- And maybe I just hate that she doesn’t hate him. 

He doesn’t really want Midorima to see the worst parts of him, but he’s never been good at stopping his tongue, especially when he needs to vent and feels safe to do so.

- And sometimes when things get a bit too tough, or a bit too much, and my head gets cloudy- sometimes I just… every now and then… geez, I think about leaving too, alright? I think that it sounds appealing, you know!? That all in all it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Fill a backpack, grab all the cash that you can, leave home the phone and just… go. Hop on a train, or something. Hell, hop on a plane, at least. Fly away. 

He’s very glad he doesn’t have the strength to crush the basketball in his hands.

- …does this mean I’m just like him, after all? Am I the kind of person that can simply cut ties with my loved ones? Am I the kind of person that will always pick the selfish route and escape when caught in a cage? 

Midorima keeps doing his part of the chores without looking at him, but he does answer to that.

- No, if you don’t want to.

Takao turns around to face him. Midorima sees his confused face and supplies more insight.

- Maybe it’s true that you took after him a little. But you can’t let your genetic heritage define you as a person, if that’s not who you want to be. You can be better than your genes.

He twirls the ball in his hands and shoots it, nodding slightly as it falls neatly through the hoop and walking away to retrieve it. Takao stares at his retreating back, mouthing a ‘ thank you ’ nobody really ears.

***  

When Takao signed up for his high school of choice, he didn’t expect that at some point his life would have become so stressful. Demanding, yes, but stressful to the point of physical exhaustion, not so much.
His mother always insists on him eating more vegetables and drinking more water, and he knows she’s right, but it’s not only minerals that he lacks and not all the answers can be found in nutrients.
Schoolwork is heavy and exams approach ominously – he’s not really worried about passing them, he’s a decent enough student, but he would like to keep his grades on the level he’s maintained so far and it’s harder than usual when his attention is so divided.
What he would like to focus on in his teenage naivety is only the upcoming Winter Cup, the basketball tournament they have already qualified for and that he desperately wants to win – to prove a point, mostly, but also to finally have something in his life that goes unequivocally right. Winning the Winter Cup, not that he’d ever admit it, would mean stick a not-so-metaphorical middle finger in the faces of Midorima’s former teammates and of all the Madararui players that through his middle-school years have made him feel like dirt for not having their same genes. It would mean being admitted in the small circle of really good basketball players of their age, opening up new opportunities for his future career, academic and not – he knows he’s good enough, he just need external validation so much . It would mean, and this is probably his deepest secret, facing Midorima and finally look up at him as an equal – a status he struggles to claim for himself. And of course it would mean, and here’s the easy-going, passionate sixteen-year-old in him that speaks, lifting a trophy that states that for the season you were the best at doing something that is so much fun . He wants that Cup. He wants that Cup so badly . And his fingertips itch every time they don’t hold a basketball, because he knows perfectly well that with Midorima fucking Shintarou on the other end of his passes, he has a very realistic chance of winning it.

Life, unfortunately, isn’t only about school and basketball, though. Sometimes it’s also about collateral things, like having developed an embarrassing crush on your teammate and being incapable of doing anything about it – because Madararuis are just built that way and because the object of your attention is probably the only adolescent guy in the country that doesn’t suffer the hormonal contraindications of puberty. And sometimes life is about stuff that you wouldn’t even want to think about – like the anniversary of the last time you saw your father, right before he walked out of the house saying he was going to work, but then decided to not come back at all, because life was better with the second family he had on the other side of the country. Although from the little information Takao gathered over the years, they were probably the second family. It’s a whole mess of a situation that he doesn’t like to dwell on, on principle, but issues of this calibre usually have the tendency to throw you curveballs when you least expect them and fuck you up whether you want it or not. And this year, they do. 

When he collapses during practice, he is mentally going over the answers to the math test they took in the morning, because Shin-chan says the answer to the second problem was C, and he’s probably right, but Takao kind of remembers picking B, which would have been very stupid of him, so he’s trying to make up his mind about it, because somehow it feels of the utmost importance now. Except he should really focus on the practice game, as Coach Nakatani keeps yelling from the side-line, because he’s going against Midorima and it’s terrifically helpful to face a Miracle as an opponent , every now and then – even if that Miracle is Shin-chan, whose gameplay Takao kind of knows by heart at this point and who has the admirable tendency of getting so very intense every time he steps on a court and damn it why did his eyes have to be so green all the time?! Takao shakes his head and uses his extraordinary field of vision to get his team out of the clutch of Midorima’s own one – he’s been doing a lot of that lately, and in the past few days he has felt the toll that such exercise has taken on his eyes, which tend to feel drier and more tired than usual, almost to the point of headaches. Then, they counterattack quickly and he’s under the basket with the ball in hand, taking a leap for a three-pointer that is not his strong-suit, but that from this angle doesn’t seem too hard to make. And he’s reminded that when he gets home he needs to pick up some groceries for dinner and help his sister prepare a few meals for the upcoming days, because in this time of the year his mother tends to work overtime to avoid thinking at her own presumed failures. The ball hits the rim, Midorima’s team gets the rebound and they have to regroup and get defensive. Takao tries to push the boundaries of his eyes again to get a full view of the court, but something evidently doesn’t work, because everything goes black and starts spinning and he hits the floor with a loud thud .

He comes to his senses only a few moments later, but things stay blurry and by the time he has enough presence of mind to make sense of his surroundings he learns that he’s lying on a bench with his legs propped up and a towel folded under his head. Coach Nakatani is calling his name softly, and there’s something soothingly cool pressed against his eyes and at the top of his head. He reassures the Coach that yes, maybe he has over-exerted himself lately and should call it a day for now and have a good night’s rest, but no, there is no need for the school to send him to the infirmary, nor to call his mother or any available relative to pick him up. Coach Nakatani doesn’t seem convinced, but out of the blue Midorima’s voice speaks from somewhere very close to Takao’s ears and says that he can help Takao home with the rickshaw. And Takao realizes that what’s keeping his eyes and head cold and fresh is Midorima’s hand – an awareness that, in turn, makes his face grow hotter by the second.

After a few minutes he manages to sit upright and, although the light still hurts his eyes, he wrestles permission from the Coach to go home with Midorima. Only on virtue of his chaperone being a Miracle Madararui, he fears, but he’s in no condition to protest. 

It’s only early December, but it’s already snowing. Sato has looked out for him while both he and Midorima showered and by the time he’s put on his gakuran and coat, Takao already feels better. Well enough to roar with laughter when he sees Midorima all dressed up for the weather. He has long since come to terms with Midorima’s intolerance to the cold (‘ As expected from a hairless cat ’, ‘ I told you I’m NOT a sphynx ’), but nothing has ever prepared him for the sight of a giant Madararui wrapped so tightly in wool, goose down and thermal body-wear that only his eyes are visible. Behind thick lenses, that Takao knows will get fogged the moment they step outside. He decides it’s the most comical thing he has seen in his whole life. Midorima is not pleased and, Takao notices with horror, he’s holding up a huge scarf and a spare woollen cap. 

- You’re not putting those things on me. No way.

- Don’t be ridiculous. Your hair hasn’t even dried properly yet.

- I will not be seen in public wearing that stuff, I have a fashionable reputation to maintain.

- You have a health to maintain! Put these on!

- Make me !

*

Midorima does. 

*

In the cart, looking at Midorima’s back and counting snowflakes while sitting still in the chilling air, Takao is kind of glad he did.

*

Midorima brings him home quickly, and Takao barely manages to thank him before a splitting headache gets the best of him and Midorima forces him to lie on the sofa beneath a blanket and stay still. 

*

He jolts awake a couple of hours later, if his phone is to be trusted, and runs to the kitchen to fix something, anything for his mother to eat, already filled with guilt at feeding her the scraps of the few stale leftovers in the fridge. But he finds Kazumi at the counter, pots running and a couple of half-full shopping bags still on the table. There are vegetables and fruit, fresh fish bought with the evening discount, a reasonable amount of cheap meat and rice, and a few ready meals in sealed boxes.

- Ehi, big bro! You were sleeping nice, so I started without you: thanks for the groceries!

- I… ehr… no big deal…

He recognizes the logo on the bags, it’s from a store nearby where Midorima shops every now and then. He rummages through the bag looking for a receipt that he doesn’t find, but what he comes out with is a scrap of paper that his sister missed and that reads, in a very neat and very familiar handwriting:

I didn’t remember what it was that you said you needed, this morning, so I got a bit of everything. M.
PS: I put the keys back in your bag.

Takao sits at the table, crosses his arms on the surface and lays down his head, sighing loudly.
This isn’t helping his purely physical attraction at all.

*

From: Takao – 7.21pm
Thanks for the groceries, you didn’t have to.

From: Shin-chan! – 7.28pm
I’m sorry for overstepping.

From: Takao – 7.28pm
What? No, it’s not that! I’m grateful.

From: Takao – 7.28pm
I think I’m just feeling lame, you know? Blacking out like that and everything.

From: Shin-chan! – 7.29pm
You should take better care of yourself.

From: Takao – 7.29pm
Geez, yessir!

From: Shin-chan! – 7.35pm
I didn’t mean to sound rude. Apologies.

From: Takao – 7.35pm
You’ve apologized twice in the past fifteen minutes, I demand to know who are you and what are you doing with my friend’s phone.

From: Shin-chan! – 7.35pm
Idiot.

From: Takao – 7.36pm
That’s more like you.
You’re right, btw: I can’t really afford to be sick so close to the Cup.

From: Shin-chan! – 7.37pm
I’ve told you several times to be careful with your eyes. 

From: Takao – 7.37pm
I know, and you’re right, but it’s not only that.

From: Shin-chan! – 7.37pm
No, indeed. 

From: Shin-chan! – 7.45pm
Takao, you are a fine person.

From: Takao – 7.45pm
…I understand that you’re trying to cheer me up, but I can’t see where you’re going.

From: Shin-chan! – 7.46pm
You have the very annoying tendency to blame yourself for other people’s shortcomings.  

From: Takao – 7.46pm
How do you even manage to make everything sound like an insult?

From: Shin-chan! – 7.46pm
What I meant to say is, you can’t keep shouldering responsibility for things happened in the past you had no control over. And thinking ill of yourself on the base of assumptions.

*

From: Takao – 7.48pm
…you listened.

*

From: Shin-chan! – 8.33pm
…I always listen.

***

The overjoyed yells and laughter echo in the empty gym along with the screech of rubber onto the wooden floor while Takao runs around like a crazy antelope with his hands in the air. Midorima watches him with a not so severe scowl.

- WE DID IT WE’RE THE KINGS OF THE WORLD!

He latches onto Midorima’s back and laughs when the latter gets a hold of him instead of letting him fall back on his rear.

- LET’S CALL IT ‘ SKY DIRECT THREE-POINT SHOT ’!!!

- It’s too long a name.

- IT’S A COOL NAME FOR THE COOLEST MOVE!!!

Midorima grunts in a non-committal way but Takao has manoeuvred himself in front enough of him to see his face and there he is, his bastard of a teammate, grinning like a madman and trying to hide it. There’s a spark in his green eyes that Takao had yet to see, and now kind of wish he hadn’t, because he’s sure that now it will haunt his dreams for weeks to come. And that lopsided smirk that Midorima is trying so hard to stifle is definitely doing things to Takao’s hyper-aware, raging hormones that should be declared a crime. Midorima lets him down, but Takao has too much momentum and succeeds in his quest to pull the two of them down on the floor. This way their faces are literally at the same level. 

- We’re going to win the Cup.

Midorima chuckles and a few butterflies fly rounds in Takao’s stomach. 

- I mean it. It’s important to me. We’re going to win the Cup.

 Midorima turns serious, then, and looks at him with that unblinking gaze that makes Takao’s skin tingle.

- Alright. I’ll do the very best I can to make sure of it. 

Takao wants to take his hands and kiss them. Take his face into his hands and kiss him. But he can’t, so he needs a diversion or he’s not sure he’ll be responsible for his actions. It’s been a while since they’ve touched the subject, but now Midorima is the kind of person who trusts him enough to risk shooting a ball with the chance of missing, so it’s as good a moment as it comes, and he knows how to keep a subject light:

- …are you going to show me your spiritual form, now?

The gym goes silent and Takao shuts his eyes waiting for the blow to come. But it doesn’t. He cracks open an eye only to see Midorima lying still on his back and watching the high ceiling, his right hand outstretched in front of him.

- When we win the tournament. Maybe.

Takao takes courage with two hands and stretches, hooking his pinkie to Midorima’s. He hears an intake of breath, but he doesn’t know if it comes from Midorima, or himself, or both of them.

- Deal.

Midorima glows green. It lasts less than a second, and to Takao’s sharp eyes it looks like it did with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

***

It is only when they face Rakuzan that Takao understands what Midorima has always meant when saying that you don’t have to let your spiritual form loose in order to exploit your true power.

Akashi Seijuro is a force of nature in the truest and most essential sense of the word, too unreal to even be compared with mere mortals as them, talented as they are. 

Even the three heavy-seeds he leads on the court pale in comparison to his charisma, and again Takao is reminded of what it’s like to feel completely overpowered and helpless in front of someone. Mentally speaking, he can deal with an overly aggressive Kodiak bear, with the fastest cheetah he’s ever seen and even with the elusive Eurasian linx who’s taken a liking to him – he can also adapt to the prideful Retrograde that looks like a full-grown husky when he slips (he rarely does) and reminds him too much about Kuroko – but he can’t win against two full-grown lions.

It’s a majestic sight, really. It’s breath-taking and absolute and it fills Takao’s eyes like nothing has before. Not only is Akashi extremely attractive, so naturally handsome it hurts to look at him: he holds himself with deliberate refinement, every single one of his muscles moving with calculated grace, effortlessly posh and at his best even in the middle of a basketball court, three quarters into a killing game. He doesn’t break sweats, he doesn’t let people catch him by surprise, he doesn’t misstep, doesn’t curse, doesn’t crack idiotic faces over fatigue. His presence is so charismatic that even if he didn’t ankle break people for a habit, you kind of feel compelled to kneel in front of him or step aside and let him pass, when he approaches and does nothing more than glance in your direction. 

The aura he projects is so terrific he can push you to the ground (where you belong) with just a blink of his heterochromatic eyes. And not once, in the horrifying experience that is facing Akashi Seijuro in a game, does he evoke his spiritual form. 

Takao has watched these guys. The Miracles, on the court. He has learned their patterns, their habits. They try to hold back, but at some point, they can’t anymore. And when competitiveness takes over, they let go, and it’s a beautiful as much as a scarring experience: Aomine has embraced his spiritual form so thoroughly he flows in between appearances so fluidly you don’t even notice the difference, he’s become one with the untamed panther in his soul so much that its most characteristic features trespass in his human form as well – in his posture, in his athletic prowess, in his routine. Kise is an ever-changing pyrotechnical show built on a core of hard, icy steel: the moment you think you’ve understood him, he’s already evolved into something else, slithering confidently on every type of terrain and adapting to any environment and situation with unbelievable fluidity and readiness of mind – and looking majestic and approachable all the while, on top of it. Murasakibara is raw, unfiltered, uncontainable power: tame and lazy and unmovable most of the time as many herbivores are, every inch the Black Death he’s referred as, as a cape buffalo, the moment he decides he’s had enough and wants to crush you. And crushing you, he can.

None of them fears baring their soul to other people, at ease as they are into their own skin, and Akashi Seijuro is no exception. There is no such thing for him as self-doubt, no chance for him to feel anything short of proud and confident, even if he were to appear in the spiritual equivalent of his birthday suit. The difference, and it’s a huge one, actually, lies in the fact that Akashi Seijuro doesn’t need to metaphorically tear off his clothes and reunite with his most primal instincts, to tune in with the source of his powers and use them at their fullest. He doesn’t need to throw open the Zone door, to rip it off of its hinges, because he has trained himself so well he can open and close it at will, at whatever width he deems necessary in a specific moment. He doesn’t need to unleash his inner beasts to annihilate you, and he doesn’t need to hide them either. He lets you see them for yourself for that brief moment he concedes (on his terms, always on his terms) and then they’re gone, obediently trained to keep behind that open, imaginary door and never cross it. But staying visible, staying alert, should someone raise their head too high and need a reminder of who’s in charge, always and without change. 

Akashi Seijuro is a Madararui so extraordinary that his spiritual form couldn’t be confined in a single lion.

He has two . Unwavering like statues and tied to his heel like the most faithful dogs.

And it took braver men than Takao Kazunari only a calculated glimpse of them to lose sleep and sanity and surrender on the spot. 

Akashi Seijuro owns them with a flick of his lithe wrists. Akashi Seijuro only has to stare at you more intensely, and you can feel the jaws of his beasts closing around your neck. Akashi Seijuro is more a concept than a real person: he’s the ideal of self-control and balance, over an almost unlimited amount of power. He’s the epitome of willpower and self-discipline.

He’s the embodiment of the kind of Madararui Midorima strays to be.

He was also Midorima’s best friend.

*

It’s not just a loss. It’s an annihilation. Rakuzan toys with them long enough to let them believe they might have a chance, lets them hope and almost trust that their effort might be rewarded, after all – until Akashi decides they’ve gone too far, flown too high, and re-establishes the natural order of things.

Takao can’t pinpoint the exact moment something breaks inside him, but when the final buzzer hits, he knows it’s happened. It might be the awful sense of deja-vu he’s getting, like middle-school all over again, even if this time he was supposed to have sided with the big guys. It might be the awareness that this was his seniors’ last match in their last tournament, and it ended in the worst defeat of their career, with younger, cocky heavy-seeds making a fool out of them. It might be the sight of Midorima, always so polished himself and in control of his spiritual form, looking like a scruffy, unbalanced, inexperienced kid Madararui when compared to Akashi. Who dares to refuse Midorima’s hand at the end of the Waterloo that was their match and lecture him on how to better his grip on his spiritual form. On how he needs to become more ruthless to achieve his goals.

When they retreat to their locker rooms, heads hung low because they finally can stop pretending to be stronger than they are, Takao doesn’t feel mad or frustrated, yet. He’s just desperate.

He’s desperate when he has to shower and hear Miyaji’s sobs through the stalls.
He’s desperate when he catches Midorima bowing to Ootsubo and Kimura and apologizing for failing them.
He’s desperate when he looks in the mirror and sees nothing but an average, ordinary human, not even strong enough to connect with his monkey-like spiritual form.

*

He doesn’t know when his heart breaks, but he can tell when Midorima’s does, because it is his fault.

It’s after the Coach, their seniors and all their teammates have gone home, after Takao has somehow managed to get enough of a grip on himself to get dressed and overcome the sadness. 

The thing about the traumatic events in your life is, they stay with you. Whether you want it or not. And sometimes you don’t realize how much power they still hold over you until something triggers the memories. Takao thought he was over middle-school, over the feeling of  helplessness and over the self-loathing that came with it. It turns out he isn’t, not completely, but he has grown out of his self-deprecation tendency, at least: being admitted into a prestigious high-school, being nominated as a starter into one of the top basketball teams in the high-school circuit despite being a rookie, being able to be partnered with a member of the Generation of Miracles and keep up with him – these are all evidences of his worth, and he didn’t even need a genetic boost to accomplish all of it. He’s done bringing himself down, therefore, once he has cursed nature for having graced him with only monkeys for ancestors, once he has washed the disappointment away, the only thing left in him is anger. Because he didn’t deserve this. And his seniors didn’t deserve this. Honestly, not even Midorima deserves this, because everyone at Shuutoku always does their best, Midorima included, and they really went beyond expectations and even further, tonight. 

But Midorima , even Rakuzan noticed, is the only one that could have made a real difference in the match, and he didn’t . Because Midorima never really learned to train his spiritual form into full obedience (Akashi did, and he hosts two fully-grown male lions in that relatively tiny body of his). Because Midorima never really embraced his true power the way the rest of his peers did. Because this time Midorima, who had the genetic advantage and the possibility to turn the tables, didn’t do everything he could. And this is something Takao can’t accept, not from the man that almost made him quit basketball and then rekindled the spark for it. Midorima could do more, because nature built him with the tools to do so, therefore he should have, and he didn’t . Takao realizes he’s never felt so let down in his whole life.

He slips into his sneakers and does a sloppy job of tying them up loosely. When he makes to get up and flee from the locker rooms, he notices Midorima is still sitting on the bench on the opposite side of the room, elbows on his knees, hunched over and with a towel above his head. He’d be still as a statue if not for the hard shivers running through him at pretty regular intervals – it’s to be expected, since he has yet to take a shower and sweat is probably cooling on his body right now – and he’s definitely holding the shogi piece that was his lucky item between his fingers.

Midorima hears him move and glances at him, glasses askew and eyes still wet. They’re red and puffy, too – actually, his whole face is a scrunched up in an ugly grimace: it’s a pitiful sight, but Takao knows he can’t judge, because he’s offering a similar spectacle. Midorima doesn’t speak, but it’s clear from the way his eyes scan Takao that he’s silently questioning where Takao is going . It would be a legit concern, since they’ve been attached at the hip since this whole Winter Cup ordeal has begun, but right now even this small testament of friendship weights on Takao’s shoulders as if it was a duty, as if it was expected of him to always be at the beck and call of this spoiled heavy-seed who can’t even bother giving it all for his team. Midorima’s silent cry for help grates on his nerves, and fuels his spite.

- Home. I’m going home.

Midorima is not stupid. He hears the implicit ‘ without you ’ loud and clear, and winces.

- I’m sorry.

He’s been repeating that for a while, now, to whoever has ears to listen. Takao is sick of it, because it doesn’t fixes anything .

- Well, yeah , I think you should be.

Midorima takes the blow and hangs his head. It’s wrong, but it kind of riles up Takao even more.

- You keep saying that you’re doing the best that you can, and that effort pays off, but it’s quite evident if you ask me that it’s bullshit . If this is the top result that ‘ doing everything you can ’ can bring us, than there are only two possibilities: it’s not enough, and you can’t compete with the rest of your Miracle buddies, like, at all – or you aren’t really trying , which is the most disrespectful thing you could do to your team.

He could as well have slapped him; Midorima’s face looks the same. Only, with less colour.

- Either way, I thought you were way better than this.

He lets the door slam after himself, and doesn’t look back.

*

Midorima can’t breathe, and he can’t move.

Too many thoughts, all at once, none of them happy – and his mind has gone completely blank. 

I want to be your enemy.
Become less compassionate.
I can’t really comfort you right now.

I thought you were way better than this.

He gets up and discards the clothes on his way to the shower, starts the water and leaves his glasses outside the cubicle, beside the towels. He steps into the steaming stall and makes a quick job of washing the sweat off his body, but neither the hot spray or the feeling of cleanness dull the ache that has settled in his gut. He can’t even stop the tears, and he tries resting his head against the tiles to stabilize himself, because at this point he feels like he has no foothold anymore. 

I want to be your enemy.

He punches the wall once, hard. It’s like chips and pieces of pottery peeling off of an already broken vase for good, no golden powder left to try and mend it and turn what’s broken into something beautiful and purposeful once again. The hollowness inside him fills with the lamenting growl of a hurt beast that has lost its companions and feels misled, a universal expression of sorrow that transcends time and species. It resonates within him to the point he almost lets out an echoing, much more human, wail.

He’s close to slipping, and he knows that were he to lose control now, he wouldn’t be able to master his own actions and, given the possible consequences, he can’t allow that.

Become less compassionate.

The monster roars and Midorima hates it. Because its grief is his own, and because he hates the sound of that growl. Then hates himself for despising so much something that has given him many advantages in life over his peers. But also took too much from him at the same time. One’s well-being passes through self-awareness and acceptance, and while Midorima  has plenty of the former, he never really managed to top the latter. He thought he had found the right path, after Teikou, but then a frivolous boy with an idiotic smile perpetually plastered on his naturally captivating face had come along, and Midorima’s certainties had started crumbling again. He couldn’t afford instability of such calibre, none around him could, little that they know about it – and yet that first lunchbreak he and Takao had spent together on the roof, the ruins of his certitude had worked as foundation for something new. Something Midorima could not put a label on, perhaps a tad more brittle, but surely terrific in its defiant, slender beauty. Irreverent, reckless, splendid things like that were not meant to last. He should have known better.

I can’t really comfort you right now.

The beast cries and Midorima has trouble understanding what it’s bawling for, because he can’t put in coherent words his own misery either. He feels a failure and a disappointment. He feels guilty, and desperate. He feels useless, and hopeless. He feels lonely, after loneliness had started to fade into a distant memory. He feels unlovable and unwanted, after weeks and months spent running and hiding away, and then turning towards a beaming, overly-friendly fool that kept seeking him out with a silly nickname on his lips.

I thought you were way better than this.

And because the agony of the roars inside his head won’t stop, and he can’t sustain their burden of desolation any longer, he is left thinking how everything would have been much easier, for him, if he only were born a monkey. How his whole life might have played out, if he hadn’t had to spend it with a raging beast that, ultimately, didn’t even help him be on par with his peers. Said beasts paws wildly and snaps his jaws, if in agreement or in complete disapproval Midorima can’t tell. Perhaps the loathing has always been reciprocal – since it is supposed to be a part of himself, one that he does indeed have controversial feelings for, it’s highly possible that it mirrored his stance on the matter, and held for him the very same animosity. There are surely scientific papers documenting and giving proper answers to all the things that he’s experiencing at the moment, but even if he were to read them, it wouldn’t change how he feels. Nor would it help filling the black hole in his mind.

The monster roars a heart-wrenching cry that in its ugliness almost sounds like a melody, a litany and a desperate call for better times. Maybe for help. Midorima punches the tiles with a last, shaking sob and does the only thing that he knows will bring an end to their suffering.

He twists the knob sharply and waits for the water to turn ice cold.

***

It’s only when he’s halfway home that Takao runs off of steam and realizes that his insecurities and past experiences have got the best of him, and that maybe he’s been too harsh. He should call Midorima and apologize to him.

Except the phone isn’t in his pockets and not even in his bag, and it’s clear as a day that he hasn’t retrieved it from the upper shelf of the bench in the locker rooms of the sports hall, where he’d left it before the match.

He pivots on his heels and starts running back, lying to himself while repeating that it’s just because he needs that phone, or his mother will get worried.

*

When he arrives, the lockers are empty and cold, but the mobile is exactly where he remembered putting it. He can’t help but feel disappointed at not having caught Midorima in time, but resolves to fix things through a call. He’s also ready to run to Midorima’s house and talk it out, if needed.

It’s on his way out of the sports hall, while he looks through his contacts looking for Midorma’s number, that he hears the commotion coming from the second infirmary. 

And he sees Kuroko on the threshold, with a very familiar Shuutoku bag slung over his shoulder.

Takao runs after him and enters the infirmary, only to meet the craziest scene his eyes have ever seen. If pretty much everything in his surrounding didn’t scream ‘ emergency’ , he would have died of laughter there, on the spot. 

The matches for the day have ended, and the infirmary staff has left. It does look like they locked the door after them, and that someone had to force it open. The broken handle makes it so that the door never shuts properly now, and always stays slightly ajar.

Kuroko acknowledges his presence.

- Takao-kun. Please keep a hand on the door so that it stays close, or the room won’t keep the heat.

Then Takao realizes what it was that contributed to the sudden change in atmosphere: it’s the temperature. While the huge building is heated, now that the people are going away and they’re closing down whole halls and wings of it, it has already started to cool. The infirmary, instead, feels even hotter than before.

Which might be the reason behind Aomine, panther showing, stripping out of his Touou tracksuit. And undershirt. But it doesn’t explain why he’s kneeling on a slim infirmary bed in front of a bundle of covers and bellowing orders to everyone around him.

- Kagami ! Take off your clothes, pull out your spiritual form and come here!

Okay, Takao has learned through experience that the Skittle Squad is made of weirdos, but this is a whole new level of weird.

- What!? What for!?

- For body heat , you moron! QUICK ! KISE ! Fetch Murasakibara.

- Aominecchi, Kagamicchi is not used to this, let me help y-

- You’re only half a dog, your body temperature is not high enough . Fetch Murasakibara NOW . And Akashi too. 

The bundle of covers at Aomine’s knees murmurs something and shifts lightly. Aomine puts an arm around it and scolds it as he adjusts the weight around the bed, clearly in difficulty. Momoi pops up from behind a curtain wearing sweats under her hoodie and carrying dry towels as Aomine bellows at the huge lump in his arms.

- Oh no, you idiot, you don’t get to be picky! Like hell I’m letting you die on me and we need both of Akashi’s lions RIGHT. NOW. KISE ! 

Kuroko steps in.

- I’ll deal with Akashi-kun. Kise-kun can run after Murasakibara-kun. Kagami-kun, do as Aomine-kun says. Takao-kun, go get something warm and edible. There’s hot coffee in any vending machine, but broth might be better. There are ramen stalls right outside the building. 

Everyone scatters around in a different direction and Takao doesn’t know what to do in all of this. But then his eyes fall on Aomine and Kagami, who are trying to settle in the small infirmary cot with the bundle between them, and the covers slip off of it and Takao sees a mop of green hair on top of a face that has turned as white as the sheets, and whose lips have taken a blue-ish hue.

- SHIN-CHAN ! WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM!?!

Aomine snarls.

- This imbecile decided it was a good idea to take an ice-cold shower in the middle of fucking winter and with virtually no heat on! And you all call me a moron!?

Momoi finishes wrapping up Midorima’s feet in warm towels and stands up.

- I’ll go get the broth and the coffee. Takao-kun, you stay here.

Takao calls after her.

- Why aren’t we calling for help!? I can do that!

Momoi stares at him with a compassionate expression, but shakes her head resolutely and touches his arm.

- In a while. Right now, it would be too dangerous. Please, try to be vigilant and stay safe yourself.

Takao lets her go without replying and falls on a chair, half because he’s startled and overwhelmed and half because everyone looks like they know what they’re doing and he feels like he shouldn’t be in their way. It turns out it’s the right idea, because, as soon as he’s settled, the door of the infirmary opens again and Kise guides in an uncharacteristically alert Murasakibara. Takao hasn’t interacted with him directly, yet, but he’s observed him enough to recognize that the expression he’s sporting is more similar to the one he gets on the court when the game starts interesting him. His voice is more high-pitched than Takao would have expected from a Cape buffalo, and he speaks with a predictable drawl, but there’s an underline of curt urgency in his words that make them cut through the air like daggers.

- How long has Mido-chin been like this?

Kise fills in while Murasakibara takes off his clothes and unceremoniously pushes Kagami out of the way.

- I don’t know. I found him in the corridor out of the locker rooms on my way out, it couldn’t have been too much.

- Mine-chin, is he speaking?

- Barely.

- Mh .

Murasakibara’s built is providential to get them settled for good. With practiced movements, he makes a quick job of unwrapping Midorima from the sheets (and they have undressed him too, Takao notices with a spark of unjustifiable anger) and lie down beside him, so that they are back to chest and he has a free hand to place over Midorima’s heart, mouth or pulse-point, at need. 

- Mine-chin, come here and bring the covers.

- Why do I have to be the one that stays on the front?!

- Because you’re restless and you’re better at making Mido-chin angry and get him to talk. Kagami, put a shirt back on and take Mido-chin’s feet. Put them between the shirt and your stomach and keep them there. Mido-chin? Mido-chin do you hear me?

Midorima grunts, and Aomine snarls as Kagami complains, while doing as he’s told.

After that, there’s a moment of relative calm as everyone exhales a collective sigh of relief and resigns to wait for time to work his magic. Takao stares in wonder as Murasakibara’s features blur into those of a huge black buffalo, the kind Takao has only seen in documentaries. He’s placid and calm now, approachable, and nothing like the indomitable beast that stomped on the court yesterday. Aomine’s panther is an almost familiar sight, nowadays, and it’s kind of funny to see it press a paw against Midorima’s nose to keep him annoyed and awake, or to switch its tail back and forth nervously at Kagami’s tiger, who mimics the mildly aggressive stance. They make an absurd picture, all three of them together like this. And Midorima, in the middle, is still perfectly recognizable in his physical, human form. For some reason, Takao feels like crying.

- Can someone please explain to me what’s going on ? 

Kise sits beside him.

- Mh? You don’t know?

- I don’t even know if this is something I am supposed to know in the first place .

There’s a final knock at the door and Momoi comes in with a scalding looking pot of what smells like ramen. Kuroko, behind her, pulls the broken door close and puts a chair under it to keep it from moving.

- The lady at the ramen stall gave me an hermetic bowl, it will stay hot for a while. I’m placing it here on the nightstand. They gave me chopsticks but I asked for a spoon too. It should be easier to get him to eat with it.

She’s a chocolate border collie, Takao notices as she speaks, too caught up in the events and too worried to bother with her spiritual form. The shape suits her a lot, and Takao diverts his eyes at some point. It doesn’t feel right to stare at her. Kuroko clears his throat.

- Akashi-kun is not coming. He said that he trusts Midorima-kun is in good hands.

The mood shifts in the whole room. Murasakibara darkens and looks down, while Kise sighs into his hands and Aomine curses under his breath, a hand on Midorima’s head. Kuroko glances at Momoi, who bites on her bottom lip and sits down with the air of someone who might start crying in a matter of seconds. Takao doesn’t understand much, but as far as he’s concerned Akashi and his lions could end up displayed as hunt trophies over some noble’s fireplace and he wouldn’t give a damn.

- Can someone please tell me what’s wrong with Shin-ch-

Aomine interrupts.

- Actually , Takao, is it?, I feel like we ’re the one who should be asking why this Stupid Guy here was wandering the corridors in light clothes and damp hair in full winter, after what looked like a long and cold shower!

Takao has started fist-fights for way less.

- And why, Aomine , is that supposed to be of my knowledge or concern?

- Because he’s your teammate and your responsibility now!

- What responsibility !? 

All the people in the room turn towards him and it’s Kise that voices everyone’s thoughts.

- Oh my god… you don’t know? Like, you genuinely don’t know ?!

- Know what ?

Midorima mumbles something unintelligible. Aomine tugs on his hair and shakes him once.

- Ohi! Four-Eyes! Do you mean you haven’t told them !?!

Midorima growls and manages to pry his eyes open for a couple of seconds. They burn wild and green and if Takao were in Aomine’s place, he’d try to get away from him as quickly as he could. 

- Told us what ?!

Midorima grabs Aomine’s forearm and tries to stop him, but in his state he’s too weak to pose a fight to an angry, resolute and fit heavy-seed.

- That he’s a fucking crocodile !

*

Takao blinks, taken aback and, yes, considerably upset. Because reptiles are…

- He’s a…

Kuroko takes over.

- A dragon-type. But since both of Midorima-kun’s parents were dragon-types as well, his autonomic nervous system is a little weaker than what would be considered normal.

Oh, speak Japanese for fuck’s sake is what Takao thinks. What he says, however, it’s the watered down version, although his patience is wearing thin.

- What does that mean ?!

- That Midorima-kun has considerable difficulties in self-regulating his body temperature. 

Takao lets the information sink in: once he wraps his head around it, it ties together many of the oddities that he has observed over the past few months. Under this light, everything makes sense and suddenly appears so obvious that Takao chastises himself for being an oblivious simpleton and not having connected the dots earlier. He turns towards Midorima, hoping the latter is conscious enough to hear him.

- Is that why you wear thermic sportswear underneath all of your clothes, virtually every day? And why your skin always feels so cool to the touch? Is it why you got permission to access the school roof? Because you need to play lizard in the warm season!? 

Midorima swallows but doesn’t answer; Kuroko does it in his place.

- Yes. They were all habits he had already picked up by the time he came to Teikou, although when their physical forms started manifesting forcefully, it got worse. There are many complaints one could file against Teikou, but their policy regarding anything Madararui is optimal. Plus, schools are responsible for our health while we’re attending the lessons and club activities. So, since we kept spending so much time together, either in class or at practice, and it was an ever-evolving situation, they made sure we were all perfectly educated on the subject of eventual health issues that could be related to our Madararui genes, and therefore be ready and able to help. You see, if a person’s temperature falls below 30 degrees they might die. When it goes down to 33 degrees or lower they start losing awareness, therefore it’s better to have somebody around who knows what to do. Midorima-kun is good at taking care of himself and keeping his temperature above 35 degrees, but there are situations in which accidents can happen even if you have done everything in your power to prevent them. 

Takao feels his breath come short and he pants for air much like he’d do if he ran around the building twice.

- I knew nothing . None of us at Shuutoku did.

Aomine growls.

- Because he’s a dumbass who doesn’t want to admit he’s high-maintenance!

Midorima stutters

- C-n… t’ke car…

- The hell you can, idiot! We just caught you taking a cold bath in December ! You’re sixteen , for fuck’s sake! If you had any sense of self-preservation, starting October you wouldn’t move a step without a fuck-buddy within reach!

Takao does a double-take. Kuroko supplies.

- Sex is a reliable source of body heat, and a very convenient one, technically speaking. There are many snake and dragon-type Madararuis taking advantage of such a situation.

It’s one of the reasons they have a bad reputation. But of course Midorima wouldn’t resort to such methods. He’s too awkward to even plan an approach, but most of all, he’s too honest to use people in such a fashion so blatantly, even if they threw themselves at his feet. And Takao has no trouble believing they would, if Midorima stopped being so deliberately and actively unapproachable.

And they have already had this conversation several times already, but the knowledge of Midorima having a serious health condition tied to the nature of his spiritual form casts a whole new light on the matter.

- Shin-chan, why didn’t you tell me anything about being a crocodile?

Midorima shuts his eyes and whimpers, but Murasakibara holds him close against his chest and murmurs something in his ear. Midorima curls up and brings the sheets over his head, hiding from view. Everyone in the room looks a little more uncomfortable than before. Kuroko translates for them again.

- I think it is safe to say that… handling an apex predator as a spiritual form is quite… demanding.

They all nod, sombrely.

*

The digital thermometer beeps again and it’s only after they’ve established that Midorima’s temperature has finally started settling around 35 degrees that the Miracles agree on alerting someone of their situation. They’re still extremely wary and reluctant about involving other people, and Takao doesn’t know how to react to that: on one hand he’s somehow relieved and happy to see that they can, after all, be called Midorima’s friends – on the other, they’re still too self-centred and arrogant to be pleasant company. 

Kuroko seems to have all of them wrapped around his fingers, though, which is extremely beneficial to Takao’s blood pressure. 

- I think we can let Takao-kun take over, now.

- And what ? Have him panic and run away when Four-Eyes becomes difficult again?

- That is preposterous, Aomine-kun. And rude.

- I’m being realis- OUCH !

Momoi gets up stiffly and trusts the half-empty bowl of ramen towards Aomine’s face with a little more force than necessary. He hardly manages to duck.

- Ohi, Satsuki! Watch out!

She glares at him and Takao never thought he’d live to see the day when an adorable looking herding dog cornered an uncomfortable-looking panther with a glare.

- I’m going with Tetsu-kun and Takao-kun to seek some help, or at least notify the attendant that there’s been an emergency and that someone will probably stay here tonight. No , Dai-chan, none of you is going to move Midorin out of this room for the time being, not even to fit him into a taxi and send him home: you just make sure all of that warm broth ends up in Midorin’s stomach before we come back.

He grumbles something not nice, from the sound of it, but is careful not to let her hear, and fumbles with the sealed up bowl and spoon.

Kuroko and Takao share a look and follow her almost blindly out of the infirmary.

- That was… ehr… very bold of you, Momoi-san.

She sighs. 

- Boys . They’re just so dumb sometimes. 

Takao doesn’t think that pointing out that, technically, he’s a boy too, might help his cause. Kuroko confirms it with a noncommittal shake of his head.

*

Momoi leads the way and Takao is amazed at how at ease she seems, always knowing where to turn and who to look for. In between janitors, members of the staff and random spectators chilling while waiting for their rides, there are still enough people around for them to find help. The guardian doesn’t seem surprised to hear about their accident, and he even manages to get in contact with the head nurse, who is apparently still at the main infirmary on the other side of the building, sorting out supplies, and rushes to the hall as soon as she’s paged, panting lightly. She’s a stern, formidable looking woman well in her forties and Takao gets the impression that there’s more to her than what meets the eye – and that she could break him in half with her bare hands. Her name tag spells ‘Hamada’ and she demands to know everything before she’s even come to a halt in front of them: Momoi supplies all the information while they lead her down the hallway.

- What I want to know, girl, is why on earth none of you thought of seeking out a professional before besieging my second infirmary! Don’t you all understand your snake-friend could still die !?

Momoi stops dead in her tracks and looks at the woman with such a burning glaze Takao feels the hair on his forearms rise up.

- He’s not a snake. He’s a dragon. We’re talking about a Generation-of-Miracles level of dragon-type. I don’t question your competence, madam, nor the strength of your bison , but can you tell me without faltering that you would have trusted yourself to handle him alone , at that moment? You know as well as I do how easy it is for us to slip when we’re bordering unconsciousness. Or when our lives are at stake.

The nurse pales at Momoi’s words, and Takao does too, although for a different reason. To have been able to determine nurse Hamada’s spiritual aura in less than a minute and with virtually no information given, Momoi really must be incredible. Nurse Hamada swallows.

- …how big?

- The biggest I’ve ever seen. And I’m one of them . He was lethargic, but we still cornered him with a Cape buffalo, a panther and a tiger. Plus, a couple of lions at hand, on the side. 

- The whole group, mh?

Momoi nods, although Takao notices she can’t manage to smile fully.

- As they taught us.

The woman nods.

- Then you did well. You were reckless, and conceited, but you did well. And you did even better to come to me now. Teikou training or not, you’re still kids, all of you. And if one of yours gets sick on my floors, there’s no way in hell I’m chickening out of helping him.

Momoi looks taken aback by her resolute tone, but as the three of them share a pregnant look, Takao can see how pleasantly surprised and relieved she appears to be. Kuroko falls a step behind and smiles softly at her back as she catches up to the nurse and fills the corridor with all the medical information she’s gathered on Midorima in the past four years. 

*

It’s only halfway through the walk that it becomes clear to all four of them that something has gone terribly wrong in the infirmary.

They hear the shouts first, and the roars second – all lost in a cacophony of crashing sounds that reminds them of an earthquake. Or a violent scuffle happening in a too small room. Nurse Hamada curses loudly and runs ahead, Momoi at her heel, face suddenly ashen. Kuroko grits his teeth and sprints to catch up with the two of them and Takao follows, positively surprised by the sudden change in pace and atmosphere, feeling crippled by an unshakeable sense of dread. 

‘This is wrong’ , he thinks. Then the door of the infirmary comes into view, and he knows things are not wrong . They’re terrible .
They hear Murasakibara bellow wrathfully, and right after that they see him barge out of the infirmary, taking with him the doorframe and huge chunks of the wall, and gallop in the opposite direction, completely out of control. They get a full front view of Aomine jumping uncoordinatedly out of the room right behind Murasakibara with a curt, astonished roar: he recovers in mid-air, turning the tangle of limbs into a graceful leap, landing on the opposite wall and using it as leverage to spring back into the infirmary with his claws and fangs bared, every ounce the deadly predator he’s supposed to be. Another roar follows, high-pitched and surprised, almost a yelp, and they catch a glimpse of Kagami’s tail and hind legs as they poke from the half-demolished wall and he, too, rushes back into the chaos with resolute aggressiveness.

The commotion doesn’t quiet down, and after a particularly nasty sequence of demolition noises a cloud of white dust invades the corridor and floats there, too thick to disperse quickly. It’s not the only thing that comes out of the infirmary, though, and it doesn’t take Takao’s sharper-than-average eyes to see what follows. The moment he and the others stop dead in their tracks, all four of them, the scariest growl Takao has ever heard reaches their ears. It’s a low rumble that turns his muscles (and guts) into stone. The creature moves with unexpected grace and terrifyingly fast , given its length and built, and under their disbelieving eyes it curls and turns around in the narrow space of the hallway so that it faces the hole that once was a door. The beast roars and turns its massive head towards the group: the sound echoes in the corridor and makes the walls rattle. Every drop of blood in Takao’s veins freezes and time stops.  

The five-meters-long saltwater crocodile stares right at him and doesn’t stop growling.
It’s a hollow, desperate sound that makes Takao want to cry. If out of misery or sheer terror, he can’t tell, but Momoi, at his side, has long since burst into tears.

*

Nurse Hamada gives up on any pretence of calm and blurs into her bison, heading forward. Takao yells a warning, but he isn’t able to tell if he’s asking her to watch out for herself or for the creature she’s charging. The crocodile ( Midorima , Takao corrects himself as he watches, powerless), growls louder and takes a more aggressive stance, opening his mouth and rising up even higher on his legs.

From the other end of the corridor, in the flickering neon lights appears the unmistakable shadows of Murasakibara’s terrifically large Cape buffalo approaching quickly, with a resolutely aggressive stance. Again, there is no sign of the two male lions he tried to fetch. To Takao’s astonishment, Kuroko curses loudly at the sight, then tugs sharply at Takao’s elbow, gesturing for them to make a quick escape. Momoi is already holding Kuroko’s other wrist, ready to sprint.
Takao shakes his head. He is scared out of his mind, but he shakes his head.

- Takao-kun!

- I… I can’t, I…

- You can’t do anything! Neither of us can, right now! Let’s go !

And Takao would probably have protested, but, as he tries to, something dark, slippery and insanely fast slithers into his field of vision. By the time he has figured out that it’s a western tiger snake and his body reacted to that input, Kise has already shifted back into his human form and hauled him away from the scene.

- Let me go , Kise!

- Hell no! Protocol says ‘ monkeys out all the way’ . 

- Oh , fuck you !

- Get a grip, man: I’m one of the deadliest here and even I am useless when he gets like this !

Kuroko glares back.

- Kise is right, Takao-kun. We can’t help .

If Kuroko hadn’t sported such a genuinely heartbroken expression as he said that, Takao wouldn’t have listened to him.

***

He gets home without remembering how, or in how much time, and once the front door closes behind his back, he makes a beeline for his room, by-passing his mother’s questions by mentioning how bad they’ve lost the semi-final. It’s effective in closing all conversations for the evening, and it gives him a free pass to lock himself in without repercussions, for once.
His phone chirps twice: it’s a couple of texts from Kuroko, who is asking if he did indeed make it back safely.
It’s clear as day that what he really wants to check is if Takao has behaved like he’d been told or pulled a crazy stunt instead, so Takao’s reply is a blurry, mandatory selfie, bedroom perfectly recognizable in the background. He doesn’t bother with words, and Kuroko doesn’t bother with an answer.

He throws the phone on the bed and then throws himself onto it as well, for good measure. He wraps himself in the spare blanket he has started to keep around for the chilly nights and, not really knowing why, screams into his pillow. In doing so, he realizes he still hasn’t stop shaking . And that there are angry tears drenching his pillowcase.

***

He spends the night tossing and turning, without really sleeping for long – and wakes up once for all at the brick of dawn feeling cranky, upset and definitely not rested. The events of the previous day feel like a messy blur right now and he groans in his palms at the few memories he manages to recollect and put in order. There is too much to process, all together – the information, the whole situation, the feelings – and he doesn’t know where to start. His mother always says that a full stomach seems the right starting point for every hard decision process and, as usual, he thinks she might have a point. Plus, breakfast gives him the excuse to focus on a series of menial, practical tasks that take some attention away from the whirlwind of heavy thoughts whirring in his head. Groggy and a little unsteady, he makes his way downstairs pausing just once in the corridor to peek inside his younger sister’s room and check on her: she’s not a child anymore, but he doubts he’ll ever lose the habit. Plus, he knows he’ll find her sprawled across the bed and sound asleep, a sight that never fails to amuse him – and he can use the distraction.

He thinks he’ll have the kitchen to himself, but it’s easy to spot that the lights are already on in the room, and the soft sound of water boiling and pots being carefully moved around is clear in the silent house. The faint smell of freshly cooked food speaks directly to his empty stomach, and it is with a wide yawn and a belly-scratch that he greets his mother, before taking a sit at the table. She raises a dark brow at him, but he looks away. The three of them – he, his mother, his sister – are very much alike in many things: looks, personality, attitude towards life, but this is something that for now only he and his mother share – this ability to stay silent every now and then, and just communicate non-verbally. They’re a loud lot of early birds, all of them, but Takao has come to appreciate these moments of quiet understanding with his mother. He remembers the first time they sat together like this, a bunch of years prior, when he was still in elementary school, Kazumi was little more than a babe and their father stopped coming home. His mother would busy herself at the stove and he would sit at the table and stare at her carefully, like a tiny hawk, chin pillowed on his arms and feet dangling from the chair. Through the years, he has occupied that chair several other times, but it’s been mostly her to do the watching. Maybe Kazumi will start sitting on a chair too, now that she’s growing into a brooding teenager herself. 

A bowl of rice, some fish and vegetables appear in front of him along with a steamy cup of tea, and he startles. She looks at him from the other side of the table, blue nightgown knotted tight against herself and her pink pajamas, dark hair pulled up and away from her face messily.

- You didn’t have to.

- Please, I’m your mother.

- I was going to-

- I know. But I’m still your mother. 

He stares at the rice, chopsticks in hand, but hesitates. His mother chews a small bite of mackerel: it’s her favourite and it shows.

- Early shift?

- Actually, no. I’m off today, I just got up early. 

He digs into his breakfast at last, his stomach opens up and he asks himself how could he have forgotten just how hungry he was. He can hear his mother smile a little. She gives him space, but once he’s down to the leftover rice and tea, she corners him.

- This is not about basketball, isn’t it.

He swallows and stares at the green tea in his cup.

- They mopped the floor with us.

She was there when Teikou happened, still wearing her nurse uniform and barely out of her coat. They were in the exact same room, occupying the exact same chairs. She hears the ‘ Again ’ loud and clear, and knows what to make with it.

- But it isn’t just that, this time. 

And yet she’s still his mother, and Takao doesn’t know if this perceptiveness of hers is a women thing, a mother thing or a unique talent of hers. Maybe a combination of all three.

- It’s complicated.

She takes a calculated sip of tea and licks her lips.

- Try talking about it out loud. Having to put it into words and then hearing them with your own ears helps breaking the matter into a simpler one.

He struggles with that.

- I can leave if you’d rather do it alone.

- No! I n-… I… just don’t. Don’t go.

She doesn’t, and he finishes his rice. After that, he tries to talk about it. But he fails.

***

He doesn’t expect Midorima to be at the game the next day, but he is. Perfectly on time, impeccably dressed, with no outer sign of the crisis of the previous evening. A whiff of freezing cold air hits Takao’s legs as Midorima enters the sports hall alone and he greets the few team members who have already gathered with a solemn nod of his head and a curt ‘Good morning’. He turns towards Takao only once, sharply, and Takao out of sheer instinct takes a step back, stiffly, feeling cold to the bone. Midorima squints his eyes at him, sniffs once, and faces Ootsubo, answering his questions. Takao can feel his own heart thump wildly inside his chest, completely out of control. 

Coach Nakatani finds them all in the hall and allows them to go get ready in the changing rooms: Midorima throws a last, piercing stare in his direction and then follows Kimura, who has thrown an arm around his shoulders, mouth closed in a thin white line. 

Takao doesn’t like to be a snitch, but he waits for the rest of the team to go ahead and then approaches Coach Nakatani anyway. The man listens to his story with a sombre expression. Many things can be said of Coach Nakatani, but not that he doesn’t take his boys’ concerns seriously, whatever they might be.

- I am aware of the situation.

- He was sick! Can he even play ?!

- I have written permission from the sports hall nurse and from Midorima’s family doctor that he can play. I have also talked to his parents, who have agreed that as long as he feels like playing and I keep an eye on him, he can go on the court.

- But Coach…

- Your concern regarding Midorima’s health is really commendable Takao, but do not worry: you have my word that he is alright. 

But I’m not.

- Got it, Coach.

- Now let’s try and win this bronze medal, shall we.

- …sure.

*

- Miyaji-san, can I ask you a question?

- You better not make me angry.

- Don’t you think there’s something wrong with Midorima today?

- What, you lovebirds had a fight or something?! At a time like this!? After yesterday?! I’m fucking killing both of you!

- NO! I just… I mean… doesn’t he seem weird to you?

Miyaji looks at him like he’s sprouted horns and wings.

- Takao. You’re asking me whether I find Midorima particularly weird …?

- Today. Keyword is today .

Miyaji stares at Midorima on the other side of the court and takes his time to answer. So much that Takao is convinced that he’s actually trying to give him an honest answer.

- I don’t know, man. Looks like regular Midorima to me. You on the other hand…

- What.

- It’s kind of weird to see you keeping him at a distance all the time. But ehi, we all have our bad days. Just try to put it aside for the game and make us win, or I’ll ask Kimura to run you over with his truck- OHI ! Midorima ! What was that feint over there!? Play seriously!

*

They play a regular game. No crazy moves, no crazy stunts. Kise is forbidden to set foot on the court, which makes the match a pretty easy one, all things considered. Takao knows he shouldn’t be happy about a good player’s injury, but he’s relieved to not have to face another Miracle today, after everything that happened in the past 24 hours and in the mental state he’s in. Not to mention the state in which Midorima is. They win, but it’s an empty victory that tastes like ashes. Right after the mandatory handshakes and regards, Midorima is quick to go back to the bench and put on a thermal shirt, his jersey jacket and a scarf, taking his time with a thermometer he fished out of his bag and moving towards an environment warmer than the open court. Takao observes him from a distance and runs after the rest of the team towards their changing rooms. He hears Midorima enter at some point, and is relieved when he picks the shower stall farther away from Takao’s. When Takao leaves with some fellow first-years to go fetch something to eat from the cafeteria, Midorima is still under the hot spray of the water, steam filling the small room.

*

The final is an emotional thing, and a beautiful match from start to finish. There’s the raw power of the players’ spiritual forms, and many feelings at stake on both sides, and even on the stands. Takao recognizes its meaning, and can’t really fault any of the present Madararuis for losing focus and showing their features, still it makes him feel uneasy like ever before. When Midorima jumps up and flashes green with Kuroko’s name on his lips, Takao’s heart falters and he springs away like Midorima’s on fire. He regrets it almost instantly (at least, part of him does), but it doesn’t prevent him from seeing Midorima’s face crumble, hurt. 

The match ends. The whole stadium celebrates. Midorima doesn’t, looking between Takao and the court, apparently lost. Takao feels like he’s robbed him of this closure too.

After the audience has started to disperse, the Shuutoku team is talking about going out to celebrate their third place – Midorima comes out of seemingly nowhere, a heavy coat already on his shoulders and several garments in his arms and excuses himself, bidding everyone a good night. Takao follows him to the main door, watching him from behind as he puts on layer after layer of heavy clothes: neck warmer, headband, gloves, woollen hat, woollen scarf. 

- Ohi! Midorima!

Midorima freezes, then turns towards him with the air of someone whom Takao could have just stabbed in the guts. Weirdly, Takao feels the same way.

- …how exactly are you getting home tonight?

It might sound like a question asked out of concern, but they both know it’s not. They both know it stems from the memory of the day before, and the lingering distress those events left behind. Midorima looks at the floor for long seconds, then back up again. Takao kind of thinks his eyes look brighter than usual. As if they were wet.

- My mother agreed to pick me up. You do not have reason to worry. Goodbye, Takao.

Takao waves back.

- Bye.

And doesn’t understand why he feels so much like screaming and crying at the same time.

***

That night, sipping tea in the kitchen with his mother, he tries it again – but as he struggles to put the words together in a coherent sentence, she comes to his aid.

- This is all about Midorima-kun, isn’t it.

He falters and wonders if he’ll ever get used to this ability of hers of reading him like an open book. Then again, maybe he is just the kind of person who wears his heart on his sleeves.

- No, Kazu, you’re not too transparent. It’s just that I’m your mother, and as much as you like to pretend otherwise, I do have twenty years’ worth of life experience on you. 

He sighs, aggravated. She extends a hand towards his cheek and smiles her reassuring smile. The one that tells you that she’s serious despite the jests, that she’s listening and that you’ll never be alone as long as she breathes.

- Is this about Midorima-kun?

He leans into her touch, unguarded and not ashamed of his vulnerability.

- Yeah. I guess it is. 

She puts back her hand and stares at him, at his fidgeting stance, at the way he keeps running his hands over his arms.

- You’ve finally worn out that poor boy into showing you his spiritual form.

He slams a fist on the table. She doesn’t flinch.

- No, I did not ! It was an accident!

- Still, you finally saw it, and it scared you to death.

It’s a bucket of ice-cold water that hits Takao all at once. It freezes him, but it also angers him in a dangerous way that he doesn’t really want to explain. Indignant and thrown off, he pulls back on the chair but he’s not quick enough to reply promptly, offering his mother an opening that she, taking in the ugly red hue of his face, fills.

- Kazu, you are trembling. You have been since you came home last night. And you are acting exactly like you did last year, when his middle-school team crushed you. 

- His middle-school captain crushed us again, two days ago.

- The lion?

- There’s two of them, now. Or there’s always been, I don’t know. I never saw anything like that.

The tea cup wobbles in her hands as she almost loses her grip on it. 

- You’re kidding me. That poor boy must have gone insane .

In Takao’s opinion, “ insane ” doesn’t even start to describe the concept of Akashi Seijurou so he just shrugs, feeling a pang of annoyance at his mother’s empathy with the one person he has chosen as his nemesis. She’s not a Madararui either, what would she know anyway?

- …Kazu, did Midorima-kun let go too? In the heat of the game?

Takao leans back and looks at the side, recalling the match and everything that came after.

- No, he didn’t. It happened later. The mood sucked and we had- … I lashed out, and left. 

She doesn’t say anything, but he knows she’s not judging. 

- Then I went back and it was… chaos … and all the Miracles were there, and he was…

She waits for him to say it out loud. He takes a shuddering breath.

- He’s a seawater crocodile. I looked it up.

She gasps.

- …it was… so wild . And huge , mum. Like, I can’t even tell how long it was, and its mouth …

He takes his face in his hands and shudders, throat too tight to speak. Then he feels her light fingers through his hair.

- Kazu. 

He opens his eyes and sees her looking at him with kindness. 

- You are not a bad person. 

- Am I not? Even if I deliberately attacked my friend when he was vulnerable? And then ran away ?

- Yes, even in that case. Because you were vulnerable too, and making mistakes is what makes us people. You’re sixteen, not evil. I raised you better than that.

- Even if I got as far from him as I could and spent the following day avoiding him and sweating cold every time he looked my way?

- Kazunari, he’s an heavy-seed Madararui hosting an apex predator inside his body. He’s naturally bound to awaken every single one of your primal instincts. Which, as a monkey , are to find him impossibly attractive when he’s in his own skin, and absolutely terrifying when he’s not. Unfortunately, we don’t make the rules. You don’t have to feel guilty for getting scared of him. 

He leans on his elbows and grips his hair tightly.

- I don’t want to be afraid of him. He’s my friend .

She sighs like someone that knows better, but doesn’t elaborate and just takes his hand.

- I know . Given how cautious and guarded he’s always been with his spiritual form, I dare say Midorima-kun is probably not going through an easy time himself…

Takao sniffs. He has tried not to think about it. But every time he closes his eyes he sees Midorima’s crestfallen face at their last goodbye. 

- …do you think I should go see him in the morning?

She raises her head slowly, but holds his gaze. He can tell she’s anxious, although also resigned to the fact that her son has already made up his mind and won’t budge. Because teenage love works that way. 

- I believe that Midorima-kun is a very decent boy, Kazu. But as your over-protective mother, I have to stress you on the importance of being so damn careful around him , right now, you hear me?

He wants to retort that Midorima isn’t going to hurt him. But he can’t, because after staring at the growling beast and its dreadful jaws, he’s not so sure himself. 

***

Contrary to expectations, Midorima’s house is not a mansion. It’s still way bigger than Takao’s apartment, not that it takes much, but it doesn’t have that imposing aura he’d come to anticipate that first night he brought Midorima home with the rickshaw. It’s a nice house, with a reasonably sized garden that is surely wider in the back, where it’s not visible from the street. The gate is shiny and well kept, just as the concrete path that leads to the door. Overall, it gives a very modern vibe one wouldn’t expect from a family so ancient, where the likes of Midorima were educated. 

It’s with mixed feelings that Takao rings the doorbell. He’s curious, because that’s just his nature, but he’s also very nervous. What if Midorima lets his spiritual form loose while he stays home? What about his family? What if they do?! How is he supposed to react if he gets a glimpse of other crocodiles? Is there any chance Midorima’s dad is a dragon ? He hears the door unlock and shuts his eyes, bracing himself, but when he opens them again, all he sees is a middle-aged woman. Good-looking and well-groomed, but an ordinary woman nevertheless. A little plump around the hips, with shoulder-length hair the colour of chestnuts and round eyes of the same hue. She has a youthful appearance and kind features, wears casual but clearly fine clothes with ease and looks exactly like Takao’s own mother does. Ordinary. 

She looks at him with a curious smile, waiting for him to speak, and he fumbles a little, taken off-guard. 

- I…ehm… hell’-I mean: good morning! My n-

They are interrupted by some movement behind the woman’s legs, and before either of them can say anything the door opens a little wider and a tiny green head pops out at the woman’s waist. The little girl looks so much like her brother that if Takao had any doubts about having picked the wrong street number, they’re gone now. Midorima’s little sister wears her hair in a braid and frowns in the exact same way her brother does, shyness and inquisitiveness written all over her features. It’s a very endearing sight, but it’s nothing like the way Takao had imagined meeting Midorima’s family would be. 

Because his eyes never lie.

And neither of the two people in front of him is a Madararui. 

*

- Can I help you, dear?

He snaps out of it.

- I… yes! Sorry. My name is Takao Kazunari. I’m Sh-… Midorima-kun’s classmate. We play basketball together. I just… passed by to see how he’s faring?

She bends her head a little while she studies him, not unkindly, just with a hint of surprise. Then she smiles softly.

- Of course. Takao-kun. Nice to meet you. 

The girl behind her hurries away and she lets out an amused chuckle.

- Apologies. Shizuka is a rather timid child. Please, do come in.

She leads him inside, and he only listens to her half-heartedly as he takes in the interior of the house. A sofa with a chaise long, low furniture made of dark wood to accommodate a few plants and a minimal amount of knick-knacks. A bookshelf, a few photographs. It’s much more modern and bright than he’d imagined, but as tidy as he expected: the only apparent disruption of the order being the rainbow of crayons on the kitchen table, barely visible from the entrance, where Shizuka was evidently doing her homework. 

- It’s so nice to finally meet you, Takao-kun. Shintarou-kun speaks very highly of you. 

It brings him back to reality.

- He doe- …wait, does he!?

A deeper voice speaks from the kitchen, followed by an excited squeal.

- Indeed, he does.

Takao is unable to do anything but stare while a man who is clearly Midorima’s father steps out of the kitchen with his daughter playfully draped around his shoulder. It’s like looking into a crystal ball and seeing the future: he can clearly picture Midorima growing into a broader version of the man in front of him. Midorima’s father clearly passed onto his son the genes responsible for his height and built, his peculiar hair and eye colour, the fine features that age has sharpened, the bad eyesight and, obviously, his Madararui nature. 

Because the man in front of Takao, despite being an extremely adjusted individual capable of managing his spiritual form with ease, is clearly a West African crocodile, in all his placid, middle-aged glory.

(it’s close to impossible, to be so specific on the matter of crocodiles , but Takao’s photographic memory is predictably exceptional, and he might have binge-watched a bit too many documentary videos in the past 48 hours)

- It’s been a while since he mentioned an acquaintance so often, we welcomed the change. 

He is clearly a formal man, but in a laid back, almost friendly way. It’s all in the softness of his eyes when he talks about his son, or when his daughter holds onto him tighter. Contrary to his earlier prejudices, Takao likes him instantly. The way he has liked Midorima’s mother, despite the initial surprise of finding her a regular human. It is, obviously, impossible to not like Shizuka.

- I… ehm… Pleased to meet you too. Forgive the intrusion. 

Midorima’s mother fills in for him:

- He is here to see Shintarou-kun.

Midorima’s father looks surprised. 

- Really?

- …is… is there a problem with it? I mean… I know he has had some… health issues in the past couple of days, so I…

It’s hard to bear the weight of those green, unblinking eyes. Takao has to look away before collecting his breath and trying again.

- …I just want to see him. If that’s possible. 

At last, Midorima’s father nods, a thin smile pulling at his lips; Midorima’s mother does the same and heads for the stairs, but her husband raises a hand to stall her.

- Leave it to me, dear. I will tell him that you’re here. – he adds, addressing Takao, and then lowers his daughter to the ground (she goes with the tiniest huff of annoyance) before disappearing upstairs with quick steps. 

Takao stumbles over his thanks. 

A soft hand, small and simply manicured, touches his arm warmly and steers him towards the kitchen.

- It might take a couple of minutes. Let me pour you a cup of tea, Takao-kun.

He chokes on his words again and really, this has got beyond ridiculous – but he can’t help feeling a bit like an elephant in the proverbial china shop. Which doesn’t even make sense, because this is a perfectly normal house, with a perfectly normal kitchen, inhabited by perfectly normal people . He shouldn’t feel so intimidated – and yet, nothing makes sense. Except, maybe, the tea he’s offered and the coloured notebooks and glittery pens of the little girl that sits beside him. 

- Do you like school, Shizuka-chan?

She blushes a little at the pet name and brings her attention back to the page she’s filling with numbers. Nevertheless, she nods firmly. 

- I am good at math. And science. And music.

Takao grins.

- I see. I’m more of an English guy, myself.

She looks up from her books and stares at him with an air of renewed respect and approval. 

- I studied hard because I needed to know the words of all the songs I wanted to sing.

He dares a wink. She giggles. Takao feels like he’s just passed a very tough exam.

*

Midorima’s father comes back less than a minute later, doing his best at looking light-hearted, but concealing a certain stiffness, bordering on tension, that Takao perceives anyway. 

- He’s upstairs. Last door on the left. 

Takao thanks him for the trouble, and Midorima’s mother for the tea.

- I will go see him, then.

- Takao-kun.

He halts halfway through the stairs and turns back. Midorima’s father puts his hands in his pockets and searches for words on the floor at his left. But when he speaks, he looks straight at Takao’s eyes. 

- I’m sorry. Please, pay attention.

Understanding passes between them and the shift in the room’s atmosphere is tangible. Takao agrees and climbs the rest of the stairs trying to ignore the apprehensive stares of Midorima’s parents at his back.

*

The door is ajar and no green light pulses behind it. Which was a ridiculous thing to expect, Takao realizes now. But it would have helped, because all he’s left with at the moment is normalcy , and Takao is not ready for normalcy. He taps his knuckles on the wooden board twice and waits for a permission he kind of hopes won’t come, but that does arrive with a whispered ‘come in’. 

Midorima’s room is relatively wide for a teenager’s. It doesn’t come as a surprise, since it does have to accommodate the likes of him, height ( length ) and all. Still the sight of a whole (and large) kotatsu set comfortably in the middle of it, with room left to move around, is remarkable. Midorima is sitting under the kotatsu, a textbook and his own notebooks on the table, an automatic pencil in hand and an outdated but warm-looking haori thrown causally over his shoulders. Takao feels hot for him, but Midorima’s cheeks are not even pink. Takao would like to say he looks like shit, but he doesn’t. Midorima looks every bit like the unattainable dream he’s supposed to be and Takao should definitely not have this kind of thoughts right now. His voice wavers.

- E-Ehi. 

Midorima’s face softens just enough to keep the illusion of normalcy alive, almost as if he’s glad to see him, and Takao feels his heart flutter treacherously in his chest.

- Ehi.

He walks into the room instinctively, out of habit and muscle memory, any sense of self-preservation already forgotten. Midorima tenses up, the air around him gains a greenish hue and Takao flinches mid-step. Midorima closes his eyes and turns his head away, rolling the pencil between his fingers and looking like he’s counting numbers in his head, over and over. Still, he’s the one who manages to pull himself together and speak in coherent sentences first.

- P-Perhaps it would be better if you stayed outside. 

Takao swallows, and it hurts. As much as being told to put more distance between them. He goes anyway and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall, half-turned towards the open door so that Midorima can hear him speak – and Takao himself can steal a glance or two, with the smallest effort. 

All in all, it’s not that bad. Somehow it seems easier, talking like this.

- Look, Shin-chan, I’m sorry.

He hears the falter in Midorima’s breath and pauses a little, to see where it goes. The rhythm of Midorima’s exhales is altered enough that Takao can sense the confusion growing in him. The rising panic. He wants to put a stop to it. Wants to put a stop to all of this. Wants for things to go back as they were, even if it’s not possible. 

- I’m sorry I said all of that stupid stuff to you, after the match. That had everything to do with my insecurities, and very little to do with how you choose to manage your spiritual form. I don’t think you’re weak. I don’t even think you let us down. Not really. 

- Takao…

- I’m sorry I got scared of you. I was surprised.

- Takao.

- I’m sorry I ran away that first time. And the second time too. Well, Kuroko pulled me away in that case, but I’ll admit I was this close to shitting myself at that point, I felt justified in not putting up much of a fight. And the third time. I’m sorry for the third time too: I didn’t run, but I let you go. I shouldn’t have, and it-

- Takao .

It’s soft-spoken but he flinches anyway and shuts his mouth, realizing he’s already gone on a tangent. Good fucking job, Takao. He runs a hand over his face, sighing, and leaves it there.

- Yeah?

He thinks he hears Midorima swallow. 

- I’m sorry too.

He jerks his hand away and turns his head to have a proper view of the room. Midorima is glancing around, making a point of not looking at him. Sometimes, Takao thinks he will never, ever understand this guy.

- ...for what ?

Midorima grips the pencil so tight Takao is sure the poor thing will be snapped in two before the conversation is over. Midorima also bites his lip, struggling for words or maybe just for them to get out of his mouth. If it was another moment, if it was any other moment , Takao would find it adorable and kiss him on the spot, but the thing is this is an extremely serious moment and Takao... does find it adorable and he does want to kiss him on the spot, and the epiphany sends his blood rushing through his veins, air knocked out of his lungs and heartbeat resonating into his eardrums, so much that he almost misses Midorima’s pained answer.

- Ruining everything. 

- What are you talking about?!

Takao knows he sounds excessively exasperated, but he’s only a sixteen-year-old guy who has just admitted to himself that he’s in love with his best friend. Probably has been for the biggest part of the school year. And the ‘best friend’ was barely a ‘friend’ until the most recent months, and he’s also a heavy-seed Madararui who can turn into a damn huge monster from Cretaceus and who, coincidentally, could have swallowed him whole just a couple of days ago (bad choice of words, Takao. Very, very bad choice of words). 

He hopes Midorima is too focused on the things he’s trying to say to pay too much attention to whatever is going on in Takao’s mind right now, and how all of that filters out of his mouth.
Perhaps he’s lucky, because Midorima goes on:

- You weren’t supposed to see that . I wasn’t able to keep myself in check, and now it’s over.

That makes Takao pause for real. Puts a halting stop to his belligerent and nonsensical and isterical thoughts. 

- What is over?

Midorima loses composure enough to look uncertain and catch his lower lip with his teeth.

- Our… acquaintance, I guess?

What an infuriating, disastrous, unbelievable man. Takao loves him.

- You know, it’s not going to burn your tongue if you say “friendship”. And I didn’t get the vibe that it was over. Not completely, at least..?

Truth to be told, he totally did, but he also made a point of going all the way to Midorima’s house to clear things up. That must count for something, mustn’t it?
Midorima looks at him with a dumbfounded expression that Takao has very rarely seen on his face. He commits it to his memory and adds a mental note that if they end up somehow saving whatever relationship they have, he’s going to refer to it as ‘ that face you made when I implied that being slaughtered by a death machine in the shape of a dinosaur is not enough of a deal-breaker for me ’. But there’s more, underneath the confusion and surprise. There’s lingering softness, and the hint of a lip wobble. There’s hope .

- ...it’s not?

Takao latches onto that line like a vine. But also feels somehow ashamed of himself for overreacting and ends up curling onto himself, mumbling into his shoulder.

- Wouldn’t be here otherwise, would I.

The embarrassment doesn’t last and he lifts his chin. They stare at each other properly this time, and hold gazes. Takao hopes that right now he looks better than he feels (which is, a mess), because Midorima is white and still as a statue, vaguely hopeful and somehow expectant, and ‘devastatingly handsome’ is an expression not even remotely sufficient to describe how he appears to Takao’s sharp but extremely biased eyes. And the weight in that gaze. It pulls the words out of Takao’s mouth - it demands honesty, and truth, and you can’t help but give in and be sincere. You don’t lie to a face like that. It would be blasphemy. 

- I can’t tell you it didn’t scare the shit out of me, because it did, but… I was also angry, afterwards. And a bit hurt. Because I felt so useless. I wanted to help, to know what was going on, what I could do, even if it was nothing - but I didn’t know anything. You didn’t tell me anything, ever, and I felt left back. Locked out. 

It’s hard to hold the weight of that green gaze. It always has been. It’s even more so, when they carry such hurt .

- I’m sorry.

Takao steels himself against the need to tell Midorima that no, he doesn’t have to be , because Midorima does, just a little. Plus, Midorima is still not done talking, and interrupting him now is unconceivable. 

- I… I wanted to. To tell you, that is. But I was… I was just…

Midorima bites his lip again. Takao kind of wishes he’d never stop.

- ...I was afraid .

Takao has the feeling that if he doesn’t get himself within less than a meter from Midorima right now he will not get out of this alive. Or in one piece.

- Can I come in? Please, let me come in.

Midorima perks up and stiffens, and it would take a guy far less observant than Takao to understand that he’s currently experiencing two very conflicting emotions..

- Would you be ...okay with it?

Now that Takao thinks about it properly (and he should definitely learn to do that more often when he’s around Midorima), there is also a small chance that he will not get out of this alive or in one piece exactly because he did get himself within less than a meter from Midorima. It seemed an easier choice to make, when he didn’t have his newly admitted crush within reach. Well, it’s still easy. Just the very opposite choice.

- Please.

- Alright. Yes, alright. 

*

It takes a while, but he gets there. Right beside Midorima, under the kotatsu. Not opposite him, not at the side, just there with him - hip touching, legs bumping. They’ve been this close before and although it’s only been what, a couple of days?, Takao has missed it. Gosh, he has missed this.

- So… a saltie , then.

- I prefer “marine crocodile”.

- Of course you do.

He leans his head on Midorima’s shoulder. This isn’t new either. Midorima has allowed him to fall asleep on his person on several bus trips lately. It’s what friends do, right?

- You should have told me.

- ...what would you have done, if I had?

- ...joked about it, probably. I would have been careless too. Like, a lot. Maybe I wouldn’t have riled you up that way, though, if I had known.

Midorima stiffens.

- You did it on purpose?!

- I’m a real dick when I’m angry. Sorry you had to find out the hard way.

Midorima swallows. Takao sighs.

- Who am I kidding. I would have lashed out at you in the locker rooms all the same, if I had known, because I never learn a single thing until I hit my head against it. So we would still be here at the end of the day.

Midorima doesn’t reply to that. So Takao cuts to the heart of the matter.

- ...but I would have known. It wouldn’t have changed anything and yet, somehow, I feel like it would have made all the difference.

Midorima closes his eyes, inhales in a way that feels painful.

- Can I ask something of you?

- Uh? Yes, of course.

Midorima stares ahead, at the bookshelves in front of them, at the faded photograph of a thin young woman with long straight hair holding a plump green-haired baby.

- Can you promise me that you won’t run away again, after I’ve told you this?

- Yes. I promise, yes.

*

- My biological mother had a frail constitution. She never really recovered from the pregnancy, fell ill when I was barely two years old, died a few months after that. My father met my moth- well, stepmother , not very long after it happened. They fell in love, got married, had Shizuka. I was a child, I don’t remember much of it. But as you might have noticed, my stepmother is not a Madararui - therefore, neither is my sister. 

It sounds foreign to Takao’s ears. How is it possible that this is not common knowledge among their peers? Madararui families are known for their conservative approach to life and politics and Midorima’s family is as ancient as it is respectable: a heavy seed Madararui, married to a monkey ? It’s the kind of gossip that spreads like fire, that could get them ostracized from certain social circles. Unless the heir of the family turns out to be the kind of thoroughbred champion people are willing to overlook anything for. What’s a little bit of background scandal, if you can pair up your offspring with the likes of a Miracle ? Takao feels nauseous. Midorima goes on, unaware.

- Shizuka and I… we were playing in the back garden, one day: it was summer break, Father had bought an inflatable pool for her to play. She was barely a toddler, I was still in elementary school. Our parents were there, I… I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know why it happened... I just know that one moment we were fooling around in the water like children do, she was laughing ... and then a moment later the pool had burst, the water had turned crimson and everyone was screaming because I’d almost bit her head off. Almost bit her in half , actually.

Takao’s insides turn ice cold. 

- Oh my God. 

- She doesn’t remember at all, but I do. It’s not the kind of thing an older brother forgets about.

- Shin-chan...

- The doctors at the OR made a real miracle saving her, but she has permanent scars on the right side of her body, from waist to upper thighs. If she hadn’t been holding a ball above her head when I snapped, I would have torn off her whole arm. She knows it was an accident with a child Madararui, but she isn’t able to see my spiritual form, or Father’s. She doesn’t know it was me. I keep wondering how long I still have before she connects the dots and starts hating me for disfiguring her and almost killing her. It’s only a matter of time, after all.

Takao thinks of what he would do if he accidentally injured Kazumi to the point of her needing emergency surgery and bearing the signs for life. He’d probably hurt himself just as much, in solidarity and expiation, and then leave forever to spend a life in hermitage. He wants to run downstairs and hug little Shizuka. He wants to hug Midorima even more.

- You didn’t mean it. It was an accident, Shin-chan.

- But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter if I don’t mean it. It might still happen . I could still do it. Virtually at any time. To anyone . It’s barely an issue if I wake up a crocodile in the morning, or if I have to carry a thermometer and heating pads everywhere I go, all year round - but what if someone makes me lose my temper in a public space? At school? What if it happens on the court ? 

And Takao can see it now, although he’d rather not to and that’s why he tries to minimize it, offer a way out.

- But it doesn’t. You never lose your cool. I’ve done my absolute best to be insufferable from the moment I met you and you’ve never slipped once

- That’s because I can’t slip. None of us can. Have you seen Aomine? Have you seen Murasakibara ?

Takao has, but it’s not the best moment to bring it up.

- ...they all say it’s supposed to get better, growing up. That adolescence is the worst period for heavy seeds, and then it settles, somehow. I sincerely hope so, because sometimes it feels like my body is too small for me, not to mention for both sides of me, and I’m losing my mind, day after day after day. 

Takao feels that way too, most of the time. His mother always blames it on hormones: the perpetual turmoil, the mood swings, the sheer hunger : for food, for stimuli, for love, for life .
He has another epiphany. One of the stupid ones, which is why he has to share it immediately.

- Are you telling me that you all get dangerous because you’re horny ?!

Midorima sputters and chokes on it. Forget all about his earlier elucubrations: this is what Takao missed the most.

- It’s not like I chose to be like this. ...and it’s not like human teenagers don’t struggle with the same kind of… restlessness at this age.

Takao has nothing to reply to that. He is horny all the time, but he doesn’t have to worry about potentially murdering his close friends and family if that tension accidentally snapped the wrong way. He doesn’t have to live with the burden of having almost slaughtered his beloved sister, with the knowledge that it’s a real possibility, that his only chance against this state of things is the strongest willpower. Doing everything he can. Man proposes, God disposes. Holy shit .

“Why the lucky items, of all things? Why the need of always having them on your person?”
“They help me… stay focused.”
“Focused on what?”

Holy fucking shit.

- They keep you grounded, don’t they? The lucky items.

Midorima doesn’t reply and looks away, a little embarrassed. Takao looks around the room: the tanuki statue is there and so is the lamp desk, and lots of the mismatched knick-knacks he has seen in the past months. He feels like crying.

- Right after the accident, when she was still in the OR and nobody knew if she would have made it, at some point I was left alone in the waiting room. The tv was on, and the horoscope aired. Cancer was ranked last, but the lady on the speaker said that the bad luck could be kept at bay with a 100 yen coin. I ran through all the vending machines of the ward until I found one. I prayed to it, believed in that coin with all the faith I could muster at that age and after what felt like hours the doctors came out to tell us that Shizuka was alright. That she would have made a full recovery. Rationally speaking, I am aware that it wasn’t because of my prayers to that coin, but it stuck, and I never missed a horoscope since then. It’s placebo effect at its finest. But it helps.

Takao doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he also knows that if he doesn’t do something he will burst, so he moves his arm so that it’s resting on the table beside Midorima’s, forearms touching. With deliberate slowness, he brings his hand up Midorima’s sleeve, squeezing once. It’s a comforting, friendly gesture. At least until his palm slides down, over Midorima’s wrist and into his palm - and stays there. Until his fingers wiggle their way, ever so slowly, between Midorima’s bandaged ones. Then it’s friendly, of course, but also something more. 

- What about this? Do you think it could help too?

Midorima’s face and body language, the sudden green glow coming from him, scream NO - but he doesn’t pull away and, surprisingly, neither does Takao: he stays still, breathing deeply in and out, listening to the steady rhythm of Midorima’s accelerated heartbeat, ready to bolt but also quite confident in the knowledge that it won’t be necessary. That that heartbeat will slow down, eventually. That this is not the kind of distress that leads to an outburst such as the one at the sports centre. 

Turns out he’s right, and it makes him want to giggle, the fact that even after all this mess between them, he can still trust his guts when it comes to decrypt Midorima’s behaviour and predict his reactions.

It’s a long time before Midorima’s hand squeezes back and Takao didn’t know that he could feel so overwhelmed by the mere feeling of acceptance that comes with a warm palm curling around his, of long fingers cradling his own, getting comfortable in the light hold. They stay there, silently huddled together under the kotatsu, for a while - just breathing in and out, casually leaning onto each other and taking in the shape of their bodies whenever they touch, learning them anew. It’s familiar - this physical contact, this closeness -  in a way that feels both predictable and very new at the same time. It’s a bit too much: the heat, the relief, the rise and fall of Midorima’s chest as he breathes. His smell. That feeling of safety. The peacefulness of his company. The rediscovered camaraderie. 

Takao’s eyelids drop and his head gets heavier on Midorima’s shoulder. But he manages to stay awake for long enough to hear Midorima’s reply to his forgotten question.

- Yes, I believe it could.

*

Takao opens his eyes to the sound of pencil scratching on paper, to the sight of Midorima crossing answers on a sheet of paper almost absent-mindedly, but still holding his hand.

- Sorry. Dozed off. ...are you even comfortable writing right-handed?

- It’s alright. It’s a standardized spreadsheet, I can manage. 

- That our math homework for next Monday?

- Indeed.

- Can you pas-

- No. 

- You don’t even know what I was going to say!

- I’m not letting you copy my homework. 

- You’re absolutely no fun, Shin-ch-

Midorima turns to look at him, then, an eyebrow arched quizzically, bordering on sardonically - a smile threatening to come fort. It should be illegal, Takao thinks, to look this good. To be this attractive so casually, so effortlessly. Although, he knows now, nothing about Midorima is really effortless. Not his grades, not his talent on the court, not his appearance. He was born with too much of everything and instead of being overwhelmed by it, he never spent a day without working his ass off to ensure he’s anything less than what he wants himself to be. And, oh, how effortlessly he makes Takao’s heart beat faster, just like that.
It must have shown, because Midorima’s face softens just a little, and Takao knows he’s done.

I promise you I’ll never let you out of a room without double-checking your clothes and the outside temperature.
I promise you I’ll always go out of my way to make sure you have your lucky item at hand every day.
I promise you I’ll take care of you, and your spiritual form, for as long as you’ll let me.

- Are you using your Madararui tricks right now? Is this hormones or pheromones or whatever it is that you guys are exuding all the time?

- You really should start paying attention in biology class.

- So it is one of your tricks.

- No, it’s not. It’s just me.

And that’s been the matter from the start, hasn’t it? Takao’s just a monkey, and Midorima is close to fucking royalty as far as Madararuis are concerned. With the power of bending wills at his whims, if he so desired. But he doesn’t. He’s too busy fighting for the chance to be himself, instead. 

Takao never really had a chance now, did he?

There’s a low, green hue in his peripheral vision as he leans forward and presses dry lips to Midorima’s. It hums in tune with their heartbeat, sharp for a second and then kind of subdued. Takao sees it, the crocodile behind Midorima’s irises, feels it beneath his skin - but it doesn’t seem threatening at the moment. Nor it does when he leans back to catch a breath and Midorima follows him, an extraordinary display of boldness, diving for another kiss. Forget holding hands: Takao throws his arms around Midorima’s shoulders, doesn’t want to let go of any part of him. If the warm palms spread on his back are any indication, the feeling is mutual. Geez, he could get used to this , whatever it is: it’s exhilarating, and intoxicating and completely overwhelming.

To the point that pulling away is too much of a loss: in fact they stay close, bodies touching, seeking contact. How has he ever been able to live without this so far, Takao doesn’t know. How he’s going to cope with all of these feelings from now on, he doesn’t know either. So he laughs it all out loud.

- Way to mess with a guy’s head, Shin-chan.

Midorima looks at him seriously, as seriously as he does everything else, and Takao knows better than to take him lightly, now. Knows better than to make fun of him.

- I swear there were no tricks.

And Takao believes him, how could he not, and chuckles some more - catching Midorima’s face between his palms and bringing him close.

- I know. It must mean it’s just you , then.