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Midorima Shintarou was good at many things. Basketball, school, skincare - he had it all down. Some may even go so far as to call him exceptional. A prodigy, perhaps. Midorima actually prefered the term miracle - but only for precision’s sake, of course - even though the other terms were accurate, too.
And yet. There was just one thing that he couldn’t seem to get down quite right.
“Oh. Shin-chan.” Forcing out a little laugh, Takao looked up from where he was sitting against the locker room wall to quickly wipe at his eyes. “I thought that looming presence felt familiar. Maybe give a guy some sort of warning though next time, eh?”
Midorima stared. Then blinked. Then waited for the situation in front of him to disappear.
It didn’t.
Instead, there Takao remained. The one thing Midorima, for all his trying, simply could not seem to figure how to be good at.
Oh.
The taller boy blinked again.
“You’re crying,” Midorima said finally. He didn’t need to say it. He knew they both knew. Even as Takao still didn’t give up on trying to keep his lips turned upwards in a smile, Midorima could see how his shoulders slumped at his words. And there. A single sentence into their conversation and Midorima had already mistepped. How typical.
“Yeah, well.” The point guard shrugged, turning his gaze down to his knees. Midorima didn’t dare move from his spot, instead only hovering awkwardly in the locker room doorway. “That tends to happen sometimes, Shin-chan.”
“Oh.” A long pause swelled in between them. Midorima really wasn’t good at this. “Are you alright?” he tried after a moment, still not moving.
“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about it.” Closing his eyes, Takao leaned his head back to rest against the wall. “I’m doing great.”
“Okay.” Another pause. Midorima could feel it pushing up against his chest. “I’m just going to get my lucky item and leave.”
Takao only nodded his head in response, his eyes still closed. “Knock yourself out.”
Midorima tentatively started forward, reaching down to grab the small statue of a cat sitting on the locker room’s bench. He waited for the point guard to say something, but when he didn’t, the taller boy cleared his throat. “So I’m going to go then.”
“Lovely.” Takao didn’t even open up his eyes.
Midorima, however, still hesitated. He really wasn’t good at this. At any of this, really. He had never been good at dealing with crying people, or with Takao, and certainly not good at dealing with a crying Takao. Logic dictated that he should leave now, before he had the chance to make things any worse. Midorima knew this. He could imagine that Takao probably knew this, too.
And yet.
Exhaling out loudly, Midorima turned around to stand in front of the point guard. “Get up,” he ordered, his eyebrows furrowing.
Takao chuckled, taking his time as he opened up his eyes to look straight up into Midorima’s. “I thought you said you were leaving.”
“I told you to get up.”
“And I told you that I’m fine.”
“You’re crying, Takao.”
“Ah, well.” The point guard shrugged, his smile crooked. “You shouldn’t bother your pretty head with such minor details.”
Midorima frowned. This was getting worse. He didn’t like things getting worse, and especially with Takao. “Look.” He lowered his voice. “You’re clearly not fine, you fool, so just take my hand and get up.”
Takao raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call your crying friend a fool?”
“You’re ignoring me.”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“Takao.”
The point guard paused, looking back down at the locker room floor. “You didn’t offer me your hand, you know,” he said finally, his tone unreadable.
Midorima’s forehead creased. “What?”
“Your hand.” Takao still wouldn’t look up at him. “You told me to take it, but you never even offered it to me.”
“Oh.” Midorima paused. He was seventy-five percent certain that he had messed up again. “I suppose I didn’t.”
Takao scoffed. “You suppose?”
Okay, so make that eighty-nine percent certain. Pressing his lips together firmly, Midorima considered his options. Leaving, of course, was always on the table. Leaving was actually probably the only thing on the table, really. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this, after all. He simply wasn’t good at this. Not at crying, not at Takao, not at Takao crying.
And yet.
Squaring his jaw, Midorima placed himself down on the ground to lean against the the wall beside Takao, carefully leaving a few inches between them. The point guard laughed.
“Geez.” He lifted up his red eyes to meet Midorima’s gaze. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”
Midorima ignored him. “Why are you crying?” he asked instead, setting the cat statue down beside him.
“Why do you need to know?”
Midorima’s eyebrows furrowed. “How else can I tell you how to fix it, you fool?”
“Wow.” Takao chuckled. “You’re real cocky, y’know.”
“Confident, actually, but you’re avoiding my question.”
“Well you’re avoiding mine.”
“Which was?”
“Why do you need to know why I was crying?”
“Am.”
“Hm?”
Midorima nodded his chin towards Takao’s face. “Your eyes are still red, fool.”
The point guard’s lips curled upwards, but it still wasn’t right. Midorima just couldn’t seem to get this right. “And you’re still avoiding the question.”
Midorima frowned. “Don’t be stupid. We both know I’m asking because you’re Takao, and you never cry, and it’s not right. So just stop stalling and tell me why so that I can explain to you how to fix whatever issue you’ve encountered.”
Takao studied him closely, his expression unreadable. “You really think you can fix everything, don’t you?” he said finally, shaking his head in amazement.
Midorima shrugged, adjusting his glasses. “Of course I can.”
“Why?” If Midorima didn’t know better, he might have said that Takao’s tone was somewhat bitter. “Because you’re good at everything? A prodigy?”
Miracle, actually, but Midorima decided not to correct him on it. “Stop being foolish and let me help you,” he said instead.
“There’s nothing to help with.” Takao shrugged, reaching up a hand to rub at his red eyes. “I just really, really want something that I really, really can’t have, you know?”
Midorima frowned. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s it?”
“Well I wouldn’t put it so dismissively,” Takao answered, “but yeah, I guess.” He paused, letting them sit in silence for a bit. “That’s it.” The words fell down lamely in between them, dropping to the ground with a sense of finality.
Midorima’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s a very childish reason to cry, Takao,” he said finally.
“God.” The point guard snorted. “Of course you’d think that, Shin-chan.”
“The solution is quite clear.”
“Oh really?” Raising an eyebrow, Takao gestured with his hands in a mock dramatic fashion. “Well then by all means, the floor is yours. Please do enlighten me, Oh Wise One.”
Midorima decided to ignore the evident sarcasm in the point guard’s tone. “You should stop wanting it,” he said. “Find something else. Move on. It’s not that difficult, really.”
Takao shook his head, his gaze dropping to his knees once more. “You don’t understand, Shin-chan,” he murmured.
“I think I do.”
“But you don’t.”
“You’re being silly.”
“Okay fine.” Takao laughed, but it was all wrong, and the expression in his eyes had turned slightly hysterical. “I’m acting like a fool, and being childish, and feeling more than a little bit silly, but I’m crying, alright, I’m crying, and, given the circumstances, I think that I’m allowed to feel foolish, and childish, and more than a little bit silly, alright? I get to do this. I get to be like this.”
Midorima frowned. Okay. So that was probably a sign that he had messed up again. “You’re not making sense,” he tried again, careful to keep his tone under his control.
“Is that your diagnosis then? Is that your brilliant, Midorima-Shintarou-approved diagnosis for me, Shin-chan? Hm?” Takao scoffed, his voice going louder. “Do you even know what I want, Shin-chan? Did you even think to ask, before you got on your high horse and decided to tell me what to do? Did any of this ever even occur to you?”
Midorima just wanted to get good at this. He just really, really wanted to be good at Takao. “Fine.” Midorima frowned, gesturing forward with his chin. “If I’m doing it so wrong, Takao, then why don’t you just instruct me on what you want me to tell you.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say though. It clearly wasn’t, for Midorima could see the tears welling at the bottom of the point guard’s eyes as Takao searched his gaze, his irises’ movements getting more and more desperate. “I just want you to tell me that you you love me, okay, Shin-chan?” Midorima froze, his eyes widening, but Takao kept barrelling on anyways. “I just want you to tell me that it’s not just me, that you feel it too, that you’re not too much of a prodigy or a miracle or a whatever-you-want-to-call-it for any of this to actually be real, and I know it’s not going to happen, I know I don’t get any of this, but I just can’t stop wanting it anyways, alright? I just can’t stop. I can’t. I’ve tried, and I can’t.”
The point guard was breathing hard. His eyes never left Midorima’s, the expression in them turning more and more hopeless by the second, and Midorima couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even speak, shit, he needed to speak, because he needed to be good at this, good at Takao, but he just wasn’t and Takao needed him to be and Midorima couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Shit.
“Sorry.” Takao looked away, dropping his head back against the wall. He forced a small smile onto his face, but it only barely slipped on before falling right off again. “That was kinda a mood killer, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t be foolish.” Midorima turned his head to tear his gaze away from the point guard and face forward once more. “There wasn’t a mood to kill in the first place.”
Takao snorted. “Guess I can’t argue with you there.”
They were silent for a long moment, the only sound in the locker room being the rustle of Takao’s clothing as he lifted a hand to aggressively rub at his eyes. Midorima needed to say something, something better than don’t be foolish. He knew this. He knew he needed something. He could feel his mind grasping for them, for the words sitting just outside of his reach.
And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet.
“Here.” Reaching a hand down to pick up the cat statue from beside him, Midorima offered the day’s lucky item out to Takao, turning his head to study the point guard’s expression carefully. “Take it.”
Takao sniffed, still refusing to meet Midorima’s gaze. “What?”
“I said take it, you fool.”
The point guard pressed his lips together firmly before turning his head around to narrow his eyes at Midorima. “What are you doing?”
“It’s today’s lucky item.”
Takao scoffed, rubbing at his red eyes one more time. “Well I can see that.”
“Just take the statue, Takao,” Midorima answered, frowning.
Takao searched his eyes closely for a long moment before reaching out to take the lucky item into his hands. “Why are you giving me this?” he asked.
“Because.” Midorima pushed himself up off of the wall and dusted off his clothes, deliberately avoiding the intent gaze of the point guard now pinned on his back. “If you maximize your luck, Oha Asa says that fate might let you get what you want.”
“What?” Takao’s breath caught from behind him, his voice going quiet. He paused. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Shin-chan?” he added after a moment, keeping his words slow, as if this was a dream and any sudden movement would make him wake up.
“Don’t be silly. I’m not psychic, Takao.” Setting his eyebrows determinedly, Midorima turned around, offering his hand out palm up as he looked down into the point guard’s wide grey eyes. “Now get up.”
Takao stared up into Midorima’s eyes for a long moment in silence. Then, slowly, he dragged his gaze down to the hand now hovering outstretched in the air between them.
“You’re offering me your hand this time,” he said.
“That would seem to be apparent, yes,” Midorima answered.
Takao held his breath, glancing back up into Midorima’s eyes. “Is this really happening?” he asked, his voice uncertain.
The taller boy’s expression, however, didn’t change. “Just stop being silly and get up, you fool.”
A grin - a real one this time - started to tentatively grow on Takao’s face, and the point guard nodded. “Okay, Shin-chan.” He took Midorima’s hand to pull himself to his feet. “If you want me to.”
And if, maybe, Midorima didn’t let go, even when they both knew that Takao could stand by himself, he didn’t need to tell anybody. And if, maybe, he let the point guard interlace their fingers and pull himself to his side, nobody needed to know. And if, maybe, at the sight of Takao’s steadily growing smile, Midorima thought he might not be so bad at figuring out Takao after all, it wasn’t exactly a thought that needed to be shared.
And if, maybe, when Takao bumped their shoulders together and called him a softie and laughed at the muttered fool he got in reply, if maybe then Midorima finally found the right words to say, Takao was the only one who needed to hear them.