The process of wrapping his entire hand in bandages was one that came from necessity. Sure, nobody had to know what necessity forced Midorima to turn to wraps, but it was necessary all the same.

As his middle school experience became more and more tense and stressful and incredibly overbearing, Midorima had developed obsessive actions that surpassed his need for daily horoscopes and lucky items to feel content. That was something he had long since accepted as natural in his mind. What wasn’t natural, however, was the way his fingernails seemed to gravitate towards miniscule bumps on his skin and dig until his brain eased up.

Having un-smooth skin was typical for teenagers, Midorima knew that. And yet, once his mind had latched onto a small blemish, he’d emerge from a fog-like state a few minutes later with scabs stinging under his fingers.

It was after a game when he began to realize just how bad it was becoming—under the hot spray of the shower, he noticed blood smeared across his fingertips, quickly being wiped away by the water. When he stumbled over to the mirrors after getting dressed, Midorma’s eyes scanned over his flushed cheeks. Splotchy red patches appeared on his cheekbones, his fingernails having scratched into his skin so harshly and repetitively that it had peeled off in flakes.

Midorima had gulped and quickened his pace to leave as soon as possible. He thought, back then, that it was an issue that would fade with time.

But just as he had once witnessed with horoscopes and zodiacs and lucky items, the obsessive part of his mind had caught the scent of a new ritual and latched onto it with its harsh bite. For a while, Midorima had settled on bandages on his cheeks to cover the bloody marks made from his nails in the dead of night or any time he was anxious or bored or angry or concentrated.

The concerned looks from his classmates and teammates, however, made that solution unsustainable. It wouldn’t have been long until someone would report him to a councilor and his parents would be called due to suspicion of abuse, and that was almost as humiliating an idea as what was actually occurring. Plus, he didn’t want his mother to become even more frightened of her unusual child and his strange behaviors.

By the time he had graduated Teikou, the taping of his fingers was muscle memory to Midorima. The physical barrier it provided between his nails and skin was vital in maintaining a face free of blood and scabs. The feeling of his fingertips without tape or bandages or some kind of covering made Midorima as anxious as the idea of somehow missing the Oha Asa horoscope readings each morning, or losing his lucky item (god forbid).

And as unhealthy as he knew his brain was wired, Midorima had found ways to cope—and in his mind, this was good enough.

“Did you run out of tape today, Shin-chan?” Takao wondered aloud at morning practice, his narrow eyes focusing on the rarely uncovered fingertips of Midorima’s left hand.

Midorima controlled his breathing, clenching and unclenching his fist. He had to muster up willpower to not inspect his right hand with the fingertips of his left, to search for any dry patches or bumps that he could scratch off.

“Yes, unfortunately I used the rest yesterday and was unable to buy more before practice,” he explained, feeling the awful, familiar buzz of anxiety flowing like energy in his bloodstream. “Do not be shocked if my shots are off. Even though I have my lucky item, this may offset its influence.”

Takao hummed in genuine interest, “What’s the lucky item today?”

Midorima reached past the hem of his sock to find the knitted cloth. It was light blue and white, with a small image of a cow embroidered in the middle.

“Today’s lucky item for Cancer is a piece of fabric embroidered with the image of a cow,” Midorima recited, letting Takao look at it for a moment before slipping it back into his sock. “I hope that having it touch my skin will make it more potent.”

“I’m sure you’ll be just as amazing as you always are, Shin-chan,” Takao sighed contently before taking a few gulps of his water, and Midorima let his eyes wander over his friends throat for a second before glaring resolutely at the ground. Before he could reply, coach had blown the whistle, and practice set off once again.

By midday, Midorima was sitting on his hands in class, foregoing note taking. Each time his fingers were free and his mind distracted, he would catch his fingertips on his cheeks, picking sharply at bumps that were barely there.

Midorima was not vain, no matter what others said. He did not obsess over his looks like Kise once had—but that didn’t mean he welcomed the way his nails dug into his skin. He couldn’t even focus in his classes, and the lectures his teachers were giving swept right past his mind.

It wasn’t until lunchtime when he noticed his right sock had rolled down. He gasped and yanked at the fabric, hoping to find the embroidered cow but knowing deep down it had been lost in the crowds within the hallways.

“Shin-chan! What are you having to eat today?” He heard Takao ask, but his words tapered off when his friend saw the panicked expression on Midorima’s face. “—what happened?”

Midorima’s wide eyes were dancing all around the lunch table, and he checked his left sock in the impossible case that he had switched the cow from one foot to the other during his day.

“ima! Midorima, what happened?” Midorima heard Takao ask frantically beside him, and the black haired boy faded in the background of the sheer anxiety rolling in his chest.

Midorima hadn’t realized his fingertips had gone up automatically to make contact with his face. His bare fingernails capitalized off of his panic to begin scratching harshly into the skin there until flakes lifted and beads of blood bloomed in their place. The whole time, his mind was racing through his memories, trying to pick out an instance where the embroidered cloth may have slipped out of its place in his sock.

He felt a firm grasp on his left wrist, pulling it gently but firmly away from his cheeks that had become red and scratched up in a mere few moments.

“—hey, woah, stop that,” Takao was saying, and his voice was low and calm enough to ease the ball of dread in Midorima’s chest. “What’s wrong? Why were you doing that?”

“The lucky item…lost,” Midorima spoke in hushed tones, trying to portray how immensely stressful this information was to him, even when he knew Takao did not hold the same obsessive beliefs as he did. To his relief, Takao’s eyes grew wide in understanding. He nodded and stood up from the table, one hand on Midorima’s shoulder to help guide him away from the bustling lunch tables and into a hallway that only held one girl who was reading a book in the corner.

“Okay, Midorima, you need to try and slow your breathing before you make yourself sick,” Takao ordered softly, and Midorima was surprised to note that his chest was burning with deep gulps of air and his head was throbbing in pain. He closed his eyes and recited the zodiac signs in order, over and over, six times before he had finally gained a semblance of control over his air intake. “Good, good, now…what do you want to do?”

Midorima’s hand immediately came up to dig into the fresh scabs on his cheekbone in anxious deliberation, before quickly being pushed aside by Takao’s own. He could feel sting of his wounds.

“Hey, how about we find some tape first, alright?” Takao suggested, Midorima’s wrist held in his hand like a handcuff. “Does it have to be a specific kind of tape?”

Midorima blinked at the question. It had been rare for someone to actually care about the specifics that his differently-wired brain required—but Takao had shown his attentiveness to detail from the first time they had spoken. He had cared about lucky items and astronomy; no wonder they had become such good friends in such a short amount of time.

Above all, Takao never expressed annoyance or irritation at Midorima’s needs. Midorima shook his head at the question. “Just sports tape. White. Must be white.”

Takao swallowed hard and nodded, “Alright, okay. So let me try and find some.”

“I’ll go look for—”

“No,” Takao says harshly, and his eyes narrow slightly. At Midorima’s slight flinch, Takao’s eyes soften. “You’re obviously not feeling well. I know that you think bad things will happen without your lucky item, and I know that you’d like to look for it first.”

Midorima nods feverantly, but Takao stops him before he tries to argue that that’s exactly what he should be doing.

“Sure, but Midorima, I am not going to let you tear yourself apart while we search. Your face is literally bleeding,” Midorima clenches his teeth, and his left palm tries to come up to wipe the blood away (or peel off the crusts that dried blood creates), but Takao’s fingers hold tight around his wrist. “Exactly. We need to find the tape first, then we figure out the item. I promise, nothing life threatening will happen in the meantime. Alright?”

Midorima glares half-heartedly at Takao, but he knows that he already lost.

“Nod if you understand,” Takao demands, and Midorima huffs, shuffles on his feet, and nods. Takao’s tense shoulders ease up and he lets out a breath. “Okay. Let’s find some tape.”

Before either of them could take a step in the direction of the gym, they hear a small voice clearing their throat. They turn and find the girl that had been sitting in the corner—they had completely forgotten about her in their argument—awkwardly waving. Her hair was short and light brown, and she had small clips holding her bangs back into place. Green eyes look up at her schoolmates that seemed to tower over her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’m on the school’s volleyball team and…,” she opens up her fist towards them, a roll of white athletic tape sitting like a holy object in her palm. “I overheard that you might need this?”

Takao is the first to break out of his stupor of surprise, letting out a relieved laugh, “Oh my god, thank you so much, you are my savior. Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Aiko, and don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help,” she smiles, glad she hadn’t overstepped by walking over. “I also have some bandaids, if you’d like?” Her eyes trace Midorima’s face, where a bead of blood had dripped down his cheek before drying. “You don’t want to get an infection, after all.”

Midorima nodded graciously at Aiko, “You are quite correct, Aiko-san, thank you,” he reached out to take the bandaid from her fingertips with his right hand. “What is your zodiac sign?”

Aiko looked surprised at the question, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Uhmmm…Aquarius, I think, why?”

Midorima hums. Takao had already begun to wrap his fingertips with the white tape carefully, so as to not cause pain from winding it too tightly. Midorima was almost glad his face was already red so that the blush was not noticeable. Furthermore, he was actually intrigued in such a unique zodiac sign. He certainly would not have guessed Aiko to be an Aquarius.

“Aquarius is known for being unpredictable and solitary, but in particular situations tap into humanitarianism,” Midorima says, trying desperately to ignore the brushes of Takao’s fingertips on his hand. “But mostly just for their friends. I’m glad you extended it to my dilemma today.”

Aiko chuckles into her hand, obviously not expecting a psychoanalysis based on her actions and certainly not her sign. “As long as you’re not on the other side of the volleyball net at one of my games, you’re fine by me,” she replies, then checks her phone to look at the time. “Speaking of, I’m late to practice. I hope you feel better soon!”

They wave to each other, and Takao thanks her again (after returning her tape) before she jogs away.

“She was nice,” Takao says, and Midorima hums. His fingertips are wrapped up snugly. “Okay look forward, Shin-chan.”

Midorima looks straight at Takao as he opens up one of the bandaids and peels off the paper. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t break eye contact as Takao presses the bandage over the site on his cheek where he had carved his fingernails into. Takao’s cheeks are slightly flushed and dusted pink, and Midorima releases his breath when it’s all over.

“There,” Takao smiles genuinely, and Midorima’s chest clenches. “Back to normal.”

He swallows. Huffs out a sarcastic breath. “Even you can’t pretend like I’m…normal. This isn’t normal. I’m not norm—,” he feels Takao’s soft palm press against his lips.

“Midorima, you are normal. I don’t wanna hear those words come out of your mouth,” Takao’s eyes held no room for humor or debate. “So what if you think differently than other people, or care more about zodiac signs or horoscopes than they do? You’re still normal.”

He brings up a hand to take Takao’s wrist from his face, “Normal people do not dig their nails into their face until they bleed, Takao. If they did, they’d be stable enough to stop.”

Takao frowns, “You just need a bit of help, that’s all. It’s normal to need help sometimes,” Midorima shakes his head, still not believing his words. “If I did it, would you say I were abnormal?”

“In nicer terms,” Midorima replied without hesitation, and Takao laughs, shoving his shoulder. “I get what you want to say, though.”

“Do you?”

“I think so.”

“I think you’re great, Shin-chan,” Takao speaks deliberately, so as to not be misunderstood. He grabs the hand that he had just wrapped up and cradles it in his palm. “And if this is your normal state of being, I still think you’re great. A great person that still needs a bit of help sometimes, sure, but not any less amazing. Got it?”

Midorima felt heat rise to his cheeks before he cleared his throat, “Understood.”

“Good. Now let’s go find an embroidered cow, alright?” Takao grins, not letting go of his hand as he leads Midorima down the hallway.

“What if someone has stolen it?” Midorima asks, horrified by the thought.

Takao only laughs, bumping his shoulder with Midorima’s own.

“Shin-chan, trust me when I tell you that you are the only high schooler who would want a two inch by two inch piece of cloth that smells like your socks,” Takao smirks humorously. “Cute cow embroidered on it or not.”

“…I guess you have a point,” Midorima replies, grateful for the rational thought that cut through his anxieties. “Hey Takao?”

“Mhm?”

“I think you’re great, too,” Midorima mumbled, “Thanks for…y’know. Everything, I guess.”

Takao just gleamed at him, eyes glittering and smile wide for only his best friend: “Don’t strain yourself Shin-chan! I don’t want you to hurt yourself even more!”

“Shut up!” Midorima huffed, but couldn’t help the quirk of his lips up in a happiness that he would have thought impossible to achieve only a few years ago.