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1. seven days
He waits three seconds before opening the door.
Maybe it's a little longer than that, because truthfully, he is scared to see what is on the other side. Eventually, he does, but walks straight to the chair by the window, not stopping to look at the hospital bed. Instead, he looks out of the window - no, perhaps it would be more appropriate to say he stares past the window, past the clouds and the sky and the rest of the world. He cannot bear to face the bed, face his fears head-on.
Maybe in that sense, he's a coward. A coward who is unable to look after the boy he cares so deeply about.
2. ten days
It has become much of a routine for Midorima. Come in, sit down, look away, stay silent. Every day, without fail, he brings in a lucky item. Not Cancer's (although he has that anyway), but Scorpio's. They line the windowsill and the table, along with an assortment of colourful 'get well soon' cards.
Midorima has never brought a card, but he supposes the lucky items make up for it.
To him, lucky items are simply a way of doing everything he possibly can to ensure success. It's an essential part of life, something he does without fail. He glances at the long line of various objects, and thinks that this time, it may just not be enough.
3. fifteen days
Midorima doesn't visit the hospital today.
He sleeps early, and dreams about better things. About the days when Takao was still awake, still the Takao he knew. He dreams about confessing, and Takao accepting. Takao returning his affections was something Midorima had never anticipated, and when he stated as much, Takao smirked his knowing smirk:
"Do you really think I would've stuck around for this long if I didn't like you at least a little bit, Shin-chan?"
Takao's wide smile fades into nothingness as the dream shifts to their first date.
Takao's inner child takes them to the funfair, and at the time, Midorima had found it unsightly for two teenagers to be in a place predominantly filled with kids half his size. They break all three of the basketball games with the combo they'd used against Rakuzan, winning more soft toys than they could carry as well as gaining the annoyance of the stall's owner. That is the first time Midorima laughs in front of Takao, a deep laugh that tickles the back of his throat. With that, Takao joins him in his laughter; they must have looked crazy to anyone watching, yet they didn't care. As far as they were concerned, it was simply the two of them, together.
The dream cuts to hazy images of a day two weeks prior. He sees Takao walk away from him, despair on both their faces. He hears Takao's scream and the screech of car tyres, too late to prevent harm. He feels his blood running cold, body numb.
He awakens with tears staining his cheeks.
4. twenty-four days
Over three weeks have passed and today is the first day Midorima says something to the figure lying on the bed. He still faces the window, hands shaking.
He speaks about school, and basketball practice. The team isn't the same without him, he says. Miyaji's younger brother, Yuuya, is a great captain, but the team is incomplete. Without its eyes, the team is lost.
He speaks about Takao's family, whom he often sees at the hospital, too. He helps Takao's little sister with her homework and makes small talk with Takao's parents. Sometimes, Takao's sister will look up at him with her large, shining eyes and ask when her big brother's coming home.
He tells Takao to wake up soon, and go back to his family. (He wants to say, and come back to me, too, but that feels a little too personal, even if Takao can't hear him.)
5. thirty days
It's been a month. A whole month without hearing Takao's voice. Talking to Takao has become a habit, even though it's not like the boy can hear him. He isn't speaking because he thinks it'll make Takao wake up, but more to let out his feelings, the ones he cannot share with anyone else.
Midorima talks about the other Miracles, how they all came to Tokyo last week to try and cheer him up. Midorima can't be sure, but he has a suspicion that it was Kise's idea. Mostly because he came with not one, but three flower bouquets, declaring the start of 'Operation Help Midorimacchi'.
He would never say it aloud, but he's grateful that they made the effort. He's not the easiest to get along with, and isn't the best at showing his appreciation, yet the knowledge that there are people looking out for him during the times he feels most isolated is comforting in a way he cannot describe.
6. thirty-seven days
His parents make him stay at home today.
They don't say it, but they're worried about his wellbeing. Midorima tries not to spend too long at the hospital each day, so he is surprised to hear his mother tell him to stay put as he attempts to leave the house.
She rests a hand on his arm and looks up at him with the same emerald green eyes he has. Of course she knows how much it means to him, to be there for Takao. Yet her worry lies with her son first and foremost, and Midorima has to respect her wishes.
So he stays.
He does his schoolwork, tidies his room, even asks his parents whether he can help prepare dinner. (To which they say no, probably for the good of everyone in the Midorima household.) He busies himself with mundane tasks such as these to stop the intrusive thoughts, such as: what if Takao wakes up without me? What if he thinks I haven't visited him all this time?
7. forty-four days
The feel of skin on skin, hand-to-hand contact, the warmth Takao brings - brought - to life is something Midorima misses. He misses it a lot.
And today is the first day he gives Takao his full attention, looks at him, holds his hand.
And it's painful to do, because Takao shouldn't be here. He isn't one for hospitals, always complaining horrendously when visiting one. It was the smell, he used to say. Hospitals have a certain smell about them that makes you wish you were any place but there. Midorima wishes Takao was awake to say those things, joke as if he wasn't the one depending on their care.
Takao's hair has grown out during his stay, the raven strands framing the pillow his head rests upon. His eyes, the eyes that Midorima loves the most, are firmly shut. Shut off from the rest of the world, away from Midorima. His face is pale, deathly pale, so much so that Midorima finds it hard to not compare him to a ghost. He refrains from doing this, if only to kid himself that Takao is still deeply rooted in the human world; a thought which is becoming increasingly less likely as the days go by.
8. fifty days
It's all his fault. Every single part of it was his damn fault. If he could trade himself for Takao, he'd do so in a heartbeat. Midorima was the one who deserved to be in a coma, not Takao. Never Takao, never the one who had brought so much joy and love into his life.
The day it all happened is still so, so vivid in his mind, and he doesn't even attempt to wash the memories away. He deserves to remember, deserves to feel pain.
"Takao, I think it would be best if we… stopped seeing each other," Midorima chokes out.
The silence between the two is deafening. Practice had finished only a few minutes before, and Midorima had dragged Takao to the school gates, away from the others, babbling something about 'needing to talk'. He takes a step back, only serving to increase the gap between them, both literally and metaphorically. Takao looks up at him with wild, incredulous eyes, yet Midorima is sure these same eyes see right through his act.
If Takao realises Midorima's words are a whole load of shit, he doesn't say anything.
"Shin-chan, what are you saying?"
(They both know what he's saying.)
Midorima opens his mouth to speak, but he can't muster up the will to say anything. He should apologise and say it was all a misunderstanding. Because it is, right? He knows, deep down, he wants to be with Takao for the rest of his life. Still, there's a small voice, hidden at the back of his mind, telling him Takao deserves someone better. He's probably only stayed with Midorima for so long out of obligation, or because he's confused their connection on the court with something more.
Midorima knows he's just making excuses, but now it's much too late to take back what he's said. He wishes he could voice his thoughts, tell Takao how much he means to him. Takao's eyes have glazed over (most likely from holding his tears in) and his lips are set in a firm line.
This is Takao putting his guards up, saving himself from harm. He mumbles something under his breath (Midorima catches 'asshole' and 'should've guessed') before turning and running out past the school gates, down the pavement, across the road-
Well, it would have been across the road, if Takao had made it that far. But of course, fate had to twist its strings and at that second, at that precise moment, the car barrelled into Takao's body and knocked him down onto the asphalt. Which was kind of ironic, if Midorima stopped to think about it. How Takao's eyes, the eyes that had helped them all many times on the court, had failed him here.
No, Midorima had failed him here.
9. fifty-three days
It's getting late, the sun is going down. Yet Midorima stays by Takao's side, only barely holding his hand. He doesn't feel worthy enough to hold it, after all the pain he's caused.
And reality finally hits Midorima, the reality that Takao may never wake up. He could be here for the rest of his life, coming back day after day to visit his beloved, hoping for a miracle that would never happen. So it really doesn't surprise him when his vision starts to cloud over and he feels tears pooling in his eyes, as a life without Takao is not one he can imagine living. The tears demand to be released and he lets them go, sobbing months upon months of sadness and anguish. The tears coat his cheeks and he lets Takao's hand fall to his side, bringing his hands to his eyes, hiding from the cruel world he lives in. Whispers of 'I'm sorry' and 'Forgive me' escape from his mouth, in between the hiccups and sharp intakes of breath.
"…Shin-chan?"
The voice is barely above a whisper, but Midorima would be able to recognise it from a mile away. It's Takao. It is his voice, but still Midorima thinks fate is playing some sort of horrid trick on him. It could also be his mind making up things, he isn't in the best of states-
"Shin-chan, Midorima, Shintarou, why are you crying?
Now, he opens his eyes and turns towards the voice. Takao looks at him with a tired gaze, but a smile on his face. Typical, typical Takao; never failing to try and reassure Midorima when things go wrong.
Midorima must look a mess, a crazy, delirious mess, but he still reaches out to hold Takao's hand once more. The squeeze Takao gives back is more than enough to convince him that this is real, and Midorima can't help but smile despite it all.
10. fifty-five days
They have a lot of things to work out. Midorima did break up with Takao, and they need to talk about it. They need to decide how best to move on from here, and that's not going to be easy. But if Takao can forgive Midorima, and if Midorima can have some faith in their relationship, then maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright.