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A few months after school starts, Akashi walks up to the car with a green-haired boy in tow and says, “I’m bringing a friend home.” The friend bows with flawless decorum, introduces himself as Midorima Shintarou, and solemnly consigns a giant stuffed giraffe to Kawashima’s care.
“Right,” Kawashima says, and spends the next five minutes trying to force the fucking giraffe into the trunk of the car. He eventually drapes its neck over the back, which turns out to be a huge mistake as a passing truck tears off its head ten miles down the road, scattering stuffing and Midorima’s childhood innocence all over the asphalt.
To make matters worse, a manufacturing defect in the mechanism of Midorima’s seat flings the boy through the front windshield at the next speedbump. He catapults into a nearby pond and vanishes, camouflaged by the moss.
“Do you think your friend’s the type to press charges?” Kawashima asks Akashi, as he rescues an unconscious Midorima from an angry duck.
Akashi narrows his eyes at the duck, which sinks like a stone. “Please be careful with Shintarou’s lucky items in the future,” he says mildly. “I would be upset if something were to happen to him.”
—
That’s all the chastisement Kawashima gets, but it’s enough to make him install a roof rack on the car out of sheer guilt (and a faint suspicion that upsetting Akashi would be akin to invading Russia in the winter, as far as bad life decisions went). The next time Midorima shows up, Kawashima has the kid’s six-foot-tall Totoro strapped to the roof in a matter of seconds, and it’s still mostly intact when they reach the mansion.
“Thank you,” Midorima says stiffly when Akashi leaves to check on the horses. Then he peers at the rack, asks, “Did Akashi have this installed for my sake?” and falls into utter confusion. It’s so endearing that Kawashima doesn’t even bother to correct the misassumption.
“Yes,” he says, and watches in fascination as Midorima turns a funny color that clashes with his hair.
Akashi gives him a raise.
—
Kawashima’s been with the family for a long time, but he’s never seen Akashi this comfortable with anyone else. It gets to the point where Akashi’s actually relaxed enough to fall asleep in the car, snuggling up against Midorima’s side like a kitten. He does this one day on the way back from a game, and Midorima goes a mottled red that Kawashima’s beginning to think of as their color, adopting an expression of lofty unconcern that makes him look demented.
Halfway home, Akashi shifts uneasily and twitches, mumbling something about the death of his enemies. Midorima cards his fingers through Akashi’s hair until he settles down. Then he catches Kawashima’s eyes in the mirror and has to be physically restrained from committing seppuku out of sheer embarrassment.
Kawashima starts noticing things after that: the way they angle their faces when they talk, like a snapshot of the moment before a kiss; the gentle caress of Akashi’s voice when he says Midorima’s name, sweet and faintly possessive; the glow in Midorima’s eyes when he stares at Akashi, intent and a little awed. When Midorima bows over the magnetic shogi-ban and says, “I have lost,” it sounds like a confession. Closet romantic that he is, Kawashima relates all of these observations to his wife, who turns out to be far more practical.
Which is why he finds himself seated across from Akashi one afternoon, clutching a bag to his chest and mentally preparing himself to meet his ancestors. “Kawashima-san,” Akashi says, looking faintly puzzled, “what did you want to discuss?”
Kawashima fidgets. “Young master,” he says slowly, “do you remember when we first met?”
“Yes,” Akashi says. “You took one look, went white, and said, ‘I have seen the face of my death.’”
“Well, you were a creepy demon child,” Kawashima says apologetically. “Point being, I’ve known you for a long time, and have come to think of you as my own creepy demon child.”
Akashi’s lips curve upwards, faintly pleased, and Kawashima concludes, “So I feel that it is my duty as a metaphorical parent to ensure that you and your friend are, um, well informed in — I mean, practicing safe — I just — I would like to be buried on a high hill overlooking the sea, please.”
He shoves the bag across the table with a crinkle of instructional brochures and other useful things. It is a testament to Akashi’s etiquette tutor that the boy’s poise doesn’t waver as he glances inside the bag, although his eyes take on a weird supernatural gleam. There is a long silence as Akashi closes the bag again, fingers tapping against the table.
Then he says slowly, “Kawashima-san.”
“Yes!”
“Let us assume from now on that, as I am absolute in all things, my knowledge is also absolute.”
“Yes, of course, you are a font of wisdom!” Kawashima gibbers, and reaches out to reclaim the bag. Akashi’s fingers close around his wrist like a vice.
“I’ll just be keeping this,” he says, and flashes Kawashima one of his most disturbing smiles, the kind that brings up visions of castles and white horses and sunsets with undertones of I will annihilate your family.
“Right,” Kawashima says. “Overlooking the sea,” he adds.
Then he flees.
—
On the day the bombshell drops, the rain is pouring down in sheets, and Kawashima decides to ignore Akashi’s orders and pick him up at the front gate. He’s letting the car idle when he spots a freak in a long trenchcoat and dark glasses peeking into the window of the basketball clubhouse.
At first he assumes it’s just a pervert, but as he gets closer he realizes he knows the man. His heart sinks in his chest, like a duck in Akashi’s presence.
“Honda-san,” he says, and the Akashi family’s private investigator whirls, nearly dropping his cameraphone in the process. The man jerks his thumb at the window. Kawashima steps forward just in time to see Akashi reach up, standing on tiptoes, and pull Midorima’s face down to his own. He looks his own age for once, innocently happy, and Midorima glows back at him as if he doesn’t care how obvious his affection is.
“Can you believe it,” Honda says. “The only heir, too.”
“The pictures,” Kawashima says, mind whirling. “Did you —”
“Sent them,” Honda says, which ruins Kawashima’s plans to kill the man and stuff him into that obnoxious blue-haired kid’s locker (“Your headlights are too dim” my ass, like Kawashima hasn’t been driving since before the kid was born). “I’ve gotta run, but you should let me know what happens.”
What happens is that Kawashima gets called up to his employer’s office three hours after bringing Akashi back to the mansion. He takes a step into the room and pauses, remembering the way Akashi had smiled as he’d stepped out of the car and said, “It’ll be all right.”
Akashi’s not smiling now. His face is perfectly still, and his gaze is properly downcast. There is a dark bruise blooming on his cheek. Kawashima opens his mouth to deliver a scathing diatribe that will certainly get him fired and also possibly end in a restraining order, but Akashi catches his eye and shakes his head.
“Did you know about this filth,” Akashi’s father says, gesturing to the photos scattered on his desk, tiny snapshots of happiness.
“No,” Kawashima says, almost choking on the word. “I would certainly have informed you, had I known.”
“Good,” his employer says. “My son will be attending high school in Kyoto after graduation, and you will accompany him there. If this piece of trash so much as touches Seijuurou, I will eradicate his family’s practice and have him rejected from every university in Japan. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Kawashima says, and gets the hell out of there before he assaults his employer with the desk lamp.
Later, as he’s watching the maids pack up the contents of Akashi’s room, Akashi comes up to him and actually lets Kawashima give him a hug. “It’ll be all right,” he says again. This time it sounds like a declaration of war.
“I know,” Kawashima says, and braces himself for battle.
—
But nothing is actually all right.
The moment that breaks Kawashima’s heart comes when he sees a green-haired presence lurking at the Rakuzan gates. “Midorima-kun,” he says, glancing around for his employer’s spies, and Midorima whirls with panic scrawled all over his face.
“Kawashima-san,” he says. “H-How did you recognize me? I’m wearing sunglasses!”
“Er,” Kawashima says, and shrugs. “As an employee of the Akashi family, I am trained in the art of clever disguises. Can I offer you a ride?”
Midorima blinks and climbs hesitantly into the car, shaking raindrops from his hair, while Kawashima straps his giant totem pole to the roof. He takes a moment to text Akashi and explain that he’ll be late, then waits for Midorima to say something. After a long silence, he sighs and asks, “What are you doing here?”
“I was walking home and took a wrong turn,” Midorima says.
“And you ended up in Kyoto.”
“Yes.”
“That is a perfectly plausible story,” Kawashima tells him, and stares out the windshield. “Midorima-kun,” he continues, picking his words with care, “you remember my tendency to babble, don’t you?”
“I — no,” Midorima says, looking startled, “I can’t say that I —”
“Of course you do,” Kawashima says. “I’m a regular chatterbox, I am. So, as a way of thanking me for the ride, you’re going to sit there and listen to me talk about the young master until we reach the station.”
He spends the next half hour describing Akashi’s life at his new school. There are some bits Kawashima leaves out, like Akashi’s disturbing fixation on the gouging out of eyes, or his newfound pastime of blackmailing Japan’s business elite into submission, but by the time they get to the Shinkansen stop, some of the worry has eased from Midorima’s face.
“Thank you,” he says as he hoists the totem pole onto his shoulders, staggering a little under the weight. “For the ride, I mean. It’s not like I wanted to hear about —”
“You’re welcome,” Kawashima says, before Midorima can complete his transformation into a walking tsundere cliché. “For the ride.”
He doesn’t say anything about the incident to Akashi, but as he’s getting out of the car, Akashi stares at the new scratches on the car roof, presses his lips into a thin line, and asks, “Did anyone see him?”
“I don’t think so,” Kawashima says.
“Fine,” Akashi says, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re blazing gold from the force of his resolve. His pupils are blown wide with madness.
“Young master,” Kawashima says, “while you’re still absolute and infallible and can do no wrong, may I point out that you are also starting to look a little unhinged?”
Akashi turns his terrible gaze away. “My victory will be perfect,” he says, which doesn’t really answer Kawashima’s concerns. “That will be all.”
He spends the rest of the night bankrupting one of his father’s closest business partners. Kawashima leans his head against the door, listening to the sound of pleas, and waits for it all to end.
—
When Akashi carries out a hostile takeover of the family company at the age of sixteen, no one is really surprised. Kawashima gets an invitation to the celebration dinner, and the first thing he sees when he steps through the door is a green-haired idiot in sunglasses, trying to hide behind a potted plant.
“Midorima-kun,” Kawashima says, releasing years of pent-up stress out of sheer frustration, “sunglasses are not a good disguise, especially when you are over six feet tall and have the color scheme of a carrot.”
This is kind of unfair, since Midorima’s not even wearing his orange Shuutoku uniform; he looks rightfully hurt and betrayed. Then his gaze drifts to someone past Kawashima’s right shoulder and he turns to flee.
Akashi makes him fall over with his creepy god-eyes, and kneels at his side.
There are still flecks of gold in his irises, and his every movement speaks of murderous intent. Kawashima gets ready to step forward, in case Akashi’s primal instincts take over and he tries to snatch Midorima’s eyeballs from their sockets. But Midorima just blinks at him, more aggrieved than scared, and says, “It’s — it’s not like I waited for you.”
“Shintarou,” Akashi says, all the violence melting from his features. He stares for a long moment, relearning the lines of Midorima’s face, and reaches out to touch his cheek with careful fingers, like he’s afraid the pressure might break him.
“Akashi, we are in public,” Midorima says, scandalized. “You are making a scene, would you please contain yourself —”
Akashi leans closer, glowing shamelessly, and says, “If you don’t kiss me now, I’m certain that Kawashima will cry, which will make this even more awkward for everyone involved.”
Midorima weighs his choices, lets out a long-suffering sigh, and picks the better option.
Kawashima cries anyway.