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Chapter Text

Walking down a hallway of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium for the Interhigh Preliminaries, the Rakuzan team appeared completely composed. Led by their first-year captain, Seijuro Akashi, the former captain of Teiko Junior High School’s legendary Generation of Miracles, they were terrifying. Other teams and spectators shifted away from them as they passed through the halls, uneasy and intimidated. 

“How far to the conference room, Akashi?” Kotaro Hayama inquired, hands casually tucked into his pockets. 

“Not much further,” came Akashi’s cool response. “Though, perhaps you should ask Coach Shirogane instead.” Their coach, Eiji Shirogane, cleared his throat. Hayama jolted, apologized, then redirected the question to their coach. 

Coach Shirogane nodded. “Yes, it is as Akashi said,” he confirmed. “The conference room is just ahead. We will use it for our team meeting to review the tapes for our opponent, then proceed to the main floor of the gym to warm up before the match.” 

Eikichi Nebuya swallowed a large bite of his protein bar. “Do we even need to warm up to face them? They’re a no-name school—” 

“Nebuya,” Akashi cut in coldly. “You would do well not to underestimate even the easiest of opponents.” 

Chihiro Mayuzumi snickered, amused, but didn’t look up from his manga book. Reo Mibuchi sighed, side-eyeing Mayuzumi, but didn’t draw attention to it. “Anyway,” Mibuchi said, changing the subject. “The conference room was booked by a group before us, right? Should we have someone go in and clean it before we go in?” 

“I doubt that anyone will leave a mess in the conference room—” Coach Shirogane started, hand reaching out to grasp the handle of the conference room door. 

The door slammed open, nearly hitting Coach Shirogane in the face. Hayama made a strangled yelping sound of utter shock. Nebuya, luckily, caught the door on his forearm and bodied Coach Shirogane out of the way so the door wouldn’t be slammed into his face. Despite the ache in his side from being body-slammed by someone as large and as sturdy as Nebuya, Coach Shirogane’s grimace was lined with a quiet gratitude. 

“Damn,” a lazy voice drawled, stepping out of the conference room. “Are you always stupid enough to walk into doors?” 

Nebuya’s eye ticked, irritated by the guy’s blatant disrespect. “Walked into the—You’re the one who shoved it open into us!” he barely held back from shoving the guy in the chest. “You almost hit Coach Shirogane in the face, you—!” 

“Haizaki,” Akashi said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, wavering, even. 

Mayuzumi looked up from his manga, eyeing the newcomer with guarded curiosity and suspicion. Something about the guy with charcoal hair braided into dreadlocks with ash gray eyes just rubbed him the wrong way. The guy smirked, jagged and mocking. He didn’t seem to be aggressive, but the smell of smoke lingered around him, and Mayuzumi had a sneaking suspicion that the conference room would smell of smoke, too. 

“Seijuro,” the guy, Haizaki, greeted Akashi with a lazy smirk. He licked his lips, hands in his pockets. He seemed like the delinquent sort, acting all sleazy and gross. Akashi seemed completely unbothered by it, though. “It’s been a while, yeah?” 

“Indeed,” Akashi affirmed with a hum, ignoring the shocked looks of his teammates and the barely suppressed anger of his coach. He paused. “You seem to be in a good mood, Haizaki. You addressed me properly with my full first name.” 

Haizaki shrugged, humming noncommittally. “I just had a smoke, so, yeah. Feeling a bit loose,” he agreed. “You here with your new team?” he tilted his head to the side, as though considering the Rakuzan team and their worth. He wrinkled his nose, frowning. “Ah. I know you three annoyances—Reo, Eikichi, and Kotaro. Three pathetically uncrowned kings,” he paused, sparing a glance at Mayuzumi. “And who are you supposed to be?” 

Mayuzumi blinked, shocked that Haizaki had noticed him. His presence was low, and his habit of ignoring everything around him only diminished his already-lacking presence. Yet this Haizaki guy had spotted him right away and was arguably paying more attention to him than he was to the other three players. 

“Chihiro Mayuzumi,” Akashi said smoothly, speaking for Mayuzumi. 

Haizaki’s lazy smirk shifted, replaced by a scowl of displeasure. “I wasn’t asking you, Seijuro-kun,” Haizaki said, words too-sharp and voice too-bitter. 

“Ah,” Akashi said. “I’ve annoyed you, have I?” 

“I’m Chihiro Mayuzumi,” Mayuzumi cut in to introduce himself. “I play power forward.” 

Haizaki hummed in acknowledgement, though he eyed Mayuzumi critically in a way that made Mayuzumi think he was looking for something particular. “Power forward, huh?” he said, scowl shifting to a more neutral but also bored look. “Damn. Guess we won’t match up on the court,” he muttered. “I’m Shogo Haizaki. I play small forward,” he sighed. “That’s too bad, Chi-kun.” he grinned wolfishly. “I would’ve liked to challenge you head-on.” 

“I would appreciate it if you would apologize to Coach Shirogane,” Akashi interrupted. “You nearly hit him with the door, Haizaki. Had Eikichi not—” 

“I don’t give a damn what Eikichi-kun did or didn’t do, Seijuro-kun,” Haizaki growled, his face twisting into a too-sharp grin that was all teeth. “I won’t apologize. The old man should’ve been looking where he was going instead of walking straight at the door.” 

There was a grain of truth to Haizaki’s words, but stubborn pride and righteous anger would not allow either party to concede the point. Rakuzan was certain that Akashi would push the matter, would sternly demand an apology, and that Haizaki would fall in line like everyone else when faced with the terrifying emperor. 

But Akashi didn’t demand an apology, only huffed in mild irritation as his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure. Haizaki flinched almost imperceptibly, but did not back down or give any other indication of fear. “Yeah,” Haizaki muttered. “That’s what I thought.” 

He shoved past them, shoulder-checking Mibuchi in the process. “Who are you to talk to Sei-chan like that?” Mibuchi demanded. “And you have to apologize, too. It’s not right for you to just walk away like that.” 

“Sei—” Haizaki cracked a smile, then laughed. He turned to face Mibuchi, a wide, mocking grin on his face. “Turn and watch, Reo-chan.” 

Mibuchi turned. 

“I wish you nothing but the worst of luck from the bottom of my heart,” Haizaki purred, a cruel smirk on his face as he voiced those too-sharp words in a too-sweet voice. “Sei-chan,” 

And Rakuzan could not miss the way Akashi’s shoulders tensed when Haizaki said Mibuchi’s affectionate nickname for him in such a disgusting tone, the way Akashi’s eyes widened just a fraction, and his lips parted in surprise before he clamped his mouth shut by pressing his lips into a thin line. 

Haizaki turned on his heel and left. 

Akashi said nothing as he walked away.

Haizaki never looked back. 

Akashi never looked away. 

He didn’t look away from Haizaki’s retreating figure. Not until Mibuchi put a hand on his shoulder, a look of concern on his face. Akashi only blinked at him. “I’m fine,” he said flatly. Then, as though nothing had happened, he turned on his heel and walked past the conference room doors. “Let us proceed to the locker room ahead of time. Haizaki’s smoking habit has yet to leave him, and I would rather us not sit in the stench.” 

Chapter Text

Shutoku High was preparing for the upcoming match against Seirin High, gathered together in one of the conference rooms of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium. They would play Seirin in the Interhigh Preliminaries the next day, and Shutoku was not a team that underestimated their opponents. 

But, as Kazunari Takao watched Shintaro Midorima unwrap and re-wrap the bandages on his hand for the fourth time in fifteen minutes… well, the alarm bells started ringing. For a while longer, Takao just stared. The fact that Midorima didn’t notice or call him out on his staring was another red flag. He watched as Midorima frowned, his eyes narrowing as he unwound the bandages on his left hand and then re-wrapped his fingers once more. 

“Shin-chan,” Midorima flinched almost imperceptibly as Takao spoke up. Seeing this, Takao tried to keep his tone light and playful. “Something bothering you?” he continued, feigning ignorance of Midorima’s flinching. He didn’t point out the repeated unwrapping and re-wrapping of the bandages, either—by now, he knew that drawing attention to Midorima’s little tics and habits would only make things worse, if it even affected him. 

Midorima paused, looking up from his half-bandaged hand to look at Takao. His gaze seemed steely and cold behind the rectangular frames of his glasses, but Takao knew him well by now. He could read Midorima fairly well… and Midorima’s eyes weren’t cold, they were filled with a paralyzed fear. 

“What led you to such an inaccurate assumption, Takao?” Midorima asked sternly, voice cool as ever. He sounded as composed as always, nothing giving away his emotional turmoil. 

Takao just shrugged. “Oh, nothing, Shin-chan,” Midorima’s eyes narrowed slightly at the nickname, like always, but Takao pushed on. “Just thought I should ask, you know? I mean, we are going up against one of your former teammates from the Generation of Miracles, right?” 

Masaaki Nakatani, the coach, cleared his throat. “Midorima,” he said evenly, having picked up on Midorima’s concealed nervousness. “Talk to us. What kind of player is this former teammate of yours?” 

“Yeah, Midorima,” Taisuke Otsubo, the captain, agreed. “I agree with Coach Nakatani. What can you tell us about what we’ll face when we go up against Seirin?” 

“We’ve all seen the footage, Otsubo,” Kiyoshi Miyaji cut in. “If we can’t assess Seirin according to our judgment and focus too much on one player, our strategy won’t hold up against Seirin’s hard-and-fast play-style.” 

Takao sighed dramatically. “Miyaji-san, live a little, would you? We can change things up in the game if we need to.” 

Midorima let out a quiet sigh, getting everyone’s attention. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on him, expectant. He opened his mouth to speak—

“Don’t even bother with that,” a voice drawled lazily. The conference room door was flung open, and a trio of basketball players filled the doorway. The one in the front, who seemed to be the leader even though one of the players behind him wore the captain’s jersey, grinned wolfishly. “Tetsuya isn’t someone you can get used to just by hearing about him. He’s a special breed of basketball freak.” 

The third player, a bald guy with fair skin and a nervous expression, hovered behind the leader. He seemed uneasy, as unsure about the leading intruder as the Shutoku team was about him. 

Midorima’s expression tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. Takao initially thought that Midorima was uneasy as well, but the emotions in his eyes reflected something far more complicated than just discomfort. 

“Haizaki,” Midorima greeted the leading intruder. He paused. Then, in a completely serious and straightforward manner, he added, “Your appearance is in poor taste.” 

The leading intruder, Haizaki, grinned and let out a cackle. The captain behind him nudged the bald guy in the side, then the two of them disappeared down the hall—presumably to get away from the strange confrontation that was taking place. 

Otsubo, Takao, Miyaji, Kimura, and Coach Nakatani were all stunned. Sure, Midorima had a habit of speaking bluntly when he was displeased, but he wasn’t in the habit of being overtly rude. Haizaki didn’t seem to mind, though, and Midorima seemed to have no intention of being polite to him. 

“Shin,” Haizaki greeted Midorima. “Your hair’s longer,” he remarked, choosing to comment on Midorima’s appearance in return. “You should slick it back or something. Your bangs are so long that it looks like your annoying face is covered in vines.” he reached out, about to touch Midorima’s face— 

“Hey—” Takao protested, making Haizaki pause to turn and look at him. 

“Takao,” Midorima said sternly, fixing him with a stern glare. A warning. 

Haizaki only scoffed. “And you are?” he asked dryly. 

“I’m Kazunari Takao,” Takao introduced himself. “I’m Shin-chan’s teammate. I’d appreciate it if you would let go of him. You’re being kind of rude.” 

Haizaki scoffed, rolling his eyes, but amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’m being rude, Kazunari?” he asked mockingly. Takao bristled at the casual use of his first name. “Wow. Real shocker there.” Haizaki lifted his hand once more, holding eye contact with Takao as he reached out, casually batting at Midorima’s bangs. 

Takao watched, almost transfixed, as Midorima stiffened. Midorima’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t flinch even though Haizaki could have easily poked his eye or flicked his face with how close he was. 

Takao was so stunned that he couldn’t help but stare. He had been trying to befriend Midorima for months, and he thought he was making progress, but Midorima would always throw him off if his touch lingered for more than a few seconds. Touching Midorima’s face, hair, or even his glasses was all strictly off limits to Takao. 

Midorima only let out a long-suffering sigh, turning his head to the side to give Haizaki a milder version of a cold shoulder. “I do not believe that you, of all people, can advise about hair styling, Haizaki,” he said coolly. “Braids—or whatever those are—do not suit you in the slightest.” 

Haizaki only laughed and ruffled Midorima’s hair. Midorima made a face, annoyed but not genuinely upset. There was a pang in Takao’s chest at how Midorima didn’t resist Haizaki’s casual touches. Midorima wasn’t initiating touch; he never did, but he wasn’t pushing Haizaki away as he would to anyone else who dared try something like that. 

“You’ve still got your bite, Shin,” Haizaki purred, smirking. He drew his hand back, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Glad that hasn’t changed.” 

Midorima let out another long-suffering sigh, pushing up his glasses. “You’re rather a pain, Haizaki,” he muttered. “Must you always do that?” 

Haizaki smirked, but the edges of it were soft. “I must, Shin,” he replied teasingly. 

Coach Nakatani cleared his throat. “Haizaki, was it?” he asked. “I take it you’re with Fukuda Sogo Academy, who has the conference room booked after us?” 

Haizaki hummed, looking at Coach Nakatani with a completely bored expression. “Yeah, we have the conference room next. Shutoku should clear out, yeah?” 

The Shutoku High team, though displeased by Haizaki’s attitude, could not contest him on account of their time slot in the conference room having ended two minutes ago. They packed up their belongings and began to file out of the conference room. 

“So, what’s his deal?” Takao said on his way out. “Shin-chan?” 

Midorima flinched at the nickname, his resting frown turning into a grimace. He glared at Takao with a surprising ferocity that made Takao’s smile falter as he muttered an apology and fell silent. 

“Hey,” Haizaki called out after them. 

The Shutoku team paused, turning to glance over their shoulders at him. 

Midorima never turned to look back at Haizaki, not when Haizaki walked past him or when Haizaki rushed ahead of him. Not back then, not in the present day. 

“Shintaro,” Haizaki said, his tone unreadable. Midorima didn’t turn around to see what kind of expression he wore. “Shin,” Haizaki said, his voice a bit less rough. Not kind—never kind—but as soft as he knew how to be. 

Midorima’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he resisted the desire to turn around and see what kind of face Haizaki was making. Haizaki’s voice only ever softened with pity, not with sympathy or kindness. Midorima had long since grown used to Haizaki’s almost physical inability to care about anything or anyone besides himself. 

Haizaki scoffed, but it wasn’t as mean as it usually was. Midorima heard him shift his stance, turning to face Takao. 

“You’re a real dumbass, Kazu-chan,” Haizaki drawled, tone sickly-sweet and thick with condescension. “Shin hates being called that.” 

“What?” Takao asked, bewildered. He looked to Midorima, but Midorima only pursed his lips and looked away. “Wait—Shin-chan, you don’t like it-? WOAH!” 

Midorima jolted, turning to look as Takao yelped. Haizaki had grabbed Takao by the front of his jacket, a fierce glare in his eyes. “Kazu-chan,” Haizaki purred, his honeyed voice dripping with condescension. “Stop calling him that.” he paused, then let go of Takao. “Only I get to call him that,” he added. “You’ll make poor Shintaro think that you’re mad at him, Kazu-chan.” 

Haizaki shoved Takao back through the doorway of the conference room, making Takao stumble and fall against Otsubo’s chest with an “oof!” 

“What are you talking about?” Kimura asked. 

“He’s spouting nonsense!” Miyaji snapped. “How dare you—?!” 

“I’m only ‘Shin-chan’ to Haizaki when he’s upset,” Midorima said flatly, cutting off Miyaji’s fit of rage. “It’s an insult, a demeaning nickname from when we were in junior high school together,” he glanced at Takao, watching as his teammate’s face cycled through several emotions. He looked away, turning to look at Haizaki—

“Don’t expect me to watch your match tomorrow, Shintaro-kun,” Haizaki grumbled, his mood gone sour from Takao’s poor choice when attempting to give Midorima an affectionate nickname. 

Midorima knew, just by that statement, that Haizaki would turn up to watch even just a few minutes of the match. Haizaki rarely acknowledged games that he had no part in, so that was a rare feat in and of itself. 

He swallowed. “I won’t wait up for you, Haizaki-san,” Midorima replied. 

Haizaki paused at the use of the honorific. Midorima rarely used honorifics, typically addressing others only by their surnames. Neither of them acknowledged the shift, nor did they admit out loud to acknowledging each other. 

“Get out of my hair, Shintaro,” Haizaki said flatly, no longer irritated but not pleased, either. Then he slammed the conference room door shut in Midorima’s face.