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Midorima finds him on the roof, later that evening. Takao doesn't know how he knew to come up, doesn't know why he bothered at all, especially since their history together has left Takao with the strong suspicion that Midorima is afraid of heights. Probably something to do with tempting fate, or gravity. Takao actually has a theory that Midorima is afraid not of falling, but of flying and being unable to come back down. He's seen what it's done to Midorima's old teammates, he's seen how hard Midorima's worked to stay close to the ground with Shuutoku, to drag them all up into the clouds with him. It'll never work, Takao knows. They'll always be hovering while Midorima soars, and that's okay, that's how it's meant to be. But right now, they're on even ground, up on the roof together breathing the same cold night air, feeling the same loss, a burden of greatness that Rakuzan has lifted from their shoulders in bitter passage.
“You'll catch a cold,” Midorima says. He's as stern as ever; Takao doesn't think anyone else would be able to hear the waver in his voice that betrays his anxiety.
“Ah, Shin-chan, you found me,” Takao replies, leaning back against the cold railing. “And yeah, you're probably right, it's fucking freezing out here.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Maybe not my brightest idea, to come up here at this time of night.”
“I should say not,” Midorima says severely. The door to the stairwell shuts behind him, and in four long strides, he's standing an arm's length away from Takao, looking out over the railing at the city. “Did you not wish to be found? This is only the fifth place I've checked for you; if you would prefer to be alone, I can return to my room.”
Takao considers it. “Nah,” he shrugs. “I'm just up here feeling sorry for myself anyways. You're better company than that.”
“A high compliment,” Midorima says dryly. “I'm thrilled to be such a comfort to you, Takao.”
Comfort. The word stirs something in Takao's mind, and he shifts where he's seated, stretching his head back to look up at Midorima. “Hey, listen,” he begins, “What I said, after the game, I didn't mean – ”
“Yes, you were quite adamant,” Midorima says quietly. “I don't know what possessed you to think I needed your words of consolation in the first place.”
Takao smiles. “Of course not, Shin-chan. It wasn't about you anyways, is what I was trying to say.”
Midorima says nothing for a moment, then looks down at him. As always, Takao is blown away by the feeling behind those dark green eyes, how people can call Midorima heartless, he'll never know. He aches with the desire to reach out and touch, to smooth his thumb against those long lashes and feel their whisper against his skin. Midorima's face isn't fair, his eyes aren't fair, he's beautiful and proud, and Takao is...well. Takao. The “golden boy” of Shuutoku High, a title he fears he'll never grow out of, when Midorima has miles and miles to go before he touches the edges of his potential.
And yet, he's here on the roof with Takao, here on the roof with him after searching for him, by his own admission, in no less than five places. And that's got to count for something, right?
“Of course it wasn't about me,” Midorima says, sounding anything but sure, and Takao has to restrain himself from leaning forward and butting his head against the inside of Midorima's pant leg.
“No, that's not what I meant either,” he sighs, tightening his fingers on the edges of his sleeves. “I know it was your loss, Shin-chan, I mean, it was ours, but it was different for you. I know that. I couldn't comfort you because...because I knew it wasn't the same.” He shrugs helplessly. “Not because I blamed you. Never that.”
“I never presumed,” Midorima replies, thoroughly unconvincingly. “Thank you for clarifying, though.”
There's another silence, but it's warmer, easier. Takao thinks, despite the circumstances, it's actually kind of nice to be up here with just Midorima, to be peaceful and unburdened. They'll fight later, climb later. Right now, the ground is solid beneath him, and that's...actually all right.
“I don't suppose,” Midorima says, and his voice is definitely wavering now, Takao thinks almost anyone with ears would notice it. He looks up curiously, ready to dive in and save Midorima from whatever new neurosis he's developed. “I don't suppose you thought that I would – that I would be comforted, just by your presence.”
Takao blinks. “I didn't think of that,” he admits, hardly knowing what else to say. “That's...unexpectedly low-maintenance of you, Shin-chan.”
Midorima glares at him. “Perhaps I should reconsider. You're not being exceptionally comforting right now, after all.”
But he doesn't move, if anything, he leans harder on the railing, as if every bit of him means to stay exactly where he is, and Takao feels as though his heart might actually burst from his chest.
Midorima says, “I don't think the others share your opinion, by the way.”
Takao frowns up at him. “What opinion?”
“That I am blameless, in the outcome of the match.”
“Ah – jeez, Shin-chan,” Takao sighs, looking at his hands. “No one blames you. I can promise you that. If they're angry, they're not angry at you, they're angry at themselves. They're angry at Rakuzan.” At Akashi, he doesn't say.
“Shuutoku was a King,” Midorima says. “Until I joined. As the new variable, it's only logical that they should blame me for their loss of status.”
“Oh, come on,” Takao groans. “I'm like, a B-student in science, and even I can tell that's crap. I'm a 'new variable' too, you think I'm to blame for us losing?”
Midorima winces, only just visibly. “That's not what I – ”
“Besides, you're not the new variable. Your old team, the Generation of Miracles, whatever, they're all part of it too. We all knew everything was going to change this year.” Midorima looks even more troubled. Great. “I need you to listen to me on this one,” Takao says firmly, daring to take his hand and place it mere inches from Midorima's shoe. “We didn't lose because of you, Shintarou. We stood a chance because of you. That's the difference.”
Midorima gives him an unfathomable look at the use of his full first name, but Takao doesn't back down. This is too important. “Ootsubo, Miyaji and them...they're angry because we stood a chance. They're angry because we fought hard, and we deserved to win. You deserved to win.”
“I've never...” Midorima trails off. “I would've liked to win. Against Akashi.”
“Next time,” Takao says firmly. “Next time, he'll be the one on the ground.”
Midorima glances at his hand, almost touching the edge of his sneaker. Takao draws it back, folds both hands into his lap. They're quite cold, it really wasn't the brightest idea, coming up here.
“You're not a B-student in science,” Midorima says. “I've seen your grades, they're nearly as high as mine. Don't be needlessly self-deprecating for my sake.”
Takao grins. He really is hopeless, when it comes to Midorima. “Sorry,” he says. “I did get a B on a test, once. In middle school.”
“Well, I flunked a quiz once,” Midorima says, so quietly and quickly Takao wonders if he imagined it. “In middle school, as well.”
“...You'll have to give me a moment to wrap my head around this revelation, Shin-chan,” Takao says. “God. What happened?”
“It was on a reading assignment that I didn't do,” Midorima says simply. “It was – Akashi wasn't pleased with me; he took away my schoolwork for three days. I was prepared for most of my classes, regardless, but our history teacher gave us a pop quiz, and I flunked it.”
“Ah.” Takao suddenly wishes Akashi was up here on the roof with them, if only so he could throw him off. “Man, everything I hear about this guy, I just like him more and more.”
Midorima says, “Can you stand? I'm used to being taller than you, but our current height difference is somewhat distracting.”
“You could sit,” Takao suggests, laughing in resignation when Midorima simply looks at him, unmoved. “Yeah, alright, I've been crouched down here long enough.” He hauls himself up and leans over the railing next to Midorima, liking the new proximity while also not liking how it makes it more difficult for him to stare admiringly under the guise of polite attention.
He fiddles with his sleeves, thinking. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?” he asks.
Midorima doesn't respond except to fidget minutely, and Takao notices that one of his bandages is undone at the end. He frowns. “Can I,” he asks, reaching out hesitantly, hoping Midorima's lack of protest is akin to consent. “Oh wow, Shin-chan. Your hand is warm.” He resists the impulse to press it to his cheek, and sets himself to task carefully rewrapping the lower part of the bandage on Midorima's forefinger.
“I have excellent circulation,” Midorima says. “Also, I don't make a habit of standing outdoors for extended periods of time in the middle of the night during winter.”
Takao rolls his eyes. “It's like, nine. Hardly the middle of the night.”
“Nevertheless,” Midorima says, pushing up his glasses. “I'll still need you to pull me in the rickshaw, it would be very inconvenient if you caught a cold.”
“Ah, we're back to this,” Takao nods. “Shin-chan could always warm me up.” He flutters his eyelashes, grinning at Midorima's disapproving glare.
Except – is he blushing?
Maybe it's just the cold.
“Takao,” Midorima says. He takes a breath, halts, then continues, “You played well today.”
Takao swallows. It wasn't enough, he doesn't say. It didn't matter. “Thanks. You too, Shin-chan. Really.”
“I was relying on you,” Midorima says, almost a murmur. “You didn't let me down.”
“Well, you'd never let me hear the end of it if I did,” Takao replies gently, replacing his hand with his heart in his throat.
“It was nice.”
“You know, I don't remember you getting this sentimental after the last time we lost,” Takao says teasingly, leaning further over the railing. “What's the deal? You know I've got your back, I always have.”
Midorima looks at him, and Takao can't even breathe. “Yes,” he says simply. “You always have.”
Takao's heart is wild in his chest now, making him dizzy, making him want to say a hundred things he really shouldn't say, things laden with gravity and things he's kept tied down for fear he won't get them back if he lets them float away.
“Shin-chan – ”
“Do you have plans, on Friday? After practice, I mean.”
Takao closes his mouth, then opens it again. “Um. I don't think so.”
“There's a new ramen place by the school. In the direction of both our houses,” Midorima says. He sounds nervous. Takao grips the railing harder. “If you're – that is, if you're amenable to it, I was thinking we could. Go there. To eat dinner.”
“Yeah, sure,” Takao says, smiling in what he hopes is a benign way. “We can eat ramen anytime, you don't have to ask me a week in advance.” Like it's a date.
“I was under the impression,” Midorima says, taking a heavy breath, “that it was good manners to give notice, in...these sorts of instances.”
“Ah,” Takao says, nodding. Is he floating? He might be floating. “Well, that would really only be true if Shin-chan was asking me out on a date.”
Midorima says nothing, but blushes very hard.
“Well,” Takao says, unable to stop the grin that's splitting his face in half. He feels like running, or screaming, or diving headfirst off the roof. “I'm glad to see you've finally come to your senses. I am Shuutoku's most eligible first-year, according to our school newsletter. Handsome, well-off, athletic – ”
“Please stop talking,” Midorima says. “I read that article, you know. It was shockingly unscientific, I'm unconvinced you didn't write it yourself.”
“But Shin-chan just admitted he knows I'm great at science,” Takao grins.
“Takao is also skilled at misrepresenting himself,” Midorima counters, glancing at him and raising an eyebrow. “And at changing the subject.”
Takao shrugs. “Hey, no pressure. You just admitted you want to date me, that can't have been easy.” Midorima stares at the railing, tensed, and Takao wants to hit himself. “The feeling's mutual, obviously, like – beyond mutual, come on, Shin-chan, you can't've thought I'd turn you down.”
Midorima blinks. If Takao squints, he could interpret that slight grimace as a tiny little smile. “I was reasonably sure you wouldn't,” he says quietly. “But fate hasn't been entirely in my favor lately.”
“Hmm. Somebody needs to set those stars straight,” Takao frowns. He stands on his tiptoes and glares up at the sky. “You stop that,” he says loudly. “Leave Shin-chan alone, he's done nothing to you.”
“Shut up, Takao,” Midorima hisses. “They don't – it doesn't work like that, honestly.”
“Well, it's not like I can see them anyways. I think I just scolded a plane,” Takao sighs. “Maybe they'd prefer a strongly-worded letter.”
“As it stands,” Midorima says, sounding quite exasperated, “I'm not at all displeased with them. Right now.” His hand drops from the railing and flexes at his side, as though he doesn't know quite what to do with it.
Fortunately, Takao has just the thing in mind. “I guess they can be off the hook tonight,” he agrees, gently sliding his hand down the back of Midorima's wrist and intertwining their fingers. “But they're on notice. I won't have them messing with my Shin-chan.”
Midorima's fingers close tightly around his, and it's a good thing, Takao thinks, because he might truly float away, out into space, never to be seen again.
“You are cold,” Midorima observes, not letting go of his hand. “How long have you been out here?”
“Eh, I'm not sure. Since dinner?” Takao shivers, presses closer. “Long enough.”
Midorima looks disapproving, but accepts Takao leaning against him.
“I suppose we should go back in,” Takao says after a moment, his cheek resting comfortably on Midorima's shoulder. “I can't get sick; I have a date on Friday.”
“Your date would be very displeased if you had to cancel,” Midorima says gravely. “We'll just stay a couple more minutes.”
“Works for me,” Takao sighs happily. He pushes his nose into the crease of Midorima's sleeve, and smiles when Midorima shifts his arm to give him a better angle.
It's hard, he thinks, giving up a crown. But then again, Takao doesn't know that they would've made it up here like this, with that heavy weight still resting on their shoulders. It's not the freedom he'd've chosen for himself, but the heady, soaring, impossible feeling he gets from standing like this, holding Midorima's hand – it's better than any win, really.
Rakuzan can keep their title, for now, he vows to himself. Next year, we're taking it back. His lips curve against Midorima's arm as he silently adds, Together.