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Takao still hadn’t said a word. Midorima shot concerned glances at him as they packed up and left the gym, but his partner seemed to sense it and turned his face away. This was one of the new milestones in their relationship. When Midorima replayed the first few months of their friendship (his memory was clinical and precise, a perfect record of basketball games, medical journals, and each look that appeared in Takao’s eyes) he noted the greater variety in the number of expressions Takao allowed him to see. It was a downside to Midorima’s improved ability to read people – Takao recognized it and let Midorima even fewer of his honest emotions. The last sighting had been that day, after that game, when he saw Takao cry for the first time. Midorima had grunted and said something he knew was unhelpful, but he was too spent in every way to say anything else. Later that day he’d been able to hold Takao against his chest in an attempt at a mutually comforting embrace, but while he felt his pain recede with every shaky breath Takao exhaled against his collar bone, he knew it was too late for his partner. Takao had taken the interval before their game against Kaijou to reel in every crushing emotion he felt and force an unnatural smile across his face. Shin-chan, this is incredible! What’s this hug for? Midorima ignored the question, and Takao didn’t press him. It was an unspoken decision to ignore Takao’s fearful insincerity.
That day added another volume to Midorima’s growing understanding of his partner. Takao was charming, intelligent, and painfully guarded. He hid away his vulnerabilities from strangers, teammates, friends. And Midorima.
Midorima didn’t take it personally. This was Takao’s identity, and he had chosen to accept all of it, just as Takao had accepted all of his. But as he watched Takao wordlessly shoulder his gym bag and walk to the rickshaw with his eyes glazed, he felt a knot of regret tighten in his mind. Takao was sure to strengthen his guard even more after today’s announcement.
“Shin-chan?”
Takao’s voice made Midorima jump. He hadn’t expected Takao to speak first, but he realized why when he saw that Takao was paused by the rickshaw with his fist held outwards. Their nightly logistics, nothing more.
“Takao, I…I will pedal tonight. You’ve earned it today.”
Midorima searched Takao’s face for any reaction. Would this make him happy? Would he retreat farther?
“Thank you, Shin-chan.” A monotone accompanied by averted eyes. It was the last shred of rejection that Midorima could stand. He accepted Takao’s personality, and he respected his need to guard his weaknesses. But the idea of Takao pulling so far away scared him – it came down to a battle between Takao’s fear and Midorima’s, and Midorima decided to call in a selfish request.
He climbed onto the bike and glanced back at Takao, who looked to him like a wilted flower as he settled into the cart. Sorry about this, Takao. Midorima pedaled as hard as his sore legs would allow and relied on his memory to guide him.
“Hey Shin-chan, you know this isn’t the way to my house, right? Where are we going? Ah! Are you going to kill me, Shin-chan? I don’t want to die yet, though.”
“Enough. Don’t joke tonight. We’re going to the park. We have something to do.”
“I can’t play any more basketball tonight, you know?”
“I know.”
Takao didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. After Midorima stopped the rickshaw at the foot of a hill they had visited during a lucky item quest (a piece of a bird’s nest that Takao had nearly broken a bone fetching for Midorima), he climbed into the cart before Takao could get out. Takao still didn’t look at him.
“I want to tell you something.” Midorima paused even though he wasn’t expecting a response. He had to do this right.
“First of all, congratulations. You’ve worked hard and you are going to do well as captain. I look forward to following your lead next year. From the time Ootsubo announced it today, you’ve been quiet. And you kept turning away from me, like you’re doing now. So I want to make sure that you understand – you deserve to be captain. I am the most skilled member of this team, and I highly doubt that will change,” Midorima waited for the crooked smile he expected that statement to bring out from Takao and was relieved to see it, “but the captain has to possess a skill set that I lack. He must be kind and strict together, able to relate to his teammates, to inspire them with words and actions. More than anything, he must be someone whom his teammates will trust and follow with their entire hearts. That’s who you are, Takao. I know that you will take care of me and the team. I chose to trust you, and you have never let me down.”
“Never, Shin-chan?” Takao’s voice was small as he pulled his knees to his chest and stared down at his hands. Midorima felt desperation rise in him – he wanted to make Takao look at him, to pull him closer and feel him breathing again, to somehow convey to Takao that he was what Shuutoku needed, what Midorima needed. He cautiously reached towards Takao and placed a taped hand on his knee.
“Never. Not once. We may have lost, but we did everything we could. None of us gave up, and you’re not an exception. We’ll only get stronger from here, so please, ” He had completely lost track of the script he’d outlined on the route here. Everything he wanted to tell Takao flew out in one breath. “I’ll support you, as the ace and your partner, I’ll do my best every day and you will too and you’ll lead and we’ll win but when we lose, you’ll hide your disappointment from the team and say something stupid to keep them afloat but Takao… you can show me. Please.”
Midorima waited, not knowing whether Takao’s knee was trembling or if that was just his own hand shaking. He waited and waited, and Takao’s silence was the silence of the court when Midorima shot from across it – there was nothing to do but look and hope and wait. Takao leaned forward and rested his forehead against Midorima’s hand, and Midorima felt his relief rush out in a sigh.
“You really think I should be captain?”
“I would never lie about such a matter.”
Takao laughed feebly, “Yeah, you’re pretty straightforward that way. But I don’t know if it’s the right choice, Shin-chan. I don’t know.”
“It is. There is no better choice for captain than you. Believe in that. Even if you don’t feel like captain, believe in the fact that the senpai, the coach, and I all think of you as the captain. Trust in yourself and trust in me.” Midorima hoped he still sounded credible even when his voice was shaking as badly as his hands. He looked at Takao still huddled against his hand and asked, “Will you do that?”
Takao took a deep breath but only managed a whisper when he exhaled, “Okay.”
“Will you show me your face?”
“Okay.”
Midorima felt like his heart would stop at the sight of Takao’s upturned face. He wasn’t crying, but his skin was flushed, his eyes were dimmed, and his jaw rigid, all clenched teeth and desperate restraint. Before Takao could turn away again, Midorima slid his hand up from Takao’s knee up toward his face. He felt Takao shudder as Midorima hesitated with his hand on Takao’s chest, enjoying the feeling of Takao breathing against him again. As Midorima moved his hand higher, Takao’s eyes closed and his breathing grew more ragged until he was gasping while Midorima stroked his cheek.
“Shin…Shin-chan…you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
Midorima leaned forward to kiss Takao’s forehead, his nose, each of his cheeks. He made sure that each kiss to Takao’s eyelids was delicate, to tell Takao how important his eyes were to him. Takao’s trembling lessened then, and Midorima took that to mean he understood. Midorima moved his hand up into Takao’s hair and sighed when he felt the soft strands slipping in between his fingers. He waited with his lips moments away from touching Takao’s .
Takao opened his eyes when Midorima didn’t move closer, and the sight of them bright and unclouded was the sign Midorima had waited for. He kissed Takao, relishing the warmth of Takao’s lips against his own and listening eagerly to Takao’s shallow breaths. When he pulled away, his hand still grasping Takao’s hair, he looked into Takao’s eyes again and felt his heart rise at how much shine they had regained. Takao opened and closed his mouth a few times, getting close to sharing a thought he didn’t know how to articulate. He finally shook his head and sighed, “Thank you. I’ll do my best next year.”
The way Takao smiled then, unsure and unsteady but sincere, made Midorima feel like he could cry. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Takao the way he’d wanted to all night and whispered, “I’ll be counting on you, captain.”