Time differs—that much Midorima knew. Builds upon on the person, the moment, the feelings; all at once it could be so brief but so long-lasting. The eight years they were apart felt so short that Midorima found Akashi hadn't aged, yet so long that Midorima almost forgot they had been in love.
There was nothing special on the day they met. No calls, no appointments. Just a mere coincidence, a set up by the universe, fate or whatever they called it now because Midorima decided to stop being superstitious after he lost all his luck like he lost Akashi. He was simply treading along the sidewalk, on the way from the station to the hospital he's working in, lost in thought and unsuspecting when he noticed the redhead coming from the opposite direction. Both of them stopped when their eyes caught each other. Midorima recognized him instantly, because with Akashi there was never any doubt, and there would never be any.
Time stretched, but he didn't want to let distance did the same, so Midorima began moving again, and as if on a silent mutual agreement, the other man did too; closer and closer.
How long would it take for them to reach the middle? Midorima's pace was normal but he felt like being trapped inside a slow bubble. People and cars and the sounds of day surrounded them, yet he couldn't hear anything other than his own breath, along with the echoing footsteps that were as loud as the heartbeat inside his ribs. Now and then the pavement would be covered in thin ice, what remained of last night's snowfall; Midorima preferred to walk around it so he wouldn't slip, but Akashi would always step on it like he did now, though his shoes no longer left shallow prints like they used to.
They were only a few steps away; the other man grew clearer.
All the time in the world might as well had passed, but he could never forget the brightness of Akashi's hair, the gleam in his eyes, or even how velvety his voice was every time he called Midorima's name. The memories of them together had brought Midorima down, crumbled him, then built him up from the ruins all over again, and again, and again that they now had become a part of him. No matter how much time and how many numbers, he could never say that he ever stopped loving that man, who's now standing before him like an ill picture, basked under the winter sun.
"Long time no see," Midorima greeted, dry like the rustling of tree branches.
"Oh," Akashi said, his voice sounded like it came from somewhere far away, "so, you still remember me."
"Yes, and you're still dead."
The red-haired smiled, calm and content like he always used to. The cold wind blew, and his figure vanished like a nightmare brushed away by the morning light.
How long had he stood still after? Midorima couldn't remember, and time does differ, after all. But no matter how long he waited, or how many times he sat at his desk in the morning falsely thinking they would see each other at the end of the day, those who had gone would not come back—that much Midorima knew, and he knew it better than anyone else.
Without a word, his eyes climbed down, trying to trace the footprints that he knew were never there, while the time he had given up on counting, kept on elapsing.