Title: Where the World Ends
Summary: [And around the world they go, chasing black and malachite trails that cross oceans and looking for the home they once found in each other.] Five years after Midorima graduated from medical school, he returns to the place he once knew so well, carrying a fulfilled ambition and an unfinished business that he hopes to rekindle and settle once and for all.
Even after all these years, he can't say that he is a complete man. Especially when he receives news of Takao's decade-long disappearance.
"Hey, Shin-chan."
"..."
"Shin-chaaaan."
"Hn. What is it, Takao?"
Midorima Shintarou twists his wrist slightly and checks his watch. 3:47 pm. It seems that his flight has been delayed for quite a few minutes, and the tardiness does nothing but wrack his nerves up further. The seat feels stone-hard underneath him after hours of waiting for the boarding time. He even goes as far as trying out the vending machines that have stuffed bears in them. Now that he thinks of it, Oha Asa advised him earlier that he would have a tiny critter as his lucky item for the day. Although toys aren't really critters, he supposes that they could make up for his disgust of insects.
Years ago, Midorima would've scoffed and found a way to achieve the item in the horoscope, no matter how unthinkable it is. He would've gone over it thoroughly and offered tidbits to his teammates. Midorima Shintarou is a calculating man who exists on logic and precision, but he does have a leeway for superstitions which sometimes do not make sense to people other than him.
Today, however, he can barely check his own horoscope, much less the others than he drifted away from. Medical school isn't exactly the best site for adhering to Oha Asa and otherworldly beliefs, and even now that he's graduated and has put up a clinic of his own in the city, he can't bear to look over the list of zodiac signs, especially when he comes across the day's horoscope for Scorpio.
Midorima doesn't know how long it's been when, at first sight, he looks like someone who would tick off dates on which he encounters special occasions. A good decade has probably passed since he was last standing on the soil of the town he grew up in. He's not so certain how everyone from back home would react when he suddenly turns up after ten years with a diploma and a horde of certificates of recognition in the medical field. Midorima has only grown a few inches taller since his basketball glory days, and even his fingers can't recognize the feel of rubber as he dribbles on a fast break.
More than excitement, Midorima feels the dread crawl along his spine. He figures that all of the people he's left must be mad at him for not dropping a single phone call ever since his departure to the bigger of cities, where greater opportunities await. He places himself in their position and has resolved that it had been extremely rude not to bother leaving a single voice mail in each of his friends and family members' inbox.
The plane finally arrives and Midorima doesn't waste any second to proceed with all of his hand-carry luggage. He runs into a family of four when they stop in the middle of the walkway to take pictures, and he hastily bows in apology to avoid further inconvenience. The hours pass, and the renowned doctor sighs in his seat, closing his eyes to block out the familiar instructions of the flight stewardess. He doesn't blink nor stir in his sleep when a lady tries to hand him his complimentary cup of coffee. Looking at the clouds would do Midorima no good, especially since staring out of the window would encourage him to look upon the sight of land, and he'll only be reminded that coming home meant facing the people he left a decade ago.
A pop resounds in Midorima's ears as the plane descends to the ground. His knuckles whiten when he grips the armrest in response to the touchdown. Moments later, his co-passengers gather their bags from the overhead bins, and he is a blur of green and white in a crowd that's nearing the arrival wing. His footsteps resound against the pavement and Midorima inhales sharply. It hasn't changed that much, except there's a trace of smoke in the air he breathes. It must be the industrialization taking its toll.
Midorima freezes in the spot beside the conveyor belt, where he waits for the rest of his baggage. He catches a glimpse of an all-too familiar blond, who immediately notices his gaze and animatedly waves his hand at him. It's too late for hiding, Midorima thinks as Kise makes his way to him. "Midorimachii, long time no see!"
"Obviously," is Midorima's only reply when Kise engulfs him with his embrace. Even after all these years, Kise hasn't lost his vigor, still smiling with crinkled eyes.
Kise pulls away and scrunches his nose. "Not a single call in ten years."
Midorima pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He decides that he won't take Kise's guilt-tripping bait. "I've been busy."
"Surely you have been," Kise laughs, his hands finding the pockets of his jeans. "Medical school took a huge part of your life, I know. But you could've called. Even a few minutes will do."
"I've been busy," Midorima persists, noticing his incoming bag in the corner of his eye. In a swift move, he grabs the straps and slings them across his shoulders. The best option would be to divert Kise's attention to another topic. "So, how have you been?"
Kise raises his eyebrow, catching onto Midorima's unease. "Ah, well, I got my license the same time you went to medical school. Being a pilot allowed me to travel to Europe. You should visit Greece. Or maybe France. Even Takao enjoyed —"
"Hold on a second," Midorima visibly tenses up at the mention of his name. "Takao was with you?"
"For a brief period of time, yes," Kise smiles. He conceals his smirk with a hand when he sees the building outrage on Midorima's expression. "I saw him on the plane and we decided to join a tour group in Paris. He had changed a lot."
"Do you know where he is?"
Kise's shoulders arch up. "I don't know. Our last encounter was about seven years ago, and I haven't heard from him since then."
Midorima's disposition sours. "He didn't tell you where he'd go?"
"Oh, I see," Kise mumbles, placing a finger on his chin. "So you haven't contacted him, either. No wonder no one from town has seen him since you left."
At that, Midorima's lungs constrict. The dread that he has withheld is slowly fading away as it is replaced by puzzlement. More than that, Midorima is shocked, eyes widening as he processes the news. "What do you mean?"
Kise sighs, knowing that he would eventually reveal Takao's state to Midorima. "His whereabouts have been basically unknown for years. Takao's gone, Midorimachii. Where to, nobody has an idea of."
"Someday, when we're all grown up and successful, will you meet me where the world ends?"
It's extremely irrational for Midorima to purchase plane tickets to France right after his arrival, but he figures that it is, at the least, less absurd than the idea of Takao cutting off all connections with the world and simply roaming country upon country like a backpacker. Midorima has tried time and time again to dial Takao's phone number, but he doubts that the raven-haired lad still kept his number after several futile attempts.
Midorima can't exactly ask anyone about Takao's destination because all of them have no clue, either. Trust Takao to pull a stupid stunt like that.
Even Midorima can't blame him for doing what he did. Ten years ago, Midorima reached for his glasses on the bedside table, shifting under crumpled sheets and unknowingly waking Takao up. They had been idiotic throughout their college days, and to say that Midorima regretted all of it would be a complete lie. Takao was lost in what he wanted as a career and ended up as an International Business major, arguing that he needed to look presentable if he was to become Midorima's partner. On the other hand, Midorima worked diligently as a Biology major in order to turn his transcript into a golden ticket to a prestigious medical school.
In spite of his and Takao's constant ramblings and spontaneous lovemaking, Midorima still aced his classes. Takao applauded him from the sidelines, barely scraping by with B's and C's.
Their graduation day came as quickly as it went. Midorima left nothing but a shy and hesitant kiss to Takao, who was keeping his tears in check, knowing that the malachite-haired boy was transferring to someplace that Takao couldn't probably go to. Takao leaned in, smile as fresh as the spring, asking, "Someday, when we're all grown up and successful, will you meet me where the world ends?"
Of course, Midorima hadn't known how to answer such a vague question back then.
The announcements in the airport drags Midorima back to the present, and he shakes his head at the distant recollections. What would Takao look like today? Would his voice be the same as his annoying yet endearing one, or would it morph to that of a man's? Would he remember Midorima at all? Would he run away at the sight of him, knowing that Midorima had abandoned him and never said anything to him in the span of ten years?
All of the what-ifs make Midorima's stomach churn violently, and he resolves to wait for his flight without unnecessary thoughts occupying his mind. Instead of wallowing in the past, Midorima plans his course of action. It would be reckless of him to just land on Paris and try to find Takao there. It is more than reckless, actually; it is borderline impossible and crazy to think that he could track down Takao by simply following his steps.
Perhaps Takao left some ideas as to where he headed next. Midorima is aware that he's damned for likening this situation to a case, but he knows Takao well enough — or maybe used to know well enough — to determine that Takao might go as far as country-hopping to call Midorima out.
Midorima boards the plane wordlessly, chest being ravaged by painful heartbeats. He's anxious to know if he's correct, if he can find Takao in Europe. It'll take him about a day to get there, but sleeping through twenty four hours seems like a good idea rather than dwelling on thoughts of Takao right now.
"What are you talking about? There's no 'end' for an oblate spheroid planet."
Paris is exquisite, albeit the cleanliness of the city has not been paid attention to. When Midorima sets foot on the cobblestone paths, he frowns at the drops of water and hastily takes his umbrella out to shield him from the impending rain. He checks into the hotel and goes out immediately. He probably looks like the undead with dark bags under his eyes, but Takao might be around the corner. It's worth a try to scour the whole of Paris for one person.
When they were in high school, Takao mentioned something about wanting to visit the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. He'd been busy reading travel magazines in his spare time. Takao has a degree in International Business, after all. It's only natural that he would plan his global itinerary sooner or later.
Midorima is still surprised that Takao decided to see the world without him.
He unconsciously bites the inside of his cheeks as it occurs to him that Takao might not want to see him again. So much for keeping the negativity away. Midorima hails a cab to take him to Champ de Mars. He could see some trails left behind by Takao in the iron lattice tower, or maybe just imagine how Takao looked like while gazing at the city lights from above. Good thing it is already dusk. Midorima can appreciate what Takao did seven years ago.
Midorima proceeds to the ticket booth at the foot of the tower, handing the bills to the officer. It doesn't take along until he uses the elevator to get to the top floor, listening to other tourists' hearsay about the commendable champagne. Perhaps Takao would like that, too.
Fortunately, the downpour outside ceases. Midorima accidentally catches a glimpse of a scribbled sentence on the corner of the elevator. He doesn't heed to it until he recognizes that the words are written in Japanese characters. Swallowing, Midorima scoots closer to the small handwriting. His eyes widen when he realizes that it's undeniably Takao's penmanship, as evident in the small squiggles that he made at the end. Although he might be wrong, there's no harm in assuming that this is Takao's message for him.
Inwardly, he laughs, glad that Takao remembered him even in the farthest of places.
Shin-chan, Midorima reads silently, hiding a smile at the fond nickname. I wish I could've gone with you. It's too romantic in this tower, but who knows? I think you'll like it here.
Just like that, the guilt that Midorima tried so hard to block resurfaces, and Midorima steps out of the elevator and into the top level of the Eiffel Tower, conscience clenching at Takao's message. He orders two glasses of champagne and places the other one in front of him.
In his mind, he toasts with an imaginary Takao, agreeing to the fact that he does like it here.
Before he could marvel at the famous paintings and other works of art in the Louvre, Midorima stops by the glass pyramid that serves as the entrance to the museum. He swallows once again, drowning in the remembrance of Takao. That guy really is a pro at evoking emotions within other people.
I remember you in the Louvre, he sees scrawled on the pavement lined with cigarette butts and ashes left in the wake of lonely passersby. He wonders how something like this could have withstood the effects of time. Maybe it is still existent to haunt Midorima of his mistakes. The displays are really pretty, but Shin-chan is still the only one who can take my breath away.
Midorima can say the same for Takao, and as he stares at the Mona Lisa for far longer than what is required to appreciate the woman in the painting, he seems flustered at the smile that she gives him. Takao's romanticism seeps into Midorima's own thought process, and he can't deny that Takao's simplicity, raven hair, foolish grin, and perfect laughter are far more beautiful than any works of art in the museum.
He truly misses all of those qualities. More importantly, he misses Takao Kazunari so much that it physically pains him just to remember his name.
Midorima would be an idiot not to notice another character written in katakana.
That evening, he logs onto the laptop provided in his room, and makes a reservation for Grenada in the Carribean.
"No, no, it's not that. It's more of where you find yourself when all has been said and done."
Grenada is one of the only places where the city life does not invade the shore. Although Midorima can spot a horde of tourists every now and then, he can say that Grenada would be the the haven for escapists. In the afternoon, he takes his glasses off for a while and sets them on the sand, neglecting the possibility of them getting carried away by the waves. The grains lodge themselves in the frames and he couldn't care any less.
He'll probably spend more than a hundred thousand dollars in the chase for Takao across the world. If that's the only way he can make up for his loss of contact during all those years, then he'd willingly lose his earnings than let the opportunity pass.
Midorima, after watching the sky turn dark, returns to his suite. He stops by the Sunset Beach bar for drinks and looks over the brochure. There is a certain 'Pineapple Lounge' around here somewhere, and the name is enough to make Midorima's lips curve upwards into a smile. Miyaji would kill to be in his position right now.
The orange glow of the lights illuminate the dim bar that overlooks the view of the ocean. Midorima calls a bartender to serve him one of the rum punches rumored to be the best in the island. He could clearly picture Takao swaying to the melody produced by the band, and it only makes him quiver in mixed fear and anticipation. He receives his drink a few minutes later and is taken aback by the bartender scrutinizing a creased piece of paper that's browning in the edges. "Mi...Midorima?"
Midorima raises his eyebrow in question. The accent is thick, but it is undoubtedly his name that the bartender has just uttered. In his best English speech, he replies, "Yes?"
"Green hair and wearing glasses," the bartender echoes in confirmation, fingers ghosting over his lips in amazement. He seems to have difficulty in pronouncing English words, but Midorima could understand just fine. "He was right. He said you'll come by later."
"Who..." Midorima's voice strains after sipping on his rum punch. "Who told you?"
The bartender smiles, old age evident in the wrinkles that surround his eyes. "Boy with black hair, Asian, I think. Years ago, he went here. Told me that you'll be looking for him. I couldn't retire until I could find you."
Midorima runs a hand through his hair, still in awe that Takao was able to construct a path for him to follow. It's as if Takao designed a road for him, knowing that the doctor will frantically search for him. "Did he...tell you where he is?"
In response to Midorima, the bartender just offers him the worn out piece of paper. He can still comprehend the next location written on it, and he mutters his gratitude to the bartender. Takao really was dependent on fate and chances, extensively influenced by Midorima's obsession for horoscopes. Midorima thanks the cosmic forces for letting him go to the bar at the right time and communicate with the right person.
The next day, he packs his bags, saying farewell to the vibrant, clear blue of the ocean.
"Did you hit your head recently?"
Takao would fit nicely into Las Vegas. There is a lot to do in a city that bursts of life and sins that Midorima would rather not commit. It would be classic of Takao to immediately seek out The Venetian, the five-diamond resort that he has always claimed to have the best casino around. Midorima grows uneasy at the thought of his credit card bills, but shrugs the worry away. He's getting closer to Takao. The hope radiates through his entirety.
Midorima marvels at the 14, 000 square foot - Poker Room. He isn't familiar with gambling, only having played some card games with Takao once out of boredom. He proved to be extremely unlucky before, and hell would freeze over before he would risk bankruptcy for a measly poker game. But this is Takao that he's concerned for. If it were anyone else, he would've walked away and gone back to Japan, enjoying his life as a doctor. However, Takao is the only one that matters to the extent that Midorima would trek across the globe to find him.
He takes his seat at the first table he could find, tilting his bow tie to blend into the surroundings. Takao would've laughed at his appearance and told him that he is too uptight for his own good. When Midorima receives his cards, a woman clothed in what seems as an expensive dress winks at him. Midorima quickly turns away and focuses on his cards, using the very basic knowledge of poker to understand what exactly is going on.
He looks at the money he has bet. Maintaining a straight face is one of his strengths, and surprisingly, he still keeps it even after having a royal flush. It's just his first streak of luck. Midorima wins the first round and gets his second hand. He notices something odd — one of the cards is not a normal card at all. It is similar to a face card but displays a different image. Specifically, the head shot of a comic book character that Takao always used to rant about is plastered on the thin cardboard. Below the number is a scribbled 'Operahouse'.
Midorima quirks an eyebrow and excuses himself, taking with him his winnings and ignoring the calls of the dealer. He tucks the card into his pocket and sighs. After all, Takao has never made it easy for him.
"Aw Shin-chan, you're totally ruining the mood. I was being philosophical here."
Takao would, again, laugh at Midorima's formal attire if he were here. He would joke around, elbowing Midorima suggestively and breathing against his ear. Of course, Midorima would redden in reflex and tell Takao off until he has calmed down.
When Midorima arrives in the Sydney Operahouse, the queue is long for the L'elisir d'amore, a comic opera by an Italian composer. Midorima has taken an elective in Drama during his college days for two reasons: one, so he could fulfill his general education requirements; two, so he could hear the end of Takao's nagging to delve into theater-related activities. Although Midorima has mostly participated in painting the set, he couldn't help but laugh when Takao attempted to belt out the famous romanza from the opera.
L'elisir d'amore. Elixir of Love.
Now Midorima witnesses another performance, this time by professional actors and singers. There's no doubt that it will be far better than their school play. Midorima offers applause when the rest of the audience does the same. Finally, he reaches the part of the story where the main character performs the romanza that Takao used to croon passionately with the best of his ability, despite his wrong pitch and wobbly voice.
Midorima suppresses a smile when the piece begins. He catches some phrases, having studied the Italian language briefly. A single furtive tear, he hums in Italian, recounting his college days with Takao. Everything reminds him of Takao nowadays, and although he considers it as Takao's fault for clouding his mind, he blames himself for leaving the person he could never live without.
What more need I look for? The man sings in tenor, and Midorima agrees, wishing he could've known better years ago than to cut himself off from the world. What more need I look for?
Midorima abruptly stands up in realization and exits from the opera house. It might seem unmannerly of him to dash out of the building without finishing the performance. He finds a cab to take him to his hotel and he gathers his bags quickly all while changing into casual clothes and phoning the airport. He treads his way to the ticket booth hours later, and very nearly misses a 5 pm flight. He only has minutes to spare but he stops by a jewelry shop, a glinting object catching his attention. Without another thought, Midorima drops his luggage at his feet.
He hopes he's right on time, and that he's accurate in following Takao's one-track mind.
"Hn. To answer your question, then yes. Given that you'll be able to catch up with me."
"That's mean!"
"Hm."
Japan is a breath of fresh air, and unlike when he first came back home after years of not doing so, Midorima finally feels that he's back where it all started, back where he truly belongs. He's tired of looking over his shoulder to the past he desperately wants to return to, and if there's anything he can do to save what he once lost, it's to face what lies ahead of him. Still, the determination couldn't exactly hinder him from doubting that Takao would be there, waiting for him to see him again.
Midorima notices that his complexion has slightly darkened for months of traveling to places where he fails to catch Takao's trails. He huffs, imagining a tan line on the bridge of his nose. This time, he rides the bus to the Shuutoku gym. The dusk is taking over the sky, bathing the city with moon and starlight. Takao won't be there, Midorima's intuition speaks. Let his logic be damned; he'd rather be stubborn than risk missing Takao once more.
Truly enough, Midorima steps into the gym with only the sounds of his footsteps to greet him. He places his bags on the bench, looking around to spot a familiar raven-haired lad.
He is alone.
It's all futile, then. Maybe he misinterpreted every 'clue' he has found along the way. Maybe they aren't his to discover. Maybe Takao didn't leave them, after all.
Maybe it's just him who's trying to mend broken things, who's running after someone who's long gone and moved on.
Midorima sinks to his knees in exhaustion, and takes a few minutes to understand that his cheeks are wet.
His pocket feels oddly heavy.
"Shin-chan?"
Midorima can still hear Takao's voice. When he closes his eyes, he sees his mischievous grin, comprehending that Takao is always one step ahead of him. There's a certain coarseness in Takao's tone that reveals more of his playful disposition. Like a dysfunctional record, Midorima plays back all of their conversations, even those which involve him grunting in response. He remembers Takao's laughter during Midorima's small misfortunes and his whispers and pants after Midorima kisses him. "Shin-chan," it echoes in his mind endlessly, reminding him that he is a bastard for putting his selfish dreams above the person he loves the most.
"Oi," the voice is urgent, and Midorima buries his face in his knees deeper as he crouches near his bags. "Why are you crying, Shin-chan?"
His imaginary Takao seems too real for saying things like that.
Fingers graze his head, and Midorima inwardly laughs in lack of mirth. Even Takao's touch is haunting him now.
Before he could continue his musings, hands grab the sides of his head and raise his face from the spot on his knees. Midorima's eyesight is blurry, and he hastily puts his glasses on in spite of his swollen eyes. At first, he thinks he's a delusional doctor, trying to cure others when he couldn't even heal himself.
And there he is.
Midorima's mouth opens in shock, his nerves a bundled mess. Takao, with his raven hair and silver eyes and smile as bright as the galaxy, breathes, "Shin-chan."
"Ta...kao," Midorima utters in disbelief, his entirety shaking from relief. Before Takao could say anything, Midorima engulfs him in his embrace, burying his face between Takao's shoulder blades. "Takao," he repeats, mostly to himself to assure that all of this is real. "I...I —"
Takao pulls away and chuckles. "Ne, I didn't think Shin-chan was this emotional. To think that he even slept in the gym..."
Midorima clenches his fists. "Shut up," he retorts, and looks away in embarrassment. Now that Takao is in front of him, anger flares through him for letting his guard down. Takao is capable of wrecking him. His conscience suddenly stabs him. He has only gotten Takao back, but he still isn't sure that Takao is here for good. "I...why are you here?"
"Same reason as yours, I guess," Takao says, standing up from his position and glancing at the bleachers and at the ring. "Ah, it's good to be back, isn't it, Shin-chan?"
"Did you leave all of those?" Midorima asks him, standing up on his own and rubbing the weariness away from his eyes. "Did you plan for me to go around the world just to meet you here?"
"What...oh," Takao exclaims. "You actually saw all of them? I'd think it was pure fate. I followed Oha-Asa even when you were in medical school, and it really works!" Takao laughs, fiddling with his rolled sleeves. Midorima stares at him to take Takao's presence in, noting that he has grown a bit taller since their last meeting.
In loss of words to mutter, Midorima blurts, "I apologize." The moment he registers what he has just said, he looks at his shoes so he can avoid Takao's gaze. "I'm sorry for not contacting you for ten years."
Midorima waits for Takao's reply, and Takao responds with a smile. "I understood that med school is really difficult, but I was a bit mad, Shin-chan. No calls, texts, or anything in ten years. Not even a single 'hi' to let me know that we're still okay."
"I know," Midorima hangs his head lower. "I know."
"It was frustrating, you know, waiting for you to come home and not being aware of when you'll do," Takao says. "Are we okay, though?"
"Yes," Midorima replies tersely. "We're more than that."
Takao stays silent for a few heartbeats until he extends his hand to Midorima. The doctor willingly takes it, intertwining their fingers together and savoring what he's missed for a decade. They used to do this every single day in high school and college, and it's amazing how it still feels wonderfully the same after all these years. "I've missed you, Shin-chan," Takao murmurs. "I thought that you met a girl —"
"I'd never," Midorima stops him before he could continue his sentence, shocked at himself for talking too much even when it is not his habit to do so. Takao is absurd when he assumes that Midorima has replaced him, and it makes Midorima scowl a bit. "Never, Takao."
Neglecting the surprised expression on Takao's features, Midorima leans in, pressing his lips against the other man's. Takao grips the front of Midorima's shirt tightly and holds him closer. When they break away to breathe, Midorima resumes the reddening of his cheeks as a sign of his unease and says, "Fool. It can't be helped, then. I planned for it to be more romantic, but this will do."
"Eh?"
Midorima gets down on a knee and fishes out the velvet box from his pocket, his fingers trembling and breaths coming out in short pants. Takao clasps his hands over his mouth, gasping, "Shin-chan —"
"...Will you marry me, Kazunari?"
"Shin-chan," Takao hums as Midorima peppers kisses along his jaw. He wraps his arms around the taller male as the latter bends to continue his ministrations.
Midorima eyes him closely when he says, "Will you meet me where the world ends?"
He can't help but bestow him a small smile as he kisses his lips again. Their hands find each other, identical silver rings scraping against smooth skin. Midorima has never felt at home before, but now he does. He does, he does, he does. Only with Takao. His Takao.
"Always."
End