AN: So... no excuses. D: I'm just a bad person.

This is a very, very belated present for Killing Kathy, who I owe a tremendous amount of thanks for everything she's done for me. I don't know how I can ever repay you. This fic is an attempt, but, honestly... I'm sorry. A lot of the parts are very (very) short. Ughhhhh... Not to mention it's cheesy as hell. Sometime later, I will gather the effort to clear it up and make it more presentable...

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy. Maybe. *bites nails nervously*

1. Love is patient

Sometimes, some of the bitterness remains.

"Takao. Tea."

He doesn't like to be ordered around. Doesn't enjoy getting up at 6am in the morning, cycling to Midorima's house, taking the other boy to school, taking him home, running after his every want and need.

"Takao, this tea is too faint. Add some more tea leaves."

It's tolerable most of the times. Adapting his routine to fit Midorima's has enabled him to keep something regular going in his own otherwise erratic life. Before he had met Midorima he had been late to school most of the times – since their friendship, he had never failed to be on time.

"Takao, pass me the ball."

Why should I?! He sometimes wants to growl. When the defenders overwhelm them and the power is in his hands, he expands his view to fill the entire court. That is when Takao feels at his most powerful - when the fate of the match rests in his hands, and he can see everything. He doesn't need to look to see that Miyaji is running, that Otsubo is fighting hard for a space, that Midorima stands poised, ready, eyes glittering like emerald jewels, watching him, expectant, waiting.

Sometimes it makes him smile. Even when he turns he smirks towards Shuutoku's ace. Challenges him. What makes you think I'll pass to you, Shin-chan? He wants to ask. A flick of the wrist, and the ball would easily be in Miyaji's hands. Why do you trust me so much?

Sometimes, he truly does not want to pass the ball to him.

But he does, always with a smile that is half triumphant, and half bitter. He never knows if Midorima sees it, always feels as though he has somehow submitted to defeat when he throws, when he sees Midorima catch the ball and score.

Why do I listen to you, Shin-chan?

For all his flaws and extreme lack of expressions, Midorima is generally quite well tolerated within the team, though threats of violence were never too far away. Sometimes it is too easy to forget that he is not just some superstitious machine with an irritating personality. Sometimes, it is too easy to believe that Midorima is not human.

"Ah, Shin-chan, I can't pick you up today. I'm not feeling too well. I can't cycle up that hill again."

There is a pause from the other end of the phone. Midorima does not speak for a long time. "I see," he says, eventually, too calm, too callous. "That is unfortunate. I hope you will recover soon."

And he hangs up, without an additional word, leaving Takao wondering idly whether their proud shooter would cycle himself to school, or walk, or even take the public transport. The image of Midorima huffing and puffing up the hill is more than enough to have him smirking to his mirror.

Twenty minutes later, a sleek, dark car pulls up before Takao's door.

He sees the tinted window roll down, see Midorima's cool, emerald eyes gaze calmly back at him. His glasses only faintly reflect the mouth-open surprise that adorns Takao's face.

"S-Shin-chan, you…!" The sly bastard. "Y-You have a car?"

"Of course," replies Midorima, light eyebrows furrowing slightly. To add insult to injury, he adds: "I have several."

"You – WHAAAAT?!" Takao tries hard to close his jaw. It still does not shut all the way. "Sh-Shin-chan! Then all this time… You have me cycle you up that massive hill to school… Why?!"

"It is good exercise, isn't it?" says Midorima, and a door flicks smoothly open in a whir of electronics. "Get in."

"Ah, but I'm sick – "

"That is no excuse," Midorima glares. "We have basketball practice at the end of today, and I still need to get my lucky item for today." He pauses. "Which is, by the way, a green stuffed turtle."

"You don't need me for that…" Takao whines. It can be difficult to understand Midorima's way of thinking. He was apparently raised on a unique brand of logic unused by any other human being. "I could die from my cold… And besides, I usually go to all the basketball practices, if I practice hard enough, it'll be alright for me to miss one session of training, right?"

Midorima's glare does not soften any. "Do not be so arrogant, you fool." He states, eyes cold behind his glasses. "Now get in."

Takao wonders briefly if this green-haired maniac before him would have dragged him to school even if he is dying of some incurable disease. He stands his ground for a moment, arms folded, and then, finally, with a resigned sigh, tugs open the car door and slips in.

Why can't I win an argument against you, Shin-chan?

Midorima huffs softly, perhaps his own way of expressing his triumph, and turns his eyes resolutely to the window. Typical, Takao thinks, he pesters me until I agree to go with him, and then completely ignores me.

"Where're we going?" The dark haired point guard asked, resting his arms behind his head. "It's too early for school, isn't it?"

"Isn't it obvious, you idiot?" Midorima gives him an exasperated look, as though Takao is the crazy one there. "We are going to get my lucky item. I am not going to start the day without it."

"Riiiight…" Takao groans. "Honestly, Shin-chan, you're old enough to buy your own stuff now. You don't need me tagging along." He coughs with great exaggeration and pretends to slump unenergetically in his seat. "I could die." He tries again.

It doesn't work. "You'll be fine," Midorima asserts, brows knitting faintly together, but after a pause, he adds, almost too quietly for Takao to hear: "Look after yourself."

"What's this? What's this?" The shorter boy – with considerably good hearing – beams at this quiet utterance, sitting up abruptly as the opportunity to tease the other revealed itself mercilessly. "I'm flattered, Shin-chan! You actually care about me! Could it be…!" He gasps in mock surprise and jabs in the direction of Midorima's chest. "Could it be… You actually have a heart?!"

Midorima swats away Takao's hand as though it is a fly. His face flushes slightly. "Don't be ridiculous," he coughs, turning away slightly. "Who else will pass the ball to me if you're gone?"

And all the jibes Takao has prepared in retaliation fade away on his tongue.

Of course. Who else would tolerate their ace's strange, awkward behaviour? Who else would tend to Midorima's every selfish demand, to make his powerful threes possible? Who else would bother to stay by him? Who else does he have?

If not Takao, then no one.

Takao sits back. He watches their now silent shooter, who is currently staring out of the window. Perhaps embarrassed? His face never betrays much. His eyes are cool and thoughtful, chin resting in the palm of his hand. Takao wonders what he is thinking. He has never understood Midorima.

But now, he understands at least a little.

Why do I put up with you, Shin-chan? Why do I listen to your words? Why do I allow you to win our arguments even with logic as backwards as yours? Why do I pass to you when you ask me to?

He thinks he has known the answer all along.

Because I am the only one you have, isn't that right, Shin-chan?

That's why.

I suppose I don't hate you enough to want to break your heart like that.

He rubs his chin, wondering idly how much longer they would remain together. At the rate things were going, it looks like… forever.

He steals a glance towards Midorima. The shooter is looking out of the window, green eyes oddly reflective. Has he come to the same conclusion as Takao? Does he even realize the meaning behind his own actions, or is he, as usual, making his own, selfish demands?

Takao stifles a groan at the very idea of putting up with this kind of man for a whole eternity and beyond.

But he finds that he does not mind that as much as he once thought he would.