Warning: n/a
Disclaimer: when the only person that can beat aomine isn't aomine— oh wait
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I finally got off my lazy butt and wrote this chapter. CAN I GET A HALLELUJAH? No? Ok. But on a more serious note, I'm sorry for another late update, but hey, you get a super long chapter, so it's sorta-kinda worth the wait, yes? c; Aha, anyways, enjoy, my darlings ~

To say that Midorima was content with the arrangement of things now wasn't exactly an overstatement. For the last ten days, Takao had proved himself helpful; he cooked and cleaned without being asked to, went out every other day to find the lucky item, and kept Midorima company. It wasn't that Midorima liked Takao's company. Rather, he appreciated it. Though he would never admit it, his guest enriched his daily life. Instead of getting up and dragging himself to work as usual, he had the option to sit down and hold a conversation with the other over breakfast. Same went with lunch and dinner.

Takao wasn't the best company; given, he could discuss topics with a serious undertone, but of course, that was rare. The sole reason why Midorima felt attracted to him was because he was interesting. When Takao told his stories, whether they were true or not, it perked Midorima's curiosity even more. Some tales were about the adventures he went through; others hinted at another subject. But even after ten days of this, he still didn't understand Takao.

He didn't fear asking. Much like before, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. The thought 'it's probably not as bad as it seems' crept through his mind, but immediately afterwards, it clashed with 'what if it is?' So he decided to conceal his questions. After all, the memory of what happened last time when he asked the other something personal continued to haunt him to this day.

Midorima hated it. Every time the image of Takao reaching into his pants crossed his mind, he would freeze in the middle of what he was doing and will the thought away. It wasn't only that; the look Takao gave him also factored into everything else, and if there was anything that lingered on his mind more, it was that look.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he removed the toothbrush from his mouth and allowed a soft breath to escape. He needed to stop thinking about these things; not only did it bother him, but it also interfered with his focus.

"Dammit."

With a final attempt to shove the thought away, Midorima regained his composure and proceeded to rinse out his mouth. After splashing his face with water and dabbing it dry, he leaned into the mirror and squinted at his blurred figure. The corners of his eyes were beginning to crinkle due to age, but fortunately, it wasn't as visible as some others'. Figuring it was best not to dwell on something like this and instead turn his attention on things that were more important, Midorima grabbed his glasses and put them on. From there, he headed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to make breakfast.

The first thing he noticed was that Takao wasn't back yet. It wasn't, by any means, strange, though. If he remembered correctly, the other left to buy his lucky item (a stuffed rabbit) ten minutes ago. The closest store was five minutes away, and taking that information, he concluded that Takao should be back within the next fifteen minutes, which gave Midorima plenty of time to prepare the morning meal.

Keeping that in mind, he began to boil water.

Before Takao came, he had never been complimented on his cooking before. When it came to making anything to eat, he simply threw things together and that was that; some of it didn't taste as good as others did in his opinion, but when Takao barged in and consumed everything he had cooked, he was told that his food was "the best ever." To this day, Midorima wasn't sure whether his company was simply saying that or if he actually enjoyed it. Whichever it was, he liked to think that his cooking wasn't that bad; after all, Takao hadn't gotten sick from it yet.

Musing, Midorima moved toward the sink, but before he could turn it on, he heard the door open and someone rush in. A few seconds later, he greeted by the sound of puking. That wasn't good.

Without another thought, Midorima ushered out of the kitchen and glanced around the living room. No one was around, but the blenching continued on his right. If he was fortunate, Takao— if it was Takao— managed to make it to his bathroom.

After shutting and locking the front door, he proceeded to his bedroom. By now, the puking had stopped, and in its place was the horrid stench. Though he wrinkled his nose at it, Midorima wasn't much fazed; he continued onward until he stood at the door of his bath.

"Takao?"

Instead of the usual cheerful response, Takao ignored him and retracted into ball; he was curled up against the wall, his arms tightened around his legs, his face buried in his knees. It reminded Midorima of the first time the met; Takao was in this exact position. The only difference was that he was shaking and crying.

It wasn't a violent shake but a mere tremble. Either way, Midorima found himself concerned. He didn't know Takao frontwards and backwards, but he knew him well enough to know that something had happened.

His first step toward the other was hesitant, and Midorima wasn't sure why. He had dealt with this before— Takao was just another sick kid, right? If that was the case, then why was he hesitating? He had gone to school for ten years for the sole purpose of treating sick people, and now, he was considering backing off? Given, Takao was no longer a child, but that didn't make him any different. A pediatrician was a doctor trained specifically to help kids, but no where on his certificate did it say he could ignore those that weren't younger than eighteen.

Brushing off these thoughts and shoving away his hesitation, Midorima took a few more steps in and then crouched down in front of the other. Takao, again, didn't bother with him.

"Takao," he said. "Are you feeling sick in your stomach?" When he didn't receive an immediate response, Midorima reached over and placed a hand on his guest's shoulder. This hand was smacked away.

"Don't touch me." Takao's voice was raspy, but his unusual stern tone sent a clear message.

Drawing back, Midorima stood up and, without another word, walked out of the bathroom. He figured it was best not to push the subject. Takao knew he was a doctor; if he needed his help, then he would say something. Keeping that in mind, he returned to the kitchen.

Midorima didn't, however, go back to preparing breakfast. Instead, with the boiled water, he decided it was more beneficial to make tea. When he was done, his ears perked to the sound of water running. Such told him that Takao was now up on his feet. That was a good sign.

With a cup of tea in his right hand, he made his way back to the bathroom. Upon his arrival, Takao was leaning over the running sink, his hair damp from being touched by water. He didn't make a move to shut the faucet off, so Midorima did that for him. And he almost wish he hadn't. Since the water was no longer running, silence camped out in between them. He wanted to ask questions, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out, so he settled with a simple greeting.

"Here," he offered, placing the cup of tea next to Takao's hand, which, he noted, was white from clenching the side of the sink.

He expected to be ignored, but this time, that wasn't the case. Takao, though generally unresponsive before, muttered a word of thanks before moving his pale fingers around the cup. As he lifted it to his lips, a few strands of his bangs fell back, revealing the side of his face. Midorima caught a glimpse of something dark, and with a glance at Takao's reflection, he confirmed his observation. Around his guest's right eye were blotches of purple and red that had bloomed to create a shadow of a black eye. The moment this clicked in Midorima's head, he reached out, grabbed Takao's shoulders, and jerked him around to face him.

"What happened?" he demanded.

He could see it clearly now; the area surrounding the other's eye was bruised, and his eyelid— the one he didn't bother keeping open— was swelled. Midorima had seen multiple black eyes and bruises before due to his job but not one that was in the process of turning dark. Such sight made his stomach churn.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Takao shoved his hands off his shoulder and attempted to move past him, but Midorima stayed rooted in his spot. The fingers that were wrapped around the other tightened, keeping him in place. In response, Takao ducked his head and allowed his bangs to curtain his gaze.

"Who did this to?" When he didn't get a response, he shook him. "Answer me!"

"No one! I fell off the bike—"

"Bullshit, Takao. Falling off your bike does not result in this."

Again, his guest tried to pull away, but Midorima kept his grip firm. This, however, didn't seem like the right move. Takao's visible eye peered up at him, and though it was barely noticeable, there was a hint of distaste in the look it was giving. By now, Midorima was used to seeing the wide, smiling eyes, but this look— this glare— was something new. The eye was slitted and sharply observant; the pupil, though usually a lovely shade of pale blue, had been darkened to gray. It was as if all traces of childish innocence had left him.

"I was mugged," Takao answered at last. His words were curled with poison, matching well with the glare he was giving him.

Midorima loosened his grasp on the shoulders before removing his hands completely. "What did they look like?"

The other shook his head. "Didn't get a good look at him." He then turned to the side and began nudging past him. "It's nothing. I'll be fine."

Perhaps it was his doctor-like instinct or the returning pity— whatever it was, Midorima felt inclined to help. Picking up one of Takao's arm, he draped it around his shoulders. He then wrapped his own arm around the figure's back, holding him up in place. Much to his fortunate, Takao didn't resist.

"Does your stomach still hurt?"

Again, he was given a headshake.

"No. I just ... need to lay down."

As Midorima maneuvered him over to his bed— he decided that it was easier for both of them to travel to the bed rather than the couch— he analyzed the other. Takao wasn't, by any means, beaten up to the point in which he needed to be transferred to the hospital. If anything, the black eye was the only proof that something had happened to him on the way to or from the store. He also appeared shaken. Though the visible trembling had worn off, Midorima could still feel him shift a few times under his arm.

When they reached the foot of the bed, his arm slipped down to Takao's waist to help hoist him up. Though his guest stumbled and faltered a little, he, nevertheless, managed to climb onto the mattress and curl up underneath the covers. Neither of them spoke for awhile, but when Midorima turned to go out of the room, Takao piped up.

"Ne, Shin-chan."

Midorima glanced over his shoulder at the figure that was buried under the bundle of blankets. "What is it?"

The fort of covers shifted slightly, but Takao remained silent. After a few seconds of waiting for an answer, Midorima turned away. "I'll bring you some ice," he said.

As he made his way back to the kitchen, he picked up his cellphone and dialed work. Within three rings, a cheerful voice greeted him. Unlike most others at seven in the morning, Momoi was up and about, and though he knew that she sometimes dreaded her job, her voice remained bright. She reminded him much of Kise and Takao; it was rare for her— or any of them— to frown, but of course, they were all human. He had seen Momoi and Kise frown before, but today was the first time he had seen something other than a smile on Takao's face.

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, Midorima requested his schedule for the day. For the next few moments, he heard papers shuffling, and when Momoi came back on the phone, she told him that he had an appointment in two hours and another one at noon. Hearing this, his eyebrows furrowed. Chances were, those two appointments were for physical check ups, else they would've been scheduled earlier. Holding onto his conclusion, he asked the receptionist if Kise could take over those two appointments for him. When he was asked why, Midorima found himself telling her that Takao was sick. She didn't need any further explanation. Once he traded a couple of more words with the pink-haired female, she told him to get off the phone and take care of his guest, and Midorima did just that.

With a bag of ice in his hands, he returned to his bedroom. Takao was still huddled under the covers, and when Midorima tapped him, he didn't budge. It took multiple of tries after that to get him to show his face, and when he did, he took the bag of ice and then turned away.

Midorima wanted to say something, but again, he was unable to speak. His gaze lingered on the opposing figure, observing the position Takao was in among other aspects. As he did this, he became wary of the clock ticking. It was much too quiet around here.

Sighing, he shifted toward the bathroom, but before he could reach it, he heard Takao's voice calling out to him.

"Shin-chan."

There was no denying it. The moment he heard his nickname, his heart began picking up speed. Did something happen? Was Takao in pain again? He turned around.

"Do you need something?"

Takao eased the blankets down his face and tilted his head slightly so that Midorima could see the blackened eye. "Stay beside me," he requested. Midorima wasn't sure if he heard correctly, but there was definitely an underlying tone of desperation.

"I'll be in the bathroom," he paused for a bit, "but I'll be here if you need anything."

He didn't get a verbal reply, but he did get a small smile, and that was enough for him.

— x — o — x —

They had dinner together that night. Takao, by this point, wasn't back to his usual talkative self, but he had been improving since this morning. His stomach, according to him, had settled and was okay with eating stir fry vegetables and miso soup. It was a relief on Midorima's part; he had never babysat anyone before, and though Takao could very well take care of himself, he was still a burden.

After they cleared away the table, Midorima asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time today, if Takao felt all right. He was given a nod in response. They then traded good nights, and with that, parted ways.

Midorima was engaged in a page-turning novel when Takao stepped in not twenty minutes later. When his eyes caught sight of the other standing at the door, he put his book down and straightened up.

"Takao," he said.

Takao, by any means, didn't look sick; he actually managed to hold himself upright. Furthermore, aside from the dark circle surrounding his right eye, he appeared fine. And when he walked to the open side of the bed, his stance did not falter.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Midorima blinked. The question hovered in the air, creating another hanging silence in between them. When it finally sunk in, his brow creased.

"What's wrong with the couch?"

His guest's eyes shifted to the side, indicating his hesitation, but after some nervous movements with his hands, his gaze returned.

"Nothing. I might get sick in the middle of the night. I just thought it would be better if I'm closer to the bathroom."

He did have a point. Though the carpet in the living room wasn't his main concern, Midorima didn't like the idea of cleaning puke up and then getting a new carpet. Not to mention, if Takao were to get sick, it would be easier to assist him— but that still meant he would either have to share the bed or sleep on the floor. He was unwilling to do both, but the latter idea seemed worse, and he wasn't going to make Takao sleep on the floor; he wasn't that cruel. With his mind made up, Midorima shifted over to one side of the bed.

"Stay on your side of the bed," he said while picking his novel back up.

"All right!"

Midorima didn't bother replying; his attention was back on the words printed on each page of the book. This attention, however, began to flicker when he became aware of a pair of eyes on him. He managed to ignore it for another five minutes, but after that, he had to approach the subject.

Casting his gaze over to the dark-haired figure, Midorima quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

Takao tilted his head slightly. "You have long eyelashes."

Such statement alerted him. Of course, he had many compliments on said eyelashes before, but up to this day, he still wasn't good at accepting them. If anything, it humiliated him. Men like him weren't supposed to have long eyelashes! But he didn't have a choice; they had grown out, and there was nothing he could do about them. They didn't bother him; like his upper lashes, they were just there. It was only when someone pointed them out did he actually feel conscious of them being there.

"That was a compliment," Takao added as if he had been observing Midorima's distorted expression. "They're pretty."

Feeling the temperature creep up in his cheeks, Midorima reached up and adjusted his glasses out of embarrassment. "Eyelashes can't be pretty."

A smile eased its way over Takao's lips. "But Shin-chan's eyelashes are."

Deciding it was best to ignore that comment, Midorima jerked his attention back to the novel in his hand. Much to his luck, the conversation ended there.

For the next hour, he continued to read, and by time he got to the seventh chapter of the book, Takao had already fallen asleep. He glanced at the clock, and after realizing that it was late, he bookmarked the page he was on and placed it, along with his glasses, on the nightstand. With a final look over his shoulder at the sleeping figure, he turned off the lights and slipped under the covers.

— x — o — x —

Takao's mind worked in a particular way; once he was permitted to do something, apparently it was okay for him to continue doing it. Midorima came to this conclusion on the third morning he woke up with the other lying next to him.

He only agreed to let Takao sleep in his bed for one night— and that was because there was a possibility that he could get sick. The second night, even though he pleaded, Midorima shooed him back to the couch. But somehow, without him knowing, his guest had slipped in bed with him in the middle of the night. Needless to say, Midorima's reaction yesterday morning wasn't the best.

And this morning wasn't any different.

After putting his glasses on, Midorima pushed himself into a sitting position, and with his now clear vision, he peered over at the sleeping figure.

Takao had a face of a child. His pale skin was young and unblemished, his facial features drawn to perfection. The only thing that set him apart from others was the bruise around his eye. Two full days had passed, and from the looks of it, it was getting better; the color, a fair shade of black before, had faded a little. In a week or two, it should turn yellow and eventually disappear.

Turning away, Midorima swung his legs off the bed and stood up. This movement evidently caused Takao to wake up.

"Eh ... Shin-chan? Is it six already?" He heard a yawn, and then— "Ow, ow! What did you hit me for!" Takao peered up at him with a pout. "I'm already in pain!"

Midorima was tempted to reach out and smack the other's head again, but figuring that that wouldn't do any good for either of them, he decided against it.

"I didn't say you could sleep in my bed," he replied, his words cold.

"You let me yesterday—" Takao began with a slight whine in his tone.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Today is the last day. Do you understand?"

Though his guest continued to pout, he, with every bit of reluctance, agreed.

But of course, when it came time for Midorima to go to bed, he was bombarded with the same question he had heard the previous three nights: "Can I sleep here tonight?"

His answer, as always, was immediate: "No." And it took him four more no's to finally get the other out of his bedroom.

Midorima wasn't stupid. He knew that, once he was fast asleep, Takao would sneak into bed with him. So this time, after he turned off the lights and settled under the covers, he stayed awake and waited. True to his thought, about thirty minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching him. Since the light wasn't on, his sight was limited, but he could still make out Takao's blurry figure as he climbed onto the mattress. He then expected Takao to turn away and fall asleep, but that wasn't so.

"Are you awake, Shin-chan?"

He wasn't one to be scared easily, but when the other spoke up, he jumped a little. How did Takao know he wasn't asleep? Was it a coincidence, or did he actually know?

As he dwelled over this, the figure next to him shifted, and before he could digest any actions, Takao was hovering over him. Now trapped in between the other's arms, Midorima could only stare up at the looming shadow. His heart, by now, was pounding against his chest. The position he was in made him uncomfortable, and with each passing second, the thumping in his ears got louder.

"You stopped breathing when I came in," Takao murmured. "That's how I knew."

Though he was given an explanation, Midorima didn't bother to acknowledge it. He was much too involved in their current stance to pay attention to anything else.

"Ne, are you going to say something?"

Midorima parted his mouth to reply, but all he could get out was a single word: "Takao." His throat seemed closed up, but that wasn't what he was focused on.

Despite his lack of vision, he could see and feel Takao getting closer, and at this moment, his heart might have very well stopped. He hadn't felt this way in many years— the twisting and turning in his stomach, the blazing heat in his cheeks— they were foreign responses.

"Are you going to push me away?" When Takao asked this question, his warm breath tickled Midorima's lips— a fact indicating that their faces were only a few centimeters away. "Can I kiss you?"

Yes.

Though his mind answered for him, Midorima couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He was conflicted; no, he didn't want Takao to kiss him. Takao was still a child, and not to mention, they haven't gotten that close yet. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than to yank the other down and claim his lips.

He had never felt this way toward Takao before—

No. If he said that, then he would be lying to himself.

During the incident a few weeks ago when Takao wanted to 'thank him', Midorima couldn't deny the way his stomach curled out of excitement. Yes, he was thrown into a state of confusion back then, but that didn't stop his body from reacting like a teenager's.

And that was how his body was reacting now. Years of suppressing his desire was coming back in a rush, and Takao wasn't helping much by asking him that question.

"Hey."

When he felt lips brushing against his own, Midorima squeezed his eyes shut. He should push him away— he should—

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Okay.

Their lips touched briefly a few more times before Takao leaned down connected their mouths. At this point, it was difficult to breathe. The heat emitting from the other's body suffocated him. He couldn't move, and judging from Takao's frozen posture, he couldn't either. After a few seconds of staying rigid in this position, his guest pulled back a little.

"Don't forget to breathe, Shin-chan," he murmured.

Midorima exhaled— slowly at first— and once he sucked in a breath, the mouth was back on his.

The first thing he tasted was not Takao's lips but his tongue; after prodding his mouth open, it slipped in and touched his own. Such action sent a shiver down his spine, but Midorima didn't pay it any mind. Instead, he parted his lips even more and accepted the entry. Given the invitation, Takao pressed in and curled his tongue around Midorima's. What first started out as a dance between the two quickly escalated into a fight for dominance. Midorima, now engaged in the kiss, cradled the other's cheeks and attempted to shove the foreign tongue back into its home. This wasn't as simple as it seemed. Takao, with his fingers threading through the soft green locks, fought his way back into Midorima's mouth.

In addition to the battle happening between their lips, their hands began to wander. Desperate fingers clawed at the layers separating them, and the need for skin contact drove them wild.

A small part of him was ashamed of his rash decision to permit this activity, but pure want— need— dominated him. He fought for sanity, but in the end, he let himself fall into oblivion.

— x — o — x —

They didn't talk about it, but Midorima no longer cared whether Takao slept in the same bed with him or not.

It was also a wonder how quickly he adapted to waking up next to someone. Just two days after their eventful night, he was already well accustomed to the heat emitting from the person lying beside him.

In all honesty, he liked it. Though they weren't romantically involved, Midorima found peace waking up with Takao. It made him feel, in a strange way, less lonely.

With a soft sigh leaving his lips, Midorima rolled over and opened his eyes to find that he was a breath away from the other. Takao was sound asleep, his facial expression neutral, relaxed. Soft snores touched the silence in harmony with the rise and fall of his chest.

Figuring that he shouldn't disturb Takao's slumber, Midorima shifted to his side of the bed and sat up. After patting around the nightstand, he retrieved his glasses and put them on. With clearer vision, he glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping figure once more. This time, instead of noticing Takao's steady breathing, his eyes caught sight of something sticking out from underneath his pillow. Curious as to what it was, Midorima reached over and pulled it out. When he had the object in the palm of his hands, he stared at it.

It took him a few moments to register what it was, and when it dawned down upon him, Midorima immediately yanked the covers off of his guest and began patting down the other's body to make sure there weren't any more of this item. During this action, Takao stirred.

"Ah ... Shin-chan, what are you ..."

Before Takao could finish rubbing his eyes, Midorima retracted his hands and hastily got off the bed. With the object still clutched in his hand, he stumbled back a safe distance.

"Shin-chan? What's wrong?"

While Takao sat up, Midorima noted the confusion in the other's eyes. When said eyes landed on the item in his hand, Takao's expressions changed. Not giving him a chance to explain himself, Midorima spoke up.

"What is this?" he demanded, holding up the object in his right hand.

His guest seemed frantic. "Let me explain—"

Was an explanation really needed? There was only one reason Midorima could think of for someone to bring a pocketknife to bed.

"Were you planning to kill me, Takao?"