POV Midorima
Quentin and I go through warm-ups and drills together. I am not his only kouhai. He spends a great deal of time switching back and forth between little note cards with words from each of our respective languages written out phonetically. My fellows are from London, Madrid, and Mexico and they all speak flawless English. Quentin is disappointed, but he peppers his conversation with our languages to make us feel more at home. The other's appear to humor him; I am grateful even though most of the time he can't pronounce the words, or his words choices are not proper. From what I've gathered from my broken understanding of English is that he is a third-string player and a Small Forward. I can almost have a full conversation about basketball in English. I feel... pathetic.
Once warm-up is over, each of us is given a basket of balls and a hoop to shoot at. The other three set up at the free-throw line and stay there. I begin there for the first ten balls and then I move back to half court.
Even though I am fatigued by the time change, my form is perfect. I've done this every day for seven years, and my body can go through the motions even if my brain checks out. I imagine Takao is just behind me, cracking stupid jokes and singing K-Pop, and I am able to sink into the place where there are only three things in my entire world: my hands, the ball and the rim. Aomine, Murasakibara, and Kagami, maybe even Kise, before his injury, are able to enter "the zone" when play turns to animal instinct and combat, but once I get out on the court, I practically live there. My zone is a purposeful result of training to silence the voices in my head.
When I turn to push the basket to the next distance in my shooting routine, I notice that some of the other senpais and their kouhai have stopped to watch me. This isn't completely unexpected, but I feel my anxiety ratchet up a level. This is like playing every game I've played in Japan since those three championship years at Teiko.
I am twenty for twenty so far and I take a position nearby the 3-point line at the opposite basket to the one I'm working with. I slow down the pace, sinking back on my heels and setting my arms. I don't waste effort on spinning the ball like some players. I breath, I set, I raise, and I shoot. After ten more perfect shoots, I move again.
Everyone is the room is watching me. The arena space is perfect for my high arcs and I put my back foot just inside of the boundary lines of the court. I slow it down another level. My eyes blink slowly, my breathing becomes shallow, and I feel my heart rate drop. I blow out through pursed lips. The rest of the room is banished from my peripheral vision. I've trained to even blank out Takao at this distance. It is just me and my goal. Ten more shots, ten more perfect high arcs.
When I finish, the basket is empty, and I pull it back towards the hoop while every man in the room silently eyes me. I begin refilling the basket ,and I feel Takao's absence in the pit of my stomach.
"Dude, you are off the hook!" Quentin shouts, and offers me a fist bump when he comes over to help me gather up the balls. I respond by holding out my right fist.
"Off the hook?" I ask.
"You are awesome. Understand? That's 'off the hook.'"
"Thank you."
The locker room is buzzing when I exit the shower. Some of the regular players have entered and are signing autographs. I feel short for the first time in my life. I'm wrapped only in a towel, but so are most of the other campers. I have my cell phone case signed by all the regulars. Takao and I have the same brand of phone, so I will send him the case as a present. I have Hyūga's card sighed as well, and I'm grateful that is one thing I can cross of my list of favors to do for friends while I am here.
Once the celebrities leave, I go to my locker next to Quentin's and put on my shorts. I sit on the bench and carefully wrap my fingers.
"Why do you do that?" he asks.
"I don't understand."
"Fingers," he points to them then the tape. "Why?"
"O-Ce-De," I say, knowing that the original words for my disorder originated from the West and hope that I pronounced them correctly.
"Oh," he nods and turns back to his dressing. Inside his locker is a photograph of a young white woman and a child with lovely dark skin the color of creamed coffee. They are all smiling. I tear the last bit of tape with my teeth and secure the final finger. He catches me looking at the photographs.
"My wife, Roxanne and our daughter Elizabeth," he points to each one. "Are you married?" He points at his wedding ring. "Any kids?" He makes a gesture like he is rocking a baby. The fact that he has to use gestures to help me understand, makes me feel even worse.
"Wife? Kids?" I shake my head, "No."
I'm reaching for my shirt when he points to my chest.
"Cool ink? What does it say?"
"Ink? I don't understand." I'm getting sick of how well I can say that phrase.
"Your tattoo." He gets up and pokes me. "What does it say?"
"Kazunari," I tell him, and as I say that name I know my face reflects all the emotions that go along with it. He puts his hand on my shoulder.
"What does that mean?"
I think of the kanji's literal meanings of 'becoming' and 'peaceful,' but that's not what it means to me.
"Name of my lover," I say, hoping that makes sense in English.
"Oh! Nice. Do you have pictures?" He points to his photographs. "You know pictures, right?"
I nod and take out my cell phone. I carry both of them everywhere I go, and it takes only a few swipes to pull up my favorite photograph of the two of us. I don't remember the circumstances, but we are standing close together and we are sharing his ear buds so we can both listen to a song. Kise took the picture. He said it was 'kawaii.' Takao's smile is shy, yet radiant, and I have a curious look on my face.
"Name Takao Kazunari," I say, and point at his smiling face as I hand over the phone. Quentin is startled and his brow creases as he takes a second look at me, then the phone.
"You are a good looking couple," he finally says. He turns away and makes a quick call while I finish dressing.
Author note: I really appreciate everyone who stops by and reads "Partners. "While it has more chapters coming, I am thinking of doing a sequel. I would really appreciate reviews so I can decide what to do. Feedback would be wonderful for the decision process. Thank again for reading.