As we sit in opposite armchairs in Kuroko's admittedly rather spacious front room, I wonder if the man owns any nice clothes that actually fit him. Admittedly, it was in fashion back in the nineties to wear clothes that were several sizes too big, but Kuroko's attire falls so far outside of that style or era that it physically pains me.

The suit is one of the finest I have seen in a long time, and I spent over a decade-and-a-half at the top of the legal profession. A genuine Ascot Chang, in pale grey; beautifully stitched, every detail perfect, and utterly, entirely too big for the man wearing it. I admit to being something of a snob when it comes to menswear, but why in God's name would you pay four-hundred-thousand yen for a suit that doesn't even fit properly? It is inconceivable that any tailor would let him walk out the door in that suit without it being tailored within an inch of its life, which leads me to believe that this disgustingly oversized work of art must be a hand-me-down.

My own attire was an easy choice – all but one of my suits are currently in storage, due to the limited space in the hotel. However, every man needs at least one nice suit. And while this is by no means my most expensive or fancy piece of menswear (yes, I am a snob – sue me), this is a fucking exceptional suit. While not the most name-grabbing brand, I have always loved Jil Sander for their simple yet dramatic cuts and sleek, almost androgynous fit. This particular suit is a virgin-wool and mohair blend in a subtle yet sleek dark blue, tailored through four fittings and paired with a pale-blue Thomas Pink dress shirt. Kuroko's red necktie fits with the colour-scheme remarkably well and means that I don't have to worry about stuffing it into my jacket pocket to appease Oha Asa.

Despite my utter disinterest in Japanese basketball, I must admit I am beginning to look forward to the game tonight. Putting my indecipherably complex feelings about seeing Akashi again to one side, we are going to watch two of the greatest competitors I have ever played against go head-to-head, and as Kuroko takes me through the recent history of the two competing teams, I have to say my interest is piqued.

"Kuroko... who do you think will win tonight?"

He doesn't answer for a little while, and then shrugs.

"I've lived in Tokyo for most of my life, Midorima-kun, so I've always had a soft spot for Alvark."

"I suppose Kagami being there helps."

"He's my best friend, even now, so there will forever be a part of me that cheers him on... But I'm not sure who will win tonight. When Kagami-kun first came back to Japan, the team had to adjust to his play style, and Alvark have always had exceptional players at the guard positions. Historically, they've focussed a lot on guard-focussed isolation plays and the pick-and-roll, but Kagami-kun doesn't play especially well with that style... certainly not at first. But he plays well with the point guard, Kojima-kun, and since the injury he's taking a lot more three-point shots and making more post-up plays than he did in the States."

"What about Aomine and the SeaHorses?"

Kuroko smiles, and shakes his head.

"It might be hard to believe, but Alvark, pound-for-pound, have better players. Their center spent his rookie and sophomore years with the San Antonio Spurs before moving to Tokyo, and their shooting guard plays with the Greek national team, which as you can imagine lends itself well to supporting a player like Kagami-kun. On top of this, Captain Kojima-kun is a perennial Japanese All-Star. But Aomine has been the franchise player for the SeaHorses since he was drafted, and got made Captain two years ago. The coaching staff and the Manager have done a great job building a team around him from the ground up. Their team-play is the best in the entire B. League. They get more assists-per-game than any other team in their conference, they've surrounded Aomine with great shooters who can space the floor, and this season they brought in Izuki-kun from the Nagoya Diamond Dolphins as a starting point guard."

"Izuki Shun? I didn't know he had gone professional."

"Izuki-kun has done very well for himself in the B. League, and I think the SeaHorses are a very good fit for him. His passing and vision make a lot of good opportunities for Aomine-kun to score, and he won Defensive Player of the Year twice with the Diamond Dolphins. They have won the Championship twice in the last three years. Oh, and they have Reo Mibuchi at the shooting guard position."

That... is a horrifyingly talented team. I know that Kagami thrives on strong competition, but the idea of anybody playing against this team is enough to make me sweat. I am well-aware of my status as the best shooter ever to play in Japanese high-school basketball. However, I am not deluded enough to believe that, overall, I was the best shooting-guard in my class. That honour must go to Reo Mibuchi, for his versatility; his ability to make threes and mid-range shots from any angle, and against overwhelming defence; and for his overall level of skill and athleticism that rounded out the other aspects of his game. He was never the most popular player with those who just watched the game, but for those who played... Well, all I will say is that much like Kuroko's overly passionate high-school Captain, Reo Mibuchi is a player that every other shooting-guard in the league watched and took notes on. For him to now be playing alongside Aomine and Izuki Shun... what an utterly terrifying team. What ridiculous balance between scoring, passing, and defence. What overwhelming talent in the individual match-ups.

"I would imagine that Mikawa SeaHorses are the overwhelming favourites, then."

Kuroko shakes his head ever-so-slightly.

"Mikawa are always the favourites to win the Championship overall, but when it comes to this specific matchup, it can go either way, and often with dramatic results. This is Kagami-kun we are talking about."

The phantom sixth man makes a good point. How else were Serin able to be the first team in a decade to beat Rakuzan to the Winter Cup? We've all seen it happen repeatedly, throughout high-school; any team that Kagami plays on could be thirty-points down entering the third quarter, against any opponent, and still have a strong chance of coming away with something. The man has a competitive drive unlike any I have seen in Japanese basketball, comparable only, in my mind, to Bird, Jordan, Kobe, and maybe Russell Westbrook. Aomine can dominate an entire game and put up 50 points without breaking a sweat, on any given night. But Kagami could play a terrible three-quarters, and then suddenly drop thirty points in the final ten minutes. I am looking forward to this.

I am looking forward to this.

Seeing Kuroko play basketball from my balcony that day broke the seal on the grave in which I buried my love for the game. I may not like this fact, but I cannot deny the steady beat in my chest that I have felt since this morning. My body may have betrayed me, and I may be less than a shadow of my former self, but something has clicked in my spirit that is almost eager to see Aomine and Kagami go at each other after all these years. It is entirely possible that I am only feeling thus as a way of distracting myself from the fact that Akashi will be there, but to watch driven, competitive basketball again, after all these years, where anything could happen? A brief smile comes to my face as I think about how less than a week ago, the day that I am having would have seemed impossible to me. And as much as I would never tell him this, I have a sneaking suspicion that Kuroko Tetsuya may have come back into my life at exactly the right time.

Just in time to save me, maybe.

The vibrating of my phone interrupts my thoughts, and I shoot Kuroko an apologetic smile as I check the Caller ID.

It is Fujiko.

I mute the ringtone and put the phone back in my pocket.

Kuroko raises an eyebrow questioningly at me.

"It's okay to take it, Midorima-kun."

I shake my head and take a deep breath.

"It is only Fujiko, and she has no reason to need to contact me."

"Doesn't she? She is the mother of your son, is she not?"

He makes a good point, but it doesn't change much. Even when we were married and living together, I had very little to do with Hiro, and was rarely, if ever, consulted on anything to do with his upbringing. It was a rigidly traditional version of the nuclear family that the Midorima family subscribed to, where I was responsible for ensuring that Fujiko had enough money to raise our son, that the bills were paid, the cars were full, and the bins were changed. Beyond that, Fujiko took on the role as parent. She had no natural affinity for the role, but it never occurred to us to let this have any impact on our lives. My interactions with our son were largely limited to dinner-table conversations, and the odd hour in the evening where I would work in my office, and Hiro would sit on my knee, staring at whatever legislation or spreadsheet I was poring over at the time. I am relatively certain that he learned much of literacy (and patterns of speaking) from reading these documents over my shoulder. And in those two sentences, I realise that I have just about summed up the entirety of my parenting. Fujiko does not need me in order to look after our son, and they are both, truthfully better off without me.

Of course, there is no way I'm going to explain all this to Kuroko, so instead, I just nod.

"As far as I am aware, she will receive sole custody in the divorce, and we have made it clear that we will not be communicating except through lawyers."

Despite my assurances, he doesn't seem to want to let the subject drop.

"If Fujiko knows this, doesn't that make it more likely that she is calling about something important?"

I roll my eyes, and I notice with curiosity a small pit of what feels an awful lot like anger resting at the bottom of my stomach. Anger at Fujiko for intruding on a moment where I was allowing myself to get excited about the sport I once loved. For intruding on a moment that I was spending with... Well, spending time with Kuroko, at least after this morning, is beginning to feel ever so slightly what spending time with a friend might feel like.

"If Fujiko needs male assistance with anything, she should bloody well call Katashi, okay? I..."

A deep, calming breath.

"A clean break, Kuroko. That's what I need, that's the only way I have any chance of getting any kind of momentum."

Kuroko pauses in pensive thought, and then, in a voice that is soft and understanding,

"Midorima-kun... Unfortunately, a clean break is not something that's going to be possible for you."

"Why not?"

His face seems to steel a little, and I can see conviction in his eyes.

"You are not entitled to a clean break. From your cheating wife, maybe, but you are a father. Regardless of your opinion on what kind of father you were, you have a responsibility to make sure that your son knows what kind of father you are, and what kind of father you will be for the rest of his childhood. Marriages end, but children are forever... have you even spoken to Hiro since you walked out?"

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I lower my eyes, unable to meet his.

I have not spoken to my son in twenty days. I have barely thought about my son for twenty days.

Kuroko reads my answer in my face and posture, and sighs. And then, all of a sudden, his face sets into the determination and single-mindedness that I recognise so well from his basketball career, when the chips were down and it was clutch time.

"Midorima-kun... you need to see your son. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow... but if you don't arrange some form of meeting with your son, I swear to God I will drag you to their house myself."

He means it.

"I am not joking, Mirodima-kun. Enjoy today – God knows you've earned that. But tomorrow, you need to arrange a time in the week where you can sit down with your son and actually talk to him."

And despite my every thought and feeling screaming at me that this is none of Kuroko's fucking business, I know, deep down, that he is right. He is exactly right. And I am just going to have to accept it.

Respectfully, thankfully, I incline my head in his direction.

"I will... Thank you, Kuroko."

He nods gruffly, and then goes silent for a moment.

"Midorima-kun..."

"What is it?"

And he looks me dead in my eyes, and I can see that it is still clutch time.

"I am your friend. Forget history. Forget that blood-type incompatibility nonsense, and forget whatever weird, deluded views you have on the matter. I'm your friend, no matter what."

And once again, I have absolutely zero response – every conversation with him is a series of curveballs that I just have to watch fly by.

"And that means I've got your back, it means that I care, and it means that I care enough to call you out when you're being a dick. Whether you like it or not, that's how it is."

For a moment, I cannot speak. And then, barely audible, I manage a simple,

"Yes."

Akashi's driver picks us up in possibly the quietest car I have ever not-heard coming down the road – a beautiful, cherry red, electric Lexus US 300e, with tinted windows and one of the smoothest turning circles I've ever seen. Kuroko and I both head for the back seats, and the journey to the arena is such a beautiful taste of mundane normality that it's almost enough to take my mind off the last couple of weeks. Kuroko chatters away to me about nothing and everything: middle-school basketball coaching, the best vanilla milkshakes in Tokyo, the rattling noise in his shower that he just can't fix for the life of him, the mechanics of Kagami's three-point shooting and its comparison to my own, the architectural layout of Akashi's private box at the Arena Tachikawa Tachihi... inane, meaningless babble, and it is indescribably comforting. After the emotionally charged declaration of friendship that he threw at me earlier, this car journey feels like that in action – Kuroko is here, he is with me, and it doesn't seem to be a burden on him in the slightest. The man is quite content to ramble on and accept my nods, grunts, and the occasional question as conversation enough. As such, the car journey passes by relatively quickly, even with the Tokyo traffic, and without ever once checking the time, until I eventually see the looming figure of the Arena Tachikawa Tachihi through the window, as we pull into a spacious and near-to-overflowing car park.

"Have you ever been here before, Midorima-kun?"

I shake my head, still staring out of window.

"Never this arena. I went to a Tokyo game with my uncle when I was younger, but they were still Toyota Alvark then."

Kuroko nods, as the driver began to slowly take us around the car park's one-way system.

"Was your uncle a fan?"

I don't smile, but were I a different man entirely, I might have.

"More than a fan. Believe it or not, he used to play for the National team back in the day."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, Uncle Kohaku. Used to play the point, but he was only ever a bench player... He always said he never minded, though, because it meant he got to learn a lot from Shirogane-san."

"I never knew that... None of my relatives even like basketball, although my grandparents came to a couple of the Serin games back in the day... truth be told, I was never sure how much of this was to support me, and how much of it was because my grandma though Kagami-kun had nice legs."

It's then that I realise that Kuroko makes me laugh. Not in this specific instance, but I have smiled and laughed more in the last twenty-four hours that I have in a long time before then, and the only noticeable difference is the presence (an ironic choice of words for one so devoid of it, I know) of this man. This quiet, kind, weird as fuck man who has, out of nowhere, fallen into my circumstances and done his level best to make them that little bit better the only way I think he knows how – with his basketball.

Did I know? As his eyes met mine from across the street that day, did I somehow sense that the simple act of him waving at me was him crashing into my orbit? Did I feel the tell-tale tugging of red string at my fingertips as I heard his basketball from my hotel room? The answer to these questions is, of course, no – such thinking is fanciful, illogical, and utterly absurd... and yet Kuroko himself is fanciful, illogical, and utterly absurd.

He makes me laugh. I can't believe he makes me laugh.

It is a little too late that I realise that I've been staring at him, and he's eyeing me up with an expression that is equal parts confused and concerned. I offer him a shrug by way of explanation.

"Your grandma makes a valid point... Kagami does have nice legs."

He flashes me a shit-eating grin, and the awkwardness of the moment is defused. His smile is embarrassingly infectious.

Akashi's driver pulls into what appears to be a private bay, and I'm surprised to see that most of the spaces are filled by cars identical to this one: cherry red electric Lexus's.

"Akashi does not seem to go much for variety, does he?"

Kuroko chuckles.

"Well, he does own them."

"Obviously."

"No, you misunderstand... he owns Lexus."

I may not have kept any kind of eye on Akashi's businesses over the years, but I am sure that that cannot be right.

"Akashi cannot own Lexus, surely."

Kuroko nods enthusiastically.

"He's a majority shareholder in Toyota, so while he doesn't own the company, he owns a great deal of the stock. Last time I was here he talked about how he's putting money into the development of new electric luxury cars, and how they're building him a custom limousine."

Apparently, Akashi has his fingers in even more pies than his father did.

"Kuroko... just how rich is Akashi, anyway?"

He shrugs, as the driver pulls into a parking space.

"I couldn't say, but as I understand it, he invests a lot of money into already successful businesses, and uses the money made from that to fund things that he's interested in, like electric energy, or setting up Shogi tournaments. He outbid the NHK to become the main sponsor of their Shogi tournament, so it's been renamed the SAK Cup."

Damn. That is impressive. How in the hell did Akashi become bigger than the god-damn NHK?

The car is so quiet that I barely notice when the engine shuts off. With a grin, Kuroko thanks the driver and almost bounces out of the side door. I follow, and together we make our way into the Arena.

We are met at the main gate by a polite and unusually tall attendant, who, after examining our tickets and drivers' licenses, escorts us up a flight of stairs and a long elevator ride until we reach what he explains is 'ownership's private floor', directing us along a corridor and right until we find Akashi's box. The interior of the Arena is well-furnished, the floors immaculate, and this corridor is lined with framed pictures of players, general managers, and previous and current ownership. We turn right at the end of the corridor, and sure enough, in front of us is a double door, with the words 'Seijuro Akashi Kyokai' emblazoned in gold above the doorframe. The doorway is flanked by two tall bodyguards, with expensive, professional-looking suits and urban, unprofessional haircuts; one blond and spiky, the other with brown hair braided into tight cornrows, which looks about as ridiculous on him as it did on Haizaki. Both men are holding clipboards, and each one has the tell-tale bulge of a handgun in a shoulder-holster under their jackets. Were I a betting man, I would put money on both having been involved with the Yakuza. Still, as intimidating as they are, they greet us with smiles and a polite bow of the head.

"Good afternoon, Kuroko-san; welcome back."

Kuroko nods, and hands his driver's licence over for inspection. I follow suit, and Kuroko chats to the bodyguards.

"Did you enjoy the Levanga Hokkaido game, Onizuka-kun?"

The blond bodyguard grins, and nods enthusiastically.

"Oh, it was brilliant; Kagami is on fire, right? I reckon he'll go for another triple-double tonight."

The other bodyguard laughs derisively, and I can tell that Kuroko has touched on an earlier argument.

"Kagami's good, but there's no way he's got enough in the tank for Mikawa. Aomine's a shoo-in for MVP this year, and that frontcourt is unbelievable this season!"

The bodyguard called Onizuka rolls his eyes.

"While I'll admit that Izuki adds a lot to the roster, Aomine's been playing well all season and it's the time of year where he'll start to get tired. There isn't a player in the league who can match Kagami for energy and hustle right now."

Kuroko chuckles, as Onizuka passes the drivers' license back to him.

"I still can't decide who's going to win tonight, but it could definitely go to overtime."

Both bodyguards nod their agreement, and there's a brief moment of silence before Kuroko clears his throat.

"Any paperwork for us tonight, boys?"

Onizuka starts with surprise and laughs.

"Shit, yeah. Business as usual; sign these NDAs for us, and then you can go right in."

The other bodyguard passes me a clipboard, and I quickly scan through one of the most detailed and binding non-disclosure agreements I've ever read. Somehow, I recognise the vocabulary and penmanship, but I can't quite place the lawyer. Still, I'm very familiar with NDAs, and have no problem signing this one. It's not like I have anybody to talk to about tonight anyway, other than Kuroko. I pass the clipboard back, and Onizuka grins at the both of us.

"Right, I can tell neither of you are carrying, so feel free to go on through. Have fun, don't start any fights, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I nod my thanks, and Kuroko shakes their hands.

"That doesn't exactly cover much, Onizuka-kun."

"You're god-damn right it doesn't."

He pulls open the door, and Kuroko leads the way through.

The first thing I notice, besides the sheer size of the room, is the thick, acrid haze of cigar smoke, which is the first of what I am sure will be many surprises about today. I cannot be certain, but as we walk through the door, I fancy I can smell a faint hint of cannabis smoke as well. The private box is spacious and well lit, smoke curling against the high ceiling in a way that is rather beautiful. To our left as we enter is a beautifully polished, pinewood bar – well stocked, and managed by a very professional-looking woman wearing a black shirt and a red bowtie. I cast my eye over a very fine selection of wine, sake, and whiskey, but it is only when I look more closely that I realise that, at the far corner of the bar, is a sizable, alabaster brick of cocaine. I think I can be forgiven for stopping in the doorway, because despite my history in the legal profession, I don't believe I've ever seen such a large quantity of high-grade coke in my life, let alone seen it being expertly cut into lines by the bartender – over the background noise of tasteful lounge music, I can hear the sharp, rhythmic clack of the gentleman's razor in her hand. She must notice me staring, because she flashes me a knowing smile and raises her hand in greeting. Whether she realises that it's the hand holding the razor-blade, I wouldn't care to guess.

The room is not what I would call 'packed', but it is certainly alive with life and company – stylish, well dressed men in suits are the majority, but I clock two women in tie-and-tails, and several beautiful women wearing incredibly fine dresses. Two of them wave to Kuroko as we move further into the room, and he nods back. As I look around, a well-built, attractive European in a Brioni suit almost collides with Kuroko, quickly making an apology and making a beeline for the bar, where the bartender passes him a pre-cut straw. I try not to be too obvious in my observations as he takes an enormous snout-full off the bar, before starting a convoluted drinks order. I look questioningly for Kuroko, only to find him utterly unfazed by the very illegal goings-on and making small-talk with an attractive young-woman who I vaguely recall being on the morning news in some capacity.

On the other side of the room, opposite the bar, is a collection of stylish red-leather couches and chairs, set around low-lying tables laden with glasses of prosecco, and the odd bottle of expensive spirits. Sat at the table closest to me is a jaw-droppingly tall, eerily familiar elderly black gentleman wearing an expensive suit and a fedora, gesticulating wildly with a thick cigar as he talks enthusiastically, in a mixture of thickly-accented English and terrible Japanese, to a collection of professional looking men and stunningly gorgeous idols. It's only as I note the ring through his lower lip and the bizarre number of piercings in his ears that it clicks. I quickly turn to find Kuroko and tug discreetly on his sleeve.

"Kuroko..."

He makes his apologies to the newsreader he's talking to and turns to me with a smile.

"What's up?"

I pointedly glance back at the table and lean in towards his ear.

"Kuroko, is that... is that Dennis Rodman?"

Kuroko follows my eyes, and chuckles, keeping his voice low.

"Don't stare, Midorima-kun; somebody might think you've never seen a gaijin before."

God, there is so much wrong with that statement that I don't even know where to start.

"What are you... Right, first off; you, of all people, do not have a leg to stand on when it comes to not staring..."

He just grins at me, a twinkle in his eye, and this irritating response spurs me on.

"Second, I'm pretty sure you can't say gaijin anymore, and anyway, I'm not staring because he's black, I'm staring because it's Dennis Fucking Rodman, you fool."

He gives me a patronising pat on the arm, and chuckles to himself.

"Well, I'm sure Akashi-kun will introduce you, if you like."

Well, today was already utterly ridiculous, it almost makes sense that Dennis Rodman is sitting two metres away from me.

"Speaking of Akashi, where is he?"

Kuroko gestures towards far end of the room – a line of spacious couches in front of what I strongly suspect is an enormous two-way mirror looking out over the basketball court. The couches are occupied by a number of expensive suits with good looking bodies inside of them, one of whom I recognise immediately as Kise Ryota. Predictably, he sits at the centre of a large couch surrounded by attractive young men and women hanging on his every word, and the spliff between his fingers confirms that my sense of smell is as well-developed as ever. He's had a very severe haircut since I last saw him, although I would imagine that drastic changes are par for the course when you play as many different roles as he has in his admittedly still-rather-young acting career. The man had always been unfairly good looking, and the years have unsurprisingly been a lot kinder to him than they have to me. He's so absorbed in his conversation that he hasn't noticed Kuroko and I yet. On the other hand...

Akashi's eyes meet mine across the room.

He is stood opposite the couch furthest from Kise, nodding interestedly as he listens to an attractive young man – garbed in an exquisite Kiton two-piece suit - whom I vaguely recollect as being the mayor of some major city, but nonetheless, his eyes meet mine. Ever the consummate host, his face does not betray any emotion beyond utter interest in the man he is conversing with, and yet his eyes bore directly into my sockets and make a home in my brain. He's here.

After all these years, Akashi Seijuro is here.

I watch him make his excuses with charm and grace, and then he's walking towards me, an inscrutable smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Of the six of us (the Miracles, that is), Akashi looks to be the most untouched by the years, first and foremost because he doesn't seem to have grown since I last saw him – he is far-and-away the shortest man in the room, and yet as always, acts as if he is entirely unaware of this fact. Physically, perhaps the only noticeable change, beyond the inevitable weathering of his face, is that he has filled out somewhat. His perfectly tailored 'Miyahira Kotoro' suit clings well to shoulders that are broader than I remember, and his chest seems more defined also. He has been looking after himself, that much is clear, but from his hair, to his eyes, to his hands to his feet, he is the same Akashi Seijuro, just as I remember.

I open my mouth to call out a greeting, but find my mouth and throat dry, and my tongue tied. Every time the appropriate pleasantry seems within reach, my eyes catch the slight bounce of his hair, or a quirk of his eyebrow, and my brain seems to reset itself. I haven't felt like this in a while, but it is not an unfamiliar feeling for me in Akashi's presence. I remember telling Takao about it once, in confidence, and he told me it sounded entirely like a crush, and I can understand why he would think this. However, the idea that these physical symptoms are due to a crush is ridiculous. Believe it or not, there was a time in my life where I did strongly consider this as a possibility, and I subjected it to the same rigorous avenues of scientific enquiry that I do all my unfamiliar emotions. And I concluded that despite the physical and emotional paralysis that would often occur, I have never experienced any form of physical attraction to my Captain, and that a far more likely reality is that I simply respect Akashi immensely to the point of childish idolisation. Unseemly and embarrassing, yes, and far more indicative of latent dependency issues than I would like, but altogether much easier to manage than a long-lasting, unrequited homosexual infatuation.

Even as I process these ancient musings, Akashi has reached me, and as I swallow the lump in my throat, I hold my hand out for him to shake, all too aware of the last time he looked up at me like this (that fateful day of the Inter-High semi-finals), where I rejected his handshake.

The man I respect most in the world smiles up at me, kindness out-of-place yet strangely fitting in his eyes, and instead of shaking my hand, takes both of my hands gently in his. He looks down at them, and I am acutely aware of his thumb running along the backs of my taped fingers – I do not recoil at the oddly intimate contact, for to do so would be to deny Akashi his God-given absolutism. Akashi has always done exactly what Akashi will do, and because he is always absolute, he is always right.

"Shintaro..."

His voice is soft, and kind, and yet full of the weight of the years between us. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright as he speaks my first name with the tenderness of a brother. I try to speak, and no words come.

And then he looks up at me again, smiling with his eyes, and gently squeezes both of my hands.

"How very lost you have become... and how I have missed you."

(Author's Note:

First and foremost, I must apologise for the time that it took me to write this chapter. All-in-all, this is just over an entire month's work in about five-and-a-half thousand words, and the sheer amount of re-writing and editing that has gone into this is nothing to sniff at. Still... Chapter Six is finally here, and while I don't think it was ever possible for me to be entirely happy with the outcome... I'm pretty damn close. Midorima meeting Akashi again has been one of those scenes that has played out in mind since I first conceived this idea. If you want to hear any of the ENOURMOUS amount of thought and headcanoning that went into that reunion, please do drop me a review or a message – to outline that here would easily take the wordcount up to about 7,000.

I should probably mention that while this is not a crossover fic by any stretch of the imagination, this is kind-of a crossover fic. If you squint, you will be able to pick out cameos from characters in other franchises, although they may not always be easy to spot, and will more-often than not be pretty obscure – hint: there's two in this chapter.

Also, I don't know why Dennis Rodman had to be here, but he did.

I know this is a pretty long note, but while I think of it, I should just address that neither Kuroko nor Midorima are especially politically correct, and will often share or display views and ways of thinking that do not at all line up with my own. This is intentional. These are two Japenese men, approaching middle age, who view the world through their own lenses. They will have their own prejudices, their own character flaws, and their own mannerisms of speaking, and I do hope that rather than put you, as the reader, off, they endear you to them, and give the potential for character growth and development

Thank you so much to those of you who have stuck it out and are still reading, and thank you and welcome to any new readers. As always, PLEASE talk to me about anything, I love human contact. I'm on twitter now, melodramaticglassescharacter, so if you don't want to comment, feel free to drop me a DM.

Much love, and keep living,

Melodramaticglassescharacter)