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Chapter Nine
Refrain
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Midorima wakes from a restless sleep, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache. His chest feels heavy yet unbearably empty at the same time. Climbing out of bed, he puts on his glasses and perfunctorily completes his morning routine. Cancers are faring well today, ranking fourth in Oha Asa's charts. He needs to find a flower wreath. In late winter.
Putting on a pair of gloves to match his scarf, Midorima feels the ghost sensation of an incoming message. He slips a hand into the pocket of his school bag, taking out his phone with its darkened screen. No new message. Disappointment couldn't even begin to describe the emotion that seeps into his bones.
When he told Takao not to bother coming over yesterday, he didn't expect the teen to skip school entirely. Takao's absence – the empty chair one row ahead and two seats to the right from his place – glared at him the entire day. Of course, everyone from the team had to ask him about their missing point guard since he was the last person they saw with Takao after Sunday's match; that, and because people can count on one hand the number of times Midorima went anywhere without Takao beside him. Midorima can't help thinking that it's partially his fault, that maybe Takao was avoiding him as a result of their less-than-peaceful parting two days prior. He certainly felt guilty enough but Akashi dispelled all his hesitations in one phone call. Granted, it was Midorima who made the call, wrought with anxiety by the end of the day that he missed a staggering 10% of his shots during his solo practice. An empty gym had never felt so oppressing.
Akashi convinced him that he wasn't to blame, that he didn't do anything wrong. In fact, he barely did anything. Takao had brought this upon himself, were Akashi's final words on the matter before they bid each other goodbye. Akashi's good mood at being a contender for the Winter Cup championship balanced out Midorima's gloom.
Despite their missing member, the Shutoku basketball team's practice remained rigorous for their upcoming match; a battle versus Seirin for the Winter Cup's bronze title. The game is set tomorrow and Midorima knows that there will be quite a reckoning.
He pockets his house keys and exits after bidding his little sister farewell. His parents are both gone by then, having taken early work shifts. The houseboy startles when Midorima steps out the front door; a foreboding feeling creeps up the shooting guard's neck.
"I tried to tell him to come in but–"
Midorima doesn't hear out the guy's explanation, long legs carrying him over to the gate in a brisk pace. For a second, his gaze flickers to the rickshaw parked on one corner of his front lawn, covered by a tarp and a sheen of morning dew after having been left out during the night. Who else could be outside his home at this time of morning? Dismissing the help with a wave of his hand, Midorima pauses before the half-open gate, heartbeats stuttering to a complete halt.
The absent humming from outside stops and Midorima knows he's been spotted. Both of them hyperaware now of the other's presence. Taped fingers curl tighter around the strap of his bag. Midorima takes a deep breath and heads out. He's greeted by a mild fragrance in the air.
Takao stands beside his parked bicycle, posture akin to a soldier facing war. His eyes are bright as ever and his lips can't quite manage to hold back a smile at the sheer joy of meeting Midorima's gaze for what feels like the first time in an eternity. His happiness, however, is tainted by a persistent nervousness that has latched itself onto him like a parasite. He receives a nod and takes it as his cue.
Every move is measured, Midorima notes, watching with slight trepidation as Takao steps back and prostrates himself with a sharp bow, all the while holding out a bouquet of dainty blooms held together by a pale parchment-thin wrapper.
"Please accept my humble apology, Shin-chan," Takao says, arms stretched out, eyes trained on the sidewalk cement. That's as far as his preparations go. After talking with Kise and then Kuroko yesterday, he consulted further with his little sister at home. From their combined responses, Takao has resolved to make the first move. The flowers were his mother's suggestion, giving her two cents after having listened in to her children's discussion. If Midorima rejects him, Takao has no other option but to retreat, lick his wounds, and try again tomorrow. He won't cry or beg or make excuses for what he has done. He does away with emotional promises that he knows would not be heard. Takao says his piece and zips his mouth shut; he's done with the proposal, it's up to Midorima now to dispose of it.
Midorima stares. Kise had messaged him last night about Takao, finally solving the riddle of his shadow's absence. A part of him felt indignant (offended, even) at knowing that Takao had spent yesterday on a shopping trip instead of facing him like a decent man. It didn't help that Kise proceeded to send candids of Takao in varying clothes like some sort of make-over montage. Looking at those photos caused him a physical pain he had never thought possible. The Takao in those photos looked happy, or at the very least worry-free, whereas his last memory of Takao was shaded in bitter resentment. Midorima erased all of Kise's messages in a fit of rage, swallowing down the sense of loss that he felt at every successful deletion. Wanting and not wanting to see Takao at the same time was the conflict that had Midorima waking up at odd hours of the morning. Now that they're finally face to face, Midorima is filled with righteous fury.
Exactly who does Takao think he is? Showing up with a bunch of flowers like Midorima will be appeased by it, as though he can be swayed so easily like those girlfriends he'd boasted about. A half-assed apology counts for nothing in the face of the gut-wrenching notion of defeat that's anchored on his limbs, weighing and wearing him down until his proud stature succumbs. He could very well fall into a pit of despair, of absolute misery. Midorima despises himself for allowing such a petty dispute lead to his downfall.
No, he won't let that happen.
Squaring his shoulders, Midorima intends to deny his forgiveness, to turn his nose up at the sorry excuse of an apology when something strikes his thoughts. He does a double-take at the modest bouquet presented to him. Though it is by no means a shabby display, it is clearly economical and would not go far in winning favors, much less Midorima and his particularities. Yet it captures his attention, he finds it near impossible to look away from the lush leaves and bright floral pigments –blossoms tinted pink, indigo, and cream. Gardenias and morning glories, Midorima notes with slight surprise. Their fresh fragrance lingers in the air, stirring up much more than olfactory memories. A sense of familiarity brushes away his pessimistic thoughts.
Takao is determined not to move, determined to brave the oncoming storm. Midorima's prolonged silence never leads to anything good but Takao is nothing if he gives up before his fate is decided. He's still hoping they can move on, move forward from this because – because, well… There's only one explanation as to why he goes through so much trouble, why his world feels imbalanced right now, why he always, always comes running back to Midorima – his ace, his light, his Shin-chan.
"Are those… from your mother's garden?"
Midorima cuts through the silence before it goes past the point of awkward, uttering a question so out of the blue it makes Takao's face snap up in surprise.
Blinking, Takao worries his bottom lip for a second. "Er, yeah. I wanted to get you something from that fancy florist's at 10th street but store hours begin at nine so…" He trails off, unsure of what to make of the expression gracing his partner's features. It's something like anger that's been staved off and Takao sends a small prayer of thanks to the high heavens.
So it's homemade. In a sense. Midorima feels a faint flush rise up his neck. He knows how much care Takao's mother puts in growing her little garden, it's evident in the beauty of the blooms despite the wintry weather. The floral bunch is plentiful, surely Takao has more sense than to denude the greenery fronting their home.
Midorima carefully takes the bouquet into his gloved hands, the smell reminds him of Takao's home, of Takao's little sister shyly greeting him at the door. A teenager's room rises to the front of his imagination, it's a disorganized mess of clothes, trading cards, and basketball paraphernalia. Echoes of Takao's laughter ring inside his head, teasing but good-natured. Midorima recalls with startling clarity the impassioned mien that promised him a roaring pass. He remembers feeling affronted at the same time skeptical, emotions that made a comeback when Coach Nakatani assigned them partners after the exhibition of Takao's Hawk Eyes.
He breathes in the fragrance. The cold constriction around his heart becomes undone despite Midorima's efforts to remain angry. Midorima wishes that he could hold grudges better, Takao probably doesn't even have any idea what he's apologizing for but Midorima is already half-way to forgiving him. So much for his steel conviction.
The significance of their partnership – flaws and all – weighs heavy on his mind. Midorima persistently snuffs out any illusion that Takao thinks of him in the same manner. All recent evidence clearly point against him but there is the ever-present uncertainty, the what-if that's ignited every time they so much as look eye to eye. There's also the sense of entitlement that shouts down the meek voice of logic – he's Takao's partner, the light, the ace. There's an unspoken understanding that the two of them come in a set and Midorima would like to keep it that way. He hasn't felt this way before Takao; he never enjoyed playing more than when he's with him, with their team. What if no one else comes into his life like Takao did?
There's a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Akashi. It's telling him he could do better, reminding him of how different they really are, how unmatched…
Except, Midorima decides with a grim finality, he does not in fact want anyone other than Takao. Standing outside his home on this chilly winter morning with homegrown flowers in his hand, he is sure of it. Kuroko may be fine with changing his light but Midorima wants no other shadow. He's terrified of what has become of him but the prospect of not having Takao is scarier. Takao's smile is no less of a wonder even if he's now directing it at another.
"Stand up, Takao."
Now that he doesn't have a bouquet to hold on to, Takao's fingers curl into his palm to keep from uselessly fidgeting. His back straightens with a quiet crick, prolonging the moment when he has to look Midorima in the eyes and face his fate.
"Scorpios rank eleventh today," Midorima states. "We should stop by the antiques store to get your lucky item."
••••••••••••
Midorima goes ahead to class while Takao parks the rickshaw. A wooden bowl with crane carvings on its surface sits inside the cart. Takao stuffs it into his bag, hastening to follow after his teammate.
Takao doesn't presume to have been absolved of all his wrongdoings just because Midorima bought him a (supposedly) antique drinking bowl that's worth at least half his tuition for the semester. No matter how well Takao thinks he already knows the man, Midorima will always one-up him and do something unexpected but somehow undeniably characteristic of him. Being straightforward with his thoughts and emotions had never been Midorima's strongpoint for as long as Takao has known him (two years plus is definitely a sufficient amount of time to make that conclusion) so Takao works with what he's got.
Midorima wears the same superior look as he sits on his desk, pen and notebook neatly aligned, waiting for their homeroom teacher to arrive. He's completely unperturbed by the stares directed at him, more precisely, at the circlet of flowers that's adorning his head.
"Shin-chan, smile!"
The flash of a phone camera goes off and Takao grins, saving the photo for a rainy day. For now, he's going to undergo the delicate process of pushing his limits with a certain shooting guard. Takao looks up, finding Shutoku's ace wearing his patented frown. "You could at least look happy," he teases. "My mom would be thrilled to know the flowers I picked went to good use."
A blink as Midorima absorbs that thought. "Alright," he nods, pinpricks of heat warming his cheeks as he pulls up a slight smile for Takao who gamely takes another photo. Midorima had weaved the bouquet into a wreath while Takao carted him to school, finding that the most convenient way to keep it with him is to wear it on his head. The look on Takao's face when he turned around hatched butterflies in Midorima's stomach; those silver eyes are sparkling at him even now. How exactly can he stay angry at this man when he only wants to see him happy?
The bell rings before Takao can coerce him to any more photos. Midorima has a feeling that he wouldn't be able to refuse. The homeroom teacher arrives and takes one look at Midorima before moving on with a shake of her head.
••••••••••••
Takao makes a mental note to give his mother something extra special on Mother's Day.
With the tasteful arrangement of flowers around his head and the nonchalant expression he wears, Midorima looks like he naturally blossoms on occasion. He eats his lunch on the rooftop with Takao, as had been their routine ever since the cafeteria had banned his lucky items from its premises to make sure there are enough seats for the rest of the student body. Other rooftop frequenters chose to spend their lunch elsewhere today due to the frosty weather, leaving the area rather private for the tandem.
"I never thought Princess Shin-chan knew how to make flower crowns," Takao muses from the floor, chopsticks dangling from his lips. "It fits you almost too well."
"It's a wreath," Midorima insists with an annoyed tick of his brows.
"But since it's on your head, that makes it a crown," Takao points out, clicking his chopsticks to punctuate his statement. His head lolls back to look up at Midorima who is seated on the parapet. From this angle, Midorima could be mistaken for some fantastical creature, the blessedly blue sky above him only adds to his charm. Midorima gives him a look of strained patience, Takao wears a pleased smile in return.
"Honestly." Midorima looks away, pushing his glasses up as he does. "If you want to copy my notes from yesterday just say it."
Takao grins. Hawatari-chan has already volunteered her notes (and even her answers for their assignments) earlier and Takao had gratefully accepted them in exchange for joining her and some friends at karaoke on Saturday. Still, it's a rare offer from Midorima and Takao just can't get enough of him; he's on a mission to wheedle his way back into his light's heart with everything he's got. "I'm not worthy to look at your writing, Ace-sama," Takao jokes. "But if you're still feeling generous, there's something I want to ask."
Green eyes survey the shorter teen for a long second before Midorima finally acquiesces. "Go on."
A deep breath. Strands of dark hair are swept over silver eyes by a passing breeze. "Tell me what I have to do for you to forgive me, Shin-chan." Takao's smile drops in self-depreciation. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you've found purpose for the flowers but I still… I didn't mean to hurt you." You have no idea how much I wanted to have that with you, to have you holding me instead but I've already ruined all chances for that so – "I want us to be okay again."
Putting down his lunch box, Midorima suddenly feels like he can't stomach any more of the home-cooked meal. Takao is never this serious unless faced with dire situations and Midorima can't escape him if he tried because if he is to be perfectly honest, Takao isn't the problem here…
Midorima can't even begin to put into words how affected he is – the measure by which he'd come to expect Takao's companionship has been seriously underestimated; companionship barely even scratches the surface of the feelings that Midorima stubbornly avoids addressing. What's clear is that Takao wants to make amends, that he never intended to cause him any distress – how could he fault the man for seeking another's affections when he hardly shows him anything beyond platonic interest? Midorima had seen it coming from miles away but chose to act blind and hope that his denial and inaction would keep Takao from wandering. It was so very foolish of him. His prideful miscalculation had sealed his fate, bringing upon him the drastic realization that he has not, in fact, done his utmost best in such a fragile situation. Takao shouldn't be the one apologizing.
"I didn't mean what I said," Midorima begins, looking at Takao through his periphery. "I shouldn't have said that. To you." Of all people. "In the locker room–"
"That was my fault," Takao owns up, shifting so that he's directly within Midorima's line of sight. He won't let this be a replay of the last time. He knows what he'd done wrong and he has every intention to right it. "I was frustrated at our defeat. I wanted us to have a perfect end to this year's basketball season… That last pass could've been our ticket to the finals and I ruined it for the whole team." I ruined it for you. I wanted put that smile back on your face, the one you wore at the Inter-High when you – we – beat Akashi for the first time.
"But the season's not yet over," Midorima says, contemplative.
"And we're still in the running for third place," Takao continues with a slight smile. "So what do you say, Shin-chan? I'll do anything, I promise."
Adjusting his glasses, Midorima internalizes for a brief moment. What he wants – what he really wants from Takao is impossible. Not to mention that he hardly has anything to offer, neither experience nor desire. Nothing. The only thing for him to do now is – "Accept Shutoku's captaincy."
Takao sucks in a breath. Those were the very same words Ootsubo and Miyaji had told him two days ago. No matter how many times he'd protested that he just doesn't see himself holding the position, the Shutoku alumni didn't budge. The knowing look in Miyaji's eyes was actually a little worrisome, now that Takao thinks about it. Looking at Midorima's determined expression, Takao knows any and all attempts to argue will be futile. He sets down his chopsticks and gets to his feet, standing in front of his ace who's watching him closely. "I'll do it," Takao declares with his shoulders squared. "I'll step up and become captain. On one condition."
"I hardly think you're in any position to make bargains," Midorima informs him. Nonetheless, he sits up straighter and hears out the request.
Ah, damn. Takao never knows what to do with himself whenever Midorima gives him his full attention. He sees his reflection in those green eyes and his mind short-circuits. Kiss him. Hold him. Show him all the reasons why you'll never let him go. It'll be so easy to do all of that but the consequences stop him from taking action. "I can't do it without my Shin-chan," Takao murmurs, stomping down the urge to cradle that pretty face. Instead, he prostrates himself once more. "Please be my vice-captain. There's no one better than Shin-chan at keeping me in line."
For the second time that day, Midorima is faced with Takao bowing before him. Unlike the scenario at his house earlier, this one is less pressuring because Midorima already knows his answer. He extends his arm, catching Takao by the chin and lifting his face so they could see eye to eye. "What a pointless request…"
It's moments like these that Takao knows with startling clarity how unfair the world really is.
••••••••••••
When asked about his absence, Takao makes no excuses, which also means that he doesn't say a word about where he'd been. Coach Nakatani very loudly and publicly tells him off, making clear his expectations of an incoming captain, impressing on his player the prestige and responsibilities that come with the esteemed position. Takao flinches many times, never raising a word in his defense knowing full-well that he deserves the lecture. Needs it, more like, so that he won't make the same mistake in the future.
Once Nakatani has run out of steam, Jenrya ropes Takao into joining practice. They're doing doubles of their usual drills, solidifying their basics and working out the flaws in the strategy that had failed against Yosen. They end the day by watching the video of Seirin's latest matchup versus Rakuzan, discussing with possible plays to counteract the schemes executed by their upcoming rival.
The video is paused and rewound with the coach talking them through the new pattern Seirin had used to break past Rakuzan's defense in the middle of the third quarter – the game-changer that gave Seirin a fighting chance.
Midorima is seated beside the rest of the starting five right in front of the TV, his gaze pensive and calculating. On screen, Kagami charges and makes a successful dunk, giving his team its first point for the quarter. A quiet hiss beside him draws his attention – Takao is leaning forward, eyes gleaming with delight, the name of Seirin's ace pulling his lips into a smile.
The sight makes Midorima's heart yearn. His left hand twitches, reaching for his lucky item but finding it gone from its perch. It takes him a second to remember that he had placed the wreath in his locker for safekeeping – the constant motion exercised in Shutoku's training wouldn't have done much good to the already wilting blooms.
"Hey."
A soft nudge on the knee alerts him to Takao's inquiring gaze. Midorima engages him in an undertone to avoid disrupting their coach's lecture. "What is it?"
Takao almost let slip how awesome it would be for them to go up against the reinvigorated Kagami dashing across the screen. Seeing the dismal performance during the first half, it's painfully obvious that he'd caused all that trouble. Not to say anything of Rakuzan's impregnable playing style that has once again infected Takao with envious admiration; not only is Akashi the perfect point guard, he's a commendable captain to boot. It's a depressing game to watch but come the third quarter (once he'd cleared himself with Kagami during their halftime call) the Seirin team gets back in form and Takao breathes easier. It's still unclear to him what Midorima thinks of Kagami – they have pointedly avoided the subject so far – but just now it looked like there's something that's bothering him. It's not there anymore, though, and Takao knows to tread lightly now that they've only just made up. To answer Midorima's question, he shakes his head. "Nothing. You'll wear the flower crown again on the way home, ne?"
"Of course." Midorima will never tell him but he rather misses the fragrance the blooms provided, even if it is inevitably meant to fade.