Dedicated to the readers of "Gentlemen, Place Your Bets."
POV Midorima
"So, this will be the last time we speak for a few weeks. This whole adventure is outside of your routine. How do you feel about that?"
I'm sitting across the table from my psychiatrist. Dr. Suzuki has been my primary mental health professional since I tried to kill myself at the beginning of middle school. He's young – mid-thirties – and my Dad picked him because of that. I stick with him after all these years, not because I don't want to rehash the past with someone else, but because he also gives me space and time to think of my answers, and he does not judge me for my silences.
"I'm terrified," I finally say. "I've never been on an airplane for more than a few hours. I've never been away from my family for more than a week. I haven't been away from Takao in almost two years."
"Takao? It's interesting that you put him last in that litany, but I can tell that his absence troubles you the most. Why is that?"
"Takao…acts as a buffer between me and other people. He translates the passive-aggressive things I say and makes them not so terrible. He makes me a better person by his example. I'm afraid, because of my poor English skills, that I will be unable to make myself understood and that I will say something that will offend or alienate my peers."
"You have no concerns with him being here alone, while you go half-way around the world?" I'm not sure what he's hinting about. I'm not the one with abandonment issues, but I know that his question is pointed to get me to admit something.
"He won't be alone; he will be with my family and our friends."
Dr. Suzuki jots down something in the little notebook he keeps for our discussions. He looks pleased with my answer.
"What are some of the things you can do to mitigate your worries about being misunderstood and offending others?"
"I can listen attentively. I can ask questions when I am unsure. I can be slow to speak, and choose my words with care," I recite the list of things that are already doctor approved.
"Yes, exactly. What else will you do while you are gone?"
"I will not use my words as a weapon. I will seek first to understand, and then to make myself understood. I will work hard, and follow directions."
"So tell me, why are you really worried? You know what to do, what not to do. You've had practice."
"But it all goes to shit when I try it in real life."
"Midorima-kun, what is real life?"
I am stymied by the question, and the way he is waiting expectantly for an answer means that he knows that he has tripped me up. I am usually so good at knowing the answers he wants, but this will lead me – us – somewhere I hadn't anticipated going. I have no pre-packaged answers.
"What do you mean when you say 'in real life'?" he prompts again
"Outside of my immediate family and friends. People who don't know me yet…"
"Yet?" he asks for clarification when I can't put the rest of the thought into words. I am annoyed and he knows it.
"People who don't know me, yet have influence over me. Teachers, other students, the team, the athletes I will be training with in New York. There is, in my mind, family and friend life – people who know me and make allowances – and then there is the real life, where I am held accountable for every action, every word – like I am here."
I mean it as a jab, but he doesn't react. He writes something down and then looks at me for a good long while before speaking. He is attempting to draw me out, but I know this technique, and I simply wait.
"Is one of those worlds more authentic to you?"
"Authentic?"
"Define the word in a way that makes sense to you."
"Authentic or genuine: family allows us to be who we are – realistic. The outside world forces us to conform to a wider truth."
"Conform?"
"What other word describes better the situation where I have to take drugs twice daily in order to function in society?"
"Do you resent the fact that you must take medications in order to function in society?" I don't like it when he repeats my words back to me as a question, and that momentarily makes me angry. I have to roll the words around in my head to make sure I answer him correctly.
"Resent is too harsh a concept. I wish they were unnecessary."
The chime on his desk sounds, alerting us that our time is up. It is has been a good last session, at least, I think so. I am no less worried about opening my big mouth and saying something arrogant and boastful, but at least I have contingency plans.
He hands me four prescriptions. The first two are my normal medications, the third is a six dose supply of an anti-anxiety medication for the plane trip, and the last is for melatonin, to help me adjust to the time difference. I don't technically need a prescription for the last, but he knows I am more likely to take the drug if it comes with official instructions.
POV Takao
While Shin-chan was with his shrink, I met The Point Guard Poker Players at a little coffee shop around the corner. It wasn't as good as Yami's, but it served well enough in the moment.
"Midorima sees a psychiatrist? So, you've finally managed to drive him insane, Bat. Congratulations!" Imayoshi said. His characteristic grin and narrow eyes would have looked sinister to an outsider, but I knew better.
I stood up from the table and pushed back my chair. Mitobe automatically stood up as well. I saw the panic in our mother hen's face, as he debated if he'd have a better chance restraining me or Imayoshi. I smirked at him and then bowed low and formally.
"Thank you, thank you."
"Speech!" Kasamatsu cheered.
"As the first of our little band to officially 'break' a member of the Generation of Miracles, I hope I can serve as an inspiration to you," I said. I knew they were as bound by the rules of our group as I was, but they didn't need to know why Shin-chan saw a shrink.
They gave me a polite round of applause, drawing the attention of the other customers. I sat down and licked the whipped cream off the top of my mocha latte.
Kasamatsu's cell phone played the opening chords of a Metallica song, and he stopped laughing at me long enough to check his messages.
"The Professor?" I asked. Besides having our own nicknames, we'd each bestowed one on our Generation of Miracles teammates as well.
"Yeah, he's still a pain in my ass," he griped.
Is everything alright? Chatterbox seemed to ask.
"He wants to meet for dinner. He's got great news to share. It's probably about that contract he was hoping to get. He was up for a huge job with a watch manufacturer," Pacifist told us, his eyebrows drawn down in a contemplative V.
"That's a good thang, ain't it?" Saint asked, sipping his bitter espresso with a tight expression on his face.
"Yeah yeah, great," Pacifist answered, unconvincingly.
Chatterbox placed a hand on Pacifist's forearm and squeezed gently. We were so used to our mute friend that none of us doubted the sentiment.
"I've never given up hope that Kise and I would play together again," he said at last, sighing.
"Is he able to play again?" I asked.
"The doctors say yes, but he wants to do purse modeling full-time. I just don't get it. It makes me so angry. Why waste all that talent?" he growled, pounding his fist on the table top. His empty cup toppled over. When he didn't seem to notice, or care, I righted it.
"So, ya won't believe the arrogant thang Humble Pie said the other day!" Saint said, changing the tone of the conversation immediately.
"Sorry," Pacifist mumbled. "What did he say?"
"He called to tell me the JBL gave him my old Jersey number. He said he'd wear it better than me."
"That's fucked up," Kasamatsu said. "What an... first he ruins Kise' basketball career, and then he says something like that!"
"I was there; it was an accident," I said, not understanding why I was defending Aomine.
"Nah, ya have to speak the language of the passive-aggressive Ace to understand that what he said and what means are two different thangs. I'll pay for your coffee if ya can translate it, Bat," Saint offered, smirking at me.
I thought about it. What would that mean coming from Shin-chan?
"Not knowing much more than what you've told us, I'm betting he's proud to be wearing your number, and he's going to work hard to do your reputation justice," I guessed.
"Bravo, Bat, I knew there was more in that pretty head of yours than air."
"How's Captain Obvious doing?" I asked Chatterbox.
The silent Center nodded vigorously.
"I still say it's not fair; he's got the lowest-maintenance Generation-of-Miracles!" Pacifist said.
"Quit your whinin' and tell The Professor ya'll meet him for dinner already," Imayoshi scoffed.
"Speaking about texts," I said as my phone vibrated, "My butt is ringing."
"If you wouldn't to keep your phone shoved up your –"
"Don't even, Saint. You know I meant my phone buzzed in my back pocket. Don't be gross."
He laughed as I read the text.
"Shin-chan's done," I said, and slammed back the rest of the too-rich mocha.
"Tell Socialite we're all rooting for him," Pacifist said, as I stood up to leave. I reached for my wallet.
"I got it," Saint smiled. "We'll be here for ya Bat. Once he's in New York, ya call us when ya get lonely, and we'll have a game. I promise, I'll even let ya tell your sweet stories if ya need too."
"I guess one or two wouldn't hurt," Pacifist scowled.
Chatterbox nodded and tapped his shoulder. You can cry on me anytime. I smiled at him.
"Thanks, you guys. You're awesome."
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