MidoAka Secret Santa

HE STANDS before the museum located in the next city under the bright haze of the midmorning sun. An exhibit for a relatively new artist is announced some time ago and Seijuurou had been interested ever since. He heard the artist is around his age and that the exhibit would be quite a collection. He is hoping to meet the artist, too, if their paths would cross. Seijuurou didn’t want to miss the chance to have a conversation about art.

Upon entering, the staff at the reception desk gives him directions to the room where the exhibit is ongoing at the right wing. He thanks her promptly and makes his way to the room, skimming through the pamphlet he was given. He didn’t take the time to read the descriptions written about the artist and his paintings anymore for he’d want to be unbiased by the time he interprets the works of art on his own.

Cold air greets him as he arrives at the room of the exhibit. Quite a number of people are already inside, eyeing the dozens of paintings hung on the wall. It is obvious at first glance that the artist has no actual preference for medium. Seijuurou can see equal numbers of oil on canvas, charcoal, acrylic paint, and pastel arts. He has also no preference for subjects. There are human subjects, still life, sceneries, even abstracts. It is quite remarkable, really, that an artist of his age seeming without a forte would excel on all media and topic. He wonders why he’s only heard about this artist now.

He comes closer to each paintings then, taking note of their titles and committing to mind how they appear in the surface and deep within the canvas. Lily White. Waning Crescent. A Girl With Her Daisies. Piano. Discordant.  The titles are pretty much self-explanatory, simple, saves the audience from trying to decode whether there would be hidden messages in there.

But it were the works itself that demanded attention, that implored to be dissected apart stroke by stroke, line by line, to unearth the stories that lie within. He stops at every painting, his hands clasped together, his head bent in an angle, his thoughts already churning in his mind.

Why is the lily alone in the middle of a still pond? Why is the moon half-hidden beyond the horizon? Why is the girl facing that way with that expression on her face? Why does it look like the piano hasn’t been played for a long time despite the lid being open? Why are these shapes and patterns chosen by the artist? What is he trying to convey? Seijuurou’s foundations on art theory are challenged, and it is a very welcome experience.

He then goes to another painting entitled Reflection. A small bedroom is seen on the canvas, things on it in chaos. There is a bed, its sheets crumpled, unkept since the occupant woke up from it. The light is a soft orange against the silver gray wall. The door at the far end of the room is closed and the shadow of the window rails stretched on the floor. The back of a canvas is visible on the lower left part of the painting. It is as if he stared long enough, he might see an artist working at it.

“Do you find it interesting?”

Seijuurou turns to the voice to his right and sees a tall man with a hair that is the green of spring and clothes of someone in long search of his muse. He notices the tips of the man’s fingers and sees that they have remains of paint.

“Everything here actually is interesting. This one just seems to hold more meaning than the others.”

The man turns to look at the painting then, pushing up his glasses in thought.

“Do you paint?” he asks.

“I used to. It was a childhood passion of mine.” Seijuurou glances at his pamphlet once more, knowing he is speaking to the artist of the exhibit. His eyes widen at something he reads, and he turns his attention at him, looking more closely. He supposes he should be scared, but it is a feeling he never finds himself in. “Is there any special reason as to why I can see you, Midorima Shintarou?”

MIDORIMA SHINTAROU(1889-1910) was an artist beyond his time. His many works, despite not being recognized in his generation, are slowly being celebrated today for his diverse creative practice with different modes and medium. His first known work was Discordant(1899,  acrylic on canvas), winning an award at a local art competition in his city. His last work was Reflection(1910, oil on canvas), said to be found in his room from where he allegedly committed suicide.

IT IS highly unlikely for Seijuurou to find himself listening to a spirit’s plea to help him move on from the world that grounds him, but here he is in a quiet corner of the museum where no one can see him talking to thin air.

“Reflection is an unfinished work,” Shintarou tells him. “It was the painting I was working on before I…I jumped off from the window that you can see there.”

Seijuurou shivers at the thought of him taking his own life. What could have driven him to do so, he wonders.

“It’s an unfinished business of some sort. If the painting is finished, I could finally go wherever I should be. I was trying to run away from this world, and death doesn’t change it a bit.”

“Can’t you finish it yourself?”

“I can’t touch my own paintings. I’ve tried before.”

“What makes you think I will agree to this?”

“You already wasted time listening to me. Besides, I can feel that you want - no, you need a reason to go back into painting again. You wouldn’t be able to see me if you didn’t have this desire.”

Shintarou is right. He is very much interested, of course. The artist himself have given him permission to overwrite his own. And it’s the surreality of all this that makes him say:

“Procuring the painting is easy even if they aren’t technically for sale. Tt’s just money and connection matters. But I haven’t been in practice for over a decade. I’d have to get back to my footing first.”

“Then you’ll find me in your company while you do so. I can promise not to be a bother.”

He probably doesn’t realize that the mere fact that Seijuurou can interact with him but not anyone else is already a bother, but he does not tell him this. Shintarou’s eyes hold a glint of hope behind his glasses. He doesn’t want to make an already dead person feel even worse.

HE RETURNS to his flat with the Reflection tucked under his left arm and a bag of art supplies on his right. The guard of their building helps him carry the blank canvas he also purchased. Once he has settled everything in place, he rummages through this cabinet and pulls out the easel he stored in there. There was no really reason to bring it with him before aside from its sentimental value. At least now, it serves him a purpose.

“This is a pretty big place for someone to live in alone.”

Seijuurou merely turns at Shintarou’s voice with a faint expression of surprise. The other man is sitting quite comfortably next to the dining table, his legs crossed and his hands on his knees.

“I didn’t know you were already here.”

“I’m tied to the painting. I go where it goes.”

“I’ve been wondering since earlier what else was missing in Reflection. Is the missing piece yourself behind the canvas?”

“That’s right, actually.” Shintarou doesn’t mask his surprise. “I was just about to tell you. How did you realize?”

“It’s not hard. The title is Reflection. First thing that comes to mind is a mirror. I can see the canvas but no artist.” He places the easel next to the window and places the newly bought canvas on it. “There goes your answer.”

He goes to his work table next and removes everything on it. He pushes it near the easel, and there he places his art supplies. Shintarou watches quietly as he organizes everything in a system he is most familiar with. Complementary colors are placed next to each other, the brushes are on the rightmost. Seijuurou stares at the canvas, his hands itching. But first, patience.

“I will need practice drawing you first,” he tells Shintarou. He shows him the sketchpad and the pencils. “Can I?”

“By all means,” Shintarou raises his chin a bit and his glasses catch the light of the setting sun, “Do.”

WITH KNOWING the lines and shadows that form Shintarou’s face comes knowing him as a person and who he was as an artist. It’s the strangest thing, being friends with a lost soul, but Seijuurou gets along with him perfectly fine, even better than with the actual people he gets to interact with in his field.

“You’re actually pretty good,” Shintarou says when he shows his initial sketch of him. “The lines are rough and too edgy, but the shadow is nice. Something tells me you didn’t actually stop even with the mere drawings.”

“One cannot kill an artist’s soul, they say.”

“Don’t I know that best?”

EVEN IF he cannot touch his own paintings, Shintarou can do so about anything else. This fact Seijuurou makes use of to have himself an opponent at chess, something Shintarou has claimed he is good at. Shintarou later discovers that Seijuurou is far better. Nevertheless, every match is a challenge and they are both content in each other’s company.

And so it has been their routine every time Seijuurou arrives from work that they play chess to rest. And after Seijuurou has won, he will then resume practicing on drawing or painting Shintarou while the other sits quietly opposite him.

One time, Seijuurou sees Shintarou drawing on a piece of paper while he himself practiced painting.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, not even bothering to look up.

Seijuurou leaves him be and continues painting, making the green of his eyes prominent from the shadows. Later, Shintarou gives him the drawing he is working with and he sees that it is a realistic sketch of him, focused on his own canvas. His lips are curved into a small smile and even with only a pencil, Shintarou made his eyes look like they sparkle in delight. Seijuurou realizes how great Shintarou is then with his art.

“Looks like you are where you perfectly belong,” he tells him before excusing himself to disappear into thin air like he always does at night.

He tucks the sketch in his wallet and goes to bed with his words in his mind.

“YOU SEEM ready to finish Reflection now.”

Seijuurou jumps on his seat in surprise at Shintarou’s voice behind him. It is a weekend and he started his day early by working on the finishing touches on his rendition of Shintarou. He has probably been only staring at it for the past few minutes. It is beautiful. He is.

“A little more time,” he shakes his head. “I need more practice.”

“I’ve been here for too long, Seijuurou.”

How long has it been? Weeks? Months? Seijuurou only knows that it hasn’t been long enough.

“Do you still need to go?” He asks, turning around to face him. “What if you only wanted to leave because you had no reason to stay? Because you felt alone?” He grabs his wrist, icy and cold against his warm hand. “It’s not the case now, is it?”

Shintarou stares at his hand before carefully prying it away from his wrist. A hollow ache forms in Seijuurou’s chest as he does so.

“It is exactly why I must go soon. You are starting to give me a reason to stay.” Shintarou laughs bitterly, it is almost sad. “But I can’t, Seijuurou. I’m already dead, and that’s something you and I have to accept.”

IT FEELS like a funeral march, the small distance from where he placed the Reflection back to his easel next to the window. Shintarou sits before him, quiet and serious. He has been waiting for this moment for a long time, he has prepared himself for death.

Seijuurou dips his brush into the palette and makes the first stroke, Shintarou’s pale skin against the dim room.

“My mother died when I was young,” he finds himself saying. Shintarou’s brows rise a bit, but he holds his position. “She told me I would be great artist.”

“You already are.”

Seijuurou works continuously, knowing perfectly well which color goes with which, having stared at his face for a long time already. The green of spring that is his hair, the red of autumn that are his lips. Shadows dance on his face as his eyes on the canvas stared back at him.

“You will go back to painting, would you?” Shintarou finally says, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Seijuurou applies the last stroke and leans back to stare at his work from afar. Shintarou is still on the other side of the canvas, waiting for his reply.

“I will.”

He turns the canvas around and shows Shintarou the finished painting. Seijuurou knows Reflection is something Shintarou painted when he was at his lowest, but the Shintarou he painted is someone with a small smile on his face and a challenge in his eyes, someone very much alive. It is the Shintarou he came to knew and like.

“Thank you, Seijuurou.” Cold wind blows from the windows, as if beckoning him. He starts to blend into his surrounding, the few rays of the sun passing through his body. “I wish we could have met before.”

“We’ll meet again next time,” Seijuurou smiles, his eyes starting to feel warm. “We’ll paint together, then.”

The last thing Seijuurou sees is his nod and the curve of his lips as he says, “Together.”

bizzare.

.

Back in Teikou, before the team fell apart, Akashi had his share amounts of bizzare ideas on how to win a match. Apparently, this time, Akashi’s bizzare idea was to use the same technique Midorima and Takao had used when they faced Rakuzan.

Midorima figured this out in just one glance.

The shooting guard received Akashi’s pass and they worked perfectly in sync.

Just like Akashi’s previous bizzare ideas, this one also succeeded in closing the gap on their scores.

—

chance.

.

“Do you think I deserve a second chance?”

Midorima had to pause drinking his water when Akashi suddenly asked him a question he found odd. Then again, this Akashi sometimes spoke in riddles and said things that Midorima needed to think thoroughly to be understood correctly. The bespectacled boy looked at Akashi for about a minute. Akashi still stood there, and it looked like he wasn’t about to move as long as his question remain unanswered. Midorima glanced at the others who were still on practice and then finally sighed.

“For what and from who, Akashi?”

Akashi stared at Midorima, stared for long minutes, stared until Midorima thought he wouldn’t get an answer anytime soon from Akashi’s mouth.

Except, Midorima did get an answer:

“For everything, from you.”

—

dream.

.

Midorima dreamed about many things. He dreamed about being accepted into the faculty of medicine, dreamed about being the son his family would be proud of, dreamed about bringing Winner title to Shuutoku in either Interhigh or Winter Cup or both. Like another high school student, Midorima had things he dreamed and desired.

Akashi’s sudden e-mail wasn’t one of them.

It wasn’t like he never received any e-mail from Akashi previously. In fact, back in middle school, they had quite a lot of conversation going on their mailbox. It was just—as the other Akashi emerged, their conversations stopped entirely.

Midorima had to remind himself that those days were long ago, and now, the Akashi he knew was back. There were probably still many things they needed to talk about, to be sorted, and replying Akashi’s e-mail was probably one of the thing required for both of them to be back to their previous state of friendship.

[Does it bother you to help me record a duet cover for my school assignment?]

The green-haired boy smiled thinly, but softly.

[No, it doesn’t.] Midorima typed again—

[I’ll help you.]

—

envy.

.

One would be consindered a liar when they denied being envy towards Akashi Seijuurou. People often saw Akashi as a person who had countless talents, a person who was capable of many things. One would even considered a perfect human being existed, and that was Akashi Seijuurou.

Midorima wasn’t a liar, so he didn’t deny being envy towards Akashi. However, Midorima also thought that Akashi wasn’t perfect. Akashi Seijuurou had his flaws, they way he gnawed at his nails at some of their shogi matches, though Akashi still won in the end. Midorima also recognized the way Akashi averted his eyes slightly from his music sheet when he heard his father’s car engine entering the garage. Akashi would continue his violin practice and Midorima would still play the piano in Akashi’s house, and that was that, but Midorima knew, something other than the music they were playing was going on Akashi’s head.

—

friendship.

.

For Kise, Kuroko, Aomine, Murasakibara, for his Teikou teammates, for Nijimura even, Midorima was the person closest to Akashi in their basketball team. At that time, Midorima didn’t really pay attention to what others thought about his friendship with Akashi.

One day, when Midorima opened his middle school album, he finally realized the reason why others thought he was the person closest to Akashi back in Teikou. The corner of Midorima’s lips twitched a little when he saw photos of himself, standing side by side with Akashi in many occasions. In some of the photos taken recently even, Akashi would still stood near him, close to Midorima, though they weren’t in the same school anymore.

Now, Midorima was drinking and Akashi sat beside him. The Vorpal Sword members which consisted of Generation of Miracle majorly were still practicing on the court.

“It’s good to see them working together, after so long,” Akashi said, with eyes that were still directed to the court. Midorima put down his bottle and get ready to enter the court again.

“Yes, it is.”

Midorima didn’t have time to suppress his smile when he thought about his friendship with Akashi, which actually began years before Teikou.

How long had he been friends with Akashi Seijuurou, huh?

—

gaze.

.

When Shiori-san was alive, she would take both Akashi to the beach on summer, along with the boy next door, Midorima Shintarou. They would go to the beach near sunset, sat on the sand, and waited until stars started showing up there. Akashi would name this act as their “Stargazing Moment” and Midorima would snort at the lame name Akashi came up with. Shiori-san would just laugh, and then Akashi and lastly Midorima would follow her.

After Shiori-san’s funeral, Akashi still continued their “Stargazing Moment”. In between Teikou summer training camp, Midorima would find Akashi missing at one evening. He had known where Akashi would go, so he followed Akashi there. They would sat on the sand, and in silence, watched the vast night sky being lit by thousands of stars.

Therefore, when Akashi went missing one evening at Shuutoku and Rakuzan joint training camp, Midorima had already known where Akashi was actually.

“—You never stop.”

Akashi turned his head to the person who just sat beside him. He smiled quitely, and then continued looking upwards.

“This is our ‘Stargazing Moment’, Midorima. Of course I won’t stop,” said Akashi without looking back at Midorima, though he knew Midorima’s gaze was directed to him.

“You will hurt your neck if you stay at that position for longer, Akashi.”

Akashi sighed first, “You’re right, Doctor,” and then he lied down on the beach’s sand. Akashi knew Midorima’s cheeks were probably warm right now after he was called the title Akashi knew he secretly desired, and so, Akashi laughed softly.

—

hatred.

.

“You must have hated me when we were at our final year in Teikou.”

Midorima missed a note and he realized, Akashi had stopped playing his violin for quite some time. They were at Midorima’s house, playing a duet for the assignment Akashi had asked Midorima to help earlier. Midorima stopped the recorder, knowing they had to repeat again now that Akashi had ruined the song.

“No, I didn’t, Akashi.”

Akashi looked at Midorima, and Midorima knew he wasn’t convinced.

“You must have hated me.”

Midorima sighed, shook his head, and then stressed his sentence, “No, I didn’t.”

The redhead in front of Midorima tried to argue again by opening his mouth and saying, “You must have—”

This time, Midorima had to yell to get his answer through the redhead thick skull—

“I didn’t, Akashi! I didn’t! In my life, I would never hate you!”

Midorima saw the way Akashi’s eyes widened slightly, how he blinked twice, and finally fell into silence minutes after being yelled at. The bespectacled boy sighed, for he was certain, Akashi’s mood was ruined now, except that once again, Akashi surprised him with his reply.

“… Thank you,” said Akashi with a much quiter voice this time. The urgency Midorima had heard earlier was gone and the air surrounding them now felt easier to be breathed.

Midorima saw the smile that Akashi dropped almost immediately. He knew that Akashi meant to deceive his eyes, but he was one hundred percent sure, the smile had been there.

—

implication.

.

“Are you implying that I look like a middle-aged man, Akashi?”

Akashi tried to stiffle his laugh, to hide his laugh behind his hand, but Midorima knew already. The red-haired boy laughed at his new haircut and that kinda pissed Midorima off.

“Well, Midorima, your new haircut was similar to that of a salary man, so—”

Midorima growled frustatedly, and then left Akashi alone as fast as he could.

He still heard Akashi’s laugh from this distance.

—

joy.

.

After years of being friends with Akashi, Midorima had known already what would bring joy to Akashi.

This was the short list of Things That Mainly Would Brought Joy to Akashi Seijuurou:

1) the happier memories of his late mother;

2) achieving a goal he had set himself, not those that others wanted him to achieve;

3) seeing Midorima Shintarou’s pissed off face.

—

kindness.

.

“You’re so cruel, Akashicchi!”

Midorima rubbed his temple continuously. He always disliked Kise’s whine and apparently, that wouldn’t change for like, forever.

Akashi smiled his perhaps-yes-he-was-cruel smile to Kise and made the blond-haired boy went to silence the next second. He still pouted though, for not being in a same team with Kurokocchi and blablabla Midorima didn’t care enough to listen.

When Midorima looked more closely to Akashi, he caught glimpse of happiness in the corner of Akashi’s eyes. Today was Akashi’s birthday, and everyone from Generation of Miracle decided to throw a streetball party, just like what they had done for Kuroko’s birthday before. Akashi didn’t show it blatantly, but Midorima knew, the red-eyed boy was delighted.

In Midorima’s eyes, his former captain was never a cruel person.

Akashi Seijuurou was always a boy with a kind heart.

—

lucky.

.

A green-haired boy frowned at Oha Asa’s lucky item for Cancer today. The horoscope said that Cancer needed a photo of a red-haired person who posed with a watermelon on his hands. The bespecatled boy spent minutes of thinking, and finally, reached a conclusion.

Midorima decided to call Akashi and asked for his photo, together with the said watermelon on his hands.

Afterwards, Midorima felt really lucky throughout the day.

—

mozaic.

.

Midorima loved art, like music, but not so much for designing things from scratches, like creating mozaic for his assignment. He sighed for the nth and Takao laughed at him, which annoyed Midorima even more.

The green-eyed boy felt like he really was done, done with this thing he couldn’t stand, when suddenly a thought bypass his head. Midorima held a red-colored tesserae between his thumb and index finger for a moment. This time, Midorima felt like he wasn’t creating a mozaic.

He was piecing together the fragments of his relationship with Akashi Seijuurou.

—

name.

.

The first thing that made Midorima aware that the Akashi in front of him wasn’t the Akashi he knew, was the way he called his friends. Akashi was always polite, whereas the redhead in front of Midorima wasn’t the slightest.

Therefore, when Akashi started calling him “Midorima” again, Midorima suddenly felt rushed by relief.

—

obvious.

.

Sometimes, Midorima wondered if his crush to Akashi was that obvious, like what Takao always told him all the time.

Today was a bright sunny Sunday, and Midorima had ran into Akashi twice already. The first time was at a store where he bought a blue piggy bank for his lucky item. The second time was at a bookstore where Midorima initially went to buy a reference book for his school assignment. The third time was—

“Why don’t we just explore the city together, Midorima? Besides, I’m in Tokyo now, so….”

Midorima was rendered speechless for a moment, so he adjusted his glassess to fill the silence. The green-haired boy coughed and finally said, “That’s quite—” Midorima coughed again, “—a good idea, Akashi.”

Akashi smiled a bit too wide, and Midorima hoped the warmth that was seeping in his cheeks went unnoticed by Akashi.

—

prescription.

.

Midorima had to go to optic again because his glassess wasn’t fit anymore. He was annoyed by this at first, but then he acknowledged that it still was his own fault for reading his books too close. Midorima grabbed his wallet and phone before walking out of his house. He knew he wasn’t drunk, but he pretended he was when he sent an e-mail to Akashi who he knew was in Tokyo at the moment.

[I have to readjust my glassess.]

The bespectacled boy was quite shocked by Akashi’s super fast responses.

[I’ll be at the optic near your house.]

When Midorima arrived, as he expected, Akashi had already been there. Midorima approached Akashi first before explaining why he went here to the man in charge of this optic.

“You don’t have to really accompany me, you know, Akashi,” Midorima said, though he knew deep down, he was slightly glad Akashi had his own initiative.

“I don’t, but I still come,” Akashi replied as though it wasn’t a big deal for Midorima, and perhaps, Akashi did think like that.

After finding his right prescription in the back of the optic, Midorima chose a simple black-colored full-frame for his glassess. He waited patiently for the price he had to pay.

“… You grew taller. Again, Midorima.”

Midorima averted his eyes to Akashi for seconds, before proceeding to pay for his glassess. “Genetics, I guess,” he commented absent-mindedly.

“Probably that was why you have to readjust your glassess. I’ve read somewhere that as we grow up, the prescription for our eyes will also change.”

“Oh,” Midorima replied, and swallowed down the is-it-scientifically-correct question.

When they walked out of the optic, Midorima expressed his gratitude with a simple thank you to Akashi. The redhead beside him nodded and silence fell on them. It was a nice type of silence, though, the silence that comforted Midorima, the silence that Akashi brought everytime he walked side by side with Midorima.

—

quarrel.

.

“Have you guys ever had a quarrel, huh? You always get along, since middle school even.” Aomine looked like he couldn’t quite fathom the fact that Midorima and Akashi always backed each other whenever he saw them. Midorima didn’t care for Aomine’s opinion, although he felt a slight spark of pride in his chest for mere seconds.

Akashi just laughed it off and the question was hung on the air for the rest of the night. The others were too drunk to ask this question again for their reunion. Later, when he went home with Akashi, this question came up again in Midorima’s mind. He decided in his mind only, that the answer would be this:

He had his share amount of arguments with Akashi, of course, but a quarrel, a big fight one, the way Aomine described, was something the past him and Akashi had had. Something ancient, something from long ago, one that he was sure they would not have again, now that they had come into an understanding.

—

red.

.

Midorima still felt really, really tired, after his match with Jabberwock. His muscles screamed all the time, even after two days. Midorima sat on his bed, refamiliarized himself with his surrounding, before standing up and going to his bathroom. When he was walking, he caught glimpse of the mozaic he took home after it had been graded by his teacher. Sorry, but he wouldn’t let it be hung at schoold, however good his work had been, as his teacher had said. Midorima worked too damn hard to finish this and he deserved to keep his achievement at home.

Then and there, Midorima suddenly realized, how much red had dominated his mozaic. No wonder Takao named his work as “Fifty Shades of Red”, given how much different shades of red were in his assignment. Midorima sighed when he realized how true Takao’s words were.

—

shoot.

.

Why did Midorima chose to become a shooting guard specializing in three-point shoots?

The reason was as simple as back then, Akashi needed a shooting guard for his team in his fourth grade and he realized he was actually quite good at it and Akashi encouraged him to continue, to move forward.

(And so, Midorima did.)

—

tears.

.

At that time, after Shuutoku being crushed by Rakuzan, Midorima shed tears frustratingly. He cried because he couldn’t bring Shuutoku to win. He cried because all his effort seemed fruitless. He cried because he couldn’t fulfil his own statement back when he and Akashi still played shogi together. He cried because he couldn’t win from Akashi.

Midorima cried because he could only do nothing.

—

usage.

.

Akashi was the only who never asked what is the usage of Midorima’s lucky items and why would a doctor still believe in superstitious things.

—

value.

.

One thing that Midorima perfectly knew about Akashi Seijuurou was that he valued effort greatly. For Akashi, the Akashi he knew, what brought one to be a champion wasn’t their talent, but how they harnessed their talent with lots of effort. Akashi also valued attitude, the way he … challenged Murasakibara years ago. Therefore, Midorima knew that Akashi was really pissed off when he watched the record of Jabberwock’s match repeatedly. Everything in the record stomped on things that Akashi valued highly.

Akashi clenched his right hand hardly, while still keeping his eyes on his computer screen. When the record finally finished being played, he lifted his head and looked at Midorima in the eyes. Midorima knew, after this, Akashi would look at his computer screen again, play the record again, and observe the smalles details again.

“We will crush them,” said Akashi with his ever-so-determined eyes to Midorima. The green-haired boy nodded and kept looking at Akashi’s red eyes for seconds.

“We will.”

—

words.

.

Akashi didn’t need words anymore to communicate with Midorima. With just one glance, they already knew what strategy they would play next.

The redhead passed the ball and he knew by heart that Midorima would be there to catch his pass and made a perfect three.

—

xerography.

.

When Midorima was twenty-five, a laser-printed photo of his old Teikou era came to his flat. Midorima knew it was from Akashi, judging by the quality of the photo sent to him. Another clue was that the photo was sent from, well, England. The only friend Midorima had from Teikou who was in England at the moment was Akashi Seijuurou. Along with the Teikou photo, anothe photo of Akashi enjoying summer in England was also included. The corner of Midorima’s lips twitched slightly when he held the photo on his hand.

“I printed these with xerography, so that they could last longer.” was written on the letter that was also being sent to Midorima’s flat. Midorima didn’t quite care about this xerography method Akashi was talking, but of course his thought stayed inside his head only.

Midorima sighed, reached his phone, and sent an e-mail to Akashi.

[The photos will last, but I won’t. Don’t prolong your stay there for unnecessarry things, Akashi.]

Akashi came back exactly a year after, on Midorima’s twenty-sixth birthday, for Midorima.

—

years.

.

After their childhood together, after Teikou, after high school and college and having a doctor license, after years, Midorima decided this:

He would gladly spent the rest of his years in this world with Akashi Seijuurou.

—

zigzag.

.

One day, Akashi asked for a running match with Midorima, but with one condition: they had to run on a zigzag pattern Akashi had made by placing space markers. It was a bright Sunday morning, Midorima didn’t have any practice for today, and Midorima felt like he needed to exercise after so long. Walking fastly at hospital’s corridor couldn’t really be considered as exercising.

Midorima regretted agreeing to Akashi immediately.

After years, it turned out that Akashi was still faster than him, although they now were in their thirties. Running in a zigzag pattern also didn’t help Midorima at all. He became so frustrated that he finally broke the rule—

Midorima ran straight to reach Akashi who was far ahead from him.

Akashi glanced at him and Midorima could saw the annoyed expression he made. “That’s not fair, Midorima—”

—and when he managed to catch up, he grabbed Akashi’s arm and embraced him tightly.

“All is fair in love and war, Akashi,” said Midorima while still holding Akashi in his arms. He stared straight to Akashi’s brilliant red eyes and smiled softly after. Akashi laughed hearing Midorima’s words to defend himself.

“Who taught you that phrase? Takao?”

Midorima rolled his eyes, but the smile was still there. “Of course. Who else?”

Akashi laughed again, and again, and again. The redhead returned Midorima’s hug by circling his arms on Midorima’s neck. Midorima finally joined Akashi and they laughed together after that.

He lets himself be comforted, the tune a soothing legato. Midorima is almost too scared to open the door in fear of ruining the ambience. The playing doesn’t stop like he predicted but the sleek reflection of the piano shows him a stare that has acknowledged his presence, at the least.

Midorima feels like he has entered enemy territory from the way they dart him to the wall but the song ends abruptly, and with finesse that didn’t burden the player nor the play. Akashi turns and exchanges Midorima’s glance over a shoulder and the man almost flinches, he has a moment to decide that red hued phenotypes betrayed normality in a Japanese society but was normal in the boy’s hair and eyes.

“Hello,” Akashi he says. “I apologize if I’m bothering your study.”

“You’re not.” Midorima says, and notices Akashi catch the fidget of his fingers before Midorima hastily pulled them behind his back. He secretly revelled in Akashi’s soft smile, however horrifying that may sound.

“Do you play?” Akashi asks as though he already knows the answer. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched if he did.

There is no hesitance when Midorima says yes he does, has been since grade four. As Akashi humours him, he finds himself leaning in little by little, like a moth drawn to light, and starts to notice the smallest of details like the faint creases of Akashi’s neck when he turns, the barely evident bob of his Adam’s apple, the contours of his ruler-straight back.

Eventually their positions swap, Midorima on the piano, holding eye contact with his newly-founded companion. He starts to play, something as simple and as innocent as their encounter. An encounter, he had concluded, that had been bound by fate and pushed into succession.

X

Their second year was a bit too messy, filled with the dreams of the Generation of Miracles and the expectations everyone held for them. To name a few, there was Aomine who, as a simple person, is complicated in the way he lets his emotions take over him. Kuroko, a weak-looking thing whom had just made it into the first-string. But none of them mattered, nothing mattered between their duet’s energy when they play.

It was the end of their first captaincy meeting when Midorima learnt that Akashi played the violin too, and possibly many other instruments that he did not bother to note. The important thing is he plays it beautifully, and complements the movements of Midorima’s fingers, more in sync, he daresay, than their basketball.

The introduction of the key change collects stumbles in his performance.

He has only just been introduced to this piece a few days ago but his eyes focus on the reflection on the piano. The bow pulls down the violin and sings with his piano, but he is so mesmerized that he makes an error, one that seems to amuse Akashi enough to encourage a chuckle. He lowers his violin.

“Here,” Akash sits beside him, Midorima scooting over to grant him the center space. “It’s like this.” He places his fingers over the middle C, stretches his fingers and lifted soft-looking palms.

“Did you get that?”

Midorima blinks.

“You don’t have to spoon-feed me,” Midorima says, places his hands atop Akashi’s and imitates the tune perfectly. “I will get it eventually.” Akashi is cold. Not to mention pale as well. Perhaps he had poor blood circulation.

“I see.”

Instead of slipping his hand away, Akashi lifts Midorima’s, turning his wrist so palm meets palm. He delicately examines the fingers one by one by stroking his thumb across the bandages. When he looks up, Midorima swallows, and wonders whether this type of behaviour was common amongst teenaged boys.

“Your fingers are very long and beautiful, Midorima-kun, like they were made to play the piano.”  Akashi said.

Midorima withdraws his hand, clearing his throat quietly.

“Don’t be absurd; piano is not my passion.”

“As it shouldn’t be.” Akashi calmly replies, his eyes peacefully closed as he stands and collects his gear. “We should head home soon, it’s getting late.”

x

It wasn’t unusual for his piano teacher to arrange private piano concerts for all his students. What was unusual, Midorima dully noted, was him extending the invitation to someone other than his parents. Next to his Mother, Akashi sat with his hands formally curled on his lap, catching Midorima’s glance and offering a small smile.

Midorima was quick to break eye contact and it was equally quick for the sweat to accumulate on his palms. Not good. Midorima was called up when he was announced, applauded when he quietly introduces himself. He peels the bandages off his hands, much to his instructor’s amusement, and begins as gently as Akashi’s voice in a good mood.

His spectators maintain a respectful silence, Midorima takes comfort in imagining every draw of breath as Akashi’s.

When the last student is done, they are instructed to stand and walk around and eat. Akashi meets Midorima at his table, polished enough to look like one of the pianists himself.

“Your performance was lovely, Midorima-kun.”

Midorima mutters a quiet thank you as his family gathers at the table. The softening of his lips was definitely not because of Akashi’s hand slipping into his under the cloth, definitely not.

Opposite him, his Mother frowned, “Shintaro, your face is red.”

 x

“Do people really do this in sleepovers?”

“It doesn’t matter what other people do, this is ours. Sit back and listen.” Akashi shuts the door behind him, his violin case perched safely in his arms. The violin itself is beautiful, probably custom made. It wasn’t like Akashi didn’t have the money to have it done.

“…Your evasion means a no.” Midorima tries hard not to avert his eyes when Akashi looks at him.

“Well, of course not,” Akashi brings the violin to his shoulder and readies his bow. “Most boys our age have not yet administered the ability to play half as well as you and I. Why are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Midorima lies. “It’s just,”

“I composed this song for you.” Akashi takes satisfaction in the widening of Midorima’s eyes. The bed creaks softly as it accommodates Akashi’s weight as well as his own, Midorima scooting back to lie on the head-board and Akashi comfortable at the foot of the sheets.

“Why…on Earth-“

“Will you listen?”

Akashi’s room lapses into a silence, one that encourages Midorima to scowl at friend; he doesn’t like being interrupted. When Akashi picks up something short of a nod, he smiles, leans into his violin and closes his eyes. Midorima has a second to think about how peaceful Akashi looked then, before a long low note is dragged out, subtle in its entry. Midorima recognizes it; a b flat, the serenest note there is.

His lips clamp shut as a slow beginning commences, holding the promise of suspense as if an orchestra would appear any moment. He breathes in. The song that fills the room blesses it, and it’s difficult not to study every sway of Akashi’s form. The boy still had his eyes closed and his brow slightly furrowed, a picture perfect look of concentration.

Midorima doesn’t know when he had shifted closer. It seemed to become a habit whenever Akashi played, like he was a worn instrument himself. This was the reason for his hesitance. That he wouldn’t be able to control himself nor Akashi’s actions terrified him. It wasn’t a coincidence, he bets, that the moment he looks, Akashi’s lids flutter open slightly and watches him under eyelashes. He gulps.

At the current moment, he knew the music is nothing more than a tool used to sift and stir a schoolboy’s temptation and Akashi was incorrigibly wicked in all senses of the word.

Midorima wants to glare, wants to emit an annoyance worthy of the situation but is controlled by the very hands occupied by the violin. Instead he pulls Akashi towards him, and deducts the violin is discarded when one hand cups the back of his head, the other clutching his shirt. The kiss is just skin-on-skin before Midorima pulls away, his face as red as Akashi’s hair.

Akashi presses his lips against the back of his own hand, a small grin gracing his face. “Did you like your song that much, Midorima-kun?”

“Indeed,” is all he manages.

Then, Akashi turns in the opposite direction, his gaze never once leaving Midorima during the rotation, before walking off.

As expected, Midorima follows, falling into step next to him as if natural.

The walk is silent and Midorima’s fingers twitches at his side, gradually growing edgy at… At what, he wonders. Akashi’s silence? Their unknown destination? (Or perhaps it was Akashi’s presence itself?)

Frustrated, he clears his voice, catching Akashi’s attention. He glances at Midorima from the corner of his eyes, showing the other that he had all his attention.

“What brings you to this section, Akashi?”

Instead of replying straight away, Akashi lets the silence sink in for a little longer. Midorima thinks Akashi’s doing it on purpose, knowing that it bothers him. Which is strange, for he dislikes unnecessary chatter. When it comes to Akashi, however, the stillness in the air often made him more jittery than not.

Akashi smiles, then, just a tiny upturn of a corner of his lips, but Midorima does not fail to see. He must have been satisfied with the discomfort he’s caused, for he finally deems Midorima a reply the next moment: “I had to see Hamasaki-sensei about a matter.”

Hamasaki-sensei, a professor of their Tokyo University who held both a doctorate in Medicine and Business. More often than not she’s seen in the medical faculty, but occasionally substitutes Business professors in emergencies.

Despite Akashi’s explanation, he still can’t shake off the nagging feeling that their encounter was not a coincidence.

Regardless, Midorima nods stiffly, but otherwise does not question further.

Thankfully, the silence does not continue for much longer as a few minutes later they reach what Midorima assumes to be their destination: the university’s cafeteria.

“Care for some tea, Midorima?” Akashi asks, his gaze entirely on Midorima and burning with something the latter can’t quite name.

Well, he is already here… Might as well.

(He ignores the fact that he just doesn’t have the heart to say no to Akashi.)

.

.

.

Strangely enough, after that ‘chance’ encounter the both of them happened to bump into each other more frequently. Midorima knows Akashi is up to something—when is he not?—and he is reluctant to admit he might not want to know what this “something” is.

They have tea together at least once a week, twice if their schedules are free. Sometimes Akashi doesn’t depend on their ‘chance’ encounters to invite him out, choosing to call instead. Midorima simply finds the whole situation strange. They’ve long had each other’s numbers since middle school; Akashi could have called him any time during their first semester had he wanted to, yet he had only started doing so after their encounter in their second semester.

It is unnerving and drives Midorima up the edge, but he never manages to muster up the courage to ask Akashi of his intentions.

Months later, nearing the end of their first year, Akashi calls him out for tea again. As per usual, Midorima does not refuse.

“I’m considering moving to an apartment close by,” Akashi suddenly says, a complete turn in topic from their previous conversation.

Midorima startles. “Why?”

“It’d be more convenient than travelling from the main house.” A pause. Followed by a mutter that Midorima is certain wasn’t for his ears, “And it’d be nicer to have some alone time.”

He thinks back to their middle school years, then, and wonders if Akashi’s dad is still pressuring his son in all areas. A bubble of sympathy starts to take form in his chest at the thought, but he quickly represses it. Midorima knows better than to pity Akashi. Pity is the furthest from anything that Akashi needs.

Just as suddenly, Akashi springs forth a startling question, “Would you like to move in with me?”

Midorima sputters, completely caught off guard.

After calming down and giving it some thought though, Midorima realises it’ll be more convenient for him as well. While the distance from his home is not as long a travel as Akashi’s, it does indeed take a while to get to the university. Not to mention he also has to catch a bus and switch lines on the train. Living in an apartment near the campus will definitely be better in the long run. The rent will likely be expensive, but bearable if they split the expense.

(Excuses, excuses.)

It is only later, when he’s in the comfort of his home, that he realises this must have been what Akashi had in plan all along.

.

.

. 

They move into their new apartment a week before their new semester starts.

While his mother was reluctant to let him go, his father had encouraged him as he thought it’d make him more independent. Midorima knows the truth though; his father was reassured that he’d be rooming with Akashi who he places great trust and faith in.

They unpack their essentials first, deciding to leave the less important stuff for later. Except they realise soon after that they both didn’t bring any kitchenware with them.

Sighing, Midorima says, “We’ll have to go out and buy some.”

And thus their impromptu shopping trip begins.

In all honesty, Midorima decides he would have preferred if he had went alone. Akashi was unexpectedly picky about the utensils they bought and there’s still more to buy. Midorima likes his things minimalistic, simple, and he expected of such from Akashi as well, but lo and behold as Akashi Seijuurou browsed through the many decorated mugs.

“Look,” Akashi suddenly pipes up, moving to grab a mug off the shelf. “It’s you, Midorima.”

Leaning towards Akashi, he peers over his shoulder. In the other’s hand was a white mug with two thin, green lines printed horizontally on the top and bottom edges, and at its centre between the two stripes was a picture of a frog.

Midorima scoffs, clearly affronted, and Akashi has to resist a soft chuckle at the endearing sight.

“Let’s buy this one,” Akashi says, placing the mug carefully into their shopping basket, before resuming his browsing.

Despite his displeasure, Midorima cannot bring himself to get angry and tell the other no. Instead, he turns away, intent to look for plates when something caught his eye. A similar mug sat a little ways down on the same shelf. This one was printed with red stripes instead and at the centre was a small cartoon image of a lion.

He’s unable to resist the small smile that creeps up his face at the sight. Picking it off the shelf, Midorima adds it to their shopping basket.

Akashi notes the extra weight and looks down to see the new addition before titling his head and glancing at Midorima inquiringly.

“It’s yours,” Midorima says, turning away and stalking towards the aisle that stored the plates and bowls immediately after.

Akashi blinks, watching the other wander off. A moment later, his gaze drifts back towards the new mug and he cautiously plucks it out, bringing it closer for inspection.

He doesn’t manage to resist his chuckle this time.

.

.

. 

“Coffee?” Midorima asks. Akashi groggily nods an affirmative, sliding into his spot in front of the table, a simple breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs and grilled bacon already laid out before him.

It was rare to see the redhead in such a state, but ever since rooming together such a sight had become a norm for Midorima.

Placing the lion mug in front of Akashi, he then goes to sit on the other side of the table, his frog mug in hand. Midorima watches as the other reaches out for the sugar and drops three cubes in. Another thing he’s learnt since living with the other: Akashi has a sweet tooth.

“Are you free tonight?” he suddenly blurts, catching even Akashi off guard, but the surprise is gone as quick as it came.

There is a short moment of silence as Akashi thinks back to his schedule, chewing on his toast as he does so.

“Yes, I am,” he says after swallowing. There is a slight twinkle in his rubies that make Midorima feel a little unnerved, as if Akashi can read him entirely (and perhaps he truly can). “It’s been a while since we’ve had a mutual day off, hasn’t it?”

Ah, there it is. That knowing look.

“It has,” Midorima wants to say, but doesn’t. Akashi already knows the intentions behind his question anyway.

So, instead, he says, “I rented a movie. Would you like to watch with me?”

Akashi pauses in his breakfast as he blinks up at Midorima, a breathtaking smile blooming not a moment later. Midorima’s heart skips a beat at the beautiful sight.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

(Midorima wonders why his heart hurts.)

.

.

.

They haven’t seen each other much lately. While they both managed their workload impeccably in their first and second years, Midorima finds his third year to be much more stressful than he had imagined it would have been. He has no doubt that Akashi is struggling too, if the fact he’s been cooped up in his room more often than not is anything to go by. He reluctantly admits Akashi’s still managing better than Midorima himself is, though.

Perhaps, for this reason, the frustration gradually builds up in him. The stress from university and working part-time (and the little inferiority complex he has when it comes to Akashi) causes him to be more irritable than necessary.

Perhaps, for this reason, he accidentally lashes out at Akashi, who merely wanted to help, telling him to rest because Midorima’s been pulling all-nighters for the past two days and he’s so obviously worried, but Midorima has so much more to do and he can’t afford to rest, and Akashi’s persistence is getting annoying and—he just snaps.

Midorima can still remember the pain that flittered across Akashi’s eyes, then, and it continues to haunt him for the past week. Akashi’s face quickly reverted to its poker face, though, apologising for disturbing Midorima while he was working and left, the door closing with a soft click but sounding all too final in the deafening silence that followed.

He’s barely seen Akashi since. In his guilt, he diligently continued his work to avoid thinking about what had just transpired and that went on for a week. The only time he saw Akashi was just as he was about to leave, already having had breakfast before Midorima. (He refuses to admit he misses having breakfast together with Akashi.) When questioned, Akashi merely said he wanted to head to the university early and study alone at the library before classes.

This continued for another week before Midorima finally decides he has to take action.

(Anything to make his heart stop hurting at the thought of Akashi. He much prefers the constant painful squirm his heart makes whenever Akashi smiles than this pain comparable to a dagger digging through his heart.)

.

.

.

It’s almost rare to see Midorima awake before Akashi these days. In the past, he would have woken up later than Midorima, taking full advantage of living away from home and experiencing the luxury of sleeping in (for another half hour at most). When he got out of bed, usually Midorima would be cooking breakfast, if not already done.

Ever since their little fight, though, Akashi has been avoiding the other and he knows Midorima is aware of it too. He doesn’t understand why he’s taking such actions, but he knows being on the receiving end of Midorima’s anger had left him uncomfortable and a little bit hurt (a lot, if he’s entirely honest).

He logically knows Midorima hadn’t intended to, if the startled surprise that adorned his face immediately after he registered his outburst was anything to go by, but Akashi couldn’t stand the awkward atmosphere that followed after whenever the two were in the same room.

To his surprise, however, today, as he steps out of his room, a delightful scent wafted in the air and the clattering of utensils in the kitchen met his ears.

Akashi’s mouth opened slightly in shock, hope beginning to fill his chest. It can’t be, right…? But he needn’t ask, for he already knows the answer as he approaches the kitchen with eagerness in his steps.

Laid out before him was a Japanese meal, something they both didn’t have as often as he’d like. It was difficult to cook a proper breakfast when they were busy hurrying out for classes (or sometimes part-time job in Midorima’s case).

“You’re awake,” a voice startles him out of his thoughts.

“Midorima.” The words come out before he has a chance to think them over, “This is…?”

Coming towards him, the aforementioned pushed Akashi into his seat before situating himself on the opposite end.

“You were always complaining we didn’t have Japanese breakfast often enough,” Midorima mutters softly.

Staring at the miso soup placed before him and noticing the abundance of tofu that filled his bowl, his lips curled up into a soft smile.

An apology. That’s what this is.

Gently clapping his hands together, he says, “Itadakimasu,” digging in immediately after. Not a moment later, his lion mug, filled with coffee, is placed before him.

“Three sugars, right? I’ve already added it in.” Of course Midorima would notice after living together for so long, but it doesn’t change the fact that that knowledge makes his heart soar.

“Thank you,” a beat, before, “but I prefer tea with Japanese meals.”

“Oh.” Frantically, Midorima starts getting out of his seat. “Then, I’ll brew some.”

Akashi hides a chuckle behind his hand as he watches the other’s nervous antics. Midorima’s clearly trying to please him to make up for his mistake.

“It’s fine, there’s no need.” Midorima immediately sits back down. “Since you’ve already went through the trouble, I’ll gratefully accept this.” Finishing, he takes a sip from his mug.

Breakfast passes by without a fuss. As they wash the dishes together, Akashi notices Midorima is still feeling a little awkward around him.

“Are you free tonight?” Akashi asks, suddenly.

Midorima whips his head around to look at him, having a sense of déjà vu. His emerald eyes soften at the implications. “Yes, I am.”

“There’s a movie I want to watch,” Akashi continues. “Would you like to watch with me?”

Midorima smiles, his shoulders finally relaxing as he gazes at Akashi with a fond look.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

.

.

.

/end.

.

.

omg i’m so sorry i hope this is to satisfaction…! idk how many times i’ve re-written this ahaha… i’ve never written midoaka before (mainly because i can’t write midorima at all) and my writing is so rusty after having not written in months, but if you enjoyed it even a little bit i’ll be happy ; v ;

this was supposed to be college!au with fluff and maybe a bit of angst, as you requested, but i feel like i failed on all three??? it’s not painful enough to be angst and the fluff is barely there (ry college also isn’t the focus of the fic so………. either way, i hope you can pardon all the possible ooc-ness and awkward sentences |||orz

merry christmas and happy new year, may!

Twenty-six years old and already established as one of the biggest names in the classical world. Born to be the heir of the opulent Akashi Corporation. Chose, rather than follow in the footsteps of his father, to study violin performance - a passion he has excelled in from a young age. Won just about every musical competition in Japan, and then some more around the world.

Midorima knows this story already. He has read this exact biography, the one that sits in front of him, countless times. He knows that Akashi Seijurou is an untouchable enigma, someone far above his own level (which, by the way, isn’t anything to scoff at either - Midorima Shintarou, artistic director of the Tokyo Philharmonic, a conductor and pianist well known for performances carefully executed to the last detail, a familiar name in Japan. But not Akashi Seijurou.)

All Akashi Seijurou does is win.

Midorima cannot think of the last time Akashi’s performance, or Akashi himself, has presented any sort of weakness. Granted, Midorima had not followed the man closely, but he has never heard of Akashi losing a competition or failing to win an award. All evidence points to the fact that Akashi Seijurou, as a violinist and human, is perfect.

All evidence also points to the fact that Akashi Seijurou will be joining the Tokyo Philharmonic in the upcoming season. This is both an exciting and terrifying fact, and it is the reason Midorima has been perusing the slip of paper in front of him for the past week, as if hoping that some time during the approximately 70th reread he will decipher some previously unknown meaning unlocking a new level to the enigma that is Akashi Seijurou.

This biography still says nothing that Midorima does not already know. Akashi Seijurou’s life is a life comprised only of victories.

Does such a life, such a human really exist?

–

“So, Shin-chan, you’re rehearsing with him tomorrow,” chirps Takao as he barges unannounced (again) into Midorima’s office, bringing along his usual mug of coffee and storm of constantly beeping phone notifications. Midorima wonders briefly (again), with no real hostility, why he still puts up with Takao. The orchestra’s head manager, Takao has earned himself a status as both an administrative genius and a certified idiot.

Takao sets his coffee down on Akashi’s biography and takes a seat facing Midorima. “Akashi Seijurou.”

“Yes.” Midorima looks at the mug on his desk disdainfully. It will probably mark Akashi’s biography with an unsightly ring of water. “That is his name. Are you actually done all the paperwork for our season opener, or are you just wasting your time waltzing in here to state such obvious things?” Actually, scratch that, even if Takao had finished the paperwork (only an 0.09% chance, highly unlikely), this was a waste of time.

Takao gasps in mock horror. “So cold. You don’t even know why I’m here. What if we lost the permit for the hall or something?”

“That is impossible. We practically own the place.” A certified idiot. Takao is failing to answer his questions like a proper person too, as usual.

“Well, you never know. Administration can be a bitch sometimes.”

“I know. It’s sitting in front of me. Why are you even here?”

“Right!” exclaims Takao, probably pretending to remember his reason for bothering Midorima. “I just wanted to check up on you, pre-season nervousness and all that -” (Idiocy. Midorima is never nervous about these things.) “- you know, you seem oddly fixated on Akashi-kun. It’s making you even more unapproachable than usual.”

“I’m sure that anybody would be. Fixated, that is.” The unapproachability is not even worth commenting on, Takao has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Well, I’m not really sure that rereading this-” Takao makes a gesture at Akashi’s biography “-will really give you any more insight his character. Unless you’re committed to memorizing every single award he has won, in which case I would advise you to consult his website instead, as it’s really more complete.”

“Quit your useless blathering, Takao,” says Midorima curtly. “I am simply preparing the best I can. As should you.”

Takao stands up, lifting his mug from the desk, expression turning more serious. “I know. Just relax, ok? You auditioned him, you know.”

“Yes. I did.” It was, as expected, a flawless audition.

“The contract has been signed. You have an entire season to get used to him, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll bid him goodbye at the end of the year,” continues Takao.

“Just relax. Rehearsal will begin tomorrow, and this” - more gestures at the biography - “will become a real person. Don’t get too caught up in your head, Shin-chan. Whoever Akashi Seijurou is, he has to still be human, right?”

Takao shuts the door behind him. Midorima looks at the now soiled sheet of paper on his desk, and wonders.

–

The first thing Midorima realizes during his first real meeting with Akashi Seijurou (the audition doesn’t count, all Shintarou did was hear him play for a few minutes and they both already knew he would land the job anyway) is that Akashi is so small.

It’s easy enough to forget this fact. Akashi radiates confidence onstage, a sense of you shall kneel to me that blinds everything else because he’s simply that good, making everyone look up at the god. But here in this cramped elevator, waiting an eternity to go up three floors, Midorima looks down and sideways and just thinks about how small Akashi looks, how remarkably human.

“Midorima-san,” says Akashi quietly but clearly, breaking the silence. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

“Same to you.” Midorima’s gaze shifts to the sliding display in the elevator, where it shows that there are still, impossibly, two floors to go. There is a strange awkwardness hanging in the air. Since when has he felt like this? Midorima is not the most social of people and he knows it, but he has never cared much for inanities like small talk or unnecessary interaction, and it’s never affected him. Why does he feel so tongue tied, like he wants to say something more but can’t, when simple professional greetings are a perfectly acceptable answer?

“I look forward to working with you this season,” continues Akashi. Midorima risks glancing at him again, and their eyes meet, red on green. He adjusts his glasses and averts his gaze.

The rest of their elevator ride is spent in a thick silence, as is the walk to the stage area. They part ways - Akashi to the backstage to set down his belongings, Midorima to the control room - and Midorima breathes again. In the control room, Takao is waiting and gives him a questioning look that has Akashi Seijurou, hm? written all over it, but Midorima simply takes out his things and walks onstage.

He organizes his notes and sheet music on the conductor’s stand as the orchestra continues filing in and warming up, a familiar blend of noise. When Akashi enters, Midorima feels that strange awkwardness again, not daring to look as the violinist takes his seat at the front, right next to Midorima in the concertmaster’s position.

When everyone has settled in, he motions for silence and gives his first-rehearsal speech. As he gives the necessary introduction of Akashi Seijurou as this year’s exciting new concertmaster, he keeps his voice steady, shakes Akashi’s hand as the orchestra gives a brief applause, and turns back to his score.

–

Takao all but pounces on him when Midorima is leaving the building after rehearsal. “So. How was it?”

“A good rehearsal, as expected. The players are well prepared for the workload, as they should be. It will be another successful season.”

“No, I meant.” Takao looks exasperated. “How was he?”

“If by he you are referring to Akashi, he played well. Although he does not have rich orchestral experience, Akashi has left me with the impression that he is a capable leader.”

“Shin-chan, you’re no fun. So technical about everything. What I actually meant was, you’ve basically spent the past week in some sort of trance about this guy. What’s he actually like? Did you talk to him? How does the real Akashi Seijurou compare to that sheet of paper in your office?”

The real Akashi Seijurou, Midorima wants to say, is tiny and seems human and makes him feel awkward and tongue-tied and plays as perfectly as his paper self says. The real Akashi Seijurou is still just as much of an enigma but makes him more unsure what to feel.

Lost in his thoughts, Midorima does not realize he has yet to respond until Takao says, with a glint in his eyes, “So he’s like that, huh?”

Had Takao somehow acquired mind-reading powers? “I don’t believe I said anything. What, exactly, does ‘that’ mean?” Midorima does not need this added confusion in his life. His own thoughts about Akashi are already difficult enough to sort out, as it is, without Takao throwing in inanities.

“You’ll figure it out, Shin-chan. Maybe.”

–

The season moves forward, and Midorima settles into his usual comfort zone more and more. Rehearsals, concerts, media, guest performers. It is all familiar and welcome. He studies new scores every week and talks to his players and staff, determined to maintain the level of quality the orchestra expects of itself.

Midorima finds pleasure in dissecting each piece they play, looking at the broad picture and the small details, planning each rehearsal for maximum efficiency. Do all you can to prepare, and luck will be on your side for every performance. Man proposes, God disposes.

He has not had much time to interact with Akashi. After that first time, he has never bumped into the violinist in the elevator, mostly due to updating his routine to arrive at the hall earlier (for purposes of having more time to prepare before rehearsal, of course, nothing else, not at all). Their interactions during rehearsal are professional and their lives outside are separate, and Midorima is back in familiar waters.

The awkwardness from their first meeting begins to dissipate as Midorima gets used to exchanging polite greetings and discussing symphonies and overtures with Akashi, but the underlying feeling of tension never quite goes away. Every time Midorima speaks to Akashi, there is still a slight urge to say something more than usual, to take the subject away from Waltz No. 4. But he does not know what he would say anyway, so he carries on and lets the feeling sit there, making sure to analyze an extra recording later to push the unease to the back of his mind. Akashi, for his part, appears content with the status quo - always polite, always confident, always perfect.

It is about a month into the season that Midorima finds Akashi standing at the entrance to the subway station near their hall after a concert, staring at his phone and looking slightly lost. It is a look that Midorima has never seen on Akashi before, this man who is never unsure and never wrong, and he feels like he has intruded on a very private moment.

His briefly considers turning around and walking to another station, but at that moment Akashi lifts his head and says, “Hello, Midorima. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” Akashi has morphed back into his usual composed expression, placing his phone in his pocket and smiling.

Midorima nods in response as he stops beside Akashi. “Good concert today. Are you on your way somewhere?”

“Just home,” replies Akashi. “And you?”

“I am heading home as well. Which route do you take?”

“I live near Yushima station, so I’ll be taking the Chiyoda line northward.”

“I see.” Midorima is pleasantly surprised. “I, too, commute along the Chiyoda line, though I go a bit farther, to Sendagi. It’s odd that we’ve never seen each other on the trains before.”

“Ah, I don’t always take the subway,” explains Akashi. He then holds the door open, and motions for Midorima to enter. “Shall we depart?”

Thanking Akashi, Midorima walks into the station and to the ticket collector, depositing his fare and proceeding to the underground level. He is vaguely aware of Akashi copying his movements behind him, silent but present.

And then they are on the train, standing quietly next to each other in the middle of one of the cars, and Midorima feels like he’s all the way back in that elevator from the first day again, awkward and unsure of what to say. Only this time the two of them aren’t strangers anymore, and there are other people too, not quite watching them but adding to Midorima’s sense of unease.

Akashi, he notices, has not grabbed any handholds despite the fact that they are standing. When the doors close and the train lurches ahead, he wobbles a bit, unconsciously grabbing Midorima’s arm as he lifts his hands to prevent himself from falling. Midorima feels a spark of heat from the sudden contact, rising uncontrollably from his arm to his face. I’m just tired, he thinks as he desperately tries not to react, this entire encounter was an unexpected development, calm down, even Akashi Seijurou would lose his balance standing with no support on a moving train, there is no reason to be reacting in such a way -

“Sorry” says Akashi quietly as he rights himself, removing his hand from Midorima’s arm, the spark now gone but the warmth lingering behind. Midorima pulls down one of the overhead handholds, offering it to Akashi as he assures him that it was ok, suggests that Akashi should probably hold onto something.

“Yes, right. Thank you.” Akashi reaches up to take the handhold, looking distracted. Midorima notices how Akashi has to straighten his arm a bit to reach, how his red eyes are more unguarded than usual. In this span of not even ten minutes, he thinks, he has already discovered more about Akashi than from the past month of rehearsals, from the week of reading his biography, from the years of hearing his name in the news. Of course, Midorima still knows next to nothing about the man. But somehow Akashi has now become just a bit more human, a bit more connectable. It is reassuring and exciting and terrifying, and he hopes that Akashi cannot hear the intensifying of his pulse or see his blush.

Thankfully, Akashi does not seem to notice Midorima irrationally making a fool of himself, and stares abstractly at the advertisements on the subway walls. Their rest of their ride is spent in silence again. Midorima looks at Akashi, who is still observing the walls, and he studies his features, his bright red hair, his outstretched hand on the handhold, the violin case on his back. He has never looked at Akashi so closely before, and he is still not used to seeing the violinist in such an uncomposed state. From this angle, he can see Akashi’s tired expression, his elegant nose, his slender fingers calloused from years of playing the violin, and Midorima commits all these new details to memory.

He is jolted out of his trance by the mechanical voice of the train system announcing arrival at Yushima station. It appears that Akashi is still in somewhat of a daze, and Midorima clears his throat. “It’s your stop.”

Akashi flinches for a brief second, then thanks Midorima and rushes out of the train moments before the doors close. He turns and raises his hand in goodbye, lips turning up into a tiny smile, and Midorima returns the gesture as the train takes off again and Akashi disappears from his view.

He spends the remaining two stops home disoriented, new thoughts and observations swirling in his mind. So Akashi Seijurou, too, has times when he is off guard, when he is tired, and this is what he looks like when such moments happen. As he exits the train and climbs the escalator, Midorima is still wondering about the distracted look in Akashi’s eyes when his phone rings.

Unknown number, the display reads, and Midorima lifts the phone to his ear, breathing out in an annoyed sigh. What cretin is calling him at this time of the night? He really shouldn’t have even bothered answering, it was probably a telemarketer -

“Hello, Midorima, I apologize for bothering you.” Akashi’s voice floats into his ear and Midorima almost jumps in shock. “It appears that this station has a more complex structure than I had anticipated. Do you happen to know where the exit is?”

What? Akashi was lost? How on earth did that manage to happen? And why did he have Midorima’s phone number? This was too much to process in one night. Midorima mutters a terse “Hold on, please, I’ll be there in a few minutes” without thinking, runs up the rest of the escalator, down the stairs, and onto the southbound train. The two stops back to Yushima are a tired haze of what is happening and why am I even doing this, and then Midorima is off the train and up the escalator and he find Akashi standing outside the ticket booth, looking at his phone again.

“You didn’t need to return,” states Akashi. “But thank you for taking the time to do so. Which one of the exits leads to the main intersection at street level? I have already tried two, but ended up at the buses and on an unknown small road.”

“The one down the hallway to our right,” Midorima replies. “I’ll walk you there.” Not giving Akashi a chance to protest, he begins to stride to the exit, slowing his pace when he realizes that Akashi has shorter legs.

“Once again, I apologize for inconveniencing you like this,” says Akashi, and he sounds every bit as tired as Midorima feels. Only…

“Akashi-san.” Midorima turns to look at the violinist. “Have you taken the underground before?”

Akashi sighs and hooks his fingers onto the strap of his violin case. “No. I have not.”

“I see.” Well. So this is why Akashi was so out of it - an entirely new environment after a long concert. Midorima should have noticed the signs from the beginning of their ride, but in any case, this was certainly an interesting new fact. “Never in your life? That’s quite surprising.”

“I’ve always been driven, mostly due to my father’s wishes. Recently, though, I’ve decided a change would be welcome.”

“Your father?”

“I would appreciate it if we did not elaborate on that matter. It’s not a very favourable subject.” Akashi sighs again. “I am sorry, though.”

He stops in front of a tall condominium building. “It seems we’ve arrived at my place. Thank you, Midorima. It was very considerate of you to help me like this today. I will remember it.”

“I’m glad to have been of assistance,” replies Midorima. “It was nice to see you outside of work for a bit. Good night.”

“Good night.” And Akashi is gone again.

Midorima is, really, glad for the experience - perhaps. He thinks he has just a slightly better picture of the man from the shining biography, who is now less of an enigma than before, but this new information still has the function of making his own thoughts and feelings that much more confusing.

As he walks the two blocks back to his building, the spot on his arm where Akashi touched him feels a lingering burn.

–

The next morning at rehearsal, Akashi is his usual poised self, no visible trace of the vulnerable man from last night. When Midorima walks onto the stage, he thinks he sees something more than usual in Akashi’s smile, hears something more in their greetings to each other, but he can never be sure.

Neither of them mention the encounter, but there is a feeling of… something there. Midorima can’t really describe it. He’s never really been close with anyone except for Takao, who had annoyed his way into Midorima’s life to become an irreplaceable friend, and these emotions are unfamiliar and perplexing. He goes as far as thinking of consulting Takao to gain some insight on the issue. That, though, would only be asking for trouble, as Takao obviously has some sort of secret and wildly inaccurate theories about Akashi and Midorima (evident through his vague wording and questionable mind-reading skills whenever the conversation drifts towards the topic of the violinist). Takao would probably laugh knowingly and cause Midorima great distress if the conductor ever brought up his quandary.

Odd feelings aside, Midorima finds that spending time with Akashi is quite a pleasant thing. The two of them commute together after work regularly now, and after that first trip, their train rides begin to fill with conversation. Akashi often has valuable input on the pieces they play, and Midorima is glad for the added insight of such a renowned musician. He fears at first that they would not be able to find any more common topics of conversation (there’s that irrationality again, there is really no necessity of speaking about other topics, he reminds himself), but one day he notices that Akashi is holding a newspaper and tentatively broaches the subject of a recent historical column. Akashi replies with his customary grace, and they are still discussing the political structure of the Edo period when the train arrives at Akashi’s stop.

They talk about everything from mathematics to Japanese basketball teams. Midorima looks forward to each ride, anticipates their conversations, because Akashi is so surprisingly easy to talk to that the untouchable man from the biography fades into a distant memory. Midorima no longer feels awkward and tongue-tied, and the desire to say something more, while it never fades away, becomes less of a constant concern.

“You seem happier recently, Shin-chan,” remarks Takao during one of their bi-weekly movie nights, where he drags Midorima to his apartment across from the concert hall and forces him to ‘catch up a bit with modern culture, stop being such an old man all the time’. “Things seem to be going well with Akashi.”

“Yes, I suppose they are.” Midorima has a bad feeling about this conversation already - Takao has a calculating expression on his face - but he’s tired, and he supposes it’s better to find out what the idiot is up to anyway.

“How well?”

That is an… oddly worded question, thinks Midorima. “I discovered that we take the same route home on the underground. Akashi is quite a good conversationalist. He is, as expected, knowledgeable, and actually has an appreciation for culture, unlike some other buffoons I know.” Sideways glance at whatever trashy title Takao has picked out for tonight.

Incredibly, Takao fails to react in his usual exaggerated way to Midorima’s harsh comments on his tastes and character. “So he’s an old man like you, hm? Looks like a pretty nice match.” He winks. “You guys do seem very comfortable with each other.”

Yes, Midorima has an extremely bad feeling about this conversation now. A change of topic would be highly ideal -

“Has he asked you out yet?”

A brief silence. Then a cough and splutter, and Midorima feels his face go red. “I - what kind of question is THAT? Our relationship is not of that type! Takao!”

“Really now? First the fixation after we hired him, then the weird emotional constipation from the first rehearsal, now these romantic train rides, not to mention the fact your face is completely red -” Takao grins like he’s just solved a logic puzzle. “I know you pretty well, Shin-chan, don’t even try to deny it. At the very least, you definitely have a thing for him.”

“That is not - I do not have a thing for anyone! This is foolishness! Akashi is a friend, nothing more. Your accusations are absurd. Now, were we not going to watch this?” Midorima picks up the DVD and shoves it at Takao.

Takao takes the disc but makes no move to insert it in the laptop. “Sorry, but not sorry, Shin-chan. Just wanted to help you a bit, you know. After all, emotions have never really been your strong suit”

What kind of help is this, all Takao is doing is spouting falsehoods and making him feel extremely uncomfortable, thinks Midorima, and he opens his mouth to say so. He has never thought of Akashi in such a way. But Takao holds up a hand to silence him. “I won’t say any more about this for now. But do think about it.

“Now, Marvel awaits!”

–

Midorima returns home the next day still very much distraught. So those were Takao’s theories - he really would have been better off not knowing. How will he face Akashi at their next rehearsal, now that such (preposterous) ideas are planted in his brain? Takao is an idiot, he repeats over and over in his mind, such accusations about my nonexistent love life have no basis whatsoever, and he almost manages to convince himself as he blasts Shostakovich’s Tenth Symphony from his record player.

The implications, though, cannot leave his mind, and Midorima ends up distracted partway through the fourth movement. All things considered, Akashi as a partner… would not be a terrible thing from what he knew so far, hypothetically. They had many shared interests and enjoyed each other’s company, and logistically their schedules and workplaces were extremely convenient. It was not typical of Midorima to let anyone into his life easily, but commuting and conversing with Akashi just feeled so… natural. Although Midorima still did not know much about Akashi’s personal life, that first subway ride together was, perhaps, a glimpse, and such things would be revealed eventually… It was all a theoretical situation, of course, such a development would never happen. Akashi could be happily married for all he knew. There was also no indication that the violinist was interested in men. Midorima, though he knew he was gay, would have no issue with spending the rest of his life without a partner - he had reached that conclusion a few years ago - but Takao’s suggestion was not insulting. Hypothetically.

This is too confusing, Midorima decides when he finally notices, half an hour later, that the recording had long since stopped playing, leaving an empty silence throughout his condominium. Something is wrong with my head.

As he slowly drifts off on the sofa despite the time barely being noon, the last thing he remembers is Akashi’s tired expression, a picture forever etched into his mind.

Somehow he manages to appear composed - or so he hopes - when their next rehearsal rolls around and he must confront Akashi again. The sight of the familiar head of red hair and confident, youthful face when the violinist walks onstage makes Midorima’s pulse jump a bit, and he swears he can hear Takao’s laughter from the control room.

Rehearsal passes without a hitch (the brass section had started out a bit sleepy, which was rather disappointing considering they had just had two days off, but by the second half things were back to normal and Midorima wasn’t worried), and the familiar routine has the effect of calming Midorima down somewhat. When he walks out of the hall alongside Akashi, however, Takao grins at him when he waves goodbye, and Midorima gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“How have things been in the past few days?” Akashi inquires as they ride the escalator down to track level, turning to look at Midorima. “You seem a bit distracted.”

“Ah, Y-yes - I mean, everything is as usual,” Midorima stutters. So he had not put up as good a front as he had hoped - Akashi noticed something, after all. Although was that due to failure on Midorima’s part, or the fact that Akashi had just become better at reading him? It was nice, he supposed, that Akashi cared. Stupid Takao, stupid thoughts, he laments quickly, remembering to give a more adequate reply. “Takao said something that’s been… on my mind, I suppose. It is nothing major. He is rather idiotic at times.”

“Ah.” Akashi nods. “You two seem close. I hope everything works out.”

“Thank you,” says Midorima as the enter the train. Then, out of nothing, he blurts out, “Akashi, are you in a relationship?”

Akashi raises his eyebrows slightly at the sudden question, but doesn’t comment on it. “I am not,” he replies. “My father, of course, has been suggesting that I find a suitable spouse soon, and he still has not given up in his matchmaking attempts, even during my frequent travels during the past few years. I have not been been pleased with his interference… but I digress. The answer is no. I haven’t quite tried with the right person yet, I think.”

There it is, the topic of his father again, popping up so rarely yet obviously a source of bitterness for the violinist. Midorima finds himself incredibly curious, but it would be rude to ask. The topic has already turned too personal, it was definitely rude of him to ask such a thing…

Midorima answers with a simple “I see,” still regretting his words.

“And you?” Akashi asks.

“I am not in a relationship either. After hearing your situation, I suppose I’m fortunate not to have such a persistent source of interference -”

Wait. Midorima cuts himself off as Takao suddenly appears in mind. There’s a source of interference all right, that’s how he got into this mess of a conversation in the first place. “Well, perhaps. I’m not sure.”

“Ah.” Akashi’s expression is unreadable. “I actually suspected for a while that there was something between you and Takao. A silly assumption on my part.”

“It’s all right. But yes, there is nothing happening between myself and Takao. Do not worry about that. He seems rather happy with his pattern of sporadic dating, and I prefer not to involve myself with that that too much.” Worry? What is he saying? Why would Akashi be worried about such a thing?

“I see.” Akashi continues. “So I assume you’re not looking for a romantic relationship, then?”

“I - “ This is very slippery ground. Everything Takao said three days ago is too dangerously present in Midorima’s brain, hindering his ability to think up a coherent response. What did he say to Takao when asked about this same topic years ago? Think. Think. Calm down. “Well. I suppose I am not actively searching for one, no - solitude is comfortable for me. But if someone suitable were to appear, I would not be opposed to trying.” Truthful, and neutral. Nothing, he hopes, that gives away the jumble of emotions in his chest.

Akashi looks thoughtful. “I see.” There is a lot of ‘seeing’ in this conversation, Midorima notices, and it is getting rather awkward even for his standards. For the first time, he glances at the digital display on the train to gauge the remaining time on their ride. Still three stops to go before Akashi arrives home. He looks at Akashi, at the outstretched arm and the fingers on the handhold, and wants at once both for the ride to come to an end and to find out more.

“It seems you’ve managed to find some peace on the subject,” Akashi says after a while. “That’s quite fortunate.

That can’t be farther from the truth, Midorima wants to yell, I thought I found peace, but then you came and I can’t tell anymore. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Akashi’s hand, his mouth shut.

“I wish I could say the same for myself,” says Akashi, looking distant. “but I’m afraid I’m not so independent. Loneliness. It can be difficult sometimes.”

After another pause, he continues. “But I’m glad I decided to audition for the Tokyo Philharmonic. It was a good choice. I’m enjoying the position here so far. Thank you.”

“No, thank you for coming,” Midorima replies, smiling slightly. “You could have gone anywhere, but we’re lucky enough to have you.” Yes, turn the conversation back to professional territory. This is good.

“I guess we’re both lucky, then,” says Akashi. “Good night, we’ve arrived at my stop.” He turns to Midorima before exiting the subway car. “And good luck.”

“Same to you.”

As the doors close, Midorima realizes, belatedly, that he may have just admitted to himself that he might have - as Takao puts it - a thing for Akashi Seijurou, because he is running out of excuses and reasons for his awkwardness and unexplainable emotions and lack of peace, and now that he knows Akashi is single, some of the barriers he’d set up are gone.

I’m in so much trouble.

–

“You’ll never guess what we managed to plan for our mid-season concert!” Takao is practically skipping as he bangs open the door to Midorima’s office. His coffee mug is still full and dangerously close to spilling, which makes it a bit terrifying how hyper he is.

“I was up so late last night phoning Kuroko-kun about the details,” he continues, not bothering to elaborate on the identity of this Kuroko-kun, “and would you believe it, Shin-chan?” Takao places his mug down and sits dangerously close to Midorima’s personal space, his eyes glittering.

“We’re getting Akashi to play with us! As a soloist this time! Nijimura-san will assume the concertmaster position in his place for the concert, and it will be a perfect opportunity to showcase the virtuosic talent of this season’s new concertmaster, who has been regrettably absent from the solo-playing scene for the past few months, as the critics have been saying!”

“You - sorry, slow down, please, Takao, could you repeat that again? Akashi what?” Midorima’s head is spinning slightly. It is too early for this.

“Kuroko-kun and I have been in contact for about a week now - he’s Akashi’s manager - and we were telling each other about our darkest troubles,” Takao says dramatically, “and it became evident that what this orchestra and its concertmaster needs is a concert featuring Akashi as the solo performer!” He looks extremely pleased with himself.

Rightfully so, too. Midorima is intrigued. “So he’s going to play with the orchestra? That’s actually a good idea.” He’s really quite impressed with Takao, now that the situation is more clear. “It will attract a large audience for sure, and I personally do anticipate the opportunity to work with Akashi as a soloist.” Takao looks like he’s about to make a snide remark, but Midorima speaks on. “When is this scheduled for? Has the programme been decided? Surely we must begin promoting the event soon.”

“It’s going to be our mid-season concert, Shin-chan, I thought I said that already.” Takao shakes his head, but his expression is still as excited as it was when he first stormed in. “As for the piece, I think you should ask Akashi about that yourself! He’s the performer!”

At that moment, Takao’s phone rings. He stands up, drawing the device out of his pocket. “Work hard, Shin-chan!” he calls out, and disappears down the hall, chattering away to the person on the other end of the line.

Midorima sighs, but he already feels more animated than he has in weeks. This was, certainly, a golden opportunity. Bless Takao for creating the event. Midorima will get to see Akashi perform, solo, will actually stand on stage with Akashi watching the genius in his most natural element.

There is still the minor (extremely major) issue of Midorima’s entire Akashi issue, but that - that is a side concern for now. Here he is going to deal with Akashi Seijurou the world-renowned violinist, not Akashi Seijurou the ordinary human. Midorima tells himself there is a definite difference.

–

Midorima’s phone rings shortly before noon, Unknown Number staring him in the face. He picks it up on the third ring and Akashi’s voice sounds. “Good morning, Midorima.”

He must have forgotten to put Akashi’s number into his contacts after that single call on the subway months ago, he realizes, and he still doesn’t know how Akashi has his number.

Akashi’s voice, though, reminds him of yesterday, and Midorima stumbles slightly on his reply. “Y-yes, good morning. How are you?”

“Good, thanks. This may have been brought to your attention already, but my manager, Tetsuya, reached an agreement with the administrative staff of the Philharmonic last night. I will be performing a solo.”

“Takao told me about it this morning.” Midorima smiles. “I look forward to the working with you as a soloist. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, actually. Have you decided what piece you’ll be playing?”

“The piece I’ve chosen is the Tchaikovsky concerto,” says Akashi, “and thank you. I anticipate the project as well.”

“That’s a classic,” Midorima notes immediately. “Though it seems a bit… different from your usual style, if I may say so.”

“True. But things have changed quite a bit for me since coming here, I’ve found, and the changes are not unwelcome. I do mean what I said last night. This place was the right choice.”

A year ago, Midorima would have been extremely pleased that a musician of such a high level was impressed by their orchestra. He would have taken pride in the acknowledgement all his meticulous preparations and efforts. Now, though, he wants to ask, is it just the orchestra? What about me? What did you really mean?

What am I trying to do?

“Midorima,” continues Akashi, “I would like it if we could go for dinner together after rehearsal tomorrow.”

Midorima actually jumps in his chair. “What for?” He feels a flush creeping up his face.

“To celebrate the project, I suppose. You could put it that way. Although I simply wish to spend time with you as well. Is there an issue?”

“Yes. I mean. No. That would be great. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“There’s a nice place a few hundred meters down from the hall called Yosen Restaurant. It’s small, but the food is good. They serve excellent dessert.”

“That sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Akashi.”

“Yes. Have a nice day.”

Midorima hangs up the phone, still in a state of shock. Dinner with Akashi… he had replied so rudely at first, as well! He was most likely overreacting, Akashi probably just wanted to talk about the orchestra. Though the violinist had said that he wished to spend time with Midorima… but that didn’t mean anything. Midorima was jumping to conclusions. He was being illogical. Surely Akashi meant this as a simple outing with a friend.

His distracted state remains for the rest of the day and Midorima finds himself unable to focus on the scores in front of him, his mind replaying Akashi’s call over and over. When he walks out of his office at the end of the day, he does not notice that he has bumped into one of the cleaning staff until various pineapple-related threats are being yelled in his face, and is debating between apologizing and snapping at the guy when Takao shows up.

“Hey Shin-chan, have you talked to- oh, hello, Miyaji! What’s up?”

“Get this idiot out of here before I call Kimura and smash both your faces in! Wandering around the halls like that, almost knocked over the trash bins, I don’t fucking care if he’s conducting jesus come alive or something -”

“Yes, yes, we’ll be going!” Takao hurriedly pushes Midorima out of the building before Miyaji can finish his diatribe. The guy has always had anger issues. “So.” He turns to face Midorima. “As I was saying earlier. Have you talked to Akashi yet? Oi, Shin-chan, I’m speaking to you, stop daydreaming about your crush and listen to me -”

“I was not daydreaming, you fool.” Midorima pushes his glasses up brusquely and huffs. “To answer your question, yes, Akashi phoned me. He said -” he cuts off his sentence and begins staring into space again, ignoring Takao’s frantic waves.

“Akashi said what? Shin-chan? Hello?” Takao is jumping up and down by now, and they are still at the back entrance to the hall. “Ok, what happened? Don’t tell me he actually asked you out or something and you’re having a mental breakdown?”

Goddamn Takao and his goddamn mind-reading. Although his wording was rather inaccurate and demanded correction. “That is… I am not having a mental breakdown. I am simply tired.” Midorima adjusts his glasses again, and decides he might as well spill to Takao. “Akashi phoned me and invited me to dinner after rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Not,” he continues, raising a hand when Takao looks ready to burst, “In the way you have been suggesting. Akashi simply wishes to discuss the upcoming concert. We are coworkers and friends. I should be heading home now.” Midorima almost wants to ask Takao’s advice, but his pride soon takes over and he begins striding towards the subway station.

“Hold on, Shin-chan.” Takao runs to catch up and is next to Midorima in a second. “I’m coming with you.”

“No. That is completely unnecessary, Takao.”

“Oh, but I think it is. You look pretty nervous about your date.”

“It is not a date.”

Takao laughs. “If you say so. But you don’t want to make a fool of yourself, do you, Shin-chan? Besides, I haven’t been over in ages!” Takao is now slipping into the station behind him, and Midorima knows he has lost.

He listens half-heartedly to Takao’s inane chatter throughout the ride, still pondering the meaning of Akashi’s invitation. Thankfully, Takao does not explode until they are safely inside Midorima’s condominium.

“So!” The manager jumps up and down a few times, then stands facing Midorima. “I know you’re probably super nervous and worrying excessively, but don’t think too much or you’ll end up becoming a literal old man even faster than your current alarming pace, ok?”

“I am not,” grumbles Midorima, “an old man. I am 28 years old.”

Takao ignores Midorima’s perfectly valid argument and plows on. “You should probably, like, try to vent or something. Emotional constipation is dangerous, you know, and you’ve been walking on the edge for a long time.”

Midorima sighs. Venting is practically impossible. Maybe Takao’s right, he does have difficulty expressing himself, but it’s not that big of a deal, he’s lived so far, and Takao’s way of putting it is really… crude. He supposes he needs to do something about this mess of thoughts and emotions though. “I don’t…”

Calm down. Try again. “As I have already told you, Akashi invited me to dinner with him after rehearsal tomorrow,” Midorima explains. “It was unexpected, that is all. I am not accustomed to such things, but it is probably not a big deal. I must prepare adequately for the event, and it should go smoothly.”

Going through things logically really has always helped Midorima. He already feels much calmer. Man proposes, God disposes. Prepare, and you shall be rewarded. Yes. Midorima squashes the rest of his jitters as much as he can in a dark corner of his brain.

“That’s the spirit.” Takao still looks a bit worried, as if he knows that Midorima is putting up a front, but he lets the matter slide. “We have to prepare you, to the best of our ability, for your date, then!”

“It is not a date.” Takao must have hearing issues.

The man in question, however, is already pulling up a list of rules on his phone, and Midorima can only sigh and surrender again.

–

Yosen is, as Akashi had described, small, but comfortable. Midorima and Akashi manage to find seats almost as soon as they enter, and are greeted by a tall waiter with dark hair covering one eye. “Nice to see you again, Akashi-san,” the waiter greets. “And you are, if I’m not mistaken, Midorima-kun from the Philharmonic?”

“Yes.” So Akashi is familiar with the owners of this place. It’s not surprising, Midorima thinks, considering Akashi’s range of influence. He’s a bit shocked that a waiter at a small place like this would recognize him, but they are quite close to the hall after all.

“I’ve been working with Midorima this season, as you may be aware,” states Akashi. “It’s been a pleasant third of a year so far.”

“That’s nice to hear.” The waiter sets down two menus in front of them. “I’ll be back to take your order when you’re ready. Please enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, Himuro,” Akashi replies.

Midorima opens his menu. His eye is immediately drawn to the listing of shiruko, and he recalls Akashi commending the place’s desserts, but first things first. He turns to Akashi, who is looking back at him, his menu untouched. “Anything you would recommend here?”

“Their udon is highly recommended, though I myself prefer the tofu soup. Anything is likely to be quite good, though. Murasakibara is very capable.”

“I see. You’re familiar with the chef?”

“I’ve known him for a while, yes.” Akashi’s smile is slightly fond. “Eccentric, but very dedicated to his work. And loyal.”

“Ah.” At that moment, Himuro passes by again, and Midorima nods to Akashi, who waves at the waiter. They order their dishes - Midorima gets chicken udon, and Akashi tofu soup. The food, when it arrives, is delicious, and the two eat in a comfortable silence for a while.

“Thanks for inviting me here today,” Midorima says, breaking the silence. “This is an excellent place.”

Akashi nods. “I did say it would be good. It’s nice that you’re enjoying yourself so far.” He chews another bite of tofu and swallows. “Did you hear about the Seahorses’ game yesterday? They were surprising dominant.”

Midorima nods, and the conversation begins to flow naturally from there. They move from JBL to Greece to trading stories about Miyaji the cleaner’s violent tendencies, and as Midorima finishes his shiruko (perfect, he must come back again sometime) and they pay and leave, it occurs to him that not once during the full hour did they actually discuss the mid-season concert or the Tchaikovsky concerto. In fact, the entire thing had gone by so naturally that he is left with a feeling of confidence - perhaps his worries from the previous day had been foolish. Takao had indeed helped him prepare adequately for the occasion, and everything had gone as well as it should.

As they approach Yushima station on the subway ride back, Akashi turns to Midorima and smiles. “That was an enjoyable evening,” he says. “Thank you. If you are willing, we should go again sometime.”

“Indeed.” Midorima finds himself smiling back. “I enjoyed it as well, and would not mind repeating the experience. Rest well, Akashi.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Watching Akashi’s slight figure climb up the escalator and away, Midorima thinks of the violinist’s face, and how he had seemed so genuinely happy. That night, he goes to bed feeling at peace, his heart light.

–

Takao grills him for information about his “date” the next day, and at first, Midorima is still in a sufficiently good mood that he replies with just a bit less annoyance than usual. Takao’s idiocy, of course, is still a force to be reckoned with, and Midorima is thankful when Akashi arrives at the hall, greeting him and ignoring Takao’s knowing look.

“Seriously, are you sure you’re not together yet?” Takao asks when Midorima enters the control room during break. Midorima pointedly ignores him.

And everything feels right. Akashi is open and easy to talk to, concerts are progressing as usual, Takao is annoying. There is the issue, as Takao likes to point out, that Midorima and Akashi’s relationship still has not progressed any farther, but Midorima pushes it aside. He’s ok with things as they are, right now.

On another movie night two weeks later, Takao decides to up his pestering game. “So. Shin-chan,” he begins, pausing from the stack of DVDs he was poring over, “I read something really interesting about Brahms the other day.”

“Really?” A rather unusual topic for Takao to breach. While knowledgeable and appreciative of classical music as the manager of a major orchestra should be, Takao has never gone out of his way to do such research, at least not to Midorima’s attention. “What would that be?”

“This guy had this really huge complex,” says Takao, making a sweeping gesture with his hands. “He couldn’t get over Beethoven, or something. Spent most of his life thinking he wasn’t good enough to compose, and just kept waiting for basically nothing.”

“That is the gist of it, yes.” Midorima does not bother with the details.

“He didn’t write a symphony until he was forty! All because he didn’t think he was prepared enough, kept stalling and stalling and preparing and preparing, and couldn’t find the guts to actually act on something. Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I know of this story.” Midorima is becoming rather confused about Takao’s sudden fascination with Brahms. “But once he managed to take the first step, Brahms proved to be a brilliant composer. His first symphony is a masterpiece, every bit worthy of the master he had obsessed over for so long. What is your purpose in all of this?”

“Don’t you think it’s an interesting story? Really has a moral and stuff, right?”

“Please stop wasting time with your theatrics.”

“Hear me out on this one, Shin-chan, I promise it’s good.” Takao is grinning. “So, I think that what we can take out of the thrilling tale of Brahms is that sometimes you just gotta go for it! Don’t wait until you’re forty! Preparation is good and all that, but a man needs to act! And then maybe.” Wink. “Success will come. But if you keep stalling, then the world will never be able to know what it might have missed.”

“Of what relevance is this?” Midorima is getting annoyed. He thinks he has an idea of what Takao’s trying to get at now - he’s not stupid, thank you - and this idiocy is really not needed in his life.

“You know what I’m talking about. Or you really should, even if your emotional digestive system has a few obstructions here and there.” Takao is still smiling, but his voice has turned serious. “Don’t wait, Shin-chan. If you think about it, Brahms was pretty lucky that he didn’t go stale or happen upon some great misfortune during all those years. Not everyone might be so fortunate. You might not be so fortunate. You gotta write your symphony, Shin-chan!”

Midorima grabs the nearest trashy DVD.

–

As they are walking to the subway after their second dinner meeting after rehearsal one night (Midorima didn’t even freak out this time, which he is rather proud of, and he doesn’t recall telling Takao anything about the event, but Takao somehow found out anyway and whispered a totally unnecessary, out-of-place “write your symphony” to Midorima five times that day), Akashi finally brings up the topic of the mid-season concert.

“I’ve been working on the details of the Tchaikovsky,” he tells Midorima. “Takao has informed me that I’ll begin rehearsing with the orchestra this week. It is quite a fascinating concerto.”

“Indeed. There’s a reason why it is well known as one of the violin masterpieces of all time.” Midorima looks at Akashi. “How is the progress so far? What are your opinions on the piece?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about, actually. As you mentioned during our first conversation on the topic, this concerto is a bit of a departure from the pieces I’m used to playing, and I’ve been having some trouble with the interpretation.”

“I see.” Midorima can feel excitement rising within him. He had, in fact, found a score of the concerto almost immediately after Takao told him the news last month, and listened to several recordings. It was an intriguing piece, after all, and he wants to be fully prepared to work with Akashi. He pushes up his glasses. “I’ve began studying the score already, in fact, so I’d be willing to offer what assistance I can. Where do you want to start?”

Akashi looks thoughtful. “I was hoping that we would be able to work on this in a place where I would be able to play my violin for a bit. A bit like an individual run-through before working with the full orchestra, perhaps, to decide where we want to take this piece.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. When would you like to work on it?”

When Akashi speaks next, his eyes are determined. “Right now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right now?” Midorima is both very excited and very terrified.

“Yes.” And Akashi strides into the station.

They end up, half an hour later, in Akashi’s condominium. Entering behind the violinist, Midorima glances around and notices how neat and expensive everything looks, but cold. Almost as if the place is not used much, he realizes. The walls are spotless and bare, and the room looks to contain not much apart from a few pieces of high-end furniture. Any other day he would probably be freaking out about visiting Akashi’s for the first time, but Midorima’s thoughts are filled with two things: the Tchaikovsky concerto, and the desire to hear Akashi play.

Akashi flips on the light switches and sets his violin case down on a side table, gesturing for Midorima to take a seat. “Water?” He asks, and Midorima politely accepts. The next few minutes are spent in silence as Akashi takes out his violin and flips through his music.

Midorima sips his water. There is an upright piano in the corner, on top of which sits a framed photograph of a smiling woman, the only noticeable piece of decor in the room. He wonders about this, and is debating whether it would be rude to ask Akashi about the picture when the violinist speaks.

“The woman in the photograph is my mother,” Akashi explains. He has moved to stand next to Midorima’s place on the sofa, and is looking at the picture with an unreadable expression. “She passed away when I was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that.”

“But she was the one who instilled in my my passion for music, and inspired me to choose this career.” Akashi is smiling. “A memorable part of my childhood. Now, shall we begin working?” He sets his music onto a stand.

“Of course.” Midorima is still thinking about this new, and no doubt significant, piece of information he has learned about Akashi, but at least it does not seem to trouble the violinist the way speaking of his other parent had. It piques his curiosity, but the subject is obviously closed, so he turns his gaze towards Akashi and nods. “Do you want to start off with playing the piece right away? Or discuss some of the background first?”

“Discussion,” decides Akashi, and pulls up a chair to take a seat facing Midorima. “So. The Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, Opus 35. Written in 1878, dedicated to Adolph Brodsky.”

“Dedicated to Brodsky, yes, but not written for him. Many accounts say that Tchaikovsky truly wrote the concerto for the violinist Iosif Kotek, his pupil.” Midorima adjusts his glasses. “And, apparently, lover. It was a difficult period of the composer’s life, following a failed marriage, and the composition and relationship were probably somewhat therapeutic. However, Tchaikovsky did not want to raise suspicions about the nature of his relationship with the violinist, who ended up refusing to play the concerto anyway.”

“I see. You’ve done your research,” says Akashi. “It’s quite a sad tale, for such a beautiful piece of music.”

“Yes. Tchaikovsky’s entire life was not exactly a happy one. He was always always at pains to hide his sexuality from the public, as homosexuality was certainly frowned upon in Russia at that time. The sadness and yearning, I think, are given a voice in the concerto, especially in the wistfulness of the first movement’s slow theme. Although, there are moments where the violin sounds almost happy.”

“As if Tchaikovsky wanted to display the ephemeral joy he experienced while working on the piece with his lover,” concludes Akashi. “I see. Many complex emotions. It is unfortunate that Tchaikovsky had to hide himself in such a way. In today’s world, I would probably not have to do the same.”

Partially lost in thought, Midorima vaguely realizes the fact that he and Akashi are discussing a highly sensitive topic, albeit in the form of recounting the story of men long dead, and did Akashi just imply that he was gay? Midorima cannot stop the faint bubble of hope that rises in his chest. Think about music. We are talking about the concerto.

“Your portrayal of the Brahms concerto,” says Midorima, thinking out loud, “was heroic.”

“Yes. I felt that it was meant to be expressed in such a way, and proved victorious.”

“Many of your other recordings as well, in fact. In those pieces, there’s a sense of absoluteness, of heroism, of strength, of victory. Tchaikovsky, in contrast, is more vulnerable.” A pause. “More human. The emotions are raw, not shielded in armour. There is a sense of loss. Yes - perhaps think of this as a starting point. To truly understand this concerto, think of loss.”

“Loss,” repeats Akashi, and goes silent.

When Midorima finally looks up, he realizes that Akashi’s face has gone cold, eyes blazing. “I,” says Akashi, voice icily calm, “do not lose.”

Midorima is panicking. He had not expected such a reaction, oh no, he had let himself get carried away with his words, and forgotten who he was talking to - all Akashi Seijuro does is win -

“You are suggesting, Midorima,” continues Akashi, standing up and looking down at him, “that a masterpiece like this is about loss? You are saying that I would lose?”

“It is not losing in the sense of losing and winning, per say,” says Midorima, desperately attempting to backtrack. “Loss in the sense of missing something, perhaps. It is not so black and white.”

“That is a foolish way of thinking. If you lose, you do not win. And victory defines life. If, in playing this concerto, I were to, as you put it, ‘lose’, that would be unacceptable.”

Akashi’s voice is still deadly calm, one hand gripping his violin and bow, and Midorima knows he is digging his own grave, but he cannot, inexplicably, back down. “Music is not about winning.”

“Is it not?” asks Akashi. “In the musical world, those who win competitions, who win awards, take it all. Those who cannot do so are wiped away. I am here because I have won. So are you. Every piece, every performance, is a victory or a loss. And for me, there is only victory.”

“When the Philharmonic performs, we do not do so for the sake of victory,” states Midorima. “We simply prepare our best and play, to express. That is music.”

“Do you truly feel,” he asks, “that your position here, your performances, are only another victory?”

“They will be. So far, everything had been going according to plan. This was not expected, Midorima. But in the end, you shall see that I am right.

“It is getting late. I suggest that you go home now, Midorima. Good night.” It was not a suggestion.

Midorima opens his mouth, but no words come out. Akashi is already packing up his violin.

–

At the first rehearsal of the Tchaikovsky concerto, Akashi is perfectly poised and does not play a single wrong note. Every difficult passage is executed with minute precision and a sense of deadly power, each melody commanding the world. It is as if Akashi is boldly declaring his perfection, his utter lack of weakness, and the orchestra behind him kneels and follows. It is as if every note Akashi plays wins.

It is, Midorima thinks, wrong. It is not Tchaikovsky.

He wants to say something, to ask Akashi to consider playing each phrase in a different tone, but Akashi’s eyes are domineering, daring him to defy if he dares. Midorima stops the orchestra again and again, makes them repeat here and there, but cannot say a word.

Rehearsal is over half an hour earlier than usual.

When Midorima exits the hall and walks to the subway station, Akashi is nowhere to be seen. Hopelessly, he glances around, but there is no trace of a small man with bright red hair and a violin on his back, and he sighs and walks through the door.

The pattern continues. Frustrating, terrifying rehearsals. Solitary train rides home. Midorima still does not speak to Akashi, and he dodges Takao’s inquisitive looks and whispers.

He holds out like this for two days, proud and stubbornly refusing to bring anything up to anyone. He had simply miscalculated, had assumed too much and acted too rashly without adequate preparation. He had fooled himself into thinking he was discovering the real Akashi Seijurou, finding someone past the untouchable enigma of the glossy biography, but it was all a mistake.

All Akashi Seijurou does is win. That is the simple truth.

By the third day, however, he feels himself beginning to break down. He wants to hear Akashi’s voice in conversation again, watch his arm reach for the subway handhold, see his genuine smile. He wants to go up to the violinist and talk to him, and ask how things suddenly turned so wrong, and start all over again. He wants to be with Akashi. He wants Akashi. But he finds himself even further back than he was the first time in the elevator, unsure of what to say. This time, there is not only a heavy awkwardness, but also a cold, crippling fear.

Midorima remembers every detail about Akashi that he’s stored in his brain over the past months, each feature and conversation. He buys a disc of Akashi’s recording of the Brahms Violin Concerto, puts it in his record player, and listens helplessly again and again as the power, the invincibility, the sound of victory resounds throughout the room.

Lying in bed in his condominium each night, unable to fall asleep, Midorima feels, for the first time in years, lonely.

–

“There’s something off with Akashi’s concerto,” states Takao on the fifth day, having confronted Midorima at the hall’s entrance after rehearsal. “Something happened.”

It is not a question. Midorima ignores this and tries to shove his way past Takao. The sun is setting, and he must go home and study his scores. “Everything is fine. We are having some minor setbacks with the concerto, yes, but I will solve them. Go home.”

“Everything is not fine, Shin-chan, you’ve looked like a wilted carrot for the past week.”

“If such crude insults are all you have to offer, I suggest that you stop wasting my time.” Takao is somehow managing to keep up with Midorima despite the conductor’s best efforts to break away, and it is really getting quite annoying.

“Something’s going on between you and Akashi. Spill.” The look on Takao’s face suddenly turns serious. “Did you… finally confess?”

“Nothing of that sort.” Midorima keeps his features expressionless, adjusting his glasses. “I assure you, there is absolutely nothing happening, Takao.”

“Shin-chan. Look at me. There is definitely, for sure, something wrong. I will call Akashi and ask him about -”

Midorima snaps his head to turn towards Takao. “What did you just say.”

“I will call Akashi and ask him what is going on, because dammit, Shin-chan, this is becoming really worrying, ok? The two of you haven’t been speaking all week, you haven’t spoken to me all week either, and rehearsal is starting to get really scary. Please, Shin-chan. You can’t keep doing this forever.”

Through a mixture of Takao’s persistent prodding and his own frustration, Midorima finally gives in with a sigh. “I suppose… yes. Akashi and I had a disagreement and I’m… unsure of how to act now.”

“Ah.” There’s a concerned look in Takao’s eyes, and he stops walking. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

And Midorima does. Standing halfway between the hall and the subway entrance, with the sky darkening, he slowly tells Takao the story.

How, half a year ago, the enigma in the biography inexplicably drew him in, and left him with an unshakable fixation and a desire to know more, to find the truth. How the reality, when it arrived, was at once what the paper had described and everything it could never express, and gave him these strange feelings that were so difficult to deal with. How the train rides and the conversations and the dinners made Akashi a part of his life that he had never expected to fit into place so easily. How lost he felt, and still feels, after that disastrous conversation about Tchaikovsky and victory, and how despite the fact that everything seems to be over, it is impossible for him to forget any part of the journey or to stop wanting more.

Midorima doesn’t think he’s ever talked this much at once in his life, and he struggles to pronounce each word, unsure of the way to phrase these thoughts and emotions that he has suppressed and hidden away for so long.

“I had thought for the longest time,” he concludes, “That solitude was something I could always enjoy. That, if somebody like Akashi came and left, it would not matter to me. But it seems that such an assumption… was wrong. I just.” He pauses.

“Whether Akashi is truly the man who only wins, or the person I thought I came to know, or perhaps both, I cannot stop thinking about him. I just can’t seem to cut him out of my life.”

“Shin-chan.” Takao is thoughtful. “You love Akashi, don’t you.”

Midorima looks defeated, but eventually he says, “I… yes. I probably do.”

“Then you have to tell him that. Akashi - and I’ve watched the two of you enough to say this with some confidence - he cares for you. Winning, losing… You won’t know until you’ve tried, Shin-chan. Go write your symphony.”

With a tired smile, Midorima nods. “I shall do my best.”

–

In the end, laughably, it’s Akashi who ends up making the first move again. Midorima is riding up the escalator after his (solitary) subway ride and definitely not sulking when his phone rings.

The call is from Unknown number, but Midorima gets a feeling he knows the identity of the caller already. Of course, this has the initial effect of making him consider silencing his phone, but Takao’s words and his own resolution come to mind, and he picks up.

“Hello.” Akashi’s voice is weary and a bit guarded, far from the cold and commanding persona at rehearsal. “I apologize for bothering you, Midorima.”

Midorima’s hand gripping his phone begins to sweat, and he lets out a shaky breath. He has missed Akashi’s voice. He has missed this so much. We haven’t even made up yet, we’re technically still fighting, he thinks, and is at a loss for words. What would even be an appropriate response? His preparations had not accounted for the possibility of Akashi acting first. This was all going horribly.

“I assume you’re still there,” Akashi continues. “It would not surprise me if you refused, considering the way I have… acted towards you, but I have a request.”

Finally finding his voice, Midorima responds unsteadily. “What is it?”

“I would like some assistance in preparing the concerto. The concert is not far away, and, as you know, rehearsals so far have been less than ideal. Please.”

A pause. Midorima realizes, at some point, that Akashi is waiting for an answer, and hurriedly says, “Yes, of course. I’d be very happy to do that. I mean, when?”

“Would you be able to… come over right now?” Akashi sounds hesitant. “There are other things I wish to say. But it would be best not to do so over the phone.”

“I’ll be right over,” Midorima replies, and runs down the stairs.

He reaches Akashi’s condominium in less than ten minutes, nervously knocking on the door. When the violinist opens it, Midorima is taken aback at what he sees. Up close, Akashi looks tired and forlorn, even more so than his voice had sounded on the phone. He does not look at all, Midorima realizes, like someone invincible and victorious, but rather like someone tiny, exhausted, and very much human.

“Thank you for coming.” Akashi closes the door and sits down on a chair, Midorima taking a seat on the sofa across from him, reminiscent of the first and only other time they had been in that same room. “I was expecting you to decline.”

“That would not have been a possibility.”

“I see,” says Akashi. He fidgets slightly with the hem of his shirt, glances around, eyes meeting Midorima’s after a few awkward seconds and then darting away again. “Although I said earlier that my purpose for calling you over was to work on the concerto, firstly, I have an apology to make.

“Last week, when we had our… disagreement over the interpretation of the Tchaikovsky, I spoke with the beliefs that I have held for my entire life. Victory had been all that I knew, and any suggestions otherwise were difficult to process.

“But after you left, even though I had held my ground, it did not feel like a victory. I could not really explain it to myself, and continued playing with perhaps even more conviction than I had ever done in an attempt to thwart my confusion.

“I’ve come to realize that what I felt, then, could only be explained as loss. When you walked out of the door that day, I lost something.

“This loss was my own doing, coming out of the way I spoke and acted. It would be understandable if you wished for this loss to remain. That is all. I am really sorry, Midorima.”

Akashi finishes speaking, eyes downcast, and Midorima does not know what to say. He wants to comfort Akashi somehow, to say it’s okay. Somehow, after all he has said about Akashi needing loss, he does not want this to be the loss in Akashi’s life.

After a long silence, Midorima finally speaks. “Akashi. Would you like to play the Tchaikovsky concerto with me?”

“Pardon?” Akashi looks up jerkily.

“The concerto. I have the piano part in my bag.”

“You… wish to work on the concerto?”

“Yes.”

Akashi slowly stands up and picks up his violin case, placing it on the table and preparing his instrument with a well-practiced motion as Midorima takes out his music and opens the upright piano, the photo of Akashi’s mother smiling down at him as he does so. He slides out the stool and sits down, flipping the music open to the first page and glancing up as Akashi walks up to stand beside him.

The first note of the introduction sounds on the piano, a simple melody leading into more complex textures. When it is time for the solo violin to join in at last, Midorima breathes in and turns to Akashi as the first low note is drawn out.

Their performance is choppy at first, rhythms not quite fitting in place and notes played slightly wrong or out of tune. Slowly, however, the harmonies begin to resonate, violin and piano entwined in a song that fills up the room. It fills it with and longing, and vulnerability, with ephemeral episodes of joy, and with the profound feeling of loss.

There is still so much, Midorima thinks, that he wants to say to Akashi, that he was incapable of putting into words, but instead of voicing anything, he pours it into his playing, reaching out with each note. He feels the response in Akashi’s melodies, singing out with no sign of cold invincibility and every bit with human emotion.

When the last chord is played, Midorima slowly turns towards Akashi, the sound still echoing in the air, and their eyes meet, red on green, Akashi looking down but not with condescension. Without saying a single word, it feels like they have just told each other everything they wanted to say, in this extended moment belonging to just the two of them, and like they had both simultaneously lost and won.

Midorima thinks he would really like to kiss Akashi.

Moments later, he is still staring up when Akashi bends down and cups his face with one hand, and their lips meet.

He closes his eyes, and does not pull away.

–

It seems, thinks Midorima Shintarou as he lifts his baton, that all Akashi Seijurou does is win.

That is how it seems to the world. He has won his competitions, his awards, his reputation, his position. That is how people see him when they read his biography. Akashi Seijurou’s life is one comprised of victories.

What they do not know of is the story of half a year’s journey, of something not concrete or nameable like an award or medal. It is the story of experiences past and a new relationship growing, of discovery. Perhaps it could be described as a victory too - the victory of and with Midorima Shintarou.

It’s something that the world may never read in writing, a version of Akashi and Midorima’s lives that will never be expressed in words. But they are musicians, and if they were to tell their biography, Midorima thinks, it might sound something like this.

Midorima shifted the weight on one of the bar stools that were placed in a neat line against the counter. Akashi’s kitchen was much larger and more grandiose than the one in his home. There was a wine fridge beside the large refrigerator and he was certain they had passed a door to the kitchen labeled ‘wine cellar’. The appliances were shiny and silver. “It’s my duty as vice captain to examine every option, but…couldn’t your father sponsor our training camp?”

Akashi’s eyes flashed for a brief moment. “I’m not asking my father for his money for this. And we’re quite capable of doing this ourselves, aren’t we? I’m not exaggerating when I say this bake sale quite literally falls on our shoulders; Murasakibara is talented but he will undoubtedly eat half of his work. Kise and Aomine will forget and Kuroko will most likely buy the ones in the plastic boxes in the store. I don’t need to remind you how…counterproductive depending on any baked goods our managers might provide will be. 

“Could we not also buy cookies from the store as well?”

“How would that demonstrate our resolve?” Akashi pulled out a thick library book of cookie and sweets recipes. “Here we are showing our classmates that we are so confident in our abilities we are taking time out of our busy schedules to make them sweets. Unless your protests are meant to tell me indirectly that you don’t wish to spend time with me?” He gazed at Midorima from across the fancy marble counter. Midorima swallowed.

“Of course not. It’s just…I’m not very…good in the kitchen, that’s all.”

Akashi beamed at him. “I’m not asking you to make these on your own. Our combined efforts will produce something delicious.“ 

Akashi had more confidence in them than Midorima did, but Midorima supposed the maids watching them quietly from around the corner would step in if any fires suddenly erupted or they made any messes. Though from the spotless state of the kitchen and the fact that Akashi was always well-fed, they were there to make everything spick and span again. Akashi was flipping through the recipes with the wild abandon of a child cooking for the first time, which might actually be the case. Midorima felt renewed investment in making sure this was a success – after all, as the basketball team’s secondhand man, it was his duty to make sure their fearless leader went forth bravely and with determination.

“Sugar cookies are simple but widely enjoyed,” Akashi was saying. “Some people might not like chocolate, so we can’t do all chocolate chip. Ah, but I’m fond of gingerbread. It’s not very conventional but if all the sweets are sweet, that’s dull for the palate. Should we make brownies as well?” He looked up, his eyes shining.

 “The bake sale is supposed to be tomorrow,” Midorima reminded him.

“Ah. Right. Let’s not waste any time then!” Akashi pulled out two white aprons. He was very prepared. He placed one around his neck before beckoning Midorima over to the other side of the counter so he could place the other apron around Midorima’s neck, as if he was bestowing a grand medal to him. Midorima felt Akashi’s hands brush the sides of his collar and he kept his face down so Akashi couldn’t see the way he tried to keep his face calm. The aprons were very soft. Akashi tied a neat bow around his waist. “Let’s get all the ingredients ready.”

Almost perfectly, all the ingredients were placed in easy to find and easy to reach places. Akashi laid everything out neatly and fetched all the measuring utensils. “The vanilla beans,” he said. “I thought I placed that on the shopping list.” He rummaged through the spice rack. “I wonder where it is.” Midorima glanced toward the door and one of the maids gestured frantically toward one of the cabinets.

“It’s right here,” Midorima said.

Akashi sifted flour like any lumps would stand in the way of their impending championship. Midorima had truly never laid eyes on finer flour. He felt slightly useless, but he felt even more uncomfortable at the idea of taking anything from Akashi, who had drove straight into the cookie making process. Asking Akashi for the measuring spoon for the sugar felt disruptive as Akashi continued tapping the sifter. “Does this look good?” Akashi asked, with flour on his fingers and wrists and on his face.

“It’s,” Midorima said, “perfect.”

Akashi consulted the recipe again. “It says to use soft butter, but we just took it out of the fridge. 

“We could put it in the microwave…”

“No. That would denature the butter and change the taste.” He faced Midorima’s incredulous look with levelheaded determination. “It’s very minor and subtle but I won’t cut corners when our classmates are trusting their funds and expectations on us. Doing it halfheartedly would be laughable.” Akashi was so serious that Midorima did not feel like arguing. They discussed court strategy to kill the time. As Akashi was drawing out a new formation he had created, Midorima heard faintly the sound of central heating; the maids had quickly turned on the heat to help facilitate the butter softening.

“Ah, it’s getting a little hot, isn’t it?” Akashi said. “The oven must be heating up.” He grasped the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head, the gesture pulling his shirt further up his stomach. Midorima averted his eyes politely.

The sugar cookies were placed in neat little rows of equally portioned balls and put right into the oven. Although they – Akashi, in all honesty – worked in earnest and efficiently, it stood that they would not be able to finish all of the cookies if they continued at their rate. “I’ll begin on the brownies if you’ll roll out the dough for the gingerbread,” Akashi proposed.

“Sure,” Midorima said. As he rolled his sleeves up, he met the eyes of one of the maids, who gave him a sympathetic nod. It occurred to him that he was in the same position as them, placed in a role to acquiesce to Akashi’s whims. His mother would be shocked to see him now – she, who had called him troublesome and difficult especially when asking him to look after his baby sister or when he complained about his lucky items. The thought made him put a little extra vigor into rolling the dough out.

“Don’t be so rough with it!” Akashi put down the brownie ingredients and rushed over and placed his hands over Midorima’s around the rolling pin. Midorima froze, making it easier for Akashi to slow down the pace so the rolling pin was easing over the dull bronze dough. “I’ve got a bunch of cookie cutters! Wouldn’t it be nice if we decorated them like the members of the team? I think we’ve got the icing for all of our team colors.”

“Sorry,” Midorima mumbled. “For being too hasty.”

“It’s okay.” Akashi patted his arm. “It’s good to be excited sometimes.”

Their work culminated in a kitchen covered with cookies. Instead of a local school bake sale, it seemed more catered toward a neighborhood-wide campaign. “That wouldn’t hurt,” Akashi mused. The nonchalance and unsurprised attitude made Midorima wonder if that was his intention all along. The sugar cookies got a generous sprinkling of colorful crystal sprinkles and the brownies were divided up into very uniform and equal squares. Akashi was detail oriented, making his gingerbread people nuanced and neat. Midorima’s artistic efforts were passable. Akashi clapped his hands together to get the oil and flour off them.

“Now we taste our wares,” he declared, taking a chocolate chip cookie and taking a bite out of it. “Delicious, as expected.” Midorima was about to reach for his own when Akashi handed him the cookie with the single bite mark out of it. “Try it.”

“I can get my own. 

“I want you to taste what I’ve tasted,” Akashi said, not particularly forcefully, but Midorima took the cookie all the same. He considered the bite mark. He turned the cookie and took a bite out of the other side, across from the bite mark. It was moist and soft and appropriately sweet.

“It’s very good,” Midorima said.

“Isn’t it?” Akashi held out his hand again and Midorima placed the cookie onto his palm. Akashi held it up again and took another bite, this time willfully taking it right next to Midorima’s mouth mark, staring Midorima in the eyes all the while. It was very deliberate. Miorima felt his face begin to heat. “This has been very enjoyable.”

Autumn

Akashi  lived in a townhouse in a quiet part of the city, where homes had tall elaborate iron gates. He was fond of shogi, and they spent many nights playing in companionable silence.

After losing their latest game, Midorima began to set the pieces back in their starting positions for another round. Akashi reached out abruptly and touched the back of his hand. Midorima froze in place.

“I didn’t notice before, but you’re warm.” Akashi said, “Warmer than a human.” He turned Midorima’s hand over slowly, fingertips brushing across his wrist. “You don’t have the need to breathe however,” Akashi continued, “Or a pulse.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t. I’m not entirely corporeal.”

“What do you mean by that?”

His eyebrows rose as Midorima’s hand evaporated into soft gray mist. It curled around Akashi’s hand, warm and barely visible. His surprise quickly turned into fascination. “You can do that all over?”

“Yes.”

“What happens to your clothes?”

Midorima practically squirmed, “They don’t exactly… exist.”

“So you choose to wear the same black suit everyday?” Akashi teased.

Midorima lifted his nose and huffed, hand reforming. “I have certain professional standards and expectations to uphold.”

“Does that include wearing glasses you don’t actually need?”

Midorima bumped the edge of the frames with his finger. “I feel odd without them.”

Akashi found he was leaning forward intently, demeanor suddenly serious. “What do you mean?” 

Midorima’s brow furrowed, and he turned to look out the window. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.

They began a new game, easing back into silence. They moved their pieces in turn, slowly and thoughtfully. Rain started to splatter against the window and the wind howled between the buildings outside. Akashi rested his chin in one hand, “Do you live anywhere in particular?”

Midorima shook his head, “I’m here when I’m needed. When I’m not I just… ” he shrugged, “Drift I suppose.”

“That doesn’t seem pleasant,“ Akashi said. He slid a piece forward and then drew back.“I win in three moves.”

Midorima glanced down at the board, eyes flicking over the pieces. He sat back in his chair and scowled. “Damn.”

Akashi folded his hands thoughtfully, “You should live here.”

“What?”

“When you don’t have duties of course.”

Midorima grunted, “You just want someone to start the coffee in the evening before you get up.”

Akashi’s laugh was quiet, the tiniest trickle of sound. “You’re the one who suggested it, not me.”

Winter

The night was cold, but neither of them were bothered by temperature. The park around them was completely deserted, leaving them to sit and drink their coffee in peace. The sky was overcast, crescent moon peeking out through a gap in the cloud cover.

“Looks like snow.” Midorima said.

“But you don’t know for sure?” Akashi quipped, “I thought reapers were supposed to be angelic. Shouldn’t that make you omnipotent?”

Midorima scoffed, “Perhaps some reapers are, but I’m most certainly not. I’ve only existed for…” he trailed off and frowned. “Well I haven’t always existed, I know that much.”

Akashi tapped out a rhythm on his cup with his fingers. “So you think you used to be mortal then?”

Midorima swallowed a sip of coffee, seeming to relish the taste. “I think so. It’s not that I have any memories of being alive; It’s just a feeling.”

Akashi allowed himself to stare for a few moments at the way Midorima’s coat fit his shoulders. “I suppose it must be true. “You aren’t good enough at shogi to be omnipotent.”

Midorima pursed his lips and blinked slowly in silent indignation.

Akashi laughed gently. Midorima was always so easy to offend. Sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. He inched closer on the bench, pressing up flush against his side.

Akashi had been dead for centuries, but perhaps some lingering part of him still preferred to be warm. His heart suddenly thumped in his chest and Akashi went rigid. He promptly recovered, and scolded himself for being so surprised.

His body livened up when he was feeling particularly emotive.

It had happened more times in the past six months than it had during all the other centuries combined.

Spring

Midorima stood in Akashi’s back garden, watching as the sky shifted color from orange, to red, to purple. The solitary tree swayed in the wind, new leaves rustling.

Akashi was awake. The vampire moved quickly, but since he was dead, Midorima always knew where he was. He didn’t hear the back door open, but he knew when Akashi stopped beside him.

“Good evening.”

Akashi’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed almost cross. “I’m never going to be able to sneak up on you, am I?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Akashi mumbled a response. In general, the vampire was perfectly composed. First thing in the evening however, the few rough edges he had tended to show. Today he didn’t look particularly well.

Midorima’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you feeling well?” It was an idiotic question. Vampires couldn’t get sick, but Akashi’s level of melancholy was unusual.

Akashi was quiet for a spell before he answered. “It’s my… anniversary of vampire-hood I suppose.”

“Congratulations?”

“It was not a happy occasion.”

“Oh.” Midorima wasn’t sure if he ought to apologize.

“Do all spirits go to the other side after they die?” Akashi asked abruptly.

“No. Some prefer to stay.”

Akashi was looking at him now, gaze more intense than he’d ever seen it. “Did you stay?”

Midorima shook his head, “If I did, then I’ve long forgotten.”

“So you have,” Akashi said sharply. He turned away, talking to himself more so than to Midorima, “I’m a fool. What’s the use of living forever when everything important moves on without you.” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, “A real death has to be better than this-”

“Seijurou!” Midorima wasn’t sure he’d ever been so angry before. “I’ll have you know that I find all this talk extremely offensive. I’ve never known you to be so self-pitying. If you don’t cease moping at once, I’ll-”

Akashi’s mouth hung open slightly, eyes wide. “What did you just call me?”

Midorima felt a genuine wave of confusion. “I don’t know.”

Akashi leaned up on his toes, putting his hands on either side of his face. “I never told you that name.” Dozens of different emotions flickered over Akashi’s face. His gaze was penetrating, searching, and filled with longing.

Midorima was about to ask him what the matter was, when Akashi pulled him down and kissed him. The kiss was slow and reverent, but Midorima felt like his entire body was jolted with electricity. His hand seemed to move on its own, reaching to tangle itself in scarlet hair. The kiss felt surreal. It was brand new, and yet achingly familiar at the same time. He pressed a hand against the front of Akashi’s chest. The vampire’s heartbeat, usually so slow it was nearly imperceptible, thudded against his sternum.

Suddenly, Midorima was overcome by what felt like a half forgotten dream.

It was another kiss, an impossibly different kiss. They were gasping for breath against each other’s lips. His heart was pounding.

Akashi was warm.

As soon as the vision came, it was gone again. Midorima pulled back, gripping Akashi’s shoulders. “I knew you.” he said. “I was alive before, and I knew you.”

Akashi slowly met his eyes and he could see the truth reflected there. “Yes,” he said, voice wavering in a way Midorima had never heard before.

Midorima couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice, “We’ve known each other for almost a year. You never told me.”

Akashi’s eyes closed tight and he pressed his face against Midorima’s shoulder, “You didn’t remember; What could I say?” Akashi pulled back, eyes batting open and Midorima was shocked to see a tear roll down his cheek. “When I saw you in that bar, I thought perhaps I was losing my mind. I’ve lost count of the years since…” his face crumpled, “Shintarou it’s been so long.”

Shintarou.

It was his name. How he knew, he couldn’t say, but it was his name. In the same way, he knew he had chosen to guide the dead so he could stay on this side of the veil. Because he couldn’t leave while Akashi stayed. Midorima pressed his lips to Akashi’s hair.

 His mind may have forgotten, but his heart remembered.

 ——-

-

“And since the value for the Gibb’s Free Energy you got is positive, it means what?”

Shizuka’s forehead furrows in thought. “That…the reaction won’t proceed.”

“Yes, that’s correct. However, the more accurate answer is that the reverse of that reaction is the one that will proceed. ” Akashi grabs the pen and starts writing on the paper they’ve been using since they started their session over thirty minutes ago. “Now, let’s try solving for what maximum amount of solid will completely dissociate in water given a reaction.”

“Hey, thermodynamics actually seem pretty interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” Akashi smiles. “And you’re a really fast learner, too.”

“I bet I’d learn faster if someone isn’t lowkey spying on this tutoring session.” She turns and throws a crumpled paper at Shintarou. It misses, but nevertheless, get his attention. “Right, brother?”

Shintarou looks up from his readings and stares back at Shizuka. “I’m studying, too.”

“You always study in your room.”

“Can’t I study in the living room for once?”

“I think your brother isn’t very trusting of me, that’s why he’s here.” Akashi looks at him, his eyes glinting. “Aren’t you?”

Shintarou ignores the comment and goes back to reading about the epinephrine and norepinephrine hormones. Shizuka is a naturally friendly person, of course, and he can understand if she gets along with new people immediately. But Akashi seems to think that that friendliness extends to him. He’s terribly wrong.

“Don’t mind him.” He hears Shizuka say in a quieter voice. “It’d be a miracle to get along with brother. You’d die trying.”

“That sounds rather harsh.” Akashi lets out a low laugh. He slides the paper and pen over to Shizuka Shintarou almost misses the last few words he uttered, but he doesn’t, and it hits him. “That must be really lonely.”

-

“I’m not lonely, am I?”

Shizuka stifles a laugh. She didn’t expect a simple statement from her tutor, practically a stranger to her brother, would bother him even hours after.

“You’re not lonely. You’re just alone. Aren’t college people your age out partying and discovering their selves?”

“Those kind of college students fall towards mediocrity. That which I cannot allow to happen to myself.” He turns to Shizuka and looks at her seriously. “And neither should you. University life is full of temptations. It’s basically in every corner. Even your professors could make you do things if you aren’t assertive enough. Learn-”

“Self-control and discipline,” she finishes with a tired tone. “You’ve told me many times before. You’re even worse than Mom and Dad combined.”

“I’m your brother. I have as much responsibility to take care of you.”

“And you do it so well. Trust me. I appreciate it. But sometimes, you really need to chill. Enjoy! You’re too young to be so grumpy about the world.” She closes the book she was reading and lightly hits his brother’s forehead with its spine. “Be happy, alright?”

Shintarou frowns. “I am happy.”

“Then be happier.”

-

“You’re in the Biology department, aren’t you?”

Shintarou finds himself in an inescapable conversation with Akashi. Shizuka is on the end of the couch, bent over the mock exam Akashi has prepared for her. Probably finding nothing to do, Akashi must have decided to bother him. That, he’s not very fond of.

“Yes.”

“I have a friend there. He mentioned you once before in one of our conversations.”

“Someone mentioned me?” It’s a rather strange thing that someone he isn’t particularly friendly with would talk about him outside the confines of the Biology building.

“Well, not directly. But he did mention a stellar student who’s almost always frowning and never seems to get along with them. He said you helped him in an experiment despite not having talked ever.”

“Oh.” He remembers now. There was that student next to him in his zoology lab who was really nervous during the dissection to the point that he can’t make a clean cut on the frog’s muscles. No one else seem to notice, or they chose not to. Since his classmate’s frustrated mumblings were bothering his own dissection, he decided to help him out in the end. The guy thanked him after that class, but they never had another conversation again. “It was nothing.”

“It did get him through the rest of the experiment. And the other dissections as well.” Akashi drags the seat next to him and sits there, facing him. “After hearing that story, I started thinking maybe you aren’t that bad at all.”

“You think I’m bad?” he scoffs in disbelief.

“I did.” Akashi laughs. “I admit I did. It’s not like you don’t think the same way about me.”

“I had valid reasons to.”

Before he realizes it, he has fallen into a normal conversation with Seijuurou. It’s funny how there isn’t any feeling of contempt within him as they speak with each other. If he will really be honest with himself, he’d say he’s enjoying their exchange. Seijuurou isn’t a very animated talker, but the twinkle in his eyes and the soft curve of his smile make him look like a very enthusiastic talker. His textbook lays open, forgotten at the moment.

-

Akashi leaves as soon as he finished checking Shizuka’s mock exam. He was actually quite impressed. Only three months have passed and yet he claimed that she had improved remarkably well. He tells her they’d just have to improve on her reading comprehension and she’d be assured of her slot in her choice of course.

Once Akashi is out of sight, Shizuka makes her way beside her brother and stares at him quietly. He returned to reading his textbook right after his conversation with Akashi ended as if it was a very normal thing to so. She knows better, though. She observes him closely, from the slight frown on his forehead to the thin line of his mouth.

“Do you like Akashi-san?”

Her brother’s frown gets deeper and his mouth opens into an ‘O’. “What?”

“I was asking if you like him. I mean…well, you were kind of smiling while you’re talking to him earlier. That’s why I didn’t interrupt even though I finished the problems quickly.” She smiles teasingly at him. “I’d hate for you to lose such look easily.”

“I wasn’t smiling.” He grunts and returns his attention to his book. He certainly wasted a good thirty minutes talking to Akashi when he still have a quiz on the lymphatic system the next day. “And I don’t like him.”

Shizuka chooses not to push the matter further, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure that the faint blush on her brother’s cheeks does not lie.

-

A knock on the door interrupts Akashi’s lecture on partial differentiation. The three of them look at each other before Shintarou pries himself away from his microbiology textbook to open it, and on the other side are his parents.

“Welcome home.” He gets his mother’s bag and his father’s coat, proceeding to place them on the living room. “You’re pretty early.”

“The clinic isn’t as busy as expected. I still had time to pick your mother up from the store.” His father’s eyes land on Seijuurou and they widen in surprise. “Oh. Seijuurou-kun, you’re still here.”

“Midorima-sensei, good evening.” Seijuurou stands out of politeness and greets their parents. “ I won’t be able to make it the rest of the week due to some commitments so I talked to Shizuka and we agreed to have an extended session today.”

“Ah yes, Masaomi did tell me about the conference in Stanford. Congratulations.”

Shintarou raises a brow in response to what his father had said. Akashi notices and throws him a sly smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” His mother, who has just finished placing her umbrella on the corner, reaches for Akashi’s wrist and squeezes softly. His father heads to the kitchen, probably to get some coffee like he usually does. “Shizuka finally finished her cello lessons so we’re having a little celebration. Her recital is in two weeks’ time, actually. I’m just going to prepare the food for a while. It won’t take long.”

“Sure, ma’am. I’d be glad to.”

“Good. Good. I’ll head to the kitchen now. I’ll leave you to your tutoring sessions.” She lets go of Akashi and leaves the three of them in the living room. Akashi wears a look of subtle triumph when he faces him.

“It seems like you’re the only one not in favor of me in this family.” He nudges Shintarou slightly with his shoulder. 

“Shut up.”

Akashi chuckles. “You know I’m not going to harm Shizuka in any way, right? After all this time you’ve watched over us?”

“I do know that.” Shintarou replies, looking away. “I never said I wasn’t in favor of you, anyway.”

There is a moment of brief silence between the two of them that seems filled with words waiting to be said out loud. Shizuka’s question rings in his mind: Do you like Akashi-san?

I probably do.

“That’s a relief, then.” When Shintarou looks at him again, Akashi is smiling. “I’ve grown to like you, after all.”

“Wha-”

But before Shintarou is able to finish his question, Akashi returns beside Shizuka and goes back to teaching her. He’s almost sure what he just heard is something he only imagined if it isn’t for the smile that is still on Akashi’s lips. He did hear those words, and he wonders what they truly mean.

-

“You’re early today,” Shintarou says as he lets Akashi in. He was in the middle of playing the piano when the knock on the door disrupted him. “Shizuka’s probably just on her way home.”

“It’s alright. I finished early so I figured I’d go here immediately to prepare.” His eyes land on the open piano lid. A certain spark shines on his eyes. “You were playing?”

“Vivaldi. Finals week has just passed so I’m taking this weekend to rest.”

“Resting by playing the piano. Sounds a lot like what I would do.”

“Who do you usually play?”

“No one in particular. Though I prefer classical and jazz among others.”

“I can understand that.”

“You can go back to playing, you know. I’d like to watch and hear you, after all.”

“By all means.” Shintarou returns to his place in front of the piano. Akashi stands just beside it. Shintarou takes a breath, steps on the pedal, and starts playing the piece from the top. 

Only the music fills the air for a moment. Akashi’s eyes are focused on how Shintarou’s fingers moved between keys with grace. Those long fingers sure do their job well. Shintarou, on the other hand, is focused on the piece and the instrument before him. Not once did he show any sign of being detached from his music. They seem to be one.

“With that skill, I would have thought you were a music major.”

Shintarou replies with the briefest of smiles.

“Your sister told me you don’t talk much with other people.”

“That is true.” Shintarou proceeds to the next movement without a pause. “I rarely find someone who I can hold a worthwhile conversation with.”

Akashi leans his elbow against the piano and Shintarou doesn’t miss the coy smile he puts on. “I must be special then.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He continues playing the entire piece, and Akashi doesn’t speak a word more to listen. As much as their conversations are worthwhile, and so is the silence between the two of them. There in between is an understanding Shintarou has never found with someone else.

“I’ve been meaning to make it clear,” Akashi starts as soon as Shintarou presses on the last few notes. “About what I said last time.”

Shintarou’s fingers falter and he plays the last note an eighth beat faster than he should have. “What about it?” He tries to feign innocence, but it is clear from Akashi’s amused expression that he failed.

“I mean it. I do like you.”

“Haven’t we…already established we’re not against each other?”

“No,” Akashi chuckles against his fist. “I mean, I like you in a way that I want to talk to you more. Hear what you’ve got to say. Enjoy the silence with you. The list could go on really. You probably already have an idea of what I’m talking about.”

“I-” Shintarou finds himself at loss of words. He must look foolish, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s for many times, his fingers fumbling for his glasses. “I like you, too.” He blurts out almost unintelligibly. “You’re nice to talk with, and you always get what I mean to say. But you are…my sister’s tutor, first and foremost. This is kind of unprofessional.”

“Understandable. I can wait.” Akashi nods. He takes the spot next to Shintarou, leaving a small space between. Shintarou feels his heart jump at their sudden closeness. Akashi places his fingers on the keyboard as he stares at his eyes with a glint of delight. “Play with me?”

Akashi has just made waiting an agony for Shintarou.

-

“I did it!” Shizuka jumps from the couch, raising the letter of acceptance in the air. “Akashi-san, brother, I did it!”

“I knew you’d pass.” Akashi smiles at her from where he’s seated. The letter actually already arrived that morning but Shizuka insisted on opening it only if her tutor is also there. Akashi feels quite touched at the thought. 

“All your hard work paid off.” Shintarou ruffles his sister’s hair. “Congratulations!”

“I’m gonna call mom and dad!”

Akashi watches with a smile on his face as Shizuka excitedly calls her parents on her phone to spread the good news. Even without him, he’s pretty sure Shizuka would have passed the entrance examination with exceptional marks.

“This seems to be the end of my contract.” Akashi turns as Shintarou takes the spot next to him. Their knees bump and they keep it that way.

“Shizuka will miss you.”

“She did tell me that in our last session. Oh, that reminds me.” He fishes out his phone from his pocket and opens a file. “I actually got my schedule for the next semester already. My lunch times are free. From five in the afternoon, I’m free Wednesdays and Fridays. Weekends, completely free unless there’d be sudden requirements or meetings to go to.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Just so you know in case you’d want to finally settle on a date to go out together.”

Shintarou scoffs and pushes up his glasses to hide his smile. It’s the deal, after all, that they would push through with the growing feelings they have for each other once Akashi finishes tutoring Shizuka. To be honest, Shintarou thought the feelings would dwindle while they were bidding their time. Instead, he found himself more and more drawn to Akashi. “Next semester sounds pretty far away. Aren’t you free tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds perfect.” Akashi sighs in disappointment. “But, I still have to prepare for the conference. It’s in three days’ time.”

“Oh right. I didn’t know it was that close.” He pushes his glasses up in thought. “How about the night after you come back from the conference?”

“Sounds fine to me.” Akashi smiles, placing his hand on top of Shintarou’s knee. “It’s a date, then?”

“Our very first.”