❤
6. FINGERS KISS
Kise catches him in the dimly-lit fluorescence of the gym when he’s still rubbing sleep from the corners of his eyes, footsteps pattering in sync with the silent swoosh of the net. Midorima does this day after day, fingers taped with the meticulousness of someone who can’t afford to lose
—and it’s kind of overwhelming, he thinks; so when his jaw falls slack, just a bit, it’s completely justifiable.
Midorima lives his life inside walls built around structure and sickeningly common routine, no surprises necessary, and Kise can’t help but want to unravel it with his own hands (delicate and prying, begging for an entry point to wedge his way into). Wouldn’t it be interesting, he thinks, to watch Midorima fall apart at the seams, with the sort of half-hearted indignation and tongue-tied complaints he’s known for?
(Wouldn’t it be interesting to put Icarus to shame?)
Kise’s twenty different shades of innocent coercion wrapped up into glitzy smiles and reptile tears, pressed and branded into other people’s skin in a way that’s entirely unforgettable and overwhelmingly so. Really, it’s not hard to catch Midorima off guard—hooking his fingertips around the other boy’s wrist when he’s unlacing his sneakers and tugging him closer, inch by inch.
The taping around his fingers unravels easily and all at once, the same as Midorima when Kise presses his lips to each knuckle, gentle and warm in each action. His breath’s warm against the curve of Midorima’s wrist when he tells him, with hints of genuineness tucked into the curve of his smile, “You’re really amazing, Midorimacchi.”
Of course, it’s easy to be, he knows, when you’re a miracle—something godlike (something otherworldly, entirely).
