Summary: After the incomprehensible experience flying through space and saving the world as part of team Voltron, it's remarkable how much a little shack in the middle of the desert has to offer.
On ao3 for easier reading
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The baking heat of the afternoon sun was only marginally eased by the patchy shingle roof of the shack. Though with the windows thrown open and gusts of hot wind rushing through the entirety of the small inner space it wasn’t completely unbearable.
Even still, at this time of day the only sensible option was an afternoon nap. Or it would have been if Keith hadn’t found himself driven to distraction by the languid form of Shiro stretched out on the bed.
Keith yanked off his sand-bleached, grease stained shirt ponderously, his eyes unwilling to stray from the tempting image that was painted before his eyes. Shiro hadn’t bothered to remove anything but his boots which had been oiled over by a busted hydraulics line from the hoverbike they’d been working on that morning.
Wiping the sweat from his brow and discarding the shirt, Keith kicked off his shoes and glanced back to the bed.
“Join me?” Shiro asked, though considering their routine it was perhaps a redundant invitation. Besides it was his bed in his shack that Shiro was so languorously occupying.
One thing held Keith back. “It’s so damn hot.” He complained, cringing at even the idea of being pressed bodily against yet another source of heat in the sweltering desert oven that was the shack.
A smile shrugged Shiro’s lips. “Come here and I”ll show you something nice.” Coming from anyone else Keith might have taken the words as an invitation to something impure--not that even the heat could make him mind that--but he knew Shiro too well to take his words at anything more than face value.
When he was pulled on the bed Keith gasped in shock at how cool Shiro’s body was to the touch. “Shiro?” He asked, his voice wrapped in marvel as he slid appreciatively against the chilled length of Shiro’s body and felt the overbearing heat of the day leach from him.
In answer Shiro lifted his prosthetic arm and flexed it. Keith noticed it was glowing a brilliant pink as it did when it was weaponized and small ports were occasionally venting puffs of air through the joints.
“A couple days ago I figured out that if I concentrate I can transfer the residual heat from my body to the arm.” Shiro explained, flexing further to illustrate his newfound control. With a thoughtful sound Keith rested his cheek Shiro’s chest and stretched up just enough to place a kiss on his jaw.
“Thank heaven for that. I was beginning to think there was a fatal flaw in our plan to start a mechanic shop out here.” Keith sighed happily and tried to tangle himself further amidst Shiro’s long limbs. A slight shifting in Shiro’s weight had him moving too though until they were lying intertwined on on their sides, facing one another on the woefully small cot of a bed. The cool embrace soon brought a comfortable sleep to his limbs, so much so that it took Keith several long minutes to realise that Shiro wasn’t just staring over his head but rather out the window to the two lions that sat sentential just outside.
“Shiro?” Even before their days of piloting Voltron, Keith had been able to convey the most complex of questions with minimal words, though now he could do it with just the cadence of Shiro’s name: what are you thinking about?
“I just never took you for the type to settle down like this.” Shiro answer was accompanied by a smile that nearly made Keith blurt out that he would have done anything at all to keep that expression on Shiro’s face. He managed to swallow the ridiculous gush of emotion and refine the sentiment into something far less mortifying.
“I didn’t settle.” Keith rumbled, his tone leaving very little up to interpretation and leaned in to steal a kiss from a surprised and flushed Shiro as the words sunk in.
After a moment of being kissed into the bed, Keith spoke up again. “Besides, we’re still Paladins but Zarkon is dead and I was getting tired of sharing you with the rest of team Voltron.You’re mine Shiro, at least until the next galactic crisis.”
Midorima places the phone to his left, by his thigh and out of sight from the crowd and he offers it a private smile despite the fact that it won’t be seen.
When his fingers alight on the ivory keys his heart forgets a beat but Midorima forgives it and begins to play and he thinks he can imagine the way the music builds and arches and yearns, finding its way to the phone, to be turned into invisible waves in the air, carried past streetlamps and roosting birds, past a setting sun and children being called in for dinner, past their garden and their front door—or perhaps slipping in through a cracked window—all the way to Akashi’s phone on the other end of the line where it transforms once again to the yearning, arching notes that leave his fingers.
Even though Midorima plays for close to an hour, the time seems fleeting and vague. The performance is flawless. He barely remembers the notes or the music, though he remembers to bow at the end, and he remembers to pick up the phone as he leaves the stage.
The line is still connected and Midorima presses the cool glass to his cheek just in time to hear the sigh on the other end.
“Perfect as always, Shintaro.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s almost as good as being there myself.”
There is a small silence that occupies the time Midorima spends retracing the path to the exit and then he is out under a clear night sky, breathing in the warm summer air loud enough for Akashi to hear him.
“Are you staying the night there?”
“No, I have the rental car, I’ll be back in a few hours.” Shintaro replies, retrieving his keys. His fingers still tingle a little from his performance but it isn’t an altogether bad feeling.
“Did you want company on the drive back?”
The phone is warm and thrumming for how long it’s been on, but Midorima knows he has a charger sitting on the passenger seat. The hesitance comes from somewhere else entirely. He is turning the key in the ignition before he answers.
“You sound tired.”
“I am, but…” There is a pause so long that Midorima almost interrupts, but Akashi’s voice returns to him just as he opens his mouth. His jaw clicks shut. “…I don’t want to close my eyes just yet.”
“Alright, then I could use the company.”
The drive is uneventful. Midorima is drained but alert, and at some point past the halfway mark the conversation drops off and he is left with silence. The line is still connected though and it doesn’t occur to him to hang up.
A quiet house greets him; it’s dark and Midorima picks his way through it without turning on a single light. The door to their bedroom is open, and Midorima looks down at his phone one last time before thumbing an end to the call. He slips into the bedrooms.
He feels alone.
Akashi’s phone is still on, resting on the pillow next to his head. Dropping down next to him, Midorima strokes back limp red locks of hair and feels his heart forgetting how to beat. Akashi’s skin is still warm, his eyes open enough to make a feint at life but Midorima knows better. Closing his eyes, Midorima leans down and presses his lips to the top of Akashi’s head and wonders if his heart will ever know anything but the silence on the other end of the line.
Summary: Tsukishima takes a leap of faith with Kuroo.
On ao3 for easier reading
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“Are you sure about this?” Kuroo’s voice was thick rolling molasses and his words slid up Tsukishima’s bare spine, hooking a shiver from his prone body and smashing through the semblance of composure that Tsukishima had spent long minutes fastening around himself like a mantle.
“Do you think I would do this if I wasn’t?”
Kuroo chuckled and Tsukishima thought he could feel his breath against the nape of his neck. It was his imagination, Tsukishima was well aware but he let himself be lulled by the illusion all the same.
“Just get on with it.” Forcefully Tsukishima unclenched his hands from the pillow and let his body melt into the bed.
“This will be cold.” Kuroo warned, magnanimous and then snorted when Tsukishima flinched at the icy intimate touch that Kuroo brushed over the base of his spine, rubbing the cool lotion over pasty white skin. The fingers felt good, and they slowed his heart down to an even drum as they worshipped him with a reverent attention.
When the touch disappeared, Tsukishima turned his head and watched from the corner of his eye as Kuroo slipped on a pair of black latex gloves and shook his hair from his eyes. Tsukishima felt his mouth run dry. There had always been something intoxicating about the expression of extreme confidence that Kuroo wore when he was in his element. It was one of the few things that Tsukishima was truly helpless to resist.
“Ready?”
“Yes.” Tsukishima breathed, softer than he intended. The low humming buzzing that started up evoked a discomforting image of a giant hornet but he managed to remain still right up until the first moment of stinging pain. The muscles of Tsukishima’s back jumped at that, his shoulders squaring with corded tension for half a moment before he exhaled, relaxing into the prickling kiss of the needle as it bled ink into the pale expanse of his back.
Though the edge of his glasses dug into his temple and it ached to keep his neck twisted back far enough to watch Kuroo, Tsukishima didn’t look away from the carved concentration that occupied every facet of Kuroo as he worked, his hand steady with confidence as it inked his unmarred skin.
“You’re taking this really well.” Kuroo remarked when after an hour and a half of steady work he set the tattoo gun aside and rolled his head, cracking his neck with a chain of tumbling pops. Tsukishima watched the satisfied smile it brought to Kuroo’s lips and pushed himself up, relishing in the quiet sting of his back and the way Kuroo’s eyes hungered at the half-finished piece. As focused as his gaze was he didn’t see the answering hunger in Tsukishima’s eyes, not until the very last moment when Tsukishima closed the distance between them and drugged him into a starved kiss. Tsukishima’s fingers dug into the rampant fringe of Kuroo’s bangs, tilting his back as he claimed Kuroo’s mouth.
“Fuck.” Tsukishima hissed a minute later and yanked back when Kuroo’s teeth dug into the meat of his lower lip, drawing blood. “What was that for?” He asked in irritation.
Kuroo shrugged in feigned innocence, the expression was undermined by the halo of confidence that still cloaked him. “I needed to breathe.”
Tsukishima glared and Kuroo matched the stare with equal intensity. The tension grew heavier with every second that passed until they surrendered in mutual truce of lips and tongues meeting in a heated exchange. By the time Tsukishima pulled away, sucking in air through his teeth Kuroo’s latex sheathed fingers had twisted themselves in the short-hairs at the nape of his neck and his chin came to rest on Tsukishima’s shoulder, peering down at what he’d accomplished thus far.
“We should get back to it.” It was impossible not to react to how husky and wanting Kuroo’s voice sounded. “The sooner I finish the sooner I can fuck you.”
Tsukishima slid a hand along Kuroo’s inseam, feeling out his erection with a generous hand, earning a deep wanting groan. “Or I could just stop now and—”
“No.” The refusal was uncompromising, but just to make himself perfectly clear, Tsukishima continued. “If we stop now it’ll be your ass on the line and after last night, I’m not sure you could handle that.”
The uncomfortable squirming of Kuroo at the reminder left Tsukishima half-hard and ready to just drag his lover to bed but Kuroo regained his composure and pulled back. “Fine. Once this is over though…” The keen edge of his gaze was more of a promise than anything Kuroo could have put into words and Tsukishima nodded implicitly.
“Yeah.” Tsukishima took one last kiss from Kuroo’s lips before laying back down on the bed.
It was another three hours before Kuroo proclaimed himself finished. Tsukishima’s back felt raw, particularly the bony protuberances of his spine which Kuroo brushed over with a tender cleaning oil. Kuroo’s lips found their way to the very top of Tsukishima’s spine and he could feel the heat his lover’s body radiated over him. He swallowed hard.
“Thank you for letting me do this.” Kuroo murmured in the space between Tsukishima’s shoulder blades. It had been hard for Tsukishima whose ideas of permanence had always been fleeting and insubstantial at best. To be permanently inked at the hand of a lover whose presence in his future was indeterminable had certainly been a terrifying leap of fair for him but he made no admission to that fact.
Instead Tsukishima went with the obvious response. “Can I see it?”
Kuroo finished wiping down the length of his spine and then nodded. “Yeah.” He said pulling Tsukishima up by one hand and spinning him to face a body length mirror.
Tsukishima sucked in a startled breath, more impressed than he’d counted on being. The letters were elegant and lean, curving from the top of his spine right down to the base in a freehand script that was entrancing. Kuroo stepped up and took Tsukishima by the hips, swaying into him as he admired his handiwork.
“So why this tattoo?” Kuroo probed, fingers drifting over the angry edges of the freshly inscribed word that embraced Tsukishima’s spine. Pathetic.
For the first time Tsukishima stopped peering over his shoulder at the mirror and met Kuroo’s eyes. Instead of answering, Tsukishima bridged the millimeters between their lips, reminding Kuroo of his earlier instigation with his mouth alone.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” Kuroo whined, stripping of his latex gloves and tossing them in the trash as he yanked Tsukishima back to the bed by the waistband of his pants.
Tsukishima made a show of considering it, then smirked. “No.”
“It’s unbelievable how much of a brat you still are sometimes.” Kuroo complained, nipping at the bite he’d put into Tsukishima’s lip earlier.
“I only give as good as I get.” Tsukishima replied, groaning as Kuroo put him flat on stomach, his fingers toying with the edge of his pants until he’d dragged it down enough to clear the very top of Tsukishima’s ass.
“Speaking of which. I owe you, Kei, for last night.”
“Yeah.” Tsukishima bit out, feeling himself grow hard against the mattress. “Yeah you do.”
Summary: Tsukishima is a psychologist in the employ of the police department; Kuroo is a cop with a reputation.
On ao3 for easier reading
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“Come on, out with it.” Kuroo prompts. After so many years as friends, Kuroo hardly ever is anything but straightforward with him but the tactic backfires and Kenma spares him only half a glance before shaking his head.
“It’s nothing.” Kenma’s hand drifts to the handcuffs that are tucked into his belt, fingering them thoughtfully. “He’s just strange.” And the way Kenma says it is full of dissatisfaction that the word he chose to describe his agency-assigned psychologist does not encompass the dimension of his feelings on the subject. “And I haven’t been cleared to return to duty.”
A pang of something dark and guilty curls through Kuroo’s chest at that revelation but Kenma intercepts his unvoiced apology before he can bring himself to speak it.
“It’s not a big deal.” Before Kuroo can protest Kenma strides past him, taking his leave and Kuroo knows better than to chase after.
*
Kuroo has his thumbs hooked through his belt and is staring in contemplation of the matte black door fixed with a burnished gold nameplate, letting the characters roll around on his tongue when unexpectedly, it swings inward.
“Can I help you?” It is obvious from a glance that the greeting, while polite, is disingenuous to the marrow, and so Kuroo is not at all repentant for the shit-eating grin that automatically dominates his own expression.
“Tsukishima?”
“Doctor.” The enunciation is deliberately jarring, as if Tsukishima feels he’s addressing someone who is particularly dense and Kuroo is careful not to let that, or the patronizing once over he is receiving faze him. Instead he returns to the question that was not so much a question which Tsukishima had greeted him with.
“No I don’t think you can.”
“Excuse me?” Tsukishima frowns and Kuroo is glad to see that he’s off balance. It settles him, lets the tension fall from his shoulders—he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it there but his instinctive response to Tsukishima is clear enough, the good doctor is someone to be wary of.
“What I mean is,” And this time it’s Kuroo’s turn to be speaking with a decadent drawl, “I don’t think you can help me, and you most certainly can’t help Kenma, so if you’d be so kind as to sign on the dotted line, we can all just get back to our regularly scheduled lives.”
Kuroo is prepared to handle reprimand, reproach and all manner of misbegotten authoritative disapproval. What he is not prepared for is the smile that spreads across Tsukishima’s face, that overwrites his expression, his body language and even the keen look in his eyes which disappears behind closed lids.
It’s plebeian playing at passive. And on Tsukishima it looks terrifyingly wrong.
Inadvertently Kuroo gives ground, taking a step back before catching himself and squaring his shoulders.
“Is that all?”
“What?”
“I had heard so much about the clever cat of precinct four, but it turns out you’re a rather simple man after all. How disappointing.” Tsukishima’s hand touches the doorknob, the wraithlike smile never slipping from his lips. “If that’s all.” The way Tsukishima says it makes it obvious that he isn’t the least bit interested in anything else Kuroo might have to say; the dismissal alone is infuriating.
The toe of Kuroo shoe only just manages to keep the door wedged open but when he pushes it wide again he sees that Tsukishima’s long legs have carried him most of the way back to his desk. Kuroo steps in and shuts the door behind himself pointedly but Tsukishima finishes circling around and only turns his attention on Kuroo when he is seated behind his desk.
Before Kuroo can speak though Tsukishima is reaching into his desk and pulling out a folder. When it lands on the varnished wooden surface of the desk, even upside down Kuroo is able to read Kenma’s name written in a neat and cramped hand.
“You want me to sign off on his clearance to return is that all?” Tsukishima isn’t really making a show of talking to him, Kuroo realizes, but rather is talking in the general vicinity of his direction. “Well I suppose that isn’t really a problem.” A pen finds its way into Tsukishima’s hand, and he touches it to the paper. “Seeing as he wasn’t the one who shot and killed the suspect.” Tsukishima’s signature is neat and without flourish, uninspired but efficient and Kuroo is more distracted by it than he has any right to be. “That honor would belong to you, would it not?”
A cold sliver of ice drills through Kuroo’s spine, making his heart thrash erratically against the underside of his ribs and the top of his head go numb. The moment it takes to gather his wits feels like a telling eternity even though he knows it’s hardly more than a second. At once two thoughts resolve in his mind. One, Kenma would not have told a louse like Tsukishima the truth. Two, he needs to lie his ass off. Thank fully, he has absolute faith in his ability to do the second and almost absolute faith that the first holds true.
A laugh bursts forth and Kuroo follows it up with feigned surprise. “You’re funny. I hadn’t expected that—“
“Two black marks on your record, a third shooting would not have gone down well. Is that why you asked your partner to take the fall?” The supremely unconcerned air around Tsukishima irritates Kuroo, but he knows it’s meant to get under his skin. He resists responding in anger and buffs his bravado, touching the fingertips of one hand to the surface of Tsukishima’s desk as he leans across it.
“Listen. Concerning what you do and don’t know, Kenma isn’t the sort to go running his mouth, so perhaps it’s better for your career if you didn’t go making outlandish accusations based on prejudice, don’t you think Doctor?”
“Should I consider that a threat?” Tsukishima rising to his feet is more imposing than Kuroo had expected it to be; he straightens up with a cautious tilt of his head to find that Tsukishima still looms over him. “Because that sort of tactic is wasted on me.”
Kuroo has the distinct impression that he has miss-stepped though he isn’t certain if his bluff is the mistake or having come to Tsukishima’s office in the first place. Before he can decide Tsukishima speaks.
“It’s a shame really.” Tsukishima takes off his glasses, and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, rubbing at the lenses with a pretention that is galling, but his gaze remains fixed on Kuroo all the same, unnecessarily sharp as if waiting for him to slip. “As far as I can tell you had no choice but to take the shot. Anyone else would be lauded as a hero.”
Wrong-footed, Kuroo pulls back and wears his irritation plain on his face for the first time. “You lured me here by refusing Kenma clearance.” He concludes, more than a little bothered that Tsukishima has beaten him at his own game of provocation without his noticing until it was too late.
What’s worse is that it’s plain now that Tsukishima is enjoying toying with him far too much.
“Tch. Just report me then, or is it that you want to blackmail me? Do you have a favour to ask of me, good doctor?” The snide drawl in his voice doesn’t exactly make Kuroo feel any better about his situation but he doesn’t have the patience for self-preservation any longer.
When Tsukishima waves his hand dismissively Kuroo is both confused and surprised.
“I don’t have any such Machiavellian intentions. As I said it was a good shot, it’s all the same to me whether you shot him or your partner. In fact it makes my job easier that I don’t have to council Kenma through the appropriate coping mechanisms.” Tsukishima slips past Kuroo who ignores the fact that the sharp edge of tension that occupies the space between their proximity makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. And he isn’t certain it’s a bad thing. “You’re not my responsibility.”
“It could be argued that it’s your responsibility to report your suspicions to the proper authorities.” Kuroo hates himself sometimes for having the insatiable need to play devil’s advocate even at his own expense.
It’s worth it for the fact that Tsukishima’s façade breaks for the first time and he regards Kuroo as if he’s said something interesting at last. “It could. I don’t see why you would make that argument.”
Kuroo let’s himself be led to the door by the flow of Tsukishima’s words and actions both. The terror of having his truth revealed has subsided, and he’s fairly certain—though he isn’t sure why—that Tsukishima will not report him. The knowledge loosens his spine and brings an easy grin back to his lips.
“If I thought you were a danger to society it would be a different case. As it is I have no interest in going through the hassle of revealing your little trick.” There is something about the way Tsukishima says it that suggests he’s earned the man’s respect though Kuroo for the life of him can’t figure out what that might be. “But I’m not the only one capable of figuring it out. If you want to get away with murder, use a different trick next time.” The sardonic lilt to the words is meant to hide the true intent, Kuroo knows. A friendly warning. He doesn’t know what he’s done to earn it, only that he walked into Tsukishima’s office with his heart set to hate him and he can’t help but walk out feeling strangely indebted. He thinks perhaps that’s what Tsukishima wanted in the first place, but the way those eyes pass over him, clinical and without any feigned kindness makes him think that’s too simplistic a reason for someone of Tsukishima’s caliber.
“How about we talk murder and cover-ups over coffee?” Kuroo is surprised to find he’s only half-kidding, what he is not surprised by however, is the door swinging shut in his face in answer.
Smiling, Midorima lets their knees touch and is presumptuous enough to reach out and sweep away dark bangs that crowd out one eye. Midorima is already feeling it when the casual smile he’s staring at disappears behind carefully crafted words. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.”
“Of course.” Midorima is smoothing back his hair and willfully ignoring the excited throbbing in his trousers when a hand rests on his lower back, making all his efforts moot. The warm play of breath against the nape of his neck makes Midorima shiver and sit straighter on his stool.
“Take him to bed, Shintaro.” It is a command, an implicit eventuality made certain by its sheer utterance.
“Yes, Seijuro.” Midorima breathes and then the touch is gone. The man returns a moment later, all dark eyes and smiles. Midorima returns the smile effortlessly. “Shall we go somewhere more private Tatsuya?”
Seasons by Design; Chapter 2: Spring || Full Fic on a03
Previous Chapter Here
PART II; SPRING
The sky was an unusually brilliant shade of azure after nearly a week of unseasonably damp, grey spring rain; Shintaro didn’t notice. The whole of his attention was fixed on the even more remarkable sight of Akashi standing on his front step, a duffle bag swung over one shoulder, an impatient tilt to his head as he looked towards the welcoming cool deluge of shadow that was the front hallway.
Collecting himself, Shintaro stepped aside to let Akashi in.
The unspeakably clear blue of the morning sky had been a feint, by mid-afternoon thick ashen clouds had moved in to unleash a torrential rain on the over-soaked earth, causing the streets to run ochre with mud.
Akashi stood gazing out through a crack in the rear screen door, a frown turning down his lips as he listened to the mad tinkling of a wind chime caught in the tempest outside.
“It’s a shame.”
Shintaro struggled to let Akashi’s words penetrate him—his mind had been otherwise distracted by admittedly ridiculous possibility that his concern-driven preoccupation with his now ex-captain had somehow drawn Akashi to him.
“The rain?” Shintaro guessed correctly, causing Akashi to nod and turn back to him, the edges of two fingers dragging the screen door closed. “Why?”
“The festival, I thought it would be…nice to attend one last time before I leave for Kyoto.” Akashi left hand came up to rub haphazardly at his eye. The rain sounded as though it wasn’t inclined to let up any time soon. “I thought it would be more convenient to attend from here.”
Shintaro ignored the fact that Akashi could have just as easily made the trip from his own home. “The weather should clear before the festival ends, you’re welcome to stay until then.”
The smile that graced Akashi’s lips then was almost genuine.
“I had planned on it.”
*
“Kyoto suits you.” Shintaro said, frowning at the chess board. It was always a sign of Akashi’s mood for indulgence when he consented to a game of chess instead of shogi. Invariably, Shintaro would lose, but he could make a fight of it at least and that was meaningful in its own right.
“It would suit you just as well. Rakuzan offered if I’m not mistaken.” Akashi never was any longer and so it really went without saying, but the particular cadence of his voice made Shintaro smile wanly; the ease of it was something that Shintaro had found desperately lacking in their final year together, and it was a pleasant surprise to hear it again.
“Maybe, but that would defeat the purpose wouldn’t it?” Akashi’s lips quirked at the customary tick that lifted the end of Shintaro’s speech and shook his head as he watched Shintaro move his bishop.
“I would simply have gone somewhere else, perhaps Shutoku even.”
“Kyoto suits you.” Shintaro repeated and Akashi paused in his gesture at taking the forsaken queen in his sight. The queen remained on the board and Akashi turned away, making no effort to mask the way his fingers shook at Shintaro’s words.
“The rain’s stopped.”
“Yes it has.”
*
After the near constant downpour of the early spring the hazy blue ceiling of the sky looked impossibly high as Shintaro braved the lingering puddles to step out under it in Akashi’s wake.
A walk to stretch the legs Akashi had said, but never specified where and Shintaro had bitten back the insistent need to ask. At what point in their unplanned jaunt Akashi surrendered the lead Shintaro couldn’t be sure of, but when they finally stopped it was at the end of a path familiar to him and a glance from the corner of his eye was enough to confirm that Akashi wasn’t particularly displeased with were they’d ended up.
A low stone wall blocked the path they were on, and though it may well have continued on the other side of the wall at one time, now innumerable fresh sprigs of grass had raced up in a swaying field of sodden green to erase any signs of its once existence. Shintaro stepped over the wall with only a moment of difficulty and smiled privately at the disgruntled struggle that Akashi put up leaping over the same obstacle.
Once they had settled—Shintaro leaning against the stone of the wall, Akashi sitting atop it—the relative silence of their walk finally broke.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“I used to.” Shintaro confessed, surprised that Akashi had any inclination of curiosity towards him at all; it felt a foreign concept after so many years of the polar opposite.
“Why?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” Shintaro was watching Akashi when the first sign of chugging locomotive appeared on the horizon and saw the way his eyebrows lifted with pleasant surprise.
“I used to sit here and wonder where those trains were going, it seemed like the entire world would be open to me if I could just find my way onto one. Now I know they’re stuck on their tracks, going back and forth—running on a clock but…that’s a comfort in its own right, knowing where you’re going.”
“Is it?” There was no intensity in Akashi’s eyes as he tracked the train in its straight arrow shot across their line of sight, instead there was a hint of restful acceptance.
“That would be for you to tell me.” Shintaro said softly, his fingers smoothing over the cool touch of stone to his back as he ignored the faint urge to smile for no reason at all.
“Maybe one day I will.”
*
The yukata was a familiar one, but it sat just right on Akashi’s shoulders and Shintaro knew it was a favourite. A blood-red dragon curled protectively over the white cloth, snaking around Akashi’s left side, jaws cracked to reveal elegant teeth that were embroidered just over Akashi’s heart. Shintaro helped secure the obi around his waist, swallowing the uncomfortable lump that rose in his throat at the warmth of Akashi’s body bleeding through the thin summer cloth.
“What is it?”
Shintaro started and flushed at having been caught staring, and his mind galloped one way then another in a futile attempt to construct an acceptable excuse for his lingering eyes. In the end Midorima settled for some semblance of the truth. “White suits you.” The words had no sooner left his mouth than Shintaro realised how over-familiar they sounded.
Akashi chuckled softly and it left Shintaro caught between a frown and utter surprise. Before he could ask what exactly was so funny, Akashi spoke up. “Coming from you I’m almost inclined to believe it.”
“It’s the truth!” Shintaro protested. The flush in his cheeks spread to the very tips of his ears. He couldn’t explain even to himself why he hadn’t just let the matter drop. Akashi turned to face him and his elbow grazed Shintaro’s torso just enough to make his stomach jolt.
Their eyes met and Shintaro thought Akashi appeared a little warmed by his words, but before he could confirm his suspicion with any certainty Akashi swept by him. “Come, the festival is waiting.”
*
Evening had begun in earnest by the time the sounds and sights of the festival came within reach. Simple paper lanterns had been strung up along the smaller alleyways that lead to the main thoroughfare and it made for a surreal sort of ambiance.
It was a matter of pride for Shintaro that he had only snuck half a dozen glances at Akashi from when they’d first stepped out of the house all the way up until the moment when their modest path threw them headlong into hustle and noise of the main crowd. Two children careened out of the knot of people in front of them, whipping by like a pair of hummingbirds and Akashi seamlessly took a half step back to avoid the collision out of pure instinct. Shintaro, having been transfixed by the sight of the vibrant festivities washing over Akashi had been a bit lax in his own attentiveness and found he couldn’t quite step out of the way of Akashi’s retreat quickly enough.
Instead, Shintaro brought up his hands, catching Akashi by the shoulders and stalling his momentum. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Shintaro dropped his hands quickly enough to render the moment forgettable. Akashi continued on, “I hadn’t expected there to be so many people.”
“The first two days were rained out. This is the last day of the festival.” As Shintaro spoke two more children burst from the crowd, giving chase to the first pair; this time he managed to avoid them. “It was bound to be crowded.”
“You’re right of course. Still, it’s nice, don’t you think?”
Nodding, Shintaro let Akashi lead the way to a more isolated corner of the festival. The mass of people only seemed to peel away from them as they approached the shadowed foot of the narrow staircase that led up to the shrine. In the same fashion as smaller streets surrounding the festival, the length of the staircase had been strung with humble little lanterns, and it was deserted but for the odd determined festival-goer who decided to brave the steep climb.
“Shall we go up?”
The suggestion startled Shintaro. “Yes.” He said, gritting down his disbelief. Akashi had never been a boy poised of any spiritual concerns, but Shintaro didn’t feel the need to insult Akashi by inquiring after it.
A moment later, as they begun the ascent Shintaro was rewarded for his tempered response.
“I remember you always seemed more yourself after asking for your blessings.”
Shintaro didn’t hesitate in looking over at Akashi then. He didn’t hesitate in smiling either.
At the top Shintaro went through the familiar task of making his offerings, and then approached the single lonely shrine maiden from whom he purchased a charm. It was beautiful creation of rich red cloth surrounding a solid plate of wood that he could feel within. The pouch was strung with a cream tassel that had been threaded through a single red bead; the characters in turn were embroidered with cream and gold in an experienced hand.
Good fortune, it read as always.
“It’s agreeable up here.” Akashi who had held himself back approached then, his eyes still fixed on the thoroughfare below.
Shintaro finished tucking the charm into his sleeve and followed Akashi’s line of sight. The people below were a dark broiling mass, resembling more closely a single ever-changing organism than a collective of individual people.
“The families with small children will be leaving soon enough. If we wait here the crowd will thin out.”
It was a reasonable enough prediction and Akashi didn’t argue against it, instead he offered up a wry smile. “That isn’t in the spirit of a festival is it?”
“Are you suggesting we go down then?”
“No.” There was not quite as much light at the crest of the staircase as there had been along its length and Shintaro was having a hard time reading Akashi’s expression for the feeble fleeting glow that lit it.
“In that case, I know a way we could pass the time.” Though hesitant, Shintaro was filled with the inexplicable conviction that Akashi would not refuse his proposal in that moment. It was sweet victory to be proven right by way of a carefully raised eyebrow and the spark of curiosity in Akashi’s dimly lit eyes.
Turning from the edge of the staircase, Shintaro stepped towards the dark of the shrine instead, following a cobblestone path worn smooth by centuries of passing footsteps around to the rear of the grounds.
The structure of the shrine had hidden the humble cluster of lamps that revealed themselves as Shintaro and Akashi rounded the south-west corner. The path forked in three, the left-most route traced back to the shrine, the right-most to an elaborate gate in the smooth perimeter wall. The center path however led to a low wooden bridge that arched over a small glimmering stream.
A calm breeze swung the string of lanterns that were hung from two tall posts on either bank, and as tall as the posts were, Shintaro, with his stature still had to be wary of being bumped across the head by the lights.
Akashi had no such worries; the grace with which he navigated the narrow railing-free bridge to stand at the center of it next to Shintaro was enviable. It was all the more satisfying therefore, when Akashi jumped a fraction of an inch at the first barking grunt that interrupted the peaceful lapping water beneath their feet.
A white and pink mouth broke the surface of the water.
“Koi.” Shintaro confirmed, even as the explanation became superfluous. In but a moment, a small bucking knot of fish had gathered around the bridge, scaling over one another in the dark, making the water come alive with the fluid rippling of their sleek, muscular bodies.
The sound of Akashi’s surprised laughter was like summer rain, sudden and warm.
The pinpricks that were the lanterns reflecting in the water danced over the surface like drunken fireflies as the fish clamoured over one another, their movements growing less fervent, more fluid as it became evident that they weren’t going to be fed.
“I suppose I owe you my gratitude.” There was a deferential tilt to Akashi’s head that accompanied the tightness around his eyes, as if it pained him to voice the words that came to him then.
“What for?”
“This past year, you would categorize as difficult I imagine, though I don’t see it that way. Still, even I can admit it wasn’t ideal.”
Nothing resembling an appropriate response dawned on Shintaro and so he kept his silence, waiting for Akashi to continue.
“Without you Shintaro, I would have grown completely apart from this world, I think. For that you have my gratitude.”
A single red and white koi pushed up high enough over its collusion of companions to land half its body on the wooden slats of the bridge, wetting their feet as it thrashed, momentarily helpless. Shintaro watched it twist one way, then another and then slip back into the stream, disappearing amidst the slowly calming water’s surface leaving little more than faintly wet toes as evidence of its trespass into a world in which it did not belong.
And for the briefest of moments, Shintaro couldn’t help but think that perhaps there was dragon lying in wait in the shallow little stream beneath their feet after all.
*
By the time they found their way back down to the stalls and stages of the main festival a veil of clouds had assembled to close away the jeweled artistry of a clear night sky bright with stars.
“It’s going to rain.” Shintaro said, not to point out the obvious but as an indication to the offer of leaving.
“Does that bother you?”
For a moment Shintaro considered it. There were more pleasant things than being soaked to the bone by a cold spring gale but, he thought, as he spotted Akashi waiting expectantly for his answer, flushed yellow and red and orange from the various lights that surrounded them, that there were worse things too.
“No. Your last experience of a Tokyo festival should be a memorable one.”
Amused, Akashi only spared Shintaro a shadow of a smile before he set his sights on one of the game stalls.
“That umbrella.” Akashi pointed to a simple black and white oil-paper umbrella that took up a quarter of the prize wall. “What are the conditions for winning it?” The man behind the booth raised an incredulous eyebrow and named the terms, Shintaro couldn’t help but think the conditions unfairly steep in response to the cocky confidence with which Akashi had all but claimed the prize before even paying for a chance to play.
All the same, it was no surprise to Shintaro when Akashi returned not a minute later with the umbrella resting comfortably on his shoulder.
The first few drops of rain kissed the earth mere moments before the first of the fireworks reached for the heavens. The smooth treated bamboo shaft of the umbrella slid unasked into his hand and Shintaro held it above both their heads, swallowing the effervescent hummingbird his heart had morphed into at the branding heat of Akashi’s arm pressed to his.
Unimpeded by a downpour that worsened from moment to moment, the fireworks blossomed in a triumphant sally, lighting up the low grey underbelly of the storm cloud ceiling. The rain did little to spoil the moment, Shintaro realised as he watched the fireworks paint Akashi’s eyes in red and gold and silver and green.
At the sight, courage boiled unbidden to sit heavy in Shintaro’s chest until he was hard-pressed to contain it. The balance tipped, overflowed, and Shintaro found the words that crouched at the back of his throat escaping with an ease he hadn’t expected.
“One day we’ll find each other again, and you will remember this. The here and now, this moment.” The words were spoken with such heady conviction that they brought a teasing smile to Akashi’s lips. It occurred to Shintaro that he hadn’t seen Akashi smile so much in three years as he had in this last short week.
“I never took you for a poet Shintaro.”
“You never took me for much.”
Akashi laughed, the sound true and clear as a bell. “Modesty doesn’t become you.” And when Shintaro was unreceptive to his words Akashi pressed on. “That hasn’t been true for me about you for quite a while now, but you knew that…”
Shintaro’s lips quirked in an approximation of a smile, his cheeks flushing with a light dusting of colour. “I never know when it comes to you, but I get the impression that you enjoy letting me know.”
A humming noise in the back of Akashi’s throat—a sound that was very plainly not a denial—was the only answer Shintaro received.
*
The overtaxed paper umbrella rested against the wall just inside the door. Shintaro had courteously allowed Akashi to bathe first, but didn’t resist changing out of his less than dry yukata before laying out their futons. If they were a few inches closer than strictly necessary it was merely a coincidence.
By the time the lights were out and Shintaro was lying freshly bathed and acutely aware of Akashi’s presence not more than half a foot to his right, the cacophonous pounding of raindrops had died down to a comfortable white noise, leaving in its wake the burrowing clarity of their quiet breaths.
In spite of having discarded his glasses, Akashi’s proximity was such that Shintaro could make out the faint glimmer of his eyes open and staring back in the dark. And then the glimmer was gone, hidden behind pale eye lids and Shintaro exhaled carefully and turned to stare once more at the ceiling.
That night, Shintaro discovered that Akashi’s even breaths at his side were a poorer lullaby than he remembered.
*
The morning found Shintaro holding open the door to a washed-out pale spring morning. Akashi had the duffle bag he’d come with neatly in hand but his footsteps dragged in the front foyer.
In the act of shaking Akashi’s hand farewell Shintaro pressed the charm he’d purchased the night before against his palm. His immediate thought was it would be rejected but instead Akashi simply held his palm up between them, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
“What about you?”
“I’ll buy another one.”
Akashi’s gaze wandered to the paper umbrella resting beside the door, lingered for a moment and then he nodded, his hand closing over the charm in acceptance. “The next time I return to Tokyo we’ll meet on the court.”
It was a promise that gave wings to an escape, Shintaro knew and he had nothing but a relieved reverence for it. He let that promise be their parting exchange and watched Akashi leave the storms of an unkind spring behind.
"Have you played it yet?" The glow of the computer screen was a pale green and only Midorima’s eyes were visible over the screen when Akashi looked up at the sound of his voice.
"Played what?"
"No, it’s for simpletons." Akashi replied, his fingers picking up their staccato pacing against his keyboard once more.
"Hardly." And then after a moment. "I’ve made it to the final wall but I can’t breech it."
"Is that so?"
"You think it’s beneath you." Midorima was frustrated and his left eye was beginning to twitch and Akashi’s passive-aggressive goading was not doing him any favours. "If you think it’s so easy, why don’t you crack it."
Akashi sighed and pushed from his seat, circled around to rest his arm on the back of Midorima’s chair, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the screen. “Easy.”
"Prove it."
"And what do I get if I do?" Akashi asked, his breath a ghost against Midorima’s ear, making him shiver.
"What do you want?"
"I want to fuck you Shintaro."
Midorima choked on air. “Excuse me?!”
"You heard me."
"I—" Midorima could see the cocky glint in Akashi’s eyes in the reflection of the screen, could see it over top the hours of code he’d run to no avail. "Fine, if it’s so easy, you’ve got 10 minutes."
"Deal," The hand on Midorima’s chair pushed him back from the computer and Akashi leaned over the keyboard, his fingers little more than a blur. "But I only need two."
Midorima watched aghast as Akashi straightened up precisely two minutes later, the handle 04-Red flashing across the screen.
"How did you—"
"Backdoor. Simple enough considering I’m the one who coded it." Akashi spun around and leaned back against the keyboard with the most satisfied smile on his face. "It took long enough, but I must say it was worth the time and effort to be able to hack into your pants Shintaro."
Summary: MidoAka Yakuza AU (if you squint hard enough). Borrowed title has nothing to do with the actual plot, it just sort of fit. I took a few liberties and didn't do anything in the way of research, so just enjoy~
>>*<<
“How is it that the only time I hear from you is when you require something from me?” Midorima asked far too casually considering the scene he had walked in on. There was a mess of bodies, mostly panicked and all gathered around the splayed form of Akashi’s body on a pale cream futon that was steadily being dyed red.
“That is a terrible coincidence, not my intention Shintaro. Besides, you can hardly accuse me of having designed this.”
By the time a clever enough retort came to Midorima he was already at Akashi’s side, slapping away inexperienced hands and extracting the hastily applied bandages to see what he was working with. “History evidences the opposite—you were shot?”
A tense silence fell over the room as Midorima spun around to glare at the gathering of worried underlings. Akashi drew his attention once more by clearing his throat and causing the pool of blood beneath him to spread just a little further.
At that, Midorima thought better of reprimanding the lot of them in that moment. “I need two sets of hands, everyone else can clear out immediately.” Midorima barked out with enough authority that not even the grizzled killers in the room thought to disobey.
By the time one of the servants had a bowl of boiling water brought to him he was already elbow deep in Akashi’s blood, struggling to grasp the half-imploded bullet that was lodged against one of Akashi’s rib-bones.
It was a battle but Midorima knew enough to make it easier on himself by refraining from pointing out that Akashi rather desperately required a hospital. He simply had to get it done, that was what Akashi expected of him and that was precisely what Midorima was determined to do. After all, if Akashi had ever had any intention of going to the hospital he would have done so in the first place; it wasn’t exactly a luxury afforded to Akashi all things considered.
It was well into the second hour of damage control before the bleeding was stemmed, which was hardly soon enough considering how deathly pale Akashi looked. Midorima put in a few loose and temporary stitches and bandaged the wound before finally allowing himself to breathe. The second hour has been blissful compared to the first when Akashi had fought himself and them to remain still as Midorima had rooted through his flesh to retrieve the fragmented bullet. Now though Midorima would have been far more relieved to see the pain on Akashi’s face than the peaceful look of the near dead.
“It’s necessary that I watch over him.” Midorima said, loud enough that he could be certain his voice would carry to what would inevitably be a crowd of anxious underlings just outside the cracked door. “But he’s out of immediate danger for now.”
After a moment of steeling his overwrought nerves by replacing the hastily cleaned equipment back into his medical bag, Midorima removed his glasses and scratched away a smear of blood on one of the lenses before replacing them. Taking the washcloth from a bloody cloud of water, Midorima began to wipe away the blood that had dried on the skin of Akashi’s abdomen, feeling the hesitant rise and fall of his torso with every laboured breath.
“I am more than capable of watching over him.” Midorima said at last into the stale silence, finally looking up at the one other man who had remained in the room throughout the whole ordeal. The new lieutenant, Midorima surmised and was irritated to find that the knowledge sat uneasy in him.
“It’s not as though I would just leave the boss alone with you. What about that makes sense?”
It was impossible not to twitch at the assuming tone of voice that the man had but thankfully—depending on his outlook—Midorima had grown rather familiar with dealing with obnoxious behaviour.
“It makes a great deal more sense than the implication that I somehow intend harm upon Seijuro having just saved his life.”
The man— Mibuchi Reo, because Midorima had grown tired of pretending that he wasn’t actually quite intimately aware of the people Akashi had chosen to surround himself with in the wake of the Miracles’’ departure—frowned and fixed Midorima with a less than pleased expression.
“Reo, leave us.” Both Midorima’s and Mibuchi’s attention snapped to the prone form on the futon between them, with eyes sunken but open. “And Shintaro don’t look so displeased by my survival.”
“You’ve lost quite a lot of blood, it’s best that you rest.” Midorima pulled the blood-drenched top cover over Akashi’s abdomen after a brief and tender examination to ensure that Akashi wasn’t bleeding out into his gut. “You barely survived, you need to behave if you expect to recover.”
“I’m sure I’ll recover just fine with you watching over me in that exacting way of yours.” Akashi’s lips twitched in what may have been a smile but it was clear he didn’t have the strength for it. “Reo, I’ve asked you to leave and I’m not entirely certain why it is I’m having to ask again.”
“But of course Sei-chan.” Reo replied with an exaggerated bow to express his displeasure as he made his exit.
“I see I’ve been replaced.” Midorima mused aloud as he took careful note of Akashi’s eyes, and the way they tracked and focused on his face in ways that were more promising than Midorima had dared to hope.
“That you’re here proves that isn’t true.”
Midorima wondered if the expression of exhaustion Akashi showed him then was one he ever privileged his new supporters with. Somehow Midorima doubted it.
“You got yourself shot.” Midorima breathed out into the silence that had sunk in between them. It felt as though a lifetime had passed them by and somehow they had ended up back in the same place they had left each other. In reality it had only been two years since the now infamous sundering of the Miracles, and Midorima had shared Akashi’s company without animosity much more recently than all that. Still, unfortunate realities, most of them self-imposed, had kept them apart more often than not.
“You’ve made quite a name for yourself.” Akashi breathed out, his voice was tight and raspy with pain, but his eyes were clear and inviting and Midorima accepted the invitation by sliding Akashi’s head into his lap under the pretense of checking his pulse.
“I’m certain I’ve ruined it all by coming to your rescue.”
A shiver ran through Akashi and Midorima watched him fight it off, a hand resting in his hair with a soothing touch. “You always were the sentimental sort.” The bags under Akashi’s eyes were dark enough to look painted on and Midorima regretted that he could not do more to make Akashi comfortable just then.
Looking away to the screen door beyond which lay the impeccable garden that Akashi liked to look out on normally, Midorima shook his head in disbelief. “You’re the only one to ever say that about me. It’s a terrible joke Seijuro.”
“No the terrible joke is that the pretense under which you’re here undermines entirely my ability to in fact take advantage of your company.” Akashi’s hand came up to rub at Midorima’s knee and Midorima thought he could feel far too much longing in such a simple gesture.
A servant chose that moment to interrupt with a ceremonial haori in hand. Midorima said nothing of the fact that it was a downright waste to drape a perfectly exquisite haori over bloody sheets—particularly since Akashi’s life wasn’t exactly on the line any longer as far as Midorima was concerned, but Akashi had always been one for grand gesture when it suited him and Midorima wasn’t about to insist that it was a hollow gesture, or in fact even question it.
“You may tell the staff he will be fine.” Midorima intoned as the servant made to leave. As optimistic as it was, Midorima trusted that Akashi did not want to die, and knew that there was little in the world as powerful as Akashi’s willpower. The servant nodded with a relieved bow and left hastily.
“Perhaps it was wrong to have let us all go our separate ways.” Akashi mused out of nowhere some hours into the night. Midorima’s hand found Akashi’s forehead briefly but it was swatted away almost immediately.
“I am not feverish or delirious, neither am I in shock Shintaro.”
“Considering that it was you who raised the idea of us all parting as a prospect, I fail to see where this is coming from.” Midorima frowned and resisted the urge to stretch out the stiff muscles in his neck lest it be seen as a weakness. Akashi had a peculiar look in his eyes and Midorima knew better than to trust it.
“You’re not the sort to have regrets. That would be too…sentimental.” Midorima concluded having fished around for the appropriate word.
“No. But I am glad you came today.” Akashi murmured, his voice low enough that there was no risk of him being overheard by any curious ears that may have been listening at the door. “Otherwise you may have had to accuse me of being sentimental.”
Midorima offered Akashi a wry smile and retuned to running a hand through his hair. “If I hadn’t come today, the only thing anyone could have accused you of is being dead.”
