Disclaimer: I do not own knb!
A/N: i posted this on my tumblr for midotaka day, so here it is again! - for tori - insprired by 'grey or blue' by jaymay.
fixed document! sorry for the inconvenience ;;;;
Midorima nervously checked the old clock over the nurses' counter, a resigned sigh leaving his lips. Just half an hour and he could leave for a long weekend, finally.
"Midorima-san, there you are! The patient in room 547 is asking for you," an assistant smiled at the tall man.
The doctor straightened a crease in his white coat and forwarded his steps in the direction of the room after an apathetic nod to his subordinate, who followed him immediately.
After one more hour and a half, he had finally taken off his coat, washed and disinfected his hands, re-taped them and left the hospital. While crossing the road to get to a supermarket nearby, he fished his phone out of his bag, quickly typing in the code, just to find his inbox empty. He swallowed the negative emotions welling up inside of him and entered the shop.
He bought a couple of items, including his dinner for that night and the following. He didn't really plan to go out at all the next day, but he knew he was going to be forced to go 'partying' with his middle school teammates on Sunday.
"Have a nice weekend, doctor!" the shop owner's wife called after Midorima, as he left the building with his purchases in a bag and stared walking down the busy sidewalk. He held his head high, profiting of his height, as he was able to overlook the crowd from above.
His eyes wandered over the people on the streets; mothers with children, students, workers on their ways home, and couples. Lots of couples. But one person, he noticed in particular. Medium height, dark hair, muscular body. An odd sound left Midorima's mouth, as he unconsciously quickened his steps, approaching the other man.
"Ta–" he was interrupted by the stranger turning his head at the other's hand on his shoulder. He was mistaken. He thought he was someone else. He stepped back, apologizing. With his gaze directed towards the ground, he hurried away.
At home, he sat down in the living room, debating whether he should call Kuroko for advice. He imagined what the conversation would be like, but he didn't find any words.
Sighing deeply, he looked around, remembering all the memories that were held by this place. Ever since high school, they had been here, together. Always, always together.
It started raining.
He shook his head, once again checking his phone for a message or similar. Nothing. A week had passed ever since it happened. For as long as they knew each other, all those years, never had there been a time in which they hadn't been in contact for more than a few days. Not even in the busiest time of Midorima's studies. Not even during Takao's time abroad.
Midorima wanted to regret what he had done, he really did. But he couldn't. He liked it, he liked kissing Takao. But maybe, he started to think, maybe Takao didn't. Maybe what Midorima had been afraid of for so long, maybe that had happened. Takao didn't like Midorima's action, and left.
Questions balled up in the man's mind. What did he think? Was he afraid? Could he not find the words to say? And over all, had he ruined the friendship that was built up over so many years, that friendship, that meant so much to him?
He jumped at the sudden sound of the doorbell.
Hesitant steps carried him to the front door, eyes widening at the silhouette outside. He knew that shape of body. He knew everything about it. He saw the other's hand draw away from the bell, saw him nervously step around, moving from one foot to the other.
He took a deep breath before opening the door. He stared at the one standing outside, now without anything between them. Nothing except the distance created by Midorima's actions one week ago.
"Takao," his voice was almost whisper.
"Shin-chan...hi," Midorima watched his friend's right hand brush back his dark hair, grabbing onto the side of his jeans with the other one. "So, uh–"
"Come in," he heard his own voice speak, calmly. Stepping aside, he let the shorter one enter, now realizing that rain was dripping from his hair. He looked down his back and legs and saw that he was completely drenched.
"Ah, Shin-chan, maybe I shouldn't, I'll drip on your floor and–" he fell silent at either the towel that was held to his face by the other, or by Midorima's face, that probably said more about his feelings than the elder would have wanted to confess.
"Takao, I– " Midorima had so many questions. He just wanted to know the answers. He wanted to apologize, too. Ruining this friendship, which had been important to Takao, too, had never been his intention.
He looked into the younger one's eyes, which were averted. He couldn't even decide on what the other's eye color was anymore. He hadn't been able to look into them properly for a week, and now – now he was just too far away.
With a sudden movement, Midorima turned around, murmuring something about getting a drink for Takao, when something touched his hand.
He came to a halt, not daring to turn around.
"Shin-chan..." he heard the other's barely audible whisper.
Midorima almost lost his mind over the way he could feel Takao's breath through his light shirt. Breathe, he told himself; don't read too much into it. For Takao, this wasn't inappropriate touching yet.
He felt his hand fall to his side again, being let go by his friend, who seemed to be making an effort to hesitantly hug Midorima from behind.
"I'm so sorry, Shin-chan," he rested his head against the taller one's back, right between his shoulder blades.
Midorima's heart beat quickened, as he desperately kept trying to not show his reaction too much.
"I'm sorry..." Takao stepped away, only to walk around to see the other man's face that was turned to the side in a ridiculous try to hide the approaching blush drawn on it.
The shorter one of them, originally wanting to close the distance between them, broke into a chuckle, "Oh man, Shin-chan, you look as if you've seen someone naked," he gained control over his laughter, and smiled against Midorima's lips after pulling his head to his own.