A/N: err, I'm not really a writer, so this doesn't make any sense and sorry if it flows weirdly. I never write fics because I feel like I can never get the characters right. Anyway, this was kind of on a whim at six in the morning because I couldn't sleep. There will probably mistakes I didn't catch. So shoot me. I'll just be satisfied if you can finish this without your eyes bleeding. By the way gave me a hell of a time trying to post this stupid thing. It fucked up my whole document ugh. Seriously so annoying. I think I finally got it this time though.
They were attracted to each other because of similar upbringings, Midorima thought, though he knew Akashi would never say it, would never need to say it.
You must never fail, you must strive for the best, you must never be anything but perfect. Words engraved into his mind, heart, since Midorima was a child. Though the Akashi family held an understandably higher position than his own family's name, Midorima was also brought up in a wealthy household with a status to uphold. He didn't have time for the naïvety and innocence of child's play. And neither did Akashi. He understood this about Akashi at least, looking into those never ending pools of calculating calm he called his 'emperor's eyes', he could see the same loneliness he himself had always carried. It was all the more reason to believe they were similar to each other.
They played shogi together after practice everyday, sitting in a silent classroom, enveloped in the orange of the sunset that streamed through window panes. It was a routine. The light drenched Midorima's grassy hair in flushed colors and turned it an awful shade of brown. The polished shogi pieces shone in his eyes, leaving his vision dazzled and when he looked across the board to Akashi, he was left breathless. The gleam of fading sun danced across Akashi's face, complimenting the scarlet fringe that framed his downcast eyes. His long eyelashes, though admittedly not as long as Midorima's own, cast spidery shadows down flawless cheeks, almost touching smooth lips shaped in a pout of concentration. His whole appearance radiated a beautiful, albeit ironic, sort of warmth that had Midorima paying more attention to those porcelain-like hands reaching for a shogi piece, than the move Akashi was about to make with said piece. Akashi didn't notice how closely he was being observed, or rather didn't say anything on the matter, which Midorima preferred anyway.
He could think of all the wasted years of life, trying so desperately to please their parents, all the hours of studying and practicing and sleepless nights to become just that much better. He could think of how both Akashi and himself were, at the same time, losing bits of themselves. But Midorima took a strange comfort knowing that while this was happening, the two of them could still look up and stare at the same sky.
The piano soothed him in a way his mother didn't. Soft melodies wrapping around him like she would never let her arms, crisp sound singing to him like she never did. His parents allowed him this one pleasure. They considered it a refined skill, fit for someone from a family of their social status. He would spend his afternoons, years ago and now as well, sitting on the bench in front of the grand piano, unbandaged digits moving across the glossy keys naturally and effortlessly, as if he was merely breathing. He delighted in knowing he could create something so fluid and resonant with fingers that usually wrapped themselves around a hard basketball. He sometimes wondered if Akashi had a sort of release, if he could create something from the emotions Midorima wasn't even sure he had, let alone hid. And if he could, what would it be? What would it sound like, look like, taste like? Midorima doubted it, whatever it may be, could ever be so sweet as the way his name rolled out of Akashi's mouth.
One day, he received a text from Akashi during lunch break, one that said
'music room. after practice'.
He could only reply with an 'understood'. Akashi's orders were absolute, after all.
The day passed slowly, but practice was brutal and exhausting as usual, effectively blanking Midorima's mind of any thoughts he might have of gilded gold and red eyes. He showed up at the usual classroom, only to find it empty. The familiar figure that sat by the window everyday, setting up the shogi board slowly and meticulously as Midorima would walk in, was not there. Not even a whisper of presence. He stood there, unsure of what to do, before realisation dawned on him.
He turned on his heel and sped, almost desperately, down the hall and then up the stairs.
He was only slightly out of breath when he reached his destination. He stood outside the entrance, collected himself and slid the door open with a nervousness he would never admit to feeling.
The open door revealed a room full of instruments cloaked in white sheets, standing still in a line almost like spectres, and the recognizable form of a certain redhead leaning on a half covered, black piano, gazing out the open window, back facing the door. It was quite a striking scene really, but before Midorima had chance to take it all in, that intoxicatingly sweet voice drawled out,
"My, my, it's not like you to be late."
Midorima silently closed the door behind him before taking a few steps into the room and setting down his school bag.
"My apologies. I had forgotten about the abrupt change in location."
Akashi chuckled and turned, running his palm on the unblemished top of the piano, trailing down to hit a note. It echoed loud, almost hauntingly.
Midorima's heart beat a loud pulse through his ears, nearly deafening, as he walked the remaining steps towards Akashi.
The first kiss was achingly gentle, sending foreign feelings racing through Midorima's head. Akashi stripped him with lingering touches, then brought those beautiful fingers up to
Midorima's face and slid his glasses off, dropping them to the floor. Their eyes met, blazing and turbulent, Akashi still caressing green locks and brushing a set jawline and moving down to graze defined collar bones.
"We're the same, Shintarou, through and through. Stay by my side."
Akashi took him, bent over the piano, ivory keys digging into his palms, creating a broken string of notes with every forward pitch of his body, hot breath misting over the sleek black surface in front of him. Sweat and skin and a voice calling out his name in a saccharine song that sent him over the edge.
Midorima laid down, head on Akashi's still naked lap, breath hitching when hands ran through his now damp strands of hair. He dared a look up, and was met with peaceful, almost tender smile playing on Akashi's lips.
Something he had never seen before. Something he wasn't sure he wanted to see. But he took a selfish satisfaction knowing he was the only one allowed to be shown such a rare sight. No other genius basketball players or self-centered parents or anyone else in the world had been worthy. The thought made Midorima flush and close his eyes tight again.
Akashi's fingers brushed over his ear before he leaned down close, and in a hushed tone, as if telling a secret, as if confessing, whispered,
"Won't you play me a song?"
And it was music to Midorima's ears.