My strength is your weakness
My heart is own
Your voice sprays my silence
Then we're alone
Oha-Asa says that today's lucky item is an animal hairbrush.
A bright yellow dog-handled brush sits right on the bathroom sink. It has an effusively cheery face and wide, furry ears, as if longing for some petting from an indulgent master.
Midorima's bandaged fingers refuse to touch it. For the last two months, he can barely bring himself to step out of his studio apartment. Now, echoes of long-gone laughter and flashes of sunlight are driving him out with tsunami force. He shuts the door behind him.
His pounding heart wins against the pouring rain, the pouring rain wins against the soaking splash of a speeding car. He really should've taken that lucky item. Midorima looks at his hands, his piano-playing, half court-shooting, future surgeon's fingers, which should define his everything but doesn't anymore. He clenches them tight.
Midorima tips his head back and closes his eyes. His mouth barely opens for words swept by the winds.
Then the voice finds him. The headlights find him. The clear sunstones, the spun gold, the tanned flesh under the soaked suit find him. Midorima doesn't know how or why, but there is only one explanation whenever his genius brain fails to give him an answer: 'Man proposes, God disposes'.
Who has proposed?
The car door is on his back and Kise's lips are on his and Midorima bursts out of the box and sets them in flames.