Ship: midorima/akashi Fandom: kuroko no basuke Major Tags: none Other Tags: none Original Work:link by yrindor Word Count: 464
***
Like all the times before it, it is Midorima who finds himself outside Akashi's door. Their days in middle school had him in this very spot, waiting to be let in, on the occasion that Akashi would invite him over to play (shogi, or music, or both.) In Midorima's opinion, the school grounds would've sufficed for doing either of these things, but Akashi would insist on his company, and Midorima has always found it difficult to deny Akashi much of anything.
Now, his company is not warranted or asked for, but he still finds himself outside Akashi's door; still finds himself waiting to be let in, in a metaphorical sense as much as in the physical. The Winter Cup is over, and so is the part of their lives they have all spent pretending they aren't friends. Or so Midorima hopes.
Much of it hinges on this moment—on this door, opening, and on Akashi, smiling upon seeing Midorima at the entrance to his room. (Midorima still knows the way to it by heart.)
"It's been a while, Midorima," says Akashi, sweet as a greeting, soft as an an apology.
Unlike all the times before it, they do not play either shogi, or music, as if to say that they will have other times ahead to revisit their old routines. Midorima seems to have walked in on one of Akashi's calligraphy sessions, all his previous work not strewn about the room but piled neatly beside him after they have dried. Nothing but silence passes between them as Akashi hands him his own parchment, brush, and inkwell, and nothing but wind whispers in the room as they sit across from each other, legs tucked neatly underneath themselves.
Akashi smiles again, quick, familiar, and lacking the sharpness he'd worn this past year. "Shall we start?"
Midorima nods, and the two of them bow their heads and busy themselves in their own worlds—or at least Akashi does, because Midorima cannot ignore his presence if he tried. He takes a breath, glancing down at the blank piece of paper he'd been given, wondering if he has anything significant to write.
In the end, he takes the brush and carves out a single word in black, stark against the whiteness of the parchment. His strokes are bold, as if he could cover every mistake the two of them have made, every regret they've harbored, everything they could ever be sorry for, in a few lines of heartache and ink.
When he's done, he sets the brush aside, waiting, once again, for Akashi to notice. Spring, his paper says, with the sort of bravery only beginnings ever have.
He wonders if it will Akashi will smile upon seeing it, and he wonders what that smile will say now.
FILL: TEAM HIMURO TATSUYA/NIJIMURA SHUUZOU, G
Fandom: kuroko no basuke
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Original Work: link by
Word Count: 464
***
Like all the times before it, it is Midorima who finds himself outside Akashi's door. Their days in middle school had him in this very spot, waiting to be let in, on the occasion that Akashi would invite him over to play (shogi, or music, or both.) In Midorima's opinion, the school grounds would've sufficed for doing either of these things, but Akashi would insist on his company, and Midorima has always found it difficult to deny Akashi much of anything.
Now, his company is not warranted or asked for, but he still finds himself outside Akashi's door; still finds himself waiting to be let in, in a metaphorical sense as much as in the physical. The Winter Cup is over, and so is the part of their lives they have all spent pretending they aren't friends. Or so Midorima hopes.
Much of it hinges on this moment—on this door, opening, and on Akashi, smiling upon seeing Midorima at the entrance to his room. (Midorima still knows the way to it by heart.)
"It's been a while, Midorima," says Akashi, sweet as a greeting, soft as an an apology.
Unlike all the times before it, they do not play either shogi, or music, as if to say that they will have other times ahead to revisit their old routines. Midorima seems to have walked in on one of Akashi's calligraphy sessions, all his previous work not strewn about the room but piled neatly beside him after they have dried. Nothing but silence passes between them as Akashi hands him his own parchment, brush, and inkwell, and nothing but wind whispers in the room as they sit across from each other, legs tucked neatly underneath themselves.
Akashi smiles again, quick, familiar, and lacking the sharpness he'd worn this past year. "Shall we start?"
Midorima nods, and the two of them bow their heads and busy themselves in their own worlds—or at least Akashi does, because Midorima cannot ignore his presence if he tried. He takes a breath, glancing down at the blank piece of paper he'd been given, wondering if he has anything significant to write.
In the end, he takes the brush and carves out a single word in black, stark against the whiteness of the parchment. His strokes are bold, as if he could cover every mistake the two of them have made, every regret they've harbored, everything they could ever be sorry for, in a few lines of heartache and ink.
When he's done, he sets the brush aside, waiting, once again, for Akashi to notice. Spring, his paper says, with the sort of bravery only beginnings ever have.
He wonders if it will Akashi will smile upon seeing it, and he wonders what that smile will say now.