no major content warnings, 700 wc. why did i do this honestly what is the purpose of my life
“Midorimacchi,” Kise says quietly, looking positively heartbroken as he looks Midorima up and down.
“What?” Midorima asks stiffly.
“That…” Kise trails off, covering his mouth in what Midorima thinks might be horror. “That outfit is terrible! Who told you it would be okay to come out into public like that?”
On the contrary, Midorima would like to point out that his outfit is rather put-together if he must say so himself. Which, evidently, he must, because Kise looks absolutely pained for some reason beyond normal human comprehension.
“This is hurting me,” Kise says, voice cracking slightly as he clutches at his chest (dramatics have always been his forte) with his hand. “You look like an unsliced fruit,” he adds, expression extremely pitying—which Midorima thinks he is probably, definitively offended by because he really does not think his outfit is that bad.
“You are wearing capris the color of sea foam,” Midorima says instead of calling Kise a hopeless fool to his face, perhaps out of courtesy, perhaps because Kise already knows. Midorima has always been courteous, regardless. “You are also wearing an ascot.”
“Sea foam is in, Midorimacchi! Ascots are very spring!”
It doesn’t occur to Midorima until this very moment just how expressive Kise can get. In the span of a couple of minutes, he goes from heartbroken, horrified, pained, pitying, to absolutely offended. It would be impressive if the topic of their conversation did not directly involve Midorima's personal life choices. Midorima pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms.
“I hardly think you are in any capacity to criticize my attire,” he says simply.
“I cannot go to this party with you looking like a kiwi!” Kise all but wails.
Now would likely be a good time to reenter his home to lock Kise out of his life for good, probably. He’s considering it, if he’s honest. His lucky item of the day is a straw fedora and he’s of the opinion that he’s incorporated it nicely into his outfit (which, unsurprisingly, had not been inspired by sliced kiwis). He is but two steps away from turning his back on Kise when he feels hands wrap around his forearm to drag him out and into the open.
“What are you doing?” he asks briskly.
Kise sulks, opting out of answering promptly to instead cling to Midorima’s arm, pressing the side of his face to Midorima’s shoulder as he guides them down the street. “Midorimacchi is so mean,” he says mildly, more to himself than directly to Midorima. “How am I supposed to show you off if you look like that? My co-workers will laugh at me! They’ll think I can’t dress you!”
“There is nothing wrong with my attire,” Midorima says sternly, though he’s feeling more and more inclined to believe that there really is something incredibly out of line about wearing the same color scheme as a fruit. “And there is no need to show me off.”
Kise frees Midorima from his grasp then, resorting to just bumping their shoulders.
There’s really no explanation for why Kise is so intent on “showing Midorima off” to his friends and co-workers. They’re—maybe something—nothing more than that Thing happened that One Time after okonomiyaki and we’re really just not going to discuss it, are we. But he figures it’s nothing to stress about. Kise is as flippant as ever, always jumping from one topic to the next, one person to the other and Midorima is hardly the type to fixate himself on… whatever this is.
He does not try to linger on the way Kise sulks quietly, petulant as ever as he bumps his arm against Midorima’s every two-and-a-half steps. Even as they’re descending the steps to the subway station, garnering more than a couple of glances from passersby (hopefully not because of their outfits), Kise is quiet.
There’s still a considerable amount of time before it’s time to go to Kise’s work party so Midorima figures, just this one, he could spoil Kise.
“Kise,” Midorima says, avoiding all possible eye contact because he is that mature.
“Whaat?” Kise replies, looking up just as Midorima takes a step into the subway car in front of them.
“Get in, Kise,” Midorima says, “we are… going shopping.”
FILL: TEAM IWAIZUMI HAJIME/OIKAWA TOORU, G
why did i do this honestly what is the purpose of my life
“Midorimacchi,” Kise says quietly, looking positively heartbroken as he looks Midorima up and down.
“What?” Midorima asks stiffly.
“That…” Kise trails off, covering his mouth in what Midorima thinks might be horror. “That outfit is terrible! Who told you it would be okay to come out into public like that?”
On the contrary, Midorima would like to point out that his outfit is rather put-together if he must say so himself. Which, evidently, he must, because Kise looks absolutely pained for some reason beyond normal human comprehension.
“This is hurting me,” Kise says, voice cracking slightly as he clutches at his chest (dramatics have always been his forte) with his hand. “You look like an unsliced fruit,” he adds, expression extremely pitying—which Midorima thinks he is probably, definitively offended by because he really does not think his outfit is that bad.
“You are wearing capris the color of sea foam,” Midorima says instead of calling Kise a hopeless fool to his face, perhaps out of courtesy, perhaps because Kise already knows. Midorima has always been courteous, regardless. “You are also wearing an ascot.”
“Sea foam is in, Midorimacchi! Ascots are very spring!”
It doesn’t occur to Midorima until this very moment just how expressive Kise can get. In the span of a couple of minutes, he goes from heartbroken, horrified, pained, pitying, to absolutely offended. It would be impressive if the topic of their conversation did not directly involve Midorima's personal life choices. Midorima pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms.
“I hardly think you are in any capacity to criticize my attire,” he says simply.
“I cannot go to this party with you looking like a kiwi!” Kise all but wails.
Now would likely be a good time to reenter his home to lock Kise out of his life for good, probably. He’s considering it, if he’s honest. His lucky item of the day is a straw fedora and he’s of the opinion that he’s incorporated it nicely into his outfit (which, unsurprisingly, had not been inspired by sliced kiwis). He is but two steps away from turning his back on Kise when he feels hands wrap around his forearm to drag him out and into the open.
“What are you doing?” he asks briskly.
Kise sulks, opting out of answering promptly to instead cling to Midorima’s arm, pressing the side of his face to Midorima’s shoulder as he guides them down the street. “Midorimacchi is so mean,” he says mildly, more to himself than directly to Midorima. “How am I supposed to show you off if you look like that? My co-workers will laugh at me! They’ll think I can’t dress you!”
“There is nothing wrong with my attire,” Midorima says sternly, though he’s feeling more and more inclined to believe that there really is something incredibly out of line about wearing the same color scheme as a fruit. “And there is no need to show me off.”
Kise frees Midorima from his grasp then, resorting to just bumping their shoulders.
There’s really no explanation for why Kise is so intent on “showing Midorima off” to his friends and co-workers. They’re—maybe something—nothing more than that Thing happened that One Time after okonomiyaki and we’re really just not going to discuss it, are we. But he figures it’s nothing to stress about. Kise is as flippant as ever, always jumping from one topic to the next, one person to the other and Midorima is hardly the type to fixate himself on… whatever this is.
He does not try to linger on the way Kise sulks quietly, petulant as ever as he bumps his arm against Midorima’s every two-and-a-half steps. Even as they’re descending the steps to the subway station, garnering more than a couple of glances from passersby (hopefully not because of their outfits), Kise is quiet.
There’s still a considerable amount of time before it’s time to go to Kise’s work party so Midorima figures, just this one, he could spoil Kise.
“Kise,” Midorima says, avoiding all possible eye contact because he is that mature.
“Whaat?” Kise replies, looking up just as Midorima takes a step into the subway car in front of them.
“Get in, Kise,” Midorima says, “we are… going shopping.”