#it baffled me for a while until i realized the tabs were the wrong color

[baddminton]

I've been blessed my the Monster Energy gods apparently bc this is the second time I went into Walgreens and ended up not paying full price

[lupizora]

Show Me How Life Could Be

This is my extremely late gift for Jenny (@/froochette) for the @knbsecretsanta . I haven't written for this pairing or concept before and wanted to challenge myself with it. Well, the joke's on me that (once) again the fic went out of hand. This feels more platonic than romantic to me, but I'll let you guys be the judge.

Hope you like it anyway! ♥

P.S. Of course, I'd make it about basketball in one way or another, what are you talking about?

Genre: Humour

Pairing: (platonic) MidoMura 

Rating: G

Word Count: 4,191

Summary: Midorima only wanted to do his job properly. Not get into a fight with their most loyal customer and have his life decisions questioned by everyone. Even if maybe, deep down, he was regretting some of them.

Humans show their true colors when faced with someone weaker than themselves.

Midorima Shintarou hadn’t considered himself weak in any regard. On the contrary, he had lived most of his life in moderate privilege: well-off parents, good grades, and boundless athletic ability. This didn’t stop him from always striving with his own two hands for the best humanly possible outcome though. Thus, above all, he fancied himself as a humble person. Acquaintances--friends, depending on who one asked--would often disagree with that statement. But Midorima wanted to believe he had never been as condescending as some of his customers.

The coffee shop he worked part-time was a small cozy place. Located next to the university’s library and lacking any big brand name attached to its identity, it exclusively attracted students who wanted a break from studying or to spend some time between classes. The relaxed pace and the versatile schedule were the biggest reasons Midorima had applied for the position--even if the pay wasn’t anything stellar. As an undergraduate medical student, he didn’t have a lot of free time but he couldn’t impose on his parents forever either. They were already paying for his tuition and half of his rent. It was only fair of him to handle the rest and his day-to-day expenses to the best of his abilities.

For the most part, work was uneventful. Except for the moments when Midorima had to wonder if it was indeed worth the trouble. From demanding customers to people skipping the line and making a fuss over nothing to his personal worst nightmare: customers that seemed to have lost their ability to read written instructions and signs. The redundancy of having to explain simple things annoyed him to no end, as well as the fact they were distracting him from his duties for these trivial issues. Instead of wallowing in despair, Midorima had settled for the next best thing: seething in rage silently. With no other outlet to alleviate this frustration, he’d often picture himself offering retribution to such customers. For example, jumping over the counter to land a solid dropkick to their chest, or throwing the tips jar to their head as they were about to leave. He could make that shot easily from behind the counter and none would be the wiser. The perks of being a former shooting guard known for his ridiculous three-pointers--distance was irrelevant.

Not all customers were irredeemable fools though. Some regulars could be considered at least tolerable, like one Murasakibara Atsushi. The only reason Midorima knew the guy’s name was because of Takao’s snooping. His old teammate/friend kept tabs for all the regulars, more so if they had been involved with high school basketball. Apparently, Murasakibara had been a formidable center in some powerhouse team. It baffled Midorima how such a player had escaped his attention during the championships he had participated in. It shouldn’t have been hard to recognize someone who loomed over the general public like some giant out of an old wive’s tale.

No one seemed to know what Murasakibara was majoring in, but it allowed him to visit the coffee shop every other day. After trying the entire dessert menu in the span of two weeks, he settled on a particular combo. It didn’t matter when he decided to appear, he’d always order the same thing. It saved Midorima a lot of time for which he was somewhat grateful; even if this person’s consumption of sugar worried him as a future medical professional, and cleaning the table after him could become quite a hassle.

Midorima valued rules and order. As painfully hard as it might be to accept, not everyone felt the same way. He was just a glorified waiter in a low-end establishment. He’d do his job, regardless if it was aggravating or not. Keeping his temper in check when faced with personal offenses included, but sometimes there was a limit for even the most patient individuals.

The first term’s midterms had just ended the previous day. Most students seized the opportunity to catch up with their friends over a cup of coffee and some sweets on the side. Suffice to say, the shop was relatively crowded for a regular Wednesday.

Midorima was on cash register duty. Passing all his classes should had left him in a good mood. His horoscope was a bit cloudy that morning though, placing Cancer in 5th place. Nothing too worrisome but he didn’t want to test his luck with handling beverages. So he pushed the responsibility to Takao--who, accustomed to his quirks, only mildly complained--and settled for taking the customer’s orders. Most of the shift went without any incident, but one thing was certain. 

Oha Asa was never wrong about his fate.

Midorima didn’t notice the bell chime of the front door above the ruckus of voices. Neither the footsteps approaching heavily. It wasn’t until the lights overhead were partly obscured that he realized Murasakibara had arrived.

With a glance to ascertain the customer’s identity, Midorima began inputting his order. “Would it be the usual?” he asked.

“Actually,” Murasakibara said. “Muro-chin is going to order this time.”

Midorima’s fingers froze and looked once again, properly this time.

There was another student next to his regular customer. He was slightly shorter than Midorima; dark-haired with several locks of hair falling over his left eye. While he appeared like a polite individual, there was too much-concealed amusement in that eye for Midorima’s liking.

“My name is Himuro Tatsuya,” he said with a wave. “I’m sorry if I’m breaking your routine or something. Atsushi wasn’t really planning on coming today--”

“Because today is no good,” Murasakibara muttered under his breath.

“--I kinda dragged him along because I didn’t know where is this. You see, I’ve heard so many good things about this place, I had to see it for myself.”

Takao was wheezing in the back, the coffee machine’s whirling barely overshadowing his laughter.

Midorima ignored him. “What would you like to order then, sir?”

“Nothing extravagant. Just black coffee,” Himuro said. “I am curious about the desserts you have though. They look delicious, but it's hard to choose. Is there something you’d suggest I try?”

On most days, Midorima would stare blankly at such questions until someone came to rescue him from the embarrassment. Instead, this time, he had the fortune of having a dessert in mind. If only because he waited every week to keep a piece of it for himself.

“Today’s specialty is the red bean cheesecake,” he said. “It may sound peculiar but I assure you--”

“It’s stale,” Murasakibara interrupted him. He was examining the display, bored. “Let’s just leave. I told you there is nothing good today.”

“As I was saying.” Midorima adjusted his glasses, annoyance bubbling in his chest. “It tastes perfectly fine. It’s not too sweet so I’d recommend it if you are looking for something to enjoy along with your coffee.”

“This is worse than those in the convenience store,” he cut him off yet again.

“I assure you, sir, that all our desserts are freshly baked.”

“C’mon, Muro-chin. I can make something a lot better and you know it.”

“Why don’t you make it then?”

"Huh?" Slamming his hand on the counter, Murasakibara leaned over the register to level his gaze with Midorima. “Is that a challenge?”

Two things happened simultaneously: Midorima realized he had said that aloud and someone tried to separate them.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Takao said with a nervous chuckle.

His intervention only deepened Murasakibara’s glare.

Midorima remained unfazed in front of this attitude. He wasn’t one to get intimidated, even in the rare occurrence the other person was a head taller than him.

“I said what I said.” Keeping his tone even, he returned the glare with equal force. “Now, if you aren’t planning on ordering anything, I’d advise you to step aside. Other customers are waiting.”

On his side, Takao facepalmed with a groan, and he could certainly swear Himuro stifled a snicker.

They remained locked in their stare-off until Murasakibara pulled back. Turning on his heels, he stormed out without another word.

Himuro apologized for the trouble and followed him, leaving the rest of the customers to glance between them in awkward silence.

“Now what?” Takao asked.

For once, Midorima didn’t have the slightest idea.

Several days passed and Murasakibara was still absent.

Midorima went about his shifts, as usual, trying to ignore both Takao's whining and his internal monologue about the whole affair. Their manager had been furious. But no one was more disappointed than Midorima for losing his temper over something this mundane. Personal feelings aside, he should have kept his professionalism as he had always done. 

Of course, he wasn’t planning on apologizing if they met each other again. While it had been inappropriate to get into a fight with a customer, Murasakibara had started it with his rude unprompted commentary. The shop had other regulars so one's disappearance wouldn’t have any impact on their earnings. It was going to be alright.

“Pretty boy alert at ten o’clock,” one of the girls announced. All three of them had gathered behind the desserts and snacks display, giggling among themselves. 

Midorima seldom participated in such idle gossip. It seemed pointless and distracting. Maybe if his colleagues found something else to pass the time, they wouldn’t need to stay overtime that often.

Unlike him though, Takao seemed to enjoy the social aspect of it. So after taking a peek, he slid into Midorima’s personal space with a conspiratory air about him. “Shin-chan, you might wanna take this,” he whispered, pointing at the spot of interest.

It was one of the tables next to the shop’s glass facade. Himuro Tatsuya was sitting all alone there.

“Why don’t you go?” Midorima asked, shelving the washed cups from the sink.

“Don’t be silly,” Takao said with a laugh. “We, average guys, have our pride you know.”

That was the most absurd thing Midorima had heard in a while. Takao was by no means average-looking, considering the amount of attention he got from both men and women. But he kept this thought to himself.

“Ask someone else.”

“Don’t be like that. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Minami and the others.” He grabbed him by the shoulders. “Fighting over a guy is an ugly thing. They might break apart! Think of their friendship! Their friendship, Shin-chan!”

There was zero proof of something like that happening. Even for a reserved person like Midorima, it was plain as day those girls were joined at the hip. But whenever Takao resorted to dramatics, he could only oblige to make him stop bothering him.

He sighed. “Alright.”

Taking his notepad along, he approached the table in question. Hushed whispers followed him, making wonder with half a mind if this was some kind of ploy. His horoscope hadn’t heeded any important warnings for that day. He had been prepared with the appropriate lucky item regardless.

Himuro noticed him only when he reached him. “Hello again.”

“Hello,” Midorima replied politely, still a bit uncertain from his joyful greeting. “What can I bring you?”

“There must be a misunderstanding?” He pointed at the cup on his table “I’ve already ordered. Your colleague there brought it to me.”

From behind the counter, everyone gave Midorima a thumbs up. It dawned on him then and there. This had been a set up from the start. Forcing him to interact with Murasakibara’s friend in hopes of learning about his whereabouts.

He resisted the urge to snap his pencil in half. Even his good looks wouldn’t save Takao from his wrath when he returned to the register.

“It’s alright. I can order once more,” Himuro said, appeasingly. “I didn’t have the chance to try your famed sweets last time after all.”

Swallowing his anger, Midorima returned to his work mode. “Is there something, in particular, you’d like?”

“Some of your macarons perhaps.”

“Excellent choice. We’ve got a new batch just today. These are made from this university’s Culinary Arts Department.”

“I know. One of Atsushi’s upperclassmen is responsible for them.”

Midorima looked at him as if he had grown another head. “Pastry chef is his major?”

“I’m surprised you hadn’t figured it out already, given how often he visits this place.” Himuro’s visible eye twinkled with hidden amusement. “He eats too many sweets and snacks for his wallet to handle. This hasn’t changed since our high school days, to be honest. The only difference is that now he started making his own, so we don’t have something to bribe him with anymore,” he said with a sigh. “It’s an uphill battle to bring him to practice lately.”

“Both of you are still playing, I presume?”

“Yes, with the varsity team.” Resting his chin against his knuckles, Himuro assessed him. ”I see you’re very informed, Mr. Midorima Shintarou of Impossible Threes.”

“I’m simply acquainted with an extremely nosy person,” Midorima said. It didn’t take long for Takao to learn about the rest of Murasakibara’s teammates after meeting Himuro. “Where you aware of me from the beginning?”

“I had my suspicions since you’re quite the urban legend around here. FYI, your taped fingers gave you away,” he said with a wry smile. “As someone playing in the same position, I was surprised to learn that such a high-profile player as yourself wasn’t playing anymore.”

“Such is life. Different priorities call for different measures.”

“That is true, I suppose. Do you miss it?”

The sun reflecting on his glasses erased the current view from Midorima’s eyes. He was on the court. Everything was silent; no shoes squelching against the wooden boards; no desperate cries for victory. He was holding the rough leather ball, preparing to shoot. The motion effortless and practiced to the finest tuning possible. He always exhaled when the ball left his hands as if spelling a prayer. It went in with barely a sway of the net. It always did.

“My time is limited for the effort the sport requires,” he said.

“That’s too bad.” Himuro returned to his coffee. “I wonder if Atsushi would be more motivated if he had someone of your caliber to compete against.”

"It must be nice being so simple-minded."

"Simple-minded, huh?" He looked wistfully outside. "That's not a word I'd use to describe him."

Midorima stopped scribbling in his notepad. "Meaning?"

"Sure, to an outsider, Atsushi might appear as such. He seems to go with the flow of his surroundings because that's the easiest thing to do. It might be partly true. It's rare to see him get truly passionate about something that doesn't involve his specific interests." He stirred his coffee. "But you managed to light that fire in him, even if for a single moment. That must amount to something, don’t you think?"

This is preposterous, Midorima thought.

Not everyone had the freedom to just do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Usually, another obligation or circumstance would force someone to go against their wishes and that's how their society worked. One couldn't bend the rules as they pleased. No one had such total control over their life. Midorima definitely didn't and it made him no different than the next person. That's another fact he had accepted without a second thought. There was no way a boring person like him could influence someone's life to any degree, more so a person he had barely held an entire conversation with.

Shaking his head, he focused on the task at hand. "Will that be all?"

"Yes." Himuro smiled. “That’d be all.

The Friday afternoon shift was the quietest of the week. Students preferred to visit the nearest bar or karaoke box rather than the café. It was only natural. No one wanted to follow the same routine, more so during the start of summer vacation. Midorima simply enjoyed the opportunity to avoid interacting with any customers for once.

A storm had been brewing over the horizon for most of that day. So, after a while, Midorima told Minami to return home; criminally unprepared that girl, she never carried an umbrella. Her assistance wouldn’t have been necessary anyway. The shop was empty, allowing him to do some deep cleaning of the place with everyone gone. Halfway through polishing the tables, the rain started to fall outside; a gentle pitter-pattering on the glass ceiling at first, before the heavens opened up and unleashed their fury to the ground. This downpour accompanied Midorima for the rest of his tasks--a white noise lulling him into some peaceful trance. Nothing else mattered; not his gossip-loving coworkers nagging him; not that Murasakibara hadn’t appeared for over a week.

He had finished mopping near the entrance when the double doors rattled. The sun wasn’t bound to set for a couple more hours. Yet, the scenery outside was as dark as if night had fallen. Midorima couldn’t figure out who was out there, knocking at the door with such urgency. Leaving the cleaning supplies aside, he unlocked the door. 

Humidity hanged in the air, pressing against his face like a wet blanket. “Is there something I can help--”

Midorima noticed the jacket, draped over a light-colored package the person was holding in their hands. Allowing his gaze to travel upwards, he took in their bulky torso which was clad in a drenched t-shirt. Locks of hair were glued on their cheeks and forehead like jungle vines.

Despite all that, Murasakibara appeared only mildly annoyed and maybe a bit out of breath. “Took you long enough,” he drawled.

“What are you doing?” Midorima asked.

“I came as soon as it was ready.”

Annoyance spread hot in his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining right now!”

“That’s why I covered it with my jacket.” He had the nerve to sigh. “For someone wearing glasses, you sure are blind.”

“Excuse me?” Still processing what just happened, Midorima had lost his usual eloquence. “You...it’s been days...and the first thing that comes out of your mouth--”

“Do we have to talk about it here? It’s gonna melt if it stays outside any longer.”

You should have thought of it earlier! He cried in his mind, allowing the other inside in the process.

His sandals squelched against the tiles as Murasakibara beelined for the counter, paying no attention to the watery footprints he was living behind.

Conjuring all his remaining patience, Midorima took the dripping jacket from his hands. “I’ll get you a towel,” he said and disappeared into the backroom.

When he re-emerged, the other had made himself comfortable on a stool. Miffed by his nonchalant attitude, Midorima threw the towel on Murasakibara’s head and took a seat as well. The package was left on the counter between them. Similar to the ones their sweets tended to arrive in, the unassuming beige carton box was definitely from the Culinary Arts department.

Murasakibara peeked from under the towel. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You look mad.”

“I simply want to know what your issue is, coming here in such a manner.” He pointed at the box. “What is this thing too.”

“Open it.” Shrugging, he proceeded to dry his hair. “It’s for you, anyway.”

Midorima quirked an eyebrow, more baffled by this development. Since he didn’t receive any further clarification, he warily opened the box. It was a cheesecake; specifically, a red bean cheesecake like the one their dispute had been about. Perhaps it was the sentiment getting to him, but he was oddly touched.

“You made this?” He asked softly.

Murasakibara hummed in agreement.

“I can't possibly eat the whole thing alone.”

"You can share it or sell it. I don't really care as long as you have the first bite."

"We aren't allowed to put unregistered or unordered sweets for sale,” Midorima said absentmindedly. “Since you went through the trouble anyway, I suppose it’s only fair I give it a chance. I can leave the rest for the others to try. Do you want a piece too?" Seeing him hesitating, he stood up and put the machines to work. “I’ll make you something warm to drink. Summer colds are horrible to catch, especially this time of the year.”

“Yeah, sure.” 

It didn’t take long for the hot chocolate to get ready. Meanwhile, Midorima found something else for Murasakibara to change into and leave his shirt to dry. As a future doctor, it’d be criminal to let someone get sick in his presence. He also dealt with the dessert, cutting two slices for them and putting the rest of it aside in the freezer. All the while, Murasakibara followed him with his gaze as he moved about like a busy bee. Midorima would prefer to renounce his lucky item of the day than admit he had missed the comfortable silence between them. In a world where everyone seemed eager to involve him in things, this moment was an oasis of tranquility.

“Alright,” he said placing the cup in front of Murasakibara.

“You won’t drink anything?”

Midorima returned to his seat. “I’m not one for sweets.”

“I thought you might have one of your canned red bean soups along with this.” He blew at his cup with an indifferent expression. But his eyes seemed to search for a reaction. “Why red and not green beans, by the way? Considering your hair.”

“I don’t mix those two.” Cutting his fork into the slice, he brought a decent-sized portion to his lips. “It’s unsightly.”

Whatever he might have wanted to add, drifted from his mind after taking that bite. It was leagues better than anything Midorima had eaten so far. Compared to this, his regular Wednesday slice might as well be from the lowest shelf of the bottom-ranked convenience store’s fridge.

“You liked it,” Murasakibara said.

It wasn’t a question, and for once Midorima didn’t feel like arguing.

“I accept my defeat,” he said with grave seriousness. “Why did you have to go through such lengths, though?”

“To prove you wrong.”

On second thought, pettiness was an acceptable reason. “I work here. There was no need to get personal.”

“Yeah, but you did.” Draping the towel around his neck, he tied his hair into a low ponytail again. “It was the first time Mido-chin reacted so strongly about anything.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced to make nicknames for me.”

“I read your tag,” he said as if it was obvious.

“You’d be surprised how many people can’t do so. But that’s beside the point,” he said with a wave. “Emotions aren’t needed to do my job. In fact, this whole situation brought me a lot of trouble.”

“But you don’t look so dead inside anymore.”

Taken aback, Midorima was speechless.

“It’s true,” Murasakibara continued. “I know you don’t have to talk a lot and I didn’t mind. It made things easier for me too. I didn’t have to think about what to say back like with the others. But with nothing else to do, I watched you from my table. The only time I ever saw you enjoying yourself were in your breaks, sipping canned red bean soup in the corner, or whenever the others tried to pull you into their shenanigans.”

“I certainly don’t appreciate them making a fool of themselves in front of the customers.”

“You’re lying.” He leaned closer. “And when it’s not those moments, you’re like a beast. Pacing in the cage you made for yourself. Like you’re waiting for something. Why are you still tapping your finger if aren’t playing basket anymore?”

Clenching his fist, Midorima didn’t back down. “Let’s say you are right, and that’s purely hypothetical. What’s in for you?”

“Passionate but talentless players annoy me. But talented players choosing to give up annoys me even more.” Murasakibara sat down, his expression turning solemn. “They remind me of something I’d rather forget.”

This statement echoed personal and all too familiar. Midorima wasn’t someone that poked into other people’s business, not actively at least. Still, he could understand the sentiment. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he’d ponder over his current course in life and get mad at himself; for not pushing through harder; for leaving something he loved aside without much thought. Maybe this was finally the chance he’d been waiting to come.

“Say,” he said; his throat dry and his words timid, “if I challenged you into a match, would you accept?”

“You’re deaf as much as you’re blind.” The jab had not actual heat behind it though. “Yes, without a doubt.”

“With that settled, I hope you won’t hold back. Otherwise, I’ll obliterate you.” His ever-bored eyes widening, just a smudge, got Midorima a bit self-conscious. “Is something the matter?” he added.

“You surprised me,” Murasakibara said, rubbing his neck. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, I think.”

“I simply enjoy a decent challenge.” He took another bite off his slice of the cheesecake. “Don't you?”

The other considered it for a moment. "Only when I know I'll win."

It roused another round of pointless bickering. But, truth be told, Midorima hadn’t felt more alive in while.