Bikes and Hair Dye

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Literature Text

Bikes and Hair Dye

Summary: Makishima volunteered to show Midousuji how to streak his hair on Onoda's suggestion. Onoda just wanted to see his high school senpai and university teammate hanging out together. What resulted was Makishima and Midousuji being in one space alone together for a few hours.This could go several different ways, including ways neither of them would admit they wanted.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Wataru Watanabe and Shonen Champion. I don’t own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author’s Note: This is one of the crakiest of crackpairings in the entire Pedals fandom, there is no way around that. I made an attempt, however, to write this pairing in a way that kind of made sense and have it somewhat IC and believable. How successful was that attempt? You’ll have to read to find out. Or at least enjoy your crack.
This is my first time ever writing Midousuji in any kind of a serious way, so please be gentle on me.

Onoda called a little while ago:

“Uh, I’m so sorry Makishima-san, but I’m not going to be able to meet up with you guys today.”

Makishima could hear the frustration in his voice. Onoda said he had to go to back to Chiba today, his mom called him panicking that a pipe broke in the house and it was spewing water everywhere. Onoda’s dad was away on a fishing weekend with some friends, Sakamichi wanted to help his mom deal with the plumbers and clean up the mess.

“You two go ahead without me,” he said. “I know you already got the stuff, I’m sure you two will have a great time.”

Makishima’s face twitched at this assertion, but he stayed positive over the phone.

“Hey it’s no problem, you help out your mom and we’ll send you a pic of the results,” he said in a fake cheery tone.

Makishima knew, though, this whole plan was dead in the water. Onoda was reason this was happening in the first place, everyone else was just going to do this on his insistence anyway. Of course the other guy wasn’t going to go along with this if Sakamichi wasn’t there.

Makishima was considerably relieved. Yes he was out a small bit of money for supplies, but he could use them other places later. It was worth having the afternoon to himself and not dealing with an awkward situation.

Just when Makishima made his conclusions about how today would go, there was a knock at the door right at 2 o’clock on the dot. He furrowed his brows, this couldn’t be who he thought it was. He looked out the peephole; sure enough there was the other party. A part of him wanted to just keep quiet and pretend he wasn’t there, but he opened the door before logic could have any more say.

Makishima had to look up to make eye contact with the tall, gangly guy in front of him. The young man’s hands were shoved in his jeans pockets and he averted his gaze. Makishima could only think that if someone told him that creepy Midousuji kid from Kyoto Fushimi would be on his doorstep in four years he never would have believed them. Now here he was right at his apartment door.

“Hey,” Makishima greeted.

“I’m guessing Sakamichi called you too about how he had to go home today,” Midousuji said. “Do you…uh…still want to do this anyway?”

Makishima gave a profound blink; he was not expecting this at all. His logic directed him to tell Midousuji he was busy today, maybe they should wait until Sakamichi is free again.

“Uh…sure, no problem, if your still up to it,” he replied instead. “Come on in.”

Midousiji walked into the apartment and Makishima closed the door behind him. His first thought was this is how horror movies start, though he tried to slap that idea away. A black backpack was slung over Midousuji’s shoulder against a black short-sleeved shirt over a purple tank top. It still amazed him that Midousuji of all people had a decent sense of style. The only other time he had ever seen him was in his high school team uniform, though during these odd meet-ups over the past few months he saw he usually wore outfits with nice coordination.

“Did you bring a shirt you don’t mind getting stained?” Makishima asked.

Midousuji took off his backpack and lightly slapped it, Makishima nodded.

“Get changed, I’ll get my things together,” Maksishima replied.

Makishima walked over to the kitchen and got out the box he had prepared for this occasion. He put it on the table and took out the bottles, then got out his usual plastic bowl and brushes. He glanced up and saw Midousuji taking off his over shirt, then peeling off his tank top. Midousuji had grown into his limbs a little since first-year, it looked like he’d put on a little more muscle weight as well though he was still a bit on the thin side.

“You didn’t think I’d show up today, did you?” Midousuji called back.

The sound of his voice pulled Makishima back to reality, now he just felt silly for being distracted by something so ridiculous.

“Honestly I didn’t,” he replied, walking over to wardrobe in the corner of the apartment and pulling out some old towels with plenty of green stains on them. “Didn’t think you’d be interested, especially with just the two of us.”

“I guess you called that one wrong,” Midousuji replied, Makishima could see a hint of that dung-eating smirk. “That’s what you get for making conclusions.”

Midousuji essentially talked through complaints and insults. It was something Makishima rapidly learned the more time he spent with him, or rather the more time Onoda invited the two of them to hang out with him.

Onoda and Midousuji were now at the same university and on the same cycling team. In May Makishima settled in Tokyo, his own university diploma in hand with the keys to a tiny studio in Shibuya. Onoda and Makishima were now just a five-minute train ride away from each other. It was paradise for Sakamichi; his old rival and his returned senpai were now in one neutral place. Of course he wanted all of them to hang out together like old friends.

Onoda was clearly aware, however, that neither Midousuji nor Makishima were entirely social, not to mention neither of them were probably interested in being friends. That didn’t stop Onoda from trying. Makishima got his own pleas:

“I know his reputation, Makishima-san,” read one email. “I’ve seen what he’s capable of, and I know to be careful. I swear he’s different now, though. We’ve talked a lot. He knows he did some bad things, but he wants to put that behind him. I just want to give the guy a chance, no one else has and I think he deserves it.”

Apparently there was some truth to the whole “he realized the error of his ways” speech but, according to a rumor he heard from Imaizumi, it was hardly a heartwarming redemption story. Apparently the administrators at Kyoto Fushimi suddenly took a zero tolerance policy to bad sportsmanship and harassment, Midousuji their direct target. Of course this had nothing to do with the fact one of the first-years Midousuji terrorized into quitting had a dad who was a well-known local politician. There was an investigation, a lot of rumors and accusations, and most of the team rolling right over on Midousuji. He was almost kicked off the team. In the end the end he kept his spot, but with a stern warning and having to deal with a new coach that kept a close eye on him.

Imaizumi said he didn’t trust the source of the story, but did say Midousuji was so quiet during the Inter-High it was eerie. Makishima figured he had been knocked down a few pegs and probably focused more on actual racing in his third year to get scouts’ attentions. It apparently worked; here he was now with Onoda on a university team.

When Makishima got the first invitation to hang out, he decided to go in with an open mind. He decided he would oblige Onoda once or twice, though waited for any opportunity for Midousuji to slip up and show his true colors.

The first moment Midousuji ever opened his mouth and laid into Onoda about how he “sucked so hard” during one race, Makishima swore he had him. Onoda just laughed and replied, “Yeah that was pretty rough, though you do remember what happened next time…” and it was done from there. It was obvious this was just how he was.

Somehow obliging Onoda once or twice became obliging him at least once a week or every other week. Sometimes when they planned to hang out between Onoda’s university life and Makishima’s…whatever he was doing these days Onoda would say, “Would it be okay if Midousuji-kun joins us?”

Much to his surprise Midousuji wasn’t that offensive to be around. Yes his attitude was off-putting, but he was capable of having a neutral conversation with Onoda. Makishima even saw him interacting with a few of their team members and saw he was capable of being civil and cooperative, even if he barely spoke a few words the whole time with a blank look. It was clear the kid had matured somehow in the past four years, or maybe he had been knocked down to size. Regardless Makishima wasn’t letting his guard down.

This moment, however, was really the first time Midousuji and Makishima had spoken more than a couple words to each other. Even sitting across from each other words were shared with Onoda, but not the other guy. Makishima wondered if Midousuji would be saving all his choice taunts for here.

The fact they were alone in the same apartment together did make Makishima’s skin crawl to a small degree. A small part of his mind, though, was more intrigued to see where this was going. He laid out some towels on the wooden table, though he really didn’t care if this table got stained. It was a cheap thing he picked up in a thrift shop, it already had so many things spilled on it already: the advantage of being “vintage.”

He looked up and saw Midousuji with a beaten-up black t-shirt in hand, though he was lazily stepping around the apartment looking around at the walls and at the random things Makishima had hanging off them. He stopped in front of a couple paintings that were mostly paint splatters with a few random objects and figures painted on, Makishima’s signature stuck out at the corners of both of them. They were the results of a painting night in London, or a bunch of intoxicated people spreading paint everywhere and trying to analyze the intricate symbolism of every detail later. He was tempted to tell Midousuji the story behind these, but figured he’d get some variation of “these are gross” or some wall of insults he didn’t feel like hearing.

Makishima had all of his tools out and was putting on a pair of plastic gloves. He looked up and saw Midousuji had put the t-shirt on by now, one hand pulling out the elastic that held his shoulder-length hair in a loose ponytail. Makishima could see a silver ring in the side of his ear cartilage right before the cascade of stringy hair covered it. He seemed to be studying the sewing machine that sat in the corner; hopefully he didn’t see the layer of dust over it.

“I’m all set, ready to do this?” Makishima asked.

Midousuji looked back over at him and shuffled to the table. Makishima pulled out a chair facing a small stand mirror on the table. Midousuji plopped down in the chair; Makishima draped a towel over his thin shoulders and fastened it with a large safety pin.

“That too tight?” he asked.

“That’s fine,” Midousuji replied. “You don’t have any roommates or anyone who’ll barge in, do you?”

Somehow Makishima was unsettled by that question. He was making sure he was alone so he could…okay this was getting silly.

“No, just me,” Makishima replied. “Don’t worry no one’s barging in.”

Yes, Makishima was living contentedly alone in this little studio so he could reconnect with Japan and do his art in peace. Of course that was the official answer.

Makishima ran his hands through Midousuji’s hair, a hairdresser friend of his told him this was to get the feel of someone’s hair thickness and quality before working. He had never done this on anyone else before; he figured it was a good way to start. Midousuji’s hair was fine, but it was really soft; he obviously took good care of it. Makishima looked in the mirror and saw those bulging eyes looking downward.

“Like I said I’m going to show you how to do this, so pay attention to what I’m doing,” Makishima said.

“Sure,” Midousuji replied dourly.

Makishima pulled the bowl toward him, then dipped the brush into the bleach solution.

“So how wide did you want these streaks?” Makishima asked.

Midousuji looked blankly in the mirror.

“I don’t know, something noticeable,” he replied. “You’re the expert at this, what do you think would work?”

“It’s your hair, you should know what you want,” Makishima answered.

“Well if I don’t what you do, I’ll just shave it all off and all your hard work will be gone,” Midousuji sneered.

Makishima stared down at him with an unamused expression; of course this was where the fun started. He wasn’t going to tell Midousuji what he was threatening was par for the course for design or any artistic profession. How many time had he spent hours on something he had to take apart and redo later? He was going to have to try harder for a reaction.

“Or I could just not do this and leave you to experiment and screw it up,” Makishima sighed. “Then you could shave it all off if you wished.”

Midousuji’s lipped curled and he looked away.

“A couple centimeters wide, big stripes like…well I guess like yours,” Midousuji answered.

Makishima looked at Midousuji’s hair and measured out the width of a possible stripe with his fingers. At last Midousuji nodded at what he saw and Makishima nodded back. He took a strand of hair about the width indicated, then brushed on the bleach solution.

Somehow he had been the one to suggest this whole project, but it was more something that he blurted out than actually planned to offer. They were all in a café the other day when Onoda talked about his hair, noting how Makishima’s hair was now a teal color with bright yellow streaks.

“I decided I needed a change and just did it,” Makishima had replied.

“Wait, did you do that yourself?” Midousuji asked.

Makishima blinked profoundly; had Midousiji actually just spoken to him? He actually acknowledged there was another person sitting a meter from him.

“In fact I did,” Makishima responded.

“That’s amazing, Makishima-san,” Onoda had said.

“You’re probably lying, unless this is just really bad,” Midousuji sneered.

Makishima saw Midousuji reach over the table and grab a lock of his hair. Makishima flinched, he weakly batted at Midousuji’s hand, but Midousji just held the lock of his hair and studied it. Makishima let him; if he pulled on it he was getting smacked. Instead he almost analyzed the teal and yellow waves with a look of interest, then Makishima saw his thumb rub over the piece of hair before letting it go.

“His hair always looks really cool, you do a great job with it,” Onoda continued to gush. “Wait…hey Midousuji-kun, didn’t you mention you were curious to some streaks in your hair too?”

“What? That was a while ago,” Midousuji groaned.

“No you mentioned you wanted to get purple or something. Maybe Makishima-san could give you some pointers…that is if you have time an are okay with it.”

This was when Makishima first opened his mouth.

“I guess I could show you sometime,” he said then.

“What, you want me to watch you primping your hair?” Midousuji snickered.

“Could you maybe do it for him, show what really needs to be done?” Onoda asked.

He should have said no outright, he asked himself a hundred times why he didn’t.

“I could do that,” Makishima said. “Teach through demonstration.”

“Oh that would be so awesome, but we don’t want to impose of course,” Onoda replied.

“No it’s no problem.”

Makishima knew he already dug himself in deep. He counted on Midousuji refusing outright with a few rude words. He wasn’t expecting to hear: “Alright, fine.”

The original idea was to do this in the dorms, but apparently the RA had been scolding people for leaving dye stains in the sinks and showers. Plus Makishima wasn’t interested in rinsing Midosuji’s hair in the middle of a public washroom. He also wasn’t thrilled with the idea of doing this in a dorm room and having to walk back and forth all the way to the sink.

It took a lot of thought but Makishima just offered his apartment. Onoda had been here a few times already; Midousuji was becoming more of a neutral party. Maybe it was a show of trust, but then he counted on Onoda being here with them for this. Being alone in his apartment with Midousuji sounded like a nightmare scenario, or maybe it wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be.

Makishima did the stripes in his hair, separating them out with small pieces of aluminum foil. Midousuji kept quiet most of the time, though he did ask a couple basic questions.

“Ugh this stuff stinks,” Midousuji groaned when Makishima was almost done with one part.  

“Yeah it’s not pleasant,” Makishima replied.

“Do you have to do this to all of your hair?”

“Yes I do. I’ll just do my roots if I’m keeping this color for a while, but when I did it like this I bleached the whole thing.”

“How can you stand that, it’s nasty.”

“I’ve gotten used to it. Didn’t Onoda tell me you had a bleached Mohawk once?”

“Yeah second-year. I just poured the stuff on; I had no idea what I was doing. It did look pretty cool though. Then it started growing out and looking gross.”

Makishima remembered hearing Midousuji had a teammate at Kyoto Fushimi with blue and pink hair, he was tempted to ask Midousuji if he got any hair tips from him. From the rumor Makishima heard, though, anything having to do with his old team was kind of a sore subject so he kept his mouth shut.

“I’ll give you some tips for doing your roots too.”

Midousuji just shrugged, maybe that was a thank you.

Makishima finished the bleaching process; now Midousuji had streaks of bluish solution in his hair with numerous little pieces of foil.

“I’m going to leave that for about half an hour,” Makishima said, picking up his phone and setting the timer. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“What do you have?”

Makishima went into his refrigerator and looked inside, though he gave little glances to Midousuji. He really didn’t want to let him out of his sight for a second. Midousuji stayed in his chair in that same position, his finger lightly tapping the end of the brush sticking out of the bowl.

“Orange juice, Bepsi, mango tea, milk…” Makishima read off.

“Mango tea, please,” Midousuji replied.

Makishima took out two bottles of mango iced tea and closed the refrigerator, then walked to the table and handed Midousuji the bottle. Midousuji twisted off the cap and sipped the contents in silence and Makishima did the same. Neither of them spoke, Makishima put on the TV for some background noise.

“So why aren’t you still in London?” Midousuji asked, breaking the silence. “Sakamichi told me you were working with your brother, why didn’t you stay?”

Makishima thought on that answer. Because he was homesick, because by graduation he really wasn’t close to anyone else in London beside his family members, because he exhausted himself, because he was snapping at everyone, because he was having anxiety attacks. Because his brother sat him down and flat out told him to take some time off after graduation, preferably in Japan. Which one of these could he really tell Midousuji and not have it shoved in his face.

“I just wanted to come back to Japan for a while,” Makishima replied with a shrug. “I guess I got homesick, Tokyo’s a nice place.”

“Homesick for this place? Pfft, what’s wrong with you?” Midousuji replied, sipping his tea.

Makishima blinked a few times. Sometimes when the three of them were in the same place Sakamichi would ask Makishima a few questions about London. Every time Makishima talked about the city or some of the things he did, Midousuji would watch him intently. Makishima suspected maybe this was something that interested in him, yet he never had the desire to ask.

“What, you don’t like it here?” Makishima asked.

“Tokyo’s okay, Kyoto’s miserable, but still why would you leave London? It sounds like a cooler place.”

Makishima looked away so he couldn’t see his smirk. He had his answer.

“Well it is, I guess after four years I needed a change of scenery,” he replied. “You should go to London someday, it’s certainly an experience.”

“Yeah that’s never happening,” Midousuji answered.

Makishima felt a little embarrassed, not everyone was as fortunate as he had been to just go these places.

“You never know there’s options,” Makishima said. “You could do a study abroad program or do some exchange, I’m pretty sure there’s scholarships available.”

Midousuji looked down and sipped his tea, then looked at Makishima with that smarmy smirk.

“Are you trying to be my senpai, Makishiiima-san?” Midousuji hissed, mimicking Onoda’s voice a little.

Makishima gave him a creepy smirk back.

“What was I thinking, senpais are gross,” Makishima replied, mimicking Midousuji.

Midousuji scowled and swigged his tea. Makishima’s smirk remained in place. He looked kind of cute when he was annoyed.  

“You know Sakamichi talks about you all the time,” Midousuji said with a little smile. “It’s really annoying.”

“Oh really, you know he talks about you a lot too,” Makishima replied.

Midousuji had a blank expression though his upper lip twitched a little.

“I don’t get that guy at all,” Midousuji said.

“Heh, no kidding,” Makishima replied.

They sat in silence for a little while longer, Makishima clicked through the channels and stopped on a music video show for some extra background noise. He occasionally looked back at Midousuji to make sure he was behaving himself, one time their eyes met for a moment before Midousuji quickly turned his head away. Finally the timer went off on Makishima’s phone.

“Okay, rinse time,” Makishima said. “Get up.”

Midousuji put his tea back on the table and rose from his seat. Makishima motioned for him to come over to the sink, then he took out the sprayer and turned on the water to a decent temperature. Makishima gently guided Midousuji’s head downward, then rinsed out one strand to make sure the bleach did its job. The bleach turned his black hair a pale orange, but it would be just fine for the rest of the color. Makishima then rinsed out the rest of the foiled areas. Midousuji kept quiet the whole time and stayed still.

When the job was done, Makishima picked up a towel and patted the rinsed areas dry. Midousiji returned to an upright position, Makishima could see those bulging eyes looking around as he finished drying his hair. Makishima then motioned for Midousuji to return to his chair. Makishima got out a few bottles of purple solution and showed them to Midousuji.

“Which color were you thinking?” he asked, showing the bottles of two different shades.

“Are they going to show up?” Midousuji asked.

“Both of these should really stick out from your hair,” Makishima replied.

Midousuji pondered the bottles for a moment and pointed to bright violet. Makishima nodded, then opened the bottle and poured some of the contents in another empty bowl. He took another brush and dipped it in the bowl, then brushed down a bleached strand.

“So just why are you doing this for me anyway?” Midousuji asked. “You hate me right?”

Makishima raised his brows a little at the question.

“What makes you say that?” Makishima replied, starting on another strand.  

He looked in the mirror and saw Midousuji’s eyes were wide and his gaze was downcast.

“Call it an educated guess,” Midousuji said. “All you Sohoku guys hate me; well maybe not Sakamichi, but he’s special.”

Makishima continued brushing and pondered the question. In truth it kind of bothered him a little.

“I don’t hate you,” Makishima replied neutrally.

He looked in the mirror again and saw Midousuji’s eyes widen a little as he gave a profound blink.

“So why are you doing this?” Midousuji asked.

Makishima wasn’t entirely sure what that answer was let alone how to respond. He just shrugged.

“I just like doing this, I figured I’d do you a favor,” Makishima replied.

“Aww it’s like we’re best buddies or something,” Midousuji taunted.

“What about you, why are you here?” Makishima turned it back around. “Do you want to be best buddies?”

“Well what if I said I did?” Midousuji craned his neck around and looked at Makishima, he reminded him of an owl. “How would you feel about that? What if I confessed my love for you?”

Makishima gave him a blank look.

“I really don’t know how I’d feel unless I heard it,” Makishima answered. “Why? Do you have something you want to tell me?”

Makishima knew what the answer would be, though he wasn’t counting on Midousuji’s cheeks flushing. Makishima just looked at him, raising his brows in anticipation. Midousuji swung his head around.

“Gross,” he hissed.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Makishima replied, continuing with what he was doing.

He looked in the mirror to see Midousuji with a little scowl, only now it kind of looked like a pout. Makishima tried not to show any reaction to this, but he was somewhat unnerved. It was too easy to read all sorts of weird things into this, but Makishima knew he was overthinking as usual.

He finished up another streak, then moved onto another. Both of them were completely silent. Makishima was used to this dynamic, but now it was making him uneasy. He didn’t want to look in the mirror and see any more of Midousuji’s unsettling expressions.

“So is De Rosa a good bike?” Makishima asked just to break the ice.

“You’re awful at making conversation, by the way,” Midousuji replied.

Makishima chuckled.

“I hope you didn’t just figure that out now,” he replied.

Midousuji let out a shrill snicker, Makishima just had to laugh along with him. Their laughter died out and Makishima worked on a couple other streaks in a slightly more comfortable silence.

“So…what do you ride?” Midousuji asked.

Makishima smirked, finally a conversation about bikes.

“A Time,” Makishima answered. “The same one I’ve had since high school, it runs great with maintenance.”

The one thing that still gave him unconditional happiness over the past four years. How many races had he done around Europe with that thing?

“That’s a European bike right? Did you get it in Europe?”

“Nope, Chiba, Kanzaki’s Cycle Shop.”

“Sakamichi-kun keeps telling me to go there, he said the guy who runs it helped out the Sohoku team a lot.”

“That’s him. He was captain when I was a first-year, really nice guy. It is a good shop, you should check it out at least once.”

He still wanted Kanzaki to take a look at it before that team race he was doing with Kinjou and Tadokoro next month. He suddenly remembered he still needed to get back to Toudou on the next race they would do together; Toudou was nagging pretty hard. All these thoughts just made him smile. He was back with his old friends, though somehow he we here with Midousuji too; he had to appreciate the irony.

His reverie gradually faded. Soon he realized Midousuji was awfully quiet. Maybe the mention of Kanzaki bothered him. Makishima suddenly wondered if Midousuji did talk to any of his old Kyofushi teammates, though he highly doubted that.

“Have you been to Asahi’s Bike Shop yet? It’s where most of our team goes,” Midousuji finally said.

At least he seemed happy in his current team, but Makishima didn’t know everything that happened. Makishima wondered if he finally had more friends…or rather if he wasn’t being heinous with these teammates.

“Can’t say I have; where is it?” Makishima replied.

What followed was a relatively light conversation about bike shops, then equipment and maintenance. They compared notes and giving a few pointers, sometimes conflicting ones. It was probably the first time either of them spoke freely. Makishima finished up the rest of the streaks as they chatted, sometimes giving a few other tips.

Makishima took a look in the mirror and realized he was having a harder time applying this dye to the front of his hair without it dripping down too much. He asked Midousuji to swing his chair around; Midousuji got up on his feet and picked up the sides of the chair, then faced Makishima. This gave Makishima a much better view of what he was doing. He realized he had been applying too much dye in this one section and then brushed to clean it up.

Makishima crouched down to get a better look at what he was doing; his face was just a few centimeters above Midousuji’s. He could see those big eyes focus on his then go downward, probably fixed on the big crescent moon on his own ratty t-shirt. A few seconds later Midousuji’s hand came up, then a bony finger lightly tapped on the gold charm dangling from a chain around Makishima’s neck.

Makishima didn’t outwardly react; this seemed a little weird, but it was kind of amusing too. Midousuji did it again, then a third time; maybe he was trying to get a rise out of him. The fourth time he did it his finger tapped against his collarbone; Makishima shivered, but he didn’t stop what he was doing.

“What, are you a cat or something?” Makishima asked.

“You almost done? This is getting boring,” Midousuji answered.

“Hold your shorts, I’m almost finished.”

He finished up the strand he was working on, then did the last one. He rose up and took off his gloves, throwing them in the nearby garbage bin.

“Okay, we’re done this part,” Makishima said, picking up his phone. “I’ll give it another half an hour and I’ll rinse that out.”

Makishima set the timer on his phone and put it in his pocket.

“This had better come out good, this took too damn long,” Midousuji hissed.

“Beauty’s a painful process what can I say,” Makishima replied, hearing Midousuji snort in response. “You want another tea?”

“Yeah sure,” Midousuji replied.

Makishima went into the refrigerator and pulled out two more bottles of tea, then he saw something else he could offer.

“You hungry? I’ve got some anpan,” Makishima called back.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Midousuji answered.

Makishima picked up two packages of anpan, then closed the refrigerator door and walked over to Midousuji. He handed him a bottle and a package, then took a seat in the nearby chair and put his items on the end table.

He could hear a package ripping open along with some chomping sounds. Makishima looked behind him and saw Midousuji ferociously devouring his bread. Makishima opened his own package and took a few delicate bites, then opened the bottle and sipped his tea.

They ate their snack in silence, save for Midousuji’s chomping and slurping. It reminded Makishima of the noises his family’s dog would make when her dish was refilled. For a moment he imagined Midousuji as a big floppy dog tearing into his kibble. Makishima covered his mouth and held back a laugh, then took a few more bites of his bread.

Soon the noises stopped, Makishima looked at Midousuji and saw him drop the plastic wrap on the floor and shove the last bite of the anpan in his mouth before taking a long sip of tea. Makishima wondered if he would get thanked for that, or for anything today, though he wasn’t getting his hopes up.

Midousuji wiped his mouth with his arm and looked at Makishima with another one of these wide-eyes stares.  

“Isn’t this sweet, climber-san? Here you are sharing your anpan and your tea with me,” Midousuji said with a forced grin. “We’ve had such a nice time doing my hair and getting to know each other. Does that make us friends now?”

Makishima smirked back.

“Why not,” he replied. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Midousuji took another gulp of tea and narrowed his eyes.

“Sakamichi would love that, us three as pals,” he said. “He’s so gross like that.”

Makishima shrugged and took another bite of his bread. He didn’t know if Midousuji was being his usual self or if there was a thread of sincerity in there. Trying to figure this guy out was becoming kind of a fun game: an unnerving one, but fun nonetheless.

A minute later Makishimas phone rang; he pulled it out of his pocket to see Onoda’s number.

“Speak of the devil,” Makishima said, picking up the call. “Hi Sakamichi.”

“Hi Makishima-san, is Midousuji-kun there?” Onoda answered.

“In fact he is.” Makishima turned his phone to speaker. “We’re almost done, the purple dye is setting and I’ll be rinsing it out in a little while.”

“Oh that’s great! I’m so happy you guys still did that!”

Midousuji stuck his tongue out for a second, then took another sip.

“We’ve been having fun, right Midousuji-kun?” Makishima said, looking Midousuji with a crooked sneer.

“Oh yes, it’s been super,” Midousuji replied with a creepy smile.

“That’s awesome, I’m so glad you guys are doing this,” Onoda said.

Makishima could hear the glee in his voice; Midousuji’s little scowl indicated he heard it too.

“How are things at your house, I hope there’s not too much damage,” Makishima said.

“Not that much thankfully,” Onoda replied. “It was in the basement, an empty corner my parents have been meaning to do something with for ages. The plumber fixed it in like half an hour. We’ll have to replace the rug and clean up a couch, but other than that it ended up not being as big a deal. Mom and I just got done vacuuming up the last of the water.”

“How’s your mom doing now?”

“She’s fine, she’s calmed down a lot since earlier. We’re going to go out pretty soon to get a new rug and grab some lunch. I should be back in Tokyo by tonight.”

Makishima looked over at Midousuji, his head was slightly down and his expression blank.

“That’s good to hear,” Makishima said. “I’ll still get you a photo of how Midousuji’s hair came out.”

“That would be great! Hey, Makishima-san, could you put on Midousuji-kun for a second?”

“Sure, here he is.”

Makishima handed the phone to Midousuji, who held it with his thumb and forefinger.

“Sakamichi,” Midousuji said over the phone.

“Midousuji-kun, I don’t know if you’ve checked your email yet, but Fujima-san sent us a new practice schedule.”

“Wait, didn’t we already get a practice schedule on Wednesday?” Midousuji asked.

“He changed it, he said something about how we need to work on our times before the race next week.”

“Seriously? Really appreciate the last minute notice.”

“No kidding, oh and we have practice tomorrow afternoon. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Ugh that’s so stupid! All right what time are we meeting?”

Makishima sat back and listened to this exchange. After a few months of listening to his conversations with Onoda, this call really struck him; cycling was one of the few subjects he could have a comfortable conversation on, wasn’t it? Makishima played with a strand of his hair and smirked; now who else had been exactly like that?

Their conversation ended and Onoda asked to get back on with Makishima. Makishima got up, Midousuj handed the phone back to him. Makishima swore he felt Midousuji’s finger rub against his hand for a moment, though he was probably just being paranoid.

“We’re going to get going pretty soon, I’ll text you guys when I’m back on campus,” Onoda said.

“I hope you and your mom have a better rest of the day,” Makishima said.

“Oh we should. Thank you so much for doing this, Makishima-san. I know Midousuji-kun really appreciates it. He can be a little quiet and he might not tell you this, but I know he really does appreciate it.”

Makishima looked at Midousuji, seeing him stick out that long tongue again.

“Oh I know he does, no worries,” Makishima replied, flashing a smirk to Midousuji. Midousuji looked away with another blank expression.

“I can’t wait to see how it turns out, but I know it will be awesome with you doing it,” Onoda said.


“I’ll talk to you later, Makishima-san.”

“Bye, Sakamichi.”

Makishima hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket. Makishima picked up his anpan and took a few last bites. He was tempted to ask Midousuji if he really did appreciate this, but he figured he’d let him say that on his own. Both of them stayed quiet for a few minutes, then the timer on Makishima’s phone went off.

“Well that’s it, let’s see if you’ll be shaving your head or not,” Makishima chuckled, getting up from his seat.

“You think I was kidding about that?” Midousuji asked, rising to a stand and stretching out his legs with little cracking sounds.

“Of course you weren’t,” Makishima muttered.

Makishima picked up Midousuji’s chair and put the back to the sink. Midousuji took off the towel from his shoulders and sat down. Makishima turned on the faucet and brought the water to a comfortable temperature, then he pulled out another set of rubber gloves from the box on the table.

Makishima gently guided Midousuji’s head into the sink.

“If this is too hot or cold, let me know,” Makishima said, taking hold of the sprayer.

He sprayed a little bit on one of the foils; the results were a bright purple sticking out against the rest of his black hair. He smiled, then started pulling out the foils and spraying down Midousujis hair. The foils were out and the water was running purple, Makishima ran his fingers through Midousuji’s hair to get more of the dye out. Soon the water ran clear, Makishima took off the gloves and gave his hair an extra spraydown before turning the water off.

He then picked up a bottle he had left at the side of the sink and showed it to Midousuji.

“This is a coloring conditioner, this should add some moisture back into your hair,” he said.

“Has climber-san ever thought of being a hairdresser? You sure sound like one,” Midousuji quipped.

Makishima didn’t respond, somehow the idea went through his head of doing this for a living. He was looking for a different direction, wasn’t he? Then again the idea of dealing with touchy clients on a daily basis wasn’t all that appealing. Then again would anyone be more obnoxious than Midousuji? He really didn’t want to think on the answer.

He poured out the conditioner in his hand and then spread it through Midousuji’s hair, massaging it into his scalp. Midousuji closed his eyes and smiled, he looked like a contented cat being patted. Makishima almost felt him leaning further into his hands. Makishima’s fingers gently rubbed his temples, Midousuji leaned his head back a little further.

Makishima finished, then told him to wait for a couple minutes. Midousuji slightly raised his head up and looked out across the room with a calm expression. Makishima walked back over to his chair and picked up his tea, then took a long swig. A few drops spilled down his chin; of course Midousuji snickered a little at the sight.

Makishima rolled his eyes, then lifted the bottom of his shirt, made sure there were no dye drips on one corner, and wiped his chin. He glanced at Midousuji, those big eyes focused downward in the direction of Makishima’s bare abdomen. Makishima held his shirt up for another moment, then saw Midousuji rapidly look away; were his cheeks turning pink?

Makishima got a prickling feeling in his chest; he was a little weirded out, though resisted the sudden temptation to just pull off his shirt and see what reaction he got. Instead he walked back to the sink, then guided Midousuji’s head back down and turned the water back on. He sprayed down his hair again; soon he felt the chain around his neck being batted around. He looked down and there was that bony finger swatting at the gold charm.

Makishima rinsed the conditioner out of his hair, leaning down a little more as he did so. His chain was now being tugged at slightly; Midousuji took hold of the charm and was now sliding it back and forth on the chain. Makishima concentrated on his work, then felt a finger gently pass over his collarbone. He stopped for a moment and shivered, a little water spraying to the side of the sink.

“Is climber-san ticklish there?” Midousuji purred?

Ticklish wasn’t exactly the correct word to describe that spot. Its true effects were only known to the select few Makishima had allowed in a certain situation with him.

He could see Midousuji’s little smirk out of the corner of his eye. That finger rubbed over his collarbone again, lightly passing over his Adam’s apple. Makishima shivered again in response; he thought to bat away his hand, yet he lightly leaned his head back instead. Midousuji stroked over his neck then up his chin like he was scratching a cat. Makishima realized he was having the same reaction; a small smile was on his face and he closed his eyes slightly.

His logical mind screamed at him; this is Akira Midousuji! Akira Midousuji is touching you right now! Smack him, bat that hand away, get him the hell out of your house! Instead Makishima went back to rinsing out his hair and allowing the little touches up his neck. Midousuji’s hand came back down; his cheeks were a little redder, but Makishima saw a smile on his face that almost looked genuinely happy.

Makishima rinsed out the rest of the conditioner, the action keeping his hands from shaking. Finally he was done; he picked up a towel from the side of the sink, and wrapped it around Midousuji’s hair. Midousiji rose up in his seat and Makishima dried the excess water out of his hair. Makishima then removed the towel, letting Midousuji’s damp hair fall to his shoulders. Makishima went to the table and grabbed the mirror, then showed Midousuji the results.

Even with everything still damp, bold streaks of bright purple ran down his hair. Midousuji looked at himself in the mirror with that same happy smile.

“Do you want me to get the hairdryer out, or do you just want to towel it down? Makishima asked.

“Just leave it, my hair dries pretty quickly,” Midousuji replied.

Makishima handed him back the towel, Midousuji took it and ran it over his hair.

“Uhh…thanks,” Midousuji mumbled.

Makishima’s eyes widened and he smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

“I guess I won’t shave it off.”

“Good to know.”

Midousuji rose from his seat and continued toweling off his hair, Makishima leaned back against the sink and watched him. Midousiji looked back at him once, then looked away. He then let the towel fall over his shoulders and turned toward Makishima. He picked up a lock of his hair, then compared the yellow stripes to the purple ones in his hair.

“We match kind of,” Makishima said.

Midousuji watched as he flipped the piece of Makishima’s hair back and forth, then he lightly brushed it against Makishima’s cheek. Makishima grabbed his hair back, his hand fingers then stopping right over Midousuji’s. They looked at each other, Midousuji’s gaze went down a couple times, but he would look back up.

Just what was this leading to, Makishima asked himself repeatedly. He managed to push his logic down a little and let his instincts take over. This was a weird position, probably a bad one but that fact just made this more interesting. Midousuji looked back at him, his gaze stronger and that self-satisfied smirk coming back over his face. It was like he got some of his resolve back. This could be interesting or ugly, though Makishima was dying to know which. He didn’t care what happened next.

Midousuji leaned his head down, Makishima craned his head up, their faces grew closer. Midousuji’s smile grew wider, by now Makishima was smirking too. Midousuji pressed his lips against Makishima’s, Makishima kissed him back. Midousuji’s kisses were sloppy; he was obviously inexperienced, but Makishima didn’t care. Midousuji grabbed his shoulder and yanked him closer; Makishima’s hand took firm hold of the back of his neck.  

Makishima reminded himself a few times that this was Midousuji he was kissing now. The thought caused him to press his lips a little harder. Midousuji’s long tongue pressed against his lips, Makishima slightly opened his mouth and allowed their tongues to slide against each other. Makishima’s other hand lightly held the side of Midousuji’s jaw, his thumb running over his Adam’s apple. Midousuji shivered, it almost sounded like he growled for a moment. He pulled back and lapped his tongue over Makishima’s neck; Makishima leaned his head back and felt those teeth gently nipping at the side of his neck. He was going to have a mark there, but that was fine by him. For a moment he envisioned Midousuji biting his throat out, but of course that never happened.

Midousuji lapped up the side of Makishima’s jaw and left little kisses on his face. Makishima kissed his lips a few more times, then Midousuji gradually pulled back. They stared at each other for a moment, Midousuji’s fingers played with Makishima’s hair. Makishima twirled a lock of Midousuji’s hair around his index finger. Midousuji pulled back a little more, his face was bright red. Maybe this was a little too much for him; Makishima was kind of feeling the same way

Midousuji gradually backed away, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“So…what now?” Makishima asked.

Midousuji shrugged, his eyes wide.

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend, let’s just get that out of the way,” Midousuji insisted with a shaky voice.

“Okay, that’s fine with me,” Makishima replied

Makishima ran a hand through his hair; Midousuji leaned into the touch.

“That creeped you out, didn’t it?” Midousiji asked, leaning into Makishima’s face and poking his tongue out.

“Not really. I liked that. Did you?”

“Uh…yeah, I guess.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Makishima kissed him again. Midousuji closed his eyes and returned the kiss, then pulled back.

“I’m going back now,” Midousuji said. “Try not to miss me.”

“Same,” Makishima said, batting his finger against Midousuji’s hair.

Midousuji walked back to the couch and picked his backpack up, then he walked from the apartment without a word. Makishima did see a little lingering look as he closed the door behind him. Makishima walked away from the sink and plopped down in his chair, then covered his face in his hands and groaned.

His logic was now catching up with him. What the hell did he just do? He was shaking a little, yet he could not wipe the grin off his face.

A few minutes later Midousuji sat on a train going back to his university. He sat with his elbows on his knees and chin resting on the backs of his hands. His face was burning hot, he was still, but his muscles were trembling. He looked down and realized he was still wearing that nasty t-shirt; he would have to get this off the second he got back.

Midousuji could still feel those soft lips against his, that wavy hair he had been looking at for months threaded through his fingers. So many gross things he had been thinking about for the past month or so actually happened.

About twenty minutes later Midousuji was walking back through campus, finally he reached his dorm. A couple people passed by and said hi to him, he just nodded back and made a beeline for his room. Soon his key was in his hand and he opened the door, went in the room, and closed the door behind him. He dropped his backpack on the floor, then heaved himself on his bed. He grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his face.

“KIMO!” he screamed, the pillow muffling the sound. “KIMO! KIMO! KIMO! KIMO!”

He yelled it until his breath ran out, then he fell back on his bed and panted, hoping his heart would slow down soon. Gradually he calmed down a little, allowing the memory through his head. His fingers rubbed his lips that has once been on Makishima’s, he thought of that angled face again and that creepy little grin.

Midousuji leaned his face in the crook of his elbow.

“KIMO!” he screamed again.

An hour later Midousuji turned on the lamp by his bed, then positioned his phone to get a photo of his new hair color. He had put on a clean black t-shirt a while ao, one that really made his new haircolor stand out.

Midousuji then sent the photo to Sakamichi without any other text. Sakamichi wanted this photo after all, everyone just got distracted. A minute later he got a message back.

[Sakamichi] OMG IT’S SO COOL!!!
[Sakamichi] I LOVE IT!!!
[Samakichi] Makishima-san did an awesome job!!

[Sakamichi] So how did it go, did you guys have a fun time?
I guess

[Sakamichi] I’m so happy you got to spend time with Makishima-san!
[Sakamichi] Do you think you’d want to hang out with him again?

Midousuji thought about that one for a little while, then picked his phone back up and answered back.

Yeah, I’d be okay with that

This story was written for Yowapeda Rarepair week on Tumblr, though it took me way too long to get everything together and finally write this.

This is a ship I have been mildly, guiltily curious about for a little while, then I heard about Rarepair Week and just had to exorcise this idea. At first I was thinking pure crack or PWP. Then I had a conversation with my buddy sunmoonandspoon about Makishima and Midousuji’s characters that gave me the idea that this might work in a serious way.

Like I said I have little handle on Midousuji’s character. I did a lot of character analysis, rewatched parts of the series, and read and looked at a lot of fanworks to see how people handled his character outside of canon. This was the result. I have ideas for a few further chapters if anyone is interested. If I go further the rating will probably go up. Otherwise thank you to all who read this glorious piece of crack.

Some further inspiration: the title is inspired by the song “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” by Rufus Wainwright, which pretty much fits this story ridiculously well. 

© 2015 - 2021 LordOnisyr
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