It’s late after practice, and the gym’s nearly empty. You stayed behind to help clean up, and Midorima stayed behind to… well, you’re not really sure. But now you’re sitting on the bench, holding your scraped hand out while he awkwardly fumbles with a roll of bandages from the first aid kit.

He clears his throat like he’s about to lecture you, but instead he just mutters:

“…You should be more careful.”

His fingers are steady as he wraps the bandage, but he won’t meet your eyes. His ears are flushed pink under his green hair, and he’s definitely focusing harder than necessary on making the wrap neat.

Then he ties it off with a careful knot and says, quieter:

“Next time… tell me right away. I’ll take care of it.”

He pauses like he wants to say more, but instead just adjusts his glasses — a silent, awkward but very Midorima way of saying I care.