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Hands are delicate; they are creations so easily damaged and turn a person's life upside down if completely ruined. People cherish the quality of their hands, protect the fragile skin and digits that work wonders at their jobs, hobbies, or whatever magic only hands can perform.
Raichi doesn't take good care of his hands.
The battle scars that riddle his mildly built body are easily seen when he slips off his shirt in the time spent in the locker room. A bunch of rowdy boys chattering away about either miniscule or slightly interesting matters; it's only minutes before everyone's cleared out for the day and it's only Raichi and Sanada. They're always the last two players remaining, with Sanada preferring to spend the extra time after practice with the younger boy.
He sees Raichi's torso, smiles bitterly at each scar that decorates tanned skin, but doesn't say a word. He knows if he does, Raichi will laugh and try to avoid the matter. Evenings usually go on with casual conversation, light physical contact, and slightly flustered cheeks from a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. Tonight’s not any different, or so Sanada thinks. He’s pulling his shirt over his head, laughing a little at the idle chat they’re having, and looks back at Raichi again.
Raichi’s now fully clothed, but Sanada’s gaze flickers downwards to the other’s hands. They’re not small but not too large (Sanada thinks they’d fit perfectly with his own though, especially during a walk home on a cold night), and they’re very much tanned like the rest of his skin. Not the hands of a child, but not quite the hands of a young man just yet. Sanada wonders how they feel beneath the roughness of his own hands…
Probably quite rough, considering the fact that he can now see the bruised and worn skin tearing away at his palms, his fingers, everything that goes together on that bat he affectionately refers to as money tree. Most likely the cause to blame are the countless hours he spends swinging that bat around, for practice, from a set training regime from his father, the coach. While Sanada certainly understands and respects the coach’s methods, it doesn’t mean he necessarily agrees with them all the time.
This is one of those times.
“Raichi,” The name rolls off his tongue; normally sounding so smooth that sometimes Raichi finds himself a little flustered over the tone, but there’s only melodies of concern in Sanada’s voice. He blinks, a little confused, but waits for the other to say more.
“Let me see your hands.”
Raichi doesn’t think much of that question. He’s a batter, there’s a great use for his hands, but he hardly pays attention to his own condition, completely not self-aware of his own health half the time. It worries Sanada even though he’s fully aware of how far the boy can go. So when Raichi approaches him, gentle hands (unlike when he’s throwing a pitch at full speed) taking smaller ones into his own, cradling them with the utmost care. It’s just as he expected, and the worry is written all over Sanada’s usually relaxed face.
“These poor hands…” He whispers so cautiously that it catches Raichi off guard a little, especially considering that he’s never actually heard Sanada lower his tone like that before. It’s nice, almost comforting, despite the obvious concern pouring from his lips. Lips that form a tight line, a troubled look still very much painting an anxious portrait of unknown circumstances in Raichi’s mind. “They’re proof of your hard work, yet you hardly take care of them.”
“W...Well!” Raichi’s about to laugh, sweep the matter all under the rug, refuses to allow Sanada to worry about him like this (although he secretly yearns for concern that he barely receives from his father, or more like never receives). But he can’t laugh, certainly not when Sanada’s slowly bringing his hand to his lips, pressing gentle kisses along worn skin and littered bruises.
It tickles at first, but Sanada’s lips are gentle, warm, and especially kind and Raichi’s face flushes a deeper shade of red when he glances up. Lips linger over his knuckles, stopping momentarily as he inhales a sharp breath. “You know, your scars a permanent reminder,” He brushes his lips on the skin between Raichi’s thumb and index finger, softly kissing at a sore spot. When he leans up again, Sanada’s hands are holding his dominant hand and Raichi’s heart leaps.
“They’re the permanent reminders of the burdens you carry,” He portrays more kindness in his tone, brushes his lips against Raichi’s facial scar, and, with his free hand, ruffles Raichi’s dark hair. “So make sure you take proper care of yourself, alright? Because you’re important to me, to all of us.”
He makes sure to end his words in a genuine grin, just so he can see Raichi nod and return the smile with the same intensity. It’s really worth it in the end.