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There was a point on their walk home where Matsukawa and Hanamaki would separate from Oikawa and Iwaizumi.
Usually, they were alone. They walked in step next to each other in comfortable silence, bumping shoulders and sometimes holding hands. The holding hands was new, and Matsukawa had initiated it first after a rough day at practice, silently taking Hanamaki’s hand in his and holding it gently for the rest of their walk. They didn’t talk about it (they didn’t have to) or what it meant (they didn’t want to).
They thought they were alone tonight, but…
“Hanamaki-san, Matsukawa-san.”
Hanamaki pulled his hand from Matsukawa’s, and they both stopped and turned in place, standing face-to-face with Kunimi. His head was down, but he looked up at them, hand fiddling with his jacket sleeve and cheeks uncharacteristically pink.
“Kunimi, I-” Hanamaki stuttered out, aware that he definitely saw him and Matsukawa holding hands. He reminded himself that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, that nothing was meant by it. “Hey. I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said, and Matsukawa coughed. “I wanted to ask a favor.”
“Anything,” Matsukawa said, smiling softly and sticking his hands in his pockets. They loved Kunimi – he was their favorite underclassman, and they were his self-proclaimed parents – but having him follow them home (stalk them?) was a bit curious.
“I was hoping to get some advice, actually,” Kunimi said, stepping forward. The blush on his cheeks was violent, and they waited for him to continue. His eyes fell to the street. “I want to confess to Kindaichi.”
The sentence came out rushed and quiet, and Hanamaki had never seen Kunimi so flustered. He gaped at him, unable to hold back a surprised laugh. Kunimi’s blush intensified.
“C’mon,” Matsukawa said, and Hanamaki knew he was smiling. “That’s cute.”
“I wouldn’t be asking for your help if I didn’t need it.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hanamaki said through a grin.
“Why ask us?” Matsukawa asked. “I mean, we’re happy to help, but still.”
“Yeah, why not ask them?” Hanamaki asked, nodding to the direction which Oikawa and Iwaizumi separated from them. They were out of sight, but he had a feeling Kunimi knew who he meant.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked, scrunching his nose.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Well,” Kunimi continued, hands in his pockets as he met their eyes. “What about it, then? How did you two do it?”
“Us?” Matsukawa asked, and Hanamaki’s squinted his eyes in confusion. He had never confessed to anyone in his life. Kunimi only nodded, and Hanamaki’s hand felt cold suddenly, and oh.
Oh.
“Ah, um, Kunimi, I think you have the wrong… um…” Matsukawa started, and he nudged Hanamaki’s arm – a silent plea.
But this was their beloved kouhai, standing in front of them, vulnerable and asking for their help.
Hanamaki wanted to help.
“Matsukawa made me chocolates,” he blurted without a thought, adding, “That’s what girls do, right?”
“I’m not a girl.”
“Well, I know, but that’s what you did, right?”
Matsukawa sighed. He was wrapped around Hanamaki’s finger, and he knew it.
“I made him chocolates.”
“Will you, um,” Kunimi trailed off, and Hanamaki offered a smile.
“How about I buy you the ingredients, and we can help you make them?”
Kunimi smiled a small, content smile, and they started walking once more.
Hanamaki could see Matsukawa looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he pretended not to notice. Instead, he reached for his hand.
He wondered if it would mean something different with Kunimi there, thinking they were a couple when they knew they weren’t one.
Matsukawa took it with ease.
“Do you think it worked?” Hanamaki asked the next day at practice, glancing at the first years and trying not to be obvious. He didn’t know what to expect – he was thinking they would either come in holding hands or with Kunimi in tears. Neither of these things happened.
“I think so,” Matsukawa said, and Hanamaki looked over at the pair again.
He could see it, if he squinted. The two were standing closer to each other, exchanging shy laughs, both of their cheeks dusted pink. Hanamaki felt like a proud father.
“Alright, Kunimi,” he said quietly, bumping his fist against Matsukawa’s.
Kunimi and Kindaichi left practice hand-in-hand that night, Watari joining in with Hanamaki and Matsukawa whooping and whistling behind them. Oikawa fawned over them (Ah, young love. Isn’t it refreshing, Iwa-chan?) before they went their separate ways. Tonight, when they were alone, Hanamaki didn’t reach for Matsukawa’s hand, and Matsukawa didn’t reach for his.
They didn’t talk about the fact that Kunimi thought they were a couple. That everyone thought they were a couple, maybe.
Hanamaki didn’t want to talk about it.
It didn’t seem fair that someone was able to tell them how they felt before they were able to tell each other.
He didn’t notice that Matsukawa had stopped walking until he was a few paces ahead of him.
“Hey,” Matsukawa said, and he halted. “Got you something.”
Hanamaki turned around, barely catching the bag that was thrown at him. He opened the tiny sack, pulled shut with a ribbon, and peered at the tiny chocolates inside. He looked up at Matsukawa, and his friend shrugged his shoulders before coughing into his fist.
“This is the part where I confess, right?” Hanamaki nodded. “Okay. I like you, Hanamaki. Like-like you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” They stared at each other for a few beats before Matsukawa spoke again. “Eat your chocolates, asshole.”
Hanamaki did as asked (demanded, really, and quite rudely too), reaching into the sack and pulling out a chocolate. He popped it into his mouth before spitting it right onto the ground. Matsukawa seemed far from offended, huffing out a laugh through his nose.
“These taste like shit, Matsukawa.”
“Then I guess Kindaichi’s did, too.”
“It still worked on him, though.”
“Is it working on you?”
Matsukawa’s gaze didn’t falter, and Hanamaki thought he could see a faint blush on his cheeks. Matsukawa wore a lazy smirk, shoulders slumped like he didn’t care whether or not Hanamaki reciprocated his feelings. Hanamaki knew, too, that if he rejected him, they would fall back into step with ease, and move on. They just wouldn’t hold hands anymore.
Hanamaki’s hands were cold.
“What do you think, Matsukawa?” he asked, stepping forward. Matsukawa matched his grin. "I like you, too, fucker."
They laughed quietly and joined hands, lacing their fingers together firmly as they resumed their walk home. They walked a little closer, hands held a little tighter, hearts beating a little faster in the cold.
It was time they caught up with everyone else.