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Joe watches, jaw clenched, as Cherry rises unsteadily to his feet. The slight tremble in his elegant fingers is the only sign of strain as he checks the wrap of his obi, adjusts the drape of his yukata. He absentmindedly lifts a hand to the pink hair falling loose around his shoulders — and gasps as pain lances through him.
Joe is at his side in an instant.
"Don't," Cherry hisses, even as his body curves protectively over his still-broken arm. "I'm fine."
That Cherry is dressed at all is a testament to his determination. "I'm going to S tonight," he'd announced after dinner, voice soft as steel, as though he was already bracing for a fight. "He's not taking that from me." And because there's something hard and hurt in his best friend's eyes, Joe doesn't argue.
Instead, he watches as Cherry's bruised body is hidden under layers of old-fashioned fabric, as wrists and ankles are wrapped in sports bandages that, for once, aren't entirely ornamental. Every movement hurts. Every tug of cloth or shift of position is accompanied by a careful exhale as Cherry tries to breathe through the agony. An hour passes, and Joe's jaw physically aches from biting his tongue.
Another whisper of pain breaks through the tight line of Cherry's lips, and Joe finally breaks with it. He crosses the room, catches Cherry's hands in his. "Cherry, that's enough."
Golden eyes meet his, bright with fury. "Don't t—"
"Look, I know you can do it yourself. But I — Jesus, just let me help, okay?" Joe hates that his voice wavers, "Please, Kaoru."
The words hang between them in the air. Then Cherry sags against him with a small nod. Joe guides him back to his chair. "What do you need?" Cherry's trembling from the exertion, and Joe tries to remember where he put his medication.
"Can you do hair?"
Joe's mouth quirks up in surprise. The only boy in a house full of sisters? Yeah, he can do hair.
He spends a few minutes carding his fingers through the wave of pink that falls around Cherry's shoulders. He used to do this in high school, when Cherry couldn't sleep and would crawl through his bedroom window to curl up at his side. That was before Adam left, and the rules of their friendship changed. Before Cherry started holding him at a distance — closer than anyone else, but not quite close enough to touch.
He stops the soothing movement of his hands, and Cherry makes a soft disapproving sound. Joe laughs, steadying his palm at the nape of Cherry's neck as he tilts his head back. He tries to ignore the soft arch of Cherry's throat, the way he moves, pliant and trusting under Joe's familiar touch. After all, he's known Cherry was beautiful since he was sixteen, and this isn't the time. Instead, he focuses on gathering Cherry's hair into a ponytail, holding it loosely in one hand as he guides him back up.
Gold eyes blink open—and immediately scowl. "No, not like that, there are supposed to be —" he lifts his hands out of habit, and Joe carefully bats them away.
"Shut up, I'm not done," he smiles fondly as he kneels in front of Cherry. "You wear it with this piece down, yeah?" he gently tugs it loose. "And here," he tucks the strand behind Cherry's ear. "And here," his fingers ghost along his jaw for a moment as he moves the last strand into place. He finishes, securing it with a yellow hair tie, before stepping back to admire his work.
"Passable," Cherry mutters, and his cheeks are dusted pink. Cherry's mask is the only part of his costume that remains. It sits nearby, shredded beyond recognition by the force of Adam's skateboard. Some things, he's had to learn, can't be fixed. Cherry stares at it for a moment, then kicks Joe with his good foot. "Help me downstairs, you oaf, you're going to make us late." Joe rolls his eyes, and carefully lifts Cherry into his arms.
"Hey, Kojiro?" Cherry's head is resting against Joe's chest, and his next words are murmured into the fabric of his friend's shirt, spoken so softly Joe almost misses them, "Thank you."
Joe looks down at the man he's loved patiently for over a decade. "Any time, Kaoru."