Work Text:
If he saw someone suffering, Hiromi would rush over to help.
Shadow, however, would laugh and speed past without a care.
At least, that is what he tells himself. The thing is, behind his makeup and rude, aggressive behaviour, Shadow is still Hiromi, and keeping up his S persona can become challenging. When his opponents crash out of races, Shadow sneers and celebrates his victory by default—and Hiromi’s guts fucking clench and he can’t bring himself to talk to them at the next S Race. When people insult him, Shadow screams insults right back—and Hiromi enjoys arguing, but whenever he goes too far, watching the other person crumple in on themselves as the argument becomes too personal, Hiromi feels like total shit.
He just doesn’t know how some people keep their real lives and their S personas so separate. After all, as much as he enjoys dressing up and painting his face and screaming at other skaters… Hiromi is still a guy who works for a florist and becomes desperately protective of the people he cares about.
And it just so happens that one of the people he cares for is Miya, a fellow S skater and a little shit. Miya adores to irritate him, passing the time between races or when Hiromi becomes a fucking taxi driver again by making digs about Hiromi’s age or hairstyle or skating ability, and it usually ends with Hiromi yelling at the brat and Miya laughing hysterically and calling him a ‘slime’. But as much as Miya infuriates him, Hiromi finds himself smiling whenever Miya sends him a message (often full of video game references that go over his head), or holding his breath as Miya races, genuinely worried about the little brat. From what he understands, Miya is lonely at school and doesn’t spend much time with his family, so the interactions with his fellow skaters means a lot to Miya. And even though Miya insults him more often than not, Hiromi must admit he looks forward to their meetups.
So when he arrives at S to find something clearly wrong with Miya, Hiromi freezes. Miya crouches on the ground by himself, hood up and hunched forwards far enough to hide his face. Hiromi forces himself to walk casually towards the kid, his jaw aching with the effort of keeping Shadow’s normal cocky grin painted across his face. Upon reaching Miya, Hiromi folds his arms, and opens his mouth to speak when—
Miya lets out a harsh, wet cough. As Hiromi grimaces, certain a cough like that must be quite serious, Miya hunches forwards further, coughing again and again. A hand fumbles in his pocket, the other disappearing under his hood (but presumably covering his mouth) as the coughing fit rages on, Miya’s coughs now so loud several skaters passing by stop to look. Miya is unable to talk right now, but Hiromi suspects the brat would prefer privacy, so Hiromi shoots them a terrifying scowl and they hurry off, terrified. Satisfied, Hiromi drops to one knee just as Miya finally stops hacking his lungs up.
At this new angle, when Miya raises his head, Hiromi gets a look at his face for the first time. A green face mask covers Miya’s nose and mouth, his exposed skin flushed and shining with sweat, and as Miya meets his gaze, Hiromi stares at the kid’s watery, bloodshot eyes. Eyes that widen comically when Miya processes exactly who crouches before him.
But Miya doesn’t snap, instead yanking his hand from his pocket and revealing a pocket of tissues. Breaking eye contact with Hiromi, Miya fumbles for a tissue and tugs his mask down, bringing the tissue to his lips. And then, in an action that makes Hiromi’s stomach lurch, Miya spits into the tissue. Hiromi turns his head, well aware that Miya can’t help having a mouthful of phlegm after such an ugly coughing fit, but that doesn’t settle his stomach.
Once finished, Miya puts his mask back in place and rubs antibacterial hand gel into his palms, and finally breaks the silence with a hoarse, muffled, “What?”
“Whaddya mean ‘what’?” Hiromi cries, managing to keep his voice quiet enough to avoid more attention. “You look like shit, kid.”
“Thanks for the compliment, slime,” Miya mutters, but his sarcasm lacks its usual bite.
“You know what I mean,” Hiromi says to the little smartass. “That cough’s awful and I bet you’ve got a fever. Why’d you even turn up tonight?”
Miya sighs, his mucus-filled lungs making his breath crackle, and he supresses another cough. “I’m racing tonight, genius.” Resting a hand on his neck, Miya rubs his skin as though it can soothe his aching throat. “And I’ve been worse.”
Before he realises what he’s doing, Hiromi sighs too. Miya is lying and they both know it, but someone as close to him as Hiromi knows just how stubborn the little shit can be. Although, now he thinks about it, Hiromi can imagine most S racers being too fucking stubborn to miss a race, but that doesn’t stop him cursing Miya for dragging himself all the way here with such a severe cough.
If they weren’t at S, and Miya was, say, a co-worker, Hiromi would badger him to go home, and wouldn’t be afraid to tell their boss how sick Miya was feeling. But they are at S, and he is Shadow, a terrifying skater who should laugh at the idea of anyone thinking they can stay on their board, let alone win a race, with a fever and a chest infection. But Miya isn’t just any skater, and Shadow outfit or not, Hiromi knows if Miya fainted during a race, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself rushing over to help the poor brat. It would ruin his reputation as a tough skater, but…
“What are you sighing about, slime?” Miya says.
Hiromi jumps, swapping whatever worried expression he had on his face for his usual scowl, and snaps, “Nothin’!”
Talking Miya out of racing would be futile, and Hiromi doesn’t want the kid to think he’s soft. So, without speaking, Hiromi gets to his feet and picks up the bag he brough with him. After a moment, Hiromi tosses an unopened water bottle and a packet of painkillers at Miya, smirks and walks off without looking back.
Part of him worries he didn’t do enough to help, but a message appears on his phone a few minutes later. It’s from Miya, containing only two words and a load of emoji Hiromi doesn’t know and can’t be bothered to learn:
Thanks, slime.
It isn’t much, but from a person like Miya, who has never thanked Hiromi for anything in the entire time they’ve known each other, the message manages to be the nicest thing Miya has ever said to him. And Hiromi chuckles, part of him still wondering why he cares for Miya so much, but glad the little shit appreciates him in his own way.