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When Niragi thinks of his hands, gentle isn't the first thing that comes to mind. It's also not the second or the third or even the tenth thing.
When he thinks of his hands, strong might be a fitting description. Destructive as well, and dangerous. A weapon.
That's why, when Chishiya directs him to carry Tatta’s body over to the nearest raised and flat surface and to gently lower him down onto it, it takes him a second to understand that Chishiya means him. Because he doesn’t do gentle, and he didn’t think anyone would ever expect him to.
When Chishiya repeats the order in a much harsher tone and with the addition that Tatta will absolutely die if Niragi doesn’t do as he is told, Niragi stops thinking all together. Because while he isn’t convinced that he can be gentle, Tatta’s blood is the one he resolutely does not want to have on his hands. Ever.
So, he does as he is told. He carries Tatta over to the sturdy looking dining table in the loft they’ve been holed up in for the last days, lowers him down on it and begins to rip open his blood-soaked flannel and the shirt he wears underneath it.
He does not look at the uncovered skin, does not think how this is the first time he’s seeing it. He doesn’t look at Tatta’s face either, at his shallow breaths and the sheen of sweat on his forehead, not at the tears streaking down his cheeks and certainly not at those eyes that are pressed closed in agony.
Only looks at his own fingers and thinks how, had they been anything but his hands, bloody and destructive, they could have done something to save Tatta. To save the man he loves against all reasoning and with an intensity he hadn’t even known he is capable of.
But they’re his own hands, and as such, they’re doomed to be everybody’s downfall.
♡
“Can you carry Kota for me, please? I don’t think I can hold him for much longer.”
Niragi looks around for a second before remembering that they are the only ones here, walking through the filthy sewers to evade the King of Spades, only him and Usagi and that kid Usagi had picked up somewhere along the way.
Usagi returns his stare with a raised eyebrow, mistaking his silence for indignation. “Sorry that I asked”, she sighs before trudging on and Niragi hurries to catch up to her.
“You want me to carry a child? Me?”
Usagi sighs again. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, don’t you think?”
No, she wouldn’t have. Because Usagi might be quiet, but whenever she does talk, she says what she means. Which is why, after a few more seconds of hesitation, he takes the sleeping boy from her arms and hoists him onto his own hip. He feels the boy’s arms wind around his neck, feels him lay his head against his shoulder, still sleeping tightly, and silently wonders if he has found himself in yet another universe.
There’s no other explanation for why he, Niragi the weapon, is being allowed to cradle a small child in his arms.
♡
There’s so many reasons why Tatta shouldn’t be touching him right now.
He’s injured, for one. He can’t even walk properly yet, his only way of moving through the loft by hobbling pitifully while using a makeshift cane for balance. He’s also still on heavy painkillers, drifting in and out of sleep most of the time.
It’s also Niragi he’s touching, which doesn’t make any fucking sense. No one touches Niragi. Not this softly, and not with that kind of smile on their face. People touch him whenever they want him to do something, whenever they want favors, sexual or otherwise. They don’t touch him just because he’s there.
But that seems to be exactly what Tatta’s doing. He’s lying on the couch, with his head placed in Niragi’s lap, and with his hands roaming all over Niragi’s thighs, arms, stomach, and chest.
It doesn’t feel sexual, at least not inherently so. Instead, it seems like something Tatta always wanted to do but didn’t think he would get to have. He follows his hands with his eyes, how they make their way over the taut muscles of Niragi’s stomach that jump at his touch, before finally gripping Niragi’s hand and entwining their fingers.
His eyes are wide and Niragi wonders if it’s the painkillers. But Tatta’s gaze is clear.
“What are you doing?”, Niragi whispers, afraid to break the silence. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he also doesn’t want it to stop, wants those hands to keep roaming all over him. They make him feel more real.
Tatta’s still looking at where his own digits are caressing the fingers of Niragi’s hand. “Making you see”, he answers.
“See what?”
But Tatta only hums before placing their entwined hands onto his stomach and closing his eyes. Not even a minute later, he’s fast asleep, leaving Niragi to his bewilderment and his confusing thoughts.
♡
“You want me to do what?”
“Defuse the bomb.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the one with the biggest knowledge on hardware and the one with the steadiest hands out of all of us.”
“Kuina, I’m usually the one making things go boom; not the one preventing it.”
“Do you want us to win or not?”
“ … fine, fucking move already!”
♡
“You … you shouldn’t.”
Tatta looks up from where he has been peppering Niragi’s throat with soft, barely there kisses.
“Do you actually want me to stop, or are you just still under the misconception that any and all contact with you will harm me in some way or another?"
That's exactly what he is thinking, and damn Tatta for being so much more observant than people usually give him credit for.
"Because I've been trying really hard to make you see that you're not hurting me. That these", he takes one of Niragi's hands that have been gripping Tatta's thigh, "are not those brutal weapons you believe them to be." He raises the hand to his lips and presses a quick kiss to it before cradling his face into the opened palm. "That they can be something really good, if you’ll just let them."
Niragi wants to believe him. He really does. It’s just that he doesn't think he can. Not yet, not while they're still in this country that wants him to be his very worst self. But he still wants to try.
And so he kisses him, with all that he can't yet put into words, hoping that Tatta understands how much his trust actually means to him.