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Every other high school team in their prefecture curses the name of Nishiura (though maybe the appropriate blame goes to Tajima's grandfather, for choosing to live so near the school). After all, Tajima Yuuichirou deserved to go to an elite school. Tajima Yuuichirou deserved Tousei, or Sakitama. They deserved him.
With two-plus years of experience dealing with Tajima's brilliance and all of his shit, Hanai sometimes wishes they'd go ahead and take him.
Hanai has always had good posture, but standing in the doorway of Saitama-Shintoshin station's security office, he finds himself slouching. He tugs on his hat and sticks his hands in his pockets.
"Here he is," the security guard says redundantly, emerging from a hallway with Tajima in tow.
Tajima, predictably, looks totally unchastened. He grins and waves and says, "Hey, captain!"
Hanai looks away from Tajima without acknowledging him. "Do we have to sign anything?" he asks the security guard.
They do. Tajima hums as he scrawls lazy signatures out like he's treating it as practice for autograph sessions with his adoring public. Hanai grinds his teeth together and jerks away when Tajima brushes against him.
“Thanks,” Tajima says as they leave, and Hanai kicks at him.
“Sorry to have been so much trouble,” Hanai says, and bows to the guard at the desk. “It won’t happen again.”
Walking back into the bustle of the station is disorienting, but Hanai doesn’t have the luxury of losing his footing. He anchors his hand near the top of Tajima’s arm, gripping tight and plowing him through the afternoon crowd towards the doors, and out into the too-bright sunlight.
Tajima shoots him a look but doesn’t say anything.
“It won’t happen again,” Hanai repeats, and he can tell his voice is stretched, angry, not stern so much as desperate. He can’t deal with Tajima right now, but he has to.
Tajima scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, sheepish but absolutely not remorseful. The twist of his neck is long--Hanai’s eyes drag over it against his will. Tajima's keeping up with Hanai's long strides without even trying. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Promise. Practice now?”
“No,” Hanai says, meeting Tajima’s eyes for the first time since they'd parted ways yesterday after their conditioning bike ride. The brightness in them makes something roil in his stomach, something hot and furious. He plants his feet. “No, we’re not practicing.”
“What are we doing instead?” Tajima asks.
Hanai takes a jerky step forward like someone is shoving him into Tajima’s space. Tajima doesn’t budge, keeps watching Hanai with his head tilted the way it does when he tracks the course of a new pitcher’s close-out throw.
“Don’t you care that you called me from a, a cell? I just bailed you out!”
“It was just the station office.” And Tajima’s still got the edge of a smile crinkling his eyes.
The churning frustration in Hanai’s gut hits a critical point, boiling over into a wordless shout. Probably some people turn to stare. He doesn't care even a little bit.
Tajima startles back, and Hanai feels satisfied, not embarrassed.
“Did you think? Even a little bit?”
"It was hot! And nobody was even there." Tajima's still so many inches shorter than Hanai, even after a growth spurt, even standing on his toes and bristling.
"That's not a good reason! Also," Hanai hisses. "Clearly there was, or else you wouldn't have ended up scandalizing anyone, and I wouldn't have ended up having to bail you out!"
That communicates something to Tajima other than what Hanai had intended. He clicks his tongue and tells Hanai, "You need to calm down." As if to demonstrate, he sinks back down to his heels. He smiles and nods at someone passing by, and Hanai clenches his fists.
"No," he says.
"Yeah," Tajima says. Guileless, except he's not--Hanai's known him for years now, Tajima's more observant than this. This plastered-on innocence, the dropped shoulders and lingering smile, is all guile. "C'mon, captain, let's go to practice."
They've somehow avoided getting into a real physical fight since they were first-years. Hanai has no idea how. He stares at Tajima and wants to poke every single freckle on his face, wants to make him pay attention, wants to make him take this seriously, wants to make him--
Tajima's waiting.
"You're not going to practice today," Hanai says. "You have something you need to do." His palms tingle.
"Yeah?" Tajima asks.
"Tell me you're sorry." Hanai swallows. "And say 'thank you.'"
Tajima blinks, slow, and Hanai gets that feeling again like he's a pitcher facing him down, being puzzled out by Tajima's sharp eyes.
He takes a thin breath. Mihashi does this in practice every day. Granted, he does it from the mound, surrounded by their teammates, not under a scraggly tree outside the train station, surrounded by summer afternoon foot traffic, but still.
"Why?" Tajima asks. (Stretches his shoulders out, getting a feel for the bat.)
"Because you cause more trouble than any of the underclassmen," Hanai says. "More than all of them put together."
Tajima hums, and that ball of tension in Hanai's stomach has risen to his throat and is making his face hot.
"Because you're supposed to be a third-year, but you don't act like it." That's a lie, but Hanai doesn't care any more. "Because you haven't grown up, because you make me be responsible for you!"
"Oh!" Tajima says. He strikes the side of his fist into his open palm. "I see."
Hanai wants to get under his skin more than anything. He wants to shout.
"Sorry for the trouble I've caused you," Tajima says with a perfunctory half-bow. Something in Hanai relaxes; something else winds tighter.
"Apology accepted," Hanai says, when he remembers that it's the normal thing to do.
"Great!" Tajima meets Hanai's eyes and doesn't say thank you.
Other people, when they don't say something, make no sound. Tajima's withholding of thank you is audible. Hanai listens to it, and listens to it, and just like that--
"What else?" Hanai snaps. The itchiness in his hands has spread all over.
There's a muffled pop-pop-pop as Tajima tilts his head to the side, cracking his spine. "Practice?" he says, and Hanai punches him.
He can't believe he's doing it even as his fist lands on Tajima's chest, even as he pushes him down, even as Tajima kicks his feet out from under him and he falls clumsily. He shouts and Tajima laughs and they're rolling around on warm grass and pieces of someone's discarded newspaper. Hanai doesn't know what he's trying to accomplish other than make an impact. He wants to get to Tajima, Tajima who seems to know everything, Tajima who just doesn't act like…
"Okay?" Tajima asks.
Hanai's breathing hard. His hands are wrapped around Tajima's forearms. He's holding him down awkwardly, Tajima twisted on his side with his arms behind him and dirt smudged across his face. Hanai's hat is somewhere under him. Tajima could twist and knock Hanai off, but he doesn't.
A young mother steers her children in a wide circle around them.
"I can't believe I did that," Hanai says. His hands haven't let go of Tajima yet.
"I can't believe you didn't do that sooner," Tajima corrects lightly.
Hanai releases Tajima to scrub his hands over his face, untangles their legs so that he can sit in a self-contained lump and stare at the sidewalk. "I can't believe you sometimes," he mutters, but he can't find that bubbling annoyance in any corner of his body. He thinks he might be grinning.
Tajima straightens up and immediately drapes himself over Hanai, hot arms folding over his knees, pointy chin resting on Hanai's shoulder. "I can be pretty unbelievable," he says.
A laugh sneaks its way out of Hanai.
"You're a good captain," Tajima tells him. "Nobody could do a better job."
He plants a kiss on Hanai's cheek, and nips at his ear. Hanai's world flips briefly upside-down.
"Now come on, we should go before we get in trouble for fighting."
Tajima pulls him to his feet and Hanai, still reeling, says, "Thanks."
His hat is tucked into Tajima's back pocket, but he only notices this after they've run halfway to school. Tajima can't hold it out of his reach, even when he tries.