Work Text:
Shouta gets the text as he’s getting into bed.
Hitoshi: hey. any chance you could come get me? He adds a pin drop of his location.
Are you okay? Shouta writes back.
The three dots that indicate Hitoshi is typing appear and disappear.
i’m fine, he finally says. sorry, it’s late. i can get home on my own.
Shouta types a little more firmly. I didn’t ask because I can’t. I asked because I was worried. I’ll be there.
He checks Hitoshi’s location. It’s a police station twenty minutes away. He swings his leg off the bed with a groan, reaching for his prosthetic.
He doesn’t have a car, but he does have a carshare membership and a driver’s license that hasn’t yet been updated to show that he’s missing an eye. There’s a car available a few blocks away. He’ll just drive slowly.
Hitoshi is waiting outside the station when he arrives. His hair is darker than normal, hidden under a baseball cap, but otherwise, they didn’t change his appearance for the job. He looks okay, unharmed, but Shouta doesn’t notice his face until he gets in the car.
“What the hell happened to you?” he says.
“Hold that thought.” Hitoshi leans across the centre console and pulls him into a hug. It’s a warm, tight squeeze, one Shouta hasn’t felt in months.
“Alright,” Hitoshi says when he backs off. “Now you can interrogate me.”
“What happened?” Shouta asks again. Hitoshi has a nasty black eye, with a long cut below it. It’s shallow, but Shouta doesn’t like how familiar it looks.
“Hmm,” Hitoshi says. “I did something heroic?”
“Heroic, or stupid?”
“Definitely both. I’m fine,” he says, waving off Shouta’s glare. “I have an appointment with a healer in the morning. Thanks for coming to pick me up. I really didn’t want to take the train looking like this.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Shouta says. He starts the car back up and pulls away from the curb. “You do have to tell me what happened, though. If you can.”
He knows the bare bones of the assignment Hitoshi was given: infiltrating a drug ring on the other side of town and getting as much information as possible on their suppliers. He was given a new name and a new apartment and wasn’t allowed contact with anyone he knew.
“Yeah, it’s okay. Things went pretty well. I got everything I could out of them. I was supposed to be out next week, but one of the dumbasses in the group had a run-in with the cops and fucked up the schedule.”
“And that was when you did something stupid.”
Hitoshi sighs. “Yeah, pretty much.”
The streets are mostly empty as they drive back across the city; Shouta dares to drive the speed limit. They pass through downtown, the lights from signs and storefronts washing over them, throwing Hitoshi’s bruises into relief.
He starts to speak.
“So, the group I was with, there were four of them, mostly my age or a bit older. But this one guy, Haruto, had just turned eighteen. He probably would have still been in school if he hadn’t dropped out.
“He was my contact in the group. My handler gave me his info and told me to chat him up at the bar he hangs out at. He’s got a fake ID. He was an easy mark, honestly—too friendly for his own good. I told him I was new in town and looking to make some cash, and that was basically it. He brought me home and introduced me to his brother, Eisuke, who was the ringleader. He was a bit more suspicious, but once I had run a few jobs for them, I was in.
“The other guys were whatever, but Haruto was a nice kid. He wasn’t using, but he didn’t have anyone looking out for him but his shithead brother. Their parents were dead, and they were barely hanging on to the house they grew up in. Eisuke had a real job, but he spent everything on pachinko. But when Haruto found out I was living in a shitty hotel, he invited me to come sleep on their couch, no questions asked.”
Hitoshi pauses. “You see where this is going.”
“I do,” Shouta says.
“Eisuke, the moron, sold to an undercover cop this morning. The cops were supposed to know about our operation, but that particular station didn’t, and they followed him home. It was just me and Haruto there, and of course there were drugs everywhere. I was going to defend him—I know, I know.” Shouta’s glaring at him again. “I didn’t get the chance. He ran for the hero that was arresting his brother and tried to take him out.
“It was that guy—I don’t know if you’ve seen him—with the rubber arms? Pulls them back and lets them fly like a slingshot? His hero name’s something stupid, like Stretch?”
Shouta shakes his head.
“Anyway. I shoved Haruto out of the way and ended up getting hit myself. The cut was from the hero’s nails. Like you said: stupid.”
“Glad you don’t need me to tell you,” Shouta says. “What happened after?”
“The cops got a talking-to from our agency about fucking things up, but the raid still got us a lot of evidence. Eisuke talked, and the agency rounded up the rest of the group. They separated everyone in jail so they wouldn’t realize I was missing, but I guess they’ll find out soon enough.”
Hitoshi takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t say anything else, just stares out the window.
“They made their choices,” Shouta says. “Haruto too.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Shouta finds a parking spot down the block from his building and pulls into it. “This isn’t my apartment,” Hitoshi says.
“Am I your chauffeur now?” Shouta says. “Come on.”
Hitoshi gets out of the car and follows Shouta to the elevator, and then to his door. The place isn’t as clean as Shouta would like it to be. He kept telling himself he’d straighten it up before Htoshi got back, but given that he didn’t know when he was coming, he just didn’t bother.
The cat wanders over to sniff Hitoshi and backs away warily. “Two months, and you’ve forgotten me already?” Hitoshi asks her.
“You smell like jail,” Shouta says. “She’s not used to it.”
“True. I should probably shower. I don’t have any other clothes though. Mind if I borrow some?”
“You left plenty of yours here. I’ll find you something.”
Shouta leaves out a pair of Hitoshi’s pajama pants and one of his own shirts for him to change in. When he’s done in the bathroom, Shouta waves him over to the couch, where he’s set up his first aid kit. “Sit.”
“I did say I have an appointment with a healer tomorrow,” Hitoshi says, but he sits down all the same.
“Doesn’t mean you need to be in pain all night.” Shouta unscrews the cap on his topical pain reliever. They give him the good stuff now, for his leg.
He applies the cream to the bruise, careful to keep it out of the cut and Hitoshi’s eyes. Hitoshi shuts them and lets him work. He takes longer than he needs to, checking Hitoshi over, but he looks alright. The knot that formed in Shouta’s chest when he got Hitoshi’s text begins to loosen. “All done.”
“Thanks,” Hitoshi says. “It does feel better.”
“Mm. You hungry?”
“Nah, I got a sandwich while I was waiting at the station. I’m just tired.”
“Good,” Shouta says, “because we’re going to bed.”
Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Are we now?”
“To sleep,” Shouta clarifies. “I was halfway there when you texted. Don’t apologize,” he adds, when Hitoshi starts to. “I’m just saying, it’s past my bedtime.”
“I won’t keep you up any longer, old man.”
Shouta doesn’t bother turning on the bedroom light after turning off the one in the living room. He sits down to remove his prosthetic while Hitoshi sets an alarm on his phone. When they’re done, he pulls back the covers, and they both crawl under them.
Shouta reaches for him first, dragging him against his chest. Hitoshi comes easily, and their legs twine together. The cat jumps up on the bed, settling on Hitoshi’s side and purring noisily.
It’s been two months. It felt like forever, and no time at all.
Hitoshi exhales. “I missed you so much.”
“I know,” Shouta says. “Me too.”