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Kagiura wakes up.
He’s no stranger to the nurse’s office, yet the sterile atmosphere remains unsettling―unchanged. It’s a heavy, nauseating sort of feeling that takes over him once his senses become accustomed to his current surroundings. His vision is blurry and there’s a hard dizziness that hits him when he tries to crane his neck to take a look at his state.
There’s some stuff on him and around him: his left leg propped up on a stand of sorts, cushioned by a fluffy towel and bandages wrapped around his ankle, a thin white curtain separating him from the rest of the office, along with a metal tray set upon a cabinet with a roll of bandage and a pair of scissors. Coldness trickles into his skin―that’s when he sees the corner of an ice pack peeking out from under the white fabric.
Resting his hands on the mattress that feels like rock, he tries to push himself to a sitting position in an attempt to rid his head of the dizziness only for his arms to give out and lie aimlessly on his sides like fish out of water.
Since his neck doesn’t feel like it had just been through the wringer, he turns his head to the left and there’s Hirano in all his glory. The blonde was on a stool, slumped over in a position that certainly can’t be comfortable, his drooping head supported by his hand, elbow propped up on his thigh. The fingers of his other hand, however, seemed to be holding onto something as if it were osmium―tight and reverent.
Kagiura glanced down at Hirano’s hand―where it was wrapped firmly around his own. Simply seeing that fills Kagiura with this bubbly, overflowing warmth that makes his heart pump out oxygen at double the speed.
He didn’t want to wake Hirano up, but he knew he had to even if the sight before him was a candid moment that most likely would not happen again. “Hirano-san,” he called out softly, flexing the fingers of the hand trapped in Hirano’s hold.
Hirano had always been a deep sleeper, but waking Kagiura up in the mornings and having been sleeping in the same room for more than a year had made him attuned to the boy. Feeling the fingers within his grip try to loosen, his eyes fly open, a strangled sound falling from his mouth―one that makes Kagiura’s chest hurt uncomfortably―when he sees Kagiura awake and not in pain.
The relief that washes over him carries the force of water rushing down Niagara Falls.
“Mornin’,” Hirano’s voice is hoarse and rough from sleep. It’s one of the several voices of Hirano that Kagiura loves so much. “How’re you feeling?”
The color of the sky that could be seen through the translucent curtains of the window clearly wasn’t that of morning, and yet―it truly was morning, for it felt as if the sun had just risen for Kagiura.
He tries to lift his ankle, which in itself is a struggle and not very successful since it’s weighed down by the ice pack and the bandages, not to mention that his whole body feels like lead. “Less dead than before,” he says, doing his best to shrug nonchalantly.
Looking back at Hirano, he notices Hirano’s phone on the bed, a search engine application open. He can barely make out the words How to treat ankle sprains in the search bar of one tab and a video with a thumbnail of a bandage and scissors, titled Treating basketball injuries in another.
He looks at Hirano, then the phone screen, and then back at Hirano again. There’s a warmth that flows through him, knowing that Hirano cared enough to look up and learn simple treatments in a small window of time.
“You looked up how to treat ankle sprains?” Kagiura asks, almost baffled but, at the same time, also not, because he’s seen Hirano take on challenges related to things he has no prior experience with out of pure determination, and majority of the time, it was for Kagiura or because of Kagiura.
“The nurse was out and I didn’t know when they’d be back,” Hirano shrugs, rubbing little circles on the back of Kagiura’s hand with his fingers. “Figured I’d do it myself; it wasn’t hard.” He shifts a little on the stool, bringing it closer and adjusting the height of the seat.
As Hirano’s adjusting the stool, his sleeve and pant leg hike up, revealing bandages wrapped around his wrist and ankle. Kagiura stares for a second, and then blurts out: “You experimented on yourself?”
Hirano freezes at that, a faint dusting of red coating his cheeks. “I didn’t want to fuck up your ankle, so I did a few test runs.” He admits, albeit a little reluctantly.
Kagiura stares again, jade eyes round and wide. “You didn’t break your ankle or wrist, right?” He asks, his tone filled with fear and worry.
The response he receives is a pair of sharp azure eyes glaring at him. “Of course not, dumbass. I’m not stupid.” Hirano scoffs, reaching out a hand to ruffle the taller’s brown hair. “What do you take me for?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Kagiura mumbles, fixing his position so Hirano can comfortably thread his fingers through silky brown strands. “Can you help me sit up?”
Hirano nods, hooking an arm around Kagiura’s shoulder, pulling him up to a sitting posture. Kagiura winces, his muscles straining and hurting from the sudden stretch. Hirano places a few pillows in front of the metal bed-frame so Kagiura’s back doesn’t slump.
“Thank you very much,” Kagiura gingerly tests his ankle, only to wince again as pain shoots up his bone and muscle. “How’d I even get here?” It’s meant to be a rhetorical question because he has a pretty good idea of what had happened, but Hirano answers anyway.
“You sprained your ankle during practice,” Hirano explains, involuntarily playing with Kagiura’s hand, squeezing and rubbing the skin in a soothing manner. “It looked really bad and you passed out.”
Kagiura found that the best way to describe Hirano’s face at that moment was haunted, as if he had watched a nightmare play out live in front of him. Kagiura’s gut twisted painfully, knowing that he had been the one to have caused that expression even if it wasn’t his fault―at least not entirely.
Hirano took a breath. “They sent Shirahama to get someone and we ran into each other in the halls.” He held Kagiura’s ring finger, massaging the bone. Kagiura kept his mouth shut about the small sparks of pain spreading through his finger bone. “Shirahama told me about your injury and the next thing I knew, I was carrying you here.”
He gave Kagiura a smile. One that wasn’t the sort he’d wear around Kagiura, one that wasn’t teasing or of one singular emotion. The smile Kagiura was gifted with was one filled with relief, warmth and underneath all of those emotions, was a ripple of guilt.
“Couldn’t the coaches have carried me here?” Kagiura finds himself asking and instantly regrets it. Hirano―his wonderful, dedicated senpai who he was irrevocably in love with―had carried him here.
Suddenly, his brain conjures an image of Hirano carrying him bridal-style and he instantly blushes.
“What’re you so red for?” Hirano furrows his eyebrows, placing the back of his free hand to Kagiura’s forehead. “You’re warm but you don’t have a fever.”
“It’s nothing,” Kagiura mumbles, looking at his ankle. The pain was still there but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been when he had woken up.
“Anyways, I…” Hirano falls into a silence. It’s not uncomfortable but it leaves Kagiura restless.
“Anyways, you…?” Kagiura prompts, sounding far too excited for a simple matter.
“I, uh, didn’t want anyone else to be tasked with caring for you,” Hirano admits, quiet and plain, his azure eyes trained on their entangled fingers, his lips pressed into a thin smile which isn’t unkind. It’s comforting and Kagiura sees it―the way the blonde’s azure eyes are overflowing with an affection directed towards him and only him.
Kagiura’s breath catches in his throat. He knows that Hirano cares about him―that had always been crystal clear in everything Hirano does for him―but there was just something far more intimate about this selfishness having a vocal cord that makes Kagiura’s heart race just a fraction faster.
“Hirano-san…” He says because that’s all he can manage. It’s soft and quiet and quite possibly the most love-struck he has ever sounded around the blonde.
“I guess I’m being needy,” Hirano chuckles, quiet and tinged with nervousness. “Just like you wanted me to be.”
Kagiura, at that instant, has this sudden urge to kiss Hirano that channels through him like an electric current. Instead, aloud, he voices his gratitude―honestly and sincerely: “I’m glad it was you.”
Hirano blinks, the tension in his hunched-up shoulders visibly easing. He continues to massage the hard bones he can feel under Kagiura’s thin layer of roughened skin. His smile grows into one that carries a devastating amount of love that would’ve been enough to bring Kagiura to his knees―in the case that he was able to stand, that is. In Kagiura’s current state, the emotions present in Hirano’s expression is enough to completely erase any pain he was feeling, even if it was only temporary.
“Is that so?” Hirano hums, raising an eyebrow, not in a teasing manner.
“Yeah,” Kagiura nods firmly. “I don’t think I’d have liked it if it was anyone else but you.” He says honestly.
Hirano gives him a smile as a response. “Surprisingly, you weren’t clinging onto me like you were about to die,” he harks out a laugh as he recounts how he had carried Kagiura to the infirmary. “You weigh a shit-ton, but it was easy enough to get you here without waking you up. But holy shit, don’t ever make me carry you like a bride ever again―I will punch you, and I won’t be nice.”
“You’re so mean,” Kagiura pouts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Then it clicks. “Hold on―you carried me bridal-style?” He gawks as if he had just met Kobe Bryant and shook him by the hand.
“How else did you expect me to carry you when you’re passed out?” Hirano demands, giving the boy a glare that held no bite.
“Like a normal person?” Kagiura suggests, trying not to visibly explode knowing that Hirano had carried him bridal-style. However, he fails to hide the increasingly rising heat spreading across his cheeks and neck.
“This is how normal people carry others!” Hirano fires back, a glint in his eyes that meant that he wouldn’t back down without a well-fought argument.
“No, this is how married couples carry each other!” Kagiura retorts, placing emphasis on the word ‘married’.
Hirano stares at him as if he’d just made a declaration to the whole world that the moon was made of cheese.
The tips of Hirano’s ears are tinged red, betraying the cool, unbothered, slightly furious expression he’s currently wearing. “Bridal-style is safe and efficient. I’m not gonna risk hitting your head on a door-frame, given how fucking tall you are, and giving you an actual concussion.”
“Are you implying that I’m not built for survival?” Kagiura gasps out, scandalized.
“No, dumbass. I’m saying that you―a walking, talking, breathing Skytree―aren’t built for grace when you’re passed out.” Hirano says flatly, a teasing lilt to his tone.
Kagiura narrows his eyes at him, as if he was scrutinizing the older boy. Then, smugly, he says, “So basically, you’re saying that I’m bridal material.”
That remark causes Hirano to briefly malfunction, mouth opening then closing as his brain reboots its system to process what Kagiura had just said. His expression turns into something between disbelief and annoyance, amusement dancing in his azure eyes. “I thought you’d at least tone down the flirting when you’re currently bedridden with a sprained ankle.”
“You carried me like I was your bride, Hirano-san,” Kagiura points out and Hirano finds that he doesn’t like that it was a completely valid point.
Hirano runs a hand through his messy blonde hair. “How did we get from discussing your injury to flirting, that too in the infirmary?” He sighs as if he were annoyed―which he isn’t.
Kagiura shrugs in a you-tell-me sort of way.
“Anyways, I’m not letting you around on your own,” Hirano says, bringing the conversation to the main, relevant, topic on hand―being Kagiura’s sprained ankle. “You’re gonna have to ice and compress your ankle on an elevated surface.”
Kagiura nods. That was standard for almost all sprains.
“And you’re gonna rest,” Hirano continues, pinning Kagiura with a withering gaze. “If you complain, I will kick your ass. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle you passing out, especially in front of me, again.”
Kagiura nearly flinches at that, guilt bubbling up in his chest. Hirano’s voice isn’t harsh, rather it’s brutally honest with a raw edge―terrifyingly close to fear― that was only reserved for moments he felt that deserved it. More often than not, those moments revolved around Kagiura.
“Seriously, though,” Hirano says, giving Kagiura’s hand a firm squeeze, his voice deliberate and far more strict. “I’m staying with you, until your ankle heals and you’re able to walk properly again.”
A sound of protest gurgles up from Kagiura’s throat. “You don’t have to―”
“I want to.” Hirano cuts him off, not unkindly, but not in a way that can be described as gentle, either. “So let me be selfish and allow me this.”
All the knowledge Kagiura has about words and being articulate in his speech disappears, as if it had never existed in the first place. So all he does is nod.
Hirano stands, still holding Kagiura’s hand in his. He leans over, brushing the boy’s bangs with his fingers. The touch is faint, barely there―a phantom―but for Kagiura, it feels like the sun had descended and wrapped him in warmth―fleeting and tender, leaving behind a glow that seeps into his skin and chest, making itself a home within his heart.
“I’m gonna change out the ice pack,” Hirano says, gently removing Kagiura’s fingers from his hold. “Then we’re gonna go back to the dorms so you can actually get some rest.”
“Okay,” Kagiura watches him go, fingers still curled as if they were holding onto something invisible―the ghost of Hirano’s fingers. And finally, the pain residing in his ankle and surrounding bone marrow and muscles feels as if it had never existed.
There’s something inside him that yearns to voice out, I love you, to Hirano at that moment. But he has this cordial sort of feeling that it’s not necessary, for both of them know.