Work Text:
He really hadn't meant to do it. No guy that actively plays and enjoys competitive sport would willingly go down in the middle of the court - in front of his friends and his kouhai - for any reason... but pressed against Issei’s shoulder as he is, cool forehead against the smooth line of his jaw, he can definitely call it a happy accident.
-
Their team is full to the brim with showmanship; from the flashy serves that make those seated around the game coo with excitement to the way their blockers deter the other team just by looking at them, and Hanamaki is no different. Though he’s nowhere near as impressive as their Captain is there is true power in his arm and in the height to which he can jump to serve his attack. He’s done it so many times it's like muscle memory, so it’s an effortless task for him to rise to the challenge of adding new flairs and twists to what he knows so well, just to see how it might affect his game play. He’s accurately aware of how much his body can handle because as a team player he has to be, but in that same thread as a team player he has an impatient weakness for results and has inherited a dangerous habit for biting off more than he can chew.
He goes down from the misjudged jump with a harsh slam as his body hits the floor followed by a nasty crunch, and the skidding of sneakers against polished wood signals the rest of the team stopping dead to turn on him.
“Makki!”
It’s honestly not surprising that it’s Oikawa’s squeal he hears first, and he’d roll his eyes if he weren’t busy screwing them shut against the sharp pain stabbing at the nerves in his ankle. He clutches it tight, curled in a defensive little ball, and through the gritting grind of his teeth and the drawn out curse he’s hissing through them he hears heavy breaths come to a stop around him. A gruff voice asks if he’s okay.
“Does it look like he’s okay, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice chides and Hanamaki is certain he audibly hears Iwaizumi’s fist clench in response.
“Can you move it?”
“Yeah,” he chokes. “Yeah, fuck, it’s not broken but fuck it hurts.” He’s panting too, and as he opens his eyes to look at his foot he realises he has a little bit of a head rush. Probably from being so high up in the air, then suddenly on the floor. His ass hurts like a bitch too.
“You should see the nurse!” Kindaichi yells – like, legitimately yells, everyone kind of winces - and Hanamaki nods. He knows the drill well enough by now even if he’s usually the one escorting patients to the nurse's office rather than being a patient himself, and grabs the hand Kindaichi offers him to get him on his feet. Kindaichi forcibly loops Hanamaki’s arm over his shoulders, stooping slightly to make up for their slight height difference, and then acts as his crutch all the way to the nurse's office without another word, giving Hanamaki very little choice in the matter.
-
“Oi, Hiro. You’re not getting comfy over here, are you?”
It’s later on, when he’s long since changed back into his uniform and has been ushered into sitting on the bench at the sidelines that he hears that familiar voice and looks up to see Matsukawa giving him one of his trademark plain looks. His eyebrows are lifted, his eyes lidded, but his mouth is a thin line and though most might see his expression as the same typical look of boredom he usually carries, Hanamaki can see the concern in the way the line just above his top lip is a little deeper than normal.
“Comfy?” Hanamaki looks at himself, his ankle, and then back at Matsukawa and shrugs. “The nurse did give me some excellent painkillers, and this cool dinosaur ice pack.”
“I mean on the bench. You look like you’re dreaming. Is this one of those things where you fake an accident so you can free yourself from your harsh sports career?” Matsukawa asks, hanging his towel around his neck while his eyes give the other man a once over, like he’s looking for any tells that his injury might be more serious than he says.
“What? No, are you kidding me?” Hanamaki scowls. “It’s a sprain, Issei, not a death sentence. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
Matsukawa’s strange expression holds for a few moments, then breaks. His lip curls in a smile and his eyebrows lower, taking on the look of a child who’s just played a prank or let slip a juicy secret.
“I was just checking.”
Hanamaki throws his blazer at him and Matsukawa catches it without letting his dirty smirk drop.
“I told you before. Don’t toy with my loyalty like that. It’s cruel.”
“What can I say?” The taller man says, swinging Hanamaki’s blazer over his shoulder and closing his eyes as he spreads out an arm in a half shrug. “I’m a sadist.”
“Speaking of sadism,” Hanamaki says, stretching his afflicted leg out just slightly. His pant leg is rolled up to three-quarter length and there’s a bright blue ankle brace where his sock once was. “I’m not about hobbling home on my own, I’ll be lucky if I get home by early next week.”
He doesn’t even have to ask because Matsukawa interrupts him with that huffy little chuckle he does that’s more a shoulder shake than an actual laugh.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll help you home.”
Issei has always seemed to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to Takahiro, the uncanny ability to understand what he implies without any explanation, to know what he’s asking without having to hear it, and even sometimes to know what Hanamaki is thinking before the man himself does. Strangely, just the knowledge that this time is no different, and that Issei gets it without Hiro having to admit to it, has Hanamaki’s shoulders slumping comfortably. It hadn’t been easy to be lifted up and out of the gym. Sure, Kindaichi’s briskness handled the physical aspect, but Hanamaki had left his pride sitting there in a heap on the floor, and it was wounded once he picked it back up again. Not only is he not used to being the center of attention – it would be a shame if he craved it considering the contents of his friendship group after all – but he’s accustomed to consistently being the strong and untouchable force in the background, sniggering and muttering comments. He doesn’t show weakness, especially not in front of his kouhai. He appreciates Kindaichi’s efforts, but it would have been a lot easier if it had been Issei. Lots of things would be easier with Issei.
“Carry me.”
It’s pretty difficult to jerk Matsukawa out of that perma-disinterested look he always wears, but if anyone’s capable of doing the impossible around him, it’s Takahiro. Issei’s eyebrows rise again, but this time his eyes widen too and his mouth drops open to let out a half-laugh half-confused noise, and the garbled mess makes Hanamaki snort.
“What? Are you deaf? I said carry me.”
“Yeah, I heard you. I just. Shit, really?” Matsukawa looks around for a moment, almost awkwardly, like he’s expecting someone to jump out from behind the gym apparatus and laugh at him. Hanamaki can’t help but smile. Issei can be so cute sometimes. They always play up their game in front of other people, combining their evils to create one big sass machine that no-one in their right mind would mess with, but alone with only the other for company they become softer, more human, and that’s mostly the reason why Hiro loves spending time with Issei – for these moments.
“Yeah shit really, dumbass.” Hanamaki stretches up his arms and makes grabby motions with his hands, and the sight is so ridiculous – this massive six foot strawberry baby asking to be picked up – that Matsukawa barks out a laugh instead of obliging. Takahiro gives him a deadpan look, one that could wilt flowers and honestly it only makes Issei laugh harder.
“Keep laughing at me and I’ll let you know what this feels like.”
Issei dramatically wipes a not-there tear from his eye, but when he looks back at Hiro he notices that the scowl has turned steadily into something more like a pout, and so he relents. His laughter tapers off into a fond smile as he comes close, holding out a hand to take Hiro’s bag.
--
The piggyback idea was a shitty one, honestly. Issei’s weight was evenly distributed between the two bags crossed over his chest, resting either side of his hips, but when he hitched Hiro up onto his back there wasn’t anywhere for the other man's thighs to rest so he was left kind of perched on Issei’s upper back, clinging tightly to his throat like a paranoid koala. A paranoid pink koala.
As they passed out of the side exit of the school – their personal favourite for the shortcut it gave them across the track field – Issei realised a little too late that he hadn’t taken his height into consideration, and by extension Hiro’s new height propped up at his back like he was, so after almost giving Hiro a concussion by smacking his head off the top of the doorway and almost getting strangled by Hiro’s panicking hands grabbing ahold of his tie for leverage and yanking it backwards hard, he figures it’s time for a switch up.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Takahiro murmurs as they leave the school grounds and start down the street.
“You asked me to carry you.”
“Yeah, but you were reluctant to carry me on your back, what the fuck is wrong with you that makes this a better option in your head?”
Hiro’s words are vicious but he’s laughing, and Issei is laughing too. Takahiro is seated comfortably in the strong hold of Issei’s outstretched arms; one around his torso and the other under his legs, leaving Hiro to anchor an arm comfortably around the back of Issei’s shoulders. It’s a lot more secure, a lot more comfortable, but boy is it revealing. Hiro isn’t easily embarrassed, but he’s also quietly happy the streets are pretty much deserted.
“You looked like such a damsel, I figured would suit you better.”
“If you’re calling yourself Prince Charming, I’ve got bad news for you.”
“Well, if the slipper fits.”
“The slipper is for the princess, stupid.”
Issei is walking at his usual laborious pace and keeping Hiro steady despite the sway of his steps, but some part of Hiro finds the rocking motion almost comforting in its repetitiveness. His head is on Issei’s shoulder before he realises it’s happened, his nose pressed against the collar of his school shirt, his chin brushing against his mangled tie. Issei smells like deodorant and shower gel, and that scent that reminds Takahiro of homemade meals and pillows, sunny mornings and a comfy sofa, video games and midnight snacks. He might have accidentally made a comfortable noise because Issei responds with a low, affectionate chuckle and Hiro doesn’t have the energy to bite back.. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything but exhale and listen to the sound of Issei’s footfalls along the pavement, of the wind through the trees and the warm chest he presses his hand against where he can feel a strong heartbeat.
--
“Isseeeeiiii...”
Matsukawa looks up from across the clubroom at the couch where Hanamaki has sprawled post-practice, with his hand over his eyes, the epitome of a dramatic loser. Issei grins, but when he stands and wanders over to the other man he’s got that unimpressed look on his face, ready for when Hiro looks at him.
“What’s up?”
“It’s my foot, Issei.”
“Your foot?”
“My foot. I think I bruised it while we were cleaning the floors.”
Issei pauses, his expression falling honestly blank. “Bruised it while we were-”
“Yeah, that’s right, while we were cleaning the floors. I must have stepped on it funny. It’s throbbing, I don’t think I can stand on it, and I’m starving. How am I going to get to the cafeteria like this?” Hanamaki laments, finally dropping his arm to look at Issei imploringly, his eyes wide and his eyebrows pinched, the faintest bubble of a pout pulling at his lower lip. Issei stares at him – at his mouth – for a minute, his left eyebrow pulling into that incredulous ‘Hiro, are you for real?’ face he’s practically well known for.
“I can... go to the cafeteria for you? What do you-”
“No, Issei, you know I’m picky.” There’s a smile twisting Hiro’s lips, and he’s purposefully not making eye contact. “Ca-”
“I’ll carry you, then.” Issei interjects with a kind of firmness akin to their vice captain, looking right at Hiro with arms outstretched in a gesture that’s becoming increasingly familiar. Hanamaki reacts just as he expected, his smile drops for a moment as he looks wide-eyed at the other man, and then his grin is back in full force.
“My hero.”