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The apartment building is quiet. It’s rare, Hirotsu thinks to himself. He leans back, relishing in the lack of sound. It’s time to relax, and he does until he hears the extremely startling sound of glass shattering from Tachihara’s room.
Hirotsu walks without urgency. If it’s Tachihara being destructive - well it’s not his problem. He’s not that kid's babysitter. If there’s an intruder, that’s more of a problem, but Hirotsu is more than equipped to handle himself. A mere intruder is nothing compared to the enemies he usually deals with. It’d be a welcome break, honestly. The undercover mission he went on with Tachihara was rather exhausting. They had to change everything about themselves! He looks much more dashing with gray hair than brown, if he says so himself. Thankfully, his spray on dye washed right out. A good product for 3 dollars, in his book.
Tachihara seemed rather irritated and grumpy about not being able to dye his hair, having to go to his natural black instead of rust. Call it biased, but the black hair is a strange look on him now… Hirotsu didn’t rub salt in the wound, however.
Instead of a stranger attempting to find out the cost of Tachihara’s belongings, he sees the teen standing there, huffing. His fists are balled and bloodied, bathroom light left on. His shoulders tremble. From rage or despair, Hirotsu can't tell.
Tachihara is a grown man, he can handle himself. And considering their last interaction was Hirotsu scolding Tachihara for being out of character on their mission, he doesn’t think the teen wants to deal with him right now.
But there’s something about the way Tachihara’s standing there, back faced away from the door, audibly panting that makes an unfamiliar concern fill him. He clears his throat, and Tachihara’s head whips around to stare at him. He looks like a mess.
His eyes are wide in surprise, tears threatening to spill over. There’s what looks like dried vomit caked by his mouth, not to mention how pale he is. It makes Hirotsu falter even more. Tachihara’s lip quivers, and any remaining composure is lost.
He’s not wailing, thankfully. Hirotsu wouldn’t know how to handle that. But his head is in his hands, and it seems as though he’s about to keel over. With a sigh, Hirotsu enters and puts a hand on Tachihara’s back.
“Sit on the bed. I’ll clean whatever you broke. Do you have bandages here?”
He keeps his tone the same as usual - short and stoic. He can’t have Tachihara stressing over the tone of his voice. The kid overthinks so hard sometimes he basically thinks nothing at all. It’s a bit impressive if it weren’t so irritating on missions..
Tachihara raises his hand, as if to protest Hirotsu cleaning his mess. Feeling the warm blood pool down his knuckles and down to his elbow, he seems to have a change of heart and just nods instead.
Entering the bathroom, the sight of a shattered mirror greets him. He sighs. What’s with teens and breaking mirrors? He can’t judge too hard, he did it himself when he was younger. Picking up the glass and disposing of it, he makes a mental note to remind Tachihara to buy himself a new mirror later. Hirotsu is far more concerned with the vomit, however. The glass shattering was annoying, but either Tachihara’s sick, or worked himself up to the point of throwing up. Either way, it’s a cause for concern. Leaving the room with bandages in hand from the cabinet and some other supplies, he sits next to Tachihara on the bed. He’s not sobbing anymore, but he’s still shaking. Hirotsu takes his hand and starts to clean his hands. There’s a noticeable grimace on Tachihara’s face once the wound starts to burn. As far as Hirotsu can tell, there’s no glass deeply embedded in his skin.
“Are you alright?”
It’s a stupid question, but it opens up a conversation. He doubts Tachihara would even tell him if something was wrong in the first place.
As expected, Tachihara gives a curt nod as his only response. Hirotsu sighs. Tachihara is somewhat keeled into himself, like in pain. Hirotsu assumes it’s from his hand, the ache in his stomach from vomiting, or both.
“Lay down.”
Tachihara seems a bit confused, but complies with the demand nonetheless. Hirotsu reaches over, and puts a hand on his head.
Tachihara closes his eyes. Hirotsu’s surprised by how comforted he seems by the act. He was checking for some sort of fever, but Tachihara instead just seems..cold. He puts the blanket over Tachihara, but doesn’t remove his hand. He’d feel bad if he did, given how content the other one looks for once.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
He’s not expecting much. A ‘no’ or ‘leave me alone’ is what he’s expecting. Tachihara’s eyebrows furrow.
“...I don’t want to get into specifics.”
“Then be as vague as you wish.”
Tachihara’s lip quivers once more, with him biting it to stay grounded. After a moment of silence, all Hirotsu gets for context is
“I dye my hair because I look really similar to someone I used to know. And having a breakdown over it is really stupid now that I think about it.”
Hirotsu shakes his head. Tachihara’s voice is weak, not yet recovered from his crying.
“It’s not. I’ve been there.”
Hirotsu’s tone remains flat, but his words are an attempt at reassurance. He doesn’t elaborate. Tachihara doesn’t either. Hirotsu looks around. He’s never really entered Tachihara’s room before. A bass and guitar are against the wall, and a small piano by the side.
“...do you know how to play any of these?”
He’s not quite sure why he’s trying to make conversation, especially since Tachihara’s most definitely exhausted. He gets a grunt in response. Tachihara opens his bloodshot eyes to stare at Hirotsu.
“My parents used to own a grand piano.”
“And the guitars?”
“Mom was a music teacher. I liked it.”
Hirotsu nods, absentmindedly fiddling with Tachihara’s black hair. Tachihara seems surprised, but leans into it rather quickly. Hirotsu wonders if his parents ever treated him like this.
“You should sleep. You look sick and exhausted. I’ll dye your hair tomorrow."
As if proving his point, Tachihara rubs his eyes. He blinks a couple times, seemingly just realizing what Hirotsu said.
“You know how to dye hair?”
“I used to do it more in my youth. I’m sure I still remember..”
Tachihara sits up.
“Seriously?!”
Hirotsu sighs and pushes him back down.
“We can chat more tomorrow. Lay back down and go to sleep.”
Hirotsu stands up, ignoring the disappointed “awh..” from the other man. He pauses at the doorframe, hand over the lightswitch.
“...you know where my room is if you need anything.”
A moment of silence passes.
“Yeah. Thanks gramps..”
Hirotsu walks off, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind him.
Tachihara’s lip quivers again for the third time that night. He knows Hirotsu won’t be so kind when he finds out Tachihara’s a traitor.