Work Text:
The broken blood vessels around Shigeo's eye radiate pain enough that he can feel his heartbeat through his skin as he presses down with his hand, trying to gauge the damage without a mirror. His eye is puffed up. It's probably already turning blue. He breathes heavily and leans his head back against the concrete wall.
He didn't mean to start a fight. Ever since coming to this correctional school, he's tried desperately to get better, to control his anger, but it's so hard, especially since he's surrounded by other delinquents who'd like nothing more than to take a chunk out of him.
Half an hour ago, when another student— Satou, a third year with shaggy black hair who dwarfed him in size— threatened to find his brother out of school and teach him a lesson after Shigeo bumped into him, he lost it. Shigeo's fist cracked into his nose. From there, a fight broke out, one that he didn't win. A sneaky punch is what gave him the black eye.
So now he's hiding between two buildings near the back of the school, dreading the moment he has to face his teachers, his brother when he gets home. Shigeo picks at the ripped line in his uniform jacket; there's a large tear down his arm, and the worn knees of his pants finally tore when he was pushed to the ground. The blood from his knees is beginning to stain the fabric.
He curls up tighter, resting the unbroken side of his face on the inside of his knees.
I want to go home. Tears prick at his eyes. I want to lay down. I don't want to be yelled at. I want my brother to have a reason to be proud of me.
The sound of steps makes his eyes snap open. Did Satou follow him? He doesn't want any more trouble, or injuries…
But it's not an enemy who comes around the leftmost corner: it's Hanazawa. Somehow, that's both better and worse.
"Kageyama." Hanazawa scowls down at him. His purple uniform is pristine, almost worn like the rules say he's supposed to, except for his open jacket that exposes a white shirt. A handbag hangs around his hip, which pops out confidently.
"Hi, Hanazawa." He nods, but lets his eyes flick back to the ground.
Hanazawa steps forward until he's casting a shadow on the other boy. He sighs and crouches down.
"Who did this?" His voice is stern, demanding, like a kid who's never been told no. And really, he is, because his cunning has made him one of the most intimidating people at this school with a mob of students under his rule. Why he's so concerned about Shigeo, he doesn't fully understand.
At the beginning of freshman year, Hanazawa hated him. Like, really hated him. But suddenly, like a switch had been flicked in his mind, he started acting like he was obsessed with him, following around and telling others to leave him alone. It's halfway through the school year, and Shigeo still doesn't understand him. Hanazawa's striking blue eyes are like walls of ice keeping him out.
"Hanazawa…" Shigeo covers his face, curling up further. If he answers, he knows the other boy will go after Satou to get retribution and cause more trouble for him.
A cold hand wraps around his wrist and pulls his arm away from his face. Shigeo shivers as air hits his bruised face again. "Tell me," He demands.
The pain around his eye feels like a burning flame, but his face still manages to heat even further. "Satou," He breathes, "It was Satou." Hanazawa's eyes soften with satisfaction.
Hanazawa nods, grips his wrist tigher. "I'll deal with him later." By deal with him, he means beat him to a pulp. "Where are you hurt?" Their eyes meet. "Besides the obvious." His gaze roams over Shigeo's body, scrutinizing him.
"Um, my knees… I fell and scraped them."
A yelp gets caught in his throat when Hanazawa grabs his legs, one hand under his knees and the other on his ankles, and pulls them over his lap, forcing Shigeo to turn.
"Wh-what are you...?" His hands flounder, unsure where to be placed— he wants to put them on Hanazawa's shoulders, since he's already so close and it'd be comfortable, but he can't bring himself to do it— and they simply land on the concrete. He looks at the side of Hanazawa's face, whose eyes are intently focused on his knees; typically it's difficult(if not impossible) for him to make eye contact, but it isn't really contact if the other person isn't looking at him. This loophole allows him to glimpse at the softness in Hanazawa's sharp features— softness meant only for him.
"I can't just let you bleed, can I?"
"…Why not?"
"I— well," Hanazawa stammers, and in a brief, rare moment, his confident facade falters. His cheeks warm up like Shigeo's do when he gets too close. Too close, Shigeo thinks, his face only a few inches away from Hanazawa's.
"Because I can't." Hanazawa's sharpness returns. Shigeo's eyes return to the ground. Shigeo never knows what he's thinking or feeling, partly because he's so bad at understanding people and mostly because Hanazawa keeps his true self locked away. But something in him wants to see more.
That's why it's so confusing being around Hanazawa— in the same moment, he wants to shy away from his intensity, as well as wanting to get closer because it feels too nice to avoid. Every time he's tried to figure out why, he reaches a dead end: do I admire him? is it because he's strong, handsome, popular?
Often, Shigeo relies on his little brother, Ritsu, to help him with his problems. After all, Ritsu is capable and smart, enough that instead of being sent to a correction school or even a regular, public school, his parents spent the moment to further his education at a private academy. But in this case, he knows that Ritsu would dissaprove of him even considering befriending a delinquent (is that what they are— friends? how would he know?).
Really, Shigeo wishes Hanazawa would just come out with his feelings and say explicitly what their relationship is. That'd be so much easier than this game they're playing. But at a cut-throat school such as this one, the students have learned to hide themselves to get tougher and climb up the ranks. Shigeo isn't concerned with that like Hanazawa is; he'd like to be left alone by most of the school.
He flinches when something cold and wet touches his knee, which tries to bend away from the sensation; Hanazawa's hand on his ankles holds it down. There he goes again— zoning out when he's supposed to be talking, or making eye-contact, or whatever else is expected from him.
The other hand that isn't holding his legs captive is instead holding an expensive-looking handkerchief with weaved initials. An open water bottle sits opened next to their legs.
"Calm down," Hanazawa laughs, "I just need to clean them."
"Ah, sorry…" Shigeo flushes. The hand gently laid over his ankle is burning a searing touch into his skin. When he gets home, he'll still be able to feel it.
The cold wipes from the cloth feels soothing, now that he's expecting it. With each swipe, the fabric comes back more pink until it's red, and Shigeo feels queasy; will he be angry at me for ruining his handkerchief?
But Hanazawa doesn't look angry. It's quite the opposite: he looks more content than Shigeo's ever seen him. His face and body is lax. His hand holds Shigeo's ankles like one would a kitten, with gentle pressure that lets it know it's safe. With others, Hanazawa's hands are used for violence, but with Shigeo, in the small space between them, his hands feel delicate with the care they give him.
"How'd it happen?"
"Hm?" Shigeo tilts his head.
"Why'd he beat you up?" Hanazawa lays the handkerchief on the ground next to him, sufficiently stained now. He takes a few large bandages out of his bag.
"Oh…" He gulps, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Actually, I started the fight…" Hanazawa's head whips around to his, eyes wide, the band aid held midair above his knee.
"Why would you do something so stupid?" Hanazawa's eyes narrow, staring at his thin, noodly arms.
"I didn't— it just, happened." He frowns. Shame curls in his belly.
Hanazawa sighs and finally puts the banaid on his knee. "Next time, just come to me. I'll deal with anyone bothering you."
Shigeo hums and watches the second bandage. Why does Hanazawa…? He twitches as Hanazawa presses down on the baindaids, adhering them to his skin. The warm hand on his ankles slips off.
Shigeo tries to move back, to remove his legs from the other boy's, but Hanazawa grips the back of his neck and stops him.
"Uh—" Shigeo flounders.
"Your face." Hanazawa mumbles. The hand on his neck rubs circles on his skin, and the other reaches up to cup his cheek. His hands are calloused and should be rough, but the touch is so comforting that it feels soft.
Can he see Shigeo's blush? His hands tremble against the concrete.
"…Well, there's not much I can do about that bruise. You'll need to go to the nurse to get an ice pack." He brushes his thumb under his eye, just shy of the blossoming bruise.
Shigeo breathes out. He tilts into the hold, eyes fluttering shut from the warmth. How long has it been since he's had someone he can be close with, except for his brother? Has he ever been held so delicately before?
Soft lips press against his eyelid.
Shigeo gapes. He blinks.
Hanazawa's furiously blushing face moves away faster than a hummingbird could. With his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, he almost looks angry, but he's the one who kissed Shigeo. The hand at his neck holds tighter, now impossible for him to ignore; he can feel the hand on his cheek shake.
"H-Hana—"
Hanazawa rips hands away, grabs his bag by the strap, and runs away, leaving only dust in his wake.
Shigeo's mouth opens and closes, gaping around nothing. He looks down at the band aids on his knees, and then the red stain in his vision.
"You forgot your handkerchief…"