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Osamu was going soft. That’s what Atsumu would say, if his twin saw him standing here in this back alley, staring down at this limp, unconscious boy.
He ought to walk away. Ought to just leave the boy to the rules of the street. Osamu had an errand to run for Kita, after all, and he was just using this alley as a shortcut.
If it weren’t for the bruises blooming across the boy’s face and neck, and the torn state of his clothing, the boy would have looked merely asleep. He was curled into the corner, dirtied orange hair in disarray, but his face… his face was at peace. Like he was ready for his fate. The sun’s fading light painted the boy’s face, and he looked like a fallen angel.
And well… Osamu just couldn’t let him die.
Osamu hefted the boy up onto his back. The boy was feather-light, limbs thin like he hadn’t had a good meal in months. No sound or movement at all from the boy. Osamu had to check again that he still had a pulse, could still feel a faint breath.
One glance to check on the fading sun. He needed to hurry. Being caught in this area after dark would get them both killed.
So Osamu turned back in the direction of home, boy bouncing against his back as he ran. For the first time, he’d failed Kita. But at least he hadn’t failed himself.
It didn’t even sting that much when Kita handed down Osamu’s punishment. If the boy was so important to Osamu, he was to be Osamu’s responsibility. Entirely.
Hinata was the boy’s name. Hinata Shouyou. A weak little thing. Osamu found himself remarkably invested in Hinata’s well-being. Osamu nursed him back to health, spoon-feeding him chicken broth until he was finally able to sit up by himself and eat solid foods. Gradually the bruises on Hinata’s body faded, and Osamu was treated to bright smiles and joyful greetings when he arrived back at the base each evening.
Hinata was an orphan, like Osamu and Atsumu, and like most of the Inarizaki Organization. For Inarizaki, their only family was each other, and they survived by relying on each other in a way they could not expect from the rest of the world. They would kill for each other.
Only, Hinata was different, somehow.
“He’s like your pet,” remarked Atsumu one day, as Osamu cooked up an omelet for Hinata’s breakfast. Atsumu sauntered out of the room a minute later, no doubt running another routine errand for Kita. It had just been an off-hand comment, but that didn’t explain why it continued to echo in Osamu’s thoughts.
“Pet,” he muttered under his breath. He set the steaming plate of omelet on the table, directly in front of where Hinata was waiting.
“Osamu-san, is everything alright?” Hinata’s face scrunched up cutely, even as he nearly drooled from the omelet’s savory fragrance.
“Everything’s fine,” said Osamu, sitting down across the table to sip some orange juice. “Eat up, you’re still growing.”
“So are you, Osamu-san,” said Hinata. “Are you sure you won’t have any?”
“You know I’m used to skipping breakfast,” said Osamu. He drained his glass and got up to wash it.
Over the sounds of the tap, Osamu could hear Hinata’s fork clanging eagerly against the plate, shoveling mouthful after mouthful. He smiled to himself.
“Osamu-san?”
“Hm?” Osamu grasped the clean towel meant for drying dishes. He carefully ran the cloth inside the glass, then out, like Kita had taught him. Streak-free glassware and a clean kitchen. How things were supposed to be.
“Will you teach me how to fight?”
The glass shattered against the floor.
Hinata was an orphan, but he was different from them.
He remembered what it was like to have a warm home where a happy family laughed and played and slept. It was a fire that turned him onto the street—an accident, not violence.
And he was weak, a fact he was not oblivious to.
“I found you nearly dead in the alley. Why would I teach you, only for Kita to send you back out there?” asked Osamu. Hinata had shown up in the training room again, even after Osamu had turned him down every day for the last month. Osamu rammed another fist into the worn out punching bag.
“I want to be useful. If I knew how to fight, I wouldn’t have nearly died,” said Hinata, temper flaring. When he got like this, it was easy to forget his size, his frailness.
“You’re fine here. You’ve got me to take care of you.” Another punch into the bag. A drop of sweat trickled down Osamu’s cheek.
“I don’t want to just be your pet!”
Osamu whirled around. “Who called you that? Atsumu? I’ll beat the shit—”
“No! See, this is exactly the problem. You’re always defending me. I need to defend myself.”
“What’s wrong with my defending you?” roared Osamu.
“Just—listen to me!” Hinata aimed a sloppy punch at Osamu’s chest. Osamu turned his body, and Hinata went flailing down to the floor. He landed with a yelp of pain.
Osamu pinned him down. “You’re weak. Why would I let you kill yourself out there? You’re fine here, and you’ll stay here. You don’t need to be a part of the gang.”
“But I want to be. You forget, but we’re almost the same age.” Even pinned underneath Osamu, Hinata refused to capitulate. His face creased with anger. “I don’t want you taking care of me forever. What if you need to be taken care of?”
“I’ve got Atsumu, I’ve got the other—”
“I want to take care of you too, Osamu-san.”
A beat passed, and Osamu realized he was gripping Hinata’s wrists too tightly. He scrambled off him, and Hinata sat up. His face betrayed no pain, but by the way his hands were shaking, Osamu must have pushed too hard. Osamu’s heart clenched.
“I want you to see me as a person you can depend on too, Osamu-san.”
No guns until you can fight with a knife. No knives until you can fight with your fists.
No assignments from Kita until you’ve mastered them all.
These were the rules Osamu had set, and Kita had approved of the plan. All that was left to do was… well.
“Hinata, you can’t make a fist like that. You’ll break your thumb.”
Osamu pried Hinata’s thumb out from the rest of his fingers.
“Your thumb goes across the first two fingers. And hold your wrist straight.” Osamu demonstrated.
“Like this?”
“Better. Take a swing.”
Hinata stepped back and threw a punch in a large arc. His fist bounced right off, and the punching bag merely shivered.
Osamu scoffed. “Don’t waste your energy throwing your body around like that. Spin from the hips and send the momentum into your fist.”
That first day was exhausting for them both. Hinata lacked even the most basic of fundamentals. But he was damn persistent, Osamu would give him that. Long after others would have given up for the day, Hinata hungered for more. Osamu obliged him until they were both panting on the floor, knuckles scraped and bleeding.
The weeks that followed passed much the same way. Kita must have identified some potential in Hinata—Osamu’s usual tasks were reassigned to others, so that he could dedicate his time to training Hinata. Osamu was simultaneously grateful and fearful. If Hinata’s training was so important, Kita must have assignments in mind for Hinata once Osamu was done with him. What those could be, Osamu couldn’t bear to think more about.
So Osamu threw himself into making sure Hinata was as prepared as he could be.
Their evenings were accompanied by the sting of antiseptic. Hinata would patiently wait for Osamu to wrap his knuckles and palms at the end of each session, before returning the favor. Hinata was gentle in his ministrations, grasping Osamu’s fingers with the softest of touches. His face was always scrunched in concentration as he wound the bandages around, as if afraid he’d cause Osamu more pain. The sight always left a funny fluttering in Osamu’s chest.
The first time Hinata managed to land a punch on Osamu, it felt like it had come too soon.
That wasn’t just Osamu being sentimental, though he was—it’d been nearly a year since Osamu had been spoon-feeding him on a cot, and now here he was, bouncing in a fighting stance, like a dangerous animal ready to pounce.
It was also that Hinata—well, put simply, Hinata was fast. His uppercut came out of nowhere, and right to Osamu’s chin. Osamu was seeing stars. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of his teeth had come a bit loose.
Soon, it became difficult for Osamu to land any direct punch or kick on Hinata. His reflexes were unnaturally fast. It was only a matter of time before Hinata learned Osamu’s feints as well, and then it’d be nearly impossible for Osamu to even touch him. This must have been what Kita saw in him, Osamu realized belatedly.
During a particularly frustrating session where all of Osamu’s punches merely whizzed past Hinata, Osamu was once again surprised when Hinata’s leg swept under him, knocking him to the floor. Before Osamu could catch his breath, Hinata pinned him down, in much the same way Osamu had done to Hinata many months earlier.
“I win,” said Hinata above him.
“You win,” wheezed Osamu. He didn’t know if he felt a loss or a swell of pride at his defeat. Both, probably.
“I can start with knives now.”
“Maybe.” Even in this prone position, Osamu didn’t want to give in.
“I’ll just beat you a few more times then. Then you’ll have to teach me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Hinata softly.
He was close. Osamu could run his fingers through Hinata’s sweat-tangled hair if he wished.
“You’ve learned well. I think you may be better than me, now. At least at fist-fighting.” Only Hinata managed to draw such sentimentality from him.
“I had a good teacher,” said Hinata. A smile tugged on his lips, and Osamu couldn’t help thinking once more that Hinata looked like an angel. Maybe part angel of doom, but angel nevertheless, his hair haloed by the dim bulb in the training room ceiling.
“Had? I’m not dead, you idiot.”
Hinata’s laughter vibrated through Osamu’s chest too, pressed together as they were. “Have a good teacher,” he amended. “I’m happy it was you, Osamu-san. That you found me. That you’re teaching me now.”
“I’m happy to have you too,” said Osamu, and he was surprised by how much he meant that. To think, if he hadn’t passed by that alley that day… he felt tears welling up in his eyes. Tears he couldn’t wipe, because Hinata still had his wrists pinned to the floor.
“Osamu-san? Are you okay?” Hinata lifted off from him suddenly.
“I’m—I’m not crying!”
“I—I didn’t say you were!” Hinata looked torn between confusion and more laughter.
Osamu buried his head into his now freed hands.
“Osamu-san,” Hinata said tenderly, pulling Osamu’s hands away once more. “I’m glad that one day, I’ll get to be your equal. That we get to work on the same team, and protect each other.”
“You already are, Hinata. We’re a team, you and I. We’ll keep each other safe—” Osamu interrupted himself with a loud sniff. Where were these tears coming from? Atsumu better not walk in here right now. No one better walk in here right now. “God, I don’t know what’s come over me—”
Osamu’s words were muffled by Hinata’s lips on his. For possibly too long, Osamu could only register the feeling of those soft lips against him. The kiss tasted of sweat and tears, but it tasted of Hinata, and that was the only thing that mattered.
Hinata pushed him back to the ground, and Osamu landed with a soft groan, cushioned this time by Hinata’s hand. Their lips never left each other’s as their limbs tangled on the grimey floor.
When they finally broke away from each other, panting for breath, Osamu nestled up to Hinata. He listened for Hinata’s heartbeat in his chest, vibrant and defiant.
Hinata was different from them, but he was strong. Always had been. And Osamu would never fail him.