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hes done this before. its not like its new. he can do just fine in gang fights and around hanma (because god knows that freak is just a ticking time bomb..but its not like kisakis one to speak about that, the way he is) yet every time..its this stupid injection that always trips him up.
hes managed so far these past years by isolating himself in his room every day he needs to administer the dose, he made damn sure no one is to fucking bother him on these days. but its humiliating how it takes him so long to force himself to just plunge the needle into his thigh. its funny, because once he finally does it, hes fine.
fuck this shitty world and fuck that he was born into the wrong body. it fills his mouth with such a vile taste.
hes so stuck in this stupid cycle of fighting with himself to administer the stupid t-shot, that he somehow hasnt registered the sound of his window being slid open, or the sound of irritatingly heavy footsteps crossing his room, or the shadow looming by the half-open door of his bathroom. the sound of knuckles rapping against the doorframe is what finally rips him from his reverie.
and all he wants in that moment is to drop dead. or murder whoevers there. or both. both is good.
hes so wrapped up in anxiety that he cant even look up to see who it is, til hanma fucking shujis insufferable voice rings out with a moronically simple, "yo."
are you fucking serious.
and hes suddenly hes pissed, annoyed, vicious words piling up in his throat that would so easily be thrown at that stupid freaks face in any other situation. fucking hell. anyone seeing him like this, sitting on the closed toilet in nothing but his most comfortable tshirt and a pair of boxers, needle and vial in hand, would be hell, but hanma? the one constant in his life? the one person who, no matter how loose of a cannon he is, kisaki could always depend on? god. he wishes the earth would just swallow him whole.
"whats eating at ya, kisaki? whats up? usually youd already be flinging insults at me by now," hanma chuckles, leaning against the door and opening it the rest of the way. stares back as kisaki stares at him in horror.
"aw, im interrupting your day off, huh? i was bored. couldnt help it," hanma shrugs and throws a nonchalant smirk kisakis way.
yet, despite the relaxed tone, anxiety grasps at tetta's lungs, pulls his body so tight it feels like his bones will shatter under the pressure.
"hm. you need some help with that?" hanma flicks a casual finger towards kisaki and. what. the fuck does that mean.
the first word hes uttered in the 15 minutes that hanmas been here, first word hes spoken that whole day, is a dry and crackly, "what." and the only response that freak of nature graces him with is an eyebrow raised, as if it should be obvious what he was offering to do.
"what?" kisaki repeats, still appalled that shuji was even still here, shocked that the other hadnt thrown cruel laughter and abandonment in tettas face like so many others.
"the shot.... do you want some help..? with that?" hanma asks, sounding unsure of himself now. for whatever fucking reason. fuck, like hes not the one interrupting the one thing that absolutely could not be interrupted.
right. what the fuck. what experience does hanma fucking shuji have with administering injections? unless that fucker does heroin which, honestly, with the way he acts wouldnt be surprising.
"like id let some fucking druggie near me, fuck, youd probably break the needle off in my leg. fuck no." kisaki spits out. and hanma just chuckles at him.
which devolves into fullbodied laughter, clinging to his sides and everything. right, because that makes sense. but then again, nothing hanma does makes sense, so he figures maybe this oughta seem more normal. it doesnt change how completely alien everything feels to kisaki though.
recovering from his fit, wiping tears from his eyes, hanma throws back, "aw, do i seem that coked up to you, tetta? thats cute. nah, i mean with your hormones. thats what it is, right? you want some help? you look like youre struggling."
and kisakis completely floored, somehow this batshit crazy giant of a man has shattered his reality five times over in just a measly 20 minutes. "uh..sure..," kisaki responds dumbly. and as soon as the words leave his mouth, shuji is kneeling on the bathroom mat infront of kisaki, gently taking the needle from his hands, no stupid circus acts, no stupid syrupy words spilling from his mouth, a complete 180⁰ from the performance hanma is always putting on.
its surreal. and kisaki is back in that neverending mind spiral that he was in before his friend arrived.
"right or left?" kisakis snapped out of his thoughts again, and utters out a choked, quiet, "wuh?" and oh. he must really seem like an idiot. god please strike him down. he cant take this humiliation.
but hanmas patient, and repeats, "right or left? which thigh do you prefer?"
"uh..whichever...left i guess." tetta mumbles out, and hanma quietly rips open the alcohol pad and wipes down his leg, as casual as ever, relaxed despite how uncomfortably hunched his lanky form is, and maybe kisaki flinches at the big hand that gently grabs his thigh. and maybe he blushes a bit at how..kind....hanma is being right now. though if he ever had to admit that he might vomit.
he can feel it, of course. he always can. the needle, slicing through layers of skin and muscle, the push of the medicine under his flesh. but its like hes viewing it from a staticky tv screen, all sensation so far away at how reserved the usually so boisterous boy is being with him. and before he even realizes it, hanmas unwrapping a bandage, and seems to almost go in to kiss the injection site, but settles on tapping kisakis thigh as he stands up.
"well! with that done, why dont we go get some food, eh? ive been craving pizza all day. 's why i came to bother you in the first place. whadd'ya say? least you could do since i helped ya with that, hmm?" and the facade is back, but its like somethings..shifted. kisaki goes along without complaint.