Archive of Our Own

Hirano begins his day by turning off the alarm on Kagiura’s phone.

At first, he doesn’t think anything of it. Kagiura is prone to oversleeping on nights they’re both home, and it’s not out of the ordinary for Hirano to be the one to wake up before him.

What is out of the ordinary is the distressed expression Kagiura currently has on his face. Hirano’s hands hover over where he estimates Kagiura’s shoulder to be beneath their comforter, completely frozen in place at the state of him. He’s lying down on his belly with his cheek smushed into his pillow, one arm slung to the side with his fingers curling in halfway towards his palm and the other clenched tightly into the bedsheets near his head. His lips are trembling and sealed together like he’s trying not to make any noise, his forehead all crinkled up from his drawn in eyebrows.

Hirano can’t tell if Kagiura is conscious enough to tell him what’s wrong, or if he’s purposefully keeping his discomfort to himself. It’s nothing like Kagiura’s usual orchestra of whining and playful refusal to wake up that he does sometimes to heckle Hirano into cuddling in bed for an extra few minutes.

He looks more uncomfortable and upset than Hirano thinks he’s ever seen him before in his life.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gently brushing Kagiura’s hair from his forehead to check his temperature. His skin feels warm with sleep rather than fever, and he’s not sweating like he normally does when he gets sick. Hirano’s whole body immediately gets prickly and itchy with uneasiness, an impending sense of dread yawning inside the pit of his belly at seeing Kagiura like this without any obvious reason. “Are you okay?”

Kagiura makes a strained sound from the back of his throat and recoils at Hirano’s touch, his eyes scrunching up tight. “Headache, n’my neck hurts,” he mumbles, his words jumbled and slurred. He rubs his cheek into his pillow and unclenches one hand to cover his ear with his palm. “S’loud.”

Hirano is confident he wasn’t speaking loudly at all. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kagiura complain about a headache, and he’s definitely never shifted away from Hirano reaching out to him, no matter how unwell he’s felt in the past. Even when Kagiura broke his collarbone back when they were both in university years ago, Hirano had ended up needing to scold him for exacerbating his injury after trying to cuddle with him in an extreme bout of stubbornness.

It must be one hell of a headache, for Kagiura to be behaving like this. Hirano climbs carefully out of bed so he doesn’t jostle him, keeping his footfalls light traversing across their bedroom to adjust their blinds and block out any unwanted light from filtering in through the slats. He’s grateful he doesn’t work today and can keep an eye on him for a little while; Kagiura, on the other hand, has mandatory practice scheduled in about an hour.

Hirano stares at his body squirming around beneath the covers and has a sinking feeling that’s not going to happen. He walks in front of Kagiura’s side of the bed to try and get a proper glimpse without bothering him, frowning deeply at how miserable he looks. His face is screwed up like he’s in a lot of pain, and he keeps shifting around like he can’t get comfortable.

“I’m getting you Tylenol,” Hirano whispers, his fingers instinctively twitching forward with the urge to comfort him with touch. He thinks about how Kagiura had pulled away from him earlier and bites his lip, retracting his hand and curling it to his side. “I’ll be right back, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

As soon as he returns, he coaxes Kagiura carefully into sitting up on their mattress, urging him to drink just enough water to get the capsules down his throat. He bundles him back into bed immediately after he’s done, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders and fluffing his pillow.

Kagiura barely even acknowledges him, which is alarming. Hirano has half a mind to drag him to the emergency room right now with how run-down he’s acting. He takes Kagiura’s phone from the nightstand to step inside the hallway and call his coach so he can alert him of his current condition.

Hirano pulls up his contact info with his heart beating a mile a minute inside his throat. He feels frantic and out of body, like if he leaves Kagiura alone for too long, he’ll take a turn for the worst. He can’t unravel the awful foreboding feeling coiled up tight inside his chest, pulled taut like a bowstring with no sign of release. He lets out an uneven breath and drags shaking fingers through his hair while he waits for the line to connect.

Blessedly, Kagiura’s coach picks up on the final ring.

“Kagiura-kun?”

“Um, it’s—it’s Hirano, actually,” he stammers. “Sorry to bother you, but Akira isn’t doing so well. I don’t think he can make it out today.” The subsequent silence that stretches between them makes Hirano feel even more anxious and jittery, so he keeps on talking. “He—he won’t get out of bed. Says he’s got a headache, and that his neck hurts. I had to help him take Tylenol a few minutes ago and he could barely sit up.”

Kagiura’s coach says nothing for a substantial number of seconds. Hirano glances at the phone screen to double check that the call is still connected.

“Shit,” he mutters eventually, his voice strained and frayed at the edges. Kagiura’s coach is severe and strict about his players missing practice, so his lack of surprise and the amount of concern in his tone immediately sets Hirano on edge. “I told him to get his damn head checked yesterday right after he got hit, but he insisted he was fine.”

Hirano’s blood runs cold. He grips the phone with so much force that his fingers cramp up. “What—What are you talking about? What happened yesterday?”

“Kagiura took a pretty mean elbow to the head last night. I made him sit out at the end of practice—he told me you were gonna take him to get looked at when he got home.”

Hirano is pretty sure his legs are about to give out. He slumps against the wall so he doesn’t actually collapse, his body flushing hot from panic-induced adrenaline and anger. He’s so fucking furious right now, if Kagiura wasn’t already injured and Hirano’s legs weren’t made of gelatin, he’d go in their bedroom and smack him for lying and being so careless with his health.

Voice hollow, Hirano says, “He didn’t tell me anything. He acted completely fine yesterday.”

“Get him looked at,” his coach responds firmly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a concussion. Tell him no physical activity ‘til he’s cleared by a doctor. I’m sorry, Hirano-kun, I thought you were aware, or I would have taken him in myself.”

By the time they hang up, Hirano is completely numb. A thousand dreadful possibilities bounce around inside his head: What if Kagiura has a severe head injury he’ll never be able to recover from? What if he loses all his memories? What if there’s internal bleeding? A skull fracture? Brain swelling?

He visualizes Kagiura’s brain ballooning up to the size of a melon right before his head explodes into a thousand blood-sticky pieces. Nausea crawls inside Hirano’s throat, his stomach churning sickly after he swallows down a flood of saliva.

He calls for an ambulance with still trembling hands, struggling to keep his voice steady while he rattles off their location and provides Kagiura’s personal information with the details of his injury.

When Hirano goes to retrieve Kagiura, he doesn’t seem any more lucid than before he took the call with his coach. He urges him to sit up again with a gentle but firm hand between the blades of his shoulders, flinching at the plaintive sound that scrapes out of Kagiura’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, all of his earlier frustration dwindling into something more tender. “We need to go to the emergency room, Akira. Coach’s orders.”

“Hurts,” Kagiura rasps. He crumples against Hirano’s chest and nuzzles into the curve of his neck, his lips brushing against his collarbone. “I’m tired.”

“I know.” Hirano keeps his voice purposefully low to try and acclimate to Kagiura’s current noise sensitivity, exhaling carefully though his nose and stroking a tentative circle into the dip of Kagiura’s spine. “Let’s get you dressed, okay? The ambulance will be here in a few minutes.”

“It’s just a headache,” Kagiura mumbles. “Don’t need an ambulance—”

“You got hit in the head,” Hirano interrupts, quiet but sharp. He’s tempted to chew Kagiura out for lying to his coach and withholding important information from him, but it’s not the right time. “And you’re not acting like yourself. You might have a concussion, or worse. We’re going to the hospital.”

“I don’t wanna,” Kagiura says miserably. “Wanna sleep.”

“Your coach says you can’t participate in any basketball activities until you’re cleared by a doctor,” Hirano responds patiently, petting higher up his back. His heart is beating so fast, he feels short of breath. It’s a miracle he’s able to keep his voice level. “We’re going.”

This time, Kagiura doesn’t protest when he’s directed into standing up. He even obliges Hirano’s request to extend his arms out so he can help him get dressed, his eyes fixed vacantly somewhere over Hirano’s shoulder. He selects an oversized shirt with a wide collar so it can go smoothly over Kagiura’s head without putting any pressure or strain on the afflicted area.

He scans Kagiura’s face for any obvious signs of injury he might have missed, but there’s no noticeable bruising or bleeding that Hirano can find just by looking at him. He almost wishes there was, so he could have bullied him into getting looked at sooner.

When the paramedics arrive, they check Kagiura’s vitals and ask him questions assessing his memory and to get more information on what happened. They ask him his pain levels, medication, and allergy history before directing them both inside the ambulance. Hirano is grateful that there’s enough room for him to tag along, so he doesn’t have to ride separately. It’s painfully awkward when they ask him what his relation is to Kagiura; he clears his throat and hopes he sounds convincing when he tells them that they’re just close friends and roommates.

It’s not a lie, so much as an innocent omission of information. He sighs, staring at Kagiura’s hands on the drive to the hospital and wishing he could hold them. He can’t tell if Kagiura is entirely aware of what’s going on right now; he was able to answer questions from the paramedics, but his responses were short and strained, like getting words out took a lot of effort and energy.

Hirano wonders if he should be calling Kagiura’s family to let them know what’s going on, or if he should wait until he has more information. He doesn’t want to needlessly worry anyone, but he also wants to give them the opportunity to come visit should they want to see him. They’re a tightly knit group, even if Kagiura likes to complain about his siblings whenever Hirano lends him an ear.

He’ll give Kagiura’s mother a call once they get to the hospital, and then she can decide who she wants to tell.

He tilts his head into his seat and tries not to think about how uncharacteristically silent Kagiura is being right now. If he was really okay, he’d either be reassuring him or whining for his attention. Whenever Kagiura is sick or not feeling well he likes to pitch a great big fuss, his own silly way of letting Hirano know it’s not that serious, and that he doesn’t actually have anything to worry about.

Hirano is so damn stressed out, he can barely breathe, and it’s not like he can nurse Kagiura back to health with a failing respiratory system. He closes eyes, relaxes his jaw, and focuses on the arduous task of absorbing oxygen into his lungs for the duration of the drive.

Hirano has to sit in the hospital waiting room while Kagiura is tended to by medical staff. The chair he’s sitting on feels cramped and uncomfortable; he tucks his legs into his chest and buries his face behind his knees to avoid making eye-contact with any curious strangers, tapping his fingers anxiously against the fabric of his sweatpants while he thinks.

He mentally replays last night’s events in his head to try and find anything he might have overlooked.

Kagiura had taken the train home by himself. As far as Hirano knows, he had zero issue. He’d even texted Hirano on his way back with an abhorrent amount of emojis and used every kind of heart accessible to him on his keyboard. They had tacos for dinner. Kagiura enthusiastically ate three servings and praised Hirano on his choice in seasoning. He got up and did the dishes, since Hirano was the one to prepare their meal. He drooled all over Hirano’s lap after falling asleep watching some sci-fi movie. He complained when Hirano forced him to get up to brush his teeth before bed. He kissed Hirano goodnight and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It’s the kind of evening they’ve shared together more times than Hirano can count on both hands. He’s terrified that he missed something obvious, and that some of Kagiura’s suffering could have been mitigated had he acted faster.

He can’t believe Kagiura didn’t tell him he got hit. As soon as he’s all better, Hirano is gonna inform his mother of his irresponsible little lie and let her handle him.

Shit. Kagiura’s mother. Hirano should probably call her, since there’s nothing else for him to do while he waits. He stretches his legs out so he can fish his phone out of his pocket, his sneakers producing a loud scuffing sound dragging across the vinyl flooring.

It’s Hirano’s third call in less than an hour. After the day is over, he’s gonna throw his phone into the nearest god damn lake.

“Good morning, Hirano-kun,” Kagiura’s mother answers, almost immediately after he’s pressed the call button. Her voice is so refreshingly warm, just the sound of it cuts through the cold and sterile atmosphere of the hospital. There’s an undertone of confusion in her tone—probably because it’s barely past 7 AM—but he thinks she seems pleased to hear from him regardless.

Hirano really wishes he was calling her under better circumstances.

“Hi, Kagiura-san,” he responds weakly, clearing his throat to correct the way his voice wavers. “Um, sorry if I woke you up or anything. I just—” He curses the lump that takes shape inside his windpipe and determinedly forces it down so he can get his mouth to shape words. “I have news, and I just thought you should know right away.”

There’s a brief pause, and then she asks him, “Hirano-kun, is everything okay?”

Hirano doesn’t know how to respond to that because he doesn’t know if Kagiura is okay. He lets out a shivery breath and blurts out everything that’s transpired over the course of the last hour, from how Kagiura acted when he woke up, to what his coach told him over the phone, and finally his call for an ambulance. There’s rustling on the other end of the line and the distinctive sound of keys being scooped up. She asks for the name of the hospital and its address, and then tells him that she’ll meet him there in a couple hours.

“Call me back if you get any new information,” she says, much calmer and more collected than Hirano feels. “You did the right thing, getting an ambulance. I’m glad he’s got you to take care of him.”

“I will,” Hirano says, breathless with emotion. “I wish—I wish I’d taken him sooner.”

“You can’t always know what you’re not told,” she reminds him gently. “It’s not your fault. You acted as soon as you could.”

“Okay,” Hirano replies, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Um, thank you.”

“I know you’re probably scared, but everything’s gonna be okay. Akira has always been stubborn; there’s no way he won’t recover from a measly elbow to the head.” There’s the sound of a door closing, and then she adds, “I’m gonna call Akira’s father and pick him up from work on my way to the hospital. Try and get something to eat, okay? Just remember that Kira-kun’s got you and the medical staff to look after him. But you can’t take proper care of him if you’re not taking care of you, too.”

“Of course,” Hirano responds dutifully. “You’re right. I’ll try and eat something, Kagiura-san.”

“Such a good, polite boy,” she answers approvingly. “If you really can’t eat something, drink lots of water. I’ll see you soon.”

By the time Hirano receives any new information, Kagiura’s parents are already signed in and waiting with him. A nurse steps out with a clipboard and a poised smile on her face Hirano doesn’t know how to interpret.

“Kagiura-san’s CT scan came back clear,” she informs them, her voice firm and clinical. “While there’s no signs of internal bleeding or skull fractures, he does have symptoms of a mild concussion and will need to be closely monitored following discharge today. If any new symptoms arise, or his condition gets any worse, he should be brought back for evaluation immediately. Rest is the priority over the next 48 hours. Light exercise should be reintroduced into his routine as early as possible, depending on how he’s doing. Walking and contactless stretching is encouraged. No heavy lifting or contact sports are permitted until he’s cleared by a physician with a treatment plan after symptoms are gone. I’ll provide a discharge slip with further recovery instructions following his release.”

“So he’s gonna be okay?” Hirano blurts out, wincing when the nurse gives him a curious look after adjusting the glasses on her face. “It’s just—He could barely stand up this morning.”

“We gave him some fluids and medication to help reduce any swelling and pain from his migraine, which are a very common symptom post-concussion. They are unfortunately to be expected throughout his recovery over the next few weeks.” She offers Hirano a small and sympathetic smile. “They can be really debilitating and painful, but they’re almost never life-threatening.”

“There’s no signs of serious brain damage?” Kagiura’s mother asks. “Or anything else we should be aware of?”

“There’s currently no evidence Kagiura-san has sustained any life-threatening injuries. He has a pretty nasty bruise on the back of his head, but nothing internal was picked up by scans. As long as discharge instructions are followed and no new or worsening symptoms develop, he's expected to make a full recovery.”

For the first time in hours, the knots in Hirano’s chest finally come loose. When he exhales, his breathing is even.

“So he can come home?” Hirano asks, unable to disguise his enthusiasm. He shifts anxiously between the balls of his feet. He’s so elated, his skin feels like it's buzzing all over. “Aki—Kagiura-kun’s being discharged now, I mean?”

The nurse’s smile melts into something kinder and more knowing. She magnanimously doesn’t point out Hirano’s slip-up and says, “I’ll escort him out shortly.” She gives them all a polite little bow, her eyes lingering on Hirano’s face when she straightens up. “He’s very… Eager, to see everybody.”

Hirano swears centuries pass before Kagiura is brought into the godforsaken room. When their eyes meet, it takes every ounce of Hirano’s self-control not to just throw himself at him.

Kagiura’s mother gets to him first, which Hirano supposes is only fair. Kagiura greets her with a slight bow, his face lighting up despite his exhaustion the moment she looks at him. She brushes the tips of her fingers against the back of his hand, her eyes darting all over his face to assess his condition. She holds his hand gently in hers for just a couple seconds before retracting it back to her side. “How are you feeling, darling? Are you in any pain?”

“I’m okay,” Kagiura responds, his voice raspy-rough. “I’m feeling a lot better, thanks to the medical staff.” He sways slightly on his feet, as if struggling to find his center of gravity. “I’m so sorry if I worried you, mom. Thank you for coming all this way.”

Hirano frowns. Kagiura looks seconds away from collapsing, completely antithetical to his claim of good health.

“It’s my job to worry about you,” his mother says, her eyes softening. “I’m just thankful Hirano-kun got you here safely.”

Kagiura turns to his father and Hirano next, a sheepish expression on his face. He bows towards his dad and says, “Um, thank you both, too. Dad, for coming to see me, and Taiga-san…” He trails off, a complicated emotion flickering behind his eyes. Possibly guilt, but it’s hard to say for sure. “I…”

Kagiura’s father covers his shoulder with his palm and gives it an affectionate squeeze before he can finish his thought. “Of course I came to see you, Akira. I’m just glad you’re doing better.” He flashes him a teasing grin, so reminiscent of Kagiura’s that Hirano is momentarily dumbstruck. “I got to get out of work early, so no complaints there.”

Kagiura’s parents offer to take them home since they drove their car to the hospital. When Hirano buckles himself in the backseat he feels like a little kid again, his limbs too long and gangly for such a compact space; he can only imagine how Kagiura must be faring.

When Hirano peeks over at him, he’s staring unseeingly out the window, his forehead pressed softly against the glass. He reaches across Kagiura’s lap to help him get buckled in, worry snagging inside his chest like a fish on a hook when Kagiura doesn’t thank him or make a quip about his mother-henning.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hirano asks him quietly. “Do you need anything?”

“I just figured you’d be mad at me,” Kagiura mumbles. He still won’t look at him, digging his thumbnail into a cuticle on his other hand. “You know, because of what I did.”

Hirano glances towards the front of the car, where Kagiura’s parents are obviously pretending not to eavesdrop. Normally he wouldn’t initiate physical contact in such a tightly concealed space with both of Kagiura’s parents right there, but…

Well. Extenuating circumstances call for drastic measures.

He tugs Kagiura’s hand out of his lap to place it gently on his thigh, interlacing their fingers both to soothe and to force him to stop picking at himself. Hirano rolls a few different responses around inside his head, trying to think of the most sensitive way to tell Kagiura that he is angry without making him feel worse than he already does.

Kagiura just looks so resigned and tired, is the thing. It’s not like Hirano wants to be mad at him, and it’s not like it’s the only emotion that he’s got going on. It’s definitely higher on the list, if Hirano lets himself think about everything long enough.

But Hirano’s anger isn’t what’s important right now.

“I’m not thrilled,” Hirano admits finally, sweeping his thumb gently across Kagiura’s knuckles when he stiffens up. He keeps his voice as low as he possibly can, since they’ve technically got an audience. “But right now I just want you healthy and to know that you’re okay. Everything else is secondary, so please don’t worry and focus on getting better.”

“I’m sorry anyway,” Kagiura says, his voice wobbling from trying not to cry. He rubs his face against the window like he wants to permeate through the glass. “I hate that I worried you. I’m just—I’m so sorry, Taiga-san.”

It’s irritating that Kagiura is only sorry for upsetting Hirano and not for jeopardizing his health and safety. He bites his tongue so he doesn’t reprimand him, and then carefully rests his head against the curve of his shoulder when the urge passes.

“I know that you’re sorry,” Hirano murmurs. “And I promise we’ll talk about it. But I think you’ve been punished enough, don’t you? I’ll get over it.”

Kagiura finally unthaws long enough to reciprocate Hirano’s affection, pulling away from the window to nudge his cheek tentatively into his hair. It’s awkward to be cuddling in the backseat of his parent’s car, but more tolerable since it makes Kagiura happy.

When they’re standing outside of their apartment building getting ready to say goodbye, Hirano asks Kagiura’s parents if they’d like to stay for lunch since they drove so far.

“Such a gentleman as always, Hirano-kun,” Kagiura’s mother teases him, a fond smile on her face. She looks at Kagiura—barely conscious and slumped heavily into Hirano’s side—and sighs, her grin fading into something more serious. “But no, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you as it is, with that one.”

Kagiura grumbles something into the crook of Hirano’s neck and clings on tighter. Hirano rolls his eyes and drags a steadying palm up the length of his spine. “I suppose I should put him to bed, then.”

“It’s just like when Akira-kun was a toddler,” his father chimes in, looking between them and laughing. “He was always such a clingy kid.”

“He’s a clingy adult, too,” Hirano mutters. “In case that wasn’t already obvious.”

“I think that’s just with you, Hirano-kun,” Kagiura’s mother says warmly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Hirano is once again stunned by how familiar her expression looks, a carbon copy of Kagiura’s whenever he’s in a particularly good mood. “He definitely doesn’t behave like this with anybody else. At least not since he was really little.”

“Noooooo,” Kagiura whines, lifting his head up so he can puff his cheeks petulantly at his parents. “This is seriously too embarrassing.” He tugs gently on Hirano’s arm. “Isn’t it time for us to go now?”

“I’d smack you if you weren’t already concussed,” Hirano snaps. “Don’t be rude, Akira. They drove two hours just to come see you.”

Kagiura deflates against his shoulder and pouts even harder. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m just so sleepy, I can’t help it…”

If his parents are bothered by Kagiura’s impolite behavior, they don’t say anything about it. Once the doors are closed and they’ve finished saying their goodbyes, Hirano shepherds Kagiura into their room and tucks him right into bed.

“I’m taking time off work,” Hirano informs him. Kagiura watches him talk with half-lidded eyes, already on the edge of sleep. “To help take care of you, and to make sure you rest properly. The nurse told me monitoring you for the first 48 hours is especially critical.”

“Of course, Hirano-sensei,” Kagiura replies teasingly, his lips twitching up victoriously at the reproachful look Hirano gives him. He yawns hard enough for his jaw to pop, wincing at the twinge of discomfort that it brings. “I’ll be a gold star patient, I promise.”

Hirano retrieves a glass of water on the nightstand for him with Tylenol, just in case his pain spikes back up. He’s not sure how long the meds from the hospital are supposed to be good for, but thinking about seeing Kagiura in pain like he was before makes Hirano feel restless with nerves and anxiety.

“Thank you,” Kagiura murmurs, smiling serenely when Hirano leans down and brushes his lips to his forehead. “I really am sorry for worrying you.”

“Just rest,” Hirano orders softly, sliding in bed beside him so he can closely evaluate Kagiura for any new symptoms. “Don’t talk. I’ll be here the entire time, okay?”

“Okay,” Kagiura agrees, the lids of his eyes fluttering shut. “I love you so much.”

Hirano watches the slow rise and fall of Kagiura’s chest when he succumbs to sleep, thankfully not at all fitful like he was earlier in the morning. He’s relieved the IV fluids and antiemetics from the hospital helped manage Kagiura’s pain long enough for him to finally be able to get some decent rest. He brushes his knuckles gently to his cheek, his chest furled up tight with tenderness. The bags under Kagiura’s eyes are a deep ashen gray with exhaustion, his lack of proper sleep reducing his circulation.

Hirano smoothes his fingers against his scalp, careful to avoid the terrible bump on the side of his head hidden beneath his thick head of hair. He tries not to think about what might have happened had Kagiura been hit a little harder, or if he went to practice and made his injury worse.

“Stupid,” he mutters, when Kagiura smacks his lips in his sleep. He stares at the dark length of his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks and feels his heart give a sharp, longing pang. “Acting tough for no reason.” He drags the back of his hand beneath his ear next, tracing feather-soft down to the side of his neck. Throat thick, he says, “What the hell would I have done if something happened to you? Dummy.”

He scoots carefully forward so he can loop his arms around Kagiura’s back, clinging onto him like a child would their favorite blanket. He presses his face into his throat to hide his burning hot eyes, right on the precipice of tears. His body feels tight and tense with pent up dread; between Kagiura’s condition this morning and the phone call with his coach, to discovering he hit his head and then lied about telling him. Dragging Kagiura to the nearest emergency clinic when he could barely stand up straight. Sitting alone inside a stuffy lobby waiting to hear back from medical staff.

It’s all too much. If he wasn’t so full-up of dread, he’d probably join Kagiura in resting. He’s terrified that if he stops looking at Kagiura for too long he’ll miss a new symptom, or he’ll suddenly just drop dead without any warning. He needs to stay awake, in case Kagiura has to go back to the hospital.

Hirano touches the side of his neck to feel for his carotid artery, counting his beats per minute in an attempt to self-soothe.

“I love you so much,” Hirano whispers, his voice breaking at the steady thumping of Kagiura’s pulse against his fingertips. He sniffles and wrinkles his nose up at the damp feeling of tears on his face. “God. I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.”

Even while unconscious and newly concussed, Hirano finds Kagiura so fascinating to look at. He’s handsome—which is obvious to anybody with functioning eyeballs—but that’s not what has Hirano so spellbound.

Kagiura nuzzles his face against Hirano’s neck, clingy even when he’s not cognizant of his surroundings. It’s like his body is intrinsically aware of Hirano’s, naturally seeking him out for safety and comfort. It’s such a good feeling—a blessing, rather, to be rewarded with such undeniable devotion and vulnerability—that Hirano can’t help but hug him a little tighter, careful not to touch his head.

Some of that unbearable anxiety melts off of Hirano’s shoulders, replaced with liquid warmth at every point of contact their bodies make.

Hirano is much more relaxed and comfortable now. It's a miracle he’s not already asleep yet; with every minute that passes, his eyelids grow heavier. He hooks his foot around Kagiura’s ankle, annoyed that even that infinitesimal touch makes him feel tired.

He forces his eyes open when he catches himself nodding off, determinedly staring at a stain on Kagiura’s shirt until his corneas are burning. He remembers how Kagiura got that stain—it was years ago, when they got their first apartment together—and Kagiura spilled soy sauce while he was making eggs in their kitchen.

Eggs sound kinda nice right now. Hirano rubs his cheek against Kagiura’s shirt, his lips prying open around a yawn. Maybe after Kagiura wakes up, he’ll cook them for breakfast. He could make a nice bowl of white rice, maybe some grilled fish…

Hirano’s eyes are closed again, but this time he can’t get them back open. It feels like they’re being weighed down by something, but he knows they’re not. His body is just pathetic and weak and doing the exact opposite of what he needs it to. He forces himself to stay awake by finishing his thoughts about breakfast.

What was Hirano going to make? Grilled fish?

Fish would be perfect for Kagiura’s recovery. They’re high in omega-3 fatty acids. Good for blood pressure and cognitive health.

Sleep is also good for blood pressure and cognitive health, he thinks, his own brain betraying him. It’s a good thing Kagiura is sleeping, then. Hirano's blood pressure and cognitive health are fine, so there's no reason for him to need to sleep right now.

He decides to list off different kinds of fish in his head out of desperation. His last-ditch effort in clinging to his single thread of consciousness.

There’s salmon, and tuna, and mackerel, and sardines…

He imagines them swimming in little circles around his head, like the fish equivalent of counting sheep.

It’s the last thing Hirano thinks before he passes out.

Hirano wakes up to the sound of an agonized groan, immediately sitting up so he can seek out its source.

Kagiura is still lying down in the same position he was before either of them woke up, his eyes open and clear but his lips twisted down into a wobbly looking grimace.

Hirano carefully brushes his bangs off his forehead. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

“I could use some more meds,” Kagiura admits, gingerly touching the side of his head and wincing. “I’m just achy, and it’s hard for my eyes to focus.”

Hirano wordlessly reaches for the Tylenol and the cup of water he had ready on table, watching Kagiura wash down the pills and then chug the entire glass. He uses his thumb to clean up excess water running down the crease of Kagiura’s lips and chin, his heart tripping over itself with worry.

“It’s not getting worse, is it? The doctor said to bring you back to the emergency room if your condition gets any worse—”

“Not worse,” Kagiura interrupts him, gently taking one of Hirano’s hands in his and squeezing once the empty glass is back on the table. “But it’s only been like, 24 hours, and I am freshly concussed. I promise I’m okay, my head just aches, and focusing too much on anything makes it hurt more.”

“I’ll go get you more water—”

“Don’t do that,” Kagiura says. He tugs him back down into bed with one hand curved around his wrist. “Stay with me for a while longer.” He blinks his big eyes at him, pushing his lips out into his signature pout. “Please?”

“Okay,” Hirano says, relieved that he’s still well enough to speak in complete sentences and engage in his usual dramatic mannerisms. “Whatever you want.”

This time when Kagiura cocoons him against his chest, he doesn’t bother trying to fight sleep.

If this is all that taking care of Kagiura entails, recovery is gonna be a breeze.

By day three, Kagiura is already restless. After they eat a small breakfast—just a singular piece of toast with butter for Kagiura, because he’s still fighting nausea—Hirano suggests that they go for a walk.

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” Hirano says. “It’d be good to get you back into your old habits, even if it’s not exactly the same.”

Kagiura enthusiastically agrees, practically bouncing in place by the front door waiting for Hirano to put on his sneakers.

“You’re like a dog that I’m taking on a walk, or something,” Hirano teases him. “You’re feeling that much better already?”

“I’m just so sick of sleeping,” Kagiura says. “And my head barely even hurts!”

Hirano barks out a laugh when Kagiura links their arms as they descend the hall towards the elevator. Kagiura’s happiness is infectious; he’s been so glum the last couple days, it’s refreshing to see a genuine smile on his face.

The morning feels gloriously perfect, until it’s not. As soon as the elevator shifts, Kagiura cringes and stumbles backward, one hand flying out to clutch the railing behind him.

“Akira?” Panic zips through him, white-hot and blinding. “What’s wrong, what’s going on?”

“I just got really dizzy, and my head hurts again,” Kagiura says, his eyes clamped firmly shut. “I think—I think the change in pressure or elevation did something, I don’t know—” He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and takes a gulping breath, forcing his eyes back open and wincing in discomfort. “God, what the hell.”

When they exit the elevator, Hirano walks Kagiura over to a nearby bench with a hand resting securely on his lower back.

“Do you need to go back to the hospital?” Hirano feels like he’s gonna be sick, his skin crawling as his thoughts immediately spiral to the worst possible outcome. “It’s not a brain bleed, is it?”

“No, no, I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Kagiura says quickly, his voice trembling. “And it’s not a brain bleed, oh my god. I’m already a lot less dizzy. I just—I think I want to go back to the apartment and lie down for a while.”

“Okay,” Hirano mutters, glancing surreptitiously around them and then giving the uninjured side of Kagiura’s head a quick kiss when he confirms that they’re alone. “I’m sorry, Akira. Next time we’ll just take the stairs. If you’re feeling better, maybe we can try again in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Kagiura echoes dully, visibly put out when they start walking slowly back up the stairs. “Sorry, Taiga-san.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hirano says. “You’ll be better in no time, just wait.”

Hirano hopes he sounds more confident than he is. He stares at the back of his head and feels that same, awful foreboding feeling he had the moment he found out Kagiura got hit.

Hirano thinks he might have worried for nothing when Kagiura manages a short walk later in the evening without any problem. He squints a little at the sound of cars zipping past, but other than that he acts completely normal.

He’s unfortunately proven wrong, because that same night he wakes up to Kagiura sitting on the foot of the bed with a hand on the side of his head and his eyes wet with unshed tears.

Hirano scoots up behind him and touches the hand that’s flat on the bed beside Kagiura to alert him of his presence. Kagiura’s fingers twitch in surprise before relaxing against his, which Hirano takes as a good sign. He seems a lot more alert than he was the last time he had a migraine, at least.

“Do you need Tylenol?” Hirano asks him, keeping his voice whisper-soft.

“Already took some,” Kagiura responds, his voice brittle and splintering from crying. He looks like a hollowed-out husk, with his eyes devoid of their usual sparkle and his spine curving almost 90 degrees from how deeply he’s hunched in on himself. “Sorry for waking you.”

“How long have you been up?” He presses his lips to the ball of one shoulder and then hooks his chin over it to peer critically at the side of his face. “Don’t be sorry, Akira. I want to take care of you.”

“Like, 45 minutes, probably,” Kagiura says. When he blinks, a single tear rolls down his cheek. “I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention.”

“You could have woken me up,” Hirano murmurs. He collects the moisture on his face with the pads of two fingers. It’s unbearable, how resigned Kagiura looks. Hirano thinks he’d do anything to get some color back on his face. To hear any sort of inflection in his voice besides his current uncharacteristic monotone. Feeling a little desperate, Hirano asks, “Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Kagiura stammers, giving a tiny shrug. “Maybe. Probably not. I think I just have to wait until the meds kick in all the way.”

Hirano glances at a glass of water sitting half-empty on their nightstand. He didn’t refill it, which means Kagiura must have sometime during the night.

“You want your water?”

“Not really,” Kagiura says. “I already drank two full glasses.”

“I could get you an icepack,” Hirano offers. “Would that help?”

“Taiga-san,” Kagiura sighs, after a stilted beat. He pulls away to put some space between them but allows the tips of their fingers to overlap. “I know you’re trying, but for right now I think… I just need some quiet.”

Hirano can do quiet. He murmurs an apology and tries not to say anything when Kagiura’s breathing shudders, the outline of a sob. Hirano feels useless just sitting there watching his partner silently cry with no way to properly comfort or assist him in any way that holds significance. Kagiura is prone to tearing up easily over matters of the heart, but he’s a pretty damn hard nut to crack when pain is involved. Hirano has seen him take a lot of falls and held his hand through plenty of sprained ankles and wrists without seeing a single tear shed.

“I promise I’ll shut up,” Hirano says, after awkwardly sitting there while Kagiura wordlessly cries for what feels like hours. “But can I at least like—hold you, or something? I really hate seeing you like this.”

Kagiura gives a jerky nod of his head yes, sniffling loudly and burying his face into the crook of his neck and shoulder when Hirano fits his arms around him. He folds Kagiura into his chest and shushes him when a punched-out noise whistles involuntarily out of his mouth, like it was trapped inside his vocal cords and forced out.

“Sorry,” Kagiura gasps, soaking the front of his shirt with tears, like a dam coming loose. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Hirano whispers, his heart clenching up. He feels tears of his own sticking to his waterline and drags his palm soothingly up Kagiura’s back. “You’re okay.”

It’s hard to stop himself from catastrophizing when Kagiura is in this much pain. The doctor mentioned how debilitating migraines could be, but Hirano can’t stop imagining awful things like blood spilling out of Kagiura’s ears or holes the size of golf balls lining the inside of his skull.

He’s not sure how long he spends sitting like that with Kagiura curled up against his chest, but eventually his breathing slows down into a slow and even tempo. When he looks at Kagiura’s face it’s all red and blotchy with twin tears running in rivulets down the edge of his jaw, replacing the already dried tracks on his cheeks with fresh ones. His eyes are at least closed, which hopefully means he’s getting some sleep.

Hirano carefully lowers Kagiura to the mattress once he confirms he’s asleep, curling his body protectively around him again as soon as they're tucked underneath the covers.

If the elevator was the trigger for Kagiura’s latest migraine, Hirano is strongly considering breaking the knuckles in his right hand trying to put his fist through the stainless-steel doors.

Another couple days later, and they’re already taking two walks a day: One in the morning, and one at night, approximately 20 minutes long. Kagiura refuses to take the elevator since he got vertigo and another migraine, but Hirano figures that’s something they can try again later after he follows up with his doctor.

Kagiura is currently lying on the couch with an ice pack on his head while Hirano gets ready to prepare him some green tea. The second Kagiura made a weird face earlier, Hirano was up and out of his seat rummaging through the freezer to find him relief. He gave him a massage to help ease the ache Kagiura gets in his neck and shoulders whenever a migraine attack starts, only getting up to intermittently swap out his ice pack with a fresher one.

“Taiga-san,” Kagiura calls from the living room. “C’mere, please?”

Hirano finishes taking the mugs down from the cupboard and places them carefully onto the surface of the counter. He hurries over to where Kagiura is lying down and crouches to his side, immediately reaching out to drag his knuckles against one cheek while giving his body a thorough onceover. “Are you okay? Is something wrong? Do you need another ice pack? I don’t think there’s any more that are ready right now, but I can just use a bag of peas or something—Ah.”

Kagiura presses his mouth against the back of Hirano’s hand before nuzzling affectionately against his fingers, his lips bending into a sweet looking smile that makes Hirano’s breath hitch.

“You take care of me so well,” Kagiura praises him, his eyes glowing with warmth when they meet Hirano’s. “And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’m feeling so much better already because of you, and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

Hirano squints at him. The inflection of Kagiura’s voice suggests incoming criticism. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming on.”

“But,” Kagiura says, confirming Hirano’s suspicions and giggling when he rolls his eyes. “You just cooked me a wonderful breakfast. You’re constantly adjusting the blinds in every single room you know I’m gonna walk into, just to make sure the lights aren’t too bright. You gave me a neck massage and an ice pack for my head.” He sighs, his smile growing when Hirano starts to squirm. “Taiga-san, I’ve been awake for less than two hours. My head doesn’t even hurt that much right now.”

“I—I was just gonna make you some green tea,” Hirano stammers. “It helps reduce inflammation, so I thought it’d be good for your recovery.”

“And that’s very sweet of you, but I have a full glass of water you just refilled for me that I haven’t even finished yet. My appetite is still pretty wonky, and I honestly don’t think I can stomach anything except water after eating breakfast.”

“Um, okay,” Hirano says, his ears singed red with embarrassment. “Sorry, Aki-kun.”

“You’re just proactive,” Kagiura says fondly, leaning forward to brush his lips against his forehead. “I love you soooo much. You don’t need to be sorry for anything.”

“What can I do for you, then?” Hirano asks. “Are you okay? How’s your head?”

“I’m okay, mostly,” Kagiura responds. “But I’m pretty sore and tired. It’d be nice to relax with my beautiful and loving husband for a few hours.”

“We’re not married yet,” Hirano mutters, the redness from his ears traveling to his face and neck. “Shut up.”

“Yet,” Kagiura echoes, sounding pleased. He grins like an idiot when Hirano flees to the door with the half-baked excuse of going to the bathroom. “And that’s no way to talk to a recovering patient!!”

Hirano is sitting in the stands at one of Kagiura’s basketball games cheering and clapping when Kagiura intercepts a pass from an opponent and dribbles his way back to the other side of the court. He pivots his feet to slide easily past a few blockers, and then positions himself in front of the hoop to make a perfect jump-shot: His feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, back straight—

When Kagiura jumps, his foot slips. There’s a hush in the audience when his body goes down, the back of his head slamming into the hardwood with an ear-splitting crack. Hirano sprints out of his seat so he can race down the aisles and get to his side, screaming his lungs out for someone to call an ambulance.

When he cradles Kagiura’s head beneath his palms, blood stains his hands red, sticky and wet. He looks around and suddenly they’re completely alone in the stadium, the lights turned off and not a single other person in sight. Hirano lets go of Kagiura’s head to try and search his pockets, a strangled sob leaving his lips when he can’t place his phone.

“Fuck, just—Just gimme a second,” he says, his vision blurring with endlessly spilling tears. “It’s here, I—I just had it—”

Kagiura opens and closes his mouth like he’s trying to say something, a horrific choking noise bubbling inside his throat. He coughs, and then there’s blood dripping into his lips, leaking down his chin and joining the pool spilling out around his cracked-open head. His face is clammy and pale, his eyes wide and completely unseeing, with a ghastly, milky film spreading across his corneas.

Hirano screams and screams for help, but no one comes. He watches Kagiura bleed out in his arms and sobs so much he can’t breathe, mucus clogging up his esophagus.

“I’m so sorry,” Kagiura croaks, blood on his teeth. “I’m sorry, Taiga-san.”

Hirano flies into consciousness with his chest heaving and sweat beading across his forehead. He feels paralyzed by fear for a full 30 seconds, staring at the wall and keeping his mouth clamped shut to try and stifle his loud breathing. Once he feels like he can move his limbs, he sits up and brings his hands to his face to examine them for blood, trembling so hard he feels nauseous. Once he confirms it was in fact a nightmare and there’s nothing on his hands, he covers his mouth and counts down from 5 over and over and over again until he can force himself to look at Kagiura without emptying the contents of his stomach.

Kagiura is shirtless and asleep next to him, drooling peacefully into his pillow with his arms and legs spread out like he’s thrilled to be alive and taking up space.

Hirano blinks back relieved tears and tucks himself against Kagiura’s side, wiggling his arms under his body so he can clutch him to his chest and press his nose into his hair and inhale the scent of his conditioner.

Kagiura is warm and solid and breathing, and his beautiful head is all in one piece attached to his neck and shoulders. He makes a snuffling sound in sleep and presses himself snuggly against the tense line of Hirano’s body, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

Hirano loves him so much, he’s terrified. He hasn’t had a memorable nightmare since he was a child stressing out about his exam scores.

He maps out the divots of Kagiura’s ribs with his fingertips, pressing down softly like they’re keys on a piano.

“I love you,” Hirano whispers into the silence, flattening his palm over Kagiura’s chest to seek out the beat of his heart.

Hirano’s been doing that a lot lately. He needs to get a fucking grip; it’s just a concussion, not a death sentence.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t sleep.

By the time Kagiura wakes up, Hirano’s eyes are stinging and sore from being up all night.

“Hey,” Kagiura greets him, his voice low and sleep-rough. He rolls around in Hirano’s arms so he can drag his thumb down his cheek, planting a soft kiss beneath the lid of one eye. “You okay?”

Hirano has never been better, honestly. He breaks into a relieved smile and leans in to press a close-lipped kiss to his mouth.

He doesn’t taste any blood. That alone feels like a victory.

“Woah,” Kagiura says breathlessly, his lips twitching up in surprise. “What about morning breath?”

Hirano draws him back in for more kisses. His mouth tastes a little tacky and sour, but his lips are warm and smiling and beautiful, and Hirano loves him so much his heart feels sick.

He thinks about something Kagiura’s mother said to him over the phone—

You can’t always know what you’re not told.

It strikes a chord in him. He’s not sure why he’s thinking about it now, but it feels pertinent. He kisses Kagiura between his eyebrows and quietly says, “I love you, Akira.”

Kagiura’s eyes widen. He trails them all over Hirano’s face, his smile fading slightly. The exact opposite reaction Hirano was seeking.

“Are you okay?”

Hirano’s lungs feel tight. He curls his fingers in so they don’t shake. “I can’t tell you I love you?”

Kagiura’s face melts into something impossibly gentle. He cradles Hirano’s cheek in his hand and cushions his lips against Hirano’s, softer than even their first kiss. It’s sublime, how perfectly they fit. “Of course you can. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Okay,” Hirano says. “How’s your head?”

“It’s good,” Kagiura says, laughter in his voice. “Taiga-san.”

“Hm?”

His smile is like sunshine when he says, “I love you.”

Hirano is exhausted and his bones feel endlessly weary. He’s so anxious and high-strung, he should probably get his blood pressure checked.

All things considered, it feels good to be loved.

Hirano is really glad Kagiura is alive.

At the week and a half mark, Kagiura gets noticeably grumpier and far less charmed by Hirano’s persistent doting.

“How’s your head?” Hirano asks him, once Kagiura gets out of the bathroom.

“The same as it was before I left,” Kagiura says, a sigh in his voice.

Hirano can feel himself being annoying, but he can’t stop. He thinks about Kagiura’s blood on his hands and then asks, “Is your nausea any better? Do you want the rest of your sandwich?”

“We just ate a half hour ago, Taiga-san,” Kagiura reminds him. “I’m okay for right now.”

“I really think you should drink more water,” Hirano urges him later, after following Kagiura into the kitchen and filling up another glass for him to drink from. “Dehydration can imbalance your electrolytes, and—”

“Would you please just knock it off?” Kagiura snaps, rounding on Hirano with his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t want to hear about my electrolytes, Taiga-san! I get that you want to help, and I sincerely appreciate you a lot, but you—” He cuts himself off to let out an explosive exhale, like he needs to in order to compose himself. When he continues, his voice breaks. “Look, I love you, and I get you’re worried about me, but you’re driving me crazy.”

Hirano falters, his eyes widening at the visible clench in Kagiura’s jaw. “But the—the doctors said—"

“I know what the doctors said! And I know there’s probably some fixed amount of water you think I should be drinking, and a specific number of hours I should be sleeping, and an exact exercise regime I should be following, but I’m—God, Taiga-san, I’m tired! And nauseous! And my skull feels like it’s been cleaved into with a damn screwdriver because of all your questions! And I just—” Another deep breath, and then he says, his voice climbing so high in pitch that it crackles at the end, “I seriously need a break from the stupid schedule you made for me inside your head!”

“It isn’t stupid,” Hirano protests, instinctually on the defensive. “I’m literally just following the recommendations on your discharge form from your doctor! It did say on there that it was completely normal to have increased mood swings and irritability, so it totally makes sense why you’re acting like this—”

“Right,” Kagiura interrupts, his voice sharp and uncharacteristically bitter. Hirano watches him stomp over to the bathroom door with his heart beating inside his throat, his feet glued to the floor in shock. “So I’m gonna go take a shower.” He puts his hand on the knob of the door and gives Hirano a poisonous look when he takes a tentative step closer. “I’d hate to bother you with anymore of my inconvenient mood swings that obviously have nothing to do with your constant badgering and negging. Of course they’re just another concussion symptom, what the hell would I know?” Before Hirano can even open his mouth or attempt to apologize, Kagiura wrenches open the door so he can step inside and then slams it closed behind him, effectively ending their conversation.

Kagiura has never been that angry at him before. They’ve certainly bickered and had their share of arguments, but Hirano has never seen him slam a door like that.

He just hopes it didn’t make his headache worse. He sits down on the nearest chair on wobbly knees, overwhelmed by how quickly things escalated between them. He puts his head in his hands and tries to think about when exactly things went south.

Hirano can at least acknowledge to himself first and foremost that he has been a little bit... On edge, lately. And that maybe some of his doting might just be compulsory behavior related to the awful paranoia he’s had since Kagiura got out of the hospital. Coupled with a near constant headache, Hirano can understand why that would be frustrating for Kagiura, especially without the complete context.

But Hirano didn’t technically say anything wrong or off base. He’s confused by how upset Kagiura got when he pointed out his increased irritability; it was just an objective statement of fact, not an accusation. He’s positive Kagiura wouldn’t have slammed the door like that in any other circumstance if it wasn’t for his concussion making him feel like shit.

It’s really frustrating. Hirano knows he needs to apologize, but he doesn’t know how to structure it. He could start with saying sorry for getting defensive over his nagging, and maybe promise to back off a little bit, but that doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Kagiura definitely reacted the strongest to Hirano addressing his short temper, but he doesn’t understand why.

He bites down on his bottom his lip. In order to properly apologize, he’s gonna have to bridge the disconnect between them and figure out what specifically elicited Kagiura’s outburst. He did say he didn’t want to bother Hirano with his mood swings—does Kagiura really think that Hirano feels inconvenienced taking care of him? Could that be the issue?

He mentally replays the disdain in Kagiura’s voice when he said “just another concussion symptom.” Why did he sound so upset about something true? Hirano understands he’s been overbearing, and that it’s annoying and partially to blame for Kagiura’s frustration, but it can’t explain all of his irritability, can it?

And what else is Hirano supposed to do? It’s his job as Kagiura’s partner to make sure he recovers properly. He can’t just let him hole up in a room and stunt his progress.

When Kagiura comes out of the shower, the first thing he does is walk over to where Hirano is sitting. He crouches in front of his chair, grabs Hirano’s hand, and presses his lips to his knuckles.

“I’m so sorry for slamming the door on you,” Kagiura says, his voice wet and snotty. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, like he might have been crying in the shower. It makes Hirano’s chest ache viscerally, raw like salt in a wound. “My feelings were just hurt, and I got frustrated, and I'm sick of always having a headache. But—but I’m not trying to excuse my behavior, which… Well, I guess that’s sort of what I’m doing, actually. Damn—”

“I’m sorry too,” Hirano interrupts, grabbing both of Kagiura’s hands and tangling up their fingers. “I—I’ve been trying to think about how to apologize, but to be honest, I’m still a little confused. I’m sorry for being such a hardass, but it’s only because I want you to get better, and I’m worried. I’ll back off if you need me to, and I get it, but I feel like that’s not all there is.” He swallows nervously and starts fidgeting with Kagiura’s hands to combat the unpleasant buzzing feeling underneath his skin. “I hate that I hurt your feelings, and I hate it even more that I’m apparently too dense to understand why.”

Kagiura sighs, his lips twitching up into a sad little smile. He presses another kiss to the back of Hirano’s hand and says, “You’re so sweet, you know that?”

Hirano blinks, completely unprepared to receive such a compliment. “Um.” He licks his lips, his mouth going dry. “Huh?”

“It makes me happy that you care enough about me to want to understand my feelings, rather than just placating me with some insincere apology,” Kagiura explains, the brown in his eyes warm and sugary-soft. “I just—I think it’s sweet, and I love you, and I wanted to tell you that.”

“Ah,” Hirano says, his face flushing pink. “It’s just the right thing to do, isn’t it? I want to fix things properly, that’s all.” He ducks his head and adds, still flustered from being caught off guard, “I love you, too.”

“I guess it hurt my feelings when you blamed my frustration on the concussion,” Kagiura says, sounding sheepish. “It made me feel like nothing I said was worth taking seriously. Like I’m irrational and dramatic because of my injury, or that I’m just some walking talking symptom for you to try and fix instead of an actual person with autonomy.”

Hirano frowns. Guilt settles low in his belly, like a stone sinking into the bottom of a lake. “I didn’t think of it that way at all.”

“I know that,” Kagiura responds gently. “Which is why I’m telling you now.”

“I guess I was treating you like that,” Hirano says, a little horrified by the realization. “Shit. I feel so stupid. I was so focused on doing everything right to try and make you feel better, and about placating my own anxiety, that I didn’t think about like… I don’t know. Anything other than that.” He looks down at their linked hands and feels his stomach twist up into complicated knots. “I’m really sorry, Akira. I’ll try to be more considerate.”

Kagiura stretches forward to give him a kiss on the mouth—a soft, lingering press—before pulling away again. “I know you are, and I promise it’s okay. And you really do take such good care of me, Taiga-san. I don’t want you to think that you don’t, or that I’m not grateful.” He squeezes their hands, a teasing smile curving his mouth up. “But you gotta lay off, okay? Giving suggestions and helping me out is one thing, but designated nap times and micromanaging everything I do is seriously way too much."

“I just—I don’t know what else to do,” Hirano says helplessly. “I mean—I’ll lay off, of course. I just… I don’t know how else to take care of you, except for following exactly what the discharge letter says.”

“Taiga-san, you can listen to what the discharge letter says without micromanaging,” Kagiura says. “It says on there that I need to stay hydrated and take it easy, not that I need to drink an x amount of water or have set nap times. I’m supposed to be going back to as much of my old routine as possible, except obviously in my case, I can’t exercise like I normally would until I talk to a physician.”

“I just hate seeing you in pain,” Hirano says dejectedly. “And I want to fix it, which is why I hound you to drink tea and rest and everything.”

“You can’t just ‘make it go away’,” Kagiura points out. “Headaches and discomfort and all that stuff are just residual effects of the concussion, Taiga-san. Drinking the right amount of water and getting enough sleep can’t magically fix everything.” He gives Hirano a pointed look. “I should know, since that’s pretty much all I’ve been doing for the past week.”

“I know that,” Hirano mumbles, chagrined by how logical Kagiura is being. “I guess—Um. What do you want me to do then, exactly?”

Kagiura tilts his head to the side, his forehead wrinkling up. “What do I want you to do?”

“How should I take care of you?” Hirano prompts him. He leans in to search Kagiura’s face, his body simmering with impatience. “Without being too much?”

Kagiura hums to himself while he thinks. Hirano can tell when he comes up with something, because his eyes light up with a childish sort of mischief. “For starters, you can stop asking me questions all the time.”

“Done.”

“Whenever I complain from now on, you should just say, ‘That really sucks, Akira,’ and then give me a kiss.”

Hirano thinks about all the times he’s tucked Kagiura into bed and kissed him in the last week. “Don’t I already pretty much do that?”

Kagiura rolls his eyes. “Hell no. Whenever I complain or look even slightly uncomfortable, you get up and try to bring me a bunch of stuff, or force me to take a nap.” He pouts and gives their joined hands a shake. “You definitely don’t kiss me enough.” He points to his mouth and adds, “And I mean right here, Taiga-san. Not my forehead or my cheek.”

Hirano scowls at him. “Kissing doesn’t help with concussions.”

“You don’t know that!”

Hirano huffs exasperatedly through his nostrils. “How could it possibly help?”

Kagiura peels his hands free from Hirano’s so he can take his phone out of his pocket and open up a browser. He ignores Hirano chastising him about the harmfulness of screens while he’s recovering and asks Google if kissing can help with treating concussion symptoms.

“Kissing can improve emotional well-being and comfort,” Kagiura reads smugly. “Emotional stress can make concussion symptoms worse and cause increased cortisol, which weakens the immune system.” He bats his eyelashes at Hirano and ignores his skeptical look to say, “You don’t want to increase my cortisol, do you, Taiga-san?”

“Not kissing you isn’t gonna increase your damn cortisol,” Hirano protests. “You’re being unreasonable!”

“You’re the one that asked me what you could do for me,” Kagiura whines. “You’re stressing me out right now, I can definitely feel my cortisol levels increasing—"

Hirano makes an irritated sound and climbs out of his chair so he can scoot between Kagiura’s spread knees and gently kiss him to cut off his obnoxious bellyaching. Kagiura lets out a surprised sounding giggle against his mouth, tucking his thumb beneath Hirano’s ear.

“I love you,” Kagiura murmurs into his lips. He brings both hands up to cradle Hirano’s cheeks between his palms, bleeding warmth into his skin. “I missed this so much. I feel like we haven’t been together normally in ages.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Hirano says, his voice cracking from embarrassment when Kagiura presses his lips affectionately against the bridge of his nose. "Ugh."

Kagiura gives him an amused look. “Taiga-san, you’re such a priss. I just want to kiss you, it’s not like I’m asking to go at it or anything.”

“I’m not a priss, I’m just trying to be considerate!”

Kagiura raises his chin haughtily. “If you wanna be considerate, you should really try listening to me for once.”

“What? I always listen to you!”

“Quit shouting, you’re making my headache worse!”

“You called me prissy!”

“Because you are,” Kagiura says, laughing at the mutinous expression unfolding on Hirano’s face. “I like how by the book you are. It’s cute!”

“I am not by the book! Are you serious?!” He gestures to himself and says, completely incredulous, “Look at me! What are you talking about?"

They bicker until Kagiura really does get nauseous from his headache and has to lie down on the couch. He forces Hirano to hold him and nuzzles his face against his collarbone, fluttering kisses into his warm skin and beaming when Hirano twitches away, ticklish.

“Stay still,” Kagiura mumbles. “All your jostling is making my concussion worse.”

“I’m trying,” Hirano grits out. “You keep kissing me!”

“Because you’re really cute,” Kagiura replies, completely shameless. He yawns and puts his hands underneath Hirano’s shirt to leech off the warmth from his bare back, giggling when he shivers. “Mmm, g’night, Taiga-san.”

***

Two weeks post-concussion, Kagiura gets increasingly confident and more independent with almost no reports of any headaches.

“Are we going for our walk already?” Hirano asks him, watching Kagiura put on his shoes with a confused tilt of his head. “It’s not even 5:00 yet, and I was just about to start dinner.”

“I was gonna go for a little jog, actually,” Kagiura says, tying his shoes without looking up. “It’s really nice outside.”

“Oh,” Hirano says, a spark of worry blossoming inside his chest. “Uh. Are you sure you should be going by yourself?”

Kagiura pulls the loops of his shoestrings tight before standing up and brushing dirt off his trackpants. “Of course, Taiga-san! If I start to feel bad, I’ll just turn around and come right home.”

“You can, um.” Hirano scratches at the side of his leg, just for something to do with his hands. A way to distract himself from his sudden bout of apprehensive jitters. Kagiura looks at him then, his smile fading into a concerned looking frown. “You can always call me, if you need to. Like, if you start to feel sick. I’ll keep my phone by me.”

“Of course, Taiga-san,” he says, the cheer in his voice faulty. “It’ll be fine, alright? I’ll take it nice and easy. I’m not gonna sprint, or anything crazy like that.”

“Make sure your water bottle is all the way full, and to take lots of drinks,” Hirano reminds him. “And monitor your heart rate regularly. I did read online that stationary bikes might be a better transition from walking before jogging—”

Kagiura puts the bottle of water he has in his hands down on the counter so he can approach him, slow and cautious. Like Hirano is a feral animal with its hackles raised, poised and ready to strike.

“Taiga-sannnn,” Kagiura says, crooning-soft. He draws him in gently by both wrists to give him a peck on the cheek. “Take a breath. You're doing the micromanaging thing again. I’m gonna be fine, alright? I’ll only be gone for like, 15 minutes. 20, max. I promise not to push myself too hard.”

Hirano thinks about how easily Kagiura lied to his coach before ending up in the emergency room and swallows down the wave of bile that consequentially rises inside his throat. It’s an unfair thought to have, probably, but it’s not like it’s voluntary. Hirano can’t control his thoughts, no matter how much he wishes that he could. He gives a mechanical nod of his head and determinedly pushes down on his resentment. “Of course, Aki-kun.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kagiura says, the optimism in his voice returning. He leans in and gives Hirano a kiss on the mouth, firm and chaste. “I’ll see you in a bit!”

Despite Kagiura's reassurance, Hirano worries.

He worries a lot. He worries so much, that he doesn’t even notice when the pot of water he was using to make ramen with boils over. He snaps his head up at the sizzling sound of the water vaporizing, dropping his phone he was boring holes into to yank the pan off the grate. He turns off the burner and stares at the bubbly mess he made, his hands starting to shake.

“Fuck,” he says, with feeling. He buries his face into his palms and thinks about Kagiura collapsing somewhere without anyone around to help him and sees red. “Fuck!”

When he checks his phone again, it’s only been seven minutes. He paces around the kitchen and tries to pull himself together before going near a hot stove again.

He knows he’s acting neurotic and borderline insane after being apart from Kagiura for less than 10 minutes, but it’s impossible for him to think about anything other than potential complications that could arise. What if Kagiura trips and falls and gives himself another concussion? What if he loses consciousness? What if he gets a degenerative brain disease from repeated head trauma?

He doesn’t even bother trying to cook anything else. Hirano sits in a chair at the kitchen table and stares at the door like if he looks at it long enough, he can make Kagiura materialize through it by sheer force of will.

Hirano looks out the window and feels like his nerves are being pinched at the obnoxious amount of light streaming in through the curtains. Bright light like that could easily set off a migraine. What if Kagiura forgets where he is and gets lost somewhere?

He sneaks another glance at his phone. He could always just call him, to check in. It wouldn’t be that crazy, would it? It’s not like he needs to have a full-length conversation with him. It'd just be for a second or two. Just to hear the sound of his voice.

When 20 minutes come and go without any sign of Kagiura, Hirano strongly considers running out of the apartment to go looking for him. He grits his teeth and talks himself out of it because he knows deep, deep down in the fucked up trenches of his soul that he’s acting certifiably unhinged.

By the time Kagiura slips in past the doorway, he’s 10 minutes later than he said he would be, and Hirano is vibrating out of his skin.

“Woah,” Kagiura says. He looks between Hirano and the grate caked with salt-deposits from the water overboiling like it’s some kind of crime scene. He shuts the door behind him and asks, “Are you okay?”

“You said that you’d only be gone for 20 minutes,” Hirano says, his voice sharp and accusatory. He flinches at how horrible he’s acting and quickly backtracks before Kagiura can reply. “Shit, I’m being crazy. I’m sorry. Shit. Just—” He waves his hand uselessly in the direction towards the stove. “Forget what I said. The water boiled over, that’s all.” He swallows hard when Kagiura still doesn’t respond. “I was gonna make ramen. Sorry.”

“I don’t care about dinner, Taiga-san,” Kagiura says finally, walking over to Hirano and cupping his hand around his jaw to tilt his chin up. He searches Hirano’s face for something unidentifiable, his eyes soft and bizarrely understanding given how much of a lunatic Hirano’s been in the brief amount of time that Kagiura’s been home. “What’s going on with you?”

“I think I might be a little bit paranoid,” Hirano admits, laughing weakly when Kagiura looks at him like he’s an idiot for pointing out something so obvious. “I just—I’m so fucking worried about you. It’s easier to deal with when you’re here, because I can keep an eye on you. The whole time you were gone, all I could think about was something awful happening to you. And then—and then when you were late, I assumed the worst. I keep picturing you dead somewhere, with no one around to help you.”

“Taiga-san,” Kagiura murmurs, sweeping his thumb tenderly across the line of his jaw. He looks so sad, Hirano can hardly bear to hold eye-contact. “I’m fine. I’m right here, okay? I’m sorry I was late. It just felt so good to be out, I lost track of the time.”

“I don’t want you to have to apologize to me for that,” Hirano says. “You shouldn’t—You have no reason to be sorry. It’s good, that you’re doing better. I don’t want—I don’t want to be controlling, or mean to you. It just scared me when I realized I couldn’t be there protect you, which isn’t like—Healthy, obviously. This was never an issue before. I don’t know why I’m so anxious now.”

“I scared you,” Kagiura says, sounding troubled. He draws Hirano against his chest and hugs him, his arms squeezing tightly around his upper back. “I’m sorry, Taiga-san.”

“I thought about what your coach said to me again today,” Hirano confesses. It’s easier to tell Kagiura this with his face hidden against his shoulder. “He told me what you did. That you told me what happened, when you didn’t.” His lungs feel icy when Kagiura stiffens up. “I know I told you I’d get over it, and that it’s fine, but—but I think we need to talk about it.”

Kagiura draws back and gives a curt nod of his head, his eyes flashing with that same emotion Hirano saw back when he first got discharged from the hospital. Now that Hirano can see him closely, it’s easy to identify it as shame. “Of course, Taiga-san. I understand.”

“To be clear, I’m not doing this to lecture you, or to interrogate you. I know you already feel bad about it, which is why I thought there was no reason to talk about it.” Hirano crosses his arms over his chest and picks nervously at his shirt. “But when you told me you weren’t gonna overdo it on your run, I realized I didn’t believe you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. All I could think about was how you lied before and then ended up hurt. And then I paced around the kitchen waiting for you to come home going out of my mind because I was so sure it was gonna happen again.”

Kagiura makes a wounded sound. He looks at Hirano like he’s going to cry, his eyes beginning to mist over. “Taiga-san…”

“What if I hadn’t been there, Akira?” Hirano demands. He resolutely ignores his instinct to comfort Kagiura so he can finally be free of the obsessive thoughts constantly plaguing him. “And I was on a long-haul flight? Would you have just gone to practice and played in games when you thought you felt good enough without ever getting looked at?”

“I don’t know,” Kagiura admits. “I didn’t think that far ahead. I felt fine by the end of practice and when I got home, so I assumed everything was okay. I genuinely just forgot about it. And… I’d like to think that coach would have checked on me if I didn’t show up to practice, and that I still would have gotten looked at.” Hirano must make some sort of unsatisfied expression, because Kagiura quickly tacts on, “Which was obviously incredibly stupid and irresponsible of me regardless.”

“I need you to tell me when shit like this happens,” Hirano says. He steps closer, his nostrils flaring. “If your coach tells you to get looked at, you get fucking looked at.”

“I know, Taiga-san,” Kagiura says, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I messed up, alright? I regret not telling you the second I realized I was actually hurt for real. If I’d known, I would have gone to a clinic as soon as I got hit. I get bumps and scrapes all the time and have always been fine, and I didn’t think this time would be any different.”

“Okay,” Hirano says.

“I’ll never do it again,” Kagiura says urgently. “I swear, Taiga-san. I never want to put either of us through this again. I want to keep playing basketball, and to be healthy, and to live long enough to marry you in front of all our family and friends.”

“Okay,” Hirano says again. When he blinks, he feels the spill of hot tears on his cheeks.

“Taiga-san? Are you—”

Hirano yanks Kagiura into his chest and hugs him so hard, it’s probably not good for his spine. “I’m sorry in advance if I act crazy for a while,” he says, his voice wet. “But it’s only because I love you so fucking much, you basketball for brains idiot.”

Kagiura chokes out a sobbing laugh and hugs him back, burying his face into his neck. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry I made it so you couldn’t trust me, and for scaring you. I really didn’t know.”

“You can make it up to me by getting better,” Hirano says firmly. He curls his fingers in the front of Kagiura’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, his lips mushy and wet from crying.

It’s perfect, but not nearly enough. Hirano wishes he could crawl inside Kagiura’s skin as an excuse to be closer.

For now, he’ll have to be content with just this: Kagiura wiping his tears and holding his face reverently in his hands while he kisses him slowly. Their noses rubbing together, snotty and absolutely disgusting. He chokes out another laugh at the thought and kisses Kagiura harder, before he has the chance to ask any questions.

Week three, and Kagiura gets the okay to transition to more moderate physical exercises by his physician as long as he’s supervised by his coach or personal trainer.

Hirano is scared shitless the entire time Kagiura is at the gym for the first day he’s gone. It helps a little knowing he has someone reliable there with him, but he still can’t shake this irrational fear that something awful is going to happen to him. He shudders imagining Kagiura’s head getting crushed by a barbell and distracts himself by clearing old food out of the fridge.

It’s honestly probably good for them both, to get used to being separated again. Hirano can’t sit around and micromanage Kagiura all the time; It’s not healthy or feasible, especially given the nature of their careers. He has to go back to work in two weeks anyway, which will hopefully redirect him from his own insufferable neuroticism.

When Kagiura comes home the first day after about an hour, he’s sweaty and flushed with a shine in his eyes Hirano hasn’t seen since he first got injured. Kagiura greets him with an energetic kiss, grinning smugly when Hirano instinctively reaches up to wrap his fingers around his bicep.

Kagiura breaks the kiss to wiggle his eyebrows at him. “I lifted today.” He gives the arm Hirano is touching an exaggerated flex. “You like?”

Hirano does like, but not as much as he likes pushing Kagiura’s buttons. “Hmmm. It seems a lot less defined than before,” he teases him. “Like I’m touching a cooked spaghetti noodle.” He snickers when Kagiura predictably starts moping and gives his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re such a baby, jeez. Yes, I like your obnoxiously big muscles, Akira, alright?”

Kagiura beams and presses their mouths together, getting his hands around Hirano’s waist hard enough to make him gasp and squirm and bite down hard on his bottom lip. Hirano muffles an undignified noise into Kagiura’s mouth when he suddenly gropes at his ass with one oversized hand, flushing up to his ears and mustering up all the strength he has in his body to gently push Kagiura off of him.

“You brat,” Hirano mutters, touching his kiss-bitten mouth with his fingertips and willing away his stupid blush. “You’re way too handsy for someone recovering from a concussion.”

“I’m almost better,” Kagiura insists. “I might even get to play in official practices as early as next week, after I build up my stamina and stuff!”

Hirano doesn’t like the heated way Kagiura is staring at him. He gives him a dubious look and responds, “Well… Be careful. It’s important not to push yourself too far.”

“So… you wanna build up some stamina with me in the shower?” Kagiura asks, because he’s horny and a brute and has not an ounce of shame in his body. “If you know what I mean?”

“Obviously I know what you mean,” Hirano snaps, completely scandalized even though he was already fully prepared for Kagiura to proposition him. “A monkey would know what you mean, Akira. And the answer is absolutely not. Not until you’re fully recovered and cleared by medical staff.”

“You’re no fun,” Kagiura sulks. “Not all sexual activities have to be super vigorous, Taiga-san.”

“Don’t care,” Hirano says dismissively. He reaches out to playfully ruffle Kagiura’s hair on the uninjured side of his head when he pouts, laughing at the giant scowl twisting down the edges of his mouth. “Ew, your hair is all sweaty!”

Kagiura sighs, slow and long-suffering. “I did ask if you wanted to shower with me.”

“I don’t,” Hirano says cheerfully. He watches Kagiura dejectedly make his way over to the bathroom and then intercepts him with a hand on his wrist.

“What are you—mmph.”

Hirano circles his arms around his waist and presses their mouths together gently, sucking softly at the bow of his lips until Kagiura shivers and sags against him. He breaks the kiss and takes a step back, so he doesn’t give Kagiura any ideas, smiling at the dazed expression he’s got on his face.

“I’m glad you’re doing so well,” Hirano tells him. “Seriously. Just—don’t overdo it, okay?”

Kagiura’s eyes get all round and moony in that way they always do whenever he’s gonna do or say something infuriatingly sentimental. Hirano feels like he has to hold his breath just from being on the receiving end of a look like that.

“I promise I won’t, Taiga-san.” Sure enough, he picks up Hirano’s left hand and presses a kiss to his ring finger. “I gotta stay healthy to be able to marry you, remember?”

Hirano feels disconnected from his body watching Kagiura stroke his thumb across his finger with so much overflowing affection. Before he knows it, he’s doing an impromptu cost benefit analysis in his head of getting in the shower with Kagiura.

When Hirano realizes what he’s thinking about, he turns bright red. Face scalding hot, he wrenches his hand away and furiously ignores Kagiura’s knowing giggling. He spins around on his heels and decides to put away the dishes to curb the sudden warm feeling bubbling around inside his belly.

Kagiura is so damn annoying.

A few days later and Kagiura is given the okay to start heavy lifting and no-contact basketball drills. He yammers to Hirano about it sitting on the couch when he gets home, his hair a sweaty wreck and his face all flushed from exerting himself. He looks so happy just talking about dribbling a ball, Hirano feels awful for the doubt that’s eating away at him. He doesn’t know how concussion recovery typically works, but this seems awfully fast.

“Taiga-sannnn,” Kagiura calls, after Hirano falls suspiciously silent. “You okay? You have a scary look on your face again.”

“You just started lifting lighter weights and stuff,” Hirano points out uncertainly. “Isn’t it—I don’t know, sort of hasty? Shouldn’t you work up to it more?”

“Some people recover from concussions in half the time that I have, Taiga-san,” Kagiura says, not unkindly. “I’m being closely monitored at all times and I’m in contact with a physician.” He scoots close enough that their sides are flush and presses a lingering kiss against Hirano’s temple. “You’re sweet, but please don’t drive yourself crazy worrying about me. You don’t have to trust me just yet, but at least trust my doctor and trainer, alright? They’re professionals.”

“I trust you,” Hirano says. He thinks he really means it, even if his body isn’t there yet. “I’m just… Yeah. Worried.”

“More intense physical activity is gonna help me get back to normal,” Kagiura says, throwing an arm around Hirano’s shoulders and bundling him up all nice and close. He smells like gym and sweat and sunshine, and Hirano hates how into it he is. “It’s all just as important as resting and drinking water and stuff. And if I get any symptoms again, I take a step back and try again the next day. There’s no permanent damage or anything, Taiga-san. I promise.”

“Okay,” Hirano says. “I believe you. It really is nice to see you happy and on your feet again. I’m not trying to like… Bring you down, or kill your mood.” He slumps heavily against Kagiura’s chest, his skin warming up when Kagiura drags his thumb up and down his shoulder and neck.

“I think I’d go crazy too, if something happened to you,” Kagiura says. He leans in and gives Hirano a smacking kiss on the forehead with an exaggerated sounding mwah, cackling at the withering look Hirano gives him in response. “Ahh, Taiga-san, you’re seriously too cute. I just wanna kiss you all over.”

“Gross,” Hirano complains, crinkling his nose up. “And I’m definitely not cute.”

Kagiura presses smiling lips to Hirano’s cheek with a doubtful hum. The reverberations make Hirano squirm; he tilts his head away from Kagiura’s mouth and laughs helplessly when he follows him, pushing Hirano gently into the couch.

Kagiura hovers over him with a disgustingly fond look on his face. He brushes Hirano’s hair out of his eyes and kisses the bridge of his nose. He stares at him for a few seconds and then sighs, like he’s annoyed about something.

“You’re actually so cute, it’s not fair,” Kagiura complains, petulant and full of whine. “Head trauma isn’t gonna kill me, but like… Heart failure probably will.”

Hirano rolls his eyes. “That was pretty bad, Aki-kun.”

“I’m serious! That has to be a thing, right? Getting heart failure from looking at someone too cute?”

Hirano snorts, a blush crawling into his cheeks. “Fuck off.”

“I’ll be the first victim,” Kagiura says. He traces his fingers down one side of Hirano’s neck, lingering on his exposed collarbone. Hirano sucks in a sharp breath when Kagiura rubs his thumb over the protruding bone, the little spark of sensation enough to make Hirano’s heart stop and then restart again, pounding a frantic, staccato rhythm between his ribs. Kagiura observes him with visibly darkening eyes, trapping his lip between his teeth. His worshipful gaze burns Hirano’s skin like heat from the sun with its intensity.

Kagiura is still recovering. He already did a full-body workout today, so Hirano really shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior. He’s been the recipient of that hungry expression enough times to know what it means, and it’s totally counterproductive to his progress.

Kagiura tugs the collar of Hirano’s shirt down and slowly leans forward to brush his lips against the column of his throat, his mouth hot and wet. Hirano shudders all over and leans into the warmth of his lips, squeezing his thighs together when Kagiura flattens his tongue against his throbbing pulse.

“Aki-kun,” Hirano gasps, curling his fingers in the back of his shirt and pulling him closer. A direct contradiction to his verbal disapproval. “We—You’re still—you’re still healing—”

“I just want to touch you,” Kagiura pleads. “We don’t have to do anything else, just—” He suctions his lips to the thin skin above Hirano’s collarbone and sets to work marking it up. He sinks his nails into Kagiura’s broad shoulders and bites down on his tongue so that he doesn’t make any noise.

When Kagiura’s done, he uses his thumb to smear his spit into the bruise left behind from his mouth, his eyes dark and possessive.

“You are so unbelievably beautiful.” Kagiura gives his hickey a soft peck, and then moves his lips to Hirano’s chest over his shirt. “Your heart is beating so loud, Taiga-san.”

“Of course it is,” Hirano snaps. “With you slobbering all over my neck like that, what do you expect?”

“I haven’t touched you properly in like, a month,” Kagiura says. “Gimme a break.”

“So high maintenance,” Hirano sighs, his lips twitching into a lovesick little smile when Kagiura presses a sweet kiss to where his heart is pounding against his chest. He feels completely defenseless like this, with Kagiura looking at him like that. He touches him with so much love and care, Hirano feels like he’s melting through the couch. Paired with the adoring way Kagiura looks at him, he doesn’t stand a chance.

Hirano never did. Not even once, for as long as Kagiura’s been in his life.

When Kagiura kisses him this time, Hirano opens up for it immediately. He moans high in his throat at his teasing traces of tongue, the perfect amount without being too much.

He really doesn’t like excessive amounts of tongue, which Kagiura discovered quickly after Hirano complained about it feeling too slimy the first time they ever made out. He almost laughs remembering the mulish look Kagiura had on his face when he’d told him that, smiling into their kisses at such a happy memory. It glows warm and bright in the back of his mind whenever he thinks about it.

Hirano feels Kagiura’s mouth curve up against his, their teeth bumping together. Kagiura huffs out a laugh and nuzzles happy kisses into his cheek, peeking his eyes open to glance at Hirano’s face.

“How can you possibly say you’re not cute when you’re like this,” Kagiura says wonderingly. It must be rhetorical, because he immediately asks, “What were you thinking about just now that made you smile like that?”

“I was thinking about the look you had on your face the first time we made out, when we were in college,” Hirano admits, his body shaking with laughter when Kagiura’s cheeks start to color. “And I told you your kisses were too sloppy.”

“God,” Kagiura groans, hiding his burning face in the curve of Hirano’s shoulder. “You were so brutal, Taiga-san. I’d never been so humbled before in my life.”

“You’re a lot better now,” Hirano offers. He gives his back a reassuring little pat. “My sweet, slimy kisser.”

“Nooooo,” Kagiura whimpers. “I’m not anymore!! Taiga-san, you said I got better!”

“My sweet, whiny kisser,” Hirano amends, grinning so hard his face hurts. “Better?”

“I’ll show you whiny,” Kagiura mutters, reattaching their lips and kissing Hirano so thoroughly his mouth feels buzzing and numb.

Kagiura hikes his shirt up just enough to palm at the fat clinging to his waist, squeezing and pawing at it between his fingers. Hirano rolls his eyes at Kagiura’s predictability even as a moan climbs past his throat, his toes curling when Kagiura kisses a scorching path up his neck and jaw.

“So sexy, Taiga-san,” Kagiura mutters. Between frantic presses of his lips, he says, “I love you so much.”

They kiss for so long Hirano feels winded. Eventually they end up just panting against each other’s mouths, their noses bumping clumsily together. Kagiura looks like he’s about to pass out, his mouth dragging against Hirano’s without moving.

“You need a nap,” Hirano murmurs, scratching gently between his shoulder blades. He misses spreading his fingers in Kagiura’s hair and giving him scalp massages. It feels like a strange thing to miss. He presses his lips against the crown of his head, all the breath whooshing out of him when Kagiura sinks the entirety of his weight against Hirano’s body, flattening him to the couch. The pressure is nice, after Hirano does some wiggling and readjusting.

“Nap,” Kagiura repeats nonsensically against his neck. Hirano takes this as agreement and tightens his arms around the center of his back. “Mmm, you’re so warm.” He smacks his lips, some of his drool leaking down the collar of Hirano’s shirt. “Night, Taiga-san.”

Hirano’s lips tick up, because it’s barely past noon. He tucks another kiss into the side of Kagiura’s head, his heart too big in his chest.

“Night, you goofball.”

Kagiura is able to join practices again as long as the setting is controlled. He finds out a couple days before Hirano has to go back to work, so excited that when he delivers the news, he hoists Hirano into his arms and spins him around in circles.

Hirano feigns annoyance, but they end up making out about it for 20 minutes, Hirano on the counter with his legs locked tight around Kagiura’s hips.

When they’re done, Hirano tentatively touches his fingertips to where the bruise used to be on Kagiura’s head.

For the first time in at least a week, Hirano asks, “How’s your head?”

Kagiura tilts his chin up and blinks his beautiful doe eyes at him, as devastating to look at as the day Hirano met him. He gives him a sweet smile and presses a kiss to the side of Hirano’s nose.

Voice veiled in a brilliant warmth, Kagiura replies, “Never better, Taiga-san.”

Hirano slips his arms around his neck and brings their lips together. He smiles, and finds that this time he really believes him.