figure 22. massages
Jan. 20th, 2021 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
softpunkskunimi akira/kageyama tobio // ~1k
> twitter ficlet for a prompt meme, reposted here
Kunimi sees Kindaichi out the door. He doesn't really need to when Kindaichi has been over often enough that he tends to just come over and leave when he pleases, but he does it this around because Kindaichi shoots him a knowing look and Kunimi immediately gets the cue, even though he doesn't necessarily understand why.
Just as Kindaichi steps past the threshold, he turns to Kunimi and says, "You should take care of him."
It's obvious who he's talking about. From the corner of Kunimi's eye, he can see Kageyama pouring milk into a pink mug by the coffee table, careful not to spill anything even though Kindaichi had done nothing but make a bigger mess of Kunimi's apartment. The consoles sit on the couch; the game they've been playing for hours has been paused and placed at its settings menu because Kindaichi had to get home before ten.
"He's not a baby," Kunimi points out, but Kindaichi just gives him an unimpressed look. "Go away." Kunimi is already turning back. "It'll be fine."
The door shuts. Kageyama looks up as Kunimi approaches him and picks up the console.
"Let's go another round?" Kunimi asks.
There's a beat of silence before Kageyama answers. Kunimi doesn't know if it's because he's still timid about it until now when he, Kunimi, and Kindaichi have spent the past three hours doing nothing but teaching Kageyama the basics of gaming, or it's because he's thinking of something else. "Sure."
Kageyama's fingers move clumsily and with a sense of unfamiliarity. Despite Kindaichi's tedious teaching, Kageyama forgets which buttons do which function and the amount of violence between the two characters fighting on screen makes him wince like he's the one getting punched to the ground. Kunimi wins easily even though halfway through the second fight, he stops focusing on the match and watches the way Kageyama narrows his eyes at the screen, the peculiar curl of his lip, how his fingers stiffly mash on the controls.
Kageyama looks young like this, Kunimi thinks, the same way he looks when he stares at a vending machine for five minutes contemplating on what to get even though it'll always be yogurt, the same way he looks when he glances at the volleyball after pulling off a new maneuver with a goofy smile when no one is looking, the same way he looks when he beams at Kunimi when they see one another by the intersection between Kunimi's university and Kageyama's training center, and Kunimi gives him a little wave and maybe a smile.
You should take care of him, Kindaichi told him. Kunimi tucks these little moments of Kageyama in his memory and wonders if recounting them counts as nurture.
They're already on their fifth match when Kunimi says, "You're hurting."
Kageyama frowns. "No, I'm not."
Kunimi pauses the game. He wants to reach over and brush his fingers against Kageyama's knuckles to make him let go of the console he's gripping onto, but that defeats the purpose of why he's pointing it out in the first place.
"Your hands keep on twitching," says Kunimi. "They only do that when they ache and you're trying to hide it."
Kageyama doesn't say anything to that, but he does put down the console. "I think I overworked it a bit during practice today."
"That's not like you."
Kageyama shrugs. "Not really," he says. "Things are different now. Usually I go straight home after training to rest."
Kunimi doesn't mention that Kageyama didn't do it this time around. It's obvious why. He places the consoles on the coffee table and Kageyama frowns again. "You don't wanna play anymore?"
"Video games were never really my thing," Kunimi says.
"Oh. Me neither."
"I know." It didn't stop Kindaichi, who suggested they try introducing Kageyama to the "beauty of video games" when they found out that he'd never held a console in his entire life. Kunimi would've put up more of a fight when his friend offered to use his place just because he had a new gaming system if not for the fact that it was a good excuse for them to all spend time together once more. Making an active effort to mend and maintain friendships has never been Kunimi's thing, but he thinks Kindaichi and Kageyama are exceptions. They make it easy, somehow.
Kunimi stretches out his hands. "Come here."
"Why?" Kageyama asks, but he's already shuffling closer.
Instead of replying, Kunimi takes Kageyama's hands and starts massaging them. At first, it's just for the middle of his palm, before Kunimi trails up and begins trying to soothe each of Kageyama's fingers. They used to do this a lot back when they were in the middle school, a kind of intimacy they didn't put much meaning to because they never thought about it. Kunimi doesn't know if Kageyama remembers that and it's why he doesn't react at all, or if it's simply because he's too much in shock to do anything else.
"Akira," Kageyama suddenly says, when Kunimi is already on his other hand. He doesn't remember how to do it as well as he did before, doesn't know if the force he's exerting is too much or not enough. But Kageyama has gone lax under his touch, and he at least thinks it means he's doing something right. Kunimi doesn't think he'll ever admit it, but he likes the thought.
"Hm?"
"Thank you." Kageyama pauses. "For taking care of me."
Kunimi doesn't look up. "You're not a baby. I didn't do anything."
Kageyama doesn't say anything. Kunimi finally looks at him. He's making the face again—looking young and bright and beautiful. Before Kunimi even realizes it, he takes this memory like he's holding something precious and tucks it away for safe-keeping.
> twitter ficlet for a prompt meme, reposted here
Kunimi sees Kindaichi out the door. He doesn't really need to when Kindaichi has been over often enough that he tends to just come over and leave when he pleases, but he does it this around because Kindaichi shoots him a knowing look and Kunimi immediately gets the cue, even though he doesn't necessarily understand why.
Just as Kindaichi steps past the threshold, he turns to Kunimi and says, "You should take care of him."
It's obvious who he's talking about. From the corner of Kunimi's eye, he can see Kageyama pouring milk into a pink mug by the coffee table, careful not to spill anything even though Kindaichi had done nothing but make a bigger mess of Kunimi's apartment. The consoles sit on the couch; the game they've been playing for hours has been paused and placed at its settings menu because Kindaichi had to get home before ten.
"He's not a baby," Kunimi points out, but Kindaichi just gives him an unimpressed look. "Go away." Kunimi is already turning back. "It'll be fine."
The door shuts. Kageyama looks up as Kunimi approaches him and picks up the console.
"Let's go another round?" Kunimi asks.
There's a beat of silence before Kageyama answers. Kunimi doesn't know if it's because he's still timid about it until now when he, Kunimi, and Kindaichi have spent the past three hours doing nothing but teaching Kageyama the basics of gaming, or it's because he's thinking of something else. "Sure."
Kageyama's fingers move clumsily and with a sense of unfamiliarity. Despite Kindaichi's tedious teaching, Kageyama forgets which buttons do which function and the amount of violence between the two characters fighting on screen makes him wince like he's the one getting punched to the ground. Kunimi wins easily even though halfway through the second fight, he stops focusing on the match and watches the way Kageyama narrows his eyes at the screen, the peculiar curl of his lip, how his fingers stiffly mash on the controls.
Kageyama looks young like this, Kunimi thinks, the same way he looks when he stares at a vending machine for five minutes contemplating on what to get even though it'll always be yogurt, the same way he looks when he glances at the volleyball after pulling off a new maneuver with a goofy smile when no one is looking, the same way he looks when he beams at Kunimi when they see one another by the intersection between Kunimi's university and Kageyama's training center, and Kunimi gives him a little wave and maybe a smile.
You should take care of him, Kindaichi told him. Kunimi tucks these little moments of Kageyama in his memory and wonders if recounting them counts as nurture.
They're already on their fifth match when Kunimi says, "You're hurting."
Kageyama frowns. "No, I'm not."
Kunimi pauses the game. He wants to reach over and brush his fingers against Kageyama's knuckles to make him let go of the console he's gripping onto, but that defeats the purpose of why he's pointing it out in the first place.
"Your hands keep on twitching," says Kunimi. "They only do that when they ache and you're trying to hide it."
Kageyama doesn't say anything to that, but he does put down the console. "I think I overworked it a bit during practice today."
"That's not like you."
Kageyama shrugs. "Not really," he says. "Things are different now. Usually I go straight home after training to rest."
Kunimi doesn't mention that Kageyama didn't do it this time around. It's obvious why. He places the consoles on the coffee table and Kageyama frowns again. "You don't wanna play anymore?"
"Video games were never really my thing," Kunimi says.
"Oh. Me neither."
"I know." It didn't stop Kindaichi, who suggested they try introducing Kageyama to the "beauty of video games" when they found out that he'd never held a console in his entire life. Kunimi would've put up more of a fight when his friend offered to use his place just because he had a new gaming system if not for the fact that it was a good excuse for them to all spend time together once more. Making an active effort to mend and maintain friendships has never been Kunimi's thing, but he thinks Kindaichi and Kageyama are exceptions. They make it easy, somehow.
Kunimi stretches out his hands. "Come here."
"Why?" Kageyama asks, but he's already shuffling closer.
Instead of replying, Kunimi takes Kageyama's hands and starts massaging them. At first, it's just for the middle of his palm, before Kunimi trails up and begins trying to soothe each of Kageyama's fingers. They used to do this a lot back when they were in the middle school, a kind of intimacy they didn't put much meaning to because they never thought about it. Kunimi doesn't know if Kageyama remembers that and it's why he doesn't react at all, or if it's simply because he's too much in shock to do anything else.
"Akira," Kageyama suddenly says, when Kunimi is already on his other hand. He doesn't remember how to do it as well as he did before, doesn't know if the force he's exerting is too much or not enough. But Kageyama has gone lax under his touch, and he at least thinks it means he's doing something right. Kunimi doesn't think he'll ever admit it, but he likes the thought.
"Hm?"
"Thank you." Kageyama pauses. "For taking care of me."
Kunimi doesn't look up. "You're not a baby. I didn't do anything."
Kageyama doesn't say anything. Kunimi finally looks at him. He's making the face again—looking young and bright and beautiful. Before Kunimi even realizes it, he takes this memory like he's holding something precious and tucks it away for safe-keeping.