Work Text:
It was probably naïve to think that Hiruma would slow down his training or take care of himself now that he had made it to a college team. God forbid he actually admit when he needed to take a breather or sit out for a little while. And even if their coach had seen it, the whole support team was too scared of him to actually force the issue.
The cowards. Mamori shook her head. That was probably a little too mean. Most people were intimidated by the blonde devil she called a classmate.
Their friendly summer scrimmage with the Enma Fires had, of course, been taken way too seriously by both sides. And, of course, Hiruma had been sacked in the fourth quarter, hard enough that the game had been paused to check on him. It was right around that point she had excused herself, heading back to the little apartment building that took up part of the men’s dorms at Saikyo. The other manager promised to film the rest of the game easily enough, providing Mamori did a bigger portion of the analysis before the weekend. After all, they were supposed to be doing this to help train the freshmen, and she was included in that.
Mamori sighed to herself as she pulled the usual gel packs out of the freezer, limbs on autopilot as she bustled through the little apartment. She was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have a key to the men’s dorm building, much less Hiruma’s room in particular, but she’d learned not to ask questions after so much time around the Devilbats. Besides, her arrival was practically a weekly routine. If someone had a problem with it, surely they would have said something to her by now.
Some things had changed since high school, of course. Hiruma’s bedroom was still a sty, too many papers and notebooks in too small an area, but the combined kitchenette and living room were scrubbed almost sparkling and the chores got done on time, probably by some poor classmate Hiruma had swindled into it. The sink, surprisingly, was scrubbed clean and the dishes were drying nearby. Probably also one of Hiruma’s victims, since he had somehow gotten the whole apartment to himself, bathroom included. Usually it was the seniors who got out of sharing a bathroom and kitchen with the rest of the building. She put the plates away absently, listening for the slamming door that would herald her number one pain’s arrival.
Sure enough, not even ten minutes after she had finished setting up her supplies, Hiruma stormed in with his usual violence. She grabbed a few glasses of water as she listened in, figuring at least the blonde would have seen her shoes at the entrance even if they didn’t see her behind the half-wall.
“You really took a beating today,” Musashi noted, and that was a pleasant surprise. He was usually busy helping his dad during the summer, which was why he hadn’t been at the impromptu reunion. He must have arrived just as she left or she definitely would have said hello. It had been too long since she’d seen him last, after all.
“It was a trick of the light,” Hiruma replied breezily, a perfect liar as always. “That shitty Banba managed to keep you off me for the rest of the game, didn’t he?”
“Are you sure you’re okay, though?” Kurita questioned, a little tearfully if Mamori heard correctly. She sighed gently to herself again, balancing the bento on one hand as she headed toward the entrance, glasses tucked carefully against her chest.
“I’m fine, you fat-ass. You’re a hundred years too early to kill me.”
Kurita had collapsed on the well-worn couch, forcing Musashi to slide next to him as the wooden frame groaned. The kicker seemed fine with the closeness, though, patting Kurita consolingly. Hiruma, in typical fashion, was splayed out on the chair nearby, and Mamori noticed how he didn’t bend his bad knee, instead propping it up on their coffee table like he had intended it that way. His eyes met hers for just a moment, narrowing, and Mamori smiled politely. He’d been caught, and he knew she was mad about it if the sudden refusal to meet her eyes meant anything. Good.
“I didn’t realize you’d be here, too, Musashi,” she announced, handing him one of the cups. “Here, it’s warm outside today, isn’t it?”
“Thank you, Mamori,” the man replied, grinning at her. His hair was still too long, tied up with a slightly ridiculous polka-dot scrunchy rather than his usual bandana. “I thought you’d still be at the field?” Sometimes, Mamori forgot that Musashi was one of Hiruma’s closest confidants. Times like this, where his eyes darted to her occupied hand before sweeping to their mutual pain in the ass, she remembered how clever he was.
“I had a few things to take care of,” she returned demurely, handing the second glass to Kurita. “Nice moves out there today. The Fires are going to be a real threat next year when Sena joins.”
“You’re getting some good players for next semester, too, right?” Kurita was quick to reply, taking the glass gently and nodding in thanks. “I’m sure we’ll have a tough fight for the Rice Bowl.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see.” Mamori handed the last glass to Hiruma a little more roughly than totally necessary. “I told you that you should have gone with a reverse on that play.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right,” Hiruma grumbled dismissively. “Get off my ass.”
Mamori could feel her eye twitch. “I wouldn’t be on your ass if you didn’t insist on showing off like this is still high school.” She glanced over at the two on the couch and took a second to rein in her temper. “Anyway. Are you guys planning to hang out for the afternoon?”
“Nope,” Musashi immediately replied, wrapping an arm around Kurita’s shoulders. “Just wanted to make sure Hiruma got back. We've got plans.”
“But I thought we were—” Kurita cut himself off as Musashi tightened the grip around his shoulders. “I mean… no! We definitely had plans. We’ll be going now.”
The linebacker stood up a little too fast, making the couch wobble, and he smiled cheerfully at the blonde. “The team is going to be in town until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up for breakfast, okay?” Kurita paused for a second, his face reddening slightly. “Um, if you’re around you’re more than welcome to come with, of course, Mamori!”
“I don’t live here,” Mamori corrected immediately, frowning.
“But your boyfriend does,” Musashi noted, setting down his empty glass on the table.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Hiruma, at nearly the same time, spat, “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Kurita’s expression grew even more distressed as he gestured to Musashi. The kicker only shoved him toward the door. “Come on, we’re interrupting the lovebirds.”
“You’re not interrupting anything,” Mamori called after them, but if there was one thing Musashi was good at, it was getting his friends moving. The front door slammed closed in a second, almost too fast for them to have gotten their shoes back on. The brunette sighed, looking back at Hiruma with unveiled exasperation.
“You know, if you finally ask me out they’re going to be insufferable,” she noted, popping open the box and pulling out the blister pack of painkillers she’s stored in there. “Here.”
“I don’t need them,” Hiruma replied, catching the pack when she threw it at his face.
“Sure, and I just imagined you favoring your bad knee.” Mamori drew out the cooling pack next, brandishing it like a weapon. “Roll up your pants.”
“You’re making a fuss over nothing, Miss Manager. Again.”
“Hiruma, if you don’t roll up your pants I will make you take them off.”
“Kinky.” Hiruma’s leering grin made Mamori throw the gel pack at him, and he caught it easily. “I thought we weren’t dating.”
There were a lot of things Mamori could say to that, possibly involving how she was waiting on him to actually ask her on a date, but she held her tongue. This was what he always did when he was in pain or feeling weak. He picked on one of the things he knew would upset her so that he stayed in control. Mamori only crossed her arms, raising both brows pointedly until the blonde sighed.
“Jesus, you’re needy,” he complained, reaching down to smoothly roll up the leg of his jeans. Thankfully, they were loose enough to bunch up around his thigh, revealing an already bruised and swelling knee. Mamori pulled out the second layer of the bento containing all of the kinesio tape and wraps.
When she knelt in front of the man, he could practically hear the lewd joke he was about to make. Mamori glared up at him, breath catching for a moment at the dark look in his eyes. They’d been dancing around each other more and more overtly their entire freshman year of college, eventually culminating in the two of them staring each other down, way too close, in the coach’s office a few months ago. Mamori figured her request was simple. He had to ask her out on a date. An actual, romantic date to prove that he was willing to put her above his tough guy image at least once.
But he hadn’t asked. So they kept skirting around it, acknowledging that they liked each other but not doing anything about it. Or maybe he just didn’t like her as much as she hoped he did and she would have to consider quashing the crush and moving on.
Clearing her throat and mentally batting those thoughts away for now, Mamori focused on the injury in front of her. “You should have had the doctor wrap this right away,” she scolded. “You could have torn a ligament or something.”
“But I didn’t, so why worry about it?”
A bit maliciously, Mamori squeezed the muscle of his calf, forcing his knee to bend up. Maybe Hiruma’s bad attitude was rubbing off on her, but it was effective and he bit back a string of curses at her, humming through it as his hands clenched the chair’s arms.
“Because maybe people care about you, Youichi. And maybe those people would prefer you didn’t limp home pretending everything was fine all the time like a big, dumb asshole.” Mamori’s grip loosened only slightly as she taped around his kneecap, bending his leg slowly through the motions as she applied the next strip of tape.
Hiruma didn’t respond to that, and Mamori made herself busy with the rest of her work. She heard the pop of the blister pack, the clatter of the glass on the table when he caved and took the relief she had offered. It was all achingly familiar, and maybe it was just because she was so frustrated with everything else, but Mamori grimaced so she didn’t cry about it all. This was like they were back in high school all over again, pushing that damned truck across the desert. Except now it was worse because he knew how much it upset her to see him get hurt. And he did it anyway, the jerk. He didn't deserve her tears, damn it!
“Hey,” Hiruma scolded when she took a ragged breath. Mamori refused to look up, testing the tension on his tape and making sure the rest of the tape sat correctly. She grabbed the gel packs to wrap them securely around the most tender areas, hands steady even as she fought down a wrathful sob. Knowing Hiruma, he wouldn’t care anyway. He’d been stubborn the whole time she met him, never the slightest bit weak to her crying face.
As soon as she’d finished with the last clip, Hiruma dragged her up and into his lap. Mamori protested only a little, soon seated on the cold spot where the pack had been. Hiruma tugged her into a loose hug, and despite herself Mamori let her head rest on his shoulder. He smelled like the locker room’s soap, weirdly sharp and citrusy. His hands, fingers surprisingly delicate, soon scratched light circles into her back. Despite the outrage at him, Mamori settled down, sniffling miserably.
Having a crush on a devil was horrible, she decided. Having a crush on one who knew she liked him was even worse. It would serve him right if she got snot on his shirt.
It could have been a few minutes or a few hours that they remained there, the only sounds in the apartment their breathing and the quiet scratch of fingernails over the fabric of her shirt. Eventually Mamori’s tears dried and she sat up, quietly mourning the loss of warmth even as she forced herself to lean away.
“I’m going to get hurt even more if I go pro,” Hiruma noted quietly, looking at something near the doorway and nowhere near her face. “You know that’s the plan.”
“The plan,” Mamori snapped back, “should not be for you to get hurt again. All it takes is one bad hit to end your career before it starts.” She couldn’t see his full expression, not with the way he had turned. But the slightly tightening of his jaw was indication enough that Hiruma didn’t like what he’d heard. Mamori couldn’t bring herself to care as she continued. “I know what football is like. You're going to get hurt sometimes. But you need to ask for help or all you're doing is risking your own health for your pride. There are people who will stand behind you now, you idiot.”
Hiruma had tensed beneath her, his free hand gripping the chair arm too tightly to pretend to be casual. Mamori held her ground, though, glaring at his ear and the edge of his jaw that she could easily see. After a tense few seconds, the man relaxed, letting out a long sigh that could rival her own.
“I’ll go to the team doctor tomorrow.”
“Good. If you don’t, I’ll tell the coach to pull you out of the next game.”
“You don’t have to threaten me. Damn.”
That brought a broken chuff of a laugh. “Oh please. Like I could really keep you on the bench if you didn’t want to be there.” The coach had probably been the first new entry in his little black notebook, alongside the physician and the trainers.
Slowly, ignoring the urge to just curl up and get comfortable, Mamori stood back up, patting down her clothes as she glared at Hiruma one more time. She needed to get that footage reviewed and a thank-you gift prepared for the other team. And there were a million things left to do after the game that she had ignored to come here instead. “Make sure you keep that knee elevated. And don’t keep it wrapped all night. And make sure you eat a good dinner if you’re not going to let Kurita and Musashi drag you out tonight.”
Hiruma didn’t bother putting on the usual smirk or his devil king act. Instead, he propped his chin on one fist as he leaned on the chair’s arm. Mamori ignored his gaze as she gathered up the used supplies and cleaned up the wrappers from the tape. She could see his eyes following her as she washed the glasses in the next room, studying something about her as she placed the empty bento back in the cabinet. There was no sense in rushing whatever he was going to say, she figured, picking up the painkillers and the leftover tape to return it to the first aid kit in the bathroom. The normality of her actions helped to soothe the last parts of her rage, to soften the edges until she could pack it away.
The blonde had yet to move, and his expression was hard to read as she kept herself busy. But soon enough she had finished the work and she knew it was time to go, even if she didn’t really want to. Mamori mentally slapped herself, though, digging up that iron will she seemed to have forgotten for a little while. She was busy, and independent, and the jerk did not deserve her company if he was going to keep being childish. One concession in her favor wasn’t enough to prove anything.
As she slipped off her house slippers—placing them in her usual spot, of course—Hiruma finally interrupted the silence.
“I’ll pick you up Friday at three,” he decided, seemingly out of nowhere.
“For what?” Mamori replied absently, slipping into her shoes.
“Our date.”
The woman finished putting on her shoes before straightening, putting her hands on her hips. Levelly, she regarded the quarterback. “This is you finally asking me out?” she asked dryly. “Really?”
She shouldn’t have been flattered by the smug little grin directed her way but it was the same look he got when he looked forward to a challenge. It promised excitement at the very least. “Are you going to turn me down?” Hiruma replied, showing a few too many teeth in his grin.
“Depends on where we’re going. I have standards, you know.” Mamori knew she was grinning, too giddy to maintain her facade of disinterest for any longer. But she had to at least try, right? It was her pride on the line.
“Girls like the aquarium, right? We’ll get dinner, too. One of those sit-down cafes nearby. I'll even pay.”
“How romantic of you.” The woman turned toward the door, humming in fake thought. “I suppose my answer depends on how badly you messed up your knee by acting tough.” She glanced back as she opened the door, catching the even wider grin, and felt a little sorry for their team physician. “But I guess I’m free on Friday if you get cleared.”
Then, before Hiruma could get in a parting shot, Mamori shut the door and headed home. It was the little things about their dynamic that she enjoyed, and she waited until he was well out of sight before ducking into an alley and dancing happily.
… She knew just the outfit to knock that smug look off his face.