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“I didn’t know if you’d catch me.”
The words land on Fujio a beat late, distracted as he is watching Yasushi nearly tear Kiyoshi’s shirt to shreds in his effort to snatch the ace of diamonds out of his hands, so Tsukasa’s already looking back down at his plate of noodles when Fujio turns his head and asks, “What?”
“At Senomon. I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d catch me.” He says it a little too evenly, perfectly quiet and aloof, like he'd practiced saying it out loud, like he’d watched it happen from a distance. It pricks at the soft places under Fujio’s skin. It always does, when he gets like this.
“You’re my—of course I’d catch you, what?” My what? He’s aware that he’s glaring a little, the bandage over his eyebrow tugging at the fine hairs there, watching the line of Tsukasa’s side profile light up in the evening sun. “Of course I’d catch you.” Of course I’d throw away the entire world to go find you, do you know how I felt when I realized you were gone—like I couldn’t breathe—
“You say that,” Tsukasa murmurs, and the prickling sharpens tight around Fujio’s throat. Like Todoroki hadn’t had to physically stop him from sprinting straight to Senomon alone. Like he’d been able to think straight, process a single thing, until he could feel Tsukasa’s pulse against his fingertips again, like his heart hadn’t wrenched loose from its spot and dropped ice-cold through his ribs when Jamuo had looked at him, terrified, and shaken his head. Like he hasn’t lain awake every night that's piled up since Senomon, replaying that moment over and over—back to the cracked gym floor, hands fisted in Tsukasa’s cardigan, heart erratic and desperate to know he was alive. Like he hasn’t spent every hour wishing that wasn’t the moment it hit him exactly how much Tsukasa means to him.
Like there was ever any doubt.
“Tsukasa,” he starts, voice rawer than he’d meant it to be. Tsukasa turns at the sound of his name, eyes blown wide, and Fujio’s stomach twists at the bruises splattered across his face, like the world’s shittiest rainbow. He’s still beautiful. He’s always beautiful. “Of course I’d fucking catch you. Of course I’d come find you, I don’t care how dangerous it is, I’d fucking—I’d break into their school alone, I was ready to—”
“Self-sacrificial asshole,” Tsukasa mutters, but his shoulders sag in something like relief. His hands tremble a little as he picks at his noodles, and Fujio realizes. Oh. He’s scared. He was scared.
Unshakeable, steady, stubborn Tsukasa, his Tsukasa, scared. Scared that Fujio wouldn’t come for him. The vague desire to smash Amagai’s face in swells hot in his hands—piece of shit, getting other people to do his dirty work—
“I didn’t know if you’d make it in time,” Tsukasa says quietly. He still won’t look at Fujio. He’s fiddling with his hands, picking at the fraying edge of a bandage with his thumbnail. Fujio wants to reach out and cover his hand with his own.
“Doesn’t matter,” Fujio says, trying for lighthearted, failing. “I knew.”
“What?”
He had, hadn’t he? It had been pure instinct. Feverish desperation. A knowledge that rang through his body before his brain that it was the only thing he would move to do in that moment, regardless of Suzaki, regardless of anything. His vision had tunneled the second he saw Tsukasa tied up and he still isn’t sure if he’d taken a full breath between realizing he was gone and having him tangled up in his arms, both of them gasping for air on the gym floor, his heart slammed breathlessly back into place.
He presses his aching palms flat against his knees. “I’m serious.”
“Okay,” Tsukasa says, and Fujio watches him look up at the sky, watches him get that look he gets when he’s coming to a decision between himself and himself. “Okay. You knew.”
“I knew,” Fujio says again for insurance. “Would have scaled that fucking wall to get to you.”
That—finally, victory and relief bursting tandem in his chest—gets a huff of laughter. “What, are you Spiderman?”
“Maybe. Couldn’t tell you if I was.”
“That’d explain a lot, actually,” Tsukasa muses, settling back into the couch, tilting his head to look at Fujio. His breath catches a little at the sight: The setting sun stretches long fingers of orange light across the rooftop, turning Tsukasa’s eyes to honeyed gold, melting away the tension between them. “Quick on your feet, honorable, friendly…You really are kind of like a superhero.”
“Am I your hero?” It’s fucking ridiculous and he doesn’t know what shocks him into saying that but it’s great, blurting it with the biggest grin just to watch Tsukasa nearly choke on air and punch him in the arm, to watch his face burn pink.
“Oh my god, Fujio, what the fuck?”
“It worked, you’re laughing!” he crows, prodding at Tsukasa’s brilliant red ear. “Tell me I’m your hero. Tell me, tell me, tell me.” Tsukasa’s giggle-coughing, half-glaring at him, and Fujio just keeps smiling at him and thinks maybe this is the only thing he will ever need.
“Fine,” Tsukasa huffs, rolling his eyes, his dimple betraying the smile he tries to fight back. For a cold, clear moment, Fujio is overwhelmed with the urge to just kiss it. Say fuck it and dive headfirst into Tsukasa’s orbit, planetary collision, damn the consequences. He squeezes his eyes shut to dispel the urge, and when he opens them, Tsukasa’s delicately moving their plates to the ground so he can fold himself into Fujio’s side—tucking his knees sideways into his lap, curling into him like a cat. Something thrills against the inside of Fujio’s ribcage, so bright he feels like his cheekbones must be glowing with it.
“Fine, Hanaoka Fujio, you’re my hero.” It’s half-serious, tinged with laughter, close enough that his breath is warm against the shell of Fujio’s ear. He’s dizzy on neurochemicals the way he gets after a good fight, after cheering loud and bright into the night sky, after driving twenty miles over the speed limit. If he knew how to verbalize it, he would, this hot pulse that beats through him whenever he catches the glint of Tsukasa’s teeth as he smiles, the fierce pride that burns him up whenever he’s the cause.
“So honored to be of service.” His face aches a little from smiling so hard. It’s better than any post-fight soreness.
“God, stop grinning like that,” Tsukasa scoffs, burying his face in the crook of Fujio’s neck—and he can feel his blush against his own skin, and isn’t that exhilarating, his blood may as well be liquid neon and he’s off-kilter bright-eyed brave enough to wrap an arm around Tsukasa’s waist, to slide it under the bloodstained argyle cardigan he’s still wearing. It’s so—right . So damn hopeful to have him close like this, tucked together on the couch they both bruised the hell out of their shins lugging up to this rooftop. How many punches have they thrown together, at each other, for each other? Of course he’d catch Tsukasa. His—his whatever, it doesn’t matter, just his Tsukasa. Nothing but him and Fujio and the couch and the warmth from their sides blurring into each other.
He’s about to say something stupid and sappy when Tsukasa’s lips brush against his pulse point and his entire brain goes completely blank. Fujio feels more than hear him swallow, goes perfectly still, lets the words sink directly into his bloodstream—“Thank you, though. For catching me. For coming. For everything.” Oh.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he manages, heart thudding in his ears. He turns his head to tuck Tsukasa’s under his chin. His hair is so soft. It smells faintly like Fujio’s own shampoo, he realizes, warmth flooding his face at the thought—his apartment is the closest to Senomon, and it had been there they’d taken Tsukasa to rinse the blood and grime off, to sit still under Todoroki’s half-trained hands for disinfectant and bandages and careful examinations for broken ribs as Fujio paced circles around his living room to combat the itching wrongness of not holding Tsukasa, reminding himself that he was real, he was safe, he was there. Bruised as hell, but nothing’s broken, Todoroki had declared as Fujio bit at his nails and pretended he didn’t wish it was him carefully winding a bandage around Tsukasa’s bicep. You can thank Fujio for that.
He hadn’t told Tsukasa he hadn’t caught him out of heroics, or honor, or anything like that. He hadn't been thinking at all, just running full sprint as the whole world narrowed down to him in midair. Suzaki could have had his fist a hair away from his cheekbone and he wouldn’t have known. Half the days it feels like Tsukasa is the North Pole and he’s a single magnet, pulled towards him, drawing in closer and closer until he’s just shy of pressing into him and never letting go. Fujio’s skin always lights up all over whenever they brush up against each other and it’s like his very molecules are constantly searching Tsukasa out, looking for any flimsy excuse to wrap an arm around his shoulders, mess with his hair, hold him, hold him, hold him.
He’s holding him, now. Dizzily, he thinks that maybe their hearts are beating in the same time.
“You don’t have to thank me for any of it. I—” He swallows. Across the roof, the garbage can he’d kicked when he’d first realizing Tsukassa was gone still lies on its side, caved in. He’d scared himself then, how angry he’d gotten so fast. “I’d come for you no matter what, you know? I’m always gonna come find you. I don’t care what happens, I’m always gonna come find you.”
Tsukasa just hums at that. He’s shifted his head, so his lips aren’t brushing devastatingly against Fujio’s neck every time he speaks, but Fujio can still feel the warmth of his breath against his jaw, the curve of his waist against his palm. “I should be telling you that’s stupid, or that they’ll exploit that, or something practical.” He reaches for Fujio’s other hand, traces the ridge of his bandaged knuckles with a thumb, links their fingers together. The touch sends Fujio’s blood roaring in his ears again, and he peeks down to see Tsukasa gazing softly up at him, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Just enough that his dimple makes an appearance again. “But I’m just happy to hear it.”