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A sudden noise interrupted the silence of a peaceful night of rest for the detective Saihara, who just a few seconds before was sound asleep. Or as sound asleep as he could when his profession had so many high alerts to be on.
He quickly grabbed his assigned gun and pointed to where the noise came, now fully awake and ready to shoot the intruder. He couldn’t see much aside from a small shadow, but he didn’t care, he was trained enough for that.
“Hey, hey, Saihara-chan, are you finally gonna shoot me to death?” said a familiar voice. “I must say, I’m not in my best clothes to die”.
Saihara lowered the gun and put it aside, locking the safety before hiding it under the pillow.
He hated this. He hated that he was used to Ouma Kikuchi, aka his most wanted criminal, ready as always to wander into his apartment whenever he wanted at any moment of the day, even when he wasn’t at home.
“Tired of playing cat with another unit?” Saihara asked sarcastically. He knew Ouma loved when the two of them were out in the night, chasing each other like a Spy vs Spy skit, all to Ouma’s diversion.
“It’s not fun,” he grunted, “not fun when it’s not you,” Ouma finally said. Wait, did he hear well? That didn’t sound like the playful Ouma he was supposed to put behind walls. (Well, they had a truce while Ouma was inside Saihara’s apartment, since it was rented he couldn’t cause much trouble, less get the whole police department here, he was supposed to be in cover).
“Ar-are you alright?” Saihara asked, turning his nightstand lamp, lighting the room slightly. He could figure out some of Ouma’s features, but his face didn’t look good at all, and one of his hands was covering the left of his stomach.
“Never better, now that I see you” he lied. Saihara got the hang of these lies pretty early in the game, mostly when they were almost flirty. He knew he didn’t have to fall into the spider’s nest of lies, so he focused on the matter in hand.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened, just let me help you with that”
“What? Nothing happened, just a scratch I got on my way here,” he laughed. “I don’t need any hel-” He tried to get a grip on one of the table chairs, failing as Saihara rushed to grab him before hitting the floor. Saihara couldn’t remember the last time he saw Ouma in this fragile state. And then realized he never did. He was always one step ahead of him. So what could have happened for this to occur?
It could be so easy to call the department and not make a ruckus while Ouma is like this, almost out of his senses and defenseless. But.
But.
There was always a “but”.
This time it was the fact that he was deeply wounded, the dim light of the nightstand lamp still being the only source of light in the whole room.
He sat Ouma on his bed, carrying him with the most utter care while he saw the look of pain in the other’s face while doing that. He must be bleeding out pretty badly.
Once he got him comfortable in his bed, he rushed to the bathroom to get his first aid kit, it wasn’t that much but better than nothing. He’s had first aid since the first day at the district, he knew he could stop whatever was causing Ouma pain, or at least wished he could.
He came back to his bed, and Ouma was now sitting, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.
“Can you take off your shirt?” Saihara asked, looking for cleaning equipment inside the box.
“I don’t know, can you take me to dinner first?” Saihara realized what he just said and went red on the face, hopefully the dim light wouldn't be enough to realize. But he did as he was told. He got rid of his beat up jacket and then his shirt. His undershirt was covered in blood and cuts, so Saihara knew what to expect once that garment was also taken out.
Ah, to be honest, this may be the first time he got this close to another man. A shirtless man. But no. It was not the time to think about that. It was time to help Ouma. Shirtless Ouma. Shirtless Ouma on his bed. Fuck.
He tried to get all those thoughts to the back of his head, and concentrated on the state of the other’s pale chest. and Fuck. Saihara didn’t like to cuss, but this was a special occasion.
He had pretty bad cuts all over his abdomen and to the left side an ever bigger one, which was the main problem here. He quickly placed a sterile and clean cloth over the wound. He heard Ouma’s breath get heavier.
“Can you apply pressure here?” He asked him. Saihara hoped he had the strength in him to do it, he had so many cuts to take care of, but he should first focus on the big one at hand.
Once Ouma’s hand was placed over his, Saihara pulled his own out. Out of reflex or just to continue with the procedure. He didn’t know.
The other cuts were pretty superficial, like if a knife didn’t quite get through the jacket. Everytime with the most utter care he cleaned Ouma’s wounds one at a time, then he realized how quiet the other man had been, always full of cheerful energy, and now not a single word aside from some grunts of pain here and there.
Worried, Saihara looked up to see what was all about, and his face was left inches away from Ouma’s, who's been carefully studying him like if it was the most delicate thing on the planet. Saihara felt the other’s breath on him, his eyes locked and for a moment he thought of something, the same thing he thought when they were alone in an alleyway and Ouma had no way to run.
Ouma opened his mouth to say something, but Saihara’s tweezers got a bit too into the wound without realizing, too deep into the moment that was building up until now.
As he thought, Ouma left a scream, which was more fake than anything, but in this case he didn’t actually know.
“So mean, Saihara-chan~” he whined. “Treating my wounds just to take advantage of me? Are you a pervert or what?”
Ok, back to the regular schedule.
Saihara wanted to face palm but he didn’t. Instead, he realized the bleeding on the side stopped, so he put a big sterile parchment where the bloody cloth was. Good thing he had good experience washing bloody clothes.
Talking about clothes, Ouma now didn’t have any. All of his usual attire was either soaked with blood, slashed, or a mixture of both. So he sighed and went to his closet. He was really going to let his mortal enemy put on his clothes so he could stay the night at his house. That was a thing that was happening.
He got a striped pajama almost identical to the one he was wearing now, and he could almost hear Ouma making fun of him for having the same pajama twice. But he didn’t. He stayed silent, at the light of the dim nightstand lamp. Somber face, like thinking.
“Here, I can help you dress up,” said Saihara, with his softest voice. He never thought it would be the context in which he would use it, nor didn’t know he had.
Ouma helped him as he could, or as his wounds permitted, and even though Saihara’s pajamas were bigger than him, it was almost cute to see him in those. But Ouma was tired, and Saihara couldn’t stand watching him suffer any longer, so he helped him get inside his bed.
Once all this was over, the Spy vs Spy would continue, but meanwhile he wanted to savor this moment of truce.
So without a word he kissed him on the forehead and turned off his lamp.