I do! (
Just have to catch up with some of the more recent updates tho) XD I loved their match omg I can’t believe Kirihara said Shiraishi’s signature words >.< why doesn’t this ship have a name- i searched for so long, turned out it was unnamed.
Ah! Nooo, come back anon! -dives into background, searching for anon-
Totally on hiatus, shhhh I did say unoffically)
Kirihara Akaya grit out, ignoring the blood that was slowly dripping down his forehead. Slowly picking himself up, he wiped his face on his sleeve with a slight grimace.
It had been a few days since their shuffle match and he still hadn’t gotten control over himself yet. Ever since that match, he could not slip back into his Angel Mode. All he had gotten was halfway into Devil Mode; the total opposite of what he wanted. It frustrated him; it frustrated him so damn badly. He now had a chance to improve without losing his mind and the usually frenzied thoughts that he could never get used to- and he couldn’t do it again.
Taking a quick breath, he served another ball, solely concentrated on how it had felt to slip into that calm, tranquil, entirely focused and solely quiet state of mi-
Kirihara reeled back at the sharp, burning pain from the tennis ball skimming his cheek and leaving a decent sized welt across it. He hissed in pain, hand coming up to touch the bleeding wound when a firm, yet gentle, hand curled around his wrist, preventing him from touching his burning cheek.
He blinked, raising his eyes to meet admonishing grayish-brown eyes.
The stern frown aimed his way made him wince sheepishly, adverting his eyes.
“Your cuts can be infected if you just leave him, you should go wash them.” Shiraishi advised, hand still grasping Kirihara’s wrist.
“Ahh, S-Shiraishi-san. I’ve gotta do this firs-” Kirihara trailed off with a slight gulp. Shiraishi had narrowed his eyes, softly squeezing the wrist in his hand, and continued, “Let’s go clean you up, Kirihara-kun.”
Mutely nodding, not entirely sure if the other was angry or not, and more then a bit confused, Kirihara followed (not that he had another choice, Shiraishi still had his wrist).
The two walked silently to the infirmary, only to find it empty and void of any workers.
“I guess they’re on lunch break?” Shiraishi mused, guiding the younger male onto a clean bed. He quickly went about raiding the cupboards for medical supplies, dumping a armful onto the bed beside Kirihara.
Dampening a small cloth with water from a nearby sink, Shiraishi carefully wiped the drying blood off of the other male’s arms, hands and face. With a sigh, he began scolding Kirihara, eyes and hands focused on the task at hand,
“You need to be more careful, Kirihara-kun. Half of these can scar if you don’t take care of them and they get infected. For that matter, why were you still practicing when you have this much injuries?”
Kirihara hissed in pain as a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol was ran gently over one of the many welts on his arms. His eyes firmly directed away from Shiraishi.
“….” he mumbled, flinching occasionally from the sting of the disinfectant. Shiraishi waited patiently, wrapping the arms decorated with welts.
“…I wanted….to try and go into Angel Mode."
"Mm..” The light haired male hummed, finishing off the last length of bandages on the other’s right arm before moving onto the welt on the cheek. Kirihara shifted a little away from the cotton ball dabbing his cheek, the nearest eye squeezed shut, silently grumbling in embarrassment.
“Don’t force it, Kirihara-kun.” Shiraishi finally spoke, taping a clean patch of bandages onto the younger’s cheek. When Kirihara met his eyes, he continued, crouched down in front and looking up at the other, hands on their shoulders with a grin.
“You’re more than capable of doing it, Akaya."
Squeezing the younger male.’s shoulders, Shiraishi gave a bright smile, wholly confident that Kirihara would achieve his goal.
”It’s just a matter of time. I believe in you.“