[the library's not somewhere he's frequented by any stretch of the imagination; without the cuff's direction, he definitely wouldn't have made it so quickly.]
[within twenty minutes of the last text, Hinata scopes the aisles for his target - half-running, half-fast walking, trying very hard not to look panicked and failing miserably. the cuff working meant Nic was alive, but-- but then--- given everything- how couldn't it be nerve-wrecking? stupid, stupid...!]
[he pulls to a wobbly stop after nearly passing Nic's aisle, backpedaling quickly but freezing at the start upon actually spotting the guy. he isn't winded or sweating - nonetheless, his expression impersonates someone finding out their house hadn't burnt to the ground after seeing fire trucks pull down their road quite well.]
[ it's exactly one minute after hinata pauses behind a shelf to catch his breath that the boy will receive a sudden message from the very man he is working the nerve up to approach. ]
[on receiving that text after catching sight of a perfectly intact Nic, there's no more need to work up nerves. even if Nic couldn't hear it, he yelled; rounded the corner to face him, drew within ten feet, blackglass clutched on one side, volleyball tucked against the other.]
[the latter's thrown immediately at Nic's head. a soft object it may be, but for once, Hinata's aim was spectacular.]
[he'd feel a little bad after he noticed just how bad of shape the guy was in, but for now, it's all inelegance.]
[ he catches the boy's scent and responds to it just in time to get a face-full of volleyball. it's a good thing he's not a normally loud person, because he gives nothing more than a strangled sound, half-muffled by the ball colliding against his mouth as his body is pitched backwards in his surprise.
he doesn't knock back against any shelves, thankfully, but he does wind up on his back, once more, thanks to this kid... this better not be a damned habit.
he sits back up, though, but his movements are slower, pointedly strained. the ball's rolling away, forgotten, his entire attention on the boy on the other end of the aisle.
[something like relief and something like shame flushes out the indignation that had prompted the throw. reflex makes him step forward (towards the rebounded volleyball); observation stalls his feet as Nic returns to up-right, slow as it is. the struggle catches his attention the most, opens his mouth for a brief second before snapping it closed.]
[bottom lip bitten - every emotion clearly displayed - and a long pause, wherein he wonders where what he wanted to say (he'd practiced it in the room!) fled to. it was going to get awkward... why was he worried about it growing awkward? he remembered what he'd started the ordeal for, but getting there was another beast--- the longer he stared, the more surreal it felt.]
[finally, hands clumsy from disuse but nonetheless drawn upon:]
What happened?
[because he couldn't start with what he'd came here for. it froze his fingers, stuck in his throat. but he could gesture to Nic's general state; he could use the gestures he should've used before.]
[ the gestures were clumsy, but quicker to come to hinata than they had been, before, which is still a marked improvement, and something nic can't help but noting. (or, rather, something nic focuses on noting, if only for something other than the boy himself to focus on.)
he reads hinata's meaning well enough, and can surmise what hinata himself is referring to, but he doesn't answer right away. doesn't even really look at him, save for a swift, cursory look-over for any injuries, anything out of place— but no, tess would have surely taken him to medical if he'd had any, surely, surely. ]
SoMEone ThreW a BaLl aT mY HEAd, [ he finally replies, the worst stilted and rough, ground out between gritted teeth. doesn't bother with his signs, his hands, some fingers of which can probably be noticeably mangled, even from where hinata stands. ]
[he sniffs, once. rubs the bottom of his nose. usually, if given the option, he'd default to speech-- harder for the other, sure, but faster in the long run. gestures stilted but persistent, at present, he kept with it. compared to the pause before, his reply is near instant.]
[wouldn't move forward. looked Nic directly in the eye only so long as the gaze weren't met - attention flitted between tired eyes and mangled fingers, his own health absolutely perfect in comparison (paler skin, bruised purple under his own set of exhausted eyes, smooth hands: he'd gotten the burn healed, though he swore it itched in time with the pock-marks across his hip).]
Why punch a door?
[a beat. before Nic could say anything - voice quiet, almost dusty, not that it mattered. eyes dropped to mangled hands; something smaller than it used to be clenched in his stomach.]
[ it takes nic a moment to recall who this tsuna is — names weren't much to him these days, faces and behaviors cataloged away in his mind instead. possum, he remembers. and already he regrets letting the boy sit beside him that day.
instead of answering right away, he climbs back into a sitting position, body moving in heavy, sluggish gestures before he's got a back to the shelf once more, one knee drawn up while the other stretched out to just barely touch the other shelf across. ]
we HaD a disAgREeMenT.
[ maybe it is hinata's business, but only insofar as it would be the business of anyone who'd been around the observation deck that day — by extension. his reasons for doing what he did were his alone, and one he isn't particularly keen on divulging, whether due to pride or shame or an odd mixture of both.
(or maybe because he realizes it had never been his business in the first place.) ]
[all at once: he's tired. such occurrences increased over the last eighty-plus hours. hot to cold, awake to exhausted, antsy to still. a frown makes its way onto his face, hands dropping to curl into the bottoms of the combat uniform's side pouches. shoulders droop in time, head angling downward as seconds tick back, thoughts running into why haven't you got that fixed, backpedaling into what was it about, ultimately leaving him with nothing to act upon.]
[the ball. three steps forward, stoops to grab it. ends up crouching on the toes of his feet, volleyball raised for seemingly close inspection.]
Like that, they're gonna mend funny. [in the same voice, a little less dusty. another sniff.] Then your fingers're going to be even lumpier than they already are, and the door's gonna know it won.
[the man's movements didn't sit right with him. even in his worst anger-- especially in his worst anger- Nic's fluidity, the assurance of power in every muscle, had been points of admiration. enforced, prolonged pain when they could be called to action at any moment... even beyond duty: self-enforced pain. absurd. unsettling.]
[he would've immediately written it off as another thing he couldn't understand, but. maybe it was time to chip away at that.]
[ really, it's a wonder hinata has managed to go on for as long as he already has. it's been a harrowing couple of days for everyone, but for hinata especially, considering all that he's done (while still probably convinced he hadn't done a thing). and while nic isn't privy to what went on during his black box, he can surmise from tess' reaction that it hadn't been a walk in the park, either.
then again, nic can't say he's all that surprised. the boy had always been surprisingly resilient. maybe they were all wrong to worry so much, after all. ]
it WOn, [ nic replies dully. ] doEsn'T MaTtEr iF iT KNOws.
[ his head hangs heavy, much like the rest of his tired limbs, but he doesn't tip it back against the shelf like he wants to. he wouldn't be able to read his cuff if he did. ]
[-- so he would've thought months on months ago; now, he plops down.]
[sets the volleyball between his legs, idly rolls it forward and back.]
Sorry.
[sign instead of word. easier to concentrate on moving hands that didn't feel like a real language for an apology that shouldn't have been difficult. then again, if he actually had hindsight, he'd know it would have been impossible before trying to hold organs in with bare hands alone, before wooden floors and Tess's kind tone. before all that happened overshadowed his own lapse in judgment, and while his pride hadn't picked itself up - while shame and you hold me back sits as a laden stone in his stomach - he had gained more than a few new thoughts on it, and one of those were:]
[he'd been out of line.]
[shoving down someone doing their job, who wouldn't even fight back--]
[it'd been out of line.]
[should've apologized for the red mark on Nic's cheek, too. if the guy took it as that, he wouldn't argue.]
jesus christ i am so sorry for how late this tag is i seriously lost this notif wails
[ it's a good, long while before nic decides to respond. signing would be easier, but it would also require more use of his hands, and while the gestures wouldn't cause too much pain, he isn't too willing to have his hands become the center of attention given their current state.
people don't often say sorry to him, and nic nearly tells him as much. but then he realizes this might not be entirely about him in the first place, and that is a little easier to swallow than the alternative.
so he lets it happen. lets it be said, in the language he knows best, too, and lets hinata have this moment.
and when it passes, he'll offer: ]
YoUR aiM iSN't bAd.
slowly shakes head and takes your hand anD SQUEEZES IT AAAA LENA ruins the mood with this tag
[entirely involuntary, and entirely universal, if Nic's eyes are anywhere close to his face. brown jumps up from the volleyball, whole body stilling. staring, befuddled.]
[aim in... what? in saying sorry? in sticking his hand on explosives?]
[his face remains a bemused blank for as long as he stares. and it's for a while.]
why do you build me up buttercup then you bring me down
[ nic had made it a point to keep his face turned away, to only keep the boy in the corner of his eyes. he hadn't wanted to make a big deal of his words, and he'd been fully prepared to brush it off, should the kid want to pursue it...
but a complete confusion hadn't been an expectation at all, so it throws nic for a few seconds. prompts the older male to swivel his head around and return that blank stare for one that's mildly incredulous. ]
[ easier to stare at those hands than that blatantly blank expression. but the hands say nothing to him (why would they, the boy struggled with "sorry") so his eyes flicker back to hinata's face despite himself.
aim for what, he says.
no no. bad enough nic had to compliment the kid in the first place — yes, had to, because he definitely wouldn't have said it of his own volition, hell no — he sure as hell isn't about to clarify. ]
nOThiNG. [ his teeth grit, head jerking to glance away (and perhaps hide the angry red splotches that light up his cheeks). ] foRGet IT.
W-w-- [spluttering, knees dropping to the floor as he over-balanced in his haste,] --ait, wait!
[it might've been weird to press the issue -- it felt awkward, especially as Nic glanced away, his words even more grit out than usual. but as with his throw after finding the man, as with the argument in the hallway, once on a roll, he couldn't exactly stop.]
[especially because if Nic said it here, it must've meant something. -- and, beyond that, it... sounded nice, something he might've thanked or felt gratitude for, and - empathetic, off-handedly apologetic,]
[...?! why'd he look so uncomfortable? was it that big of a deal? all he had to do was just say wha--a--]
[--!!!]
Ouch! Oi! Nic, what the hell?!
[never one to be bested (or one to react appropriately, which would be to get away from the whacko kicking a kid), he drops the volleyball to snag the leg that nearly tips him over, using it to kick back at other's side.]
[very carefully avoiding anything close to Nic's hands, mind. don't think he didn't see how mangled those were.]
[ two boys, legs in the air, trying to tip the other one over with force but not too much force because they're both so dumb and this whole thing is dumb and if nic actually used his real strength then hinata would probably have a foot through his ribs right now but that'd just be dumb.
[one of the people in this spat is sixteen. the other...]
S-shut up! Why aren't you in medical?!
[... is a slightly taller, bigger baby, and Hinata wouldn't let him forget it. honestly, why'd he want to apologize to this guy--?! what a weirdo! freaking out over the strangest things, changing moods in the blink of an eye! (hold on, a tiny, hardly heard voice in the back of Hinata's mind whispered. hold on. is he embarrassed...?)]
[(...)]
[(if he was, he's an even bigger weirdo!)]
[---- and yet, the idea of leaving without getting an answer to why Nic hadn't gotten his hands checked out suddenly seemed... quite erroneous. even worse, near unthinkable. to emphasis his point, he jabbed his shoe's toe more stubbornly into the guy's side. it probably felt no worse than a flea's bite, but Hinata would also stubbornly ignore the imbalance between them.]
[ does it help if nic is still mentally 13? no? oh okay.
the mention of medical jut puts a bit of tension in nic's shoulders — not so much over the idea of medical itself (though that's certainly a bit of a factor — he doesn't trust anyone in there) but more over the realization that the kid's noticed enough about him to realize he probably needs to be in there.
[despite missing the tension in the other's shoulders, the change in atmosphere is as noticeable as stepping on a tack. Hinata's foot freezes in its attempts to jab Nic into movement; if he looks any more confused, it could perhaps be attributed to Nic's choice in excuse.]
So plug your nose.
[-- after a pause, his own expression pinching briefly in bemusement before continuing. a good thing Nic couldn't hear tone, he leaned too heavily on concerned.]
No, really. What's up? They don't ask questions, if that's what you're worried about.
[though he couldn't imagine why Nic would be worried about that.]
[ nic doesn't have a lot of value for his life. that much surely wouldn't be much of a surprise, given how often he's found in states like this, how often he willingly puts himself there.
lives like his, they're expendable, and replaceable, and it's just common sense not to waste time trying to fix something that keeps breaking.
so this "care" that so many medical professionals (or otherwise) here claim to distribute indiscriminately — it is too foreign not to be a lie, and too insensible not to be distrusted.
so while he may not value his life, when he is asked to pretend to, he certainly doesn't put it in the hands of people he does not trust. ]
[of course - these are things Hinata doesn't understand.]
[doesn't even fathom. he pauses only because a moment passes wherein he wonders if Twilights had regeneration like Wilson's; the moment leaves with a resounding no way, otherwise he'd be already fine in its wake.]
... You could at least set them. I'll grab the materials.
[foot dropping from Nic's side with a suspicious look on his face. it was the least he could do after causing the man so much trouble--- it was the least he could do, as those fingers looked awful.]
[and different as the origin may have been, he knew as well as any swordsman how valuable one's hands were.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
----> action
[within twenty minutes of the last text, Hinata scopes the aisles for his target - half-running, half-fast walking, trying very hard not to look panicked and failing miserably. the cuff working meant Nic was alive, but-- but then--- given everything- how couldn't it be nerve-wrecking? stupid, stupid...!]
[he pulls to a wobbly stop after nearly passing Nic's aisle, backpedaling quickly but freezing at the start upon actually spotting the guy. he isn't winded or sweating - nonetheless, his expression impersonates someone finding out their house hadn't burnt to the ground after seeing fire trucks pull down their road quite well.]
no subject
FROM: brown.nicolas@cdc.org
Yor face is stu
p
id
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[the latter's thrown immediately at Nic's head. a soft object it may be, but for once, Hinata's aim was spectacular.]
[he'd feel a little bad after he noticed just how bad of shape the guy was in, but for now, it's all inelegance.]
You're stupider!
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he doesn't knock back against any shelves, thankfully, but he does wind up on his back, once more, thanks to this kid... this better not be a damned habit.
he sits back up, though, but his movements are slower, pointedly strained. the ball's rolling away, forgotten, his entire attention on the boy on the other end of the aisle.
what the actual hell??? ]
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[something like relief and something like shame flushes out the indignation that had prompted the throw. reflex makes him step forward (towards the rebounded volleyball); observation stalls his feet as Nic returns to up-right, slow as it is. the struggle catches his attention the most, opens his mouth for a brief second before snapping it closed.]
[bottom lip bitten - every emotion clearly displayed - and a long pause, wherein he wonders where what he wanted to say (he'd practiced it in the room!) fled to. it was going to get awkward... why was he worried about it growing awkward? he remembered what he'd started the ordeal for, but getting there was another beast--- the longer he stared, the more surreal it felt.]
[finally, hands clumsy from disuse but nonetheless drawn upon:]
What happened?
[because he couldn't start with what he'd came here for. it froze his fingers, stuck in his throat. but he could gesture to Nic's general state; he could use the gestures he should've used before.]
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he reads hinata's meaning well enough, and can surmise what hinata himself is referring to, but he doesn't answer right away. doesn't even really look at him, save for a swift, cursory look-over for any injuries, anything out of place— but no, tess would have surely taken him to medical if he'd had any, surely, surely. ]
SoMEone ThreW a BaLl aT mY HEAd, [ he finally replies, the worst stilted and rough, ground out between gritted teeth. doesn't bother with his signs, his hands, some fingers of which can probably be noticeably mangled, even from where hinata stands. ]
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[he sniffs, once. rubs the bottom of his nose. usually, if given the option, he'd default to speech-- harder for the other, sure, but faster in the long run. gestures stilted but persistent, at present, he kept with it. compared to the pause before, his reply is near instant.]
[wouldn't move forward. looked Nic directly in the eye only so long as the gaze weren't met - attention flitted between tired eyes and mangled fingers, his own health absolutely perfect in comparison (paler skin, bruised purple under his own set of exhausted eyes, smooth hands: he'd gotten the burn healed, though he swore it itched in time with the pock-marks across his hip).]
Why punch a door?
[a beat. before Nic could say anything - voice quiet, almost dusty, not that it mattered. eyes dropped to mangled hands; something smaller than it used to be clenched in his stomach.]
Tsuna told me.
[only enough to make a guess, anyway.]
no subject
instead of answering right away, he climbs back into a sitting position, body moving in heavy, sluggish gestures before he's got a back to the shelf once more, one knee drawn up while the other stretched out to just barely touch the other shelf across. ]
we HaD a disAgREeMenT.
[ maybe it is hinata's business, but only insofar as it would be the business of anyone who'd been around the observation deck that day — by extension. his reasons for doing what he did were his alone, and one he isn't particularly keen on divulging, whether due to pride or shame or an odd mixture of both.
(or maybe because he realizes it had never been his business in the first place.) ]
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[...]
[all at once: he's tired. such occurrences increased over the last eighty-plus hours. hot to cold, awake to exhausted, antsy to still. a frown makes its way onto his face, hands dropping to curl into the bottoms of the combat uniform's side pouches. shoulders droop in time, head angling downward as seconds tick back, thoughts running into why haven't you got that fixed, backpedaling into what was it about, ultimately leaving him with nothing to act upon.]
[the ball. three steps forward, stoops to grab it. ends up crouching on the toes of his feet, volleyball raised for seemingly close inspection.]
Like that, they're gonna mend funny. [in the same voice, a little less dusty. another sniff.] Then your fingers're going to be even lumpier than they already are, and the door's gonna know it won.
[the man's movements didn't sit right with him. even in his worst anger-- especially in his worst anger- Nic's fluidity, the assurance of power in every muscle, had been points of admiration. enforced, prolonged pain when they could be called to action at any moment... even beyond duty: self-enforced pain. absurd. unsettling.]
[he would've immediately written it off as another thing he couldn't understand, but. maybe it was time to chip away at that.]
[(it seemed important enough.)]
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then again, nic can't say he's all that surprised. the boy had always been surprisingly resilient. maybe they were all wrong to worry so much, after all. ]
it WOn, [ nic replies dully. ] doEsn'T MaTtEr iF iT KNOws.
[ his head hangs heavy, much like the rest of his tired limbs, but he doesn't tip it back against the shelf like he wants to. he wouldn't be able to read his cuff if he did. ]
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[-- so he would've thought months on months ago; now, he plops down.]
[sets the volleyball between his legs, idly rolls it forward and back.]
Sorry.
[sign instead of word. easier to concentrate on moving hands that didn't feel like a real language for an apology that shouldn't have been difficult. then again, if he actually had hindsight, he'd know it would have been impossible before trying to hold organs in with bare hands alone, before wooden floors and Tess's kind tone. before all that happened overshadowed his own lapse in judgment, and while his pride hadn't picked itself up - while shame and you hold me back sits as a laden stone in his stomach - he had gained more than a few new thoughts on it, and one of those were:]
[he'd been out of line.]
[shoving down someone doing their job, who wouldn't even fight back--]
[it'd been out of line.]
[should've apologized for the red mark on Nic's cheek, too. if the guy took it as that, he wouldn't argue.]
jesus christ i am so sorry for how late this tag is i seriously lost this notif wails
people don't often say sorry to him, and nic nearly tells him as much. but then he realizes this might not be entirely about him in the first place, and that is a little easier to swallow than the alternative.
so he lets it happen. lets it be said, in the language he knows best, too, and lets hinata have this moment.
and when it passes, he'll offer: ]
YoUR aiM iSN't bAd.
slowly shakes head and takes your hand anD SQUEEZES IT AAAA LENA ruins the mood with this tag
[entirely involuntary, and entirely universal, if Nic's eyes are anywhere close to his face. brown jumps up from the volleyball, whole body stilling. staring, befuddled.]
[aim in... what? in saying sorry? in sticking his hand on explosives?]
[his face remains a bemused blank for as long as he stares. and it's for a while.]
why do you build me up buttercup then you bring me down
but a complete confusion hadn't been an expectation at all, so it throws nic for a few seconds. prompts the older male to swivel his head around and return that blank stare for one that's mildly incredulous. ]
whAT eh?
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I-it's just, uh. [hands raising, gesturing (meaningless), falling. continued confusion meets Nic's incredulity head-on, holds.] My aim for what?
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aim for what, he says.
no no. bad enough nic had to compliment the kid in the first place — yes, had to, because he definitely wouldn't have said it of his own volition, hell no — he sure as hell isn't about to clarify. ]
nOThiNG. [ his teeth grit, head jerking to glance away (and perhaps hide the angry red splotches that light up his cheeks). ] foRGet IT.
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[it might've been weird to press the issue -- it felt awkward, especially as Nic glanced away, his words even more grit out than usual. but as with his throw after finding the man, as with the argument in the hallway, once on a roll, he couldn't exactly stop.]
[especially because if Nic said it here, it must've meant something. -- and, beyond that, it... sounded nice, something he might've thanked or felt gratitude for, and - empathetic, off-handedly apologetic,]
No, really. Aim for what?
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so what does a mature, grown ass man do in a situation he isn't comfortable with?
fucking twist around so you can shove your foot against the other party's shoulder and shove them away THAT'S WHAT. ]
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[--!!!]
Ouch! Oi! Nic, what the hell?!
[never one to be bested (or one to react appropriately, which would be to get away from the whacko kicking a kid), he drops the volleyball to snag the leg that nearly tips him over, using it to kick back at other's side.]
[very carefully avoiding anything close to Nic's hands, mind. don't think he didn't see how mangled those were.]
no subject
but hinata is totally dumber, obviously. ]
whY Are You STilL HErE?
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[one of the people in this spat is sixteen. the other...]
S-shut up! Why aren't you in medical?!
[... is a slightly taller, bigger baby, and Hinata wouldn't let him forget it. honestly, why'd he want to apologize to this guy--?! what a weirdo! freaking out over the strangest things, changing moods in the blink of an eye! (hold on, a tiny, hardly heard voice in the back of Hinata's mind whispered. hold on. is he embarrassed...?)]
[(...)]
[(if he was, he's an even bigger weirdo!)]
[---- and yet, the idea of leaving without getting an answer to why Nic hadn't gotten his hands checked out suddenly seemed... quite erroneous. even worse, near unthinkable. to emphasis his point, he jabbed his shoe's toe more stubbornly into the guy's side. it probably felt no worse than a flea's bite, but Hinata would also stubbornly ignore the imbalance between them.]
no subject
the mention of medical jut puts a bit of tension in nic's shoulders — not so much over the idea of medical itself (though that's certainly a bit of a factor — he doesn't trust anyone in there) but more over the realization that the kid's noticed enough about him to realize he probably needs to be in there.
seriously, how annoying. ]
SmEllS wEiRD.
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So plug your nose.
[-- after a pause, his own expression pinching briefly in bemusement before continuing. a good thing Nic couldn't hear tone, he leaned too heavily on concerned.]
No, really. What's up? They don't ask questions, if that's what you're worried about.
[though he couldn't imagine why Nic would be worried about that.]
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lives like his, they're expendable, and replaceable, and it's just common sense not to waste time trying to fix something that keeps breaking.
so this "care" that so many medical professionals (or otherwise) here claim to distribute indiscriminately — it is too foreign not to be a lie, and too insensible not to be distrusted.
so while he may not value his life, when he is asked to pretend to, he certainly doesn't put it in the hands of people he does not trust. ]
i'Ll heAl jUSt FiNe ON mY Own.
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[doesn't even fathom. he pauses only because a moment passes wherein he wonders if Twilights had regeneration like Wilson's; the moment leaves with a resounding no way, otherwise he'd be already fine in its wake.]
... You could at least set them. I'll grab the materials.
[foot dropping from Nic's side with a suspicious look on his face. it was the least he could do after causing the man so much trouble--- it was the least he could do, as those fingers looked awful.]
[and different as the origin may have been, he knew as well as any swordsman how valuable one's hands were.]
(no subject)
I'm sorry for smashing into... set timelines....... aahhh.
shhh shhhh
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(no subject)