This Damage Seems to Suit You

By: TG

Summary: "You are ridiculous," Kazuya says, "but seriously, don't do that again."

Eijun's brows pinch in confusion. "What, kiss you?"

Disclaimer: I don't own daiya.

Warnings: minor injury

AN: written for the nonsexual acts of intimacy meme i did on tumblr. this goes along with my other new fic, No Smoke Without Fire. chronologically this fic happens first!

Kazuya has never had to press the panic button before. He knows it exists, knows it's located on the underside of his desk, but so far he's been fortunate enough to not need it.

He likes to think he's worked in this position long enough to know the difference between the blustery rage of 'I'm going to call your CEO and have you fired,' and the true threat of violence that peaks out from behind every grim smile, every quietly uttered 'I'm going to fucking kill you.'

He sees people when they are at their lowest, most vulnerable point. Most are genuinely hurting and sick, holding white-knuckled onto the reigns of societal politeness like they hold white-knuckled onto sick bags and the armrests of wheelchairs. He sees people when they are at their lowest, though, and the emergency room is full of needles and drugs and medical personnel who know the difference between the truly suffering and the truly addicted.

It's an unfortunate happenstance that his is the first and last face people see when they come to the ER. Kuramochi jokes that Kazuya is the posterchild of unmitigated verbal violence and that he only deserves it ninety percent of the time, but sometimes…

Sometimes the joke isn't funny.

At three oh seven in the morning he hears a crash from behind the emergency room's locked doors.

(It makes him wonder, sometimes, why they get a locked room and he sits vulnerable and alone at his desk.)

He'd forgotten there was still someone back there. He moves to pull out his ER log to see who it is, see if he needs to collect a copay or a signature, but a riff of voices stalls his hand. The emergency room isn't sound proof but it might as well be for all the noise it dampens, but the voices increase in urgency and volume and he feels a trickle of unease jolt down his spine.

There's another crash, and a muffled curse, and Kazuya's fingers itch to pick up the phone to call for security because that's Kuramochi and Sawamura back there, but… Who would he call? In a hospital this size, Kuramochi and Sawamura are the security.

Someone yells something he can't make out but he'd recognize Sawamura's noise anywhere, and then there's a bang against the emergency room door, loud and hard enough in the relative silence of the hospital to make Kazuya flinch.

His desk phone rings and he's tempted to ignore it but sees that it's the emergency room calling. He has a split second to think oh god what happened, a split second for his stomach to drop and for a million scenarios to flash behind his eyes -

Distant, dream-like words spin dizzily through his head. There's been an accident. Sawamura's been injured. Kuramochi got stuck with a needle. The people you love are dead, just like your mother.

-and then he picks it up, because that's what he's trained to do.

Calm.

"Switchboard, this is Miyuki."

"Miyuki -hey!"

That's all he gets before the emergency room door pops open and a man stumbles out.

Kazuya has never had to press the panic button before. He knows it exists, knows it's located on the underside of his desk, but so far he's been fortunate enough to not need it.

The man's wild eyes meet his and he realizes his fortune may have run out.

"Who the fuck do you people think you are?!"

"Sir -"

The man in front of him is spitting mad, face a mottled shade of red-purple. He's spitting mad and built like a brick and Kazuya's never been good in a fight.

He white-knuckles the pen in his hand and jerks his chair away out of instinct. He's not afraid, not quite, but his other hand slips under the desk all the same. His fingers drag and catch over the unfinished wood and he winces at the needle-sharp feeling of splinters slipping under his skin. He doesn't know what good it'll do to press the button when the ER personnel are already aware of the problem, but aside from metal sheet that comes down over his help window it's his only defense.

And the metal sheet can't protect him from someone who already has a hand fisted into the front of his shirt.

Kazuya gives up on the panic button in favor of raising both of his hands, trying to show that he isn't threat, he doesn't want to throw the nurses and medics under the bus but he's not the one standing in the way of this human bulldozer and his drugs. He opens his mouth but the man lifts him up out of his seat and shakes him and he feels like a 150lb ragdoll.

For a moment, he considers fighting back. He thinks about raking his nails across skin and leaving bloody trails on his face, about dragging his foot down the man's shin, about shoving the palm of his hand into his nose or his chin. He thinks about the point of his elbow slamming into the man's spine, and how long it would take to get around him and get out the door.

He thinks about a childhood of bloody noses and scraped knuckles and not fighting back and wonders when pacifism became his philosophy. His sharp teeth and quick tongue won't save him now.

The man sneers in his face and tightens his grip and Kazuya thinks maybe now; thinks maybe he should be afraid, thinks maybe he should have pressed the damn button.

Maybe he should have just called in sick.

The man rears his free arm back, hand curled into a fist, and Kazuya thinks well, fuck. Instead of fighting back he lets his body go slack and his dead weight makes the man stumble a bit, but it's not enough. His hand spasms in Kazuya's shirt but it's not enough, and Kazuya turns his face away on instinct, wondering vaguely if it's too late to take off his glasses because it'd suck to have to spend ¥34,000 on new ones just because he couldn't take a punch.

There's a bang and Kazuya twitches in the man's hold, surprised. There's a bang and he can barely register what's happening, why there's no pain from being hit. There's a bang and a sharp yelp and the man's elbow folds neatly at the joint under someone's fist and Kazuya's free to stagger away, unharmed.

He looks up to see -

Sawamura -it's Sawamura who's come to save him, of course it's Sawamura -snarls in the man's face and twists his hands into his collar. Sawamura, so strong and sweet like sunbeams through dust -but now his face is twisted with rage, now his body is tense like a string ready to snap. Now he's shoving, forcing distance between Kazuya and his assailant, putting himself squarely in between like some goddamn knight in shining armor.

Like Kazuya is something worth protecting.

The man blinks out of his shocked stupor and starts to fight back. He pushes his hands against Sawamura's chest, pushes at the inside of his elbows, tries to step on his feet. But Sawamura's never been one to back down; he doesn't loosen his grip.

"Kuramochi-senpai!" He calls over his shoulder. "Call the police!"

With his face turned Kazuya can clearly see it -the mottled blue-purple staining his cheek, the dried blood crusting under his nose and over his lips.

Oh.

Oh.

Kazuya's heart had beat out a quick tempo earlier but now it feels like it's at full stop, hung suspended in time at the sight of Sawamura's injuries. Sawamura can take care of himself just fine, can take care of anyone just fine, but that doesn't stop the hot pulse of protective anger that sings through his veins and makes him dizzy.

Kuramochi's head sticks out from the ER doors; he looks pained and Kazuya wonders if any injuries decorate his body, too. Kuramochi is a scrappy little shit, not unlike Sawamura -a former middle school delinquent, a soft-hearted tough guy- and Kazuya knows he can hold his own well enough, but it's different when the violence is happening at work. There are strict rules to follow, and neither Sawamura nor Kuramochi have ever been interested in backing down.

"Police are already on their way," he says, voice gruff and loud in the empty halls. He levels the man with a hard glare and says, "if you get the fuck out of my hospital now maybe they won't arrest you."

The patient growls low in his throat and takes advantage of Sawamura's momentary distraction to make his escape. He circles a beefy hand around Sawamura's wrist and squeezes hard, and Sawamura drops him with a pained cry.

The man pauses, face torn between fleeing and fighting, but at the last second he pushes past Kuramochi and runs for the exit.

Kazuya hears Kuramochi mutter "asshole" under his breath but it sounds like it's coming from a long distance. The adrenaline ebbs away, leaving him feeling exhausted and kind of nauseous.

"Do you mind patching up Bakamura?" Kuramochi asks. "I need to clean up the mess he left."

Sawamura pulls a face but doesn't argue and that alone is a bit disconcerting.

Kuramochi saunters back into the ER and Kazuya watches the door swing closed behind him, locking him away. He panics for a moment and thinks about calling him back or chasing after him, demanding to know what Kuramochi thinks he's doing handing Sawamura off to Kazuya like that.

Maybe he knows Kazuya has had experience bandaging up wounds.

Maybe he knows Kazuya too well; Kuramochi has always been stupidly observant.

Kazuya glances over at Sawamura and frowns. Sawamura is rubbing at a budding bruise on his wrist. He'd looked so fierce earlier, wild and untamed with fury, but now he seems small and tired, like a gust of wind could topple him.

"Come here," Kazuya says quietly. Sawamura looks at the extra rolly chair and rolls his eyes, and that gesture warms Kazuya's heart more than it should, because it's so very Sawamura.

"I can patch myself up just fine, you know. I am a paramedic," he says. Kazuya stares at him until he sits, lets his lips curl up in a smirk for good measure.

"Yeah, I know. Passing your training must have been a miracle," he says. Sawamura bristles but it's a weak reaction; Kazuya's words sound hollow even to his own ears, so he lets it drop.

Silence settles in between them while Kazuya rummages through the switchboard's emergency supplies kit. It's awkward, almost smothering, and Kazuya winces when he turns around and sees the self-deprecating frown marring Sawamura's features.

"I'm sorry, I should've -"

"Shut up, Sawamura," Kazuya interrupts tiredly. His fingers close around a bottle of rubbing alcohol and he tugs it free from its confines, along with a handful of cotton balls and a swath of bandages. He doesn't want to look at Sawamura, not right now. Not when he can tell from the tone of his voice that the light has gone from his eyes.

Sawamura is an open book, easy enough to read, but sometimes Kazuya feels like there are pages missing, like he's missing the point of the text. There are some lines he doesn't know how to interpret.

This isn't one of them.

"It's not your fault, idiot," he says gently. He squats down in front of Sawamura to start working on his wounds, and it gives him the advantage of forcing Sawamura to meet his gaze.

"But -"

"No buts." Kazuya tips the alcohol onto a cotton ball and sets the rest aside. He presses his palm against the hard line of Sawamura's jaw to tilt his head and says, "this might sting."

Sawamura doesn't even flinch when the alcohol touches his split lip. Kazuya supposes Sawamura has always been brave in that way, more interested in helping others than asking for help for himself. He wonders if this is something they have in common, that need to be useful, to be worth something.

Sawamura is an idiot.

...Okay maybe they're both idiots, but Sawamura is worth everything. Doesn't he know?

"I'm still sorry, y'know," Sawamura mumbles.

"I know."

"I should've been faster. He almost -"

"Sawamura."

"-and I couldn't -"

"Eijun."

"Hm?"

"Shut up," Kazuya murmurs. He tightens his hold on Eijun's jaw and leans forward, brushing their lips together. He feels Eijun's startled breath fan against his cheek and the flutter of his eyelashes and there's a hint of the taste of blood lingering on Eijun's mouth from the split lip, but all Kazuya can taste is relief.

Eijun's fingers tangle in his hair and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, a low half-moan that makes Kazuya's blood sing. Eijun kisses like fire -intent, hot, and consuming, pulling all of the oxygen from Kazuya's lungs and making his head spin. The EMT's fingers splay against the side of Kazuya's neck and Kazuya wonders if he can feel the pulse thrumming beneath his skin, if it's his own subtle way of making sure Kazuya is all right.

The kiss is intense but brief, and he nips at Eijun's bottom lip when he pulls away, drags his teeth across the split and licks away the tiny dot of blood that wells up from it. Eijun's breathing is ragged and he settles a hand against the sharpness of Kazuya's cheekbone, fingers warm and solid on his skin. Kazuya shudders -those were the fingers that, just moments ago, were tangled up in his assailant's shirt, keeping Kazuya safe.

They bump foreheads, noses, and Eijun grins up at him from ground zero, smile so bright it's like looking into the sun.

Kazuya would go blind if it meant he could see that smile every day.

"You are ridiculous," Kazuya says, "but seriously, don't do that again."

Eijun's brows pinch in confusion. "What, kiss you?"

"No, you idiot." Kazuya pauses to lick his lips, grinning when Eijun's eyes follow the movement. The medic whines when he puts some distance between them and Kazuya raises an eyebrow at him, grinning when Eijun's tanned skin flushes red in embarrassment. "Don't put yourself in danger again."

"Someone's got to be the muscle around here." Eijun flexes and wriggles his eyebrows.

Kazuya snorts and puts a hand over his mouth to hide the genuine smile forming on his lips. How can one person span the bridge between cutthroat and cute so quickly?

"Sure, sure," he says, flapping a hand dismissively. Eijun frowns at him, but the light is back in his eyes and the warmth of it settles in Kazuya's chest like a little flame. "But if you call me a damsel in distress, I'm leaving you on your own."

"Does that mean you'll stay if I don't?"

Kazuya feels the blush creep into his cheeks and reminds himself that he owes Kuramochi a thorough Mario Kart thrashing for making him do this.

"Maybe."

Must be leftover adrenaline.

(It's not leftover adrenaline.)

(Damnit.)

OMAKE -Kuramochi

Youichi watches his two friends kiss through the tiny window in the emergency room door.

People are at their most vulnerable when they're kissing, Youichi thinks. He can see it in the furrow of Miyuki's brow and the gentle shake of Sawamura's hand before he twists his fingers into Miyuki's hair. They're so open like this, their faces so honest, and Youichi feels like maybe he shouldn't be watching. Feels like a voyeur, someone who doesn't belong, an intruder in an intimate scene.

He watches his two friends kiss, watches the way their heads tilt automatically to fit together, the way the flush rises on their cheeks. He watches Sawamura's wide, doe-like eyes slide closed, watches him push himself into Miyuki's body like the moment he decided he liked it, it wasn't enough -like the bare inches of space between their bodies was too much, too vast, too far.

It's tender and sweet and earnest in a way that he never expected from them and it makes his heart clench in his chest.

When they break apart Sawamura touches Miyuki's cheek and brings their foreheads together and Youichi turns away with a bittersweet taste on his tongue.

He pastes on a grin for the paramedics and holds out his hand to a spluttering, indignant Kanemaru.

At least he's getting money out of his loneliness.

OMAKE -Kanemaru

Shinji groans and lets his forehead thunk against the emergency room door while Kuramochi laughs in victory.

"Pay up, medic."

He shoves a couple ¥5,000 notes into the nurse's outstretched palm, grumbling to himself as he ambles back toward the ambulance bay. As an afterthought Shinji turns around and flips him off, which only serves to make him laugh harder.

Kominato pats His shoulder as he stomps past and Toujou gives him a pitying look, but the gestures do nothing to fill the empty hole in his wallet.

Unbelievable.

Shinji reads enough shoujo, he should've seen this coming.

Stupid shoujo. Stupid Sawamura.

Furuya groans on his bunk and sits up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Did Sawamura kiss Miyuki-senpai?"

"Yes," Shinji hisses.

"Sweet. I needed a new television."

"Wh- what?! You too?!"

AN: as always thank you for reading. come bother me at kuramisawa or at trumpet-geek on tumblr!