Apparently, Hiruma hadn't brushed his teeth before falling asleep. His breath was especially rancid that morning, dank and stale like a sewer filled with artificial apple flavor.
Musashi wrinkled his nose and pushed the quarterback's gaping mouth away. When he had gone to sleep last night, Hiruma had been busily typing away at his laptop, no doubt treading the border between 'legal' and 'outright felony.' He hadn't woken up when the blonde had gotten into bed, then. But from the way that his back ached, no doubt Hiruma's bony knees had been digging into him for a good portion of the night.
"Get off," he grumbled, trying to untangle Hiruma's limbs from his own. The blonde didn't wake up, only gave a faint sneeze and went back to snoring with his mouth wide open. Musashi shoved his feet into a pair of worn slippers and began shuffling towards the coffeemaker, before grinding his teeth in frustration. Hiruma hadn't bothered to even take off his slippers properly before sleeping, and Musashi bent over, grabbed one shoe from under the bed and one shoe from on top of the cabinet, and placed them nicely next to each other by the bedside.
He wished that Hiruma would bring the manager, Anezaki, over sometime. Then he'd have someone else to help him clean Hiruma's room, at least. But as far as Musashi knew, he was the only other living soul allowed in- and with that privilege came the grand responsibility of taking out the trash before it reached the ceiling.
The coffee machine hadn't been washed since his last visit either. Rings of brown residue clung to the side of the glass pitcher. Musashi sighed, rinsing out the grime in the sink (which had its own brown residue) before putting in fresh coffee beans and pushing the 'On' button.
As the machine buzzed and hummed, the smell of brewing coffee filled the room. Hiruma stirred. "Old man?" he grumbled, flinging out an arm in search of his bed partner. When he found the space empty, he bolted upright with a start. "Musa-"
"Here, dumbass." Musashi sat down on a stool next to the counter, crossing his arms.
Hiruma glared, as if embarrassed at being caught in a moment of vulnerability. But Musashi pretended he didn't notice, and pointed to the coffee machine.
"Want caffeine?" Musashi grunted.
"Not now. Brushing teeth first," Hiruma replied curtly, kicked his slippers aside, and walked over to the tiny bathroom without a second glance at the kicker.
"We're taking on Oujo tomorrow," Musashi commented, as Hiruma attempted to squeeze out the last molecules of toothpaste remaining in the empty tube.
"What, are you gonna tell me to relax, and let the damn kids relax too?" Hiruma snapped, voice muffled by foam.
Musashi shook his head thoughtfully. "No, actually… I think… We need all the extra practice we can get."
The quarterback put down his toothbrush cup. "You don't think we'll win," he stated.
"I didn't say that."
"You meant it."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"But that's what you meant, Old Man." Hiruma rinsed out his mouth and set his toothbrush down a little too hard.
Musashi sighed. "I meant that I'm not completely confident."
"And you shouldn't be. It's fucking Oujo," Hiruma snapped.
"Yeah, it's Oujo…" The coffee machine spluttered to a stop, the few last drops of coffee dripping down. Musashi handled out the glass pitcher and filled two mismatched cups. "They're tough, aren't they? And the ballista… Looking at them… Maybe, I'd say, tougher than Shinryuuji."
The blonde began cackling, and cackling hard. "There's only two people in the world who have the guts to say that." He flashed a daring grin at Musashi, and sat back down on the bed to pull on a pair of pants. "They're another team that's special to us, eh?"
"The first team the Devilbats played against." Musashi walked over to the bed, holding the two steaming cups of coffee, and offered one mug to Hiruma.
Hiruma took it, and sipped it without waiting for it to cool. "And if every single member isn't doing his best, the last," he snapped sourly. "You can't account for everything. Kurita's stronger than Otawara, but what about the rest of the Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha Brothers? Monta- …Fucking monkey, if he gets frustrated and crawls into his self-pity party hole again- And then there's that other idiot. The shrimp's gonna break. That's for sure. And whether or not we win, if and only if everything else goes right, is going to depend on how fast he can pull himself back together-" he stopped upon realizing that Musashi was patiently waiting for him to run out of things to say. "…Bastard."
Musashi punched Hiruma in the shoulder gently. "I promised you, didn't I? We're going to the Christmas Bowl."
Hiruma turned his face away so that Musashi couldn't see his expression.
"That's why, even if I don't think we can, we're going to win. 'Shrimp' and all," Musashi continued.
Hiruma shook his head. "I'm not just fucking worried about just fuckin' Sena. Everyone else- the moment I turn away do something, and I know I'm going to have to see that day, how that damn Shin's running, they're all gonna start screaming like a bunch of morons. Fatty'll lose his head. Then everyone follows. They'll all-"
Musashi shook his head. "Quit talking about me like I'm not here," he scolded gently.
Hiruma snarled. "This isn't about you, it's about the rest of the team. How am I supposed to be in two places at once?"
"I know, you can't, and you don't have to. Concentrate on what you have to do. I'll take care of the rest." Musashi smiled lightly.
"I've gotten used to you being gone." The tips of Hiruma's lips turned up into a smile as well, but it was far from a well-meaning one.
Musashi grimaced, stung deeper by the remark than he let on. But he knew that Hiruma knew how much it'd hurt, and didn't rise to the bait. "I told you, didn't I? We're going to the Christmas Bowl." He stood up, stretching. "Get dressed. I'll make breakfast. We're going to be late again."