A/N: Just a little bit of KumiWaki I found lying around in my files and cleaned up some. Inspired by a conversation I had with Aisha a while ago!

It's still rough, but I can't polish it anymore. ALSO: it's technically the second part of what was supposed to be a one-shot. So the 'how we got here' is missing, but I decided it reads better without it, 'cause it dragged. If anyone's curious, though, I could upload the rest as like a prequel chapter or smth. Just let me know.

Running Late

It's all (competitive) fun and (intense) games until Wakiya trips and goes down hard.

Of course, it's still fun and games for Rantaro, whose first thought is only that he's won. Because he has! By the rules Daina set, this is enough to name him the victor – it doesn't matter how Wakiya stopped after all.

He can't really be blamed for gloating, in this case.

When he realizes Wakiya isn't pushing at his side or breathing down his neck anymore, Rantaro skids to a stop and turns around. On the ground is an irate Wakiya, and that's when it clicks.

"Ha!" Rantaro jogs back, stopping about a little ways away from Wakiya, who's still sprawled on the ground on his front. "I won!" He leans over a bit, one hand fisted on his hip, the other pointing a thumb at his own chest. "Boss the Great is the official winner, what do you say to that, Wakiya?"

From his position pressed against the cement, Wakiya is most definitely not amused. He pounds his right fist into the ground, and slowly starts to push himself up.

"That doesn't count an' ya know it, Kiyama!" he says, when he's sitting on his knees.

Rantaro straightens and puts both hands on his hips, shoulders thrown back. "You're only saying that because you lost!"

"Idiot!" Wakiya sits up straighter on his knees. He glares with all of his might, but Rantaro only seems capable of a self-satisfied grin. "I tripped – it was an accident! Everyone knows ya couldn't'a beat me without some kind'a dumb luck like that!"

"Dumb luck?!" And Rantaro bends forward again, one hand clutching his lollipop stick (he doesn't want to drop it in all the excitement, after all). "Maybe I'm just more skilled than you!"

"As if!" Wakiya protests, fists clenched. "Yer an amateur at runnin' compared ta me!"

Rantaro finally backs off a little, just to give himself enough space to throw his hands in the air and let them flop back down. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"Maybe yer jus' not smart enough ta understand," Wakiya grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He brushes his hands down his front, straightening his clothes and dusting himself off.

All the while Rantaro rants. "You don't have to be such a sore loser, Wakiya," he says. "I'm a worthy opponent, after all."

Wakiya rolls his eyes. "Ya didn't even win!" He's still brushing debris off of himself, and his hands start stinging. When he turns them over to look, his fingers have brush burns and one of his gloves is torn. "And ya owe me new gloves!" he says, shoving his left hand in Rantaro's face to show him the damage.

"It's not my fault you fell," Rantaro protests, stepping back and uncrossing his eyes to take a proper look. He blinks, and his irritated expression melts a little at the sight of the brush burns. He didn't even stop to think if Wakiya was hurt in the fall, he was so caught up in winning…it feels rude, even if this is Wakiya. So he amends it with a brief: "Are you okay?"

Wakiya scoffs, retracting his hand to cross his arms. "O'course I'm okay. Y'think a couple scrapes are gonna bother me?"

Rantaro puts his hands on his hips. Why is it that Wakiya never wants to accept anything resembling help or sympathy? "I was just trying to – wait, is your face bleeding, too?" Stepping closer he can confirm that yep, there's a steady drip of blood from a cut on Wakiya's chin.

"What?" Wakiya asks, a little weirded out by the sudden intent stare that Rantaro's got going on. "Where?"

"Your chin," Rantaro supplies, and helpfully points. "Can't you feel it?"

Bringing his fingers up to press against his chin assures Wakiya that he can definitely feel it, and he wonders how he didn't notice it first thing. It's bleeding more than his hands, and he frowns at the red staining his fingers like it's personally offended him.

"Don't just look at it!" Rantaro is saying, and now he's digging in his pockets, too. "We should stop the bleeding."

"S'fine," Wakiya says, pressing his fingers to it again. The cut isn't that bad – it stings much worse than his hands, though, and there is a decent amount of blood. It's on the ground, even.

Rantaro is still searching his pockets – he's got a lot in there, apparently.

"Stoppit," Wakiya mumbles, and switches to pressing the back of his still-gloved knuckles to his chin instead. He absolutely does not need to be fussed over, especially not by Rantaro, under any circumstances. "It's not that bad, let's just get goin' already."

"Faces bleed a lot," Rantaro says, ignoring him completely, "so we should stop it before anything else."

"How do ya know that?" The question is out before Wakiya can pretend not to be curious.

By way of an answer, Rantaro gestures vaguely at his own face.

"Wait…ya wear that thing on yer nose fer a reason?"

Rantaro pulls a pristine white handkerchief out of his pocket. "No. Not now, anyway. I mean…not really." His cheeks are pink as he shakes the square of fabric out and refolds it, and then he clears his throat. "Move your hand."

"No." As of right now, Wakiya is much more interested in asking about Rantaro's fashion choices – or, rather, teasing him about them. Besides, he's sure he can stop the bleeding without help. "Are ya jus' tryin' ta make yerself look tough or somethin'? 'Cause – "

All in one smooth move, Rantaro steps forward, grabs Wakiya's wrist and tugs his hand away from his chin to replace it with the handkerchief. It effectively cuts Wakiya off. "There! Stop being nosy."

Wakiya grumbles to himself, knocking Rantaro's hand away from his chin and taking hold of the handkerchief. "Yer not even puttin' pressure in the right place, idiot." He shudders when he remembers something kind of important, and removes the fabric from his face. "Wait – are ya sure this is clean?" he asks, scrutinizing it. "Didn't ya dig it outta yer nasty pocket?"

"It's clean!" Rantaro defends. "And so are my pockets!"

"Y'keep everything in there, though," Wakiya points out. Blood has started dripping from his chin again, only to land on his shirt and leave dark splotches on the wyvern pattern.

Rantaro has had just about enough, and he grabs Wakiya's wrist and repositions the hand holding the handkerchief so it's effectively keeping pressure on the cut again. "Trust me," he says, "it's fine!"

There's a grumble from Wakiya – it's something about trusting him as far as he can throw him, and Rantaro smirks. He doesn't try to remove the kerchief again, though, so that's a plus.

"Do we hafta stand here?" Wakiya complains, no less than five seconds later. "We're gonna be late ta the park."

For a moment, Rantaro considers.

"I can still walk." Apparently, the moment was too long for the ever-restless and never-quiet Wakiya.

"No," Rantaro says, because he's finally figured out what he wants to do, "stay." He points one hand at the ground to indicate exactly what he means, and Wakiya scowls at him.

"I'm not a dog! I don't gotta listen ta you!" And with that he stomps off in the direction of the park, along the same route they'd been running only moments ago.

"Wakiya…." Rantaro jogs to overtake him (which isn't that hard, he's not that far ahead yet) and puts both hands out to catch Wakiya's shoulders and push him back. "Stay."

"Why?" Wakiya copies the tone as best he can, and it must have the desired effect, because Rantaro frowns.

"Because! You should probably clean that when it stops bleeding." He crosses his arms and stands tall, but of course nothing is ever enough to make Wakiya listen to him at all. He's about to walk off, Rantaro can tell, and he doesn't want that. "Just…wait here okay?"

Wakiya isn't moving, but the look on his face is anything but accommodating. "No."

"I'll be right back!" This time it's Rantaro who runs off, before Wakiya has the chance to. He takes off down the nearest street, in pursuit of the closest vending machine.

Wakiya watches him go until the flapping arms of his jacket disappear around the corner – then he turns and heads towards the park.

x

"Wakiya!"

Oh, it took him less time than he thought to catch up. Then again, Wakiya is walking maybe a little slower than he would have been normally – and it's definitely not because he wanted Rantaro to catch up to him. (But it's also not that he's too hurt from the fall to go any faster. He just felt like a relaxing stroll, that's all.)

"Wakiya! You impatient – " Rantaro cuts himself off with a huff as he finally surpasses Wakiya and stops in front of him. He takes a moment to catch his breath, hands held out again in another attempt to keep Wakiya still.

Raising his eyebrows, Wakiya just watches him coolly as he keeps one hand dutifully pressing the handkerchief to his chin. "What were ya runnin' fer? I didn't go that far."

Rantaro glares at him. "Come on," he grumbles. Then he grabs Wakiya's unoccupied wrist and drags him over to the steps. They're alongside the river, now, and ordinarily this would be a pleasant walk, or a nice easy stretch of the race. But today…

"This isn't the way to th' park," Wakiya points out, allowing Rantaro to maintain the hold on his wrist. It's not too tight of a grip, after all. Although when Rantaro sits down, he drags Wakiya with him, and the concrete step is unforgiving on his tailbone. "What're ya doin' now, Kiyama?"

Letting go of Wakiya, Rantaro reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle of water. The cap sticks, so he uses his teeth to turn it (Wakiya frowns in distaste). "I told you, you should probably clean that!" He balances the freshly opened water between his knees so he can reach over with both hands, gently coaxing the handkerchief away from Wakiya's cut.

Wakiya pulls it off himself and pushes it at Rantaro, because he doesn't need help with simple stuff like this and why can't they just go to the park already. "This is unnecessary!" he protests. "Yer makin' us late on purpose!"

"You're the one who fell," Rantaro says with a single shouldered shrug. He accepts his previously-completely-white kerchief though, and grimaces at it as he carefully refolds it in a way that hides the bloodstains.

"I told ya! That was an acci – don't!" Wakiya scoots away from Rantaro a little, effectively avoiding having wet fabric make uncomfortable contact with the wound on his chin. "What are ya – "

Undeterred, Rantaro scooches closer and tries again.

"Stoppit!"

"Hold still!"

"No!"

Rantaro sighs, carefully pouring more water over the clean portion of the handkerchief. "I told you I was gonna clean it. Just hold still."

"Lemme do it m'self!" Wakiya bristles; indignant.

"You can't see it!" Rantaro points out. "You won't even know if you got all the dirt!"

"So? I'll clean it, an' you tell me if I missed anythin'!"

"…Fine." Grudgingly, he shoves the fist holding the handkerchief into Wakiya's chest, punching lightly. "Here."

Wakiya grabs it and yanks it free, swatting Rantaro's hand away. "Thank ya," he says, voice sharp and decidedly not thankful. As carefully as he can, he presses the too-cold and too-wet fabric to his cut, wiping as rough as he dares and trying not to flinch.

…Rantaro's glaring does not help.

After a couple minutes of that, Wakiya holds the handkerchief between his thumb and forefinger and offers it to Rantaro again. "There. Did I do a good 'nough job, nurse?"

Growling a little, Rantaro snatches the proffered item and sets to folding it over itself again. He balls it in one of his fists, and leans over to scrutinize Wakiya's chin. Using the pointer finger of his free hand, he gently nudges Wakiya's jaw until he tilts his head so that the sunlight hits the small cut. It's only oozing blood now, and looks free of debris, so he pulls back.

Wakiya, for some reason, looks a bit flushed.

"It'll do," Rantaro acquiesces.

"Tha's a relief." Trying to save face, Wakiya rolls his eyes again. He realizes he needn't have bothered, though, when he sees that Rantaro is busy digging in one of his pockets again. "Can we go now?"

Rantaro doesn't say anything, just brings something suspiciously familiar out of his pocket. He waves the paper thin, wrapped object that he has clutched between his fingers. "Not yet."

"No," Wakiya says. "I don't need one a'those."

"You can't leave it uncovered!"

"It's gonna look stupid!"

Rantaro's facial expression can only be described as completely deadpan. He's already peeling the protective paper off of the bandage, crinkling it and stuffing it back into the abyss of his pocket.

"I can't believe ya carry those around…" Wakiya grumbles. There's no way out of this, he realizes. "I also can't believe I'm gonna look as dumb as you."

"Mine looks cool!" Rantaro defends, scrunching his nose and making the bandage scrunch with it. He peels the paper off of the sticky parts of the one in his hands, and once again finds himself in Wakiya's personal space. "Yours is gonna look dumb, though, yeah."

And again, Wakiya leans away from him, both hands clutching the edge of the step he's seated on. "I'll do it myself!" he declares…again.

Rantaro has apparently had enough of that, though, because he perseveres and sticks the bandage on faster than Wakiya can dodge him. As he smooths down the edges, he smiles, and then sits back at last. "See? That wasn't so bad."

The only appropriate response he can give is a glare, but it might fall a little short, because he's pretty sure he grimaces when he unsticks his hands from the concrete stair. That smarts, more than it did before, and he redirects his glare to his sore fingers and torn glove.

Seeing his chance, Rantaro carefully takes hold of the wrist closest to himself. He peels off both of Wakiya's gloves and shoves them in his pocket. Then that handkerchief comes out again, and the water, and then he's gently wiping off the brush burns.

Wakiya can't move. All he can do is stare. At Rantaro. He snaps out of it quickly enough, though, and jerks his hands away. "They're fine," he says, standing up and dusting himself off again as if to illustrate his point.

Rantaro stands, too, after a brief moment of hesitation. "Good," he says.

"Let's get goin' to th' park, then!" Wakiya's voice is suddenly a lot louder as he marches off. "Y'made us late, after all!"

"Me?!" Rantaro catches up easily, shoving the unsalvageable handkerchief into a trashcan as they pass it. "You're the one that fell!"

"Yer th' one that had ta play nurse!"

"You were a terrible patient."

"Shaddup! Yer the worst."

Rantaro just grins.

So Wakiya reaches over and rips the bandage off of his nose.

"Hey!"

A/N: Not my best, but I felt the need to post some KumiWaki! :'D I've got smth better in the works but it's taking a while.

Thanks for reading!