── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ HANMA SHUJI headcanons
hanma has a terrible habit of disappearing for hours and then showing up like nothing happened, with a cigarette already between his fingers and a grin that tells you he’s been somewhere he probably shouldn’t have been. before he says hello, he flicks the ash away, takes one last drag, and makes a point of standing downwind so the smoke doesn’t blow into your face. “don’t give me that look,” he laughs when you wrinkle your nose.
he gets jealous far more easily than he admits. if another guy is making you laugh for a little too long, hanma doesn’t interrupt the conversation right away. instead, he casually drapes an arm across your shoulders from behind and leans just enough of his weight onto you that it’s obvious where his attention is. hanma's smile never fades, but there’s something sharp underneath it that convinces most people to move along.
walking through the city with him feels like following a storm cloud. one minute he’s joking around, trying to make you laugh so hard you can barely breathe, and the next his expression hardens because he noticed someone watching too closely. hanma doesn’t explain the change. he simply reaches for your hand, tucks you onto the side farthest from the street, and keeps moving.
he steals your lighter constantly even though he owns three of his own. days later you’ll find it in the pocket of his jacket, scratched up from being tossed around with keys and coins. when you complain, he just shrugs and says, “guess you’ll have to keep hanging around me if you want it back.”
for someone who acts carefree, shuji notices tiny details about you. if you’re quieter than usual, he catches it within minutes. if you skip lunch, he somehow finds out. he’ll toss you a drink or a snack with a lazy “eat,” pretending not to care whether you listen, but he keeps watching until you do.
hanma acts like your belongings are shared property. your jacket ends up on his shoulders, your headphones vanish into his pocket, and he’ll borrow your hoodie for days before giving it back smelling faintly of cigarettes and city air. when you ask why he never wears his own clothes instead, he smirks. “yours are better.”
he never admits when he’s worried about you, but it shows in other ways. if you’re walking home late, he suddenly “happens” to be nearby. if your plans change unexpectedly, he appears before you even have the chance to call. when you point out the coincidence, hanma just laughs and says the city isn’t that big.
he likes making you laugh because it’s one of the few sounds that cuts through the constant noise in his own head. even on rough days, he’ll tell ridiculous stories or exaggerate something that happened just to see you roll your eyes and smile. when it works, shuji looks oddly satisfied.
there are nights when he’s quieter than usual, cigarette burning low between his fingers as the city lights reflect in his eyes. instead of talking, he simply sits close enough that your shoulders touch, occasionally nudging you with his elbow to make sure you’re still there. words aren’t really his style, but the fact that he chooses your company over anything else says enough.
whenever hanma's been away for a while, the first thing he does when he sees you is look you over from head to toe. he never says what he’s checking for, but you know he’s making sure you’re unhurt. only after he’s satisfied does the lazy grin return to his face, followed by some sarcastic comment to cover up how relieved he actually is.
he smokes more when he’s stressed, but around you he tries to cut himself off halfway through. there are nights when you catch him staring at the cigarette between his fingers before sighing and putting it out early. if you ask why, he shrugs and mumbles, “you complain about the smell.” the truth is he likes when your hair carries your perfume instead of smoke after you hug him.
shuji keeps little reminders of you in places nobody would think to look. a photo booth strip tucked into his wallet behind folded bills. an old receipt with your handwriting on it shoved inside his jacket pocket. a cheap keychain you won for him that dangles from his motorcycle keys despite looking completely out of place. if anyone ever noticed, he’d deny caring so fast it would almost be convincing.
he hates saying goodbye. instead of admitting it, he creates excuses to stretch every farewell by another minute. he’ll ask one more pointless question, borrow your lighter only to hand it back immediately, or suddenly remember something funny he forgot to tell you. eventually you realize he isn’t trying to keep the conversation going - he’s trying to delay walking away from you.
every now and then you wake up in the middle of the night to find him still awake beside you, staring at the ceiling. when shuji notices you looking, he flashes that familiar crooked grin and claims he just can’t sleep. what he doesn’t admit is that he sometimes stays awake listening to the rhythm of your breathing because it’s one of the only things that slows his racing mind.
when hanma gets hurt, his instinct is to hide it. he’d rather joke about the bruise than let you see how much it aches. but if you discover it anyway and insist on patching him up, he becomes unusually cooperative, sitting still while you work and watching your face the entire time. by the end, he’s smiling - not because the pain is gone, but because someone cared enough to make him stop pretending.
if you absentmindedly play with hanma's hair while sitting together, he practically melts without realizing it. his eyes drift shut, his shoulders loosen, and the constant restless energy he carries finally settles. he’d never admit how much he likes it, but the next time you’re together he somehow always ends up sitting close enough for you to do it again.
