#hanuki

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“You know,” Daniel said softly, wrapping another layer of crisp, clean bandages over the wound of the man sitting beside him. “I don’t exactly do this very often.” Though the wound was small, it was stubborn, bleeding through each layer. The red color unfurled like a flower, as beautiful as it was morbid. The young man huffed and doubled his efforts–no major artery or vein was even touched, he just needed to apply more pressure and layers of bandage.

“And what might that be?” The older man slurred as he leaned on Daniel’s smaller frame. “Taking in wounded strangers, or taking in drunkards?” The smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath, which made it no surprise for how the man must have found himself in the position in the first place.

Daniel chuckled under his breath.

“Not exactly; you’d might be surprised to know you’re definitely not the first,” he murmured, though It was more than loud enough for his unnamed companion to hear. He was still drenched from the downpour outside, soaking everything and everyone who couldn’t find some sort of shelter, even if it was as simple as Daniel’s own apartment. Though the man sat on his bed, soaking the sheets and blanket, at least he wasn’t bleeding anymore. “It was more because I used to be a doctor, of sorts.”

The man’s eyebrow raised as he looked Daniel over. He looked unamused, as if the admission lacked the shock value it was supposed to. Even past the glazed look from however much alcohol he had consumed, the doubt in his face was obvious.

“Undergraduate. Apprentice might be more accurate though,” Daniel clarified, though convincing the man one way or another wouldn’t change much of anything. “I was part of a program that sorta fell through. Used to help full-time in a clinic nearby before it lost most of its funding and was almost shut down completely. I still work there from time to time.”

Silence fell between them, Daniel and the man’s eyes meeting, but neither saying a thing. The rain sounded louder than before, without words distracting from the occasional rumble of thunder, or the thick drops of rain pelting down on the old roof on Daniel’s apartment.

It felt awkward, the air turning from silent to suffocating far too quickly, but at least the drunkard had enough cohesiveness left in him to keep a semi-coherent conversation going.

“I suppose it’s only fair to ask your name,” the stranger grumbled, voice low and powerful despite otherwise thick with intoxication.

“It’s Daniel,” the young man offered, slowly putting away the medical supplies he had laid out on the bed. He wasn’t sure how deep the man wanted of an answer, what was the level of appropriate information to give him beyond that–so Daniel merely asked the same.

“And what’s your name?” He secured the small kit of medical supplies beneath his bed.

The man let out a hum before slurring out a response, entirely avoidant or forgetful of the question itself.

“You’re obviously not from Japan.”

Though Daniel could have pushed harder for an answer to his question, he chalked up the lack of one to the man’s body being filled with alcohol. Short attention span, thick slurr in his accent, all signs he had seen plenty of times before.

Daniel stood up and gazed down at the stranger, not bothering to suppress a chuckle as he gestured towards himself.

“What gave it away?” He laughed. “And here I thought my crappy Japanese and white-ass features would blend right in.”

When the man didn’t reply, Daniel quickly worried that he might have come off wrong. He cleared his throat and quickly tried to busy himself with finding some clothes for the man to wear, at least while the current outfit went through the crappy little dryer in his apartment (assuming it hadn’t broke down again).

“I uh, only been here for several months. Maybe almost a year?” it didn’t take long to find a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt that would probably fit the man somewhat well. “Worked with some nice people but uh, they sorta bailed on me when…things went down.”

“That doesn’t sound felonious at all.”

“No! I mean-” Daniel sighed in exasperation, about ready to toss the clothes at the other man. He tried not to stare at the stranger, looking almost regal despite being as wet and pitiful-looking as a stray dog. It must have been the long, raven hair, or the piercing quality of his eyes. Maybe even the tattoo that spiraled down one arm, the same one that had been injured when he had managed to fall off Daniel’s roof and cut it in the tumble down.

The man was an enigma, and Daniel had known him for all of under an hour.

“…I worked for a program funded by Overwatch. I mean, I guess by definition I too worked under Overwatch.”

Though it wasn’t something that Daniel felt ashamed of, being affiliated with it wasn’t something he cared to advertise. Sentiments were still poisoned to some people about the group, its official disbandment still fresh in the public’s mind.

The stranger watched as Daniel stepped closer, slowly accepting the change of clothes with a gaze so careful that Daniel almost questioned if he was still drunk at all.

“…Why are you still here, if you no longer need to be?” The man asked, slowly, but out of genuine curiosity.

Daniel shrugged.

“ ’m still able to help people,” he mumbled, for lack of any better answer. “The clinic doesn’t get any funding from Overwatch anymore, obviously, but some people have enough loyalty or selflessness to keep donating to keep it running a bit.“ A sigh slowly escaped the younger man’s lips. ”…I guess it’s better than trying to run home when I was trying so hard to leave it in the first place.”

It would have invalidated all the years he spent trying to amount for something, to make a life for himself. He didn’t spent several years of enlistment in the military only to end up back home on his parents doorstep, with a story of ‘well, all my plans fell through’ to the same people who had less than stellar hopes to begin with for his life. At least he could be helpful there, with the clinic. At least he could still do good in a world that only got scarier by the day. At least some people still believed in heroes.

The man stared at Daniel for a long time, though Daniel kept his eyes averted towards the floor, obviously avoiding meeting the gaze. After what felt like a long, awkward silence, he slowly stood up.

“…My name is Hanzo.”

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It wasn't supposed to be a date. At least, not originally. It had begun as a simple meeting between the two men, something more preferable than the occasional run-ins that seemed to start happening more and more often, most times usually involving Hanzo being injured and seeking Daniel for his medical skills.

Apparently, Daniel had been the only person Hanzo trusted not to ask questions about the wounds. Most doctors would be curious to why he would so often have bullet wounds or burn marks, scorching across the skin in a telltale sign of a plasma-based bullet. But Daniel never asked, not after their first few run-ins, and Hanzo seemed to have a level of trust in the young medical practitioner because of it.

Surprisingly enough, it had been Hanzo who suggested they meet outside the interaction of bandages and antiseptic. A casual suggestion, though Daniel could detect the unsure layers to the others voice when he had asked, careful fingers cleaning a peculiar slash over his shoulder. Though a nick in most regards, Daniel couldn't bring himself to ask when--or why--he had even gotten into a fight with someone wielding a sword of all things. A little archaic, Daniel figured, but left the curiosity silent in preference to hearing out the older man's request.