Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time they meet, they are strangers who meet in the laundry room and quickly learn to despise each other.

It had only been a mere two weeks into the fall semester, and Jesse McCree had wished for death on more than one occasion. It had, quite literally, only been fourteen days and he had somehow already managed to fail four quizzes and miss an essay deadline. You would have thought that by his third year in college, he would have shaped up his act somewhat, but he always seemed to fall into the same routine- put in the most minimal effort into his studies, complain, and calculate the grade he’d have to get on the final to raise his D to an A.  

It didn’t help that he and his roommate, Genji, were part of a fraternity notorious for having the best parties on campus. It also didn’t help that they were out every single weekend getting drunk and not being able to remember anything that happened the night before. Honestly, he brought it upon himself- but it apparently didn’t matter enough to him to strive to do better.

So of course, with all that stress piling up, he would be more than a little irritated when he walked into the laundry room of his dorm building only to see a disgruntled student angrily taking out clothes out from the dryer.

“Woah there,” McCree quickens his pace towards the stranger, who is dumping his flannels on top of the pristine white dryer like it was the most natural thing to do. The man seems to be ignoring him, which pisses McCree off until he notices the earphones in the student’s ears and realizes he simply can’t hear him over the music. He taps on his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

The man turns just as he slams the dryer’s door, taking out his earphones. He looks vaguely annoyed, like taking out McCree’s laundry was somehow such an imposition to his schedule and the tap on his shoulder only made it worse. McCree deduces that the stranger does not live on the same floor as he does, because he has never seen him at the mandatory floor meetings. He also deduces that he looks too regal to be in college, no matter how prestigious a reputation the private college has. Probably the prettiest guy McCree’s seen in a while, too, with angular features, bridge piercings, fresh undercut, neat goatee, a muscular frame, and a resting bitch face. Whole package minus the personality.

“It has been sixty minutes. It is common courtesy to take out your laundry on time.” The student responds, voice gravelly and tinted with a Japanese accent. His sharp eyes seem judgmental and annoyed all the same.

“Listen, bud, I put my load in at 8. It’s 9:06. I came down six minutes late. You’d think a guy could wait.”

“You would think a guy could take his clothes out on time, especially considering dryers are in high demand at this hour.” His formal, polite vocabulary sharply contrasts with the biting tone he uses. The Asian straightens up, and despite only coming up to McCree’s chin, he comes off as more than slightly intimidating. McCree gets a quick glance at what looks to be a tattoo peeking out from the male’s black V-neck before he shoves past McCree and leaves the laundry room without a second glance.

“Asshole,” McCree mutters as he shoves his clothes into his laundry basket before heading out himself. He lives on the ground floor, which is convenient because it is adjacent to the laundry room and a room full of cute girls. It’s also slightly inconvenient because they also neighbor the RA, who knocks on their suite often to write Lúcio up for his incessant loud music, and Genji, for his constant underage drinking. But they get the handicap room, which is three times the size of a regular suite thanks to Zenyatta’s need for wheelchair accessibility, so McCree doesn’t complain.

“Can you believe some people?” He rolls his eyes as he enters his suite, garnering the attention of Zenyatta, studying for his philosophy midterm. “I leave my laundry in for six minutes extra and they take it out like waitin’ six minutes is gonna cause a natural disaster.”

Zenyatta chuckles good naturedly as McCree stomps into his room, dumping his clothes onto his bed to fold them.

“You know, I actually don’t mind people taking out my clothes when I’m late. In fact, I welcome it. Sometimes I leave it in longer on purpose so I don’t have to go through the effort of taking it out myself.” Genji doesn’t even look away from his phone as he addresses McCree. The latter grumbles as he folds his flannels haphazardly.

“Wouldn’ta minded if the guy was nicer ‘bout it. He didn’ exactly come off as friendly.”

“Do you know who he was? Maybe find him and give him a piece of your mind?” Genji asks, ceasing his texting to spare a glance at his roommate. He throws his phone to the side and props himself up on his elbows, resting his chin on his hands, a universal display of a person ready for some juicy gossip.

“Nah. Maybe you do, though. Asian, short height, has black hair?”

“McCree, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s racist to assume I know someone just because they’re Asian?”

“Sorry. He, ah, he had a slight accent, kinda like you do.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Looked like he had a tattoo over here,” McCree gestures to his chest area where he thinks he saw the tattoo. “But ‘m not really sure.”

“Wait.” Genji sits up, blankets rustling from his side of the room. “Tattoo? What tattoo?”

“Dunno, he kinda left before I could take a picture,” McCree sneers as he shoves his shirts into his drawers without care.

“Did he have a goatee? Did he look angry? Did he have weird eyebrows? Piercings? Undercut?” Genji presses.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Looked like he doesn’ belong in college. Looked an’ acted like a real queen, if you ask me. Kind of a bitch.”

Genji bursts out in laughter.

“Oh my God, McCree, I can’t believe you ran into my brother!” he cackles. McCree stops throwing shirts into his drawers at this revelation.

“You got a brother? Since when?” McCree has known Genji for all three years of his college life, but he has ever once mentioned a brother.

“Oh shit, this is gold. I have to go and make fun of him. It’s only been two weeks and he’s already managed to piss someone off,” Genji ignores McCree and hops off his bed to make his way to wherever his brother is. McCree grabs his wrist just before he could leave.

“Wait, wait, wait. Since when do you have a brother?” McCree’s interest is piqued.

“Since always. You don’t see the resemblance?” Genji points to his own face for emphasis. McCree shakes his head.

“You have green hair.”

“You can’t tell me you think that it’s my natural hair color.”

“Well, no, but-“

“Look at my eyebrows!” Genji makes a point of furrowing his brows. “We’re peas in a pod.”

“You never told me about a brother!”

“Damn. Have I really not told you?”

“Three years I’ve known you, you never mentioned it once.”

“Ah, well, I guess it makes sense, we live completely different lives. He lives in a single on the fourth floor, chem-free. But he’s never in his room, or the building, really. I find it strange that you ran into him at all.”

“Han-zo?”

“Yeah. Can’t wait to tell him you called him a bitch. He’s gonna be so pissed,” Genji snickers as he leaves the room. McCree rolls his eyes and doesn’t really care, since it’s unlikely he will ever see him again.

X

The second time they meet, it’s because McCree is late to his War Crimes lecture.

It’s a big room, easily fits 200 students, but usually more than half of it is empty because attendance is not mandatory. McCree, however, has not missed a day of it primarily because of the number of cute sorority girls who sit in the back, who he always shoots a flirtatious wink at, much to their giddiness. This Monday was particularly brutal, though, especially after he wound up on the other side of campus in a one-night stand’s dorm after a wilder night out than usual. He ran across campus to the lecture halls only to realize he was twenty minutes late, missing an ample amount of information he’d have to extort from a classmate later.

What were the odds that in this spacious room, he’d manage to plop down right next to Hanzo?

It may have been because he was sitting right at the edge of the row, taking meticulous notes, and the edge of the row was the perfect seat for a student twenty minutes late to class. It may have been because it was the closest open seat, as well. No matter what the reason, however, it wasn’t up for debate that he had the worst luck today- waking up late, and sitting next to the one guy he really didn’t want to mess with. But he wasn’t rude enough to get up and change his seat, nor did he have the desire to move, so he stayed. It was only one class- he’d build a bridge and get over it.

He sees Hanzo sneak a quick peek at him out of the corner of his eye, and look away in disgust as he realizes who McCree is. McCree looks away as well, annoyed, before realizing he left all his study materials back at his dorm. He groans. The rest of the class is seated around the center of the lecture hall, meaning the only person sitting close enough to ask for help was the one person he didn’t want to ask.

“Hey, can I borrow a piece o’ paper?” Swallowing his pride, he leans over to Hanzo, who wrinkles his nose irritably but graciously rips out a page from his notebook anyway. He hands it over without sparing McCree a second glance. McCree takes it, and sheepishly looks up at Hanzo.

“And a pen,” he mutters. Hanzo sighs in an exaggerated manner, digging through his bag to find a pen for McCree, finding a gel pen half out of ink for him to use. He tosses it towards McCree, who catches it easily. His chest tightens in embarrassment; the fact that he had to beg for basic writing utensils from a guy he called a bitch throws a blow to his pride.

“Thanks.” He pops open the cap and begins to take down notes from the lecture. They don’t say anything further to one another until the professor announces an in-class partner activity with the closest person in proximity for participation points.

Could McCree’s luck get any worse?

Hanzo seems to think the same way, as he gingerly opens his laptop to log onto the program that they will be using to complete the activity. He glares at McCree when he sees the “Enter Names Here” part of the page.

“What is your name.” he deadpans. It sounds more like a demand than an actual question.

“Name’s Jesse McCree,” McCree answers, miffed that Hanzo seems so offended that he has to work with him. “That’s J-e-s-s-e, M-c-C-r-e-e.”

“Hn.” Hanzo types it in quickly, and proceeds to write his own name in afterwards. McCree’s suspicions are confirmed when he writes “Shimada” as his surname- the same as Genji’s.

“So I heard that, uh, you’re my roommate’s brother,” McCree tries to start small talk as he looks over the questions for the activity. Nothing too difficult- just some simple questions about jurisdiction and immunity. “Never knew he had kin other than his parents, but, uh, guess I know now, which’s all that matters, right?”

Hanzo doesn’t reply, and McCree takes that as a sign to pipe down for the moment.

He watches as Hanzo answers the first few questions with ease, but slows down as it gets to the last few inquiries. His eyes skirt over the words, and his brows furrow in consternation as he tries to figure out the answer to the harder questions. McCree takes the moment to speak up again.

“Listen, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but this is a partner thing and it don’ mean that you gotta ignore me-”

“You know, some people do not appreciate being called a bitch behind their backs,” Hanzo snaps. McCree shuts up immediately, feeling a rush of embarrassment pooling in his chest. Fuckin’ Genji really did blab. Which wouldn’t have been a problem had he never seen Hanzo again, but here he was, right next to him, in the flesh. In all his bitchy glory.

Hanzo pauses for a moment, then turns the laptop towards McCree. He looks up in question.

“Contribute then,” Hanzo sneers, mocking tone evident. “This is a partner thing, as you said.”

McCree takes Hanzo’s laptop, knowing he was stuck answering the harder questions, but feeling like he somewhat deserved it. He reads the questions, and proceeds to punch in the answers for each of them.

Hanzo seems to be observing him, arms crossed in front of his chest. McCree feels like he is under surveillance, which is only emphasized by Hanzo’s sharp look at his answers. He feels under pressure to sound smarter than he usually does. Despite knowing the answers already, McCree puts in effort to refine his syntax and add in more convoluted words to polish his sentences. It’s like he wants Hanzo to be impressed.

“There,” he mutters as he clicks the “Finish” button, carefully giving the laptop back to Hanzo. Hanzo is silent as he exits the browser and proceeds to pack his things and leave. McCree looks down at his paper, wondering if saying goodbye was appropriate in this trying situation.

Hanzo walks away without a word. McCree never gets to say goodbye.

X

The third time they meet, they are freezing their asses off because of a fire drill for their building.

McCree’s string of bad luck continues to plague him, as the bells go off just as he gets comfortable in the shower.

“God damn it,” he curses as he hops out of the scalding hot shower needles and hurries to put on the bare minimum- and by bare minimum, he meant boxers and a towel around little McCree. He dashes out of the bathroom to find Genji pushing Zenyatta’s wheelchair out in a lax manner, shouting over the deafening alarms something about grabbing a bite to eat after midterms end, to which Zenyatta happily agrees. Both are wearing an ample amount of layers to brace themselves from the bitter chill- a stark contrast to McCree.

“Did they really have to ring that shit today? It’s 10 in the fuckin’ PM.” McCree groans loudly as he catches up with his suitemates, making their way down the hall to the exit. Genji hands McCree his serape, and McCree is momentarily touched by the fact that his roommate was kind enough to provide McCree with a little bit of warmth. “’S not even November an’ it’s already below thirty, don’ think any fires are gonna start anytime soon. ‘S too cold.”

“That’s…not how fires work, Jesse,” Zenyatta points out. His eyes trail down, and a light blush spreads across his cheeks. “Also, your towel is slipping.”

McCree looks down and bunches his towel up a little more, re-tying it. He dons the serape like a cape behind his shoulders. “Either way, ‘s not like we’re gonna die in a real fire. We can hop out the window, easy.”

“So what, are we going to throw Zenyatta out the window?” Genji cocks an eyebrow. McCree winces at his insensitive comment, and wonders if these offensive, offhand comments are what is bringing him bad karma lately.

“Only if you are there to catch me,” Zenyatta jokes good-naturedly, brushing his finger against Genji’s hand. McCree just barely notices the blush that crosses his roommate’s face, and makes a mental note to interrogate him later.

They make their way out, and McCree is instantly hit with a cold breeze- the very thing he’s been fearing since he was evicted from his shower. He’s a big guy, and hairy, too- but that doesn’t do much to protect him against the wind chill of 25 degrees. The girls already out in the open giggle at his predicament, and nudge at one another to offer him the blanket they are wearing as protection against the cold. McCree notices Lúcio, wrapped in a fleece blanket, talking ecstatically to the Korean girl who lives next door, and waddles his way towards him.

“Hey, bud, you plannin’ on sharin’ that blanket?” McCree wedges himself between Lúcio and the neighbor, much to the former’s irritation.

“Jess, I’m kinda busy right now,” Lúcio says in a warning tone, behind gritted teeth. McCree groans melodramatically and leans against the student DJ. “’Sides, you already have your own.”

“What happened to the bro code, Lúcio?” he whines. Lúcio makes a point of shoving him away, grinning sheepishly at Hana, and McCree stumbles off to the side, dejected, only to bump into another student by accident.

“Look what you made me do,” McCree pointedly calls to a Lúcio who blatantly ignores him. He huffs and turns to apologize to the person he bumped into, only to realize it was a certain Hanzo Shimada, looking about 60% more annoyed than he usually was.

“Ah, fuck,” McCree mutters, straightening up. “Sorry ‘bout that, partner, my friend over there has no sense o’ manners.”

Hanzo looks away, brushing his shoulder. “I am not your partner.”

“Well, ‘s a figure o’ speech…” McCree’s words trail off, and his eyes roam over to Hanzo’s very-exposed body, realizing he was in the same predicament as he was- a shower shock, he liked to call it. Hanzo’s hair is wet, messily pulled into a bun, and all he is wearing are navy joggers and slippers, which fully displays the well-sculpted upper body of the man as well as the intricate tattoo that trails from his left chest all the way down his arm. McCree whistles, and immediately regrets it when Hanzo folds his arms across his chest, as if to try and hide it.

“What.” he mutters. McCree looks away, gently tugging at his serape.

“It’s just, aren’t you cold?” he asks, just as the wind picks up, sending a shiver down Hanzo’s spine. His teeth are chattering slightly, and he looks absolutely miserable. McCree detects the slightest hint of dark circles under his eyes.

“Yes, but this drill ends soon. At least, I hope it does.” Hanzo looks down at his toes. He tightens his arms, and hunches over slightly to retain some warmth, bouncing on the balls of his feet. McCree considers this for a moment, before pulling off his serape and draping it over the shorter man in a flash of kindness. The latter immediately sputters, trying to take it off, but McCree’s firm hands hold it in place.

“What are you doing?” Hanzo asks, clearly very wary of the larger man.

“You look real cold.” McCree answers simply. Before Hanzo can protest, McCree continues. “And I’m a hairier guy. Jus’ helpin’ out a guy in need. No thanks needed.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, wrinkling his nose at the worn fabric, but not so much as to rip it off. The warmth from being around McCree was indeed noticeable. “I hope you weren’t expecting one.”

McCree clutches his chest in fake agony, playful smirk on his face. “You hurt me, darlin’.”

Hanzo huffs and turns slightly away from McCree. McCree feels the wind pick up, and it is his turn to cross his arms over his chest protectively.

“But in all seriousness, ‘s the least I can do.”

Hanzo quirks an eyebrow, still facing away. McCree scratches the back of his neck, playful smirk lost.

“’Bout that whole callin’ you a bitch thing, I realize it really wasn’t very nice o’ me, even if you did take out m’ laundry. Jus’ wanted to clear the air, put the water under the bridge. Sorry.”

That prompts Hanzo to finally inch towards McCree. He gives McCree a neutral expression, which is already leaps and bounds better than the usual glare he offers. He clears his throat.

“I suppose it takes a bigger man to admit his wrongs,” Hanzo tries. “Thank you.”

“Then lemme reintroduce myself. Name’s Jesse McCree. But you can call me anytime.” McCree reaches out his hand for Hanzo to take. Hanzo scoffs at the stupid pick-up line, looks, hesitates a moment, before taking McCree’s hand in a solid, firm handshake. “Sorry, cheesy line’s a force o’ habit. ’M a junior majorin’ in God knows what. Hobby is drinkin’ an’ takin’ my pa’s six-shooter and goin’ down to the range for practice every weekend.”

“Hanzo Shimada.” He replies. He does not have much to say.

McCree gives a tight smile at that, looks up, and starts bouncing to retain heat. Hanzo can’t help but scoff good-naturedly at the sight of a half-naked college student struggling to keep warm in the cold weather, wet hair and all. McCree fake-frowns at that.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he asks in a mockingly upset tone. Hanzo snickers. The sight is rare, but welcome. He looks so much more pleasant when he does not have that angry crease in his brows.

“You are six feet tall and you are bouncing around like an infant girl,” he replies, voice lilting from bouts of laughter. “So yes, it is pretty funny.”

“’f it’s so funny, gimme back my thing, then,” McCree demands, and swipes at his serape. Hanzo turns away ever so slightly to keep it out of reach.

“You offered it.” he smirks. McCree feels warmth rush to his cheeks at Hanzo’s playful demeanor, and feels his own lips curl up into a smile. As cliché as the thought was, maybe this guy wasn’t so bad after all.

More people flood out of the building, and the alarms are still blaring, so they take this time to make casual small talk, which proves to be easier than initially thought- mostly about their mutual class, which they both agree is boring as Hell because of the drone of a professor- but also get to know more about each other in strange ways. Like how McCree will not eat a pizza if it has been anywhere near green peppers. And how Hanzo and Genji steered clear of one another not because they hated each other, but being seen hanging out together would damage both their reputations.

“What reputation?” McCree asks. Hanzo waves his hand dismissively.

“He believes that I am too much of ‘a nerd’ to be seen with him, just because I don’t divulge in parties like he does.” he rolls his eyes, putting air quotes around nerd. “I cannot remember the number of times he has pestered me to join his stupid frat. But I would rather not be seen with him and his playboy antics, anyway. But it’s not like we’re on bad terms, he comes up and bothers me way too often.”

“Aw, I don’ think you’re a nerd. You’re much too pretty for that.” McCree chuckles, and stops when he realizes what he said. He notices Hanzo shift his eyes towards his feet again, the slightest hint of a blush showing on his ear.

‘Fuck,’ McCree thinks. ‘That was a weird thing to say.’

“By pretty, I mean, y’know, ‘s not too often you see a guy like you, yeah? You’re one-of-a-kind. A-and by one-of-a-kind, I mean, like…” McCree tries to play it off, waving his hands, but only serves to dig a deeper hole for himself. Hanzo looks up and stares at McCree, expression unreadable, and McCree stares back awkwardly for a moment before looking away. He can barely register the bells finally dying down, a signal that it was safe to go back inside the building. Someone slaps McCree on the back, telling him to hurry back in unless he wanted to freeze his ass off. McCree gives a curt nod to Hanzo and a little wave, and walks back towards Genji and Zenyatta, leaving Hanzo standing awkwardly outside.

Hanzo tightens his grip on the ugly red serape McCree fanned over him, realizing they both forgot to reclaim the serape. He stands still, looks up, and blows out a puff of air into the night sky.

X

The fourth time they meet, it is at a university-wide showcase.

It is an event hosted by the student government that occurs towards the end of each semester. All of the clubs at the university get together to put on a showcase-slash-festival for the students to enjoy in the University Square, complete with free entertainment, free food, and free drinks- a blessing to college students everywhere. It was also an opportunity to show off the various achievements of each club, in hopes of recruiting more members. Whatever the reason, it was a nice time to simply mingle and get to know different people. McCree was a fan of both.

He walks with Genji, past rival fraternity tabling, past friendly sororities, to the food stalls, where they grab a hot dog each to munch on as they explore the showcase-festival. He hears the music blasting from the stage area, and nudges at Genji.

“Wanna check that out?” he asks. Genji looks thoughtful for a moment.

“Actually, yeah, my brother might be performing.” He swipes a water bottle from a nearby treats table. McCree pauses, squeezing his eyes shut as his chest swells with embarrassment from the very mention of Hanzo. After that weird offhand compliment, he has not seen Hanzo for a week and a half, not even at the lectures. He was afraid he said something he couldn’t take back, and judging from the absence of the man himself, he probably embarrassed him enough to repel him for the rest of his college career.

“Your brother? Y’mean Hanzo?” McCree feigns casual interest. He didn’t take Hanzo to be the type to perform in front of thousands of students. “What kinda performance?”

“Oh, he’s the captain of the dance team, MODA.” Genji answers simply. “Modern dancing’s his forte, and I believe he choreographed a few dances and is involved in some step, as well. Come to think of it, I believe Angela is on the team, too…”

Genji’s voice trails off as he notices McCree’s blank stare.

“What?”

“Your brother. The one who yelled at me in the laundry room?”

“Yes, the one and only. I thought you were over that by now.”

“I am! It’s jus’, I know nothin’ ‘bout him, and then suddenly you tell me he’s on a dance team?”

“Well, he has been missing classes and practically lived in the dance studio for the past couple of weeks. He gets really stressed around this time. Even I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t even know if he fed himself.”

That explained the lack of his presence in the lecture hall. McCree flushes, feeling like he overreacted.

“He’s also captain of the archery team.” Genji comments.

“We have an archery team?”

“Apparently we do. We also have calligraphy and stone garden making. Both of which he’s a co-founder of.”

“Wow. Busy fella.”

“Nerdy is more like it. But he never got a chance to do what he wanted when we were younger, so I’m glad he’s dabbling in it now. Still don’t want to be seen with him, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, him more so than me, to be precise. After all, he was the next in line to be the head of our family’s yakuza line-“

“Wait. Yakuza? As in Japanese mafia?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re yakuza?” McCree exclaims. Genji slaps his hand over McCree’s mouth, grimacing.

“You’re too loud. And key word, was. As in, not anymore. We both defected- well, I got kicked out, but I still managed to pocket a good amount of money so I could travel overseas and support myself while getting a degree to pursue an honest profession. He left after he was ordered to kill me.”

“Kill you?” McCree’s shrill, unbelieving voice is mumbled by Genji’s hand over his mouth. The latter lowers his hand, shushing McCree.

“Hardcore stuff, huh? I am glad he didn’t kill me in the end. Two years after I left, I snuck back to convince him to join me, and it took me punching the molars out of his mouth, but he did. I harbored no hard feelings, of course, it’s hard to leave your bloodline in my culture. I understood. But it was him who made things awkward for a while before he finally started to realize it wasn’t really his fault.”

The two arrive at the stage area, a large stage outdoor stage surrounded by man-placed forestry, complete with lights and the works; an area reserved for big events like this. A huge crowd has accumulated already, anticipatory atmosphere evident in the various scattered conversations. The announcer is excitedly introducing the next group, bouncing around the stage running on seemingly endless energy. McCree recognizes the announcer as Lena, one of the girls who lives next door to his dorm. She looks out into the crowd and coincidentally makes eye contact with everyone, and gives a loud, cheerful shout-out to them for being there. They whoop back; this sort of thing suits her naturally bubbly exterior.

“Alright, loves, I know this is the performance you’ve all been waiting for, so get ready for the next group!” Lena’s happy voice is amplified by the gigantic stereos surrounding her. “You all know them, come on, give your best shout-out to our school’s very own MODA!” She grips the mic with one hand and outstretches her arm towards the stage, where the lights dim. The crowd seems to go ballistic. McCree is confused as to why exactly they’re so excited. Genji grabs McCree’s sleeve.

“This is it!” he says giddily. “Well, at least I think this is it. He never told me the name of his group, actually.”

McCree crosses his arms, trying to get in the mood like the bumbling crowd of students bumping into him as they try to get closer to the front. If it’s causing such a stir within them, the group must have a substantial reputation. McCree’s only seen flyers for MODA around the walls of the school’s buildings, but he’s never cared enough to really spare more than a few seconds of a lingering gaze upon them. Dance was just not an important part of his life.

“I hope Hanzo’s performing,” he hears a girl yell above the noise of the crowd. His ears perk up. Her friends seem to be anticipating the older Shimada with equal fervor.

“He’s so hot,” her friend chimes in. “I wouldn’t mind getting choked by his strong arms,” she says, earning her high fives of approval. McCree raises a brow and turns away quickly as the conversation turns in an awry direction, while Genji winces at the thought of his brother partaking in anything remotely sexual. Girls were weird. But McCree does have to admit, Hanzo did have the nicest pair of biceps he’s ever seen. Second to only his own, if he said so himself.

The crowd is gradually shushed by the slow windup of a song flooding in through the speakers. McCree sees a formation of dancers walk onto the stage to the beat of Trap Queen, calculated steps followed with a flair of calculated confidence only seasoned dancers have. The stage lights remain dark until all of them are in position, and suddenly the lights flare up as the dancers jump into an extremely difficult choreography of rapid-fire movements, almost perfectly in sync with one another. The footwork is complicated, and the wave-like body rolls are something McCree could never hope to achieve. Right at the middle, the song shifts into 679, and the dance changes accordingly. Their game faces show that they mean nothing but business, and it is quite evident that they have been practicing for a long time to perfect these few minutes of a performance.

Hanzo is nowhere to be seen.

Genji hums in confusion, wondering why his brother isn’t up on that stage. McCree is slightly disappointed, as well. But the crowd seems to be eating it up, so he decides to keep watching.

The Fetty Wap song chain ends pretty quickly, only about a minute into each song. Some of the dancers- namely males- exit the stage in a timely fashion, while others- namely girls- remain. New dancers pour in from the sidelines as the music makes a smooth transition into Work by Rihanna, and the crowd screams for the girls and their hip-shaking movements. The crowd is hyped up by the song selection, and everyone is yelling the lyrics along with the song.

But where was Hanzo?

McCree and Genji share a look. They’ve both heard these songs far too often from parties and their identical playlists, so the music selection isn’t foreign to them. The girls are cute, sure, but they weren’t there for the girls. It seemed like the crowd was also waiting for Hanzo, though, so they were at least in the right place at the right time.

A few moments pass, and Work ends after the first chorus. The lights dim, and the music slowly fades out. This time, everyone leaves the stage, leaving the crowd wondering what will happen next. Two people enter separately immediately after the last dancer from the previous song leaves the stage- one enters from stage right, while one enters from stage left. McCree gulps unconsciously; he can tell that stocky frame anywhere, even when it was dark. Genji seems to be onto the same thing, as he cups his hands around his mouth to shout an encouraging, “Go brother!” towards the stage.

Hanzo Shimada is not fazed one bit.

The song is a bit old this time, but still a classic, old-school Chris Brown selection. McCree recognizes Been Around the World from his middle school days, and blood rushes to his cheeks. He realizes the girl who entered from stage left was Angela, and they seem to be in matching outfits- Angela donning black leggings, a sports bra, and a black hoodie, while Hanzo sports black joggers and a black track jacket. McCree is stunned as they begin their choreography, a very intimate one- it is what people would identify as a “couple’s dance”. A lot of the moves seem to incorporate in one way or another some sort of physical contact between the two, and while it looks aesthetically appealing, for some odd reason, McCree is not enjoying the show at all.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion, and McCree knows it far too well.

“Do you think they’re together?” A guy near McCree asks his friend.

“They got good chemistry,” The friend replies. “They do a double performance every time.” McCree stiffens. Genji seems to notice, and bumps McCree in the elbow.

“Trust me when I say they’re not involved,” he mutters lowly, loud enough only for McCree to hear. McCree shrugs. “Angela is not into people like my brother.”

“Not like it matters,” he says casually, hoping his façade would throw Genji off. At least Genji thought he was lusting after Angie and not his brother. The last thing he wanted was him accusing McCree of having a thing for Hanzo. Besides, he knew Angela had a thing for their friend, Fareeha, for the longest time. So why did he still feel so irritated?

The crowd is eating it up. They love the apparent “chemistry” between Hanzo and Angela in that dance, and they are speculating as to who came up with the choreography. It is, in essence, a story they are telling the audience through their body language- one McCree doesn’t really care for.

Why was he so riled up? It wasn’t as if he and Hanzo even had too many interactions. They had the rockiest start to a barely-there friendship, and even then he didn’t really know Hanzo. He didn’t know why he felt so off, or why he was unwittingly grinding his teeth, hands shoved into his pockets. The way he felt wasn’t really fair to either of them in any way.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling annoyed when a move incorporates hip-grabbing and swinging side-to-side.

Before long, the dance ends, and McCree could not be more grateful. He grimaces when Angela gives Hanzo a brief hug before she bounces off the stage, and mentally kicks himself for being so immature. The lights dim except for a spotlight which shines on Hanzo, as he unzips his track jacket to reveal a black tank top, tossing his outerwear carelessly to the side- much to the excitement of the students. His little striptease is followed by Beyoncé’s Partition, and McCree would be damned if Hanzo didn’t have his full attention.

Hanzo’s moves ooze repressed sexuality finally being allowed to be expressed freely- and his viewers are absolutely mesmerized. There is only one word to describe his stage demeanor and choreography, and that word is sexy. There are a lot of popping squats, lots of fluid upper body movements, lots of body rolls, lots of complicated footwork, but above all, lots of sex appeal to this erotic dance he’s putting on, and McCree wonders just how the Hell this slipped by the school’s rules of public display. Because if there weren’t a crowd around him right now, if it was just Hanzo and him in a room and Hanzo was putting on this show for him privately, McCree wouldn’t be able to help the boner he’d pop in that situation.

Somehow, his muscular frame compliments his steps, and McCree is absolutely entranced, absolutely hypnotized by this man performing in front of thousands of students. If this was the first impression he got of Hanzo, he would have never known how uptight and closed-off he was. How was this the same person who got tight over McCree leaving his clothes in the dryer for a couple of minutes longer than he was supposed to? His moves were like water, flowing smoothly yet with a rigid confidence. It was hard to believe that was actually Hanzo up there on the stage. His body language conveys such a feeling of openness and a tantalizing welcome, and-

“Jesse, you look a little flushed.” Genji points out.

“’S a lil’ hot here. Crowded, too.” McCree looks away. It is not hot at all. The heat from the crowd cannot combat with the fact that it is thirty-five degrees outside. He can’t look at Hanzo’s performance any longer, or he might actually have to calm Little Jesse down there before things got worse.

“Jesse.” Genji grabs McCree’s sleeve again.

“Yeah?”

The music dies down, indicating that the bit was over. The crowd would give Hanzo a standing ovation if the students weren’t already standing. They sound disappointed when he grabs his discarded hoodie off the ground in one smooth movement, gives a salute, and walks off the stage.

“Are you hiding something from me?” Genji asks, voice eerily even.

“No.” McCree pulls his arms away indignantly. He stops. “I mean, yeah, but not like what you’re thinkin’.”

Genji gives him a look, but chooses to stop pushing. He knows how thick-headed McCree can be, and even insinuating that he might like his brother is a blow to his pride as well as his fragile masculinity. He lets it go for now, knowing McCree would come around on his own later.

The dance routine has one last group dance with everyone, much to the crowd’s pleasure. As soon as it ends, McCree makes a beeline for backstage, shoving his way through the students and trying to figure out a way in. Lena is gushing about how she lives with Angela, and how she sees Hanzo in her building sometimes, proud that she has a better accessibility to the dancers than the other students do. McCree takes this opportunity to sneak in through the back to the backstage area, the other side of the huge performance sector that is riddled with white tents that keep the performers separated in groups.

He tries to locate MODA, which is difficult given that there are so many tents and so many other performers buzzing around. He hears some security personnel ask if he’s authorized to be in there, but he opts to ignore it- why was there security for this kind of event, anyway? He needs to find Hanzo, needs to say something to him.

He finally locates the tent, where a bunch of dancers are crowded around. Their coach seems to be giving them a round of congratulatory remarks, and McCree notices Angela. She makes eye contact with him, and quickly breaks away from the group to greet him.

“Jesse!” The Swiss beauty is as dazzling as ever, even after a sweaty performance. She hugs him in greetings, and he embraces her back, smiling into the hug. “What are you doing here, backstage? I don’t think you are supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was lookin’ for my friend, actually.” McCree scratches his cheek. “I believe he was your partner for one of your dances.”

“Hanzo? Oh, he’s a delight. Very handsome, but very quiet. Why? What do you need?”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He should be in the tent. He’s stretching right now, says he didn’t stretch quite enough before the performance and now his ankles are bothering him. I keep telling him, his ankles are weak and delicate and he needs to wear proper footwear, but he never listens. Always wears those  popular, good-for-nothing brands. Sort of like you, actually! I tell you to cut off your smoking but you never-“

“Alright, thanks Angie.” McCree makes a curt exit. He loves Angela to bits, but sometimes she rambles on and on and he was a man on a mission.

He opens the flap with the back of his arm and enters to see Hanzo sitting in the middle, with one leg tucked in and one leg stretched out to his side, his upper body leaning in the direction of his stretched-out leg. Hanzo looks up at the sudden disturbance, and his visage turns into that of surprise.

“McCree,” he straightens up and rises to his feet. “What are you-“

“Hanzo. You looked great. Out there, I mean.” McCree blurts. He feels the tips of his ears go red and knows he fucked up already. Hanzo looks taken aback by the compliment, but gives a small smile- a smile that is absolutely gorgeous- and pushes his hair back.

“Thank you. It was a lot of work to put together.”

“I can tell. Can’t dance to save my life, but you made it work. Is…is that why you’ve been missin’ War Crimes?”

“Ah, yes. I believe missing one or two lectures won’t severely affect my grades. I am hoping you took enough notes for the both of us. I will need it later. And actually, while you are here…” Hanzo turns to rummage through his bag for something. McCree waits, hands laced behind his back, rocking on his feet.

Hanzo pulls out McCree’s serape, and hands it to him. “Thank you for this. I had no time to locate you these past two weeks, and I hope I did not make it seem as if I was never going to return this.”

McCree remains silent as Hanzo goes back in his bag to look for a bandage to roll around his ankles. McCree wonders just how delicate those ankles really are.

“Really, you would not believe the amount of work that goes into these shows. It’s insane. This year, I had to choreograph two and a half dances, which was ridiculous. At least Angela catches on quickly. A lot of these people are beginners, so I really had to make the moves simpler than they should have been…” He rambles about the performance as McCree stands, serape in his hands.

He thumbs the worn red fabric, staring at it a moment before making up his mind.

“Come to the party tonight, Hanzo.” he says, with enough vigor to grab Hanzo’s attention. Hanzo turns, interest slightly piqued at McCree’s sudden offer.

“M’ frat’s throwin’ a party. And I’d really like it if you could come.” McCree offers again. Hanzo stands, a roll of bandage in his hand.

“I do not fancy parties much.” he states simply. “I don’t really find it fun.”

“I know, but I really want you to come.” McCree steps closer, trying not to sound like a whining child and failing miserably. Hanzo looks like he wants to step back, but he does not want to feel like a cornered animal, so he stands his ground.

“Please? It’d mean a lot to me and Genji, probably,” He beckons. He steps closer so that he and Hanzo are almost chest-to-chest. He can swear he sees Hanzo turn a little red- or maybe that was already there from the exuberant performance.

“I…I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” he waves McCree away, looking to the side. McCree lights up at that- a maybe is better than a no. He could not have better timing, as the dance team starts flooding back in to gather their stuff and leave to watch the rest of the showcase. McCree grins at Hanzo before leaving, a look that says “I’ll hold you to that” before he walks away.

X

The fifth time they meet, McCree is on his seventh shot as he realizes Hanzo may not actually stick to his words.

The frat house is full of drunk, sweaty, horny college students looking to get it on or simply have a good time. And usually McCree would fit right in- he’d be somewhere between tipsy and on the verge of puking at this point. Either that, or he’d be ripping off his shirt and dancing on a table somewhere. But tonight was different. He was trying to be as sober as possible so he wouldn’t trip over his words when he saw Hanzo. He needed to be as lucid as he could be to sort his feelings out.

“Jesse!” Genji comes, clearly inebriated. The thing about Genji was, though, he was the type to get drunk really quickly and also get sober very quickly. That in-between window, however, included a few long minutes of extreme drunkenness. Right now, Genji was at that sweet spot, if his flushed face and wobbly movements were anything to go by. He slaps McCree on the back harder than the man would have liked, smiling like a fool.

“You look waaay too sober, man,” Genji states unhappily. “How many shots are you on?”

“Seven, maybe eight.” McCree replies. Genji gasps, insulted.

“Get out of my frat house,” he slurs, as if McCree’s lack of intoxication was a personal blow.

“Can’t. ‘M waiting for someone.” McCree says, putting his hands on Genji’s shoulders and lightly pushing the Asian away from him. Genji narrows his eyes.

“Who?”

“None o’ your business.”

“Let me guess. Angela?”

“No.”

“Fareeha?”

“Like a sister t’ me.”

“Hana?”

“Lúcio’s girl? No.”

“Then who?”

“None o’ your business.”

“Jesse, tell me,” Genji prods. McCree groans- a drunk Genji is harder to stall with than a sober one.

“Look, Zen’s here,” McCree lies, prompting Genji to look away long enough for him to slip into the crowd. By now, if Hanzo wasn’t here, he would probably never come. He never actually considered a situation where Hanzo didn’t show up, but he supposes he’ll have to improvise. He manages to push and shove his way to the other side of the house, where drinks are served.

“Two shots,” McCree calls to the guys behind the makeshift bar. They nod and pour him two quick shots of vodka- not McCree’s favorite, but it’d have to do. He downs the first shot with ease, eyes narrowed, and starts to work on the second one when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“I’ll take that off your hands,” Hanzo says with a smirk. McCree’s heart thumps loudly for a few moments as he mindlessly gives Hanzo the shot in his other hand and also a look-over. The usual bun is gone, in favor of loose hair swept to one side. He dons a plain black v-neck and well-fitting jeans, a pair of nice suede chelseas, and a more relaxed attitude. All of which only serve to accentuate his attractiveness.

“Wrong pair o’ shoes to wear t’ a party,” McCree points out casually, trying to hide the storm brewing up inside of him at that moment. He can’t decide whether to be glad Hanzo showed up at all or angry that he came so late and made McCree fret so much in the first place. Hanzo looks down at his shoes, shrugs, and downs the shot in one gulp, grimacing.

“Only decent pair I had.”

“I was beginnin’ to think y’ wouldn’t show up,” McCree reaches for a cup of beer to hand to Hanzo.

“Some of us have responsibilities to deal with before indulging in other things.” Hanzo says simply, accepting the beer graciously. He doesn’t seem sorry at all that he made McCree wait, and why should he be in the first place? He takes a swig, and makes a face at the foul taste.

“Tap ain’t exactly the tastiest, but it does the job,” McCree chuckles, more relaxed now that he knows Hanzo is here. He elbows him lightly, taking a chance with the excuse of a little alcohol in his system.

“I would rather have something that does the trick if it is going to taste like shit either way,” Hanzo mutters, motioning to the bartender to bring him something real.

“Seriously, though, I really thought you wouldn’ be comin’ tonight.”

Hanzo scoffs. “You thought wrong.”

“No, really,” McCree says softly. “Was aboutta tell m’self to be okay with disappointment.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, but smirks nonetheless, muttering something about McCree being dramatic.

“Tell me about yourself, Jesse McCree.” The sudden probing nature of the question takes McCree by surprise.

“Not, uh, not much t’ say, really,” McCree remarks sheepishly. “’Sides, don’t you got the order all wrong?”

“Hm?”

“Y’re s’pposed to tell me ‘bout you first, aren’t you?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I do. What do you want to know?”

“I dunno, man, tell me somethin’ I wouldn’ know if I saw you.”

“So you want to play the game, Truth.”

“Sure.”

Hanzo thinks for a moment.

“I have six piercings.”

McCree raises a brow at that. He wasn’t expecting that answer at all. He counts one on Hanzo’s bridge and one on each ear, but can’t discern any else.

“Where?”

“Ah ah ah, your turn, Mr. Cowboy. A truth for a truth.” Hanzo motions to the Stetson on McCree’s head, which he gingerly takes off, running his free hand through his hair.

“Well, let’s see if I can pinpoint what y’wanna hear. The whole cowboy thing started when I got hazed for the frat.” McCree shrugs. “One of the tasks was to dress up like a Western film hero for two weeks, and it just kinda stuck with me. Became my image. The brothers dubbed me Joel McCrea.”

Hanzo pauses, then bursts into laughter- a laughter that sprouts from small giggles to little chuckles to gradual, hearty laughter. McCree feels that familiar pang in his chest again.

“That’s the story of your look?” Hanzo gasps. “Because you got hazed? And your nickname is Joel McCrea?”

McCree frowns. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I-I just expected a deeper story, perhaps you come from the West, or it was to honor someone you knew…”

“Hey, hey, that’s the whole truth, an’ nothin’ but the truth. Now it’s my turn.”

“Go for it.”

“What’s the story behind the tat?”

Hanzo glances at his arm and fixates his gaze back on McCree.

“My…family.”

“Heard y’all were yakuza.”

Hanzo stiffens. “Who told you?”

“Genji.”

Hanzo sighs, resigned. “Of course he did. You know, he could never keep his mouth shut. Always lured in poor girls with an extravagant story about being heir to the Shimadas. One, he wasn’t, I was; and two, our life wasn’t that grand. The girls often left disappointed.”

McCree guffaws. “Classic Genji.”

“Then I suppose you also know our tumultuous history.”

“You gotta stop using such big words, man, it’s way too past midnight for that. But for the record, yeah. Don’t care too much for your history, though. Doesn’t really matter to me one way or the other what happened ‘tween you two.”

“Hn.” Hanzo grabs a shot the bartender placed on the counter a while ago and downs it.

“My turn, then. And I am not one to beat around the bush. What is your relationship with my brother, Jesse McCree?”

Again, McCree is taken by surprise.

“What?”

“You and Genji seem awfully close.”

“Genji?” he sputters. “Best friend, nothing more, in case you were wonderin’. Seriously. The kid’s a walking STD. If you wanna interrogate someone ‘bout hittin’ on your brother, Zenyatta’s your best bet. He’s Genji’s new mission.”

Hanzo looks slightly relieved at that, and McCree isn’t so dumb as to take that slight change of expression lightly. He could infer plenty of things from Hanzo’s question. Which meant that Hanzo felt the same.

“So, uh, why do you wanna know?” McCree smirks, a little more confident now that he knows that the interest, at least, was mutual.

“Is that your next question?”

“No, wait, lemme change it.”

“Mhm.”

McCree considers his options carefully, and drawls in a low voice.

“Where are the other piercings?”

Hanzo scoffs, chuckling again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Come on, Hanzo, play fair,” McCree whines.

Hanzo looks thoughtful for a moment, before leaning in and grabbing McCree gently by the collar. McCree lurches forward.

“I could tell you,” Hanzo says. “Or I could show you.”

McCree gulps. Oh, how the tables turn so quickly and unpredictably. Hanzo unhands McCree, backs off, and smiles- almost too innocently.

“If you want, that is.” he says playfully, pretending to check out his nails. “I heard from a certain someone that I shouldn’t be too forward, lest I threaten your, ah, ‘fragile masculinity’.”

McCree takes a moment to weigh which was worse- the fact that Genji told his brother that it was okay to go for him, or that Hanzo was actually considering it- and convincing him, as well.

“Of course, if you really dislike the idea, we can blame it on the alcohol and forget this ever happened,” Hanzo brushes off casually, reaching behind McCree to grab a neglected shot. “And I can think of you forever as the man who rejected my advances to preserve his own integrity. Or you can prove me otherwise, which I feel is what you’d rather do.”

McCree nods his head furiously. Hanzo smirks and downs the shot smoothly.

“I thought so.”

X

The sixth time they meet, they are drunk and making out passionately in McCree’s bedroom.

“Mm, Hanzo,” McCree nips at the shorter man’s neck, any sort of finesse be damned. He just wants to mark Hanzo, to somehow brand him for all the times he confused and infuriated McCree. His hands paw at Hanzo’s sides, a bit unfamiliar with such a bulky, stocky figure but enjoying the electrifying touches nonetheless. He comes up to meet Hanzo’s lips, pushing apart the soft flesh with his tongue so he can gain access to the cavern of warmth. He thanks his lucky stars Hanzo actually meets him halfway, and doesn’t backtrack and consider this a mistake.

Hanzo groans into the kiss, snaking his arms around McCree’s neck and deepening the angle. He unconsciously grinds into the leg McCree has lodged between his own, the friction sending electrifying pleasure throughout his body.

“I, ha, have to admit, really,” Hanzo breaks the kiss long enough to speak, much to McCree’s disappointment. “I did not think this would ever happen.”

“What makes you say that?” McCree asks against Hanzo’s jugular, nipping it ever so slightly. Hanzo shudders as McCree begins to work on taking his shirt off.

“You have quite the reputation,” Hanzo shrugs, shrugging out of his own shirt. “I did not think you were into men.”

McCree pauses and laughs. “I didn’t know either.” he says, pulling Hanzo to the bed and tossing him onto the mattress.

“But one thing do I know, darlin’,” McCree pins Hanzo to the bed, hands on either side of the latter’s head. “I’d be damned if you weren’t the prettiest lay I’ve ever had.”

Hanzo scoffs, running his hands down McCree’s sides. “How many people have you said that to?”

McCree hums, amused. “Only you. Trust me.”

He goes in for yet another deep kiss as he palms Hanzo through his jeans, eliciting moans from the man. McCree’s erection throbs in his pants in reaction to the sweet sounds Hanzo is making. Now that Hanzo's shirt is off, he can clearly see the nipple piercings he has on each dusky nub, which only serves to turn him on even more. He runs his tongue across the piercings, and licks them, causing Hanzo to shudder in pleasure. McCree takes that as a sign that it is okay to suck on them, which brings forth an onslaught of high-pitched whines and moans from the Asian.

“Fuck, Hanzo,” he groans. “You keep makin’ those noises an’ we’re gonna have a real problem.”

“Are we now?” Hanzo grins, breathless, bucking up to meet the touch of McCree’s hips. “Somehow, I do not think that is much of an issue.”

“Goddamn.” McCree mumbles, hurriedly undoing his belt buckle and pulling himself out of his pants. Hanzo mimics the action, tossing his own somewhere in the room.

“In fact, I encourage it,” Hanzo leans back on his palms, spreading his legs. McCree shivers at the sight. “Show me how much of a problem I am, cowboy.”

Who was McCree to deny him?

He pounces on Hanzo, grinding their erections together messily. The slight bump at the end of Hanzo's tip is a dead giveaway to the location of his last piercing- and the fact that he has one down there sends all of McCree's blood rushing down to his own cock. The room is filled with a cacophony of moans and shudders, as well as McCree’s own possessive growls and snarls. Hanzo throws his head back, not bothering to hide his pleasure. He bites the back of one hand and runs his palm down McCree’s abdomen with the other.

“Remember, you asked for it,” McCree rumbles, reaching for his drawer for the lube and condoms. He opens the bottle and dumps a generous amount on his fingers.

“I would be a fool to take it back.” Hanzo moans as McCree yanks Hanzo’s boxer briefs down and hitches Hanzo’s legs over his shoulders to get a good angle to slowly enter his fingers into Hanzo’s entrance. The slight discomfort his evident on Hanzo’s face, and McCree takes extra care to press tender kisses to his lips and go a little slower for his sake.

“You alright there, baby?” McCree asks. Hanzo nods hesitantly. “Just let me know.”

“I, ahn, I am alright. Just- just, hn, get on with it, please.”

It admittedly takes a while to truly finish prepping Hanzo, but McCree knows he’s hit the jackpot when his fingers eventually brush up against the Asian’s prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure up Hanzo’s spine. He screams out, prompting McCree to slide his fingers out with a pop. Hanzo whines at the loss of fullness, but is quickly sated when he sees McCree roll a condom onto his massive girth.

“You sure you’re ready, then?” he asks one last time. Hanzo rolls his eyes.

“Clearly you just fingered me for half an hour for me to back out of this now.” he responds snarkily. McCree chuckles.

“Wasn’t half an hour, but I getcha.” He lines up the tip of his cock to Hanzo’s hole, nudging at it slightly.

“I can already tell how tight you’re gonna be, sweetheart.” McCree whispers into Hanzo’s ear. “I just know you’re gonna take me so well-“

Slam.

McCree straightens up at the familiar sound of the door being slammed open.

Genji Shimada could not have had worse timing.

“Jesse?”

McCree has never seen the younger Shimada sober up so quickly.

“G-Genji?”

Genji’s gaze shifts immediately to his brother, pinned underneath McCree, looking at the world upside down. Their identical shocked expressions reflect the fact that they do, indeed, share the same bloodline.

“Brother?”

Hanzo immediately shoves McCree off of him by way of unceremoniously all but kicking him off the bed, and sits up. The loss of heat and fullness, combined with the sheer ridiculousness of the situation leaves him feeling empty.

“This is not what it looks like.”

It takes Genji a minute to digest the scenario before he bursts into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“Holy shit, I-I think this is exactly what it looks like!” Genji hoots, doubled over. “Jesse, I can’t believe you’re fucking my brother! I knew it!”

McCree blushes. “No, I’m-“

“Hell, I called it ever since you met him in the laundry room, oh my God!” He looks pointedly at Hanzo, still in a fit. “Don’t even try and deny it, brother, you sitting there naked doesn’t help matters.”

Hanzo’s face turns the color of a ripe tomato as he scrambles to find sheets to cover himself, as well as his pants. McCree is still somewhat dazed on the floor, not bothering to hide his raging erection. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. It isn’t the first time Genji has walked in on him with unfortunate timing, but it is the first time he caught him trying to screw his own brother. He tries to figure out how to explain this to him properly in the morning when they are all sober.

“Alright, sorry, sorry, I’m being a jerk. Have fun, you two. I’ll be outside if you kids need me.”

“No need,” Hanzo blurts out, somehow managing to have put his pants back on in the midst of the chaos. “I will be seeing myself off.”

McCree groans. “Aw, come on, Hanzo, really?”

Genji looks amused. “By all means, do not let me get in the way of your fun, brother.”

Hanzo glares at the both of them in succession. “I believe I have had enough ‘fun’ for one night.”

Genji casually steps to the side as Hanzo shoves past him to leave the room, ignoring Zenyatta’s friendly hello as he stomps out the suite and slams the door behind him. He doesn’t look behind once.

McCree hunches over, elbows on knees, and rubs his temples. “Worst thing you’ve ever done to me, man,” he mutters, avoiding Genji’s teasing gaze.

Genji rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be the one who is angry? I literally saw you shove your dick in my brother. I’m going to need years of therapy to get that out of my head.”

“My dick wasn’t in him, thanks to you.” McCree snaps, bitter that Genji inadvertently caused the serious case of blue balls he was currently in. “I was this close.” He gestures to his condom-covered erection, slowly softening.

Genji makes a face, and throws a towel at McCree from the towel rack. “I didn’t need to see that, either.”

“He’s not gonna want to see me for the next ten years,” McCree grumbles.

Genji shrugs, way too nonchalant. “Not my problem.”

McCree reaches for a pillow and tosses it at Genji, who skitters out of the way and into the common room, laughing raucously. “Some friend you are.”

He slumps back. He really liked Hanzo, too.

X

The seventh time they meet is not ten years in the future, as McCree had predicted.

It had been a week since the incident, and Hanzo seemed hell-bent on avoiding McCree. He did spot him in their shared lecture, but the spotting was mutual, and he sat all the way on the other side of the classroom. Even when McCree tried to catch him outside after class ended, Hanzo would put in his headphones and pretend like he wasn’t aware of McCree’s existence. And God forbid McCree saw him anywhere else- it only served to make him more jealous of the fact that Hanzo was hanging out with other students but didn’t have the balls to confront the awkward situation at hand.

It sucked.

McCree hated avoidance. He hated dragging things out. He was the type to straight-up fix things, not ignore it until it grew into a bigger issue. But if Hanzo didn’t want to talk things out, he couldn’t do much about it. And he had a feeling this was the primary way the Shimada dealt with his feelings. He was ready to fold this chapter in his life and forget the ordeal ever happened. He’d done it countless times, he could do it again.

The seventh time they meet, it is in the same spot they first met.

McCree had put in two loads of laundry in two separate washing machines- a clear sign of the entropy of motivation every college student goes through some time in their college career. He only noticed it was about time to take it out when the alarm rang after five snoozes to wake him up from a deep nap.

He dashes to the laundry room, silently praying no one had taken it out. And to his surprise, no one had- but the person who once did was standing in front of the dryers, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hanzo?”

Said man looks up, irritation evident on his face. It doesn’t change when he sees McCree. His eyes are as sharp and hostile as the first time they met. It was as if the past few weeks never happened. It was as if they were strangers again.

“It’s like you never learned your lesson from the last time you left your laundry in for too long, Jesse McCree.”

McCree sighs and runs his hands through his hair. So this was how it was gonna be. “Five minutes, that’s how late I am.”

“And that is about how late you were last time, as well.”

“Six, to be exact.”

“Which only proves my point.”

“You didn’t take my stuff out this time, though.”

Hanzo shrugs, irritation slowly dissipating. “That is because I learned my lesson. Clearly I am the only one.”

“’M happy for you, Hanzo. Really am. Now can you move so I can get my shit?”

Hanzo doesn’t budge. The two stand awkwardly for a moment.

“I said-“

“I would like to apologize.”

They speak up at the same time. McCree motions for Hanzo to go first. The latter looks down sheepishly and clears his throat.

“I must admit, I acted very immaturely in response to, uh, what happened a week ago. I believed if I put some distance between us, I could clear my head, but that was not the case. I apologize if I made you feel as if I did not want to interact with you ever again, because I do.”

McCree is surprised at the apology and confession. He did not expect the older Shimada to lay down his pride and speak up first. He thought he would have to bang down his door in order to even eke out a single word from him.

“Well, I didn’t really expect you to ‘pologize, of all people. But I can’t accept it,”

McCree takes a step forward, voice grave. This time, Hanzo does not step back. He looks distraught that his attempt at an apology was turned down so harshly. It was like he wasn’t used to people telling him no.

“Can’t accept it ‘till you really show me how sorry you are,” McCree smiles fondly, voice lifting. “On a real date.”

Hanzo looks up, red quickly spreading across his cheeks to his ears.

“Excuse me?”

McCree feigns innocence and walks past Hanzo to retrieve his laundry.

“You heard me. Real date. Jus’ you an’ me at a café somewhere, where I can hear you tell me how sorry you are for an hour or two.”

“I-“

“Only way I’ll even consider forgivin’ you, just’ sayin’.”

As he collects his clothes, he hears Hanzo sigh in resignation and subsequently let out the slightest of chuckles. Yeah, he decided. Hanzo sounded the best when he was happy.

“In that case, I would like that very much.”