A/N: Reposted from AO3, since I've moved there to write. There's a few quick things I'm going to point out, feel free to skip anyways if you wish. Firstly the version of this story posted here isn't going to be graphic in nature. There will be bits left out because of the enforced 'under 16 only' content rule here, so if you want to follow the version that will have no censorship at all then go to Archive of Our Own and you'll find it there. Secondly, the genre is overall a slice of life with every other genre thrown in. Big doses of Tragedy, Comfort and Romance mostly. If that and the fact it's Slash doesn't ruffle you, then do proceed. That's all my dears. XD
Handa had come to grips with the fact that he simply wasn't made for country life - not that that had stopped him from enjoying the time he'd spent out on the Island just a few months back, of course. His mother had managed to persuade him to stay in Tokyo for a while after he flew back for the exhibition, but his heart still lingered halfway between.
Living in such an open community had been every bit as inspirational as he hadn't really believed it would be, and the clean air had worked wonders on his newly refined senses. It had also changed his way of thinking more than he had first thought. After arriving back in Tokyo and resuming his calligraphy career, he'd spent hours just lazing around, hanging out of windows for the thrill of it, viewing the sunset as often as possible, even doing little doodles of Naru and Hina when he was stuck waiting for inspiration to strike. As it so happened, he was in the process of painting a flower in doodle-Hina's hair when he knocked over his last bottle of precious ink.
"Ah, damn!" The murky liquid rolled quickly over the surface of his work desk and spilled over the edge, narrowly missing his sketches but staining the beautiful light wooden floor tiles below. He snapped out of his disbelief and rushed to get a mop, cursing his own clumsiness as he returned and began to scrub at the waste. "That punk Hiroshi was right, I need to get my act together. I am a ditz." When it looked like it was clean, the self-proclaimed ditz stood up and pressed the back of one hand to his forehead.
He wondered how hard the villagers would be laughing at him if this had happened while he was back on the Goto Islands; how many jokes and ribbings would get passed around in the aftermath? He smiled to himself. He'd been a very lonely guy before his trip to exile. Peeling off his ink-splattered work clothes, Handa headed to the bathroom.
His new apartment had been (a very expensive) gift from his parents; supposedly for having 'matured'. He couldn't say he was ungrateful though, as it had a gorgeous view of the sunset over the city; not quite the same as the island's golden horizons reflected upon the sparkling sea but... nice enough that it still inspired him. He turned the shower on with relative ease before adjusting the dial to make it hotter and stepping in under the flow. After he'd scrubbed himself clean and dried down with a towel he found his casual clothes - a mid-sleeved navy shirt and jeans - and slipped them on loosely.
With his last bottle of ink gone he'd need to fill out another bulk order, but that could wait - he was expecting a call from Naru today anyhow. Since the Kotoishi's didn't have mobile phones, Naru had promised him she'd call every Friday to ask him if he'd won any awards, cheeky grin in place even as she added that she'd have to use that cursed black phone at the general store. He recalled last week's conversation where he'd barely gotten a word in edgeways. Her excited tales of Kenta's beetles and Akihiko's mastery of gaming had strangled any concerns, any stress he'd built over the week, into submission. How she did it was anyone's guess - but he always felt better after hearing from her. With a long yawn the calligrapher sprawled himself out over his new leather couch, creating a few damp patches where his hair hadn't dried yet, before settling into a sitting position with his elbow leaning on the armrest and reaching for the TV remote with the other.
Now honestly he wasn't really a TV kind of guy. To his reasoning, it as simply a giant box of advertisements and brainwashing; it's much easier to find entertainment (along with anything else you might need) on your computer. It was somewhat ironic that it had become his routine to browse the channels when he had nothing to do, and even then he would always choose the kid's channel. It was weird though; to remember that there had been a time, not greatly long ago, when he disliked children and anything to do with them. He sat through a re-run of Kirby episodes with his eyes mostly closed. Before he'd spilled the ink earlier he'd already been tired; having not slept the night before so he could lose himself in his writing. The only reason he wasn't in bed already was that compelling sense of loyalty he felt to wait for Naru's phone call... and something inside him thought he'd feel incredibly guilty if he missed it.
He sat up straighter and forced his eyes open as if to battle his tired symptoms, but as the Kirby episodes ended and a cartoon about a white lion began - who knows what that's about? - he was defeated promptly as his eyes slipped closed.
Handa woke to the sound of his mobile ringing.
It was a catchy little tune, but right now he loathed it for bringing him out of a comfortable doze. He groaned a little as he pushed himself up a bit, fervently regretting not setting it to silent before attempting to sleep and... Wait. It then clicked that he hadn't meant to sleep at all and... Wait. He half fell off the couch in his effort to hurry, but he managed to pull off a blurry-eyed stagger over to the kitchen counter and picked up the device, jamming the answer button awkwardly even as his face started to contort into a goofy smile. "Naru?"
"No, It's Kawafuji." Came the blunt reply. Handa snapped out of his happy bubble abruptly, blushing at his mistake.
"Uh... sorry about that Kawafuji. Naru calls on Fridays so I was expecting-"
"That's fine," Kawafuji interrupted, sounding agitated. "I was going to ask if... if you'd seen the news during the last 2 days. I take it you haven't."
The 23-year-old thought back idly. He'd secluded himself in his work room for the last few nights and watched shows aimed at ages 5-9 most of this afternoon (not that he'd admit it). No news or current headlines of importance came to mind. "No, I haven't watched the news in over a week. What is it? Did I do something wrong?"
There was a sigh. "I don't know how to tell you." Then the sound of a lighter cap clicking open before a deep inhale. "I don't really want to, either."
"Why not? It's big enough that you'd call in the first place." Handa knew his friend must be upset if he had to smoke while on the phone. If there was anything he knew about him, it was that Kawafuji was a tough guy; not very prone to emotional instability. He didn't often show any of the signs, so when he did... There was a small pause as the smoker on the other end of the line purged the smoke from his lungs.
"I don't think I can say it... Just, turn on the news. Any station should be fine."
"Okay. I will."
The line went dead after his confirmation. Kawafuji's tone had seemed more than a little stressed, and Handa wasn't sure how to deal with that. He braced himself for the information that even his best friend couldn't tell him - even over the phone. The 'National News' channel popped up when he pressed the right numbers into the remote and a brief summary of sports results flashed by for a few minutes, driving him to tap the remote against his thigh impatiently as the feed ran through a few current political issues. He perked up when the screen cut rather suddenly to showing live footage of smoke and soot on the screen. It cut to a female reporter standing at just the right angle that the smoke and wreckage was visible behind her. "A fire that has killed a dozen people on this peaceful island has finally been put out since it started early yesterday morning, and with the efforts of the-"
He tuned it out when he figured this wasn't what he wanted. Hurry up and get to the point. He was about to continue tapping the remote against his thigh when a very familiar face appeared as they were showing photographs of the rescues.
Naru.
He didn't register the remote falling from his hands when the grip in his fingers loosened, shaking in disbelief. All warmth drained from his body and grew cold. It couldn't be... The fire, that wreckage... it was from that island? Even as he heard the facts he couldn't comprehend it. The report went on even as he slipped into a dazed shock.
"Seven-year-old Kotoishi Naru is the only confirmed survivor from the four houses that got caught in the blaze here in the middle of the Goto Islands. How the fire started remains to be seen, though the fire brigade believe that it may..." Her voice was so disconnected, unmoved.
He couldn't listen anymore. The image of Naru was still right at the front of his mind - how it had shown her covered head to foot in dust and soot. His guardian angel had looked lifeless as she was carried out by a masked fireman, her eyes glazed over and tiny little arms covered in scratches. There was no way this was real. Handa felt tears threaten to spill over but held them back, holding his hands over his face. Four houses, and only one survivor. There was every chance that people he considered friends were dead or dying, burnt or wounded... the other children, Naru's grandpa...
He reeled at the thought of deaths in that warm little community, the damage it could do- that the fire had already done. He walked almost on autopilot back to where he left his mobile and dialled the numbers with shaking fingers, cursing himself silently when he pressed the wrong digit every so often. When the call went through he didn't waste time exchanging pleasantries, nor did he want to hear apologies or any other such sentiments.
"Kawafuji, I need to go back to the Island. Right now."