Drifting away, a k fanfic

From Fushimi's POV

Fushimi looked up at the stars through blurred eyes. Vaguely, he mused over how small and insignificant this little world was, he was, in relation to the vast emptiness of the black night above him. A comet passed overhead, shining spectacularly but then burning up and dimming until all to soon it was gone. He thought that the comet and himself had a lot in common.

He coughed and registered the sharp pain in his chest as his body tried to take another shuddering breath, but Fushimi had always quite liked pain, so he didn't mind. It was just one of those funny little things that made him different from everyone else. Like the fact that he hated vegetables, or socializing, or that he could never work out what people liked about physical contact. Awashima had tried to hug him once. It was one of the most unpleasant things he'd ever experienced…

There was a slight chill in the breeze and it made the long grass underneath and around him rustle, tickling his arms and face. Dimly, he was aware that his glasses were absent although he couldn't make himself move to look for them. He told himself that it was the reason his vision was so bad, but in the back of his mind he knew that wasn't just it.

Another cough, this time it reverberated in his head and made his skull buzz with the effort of moving. There were footsteps nearby, fast and pounding on the ground sending vibrations through his body, but a growing sleepiness was creeping up, and Fushimi was bored of looking at the sky anyway. He closed his eyes slowly and welcomed the blackness that greeted him, and the calm silence that accompanied it.

But suddenly, there was a voice. It cut through the peacefulness and hurt his ears, but it was enough to bring him back round.

"Hey! Open your eyes dammit! C'mon! Look at me you bastard!"

A sharp blow across his cheek did the trick, and Fushimi managed to force his eyes open to meet the gaze of his assailant.

"Oh thank God." Said the voice, and Fushimi thought that it sounded familiar. "Stay with me Saru! Stay awake!"

Misaki. Of course it was Misaki. He felt a warmth tighten around his hand but his fingers were too numb to squeeze it back. He wasn't the sentimental type, but he allowed himself to take some small comfort in knowing that he wouldn't die alone. Misaki was here. That was all he ever wanted anyway, wasn't it?

"There's an ambulance on it's way, okay? And you're vice captain is coming too, they're just over the other side of the field, so you just hang on until they get here. You can do that, right?"

Yata was talking too fast, like he always did and Fushimi's brain was too tired to make sense of the words, so he just let the sound wash over him as the numbness in his fingers started to spread. The sky was still vast and black, but the stars seemed brighter now, almost big enough to touch, or as if they would suddenly break free of the background and come falling down to earth leaving trails of light across the pitch. He didn't know how long it had been, but eventually the breeze was gone, and so was the grass. All that was left was the blackness and one small whisper like a lullaby, echoing all around him.

"-ey! Don't yo- dare close y-r ey-"

"S-ru! Can yo- -ea- m-"

But he couldn't hear anymore. He couldn't see. Couldn't feel the hands lifting him up and onto the stretcher or the mouth upon his own trying to force oxygen back into his unmoving lungs. The warmth of the hand holding his own was gone, and although he tried to think, even that had left him. So he just drifted in solitude until the world wasn't even a memory, and his entire being had slipped into unconsciousness.

From Yata's POV

Yata looked around as he bent over and picked up his trusty skateboard. Ironically, it was in worse shape than he was- the paintwork was battered and scratched and a wheel was missing but he would take it back to the bar and fix it up in no time. The fight had been a bitch- just like Kusanagi said it would be, and there were a lot of injuries sustained on both sides. His ears were ringing a bit but he could easily pick out Kusanagi's voice, calling out for the HOMRA members one by one, repeating each name until he got a response. Yata straightened up and waved as he shouted back, and the relief on the third in commands face was plain to see.

The Blue's were calling a similar register. The lieutenant with the massive boobs was working down her list of names and replies of "Yes Ma'am!" and "Reporting!" echoed back across the field. Already, most of HOMRA had left and the blues were dispersing quickly too, but something made Yata stay and listen. Just one word, one glimpse. Just so he knew that guy was okay. After all, he had saved Yata's life; throwing himself in front of the vanguard and taking the damage of the sword himself…

"Fushimi Saruhiko?" Came the call. Yata prepared to leave and Awashima looked down at her clipboard, pen poised and ready to cross the Blue's 3rd off the list at the sound of his deep, monotonous voice. But no reply came. She called again.

"Fushimi Saruhiko?" Still silence. Yata felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. Awashima moved to the other side of the battlefield and called again, panic starting to show in her voice.

"Fushimi?!" Yata looked around him and took in the carnage, eyes desperately searching for any speck of blue uniform. It was dark, and he couldn't be sure, but wasn't that the shape of a person lying over there, just a few hundred yards away…

His footsteps felt too heavy as he ran, and he dropped the skateboard once more when the dark outline became clearer.

"Saru!" He cried, dropping to his knees beside his former comrade and taking in the scene. Yata screamed out to Awashima who nodded and beckoned to the paramedics halfway along the bridge, who unloaded their equipment and rushed to join her.

Fushimi's condition was dire. That stab wound that should have been for Yata was deep- too deep, and the blue of his uniform was stained crimson. There was a pool of blood steadily spreading from underneath him and his complexion was pale as a blank sheet of paper, or snow on a winter's morning before anyone has walked on it. Fushimi's eyes were closed, and his breathing was strained and shallow.

"Hey! Open your eyes dammit! C'mon! Look at me you bastard!" Yata shouted, anger and panic mingling in his mind and breaking him out into a cold sweat.

There was no sign of response. Yata silently apologized in his head, then raised his hand slapped Fushimi as hard as he could across the face. Fushimi's eyes creaked open, but they were unfocused and bleary- staring tiredly up at the sky. Relief slammed into Yata and made him feel a bit sick, and he took Fushimi's hand carefully in his own, noting how cold the other's was to the touch.

"Oh thank God." He whispered, but all too soon Fushimi's eyes started to close again and his breathing was slowing. "Stay with me Saru! Stay awake!" He kept talking, desperately making noise, glancing up and wishing the paramedics would run faster, wishing Awashima would hurry up and get here because it didn't look good and Yata was scared and didn't know what to do.

"There's an ambulance on it's way, okay? And you're vice captain is coming too, they're just over the other side of the field, so you just hang on until they get here. You can do that, right?"

They were close now, just another minute… But when Yata looked back down, Fushimi's breathing was all but gone and he could actually see the light in his eyes fading away as the lids got heavier and heavier…

"Hey! Don't you dare close your eyes!" He shouted, grabbing at Saruhiko's shoulders and shaking him roughly. There was no sign that Fushimi had even felt it.

"Saru! Can you hear me!?" Yata yelled, but Fushimi's eyes were closed, his chest still, and suddenly Awashima was pulling him away, breaking his grip on the lifeless hand and cradling him against her as the paramedics beat against his friends chest and tried time and time again to breathe life back into his lungs. The last thing Yata remembered was screaming hysterically and fighting with all his remaining strength against the arms that held him before a soft cloth with a funny smell was pressed against his face and he drifted off into darkness.

-From Fushimi's POV

Fragments of orange and yellow light. Faint sounds that seemed to drift closer and then vanish. The occasional rustle of fabric or soft thud of a heartbeat then blackness and silence again. That was all Fushimi's world consisted of, for how long he didn't know. Was he dead? He might have asked himself that once or twice, but in this strange, deep twilight thought and reason were difficult things to grasp hold of for any length of time. He sometimes felt like he was floating, or falling maybe, but other times he felt so heavy that he fancied he was a rock, sinking to the bottom of a deep, vast ocean, where light couldn't penetrate- far away from any living creature.

As time passed, he thought that maybe he couldn't be a rock, because rocks couldn't feel, and didn't he just feel something warm press against his skin and then leave in a wake of cold air. And inside, didn't he feel sad and lonely and empty? He gradually realized that he was used to that and it was okay. But it wasn't very rock like.

Then, slowly, like piecing together a dream, memories started to surface. The touch of grass against his face. A flash of light on a dark background. A voice even… Then there was shouting, pulling and prizing and being lifted into the air, the feel of air rushing into his mouth and making him choke, the feel of a hammer striking his chest in the same place over and over and over and over and over-

He awoke with a gasp and suddenly pain exploded all over his body. The machine next to him sung in a loud, shrill tone and made it feel like his ears were bleeding and the light was bright- too bright- burning into his retinae and inducing strange coloured patterns that danced and pulsated behind his eyes. There were people there suddenly- blurry white shapes, all identical, holding his arms and pushing gently against his shoulders until his head hit feather soft fabric and his body ran out of energy and sunk into the mattress, twitching in pain.

A strip of dark fabric covered his eyes and the bright lights were dulled, and a sensation that was both hot and cold at the same time flooded his veins and immediately the pain vanished. A few minutes passed and the blindfold was carefully lifted. The lights were dimmed now and the curtains almost fully drawn, making dust particles caught in the beam of light sparkle and dance. A fuzzy shadow came into view at his side and spoke with a deep, familiar voice.

"Welcome back, Fushimi-kun."

Fushimi tried to turn his head to look at the figure but found that his body wouldn't do what he asked. A pair of hands came into view and suddenly the world became a little more in focus as his glasses were reinstated on his face. Munakata moved closer and slightly further down the bed so that his subordinate could see him easily and sat down in one of the chairs.

"I know how it feels to not have your glasses on. Makes everything ten times more difficult, right?" He winked with a slight smile and gestured to his own frames. Fushimi tried to reply but all that he could summon was a small noise in the back of his throat. He frowned against the fuzziness and Munakata took his hand gently in his own.

"Don't worry, it's just the morphine. The effects will wear off soon. Would you like to sit up?" Fushimi hadn't really noticed he was lying down until the question was put to him, but he managed a hoarse "Yeah" in affirmation. There was a click and a whirring sound as the bed bent in the middle and slowly tilted upright, making for a much better view of the room. Fushimi blinked a few times in an attempt to shake off the sleepiness and thought very carefully before he spoke, hoping to God that he got all his words out in the right order to save making even more of an idiot of himself in front of the Captain.

"What… happened…? Where… am I…?" His voice was weak and the words were a little slurred but at least he was coherent. Munakata gave him that little smile that meant he had already anticipated what was going to happen next and had prepared a speech for the eventuality.

"You're in the hospital, back at scepter 4. You sustained quite a nasty injury in the fight against JUNGLE. What you did is very commendable- protecting your former clansman like that. Yatagarasu still means a lot to you, hm?"

Memories of the fight came flooding back and Fushimi saw the moment replayed in his head. Yata on the floor, bat and skateboard absent, sword racing towards his chest, propelled by a green clansman with a crazed smile plastered across his face. Before he'd even had a chance to think about what he was doing, he'd thrown himself in between the two. Better the sword pierce him than Misaki. Better he die than Misaki.

"Yata…" He croaked painfully. "Is h-he… okay?"

Munakata stood and placed a gentle hand on Fushimi's forehead. He chuckled slightly.

"He's fine, Fushimi-kun. You saved his life." He moved the chair from the bedside back to the wall and started to head towards the door.

"Just to let you know… Um, how should I say this…" He changed his mind and walked slowly back to the bed. "You were conscious when Yata found you, but by the time the paramedics arrived with the Lieutenant… well... You were, already… gone." A frown creased at Fushimi's brow and his hazy mind tried to make sense of the words.

"I was… dead…?" Munakata nodded silently.

"They managed to resuscitate you at the scene and then took you straight to theatre. You've been in a coma for 3 weeks…"

An uncomfortable silence descended on the room as the information slowly sunk in. Munakata pushed his glasses up his nose a little and shifted his weight to the other foot.

"You need some rest, and time to come to terms with everything so I'll leave you in peace for now. I'm sure Yatagarasu will be stopping by in an hour or so- he's hardly left your side since you…" He trailed off, leaving the awkward 'D' word unsaid. "Well. You know." He patted the younger man's shoulder carefully. "It's good to have you back, Fushimi-kun."

And then in one quiet swooshing motion, he left and the door closed behind him with a soft click. The room was silent, save for the incessant beeping of the heart rate monitor on the table next to him, and the occasional chatter of nurses as they passed by outside the window.

Fushimi took the time to examine the damage. His body still felt heavy and numb, but from this new position he could move his head a little- enough to look down at his injured chest. A great expanse of white bandages were bound tightly across his upper torso, the padding thickest over his heart, where the blade must have gone in. Fushimi knew the CPR procedure so deduced that there would probably be some broken ribs in there somewhere too…

There was a cannula in the back of his left hand, which currently wasn't connected to anything, but presumably it was where the morphine had, and would go in, whenever those doctors in white coats decided he needed sedating. He decided there and then not to let that happen. He'd been given morphine once before, a while ago and realized then how much he hated the way it numbed the body and clouded the mind. He needed the pain, and he needed to think, otherwise he may as well be asleep. It wasn't a mindset anyone else would understand so he kept it to himself. He'd already got the label of Masochist from his old HOMRA comrades. No need to give the Scepter 4 troops the same idea.

He knew it was true of course. He was a masochist. Not in a sexual way though- he just liked pain. Dully, he remembered that it hadn't always been that way… When that guy used to beat him, he got no pleasure from it. Just purple bruises and the knowledge that his own father wished he's never been born. But over the years his relationship with pain and changed. When he first started cutting himself (there was an 'oh shit' moment as he registered that his forearms were bandaged too and they'd be a lot of explaining to do about that) it was like a relief from all the hurt and misery that kept swirling around in his head, and then after leaving HOMRA, scratching at that burnt out brand became a way of reminding himself what he'd done. How he'd built up a whole world for himself and then watched and laughed as he burnt it down and danced in amongst the rubble…

So over the next hour or 2, as he drifted in and out of sleep and the drugs slowly started to wear off, he didn't mind the returning pain- even though it made breathing hurt and moving even the smallest amount feel like hot oil was leaking through the hole in his chest and eating through his ribs.

'Knock knock'.

The noise brought him out of the half sleep state he was in and dragged him into the real world. The room was colder now and smelt of disinfectant. The door creaked open, letting in a little bit of light from the hallway and a short, slender figured entered.

He was holding a white plastic bag, and gripping the handle so tight his knuckles looked like they might burst out of his hands and his hair was flaming orange- brightening the room, sticking out at odd angles like it hadn't been combed in weeks. Those warm brown eyes held so many emotions as they stared from the doorway. Fushimi had often compared their eyes. Yata's; Passionate. Captivating. Full of hope and energy. Saruhiko's; Cold. Impassive and dead. He hoped that's not how they looked right now. He hoped that his own gaze would say everything that he never could. That the thing he feared most in the world was living in one that didn't have Misaki in it, and how the image of the vanguard defenseless and vulnerable would stay with him for the rest of his days- haunting his dreams and creating yet more nightmares. They probably didn't though. They'd be that same shade of empty blue because that was the only person he knew how to be, and Misaki deserved better.

He looked away.

The door swung shut and footsteps made their way over to the edge of the bed before the plastic bag fell to the floor and a strong, warm arm was thrown around his neck (too rough, it made everything hurt even more).

"Mi-sa…ki?" Fushimi whispered and was answered by a sob from Yata's face which was currently buried into his shoulder.

"Stupid monkey…" Came the whispered, muffled reply before Yata pulled himself away and wiped his running nose and eyes ungraciously with the back of his hand. Then he smiled, bright and gleaming, and Fushimi felt that sense of awe that he hadn't experienced for so, so long.

"Welcome back, Saru."

From Yata's POV

"He's awake."

The words had barely left Kusanagi's lips before Yata was up and racing out of the door of the bar, bag in one hand, board in the other.

He'd never skated so quickly in all his life. Just those 2 words were enough to make him ignore the way his heart was pounding and how his calf muscles begged him to slow down. It wasn't just excitement at seeing Fushimi awake at long last. To Yata, those words felt like holding a tiny bird in the palm of your hand. The happiness one feels is wonderful, but somewhere in the back of your mind there's always the possibility that the bird could just fly away and leave you standing there- empty handed and grinning like an idiot until you realize that it's gone and never coming back. 'He's awake' could either mean 'He's fine, come and visit' or 'This is your last chance to say goodbye', and Yata wasn't going to miss either eventuality.

It had felt strange, these last few weeks. After coming around from the chloroform and finding himself back at the Bar, he'd been in a total mess. Poor Kamamoto was charged with staying with him and making sure he was holding up, but they'd only ever been one person capable of getting him back to sleep after a nightmare, and the last time Yata had seen him, he'd died on the ground in that god forsaken field and was now clinging on for dear life in hospital. Of course, knowing Saruhiko he probably wasn't clinging on for dear life- the lazy bastard would be happy enough to just go to sleep and let that be the end of it, but thinking like that didn't help Yata one bit.

After 3 days, Kusanagi decided he was probably stable enough to visit Fushimi in hospital, so he'd offered to drive him there, and then waited with him as he paced around the room and cried into his shirt for half an hour, while Fushimi lay lifeless, pale and blissfully unaware of the pain his former partner was going through. The next time, a couple of days later, Yata had been a bit better. Kusanagi waited outside the door while Yata sat by the bedside and watched the patient, as if he was going to wake up at any moment.

He'd visited everyday since then, often for 3 or 4 hours at a time. He'd sit and chat and sometimes cry a little, and every time he thanked Fushimi for the sacrifice he'd made to save his life. Whether or not the words got through or not he didn't know…

It was those long, agonizing weeks of watching and waiting that had made Yata realize just how precious Fushimi was to him. To literally every other person on the planet he was just a miserable, sarcastic, masochistic bastard-

Okay, so he was all of these things, but to Yata he could also be kind, funny, sensitive, caring… All those things you would never associate with Fushimi Saruhiko. There had been days, before HOMRA, when Misaki would get ill, and Saru would make soup and cool his brow with a wet cloth, and sit up with him for as long as it took for Yata to fall asleep. There was the time when Yata's old skateboard had snapped in half and he didn't have any money for a new one, so Fushimi had worked through the night to repair it and make it even better and stronger than it was before- even giving it an awesome new paint job with flames all over it because he knew Yata would love it and think it was cool. When Yata had woken up in the middle of the night after an awful nightmare, he hadn't complained at the request of sharing his bed. Just wriggled over to one side and pulled back the duvet. They'd woken up in each others arms, limbs entwined, and it had been the best night sleep Yata had ever had. That was the first time he'd seen that special little smile, reserved just for Misaki, and the times when it was accompanied by a rare but genuine laugh made Yata's heart leap in his chest…

So now as he raced up the steps to the hospital, heart in his mouth and the words "He's awake" ringing in his ears, Yata clung to the image of that smile, and the sound of that laughter that reminded him of softly falling snow on a winter's evening.

He stopped at the door, fist raised and took a deep breath before tapping twice. He gripped the bag in his hand a little tighter and ignored the way his nails bit into the palm of his hand as he gently pushed open the door.

Fushimi was sitting, head and back supported by pillows, in the darkened room. At the sound of the door, his gaze flickered over and their eyes met. Yata froze in place. Fushimi looked tired. Ironic, considering how long he'd been asleep for, but his eyes were clear and brimming with emotion that only Yata could see. A few moments passed and whatever thought process was going on in Fushimi's mind won, and he looked away- defeated. Yata's legs moved of their own accord and he dropped the bag, every nerve in his body overcome with relief. He didn't even stop to think as he flung his arms around Fushimi's neck and buried his face into his collarbone, desperately breathing in the warm, familiar scent of vanilla and nutmeg that he had come to recognize as Saru.

"Mi-sa…ki?"

That hushed, strained voice echoed through every fibre of Yata's being and rent a sob from his throat.

"Stupid monkey…" He choked out and forced himself to let go, standing back and not even attempting to suppress the smile that came as he took in the sight of that perfect face; a little dazed, in quite a lot of pain and so, so very alive.

"Welcome back, Saru."

-From Fushimi's POV

Yata dragged the chair across to the side of the bed and dumped the plastic bag on top of the covers before hurriedly pulling items out.

"I brought my console and some games, and some crossword books, oh and there's Sudoku here too- I know how good you are at them. You'll want something to entertain yourself or that freaky brain of yours will start eating itself from the inside out." He stacked the books on top of each other and Fushimi looked on dumbfounded.

Yata was loud and fast and colourful and brilliant but trying to keep up was making his head hurt and there were so many thoughts and questions swirling around that he couldn't make sense of any of it. Soft fabric brushed against his arm.

"Here's one of Kusanagi's jumpers- he's about your size- we thought you might want something warm and comfortable to wear, once those bandages are gone." Yata looked at Fushimi's chest and winced. "Good God, Saru. You're a mess." He chuckled and ruffled his hair, shaking a leaf out of the orange tangles. "The guys at the bar all send their best- no one could believe it when they heard what you'd done-"

Fushimi felt suddenly felt sick and tired. The whirlwind of Yata's voice started to fade away and before he realized it he had closed his eyes and relaxed into the pillows, welcoming the quietness that he had become so used to.

-From Yata's POV

Fushimi was deathly pale- more so than normal and Yata's breath hitched in his throat as those deep blue eyes slowly faded and closed. He jumped to his feet and turned back and forth panicked until he saw a big red button on the wall with 'Help' written in capital letters across it. Within moments of thumping it as hard as he could there was a doctor pushing past him and holding 2 fingers to the exposed part of his patients wrist, resting the other hand on his forehead carefully.

"W-what's happened?" He stammered. "Is he okay? He was fine a moment ago, he was awake and-" The doctor cut him off with a raised hand and a slight smile.

"There's no need to panic. He's just sleeping."

"But-"

"It's important not to rush his recovery. He's already been awake for a long time today, and it's common for too much excitement to become quite overwhelming for recently awoken coma patients."

Yata felt his heartbeat even out a little more as he took in the sight of Fushimi's softly rising and falling chest.

"So, when will he wake up again? Soon?"

"There's no telling I'm afraid, however we think that the worst is over and it's unlikely that he will slip back into a coma. Why don't you try stopping by tomorrow and maybe he'll have more energy. For now though, it's important he gets his rest." The doctor placed a sympathetic hand on Yata's shoulder and smiled kindly. "I know it's tough, but hang in there, okay?" He left and Yata found himself alone again, staring at the unconscious figure, embarrassment starting to burn his cheeks. He carefully gathered up the contents of the plastic bag and stacked them in a neat pile on the bedside table before settling down in the chair once more.

Hours passed and he vaguely remembered texting Kusanagi saying that he was going to stay overnight before he drifted off.

When morning came, it took a few minutes for Yata to remember where he was. There was a friendly looking nurse with short blonde hair jotting notes on a clipboard at the end of the bed and she smiled at him and whispered good morning as he rubbed his eyes. He blushed and stammered something incoherent in reply before standing and leaning over the bed in the hope that Fushimi would suddenly be awake again.

"He came round a couple of hours ago, but he was in a lot of pain so we gave him a mild sedative. It should be wearing off any time now." Yata blinked a few times in disbelief.

"He was awake and no one thought to wake me up?!"

"He said not to disturb you. I don't think he wanted you to see him in so much pain. You looked like you could use the sleep anyway, if you don't mind me saying." She chuckled and then waved slightly as she left, notes in hand. Yata just stood dumbfounded like an idiot until a small groan and the sound of sheets moving caught his attention.

"Saru?"

Fushimi stirred and blearily opened his eyes. He blinked groggily a few times and moved his shoulders, generating a short hiss of pain. It took a few moments before he seemed to be aware of his surroundings but eventually they're eyes met and recognition set in.

"Mis…aki."

"Hey." Yata sat down slowly, not taking his eyes off Fushimi in case he just drifted away again while he wasn't looking.

"How do you feel?" There was a pause.

"Pretty rough…"

"Yeah. I'm not surprised. I um- I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you yesterday. The doctor said you were really tired and it was probably all a bit much for one day…"

"It's… fine." His voice was weak and drowsy but he seemed a bit more alert now. "You stayed… here all night?" A frown crept onto his brow and Yata noted the slight change in his expression. Over the years he had developed the ability to read that blank, impassive face and pick up on the miniscule changes that different emotions caused. That slight frown, clenched jaw and barely noticeable twitch just below his left eye said a mixture of confusion and sadness, but Yata was out of practice, so he could be mistaken.

"Y-yeah. Of course." He replied and Fushimi looked like he might say something until he winced and made a small, distant sound like a wounded animal trying to suppress a cry.

"Are you okay?! Shall I call someone?" Yata made to stand but Fushimi beckoned him down weakly with one hand.

"No- no it's…" He took a deep shuddering breath. "It's fine. I can handle it." Another short silence.

"Misaki?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

To Yata, that question felt like a hole had been punched in his chest. He gaped for a moment, looking for a response and felt a small bubble of anger pop in his stomach. Part of him said 'be gentle, don't stress him out', but the larger proportion said 'give the bastard hell for asking such a stupid fucking question'.

"Why do you think, Saru!?" The question was met by one raised eyebrow, which only made him madder. "I'm here because you were- no, still are- my best friend, and I was stupid enough to not realize it until you died in my arms!"

To anyone else looking on, Fushimi would have not even reacted, but to Yata's trained eye, he could plainly see shock and hurt written across his face. He calmed his voice a little and took a breath, preparing to give the speech that he'd rehearsed so many times in his dreams over the last three weeks.

"I don't care about what's happened in the past, Saru. Not anymore. The last few weeks have been torture, and that moment when the paramedic shook his head when he checked your pulse…" He paused, feeling tears sting at the back of his eyes. "That was the worst moment of my life- knowing that you were gone and we never had a chance to fix everything. It's been a wake up call for me. So from now on, I don't care what you do or say, or if you protest or even if you hate me even more. I will help you through this and I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand me?"

There was no response.

"Do you understand me!?"

"I… don't hate you." The words were barely audible and Fushimi's gaze was downcast.

"What?" Yata couldn't be sure he'd heard him correctly, so he leaned in closer and strained his ears.

"I don't… hate you." A little louder this time and just about every emotion possible resonated through Yata's chest.

"Y-you don't?" Fushimi shook his head sadly.

"No… I tried but-" He tailed off and frustration was in his eyes as he tried to find the words but none would come out. But they didn't need to. Yata leaned forward and gently- oh so tentatively curled his fingers around Saru's. It was then that he noticed the rough, white fabric wrapped tightly around his friends forearms…

"Hey Saru?"

"Hm?"

"What are these bandages for?"

-From Fushimi's POV

Pain exploded across Fushimi's chest as he woke with a gasp. It was like being hit by a truck and struck by lightning over and over again at the same time- hot and pounding and electric. He sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of agony that threatened to overwhelm him. It was horrible and excruciating, but that fucked up part of his personality tucked carefully away in the deepest part of his brain relished in the sensation and lapped up every spasm gleefully.

Tonight though, just for a moment, the somewhat sane part of his persona won and he grimaced as he swallowed whatever pride he had left and reached a few inches down the side of the bed to push the alarm button. Within moments there was a doctor at the door, followed by a blonde nurse carrying a tray of syringes. A silent sob racked his frame and he bit his tongue in an attempt to hold back the tears that formed, unbidden behind his eyes.

The doctor hurried to his side and said something about 'making it go away' and 'hold on a moment', but Fushimi's attention was focused on the nurse, who had crossed the room and was about to lay a hand on the shoulder of a small figure with orange hair, slumped in his chair and snoring softly.

"No…" He croaked. She drew her hand away and looked at him, puzzled.

"Not… like… this- argh-" He hated his body for not being able to stifle the quiet cry of pain that broke forth but she seemed to understand, and left Yata alone to sleep. He silently thanked her in his head. He couldn't let Misaki see him, not like this. He couldn't show that kind of weakness after everything they'd been through. After all, he was in this state because he'd recklessly thrown himself in front of a blade to save the other, so Yata would undoubtedly jump to the conclusion that this was all his fault- that it should be him lying there, humiliated and writhing in agony. No way was he going to break Misaki's heart like that.

There was a cool sensation quickly spreading through his veins and he glanced down through tear filled eyes to see the doctor disconnect a syringe from the cannula. Within seconds, he could feel the effects kicking in and his eyelids started to feel more and more like lead. He took one last glance at Misaki and clung to the image as he welcomed the darkness once more.

When he next awoke he was dimly aware of yellow light appearing in spots through his eyelids and hushed voices moving around him. The sound of the door closing was accompanied by a slight draft and he assumed it meant that whoever had been in the room had left, but he could swear he could still hear steady breathing next to him, like someone was just standing there, watching him sleep…

He forced his eyes open just a crack and found that the source of the light was sun peeking through the window. Slowly, the events of the previous night came back to him and he was more than thankful that the pain was lessened now, and although there was a short, sharp stabbing feeling as he tried to shift the weight of his shoulders into a more comfortable position, it quickly died away to a dull throb. They'd probably given him more morphine… He sighed and closed his eyes again.

"Saru?"

That voice was enough to make him open his eyes again and glance blearily towards the sound. The confusion and happiness mingling on Yata's face was almost comical and Fushimi felt his heart lighten at the sight. Maybe being awake for a while wouldn't be quite so bad after all…

"Mis…aki."

The smaller boy eased himself into the chair and his face gave way to an expression of relief.

"Hey." He said simply. "How do you feel?" Fushimi thought for a moment about lying and pretending he was fine like usual, but what would really be the point in that, when he clearly wasn't? He settled with a fairly ambiguous, but honest response.

"Pretty rough…"

"Yeah. I'm not surprised. I um- I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you yesterday. The doctor said you were really tired and it was probably all a bit much for one day…" He looked sad and embarrassed and it tugged at something in Saruhiko that he hadn't felt for quite a long time.

"It's…fine." Memories from the night resurfaced again and an image of Yata slumped over and snoring made him frown. "You stayed… here all night?" He asked weakly, although what he really meant to say was 'why are you, of all people, here by my side at a time like this?'

"Y-yeah. Of course." He said it bluntly- like it was obvious and a stupid question to ask in the first place. Their hands were close- almost touching and the words 'thank you' were on the tip of Fushimi's tongue as he tried to stretch out his hand and rest it on top of Yata's. But the tendons in his shoulder burned as he moved and made him wince, letting out a weak, strangled sound, stopping the words from escaping, ruining the moment and sending Yata into a frenzy.

"Are you okay?! Shall I call someone?" Fushimi grit his teeth and forced his hand to do his bidding, making a small gesture to Yata to say 'sit down, idiot'.

"No- no it's…" He took a deep shuddering breath and let the fucked up side take over for a second, allowing himself a moment of bright, clear pleasure as the stinging died down. "It's fine. I can handle it."

There was a silence and Fushimi's mind suddenly burst into life as reality dawned on him. Yata was here, sitting at his side, looking at him not with eyes filled with hatred or anger or disgust, but with compassion and concern, an expression of such innocence that it felt like he was drowning within those deep brown pools. A million questions pricked at his skin, demanding to be asked and everything that he'd practiced saying to himself in front of the mirror with varying degrees of sincerity were at the front of his brain, just waiting to be released. So naturally, the very next thing he said was:

"Misaki?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?" The words that came out weren't the ones he had so carefully planned. His voice wasn't soft or compassionate but biting, making his stomach turn as he heard the question leave his lips and make Misaki's perfect expression crumple and instantly turn sour. Just another thing he'd ruined, and he hadn't even been trying.

"Why do you think, Saru!?" Misaki sounded angry now. Fushimi was used to that, so he didn't even flinch. He could practically smell the string of insults that was coming next- the situation was so painfully predictable.

"I'm here because you were- no, still are- my best friend, and I was stupid enough to not realize it until you died in my arms!"

Fushimi hadn't seen that one coming. Yet again, Misaki managed to break down the walls he had so carefully constructed for himself to keep the world out and cage himself in, surprising him once more with the sheer depth of his benevolence. The ability of speech left him and he was dumbfounded, and maybe a little hurt. Hearing the word 'died' again affected him more than he would ever admit, and even though he'd often thought about dying (and actually attempted to instigate it twice in the past), when the moment actually came around he was surprised at the amount of regret he'd felt, staring up at that bleak darkness with the feeling of Yata's hand slowly fading away.

"I don't care about what's happened in the past, Saru. Not anymore. The last few weeks have been torture, and that moment when the paramedic shook his head when he checked your pulse…" Yata paused, and Fushimi could have sworn he was going to cry. "That was the worst moment of my life- knowing that you were gone and we never had a chance to fix everything. It's been a wake up call for me. So from now on, I don't care what you do or say, or if you protest or even if you hate me even more. I will help you through this and I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand me?"

He took a moment to absorb the words, allowing the sane part of him to tentatively turn them over and drink in their warmth, whilst keeping 'fucked up Fushimi' tightly bound up in his cage so he couldn't spoil the moment.

"Do you understand me!?"

This time, the words that gnawed at Saruhiko's insides were allowed freedom.

""I… don't hate you." The words were barely audible and Fushimi couldn't meet Yata's eyes, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment, even though his complexion retained it's deathly pallor.

"What?"

He tried again, with a little more conviction this time, although the sentence felt alien on his tongue.

"I don't… hate you."

"Y-you don't?" Fushimi shook his head slightly, ignoring the twinge it induced under the bandages.

"No… I tried but-" It was then that words failed him again and he was cut off by his own emotional ineptitude. There was so much more he wanted to say but all he could do was gape soundlessly as 'Fucked up Fushimi' rattled at his bars and grinned manically into the darkness, celebrating his victory. But then Yata's hand was on his own, warm and curling tightly and his eyes said simply; 'It's okay. I get it.'

That was something he'd always loved about Misaki.

"Hey Saru?"

"Hm?"

"What are these bandages for?"

Shit.

Fushimi's heart leapt to his mouth and make him feel sick with the taste of blood. The panic must have risen to his face because Yata instantly responded.

Misaki's stumbling attempts at being a therapist brought an all but foreign smile unbidden to Fushimi's lips (for the first time in so long) and seemed to loosen something inside him, allowing him speech once more.

"I thought it would make it better." Yata seemed confused and a little taken aback, but went along anyway.

"And did it?"

"Not really. But it's a distraction."

Click.

The door swung slowly open and wafted in the scent of sandalwood that always accompanied the Blue King. He closed the door softly behind him and straighten his cuffs as he strode slowly across the room.

"Good morning, Fushimi-kun, Yatagarasu." He nodded curtly and smiled as Misaki greeted him politely. Fushimi didn't respond, not because he hated Munakata, or held anything against him, but simply because the relationship they had just didn't call for it. That's the way it had always been between them; comfortably distant. Brusque- but trusting.

"I just called by to see if you were awake, but as you already have company, I shan't stay long. I just wanted to give you this." Munakata reached inside his coat and produced from it's folds a jigsaw puzzle in a cardboard box. The picture was of the Blue King himself, sitting at his desk surrounded by a cloud of butterflies, stars and love hearts. Fushimi had no idea where on earth he'd acquired such a monstrosity.

"So you don't get bored." Munakata placed the box on the end of the bed and turned to leave. "I'll stop by later- for a friendly chat, okay, Fushimi-kun?" The door closed behind him and a few seconds passed before Yata couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. Fushimi allowed himself another small smile (was that two in one day?), which was equivalent to anyone else bawling and rolling around on the floor with streaming eyes, and suddenly, they were back in middle school again, skipping maths and lying on the roof watching the clouds drift overhead in a phthalo blue sky.

-From Yata's POV

The change in Fushimi's expression was instant and startling. Yata immediately regretted bringing the subject up, and admitted to himself that it was totally not the right time to start the conversation.

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it. I mean- I can guess, um… Not that I'd expected it or anything, although maybe I did a little… But everyone's got, like, a coping strategy- that's the phrase isn't it? So I guess it's fine, but also it's not and… Aw crap. I'm not handling this very well am I?" He rambled and smiled a little in the hope that it would diffuse the atmosphere. Clearly it worked, as a small smile tugged at Fushimi's lips and he seemed to relax a little more.

"I thought it would make it better." He said quietly. Yata wasn't too sure what 'it' was, but for the sake of not bringing up any more awkward topics at inopportune moments, he went along with it.

"And did it?"

"Not really. But it's a distraction." He was about to ask 'a distraction from what?' but the door swung open without warning and suddenly the Blue King was there, strolling arrogantly across the room with that annoying smirk of his plastered firmly across his face.

"Good morning, Fushimi-kun, Yatagarasu." He said with a nod, and Yata responded as respectfully as he could, only really because he appreciated that Munakata had called him 'Yatagarasu', which not even Kusanagi did, despite Yata's constant insistence. Fushimi didn't reply, which was pretty rude, but the Blue King didn't seem to mind.

"I just called by to see if you were awake, but as you already have company, I shan't stay long. I just wanted to give you this." Munakata reached inside his coat and produced from it's folds a jigsaw puzzle in a cardboard box. Yata took one glance at the picture and turned his face away, desperately trying to stifle the laughter that threatened to break forth. It was at time's like this that he was envious of Saru's stoicism. The miserable bastard didn't even flinch. Maybe this was just a normal kind of event at Scepter 4…

"So you don't get bored." Munakata placed the box on the end of the bed and turned to leave. "I'll stop by later- for a friendly chat, okay, Fushimi-kun?" Yata waited for the door to click before he finally stopped holding his breath and allowed the hysterics to take over. Through the tears he saw Saru smile- properly smile. A rare sight even when the going was good- and he would always remember that image as the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was warm like the sun and genuine, and if he wasn't laughing so hard, it would have taken Yata's breath away.