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He doesn't feel the heat of the fire, the biting of the flames; doesn't hear the snapping of their jaws as they try to catch onto them. Hisoka knows they're already burning, but he's too far gone to do anything about it, too over flooded with some violent triumph, savage joy that he's never felt before. He noticed very little else, beyond Tsuzuki clutched tight to his chest – or he to Tsuzuki's, he isn't quite sure who starts where anymore. He holds on – they hold on – waiting for it to end, one way or another.
The brightness of the flames diminish and disappear to an all-encompassing dark, and he clings tighter, wraps closer, as if his presence will shield them from the coming unconsciousness. His body protests and unconsciousness does not come, not right away. Everything is fuzzy, indistinct.
Neither is sure of the hands trying to pry them apart.
The voices seem to be a world away – but something about them is trustworthy: this fact is communicated between their fading consciousness goodness knows how, and they reluctantly allow themselves to be separated.
It is not a pleasant experience.
It seems to Hisoka that both of them cried out in pain for the other, though Watari later assures him they were both practically catatonic and barely reacted to anything. That didn't change much. No one else had to hear anything.
He woke days later, feeling distinctly himself. It took Tsuzuki longer, his injuries being the more severe and Hisoka took the time to set a good deal straight in his head. It was horrible, he realised, how alone he felt. How much he hurt by himself. It was different in the flames, where thy combined one another's pain, where they put together their everything and carried it between the two of them and it was somehow better, easier. It was an instant, a moment they had share, where nothing, not even their… separateness, mattered.
Even with Tsuzuki a bed away – an arm's reach away – he was too far. He slipped out of bed, easing his bare feet to the cold floor and unsteadily crossed the short distance to Tsuzuki's bedside, watched him for a while. He was still bandaged up, though his face was uncovered, the skin there fresh and new – and sensitive, Hisoka knows from experience, and is very gentle when he puts out a hand, to touch new skin to new skin.
He is struck by the total purity of this touch, and somewhat honoured as well.
His eyes flutter open, and in the dim light of the infirmary they are bottomless, glittering darkness. A thread of emotion dances beneath his fingertips, confusion, frayed to the touch in some places – 'where? who? what?' – fuller in others – 'why… do I feel alone?'
Hisoka bites his bottom lip slightly, unsure of his response. They both remember the same thing – the togetherness, the oneness – before the yawning black. Hisoka remembers more of the specifics, but he knows that Tsuzuki isn't ready for words yet, never mind the details. He watches him, confused, tired, quietly curious, and Hisoka knows he must do something – he must explain.
He is unused to initiating contact, but he leans down and plants a kiss on Tsuzuki's forehead. 'No. No, it's not gone, that feeling from before. It was real, and it will always… I will always be here, as long as you'll have me.'
He doesn't know if Tsuzuki understands. He feels the confusion dissipate, but nothing rises to take its place. Perhaps Tsuzuki's too tired – perhaps it's better that way – and he falls asleep with Hisoka at his side, gently, reverently, caressing his cheek.
Hisoka drags himself back to bed after a while, unwilling to face the consequences should Watari ctch him out of bed when he is supposed to be resting. When Tsuzuki wakes again, later the following day, the confusion is back, palpable across the gap between them – but it vanishes again. Tsuzuki does not mention the night Hisoka sat with him, and Hisoka returns to being his usual waspish self.
Tsuzki, for all his obliviousness, never forgets. It is a feeling of oneness – of something new, and intimately Hisoka, that lulls him to sleep, and steers his consciousness from the worst of his nightmares.