Summary: The interior was ruined, but there was no mistaking it. He was in Akihiko's fancy, foreign sports car. The abomination with wheels, as Hiroki liked to call it.
He could already imagine the scene on the news, blood pooling across the seats and in the foot well like a scene from a bad horror film. Someone was going to have the unpleasant job of prying his corpse from the wreckage of car. Hiroki almost felt sorry for them.
'I'm going to die here,' Hiroki realised dismally. 'I'm going to die in this bastard's shitty car...'
Authors note: Recently I found a big stack of notebooks in my room, full of unposted stories. This is one of them. I thought it would be a shame for it to be wasted, so I decided to finish what I started…. Five years ago…. Watch this space for more chapters to follow.
Note: Minor bad language. Hiroki needs to put some money in my swear jar ;)
As the fog in his head began to disperse, the young professor attempted to pry open his brown eyes, wincing in pain as his head began to protest angrily.
The incessant pounding in his skull confirmed that he was indeed awake, slowly slipping from the clutches of slumber and back into what seemed to be a hazy reality.
As the numbness gradually faded from his aching limbs, Hiroki didn't have to open his eyes to realise that this was more than just a measly headache.
There was something warm dripping from his forehead.
A wet trail was creeping across his skin, cascading from his brow and riveting over his cheek.
There was no denying the dull, coppery taste in his mouth.
It was blood, his blood.
With a probing tongue, Hiroki was relieved to find that he still had all his teeth, although by the feel of things he was sporting an impressive busted lip
The brunette knew that somewhere, deep down, he should have perhaps been slightly more concerned by the fact that he was bleeding from somewhere. Instead, he simply didn't possess the energy to panic.
For a short while he was accompanied only by silence, until eventually an unnerving groan emitted from somewhere close beside him.
"Hiroki?"
He recognised that voice.
He'd recognise it from anywhere. That teasing, husky tone that drifted through his ear drums like silk. The brunettes face immediately twisted into a frown as the confusion finally started to sink in.
What was he doing here?
Hell, where was here?
He attempted to ignore the pounding in his skull, trying to think, remember anything, something-
He couldn't concentrate over the sound of the blood ringing in his ears.
Kamijou attempted to pry open his heavy eye lids, his body gravitating towards the direction he'd heard the sound.
He was unprepared for the immense stab of pain that flared in his abdomen, knocking the wind from his like a tonne of bricks. He froze immediately, gritting his teeth with a pained hiss as a wave of nausea swept over him.
"Hiroki?"
"A-Akihiko?"
"Thank god," the author exclaimed with a sigh of relief.
Akihiko attempted to offer some form of comfort, extending his aching arm as far as he could. He managed to brush his cold fingertips gingerly against the brunettes shoulder.
It wasn't uncommon for Hiroki to go out of his way to evade the novelists touch, however in his current state, the professor didn't seem to be even remotely fazed.
He could see the trace of crimson that splayed from the wound in Hiroki's forehead, watching as it trailed down his jaw and dripped steadily onto his white shirt.
The Usami's head was still spinning from the impact, having been slammed gracelessly against the hard headrest with a sickening smack.
Taking a deep breath, he began to flex his limbs cautiously, inspecting the damage one digit at a time.
Suppressing a hiss to avoid alarming his companion, he winced, peering down at his legs through a curtain of tousled grey hair.
Akihiko was no doctor, but he was sure that he could feel the fracture. There was just something about the feeling of something protruding from his skin that told him his limb was far from healthy.
It made his skin crawl.
He craned his neck, peering to the brunette beside him with a pair of violet eyes. The sight that greeted him was enough to make his toes curl.
"Try not to move," he advised calmly.
Hiroki moaned in confusion, slowly but surely opening his eyes.
The broken glass seemed to be everywhere. The passenger side window was gone, and all that remained were some jagged shards embedded around the window frame.
He could see it in his lap, dusting his shirt- he could even feel it in his hair.
The interior was ruined, but there was no mistaking it. He was in Akihiko's fancy, foreign sports car. The abomination with wheels, as Hiroki liked to call it.
The splintered windscreen was hanging on by a thread, and Hiroki couldn't help but notice that the gaping hole of glass that was missing was roughly the same size as his head.
Only then did the professor realise that the reason he couldn't move was because he was being pinned ruthlessly to his seat by what remained of the crushed red door.
"Oh shit," he declared bleakly, unable to supress the ever increasing panic that began to bloom within him.
"Oh my f-fucking god."
He had seen accidents on the news.
People died from things like this.
They died immediately from impact or painfully from their internal injuries.
There was nothing he could do to erase the dramatic scenarios in his head. He could already picture Akihiko's write-off car, flattened like a pancake and its interior splattered with blood, pooling on the seats and in the foot well like a scene from a bad horror film.
Someone was going to have the unpleasant job of prying his corpse from the wreckage of car.
He almost felt sorry for them.
What would his parents say? What would Nowaki-
Nowaki.
"Hiroki!"
Kamijou knew that in situations like this, it was reminding himself what he had to live for that was supposed to keep him grounded. He pictured Nowaki and his infamous heart-warming smile, but it did little to soothe him.
"Hiroki, you need to calm down-"
"I c-can't breathe," the brunette wheezed, in the clutches of what could only be a panic attack.
"Oh g-god… W-what are we g-going to-"
"Hiroki, you need to calm down," the Usami said firmly, regretting his stern choice of tone almost immediately.
The novelist grasped him firmly by the arm and gave the shaking limb a reassuring squeeze, ignoring the flare of pain radiating from his own shoulder.
It wasn't often that one witnessed Kamijou completely loose his composure.
In all the years of their friendship so far, or at least what remained of it, Usami Akihiko could only recall one other occasion in which he'd witnessed Hiroki's barriers completely crumble.
The day of his confession.
The day that Akihiko had broken Kamijou's heart.
Hiroki couldn't ignore the cold hand on his shoulder. There had once been a time when he would have longed to be touched by those same cold hands. It was almost funny; now the authors touch wasn't as electrifying as it had once felt upon his skin.
The spark was missing.
"Please don't t-touch me Akihiko."
Akihiko recoiled quickly, as if he'd been burned.
After all these years he'd been naive in thinking that he could repair the rift between them by simply pretending that nothing had happened. Since that fateful day things between them had never been the same again. Hiroki avoided him whenever possible, ignoring his calls, texts, and even trying to slip away undetected when he spotted the author in public.
"What…. What happened?" Hiroki asked, a suspicious sounding cough emerging from his lips.
"You don't remember?" Akihiko replied, resisting the urge to light a cigarette to calm his fraying nerves. "You must have hit your head pretty hard. What's the last thing you remember?"
Hiroki had been strolling along the pavement with his briefcase in one hand, raking his fingers through his tousled hair with the other as he'd begun the short journey to work.
He remembered vaguely seeing a familiar red sports car in the distance and as always his first instinct had been to attempt to avoid it.
Unfortunately, like many occasions, the bastard had pulled over and had begun harassing him.
"I was walking to work... You... you t-told me to get in the f-fucking c-car, and I d-did, because, you wouldn't leave me alone."
"I didn't force you," the novelist intervened with a frown. "I offered you a lift, and you accepted- eventually."
"People were staring," Hiroki reminded him, trying to savour the fragments of hazy memories that were jumbled in his head like puzzle pieces. "I don't remember a-anything a-after that," he confessed, gazing fixatedly at the twisted metal that had once been the bonnet of the novelists sports car.
"Someone hit us."
When Akihiko had spotted the speeding vehicle, it had simply been too late. Attempting to swerve from its path, the reckless driver collided with the red sports car with a deafening screech of brakes. It had happened so quickly that he'd hardly had time to think.
Akihiko stiffened as a familiar aroma lingered unpleasantly in his nostrils.
Engine oil.
Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Misaki.
He wondered what the brunette would say in this kind of situation. He could already picture him waving his arms around angrily, voice lanced with both concern and irritation.
'Idiot! How many times have I told you to keep your eyes on the road! You got a death wish or something?!'
"Nowaki's going to k-kill you," Hiroki said with great certainty, unable to supress the small smile of amusement tugging at his lips.
It was no secret that the tall paediatrician disliked Akihiko; the word dislike itself was one hell of an understatement. Every time that Nowaki set eyes on the author, his blood began to boil.
It was almost endearing how the mere mention of the author could spark the jealousy in Nowaki- not that Hiroki would ever admit it of course. He often pretended to be irritated by his lover's antics, despite the fact that he was certain that Kusama was able to see straight through him.
Whenever Hiroki muttered, "Get off me idiot," it would only encourage Nowaki to cling tighter, swooning, "I love you too Hiro-san!"
"It wasn't my fault," Akihiko protested, acknowledging the small crowd that had gathered at the roadside.
He could hear raised voices, someone warning them to wait for the emergency services.
He wondered if it had anything to do with the oil dripping from his car.
"S-Sounds like an e-excuse for your sh-shitty driving," Hiroki stuttered weakly, grimacing at the gurgling emitting from his chest.
"I find it difficult to believe that Kusama is the violent type, for a man that works with children."
"H-He punched M-Miyagi once," Hiroki confessed, frowning at the memory. "I've n-never seen him s-so angry before-"
He winced as another wet cough emerged from his lips, his lungs burning in protest as his chest heaved with each rattle.
A surge of panic consumed him when he recognised the coppery taste emerging from his lips…
'I'm going to die here,' he realised dismally. 'I'm going to die in this bastard's shitty car...'
His heart wrenched.
Nowaki would be left entirely alone.
With no family, Hiroki was all that he had.
"Akihiko," he said, blinking the tears from his eyes. "I need you to p-promise me something…"
"Don't-"
"Promise me."
"I promise Hiroki," he said, ignoring the lump in his throat.
'Don't say my name in that tone, idiot.'
He'd never been good with words. They always managed to tangle themselves before they could roll off of the tip of his tongue.
"I-If something happens to me," he began, no longer able to restrain the tears that trailed across his cheeks, "tell Nowaki I…"
Despite the circumstances, he felt embarrassed beyond comprehension. If he lived to see another day, he was sure he'd never be able to look Akihiko in the eye ever again.
"It won't come to that," Akihiko said, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath to calm his fraying nerves. "You can tell him yourself when we get out of this mess."
"A-Always the op-optimistic one a-aren't you?" the brunette replied, gritting his teeth as he tried to restrain a sob. "We g-get hit by a f-fucking car, and you s-still don't batter a f-fucking eyelid-"
"Hiroki-"
"Your optimism p-pisses me off," the brunette muttered with a pained hiss. "Y-you don't know that we're not leaving t-this thing in a b-body bag!"
The professor's words were followed by an uncomfortable pause, before Akihiko finally muttered, "You're right Hiroki. I don't…."
Kusama Nowaki began to stir with a sluggish groan, a hand protruding from the warm covers in a blind attempt to seize the shrieking telephone.
Its stubborn ringing sounded throughout the quiet apartment, and Nowaki could have sworn his ear drums were starting to ache.
Fumbling a hand over the bedside table, he retrieved the irritating device, tiredly prying his lanky frame into a seated position as he proceeded to lean against the headboard, impressively long legs stretched out in front of him.
Raking a hand through his tousled black hair, he held the phone to his ear and answered with a forced, yet pleasant tone.
"Hello?"
"Ah, good morning Kusama," the caller greeted rather stiffly.
Nowaki stilled in recognition at the familiar voice in his ear.
"Professor… Did Hiro-san forget something?"
"No…"
There was a short pause, and the paediatrician could almost picture Miyagi frown in confusion.
"Could you hand him over? He missed his class this morning. He's not sick is he?"
Nowaki frowned, glancing at the empty space beside him on the large mattress.
On the bedside table Hiroki's watch, reading glasses, keys, and wallet were all missing. He never left the apartment without them, which confirmed that he had already left for work…
Vaguely, Kusama remembered stirring early that morning as Hiroki gently trailed his fingers through his dark hair. He'd been awake long enough in his exhausted state to register the professor bidding him goodbye, followed by a gentle peck on the cheek before slipping quietly out of the apartment.
Well, perhaps that last part had been a dream.
It was always difficult to tell.
"He's not here," Nowaki replied with unease.
"Kamijou's never late," Miyagi said, in a tone that implied he wasn't entirely convinced.
Glancing at the alarm at his bedside, the paediatricians concern only amplified. "He's not here," Nowaki insisted. "He left at the same time as usual. He should be there by now…"
"I see."
There was an unnerving pause, before Nowaki finally managed, "Have you tried his cell?"
"Five times, and it went straight to voicemail. You know what? He'll probably turn up soon. I didn't mean to worry you-"
"It's not like Hiro-san to be late" Kusama said worriedly. "I'll try his cell again."
"I'm sure he's fine," Miyagi replied.
Nowaki's heart sank.
Miyagi didn't sound entirely convinced.