It's been a long time since I wrote any fan fiction, but specifically for Beyblade. I hope you enjoy.

CMO

She sat on the window seat gazing out dolefully across the barren hospital grounds. Apart from a whirr in the background, the room was silent. Hollow. As requested, besides from the nurses, whose duties required them to enter, there had been no visitors. Because of this, the whole place had a bleak atmosphere.

Nearby, the man on the bed, imprisoned by several machines connected to his body that were keeping him alive, stirred with a soft moan. She noticed that even whilst asleep, his muscles were tensed, solid as rock, as though prepared for imminent danger. On the bedside table lay the shattered remnants of blue metal. The reason he was incapacitated.

Curiosity drew her to the familiar fragments, and she felt an overwhelming sadness grip her.

Almost as if he felt it too, he let out a sharp breath, startling her and causing her to retreat back to the window. Crimson eyes fluttered open feebly to stare up at the ceiling. Recognition flickered across his face, and his body slowly relaxed, albeit with disappointment. Nothing had changed from the last time he'd roused from sleep. He was still connected to more machines that he thought necessary. The weight of emptiness was still crushing. What day of the week was it? Nevermind. Every day had the same mundane routine; his body was healing, but his strength was yet to be restored.

He reached up a hand, ignoring the objecting beeps from the machines, and rubbed his forehead with an anguished expression. As he brought his hand back down with a jolt, pain shot up his arm and he hissed. Unable to move without his body fighting back, he resigned himself to stare up at the ceiling once more. He had already counted the tiny tiles above him; 1,082 in his immediate vision, probably a few hundred more in his peripheral. There wasn't much else he could do to combat the boredom that plagued his waking hours.

He turned his head to the side. Maybe he should count the pieces of his broken beyblade. He blew out air from his nostrils. The wound was still open and raw. No need to rub salt in it.

But out of the corner of his eye, something bright caught his attention. With great difficulty, he lifted his head towards the window. Furiously blinking away the dizziness that had begun to cloud his vision.

"Huh?"

An extraordinary girl watched him from the window seat. He was certain that he had never seen her before, although something about her felt familiar. She appeared to be glowing like fire: golden skin and vivid red hair reaching beyond her waist. Her eyes were a burnt orange but glistened as though she'd been crying. She was clothed in a red dress, which was elegantly layered and flared out just below her knees, resembling the feathers of a bird.

He stared at the beauty before him, unable to comprehend why she was in his hospital room.

The crimson girl rose nimbly to her feet. When she moved, the fire engulfing her moved with her. Appearing void of emotion, her intense eyes fixed on the man in the bed. It unnerved him.

"Who are you?" he rasped, eyes narrowed with suspicion. His throat was dry and sore, having not spoken for several days. He made an effort to sit up, though his muscles protested with burning pain. He paused, wheezing for a moment before furrowing his brow at her. How she longed to smooth those deep creases tarnishing his forehead.

But with a gentle hand pressed to his chest, she guided him back down. He trembled at her touch; a warmth suddenly emitting from her and spreading across his skin. The emptiness he felt momentarily lifted and was replaced by a warm, comforting embrace. He felt like he was submerged in hot water, and arched his chest towards her, craving more of her radiating fire. But she pulled away, despite his displeasure, and could not miss the frown that furrowed his brow.

"You're weak," she spoke plainly in a voice like liquid gold. "You must not exert yourself."

Without her close, he shivered. Without her close, the pain returned, trampling over his body once more. He winced.

"Who are you?" he asked again. This time his voice was stronger and more direct. She replied only with a smile.

"You know who I am." She reached out to tend to the pillow behind his head, causing him to flinch and skip a breath.

He stared at her blankly. How could he know who she was when he'd never seen her before? And yet, there was something about her that he recognised, something that struck him deep within his core.

Flashes of red, yellow and orange. A burning desire for victory. Light, cutting through shadows.

And then, instinctively, he knew the spirit girl before him; she set fire to the world around her, igniting her every path, but she never once let a flame touch him. She had leant him her heart of fire to triumph in many battles. Bravery, when he lacked courage; strength, when he was weak; perseverance, when he felt like giving up. A flaming power that she had permitted him to wield since he was a young boy.

But as he opened his mouth to utter her name, she silenced him with her golden voice once again.

"How could you forget your greatest friend?"

"I- I," disbelief shook him. "Why are you here?" He didn't mean to sound abrupt but the shock of her return rendered him unable to grasp any rationale in the situation.

She didn't answer but glided to the window and stared wistfully out. The sound of his ragged breath and the beeping of the machines connected to him fueled the tension. She had anticipated his reaction but she was glad he'd recognised her. Still, she felt there was still something unsaid.

"But how?" he murmured to himself, clenching his fists. His heart rate monitor issued a warning sound.

"It doesn't matter how," she told him with authority. When he looked up, unaware that she'd heard him, she cocked her head to the side with a smile. The fire surrounding her form glowed with renewed intensity. "And I'm here because I belong by your side."

He was silent for a moment. His breathing slowed.

"Will you stay?" he croaked eventually, inwardly cursing himself for being weak.

Her velvet voice was at a whisper, "always." Amber eyes connected with crimson ones.

"But... I let you go." And the flame wavered briefly. And she knew. The pain of his choice still haunted him, though he'd been forgiven. His frown was back; she needed to do something about that. He still needed her.

She approached him once again and placed her hand on his cheek. Immediately, her warmth enveloped his body. The emptiness was fading; he was being restored anew. Like a phoenix born of new fire. Now at peace, his lips quirked into a knowing smile and he closed his eyes. When his chest began rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, she knew that he had fallen asleep, but she remained by his side, continuing to ignite his soul.

The weight bearing down on the both of them had finally lifted.

"As if you thought I'd ever leave you."

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