A/N: I'm sorry if this is clichéd. Constructive criticism or spirit-lifting reviews much appreciated.
A Temporary Permanence
"I can't remember."
--
His foot slammed on the brake, and his hands gripped the steering wheel fiercely.
Panting, he clambered out of the car.
What the --
The dark figure, head a hair's breadth away from the front of the car, lay on the road, unmoving.
--
It was silent aside from the constant low rumble of the car engine. A mostly treeless landscape flew past the car, on and on. Occasionally a road sign would pop up. Other than that the scenery was as monotonous as an endlessly looping videotape.
Night had long since fallen. The road was deserted -- it wouldn't be an exaggeration to assume that his car was the only one on the whole highway.
Fuji checked his fuel tank once more, before giving the beautiful male to the left of him another quick glance.
Questions, questions. What was he doing, asleep on the road at one in the morning? How did he get there? Who left him there?
The driver shook his head in resignation, and mentally decided to drop this anonymous man off at the next rest stop he found; he'd leave him on a bench next to a telephone, maybe give him some money.
I'm not going to dirty my hands with this sort of thing.
And at that very same moment, the man stirred for the first time in two hours.
--
He arched his neck, and his back followed.
Fuji stopped the car for the second time that night, swiftly checking the rear-view mirror for any cars behind. There were none, and he was safe. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face his passenger, whose hand moved to the back of his head.
Staining the soft, light brown hair covering the nape of his neck was wet, red blood, which glittered in the minimal lighting of the car and lampposts. His eyes opened, and he brought his bloody fingers in front of his face.
He blacked out again, neck going slack and fingers falling, leaving a dark red smear on the leather of the car seat. Fuji unlocked the car door and took out the first-aid kit from the boot.
--
The wound was at the back of the man's head. Fuji had never been in such situations before, but he tried his best with the hopefully sterile tape and cotton wool, following up with bandages that went in a ring around his forehead.
He still didn't look too good, and his face was still missing the natural element of pale pink most people possessed, but at least the bleeding was controlled.
Now that he looked at him closely, his collar was soaked with blood. Fuji kicked himself for not having noticed it earlier -- the young man probably got the wound by falling onto the ground from a vehicle -- but continued staring at the beautiful face with interest.
His hair was a light brown, and it fell around his face messily. On the bridge of his nose was a pair of rimless glasses, which just accentuated his smartness in dressing. Was he a host? He surely could pass off as one.
With a sigh, Fuji restarted the engine and continued the drive -- this time slightly slower, as if not to wake the sleeping beauty which lay next to him, close enough to touch.
--
Before he knew it, he'd driven past the rest stop marked on the map and reached the next prefecture.
Cursing his foolishness, he parked at a lot outside a well-situated convenience store and headed in to purchase a map. Wary as he was of leaving his unexpected guest in the car alone lest he might wake up and drive off, he settled for taking the keys and cracking open a window for air.
When he opened his wallet to pay for the directory (he raised an eyebrow -- emblazoned on the cover in English was the word 'Tokyo') it turned out he had plenty more than he remembered having. Pleasantly surprised, Fuji decided to leave the questions for later and went back to the car.
He was on the outskirts of Tokyo, it seemed, as he flipped through the flimsy booklet and glancing at each map. Driving further in would bring him to town.
The receptionist looked slightly alarmed when he approached the counter, the anonymous man's arm slung over his shoulder for support. He tried his best to look sympathetic, took the room's key and hobbled over to the elevator, heaving from the weight of the unconscious.
--
It was only after he finally managed to transfer his only piece of baggage onto the bed when Fuji realized that he held nothing else in his possession, and would probably have to wear the same pair of underwear for quite some time.
He frowned at the bespectacled man -- he didn't have enough on him to accommodate both of them in separate rooms and still have money left over for dinner.
I suppose he can take the couch when he wakes up.
He ended his train of thought, and walked into the bathroom.
--
Fuji sat in the bathtub, water up to his neck, thinking.
He didn't know what he was doing, not at all. What was he doing, driving to Tokyo from God-knows-where? The trip must have been at least eight hours long -- how long had he been driving for? All he could remember was starting down that branch of highway, encountering the strange man who slept outside at that very moment, and driving straight on, without a purpose.
He was tired. Maybe something would come back to him in the morning.
He also needed to buy some clothes.
--
"Where is this place?"
Fuji jumped back at the rather mellow-sounding voice, dropping the towel he was using.
"Well," he paused for a while to think of what one might say when standing half-naked in front of a mysterious man one picked up off the highway. "I'm Fuji Syuusuke." He held out a hand to shake, evading his question.
The man did not take it -- instead he just stared as if he'd never seen that gesture in his life.
"Tezuka Kunimitsu," he mumbled, breaking the silence.
"Is that your name, then," Fuji picked up the towel, before looking at the man questioningly.
"I - I don't know," he fingered the bandages wound around his head desperately. "I can't remember."
And then there was silence -- louder than usual and very, very still.