The initial exhilarating effect of an overdose of Apple Martinis and Tequila shots wore off three hours post Yata Misaki's maiden visit to Hinagiku: a nightclub which had been christened as one of the sexiest hangout bars in the heart of Shizume.
Tongue papery like cardboard in his dry, foul tasting mouth, Yata dizzily got up from the unusually comfortable bed and shoved the woolly blankets off his sweaty body. Slouching, he combed his slightly tanned hands through his matted auburn hair and winced when out of the blue he felt as if someone was hammering his skull from the inside. His head wasn't the only part that ached insanely though. The second he carelessly stood up from the mattress, his tailbone began to hurt and his back felt as if it was broken.
"Shit…" grunted the petite but fiery brunette. Must've gotten it from awkward sleeping positions or something. Stomach knotted up into more knots than a King Scout could even dream of tying, Yata limped as fast as a hungover man could manage to the toilet – which for some reason seemed a mile further away than usual.
To Hell with the wonders of alcohol.
"Mmph– bluek–!"
It definitely wasn't worth the discomfort that was cruising through his trembling body at this very moment. Not to mention the dreadful smell of vomit that made him want to throw up a second time. How he regretted not listening to Kusanagi-san's lectures about the consequences of underage alcohol consumption. Oh and binge drinking too.
Wiping away the foul tasting puke from the corners of his downturned mouth, Yata hurriedly recoiled back his fingers when they accidentally brushed past his swollen lips. Slowly, the young man's quivering hands moved from his face to his throbbing temple, trying to calm the horrendous internal banging. A whine of pain escaped his reddish lips as he crouched over the porcelain toilet bowl with his head lowered.
Exhausted and in agonising pain, he then lay in a foetal position on the cold tiled floor, not caring if the ground was grimy or not.
"Fucking hell. Why the heck did I drink so much last night?! Oh God make it stop, make it stop…"
"Oh shit. Now I hear voices in my jacked up head. I've gone fucking insane for sure. Bloody alcohol,"
Before Misaki "Hungover Crow" Yata could finish his ranting, the room started spinning. His stomach threatened to overspill once again when he felt as if he was flying. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he used all of his willpower to battle the unforgiving nausea and keep the remaining contents of his stomach in place. Minutes later, the floor beneath his hurting torso didn't feel so hard anymore and soon enough, he finally fell asleep.
-/-
At a quarter to three, a drowsy Fushimi woke up to the sound of horrible retching coming from his bathroom. As lazy as ever, he took his time and stretched before making his way to the scene in lento. The retching stopped before he opened the half closed door and he stood there for a whole minute before hearing a muffled noise that made his stone heart ache a little and compelled him to enter the room.
Hearing Him make that pained sound managed to break Fushimi's emotionless mask ever so slightly.
Watching Him writhe and subconsciously sob from the uncontrollable head lash made Fushimi want to almost take back whatever he said about the non existence of heroes. Here was the only person and thing that mattered to him in the entire universe: helpless and miserable. And he would never admit it in a million years, but right then and there, Fushimi Saruhiko wanted to be Yata Misaki's one and only Hero.
So as expected, the navy haired young man carefully cradled his best friend in his arms and put him back onto his Queen sized bed which they had shared since they came back together from Hinagiku a few hours after midnight. He came back from a second trip to the washroom with a wet handkerchief and gently cleaned his precious Misaki's face. Noticing that the cotton pyjama top that he had lent Misaki last night now smelled sourish of vomit and stale sweat, Fushimi replaced it with another of his shirts: light grey and soft but quite oversized on the vanguard's slim frame.
"Misaki,"
His ex-partner's beautiful name rolled off his tongue into the silent room. Lying on his side with a fist propped under his right cheek, Fushimi's dark blue eyes fixated themselves on Yata's slumberous face. Without acquiring prior permission, Fushimi helped himself to the pleasure of stroking the smooth skin there. He traced a long finger delicately across Misaki's cheekbone, past his jaw line and ended at the base of his chin.
As the moonlight drifted into the bedroom through the opened Venetian blinds, Fushimi could see the unintentional "damage" and injuries that he had caused his precious Misaki. Present on Misaki's neck were a couple of purplish love bites, while his usually light pink lips were now somewhat swollen and tinged crimson.
Sadistic as he may be, Fushimi Saruhiko still had a soft spot for this particular clansman of the despised Red Clan.
"I'm sorry, Misaki,"
Those words tumbled out of his slightly crooked mouth sincerely and on hindsight, maybe he should have been gentler. Yata Misaki was a Virgin... until today.
He would have gladly stared at him and taken in every inch of his impossibly flawless profile, if tiredness hadn't silently crept into his mind uninvited. One last kiss was the parting gift that he consoled himself with before he finally gave in to his fatigue.
Arching over the sound asleep ginger head, Saruhiko delicately placed his own lips on Misaki's, ever so careful not to jolt him awake from the pain of sudden pressure on his current sensitive spot. By a stroke of luck, his guest would still be here when he woke up. Misaki would sober up and realise that he had been in love with his best friend all this while. He'd realise that following Fushimi back to his apartment last night wasn't just a stupid, drunken mistake. Instead, he would stay here with Fushimi forever.
One thing Fushimi Saruhiko knows for sure is that it will take Hell a thousand times to freeze over before he will ever forget what he did in this room, on this bed, with that one exceptional Yata Misaki.
-/-
Fushimi Saruhiko could very well be the President of the Anti-Vegetables club. But he's sensible enough to know that his despised veggies do occasionally have their benefits. Thus, he reluctantly keeps a can of evil tomato juice in his fridge just to make sure he doesn't have to suffer from hangovers caused by nights of "crazy partying" with his beloved Sceptre 4 "buddies".
Said can of juice is now empty and lying beside his slightly ajar apartment door.
Cold water is flowing from the tap in the bathroom which hasn't been turned off. The bathroom lights are still switched on as well. Signs that Misaki might be washing up or brushing his teeth at this very moment.
But Saruhiko is alone in his apartment. Misaki is gone. He's left.
Tch. Why did Fushimi even let himself believe in "heroes" and "wishes". Pathetic.
What's even more pathetic... was hoping that Misaki would have said goodbye before he left.
Spell checked and edited a tiny bit.
Chapter 2 will FINALLY be updated tonight (1 November 2013 harharhar.. I'm so sorry for my instense procrastination).
Stay tuned to find out what happens next to our Pessimistic Non Hero ;)