FEAR.
Like a bolt of lightning, it strikes Seiichi; his throat constricts, and his body is paralyzed, but his damn eyes won't open. Then he tries to breath, but the moment he opens his mouth his lungs are filled to the brim.
Drowning.
He's drowning in something dark and dense.
Seiichi now realizes that he can't escape from this nightmare, in which his body is petrified, and his lungs closed. He can't breathe nor speak; move nor think.
So he continues to sink.
Deeper, deeper—until numbness embraces him from the suffocating darkness again.
SEIICHI WAKES WITH A VIOLENT JOLT, and a hitched gasp escapes from his cracked lips. His eyes are dark and wide with panic as he takes ragged breaths that slice his throat; his heart pounds thunderously against his chest and he has a fistful of white sheets in both hands. His pajamas, moist with sweat, clings to his body like a second skin as he shoots up in bed. His bones throb and his throat is parched, but his mind is already occupied with memories of the nightmare.
I'm still alive, I'm still alive, I'm still alive. He chants those three words to himself like a mantra, as though missing a single beat would somehow kill him. When the fear subsides, his heartrate slows but retains an unsteady beat. The radio that he'd been listening to the night before is still going, but there's nothing Seiichi can hear beyond the blood coursing through his veins.
Sighing deeply, he rubs his aching eyes and does his best to ignore the pain pulsing through his temples. But his hands quickly drop onto his lap.
He studies the pale, sickly tone of his flesh and sits like that for a minute, hunched over and blank-faced. It isn't until the door to his room opens that he snaps out of his stupor, and he stares at the woman coming inside with eyes of a madman. When she notices his expression she almost flinches, and she starts taking careful steps, like she's walking through a minefield—it almost makes Seiichi want to snap at her to get a fucking move on.
"Good morning, ma'am," he then greets with faux-cheerfulness. When her shoulders lower and she gives a relieved smile, he smiles back with the tenderness of an angel. He always gets the nurses to swoon when he does that.
"G-Good morning…" she stutters back. "I came in to check on you. How are you feeling?"
'Like fucking shit, what about you?'
"I feel a bit tired, but otherwise fine," Seiichi replies in the politest tone he can muster. The nurse simply smiles (as all nurses are trained to do—smile and at least feign sympathy) as she jots something onto her green clipboard. Then, she looks back up at him, her eyes falling upon the bedside table. "What pretty flowers. Do you know who sent them?"
Seiichi turns his head. Much to his surprise, there's a petite vase stuffed with daisies sitting atop the surface of his bedside table. Then he blinks, somewhat taken aback. His grandmother had sent him flowers? When did this happen?
Then he leans forward and takes a closer look, noticing the white card dangling from the ribbons wrapped around the curve of the vase. Curiously, Seiichi pulls it close and reads aloud:
"'Get well soon, Aoi… signed with much love, Your Grandma.'"
Seiichi blinks. Aoi? If he recalls correctly, his grandmother didn't have any memory deficiencies. Well… perhaps she had been growing a tad bit senile over the past few years, but it wasn't so bad that she'd forget her own grandson's name.
His puzzled expression shifts towards the nurse, who seems just as confused.
"Know what? Those flowers must've been sent to the wrong room… there's an Aoi here, but he's in the room next to yours. There must have been a mix-up, so I'll take them when I leave." She gets up, presumably to grab the vase, but Seiichi beats her to it.
"Actually, I'd like to deliver them myself," he says, and he begins to stand, much to the nurse's concern. When she tries to help him, he swats away the extended arm and forces himself off the bed. Ever since he's come to the hospital, he's refused any semblance of physical help as much as possible—the last thing he wants is to be handled like some helpless handicap. "You said he's in the room next to mine?"
"Kikkou Aoi? Yes, in Room 405," she replies, but the concern on her face has not yet left. "Yukimura-kun please, you shouldn't be moving around so much in the morning—"
"If I'm only travelling next door, then there really shouldn't be a problem," he quickly rebuts, pretending not to notice the slight snarl that contrasts with his usual gentleness. The nurse, on the other hand, flinches at the sharp tone. "Besides, I've been itching to walk since this morning… but I don't suppose you'd understand why."
With his mind made clear, she finally releases long sigh and reluctantly opens the door for him. "Well… if you're so insistent…"
Seiichi thanks her with a smile as he walks past her. Turning to the right, he looks at the silver plaque on the door next to him.
ROOM 405, it reads.
After taking a short breath of confidence, he opens the door and enters cautiously.
The warm atmosphere that welcomes him immediately is a pleasant surprise. Never has the hospital ever felt so… comfortable. He stands distracted for only a moment before his gaze falls onto the bandaged figure lying in bed before him.
Carefully, he approaches them, and curiosity convinces him to lean over and peer into the blankets that seem to wrap around the sleeping person like a cocoon of protection. Shamefully, Seiichi can't help but to reach towards the figure and tug on the covers. He wants to see who is hidden within, feeling the same desire one would if they wanted in on a secret.
It's a boy, no older than twelve; his head is wrapped almost entirely in thick, white bandages. They're wound all around his temple, then over his left eye and around his neck. Peeking from under the loose parts of the bandage are tufts of chestnut brown hair; beneath his bangs, the boy's light skin glows where the sunlight blots his face. When Seiichi leans closer, he can make out the quick movement of his one eye through a translucent eyelid, and he wonders what the boy could be dreaming about.
He gazes at the him for only a minute longer before setting the daisies down onto the bedside table. Still captivated by the tranquility that's enveloped him, Seiichi pulls a nearby chair close and sits beside the boy. The way his nose twitches when he sniffles sort of reminds Seiichi of a rabbit.
The room itself is not that much different from his own room, save for the décor and shape. But at the same time, it feels so much bigger, like an entire world could probably fit inside it. Or already has.
His gaze then wanders towards the bedside table, where a collection of clear DVD cases is piled on top of each other. He plucks the one at the top and gazes at it curiously, the Sharpie-written title reading: USA vs. JAPAN. From the sound of it, he figures it's something sports-related. He picks off two more from the pile, SPAIN vs. GERMANY, and BRAZIL vs. FRANCE.
"Y' wan'a watch one wit' meh?"
Seiichi, admittedly, is a bit startled. He looks up towards the voice, his brown eyes meeting with a piercing, ocean-blue one. The boy had woken so soundlessly.
"Oh… are you not surprised…?" he asks, awed by the lack of shock from the latter. Normally, one would be intimidated after waking up to a stranger going through their things.
The boy's eye widens, and he shakes his head. "Nah'tat'all!"
Seiichi raises an eyebrow, wondering what drugs the doctors could have possibly been prescribing the boy.
"A've gawt abunch'af matches weh can watch, if yer' wan'a…" he continues to slur, then clumsily reaches for the pile. They clatter noisily onto the ground, and the boy scowls. "Ah, dam hans… cant grab anythin'!"
Quietly, but with a humored smile, Seiichi picks up the fallen DVDs and stacks them neatly atop the table again. The boy's face lights up with gratitude, and again, he reaches for the DVDs—only to be blocked off by Seiichi.
"Actually, I'm more interested in you—" he says as he tucks the boy's arm back under his covers. "Let's just chat for a little bit."
The boy pauses, and he studies Seiichi carefully. Then he nods slowly, settling back into his pillows with content. "Ohkay then…" he replies, though his eye continues to flick back and forth from Seiichi to the DVDs.
"It wouldn't be polite of either of us to skip over introductions, so let's do that first, okay?" says Seiichi quickly as he grabs the DVD stack and relocates them onto the floor. "I'm Yukimura Seiichi, and you are Kikkou Aoi, yes?"
The boy's eye widens almost to the size of saucers. "Whoa! How d'you know?! Are y' psychic?!"
"Ps-Psychic…?" Seiichi takes a second to recollect himself. "Um… unfortunately, no. I'm not. I was just told by a nurse, is all."
"Whaaaa? Thas no fun," Aoi visibly wilts, the despondent expression on his face somehow making Seiichi feel guilty for having not met such an unreasonable expectation.
"Well, Kikkou-san, if I may inquire, how did you end up at this hospital? But you don't have to answer, if you aren't comfortable with telling me…"
Aoi shakes his head. "… Car'ccident. 'Was ridin' m' bike, an' gawt hit by a car. Was a hi'n'un."
Then hesitantly, Aoi looks back up at Seiichi. "Um… what 'bout you? You d'nt look very unhealth' to meh… are y' sick?"
The question itself is innocuous—but the way it comes out so innocently, so nonchalantly, so fucking casually—it makes something very thin in Seiichi snap.
"I don't think that's any of your business," he almost growls, the snarl in his tone making the latter flinch.
"S-Sorreh man, didn' mean tah make yah mad..." he murmurs as he averts his gaze, instead focusing on the brown strand of hair curled around his finger.
Immediately, the guilt from his outburst weighs on his conscious, and he bottles his frustration with a long sigh. "No, I should be the one to apologize… I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. It's just that… lately, I've been somewhat irritable." Which wasn't untrue, considering the shitfest of a month he'd been having.
The boy gazes at him, traces of intimidation still marring his face. However, he leans up and smiles, though it's crooked and forced. "Yah, ah haven' been doin' real gud eitha…." He points at his cast and laughs. "'Cause ah was hit by a car'n'all! Isn' that kinda' weird? Who gets hit by car in this day'n'age?"
Laughter bellows from the brunet; so hard, in fact, it makes Seiichi start to worry. However, as fast as it started, it subsides into quiet chuckles, until stopping altogether.
"… To beh hones', ah—"
"—Yukimura-kun!"
Turning around, Seiichi frowns, a bit upset that his conversation with the boy has been so quickly interrupted. But standing at the doorway is his nurse, and he knows that he won't be allowed to further delay his check-up. "It's time for your tests, Yukimura-kun. I know you were probably having fun, but it really can't wait any longer," she says.
Seiichi hides his frown, then gets up from Aoi's bed and waves goodbye. "I hope to see you later, Kikkou-san. I was only here because your grandmother sent daisies to the wrong room, but it was a pleasure to meet someone else my age around here."
Luminescent rays from the morning sun shines through parted pale window curtains, resting upon Aoi's upright figure and embracing him from behind. With the halo of light around his body, he almost looks angelic.
"Bye bye—see you later, Yukimura-san!" Aoi waves ecstatically. The ardor of his smile absolutely intoxicates Seiichi, so much so that he must force himself to turn away from the boy's radiant benevolence.
'Ah…'
His chest tightens, and without knowing, he holds his breath.
'I don't want to leave behind this warmth.'
FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS, Seiichi has been bombarded with medical tests and physical examinations. Repeatedly, he's been told by nearly every damn doctor in the country that his chances of playing tennis again were slim-to-none. Of course, he ignores their pitying glances and half-assed encouragements, because if he had a nickel for every time he heard someone start their sentence with "If you keep holding on to faith and hope" he'd be probably richer than Federer and Nadal combined.
"Well, that should be all for today, Yukimura-kun."
Seiichi slips on his shirt, buttoning it slowly. His eyes are fixed on his doctor (who is really, honestly, a good man—shame that he is currently the Scapegoat of the Hour) knowing that the perplexed expression he dons as he looks at the test results is all too familiar. It's the look every doctor will wear when they want to give Seiichi their two cents on his condition.
He stands up, fitting on his hospital slippers and forcing his stiff legs to move towards the door.
'Three.' Seiichi is only three feet away from the door. 'Two.' He reaches for the brass handle—his only hope for escape from what is to come. 'One.' He's only just starting to turn the knob when he stops and—
Silence. A slight delay? This time for sure, Seiichi was positive he'd finally timed it correctly—
"Yukimura-kun, do you really still wish to play tennis after recovering?"
'Ah, there it is.' A bitter taste spreads on Seiichi's tongue. Then he turns around, smiling, and replies, "Of course. Why would I not? It'd be ridiculous for me to quit with Nationals coming up."
His doctor's expression softens. There it is, that same fucking look of pity that shows when anyone mentions Seiichi's deteriorating condition. Suppressing a scowl, he turns around to leave, at least before his doctor has the chance to lecture him on the road to proper recovery and health. Of course, they mean well, he knows they do, but he isn't exactly asking for their kindness. Their only job is to do what they can to help him get well and play tennis again—there's no room for thought or emotion. And there will never be.
He continues to walk down the hall, with his head hanging low and eyes fixed on the smooth tile floor. Every step he takes is painfully forced… he can barely move nowadays. How is it that he's come to this state? Where every step comes with a price of agony and every breath he takes is deeper than the one before?
Seiichi stops to lean against the wall. Was this the obstacle given to him by those above? A charge to be divine, perhaps. After all, even Hercules possessed his own Achille's heel.
His teeth clench as he wills himself to move forward again. But as soon as he starts moving, out of nowhere, a ball rolls into his line of direction. It's large, and white—then he realizes that it's a volleyball. Tilting his head in curiosity, he wonders where it could have possibly manifested from.
Then he remembers hearing something from his mother, that nothing in life was ever unplanned—that every odd occurrence was a sign for something greater to come. He almost laughs—he must be going crazy.
Slowly, he lowers onto his knees, picking up the ball with trembling fingers—
"Ah, that's my ball. Can you give it back?"
He stops again and looks up in the direction of the voice. It'd come from inside an open door—when Seiichi's eyes travel further up, he sees the plaque beside it, and almost laughs again.
ROOM 405.
Then he remembers what his mother said: Nothing in life ever goes unplanned.
… He's seriously losing his shit.
Slowly, Seiichi stands up and hobbles into the room; he isn't even sure what he'd been expecting—but somehow, he's still surprised.
Kikkou Aoi. That was the boy's name—he remembers because of how odd a name it was.
Aoi is sitting up against his pillows and twiddling his thumbs when he notices Seiichi come in, and his face lights up in recognition. With the bandages around his face removed, instead of one, there is now a set of eyes staring at him; they're azure, like the morning sky, and when they settle on Seiichi he can feel the depth of the boy's gaze in the marrow of his bones.
He looks at the ball, then back at the boy. With a mild smile, he shuffles towards him and gently places it back into the palms of his outstretched hands. "Here, Kikkou-san."
Aoi accepts the ball, with a degree of wariness. When he notices that Seiichi hasn't stopped staring, he averts his eyes and starts playing with a strand of hair. "U-Um… I think I remember you. From a few days ago. You're… Yukimura-san, right?"
A wide smile spreads across Seiichi's face, and he nods. "I'm surprised. I'd have thought that with the dosage they gave you, you'd be amnesic."
The comment draws a chuckle from Aoi, and he sets the ball aside. "That's true, but somehow, I still remember who you are. Funny how the mind works, huh?" When he looks back at Seiichi, there's a gentleness to his eyes that reminds Seiichi of the day they'd first met.
"Yes… how funny, indeed," he murmurs, "Though I was curious… your surname, it's 'Kikkou' as in tortoiseshell, correct?"
"Ah, yeah, people often comment on how weird my name is…" Aoi laughs as he scratches his chin and averts his gaze. His bashful reaction makes Seiichi smile.
"There's no reason to be embarrassed. I think your name, however weird it may be, is unique," he promises. "So how long have you been admitted for?"
"Only a few days. I'm scheduled to leave around next week or so. You?"
Seiichi's smile almost falls, and he feels his insides squirm at the question. "That's unaffirmed. Cause I'm sick, remember?"
Aoi's eyes widen, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, maybe an apology—
"There's no need to apologize," murmurs the former, and his eyes light up with amusement. It would seem that Aoi was the type to be easily flustered. "You've not offended me."
Again, silence fills the air between them. But strangely, it's not awkward—instead, it feels light, and welcome. It's as though Aoi, unbothered by the silence, is embracing it; unconsciously, Seiichi embraces it as well.
Then the door opens, and a nurse walks in. When she notices Seiichi, she smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but I'll be examining Kikkou-kun during this time. But you're welcome to stop by later."
Seiichi nods, and glances back at Aoi.
"We'll speak again later, I suppose."
Aoi, in return, smiles.
"I'll be waiting here."