Asami's eyes shot open, a gasp tearing from his throat out into the darkness of his bedroom. He turned over, ignoring the cold sweat that had broken out over his body as he peered at Akihito lying beside him. He stared at his back, waiting for it to expand with breath.
Any breath.
The slightest miniature lick.
"Akihito." He reached out with a shaky hand and shook Akihito's shoulder. The boy didn't even twitch. Asami's heart jumped into his throat, his hand slid up and rested on the bloody bandage around Akihito's neck. The blood had run dry hours ago after staining his suit and Akihito's shirt. Exhausted from the turmoil, Asami had brought them both to bed.
He lightly rubbed the slice and Akihito flinched, mumbled and slowly awoke. Asami felt the weight of the world lift off of his shoulders.
"Asami?" He rolled over and shuffled closer to Asami's body, seeking warmth in his half-awake state of corrupted comprehension. The pain drugs made him extra drowsy as he mumbled nonsensical words in the darkness, head pressed against Asami's chest as he lazily draped his arms around Asami's body.
"M'alright As'mi, s'just a scratch. Sleep." Akihito murmured hugging himself closer.
Asami sighed in relief and amusement, trust Akihito to make light of such a potentially dangerous wound. He would be dead if Kirishima hadn't of shot the bastard that dared to hurt Akihito. He lay down again and wrapped Akihito in his arms, nightmare being shoved to the back of his mind as he curled protectively around his lovers' slight body.
Slowly sleep claimed him again, the last moments of Akihito's potential death trickling through his mind. He'd aimed the gun at the gangster holding Akihito. But he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. One question stalling his better judgement.
What if I hit Akihito?