I will admit right now; this isn't as proofread as much as it should be.
Feel free to point out any mistakes or, if you see fit, flame. Chances are, I won't give it much regard anyways. My life is built of stress right now and writing is a rare occurrence now.
All disclaimers apply. I DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS. They are all property of Konomi Takeshi.
Yes. You may gawk at me, but this was just a way of coping with stress. I needed to write, at least somewhat, and I mind as well turn out a finished project so I can move on with the chapters if I can.
Reviews are loved. They are loved very much.
Dissonance
It had been hours since Atobe received the phone call; it was eleven and a half hours, to be exact.
Atobe swallowed a bit of cold hamburger and grimaced
Atobe swallowed a bit of cold hamburger and grimaced. Normally, he would not engage in the eating habits so characteristic of the lower class. Atobe's tongue protested to the food soaked in its own grease, and he recoiled at the sugary taste of the soda in the paper cup on the table next to him. There were French fries next to him on the table, but they were cold, soggy, and were not suited enough for Atobe's refined palette.
He didn't know why he was doing this. He was eating food that he'd ignored for hours in a foreign, dark waiting room past ten o' clock at night. His eyes burned with fatigue. His stomach protested at the poor excuse for dinner, but all of this was in order to avoid the real problem. Atobe had never been this sort of person before, but now his own worries annoyed him so much that he needed something as a distraction. Going home didn't feel right. He tried for an hour; only to grimace at the feeling of knowing Fuji was imprisoned in the hospital. He, on the way back to the hospital had astounded his driver by asking for take out, and then in turn ignoring it for hours until the pangs of hunger in his stomach needed to be satisfied, even if it was from cold food that Atobe would normally turn his nose up at.
A quiet settled over the neurology ward a while ago and the majority of people waiting in the waiting room regarded the time and went home; however the nurses, considering his status, allowed him to remain in the waiting room while Fuji underwent surgery. Intracranial pressure, they called it. It had taken long enough for the doctor to make a decision, too. To Atobe, it took too long for the doctor to decide that Fuji would need emergency surgery to save his life and prevent any further damage from taking place. They tried to convince Atobe that Fuji may not improve--they tried to convince him that it was possible that Fuji would never come out of his coma. In a way, it was a sad attempt to force the man to face reality. They weren't miracle workers, after all. However, Atobe thought they were.
Atobe thought they were idiots, honestly. He would make sure they fixed Fuji by any means necessary. That was there job. They were supposed to help Fuji, and if his lover came out of this ordeal with any scars, Atobe would blame the medical staff. His reputation alone was enough to put the hospital out of business if he was dissatisfied with the way they treated Fuji's condition. He would, too.
The teriyaki burger didn't taste very sweet to him at all. He grimaced slightly. There was too much sauce on it. Eventually, he abandoned it for the cold, soggy fries. Atobe wasn't ardent about potatoes, especially when they were cold and soggy, but they alleviated his hunger, nonetheless. Bitterly, he nipped his finger and glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Atobe-san?"
A nurse appeared in the waiting room, and he stood. She looked around for a moment and said softly when he approached her, "Fuji-san's surgery just ended a while ago. He's still being watched to ensure there aren't any problems… You may visit him in a while if you wish."
He nodded vaguely. She, like many of the nurses, was shy around him; while the doctors were rather indifferent to Atobe's status, the majority of the nursing staff wasn't. News of his presence spread through the hospital and reached the ears of members of his old fan club. While some whom he'd known in junior high would pass by the ward on occasion, looking at him quietly while keeping their cups of instant coffee close to them, the others who interacted with him were, like many other women, too preoccupied to note anything other than his attractive features. He was beginning to get annoyed.
As the nurse turned to walk away, though, something within Atobe snapped. "What's going to happen?" He asked snidely, his voice angry, pompous, yet concerned for Fuji. She turned her head down for a moment as if in respect, but then she fiddled with her clipboard and did not meet Atobe's eyes. "I want to know." He demanded.
"He's still comatose," she said softly.
Atobe felt the urge to shake her by the shoulders, but his thin patience held and he was able to control himself. "When will he come out of it?" He hissed. She looked slightly peeved at his childish attitude, but partially intimidated by it as well. Keeping her distance, she continued to fiddle with her clipboard. "Are you going to answer me?"
"I—" She began meekly, but was immediately cut off.
"Will he be all right?" Atobe's voice was slightly louder this time.
"Atobe-san, I am not a miracle worker. Fuji-san will recover if fate permits it. Sometimes, though, it's better to die than to have a such a painful scar that you regret being alive!" She snapped before tucking her clipboard under her arm and hurrying away before Atobe had time to react. By the time she was gone, Atobe's angered scream echoed throughout the word and faded away before he froze, then clenched his fists. He'd never felt this powerless before. He hated it. And that woman… how dare she decide that Fuji would be better off dead! She was stupid indeed!
Angrily, he tossed the take out food that was sitting on the nearby table into the garbage can, forgetting that the painful hunger of not eating anything except the horrendous teriyaki burger and the cold French fries all day.
Atobe's rage was still brewing beneath the surface. This was the thing he hated the most; Atobe loathed not having any control whatsoever. He was a man of power, not a man of helplessness. He had control of everything and anything around with him and he was gifted with the virtue of good fortune for his entire life. However, this wasn't good fortune, and Atobe only had so much patience for anything unlucky. It seemed like hours before a doctor finally strode out from another room, called his name, and beckoned him to follow.
Atobe hated the scent of hospitals, really. The smell of iodine and disinfectant that always hung in the air was enough to burn his delicate nose and the smell only got worse as he ventured farther back past the waiting room. They passed rooms that were sparse save for a few patients and nurses. They even passed a room labeled 'recovery' which Atobe was sure meant from surgery—however, the only place they stopped was a tiny observation room. It was cramped, not really meant for long-term use. On the other side was a glass wall and a hallway. Atobe glanced at the name written on the paper card under the room number again. It was Fuji's.
There were a few minutes in which he didn't even look at Fuji. He couldn't stand to even look at a face that was damaged. Instead, he diverted himself to the heart rate monitor—other machines that Atobe didn't know the name of, the IV bag fixed above his bed with what looked to be a blood transfusion and fluids. Finally, he took another deep breath and looked at the bed.
Maybe, he thought to try and placate his frantic mind, he could tell the doctor that this wasn't Fuji. Then, he finally looked up and down. This certainly didn't look like Fuji. Clad in a plain hospital outfit, the person in the bed looked to be a pale, sickly creature, with a green towel wrapped around his head, a long line of dark stitches running over his brow and down past his ear. The ugly yellow splash of iodine lingered on his cheek and around the stitches. The pale, lax face was dotted with ugly bruises that were swollen and dark. However, under the marred exterior, Atobe saw something that he didn't want to admit—even beaten, battered, and unconscious, he was almost positive that the pathetic being on the bed was Fuji.
His left wrist had a number of IV cables taped to it, surrounded by a small amount of dry blood. On the other arm, there was a hospital bracelet and another, slightly bloody bracelet that nobody had taken off upon Fuji's admission to the hospital. There was a mask over Fuji's nose and mouth and he lay perfectly still, unaffected by Atobe's presence.
Atobe's heart thudded to the floor when he approached the bed. The bracelet on Fuji's wrist was… indeed… He paused for a moment, looked behind him, and then lifted Fuji's unresponsive wrist and looked at the bracelet. It was a gift that Atobe had given him a year ago—the silver was dented and through the blood and the exquisite carvings was incomprehensible. Hesitantly he removed the bracelet. His heart stopped. There was writing on the inside, covered in blood. His curiosity overpowering him, he scratched away a small layer of blood until he was able to read.
'For Fuji Shuusuke, from the noble Atobe Keigo.'
Atobe could barely read it through the remaining sheet of blood, but as the effect of the words sunk in, Atobe's hand shook and then he dropped the bracelet on the floor.
"Fu—" Atobe's heart shuddered with a foreign feeling. He shook his head. This couldn't be true—it was all a nightmare. Chances were, he was at work, fell asleep on his desk, and was dreaming of all this. Yet, here it was in front of him, and he couldn't wake up. Atobe pinched his arm. This was all a nightmare. The strength that was so characteristic of his eyes faltered for only a moment as he walked closer to the hospital bed and took Fuji's limp, unresponsive hand in his own, lifted it, and rested his lips lightly against the cool skin.
There was nothing he could do.
Atobe persisted to hope—hope that as always, he was graced with the blessings of the gods and that his touch would be magical. He wanted Fuji to stir under his touch like sleeping beauty, open his beautiful blue eyes and pretend that nothing happened. He longed for it so deeply that he forgot everything else. Yet, nothing happened. Had he not his egotistic pride, he would have let tears escape and whispered the silent plea that echoed through his heart. Atobe held his chin high in pride, but his eyes lingered at poor, battered Fuji who lay lifeless below.
There was nothing he could do.
