A/N: Sorry I haven't updated this fic in forever, but I rewrote my initial plotline and now I think I'm good to go! Expect this fic to be finished this week! Also I know I set this in their second year of high school, but the manga carries on after the anime. Umm, just ignore my clash with the canon, I suppose..I apologize


Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…

In all his life, Izumi could not think of a more unsettling sound then the rhythmic sound of the monitor beside him. The steady, even spikes on the screen were heart-wrenchingly reassuring. It was never supposed to be this way. He was never supposed to be here, beside a hospital bed that cradled one of his closest friends as if without it, the unconscious boy would shatter and crumble without its support.

Slowly, he reached out a shaking hand to lightly touch the pale, bandaged hand on the bed. Mizutani seemed so cold, so frail. Izumi barely brushed his finger against Mizutani's skin because he felt as though he would break the already broken boy on the bed if he pressed too hard. It was all so wrong. During their time spent together, Izumi learned that Mizutani Fumiki was a lot of things; he was ridiculous, clumsy, slow, stupid, silly, uncoordinated, passionate, caring, hilarious, cheerful, understanding, bright, optimistic, careless. But he was never this. He was never fragile or lifeless.

Frustrated, Izumi retracted his hand and rubbed furiously at his eyes. Tears sprang forward, but he stubbornly pushed them back with a scowl. In his head, he repeated a mantra of, "It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me," as though the circumstances would change if he wished hard enough.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Noon. He had been here for hours now. That morning, he had quickly dressed and shot out the door to walk briskly to the hospital. "I need to see him," he had muttered all the way there. "I need to know." Despite his exhaustion, Izumi had not been able to sleep or even rest. Thoughts and nightmares plagued his mind, and he blamed his lack of knowledge of Mizutani's condition. He convinced himself that he would be able to rest soon, that it was only temporary.

"What was he to you?" a voice cut through the set repetition of the silence and beeping.

Startled, Izumi bolted upright and fixed his gaze upon the third person in the room. Against the far wall, next to the door, a young man with wavy blonde hair and clear green eyes watched him curiously. He wore a long, tan coat and well-tailored black pants, so Izumi quickly determined that the stranger was not a nurse or doctor.

"I don't believe I know you," stated Izumi although when he spoke, it sounded more like a question than a declaration. As he looked the boy up and down again, he realized that this man was surely not Japanese. He looked Western, maybe Nordic.

The blonde boy raised an eyebrow. "Of course you don't. But I know you. So who was he to you?"

"A friend," replied Izumi slowly before shooting a heated glare at the stranger and growling, "and don't talk about him like he's dead. He's alive." His gaze flickered to Mizutani's pale face again. More quietly, he whispered, "He'll wake up soon."

"Oh, stop lying to yourself. He's a little more than just a friend, don't you think? That's rather insulting to the guy that saved your life. Would just any friend push you out of the way of a drunk driver?" The blonde stranger smirked. "It's at least a little more than that."

At the other's words, images flashed through Izumi's mind. Images of Mizutani nervously heading up to bat with a stupid look of determination again. Izumi could hear him in his mind mumbling, "Nice-batting Mizutani. I'm gonna get them to say it. Nice-batting Mizutani." There were images of Mizutani leaning on the rail in the dugout, drinking out of a water bottle. Images of Izumi sneaking up behind his red-haired teammate and tickling him mercilessly so that he sprayed the water in his mouth all over. Images of Mizutani shyly coming up to him and asking to be tickled. Images of Mizutani blushing a deep scarlet whenever Izumi teased him. Images of Mizutani's shock and horror when Izumi swiped a riceball from him. Images of Mizutani smiling at him when Izumi made it to another base. He shook his head violently to dissipate the onslaught of images.

"Ahh, see? More than simple friendship," teased the stranger.

"Who are you?" Izumi demanded, getting annoyed and slightly scared.

Pointing at himself, the stranger made a face of mock surprise. "Oh, moi? I'm Drystan. Just call me your guardian angel. Or personal angel. Or conscience. Or guide. It's really whatever you want. Whatever you decide to call me, I'm here for you, in a sense."

There was a pause during which Drystan continued pointing at himself and wiggling his eyebrows playfully while Izumi sent him a deadpan stare.

"What?"

"I'm the real deal, kid."

Izumi scoffed, "You should probably go back to the mental ward wing now before the big man with the needle comes for you."

"Ha ha," Drystan pouted. "Very original. I was expecting a better line from you."

Before Izumi could muster a retort, the doctor he recognized from that morning marched into the room and immediately went to check the monitors that were hooked up to his patient. After deeming the readings acceptable, the doctor turned to Izumi and gave him a small smile. "How are you holding up?"

Izumi shrugged. "I'm holding up."

"That's good at least," replied the doctor as he scratched some notes on a clipboard. "I heard you talking in here. A lot of people do that with the coma patients. It's actually not as futile as it may seem. There have been claims that patients in comas can hear and sometimes react to conversations around them."

"But I wasn'-" Izumi began but clamped his mouth shut when he heard Drystan snicker from the other side of the room. "Yeah, you're right," he agreed with the doctor, "thank you."

The doctor gave him a friendly nod before he exited the room, not once acknowledging Drystan's presence. Izumi rubbed his eyes again and silently cursed his lack of sleep. Maybe it was the painkillers that were making him hallucinate. Glancing at Drystan again, he mentally shrugged and decided it wouldn't hurt to play along with the illusion before him.

"So why are you here?"

"He's not going to wake up."

Izumi shot out of his seat so quickly that his chair crashed into the wall behind him. "Don't lie!" he shouted. Pain shot through his back, making Izumi dizzy. His head spun and his hands shot out to grab the edge of Mizutani's bed to steady himself. Then there were hands on his arms, warm and supportive. They held him upright and the dizziness began to wane. For a second, Izumi's heart leapt to his throat, but then he realized that it was Drystan, his illusion angel, holding him up and not Mizutani. His friend was still dying on the hospital bed.

"You never let anyone finish speaking, do you?" Drystan sighed as he helped Izumi to sit back down. Izumi opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut when he realized that it would only confirm Drystan's observation.

"As I was saying," Drystan huffed, "he won't wake up. Unless," he added when he saw the anger flare behind Izumi's greyish, blue eyes. "unless, someone bargains for him. You can't just take or give. The universe requires a balance. It's a very needy bitch in that sense."

Izumi opened and closed his mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. He furrowed his brow as his gaze darted between Drystan and Mizutani.

"I would do anything," Izumi started and then took a deep breath to calm his shaking. "I would do anything for him to wake up again."

"Normally, I would tell people to be careful about what they say," Drystan commented idly, "but I know that you mean every word of that."