T e n

- Defrost -

The first thing my mind perceives as reality are my hands, and the gentle sensations on the soft flesh. Something soft and warm is lightly brushing the skin. They're the only part of my body that doesn't feel bone-chillingly cold. Everything on the outside feels comfortably warm, but under all of that, I'm freezing. My blood feels cool and thick, like it's sluggishly flowing through my veins because it has lost all of its liquidity.

A shudder rips through me in response to the less than pleasant sensation. The comforting feeling on my hands cease, and my eyes open instinctually to see the source of what cruelly took that one thing away from me.

I'm met with the bland image of a white ceiling. Even though there isn't anything on the plaster wall to discern, I know my vision is a great deal worse than what it usually is. I know that, because as my eyes roll downward, I only see a blur of neutral colors. I think it moves, but I can't be sure. Things seem surreal right now, like I'm dreaming. But the ache in my lungs as I struggle to breathe feels too real. The straining in my arms is real, as I try to prop myself up, only to fall back when my muscles give out.

Even though my stare has been forced back to the ceiling and I can't see that blur of color—such a beautiful contrast to the sterile white of everything—I can feel its movement.

Just as that color makes its way into my view, I feel something deliciously warm cupping my cheek. It's similar to the lost feeling on my hands, but more concentrated. The feeling reaches every part of my body. The frozenness beneath my flesh is dissipating, gradually. A contented sigh escapes my dry lips and I lean into the comforting touch. I'm responded to, mercifully, and the warmth drifts up my face, tracing the edge of my cheekbone before continuing below my eye. My eyelashes brush something as I blink, and I'm afraid I've disrupted whatever is happening, but my fears go unheeded. The feeling drifts up the slope of my nose and to my forehead. It travels through my scalp. Something soft and warm is tenderly combing through my hair.

My mind dully registers the sensation of warm, sweet breath gently fanning the side of my face and ghosting down my neck. I involuntarily shiver at the feeling.

"Kaoru..."

Something more tangible than the pleasant feelings make me force my half-lidded eyes fully open. His voice is painfully unfamiliar. I don't remember him ever sounding like that, so filled with dread and forced composure.

I blink my eyes rapidly, straining to see that blot of color in front of my face. The image gradually sharpens to the point where I can recognize him. I don't need to see him to know he's there, though. Even as his soothing touch reached nearly all of the contours of my face, even though I wasn't thinking that this is Hikaru, there's no way I could mistake his touch for anything else.

That's why I don't tense uncomfortably under his touch or his gaze. I knew it was him before hearing his voice or seeing his face. It doesn't feel like I'm waking up from a nightmare; it feels like I'm waking up after spending an eternity in a dreamless sleep. It's bittersweet, thinking of it that way. I feel like although I have been given the opportunity to enjoy a peaceful sleep, I couldn't, because I had been hiding in the dark without his company, without his voice, or even an intangible image that I could possibly use for some semblance of comfort. I've discovered that it was exponentially more unpleasant than the nightmares I've been running from.

But right now, he's clearer than any memory I could possibly have of him. The anguish in his eyes is real and raw. It isn't becoming of him, and it strikes something in me that sets off the familiar emotion of anxiety, but most of all, guilt.

"Why?" he chokes out, his grip tightening on my hair. My scalp almost stings, but I don't pull away or show any physical sign of distress. I'm used to smothering it. What I'm not used to, however, is not resisting his touch. His question prompts me to the direction of the answer as to why this is, and I instantly remember, with startling clarity, everything that happened up until my carelessness got the better of me. I remember the desperation I felt as I stumbled through the snow pathetically. I remember the confessions brimming dangerously behind my lips, ready to leak from my mouth at the first sign of his attentiveness to the upcoming words.

I don't know how to answer his question. I have so many of my own. There was a point, after the reverse sensation and the mental image of his expression, so carelessly happy, that everything disappeared.

I owe him an explanation, though. I'd had one planned before this, and it's still lodged uncomfortably in my throat.

"I had to t...talk to you." I rasp. My ability to form words seems to have decreased exponentially. My throat aches; it feels slightly dry, and the niggling pain in my lungs monopolizes a good amount of my attention. Still, I force pitiful sound from my raw throat, because I'm not sure if this confidence will last long enough for me to get this out. But the main motivating factor in my fierce desire to provide an explanation for Hikaru is the hopeful expression that clouds his troubled eyes. It lifts my spirits slightly.

"I tried to get to you, but it was so snowy, and I couldn't see anything." I continue, pausing briefly to examine the mild slur of my words. My tongue feels strangely heavy.

"There was that...that barricade, at the bridge; and I was so tired. So, I...I just wanted to rest on it for awhile, until I felt like I could keep going. But..." I trail off, not wanting to explain further, and knowing that I don't need to. He knows the rest of the story. I don't, though. Although I would like to get my questions answered to clear the irritating haziness in my brain, that isn't as urgent as this is.

His grip on my scalp loosens and he bows his head forward so that his hair obstructs my view of his face. It's highly irritating because I need to see what he's thinking. I won't let him hide like I've been. I don't care if that makes me a hypocrite, or if it tarnishes my opinion of myself anymore than it has been tarnished. This is too important for that.

His fingers, shaking slightly, begin threading through my hair. There's a growing knot of anxiety in my stomach because I'm allowing this. I feel so disorganized internally; I'm not sure which part of me is rejecting his touch and which part of me is accepting it. It quickly becomes apparent that the latter has the upper hand at this moment.

Hikaru's face angles upward, and finally, I can see him. I can see the conflicting emotions of worry, confusion, and relief. He isn't used to my current passive demeanor, and neither am I. I'm just taking advantage of this before I take it all away from myself again. I know, for certain, that the truth will take it away from me.

His bloodshot eyes meet mine with desperation shining in them. As he parts his lips for the allowance of speech, I prepare myself to be faced with something only Hikaru could get me to admit to.

"Did you do it on purpose?" he whispers, so quietly, I get the impression that not even the walls are supposed to hear.

His question catches me off guard. It isn't what I was expecting. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, because what I'd been expecting was something regarding the subject of what I've been avoiding for what seems like forever. But I know I can't ignore that forever. I can postpone it, though, as it turns out I've been doing all this time. Hikaru has provided me with that opportunity with his unexpected question.

"No." I breathe. That single syllable seems to rob me of all of the oxygen residing in my lungs. It leaves me breathless. It's the incredible feeling of the truth leaving a mouth that has been producing only lies lately.

His expression is unreadable for a moment. Before I can decipher whatever he's feeling, his hand, the one hanging limply at his side and not the one entangled in my hair, rises. It darts over my chest briefly, leaving a warm trail, and drifts behind my neck. He leans forward, gently pulling me upward at the same time.

I tremble, my body receiving his touch too welcomingly. I have to admit to myself, regretfully, that I already miss this feeling.

He pulls me forward in an awkward hug, so close that our foreheads are nearly touching. The thought makes my cheeks flush and my heartbeat accelerate, but if he notices, he does nothing to indicate it. He just breathes softly against me for a moment before raising his head.

His nose grazes the edge of mine as a consequence of this action. I fight the shudder threatening to dance up my spine, futilely, and release a quiet gasp. My eyes widen in embarrassment and disgust toward myself at the almost soundless intake of breath, but Hikaru doesn't respond to it. I can only feel the warmth of his breath drift higher and higher until it reaches my forehead, where his soft lips connect with the skin. I'm keenly the subtle trembling of his mouth and the tremors that reach his hand. It seems that I'm catching them. I shiver in his embrace, clutching the rough sheets below me in a white-knuckled grip.

I know it's selfish to take advantage like this, when he has no idea what it means to me. He doesn't know what he's giving me, or how it makes me feel. I hate to imagine what things would be like if he did know, and then I realize that I've already made the decision to find out.

The fear seeps into my bones and I'm cold all over again. As I try to avoid shaking, this time because of the iciness radiating from the inside of my body and far outside of it, my muscles tense underneath him. In response, his arms tighten around my stiff form and he draws back, only to shower light kisses across the expanse of my forehead. He trails down my temple, gradually slowing in speed, but becoming more deliberate and drawn out.

I'm surprised to feel the evidence of grief slipping down my cheek. It isn't my own, but he kisses away the warm, wet moisture as if it is. It prompts the tightening in my own throat. I close my eyes and swallow thickly, but the feeling doesn't dispel. I can feel a smile against my skin, despite that. The contradicting emotions bring about contradicting responses to those emotions, which shouldn't be surprising, but I find that it is.

He feels so different. I'm not sure how I can read him through his touches, but I can. He doesn't seem as drained. I'm not sure where he found what I've sucked him dry of, but I'm incredibly grateful that he did.

The warmth is gradually ebbing into me again. I allow a contented sigh to escape my lips, melting into him.

Nothing is irritatingly vague like it is in my dreams. This doesn't leave me shivering in a nonverbal way of begging myself to stop this. What my mind conjures up is frightening, awful, and sickening. I create destruction. It never felt good, but I was okay with that, being ignorant of Hikaru's twinning emotions. It's real now, more so than it ever has been. The wetness sliding down my cheek, his grief, mingling with evidence of my own overwhelming feelings, makes it blatantly obvious that what has happened reached him, as well, to just as strong severity as it did with me.

I've known that for an embarrassingly long time. I've ignored it, and that didn't work. The last option, the final one, is still the route I plan on taking. The other ones have led me to unfamiliar places, away from Hikaru, that gave me such a profound sense of being lost, it left me numb as a defensive mechanism.

The notion of telling him everything he's been ignorant of makes me petrified, but his gentle affections take the edge off of it, even though it shouldn't.

Something disrupts the quiet serenity of the room, even though the silence itself isn't disturbed. I can sense it, not only in the sudden cessation of Hikaru's movements, but in the air. It feels like it's gotten thicker. It makes it even harder to breathe.

"Honey," a tight voice sounds, forcibly filling every corner of the room. At first, I don't even recognize it. I don't know who's referring to whom, or why that term of endearment would fit either Hikaru or I; and then I remember her.

I remember, at five years old, her fingers in my mouth, looking for a foreign object I'd stuck in there and would have probably ended up choking on without her aid. I remember wondering what her cooking would taste like, but I'd suspected it wouldn't be nearly as good as the meals the nannies had prepared for us. I remember her hurried demeanor, her professional attitude, and most importantly, the confusion she'd felt in differentiating between her sons.

She'd never looked close enough to find out. She could have seen it. Anyone could've, if they'd just looked closely enough.

Hikaru lifts his head, disengages his fingers from my hair, and pulls away from me. I have to restrain myself from pulling him back. The coldness is back, full fledged and more unbearable, now that I know what it feels like to be warm. Even the tear tracks on my cheeks feel like they're freezing. The trails on my face sting.

His face is mostly shrouded by his hair again, but the unhidden, bitter frown on his face explains more than his eyes probably ever would have betrayed.

My gaze unwillingly travels to the entrance of the room, where she stands. She's the very same that I remember her. She's wearing some bright ensemble that makes my vision go blurry again. She looks just as harried as usual, like this is just one of her life's typical struggles.

Her eyes dart between Hikaru and I. She looks a little surprised behind the concerned expression she's wearing. I'm not sure whether that expression is real or not, though. It probably is, because she must be missing something important to be here.

We were never affectionate around her. That's most likely because we were never overly affectionate with each other outside of the Host Club. Had that been different, she wasn't around to see it, anyway. She wasn't around to see the impact her absence had on us. For me, it meant being at Hikaru's side at every waking moment. The attachment I'd formed on him was unnatural at the time, but now, it's bloomed into something completely beyond abnormal.

I have no attachment to this woman. That's why I can't hate her. In order to hate, one has to love first. One has to care about the object of one's hatred before the emotions can turn sour.

I've never felt anything for her, though. I'm indifferent.

Her hands tremble at her sides and she fingers the hem of her shirt. I don't know her well, but I do know people well enough, in general, to know that she must do this when she's uneasy.

"Did you...? Did you do it...on purpose?" she asks, her voice adopting an accusatory tone. It borders on hysterical. The loose grip she has on her emotions irks me. It makes me miss how calm things were before she destroyed that.

"No. It was an accident." I murmur. My voice sounds exhausted, like I've been repeatedly asked that question, when in reality, it's only been once before this. That's probably the only time it will matter.

I see Hikaru slump against the wall from the corner of my eye, sighing softly. The relief he feels in response to my honest answer for the second time is obvious in his languid posture.

She, however, doesn't look as relieved. I don't know what she's feeling anymore. Her eyes are guarded, like she doesn't trust me enough to allow me to gauge her emotions. I wouldn't, either.

She sighs and gazes at the ceiling for a few moments, looking as if she's debating her next words. I idly twiddle the edge of the sheets between my thumb and forefinger, trying to distract myself from thinking too deeply about things while I patiently wait for her to either speak again or leave the room. I'm hoping for the latter, but unfortunately, that isn't what she intends to do.

"I spoke with the doctor." she begins. Her eyes stay trained on the ceiling as she says this. That makes me grateful, because her gaze makes me awfully uncomfortable. "I suppose you've probably already filled in the blanks, but just in case, I should explain everything to clear up any confusion.

"Luckily, a passerby witnessed your...accidental fall." The emphasis she layers on the last words fill me with anger. She has that accusatory tone again, that guarded, low voice.

"Help was immediately called, but since the water was freezing, as you can imagine in this kind of weather, you developed hypothermia in the scant three and a half minutes you were there. It's really nothing short of a miracle, because you were unconscious, and..." she trails off, her voice going uncharacteristically soft. Hikaru shifts uncomfortably. His eyes are downcast. It makes me squirm against the sheets.

She closes her eyes briefly and draws in a soft breath before continuing.

"I was called by Hikaru after you were transported here. He'd heard the commotion and could see the ambulance from the short distance of a few blocks away, so he'd known the basics of what happened early on.

"Anyway, after treating you intravenously with warm fluids, your body temperature began rising toward normal, and...and, we knew you'd be fine. Your recovery is going to probably take longer than it normally would, though. The doctor said that...uh, you're severely underweight."

Hikaru mumbles something incoherently and his fingernails dig into his palms. My mother's anxious voice isn't helping the overall mood of the room at all.

I hadn't realized, until now, that I'd been neglecting to eat. It's been the last thing on my mind lately. I've been numbed of most physical feelings, including hunger pangs. That probably didn't help the fact that I had been exhausted already, and still am.

Belatedly, I realize that she's waiting for an explanation. Her eyes are on me now, expectant.

Even though it appears that he's not, Hikaru is listening, as well. But he isn't as clueless as our mother is. I think he knows that whatever I tell her will be a lie or not the answer either of them want, and I think he has an idea that this endless confusion will end soon. It will, for him, anyway. He knows that there's something so significant on my mind that it's making its way to my mouth. I've already told him that I'd been searching for him before the accident because I wanted to talk. I wouldn't have stumbled through such unfavorable weather to instigate a conversation if I hadn't been prepared to tell him the truth; and I still plan on it.

Such cannot be said for my mother, however.

"I'm sorry. I just haven't been that hungry lately. I promise I'll eat more." I mumble lamely. My voice sounds so neutral and schooled. The dull sound almost makes my physically ill.

My excuse isn't a lie, though. It's infuriatingly vague, and it certainly isn't the sudden regurgitation of my soul and every troubling thought that has flitted through my mind recently that she probably expected. It's clear that she's unsatisfied with my answer, looking at the bitter frown forming and the furrowing of her neatly shaped eyebrows.

But that doesn't matter. That answer is for her. Hikaru may be in the room, awkwardly shifting positions near the surface of the generically printed wallpaper, but he's not expected to take my reply to heart or assure himself that I really will put some effort into maintaining my physical health. He knows it, too, because his facial expression does not mirror our mother's in the slightest. He just looks irritated and impatient; and watching him shoot heated glances at the stranger near the door, I know exactly who the cause of his irritation is. I can empathize with that.

She sighs and looks at the clock in the corner of the room. Her dissatisfied expression drains at once and morphs into one of urgency. I know what she's going say before her mouth even begins to open. She murmurs an obscenity before speaking directly to me.

"I'm late for a meeting. Unfortunately, everyone is off-duty at the house because it's getting pretty late. They don't have an obligation to do anything for me anymore. Your father, however, should be finished with an important meeting at around 10 'o clock. He's been notified of the current situation, and he will pick you both up as soon as he arrives here. I have to go. I apologize. I hope you start feeling better soon, Kaoru. Please take care of yourself."

Her impersonal tone hovers threateningly in the room instead of following her out like it should have. It feels stiflingly awkward in here, even without her presence. The soft click of the door as she shuts it brings no closure.

I have a distinct feeling that Hikaru senses the discomfort, as well. He doesn't meet my eyes immediately. He just continues to stare at the ground for a moment, appearing to be in deep thought.

Finally, he returns my gaze. It makes me anxious that he's caught me looking. I feel like I've been eavesdropping on some private moment he'd taken the time to have with himself. Even when he smiles tentatively, and I attempt to smile back, my anxiety only gains strength. It almost bubbles up into my expression, but I think I've hidden it well.

It shouldn't matter, though. It will only come back, much more pronounced, when I follow through with the promise I've made to myself, and silently made to Hikaru, despite the fact that he doesn't know it yet.

Unfortunately, it won't be long before he does.

A/N: Uh, I finally reached double digits. Woo. Where's my enthusiasm?

So, anyway, I don't like this chapter very much. Hopefully the next one will make up for it! :D Review, yes? Or a cookie, maybe? Please?