The day after that, Kise actually got out of bed. He was unsteady on his feet and his muscles screamed in protest, but this was something he needed to do.
He shuffled over to the bathroom, trying to ignore how much everything hurt.
Glancing in the mirror Kise gasped. He understood why his family was so worried: He looked like shit.
He was pale and instead of the healthy glow he had to his skin, in it's place he looked ashen. Dark, dark, circles under his eyes, with different colors of the rainbow mixing in. His neck brace made him look terrifying, and the gash on his head was covered in a thick gauze. His eyes were bloodshot, and in his right eye there even was a popped blood vessel. His lips were a fading blue, and- ugh.
He can't look anymore. It was too much.
Embarrassingly enough, Kise felt himself start to cry as made his way back into the room. He wiped at his tears but, they kept coming. Silent sobs wracked his body, and the movement caused sharp pains to shoot through his already aching muscles.
He didn't care about his looks. That didn't matter. He wasn't crying over that. He was crying because the seriousness of the situation finally hit him.
He had almost died. Someone broke into his house, attacked him, and he'd really, honest to God, almost died. In fact, if the doctors were to be believed, he had died for a couple of minutes before he'd been brought back by,- shit, he couldn't remember. A random blurry face swam to him again.
Platinum blonde hair, thick dark brows, the bluest eyes he's ever seen.
Kise felt his chest seize, it forced a painful cough up threw his diaphragm.
He was sitting down now, at the edge of his bed. Tears were still running down his face, and he was taking deep breaths in from his nose to calm himself.
An itch on his upper bicep arose, and he absentmindedly reached a hand up to scratch at it. He flinched as soon as he touched his skin. With furrowed brows Kise took the time to examine what damage must of happened to the rest of his body.
He had some nasty looking bruises on his chest, and the same for his arms. He cautiously reached up to touch them, that's when he noticed they were in the shape of a hand. Fingers and a thumb were imprinted on to the skin of his biceps, as well as his chest.
The doctors said he was thrown over a bridge, but someone pulled him out. These bruises were either caused by the intruder, or the person who saved him. He winced again.
He could remember more now. He remembered he had been woken up by his mothers egg timer. His phone was missing, and he needed to find it. He went looking when he kicked his glass of water. He had bandages on his foot. The pain was oddly numb.
He remembered he spoke out but, no one answered.
He remembered he could of sworn he heard something in the living room.
He remembered he had grabbed a knife before going to search the house.
He remembered crippling fear, it had been deep and traumatizing settling within his bones.
He remembered seeing the egg timer again.
And then he remembers pain.
But, theres more.
He remembered the terror he'd felt when he'd been dragged back to life.
He remembered that someone had been there to comfort him.
He remembered that someone had held him tight.
He remembered platinum blonde hair, thick dark brows, and the bluest eyes he's ever seen.
A shiver ran up his spine.
He remembered it all.
A knock on his room door startled him enough to flinch. The nurse, a young woman with brown hair smiled at him. "Oh! You're up! You've been on your feet too. That's great hun! The sooner you start moving around, the sooner you can recover and go home."
"Yeah . . ." Ryouta's voice was hoarse, and it was painful just listening to himself.
"Listen," the nurse said as she entered his room closing the door behind her. She walked up to him and sat in the empty space near him. "The police are here . . .they need a statement. I was told to come in and tell you, if you're not ready to talk, that's fine. It's up to you."
Ryouta swallowed the painful lump in his throat. He figured the faster he gets this over with, the less problems he has, but first . . .
"That's fine. Um, but, uh, do you think, well," He released a sigh, this was strangely harder than he thought. "I don't suppose you know where the clothes I was brought in are?"
The nurse smiled at him and pointed to a cabinet. "They were washed and placed into the cabinet right there."
"Thank you."
He waited until she left and closed the door before making his way toward the cabinet. He stooped carefully to look through it.
His jacket and jeans were what he saw first, but there on the shelf below was the thing he was hoping would clarify things for him.
Inside of a large zip lock bag was his mangled cell phone, and a windbreaker. He reached for the bag and opened it. Gently he pulled out the items. He placed the phone down and focused his attention on the jacket.
It was obviously a females, small in size and navy blue in color. He turned the jacket over and his breath caught. Embroidered into the back of the windbreaker across the shoulder blades, was a name he knew.
Honda Etsuko.
