A/N: I'm... actually back. Which is weird. My mind has been utterly congested, blocked up, clogged, and hammered with Writer's Block. All at once. Over the period of many months. I think my muse went into some kind of coma, because it was seriously freaking annoying. (No offense intended, O Muse.)
Prompt: hospital.
Warning: It's sad, and doesn't really make sense. Then again, does anything I write make sense? Thought not.
Hospital.
He hated the smell of hospitals. In fact, he hated the entire establishment in which he was currently situated. A bitter smile twisted his mouth as he realized how stupidly cliché that was. He hated clichés. A lot.
His feet carried him mechanically, habitually to his lover's room. His piercing, angry aquamarine gaze shot straight through the glass and swept over Lee's features, so small and vulnerable and peaceful in that hospital bed. Gaara's emotions swirled through him at dizzying speeds.
Hate, because Lee didn't have to suffer like Gaara did, stuck in his coma as he was.
Anger, at Lee for being so stupid and nearly getting himself killed. Anger, because Gaara shouldn't be angry with Lee because it wasn't Lee's fault and thus was angry at himself. What right had he to be angry with Lee? What right did he have?
Love, because Lee could never just stop being Lee and forcing that emotion to rise up in Gaara's chest and make his breath hitch and his eyes water and dammit when had Gaara become so sentimental and emotional?
The Kazekage wiped angrily at the tears that were angrily threatening to spill over his lashes and cursed himself over and over and over again for not being stronger.
How is it, he wondered, that countless men and women have attempted to bring me down to my knees with their ninja skills and powers, and Lee has managed it like this?
Gaara couldn't step inside that room. The smell of anti-septic and the drugs being fed through Lee's system to keep him alive would drive him crazy in seconds. The stupid, fake flowers sent from Lee's friends in Konoha made Gaara want to tear apart some defenseless creature. Did Lee's health really mean that much to them? Gaara's teeth ground together dangerously as his mind dwelled on the memories of the aftermath of Lee's hospitalization.
The entire Konoha ensemble had assembled in Lee's room, said their private things to him, cried a little, and left. Gaara's fists were clenched so tight his knuckled turned pale. They had left him to die. The sorry bastards had given up on Lee.
Outside the hospital, the Sunagakure's sands shifted dangerously. Gaara was on the verge of screaming.
He had torn apart every last ninja involved with harming Lee. He had cried himself to sleep, night after night, and he had demolished every and all breakable objects in his room.
Gaara still didn't feel better.
Comas be damned, Gaara thought heatedly, desperately, people wake up from them all the time!
He started pacing up and down in front of Lee's room as he always did, eight hours a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month.
Lee had been in a coma for five months.
Gaara wished he would wake up.
This... could have been better. Again, always ready for prompts! I can't promise that every prompt I receive inspires me to write something, but I can promise I'll give it serious consideration. I've considered going to LJ for a prompt or two, but that makes me feel like an intruder. I don't even have an account on the site (I swear I'll get around to it), so I can't really steal ideas/prompts from the nice people over there. Can I?