Oliver had never much cared for the summertime. It was hot and sticky and his pale skin burned if he so much as set foot outside without copious amounts of sunscreen. But even he couldn't resist the allure of a lovely, sandy beach. The few beaches he'd visited in his home country had more rocks than sand, certainly not the kind of place where one could lay out a towel and soak in some sun.
Still, he wasn't about to risk burning to a crisp. By the time everyone else was in their swimsuits and doing their own thing, he was still beneath a massive cloth umbrella, rubbing a third layer of sunscreen into his legs while Len covered his back and shoulders.
"Need some more?" Len asked, wiping the excess of the latest layer onto Oliver's arms (which were already slathered to the point of discoloration). Oliver rejected the offer, pumping one last handful of sunscreen into his palm and rubbing it into the exposed half of his face (which made Layer 5 for that part of his body).
That would do, he decided. He'd probably still suffer a sunburn, but nothing some cold aloe couldn't handle.
He passed the bottle over his shoulder so Len could store it in his bag. "Thank you, love."
"No problem." Whatever sunscreen still stuck to his palms, Len wiped it onto his knees. "Lemme know if you need me to give anything else a thorough rubdown."
"Len."
"Relax! It's not like anyone heard that."
"I heard it," Gumi chimed, still in the process of inflating several floaties a few towels over. "He's saying he wants to touch your butt. You should let him touch your butt, Ollie-Ollie."
Oliver threw a scowl Len's way, and Len just blushed and shrugged in silent apology.
Not that Oliver could be flustered for long. It was too beautiful out, and this vacation wouldn't last forever. He could save the grudges for home.
He'd never actually heard of Otaru prior to the vacation planning. It wasn't much further out than Sapporo, and it was such a lovely hidden gem; he couldn't wait to explore its craft houses and take in its spectacular architecture and bask in the brilliant lights of the canal at night. There was even a church, a real rarity for Japan, and Len had eagerly booked a tour for the two of them to be held after Sunday Mass, which he wanted to attend for Oliver's sake.
(Oliver, being Anglican, technically wasn't permitted to partake in a Catholic Mass. But Len seemed so proud of himself, and they could always just listen in on the sermon, so he couldn't find it in his heart to turn the offer down.)
But that was all for the near future. The household had semi-collectively demanded a beach day first and foremost, and, with the billions of yen they sat atop of, they were able to privately rent a vast expanse of shore. Meiko was cursing the grill she'd brought along, unable to light a fire in it, while Luka calmly Googled potential answers on her phone; Rin and Miku were already knee-deep in the water, laughing as they splashed each other; Gakupo had perched himself on a nearby rock like a lizard to meditate, and Kaito was installing a volleyball net in the sand, doing his best to drive the stakes in deeply enough so that it wouldn't collapse under its own weight.
Actually, it wasn't even too hot out today. Len helped Oliver to his feet and led him out from under the umbrella, and the sun against his newly-protected skin felt pleasantly warm, like a hug.
"Onii-chan," Len called, giving Oliver's hand a quick squeeze before going his own way, "need some help?"
Kaito waved him over, and Oliver just stood there for a moment, watching them stabilize the posts and the net. He wanted to help, but his arms were like sticks. He'd be useless.
Something nailed him in the back of the head, something lightweight but unexpected enough to throw him off-balance. Gumi was there when he turned around, an inner tube fashioned to look like a panda settled around her waist; she'd thrown a similar one at Oliver, one that looked like a duck, and she was smiling expectantly.
"Floatie race!" she explained as he picked up the tube and slid it on. "Last one to the deep end has to clean up J-kun crap when we get home!"
Oliver wasn't sure what baffled him more: the suggestion that anyone other than him would clean up after James (he was the one who insisted he retain free reign of the house while they were gone, after all), or the suggestion that the ocean had a deep end.
Gumi took off without so much as a countdown, making Oliver's defeat inevitable, but he still chased after her, laughing all the while.
Time felt suspended in place, even as the hours went by. Not wanting to get his bandages wet, Oliver was elected officiate for a number of water-based contests, from short-distance swim races (which Gakupo won) to wet-hair-flip contests (which Miku won by a landslide) to breath-holding challenges (which Oliver knew Len would win before they even began). Meiko finally got the grill working, and the nine gathered beneath the umbrellas to help themselves to barbecue and grilled vegetables and condensation-coated cans of flavored sodas.
The sun was beginning its journey to the opposite horizon when Oliver woke from his post-lunch nap, but it was no less bright, which meant it was probably around 14:00 or 15:00. Miku was still dozing beneath the rays a few meters away, and Gakupo was back on his rock. The remaining six were in the midst of a game of volleyball, the twins and Meiko on one side, Kaito, Gumi, and Luka on the other.
...Even though he was beneath an umbrella, Oliver's skin felt a little too warm. Great. The sunburn was setting in.
Might as well make it worth it.
He slapped on a fresh layer of sunscreen and stretched as he stood, trodding over the sand to the shoreline. He'd spend some time wading in the water, maybe looking for shells, until the game was over and another activity, one that he could actually partake in, began.
"Oliver!"
That was Gumi, and Gumi never used his actual name. He looked over as quickly as he could.
He recognized that the object flying towards him was a volleyball, and that was all he had time to process before the lights went out.
"...back! Get back, stop crowding him! Give him some space!"
That voice, though clouded and far away, was instantly familiar, and it lifted Oliver slowly from the void of nothingness, his brain connecting the dots though his body remained motionless. That was Len's voice he'd heard, and the voices surrounding him quieted to a panicked murmur at his command, interjected by a constant mantra of "Oliver! Oh shit, Oliver, I'm so sorry!"
His mouth was dry. When he tried to wet his lips, he figured out why: it was full of sand. Probably because he'd collapsed face-first onto the beach. He groaned, trying to lift his head enough to spit it out, but he was met with bright light and a pain more intense than he'd experienced since…
"Oliver," Len said, and though his voice was quieter, it sounded much closer. That was probably the source of the hand on his back as well. "Ollie-kun, are you okay?"
With some difficulty, Oliver was able to prop himself up on his elbows, and instantly his hands went to his bad eye. A sharp pain, like knives being dragged over his skin and a meat tenderizer being thwacked over the eye itself, exploded beneath his fingers, and he hissed sharply.
"Here, here," he heard Luka say, and a slender pair of arms supported him, helped by the pair already closest to him. Once she and Len had gotten him sitting up (not without some trouble, as Oliver couldn't stop clutching his face long enough to help them), a still-cold soda was passed to him. He took it gratefully and pressed it gently against his eye. Ah. That was much better.
The cold helped numb the pain, reduce it to an aching throb, and it also helped him come fully back to his senses. The right side of his face barely even stung. He'd been hit squarely in his left eye. Of all places…
"Whoever spiked that ball," he managed, smiling ruefully, "you have impeccable aim."
Gumi groaned loudly, outing herself as the offender, and Oliver couldn't help but laugh. Seeing him well enough to laugh made the dark faces around him brighten as well, which also made him feel better.
Gumi shoved past Kaito and knelt in front of Oliver, presenting him with the accidental weapon, no worse for the wear after its collision with his face. "C'mon, Ollie-Ollie." She shoved the ball into his lap and then stood up, offering a hand to him. "Your turn. Hit me in the face as hard as you can. Better yet—" Once Oliver was upright (and the ball fell uselessly to the ground again), she puffed out her chest, gesturing dramatically to her breasts. "Spike it right into my tits. Aim it right and it'll still hit my face too."
"Wait!" Rin shouted, already backing away from the assembly. "I'll get my phone and some snacks! I don't wanna miss this!"
"Please don't." Luka, assisting Len in helping a still-mildly-concussed Oliver establish his balance, sighed. "She'll complain about the pain for a week straight and make me spoil her until she's 'healed'."
"All the more reason to do it, right?"
More laughter joined Oliver this time, the gathered household finally able to relax. The soda pressed to his eye had started going warm, and the stinging pain was already returning, but other than that, Oliver didn't feel just terrible anymore. He smiled as brightly as he could to assure everyone that he was alright, they could get back to what they were doing.
...Len was still oddly quiet. He hadn't spoken since just after Oliver regained consciousness. If not for the cautious hand on his shoulder, Oliver would have forgotten he was there. The poor thing. He was still worried sick, wasn't he?
But he really did feel better. A replacement soda and maybe some ibuprofen and some more rest, and he'd be right as rain once more.
"Ah, love," he said, facing Len and lowering the can to hand it over, "would you mind getting me another soda? One more round of a cold compress and I think I'll… be…"
Well that was odd. He'd hoped his words and his confident disposition would put Len at ease. Instead, Len's face twisted, a look like— like horror spreading across it, growing darker with each passing second.
"...W-what is it?" he asked, turning back to face the other seven, as though they might have the answer.
They gasped. All seven of them. In perfect unison, no less.
Most of them just looked shocked, but Miku looked like she was about to pass out, and the horror that flashed across Gumi's countenance easily matched Len's.
Well that certainly wasn't a good sign.
Len placed his other hand on Oliver's other shoulder and pushed him forward suddenly, past their gawking household, wordlessly guiding him to one of the concrete huts away from the shoreline.
"Anyone have a sledgehammer?" He heard Gumi say as he was led away, and her voice was pitched with thick guilt. "I don't think a volleyball's gonna cut it."
That really wasn't a good sign.
"Len," he tried, tripping over his feet as Len hurried him along, "Len, what's going on? What's wrong? Why aren't you telling me what's wrong?"
Len still didn't answer.
He opened the door of the unisex bathroom and ushered Oliver inside. The bathroom was little more than an open room with a single washiki, sink, and mirror. Before Len could follow him in, Oliver rushed to the mirror, determined to see just what had everyone so mortified.
He got his answer the moment he saw his reflection.
Oh no.
"There's an ER ten minutes away," Len began as Oliver untied and unwound his bandages. "If it's too big a risk to wait that long, I'll run out and have Mei-chan call 119 and we can get you seen in half that time. Until then, we just need to stop the bleeding, so for now that's…"
Oliver tuned him out, as if ignoring his words could make that course of action less necessary. Draping his bloodied bandages over the sink faucet, he leaned in close to his reflection, assessing the situation as well as he could beneath the flickering fluorescents.
A nasty purple bruise was already forming around his eye, which was the source of the bleeding. Bright red seeped out from around the sutures holding his eyelids together and stained his cheek like bastardized tears— but it didn't seep out too quickly, and it wasn't too bright, so maybe that was a good sign.
He got as close as he could while still able to see, and, gritting his teeth against the pain, he gently tugged the skin above and below the eye.
"Ollie-kun! Ollie-kun, don't do that!"
The blood didn't flow any quicker, and the sutures didn't budge in the slightest, no matter how many test tugs Oliver gave.
He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"This won't need medical attention," he explained. Still, he watched his own face a moment longer, gesturing for Len to get him a paper towel. "If the sutures had come loose, that would have been a much bigger issue, but in this case all will be well once it stops bleeding. It'll just be sore for a bit is all."
The paper towel was passed to him, and he blotted it over his eye, catching a few drops before they fell. Without the bandages putting pressure on his face, blood fell more freely, but a few more minutes of compression would surely take care of it. Yes, this could have been much worse.
Len was watching in silence again. Oliver could feel his eyes against his back as he wadded the towel into a ball and ran it under some cold water.
"Ollie-kun…"
Oliver shut the faucet off and pressed some of the excess water out of the towel, shaking his hand off as he faced Len.
The terror on his face had melted. Now that he was seeing the injury in full detail, he just looked deeply worried.
Right. Len had seen his full face, but he'd never seen it like this.
"It's okay," Oliver promised, reaching up with his free hand to brush Len's bangs back. His hair was dry, but stiff from the salt water it had taken in. "This has happened enough that I know to take it seriously. If it was any worse, I wouldn't hesitate to take this to the hospital."
Len blinked, like Oliver's words startled him.
"How often do you get hit in the face with a volleyball?" He asked, returning the gesture and brushing Oliver's hair from his face. Oliver could feel another drop of blood running down his cheek; before he could address it, Len coaxed the wet paper towel from his hand, swiping it over his cheek, his touch feather-light.
Oliver closed his good eye while Len worked, savoring the glide of cool, fibrous fabric on his bruised skin. "Not that, in particular. But for the first year or two after I was created, the stitches came loose constantly. I bled pretty much nonstop for the first month."
The pain had also been comparable, a constant and agonizing presence, and he'd dealt with it largely on his own. But Oliver elected to omit that detail.
A few more short swipes over his face, and then Len pressed the towel back to his eye. Oliver fought not to wince. Len was being so gentle, gentler than usual, and he didn't want to discourage him.
After another moment of silence, Len said, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I mean, about… y'know, the beginning. It… sounds like it was miserable."
Oliver opened his eye. Len's face had softened, and now he looked almost sad. It wasn't hard to imagine that he'd filled in the blanks, that he was thinking about Oliver bleeding and crying and unable to turn to anyone or anything for relief.
His bangs were back in his eyes. Oliver brushed them away again, smiling softly. "It's all in the past."
Len smiled back in silent agreement.
That silence hung between them another minute or two, and then Len removed the compress, looking him over.
"There. That should do it." He stepped past Oliver to dispose of the blood-soaked paper towel. "We'll get you another soda to put on your eye just to be safe, then when we get back to the hotel we can get a rag and some medicine and maybe some ointment to help with the swelling and the bruising."
Tentatively, Oliver felt at his face, turning back to the mirror. The pain wasn't as bad. The nerves beneath his touch still stung, but when left alone, it just ached more than anything. And already he looked so much better. The bruise was darkening still, and his eye was starting to swell, just a bit, but he didn't look quite as big a mess.
Len appeared in behind him in the mirror, smiling cautiously. "Not bad."
Oliver chuckled. He wanted to crack a joke, maybe something at Len's expense — "What, no waxing lyrical about how lovely I look even when I'm all banged up?" — but Len had been through enough already. The heckling could wait until tonight.
Instead, he turned to face Len again, standing to his toes to kiss his forehead. "Good as new," he corrected. "Thanks to you."
That was enough to relax Len. He hugged Oliver, pulling back to trace a thumb below his cheek.
"...You're still beautiful," he said. "Even like this."
Well, there went Oliver's chance to harass. No matter. He happily traded the opportunity for a kiss or three.
The blood on his bandages had dried, but he could always wear his nighttime bandage for the rest of the week, or at least until he could find a replacement. For now, he positioned it so that most of the stains were hidden, and Len helped him tie it back into place.
The sun was still shining. Beyond the concrete walls, the sand was still sandy and the ocean waves called his name. Now that he was all patched up, Oliver was going to take advantage of that and thoroughly enjoy the rest of his day.
He'd just need to make sure he didn't get anywhere near another game of volleyball.
Sharing a smile with Len, he took his hand and opened the door.
Gumi was standing just outside.
She'd found that sledgehammer she had wanted.
"Hit me. As hard as you can. In the face."
"Gumi no."