LEGAL DRUG (GOHOU DRUG) FANFIC

Title: Sanguine

Written By: RinoaDestiny (Ann Koo)

Author's Note: Dark trip down memory lane, and I really enjoyed writing this. Kazahaya's POV is always getting better.

CHAPTER 13

"How is he?" The voice comes from over his right shoulder, soft and gentle. It's Kakei-san and on his left, Saiga-san stands, staring down at the still figure of Rikuo that hasn't moved since the day before. Rikuo's eyes are closed and his chest is rising in slow intervals but Kazahaya's not sure if he's asleep or still locked in his cage of passivity. Reading Rikuo has always been hard because the boy kept to himself; now, it's even harder, because trauma reinforces those barriers.

"He's been like this all morning," he said, unsure of what else to say. "He's had no nightmares, though. He never fell asleep last night." He's no longer holding Rikuo's hand, which instinctively curls alongside the taller psychic's chest, as if guarding his fragile form; as if attempting to shelter him from further harm. In the weak light, he's a pale spectre, nearly translucent white and with his dark black hair falling in his eyes and the moss-green shirt accentuating his pallor, he seems to fade.

Kazahaya glances towards Saiga-san, who reaches forward and brushes Rikuo's hair back. His friend doesn't stir; although, there's a slight flicker through his eyelids. There's a yellow bruise healing on his cheekbone, stretched across chiseled bones, and unconscious or closed off as he is, Kazahaya can't help but think he's handsome. He's thought it before, but he was highly embarrassed the first time. Reflecting on his recent discovery – on the fact that he's somehow learned to love Rikuo – it's different and it feels strange acknowledging that. He doesn't know how or when it happened but apparently, love ambushed him without warning.

It's not that he doesn't like it, either.

"He's in pretty bad shape, boy. That's why I told you to be patient."

"I know." He's sitting in the chair this time instead of on the bed, and he ponders what Rikuo did and didn't tell him. "I'm not afraid this time, though. It's not like last time. This," and he leans forward a bit, noticing how the younger man's fingers innocently bent, "I'll have to let him pull out of by himself. I can't do anything about it, but be there for him."

"Did he tell you why he's like this, Kudou-kun?"

He's still gazing upon Rikuo's face, watching lashes against skin, and Kakei-san's unseen expression feels heavy along with the weight of his words. He picks his own carefully, choosing them out of recollections and discarding the personal, the unnecessary in order to shield Rikuo. "He did but not much. I only know that bastard's been at it again, but not how or why." The "why" he knows perfectly well; the "how" he isn't privy to but neither Kakei-san nor Saiga-san needed to know how ashamed Rikuo was, telling him only so much.

"It must've been bad."

That was an understatement. He still doesn't know how far the scale of this unknown atrocity spreads. Rikuo's body language, though, spells it out more clearly than his short, terse answers. Even those, though, showed an incredible amount of restraint; of much expressed through clipped replies. It had, unfortunately, taken Rikuo's detachment and subsequent shut down in order for that progress to go through. He remembers the tone behind that voice: cautious, numb, and as the questions continued, faint and removed. More and more that happened, until the hints of shame and deep-seated anguish broke through.

Then, Rikuo closed himself off to him.

He wants to get him back. He wants him to heal but he can't do anything unless he moves forward. Unless he does something that'll allow the other male to know how much he cares. Holding and squeezing his hand is all good until his arm got tired and he got exhausted, but Rikuo never returned his grip. It's the reason why he's not resorting to the same gesture, to the same form of comfort because Rikuo needs more. Rikuo needs a lot more, and only he can give it wholeheartedly if he's not afraid.

He's been running away the whole time, or his ability's been faulty but he'll be damned if he sits here, watching the boy waste away, locked in a private hell while he's holding one out of many keys. Sure, it'll be some damnable mental raffle whatnot with Toshiya and his nine plus goons, with Tsukiko, with Yoshiro and his men, and with Eichiro, but he's looking at Rikuo and he's seeing a face gone pale with pain; eyes closed but soulless inside; evidence of a blow yellowing on his cheek; broken arm and fingers and it's like staring at a husk when life should be inside.

That's when he makes his decision.

That's when he makes his move, Kakei-san's permission or not.

Stretching out his hands, he holds Rikuo's head and lowers his forehead to his, feeling it dry and cool. There's a sound behind him, but he ignores it. Ignores Kakei-san's sharp exclamation of "Kudou-kun!" and listens as footsteps crisply move behind him. He doesn't know if Saiga-san realizes that he's trying to help Rikuo. He doesn't know if Kakei-san's watching and slowly realizing that leaving them alone would be the best choice at the moment but he doesn't care. Kazahaya's always been impulsive – doing, saying, and expressing the first things that come to mind – but today, he doesn't care. Shouldn't have in the first place; shouldn't have played a coward's role when it came to Toshiya.

Rikuo's eyes are still closed – the psychic's deeply unconscious – but he speaks anyway, hoping that something inside of him will hear and listen. "Rikuo, it's okay. It's Kazahaya. Let me in, please. I want to help you. You have to pull through yourself – I know that. But I want to help you. Please."

He's not sure if it'll work – if Rikuo trusts him enough. Yet, he's desperate enough to try this, just when he'd told Kakei-san that there's nothing he could do. There's something he can do and it's this: his ability of psychometry, raveled into his empathic talents, and the guts to plow through with it. Always, since he's known it, he's called it a curse. The way how he was brought up to use it, to see it not as a gift but to use it until he got ill or emotionally shaken, and that was only one of the reasons why he fled from Kei and the Kudou estate. Now, he's using it for what its real purpose should be – to discover, to guide, to hold, and to save.

He wants to save Rikuo. It's as simple as that.

"Please, Rikuo," he begs, and it's not out of coercion but out of concern. His eyes are also shut, sealing his world into darkness and the absoluteness of concentration. He needs every bit of it now, feeling the emptiness fill his mind, becoming a vessel for another's memories, and when his hands sag, fingers slipping and he faintly hears his name called; he would've wept at the trust given, if not for the fact that the last sensation he feels is him slumping forward, falling into soft and plushy ripples next to the person he cares for.

Everything hurts – still hurts – and he's trying not to gasp, not to scream but he's ripping and he's tearing and it doesn't stop. Doesn't stop…they're laughing at him, about him…the agony's getting worse, burning inside of him and why doesn't he stop? Pain explodes in his belly, convulsing and buckling him and he's screaming now…no, no, he wants to scream but he can't…fire driving into him…sharp…blood…why?

His legs ache, hitting the floor…someone's laughing, touching him…is it Keiji or Mikuragi? He doesn't know; doesn't want to know. His insides burn…torn…he hurts so badly…when did it end? He never knows. A footstep near him…something wet hits him, rolling down his hips…a hand in his hair…so much pain. Dark eyes…a scar on one hand…Toshiya. A smile, cold…fingers down his chest – he shivers.

"You're always such a good fuck," Toshiya says, leering at him…he feels ill…can't vomit. Something wet hits him; stinging…hydrogen peroxide…it hurts. Fingers tearing his scalp…Toshiya blurs. "I know you like it so much." He doesn't like it…doesn't but Toshiya doesn't care…laughs, shaking him so that everything blurs…spots…"Clean yourself. This is all you're good for, bitch. Make sure you're clean."

His head slams into the floor…another laugh…they're leaving. Footsteps…his head pounds. Everything hurts…he can't move…can't crawl…blood. He's bleeding. Wet cloth around his thighs, stinging. He wants to curl up…he can't. The door slams hard…he wants to cry but he can't. Everything hurts…nothing makes sense. He's starting to forget things…forget names. He doesn't know how long he's been here – feels like forever. He doesn't want to know. He's forgetting…maybe that's a good thing. He feels like he's always been here…doesn't remember much anymore…

The door opens…no, it can't be Toshiya, he wants to scream but it isn't. Something hits the floor next to him…fingers touch him…he screams, flinches. Hands hold him, hard. "Hey, hey, it's okay." Eichiro…he's tired…Eichiro. "I seriously hate that fucking asshole," Eichiro says…he would, too but the pain would get worse…"Just finished with you, didn't they? How many?"

"Eighteen." His throat's sore…everything's sore. "All of them."

"Not that fucking Toshiya?"

"No." He wants to cry – doesn't. "Him, too."

Cloth off his thighs…he screams as the agony hits him. "They fucked you up good. You won't be able to walk for a week and a half like this." Insides…sharp…unbearable pain. "I'm almost done. Can't believe that no-good sonovabitch wanted you to do this. You can't even move." He can't breath…everything hurts…head throbbing. "There. Finished."

He can't roll…can't curl. His stomach aches. "No," he says and his eyes burn. "Tomorrow. I won't…" He's about ready to cry but holds it in. His throat swells, painfully. "Never going to…to be able to walk…walk again."

"Hey, don't say that. You can't think like that, Rikuo-kun."

"They don't stop," he hears himself say, and the lump in his throat hurts. "They don't stop and I…I let them…stops the pain but…every time I do…I die inside, bit by bit. I let them and…" He chokes on the tears he refuses to shed. "They kill me every time…every time I do."

Eichiro's holding him, head on his lap…he doesn't fight it…doesn't have the energy left to protest. "Then you'll already be dead, Rikuo-kun. How many times have they come to you already? You're a survivor. You're not in the grave, yet."

He doesn't know if he laughs or cries when he hears that but suddenly, Eichiro's holding him tightly and belatedly, he realizes he's sobbing. "Hey, it's okay. With what that sonovabitch and his two-timing scum are doing to you, I'm surprised you haven't cried yet. It's okay. I'm still surprised you're alive, honestly."

He wants to say that it's because Eichiro's the one keeping him alive but he can't and his throat hurts and his eyes burn but he can't stop the tears. Only one time did he cry like this but that reason's gone because he's weak and useless and he can't help her. Eichiro holds him; he's naked, hurt, and broken, shuddering but he's sobbing and sobbing and he can't stop. He doesn't want to. He just doesn't want to.

It's different this time; so dissimilar to last time. When he comes to, he breaks into tears, weeping and he's not sure if it's because Rikuo's sobs overwhelmed him or the raw intensity of the emotions that this memory carries. Kazahaya buried his face into his arms, letting the salt streams burn down his cheeks, and this time, Kakei-san doesn't interfere. The comforter is thick beneath his arms, yielding from his weight, and he lets the darkness roll over him as he cries. Rikuo's screams; Rikuo's panicked, wild thoughts; Rikuo's hopelessness; Eichiro's kindness; Toshiya's cruel words and violent actions; Keiji and Mikuragi. Rikuo being raped again. Rikuo sobbing.

It's hard to put all of that into emotions he can readily describe. He can't. He'd never thought Rikuo would let him see this memory. To see him so…broken. His stomach clenches, knotted and gnarled as Rikuo's mental and physical anguish struck him, recalled. He couldn't believe – oh gods – that it could get any worse than the pain that Toshiya made him felt. That first memory – that first rape – paled besides this one; diminished against everything he'd felt in this one. Where did this experience – this horrible, wretched, heartbreaking memory – fall within the time he'd been missing? When, within those five weeks?

Rikuo's eyes burned in that heart-searing shard of thought; of emotions crystallized. His eyes burn, too, as if in kinship, for the horror and the utter darkness of that time strips his soul bare – makes him hurt as well. He sees why Rikuo clung to Eichiro, for the man – who strangely, called him Rikuo-kun – was the only one there who treated him as human. Not like Toshiya, not like his men – of which Keiji and Mikuragi are – and not like the others, who threw Rikuo down, used him, hurt him, made him scream and laughed at it, whipped him with broken glass, or talked to him afterwards – when he was agonized and hurting and too worn out to fight – as if he was a whore; as if he was subhuman.

Lifting his head, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Kazahaya refocused his vision and stared at Rikuo. Nothing had changed; Rikuo wasn't awake, hadn't moved but he'd trusted him. He'd heard his pleas, heard him and listened and let him in to witness that horror, degradation, and despair. There was something else in that memory, too – where was it – and he clapped his hand over his mouth, violently ill but unwilling to lose his breakfast.

Nineteen. That was the total number; the final tally. Nineteen men, including Toshiya, were responsible for raping, torturing, and humiliating Rikuo. How…? How did he survive that – that much pain, that much hurt, that much shame? His head whirled and Kazahaya nearly was sick enough to vomit. Toshiya, Keiji, and Mikuragi. What about the others? What about the other names – the other perverts; the other bastards – that needed to be brought to justice? What about them?

Kakei-san was right. He did need to see more, hear more, and know more. There's a lot he still doesn't know – needs to know. But he's not sure if he can take it all at once. If Rikuo trusts him, will allow him to experience the ones even worse than this, he'll take his chances. Until then, at least for now, he's had enough.

As for Tsukiko…wait a minute. He did mention her in his thoughts in that memory. Something about helping her…helping her…oh gods, no! Did Rikuo run off to find and rescue Tsukiko just by himself? Without letting Kakei-san and Saiga-san know? Without letting him know? Why would he do that? Why would he confront that organization alone without back-up? He scurries through the other memories in his mind, aware that his brow's creased and feels the weight of Kakei-san's gaze but ignores it and continues digging.

Rikuo disappeared five weeks ago, during midnight, through the down-pouring rain. He'd written a note with his name and Tsukiko's on it, only to tear it up and dispose of it. He'd run off to find Tsukiko and let none of them know. Why? Tsukiko – mentions of graffiti; Rikuo worrying and frustrated in that memory of a morning meal – and a room full of blood, dripping and oozing, thick and cloying. Tsukiko in the cinema, on the screen, drenched with crimson, glowing with red. Rewind, shift back to the bloody room. Last time, he'd seen something there. He refocuses, tracks the nauseating vision, and finds what he wants. There's a small decorative comb or hairpiece with flowers in it, white in that red-painted yet empty, ghastly space. Could this be another clue?

The flowers bother him and he knows why. He doesn't recognize the hairpiece but the flowers are familiar to him – he's seen them before. Strange in that room reeking of death, the open blooms are fresh, smelling of fragrant perfume, delicate; and somehow, as he sharpens his concentration, their scent overpowers the stench of iron. Kei loved flowers, true but he'd been the only runaway. Anyway, if Kei did run and try to find him, she'll be a couple months behind him, and why would she carelessly drop a comb in some stranger's home? He didn't even know Tsukiko before he'd met Rikuo; why would Kei know?

Still, he's missing a vital piece somewhere and he knows it.

Once again, he's given himself more questions than answers. He doesn't know how many of them lead to dead ends or to ridiculous speculations like that. The only thing he's certain of is that Rikuo recklessly went after Tsukiko and the organization snuffed out his life, substituting it for a living death. That's all he knows and it's the only other lead he has.

He turns to face Kakei-san and Saiga-san, who gaze at him with open concern. "Kudou-kun, are you all right? You – you went and saw something, didn't you?" The taller, beefier man next to his willowy boss doesn't say anything but silent communication conveys enough. Saiga-san knows that he saw something important; all that he needs to do is discuss it with them. But not right here in front of Rikuo, who was still unaware, still trapped in his cage.

Somewhere else. Somewhere…

He knows.

"The kitchen. I did see something." His voice trembles. "It's important for us to know."

By the time he's done spilling out most of the clues – leaving the rawness of Rikuo's memory and suffering on the wayside – the others look stunned. Kakei-san appears white and Kazahaya wonders if it's from shock or anger. Saiga-san sits, immobile, and his shielded gaze feels troubled. His voice runs dry and he waits for one of the men to start the conversation, to break the uneasy silence.

He's not surprised that Kakei-san does, even if the question strikes him where it hurts. "Nineteen?" His boss's voice is pale, leeched and in disbelief. "Nineteen of them?"

"That's what the boy said." Saiga-san shifts next to him, pulling Kakei close and massaging the stricken male on the back of the neck. "That's what Rikuo said in his memory, didn't he?"

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. The lump in his throat increases.

"We've also got two names to add to that bastard's now." The black-clad man's voice is even, calm, controlled but there's an edge there – a sharp resonance of fury tempered, stored. He wonders what will happen when it's unleashed. "What were their names again, boy?"

"Keiji. Mikuragi."

"I want them dead," the slighter man said, tone insistent, seething with raw rage. "Them and the other sixteen who are unaccounted for. The police won't do anything about it. Slap on the wrist and they're be back on the streets again. I'm not letting Rikuo go through all that again."

"Love, isn't that the undisputed fact here? I'm sure the kid wants justice, too."

"The sooner we get it, the better."

"Kakei, what about the other point? Rikuo went there to get Tsukiko-san out."

Kazahaya blinked at the change of honorific, watching as his boss shifted to give Saiga better access. "Yes and that part doesn't make any sense. He's always come to us – always relied on you, Saiga, to find out about Tsukiko-san's whereabouts. He's a smart boy, too – too street-smart and hardened to simply run off like that. There's something wrong about this. We never found out about her but suddenly, Rikuo knows? How did that happen? And why did he leave without letting us know? Do you think he was coerced? Did someone plant the tip for him – lure him in as bait?"

"You're opening a new can of worms with those questions, love. Why would he be bait at all? For whom? She's the bait for him. I can't see why they'll want him, unless it's just to shove Tsukiko-san in his face and let him know that he'll never get her back. But that's so amateurish; juvenile, even. No, there's another reason. They have another agenda and they're using one after another to set off their plans. I'm not sure where Rikuo's role lies in their scheme."

"So much for figuring out their end-all-and-be-all strategies," Kakei sighed, sounding more like a worn-out parent than the young, brilliant owner of Green Drugstore. "You think perhaps that's why they want him back?"

"I'm sure Yoshiro wants him back for legitimate reasons. As for that rat bastard and his creeps, I'm sure it's for something else. Considering they're the ones behind the blackmail, it's a definite that their appetites are stronger than Yoshiro's commitment to whatever harebrained scheme they've got. Either way, it's landed us into quite a mess."

"Yes."

His mind's working, flipping through memories, skipping back to the first. Yoshiro…Yoshiro…the start of it all – oh wait! There it is! Kazahaya swallowed, clearing his throat. "Rikuo ran into the place. I think he started a fight or something but he never made it past the exterior hall. Someone else was telekinetic – threw something at him and knocked his head against the wall. Not long after that, Yoshiro was there." He threw his hands open. "We know the rest."

Saiga pinched the bridge of his nose, shades shifting slightly. "Great. So he stormed into the place and tried to strong-arm the organization into letting Tsukiko-san go. Probably ran into the first rank of high-level psychics after that and lost. We don't even know how high their ranks go. We don't even know where we place in that hierarchy but if Rikuo's defeat tells us anything, we're at the bottom of the food chain. Kakei, I need a smoke and some aspirin – maybe both."

"I knew you'd say that."

"Oh, don't play that on me, love."

"Still, Saiga – this gives us new worries. You said that someone else is using the organization, funding them and supporting them. If this group is really that strong, how much stronger is the one controlling them? Do you see what I'm getting at? It's not one organization we're dealing with. It's two and both of them are very powerful. Both of them are intent on getting Rikuo back and we're not sure why. We're not even sure if they want him dead or alive."

"If he's alive when they find him, he'll be dead before long."

"Yes, if that slime Toshiya has anything to say about it. I'm sure Rikuo will want to be dead, then, and this time for good. Kudou-kun, is there anything else you remember?"

He's thinking and thinking, and something does come to mind. "Eichiro doesn't like Toshiya and his men very much. Yoshiro didn't, either."

"Ah, so we've got factions within the organization, huh?"

"What are you suggesting, Kakei? That we secretly try to provoke them against each other?"

"No." The man moves out from under Saiga, adjusted his glasses, and leaned forward with crossed arms on the table. His color's back, Kazahaya sees, and it brightens his face, sharpening those gentle eyes now turned flinty. "That'll just show our hand. You can't find out how Rikuo got the tip, either, Saiga. It'll look fishy with us poking around – it'll lead them here immediately. That's no good. No – be aware that Yoshiro's on one side, Toshiya's on the other, and we're not sure how many more factions established the organization together. It's obvious that their principles are different –"

Saiga coughed. Kazahaya kept his face straight, listening.

"Their principles are different and this is why you've got this in-fighting. Yoshiro doesn't approve of what Toshiya does and Toshiya thinks Yoshiro's weak. This Eichiro apparently doesn't like Toshiya but we don't know if he's from Yoshiro's side or a separate group. From what Kudou-kun told us, Eichiro's the only one who really cared how Rikuo felt. Strange to find that kind of personality in such a cold-blooded group."

"Do you think he plays any role in this whole confounded mess?"

The pretty precog shrugged. "All deductions. Until we know more, we go by these guesses. It's given us a bigger picture of what's going, though. We know the cause of Rikuo's disappearance. We know how many assailants he's been up against, the blackmailing, the structure of the organization, and just what we're facing. What we don't know is what happened to Tsukiko-san, what Rikuo's involvement is – how he's being used – and many other details. They'll come on their own time."

"We don't have much time, Kakei. I've already told the boy to pack."

"I did," Kazahaya said, interjecting his voice into the thick miasma of conversation. "I'm ready in case they come."

"Good for you, kid." Praise from Saiga-san was rare; it made him feel good. "Kakei, I think we've hit the end of our rope here. There's nothing more to discuss, is there? Is there, boy?"

He shook his head, hair flying into his eyes, and watched as both men stood. The only thing he didn't mention to them was his sneaking suspicion about those flowers in that room of blood but he's doubtful himself. Tsukiko vanished long before he'd arrived, considering that Rikuo was in Green Drugstore already prior to his rescue. At that time, Kei was still homebound; should've been, even though he's guessing here. One Kudou child missing from the estate would be enough to cause a major uproar – two would be unbelievable.

Besides, he doesn't want to preconceive faulty notions.

"Okay, boy. We'll be heading back down. Good luck with Rikuo."

Kakei-san nodded at him, expression solemn. "Let us know when he gets better, all right, Kudou-kun? That was some risk you took and without my permission." He doesn't wince, even if that's his first gut reaction. "You've never done that before. I think," and the other male's lips creased in a slight smile, "that you're seeing him as more than a friend now, right?"

He doesn't say anything.

His silence confirms everything; besides, it's not like as Kakei-san can't read him, can't see relationships for what they are. Hell, the man was in a snuggle-fest of his own – turned out to be the one he stumbled across weeks ago – and if that doesn't attune someone to the inner workings of a relationship, Kazahaya's not sure what will.

"Love him, then." The words stay; linger with him even after the man leaves. "Love him and never leave him. It's all you can do and it's all that he needs."

The words are tender, echoing in his head as he pulls the curtain open, draping green aside and sits on the chair, seeing another swath of green. He wants to see another set of green shine but they're lost in sleep – in self-imposed confinement – and he's already done what he could for Rikuo. He twines his fingers together, fidgets nervously, and ponders on the memory that tastes of bitter tears, undiluted pain, horrifying emotional hurt, and the sudden rush of all of that pent-up sickness, pouring out in sobs that never seem to end.

He really, truly didn't understand.

Kazahaya remembers what he told Rikuo before. He recalls the reply, harsh and full of the truths that he didn't know. Couldn't have known. Saying "I understand" was the worst thing he could've done, because no, he didn't understand. He wasn't there to comprehend the brutality, the perversity, the damage done, and the life undone. He didn't undergo the torture; dread the hours, tense at the footsteps, or flinch when a touch occurred. He wasn't the one sighing in relief when the man entering was a friend and not another attacker – not another person out to ruin and destroy him, to laugh at his pain.

No, he wasn't Rikuo. It was foolish for him to ever think that he understood.

"Rikuo," he said, running a hand over the younger man's cold brow; fingertips lightly brushing soft strands of dark hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't understand. I didn't know."

He really didn't.

It was like living what the photographs showed. All of the pictures of Rikuo screaming, horribly abused – he'd felt. All of the thoughts he'd wondered about – about what Rikuo's internal monologue would be – he'd heard. All of the tears shed, wrenched from deep within, hidden for so long only because of pride – because of last defenses – he'd tasted. All of the dread, all of the panic, all of the fear – he knew.

So no, he truly didn't know.

Not until Rikuo trusted him enough, locked away in his own hurt, to hand him that knowledge. To have him share in that experience; to become another Eichiro – another person who cared when no one else did. To hold that memory secret, so that he could understand him better. He didn't know if it was because Rikuo truly wanted to heal or if that lock given to his key actually did something beneficial for them both.

But now, finally, he's starting to understand. It's a small start but it's a beginning. Rikuo's moved past his beginning – now stuck on a memory that's secret; incomprehensible to him – and he's budged past his. Their roads could at last cross.

He can meet Rikuo directly at the crossroads. Meet him there and guide him out.

It's already noon, perhaps a few hours past, if he's reading the light correctly. Saiga-san hasn't replaced all the windows, yet, but Rikuo's room has seen the repairs. The sunlight is weak, airy and yellow, and it falls through the panes of glass and diffuses into dust motes. Rikuo appears thin, almost incorporeal, and that hasn't changed since the two men joined him to check on the psychic's condition. It breaks his heart to see him like this, when he knows that, physically speaking, he's the one who should've taken his place.

But he's not. He's had no Tsukiko in his life – had no mad urge to find anyone.

Rikuo did, so Rikuo ran. Rikuo ran, tripped, fell, and was never allowed back up since then. He's still running – they're both running – and through that race, Rikuo became his version of Tsukiko. He's had to find him, had to join that maddening and sobering chase, and unlike Tsukiko, Rikuo's here before him.

It's only his soul that's fled.

Kazahaya lays his palm against the other boy's cheek, feeling the subtle pulsing of blood beneath the delicate flesh that's tinged yellow. When Rikuo was found, the bruising was purplish-black and it left his roommate looking so vulnerable, for even his face wasn't spared. He's glad that it's fading now, restoring his colleague to his previously unmarred features; although, what's beneath the shirt and the pants tell it all. He wonders if Rikuo will forever wear long shirts and jeans to hide his disfigurement.

It's highly likely, even if the thought grieves him.

Sliding his hand away, he doesn't need to say "thank you" to Rikuo, for he believes that Rikuo already knows. He's done what he could; now, it's Rikuo's turn – his choice – to stay unaware, to remain closed, warded against all pain, or to fight and to pull his way back towards recovery – back to them. It's not a decision he can make for him, so Kazahaya leaves and continues his own life.

The process is the same: organize, wash, cook, clean – as well as an eighteen-year-old boy can do – and to undo the cleanliness, rewash what's already been scrubbed, eat or dump what's been cooked, and throw soap suds at the gleaming tiles and counters. He's micromanaging his boredom and sometimes, it doesn't work. Today is one of them and the hours drag on unconscionably long so that he slips his shoes on, goes downstairs, and starts stocking shelves. It catches his boss and Saiga-san by surprise but he manages to finish a third of the day's inventory before hunger gets to him, hurling him back upstairs.

By then, it's nightfall.

He continues the normal routine, wishing all the while that Rikuo sat beside him, eating instead of lying emotionless in bed. The dishes rub smoothly against his hands, slippery with detergent and water and he shakes the excess off of the chopsticks before he places them into the dishwasher to dry. There's still a bowl of day-old applesauce on the nightstand and he knows why he can't remove it. It's silly but it's not a reason he'll reject.

Kazahaya washes, changes, and climbs into bed, shutting off the new lamp Saiga-san recently bought for them. Everything falls into black – Rikuo melts into it – and he lies there for a moment, recounting the months and the events since he's been here and he could've never seen this in his future even if he could. It's a far cry from wandering, from being lost in snow, from nearly dying because he ran away from a life that was no life at all.

How cruel that the pattern was repeated.

He closes his eyes and allows the darkness to fall.

When he wakes up, it's the green that first catches his breath, freezing him where he lies. It's the sight of Rikuo awake and although not all the pain is gone, his gaze is brighter – alive and aware – and he's no longer so pale. It's the symmetry of jade, ebony, and ivory that shapes his co-worker – that allows the rising light to wash him in truly glorious hues. He looks at Rikuo, who stares back at him and beneath that broken and healing form, he sees someone truly beautiful and worthy of saving.

He only wishes he can become Rikuo's mirror, so that he may see the same.

Standing, discarding the sheets that slip back onto the bed, he walks over to the younger man. There are no words exchanged – there's no need to. He holds out his hand, feels Rikuo's join with his and this time, his grip's returned. It's not long, though, before the psychic releases his hold, buries his face into his pillow, and starts to cry.

"Rikuo," Kazahaya said, kneeling down, and he knows he's playing Eichiro's role but he's also Kazahaya Kudou and Rikuo Himura is someone that he's known for a while. Therefore, he doesn't leave – promised never to leave – and heeding Kakei-san's words, stays there and holds that hand with its splinted fingers and gives him the only comfort he can. It's another breakthrough and this time, Rikuo did it without resorting to rage or violence. Instead, trust was established; perhaps now, with both of their beginnings behind them, anything can happen.

Minutes later, when Rikuo's better composed, it does.

"Is there anything to eat?" Rikuo sounds genuinely starved. "I'm hungry."

Kazahaya smiled.