scars7
Scars - 7

"Tezuka-san, you have a visitor," called out the soft voice of the nurse as she ushered in the young man. He was clutching a bunch of flowers protectively in his hands, looking tired and worn. But he smiled when he stepped forward.

Shinobu was wary, but more than that, he was ashamed. Funny. He had never really realized how much of a failure he actually was. He couldn't even kill himself right. Could he even look Mitsuru in the eyes now? Not that he was worthy, but that was a given. He had failed him in every sense of the word.

"Hi, Shinobu," Mitsuru started off shyly, ever the traditionalist. He took a few hesitant steps forward and perched delicately on the seat beside Shinobu's bed. "How are you?"

Simple words. Gentle, almost fearful. Shinobu forced himself to respond. "I'm well." What an utter, pathetic lie. Could he sink any lower? How deep was the murk in his soul?

Mitsuru didn't seem to mind. He held out the small bouquet. "I brought you flowers," he said, stating the obvious. He was waiting for Shinobu to take them.

The other boy wanted to reach out, but he looked away. If he took the flowers, he would have to pull his arms from beneath the blankets. If he did that, Mitsuru would see the bandages.

He hadn't been neat this time. There were no straight lines, just tear-stained agony fueling every helpless, desperate jab with the razor, and a calm decision to succumb to emptiness and nothingness and then blackness as there had been before. But the blackness had been different this time, and he was sure it had worked.

They told him afterward that if Mitsuru hadn't found him when he did, he would have had no chance at all. His arms would be a mass of scars for the rest of his life, however ineffectively long that might be.

"If you could put them by the window," Shinobu said quietly, keeping his tone plain. No use upsetting Mitsuru more than he was. The foolish boy probably blamed himself. But wouldn't that make Shinobu more the fool for putting that onus on him?

Mitsuru nodded and stood, moving toward the window and setting them down. It was dark outside already. Was it that late? The blond boy turned to regard Shinobu, emotions mixing dryly in his eyes. "Shinobu…"

Would this be it then? Would the tears start now? "I'm sorry, Mitsuru." Which was a lie. Maybe he would be sorry eventually, but not now. His only regret was Mitsuru's probable guilty feelings over him.

Mitsuru did not reply, but moved back to the other side of the bed, reseating himself on the edge of the chair. He pulled it forward a bit, sliding closer to Shinobu, the scrape of the legs against the hard floor almost unbearably loud. But the blond boy reached out his hand and set it gently on the bed, touching Shinobu in effigy.

"Have you had a lot of visitors?" It was an innocent question. He was trying to break the ice wall with which Shinobu had carefully surrounded himself.

"No."

Mitsuru was taken aback. "Oh… that's right. Only family could visit until today, huh?" He would have been fiddling with his shirt nervously were both hands in his lap. "Did they?"

"No."

The blond boy took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Normally it wasn't hard to think straight. During the entrance exams he had had an almost notoriously cool air about him. But somehow Shinobu dislodged that and was even now doing that, despite his clear reticence to talk. But he would not be stopped so easily. "I'm sorry. I'm glad I came then." He offered a gentle smile. "We missed you."

It almost struck a blow. Green eyes glanced over to him, meeting Mitsuru's eyes for the first time since his arrival, but he held his silence.

It was an opportunity of sorts, and Mitsuru pounced on it, not playing. "I missed you too, Shinobu." His hand tightened slightly on the bed. "I thought I had lost you. I was terrified. I've never been so scared of anything in my life." He choked slightly on his words and broke off. Vivid visions filled his mind of the tiles in the bathroom pooled with blood, blood running down the drains like thick water, blood everywhere…

"Don't-" Shinobu started, but Mitsuru trampled over his words.

"I thought you were dead, thought you'd died rather than be around me anymore, thought that I'd failed you in some way I didn't even understand." His voice was getting thicker. Was that what pain did? "I thought that I'd let you down and that you wouldn't ever be around to forgive me." His words slowed and stopped, puddling between them limply.

Raw silence echoed through the room, Mitsuru's words ringing in Shinobu's shattered ears. What was there to say to that? How could he possibly apologize for this? Shame forced his head to turn away.

Mitsuru's voice was soft when it finally freed itself. "I just want you to get better. You're my best friend, and I-"

"No."

Amethyst eyes flickered upward to him. "What?"

"I failed you." His tone was flat, dull, an unsharpened, useless knife.

Mitsuru was clueless as to how to respond to that. "Shinobu?"

"I'm sorry."

What insanity was this? Mitsuru stood, pulling the blanket off Shinobu closer hand, and seized it. The green-eyed boy instinctively tried to pull away, but Mitsuru held him fast. Letting him go once had been too many times. "Don't be a fool." His eyes were dark and serious, heedless of himself.

"Don't…" Was that worry flecking the surface of those emerald eyes?

"Damn it, Shinobu!" He was angry now, but still had not let go of the other boy's hand. The bandages were showing and Shinobu was feeling absurdly self-conscious about that. "Do you really want to die a meaningless death?"

"Isn't every death meaningless?" The words were not, for once, emotionless; indeed, there was even a spark of anger in his eyes.

Mitsuru froze for a second, the words registering in his mind after a long moment as he stared in unabashed shock at his best friend. There was nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand and retreated to the other side of the room, the darker part that wasn't blazing with fluorescent light, where a roommate would have been. The air-conditioned room cast a false aura about the place, a denial of the weather outside. He pushed aside the curtain, the city sky unusually subdued. He was a vague silhouette against a backdrop of shadow.

There was nothing to say.

"Mitsuru, I-" Shinobu started hesitantly.

"Don't." His words were final, cold, a mirror to his roommate's typical behavior. "Maybe you're right."

For some reason, this did not hearten Shinobu. He was even more sure now that Mitsuru was angry with him; he could see it. Another failure?

"Mitsuru, I'm sorry; I'll keep doing this." The words were heavy, dragging him down, forcing him to stay on the bed. "I'll keep failing you like this, over and over, making you hurt… I'm sorry…" The emptiness he was feeling was threatening to engulf him in its deep bosom, an unkind lover. Didn't Mitsuru understand that if Shinobu just left forever that it would be easier on his heart? That he had tried to do this to protect him?

"Maybe it really doesn't matter, Shinobu," Mitsuru continued, almost as if he had not heard the words his roommate had almost pleadingly uttered. "Maybe there's no purpose to life, no reason to smile, to cry, anything." Eyes dark with nearly-imprisoned emotion turned to him. "But I don't think anything without meaning could hurt so much."

There were tears in those eyes.

Whatever retort Shinobu could have considered making was lost when he saw that, and he had to look away. But footsteps told him Mitsuru was drawing near.

"I'm going to help you," Mitsuru said fiercely, sitting back down in the hospital chair beside the bed again. He brushed a hand across his cheeks almost in annoyance. "I'm going to be here no matter what."

Shinobu was quiet a long moment, trying to determine an answer – any answer – to this. Finally, he decided to be a traditionalist too. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, and slowly turned to face his best friend.

Somehow, shame did not seem as important anymore.

~

When Mitsuru left that night, one of the wizened nurses in the ward, her hair capped with hoarfrost, gave him a knowing look. It was this look that made him pause.

"You're friends with the Tezuka boy?" she asked him, and her voice belied her appearance, sounding young and strong.

He nodded, worry playing at the corners of his eyes. Something in her face was keeping him in place, his feet rooted to the unforgiving hospital tiles.

She eyed him a moment, and then seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. "He should have died, you know, with the loss of that much blood."

Mitsuru blinked, a little startled by this revelation, and gazed up at her, bewilderment etching his mouth. Should have died…?

She nodded to his unspoken question. "One of the doctors in the emergency room said he must really have something to live for." She nodded again, a smile nestled into her eyes. "Just keep that in mind." She turned, and disappeared into the bustle of white and sterility.

The train to Ryukuto seemed interminable that night.