Chapter Twenty

Somehow, he realized it was the first time he had ever heard the redhead's laughter. All the past times they had met, it had been tense, serious, an unwillingness on either side to open up. But somehow, here, in the hospital ward now, the sound of that laughter made Rukawa suddenly aware that the redhead was in effect a living, breathing human being, with moods and feelings. It had been a long time since he had noticed that of anyone. In fact, the last he could remember had been—he looked down at the bed and sat down again, reaching out to clasp the pale hand and thank god all over again that his lover had survived—Sendoh.

He heard the other man talking slowly, laughing a bit more, before the phone was set down in its cradle with a short click. The mood in the air reverted back to quiet hesitancy, but it had already been far lightened, at least to the blue-eyed man who got up and planted a quick kiss on the cool forehead of the unconscious patient. And then he felt the flutter of eyelids against his skin, and withdrew swiftly, when a hand reached out and touched his face, weakly, tentatively.

"Kaede?"

His heart nearly burst at the murmur, and he was astounded at the sudden whirl of emotions that caught him up and swept him away at that touch. In that one moment, tears threatened to overcome him as he looked down, his hand tightening around the other's.

"Are you all right?" his lover asked quietly, taking in his rumpled appearance with all the slightly unfocused intensity of his sky blue eyes. Rukawa nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

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Sendoh was surprised, and touched, when the younger man suddenly reached down to envelop him in a bear hug, and was more than slightly alarmed when he felt the wet trickle of tears press against his cheeks.

Kaede…

"Don't ever do that again," the fierce whisper beside his ear alerted him to the fact that he was, in fact, having a throbbing headache. Pushing it away, he slowly encircled Rukawa in his arms.

"I'll try not to."

Slowly, the silent sobs receded, and they lay there, both comforted by the other, bathed in the warmth of the sunlight that spilled through the window.

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Hanamichi watched the two men embrace, and felt his throat burn slightly. It was an unabashed display of raw emotion. The tableau they made spoke of whispered promises, of cherishing, of a love so deep he could almost see it, a palpable blanket of hope about them. With a small smile on his face, he turned and closed the curtains softly, before sliding between the sheets, wincing at the pressure on his hands, when the door to the ward burst open.

"Sakuragi Hanamichi!"

Before he had even time to grasp the concept that life did go on after broken dreams, he was being attacked fiercely from the side, as his mother grabbed him in a bone-breaking clasp. Gasping for air, he glimpsed Yohei's smiling face just outside the curtains, when it parted and his father walked in, his expression almost undetectable but for the worry in his eyes. Hanamichi felt profoundly guilty.

"Before you ask," he blurted, untangling himself from his mother and looking at his parents both, "I'll just say…I needed to do what I did."

They exchanged looks with raised eyebrows, before his mother turned back to him. "Hanamichi," she said finally, the warmth and concern in her voice something he had most definitely not expected, "It's –your– wedding. It's –your– life. All we can do is to be here for you. I just wish you had told us you were having second thoughts."

He bowed his head. "I know. I'm sorry."

A gruff voice cut through his swimming thoughts. "Are you all right?"

He looked wonderingly at his father. "Otousan…you're not angry?"

A large hand rough with years suddenly reached out and touched his head, ruffling his hair. "Why should I be angry?"

And over his father's shoulder, Yohei gave him a cheeky grin and a thumbs-up, when he happened to glance over to the other bed, where a flash of dark hair made his eyes widen. Isn't that…?