---
The Last Wish - 16
~*~
Nuriko let out a heavy breath, leaned back in the creaky waiting room chair and closed his eyes. Ghosts of bloodied images floated through his mind, visions of Chuei and Shunkei, lying still and cold beneath leathery sheets, of Tamahome's father--he'd been teaching kindergarten for years; Nuriko himself had memories of him from long ago, going on about letters and numbers and telling stories that made his heart leap into his chest. But, even those memories were forever overshadowed by that one horrifying glimpse of him an hour (or was it a lifetime?) ago, bloodied almost beyond recongition, barely resembling the smiling, sometimes-sickly man who'd made the Sou household a place of happiness and warmth. The house would always be cold and lifeless, now, Nuriko found himself thinking darkly. No matter who lived there, no matter how much joy they had, it would always be deadened by the loss of that man.
And, God...God, Gyokuran; the one member of the family he'd never bothered to get to know very well. She was always out of the house when he visited, involved in so many activities that Tamahome used to joke about having to set up an appointment to call her for dinner. She was gone, too, killed at the moment of impact, Mitsukake'd said.
And...Yuiren. Yuiren, who'd been clinging to life for so long that it made him feel sick. Yuiren, who--despite internal bleeding, despite a punctured lung, despite a concussion so violent that the doctors were amazed she'd lived through it--had held on long past expectations, long past what all medical science could foretell. The doctors hadn't been able to understand it, but Nuriko had immediately. She'd been holding on for one reason and one reason only, and that was to see her brother one last time. Nuriko squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, pressing his fingers over the lids and trying to wish away the images--the memories. Yuiren was not Kourin, but, God, when he'd stood there in the doorway and looked into that tiny, stuffy little room, when he'd heard Tamahome talking to her in that high voice, struggling not to cry...it'd made it all come flooding back. Kourin, lying stilled and bloodied on the grass, lost forever...forever...
Something touched his shoulder.
Nuriko drew in a sharp breath, sat up and broke from the memories with all the strength he could muster.
//No,\\ he insisted silently. //No. It's over. This is not Kourin. Those wounds healed a long time ago.\\
He opened his eyes, found Hotohori standing over him, one strong hand on his shoulder. "Hi," he murmured. His lips felt dry, still stung from the salt of earlier tears.
Hotohori was frowning down at him, beautiful even with the darkness that lingered above his cheekbones, the slight puffiness that rounded his eyes. "Are you all right, Nuriko?"
With some effort, he nodded, brought a hand to his forehead as if to rub away the crease of anguish between his eyebrows. "Hai, I'm fine," he said. His words were unnaturally soft, he knew, but in this place, with the weight of the last hour pushing on his mind, he couldn't seem to find the strength to speak any louder. He glanced at Hotohori, who was now lowering himself into a nearby chair, and suddenly realized something. "Where's Miaka? And, Tasuki?"
It was a moment before he answered. "Miaka's with Tamahome, filling out...the forms," he said quietly. "Tasuki didn't want to come. He's at Miaka's house with Keisuke."
Nuriko sighed. "I can't blame him. I'm going to be having nightmares about this for years."
A twinge of anguish flickered onto Hotohori's face. "I can only imagine what Tamahome must be going through. It must be killing him."
"Take it from one who knows," Nuriko said softly. "It's not something I'd wish on anyone, especially not Tamahome."
The younger man winced. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten. Your sister. This must be hard for you."
Slender shoulder slifted into a slight shrug. "I'll survive." Abruptly, something like a shadow fell over his face. "Speaking of which, have you heard about the other boy?"
"The other... You mean, the driver of the other car?"
"Yes. I don't know if you caught it before, but he goes to our school. He's Miaka's age."
"Was he killed?"
Nuriko shook his head, something black and angry flickering in his eyes. "No. He didn't have a scratch on him. At least...he didn't until he got to the hospital."
Hotohori frowned. "What do you mean?"
Nuriko's voice was thin and low, as if he were speaking from a far distance, perhaps from within the past. "The doctors had him in here to check for internal injuries. They'd just finished the tests when we got in. We ran into him in the hall, a-and...Suboshi wasn't all that...respectful."
"Suboshi?" Hotohori exclaimed. "Isn't he--"
"The kid who tried to pick a fight with Tamahome a few weeks ago? Yeah."
Hotohori's eyes were wide. "What happened?"
"Tamahome jumped at him," he said, very quietly. "I think he would've killed him, right there, if he could have. I...I had to hold him back. Even so, he bruised two of Suboshi's ribs and broke his nose. The doctors weren't all that pleased, but Mitsukake talked them out of having Tamahome thrown out. Under the circumstances, after all..." He trailed off, sighed. "I hope Miaka can do something for him, Hotohori, I really do. I've never seen him like this before."
Hotohori said nothing, his lips pressed into a tight, worried line.
They waited for almost an hour before Tamahome and Miaka finally emerged, a sorrowful Mitsukake on their heels, and by then, the tears were just beginning to dry on their cheeks.
Miaka was clinging to her boyfriend's arm, still looking a little shaky, but with a new kind of determination in her eyes. "Nuriko," she said softly, "I thought that...that maybe Tamahome could stay at your house for awhile. Since you have an extra room."
Nuriko nodded. "Of course." His eyes flickered to Tamahome, who was looking weary and practically comatose beside the silent strength of Mitsukake, the tearful solidity of Miaka. "Come on, Tama-chan," he said lightly.
Tamahome's voice was low, lips barely moving beneath them. "I need to go home, first." He glanced at Miaka, then back to Nuriko. "To get some things."
"I'll do that," Miaka chimed, her voice a little too loud. She winced, then continued in softer tones. "Hotohori can drive me."
Nuriko nodded again, folding slim arms over his chest. "And, if she misses anything, we can always go get it later."
There was silence for a moment. Then, Tamahome lifted his head a fraction of an inch, lowered it again. "Okay," he murmured.
"Well. Right, then. Come on, Tama-chan."
---
The Last Wish - 16
~*~
Nuriko let out a heavy breath, leaned back in the creaky waiting room chair and closed his eyes. Ghosts of bloodied images floated through his mind, visions of Chuei and Shunkei, lying still and cold beneath leathery sheets, of Tamahome's father--he'd been teaching kindergarten for years; Nuriko himself had memories of him from long ago, going on about letters and numbers and telling stories that made his heart leap into his chest. But, even those memories were forever overshadowed by that one horrifying glimpse of him an hour (or was it a lifetime?) ago, bloodied almost beyond recongition, barely resembling the smiling, sometimes-sickly man who'd made the Sou household a place of happiness and warmth. The house would always be cold and lifeless, now, Nuriko found himself thinking darkly. No matter who lived there, no matter how much joy they had, it would always be deadened by the loss of that man.
And, God...God, Gyokuran; the one member of the family he'd never bothered to get to know very well. She was always out of the house when he visited, involved in so many activities that Tamahome used to joke about having to set up an appointment to call her for dinner. She was gone, too, killed at the moment of impact, Mitsukake'd said.
And...Yuiren. Yuiren, who'd been clinging to life for so long that it made him feel sick. Yuiren, who--despite internal bleeding, despite a punctured lung, despite a concussion so violent that the doctors were amazed she'd lived through it--had held on long past expectations, long past what all medical science could foretell. The doctors hadn't been able to understand it, but Nuriko had immediately. She'd been holding on for one reason and one reason only, and that was to see her brother one last time. Nuriko squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, pressing his fingers over the lids and trying to wish away the images--the memories. Yuiren was not Kourin, but, God, when he'd stood there in the doorway and looked into that tiny, stuffy little room, when he'd heard Tamahome talking to her in that high voice, struggling not to cry...it'd made it all come flooding back. Kourin, lying stilled and bloodied on the grass, lost forever...forever...
Something touched his shoulder.
Nuriko drew in a sharp breath, sat up and broke from the memories with all the strength he could muster.
//No,\\ he insisted silently. //No. It's over. This is not Kourin. Those wounds healed a long time ago.\\
He opened his eyes, found Hotohori standing over him, one strong hand on his shoulder. "Hi," he murmured. His lips felt dry, still stung from the salt of earlier tears.
Hotohori was frowning down at him, beautiful even with the darkness that lingered above his cheekbones, the slight puffiness that rounded his eyes. "Are you all right, Nuriko?"
With some effort, he nodded, brought a hand to his forehead as if to rub away the crease of anguish between his eyebrows. "Hai, I'm fine," he said. His words were unnaturally soft, he knew, but in this place, with the weight of the last hour pushing on his mind, he couldn't seem to find the strength to speak any louder. He glanced at Hotohori, who was now lowering himself into a nearby chair, and suddenly realized something. "Where's Miaka? And, Tasuki?"
It was a moment before he answered. "Miaka's with Tamahome, filling out...the forms," he said quietly. "Tasuki didn't want to come. He's at Miaka's house with Keisuke."
Nuriko sighed. "I can't blame him. I'm going to be having nightmares about this for years."
A twinge of anguish flickered onto Hotohori's face. "I can only imagine what Tamahome must be going through. It must be killing him."
"Take it from one who knows," Nuriko said softly. "It's not something I'd wish on anyone, especially not Tamahome."
The younger man winced. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten. Your sister. This must be hard for you."
Slender shoulder slifted into a slight shrug. "I'll survive." Abruptly, something like a shadow fell over his face. "Speaking of which, have you heard about the other boy?"
"The other... You mean, the driver of the other car?"
"Yes. I don't know if you caught it before, but he goes to our school. He's Miaka's age."
"Was he killed?"
Nuriko shook his head, something black and angry flickering in his eyes. "No. He didn't have a scratch on him. At least...he didn't until he got to the hospital."
Hotohori frowned. "What do you mean?"
Nuriko's voice was thin and low, as if he were speaking from a far distance, perhaps from within the past. "The doctors had him in here to check for internal injuries. They'd just finished the tests when we got in. We ran into him in the hall, a-and...Suboshi wasn't all that...respectful."
"Suboshi?" Hotohori exclaimed. "Isn't he--"
"The kid who tried to pick a fight with Tamahome a few weeks ago? Yeah."
Hotohori's eyes were wide. "What happened?"
"Tamahome jumped at him," he said, very quietly. "I think he would've killed him, right there, if he could have. I...I had to hold him back. Even so, he bruised two of Suboshi's ribs and broke his nose. The doctors weren't all that pleased, but Mitsukake talked them out of having Tamahome thrown out. Under the circumstances, after all..." He trailed off, sighed. "I hope Miaka can do something for him, Hotohori, I really do. I've never seen him like this before."
Hotohori said nothing, his lips pressed into a tight, worried line.
They waited for almost an hour before Tamahome and Miaka finally emerged, a sorrowful Mitsukake on their heels, and by then, the tears were just beginning to dry on their cheeks.
Miaka was clinging to her boyfriend's arm, still looking a little shaky, but with a new kind of determination in her eyes. "Nuriko," she said softly, "I thought that...that maybe Tamahome could stay at your house for awhile. Since you have an extra room."
Nuriko nodded. "Of course." His eyes flickered to Tamahome, who was looking weary and practically comatose beside the silent strength of Mitsukake, the tearful solidity of Miaka. "Come on, Tama-chan," he said lightly.
Tamahome's voice was low, lips barely moving beneath them. "I need to go home, first." He glanced at Miaka, then back to Nuriko. "To get some things."
"I'll do that," Miaka chimed, her voice a little too loud. She winced, then continued in softer tones. "Hotohori can drive me."
Nuriko nodded again, folding slim arms over his chest. "And, if she misses anything, we can always go get it later."
There was silence for a moment. Then, Tamahome lifted his head a fraction of an inch, lowered it again. "Okay," he murmured.
"Well. Right, then. Come on, Tama-chan."
---