I don't want to be left alone #03
Disinfected
The night was like a torture. Yuki hadn't had any dreams for the last few years, or at least he couldn't remember. Either he slept too short to enter the REM phase or he slept too long to catch it, and remember that he had dreamed. Tonight was different, very different from before. He dreamed a dream about Shuichi. About him screaming in agony. About him lying dead on the floor. About him crying himself into sleep. About him tying a knot in some rope clumsy. About him hanging in the middle of the bath as if he ended on the gallows, smiling at him, crying some tears of blood and saying 'I really loved you' before his body finally slackened.
He woke up.
He stared on the ceiling.
He remembered everything.
Every little detail of his nightmare was so frightening clear that Yuki trembled. He looked at his side and came to see Yami. She stretched herself and yawned. Just then Yuki realized that the attempt of committing suicide was not a thing that had bounced out of his imagination. He stood up, put his clothes on and went outside. It was four o'clock am. The streets were empty. The blond could see the light in the bakeries. Some people were passing by, heading the underground stations to go to their work that was too far away to be reached by foot. Yuki himself could have taken his car but he didn't want to. He bathed in the coldness of the air like others did in luke-warm water. It woke him up and helped him to relax, to think clearly.
For a few hours he wandered around. He did not see how the city came to life. How the dusk fulfilled the streets with people that surrounded him more and more.
It was around noon when he decided to go to the hospital Shuichi was in. The woman at the reception looked at him nervously. She was a fan of him but she did not dare to ask for an autograph. Without requesting for his relation to Shuichi, father, brother, uncle or whatever, she gave him the number of the room the pink haired singer was lying in.
Yuki made his way upstairs. He didnt take the elevator. He just felt like walking, wandering around. Truely he wanted to see him, but he didn't at all. He wanted to run away. To flee. He felt as if he had killed someone again.
Everything smelled of disinfectant and everything looked disinfected. The neutral white and the minty green was about everywhere. He hated it. He hated hospitals. He hated to have to come here to see Shuichi and out of all he detested the fact that he was responsible to have to visit him in a hospital that he hated so much.
The novelist arrived at his destination. On the room hang a little nameplate which the number 378 and a little removable label with the name 'Shindou' on it. For a while he stood in front of the door. He tried to eavesdrop but he heard nothing besides the noises some nurses made when they tripped up and down the floor with their white stilettos or simply chatted. Five minutes passed like that. He stretched out his hand to press down the door handle. He didn't reach it since the door opened before he touched it.
At first he had feared that it was Shuichi himself. But it was worse. It was Hiro. If a glance could kill then Hiro's one would have been the ultimate death glare. Yuki went one step back but the guitarist did not deign to look at him once again. He waited patiently until nobody headed in their direction. Suddenly he punched Yuki in his stomach without having any resistance. Then the other one went away as if he just had passed by.
After a few minutes the novelist had recollected himself. He stood up and went to the door again. Again he did not really want to open that door but again he wanted to open it so badly. He sighed and put his hand on the handle. He touched it and nothing happened. Though it should be normal that touching a door handle was not the end of the world he was somehow relieved. Slowly he pressed it down and pulled.
There it was. The way, the very short way to Shuichi. He stood in the frame, just looking at the reddish hair, the pale, soft face, the body shape that slightly stood out against the snow-white blanket of the snow-white bed in a snow-white room with mint green tiles in three rows on the wall. Oh yes, he hated hospitals.
In addition to the monotonous look the room had there was a steady monotonous sound from the gadget Shuichi was connected to. Every time it made that 'peep'-sound Yuki desired to throw it out of the snow-white window on the sidewalk and to watch how it shattered into thousands of pieces.
He forced himself to keep calm while going to the bed.
He wished he was the kind of guy who talked to sleeping people. But he was not and the sound of the gadget continued to break the silence into little pieces. Thirty minutes passed. An hour passed. Another one.
"Hello.."
Yuki wondered how broken his own voice sounded while he was speaking.
"Hello", answered Shuichi and kept his eyes closed.
Disinfected
The night was like a torture. Yuki hadn't had any dreams for the last few years, or at least he couldn't remember. Either he slept too short to enter the REM phase or he slept too long to catch it, and remember that he had dreamed. Tonight was different, very different from before. He dreamed a dream about Shuichi. About him screaming in agony. About him lying dead on the floor. About him crying himself into sleep. About him tying a knot in some rope clumsy. About him hanging in the middle of the bath as if he ended on the gallows, smiling at him, crying some tears of blood and saying 'I really loved you' before his body finally slackened.
He woke up.
He stared on the ceiling.
He remembered everything.
Every little detail of his nightmare was so frightening clear that Yuki trembled. He looked at his side and came to see Yami. She stretched herself and yawned. Just then Yuki realized that the attempt of committing suicide was not a thing that had bounced out of his imagination. He stood up, put his clothes on and went outside. It was four o'clock am. The streets were empty. The blond could see the light in the bakeries. Some people were passing by, heading the underground stations to go to their work that was too far away to be reached by foot. Yuki himself could have taken his car but he didn't want to. He bathed in the coldness of the air like others did in luke-warm water. It woke him up and helped him to relax, to think clearly.
For a few hours he wandered around. He did not see how the city came to life. How the dusk fulfilled the streets with people that surrounded him more and more.
It was around noon when he decided to go to the hospital Shuichi was in. The woman at the reception looked at him nervously. She was a fan of him but she did not dare to ask for an autograph. Without requesting for his relation to Shuichi, father, brother, uncle or whatever, she gave him the number of the room the pink haired singer was lying in.
Yuki made his way upstairs. He didnt take the elevator. He just felt like walking, wandering around. Truely he wanted to see him, but he didn't at all. He wanted to run away. To flee. He felt as if he had killed someone again.
Everything smelled of disinfectant and everything looked disinfected. The neutral white and the minty green was about everywhere. He hated it. He hated hospitals. He hated to have to come here to see Shuichi and out of all he detested the fact that he was responsible to have to visit him in a hospital that he hated so much.
The novelist arrived at his destination. On the room hang a little nameplate which the number 378 and a little removable label with the name 'Shindou' on it. For a while he stood in front of the door. He tried to eavesdrop but he heard nothing besides the noises some nurses made when they tripped up and down the floor with their white stilettos or simply chatted. Five minutes passed like that. He stretched out his hand to press down the door handle. He didn't reach it since the door opened before he touched it.
At first he had feared that it was Shuichi himself. But it was worse. It was Hiro. If a glance could kill then Hiro's one would have been the ultimate death glare. Yuki went one step back but the guitarist did not deign to look at him once again. He waited patiently until nobody headed in their direction. Suddenly he punched Yuki in his stomach without having any resistance. Then the other one went away as if he just had passed by.
After a few minutes the novelist had recollected himself. He stood up and went to the door again. Again he did not really want to open that door but again he wanted to open it so badly. He sighed and put his hand on the handle. He touched it and nothing happened. Though it should be normal that touching a door handle was not the end of the world he was somehow relieved. Slowly he pressed it down and pulled.
There it was. The way, the very short way to Shuichi. He stood in the frame, just looking at the reddish hair, the pale, soft face, the body shape that slightly stood out against the snow-white blanket of the snow-white bed in a snow-white room with mint green tiles in three rows on the wall. Oh yes, he hated hospitals.
In addition to the monotonous look the room had there was a steady monotonous sound from the gadget Shuichi was connected to. Every time it made that 'peep'-sound Yuki desired to throw it out of the snow-white window on the sidewalk and to watch how it shattered into thousands of pieces.
He forced himself to keep calm while going to the bed.
He wished he was the kind of guy who talked to sleeping people. But he was not and the sound of the gadget continued to break the silence into little pieces. Thirty minutes passed. An hour passed. Another one.
"Hello.."
Yuki wondered how broken his own voice sounded while he was speaking.
"Hello", answered Shuichi and kept his eyes closed.