Honda leaned closer, afraid to touch Otogi. What if by touching Otogi he made it worse…? Whatever 'it' was. Oh, god, what if it couldn't get worse, what if…? He leaned closer still – and nearly cried in relief. Otogi was breathing. He wasn't dead. No matter what else was wrong, he wasn't dead. "Jesus Christ, wake up!" he demanded. "Your skull is thicker than that!" His own breathing was more labored, and his hands were shaking.
What the hell? Not even a couple of seconds before things had taken a turn for the better… and now Otogi was passed out… or worse? Honda's hands shook worse. He would wake up, right?
He leaned in, leaned against Otogi's chest, listening to his heartbeat, listening to him inhale and exhale. Listening for proof that he was really alive, that it wasn't just Honda's imagination. He found one wrist, pulling it to his own chest and felt for a pulse. It was there. His skin was warm.
Calm down. He's not dead. He's not moving… he's not talking… but he's not dead.
Honda hated cars, he really did. Why did everyone he knew insist on driving like they were in some high-speed chase? Damn it, why had Otogi? Why then? He couldn't make himself relax, no matter how much he listened to Otogi breathe. He would have preferred to do so in a much happier situation.
There were flashes of light outside the car – red, blue, red, blue, red… Honda closed his eyes against it, still clinging to Otogi's wrist. "Open your fucking eyes, Otogi." Begging again, even though he knew that no amount of begging would help.
He heard the door behind him open, but he didn't look.
Inhale. Exhale.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Honda didn't care to hear anything else, even as a light shined into the car, and a gentle fatherly voice inquired, "Are you okay?"