Chapter Twenty

Saihitei emerged from the lift, his arms laden with a huge paper bag. The corner of a thick green flannel towel and a striped gray sweatshirt peeked out from the top of the brown, crinkled edge. As he walked towards the third room on the left side of the corridor, his car keys clinked noisily in his pocket.

Trying to get his balance as he juggled with the burden and narrowly twisted past the cold metal trolley that was placed strategically in his way, he reached up absentmindedly to tuck a slightly knotted lock of dark brown hair behind his ear. The door opened just as he leaned forward to push it open with his shoulder and he nearly flipped.

"Thanks," Houjun's face was waned and lined visibly with worry still, but gratitude sparked some life in tired cinnamon eyes as he took the bag from Saihitei. "Can you watch over Hikou for a while…?"

Saihitei nodded, steering the photographer firmly towards the bathroom. "I will, you know I will. Go take a shower. You look dreadful. And you're starting to smell." That earned him another small smile, before Houjun disappeared into the small cubicle reeking of detergent and medicated soaps.

The tall male model walked to the bed, pulling over another chair and sinking unceremoniously into it as his eyes fixed on the young man in the bed. Ri Hikou's face, bruised and scratched badly from the accident, were only the outward signs of the extent of the damage. The teenager had also had a severe concussion along with a fractured skull, added to a femur broken in three places. Closing his eyes, Saihitei offered a short prayer. Hikou was only nineteen; surely he would recover.

The door swung open, bringing with it a rush of cool wind as it made a soft, swishing sound against the carpeted floor. A moment later, Nuriko's face popped out from behind the corner, a cheerful grin on his face as he offered Saihitei the peace sign. Then the hazel gaze traveled to the prone figure tucked beneath the cold sheets, and Nuriko's smile faded.

"Is he any better?"

Saihitei shrugged, then stood up and gestured towards the seat as he spoke. "I don't know, really. No one knows for sure. It really depends on him, at this stage."

The lavender-haired model pursed his lips, before glancing furtively around as if checking for intruders. "Is Houjun all right?"

The older man jerked his thumb towards the faint sounds of the shower.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Nuriko threw a look over his shoulder sheepishly, before turning back around to grin apologetically at Saihitei. "I brought another visitor."

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As the hot spray of water hit his skin, Houjun leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. The recent events had seriously worn him out.

First, there was Hikou's accident. Houjun knew his younger brother was reckless, but this was the first time that anything had actually resulted from that foolhardy carelessness. Then, he had had to call their parents, who, until forty-eight hours ago, had been visiting his great-grandaunt in Shanghai. Between coping with his own worry for Hikou, calming his hysterical mother, and rushing to redistribute and settle work affairs in the leave of absence he had taken, Houjun was fast turning into a wreck. He needed sleep. Badly.

God, he reflected, his hand reaching out absentmindedly for the soap, has it only been a few days?

Scrubbing his torso and neck, he bent forward, soaping his arms and legs as thoroughly as his tired hands could manage. He was beyond thinking; his limbs were moving on autopilot.

He spent the next few minutes rinsing himself off and washing his hair, which, after a day of being knotted up, felt tangled and oily. He could hear voices outside; someone else must have arrived, which meant he would have to hurry and see to the guest.

The floor felt icy cold against his bare feet as he padded, dripping, out of the shower, plucking the towel from the counter where he had set it out, and wrapping it around his waist. His head felt heavy as he fished around in the bag for his toothbrush.

As he glanced into the mirror, his reflection stared gloomily through the fog back at him. His ears seemed stuffed with cotton wool, and he had to blink once, twice, before the double vision of the sink disappeared.

Why was this tube of Colgate so heavy? Houjun could barely lift it. He wanted to close his eyes for a few moments of respite.

I want coffee…

I have to call Juan and find out how Taka's doing…

I need to go out and buy Dad's asthma medication…

I have to get…I have to get…um…

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Genrou was put to ease immediately by Saihitei's warm greeting. He glanced over at the bed, and felt strangely surprised at the resemblance between Hikou and Houjun. Even with the layers of bandages around the boy's head, and the healing pink lines on the youthful face, the similarity was uncanny.

Idiot…they're brothers! Were you expecting Michael Jackson?

Nuriko did most of the talking, updating Saihitei on recent events, chatting about various advertisement calls, appointments, new hair salons and the details of the national competition. Of the two, Saihitei seemed quieter, and looked slightly older with his sleek brown hair swept back by a classy maroon bandanna. Nuriko was obviously the more bubbly one.

They seem close.

Genrou tried to think of anything but Houjun. Houjun in the shower. The curtains were a fascinating shade of sickly blue. The carpeted floor was furry. And hey, were Nuriko and Saihitei gay?

A loud 'thunk' from the direction of the bathroom sliced through the murmured conversation between the two models, and the inane monologue in Genrou's mind. For a long moment, the three of them stood there, exchanging questioning glances with the toilet door.

Saihitei sprang into action first, leaping up from his chair and striding towards the bathroom. He lifted one hand, banging it against the door softly. "Houjun?" he called, switching to knock with his knuckles against the thick plastic, "Houjun, you all right in there?"

Genrou's toes turned to ice. Why wasn't Houjun responding?

He beat Nuriko to the door, biting his lip and trying to ignore Saihitei's growing expression of concern. Dropping to one knee, he snatched one of the pins Miaka had stuck into his hair and jammed it into the lock. He was vaguely aware of Nuriko moving past him in a blur, of the model's voice urgently speaking to someone else outside.

He's in trouble…he's in trouble… the brass band in his head clanged insistently. Got to get to him…got to get to him…

The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Houjun was sprawled, comatose, on the wet floor.