To say Youichi was bored would be an understatement. It has been five days since his escape, and five days that he has been laid up in the hospital with only a few channels available for entertainment. It didn't help that those able to visit him were limited, especially after he developed a low-grade fever, to only allow the doctors and nurses that stopped by frequently to check his bandages or vitals. Unfortunately, they did not make for good conversation partners, with their excessively chipper attitudes. The nurses would wake him up at odd hours of the morning to make sure he was still breathing with their overabundance of cheer that only made him wish he wasn't. His parents called every day, and sometimes multiple times, just to hear his voice. When he first spoke with his mom, she had instantly broken down into hysterical sobs through the receiver caused by a single word from Youichi. He was pretty sure he heard his dad crying in the background, which was a rarity. Youichi could count on one hand the number of times he has seen his father cry throughout his life, but even those consisted of a few tears and silence, not the bawling he overheard in between spluttered outcries of relief from his mother.

It still hasn't fully sunk in yet that he was safe. That once he was discharged, he'll be able to return to school; to the team. Though, will he really be able to go on as normal? As if the apparent past month hadn't happened? The answer was no; Youichi will never be able to return to his previous "normal". Maybe one day, years from now, he'll be able to live some semblance of a typical life, but he was too self-aware that he, they, had just lived through something traumatic. And that experience won't be erased from their memories anytime soon. Never mind the exterior scars being constant reminders, the mental ones were going to haunt them more than they would care to admit. At this current juncture, Youichi could not even begin to predict how his brain was going to deal with the trauma, but right now, he was still numb which allowed his mind to process the situation more clearly. He had to wonder how long that would last. How long before his mind started to torment him with flashbacks or hallucinations. No one has spoken to Youichi about it yet, but he expects someone to heavily "recommend" he seek therapy after his release.

After his surgery, Youichi had been warned that someone from the police station would drop by to gather their statements, but that was also before he began to run a fever, which apparently postponed the appointment to some unknown date that was either already planned and Youichi hadn't been informed yet, or it was still up in the air. Regardless, Youichi didn't appreciate being out of the loop, and any inquiries he made to the staff were met with sunny smiles that simply told him that it was "nothing he needed to concern himself with"; that only succeeded in making him fume silently in the hospital bed, and to childishly give the nurses the silent treatment. However, his minor protest didn't last long as he had to ask, again, about Kominato and Furuya; about how they were doing in rooms separate from his own. Youichi made sure to ask one of the more tolerable nurses, the only one he doesn't mind as much in comparison to the others for updates on his juniors. According to her, Kominato has been doing better with only a handful of surface scratches, though, he too, had developed a fever and was on a diet of light foods. Apparently, the older Kominato had stayed at the hospital the first day until his family arrived to then stay at a nearby hotel, presumably the same one Youichi's parents were at. She went on to tell him that Furuya had spent most of the stay so far, sleeping, to which, Youichi wasn't surprised. The nurses have to wake Furuya up periodically to force small meals onto him, only for him to be out again almost immediately after.

The nurse had gone on to suggest the possibility of setting up a way for them to talk with each other, a way that didn't require them to leave the confines of their scratchy blankets. She said she would need to bring it up to the head nurse on letting them call each other's room phones, but he never heard back on that since the initial discussion. Not for the first time, Youichi desperately missed his cell phone. At this point, unfortunately, Youichi doesn't even know what happened to his phone. It had been on his person a month ago, but between walking back to the school campus and waking up in a strange room, it had disappeared. So who was to say what its current condition was; because most likely, it had been confiscated and destroyed. If he had his phone though, he would be able to contact his juniors without the aid of nurses as well as the members of Seido, to reassure them that he was alive. If he had his phone, he would be able to curb his boredom with the games he had installed on it. Youichi had just gotten into a new game before the kidnapping happened, and after Koushien, he thought he might have more time to play it; but boy, was he wrong.

Youichi let out a long-drawn sigh as he reached over to pick up the T.V remote to, once again, flip through the channels. Lately, he has found himself immersed in talk shows. Apparently, listening to other people's problems was a pretty effective way for him to block out his own, if only temporarily. Unfortunately, those shows aired very early in the morning and late at night, which left him the rest of the day to channel surf. His fallback channel played cartoons aimed at younger children; the kind where each episode ended with some sort of moral lesson, some of which, he recalls watching when he was a kid, while the majority were all new to him. They were mind-numbing enough and required little thought, which allowed Youichi to be absorbed in their bright colors and pep. Apparently, one of the nurses had found him propped up in bed in a trance-like state, eyes fixed to the screen as the late morning cartoons came to a close. It was terrifying because Youichi doesn't remember that happening. The only thing he could recall was stopping on the channel and watching a couple of episodes, but anything after that was completely blank. At first, he had simply chalked it up to having fallen asleep until he heard the nurse's story. And ever since, Youichi has refused to watch cartoons, unsure why they caused such a reaction from him.

Fingers slack, Youichi let the remote fall onto the blanket to instead reach for the book resting on top of the nightstand. The nurses had offered him some of the books they had in storage, and at first, he had rejected them as he was never one to sit down and crack open a book. But by the third day, desperation took over and he asked a nurse to bring him a selection. The books she brought were all well-worn paperback and most likely had been used before the hospital acquired them. The majority of them were stereotypical romance novels with a couple of espionage plots sprinkled in for variety. Youichi had settled for one that didn't appear to be focused on the romance, in hopes for something with at least a little bit of action. He let the pages flip open until he found the wooden tongue depressor he shoved into it to mark his spot, though, if anyone asked him what the book was about, Youichi wouldn't be able to answer. His mind tended to go blank while his eyes scanned over the words, but barely processing what they said. He was pretty sure he was on the third book of the series at this point. Lately, that has been how he spent his afternoons, flipping through a book with the pretense of reading with the low sounds of the T.V as background noise, and today was no different.

A knock at the door startled Youichi and caused him to drop one side of the book while his hand clamped the other side in a tight grip, crumpling the pages. Quickly, Youichi scrapped his composure together and righted the book to hide the fact that whoever knocked had nearly given him a heart attack. The door slid open as Youichi tried to mask the slow intakes of breath to calm his nerves and lower his heart rate back to normal. He kept his eyes glued to the pages of his book, knowing the nurse was probably just going to check his stitches and then leave; however, the figure he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye did not seem familiar. It was a man for one; and two, he did not have the signature white coat to label him as a doctor. Without moving his head, Youichi tracked the intruder's movements with his eyes; following as the man stopped several feet from his bed, and only then, did Youichi turn his head to regard the man fully.

"Hello, Kuramochi," The man began, "My name is Muramoto Yoshito, and I am with the Nikko police department." He introduced himself, exhaustion heavy in his tone. The bottom half of Muramoto's face was covered by a blue paper mask, while thick-rimmed glasses took up space on the top half. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt paired with brown slacks, though his shoes were wrapped in those disposable shoe covers that he has seen in crime shows. To complete the look were surgical gloves encasing his hands where they clung to a journal he brought along. All in all, it seemed excessive to Youichi. He understood it was for his health, but his fever had gone down yesterday, so he honestly didn't think all the precautions were necessary.

Youichi didn't respond, which led to several seconds of silent stares, before Muramoto circled around his bed to pull the visitors' chair up to the edge, but still a couple of feet away from being able to touch the covered surface. Youichi's eyes followed him the entire way; he had a suspicion as to Muramoto's purpose for being here. There was only one reason, really, as to why someone from the police department would visit him in the hospital, especially when his parents hadn't even been allowed to see him yet. Muramoto was sent to question Youichi on the kidnapping. It was logical and probably about time as they had already pushed it off several days; however, a part of Youichi was pissed that no one sought to give him a heads up in advance, giving him no time to prepare himself mentally. Though maybe that was the point, because maybe if he had time to think on it, the more it would cause his anxiety to spike at the prospect. A surprise visit wasn't ideal either.

"I'm sure you already know why I'm here," Muramoto sighed as he pulled his pen out from the spiral binding on the journal and flipped it open to the first page. He didn't wait for a response from Youichi, though he probably wasn't expecting one, before he plowed on again, "I have some questions to ask you about what happened. I would like you to answer them as truthfully, and as detailed as you are able." He clicked the pen and scribbled at the edge of the page to make sure the ink was flowing, "If you are ever too uncomfortable to answer any of these, just say 'pass', but I would like for you to try first." Muramoto glanced up from his journal to make eye contact, "Do you understand?" He asked, and again, he wasn't getting a response, but it didn't seem to bother him any as he began to write out what Youichi presumed to be the first question. "I would also like to disclose that I will be recording your answers for further evidence." He dug a small recorder out of his breast pocket to show Youichi before he pressed one of the two buttons on it and settled it on his knee. "We'll start from the beginning; where were you before the kidnapping?"

Immediately, Youichi felt uncomfortable, and Muramoto's sharp gaze was not helping, so instead, Yuoichi turned his own eyes away to stare at the open book in his lap, "I was walking back to the school campus from the nearby convenience store with the others." Youichi began, "Sawamura wanted ice cream. It was hot out and practice had ended early that day, so we snuck out to go buy some." He paused as he fiddled with his makeshift bookmark while he thought back to that day, which felt so long ago now, "It was late, so there weren't many cars along the street we walked. We had passed by an alleyway, and then the next thing we know, some guy charged us and physically knocked us to the ground. He had a knife against Kominato's throat and threatened us to cooperate, so we followed him to a beat-up van. From there, he tied our hands and blindfolded us." Youichi peeked at Muramoto who was furiously scribbling away, and as soon as he completed, he glanced up to meet Youichi's eyes once again.

"Do you know the man's motivations?" Muramoto asked, pen hovering over the paper in preparation.

"No," Youichi answered immediately; it was an easy question, the amount of information he had was actually very limited. Muramoto eyed him suspiciously as if Youichi was withholding crucial knowledge from him. Defiantly, Youichi held his gaze, and finally, Muramoto appeared to believe that he actually had no idea as he quickly jotted his answer down.

"Did you get his name?" Muramoto rattled off.

"No." Again, easy.

"What did he do to you?" Muramoto questioned. The ease with which Muramoto was able to ask that question differed greatly to the difficulty Youichi was going to have answering it. As soon as the words left Muramoto's mouth, Youichi felt himself clam up. He didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to relive it. Youichi had hopped this question wouldn't come up, but realistically, he knew it would have to. A lot that went down in that basement mainly revolved around Sawamura and eventually Miyuki, so Youichi didn't actually have much information on what happened, and only knew the end results. The question also served as a strong reminder that Miyuki and Sawamura hadn't been found, which quickly led to darker thoughts on how much worse things could have gotten by now.

Sharp pain in his hand brought his attention to the white-knuckled grip he had on the blanket and the tongue depressor; the latter of which, had snapped in half, causing the jagged pieces to poke his palms. Slowly, Youichi peeled his fingers away to drop the two halves onto the bed, "Pass." Youichi muttered. He could feel Muramoto's eyes on him, but he refused to meet the gaze, not wanting to see the look in them.

"Can you give me at least something? It can even be a small detail." Muramoto tried, voice neutral.

"Pass," Youichi repeated; he wasn't going to budge on this. Just the thought of vocalizing it was making him nauseous. Muramoto sighed but didn't pressure any further. However, he was unsuccessful in getting any other answers out of Youichi. By the time Muramoto stood up to leave, Youichi was shaking in a cold sweat, hands clammy from where he grabbed hold of his blanket again in a death grip. As soon as the door closed, Youichi lowered himself down onto his side, pulling the covers over his head; uncaring as the book tumbled over the edge of his bed to land with a thump onto the floor. Youichi lay shivering under his blanket, and he had to wonder if his fever had returned.