Youichi struggled against the strong grip on the back of his skull that kept him from moving. Heat whipped across the side of his face; growing hotter as the seconds ticked by with panic lodged in his throat to prevent him from crying out. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and held his breath against the billowing steam that hissed through a crack of a busted pipe, mere feet away from the exposed flesh of his face. The hand that held his head in place was unforgiving, and Youichi couldn't help the fleeting thought that the man must feel the heat scorching his fingers just as it was to Youichi's cheek, but the man appeared unphased. The more Youichi fought, the more the hand applied pressure on the back of his head and further into the steam, while Youichi's left arm was pulled painfully in the opposite direction behind him. Each rough yank on his arm was enough for Youichi to wonder if his shoulder was about to be pulled out of its socket, followed almost immediately by how that would affect his baseball career if it did. The man wound his leg around Youichi's left foot, planting his own where Youichi's had been, which left Youichi's awkwardly tangled around the man's calf, toes barely touching the ground, leaving his only vertical support being from his right leg, the hand on his head, and the grip on his forearm. Without those, Youichi knew he would fall face-first onto the cement floor, though that would be better than being held in the direct path of the scalding vapors.

As the pain amped up with the exposer, Youichi once again attempted to move his head away, but this time, with the added desperation behind the movement, he was able to turn his face a couple of inches away from the steam so that his jawline was taking the majority of it instead of his cheek. In the process, Youichi felt strands of his hair being ripped by the roots as the man adjusted his grip with Youichi's sudden movement, however, the pain of that was easily incomparable to the feeling of his flesh melting with the heat. Though that was probably an exaggeration, at this point, Youichi would be surprised if his skin wasn't. And if it wasn't, then how long until it was? How hot did his skin need to get before it began to dissolve? Questions he has never in his life had to wonder about until now.

With the new angle of his head, Youichi chanced a small breath in through his nose; hot air burned his nostrils and all the way into his sinuses. He was unsure how damaging direct, boiling steam could be to the lining of his throat, so he had been attempting to avoid breathing altogether to prevent any possible injuries to his soft innards. However, that was easier said than done; either his lungs would burn from the steam, or from the lack of oxygen. Both options weren't ideal, one could potentially cause lasting damage, while the other may make him pass out. Youichi refused to be left alone with the man in any form, even less so if he was unconscious. Who knows what would happen to him if he was completely at the man's mercy. Unwilling to let that happen, Youichi decided to risk the chance of inhaling steam, at least, a little bit at a time whenever his lungs began to strain. Just enough to keep him conscious.

With a strong jerk of his wrist, the man wrenched Youichi's head back to its original position. Youichi grit his teeth and cut his breath short as the onslaught of steam rushed fully across his face once again. On reflex, he threw his elbow backward before he could even consider the ramifications, but the sudden force was enough to trigger his fight or flight instincts with a frenzied wave of dread. He felt his elbow make contact with something solid, most likely being the side of the man's rib cage. Youichi couldn't hear if the man made a noise in response to the hissing of steam; however, he did feel the hands on his head and forearm tighten in bruising grips moments before his foot was kicked out from underneath him while the man used his hold to physically throw Youichi to the floor.

Unprepared and without support, Youichi landed hard on his shoulder and let out a grunt of pain as his body skidded a few inches across the ground. Youichi had just barely caught his skull from smacking against the cement floor when movement out of the corner of his eye made him freeze. He slowly turned his head to witness the man step through the steam where he was momentarily obscured by the cloudy vapors, only to emerge blank-faced. Goosebumps immediately rose on his arms as his heart began to hammer away in his chest; Youichi has seen several different expressions flit across that man's face, yet none were as terrifying as the one completely devoid of any emotion. At least with the others, Youichi could get a read on him and maybe even expect how the man would react, but expressionless left nothing for Youichi to go off of.

The man came to a halt at Youichi's feet; a towering threat backlit by the light that cast his face in shadows. Youichi watched as he reached behind his back to pull out a small, black object that was mostly covered by his hand. With a slight twitch of his thumb, a blade sprang free from the confines of its handle, and with an expert flick of his wrist, the man spun the knife until he was fisting it downwards. Paralyzed, Youichi watched in slow motion as the man lifted his arm up before swinging it down to plunge it deep into his abdomen and twist-

Youichi's eyes flew open with a strangled gasp that quickly had him choking on a cough at its abruptness. He pushed himself up in the bed slightly to grab his hospital-issued plastic bottle of water, complete with a bendy straw, to clear the coughing. The first few mouthfuls were enough to ease the scratch; however, once he began sucking up the tepid water, he realized how utterly thirsty he was and couldn't help but completely drain the bottle of its contents. Breathing heavy, he set the bottle back onto the side table and delicately lowered himself back down with a pained hiss. Youichi stared unseeing up at the ceiling and absently rested his hand on the bandage wrapped around his abdomen, directly over the stitches that held his flesh together. Underneath the heat of his palm, the wound throbbed with each pulse of his racing heart; agitated by the force of his coughs.

He let out a slow, shaky breath to calm himself. It was daytime, possibly going into the evening. Youichi couldn't remember falling asleep; he had been attempting to watch T.V when apparently he passed out from exhaustion. The blinds had been twisted closed, but they still let sunlight filter through the small gaps, and the light in his room had been flicked off except for the dim one that hung on the wall above his bed. At some point, a nurse must have come to check on him only to find him asleep, though thankfully, whoever it was left the television on.

Lately, Youichi has been unable to sleep in complete silence, because any small noise that resonated from out in the hall would be enough to startle him awake, but the T.V offered consistent background noise that gave his brain something to focus on other than his racing thoughts. Apparently, it wasn't enough to prevent him from having nightmares. The nightmares began three days ago after Muramoto showed up wanting answers, and Youichi couldn't help but place the blame on him as the trigger. He had been fine until the police department decided it was a good time to inquire about the kidnapping. Now he could barely sleep and was jumping at shadows. Though he knew why they were asking; to hopefully find Sawamura and Miyuki, however, Youichi honestly knew very little that would help in that regard.

Youichi heaved a heavy sigh of frustration and pulled the blanket up to his neck as the cooling sweat began to make him shiver. He didn't know how long he had been sleeping, but he still felt completely drained, like he could pass out again any moment if he let himself. Though to be fair, he hasn't had a good, full night's rest in a very long time now. Even out of the confines of the basement, the memories alone were enough to thwart his chances of decent sleep; haunting him in the recesses of his subconscious. Part of him wished that Muramoto hadn't come to him, because at least then, Youichi would still be numb, and not waking up in fear after reliving the horrors, over, and over again.

With another sigh, Youich let his eyelids fall closed, and whether or not he would actually fall back to sleep was debatable, but he was still so tired that he figured he should give it an attempt before calling it quits. He let his mind focus on the sounds of the television while he evened out his breathing and slowly forced his body to relax. Youichi had just begun to feel like there was a good possibility that he would fall asleep again, when the sound of the door creeping open caused his body to tense back up and his heart to race. His eyes snapped open and towards the door to witness someone slink in through the crack of the door before softly sliding it shut. Youichi squinted at the familiar back and head of pink hair in confusion. His first thought was that it was the younger Kominato, and he was about to scold him for wandering around when he should still be recovering when the figure turned, and it was very much so not the younger one, but his older brother. Which left Youichi more confused to see him sneaking into his room than if it was the younger brother.

Technically, Youichi had finally been approved for having visitors, however, dealing with the consistent nightmares, he hadn't been in the mood for having people around, even his parents. He knows it's probably selfish of him, but he just doesn't want anyone, his parents especially, to see him in his current state. The thought alone of having to pretend he's okay was exhausting, so each time a nurse came to tell him his parents stopped by to visit, with a heavy, guilt-ridden heart, he turned them away with a promise that he would see them soon. They would call him after each attempt, though they showed no signs of animosity from his decisions, and even reassured him that it was alright to go by his terms. Despite his mom telling him, it was okay, it didn't negate the remorse he felt, which in turn, made him feel worse with how understanding they were about it.

Needless to say, Youichi had not been expecting a visit from Kominato in the least.

"What are you doing here?" Youichi found himself asking as he painstakingly pushed his torso up and into a seated position. Without answering, Kominato strode forward in an attempt to stop him, by gently laying a hand on his shoulder with a slight nudge as if to tell him not to bother. "Stop," Youichi blurted and brushed Kominato's hand away, "If I don't sit up, I'll probably just fall asleep." He claimed, which wasn't a total lie, but it was mainly to not seem weak; like him laying down would make him appear fragile in Kominato's eyes. He continued to delicately right himself into a position that didn't hurt as badly and refused to look Kominato in the eye, to instead stare at his blanket-covered legs stretched out before him.

The silence after that expanded, neither apparently willing to break it. It wasn't until it grew uncomfortable that Youichi chanced a quick peek at Kominato's face, with the intention to get a judge on what he was thinking. Youichi barely withheld a sigh at the dubious look that Kominto had across his features; meaning, unsurprisingly, he did not believe Youichi's excuse. He had a hunch Kominato wouldn't, however, he had hoped it would be convincing enough given the circumstances.

Turned out, he was wrong.

Kominato released a sigh of his own before circling the bed to plop down onto the visitors' chair that had gone unused after Muramoto. "I was visiting Haruichi," Kominato finally answered, or half answered. That obviously explained why he was at the hospital, but not why he was here in Youichi's room. And going by the stealthy entrance, he could only assume that the nurses didn't know Kominato stopped by to see Youichi, either. "I overheard the nurses talking about how you refused to let your parents visit again." He continued, clearly picking up on Youichi's own puzzlement.

"So you decided to sneak in," Youichi stated, already knowing the answer.

"Figured you were being dumb," Kominato replied with a nonchalant shrug. He leaned back in the chair, to appear to all the world like he was relaxed; however, Youichi knew better. He knew Kominato was watching him like a hawk to dissect all the movements and emotions that he may accidentally let slip out. Prepared to catch him in another lie.

"Did you just come here to insult me?" Youichi rebutted, a smirk threatening to curve the corner of his mouth.

"If that's what it takes, then yes," Kominato responded with a light chuckle before they fell into companionable silence. "How are you doing?" He eventually asked, more somber than he had been.

"They let me drink my own meals now," Youichi began, aiming to keep the conversation lighthearted, "They even give me a cup of jello for dessert." His answer caused a snicker from Kominato, and Youichi had to marvel how genuinely happy he was to have Kominato here.

"Okay, but how are you?" He reiterated.

Youichi frowned at that, "I'm fi-"

"Stop." Kominato interrupted with his hand up as if to physically show him as well as verbally, "How are you, really?" Youichi hesitated, mouth opening and closing several times before he simply gave up. They stared at each other; Kominato patiently awaiting a response, while Youichi debated.

Youichi took a slow breath in; he trusts Kominato, always has, even with secrets he thought he would take with him to the grave. He knows Kominato trusts him just as much. Knows that Kominato wouldn't force Youichi to talk if he absolutely didn't want to, but the thing was, Youichi kind of did. At least, if it was to Kominato, then he was willing. Youichi released the breath and spoke. Hesitantly at first, he opened up about his worries and eventually about his new insecurities, all while Kominato listened free of scrutiny.