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-Lucicelo

Chapter 17

Using a stylist, Akihiko ran a line through the name of the town. Having gone through the main road of the town, he went through the forest areas, caring little for the dirt getting on his t-shirt and jeans. Disposable clothes he bought before leaving the city. Going years without wearing a buttoned up shirt, he saw the benefit of going casual for these searches. The scuffles and rips on his usual clothes made him cringe. Echoes of Mama Fuyumi, Hiroki, and Takahiro, commenting about him throwing away money, passed through his mind.

Takahiro thanked the students who answered their questions about Hiroki before he bowed. They did the same and apologized for not giving any more information. The news of Hiroki's disappearance spread throughout Japan, something that the Kamijou family's lawyer made sure to accomplish. Whoever took Hiroki couldn't have escaped Japan.

Agreeing to go inside of a convenience store, Akihiko passed through the high caffeinated section of the drinks and picked a few. Takahiro tagged along at his side, grabbing a small snack to munch on.

Leaving the small market, Akihiko handed the warm coffee can to Takahiro while he popped his espresso can open. Wandering through the main street, Akihiko and Takahiro sipped their drinks, exchanging topics of conversation. Their attention split between the conversation and looking around for any sign of their friend, they entered a dirt road.

Finding no results of his solo, well, duo search, dampened Akihiko's mood. Not enough to stop him from looking for Hiroki, but it seemed that whoever snatched Hiroki, hid his tracks too well. Somehow, this person managed to keep himself from CCTV cameras and from the view of different people. No one knew about Hiroki's state of health before he disappeared.

Was Hiroki hurt?

Did someone drug him before taking him?

Were threats used against Hiroki to force his compliance?

Akihiko down the last of his espresso and popped a new one open. Once he finished this one, he lit up a cigarette. Having smoked more packs during this search than his usual deadlines, the nicotine provided a sense of comfort in place of strong alcohol. Not any better, but he stopped himself from grabbing whiskey when he went inside a bar.

Silence drifted between Akihiko and Takahiro as they stared at the scenery during their break.

"Takahiro?"

Takahiro gulped down the rest of his coffee to perk himself up. He cringed at the last bit of bitter coffee at the bottom of the can. "Yes, Aki-chan?"

Akihiko dropped his cigarette on the floor and snuffed it out with his shoe. Peering from the corner of his eyes, he informed Takahiro. "Thank you for coming along with me. I can't thank you enough for doing this."

Takahiro pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand. "It's better for you to have support than to go searching on your own. Besides, Hiro-chan needs us to keep on looking for him. He'd do the same for us."

"Yeah." Akihiko gripped his arm to stop himself from grabbing another cigarette. The temptation nagged at him from his pocket, luring him into desiring to light another stick up. "He's too stubborn to quit on any of us. Although, I'm annoyed there wasn't any sign of him."

Takahiro sighed. "I know, it's frustrating, but no one wants to enter in another person's business. I'm surprised anyone wants to answer our questions in the first place. We're not police officers."

"Still," Akihiko breathed through his nose. "This is someone who is in trouble. I get it, someone might get hurt, but whoever took Hiroki will get my hands put on them." He deciphered Takahiro's stunned expression from his peripheral. "You two are my oldest and cherished friends. I can't imagine not having you two in my life."

Takahiro laid a hand on Akihiko's back, rubbing small circles in a repeating motion. "I feel the same way. Now, Hiro-chan wouldn't want us to mope around doing nothing."

Akihiko snorted. "The jerk would kick us around and say we were useless." He made one last inspection of the scenery and sighed. "Let's get going. We're wasting sunlight."

In his never ending fever haze, Hiroki woke up to humming and a damp towel on his forehead.

His mother always tended to him whenever he fell ill. As her only child, she went overboard in showering him with attention and love. Her own heart condition made her concerned over his health and made it a priority to make sure he remained well. The attention amplified when he fell ill and he complained not one bit. He loved having his mother check up on him, feed him soup, and watch tv with him once he recovered enough to watch a whole program.

Considering his father worked long hours, Hiroki didn't feel any less love from him. Before going to work, his father checked up on him, patting down his sweaty bangs to the side before kissing his forehead. Upon returning from work, a box of cinnamon flavored sweets were placed on the table beside his bed.

Assuming the tender touches came from a dream, he lost himself in his delusion. Maybe, he did escape from Nowaki's clutches. Somehow, he ran off before he passed out on the floor, but he doubted his self imagined convoluted scenario. Realistically, someone found him and took him to a safe place.

Any time he tried opening his eyes, his vision blurred, swirling the wood walls into a mesh up of mud, stirring a sense of nausea in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he kept his eyes closed. Better to look at darkness than to fight the urge to purge all over himself.

His right arm itched and ached. A bite sized area irritated him enough to want to waste his energy in relieving the pain. Scratching the spot sounded amazing to him. His left arm didn't obey him, staying limp on his chest, useless. He grimaced, growing impatient, he moved his right arm, breath hitching at the jolt of a needle digging under his skin.

Someone put an I.V back into his right arm.

Opening his eyes a smidgen, he saw an I.V bag, held up by a metal stand on his right, filled to the brim with liquid. His horrible vision couldn't read any of the words written on the bag. He closed his eyes to stop the wave of nausea hitting him all at once.

Letting out a whimper, he tried moving into a better position. His legs stiffened from the manner he laid on the bed. His muscles ached when he attempted to move. Almost as if someone read his mind, a strong pair of hands maneuvered his body around, setting him into a more comfortable position.

He relished in the comforting brush of lips upon his cheek.

Having spent an extended amount of time without a loving, wanted kiss, he relaxed onto the sheets. Years passed since he last contemplated a relationship or even wanting to fuck someone. The thought of sex revolted him. The procession into this conclusion angered him more than anything. He enjoyed having sex with someone he found interest in before Nowaki ripped the desire out of him.

Falling back in love with Akihiko appealed to him. Oh, how he wanted to go back to those innocent days. He imagined scenarios where he simply kissed Akihiko, sex didn't come to mind as far as he remembered. Although, he loved the camaraderie he developed with his oldest friend without romance in the equation.

They shared an unconditional love, one that he didn't want to ruin over a what if daydream.

Coughing out, Hiroki felt his throat dry and raspy. He tried gulping, but his mouth produced no saliva. The medicine seemed to have dried out his mouth from containing any moisture.

His illusion of peace shattered when he heard Nowaki's perky voice near his ear. "I'll bring you some water to drink. Be right back."

Hiroki kept his eyes closed to conceal his furious tears.

He despised Nowaki Kusama.

Searching throughout his medicines, Nowaki grimaced at the sound of Hiroki's hurtful coughing. Without the television playing as background noise, he heard each hitch of Hiroki's breath and never ending coughing, echoing throughout the cabin. During Hiroki's sleep, he gave him an exam and noticed various reasons for Hiroki to die on his watch. He panicked for the first day, looking through the medicine cabinet, finding solutions to counteract each obstacle.

At first, he put an I.V drip back in Hiroki's right arm and began pumping in different medicines to boost up Hiroki's immune system. Preparing a soup base, he fed Hiroki through small spoonfuls and rubbing his neck to make him swallow. He towel bathed Hiroki to get rid of the excess moisture from the fever and to alleviate some of the discomfort. Anything for a sign of recovery.

As he took care of him, he almost lost Hiroki from the complications of his imposed malnutrition and sickness. Throughout the whole process, Hiroki went in and out of unconsciousness, muttering words of giving himself to death. Nowaki sobbed one afternoon when Hiroki's fever persisted and rose higher that day. He blamed and hated himself for letting Hiroki fall to this extreme. Going through the hard work of attaining his doctorate didn't help him endure the numerous grueling nights of taking care of Hiroki.

Watching his beloved suffer broke his heart into pieces.

His happiness almost slipped through his fingers.

Almost.

Too close.

Filling a glass full of water, he carried the concoction of medicines and water toward Hiroki's room. Noticing that Hiroki went back to sleep, he set down the medicine and cup on the nightstand. He sat down on the chair he carried in front the kitchen, keeping his eyes on any change in Hiroki's diagnosis.

Hiroki's first proper thought outside of his fever dreams, came when Nowaki lowered him down into a soapy bathtub. He hissed at the first contact of his ass touching the water. His body tensed in expectation of the pain and unconscious jerk of his legs closing together. The tears of his hole healed enough where he didn't almost scream in utter pain. A second later, he grew accustomed to the warm, soapy water relaxing his muscles.

Nowaki murmured something, Hiroki tuned him out, not caring about his words, before leaving the room. His retreating footsteps prompted Hiroki a chance to relax in the water. He lolled his head to the side, feeling his damp hair clinging to his skin, he inhaled the scent of the bubbles.

Nowaki got it wrong again.

He hated lavender.

In fact, anything Nowaki did or said irritated him.

Nowaki used the worst scents of soap and shampoo. He ended up smelling flowery and his sheets soaked up the wetness that clung to his skin. His captor lingered in drying him off, but his distraction in touching him left numerous wet spots on his body. Even Nowaki's slimy kisses lingered on his neck and shoulders, where his lack of movement kept him from wiping the mess off of himself.

Nowaki didn't kiss him on the lips.

Lifting his head up from his position, Hiroki moved his arm to remove a hair from his shoulder. His hair grew long enough where he began shedding from lack of food and water. Stray hairs managed to stick around unfortunate places. Resting his arm over his abdomen, he kept his line of sight on the knob of the tub. Processing the last few seconds, he stiffened on his sudden easy movement of his arm.

Checking on the entry wound of the I.V, without the needle, he saw no intense marring of his skin. Unlike his left arm, which still had yellow spots of bruising from lack of care, his right arm seemed normal. He didn't know how long he stayed ill, but it seemed Nowaki gave him something which regained his strength. With the continual lack of food and drugs, his body couldn't have recovered on its own.

Curling and unclenching his hands, he found hidden strength underneath his skin. His muscles stretched without repercussions or strain.

For the first time in weeks, maybe in months, he smiled.

A true, genuine smile.

Once Hiroki began speaking in coherent sentences, Nowaki cried in glee. He showered Hiroki with deep kisses, using his hands to caress his beloved's body. In his passion, he failed to notice the stiffening of Hiroki's whole body and the twitching of a grimace forming on his handsome face. Getting up from bed, he carried Hiroki in his arms toward the kitchen area. He thought to feed Hiroki a heartier breakfast. A small helping of grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and unflavored rice.

He helped Hiroki to the table, setting him up in a chair with arm rests so he didn't fall on the side. Hiroki still slipped down, his lack of muscle strength didn't keep him in a sitting position for long. Nowaki let out a sigh before positioning Hiroki back in the right way, trying to keep him from moving onto one side. Hiroki still moved due to gravity pulling him toward the floor.

Seeing no point in fixing up Hiroki, he left him at the table. He went into the kitchen, cooking the breakfast he thought of during Hiroki's sickness. A simple meal to break the lack of meals he didn't give him.

Hiroki's stomach growled from the smell of grilled fish filtering into the small dining room area. From his position, he saw Nowaki maneuvering around the kitchen. Nowaki's knowledge in the kitchen showed in how he moved toward different areas, unafraid of messing up. Considering Nowaki lived on his own after being let out the system, it didn't surprise Hiroki that Nowaki learned to survive on his own.

If the situation were different, he might have found some indulgence in having Nowaki cook for him.

In this case, he didn't trust anything cooked by Nowaki's hands.

Nothing.

Still, it smelled so delicious.

After a sequence of clattering plates, Nowaki juggled plates in his arms and walked into the dining room. Setting them on the table, he retreated to get his own potion of food. Hiroki salivated at the food. Gulping in the allure of having a proper meal after such a long time. When Nowaki returned, Hiroki avoided looking at the food or showed any indication of having glanced at it.

Nowaki pouted. "Hiro-san, aren't you hungry?"

Hiroki looked at Nowaki from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh, well, I'll feed you small pieces to start with." Nowaki scooted the chair beside Hiroki out and sat down. "I didn't add any seasoning to the fish. Your stomach might not respond well to seasoned food."

Hiroki clenched his jaw shut. Back when Nowaki tried feeding him, he threw up all over him. How did Nowaki forget about that detail? A doctor shouldn't have thought of such a ridiculous idea in the first place.

"Open wide." Nowaki cooed as he picked up a small amount of rice with his chopsticks.

Hiroki swallowed his nervousness as he uttered out. "N-No."

"No?" Nowaki frowned. "Hiro-san, you have to eat something. C'mon, now." He placed the rice in front of Hiroki's closed mouth. "You need to regain your strength. You went through a whole week in a fever."

Hiroki flinched when he saw Nowaki's lips morph into a marring grimace. A flashback of his nightmares flashed before his eyes. Loosening his jaw, he opened his mouth, more than enough for Nowaki to shove the chopsticks in. Nowaki pulled them out and Hiroki chewed the rice. Hiroki's sanity and nose appreciated the sudden change in food, but his stomach revolted when Nowaki fed him. His heart appreciated eating actual food. No gruel. No pieces of fruit. Real cooked food.

Once he bit into a bite of pickled radish, he heaved up his breakfast onto the floor. His body wracked in uncontrollable shivers and the sour taste of vomit coated his tongue.

Nowaki ran out of the room, finding a bucket to fill with soapy water, old rags, and a trash bag. He picked up enough of the vomit with his own hands, Hiroki wrinkled his nose at the sight, and dumped the mess into a trash bag. He cleaned up his hands with the soapy water, wringing out a rag before wiping down the floor.

The experience ruined Hiroki's whole morning as Nowaki cleaned up the mess, trying to smile in good nature while he assured him with kind words. Kind words that didn't persuade Hiroki to calm down. He kept on breathing deep, eyes widened in the fear of the repercussions upon a switch of Nowaki's mood.

Nowaki apologized. "This is embarrassing. As a doctor, I should know better than to feed you solids this soon. I'll put you on vitamins and an extended saline drip to bring you back to health. I'll have to check with a nutritionist in what to begin feeding you. I have a friend at the hospital who handled a case of this young woman that went on this extreme diet-"

Hiroki bit his tongue to shut off any unsavory words from slipping through his mouth. His harsh breathing applied pressure on his tongue making him cringe from the pressure.

"Anyway, it's selfish of me to keep you subdued in this way. I'm not always here. What if something worse happens to you?" Nowaki tossed the rags into the bucket, he wiped his hands on his slacks.

Hiroki concluded in keeping up the facade of weakness. Better to have Nowaki think that he didn't recover any of his old strength back in his limbs. This way, his recovery would come at a steady rate. Nowaki seemed eager to soothe him back to health and forgot about the fact that he caused his dilemma.

When Nowaki made his way toward him, a pitter patter of pings began playing, stopping Nowaki in his tracks. Nowaki bolted out of the room, going down the hallway toward his room.

Hiroki's heart raced when he identified the noise: the ringtone of a cellphone.

To be continued...