"I wanna take a shower," Hajime said on the fourth day.
They had lazed in bed the whole afternoon. Hajime had been drifting in the no man's land between sleep and awake, dozing off and listening to the rasping of Tooru's pens against the rough paper. He had whipped out his sketchbook and drawn quick sketches of their room and his favorite comic characters. He had shown some of them to Hajime, and it couldn't be denied he was talented.
"You sure?"
"I stink, and my skin itches from all the sweating. The cold rug baths just aren't cutting it anymore."
"How about I draw you a bath instead of a shower? Soaking could be nice, right? And I don't want ya splitting your head open on the slippery tiles."
"Whatever, just get me some hot water and soap."
Hajime stretched with a satisfied groan and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Blood rushed to his head, and he closed his eyes and waited for the floating sensation to ease. Tooru touched his shoulder tentatively.
"Maybe we should just – "
"No, damn it," Hajime shook the hand off, "I'm sick and tired of stewing in my own juices."
Carefully he leaned heavily on the crutches and hoisted himself up. The rubber handles pressing against his palms felt familiar. Standing on his feet after being horizontal for so long was unstable at first, but soon his body remembered how to negotiate the crutches and support his weight. He teetered to the bathroom through the narrow doorway, and Tooru hovered right behind him. Hajime sat on the toilet and started to pull off his clothes while Tooru ran the bath.
As the tub was filling up, Tooru took off his shirt and stripped down to his boxers.
"What are ya doing?"
"I don't want my clothes to get wet."
"Why would they get wet if you're sitting in the bedroom? I'll call you when I'm ready."
"You're gonna need help with washing your back, and I've been told I give very good head massages."
"I'm good, thanks."
Tooru sighed in frustration. "My god, why does everything have to be such a battle with you?"
"Because I can do it myself!"
"And I'm saying I just wanna make sure!"
"I've been able to wash myself just fine without your supervision my whole life, so…"
Tooru's hand plunged underwater and gave the chain of the plug a little tug. "That's it, I'm holding the bath hostage. You either get in now or I swear to god, I will drain all that lovely hot water."
"I'm getting sick of you constantly telling me what to do and deciding things for me. I'm better, okay? So, I don't need you looking over my shoulder every second."
"Fine, I promise I'll lay off." Tooru rolled his eyes. "After you take your bath."
Hajime gave a low, frustrated groan. "You're so impossible! Sometimes I just wanna…" he said and made a gesture of wringing his fingers around Tooru's imagery neck.
"You getting in or not?"
"Fine," Hajime pressed between clenched teeth. He hooked his thumbs behind the waistband of his boxers but stopped when he saw Tooru looking at him. "A little privacy maybe?"
"It's not like I haven't seen a dick before," Tooru mumbled but turned around.
Finally, stark naked Hajime braced against the bathtub and hopped the short distance from the toilet. The edge of the tub dug into the back of his thighs when he lifted his legs over. Slowly he lowered himself in the hot foamy water. A satisfied sigh escaped between his lips as he leaned back and the water rose to meet him in the middle.
Tooru wiggled himself to sit between the bathroom wall and Hajime's back. His shins pressed against Hajime's sides as he sat between his knees. Hajime caught a sight of a long, vertical scar running over Tooru's right knee. Its lines were fuzzy, and it was of a lighter tone than the rest of the skin.
"Does that hurt?"
"What, the knee? Not really. It gets a bit stiff if I sit for too long, but that's about it. But sometimes it locks up, and that hurts."
Tooru reached for the shower and soaked Hajime's hair before lathering it with shampoo. His long fingers buried deep into the foam and stroked the itching scalp. Foam and soap water trickled down Hajime's forehead, and he closed his eyes. It felt good to scrub all the dried sweat and oiliness finally clean. Tooru's fingertips worked through every inch of his scalp, and Hajime started to relax against his legs.
"Feels good, right? Told ya I'm good at this."
"Yeah, yeah."
"What about you? Does your leg hurt?"
"Sometimes."
"I think they call it phantom pains or something. The human body is so weird. I read somewhere that some amputees even say they feel like they can move the limb normally even though it's not really there."
Phantom limb, Hajime thought to himself. A part of me has already died and is now haunting me. Maybe I should call an exorcist or something. He chuckled a little.
Tooru's fingers stopped moving. "What?"
"Nothing"
"Did I say something funny?"
"In your dreams."
"Alright, I'm done with your hair. Lean forward a bit." He nudged between Hajime's shoulders.
A rough sponge Tooru had dipped in the bathwater started rubbing his back in little circles. It worked its way down from the shoulders, dipped to the front to scrub the neck and over the collarbones, and stroked up and down along the spine. It felt both good and bad at the same time. Hajime wanted to pull away from the roughness but at the same time lean into it. The more Tooru rubbed, the more his skin began to tingle and burn.
Completely lost in the moment and sensations Hajime didn't pay attention when Tooru moved from scrubbing his back to rub his arms and front. Obediently he let himself be manhandled, his limbs maneuvered and just sat there slack and heavy like a wet rug.
His mind didn't catch up until the sponge brushed the thigh. Hajime was snapped back to reality, and his whole body jerked awake at once. Tooru was just about to reach the knee when Hajime grabbed him by the forearm. The water, disturbed by Hajime's sudden movements, sloshed almost over the brim.
"That's enough," Hajime said with a gruff voice.
"I'm just going to wash it, and I'm using the softer side of the sponge, so – "
"Don't." Hajime's grip around Tooru's forearm tightened.
"It's okay, it's just skin," Tooru's voice lowered as he leaned closer to Hajime who sat there frozen, "the same skin that's on your back, your shoulders, your belly, the bottom of your feet, even your dick. It's no different."
Again, Tooru tried to slide his hand further down, but Hajime's iron grip didn't budge.
"I said don't."
"Okay. Then you help me, alright? Help me wash it."
He loosened Hajime's hold and switched the sponge to his hand and guided it towards the amputated leg. He could hear the growing agitation in Hajime's breathing and feel the resistance in his muscles.
"Please, don't."
"You're fine, we're doing great. I'm not touching anything you're not touching, okay?"
They inched past the bumpy kneecap. Tooru moved on slowly in small circles. The pressure of the sponge was subtle and gentle but it was there.
"You know, I was just like you when they operated my knee," Tooru kept talking all the while edging closer to the stump. "I looked at the red scar and stitch marks and was disgusted. I didn't want anyone to see it – hell, I could barely look at it myself – not to even mention touching it. It was ugly and gross and would be there forever."
They had almost reached the edge of the stump, just a little bit more. Hajime was stiff as a stick but yielded to Tooru's hand like those little dolls you can twist in different positions.
"After the surgery, I used to hate my own body, especially my leg. Hated it, wanted to cut it off. It had betrayed me and ruined my future. I was flawed because of it. There was an error in me and the scar would forever mark the glitch."
Tooru pushed Hajime's hand to follow the curve of the stump for the first time, and Hajime cringed and tried to pull back. Tooru complied but again when they closed the edge of the stump he guided Hajime to brush all the way to the end.
"But then I met this woman who had had open-heart surgery, and she was wearing a pretty summer dress with a cleavage like she wasn't bothered by her scar at all. The thing was, she didn't actually have a scar. Well, she did, but it was covered with a tattoo. It was a picture of a flowering tree branch. The outlines of the tree went around the scar, and it looked like the little red flowers were blooming out of the old wound. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. That's when I decided I wanna do tattoos."
They gave the leg one last sweep with the sponge before Tooru finally released Hajime's hand.
"You did good," he said and stroked Hajime's wet, soapy shouldres. "You did really good. Did it hurt?"
"Yes." Hajime withdrew from Tooru's touch. "It hurts. Why do ya always have to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Talk. You never shut up about anything, just talk and talk and talk. I don't wanna hear any of that stuff."
"Why? Because it hurts?"
"You're always probin' and diggin' everything till there's nothing left that you don't fucking know about!" Hajime's raised voice bounced off the bathroom walls. "And you never ask if I wanna talk about it, no, you just push and push…"
Tooru didn't say anything, just sat there and watched Hajime's tense back. A wall that rejected and isolated to shield whatever was inside. It had been built with care and even the smallest gaps had been sealed. Tooru had been chipping away at that wall for days, and this was the first time there seemed to be a crack.
"I'm sorry if you didn't want to talk. But peer support can help, and I figured if I told what I went – "
"Your knee and my leg are not the same, not even close. So, you can't play sports anymore, so fucking what? I can't walk anymore."
"Yeah you can, you just don't want to. Because you're scared."
The wall of muscle twisted and strained when Hajime half spun around. Some of the water sloshed over the edge and splashed on the floor.
"What did you just say?"
"Sure, there are some things you can't do anymore, but you've convinced yourself you can't do anything. Why is that? Are you punishing yourself for something? You're not somehow allowed to be happy anymore, is that it?"
Hajime's face was frozen in fury, and for a while, Tooru thought he'd lash out and slam him against the wall.
"Shut up, you don't know anything about me so shut the hell up."
"I know what happened to you, Mattsun told me."
"He what?!"
"But don't be mad at him, I put him on a spot. He told me because he thought it'd help."
Hajime slumped back down. "So," there was an audible tremble in his voice now, "you know? You've known this whole time?"
"Yes."
"Then what're ya still doing here?" Hajime mumbled and turned to face the wall again.
For a while, Tooru sat in silent confusion. He didn't know how to answer that or what Hajime had meant by it. To let the atmosphere calm down a bit he pulled the plug and turned on the shower to rinse them off. The grey soap water gurgled down the drain as Tooru doused off Hajime who had seemed to be back to his passive self.
It was as if he was peeling off a vegetable. Now that all the dirt and dead skin had been soaked and scrubbed off, Hajime looked raw and vulnerable as he sat under the harsh, unforgiving fluorescent light. His shoulders were hunched, his black hair dripping, and the disfigured right leg looked naked against the cold white of the tub.
Before Hajime got cold Tooru covered him with a big fluffy towel and started to gently rub his hair dry. His silence scared Tooru a bit, and he worried if he had gone too far this time.
"I'm sorry if I forced you to do something you weren't ready for. I just wanted to help you."
"Do you think it's ugly?" Hajime's quiet question was almost muffled by the towel.
"I don't."
"Do you think I did the wrong thing? Do you think I got that kid…that he's…because of me?"
Tooru sild his hand under the helm of the draping towel to stroke Hajime's face. His thumb brushed something wet, but he wasn't sure if it was from the shower or if Hajime was crying.
"No, I don't think that. Never did."
"Do you think I'm still worth it?"
Tooru pressed his lips against the towel-covered head and closed his eye. "You're worth everything,"