There is a hot wetness to the air, like someone left a shower running for hours, as Akihiko wakes slowly. Opening his eyes takes a massive effort and he can't focus, everything seems composed of blurry halos. Did he hit his head? He tries to breathe shakingly, choking on the intense humidity.

He attempts to raise a throbbing hand to his throat, eyelids closed to force the sudden bout of nausea that the movement causes him. Not even looking, he claws at his necktie and shirt clumsily, everything stuck to him like a stiff second skin. It feels like his forearm is two inches outside his skin and he can hardly control the contraction of his fist. Painstakingly, he undoes his tie ribbon with numb fingertips, but things are not going fast enough, and he just rips the buttons of the vest and shirt, gasping.

The tiny beads of plastic seem to jump away like ticks in slow motion. It should bother him, to do something as brutish as ruining perfectly good clothes, but he can't seem to care. He can barely feel anything, his brain feels smothered in a thousand blankets.

He gulps some air, or is it water? Sweat is glistening down his neck to his chest. Has he been running, or training? No, no, he is splayed on the floor, back to a wall, almost like the Lost hanging at the station.

…Where am I?

The kaleidoscope of his vision pulses, slowly revealing a few hazy details. His legs are on a carpet, a weird shade of green, and there is an undefined shape some distance in front, something large and muted red. If there is anything else around, he can't see it, just very blurry outlines. The large red shape catches his interest and seems sharper than the rest, so he tries to move toward it.

His legs are numb beyond his knees, getting up would be too much effort so he resorts to crawling. Slowly inching forward, keeping the churning of his stomach to a minimum, his hands find some purchase on the plush, spongy material of the thing in front of him. Using it as an aid, he manages to climb on top and scrounges his eyes, trying desperately to clear his vision. He needs to know where he is, and what he's supposed to do.

I'm forgetting something… something… important.

A droning, insistent spark zaps him behind the eyes. The blurriness in his periphery partially unfolds once he blinks, and he can definitely affirm he is currently knee-crouched on a large, cushy furniture of some kind but the edges are too far to make out. Something's wrong with his eyes and he tries to rub them, but his gloves are a hindrance. He tries to carefully remove them without fumbling, fingertips shaking.

I never remove my gloves, I don't like it, but I can't remember… why…

He feels drowsy and the thought flees his mind, then was never even there. His naked hand brushes his eyelid with trembling fingertips, but there is no injury, although his lashes are dripping. Tears, or beading humidity, he doesn't know. It doesn't matter. It never did.

The focus ripples, the softness he feels under shows a texture like brushed velvet and a depth that wasn't there before. There is something long and somewhat dark sprawled over it and he scoots over on hands and knees carefully to try and discern what it is. Everything else except that patch of dark is engulfed in steam-like haze, and thus, discarded from his mind.

A bright red material, silky when he touches it, is flowing on top of the velvet like a river of blood. His eyes roam to its source; a discarded black jacket, thrown on the surface like a rag. Next to it is a vague outline of red copper, sprinkled with a flash of silver.

Akihiko stares numbly, incapable of processing what exactly this is, when a jolt hits his spine, flushing the mistiness of the scene away for a mere second, but it's enough.

"Minako!"

She is sprawled on her side, hair in disarray as if something clawed through it and broke her hair tie, partly on her crumpled jacket, red bow undone and discarted around her, too still for comfort. He can't see any blood, but she might be injured or…

His hand moves toward her neck in panic and the blanket of haze makes a violent return, so forceful he almost lurches forward, off balance. He was about to feel for her pulse. That's right, it's what he should do.

Numb fingers advance toward the crook of her neck, pads barely brushing the feverish skin. She's warm, but there is a faint push against his index, she's alive. Somehow, the notion she lives becomes a lifeline he latches on, it's all he cares about. There is nothing else except Minako, crystal clear among a sea of nothingness.

There is something like a faint, laborious groan, and a twitch of her hair. Slowly, he slides his hands behind her shoulder, trying to cradle her against him so she can breathe better. Her white shirt slides across his palms, leaving traces of slippery fire imprinted in his skin. Her eyes remain closed.

He lowers his head closer to her, trying to hear her breathing. Though hooded eyes, he can clearly see the skin rise and fall where her neck dips below her jaw, hypnotising him.

She's alive, she really is…

He's so grateful for that fact he hugs her tighter to him, nuzzling her pulse with the tip of his nose. She smells like salt and sunlight, so warm he's broiling alive, not like he cares if he does.

She stirs slightly, her breath ruffling the silver hair near his ear ever so gently. His eyes close all the way, he's trembling at the sensation. Her hands are coming back to life, her fingers lightly brushing his exposed ribs as if she is gauging what's there, and a shiver course through him. Minako's eyelids flutter, her gaze drunk on the haze. Her previous touch lingers near his chest, and she softly presses her whole hand to it as if to warm it up. She hums, he can feel the note down in his bones and answers with the same resonance, his throat close to hers.

There's a weird feeling pooling in his torso, trying to bubble out upward. He feels like he is hanging from a rope extending from his back, dangling on a barely taunt string above nothingness while holding a live bonfire in his arms.

Said aflame vision arches her neck, as if waking her whole body to life, pulsing like a self-contained explosion. His mouth is hanging open and his lower lip ever so slightly brushes the notch of her throat, catching a bead of sweat rolling toward it. She inhales in quiet surprise, her other hand flailing up and finding purchase on his shoulder.

The salt is burning his tongue, and he brings an arm, ever so slowly up her back with a fluttering pressure, to rest at the back of her head. Supporting her weight, fingers lost in the mass of her hair, he cranes her neck back, so the full curve is exposed at an angle. She sighs dreamily in response, digging her nails into the back of his shoulders like burning needles. Lips soft and lightly parted, close enough to absorb the heat she projects but barely fluttering on her skin, he travels his jaw upward until the tip of his nose rests behind her ear in one languid motion.

The string is getting tighter, straining because of the weight.

She angles her head to press her feverish cheek against his, he presses back, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. From so close, they can see the other's reflections in each other's glazed eyes. Her lashes tickle the corner of his cheekbone like soft butterfly wings, his heart picks up in pace to thunder painfully on his ribs.

Desperately needing to feel her own drumming melody, he slowly brushes his upper lip down her jaw, back to her neck, settling in the crook where it all started. A summer storm is trying to crawl out of her skin against him, he grazes his front teeth on the mound of her throat as if to absorb its tremors and she moans.

Tugging him upward above the abyss below, the rope shortens another few inches.

He lets his mouth dip lower, then slowly back up again, this time barely darting the tip of his tongue along the lava of her neck as well. She exhales with shaking breaths, her body shivering against his. His nose traces the outline of her jaw, he rests his forehead against her at an angle. Her lips are barely brushing the corner of his own, yet their breaths are mingling like a furnace. Wide burning rubies meet melting silver.

The rope snaps.