38. Raw

Yusuke ignored the water she held out to him and swallowed the pain pills dry. The thought of them sticking in his throat made Keiko wrinkle her nose, and she set the glass down on her desk beside her sidelined homework instead. He'd only just turned fourteen; he shouldn't know how to do things like that.

"Is there more?"

"No, that's the most you can take at a time. You have to wait."

He groaned and slumped back, closing his eyes as the comforter fluffed up around his head. It was a far too familiar picture - a worn down Yusuke on the floor of Keiko's room, leaning against the frame of her bed with everything from the first aid kit spread out across the rug because they would need it all. The air in the room was thick and oppressive with only the sharp smell of antiseptic cutting through. Pochakko, along with the rest of her stuffed animals, watched blankly from the pillows.

Here, Keiko had seen her best friend in all states of disrepair - sulky when a gang had given more than he'd bargained for, puffed up and proud despite all the bleeding, sometimes still fuming and then it would take every effort to put a lid on him, like one of her dad's big metal pots boiling over.

But this time was bad. Yusuke offered nothing, resigned to let Keiko work without even a hint of attitude. It could only mean he felt terrible.

She held a warm rag against a gash in his eyebrow, pressing firmly enough to stem the bleeding. There was already a harsh smear of crimson against the powder blue of her blanket which she would have to scrub out later. "Yusuke... what did you do?" she asked, already knowing there was no point; Yusuke never gave her honest answers.

On the days he actually showed up to school, he bristled at their classmates. When Mr. Iwamoto was being unfair, the Rugafuji boys that ventured into Kaidan provided an outlet for his anger. Then everyone at school (teachers included) spun another whirl of rumors. "I heard Urameshi beat up a high schooler." "No, he was out of high school." "The guy's been in a coma for a month." And on and on.

The fighting wasn't always his fault. Sometimes the Rugafugi guys took their anger out on him. There was a boy in their class with bleached hair who challenged Yusuke practically every chance he got to see if he could win (he couldn't). Occasionally, someone would sneer something awful about Atsuko. Once it had been over her.

So Keiko couldn't always blame him for boiling over.

Even though he wouldn't come around to get patched up as often as he used to, she knew better than to think Yusuke reformed and turned pacifist. On the contrary, Keiko suspected the brawling occurred more frequently. He would go missing for days, and whenever he decided to make an appearance, he looked much worse for wear, with a medley of new scrapes, bruises, and scars replenishing those that had healed and faded.

Adolescence, while it was starting to do interesting things to Yusuke's voice and his arms, was also reducing him to the worst parts of himself - angry, violent, like some exaggerated imitation of her best friend. Except this really was her best friend, crumpled in a despondent pile at the side of her bed. And the thing was, Yusuke didn't even care.

After approximating the edges of the gash with steri-strips, Keiko focused her attention on his wrist which was turning a worrying shade of purple. At just the slight touch, Yusuke jerked, sucking air sharply through his teeth and pulling away like she'd scorched him. "Can you move your fingers?" she asked. Feebly, they closed into a halfhearted fist - totally unable to throw a punch with any amount of power behind it. Delicately, the girl inspected the rest of his hand; beneath the swelling, it was difficult to tell what was or wasn't in alignment.

"This looks bad, Yusuke; it might be broken…" He didn't acknowledge her. His respiration was shallow, like it hurt to take normal breaths. "I'm not sure it's something I can do myself…" She hesitated. "...Maybe you should see a doctor?"

"It's fine," he snapped. "It just hurts."

"My mom can take you, and I can fill in while-"

"No." Keiko pushed to her knees to stand, halfway up when Yusuke grabbed her arm with his good hand. "Stop-"

"But-"

He lurched too quickly and swore. "Keiko, I don't want a doctor. I'm not going. And if you say anything to your mom and dad, I'll leave-"

"No!" Keiko panicked. If he left now, his wrist might never heal right. She dropped back down to the floor, hands on either one of his shoulders, pushing to settle him back down on the rug. As much as he insisted on being a pain in her neck, Yusuke'd rather suffer than be a bother to the rest of her family. "No, no… fine… just let me finish."

The boy relaxed, relieved he didn't actually have to pick himself up with his probably broken wrist and possibly broken ribs. Instead of meeting her gaze, he wilted back against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, sepia eyes numb and unfocused.

For all the pain he felt, the lines in his face softened, and for a moment, Keiko thought she recognized her best friend again. No sneer or practically permanent crease in his brow or eyes rolling every time she spoke. But this wasn't him.

She should be upset, Keiko supposed, for having to wash blood out of her bedspread again. For her inability to get through to him. For his anger and apathy. For resigning himself to such a depressing pattern of scraped skin, near concussions - maybe even welcoming it. For everything. It's like he's just waiting to d-

Resolutely, Keiko returned to her task, carefully straightening his hand and sorting through the kit for a makeshift splint.

Well, if Yusuke didn't care about himself, she would.

Regardless of his bleeding forehead and the lack of light in his eyes. He wasn't simple, useless, a burden, an ugly red smear on her reputation, or any of the horrible things people said about him (or he said about himself).

Her friend should have warm home-cooked meals, a quiet apartment to sleep soundly in at night, someone who actually knew where he went when he disappeared. He deserved a doctor who could actually set his wrist and not just a fourteen year old girl trying her hardest with a nursing textbook checked out from the library.

Keiko secured the last piece of medical tape. Not perfect - not even close, but it was the best she could do for now.

She sighed, packing away the little that remained of her supplies, mentally adding a trip to the drug store to her list of things to do. There was probably enough time to run the wash before her parents closed up for the night and came upstairs. Her assignment still remained untouched on her desk.

"Hey, Keiko…?"

"Yes?" She looked up, and was relieved to see her best friend there. Finally a flicker behind those sepia eyes, with an imagined silent 'thank you' because Yusuke almost never brought himself to say it. He was still injured and fraying at the edges, but there. He'd always have a place there - in her home, under her care, until Yusuke wouldn't need it anymore.

He whines, "Can I have more pain medicine now?"

She looks down at her watch and shakes her head incredulously when she sees it's been less than an hour, the crybaby.

She'll hold on to that hope for him until that day came.

xxx

Author's note: Back in the pool!

Picked this back up and finished after starting a year ago. Not quite happy, rather rusty, but I'd rather post and get back into the rhythm of writing. Much love to anyone still reading!

:Not me looking up which Sanrio characters existed by 1992 just to decide which one Keiko would like best. ^-^: