#tw hospitals

[8aji]

too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.

to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.

pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader

wc. 18k

tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move. 

Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body. 

“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”

The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”

lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny. 

“Can I see him?”

He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.

“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.

“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”

Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer

Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.

He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.

The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard. 

He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.

“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”

Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.

You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.

Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke. 

But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.

“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.

“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with. 

You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.

Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?

Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.

Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features. 

No. 

You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.

“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”

At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got. 

He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.

It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing. 

Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.

Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.

The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.

“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside. 

You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.

And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder. 

You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man. 

You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.

“Let’s get going then.”

You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.

The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status. 

You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.

In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.

“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’. 

You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling. 

He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue. 

He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”

At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.

Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break. 

But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop. 

Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call. 

But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?

It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?

“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,

“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”

Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.

You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out. 

With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.

“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself. 

Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.

“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response. 

“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.

Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.

Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth. 

The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.

“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”

He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go. 

You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded 

“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.” 

The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.

“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro. 

His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.

So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake. 

Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him. 

And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.

Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.

He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried. 

Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.

But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers

Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay. 

Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.

But even then, apparently you could still scream.

The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.

“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”

And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.

“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.

You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach. 

“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”

You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”

“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.” 

Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend. 

“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”

You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist. 

His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.

The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.

“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps. 

Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.

Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.

Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.

In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real. 

Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.

He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa—although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,

And you. 

What about you?

You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?

A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.

“Shin–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”

“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”

“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”

“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”

“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,

“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”

“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”

Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.

“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”

“I– What’re you talking about?”

He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain? 

“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”

“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Can't you see?” 

“Shin–”

“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench. 

“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,

“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”

And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital,  you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down. 

“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”

His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.

You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”

He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility. 

And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil. 

“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,

“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.” 

And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.

Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.

Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it. 

A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks. 

Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.

You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.

Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.

Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there. 

In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.

The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits. 

In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach. 

You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.

The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone

Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together. 

Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.

Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor. 

Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings. 

Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right? 

So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting. 

At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–

“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”

The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.

“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.

“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded. 

He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity. 

“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”

You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side. 

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you. 

He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.

“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”

Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.

“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”

“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you? 

“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”

This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you. 

“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker. 

“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”

You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…” 

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up. 

“Then what?”

“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”

Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.

The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand. 

“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame. 

“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”

For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.

Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital. 

Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups. 

“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”

He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”

He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took. 

Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.

At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.

Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”

He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.

Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.

In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.

It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.

The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.

He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess 

“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?” 

“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.

“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”

“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”

“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”

“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.

“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”

You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”

His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.

“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”

“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.

You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.

“What? Were you planning to say no to him?” 

He knew you too well for your own good.

“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.

“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy. 

Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting. 

In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue. 

He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.

And that’s exactly why you don’t. 

Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.

For the both of you. 

“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”

You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”

“He’s scared?” 

“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”

Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought. 

Scared of losing him.

You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.

“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”

Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself. 

But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.

You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low. 

And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.

Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.

Too weak, too weak, too weak. 

Being weak is all you’ve ever known. 

The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.

And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.

You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue. 

The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.

“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,

“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,

“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am, 

“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.

“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”

Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?” 

You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.

“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”

“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.

“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.

“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”

“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you. 

And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.

“I love you.” 

Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’. 

After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.

He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.

His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.

Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips, 

He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.

“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”

He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.

“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.

“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”

He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.

In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite. 

He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself. 

Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.

“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.

“Only if you want to.” 

“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”

“You fucking disgust me.” 

Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process. 

“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve. 

“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”

“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”

“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”

“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”

The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest. 

Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, talking about fuck–”

“Wakasa!” “Dude!” 

The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.

To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face

“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”

“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.

“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”

“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”

“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”

“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”

Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.

Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”

The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.

“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”

“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”

“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”

“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”

“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”

“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”

Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”

“But the lighter was him confessing!”

“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”

“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now. 

“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”

Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.

“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”

“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”

“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.

He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…

“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?” 

It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?” 

“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.

He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”

Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines. 

“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.

“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi’s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct. 

Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.

When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.

So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense. 

“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”

“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”

“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”

“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”

“Hey!”

“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”

© 2023 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work. affiliated with @tokyometronetwork

#shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano fluff #shinichiro fluff #sano shinichiro x you #shinichiro x you #tr fluff #tr x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #master collection. #tr collection. #shinichiro sano angst #shinichiro angst #tr angst #tokyo revengers angst #tw smoking #tw hospitals #tw anxiety #tw mentions of death

[pavlien]

i drew LJS lupin in a hospital bed again. but this time i did it better :)

for @thelavendercatalogue / @dukeswonderousmenagerie

#my mom's currently in the hospital so. i actually had some reference this time lmao #lupin iii #lupin the 3rd #lupin the third #arsene lupin iii #lupin #jigen #daisuke jigen #jigen daisuke #jiglup #jigen x lupin #jigen lupin the third #lupin and jigen #lupin x jigen #LJS #lup's art #tw hospitals #tw medical

[beth--b]

Steve was working his way through putting the returns away on the shelves at Family Video. He was also counting down the hours until his shift was over. It was his last shift of the week before he had two days off, and he intended on spending as much of that time as possible with Eddie.

Eddie, who had been away with the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys for the last two weeks.

Eddie, his boyfriend, who he missed far more than was probably healthy.

They had spoken a few times in those two weeks, mostly Eddie griping about one of the other guys snoring in the shitty motel rooms they had been staying in. There had been a few late night calls where Eddie was clearly just getting back from a gig that had gone well though, the sheer joy and excitement in Eddie’s voice on those calls made the time apart worthwhile.

Despite being happy for Eddie and his friends for putting themselves out there and trying to get more of a following for their band, it had not been the easiest time for Steve.

Find it here on ao3

In the six months since Vecna’s defeat and Eddie’s miraculous survival after almost being torn apart by demobats, the pair had grown steadily closer. Three months ago they had admitted their feelings to one another and within the last six weeks they had been sleeping in the same bed almost every night. So two weeks of sleeping alone had Steve feeling exhausted and run down. The nightmares that had dwindled, or at least seemed easier to cope with when waking to find Eddie beside him, were back in full force and he had woken up to more than one panic attack in the two week’s Eddie had been gone. While he couldn’t wait to see Eddie and kiss him and do all sorts of things with his boyfriend that he probably shouldn’t think about while working, he truly just longed to be held in Eddie’s arms as they fell asleep.

After fourteen days of minimal sleep and feeling generally awful, when he began to feel more unwell than he had previously he ignored it. He shrugged off the mild nausea he had been feeling all day, putting it down to needing to sleep and probably eat something more substantial than a microwave dinner, and pushed through his shift. The sooner the day was done, the sooner he’d be with Eddie.

Finally 4pm came and Keith showed up to take over for the rest of the afternoon and evening and Steve was out of there.

He sat in his car only to realise that he and Eddie hadn’t had a chance to work out whether they were staying at Eddie’s or Steve’s tonight.

“Fuck it,” Steve muttered to himself, turning the key to start the car and pulling out of the parking space. He would head over to Eddie and Wayne’s two bedder that the government had coughed up for as compensation for Eddie being accused of murder, and worst case scenario he’d head home if Eddie wasn’t there and maybe he could at least leave a message with Eddie’s uncle.

To his relief, Eddie’s van was out the front and Steve pulled up behind him, putting the car in park and turning the engine off.

He hadn’t even opened his door and Eddie was already opening his front door and waving to Steve.

“Hey Stevie! Miss me?” Eddie called, walking towards the beemer.

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his grin.

“Now, why I would I have missed you Eds? You been gone or something?” he replied as he got out of the car. His smile fell for a moment as he felt an ache in his guts as he stood. Before he could think about it Eddie had slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders and was leading him into the house.

“You wound me Stevie!” Eddie put his free hand to his chest and threw his head back. “To think, you didn’t even know I was gone! For shame!” Eddie continued to sigh dramatically until they were in the house.

Eddie entered slightly ahead of Steve and once the door was closed behind them he quickly turned and braced both hands against the door, effectively trapping Steve.

“Hey baby,” Eddie said softly before pressing himself against Steve and kissing him, Steve practically melting into the kiss as Eddie moved one hand away from the door and cupped Steve’s cheek instead.

They spent long moments just kissing each other, relearning the taste and feel of one another's mouths and teeth and tongues, before they finally pulled away for air.

“Of course I missed you,” Steve finally whispered, lips pressing against Eddie’s once more, less urgency and more soft sweetness this time.

Eddie just groaned and buried his head against Steve’s neck when they finally pulled apart once more.

“Alright come and sit,” Eddie finally said once he had a proper look at Steve. “You look exhausted sweetheart. Long day?”

Steve shrugged but followed Eddie over to the couch anyway.

“Kinda, I guess I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

Eddie pulled Steve down onto the couch beside him and wrapped an arm around Steve. Too tired to fight it and still not feeling well Steve just let himself be tugged against Eddie’s side and lay his head on the metalhead’s shoulder.

“Alright well how about you sit here with me for a while and just relax, close your eyes for a little if you like. We can see what’s on the tele and have an easy evening yeah? Wayne’s already gone to work so we have the place to ourselves. I can make us some food a little later too if you’re hungry.”

Steve shifted further into Eddie’s embrace, wincing a little as the movement made the pain his middle flare. He ducked his head to hide his face, not wanting Eddie to worry further. If he didn’t know better he’d have assumed that Eddie would be disappointed in Steve feeling under the weather and would have tried to fake it so they could have a nice date night. He knew his boyfriend well though and Eddie would be more upset if Steve lied about feeling up to something he wasn’t and not taking care of himself, than about having to have an easy night.

Once he was comfortable Steve relaxed and let the tension of the last two weeks slowly leave him. Eddie was slowly rubbing a hand up and down Steve’s arm, the motion soothing him further. Before he could even pay attention to what was playing on the small T.V. Steve was asleep.

______________________________________

He woke up what must have been at least a couple of hours later to Eddie saying his name softly and mumbled something incoherent in reply once he became aware enough. He felt both better and worse than before. He was no longer so tired he felt he might drop from sheer exhaustion but the pain in his stomach was worse, the ache spreading across to his side more now than it was earlier. He was cold too but at least Eddie felt warm along one side of him.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t want to wake you but I think we should eat something and then you can get some more sleep. Feel like anything in particular?”

Still half asleep Steve just groaned and shook his head.

“Aw come on Stevie. How about I just make some grilled cheese? Won’t take long and then we can get back to snuggling and you can sleep, ok?”

Steve really didn’t want to eat. He felt sick and he was hurting. He didn’t want to upset Eddie, or make him worry over what was surely nothing so he just agreed, Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead and as he pulled away he stopped to look him over rather than heading to the small kitchen to make their dinner.

“Are you feeling alright? I know you said you hadn’t been sleeping well but you feel kinda warm. Are you sure you aren’t getting sick?”

Eddie looked so genuinely concerned that Steve wanted nothing more than to ease his worry.

“Hey yeah I’m ok. I’m just tired, not too hungry either so grilled cheese sounds fine. Thanks Eds.”

With one last worried look Eddie stood up and went to make dinner.

Steve settled back into the couch in Eddie’s absence and the ache in his side only seemed to grow worse. Before he realised he was doing it he found himself holding his right side and curling in on himself.

Eddie came back to find Steve huddled up on the couch shivering slightly with his hands pressed to his side.

“Stevie? What’s wrong?”

Steve looked up at Eddie standing in front of him with a plate in each hand and tried to straighten up, but instead found himself wincing in pain at the movement. He knew Eddie had seen and there was no point in lying.

“Sorry, guess I’m not feeling the greatest after all. I”m sure it’s nothing, just been a crappy week and I’m a little run down. Let’s eat, yeah?”

Eddie sat down beside Steve, handing him one of the plates. “Alright, but tell me if you start to feel worse.”

Steve took the plate and sat it in his lap, straightening up as much as he could. “Of course. Some food and some sleep and I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

They ate in relative silence until Eddie finished and then he started to tell Steve about his time away. Steve made all the right, encouraging noises and said the right words but he was struggling to eat. He was happy to let Eddie lead the conversation while he picked at the sandwich on his plate. As the conversation went on he was feeling steadily worse and by the time he had forced down half his dinner he was dangerously close to throwing it right back up. He tried to ignore it, sipping at some water that Eddie had gone to get them both once his own food was finished. He felt himself shiver a little and almost dropped his plate. Eddie stopped mid sentence and grabbed the plate before it could fall with one hand, reaching out to steady Steve with the other.

By this stage Steve had broken out into goosebumps while his face felt far too hot. The nausea was building to a point where he could no longer ignore it and before Eddie could speak Steve was bolting off the couch and to the bathroom. He barely made it in time, dropping hurriedly to his knees, the pain of hitting the tiles secondary to the sharp pain rippling through his side as he threw up his meagre dinner.

Eddie was there moments later, running a cool cloth over the back of Steve’s neck as he continued to heave long after there was nothing left to bring up.

When he was finally done Eddie’s hands were on him, pulling Steve away from the toilet and helping him to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Gentle hands brushed his now sweaty hair from his face and pressed against his forehead before the cloth that had been pressed to his neck was used to help wipe his face. They sat in silence until Steve finally felt able to move and then Eddie hurried to his feet so he could help Steve to stand. With the toilet flushed, hands washed and teeth brushed Steve let himself lean into Eddie, the older boy helping him to the bedroom.

“Well I think it’s safe to say you’re sick baby,” Eddie finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them for the last few minutes.

“I guess. Sorry, I should go home, don’t want to get you sick,” Steve wanted nothing more than to stay. He hadn’t had anyone to take care of him in such a long time but it wasn’t fair to Eddie.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t going anywhere Steve. Now let’s get that cute little butt of yours into bed and I will get you some water and a bucket just in case we have a repeat performance. No arguments. Just rest, I will take care of everything else.”

Too sick and tired to argue, Steve just let himself be led to Eddie’s bed.

“Now, you seem to have a fever as well as nausea. Anything else wrong?” Eddie asked once Steve was situated in bed.

“Stomach hurts, but that explains the whole puking my guts up. Otherwise I’m just tired. Promise.”

Eddie stared at him before nodding, seemingly satisfied with Steve’s answer. “Alright, well I will see if we have some tylenol for your fever and we just need to keep you hydrated. Hopefully this is just some 24 hour bug.”

Sure enough Eddie managed to find something to help with the fever and some water to take it with. Once medication had been taken Eddie helped Steve change into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Eddie quickly changed as well, plaid pj bottoms and a black shirt so worn out he only used it for sleep. Clothes changed, he got a bucket and put it beside the bed, got a fresh glass of water and then turned the light out and climbed into bed with Steve.

“You don’t have to come to bed yet Eds, it’s like eight at night.”

“Closer to nine now honey but I want to be with you. It was great spending time with Gareth and the guys and we met some awesome people but I missed you. I sleep better with you too Stevie so I think we should just call it a night alright?”

Too tired to argue, Steve just nodded sleepily and let himself be pulled into Eddie’s arms. He was asleep within minutes.

___________________________

Sometime during the night Steve woke up, side throbbing and feeling so sick he hardly made it to the bucket beside the bed, nevermind the bathroom. He was immensely thankful for Eddie’s forethought, or he would have been if he wasn’t so busy throwing up to think about it.

Eddie woke up moments after Steve had dropped to the floor. “Shit, Steve you alright? Of course not, fuckin’ stupid question,” he was half asleep and worried and the words just kept coming.

Just like earlier in the bathroom Eddie knelt beside Steve on the floor trying to soothe him through his dry heaves. Eddie rubbed Steve’s back and began to whisper comforting nonsense to Steve until Steve spat into the bucket one last time and moved back from it and into Eddie, trembling with fever and exhaustion.

“Fuck baby you’re burning,” Eddie said with a wince. “Let’s get some water and I’ll see if you can take some more tylenol yeah? Just gotta check the time first, don’t want to give you too much.”

Steve was too out of it to really answer but he tried to nod and hoped Eddie understood.

Eddie got up first and flicked on the bedside lamp, before helping Steve up off the floor and back into bed. Steve cried out at the movement, hand clutching his side and almost crumpling back to the floor.

“Fuck!” Eddie cursed as he grabbed hold of Steve, keeping him upright as much as possible. Steve's eyes were closed, a few tears escaping, and Eddie wiped them away with one hand while keeping the other arm wrapped around his waist. Steve finally tried to get his feet back under him and Eddie helped him back to the bed. "Alright, shit. Ok, Stevie you with me?"

Steve just groaned as he dropped down onto the bed, trying to lay back on the pillow but instead more or less collapsing where he fell.

"So-sorry Eds," Steve finally managed to get out, teeth chattering like it was the depths of winter rather than just the beginning of fall. He had never been in this kind of pain before while sick. He'd been beaten and chewed up by bats but this was different. He just felt wrong and he wanted it to stop.

Eddie leaned down to kiss Steve's burning cheek before pulling away. "Nothing to be sorry for. Now I need to go check the time and see if we can get you more meds. I'll be right back."

Before Steve could even try to think to reply Eddie was gone. Steve pressed a hand to his side, the pain growing steadily worse until he couldn't think of anything else. His side felt tender but kind of hard. He felt so sick but the fever made it hard to think.

When Eddie came back he had more tylenol and a damp cloth which he put on the bedside table while he helped Steve sit up. Steve cried out before biting his lip at the movement, the pain almost enough to make him throw up again though he was sure there was nothing left to throw up at this point.

"Come on baby, let's get these meds into you and some more water and try to sleep. It's almost 3am, Wayne will be back soon and in the morning we can go see a doctor if you aren't any better."

Steve lay his head against Eddie's shoulder, letting his boyfriend help hold the pills to his mouth followed by the water. Steve was fairly sure he'd have dropped the glass if he had tried to hold it. As it was he could hardly lift his head to take the tablets he was given.

"This sucks Eds, hurts and I-I don't wanna get you sick," Steve was crying, he had been freezing only moments ago and now he felt like he was on fire. He tried tugging at the shirt he was wearing but Eddie just grabbed his hands and moved them away from his clothing.

"I know it sucks but there is no way in hell I'm leaving you alone like this. You ready to lay back down?"

"Think so," Steve muttered. Eddie manoeuvred them back onto the bed properly, Steve's burning forehead pressed against Eddie’s collar bone as more hot tears fell and dripped onto Eddie's skin.

Steve slipped into a fitful doze and Eddie lay beside him just holding him. They didn't get much of a reprieve before Steve sat up again with a moan, Eddie grabbed for the bucket that he had emptied while organising more meds for Steve and just managed to get the younger man upright enough to throw up into the bucket rather than the bed. Not that there was anything coming up but bile at this stage along with a little water.

Steve was clutching his side now and was too out of it to do anything but lay back down as soon as he was done. Eddie got up and emptied the bucket once again before hurrying back to Steve's side. He got as far as putting the bucket beside the bed before he heard the front door opening. Eddie took one more glance at his pale, trembling boyfriend who was once more curled up on the bed holding his side and hurried out to find his uncle.

"Eddie? What are you doing up son?" Wayne asked, surprised to see his nephew awake at just past 3am. It wasn't unheard of, but he didn’t usually look so upset.

"It's Steve, he's really sick Wayne. I thought I'd just get him to a doctor in the morning but he's not getting any better…he actually seems worse," Eddie was tugging at his hair and pacing the small living area until Wayne put a hand on Eddie's shoulder to stop him.

"Alright, what kind of sick are we talking 'bout?" Wayne's brow was furrowed with concern.

"Um well…he said he was tired at first, he had a nap when he got here, but then after dinner he threw up and he had a fever. Said his stomach hurt which made sense, what with the puking and all…he threw up again about an hour ago and his fever seemed super high. He crashed out but then he just woke up and was sick again, he's holding his side like it hurts and he's still burning up. What do I do Uncle Wayne?" Eddie was starting to cry as he spoke, getting more and more worked up.

“Sounds like we might need to take a trip to the emergency room with him. Let me see him and we can go from there. Stay here and give yourself a moment. You’re no good to anyone if you’re panicking Eddie,” Wayne gave Eddie’s shoulder one last comforting squeeze and quickly headed to the bedroom to check on Steve.

Steve was laying on the bed curled in on himself and crying softly. Everything hurt but especially his side. He didn’t feel like he could move but he was starting to feel sick again, not that he thought there was anything to come up but more burning bile. He was so hot and he could feel himself sweating through his clothes but it was more effort that he could manage to take anything off. Eddie would help, except when he opened his eyes to look for his boyfriend he couldn’t see him anywhere. The hall light was on though and he tried to call out only what came out was a pained moan.

Then Wayne was there, pressing a calloused hand to his sweaty brow. He was asking Steve questions and he tried his best to answer.

“Where does it hurt Steve?” Wayne was asking.

Steve tried to answer but just pressed his hand against his aching side and hoped Wayne understood. Gently hands pulled his own away from the source of his pain and felt around the area, Steve crying out as the pain got worse when Wayne’s hands moved away.

Wayne muttered something to himself and then before Steve could really comprehend what was happening Eddie was back and he was trying to help Steve to sit up. Steve shook his head, tears falling unchecked as he tried to pull away from Eddie. He didn’t want to move, he couldn’t move.

“Sorry baby but we need to get to the hospital. This might hurt,” Eddie explained, his voice shaky as he tried to suppress his own tears. Then Eddie was lifting Steve and Wayne was there to help as well and somehow they made it to Wayne’s truck.

Steve didn’t really remember the trip to the hospital but he did finally become aware of what was going on when he was helped out of the car and taken through to the emergency department. He was quickly taken from Eddie and Wayne,settled into a bed and given some morphine. The drugs helped ease the pain enough that he was coherent again and then doctors were explaining to him that he was going for surgery to have his appendix removed.

Eddie and Wayne came into the room and the doctor left them briefly, presumably to start preparing the surgery.

“Hey Stevie, how are you doing now?” Eddie asked, grabbing hold of Steve’s hand, carefully avoiding the IV line that had been inserted when he’d arrived.

“Hmm they gave me morphine Eds, it’s helped but I’m still sore,” Steve whined a little and Eddie pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

“I know, but they are gonna take your appendix out and then it won’t hurt you anymore. You can stay with Wayne and I while you recover, right Uncle Wayne?” Eddie glanced at his uncle and Wayne nodded at the pair of them.

“Of course, you’re always welcome Steve. Come on now Eddie, they'll be here to take him to surgery shortly. Say goodbye for now and you can see him later.”

With one more quick kiss, this time pressed to Steve’s lips, Eddie pulled away and left the room with Wayne.

Before too long a nurse came and got him ready for surgery, then Steve was in theatre with a mask over his face and counting backwards from one hundred.

The next time he opened his eyes he was in a different hospital room with Eddie on one side of him, holding his hand and Wayne snoring softly in a chair on the other side of the bed.

Eddie became aware of Steve looking after only a few moments and gave him a warm smile before sighing with relief.

“Hey baby, good to see you awake. You are now appendix free and will have a shiny new scar to commemorate the event. Now, let’s never repeat this again, yeah?”

Steve smiled sleepily, he was pretty sure he was still on some painkillers because he couldn’t really feel anything and felt better than he had in days.

“Hmm pretty sure you only have one appendix Eds.”

“Oh that’s how it is, first words outta your mouth and they are to mock me!”

Steve just gripped Eddie’s hand tighter in his own and tried to pull the older boy down towards him on the bed, Eddie gave up on the dramatics and moved in to press his forehead against Steve’s.

“Please don’t scare me like that again?” Eddie whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke.

“Promise I’ll try,” Steve whispered back.

“That’s all you can do baby. Now, I better let the nurse know you’re awake,” Eddie pulled away reluctantly to press the call button before starting to ramble at Steve asking far too many questions for his still drowsy mind to even think about answering. “Are you hurting at all? Hungry? You haven’t eaten in a while and you threw everything up so I guess you might be?”

Despite the drug induced sleep of the last few hours he was exhausted so Steve just let Eddie fuss over him and closed his eyes. He was alright, Eddie was there and Wayne was nearby. Everything was going to be fine now.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my fics #tw vomit #sick steve harrington #tw hospitals #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic

[writer-in-theory]

related to this post but can be understood on its own

--

Mother's Day hadn't been important to the Harrington family since Steve was still a little tot. He would proudly hand off messy crayon drawings of their family, proclaiming for the entire house to hear that Maggie Harrington was the best mom ever.

She hadn't heard that statement in years. She's sure she hadn't earned it in even longer.

No one will tell her what happened in May of 1987, or what Steve was doing out in the old junkyard in the first place. She knew it wasn't what the gentle man from the federal government had told her, that someone from town had seen him and Eddie together. The town was a lot of things, but even Maggie knew that no one was capable of producing injuries like the ones Steve had. All she had to cling to was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and his friends' fierce insistence that he would wake up.

But Steve hadn't, so now Maggie was spending her first Mother's Day with her son in years within the sterile walls of Hawkins Memorial Hospital.

It's the same routine she had for two weeks. Maggie would wake up, pick out the comfiest clothes she could find in her closet (which were, admittedly, slim pickings) and drive to the hospital the second visiting hours started to stay until they ended. Sometimes the staff would let her come early or stay late. The girl who called herself Steve's best friend (who Maggie doesn't ever remember meeting) said it was because, even unconscious, Steve had a way of winning people over. That had been the first time Maggie had laughed since she got the call.

It had been Eddie who'd done it.

Maggie could still remember the fleeting chill that latched onto her back when the phone rang that night, like somehow she had known her sweet son was hurt.

"Maggie." Eddie's voice was hardly there, scraping through his throat past the hurt and tears. It had taken nearly three months to convince him to call her anything but Mrs. Harrington, but he'd finally given in. There were times—that she's sure will never be vocalized as long as she lives—that Maggie wished she couldn't be called Mrs. Harrington, that she didn't have to be associated with everything she and her husband had messed up along the way.

"Eddie, what's going on?" She asked when he didn't explain right away, clutching the phone receiver tightly. "Is everyone okay?"

"You need to get to Hawkins Memorial," Eddie choked out, and Maggie wondered only briefly if the words were fishhooks scraping cruelly at his throat. "Maggie, it's Steve."

The whimper that escaped her didn't register as human to her ears, only pain. It was better than the clinical calls she'd received after Starcourt and the earthquake, when police officers and hospital staff had to inform her where her son was because he hadn't asked anyone to contact her. But this time, she had begun to make her peace with her son. She'd met Eddie, had him over for family dinners while Robert was in Chicago at work—because, truly, why would she miss out on all this to follow someone across the country just to make sure they didn't cheat?

Since then, the hospital had become more of a home to Maggie than the house did. She was a constant by Steve's bed, sometimes working on a random hobby to keep her hands busy and sometimes simply holding onto Steve's cold, clammy one, begging him to wake up soon.

She may have been the most consistent, but she wasn't the only one. All of the middle schoolers (who weren't quite so young anymore, were they?) stopped by when they could, more frequently now that school was out for the summer. Joyce Byers and Police Chief Hopper came by occasionally, who held Maggie's hand and promised everything would be okay. Steve was a fighter. Nancy Wheeler and Steve's new friend, Robin, would come by too. It took three times before Maggie had laughed and gently told them that they didn't have to hide around her, prompting them to tentatively hold hands on the other side of Steve's bed.

Maggie hadn't heard from Eddie since the phone call. The others kept saying he was coming, that he asked them how Steve was every time they left. He even asked how she'd been doing a few times, Robin said.

She supposed it was only fitting that he showed up on Mother's Day. He stood hesitantly in the doorway of the room, holding onto a bouquet of pink flowers. It took a few minutes for her to even notice, Maggie fully focused on brushing away some of Steve's hair off of his face and rubbing at his lower arms as if to protect the circulation there.

"Oh, honey, come on in," Maggie told Eddie the second she noticed, moving to the chair beside hers so Eddie could be nearest to Steve. "I'm sure Steve'll be so happy to hear your voice?"

"He can hear us?" Eddie asked, breath sounding a little wispy.

"I'd like to think so," Maggie said back. "The kids tell him all about their days. Did you know how much the one with the curly hair can talk?"

Eddie laughed at that, a small little noise that falls flat amongst the white walls. "You can't let Henderson talk without a time limit. I had to bring a Talking Stick to D&D meetings so he'd let everyone have a turn."

"The kids said you haven't been holding those, since...," Maggie fought not to glance up at the bed.

"I can't focus on anything like that," Eddie admitted. "It's Steve, you know? I don't think I can be happy until he wakes up."

"You can," Maggie promised, and her chest warms as the truth of her statement rings clear. "It's hard, and somedays it feels impossible. But it helps having the people who love him most around. Don't shut the kids out, Eddie, you need them as much as they need you."

"You don't get it," Eddie whispered, fingers tightening around the flowers enough to make the plastic holding them together crinkle. "If you knew, you wouldn't want me here."

"Never." Maggie turned in her chair to face Eddie, who looked so pulled taught he might snap at any extra tension. "Eddie, you will always have a place here. Steve loves you, so much, and you've become a part of this family. Family always has a place here, no matter what happened."

"He fucking sacrificed himself for me, the fucking prick," Eddie hissed, before snapping his head up at Maggie and blushing. "Sorry."

Maggie couldn't help the laugh that stuttered out of her, surprised at first but then solely amused. "No, no, I'll be saying the same when he wakes up. It sounds like my son has a tendency for self-sacrificing moves."

"He does, like he's some knight in shining armor or something," Eddie huffed, tugging his fingers through messy curls. "I thought I was gonna die, but then Steve was there. Maggie, I didn't want him to, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Maggie wouldn't say she always had a good motherly instinct, but even to her it's obvious then to reach out for Eddie. The moment she brought him in for a hug, he collapsed against her. He hid his face in her shoulder like Steve used to when he was a kid, sobs so loud they hurt her ears as he clutched onto her shirt and wailed. She let him though, simply holding on and feeling her own tears crash through her body.

"It's okay, Eddie, it's not your fault. It's okay," she told him, "it's going to be okay."

It has to be, because Steve had finally found someone who loved him without expecting anything in return. Because she was just beginning to repair her relationship with her son. Because she had finally been looking forward to Mother's Day for the first time in years. Because Steve was an incredible young man, and she wanted to see everything he could accomplish.

Eddie and Maggie didn't speak much after the tears slowed. Eddie held onto Steve's hand and spoke in a low enough voice that Maggie could only pick up on every other word. She focused on her knitting, because maybe Claudia Henderson had a point that the hand movements were soothing.

And when Eddie stood up to leave, the most remarkable thing happened. He bounced on his feet nervously for a few seconds before holding the flowers out toward her. "These are, um, these are for you."

Maggie was sure she'd heard him wrong. "I'm sorry?"

"I just, I know it's Mother's Day and you have to be here," Eddie began. "You shouldn't have to be here. Steve was talking about taking you to lunch and some play in Indianapolis I don't know anything about. And you can't do any of that because he's here, and so you're here."

Eddie sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before starting again. "You've been a great mom to him, Maggie. You've been a great mom to me, and you don't have any reason to be. I was looking forward to being able to say 'thank you' today, 'cause I haven't really had a mom to be thankful for in awhile. So thank you, and I'm sorry you didn't get the celebration you deserve, Maggie."

Maggie was crying again, she's sure that had been her default for the past two weeks. Mother's Day. The boys had really planned a day for her, had really wanted to spend a day with her.

"Oh, Eddie, this is all I need," she told him honestly, hugging him once more. "You're my favorite future son-in-law, for the record."

Eddie laughed, wet around the tears that had reformed in his eyes. "Yeah, well, that's a steep competition, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Eddie," Maggie said instead, sure that there were no words that could adequately describe what she felt in that moment. "Thank you for being so good to him."

Eddie comes back every day after, usually with a small bag of meals that he and his Uncle Wayne had come up with to get him and Maggie through the visiting hours. They both would talk, sometimes to Steve but mostly to one another. She was thankful for the chance to get to know the person her son loved, the person Steve was willing to risk everything for.

And when Steve woke up a week later, they both cried together.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #mama harrington #mrs harrington #stranger things #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet #steddie blurb #tw hospitals #jay writes in theory

[aesthetic-otd]

Today's aesthetic is hospitalcore

#hospitalcore #medicalcore #Hospital core #Medical core #Hospital aesthetic #Hospital aesthetics #Medical aesthetic #Medical aesthetics #Aesthetic #Aesthetics #Aesthetic blog #Aesthetics blog #Aesthetic community #Aesthetic otd #TW medical #tw hospital #TW hospitals

[cripplecharacters]

I need some advice about how to include magic as an aid. All of my stories are set in a high fantasy type of world with (i think at least) solid worldbuilding where magic is relatively common, especially healing magic and everyday magic (????? like, not highly destructive explosions, more like convenience stuff).

I have a lot of disabled characters who I want to represent authentically & the best way I can, and I reallllllly don’t want to be that author that’s like, oh you have fibromyalgia? Poof healing magic it has no effect on you. Oh you’re an amputee? Poof magical forcefield prosthetic. Yknow

I guess, advice if you have any about how to be respectful about disabilities and magic coexisting

Thank you for your question! I would recommend treating magic like medicine, it can’t fix everything and is always working to be improved. Some issues can be cured with things like surgery or medication, or in your case magic, but sometimes those issues can only be managed and not cured. Sometimes medical help can even make issues worse or cause disability (whether or not the initial problem was solved). Big procedures such as surgeries often have lasting side effects no matter the outcome, and I would imagine so would big magical procedures.

You should also think about how the magic interacts with the world. Is it physically draining to preform? How much does it cost for professional help? Is it accessible to everyone or are there barriers (money, rank/class, education, etc)? Are certain conditions managed with potions that need to be taken over long periods of time, if not forever, and if so how do people get access to it? Is certain magic only practiced in certain places, such as big cities with certified universities/hospitals, and if so how difficult would it be for your character to get to them? What are the side effects of these cures, and how long do they last, if they go away at all?

Also much like every doctor isn’t a good doctor, every healing magician doesn’t care to actually help. There would still be people being misdiagnosed, not being believed, not getting sufficient care, not to mention snake oil salesmen who would sell fake cures for money.

Magic prosthetics also shouldn’t be a cure, they are not in the real world either. They have limited movement, and the more movement a prosthetic has the more expensive it is, the more difficult is is to learn to use, and it’s often heavier. Plus prosthetics can be uncomfortable and difficult to use so not every amputee chooses to wear one.

Just keep these in mind and don’t cure disabilities that are incurable today and you should be good!

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

#anonymous #mod rot #fantasy disabilities #fantasy setting #tw ableism #tw hospitals #writing resource #writing disabled characters #writing disability #magic aids

[clownrecess]

Hot take but I really like hospital food

#tw hospitals #hospital tw #hospitals #tw hospital #tw medical #tw hospital mention

[janetbrown711]

Proud of Your Boy

Glass Shard || Vehicular accident || “Watch out!”

MK's missed one too many classes at his fancy schmancy school and now has to tell Pigsy he's at risk of expulsion.

However, MK would literally rather do anything-- anything other than tell him. Even if it means delivering noodles in rain so thick he can barely see.

This will work out just fine.

Ao3 Link

Pouring rain fell outside of Pigsy’s Noodles, setting a dreary mood for the already dreary teen pacing up and down the back alley. He was late for work, just as he’d been late for school, and late to wake up– all of which he had no good reason for.

He knew he should go inside, that his boss didn’t appreciate tardiness, but he couldn’t– he just couldn’t because sitting heavy in his front backpack pocket was a letter from MK’s principal, explaining that he’d missed roughly the maximum amount of classes for the year and was at risk of expulsion.

MK hated himself and his chronic lateness– it wasn’t that he was completely ditching classes most times, his trigonometry teacher just had it out for him, he swore. Though, it wasn’t like his other teachers were great either and sometimes MK felt like he’d sooner die than step inside those awful classrooms. Plus, it wasn't like Jian and his other classmates created a "welcoming environment".

Still, MK knew it was only a matter of time til he had to face the music– and turns out it just had to be today.

MK sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go into Pigsy’s restaurant and announce that all of the years of hard work making sure MK got into the same good and fancy school as Mei was for nothing, and MK had completely thrown it away because of stupid anxieties. He was sixteen, man– he should be over this.

But at the same time, Pigsy would be upset if he was late for work too. It was a lose-lose situation; MK was destined to get a scolding, but the question would be if it was about being late or about making him break his back with extra hours of work for years for nothing.

MK sighed, a particularly large drop of rain landing on his head and dripping to his forehead, which he quickly brushed away. He didn’t have time for this. He just needed to get in there and start delivering so he could avoid conflict with Pigsy for as long as humanly possible.

Taking a deep breath, the kid walked in, quickly slumping his soaked backpack onto the back office countertop, only getting more annoyed when he noticed there was a hole in the side, meaning one of his expensive textbooks was probably damaged by the rain too.

He was just on a roll today, wasn’t he?

“Put on your game face, MK, just get through today,” He muttered to himself in the reflection of the computer screen, noticing how disheveled his hair looked and the heavy bags under his eyes. He practiced a wide grin two to three times before he dared emerge and make his presence known with a quick, "Hey Pigsy."

"There you are, kid. You're twenty minutes late," Pigsy looked at the clock while frying shrimp.

"Y-yeah, I know– the rain delayed the bus," He lied. "Any orders yet?"

“Just one I’m wrappin’ up now," His boss informed, so MK took a seat at the bar, his legs bouncing the second they were at rest.

The kid glanced around the restaurant and noticed the stool next to him was empty. "Where's Tang?"

"Sick. At some point he's gonna order his usual for delivery online, but he isn't gonna pay, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask ‘im anyways," Pigsy rubbed his forehead a little with a sigh.

Great, Pigsy was already having a bad day and MK was just going to make it worse. What fun.

“School okay?” Pigsy asked, adding the final touches to the bowl.

“S’whatever,” He mumbled, messing with a scratch on the counter.

“If you make that scratch worse you’re payin’ for repairs,” Pigsy smirked a little.

“I’m not making it worse,” He stuck his hands in his pockets, cursing the fact Pigsy had eyes on the back of his head.

His boss got back to work with a laugh, and MK just sat and waited until he was done cooking and bagging it all up.

However, when Pigsy actually saw MK he paused.

“You… uh… doin’ okay..?” He looked him up and down.

“Like I said, the rain delayed the bus, can I take the stupid order now?” He rolled his eyes.

Pigsy frowned. “If the bus got delayed then it might not be best–”

“Pigsy, I’ll be fine, okay? The order was already made anyway, so let’s just take the money and that’ll be that,” MK snapped, surprising himself and the chef.

The chef shook his head and sighed. “Fine– just be safe, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” MK rolled his eyes, snatching the bag and heading out, hearing Pigsy sigh right as he passed the bamboo flap.

Once he was out and by the dinky little excuse of a delivery cart, he cursed the fact that it didn’t have walls or doors, but he was the one who built it so that was also his fault. Well, at least there was a see through rain tarp thing– he just had to roll it down– and try to avoid the massive pool of water it collected, of which he completely forgot about this time and was soaked even worse in seconds.

What a fabulous day this was, truly.

Grumbling to himself, he placed the order next to him in the passenger seat, buckling it tight before pulling up the address on his phone and heading out.

Traffic was annoying and the wind and rain made it even more annoying, as the lack of doors made for a very cold, wet, and anxious MK. It also didn’t help that his windshield wipers were powered by mere thoughts and prayers, so did very little to clear his vision. At the very least he still had his headphones, but being soaked and practically blind canceled out any benefits they would’ve brought.

But it was still better than telling Pigsy he was getting expelled, so MK drove on.

He managed to deliver the noodles in fifteen minutes and received no tip, which was– whatever at this point. What was one more sign he was a total failure anyways?

When he got back in the cart, Pigsy had texted him saying two orders were waiting, and Mei texted asking to call, so he quickly dialed her number.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy~ how goes my favorite delivery boy?” His friend sang out.

“I hate the rain,” MK muttered, waiting to be allowed out of his parking spot but car after car kept passing him.

“Aw, is Mr. Piggy still making you work with the weather like this?” Mei sympathized.

“No, I asked to. I don’t know why, I really hate this,” He sighed, seeing a chance and going for it– cringing when a car honked at him.

“You know, I told you getting a motorcycle would’ve been better but nooOOoo~ you need a cart,” She teased.

“Oh, please, this thing holds a lot more meals than any motorcycle could,” MK rolled his eyes and joined the main road.

“Motorcycle would get you there faster,” Mei pointed out smugly.

“Pigsy says those things are death traps, you know,” MK countered.

“And that dingy little cart isn’t?”

“I take offense to that.”

“I’m not wrong~”

“You know, if you wanted to call just so you could bully me, just take a number because I deal with that enough already,” MK huffed, checking his blind spot and switching lanes.

“Ugh, are those boys still being punks to you?” Mei voiced her disapproval.

MK snorted. “You thought they ever stopped?”

“Look, if you want me to beat them up, all you have to do is say the word.”

“Funny, but I’m in trouble enough as is,” MK rolled his eyes.

Just then his phone beeped and there was a call notification from Pigsy.

“What’s that sound?” Mei asked.

MK sighed. “Pigsy’s calling, though I don’t know why– unless the customer I just dropped off already called to complain, which is… ugh.”

“Oh, are you gonna pick it up?” His friend asked.

MK bit his cheek. “Nah, I’m not too far, it’ll be fine.”

“Oooooo~ boss man’s gonna be mad~” Mei teased again.

“Do you want me to hang up on you? Because I can,” MK smirked.

“No! Pleaseeeee don’t hang up– I don’t wanna do my homeworkkkkkk,” Mei groaned and her voice became muffled, probably from her slamming her face into a pillow.

“Yeah, well, at least your homework isn’t telling your d– boss you’ve made him waste thousands of dollars for some hoity-toity school that’s kicking you out before you can even finish your third year,” He complained, turning right and Pigsy’s icon disappeared.

“What? Why?”

MK internally face palmed.

In his stupidity, MK forgot Mei went to his school too and would obviously be stressed at the news of his imminent expulsion.

“Nothing, I–” MK tried waving off, when a truck kicked up a huge amount of water right in front of him, causing water to soak his feet and ankles right where the tarp didn’t reach the floor. “I hate the rain, did I tell you that?”

“MK, what do you mean they’re gonna kick you out? Isn’t there something you can do?” he heard Mei sit up.

MK sighed. “Look– I really don’t want to talk about it, okay? So either hang up or talk about something else.”

“... I can see if my parents can do something? Like– give the school some more money? Sweet talk teachers? Anything, really,” Mei offered.

“Not in the mood, Mei,” he warned, making a right turn.

“Right, right, okay,” His friend sighed, and he heard her flop back on her bed.

There was a bit of silence, in which Pigsy called again, but MK just ignored it.

“Jeez, he doesn’t normally call when you’re driving, does he?” Mei asked.

MK shrugged. “Not really, but he’s probably just being a worry wart because of the rain, or–”

MK’s eyes widened and his stomach sank.

“Or what?” Mei asked.

“I-I– um…” MK hit ‘decline’ on his phone. “Nothing, hopefully– I-I–”

“Shit, is he mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” MK glanced at his phone and saw a text from Pigsy he didn’t read.

“Maybe you’re right and he’s just worried; that sounds like him,” Mei suggested again, and MK shook his head.

“I’m not far from the restaurant, maybe if I’m quick I can just pick up the orders and be in-and-out of there,” MK tried to plan.

“You think he found out about the expulsion?” Mei asked the question he dreaded.

“He’s totally gonna kill me,” MK lamented, pulling up to a red light before slamming his head against the steering wheel.

“He’s not gonna kill you– yell at you, maybe, but Pigsy wouldn’t kill you,” Mei emphasized but all MK heard was “blah blah he’s gonna kill you blah”.

Eventually, MK was greeted by the familiar sights of the restaurant and pulled back into his parking spot, which was where he noticed Pigsy… smoking.

“I gotta go Mei,” MK said, heart and stomach full of dread.

“We can video chat later if you need, MK,” Mei offered.

“Yeah, I–… we’ll see,” MK chewed his cheek.

“Talk later?” Mei asked again.

“Yeah, talk to you later,” MK hesitated over the red button, but Mei hung up instead.

MK glanced back at his boss, who wasn’t looking at the cart at all, his eyes towards the road with a distant stare.

MK took a deep breath, put the vehicle into park, turned it off, and got out. “Pigsy–”

“What’re these absences about, MK?” His boss looked at him, already holding the letter in his hand.

“How did you find that?” MK tried to dodge.

“Backpack had a hole in it and I decided to inspect it to see if I could fix it. Now answer my question,” Pigsy huffed, eyes firm.

“I-I– I know it’s bad– I know–”

“MK, you’re such a smart kid– so much smarter than me. Why would you do this?” Pigsy interrupted.

“I-I didn’t mean to-! I just–... you know it’s hard waking up on time,” MK put his hands in his pockets and went under the little ramada to protect himself from the rain, though stayed as far away as possible from the chef.

“How do you ‘accidentally’ skip nine entire classes, MK?! These aren’t late marks, they’re absences,” Pigsy pointed out, before taking a step back and smoking more. “I– I don’t get it.”

MK winced. “I-I–”

“You begged me to go to this school, MK. I have poured thousands and thousands of yuan– I just– why?” Pigsy looked at him all heartbroken and confused.

“I-I know you did, D– Pigsy, a-and I know– I know it’s expensive, I-I just–” MK started rubbing his arms anxiously and glancing at the door to the restaurant.

“Then why, MK? Why are you skipping classes?” He pressed.

Because he was a stupid and dumb idiot coward who didn’t want to deal with a few mean looks and would rather make his poor guardian spend a stupid, stupid amount of money for classes he didn’t feel like going to, that’s why.

“I-I… I don’t know–”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Pigsy huffed.

“I– look, can I just deliver the orders to get this over with?” MK switched subjects, not waiting for permission before going inside.

“MK, you aren’t going anywhere until I get some answers for why I’m even paying for that school–!” Pigsy urged, following him in, cigarette still in hand.

“You know quitting smoking is supposed to be a permanent thing, right?” MK bit back, picking up the orders.

Pigsy stepped back, looking hurt by the low blow before he shook his head. “MK, this isn’t about me– it’s about you.”

MK tried not to care, using Pigsy’s somewhat fallen demeanor to get past him and back into the cart.

“MK–! Where on earth do you think you’re going?!” The chef fixed himself and followed him.

“To make my stupid deliveries and get out of your stupid hair!” MK shouted, struggling to turn the vehicle on when thunder suddenly boomed.

“MK, get back inside, we are not done talking about this,” Pigsy demanded.

“W-well I am! So– yeah!” MK got the ignition to start and shifted the gear into drive without buckling his seatbelt.

“MK!”

MK ignored him, barely looking before turning the vehicle out of his spot and turning onto the main road. Of course, he didn’t have the addresses plugged in so he’d have to do that while driving, which wasn’t smart and–

“MK– WATCH OUT–!” Pigsy shouted at the top of his lungs, and before MK could even turn to look, a car crashed into the side front of the cart, causing it to go airborne before landing on its side. Since MK wasn’t buckled in the slightest, he took the fall hard, hitting his head against the ground twice, and he cried out in pain as something hit his foot. He also had a sharp, sharp pain in his side, and was surrounded by broken glass and other fun rubble.

MK groaned at his stupidity and tried sitting up, but every inch of his body screamed that it was a bad idea. He tried just looking around, but his vision was fuzzy. He tried listening to his surroundings, but that was all muffled too– the shouting, the talking, the horns, the honking, the rainfall– all of it.

Great. Just great. Real smart, MK. Get yourself killed over skipping a few classes. Way to make Pigsy proud of you.

“MK?! MK–!” Pigsy’s voice broke above the ringing. MK tried to see where he was, but that was a mistake if there ever was one.

He heard shuffling and whispers and talking and shouting when a hand touched his shoulder, making him flinch– which made the rest of his body move and thus made him cry out in pain.

“Kid–! Oh, kid– you’re gonna be okay, o-okay? I-I’m right here– Didja hit your head–? What am I sayin’, of course you did– I won’t let you sleep, okay?” He heard his guardian say, and MK wanted to say something, but thinking just of words made him groan.

“I-I know kid, I know, it’s okay, I’m here for you kid,” Pigsy’s voice cracked– which was unusual. “Wh-where does it hurt? I-I know in your head, I know, I know, but where else, okay?”

MK tried very hard to concentrate, eventually sputtering out a, “P–pi–” before the pain in his side was too much and he instinctively curled himself a little tighter.

“Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m right here kid– where does it–” Pigsy gasped, apparently noticing something. He felt his guardian’s hands near where the pain was stemming, but they didn’t dare touch him, and after a beat, he called out, “S-someone– a-anyone– call 1-2-0– please-!”

There was more muffled talking but all MK could hear was the sound of his ill-tempered guardian sobbing openly.

He then felt a soft hand touch his soaking wet hair, stroking it somewhat as Pigsy whispered, “it’s okay MK, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, it’s okay–” over and over and over again. MK tried saying anything to make his guardian feel better, but could only cough and cry and groan from the all consuming misery before sirens wailed.

He heard Pigsy tell the EMT’s things before there was organized counting and suddenly his right foot was freed– though obviously still hurt like a motherfucker. He was still in agony when they put him on a stretcher and took him inside an ambulance, but at least he could see Pigsy now, who sat next to him, still stroking his hair as lightly as physically possible.

“You’re okay, MK, you’re okay– I-I’m so sorry for yellin’ at you, I’m so sorry,” his guardian continued to cry, making MK just feel even worse somehow as they drove away from the scene.

When they got to the hospital, Pigsy was pulled away from him, which MK knew because his crying and protesting faded.

The second his guardian was out of earshot, MK’s tears went from pain to sadness.

Soon after, he was taken to a room, where he was given an oxygen mask and pumped full of drugs as doctors and nurses pulled out a massive glass shard that had been lodged into his side. After that, he was given stitches and a handful of weird pills before being taken in and out of rooms with all sorts of scanners and weird machines, all while he barely maintained consciousness.

After about three scans, MK was taken to an average and empty looking room, where he was given yet another handful of mysterious pills he didn’t question. He was hooked up to a heart and oxygen monitor, as well as a new IV and a few weird stickers they placed on his head before he was out like a light.

.o0o.

MK awoke feeling like his mouth was full of cotton, and the rest of his head was full of lead. His chest and sides felt numb from where he vaguely recalled there had been stitches, and his right foot was in a cast he didn’t remember getting.

As he slowly cracked open his eyes, MK was met with a hellish cold light that only added to the misery of the beeps and boops of the machines around him. But that soon didn’t matter at all, as MK saw his guardian pacing the foot of his bed, dark circles under his eyes that were still red and tear-stained from–

From him.

He had actually made Pigsy, the hot-headed chef of pure titanium, shed real tears over him that fell and everything.

It made MK cry too.

“P-P-Pigsy–” MK croaked, hot tears streaming down his face, making the chef stop in his tracks and rush to MK’s side, which was when MK noticed how bloodstained his chef's shirt and tank top were.

“Kid–! Oh I’m so glad you’re okay– I-I’m so sorry for yellin’ at you, okay? I-I was just– I don’t know what’s wrong with me– you feelin’ okay? You’re safe now, you’re at the hospital,” The chef stroked his cheek again and MK leaned into it this time since it didn’t hurt that much and he could.

“P-Pigsy, ‘m so s-s-sorry,” He cried, his whole chest shaking.

“No– no, MK, don’t be, it’s okay, I-I was so stupid– I should’ve handled it all differently– it’s not your fault, okay?” Pigsy wiped away his tears with calloused hands.

“I shouldn’ve skipped class, ‘m sorry,” the boy just continued to weep.

“I’m not mad MK, I promise I’m not– I-I’m so sorry,” Pigsy now held the boy’s face with both hands and MK was just overwhelmed by how warm they were and how he never wanted to leave his da– Pigsy’s embrace.

“M’sorry Pigsy– m’ so, so sorry,” He nuzzled Pigsy’s hands a little and the chef laughed weakly.

“You’re such a good kid, MK, I know you’re sorry, it’s okay, I’m not mad, I’m not,” The chef smiled warmly and wiped away some of the boy’s tears.

MK smiled weakly, though continued to cry, which Pigsy let him, which was… nice. It was so, so nice. It was so nice in fact, that it briefly made MK consider getting himself almost killed more often, but he’d never do that to Pigsy and Mei.

Unfortunately, the nice moment could only last a minute or two before a doctor suddenly came in. Both quickly wiped their faces and tried their best to pay attention to the medical mumbo jumbo.

It was a long winding conversation MK knew he should’ve paid attention to, but he was still absolutely exhausted and his head was filled with emotions and worries and aches and drugs– and also annoyance at the monitors and an obnoxiously loud AC unit.

At least Pigsy seemed to be taking note, nodding seriously and answering questions while MK was too busy looking at the shapes in the ceiling and a painting of a tree on the wall.

When the doctor left Pigsy sighed and wiped his face again, despite there being no tears to wipe away, but of course MK didn’t blame him and wouldn't dream of pointing it out.

“Kid, I-I’m–... I’m gonna ask you about the absences, is that okay?” The chef looked at him hesitantly.

MK sucked in a breath but nodded.

“So… I-I–... why? What’s going on..?” Pigsy looked at him for only a second before looking at the painting. “You’re so smart, MK. You don’t pull the same shit I used to do on the regular– and I keep trying to figure it out– a-and why you’d be so– so scared to tell me that you go out and nearly get yourself ki–...”

Pigsy choked on his words and clenched his eyes shut before desperately blinking away tears and taking a shaky breath.

“I just… a-am… Did I-I…? Are…?”

Pigsy took another breath.

“Are you… afraid of me?”

MK’s eyes widened. “N-no! No, never! I-I just– I– didn’t want to disappoint you, o-or let you know I’ve been wasting your money, which I know you work so, so hard for, a-and I don’t wanna seem ungrateful because I’m not! I-I’m so grateful, Pigsy– I-I–”

“Hey, hey, take it easy kid, it’s okay,” Pigsy looked relieved as he wiped away another one of MK’s tears.

“I-I’m just– I’m so sorry– e-even I don’t always know why I skip class. It's just– it’s like no matter what I do, I just can’t step in– but that’s only happened five times! The other times’re just because my trig teacher doesn’t let students be late, I swear! I-I don’t like wasting your money, Pigsy, I really, really don’t,” MK shook his head and covered his face, which made Pigsy pull him into a nice and warm side hug.

“What do you mean you ‘can’t step in’?” He asked softly.

MK shrugged weakly, leaning into the embrace a little more. “I-I don’t know… Sometimes it just– it feels like I can’t– like there’s a wall and if I pass it I’ll like… die or something. I know it sounds stupid, I know b-but– yeah…” he looked away in shame.

“Classmates bein’ dicks too?” His guardian guessed.

MK hesitated, but nodded.

“It’s okay kid, I know a thing or two about teachers n’ classmates bein’ dicks,” He rubbed MK’s arm and rested his head carefully atop his. “You’re a good kid, MK. You’re so grateful too– it’s almost concernin’ for a kid your age to be so aware,” his guardian tried to joke, but MK could hear the sadness.

“Still… m’sorry,” MK sniffled.

“Ah, it’s okay, kid, we’ll get this sorted out; I’ll send an email to that principal askin’ to switch trig teachers or somethin’, or try to deal with any punk kids– see if there’s a deal we can work out,” Pigsy chuckled tiredly.

MK nodded, but didn’t dare move from his guardian’s warm and protective embrace. To his relief, the chef didn’t seem keen on breaking it up either.

But after a while, MK couldn’t help but ask, “A-are you… disappointed in me?”

“What? ‘Course not, kid– if anything I’m disappointed in m–that– uh– that staff at your school. I pay ‘em how much a year and they don’t even take proper attendance? What a joke,” Pigsy forced a laugh.

MK looked down at his hospital blanket. “I-I was just– I was so scared you’d hate me o-or something and I-I just–”

Pigsy straightened up and forced MK to look at him and his deep, soft eyes.

“MK, you’ll always have your ol’ Pigsy, alright? I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

MK nodded hesitantly and his guardian hugged him once again.

“Good… because– because I really mean it, there’s nothing you could do to make me hate or leave you.”

MK laughed weakly. “I know, Pigsy, I know.”

“Good,” Pigsy laughed a little too, squeezing him a little tighter before slowly letting go and fixing up the boy’s appearance– or what could be fixed of it anyways. “Are you feelin’ any better, kid? I know I should’ve asked that before but–”

“Yeah, much better,” MK chuckled, before a thought came to mind. “Is– um… Is my phone still in one piece? And do you have it? I think Mei probably thinks I’m dead so I should probably text her.”

“Oh, right, yeah– you kids and your phones,” Pigsy joked, fishing it out of his pocket and handing it to the teen, who instantly opened it and saw a myriad of texts from Mei.

4:15 You talk to Pigsy yet? 4:17: I’m going to take your silence as a no 4:20: Are you done yet? 4:22: MKKKKK are you doneeeeeee? 4:45: MK you’re making me actually consider doing my homework plz respond 😩 4:50: Did he kill you? If he did sorry I instilled false hope. In my defense, you didn’t seem like you believed it. 4:52: Okay I’m concerned fr fr– text meeeeeee 4:56: Damn you two must either be having a heart-to-heart or he’s ending your whole career– if so BIG oof 4:56: Praying for you 🙏 5:00: You done yet? 5:02: Is your phone on silent bc damn you aren’t even reading these– and here I thought we were friends smh 😔😔😔💔💔💔 5:13: DUDE there was a crash outside Pigsys Noodles! Did you see it?!! Call me!!!!! 5:15: MK WERE YOU THE GUY WHO CRASHED TEXT ME RIGHT NOW 5:16: MK you better be alive or so help me buddha I will motorcycle to your apartment so fast and kill you myself 5:17: OKAY i didn’t mean that, plz be alive I’ll be so nice if you’re alive 5:20: MKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK 5:25: Call me as soon as you can, okay? I’m worried over here 9:37: My parents took my phone but gave it back now bc I did my homework but you didn’t call so ig we can both be mad at each other 10:42: If this is revenge for Kim, you’re gay and that was middle school, I thought you got over that 11:01: /j 11:04: /lh /ily 💚 2:42: I really, really hope you’re okay… 💚💚💚

“Yeesh, you kids really do text a lot,” Pigsy eyed all the messages.

“It’s how she shows love,” MK laughed a little, and shot a quick text:

4:01 “Not dead 👍 in hospital”

He waited only two seconds before his phone flooded with more texts from his friend, none of which he read, just typing:

4:02 “Go to bed. I’ll call when I have the energy. Ily 💛”

The barrage stopped, and Mei sent back:

4:02 “Fineeeeeeeee, ily2 or whatever 🙄💚”

MK hearted the message and chuckled.

“You two need better sleep schedules,” Pigsy pointed out, shaking his head.

“Bah, I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” MK repeated one of his guardian’s favorite mantras.

“Har-har, I see how it is,” The pig demon rolled his eyes and MK laughed.

“Had to,” He grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Pigsy ruffled his hair lightly before fixing it again.

MK chuckled. “How’s Tang doing? You call him at all?”

Pigsy half-shrugged. “Yeah– he was real bummed about not getting his noodles, but I talked sense into ‘im eventually,” the demon snorted. “He hopes you’re okay and get better soon.”

“Good, good,” MK nodded to himself, before glancing at his boss. “You– uh– gonna check up on him soon..?”

Pigsy laughed. “That big baby just has a cold, he’ll be fine if I stick around with you,” he assured him, though raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh well– um–” MK didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know– I’m just– I’m glad you’re here, Pigsy,” he smiled weakly.

“I’m glad I’m here too, kid– I… I care a lot about you, you know that?” the chef asked nervously.

MK nodded with a weak smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Pigsy smiled with a soft hum, before he suddenly wrapped MK in another side hug and MK snuggled back up to him as best he could.

He knew it was stupid, that Pigsy was just his boss, but moments like these made MK feel like maybe in a different universe, Pigsy could be his dad, and that he’d stroke his hair and call him “son” and instead of saying “I care about you”, they could say “I love you”.

But that wasn’t what they had– MK was just his “ward” and employee, and Pigsy was just his legal guardian and boss, nothing more, nothing less.

But for now, MK could pretend and just be happy feeling safe and warm in his guardian’s arms without a care in the world– and a part of him could think that maybe– just maybe– Pigsy felt the exact same way…

Well, it was a nice fantasy no matter what, and he’d be fast asleep in the matter of minutes, snug as a bug in a rug in his guardian’s arms, feeling as though everything was right with the world for once in his chaotic young life.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #dadsy #whumptober 2023 #pigsy lmk #mk lmk #my fics #we stan one (1) pig dad #he's trying his best dammit #precanon #angst #angst with a happy ending #tw car crash #tw hospitals #uhhhhhhh #anyways stan dadsy #that's an order #he tries his best #but like #tho the emotional disconnect will always make emo #GOD #when will they allow themselves to be father and son smh #i need it now

[allthegothihopgirls]

special-est guy in the hospital because my veins get along with the needles and nurses so well. they would NEVER hide away from the prodding and poking and avoid getting caught at all costs (lie)

#tw needles #tw hospitals #but yeah #6th try's a charm.. right??? right???? #I've been left alone while they get a nurse whos better at the needles #siiiiigh #gothihop speaks

[sickmuseum]

I DIED THAT DAY.

there's the late night drive, in the ambulance, loud sounds and bright lightning, can't even see one now, can't even hear one now.

couldn't speak, couldn't even say sorry, please forgive me i don't know what got into my mind.

even though i tried many, many times before, i can't even count them.

poor little girl who at the age of seven already had suicidal urges.

i want to hold you.

there's blood, there's the strobe lights that never let me sleep while i was there, the babies crying like they are dying, maybe they are, the girls that have meltdowns and scream and lash out at the nurses, the ones who cut themselves even if their parents are there, the girls who fought to escape and got tied up to the bed, the ones that were sedated and couldn't even talk properly, the teens that did not wanted to be there, the boy who was dissociated out of his mind, the girl who at the age of eleven, was probably schizophrenic.

that one girl who had bpd symptoms.

she was eleven.

the anorexic girl who couldn't even walk.

maybe i was dying.

i wholeheartedly believe i was.

there's something about friends that you meet in the most terrible time in your life, your support, while they are also, in the most terrible time in their life.

there's something about watching movies, gossiping, doing eachother's makeup, there's nights when we all cry together, and we tell our problems, there's role-playing doctors and therapists, because they weren't there, one time a week, we saw them. maybe two, maybe three weeks.

we wait to be transferred, that day never met me.

i was gone before i was in the psych ward.

it's one of those nights, i scream i yell i can't begin to explain how... low i feel, i cut and tell the nurse i can't do it anymore, i can't do this anymore, what can't i do anymore? living?

i have never lived.

i pass through the elders and the adults, there's a schizophrenic teacher at the side of my bed, tied up to the bed, there's a religious old woman that tells me i should not be here, there's the violent, the ones who look at me thinking and wondering what i've done to be there.

there's this constant reminder on my arms, on my heart, on my mind on the mundane things, of what i did, of what i've been through, of what i did go through.

i can't seem to shake the thoughts. i am not alive, a part of me died that day, those weeks, those two months, i spent hospitalized.

the girls i met, the boys i met, the nurses i met, my mom and dad and family, i am sorry.

that wasn't me.

but even if it was that who am i?

i was and i'm nothing but a broken vessel.

#tw hospitals #medical trauma #tw medical #tw hospitalization #long post #mental illness #vent art #vent #art #personal vent #trauma #ptsd #complex ptsd #actually cptsd #childhood trauma

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

CYOA

Chapter 7. Vet

Previous - Masterlist

Content: Medical care, implied needle and medical drugs, broken bones, hospital and vet setting, poor vision, panic attack, emeto mention implied, dubious handling, dehumanization, pet trope,  Giant/tiny, female cast, cages, being watched, money stress, selective mutism, 

Pov: Ashley, then switches to Hamster for the poll. 

Poll Winner: Rush Hamster to the emergency vet

—

You can’t handle seeing her like this. She’s burning in your hands, and you’re already reaching for your pink jacket. It doesn’t matter if you have to work full time at both your jobs for the next year, she has to go to the vet. 

You can do your makeup in the car. 

You hold her against you, and feel her squirming to try to get more comfortable in your hand. “Shh shh it’s ok, its ok, shh,” you keep shushing her as you swaddle her in a blanket on your lap to keep her safe while driving. 

The vet isn’t busy yet thankfully, and you’re able to get her in before half the day is gone. “We’re going get you allll fixed up Sweet-Pea.” You reassure Hamster in a whisper to the blankets she’s hiding under, and hold it close to you. It’s covering your pyjama bottoms so people can’t notice your lack of tight jeans so easily… 

The doctor working on the floor today is Dr. Reese, and you recognize him from your job. When you unravel the small heap of blanket to reveal Hamster, she visibly cowers under the bright lights, and pulls her hair over herself. This makes Reese chuckle, and he takes over once she’s set onto the examination table. 

Hamster starts crying with that tea kettle whisle to her voice when Reese touches her, but turns her head towards you when she hears your voice. She reaches her tiny chubby hand out for you as if asking to be saved, and your heart breaks all over again. “I’m right here baby girl, don’t worry I won’t leave. This nice man is going to help you.” You want to put your finger down for her, but you have to keep your distance. 

Hamster starts actually screaming once Reese begins prodding at her injury, and it makes you feel sick. You have to leave the room after all, and run to the bathroom to get a hold of yourself, gripping the sink to keep back tears. If you ended up with makeup running down your face, you would be too humiliated to come out, and to your horror, that’s exactly what happens… 

It takes some time to calm down and fix your face, and finally you brave going back into the room to check on your girl. Your eyes are puffy but you hide it well with fresh eyeliner. 

When you see her she’s half awake with a piece of gause taped to her good arm, and a cast being put on the other. She’s just staring off into space with her eyelids drooping, and barely responds to you when you speak. 

Your blood runs cold, and you leave again.

A nurse calls you back in shortly after, and Reese talks to you about the break, what medication to give her, how long the cast should stay on. 

He mentions something off hand, and you’re somewhat caught off guard, “Have you considered having her vision checked? It appeared to me that she was having a difficult time visually focusing on anything past her nose…” 

Thats the sentence that stands out, and your guilt skyrockets at the thought of neglecting her needs. Next thing you know you’re agreeing to an eye exam for the following week, and signing papers that you hardly skim over. 

They hand Hamster back to you in a paper box with holes in it, and inside she’s nested in soft tissues that surround her, with a cast protecting her arm. She’s fully asleep, and not moving. You snap a picture for your blog, and add your GoFundMe link to the description of your post. 

Once she’s back home safely in her cage you leave for work. 

—

—

Credit to @alittlewhump for proof reading <3333 big hearts for you <3

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @sunshiline-writes @whump-in-the-closet

#cyoa whump #interactive whump #g/t writing #g/t art #whump art #whump writing #tw broken bones #pet whump #tiny whump #medical whump #breezy’s post #hamster interactive story #breezys art #breezys writing #poll #tw hospitals

[dragoon811]

I have had a shitty week. Can someone manifest me some good vibes?

Sunday started nice. Monday was a holiday (Family Day) so I got some extra weekend. I was looking forward to it - then Elder Child crawled into my bed just past midnight with a fever.

Monday she stopped eating after lunch (two bites of banana), but was drinking water.

Stayed home Tuesday to help her combat the fever. Wednesday morning she had no fever so my daycare lady was able to take her and I went to work. She kept me updated etc all day.

My gut didn’t like how much she was sleeping so after work I decided to take Elder Child to the children’s hospital. Convinced my husband to pack me a bag, thinking they’d throw Tylenol at us and we’d sit in the waiting room for 8 hours to be told it’s an ear infection/sinus infection…. But I got home to her and her fever returned. (And my period started. JOY.)

Loaded her into the stroller, threw myself in, and off we went! Waited in line at triage.

Triage called us, we weighed her, we talked. And I said I was concerned because she hadn’t eaten, the fever was back, my sister was diabetic and I was starting to worry because when she was sleeping I couldn’t rouse her easily, and her breath smelled and basically asked them to check her blood sugar.

So they did. (This was NOT an enjoyable experience for Elder Child.) it was at 2 - new to how Canadians measure shit, I’m really glad the little screen added in red: “CRITICAL LOW”.

The nurse made a phone call and stressed, surprised, that Elder Child was alert.

Upon the second attempt at a reading because it was low, Elder Child was more prepared. She kicked, she fought, she puked all over herself, and bolted for the emerge doors.

Ok. Skip a second test. (Note: I did not pack spare clothes.)

We were taken right back to a room in the emergency wing. Unsettling.

Then a flurry of people - a lady trying to help Elder Child adjust and calm down. Nurses. Doctors asking questions. (Another note - I have not slept well in 2 weeks, am hearing impaired, and now overwhelmed and scared. Not a good combo.)

Gave Elder Child a nasal spray to calm her (this resulted in another bolting for freedom, also thwarted), another blood check….and once the spray started to work, we tried to prep her for an IV/blood draw.

This was ALSO strongly disliked. More holding her down. I did a lot of crying.

We went through the symptoms - tummy hurting, drinking some water but hadn’t peed in like 6-7 hours, fever, sleeping constantly, not eating. Ended up doing ultrasound, X-ray. Ten bottles of blood (and she FREAKED). Finally got her to pee. Yes, she peed on me.

Refused food. Refused popsicles. Refused juice. Started IV - first sugar bolus. Then hydration. We named the IV robot Frank. Elder Child, loopy from the spray, patted it and told it it was doing a good job. Also, during our walk to ultrasound, said she was Frank’s pet puppy and he was taking her for a walk, see her leash? 😅

Spent the night. (Another note: my daycare kept her sister until bedtime. And we arranged to take her as soon as she woke up because we cannot trust my husband with her care.) Lots more holding her down and blood checks.

Also please note: Elder Dragoon wails and screams when distressed. She was very distressed. I felt really sorry for the staff because I couldn’t calm her.

In the morning she managed to eat a bit! Yay! Tried to disconnect the iv - sugar went down. Hooked her back up. Spent the day trying to get her to drink 100ml of apple juice.

Ended up discharged at almost 4pm - diagnosis: fever, causing hypoglycemia. Apparently kids don’t have as much stores as adults and the fever was burning through what she DID have.

So I spent today waking her every 4 hours and getting her to eat or drink. It took her an hour to drink half a juice box. But by dinner today she was improved and actually had food. And accepted popsicles.

Still have to get her eating or drinking again in about 20min. Then set the timer back.

I just want a full REM cycle of sleep. I am SO fucking tired.

#shut up dragoon811 #baby dragoon the elder #tw hospitals #tw blood #tw sick kid

[pavlien]

this started out as just a bored doodle but then i ended up spending like 5 hours over the course of 2 days on it lmao

(scene from LJS ive been wanting to draw for a real long time lol @thelavendercatalogue / @dukeswonderousmenagerie)

also heres 2 alt crops bc i have no idea how i want to crop it lmao

#me? drawing a background for once? wow. character development #also drawing characters at angles i dont usually draw at? #now i will proceed to never do it again for the next fuckin year KJHJGHF #conflicted on if im happy with this or not. i do not know #also yes ik i put the breathing tube machine thingy on the wrong side of the bed n put the iv drip in a weird spot i nO LONGER CAAAREEE #lupin iii #lupin the 3rd #lupin the third #arsene lupin iii #lupin #jigen #jigen daisuke #daisuke jigen #jiglup #tw hospitals #tw hospital #LIII:LJS #lup's art

[beth--b]

Never leaving you

Sicktember prompt 25. confused/disoriented

When all was said and done at Starcourt and the adrenaline began to wear off Steve found himself feeling sick, dizzy and hurting.

Robin had been with him, and Henderson too, but now he was alone.

Well, not alone.

Someone was trying to talk to him, shining a fucking light in his eye. Was the doctor back?

He needed to protect them.

That was his job. It was the one thing he could do so he needed to do it.

He tried to pull away from the people who were talking to him, asking questions. He didn't want to tell anyone anything. He already fucked up when he told them Dustin's full name, he couldn't mess up again.

Then there were hands on his face, and it hurt but not the way it had when they were hitting him. A voice finally filtered through the pain and the terror and the need to protect those he cared for.

“Steve?” the voice came again.

Finally he cracked his eyes open, when had he closed them?

“Robbie?” he asked, ever so slightly slurred.

Read it here on ao3

“There he is. Hey Steve, the paramedics just want to help you alright? I promise they are gonna help, no more hurting ok?”

Steve whined, he wanted to believe her but everything was so confusing and he didn’t know what was past and what was present.

“Shh Steve, shh. I’m not leaving, you’re safe.”

He nodded, why was everything so hard?

The people from before approached him again and this time Steve could make out the uniform of the paramedics. He let them probe at his face, crying out in pain as something in his cheek shifted as they felt the side of his face that had taken the worst hits.

They finally moved away and then Robin was back.

"Good job Steve. We're going to head to the hospital now, but I'm gonna ride with you and we will stick together ok?"

He didn't want to but he didn't think he had it in him to argue. He was so tired.

XXX

Steve wasn't sure what had happened between getting into the ambulance and arriving at the hospital. He was exhausted and sore and just wanted to go home and sleep. Or better yet, back to Eddie’s to sleep. He didn't really want to be alone in his parents too big house.

Instead he was taken to an examination room where a doctor poked at his face some more. She had him strip his shirt too and prodded at the dark bruises forming across his stomach and ribs.

Robin was the only reason he managed to sit through the examination. She kept whispering to him about how they were safe now, that it was over. Eventually a nurse came in and said Steve's emergency contacts had arrived and should she send them in.

The doctor looked to Steve who nodded and she told the nurse to bring them in so that she only had to explain things once.

Robin took a step back from Steve so the newcomers could check him over. She expected to see the Harrington's but was instead met with a rather flustered Eddie Munson when the door opened to the examination room.

"Steve! Your face!" Eddie exclaimed.

Before he could say anything further an older man walked in behind him and put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, the flustered metal head quickly shutting his mouth, though he looked desperately like he wanted to speak.

"Wayne Munson," he introduced himself to the doctor. "Steve's emergency contact."

Steve wanted to go to Eddie, wanted Wayne to call him 'son' and hug him the way parents do, but he waited on the table he had been sitting on since he was brought to this room and bit his already split lip.

But then Wayne was there, he pulled Steve in for a brief but warm hug before turning back to the doctor.

Steve tuned out while she spoke.

He was still dizzy and wanted to sleep.

Wanted to go home.

He was a hair's breath from dozing off where he sat, uncomfortable table be damned, when a hand touched his shoulder.

Eddie was standing before him looking like he desperately wanted to touch Steve but didn't know if he should.

Steve made the decision for him and practically fell forward forcing Eddie to catch him.

"Hey Stevie. Poor thing, you look like you've been to hell and back," Eddie crooned while Steve buried his aching face into Eddie's shoulder.

Steve didn't cry, not then. He was too fucking tired to cry. He did soak up as much of Eddie's warmth and tenderness as he could though before he finally pulled away.

Robin was hovering at the edge of the room and Steve cursed himself for forgetting about her. She knew he had a boyfriend, he'd told her right after she confessed to having a crush on Tammy Thompson, so it wasn't that he was worried about that. No, he just felt like he shouldn't have been able to forget her for even a second after everything they'd been through.

"Stop thinking so hard dingus," Robin scolded him before she rushed forward and hugged him. "I need to go find my parents and check on the others. Let Eddie take care of you yeah? I'll see you tomorrow." With one last hug she left the room, looking at him over her shoulder even as she left and closed the door.

"Well," Wayne started, "you are gonna be hurtin' for a while son, but the doc said we could take you home once they wrap your ribs and do another check. Sit tight and we'll be out of here soon."

Steve nodded, filled with relief. He didn't want to be here anymore.

Eddie hopped up and sat beside him on the cold table and wrapped an arm around Steve.

"You waiting here with me?" Steve asked, resting his head on Eddie's shoulder once more.

"Of course. After this I'm not sure I'll be leaving you alone anytime soon."

Steve sighed and lay his hand on Eddie's knee, pressed tightly against him.

"Sounds good to me."

#sicktember #sicktember 2023 #sicktember prompt 25 #prompt 25 #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt steve harrington #tw hospitals #established steddie #robin buckley #concussion #wayne munson #my fics #stranger things

[practically-an-x-man]

Prompt from a Siv/Hailey piece I'm working on:

"They're just being their usual self again."

"Are we talking felonies or intense self-loathing?"

Okay first of all... I cannot WAIT to read this piece bc that sounds absolutely hilarious!! I love Siv and Hailey so much

And second... this definitely sounds like Quinn lol

____ Pyrotherapy

Word Count: 2.7k Content Warnings: some swearing, fire, mentions of hospitals

____

Three stormed into the room, slamming the door so suddenly that Billy nearly jumped out of his skin. He twisted around to glare at the other man - a decision that only earned him a red-tinted Game Over screen as his avatar was sniped by a long distance enemy. Billy huffed, tossing his controller to the side and renewing his glare at Three.

"D'ya mind?"

"Go wrangle your girlfriend." Three muttered, waving a hand at the room he'd come from, "She's in a mood."

Billy could have laughed. He settled for a scoff.

"Nobody's wrangling Quinn," he fired back with a grin, "Pity the guy who tries. But, ah... what kind of mood?"

"Hell if I know." Three said, producing something from one of his pockets and holding it out to Billy, "She threw this at me when I tried to ask. So... a mood."

Billy turned the object over in his hands. It was Quinn's lighter - one of them, at least - worn and scuffed and printed with cartoon flamingos. From the weight of it, he guessed it was close to spent. He figured that meant she'd either been chainsmoking in an effort to calm down (a bad habit of hers) or simply lighting random objects on fire to amuse herself (a worse habit of hers).

He tucked the lighter into his pocket.

"There are worse things they coulda thrown at you."

"That's your takeaway?"

"Yeah, kinda." Billy admitted, shrugging at him. He spared one more remorseful glance at his game screen, knowing the TV would be commandeered the instant he was out of the room, but kicked himself up and off the couch. "I'll go talk to her. In their trailer?"

"Yeah. Guard your head."

"Ah, please, she likes my face. Wouldn't dare mess it up." he said, giving Three his best grin. The other man scoffed.

Billy slipped out of the lounge and jogged down the hall. He decided to make a detour for the kitchen - sure, a pack of Swiss Rolls probably wouldn't solve the problem, but it couldn't hurt either. Well... make that two packs of Swiss Rolls. He'd missed lunch.

He jogged across the desert, wincing at the thick heat that closed in around him. He could see it rippling in loose waves over the sand, and knew it would only get hotter from here. Summer here was no joke.

"Billy!" Five's voice made him pause, and he found her running up to his left, "Guess you got the message. Quinn's kind of... struggling right now."

"So I've heard," he remarked, shooting a low frown in the direction of Quinn's trailer. Not one but two members of the team calling on him for damage control. And two of Quinn's favorites too, besides him. This must be bad. Very bad. "D'you know what's wrong?"

"Not really. They're just... being their usual self again."

"Are we talking felonies or intense self-loathing?"

"Don't know. Both?" she guessed, "I thought I saw something on fire."

"Yeah... that's Quinn. Sounds like a rough day." he sighed, and took a few more steps towards her trailer, "I'll give it a go."

"Good luck."

He shot her a smile, though it felt as thin as tissue paper, and resumed his jog down to Quinn's trailer. He could hear a string of expletives from ten feet away, echoing off the tin walls and drifting over the sand like tumbleweeds. It didn't make him pause until the swearing stopped, replaced by something that sounded like broken sobs.

Quinn was not a crier. If she cried at all, it was usually out of pain, and she rarely acknowledged those tears.

This didn't sound like that. He'd only heard sobs like this once in his life: the day he'd met them, after their life had fallen apart in virtually every possible way. Whatever this was... it wasn't good.

"Aces?" he asked, sparing her a moment or two to collect herself before he pulled open the door.

Something shiny and pink barrelled straight for his head.

Three had been right.

Billy caught Quinn's spare lighter in one hand, flipping it over in his palm. The back of it was printed with a yellow emoji hand, flipping him the bird in all its cartoon glory. That felt fitting.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Five said you were lighting things on fire," he replied, taking a step further inside. Quinn was seated at the booth in her trailer, a stack of papers and a small pile of ash strewn across the table in front of them. Before they could tell him to get lost, Billy slid into the seat across from her. "So, y'know, I wanted to make sure you weren't gonna burn down your trailer."

"Tsh. I'd just stay in yours if I did," Quinn muttered, and held out a hand, "Give me my lighter back."

He obliged, dropping it into her palm and pulling the other lighter out of his pocket for good measure. Quinn took them both without even meeting his eyes. Hers were bloodshot, red-rimmed, and he could see the shiny tracks of tears down her cheeks. He chose not to acknowledge that.

"What're ya burning?"

Quinn scoffed, and for a moment he thought she was going to ignore him entirely. They'd picked up one of the slips of paper and had their lighter poised to set it ablaze...

And then they paused. Sighed. Flipped the paper to face him.

It was a photo - a Polaroid, small and square and a little faded with time. It took Billy a moment to process the figures in the picture.

He recognized Quinn first, of course. In the photo, she lay in a hospital bed, casted and bandaged up to the base of her ribs. An assortment of tubes and wires trailed out from her arms, feeding into an array of blocky gray machines behind her. Their hair had grown out, their Mohawk shaggy and their blue hair dye faded into a washed-out green.

Next to them was a man in nursing scrubs. He had to be in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a warm, creased smile. He had an arm around Quinn's shoulders, posed for the camera. Quinn was smiling too, but it looked fractured. Her eyes were a little distant, like she wasn't quite present in the moment.

Quinn snatched the photo back at once, scowling at the little paper.

"Found these in the bottom of my bag," they muttered, shoving at the rest of the stack. With just a glance, Billy could see that they were more of the same: taken in the hospital at various points throughout her recovery. Most showed Quinn in the bed, but he caught a few where she was on her feet- albeit leaning heavily on a walker or supported by a nurse on either side.

"Forgot I had them." she concluded, lifting her lighter until the photo in her hand caught fire. She dropped it onto the table and watched it burn. Their eyes were hard. They picked up another photo almost before the prior one had even finished burning. "The nurses took them. Said it would be 'inspiring' to look back and see where I'd come from. But y'know what? It's not fucking inspiring. Look at them. I look dead inside."

"You don't." Billy said, though for most of the photos that wasn't quite true. Quinn saw straight through his bluff. She shot him a glare and stuck one of the photos in his face.

"Don't lie. I'm a fucking husk. They had me on so many goddamn drugs, I didn't even know where I was." they huffed, "I don't even remember when they took half of these. Thought I was hallucinating the other half. And they thought- they seriously thought I'd want a reminder of that fucking nightmare?"

"Hm." he sighed. He didn't know what else he could say. Appeasements wouldn't help, they weren't Quinn's type. Saying it didn't look so bad would be a lie - she looked miserable - and lying would only make things worse. Part of why she trusted him was because he'd never lied to her. And he didn't know enough about the situation to look for a silver lining in it. They didn't talk about it much.

Quinn picked up another photo to burn, this time holding the lighter straight in the center so her photographed face turned black with soot before going alight. Billy flipped through the remaining photos, frowning at the collage before him.

"This one's not so bad," he finally said, holding up a photo. Quinn reached for it- Billy drew his hand back, worried she might try to burn it before he got another word out.

The photo showed Quinn, vaguely off-center like the photo had been snapped on a whim. She stood in a hallway, some sort of wheeled frame holding her up by the hips. Her hair had been cut and dyed a fiery orange, and she had her getaway jacket thrown over her shoulders like a cape. She wasn't quite smiling, but her expression was open in a way the other photos didn't showcase. It was about the only photo in the stack where she looked like herself.

"Hm. That was the first time they got me on my feet," Quinn explained, reaching again for the photo. This time he let her take it, though he kept a wary eye on the lighter in her other hand. "Hurt like you wouldn't believe. I only made it about four steps before they had to put me back in the wheelchair, and that was with that goddamn gait trainer on me. But... I was on my feet. For about thirty seconds."

She huffed out a sharp breath, bringing the photo towards her lighter. Billy's hand snapped out, grabbing her wrist before she could bring the photo any closer.

"Don't." he said, "Save this one."

"Let go of me." she hissed. He released her at once, but Quinn didn't torch the photo just yet. She pressed her lips together. "Why the hell should I?"

" 'Cause it was a win." Billy tried, "First time you got back on your feet- that's a good thing. And now you're here. Back on your feet for good, right? The others... torch 'em. Blow 'em up with a tactical nuke, I don't care. But save this one."

Quinn gave him a hard look. He couldn't read their thoughts. Usually he was pretty good at that, but now... he didn't have a clue.

She turned her lighter against the remaining stack of photos and watched it all go up in flames. Fire danced across the table, and Billy reeled back at the sudden wash of heat. For a moment, he debated trying to douse it or dampen it before it spread to something else in the trailer, but then the fire began to die as the last of the photos crumbled to ash.

It left only the photo in Quinn's hand.

They blew out their lighter.

"It took ten seconds to ruin my entire fucking life," they growled, staring at the picture in their hand, "Eight years, and I haven't even put it back together yet. I'm not sure- I don't think I ever will."

Their hand snapped out, slamming into her crutches propped against the table and sending them clattering across the trailer. They landed off by the door. Billy, biting back a faint frown, made a mental note to grab them for her before she stood up.

"You're not in the hospital anymore." he offered, "You're not in the bed. You don't have a walker."

"You sound like my nurses."

"Yeah, well... maybe they were right about that part." he said, ignoring the glare she gave him for saying it, "Yeah, okay, you don't have all the pieces back together yet. But you've got most of 'em. Swiss Roll?"

"Um. What?"

"Forgot I had them," he said, pulling the snacks from his pocket and sliding one across the table to her, "Want one?"

Quinn shrugged, but tore open the package and picked at a few chipped-off pieces of chocolate glaze. Billy bit back his smile. Chocolate always made things a little better.

"I'm just sayin'," he continued, "You're outta the hospital. You've got a crew. Don't have any more casts on your legs. Don't have to eat shitty hospital food anymore."

"As if shitty prepackaged cake is much better," Quinn muttered, still poking at the Swiss Roll in front of her, "But I guess Three's cooking isn't bad."

"You've got your own bed," Billy said, and couldn't resist shooting her a cheeky smile, "And sometimes my bed too."

That drew her eyes up to him, halfway between amusement and something a little deeper. Billy was pleased to see that despite all her sharp words and sharper actions, her tears had stopped.

"And..." he finished, reaching across the table to offer her his hand, "You've got me. And I'm not going anywhere."

"You think you're such a prize, huh, Wings?" she teased, though she took his hand and held on tight. Billy just grinned, pulling his spine up straight like he was auditioning to be the next Adonis.

"Obviously. Look at me, I'm a total catch."

"And modest, too."

Billy snorted, tossing his head a little. Modesty was something he'd never tried to claim. He was proud of who he was - his skills, his body, everything else. He wouldn't deny that. And he'd rather be a little too comfortable with himself than a little too afraid of it. In his line of work, insecurity got people killed.

"I'm glad you stuck it out, Q," he admitted, giving their hand a faint squeeze, "I'm glad you didn't give up. I'm glad you're here with us."

Quinn nodded but didn't speak. Not for a long time. She stared down at the table, sprinkled with dark ash from her midafternoon pyromania. After a while, she lifted her free hand and traced her index finger through the drifts of ash, drawing out abstract patterns.

"Maybe we should take a new picture." she mumbled, "All of us. The new crew. Maybe that would help."

"Heh. Yeah. And when you're done with us, you can burn that too." As sarcastic as it might have sounded, he meant it genuinely. If this was how Quinn moved on, well... there were certainly worse methods. And better ones too, but he wouldn't begrudge her this one. He burnt things too. He had a shoebox full of old photos, ones of him and Lex that he'd printed out from the cloud, and he always torched a couple whenever he got sick of the memories.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Quinn muttered, "But if I'm gonna have a photo, might as well be of something I'm proud of."

"I think Five's got a Polaroid around here somewhere," Billy offered, "An' if she doesn't, I'm sure One's got a camera. Want me to track something down?"

"I dunno. Later. I think if we took it now, I'd look just as goddamn dead inside as I did in those other ones."

"You don't. You look pretty." he said, running his thumb across her tattooed knuckles. Quinn rolled their eyes but gave his hand a brief squeeze.

"You're sweet." they mumbled, "Even if you are a fuckin' liar."

"I'm not lying! You're beautiful, Q. Maybe I want my own picture of you, just to look at."

"Why would you need a picture when I'm right here?"

Billy shrugged, letting his eyes flick up and down her face. As much as he voiced it as a joke... he never got tired of looking at her. And he wouldn't have minded a picture or two in those years he'd had without her. It would've made the hard times a little easier to get through, he thought.

"I dunno. Cause it would get creepy if I just stared at you all the time?"

"You'd be the first to even bother."

"Hm. Got you all to myself, then. Perfect."

Quinn shook their head, though Billy could see a faint flush coloring their cheeks. Maybe he was laying it on a little thick... but he didn't care. He liked to think of it as making up for lost time.

He let his hand fall away from hers, but only to frame her with his fingers like he was holding up a camera. Quinn gave him a look, but Billy just grinned.

"Mental snapshot, Q. Say cheese."

#my friends!!! #answered asks #my ocs #oc quinn/aces #my writing #6 underground #oneshot #ficlet #angst #angst with a happy ending #tw medical #tw hospitals

[sweebread]

In the waiting room at the doctors office, bout to shit myself out of nerves

#im completely fine btw i just get very nervous and then say the wrong things and idk if the doctor is rude or not #tw hospitals #just in case