[yst] [fic] At the Stars 1/?
This fic is brought to you by four things:
1. the 2006 movie The Fountain, also a gorgeous 2002 graphic novel by Kent Williams
2. the 2010 movie Extraordinary Measures
3. a Better Than Ezra song, you get to guess which
4. my little sister's sick twisted magnificent imagination and her relentless plunnies ♥
Disclaimers and notes:
1. i don't own YST or any of its characters. i am truly very sad about it.
2. i actually know nothing about medicine or genetics. i just like using big words i can barely understand. so if you happen to be working in the medical industry... please go easy on me?
3. this futurefic desperately pretends Message never happened. instead it acts like the armors went away in a puff of pink glittery smoke after Kikoutei Densetsu.
4. m/m and heavy angst warnings. melodrama abounds.
At the Stars
Part 1
"You've got to be kidding me..."
Spoken in almost a whisper, this phrase sent a tense hush sweeping over the boardroom. Some of the younger people in the room dropped their gazes to the surface of the conference table, or to the backs of their hands.
The white-haired elderly men and women in business suits, no strangers to these occurrences, stared wordlessly at the blue-haired young man in the unpressed shirt and slacks, the frayed old jacket rolled up to his elbows.
"You've got to be kidding me," the young man repeated, more loudly this time. "What do you mean the project's terminated?"
"Hashiba-san." It was someone much older who spoke; a balding man with spectacles and hunched shoulders. But he spoke to the young man with such respect, that he may as well be someone younger and less experienced at apologies. "I've left several messages on your phone, asking to set up a meeting with you. I've wanted - "
The young man called Hashiba slammed his fists onto the tabletop. It made the unaware jump a few inches off their seats. "Akise-san," he said, with as much intimidation as he could gather without resorting to yelling. "You, of all people, should have informed me."
"Hashiba-san, you've been ignoring my calls!" The man frowned, dipped his chin and adjusted his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The young man called Hashiba knew him well enough to know this meant he was mustering his courage. "I've wanted to discuss it with you. Not answering my calls would be fine under different circumstances... but to be honest, you've left us no other option."
Someone else at the corner of his eye nodded. The young man named Hashiba looked around the room. There were those who refused to look at him and those who refused to look away from him. Sympathy was nowhere among them.
"This isn't fair," Hashiba said, hopefully not as feebly as he feared. "I've been working nonstop. I haven't had time to attend to personal phone calls. I've devoted the last few years of my life to this project as well. And to hear this, so suddenly..." His nails dug into his palms until his knuckles turned white.
"Hashiba-san," the meek man named Akise continued, "your hypotheses have been reviewed again and again by the scientific community. You say you're developing a means to prevent a deadly genetic illness - but again and again, we've been shown proof that such an illness is unlikely to occur."
"Unlikely?!" An angry redness was creeping up the young man's neck from his loosened collar, shading his exposed ears. "You've seen my papers, Akise-san. All of you have. I've proven beyond doubt that this specific genetic ailment -"
"- is sure to prove fatal to everyone with a specific gene set, given the appropriate environmental factors," someone finished for him. It was one of the white-haired old men. He might have been the CEO of the pharmaceutical company that had employed him - at the moment, the young man named Hashiba could not exactly bring himself to care. "Dr. Hashiba. That's not the point. The 'factors' that you specified do not exist at present. Nor have our control researchers determined that they are likely to occur in the near future. I mean - let's be frank." The old man spread his hands out wide and cracked a smile - a parody of helplessness. "The amount of emotional, physical, and mental strain a person with gene set 73454 would have to endure in order to contract the genetic ailment you have built your entire project around is - fictional! No one can go through such strain and live. No one is alive on this world who can endure such torture, only to suffer and eventually overcome a deadly genetic disease!"
You're wrong. Hashiba clenched his teeth. Steeled himself against the rush of unkind words that threatened to boil over. You're wrong. HE is. And he WILL.
"Recently, I reviewed your proposal for this project, Dr. Hashiba," said a woman with a kindly voice, and her hair up in a bun. "I must admit, it was truly impressive. I can see how you were able to sway this board with your bold assertion that such a disease can exist and that it is imperative that every aspect of it be analyzed."
"But it's just not practical to continue with this research," another white-haired man mumbled. "It's only a pity we determined this too late. Not after three years of throwing money down the drain."
It occurred to Hashiba that perhaps, a part of him had actually been expecting this. The constant string of failures in his most recent lab experiments might have been some sort of sign. He tried to calm down.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hashiba began, when he had caught his breath. "I implore you to reconsider. Some of you are scientists as well. I have given you as much hard data as can be gathered, and now I am very close to finding a cure. I don't believe there can be any doubt that my research is for a good cause. A worthy cause. One that, if I may remind the good board, is going to save lives - "
"Hashiba-san." Akise again. Though he was already a bit calmer, Hashiba was still tempted to punch this gentleman's lights out. And he was so close, with those thick spectacles sitting like a mockery on his face - so close. "Due to the budget cuts that this company has been forced to make lately, everyone - not just you - is under pressure to produce output that will address the needs of a broader customer base. In short, we need to focus on developing dugs that actually sell."
Sell. Hashiba hated that word. He'd been hearing it since he came to this company three years ago, and he quickly learned that it was a favorite in the painfully small world of pharmaceutical research. It had never been thrown at him so many times in his life.
"This isn't astrophysics, Doctor," someone else in a suit said. The dryness in those words was unmistakable. "It's business."
"It's medicine," Hashiba acidly corrected. "And obviously, it doesn't want me around. Excuse me."
The old men and women, used to such boardroom scenes but not from someone so young, started to mutter among themselves. Some looked at their blue-haired lead researcher openly with disdain.
"Hashiba-san!" Akise jumped to his feet even before he did. They were the only two people in the room standing. "Please don't be so brash! The project may have been cancelled, but you are still under contract with us! Out of respect for you and your obvious talent, we also ask you to consider using the information you've gathered so far in developing - "
"Respect?" His voice was calm, but the way Hashiba looked at Akise made the older man cringe. "Respect? I signed up for this position because I was promised financial backing. Now you're telling me to abandon my work for your convenience? You knew my work was theoretical. You knew there would be no immediate market returns..."
"Yes," Akise sighed. "Unfortunately, Dr. Hashiba, your contract also states that you are obliged to work on projects that are profitable to our company, in addition to your personal research. This was fine for all of us while you were amiable to working on Almigen and Salyntec, but you've been slacking off on your work with those two product lines."
"I was never 'amiable' to working on anything besides my own personal project," Hashiba replied matter-of-factly. "I don't have time for other work, and I don't have time for this."
The blue-haired young man in the rumpled-up shirt and dirty jacket headed for the door. His long strides ensured that there was not much time for anyone to stop him. "Hashiba-san!" Akise cried. He was not heeded.
"It's also stated in your contract," Akise said quickly, "that should you violate the terms of your employment in ANY WAY, we are no longer obliged to assist your research."
This seemed to work. Hashiba stopped walking, hand on the door frame of the conference room. But he did not turn.
After a pause, Akise continued, "All your research data will remain property of this company. All your hard work for three years, Doctor. You can't take it anywhere else, and this isn't stated in your contract explicitly, but be assured - you won't find any other pharmaceutical company in the world willing to adopt you or your project so easily after you leave." After a pause, "And of course, we will be forced to conduct an investigation into your recent extra-official activities. If we find anything amiss, you may be held criminally liable."
This was a threat. The silence that followed confirmed it.
"Think about it, Hashiba-san..."
But for the young lead researcher who had been shamed and robbed of all he had come to this company for, there was nothing to think about. There nowhere else to go except out.
He wondered why he had even bothered to get up today. If his head had been clearer, he could have typed up a resignation letter, emailed it to all the executives involved, and saved everyone the trouble.
If his head had been clearer.
He could have foreseen this. Already he was thinking of ways to cushion the impact of the termination on his research timeline and his personal finances, but - he could have known. He could have been more aware of what was going on. Then he could have planned for this occurrence much, much earlier.
As hard as he tried, all his thinking could not distract him from how disappointed he was in himself.
Perhaps Seiji was right - perhaps he had been working too hard. Perhaps he needed the break. Perhaps this was for the best.
He stopped walking. And without thinking if anyone was around to see, he leaned his shoulder against the nearest wall.
It was another busy night in Tokyo. All around him, people were heading off to or away from work. Most of them ignored him, though some must have certainly stared - a healthy twenty-something like himself shouldn't be looking like this.
The words that had been spoken to him in the boardroom earlier that day echoed in his memory. The suitcase in his hand, filled to bursting with three years' worth of notes and overtime hours, suddenly felt very heavy, and he had to drop it or drop along with it. It fell at his feet.
"Seiji," he said at the doorway. "Tadaima."
He hoped there had been no unusual heaviness in his voice. He was not ready to discuss what happened today. Tomorrow, maybe, when he'd gotten some rest...
He locked the door and took off his jacket and shoes. He carried the suitcase as far as the couch, then left it there, prepared to abandon it all night.
Slowly, quietly, in case the person he had called out to was in fact sleeping, he made his way to the larger of the two bedrooms in the apartment.
There were two beds there. A young man was sitting up in the one nearest the window. His lower half was covered in blankets, and a short-sleeved overcoat hung loosely about his shoulders.
The young man had been looking out the window. When the newcomer approached, he turned to the doorway and smiled.
"Touma." His voice was soft. "Okaeri."
The newcomer at the doorway could see his smile clearly in the dim light from the city and the night sky. There was always something ethereal about Seiji, from as far back as Touma could remember. From even before the illness. Not even total darkness could completely consume him.
The slim jinbei that Seiji wore was too large for him. But for someone who knew him well, it would be easy to remember how it fit him, once.
"Seiji, it's too dark in here." He was trying his best to sound comfortably annoyed. Touma picked up a clipboard hanging from the foot of Seiji's bed. "You could've left the lamp on. It won't make a dent on the electric bill." He sat on the empty bed beside the one Seiji occupied, and reached out for the lamp on the nightstand. At his touch, the light jumped to life.
Seiji squinted. He had started to raise his stick-thin arm to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, but his arm was too weak to manage it in time.
"I wanted to see the stars," he simply said. He did not have the strength to speak above a whisper; he had been like this for a while. "How was your day?"
Stock greetings, stock replies. "So-so. The usual." But Touma couldn't restrain a sigh. Letting air into his lungs made the ruse a lot easier. "Let's see how you did today, shall we?"
There were charts on the clipboard that he held. Touma looked through each one carefully, making small neutral "Hm" sounds from time to time. Seiji watched him without much interest.
The charts - made and printed out by Touma himself - were filled up by the day nurse. This fortnight, her name was Masumi. She was meticulous, which was good, and Touma felt a small jab in his chest as he remembered that he might not be able to afford to retain her - or any day nurse - for a while.
It didn't matter, he told himself. He would be around to fill up the charts himself, which was even better.
On one of the charts, Masumi had written "vomited - clear, with partially undigested food - 11 minutes." Beside her bold handwriting, a shaky hand had lightly scribbled "Lies. More like 12."
A chuckle escaped Touma.
This was not the first time Seiji had messed with his charts. Most of the time, he did it for fun. It wasn't as if Seiji was an invalid or illiterate.
And it wasn't as if there was any need to hide the charts from him - he made it clear long ago that he appreciated not being kept in the dark.
"Was it that funny?" Seiji asked. Touma looked up to see a touch of concern in his friend's half-smile. Touma shook his head and called him stupid. Then he remembered he had only ever snarked at Seiji for these comments. He had never simply laughed.
The rest of what Masumi wrote was standard, which was what Touma found alarming. If Seiji had been responding positively to treatment, some of these symptoms should've disappeared by now.
"Woke up with trouble breathing, 9:15 AM, again at 1:20 PM - muscle weakness - 90/50 BP - loss of sensation - stomach upset - attempt to eat solid foods at 2:35 PM induced vomiting - "
Nothing. No progress. These were almost exactly the same symptoms Seiji had two weeks ago.
Did that mean the medicine wasn't working? Or that he had to increase the dosage? The experimental regimen he had put Seiji on was going to end soon. It was perhaps a good sign that meant Seiji was not getting any worse... but it might also be a sign that the formulation was all wrong.
He heard Seiji call his name. Touma looked up and out of his thoughts.
Seiji's pale violet eyes were locked on his.
"What's wrong?" Seiji asked him. "I know nothing's new with me, so... "
Touma was about to answer. But he found that with Seiji looking into him that intently, it was much, much harder to lie.
He dropped his gaze and reached out. The back of his right forefinger slid gently from Seiji's cheekbone to his chin.
Seiji's long white fingers reached up to touch his. His touch was so light, Touma could barely feel it. He still didn't meet Seiji's eyes when he leaned forward and touched their lips together.
Seiji's lips were bitter and dry. Touma ran his tongue over them once, twice, before he kissed him again. It was a futile gesture, he knew, as those lips would be dry again soon.
"Everything will be fine," Touma tried to say with conviction. "All right?"
In answer, Seiji held both arms out and drew him closer.
Touma, pulled off his seat, knelt by Seiji's bed. He had to arch his back up, and Seiji had to lean down so their shoulders, at least, could touch. He wrapped his arms around Seiji as lightly as he could, knowing down to the smallest detail how delicate his friend had become over time.
Seiji's fingers started brushing his hair. Very slowly, as if every movement was a struggle. Touma closed his eyes.
No one can go through such strain and live. No one is alive on this world who can endure such torture...
"Everything will be fine," Touma repeated. Holding on to Seiji a little more tightly was all he could do to stop himself from getting carried away in a sudden wave of anger and grief. This isn't fair.
(tbc)
1. the 2006 movie The Fountain, also a gorgeous 2002 graphic novel by Kent Williams
2. the 2010 movie Extraordinary Measures
3. a Better Than Ezra song, you get to guess which
4. my little sister's sick twisted magnificent imagination and her relentless plunnies ♥
Disclaimers and notes:
1. i don't own YST or any of its characters. i am truly very sad about it.
2. i actually know nothing about medicine or genetics. i just like using big words i can barely understand. so if you happen to be working in the medical industry... please go easy on me?
3. this futurefic desperately pretends Message never happened. instead it acts like the armors went away in a puff of pink glittery smoke after Kikoutei Densetsu.
4. m/m and heavy angst warnings. melodrama abounds.
At the Stars
Part 1
"You've got to be kidding me..."
Spoken in almost a whisper, this phrase sent a tense hush sweeping over the boardroom. Some of the younger people in the room dropped their gazes to the surface of the conference table, or to the backs of their hands.
The white-haired elderly men and women in business suits, no strangers to these occurrences, stared wordlessly at the blue-haired young man in the unpressed shirt and slacks, the frayed old jacket rolled up to his elbows.
"You've got to be kidding me," the young man repeated, more loudly this time. "What do you mean the project's terminated?"
"Hashiba-san." It was someone much older who spoke; a balding man with spectacles and hunched shoulders. But he spoke to the young man with such respect, that he may as well be someone younger and less experienced at apologies. "I've left several messages on your phone, asking to set up a meeting with you. I've wanted - "
The young man called Hashiba slammed his fists onto the tabletop. It made the unaware jump a few inches off their seats. "Akise-san," he said, with as much intimidation as he could gather without resorting to yelling. "You, of all people, should have informed me."
"Hashiba-san, you've been ignoring my calls!" The man frowned, dipped his chin and adjusted his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The young man called Hashiba knew him well enough to know this meant he was mustering his courage. "I've wanted to discuss it with you. Not answering my calls would be fine under different circumstances... but to be honest, you've left us no other option."
Someone else at the corner of his eye nodded. The young man named Hashiba looked around the room. There were those who refused to look at him and those who refused to look away from him. Sympathy was nowhere among them.
"This isn't fair," Hashiba said, hopefully not as feebly as he feared. "I've been working nonstop. I haven't had time to attend to personal phone calls. I've devoted the last few years of my life to this project as well. And to hear this, so suddenly..." His nails dug into his palms until his knuckles turned white.
"Hashiba-san," the meek man named Akise continued, "your hypotheses have been reviewed again and again by the scientific community. You say you're developing a means to prevent a deadly genetic illness - but again and again, we've been shown proof that such an illness is unlikely to occur."
"Unlikely?!" An angry redness was creeping up the young man's neck from his loosened collar, shading his exposed ears. "You've seen my papers, Akise-san. All of you have. I've proven beyond doubt that this specific genetic ailment -"
"- is sure to prove fatal to everyone with a specific gene set, given the appropriate environmental factors," someone finished for him. It was one of the white-haired old men. He might have been the CEO of the pharmaceutical company that had employed him - at the moment, the young man named Hashiba could not exactly bring himself to care. "Dr. Hashiba. That's not the point. The 'factors' that you specified do not exist at present. Nor have our control researchers determined that they are likely to occur in the near future. I mean - let's be frank." The old man spread his hands out wide and cracked a smile - a parody of helplessness. "The amount of emotional, physical, and mental strain a person with gene set 73454 would have to endure in order to contract the genetic ailment you have built your entire project around is - fictional! No one can go through such strain and live. No one is alive on this world who can endure such torture, only to suffer and eventually overcome a deadly genetic disease!"
You're wrong. Hashiba clenched his teeth. Steeled himself against the rush of unkind words that threatened to boil over. You're wrong. HE is. And he WILL.
"Recently, I reviewed your proposal for this project, Dr. Hashiba," said a woman with a kindly voice, and her hair up in a bun. "I must admit, it was truly impressive. I can see how you were able to sway this board with your bold assertion that such a disease can exist and that it is imperative that every aspect of it be analyzed."
"But it's just not practical to continue with this research," another white-haired man mumbled. "It's only a pity we determined this too late. Not after three years of throwing money down the drain."
It occurred to Hashiba that perhaps, a part of him had actually been expecting this. The constant string of failures in his most recent lab experiments might have been some sort of sign. He tried to calm down.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hashiba began, when he had caught his breath. "I implore you to reconsider. Some of you are scientists as well. I have given you as much hard data as can be gathered, and now I am very close to finding a cure. I don't believe there can be any doubt that my research is for a good cause. A worthy cause. One that, if I may remind the good board, is going to save lives - "
"Hashiba-san." Akise again. Though he was already a bit calmer, Hashiba was still tempted to punch this gentleman's lights out. And he was so close, with those thick spectacles sitting like a mockery on his face - so close. "Due to the budget cuts that this company has been forced to make lately, everyone - not just you - is under pressure to produce output that will address the needs of a broader customer base. In short, we need to focus on developing dugs that actually sell."
Sell. Hashiba hated that word. He'd been hearing it since he came to this company three years ago, and he quickly learned that it was a favorite in the painfully small world of pharmaceutical research. It had never been thrown at him so many times in his life.
"This isn't astrophysics, Doctor," someone else in a suit said. The dryness in those words was unmistakable. "It's business."
"It's medicine," Hashiba acidly corrected. "And obviously, it doesn't want me around. Excuse me."
The old men and women, used to such boardroom scenes but not from someone so young, started to mutter among themselves. Some looked at their blue-haired lead researcher openly with disdain.
"Hashiba-san!" Akise jumped to his feet even before he did. They were the only two people in the room standing. "Please don't be so brash! The project may have been cancelled, but you are still under contract with us! Out of respect for you and your obvious talent, we also ask you to consider using the information you've gathered so far in developing - "
"Respect?" His voice was calm, but the way Hashiba looked at Akise made the older man cringe. "Respect? I signed up for this position because I was promised financial backing. Now you're telling me to abandon my work for your convenience? You knew my work was theoretical. You knew there would be no immediate market returns..."
"Yes," Akise sighed. "Unfortunately, Dr. Hashiba, your contract also states that you are obliged to work on projects that are profitable to our company, in addition to your personal research. This was fine for all of us while you were amiable to working on Almigen and Salyntec, but you've been slacking off on your work with those two product lines."
"I was never 'amiable' to working on anything besides my own personal project," Hashiba replied matter-of-factly. "I don't have time for other work, and I don't have time for this."
The blue-haired young man in the rumpled-up shirt and dirty jacket headed for the door. His long strides ensured that there was not much time for anyone to stop him. "Hashiba-san!" Akise cried. He was not heeded.
"It's also stated in your contract," Akise said quickly, "that should you violate the terms of your employment in ANY WAY, we are no longer obliged to assist your research."
This seemed to work. Hashiba stopped walking, hand on the door frame of the conference room. But he did not turn.
After a pause, Akise continued, "All your research data will remain property of this company. All your hard work for three years, Doctor. You can't take it anywhere else, and this isn't stated in your contract explicitly, but be assured - you won't find any other pharmaceutical company in the world willing to adopt you or your project so easily after you leave." After a pause, "And of course, we will be forced to conduct an investigation into your recent extra-official activities. If we find anything amiss, you may be held criminally liable."
This was a threat. The silence that followed confirmed it.
"Think about it, Hashiba-san..."
But for the young lead researcher who had been shamed and robbed of all he had come to this company for, there was nothing to think about. There nowhere else to go except out.
He wondered why he had even bothered to get up today. If his head had been clearer, he could have typed up a resignation letter, emailed it to all the executives involved, and saved everyone the trouble.
If his head had been clearer.
He could have foreseen this. Already he was thinking of ways to cushion the impact of the termination on his research timeline and his personal finances, but - he could have known. He could have been more aware of what was going on. Then he could have planned for this occurrence much, much earlier.
As hard as he tried, all his thinking could not distract him from how disappointed he was in himself.
Perhaps Seiji was right - perhaps he had been working too hard. Perhaps he needed the break. Perhaps this was for the best.
He stopped walking. And without thinking if anyone was around to see, he leaned his shoulder against the nearest wall.
It was another busy night in Tokyo. All around him, people were heading off to or away from work. Most of them ignored him, though some must have certainly stared - a healthy twenty-something like himself shouldn't be looking like this.
The words that had been spoken to him in the boardroom earlier that day echoed in his memory. The suitcase in his hand, filled to bursting with three years' worth of notes and overtime hours, suddenly felt very heavy, and he had to drop it or drop along with it. It fell at his feet.
"Seiji," he said at the doorway. "Tadaima."
He hoped there had been no unusual heaviness in his voice. He was not ready to discuss what happened today. Tomorrow, maybe, when he'd gotten some rest...
He locked the door and took off his jacket and shoes. He carried the suitcase as far as the couch, then left it there, prepared to abandon it all night.
Slowly, quietly, in case the person he had called out to was in fact sleeping, he made his way to the larger of the two bedrooms in the apartment.
There were two beds there. A young man was sitting up in the one nearest the window. His lower half was covered in blankets, and a short-sleeved overcoat hung loosely about his shoulders.
The young man had been looking out the window. When the newcomer approached, he turned to the doorway and smiled.
"Touma." His voice was soft. "Okaeri."
The newcomer at the doorway could see his smile clearly in the dim light from the city and the night sky. There was always something ethereal about Seiji, from as far back as Touma could remember. From even before the illness. Not even total darkness could completely consume him.
The slim jinbei that Seiji wore was too large for him. But for someone who knew him well, it would be easy to remember how it fit him, once.
"Seiji, it's too dark in here." He was trying his best to sound comfortably annoyed. Touma picked up a clipboard hanging from the foot of Seiji's bed. "You could've left the lamp on. It won't make a dent on the electric bill." He sat on the empty bed beside the one Seiji occupied, and reached out for the lamp on the nightstand. At his touch, the light jumped to life.
Seiji squinted. He had started to raise his stick-thin arm to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, but his arm was too weak to manage it in time.
"I wanted to see the stars," he simply said. He did not have the strength to speak above a whisper; he had been like this for a while. "How was your day?"
Stock greetings, stock replies. "So-so. The usual." But Touma couldn't restrain a sigh. Letting air into his lungs made the ruse a lot easier. "Let's see how you did today, shall we?"
There were charts on the clipboard that he held. Touma looked through each one carefully, making small neutral "Hm" sounds from time to time. Seiji watched him without much interest.
The charts - made and printed out by Touma himself - were filled up by the day nurse. This fortnight, her name was Masumi. She was meticulous, which was good, and Touma felt a small jab in his chest as he remembered that he might not be able to afford to retain her - or any day nurse - for a while.
It didn't matter, he told himself. He would be around to fill up the charts himself, which was even better.
On one of the charts, Masumi had written "vomited - clear, with partially undigested food - 11 minutes." Beside her bold handwriting, a shaky hand had lightly scribbled "Lies. More like 12."
A chuckle escaped Touma.
This was not the first time Seiji had messed with his charts. Most of the time, he did it for fun. It wasn't as if Seiji was an invalid or illiterate.
And it wasn't as if there was any need to hide the charts from him - he made it clear long ago that he appreciated not being kept in the dark.
"Was it that funny?" Seiji asked. Touma looked up to see a touch of concern in his friend's half-smile. Touma shook his head and called him stupid. Then he remembered he had only ever snarked at Seiji for these comments. He had never simply laughed.
The rest of what Masumi wrote was standard, which was what Touma found alarming. If Seiji had been responding positively to treatment, some of these symptoms should've disappeared by now.
"Woke up with trouble breathing, 9:15 AM, again at 1:20 PM - muscle weakness - 90/50 BP - loss of sensation - stomach upset - attempt to eat solid foods at 2:35 PM induced vomiting - "
Nothing. No progress. These were almost exactly the same symptoms Seiji had two weeks ago.
Did that mean the medicine wasn't working? Or that he had to increase the dosage? The experimental regimen he had put Seiji on was going to end soon. It was perhaps a good sign that meant Seiji was not getting any worse... but it might also be a sign that the formulation was all wrong.
He heard Seiji call his name. Touma looked up and out of his thoughts.
Seiji's pale violet eyes were locked on his.
"What's wrong?" Seiji asked him. "I know nothing's new with me, so... "
Touma was about to answer. But he found that with Seiji looking into him that intently, it was much, much harder to lie.
He dropped his gaze and reached out. The back of his right forefinger slid gently from Seiji's cheekbone to his chin.
Seiji's long white fingers reached up to touch his. His touch was so light, Touma could barely feel it. He still didn't meet Seiji's eyes when he leaned forward and touched their lips together.
Seiji's lips were bitter and dry. Touma ran his tongue over them once, twice, before he kissed him again. It was a futile gesture, he knew, as those lips would be dry again soon.
"Everything will be fine," Touma tried to say with conviction. "All right?"
In answer, Seiji held both arms out and drew him closer.
Touma, pulled off his seat, knelt by Seiji's bed. He had to arch his back up, and Seiji had to lean down so their shoulders, at least, could touch. He wrapped his arms around Seiji as lightly as he could, knowing down to the smallest detail how delicate his friend had become over time.
Seiji's fingers started brushing his hair. Very slowly, as if every movement was a struggle. Touma closed his eyes.
No one can go through such strain and live. No one is alive on this world who can endure such torture...
"Everything will be fine," Touma repeated. Holding on to Seiji a little more tightly was all he could do to stop himself from getting carried away in a sudden wave of anger and grief. This isn't fair.
(tbc)