[Fic... sort of] Hiyoshi, Oshitari
Well. You know life's going downhill when it's just a lot safer and easier to stay in bed as long as possible before it gets boring, than to get up and face the world. When I rolled out of bed today it was near noon, and only because I had just finished a dream sequence I needed to jot down, then felt like fic-ing it. This is the result. Just to get the ideas out of my head, not to read over for corrections or finish or anything.
~*~*~*~*~*~
His vision blurred. A hand swiped over his face-- his hand, his face, yet he could feel neither-- clearing his sight for half a second before the foggy veil fell again, a mess of white and black and red. He could not think. He could not hear. The ground gave way from underneath him-- no. He was being pulled up. A single harsh jerk from underneath his left armpit. He dropped something, and it was like dropping a life, his only chance for survival. That did not make sense, not right now. Someone was shouting at him. A body collided with his side, and he ran mechanically the direction he was shoved, as if his life depended on it, not realizing that it did. There was a flash of white light. He could see thin, sharp beams of light crossing his path, flecks of red reflecting off the sheet of rain. More red, this time warm, against his skin and clothes, soaking more deeply than the rain ever could. There were more shouts, directly into his ear, someone else this time, yelling for him to move; he hadn't realized that he had stopped. Then the shouting was gone. There was more light. Bodies. His legs gave out from beneath him.
--
"Oh, good. You're alive."
Hiyoshi didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was that was speaking; he knew that voice and that drawl from anywhere. But he did so and turned his head to see, in an attempt to humor himself and reinforce yet again that he would not be waking up at the crack of dawn sprawled out over his desk at home to trudge out to a similar desk at an office and continue whatever mundane job he had already been working on at home but would not have been monetarily compensated if it were not done in the proper location, but he had long since stopped kidding himself over such matters.
Deadened eyes shifted slowly to the side and confirmed it was indeed one Oshitari Yuushi, but he did not give the other the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, Hiyoshi closed his eyes again and would have been perfectly content to lie back and ignore him and focus on the pangs at his side as if he were able to will it away, but it wasn't until Oshitari leaned back over him and tightened the bandages he had not noticed wrapped around his torso that Hiyoshi gave a hiss of pain, which he immediately bit down hard on his bottom lip to silence, and pushed hard away from the other. His hand brushed over an insignia on the sleeve of Oshitari's uniform, and his eyes chanced a flicker over, confirming his fear. He drew his hand away, as if burned, and withdrew from the other, moving away until his back hit the wall, hands up and poised dangerously as he shifted into a crouch, ignoring the stabs of pain that the dressings did not help, and the way his whole body was shaking in a way not caused by cold.
It was clear Oshitari would not be able to approach the other without at least a broken nose-- or, if Hiyoshi could manage it in his state, spine-- he sat back in the doctor's seat, which was bolted to the floor in response to having been lifted so often and used as a means to threaten, as common to the patients of this specific ward. Oshitari waited patiently for the other to calm down, but the distrust in Hiyoshi's eyes did not give, any more than his tense and shaking frame.
"Do not make me sedate you," came that forever calm voice. Again, Hiyoshi did not answer, hating that he was never able to read the other's expression. Perhaps that was why they were in the positions they were in. "This," Hiyoshi finally managed, albeit through clenched teeth, not daring to lower his stance, "is why you disappeared? To join them? How could you? You."
Oshitari's face hardened visibly, but his voice was cool when he replied. "You are not thirteen anymore, Hiyoshi." In one swift motion Oshitari was full up against the other, body pressing down hard on him. Hiyoshi made an attempt to shove him off, the burning in his side making it difficult to move, and a subsequent stab of pain all but paralyzing him completely. Oshitari withdrew his hand slowly from the side of Hiyoshi's neck, tucking an empty hypodermic needled syringe into his pocket. There was again that feeling of nothingness, of not being able to respond. But different than that other time. More akin to when...
Not bothering to move Hiyoshi from where he lay in a crumpled heap at the bed corner, where spots of red were blossoming from his bandaged side, Oshitari turned his back to the other as he talked, pulling out a new roll of dressings from one of the cabinet drawers lining the wall, calmly, lightly, as if in a dinner conversation, "I heard Atobe pulled quite a few strings to land you in Sanada's division. Must have thought you would be of some use under his care. In my opinion, however, you would have been better off staying in the intelligence force, as I last heard you were dabbling in. It was with no little disappointment I had listened to the report, you know. Froze on the spot. Like a new recruit. One of our snipers got you. Niou," he said, after some pause, since it made little difference either way, whether the other knew the name or not.
Hiyoshi made a valiant effort to move, but the drug had already made it course through his veins, and it was Oshitari who walked over and flipped him roughly over onto his back, out of necessity, not courtesy or comfort. "Kill me." Hiyoshi's voice was merely a whisper, through clenched teeth.
"I am afraid I can not do that," Oshitari replied smoothly, removing again the bandages around the other's torso and throwing them unceremoniously to the side to be cleaned up later, this time having a much easier job of redressing the wound now that the other wouldn't be thrashing around. "I understand you have served under Tezuka for some time as well. With that alone, I already know it will be near impossible to extract any information out of you, never mind your natural mental resilience." The question in Hiyoshi's eyes burned more fiercely than any pain he must have felt as Oshitari applied salve to the open wound. He did not speak again until the other was properly dressed and looked over. "Because," Oshitari continued as he washed the blood from his hands into the sink, "being held captive is one of the worst insults to a man of pride," he said knowingly, deliberately. "And because Atobe still favors you. It is already foreseen that he will stop at near nothing to get you back."
Hiyoshi closed his eyes. "...Fool."
'Indeed,' Oshitari thought to himself as he closed the door behind him. But then again, they were all playing a fool's game.
~*~*~*~*~*~
His vision blurred. A hand swiped over his face-- his hand, his face, yet he could feel neither-- clearing his sight for half a second before the foggy veil fell again, a mess of white and black and red. He could not think. He could not hear. The ground gave way from underneath him-- no. He was being pulled up. A single harsh jerk from underneath his left armpit. He dropped something, and it was like dropping a life, his only chance for survival. That did not make sense, not right now. Someone was shouting at him. A body collided with his side, and he ran mechanically the direction he was shoved, as if his life depended on it, not realizing that it did. There was a flash of white light. He could see thin, sharp beams of light crossing his path, flecks of red reflecting off the sheet of rain. More red, this time warm, against his skin and clothes, soaking more deeply than the rain ever could. There were more shouts, directly into his ear, someone else this time, yelling for him to move; he hadn't realized that he had stopped. Then the shouting was gone. There was more light. Bodies. His legs gave out from beneath him.
--
"Oh, good. You're alive."
Hiyoshi didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was that was speaking; he knew that voice and that drawl from anywhere. But he did so and turned his head to see, in an attempt to humor himself and reinforce yet again that he would not be waking up at the crack of dawn sprawled out over his desk at home to trudge out to a similar desk at an office and continue whatever mundane job he had already been working on at home but would not have been monetarily compensated if it were not done in the proper location, but he had long since stopped kidding himself over such matters.
Deadened eyes shifted slowly to the side and confirmed it was indeed one Oshitari Yuushi, but he did not give the other the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, Hiyoshi closed his eyes again and would have been perfectly content to lie back and ignore him and focus on the pangs at his side as if he were able to will it away, but it wasn't until Oshitari leaned back over him and tightened the bandages he had not noticed wrapped around his torso that Hiyoshi gave a hiss of pain, which he immediately bit down hard on his bottom lip to silence, and pushed hard away from the other. His hand brushed over an insignia on the sleeve of Oshitari's uniform, and his eyes chanced a flicker over, confirming his fear. He drew his hand away, as if burned, and withdrew from the other, moving away until his back hit the wall, hands up and poised dangerously as he shifted into a crouch, ignoring the stabs of pain that the dressings did not help, and the way his whole body was shaking in a way not caused by cold.
It was clear Oshitari would not be able to approach the other without at least a broken nose-- or, if Hiyoshi could manage it in his state, spine-- he sat back in the doctor's seat, which was bolted to the floor in response to having been lifted so often and used as a means to threaten, as common to the patients of this specific ward. Oshitari waited patiently for the other to calm down, but the distrust in Hiyoshi's eyes did not give, any more than his tense and shaking frame.
"Do not make me sedate you," came that forever calm voice. Again, Hiyoshi did not answer, hating that he was never able to read the other's expression. Perhaps that was why they were in the positions they were in. "This," Hiyoshi finally managed, albeit through clenched teeth, not daring to lower his stance, "is why you disappeared? To join them? How could you? You."
Oshitari's face hardened visibly, but his voice was cool when he replied. "You are not thirteen anymore, Hiyoshi." In one swift motion Oshitari was full up against the other, body pressing down hard on him. Hiyoshi made an attempt to shove him off, the burning in his side making it difficult to move, and a subsequent stab of pain all but paralyzing him completely. Oshitari withdrew his hand slowly from the side of Hiyoshi's neck, tucking an empty hypodermic needled syringe into his pocket. There was again that feeling of nothingness, of not being able to respond. But different than that other time. More akin to when...
Not bothering to move Hiyoshi from where he lay in a crumpled heap at the bed corner, where spots of red were blossoming from his bandaged side, Oshitari turned his back to the other as he talked, pulling out a new roll of dressings from one of the cabinet drawers lining the wall, calmly, lightly, as if in a dinner conversation, "I heard Atobe pulled quite a few strings to land you in Sanada's division. Must have thought you would be of some use under his care. In my opinion, however, you would have been better off staying in the intelligence force, as I last heard you were dabbling in. It was with no little disappointment I had listened to the report, you know. Froze on the spot. Like a new recruit. One of our snipers got you. Niou," he said, after some pause, since it made little difference either way, whether the other knew the name or not.
Hiyoshi made a valiant effort to move, but the drug had already made it course through his veins, and it was Oshitari who walked over and flipped him roughly over onto his back, out of necessity, not courtesy or comfort. "Kill me." Hiyoshi's voice was merely a whisper, through clenched teeth.
"I am afraid I can not do that," Oshitari replied smoothly, removing again the bandages around the other's torso and throwing them unceremoniously to the side to be cleaned up later, this time having a much easier job of redressing the wound now that the other wouldn't be thrashing around. "I understand you have served under Tezuka for some time as well. With that alone, I already know it will be near impossible to extract any information out of you, never mind your natural mental resilience." The question in Hiyoshi's eyes burned more fiercely than any pain he must have felt as Oshitari applied salve to the open wound. He did not speak again until the other was properly dressed and looked over. "Because," Oshitari continued as he washed the blood from his hands into the sink, "being held captive is one of the worst insults to a man of pride," he said knowingly, deliberately. "And because Atobe still favors you. It is already foreseen that he will stop at near nothing to get you back."
Hiyoshi closed his eyes. "...Fool."
'Indeed,' Oshitari thought to himself as he closed the door behind him. But then again, they were all playing a fool's game.