Okita Souji (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spes_phthisica) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
smdh2016-01-25 04:50 am
spes_phthisica) wrote in smdh2016-01-25 04:50 am
Someone holds me safe and warm
Who: One master and one sword
What: A reincarnated reunion
Warnings: Shit is going to hurt. Also injury and lung problems and fucked up people yo. tba.
***
It's one of those chance meetings, improbable and almost unreal, as if it belongs in a comedy with a varied and witty cast that can somehow make the Uncanny Valley implications not seem quite so bad. But though the cast really is in place and only waiting to speak their lines and lighten the mood, it's impossible to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of a disturbance in the fabric of the world. As if one of two parallel lines broke free of the shackles of mathematics, changing its course slightly, and now they will inevitably meet eventually, at the other side of the curvature of the universe if necessary.
Souji remembers it like this: He'd been training hard-
(Of course he'd been training hard. Just like everyone else at a prestigious dance academy is expected to do; harder, in fact, due to his disadvantages. The scarring on his lungs that would never go away, and no matter how much people told him that he'd been lucky, it feels like he's constantly branded as weak, frail, pitiable. When Sano refers easily to his 'busted lungs' and Heisuke hurriedly steps on his foot, it's the latter that Souji has to keep himself from glaring at.)
-He'd been training hard. He'd stayed behind in the studio after hours to repeat every single movement over and over again until he could feel his toes getting sticky from blood, and his breath had been running short for about half an hour already. He heard someone pushing the door open behind him, heard a testy, You're never going to be able to do that without breathing, and he'd opened his mouth to say that he was fine, just fine, when instead there was a harsh croak as the air ground to a halt in his throat. His legs turned unresponsive under him mid-jete, and he'd crashed to the floor, sliding until he hit the mirrored wall and saw his own face disappear behind a film of blood. He heard something between a gasp and a horrified groan, running footsteps, Souji? Souji! - then he heard nothing at all above the ringing, blood-scented darkness rising above his head.
He wakes up in the hospital. It's 3 am, and the only reason he isn't in pain is probably the pearly sheen of painkillers lingering over the world, which mutes the quality of every far-off sound, like someone sobbing in another room and the TV down the hall, which usually colors its walls faintly blue all night through. His head is bandaged, and so's one of his ankles as well as his left wrist. There's an oxygen meter taped to his toe. The call button is right by his hand, but he shoves it away from himself.
Then he looks up at the bed opposite of his, expecting to find an indistinct shape sleeping deeply, but he finds blue eyes staring intently back at him instead. He jerks away slightly, and somewhere behind the film of analgesics he can feel his head start up a low throbbing. Then he catches his breath, which comes shallow and tastes faintly of blood, and attempts a smile. "Hello."
What: A reincarnated reunion
Warnings: Shit is going to hurt. Also injury and lung problems and fucked up people yo. tba.
***
It's one of those chance meetings, improbable and almost unreal, as if it belongs in a comedy with a varied and witty cast that can somehow make the Uncanny Valley implications not seem quite so bad. But though the cast really is in place and only waiting to speak their lines and lighten the mood, it's impossible to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of a disturbance in the fabric of the world. As if one of two parallel lines broke free of the shackles of mathematics, changing its course slightly, and now they will inevitably meet eventually, at the other side of the curvature of the universe if necessary.
Souji remembers it like this: He'd been training hard-
(Of course he'd been training hard. Just like everyone else at a prestigious dance academy is expected to do; harder, in fact, due to his disadvantages. The scarring on his lungs that would never go away, and no matter how much people told him that he'd been lucky, it feels like he's constantly branded as weak, frail, pitiable. When Sano refers easily to his 'busted lungs' and Heisuke hurriedly steps on his foot, it's the latter that Souji has to keep himself from glaring at.)
-He'd been training hard. He'd stayed behind in the studio after hours to repeat every single movement over and over again until he could feel his toes getting sticky from blood, and his breath had been running short for about half an hour already. He heard someone pushing the door open behind him, heard a testy, You're never going to be able to do that without breathing, and he'd opened his mouth to say that he was fine, just fine, when instead there was a harsh croak as the air ground to a halt in his throat. His legs turned unresponsive under him mid-jete, and he'd crashed to the floor, sliding until he hit the mirrored wall and saw his own face disappear behind a film of blood. He heard something between a gasp and a horrified groan, running footsteps, Souji? Souji! - then he heard nothing at all above the ringing, blood-scented darkness rising above his head.
He wakes up in the hospital. It's 3 am, and the only reason he isn't in pain is probably the pearly sheen of painkillers lingering over the world, which mutes the quality of every far-off sound, like someone sobbing in another room and the TV down the hall, which usually colors its walls faintly blue all night through. His head is bandaged, and so's one of his ankles as well as his left wrist. There's an oxygen meter taped to his toe. The call button is right by his hand, but he shoves it away from himself.
Then he looks up at the bed opposite of his, expecting to find an indistinct shape sleeping deeply, but he finds blue eyes staring intently back at him instead. He jerks away slightly, and somewhere behind the film of analgesics he can feel his head start up a low throbbing. Then he catches his breath, which comes shallow and tastes faintly of blood, and attempts a smile. "Hello."