Someone holds me safe and warm

[spes_phthisica]

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."

Comments

[okitactless]

The idea of "fate" is debatable. It's a concept that changes throughout the ages, shifting with the sands of time, allowing itself to be touted and dismissed in accordance with the ages. But it never disappears. Not entirely. There are those who scoff and shun and declare life to be theirs for the making, but there are always, always believers.

Yamato is one of them. Even in this day and age, with a new life, a new future, a new fate, he believes. He's always been what they call "superstitious"--his head a little too far in the clouds to anyone that doesn't really know him.

So maybe something is resonating within him, something awakening that deep part of his soul that believes, so fully and faithfully. Maybe that's why he's kneeling on his bed instead of trying to sleep, watching the newcomer the same way he's been since they brought him in. Or maybe it's just that childlike curiosity of his, given something new and interesting after almost a year alone in this place.

His robe is a little too big, even for hospital gown standards. It hangs off him like a hand-me-down passed from father to son, exposing spidery blue veins and too-pale skin. There's an IV in his hand, and other tubes winding around him, disappearing beneath the blankets or into his gown. But even so, in the dim light of the hospital room, his eyes are alert and bright enough to glow.

"Hello," he replies, matching Souji's smile, almost like he's trying to play mirror. "I wasn't sure you were going to wake up before they took you somewhere else again. I'm glad you did, you're my first roommate in a long time."