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He was rail thin under her hands, not much more than skin and bone and she pressed mercilessly down anyway. Felt the somehow dry snap of a rib beneath her palms as she forcibly moved that bone and muscle aside and demanded he breathe again, her own breath harsh in the small, enclosed, suffocating room of plastic and so loud she almost missed the ragged inhale, the feeble tip of his head as he gasped for air, for life, just as her response to it echoed in the dim light of the bedroom. Bolting upright, hand flying to her ear, she pushed sleep-tangled hair behind it nervously.
She had to know and slipped from the bed without waking Hisao.
It was dark and still, the house blanketed in drowsy calm as she padded silently down the stairs, calm she should have felt herself in the quiet middle of this night and didn't. And wouldn't, not until she knew for sure. Not until she saw for herself. Heart pounding in her chest, loose fist held against it to keep it contained, Akane eased forward in the dark, ears straining in the nearly pitch black, until she was standing above Reigen, arms over his head despite the strain it had to cause pulling at his healing bones.
Bones she broke.
Bones she had to break in order to save him.
Somehow, the thought isn’t comforting.
But he’s breathing, deep and slow with sleep, a bit raspy, and she counted his breaths, measured against the rhythm Akane didn't realize she was tapping against her collarbone. Gradually, her pulse slowed as she timed inhale and exhale with his own, and she reached out to touch, to brush aside his bangs from his flushed, slack face and test for the fever she already knew was there, and stopped suddenly short. Seized by the idea that her touch could hurt him, had hurt him, and with the nightmare so fresh in her mind, Akane couldn’t take that risk again. It’s childish. Bending to dreaming’s will, and she couldn’t make herself push past it in this horrible moment. Just one more beat, one more protracted inhalation and she retreated to lie awake for long hours beside her husband, counting his breaths with the phantom ghost of Reigen’s chest brittle against her palms.
When Akane caught her sons by the couch during Reigen’s frequent naps she knew they were thinking the same thing and wondered how many times they’d visited him in the moonlit hours. He’d stopped before, he might stop again, even though his strength and mind and memory was returning steadily as days passed. But the fear was still there and they remained watchful despite how unreasonable it all was. With Reigen’s newfound awareness came the realization that there was pain and it became hard for Akane to look at him when he winced after moving the wrong way, when he coughed, when he closed his eyes against the hurt she’d placed in him. She refrained from touching Reigen, holding him like she’d done when he’d first arrived, before the nightmares filled her to the brim with irrational dread because she knew if she didn't touch him she couldn't harm him again.
Something was wrong.
With him, if the way Akane was avoiding him was any indication. Reigen remembered her touch, it’s softness when he was so ill and confused, lost in the happenings around him as he slipped in and out of a bleary reality. But he remembered her hands on him, his face, through his hair, behind his shoulders, holding him close and keeping him together, tethered to reality. He hadn’t truly realized how dependant he’d become on touch to ground him in here and now and he missed it, craved it, found himself wondering what he must have done to make her stop reaching out. Maybe she was mad about how he’d grabbed Ritsu (it hadn’t been Mob, he knew that now) and tried to abscond with him. Or maybe because he’d punched her husband square in the face in his terror and disorientation. Both made sense. Both filled him with shame and made him upset and he wished he had the words to apologize for his behavior but they were still so hard to find most days.
His ribs twinged and he lowered his hands, the habit hard to shake even with the painful reminder. Reigen didn't remember how he got hurt but it was improving, slow and steady like himself, so he tried not to worry. All he really knew is that he’d scared them all, scared Mob, the memory of the kid shouting Reigen’s own vows back at him muddled with darkness and the distant sorrow he felt at finally letting go. Everything about his current existence was quiet acceptance and even if he could ask, could tell them what he wanted, (needed), the guilt he felt about giving up so easily when he knew he’d promised stuck whatever he might say like burrs in his throat.
The feeling of wrong only grew stronger until Reigen was thoroughly convinced he could never set it right. He wanted Akane to touch him, like Hisao touched him, wanted as much touch as he could possibly get, undone by the lack of it, the taste in his dim beginnings enough to set the need deep inside, to the point where it was all he could think about during the time he was awake and all he could dream about when he found sleep. The shadow of it taunted him with what he could never have and Reigen’s breath caught, trapped painfully behind the cage of his ribs with how much he coveted it, until he could barely draw air. He was both embarrassed and disgraced by the overwhelming want because of course she wouldn’t, she didn’t owe him, and he didn't blame her. Especially after he’d attacked her family.
He’s never wanted anything more and his own foolishness meant he’d never have it again.
Reigen’s health plateaued. Hisao was worried by it; the strides the man had been making less and less as he suffered this recession. The pain in his side seemed to bother him more as time went by while the cough he’d developed and was trying desperately to hide wasn’t helping matters any as it kept him from the rest he so badly needed. But there was yet another problem.
Akane.
Her nightmares had only worsened over time and while Hisao could guess at them, had caught her counting beats in the dark, she refused to share. The way she kept her distance from Reigen, the way she looked at him, he could recognize the guilt and it wasn’t helping anybody, least of all herself. Pale and drawn, she did everything she could for Reigen from a distance, but refused to lay a hand on him and her avoidance was taking a toll on the both of them. In his state, Reigen probably thought it was something he’d done. Hisao swallowed hard past the despair in his throat because that wasn’t quite right. Reigen probably thought it was something he deserved. After a particularly difficult night where the ailing man was kept awake and restless with fever and that barking cough, Hisao decided enough was enough, something had to give. Reigen was worrying himself sick and that was something he just couldn't afford.
“You won’t hurt him.” Hisao’s voice was careful, soft, to avoid a fight, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes even as he cupped her face in both hands.
“I already have.” Little more than a murmur, Akane tried to back away, and he pushed down the feeling of frustration at her admission because it was more than he’d gotten out of her in the past week. Tired as she was, he was almost positive she hadn’t meant to say anything at all.
“He would understand.” She pulled further away and Hisao gripped her shoulders tight enough to ask her to stay; she needed to hear this, “you brought him back.” And he wanted so much to admit to how powerless he’d felt beyond the tent, holding his oldest son as he wept and grieved for the man who had carried him home. Hisao thumbed away the tears slipping down her face. They’d all been worrying over Reigen in their own way but they needed to come together, rally as a team. “I think.” He was torn; the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Akane, and he kissed her forehead sweetly, buying himself time. “Reigen thinks he’s done something wrong.” In that moment, he could tell he’d made her heartsick.
“This isn’t his fault.” Understanding dawned in her eyes, more tears fell, and Hisao kissed those away too.
“It isn’t yours either.” When he folded her close she finally allowed herself to collapse against his broad frame, trembling, and he held her up, held her together. “I think we all need to have a talk.” Exhausted, she nodded, cheek pressed close to his heart, while he dropped gentle kisses into her hair.
When Hisao passed a firm palm over Reigen’s hot forehead he didn’t miss the way the other man leaned into it, seeming lost when he took his hand away, looking beyond him with something like trepidation at Akane.
“I’m s’sorry.” Before anyone else could say anything and Hisao glanced behind him, at the devastated expression wreaked by Reigen’s defeated, frantic apology. “I’I didn’t m’mean to--” and he couldn’t go on, had used up what he’d spent the last week building towards, and hung his head, tracing the scars on one wrist as they laid together in his lap. The couch dipped next to him and he couldn’t even dare to breathe or look, too afraid of what he might see if he did. This was it, he would surely be punished. But maybe she would be quick.
“Oh, love.” Her voice was soft and kind, and Reigen’s heart stuttered in his chest when her hand lifted his chin, the dismay in his liquid eyes overflowing, and she brushed the tears away, swept up to run fingers through his sweat-damp hair and he melted into her touch. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Akane could see the denial in his face and she wondered how she could have been so, so foolish as she pulled him into her arms. He’s thin, she could still feel his bones beneath her hands, but more than that she could feel him, shivering delicately and tense with confusion and poorly concealed want, his own arms slack at his sides as he barely breathed. “It’s okay.” Cupping the back of his head, she drew him closer still, into the crux of her neck and shoulder, exerting firm, even pressure to soothe him and she realized she was no longer afraid, that lingering doubt replaced by a desire to comfort, undo this new hurt she'd accidentally caused. Hisao sat next to them, wrapping them both up from the other side, and Reigen found it in him somewhere to embrace Akane back, to relax completely into her, enervated by sheer, joyful relief.
Safe between them, buoyed by their sweet acceptance, he drew a deep breath.