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1
(«Yusaku, have you ever been on a date?»)
(«Why do you ask?»)
(«I'm just curious»).
(«I see. I guess a negative answer will brighten your days from now until next week»).
(«Why on earth would I laugh at something like that?»)
(«Well, I guess it's kind of embarrassing to admit that I've never been on a date in twenty years of life»).
(«You want me to be honest?»)
(«If you must...»)
(«I admit I didn't expect this, but I'm glad»).
(«Even»).
(«Yes, because... I wanted to ask you... can I be your first date?»)
2
Ryoken Kogami was a liar. For months he had done nothing but fill his heart and mind with sweet words and important promises, deluding him into a “forever” in which Yusaku had also begun to believe. He, who had never understood anything about love before Ryoken had asked him to be his first date.
Ryoken had not only been that, for Yusaku. Ryoken had also been his first kiss. His first time. His first sigh of happiness. His first real smile.
Ryoken had been his first love... and maybe his last.
He had been lying helpless on a hospital bed for three months now. Three months in which his regular breathing had never meant a thing, as his life was perpetually poised on a thread so thin it threatened to snap at any moment.
The coma Ryoken had sunk into after that horrible accident had taken with it all that was good about him when he could still move, see, speak and hear. And of him, in their world, there was nothing left but a motionless body that risked every moment to die out completely, leaning too far on that very thin thread and sinking forever into an endless abyss.
And Ryoken couldn't leave. Not yet.
(And especially not like this).
3
Images of the accident flashed before Yusaku's eyes the same way that damned hit-and-run driver sped by in his sports car that day three months ago. A suffocating and atavistic sense of guilt crept through his veins and reached his heart, crushing him in a merciless grip and almost making him lose consciousness.
Yusaku knew that it was useless to worry about what had happened, because he would have acted the same way in Ryoken's place... but that crazy car was going to hit him, not Ryoken.
And Ryoken had saved him by pushing him away, dropping him by weight onto the concrete of the sidewalk.
(A small cut on the chin for Yusaku and a horrible coma for the person he loved).
(As an analysis, it hadn't been fair at all).
(And it definitely sucked).
4
Yusaku remembered every little detail of their first date. Everything had been improvised: no prearranged itinerary to visit, no previously chosen place to spend the evening, just the knowledge that he and Ryoken would say goodbye the next morning because – and they were both sure of it – their first date had to last a whole night.
They ended up visiting half the city talking about anything and everything, having dinner in a pub with nice music playing in the background, kissing in front of Yusaku's door and making love for hours on his bed that, before Ryoken came into his life, had never been occupied by anyone but Yusaku himself.
(It had turned out that after twenty years of empty existence Yusaku had finally felt complete and found his place in the world in the arms of the right person).
From that moment on they had become one, caring for each other with a great unspeakable love day after day.
That is why, at the exact moment Ryoken went into a coma, it was as if a part of Yusaku had also left, dispersing in the air like ashes and dust, something that could no longer be reshaped into its original form, its true essence. It was as if he was poised as well, constantly torn apart by the atavistic fear of not being able to endure one more day without his love.
Because Ryoken was the most precious gift life had ever given him, and all Yusaku hoped was that death would not suddenly steal Ryoken away, catching him unprepared and killing him as well.
5
The hospital had now become his second home. The smell of disinfectant had replaced the scent of the pancakes Ryoken cooked every morning for breakfast – Yusaku had never cooked them in those three months of loneliness because the image of Ryoken enjoying himself at the stove always overlapped with the pans and ingredients and he could hardly hold back the tears.
His lunch had become all that the vending machine at the end of the third floor hallway could offer him. The white walls of Ryoken's room, which seemed almost made of thick, unforgiving ice, had become his new four walls.
His life had been completely overturned and turned upside down, emptied of every beautiful thing that had made it so precious until three months ago. And he no longer knew how to move forward.
(Ryoken's heart was always there, but his mind was thousands of miles away. And maybe it would never come back).
6
It was a day in late October like many others
(aseptic, apathetic, monochromatic)
in which the reverberation of change was nowhere to be seen.
It was a day like any other in which Ryoken was always lying on that bed with every parameter stable and apparently reassuring, but which after three months had now completely eclipsed hope, turning it into agony. Ryoken was always stable, but he was always motionless and his eyes were always closed and the more the days turned into memories and lightened the pages of the calendar, the more he reincarnated into an ice statue.
(Beautiful, but at the same time cold and untouchable and bare of any emotion).
Like every afternoon Yusaku was there with him, sitting beside him in a chair that creaked with every smallest breath, uncomfortable as a throne of thorns – the perpetual waiting weighed everything down.
Yusaku had told Ryoken what he had been doing that morning, telling him that he had started to catch up on some university classes in preparation for the exams he had left behind; that he had tried that day as well to muster up courage, to force a smile, and to express himself calmly when someone spoke to him. He had also told him that maybe it was just his impression, but despite everything that morning had seemed less heavy than usual. Only by a little, but it was still something.
(«And being the fool that I am, I even thought it might be a sign» he had concluded, wiping a lonely tear with the back of his hand).
Yusaku was about to greet Ryoken when a real and tangible sign shocked him from head to toe: Ryoken had moved a finger.
No, he hadn't imagined it, it had really happened: Ryoken had moved his right index finger.
It took a while for the air to get to his lungs, and Yusaku jumped up from his chair, not caring about the annoying noise that the movement of the object on the floor had brought with it.
His heart began to pound in his chest and his mind sank into an abyss of doubts, fears and uncertainties: should he call the doctor or at least a nurse to inform them of what had happened? What if they told him that it was just a complex reflex, something Ryoken had done without actually realizing it? What if after that little movement there was nothing more? What was he supposed to do?
His eyes were on him, endlessly waiting for another sign.
(Something. Anything else but please don't delude me like this, come back to me, come back to life for real).
The right index finger moved again. Then the hand clenched into a fist, opening again shortly thereafter. Then Ryoken began to mumble something as he slowly opened his eyes.
(«Yusaku...»)
And a small piece of sky graced that much anonymous hospital room.
«Yusaku... where are you...?»
«I'm here».
7
Yusaku took Ryoken by the hand, barely squeezing it. Although he had felt the urge to hug him tightly, Yusaku was afraid of hurting him, which was why he preferred to hold back.
«Ryoken... how are you?» he asked him with a lump the size of a meteorite stuck in his throat. He had started crying without even realizing it, as endless salty droplets reached his chin and then slid off, leaving the scene.
«I feel... weird. What's wrong?»
Ryoken looked at him with a confused and somewhat frightened expression. «Why are you crying?»
«Don't worry, they're tears of joy. Ryoken, listen to me: what's the last thing you remember?»
«The last thing...?»
Ryoken widened his eyes, as if the sky had decided to break out of his eyeballs, fidgeting a little. «Oh dear, the car...! Yusaku, did I hurt you?»
«What? What do you mean?»
«When I pushed you away... did I hurt you?»
Yusaku's lower jaw nearly hit the ground. «You just woke up after three months in a coma, and the thing you're most concerned about is whether or not you hurt me when you pushed me?» he asked in a tone of voice that was at times exasperated. «Holy hell, Ryoken, you saved my life! What do you want me to care about a cut on my chin?»
«Three months...? I was in a coma for three months?»
Ryoken was in obvious shock, and Yusaku cursed himself for being so impetuous with his words. «Just relax and breathe deeply. I'm going to go get the doctor now, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can, because he'll have so many checks to do on you... but the worst is over now, because you've finally opened your eyes again».
Yusaku loosened his grip on Ryoken's hand and moved closer to him, then placed his lips on his forehead. He didn't want to pull away from him. Not yet. Those three months without Ryoken had been hellish, and all he wanted to do right now was stay close to him. But he also knew that he couldn't wait any longer, that the doctor needed to be informed of that good news right away. And that the sooner the checks were done, the better.
«Everything will be fine, I promise. Welcome back».
He reluctantly walked away, wiping away tears with trembling hands. He opened the door, and before he could take another step forward, Ryoken floored him once more.
«When I get out of here... can I be your second first date?»
Yusaku smiled, and in the meantime, new tears had begun to form at the sides of his eyes. «When you get out of here, you'll need a lot of rest first. And when you've recovered, you can be anything you want to be».
(And I know, no matter what you do or say, you will always be my happiness).