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They were currently stitching him up, it was a common occurrence, something he did out of habit by now, something he repeated so many times that now meant nothing. Right now, if he bled to death, with all of his organs out of his system, sprawled, laid bare on the soil, with all of its insects eating the fresh meat that just fell, it wouldn't feel any different than closing his wounds. He wouldn't feel bad for leaving himself to die, the parasite living within his body would mind though, and they would patch the body up themselves. He mostly does it not because he wants to keep going on, in reality he does because he doesn't want to leave that kid and he doesn't want to leave her, but because that is what his mind is telling him, that is what his brain keeps banging among the space in his head, his thoughts only go back to how he should be dead right now and in all of the numerous, infinite and repetitive ways he could mend this mistake.
It isn't a mistake it's what he tells himself, but oh, his mischievous mind, brain, and sense tells him otherwise, he is tired of it, so, so tired.
He assumes this is one of those periods where he doesn't want to exist, to live, to breathe, to feel, to do literally anything except for nothing. This was a common occurrence in the past, but this isn't the past, this is the present and he realizes how she is now looking at him, she actually just gave him a brief, yet thoughtful look, and how she is almost finished getting everything ready. He blinks and simply proceeds to get his own part ready for what's coming next, stumbling a bit in the same steps he repeats so easily although they are somewhat messy, or so it appears to him. She gladly helps him, but at the same time she despited, hated, detested, execrated this entire situation. He shouldn't be hurt in the first place, he shouldn't suffer like this, he shouldn't have to mend what others caused him. However, he is hurt and she is willing to help him with everything she's got.
He never lets nobody help him with his wounds, they happen too frequently, they are too ugly, they are too un sanitized, they are completely disgusting and worrisome. He detested them incredibly, but oh Lord if he didn't detest Her.
For some reasons she was different, he doesn't know why nor can he understand the 'how'. He isn't able to process why she is, even in his current state, with his mind banging on him, his thoughts telling him that everything he feels and has is completely, utterly, incredibly and astonishingly wrong, she isn't. She seemed out of place when they met, but she isn't now, she is like sunshine that breaks throughout the clouds. So powerful, solid, vivid and real, that by only existing it can bring yourself to feel warm, soft, maybe even a little big giddy. That's what she feels like at the moment, an idea that's confirmed by her voice
"Darling.. Are you conscious enough to sew the wound yourself? Would you rather me do it for you?" and also by her actions as she put a hand over his, squeezing it gently as to ground him, to bring him back to reality, to make him feel like he exists and he is alright.
Fuji silently nods, embracing how sweet and angelic her voice feels like now, a choir of trumpeted angels singing a melody to make that voice grow even louder, to get even more majestic, to feel like it's a melody composed by the universe itself, as if it's intention was to clear his mind, but it isn't, and it isn't going to work because that's just her voice. He squeezes her hand back, both to return to gesture and to unconsciously ground himself, before he takes the suture needle he owns, or at least, the improvised version of one, it works so he is alright with it. His mind keeps bombarding him with intrusive thoughts, telling him to stop, to bleed, to rip his flesh open and worsen everything, it's so intoxicating that he almost gives in, almost. He is still conscious, he is with Dia, he has her by his side and he isn't going to do that in front of her, especially not after she so, oh so gently, offered to do the work for him, to mend his own mistake of getting hurt. He gently rips off the duct tape he used to keep the wounds closed, more blood flows out as it is open once again, she gently takes the towels she gathered earlier, absorbing the blood while he starts to sew his flash black together. It's a disgusting view, in fact she doesn't dare to look directly at the wound, she only pampers the towels under the wound, to not dirty this mess even more. At times he winces, at times he lightly shakes, but he goes through everything until he has finished, he does it so meticulously that he cannot hear anything aside from her voice, that's right, because she kept talking to him thoroughly the whole procedure. She kept murmuring sweet nothings, or so they seemed to him as she meant every single word she said, while he worked on his mistake. Those sweet nothings being words of comfort, words that kept his mind at bay, words that were so powerful that were the only and single thing hearable at the moment.
He sighed, letting out a shaky exhale as she helped him put everything away, they cleaned everything up, to much her dismay to the other's state, and settled on the couch. His thoughts haven't stopped even for one second but with her, he thinks he can make it, he thinks she can help him, he thinks with her help he could really tame his mind. They are currently sprawled over each other, something that was also common occurrence for the two, he softly inhaled, he also thought of indulging himself a bit in this, in which he does by laying his head in the crook of her neck. It all feels too morbid, too soft, too calm to be real, but it is, even if his mind is telling him otherwise he knows it isn't true, and by knowing so, he is able to stop his thoughts, even for just a little bit. He doesn't notice that his- no-- he means that angel, he doesn't own her, nor she owns him, they choose to stick together out of their own will. Nonetheless, he doesn't notice that she tangled one of her hands into his hair, lightly brushing his scalp as her other hand traced circle-like shapes into his right shoulder-blade. He doesn't notice because it is natural for them, it's common for them, to be there, to hold each other when one isn't doing alright, to simply be by their side even without doing anything, to keep their (his because hers was far too gone to come back from her little crush) mind at bay, to just help one another, to like each other. He assumes he likes her? He definitely does because how could you not like her? She was the literal definition of honey, so pure, sweet, warm and clear.
Yeah, he liked her, he doesn't know if she does, or if he feels more to this, he has no clue if this feeling even has a label. She makes him feel way too many things, so numerous emotions that he didn't even know he had, probably as many as his kid made him feel, they are overwhelming, the feelings are too much for him, he doesn't like them, he doesn't because they are new, they are difficult to handle, they are weird, although he is willing to feel them, for her, even if they are incredibly destabilizing. For example, his stomach twists, turns, almost rearranges itself to be inside out but it doesn't hurt, it doesn't, and it only happens when the two of them are alone. Right now he is too tired to feel anything, to feel anything aside from the softness he is drowning him, to the warmness is embracing him and for the sense of tiredness that is taking over his body, making him fall asleep right there, over her.
What he doesn't feel is the lightfeather kiss she plants to the top of his head, just like him she was indulging into the feeling, also what could a little kiss do? Kill him? Definitely not he has survived worse, plus he doesn't even know.
He steals a few breaths from the world for a minute, and then he'll be nothing forever with all of the memories and the things he has seen will be gone with his eyes and his body with him. But him and his 'friend', they are doing better, it has been him and her together, so he bets everything on that, with his brows furrowed together, that at least in this lifetime, him and his 'friend', they'll stick together, him and his 'friend', they are doing better. He is the idiot with the painted face that's in the corner taking all the space, but when she walks, he is loved, he is loved. So him and his 'friend', they are doing better, it has been him and her together, so he bets everything on that, with his brows furrowed together, that at least in this lifetime, him and his 'friend', they'll stick together, him and his 'friend', they are doing better.
What he didn't know is that his "friend" will be by his side, and maybe, be something even more than that mere title, remembering him how he matters and how she loves him.