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It’s not the same, Kojiro tells himself, but it isn’t any easier to see Kaoru’s face marred with blood now than it was then.
And it still feels like his own fault.
Idiot, Kaoru would tell him.
Idiot, Kaoru had said the first time Kojiro blamed himself - all those years ago.
Insistently, Kaoru had reminded him that it was an accident.
And when Kojiro again tried to apologize, Kaoru bit him.
Seriously.
Kojiro likes to claim that he can still see the imprints of Kaoru’s teeth on the meaty part of his thumb in the right light, but the truth is the marks have long faded.
He kind of feels nineteen again instead of twenty-eight as he cradles Kaoru to his chest and murmurs to him. He feels just as frightened and out of his depth, helpless and ineffective, and Kaoru feels just as fragile in his arms this time, even if there’s no glass in his hair and no sirens closing in on the scene while onlookers shout instructions in a language he doesn’t understand.
Maybe he’s not as grown up as he thinks.
Maybe it’s just because it’s Kaoru.
It doesn’t feel fair.
Kojiro thinks of the way Kaoru’s eyelids fluttered as he brushed tacky fringe from his face, pleading, “Kaoru? C’mon, Kaoru.”
Back then Korijo was most concerned about the amount of blood dripping from his friend’s temple, but he learned pretty quickly that the worst injuries are often out of sight. Kaoru still has a handful of small incision scars on his torso to prove it.
Kaoru calls them unsightly, and Kojiro tells him they wouldn’t be so pronounced if he had just sat still and stopped pulling his fucking stitches.
“Joe?” a small voice asks.
Right. They’re not alone, and they’re in a moving car. Miya worries at his bottom lip, and Shadow looks in the rear view and asks, “You with us, man?”
Kojiro inhales deeply. It doesn’t smell like burnt rubber or crushed metal, hot engines and smoke, though the tangy scent of blood remains. He’s got to focus.
“Yeah,” he shakes his head like he can shake the bad memories loose.
“How… is he doing okay?” Miya asks.
Kojiro isn’t sure. Kaoru was conscious when Kojiro got to him, which might have been the more unfortunate alternative with the way Adam was running his fucking mouth.
Boring.
Kojiro wants to wrap his hands around Adam’s slimy fucking throat and squeeze.
Kojiro never wanted to see Kaoru hurt like this again, and Adam had hurt him purposefully, callously, disdainfully.
Kojiro knows there’s something wrong with both Kaoru’s ankle and arm. They’re both swollen, and his foot is sort of just... hanging there at a sickly angle. He’s covered in road rash, and the rough deck of Adam’s board had split and shredded the skin at his hairline. It’s already bruising.
But that’s all Kojiro can see.
He can’t take his blood pressure, he can’t ask where he’s in pain, he can’t check his heart rate.
He didn’t know any better when they were kids. He sure fucking learned as they huddled on the street in the rain. One second he had a protective arm around Kaoru’s waist to both hold him up and anchor him to his side, the next Kaoru was gasping and crumpling like a deck of cards.
Internal bleeding, his brain reminds him. Lacerated organs, ruptured organs.
He’s out of the backseat as soon as the car skids to a halt in front of the emergency room entrance.
No one looks up at the nurses’ station when the doors slide open, so Kojiro barks, “Hey!”
They’re enough of a sight to spring everyone into action. He’s a big guy, after all, shirtless, carrying a bleeding, unconscious man. Kaoru would be livid with him for causing such a scene if he were awake.
But he isn’t awake anymore, so Kojiro lays him on the proffered gurney and starts arranging his limbs.
They triage on the move, and Kojiro borrows from the memory of a yellow ambulance and EMTs speaking in quick, clipped German.
It barely feels like lying.
“Car accident,” he answers. After all, Kaoru had looked similarly battered then. The nurse starts asking for Kaoru’s medical history. Does he smoke? Not anymore. Does he drink? Only the good stuff (only if it’s free). Allergies? Bees. Any previous surgeries? Partial splenectomy a decade ago. Due to illness or injury? Injury. Car accident.
“He, uh, knocked his head against the window on impact, and the glass broke. Grade 2 concussion,” Kojiro elaborates. The polizie said that the other driver was at fault, but Kojiro was behind the wheel, and he was fine. He could’ve done something differently, right? What if he’d been paying more attention on those unfamiliar Swiss streets? What if he’d noticed that Kaoru was two shades too pale sooner? He was so distracted by the head injury, the amount of sticky blood getting into Kaoru’s eye, he didn’t think of internal trauma…
What if he’d managed to stop Adam?
They push Kaoru through the double doors, and the nurse places a hand on Kojiro’s arm and tells him that he can go no further, prompts him to find a seat in the waiting room.
Kojiro nods, but it feels a little like his head is floating away from his body. Huh.
The nurse ushers him into a chair and goes to pull any electronic files she can find on Kaoru.
Kojiro puts his head into his hands, covers his eyes, breathes in through his mouth and out through his nose, the same way he’s instructed Kaoru more times than he can count over the years.
Kojiro could never empathize with the anxiety that was Kaoru’s constant companion until he found himself alone in a foreign country waiting for a nurse to tell him why Kaoru had collapsed. Inhale, one, two, three, four; hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven; exhale, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. It was an awful feeling, and the exercise might have kept the panic to a manageable level, but it never really left him alone. It’s like it was hovering over his shoulder, waiting to pounce.
When someone finally came to talk to him, it drove him to his feet. Kojiro had always been better at languages than Kaoru, who was a nerd among nerds, but the medical jargon was hard to follow through so many translations: German to English and English to Japanese. He managed to glean that Kaoru was in surgery because he had been bleeding out while standing right next to Kojiro on the sidewalk in the rain. Kaoru’s spleen had ruptured in the crash, and now they’d have to remove it.
What did a spleen even do? Kojiro wondered. Had they learned it in health or biology?
There are footsteps that come to stop in front of him, and when he looks up, Kojiro almost expects to hear, “Bist du hier mit Sakurayashiki Kaoru?”
Instead it’s Miya and Shadow, who looks ridiculous in his clown getup under the harsh fluorescent lights and surrounded by bland hospital furniture. Miya looks sort of green.
“Heard anything yet?” Shadow asks.
Kojiro shakes his head. He knows this song and dance, “They’re probably only just now finished taking inventory.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Car wreck.”
“You think they’ll believe it?”
“I’m having a hard time not believing it,” he says. His brain keeps getting mixed up.
“What’s that mean?” Miya asks. His voice is unexpectedly gravelly, like he’s been choked up or crying. He clears his throat.
Kojiro sighs and waves him off, “Don’t worry about it, kid. Just bad memories.”
Miya’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t press. “You look awful.”
Kojiro almost laughs, “I bet.”
“Should we find you some clothes?” Shadow asks. When Kojiro pointedly eyes Shadow’s skintight black leather pants and vest, Shadow adds, “I’m not the one covered in blood.”
It’s a good point.
In the time it takes for someone to finally come and talk to them, they’ve already worked out that nothing in the gift shop comes in Kojiro’s size, and a nice orderly had found a massive pair of scrubs for him. When he steps out of the bathroom, there’s a physician talking to Miya and Shadow.
Kojiro will deny it if Miya ever tells Kaoru, but he sprints across the waiting room to get to the doctor, who turns to shake his hand and says, “You must be Nanjo Kojiro.”
The tag on her white coat identifies her as Dr. Yamashiro.
“Yes,” Kojiro says quickly. He brought Kaoru here, but he’s also his emergency contact. “How is he? Will he be okay?”
“With time and physical therapy, I believe Sakurayashiki-san will make a full recovery,” Dr. Yamashiro says. “The worst injury is to his left ankle: He has an unstable bimalleolar ankle fracture. We’ve corrected it with surgery, including the use of a metal plate and pins, but he won’t be able to place any weight on it for at least six weeks.”
Kojiro sort of wants to vomit. On the one hand, this is the most serious of his injuries, which means Kaoru isn’t going to die nor did he suffer a life-altering brain injury. On the other hand, he’s going to hate being unable to walk again.
“Sakurayashiki-san has a Grade 2 concussion, which isn’t ideal given his history, but we’ll know more when he comes off the anesthesia. His right arm is badly sprained, and there’s some mild bruising to his ribs that will cause discomfort. He’s got a significant number of superficial scratches, but only the wound at his temple required stitching. The next few weeks of recovery are going to be rough for him, and he’ll require a lot of rest. Does he live alone?”
“I’ll stay with him,” Kojiro volunteers. Miya sideyes him, but Shadow doesn’t even blink at the declaration.
“Good,” Dr. Yamashiro smiles. “He should be out of surgery in the near future. They’ll move him to the recovery room and then a private room. I’ll have one of the staff notify you when you can go back and see him.” She looks at Miya and Shadow, and Kojiro gives her credit for her poker face. Either she’s seen some serious shit in her life, or she’s practiced that look of neutrality. “I’m afraid you two will have to come back during regular visiting hours.”
Miya’s shoulders visibly deflate, and Shadow places a comforting hand on the back of the teen’s neck. “You heard the doctor. Time for bed, squirt.”
Miya glowers, “Tired, old man?”
Shadow answers honestly, “Very.”
Miya goads him no further.
Dr. Yamashiro excuses herself, and Shadow gives his full attention to Kojiro, “You gonna be all right, man?”
Kojiro shrugs, “Yeah.”
“Good,” Shadow echoes Dr. Yamashiro’s earlier comment. “You let us know how he’s doing, and we’ll stop by tomorrow.”
Kojiro nods. It’s clear that Miya doesn’t want to leave without seeing Kaoru, but Shadow herds him away like a natural parent. It would be cute under better circumstances.
The waiting room for the ER is largely empty of emergencies, and Kojiro lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. A vending machine buzzes in the corner, and a commercial on the TV overhead is playing a jingle for dog kibble. An old analogue clock ticks away behind the reception desk.
In Switzerland, Kojiro felt like time wobbled. Sometimes it was as slow as syrup, and others it raced by impossibly fast, like the burst of a flash bulb as a camera caught individual moments with no record of what came in-between.
Click. They’re arguing about dinner, and Kaoru’s laugh is mocking.
Click. Kaoru is shouting his name in warning. (The surprise and horror on his face will make appearances in Kojiro’s nightmares for years to come.)
Shutter. There’s the crunch, and his senses are so overloaded that the visual is gone: Now it’s the sound of protesting metal and breaking glass, the smell of asphalt, burnt rubber, copper, the feel of his seat belt digging into his chest as the world spins.
Click. Suddenly everything comes to a halt, and the camera in his mind is in portrait mode: Kaoru’s chin to his chest, eyes closed, glass in his lap, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead down to his chin.
Click. They’re out of the car, talking to the responding officers, and he’s clutching Kaoru to his side desperately. Then he’s the only thing holding Kaoru up after his golden eyes roll back into his head.
Click. Kaoru on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance.
Click. Kojiro can’t make his brain process language, let alone translate it.
Click. An orderly pats him on the shoulder and gives him a blanket.
Click. Kaoru is unconscious in a hospital bed, and Kojiro is leaning over him crying like a child.
Eventually a social worker at the Swiss hospital told him that it was likely shock muddying up his mind. Kindly, she explained that traumatic experiences had an odd effect on our ability to make and store memories.
Today time is crawling.
Kojiro hadn’t even understood what was happening after the car wreck in Switzerland, and now he at least knows Kaoru will be okay, but he feels just as sick - if not more so - than he did back then.
Adam, his brain tells him. It’s Adam’s presence in the equation.
It’s the intention behind it.
Kojiro couldn’t have known that a car was going to run a redlight when they were nineteen and passing through Bellinzona, but he’d wished he’d caught on faster and turned the wheel or noticed that something was really, really wrong with Kaoru sooner.
Kojiro knew what Adam could do.
In Bellinzona, Kojiro could have reacted better.
If he’d reacted better, he wouldn’t have to have seen the confusion on Kaoru’s face when he woke up in the hospital and wince when his head ached or hear him hiss in pain when he moved his torso. He wouldn’t have had to watch the resignation visible on Kaoru’s face when the hospital staff presented him with a wheelchair for his recovery.
But tonight at Crazy Rock? He could have - should have - stopped the fucking beef before it even started.
---
“I need you to bring Carla.”
“Hello to you, too,” Kojiro rolls his eyes. It’s been fewer than 48 hours since Adam had nearly killed Kaoru and had the audacity to call it a trick, and Kaoru is cranky and upset. He’s taking the whole thing about as well as to be expected, which is not exactly well at all.
Kojiro may have wanted to throttle Adam himself, but Kaoru’s expletive riddled and detailed threats were malicious enough to make Kojiro squirm just hearing them. Woe betide Adam when Kaoru finally got out of the hospital.
“Hello.” Kaoru’s greeting is flat, impatient, and perfunctory. “I need you to bring Carla here. Today.”
Kojiro’s face is skeptical, and his eyes dart to the purple bracelet on Kaoru’s uninjured wrist and the skateboard leaning against the wall.
“I know you got hit in the head pretty hard,” he knocks his own skull with his fist to demonstrate, “but...”
“Not those models, you stupid gorilla,” Kaoru snaps. “There’s a powerchair version in my storage room.”
“Seriously?”
“I got enough of your terrible chariot jokes after that debacle in Sweden.”
“It was Switzerland.”
“Unimportant.”
“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad. You love to tell me what to do.”
“I feared for my life at least three times when you were trying to navigate through the damn airport.”
“It was crowded,” Kojiro rebuked.
“Of course it was crowded! It was Switzerland in July!”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if we weren’t running late because someone overdid it and almost fucked up their stiches.”
“You were taking too long to get ready. You needed help.”
“I had to pack both of our bags and prep your meds for customs. You just didn’t like the way I arranged your suitcase.”
“Because you did it wrong!”
“And it was worth ripping a stitch over, you control freak?!”
“Clumsy oaf!”
“Neurotic megane!”
The tirade suddenly ends when a nurse politely clears her throat to announce herself.
Whoops.
Kojiro backs off, and Kaoru tries to act like nothing happened at all. He pats his hair into place and offers her a beatific, serene smile.
Looking between them, the nurse asks, “Everything all right in here?”
Channeling his obnoxiously polite persona, Kaoru nods, “Of course, Nagamoto-san.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she says, “Okay. Please remember to be respectful of the other patients in the surrounding rooms.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Yasuko.”
Nagamoto Yasuko blushes before continuing her rounds.
When she’s out of sight, Kaoru immediately pins Kojiro with his condemning gaze. Wrinkling his nose, he says, “Really, you gigolo? I’ve been here for two nights, and you’re already screwing the nurses?”
Kojiro throws up his hands, “I went on a few dates with her two years ago! Honestly, when would I have even had time to sneak off with anyone? I’ve either been here letting you boss me around or at the restaurant.”
Kaoru narrows his eyes briefly before seeming to accept his answer and concedes, “Fair enough.”
“You’re such a brat,” Kojiro sighs as he slumps into the uncomfortable chair next to Kaoru’s hospital bed. “When are you going to start being nicer to me? I slept in that tiny little bed with you and everything last night, even though you needed a sponge bath.”
Kaoru bristles, “If you weren’t so superfluously enormous, it would’ve been a better fit.”
“Wouldn’t have fixed the smell, though.”
“I hate you. Go get Carla.”
“I just got here.”
“Too bad. You’re annoying me.”
“Turnabout is fair play.”
They lapse into silence, and Kaoru lets out a long, tired breath while leaning more heavily into his pillows. Kojiro frowns. He probably shouldn’t be letting him get so worked up, even if they’re just bickering. He wonders if Kaoru’s complexion has lost more color or if he’s just imagining it.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Kaoru says loudly while staring at the ceiling tiles above his head. “Your... face is... stupid.”
“What the fuck?”
Kaoru pinches the bridge of his nose with his uninjured hand, “You keep... I don’t like seeing you so worried.”
“Well, I don’t exactly like seeing you hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit, you liar.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“What?”
“You’re blaming yourself,” Karou insists. “I can tell. Just like in Bellinzona.”
“Do we have to talk about this right now?”
“It’s not your fault. It was my choice. I feel so fucking stupid, but it was still my choice.”
“Just don’t tell me that you think it’s your fault.”
Kaoru scowls, “I know who’s to blame. I didn’t clock myself with a skateboard like a pathetic cheater.” He hesitates before he adds, “But I still feel stupid.”
“Don’t.”
“Then don’t blame yourself! It wasn’t your fault in Bellinzona, and you’re not to blame now. You can’t protect everyone from everything.”
Kojiro rubs a hand over his face, “I don’t want to protect everyone from everything. I want to protect you.” Quietly, he admits, “Kaoru, you didn’t see yourself unconscious and covered in blood. You didn’t see yourself on a stretcher.”
“We’ve both been hurt plenty of times.”
“No,” Kojiro shakes his head. “Not like then. Not like this. I...” Kojiro swallows, “I thought you were dead. In Bellinzona. At Crazy Rock.”
“Kojiro,” Kaoru says softly, urgently. Kojiro bends at the waist to press his forehead against the thin blankets tucked around Kaoru’s torso. Gently, fingers begin to weave through Kojiro’s curls.
When Kaoru runs out of words, he speaks through actions.
It’s quiet save for the beeping of the monitors and the muted noises of the hospital around them.
“It’s not your fault,” Kaoru says again eventually. He tugs Kojiro’s hair for emphasis. “But I’m sorry that I scared you.”
Kojiro’s mouth lifts at one corner.
The heaviness that fell over them has started to dissipate, so Kojiro chooses to lighten it further, “Sorry enough to be nice to me?”
“In your dreams.”
“Sorry enough to behave yourself while you’re hurt?”
“No. When can I get out of here?”
Kojiro laughs.
Tension temporarily banished, Kojiro says, “I’ve got to work late tonight, but I’ll go get Carla and bring her over before my shift. Just try not to overdo it, okay?”
“Of course.”
“I mean it, Kaoru.”
Kaoru’s countenance morphs into a perfect mask of innocence, which Kojiro doesn’t believe for a second.
He sighs, “Somehow I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
Kaoru can’t keep the sly smirk off his face, even as he postulates, “Who can say?”