Chapter Text
Growing up with a best friend like Kaoru, Kojiro was no stranger to worry. In fact, he had made it something of a companion. The thrill of risk and reward was more than worth it. Most of the time.
Even in this moment, as Kojiro ran towards the body of his friend lying still on the track, pangs of adrenaline coursing through his veins, the pulse hammering in his chest like a drum, he was scared, but he wasn’t panicked.
He’d seen plenty of messy bails before. A lot of accidents ended in breaks, dislocations, cracked skulls, bone deep bruises, skin hanging off, puddles of blood on pavement. No one ever said skateboarding was a safe sport.
Still, it hurts to come across him now. Motionless if not for his twitching brows furrowed in pain, eventually those too relax, Kaoru's body going limp. Pastel locks clash against streaks of deep, vivid red.
“Kaoru!!” Kojiro shouts, crouching over his unconscious frame, hands hovering anxiously, unsure of where the damage is, where he can touch that won't be catastrophic. Kaoru looks like a house of cards, held together by luck, as though a strong wind would topple him.
Adam says something Kojiro doesn’t quite catch, but he processes the tone as an insult, just another jab, an utterly meaningless gesture towards a man that can’t even hear him right now. It boils Kojiro's blood.
“Seriously???" He hisses, expression dropping from concern to rage. “You son of a Bitch-”
A loud honk distracts him, evaporates the steam coming off and reminds him that as livid as he is, he needs to act. Shadow’s yelling something about a hospital, and a broken gear within his head suddenly clicks into place. Kojiro’s feet move faster than his brain. It’s all happening so damn fast.
There comes a lull though, a solid moment of driving in silence, ruminating events in quiet shock and awe. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream. A fucked up ambien dream that he wishes he couldn't remember.
He should be waking up right now. He should be in bed, groaning at the incessant knocking of his best friend who will pretend that he left a charger at Kojiro's house the other night, when clearly, he just wants him to make him breakfast. Kojiro would get up, tell him all about his stupid nightmare, and Kaoru would mock him for it, insist he's going to beat Adam in their beef, call Kojiro a sap.
Kojiro can feel blood dripping between his fingers, already coagulating into river forks over his wrists that he'll have to scrub away later. There are no dreams here. His head is empty. All he sees is pink and red, pink and red, pink and red-
Finally, Kaoru coughs, squirming a bit as a pained expression washes back over his face. Kojiro isn't sure if he feels relieved or not.
“Hey. Don’t move. We’re almost there.” He hushes, placing his hand gingerly against the side of Kaoru’s face- the side already turning black and blue. There’s still blood pouring from his scalp, but Kojiro has no hope of finding where it’s coming from under the mess of hair laying across his knees. Kaoru winces at the touch, and Kojiro backs off.
“Sorry. . .” He whispers. There’s no time right now for guilt, and yet, Kojiro’s conscience seems more than okay with making the time.
Kaoru mutters something incoherent, writhing from pangs of pain somewhere. It's then that Kojiro catches sight of his wrist-- it’s crooked. Either broken or out of place, he’s not sure, but definitely damaged. It’s his writing hand too. Shit.
“Shhh. . . It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine, Kaoru.” He replies, despite the situation getting worse by the second. He’s more careful now, trying to avoid touching anywhere that looks too tender. His hand slowly finds Kaoru’s waist, holding him there, trying anything he can to settle him down. He needs to stop moving so much, Kojiro thinks to himself. For all the injuries he can see, there could be plenty more he can’t see.
“Ss-somethings-wrong-” Kaoru chokes out desperately. Kojiro grimaces, watching Kaoru try to move his arm, before recoiling with a wounded hiss.
“I know, I think you might’ve dislocated it or something, they’ll fix it. I promise. Just try not to move so much.” Kojiro tries to reassure him.
“No. . . .” Kaoru groans, this time his good hand is the one to clutch tightly at Kojiro’s sleeve. His breaths come in agonized pants. He reluctantly leers up towards the man holding him in place. Whatever's happening, Kaoru may not know, but he obviously knows it isn’t good. His expression almost looks apologetic, and considering how rarely he apologizes, Kojiro doesn’t like that one bit.
Kaoru turns over hurriedly, and before Kojiro can scold him, beg him One more time, please, stop moving, he hears something splattering between his feet. A heaving sound, and it happens again. Awwww shit.
“You’re all right!” Kojiro insists, a bit comical as he strains around a comforting tone, trying to relay to the apologetic looking Kaoru that yes, he really doesn’t mind that he is throwing up directly on the car floor right in front of him. Even though Kojiro is empathetically biting back gags and probably looks pale and green himself, he continues. “. . . You just have a concussion, you’re gonna be fine-”
“no. . . something . . . doesn't feel right. . . . i . . . . fuck . . . ” Kaoru growls in frustration, carefully rolling onto his back, golden eyes looking up to Kojiro for answers.
Kojiro wishes he had them. But truth be told, he only has more questions now, as he catches sight of something really strange-- between Kaoru’s eyes, one pupil is blown out wide, the other, constricted to a point.
Kojiro hopes the way his expression hardens doesn’t scare the other, but he can’t do much at this point to hide it. Kaoru’s right, something is really wrong here. Shit. He’s not a doctor, he doesn’t know what it means, but not knowing is what makes it feel all the more foreboding. It’s stirring something new in his chest that he really, really does not fucking like.
Then, Kaoru’s breath quickens, stuttering as he makes a noise, almost like choking, before his eyes roll back.
Panic.
“Oh shit. SHIT!!” Kojiro exclaims, lurching forward to keep him on his lap as Kaoru recoils, arching back with his spine curled in an unsettlingly tight manner. It looks like a fucking exorcism.
“What the hell’s going on back there?!” Shadow bellows as he swerves around traffic, the laws of the road hardly even a suggestion to him at this point.
“Drive Faster.” Kojiro barks back, voice cracking.
Yes, he had seen many injuries, but. . . there are some you just don’t talk about. If you got a nice scar out of it, or more stitches than you can count with one hand, sure, it could make a ‘cool skater guy’ story to impress your friends with.
Those ‘cool guy’ stories were what a lot of skaters lived for, as dumb as it sounds. It is dumb. Skaters are stupid, Kojiro was the first to admit that. Still, the more gruesome reality, the raw and gritty shit, that usually stayed behind at S under hushed whispers. Or, it ended up on liveleak.
But now, Kojiro couldn’t look away. It was right in front of him, in fact, it was convulsing painfully on his lap, and he had no way to escape it. He could only pull Kaoru closer, holding his shaking body in his arms.
“. . . Fuckkk. . . Kaoru. . .” He mutters, helpless and lost. He wondered if it was even really his voice, as shaky and quiet as it had come out.
A word like “seizure” wasn’t in his vocabulary, and he figured it never would be. And god, words like “seizure, “coma”, “brain damage” - especially paired with “skateboard accident”- were the kind that he’d hear and grimace, avert his eyes, try not to listen, because the mental images it conjured were just too. . . real.
This isn’t right, Kojiro thinks. People like him and Kaoru didn’t skate at S for ‘realism’. It was, as any other good hobby is; a way to escape reality. A way to live for oneself and forge your own ideals. It was their shared fantasy.
And here the ‘fantasy’ dies, between the sound of obnoxious honking over red lights being ran, and the feeling of wet heat pooling over his thigh, that he slowly recognizes as urine. Kaoru’s arms and legs seem drawn tight to his frame, and as he thrashes they collide with Kojiro, who grunts as he feels the true force of it. Even that wrist bent slightly out of shape is completely unphased to crash against his chest, again and again, and god, it’s making him nauseous. It’s all just so wrong.
“How much longer Hiromi.” Kojiro shouts, sounding more unlike himself by the second. The dire question was intended to be more of a command to Hurry The Fuck Up, said at the top of his lungs, but it loses steam as it forces its way through wavering, breaking vocal chords.
“I’m going as fast as I can!” Is the frustrated response, and Kojiro’s not sure if it’s more or less reassuring that Hiromi sounds just as shell shocked. He had to have looked in the rearview mirror at some point, and while the guy’s no saint, it’s clear to anyone that Hiromi cares about their little unspoken 'team'. It makes Kojiro, feeling like he was lost at sea during a violent storm, remember that he’s not totally alone out here, even if only for a second.
“. . . Sorry. . . sorry. . . shit. . .” He mutters, laying his head against the window for a moment, closing his eyes, trying to realign himself.
The spasms continue, pained grunting noises occasionally croaking from Kaoru’s lungs, and it freaks Kojiro the fuck out, because it sounds like he’s choking, like he can’t breathe- Shit, can he breathe?
“I don’t know what to do here, man.” Kojiro admits, his voice shuddering as adrenaline levels only continue to rise. “I-I’ve never dealt with something like this before-”
“To hell with that, you’re dealin’ with it now.” Hiromi replies, words laced with a faux confidence, but it still comes off sounding like the first person he’s trying to convince is himself.
“I don’t know what to do.” Kojiro repeats.
It aches for him just to admit it, that he can't fix this one, that he can't be the responsible caretaker who keeps his loved ones safe. Kojiro knows he's trying to help. . . but Hiromi doesn’t have an answer this time. And that sets off it’s own new alarm bells.
“. . . Kaoru. . . you’re okay, just. . .” Kojiro sighs in exasperation as he looks him over, trying to gently lace a hand through Kaoru’s hair, which is a huge mistake. All he can see are the whites of his fluttering eyes, his lips turning purple, and pink hair, mixed with red, red on his hands now, all these colors are blending and blooming together in his mind in an overwhelming burst until-
“Hold onto something!” Hiromi shouts, and with adrenaline still anything but a finite resource, Kojiro is quick to brace against the seat in front of him with one arm, using the other to hold Kaoru tight to his chest.
Hiromi peels into a parking spot right near the emergency room entrance, tires screeching for mercy to announce their arrival. If he also ends up halfway on the curb and blocking two other spots, well. . . It’s an emergency. This is an emergency room. They’ve probably seen a worse parking job before.
Hiromi is out of the car in half a second, running and flagging down a nurse, while Kojiro can hardly seem to move. Kaoru looks so fucking fragile. It’s fucking weird. He’s smaller than him, sure, and he can be a bit childish at times, but it had always been understood that Kaoru was just as strong as he is. And he is anything but fucking fragile.
By the time Kojiro is able to carefully open the door and get them both out, Kaoru gingerly held in his arms through the last of his convulsions, a nurse is at the curb with a stretcher.
Just before he sets the man down, Kaoru goes limp, releases a huge breath and starts gasping for air-- and for the second time tonight, Kojiro almost feels relieved. He finally stopped seizing, at least. And he’s breathing again. Two bits of good news that, about 60 seconds ago, weren’t promised to come.
But as he looks at Kaoru, splayed out over the navy blue bedding, he looks so. . . broken. He sounds like he’s still in a hell of a lot of pain, too.
Kojiro follows along as they rush inside, muttering some encouraging words into Kaoru’s barely conscious ears. He doesn’t even notice the doctor joining them until he overhears him rattling off a couple of medications he couldn’t even dream of pronouncing, before suddenly-
“I’m sorry but you have to wait out here.” A woman in scrubs, practically half Kojiro’s size decides to say, as if it should matter to him. He moves past her without thinking, not processing a single syllable of it until another doctor steps in front of them, blocking Kojiro from moving past the two large doors that are slowly closing.
He explains it all to Kojiro. ‘You need identification, he needs to be evaluated, he’s getting the care he needs, you’re in shock, I know this is hard’, blah blah BLAH. All this yapping about shit Kojiro does not care to hear right now. So he doesn’t hear it.
He resists their pushing and pulling, getting as close as he can, but in the end, all he can do is watch through a tiny glass window on the door as Kaoru gets farther and farther away, until they turn down a hallway- and then he’s gone.
Gone.
. . . As though he had been held underwater, Kojiro suddenly resurfaces, ears ringing, lungs burning, and it all starts crashing into him at once.
“. . . I’m sorry, I know this is a difficult time, but if you could just follow me to the registration desk she can get you checked in and point you to the waiting room, someone will update you as soon as-” The doctor tries rushing out, and it’s only then that Kojiro realizes the guy had both his hands on Kojiro’s chest, trying somewhat in vain to push him backwards, away from the doors, and especially away from the littler nurse who is now standing up against a wall, nervously looking him over.
. . . Right. They don’t know him. They don’t know that Kojiro’s a chill guy who’s just too worked up at the moment to remember how strong he is. But they don’t know Kaoru, either. They don’t know how strong he is. How strong he’s supposed to be. They don’t know how much Kojiro needs Kaoru to be strong.
He tries to breathe now, as it’s all he can do, tries relaxing his overworking muscles, but god, it physically fucking hurts. The whole drive over, things had been pulling tight inside of Kojiro like a bow string.
All it takes is a particularly sharp thought - Fuck, please, don’t leave me alone Kaoru, - and the string holding him together snaps.
He stumbles backwards, disoriented, the last few seconds of clarity helping him mutter out a semi coherent apology, before turning to walk away- only to slam into Hiromi.
“. . . Hey man, you good?” He says, squeezing Kojiro's shoulder.
. . . Y’know, it should be pretty funny- no, it should be fucking Hilarious to see Hiromi right now, all done up in his Sunday worst. His Juggalo makeup and weird little speedo, standing right there in the middle of a hospital like it’s nothing.
But right now, Kojiro is dying. Like, legit on his deathbed. So, he decides to save the laugh for another time, as he makes a quick escape by running down the hallway at full speed.
His heart pounds harder than he ever thought was physically possible. He feels like he’s running from something tangible, an unseen enemy, it's as though his thoughts were tigers, prowling behind him with bared teeth and claws.
“It should have been you”, one tiger says. “You trusted Adam too.”
“God. Why the fuck didn’t you call an ambulance? What if you made it worse by moving him? You could have met the paramedics halfway, Kaoru could have been cared for sooner.” An especially wise tiger points out, as all these voices in his head start talking over each other, shouting at him, and each word feels like it’s stabbing him through the chest.
“If he dies because you didn’t get there fast enough, it’s your fault, you’ll be alone, and it’ll be your fault, you fucking idiot, alone, alone, all fucking Alone-”
Kojiro doesn’t remember how he got out of there. He honestly has no idea how he knew where the exit was, or rather, how long it might have taken him to find it. He took off sprinting past Hiromi one minute, and the next, he’s standing outside in the dark, bent over, throwing up in some bushes, panting and heaving and trying to breathe-- why can’t he fucking BREATHE?
He coughs a few times, and it sounds suspiciously like sobbing, until he realizes, he is sobbing, as he collapses onto his hands and knees. At this point, he would really love to shake his head, take a few deep breaths, clench his jaw, and pull himself the fuck together. I mean, honestly, this is kind of embarrassing- but try as he might, he cannot get his breath under control.
He shudders, a cold night breeze gusting over him. With every breath coming faster, and still not enough oxygen in his lungs, it’s like he can feel his body shutting down. What the fuck. He’s literally about to die. And he’s all alone out here.
All fucking alone. God dammit.
“Hey!!” He hears a man shout, echoing footsteps barrelling towards him.
“I can’t breathe.” Kojiro pants out at the man. ’Also, you’re kind of interrupting this whole ‘alone’ spiral I’m having here, bro.’ He thinks to himself.
“What the hell?” The stranger- no, Hiromi says, evidently a bit confused by the sight of Kojiro sprinting frantically out of a hospital just to lie on the ground in the dark.
He continues hyperventilating, clutching his chest now as it starts to ache, all the way through to his spine-- Yep. He’s still dying. God. Him and Kaoru are both dying, at the same time and everything. That sucks.
Hiromi grunts as he squats down to Kojiro’s level, inspecting his condition and-- surprising to Kojiro, he starts patting his shoulder again.
“Uhhh. . . look. . . I'm sure he’ll be fine, man. . .” He says, wearing an awkward and concerned expression, yet he pairs it well with a warm smile. “Just, try and get ahold of-”
Kojiro lunges desperately at him, pulling him into a bear hug because. . . well, he’s really not sure. It's kinda hard to think straight when his heart is probably bruising itself with the way it's pounding against his sternum.
“OH. okay. Yeah. yeah man. I gotcha. uhh.” Hiromi chuckles, awkwardly patting him with a half grimace as Kojiro sobs against his chest, right as a few staff walk by. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re all good.”
“k-kaoru. . . Kaoru-” Kojiro chokes out before he’s interrupted.
“Is in there with a bunch of doctors and nurses who are gonna take real good care of him.” Hiromi replies confidently. “. . . Cuz if they don’t, I’ll blow up the hospital.” He adds, along with a maniacal chuckle.
Kojiro starts to feel dizzy, and just when he thinks he's really about to pass out. . . his breathing begins to slow.
It’s confusing, and honestly, frustrating, but at least it gives him the opportunity to think for a second, and realize. . . Okay, Hiromi is right, Kaoru is, if absolutely nothing else, right where he needs to be. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna be okay, and that part is still freaking him the hell out. . . but. Okay. . . He did his best. He got Kaoru there. He did everything he could for him. He just has to wait now.
Which sucks, but at least he’s not waiting alone.
He did his best. He did his best. He did his best.
“. . .” Hiromi grimaces. “. . . I probably shouldn’t be saying that shit so loud, I guess. Might get the cops called. Hehe.”
This time, the humor manages to cut through the impending doom. Kojiro chuckles lightly, though it’s more of a harsh exhale, garnished with half a second of a smirk.
“You feelin’ better now?” Hiromi asks optimistically.
Oh, no. No. Hell no. He feels worse, actually. But at least this is a feeling he’s a bit more familiar with.
An adrenaline high always seems fun at first, but the comedown sure is a bitch and a half. His chest fucking burns, he’s seeing stars, his legs are wobbling from overuse, and all the little studs on Hiromi’s jacket poking into his shoulder are honestly starting to get on his nerves.
. . . . . . . . Oh. Yeah. Right.
He’s still sitting there.
On the cold pavement.
Intimately clutching a 5’10” Joker cosplayer as though he’s a solid oak door, and Kojiro had just survived the sinking of the Titanic.
He abruptly pulls back, wiping the tears on his face and coughing nonchalantly. Kojiro is still far from 'okay', and he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t embarrassing as fuck, but somehow. . . Whatever was wrong with him before, it seemed to be letting up now.
“Sorry man. . . I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just. . . I couldn’t breathe. . .” Kojiro shakes his head. His throat is uncomfortably dry, but his lungs are still begging for air, pulling it through his mouth until he's almost wheezing.
“Yeah, you kinda freaked me out there. And you gave me a hell of a workout trying catch up with you through the hospital.”
“. . . sheesh. . . That must’ve been a sight. . .” Kojiro sighs out between pants with a smirk, rubbing his neck.
“What, you don’t remember?” Hiromi snickers, amused to recall the sight of it as well.
“Nah, I totally blanked out. I just thought-. . .” The atmosphere drops and shatters like glass, as Kojiro swallows hard, taking a few more deep breaths. “. . . I thought about how Kaoru and I have known each other our whole lives and. . . . . .” His inhales are getting longer, though mostly in an attempt to keep himself from bursting into tears again. “. . . I don’t know what I’d do without him, man.”
Hiromi thinks for a moment. He seems to understand there aren't any words to be offered now, and instead, he gives a simple nod before pushing himself up off the ground, and letting an arm hang down to pull Kojiro up with him.
Kojiro accepts the lift, taking a second to brush the dirt from his white pants, only to see the stains of blood and. . . well, another wet spot that he doesn’t want to talk about right now. Maybe he can get a change of clothes from the gift shop later.
For now, he just tries to ignore the way his hands and legs are still violently shaking. The way his vision dims for a second as his heartbeat is still trying to settle is a little harder to ignore, but he manages it. This isn’t about him right now. This is about Kaoru.
They re-enter the hospital, and the lack of drama leads Hiromi to finally acknowledge the not so positive attention he is receiving for his current getup.
“. . . Hey man, will you be okay if I go grab us some clothes?”
"Uhhhh-"
For some reason, the idea of being alone again strikes a pang of fear through Kojiro’s chest. He's ready to climb right back into the shallow grave he was previously digging himself, but luckily, a nearby nurse is the saving grace for both of them.
“Hey, mister- Oh. Uhm,” The woman backs against a wall, a bit flustered as Hiromi takes the opportunity to bashfully brush past her and sneak away, the pink studs poking into her space just a bit too much for comfort.
“. . . Sorry, you brought in the last trauma right?”
Kojiro blinks, trying to process the question. The woman before him has a pretty distinct look. Very dark skin, very short hair, and a faint scar running up her hand. Where has he seen that scar before??? It takes him a second, but the picture slowly paints itself; This is the same nurse who brought the stretcher to the car.
“Yea- Uh, Yes! Kaoru, please, can I see him-”
The nurse politely cuts him off, sympathetically raising her hand before continuing.
“. . . If you can give us anything useful, an account of what happened, past medical history, medications, allergies, anything you know about him, I promise, I’ll get you in there as soon as I can.”
Kojiro doesn’t like how dire her tone is, she’s desperate for more information-- meaning Kaoru’s condition can’t be very good at the moment.
He takes a deep breath, and they start walking. Kojiro tells her the story, the whole story. No use in hiding it now. Being a skater, he was somewhat familiar with hospitals, and he knew one thing for certain; nurses don't seem to give a shit if you got hurt in a way that was sane or legal. Their only obligation is to keep you and the people around you alive. Otherwise, this is a lawless place, forged in chaos, blood, strife, and sometimes, weird shit that people shoved up their butts, whom they need an unbiased party with a medical degree to so graciously remove for them.
So, unsurprisingly, she was completely unphased by the admission of a gigantic underground skateboarding society which takes up home in an abandoned mine. In fact, she nodded a bit when he said that, almost as if to say, “ah, right, the weird influx of skateboarding injuries we see after midnight finally make sense now.”
Then came the impact. Though Kojiro shook to remember it, he described it as best as he knew how, threw out all the details he had, and answered her questions as best as he could manage. He explained what happened after, Kaoru's eyes, the vomiting, the seizure, and not once did he see her grimace, frown, or falter. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind, of course, she’s a nurse, it’s part of her job to be desensitized and pretend everything’s fine, but deep down he hoped she truly wasn’t that worried. Because, seeing her so calm. . . it was really starting to make him feel better.
Kojiro starts telling her the snippets he knew of Kaoru’s medical history. He used to have night terrors, now replaced with chronic insomnia. He has panic attacks, and some mild problems with his blood pressure. He’s dislocated his right shoulder before, and fractured his ankle, though Kojiro can’t remember which side, which makes the information seem kind of useless.
As he starts piecing together this history for her, he’s suddenly overwhelmed trying to remember every other accident Kaoru’s had, any other details he’s missing from their past, because, well. . . it’s a very lengthy past. Luckily, the nurse moves on.
They turn the corner while Kojiro explains how Kaoru doesn’t have any food allergies, because god, they’d both surely know about that by now, and just as he’s trying to remember the name of the as-needed anxiety medication he takes, he’s standing at the opening to a large waiting room, and the breath catches in his throat.
“. . .” The nurse looks between the doorway and Kojiro, before her eyes settle on him, sympathies hanging in the air. “. . . All right, I need to relay this information to the doctor, and I’ll see what I can do. Can you wait here?”
Kojiro stands there for a moment, aimless, and wanting so desperately to reply "do I have a fucking choice", but his stress had already got the best of him once tonight. She had a job to do, he didn't want to cause these people any more grief. So eventually, he nods, catching the half smile from the nurse as she mentions 'someone will update him whenever they can', but it brings him no comfort.
He stands there for a moment, surveying over the packed area, until he spots a seat in the farthest corner, as flush to the wall as possible, and he beelines for it. As he sinks into the cheap, sterile smelling furniture, he lets his eyes wrench shut, head sliding down the wall before collapsing forward into both his hands.
Hands still caked in dried blood.
He breathes slow and steady, zipping up his jacket, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Out of sight, out of mind. His eyes close again, and this time, for just a moment, things are almost calm.
Maybe ‘calm’ isn’t the right word. ‘Somber’ fits better. Still, it's a far cry from how he felt earlier. It's not truly pleasant, of course. It's as though his body is simply too tired to put up another fight, favoring the option of shutting down and going numb.
Before the nerves can fully dull and a surely restless sleep can come claim him, bitter tears form in the corners of his closed eyes, just enough to spill into the exhausted creases that have formed around them. God. Kojiro just wants to see his friend. His ex.
He laments quietly, for as many years ago as their high school fling was, a whole decade later, and Kojiro had spent it all, just yearning for the chance to hold Kaoru in his arms again.
Just not. Fucking. Like. That.
. . . Despite being in a noisy room full of people, Kojiro has never felt so alone.