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“I don't know why you won't just get rid of the damn thing.” Mondo mutters, motioning to the dented motorcycle helmet on the coffee table, the same place it had been since Ishimaru set it there the night of Mondo’s wreck nearly a week ago. “It's nothing but a hunk of plastic now. You know it's no good. Just throw it out already.”
Mondo had every right to be upset.
The wreck had left his whole body sore. Every movement he made was only a reminder of that.
His hands itched to be back in the garage, fixing up his bike. That was about the only damn thing that ever calmed his nerves. God knows it needed the repairs.
Mondo hated sitting around. It drove him friggin’ crazy.
But even if he could justify working through the pain, the damn neck brace the doctor stuck him in made it impossible.
And his boyfriend, who always took care of things, left the biggest reminder of his situation on the coffee table, taunting him.
It was probably infuriating.
“I will not!” Ishimaru stood firmly in his opposition. His fingers dug into his palm.
Kiyotaka knew Mondo was right. He lived his life by regulations. Helmets were only good for one wreck. It had served its purpose. After that, they were nothing but trash.
But Taka just couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.
“This helmet is the only reason you came back to me,” Ishimaru gritted his teeth and bowed his head, no longer able to hold back the stinging tears that were now pouring out of his eyes. His voice wavered with an ugly sob. “So do not tell me that it is not good. It did it's job perfectly. For that, I owe it everything!”
“Woah Taka hey,” Mondo’s voice was laced with concern as he ran to Ishimaru’s side, no longer paying any mind to the aching of his own body as he did so. He had been so wrapped up in his own pity party, he hadn't realized how much the accident was affecting his boyfriend.
Ishimaru collapsed into Mondo's arms, and Mondo held him tightly. “It’s okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”