Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ To Sedate ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

Kyoka feels so lazy, lazy because she hasn't gotten this chapter done by the time she hoped she would and she hasn't started studying for school testing and she hasn't talked to her counselor about the project for the advanced English class she will be taking and also coincidentally hasn't practiced almost any for the band performance next week. Yes. I'm lazy, lazy and sleepy. There's way too much going on.

 

Dude, you're overestimating me if you think I own this. The creator of Prince of Tennis should be honored for the absolute awesomeness of the series. I'm not cool enough.

 

Yeah, please read and review!

 

There is something I forgot to mention last chapter. The patella is your knee. My dad fractured it when he got in an accident. He had to have surgery, I do believe, and he was wearing a brace for quite a while. Again, any medical discrepancy should be reported to me.

 

Ohmigod, I keep doing so many typos. Sorry. Chapter ten will be edited. I am in the painful process of re-writing chapter one. Paragraph by paragraph. Comparative so I don't miss anything. Yeah, so I've talked too much. Enjoy!

 

 

 

To Sedate- Chapter 11

 

Fuji's tendency to grasp Tenshi's hand was growing more and more frequent over the past few days. It had first been out of his drowsiness that he had done so. Half-awake and on a large dose of painkillers, Fuji was barely aware of his surroundings except for a light-colored blur, which spoke with a kind voice. Nevertheless, even in his state of eternal drowsiness, he was very glad that Tenshi was there. Now he didn't feel pain, partially because of the painkillers, but mostly because of a numbness that had overtaken him in this blurry, sleepy state where darkness constantly pressed at the corners of his eyes like the plague. Fuji didn't want to sleep. Tenshi was here, and the man seemed intent on talking to him, but doing something odd, telling stories. In such an unaware state, he didn't really realize that Tenshi was a pretty good storyteller.

 

The stories could be anything from simple, easy-going folktales that were enjoyable to listen to, or dark, suspenseful, well-told stories that made Fuji wonder if Tenshi made them up, or if he'd read them in a book somewhere. Fuji's curiosity had always earned him no sort of answer to that question, though. He'd asked before, just slightly out of his drowsiness, where Tenshi had gotten the stories. Tenshi would be difficult as usual and give him some sort of unsolvable riddle. In the mist of drowsiness, Fuji couldn't make heads or tails of it, and soon ignored the fact that Tenshi had responded to the question at all.

 

Throughout the time, he had drifted in and out of sleep, though his sleep was never really that deep. Tenshi had been there the whole time, or so he assumed. Fuji, largely unaware of time, would fall asleep for about a half an hour in the middle of a conversation and wake up suddenly without realizing how long he had been asleep.

 

Tenshi wondered slightly about his treatments in between this time, in which he would sit by Fuji's side casually tracing the line of his jaw. There was no doctor to come in and check on him, and it was so late that a nurse seldom came in to check. Tenshi had only seen a woman once that night, and that was when he'd been brought here. Then again, there wasn't much to watch; he was just still feeling the effects of the sedative he'd been given hours ago.

 

Fuji couldn't remember much from the past few hours, or even the past few days. Snippets would come back to him latter, of a look stricken of worry on Tezuka's face, that nobody except he had ever seen, a kind voice from a man named Tenshi, and the distant sobbing of an invisible face. Now, though, whenever he reached out his hand to try and grasp these thoughts, anything coherent slithered away from him in a frightened sort of manner, slipping through his fingers whenever he managed to get a slight grip on it.

 

Never had Fuji really felt such a mix of emotions before, brewing gently beneath closed eyes. There was a fear that Fuji was foreign to, because Fuji was rarely truly scared. There was a panic that made him want to thrash around in the uncomfortable hospital bed despite the fact that his body was completely numb. There was a desperation to get back where he'd came from, out of this hospital and up on his feet. Then, there was the slow, peaceful realization that he wasn't in pain anymore, and that he could finally breath without his chest constricting to the point that it felt like he was suffocating.

 

The hospital was very quiet tonight, though Fuji wasn't exactly sure if it was night or day. His eyes were closed, only opening halfway ever ten minutes or so when Tenshi paused to take a breath. Dimly, he was aware of comforting fingers wrapped around his, a grip that reminded him so strongly of Tezuka that pain forgotten, was enough in itself to make him suffocate. Light might've made his eyes sensitive, but luckily, here the light was dimmed, and Fuji thanked whoever had done it for him. For a moment, he was wondering if he was between life and death. So peaceful, floating on a sea between darkness and light, and in a way, a little frightened, he wasn't sure what it is anymore. If this was dying, then it was peaceful. Fuji liked it.

 

The rain was pattering against the windowpanes. It was yet another rainstorm—no, a thunderstorm. Every so often, thunder would sound, slightly painful against Fuji's eardrums even though it wasn't very loud at all, and a bright white light would illuminate the room for a fraction of a second, which Fuji assumed was lightning.

 

The quiet was lulling him peacefully again, yet once he heard a soft, familiar voce, Fuji's eyes would open and he would realize that he wasn't dying, and he was overcome with a sort of desperation, wondering if there would be more pain, or if it would be over now that this peacefulness had overtaken him. He pondered on it slightly, and was very disappointed with the answer he came up with for himself. So he changed it, making it a fantasy, even though he knew that the fantasy he'd created for himself was just as real as legends of dragons.

 

Then gentle voice at his ears guided him, and though Fuji couldn't open his eyes all the way, he could only assume that it was Tenshi. He had gotten to know that kind, deep, and heavily accented voice, something in which words of comfort were whispered in, and something where somebody brushed his bangs aside gently, fondly. The stories might have tugged slightly at his ears, but really, Fuji didn't understand them at all. His brain was covered in fog, so much that he couldn't think. Yet, he laid back and listened, perhaps in search of the softest sigh of the wind. Fuji had never realized how much of an emotional bond he really had to Tenshi, or the strength of the bond Tenshi felt towards him.

 

He'd lain there with a soft smile on his face as he listened to what Tenshi had to say. Surprisingly, really, he realized that before it had always been Tenshi who had listened to him, not the other way around. Tenshi never really spoke of anything serious, and Fuji was soon to discover that Tenshi loved mythology and folklore from around the world, most specifically silly little American ghost stories. All this babble was slightly blurred to him, as little of the stories had any significance to daily life. Fuji really thought that these stories were in place of Fuji's talking, because in the length of his hospital stay, Fuji had become more and more silent, though appearing friendly to everyone else, he preferred to listen rather than speak to Tenshi, listen while grasping his hand gently.

 

When Tenshi had first told him these stories, he couldn't really comprehend with his state, but he tried his best to listen, his fingers lightly squeezing Tenshi's. When Tenshi did it, he took it as a sign of comfort. After all, Tenshi's worry seemed to radiate. It became all too easy to tell what exactly Tenshi thought and felt. The darkness pressing on his eyes would eventually lift after what seemed like a long sleep, but Fuji began to miss the numbness he felt from the fatigue brought on by the sedatives after it wore off and before the nurse came in to give him another dose of painkillers. His whole body ached unbearably with pain.

 

His stories transformed from something simple and predictable to intricately woven stories that Fuji wasn't familiar with, stories with odd twists and turns that could be expected out of a suspense novel. Naturally, out of his boredom, Fuji liked to listen to them. He found them entertaining, and they kept his mind well occupied. Yet, to him, they always seemed like a work of fiction. Tenshi seemed to believe wholly and completely.

 

So, when Tenshi asked him one day if he believed in angels and ghosts, naturally he had only thought that it was an introduction to another one of Tenshi's stories. When he'd told him “No, not in particular,” he hadn't expected Tenshi to frown slightly as if something about that worried him. Raising and eyebrow slightly, he shifted from under the sheets and took a hold of Tenshi's hand, asking him what was wrong. Tenshi had told him that nothing was wrong, but something about the tone of it worried him.

 

“Shuusuke, do you believe in ghosts? Do you believe in angels?” His hands gripping Tenshi's was light and gentle, squeezing, more of a gesture to comfort Tenshi than anything. The man would've liked to think they meant more, but he remembered that if the situation were different, Shuusuke would be far more inclined to touch Tezuka's hands than his. However, Tezuka was by far not a touchy-feely sort of person like Tenshi was, and that separated them across a sea of differences. He reacted differently, especially to this rather odd habit of handholding that Fuji had developed.

 

“No. Not in particular. Why?” There was a visible frown from Tenshi, and Fuji was beginning to wonder if he had indeed said something wrong, if he should've agreed with Tenshi just to make the man happy.

 

“Is there something wrong? Tell me.” Fuji shifted more from the spot where he lay though he'd been advised by the doctor not to move. After all, Fuji had always done what he wanted to when it came down to it, and not moving seemed like such a pointless thing that Fuji sometimes forgot the rule and broke it. Who wouldn't? After a few days of lying in a bed with not much else to occupy his interest other than stray thoughts, anybody would get fidgety. “Did I say something wrong.” Fuji was about to sit up, but Tenshi stopped him from doing so, eyes narrowed slightly.

 

“Remember your injuries. The one thing you wouldn't want to do right now is worsening your injuries. That'll just make you miss more school.” Right now, he wasn't in school, though he was supposed to be starting high school very soon. After all, there would be a short break before the new spring term would start once again. Already, the doctor had said that he would miss at least a week because he wanted Fuji to go through a good amount of physical therapy. He was saying, too, that with Fuji going to such a large school it would be a good idea to make sure that if somebody accidentally bumped into him on their way to class that he wouldn't get knocked over. Either way, he would be missing school. The main point wasn't that. Tenshi had avoided the question, something very characteristic of the man, but not something that Fuji necessarily liked it.

 

“You avoided the question. Why did you ask me?” queried Fuji in an almost stubborn manner, simply because he was getting sick of Tenshi's tendency to make one over think things, making it impossible to figure out anything. He gave Tenshi a frown of disapproval, though he probably shouldn't have used such a rough tone. Giving Tenshi's fingers a light squeeze, he sighed. “Really, Tenshi,” his tone was back to normal. Fuji didn't like these games that he played, even though it was characteristic of Fuji to sometimes play games like that as well.

 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.” He said, simply, probably the straightest answer he'd ever given.

 

“You don't know until you try. What do you want to say? You're a ghost or something?” Tenshi was unusually silent, but Fuji gave a silent chuckle, giving Tenshi's shoulder a playful punch with his least bruised arm.

 

“I don't know how to explain it,” he shrugged. “Tell you what,” he said, “I want you to meet somebody after you're all better. They can tell you what's going on.” Fuji raised an eyebrow, and began with a protest. Tenshi cut him short, ruffling his hair gently and then giving his head a light pat. “You're a special kid, Fuji. I like that.” Fuji wasn't exactly sure what exactly that had to do with the situation, if anything. After all, Tenshi had a tendency to say random things at inappropriate moments. In a way, it was to change a subject, and that was what annoyed Fuji most about the guy. He was always able to get in the last word of a conversation, and he would only give information when he felt like it, which was not very often.

 

The time between Tenshi's visits initially seemed like monotony. With his head laid on a pillow, he resorted to counting dots on the ceiling for fun. There were precious few things around to read, and the things that were around, he'd read about literally about around thirty times already. So, he was probably participating now in the dullest activity ever invented by mankind, speck counting. It should be a competitive sport, Fuji would think to himself. People would get an equal expanse of wall space on which they were to count the specks, and the person to do it the fastest would win. There had to be some sort of math equation to it, but Fuji was having a hard time focusing. The task of counting all the specks on the ceiling was a grueling task that required a lot of focus, most of which Fuji had precious little of as of late.

 

Fuji Shuusuke, ever since the surgery to fix his ribs and knee, was very well known and well liked around the hospital. There wasn't much else of a place for him to go, so until his condition was a little more stable, they had decided to keep Fuji at the hospital for physical rehabilitation, though he was moved to a smaller, less-used room near one of the quieter corners of the place. The boy must've had an unusual charisma around older nurses. All the nurses loved him and knew him by name. Fuji was known among the hospital staff for his gentle, closed eyes and his contagious smile. He was talk of the employee lounge, and somebody who everyone seemed to know. Even Fuji himself didn't exactly know how this popularity had come about.

 

Every once in a while the doctor would check up on him. The stitches didn't have to stay in long at all, and soon enough they were out, though for what seemed like forever, Fuji's motion was limited so as not to aggravate where he had broken his ribs. Though the bandages on his head had been removed, faint traces of a scab still remained along with slight bruises on his arms and legs. His leg had been wrapped, and his knee was in a brace, but they had yet to put his leg in a cast because of the infection. Treatment on that was progressing finely.

 

With the aggressive treatment using numerous antibiotics, his infection slowly was faded in. The pink medicine the nurse brought in before each meal was enough to make Fuji gag, and that was saying something since he was the only one out of the Seigaku regulars who was able to drink Inui juice without any negative repercussions. (That horrid juice that made him black out once didn't count, in Fuji's mind, because he was able to bear all Inui juices except that one, and Inui had yet to top it off.) It left such a bitter taste in his mouth, and despite the fact it was in liquid form, was extremely hard to swallow. Fuji disliked it much. Wasabi sushi, spicy sukiyaki, and any of Inui's juice blends seemed weak as compared to it. Before, Fuji had never had a problem swallowing medicine, but he made a firm resolution to watch the sort of medicine he took when he was ill more carefully from that point on, because he never imagined such horrid-tasting substances ever existed in form of medicinal remedies.

 

The progress he made each day was more of a known scribble added to the chart clipped to the end of his bed. Whenever the nurse came in she wrote a lot, whether it be about how he was administered medicine, how much painkillers he'd been given, the state of his IV, and even how much food he'd eaten. In a way, it was almost a little too invasive. Fuji felt as if he was being intensely scrutinized, and it was a slightly uncomfortable feeling as compared to the scrutiny that he received whenever he was playing a match.

 

Fuji's recovery was shaky, yet oddly mechanical and well reassured. Nobody exactly could explain Fuji's sudden will to live, because the last time they'd heard, the outlook had been very grim, and Fuji hadn't been expected to live for very long at all. Here he was, struggling slightly, but with good reason. What had motivated him here in this stale, sanitary hospital was something one could only begin to guess at. As the doctor had said before, the power of a person's will could be an extremely powerful thing, something that could determine as to whether or not somebody would live or not. That will was making Fuji's recovery into a miracle, one that he never could have achieved unless he wanted it and reached for it. It was amazing.

 

“He must have a guardian angel on his side, watching over him,” a nurse whispered to another one day. Fuji was smiling. His initial reaction to all those injuries had been very negative, and it had been expected that he'd die. However, his first time in two days where he was conscious with his sanity completely intact seemed to have given him some sort of jump start. With that out of the way, Fuji seemed a lot more motivated to get better. The boy, in other ways, was strange. He seemed to draw comfort off of solitude and would apparently talk to himself often.

 

On his second day after surgery, he met a girl who had reported his consciousness to a nurse that first day. The shy girl, called Arai Matsuko had started by poking her head in and checking in on him. As it turned out, her father was one of the main doctors here, and since she had been an only child and her mother had died, and the rest of her family was living back in Kyoto. They were living such an untraditional lifestyle with such isolations from the extended family, but the hospital that her father had originally worked at had been closed, leaving many doctors and nurses to find new jobs. Her father's work brought them to the city. Since her father worked there, and she was especially close to her father she came there often, helping the nurses out where she could.

 

Fuji found it almost as interesting talking to Arai as he did to Tenshi, though Arai was a lot less confusing than Tenshi with his riddles, and more down-to-earth. Over his time talking to her, which was growing to be hours a day, he figured out many random things. She was two years older than he was, and a valuable asset within her volleyball club. At home, she played the piano. Though she'd been taking lessons as long as she could remember, the only person who ever heard her was her dad and her lesson teacher; she'd never done anything too serious with the skill. She was, in a way, like Yuuta in the fact that she was easy to tease, though somehow when she got flustered she tried to hide it better and with more success than Yuuta did.

 

Perhaps what knocked him slightly off kilter was the fact that she was a lesbian, a fact that had only slipped from her mouth at passing chance, and something she'd begged for him to keep secret. In a way, Fuji found it a relief. If she were a lesbian, then she wouldn't be fawning over him like almost all girls did. In that way, he could find more of a friend in her than anything, rather than a person who blushed and acted strangely around him. In retrospect, he found it very respectable, for she was a proper young woman on her way to a career involving mathematics. She said some volleyball along the way wouldn't hurt, too.

 

Arai listened to him, too, and for that, Fuji was grateful. She was a nice alternative to counting specks on the ceiling when Tenshi wasn't there, and he found his mind more occupied when he conversed with her simply because she was closer to his own age than Tenshi was. The only thing that Arai had yet to learn was his own homosexuality, though she would probably be able to guess it considering that she had automatically been accepted by him despite her homosexuality, and that he talked about Tezuka a little too much for comfort, referring to him with a slight, teasing fondness. Fuji had voiced his concerns to her, especially about the costliness of his stay in the hospital. He was beginning to think he was too much of a burden on his family. After all, the combined costs of his actual hospital stay, along with antibiotics, doctor's fees, and the cost of the surgery couldn't be at all cheap. On that subject all Arai did was try and listen. Maybe she didn't know what to say, since it was such a touchy subject.

 

Though time passed slowly, physical therapy was a very unwelcome event, not because Fuji didn't want to get better, but because it was far harder than some people would've guessed. With damage to his leg and an ache all over his body, it was hard enough to stand up, much less walk in a straight line unaided. The exercise had started out easy at first. Fuji was given stretches to do to prevent his muscles from weakening. Then, though, it got harder. The doctor said they needed to get Fuji on his feet before the broken leg healed, so it was a challenge to get him to stand up properly without putting weight on the injured leg. Literally, two injured legs, though they weren't exactly sure what was wrong with the other one other than slight nerve damage. That shouldn't have caused the problems he was having, though.

 

A nurse would struggle with him for a good time, sometimes with the help of Arai, just to get him up on his feet. Then he was made to do his best and walk with crutches, which was becoming a struggle since impending nerve damage was proving to be more of a problem than Fuji ever would have expected. The ankle of his good leg kept quivering when he put weight on it. It didn't seem like a very good leg anymore, and combined along with his broken one, Fuji had almost no sense of balance anymore, and had nearly fell quite a few times.

 

Truth was, though his whole body had been affected, his legs seemed to take the largest toll, and with these injuries, hope of returning to a high school tennis club within the next school term was looking dimmer and dimmer. The doctor said he was lucky that he wasn't injured even more severely, or worse. The car had hit him at full speed, and it was perhaps by luck that he hadn't retained any head or spinal injuries. Fuji, though, wasn't sure if the struggle was worth it or if it would be better to be dead. Nobody was exactly sure if he'd have full use of his legs again or not. Sure, he'd probably walk again, but tennis remained in question. Fuji wasn't sure what still kept him at it when he had been planning to pursue photography, but he guessed it had something to do with Tezuka.

 

Fuji would frown upon his shaking legs and click his tongue lightly while struggling through the physical therapy session, something he would've breezed through if only it were last week. He probably should've been grateful for his upper body strength to make up for it, and would probably build up the muscles in his arms with this grueling therapy. The arms weren't, though, the concern. They kept talking about muscle deterioration in his legs, which would happen if he ended up lying in bed for a few months. Maybe that's why they got him up so quickly, to prevent that sort of habit from forming.

 

Tenshi didn't like that he was being so morbid about things. Tenshi was often stressing how much he needed to keep trying with all his might. Fuji wanted to tell the man that he didn't know what he was going through and how it was annoying that no matter how hard he tried it seemed almost impossible to walk, much less stand without aid. “Just keep trying,” was Tenshi's firm resolve, something that wouldn't change, no matter how much Fuji argued. It wasn't like Fuji to give up like that, but everything seemed far too complicated.

 

When a woman came into his room about four days after the surgery, Fuji wouldn't have recognized her. She was quiet, young, probably in her first or second year at a local university. Something specifically about her grave, quiet eyes caught his attention. He wasn't alone. Tezuka didn't have a lot of time to come visit him, but perhaps egged on by Eiji, he had come. Fuji had a lot of visits, really. His family visited regularly, and he'd even gotten a visit by the entirety of the Seigaku regulars—Eiji had nearly suffocated him when he threw his arms around Fuji's neck. It was hard to believe that his days as a student at Seishun Gakuen were finally over. Fuji didn't really want them to be. Fond memories plagued him of his time with people at the tennis clubs, his match with Tezuka, lunch with Eiji and Tezuka, and even the day where he'd kissed Tezuka. Still, Tezuka had never mentioned it. Fuji assumed that the person who had once been his captain had just forgotten.

 

There was one thing that Fuji wasn't going to miss, and that was his sessions with Suzuki-sensei. At first, the woman had helped a little, but now, going to see her was just an annoyance, and Fuji certainly wouldn't have done it if he had the choice. His mother never really mentioned it or asked him about it, but Fuji knew that she knew. After all, she had been the one to first voice her concern about Fuji, and everything had merely started off that day he had collapsed in the hallway and initially spoken with the nurse in the infirmary.

 

“Fuji-san,” she said quietly. Automatically, Fuji looked around for his mother. She was just being formal, but here, he was usually `Fuji-kun' and his mother, who visited once a day at the very least, was known as `Fuji-san'. When he realized his mother had already been there today, earlier, he tilted his head slightly, as if to ask if he knew the woman or not. Maybe there was some sort of gap in his memory, because he couldn't recall any sort of memory about her.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said after a few minutes, using his arm to push himself upwards into a better position. Bringing his un-bandaged, un-braced leg into his chest with quite some effort, he tilted his head to the side slightly. “What's your name?” His voice showed the fact he didn't remember the women. Opening her eyes a little wider, she nodded and gave a polite bow, her thick, dark bangs sweeping in front of soft eyes.

 

“I probably should explain, Fuji-san. You probably don't remember it very well at all. My name is Iwajima Keiko. I've come to apologize.” When she paused, Fuji's silence told her that he really didn't remember. “I was the women who hit you a few days ago,” she said, her fingers clenching her skirt out of stress and her voice came out in a nervous squeak. Obviously, she expected Fuji to be angry. “It's probably not an apology you want, though,” she said, quietly, in a guilty tone. “I want to tell you, Fuji-san, that I really didn't mean to and that if I could've stopped, if I could've seen you, I would have. If your mother needs me to help pay your medical payments, I promise I will. Goodness, you're probably so hurt. How are you-“

 

The women, at this point, was babbling mindlessly, and Fuji interjected, not intending to be rude, just to remind the woman that she needed to breathe. After all, it had been a good while that she'd taken a breath amongst this rather mindless talk. “Iwajima-san,” he said, eyes flicking open slightly. He remembered in the back of his head lectures his mother had given long ago about courtesy. “Please,” he paused slightly, some of the coldness that had been in his eyes beginning to vanish, “Sit down for a while.” That was an oddly adult phrase for Fuji to say, even counting Fuji's maturity. His voice though, distant and cool, was the thing that really made the woman fall silent and gaze over at Fuji with an odd mix of emotions. With her legs trembling slightly, Fuji wouldn't have been very surprised if the woman collapsed right on the spot. Eyeing her warily, he nodded a little to stress his point.

 

“I really do hope that you're going to be okay, Fuji-san.” Fuji's eyebrow twitched slightly. It had been the millionth time for her to ask that, and Tezuka only sat on the side and watched as the woman vented her emotions, with Fuji not talking very much. This was going to go on and on forever, he felt. He wanted it to be over. The women herself didn't seem to be annoying, but her worry was certainly more than bothersome. “Please, I understand if you're angry, but if you could find somewhere in your heart to forgive me,” her voice was so desperate, so pleading. Tears were in the corner of her eyes, and the strong emotions radiating off of her was beginning to give both boys a stomachache.

 

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Fuji repeats again for at least the tenth time, and this time he makes hand gestures to try and back him up. Fuji really isn't happy about the pain at all, but if saying that he was fine would get the woman off of his case, then he was all for it. She still looks so worried, and for part of it, he can see. She isn't very much older than him, probably a collage student. Here she is, caught in an inescapable situation where she hit a young boy, a student. Anybody with half a heart would be at least a little guilty. Yet somehow in Fuji's mind, she's overreacting.

 

“Listen,” she said, reaching into her purse and drawing out a business card. “If you ever want to get in touch with me, I'm only a call away, I'll help you with anything that I possibly can. The phone number and e-mail address are on the card. I'd like go serve you tea when you get better, too.” In a way, it only seemed like she was trying to hard to make it up to him, as if she was somebody who had made a bad impression and then decided that she needed to make it up in order to achieve something noble. She glanced over to Tezuka. “Your friend is welcome, too. If there's one thing I can do, I can make good tea, and I love having guests.” She added, on a slightly more positive note. Fuji didn't look at the business card until he bid Iwajima Keiko goodbye. It was a strange one, too. Well, maybe she wasn't a college student after all. There was a word Fuji couldn't read in Russian, and under it, in a more understandable language, was the words `paranormal investigation society.' Fuji tilted his head to the side slightly. That was strange.

 

“Tezuka, don't you think this is a little odd? Can you read this word?” he asked, pointing to the Russian word on the card while waving it in the air slightly. Tezuka didn't respond for a moment. Rather, he put his finger under his own chin and pondered, as if a little perplexed behind that stoic mask. After a few minutes, though, he came to a conclusion.

 

“It isn't my business to comment.” The flat, straight answer left Fuji unsatisfied, and he set the card on the side table for later. The card itself might have seemed like a joke to Fuji had it not been so seriously put. This was a serious business card, not just a joke that woman made up purely for self-entertainment. People in Japan were getting stranger and stranger by the day. Then again, Fuji wasn't exactly normal by any means of the definition. He'd be considered odd for many, frightening by some, and annoying by Yuuta; this, Fuji had become greatly accustomed to, and now ignored. However, the feeling that he wasn't used to was the feeling of thinking of somebody as extremely strange in that manner. It was an odd feeling.

 

“Tezuka?” he queried, raising an eyebrow. “Aren't you the least bit curious about it? It isn't every day you meet somebody who leads a paranormal investigation society. Would you like to come with me when I go to have tea with her?” he asked. He found the idea of a paranormal investigation society to be a very broad term, and he wondered briefly if she was one of those people who was obsessive about ghosts and claimed to be a median to the supernatural. People like that were always slightly annoying.

 

“Sure,” Tezuka replied. This was his only reply, with the usual succinct sort of tone that Fuji had gotten used to. It was always like this; Fuji talked, trying to invoke more of a reply from Tezuka. Tezuka never really yielded to that wish, with his short, trite replies. Tezuka never seemed to like to waste words, where as Fuji loved to talk, contrasting their morals like night and day. At least he had Tezuka to come with him. Maybe Tenshi could explain more about the meaning of paranormal investigation to him. Fuji had the idea, but was torn between the investigation of haunting, the investigation of strange, unexplainable events, or maybe, perhaps, the study of ghosts.

 

All at once, Fuji chuckled slightly at the thought of the card, and Tezuka gave him a look as if to ask what he was laughing about. Fuji only smiled wider, for once, a normal smile from him. “As long as you come with me,” he mentioned, as if Tezuka had asked a sort of silent question. “As long as you come with me, I will be perfectly happy.” Clasping

 

Tezuka's hand for a moment, he brought it close to his chest. Tezuka's eyes were wide, unblinking. Tezuka felt his face growing rather hot, thought he didn't show any signs of a blush outwardly. Warily, he looked around, as if to expect that somebody was watching them. At that time, Fuji released his hand, and Tezuka brought it back to his lap. “The next time the nurse comes around it'll be to bring dinner.” He said. Just like Fuji to memorize the times the nurse came around. Then again, it must've been boring at that hospital. He had nothing else to do. “Na, Tezuka,” he mentioned, slightly. A voice interrupted his, though.

 

“Fuji-kun!” A nurse, with Arai following at her heels, entered. Fuji frowned slightly. It wasn't around dinnertime yet. Why was she here? “Are you up for some rehab? The doctor wanted you to get started on a more vigorous program so that you'll be back on your feet sooner.” Inwardly, Fuji groaned. He didn't want to do any sort of rehabilitation right now, not when Tezuka was here. Arai looked apologetic. She knew how much Fuji really disliked therapy sessions, but there wasn't much of a way she could tell the nurse that. It was their job, after all, to get Fuji moving again as soon as possible, not to listen to a teenage girl about what she thought Fuji wanted or disliked.

 

“Sure,” he said, though his voice carried the sort of uneasiness showing that he really didn't want to. Grumbling inwardly about it, he turned to Tezuka. He really had been enjoying conversing with him, and now he had to leave. Briefly, he wondered if Tezuka would be asked to leave, or if he would be allowed to come with. Part of him wished that Tezuka would be asked to leave, because in a way, it was embarrassing for Tezuka to see him in such a weakened state. At least Tenshi was the sort of person he knew didn't mind, and was less awkward around at times.

 

“Tezuka-kun,” This nurse knew him, because she'd met him before. Tezuka didn't visit very often, but when he did, this nurse was there, so she remembered him. Tezuka really hadn't been directly addressed by anyone other than Fuji here today, so he looked a little surprised at the sudden attention. “If you aren't busy or anything, feel free to come with Fuji. I'm sure he'd love to have a friend there to help him out.” In a way, the words were a devastation, yet a relief. Fuji would've been at least a little glad that Tezuka was there. Maybe the nurse sensed that he might try at least a little bit harder if he came with. Well, maybe that, or just somebody to carry his crutches while Arai and the nurse helped Fuji into a wheelchair. With these nurses, one could never be quite sure.

 

As he struggled to stay up on his feet, his leg shook with the effort, making Fuji frown because just last week, his ability to walk had remained unimpeded, and he hadn't had any problems with muscle weakness or nerve damage. To somebody who had never been seriously injured before, at worst, a sprain to the wrist, he didn't like the whole recovery process. It was all too foreign to him, and it was growing more and more frustrating by the day.

 

Crutches fell to the ground with a clank. The nurse had just stepped aside to let him try and walk. The woman's reflexes didn't seem to be fast enough, but perhaps Tezuka saw it coming, because before Fuji had a chance to fall to the ground, Tezuka was supporting him with his arm around his shoulder, and Arai was at his side, supporting him and fussing over his state. That was a girl's nature, he guessed, as he thought about how much Arai worried. She worried too much.

 

“Fuji-kun, are you all right?” Arai cried out, which in a way, reminded him of Eiji, forgetting the boy's “Nya” and “Hoi Hoi!” She looked at him, hair swept in front of worried eyes, and then looked over to Tezuka, who rather than fussing, was doing his best to support Fuji.

 

“I'm fine,” he insisted to her, doing his best to do something of the sorts to calm her down. “Really, Arai-chan, I'm fine. Don't worry so much.” Why did he have to keep insisting that to everyone other than Tenshi and Tezuka? They seemed to be the only ones who realized the fact that after a while, the question got tiring, and quite annoying.

 

“We should get him over to that chair,” Arai mentioned to Tezuka. Fuji was shaking with the effort to support his own weight under Arai and Tezuka's hold. “Don't you think?” She asked. Without the help of the nurse, though with her supervision, they helped Fuji limp over to the chair in the corner. Fuji nearly collapsed onto it when they finally loosened their hold on him and help him sat down. The process was slow, and Fuji breathed a sigh of relief at the end.

 

Arai had never known him before this, so the shock of his condition never really got to her. For a lot of her time, she was around people who had been injured, who had crippling conditions, and people who had terminal illnesses. Because of that, she understood why exactly people got to be like this, and that it was possible to recover from this sort of condition. Tezuka, on the other hand, couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was hard to believe that Fuji, friend, teammate, and classmate, could've gotten so bad within such a short period of time, and as the accident played over and over again in his head, taunting him, he wondered why Fuji wasn't dead. Maybe it was just luck.

 

“Thank you, Tezuka-kun, Arai-chan,” he mentioned to him, wiping his brow and taking a few moments to breathe properly. “I'm glad that you are here to help me.” He was glad that there were people like Arai in the world, and suddenly, embarrassment forgotten; he was able to look at Tezuka and be glad that the boy, object of his admiration for the longest time, was there.

 

“We have no problem. It's what friend's do!” She smiled over to Tezuka, as if she had been asking him some sort of question that she expected him to answer. Tezuka only raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Right, Tezuka-san.” She was so respectful to people she didn't know personally, like she did Fuji. That was such a contrast to Tenshi, who hadn't seemed to have quite gotten the idea of Japanese honorifics.

 

“Yeah,” he said, quietly, in a sort of tone that sounded almost like a question. Pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, he looked rather weary. Remembering that Tezuka would be starting at their new high school soon, Fuji wondered if he was really tired. It was so rare to see any sort of vulnerability from Tezuka that when he seemed weary, or upset, it was very hard to tell over what, or if he actually was at all tired.

 

Tezuka glanced at the clock on the wall. To Fuji the hand was slowed. Time in this hospital always went far too slow for his liking. He wanted to leave here. He wanted to be by Tezuka more. He wanted to go home. However, Tezuka seemed to notice the time. “I really need to go,” he said. It was getting pretty late, wasn't it? Tezuka probably needed to be home on his parents' request. After bidding his farewells, Tezuka left, and Fuji felt slightly emptier inside. Sighing, he turned his head to the nurse, and then to Arai, who smiled and looked ready to give words of comfort.

 

Among such a bleak place as this, Fuji was more than grateful for a person like Arai, who gave gentle, comforting words when he needed it. In his short days there, Fuji had found a friend, and for what would make the millionth time recently, he was hugely grateful.

 

Accident and struggles weren't thrown aside, though, and Fuji felt like they were plaguing his mind, so strong that he couldn't push them away. Closing his eyes slightly, he exhaled. Maybe that's what only could be expected.