゜ ・. ✦
The world is endless, the possibilities are endless, yet you just so happened to be here. Here at the right place, at the right time. You often ask why, but t...
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── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The steady beat of the medical instrument monitoring his weaving heart rate draws his consciousness to an awakened state.
His nerves turn at the piercing sound, drawing unwanted reminders into the forefront of his memory.
Someone he knew a long time ago, whose last memories were in a hospital. Someone important to him. Someone— The pain instantly shoots through his abdomen. No, it was fine. It was just him. It's okay, it's only him.
The monitor soon pumps back into a steady rhythm and the throbbing in his lower stomach syncs in tandem with it. He becomes numb to the repetitive beeps of the machine and his wound and the room becomes noiseless. For a second, he believes to be alone until he hears the soft snores beside him. This time a familiarity that wasn't melancholic.
Crusted eyes slowly peel open to the expected greeting of the intense fluorescent lighting dangling above him.
Beside him, Mirai Sasaki lies unconscious in a hospital chair too small for him, his long— and rather lanky limbs, dangling over the arms of the seat. He'd been there for god knows how long, dark circles had carved their way underneath his eyes, and his usual orderly, swept hair was tousled messily over his head.
The machine that monitored Toshinori's consciousness begins to beep rapidly, alerting nearby medics alongside Sasaki, who jolts awake from his forced slumber after hours on self-imposed stand-by, hours on edge. Within a second, he's on his feet, eyes darting erratically across the unit for any sudden trouble. Though there isn't any danger, only a man. His hero, with all glory lost, lies sickeningly small in a hospital bed. Sasaki's usual look of pity for the unconscious male is no longer as this time, he finds eyes staring back at his. Sasaki walks carefully to avoid one of the many tubes draped across the floor that connected perfectly inside the hole in Toshinori's stomach.
"Where is she?" His voice was barely audible, and a harsh cough followed immediately after. Mirai grabs the glass on the table beside him, handing it to the man briefly struggling to sit up who holds it with a shaky grip.
Sasaki blinks, still lost in the return of the symbol before him, "Who are you talking about?"
"The girl... is she... okay?"
The standing male's confusion becomes clear, and his body halts. Sasaki's nails sink deep into his palm as he squeezes his fist. His expression shifts into shock, frustration, and then hurt.
Toshinori fails to understand his sidekick's anguish which leads him to assume the worst. You didn't make it, did you? He... had failed. The image of your tragic form materializes in his thoughts, and he can feel the clear fluid in his stomach, administered by the IV bag connected to his forearm, begin to rise.
