Chapter 3: in which Mitsuru and Shinobu resolve matters
~Sunday night~
It was stiflingly hot; that sticky, unpleasant, leaden heat that caused headaches. That swollen, pervasive, expectant heat that was usually a harbinger of a summer storm. That sweaty, oppressive, breath-stopping heat that drove men to seize ice picks and drive them deep into their eye sockets just to escape from it. Or so Shinobu thought as he lay spread-eagled in bed, panting slightly and remaining perfectly still. He had long discarded the thin sheets, but their absence was small comfort. It was still hot.
Think of something else, he commanded himself. It’s all mind over matter. The heat is not there. The heat is gone. The heat says good-bye. As Shinobu repeated his mantra, he felt his body temperature decrease, his breathing ease and, was it his imagination, or was there a slight breeze cooling his overheated body?
Ah, better! Now that Shinobu was comfortable physically, he turned his attentions toward more emotional concerns.
He’s gone out again. I didn’t even see him leave. I don’t think he even came back to the dorm. I should know; I was waiting around like a love-struck groupie, haunting the halls and just plain making a menace of myself. The dorm lady must really think I’ve gone insane. Either that or I’ve pretty much blown my cover and she knows how I feel for Mitsuru.
Ah, Mitsuru… Well, Shinobu, let’s analyze how you feel about the boy, shall we? You’ve pretty much transcended the infatuation phase of the relationship. And the lust phase, though still present (achingly, throbbingly so), has been preempted by something a bit more…drastic? Is that the right word? My feelings for Mitsuru are drastic.
Shinobu rolled the word around in his mind the way a cat would a ball of yarn. He liked the sound of it. It was dramatic and strong and almost accurate in conveying his true emotions. The actual term for what he was feeling, however, was not something he wanted to trot out just yet; not unless Mitsuru was willing to do the same.
It’s all about equality, Shinobu mused. When two people are equal, in thought and deed, then the power play is eliminated and words like hurt and need and rejection and pain become meaningless. These words lose their ability to sting because what one feels, the other also does, equally. And they cancel themselves out.
And thus ends the lesson in Zen.
Shinobu laughed at himself mockingly then realized the effort was too much in the heat. He was panting again. The heat is not there. The heat is gone. The heat says good-bye…
A loud rustling in the bushes beneath the window. The sharp rasping of someone desperate for air. The scrabbling of rubber against concrete.
My god, he’s noisy tonight. Does he not care that I know anymore? Shinobu thought tartly. Well, if he’s not pretending anymore, I don’t think I have to either.
Getting up from the bed, Shinobu leaned against the top bunk, arms folded. It was an arrogant pose he had had many hours to perfect while waiting for his roommate to return. He fixed a haughty expression on his face and prepared for battle.
The scrabbling continued.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous, Shinobu thought, his face frozen in a comical combination of disdain and exasperation. If he doesn’t haul his irritating little behind through that window in three seconds, I’m going to have to haul it in myself!
Before Shinobu could make good his vow, Mitsuru’s hands suddenly appeared, gripping the ledge. The rest of him followed, none too gracefully. In fact, once he had gotten his chest through the window, Mitsuru seemed to lose all control of his body and he slid in clumsily the rest of the way. The moon hiding behind gathering storm clouds took that moment to peek out and, in the sudden light, Shinobu got his first good look at his friend.
He hissed ferociously in anger and fear.
Violent violet bruises on face and arms and probably elsewhere. Red welt marks marching across the chest, visible through angry rips in the black shirt. An ankle that bent at an unnatural angle. An eye swollen shut. And blood. Everywhere blood. The clinical part of Shinobu took inventory of the battered pulp at his feet and noted the torn fabric of the left pant leg and the growing dark stain in the near vicinity of the left quadricep.
Mitsuru raised his head to grin at his roommate, although his split lip made the grin look more like a grimace. “I was right, Shin. They did have guns.”
Then he passed out.
****
“Here. Drink this.”
Mitsuru awoke after what seemed like hours, but what was really only seconds, to a dark bottle thrust in his face. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the bottle and took a hearty swig. He choked, spluttered, and pretty much spat out more than he swallowed.
“What the hell? I know you’re mad at me, Shinobu, but I think I’m already dying. You don’t have to hurry the process along.” Mitsuru looked around and found himself in his friend’s bunk. Adrenalin was slowly fading and he knew that, in a few more minutes, he would be on intimate terms with every cut and bruise and wound on his body. But for now, all he felt was numb and giddy with relief that he had truly made it back home.
“Drink,” the voice brooked no argument.
“What is that, anyway?” Mitsuru eyed the bottle suspiciously.
“Whiskey.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Mitsuru teased his friend with a lopsided grin.
“Just…drink…the…whiskey!” Shinobu’s voice almost cracked at the last word. He was trying so hard – oh, yes he was! – to remain calm and unperturbed and in control. But it was so difficult to think straight when all he wanted to do was run out and find the people who had done this to his Mitsuru and beat them senseless within every inch of their lives. Then he would stop to catch his breath. And then he would beat them again. And again. And again. Until his knuckles were as raw and bloody as Mitsuru’s.
“Why?” Mitsuru was acting like a petulant child, but the other Shinobu, the one that held the bottle steady and spoke in a deadpan voice, took note of the glazed look creeping into his friend’s eyes and knew that he was running out of time.
“Because you need stitches in your left thigh, you’re bruised in parts of your body you probably never knew you had and your ankle’s broken. If you don’t get good and drunk right now, you’ll be feeling all of that in about two minutes. Masochistic much?”
“Gimme the bottle,” Mitsuru ordered peremptorily then proceeded to down the contents of the bottle.
“Gah! Horrid stuff! Where’d you get it anyway? Been holding out on me? Ne, Shin?” Mitsuru swayed from his propped-up position on Shinobu’s pillow and let the bottle go from nerveless fingers.
“Oops!”
Shinobu caught the bottle before it could land on the floor then he caught his friend before he could follow suit. Thank the gods Mitsuru was a lightweight when it came to drinking! This would be ten times worse if he were sober.
“Oi, Shin! Whatcha doin’? Hey, those are my pants! Leave my pants alone! Stop! Stop it!” Mitsuru struggled feebly as Shinobu unbuttoned the jeans and unceremoniously dragged them off his hips.
“Hey, Shin…?” Mitsuru stopped thrashing and gestured Shinobu closer with a crooked finger.
“Hai?” Shinobu paused in his task and looked up worriedly. Is he in pain? Should I do this more gently? Shinobu leaned forward, so close that he could feel Mitsuru’s whiskey-laden breath against his cheek.
“Shinobu, are you trying to get into my pants?” Mitsuru asked, then threw back his head and began cackling like a wild man.
“Baka!” Shinobu was tempted to swat the boy on the head but stopped himself in time. If he’s loopy enough to make suggestive cracks, then he’s loopy enough to bear what I’m about to do.
Resuming his removal of Mitsuru’s jeans proved wearisome with the other boy still heaving in laughter, but Shinobu finally managed it. What he saw made him sigh in relief. It only grazed him. The bullet didn’t enter the leg. Lucky, lucky Mitsuru!
Shinobu left the bedside and returned shortly with a little black case. Mitsuru was now reduced to soft chuckles, his eyes closed and body limp. Better and better.
This is actually going to hurt me more than it’ll hurt you. God, I can’t believe I just said that!
Shinobu shook his head to clear it, then steeled himself for the ordeal to come. Opening the case, he drew out suture needles and thread, antiseptic and gauze. These he laid out with medical precision on the low table he had pulled near the bed. Then he rummaged deeper and let out a curse. The topical anesthetic was missing. Oh, boy.
“Shin. Shi-no-bu! Shinobu Tezuka!” Mitsuru was singing in a voice that was definitely off-key. Though it warmed his heart to hear his name as the lyrics of choice, Shinobu wished the boy would stop a moment with the cacophony and let him think.
“Hey, Shinobu! I got those guys good, you know! They’re never, ever, ever gonna mess with me or my family again! I showed them, yes I did. Yessiree! Game over…problem solved…all by myself…”
As Mitsuru trailed off and began to doze, Shinobu felt a lifting of the heavy weight that had been pressing on his chest since Mitsuru’s arrival. If he’s telling the truth, then maybe it is “game over”. Because if Mitsuru looks like this and really won, I’d hate to see the other guy.
But we can talk about that later. Right now, I’ve got to close up that wound. It’s a pretty deep gash and if infection sets in…Okay, Tezuka, don’t think. Just do.
Exhaling slowly, Shinobu gathered in his tattered emotions and willed himself to complete the task at hand. So, no anesthetic. He needed something to numb that leg. Think, Tezuka, think! Ah! Hasukawa! Leaping up, Shinobu ran from his room and into his neighbors’.
Please, please, please. Don’t have thrown it away. Come on, Suka, where is it? I know you had some left over from that chem experiment. Where…where? Aha!
Grabbing the bottle of ether, Shinobu rushed back to his room. Mitsuru was snoring softly.
Okay, it’s now or never. Oh, Nagisa, I could kiss every treacherous part of your body right now! If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have had to learn emergency medical procedures at all. Bless your wicked black little soul! Shinobu unstoppered the ether bottle and poured its contents over Mitsuru’s thigh.
The shriek that pierced the night would have caused every dorm occupant, including the dorm lady two floors down, to come running to Room 211 had not the heavens chosen at that exact moment to open up and bombard the earth with sheets of driving rain. The summer storm and its accompanying thunder effectively drowned out the scream of agony that erupted from Mitsuru’s lungs, but Shinobu was at ground zero and heard it in its full glory.
Oh, my love! I’m so, so sorry…
Shinobu clenched the empty ether bottle so hard that the glass cracked. Every pore of his body still rang with the reverberations of Mitsuru’s scream and now he had to admit that his father’s words may have had some truth in them. This could possibly be hurting me more than it hurts you, Shinobu admitted. Especially now that you’ve…passed out? Out cold? Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…
Muttering fervent prayers, Shinobu began stitching up the wound with quick but deft motions. The gash wasn’t long but it was deep and Shinobu used up a fair amount of gauze to slow the flow of blood. Once done, the job made much simpler now that Mitsuru was still, Shinobu turned his attention to the rest of the boy’s injuries.
He set the ankle, teeth gritted as he heard the bones grind in place. A clean break. Oh, how much luck was one person allowed to have? Shinobu grabbed two slim hardback volumes from the shelf and sandwiched Mitsuru’s ankle between them. With the rest of his gauze, he cinched the clumsy splints as tight as he could. That’s gonna have to do until we can get a real cast on it.
Shinobu then cut away Mitsuru’s shirt with a pair of scissors, not wanting to revive the boy just yet. Exposing his chest, Shinobu studied the lacerations and recognized them as marks usually left by leather straps. The skin was raw and bruises were sure to appear the next morning, but the thick cotton of the shirt had prevented the leather from breaking open any skin. Shinobu decided to leave them alone for the time being and went on to tend to Mitsuru’s face.
The swelling of the eye was already receding and the bruises were now a sickly yellow-green rather than the black and purple they had been, testimony to Mitsuru’s freaky ability to heal his face in mere minutes. Okay, so much for external trauma. What about internal?
Shinobu did not think Mitsuru suffered any major blows to the head; most of the injuries seemed concentrated below the neck. So he can sleep and I don’t have to worry about concussion. Anything else broken? Shinobu ran his hands gently down Mitsuru’s arms, expertly checking for anything unusual. Of course, Mitsuru had been able to pull himself through the window so the possibility of breaks to the humeri or ulnae were slim. But Shinobu felt them anyway, more to reassure himself that the boy was safe and here and not dead.
Ah, Mitsuru, you arrogant fool! You’re lucky you’re not dead or I would hunt you down in Hades and kill you myself! Why didn’t you come to me? Together, we could have prevented this, maybe nipped it in the bud from the very beginning and you wouldn’t have had to endure this…
Then Shinobu realized that he could have prevented everything if he had just listened to Mitsuru when the boy had been ready to confess, earlier that day. I am the arrogant fool! And this is all my fault. Oh, my love…
Salty tears traced a track from Shinobu’s cheeks and landed silently on Mitsuru’s bare chest. Shinobu watched as he watered the welts, making them more vivid from the wetness. For some inexplicable reason, the sight shattered the remnants of his composure. The shock and anger and fear and panic that he had been holding back all night as he administered the injured boy came crashing through and choked him with their force. Shinobu began to sob. Deep, heart-wrenching, gut-clenching, noisy sobs.
Then Mitsuru woke up.
At first, Mitsuru thought he was hearing the rain sheeting fiercely outside. But the sounds were nearer and less continuous, punctuated as they were with loud gasps and sniffles. It almost sounded like someone was crying. Crying? Mitsuru pried his eyelids open; they felt leaden for some reason. As if he had one hell of a hangover. As if on cue, his head began to throb painfully. He tried to open his mouth to groan and almost choked from its dryness. Yep, hangover.
“Shinobu?”
“H-hai?”
“Shinobu, is everything okay? Are you crying?”
“N-no…”
“Uh-huh. Are your eyes broken?”
“Wh-what?!”
“Eyes. Are they broken? ‘Cause, you know, they’re leaking water. And you said you weren’t crying. So I figured, you know. Broken. Your eyes.”
Mitsuru smiled weakly as Shinobu stared at him in disbelief. He’s making jokes. Now. At a time like this. And after what he – and I, for that matter – has been through. Incorrigible!
“Baka,” Shinobu responded fondly. He moved to draw away from his crouched position over Mitsuru, not wanting to jostle the injured boy than was necessary, when he was stopped by hands on his wrists.
“Shin…wait. Stay here a bit. Stay…with me.” Those amethyst eyes, the tone of that voice. There was a message there that Shinobu could not ignore. Nor did he want to.
“Are you sure?”
For an answer, Mitsuru released one wrist and reached up to brush at the tears on Shinobu’s face with the back of his hand. Then, as he had done so many times in his dreams, hoping but never betting that it could possibly happen in reality, Mitsuru cupped Shinobu’s cheek in his hand and drew him down.
It was so natural, so easy. Mitsuru wondered why he had worried over this so much. Shinobu hovering over him, Shinobu’s breath tickling his nose, Shinobu’s chest pressed gently, carefully against his. Mitsuru felt a warmth uncoil from his stomach and suffuse his entire body. At the tail end of that warmth came the thought that Shinobu had sensed, that Mitsuru had refused to acknowledge, but had always been present, lurking, waiting patiently to be released.
And now it announced its presence almost shyly, but with a certain cocky confidence too. So this is what love feels like, Mitsuru thought. It feels like coming home.
When Shinobu hesitated just inches from his face, Mitsuru marveled that his friend wasn’t sharing in his revelation. Once he had reached his epiphany, Mitsuru had assumed that Shinobu would have done so as well. Is he still unsure? But, staring into his friend’s grey eyes, Mitsuru saw that it wasn’t uncertainty that stalled Shinobu. Concern, perhaps? Or…was that guilt?
“Shin…?”
“I’m so sorry, Mitsuru Ikeda. Sorry for letting you down, for not being there. Sorry for all the hateful things I said this morning, for allowing you to get hurt. I’m so sorry for sleeping naked and tempting you with vile thoughts, sorry for stealing your physics book last semester and blaming it all on Hasukawa, sorry for…”
Shinobu could probably have gone on with a day’s worth of apologies, but his litany was cut short with a finger pressed against his lips.
“We’re both sorry for a lot of things, ne? Equally as sorry. So they cancel themselves out and we can forget about them.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as I love you.”
Shinobu stilled. Did I just hear that? Can you say that again? The rain, you know. It’s quite loud. I’m not sure…did you just say that you…loved me?
“Of course I did.”
“Oh.” Shinobu closed his eyes in mortification. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“Baka.” Mitsuru laughed softly, moved his hand from Shinobu’s cheek to the back of his head and pulled.
The kiss was sweet and tentative and a bit clumsy, as every first kiss known to man has always been. But this was Mitsuru and Shinobu’s first kiss and, as far as they were concerned, it was the one kiss from which all other kisses would be held up against and always fall short. It was sparks and cumulus clouds and angels’ whispers; flower petals, sea breezes and chocolate; roller coaster rides, crashing symphonies and lightning. It was Mitsuru and Shinobu’s first kiss. And it was heaven.