This I promise You

Chapter 17: A Reunion

I wake disoriented from a deep, dreamless slumber to find myself surrounded by an eternal night. It was a thick impenetrable darkness, a pea soup of black nothingness so dense I could see nothing, not the vague shape of objects surrounding me, or my hand in front of my face. Wherever I was had to be soundproofed because there was nothing to hear but the pounding of my own heart and my ragged breathing. There was no breeze rustling through the trees, no birds chirping, and no crying squirrels. I could not hear the constant noise of the city. There was nothing.
Then out of the darkness came a vague shape. It hovered in front of my face, suddenly appearing like I had lost a moment of time. I try to scream but nothing comes out. Shock envelopes me. Trembling, I lay a shaking hand on my throat.
My attention is caught once more by the pale white skeletal hand. I try to crawl away from it but my legs refuse to budge. It is like they are trapped, encased in cement blocks. Gritting my teeth, I continue to jerk my lead weight limbs, but it is futile.
I feel something against my cheek. It is a soft, gentle, warm and loving touch. It gives me comfort and makes me feel good, but suddenly, like a switch being flicked, it becomes harsh, rough, cold and threatening. Where the hand is becomes cold and icy that quickly spreads, chasing away my warmth. My teeth start to chatter and I shake, my whole body tightening in reaction.
Try as I might, not only can I not get my legs to move, but now nothing is responding.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears slipped out from under my lids and make trails down my cheeks. I am so cold it surprises me that my tears do not turn to ice crystals.
Another hand on my thigh. I gasp audibly, but still I cannot make any vocal sounds.
Suddenly the cold vanishes, as does the hand on my face and thigh. Warmth spreads quickly back into my body. Then movement returns to the upper half of my body. My legs still felt like they were trapped in stone.
A choked cry escapes my lips as the ground underneath me becomes squishy and mushy. I start to sink into the gross mass. It feels like a sponge that has become too waterlogged to hold any more liquid. I try struggling against the suction, but it only succeeds in making me sink faster.
Vaguely, I am aware that the cool liquid engulfing me is thicker than water and has a strange smell to it, almost metallic-y, but then all thought vanished as everything around me disappeared. I was suddenly freefalling from a lofty height. The only thing I saw was a pair of horror filled golden hazel eyes as the sound of rushing air filled my ears.
The sound of screaming from room 513 startled the two African American bodyguards. They stormed into the room, weapons drawn. It also brought a deeply engrossed writer out of the world he was creating where the male lead had fallen into a deep state of despair after his lover had fallen into a coma, from which she was destined not to wake up from, and was now contemplating suicide.
Eiri caught his laptop before it slid off his lap and smashed onto the floor. Cursing, he set his computer onto the chair besides him and rushed to his husband’s side. Enveloping his screaming and thrashing lover in his arms, he glanced at the two men Tohma had hired to protect them and nodded. They holstered their guns and left the room, shutting the door behind them.
All of them were used to Shuichi’s nightmares by now, but the men still jumped the gun. “It is better to be safe than sorry,” they claimed. Already, Eiri liked these guys better than Koji and Jacob. No offense, but Shu’s other bodyguards had been nothing more than fancy accessories. They were there to look threatening, nothing more.
“Baka,” Eiri snapped, wincing as the singer’s screams deafened him. “Stop it!” He winced when Shuichi kicked his side. Cursing, he shook the man in an attempt to wake him up. “Damn brat! It was a dream! Snap the hell out of it before I give you something to really scream about!” When in doubt, give the baka an order, or a threat. It almost always worked. And this time it did. Silence immediately descended on the hospital room and Shuichi stilled in the writer’s arms. Eiri stepped back, rubbing his bruised side and watched as violet-blue eyes fluttered open.
Shuichi stared about him in confusion and growing fright. When his gaze landed on the man standing besides him, relief flooded across his face. “Eiri,” he smiled. He reached out for his husband but the blond man only stared at him, a strange look on his face as he held his side. Concern and worry filled Shuichi. “Eiri,” he called. He sat up and studied his husband closely. “Eiri, what’s wrong?”
Eiri could do nothing but point.
Four months ago, Dr. Ohtani told a room full of people that Shuichi had only a sixty-five percent chance of walking without surgery. That soon plummeted when it became obvious that singer could not only not move his legs, but could feel nothing below his waist either. How Dr. Ohtani had not figured this factor into the mix was beyond him. To Eiri, one went hand in hand with the other. Another set of x-rays were ordered and what previously had gone unseen smacked them upside the head this time. A set of nerves had been damaged when Shuichi fell from the second floor. Unfortunately, surgery this time was out of the question. Dr. Ohtani was not sure what could be done. Either the nerves would repair themselves or…
A month ago Shuichi woke up from his coma and it has been thirty days of uncertainty and doubt. Would he be able to walk again? Would the feeling come back to his legs? Would Shuichi decide to try again and have his child or decide it was not worth it? Would he be forever haunted by the incident and wake up screaming from a nightmarish fit every time he closed his eyes? Would Shuichi’s feeling of abandonment ever be calmed down? Would Eiri be able to reassure his husband that they would be together forever, that he would never desert him and leave him hanging? Would Dr. Hikari be able to help the little baka get past this horrific incident so that they could move on?
Shuichi looked where Eiri was pointing, suspicious, and then back at his husband. “Eiri…” He cut himself off, his eyes growing huge. He glanced back down at his legs. While his left one still lay straight and still, his right leg lay bent, the bottom of his foot lying against his left thigh. Even more shocking was the fact that he could feel it. He could feel the slight roughness of the heel of his foot lying against his opposite thigh. His legs were not just lead weights hanging off his torso! “Eiri.” He lifted a shocked face to his husband, an identical expression on his face. “Eiri, m-my…”
Eiri had to force himself to snap out of it. He tried to get a hold of himself. Flinging back the sheet, he stared down at the leg. “Try moving it again,” he ordered.
“Huh? Are you sure?” Shuichi looked at his leg, doubtful, biting his lip. He would give anything to be able to go back to the way things were six months ago. Being trapped here at the hospital and even worse, to this bed, unable to even go to the bathroom without help from Eiri or his own personal good squad. More than anything, he wanted to go home, but the doctor was against that. He wanted Shuichi to stay in the hospital a little while longer, but staying cooped up here was driving Shuichi stir crazy! The thought that he may be getting the feeling back into his legs, that he might be able to finally move them was something he had been dreaming about for a month!
“Just do it,” Eiri sighed, faking annoyance.
Shuichi gulped and nodded, looking down at his leg. Shuichi laughed in delight as he watched his foot flex. He glanced at his husband, a huge smile on his face. “It moved!”
Despite himself, Eiri felt tears welling up in his eyes as he watched Shuichi’s leg move one painful centimeter at a time until his foot was pressed up against the opposite knee. He could not believe it.
“Eiri,” Shuichi cried.
Eiri looked at his husband. Crocodile tears flowed down Shuichi’s face. A smile graced Eiri’s lips as Shuichi flung himself at him with a squeal. Eiri wrapped his arm around his husband, holding him tightly as the smaller man cried onto his shoulder. A tear slipped down the writer’s face unseen.
*
For the first time in a month, the Nakano residence had been quiet for more than an hour at a time.
At four weeks old, the newest addition to the Nakano family seemed as if he slept for no more than an hour at a time before you had to change and then feed him. All Kazahaya Nakano did, in Hiro’s opinion, was eat, sleep and poop. Oh, and cry. Dear, Kami-sama, did that kid have a set of lungs! He reminded Hiro of Shuichi.
A pain of guilt flashed through Hiro.
Shuichi has been out of his coma for about a month now, but he had yet to go and see him. Everyone else goes at least once a week, but him? He knew he had to go. Shuichi and he had a lot to talk about, but he just could not seem to make himself go to the hospital. Truthfully, he was scared. He was scared shitless, of what, he was not too sure about. All he knew was that the though of going to the hospital sent him into a cold sweat.
Taking a final drag on his cigarette, Hiro crushed it out in the ashtray and blew out a thing line of smoke into the late evening air. He had been trying to cut back, for the sake of the baby, but when he burst into Rinjin’s apartment and saw his best friend lying in a boneless heap…He knew Ayaka disapproved of his smoking habit, but she also understood.
Sighing, Hiro leaned his head back against the side of the apartment building, one leg dangling off the side of the concrete railing and the other bent before him.
“Shuichi…”
From what he heard from the others, Shuichi was going crazy in the hospital. The TV had been taken out because he was bothering the other patients and staff by blaring the television at ear splitting levels. He was not allowed any other sort of electronic device for the same reasons. So all he did was sleep and try to force his visitors to take him outside, which was hardly allowed because of who he was. Even though it was a hospital, the lead singer still tended to get mobbed if he was outside of his bedroom. Hiro did not envy the man in the least. He wanted to go home so bad, he could taste it, but the doctor wanted to keep Shuichi at the hospital in order to more closely monitor his progress, or rather lack there of.
The shrill ringing of the phone had Hiro tumbling off the side of the balcony with a curse. At the same time, Kazahaya announced he was up with a loud siren wail. He cursed again, tripping over his coffee cup that had been sitting at his feet that he had forgotten about. The black liquid spilled in an ever widening arc, but Hiro ignored the mess. He tossed open the patio doors and raced into the apartment.
Hiro picked up the phone mid-ring. “Hello,” he breathed. He did his best to ignore the shrill crying echoing through the apartment.
“Hey, Hiro,” came the familiar voice over the line. There was a pause. “Is that Kaza-kun?”
“Unfortunately,” Hiro sighed.
“Oo! Arigato, did I wake him?”
“Actually, yeah, you did, but don’t worry about it.” The apartment suddenly quieted and Hiro sighed in relief. The red-haired guitarist flopped onto the couch. “Never have kids, Tatsuha,” he warned the man. “I thought I was used to this having been friends with Shu for so long, but…”
Tatsuha chuckled. “Is Ayaka-san there?”
“Yeah.” Hiro leaned forward. “The only time she gets to sleep is when Kazahaya is asleep.”
“That sucks. I don’t envy you.”
Hiro snorted. “Thanks. So, what’s up Tatsuha?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah! Aniki called me. Apparently, Shu is starting to get feeling back into his legs!”
“What!?” Hiro flew up, wide eyed.
“Yep and he can even move his right leg.”
Lightheaded, Hiro fell back onto the couch. “Wow,” he whispered. “When did this happen? I thought you said that Shu could not feel or move anything below his waist?”
“I know! It’s weird. Before today, he couldn’t.”
Hiro did not know what to think about that. Was Buddha behind this miracle?
“It seems he has a little feeling in his left thigh and almost all feeling back in his right,” Tatsuha continued.
“That’s…incredible.” To say the least, he added silently. Just yesterday, Shuichi had been this wheelchair bound invalid and now…Wow, was about all he could think of to say to that.
Shuichi had opted not to have surgery, though he had a much greater chance of being able to walk again that way. He had decided to wait and see what happens. He claimed that if the surgery failed, he would be paralyzed for life and there would be no going back. But without it, there was always that chance.
Not to be pessimistic, but…”Are they sure it was not a muscle spasm, or something?”
“Jeeze, Hiro, negative much?”
“Sorry,” Hiro sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just-”
In the background, Hiro could hear a door open, then a high pitched voice cry out, “Tat-su-ha!”
“In here, Ryu,” the youngest Uesugi sibling shouted back. “Yes, they’re sure. I gotta go. Talk to ya later,” he rushed out. “Bye!”
Before Hiro could say anything, he found himself listening to the dial tone. Blinking, he held the phone away from his ear and stared at it, incredibly. Chuckling softly, he pressed the ‘talk’ button and set the phone back down in its cradle. Sighing, he leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling blankly.
“Are you going to see him,” asked the soft voice.
Startled, Hiro sat up, blinking at his wife of five years.
Ayaka stood in the doorway swaying, a small white bundle in her arms. Her long brown hair was mussed. She had dark circles around exhausted eyes.
“Ayaka.”
“Go, Hiro, if for nothing more than to introduce him to his nephew.”
Hiro gazed at his son, asleep in his mother’s arms. Standing up, he crossed the room and gazed down at the life his love for this woman helped to create. A soft smile graced his face. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll go.” He smiled at Ayaka. “It’s time I stop running.”
Ayaka smiled back.
*
Shuichi ached all over. He had never been so exhausted and in such pain before in his life, not even after being forced to endure several torrential weeks of choreography lessons before each Bad Luck tour.
His hands had blisters and brush burns from the bars. His arms and legs were sore and felt like they were ready to fall off, the muscles cramped from being overused after being on hiatus for four months. His abdomen hurt, like he had done on too many stomach crunches. The top and sides of his left foot had red rashes and hurt like a son of a bitch.
For the past hour, he has been in the rehabilitation ward doing various exercises, including “walking” on that damned catwalk-ramp-thingy, whatever the hell it was called, or trying to anyway. For as much improvement as his right leg seemed to have suddenly, his left one had made none at all. The feeling may have started to return, but trying to move it was like trying to move a lead weight, which was why it was covered in brush burns from having dragged it along the walking ramp. His right leg, on the other hand, moved like he was trapped underwater with a weight strapped around his waist. Though, at least it did move, which was an improvement from yesterday.
Eiri wheeled his husband to the bank of elevators, the two muscle bound brutes in black flanking them. When the elevator pinged and the doors slid open, Eiri rolled his husband in. The bodyguards stood right inside the doors in the typical stance, their feet set apart and one hand holding the other wrist. Marcus, the one closest to the buttons, pushed the one for their floor.
Shuichi yawned, his eyes watering and his jaw popping. Shaking his head, he reached up with his left hand and held Eiri’s. He looked up and smiled at his husband. The writer leaned down and kissed his lithe husband lightly on the lips.
“I love you,” Shuichi whispered.
Eiri chuckled. “I know,” he answered with a knowing smile.
“Can we,” he yawned, “go outside? Please, Eiri? It’s so…” he paused to yawn again, “…boring here. Please? I want to go outside,” he whined.
The elevator pinged and the after checking the corridor, the bodyguards led the way back to the room.
“Later,” Eiri answered.
Shuichi pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, looking even younger than he already did. “No! Now! C’mon, Eiri! I hate being cooped up in this damn place! I wanna go! I wanna leave!”
Eiri rolled his eyes as he stopped in front of the hospital room.
While one of the bodyguards stood to one side of the door, the other man entered the room and did a quick but thorough search. “Clear,” he announced in English. He stepped outside, letting the Uesugi to enter the room and closed the door behind them.
“Eiri,” Shuichi continued, whining.
Eiri sighed heavily. “You can hardly keep your eyes open,” he stated firmly as he wheeled the wheelchair towards the bed. He placed the brakes on, ignoring his husband’s continued protestations and whines. He slipped one arm under Shuichi’s knees and wrapped the other around his back. Bending his knees, he lifted his lover from the chair and carried him to the bed.
“Eiri,” he snapped angrily. “Are you listening to me?”
Not really, he thought.
Despite the fact that he was yawning every ten seconds and his eyes felt like hot pokers had been shoved into them, Shuichi continued to beg his husband to take him outside.
Tired of hearing Shuichi’s whines, Eiri sighed in defeat. “Alright, damned brat! I’ll take you out, but only if you take a nap.”
Shuichi’s complaints and bellyaching suddenly switched off. His mouth snapped shut and a bright smile lit his face. “Really? You’ll take me outside?” His eyes shinned, grinning madly. He bounced on the bed in delight.
Eiri could not help himself. He had no idea how or why the brat did it, but Shuichi’s happiness was very contagious. People could not seem to help it. Whenever he smiled and was happy, so was everyone around him. That was probably what made Bad Luck so popular. He studied his overly tired husband, a slight smile on his face.
“Yes! Eiri, I love-“
“You have to take a nap first,” he reminded with a harsh tone.
The smile slipped off his face and the light vanished from his face. It was like taking off a mask, it was that smooth.
Eiri cursed himself and his damned husband. He swore the damned brat did that deliberately some times, just so he could get his way. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he sighed. He sat down on the bed besides his husband.
Shuichi looked up suspiciously and cautiously.
“Take a nap…”
The pout deepened.
“…and I’ll see about getting you back home.”
Shuichi’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”
“Really,” Eiri smirked back.
“Really, really?”
“Shu-han,” Eiri snapped.
Giddy at the prospect of getting the hell out of this sterile hell hole, Shuichi flung himself at his husband and kissed his hard, ignoring the aches and pains from his body and feeling suddenly very wide awake.
Eiri slipped his arms around Shuichi and held onto the back of his head with one hand while the other trailed down the back of his husband’s pajama bottoms. He teased Shu’s bottom while he plundered his mouth.
Shuichi jolted at first when he felt his husband’s fingers probing his asshole. He gasped, tensing for a second before relaxing and submitting to the will of the man he loved more than anything. Shuichi moaned into Eiri’s mouth and trailed his hands to the buttons on the man’s shirt, undoing them as shivers raced along his spine. “Eiri.”
It had been such a long time since they had been together that both men grew hard instantly.
Eiri left a trail of kisses along Shuichi’s jaw, neck and lower to his collarbone, elicitating mewls and sighs from the man. He slipped a hand under his shirt and played with his nipple. Shu moaned and arched is back as Eiri’s fingers circled the hardened bud and then tweaked it. Eiri’s other hand slid up under the back of Shuichi’s top and gripped the back of his neck.
Shuichi pulled away from his husband as he flung open his shirt and ran his hands up his chest to his shoulders, up his neck then back down to the buckle of his pants. Shuichi heard Eiri’s sharp indrawn breathe as he grabbed him through his pants. He unzipped Eiri’s pants and stroked the hard length he found inside, elicitating a sharp cry from the man it belonged to.
“Damn brat,” Eiri growled. Getting onto his knees, he pushed Shuichi back and clutched his small wrists with one hand, holding them above Shuichi’s head. The singer wiggled his hips against his husband’s as the man straddled him. He leaned down to kiss him, when the door creaked open.
“Excuse me, Sir,” came the deep baritone voice in English.
Eiri cursed soundly and pulled away from a fiercely blushing Shuichi. The boy-like man sat up and clasped himself to Eiri, burying his face into his chest. Eiri glanced over his shoulder at the guard. At least the man had the decency to look away after entering. Pulling away from Shuichi, Eiri stood up and fixed himself. “What,” he snapped back in English.
Shuichi sunk deeper into the bed, hiding under the covers in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but there is someone here to see Mr. Shindou,” Marcus apologized, still in English.
“Who,” Eiri demanded. Whoever it was was going to be shot and killed. Goddammit!
Behind them, Shuichi watched the exchange in confusion. “Eiri, what is it,” he asked, feeling confident enough to emerge from his covers. Sometimes, he hated the fact that he had never learned English. Now he would have to, just to be able to communicate with his bodyguards. Why the hell had Seguchi-san not gotten him some new guards that spoke Japanese, this being Japan?
“Visitor.”
“Who,” Shuichi asked curiously.
“It’s a Mr. Nakano, Sir,” the guard informed them in his native language.
Eiri’s brow shot up. Well, well, he thought.
While Shuichi had no idea what was being said, the name of his best friend got his attention. “Nakano?”
“Hai,” the guard nodded.
“Hello, Shuichi,” came a familiar voice from behind the guard.
Shuichi looked up as the bodyguard- he could not remember his name because Western names were so difficult to say and remember- turned around, a hand on the butt of his gun. “Hiro,” he breathed, seeing his red haired friend.
The guard threw a questioning glance at Eiri.
Eiri sighed. Against his better judgment he nodded.
The bodyguard stepped aside to allow the man to enter the room, pushing a baby stroller.
Hiro glanced briefly at Eiri and flinched at the murderous expression that crossed his face. “Hey, Shuichi,” he greeted cautiously.
“Hiro,” Shuichi whispered.
Eiri shut the door with a resounding slam and had the pleasure of seeing the red haired guitarist jump in fright. Not bothering to hide his contempt of the younger man. The writer strolled around the bed and lounged at Shuichi’s side, draping an arm around his shoulders. “To what do we owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”